#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

[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.

[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.

[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.

[gonedeletedrpblog345-blog]

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.”

[dsmadmin]

#TasteForBlood

Written by @JulianRyker & @AgentBron

Julian: -The perpetual night that had fallen over the world had seeped into the city and touched every crevice. Boots hitting the payment and he headed for them. Where was Joey? He wasn't answering coms, afraid to try to and make contact again in case he was trying to avoid being spotted by what they were after. A drizzle started to fall down and the temperature dropped causing the air he exhaled to become visible. Pushing his back to the cold brick wall he counted to two in his head and rounded the corner gun drawn. He could smell it, the metallic essence had him tasting it. Blinking several times when he realized what he was looking at. Shock then angry, forefinger squeezed off round by round. The flash of the flame from the discharge was clear in the dark. Before the casings even hit the ground the blood covered assailant had leap at him with a ferocious growl. Claws visible a split second before they were drove into JR's chest. Voices in the distance and the spotlight from a chopper overhead were the last things he remembered before passing out. When he did come too it had been after surgery, Lilly had been the first face he'd seen. And he knew by the look in her eyes he was gone. Squeezing her hand gently he'd made a promise that night he'd be there for her. The gravity of what had happened stuck with him and two years later the pain was still very real. Looking down at his hands they were covered in blood. He was at the house, he recognized things but he wasn't sure where the blood came from. He checked the house but nothing was out of place, it was eerily quiet. The smell made him nauseous though. Numbly he stood under the warm spray of the shower and the blood disappeared down the drain. How many times had this happened now? Five or six times atleast... He wasn't sure what was going on but he was scaring the hell out of himself.-

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Bron: *The sleeping bags were hell on ones back. They had become his home away from home. The small bed barely fit him, his large body overflowed on the sides. Cases had been pouring in. There was always something. Humans going and killing shifters, shifters running for their lives. The world was a mess. It felt like we were twenty steps behind everything. He rolled on his side, his back was killing him. When a pounding sounded at the door.* “Agent Bron, the Captain needs to see you and team Delta ASAP.” *he groaned, just five more fucking minutes. Was that to much to fucking ask. Pushing out of bed, he made two wide steps to the bathroom, stripping and getting in the shower. The water was like fire against his skin. It was some relief to his damn back. He washed as quickly as he could. If he didn’t get his ass in gear the Captain would be on his fucking ass, and not in a sexy way. Once done, he dried and dressed in black Camo pants, tight black shirt and combat boots. Gun rested at his side. As he grabbed his bag leaving his room. He strode down the hall and around the corner. Riding the elevator up to the 16th floor. With the sound of a ding, the doors opened and he stepped out, just as he slipped his badge around his neck. Straight down the hall, people called good morning, he tipped his head to them as he passed. Walking to the large glass doors at the end of the hall. His Captain sat behind a large desk.* “Take a seat.” *His cap nodded to the chair in front of him. Without a word, he sat down in the chair. It groaned and bowed at his sheer size and weight. Bag in the floor, Bron’s amber eyes met his cap’s and he waited as his crossed his muscular arms over his chest, with a raised his brow.* “In the last few months there has been a rash of shifter killings. It was brought our attention. You’ll find on your tablet the pictures. I warn you Bron, they are the worst I have ever seen.” *Bron pulled his tablet from his bag. Linking up to the THIRDS Interface. Pulling the pictures up with a few taps of his fingers. What he saw, almost made him lose the bile of his stomach. Bodies, cut into, insides lay out of their bodies, throats cut open. The horror

frozen on their faces. He had to choke down the acid that rose up in his throat.* “What the fuck...” *Those words still didn’t cover the sight, that would be forever burned into his mind.* “Could the humans be behind this? You know they fucking hate the shifters. They have made it known for years how much they hate them.” *He all but growled out his words. Almost breaking the tablet that he held in his hands. The cap met his angered gaze head in.* “We don’t know. We need you to go and gather what you can find. Report all your findings back. I don’t care what you have to do. But this sick fuck needs to be found and brought to justice.” *Bron nodded and stood as he shoved his tablet into his bag.* “All the information you need is updated on your tablet. Make contact with the local police. And stay safe.” *He nodded as he walked out. He was going to get this fucker if it was the last thing he would do. Riding down to the first floor. He made his way outside to his black mustang. He got inside the cramped car and peeled out from the underground garage. Driving through the city. It took a few hours to get to the city listed on his tablet. He pulled into a motel. Getting a room, he rode up and got inside and settled. He looked out on the city. Somewhere out there a killer was on the lose. And when that fucker met Bron, he would take his ass down. He would be damned if another shifter was killed. Pulling out his phone, he made a call and set a me with the local police. It was time to go to work.*

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Julian: -Sun wasn't up yet and JR couldn't sleep so he had hit the payment making his way to the park getting warmed up from the five-block jog. Taking slow deep breath's he'd run the path around the park then made his way over to Matty Boy's gym. Waving to Gertie as she sold her breakfast burritos to passersby. "Save me two chorizos and egg!" -The older lady gave him a toothy smile.- "I will Detective." -Shaking his head as he went into the gym, greeting the morning crowd he went to his locker and got out his gloves and mouthguard. Getting them secured by Russo he ducked between the ropes and cracked his neck he was going to have to cut today short because the department had some special agents coming in to "help" with the latest spree of murders. They had a serial killer on the loose and everyone was spun uptight. Bouncing on his feet and putting up his hands Jimmy came towards him and the sparring match began. Head jerk from left to right dogging a punch and countered with a right hook. Mind going over the details from the cases as he did his best not to have his brain knocked around by his opponent. Sick fuck showed no mercy, the last one was like he was dissecting them but from the coroner's report showed no real specific knowledge of medical procedures. So it was a whack job playing with entrails. They'd determined a few of them had been alive when they'd been cut open, JR wasn't sure how they could figure that one out but that was above his pay grade. All he knew was that they needed to stop this guy. He wasn't a big fan of supernatural beings after losing Joey like he did but even he had to admit he'd not wise this on anyone. Lilly had become obessessed with the killings and she'd asked him several times if he thought whoever was doing this was killing these shifters for a reason. Like could have one of them been the one that killed Joey? It had been a rough conversation and everytime she asked it reminded him he had yet to catch her husbands killer. He was worried about her, she just sat in the house pouring over newspapers and the internet looking for clues. Joey's death took more than himself it had taken

Lilly and JR with him.-

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Bron: *Sleep was a bitch. It didn’t come easy that night. His mind was swirling with thoughts. Nothing helped him quite those thoughts. Not even the hot as fuck shower he took. There was a killer out there. Killing without mercy or thought. Before the sun even rose that morning, he groaned and pushed the covers off his large bulking form. Pushing up he sat on the edge of the bed. Running his large hands through his hair, arms resting on his knees. Reaching over and grabbing his phone. He looked at the time. He had a little while before he had to be at the PD. He had set up a time to be there. He was going to get to the bottom of this no matter what it took. The fucker was going to go down if he had anything to say about it. Pushing off the bed, he got ready for the day ahead. He had a feeling that it was going to be a long one at that. He showered and slipped into his black military pants, black shirt and black combat boots. Badge hanging around his neck, he grabbed his tablet, gun, keys and phone. Walking out of his room. He went down to the first floor. By the time that he was out, the sun had started to come. Beating feet to his mustang, he hopped inside and headed to a just around the corner. Pulling through the drive he picked up a coffee, he lived at the damn stuff. Especially when he hadn’t had that much sleep. Once he got his coffee, he pulled out and headed to the PD. He drove to the other side of coffee place that was they city, as it came to life. None of them would give a second thought to those that had been killed. Their families that were left behind. They were nothing to these people. Only to those that had lost them. Those that had meant something to them. The people of this city would only think of themselves. He gripped the steering wheel of his mustang. He was pissed off. And he really didn’t need to be. Not when he had the meeting at the PD. Shaking his head, he pulled into the parking lot. Shutting off his car he got out and made his way inside. At the desk that greeted him, there sat a woman, she smiled up at him.* “Can I help you?” *The woman spoke to Bron. Walking up to the desk.* “I’m here to see Det. Masters. I’m from THRIDS, Agent Bron.” *That was all he said, why go into detail. There was no reason for it. She nodded and grabbed up the phone, putting it to her ear telling Det. Masters that he was here. Once she hung up, pushing a button to open the door.* “He’ll meet you at the door.” *With a nod of thanks he walked to the door and found a large man, though not as large as him.* “Agent Bron. Thank you for coming.” *He held out his hand. Bron took the man’s hand into his and shook it. He just nodded his head.* “We have you set up in the room just down the hall. If you’ll follow me.” *Bron fell into step beside Masters. Walking down to the hallway, people looked at him. He was used to that though. They could stare all they wanted to. Once to the door Masters opened the door, a long table with chairs sat in the middle of the room. A large white board hung on the wall. Bron stepped in.* “I’ll need every file you have on every case.” *He spoke deeply, as he set his things on the table.* “Leave nothing out, everything you have, Masters.” *He pulled out his table. As Masters left to go and get the things he asked for. He looked around the room. And so it begins.*

