#she is picking up every serial and newspaper in reach on her way back to an apartment marked with red zinnia out front but she IS

[martyrmarked]

for her datv verse pls know sidri is petting every cat in minrathous

[akariamai]

Vampire Slayer [Part 1]

Pairing: Seth Clearwater x OC!Vampire Slayer

Word Count: 1547

Part 2

‘Maybe this time they’ll take my observations more seriously,’ Cassandra thought as she placed the pen onto the table and folded the pages. She placed the pages into an envelope with a wax seal bearing the organization’s crest. Included with the evaluation of a growing dire situation were snippets of newspaper articles about the mass disappearances in Seattle, proof that her earlier theory was proving to be more than fiction.

It was not the first letter she had sent. It was not even the second or third, yet all her warnings were met with silence. Perhaps the letters got lost or the organization proved to be understaffed, but she was tired of the inaction of her higher-ups. There was a growing list of missing persons cases in the Seattle area, and her pleas for an investigation had led nowhere.

The police and the media concocted the idea of a serial killer prowling the streets of Seattle. Instead of looking for a single person, they should be looking for a group. Multiple people were needed to attack groups of individuals. The victims were not just picked off one by one, but all at once. “The organization should’ve flagged this case long ago.”

It was not the first time the organization had to deal with the petty squabbles of vampires. There have been numerous accounts of mass exterminations of the species. So many human lives lost. It was a mercy to end their suffering, to end the boundless wonder of self-condemnation, and the sorrow that followed once the realization settled. ‘Why hasn’t the Volturi dealt with them yet?’ There was a thorough dossier of each member: powers, sightings, residence, etc. The organization needed every detail to effectively eliminate the invasive species.

Cassandra whistled a familiar tune and waited for the sound of flapping wings. She raised her arm, bracing it for the additional weight that was steadily making its way towards her. A feathery being cawed a hello to her, and Cassandra returned the greeting, caressing the dark feathers with her finger. She turned to the plate of sliced grapes before bringing it toward the crow’s beak. The crow was a gift signifying the partnership between the organization and the hunter. Iris cawed in delight before indulging. Cassandra watched as her partner ate its breakfast, knowing the treacherous journey Iris would have to overcome in the days nearby, and waited until Iris felt fulfilled. Once the plate was left empty, Cassandra gently placed the small backpack onto Iris’ back. It contained the letter for the organization. Hunters were urged to send letters with crows only if it was urgent; otherwise, they should be delivered by mail.

“Have a safe journey. Remember to eat well,” Cassandra said. Iris cawed a farewell before she readied herself, her wings stretching out before they began to flutter and she took off. Once Iris soared out the window, Cassandra approached the same window, watching her silhouette grow smaller until it vanished into the horizon. An internal growl arose from the depths of her stomach, a subtle warning of a growing torment that had yet to take over her being.

The organization paid well. Slaying vampires brought in enough for her to retire in a few years. The organization supplied health insurance, dental, and stipends. She would have no wants and no necessities that were out of her reach. She was blessed, and she knew it.

Cassandra reached for one of her oversize sweaters, lying idle on the chair closest to the door; it was of an older band. She gathered the key to the room, her wallet stuffed with several bills, and her car keys to her beloved 1967 Impala. She locked the door of her hotel room and made her way to the hotel lobby. The receptionist pretended to be busy when she heard footsteps, although Cassandra knew there was no one else in the hotel. It was the reason why Cassandra chose to stay there; no one to question bleeding clothing or uncovered bruises.

