#vic is reaching towards his corpse ;~;

[hypo-critic-art]

Some of my photogram works inspired by Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein :]

[pollylynn]

Title: Diff Eq WC: 1100 Episode: Close Encounters of the Murderous Kind (3 x 09)

It’s always an adventure seeing which one of them gets the kids on any given case. Well, the kids, plus Lanie and the Captain. Sometimes it’s the criminal justice wing of their little family ganging up on him, and sometimes it goes the other way—it’s Come to the Dark Side, We Have The Best Snacks, and one or more of them will join forces with him to drive her absolutely bonkers by throwing in with his incisive and one-hundred-percent-plausible theories.

He’s interested in the math of it, every time. He tells himself it’s character work—it’s team dynamics and all that jazz, which counts as work on the books. And it is that. It does count. But he’s also just interested in the math of it, because the math of it has become a big part of his life. All of them have become a big part of his life, and honestly, for the last few months, he’s been interested in how many more hours of community service he might have left on the sentence they’ve collectively imposed on him for leaving—for going MIA for the whole summer.

He thinks there aren’t a lot left. He thinks he might get a reduced sentence because he’s been a model inmate who is not at all too proud to bribe, and even Lanie might be close to completely thawed by this point. She has, of late, even deigned to do the cute little arm-in-arm thing with him as they broke down Nurse McSchemey’s McScheme a few weeks ago.

Marie Subbarao’s gruesome—and amazing, but also gruesome—murder seems to be an interesting bellwether. It’s certainly interesting math, and he feels like he pulls out to an early lead. Lanie doesn’t have an or to counter the obvious conclusion that their vic was murdered in outer space. She even adds a sympathetic sweetie to soften the blow, and that’s before she finds what is obviously a textbook alien implant, so all of that is as good as Lanie openly declaring for House Castle on this one.

Esposito starts out on the wrong side of their recently formed local branch of the search for extraterrestrial life. He’s all about cigarettes at first, as though aliens can’t smoke, as though smoking isn’t an obvious indicator that this case sits right the intersection of Life on Mars and massive government conspiracy. But it’s not long before he’s begging—actually begging—for evidence that it’s aliens at work. Plus Esposito totally believes the two of them returned from their curiously probe-less abduction with matching hickeys, and if that isn’t a sign that he gets to count at least one of their boys as his very own on this case, he’s not sure what would be.

Ryan, the devious little waffler, is hard to pin down. He’s the man with all the deliciously space-related news from early on—Marie Subbarao was an astrophysicist with SETI grant. Beckett gives him the full-on smug when Ryan reveals Marie’s distaste for the work of Benny Stryker, and he gets to return the favor when the next tidbit he doles out is the news that, distaste or no, she’d also recently reached out to everyone’s favorite ET exposé specialist. Subtract out the story about his possibly hungover, possibly probed first cousin, once removed, and they may just have to go King Solomon on their second son this time around. That’s his thinking until Ryan turns out to be hickey agnostic—or worse still, hickey indifferent—and he’s grumpily happy to let her have that win.

The Captain is too outraged by their abduction to be amenable to an interview about where he stands on the possibility of Marie Subarrao having been chosen to pave the way for their coming grey brethren. He does seem to be taking the possibility of a massive government conspiracy seriously, so he’d like to pencil in another hashmark in his own column, but that feels like cheating. They’re doing the We Are Not Alone math here, not the Big Brother Is Watching math, so the Captain might be undeclared.

He’s ahead. Lanie plus Esposito plus at least half of Ryan means that he is definitely winning, and that does not at all diminish is magnanimity in letting her have the Captain on this one. Or at least benching the Captain for the duration on the grounds that he is on Team Vast and Insidious Government Conspiracy who might play the victor of this case in the next round.

He’s feeling more than satisfied with that math, even though her cognitive dissonance is off the charts when, at the last second, she veers off, just shy of admitting they have indisputable visual proof of alien life. He’s less satisfied, at least temporarily, that this cognitive dissonance places her frame of mind to simply hand over that visual proof to the agents of the VaIGC. He opens his mouth to say something, then remembers Marie Subbarao’s positively gruesome corpse. He thinks better of it, and virtue turns out to be its own reward. Or, rather, he gets a shiny reward indeed for his willingness to zip it for once.

He sits quietly and glowers at Agent Westfield while she negotiates the terms. When Westfield, seconds later, stands and turns toward the door, with every intention of freezing them out, he makes the conspiracy play. He summons the dark math energies of every conspiracy theorist blogger he knows and pads his Twitter numbers a little.

Half a beat later, she’s in on it with him. She is crying conspiracy every bit as loud as he is, and it’s exhilarating. They are reducing Agent Westfield to a quivering mass with no choice but to do as they say—and they’re pulling it off without recourse to antique—and probably unsanitary—injector guns.

It’s this math that he likes best—he two of them against every other soul on earth. And in the end—at the very end of the case—when Westfield is offering them heavily masked thanks to her for the assist, she turns and firmly adds his name to the list of people who’ll never get anything more official than this nod of approval on a Chinatown street corner. She says . . . and Castle, and he’d gladly send the boys and Lanie and the Captain off to see a nice, long movie, so it’s just the two of them, on the same side, which is where they should be.

She says . . . and Castle, and it’s the only math he needs.

A/N: Everyone knows that there's no morphousness at all in math.

images via homeofthenutty

[beyond-the-mirror]

The Blue Eyed King’s Gift

Welcome back to another chapter of this story! Have you already guessed which fairy tales is it inspired by? You can find one of the answers in the tags below.

Tagging @v-vic​, if you wish to be tagged you can let me know at any moment.

I also want to give special thanks to @thottyonmainsquid​ for beta reading and offering her great and brilliant advice, as well as our discord server for their support and inspiring shenanigans.

Pairings: Vergil x Fem Reader

Warnings: War and violence. Mild gory descriptions, nothing too explicit.

Part One - Part Three - Part Four

……………………..

Part Two

Once upon a time, there existed a vast kingdom ruled by a great and powerful demon who possessed a heart as merciful and gentle as that of a human.

At the beginning of his reign, the Demon King bestowed upon all the humans of his land the ancient magic of his kind, quite unlike his predecessors that kept said magic to themselves selfishly alongside a few nobles of demonic heritage. With this wonderful gift, the inhabitants were able to access greater knowledge, developing more advanced technologies that greatly improved their lives. Soon enough the kingdom grew larger than ever before, making alliances with neighboring countries in order to selflessly share their magic and science with those who needed it most. Such was the will of the Demon King, who reigned over the peaceful land for centuries.

One day, the king fell in love with a human woman, and took the ultimate decision to renounce his immortality in order to spend the rest of his days with her as his beloved queen. From this union, two children were born, twin little boys with pristine white hair and blue eyes. The entire kingdom was overjoyed at the news, a long lasting celebration was held in honor of the newborn princes. As time passed, the twins grew up to become well respected nobles among the people, as well as skilled swordsmen just like their father. The younger one had a spirit like the sun, warm and vibrant; the older one had a spirit like the moon, calm and piercing.

……………………..

Many years later, the Demon King and his beloved queen passed away at their shared bed due to old age, both with a peaceful smile on their faces at the fulfilling lives they had shared with each other. At their passing, the elder brother was crowned as king of Fortuna in a most luscious ceremony which hosted many representatives of their allied countries. The Blue Eyed King was able to reign as benevolently and wisely as his late father; however, he would often question his trust in some of Fortuna’s allies, concerns that he kept even after his crowning.

During a festival at the town square, someone caught the monarch’s attention, a beautiful maiden with a heart of gold lively dancing and twirling to the cheery music. At the end of the song, their eyes locked for a few moments that seemed almost eternal, and he knew he just had to meet her. Love blossomed between them, which some time later led to a joyful marriage between the two. The king and queen lived together with great happiness, their love as profound as the immensity of the universe.

Such happiness wouldn’t last long.

……………………..

After a medical checkup, the couple was informed that the young queen could not bear any children. The news absolutely devastated her, driving her into a severe depression that kept her isolated in her private chambers for months to come. In his despair to help his wife, the king did everything in his power to aid her in her malady. Every single medic was summoned to the palace, doctors, healers, therapists… the young king prayed every day and night for the recovery of his beloved, always tending to her side and holding her close as many times as she allowed him too.

One day, after many painful months, the queen finally gathered some energy and emerged from her chambers, much to the relief of all the servants and the young king himself. She made one single request to her husband.

She showed him a small bag of seeds “My beloved. Allow me to plant these seeds in our royal garden, and tend to them with my very own hands. I don’t wish to be helped by our servants and gardeners, who have already done so much for me these past months. Please, let me be the only one to nurture these seeds.”

As much as he wanted to protest her decision to work despite her health condition, the king obliged. Whatever it took to make his love recover her lost happiness, he would gladly accept.

The next months, the queen would be seen tending to the seeds she planted in the garden, which eventually grew into many exquisite blue roses thanks to her love and dedication. The king was filled with joy knowing that his wife had finally started to smile again, little by little did she recover and soon she was back into her usual cheery self.

None of them would have expected the tragedy that was about to fall upon the kingdom.

……………………..

They attacked at midnight while everyone slumbered. Loud explosions from their cannons shattered the calm atmosphere of the night, reducing buildings and homes to rubble and dust. 

Nobody would have expected that this particular allied country would ever consider the benefits given by Fortuna as simply not enough for them. Envious and greedy, they wanted the great kingdom’s power and riches all for themselves.

As his twin rushed to take care of the siege engines surrounding the city, the Blue Eyed King and his army fought valiantly against the enemy who planned to infiltrate the grand palace. He had struck down another group of soldiers with a graceful cut from his demon sword Yamato when an all too familiar scream made his blood run cold. Looking around frantically, he spotted through the corner of his eye the queen running towards the royal garden. The king immediately bolted after his beloved, only to stop dead in his tracks at what he saw once he reached her.

The queen laid lifeless on the exact same roses she had planted months ago, the blooms now crushed and their petals painted red with her blood. Towering before her, the very own general that commanded such an act of treason against Fortuna, standing victoriously arrogant at the murder he had commited.

At that moment something broke inside the king. Everything happening around him became mere white noise as pure rage and sorrow drowned his rationality. A blaze of blue fire enveloped the king as he embraced his demonic heritage, and with a mighty roar that shattered the night skies above and the earth below, he unleashed his fury at the ones that took his love away.

……………………..

Everyone watched in horror as a dark atmosphere consumed the entire city, even the soldiers stopped fighting and froze on their sports as the heavy darkness wrapped around everything it could touch.

And then, it happened.

It was strangely beautiful, the way thousands of light beams shot instantaneously through the air like fractals of blue energy, followed shortly by a delicate hum that resonated everywhere, not unlike the chirping of birds at breaking dawn. The lights illuminated the streets as if it were a sunny day despite being in the dead of the night. All who bore witness to the otherworldly display found themselves hypnotized by its beauty, the sight so alluring, so alluring... 

And just as it had begun, it ended, like a lightning breaking through the storm in a matter of seconds. During that time nobody dared make a move, too stunned at what they had just witnessed.

The Blue Eyed King sheathed his sword.

One by one, every single soldier from the enemy country fell to the ground in unrecognizable pieces, a sickening sound as their remains sploshed and bloodied the streets. It was a nightmarish sight, how an entire army was eradicated in just an instant and in such a grotesque manner.

Silence reigned over the ruined kingdom once more, as if a war had never happened in the first place.

……………………..

The prince rushed to the palace, knowing something must have happened to his older brother after realization had hit him. His imposing red wings pierced the sky as he flew, a twisted feeling that tugged at his heart telling him that something must have gone terribly wrong.

As he landed at the now rundown garden, he saw his brother’s true demon form thrashing around in torment.

Overwhelmed by his grief, the king kept ripping and tearing down the now mangled body of the opposing general. Even his own demon sword laid forgotten on the ground as he preferred to discharge his wrath with his very own claws.

The prince immediately seized him, trying his best to calm down his brother. However, the beast inside him had completely consumed him, leaving only a primal creature thirsty for blood and revenge.

Suddenly, an unexpected cry resonated through the garden, interrupting the fight between the twin brothers.

Both demons stood bewildered as the high pitched wailing continued, breaking the silence that permeated the garden. The Blue Demon quickly scanned the area, looking for the source of the strange noise, his breaths slowly evening out as he started to recover some of his lost clarity.

His blue fiery eyes widened as he noticed the sound was coming just next to the corpse of his long lost queen.

Without losing a minute the beast prowled towards her body. Upon closer inspection, her arms seemed to be enclosed around something, as if protecting it and keeping it safe until her very last breath. Ever so carefully, the Blue Demon pried her arms open, minding the sharp talons that had replaced his human nails.

In her embrace, a single intact blue rose laid. The bud was abnormally bigger than the rest of the blooms that laid broken around her, gigantic even. As the king focused on the bizarre flower, he realized that the cries were coming from inside it, just as he too observed a few slight movements on its soft inner petals

In the most gentle and careful manner, the beast opened the rose bud. What he found inside brought tears to his eyes.

Two newborn babies were cuddled inside the unnatural flower, flailing their tiny limbs and crying in distress. The infants had pale rosy skin, soft white tufts of hair crowned atop of their heads.

The king turned beast stood astonished at the sight, not expecting to find such innocent lives at the now crumbled ruins that were once his and his wife’s garden.

Scales turned into flesh, talons transformed into lithe fingers. The king slowly reached for the children with shaky arms, pulling them out of the rose and cradling them against his chest. The babies nuzzled after the warmth he exuded, one that soothed their alarmed cries little by little. It was then that they finally fluttered their eyes open, and the king let out a startled gasp.

One had light blue eyes like an endless ocean at peace, very much like the kings’ own. The other had mesmerizing green eyes like a lively forest, very much like… His heart swelled with both joy and melancholy. The child’s eyes were very much like his beloved queens’.

What the monarch failed to realize at that moment was that this was his beloved’s last gift. Unbeknownst to him, amidst the doctors that had been summoned to treat her infertility, there was an elderly woman who was praised for her unique medicinal practices involving a combination of magic and science. Knowing this, the queen begged for her help as soon as she had recognized her presence in her chambers. 

The elderly woman gifted her a small satchel full of magic-imbued seeds, instructing her to add a drop of her own blood as well as one of the king’s into the satchel before planting them, warning that the seeds would only grow by the hands of the queen herself. According to her words, one of the roses would bear a child after 9 months, an heir with the same blood used to soak the seeds at the beginning.

After offering her heartfelt gratitude to the healer, the queen set to work as soon as possible, one night even pricking her husband’s finger while he slept in order to follow those same instructions. She worked day and night, tending to the roses while ignoring the worrying looks of the servitude and those of the king himself. Above all, the queen prayed to the gods every morning she would get up to keep gardening. When she noticed one of the roses growing much more than the others, the smile she thought long lost had finally returned.

The infants stared at the man holding them before raising their small hands, reaching for his face as they giggled ever so sweetly.

For the first time in his life, the Blue Eyed King broke into tears, now understanding why his beloved was in such a rush making her way to the garden.

These children were his sons, his and his queen’s very own flesh and blood.

She had given her life to save their children.

The king hugged the little boys in his arms tightly, tears after tears cascaded down his face. His younger brother, now back into his human self, fell to his knees and embraced his brother, hoping to alleviate some of his brother’s pain as he too broke down.

He could barely hear his brother’s words as he spoke between heartbreaking sobs. “No mortal shall ever cause you pain, my beautiful children. I am your father, and until my very last breath, I shall protect you.”

……………………..

As dawn broke, all the surviving Fortunians were gathered in front of the palace gates. By order of the king, every single inhabitant of the kingdom had been relocated to the citadel which will later be rebuilt and occupied.

Before everyone, the Blue Eyed King vowed and swore to protect his people by all means necessary. And if it meant cutting ties with the rest of the world, then so shall be his will and command. Fortuna had been betrayed by who they considered an ally, and he will make sure a tragedy like this one would never happen again. 

For the sake of his people. For the sake of his sons.

The king unsheathed his sword, and with an all-powerful cut, he split the land around the great citadel and the surrounding villages, severing all cuts with the outside world and enveloping it in a magical barrier.

In the blink of an eye, the Great Kingdom of Fortuna was gone.

……………………..

Once upon a time, there existed a vast kingdom ruled by a great and powerful demon. However, every remnant of its existence vanished without leaving any trace behind. As ages went by, nature grew and reclaimed the unoccupied land, eventually forming a thick forest where all kinds of wild creatures lived in harmony.

For the rest of humanity, Fortuna had been long lost. This, however, couldn’t be further than the truth.

The great kingdom still stood proud and prosperous, albeit in another plane of existence cut off from all mundane ties to our world. A plane of existence where even time itself behaved in the most different and unexpected ways possible.

It was a bit difficult at the beginning, but the inhabitants soon adapted to their environment without any more trouble. In no time they managed to rebuild their homes and return to their normal lifestyles, now convinced that the decision made by the Blue Eyed King was the best for everyone.

Peace once again reigned over the kingdom. And as long as its existence remained a secret to the outside world, nothing shall ever take it away.

[shinycorvidae]

How Vic and Hiro Ended Up Sharing a Brain Tapeworm

(cowritten with @smilepal)

Part 5: Vroom, Vroom Bitches We Are All Going to Hell

TW: gore, character death

Takemura leads Hiro out behind the motel, pulling a squirming, gagged and tied Deshawn out of the trunk and tossing him on the ground like a bag of rocks.

Hiro yanks the gag out.

“Deshawn.”

“Oda! Heyyy we can work this out, there's no need for this-”

“Where the FUCK is V? What did you do with her?”

He hauls the man up by his collar, and gives him a shake. Takemura had said he hadn’t needed Hiro’s help but wisely decided not to say anything. Hiro’s eyes are intent. He hasn’t interrogated someone in a long time but ingrained habits are hard to break.

“Easy, just chill man!” His hand is reflexively inching towards the gun in its holster and Hiro’s eyes dart to it--he reaches out and gets a grip around his wrist and squeezes--Takemura can hear the sound of metal crumpling and a howl from Dex.

“Start talking.”

“Alright! I’ll show you where we dumped the body! Just let go!”

He’d hoped by some miracle V had gotten away or was safe somewhere/in hiding. If anyone could pull that off it’d be her. He dropped Deshawn’s wrist--the cybernetics mangled, hanging limp

“Well? Get going.”

Find V first. Find V first. --it’s a struggle not to throw himself at the other man, to break and just keep hitting until his blood cools, but he’ll wait, can wait.

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

If there was any doubt in Hiros mind that Deshawn was going to die today, it vanished when they reached the junkyard. He can't have tossed V away, like, like she was some trash he was done with. Even he wouldn't be that stupid-

At first he doesn't even see her. Just mound after mound of garbage. Then he rounds a corner and there she is, stretched out across the ground, a couple feet away. A broken tv is hiding most of her lower body, and her face is turned away from him, but it's unmistakably her. Her blue hair is almost completely brown and matted with dried blood. She's not moving, she's not breathing, shes- She's just sprawled there as if someone had just tossed her in with the rest of the garbage.

They just tossed her. His V was dead and Dexter. Deshawn. Had disposed of her with the trash.

Hiro didn't remember when he'd dropped to his knees in front of her but he can remember getting up. The mixture of a wail and a yell as he launched himself at Deshawn. Takemura dropped the fixer, nudging him towards Hiro.

He can remember screaming at Deshawn but not what he said. And he can vividly remember the look of horror in Deshawn’s eyes as he grabbed both sides of his head and started squeezing. Deshawn had nowhere to look except directly into Hiro’s furious eyes. Deshawn’s mouth begging, scrabbling at Hiro's metal hand and arms until his nails broke.

He remembered the smell of piss as Deshawn realized he wasn't going to stop. And the final moment when Deshawn’s skull gave under his fingers. Hot blood sprayed across his face, and he didn't flinch, didn’t look away. He just took in every bit of life draining from Deshawn’s broken eyes until there was nothing left. He remembers crunching the last remnants of the skull in his hands. Pulling them out of Deshawn's cranium, and letting him drop. He remembers flicking the bone and viscera off, as one might flick errant drops of water off their hands.

He doesn't remember walking a few feet away after and dropping to the ground. He just knows he's on the ground and staring listlessly at the mound of garbage in front of him. He feels cold despite all of Deshawn's blood on him, still warm. Deshawn is dead. Jackie's dead. V's dead. What's left?

Nothing.

There's nothing left for him to hurt, to maim. There's nothing left inside him except ice creeping through his veins. He doesn't notice his hands are trembling until he looks down at them.

Takemura stands quietly, watching the younger man shake. His bloodlust was distasteful but it was in the name of loyalty and revenge. Takemura could understand that.

Unfortunate that his witness is dead, perhaps her corpse could be-

Impossible. His eyes must be desperate. He swore she just-

She's breathing.

"You. Mercenary."

The man continues staring at his hands, no sign he heard him.

"Oda."

He doesn't respond, forcing Takemura to stalk over and shake his shoulder.

"ODA!"

He raises his head and gives Takemura an empty stare.

"V. She's breathing."

Oh. So he finally snapped. It was only a matter of time. A matter of time until his heart was just too wounded to function anymore and started creating its own reality.

Takemura slaps him across the face. It hurts. This is real.

He can't move fast enough, half running, half scrambling over trash to get to V. He scrapes up his knees and it hurts, he feels hurt again because there's hope. How? She had a bullet through her-

He should have known, he should have checked, if anyone could survive this of COURSE it'd fucking be V.

He came to a sudden halt next to her and slowly lowered himself. He took her pulse, feeling it beat, slowly but surprisingly steady beneath his fingers. He turned her over, lifting her gently, gently, upright, cradling her in his arms.

Vs eyes flutter open. They’re unfocused and in pain but still have her sharp look.

"Hiro....that...."

"V, oh fuck, V shh shh just let me-"

"....better not....be your....blood."

Hiro just lets out a choked laugh, hiding a relieved sob. There's tears streaming down his face but he doesn't give a fuck. She probably won't remember this anyway.

Takemura steps up to him, and Hiro is suddenly aware of the fact that the man in front of him has been hunting V just as desperately as him and he has no clue why.

"Oda. We need to move"

Hiro covers V with his torso, snarling at Takemura.

"GET AWAY FROM US."

"You fool, I don't want to harm her! I need her alive!"

"Leave. Us. Alone."

"And how are you going to get her to a ripperdoc? I drove us!"

"...Fuck! Fine. But if you touch her-"

“I will not. We must leave quickly. Arasaka is on its way.”

“What?! How did they find us already?”

“I called them. Get in the car, this place smells like shit.”

“YOU WHAT?!”

Takemura just turns away from him and starts walking back to the car.

“GET BACK HERE YOU- fuck, hes not listening. V I’m going to have to pick you up now, alright?”

“Nova...”

Hiro gently lifts V into his arms, making sure her head is supported. V’s hand curls weakly into the fabric of his shirt. She feels so light and fragile when he's holding her like this. Has she always been so small?

The walk to the car feels long. No matter how careful he is, every step he takes jostles V’s head, causing her to flinch. Her hand stays clenched against his chest, grounding him in the fact that she's strong. V’s a survivor, she'll be fine. She has to be fine.

Easing her into the front seat of the car is easier than expected. For some reason one of Arasaka’s top soldiers drives a fucking convertible, completely open to the air. V crinkles her brow at it as Hiro secures her seatbelt.

“This. is a stupid. nrgh car.”

“You are not in a position to be complaining, thief.”

Hiro bends down to pick up Deshawn's pistol before vaulting into the backseat. V arches a brow at him. He hates pistols almost as much as she does.

“Getting the feeling I might need it in a moment here.”

“Seatbelt.”

“I think I'm going to need the mobility V. Thanks though.”

They only make it about ten minutes from the junkyard before Arasaka drops on them, materializing out of nowhere. A perfect ambush. V has faded back into unconsciousness and Takemura immediately takes a bullet to the side. Hiro does what he can to cover their asses, most of his shots going wide.

"Of course it'd be a fucking car chase. COME CLOSER YOU CORPO COWARD FUCKS, I’LL GIVE YOU MY FUCKING FIST."

Vs slight gasp of air, a barely there laugh makes Takemura study her more deeply. Her breathing is shallow and irregular, tanned skin is paler than before. And yet, her eyes track every enemy that crosses her view.

He's barely keeping the car intact. The over-muscled monkey isn't helping. Shit, he might be making it worse. They need more firepower.

"Thief. V."

Her eyes turn towards him while her body stays motionless. They're starting to glass over, focusing in and out on his face. She's fading.

"You hear me? We need your help!"

He pushes an airhypo into her hand, curling her fingers around it himself so she doesn't drop it.

V is barely here. She knows she's in a car. A strange man's driving. There's an airhypo in her hand. Why is there a hypo? There's someone screaming...what...

"I'LL RIP YOUR INNARDS OUT THROUGH YOUR THROAT YOU RAT BASTARDS!"

The voice fades again. There's an airhypo in her hand... something about Hiro. Hiro. Hiro needs help. The strange man needs help. The airhypo. It's in her hand.

Just as Takemura is about to take the hypo back and try to do it himself, V snaps into action. Her whole arm jerks out, then in, slamming the hypo into her chest.

Vs sudden loud gasp and heavy breathing distracts Hiro for a moment, eyes more focused on her than the ensuing firefight. Takemura shoves a pistol in her open hand.

Vs brow wrinkles in disgust. It may be a desperate situation but it's definitely not her favorite tool.

"Ugh."

Hiro lets out a full blown laugh, before turning back to the fight, relief and resolve coursing through him.

"Good to know you're still in there V"

Enemies start slowly dropping instead of swarming them, red holes opening up in their chests.

Hiro can finally split his focus and check on V. Keep her talking, keep her here.

"Wow, you're still a better shot than me"

V gives a small snort in response, using her second hand to steady her trembling pistol.

“Not hard."

"Wow, so much for any praise for saving your life. You're welcome."

"Who's he?"

"An ally. For now."

".... assassin."

"I know V, I know. Don't worry, I can take him"

Takemura glares at him from the corner of his eye, but there's no time for an argument.

"Go for his throat. Cyberware deactivated."

Takemura spares V a look of shock, surprised she would know. There's no visible difference, she shouldn't be able to tell.

It doesn't matter though, because a mantis bladed freak is launching himself at the hood of the car.

V manages to empty half a clip into him before Hiro launches himself over her, grabbing the freak’s blade with his palm before he can impale V on it. They wrench it free and bury it into the hood, anchoring themselves.

The second blade whips past Hiro's face, passing so close to him that a couple strands of hair are sheared off.

Takemura unloads his entire clip into the now flaming soldier.

"Die already!"

The burning freak persists, hitting Hiro with the back of the blade, throwing him into the backseat. The blade raises above V poised to slice her open. Takemura slams the accelerator.

"Hold on. Burn in hell!"

The car careens into the pole, and V loses her unsteady grip on consciousness.

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

The world is on fire. Her head hurts, she can't breathe, what is....she cant-

Someone is dragging her. There's....arms around her shoulders. The fire disappears. Everything's blurry. There's voices but she can't understand them. Someone runs a hand across her cheek.

The voices get louder. They move away from her. She's not paying attention anymore. Her visions clearing. There's a bad man. He's moving. He's a threat.

Threats must be removed.