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Julian: -Masters pulled JR aside and broke it down to him, the guy from Thirds was here and he needed to get him everything on the case since JR had been on things from day one. He wasn't overly thrilled but cooperation was part of the job even if you don't care for who or what you have to deal with. Grabbing a dolly he stacked the banker boxes onto it and wheeled it down the hallway. Out of respect he knocked at the door of the make-shift office and waited for the guy to answer.-

:::::::::::::::::::::::

Bron: *Born, wrote in the white board. Listing some sections, that would be used to make things easier. He didn’t much care for tech, preferring to get his hands dirty with work. He was to fucking old to deal with all the new shit. With a arm crossed over, hand resting on his upper arm, sipping his coffee. Scanning what he wrote on the board. When a knock came from the door. Turning he sat down his coffee. Walking to the door, he turned the knob and opened the door. Seeing a man standing with a load of boxes. With a curt motion of his chin, for him to come in.* If you would stack them on the table. *His voice deep and like gravel.* We can get to work. *he left the door opened and walked back to grabbed his coffee. It was going to be a long day.*

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Julian: JR: -Not saying anything he did as requested and stood stoic looking from the man to the board and his lists.- So far we haven't found any trace evidence at the scenes so either the guy has just gotten lucky or he knows a little something about avoiding detection I don't know. Some of the others think it's more than one person because there is no type of signature we've figured out yet and all the wounds have varied etc. I think they're wrong. I think the person doing this isn't in this for attendance, considering how big some of these victims are I don't think it's a woman. Even a very athletic woman would have trouble bringing these guys down. Unless something was used to weaken them but the coroner hasn't found anything yet.

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Bron: •Bron, stuck the pictures on the white board, as he listened to the man. He did make good points. The murders, were brutal. It was hard to tell it was even a person let alone a shifter. In the past he had seen shit almost as bad as this, maybe even worse. He use to have nightmares of the horrors that he had seen. Still the ghosts of the past haunt him. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to rack his brain. Nothing seem to connect them, only that they were shifters.• No, no woman could pull this off, not even a few women. •leaning his ass against the edge of the table. Arms crossed over his chest, one ankle over the other, brows furrowed.• Could it be hate for the shifters? •he asked out loud.• Years back, we had a group of rebels that hated shifters. They wanted to wipe them out. Saying they were abominations. They had no right to live. They went after children, men, woman. It didn’t matter, if they were shifter or a human ok with shifters. No one was safe. This could be them. Though I thought we got rid of them all. But you never know these days. •looking to the man. His he asked in a deep voice.• Have you had any hate crimes against shifters or has these murders been the only thing to rise around here?

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Julian: Nothing I've ever seen. Most people just want to be left alone to live their lives. If it was a group you'd think we'd hear something about it. Some asshole bragging or some pillow talk getting out. Haven't had anything like that, so I have no clue. Haven't caught anything on surveillance camera's around the city either.

[mintchocolateleaves]

Cost of Freedom (28/52)

Summary: In which, a murder occurs and a date is set for KIDs return. Prison!AU

[Beginning]     [Previous Chapter]     [Next Chapter]

The thing about cases, Heiji thinks, is that detectives can't prevent them from happening. They can't fix what's going to happen without knowing about the potential risks, and most cases are impulsive, the cause of spur of the moment decisions.

Perhaps he's not really a detective then... because between him and Kudo, they could have prevented this. They  should have known that people would find out about Kudo – that they'd have to keep up the facade of Kudo being a serial killer – but they'd disregarded the fact.

And now there was no way to fix things. Someone was dead.

The case fell into their laps, already broken.

“I didn't-” Kudo heaves out a breath, brings both hands up to his neck and scratches. He digs nails into skin, picking away at steadily fading bruises. Heiji doesn't know how exactly, but in between him seeing the phone and Kudo raising his hands, Kazuha has reached forward, taking Kudo's phone from the other boy.

She passes it to Heiji, and after a brief moment of hesitation, he reopens the text message, seeing the picture that Kudo hadn't turned his phone around for them to see. Beside him, Kazuha cranes her neck to see as well, lets out a small gasp before burying her head into the nook of his shoulders.

“It wasn't me,” Kudo breathes, and he moves back until he's curled in on himself on the bench he'd been sat at moments before. “I didn't-”

“I know ya didn't.” Heiji says, and maybe his voice wavers a little bit, but it's not fear of Kudo, but rather a fear for him. “We're gonna solve this.”

And then, he takes a moment to fully look at the message. Since the first image, three more have been sent, all of the same crime scene but from different angles. All four pictures, however, depict the murder victim – an older man, one that Heiji recognises as Numabuchi Ki'ichiro from the news – suspended to a wall, blood dripping down...

Heiji has to turn away. Holds his mouth to avoid being sick. He's seen plenty of murders in his time, some even more gruesome than this, but they've never been personal before. Not like this.

“They brought that man here yesterday,” Kazuha whispers, “so that he could show them to the fourth body he killed...”

Heiji knows – they'd read the back of someone's newspaper on the train from Osaka, read about how a famed serial killer was being brought into police custody from prison to bring the police to one of the victims that had never been retrieved. Apparently they'd be going into the woods...

“He was a serial killer...?” Kudo asks, and drops his hands away from his neck, placing his feet back down onto the floor. He's pale, and he pushes away from the bench with a slight stumble in his step. His gait is one that Heiji's seen before with witnesses to crimes, melancholy jerking their bodies as they try to smother their grief.

“You don't know who he is...?” Kazuha asks, taking Heiji's own phone from his pocket and searching for an internet article. “He was caught a while back, near Osaka, after having killed several people.”

She passes the phone to Kudo, and Heiji has to watch as he skims over the article, lips slowly forming a tight line. Kudo brings a hand up to his neck again, digs his nails further into his bruises, and – and his throat is bleeding in a similar manner to how Numabuchi is, in the picture.

He'd always thought the scratching was unconscious – but...

“Shinichi-kun,” Kazuha says, and Heiji startles at just how familiar she is, when seconds ago he'd been the person she most despised. She takes a step forward, takes the phone back, and wraps her other hand around the wrist he's using to scratch at his neck. “yer hurtin' yourself.”

Kudo glances at her, and Heiji forces himself to move, to offer some sort of help as well. He's not good with emotions, so he hovers instead, helps Kazuha lead Kudo over to some grass where the three of them sit; Heiji with his legs crossed, Kazuha on her knees, holding both of Kudo's wrists away from his neck. And Kudo – staring at nothing, eyes wide and dull.

“It's because I went to the police station.” Kudo whispers after a moment. His voice isn't loud, but somehow it echoes, sends a shudder down Heiji's spine. “They found out which city I was in and now they...” He chokes on the words, turns his head so that he's staring away from them.

Kazuha turns to Heiji, swaps his phone for Kudo's. She bites her lip, pockets Kudo's phone and scrunches her nose as she attempts to think. Good, Heiji thinks, at least one of them is thinking. Because he doesn't know what to do. He is not good at being on the other side of crime – breaking Kudo out, seeing bodies before the police do...

