#Fingerprint Database

[biometricsidentityonellc]

Biometric identification in Baltimore, Maryland, plays a crucial role in enhancing security and ensuring accurate identity verification. Fingerprinting is one of the most reliable forms of biometric identification used by law enforcement agencies. This method captures unique patterns in an individual’s fingerprints, creating a digital record that can be compared against existing databases. The accuracy and efficiency of biometric systems have made them a preferred choice for police clearance processes.

[fisheito]

let him speak

[ad-astra-per-aspera-1389]

lab rats au where they have all the same bionics, except instead of going on missions they get normal ass jobs. chase becomes the best detective/forensic scientist in the country with a hobby in environmental activism. adam is a mover. bree either works on a pit crew, the delivery business, or she's some sort of designer whose specialty is showing you eight hundred possibilities until something sticks, but really fast. leo still follows in donald's footsteps in the tech world

[spiritsglade]

trying to reconcile the timelines between utrh, lost days, and annual 25 is apparently an exercise in utter futility.

(all of these ages listed going forward are what he would be if he was alive the whole time/how much time has elapsed since his birth.)

jason died on april 27 with a birthday in august so he would have been ~15 & 8 months at the time. i don't have a source for this but apparently he was 18/19 during the events of utrh.

(apparently bruce celebrates his 18th birthday in detective comics #790, after hush, which places him at 17 during hush and fucks everything up but i'm just gonna. not think about that.)

according to the annual he would have already been 19 by the time he was pushed in the pit the first time (6 months dead, 1 year in a convalescent home, 1 year on the street, 1 year catatonic under talia's care). that leaves literally zero time for lost days to happen. if you presume the 'one year later' timeskips are rounding up there still isn't a lot of wiggle room.

lost days operates on a much looser and unspecified timeline of "months later... and later... and later still" before talia first hears abut catatonic jason. however, we are still told that "years" have passed between talia finding out that jason died and talia pushing him in the pit.

assuming multiple years just means two, at minimum jason's already 17-almost-18. which leaves him around 2 years to put a bomb under the batmobile, train, murder his teachers, etc. before his debut in hush if we're assuming he's 19 during all that. and even then he'd already be pushing 20.

the movie's much nicer about this because he gets revived literally right after dying and then has 5 whole years to scrounge together his grand plan. it doesn't seem like he has talia's support there but it makes sense that with robin training he could have figured out training and resources on his own. maybe.

in conclusion. timelines are fucked and who knows what's going on.

+ this is a tangential thought but it's a little crazy to me that the police figured out he was buried alive and didn't think to check the graveyard 12 miles away. like ok 10 mile radius but when there's an actual cemetery a couple miles outside that maybe??? you check it out??

[byberbunk2069]

“Hey... I wanna introduce you to a personal friend of mine. This is Skippy, an HJKE-11 smart gun with built in AI. Experimental model.” “Okay. Show me everything.”

For health & safety reasons Skippy has no access to ammunition (and besides you don’t really need ammo for smart link calibration).

[techdirectarchive]

Sign-in options for Windows: Ditch Password for Enhanced Security

Since I will be publishing a guide on how to setup the revamped Windows Hello available for the Windows 11 Insider Preview Build 27754 (Canary Channel). I will focus on Windows Hello sign-in options which is a more personal and secure way to sign in to your Windows device. Instead of using a password, with Windows Hello you can sign in using facial recognition, fingerprint, or security key or a…

[svsembedded]

IoT Based Digital Attendance System Using Fingerprint, RFID, GSM

[t-a-a-1]

Counting Stars

Ch. 5: Skylight

TFP Optimus x Female Reader

Summary: After a dangerous mission where you almost die, Optimus breaks up with you without knowing you are carrying his sparkling. It's not until seven months later that the universe allows you both to meet once again.

A/N: Lots of yearning, jealousy, delusions, craving, fluff. All that good stuff.

5K

Ch.5 Skylight

....

He hasn’t felt a single thing since you disappeared. 

He didn’t even know if he was allowed to feel something. He had a team that depended on his good judgement and sanity to keep things in order. 

But right now, could he be allowed one moment of weakness?

Maybe this is something he should discuss with you. He wants to hear your opinion on this and he wants to see his sparkling, see how they are doing. 