She doesn't feel the recoil but she sees her hand jump, and the bullet hit her target. The threat stops twitching.

Threat removed.

A hand closes around her gun. Trying to wrench it from her.

No. Dropping your weapon is death.

V pulls it back, refusing to surrender this fight. She has to hold the line.

"V. It's okay, you can let go."

Hiro. He....He can take over.

He'll protect the clan. She can let go now.

The gun falls from her hand.

"Don't you dare faint again."

Someone tries shaking her but it's so far away.

"V. V, stay with me. Keep your eyes on me, please-"

She's so tired. The clan is safe. She can rest now.

"V!"

[endangered-liaison]

Last Rites

A Resistance soldier staggers into the light of day. He doesn't squint or flinch as he moves from the darkness of his hideaway into the light, simply steps forwards. One step, then another. He doesn't check his surroundings. He doesn't watch for Garlean patrols. He just lurches forwards.

Finally, he seems to notice something. He looks up, dull grey eyes looking blankly toward a hilltop.

There's the crack of a rifle, and he drops to the floor. Brown, viscous blood seeps from the hole torn through his face. Around him, another dozen corpses are arrayed. Some wear Resistance gear, while others have the clothing of civilians, or older rags weathered by time.

"Fuckin' zombies." Maxima grunts, watching as this newest body joins the others. To her right, Castellus slides the bolt back on her rifle and racks another round in the chamber.

They'd been searching for a Resistance hideaway they knew was concealed in the area. A few minor supply caravans had been intercepted; idiots didn't know if those supplies were meant for their towns or not. They weren't, obviously, but they didn't know that.

At first, this tomb had seemed like perfect cover for the Resistance to hide out in. Barely visible from most angles, reinforced, and built up enough to be comfortable rather than hiding out in some cave like animals. That was before the first zombie wandered out into the sun.

Idiots must've hidden out there without even realising it was cursed. Thaumaturgic reanimation spells last a long time, out here in the desert. From what Max hears, they still lose patrols out in the northern Lochs sometimes, only for them to stagger back out a few days later.

Fucking worthless country.

No more undead seem to be appearing through the doorway, and Max gives a sigh. "Alright, screw this. I'm gonna go take a look."

Castellus frowns. "Shouldn't we report this and come back with a full patrol? We don't know if there are any more inside."

Max is already climbing to her feet and stretching. Rolling her back after a prolonged period of waiting around. "You're right. We don't know. That's why I'm gonna go check, yeah?"

Victoria stares up at her with a distinct lack of amusement.

"If there's more dead in there I'll come runnin' out. If there ain't I'll find the supplies. Come on." Max draws a handaxe from her belt, starting to spin it and make sure she's warmed up for its weight. "Oh, and gimme your revolver."

She reaches out with her free hand. Victoria just looks at her, a mixture of resignation and profound disappointment on her face. For a few seconds, Max thinks she'll refuse. Then, finally, a handgun is pressed into her palm with the care such a weapon deserves.

Max beams.

"If you come back out groaning and shambling, I'm shooting you." is all Victoria says, turning back to her rifle and adjusting her scope slightly.

"They breed you mongrels brutal as fuck, Vic. I like it."

With that, she slides down the hill, her boots kicking up sand and dust.

Victoria rolls her eyes and settles herself in to wait.

She watches Max approach, playing with her borrowed revolver with far too much carelessness.

She watches her smack the pommel of the axe against the doorframe to the crypt, the loud thudding noise echoing through its darkened halls, before she turns back to give the scope a shrug and step inside.

And then she sees nothing.

She doesn't panic. Waiting is nothing new. And the most important part of this is focus.

And so she doesn't let her mind drift. She doesn't worry about anything. She doesn't think about how many minutes it's been since Max stepped into the dark. She doesn't fidget, or move, or do anything but watch and listen.

Cicadas chirp. The river roars in the distance. Half a malm away, the M tribe are on a hunt, their Huntspeak clicking and echoing.

There's the quiet echo of a cry.

Shit.

Instincts collide.

Move in to help, or hold position? Max might need help. On the other hand, if Max has to run, rifle support might save her life.

Her grip tightens on the rifle. Play it safe. Follow orders. Her hands stay perfectly steady.

If there's one thing Victoria oen Castellus isn't, it's a hero. Right?

That mantra doesn't make it any easier to stay put, and her arguments with herself get louder and louder over the next few minutes, until something finally steps into her line of sight.

It's Max.

There's blood staining her cheek, and she's staggering forwards. Limping. Making dull, groaning noises.

Fuck.

Victoria's hands don't shake as she lines her rifle up with Max's head. They're perfectly stable, even as Max's acid-green eyes flash across her scope. Her finger rests on the trigger. She offers a split second of hesitation...

"Fuckers set up leg snares!"

She lets go of the trigger, eyes wide. "Max?!"

Max leans over, wincing and slipping her knife against the wire tangled around her foot. Blood, red and bright and alive, drips from her cheek. "It's all clear 'cept the traps," she calls, coughing a little as she finally snaps the wire. "No living, no dead. Cleared of supplies, too. Must've shipped 'em someplace else."

"...And you're okay?"

"Course!" Max climbs to her feet and resumes her limping gait back toward Victoria, wiping the blood from her cheek. She grins, showing far too many teeth. "Let's get back to camp, yeah?"

Victoria stows her rifle without another word.

Her hands don’t shake at all.

[vampire-scones]

Nightmares

For @roachcult because you wanted to see Vic scared by Mr. Patrick. And who am I to deprive you of that right? hope you enjoy! mwah! 

*******************************

Quarantine with Patrick Hockstetter was like being in a constant escape room. Sometimes it’s fine and fun, but other times it feels like a claustrophobic mess that you will never get out of because he just brought a stray dog in the house for the seventh time this week. 

Vic doesn’t bother asking what happens to all those stray dogs. He likes to pretend he never even saw Patrick take them into his bedroom as he returns to his game of Fall Guys with Henry. Belch is watching them from the couch and has his eyes glued to the split screen, commenting things as they run through the course. Henry on the other hand seems to be in his own world, completely oblivious to what is going on around him, including what seems to be the faint whimpering of a stray dog from Patrick’s bedroom. 

Vic tries not to think about the sound. 

He again tries not to think about the sound of a whimpering dog as all four boys settle in for a horror movie marathon. Starting with a couple 80′s slashers and working up to more recent stuff using ‘The Collector’ series. 

Vic had started to distract himself halfway through ‘The Nightmare on Elm Street’. The concept of someone being able to kill you in your dreams was unnerving. He slept to get away from all the scary shit going on in the world, not to run into it. Belch had fallen asleep at that point and Henry was still in his own world, his eyes almost looking glazed over as he watched the people run and scream across the TV screen. 

This left Patrick and Victor the only ones aware that the other was even in the room. And Vic tried to pretend Patrick wasn’t there. He tried really hard. 

But Patrick’s gaze felt like spiders running up his spin. He felt cold and vulnerable. Every breath Vic took he felt like Patrick was counting, like he was planning which one would be his last.

But he wouldn’t do that right? Kill him? Patrick wasn’t that crazy. But as a dog whined in the movie Vic started to doubt a lot of what he knew about Patrick. What boundaries he didn’t have. What things he would do just for fun. Vic knew for a fact that Patrick wasn’t innocent. He had seen the photos of girls on his wall under the ‘Patrick is god’ frog. He had seen the flies in the pencil case and self made big frames. The other day when he was looking for his charger Patrick had stolen from him he found a box of dog collars.

Vic let these thoughts swim in his mind as he looked up to the credits now playing on the screen. He then moved his eyes to the clock on his phone and sighed as he saw it read 2:27AM. He stretched his hands up over his head and let out a yawn.

“I think I’m going to retreat to the bedroom..” He said as he looked towards Henry. Henry only gave him a glare and mumbled out.

“Stay on your damn side. I don’t want to come in and find you sprawled our like a starfish again. I WILL push you off the fucking thing and make you sleep on the floor.” Vic nodded and got up, trying not to make eye contact with Patrick as he went to leave the living room. That was until Patrick reached out a slender arm and grabbed Vic’s wrist.

“Might want to lock the door tonight...heard boys like you are exactly what a guy like the collector wants to add.” A smirk was playing on Patrick’s lips and opened up to reveal his teeth, making Vic’s stomach churn.

Snatching his wrist back from Patrick he let out a huff. “Yeah, sure Patrick.” Vic managed out as he walked towards the shared guest bedroom. He tried not to give away that psychotic madman in the living room had maybe scared him a little bit. But it was all fake. It was just a movie. And Patrick was just trying to get under his skin. Trying to scare him. Trying to make him admit he hated the horror movie marathons.

Right?

Vic got himself ready for bed and crawled under the thick covers. He stared up at the popcorn ceiling as he listened to the faint sounds of the next movie going on in the living room. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark as he continued to listen. The sound was soon drowned out by his own thoughts.

What if Patrick was onto something? The movie HAD to be based on some true event. Look at movies like Texas chainsaw massacre, or all those Halloween movies. They scared the shit out of Vic and they were all based on somewhat true events. What other morbid shit went on in the world that he didn’t know about? That he didn’t want to know about.  

But right now he was fine. He was safe in his bed, (well Patrick's guest room bed. And safe is a LONG stretch in the Hockstetter house), and in a small town like Derry where the worst thing to go on was probably whatever the Loser’s club was up to that day. 

With theses thoughts starting to fight off the ones made of rotten limbs and maggot covered corpse, Vic closed his eyes and started to drifted off into a dreamless sleep without realizing it. 

Nothing felt real as something brushed against his cheek, the bridge of his nose, yanked his hair. He let out a hiss and tried to swat at whatever had dared to touch his hair. Only when his hand came down on the pillow he felt a whole bunch of small, cool and smooth things under his hand and arm. Vic let out another groan as he opened his eyes, squinting in the dark to try and see what he was touching. Peas maybe? 

All he could see when he squinted were small, rectangular and triangular shaped objects on his pillow. With no ideas as to what they could be he leaned over to the bed side table to turn on a light, hoping to know what these odd intrusions were. He heard one or two fall to the floor as he did.

As the light clicked on he nearly wanted to scream. He did scream. On the pillow and floor were teeth. What looked like to be human and dog teeth. Vic sat up in bed, making most of the teeth fall off his pillow and onto the mattress. A chill ran down his spin. 

Vic nearly jumped out of the bed only to feel something cold and round under his left foot. He hopped onto his right food and looked down to see what seemed to be a small bone laying on the floor. Vic lost his balance as fear flooded through his body. He started to push himself towards the wall. 

This had to be a nightmare. 

Had to be a bad dream.

He just had to wake up.

He had t-

His thoughts stopped. His blood ran cold. He had just backed up into someone. He could feel the person’s legs pressed against his back. He didn’t even want to look up to see the face. 

A chuckle escapes the person behind him and he feels something brush against his scalp. It’s long and waxy and inhuman. Alien. Fuck, are aliens real? is this how they abduct you?

Another chuckle comes from the figure behind him before he felt a firm kick to his back, sending him forward and right in front of the small mess of teeth and bone that had either already been laying there or spilled from his bed. He was soon pined to the floor by the same foot and starting to gasp for air, even if he wasn’t being choked or suffocated. 

Vic felt like he was being suffocated. Like the room was getting smaller. If he didn’t take another breath and prove he was there the room would squeeze him, squish him until he was just a messy pile of organs and blood in some weird place in space and time. Tears were threatening to spill out of his eyes before he heard a voice. A familiar voice. 

“Didn’t know you scared that easily Viccy Boy. Thought it would take more than dog bones and wax.” Patrick almost sang out in victory. “Well that’s a lie, I did know you scare easily. You can never sit through a full slasher.” 

A deep chuckle rumbled from Patrick’s chest as his eyes bore into the back of Vic’s head. “Didn’t think I would have this much fun. Amazing how far candle wax can go huh?” He said as he kneeled down to wiggle his wax dipped fingers in Vic’s face.  

Vic shook his head and rolled onto his back as soon as Patrick’s foot was lifted from him. “The actual fuck is wrong with you! I felt like i was going to die! Like, like I was going to be tortured or fucking killed! You are an absolute psycho!” He yelled out once his breathing had calmed down a bit. Patrick only laughed as he started to collect his bones and teeth. 

“Oh come on Criss, it was fun. Should have been expecting me to do this sooner or later. You wanted to move in with me for the fucking plague.” Patrick gave him a sick grin as he put the teeth and bones in his jean pockets like they were coins. 

Vic simply blinked at him from his spot on the floor. Seeing as Vic was not going to get up anytime soon, Patrick walked over and leaned over him, keeping the same grin on his face. “I know what you want to know Viccy, are they real. Now be smart, I’m not some fucking amateur that buys fake shit. I got to harvest it.”

Vic felt more colour drain from his face (if that was even possible at this point) and his mouth run dry. Harvest? Is that where all those stray dogs went? For Patrick to use them for parts and for decoration. If so then “Then where did you get the human teeth.” He voiced the last part of his thought. 

Patrick simply stood up and hummed, slowly walking towards the door. “I have people I know..It’s amazing what you can trade online now a days.” He looked back at Vic from where he stood at the doorway. 

His eyes scanned over Vic, watching him finally sit up, his hands supporting his body. Even in tinted light of the side table lamp Patrick could make out the tear tracks on Vic’s face. 

“Sleep tight, Vic. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” Patrick said in a soft tone as he stepped out of the guest room. Leaving Vic sitting on the floor and frankly, too scared to go back to sleep. 

[high-and-away]

FFXIVWrite Prompt #10: Avail

A man can serve as bait as well as any other animal. Like a lodestone, the corpse of the lone rider draws his comrades in as they approach. Victoria follows the Resistance men through the scope of her rifle as they wander into place. For all her discomfort, the rain has worked to her advantage; the dusty track she's set her snare on has lost its stability beneath the steady deluge. Her targets have no choice but to rein their birds in, lest they lose their footing and slip in the mud they've churned up. The pack of riders pick their way towards her in procession, straggling away from each other as they struggle through the muck, filing ever so slowly into the ambush she's constructed for them. She doesn't mind the pace. A few more seconds of waiting is nothing. By the time they close in on the body, the trap is long since set. She closes the jaws with a bullet.

One of the riders falls sideways into the mud, one foot still tangled in a stirrup as he slides from the saddle. In the moment of chaos his end sets off, she puts a round in the man in front of him. His panicked mount blunders into another chocobo, bringing both down, and the man atop the other bird goes down beneath them. Heedless of his predicament, his companions scramble to get their wits about them; before Victoria can line up a third shot, they've scattered into the woods. One of the fallen chocobos wobbles unsteadily upright and follows in their wake. The other still lies thrashing in the mud. Its calls are in the frantic, pained key of distress, rather than alarm. One leg lies twisted at an unnatural angle, useless, and the animal's terrible predicament makes Victoria cringe in on herself in guilt; she means to target men, not the beasts bearing them. Killing like that exudes a sort of cruelty that she can't bring herself to embrace in the name of pragmatism. She immediately ends its suffering with another shot. Sawyer lets out a dark, raspy little chuckle from next to her. "Try fuckin' with our supply lines now, assholes." All Victoria can manage is a neutral noise of acknowledgement as she slings her rifle over her shoulder. She's never been able to find any enjoyment in things like this. Rather than pressing her for a response, Sawyer uncurls herself and slithers down the tree to escape their cramped, sodden perch. Standing and stretching, she arches her spine backwards to a chorus of alarming cracks. "Fuck, finally. Felt like I was gonna lay an egg up there or some shite." Rolling her neck produces another round of disturbing noises. "S'almost sundown anyway. We should head back, yeah?" "Probably," mumbles Victoria, picking her way to the ground from branch to branch. "We've been out long enough. I think, so--" "Vic," Sawyer interrupts, in the low, even tone of voice that signals she isn't fucking around. "Road." Victoria's head snaps around at the warning, her rifle half-unslung before she realizes what she's seeing.The bird she'd had to shoot is moving. Or rather, being moved: it's not the animal, but the man who'd been astride it. As she watches, he drags himself a few excruciating ilms forward with a choked growl of pain through gritted teeth. "Shite," sighs Sawyer. "Fucker's still breathin'." Her frustration is only briefly voiced, and Victoria's made her way over before she finishes expressing it. As he sees her approach, the downed rider struggles desperately to free himself. He fails. Try though he might, all he manages to do is stoke his agony to greater heights. The unsteady growl spikes into a scream, and by the time Victoria reaches him all he can do is moan weakly. He's not that much older than her. A Highlander, broad-shouldered, with mud in his dark hair and blood limning his lips. His mouth hangs half-open, and when he looks up at her his eyes are dazed and glassy. Something vital in him has been crushed; his spine, maybe, or his ribs splintered in to pierce his lungs, or both. Either way he's beyond any help a medicus could give. Victoria stands and holds his gaze as the rain drips off her helmet and blurs the warpaint across his cheeks into a deep blue smudge. It's harder than she'd thought it would be to reach for her holstered revolver. Picking targets off from hundreds of yalms away is one thing. Looking into a man's eyes as you kill him is another. The boy struggles feebly as she reaches down, but his strength is gone, and it's more pitiful than determined. Blood bubbles past his lips in a froth, and he chokes on it, coughing. It turns into a wet gurgle as he lets his head fall. All he can do is stare as Victoria lets the barrel of her gun drift downwards to point between his eyes. It's easier than she'd thought it would be to pull the trigger. For a moment she stays standing over him - one breath, two - before holstering her sidearm and walking back to where Sawyer lingers by the roadside. Sawyer hesitates, biting her lip for a moment, before venturing an uncertain, "You good, Vic?" The silence stretches on between them then. "Yeah," Victoria replies eventually, "yeah, I'm fine." Sawyer just nods, but by then Victoria's already walking away.

[turtle-steverogers]

Not Guilty

remember when I was gonna write a murder mystery? well, it kinda took a turn plotwise, but here it finally is

Being a homicide detective is all fun and games until you start to fall for the lead suspect in your most recent case.

warnings: description of a dead body, talk about death

ship: ralbert, platonic spalbert

word count: 2480

Chapter 1

Even before Albert walked in on the dead body, his day wasn’t going well.  

His good uniform shirt hadn’t dried properly the night previous, so he had to go with his old one that was a little bit too small in all the wrong places.  The department was out of his favorite green tea, which meant he had to settle for that fucking dirt coffee Kelly and Conlon kept around for “sanity”.  And he’d been late on his lunch break, since Chief Roosevelt stuck Cortez’s paperwork on him last minute.

So, when he ventured into the bathroom of his favorite sandwich shop, only to find a fresh corpse and more blood than he ever really cared to see propped up neatly on the toilet, all he could find in himself to do was sigh.  And gag a little, but that was a given.

The coppery smell of blood and freshly shut down internal organs cuts brutally through the air and Albert reaches under his button down to pull his undershirt over his nose as he dials Spot’s number.  

As his phone’s ringing, Albert takes the time to steel himself and assess the body, first checking the pockets for any kind of identification.  When all he comes up with are a couple candy wrappers and a condom, he sighs again.  So, they’ll have to do this the hard way.  Typical.

“Yo, Dasilva, how’s the meatball sub?”

Albert gags again.  The last thing he wants to think about right now is his abandoned meat sandwich covered in red sauce.  No, nope.  Not right now.

“Yeah, uh, no,” Albert says, leaning back on his haunches, “We got a 10-54, possible homicide- multiple stab wounds to the chest and stomach.  I’m gonna need backup down here.”

There’s a pause, then Albert hears Spot groan, “And you’re still at Gianno’s?”

“Unfortunately.”

There’s a pause and Albert can picture Spot rubbing his eyes, “Fuck, okay, me and some others’ll be there soon.”

The line goes dead with a click and Albert casts another cursory look over the body.  Dilated eyes stare back at him, a slack jaw giving way to a bluish, swollen looking tongue.  He scrunches his nose, feeling a little dizzy.

“Bruh, you’re lookin’ rough.” 

The body does not answer.

-

The victim, Albert learns upon returning to the precinct, is some low level reporter for one of the smaller newspapers in New York: the Brooklyn Eagle.  

“Frank Wiesel, but folks call him Weasel.  Fitting, too.  The guys a biased asshole, apparently.  Republican, Conservative, the works.  Probably would fit in better with Fox News instead of a city newspaper, but…”

Spot leans back in his seat, tossing down the manilla case file and taking a long drink from his “10-4 Coffee That” mug.  It’s a stupid mug, but Spot has worshipped it since Jack had passed it over one Christmas Eve in the department, and honestly, Albert hasn’t seen him nearly as passionate over anything, so he bites his tongue. 

“An asshole, huh?” Albert pulls the case file towards himself and flips it open, eyes scanning the scowling face of Wiesel, “Anyone in particular who would have it out for him?  Or is he more of a generally known bastard type.”

“Hard to say,” Spot says, “He wrote some pretty nasty stuff about a few left leaning politicians in the area and got some pretty bad backlash because of that.  Plus his general lack of a filter’s gotten him kicked out of bars here and there around Manhattan, so…”

Albert hums, scrunching his nose.  Wiesel really is ugly.  All 1940s mobster with a stupid bowler hat and beady eyes, mouth turned down under a ratty handlebar mustache, “Has the autopsy come back yet?”

“They’re finishing up the toxicology report,” Spot says, “S’taking a little longer than usual, ‘cause Mush suspects something mighta been up with the vic’s blood.”

“Poison?”

“Maybe,” Spot shrugs and pours himself more coffee.  Albert eyes him, wondering how many cups he’s had today and vacantly wondering if Spot would be off put by him taking the pot and drinking directly from it.

“Has the wait staff at Gianno’s been questioned yet?”

“Mostly,” Spot answers.  The look in his eye tells Albert that he’s about to drop something pivotal.

He cocks his head, “Mostly?”

“One waiter went home right before the murder occured.  Claimed a migraine.”

Albert’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline.  Now that is interesting, “And nobody fucking thought to bring this guy in?”

XXX

The waiter- Antonio Higgins, according to the file Katherine handed off to Albert and Spot- lives in an older looking apartment complex a few blocks down from Gianno’s.  Despite the slightly dilapidated exterior, the place has a pleasant enough, homey sort of vibe.  The vague smell of pasta sauce wafts through the air, assaulting their nostrils the moment they step into the building.  Distinct Italian villa music plays in soft undertones through the lobby and the walls are adorned with various renaissance-era paintings.  

Albert and Spot exchange a short glance, raising their eyebrows slightly before approaching the front desk.  The lady behind the counter is a stout, but demanding woman, her eyes lined with harsh black rouge and hand gesturing wildly as she speaks on the phone in rapid fire Italian.  A quick glance towards her name tag tells Albert that her name is Maria, which fits her whole Italian mother look.  Albert watches, bemused, as she looks at them inquisitively, then at the badges on their shirts and rolls her eyes, firing off a few more sentences into the receiver before hanging up the landline and placing it back on its phone stand.  

“Yes, hello officers, how may I help you?” Her heavily accented voice is tinged with annoyance and Albert sees Spot shoot him another glance in his peripheral.

Inwardly, Albert sighs.  He’s never understood why people can’t just be cooperative.

“Hi, ma’am, sorry for the inconvenience,” He trains his voice into something resembling empathy and plasters his most charming smile onto his face.  She doesn’t look amused, “I’m Detective DaSilva and this is my partner, Detective Conlon.  We’re here from the 17th precinct investigating a case regarding the tragedy that occurred over in Gianno’s earlier today and one of the waitstaff there, Antonio Higgins, lives here in your building.  We’ve got a few questions for him, so if you could do us the courtesy of buzzing us up to his room, that would be greatly appreciated.”

Maria’s eyes widen and when she speaks, the previous irritation is absent, “Tonio?  Is he in trouble?  That boy is the sweetest thing, so helpful.  There’s no way he could be who you are looking for.”

Albert tries to soften his expression, “He’s in no trouble yet, ma’am, I assure you.  We’re just following protocol and questioning all employees at Gianno’s.  He went home a little before the incident occurred, so we were not able to question him with the rest of the waitstaff.”

Maria looks a little relieved at this, but her sternness is back when she says, “Alright, I will buzz you up, but don’t do anything to hurt my dear Tonio.  He’s had a tough year and I’d hate for some pish posh detectives to upset him further.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Spot says, amicably.  

Maria picks up the phone again, presumably to call Higgins’ room and Spot looks at Albert, mouthing, ‘tough year?’  Albert shrugs and shakes his head, turning back to Maria as she hangs up the phone with a friendly, “Si, si, abbi cura, tesoro.”

“Okay,” She says dismissively, waving her hand as she picks up a pen and starts scribbling on some papers, “You can go up.  Elevators are around the corner.  Tonio lives on the 7th floor, room 712B.”

They thank her and head towards the elevators, relieved to find the one that picks them up to be empty.  

“I wonder what this Higgins dude’s been through for the fuckin’ receptionist to be that protective,” Spot says, pressing the button for the seventh floor and wincing when the elevator groans as it begins to ascend.

“Yeah, me too,” Albert agrees, “Sounded kind of cryptic, too.  Hope he’s in a good enough headspace to be helpful.”

And it’s true.  The more fucked up the suspect, the less willing they are to talk.  Vexation is one of the many banes of Albert’s existence.  They arrive at the floor and find room 712B at the end of the hallway.  Spot knocks and in less time than they anticipated, the door swings open to reveal a tired looking man.  He’s a bit taller than either of them with curly blond hair that sits like a mop on top of his head.  His blue eyes are accentuated by the bruise-like bags that sit underneath and the pallor of his skin makes it look like he’s sick; or was sick.  With a wince, Albert remembers that this guy had supposedly gone home with a migraine earlier.  

“Officers,” The man- Antonio- greets tiredly.  He looks bored at their presence and leans his shoulder casually on the doorframe, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  His grey t-shirt stretches obscenely over well-muscled arms and Albert swallows.  Spot snorts next to him.

Recovering, Albert flashes him a quick smile, “Antonio, right?  I’m Detective Dasilva and this is my partner, Detective Conlon.  I’m assuming you’re aware of the incident that occurred over at Gianno’s earlier today?”

Antonio’s bored expression doesn’t waver, but when he sighs, it sounds shaky, “‘Course I heard.  Business is about to go to shit ‘cause of it, too.  No one’s gonna wanna come to a murder scene to eat, so bye-bye good paychecks.”

“Right, I apologise for that,” Albert continues, “But we’ve gotta ask you a few questions regarding the case.”

Antonio’s eyebrows shoot up, “Am I a suspect?”

“Everyone’s a suspect until we find the culprit,” Spot says evenly.

“Right…” Antonio sighs again, “Okay, come in I guess.”  

He opens the door wider to allow them to enter and turns to walk into the apartment, flicking on a few lights along the way.  Albert follows him, noting how excessively clean the apartment is as he makes his way to the kitchen where Antonio is opening a pill bottle and throwing back a few pills, washing them down with what Albert assumes is coffee.  Spot joins him in the mouth of the kitchen, looking as hesitant as Albert feels.  Antonio looks at them, lips quirking upwards into something like a smirk.

“Want anything to drink?” He offers, “I’ve got water, coffee, milk...if you’re weird like that.”

“We’re good, thank you,” Spot declines, stepping further into the kitchen and leaning against one of the counters.  