Heiji has to suppress a shudder.

“We're gonna figure this out.” Kazuha says, and she lets go of Kudo's hands long enough to reach into her bag. She pulls out a small first aid kit, unzips it, and pulls out an antiseptic wipe. “Heiji's gonna go back to th' station, to find a way onto th' case. And Shinichi-kun and I are gonna search through whatever files tha' he has.”

Kudo nods, almost half heartedly.

“I thought ya were mad at 'im,” Heiji says after a while, “why are ya bein' so....”

Kazuha rips open the antiseptic wipe, uses one hand to lift Kudo's chin up while wiping his blood away. There are crescent marks where his nails have dug into skin, but luckily it isn't too deep.

“Kind?” Kazuha asks after she's finished wiping Kudo's neck, moving down to brush off any flecks of blood on his hands. “I'm not like you, Heiji, I have the capability of feelin' more than two or three emotions at a time. I'm still mad, but there are more important things.”

Heiji bites his cheek, nods.

“I'll head back to th' station then.” He says, “and find a way onto th' case. If there are two versions of the case, I'll send pictures. That'll help, righ'?”

Kudo nods, looks back at them both with focused eyes. The expression he wears... It's determined, and somehow, Heiji knows that Kudo will solve the case he's been trapped with, even if it kills him.

“It'll help a lot.”

“Are you sure you're okay?”

Saguru turns at the voice. It's not that he likes worrying people, but he almost can't bring himself to respond. Instead, he glances across at Ran, bites into the inside of his cheek and nods his head. He'd been late – which, well, Saguru doesn't do late – and maybe he'd had a bit of a panic attack inside the car, relying on Baaya to calm him down, but he's certainly fine now.

“I'm fine,” he says when Ran's frown remains on her face. It's a stupid question though, Saguru thinks. No one asks if someone's okay, without knowing they're not. Without having at least a slight inkling that someone might need some reassurance. Without needing to have the question asked in response... “And you? Are you alright?”

Ran shakes her head, and for an almost heart-stuttering moment, Saguru wonders what's happened. Then, he reads the creases beneath her eyelids, takes a second to notice that she's slightly pale – such a distinct reaction. It can only be-

“What's happened with Kudo-kun?” Saguru asks, moving forwards. He leans forward, hesitates from where he's gone to put a reassuring hand to her shoulder, letting his hand drop. If something's happened with Kudo, then she's not going to want comfort. She's going to want to act.

“He was here.” Ran says.

Saguru stiffens. “Here, as in Tokyo?”

“No.” Ran shakes her head. “Here, as in the station.”

The inside of his stomach flips, acid churning against his stomach. Of course, on a day that he's late because of car problems, he'd miss out on something so important. It's not like it's a big deal or anything. He steps forward, glances at the police officers that are swarming the department, and decides that this must be the reason for the buzzing in the station today.

“Tell me everything,” Saguru says, and she does. She talks about how she and Aoko had found themselves chasing after the escaped convicts after two detectives had been found tied up in a cupboard by a traffic officer on a search for traffic cones. Says how together with Hattori they'd tracked them down to the second floor, to a seemingly dead end, where both Kuroba and Kudo had jumped from the window.

“Something doesn't feel right...” Saguru mutters when she's finished telling the story. Beside him, Ran tugs at her ponytail and glances across at him, a dip between her skin where she's frowning. “I... need to see videos from earlier.”

He needs to see the chase from the security tapes because something just doesn't add up.

“Let's go ask Inspector Megure for access,” Ran says, and grabs his wrist. “He'll let us in, if it'll help...”

The inspector is shrugging on his jacket when they knock on his office door, opening to face him. He's unnaturally pale, almost the same colour of Kuroba when he's playing the part of phantom, and Megure turns to face them without so much as a greeting.

Instead, he asks, “You're trying to prove Kudo-kun innocent?”

They both nod. Somehow, words stick to Saguru's throat, making him unable to form any response. He bites at his cheek until he tastes blood, nervousness oozing from every pore.

Inspector Megure nods his head, glances away from them. His fingers clench as he looks towards the exit, where Detective's Sato and Takagi sit outside, answering questions by their fellow detectives. He sighs, a long suffering sound, echoing regret and frustration.

“You'll probably want to try and solve this murder then,” the Inspector says.

Murder?

“Let's go then,” Megure says, and he pushes himself forwards, weighed down by the stress Kudo's escape has brought to him. It's only been days, but somehow, the case has aged him several years. “Before the reporters catch wind of everything.”

Another murder?

Saguru doesn't know what to think. It's like a punch to the gut. Just looking at Ran shows him that she's got the same feeling settling in her stomach as well, and he reaches forward to grab her hand, squeezes it with some form of reassurance. Ran offers him a small smile.

“Let's go.” Ran whispers after a moment, “we need to prove him wrong.”

They need to – and yet, they've been failing at proving people wrong for months.

“You came here for a reason,” Aoko says, after they've spent an hour lying back against the bed, laid beside one another, trying to catch up. “Didn't you?”

So far, Aoko has told him about entrance exams and the new book series Keiko has forced her into loving, and Kaito, in return has told her about how they'd gotten out of prison – excluding all mention of Hattori and Shinichi's prison guard contact – and about how he'd originally been thrown into solitary confinement.

“Yes,” Kaito says, and his shoulders tense as he senses the oncoming questions. Why? What for?

“Related to the heist you're going to hold soon?” Aoko asks after a moment, and it's still odd that she's acting so seriously, but Kaito thinks he can adjust to it, if only for now – Maybe she's not childish like she used to be. Kaito isn't sure whether it's current circumstances that have changed her speech patterns, or whether Aoko's simply... matured since they've last spoken.

“I thought you didn't like hearing about KID,” Kaito asks, pushes himself up on his elbows to look Aoko in the eye. His lack of an answer is confirmation though, and instead of staring back at him, Aoko's gaze flitters across the room as she tries to figure out what exactly is out of place.

Kaito would have to be a fool to think that they hadn't searched the house shortly after his capture, but he's certain that they've not found the secret room – he'd only ever found it out of pure luck. From the lack of police tape over his fathers painting, it's obvious that he's still lucky in one regard.

“I don't,” Aoko says at last, facing him when her search comes up empty. “But you've announced a heist at a very bad time.”

Raising an eyebrow, Kaito shrugs, pushes up completely from his bed. He crosses the space to his dresser, picks up one of the photo frames that rest there – an old one, from back when his father was alive.

“Did I?” He asks, as he unlatches the photo frame, folding the photo up and tucking it into his jacket pocket. He moves on to another photo, one with him an Aoko, which he also pockets. “I think it's a good time.”

Aoko pushes up from his bed, frowns. “The police think you're working with Kudo Shinichi. They'll be more pressed to catch you at the heist if it leads them to him. People put more effort into catching killers than thieves.”

Kaito turns. “But I am working with Shinichi.”

It takes a moment for Kaito to process the fact that Aoko flinches away from the fact. It's almost like she's been burnt, and he wants to reassure her of the truth, but she's the daughter of an inspector and without proof she won't believe in a person's innocence – or their guilt.

How else had he been able to keep the facade of not being KID for so long? She'd had her suspicions several times, yet he'd only been able to keep her unknowing because she wasn't the type to believe without seeing.

It's probably the reason she'd always loved magic tricks. She'd seen the trick, and believed in magic because it had been there, before her very eyes...

And yet... Aoko forces a calmer expression onto her face and says, “you think he's innocent too?”

“He is innocent,” Kaito says. Then, after a pause. “What do you mean too. Who else thinks he's innocent?”

Aoko scrunches her nose, crosses her arms. She nods her head absent-mindedly as she speaks. “Kudo-kun's girlfriend, Hakuba-kun, and Hattori-kun. They're working to try and prove his innocence.”

Hakuba...? To think that after refusing him... So Kaito really did get through to him. Somehow, it leaves him feeling slightly less riled than before. Had Hakuba just said no to get a reaction, or more information from him? Or had he really not intended to...

“You're working with them too?” Aoko dips her head yes. “What are your thoughts on Shinichi?”