But where are you?

Where is his sparkling?

He wants to see you both. He needs to. If he doesn’t then this aching in his spark won’t ever stop. 

He wants to hold you, to know that you are safe. That his sparkling is still strong and growing inside of you. That it will soon come to this world and greet him. 

Where are you? Where is the sparkling?

Where?

Where? 

Where? 

Where? 

Where?

Where?

WARNING: PROCESSOR UNABLE TO UNDERSTAND LOSS. UNABLE TO KEEP ONLINE. LOCATE SPARKMATE IMMEDIATELY. SURVIVAL CODES ACTIVATED. 

From a distance, he can see you. Carrying his sparkling in your arms and singing lullabies to him. A field of sunflowers surrenders you. You and his sparkling bask in the light coming from the sky. That’s exactly what the two of you were to him. The light that brightens his darkest hour. 

“Optimus.”

Ratchet looks at the berth where the Prime rested. Unconscious and immobilized. His body had given up and after the groundbridge explosion and unable to locate you, he had gone into shock.

“How is he doing?”

“Stable but in a deep sleep.”

Arcee approached the doctor. Concern in her faceplate to watch the leader in such a state. Everyone had been able to get out of the bridge safely, the ground bridge explosion had sent them to their wished destination. But you were the only one affected. Ratchet had mentioned that due to you being an organic and the sparkling having Cybertronian features, the groundbridge wasn’t able to locate you properly, sending you somewhere else. Or maybe …

No, she couldn’t think like that.

If you are gone, everything is gone. Inside you was Cybertron’s first sparkling in eons, you had become a symbol of hope for everyone. Even the Decepticons, in their own twisted ways. For Optimus? He simply couldn’t live without you. 

“What are we going to do?”

Arcee asks the medic to which he only turns to look at her.

“What do you want to do?”

Ratchet’s doesn’t sound hopeless but assertive. He is waiting patiently and that’s when Arcee understood what he was trying to imply.

“I can’t–”

“Bumblebee is too young, Bulkhead can’t think quickly and I am certainly no leader,” Ratchet says as he looks at the Prime on his medic belt. His vital signs are steady but the signals in his processor were showing distress as if he was having a nightmare. “You need to step up … for all of us. Especially if there’s a chance they are still alive.”

“Is there?”

“... Cybertronians emit unique frequencies. They are our version of human fingerprints,” Ratchet started working on his computer, pulling files after files. Data that Arcee didn’t even bother to try and understand. “I was able to make a registry of Optimus and (Reader)’s sparkling and tried locating them using Earth’s satellite and found nothing.”

“Does that mean … they–”

“No,” Ratchet says and Arcee’s faceplate immediately relaxes. 

“I input the frequency into our database system and made a universal search. I couldn’t find anything. A sparkling’s spark wouldn’t disappear into nothingness, it's pure energy. It cannot be destroyed. It would return to the Well of All Sparks and even so, I would have been able to track it.”

“Meaning?” Arcee wished that Ratchet didn’t gave out so many explanations but even she knew she had to listen to all of it before deciding what the next step would be. 

“Meaning that (Reader) and the sparkling are alive but are not in this universe. The groundbridge explosion must have sent them into another dimension.” 

Then, Arcee’s processor started to make connections. 

“Then, if we input the sparkling’s frequencies into the ground bridge …could it take us to where they are?”

“Possibly but we are going to need a vast source of energy to repair the groundbridge and the quantum physics to travel across dimensions will take some time to decipher.”

“Leave the energy gathering to us,” Arcee quickly says. The idea of dimensional travel doesn’t sound so crazy after what happened with Dreadwing. “Start the preparations. Do you need anything else?”

“Bring Rafael on the way, I’ll need an extra pair of .. hands.”

“You go it,” before she left, Arcee takes another look at their Leader. Who, against all odds, always keeps pushing forward. Because he was hope reincarnated and all she could do was to follow those steps.  “Let us know if there are any improvements on Optimus' status.”

“I will,” Ratchet looks at Optimus, his old friend, so vulnerable and yet, he doesn’t give up.  “But don’t expect much.”

.

.

.

“This is a daisy … and this is a sunflower … this a rose.”