Albert follows suit, noting with a frown that everything here is impeccably organized as well.  A neat row of cookbooks are pressed against the fridge, descending in order from thickest to thinnest.  The counters are bare and shiny, boasting no crumbs or residue.  Kitchen appliances line the walls neatly, also showing barely any sign of use.  Albert suspects if they opened up the fridge and the cabinets, they’d find neatly stacked dishes and immaculately organized silverware.  

Antonio shrugs, sipping again from his coffee mug, “Suit yourself.”

“Okay,” Spot pulls out his pocket notebook, flipping it open to a blank page and clicking his pen against his chest, “So you claimed to have gone home around 12:20 with a migraine.  Did you take any detours on the way home?”

Antonio’s jaw clenches, “Well, seeing as my head was trying to kill me from the inside out, I wasn’t very keen on going window shopping, so…”

Albert hears Spot blow out a breath through his nose, “I need a direct answer here, sir, if you could please.”

Antonio rolls his eyes, “Yes, I came straight home.”

Undeterred, Spot plows on, “Did you have any connections to the victim, Frank Wiesel?  Was he a regular customer that you knew of?  Anything of that sort?”

“Fuckin’ Weasel was the one to get his ass smoked?” Antonio says, nostrils flaring.

“So you did know the victim,” Albert says.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ knew him.  Worked with my Pa for a while, before leaving him in the dust to go work for some hotshot newspaper.  Asshole if I ever knew him,” Antonio shakes his head, laughing dryly, “‘Bout time he met his maker.”

“Okay, don’t say that to any officer about a murder vic,” Albert admonishes, “And you said he worked with your dad?  What did they do together?”

Antonio shifts, suddenly looking uncomfortable, “I don’t really know, but my Pa never liked him much.  Always complained about how he was tryna ‘do him in for a big one’ whatever that means.  I think it had something to do with accounting, but I’m not entirely certain.”

Spot’s nodding, scribbling rapidly in his notebook, “You met him, yes?”

“Few times,” Antonio says, “ornery fucker.  Homophobic, too.  That was the only front he and my Pa ever agreed on it seemed.  Which worked wonderfully in my favor.”  He says that last part sarcastically and Albert sends a brief look to Spot who grimaces.

“Where’s your dad now?” Albert asks.  The situation Antonio’s painted for his involvement with Wiesel sounds like a breeding ground for motives- if not from him directly, then his father.

“Dead,” Antonio smiles bitterly, “Was fighting cancer for a while and finally kicked the can ‘bout three months ago.”

There’s a tense pause and Spot clears his throat, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Antonio snorts and Albert senses his frustration building.

“And you were here, in this apartment building, when the murder occurred say around...12:50?”

Antonio blinks, “I already told you I came straight home,” he pauses, “I didn’t fuckin’ kill Weasel.”

“We’re not saying-”

Antonio scoffs, “Kind of sounds like you are.  We done here?  ‘Cause as you seemed to know, I went home because of a migraine, which is still fucking me up.  So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep.”

“Yes, my apologies,” Albert says, sensing that they weren’t going to get anything else out of this visit.  He nudges Spot, beginning to back out of the kitchen.  Antonio follows them to the door, watching warily as they step out, “Thank you for your time.  I appreciate your cooperation.  We’ll probably be back sometime this week for a few follow up questions.”

Antonio wrinkles his nose, “Wonderful.”

The door shuts with a resounding click and Albert and Spot stare at it for a long moment.

“Well…” Spot starts.

“Yeah,” Albert says, “There’s some digging to do here.”

“Sure is.”

They begin to retreat back towards the elevators.

“You gotta be careful, though.” Spot says, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

“About what?” 

“You were totally hot for him.”

Albert thunks his head against the elevator wall, groaning, “Man, shut up.”

Spot just laughs.

-

i actually know where this one is heading plot wise, so...,.,

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[misterewrites]

The Detective and the Crook (Sherlock AU)

Hello everyone, Mr.E here and kinda back from my retirement! I hope you’re all doing good!

Sorry for disappearing like that, I had a lot of things come up and some more personal responsibilities i have to take care of but hopefully I can get back into steadily writing again. Also I apologize if this is a little off because I am rusty but hopefully you still enjoy it.

So this is a birthday gift I owe someone and I really hope they like it. They asked me for a sherlock au and I decided to go with the guy Ritchie movie series the one where Robery Downey Jr. is Sherlock. I really enjoy those movies and I feel it is a great balance mystery and action.  

In this AU, set in the 1800s like the movie and the books, Marco is naturally Sherlock with his Waston being Janna because that felt like a fun dynamic I wanted to explore. They’re called in to investigate a crime scene and Marco suspects there’s more to it than meets the eye. Yes Star is Irene Alder because I could not resist.

Warnings! There is a crime scene, suspected suicide. Very tame scene, not graphic but still giving a warning just in case. There is cussing because they’re all in their mid-20s but I think that’s about it.

Well I hope my friend enjoys this gift. I am so sorry it took so long and I hope you had a great birthday. Thank you all for reading it, please let me know what you think if you enjoyed it and I hope you all have a great week! See you all soon with another story!

A thin misty veil of fog blanketed the city of Echo Creek as the frosty winter air kept most of its residents within the cozy confines of their homes. Only the unfortunate and determined would dare to brave such a chilly morning.

“What kind mad loon commits crimes during the winter?” Janna asked with a hint of annoyance, tucking her uncovered fingers within her gloved palms “And in the morning no less! It’s been scientifically proven that the winter mornings are psychologically bull.”

“And I suppose your source for this scientific research is the University Of Janna says?” Marco replied sarcastically.

“We both know I’m not going to answer that.”

“You know when I told you the Yard called that they had found a body this morning and that they requested my...”

“Our” Janna corrected, rubbing her hands for warmth.

“...our services, it was greatly implied they meant right away. Hence the whole walking towards the crime scene now. Why on earth did you cut off the tips of your gloves if you knew it was going to be cold out?”

Janna scratched her chin thoughtfully for a moment “I like being fashionable and let me tell you fingerless gloves are going to be huge. Wait and see.”

“I’ll take being warm over being fashionable”

Janna scoffed with a roll of her eyes “And that’s why you’re boring safe kid.”

The pair’s footsteps echoed dully against the thick foggy air with towering, massive warehouses on one side and the murky ocean on the other.

Marco was sensibly dressed for the weather: A large thick travel coat hung over his frame with his finely pressed black dress pants and slightly muddied loafers scraping across the ground with his white collared shirt tucked underneath the layers.

Janna was not as prepared as her partner: Though a green scarf was wrapped snugly around her neck to keep it warm, her dark blue dress jacket, green blouse and knee length yellow skirt did not help. The black ‘fingerless’ gloves were equally ineffective for warmth and her dirtied, frayed riding boots thudded loudly against the cobbled streets. And in true Janna fashion, the cap she had stole from an unsuspecting paper boy sat unevenly on her head.

“So what are we looking today?” Janna asked quizzically, unable to handle the silence for another moment.

“Someone jumped from their office building.” Marco answered matter of fact.

“Uggggggggh then why are we here?!”

“We both know the police have less than an unbiased eye for these types of matters. I simply wanted to confirm their claims.”

“And you couldn’t do it by yourself? I could be wrapped up nice and snug as bug in my bed right now.’

“Shouldn’t you be studying for your final exam?”

Janna fidgeted nervously “I...well it’s on the 5th so I have time.”

Marco’s stare was completely deadpanned “Today’s the 3rd Janna”

“Ah shit.”

Marco shook his head tiredly as the pair reached their destination.

It was a secluded building surrounded by thick, lofty brick walls clearly meant to keep people out, the floor was muddy from the moist ocean air with the squish of dozens of police boots bustling this way and that filling the air. In the center, surrounded by cracked wood and shattered glass was a man, arms outstretched and unmoving, the earth underneath soaked a dark red.

“I suppose that’s our bloke huh?” Janna chimed “Rather peaceful scene. Was expecting more gore, more grisly. Nice change of pace speaking honestly.”’

“I just cleaned these loafers” Marco whined quietly, trying to shake the mud from his feet.

“Oi!” a nearby police officer shouted “Show some respect for the dead!”

“I do!” Janna shot back “Especially more so than you fine folks. Messed up any more crime scenes McNab?”

The officer shifted uneasily before quickly making his escape.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought”

“Janna, stop picking on the police.”

“I will if you don’t.”

The two chuckled softly as a familiar person approached.

“Marco!” Detective Ferguson yelled with unrestrained glee “JANNA BANANA!”

“Don’t call me that” Janna murmured.

“I’m glad ya’ll had the time to come down here though I’m afraid it might be for nothing.”

“Always happy to help you Ferg.” Marco shook his best friend’s hand “More so than the other yard’s detectives.”

“I’ll count myself lucky and show you to the vic.”

The trio trudged through the thick mud over to the lifeless corpse laid across the random debris.

“What happened?”

“Well” Ferguson scratched his neck “Some random bloke on the street saw the guy laying here and figured he was drunk. Called us right away. His name is Andrew Willingham. Accountant that works for building we are currently standing in front of. We don’t have much to go on given that we haven’t been here long. So far we gathered he tossed himself out the 5th story window. Must’ve been stress or something.”

Marco pursed his lips, his instincts screaming at him that there was more here than seemed.

“Mind if I check the body?” Janna piped up.

“Got your medical license yet?” Ferguson cheekily responded.

“My test is in two days….” Janna mumbled darkly.

“Then officially you know I’m not allowed. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to go for a walk. A loooooong walk.” and with a wink, Ferguson strolled away, whistling unusually loud.

Janna and Marco sighed in unison.

“Could he be any more obvious?”

“Of course he could, he’s Ferguson.”

“What do you think?” Janna muttered softly as she began to circle the corpse carefully.

Marco stretched his arms towards the sky, mumbling under his breath “I suspect foul play. I’ve been investigating this company. There’s been some known associates of various crime lords visiting this location lately.”

“Fuuuuuuuuun and already proven correct. Ugh, it’s so annoying.”

Marco watched the scattered police cautiously “What is it?”

“Bruises on the knuckles.” Janna cracked her neck “So unless he’s a bare knuckle boxer….”

“Impossible. With his build, he’d lose. Consistently” 

Janna rolled her eyes “Obviously captain. Probably was assaulted before thrown out the window. Fought back but lost.” Janna frowned at the body “Well clearly.”

Marco opened his mouth to respond when another, unfriendly voice cut in

“What are you two doing?”

A random officer approached the two, eyes narrowed in suspicious irritation.

“Hello officer!” Marco gave a cheerful wave “I am sure you know who we are. I am Mr. Diaz and this is….”

“Like you said, I know.” The officer gritted his teeth “And I am afraid civilians aren’t allowed in crime scenes.”

“Detective Ferguson...”

“Is not here” The officer crossed his arm threateningly “And when he comes back, I’ll be happy to let him know where you’ve gone.”

“Oi! What’s going on here?”

The trio’s attention snapped towards Ferguson madly rushing their way.

“What seems to be the..” Ferguson huffed, his breathing heavy as he doubled over “Oh boy. That….mud...very hard to walk across….”

“Detective” The officer started “I know Mr. Diaz is a friend but regulations...”

Marco gave a loud sneeze, causing the two officers to jump in surprise.

“I am very sorry I...” Marco let loose another sneeze “Oh, I guess I’m allergic to something here.”

“You have allergies?” Ferguson asked quizzically.

Marco nodded before sneezing once more “I...I think I should go.”

“Okaaaaay” Ferguson nodded slowly “I hope you feel better? I’ll let you know if we find anything else out.”

Marco wiped at his nose with his coat sleeve “Thank you Ferg. Janna?”

Janna snapped to attention mockingly “Coming boss man!”

Marco ignored the glare of the peeved officer as he and Janna made their way out of the murky courtyard.

_____________________________________________________________

The pair walked in a careful silence until they were sure the police were out of earshot.

“What did you find?” Marco asked nonchalantly.

Janna reached into her pocket and brought out an elegant pin: It was a beautiful, well crafted butterfly shaped pin inlaid with varying shades of blue gems.

“A blue butterfly pin. Fine piece of jewelry, worth a pretty pound.” Janna answered with a hint of boredom “It was tucked inside his jacket pocket. Good call on checking his clothing. Should we tell the bobbies?”

Marco shook his head “No. I’m afraid this is beyond their reach. I think the man that called it in was involved somehow though I doubt he was the murderer.”

A brief tense silence.

“Do you think she’s involved? It’s not really her cup of tea offing random, supposed criminal accountants.”

Marco bit his cheek anxiously “No. I don’t think she murdered him but I believe he knew her. I suspect he’s part of the same organization as Star. The pin is most likely a subtle way for the members to reveal their identities to one another in public. I’ve seen this pin on her person and its general shape and color seems to indicate it was custom made.”

Janna let out a sigh of relief “Oh thank the queen. Not going lie, I was going to be very disappointed in her if she started offing random blokes.” Janna paused “I mean innocent blokes. Well...presumably innocent blokes. Seriously, can you figure out if he’s a crook or not? I don’t like feeling conflicted. Morality is annoying.”

“We need to find her.”

“Because you want to see her ooooor she’s a target?”

Marco coughed, tugging at his collar nervously.

Janna snickered “You could’ve just said both. Both is good. I miss her too.”

“I do not miss her” Marco firmly growled.

“And how bout those pictures of her you have hanging on the wall? Oh I’m sorry, your case board.”  

“You never know when the police...might want to reexamine her case and….I just wanted to be prepared. She is a rather tricky criminal.”

“Mhm” Janna smirked mischievously “You know where she is, don’t you?”

Marco flushed a bright red, coughing coolly “No….but I know where she will be.”

“Awesome!” Jana beamed cheerfully.

_______________________________________________________________

“Oh bloody hell” Janna pouted, openly glaring at the rundown state of pub that towered before them “You couldn’t have told me we were coming to this shitehole? I lost money here. Repeatedly.”

Marco ignored his partner’s whining “Perhaps you should stop gambling on games of chance.”

“Perhaps you should mind your own business.” Janna huffed “Ugh, are you sure she’s here? Maybe she’s round at the nice corner store. I should go check it...”

Janna frowned as Marco held the back of her coat tightly.

“Fine fine safe kid but I want the record to show I protest this whole adventure.”

“Mhm”

“I mean it Marco. I want a voucher” Janna gestured threateningly as the duo began making their way towards the building “One adventure where I get to stay home and do nothing.”

“Let’s get this over with Janna. You have a test to study for.”

“Oh shut up” Janna snarled, angrily pulling the bar door open.

The detectives flinched as the silence of night was broken: Cheers of triumphant joy and sorrowful cries filled the air. The smell of cheap alcohol and thick smoke wafted all around them as an unbearable heat engulfed the pair.

“Open a damn window!” Janna shouted into the crowd, waving the smoke away from her face.

“Go outside if you don’t like it.” A cigar smoking patron answered from a nearby table.

Janna shook her head “That’s going kill you. Painfully.”

The patron made an obscene gesture before returning to his drink.

Janna growled furiously, clenching her fist in righteous fury.  

“Janna” Marco stepped between his friend and her victim “Janna, he’s drunk. He’s not worth it.”

She gritted her teeth “Just once. Just once and I’ll be good.”

“Janna, we’re here on a mission.”

“You suck” Janna grumbled, adjusting the cap on her head “I need a drink….”

And with a sudden turn, Janna stomped her way over to a waiting bartender.

“Don’t forget why we’re here!” Marco yelled after only to have his partner respond with a lazy wave.

Marco sighed tiredly, his gaze searching for the elusive trickster Star among the drunken patrons.

No, not Star. Don’t use her name. If he uses her name, that humanizes her and he was here on a case. He was not here to see her. He was here to question a suspect and nothing more. Not at all. Nothing beyond that. Why was his heart racing? There was no need to be nervous. None whatsoever. It was just….Star. Her.

Marco jumped at the soft tap of his shoulder. He whirled around with his fist closed, his stance guarded from the interruption of his thoughts.

He was expecting some sort of muscular goon or drunk trying to stir up trouble. What he found was a barmaid with a tray in one hand and a smug knowing grin on her lips.

“Looking for a fight darling?” She teased.

Marco flushed, dropping his hands to his sides “N-no. Sorry, I was..distracted. “

“I bet” she gave a flirty wink “Can I get you anything?”

Marco narrowed his eyes “No though I suspect you have for me.”

The barmaid’s grin widened as her voice dropped to a whisper “She’s waiting for you. Upstairs in the office. It’s the room just above the bar love.”

Before Marco could ask any further questions, the barmaid gave a cheeky grin and giggled joyfully before vanishing into a thick crowd of customers.

“Of course….”

________________________________________________________________

Marco took a deep breath, his nerves further frayed and on edge as he stood on the second floor landing. The rowdy shouts and cries of the bar below could be scarcely heard over the thundering of his footsteps in his ears, each step he took brought him closer to the office door across the way. Marco noticed Janna giving a hearty laugh at the counter, playfully nudging a sailor before making her way towards card game in the back.

Marco felt oddly exposed making his way across the second floor. He told himself it was due to being in such a vulnerable location: Everyone below had an excellent unobstructed line of sight to the detective with little to no cover if someone decided to take a shot at him even though none had any reason to suspect who he was.

Of course that’s only what he thought. With each step his heart raced more, the idea of seeing Star tugged at his heartstrings and morals.

Marco gulped anxiously, gently running his fingers across the weathered, ancient door that separated the outlaw and himself.

He took a deep breath, gripping the doorknob firmly for a moment….two….three before he steeled his nerves and quietly pushed open the door in hopes of catching Star unaware.

“My heart is pierced by cupid”

Marco flushed, pausing as Star’s voice caught him off guard instead. It was sweet and soft with a gentleness she hardly spoke with.

“I disdain all glittering gold”

The floor creaked under her steps, back and forth in time almost as if she was dancing with someone but he could hear no other person in the room and Star never sang while there was an audience.

“There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold.”

Marco knew there was no point in waiting. Either she had taken a moment to relax before his arrival or, more likely, knew he was listening. He entered the room, eyes downcast as to avoid Star’s Cheshire gaze. He closed the door behind him with a subdued thud.

“Okay” Marco thought to himself “Let’s get this over with”

Marco’s cheeks burned a bright red as he slowly took in the sight of Star.

She was as beautiful as the last time she escaped from him: Her long blonde hair tied in a braid slung over her shoulder with various colored flowers weaved within. She wore a brown long sleeved blouse with matching fingerless gloves holding tightly onto some invisible partner. Her skirt was not the current bell shaped dresses most woman preferred nowadays but rather a slim, knee length skirt that seemed rather practical. And of course, in true Star fashion, weathered yet well kept riding boots completed the outfit.

Her blue irises were hidden behind her closed eyes, her body swaying back and forth to some unheard music. She hummed softly, a melodic sound Marco could’ve listened all day if he were a weaker willed man.

He coughed hesitantly.

Star’s eyes slowly opened, blue meeting brown as a soft warm smile danced on her lips.

“Good evening my sailor bold.” She spoke sweetly “Which storm are you chasing today?”

Marco stayed still, ignoring Star gestures to sit.

“This isn’t a social visit Star.” Marco struggled to keep his voice neutral.

“It never is” Star responded sarcastically “Always business with you. Why can’t you ever come just to see me?”

“If you found a permanent residence I’d visit more often. I think the local jail is very lovely. Perfect for you.”

Star chuckled, an intoxicating sound to his ears.

“How’s our Janna? I heard she’s been going on the straight and narrow now.”

“Good” Marco played with a random globe on Star’s desk “She’s almost a real doctor now. Her medical exam is in two days. I think she’ll pass with flying colors but don’t tell her that. Pride is quite the sin.”

Star beamed proudly “I am so happy for her. Please pass along my congratulations, will you sweetie?”

Marco answered by clearing his throat.

“Marco, Marco, Marco” Star sighed tiredly “Enough flirting. Why are you here?”

Marco strolled across the room, glancing at everything that wasn’t Star.

“Andrew Willingham. You know him.”

It wasn’t a question.

Star’s grin faltered for a moment “He’s dead isn’t he?”

“Jumped out of a building this morning.”

Star scoffed “Like you really believe that.”

“We both know I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

Marco made his way to the window, staring at the busy street below.

“And what?” Star put her hands on her hips “You think I killed him? For shaaaaame Marco. You know me better than that. Or at least I thought you did.”

Marco rolled his eyes “I don’t think you killed him but I believe the murderer is coming for you next.”

Star looked unconvinced “I run with a very secretive and, frankly, shadowy organization love. I haven’t done anything...” Star pursed her lips “Lately to anyone. Who would want to kill me?”

“How many of you are in town?”

Star scratched her chin thoughtfully “If Andy’s dead, then just me but that hardly seems like any sort of proof that I’m in.….”

Creak.

The roof groaned unhappily as bits of dust fell from the ceiling, the building shudder slightly while the wind howled outside.

Marco and Star stared at one another in understanding.

Star moaned unhappily “That’s not the building settling, is it?”

Marco shook his head.

Star glared openly at the detective “I hate it when you’re right.”

Silence.

CRACK!

The window shattered, glass scattering everywhere as a dark robed figure sailed into the room, knife drawn. He lunged directly at Star, his blade glimmering in the soft light of the room.

But his attack struck air as Marco pulled Star closer, wrapping her in a protective embrace.

“Woooow, we are bold today aren’t we Mr. Diaz?” Star teased.

“Not now Star!” Marco shot back, cheeks tinged pink.

The assassin skidded the across the floor, gracefully raising to his feet before pivoting on and charging at his targets.

Star slipped her hand into Marco’s, trying to ignore her skipping heartbeat when Marco firmly held her waist.

The assassin slashed wildly, striking with a finesse only a master of their craft could muster.

The assailant’s single minded pursuit was mired with confusion as the two did not assume any defensive stances to fight off his assault but rather began swaying back and forth, their feet gliding effortlessly across the aged wooden floor as if in a dance.

He thrust forward, tumbling forward when Marco spun Star, gracefully twirling the thief out of harms way. The assassin whirled around, attempting to slash the detective but Marco dipped his partner and as Star fell backwards in Marco’s arms, her leg shot up and caught the assassin in the stomach, sending him stumbling backwards.

“This reminds of Paris.” Star grinned slyly as Marco brought her back to her feet

“You and I remember Paris quite differently Star.” Marco shot back, spinning her away from their foe’s lunge.

The assassin roared with a savage fury and plunged his blade towards the couple but with a gentle shove, Star broke away from Marco, dropping into a respectful bow before glancing upwards towards the detective.

“Could you…?” Star gestured towards the assassin.

“Right.” Marco awkwardly nodded in agreement before giving Star a steely glare “Don’t go anywhere.”

Star gives a cheeky grin “Would’ve dream of it love.”

Marco rushes forward, grabbing the assassin’s shoulder but before he could react, the assassin lashed out, elbowing the unprepared Marco.

Marco staggers to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade as it scrapes across the wall. Marco jabs at the assassin, his fist connecting with his chin.

The assassin staggers back, weapon and hand wildly flailing to keep Marco at a distance.

“Who do you work for?” Marco yelled, not really expecting an answer.

“Death” The assassin mumbles darkly.

“Such a bloody edgelord” Marco clicked his tongue in disappointment.

The assassin lunges at Marco, hand reaching for his throat. Marco grabs at the man’s wrist but the assassin throws his weight forward, knocking Marco off balance. Marco stumbles uneasily as the assassin goes in for the kill.

Marco tackles into his opponent, slamming him into the bookcase. The assassin winces in pain, kneeing Marco in the stomach before shoving him away.

The two caught their breath for a moment, the falling books thudding loudly onto the floor.

The assassin yells with a hope of startling Marco. He swings with crazed fervor: Left right, thrusting forward.

Marco dodges and weaves the blade, hopping side to side to avoid the weapon. The assassin rushes at him, trying to drive the blade into his chest.

Marco flails for a moment, not used to facing such a skilled opponent.

The assassin smashes into Marco and sends him sprawling onto the desk. With a confident grin, he raises the blade high before bringing it down with all his might.

Marco reaches for the closest thing he could find and uses it as a desperate shield. The blade sinks into a leather bound book he grabbed. Marco winces at the force of the blow, sweat beads forming on his neck as he struggles to fight off the assassin.

“Soooo love.”

Marco frowns, glancing towards to door, not at all surprised to see Star giving him a cheery wave.

“You got this right?” Star asked hopefully.

“Don’t go anywhere STAR!” Marco shouted, wildly kicking at the befuddled assassin.

“Right! I’ll get Janna”

“STAR!”

But it was too late. She vanished beyond the doorframe.

“Ugh” Marco growled, shifting his focus back onto the problem at hand.

The assassin snarled furiously: He yanks back with all his might, pulling the book free from Marco’s grasp. Marco sits up but the assassin is ready for him. He strikes at Marco’s stomach with an open palm, knocking all the air out of his lungs.

Marco gasps in a panic but the assassin doesn’t go for the kill. Instead he rips his blade from the book and races for the door.

There’s a loud thud that no one hears as the assassin kicks open the door. His eyes narrow at the sight of the fleeing Star. He grins to himself, gingerly holding the edge of his blade. His arm pulls back, his gaze focused solely on his target’s back. He takes a deep, calming breath and….

“Shit!” The assassin howls as his blade his knocked out of his hand by a book. He turns around in time to see a charging Marco.

He pulls his fist back but its too late: Marco slams into him, pressing him against the second floor railing and holding him place.

The assassin grabs at Marco but Marco lays into him, driving his fist into the assassin’s side over and over again.

The sounds of the bar are overwhelming though it doesn’t seem like anyone has noticed the two combatant fighting directly above them.

“Janna!” Marco shouts, flinching as the assassin knees his side but still managing to keep his hold on him “JANNA!”

Janna chuckles, swaying drunkenly as she yells in victory, hastily collecting her winnings from the disgruntled losers.

“JANNA!” Marco tries again.

The assassin jabs at Marco’s side, nearly getting free but Marco slams him against the railing again.

“DAMNIT JANNA YOU SUCK!”

Janna’s head snaps towards the source of the insult, her dull eyes slowly growing in realization.

“Ah shit!” she exclaims, raising to her feet “Da hell going on brav?”

“Janna, Star!” Marco gestured with his head towards the fleeing Star.

“Right” Janna gave an intoxicated salute.

“Oi” One of the players stood up “Sit back down. I wanna win my cash back.”

“Srroy.” Janna slurred “But I gotta go. Duty calls.”

“You ain’t going nowhere till I win back my money. Now sit.”

“No man” Janna glared “You sit”

Before anyone could react, Janna grabbed her winnings and tossed them into the air. There was a pause for a moment as the bills rained down across the bar.

“MINE!” A cry called out from nowhere, breaking the spellbound customers of their stupor and sending them frantically towards the fallen cash.

Janna shook her head disappointingly “So weak willed….right Star? Star….gotta stop Star...” Janna scratched her chin, glancing left and right in search of the elusive criminal.

Meanwhile, the assassin strikes furiously at Marco, each blow attempting to break his grip on him but Marco holds fast, blocking where he could and simply taking the less painful attacks.

“Tell me who you work for!” Marco shouted, pulling the assassin closer by his collar

“I’m a professional!” The assassin screeched before headbutting Marco.

Marco winced, stumbling backwards and loosening his grip on the assassin.