Aoko leans back, brushes her hair behind her ear. Her shoulders tense, not much, but enough to say that she doesn't think he's innocent. Not by a long shot.

“I don't know,” Aoko says after a moment. “All I do know, is that working with him puts you in more danger than working without him.”

She has a look in her eyes that makes Kaito want to turn away. It's hot, more fiery than the usual chilling worry he's seen her wear in the past – almost as if she's angry that he's consciously putting himself in danger. Maybe she knows that he'd much rather crash and burn than force himself to do something boring.

Aoko knows him, knows him well enough to know that to him, life is a performance, and the more risks... Well, the more risks he takes, the larger the applause he'll receive when the curtain falls.

“I'm in danger either way,” Kaito says. “At least with Shinichi, I have someone in a similar position to me.”

There is a nod, almost as if Aoko had known, almost as if she's expected to hear such a thing. Kaito expects that one day he'll explain, maybe when they've got time, when he can fully explain without putting Aoko in danger herself.

She rises from the bed, crosses her way over to him, resting her hands on his arms. For a moment, Aoko simply looks up, almost as if she's trying to memorise his true face, as if she won't see it again. Then, she tears her gaze away, staring down at the carpet.

“Call off the heist then.” She whispers, “wait until everything's calmed down.”

Kaito shakes his head, lifts a hand up to trace her name against her skin, hoping she'll remember the trust she'd had in him once, to survive against the odds. He smiles, sadly, a melancholic mixture of stuttered heartbeats and forced happiness. A mask, despite the fact that he just wants to be himself around Aoko. “No.”

“Why...?”

There are too many reasons and Kaito can't just pick one.

He thinks about how he needs to find Pandora, thinks about how his father would have found the gemstone already if he were alive. He wants to say that the heist is a smokescreen to more dangerous things, something to keep people's eyes from the real reason they visited the station. He wants to say that he enjoys heists, that they're too interesting to just put off.

Instead, he asks, “if I give you a proper heist notice, with the date I have planned, will you give it to your father?”

Aoko blinks away tears. “You're going to get yourself hurt. Or caught. I'm not sure which is worse.”

“No,” Kaito says, “I'm not.”

It doesn't offer any reassurance to either of them, but it does lead to Aoko saying she'll hand a note in, if only because she can't destroy evidence that the police might need in catching him. They're quiet, as Kaito reaches into his desk, scrawls kanji onto a blank card, offering a time and date for his heist.

In two days, he decides. Another quick move – impulsive, maybe, but also effective in stealing police attention – and he knows that Aoko has to keep the surprise from her face as she realises he's not even going to take weeks to prepare, just days.

“It's a bad idea.” She says again, when he passes the card over.

“Will you deliver it for me now?” He asks, “So that you won't lose it?”

The way Aoko's lips purse together, tightening, brings a sickening feeling to his stomach. Skin pinches around her eyes as she frowns, but ultimately, Aoko nods, accepts that she's got to leave soon anyway. He doesn't want her to go, but Kaito knows that he needs to focus on the heist now, not Aoko and that there will be time...

He'll find time – it's not like he has a fully functioning life that's going to demand something of him any more. Just a life on the run, wasting time until he can fulfil the goals he's set for himself.

“You'll be gone though,” Aoko says, “if I come back.”

Another smile. From the way it falters after seconds, it's not exactly a mask, and Kaito feels vulnerable in a way he's not exactly used to. He shakes his head, “you'll look for me at the heist though, I'm sure.”

“I won't just look,” Aoko says, and she places her hands on her shoulder, stands on tiptoes so that she can plant a kiss on his cheek, “I'll find you.”

She retrieves her phone, places the battery back inside, and slips it into her pocket. And then, with one final look, Aoko leaves his room behind, taking with her the heist note declaring KID's return in full detail.

Kaito watches her from his bedroom window, takes the risk of peeking out of curtains, before setting off into the room his father had hidden, closing the door behind him.

The safe house that Kudo's – or should she refer to him as Shinichi now? After breaking the law and not turning him in immediately, Kazuha feels almost like they have a certain degree of intimacy, as if referring to one another by surnames isn't right – is larger than expected.

Kazuha doesn't know what she'd been expecting, maybe a single room, maybe something more hidden, but the safe house is strangely large, empty, but not lacking in space. There's a small table in one of the corners, and Shinichi pulls up a chair as he removes the case files he'd received from the police station. Begrudgingly, Kazuha copies him.

“I...” Shinichi doesn't talk much, keeps breaking off whenever he wants to say something, but frankly, Kazuha doesn't blame him. She wouldn't be capable of saying much if her actions had just resulted in the death of a man. Despite the fact that the victim had been sentenced to death as well... Kazuha knows that it's not going to offer any comfort. “I can't...”

She doesn't say that it's going to be okay, because such words would be empty promises. Instead, she waits until Shinichi opens the folder, says that they'll work on the case until they find a breakthrough.

“I don't know where to start,” Shinichi sighs, shaking his head. For a moment, he flicks through pages of information, skin pinched together into a frown, but then, he lifts his hand to scratch at skin again. Kazuha pulls on his wrist, tries to stop him before he can reopen the cuts that have dried on their way back.

“Start at th' beginnin'.” Kazuha says, “and explain it t' me. You'll familiarise yerself with th' case, while we wait for Heiji to send us updates on th latest murder.”

Shinichi leans forward, plucks up the paper and after skimming over each, he compiles an ordered list. Offering a small smile, he says, “Let's get started then.”

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Please come back to me; Sherlock x teen reader

This was the first BBC Sherlock request I got from Wattpad and it revolved around the heartbreaking season finale of series 2, I apologize in advance for any heartbreak I may cause to people who read this also I apologize for the gif chosen. Be warned of swearing, Sherlock’s suicide and use of guns. Other than that I hope you all enjoy this fic.

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This just wasn't right. It couldn't be true, Jim Moriarty a fake. A figure created by Sherlock. No I couldn't believe it to be true and I'm just as clever as Sherlock himself, that's why he took me in when I was only 7 years old so I know every move that Sherlock would make even before he made it and I never expected this cause it couldn't be true. I sat there with John and he said.

 "You don't believe this do you?"

"If I did then I'd be with him every step of the way, he couldn't have done all of this for a publicity act or even boredom and I know what he does whenever Sherlock gets bored".

"As do I, but....This—this is....."

"I know, this is complete and utter shit. And it's only a matter of time before they start exploiting my true story out". I crossed my hands over my chest and sighed heavily.

"If they even dare try that I'll protect you, you know that right?"

"Yeah cause Sherlock entrusted you to be my godfather should anything hap—oh god".

"What, what is it?" John said.

"We gotta get to Baker Street, now!" I rushed out of the police station with John on my tail and we hauled a taxi and I told him to get to Baker Street as fast as possible. Once we got there we rushed inside to see Mrs. Hudson standing next to a man who was doing some repairs and when we got to her side she jumped at our sudden appearance and she said.

"Oh John, (y/n) you both made me jump. Is everything alright? Has Sherlock sorted everything out with the police?" Both our hearts dropped as we muttered.

"Oh my God," we ran back outside and John hauled another taxi and we both immediately got inside and told him to get to Bart's morgue on the double. As John and I sat side by side, my knees were shaking rapidly as I feared at what Sherlock was probably thinking. I felt John take my hand and he said.

"Don't worry, we'll find him. Alive".

"I hope so John, I really hope so".

On the rooftop of Bart's morgue, Sherlock and Moriarty stood on the rooftop with Sherlock standing a few inches away from the edge and Moriarty circling around him.

"I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity!" Sherlock claimed.

"Oh just kill yourself, it's a lot less effort". Moriarty groaned. "Go on, for me, Please" he dragged out the please as Sherlock suddenly lashed out and gripped Jim by his collar and pulled him to the edge of the roof.

"You're insane".

"You're just getting that now?" Sherlock shook Moriarty briefly almost ready to drop him as Jim exclaimed out then he said. "Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don't". It was then Sherlock's heart sank in fear.

"John?"

"Not just John, everyone". Moriarty emphasized on everyone.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Everyone".

"Lestrade?"