The receptionist feigned noticing her walking towards her. “Hello, how may I help you?” “Are there any restaurants or diners that you’d recommend?” Cassandra asked. The receptionist thought for a moment. “There’s this small diner that all the locals go to. It’s a bit away, but the food is worth it.” She began to relay the directions, and Cassandra thanked her before leaving.

~~~

The drive down to the diner was serene. Parking the car, she spent a few minutes just taking in the scene. It was a rather outdated-looking diner—it most likely hadn’t been remodeled since the beginning of the establishment. The paint had long since peeled off, worsened by the wet weather in Forks. But even with its glaring flaws, it still carried an ambiance, a comfort only it could provide on a cold, stormy night.

Inside the diner, it was relatively slow. Only a few stragglers, the waitress, and the cook occupied the building. The waitress spent her time speaking to a couple with what appeared to be freshly brewed coffee; she would occasionally pour coffee into their cups when they got too low. It was the epitome of normalcy.

Cassandra allowed her mind to wander about another life where she was oblivious to vampires roaming the Earth and was born into a normal suburban family. Her room would be filled with polaroids of friends, family, herself, and maybe a puppy or kitten instead of camping out in empty hotel rooms with the occasional landscape framed. She would be born in a small town like this one and work at a diner like this, talking to regulars like they were her friends instead of living the life of a vampire slayer. She would have sleepovers with her school friends and learn how to drive at 16, not having to pretend to be older than she was.

The bell chimed as Cassandra entered the diner. The waitress gave her a quick glance before saying, “Be right there, honey.”

She sat at the nearest available booth and glanced at the menu that sat before her. The menu was standard: breakfast, lunch, dinner, and drinks. The waitress came by when the conversation with the couple died down. “What can I get ‘cha, sweetheart?”

Glancing down at the menu, she said, “I’ll have a vanilla shake, onion rings, and fish and chips.”

The waitress jotted down her order on the notepad, saying, “Coming right up.” Cassandra could hear the sizzling of oil in the back, the soft murmurs of the remaining customers, and the occasional passing of cars. Returning with her vanilla shake, the waitress assured, “I’ll be back with the rest of your order shortly.”

Cassandra took a small sip of her shake, watching as it traveled through the straw, delighted as its flavor ignited her taste buds. Her stomach growled once again, louder than before, the pain of her hunger making itself known to the world. Despite knowing the others in the diner were too absorbed in their own food and conversations, she could feel blood rushing to her cheeks.

From her seat, she watched the outside through the semi-clean window, searching for a distraction. She observed the passing cars until one parked in the lot. A group of boys, dressed lightly despite the freezing cold, exited the vehicle. They appeared to be gym enthusiasts, evident from the muscles they had accumulated on their bodies.

The bell chimed as they entered, and the waitress called out, “Be right with you, boys.” In her hands was Cassandra’s order. “Here ya go, honey. Let me know if you need anything else,” she said as she delivered it.

Cassandra gave her a small nod, saying, “Thank you.” She dug into her food quickly, as if not wanting to miss the opportunity to eat. Each bite of the onion ring provided a satisfying crunch. She noticed a bit of a kick to the onion rings. “Definitely smoked paprika,” she thought before indulging in the fries. She alternated between her shake, rings, fries, and fish, satisfying the hunger gnawing at the pit of her stomach.

In the corner of her eye, she noticed the waitress making an effort to maintain the attention of one of the boys in the group. Unlike her conversation with the couple, the waitress fluttered her eyes and spoke in a sexier voice. Meanwhile, the boys were more focused on trying to fit into the booth. The two at the end practically spilled out of their seats, their frames too large for all of them to fit. Not to mention the array of food they had ordered. The booth was too small for all the food that they had ordered, and the waitress suggested rotating their food, taking empty plates and replacing them with others.

As Cassandra took another bite of her onion rings, her eyes met with one of the boys. He had a very youthful face with a broad, radiant smile that shone even brighter with unbridled joy. His rampant delight morphed into amazement and spellbound admiration. She was the first to look away, slightly embarrassed before taking another sip of her shake. Something shifted, unsettling her, as if it was only tangible to her soul and nothing else. She couldn’t place a finger on it.

Masterlist

[needcake]

day 4: catch me

Engport | M | 2,8k

@engportevents​

Warnings: Murder investigation, serial killers, mild gore, mild sexual situations, dead dove: do not eat

.

.

His day started with a severed finger being delivered to his desk. A male ring finger, with a wedding ring still attached.

“I guess someone heard about your wedding plans, Kirkland,” his partner winced, clapped him on the back. Arthur sighed, pulling out a handkerchief to pick the finger up.

“Do you think anyone saw him this time?” he asked, turning the finger around. Definitely male, middle-aged, overweight. The purpling of the skin indicated it had been cut off a while ago, maybe two or three weeks before.

Alasdair crossed his arms in front of his chest, frowned at him. “You’re not thinking of postponing, are you? Because Fanny will kill you if you do.”

There was a note splattered with dried blood on the bottom of the box and Arthur squinted at the cut out newspaper letters.

You’re next, it read.

Arthur put the finger down. “No, of course not.”

-

There was a man that rode the tram with him almost every day. Working type, immigrant probably. He always had a folded newspaper with him, and Arthur liked watching him read the news until they reached his stop, five stops before his own. Today he started dozing off at the politics section, perhaps not interested to know that France and Britain had just won the war against the Chinese in the East. Arthur couldn’t say he blamed him. He didn’t care much about foreign politics either.

An older gentleman sat by his side, smartly dressed with a pocket watch chain that shone like gold stretched over his big belly. Arthur watched as the gentleman eyed his fellow commuter, pressed his body against his side, breathed down his neck— The man startled awake and scooted down the bench away from him. He shot an annoyed glance around the tram and his eyes landed Arthur’s. Light green with dots of gold and brown. He rolled them to Arthur and they shared a small smile. When the tram reached his stop, he watched him accidentally step on the older gentleman’s foot. Arthur had to hide his chuckle with a cough.

-

Fanny was a good woman. She was educated, quiet, polite. Her family had considerable wealth, her father owned a cotton factory in Higherford. Everything Arthur could ever want from a spouse.

But sometimes.

Sometimes when they sat in her parents’ drawing room while Fanny and mother drank tea and her father told Arthur about their quarterly earnings, sometimes he wished he was on the tram on his way home and the man with the green eyes would look up from his newspaper at him and they would share a smile and maybe a laugh.

Sometimes he even found himself thinking of coming over, sitting next to him, striking up conversation. Maybe he would ask him if he fancied a pint after work, there was a pub he quite liked just a stop before his.

Sometimes he even thought of putting his hand on his thigh, feeling the rough texture of his trousers under his fingertips, the hard muscle beneath.

Fanny’s father wanted him to quit his job after the wedding, come live in Higherford in the family manor, learn the ropes so he could take over the family business.

It would do him good. There would be no more tram rides after he moved to Higherford, no more murderers gifting him body parts. Just him and Fanny and their brand-new life together.

-

Alasdair dropped a report file in front of him. “I have two people who think they saw a man, early twenties, leaving the alley where the guy with a missing finger was found.”

“Are they willing to testify?” he asked, picking up the report.

“No,” Alasdair said and shrugged when Arthur gave him a blank stare. “They’re immigrants, most of them undocumented. They don’t want to get in trouble.”

Arthur dropped the report and rubbed his hands over his face, pressed his fingers into his eyes. Alasdair clapped him on the shoulder sympathetically.

“Have you talked to Fanny yet?”

“I’m going north to visit her over the weekend.”

“Are you going to ask her to postpone the wedding?”

Arthur looked down at the report, tapped his fingers on the desk. “Haven’t decided yet.”

-

Today his fellow commuter had a pencil with him and was jolting down something along the margins of his newspaper, resting the end against his lower lip deep in thought.

The tram passed over a rough patch and the sudden oscillation made him pierce the paper with the sharp tip.

Arthur laughed. The man looked up and smiled at him.

-

“Mr. Kirkland, it is so nice to have you. Tell us, how is London?”

Arthur allowed a servant to take his coat and his hat, forced himself to smile at his future mother-in-law. “Busy,” he said, accepting a seat at the couch in front of the fire beside Fanny. “Foggy.”

“I can imagine,” Mrs. Chapman said, pouring tea into a new cup for him.

“Anything interesting happened at work?” Fanny asked, peering at him over the rim of her cup, brown eyes attentively observing him.

Arthur accepted his cup from her mother and debated himself what would be safe to tell two ladies whose cozy, comfortable lives were vastly different than his gruesome line of work. In the end he just smiled politely, “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Is that so?” Fanny insisted, lowering her cup to its saucer. “Have you caught the Butcher of Ealing yet? We’ve been reading all about it in the papers.”

Arthur scoffed lightly and drank his tea, “He’s not—The papers came up with that ridiculous name, we have no evidence of him being either a butcher or from Ealing.”

“But doesn’t he cut people into pieces?”

“Fanny!” her mother censured her, shaking her head. “Don’t mind her, Mr. Kirkland. Fanny likes to read too many novels, always had a taste for the macabre. I suppose it is one of the reasons she liked you in the first place,” she said, drinking her tea.

Arthur snorted softly, he and Fanny sharing a humorous glance. “I suppose it is, yes,” he agreed easily.

“Do you think you’ll be able to catch the killer before our wedding?” Fanny asked, brown eyes observing him, “Papa is anxious to have you working with him at the factory. He’s getting so fat he can barely fit through the doors.”

“Fanny Alexandra!”

Arthur coughed into his fist to hide his amusement, swallowed it down with tea. “I believe so, Miss Chapman. My partner and I have been arduously working to put this man behind bars so I can start the next chapter of our lives without any loose ends.”

Mrs. Chapman nodded in agreement, shooting her daughter a dirty look before taking her next sip with her pinky finger raised.

Fanny and him shared another humorous glance, her eyes never leaving his.

-

A cold blue heart was delivered to his desk the next Monday with a note made out of newspaper letters that read, Be mine, attached to it.

“It’s odd the number of lunatics that you seem to attract, Kirkland,” Alasdair said as he took the box away with clear disgust.

Arthur couldn’t help but agree.

-

At night his fellow commuter was looking at him when he sat down. No newspaper tonight, no pencil.

They stared at each other for three stops until he got up and Arthur did as well.

He followed him down unfamiliar streets into a residential area. The man walked slowly, glancing over his shoulder from time to time to check if Arthur was still following. And he was. His heart beating wildly in his chest, his hands clammy with sweat inside his gloves.

The man took a turn and stopped in front of an alleyway, looking over his shoulder one last time, his green eyes dotted with gold and brown watching as Arthur approached, lips parted and cheeks flushed from the cold.

There were no words spoken. Once he stepped into the darkness, Arthur followed.

-

“Someone’s chipper today,” Alasdair chuckled when he walked into the precinct and Arthur rolled his eyes at him, hanging his coat by the door of their cramped little office. “Did Fanny send you a dirty letter?” he laughed and Arthur pushed him away with a groan.

He did pull his collar up though, not wanting any prying eyes on his bruised neck.

“They found the heartless body, by the way, matches the rest of them, older male, mid-50s, overweight. Dumped in another immigrant neighborhood.”

“Let me guess, no one willing to testify for this one either?” Arthur sighed, combing his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t see how we can get this guy.”

Alasdair’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, “Are you giving up?”

He tapped his fingers over his desk, glanced at the paperwork on his desk. “Maybe. The wedding is next month. I promised Fanny I would quit after that.”

“Why?”

Arthur squinted up at him. “Because. Her father wants me to take over the family business, I already told you that.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to. You could stay if you wanted. From what you tell me, I’m sure Fanny would like London just fine. Margaret does.”

He stared at him in disbelief. “That’s not—” Arthur growled in frustration with himself, looked down at the paperwork and began to work. “You wouldn’t get it.”

-

The tram was quiet and mostly empty at night. His fellow commuter was looking amusedly at him, the older man beside him sitting too close for comfort, taking every turn as an opportunity to accidently fall over him and touch his arms. Arthur thought of intervening, but he seemed able to defend himself.

After the woman beside him vacated her seat his fellow commuter excused himself from the older man’s side and came to sit with him, folded newspaper in his hands and a small smile on his lips.

“You’re popular,” Arthur said, trying not to smile, and the man chuckled.

“Yes, it seems older British gentlemen certainly have a type.”

Arthur shook his head amusedly, looking at the sleepy faces around them and lowering his volume. “They sure seem to like them pretty.”

A thigh aligned with his own, pressing against him on the bench. “You think I’m pretty?” his fellow commuter whispered and Arthur bumped his shoulder with his own, looked down to hide his smile and his blushing cheeks.

He nodded to the newspaper on his lap. “Do you work in finance?”

“Oh, no,” he scoffed softly, turning the folded paper in his hands and Arthur noticed a couple of letters and announcements had been cut out. “Not anymore at least. I’m between jobs at the moment. Not everyone wants to hire an immigrant in this economy.”

“Maybe one of your admirers can bank you.”

That earned him a full belly laugh that startled the old woman in the front row. Arthur elbowed him in the ribs to make him stop, but he was smiling as well, feeling giddy like a teenager. “Shush you, everyone’s looking.”

“Let them look,” he whispered defiantly, green eyes staring intensely at him. “My name’s Gabriel, by the way. Gabriel da Costa.”

Arthur caught himself staring too long and nodded stiltedly, reaching out a hand to shake his. “Arthur Kirkland, police detective.”

Gabriel grinned as he took his hand, sharp teeth glinting in the light. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, detective.”

He rolled his eyes at him and Gabriel chuckled, his hand still holding his longer than necessary.

“Are you always this… friendly with your commuters?” Arthur asked, unable to look away from his eyes, feeling Gabriel’s thumb caressing his hand.

“Only the pretty ones,” he whispered. “Is the lady in the front row still staring at us?”

Arthur surreptitiously glanced forward and nodded once. Gabriel reluctantly let go of his hand, but his eyes had yet to look away.

“I have tea in my place, if you like that sort of thing.”

He rolled his eyes at him again, bumped his shoulder again. Gabriel chuckled quietly, shifting in his seat to sit even closer to him.

-

“Your partner is not wrong, you know,” Gabriel whispered, kissing his naked back, his hands gliding down his sweaty skin.

“I know,” he mumbled into the pillow, muffling a groan when Gabriel grazed his teeth on the nape of his neck. “It's just—” he started and Gabriel hummed in question, his pelvis pressed against his bottom, bodies relaxed and spent. “It’s too late. I made a commitment.”

“You’re not married yet,” Gabriel reminded him, whispering low in his ear, kissing his hairline. “You could break off the engagement,” he said, biting gently on his ear. “Stay here with me.”

Arthur rose to his elbows and looked back at him, green eyes staring back as Gabriel kissed his shoulder. “Here on this bed?”

Gabriel grinned into his skin, sharp teeth biting him gently, “I could drag you to an alley if you want. Rip your heart out.”

He frowned, but snorted. Doing a double take at the man behind him. “How do you know about that?”

But Gabriel was taking his kisses elsewhere, mapping his back with lips and tongue and teeth. “Know about what, detective Kirkland?” he asked, perfectly innocent.

Arthur looked at the wall behind Gabriel’s narrow bed, at the old wallpaper stained with unidentifiable brown spots, at their coats hanging by the door.

Fear suddenly gripped his stomach and he pushed Gabriel away.

“I have to— I forgot something at work,” he lied, pulling his clothes back on in a haste, eyes spotting things he had missed when he first came into the small living space. The stained cabinets, a kitchen knife, muddied shoes. Gabriel was frowning at him from the bed, naked and disheveled from earlier, his hair loose over his strong shoulders, green eyes following him as he took his coat off the rack.

“Arthur…”

But Arthur was shaking his head, “This was a mistake.”

“Arthur.”

He slammed the door on his way out and bumped into a young man in the corridor, mumbling apologies as he straightened his gloves.

“Apology accepted,” the young man said. His voice sounded somehow familiar, but Arthur didn’t stay long enough to find out who it was, heart beating fast in his chest as he took to the streets, away from the cluttered houses filled with nosey Portuguese immigrants.

-

“His name is Gabriel da Costa. Mid-twenties, Portuguese. Unemployed.”

Alasdair was squinting at him so hard he could barely see his eyes. “And how did this bloke come up again?”

Arthur ran a frustrated hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at his partner. “Anonymous tip.”

“Right,” Alasdair drawled. “I’ll have the guys look into it. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine,” Arthur hurried to say, “I’m fine. I just want to catch this guy and be over with this case.”

“Because you can’t wait to get married.”

“Exactly,” he mumbled, looking down at the ring finger on his left hand. “Exactly.”

-

Their searches came back with nothing. No one had seen Gabriel the day after Arthur had been with him. He must have realized Arthur knew about him and ran away.

There were no more strange murders and body parts on his desk either. Which somehow only made him feel worse.

He quit the force after his and Fanny’s wedding. More than a little happy to never set foot on his and Alasdair’s little cramped office ever again, taking with him only the guilt of not realizing Gabriel was the killer sooner.

All those nights riding the same tram together. He should have noticed the signs. How many lives could he have saved if he had.

His father-in-law greeted him warmly into their family. He was getting too old to run the factory, he confided, couldn’t keep track of things like he used to. Fanny helped how she could of course, going to London whenever necessary, but he was glad to hand that responsibility over to him now. He never liked the idea of his daughter in such a dangerous city.

Arthur only smiled politely.

A life of monotonous work was more than he deserved. He had a beautiful, pleasant wife and a home to go to after work. No more tram rides, no more strangers in dark alleys.

And if he sometimes thought of Gabriel’s hands on his skin, of Gabriel’s lips on his, no one needed to know.

-

“Don’t be mad,” Fanny said with a smile, putting a small box in front of him on the breakfast table. “But I got you a little something for your birthday.”

Arthur snorted softly, dabbed his lips with the napkin. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I know,” she said, observing him. “It’s just a little token of my appreciation. I want us to be forever happy, you and I.”

He forced a smile and pulled the ribbon from the box, the smell of formaldehyde hitting him as soon as he opened it.

“Fanny, what—”

Inside the box a single green eye dotted with gold and brown stared back at him, accompanied by a note made out of cutout newspaper letters.

Watching over you.

.

.

[fanficshiddles]

Obsession, Chapter 1

Summary: Robyn is a journalist who starts covering a serial killer in the city, Tom. He takes an interest in the pretty journalist and starts paying attention to her. But she quickly learns it’s not a good thing to have a serial killer become obsessed with you…

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: RAPE/NON-CON, STALKING, HARASSMENT, MURDER, BODY MODIFCATION, DRUGGING, KIDNAPPING, VIOLENCE, OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOUR, MANIPULATION.

-

Robyn sat at the bar with a few of her girlfriends in the club, drink in hand while she swayed back and fore to the music. It felt so good to be out.

A tall shadowy figure stood in the corner of the club, watching her every move. Watching the way her hips swayed whenever she went to the dancefloor to let loose, the pretty blue dress she wore hugging her figure beautifully.

When Robyn ordered another drink, she foolishly left it at the bar when one of her friends dragged her, yet again, to the dancefloor.

The figure made his move. He swiftly crossed the club and as he passed the bar, he stuck his hand out and dropped a small pill into her drink. No one noticed as it quickly dissolved, everyone was too busy wrapped up within themselves and others, lost to alcohol and music in a sea of sweaty bodies.

He headed out into the crisp night and made up camp just along from the entrance. Biding his time.

-

Robyn felt funny. The drink suddenly hitting her, even though she could’ve sworn she hadn’t had many. But she definitely didn’t feel right and she knew something was wrong.

She headed to the cloakroom to get her jacket, well, stumbled there was more apt. Her vision was starting to get fuzzy and her limbs felt heavy. Just managing to hand over her ticket in return for her jacket, the woman watching the cloakroom sneered at her. ‘Ridiculous how drunk people get.’

Robyn barely registered what she said as she started to make her way outside. But as soon as she hit that fresh air, she thought she was a goner.

She stumbled to the side, but strong hands captured her just before she fell into the wall.

‘Woah, easy there, darling.’ A smooth voice reached her ears. One she was sure she had heard before… But she was struggling to focus, trying to remember where she knew that voice from.

The world was spinning, all she knew and could feel was being held against someone. Alarm bells were ringing within her at that voice, she knew she had to fear this man. But she couldn’t place why.

‘Come on, let’s get you home.’ He said softly, his large hands holding her and guiding her down the street.

‘No!’ She garbled out as she tried to push away from him. But she was far too weak, her bones felt like jelly. And even if she hadn’t been drugged, she wouldn’t have stood a chance against him anyway.

‘Shhh, shhh. Come now, kitten. Don’t want to make a scene now, do we?’ He said firmly.

It suddenly hit her. She knew who it was. It was the same man that had been toying with her for the past seven months. The same man who had, up until now, kept his distance from her. Or so she’d thought, anyway.

It was Tom.

That voice was the same voice that called her every single damn night for the past month. Saying barley anything else but utter filth to her with that sinful voice that she so wished wasn’t so captivating.

But what terrified her the most. Was the fact that the very hands holding onto her so strongly, were the same hands that had committed such evil, despicable crimes that made her skin crawl merely thinking about.

What he was capable of…

She did not want to make him angry, in fear of becoming another statistic on the news.

When she started to comply, not trying to get away from him, he hummed in approval. ‘Good girl, that’s better.’ He purred, leading her away.

But not far down the road, her legs gave way as she lost consciousness. So she was scooped up into his arms and carried home. Her purse was raided for the key as he let himself into her home and carried her straight through to her bedroom.

Robyn was still out cold when she was laid down on her bed and her clothes were carefully removed.

Tom breathed in sharply as he took in every inch of her, his heart hammered in his chest at finally having her like this. Stripped naked and so vulnerable to him.

Slowly stroking up her inner leg, he marvelled at how soft her skin was. Unable to resist, he lifted her foot and kissed her inner ankle. Then he started working his way up her body, kissing and licking as he went, until he came to the main prize.

Breathing over her softly, he pressed soft kisses to either side of her cunt. Then slowly started to lick her, delving between her folds and up over her clit. He draped her legs over his shoulders and continued eating her out like a man possessed.

Robyn’s body was reacting well to the assault, he could feel and taste her getting wetter. But she started to come round briefly, though she still felt like her body was so heavy and as if her mind didn’t belong to her anymore. She managed to glance down, her stomach churning when she saw a strange man with a head full of curls down between her thighs. A beard scratching against her sensitive skin while his tongue focused on her clit, forcing her to cum even though she didn’t want to.

She tried to reach down to push him away, but she just couldn’t. She passed out again, her mind going blank.

When she came to a little while later, it was to the sight of the man above her. In any other circumstances, she would’ve said a very attractive looking man. One she was sure she recognised somehow... He was smiling sweetly down at her as she tried to scream, because she felt a very large presence pushing into her, forcing her body to accommodate him, whether she wanted to or not.

‘N… no…. p…’

‘Shhh, hush now.’ He whispered, leaning down flush against her he stroked her hair and kissed the side of her lips. ‘Relax, kitten. It’s about time I took what’s mine.’ Was the last she heard before passing out once again as he thrust deliberately into her.

-

When Robyn woke in the morning she felt so groggy, like she had the hangover from hell. She could barely remember what happened last night as she sat up, her whole body felt achey and like she had been hit by a bus.

She didn’t remember drinking that much. In-fact, she couldn’t remember anything from last night after dancing with her friends to her favourite song, it was all blank…

But when she got out of bed and stood up, she paused as her blood ran cold.

Parting her legs, she reached down between her thighs and whimpered as she felt a very sticky mess there… Slowly dribbling out of her and down her inner thighs.

‘Oh no.’ She cried, panic hitting her.

She was naked, which wasn’t exactly unusual because sometimes she did sleep naked. But having a man’s cum inside of her was NOT usual since losing her boyfriend.

Running into the bathroom, she jumped straight into the shower and did her best to get as much of it out as possible. Then she just sat there in the shower, in tears. Shaking. Not knowing what to do, or even who did it.

But then she realised… what if he was still here?

Shaking with fear, she turned the shower off and grabbed a towel. Wrapping it tightly around herself, she slowly made her way out of the bathroom and inched her way through her house. Checking in each room carefully, then she darted for the door and made sure the chain was on.

Only then did she relax a little.

Though not for long. A few hours later, after much contemplating of what to do, her phone rang.

She glanced at the number. She knew exactly who it was. In a weird hope of desperation for someone familiar, no matter who they were, she answered it quickly.

‘I think that’s the first time you’ve answered me so quickly, kitten.’ The voice on the other end of the phone purred.

Then it suddenly dawned on her. The voice, it was so familiar… She couldn’t place him last night, why he had been there… But she had heard that same voice last night, and now she knew why it sounded SO familiar.

‘You… You were there last night.’ She stammered.

A low chuckle reached her ear. ‘I was indeed. I must say, it was nice to finally lay claim to what belongs to me. Even if you were unresponsive… This time. Do you know how becoming you look when you cum?’ He growled.

Robyn let out a sob, it had been him. He had been inside her home… Inside her. Before hearing anything else, she hung up on him and turned her phone off.

She slid down the wall and started crying.

Not only was he a serial killer. And a stalker. He was a rapist too.

And she knew that she was not just his victim. No. She was his toy. One that he was having fun playing with.

She screamed, not just in fear or pain, but in anger.

Now she knew that his threats weren’t just threats. They were promises.

- - -

Seven Months Earlier

Tom was sitting at his desk in his office, doing some work to keep his company running smoothly as always.

His secretary knocked on the door and popped her head in. ‘I’ve got your morning newspaper, Sir.’

‘Thank you, Chloe.’ Tom smiled and motioned her in.

She rushed over and handed him the paper, then she picked up his empty coffee cup and headed out to make him another one. Knowing how he always liked to have coffee on hand in the morning.

Tom sat back in his chair and looked at the newspaper. He frowned when he saw the headline.

The Choker Strikes Again!

‘The Choker?’ Tom scoffed as he narrowed his eyes at the paper. ‘Who is responsible for this?’ He quickly flicked to page eight, where there was more on the story.

He scanned through it until his eyes landed on the journalist who’d written the story.

‘Robyn Green.’ He hummed, stroking his beard. ‘Well, Robyn. It seems I shall have to pay you a visit.’ He growled low.

[five-miles-over]

Misery Loves Company (Clay Bidwell x Reader)

Summary: After leaving his hometown and all of its chaos, Clay Bidwell meets the reader at a strange bar and the two of them have a much-needed break from their troubles.

Word Count: 2,262

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death (allusions to suicide), and some references to the film Clay Pigeons

If there was one thing that Clay Bidwell could change, it would be his decision to trust Lester Long. I mean, what the hell was he thinking, trusting some new guy in town with a big old grin to keep him safe. That guy's self-appointed nickname said it all: Lester the Molester. What a son of a bitch. What a smiling, cheery, fucking son of a bitch.

He should've seen something wrong when Lester opened his mouth and laughed like a goddamn coyote. He should've seen something wrong when Lester kept a cheery spirit around a corpse floating around in a river. Who in their right mind wouldn't be freaked out by something so creepy? Clay himself vomited at the sight, way before he could even catch any of the stench from the rotting body.

Until his best friend Earl shot himself in front of Clay, he'd never even seen a dead person before. Even though he was from a town so small that everyone knew everyone else and their business, death was always something so…covert. It was a covered-up thing, something private. The family would have their little funeral, and next week the obituary would show up in the newspapers. No one ever really kept the casket open, and it was just assumed that the deceased were off to a better place.

It turned out Earl was just the first one in a morbid domino effect. Next, Clay's ex-girlfriend was shot dead…while she was fooling around with Clay. Finally, Earl's widow, who was fooling around with Clay before Earl died, was found dead in her own home.

And of course, Clay was found to be the common thread linking all of those murders. The cops tried to string together a bunch of bullshit and frame him - Clay fucking Bidwell - as some serial killer with women issues or something like that. He could still hear Agent Shelby interrogating him. "You're dating one victim, you're having an affair with another, and you find the body of the third. Kind of a coincidence, wouldn't you say?" The agents even came into his house one night and conducted some stupid raid for no reason. Right, they thought he had weapons. But hunting was a tradition in his hometown; almost every guy his age had at least one shot gun in their house, even if it was their dad's or uncle's.

So much for having faith in law enforcement to punish the guilty.

Thank goodness they finally came to their senses and went after Lester Long instead. Clay didn't remember much after watching the police cars chase after Lester. All he wanted to do at that time was leave. Leave this small town, and never look back.

So he did just that. As soon as the sirens began to quiet down, Clay jumped into his creaky pick-up truck, stepped on the gas and drove as far from town as possible. He didn't know where he was going, what direction, what road, or any of that shit. All he knew was that he was leaving the town that had nothing left for him anymore. He drove and drove for hours until the sun went down.

It was a long journey, and Clay found himself thanking his past self for leaving a few beers in the passenger seat. They were all empty by the time that twilight turned into night. Though, if Clay was being honest to himself, it probably wouldn't be enough alcohol for him to forget about spending a night in jail on false accusation, or erase all the death he'd seen.

With some of the money left in his glovebox, he pulled over at some gas station and filled up the tank. According to a sign on the road, he was about fifty miles from some city called Great Falls. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea, Clay thought to himself as he held the diesel nozzle, to try his luck in a big city. He heard stories about people having their own rags-to-riches story by leaving their small hometowns behind for busier places. And if nothing else, it'd be great to try and drive around the state just for the hell of it.

With a sigh, Clay watched as the meter reached its limit and the gasoline stopped flowing through the nozzle. The price wasn't all that bad for its mediocre quality, though it probably meant that Clay would have to sleep in his car tonight. It was hard to gauge the quality of the motels around this unfamiliar place, but he was sure that it would cost a lot more than whatever spare change Clay had left. Better to buy a drink, and get some sleep in the backseat, than to risk sleeping at some flea-infested room and wake up to a missing truck.

He parked the truck close to a neon sign - probably some saloon founded by a jaded business fellow - and walked inside. The place wasn't too crowded, with a few heads turning as soon as Clay walked in. Some of the guys were sitting around a table playing cards, and a lot of the customers seemed like they were regular patrons. Were they outlaws? Probably not. Based on the kinds of guys Clay saw in the saloon he used to go to, those guys drinking were probably just looking for an escape from their deadbeat jobs.