The assassin reached into his pocket, drawing another dagger as he straightened up.

“Ugh, of course you would have another one.” Marco gritted his teeth through the pain.

“Professionalism.” The assassin sneered as he moved his blade back and forth.

“Okay” Marco thought to himself “This is bad. Close range, nowhere to move with my opponent has a dagger, about 4 inches. Maybe if I retreated back into the room and get more space, I could fight him off. He’ll lunge at me and it’ll be the only shot I have to dodge him. Okay, I got this. Just wait for an opening and….”

The assassin took a step forward, prepping himself for his attack when….

A sharp whistle cut through the brawling symphony below, causing the assassin to flinch in surprise.

He turned in time to catch a frying pan directly to the face. He flailed uncontrollably, backing up against the wooden railing for support.

“What the…?” He growled, noticing a grinning Star waving at him with the kitchen utensil before pointing to the left.

Confused, the assassin followed the direction and found Marco racing at him full speed. He rose his arms to protect himself but it was too late: Marco tackled into him, cracking the railing behind him and sent him plunging to the room below. There was a thud and the sound of wood crunching as the assassin broke through a table.

“Nice of you to come back” Marco huffed, leaning on his knees for support.

“What? I needed a weapon.” Star motioned the pan in her hand.

“Star….I...”

Screams and the breaking of glass caught Marco’s attention. The two glanced downward only to find the assassin nowhere in sight.

Marco and Star shared a concerned glance before sighing tiredly.

________________________________________________________________

“3 minutes to boarding! 3 minutes to boarding!”

Marco shifted uneasily alongside the train car, conflicting emotions tugging at his resolve.

Since the unknown assassin had escaped into the night, Star felt it best to leave Echo Creek until the threat died down.

The trio stood outside the waiting train, the star twinkling over head. The train platform was nearly deserted though Marco kept a careful eye out in case their assailant decided to trail them from the bar.

“It was nice seeing you again Star.” Janna hiccuped, rubbing at the splitting headache she was nursing.

“Aww, it was great to see you too Janna Banana. You’re going do great on the test and you are finally going to be a real doctor.”

“Legal doctor” Janna corrected, smiling brightly at the blonde before tightly embracing her in a hug “Be safe.”

“Only for you.”

The two broke apart, Janna standing awkwardly between the detective and the outlaw.

She coughed uncomfortably “Right, I’m just gonna go….not be here.”

And with a cheery wave, Janna walked towards the station entrance.

“So...” Marco began

“Thank you” Star said with a loving softness “You still owe me two.”

“Two?” Marco scoffed “You owe me for Paris.”

“You owe me for Washington.”

“No, you caused Washington. I helped clean that up so really you owe me two.”

Star smiled playfully at him “Fine. I owe you two my sailor bold.”

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Marco whispered, unable to keep the plea out of his voice.

Star cupped and caressed his cheek fondly “Marco, I know you’ll keep me safe but it’ll be easier if I go away for awhile. Besides, you’ll know where I am. You always do.”

“Yeah….”

Star leaned forward, kissing Marco with softly Marco wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss.

“Train leaving the station! All aboard!”

The two parted slowly, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes.

“Goodbye my sailor bold.” Star grinned mischievously.

“Goodbye princess.” Marco smiled sorrowfully.

Marco stood there in silence, watching the train shrink into the distance.

“So...” Janna cleared her throat “You ready to go home?”

Marco gave a simple nod before following Janna back onto the street.

“It’s too bad Star didn’t give you any leads to anyone who might want her dead. Would’ve been helpful”

“Right. Helpful.” Marco reached into his coat pocket, unsurprised to find a certain item missing from within and instead finding a small folded up piece of paper Star had placed there. He unfolded it, eyes narrowing at the word that she scrawled across its surface.

Toffee.

A lead but a dangerous one.

________________________________________________________________

“Excuse me miss, may I see your identification please?” The usher asked politely.

“Of course!” Star beamed, passing both her ticket and the false identity card she swiped from Marco’s pocket “I’m sorry, I was just deep in thought. I’m about to spend some time away from my husband and I already miss him.”

“Oh” The usher shifted uncomfortably “I’m sorry to hear that...” He squints at the card “…. Mrs. Diaz. I hope you see him soon.”

Star’s cheek flushed as she took back the card, her heart skipping at the sight of Star Diaz written on the paper.

“Me too.”

She sighed longingly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the item Marco had snuck in. She smiles gently at the simple sliver wedding band with a note that said “For your disguise.”

She slipped the ring onto her finger, playing with it absentmindedly as she stare out the window, Echo Creek shrinking in the distance.

“Me too.”

[doublerumnukacola]

Addictionary

Present, Week 11 in the Wasteland

The Old State House was quiet, as usual. Only the occasional chat between Neighborhood watchmen was heard. It was one of the few things Goodneighbor and Diamond city had in common; their guards spent more time trading gossip than doing their jobs, left a lot of slack for Fahrenheit to pick up.

The air in Hancock’s office was musty and damp, the few sunbeams that filtered through the thick moth-eaten curtains were cluttered with dust motes and drifting smoke. Fahrenheit sat at the desk, holding her cigarette in one hand, and writing notes with the other. Hancock woke up on his couch, listening to the scratching of pen on paper, the long sighs of smoke, and the occasional murmur of something chess related.

He stretched out his sore limbs, hearing the familiar pops and creaks of his joints. He sat up slowly, propping his feet on the ground. His head was already starting to ache, he needed a hit of something. Jet was the obvious solution.

He rummaged around in the couch cushions, there was always a spare canister wedged in there. He struck gold as his finger wrapped around a dusty jet canister. He gave it an experimental puff to clear out anything stuck in the mouthpiece, last thing he needed was to choke on a piece of lint while inhaling brahmin dung fumes. He took a long hit, the chems burning into his lungs, spreading a shock of energy throughout his body.

“Why don't you just drink coffee like the rest of us?” Fahrenheit asked in her usual monotone.

“You kidding? You know how bad caffeine is for you?” He joked, “My Uncle drank coffee everyday since he was ten, dropped dead of a heart attack at twenty.”

“And coffee was what killed him?” She asked, a skeptical smile on her face.

“No, he was sleeping with some married dame in the stands, had a heart attack when her husband came home early. But the coffee didn't help.” She exhaled sharply, which was as close to rip-roaring laughter as he was going to get. She looked down at her notes for a moment.

“A few things happened while you were out, but nothing too noteworthy.” Fahrenheit mused. Hancock leant back and groaned. He hated these long reports he took another hit of jet, which wasn’t smart, it’d only make the lecture seem longer. “A caravan came in for Daisy, a few packages came for Doctor Amari, and piles of super mutant corpses are dotted around Goodneighbor.” Hancock coughed mid-hit as she finished her notes.

“What?!” He spluttered through coughing fits. She looked down at her papers again.

“The Vault dweller, aka the general of the minute men, aka the Silver Shroud, killed no less than eighty-two Super Mutants, judging by the amount of semi-intact corpses.” Hancock rubbed his skull, he could feel the headache starting to come back.

“Any reason why?” He asked, it felt as though there was something he was forgetting but it wasn't quite coming back to him….

“Because you asked.” A voice answered behind him.

“Pawn takes king…” Fahrenheit muttered to herself in amusement. Hancock stood up slowly, doing his best to grin at Sole who was standing in the doorway, looking particularly chipper.

“Right on cue, Sister.” He greeted, but the gaps in his memory were still bugging him. “But catch me up on when exactly I set you up on this little job.” Sole frowned.

“The other night, at the Third Rail when you… Never mind.” She started, but thought better of finishing the story. “Consider it my way of being a good Neighbor.” She winked, before turning to leave.

“Hey, where’re you going, killer?” Hancock called after her.

“Got business with Kleo. Bullets don’t buy themselves.” She called back. He had to smile at that. He heard the State House door shut behind her and turned to face Fahrenheit.

“How long was I out?” He asked seriously.

“Since I found you passed out on this sofa, it's been about a day and a half. Not the longest you've ever been out, but it's up there.” She replied, glancing at her notes again. “Last reports show you leaving the Third Rail, the Vault dweller hanging on you, heading towards the Rexford Hotel, entering the hotel, and you leaving a while after that, alone.” Hancock fought through the fog, trying to remember. He vaguely remembered speaking to Charlie….

“Take a mentat, usually jogs your memory.” Fahrenheit advised. It irked him, but she was right. He popped open the tin, only a few left. He dumped the contents into his mouth, crunching the mints into a peppermint paste. He could feel the fog instantly clear. It came back to him in a flash.

“Oh shit I did ask her to do that.” He grumbled, “Why did I think that was a good idea?” She checked her notes again.

“We discussed the growing Super Mutant problem three days ago.” Fahrenheit explained. “I suggested a perimeter of plasma mines to deter them, but you made the point that it would also deter caravans and drifters coming in. Your solution was to send someone to take out the closer nests, without getting attention from the larger ones. In addition, we both noted that some were necessary to keep the raider population distracted.”

“I don't remember that last part…” Hancock cut in. Fahrenheit looked up from her papers.

“As we were discussing this, I noted that you’d had two tins of mentats. You were ‘delightfully rational’. That’s a quote.” Hancock shuddered. Two tins was a lot, even for him. He'd have to take it easy.

“Fine, and I guess we decided to send in our personal atom-bomb as a solution?” He hazarded a guess. She shook her head.

“You just said you would take care of it. Next thing I hear is that everything within a miles radius of Goodneighbor has been shot, blown to pieces, or in one instance permanently spasming in in a pile of garbage.” Hancock gave her a confused look. She looked down at her notes.

“Yeah, says right here: ‘permanently spasming in a pile of garbage’. She shrugged her shoulders. Hancock adjusted his hat, pulling it further up his brow.

“Well, gives the Raiders something to… She killed them too. Didn't she?” Hancock asked tiredly. She nodded.

“There's good news, though.” She added. “The lack of threats was what brought in the ‘packages’ to Doctor Amari. Got a lot of positive attention from our friends on the freedom trail. The bald one in sunglasses has been snooping around more than usual. I suppose he likes to think that drifter outfit is fooling someone.” She smirked.

Hancock groaned, that guy really got under what was left of his skin. Something about all the cloak and dagger routine really clashed with his way of doing shit. He needed another tin of mentats, he could already feel the haze returning. He reached into the cushions again hoping he’d be lucky a second time.

Fahrenheit frowned, it seemed too soon for his high to be wavering. He successfully fished out a bent tin of Mentats, popping it open and topping up his high. She knew if she attacked directly he’d shut her out.

“Hancock...” She started, but he knew that voice. He shot her a look. She cleared her throat, trying to adjust her tone. “Have you ever considered a fresh start?”

“Pardon?” Hancock asked in surprise, expecting one of her lengthy lectures.

“A clean slate. Starting over.” Fahrenheit reiterated. “Have you given it some thought?” Hancock crossed his arms, studying her expression. Nothing was straight forward with Fahrenheit, and there was a point to this. But he took the bait anyway. “Sure, the idea’s appealing. Get out on the open road again, bring the fight to someone else for a change, rather than wait for it to bang on my front door.” He answered with a shrug. “But a town needs its Mayor, otherwise the shit show falls in on itself.” Fahrenheit gave a soft snort.

“I’ve grown up here, Hancock.” She countered. “Until Vic came in and took over, the place did fine running itself. A figurehead Mayor would run it just as well as a real one.” Hancock looked away.

Nobody understood Goodneighbor like Fahrenheit. She’d never travelled far from it, knew every inch of it, every soul that passed through its gates. He’d watched her grow up on his visits from Diamond City, back when he still had a nose. So if she said it could live without him, he believed her.

“What brought this on?” He asked. “Getting a bit too cosy behind that desk?”

“You’ve been distracted from the second you met the Vault dweller.” Fahrenheit replied bluntly.

“Pfft, ‘the second’ I saw her?” He questioned skeptically. “How do you figure?” She flipped back through a stack of notes and pulled out a sheet of paper.

“You stabbed Finn.”

“He had it coming.”

“Then you introduced her to Goodneighbor.”

“Obviously, introductions always come off friendlier after cold-blooded murder.”

“After she walked away, you stepped into a lamp post.”

“Bullshit.”

“Says right here in my notes, ‘stepped into a lamp post’ followed by ‘Threats to all witnesses.”

“Tell me Sunglasses wasn’t there…”

“I could tell you that, but I would be lying.”

Hancock sighed. It was true, if it weren’t for Fahrenheit and Sole, he’d be out on his ass right now, probably with a few more bullet holes than he was comfortable with.

“Say I went along with this.” He started. “Where would I go?”

“Where ever the Vault-dweller takes you, i’d imagine.” She guessed, rearranging her notes. “Now that she’s back to business as usual, she won’t be staying much longer.” Hancock thought for a moment.

“You seem to have this all planned out…” He observed.

“It’s my job.” She replied, grinding out her cigarette. She looked away for a moment. “There is one condition, though.” He knew it was coming and it still pissed him off.

“Cut the bullshit and tell me.” He snapped, rubbing his forehead in annoyance. He popped a few more mentats, it cleared up the pain a little.

“See Amari about what we discussed…” She started hesitantly. “About the fixer-”

“Really, all that for another lecture on chems?” He asked, anger starting to boil off of him.

“You need it this time.” She insisted. “You can’t go five minutes without taking something. How do you plan on surviving in the wastes if you keep looking for a fix?” He was silent. He had a problem. The words were on her lips, but she knew better than to say it. The cliché was too much.

“You don’t have to go clean completely. You just need to get to a point where you can use chems again, rather than them using you.” He groaned, she was right. How was she this good without a pick-me-up?

“You got me.” He conceded. “But you sure you guys will be fine without me? I don’t want to come back to a smoking crater.”

“Unlikely,” She mused. “The Vault dweller hauled in enough guns and armour this morning to weaponize every drifter and Watchmen for a year. Kleo is still leaking lubricant over the hoard.” Something clicked. Sole and Kleo…? He fought through the haze.

“Hold it…” Hancock cut in. “If she's already shown Kleo a good time today, why did she say she was going there just now?” Fahrenheit shrugged.

“I suppose she lied.” Fahrenheit hazarded a guess. Hancock’s head was working overtime. Why would she lie…? Shit, Daisy….

“Where did that caravan blow in from?” Hancock asked frantically. Fahrenheit looked down at her notes, then frowned.

“Some place called…” She squinted at the writing. “The Republic of… Dave? It's somewhere in the-”

“Capital Wasteland.” Hancock finished for her, already flying down the stairs.

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

“-Sorry, sugar, I haven't seen head or tails of him since he left weeks back.” Daisy apologised.

“Are you sure he hasn't… hasn't even sent a letter?” Sole pressed, her voice lowered to just a hoarse whisper. Daisy shook her head, a sad look in her eyes… A sad and guilty look.

Hancock watched from the doorway, caught between wanting to give Sole space, and wanting to investigate what Daisy was hiding for himself. He compromised, knocking on the doorway to announce his presence. The two women looked up, Sole pausing to clear her throat and wipe the corners of her eyes. Funny, this was the same woman who left at least eighty-two Super Mutants dismembered at his doorstep.

“Hate to Interrupt, but word on the street is there there’s going to be a pretty groovy shindig at the Third Rail tonight, thought I’d extend an invitation to a few lovely ladies.” Hancock grinned, strolling into Daisy’s store.

“What are you doing here then? Kleo’s next door.” Sole joked, clearing her throat to mend the cracks in her voice.

“Kleo’s no good at parties that don’t involve target practice.” Hancock started to explain.

“So what’s the occasion?” Sole asked, a little curious. “Isn't everyday with you a party?”

“Flattering, but this one’s special. It's a farewell party.” He explained. Sole opened her mouth to ask more, but Hancock gave a wave of his hand. “Working out party details with Fahrenheit, but I’ll be back to see you later, Daisy. To sort out some, ‘party supplies’.” He finished, eyeing Daisy, who refused to meet his gaze. With that he turned and strode off, head already starting to fog up. He was going to need to be at the top of his game tonight.

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Something More Than What I Had- Part Two

Part Two - Deuteronomy

“See, I have taught you decrees and laws as the LORD my God commanded me, so that you may follow them in the land you are entering to take possession of it.” Deuteronomy 4:5

Two Months Later

 Castiel ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, while Sam stepped over it. Due to his sheer stature, ducking under the tape often looked like he was limboing on stilts. Since Crowley had walked out of the precinct eight weeks before, the partners’ relationship was strained at best. They’d been virtually silent when not directly working on cases, and the kid was all too compliant when Castiel suggested that he should take back seat on the cases following Crowley’s. More than ever, he did not trust the rookie’s judgement. 

 “What do we have, Eileen?” Castiel asked eyeing the crime scene tech.

 “It’s a weird one,” she said out loud, her hands busy with her swabs and plastic evidence bags from her forensics kit.

 Sam tapped her shoulder so she would look at him. How, he signed.

 Eileen raised an eyebrow with a faint smile, turning away from him. “See for yourself.” The two detectives followed her lead to the middle of the crime scene. The closer they got the more that Castiel could smell it. The smell of burning. He reached up and covered his nose with the sleeve of his button up shirt. “Be careful where you step,” she said, gesturing to the ground. There were large, long patches of grass that were burned away now just black piles of ash.

“What is this?” Castiel asked to no one in particular, as he squatted down next to the ground. He didn’t smell gasoline, or any kind of excelerant, but yet the burns were defined. They looked intentional, almost like an art installation. 

 “Male, mid fifties.”

 “Holy shit,” Sam said, his voice was hollow, but Castiel barely noticed as he squinted to further examine the grass. “Novak.” 

 “What, Rookie?” Castiel asked, annoyed as his concentration broke. He turned his head and found the kid standing at the head of a body next to Eileen, who was gesturing to the victim. The burn marks went all the way up to the corpse, underneath him, and out the other side as far as he could tell from his vantage point. 

 The kid’s eyes were locked on the victim. He looked like he’d seen a damn ghost. “Do you need me to hold your hand?” Cas asked as he stood up, shaking his head. At some point it had to be sink or swim and with how short his patience was lately, Castiel figured that time was quickly approaching for his young partner.

 “No, it’s just… the vic. You recognize him?” 

 He rolled his eyes. What? Was it some celebrity? Surely the Captain would’ve told them if it was someone worth getting excited over. Castiel walked toward the kid to get a better look at the victim. When he got closer, he was able to make out more details. The expensive, pressed suit, red pocket square that perfectly matched his necktie, dark full beard against olive skin, but Castiel didn’t get a sinking feeling until his eyes rested on the victims hand that rested on his chest. The sun glinted off a gold ring on his finger. “Fuck.” 

 “What?” Eileen asked, looking between the two. What? She signed to Sam.

 “It’s Crowley,” he said out loud, fingerspelling the name to Eileen. “He’s one of our perps, but he walked. From the prostitute case.”

 Eileen raised her eyebrows, grinning as the kid successfully signed prostitute. 

 “What do you make of the burn marks?” He asked, gesturing to the ash. He didn’t get an answer, before the rookie grabbed ahold of Cas’ arm and lead him backwards. “What the hell are you doing?” 

 “Just trust me, okay?” The kid grumbled, climbing up on the hood of Castiel’s squad car. 

 “Kid, get down!”

 “Castiel!” Sam snapped, pointing at the spot next to him where he stood. 

 He groaned, shaking his head. Fucking kids, but he took Sam’s hand nonetheless and let himself be pulled onto the hood of the car. “Now what? Singer isn’t going to appreciate us climbing all over police sanctioned vehicles for kicks…” And then he saw it, and his jaw fell open. The burn marks came out from Crowley’s back, they were sixteen feet in length at least. “Are those… Christ, are those wings?”

 He turned to Sam, who nodded in return. “I thought the markings along the edge facing his feet looked like feathers.” 

 “It’s ritualistic. I wonder if he was into more dark things than we thought,” Castiel agreed, staring completely dumbfounded at the scene in front of him. He’d never seen anything like it, not even in books. How did the perp get away with it? It had to take time, precision. As sick as it made him feel, he was a little impressed. 

 “Has to be. This isn’t a crime of passion,” Sam said, getting down from the hood of the car. Cas followed suit, and they walked back to examine the body closer. “This was planned.”

 “Meticulously,” Castiel said, squinting. He crouched back down by the body to get a better look. It looked like there had been minimal struggle. He turned to Eileen. “What was the time of death?” 

 “Based on the scene,” she began, “it’s hard to tell. He was moved here, and killed somewhere else.” 

 He nodded, his eyes scanning Crowley’s coat, stopping at the disturbed pocket square. “There’s something in his pocket.” He pulled a rubber glove out of his pocket and slid it onto his hand, to keep the evidence intact. The sky was growing darker by the moment, a storm rolling in. A chill ran up the back of Castiel’s neck as he pulled out a folded piece of paper that was carefully tucked behind the pocket square.

 “What is it?” The rookie asked. 

 Castiel squinted as he carefully unfolded the page. The paper was thin and the print small, but a passage was circled in red ink. “The Lord is my light and my salvation- whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid? Psalm 27:1,” Castiel read out loud.

 “It’s a Bible verse?”

 Castiel nodded, standing to show Sam. “But that isn’t the alarming part,” he said slowly before pointing to the scrawl in red pen that read: ME. 

  Later that night

 “It was seriously fucked up, Dean. No wonder Novak never sleeps! It wasn’t just the stab wound, though. I’ve seen a murder victim before. It was the rest of it.” 

 Dean laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He tossed an old hacky sack up in the air and caught it. He was bored out of his fucking mind. He needed to get a writing job sooner rather than later, before he turned into one of those guys who spent Friday night on the couch in pants with an elastic waistband, a bowl of popcorn, and a blow up doll that was still too tired to fuck him. 

 He sat up and tossed the ball into the trash. Complacency be gone! “Rest of it?” Dean asked, distracted. Sam poked his head into Dean’s bedroom, his hair up in one of those god awful man buns that made Dean a little sick to his stomach. “Fucking really, Pebbles?”

 Sam exhaled out of his nose in a huff. “Shut up.” 

 “Need me to sleep with you tonight so you won’t get nightmares about the big bad murderer who is killing bad guys, or is Bambam going to protect you?” 

 “You’re such an ass,” he complained, walking back out of the bedroom. 

 Dean snorted and hopped out of bed, following his younger brother. “Sam, Sam, hey. I’m sorry.” He held up his hands in surrender. 

 “You done?”

 “Yeah, yeah. I’m done.” 

 His brother searched his eyes for a moment, as if he was trying to detect a lie. Once he was clearly satisfied, he continued. “He was moved to the scene, so it was intended for him to be found, and he had these burn marks.” 

 “On his body? Like the brand? That’d be some divine intervention.” 

 “No, not like that. It was on the ground next to his body. It almost… hell, they looked like giant wings that were burnt out in the grass.” 

 Dean scratched his jaw and looked at his brother. He could’ve been ten years old again. They’ve drank together, and Dean took him to the strip club for his eighteenth birthday, but Sammy was still his baby brother. At the end of the day he’d do anything for him, no matter how much he teased. “You were so fucked up a month ago about him gettin’ away.” 

 “I was,” he agreed with a sigh. “I just… It shouldn’t have been this way.” 

 “The guy is dead, Sammy. He can’t hurt anyone else. Doesn’t matter which way it happened. You’re really tellin’ me this isn’t a win?”

 “It’s more complicated than that,” Sam said cautiously with a heavy sigh, leaning his body against the wall next to the bathroom door.

 “Why?” Dean crossed his arms and looked up at his brother. “Seems like good riddance to me. Ain’t nothin’ worth beatin’ yourself up about.”

 “Maybe… I don’t know.” Sam walked back into the bathroom, shutting the door. “We swapped one bad guy for another, you know?” 

 “Right, but this guy kills other killers. Crowley kidnapped and murdered teenagers.” 

 “The law doesn’t really work that way,” Sam laughed dryly, opening back up the door and stepping out in his pajama pants. “A vigilante is still a criminal.” 

 Dean frowned at him and followed him into the kitchen. “So you’re saying Batman is a criminal?”

 “Batman is a comic book character, Dean.” He reached up and pulled out a jar of peanut butter from the cabinet. 

 “He has movies, too,” he grumbled in response.

 “But yes, for all intensive purposes, Batman would be a criminal. Good doesn’t just cancel out the bad, and bad definitely doesn’t cancel out more bad,” Sam said while he spread peanut butter on a slice of bread.

 He watched Sam’s wrist paint the peanut butter on both slices just like Dean taught him when they were kids, and his chest squeezed. “You’re pretty smart, you know that?”

 His baby brother offered him a small smile and a nod. “Yeah, I think I know that. Learned it from you.” 

 “Hey,” Dean said dismissively. “No chick flick moments, okay?”

 “Right.” 

 “Give me that.” He took the knife from Sam. “You’re not doing enough peanut butter. This is going to be a dry ass sandwich.” He scooped another dollop of peanut butter onto the bread and pushed it out evenly. “Want crust?”

 “Crust is good for you.” 

 Dean shoved the knife back into the jar and put his hands on his hips, staring at his brother. “Jesus, Sam. Out of everythin’ you’ve gotten from me, and you still don’t get it? Food is good. It tastes fuckin’ delicious. It ain’t about bein’ healthy. How much beer and pie do you think are on that weird ass pyramid? Not enough is the answer you’re lookin’ for!” He shook his head, plucking the knife out of the jar, licking peanut butter off the blade before pressing it into the bread to cut off the crust. 

 “Thanks,” Sam said, smiling a bit as he took half the sandwich from his brother. 

 “Welcome.” The brothers pressed the sandwiches together in a cheers motion. “So, uh, how’s Novak handlin’ the case? Got his perfect panties in a bunch?” Dean asked before shoving part of the sandwich in his mouth to keep him from saying too much. 

 Sam raised an eyebrow. “He’s surprisingly unaffected.”

 “Somehow I don’t believe you.”

 “Why do you care?” Sam asked, plopping the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, some peanut butter on the corner of his mouth. Dean instinctively reached forward and wiped it off Sam’s mouth with his sleeve, like he used to when they were kids. His younger brother batted his hand away. 

 “I don’t care.” 

 “Okay, sure,” Sam snorted, unconvinced. He reached into the fridge and grabbed a beer, twisting of the cap, and leaned up against the counter, taking a swig. 

 “So any news on that cute lab tech?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows, redirecting the conversation far away from the stern detective with his sparkling blue eyes. “Eileen?”

 “She isn’t a lab tech,” Sam complained, walking into the living room and settling onto the couch. “What about her?”

 “You ask her out yet?” 

 “I’m there to work, Dean. You know, solve cases, catch murderers. Not socialize.”

 “Well you’re doing a shit job, kid. There’s a murder you need to solve and nothin’ has gotten done about it.”

 “What murder?” Sam asked, squinting his eyes skeptically.

 “The murder of your goddamn social life.” Dean laughed, tossing the pillow from the armrest at his brothers head, barely missing his beer by an inch. “It’s Friday night for god sakes and you’re eating a peanut butter sandwich in flannel pajama pants.” All he needs is the blow up doll! “It’s fuckin’ pitiful.”

 “Shut the fuck up. It’s my night off, and I’m gonna watch Game of Thrones. What are you doing tonight?”

 “Not that.” Dean rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Come out with me. You can watch your nerd show later.” 