"Three bullets, three gunman, three victims, there's no stopping them now".

"You said friends but what about (y/n)?"

"Oh, that little girl you picked up for sympathy. Well I must say she's a special case. You trained her well my dear Sherlock, I was disappointed that the last time I got to play with her that our fun was cut off short, so I think I'll take her, raise her under my roof and keep her like the little pet that she is, and when I get bored with her, I'll sell her to the next highest bitter and they'll have their ways with her too, unless you jump". Sherlock pulled Jim back onto the roof then Moriarty continued to state, "you can have me arrested, you can torture me, you can do anything you like with me. But nothing's going to prevent them from pulling the trigger or taking her. Your only three friends in the world will die and your little girl will be mine unless—".

"I kill myself, complete your story".

"You gotta admit that's sexier".

"And I die in disgrace".

"Well of course that's the point of this, look you got an audience now. Off you pop. Go on". Sherlock then walked to the edge of the roof and Jim continued, "I told you how this ends, your death is the only thing that's going to call off the killers and the kidnapper, I'm certainly not going to do it".

"Can you give me one moment please? One moment of privacy, please?" Sherlock stated brokenly.

"Of course". Jim then walked away from Sherlock giving him that moment of privacy but it wasn't until he heard Sherlock laughing. "What? What is it? What'd I miss?" Sherlock jumped back onto the roof grinning.

"You're not going to do it? So they can be called off then, there's a recall cord, or a word, or a number. I don't have to die, if I got you" Sherlock stated as he now circled Moriarty.

"Oh, you think you can make me stop the order you think you can make me do that?"

"Yes, so do you"

."Sherlock your big brother and all the kings' horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to".

"Yes but I'm not my brother remember, I am you. Prepared to do anything prepared to burn. Prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shakes hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you" Sherlock stated as he now stood face to face with his greatest enemy.

"Nah, you talk big. You're ordinary. You're ordinary you're on the side of the angels".

"Oh I maybe on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them". Sherlock growled.

"No. You're not". Moriarty smirked. "I see, you're not ordinary no, you're me. You're me! Thank you, Sherlock Holmes". He held out his hand and then Sherlock gripped Moriarty's hand as did Moriarty did to Sherlock's in a handshake. "Thank you, bless you. As long as I'm alive you can save your friends and your little girl. Well, good luck with that".

Moriarty then pulled out a gun and opened his mouth and shot himself and fell down dead as Sherlock stepped back in shock and stood there in horror at the sight of Jim Moriarty's insane suicide.

As Sherlock stepped back onto the edge of the roof he saw a cab just pulling up near the morgue and could see the figures of John and (y/n) getting out of the cab. He soon dialed John's number.

As we reached Bart's morgue, John's phone rang and he answered it and said.

"Hello?"

"John, (y/n)" I could hear Sherlock's voice from the phone he then put it on speaker so that I could hear as well and John said.

"Hey, Sherlock, you okay?"

"Turn around and walk back the way you came".

"No, we're coming in".

"Just do as I ask! Please"

"Where?" I asked as John and I walked back to the front of the building then Sherlock's voice said.

"Stop there".

"Sherlock".

"Okay look up I'm on the rooftop". John and I then looked up and there we saw him standing on the roof's edge. My heart sank as I could barely hold myself together. "I—I—I can't come down, so we'll just have to do it like this".

"What's going on?" John asked.

"An apology. It's all true".

"What?"

"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty". John and I couldn't believe that he was saying this.

"Why are you saying this?" I asked him.

"I'm a fake". His voice was breaking down as I knew he was trying so hard to not cry.

"Sherlock" said John.

"The newspapers were right all along, I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly, in fact tell anyone who will listen to you, that I created Moriarty for my own purposes".

"Okay shut up Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met, the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"

"Nobody could be that clever".

"You could". Sherlock laughed mockingly then he said the three most terrible words that I had ever heard in my whole life.

"I researched you. Before me met, I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick, just a magic trick".

"No, alright, stop it now". John then proceeded to walk towards the morgue but Sherlock said.

"No, stay exactly where you are, and keep (y/n) there beside you, don't move either of you".

"Alright".

"Keep your eyes fixed on me, please will you do this for me?"

"Do what?"

"First pass the phone to (y/n), then (y/n) I want you to take it off speaker, this is just for you to hear, and you alone". John then passed me his phone and I hit the speaker button again taking it off and I pressed the phone to my ear.

"Dad?"

"Hey sweetheart".

"Listen you can't do this to me. It's bad enough that the world thinks you're a fake I—I've already been abandoned by my first father and mother! I—I can't lose you too!"

"You'll never lose me, because I will always be with you in your heart and your mind. You've always been a special kid to me, do you remember your first case?"

"How could I ever forget that? You made me go head first into a serial killer's home playing as his next victim and nearly got molested by him had you and Lestrade not shown up". The two of us choked up a sorrow-filled laugh. "Please dad, just come down and we can go back home, please".

"I'm sorry lass, afraid I can't do that. Promise me that you'll stay by John no matter what, can you do that for me lass, can you do that for me?" I sniffled as tears fell down my face and I nodded and choked out.

"I promise, I love you dad"."I love you too, now hand the phone to John". I sniffled and simply handed the phone to John as I fell to the ground on my knees crying.

"Sherlock?"

"John, this phone call, it's umm...it's my note. It's what people do don't they? Leave a note?"

"Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye John, take care of (y/n) for me".

"No. don't". Next thing I hear is John screaming my dad's name and when I look up I see my dad falling down towards the ground and soon he hits the ground.

My hand shoots over my mouth in horror and I got the strength to get up and I race towards my dad but I suddenly got hit by a cyclist passing by and I hit the ground. My vision went in and out as I saw people swarming over my dad's body lying on the floor, I felt John soon pick me up gently and the two of us walked slowly towards my dad.

"Please let me through please, please he's my father, he's my father please let me see him!" I sobbed out as I try to reach for him but some of the women that were standing around were holding me back. Though I did manage to grab my dad's hand and I felt around his wrist but I didn't get a pulse. It was then I realized that my dad Sherlock Holmes was dead. I let out the most ear piercing scream I could as I fell to my knees and then I felt John's arms wrap around me pulling me into his chest as I continued to sob silently into his chest.

As I got quiet I was now leaned up soulless and broken against John's body as my dad's body was taken away in a stretcher. I felt John embrace me whispering to me false hope that everything would be alright. But I knew he was just kidding himself and me, I knew the truth.

My adopted father, Sherlock Holmes was dead.

At 221B Baker Street, I'm sitting in Sherlock's chair since I'm the only one who could sit in it besides him. I had Kyrie by Arvo Part playing loudly on the stereo with a gun hidden in my hand. Tearstains glistening on my cheeks, my eyes soulless and blank like I was as dead as my dad was, my skin was sickly pale and my face was blank.

"(Y/n), we're—about to head out I think you should come with us" John said. I remained silent and still as a statue like I have for the past three days. "(Y/n), if you stay like this, you'll die".

"I just did. Do you know how it felt?" My Russian accent from my father's side slipped out venomously. And I could feel that John was scared because he knew that I only speak with my Russian accent if I'm truly angry.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. 15 shots straight into the wall blowing it up. I slowly turned towards John and walked up to him and sneered. 

"It felt like that". I finished with a sneer and a death glare at John as I handed him my now empty gun and I slowly walked like a phantom back to my room and shut the door.

While John and Mrs. Hudson went to pay their respects to Sherlock, I stayed locked in my room with Kyrie now playing in my room along with other Russian songs of death and despair playing in my room. I was huddled at the center of my bed my knees up to my chest, my arms crossed and huddled over my chest my fingers placed at my lips and my eyes just staring straight at my mirror in front of my bed along with my dresser. I looked like an empty shell of my former self and I wanted to think that this girl looked terribly sad over something so trivial, but I guess the one thing that makes me and Sherlock different is because I care and he doesn't.

So I have only this to ask Sherlock, please come back to me. Just stop this act and come back to me.