He almost smiled a little when he saw a pool table in the center, though it was strange to him that there was no one playing at the moment. Nevertheless, it reminded him of the good days when Earl and him would perfect their skills. By the time Clay turned nineteen, he was one of the best players in town. If he wasn't so blue right now, he'd be willing to show this new place a trick or two.

Clay looked out the window for a moment as he lit a cigarette. No cops in sight tonight? Good.

Taking a seat at the bar, he continued to people-watch until the bartender came up to him and asked for his order. Just as Clay told the bartender the kind of beer he wanted, you walked right inside and sat next to him.

While the bartender went behind to get the cold bottle, Clay looked you up and down, his lip curling upwards into a tiny boyish smirk. Maybe it was the after-effect of the alcohol from this afternoon, but you looked gorgeous to him…and almost a little mysterious, but also approachable. And you definitely looked nothing like the other customers in the saloon. Maybe you didn't come here often, or you were from another town, just like him.

"Hi."

"Oh…um, hi," Clay stammered, realizing you'd caught him staring. "Um…"

Taking control of the conversation, you introduced yourself to him and reached out to shake his hand. "How do you do?"

"I'm fine. You come here often?"

"Not like this." You shook your head and chuckled to yourself before ordering a drink for yourself. Clay sipped from his beer, listening to you tell him that you used to come here with a partner, on a Friday night after the two of you were done with work. "We had a lot of fun," you told him. "But things eventually just went south, we started fighting, and…I found them in bed with someone they'd been seeing on the side. So I packed my things and left…straight here. My stuff is literally sitting in my car right now."

"I'm sorry," you apologized casually, taking your drink. "I just met you. I don't even know your name and I'm already telling you about my break-up."

"It's fine," he replied with a crooked smile. "I'm Clay, by the way."

"So what brings you here, Clay?"

"Um…just, rough times. Needed to leave." He lied, not wanting to talk much about the things that really forced him here. "Sorry about your break-up. I know what it's like. It really sucks."

"To sucky lives and leaving shitty things behind." You toasted in a mock-celebratory tone, raising your drink and clinking it against his bottle. Clay's smile grew just a bit wider, and he even laughed a little.

The next hour felt like it passed by in the blink of an eye. Over the course of two beers (and who knows how many songs on the jukebox), Clay felt like he'd known you for years. Just by the way you talked about how you were almost done with school, and how much you hated your own little town just like he hated his…it was refreshing, to say the least. You seemed earnest, decent, and probably not tangled up in some kind of crime.

"Do you, by any chance, play?" He asked you after a bit of silence.

"Play what?"

"Um, pool." Clay pointed to the table at the center.

"No, never tried it before."

"I could…I could teach you if you like," he suggested. Now the beer was really taking his toll, making him want to show off a little for you.

"I'd love to learn."

You let him lead you towards the table, where the balls were already arranged for a new game. Clay was really friendly in teaching you the basics, on how to hold the pool stick (which was called a cue). He came up behind you, carefully guiding your hand to the right place on the stick and telling you to keep a good grip. Placing a hand over yours, Clay told you that a good shot involved getting the right angle. With another hand on your waist, he shifted you around nonchalantly so that you faced the right pockets of the table.

The alcohol was quite present in his breath while he spoke, but his voice…damn, you could listen to him talk all night. It was nice that you could get him out of his shell by agreeing to learn. And the way his hands felt on you was pretty nice. Eventually, you were able to make a few combination shots, and Clay was pleased.

"Damn, you're a fast learner."

"Thanks. You're a good teacher."

"Put enough quarters on a table like this one, I sure as hell have to be a pro." Clay bragged a little before the two of you laughed.

Suddenly, you put the stick down and walked closer to him with a smirk, not sure about what had gotten into you. "I…uh, I like the way you put your hands on me," you confessed in a whisper.

Catching your tone, he leaned against the table with a raised eyebrow "You did?"

You gave him a nod and mimicked his posture, leaning against the table as well. "I kinda like you, Clay."

"Yeah…I like you too." He goofily admitted, saying your name like it was something absolutely precious.

Making the first move, you gently pecked him on the cheek and ran your fingers through his messy, dark brown hair. A naughty glint in his green eyes, he took your gesture as encouragement…for something he'd shamelessly thought about since he led you over to the pool table. Boldly wrapping his arms around you, he crashed his lips into yours.

You moaned a little, surprised by how dizzying his kiss felt. "Take this…somewhere else?"

"Fuck, yeah."

The two of you made your way over to a slightly more private booth in the saloon, not wasting any time and continuing your make-out session. Clay didn't hesitate to pin you against the wall, bringing your leg up to get closer to you. Soon, his kisses grew sloppier and hungrier, covering your jawline and your neck. Right now, everything else seemed pretty much like a blur to him.

Kissing him back and lightly tugging at his hair, you painfully gasped his name the moment he got a bit too carried away and sucked at your collarbone. That was definitely going to leave a mark for the next morning…but it was totally worth it.

"Stop," you panted, breaking your lips away from his when you both needed air. "That was…that was...wow."

"Yeah, it really was." Clay agreed, his fingers still brushing your thigh. "You're really pretty. Like movie pretty."

"Maybe you're pretty drunk," you retorted. "A cute, pretty drunk who happens to be great at teaching pool."

"Maybe I'm drunk on you."

"What a line." Giggling, you smoothed your hair before going back to the bar, placing some change for the drink you had.

"You leaving already?" Clay followed you with a surprised and crestfallen expression.

You told him it was almost closing time, pointing out how empty the saloon had gotten since you arrived. "I'll tell you what, Clay." Taking a a pen lying around, you wrote your phone number on a napkin and handed it to him. "It's actually my friend's number, but they'll take a message. Besides, that's where I'm heading to stay until I can find my own place."

"That sounds great. I'll, uh, see you around."

"See you around. Thanks for a great night, Clay." You smiled, leaving him with one last kiss before walking out.

Clay took a long look at the napkin before folding it up and keeping it in his jeans pocket. Throwing some of his change on the bar, he left the bar and sat down in his truck. Closing his eyes, he rested his head on the wheel and hoped he'd be sober enough to drive again tomorrow.

[simp-for-spencer-reid]

Flavor shot: Holiday Blend-part 2

Series Masterlist

Light peeked through the curtains of the guest room. Cate turned over, burying her face in Spencer’s chest. He was also beginning to wake up, and tightened his arm that was wrapped around her. Cate felt at peace; the only sound was some Christmas music coming from downstairs. Cate could tell the music was coming from her mother in the kitchen. The smell of muffins wafted in from the open door. 

The open door. 

The door that Cate had shut last night. 

Cate’s eyes shot open. She could now hear soft footsteps from within the room. Turning back over, she came face to face with a giggling Stella and Finn. 

“Auntie Cate, are you in here because you had a nightmare?” Stella asked innocently. 

“Um.. no.” Cate pulled the blanket up to her chin. Before Finn could speak Cate whispered, “Spencer did.” Cate scrunched her nose with a smile. She could feel Spencer slide a hand up the back of Cate’s shirt. Brushing against her side, Cate stifled a laugh.

“It was horrible. Auntie Cate turned me into a frog!” Spencer croaked in his morning voice. Stella and Finn both gasped and laughed as they ran out of the guestroom. With Cate’s niece and nephew out of the room, Spencer smirked with an idea. Cate’s only warning was a devilish flash in his eyes before he ran his hands down her sides again, lightly pinching a squirming Cate as she shrieked and giggled.

“Stop!” Cate said breathlessly, trying to move away from his hands. “Truce! Truce!” Spencer halted his movements, but kept his hands on Cate’s waist. She was panting, while looking him in the eyes. Her smile faded. Her eyes flickered to his lips. 

He gently tugged her towards him and leaned in for a kiss. 

A knock on the door interrupted the two and they pulled away from each other like two positive sides of a magnet. Cate’s face began turning a tomato red while Spencer’s blush was creeping to the tips of his ears. Cate’s brother Robby was leaning against the door frame. 

“Mom told me to tell you that breakfast was ready.” Robby’s voice was tantalizing. He looked at his nails. “But I think I’ll just tell her how I found you in bed with Spencer.” Robby bolted back to where he came because Cate flung herself out of bed, running after him. 

“Don’t you dare!” Her feet were like lightning down the stairs and she was hot on Robby’s tail when he stepped foot into the dining room where everyone was already sitting at the table. 

“What doesn’t Robby dare?” Cate’s dad looked up from the local newspaper. 

“Doesn’t dare.. Take the last of the banana chocolate chip muffins!” Cate plastered a smile on her face, wrapping an unfriendly arm around her younger brother. “He knows they’re my favorite!” Cate hissed through her teeth, punching Robby in the arm. Robby dropped into a chair next to Beth. Spencer walked into the dining room a bit on edge as Cate took one of the last two empty seats. Spencer greeted Jackie first.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Bennett.” Cate was still glaring at Robby from across the table. 

“Spencer, please! Call me Jackie.” she passed him the coffee pot. “Merry Christmas.” She replied back. “I’m so glad you were able to join us.” Jackie fondly placed a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. 

“Catie, dear, after we open presents, would you want to show Spencer the stable? He came in so late he didn’t get a chance to see it.” Jackie offered. 

Opening presents around the tree went by fast. Stella and Finn tore into theirs like wild animals. Cate had last minute written Spencer’s name on the tags of the presents she bought them. He gently squeezed her arm as a thanks when Stella and Finn read the tags out loud. Cate’s mother had profusely apologized for not having anything for Spencer, but he assured her that her baking and welcoming him into her home last minute was enough. He also returned the apology for not having anything to exchange, but Bill had cut in saying it was enough for Spencer to be brave enough to date Cate.

Cate’s father and her brother were helping pick up the trash from the living room after the kids had opened their presents. Spencer and Cate were washing dishes in the kitchen: Spencer was washing and Cate was drying so she could put them away.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you’d grown up so rural,” Spencer stated, passing Cate a large serving plate that once held muffins, “You fit into the city scene so well.” 

“You haven’t even seen the best part of my childhood,” Cate smiled, avoiding the question, “I’ll show you later.” 

After the dishes were done and the table was cleared from breakfast, Cate led Spencer out into her backyard with linked fingers. There was a lot of fencing and different large squares of land fenced off. A big distressed wooden barn sat behind Cate’s house. Spencer must’ve missed it in the dark when he arrived. Cate pushed open the large sliding barn door- only sliding a little on the icy packed snow. 

Spencer would admit, the smell was definitely something he wouldn’t miss in the city. Heavy breaths were coming from inside the barn, but it wasn’t from neither him nor Cate. Inside the barn were two large stalls that held two horses. A large palomino with a white face stood in one, while a dark brown one was in the other. They seemed antsy in the way they shifted their weights.

Spencer had seen a lot of things in his job and there were a lot of things that didn’t intimidate him. Horses, however, seemed a bit scarier than most serial killers. 

Cate walked up to the dark brown horse, stroking his large face.

“This is Flash,” Cate looked back over her shoulder at Spencer- who was frozen on the pavement floor of the barn. Cate laughed a little. “And that’s Dancer. These are technically my parents’ horses, but I rode them a bit growing up.” For once in his life, Spencer was speechless. Cate stepped back toward him. “Have you ever rode a horse before?” Spencer gulped.

“I have not,” he took a step forward, “funnily enough, if I wasn’t in the FBI, my back up plan was to be a cowboy.” he blinked, stepping again closer to the large animals.

“Well, Flash here is a good riding buddy. Wanna try it, cowboy?” Cate teased him a bit. Spencer sized up Flash, who was larger than Dancer and had a name that made him think he got it for a reason. 

“I, uh, think that maybe Flash might be too… advanced?”

“Are you scared, doctor?” Cate went back to petting Flash.

“I’m thinking maybe Dancer might be a more adequate partner.” With a newfound sense of bravery, he stepped up to the light horse, reaching up to place a hand on her face. As fast as Spencer had mustered the courage, it had disappeared just as fast. Dancer had pulled her head away from him, whinnying and exhaling at him. Spencer let a small yelp out, stepping back, using one hand to brush his hair from his face and the other was shoved in his pocket, trying to remain cool. Cate tried to hide her laugh by pursing her lips.

With a lot of convincing, Spencer sat atop Flash, who was slowly walking in a circle in a small fenced area. Cate stood in the middle of the circle, holding a tether that connected to Flash’s bridle. Spencer was stiffly sitting in the saddle. His fingers were white from gripping the reigns with such pressure. Cate was pretty sure she saw Flash roll his eyes at the slow pace. 

“So… you never really told me how you ended up in Quantico.” Spencer wanted to distract himself from the fact that he was actually sitting in the saddle of a real-life moving horse. But if he was being honest, he felt better the more he went in circles. Like some sort of exposure therapy.

“I was going to college in Virginia. I wanted a change of pace. I met Marta while I was dorming. I dropped out, though.” Cate wasn’t fond of this story of hers. She felt ashamed she never finished college.

“Why did you drop out?” Spencer turned to look at Cate, instead of at the back of Flash’s neck. 

“Beth got pregnant and I came back to help out. I moved back to Quantico with Marta, but I couldn’t afford my schooling so I found my own place and Marta’s parents were nice enough to hire me and I’ve been working for them ever since.”

“What were you going to school for?” Flash had now stopped walking, but Cate and Spencer didn’t really notice. 

“Early Education. I had every intention of registering again, but I never did.” Cate sighed, thinking back to the life path she had planned for herself. “I had one semester left.” Cate gave a half hearted smile and Spencer didn’t want to pry anymore. Cate clicked her tongue and Flash began to walk towards her. 

Cate helped Spencer off Flash and the two walked back into the barn to let Flash back into his stall. 

“It’s not too late to go back if you wanted to finish your degree.” Spencer offered. 

“Easy for you to say, Mr. three PhDs.” Cate bumped into his side to show she was joking. Spencer could tell it was a bit of a sore spot, and noted to not bring it up again. 

Noon was approaching fast, and after spending some time with her family and relishing in her homelife that she missed when she was back in Virginia. Spencer played a game of chess with Cate’s dad, going a bit easy on him to make a good impression. It seemed too soon that Cate and Spencer were packing up her little gold junker car. 

Instead of flying back to the city, Cate had planned on road-tripping back to the city in her care so she could have it for her own transportation. The trip was only about ten hours, which meant if Cate and Spencer didn’t stop, they could be back in Quantico by one am. 

Goodbyes with Cate’s family never got easier. Jackie, of course, was teary eyed like everytime. Bill was giving Spencer the typical slightly misogynistic speech about behaving himself with his daughter. Robby naturally teased Cate about seeing her next Christmas. Beth and Cate hugged and Cate promised to call more often. Stella and Finn gave Cate and Spencer hugs goodbye and Spencer gave them one last magic trick before they had to leave.

“Has your car always been this… questionable?” Spencer asked from the passenger seat, craning his neck to look at the dashboard lights that were on. 

“Candace is as trustworthy as anything!” Cate defended her little gold sedan. It had only been about an hour since they’d been on the road. They hadn’t even made it out of New Hampshire yet.

“Is it a bad time to say that I’ve got to… go?” Spencer asked, tinging a bit red. Cate laughed at his attempt to be polite. 

“Not at all! We can stop at the next gas station.” Cate informed him, briefly taking her eyes off the road to smile at him. 

She pulled off onto the next exit and found a gas station that happened to be open on the holiday. Spencer got out of the car and rushed into the store to use the restroom. Cate made her ways through the aisle, grabbing some snacks and some waters for the both of them. Spencer had found Cate when he was done.

“What is that?” he pointed with a smile to a bright yellow mug that had a moose crossing road sign on it and the town name and New Hampshire on the other side.

“It’s for you! To commemorate our first road trip and your first trip to my hometown!” Cate smiled excitedly. After checking out, they made their way to the car.

“Do you mind if I drive for a bit? I’m just getting a bit carsick on the passenger side.” Spencer didn’t want to admit that Cate’s driving scared him a bit.

“Sure thing.” Cate obliged and got settled into the passenger side. Spencer adjusted the driver’s seat almost all the way back and fixed every mirror so he could properly see out of each of them. Lastly, he turned the radio knob to a classical station.

As they pulled out of the gas station lot, Cate pulled open a bag of candy. She bobbed her head to the instrumental music, trying very hard to enjoy it. 

“Do you know that’s in those?” Spencer took the bag out of Cate’s hands.

“No and I don’t care!” Cate whined jokingly, reaching for the bag of sugar.

“For starters, there’s high fructose corn syrup, which has been shown to drive inflammation, which is associated with an increased risk of obesity, diabetes, heart disease, and cancer!” Spencer riddled off. Cate rolled her eyes, stuffing the bag of candy in the passenger door pocket. 

To pass more time on the ride, Cate and Spencer played a game. They had to each find a license plate on the road with each letter of the alphabet in order. After that, they had sung along horridly to some “Classics” as Cate so dubbed them. A riveting game of I-Spy was next, but ended when Cate told Spencer he couldn’t ‘spy time and call it invisible’. 

There was a lull in the energy within the car and Spencer had glanced over when he noticed Cate was being too quiet. She had her hands folded over her chest for warmth, and slid down a bit in her seat, her head resting on her shoulder. He rested a hand on her thigh for a bit, even though he preferred to keep both hands on the wheel. 

After driving for a while longer, Spencer saw that it was nearing dinnertime, so he pulled off on an exit that held some restaurants. The change in speed woke Cate up, who yawned and stretched- quite adorably in Spencer’s opinion. 

“Hungry?” he asked Cate, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze. Cate hummed a yes and glanced around.

“Burger Best?” Cate offered. Spencer drove her car toward the fast food joint. In the drive thru, Cate ordered a simple burger with a large fry and a chocolate shake. Spencer got water and a salad, with some apple slices that usually came in the kids meals. They sat in the parking lot to eat their food. Cate was unwrapping her burger and ready to stuff her face with the junk food.

“Did you know that in the eighties-” he started.

“Spence, please don’t tell me something gross when I am about to enjoy this juicy delicious, probably fake meat burger.” Cate was mid bite, pleading to Spencer with her eyes. Spencer shut his mouth and began to open his salad container.

“Should we try and finish the rest of the drive to Quantico tonight?” Spencer asked, but he was getting tired and knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep when he wanted to monitor Cate’s driving. 

“How far out are we?” Cate asked through a mouthful of food.

“Still six hours about.” Spencer popped an apple slice in his mouth. 

“I’m pretty tuckered out, honestly.” Cate admitted, despite sleeping for a portion of the drive.

“I saw a cheap hotel down the road back towards the highway?” Spencer offered.

“Sounds like heaven to me.” Cate said, thinking of a bed to sleep in instead of the car seat. 

The pair checked in, and brought their bags into the hotel room. They had booked a room with a queen bed. Spencer gave Cate the first shower so he could check under all the covers and sheets for any bugs or nastiness. He checked in every drawer for anything suspicious and behind every curtain just in case. He finally settled in a chair at a desk that was provided. He thought to maybe call to check in on the team, but read the book he brought instead. 

He heard the water turn off in the back of his mind, he was delved into the story he had read a million times before. Cate meekly opened the bathroom door, coming out in nothing but a short towel from the hotel. He glanced up from the novel, thinking he had heard her say something. He clapped a hand over his eyes once he saw her.

“Sorry, I, uh, thought you said something!” he stammered. Cate giggled, biting her lip gently. 

“Spencer, it’s okay. I don’t care if you look! I wouldn’t have come out if I did.” Cate told him. Spencer cracked his fingers, only looking for his things.

“I’m just going to shower now!” He scurried over to the bathroom. Cate could see his ears turn red with a blush. 

Once Spencer was done with his shower, he came out of the bathroom in his pajamas. Cate had turned the lights off, and she was in the bed with her eyes shut, the blankets pulled up to her shoulders. Spencer pulled his side of the covers and got into the bed. He laid down, and rubbed his face to compose himself a bit. Cate’s breaths didn’t sound spaced out enough to be asleep. He reached under the covers to her body, to pull her in for a cuddle. His fingers brushed her bare stomach. 

“You’re naked under there?!” he whisper-yelled, even though there was no one to hear him. Cate giggled and turned over. 

“Most people would’ve had a bit of a different reaction.” She pulled him to her by the collar of his nightshirt, kissing him slowly. She felt like she couldn’t love Spencer more than she did right at this very moment. Spencer had fought it at first, wanting to be as much of a gentleman as possible. 

It didn’t last long though, Cate peeled his shirt off of him to run her hands on his chest. That night had been the farthest they go, being as intimate as a couple could get.

[wheresfury]

Death of Me (part 1)

~Pairings: Natasha Romanoff/fem!reader, minor Carol Danvers/fem!reader

~Warnings: Mommy kink, spanking, degradation, dirty talk, choking, roughness, anal play, anal fingering, butt plugs, vaginal fingering, dildos, Dom/sub, cruelty.

~Word count: 3,028

~Summary: You’re finally ready to make things more serious with a co worker, thinking you’d never see the mysterious Natalia Romanova ever again. You couldn’t be more wrong.

~Authors note: Hello! I couldn’t wait to finish the whole thing so I’ve decided to split it up for you guys. I will start writing the next part most likely tonight and there could actually be 3 parts to this, possibly 👀 anyways hope y’all enjoy!!

~Previous part to this series is on my Masterlist

———- ⧗———-

You sit back in your chair at your office. You’re a consultant to companies who are going under, you try your best to give them the advice they need to keep afloat. You chew on the tip of your pen as you squeeze your thighs together. It’s been three months since you slept with Natalia, the killer, and you cannot get her out of your head. To ease the ache you would sometimes sleep with your coworker, Carol. She was sweet and funny and pretty damn good in bed. Just not as good as a certain red headed killer. She couldn’t be harsh with you even after you asked, it just wasn’t in her nature and you could respect that. You cross your legs and continue to chew out your frustrations on the pen in your hand.

“Need some release, babe?” You drop your pen onto your desk and sit up straight. You look at Carol sheepishly. She walks over to you, smirking and hands you the file she was working on. You clear your throat.

“Thank you, Carol. That will be all.” You blush as she raises her brow. She leans in closer to you and brushes her lips with yours.

“Are we still on for tonight?” You nod your head in a sign of agreement as she closes the gap and kisses you deeply. You moaned into the kiss and leaned closer to her trying to deepen it. She pulls away and gives you a wink.

“We can continue this later, baby girl.” You’re sure your face is as red as a beet. You want her head between your legs right now. If only you weren’t at work. You sigh as she walks away and turn to your computer. You look at the clock and see you only have half an hour left. You decide to open google and research Natalia. This isn’t the first time and just like every time before you get nothing. Only the articles about her wanted status and all the gruesome murders she has committed. Absolutely nothing about who she is only what she is, a killer. You bite your lip at the wanted picture, the only picture of her you could find. She’s very secretive and impossible to find. Obviously if you were a serial killer you wouldn’t want to be found. You shake your head and exit out of your computer. You need to stop obsessing over this woman, who you will most likely never see again. You have a good thing going with Carol, why mess that up for someone you shouldn’t even be with. I mean it’s obvious she wanted nothing to do with you after she left you without a word. She didn’t kill you though so that must be something right? You look at the clock again and realize only ten minutes have gone by. You huff and get up to grab your things to leave early. You stop by Carol’s office on the way out and lean against the door frame. She looks up at you curiously. You decided to throw away any caution to the wind and see if Carol wants a more stable relationship.

“Uh… Carol… do you maybe want to make tonight a date instead?” Her eyes widen and she jumps up and makes her way towards you placing her hands on your shoulders.

“Do you really mean that, Y/N?” You nod and smile at the excitement on her beautiful face.

“Of course, Carol.” She still looks a little skeptical.

“Are you absolutely sure? I thought you just wanted you know… to have fun.” You sigh and look into her chocolate colored eyes.

“I know, Carol but I’ve been thinking maybe we should try, you know?” She brings you into a hug and squeezes tight.

“I would love that, Y/N.” You smile wide and hug her back circling your arms around her waist. After a good while you both pull away reluctantly. She gives you a soft kiss on the lips.

“I’ll pick you up at 7?”

“Sounds perfect.” You give her one last kiss on the lips and turn to leave, not without receiving a slap on the ass from Carol. As you make your way down to your car you feel as if someone is watching you. You look around trying to see if you can tell if someone is even looking at you. You shake your head at the mere thought someone would be interested enough to. You get into your car and start the drive home. You turn on the radio to fill the silence with some nice music. As you come up to a red light an all black motorcycle pulls up next to you. You turn to check the motorcycle out and it stuns you to see a woman on the bike. You cannot see her face due to the blacked out helmet and you wish you could. Your eyes widen as the helmet turns to face you. Your eyes snap back to the light, your hands tightening on the steering wheel. You can still see them turned towards you and you gulp. You get a very familiar feeling and are unable to make it out. The light turns green and the motorcyclist speeds off leaving you in a cloud of smoke. You shake you head and slowly make your way home. You pull into your driveway and notice that same motorcycle parked next door. You thought your neighbors were on vacation, maybe they rent it out whenever they are gone. You turn off your car and grab your briefcase from the passenger seat. You make your way to the front of your house and pause. Your door was unlocked. You were positive you locked it this morning, you always double check. You debate whether or not you should go in. Fuck. Now you wish you had some sort of defense other than your keys. You slowly turn the door knob and tip toe in to your home. You turn around and close the door quietly. As you make your way to the kitchen to get a knife the room light turns on.

“Cheating on me, kitten?” You stand still, shocked. Oh my god. It’s her. You gulp and slowly turn around. You nearly fall over when you see her leaning against the wall, arms crossed with one leg against the wall. She looked just as gorgeous as you remembered. She wore a brown jacket this time with a black tank top and black jeans with boots to match. Her hair has grown out as well, a little past her shoulders. She smirked darkly.

“On your knees.” You immediately comply with her demand, dropping to your knees in the middle of your living room floor. She sauntered over to you slowly, taking the sight of you in.

“Well, kitten? What do you have to say for yourself?” You blink rapidly trying to remember what she asked you. Then it dawns on you.

“I’m not cheating on you, Mommy. I mean we’re not dating.” She clicks her tongue and cups your jaw making you look up at her.

“I told you that you were mine and I would keep you around. Did I not, kitten?” You shake your head confused and she tightens her hold on your jaw.

“You just left, I thought it was a one night thing. Also you don’t own me, I’m my own damn person.” She releases your jaw and flicks you on the forehead. You look at her appalled and get up off your knees. She looks at you with a penetrating glare.

“Get back on your knees, where you belong, slut.” You glare back at her.

“No fucking way. I have to get ready for my date tonight. You don’t own me, Natalia.” Her face makes a visible twitch, her eyes widen slightly. She looks truly shocked at your knowledge of her name.

“How do you know my name, kitten?” She asks coolly making a shiver run down your spine. You clear your throat and roll your eyes at her. She grabs your neck in her left hand and slams your back into the wall of your living room. You hands try to hit her anywhere they can reach.

“Stop it, you bitch. How do you know my name?” She punctuated each word by slamming you into the wall every time. You grunt at the rough treatment.

“Your wanted picture was on the back of a newspaper. Your killing spree had not gone unnoticed. How have you not been arrested yet?” Her face becomes stoic once more as she grins a callous smirk.

“Why kitten, I’m the best money could buy. I’ll never get caught.”

“What are you a prostitute?” You say, just to piss her off. Her smirk still firmly on her lips she pulls you in the direction of your kitchen. She slams you into your kitchen table before roughly turning you around, bending you over the surface.

“Fuck. What are you doing?”

“Shut the fuck up, slut.” She brings a hand down on your blue jean covered ass. You jump at the slap, not expecting it. She rubs her hands all over your ass squeezing here and there.

“You see, kitten. I’m a spy who specializes in taking out a target-”

“So you’re an assassin. Why didn’t you just say so? Why use so many fucking words. I don’t have the time.” She growls at your interruption. Your eyes widen as she reaches underneath you to unbutton your jeans.

“What the fuck, Natalia!” She tugs your jeans and underwear down to your knees. She starts raining down spanks on your ass.

“You fucking brat. That is not what you’re supposed to call me. You’re already in so much trouble for fucking someone else. Someone other than me touched this cunt. My cunt.” You start to cry as she continues to spank you harder with every word leaving her mouth.

“Mommy, please! I’m sorry!” You cry out as she spanks you in quick succession.

“Whose ass is this, kitten?”

“Yours, Mommy!”

“Whose dripping cunt is this?” She asks cupping your soaked folds. You moan at the intrusive touch.

“Fuck. It’s yours, Mommy. All yours!” She hums and brings her palm down hard on your pulsating cunt.

“If it’s mine, why did you let that cunt fuck you? You’re such a desperate little slut you’d go to the first bitch who’d fuck you? Spread your legs for her? Pathetic. Do I need to get rid of her for you?” You start to panic, not wanting her to kill Carol.

“No, please. Not Carol, Mommy. Please don’t hurt her.”

“Oh don’t worry, kitten. I won’t be the one hurting her. You will.” You hesitate in speaking.

“What- what do you mean, me?” She slowly strokes your folds as she speaks.

“What I mean is that you, kitten, will break poor little Carol’s heart. I want you to make her cry, baby doll.”  You shake your head as best you can in your position.

“No I will not. She means too much to me. I won’t do it, Natalia.” She growls and brings a hand down hard on your sore ass.

“Don’t fucking disrespect me, bitch. You will do it otherwise I’ll fucking kill her. Do you understand?” Each word punctuated with a slap on the ass. Tears are running down your face at her words.

“Mommy, please. Please don’t make me.” You sound absolutely shattered at the mere thought of hurting Carol. She hums and rubs her hands over your ass and thighs.

“It’s your own fault, kitten. You shouldn’t have fucked someone else, you slut.” You roll your eyes at her possessiveness. Her hands grab your ass and squeeze, her nails digging into the  soft flesh of your ass. You release a scream at the pain, the burn of her nails against your sore cheeks.

“Never roll your eyes at me, kitten.” She releases your ass and steps back. You move to get up when she speaks.

“Stay still, kitten. I’m not done with you yet.” You hear her leave and then return seconds later. You jump as her hand comes into contact with your pussy.

“You’re dripping, kitten. Fuck. You love this, don’t you, kitten?” You whimper as she pulls on your dripping folds.

“Fuck. Yes, Mommy. I-I love it.” She hums and slowly pushes in two of her fingers. You moan at the sensation. She fingers your pussy for a while before she pulls out. You’re about to groan when you feel an object at the entrance of your pussy. You gasp as she starts to push a dildo into your soaked cunt.

“That’s right, kitten, take Mommy’s toy.” She thrusts the toy in and out a few times before leaving it in all the way. Your hands grip the end of the table, turning white at the pleasure.

“Where is your lube, kitten?” Your head makes a visible tilt in question.

“Why-Why do you need to know that?” She slaps your reddened ass making you jump.

“Don’t question me, kitten. Now unless you want to take this butt plug with no lube I would say something. For your ass’s sake.” Your eyes widen at her suggestion. You’ve never fooled around with that. You clear your throat and take a deep breath.

“Listen, Natalia. I’ve never done anything like that before. So I’m going to say no but thanks anyway.” You hear her laugh as she pinches you on the ass. You squeal as she steps away into your room. You look back as best you can in your position.