 “This is the highest rated show on television right now, Dean.” 

 “Hey, are you sure that Eileen is deaf? She may just be fuckin’ with you so she doesn’t have to listen to a grown ass man talk about dragons.” 

 Sam clicked on the television, shooting Dean a sideways glance. “You’re suck a dick.”

 “I’m just kiddin’, kid.” He leaned in and ruffled his brothers hair, pulling the elastic tie, releasing his hair from the bun. 

 “Seriously?”

 “I’ll be back late, don’t wait up.” Dean slid into his leather jacket, laughing like he was so goddamn proud of himself, because he was. “I’m going for a stiff one.” He smirked. “And maybe a drink.”

 “Wear a condom!” Sam shouted, tossing a pillow at him from the couch. Dean dodged effortlessly, laughing as he shut the door behind him. He jogged down the stairs and out into the cool evening. He pulled his jacket together to keep the elements from invading. 

 It was rainy season in the city. Women struggled with umbrellas to keep their hair and expensive wardrobes in tact, but nothing stopped the puddles from invading their fake Prada shoes. Dean didn’t mind the rain. It cleared him of his sins and sometimes it just felt good to be in the moment without any kind of veil. Sometimes he just wanted to be.

 The Winchester brothers lived close to the precinct, so Dean shouldn’t have been surprised when he entered a bar full of police officers. He shook the rain out of his hair and wiped his feet on the mat by the door. He instinctively scanned the bar for a place to sit and someone to buy a drink for when his eyes landed on a pair of slumped shoulders. Messy dark hair against a gray button up with the sleeves pushed up. Dean more often than not dated women. He was more experienced in that department, and that kept him in a place of emotional safety. Stay in your lane, he’d remind himself, but that never stopped him from flirting. It never stopped him from looking either and as he eyed the tired, disheveled man in front of him he wondered if maybe his lane could widen a little, just once.

 Dean put on his best stride to approach the bar, already digging his wallet out to offer to buy the guy a drink when the man at the bar turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder. His blue eyes caught a neon sign, causing them to glow brilliantly in the low light from the bar. “Well tickle my pickle, is that you, Detective?” Dean asked with a large grin as he approached Castiel at the bar rail. He hadn’t known it was the detective at first, but the happy surprise left his stomach in knots, twisting into itself. Guess he couldn’t shake Cas as easily as he originally anticipated. 

 “Did I do something in a past life to warrant this terrible karma?” The detective asked, turning to see Dean and meeting him with a squint.

 “Aw, terrible, really? Let me buy you a drink. It’ll bring your karma around.” Dean grinned, sitting down on the barstool next to Castiel, and holding out the cash that he’d already fished from his wallet.

 “No, thank you.”

 “I’ll take a scotch, neat,” Dean said offering the bartender a smile, before turning toward Castiel. The detective had a world of weight on his shoulders. It looked like he would collapse into himself at a moment's notice. So Dean offered a soft spoken olive branch. “Sammy told me about Crowley.”

 “He shouldn’t have,” Novak said, taking a sip from his own glass. “It’s still an open investigation.”

 “He can’t hurt anyone else. That’s a win,” Dean said gently. “Right?”

 “It’s complicated,” the detective said dismissively, his eyes somewhere else. 

 “So I’ve heard.” He took the glass from the bartender and welcomed the warmth down his throat.

 “Hey nerds. Sorry, the bathroom line was ungodly. I ended up peeing in the men’s,” a woman’s voice said from behind them. Dean turned to catch a redhead with a large grin, and a beer in her hand. She wore a bright pink tank top that was tied off at her waist. It had a unicorn on it. She was pretty, and fuck he was jealous. 

 “Shit.” Dean’s heart sank into his stomach, sending him swerving back into his own lane like he was avoiding a deer on the highway. “Sorry Cas, I didn’t know you were on a date.”

 “With me?” The woman laughed shaking her head. “No offense, Sweetie, but hell no.”

 “Ouch,” Castiel feigned hurt, holding his chest dramatically, and Dean had to look at Castiel and then look again. He was playing up the drama? He was playing? Maybe he was happier with Crowley dead than what Sam had originally suggested. Maybe wound up tightly wasn’t his normal resting state, after all. 

 “I’m single as a Pringle. Fly by the wind and all that.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Who are you?”

 “Dean Winchester.” He offered his hand out to her like a total dork. He stared at his own extended hand like, what? Is this a business meeting? 

 “Winchester? Like Sam?”

 “His big brother,” Dean said with a proud smile, the knots in his stomach untangling at the brush of their fingers. She shook his hand with an impressive grip, and he could hear Castiel snort next to him. Dean glanced at the detective to catch him muffling a laugh. Holy fuck, he’s laughing! If he was being honest, Dean didn’t think that was possible, but damn he was cute when he smiled. 

 “Color me surprised,” she grinned widely, letting go of his hand. “I’m Charlie Bradbury. I work at the precinct with your brother and Cranky here.” Charlie grabbed Castiel’s shoulder, shaking him slightly, invoking another smile. 

 Dean mirrored her smile. Seeing the detective loosen up a bit was giving him energy that pulsed through his veins like some kind of drug. “I thought I was the only one who called him that!”

 “It’s a universal name.”

 “Aren’t you supposed to be my friend?” Castiel grumbled at her, looking back into his glass as if there was something written on the ice cubes. 

 “Aw, Cas. Don’t live up to your nickname! It’s Friday night. Just let loose. In fact, let’s dance,” Charlie pleaded, offering him a hand. She wiggled her fingers at him as an invitation. She was unbearably cute, and if Dean was being honest, he could see how she would be irresistible in the same way that a kitten was. Charlie had this bright bubbly personality, matched with her fiery red curls, and glow of general goodness that radiated off of her. She was the kind of person that attracted other people. 

 “I don’t dance,” the detective said flatly, his nose damn near buried in his drink.

 “You do now,” Charlie insisted, grabbing his hand, and yanking him out to the dance floor. She pulled the stumbling detective behind her. With her small stature, Dean knew that Castiel could’ve prevented her from pulling him out to the dance floor if he really wanted to, but he let himself be pulled anyway. 

 Dean finished his glass, ordering another, as he watched Charlie dance around Castiel. She bumped into him, took his hand so he could spin her. He started off stiff, looking awkward as Charlie moved his hands for him. The more embarrassingly she danced, singing in his ear along with the music, the more Castiel laughed and loosened up.

  He’s got a kryptonite after all.

 He watched Charlie imitate a shopping trip, miming grabbing items off the shelf and putting them in her shopping cart, while rolling her hips dramatically. She was teaching a line dance to Castiel when her eyes caught Dean’s. He laughed, shooting her a thumbs up, and took a swig from his glass. Charlie narrowed her eyes on Dean and danced over to him, leaving Castiel alone, looking unbelievably relieved. “Okay, Dean, lets go. Nobody likes a lurker.” She wiggled her fingers at him, encouraging him to join the dumpster fire that was the two of them dancing. 

 “You want me to dance?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

 “No, I’m asking you to blow up the Death Star. Yes I’m asking you to dance!”

  Fuck, she’s cool. He shrugged. Watching the detective dance was a sight, but dancing with him was something else altogether. Something that he was dying to try out for himself. “Sure thing, Leia.” He finished his drink, took her hand, and let her pull him to where Castiel was standing alone.

 “Detective.” He winked at Castiel and shimmied toward him, moving his shoulders, and reaching his arms like he was going to pull the detective to him. Cas turned his nose away from Dean like he didn’t notice the impossibly loud dance moves.

 Dean frowned and turned to Charlie, taking her hand and spinning her in circles. “Dean I’m dizzy!” She laughed, letting go of his hand. 

 He glanced again at Cas. How could a man be so damn beautiful, but also be so awkward? The detective looked awkward in his own skin, tugging on a stray thread on his suspenders, his eyes trying to look anywhere but in Dean’s direction, or at least that’s what it seemed like to Dean. When Cas finally looked at him, Dean attempted to lasso him with an invisible rope, grinning widely. He was met with a hard, unimpressed stare, and Dean let his arms fall to his sides before closing the space between himself and Castiel. “Come on, don’t be a square,” he teased, shouting over the music. “You know you like it! You don’t have to fight it, Detective, you’re not on the clock!”

 “I most certainly do not love it,” Novak said sharply. He was stiff as a board, standing so tightly in place that Dean worried he might pull something, or that his pretty face might get permanently stuck in a stoney scowl. All he wanted to do was reach out, touch the skin on Cas’ cheek, and blend into him. He wanted to understand him, but more than anything he wanted to kiss that annoyed scowl right off his face. 

 “Cranky,” Charlie and Dean said at the same time with a laugh, turning to high five each other. 

 “I am not cranky!” Castiel shouted with a huff. If he were in a cartoon, steam would be coming out of his ears. 

 “You are, man,” Dean said gently. “It’s fine. It’s just your personality. Nothin’ wrong with that.” 

  No person can be perfect. Gotta have one flaw, at least. 

 Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean before turning dramatically, walking back to the bar. He took a step after the detective, his hand out like he was reaching for him, but he stopped with a sigh.“Did I say the wrong thing?” He asked, turning to Charlie. “I don’t get him, but he’s Sammy’s partner so I want him to like me. Ya know?” 

 He watched the detective push through the crowd of people, his suspenders illuminated by the strobe light. He could tell, even from this far away, that Castiel held a lot of stress in his shoulders. He walked tightly, like he was fighting a leg cramp. 

 “Cas barely likes himself, Dean. I wouldn’t take it personally,” she said dismissively.

 “He seems to like you.”

 “Well, yeah. He’s human, of course he likes me,” Charlie laughed brightly, reaching out to touch his arm.

 Dean snorted. She was confident, and he had a real thing for confident women. Confident, pretty, nerdy redheads. Charlie Bradbury was a dangerous combination of everything Dean looked for in a woman. “Touché.”

 “We have history, you know? We’ve known each other since high school. I’d do anything for him. He’s my person.” She squeezed his bicep gently, and Dean nodded in response. He did know. Sam was his. “Here’s the thing about Cas, he doesn’t open up easily. He’s really guarded, protected, but if you stick around and fight for it, when he does open up… it’s just, wow. He’s got the prettiest heart, Dean. It’s like stained glass.”

 He could picture it, then, Castiel’s chest opening up like cathedral doors, exposing a large stained glass portrait of his heart. It would glint and glow from the sun pouring through it, creating colorful warmth that’d bathe Dean when he stood under it. He’d feel warm, he’d feel whole. 

 “I am not cranky,” Castiel said, breaking the image in his mind, shattering the glass behind his eyes. He’d returned with a tray of shots in his hands, and Dean raised an eyebrow, his mind redirecting from the daydream to the real thing. “I’m not cranky, and I’m certainly not boring. You’ll see,” Castiel grumbled, meeting Dean’s eyes, before taking two of the six shots.

 ”Oh fuck yes!” Dean grinned and grabbed one from him, unable to resist the urge of seeing Castiel through an alcoholic lense. He clinked glasses with Charlie and they swallowed the shots together. “Guess we are in for an interesting night after all.”

 After four rounds of shots Castiel proved that he indeed was not boring. Not that Dean needed any convincing. With every ounce of liquor it was harder and harder for him to pretend that everything that came out of Dean’s mouth wasn’t entertaining, despite being incredibly childish, and Dean was eating up every second of it. He was high on the sound of Cas’ laugh.

 “Okay, okay, so.”

 “Get on with it, Winchester.” Charlie giggled, sipping out of her Pina Colada. She’d finally given in two drinks ago stating, I don’t give a shit. I am a feminist, and I can drink a fucking flirty drink with an umbrella if I goddamn want to! “We don’t have all night.”

 “Right,” Dean said, letting out a puff of air. His cheeks were warm and his head was swimming from alcohol. It was hard to focus, not taking into account the loud music pounding in the background, and Castiel’s thigh brushing his on the couch in the lounge area of the bar. It took everything in Dean not to just stare at it, the heat beneath the detective’s slacks burning a hole through his jeans. He cleared his throat, urging his leg to move away, but he pressed a little closer instead. “So, Sammy comes home the other night and starts digging around in the book shelves, and I’m like, bro what’re you lookin’ for? And he’s like, mind your fuckin’ business. That’s rude, right? Fuck, I’m his brother. Excuse me if I care. Anyway, he is looking for his old sign language books because he has a thing for your crime tech.”

 “Eileen?” Charlie gasped, chewing on her cherry. “Oh my god, yes! I ship them!”

 “You do what?” Cas narrowed his eyes at Charlie. One of his suspenders was slipping off his shoulder, like a girls dress strap. It felt like he was about to spill out, like Dean might get a chance to see the man behind the facade, but only if he was really looking closely. 

 “Ship, like relationship? Christ, Cas. You’re like an old man.” She rolled her eyes. “Hey, watch.”

 Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting expectantly for Charlie to do something. She just sat there, looking serious. Her eyebrows were knit together, and her lips twitched. Suddenly it occurred to him that maybe she was just as drunk as he was. Maybe she thought she could levitate or something. “Got it,” she murmured, sticking out her tongue.

 “Holy shit.”

 She had tied her cherry stem in a perfect knot. She stood up and bowed, handing Dean the knot. It was a short stem, and Dean was impressed, to say the least. 

 “Damn, woman. You’ve got some serious skills.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Bet you can put those to use.” He leaned forward a little instinctively, feeling an emptiness as Castiel’s thigh left his, but he’d denied every advance that Dean made. Maybe he was straight. Maybe Dean was just that bad at picking people. 

 “And I do,” she said smoothly. “But, Deano, I hate to break it to you, you’ll never find out first hand.” Charlie reached back for her drink, sticking her straw between her lips like a tease, making Dean suck his breath in. 

 “Aw.” He poked out his bottom lip in a pout. “Way to set fire to that fantasy. Is it my hair?” He touched the top of his head.

 “No, sweetie. It’s your penis.” She eyed his pants, biting the straw as a sad attempt to hide her smile.

 “You don’t know that my penis is no good! It’s good, I promise! I have references.” Dean may have been imagining it from all the alcohol, but he could’ve sworn that he heard Castiel suck in his breath. 

 “Oh my sweet summer child.” Charlie touched his hand. She was kind, letting him down easy. It was unlikely that the night would end with a drink in his face, and most of the time that was all that Dean could ask for when it came to sexual advances. “I like women.”

 Deans eyebrows shot up. That was unexpected. Yup, my gaydar is shit. “My fantasy is officially reignited.” He laughed, squeezing her hand in his.

 Charlie rolled her eyes, pulling her hand away from his. “Good lord. you’re such a guy.”

 Dean turned his head to the detective, who was surprisingly quiet during the exchange. “Cas, can you tie a knot in a cherry stem with your tongue?” He asked, eyeing Castiel, leaning in to him. The temporary distraction that he’d gotten from Charlie had dissolved as quickly as it had begun, and he was hyper focused back on Cas. 

 “I don’t know.”

 Dean grabbed a spare cherry stem from Charlie’s previous drink and plopped it into his mouth. He locked eyes with Castiel and worked his tongue along the cherry stem, twisting it in his mouth. Dean couldn’t tell if it was the buzz, the low lightning, or if he was really seeing it right, but he could’ve sworn he saw Cas swallow.

 Once the knot was secure Dean stuck out his tongue, offering up the perfect knot. “I still got it.” He grinned and winked, his eyes still settled on Cas’ blue ones. “For you, Detective.” He handed Castiel the slobbery cherry stem, and to his surprise Castiel took it, curling his fist around it. His eyes never leaving Dean’s.

   Three days later

 “So,” Charlie said, leaning over Castiel’s desk.

 “So, what?” He glared at Charlie over the steam from his cup of coffee. He was so fucking tired. After the night at the club he had spent the rest of the weekend alone mulling over the case and eating cold Ramen. He didn't make much progress, which added to his deep seeded annoyance. 

 “Dean.” She poked his cheek. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean. Holy shit, he was so cute.”

 “Please. He is a reckless child.” Plus, Castiel assumed by his flirtations with Charlie that he was straight, despite his earlier impression from Crossroads. He didn’t need to go down that road, no matter how boyishly handsome Dean was, and no matter how much disappointment settled into his chest when he thought about Dean’s freckled cheeks and striking green eyes. Feelings were a menace, and Castiel preferred not to have them when he could help it. 

 “Exactly, opposites attract.”

 He rolled his eyes at that, taking a sip from his coffee. “I’m too busy for relationships.” Charlie should’ve known his situation better than anyone. He was too busy to find the keys to unlock the dozens of dead bolts locking his heart away within himself. 

 “I didn’t say marry him. Just like...” Her eyes glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention. “Just fuck him. You could use a release, Cranky.”

 Heat rose up Castiel’s neck and into his face. “You can’t say things like that,” he hissed. His private life was private for a reason, and he’d be damned if he crossed a professional line at work. 

 “What? You are pent up.”

 “Not that. You can’t be so explicit,” he whispered. 

 Charlie rolled her eyes and adjusted the butterfly clip in her hair. “Okay, right, sorry.” She huffed and leaned in closer, her eyes challenging him. “Just admit that you want to, and I’ll leave it alone.”

 He narrowed his blue eyes at Charlie, begging her to shut the fuck up for once in her life. “What I want is irrelevant,” he decided. At the end of the day, she was still Charlie, and he couldn’t fake it with her. 

 “Well, that’s just not true.” She laughed. “Come on, just go for it. What is there to lose?”

 He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He was too damn tired. Where should he even start? “Well, he’s my partner’s brother, first of all.” He took another drink of his coffee. 

 “You talking about Dean?” Sam asked, walking up with a fresh coffee mug in his hand.

 “What?” Castiel choked on his own coffee. It burned shooting down his windpipe and for a second he felt like he was drowning. Drowning and caught. 

 “I just heard you say ‘your partner’s brother’. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Sam said sheepishly. “Sorry, Dean’s such a pain. He really does feel bad about messing things up with Crowley...”

 Castiel waved him off when he realized that Sam only caught the tail end of the conversation. “It’s in the past. Best we move on?”

 Charlie snorted, and Sam raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, okay. He will be happy to hear that you aren’t mad.”

 “Why would he care if I was mad?” Castiel eyed him, his curiosity peaked. He placed his mug down on the desk, focusing on keeping his expression emotionless. 

 “Don’t know, but he asks about you every day. Probably just making sure he didn’t ruin things for me here.” Sam shrugged, putting his coffee back to his lips. “So, any new leads on the Crowley murder?”

 “Nothing,” Castiel sighed, rubbing his face, Dean’s apple green eyes pushed to the back of his mind at the mention of the case.

 Charlie reached forward and grabbed Cas’ coffee, taking a few eager gulps. 

 “Well, Dean keeps saying good riddance. So maybe we should just take it as a win.”

 “Do you really believe that?” He asked, examining his partners muscles tensing in his forearms. 

 “Trying to,” Sam admitted, flexing his fingers, releasing the tension. “I figure it’s better than losing sleep over a scumbag.”

 “Good point.” He stood up, stretching, letting his neck pop. He’d been sitting in that same damn chair for much too long. “Get back to work, Rookie. I may not have a lead, but maybe you can find something I’ve missed.” He turned his back to Sam to grab some additional papers from the filing cabinet next to his desk. 

 “Novak,” Sam cleared his throat, causing Castiel to glance over his shoulder. “I was wondering if you’d want to grab dinner with me sometime? My treat,” he offered with a wide smile.

 “Why?” Castiel eyed him suspiciously, his eyebrows coming together.

 “To say thank you,” Sam said quickly, running his fingers through his hair awkwardly. “For your patience with me. For mentoring me.”

 “Wasn’t exactly my choice.” He raised an eyebrow, covering a smirk growing on his mouth with his fingers.

 Charlie elbowed him in the ribs. “He would love to go. It’ll be a million times better than eating leftover pizza or Ramen noodles again. Right, Cas?”

 “Right,” he mumbled. He didn’t want to be boring and antisocial, after all.

 “Awesome! Just let me know when you’re free,” Sam said quickly, looking relieved.

 “I will.” Cas looked at his watch and stood up. “I’ll check my calendar and get back to you.” He shrugged into his jacket and adjusted his tie.

 “Where are you going?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

 “Court,” Castiel grunted. “I am testifying for an old case that’s finally going to trial.”

 “Ain’t no rest for the wicked,” Charlie said with a nod, before resting a hand on his shoulder. “Put ‘em away, big guy.”

 Cas nodded knowingly. “I’ll try my best, ma’am.”

  Later that day

 “And how does the jury find the defendant?”

 “Not guilty on all charges.”

 The sound of the judges gavel knocking against the bench echoed through Castiel’s mind. It was haunting, like a knock on the door late at night when he wasn’t expecting a guest, or the sound of a shutter clicking against the windowpane from the wind. 

 Lucas Azazel’s jaundiced eyes locked with Castiel’s. He gave a sinister smile and a wink. He got off on a fluke. He was a rapist, and he’d been raping his young daughter since she was a toddler, sneaking into her room and doing unexplainable things. He did things that made Castiel lose the little sleep he got. The man was ill and dying of liver failure, which was the main reason the daughter finally came forward. She didn’t think he could hurt her anymore if the trial went exactly the way it went that day. 

 Even though he was a criminal, and the case was open and shut, the jury found him innocent- on a technicality. By law he was liable for what he did, because he was her father. He was in a position of trust, so even though he claimed she consented, it wouldn’t matter. He was the parent, and she was the child. Legally she couldn’t consent. The jury, on the other hand, didn’t think he was in a position of trust. They claimed she didn’t trust him because she was afraid of him. The fuck she didn’t.

 Castiel pushed out of the courthouse into the rainy afternoon, past the on-lookers, past Azazel’s daughter’s muffled sobs, and past the thick, suffocating air. He gasped for breath, needing the freshness, begging for oxygen. He stumbled down the stairs and slammed his fists onto the cold, stone pillar that held up the lip of the courthouse roof. He pressed his forehead against the damp, cool stone, hoping for clarity that never came. How could he do everything right and still not be able to put the perp away? It was a fucking technicality! He was a monster and it didn’t even matter. It didn’t make a lick of difference. What was the fucking point of even trying?

 Castiel couldn’t get the image of Azazel’s daughter, Jess, out of his head. Her big blue eyes spilled over with tears, her face red as she collapsed into the arms of her mother, who had stroked her hair, murmuring promises that she could never keep. Their only saving grace was that, hopefully, he was too sick to hurt anyone ever again, but Castiel wasn’t hopeful. He was rarely hopeful and every day on the job that a criminal walked, he was less and less so.

 “Detective?”

 Castiel let out a breath, the heat from it fogging up around his face. He would recognize that gravelly voice anywhere. “Hello, Dean.” He wanted to stay there, against the pillar, and disappear within it, but then there was Dean . 

 “Are you... are you okay?”

 He sighed, forcing himself off the pillar, turning toward Dean. He could feel his face wilting, the lack of sleep over the trial evident in every wrinkle and sag in his cheeks and under his eyes. “Just a rough case,” he admitted. “What are you doing here?” He straightened his spine, trying to pull himself back together. 

 “Parking tickets.” Dean waved the papers with a sheepish smile. His eyelashes held the mist from the rain, making his eyes glisten in a way that was extremely calming.

 “Parking tickets?” Castiel asked, confused. His voice was rough with emotion, as he tried his best to focus on Dean’s eyelashes, the freckles on his cheeks, anything other than Azazel and the trial. “You live in New York, why do you even have a car?”

 “They’re from when I first moved.” Dean scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks pink. He looked cute, Castiel noticed. “Before I put my Baby in storage, I had her parked in the street. Didn’t realize it’d be a shit show trying to find parking in the city. Thought that Sammy would waive them for me since he’s a cop, but no dice. He’s a slut for the law, ya know?”

 Castiel smiled at that, the claws that were twisted around his lungs loosened their grip, allowing him to breathe a little deeper. “Yeah, the kid sure is.” 

 They stood there for a moment, an electric, palpable silence between them. There was something calming about Dean’s presence, he was like a rain track, the sound of his breathing slowed Castiel’s heart rate. His fingers twitched at his side as he tried to avoid reaching his finger’s out to touch Dean’s. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets, picking at the lint inside. 

 Dean chewed on his lip like he was considering something, his eyes flickering up to Castiel’s and then back down to his feet. “Hey, Detective? Would you want to get out of here? Maybe grab a bite. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. There’s a good burger place not too far,” he offered, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. 

 His eyes met Deans -  they were moss green and kind. He rolled a piece of lint between his index finger and thumb, considering the invitation. “Don’t you need to pay your tickets?”

 Dean shrugged, shoving them hastily into his pocket. “I think I’d rather be on the run from the law than being a law abiding citizen. It’ll get Sammy in a tizzy, plus it’s a lot sexier. It fits my aesthetic.” He grinned widely.

 Castiel laughed in response, running his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t quite ready to let Dean walk away from him just yet. “Burgers, huh?”

 “Best in New York.”

 “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  A half hour later

 Sitting across from Dean Winchester at a crappy diner was the last place Castiel expected to be on that rainy afternoon. “Alright, it’s judgement time.” Dean grinned, holding a greasy french fry between his fingers.

 Castiel chewed his bite of burger thoughtfully. It was delicious, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he had to give Dean that one. He knew a good burger. “Damn, you’re right.” He allowed the smallest smile to peek out from behind the burger, before taking another bite.

 “I knew it!” Dean grinned wildly, shoving his fry into his chocolate milk shake, and plopping it into his mouth eagerly.

 “That is disgusting,” Castiel commented. And juvenile. 

 “What? Do you live under a rock, Detective? This is a damn delicacy.” Dean dipped another fry in the shake. “Open up.”

 “No way.”

 “Open up, or it’s gettin’ all over your face and as funny as that’d be I’m sure you’d be pissed. That’d be a shame ‘cause I kinda think you’re havin’ fun.”

 He rolled his eyes in response and opened his mouth, allowing Dean to place the fry on his tongue. There was something incredibly erotic about being fed by Dean, his eyes partly closed, only showing a tint of green as the sweet and salty snack touched Cas’ tongue. Dean ran his tongue over his own bottom lip, mimicking Castiel as he tasted the snack. Their eyes met, Dean’s finger brushing Castiel’s bottom lip. It was intimate, like they were the only two in the diner, in the world. “Fine, you’re right,” he said, breathlessly. “It’s delicious.”

 “Told ya.” Dean smiled.

 Who would’ve known that Dean Winchester had an award winning smile? No matter how annoying he was, Castiel couldn’t help but smile when Dean did. It was infectious. He would give anything to watch Dean smile over and over again, and he had not realized until that moment.

 “Glad to see you aren’t pissed at me,” Dean said, dipping another fry.

 “I was never pissed at you.”

 “Sure.”

 “I wasn’t,” Cas said flatly. “Being pissed would indicate caring.” He shrugged dismissively, staring back at his plate.

 “Right. The cold, hard detective has no feelings. I buy it.”

 “It’s my aesthetic,” he teased, using Dean’s words against him, his eyes flickering up for just a second, catching Dean staring intently. Castiel swallowed hard, feeling his cheeks heat up under Dean’s gaze. 

 “Right.” Dean snickered in response. “Guess we are quite the pair.”

 “I suppose we are.”