*2 years later*

The next 2 years haven't been so easy for me. I had grieved in privacy but John was always there to try and pick me back up. After the funeral he and I moved out of Baker Street and moved into another apartment that he now shared with his new boyfriend oh sorry girlfriend almost fiancée Mary. When I first met Mary I immediately liked her, she was just as clever and sassy as I once was and she instantly became like a mother figure to me (I mean with John being my godfather obviously that puts Mary at the spot of godmother right?)

Anyways now that I'm 18 and legal (at least in John's book) I could finally do whatever I wanted to. And lately I've been thinking that it's time that I moved out and started my own life. I just—can't really stay in London anymore because of—well you all know that story. I've discussed the matter with John long and hard giving out all my points on why I should leave and reluctantly he agreed to allow me to have my freedom as long as I called him every night to check up and tell him everything that I'm doing.

So it was decided that I would move to my motherland of Scotland and start off a fresh new start. As I was beginning to pack John knocked at my door and he said.

"Hey umm (y/n), why don't we go see Mrs. Hudson, tell her some of our news?" I looked up at him and said.

"You think she'll let us in? We haven't even try making contact with her since—"

"Yeah, yeah I know. But this is also for your sake, I mean this could be the last time you see her, you'll never get this chance again should you leave for Scotland without saying goodbye to her".

"Okay John, then after that I think I may head to the Queen's archery fields for the last time".

"You know I can't believe that Mycroft actually allows you to do that without being caught".

"What can I say, I sorta rubbed off on both emotionless Holmes brothers" I teased as my Scottish accent slipped out. John rolled his eyes then he said.

"Okay well you can pack up your stuff and you can leave for the archery fields after our visit with Mrs. Hudson".

"Thanks, and John," he stopped before he exited my room and I finally stated, "please shave off the caterpillar on your face, I can't have people thinking that my godfather is my grandpa".

"No I will not, I've told you time and time again that I'm just trying it out, besides Mary likes it". He left my room and I muttered.

"No she doesn't" I packed up my archery equipment into a specially hand-made all-in-one archery bag. The design fits my whole bow, underneath the lid is a Velcro attach and release quiver where I keep my arrow in and beside the quiver is my pouch where I keep my gauntlets to tie around my forearms.

John and I then boarded a train and we traveled a few miles south back to the main streets of London where Baker Street was. We exited the subway and walked the rest of the way toward Baker Street. When we arrived, memories of when I first came here came flooding back. My hand gripped nervously onto Sherlock's and Mrs. Hudson coming out of the door greeting Sherlock then kneeling down before me and greeting me.

"(Y/n), you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine just fine, come on" I took my key that I always kept around my neck like a necklace and unlocked the door and then John and I entered inside and were greeted with dust particles flying in the air. We both stared at the stairs leading up to our part of the flat and I could feel that both John and I were having flashbacks of our first days here. It was then Mrs. Hudson opened her door and saw us standing there.

We were lead into her kitchen and she in a light aggressive way put down tea and biscuits for us along with a bowl of sugar.

"Oh, you both don't take it like that do you?"

"Sorry no".

"You forget a little thing like that, not sure about that. It ages you" she stated mainly to John as she gestured to her upper lip signifying his new mustache.

"I'm just trying it out".

"Well it ages you".

"That's what I've been telling him Mrs. Hudson". John looked at me crossed telling me to not start this here with him. I then turned to Mrs. Hudson and opened my mouth to begin talking when she snapped out softly at us.

"I'm not your mother or grandmother and I have no right to ask this but just one phone call John and (y/n), just one phone call, after all we've been through". She sat down beside John and across from me and looked at us with sad eyes.

"We know we're sorry. It's just that—well we tried. And it just got harder and harder to pick up the phone, and we—we soon decided to just no longer try anymore" I stated solemnly. John and Mrs. Hudson took each of my hands and we all smiled softly at each other.

We then walked upstairs to the 221B flat and were once again greeted with swarms of dust.

"I didn't have the heart to change anything. He never let me dust in here" said Mrs. Hudson as she pulled back the drapes letting some light in.

"That was definitely him alright" I muttered as I walked around and took notice of the hidden fixes from the bullets mine and Sherlock's guns had done to the wall. I stroked through the fixes and smiled softly. I was so lost in my memories that I didn't even hear John tell Mrs. Hudson of his news but her question of what the name was of John's future fiancée was and when she asked for his name I choked on a laugh.

"What no it's a woman".

"A woman?""I said the same thing Mrs. Hudson" I giggled.

"God (y/n) how many times—Sherlock wasn't my boyfriend".

"Live and let live that's my motto" said Mrs. Hudson.

"Mrs. Hudson, I am not gay!"

"Yeah keep telling yourself that John, the sexual tension between you and Sherlock was so thick you could cut it with a knife, or something else" I smirked and John groaned out and said.

"Oh just get to the archery field you little git!" I cheekily grinned then I hugged Mrs. Hudson and told her that I'd stay over tonight while John was at dinner with Mary. I then kissed John's cheek and said.

"Text me whenever you ask her, and if I'll be a guest at the wedding".

"Oh (y/n), you're number one on the guest list". I picked up my equipment and hauled a taxi to the Queen's archery fields.

It was late afternoon when I got there and it was completely empty, cool more targets for me and no idiots to get in my way of my arrows. I got out my equipment and placed on my gauntlet's and readied my bow and arrows. I had my quiver attached to my waist filled with my wooden arrows and attached the string to each end of my bow and soon I was ready.

Arrow after arrow I shot, some I even decided to slip down the middle (heck I could always get more arrows or make them it's not that hard). When I had notched another arrow and pulled back the bowstring a voice said behind me.

"Now I see why you've always loved that Brave movie so much". My body froze and I released the arrow but I missed the target and it flew far off somewhere. I turned around and there I saw Sherlock Holmes alive and in the flesh. I deduced him hoping that this was just some sick prank but like the very first day that I met him, all the same signs came at me.

This was the real Sherlock Holmes.

I dropped my bow and unhooked my quiver and just stared at him blankly as I walked up to him.

"I know that by now this is coming as a shock to you but you're the first one that I just had to see first and show you that I'm not—" I didn't even give him time to finish as I side-kicked him hard in the gut knocking him down to the ground. Before he even got a slight chance to stand up, I gripped his arm tightly and flipped him over me hard into the ground. I then gripped him by the collar with my left hand and just glared daggers down at him, both Scottish and Russian rage was flowing through my veins as I then proceeded to punch him hard across his stupid face twice before hauling him back just enough for me to punch him hard in the gut then kick him across the face.

Punch kick punch, punch kick, punch, punch kick punch was all that could be heard as I continued to beat the shit out of Sherlock Holmes until I had him on his knees gasping and panting for air. He slowly looked up at me with a beaten up face while my eyes still showed coldness and anger. I then walked towards him my fists clenched white and teeth grit tightly he then closed his eyes ready to accept another beating.

As I finally got close enough I wrapped my arms around his neck hugging him.

He froze in shock and just looked down at me. My body shook as I finally let out the tears and sobbed softly. Sherlock looked down at me and wrapped his arms around me, one rubbing my back and the other around my shoulders where I felt his hand bury in my hair petting and stroking it. He was back, my father Sherlock Holmes was back.

[demondeanismybaby]

Hate/Love/Hate

Pairing:Sam x reader, Dean x reader

Word count: 2269

Warnings: Canon level violence mentioned, fake interest, kissing, none really...

A/N: A little one shot about the reader meeting Dean and Sam and casually warming up to them, or not. I dunno I just needed a break from the super depressing stuff I have been writing, so this is pretty light.

Racing around your tiny apartment, you tried to gather a few key items. There was the last picture you had of your baby sister, your journal, the faded t-shirt with the hole at the bottom you kept from your first concert. All the things you thought would give you some comfort when your life on the run started. A tiny jingling cut through your frantic digging in your closet, you were trying to choose some clothes, you froze staring at your front door as the knob rattled.

Moving in slow motion you made your way to the squat window, it was perched over your kitchen counter, there might be enough room to squeeze through. The big problem was that you would have a least a four story drop and you figured a broken neck wasn’t any better than what was waiting outside your front door.