“Where are you going?!” You hear her rifling around in your drawers and tossing things around. You huff and lay back down waiting for the inevitable. You’re almost asleep when you feel a cold water like texture on your ass. Your eyes widen as you feel her rubbing the lube on your asshole.

“That’s a good girl, kitten. Took me a while to find it. You have a lot of cleaning to do later. You’ll be cleaning stuffed with my toys, baby doll.” Your eyes roll back as she slowly enters one of her fingers into your asshole.

“Such a good girl. I’ll go nice and slow for you, kitten. You’re doing so well so far.” You moan as she slowly thrust her finger in and out. The sensation was odd at first but now it’s becoming quite pleasurable. You feel her add a second finger and you almost lose your mind at the pleasure.

“Mommy, please. Please may I cum?” She stops thrusting holding her fingers deep inside you.

“You’re that much of a slut you’re ready to cum already? So desperate and wet from getting your ass fingered? Such a dirty whore. No you may not cum. You’re not even close to being allowed to cum. You’re in for a long night, kitten.” You cry out as she pulls her fingers out of you before choking on a moan as you feel the plug enter your ass. You feel utterly full and stuffed to the point you can barely think of anything else. She pulls up your underwear and jeans and gives you a tap on the ass.

“Up, kitten,” You get up and turn around feeling light headed “how are you feeling?”

“Stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey.” You see the faintest smile on her lips at your answer. She clears her throat and takes a step back.

“Good now, go get ready for your date.” You look at her incredulously.

“I’m not going.” She looks at you darkly and you start to sweat. You shakily smile and awkwardly giggle and point towards your room before quickly walking into it and shutting the door. You lean against the door trying to catch your breath. All you can feel is how full you are and how you wish you could rub one out but there is an assassin on the other side who will know. You shakily get ready for your doomed date with Carol. You don’t know if you can go through with it but you have to or she will kill her. You want to call it a bluff but you know she’s serious. You look in your mirror one last time, your skin slightly glistening from sweat, both out of fear and arousal. You take a deep breath and smooth out some wrinkles in your dress before stepping out into the living room.

“What a tease, kitten. You’re going to break Carol looking like that? You’re more sadistic then I thought you’d be. I admire that, kitten.” You frown at her as you rethink your outfit. Maybe you should dress down make it seem like you don’t care, even though you care too damn much.

“What exactly is it that you want me to do?” She makes her way towards you and brings a hand up to grab onto the back of your neck pulling you closer. Your breath hitches as your lips hover near hers. You feel her breath on your lips and you whimper, she has yet to kiss you at all and you’re dying to know if they are as soft as they seem.

“You want me to kiss you, kitten?” You nod in acknowledgement and you feel her hand squeeze the back of your neck.

“Please, Mommy. I want to kiss you so bad!” She smirks and blows air onto your lips making you shiver.

“I’ll kiss you, kitten. If you do everything I tell you to do tonight. No questions asked. Am I making myself clear, slut?” You blink rapidly as the realization of what’s going to happen hits you. You’re nervous as to what she will make you do to hurt Carol. You squeeze your eyes shut as you imagine Carol’s face, tears streaming down, red with hurt. It pains you to do this but dammit if you didn't like it a little bit besides you'll make it up to Carol one day. You reopen your eyes and meet her green ones.

“Yes, Mommy. Perfectly clear.” Her smirk turns dark as you grow pale. Well fuck.

———- ⧗———-

Natasha Series Tag list: @theunknowinglys, @whitecanary444, @kdragonwrestling, @kello-unknown, @baeszler

Forever Tag list: @cheethos

[dearophelia]

it’s that time of year where I unearth banshee!verse and try to knock some plot into it. so have an excerpt I wrote last year, which I found while trying to figure out where, precisely, the fuck I’d left this story.

[context: Kat has just “woken up” after “sleepwalking” and she and her partner and investigating the creepy-ass alley next to the creepy-ass building Kat “woke up in”] 

“They’re in trouble,” the voice says, “you need to help them.”

“Shut up,” she hisses.

One of the lumps moves, drawing her attention, and a pair of green eyes stare back at her. The eyes almost glow, like animal eyes reflecting the light. Only there isn’t any light.

“You need to help them, Katherine. You’re running out of time.”

She blinks. An actual voice, from an actual person. Maybe. The voices in her head sound real, too. Just because this one comes with eyes doesn’t mean it’s real.

The eyes pulse with an inner light, sparkling like an emerald. “Hurry.”

Her breath catches in her throat and she abruptly yanks the blankets away. She jumps as the scrawny orange cat hisses at her before running deeper into the alley.

Metal clangs against metal, echoing loudly against the narrow walls. Katherine shrieks, though thankfully most of it is lost in the awful noise. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Found another door!” Deck calls. “Locked like the other one. Same spray paint though.” She tugs on the chain. Clenching her jaw, she glares at the chain and yanks hard. The chain easily breaks, falling away.

“Way to Hulk out,” she says.

“Must’ve rusted through.” Despite Deck’s yanking, the door doesn’t open. With a deep breath, Deck braces one foot on the wall, grasps the handle with both hands, and pulls. She lands ungracefully on her ass amidst dead leaves and old newspapers, but the door stands open before them.

Katherine offers her a hand and then turns on her phone’s flashlight again. The light barely penetrates three feet into the dark hallway, but it’s enough to light up the eyes of a family of rats, startled during their meal. They look up at her, eyes glowing red, and then all scatter, claws scrabbling on the concrete floor. She makes the mistake of squinting into the hallway to see their meal: whatever it was, it’s mostly bone and gore now.

Every survival instinct she has, not to mention every horror movie she’s ever seen, screams for her to step back out into the alley, and then back out into the sun, get in the car and forget this ever happened. But the faint buzzing in her fingertips she hasn’t felt since Mark Stanley, and that she had written off as a fluke, returns, drawing her – leading her – inside.

But going inside a condemned building she inexplicably woke up in, that was locked at every entrance, that looks like the set of several horror movies her high school girlfriend dragged her to, where she saw a cop who wasn’t at all who he said he was, where a cat told her to help someone, after screaming in her sleep for two weeks and hearing voices and feeling dead bodies, seems like a tremendously bad idea. And if she’s going to lean into the bad idea – she’s already taken three steps toward the door without noticing – she’s not quite so stupid as to do it without telling her partner about, at the very least, the general weirdness plaguing her life recently.

“Before we go in,” she turns to Deck, “swear on whatever deity or force you believe in this week that you won’t repeat what I’m about to say to anyone, especially Morgan.”

Deck’s brow furrows, but she draws a little x over her heart. “Sworn.”

“This is gonna sound nuts.”

“You took the subway across town in the middle of the night, walked into an abandoned and, frankly, horrifying building I’m pretty sure you’ve never seen before, and woke up talking to a dude who claimed to be someone who’s been dead for ten years.” Deck gestures with her hands open as if to say please top that.

Katherine bobbles her head a bit. Deck has a point, and she’s pretty sure she’s about to knock this morning down to kinda strange. “Weird shit has been happening since that night David died. I’ve been,” she pauses, “hearing things. Voices. And waking up screaming. And now sleepwalking, apparently.”

Deck stares at her in the alley’s gloomy light and Katherine gets the distinct feeling that her partner is looking for something specific. Shadows settle around them, casting Deck into even dimmer light than before. The wind picks up, blowing papers and a crumpled beer can down the alley. Despite the heat, Katherine shivers.

The wind settles and the shadows pass, leaving them again in the grey half-light as the sun creeps across the sky.

“You’re working a serial case without any leads, and IAB’s down your throat about the kid,” Deck says, after what feels like an hour. “Your stress responses have always trended toward psychosis,” she reminds her. From anyone else, it’d sound like a dismissal. From Deck, it sounds kind.

Katherine nods and takes a shaky breath. “Yeah,” she agrees. It’s what she’s been trying to tell herself for two weeks, and hearing it from someone else makes it sound rational. Oh, and the voices have been asking for my help and I’m pretty sure I flashed back in time by two hours to see Mark Stanley’s heart ripped out by a monster.

“Let’s go check this out,” Deck says, gesturing to the door Katherine’s now standing just inside, “see if we can find any reason your subconscious decided you needed to be here, then get the hell out of this creepy-ass area and I’ll take you home.”

Nodding, Katherine takes a few steps further inside as Deck props a series of stones by the door to keep it from shutting on them. Sidestepping the rats’ meal, she heads deeper into the dark, dank hallway.

If she were just exploring, if she weren’t looking for something specific, Katherine suspects she’d be a lot more terrified than she is. They pass rooms sealed by metal doors, tiny windows just at eye height showing pitch black interiors. Hallways branch off, filled with rusty pipes, broken furniture, and small rodent bones cluttered in the corners. Water stains cover the walls and almost every step is through a puddle.

Find me.

“All this place needs is some flickering lights,” Deck says as she ducks underneath a broken section of ceiling and exposed tangled wiring.

Katherine flicks the flashlight on and off a few times with a grin.

“I hate you.”

The buzzing grows steadily stronger until they make it to a door pulled off its hinges and the staircase it’s blocking. As she reaches the flashlight around the door, checking the integrity of the stairs, the buzzing starts to pull upward. Katherine sticks her phone in her pocket and motions at Deck. “Help me with this.”

Deck hands her a pair of latex gloves and snaps on her own pair before touching the rusted metal. Katherine does the same: god only knows what’s been down here, and for how long. With a little tugging, the two pull the door the rest of the way off its hinges. They push it aside, but it slides out of their grasp and crashes down to the floor with a loud bang, startling both of them and splashing stagnant water up over their shoes.

The two women look at each other and then back down the hallway, hands on their sidearms.

“Good thing we weren’t trying for stealth,” Katherine says after a few minutes of silence and no movement from the shadows.

“Anything living here noticed the minute we walked in,” Deck murmurs, following Katherine up the rickety stairs.

Katherine pauses and looks over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. Deck’s looking away, shining her own flashlight down toward the stairs behind them. Clouds drift over the sun and what little light shone through the broken stairwell window diffuses into grey. Deck momentarily blends into the empty darkness below. Katherine blinks, the clouds clear, and Deck gestures for her to keep going.

The buzzing keeps pulling her upward until the third floor, and to the room she was standing in this morning.

“This is where I woke up,” Katherine says absently. The buzzing shifts into a strong vibration, climbing up her arm to her shoulder, pulling her toward the wall by the upturned chair. She distantly registers Deck standing by the window, looking outside and talking through how someone might have seen her from the street, but Katherine reaches up for the peeling wallpaper.

Find me!

“Hang on,” she mutters in irritation as she starts pulling the faded floral wallpaper back, revealing crumbling plaster walls.

Deck’s phone rings. “Deckard,” she answers.

Katherine’s fingertips brush over the plaster, tracing the spiderweb cracks emanating from a small hole just above her head. Little pieces crumble to dust and fall to the floor. Curiously, the vibration falls silent. She peers at the wall and picks at the wall. Larger pieces come away along with the dust and she closes her eyes against a small shower of plaster.

“Kat!” Deck says, shoving her phone back into her pocket.

Katherine holds up a finger and then sneezes. “Yeah?” She steps away from the wall, the cracks, and the hole now the size of her hand.

“Morgan wants us back. Full coroner reports just came in.”

Katherine doesn’t look back as she follows Deck down the stairs and out the way they came.

Found me, a voice echoes behind her.

[multiphandomunnies]

Sleep-walking||Handong

A/N: It’s finally here! Thank you for waiting this long. Please tell me your thoughts and opinions after reading and check the masterlist for a teaser of the next chapter. Chaeyoung’s journal won’t be updated this time... you’ll see why 

Warnings: Nothing much as usual, maybe a bit more creepy because a big part takes place in the house. 

Admin: Heather

Words: 5.383 (I got really into it ^-^)

Previous chapter Masterlist Next chapter

Just remember as many details as you can. Avoid Jiu and others. Don’t get into trouble.

You walked through the hallways, trying to memorize every room. It was Chaeyoung’s idea to get some information before heading straight to the mansion. She had to physically hold you back from running to the location right after finding the newspaper. It was probably a smart move. Getting lost in here would be a terrible idea.

A loud thud echoed through the hall. It seemed to be far from you though. At least far enough to give you some time to escape. Best case scenario: that’s just wind slamming some door, worst case scenario: Jiu was close and waiting to snap your neck in half or something like that. Maybe not that violent, Jiu has been relatively calm so far. Just some horrifying threats here and there. If someone was to jump you, it was Sua. Hopefully she was busy straddling another helpless person in their dreams.

Another bang could be heard, making you stop in your tracks. It was probably some kind of a lame trap to lure you in that direction in hope that you will rush there like an idiot. Well, if it was true, the girls were genius, because you found yourself following the sound. You couldn’t die in a dream after all. At least you hoped so. Third noise boomed, much closer to you. This probably meant you were heading towards its source. Great. Research was boring anyway. Chaeyoung was probably going to kill you for this, but for now everything was fine. And then you heard piano music.

You turned around. Someone was playing the piano. On the other side of the house. In the middle of the night. In Dreamworld. Nothing suspicious about that. You were captivated by the tune. Whoever was playing, knew what they were doing. Maybe you should check this out? The banging wasn’t audible anymore. You started moving towards the music and heard something swish behind your back. You looked behind

“And then I woke up.” you complained to Chaeyoung. “I hate when this happens.”

Your friend nodded and scribbled something in her notes. Anything could be a useful piece of evidence. She bore the fact that you got distracted. You had a rough concept of the house in your memory.

“Maybe there’s something they want to hide from you.” Chaeyoung inquired. “You probably didn’t wake up on your own. Do you remember that hallway?”

You nodded in confirmation and got ready to leave the bus. According to the map, you just had to walk for a mile to get to the mansion. It was a longer way, but you wanted to go through the forest. Visiting that place was nerve wracking even without getting lost in the woods, but you wanted to check if everything matched with the setting of your dreams. After a long research, you found some information about a paranormal investigator who was supposed to solve one of his cases here. Before he disappeared of course.

“As I’ll ever be.” You answered with a sigh. “Are you sure though? You don’t have to come with me, it’s my mess.”

“Yeah and you’re my mess.” Your friend replied like it was the most obvious thing ever. “Stop moping and let’s do this thing, dork.” You smiled at her antics. Chaeyoung has been giving you endless amount of support this few weeks and you couldn’t even imagine what would happen without her by your side.

“Alright, let’s go.” You commanded and started walking. The sun was getting lower with every second and neither of you wanted to stay there after dusk. 

The forest looked less mysterious than in your dreams. The sun was shining, making it easy to see the way. You kept looking around and Chaeyoung focused on the map. Searching for clues here seemed pointless, but you could never be too cautious. Something important could be here and missing it would be a huge loss.

“Anything familiar?” Chaeyoung prompted. “We’re halfway through.” 

You tried looking harder, but nothing. The place when Sua was kept was nowhere in sight. Neither was the bench when you talked to Siyeon. It must have been the wrong part of the woods or the setting was different in the Dreamworld. You just have looked bummed, cause Chaeyoung patted your back.

“Don’t worry. The forest is pretty big, and we can still find something in the house.”

Hopefully you wouldn’t bump straight into other girls or other horrifying things. Or a serial killer who may coincidentally use the abandoned place as a hideout. Could be harder to overpower than a group of teenage girls.

You reached the mansion much faster than expected. To be honest, you were both dreading and anticipating finally getting to this place. You’ve never seen it from the outside, but somehow you just knew that this was it. There was something unsettling about it.

“I have to admit… this is amazing.” Chaeyoung stated and you couldn’t agree more. The building looked very majestic and impressive. But it was obvious that many decades have passed since its best days. The walls were faded and dull due to the paint job being neglected years ago. Surprisingly, none of the windows were broken or boarded up. Abandoned places were usually an easy target for robbers or bored teenagers, but this house was still standing undamaged.

“Y/N.” your friend nudged you gently. “We should probably start.”

You nodded and approached the massive gate. It looked heavy and for a second you were worried. Of course you were prepared for the gate to be sealed and were ready to climb the fence if necessary. But it might be harder than it seemed, because the entrance was visibly tall. Maybe you should toss Chaeyoung over it like a frisbee?

“Okay, that’s unexpected.” she suddenly stated and for a moment you thought that she read your mind and heard the idea about throwing her over the fence. But then you looked at the gate.

“Open.” you said. “The gate is open.”

In normal circumstances you could consider it a lucky coincidence, but in your current situation it seemed more like a trap.

“You think they are here?” Chaeyoung asked and you shook your head.

“None of the ones we know about.” you checked their schedules before coming here. Jiu had a student council meeting, Sua was cheering at the football game and Siyeon had practice with the band. “Maybe it’s the guy.”

“He seems so shady to me.” Chaeyoung frowned. “He took this whole case and left without a word.”

Ever since you read about Jo Dong-hyuk, a famous paranormal investigator, Chaeyoung was convinced that he blew the case and fled the scene out of shame. You didn’t want to scare her with your speculations, so you kept quiet, but you suspected that his disappearance had a different cause.

“Well, thanks to that dumbass we can enter.” she shrugged and pushed the heavy gate a little more. You followed her and started walking towards the mansion. The closer you got, the more uneasy you felt. However, you pushed that feeling away. Anyone would be stressed while trespassing an abandoned property. But still, something was off and kept bothering you.

When you got to the door, you noticed it was unlocked. You both stopped and looked at each other, wordlessly asking the same question. Chaeyoung leaned closer to the lock and examined it.

“Looks like it was picked.” She announced. “They probably didn’t have the key, so Dong-hyuk had to open it by force. And he did a great job I must say. That guy is a pro.”

You nodded. This was convincing and reasonable, but something was still off. You probably just needed to do what you needed to and leave.

Chaeyoung pushed the door and slid inside, disappearing in the darkness inside. You pushed away all the doubts and forced yourself to take a step forward. Something in your head was still pounding the alarm and telling you to run. It felt as if someone was following your every move and sensing your doubts. However, nothing caught your attention when you looked behind. Gathering your thoughts together, you finally entered the house.

”My god.” You whispered, looking around. You were unable to say more.

”Is this it?” Chaeyoung asked, opening her notebook. You nodded absentmindedly as your eyes darted around the room. You never really paid attention to the setting of your nightmares, so it was hard to stop yourself from staring.

Unkept from the outside house haven’t aged a day on the inside. The only things betraying its age were old-fashioned design and dulled colors. Everything seemed untouched as if waiting for being used again. Like the time stopped here. Like everything fell asleep and was waiting to be awaken again.

”What exactly are we looking for?” your friend interrupted the serene silence and looked at you expectedly. ”I don’t want to push you, but we should decide on our approach and get out as soon as possible. This place isn’t normal.”

She was right, you didn’t have much time. You looked at the stairs and you could swear you noticed a couple girls running down. It took a millisecond and suddenly the only thing left was the lingering sound of their soft laughter.

”Y/N?”

“You’re right, Chae.” You looked at her with a smile. “It’s not a normal place.”

                                                                     The mansion turned out to be much bigger than expected. Searching through the ground floor took you more than two hours and you still had first floor and the attic left. Unfortunately, you didn’t find much information about the girls and their relation to your dreams. Chaeyoung was noting anyway in order to not miss any important detail that could be useful in the future.

The sky started turning gray, but the sun was still up. You climbed up the stairs to look for more clues. This floor has been turned into the hotel. Every door had a room number above. Looking through all of them could take ages, especially if you didn’t really know what to look for. Chaeyoung seemed to agree with your way of thinking.

”So what now?” she asked. “Should we split up or something?”

You glanced at her. For someone so tiny, she was extremely brave. Wandering alone through these halls didn’t seem like an appealing perspective, but she didn’t even bat an eye. You felt even more grateful for her support.

“I will go right, you check on the left.” You decided and she saluted before going in the direction you suggested.

To be honest you were kind of starting to lose hope. Sure, Chaeyoung made tons of notes, but your investigation was still stuck in one place. The door looked identical and most of them were locked. If anything deserved your attention, you didn’t notice it.

You looked through one of the hallway windows. It was getting darker with every minute, but the sun was still visible. Maybe you could stay here for a while and go back home- you flinched. Something just appeared for a quick moment in the window. You stared at the glass, but nothing happened. Maybe something flew by. Or you were just too tired.

“Y/N!” Chaeyoung called from behind you. “Come here, you should check that out!”

You quickly went back to join her. Did she find something useful? Maybe that night wasn’t fruitless after all.

“What do you think?” your friend asked as soon as she noticed you.

“Oh man…” you muttered in shock.

Right in from of you was an open room. Well, open wasn’t the best word. The door has been bashed by someone and opened by force. It didn’t look like the clean lock picking you admired back at the front door.

“This might be what we’re looking for.” You whispered and moved towards the door, but a strong grip stopped you.

“Or a trap.” Chaeyoung noted. “We should be careful.”

You nodded, barely listening to her rational advice and went in. Fortunately, no one was here. But someone clearly visited this place before. Tons of feathers were in the air, falling around you like snowflakes. Once again you heard cheerful, girly laughter and some chatting. You couldn’t distinguish any specific words, but you could feel it was just typical girly stuff. It made you feel safe, comfortable and warm. There was something peaceful about this-

“Y/N!” your eyes darted to Chaeyoung.

“Yeah?”

“What’s wrong with you? You keep standing there like a moron, smiling to yourself and ignoring my questions.”

You must have stared at her dumbly, because she snapped her fingers in front of your face.

“Dude!” she called. “Seriously, are you okay?”

You were the only ones here. No one else. No girls. No feathers. No laughter.

“I’m fine.” You answered shortly and rubbed your eyes. Still nothing. “Can you repeat?”

Her expression looked unsure and worried, but she nodded slowly.

“Do you recognize all of them?”

You looked at the picture she pointed to. It was a shot of seven girls in white clothing. They were looking straight into the camera. You could see Jiu, Sua, Siyeon and Yoohyeon.

“Only the ones I met.” You answered. “One of them is probably Gahyeon, they mentioned her before.”

Chaeyoung wrote that down and looked around the room once again.

“I don’t think there’s anything useful here. Should we go back?”

You checked the sky through a window. It was almost dark, but still early enough to search for another couple minutes. Your reflection in the glass flickered. You blinked and looked closely again. It wasn’t very clear, but something seemed wrong. Maybe it was the light, but your clothing looked much brighter in the window.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Chaeyoung seemed more concerned with every minute.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You assured. “But I haven’t finished checking the corridor. Can we have a quick look?”

She sighed, but motioned towards the door.

“After you.”

                                                       You couldn’t believe this. It was almost too good to be true. After the whole uneventful afternoon, you finally found a lead. Well, lead was an understatement.

“Okay. That is impressive.” Your friend admitted.

The whole room was covered in pieces of paper. Most of them were torn and have probably been ripped from the books that were lying around. But among all this mess were tons of notes and evidence about the case. Dong-hyuk clearly worked here for some time, before something happened and interrupted his investigation.

“We have to read it!” you cheered. “Everything. He did so much work. We will find something. We have to!”

Your eyes spotted a printed version of the picture in the previous room. Some faces were circled with a pencil and connected to other notes and some numbers. That was it. You finally knew that something has been really going on. That you weren’t crazy or hallucinating. And then you saw a face in the mirror.

“What?” you whispered to yourself and examined the reflective surface. Nothing unusual. You must have been tired.

“Maybe we can return later.” Chaeyoung suggested, flipping the pages and packing them into her bag. “There’s a lot of stuff to check. And it’s really late.”

“No, no, it’s fine. He may come back tomorrow and take everything. And we can’t let that happen!”

She mumbled something about you being crazy and continued reading the notes. You turned back to the mirror. Still just your face. Same as usual. Except it was not. Not at all. Wait!

“Did you see that?!” you yelped and Chaeyoung’s head snapped in your direction. She approached you with a concerned look on her face. “Someone was there.”

“Yeah… maybe your reflection?” she probably tried not to make you feel like an idiot, but it didn’t work. “Seriously, Y/N, we should leave.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“You are seeing things!”

“Not things.” You defended yourself. “People.”

“Like that’s any better!”

Maybe she had a point, but you weren’t leaving before finding more information. Something to make things clearer. To help you understand. To reward all these sleepless nights. To solve the case once and for all.

Y/N this is getting really unhealthy.” She tried to reason. “You haven’t slept properly in weeks.”

“What are you trying to suggest?” Your voice got slightly louder than necessary. “That I lost my mind?”

“I’m just saying that your judgement might be a bit… clouded.”

“Excuse me?!”

Chaeyoung sighed and looked at you sadly.

“I don’t want to fight.” She warned. “But ever since you overheard Siyeon and Sua-

“Bora.” You interrupted harshly.

“What?”

“Her name. Is Bora.”

Your friend was silent for a moment. Like she couldn’t understand something.

“You’re getting attached to them.

“What? No!” you argued. “They are my literal nightmares, Chae! I’m in this whole mess because of them. How could I- I’m not- It’s not what it looks like!”

Your outbursts must have looked pathetic, but you didn’t really care. You didn’t even know these girls. How could Chaeyoung suggest that you cared for them? Maybe there was something in the way Siyeon confided in the other girl. How vulnerable they seemed together. It was probably an act though… but was it really?

“Look, you got really involved in this. And I get it, but-“

“No, you don’t! You don’t get it!” you yelled and sighed. “You will never get it.”

Chaeyoung looked startled by your outburst, but as you finished talking, her expression hardened.

“Fine.” She simply said, looking you in the eye. “Guess you don’t need my help anymore.”

Casting one last look at you, she left the room. You could hear her steps getting further away and descending the stairs. And then you were alone in the silent mansion. Realization was slowly sinking in as you took in everything that just happened.

“Dammit!” you cried and banged the wall with your open hand. It didn’t help, but you could swear you heard something. Like a gasp. Chaeyoung was probably right, you were exhausted. But that didn’t mean she could act like she knew better than you. You looked through the window. The sun was completely gone, but some rays still lingered on the sky, covering it with a red hue. You would have to leave soon.

Every attempt to look through Dong-hyuk’s evidence was too overwhelming. Your eyes burned and you couldn’t focus on reading his handwriting. Nothing made any sense and words just didn’t seem to fit together. Pictures weren’t much better. Different shots of the rooms in the mansion and some specific furniture. It was probably something important, but you just couldn’t dwell on that now.

“This is pointless.” You mumbled to yourself and decided to go back home. Thankfully, your parents were out of town running some errands. You were glad that there was no interrogation waiting for you.

Going back towards the stairs, you thought about everything that happened today. Fighting with Chaeyoung was always upsetting, but this time it really messed you up. You had no idea why the mention of other girls made you act so defensively. Was it about all of them? Just Sua or Bora or whatever her name really was? Since when you cared about her anyway. Yeah, she was pretty and had amazing laugh and personality. But she was a straddling, nightmare creature of the night for crying out loud.

Thinking about this almost made you miss something lying on the floor. Something white. A feather. A freaking feather. You lowered yourself down and touched it with a shaky hand. Yup, a feather. Real one. This was happening. Another one lied a meter away from you. Like a hidden path. You stood up and followed it, ignoring the black spots in front of your eyes from standing too fast.

“Of course.” You whispered when the trail ended in front of the damaged door. Entering the room seemed like a bad idea, but it was impossible for anyone to be here. You would have heard them. So you pushed the door and went in. Feathers were everywhere, falling around like before. Faint voices were still here, getting a bit louder the longer you stayed here. Once again, you felt warm and comfortable. Like somebody embraced you in a blanket. It was kind of like falling asleep after a long day filled with work, wait!

No falling asleep here! It was an obvious set up. A trap. Oh no, no. You couldn’t. You were starting to feel drowsy, your vision blurry. You had to fight it. But it was hard. Too hard. Impossible. But you had to. And you couldn’t. The last thing you thought about before succumbing to this feeling was that Chaeyoung was right all along.

Everything calmed down. No feathers. No voices. It was normal. But you somehow knew that you weren’t in the mansion anymore. At least not consciously. This was the Dreamworld. Fantastic. You were asleep in this house. All alone. You could just hope than nobody would come there. Waking up was impossible in your current exhausted state, so you decided to look around here.

Something wasn’t right though. It was a dream, but it didn’t feel familiar. As if you were in a different place than usual. Which was bizarre, because you were definitely in that house. You couldn’t stop feeling uneasy. The corridor looked the same. You walked towards the former workplace of Dong-hyuk. It was untouched. No papers or destroyed books in sight. It was probably the same as it was before the investigator started his case. Maybe the Dreamworld wasn’t an exact replica of reality.

However as you descended the stairs, you started noticing other things. It was much darker than usually. And it wasn’t because of the weather. It seemed like every room was covered in a dim blue light, giving the house an eerie vibe. Was it always that way? You never really noticed that, but it was reasonable when trying to run away from Jiu.

Something crashed in one of the rooms and you turned that way. That wasn’t new, but still concerning. Confronting one of the girls now wasn’t the best idea. Not when your body was exposed in their freaking home.

“Hello?” you asked, cursing yourself for acting like a hero of some dumb horror movie. As if the murdered would answer if they were there.

More noises were heard as something spilled on the floor. A couple glass beads rolled through the hall. Someone was there and wanted to meet you. Very extra way to announce one’s presence. That meant you shouldn’t go that way. Which was exactly what you did. It was a dream after all. You couldn’t die. In theory. Nobody knew in this place.

With a heart banging in your chest, you slowly crept in the direction the beads came from. It seemed to lead towards the living room. You remembered the layout of everything, so if anything happened, you could always run away. The thought reminded you of the good old days of running away from Jiu. You pushed it away. You had to focus right now, anything could be waiting there. A monster, a giant squid, a giant monster squid…

You didn’t expect to see a girl. You probably should have though. It was way more reasonable than any of your theories. What would a squid do there for crying out loud? The beautiful stranger wasn’t any of the girls you saw before. Could that be Gahyeon? Or Dami if she was involved in any of this?