 Castiel settled on Dean’s lips, and he had this extreme urge to lean across the table and taste the milkshake on them, but he refrained. Everything he told Charlie before was true. Dean was likely straight, Cas didn’t date, and even if he did, he would not date Dean Winchester.

 “Want to talk about what happened back at the courthouse?” Dean asked casually, pulling apart the paper wrapper from his straw.

 “Not really.”

 “Well, I’m here if you change your mind.”

 “Trying to get a story for the paper?”

 “Nah, just trying to be a good friend.” Dean eyed Castiel. “Hope you’d think a little more of me, Detective.”

 “I do,” he admitted. He knew that Dean wouldn’t exploit him. He was a good man. He could tell by the way he protected Krystal at the club, and the way he was around Sam. He was a smartass, but he was a good man nonetheless. His eyes met Dean’s and suddenly he wanted to tell him everything. “The longer I’m in this job, and the more evil I see... the less I can sleep. Sometimes I feel like I’m just doing damage control. It’s hard to get a conviction, even on a true criminal. How am I supposed to sleep at night knowing that?”

 “I bet it’d be hard.” 

 Dean was looking at him, his eyes flickered up to Cas’, and he sucked in his breath, his lips parted, his eyebrows furrowing for just a moment.

 “It is,” he agreed, pressing his own lips together, trying not to breathe in every one of Dean’s exhales. The table suddenly felt incredibly small, and Cas was conscious of the toe of Dean’s boot brushing against his dress shoe. 

 He reached forward and touched the top of Castiel’s hand, and Dean brushed his fingers along his knuckles. They both let out a breath that they’d been holding, as if their hands touching gave them permission. 

 “You can’t save them all, Cas.”

 “I was just telling Sam that…” Castiel laughed bitterly, before letting out a ragged sigh. “And what about the ones I can’t save?” He asked desperately, his eyes wet along the edges. He twisted his fingers up, touching the length of Dean’s fingers. They were surprisingly soft, apart from a small callous on his middle finger from where his pen rested. “What about them? All of that up to God?”

 Dean smiled sadly and shook his head, opening his palm wider, allowing Cas to run their fingers together absentmindedly. “Sammy may believe that, but I don’t. I don’t think God cares about us anymore. It’s just up to us.”

 “Us?”

 “Humankind,” Dean clarified smiling sheepishly. “But maybe you and I, too.” He squeezed Castiel’s hand, causing his heart to flutter under Dean’s touch.

 “Our mom… I dunno if Sammy told you, but she died when he was a baby.” 

 “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling sick. There was so much death. He could feel Dean’s fingers chill under his, and Castiel brought his other hand on top of Dean’s to shield him from whatever pain that he could. 

 “She was murdered. It was arson, but the police didn’t ever bring anyone in. There wasn’t enough evidence...resources. It’s not right. Sometimes it feels like there’s no fuckin’ justice.” 

 Castiel would’ve thought that Dean would be worked up, exasperated, but in reality he looked more sad. He looked defeated. “Sometimes it does.”

 “Don’t you wish you could do more, Detective?”

 “Every day.” He released Dean’s hand, letting his palms fall to his lap. He looked down at his burger and suddenly he wasn’t hungry. His stomach churned again. 

 “The system is broken, Cas. I just hope I can do my part.” 

 Castiel thought about that, while breaking up a fry on his plate. Dean was a reporter, and they always felt like enemy number one to a police officer. Everything that was written in the Times felt twisted. It felt a little too much like propaganda, but if it were Dean... Dean, knowing what he knew about Castiel and Sam, saying all the right things about justice. Maybe he could make a difference. Maybe he could instill change. 

 “You seem thoughtful, Detective. What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?”

 Castiel looked up at him, alarmed. His brain ran a circle, trying to find something to say. Anything to say. “Sam... Sam asked me to dinner.”

 “Like a date?” He chuckled. “No offense, but I don’t think you’re his type.”

 “No, not as a date.” Castiel laughed awkwardly, shifting in his seat. “He invited me out to say thank you for mentoring him, but truth be told, he’s teaching me a few things.”

 “The kid’s good for that.”

 “He is.”

 “I wouldn’t be who I am without Sam. He is good. Better than I’ll ever be.”

 “I hope he can be that for me, too.” Cas smiled, looking down at his lap.

 Dean reached forward and hooked his index finger under Castiel’s chin, tilting it up. “Detective, you are good.”

 “You don’t know that.”

 “Bad people don’t carry this much guilt. Your shoulders are heavy. Maybe it’s time you let someone else carry some of that burden.” He smiled warmly at Castiel, almost as if to say I’ve got strong enough shoulders to carry the weight for the both of us. 

  Two weeks later

 Castiel loved New York City. He was one of those New Yorkers that had it in his blood. He wasn’t a dreamer, someone who came over from Podunk Nowhere to try his hand in the arts. He wasn’t filled with love, hope, and Chanel No 5. Castiel was a New Yorker. His blood was dirty rainwater, subway tickets, and Nolita’s twenty-four hour pizza. He held his computer bag close to him, the strap across his chest like a seat belt. The air had a brisk chill, despite the exhaust pumping out of the cabs and into the street. He wanted coffee, needed some sunlight, Charlie insisted on it, and he couldn’t get what Dean said about his mom out of his head. So he left his shoebox of an apartment and went in search of caffeine.

 The woman at the coffee counter smiled at him when he ordered his Americano, but he looked right past her. It wasn’t his intention to be rude, he just hadn’t been sleeping. He needed more than the single mug he was given, he needed an IV drip. 

 Growing up gay made him a tough child, one not to be messed with. He didn’t have any other choice but to create a hard outer exterior. Sometimes distance was the only way. Castiel punched a little boy in the school yard for calling him a faggot. He went to the principal’s office and was given detention for fighting. Castiel’s mother threatened to move them to Staten Island, and he never hit another child again. He walked through the hallways with his head down, his brown locks in his eyes. He could be himself in college. He could fall in love someday. He didn’t have to be so gay. He didn’t have to get in fights.

  “Let people see what they want to see, Castiel,” Gabriel told his little brother, as he dabbed Castiel’s black eye with an ice pack.

  He winced, the pain radiating through his cheekbones and into his nose. “Why do they care, anyway?”

  “Kids are bored. Nosey. Mean.”

  “They aren’t mean to you,” he countered, eyeing his older brother with his one good eye.

  “That’s because I’m funny. I laugh at myself so they can’t.“

  “You aren’t funny,” Castiel said, scrunching up his nose.

  “Hey! I’m hilarious!”

 So, if someone hit him, he let them. He didn’t fight back, even though he wanted to. Things were strict in the Novak house, growing up. The boy’s father was a police officer, a Captain, like Singer. He was rugged, stiff, and angry. He was ex-military, only no longer active duty due to an escalated case of sleep apnea. He raised his boys with a heavy hand. Home was just another place that Castiel had to hide.

 Charlie had been his friend long before they were co-workers. She’d been a thorn in his side since they were fifteen years old. They were each other’s beards, prom dates, and everything in between. She was a beacon in the darkness that was his life. For awhile he suspected that he’d never love someone as much as he loved her. That maybe romance wasn’t in the cards for him. That was until Cas met him. 

 Inias was his next door neighbor. His father was a military man like Castiel’s. They spent the New York summer when they were seventeen working on an old ice cream truck. They’d lay in the grass in the park after a long day, plucking bubble gum eyes out of the frightening cartoon ice cream bars. 

  “These are disgusting,” Inias mused. 

  “You love them,” Castiel combatted, squinting at the beautiful blue eyed boy next to him. He didn’t know if he was gay. He didn’t think he could ask. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost Inias. There was something fragile between them. He couldn’t risk breaking it and ruining everything. 

  “You have me confused with someone else.” 

 Castiel shook his head with a wide smile and looked at the melting Tweety Bird. Inias was right, of course, it looked like a horror movie character. A wax sculpture, melting in the hot sun. The grass tickled Castiel’s ears, and the heat felt good on his skin. “I wouldn’t confuse you, Nias. Trust me.” 

 The boy propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Castiel. “You wouldn’t, huh?”

  “That’s what I said,” he deadpanned, not looking at his friend. 

  “What if I looked like this?” Inias asked, putting the ice cream bar too close to Cas’ face. 

  “God, quit! You’re going to get it on me.” He swatted at Inias like he was annoyed, but the boy knew better. 

  “No I won’t!” Inias said, right as he pushed the ice cream bar into Castiel’s lips. “Oops, shit, you made a mess.” 

  “You’re dead.” 

 They chased each other until the ice cream was melted and they were covered in melted dairy and artificial food coloring. They laid in the grass again laughing, staring at the too-blue sky. The day was clear, and the sky was endless despite the skyscrapers cutting into it. Castiel could’ve stayed like that forever, laying in the grass with the boy he wasn’t supposed to like. 

 He didn’t expect it when it happened, when Inias leaned over and pressed a sticky, artificial strawberry flavored kiss to his lips. It was brief and quick, but it left Castiel breathless. His first kiss. It was in the middle of Central Park, on a sunny summer day, with the boy from next door. It felt like a dream. 

 Castiel’s father had caught them in his bedroom a month later. They had been stripped down to their underwear, Inias’ hand on Castiel’s bare chest, Castiel’s lips on Inias’ throat. It was incriminating. Mr. Novak went into a blind rage, and Castiel woke up in the hospital a day later with a broken cheekbone, wrist, and heart. Inias was gone, off to a private Catholic school out of state. 

 He had moved in with Charlie after that, never looking back, and when he was eighteen, his father died in his sleep. He still hadn’t heard from Inias, but he hoped that the boy from next door was still alive. 

 He knew a little something about wanting answers. He didn’t have the resources to fight his own demons, but Dean’s? He was a detective after all. Maybe he could take a look at Mary Winchester’s old cold case. He couldn’t do right by his first love, but maybe he could do better for Dean. 

 He took a sip of his coffee and opened up his laptop, immediately typing away.

  One week later

 “Hey Sammy so I was thinkin’...” Dean poked his head into the bathroom as Sam brushed through his hair, he squinted at his brother through the mirror. “You goin’ somewhere?”

 “Just dinner.”

 “Dinner? Is it a date?” Dean teased.

 “No.” Sam glared at Dean through the mirror, placing the brush on the counter. “I’m having dinner with Novak.”

 “So it is a date! Do you think that’s appropriate, to be taking your partner out, Sammy? Unless! Is he your partner partner?” Dean waited for Sam to counteract, Jesus Dean, he isn’t gay. Stop making it weird! 

 “Shut up, jerk,” Sam said instead.

 “Bitch.” Dean grinned widely, taking the lack of denial as a win. He folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the doorframe while Sam gargled mouthwash and splashed his face. 

 When he looked up at met Dean’s eyes in the mirror, he rested his palms on the sink. “What, dude? Can I help you?”

 “You seriously not gonna invite me?”

 “You want to go? I got the impression that you and Novak didn’t get along.” Sam dried his face with the hand towel. 

 “We had a moment.” Dean shrugged, the picture of Cas’ face as he tasted the french fry covered in milkshake still perfectly preserved in Dean’s mind. 

 “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

 “What I just said. We’re good. Let me go to dinner, and you can bring that cute crime scene tech, too.”

 “Like a double date?”

 “You said it, not me,” Dean said with his hands up, grinning widely. It wasn’t the worst idea that Sam ever had, and the concept got Dean’s stomach flipping. 

 “Christ, Dean. No,” Sam groaned, but Dean knew the look on his face. His eyebrow was quirked and his dimple was making an appearance on his left cheek. He was considering it.

 “It won’t be a date,” Dean promised. He wouldn’t take the detective out to dinner with his brother for a first date, after all. “I was kiddin’, but it may be a good opportunity to get to know everyone better. We can even invite Charlie!”

 “You know Charlie?”

 “Oh, uh, yeah. I met her. She seemed rad.”

 “Rad?” Sam raised his eyebrow. “What’s going on with you?”

 “Just say yes,” Dean begged trying out Sam’s patented puppy dog eyes. “I’ll call Charlie, and she’ll get the tech.”

 “Her name is Eileen.”

 “Fine, she will get Eileen to come. Come on, Sammy! Live a little!” Dean ruffled his brother’s hair. When begging didn’t work, his next go to was to be as annoying as possible. He wasn’t proud of the tactic, but it was effective. 

 “Okay, okay! Just get off my back.” Sam swatted at his brother and tried to fix his mop again.  

 Dean grabbed Sam by the face and placed a big wet kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, bro.”

 “Gross, get the fuck off of me.” Sam laughed, shoving him out of the bathroom. 

 “You love me!” Dean called back, feeling his heart pound in his chest. He went into his closet to find something to wear, because he was seeing the detective, and damn it if it made him sound like a chick, but he was fucking excited. 

 “Do not!”

 Dean made good on his promise and Charlie arrived with Eileen at the restaurant promptly at eight o’clock. Castiel arrived five minutes late. He looked a little more casual than Dean and Sam were used to seeing him. He wore a nice pair of dark jeans, with a light blue button up untucked and a tweed blazer. Dean raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t had a professor fantasy before that exact moment. He adjusted his red flannel, suddenly not feeling as attractive as he had a moment before, and he ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

 “Rookie.” Castiel raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t tell me you invited the entire precinct.”

 “I didn’t.” Sam smiled awkwardly. “Dean invited himself.”

 “And everyone heard and couldn’t wait to spend time with me.” Dean batted his eyelashes at Castiel, taking a step closer to him.

 “I’m so sure.”

 “Eileen, this is my brother Dean,” Sam spoke out loud, fingerspelling Dean’s name slowly.

 “Dean,” Eileen said, offering her hand.

 He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “M’lady.”

 “Alright, bitches, let’s eat,” Charlie said with a wide, toothy grin.

 “Good idea,” Cas said, looking a little green.

 They settled into their seats and the waitress came around getting their drink orders, Sam ordering an iced tea, and everyone else ordering beer and wine. His cheeks grew pinker by the second, and Dean smirked at his brother. Eileen tapped Sam’s arm and signed, okay? He nodded, offering her a smile, and she laughed in response.

 Dean leaned over next to him where Castiel was sitting. “So, Detective. Want me to order for you?”

 “No.” He sat up a little higher in his chair and glared at Dean. “I can order for myself.”

 “Yeah, Dean, he isn’t some bombshell,” Charlie whispered from Dean’s other side. How he got stuck between them was beyond him. He’d been so focused on sitting next to that fucking tweed blazer that he didn’t notice Charlie on his left until he was already settled. “He can order for himself.”

 Dean smirked, realizing that Charlie hadn’t been let in on their burger date. “Yeah, but my taste is better. Right, Cas?” Castiel looked uncomfortable, and the fact that Dean was getting under his skin was lighting him on fire. He wanted to press the detective’s buttons until he burst. 

 Sam’s eyes widened at the two of them. “Am I missing something?”

 “No,” Cas said quickly, shooting Dean a look. “Nothing to miss.”

 “Uh huh.” Dean shrugged, moving his attention back to his menu.

 They all got to talking about work. Eileen explained to them some different deaf jokes, and Sam laughed along with her, his eyes bright and shiny. Dean smiled to himself; it was nice to see his little brother wrapped up in something that wasn’t murder. Someone alive.

 “So, Dean,” Charlie said, leaning into him. “You’re a writer?”

 “I am. A journalist.” He smiled widely, proud to finally be talking about something that he could really participate in.

 “But he used to write all kinds of crazy stories growing up,” Sam said, taking a bite of his salad. “He wrote all kinds of short stories about monsters.”

 “Creepy.” Charlie grinned. “I love a good horror story.”

 “So do I.” Dean met her smile. He could almost see it then, Cas’ tweed jacket slung over the back of his couch, he and Charlie teasing the detective until his cheeks pinked up. 

 “So, what brought you to  journalism instead of creative writing?” Castiel asked, mindlessly poking his dinner salad with his fork.

 “I wanted a job,” Dean laughed.

 “How’s that working for you?” Sam asked with a shit-eating grin.

 Dean flipped him off.

 “Are you working on anything right now?” Eileen asked, watching his lips for a response.

 He glanced at Castiel with a smirk. “Yeah, I’m workin’ on somethin’.”

 Heat crawled up Castiel’s neck at the double meaning of his words, and Dean noticed that he adjusted his collar to try to cover his growing embarrassment. “Got a little somethin’,” Dean murmured, taking his napkin, patting some non-existent dressing off Cas’ lip. “Got it,” he whispered devilishly. Another button was pressed, and Dean intended to find them all and learn what they each did. 

 Charlie snorted, since she apparently wasn’t as blind as the rest of the group, and Castiel shot her a look in response. 

 “Anything interesting?”

 “Still decidin’,” Dean said with a wicked grin.

 “I’m going to use the facilities,” Castiel announced, clearing his throat as he stood up. He moved his napkin from his lap and back onto the table. Nodding to the group, he quickly walked to the back of the restaurant. 

 “I’m gonna go, too. Be right back.” Dean said not a moment later, winking at Charlie, glad that Sam was wrapped up in a sign language conversation with Eileen. He was still pretty bad at signing, so it took all of his attention. 

 Dean followed the signs to the bathroom, but before he pushed in, he noticed the back door propped open. His palm moved from the bathroom door and walked out into the night air. 

 Castiel was pressed against the stone wall, sucking in smoke from his cigarette. 

 “Stressed out, Detective?” Dean asked, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching the detective suck the smoke into his mouth and let it back out. He wondered if Castiel knew how erotic he looked when he smoked, with his lips curled around the cigarette, and the way his eyes rolled back in his head, his shoulders relaxing with the breath. 

 “To put it mildly,” Cas said coolly, the nicotine seeming to do its job to calm him down. “What’re you doing out here, Dean?”

 “Checkin’ on you.” He put his hands in his pockets. Now that they were alone there was a new pit growing inside of Dean’s stomach. “Am I... am I making you uncomfortable?” 

 Castiel coughed in response, as if the smoke went down the wrong tube in his throat. “Are you... Why would you be?”

 “Because I’m trying to flirt with you,” Dean said with an estaterbated groan, as if it was obvious. “And damn it, my gaydar is usually shit. So if you’re not into it then you’ve gotta...” 

 “I am gay,” Castiel said quickly, his eyes immediately widening, as if he couldn’t believe the words came out of his mouth. 

 Dean smiled widely, letting out a sigh of relief. He moved away from the wall, taking a step closer to the detective. “So does that mean you are into it, Cas? Because if not, this is a real weird way to turn me down.” 

 Castiel took one more puff of his cigarette before stomping it out on the damp sidewalk. He turned to Dean. “I’m not...” He paused, licking his bottom lip as if he was choosing his words carefully. “Opposed.” 

 Deans grin grew even wider, his arms falling from their crossed position back to his sides. “Color me surprised, Novak. You like my antics after all.” 

 “I wouldn’t say that.”

 He took a step closer to the detective, almost closing the space between them. “Then what would you say? Is it my bad boy aesthetic? I’ll have you know, I still haven’t paid those parking tickets.” Dean pressed his palm above Castiel’s head on the brick wall. He could feel Cas’ breath on his lips as he looked down at the detective, not trying to conceal his smile. 

 “You’re a regular degenerate.” Castiel smirked up at him a bit, quirking his eyebrow. “I may have to bring you in for that.” 

 Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he let out an airy, breathless laugh. “You’ll have to catch me first, Detective,” Dean murmured before taking Castiel’s cheek in his free hand, closing the space between them completely, pressing his lips to Cas’  in a hard, urgent kiss.

Read Part Three

Masterlist

Art by @cryptomoon

[serious-writers-block]

Vessel - Chapter 24

Summary: Sam and Dean thought their lives were a living hell. When they find a young girl who shares their name and family business, neither of them can help but be curious about who she is and what she can do for them

A/N: Thanks for the patience. My arm is on the mend and in a few more weeks I’ll be good to go! If only I had Cas to heal my broken bones instantly. Anyway, here’s the next chapter. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

Previous

“Will do,” Mary smiled before heading out the front door of the bar. She couldn’t hide her disappointment in not getting to have a night to hang out with her brothers, but she could certainly understand why they didn’t want to drag a teenage girl around with them.

 The bar wasn’t far from the motel, but the distance was long enough that it became dark before she could reach their room. The cool, late summer air blew through the trees and made MJ uneasy. She couldn’t pinpoint what, but something didn’t feel right. As if to answer her question, a figure appeared in the sky.

 “Shit,” she muttered, seeing its gangly shape. The mass swooped its long limbs at Mary as she attempted to run. The creature’s sharp talons sliced her back open and she cried out in pain. She rolled onto the ground as the gruesome creature took an anthropomorphic form above her. Though she knew it would do no good, she instinctively reached for the silver knife she kept in her boot. The now human-looking creature lunged at her and without grace or skill Mary held the blade in front of her. The attacker was pierced in the abdomen, and its motions shockingly slowed before it ultimately collapsed lifelessly.

 “The hell?” Mary cursed to herself as she pushed the corpse off her.

 “Mary,” a nervous voice came from behind her. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see her brothers but instead she found Chuck. He knelt down to her level and placed a hand on her back, healing her as he spoke, “you’re becoming more powerful,” he said in a low tone, as if anyone could be listening. “I can’t protect you for much longer.”

 “Protect me?” she questioned as he helped her to her feet.

 “Every time you use your powers, it’s like a beacon for every angel, demon, and other powerful form out there.”

 “But I didn’t even do anything.”

 “That’s a dragon,” he reminded, “and you killed it with a normal knife. That’s something.”

 Mary glanced back at the corpse and remembered what her brothers had told her about dragons.

 “Get your brothers, get in the car, and drive,” he ordered.

 “What about you?” she asked before he had an opportunity to leave.

 “I’ve got business to take care of,” was all he said, “Stay with your brothers. They’ll keep you safe, but you’ve got to go. Now,” Chuck flashed away before she could ask any more questions.

 Mary brushed the dirt from her pants before pulling her phone from her back pocket and dialing Sam’s number, knowing it was unlikely that Dean would answer his phone. Her eyebrows knotted in confusion when the call went to voicemail. She tried him again, but he still didn’t answer. Chuck’s words of caution rang in her ears, so she decided to call Dean. Unsurprisingly, the call went unanswered. She tried Sam again.

 “Hey Sam,” she tried to sound cheery when she was once again sent to voicemail, “so I killed the dragon. It attacked me on the way home. I’m okay,” she hastily added, “Chuck showed up. He said something was coming after me. He said he couldn’t protect me any longer… just call me as soon as you see this.”

 She sighed as she hung up the phone, unsure of what to do next. Deciding the motel was likely the safest place to be on her own, she continued her walk.

 ----

 “Where’d MJ go?” Dean asked as he approached the booth his brother was still occupying. The girl Dean had been flirting with was long gone, and rather than striking out again Dean had opted for joining his siblings at their table.

 Sam cleared his throat, accepting the beer his brother offered him, “she uh, she walked back to the motel.”

 “She what? Something’s going after teenage girls and you just let her walk back to the motel on her own?”

 “She insisted,” he defended himself, “she said she’d text me when she got back.”

 Dean looked a little relieved, “and did she?”

 His question prompted Sam to dig his phone out of his pocket, realizing he hadn’t checked it all night. While he did so, Dean also retrieved his phone, hoping one of the vic’s family members had called with new information.

 “She called me,” Sam said, almost as if it was a question.

 Dean saw his sister’s name on his own phone, “me too. She leave a voicemail?”

 “Uh, yeah,” he answered before holding the phone up to his ear. His face went pail as he listened to her words.

 “What?” Dean noticed his brother’s changed expression.

 Sam stood from the table as he hung up his phone, “we gotta go.”

 “Sammy?”

 He started to turn toward the door, “she was attacked by the dragon.”

 “What?”

 They were outside the bar when Sam added, “she killed it, but Chuck showed up.”

 “Shit, Sammy, why’d you let her walk back on her own?”

 “She left because you were clearly more interested in spending the night with the lady at the bar than with us,” the argued over the rev of the impala’s engine.

 “If something happened to her,” Dean threatened.

 “In the voicemail she said she was okay,” he repeated, “but she sounded scared.”

 The Winchester brothers quickly arrived at the motel and burst into their room. Mary was frantically packing the bags when they took her by surprised.

 “Shit,” she cursed.

 “You okay,” Dean asked before she could recover from the surprise of her brothers loudly running into the room.

 She nodded, “I’m find, but Chuck said we need to get on the road.”

 “Why?”

 “He said something would be coming after me,” she zipped her duffle bag and turned to look at her brothers, “something powerful is coming and Chuck said he can’t protect me anymore.”

 “Anymore?” Sam interjected.

 MJ sighed, “he said that every time I use my ‘powers’ it’s like a bat signal for every angel, demon, and evil son of a bitch out there.”

 “Hold on,” Dean stopped her, “’powers’?”

 “I killed the dragon, Dean,” she retrieved the blade from her boot, “with this. It’s a normal knife. The one I always have.”

 “But-”

 “It’s this Holy Spirit crap,” she said, her voice panicked, “I don’t get it. I didn’t even do anything. I don’t know how it happened.”

 Sam could tell she was getting more scared by the second, “Mary,” he attempted to calm her, “Mary, we’ll figure this out.” She attempted to slow her breathing as he spoke.

 “You’re not on your own, kid,” Dean added.

 Mary looked between her brothers, “can we just get out of here? That’s what Chuck said to do. He said to get in the car and drive.”

 There was a moment of silence before Dean decided, “well the dragon is dead so… case closed. It’s about time we hit the road anyway.”

 The three Winchesters threw their duffle bags in the impala and sped away from the dirty motel in the dead of night. Deciding that the bunker and Mary’s old foster home were the first two places angels and demons would look for her, Dean drove to the first place he knew would be safe, South Dakota.

 Once they were a few hours outside of St. Louis, Mary was calmed down enough to fall asleep stretched across the back seat. The boys waited until they knew she was in a deep sleep to start talking.

 “What the hell, Sam?” Dean spoke first.

 “Dean,” he sighed, “what if the best way to keep her safe is-”

 “Don’t say it.”

 “But-”

 “I don’t want to hear it Sam,” he wouldn’t give his brother the chance to suggest Mary say yes to being a vessel, “the Holy Spirit’s power is the whole reason she’s in danger. Consenting to be a vessel would only put her in more danger.”

 Sam paused, “then what do we do?”

 Dean glanced at his brother, “look, I don’t know. I don’t know how she’s already got the powers if she hasn’t become a vessel. I got no clue how to keep her safe, hell, we don’t even know what’s coming after her.”

 “So what’s the plan?”

 Dean thought for a moment while he watched the road. He thought back to when Sam was gaining powers and going crazy from drinking demon’s blood and a thought occurred to him, “what’s the most secure, demon-proof place we’ve been to besides the bunker?”

 “The panic room?”

 “Bingo,” Dean confirmed, “reinforce it with new seals and some holy oil, we can protect her from just about anything.”

 “Can we even still get to it? I mean the house-”

 “The house is gone, but the panic room is still intact.”

 “All the more reason no one would think to look for her,” Sam realized.

 It wasn’t until then that Dean noticed Mary shifting around in the back seat. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a pained look on his sleeping sister’s face.

 “Is she okay?” he suddenly asked, directing his brother’s attention to MJ.