Trying to debate your next step, you heard a click of your lock being opened, of course these psychos would know how to pick them. Stepping into your closet, you did your best to squeeze in between coats and sweaters, hangers kept slapping you in the face.

Light filtered in through the opening between the two sliding doors, it was just enough so you could tell when someone stepped into your room, as darkness briefly engulfed you. The intruders made no sound and you strained trying to get a sense of if they were going to find you.

Suddenly the door slid open, a hand yanking you roughly out of your hiding place, “Found her.” The voice was calm considering you were flailing and hitting every bit of him you could.

As he let you go, you lost your balance and fell into a heap on the floor, “Sam,” you looked at him, “Dean,” you glanced at his brother, “leave me alone.”

Dean was kicked up on your bed, dirt was failing off his boots leaving bits of it all over your new sheets, his expression showed complete disinterest.

“Sorry kid, can’t do that.”

Sam reached out a hand to help you up, which you ignored, “look I know this is hard but we can’t be sure the vamps are gone and you need someone to help you.”

You pushed up to your feet, even though the brown haired guy towered over you he took a small step back when you came over to him hands on your hips and leveling him with a look that could kill, “I don’t want your help, you two,” you gestured behind you towards Dean, “are the only thing I have to be worried about.”

At this point you heard his brother getting off your bed, and you spun around to face him, “alright enough, this isn’t a conversation we are having, you are coming with us.”

Just like that he picked you up, you kicked at his chest and weakly pummeled his shoulders but it was awkward from this angle, he walked out of your place and carried you down the hallway to the elevator. You caught a brief glance of Sam walking out behind you and shutting your door before being righted, and this time you kept yourself steady, inside of the shiny metal doors.

“We need you to walk calmly out to the car, ok, then you can resume freaking out.” Dean clearly didn’t seem to be bothered much by taking you against your will and it made your skin shudder.

All sorts of horrible things kept popping into your head, mainly though you kept remembering Sam grabbing your best friends arms behind her back while Dean chopped her head off, they had told you how they hunted monsters but you thought they were just self-righteous murderers. Not wanting to get your head lopped off you figured right now maybe you should try playing along. You tried to focus on looking straight ahead as the ding indicated you were in the lobby of your building, doing your best not to freak out about getting into a car with these weirdos. A hand wound around your left arm, indicating it was Sam, and he steered you towards the black impala.

Dean went to the rear door and held it open for you as you ducked under his arm to climb in. The ride was filled with one brother trying to constantly reassure you that your friend was actually a vampire and the other driving in silence taking breaks in looking at the road to give you moody glares, which you were starting to believe would actually lead to all of your deaths in a fiery explosion.

After the fifth time it was finally enough, “ Dean seriously look at where your going so we don’t crash.”

He snapped his head forward so fast you thought you could actually hear the bones popping in his neck.

“So listen, it turns out that most of the people you know here are vampires, we need to figure out why you.” Sam was clearly watching for your reaction, but you kept looking out the window trying to figure out where you were going. By the time you were two towns over, the car pulled into some sleazy hotel.

Sensing that maybe you would bolt or start panicking again Dean turned around and gave you a hard look, “were going to take you to the room, nice and easy alright?”

You just nodded and climbed out.

Their room looked like some serious serial killer shit, there were weird pictures from newspapers and strange old pictures of monsters tapped up to the walls, not to mention random bits of garbage strewn everywhere. So they were slobs too. They both started to do different things when the door closed, Dean headed for the bathroom and quickly after slamming the door you could hear the shower, and Sam started to straighten up the bed closest to the window grabbing old fast food wrappers before turning to you.

“You should sit down and relax.”

“I’m fine.” You stood in the same place, with your back almost brushing against the door.

“I’m sorry about your friend.”

It didn’t seem like he was saying it for your benefit either, he looked sincere. You went and sat down next to him on the rumpled bedding, “couldn’t you have cured her or something if she was really a monster?” You were partly humoring him but also there was a small part of you that thought back to a few nights ago and could have swore just for a minute that you did notice something strange about her.

He was clearly torn, he opened his mouth and then shut it before finally saying, “we could have if she had never drank any human blood, but we knew for a fact that she already did.”

“How did you find all this out?”

“It’s all part of the gig, we know where to look and how to put it all together.”

You watched him, there was something sweet about him, you could see exactly how hard he was trying to be sensitive about your friend. His hair was so long that when he tilted his head down it would hide his face for a moment and then he would casually run his fingers through it when he looked back up. He also looked a little sad, not about you necessarily, it was a general sense of being out of sync with everything. In fact as you studied his profile, he was more than sweet, he was handsome.

In an instant you were deciding to try something totally different, you planted your lips against his, at first he was completely still. After a second though he loosened up moving his lips against yours, and soon he was dominating the movement, you opened your mouth and he started to deepen the kiss.

“What the hell man?”

You pulled away at the interruption, trying to straighten your hair from where Sam had been running his hands through it, and turned to see Dean giving his brother a stern look.

He was on you in a flash, tugging you away from the other man, and setting you on the other much dirtier bed.

His face was flushed and splotchy with red, you figured he was pretty pissed about your sudden change in attitude since earlier this morning. He was running a hand over his head causing his damp hair to stand up at weird angles and making him look super intimidating.

“You just sit here, by yourself, while me and Sam actually focus on saving your life, how does that sound?”

“Yes sir.” You said it sarcastically, but couldn’t help but notice the weird hesitation he had before storming over to the laptop and throwing himself into the chair.

Sam threw you an apologetic glance as he went and grabbed a newspaper and started flipping through the pages, he was completely absorbed in about five minutes and you were left staring vacantly around the room.

The sunlight eventually faded from the room, and was replaced by the much softer glow of moonlight when Dean finally told you he had found the connection. It had to do with your ex-boyfriend, they thought he was the one who had started turning your other friends as revenge for leaving him.

He started to put on his coat, “alright Sammy lets go check it out.”

“We can’t leave her here alone, one of us is going to have to stay here.”

“No way, I am not leaving the two of you together,” he let his jacket fall off his arm and started unlacing his boots, “I’ll stay.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam reluctantly agreed and you watched him walk out, slamming the door a little harder than you figured was necessary. All the while Dean was picking random objects up around the room and setting them back down, and you kept getting the feeling that when you stopped watching him he was watching you.

When silence had spun out for over ten minutes you couldn’t take it anymore and flicked on the T.V. not really caring what was on as long as there was something to cancel out the quiet atmosphere.

“I hate this crap,” he sat down on the empty space next to you, and when you turned to him his eyes were glued to the screen.

Scoffing you choose to ignore him, this morning he had seemed so commanding and frightening but now it was more like he was a sulky toddler, and as he picked up a wadded up shirt off the edge of the bed and sniffed it before throwing it on the floor, you were less than afraid of him.

Deciding now might be the time to test your luck a little you tossed your head, trying to clear the hair from your eyes, “so you always go around trying to cock block your brother or what?”

He was looking at you a little unfocused but then your words hit him, “dude gross, no, I just didn’t like what I saw.”

You scooted closer to him, until your thighs were almost bumping together, then you trailed a finger along his forearm, “why? You jealous?”

He was quick to take the bait, flipping you onto your back and pressing kisses along your shoulder. Moving up to your lips, you contrasted the difference between the two men, where Sam was all finesse and deliberate motion, Dean was rougher and with his passion a little more sloppy. Both were good though and as you broke away so he could pull off your tank top you took a deep shuddering breath.

Then his phone started to vibrate, you could hear it knocking around on the little wooden nightstand, and he groaned as he pulled himself away from you and went to go check it.

Quickly after looking at the screen he started to pull on his boots, and started shoving himself into his coat, “sorry Sam needs help, I’ll be back soon, don’t go anywhere.”

“Ok,” you said watching as he rushed out.

“I’m glad you got there when you did, Dean, I would have been screwed if you hadn’t shown up.” Sam said as he came up to the motel door, glancing at the window of the room, a small frown on his face.

“Yeah well, I’m always there to save my little brother,” Dean was moving ahead to open the door, his expression more open and excited. 

As they moved into the room, they left the door open behind them, a lightness could be seen behind the drawn curtains after a few moments.