She was sitting in the corner of the room, surrounded by old looking books, some photos and burned out candles. A giant spiderweb was draped above her head and in front of her, as she looked around helplessly. She was probably trapped and needed help. Your help of course as no one else was here. You noticed a knocked over container that has been probably filled with the beads before she dropped it. Was she unable to use her voice?

Helping her could have a wide variety of consequences. Sua also needed saving once and it ended... interestingly. This girl could be your enemy as well as a valuable source of information. She didn’t look dangerous, but Jiu also had a face of an angel and Sua was tiny. You learned the hard way that underestimated someone because of their appearance was stupid. You had to be careful around this girl. Just as you debated whether to show yourself, she broke the silence.

“I can see you.” Her voice was low and quiet. She seemed to be perfectly calm, but a slight shake betrayed her. She must have wanted to be free again “Are you the one the girls were talking about?”

“They know you’re here?” Maybe she wasn’t a part of their group after all. Could she be their prisoner? But the girl shook her head.

“No, they would have saved me by now.” She seemed to be completely sure about that and it made something click in your brain. You heard about that girl before.

“Wait, you must be the one Sua and Siyeon were talking about! The one who disappeared.”

If she was surprised that you mentioned her friends, she didn’t show it. The only thing she did was nod.

“Yes...” She sighed. “It was frustrating to hear them talking about me, searching and getting nothing.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? Are you trapped in Dreamworld? Are we even in Dreamworld right now?” The questions fired from your mouth one by one as you looked at her. It didn’t make sense for her to be close enough to hear others and not alarming them.

“Kind of. You entered my dream. The others searched for me in Dreamworld.”

That was new. So the Dreamworld was a collective space for people, but you still maintained your own dreams?

“If they couldn’t even see you, why am I able to talk to you?”

She looked at you carefully. As if she was judging if it was safe to trust you. Considering her position, it was completely reasonable. You could turn out to be a minion of whoever captured her.

“I’m Y/N.” you introduced yourself to make her feel less uneasy. “I really want to help you, but I can barely understand what’s going on.” A soft, but careful smile ghosted her lips after you finished.

“My name is Handong.” I couldn’t interact with the girls, because of the circumstances. This trap allowed me to use my power in a restricted way.”

“Your power?” you interrupted.

“I can see anything that’s happening in the Dreamworld using mirrors or.”

“Windows! I saw you today.” she nodded. So you weren’t insane. It was just Handong trying to get your attention. “Why couldn’t my friend to that?”

“She has no connection to Dreamworld. And my friends have one that is too strong. You are in between, so it’s easier to influence you. Pulling you in here didn’t require that much work.”

Her words made sense. Also, it explained why Siyeon could teleport you without any problem. You had many more questions for Handong, but you remembered that in the real world, you were sleeping in an abandoned mansion. And you had no idea what time it was. You could wake up any minute and leave her here all alone.

“How can I free you?” you asked. “And when I do, will you tell me more about everything? My head will explode from confusion soon.”

Handong smiled again and nodded. It seemed genuine and made you believe her. There was something comforting about her presence and attitude. My god, were you developing another hopeless crush on a mysterious nightmare girl?

“My photo lies in the pile over there. It was used to trap me.” She motioned it with her head. “Hand it over to me and I will take care of the rest.”

You searched through the pictures. You couldn’t recognize people from most of them, some looked familiar and some seemed to be very old. Eventually, you found a small photo of Handong. She looked stunning, but you decided not to think about her looks too much. Keep it professional. Just business. You put it in her hand and almost fainted when your fingers brushed. She smiled at you once again and it was even more dazzling than before.

“Thank you.” She whispered as the photo burned.

When you entered the cafeteria the next day, Handong was sitting with some girls near the entrance. You smiled a bit and blushed when she noticed you. Remembering your talk filled you with hope. Another person could help you discover the truth. It was already morning when you woke up from the dream rescue. Somehow you managed to land on a relatively comfortable surface before passing out and nothing bad happened when you were asleep. The mansion must have been safer than you thought.

You sat with a few students from your class. Elkie greeted you happily and offered one of the cookies she and her mother baked the day before. You took it gratefully, hungry from not eating anything since yesterday. Tzuyu asked you about homework and you started explaining it to her. It occupied your mind and took your attention away from the night’s events. Your moment of peace was interrupted by a loud crash.

You looked up and saw an extremely angry looking Siyeon standing up from her place next to Sua. She stormed out of the cafeteria, passing a terrified freshman standing next to a pile of food. Siyeon must have thrown her plate in his direction. Sua took their bags and quickly followed her friend. Other students started whispering about the event. Your eyes found Jiu, who was sitting with other seniors and looked at the door with furrowed brows. The table next to her was occupied by the photography club when Chaeyoung sat with her friend. Her eyes met yours and she quickly averted her gaze. You will have to deal with it later.

“Y/N.” a soft, but serious voice called you. Handong was standing next to you. “Can we talk?”

You nodded and followed her to the door. She probably knew what made Siyeon so angry. Chaeyoung’s glare burned holes in your back, but you ignored it for now.

“What happened?” you asked when Handong led you to an empty classroom. The girl sighed and shot you a conflicted look.

“I know you probably have many questions, but listen to me first.” She sounded extremely serious, so you nodded without saying anything. Whatever made Siyeon react like that must have been very serious. She didn’t seem like the type to get furious easily. “Don’t go back to the house. Don’t do anything in Dreamworld. Don’t even talk to us.”

“What?!” you were shocked. She promised to answer your questions and now she was literally pushing you away. That wasn’t fair. “I can’t do that! How can you say things like that? I set you free from there and now that I’m not useful anymore, you suddenly don’t care-“

“I do care Y/N!” Handong interrupted you. “And that’s exactly why I’m telling you this. I can’t let that happen to you too. Not again. Not like this.”

Her voice was a bit shaky, just like the night before. Siyeon wasn’t the only one affected. Handong was clearly shaken and it made you worry. What was she talking about? Did someone get hurt? It felt wrong to see the girl like this.

“What happened?” you asked again, softer this time. Handong sighed and looked down.

“After you saved me.” She started. “I regained full access to the Dreamworld. I could see everything besides one room. It never happened before. I got suspicious, but I waited for the girls. Bo- Sua came first.”

You didn’t tell her that you already know the other girl’s name.

“We went to see what was wrong and-“ her voice quivered a bit and she took a second to compose herself. You hesitantly took her hand and blushed a bit when she didn’t flinch under your touch.

“She was there, Y/N.”

“Who?”

Handong took another deep breath and her eyes met yours.

“Yoohyeon. We found Yoohyeon.”

[awfully-sadistic]

The Hellowoon Diaries ft. Armand || #2

Oct 23rd

Today was a difficult mission, I think.

Our client was a bad person. Dot says he enlisted our help to pull us into his sick game. And he wanted to get caught.

It started when he came into the office asking for help with his house; the time was perhaps mid-afternoon. I remember because we haven’t had lunch yet and Dot was passing around pamphlets with fast-food restaurants on them so we can decide what we wanted. I remember he came in as I was looking up what a crab rangoon was--I still don’t know what that is, by the way. 

Crab Rangoons consist of a crab and cheese seasoned mixture often fried or baked in wontons.

Ah! Thanks, D.A.D. Sometimes I forget that you are listening. What are wontons?

A Chinese dumpling.

I suppose that’s my mystery solved.

Where was I? Oh yes. He was the only person to come into the Sanctum that day. He was easy but not easy to remember if that makes sense. I didn’t notice anything weird about him but Dot says that sometimes monsters look like you and me, that they’re not always Bigfoot out in the woods. Not always obvious.

He believed that his house was haunted. He wasn’t wrong in hindsight, I suppose. There were so many souls trapped in that labyrinth. 

If it’s not clear by now, we somehow picked up a serial killing client. We still have no idea why he felt it was our duty to stop him or what kind of reasoning convinced him to hire us, but Dot and Dodger took up the case and we were driving an hour out of Ashbourne in order to judge whether our client’s home was haunted and what to do in case it was. It was supposed to be a simple case, that’s what Dot said. It seemed simple and the guy didn’t give off the uh... what did Dot call them?

“Heebie Jeebie vibes” I think. She said she wasn’t picking up any red flags and Dodger stated he lied to us with ease. He seemed genuinely worried and managed to actually feel that way so she would pick up the emotion and it could help sway her decision on helping him. What Dodger said made sense but the implication was... scary.

It meant he knew what Dot was and not many people outside of the Agency or the office knew Dot was an empath; one of the only ones in this world and quite a powerful one at that.

Dot said she immediately hated it. She said it made her uncomfortable that there was someone out there who knew about her and was able to “trick” her as well as he did; she said she knew it meant something but she didn’t know what just yet. I don’t blame her. I would have been upset as well.

I’m inclined to agree with her, too. There’s never good intentions behind tricking someone especially if you’re trying to lure them someplace. Since Dot is our boss (she denies saying she and Dodger are partners but Dodger says that if it weren’t for her, he would still be at the Agency), she sways all our decisions in regards to where we end up taking jobs and how to do the things we’re supposed to do. If Dot could be swayed to do something, then we follow. Dodger said it would put all of us at risk so they knew who to appeal to and how to do it.

It didn’t give Dodger or me a good feeling at all. Despite being a ghost, I know I won’t be harmed by a lot of things. It’s the occult items I would have to worry about but Dot and Dodger are not ghosts. And Dot is more susceptible to harm than either Dodger or myself. We also worry about Dot because she could be debilitated by a person’s emotions if they react too strongly.

I could see it in Dodger’s face. Especially around the eyes, he squints when he’s thinking really hard or when his brow does that thing that dips in the middle. His jaw was clenched pretty tightly, too, that I thought he was going to break his teeth. He wasn’t happy. None of us were but I think Dodger took it the hardest. I would ask Dot why but I don’t think she knows, either. Perhaps it is because Dodger is really responsible and feels like he has to take care of us? I know he watches over Dot even if she may not realize it most of the time. He’s always behind her, making scary faces whenever she talks to someone we don’t know. I think it’s funny, it’s like a show. Dodger is a strange person but he’s really good at protecting.

When we got to the house, the first thing Dot said was that it was big and ugly. She was right. It was big and really ugly. The house was dark wood it almost looked like a gray charcoal. Or perhaps it was because it looked like it survived a fire? The grass was really tall, there was weeds everywhere, and it looked like some of the wood was splintering and broken in places like the stairs that lead up to the house and the hand railings you should be able to hang onto for support. It didn’t look like it was supporting anything anymore. 

Some of the second story windows were broken, too. 

...I didn’t say anything to Dodger or Dot at the time, but when we pulled up, I know there was someone staring at us from one of the second story windows. I recall seeing a woman. But that was all I could see. By the time we parked and I looked back to the window, she was gone. The curtain was in place like it had never been moved. I know I didn’t imagine it. I knew I was staring at someone like me. Mainly because the client said he lived alone.

I have a lot of questions about the afterlife but the solace in that is I am not the only one. 

It seems ironic that I’m a ghost and I don’t know what the afterlife brings or even if I could recognize if I’m staring at another ghost or not. Dottie and Dodger tell me that people experience different things when they die. Ghosts are those who remain behind for a number of reasons; cases vary. We don’t know what happens to those who don’t come back as ghosts.

Is there a heaven?

Is there a hell?

And if there’s neither, where do we go? Are we reborn?

These are some of the questions that not only I ask, but my friends, too. Dot tells me try not to think too hard on these questions because it’s going to drive me crazy. People have been trying to figure this out since the beginning of time.

So I don’t try to dwell on it. But sometimes, the questions pop up. I can’t help it.

The instant we walked into the house, we knew that something was off. It was in the air. We didn’t need to be a psychic to feel the oppressiveness weighing down on us as soon as we crossed the threshold and stood in the foyer. It was uncomfortable and along with it came the nagging feeling at the back of your mind that something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t normal. 

Dot burst into tears soon after. She had to step outside and explain that it felt like she was suffocating; there was so many conflicting emotions, she felt confusion, anger, sadness, scared, hurt. We know now that it was the client’s many victims buried around the house grounds that filled the air with those emotions. 

Dot said that it was her fault that she walked in half-cocked with her shield. She had to explain that she usually does; a normal person’s emotions don’t really reach her unless she reaches out to experience what they do deliberately. It wouldn’t be smart not to have a shield at all. Dot says she usually keeps it “half-rolled down” so she could be open to whatever is broadcasting stronger emotions. When people need help, that’s how they reach out first--in terror or sadness. However, that’s where she gets overwhelmed. She doesn’t expect them to hit her as hard as they do especially if they’re particularly strong emotions. She says that her shield is a work in progress and she that she needs to remember to walk into these things with her shield all the way up, so she doesn’t get overwhelmed as often as she does.

Dodger pointed out that it’s not only that; she also wears her heart on her sleeve and it leaves her vulnerable but I looked and I didn’t see her heart there at all. Whatever he meant, he said that it kept her on the look out at all times whether she knew she did it or not. Dot said she didn’t and that was when Dodger said that’s why he was there.

I told her I’m there for her too even if I didn’t understand what he meant fully. I just didn’t want her to forget! 

We walked back inside and this time, Dot had her shield prepared. She explained though that it saps a lot of her strength trying to protect herself like this so she had to take breaks outside whenever she started to feel weak or knew that the house’s emotions were getting too much for her.

I volunteered to take her out every time that way Dodger can still do the work he was doing without being interrupted. Of course he didn’t mind but I figured the sooner we can finish with the house, the sooner we could leave and Dot wouldn’t have to be subjected to the bad feelings in the air.

Dodger had upgraded the A.R.T.I.I. glasses. I don’t use the glasses so I don’t know what they do just yet but he explained that with their help, he was able to pinpoint the room with the most activity.

It turned out to be the boiler room in the basement.

Dot said “Of course it’s the basement” and I can only assume that everything bad that has ever happened has happened in basements and Dot knew this because they always had to do them in basements. I’ll ask her later to tell me those stories so I can be on-the-know.

It is, “in-the-know”, sir.

Ah, yes, thanks, D.A.D. It was close. 

When we get into the boiler room, we see... many newspaper clippings and what Dodger had called “shrines” to disappearances going back at least forty years. There were boxes among boxes of clothes, jewelry, IDs, and other personal belongings that just didn’t make any sense.

Dodger was still wearing the A.R.T.I.I. glasses at this point and warns us not to use ours in the room. He finally understood why the house was being haunted and why it was as haunted as it was. Apparently, he spared us the gruesome discovery ourselves.

Under our feet was ...what he explained were mounds and mounds of skeletons and even newly decomposing bodies. He said it was like a graveyard but instead of plots, tons of people were just thrown in what he could describe as a pit. That was when Dot mentioned that the ground was covered with fresh soil and she started to get agitated or something. She started to hop up and down on her feet and dashed for the stairs, making nervous sounds and feeling “grossed” out by stepping on all those ...people. I made sure to float over them because Dot was right; there was just something really... disrespectful about standing on all those bodies even if we couldn’t see them under the ground.

Dodger stated the A.R.T.I.I. glasses were showing a strange symbol on the ground that could only have been highlighted in the glasses view because when he took them off, he couldn’t see the marking anymore. But when he put them on, he could see it. We don’t know what could cause something like that to happen and I know for certain I would never understand.

I do believe at this point, I was standing on the stairs with Dot and letting her hold onto me. We were both nervous. I was nervous because I wasn’t certain how long it had been since Dot had taken a break for her shielding and Dot was nervous because, well, I would assume that the emotions of the deceased were starting to bear down on her. She was also starting to look a little pale.

I was thankful when Dodger told us that we should head back upstairs and alert the police. We weren’t dealing with just the Supernatural anymore. We were dealing with a very disturbed client as well and one who was no where to be found.

When the police showed up, we had to hand over our client information and stayed for questioning. It was a long and arduous process. I know for certain that I do not like the questioning more than paperwork. Why did the police make it seem as if we were the guilty party responsible for killing all these people? If it weren’t for Dodger’s video and meticulous record and video keeping, I’m sure we would have been implicated in this whole ordeal. Dot even agreed; she said thanks to him, they got a lot of good pictures of him for their “stupid useless wanted posters” and the information we keep for clients when they hire us.

We don’t know where the client went or for sure, why he wanted to hire us. Like I stated earlier, Dot believes he wanted to be caught; at least, he wanted the notoriety about his crimes to be brought to light because he had been getting away with it for so long. The news reports on television wasted no time jumping on this story, either. They are calling him The Grave Robber.

Dot said that was the dumbest name she’s ever heard. “He doesn’t rob graves, he just put people in one giant one!”

She’s right! That name makes no sense now that I think about it.

Dodger wasn’t even interested, he was typing away at his laptop all night. So I hope that this report also helps him. 

The night is coming to an end soon and Dot and Dodger are packing up to go home. Dodger said he’s going to be staying with Dot for a while. I know he is worried about Dot and I think that’s a good idea, too. I wanted to go as well so they’re taking my clock with them so I’ll be able to recharge at Dot’s home. :) I can’t wait to see what it looks like!

I guess the day wasn’t all bad. I am looking forward to this sleepover. It’s so exciting!

Goodnight, D.A.D.! Goodnight, everybody!

Armand, signing off.

[lexiwhittenburg-writer-blog]

A Family Mystery

There's always been something off about my family. Our maternal side is sort of a mystery to all of us except for my mother. We moved to Atlanta, GA when I was around 6 years old, and my sister was 2. I have no idea where we lived before that. I never knew the family outside of our household, and my mother intends to keep it that way. Our father's parents died before we were born, but he always shares stories and memories of them with us. Any questions asked of my mother, however, is answered, "Curiosity killed the cat!" The constant charade she keeps up simultaneously intrigued and scared me. What's so strange that she feels the need to hide our family from us? What secret is buried so deep?

​We take a family vacation every year – somewhere new and exciting each time. This year was odd, though. Our mother received news that our maternal grandmother had passed away.. She left our mother a cabin in the swamps of Louisiana, so that is where our next family vacation was. We left on a Sunday afternoon after church, something our mother insists we attend as often as possible. I'm not much of a believer, but I attend to appease her.

​Around nine o'clock in the evening is when we arrived at a docking area with a small motor boat. There was no one around, yet our mother just steps into the boat like it's hers. Maybe it is. She starts the boat up after tugging the string a few times, hearing the blubbering sound meaning it probably hasn't been started in quite some time. My sister and I looked at each other in awe of our mother, of the unknown. We stepped into the boat and took off towards a small island about three miles off the mainland. It was connected, but there was no possible way to drive down the thin strip of muddy land.

​When our mother finally stopped the boat, she stepped out, pulled the boat onto the shore, and tied us off. I never knew she could drive a boat, but looking at her now seems like she's been doing this her entire life. We stepped out of the boat with our sleeping bags and backpacks of food and water onto the muddy island. We were faced with an old, unsteady cabin that seemed to be hundreds of years old. My father sighed softly and started towards the cabin. Thank goodness, I wore my hiking boots, I thought. We all grabbed our flashlights out of our bags as it started to get darker, not knowing if there would be any electricity. The yard surrounding the cabin was overgrown and neglected. It didn't seem as if a lawn mower was ever used on this land. My sister pulled out her camera and started taking photos. I'm not sure how they would turn out, but the flash seemed to be enough to show what she needed. As we inched closer to the cabin, the musky smell of mold overwhelmed my senses. I flashed my light over the porch of the cabin. The light caused bugs and rodents of all kinds to scurry away. My stomach turned.

​We all stopped before the stairs to the porch, looking the cabin over. My sister eventually joined us and made the mistake of asking a question, "How long has this place been empty?" Surprisingly, an answer came from our mother, "Sixteen years or so." Her eyes never left the cabin. Looking in her direction, we all saw in her eyes a look of hurt and disappointment. None of us dared ask if she was okay. She wouldn't tell us anyway.

​Walking carefully up the stairs, we realized the cabin may be sturdier than we thought. It is in the line of hurricanes, after all, and is still standing. My mother was the first to walk into the cabin, and her breath caught in her throat. She suddenly stopped and slowly moved her head from side to side. My father ran up behind her, "April, is everything al--" Before he could finish, he was mimicking her movements. Around the house were papers covering the floor of the living room. There was old food sitting on the dining room table, and the refrigerator was turned off, which could be included in the horrible stench radiating from the cabin. My mother's hand slowly reached for my father's shirt, "Ron, I think this is how it was left sixteen years ago." I gulped. Sixteen-year-old food? Disgusting.

​My sister and I followed our parents into the cabin to see the full extent of the damage done. There was a desk in the living room area. The drawers were opened and scavenged. The dark cherry wood was scratched to hell. The chair of the desk didn't seem to fit. It was a black, rolling office chair. It seemed clean and relatively intact compared to the rest of the place. As I spun around, taking in the environment, I noticed stairs without a railing. Along the stairs, there were several boards missing. I was surprised they were still standing. I was making my way over when I felt a tug at the back of my shirt. My sister, Joan, stopped me with a look of worry and confusion on her face. "Want to go up with me?" I motioned for the stairs. She nodded slowly, looking back at our parents who had busied themselves picking up the scattered papers.

​The stairs creaked loud enough that there would have never been a worry of intruders without someone knowing. As we got to the top, we saw two bedrooms to either side of us, and a bathroom directly in front. The one on the left was closed, but the room on the right was open and full. There was mostly trash, but the few items that were visible were antiques along with norms of the 70s. I looked at Joan, "Do you want to see what's behind door number one?" She smiled at my attempt to lighten the mood. We headed for the room to our left. The door was jammed, but a few blows with the shoulder, I was stumbling into the room. Newspapers were stacked all over the room, as if a hoarder had started on their journey to filling up the cabin. I looked through the first few stacks and they all had something in common – the headlining story. They were all about a serial killer loose in New Orleans between the late 60s to early 70s. The stories were brutal. Women being mutilated, prostitutes being raped and beheaded, even men being killed. As I skimmed the pages from one newspaper to the next, the connection was never quite clear. There were natives, recent citizens, and tourists.

​A loud clap behind me made me jump. I swirled around to see my mom and dad. My mom had a huge, forced smile on her face. "Now then. As you know, this cabin was given to me in my mother's will. We are here for a couple of days to clean it up, and then I will be putting it on the market." Joan and I were baffled. She chimed in first, "But why? This place is so cool!" My mother's face dropped as she turned on her heels and headed down the stairs. I looked at Joan and shrugged. Better not to ask questions. My dad shook his head towards Joan, “You two get ready for bed. Sleep wherever you’d like.” He followed our mom’s footsteps.

​I woke up in my sleeping bag on the floor with the newspapers the next morning. Joan and I had the rooms upstairs and my parents had the living room. When I trudged downstairs to hopefully find some food, my mother was already up and cleaning. She probably had been for hours. I wiped my eyes and yawned, "Good morning, mom." She looked up from the floor and smiled, a real smile, "Good morning, sweetie. Would you like some breakfast? The stove is a gas stove, so I was able to get something cooked!" She pointed towards the dining room table. There were beans and canned potatoes. Better than nothing. I sat with Joan as we ate our breakfast, then went straight to work. The sooner we get this done, the faster we get out of here.

​As I was cleaning the newspapers, I tore the headlining page from each day, to research this infamous New Orleans killer when we got home. I had already filled three trash bags, and started on my fourth when Joan half ran, half snuck into the room with a box. It was like a tackle box without the separators for the different lures. She was trying to hide it with her arms, but it was much too big. I raised one eyebrow, "What are you trying to do? Lure me in?" I laughed, but Joan didn't. I started to feel concerned. "I know you've been tearing those newspapers and saving them in your bag. Maybe this can help with your research," she opened the box to show cassette tapes and a player in the tackle box. My eyes widened as I read the handwritten titles. Barbara. Jeanne. Nancy. Prostitute #1. Lucy. "What is this?" I looked at Joan, whose mouth was turned down in a concerned frown. She lowered her voice and whispered, "I think the killer lived here, Leland." My heart sank. I stepped back into the wall behind me and sighed, never looking away from my sister. She pushed the box towards me, and I picked up my bag where she dumped the tapes and the cassette player.

​After three days of cleaning the cabin, it was finally complete. Well, as complete as we could manage. My mother decided to have the cabin remodeled with the money she also inherited to make a profit. As we were packing our things, I heard my parents talking in low voices. I stopped to hear what they were saying. "I didn't find the tapes," my mother said. "He probably destroyed them before he died, April. Maybe this can finally be behind us," my father replied. I gulped and pushed the contraband to the bottom of my bag. .

​

​We arrived at our hotel in New Orleans at around two o'clock in the afternoon. We had four days to have a real vacation. I kept my backpack in my sight or on my person everywhere we went. I was hoping to be able to get away from my parents to see if I could speak with anyone who might have been here during the late 60s to early 70s to get some insight on the serial killer who fed off this city. No such luck. Joan and I were beginning to get antsy knowing the tapes were in my backpack and how they would possibly connect our family to this killer.

​After two days of being in New Orleans, I finally asked my mother if Joan and I could take a walk by ourselves. We made up an excuse to go see this fortune teller down the street from our hotel, which was a five-minute walk. She paused for a few seconds and finally gave her approval. I grabbed my backpack and Joan, and we were out the door. Joan asked if we were really going to see the fortune teller. "No, she isn't old enough," I smiled. Her eyes filled with excitement as she realized what we were doing.

​We caught a trolley to the cemetery we spotted earlier in the day as we were walking around. The tour guide was an older, voodoo-looking woman. Hearing the little bit of the tour she was giving, she seemed very knowledgeable of New Orleans. Probably our best start. As we stepped off the trolley, I saw her locking up the tour building. Joan almost ran to her side and asked in excitement, "Were you here in the late 60s to early 70s?" The woman was caught by surprise, but her expression softened when she saw Joan's face. I caught up with Joan and put my arm around her waist, "I apologize ma'am. We are here visiting with our parents, but we ran across something very interesting, and we were just trying to find some people who lived here in that time frame to see if we could connect some dots." The old woman nodded and spoke with a heavy creole accent, "Absolutely, I was. I lived off Main Street, a time it wasn't so busy. What is it you are trying to figure out?" I smiled wide and brought my backpack to my front, "Our mother was inherited a cabin, and I found these newspapers stacked in one of the rooms. All of them had this same story," I pulled one out and showed her the headline. Her face dropped in horror. "I'm sorry, but why are you looking into this?" Her question caught me off guard. "Like I said ma'am, we found newspapers all with this same headline in the cabin our mother inherited from her mother. I'm just wanting to know if this has something to do with our family." She nodded slowly, but didn't say anything for a long time, looking at Joan and me with odd intensity. "Come inside," she finally said as she unlocked the tour building.

​"The man's name is Connor McElroy. He plagued our city with fear and death from the time he was born," the old woman explained. "I don't know if he's a part of your family seeing as the cabin you described has been vacant for sixteen years. Could have been squatters, or someone with an odd obsession." She motioned for us to sit at a table in a room behind the front counter. "When was he captured? The newspapers don't go as far as figuring out who he was," Joan inquired. The old woman leaned back in her seat and sighed, "He was finally caught in 1973. He had been causing chaos for eight years." Joan and I both sat back and looked at each other, then back at the old woman. "How did you escape being a victim, if you don't mind my asking," I pushed. Her smile was sly and mischievous, almost mocking, "I’m black."

​On the trolley back to the hotel, Joan and we came up with readings from the fortune teller we never saw. There was an uneasy feeling in my gut. This killer was only targeting white people. That was such an odd concept for me to accept. If this cabin my mother inherited was her family's, then why were the newspapers and tapes hidden away there? It's time to listen to the tapes. Outside of the trolley were tourists walking along the strip, having the time of their lives. I wondered if that was the same for the tourists during the time of these killings...

​

​

​We arrived back to the hotel, pulled ourselves together, and gave our parents the elaborate fortune we made up on the way back. "I'll marry the love of my life soon," Joan beamed. Her giddy excitement was well acted. Much like a fourteen-year-old who's been told this future event. We were sitting at the dining room table eating our dinner when my mother piped up, "Leland, you've hardly touched your food. Are you okay?" My head snapped up, away from my thoughts, "Oh, yeah. Sorry, mom. I was just thinking." I picked up my fork and began eating fast. I need to listen to those tapes.

​Once dinner was finished, our parents were retiring to bed. Joan and I said we were going to watch some television in my room, which was on the other side of the section in the middle, where Joan's room was. "Its nice you guys are getting along so well," my mother smiled. We nodded and smiled as she walked to their bedroom.

​Dumping the contents of my backpack on my bed, we arranged the newspaper stories to be in chronological order. This way, we could listen to the tapes as the serial killer emerged. There were 34 newspaper articles, 34 tapes. My heart was racing, I could feel the blood pumping in my temples. Joan and I sat next to each other with one headphone on each of our ears, as I slid the first tape into the cassette player. I took a deep breath and pressed play with shaking hands. The cassette player crackled for a moment, then a man's voice started speaking in a thick Creole accent like the voodoo woman:

"Kill number one. Karen Daley. October 15, 1968. She was tough. Her screams were hard to mask. I picked her up on Bourbon Street at around 3 o'clock this morning. Stinking prostitutes think they can dirty up this town with their sins."

Joan reached over to stop the tape, "We're related to Connor McElroy." Sighing deeply, I looked through the tapes and matched them with the newspaper articles for each victim, wrapping them neatly. I placed them into a shoebox I found in the hotel. We've got to tell mom what we found out, but how?