 She looked scared and a sweat was beginning to appear on her brow, “Mary?” Sam shifted to reach into the back seat. She violently sung her arm and whacked it against the back of the bench seat. The force of the impact was painful enough to wake Mary from her restless sleep.

 “Uggh,” she groaned as she cradled her arm. Feeling the presence of eyes watching her, she looked to the front seat where Sam was turned to watch her and Dean made eye contact through the mirror. The impala was silent apart from the rumble of the engine.

 “Your nightmares are back?” Dean asked presumptuously.

 Mary sighed, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 The impala remained quiet as the brothers exchanged a worried look. As Sam returned front facing, MJ shifted to an upright position, not wanting to fall asleep again and miss any important discussions.

 Through the rearview mirror Dean could see his sister was still clutching her wrist, “your hand okay?”

 “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she glanced out the window and saw signs for a city she’d never heard of, “where are we?”

 “Somewhere in Nebraska,” Dean answered.

 “And where are we going?”

 Sam responded this time, “South Dakota.”

 “Jody’s?”

 “Actually-” Sam started to explain but his older brother interrupted him.

 “We’re going to Bobby’s.”

 “But it’s-” she started before Dean interrupted her, remembering the time Jody took his sister to visit the old junkyard. 

 “The house is, but he had a shelter built underground that survived. You’ll be safe there.”

 “But we don’t even know what’s coming after me. How do we know I’ll be safe?”

 “Chuck said anything and everything that’s bad in this world will be coming after you, and it’ll be easier to find you if you’re using your powers,” Sam explained.

 “Nothing can get in or out of the panic room,” Dean added, “it’s the safest place we’ve got.”

 “So, you’re locking me up?”

 “No!” Sam reacted first, “Mary, we just need to make sure you’re safe until we figure out what’s coming for you.”

 “How does that-”

 “MJ, if you hunt, you’re more likely to need your powers,” the oldest began, “there are already angels and demons that know you’re a Winchesters. The bunker is the first place they’ll look for you. Honestly, we don’t even know if you’ll be safe at Bobby’s. If something’s already got your scent we don’t know if it’s following us. We’re just trying to get your someplace safe where we’ve got backup. The panic room is only temporary.”

 Mary sighed, she knew her brothers were right, “Fine, but if this is some twisted way to make sure I never hunt again, I’ll kill you,” Sam laughed at her attempt to lighten to mood, “you too Sammy.”

 He feigned innocence, “me? What did I ever do to you?”

 Mary’s grin was wide, “you’re my brother. You basically exist to torment me.” The siblings laughed as they playfully fought and tossed insults back and forth, but none were unaware of the severity of Mary’s situation. 

Next Part: Chapter 25

[inakua]

Unexpected

Request: In a world where Voldemort won, and people die on the daily, a rag-tag group of teens could change the fate of the war. Follow Dom Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy - squibs - and their best friends Rose Weasley and Kieron Zabini as they team up with the Muggle Resistance to bring down the Death Eaters once and for all.

Warnings: Blood, Swearing, Weapons (knives, guns etc), Death, Serious Injury, Violence, Bad Parent Relationship, Slurs, Bodies/Corpses, Hostages, Murder, Warfare. (I will always try and tag as many warnings as I can think of for each writing, if you read through and find something that I haven’t listed which may be a trigger for someone please send me an ask or DM me so that I can add it to this list, thanks!)

Pairings: N/A

Words: 3,973

A/N: Okay so this is an extract of a new fic that I’m working on, it will be called Unexpected, and probably won’t be posted on fanfic.net for a while but I just wanted to give you guys a brief taster :) Hope you enjoy, don’t forget to let me know what you think in the replies or when you reblog!

REQUEST A ONESHOT HERE

We've been here for 2 years now; me and Scor. Not much has changed, we're still best friends, still squibs and the war is still controlling our lives. Uncle Harry never won on the eve of the 2nd May 1998, they did. His side, the death eaters. It's been 20 years since the battle of Hogwarts.

20 years since Voldemort won.

20 years since all hell broke loose.

Families turned against one another, mother against daughter, father against son. The muggles didn't stand a chance once Voldemort took control, many tried to flee, some tried to fight but the majority were captured in the mayhem. Me and Scor were born in the midst of it all. Both into two completely different lives.

Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, son of Draco Malfoy - Voldemorts right hand man - and the late Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass was born on the 12th November 2002.  

Me? I'm Dominique Aveline Weasley, but everyone calls me Dom. I was born on the 19th January 2003 to worldclass asshole and half-veela, Fleur Delacour. My father, Bill Weasley, passed away just two years ago. 

We're similar like that, me and Scor, both of us have lost the one thing we held most dear; a loving parent.

When my mother found out I was a squib, she wanted nothing to do with me. The love she once had for me quickly turned into hatred. She was angry at my father, blaming him for my 'condition'. No daughter of hers was going to be a squib. Everyday I was ridiculed, blamed for the countless mistakes others would make, she concentrated all of her anger towards me and it quickly became too much.

In the end the only people I had left were my father, Rose and Victoire. On the 6th March 2018, my father went on a solo mission, the order needed information on a rogue death eater and he volunteered.

He never came back. 

The whole family was a wreck for days and it wasn't long before my mother started shoving the blame on me again. I decided that enough was enough, and took matters into my own hands. 

That's when it all started, when everything changed. 

That's when I met Scorpius.

****************************** "e eez dead and eet is all your fault! I loved eem and now e is gone, taken from me." 

Fleur was hysterical, people tried to stop her but to no avail.  She'd been screaming at me for the past hour. Blaming me for my fathers death, shouting profanities at me at the top of her lungs. I'd tolerated her up until now but the anger was starting to get the better of me. I couldn't stand here and take her shit any longer, my anger was flaring, I could feel it building up.

"My fault? How the fuck is this my fault?" I screamed, rendering Fleur speechless.

"Stop accusing me of something that was out of my control. I'm just as devastated as you Fleur, I love him more than words can describe, but you don't see me taking it out on anyone. It's not my fault that dad is dead, it's not my fault you hate me and it's not my fault that I'm a squib. When will you stop putting the blame for everything on me? I've had enough of you treating me like I'm nothing. I can't deal with you acting like this 24/7!" 

I could see Rose move into my line of vision, her hand reached out and grabbed my shoulder, forcing me to turn and look at her. My family were stood behind her, shock evident on their faces.

"Dom calm down, she's not worth it." Rose whispered in my ear. I could tell she was trying to help but I was fed up of everyone pretending that Fleur was this perfect angel. I was fed up with everyone assuming that she'd never hurt me, that she loved me as a mother is supposed to love her children. They needed to know the truth; they needed to know now.

"No Rose! They need to hear this," I hissed back at her through clenched teeth. I turned back to face Fleur. She'd turned as white as a ghost, time to let my Weasley temper loose.

"Did you really think they wouldn't find out eventually? Did you honestly believe I was going to let you get away with the pain you've caused me over these past couple of years. You've blamed me for everything that has gone wrong in this family, you taunt me and call me names. I'm your daughter you're supposed to be there for me, you're supposed to love me unconditionally. Instead you hate me, you hate me for something that I have no control over, do you think it's been easy for me? Do you think it's been easy living with the knowledge that my own mother hates me, that she hates me enough to blame my own fathers death on me? Dad and Rose were the only ones there for me, they were the only ones who stood up for me when you treated me like shit. I know how much you hate me, dad knew how much you hate me. Hell even Vic can see how much hatred you have towards me, everyone else may be oblivious but I know better and I'm not putting up with it anymore. I'm through with your bullshit Fleur. I'm done." 

I was filled with joy at the sight of Fleur cowering in front of me. I could see the guilt consuming her from within, with the pleasure of knowing that she felt guilty I stormed up to my room. Grabbed my bag and started shoving everything I could find into it.

I heard the door slam behind me and felt Rose put a hand on my shoulder, she knew what we had to do, we'd talked about this on many occasions. We had a plan, the only problem was if it would work.

"Vic was coming up the stairs behind me, she'll be up in a minute," Rose said, reaching into the pocket of her jeans to fetch her wand. She quickly shrunk my case and slipped it into her back pocket. Before Victoire could make it up to my bedroom, I pulled open my bed side drawer and stuffed the knife my dad had given me before he left in my pocket. Rose eyed me as if I was crazy.

"How else am I going to defend myself?" I told her, she shrugged before moving her eyes towards the door, anticipating Victoires entrance. 

She knew I was right, I'm a squib, it was the only defence I had. Victoire stormed into the room, her eyes red and puffy as she walked over to me, pulling me into a bear hug.

"Do you have to go?" She whispered in my ear, her voice raw and scratchy as she talked. I felt my heart break as tears splashed onto my shoulder. I loved my sister so much, I didn't want to leave her but it was for the best. I didn't belong here, not any more.

"You know I do Vic, I'm so sorry." My voice was filled with regret, she may be the older sister but she definitely wasn't the stronger one. 

She didn't like disobeying anyone and breaking the rules made her shudder; literally. She depended on me just as much as I depended on her. Victoire hadn't always been like this, she was just as feisty as me, up until about a year ago. 

Teddy Lupin was called out on a mission about a year ago, he never came back. He'd been Victoires friend since birth and about 4 years ago, they began dating. Many suspected him dead, but Vic refused to believe it, she'd kept her hopes up for a couple of months after his disappearance but eventually she had to face reality, he was gone. She was never the same after that, always following orders and never standing up for herself. It pained me to see her like it, but no matter how hard I tried she carried on wondering about like a little lost puppy.

"I love you Dom," Victoire wailed as I held her tighter, not saying a word, in fear that the tears gathering in my eyes would spill. She'd barely calmed down before clambering off me and hurtling herself towards Rose. 

"You know I love you too Rosie, I'll miss you!" 

"Love you too Vic," Rose replied, finding it just as hard as myself to fight back the tears forming in her eyes. 

"We have to make a move though, we don't want any one to notice our absence." Rose replied regretfully.

Victoire stepped back and watched us as we made our way to the window, Rose climbed out first, making her way down the pipe. I turned towards Vic before I left.

"Look after Louis for me," I whispered, before taking one last look at my sister and following Rose down the pipes. 

We ran as fast as we could, if the family found out that we'd gone before we reached the wards then we'd never escape. 

We stopped at the edge of the land, just before the wards. Rose pulled out her wand and began breaking a section of the wards so that we could get through and onto the other side. 

I turned around, looking at the building I was supposed to call home, but staring at it now, I realised that it had never been my home. It was more of a prison, somewhere that I couldn't escape, and I never wanted to see it ever again.

"I'm done. Hurry up Dom, we've only got a couple of seconds before the wards are put back up," Rose cried urgently, racing through the gap in the wards and pulling me with her, we made it onto the other side just as the wards went back up. All I could see now was the beach, the house I've lived in all my life wasn't in sight, and I could’ve never felt more ecstatic.

"We did it Rose, we actually did it," I cried in triumph, Rose jumped into my arms unexpectedly and I spun her around, crying with happiness. We stayed like this for a couple more minutes, just sobbing on each other, we managed to escape and it was the best moment of my life. I had no doubt in my mind that Rose was thinking the exact same thing, even though Rose was a wizard she still hated that place. 

When she was a baby her parents, Hermione Granger-Weasley and Ron Weasley, were caught in an attack by death eaters who were trying to kill Uncle Harry. They died protecting their best friend, leaving an 8 month old Rose orphaned. While she was still young, Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny looked after her but when she got older and they started having kids of their own, she was moved around between relatives. At the age of 11, my father decided that she could live with us permanently. By that time, Fleur knew that I was a squib, Rose stood by me and in return was hated by Fleur, she hated Rose just as much as she hated me.

"We should probably start moving," I told Rose, untangling myself from her embrace, "We don't want them to come after us."

"Not that they would bother," Rose said scornfully, picking up her wand that had fallen out of her pocket.

"Not that they would bother," I agreed. 

We made our way along the beach, eventually reaching  the woods surrounding the nearby village. We had to make sure that we were far enough away from the house before putting our plan into action.

"Over here," Rose called, we were looking for a good place to sit, where we were out of sight and not too close to civilisation. Nowhere was safe anymore, so we had to be alert. 

I made my way over to Rose, following her through some dense undergrowth and finally turning up in a small clearing by a stream. We were surrounded by trees and bushes, nobody would be able to find us here.

"We need to apparate to a little village just outside of Oxford, it's called Aston. I overheard the adults talking about it a couple of months ago, it's meant to be a safe haven for witches, wizards and muggles alike. The Death Eaters haven't attacked it yet so we should be safe," I told Rose, she nodded along. 

"I don't know what it looks like, how am I going to apparate us there?" she asked.

"Surely you don't think I expect you to apparate without knowing where we're going," I told her.

"Of course not but how am I going to know what It looks like?" She asked, obviously thinking I was stupid for bringing this up. I rolled my eyes at her lack of confidence in me, I tossed a small piece of paper at her, that I'd retrieved from my back pocket. She looked at it, realisation burning in her eyes.

"How did you get this?" She asked, holding up the picture I had of an alleyway in Aston.

"I stole it," I told her, "The adults were all talking in Uncle Harrys office about an apparation spot and he gave everyone a picture of it, just in case they needed to apparate somewhere in an emergency. I waited for them to leave and took one from Uncle Harrys' desk," I said proudly.

"You sneaky little bastard," she said, her eyes crinkling in amusement as she smiled at me.

"Why thank you," I said, bowing in appreciation, "I pride myself in that area of expertise."

"But, seriously, do you think this could work?" Rose asked, after slapping Dom playfully for her sarcasm.

"I'm not sure, but what do we have to lose by trying it?" I told her, hoping she'd agree with my plan.

"Oh I don't know," she said sarcastically," only a couple of limbs if we splinch ourselves."

"Come on Rosie, It's our only option. If we don't do this then we'll be living in this forest for the rest of our lives. I don't know about you but I'd rather spend my life back at that house than in this woods forever," I knew I was exaggerating but I really wanted to get away from this place.

"Fine." Rose snapped, giving up, "We'll apparate there."

"Thanks Rosie."

"Hurry up, I want to get out of this forest," Rose told me, studying the picture carefully and grabbing a hold of my hand. I felt the pull of apparation and before we knew it we were in the alleyway.

"I did it!" Rose whooped, punching her hand in the air. I clasped my hand over her mouth. Something was wrong.

"Stay here," I whispered to her, creeping down the alleyway and peeking round the corner. Nobody was there, where was everyone?

"Dom, I think you should come and see this," Rose called me, I turned to see what Rose was talking about. She was white as a ghost, her hands were shaking and she was pointing to the other end of the alley. 

I walked over to the other end, Rose following closely behind me, and gasped at the sight in front of me. 

Blood. So much blood, I stared at it with fear. How could they have not noticed before? People were running around frantically, screaming for those they'd lost. Death Eaters were everywhere, those who couldn't defend themselves perished. Sparks of colour were flying everywhere, people were dying. This was meant to be a safe haven, what was happening? 

"Dom, I can't -" Rose began but was cut of when she let out a strangled cry. I turned to see what she was looking at, a death eater was rounding up children, the youngest could've been only 4. 

He raised his wand, Dom could just make out what he was saying.

"Avada Kedavra"

A spark of green left his wand, hitting one of the girls square in the chest.

"No!" I screamed, watching as the girls body fell to the floor, her eyes were vacant, distant. The death eater laughed as her body hit the cold stones with a thump. I couldn't take it, I was filled with an indescribable surge of fury. 

Reaching into my back pocket I grabbed the knife, my fingers curling around the handle menacingly.

"Stay here." I barked at Rose, before charging out into the street, towards the death eater. 

I dodged spells that came flying in my direction, it was as if I'd been doing it for years. My eyes burnt with anger and my skin prickled, with what? Fear. Sadness. Anger. I couldn't be sure but it wasn't going away. 

I reached the death eater without any harm, he'd already killed another child, a boy this time. He had sandy blonde hair, and what were once baby blue eyes. He reminded me of Louis - my little brother.

The death eater raised his wand, preparing to kill another. Without thinking about what I was doing I ran up behind him and plunged my knife into his back.

He stopped, frozen. 

He turned around to face me, obviously not expecting such a hands on attack. why would he, when everyone else was using wands.

"What -" he never got to finish, because I pushed him harshly onto the cobbled street. His blood pooling around him, staining the stones red. 

"What - What are you - do - doing?" He asked, his face overcome with shock and pain.

"I just came here to kill you. No harm done," I hissed violently. I'd killed before, growing up in a world where Voldemort ruled and around every turn someone was more than willing to kill you, you had to make sure that you could defend yourself. Dad taught me self defence since the age of 8. I'd only killed two people, both Death Eaters, when they tried to attack me and some other members of the family while we we're taking supplies.

I watched as he took his last breath, his body turning pale, his eyes clouding over. I reached towards him, pulling my knife from his back.

I was just about to turn around and help the kids when a hot pink light hurdled towards one of the kids. I flung myself in front of the spell and hissed in agony as a deep gash was carved across my stomach. 

Just as I was about to get up I saw another spell flying in my direction, I ducked just in time and the spell hit a building above, sending bricks and debris flying everywhere. Luckily, nobody was hit. I turned around only to come face to face with a wand. There in front of me was a Death Eater, his wand pointed directly at my face.

"Hello there sweetheart," He sneered, luckily he hadn't noticed that I'd just clutched my knife in my hand, I was at the advantage.

"Hello to you to," I said innocently, as I drove my knife into his throat. 

The Death Eater fell and I was finally able to focus my attention on the group of children, they were all looking at me in shock. Some of them looked really scared but who could blame them, they'd just seen two other children die, me kill two men and get hit by a severing charm.

"Please, don't be scared," I tried to tell them, it wasn't very reassuring when I was covered in blood and had just stabbed someone in front of them. I looked over to the alleyway, to check if Rose was still there. She was watching, her eyes wide. I turned back to the children, I had to keep them safe.

"Please, come with me. I'll keep you safe," I tried pleading with them. Eventually, one of the elder ones walked over to her.

"Wh - why did you ki - kill them?" She stuttered.

"They were going to kill you, I couldn't stand by and watch you get hurt," I told her truthfully. The little girl nodded in acceptance before turning to the little group of 7.

"It's okay, she'll keep us safe," She told them, they seemed to listen to her and all of them looked up at me to see what they had to do.

"Follow me," I told them, I walked next to the group of children, hoping nobody would fire at them. Everybody seemed focused on their own battles and we had just made it to the entrance of the alley way when the girl who talked to me earlier screamed. I turned to see that a death eater had grabbed a hold of her and was pointing his wand to her head. 

"Let go of her," I hissed. Rose was behind me in the alley motioning all of the other kids to get behind her.

"You killed Goyle," he said, looking over to the body on the other side of the street.

I grinned, so it was his friend that I killed. Good. 

While he was distracted I ran towards him, he was only a meter or so in front of me, so he didn't have enough time to react. I stabbed my knife into his shoulder, he cried out in pain, I quickly pulled the knife back out and in the process he dropped the girl.

"Go," I shouted at her, pointing towards the alley way. She ran off towards Rose and the death eaters eyes turned on me, he was pissed. Great. 

"Sectumsempra," He shouted at me, a jet of light shot out from his wand and I jumped out the way, narrowly missing the curse as it went into the wall of a building, sending bricks flying everywhere. A piece of the wall hit my shoulder and I cried out in pain as I felt it embed itself in my flesh. 

The death eater was hit as well, he seemed to have been hit with more brick than me though, so I ran towards him, my knife out in front of me and aimed for his throat. I'd barely left a scratch when his fist came pummelling through the air, landing a punch on my jaw. 

I crashed to the floor and watched as he advanced on me, his wand out in front of him. In one final attempt to kill him, I threw my knife towards him. Before he could move out the way, it hit him in the side of the stomach and I grimaced in victory. It didn't deter him though, he was weaker but he could just about walk. He hobbled towards me.

"You stupid Muggle Bitch," He shouted at me, he thought I was a muggle? I did attack him with a knife and technically I am a muggle but with magical relatives. 

"You don't mess with Vincent Crabbe and live to tell the tale," he sneered at me, lifting his wand and aiming it at my face.

"Avada Ke-" He was dead before the gunshot reached my ears. The grip Crabbe had on his wand disappeared and I watched as it fell from his hand and clattered to the ground. I stood up, trying to ignore the pain my body was in. I walked over to Crabbe, rolled him over and pulled my knife out his abdomen. The man who shot Crabbe walked up to me, I looked around, the death eaters had gone. Some were dead on the floor and many were being killed. I stared at the man who was now in front of me, he offered me his hand.

"Scorpius Malfoy," He said, shaking my hand, I shook back and replied.

"Dominique Weasley."

[yakumtsaki]

There’s no easy way to say this so I’m just gonna come right out with it: welcome to the most morbid post in Union history. Half the family is getting wiped out in a single update and I don’t mean to point fingers, but it’s 100% Wyatt’s fault. I really need someone to blame so don’t dare try to take this away from me.

Back to the present and not the corpse-filled near future, we actually have some money to spend on our spawn for the first time ever, so Shajar gets a non-completely-depressing room. No more eating from the cat bowl for our kids!

..spoke too soon.

-Is it still there, is it still there??

-YES omg it just looked right at me! Vic! I’m scared!

-Don’t make eye contact with it you fool! Don’t you have any idea about how children work??

After not getting promoted for an eon, Jojo is suddenly killing it, two promotions in a row!

-I know, I was starting to fear I’d be one of those geniuses who are only recognized after death- UGH, what is that obnoxious sound?

That’s your infant child screaming because it was abandoned on the cold hard floor the entire night.

-Oh ok, so standard parenting. For a minute I thought something was wrong.

-There, there, you’re alright. Ok.. OK seriously, stop. God, have some dignity for once in your 12-hour life. Crying in public is so embarrassing.

-NEEEEEEO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Yup. I’ve been so focused on feeding Victor and Alegra’s ancient asses from the bowl of life that I forgot Neo was an elder too, so he’s the first to go even though he’s way younger than them, great job @ me. Goodbye Neo 💔 You were such a good boy, our cat heir, and an integral part in achieving Komei’s life-ruining LTW. You will be sorely missed.

..Apparently by your archenemy Victor most of all. Vicky casually walked off the lot the minute Neo died with no notifications about running away, only to return on his own shortly after. Wtf is going on in this house.

-I had to contemplate the futility of hate.. All this time wasted trying to kill each other and for what.. It's a sunrise and a sunset from a cradle to a casket.

Yea or this lot is already glitched as fuck and it’s only generation 2. Good times.

I was very bummed out by Neo’s premature demise and not in the mood for another kid, but one peek at Jojo and Wyatt’s life bars convinced me to drop the mourning period and circle-of-life this bitch. They are extremely not getting any younger and who tf do I think I am? Someone who knows better than Mufasa?However since a) Jojo is nowhere near his 100k LTW and can’t be taking days off and b) and more importantly, I hate Wyatt, guess who’s carrying this time around!

OH COME ON

GODFUCKINGDAMMIT WYATT

-Huhu!

How the hell did this happen I DEMAND TO KNOW

-Check how your mods work in le futur, idiόt!

..well you got me there.

Jo you are ON FIRE, 3/3! Maybe we can actually complete this 100k bullshit before you’re on death’s doorstep. It’s gonna be close tho, but you know, you just HAD to get knocked up again, so that’s on you.

-No, it’s on YOU.

No, it’s ON WYATT. Let’s just not point fingers and move on, ok? Everyone is equally to blame.

-NO THEY’RE NOT

I’VE MOVED ON I CAN’T HEAR YOU

And now a section I like to call: What the entire fuck is happening. VICTORIA WHAT ARE YOU DOING

-What?? I love babies :)

I legit went back and checked, can you guess how many times Victoria autonomously interacted with any of her kids when they were babies/toddlers? If you had EXACTLY ONE TIME you win..nothing. There are no winners here.

Oh. my. god. 

-Stop hogging her already, I wanna feed her too!

-WELL WAIT YOUR TURN DICK. No, not you, baby bobo booboo.. 

We’ve had our fair share of plot twists around here but this is truly some fucked up shit. In case you don’t get what the big deal is, enjoy this little trip down memory lane aka the Victoria-Komei-parenting-hall-of-fame. Either the ‘age mellows people out’ thing applies to sims too or they got personality transplants when I wasn’t looking. Disturbing.

Of course SOME THINGS never change, no matter how life-ruining for all involved.

-Is this about my LTW, STILL? It’s been like 20 years, GET OVER IT

NEVER

Whachu doing Vic?

-Updating my will to include Komei now that I suddenly love him. Of course someone has to get cut to make that happen..

Well goodbye Daniel I guess!

-..Who the fuck is Daniel?

-I too am making preparations for when I leave this cruel world.

I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume they’re cat-related.

-NO, not everything is about cats! I have plenty of other interests and concerns. 

Name one.

-My beloved son! I’m making sure he takes care of my cats.

Finally, this family’s excellence is starting to be recognized. It’s about time.

-Yea no, this is a recognition that you trainwrecks need all the help you can get.

UGH typical jealous hater bullshit, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.

Ok, I’ve some idea what you’re talking about. Honestly what else has to happen for me to just. stop fucking throwing kid’s birthday parties? I’m pretty sure we’ve had..one that wasn’t a straight up disaster? God knows those glory days aren’t returning any time soon.

-I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m having a blast :D

Of course you are Gunther, you haven’t been sober since the third year of college.

AND SOME PEOPLE ARE TAKING ADVANTAGE OF THAT. ABSOLUTELY NOT. HALF ALIEN PROF ISTFG

-I’m legit fine with this :)

I legit don’t care, it’s not happening in our sacred home. Also BRIT IS RIGHT THERE JFC you’ve gotten stupid as shit.

You guys seriously, what sins am I paying for, why can’t we have ONE NORMAL NON-INCESTUOUS PARTY. JUST ONE. Daniel heartfarting over his ex, ok, not that weird. Komei heartfarting over his daughter-in-law..getting weird. Gunther heartfarting over Half Alien Prof..reaching for the chlorine to bleach my eyes and then immediately drink.

Nice, get in on that action Wyatt! We almost forgot about your long standing boner for your brother-in-law.

Happy birthday, Shajar! You’re welcome for this amazing party, pay me back by not being ugly.

..yea ok. You did your best with the tools you were given. And I mean the literal giant tools that are your parents. Hopefully Wyatt came through with his somewhat balanced personality???

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. OH MAN. 10 playful, 9 active and 1 nice? Literally sporting Jigsaw’s personality. I mean darling Jojo has 3 nice points and is..how he is, can’t even imagine what Shajar is gonna grow up to be like, but it’s good to know we’re moving in the exact opposite direction than intended.

-Enjoyed your kid’s birthday party, you cheating bastard? WELL PARTY’S OVER

-I may be a cheating bâtard-

-SHUT THE FUCK UP WITH YOUR SELECTIVE FRENCH ACCENT

AW Neo’s ghost making its first appearance and trying to kill Wyatt, what a sweetheart. Welcome to the party!

It was one for the history books! 

-How on earth did this party suck, I had an exceptional time.

Yea that’s because you weren’t there, it’s easy to have an exceptional time away from this family. Of course I have never personally experienced it but the mind does race.