You didn’t expect to be spending so much time with Jetfire. 

“And this one?”

“Oh, that’s a mushroom, that's a totally different species.”

Yet, here you are. 

You would have never figured out that Nemesis Prime had a private garden of his own. Around the size of a football field and with an open ceiling, it was your favorite place to be. You could forget for a moment your situation. 

It's not like Prime had you captive, he allowed you to go anywhere … as long as Jetfire went with you. He had become sort of a bodyguard to you.

“I can’t believe it,” Jetfire was in disbelief, his optics widened as a sudden realization hit him. “You, the plants, the animals … your kind cannot live without one or the other … your entire ecosystem … all of it is just one big creature. Everything is connected.”

“Doesn’t Cybertron have an ecosystem?” you ask as you sat in the grass, you gathered a couple of flowers to make flower crowns. 

“Cybertronians are … and invasive species. We can live at any place as long as there is energon we can mine,” Jetfire looks at you with curiosity. Wondering why you would take the life of such beautiful flowers. “Unlike your species who can only live on Earth, we don’t depend on one and other to survive.”

“Is that why … Maybe Cybertronians have such a hard time creating meaningful connections?” you ask, thinking about how even their way of speaking is formal to one and the other. “Never asking for help, living for millions of years, not having the necessity to reproduce either to continue the species … kinda solitary, right?”

“Correct,” Jetfire’s voice is sad as much as it is gentle. “And  between Cybertronians, the creation of another Cybertronian is not an easy task either.”

“And yet, it was so easy for you,” he looks at you with so much wonder and excitement. You never thought how easy it was for humans to reproduce and create new life. To Cybertronians the creation of life was a complete miracle. To you? An everyday thing.  “How does it feel?”

“Well … It's actually kicking right now … do you want to feel them?”

Jetfire reaches a servo towards you. You can see that he is scared by the way he is slow and his servo trembles. Wanting to make him feel comfortable, you put a hand on his servo and guide him towards your belly. 

He puts the servo on your belly and waits. When suddenly he feels something move underneath him. 

He quickly moves his servo and moves a few inches away from you. 

“Sorry, did it scare you?”

“A little … I understand now why Nemesis wants you guarded all the time. You are too valuable. If the wrong individuals were to find out, they will try to capture and keep you and the sparkling for their own benefit.”

This sparks your curiosity and from making your flower-crown, you look at Jetfire. 

“Wait, wrong individuals? I thought the war was over.”

“My apologies, I have spoken too much.”

“No, you—”

Out of nowhere, Jetfire receives a call from his comm-link and quickly answers. You wished you could hear what he has been told but by the look on Jetfire's face, it must be a call from Nemesis Prime. 

“Understood,”Jetfire finishes the call and looks back at you. “Prime wishes to see you. He has requested that you shower and use luxurious fabrics to decorate your body.”

“He wants me to get dressed? Do you know why?”

“Not certain,” he says. “But do not worry, I don’t think Nemesis would want to procreate with you while you are still with sparkling. Although I am sure he is making his preparations for after you give ... birth.”

“He wants another sparkling?” You didn’t want to show your real emotions. You tried to act as calmly as possible but the thought that you might have to bed Nemesis scared you. He was Optimus but it wasn’t your Optimus. 

“Well yes, everyone wants you to have as many sparklings as possible,” From curious, Jetfire’s voice now sounded optimistic.  “We haven’t seen a sparkling in millenia, so everyone is excited. It has lifted our morale.”

“Oh so that’s what you want me to do? Breed me like a cow until I am no longer of use?”

“What is a cow?”

You sigh heavily.

…

It’s been a long while since you took the time to dress up. It was hard and you had many questions. Where did Nemesis get all of this fabrics from? And did he expect you to just wrap them around your body? From what you knew, fabrics in Cybertron were rare. Only those in the high class could afford buying fabrics and only wore them around certain parts of their bodies. 

So you tried your best to wear the fabric around your body, the white silk wrapped across your curves and you feel like a Roman. But thankful for wearing something clean. You feel your sparkling move inside you, probably sharing your happiness. 

“Excited to eat Energon, little one?” you ask your sparkling as you rub your belly. “I just hope I get to eat some human food. I don’t think I can live off Energon.”