​Joan made her way back to her room. We had one more day in New Orleans. I wanted to find out more. Why did he target white women? Was he white or black? I need an article from when he was caught. I need to go back to the voodoo woman. Sleep was not coming to me that night. I was almost tempted to continue listening to see if there was any indication as to why this all started. What we did hear, "...prostitutes think they can dirty up this town with their sins," was a clear indication that this was a religious man. Was his motive fully religious? My eyelids were getting heavy, then, but sleep was still a distant goal.

​I heard my parents exit their room the next morning. I rolled over to see the bright digits read 7:00 AM. I gave myself a realistic thirty more minutes, then rolled out of bed to meet them in the kitchen. "Good morning, mom, dad," I yawned. "Well, aren't you two up early?" My father looked from me to Joan slinking out of her room. Giving a small laugh, I explained, "We must have slept good." The smell of biscuits, gravy, and sausage filled the kitchen. My stomach growled. The one thing I loved most about our vacations was that my mother still loved to cook almost every day. We would make a grocery stop before getting to the hotel to make sure we got everything we needed, and to make sure we knew where the grocery store was just in case we forgot something.

​After eating our breakfast, our parents let us know that we were free to do whatever we wanted that day. They were planning on staying in and enjoying our last day on the balcony taking in the scenery of New Orleans. I almost jumped out of my chair with excitement. I told Joan to get ready, and we were to head out on the town. Grabbing my backpack, we headed out the door to the trolley taking us to the voodoo woman giving ghost tours.

There weren't very many people wanting a ghost tour this Monday morning, so we were able to walk in and ask for her specifically. When she stepped out of the back, she stopped in her tracks, giving us a look that said what now? I smiled and held up our tickets for the nine o'clock tour. She seemed to relax a little, but knew we weren't there just for the tour. She gave us a rundown of what we would be seeing and how long the walk was – which I'm sure she gives to everyone – and we headed out the back of the building. About two minutes into this tour, she turned her head slightly and asked, "So what else is it you need to know?" Joan looked at me and smirked. "We just have a few questions to see if there is any way we can connect this man to our family. Why these tapes were in our cabin." The voodoo woman stopped, me slamming into the back of her. She twirled around so fast, I didn't realize she was facing me when she said, "You have the tapes?" Her voice was a low hiss. I stepped back and nodded slowly, looking into her flaming eyes, "They're in my backpack. I have them each wrapped with their corresponding newspaper article. We are just missing the last ones, when he is identified and caught."

​She led us into a graveyard, which was a stop on the tour, and asked to listen to one. I was taken aback, but I didn't argue. I pulled out the shoebox and tape player. She listened all the way through the first tape, her face growing grimmer by the minute. "I had no idea," she whispered. "What do you mean?" I slowly pulled the tape player out of her hand and situated everything back into my backpack. She signed heavily and began the tale of a horrific man:

"Connor was someone I went to school with. He was born and raised here in New Orleans. As I'm sure you know, this town is predominately African American," she motioned her hand as if to show us something. "Growing up with Connor, there was an underlying uncomfortable feeling I got when around him. He constantly seemed angry or bitter towards something. No one knew what. When we learned he was the serial killer behind these events, we weren't necessarily surprised. He made comments along the lines of, 'These whiteys will get what they deserve one day,' which didn't make any sense to us. He was white. I finally asked him what he meant by this when we were in high school. He explained to me that he was raised by his nanny, who was a black woman. She taught him everything he ever needed to know about living on his own, about what areas to avoid when he would wander around town... She was always there for him. His own parents borderline abandoned him, leaving him to be raised by this woman. He had come across the knowledge that when his parents were going on 'business trips', they were actually attending lynching events in the surrounding towns. I don't see why they didn't just move, but that's neither here nor there. It was a terrible childhood to have, his only caregiver being someone who was hated by her employers. By the late 60s to early 70s, he had grown up in the mindset that white people were to blame for all his problems. He had the mindset of the minority. He started small – prostitutes, tourists. Then he made his way up to well-known citizens who had started building their lavish homes in New Orleans. 1968, he dropped out of college and moved out of his parent's house to the lower income side of town. We called it the valley then. We lived on the same street. He married a white woman, but that was because she had the same type of childhood. She was also raised by a black woman. They had a child. It was a beautiful baby girl. He felt he had to protect her from the white people in town to keep her from becoming what he loathed – his mother."

​I was in shock. I looked at Joan who had tears pooling in her eyes. "What was his daughter's name?" The question was in a cracked voice that I didn't realize was mine. "April," she said, "April McElroy." Joan's breathing became shaky. She was crying now. The voodoo woman gently rubbed Joan's arm and gave us a look of sympathy. "Thank you... What is your name?" She smiled softly, "Joyce." I nodded, "Thank you, Joyce." She stood, "Would you like to continue the tour you paid for, or would you like to go back to your mother?"

​Joyce took us back to the building the long way, to make it seem like we took the tour so she didn't get into trouble with her boss. Joan had pulled herself together to get back onto the trolley and make our way back to the hotel. We entered the door to my room. We had to figure out how to tell our mother what we had learned, that we knew her father was a maniac. Joan reached for my backpack and dumped the tapes out onto the bed, "Mom!" I looked at her in a panic. "We won't do it unless we just do it," she whispered. Our mother entered the room and gasped, "Where did you find these?" Joan held a hand up, "Save it, mom. We know everything. We met a woman named Joyce who was a friend of Connor's. We know it all. Why did you feel like you had to hide this from us?" Our mother glided to the chair at the end of my bed and slumped down. "I didn't know how to tell you. I never wanted you to find out. He was someone I looked up to for a long time, but finding out that he was behind these murders put a loathing in my heart. I wanted to forget."

​We sat in my room and talked about the events leading up to Joan and I finding out. Our mother sighed and slumped farther into the chair the longer we went on. "I know you kids may be upset with me, but in all honesty," she stood from the chair, "I just wanted to know how you would turn out when you got older." Her voice turned cold. Joan and I looked at each other, then back at our mother. "What do you mean?" Joan squeaked, holding in her fear. "What I mean, sweetheart," she turned towards us with a switchblade in her hand, "I was hoping I had raised you two to be accepting creatures. I was hoping I had raised you to appreciate all walks of life. The way you're speaking of my father is not a reflection of that raising. I am very disappointed." The knife danced between her fingers menacingly. My heart was coming out of my chest, "Mom, we were just telling you what we were told. That's why we brought this to your attention. We wanted to know the truth. Right, Joan?" Joan was in the fetal position on the end of the bed. Her breathing was staggered. Her anxiety had set in, and she was not with us anymore. I stood slowly with my hand out in front of me, "Please, mom. I don't know what you're doing, but you're scaring us both. Look at Joan. She's gone into an anxiety attack. You know how long it takes for me to get her out of those." Our mother looked at Joan with disgust, "She's the worst of the two of you. You should have seen what she was saying about a girl in her class with her so-called friends," she spat towards Joan.

​"Now, Leland. I had such high hopes for you. You reminded me so much of my father when you were younger," she stepped closer, "So forgiving, loving, caring... I see the way you look at some people. I see the way you react to those who are supposedly 'less than' us. It's such a shame." She leaned over Joan. In one quick motion, her blade glided across Joan's throat. Blood was rushing out of her neck like a river. I choked, falling beside Joan, "No!" I held my hand on her throat, "Dad! Help!" My father stepped into the room, looking satisfied. "Your father would be proud, honey. They got what they deserved."

​"What," was all I could spit out before my mother's blade reached my own throat. "Goodbye, sweetheart," she murmured before mimicking the motion that killed Joan.

[my-proof-is-you]

Healing You - Ch. 1

Summary: You were pretty close to dying, you were sure. It was going to be over, and what would you have to show for it?

A great career as a nurse, sure. But you lacked passion and romance in your life.

Luckily, a handsome man with piercing green eyes saves you. While you were sure you’d never see him again, life had other plans for you.

Chapter 1

You rolled your eyes and blinked harshly in pain when you felt the needle hit muscle instead of your vein.

This moron—whatever he was—could not find a vein for the life of him. Being that you were a nurse, you were tempted to snatch it away from him and do it yourself. Even if that would be aiding in your own death.

You took a deep breath as he prepared to insert the needle again, the dank smell of the basement filling your nostrils. You were certain that with each breath there were mold spores finding their way into your lungs.

You shifted your eyes away from your bruised arm and the imbecile that caused it and focused on the girl in the chair a few feet away. She was hanging on by a thread, the blood loss too great to keep her conscious. You knew that at any moment she could stop breathing.

“Oh, my God, you would think you’d be an expert at this by now!” you yelled angrily at the thing. It bore its fangs at you before slapping your face with the back of his hand.

You knew it was stupid to say anything, but you just couldn’t handle the incompetence. You had been named head nurse at the hospital where you worked at a fairly young age. You were good at your job, and the hospital recognized that. Every nursing student you had taught since then could find a patient’s vein on the first try. They practiced on countless oranges and each other until you knew they were experts at drawing blood and inserting IVs.

So watching this douche who was going to kill you anyway was almost too much to bear.

He finally got it and you watched as your warm blood filled the tube that was connected to a blood bag. He walked up the creaky wooden stairs before pushing open the cellar door. A short burst of light came in and you knew it was still daytime. Which day, though, was something you weren’t sure of.

You were pretty sure they were vampires. You gave yourself about thirty seconds to freak out about their existence when they first captured you before making yourself accept it and move on.

These vampires were not what you expected, though. It seemed that they captured people, slowly collected their blood, and disposed of them when they died. It was unlike any story of vampires you had heard before. These vampires didn’t bite into your neck to suck your blood, or turn into bats, or even seem all that affected by sunlight.

You started to feel woozy from the loss of blood and you knew it would only be a day or two more before you were looking like the girl next to you. She had been conscious a few times here or there and you had been able to find out that she had been captured only a few days before you.

They had been giving you water, presumably to keep you alive longer and keep you producing blood for the time being. You knew, though, that it would be too hard for them to keep up with after a while, and they would let you die.

You hadn’t thought about death for a long time. As a nurse, you saw death a lot. But your own death was something you thought wouldn’t come until you were old.

Before you knew that you wanted to be a nurse—when you were still pretty young—you couldn’t picture yourself doing any job when you grew up. Most kids said they wanted to be a fireman or a dentist. But not you. You were oddly morbid as a child, and your little mind thought that maybe not knowing what you wanted to do meant that you wouldn’t get the chance to grow up—that maybe you were going to die at a young by age.

Maybe I was right, you think to yourself. This would definitely still be considered dying young. Of course, you found your calling when you graduated high school, and after you went to nursing school and got your RN you never looked back. At the age of 27, you were pretty pleased with your life.

The one thing that bummed you out, though—besides the no longer living part—was that you didn’t feel that you ever met your one true love.

You had boyfriends in the past, but none of them were long term and most turned out to be jerks. You never knew true passion, and that was definitely something you regretted while facing death.

Little black spots began to appear in your vision, and you knew unconsciousness was coming soon. You didn’t fight it. You just let it take you away from your worries and regrets and into the silence.

Dean

“Dude, ten missing people in two weeks. That sounds pretty monster-y to me.”

Dean shoved the newspaper in his little brother’s face, aching to get out of the bunker and on a hunt.

“Yeah, that’s weird, but what if it’s just a serial killer?” Sam asked.

“Either way!” Dean exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “We’ve dealt with monsters and bat-shit humans before. I’m just sayin, we gotta get out of here or I’m gonna lose it,” he continued, wiping a hand down his face. 

It had been two weeks since the brothers’ last hunt, and Dean had grown tired of the dark walls of the underground bunker they lived in. He wanted—no, needed—to get out and drive his baby, his beloved Impala.

Sam ran his hands through his chestnut hair with a sigh. “Okay. But if it’s another bunch of crazies like the Benders, we’re out of there.”

Sam had been kidnapped by a crazy cannibal family in the past, and Dean understood his caution toward that happening again. He also somehow knew in his gut that this wasn’t the work of humans, though.

Dean practically jumped with happiness when Sam said they could go, and he grabbed his keys and his go-bag before rushing to the garage door like an excited puppy. He didn’t even care if that was how he came off. He just needed to be in his car with his windows down and music blaring.

A few hours later they were pulling up to an old house off a dirt road after talking to several locals. They had figured out that there were some newcomers in the small town, and they hadn’t gone unnoticed. When they had been questioned about the kidnappings from the local police, they came up clean. Sam and Dean knew better, though. Many monsters knew how to blend in and what to say to throw off suspicion.

They knocked cracked wooden front door to the house and waited for someone to answer. When no one did, they decided to snoop around the side of the house and see if they could see through any windows.

All the windows were covered except for one spot where a blanket had been moved, causing a small corner view into the house. Dean wiped the dust from the window with his sleeve and looked inside.

It was dark inside the house. The window showed into the living room, where five men were sleeping in different spots. Some were on a big, ratty couch and some were on the floor. Dean was thankful that they hadn’t heard when he and Sam knocked on the door.Just from the fact that they were all sleeping during the day he was nearly positive that they were vampires. Getting any living hostages out would be a lot easier with them asleep since they could get in and kill them while they slept.

Sam and Dean got in and took off all the vamps’ heads quickly and with little effort. They searched the house, but didn’t find any hostages. In fact, they didn’t even find any bodies or traces of blood.

“Dean!” Sam called from the kitchen.

Dean walked in with his machete ready just in case. Sam was standing in front of the refrigerator, the door open wide. Inside, where there should have been food, were piles and piles of blood bags.

“What kind of weirdo vamps were these?” Dean asked, picking up one of the bags.

“I don’t know, but we know these didn’t come from a hospital. They must have been taking blood from the victims and storing it.”

“Which means some of them might still be alive,” Dean concluded.

“But we checked everywhere, Dean. Where else could they be?” Sam asked.

Dean thought back over every inch of the house. He even thought about the outside, which was when he remembered seeing a cellar door.

“The cellar,” he said quietly. Both brothers immediately ran outside. When they reached the cellar door it was padlocked, but a quick trip to the Impala later they had the lock cut open.

They crept down the stairs in case any more vamps were there. 

Sam and Dean split up when they reached the bottom, each one untying a victim from their chair.

Dean knelt down when he had you untied. He lightly tapped your face, trying to see if he could get you to come to.

After a few moments, your y/e/c eyes fluttered open and landed on Dean.

“Hey, don’t worry, I’m not a vampire,” Dean explained quickly. You looked skeptical but nodded as you noticed that you were untied.

“You have to get me over there,” you said in a raspy voice. Dean’s eyebrows crinkled in confusion. He followed your gaze over to the other victim, a young blonde that Sam was still trying to wake.

You started to get up and Dean watched as you wobbled. He quickly stood up as well and wrapped an arm around your waist to help support you. When you reached the girl you immediately put your fingers to her neck.

“Her pulse is thready. She won’t make it much longer. We have to get her to a hospital,” you said. Sam and Dean just stared at you, surprised. You looked back and forth between the men, your hand going to your hip. “Now!” you yelled. The brothers swept into action, Sam picking the girl up and carrying her up the stairs, while Dean continued to help you walk.

“Those things dead?” You asked quietly after you were up the stairs and Dean walked you to the car.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Thank you—“ you gestured questioningly.

“Dean,” he filled in for you.

“Dean,” you finished, nodding. Your face was serious, but Dean noticed that it lacked any fear. “I’m Y/N.”

[writing-royza]

Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul: Chapter Thirteen - Moving Forward

A/N: Happy Wednesday, everyone! Just doing a quick drop in this week; its been a busy week, and I ought to get to bed. I apologize for the extreme lateness; there have been some nasty issues with posting. The usual warnings apply. Enjoy!

I do not own FMA.

Chapter Thirteen - Moving Forward

27 WHEELER STREET, EAST CITY

0912 HOURS, APRIL 17

It caused her a brief moment of panic, to ease her eyes open and find his half of the bed empty. Riza sat bolt upright, feeling her stomach clench with sudden worry — no, call it what it is: fear — for him, then relaxed again as she caught sight of his pajama pants folded on a chair to one side of the room.

Jumping at shadows again, she chided herself gently. You spent six months doing that with Pride; don't start again now.

Slipping from underneath the sheets, she noted the absence of Hayate as she padded near-silently out of the room and down the hall toward the apartment's kitchen. Morning sun slanted into the living room ahead, looking warm and welcoming; much nicer than the low lamplight had last night.

She paused where the hallway ended in the open space of the connected living room and kitchen, taking a moment to study the figure slouched in a chair at the table, legs crossed at the knee. One hand rested in his lap, the other lay stretched on the table, toying idly with the handle of his coffee cup. A smile at his casual air started to spread across her lips… and hesitated when she caught his expression.

Roy's eyebrows were drawn low and close, his dark eyes staring at the mug in front of him without really seeing it. His only sign of movement was the slow motion of his lower lip as he worried it reflectively with his teeth. This was a deep thought pose. A deep, serious thought pose.

She took a cautious step forward, into line with his peripheral vision. "Good morning."

"Hey." He didn't look up. "How did you sleep?"

"Once I got to sleep? Just fine." Stopping beside his chair, she slid one hand across his shoulders, picking up on the tension in the muscles. "What about you?"

At last, he tilted his head back, so that she could see the faint dark circles under his eyes. His smile was rueful. "Can't say I slept at all, actually." The hand resting on the table lifted the mug. "That's what this is for."

Guiltily, she lifted her hand from his shoulder, moving it to brush his bangs from his eyes. "I'm sorry. If it weren't for that incident last night…." Bending, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "If you want to try and get some sleep before going back to consulting on the case, then —"

"Ah… about that…." He turned his gaze back to the mug in his hand, but not before she saw the rueful smile tugging grimly at his lips. "There's… been a change of plans."

Her hand stopped in its slow raking through his hair, dark strands sticking up at odd angles through her fingers. Riza held perfectly still, taking time to study his turn of phrase from every angle possible. "…Did Hakuro find a way to remove us from the case?" she said at last, keeping her voice cool and controlled. "I don't think he was convinced we should be working it in the first place."

"He wasn't, but it wasn't him that pulled the plug," Roy murmured. "Before you got up, we had a phone call…."

CENTRAL MILITARY HEADQUARTERS

0817 HOURS, APRIL 17

Dawn had brought rain and fog to the city, covering the damaged garrison in both. Grumman had been amused to find a few stray tendrils of mist in the hallway — seeping in through gaps in the outside walls — on his way to the Presidential office, but his good humour hadn't lasted long. A message left on his desk had informed him of another attack by the serial killer in East City the morning before, as did the new copy of the Central Times.

Settling into his desk chair, he spread the newspaper in front of him and took a deep breath. Time to see what fear-mongering they're pushing today, he thought darkly.

It wasn't long in coming. The media reported both on the new crime scene and Riza's attack on the reporter in as much detail as they could muster. Irritation flared as the old man reached the last paragraph of the article.

While not officially dubbed so by investigators, the general public has taken to referring to the perpetrator as the East-Central Slayer, owing to the locations and extremely violent natures of the crimes.

Sitting back in the chair, Grumman slid a hand under his glasses to rub at his eyes. "Of all the names they could have come up with…. This is precisely what I had hoped to avoid."

Letting the newspaper flop flat onto the desk, he took a moment to huff out an irritated sigh before reaching for the telephone. It was the work of a moment to dial, waiting patiently until there was acknowledgement from the other end. "I'd say 'good morning,' but I suspect you know what's in this morning's paper."

"If you're referring to the attack on Plum Street yesterday, sir, then yes, I'm aware. And if you hadn't beaten me to it, I was going to call you."

"Hmm." Eyeing the tiny print of the article through his glasses, Grumman rested a hand on the polished wooden surface, his fingers drumming absently. "And are you also aware that there is a strong media opinion that my granddaughter may be charged with assault sometime in the next day or so?"

Roy at least had the good grace to sound shamefaced. "…Yes, sir. I'm… I was there. If it's any consolation, she was provoked."

"I didn't think she wouldn't be. Seeing as I suspect you two spent the night in each other's company, it shouldn't be too much trouble for you to put her on the phone, should it." He was trying hard for the tone of a firm, parental disciplinarian, but not having had that much luck with parenting in the past, he knew he sounded more like the deeply irritated officer he was.

"She's still asleep, sir." The barest hint of steel had entered the younger man's tone; standing up for his lady love when she wasn't awake to defend herself. "There was a… a bit of a security breach last night, and we were both up late. It's my opinion she could use the rest."

Quiet alarm bells had gone off in his head by the second sentence, and Grumman frowned deeply. "Explain."

There was the sound of a deep breath, and then an extremely tired-sounding, "Sir, I hope like hell you're sitting down."

Within minutes, Grumman was very glad he was. He listened in nearly slack-jawed amazement and horror as Roy detailed the strange man's inexplicable entry, the bizarre attack, and the fast exit. His stomach churned in sympathy as it was made clear that his granddaughter — my girl, my poor girl — had had some stranger's blood forced down her throat for some unknown and probably perverse reason, and had promptly vomited it back up.

Too shocked to feel angry, he ran a hand through his thinning hair as Roy finished, "I left her sleeping about an hour ago, and if she's still out by nine-thirty, I'll wake her."

"That's fine. Being consultants on the case, you're not compelled to be at Headquarters at any regular hour. You can come and go as you wish." He blew out a sigh. "Have you considered having her checked out medically? To make sure there's no ill effect from… from the incident last night?"

"I'll ask her about it, but I think she got rid of anything she swallowed." There was a pause. "In the meantime, sir, would it be too much to ask that you not tell General Hakuro what happened? He's already looking for an excuse to throw us out, and I'd rather not give him the leverage to do so."

He smiled grimly, reaching out to fold the newspaper closed. "Hakuro may talk a big game, but I've made it clear to him that his power in this is strictly supervisory. Hiring and firing, so to speak, is my jurisdiction, not his."

"Understood, sir." Another pause. "Was there anything else, sir? If not, I should call in to East City Headquarters and let them know we might be a while in getting there. I can say we're going over files here —"

"That won't be necessary." Grumman's eyes were on the article about the Angelini crime scene, specifically on the black and white photograph that showed both Colonel and Lieutenant. The dark-haired alchemist was on ground level, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses as he watched a sheet-covered gurney pass with its deadweight load. A man in a tweed blazer with a press pass tucked in his hat was approaching from behind, trying to look casual… but not escaping the sharp gaze of Hawkeye, who watched from the raised front steps of the house. Even in the grainy photograph, Grumman could see the shoulders raised in tension, the alertness in those brown eyes so like his daughter's…..

"…Say again, sir?"

"You won't need to let Eastern HQ know that you'll be away for a while," Grumman said firmly. "As I told you, I hold the veto power for who handles this case." He took a deep breath, folding the pages of newsprint closed over the photograph. "I believe you have other commitments to concern you; Major Armstrong and the remainder of your staff will continue the investigation."

"Sir, I—"

Grumman's voice dropped low, only for the ears of the man on the other end of the line. "Roy, this is not up for discussion. I'm making an executive decision here, and as a superior officer, the Führer-President, and a close friend, I expect it to be followed. Am I clear?"

A short silence, followed by an equally short sigh preceded the answer. "Yes… Your Excellency, sir." The use of the formal title was not lost on Grumman, but he chose to ignore it. "Would it be too much to ask, however, exactly —"

"Why?"

She had settled into a chair at the table as he told the story, her gaze intent on his face. Roy stared back, sympathetic and with the last vestiges of his own annoyance stamped in those dark eyes. His fingers, resting on the side of his coffee mug as he spoke, began drumming random, absent-minded patterns.

"He gave a few reasons," he said, shrugging fatalistically. "The first was to distance you from whatever media attention any assault charges are going to get you, if that reporter — what's his name, Collins? — decides to file. The second was that the killer obviously has an interest in possibly both of us and definitely you, so Grumman's hoping that we can slip out quietly, without drawing attention to ourselves, and he won't be able to trail us." He lifted the mug to his lips, saying before he took a sip, "And the third was that we're needed elsewhere."

Riza knew frustration was still furrowing her brow, and she made no attempt to hide it. Folding her hands on the table, she studied her fingernails a moment, trying to calm the flare of irritation and anger that had sprung up in her chest. "When you say elsewhere," she began at last, "you mean —"

He nodded. "Ishval."

She closed her right hand into a fist, feeling the slight dig of her nails against the skin of her palm. It didn't hurt, per se, it was more like… pressure. Straightening the fingers again, she contemplated the crescent-shaped indents in her skin. Calm… calm…. "And who is going to take over the investigation here?"

Roy was watching her, dark eyes taking in every small movement. "Grumman didn't assign anyone; he told me to choose two replacements that I thought could handle it. I thought maybe Rebecca would be able, but we've partnered her with Havoc in the past and he's obviously out of commission." He tilted his head to one side, regarding her with new interest. "I'd like your thoughts on it as well. Maybe there's someone I'm overlooking?"

"Rebecca's a good choice; she complained about having to deal with the case, but she'll take it seriously if she's at the forefront of the East City investigations." Pausing, Riza ran carefully through a list of their mutual contacts, trying to come up with a name that might be a promising candidate.

Finally, she looked up. "General Armstrong has already done us one favour, by lending you Major Miles to help with the Ishval reconstruction," she said. "What are the odds she'd give you back Falman as well? Again, on a temporary basis. Until this little fiasco is over."

He was already nodding slowly. "I'd considered that. I don't know if she'll agree to it, especially since it means helping me when she doesn't absolutely have to… but it's certainly worth a shot." Tilting his mug to look into the depths, he frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe if we arranged for the credit for an arrest to go to Briggs instead of East City…."

She watched him fall into contemplative silence, waiting a moment before speaking. "Either way… we're being benched again."

Roy's eyes flicked up to meet hers, clearly gauging her mood before he answered. "…Yeah. We are." Tossing back the last of his coffee, he got to his feet and started toward the apartment's small kitchen. "I still keep turning it over in my head, trying to find a way that we could stay, or that we could work our way back onto the case… but I'm not coming up with much."

"You said Grumman called here nearly an hour ago?" She watched as he nodded, refilling his mug and taking a clean one from a cupboard for her. "Then he'll already have called Hakuro and told him to expect another investigative team. And he'll be only too happy to avoid working with either you or I."

"Sometimes it's nice knowing a superior officer hates you and everything you stand for," Roy said mildly, starting back toward the table. "It makes every success feel that little bit better. Until things start working against you, and then it's just a nuisance." He set her cup in front of her. "I also briefly considered beginning a separate, private investigation on our own… but even with all our contacts and connections, I doubt we'd get very far."

She propped her chin in one hand, leaning over the cup to inhale the rich, savoury scent in appreciation. "That's assuming they would want to talk at all. Casella was nervous enough, thanks to what happened on the Promised Day; what's to say the others wouldn't be the same, especially if word has gotten out of what I did to Collins."

"It has." Roy grinned half-heartedly. "But your newspaper photo was very nearly as pretty as the real you."

Riza couldn't stifle a return smile, but she managed to quash the urge to laugh. "Flattery won't clear me at court-martial, sir," she said dryly, reaching for her cup. She sipped, the smile fading. "Which, I'll be honest, is one of the better reasons Grumman gave for taking us off the investigation."

He looked at her curiously. "You want to run for it? Get out of town before the lawyers begin circling?" His tone was joking, but his eyes were not.

She shook her head. "I didn't mean it that way. What I did was… I don't think it was exactly wrong, because I did perceive him to be a threat. But I definitely didn't handle it in a way that was… professional, for lack of a better term. I overreacted." Thoughtful, she gently swirled the coffee in her mug, watching the way it splashed up the sides. "Before we leave for Ishval, I think I should take you up on the suggestion you made, about calling a meeting with Collins and whatever lawyer he might have hired. See if he'd be willing to let things go if I apologized."

Leaning forward, folding his arms on the table, Roy nodded. "At the very least, he won't be able to claim you didn't demonstrate remorse for it, or whatever the legal jargon for it is. Though I think it would also be a good idea to have a backup plan for if he doesn't decide to forgive you."

Smiling over the rim of her cup, she shrugged one shoulder. "I thought that was what the Ishval trip was for?" Taking another sip, she set the mug back on the table, cradling the warm ceramic in both hands. "That being said… how exactly are we supposed to get out there? Trains haven't run out that far in, what, six? Seven years?"

"Not since the end of the war," Roy agreed. One hand rose, rubbing unconsciously at the light growth of stubble just starting to darken his jawline. "The way I figure it, we can either take a train from here to Resembool and find a car charter that'll take us the rest of the way to Ishval… or else we drive ourselves in the car we got from Eastern HQ."

Her gaze was steady on the table top, though introspective as she mulled it over. "It's a day and a half by train from Resembool to the outskirts of Ishval. That's three days by car," she reminded him. When she looked up, she was smiling again. "And I seem to remember you saying you hate camping almost as much as you hate going to the dentist."

He levelled a finger at her, matching her smile. "I hate military camps," he corrected, mock-severely. "But three days alone with you, sunshine during the day and stars at night?" Dropping his hand, he leaned forward. "I think I can handle that."

One blonde eyebrow quirked upward. "Is this a military expedition, or a romantic getaway?"

"Who's to say it can't be both?"

"Ah, efficiency. I like it." Leaning forward to meet him, she pressed a kiss to his cheek before getting up and making her way back down the hallway, coffee cup still in one hand. "There's a lot of supplies and equipment to line up, if that's the case, not to mention I'll need to make some apologetic overtures toward Mr. Collins. I think it's high time I got started."