Sam was the one who finally said it, “she’s gone.” 

You heard the whole exchange from the place where you had crouched a few doors down, you didn’t think they were going to come looking for you again. Still, you wanted to be gone by the time they came back outside, turning around to walk through the darkened parking lot you started heading towards your town. You were hopeful that maybe once you had gotten a mile or two away you could start putting this behind you.

The truth was, even though they were both cute, it had always been your goal to get them to trust you enough to leave you on your own. Clearly they weren’t the sharpest guys, that or they didn’t get many chicks who didn’t play up the whole damsel in distress thing. Either way, you didn’t really care and you just hummed to yourself as you came out to the main road, at least they had been good kissers.

[aion-rsa]

Why Hunt A Killer Is the Perfect Murder Mystery Game for Amateur Sleuths

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Have you ever watched a crime show and thought you could solve the mystery better than the detectives? Is your ideal night out a Murder Mystery Dinner Theater? Are you a true crime aficionado? Do you love deciphering coded messages? If you answered yes to any of those questions, Hunt A Killer may be the game for you.

While I will admit to having a low scare tolerance, I’ve loved murder mysteries since growing up on reruns of Murder She Wrote. Given the inaccessibility of events like dinner theater during the pandemic, the idea of solving a murder mystery right in my own home sounded like a perfect opportunity for my husband and I to do something fun together. Hunt A Killer is a subscription service where you receive episodes of a murder mystery in a monthly box. The full mystery takes six boxes to solve, and each episode has a particular goal for you to resolve. The result is a mix between a role playing game, a party game, murder mystery television, and dinner theater—and utterly enjoyable.

Part of the reason the combination works so well, according to Carlea Holl-Jensen, one of the staff writers on the currently released season, is that the writers for Hunt A Killer seasons come from many areas of expertise. 

“The teams have really diverse sets of backgrounds,” she explained. “We have people who come from video game backgrounds, who come from educational backgrounds, who come from TV and theater.” 

The very first game produced by the company was an immersive theater live event; co-founders Ryan Hogan and Derrick Smith worked together to try to figure out to scale that for a broader audience, how to bring it into people’s homes. “In 2016, they started producing boxes basically in our co-founder Derrick’s living room,” Carlea laughed.

When I mentioned that the style of social mystery-solving reminded me of the old How to Host a Murder party game boxes, Carlea said there were three people on the Hunt A Killer team who hadn’t just played those, but written for that type of game themselves (many members of the company are also Dungeons and Dragons players, which will surprise absolutely no one familiar with both games).

While some similar games are one-shots, the serial storytelling nature of murder mystery television programming helped the Hunt A Killer team land on a subscription model—and they borrowed the style of writers’ room collaboration for creating the story of each season from television as well.

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The current season of Hunt A Killer, titled Curtain Call, is a cold case mystery. In 1934, actress Viola Vane disappeared; the case was closed quickly by police of the era, but when her mummified body is discovered by the current theater owner, it’s clear she wasn’t missing—she was murdered. Neither the police nor the theater board are particularly interested in picking the case back up, but the theater owner is determined to achieve justice for the woman, so she hires you, the player, to solve the clues.

When you open the first box, you receive a letter from your contact—a private investigator—and a second letter from the theater owner. Inside the box are documents, physical objects, clues, and collectibles.

Each episode also has a particular mission for you to achieve; for example, in episode one of Curtain Call, the clues provided give you enough information to identify the murder weapon. We found that it didn’t take us long to solve the episode’s mission—but that the sheer amount of information provided about the rest of the mystery had us guessing about who had motive (and who might be having an affair; or why the victim had so much money in her purse!). 

“That’s really what we want, is for people to keep coming back and going, ‘Actually, now that I think more about that, that couldn’t have been right,’” Carlea said. 

While they do have people who play the boxes solo, many people play them socially—some even collaborate virtually, despite the physical objects in the boxes. “Sometimes people come to it with a little bit of anxiety, like, ‘Oh, I don’t know how do ciphers, or I’m not that good a detective,’” she continued, explaining that especially first-time players may feel more comfortable pairing with a teammate who has different skills. “It’s also just fun to debate and talk about things.

The amount of research that goes into each element, especially in a historical story like this one, is intense. Each episode comes with a physical object—a cufflink, a handkerchief—that provides tangible information about the murder. Even the documents are physical objects: the texture of a letter produced on a typewriter gives more tactile experience than a mass-produced photocopy. Carlea discussed how one of the staff designers, Krystle Alder, researched even the fonts to make sure they were available on typewriters in 1934. 

Because Curtain Call takes place at a Broadway theater, Carela talked about how much research had gone into the theater of the era. “I did a lot of listening to podcasts and reading about sort of characters, real people in the period who kind of had similar stories. So there was a lot of sort of, ‘Oh, this person had a similar trajectory, or something happened to them,’” she recalled, and though none of her historical figures met the same grisly death as Viola Vane, she was able to crib notes from the backgrounds of real performers. 

One of the staff writers, Elinor Haney, did a lot of research into what would happen to a body left in an attic for 80 years—she looked at mummies and tried to figure out how Curtain Call’s victim would appear upon her discovery. (Forensic and legal research is important in other seasons, which have primarily featured contemporary murders as well.)

I asked how the team selects the props, and while some of it comes down to what it would cost to produce a particular piece for every box sent to subscribers, a lot of it has to do with the story. The writing team will pitch an idea they think will have the most impact to their procurement manager, Kristina Green. Sometimes, Carlea recalled, Kristina’s response is “Absolutely not. That’s ridiculous. There’s no way.” But in most cases, “she just does such an incredible job of finding the stuff that we just kind of dream up out of thin air.” 

Ultimately, no matter how cool the concept (some seasons have required players to destroy a piece of evidence in some fashion to be able to get the clue!), the question for the team is “How is it serving the story?” Each clue is designed that way: a cipher, a photo, a playbook from a fictional Broadway musical, or a physical object like a cufflink.

Curtain Call is also a transmedia experience. In addition to the box, there are clues delivered through a “file-share” system (which includes some very tasty recipes for mixed drinks that would have been served just after Prohibition ended; pictured is a non-alcoholic Tango Twist I tried out—and it was quite tasty). The team also created a website for the Cadence Theater (where I found possible additional clues for the episodes I haven’t yet received while I was writing this article). While I’m an old-school gamer when it comes to this type of experience, and prefer for everything to be able to be done without an Internet connection, I was surprised to find how much I felt the online component added to my experience. (We also looked up conversion rates for currency, street addresses, and other hidden pieces of information.)

The team behind each season is huge, including not only the writers (for Curtain Call, that’s Elinor Haney, Travis Madden, Stephanie McGowan, and Carlea Holl-Jensen) and designers (Krystle Alder and Keith Pinkston), but also photographers (Leah Hewitt) and costumers (companies Milk & Ice and The Marilyn Johnson Sewing Design Studio, who provided period clothing for all the photo shoots), Director of Production (Melissa LaMartina, who coordinated the photos and shot the website video), and Sourcing Manager (Kristina Green). 

On pieces like the website, players may wonder which parts are created media and which are found photos—and that’s part of the delight. The newspaper clippings, magazine articles, advertisements, and receipts are all produced with the intent to feel so real, players can get fully immersed in the world of the story.

When players run into difficulties (one player wrote in to say a dog had eaten one of the clues to the mystery!), Hunt A Killer has social forums and other accessible hints where players can reach out for help. If players just can’t wait until next month for their box, because they want to binge it all at once, there’s an option to expedite the next box—or players can purchase completed seasons or premium mysteries from the Hunt A Killer store. Players that want a more X-Files experience can also delve into the Empty Faces (paranormal mystery) or Earth Break (sci-fi survival) boxes. While the games have a higher price point than some at-home subscriptions, the Hunt A Killer team encourages cost-sharing and playing with friends (in ways that are safe and responsible during the pandemic). 

But whatever you bring to the table, whatever your play style (solo or team, role play or riddle focused), you’re doing it right. “There’s no actual right way to do it,” Carlea confirmed. And that’s part of the fun.

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