Now you sit at a large table. 

Waiting for Nemesis to show up. Trembling hands and feeling cold. You didn’t know what to expect. 

You couldn’t believe that there exists a version of Optimus that lost the Matrix of Leadership by merit. That he didn’t care about this planet and its inhabitants. To the point that it can no longer host humans?

What kind of evil monster … is Nemesis Prime?

And what kind of thing was able to break the unbreakable Optimus Prime?

The doors of the main room open only to reveal the one you were thinking of. 

Standing tall and carrying a silver tray. He walks towards you. You didn’t break eye contact, feeling that he will attack you the moment you take your eyes away from him. Noticing your discomfort, Nemesis began to walk slower. 

He makes sure to be close enough to you and delicately puts the silver tray in front of you. 

Nemesis didn’t mass-shift, still standing at, around 32 feet tall. Yet his movements were all measured. As to not scare or harm you. He takes a few steps back, giving you space to finally guarantee you some sense of safety so you could take a look at the tray before you.

It was kinda like a charcuterie board. With many fruits and vegetables. Edible plants and breads. A tray that was too big for you and definitely something that you will never be able to finish eating even if you had three extra lives. 

Your mouth waters and a part of you wanted to jump and start eating to your heart’s content. 

“I made it myself.”

He finally spoke to you.

And the shock was so great that you stopped your actions and immediately looked back at him. 

“My apologies, I shouldn’t have spoken.”

Nemesis looks down, his optics showed something but what you only thought would be embarrassment. 

“I am thankful that you have finally decided to speak to me,” you say, trying to be gentle with your words. Although it wasn’t your Optimus, you had missed his voice. “Could you please … get closer to me?”

You couldn’t be scared forever and you knew that if you wanted to make any progress, you needed him to get on his good side. That was the only way you could get back to your dimension. 

Nemesis does as he is told and slowly gets closer to you. You can tell that he is nervous by the way his optics try to look at you but suddenly looks away. 

But this time he is more courageous and dares to look at you longer. He analyzes your body and in his collected data, he identifies a peculiar sound. Two heart beats. One belonging to you and the other sounding similar to a spark. 

It was constant, gentle, kind. His sparkling was alive. You were alive. 

Nemesis lets out a heavy ex-vent, his voice glitched as he released his breath of pure relief. 

“I had prayed and dreamt of this moment. Are you certain that this is not an illusion? A dream perhaps?”

“I am very much real.”

“You have to be,” he says. “Otherwise I’ll kill whoever dares to wake me up.”

“You are very different from my Optimus,” you thought how the word ‘kill’ would never come out of intake. “He wouldn't dare to say something like that.”

“You don’t belong to him anymore. The past shall not repeat itself by endorsing foolish ideologies of the past.”

“I never thought your ideologies were foolish,” you say, not breaking eye contact. “I loved that about you.”

“Loved?” His voice glitched and for a moment you saw him again. Deep down on his yellow optics, he was there. 

“My Optimus and I are not on the best of terms. He had broken up with me and then a lot of things happened. MECH was looking for me so I decided to stay with the rest of the Autobots until the baby is born. I’ll be relocated to a new place when the sparkling is here.”

“It … hasn’t happened yet.” 

“I am sorry?”

“My apologies, I am just talking to myself,” Nemesis breaks eye contact and then points at your silver platter.  “Please enjoy your meal. I wish for our sparkling to grow strong.”

Feeling like the atmosphere was calmer, you decided to switch the topic to a more intimate one. 

“Jetfire mentioned that you would like to have more sparklings,” you didn’t know how long you’ll be here so you had to ensure your safety. But you had to be smart about it. 

“Yes, when the time is right.”

“I don’t want to,” you simply say.  “I don’t want to be here just for that.”

“I shall never do something you do not wish,” there was desperation in his voice. Something that looks odd coming from such an intimidated mech.  “If you so wish, I’ll even swear to never speak another word to you. Your wishes are my sole reason for existence.” 

“Just please, allow me to be the one to full-fill every single of your needs and wants. That shall be enough for me. Allow me to be yours and please be mine.”

You have to be a fool to fall for words like that. 

And oh,how stupid you are.