Roy's eyes followed her across the room, watching the way his shirt hung on that lithe frame, how the hem stopped at the right length to give some decent modesty, while at the same time showing enough leg to be enticing. He got up to follow her, his own pace leisurely and mug still in hand.

"Since we're already off the case and don't have any official business that's absolutely pressing," he said, lifting his coffee for a too-casual-to-be-innocent sip, "then I think maybe I ought to reassure myself that you're as well as you seem to be."

He caught up to her in the bedroom doorway as she paused, looking back over her shoulder with a knowing smile. "I take it you mean a physical examination?" Her eyes wandered south along his body, then back to his face. "An… intensive one at that?"

Reaching out with his free hand, Roy tugged lightly on the open shirt collar, ignoring the red scar line and two small, round marks either side of it. "Strip, shirt thief."

CITY OF JADAD, GUNJA REGION, ISHVAL

1103 A.M., APRIL 17

He didn't like to think of how long it had been since he walked the packed-sand streets of an Ishvalan city, since he had smelled the warm, earthy scent of brick houses baking under the sun in the cloudless sky above. Things were beginning to come back to him: his feet instinctively gripping the soles of the sandals and adjusting in mid-step to any grit that shifted underneath, he carried one arm tucked neatly against his ribs to keep his robe from flapping open in the light breeze, and he held his head high, with the proper bearing of a full warrior.

The man with no name breathed deep, smelling the familiar scents of home, and for the first time in far too long… felt as close to at peace as he had ever been.

It wasn't possible to relax fully, of course. All around him were the remains of crumbled buildings, chunks of stone and mortar, shattered wooden beams, and splintered doors. What houses had had small gardens were left with dried and withered weeds, slowly disintegrating into dust.

He paused at the end of the street as it opened into a plaza, taking a moment to study his surroundings. It was rocky, desolate, covered in dust and rubble… but underneath it all, he felt a pulse. There was a faint thrumming in the earth below his feet, and that minute vibration meant life. Life that would be breathed back into the city, the region, and the provinces beyond.

Ishval would live again. "Inshbala'ah," he murmured to himself. "God willing."

Turning down a street leading out of the plaza, he kept his head up, watching as signs of habitation began to appear. Here and there, a small house would be in a greater state of repair than its neighbours, or small children would be playing in a lot among the rocks and debris. They stopped to stare as he passed, and the unnamed man tugged the robe closer over his arms to hide the tattoos imprinted there.

He knew the children whispered after he was out of earshot. He didn't mind; he was a stranger, and a strange one at that. An Ishvalan that had chosen to mark his flesh with the symbols and sciences of Amestris and Xing was not precisely an outcast, but they were viewed with curiosity… and more than a little suspicion.

He reached the large city administration building soon after, entering the cool, shaded interior that echoed back the murmured conversations of two or three groups in the atrium-like entryway. Scar turned left down a corridor, knowing the eyes of a trip of elders followed him as he went.

The small office-style space that had been given to himself and Miles was down another, smaller corridor and behind a door of simple wooden planks. It was devoid of most Amestrian-style furniture, furnished instead with a pair of low writing desks, a tiny kitchen alcove barely big enough for one person, woven cloth mats on the baked clay floor, and an array of plush cushions arranged in a conversational circle.

Looking up from behind one desk as the door opened, Miles paused in whatever he was writing to nod in greeting. "Welcome back. Did you find what you were looking for?"

Scar nodded, settling cross-legged behind the other table. "There's an unoccupied house in the southern district that should suffice. The damage is light, and easily repaired. And we were considering an outpost office in that area anyway, so that residents wouldn't have to trek all the way over here."

Miles nodded again. "Good. We can file a claim for it this afternoon." He pointed with his pen to a small, open envelope on Scar's desk before going back to his writing. "But it looks like we'll need to scope a second house for what's coming."

Frowning in puzzlement, the scarred man removed a single-folded piece of paper from the envelope, briefly skimming the telegraphed message. Neat type spelled out: BY ORDER CENTRAL HQ: MUSTANG AND HAWKEYE INBOUND WILL ARRIVE IN THREE DAYS TO BEGIN WORK WITH RECONSTRUCTION AUTHORITY ADVISE ON ARRIVAL.

The frown didn't ease. "They're on their way already? Did they resolve their murder case so quickly?"

A quiet chuckle came from across the room. "Not so much. From the phone call that preceded that message — it's really just a formal notice, for our records — the investigation is being left to General Armstrong's younger brother and whatever staff of Mustang's isn't at Briggs or in a wheelchair. There was some kind of altercation, and both Colonel and Lieutenant were quietly ushered to the sidelines."

Scar looked up, his only other reaction a single raised eyebrow. "Altercation?" he repeated.

Miles smiled. "Apparently, the young lady punched a particularly aggressive reporter."

He gave no outward sign of surprise or other reaction, but Scar couldn't deny being impressed. He had known the Lieutenant was emotionally strong, certainly; her fortitude in talking Mustang down from the unreasoning rage he had harboured against Envy was proof enough of that. But she hadn't struck him as being particularly physically strong. Perhaps Amestrian hand-to-hand training wasn't quite as lax as he thought it to be.

"I suppose my next question ought to be how they think they'll be getting out here," he said at last. "We've talked about clearing the old train tracks, but there isn't a definitive plan."

"I imagine they're driving." Miles shrugged. "As for the tracks, the main problem is just getting them clear of sand once they leave the greener areas, and making sure they're still structurally sound. Once the military withdrew from Ishval following the conflict, they didn't spend too much effort to maintain them. It was no longer a priority."

He looked up at the warrior, red eyes flicking to the tattooing visible on the other man's arms. "There is, of course, an easier solution than manual labour. One that perhaps the rest of our people don't necessarily need to know about."

Scar was already shaking his head. "Our people are too proud and too traditional to allow it, or to accept the use of alchemy if it were done without consulting them. The general feeling around here is that we will rebuild from the ashes and rubble and take pride in the work… and that extends to reopening the railway."

Miles shrugged, going back to his documents. "It was a thought."

Searching briefly through several folded maps on the desk top, Scar selected the one he wanted and laid it flat on the weathered wooden surface. He took a thin charcoal stick, running one rough finger over the layout of the city until he found the building he was looking for. He marked it with an X, before locating the building's indicator number on a sheet filled with them and marking a second X next to it.

His eyes roved over the map again, over multiple black Xs marking inhabited locations or those slated for some purpose. Red ink slashed through even more former buildings, showing where there was simply too much structural damage for the building to be repaired.

The Ishvalan city wasn't laid out like an Amestrian one. Where those were laid out in an orderly fashion, with street names and numbers for each building, the desert city spread unevenly over the map page, its streets full of twists and turns, opening into plazas and culminating abruptly in dead ends. Wide avenues branched off into the narrower streets and thin alleys, like the web of some crazed spider… and yet there was order in the chaos.

The arid landscape held few rivers, but the streets of its cities functioned in the same way. Creeks fed into streams that fed into the river, and the river carried its flow — its people — to the major locations.

Scar marked a location less than a mile east from the city administration building, before noting the indicator number and getting back to his feet. "With the Colonel and Lieutenant on their way, they're going to need a place to stay once they get here," he said, straightening the robe. It had been so long since he'd worn one, his body had forgotten the practiced motions needed to keep the thing properly in place. "I think I know of one; I'm going to go check on it."

"I'll put the paperwork in motion, and fast track it through," Miles said, without looking up. He smiled wryly. "I've never done so much paperwork in my life, and I was the assistant to a General."

"Ishval was taken from us with fire and iron," Scar murmured, heading toward the door. "We're taking it back with paper."

Moments later, he stepped again from cool shade to warm sun, immediately feeling the baking heat settling over him. The loose folds of the robe helped to dissipate the warmth, but sweat still prickled on his back. It stung a little on his still-healing wounds, but he ignored the pain, letting it be a reminder of what he had faced and survived.

He had heard the tales, from his own people and from the female General's massively burly brother, of how Supreme Cleric Logue Lowe had faced Bradley man to man, similar to what he had done. But where the old priest had put forward the path of least resistance, Scar had presented as much as he possibly could, all in the name of saving the country that had committed genocide on his people. He supposed that of himself and Lowe, he had been the one to get off lucky in facing Bradley.

Convincing his people to help had been a monumental task. Had his old master not intervened on his behalf, Scar wasn't sure he would have convinced anyone at all. Actions had always spoken louder than words with him, especially after the war, because his mind would not marshal the words into a feasible argument. He was a fighter, not a politician, not a clan leader….

And yet, suddenly, he was something very close to that.

As he walked the streets of the half-ruined city, those he came across recognized him by the scar on his forehead. Men offered silent nods of acknowledgement, women smiled in greeting, children stared in wonder at the man of legend. The man who swore vengeance and forsook his name, who killed and then fought alongside alchemists and soldiers, who saved the country he had sworn to hate for eternity.

The attention left him uncomfortable, after so long spent in hiding.

He reached the house he had chosen for the two inbound soldiers, pausing before opening the door. Mustang and Hawkeye were a two-person team, to be sure, but he wondered if it were overstepping some boundary to put them up in the same house. Ishvalan warriors didn't separate themselves by gender, but the Amestrians were more prudish on the subject, no matter a person's skills.

He brushed away the thought; if there were a problem with them sharing accommodations, there were enough buildings in tolerable states of repair for Colonel and Lieutenant to have their space.

The interior of the house was relatively clean, the only signs of its long disuse being the layer of dust on every surface windswept sand on the dirt floors. Other than that, it appeared to be fully functional, if unfurnished. That was easily rectified; some of the first people to flock back to the city after the Battle of Central had been craftsmen and women skilled in the creation of household goods. They had been working ever since with the shipments Miles had arranged for from Amestris of fabric, cotton batting, wicker, wood, and tools.

Making a mental note to apply to the goods warehouse for at least the bare minimum in furnishings - seating, food preparation, a table, and two sleeping pallets - he turned his attention to examining the walls. A handful of pockmarks from bullets that would need to be plastered over, a couple cracks that needed the same treatment… but overall, they should find it at least liveable. The desert lifestyle didn't offer much in comfort, but made up for it in lack of complication. It would suit a more stoic outlook like Lieutenant Hawkeye, and he doubted the Colonel would have much trouble adjusting.

They were an interesting pair. Stark juxtaposition when standing next to each other — male and female, dark and fair-haired, tall and short, alchemist and non-alchemist, hot-headed and cool demeanour, vocal and quiet…. Yet even he, who had only dealt with them personally twice could see the almost effortless partnership. He had seen it when Hawkeye kicked her superior's feet out from under him to save him from Scar's attack, and again when Mustang stepped back from rage and vengeance, asking her forgiveness.

On his way out of the house, he paused in the doorway, looking around the small space. He had seen how the other side lived and worked. He had been in their cities, studied their infrastructure, watched their movements. He had been deep inside their world.

Now, they would come to his, not as enemies, but as allies. And Scar found himself looking forward to it.

[good-rwbyaus]

Modern AU: College Romance and Goofy Shenanigans

The college AU where Jaune and Pyrrha meet at a dorm party they get dragged to, and surprise their friends by acting to completely out of character by disappearing for a day and a half and showing up together Monday morning covered in hickies and completely smashed.

Jaune: Surprisingly cheerful fellow with a spotted past. His family are very uninvolved in his life, and while they never derided him for his life choices, they never supported him either. He’s in college studying Law thanks to student loans, working overtime for two years before, and his ‘side-job’ at night. Which is participating in Dance competitions that he wins handily, while making side bets on himself through his friends the Twins and their Uncle ‘Junior’. Has an ex boyfriend who’s something of a stalker, and left his hometown in somewhat of a hurry to dodge him. Participates in renaissance weapon battles in his spare time. Occasionally charismatic, but lonelier than he lets on.

Pyrrha: Former child-model looking to escape that drama, she’s a sports enthusiast looking to study kinesiology. She and her parents moved to Vale last year, and she’s struggling to balance her budget thanks to the near-collapse of the Mistral economy and her subsequent buying their way into Vale citizenship eating at her savings from her career, with the rest being used to support her parents. She’s a shoe in for a sports scholarship, but is hesitant to become a ‘star’ again. Knows Palé (Ancient Greek Wrestling) and is a champion javelin thrower. Really wants friends, and a partner who will look past her ‘famous’ background.

Ren: Former drug dealer. Supported himself and Nora while they were in the orphanage thanks to his knowledge of herbs and their mixes; this led to him doing some shady things to get them the money to go to college. And their car. He stopped because Nora begged him to quit before he ruined his life supporting hers when she was just as willing to carry the load. He’s since gone straight, and still feels guilty about the stress he put on Nora with his actions. Studying culinary arts. Practices Tai Chi and judo in parks, and might have a sleeping disorder. Sells doughnuts and pastries at a kiosk in a farmer’s market every weekend.

Nora: The most cheerful waitress in existence. Works at a pancake house, and is pretty much the company mascot. Studying child psychology, and wants to become someone who helps kids. Worries about Ren, and feels guilty that he had to support them when they were younger, and as such spends all of her generous tips on him, despite his protests. Former champion of her school wrestling team. Low-key writes romance stories and is thinking of publishing them.

Ruby: Youngest of the bunch, and stunted socially. Nearly became a shut-in due to social anxiety attacks in her last few years of high-school. Struggles with socialization and dealing with crowds, but wants to change that, even if the thought scares her. Studies metallurgy and wants to be a blacksmith, but will settle for engineering. Her uncle taught her CQC for self-defence and as a way to get her out of the house. Was made to live in a dorm rather than sharing an apartment with Yang as a way to reintegrate her with society.

Weiss: Singer, heiress, and slumming it in a college her father didn’t pick for her out of spite. When her money runs out after her first semester when he cuts her off, she finds herself managing her finances and getting a job as a lounge singer. Stuck rooming with Ruby due to luck, but wound up having a soft spot for her after seeing one of her anxiety attacks. They may or may not cuddle in the same bed most nights. Fencing enthusiast and studying business.

Yang: Brawler and proud of it. Boxing champ and very proud of it. Not so proud of her criminal record and her sordid history with a ‘fight club’ that she used to pay for her apartment/condo. Made Ruby live in a dorm by lying about having a roommate, leading to a desperate search for one on the sly that led to Blake renting her spare room. Trying to get her life back in order after a rough few years, and studying criminology, hoping to be a law officer like her uncle, father, and mother.

Blake: Former terrorist, and freedom fighter both. Used to help smuggle people into new lives, and took advantage of the system for herself after becoming disillusioned with the White Fang. Wants to live peacefully, and is paranoid about being discovered. Works in a second-hand bookshop owned by other ‘retirees’ and pays Yang in cash rather than anything else. Studying sociology and wants to become an advocate of human rights and to build support groups. Kicks all kinds of ass.

*That time everyone noticed that Jaune and Pyrrha were missing after a party, and were united for the first time in their search for their mutual friends. They decide to hang out together more after everything is done.

*That time Jaune and Pyrrha met up at a party, bonded over their mutual awkwardness, and then connected over their loneliness. Then they ran off and started the whole mess.

They were tipsy enough to decide to go make their own fun: Jaune brought her to a Street Dancing competition, introduced her to the Twins and through them, Junior’s Club. Then they went and crashed at the Twin’ place after copious amounts of drinking, got a show, drinks literally poured down their throats, did tons of body shots, and wound up not having sex due to Jaune being a gentleman even while drunk. Both the Twins, and Pyrrha thought that was stupid, and they all got drunk again that morning just so Jaune and Pyrrha could have drunk-sex and pretend they’d done it the night before, also to kill their hangovers.

They went out for a late lunch, noticed that they were on the other side of town, and wound up going to see a movie. Went out for dinner and more drinks, stopped at another Street Dance-Off, won the couples round and the huge pile of prizes, then they wound up running away from Torchwick and Cinder, who are sore losers. They wind up hiding out in a strip club, and are incredibly awkward. Especially when they get offered a ‘couple’s special’.

They drink some more, talking about their family and money problems, and their jobs. They wind up making friends with two of the strippers, Reese and Arlsan, and go back to their apartment where they chat for most of the night about college and the things the students have to do to support themselves.

The Next morning they’re incredibly hungover, and Arslan fixes them up with a litre of water and a triple of scotch each. They’re wearing fresh clothes that they won off of Torchwick and Cinder, which explains their chase, and are showered and Jaune shaved with a pink safety razor. Arslan kisses them both on the cheek and sees them off, telling them to come back for drinks next weekend.

Their friends finally spot them heading for class hand in hand, nearly out of their minds with worry and asking all their classmates if anyone saw them after a day of searching their usual hangouts and filing police reports. They’re stunned to silence when Pyrrha kisses Jaune on the lips, calls him ‘dear’, wishes him a good day, and Jaune asks if they’re still on for dinner.

*That time they decided to help Ren sell his confections, and wound up dealing with the Pastry-Mafia. Threats were had. There may have been  a rumble in an alleyway after they trashed Ren’s kiosk.

*That time Jaune’s crazy ex Giles showed up on Halloween with a cult and they had to fight off eldritch abominations with Renaissance Fair weapons and superpowers.

*The day after, when Ruby wakes up and everyone else tells her what really happened after she got that concussion: kicking the ass of Jaune’s ex and the gang members wearing masks that he had with him.

Ruby and Yang’s Uncle Qrow, Federal Agent (and not a CIA Spy, no siree) is mighty impressed when he tallies up the damage report.

*That time the crazy serial killer that Jaune’s ex was involved with, Prelati, kidnapped him and Pyrrha smacked the crap out of a cult near single-handedly.

Qrow shares his flask with her, she kicked their asses so hard. He’s that impressed. Also, his nieces need to stop calling him in after shit like this goes down. He’s going to have a heart attack at this rate.

*That time everyone went out drinking and discovered that they were at the club Weiss works at, much to her embarrassment. The standing ovation was touching, but distracting! She’s trying to work here!

*That time Blake needed a date to infiltrate an event to determine if there was oppression for her campus-newspaper article, and brought Yang with her and they wound up going out for coffee after and hooking up when the sexual tension between them reached impossible heights.

*That time Ruby kept sneaking into Yang’s apartment at inopportune times, and was nearly traumatized by seeing Blake and Yang in bed together.

*That time SSSN dragged Jaune and Ren to a strip club and awkwardness ruled them all. And Pyrrha and Nora nearly killed them all. And everyone was stupefied that Jaune was on a first name basis with one of the strippers, Arslan, who offered him a discount, but only after asking if he and Pyrrha were doing okay.

*That time that Ruby met Weiss, made a horrible first impression, got lost going to her classes, spilled her lunch, and worked herself up into a panicked frenzy while imagining a year sharing a room with someone who hated her until she had a stress induced breakdown, and woke up a few hours later to find that Weiss was feeding her Hot Chocolate and Decaf-Coffee while cuddling with her under a blanket, telling her how sorry she is for ‘pushing her over the edge’ like that, and how panicked she was when she saw her curled up on the floor. She called her physician to make a house call, she was so worried.

Ruby just breaks down sobbing and tells her about her social-anxiety and panic attacks, and now her sister is going to show up for dinner and see what a mess she is when she was supposed to be going to college to change that. Weiss finds herself growing attached, despite herself, and takes stock of her roommate’s puffy eyes and smudged makeup.

When Yang shows up, Ruby introduces her to Weiss, who apologizes for covering Ruby in facial cream and nail polish when she was supposed to be going to dinner, they just lost track of time. Maybe they could reschedule to lunch tomorrow? Yang cheerfully says that the three of them are on, while Weiss sputters, and Ruby thinks that she’s smitten.

*That time when Weiss went out on a date with Neptune, and spent the entire evening telling herself that she liked men, while talking about Ruby every time he changed subjects.

*That time Blake borrowed Yang’s motorcycle to chase a burglar she thought might be a former White Fang agent, scratched the paint, and had to beg for Ren and Nora’s help fixing it before Yang came back from visiting her dad.

*That time the girls joined Pyrrha at the gym and hijinks ensued as they tried to compare their physical fitness to hers.

*That time Jaune talked about his relationship with Giles, and told everyone that according to his sisters he was obligated to wear women’s clothes half of the time they were dating, which led to some awkward habits forming, some sometimes funny, sometimes tragic moments going to church, and how their relationship broke down due to social pressure, their mutual and distinct social issues, and Giles’ issues with being seen dating a man.

Jaune admits that, in hindsight, the dress thing probably contributed to the breakdown.

*That time Weiss made it her duty to take Ruby shopping for swimsuits, and wound up giving herself more conflicting feelings.

*That time Yang crashed with Ruby for the weekend, and wound up talking about her sordid first few years away from home while drunk.

*She had a promising boxing career, scholarships on the horizon, and the potential to go to the nationals. But she became addicted to the adrenaline, and when she got offered the chance to make some extra money by doing some underground fights, she jumped at the chance.

She moved out of the house, leaving her father and sister, who she’d taken care of for too long, and lived for herself. She competed professionally less and less, and fought underground more and more, until one day, years later, she looked around her, at the crappy place she lived in, the money she never needed but still gambled, and couldn’t recall the last time she called her sister. And she felt shame.

Her pro-career might be gone, but she learned a lot in that time away. And her father and sister learned to get their shit together without her there. They all grew a little. And now she’s ready to move on with her life.

*That time Ren took ‘The Slothmobile’ and entered a street race in the desert to try and win some extra cash for next year’s tuition, with Jaune as his harried passenger and navigator.

**The Slothmobile is an old, Classic convertible that Ren and Nora have practically rebuilt after getting a good deal on it due to its condition. A very good deal. A very, very, almost suspiciously good deal. The Slothmobile is definitely not stolen. Ren just had very specific instructions to take it to a specific Insurance Dealership, and to ask for a Specific Teller, and to mention the Seller of the car along with their ‘guy-code’ phrase. It was covered in rust, scratched, and faded yellow with a tattered soft cover. They buffed out the rust, painted it in green with hot pink highlights.  (Ren won the color choice coin toss. Nora won the naming rights) They yanked out the busted radio, covered the seats in fake leather covers Nora made, and patched up the soft top with strips of leather and ceramic plates that look pretty good.

***They don’t pay for parking over half of the year, until the snow sets in. Otherwise, they keep moving it around parking lots they know it won’t be towed in for leaving it there.

 *That time Nora entered the ‘Professional Waitress Championship’ of the Kingdom, and needed Weiss’ help with the high-class etiquette portion.

*That time Blake’s ex Adam showed up and Yang winds up kicking his ass, only to discover that he’s a terrorist. Then she gets her Uncle to arrest him.

Blake may or may not bolt to her escape route, stop halfway across the city, turn around and run back to their apartment just in time to pin Yang to the floor when she gets back.

Then she cries. A lot. Especially when Yang starts telling her about her own sordid history, and tells her that she will find no judgement from her, just the acceptance she’s always wanted.

Most of Blake’s stuff (which is very little save for her books) is already thrown into a pair of large duffle bags. They unpack them in Yang’s room.

“Don’t tell Ruby I have a spare room again. Living in the dorm is good for her.” “I’m here as an excuse to keep her out, for her own good. That was our deal…” “Well… I think it’s more than that now…”

*That time Ruby steals all of Jaune’s renaissance weapons, and gets mistaken for an arms dealer by the police.

*That time they all go to the beach and wind up competing in a sand building contest and watching fireworks at night.

*That time Jaune and Pyrrha talk to Ren and Nora about splitting a mortgage and buying a house the four of them can share while they live in Vale.

*That time that everyone helped Weiss record and market her own single album. They ‘borrowed’ a lot of their equipment from the college, and had to sneak it back inside before anyone noticed, and almost got arrested doing it. Shenanigans and chases ensued!

*That time Yang dragged Weiss, Ruby, and Pyrrha bar hopping and they run into Cinder Fall, who is salty about her loss, and they get into a massive bar fight. Pyrrha defendeds Jaune’s honor, Ruby broke a chair over someone’s head, and Weiss stabbed someone with her stiletto shoes. Yang is impressed with all of them. Nora pouts about working that night and missing all the fun.

*That time Pyrrha’s parents came to visit, and Jaune thought they were traditionalists, leading to him trying to hide the evidence of them switching between dorm rooms to sleep with each other. Pyrrha’s parents troll him so much to get a feel for his character.

*That time Cardin Winchester found Jaune on campus, and tried to blackmail him with old pictures of Jaune crossdressing, and Pyrrha kicked his ass.

*That time Pyrrha and Jaune drove themselves crazy trying to plan a perfect valentine’s day gift for the other.

Basically, it’s Undergrads meet RWBY!

Massive AU filled with Fluff and Chaos here. Feel free to submit your own additions everyone! Go wild!

[a-winchester-fairytale]

Villisca

Summary: Strange things are happening in small town Iowa, where a family was murdered in their home over 100 years ago.  Can you and the Winchesters work together to solve the mystery behind the Villisca Axe Murder House?

Word Count: 5,914

Warnings:  mentions of the murders (nothing graphic)

A/N:  This is for @pinknerdpanda​ 1K Challenge and @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba​ Out of Context Challenge.  My first prompt was the Villisca Axe Murder House.  I tried to stay as close to the research I found as possible, but I took a little liberty when talking about the inside of the house (just because I couldn't find that many pictures). 

In order to have an additional storyline, I included the idea I had for Helen's challenge.  My prompt was "I just wanted you to fight for me for once, just once."  I did bold that in the fic.  I know that both of you extended your deadlines to the group and I want to say Thank You.  It helped me give this the time I wanted it to have.  **warnings in tags**

Feedback is always welcome!

“Shadows, the sound of boots walking around, a woman’s scream…?  Sounds a lot like a bunch of kids playing pranks.”  Sam said, setting the newspaper article down on the table and looking up at you.

“That’s what I thought too, but I went there anyway.  There is something going on in that house.  I swear, Sam.”

“You know most of those places that claim they have ghosts are just a hoax to sell stuff.”  Dean said dismissively.  He set his coffee down and took a chair across from you.

“I know what I saw.”  You snapped at him.  “If you don’t want to go, fine.  I’ll take care of it myself.”  You added, getting up.

“I never said we wouldn’t go.”  Dean snapped back, reaching up to grab your arm to stop you from walking away.  “I’m just a little surprised you would call us.”  He added, his tone calmer.  You sighed and sank back down into your chair when Dean released his hold on your arm.

“Honestly…that makes two of us.”  You said, rolling your eyes and turning your focus back to Sam.

“The article says that people have been living in that house for years and they never had anything strange happen.”  Sam said, ignoring the mounting tension between you and Dean.

“True, but now it has been restored back to the way it was when the Moore’s lived there, down to the lack of electricity.  Now it’s a museum and people can even pay to spend the night in the house.” You told him, pulling up the website for the house online.

“Let me see that…”  Sam said, turning the computer screen and reading the options aloud.

“Wait a minute, you’re telling me that people pay several hundred dollars to spend the night there?”  Dean asked.

“According to this, yes.  They are almost completely booked for the next month.” Sam answered, leaning back in the chair and running a hand though his hair.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.  People are crazy.”  Dean mumbled.  With a sigh he stood up and started down the hallway.  “We’ll leave in half an hour.”  He called out to Sam over his shoulder.

Sam waved off his brothers words and started packing his laptop into his bag.  “I see that the last six months has done nothing to cool things between you and my brother.”  He muttered.

“Did you really think it would?”  You asked him, surprised.

“I had hoped.”  He answered.  “Why did you call us?”  He pressed.

“Because I knew you would believe me.”  You replied.  “Besides, regardless of what happened, there is still no one I trust more on the job than the two of you.”  You added after a pause. 

Sam just grinned and shook his head.  He stood and placed his hand on your shoulder. You looked up at him, wondering if you had made the right choice by coming to them for help.

“Good to have you back.”  He said before he walked away to pack his own bag for the case.

“Thanks, Sam.”  You whispered to the doorway he had just disappeared through.

An hour later, you were pulling into an old gas station with the impala close behind you.  As Dean pumped gas at the pump across the parking lot from you, Sam climbed out of the passenger seat and walked to where you stood next to your truck.

“I’ve got some bad news.”  He said calmer than you had ever heard him. 

“What is it?”  You asked, concerned.  Sam looked down and kicked at the cement with the toes of his shoes.  “Sam?”  You pressed.

“We just picked up word that there was an incident last night in Villisca.”  He began.  “Apparently, a couple of teenagers snuck into that house last night and one of them disappeared.”

“Damn it!”  You exclaimed, hitting the side of the truck with your hand.  You shook your head, your eyes squeezed closed.  “We can go by the motel first so you guys can put on the FBI gear and then I’ll take you out there.”  You added, shoving the gas handle back into the pump and hopping into the driver’s seat of your truck.

Sam had barely made it back to the impala before you pealed out of the parking lot.  Dean followed suit, unwilling to be shown up and he laughed when Sam grabbed the door to keep from being flung across the seat.

+++

“What’s the story with this house anyway?”  Sam asked, gesturing to the sign outside that welcomed them to the Villisca Murder House.

“On the night of June 9, 1912, Josiah Moore and his wife attended an evening church service with their three sons and daughter.”  You began as the three of you stepped into the house to look around.  “Afterwards they returned to their home, along with two of their daughter's friends from church.  The next morning, they were all found murdered in their beds with an axe that was left on the property.  Rumor is that the killer was hiding in the attic until the family went to sleep.” 

“What kind of sick mind does something like that?”  Dean asked, looking at the pictures of the family on the wall.

“There has been a lot of speculation about that over the years. It is still considered one of America’s greatest unsolved mysteries.  There were several people suspected, from a serial killer with the same MO to an elected official paying off someone to do the job for him.  At one point, they even accused the preacher.”  You answered.

“You mean they never found out who did it?”  Sam asked, surprised.  You shook your head.