-AH at last, my article is published! Oh, editor’s pick too, ha, of course. No, wait, editor’s warning.. As requested by the legal department? Drama queens. “Horrifying views expressed.. Widely discredited.. Not endorsed in any way by this publication.. DERIVATIVE??!!” Well, I know what I’m doing this weekend.

Is it.. rewriting your article?

-Oh, I’ll rewrite it alright. IN BLOOD

Great. Speaking of blood-

-Victor’s thirst for it is back with a vengeance. We went an entire 4 days without a cat fight and I was all like ‘woo new record’ but one thing has become clear since then:

Victor didn’t go away to contemplate shit. He was waiting..plotting..training..and now the time has come for Victor 2: Reign of Blood.

-WHERE’S YOUR GOD NOW??

Seems about right. Honestly Sophie is the wisest one among us because she got tfo just in time to miss THIS:

Yea, unsurprisingly fucking Damien here is one vicious screamer. WHAT DO YOU WANT

-YOUR SOULS

Good luck finding any in this house.

-Who’s my cute little spawn of satan? Who is? Come to grandma baby.

-ONE SMALL STEP FOR ME, ONE GIANT LEAP TOWARDS THE ANNIHILATION OF MANKIND

Wyatt continues to do nothing of use all day and is not even getting promoted anymore due to his tragic lack of skill points. Somehow that led me to deciding he should be the one to get the genie wishes, I honestly dk wtf my problem is.

-Greetings, mortal etc etc. I’m gonna skip over the intro, you know the deal with the dealio, 3 wishes, let’s hit it.

-I was expectànt more of an Aladdin flair but c’est bien I guess..

-DON’T DARE MENTION THAT MOVIE TO ME YOU FRENCH ASSHOLE

-Um, oui, your désir c’est my command..Huhu! 

-Is one of your wishes the return of your brain, because you should throw that in there.

-Non, non. C’est but one wish in mon coeur, Genié. To nevér, evér have to interact with my bébés but still have beaucoup of them.. In case you can’t tell, I am sim de famille!

-Ugh yea, that much is obvious.

-Well, your wish is granted, mortal! Let me just flick your nose as hard as I can and we’re done here..

-Pourquoi?

-Oh no reason, just for my own pleasure. Buh-bye!

-And with that, he turned into la fumée, mon cheri! Incrediblé!

-I hate my life.

That makes two of us. As in I hate your life too, my life is pretty good.

KOMEI DO YOU MIND WITH YOUR DANGEROUS CURVES, Jojo has a grueling skilling schedule to keep up with.

-So this is it. Rock bottom. 

I mean, you wanted to be heir boo, you got it. It’s a dirty job.

Finally one of the Mortal Kombat cats lives up to its name! GET FUCKED VICTOR

-K.O

Well, we all saw that coming. Victor seriously, you’re like 50yo, don’t do this.

-I’m outta here for the fourth time bitches, and this time I’m not coming back! No man is an island but this cat is.

Ok, see you soon.

Wyatt’s wish is definitely coming true, he has not touched Shajar a single time yet, autonomously or otherwise! What a guy.

-I HAVE NO USE FOR EARTHLY FATHERS, THE ONE I NEED AWAITS US ALL IN HELL

It’s gonna be a long fucking generation.

-WYATT. WYATT YOU DAMN MORON WAKE UP

-Ugh Jojό, I told you, my magique protects me from all bébé interactiόn.

-DOES IT PROTECT YOUR TORSO FROM MULTIPLE STAB WOUNDS

It’s a girl! I’m like why stray from a proven formula, so I name her Cyneswith after another Crusader Kings character, who did not exist irl like Shajar but was still a fire emoji empress of Britannia. Welcome to the shitshow Cyneswith! No offense, it was great to meet you, but we have some important shit to do so..have fun on the floor?

FUCKING FINALLY. It’s promotions only from now on boo! 

..Which is more than I can say for some people. Wyatt seriously, can you move your useless ass up the ladder already so we can avoid having this freak in our house EVERY SINGLE DAY.

-The boy’s just following his heart ;)

Half Alien Prof you are by far the biggest pervert I’ve ever had in this game and Jojo spent his entire teenagehood trying to start a bdsm relationship with Stephen Tinker.

Well, Victor predictably died off lot, which is so on brand for him I’m not even mad. An insufferable dick to the very end, he lived to eat and to start fights with every animal he ever came in contact with. He only ever really loved Victoria. I’m gonna miss him so much.

Victor may have died, but that’s not going to stop the police department from trying to return him to us. Just remember that that place is under Wyatt’s supervision and it all makes sense.

Can hardly wait, Professional Make-Up Cop.

-I want to play a game, Alegra.

Man is someone gunning to be put up for adoption!

-Papa’s birthday présent to you, Shajar, is us finally meeting! Breathe it in, mon favori, I’ll be seeing you again on your next anniversaire!

-Wyatt I swear to fucking god, I will stab you.

Can we get this going please, I’m in NO MOOD.

Not bad at all! A pretty even mix of Wyatt/Jojo and I see you def did not get the Komei jaw, which is pretty much angels singing.

-Angels singing makes my eyes roll in the back of my skull. 

You make my eyes roll in the back of my skull.

-What?

What. I didn’t say anything. Love you Shaj!

-One more for the road babe? After 50 years?

Yea. Just pretend everything that follows has a broken heart emoji before and after each word.

I dress Vic up and have her wait for Death in the living room like a lady, none of those ‘dying in the bathroom in my underwear’ deaths, befitting people like Wyatt. However ideal the circumstances as far as death goes, my heart still broke in more pieces than cats Komei has petted.

-VICTORIA UNION

-Marisa? Is that you?

-NO, IT’S-wow cool armchair, where did you get-no, sorry, you’re dying and all, let me start over..

-VICTORIA UNION, YOUR TIME HAS COME. I’M HERE TO COLLECT YOUR WRETCHED SOUL

-What? My soul is not wretched jerkoff, the fuck you talking about?

-THAT’S JUST A THING WE SAY BECAUSE IT SOUNDS COOL, PLEASE DON’T RUIN IT

-HERE’S YOUR COMPLIMENTARY VIRGIN MARGARITA

-Virgin??? Oh god, I’m going to hell aren’t I?

-YOU WERE, BUT YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER MADE SOME CALLS ON YOUR BEHALF. WELCOME TO HEAVEN

-Yes, I can taste the alcohol in this! GOING GONE, BITCHES. LATES

The stacks of simoleons DID NOT EASE MY PAIN. I do love that Daniel got the most final version of ‘and none for Gretchen Weiners, bye’ possible.

Jojo is fucking devastated and immediately rolls the want to resurrect Vic. It’s bummy af, I’m not even gonna go for the obvious oedipal jokes, he was just crying for days and days and days..

Komei, on the other hand, WAS NOT.

-Eh, I’ll be seeing her soon enough, why waste the tears.

Now that I think about it Komei has never cried about any of the cats either, I think he’s just the type of person who deals with grief by suppressing it. Whatever works.

Jojo and Wyatt are always having these fashion talks whenever they’re eating which are hilarious because I can see Wyatt being into it, I mean he’s french, but in what world is fucking nerd Jojo interested in clothing. Not even that can cheer him up now 💔

Fucking Florence, bringer of doom, returns Sophie to us and the moment she does:

Tell me how am supposed to live without you, now that I've been loving you so long, how am I supposed to live without you, how am I supposed to carry on, when all that I've been living for.. is gone 💔

FUCK YOU FLORENCE

Jfc the blows just won’t stop coming. LEAVE US ALONE WE’RE IN MOURNING

Time for Cyneswith’s depressing ass birthday which I can’t give less of a fuck about, and apparently neither can Wyatt but then again he wouldn’t even if we weren’t ~back to black.

Loving the hairstyle but it does look ridic on a toddler. Good for you for committing to your british aristocracy character tho, very Downton Abbey.

Well the Komei jaw always knocks twice and apparently we let it in this time. Are you beautiful on the inside Cyneswith?

OH. MY. FUCK. BYE. CYNESWITH YOU FUCKING FREAK

-Huhu! 

NO SHE GOT THE HUHU. GOD HELP US

Cyneswith dramatically enters the toddler stage by immediately going into aspiration failure.. You can all guess where this is going.

-KOMEI UNION YOUR TIME HAS COME. I’M HERE TO COLLECT YOUR-

-Yea yea whatever, are my cats waiting for me? If you say no I will literally kill myself.

-I DON’T THINK YOU’RE GRASPING THE CORE CONCEPT OF DEATH, BUT YES THEY ARE WAITING.

-I’M OUT. TELL THE WOLF I LOVED HIM

KOMEI 💔 I’m sorry but we will not be delivering that message.

Apparently Jojo and Komei legit bonded at some point?? I was expecting like a half-hearted sigh but instead we got sobbing-

-and this sum that does not imply ‘least favorite kid’ AT ALL.

Well you know how the old saying goes: nothing will ever replace your parents but a helicopter will come close. 

Also in mourning: this breakdancer npc that randomly appeared on our lot and stayed stuck there for 2 days before I finally batboxed her into oblivion. This lot is fuuuucked y’all.

And generation 1 is officially over. Rest in peace Komei and Victoria, legacy founders, horrible spouses and somehow even worse parents. You stuck it out and were fun to play till the very end. I’ll really miss you guys 💔

[anne-wentworth]

In Your Eyes- Chapter 9

Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Felicity wakes up in a strange place and realises she’s been taken.

A/N Warning: This chapter contains some violence.

Read on ao3

The first thing Felicity noticed upon waking up was that she couldn’t move.

Her chest instantly seized as something rough dug into her wrists.

She was tied to a chair.

Automatically, she tried to scream for help only to discover she was gagged.

Panic was quickly rising within her but she forced it down, taking in her surroundings as she tried to figure out where she was.

She could barely make out a thing in the low light but from the dilapidated walls and old equipment, she discerned that she was in an abandoned warehouse or something.

There were only a million of those in Starling City.

Briefly, Felicity wondered why her captors hadn’t blindfolded her too. From all the crime dramas she watched on tv and the novels she read she knew that they never let their victims see their faces unless they didn’t plan on letting them live.

Her lungs constricted as her brain whispered that she was going to die.

Everything’s going to be okay.

Desperately, she repeated the thought like a mantra as she struggled to quiet her racing heart.

It wasn’t working.

“Look who’s awake,” a gruff voice penetrated the silence.

Her heart thundered in her chest.

A man with grey eyes stepped into view.

He walked towards her, cupping her face in his hand. His fingertips against her skin sent waves of revulsion through her body.

She was going to throw up.

“Aren’t you a pretty thing,” he muttered, staring at her as if she was his next meal.

For all Felicity knew, she certainly might be.

“Leave her alone,” another voice filled the space as a man in a ratty t-shirt appeared. “Queen’s paying good money for her safe return.”

His companion sighed before dropping his hand and walking away.

Felicity tried to get oxygen into her system as she mulled over what she had heard.

Oliver.

They took her because she was his soulmate.

She wondered how much they were asking him for.

Felicity knew Oliver well enough to know that he would drain his entire bank account for her.

She also knew that he was probably blaming himself for this.

And even though she was tied up with no idea of where she was, unsure of her own fate, she couldn’t help but worry about him.

Tonight was supposed to be the night that she fixed things.

In fact, she was going to. After spending half the night trying to gather her courage while flitting from one meaningless person to the next, she had finally decided to talk to him.

But then she spotted him disappearing down the hall with a sexy long legged woman on his arm and her heart plummeted all the way to her stomach.

So she had stepped outside, trying to breathe and think and just be okay because she couldn’t do any of that with countless eyes on her.

Yet she hadn’t even made it two steps into the parking lot when suddenly someone was grabbing her and she couldn’t make a sound with the hand over her mouth and then the world went black.

She let her eyes fall shut for a moment as she tried her best to keep it together.

She would be okay.

Without a doubt, Felicity knew that Oliver was doing everything in his power to get her back. And she had complete faith in him.

Everything would be alright.

Felicity wasn’t sure how many hours she had spent in captivity. She only knew when the night had ended because of the sunlight that poured in through the little window in the corner of the room.

A dull ache had formed in her muscles and she was hungry and thirsty and really needed to pee.

One thing she was thankful for however was that the men had left her alone so far. She had tried to gather more pieces of information from their conversations but they were careful about what they said in her presence.

Her eyes were beginning to fall shut because despite her uncomfortable conditions, exhaustion was slowly overtaking her.

All of a sudden, the grey eyed man stepped into the room and every ounce of oxygen instantly left her body.

A smile appeared on his weathered face as he met her gaze and alarm bells began ringing out of control in her head.

Her heartbeat roared in her ears as he walked towards her.

“Oliver Queen really is a lucky man,” he said softly, drinking her in for the millionth time.

He reached out and Felicity automatically closed her eyes as fear quickly encompassed every crevice of her being.

In one swift motion, he rid her of the cloth tied around her mouth.

Her eyes flew open.

“That’s better,” he mumbled, before tracing her lips with his thumb.

A shudder ran through her as disgust pooled in the pit of her stomach.

He stared at her intently, almost as if lost in a trance.

Without warning, he leaned in, fiercely pressing his lips against hers.

A scream rose within Felicity but not a sound was heard as he harshly gripped her face in his rough hands.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t do anything.

Tears streamed down her cheeks while she struggled against the ropes that held her, knowing her efforts were futile.

She had never felt so helpless in her entire life.

Panic tightly wound itself around her chest as each of her senses was assaulted by the man who had her in his grasp.

One of his hands began sliding down her body and the terror running through her quickly intensified.

Every nightmare she ever had was coming true.

Devoid of any thought, something deep inside her acted on instinct and managed to capture his bottom lip between her teeth. And then she bit down. Hard.

A cry escaped from his throat as he pulled away, his fingers flying to his mouth.

“You fucking bitch!”

Meanwhile, Felicity struggled to catch her breath.

Her vision was blurred from the tears that refused to stop falling but she was still able to recognize the pure anger that had taken up residence in those steely eyes.

As he glared at her with hatred, Felicity’s fear increased tenfold.

Before she knew what was happening, the man’s fist was colliding with her face.

It took a second to register that he had hit her as she stared at a spot on the floor, too afraid to even move.

She felt blood dripping from her nose that was on fire and a tiny voice managed to break through her shell shocked haze to whisper that it was probably broken.

But that was the least of her worries right now.

She couldn’t help but brace herself for another blow, still unable to move a muscle.

“What the hell?”

The sudden exclamation of her other kidnapper as he entered the room made her jump out of her skin.

“Calm down. Queen will pay for her as long as she’s alive. You’ll get your money,” his partner said, a trace of annoyance in his tone.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass Vic. I specifically told you-”

“I didn’t realise I take orders from you now,” Vic interrupted, walking up to the other man and meeting his gaze.

The air was heavy with tension as they glared at each other and Felicity found herself waiting with bated breath to see what would occur next.

Much to her surprise, it was Vic who retreated, taking a step back before turning around and exiting the room.

Relief automatically filled her.

The other man took her in then, his eyes lingering on the damage done to her face. A sigh escaped him as he stared at her with an expression that almost resembled pity.

But if he really was sorry, she wouldn’t have been there in the first place.

He situated himself in the corner of the room, typing away on his burner phone. Time slipped through her fingers as she lost herself in her mind, her thoughts spiraling this way and that. She only half paid attention as the man left the room and reentered a few times.

She didn’t have the energy to try and figure anything out anymore.

So she simply waited for the worst, not daring to hope for anything else.

However it didn’t escape her notice when all of a sudden her captor grabbed his laptop and began frantically typing. She watched as his eyes were glued to the screen and her heart rate immediately picked up.

Something was happening.

In an instant, he shut the device before putting it away in a bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Vic!” he called, standing and making his way to the middle of the room.

Unease filled her again as the man in question walked in.

“Queen transferred the money into the account,” his partner informed him. “Time to drop her off and get the hell out of this goddamn city.”

The hope that Felicity hadn’t wanted to feel blossomed deep within her.

She was going home.

“Sorry Daniel,” Vic said, causing a block of ice to form in her stomach. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

Daniel blinked in confusion before Vic pulled out his gun and pointed it right in the middle of his forehead. The earth stopped spinning as he pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed throughout the entire building, mixing with the horrified scream that was torn from Felicity’s throat.

Daniel’s mouth was open, a look of surprise written on his features as he crumpled to the floor like a mere rag doll. A pool of blood promptly began forming around him.

Not wasting a second, Vic bent down to retrieve the laptop bag before heading in her direction.

Felicity’s attention was split between the body that she couldn’t stop staring at and the man who was probably going to butcher her.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered in her ear before getting to work on the knots around her wrists and ankles.

Three words that were a death sentence.

They replayed in her brain over and over, background music to the scene starring the corpse that was now permanently engraved in her memory.

Felicity had never even seen a dead body before.

She had never so much as been to a funeral.

Her mother’s parents had died before she was born and she had never known any of her father’s family.

Yet somehow fate had been written so that she of all people, the most mundane woman, would witness a murder first hand.

She almost laughed.

She was losing her mind.

All of a sudden Vic grasped her arm and hauled her to her feet. She stumbled, her legs stiff from being in one position for so long. However he didn’t seem to care as he roughly pulled her along.

Abruptly, he pushed her against the wall, one hand wrapped around her throat while the other pointed his gun to her stomach.

Felicity’s breathing immediately became erratic as she stared at the weapon that dug into her skin.

She was going to die.

“I’m letting you know that if you pull any shit like earlier I will kill you,” he snarled, “Understand?”

Felicity hadn’t remembered how to speak yet so she simply stared at him, every call in her body protesting against his touch.

“I said do you understand?” he repeated, fingers tightening around her throat.

At some point tears had started falling again and in the midst of her blurry vision, she managed to nod.

“Good,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

His breath mingled with her own as his lips were mere inches from hers and Felicity knew she would rather die than have him kiss her again.

But there wasn’t a thing she could do, pinned against the damn wall, always unable to move so she braced herself for the inevitable.

She waited for another piece of her soul to be chipped away.

All of a sudden, a loud crash echoed throughout the building.

“SCPD!” immediately followed the noise. “Put your hands where I can see them and step away from the woman.”

They found her.

She was about to thank every single higher power that existed when she noticed the glint in Vic’s eyes.

No.

The gunshot rang in her ears, the sound tangling with her screams for the second time that day as pain quickly ran through her.

Felicity was vaguely aware of a second shot and Vic falling to the floor but her eyes were glued to the blood that was rapidly spreading over her stomach.

Her legs gave out as she sank to the floor, her body on fire.

“Hey everything’s going to be alright,” said a cop who materialized next to her. “Ambulance is on its way. I just need you to stay with me okay. You’re going to be fine.”

Felicity wanted to tell her that she was wrong but she couldn’t get the words out.

She couldn’t even breathe.

She was going to die here.

“Oliver,” she mumbled weakly, using up every bit of her energy just to get those three syllables out.

She never told him she loved him. Now he would never know.

It was too late.

“You’ll see your soulmate soon I promise,” the cop said reassuringly.

That was a promise she wasn’t going to be able to keep

Felicity managed to grab a hold of the woman’s arm, her touch filled with urgency.

“You need to tell him...”

Breathing was becoming more difficult by the second. She could already feel herself beginning to slip away.

Not yet.

“Save your strength,” said the officer.

Felicity all but ignored her.

“I love him,” she breathed out, frantically squeezing her arm. “You need to tell him. That I love him.”

“You will tell him yourself,” was the woman’s stern reply.

There was nothing more in the world that Felicity wanted than to have the chance to do that.

She wanted to spend her whole life with Oliver Queen.

Unfortunately it was too goddamn late.

They both fucked up and now here they were, ending before they had even truly begun.

She knew it was her fault for running when she had gotten scared.

But hell he pushed her away too.

I’m sorry.

The thought repeated itself in her head and she wished she could have told him that too.

She wished they had more time.

Maybe they were just doomed from the start.

Maybe they never stood a chance in the first place.

Spots danced at the edge of her vision as the seconds slipped through her fingers.

This was the ending of everything.

Her eyes fell shut as she felt her body giving out.

She couldn’t do it anymore.

So when death swooped in holding out his bony arm, Felicity accepted it, letting the darkness consume her.

[demonslayer-yanderes]

Junkrat, Roadhog, and the Unluckiest Documentarian (Fem!Reader)

(Two brief warnings: -My first attempt at anything like this. -I basically closed my eyes and threw a dart at a list of Australian “slang” for Junkrat because I think that’s how he would have wanted it.)

He was dead and it was your fault. Sneaking past the border, hiring those two as your tour guides, even the documentary itself—all your idea. Your legs gave out and you hit the floor with a thud. You didn’t feel the blood seeping into your clothes; didn’t hear the uneven footsteps tapping across the gnarled wood floor behind you. But the voice was impossible to ignore.

“Oi, found ‘er! We’re in the shack. Looks like someone was havin’ a poke around.”

He sing-songed the last part to you as he crept closer and rested a heavy metal hand on your shoulder. You tried to whip around to look at him but it felt sluggish, as if you were in a dream. God, you wished this was a dream. He glanced past you at the body before giving you a sheepish grin.

“I know what it looks like, but no worries! It was a mercy killing. Dipstick got himself caught inna trap hiking back to town last night. Sliced an artery. So I had Roadie end it nice and painless for him rather than bleed out slow. Was tryin’ to think of a good way to tell ya so you wouldn’t get upset.” He giggled. “Guess it didn’t work out.”

You turned back to stare at your cameraman’s body. Someone had bashed his head in until it was unrecognizable. Only the logo on his shirt identified him, or at least the parts that were still legible under the chunks of brain matter clinging to it. His arms and legs jutted awkwardly from their sockets and twisted in ways they were never meant to. Even some of his fingers had been bent until they lay flat against the back of his hand. Where was the mercy in that?

“Find them?” The floor protested under his weight as Roadhog called from the doorway.

“Yup! Give us a hand an’ help get her back to the trailer. S'like she never saw a dead body before.” He jerked a thumb at it. “Speaking of, should prob'ly drag that off somewheres before sundown. Unless ya want dingos and the like showin’ up at the front door. Again.”

“I told you—” He took a labored breath. “—to do it earlier.”

“I forgot! She asked me what I was doin’ and I got a little carried away showing off me inventions. You know how excited I get. Sides, you shoulda done it. You’re the muscle. Hard labour is your job, I do all the thinkin’ and lookin’ pretty.”

They bickered lovingly as if nothing was wrong. As if the corpse in front of you was just another pile of trash and not someone you’d talked to less than twelve hours ago. The wind rushed out of you and you slumped down further, not even fighting the massive hands that wrapped around your torso and lifted you in the air. Roadhog turned you away from the body and toward the door, but you could still picture it; every detail burned into your retinas until you could see it with your eyes closed.

“Well, so what if he carked it?” Junkrat scuttled backwards out the door so he could face the two of you as he chattered. “Good riddance, the Vic bastard. I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but his camera work was rubbish anyways. Made Roadie look fat.”

“I am fat.”

Junkrat looked appalled. “Pleasantly plump’s what you are. Jus’ more to love. And whatshisname was a real dickhead, wasn’t he? Heard him call me a bogan once when he thought I wasn’t listening. Bogan! I mean I’ve been called an ocker and a hoon and a bastard and a drongo and a wanker and a yobbo and a monster and a worthless son, but a bogan? Well, that’s where I draw the line! Shoulda wrung his scrawny neck then.” He strangled the air in front of him only to drop his hands and look chastised at a grunt from Roadhog. He gave one of your dangling legs a sympathetic pat. “May he rest in peace, the unlucky bugger. But you, you ain’t had nothing but kind words for us! Well, 'cept when I put that Huntsman in your tent. But seeing you crying over a spider what couldn’t have been more than four kilos was too much! Roadie spent the whole night talking 'bout how cute it was.”

Roadhog stiffened. “Shut up.”

He shut up. For a few seconds.

“Ahh, this is great ain’t it? Ya know, I knew I was gonna like ya from the beginning. You kept calling me 'Mr. Junkrat’ and shaking my hand and all that when we first met. Hell, Roadie don’t even call me 'Mister’ and I’m his boss! And I can’t tell you the last time someone actually listened to me talk all the way through. They usually tune out somewhere in the middle, but you kept askin’ questions and nodding your head during those interview thingos. A real catch, shoulda done this weeks ago.”

“Jamison.”

“Er, 'this’ being spendin’ more time together. Not anything to do with that poor bastard in the shed. Still, ya may have lost a mate, but you got us now! Traded in a bloke who was up himself for two handsome, down-to-earth fellas like ourselves.”

When you reached the trailer he dashed to get inside before Roadhog squeezed through the doorway with a grunt. While Junkrat paced in excitement, straightening and unstraightening the scrap and junk clustered on every surface, you were set carefully on a scorched sofa. You stared listless at your feet as they moved around and mumbled amongst themselves. Everything felt numb, you didn’t even flinch when Junkrat suddenly popped into view.

“Here’s a doona for ya. When you go into shock you start feeling all chilly. Lost enough bits to know that firsthand.”

He clambered onto the couch with a threadbare blanket unearthed from one of the junk piles. His hands fidgeted as he tucked it around you, poking and prodding until you were wrapped so tight you couldn’t move your arms. Only when he was satisfied did he flop onto the cushion beside you with a grin.

“There we are. Oi Roadie, help me warm her up wouldya?”

His weight sent the other side of the couch surging into the air when he sat. Gravity forced the three of you closer until you were sandwiched between them, and the smell of sweat and soot and blood that clung to them was so strong you wanted to retch. You started crying instead, the tears that had threatened to spill in the shack speeding freely down your face. Junkrat panicked.

“Hey, hey, none of that! C'mon, you’re gonna make Roadie cry. He’s sensitive like that. An’ if the both of you are cryin’ I’m prob'ly gonna start too. Nobody wants that.” He jiggled his leg as he pleaded. When you just sobbed harder the smile dropped and he yanked on the tufts of hair he had left. “Shit, we’re supposed to be havin’ fun now that the dipstick’s outta the picture! Can’t have fun when you’re all sooky. Roadie, do something.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno! I’m no good in these situations. You’re the thoughtful one, you fix it.”

“…There, there.”

His massive hand enveloped your head as he pet you. Junkrat joined in after a few seconds of hesitation, clumsily running his hand across your back in jerky strokes. Each sob clawed its way up from deep inside you and forced out a fresh wave of hot, stinging tears that made your breath catch.

“Erm, there, there. No worries. You’ll see, now that he’s not in the way we’ll have heaps of fun. You can move into the trailer! S'nice and warm at night if we all huddle together. Roadie’s a hell of a space heater. Great pillow too. An’ he says I’m like a white noise machine, whatever that is.” He slung an arm across your shoulders and squeezed. “We’ll become best mates before ya know it! From there, we’ll see how we end up. What happens in me trailer stays in the trailer.”

“Jamison.”

“When you’re ready! If the mood’s right.” His crooked grin stretched a little too wide. “Ya know, like after a big heist when everyone’s keyed up. Or as a distraction to get your mind off something like your mate dyin’ a horrible, painful death. Which is deffo not what happened to whatshisface, jus’ putting that out there. But if you’re needing a distraction right now a good root is great—”

Roadhog let out a sigh and covered Junkrat’s mouth. They were meant to soothe you, but the muffled words coming from his mask made your stomach drop.

“Take your time. We aren’t going anywhere. After all, we’re all you have now.”