 “Well, that would do it.  Sounds like a vengeful spirit to me.”  Dean said. 

“The detective said that the incident last night happened at exactly 12:45 am.” Sam said

“That’s  the approximate time that the 1912 murders happened.”  you said.

Dean stopped in the doorway to the dining room and tapped Sam on the shoulder to get his attention.  He gestured to where a uniformed officer was interviewing a teenage boy.

“That must be the brother.”  He said quietly.  “Let’s go see what he knows.”

“You guys go ahead.  I want to make friends with that detective to make sure we get copies of his files.”  You offered. 

“Can we have a moment with the kid?”  Dean asked the officer as he and Sam flashed their FBI badges.  The officer nodded, and with a quick glance at the kid he walked away. 

“I’m Sam and this is Dean.”  Sam began as the two of them sat down at the table.  “You’re Trevor, right?”  He asked and Trevor nodded.

“Okay, Trevor.  Why don’t you tell us what happened?”  Dean encouraged.  Trevor nodded and took a deep breath.

“It was just a dare.”  He began.  “We were out at this party with a couple of friends.  We had a few drinks so we decided to just walk home instead of calling our parents for a ride.  We passed by the house and the next thing I know she was climbing in an open window and daring me to follow her.  At first I didn’t want to, but she was teasing me and I did.  When I got inside, I couldn’t find her anywhere.  She wasn’t answering me and then I heard a scream.  I ran into the room and all I found was this.”  He said, holding up a scarf.

“Was that Kate’s?”  Sam asked. 

“She was wearing it when she climbed in the window.”  Trevor answered, looking up at Sam. 

“Is it possible that she went out another window or the back door to scare you?”  Dean asked.  Trevor shook his head.

“She would have come home by now.”  He answered. 

“Okay.  Thanks, Trevor.”  Dean said, and the two of them stood up from the table.  Trevor reached out and grabbed Sam by the jacket.

“Please.”  He begged.  “Please find my sister.” 

Sam and Dean looked back at each other, neither of them wanting to admit to the kid what they already knew was likely. 

“We’ll do everything we can to bring her home.”  Sam promised instead. 

+++

You slid down in the passenger seat of the impala as far as you could so the officers standing in front of the house wouldn’t see you in the dark.  You glanced quickly at Dean as he concentrated on their every move, trying his best to hide his impatience at having to wait for them to leave before the two of you could break in. 

“Good, they are finally gone.  Let’s go.”  Dean whispered, as he watched the two police cars drive down the street and turn the corner to head back to the station.  You got out of the car as quietly as possible and followed him up to the porch.

 You stood guard while he picked the lock on the front door.  The door creaked as he slowly pushed it open and you momentarily cringed at the sound.  With a last quick look down the street, the two of you slipped inside and closed the door to the world behind you. 

You clicked the flashlight on and made your way down the dusty hallway with Dean covering your back.  You almost jumped as you rounded the corner when you saw the shadows cast on the far wall by your light.  Silently you wished that Sam had come with you when you heard Dean choke back a laugh at your expense.

“Very funny, Dean.”  You whispered. 

“I don’t remember you being so jumpy, Y/N.”  He teased and you felt your blood pressure rising. 

“Your memory has never been that good anyway.”  You snapped and Dean let out a disgusted huff.  He didn’t say anything else, instead he moved along the wall to where the other bedrooms were. 

Before you could follow him, you heard a thumping sound in the small room to your right.  You called out his name in a whisper, but Dean didn’t hear you before he entered the master bedroom.  Still annoyed with him, you turned and followed the sound instead of him.

You entered the room slowly, but didn’t see anyone at first.  Shinning your light on the memorabilia, you realized that this was the room the two sisters from down the street had slept in.  You gently touched the edge of the bed sheet, your mind thinking of the little girls that died here.  You couldn’t stop thinking about the sister that everyone suspected was awake and struggled with the killer before he took her life.

As though on que, you felt a cold chill on the back of your neck and you turned to see a little girl standing in the corner of the room.  She was covered in grim and there was blood on her clothes, but she was barely visible.

Before you could ask her anything, you heard the sound of boots on the floor walking toward the room and her head snapped fearfully toward the doorway.  You followed her glance, and when you turned back to her, she had disappeared.  Moments later, Dean stepped into the doorway.

“There you are.”  He said.  “I didn’t find anything in the….”  He was saying, but paused when you didn’t move.  “Y/N?  What’s wrong?”

“One of the little girls was just here.  She was right there, but she disappeared when she heard you coming this way.”  You replied, pointing to the corner of the room.

“Well, I can’t say I blame her for being a vengeful spirit.  I’d be pretty mad too.”  Dean muttered.

“She wasn’t mad though.  I don’t think she is the one doing these things.  She seemed….scared.”  You explained.  Dean glanced around the room and nodded.

“Okay, well she’s gone now.  Let’s go see if Sam found anything.”  Dean offered.  You nodded and started to follow him out of the house.  You glanced back once more before walking out of the room.

“I’m going to figure this out and help you.  I promise.”  You whispered to the empty room.

+++

“I’m telling you, she wasn’t an angry vengeful spirit.  She was afraid of something.”  You insisted as the three of you sat around a table covered in research at the motel.

“Afraid of what?”  Sam asked.

“I don’t know. I want to go back to the house to see if I can find her again.  Maybe she can give me a clue as to what is going on.”  You explained, getting up to grab a water out of the fridge.

“By yourself?  No way!  I’m not going to allow you to do that?”  Dean exclaimed, pounding a finger on the table in front of him.

“Oh yeah, you and what army?”  You challenged.  You had always hated when Dean got like that.  It went against every independent bone in your body, and he knew it.

“Guys!”  Sam shouted.  Both of you stopped and looked at him, surprised by the outburst.  “Can you guys just table it for one night?”  He begged.

“Fine.  Do whatever you want.”  Dean said and stormed out of the motel room.   You let out an exhausted breath and sank down in the chair next to Sam. 

“I know he can be overbearing and over protective.  Believe me, I’ve caught my fair share of that too.”  He said, opening the laptop in front of him.

“But…?”  You encouraged and Sam chuckled.

“But….I also know that everything he is doing, is because he loves you and he doesn’t want anything to happen to you.”  Sam finished.

“I know.”  You admitted.

“Do you want me to talk to him?”  Sam asked, sympathetically.  He had always hated to see the two of you fighting.  You glanced at the door Dean had stormed out of and shook your head.

“I would never put you in the middle like that, Sam.”

“But that’s exactly where I am, and where I have been for a long time.”  He reminded you.

“Let’s just go the files and see if we can find out what is going on at that house.”  You said, picking up a folder full of papers.

“You think this might be about whoever killed that family?”  Sam asked.

“It’s worth a shot.” 

+++

You went back to your own motel room after you and Sam felt confident that you had gone through every newspaper article and police file you could get your hands on from that night.  You both finally had to admit that you were having trouble focusing on the words through tired eyes. 

You laid down on the bed and tried your best to sleep, but you just kept tossing and turning under the sheets.  Between your thoughts of the little ghost girl and the feelings you still felt for Dean, you couldn’t seem to shut your brain off long enough to do more than doze on and off.

By the time you heard the impala pull up outside and Dean go back into the room he shared with Sam, you were up and heading into the shower.  The hot water did little to relax the tension in your muscles, but you still took a little longer before you got out, hoping the water would rinse away more than just the dirt from that old house.

When you got dressed, you heard their muffled voices through the thin walls of the cheap motel and you headed back so the three of you could plan your next move.  The moment you walked back into the motel room, Sam was sitting at the kitchen table with Dean.  He stood slowly, looking hesitant to say what was on his mind.

“What is it?”  You asked, the look on his face making you more nervous.

“Go ahead and tell her, Sammy.”  Dean said when Sam paused.

“We just heard over the police scanner that they found Kate, the girl that went missing.”  Sam said.

“Well, let’s go talk to her.  Maybe she can tell us…..”  You started, but stopped when you saw Sam’s face.  You glanced back and forth between the two brothers, not needing either of them to tell you what was wrong.  It was written all over their expressions.

“Y/N..”  Dean started, but you cut him off.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?”  You asked and Sam nodded.  You cursed and stormed out of the motel room.  Dean tossed his car keys to Sam.

“Go see what you can find out.  I’ll catch up.”  Dean said as he ran out of the door after you.

You almost jumped out of your skin when he pulled open the passenger door of your truck and hopped in before you could protest.

“What the hell are you doing?”  You asked, glaring at him.  “I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“Never said you did.”  He replied, but he didn’t make a move to get out of the truck. 

“Fine.”  You growled and threw the truck in drive.  You knew him well enough to know he wasn’t going to give up easily and all you wanted to do at that moment was drive away.

You ignored the smirk you saw on his face when you started driving.  Neither of you said a word.  You just drove out of town until you found an old abandoned bridge.  You parked the truck and got out.  You walked and sat on the edge of the bridge, throwing rocks into the river below.  You heard Dean get out and walk up to you, but you didn’t react to him at all.

“Remember when we used to sneak down to the river in the middle of the night, before Sam knew about us?”  He chuckled.

“I try not to.”  You said without looking up at him.  You heard him sigh, defeated.

“You really hate me that much?”  Dean asked seriously.  You looked at him, and then back at the river.

“No.”  You said simply.

Dean pulled a flask from his jacket pocket and took a sip.  You looked back at him when you heard the lid turning on the metal.

“Do you mind?”  You asked gently.  Dean raised an eyebrow, but held out the flask to you. 

You took a deep breath and took a drink.  You had never been much of a drinker, and you tried your best to hide the burning you felt in your throat as the liquid slid down.  You handed the flask back to him and didn’t say a word when Dean sat down on the edge next to you.

“We are going to figure out what happened to that girl and stop it before anyone else gets hurt.”  Dean told you, his eyes still looking out at the river below.

“How do you always say that with so much confidence?”  You asked, the smallest hint of sarcastic laughter in your tone.  You couldn’t figure out if it was comforting or frustrating that even now you believed him.

“Because…its what we do.”  He answered simply. 

“Seriously?”  You asked, looking at him. 

“What?  You were expecting something deeper?”  He smirked, a little shrug of his shoulders.  You shook your head, chuckling slightly under your breath.

“From you?  Not a chance.”  You teased and he laughed, relieved that your voiced lacked the hostility you usually had when you talked to him. 

“Come on, let’s see if Sam got anything from the crime scene.”  He said, climbing to his feet and holding out a hand to help you up.  You glanced up to his face and rolled your eyes, but you took his hand and allowed him pull you to your feet anyway. 

“Thanks.”  You murmured quickly as you walked past him and back to the truck.

+++

That night, once you were certain that the brothers were asleep, you snuck out of your motel room and drove out to the house.  The whole block was quiet, just as it had been the night before, but from the moment you got out of the truck you couldn’t shake the chills you felt on the back of your neck.  You almost climbed back in the truck and drove back to the motel, but you didn’t want to admit that Dean might have been right.

Your pride practically pushed you through the front door of the house and once you were inside, there was no turning back.  You made your way, carefully, down the hall and into the small bedroom at the end.

“Lena?”  You whispered her name a couple of times as you glanced around the room.  Finally, she appeared in the corner of the room.

“You have to go.”  She insisted, lowering her finger from her lips and shooting a panicked look toward the door.  “If he finds you here, he will take you away like he did the other girl.”

“Kate?”

“I don’t know her name.  I tried to warn her, but when she saw me she screamed and he heard her.”

“What about the others that were in the house?”

“They got away a long time ago.  We should have left with them, but I just couldn’t leave without my sister.”  She answered, looking down.

“Where is she?”  You asked, looking around the room but seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

“He is keeping her away from me to stop me from leaving.”  She whispered, a sniffle escaping behind her words.

“Listen.”  You began, kneeling down in front of her.  “I am here to help you.  Tell me who is doing this and I promise you I will find a way to get your sister back to you so the both of you can move on from this house.” 

She looked up at you, wanting desperately to believe that it was possible.  Your heart broke for the child before you, whose life was taken too soon and too violently.  Suddenly, you heard footsteps on the floor above.

“Go”  she insisted and then she disappeared. 

 +++

When you arrived back at the motel, Dean was sitting outside waiting for you.  You bit down on your lower lip before getting out of the truck in anticipation of another argument.

“You went back to that house?”  Dean accused the minute you stepped out of the truck.

“Yes, I did.”  You answered defiantly. 

“Y/N, we don’t even know what we are dealing with yet.  You could have gotten yourself killed going back to that house alone.”  Dean told you, concern replacing the anger you normally heard in his voice.

“Stop treating me like a child, Dean.”  You said.  “I saw her again and it worked. I know what is happening.”  You added, followed by a brief description of what the ghost had shared with you.

Dean ran a hand over his face, torn between being happy to have the information and concerned at the lengths you went to get it.  You waited patiently, not really wanting to fight anymore.  It seemed like all the two of you had done was fight.

“You’ve never been this reckless.  What’s gotten into you?” Dean couldn’t help but ask.  

“This is all my fault.”  You practically whispered as you started to walk away.

“Hey!” Dean said forcefully, grabbing your arms to turn you to face him.  “This is not your fault.” He insisted.

“How can you say that?  I knew something was up with that house.  If I hadn’t come to get the two of you, I would have been there and Kate would still be alive.”  You argued, your voice breaking a little as you spoke.

“You don’t know that.”  He said.  You tried to turn away, but Dean forced you to look at him.  “I know how you feel, believe me.  I’ve been there.  Sam and I both have. But you can’t go around blaming yourself for the past.  All you can do is take things as they are now, and try to keep it from happening again.”

“Look, I appreciate what you are trying to do, Dean, but I’m not yours to fix anymore.  Just let me go, okay?”  You practically pleaded.  Dean reluctantly released your arms and watched you walk away.

+++

While you were gone, the brothers researched everyone that had been accused of the crime.  Of course all of them had passed away.  Some were cremated at the time of their death.  One was buried several states away and Sam had serious doubts that he had been the killer based on the alibi he was able to provide.

“This isn’t going to get us anywhere.  It would take days to search out each of these people and burn the bones.”  Dean complained, shutting the book in front of him in exhaustion.

“Maybe we are looking at this wrong.”  Sam suggested, handing a newspaper article to Dean.

“Its an article about the house being redone as a museum.  So what?”

“Read the last part.”  Sam said, pointing to a section near the end.  Dean rolled his eyes but read it anyway.

“No way.”  He said out loud.  “You think?”  He asked, glancing back at Sam who only nodded.

“What did you find?”  You asked when you came back to the motel and saw the two of them loading their shotguns. 

“I found out that the axe in that house is the same one that was used in the murders in 1912.”  Sam explained, grabbing an iron bar from his weapons bag.

“You’re kidding.” You said, disgusted.  “That’s so morbid.”

“It looks like when the house was turned back into its original state for the museum, the axe was added as an artifact.”

“And you think that’s what the killer is attached to?”  You asked and Sam nodded. 

"It would explain why this didn't happen before then"

“Okay, let’s go set an artifact on fire.”

You turned and left the motel room to gather a few things from your own room next door.  Dean immediately set his shotgun down on the bed.

“I’ll be right back.”  He told Sam before he chased after you, stopping you in front of your room.  “Are you okay?”  He asked.

“I will be once this is over.”  You told him.  “Thanks for the things you said earlier.  I know I’ve been pretty mean the last few days.”  You added.

“I hope you know I meant them.”  He told you, hoping that maybe the two of you could at least be friends again. 

“I do.  You’re a lot of things, Dean Winchester, but a liar isn’t one of them.”  You said with a smirk and he laughed.

+++

“You guys check the house.  I’m going to take a look in that wood shed.”  Sam said, pointing out the small shed near the rear of the home. 

“Be careful.”  Dean warned his brother.

“You too.”  Sam said.  You nodded and headed toward the front door with Dean behind you.  The first place you headed was the bedroom where you had seen the little girl.  If nothing else, you thought she might be able to tell you where the axe would be.

Suddenly, you felt a force brush past you and shove Dean out of the room and into the adjacent wall.  You barely had time to realize that Dean was okay before the door slammed shut, trapping you in the bedroom.

 “Y/N!!!!”  Dean’s scream carried through the door.  You heard him slamming into it on the other side, trying to make it budge.

“I’m okay, Dean.”  You called back. 

“I’m going to get you out of there.”  He promised. 

“It’s no use.  Just go help Sam find that axe.  Once it’s gone, the force holding the door closed won’t be able to anymore.”  You said.  You heard the slamming stop, but you knew he was still on the other side.  You could almost feel him.

Dean rested his head against the door, hating that you were right.  “I’ll be back.”  He promised finally and you heard him heading down the hall.

You closed your eyes and silently prayed that it wouldn’t take them long.  You hated being cut off like that, and feeling so helpless.  You turned to see the little girl standing behind you.

“Hey.  We’re here to help you, okay.”  You promised.  She looked nervously at the iron bar in your hand and then back up to your face.  “I’m not going to hurt you.”  You said, setting the bar down on the night table next to the bed and stepping away from it and you knelt down on the floor so you could be eye level with her.

None of this changed the terrified expression on her face.  Wide eyed, her hand raised slowly, a finger pointing behind you.  You spun around and saw an axe raised above the face everyone had wondered about for years.

“You….” A whisper escaped your lips before you flinched at the axe swinging toward your head.  You heard a sinister laugh and then a scream as the figure, and the axe, burst into flames.  You let out a loud shaky breath and looked back at the child ghost.

She was no longer covered in grim and blood, but instead wore a smile on her face.  Standing next to her, holding her hand, was her sister.  With a quiet “thank you” and a bright light, they both faded away into a cloud of smoke that floated to the ceiling before vanishing from sight.

You barely had a moment to realize it was over before Dean burst through the door and pulled you into his arms, his own relief washing over you.  You hugged him back, the tension in your body releasing immediately.  Sam stepped in the doorway, but when he saw the two of you, he smirked and made his way out to the impala.

“When I couldn’t get to you….”  Dean said, cutting himself off before he said too much.  You smiled against his chest, his heartbeat getting closer to a normal rhythm in your ear.

“I didn’t like being separated from you either.”  You admitted.  “Truth is, there is nowhere I feel safer than I do when I’m with you.”

You felt his hand stroke your hair.  “At least that hasn’t changed.”  He teased.  You pulled back to look at him.

“A lot of things haven’t changed.”  You told him, your voice soft.  He just nodded in acknowledgment, his hands falling back to his side as you stepped back.  The two of you walked out of the house and headed back to the motel.

+++

Back at the motel, you took a long hot shower and then pulled out the bottle of wine that you had packed away in your suitcase.  You poured a glass and sat on the bed, your legs pulled up beneath you.  You were surprised a few moments later when you heard a knock on the door.  An even bigger surprise was seeing Dean standing on the other side.

“I just wanted to let you know that Sam and I will be heading out first thing in the morning.”  Dean explained.  “We would go tonight, but Sam said he wanted to catch a few hours of sleep first.”  He added.

“I’m not really tired, if you want to come hang out in here while your brother’s asleep.”  You offered, holding the door open. 

Dean looked up at you, the shock on his face almost making you laugh.  You bit down on the inside of your cheek to keep from doing it.  Dean glanced around, almost like he was waiting for Candid Camera to come out of the bushes. 

“Yeah, thanks.”  He finally said and stepped inside.  “Wine, huh?”  He teased when he saw the bottle.

“Don’t knock it til you try it.”  You replied, sitting back against the headboard and flipping through the movie channels.  Dean chuckled and sat on the other side.

“I’ll stick to the hunter’s helper.”  He told you, holding up the flask from his jacket pocket before opening it and taking a sip.

You settled on a movie and the two of you watched without saying much.  It was comfortable to be with him like this, almost like the last 6 months had never happened, except that the two of you would have been wrapped up like a burrito by now if it hadn’t.  You found yourself sneaking a glance or two at him when you thought he wasn’t looking, and you even caught him doing it once.

“I’m sorry.”  Dean said, his voice barely a whisper as the credits rolled on the TV.

“For what?”  You  asked, confused.  Dean paused and you leaned on your side to look at him.

“Everything.”  He answered finally, his eyes shifting to the side to meet yours.

“Dean…you don’t have to…”  You whispered, but Dean held up his hand to stop you.

“I know I don’t, but you deserve to hear it.”  He began.  “I shouldn’t have pushed you away like I did.”

“I get it.  I really do.  You fight so much every single day. You fight against monsters and the evil in the world, you fight against demons and angels, even Lucifer himself.”  You said.  “Its just….”

“Just what?”  He asked when you paused.  You took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words to explain what you felt.  Dean just watched and waited patiently.

“I just wanted you to fight for me for once, just once.”  You explained and his face fell. 

“Sweetheart… I will always fight for you”  He swore, reaching out to hold your face in his hand.  “If I ever made you feel different I am so sorry.”

“You mean that?”  You asked, searching his eyes for the truth.

“Hell yeah.”  He answered and you let out a giggle at his enthusiasm.  “You and Sam are the most important people in the world to me.  There is nothing I wouldn’t do for either of you.”

Dean reached down and cautiously placed his hand over yours, your fingers dancing with his until you were holding hands.  Your anger was gone now, replaced with a comfort that only Dean was ever able to give you. 

You felt it in everything; his touch, his scent, his warmth, his heartbeat, even the way his chest moved with every breath he took.  He made you feel safe, allowing you to completely relax.

You could feel your eyes fighting to stay awake, but wine always did relax you and make you sleepy.  It was why you had poured the glass in the first place.  You needed a little help after the events of the past few days.  You felt Deans finger tracing your face as he moved a fallen strand of hair from your eyes.

“I’ll let you sleep.” He said, and pulled back to get up.  He stopped when he felt your hand on his arm.

“Don���t go.”  You pleaded, your eyes opening to look up at his face.  “Stay with me, just for tonight.”

“Is that just the wine talking?”  He asked teasing, but wanting to know honestly.

“No.  It’s me.”  You promised.  Dean laid back against the pillow again and you scooted closer until your head was on his chest and his arms were wrapped around you.

“I missed this.”  You whispered.  “I missed you.”

“Truth?”  He asked, and you nodded.  “I never stopped missing you.  I still love you, Y/N”

You leaned your head back so you could look at his face, only inches away from yours. His words surprised you.  Before you even realized what you were doing, you pressed your lips on his.

“I love you too, Dean.” 

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The first night in their new, real bed was the night they both decided something soft wasn’t going to cut it. Within the day, the comforter was removed and David pushed a firm mattress through the bedroom door.

Adjusting to life after death is a lot different than what survivor self-help books and online sessions seem to talk about. David knows and understand the work lain out - acknowledging problems, accepting the event, not letting yourself relapse to dangerous coping methods. Not obsessing over the dead body. Not consuming yourself with guilt and revenge. It’s the words he read before anything about fog and bear traps happened, but it’s all rooted in the same pain.

He likes to think he’s starving off the older fears better than the new ones. Possibly because John is dead. He made sure to find every piece of information that lingered on the Jigsaw cases - everything that sat in his apartment was gone, but the information remained elsewhere. Old newspaper articles. Obituary reports. Four dead in warehouse including alleged serial killer John Kramer.

It was a victory that felt - worth it. Not the fog. Not the trials. The cut throats and bullet wounds, that’s what was worth it. Upstate, David Tapp is dead, killed in the line of duty. Miami is a lot more simple than he thought it’d ever be, but Ace keeps the house quiet.

Too quiet, if it’s meant to be Ace Visconti talking.

The bed is the home of two men older than most of the lost souls who wandered the edge of the forest that never was. The bed is the home of David Tapp, who followed the train past the Mason-Dixon line with a couple other of the same souls when he got a phone call. The bed is the home of Ace Visconti, and he’s been sleeping in it religiously for three days.

David Tapp returns home in the afternoon, and makes sure to cross in front of the lazy smile of Ace to let him know he’s home, and - that he’s real, first and foremost. The hooks aren’t appearing at the foot of the driveway, and that’s - good. Ace once told him he dreamt they appeared at midnight, and Tapp stayed up the same night to take pictures to prove they weren’t coming back. The smile was the first genuine one of their life after death since breaking the fog’s barrier.

The sun lingers in the sky like it doesn’t want to say goodbye, dimming the streets in a good haze and making the insects sing in the trees. When David opens the door, Ace’s bare back greets him. He moves around their bed and checks how he lies, and a phone is close to Ace’s tired face.

”Did you shower?” David asks, tepid.

”I was supposed to, wasn’t I?” Ace says like it isn’t a question at all, and breaks his mouth to a lazy smirk, looking up at David removing his cap. “Don’t come crawlin’ up next to me, big guy, or else you’ll stink like rat-bitch.”

”I don’t think I was planning on to,” he replies, the laugh that finds it’s way to him the scoffed memory of old humour. David lays the uniform cap on his personal bedside dresser, atop the old clock. Digital, but ancient - they managed to find the same kind of clock he had for years in a thrift store, and its stayed with him ever since. A sense of familiarity.

David sits on the bed, nonetheless. He removes his shirt, an eggshell blue uniform belonging to a mall. He’s halfway through the fourth button when Ace whistles lowly.

”You're gorgeous, gorgeous, but I don't think I’m up for that right now.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re a comedian.”

”Oh, I try.”

When the shirt comes off, David leans down to pick up a white, more loose shirt. The same one he slept in - don’t knock him for lack of trying. “You should get up. Did you eat what I left out for you?”

He can hear Ace roll over, on to his back. “Thought about it. I’ll just have whatever’s for dinner tonight.”

David turns around. “Alessandro.”

Ace looks at him - he lowers his phone down against his bare chest, and the lazy smile he’s been wearing all day starts to fade, like the daylight outside.

”You don’t have to go using real names here, David,” he says, remarkably soft. David turns further into the bed, and lays down on his side.

”If it makes you listen, I think I have to.” A hand drags up the shoulder closest to him, and traces to his jaw. - as light as he can make it, because it’s been years since his hand grazed over the skin of another, even when the fog took everything else and left him with a gambler and his heart. “You have to leave our room eventually.”

”Just feeling under the weather. You know how things are... how they get.” Ace, though pushing his voice to be more distant, more neutral - leans to the touch, turning his head into his hand. “Must be the heat. Haven’t felt the heat like this since - well, you know. Couple summers ago.”

David’s smile is a lot sadder than Ace’s, and lasts even shorter than his. “You can talk to me.”

Ace’s mouth remains upturned, but like the humour in his words, it disappears eventually. His eyes roam to the ceiling, watching - nothing. The plaster is swept in meandering waves, low peaks to give their bedroom as much of art depth as a Miami designer can budget. But watching the waves of paint gets away from the subject, rather than looking at David.

As much as he might want to.

”Yeah,” he says, absently, without a real answer. David lays properly on the bed, supporting himself by his arm, and roams his hand down Ace’s body to curl over the knuckles of one of his own. David runs a thumb against Ace’s skin, and he can feel Ace change how he rests, an open palm to lock their fingers together. The silence is a better answer than anything that could be said, and David understands.

Humour is a great deflection tool. Self destructive behaviour is too, but he supposes it could always be worse, if Ace felt strong enough to grab what David is making and found the casinos again. Jobs are easy for an ex-detective, not so much an ex-gambler. 

Ace finally looks at David again.

”Denson called,” he says quietly, and it is then David realizes his eyes are looking past him, into the light of the outside sunset. Uneven stare. Readjusting to reality.

“She did?” David leans up a little to catch Ace’s eyes, then lowers back down when he follows with that stare. “She back in Pennsylvania?”

”Think so,” he says again, just as quiet, but with his eyes on David so focussed he might just disappear to golden ash and auric haze. “Said she’s moving back to her family. Sounds like she wanted a comeback.”

”Kate’s not the only person who can get back on her feet,” David says, and Ace’s next smile is a joke of its own.

”You’re right. Park? He’s talking to his old man again. Imagine waking up and deciding you want to be rich again, and being able to.” He laughs, and it’s uneasy, but sold like it’s perfect. “Can’t relate. I would love to, though, I swear it. If I could get back to it, darling, I’d give you everything—”

”What we have now is enough, Alessandro.” David brings Ace’s eyes back to him - this time with a hand directly, touching Ace’s cheek and holding him there. His stare looks past the shrouds of humour and the deflection - he would kiss him if he was furious with impulsive decisions, but David Tapp is nothing if not careful. “You’re still enough.”

Ace doesn’t speak. He looks like he wants to, but reaches his hand to David’s arm, first. When he does — “Man. Brute force your way to my heart.”

It’s a lot more sincere. Ace is the one who moves - the hand on David’s arm reaches up, and he guides him in, kissing him slowly, then deep, searching and - hoping. There’s a lot that he breathes against him, but David holds it in silence, leaning against Ace with a careful consideration. When he parts, he lays his head against Ace’s chest. Ace’s hand finds the back of his neck.

”Do you want to get up?” David asks, and he can feel him try to shrug.

”Yes, but...” Ace pulls his phone up, which had slipped off his chest at some point. “—Well, nothing’s out for dinner. We’ll have to order something.”

”That’s fine,” David says, pulling himself a lot closer, pinning half of Ace’s body under the covers that he’s made his home. His arm lays over Ace’s chest, and Ace’s hand finds his bicep. “For now. We’re going out tomorrow, since I’m off.”

”I’ve yet to reintroduce myself to the bakery sections of this state’s grocery chains,” Ace muses, and David looks up at him when he rolls his eyes, with an unreadable expression.

Unreadable to any man not named Ace Visconti, that is.

”The only thing that’s going to bring me back to life is a giant cookie cake, babe.”

That isn’t to say he’s vulnerable to the stern behavioural command that it gives, though.

”I’m going to lose you to your eating habits before I lose you to nightmares.” It makes Ace grin. Brute force to the heart, and brute force to whatever makes him laugh.

”That'll be quite the way to go,” Ace says, and rolls David to his back - the blankets press between them, and Ace has a hand to his chin, holding his head in place before he leans his mouth against him. “Indulging my pretty face in pasteries while my lover watches on in horror.” A kiss; stronger, on Ace’s terms. When David reaches around to hold him, his skin is warm, warmer than his own hands, all from being tucked under heavy blankets. It feels nice to kiss him from below without sunglasses knocking into his face.

Ace holds him there. The passion lingers, and it doesn’t get much farther than Ace’s legs between David’s and the revelation that he’s not wearing any clothes. But - the life that blooms back in Ace, even if for a moment, is worth every moment halfway between man and blanket. When Ace leans back up, he smiles down at David. David’s smile is warm in return.

”Get dressed,” he says, quietly.

”Of course. Can’t have my youthful body lay bare, lest I catch myself in the mirror and fall victim to vanity,” Ace replies, sitting up as best he can without crushing David too much. “—Or make you think twice about wanting to stay dressed.”

David leads the blanket after him, covering half of his body. “I’m charmed.”