You take a moment to look at him. His blue and red paint had rusted away. Only leaving black and grey colors. He had stopped caring for his appearance and you can tell by the amount of dent and scratches on his body. His broken windows and his battlemask that he wasn’t taken off. 

You wonder if it's uncomfortable for him and you also want to see him. All of him.

“Can I see your faceplate?”

And then … An explosion.

Debris everywhere. Nemesis used his entire body to protect you from the falling ceiling and yet you were still dizzy. Disoriented. The magnitude of the bomb was that enough to hurt any Cybertronian. 

Nemesis falls to the ground, his injuries were too big for him to withstand. 

You couldn’t do anything when a figure came down and grabbed you by the waist. Taking you away as Nemesis stretched out an arm towards you, his pleading optics begged for you to be returned to him. Only for his injuries to get the best of him and make him succumb to his pain. 

You closed your eyes, your body unable to stay awake.

.

.

.

You wake up only to find humans looking down on you.

For  a moment you were thankful. Seeing humans meant that you were back home, right? Maybe everything was just a bad dream.

“Sebastian, run analysis.”

A human male quickly gets close to you. His human eyes suddenly turned blue. Similar to that of a Cybertronian. This took you off guard, and immediately you backed away. 

Seeing your reaction, a female human grabs him by the arm and pulls him back. She looks at you tenderly. 

“It’s alright, you are safe now,” she says. “Sebastian just wants to make sure you or your sparklings don’t have any injuries.” 

Her gentle voice calms you down, but unconsciously places a hand on your belly.  Sebastian, learning from his previous mistake, kept a more comfortable distance. His blue eyes let out a scan light, your body basked on it. It did you no harm. 

“The sparkling is healthy but she is malnourished. Pure organics can’t live off Energon. I recommend giving her a proper meal.”

“Maya, could you prepare her something?” 

Another male asks. He stands in front of you and everyone looks around him. 

“Copy that, boss,” Maya stands up before giving you a smile. 

The male, who seemed to be the leader of the group, stands up as well. 

“Alright, let’s get back to work,” he says. “I’ll take it from here.”

.

.

.

The base was hidden in a cave, on top of a mountain where a waterfall covered the entrance. 

There was as much metal as there was organic materials. With walls made with nails and steel, and flowers where bees were free to feed from. 

But what surprised you the most, was them. 

These humans were not completely human. 

“You weren’t the only one who had a relationship with a Cybertronian.”

You had yet to ask his name but from what you could tell, everyone respected him. He is the captain of whatever movement this was. 

“After Nemesis Prime called the rest of Cybertronians to come to Earth to conquer it, many formed sentimental relationships with other humans.”

The two of you passed by a station, Sebastian was ‘repairing’ the hand of another human. His entire hand, made of circuits, bols and metal but the rest of his body was made out of bone and flesh. 

“That’s Sebastian, designation, Bluewind,” the boss waves to the two and they return the gesture. “He is our medic, his mother was one of the few Cybetronian nurses. His father was a pilot.” 

“The other guy sitting down is Malik, designation, MoonBlazer,” 

You noticed how Malik turned his hand into a modern, alien-like gun. 

“Our weapon expert. His mother was a farmer and his father a Cybertronian smith.” 

You had many questions. But you waited for the leader to finish talking, to first explain his position.

He shows you another section. A woman with scientific  tools and strange liquids in her section. Her table was filled with books and notebooks, written in a language you couldn’t read. Plants all around her and even some insects. 

“This is Shadi, designation RoseStorm, our scientist,” the leader points at a green liquid on her desk. “She’s trying to create some type of synthetic-energon. We don’t really need it since we can also eat organic food but it will create a great negotiation with the other side if she does pull it off.”

“Why are you showing me all of this?” You finally dare to ask, no longer having the patient even though you enjoyed the introductions. 

“Because we are The Resistance and you are a very valuable asset to our cause,” he says.  “We have a few Cybertronians on our side, one of them being JetFire.”

Jetfire’s name made you remember the time spent with him. He had always been kind to you and there was always a curious aura around him. He treated you delicately and the way he discussed nature made you wonder what kind of bot was Jetfire before the war. You can see him as a scientist, always curious, always wanting to learn more.

“He had been loyal to Nemesis all this time until he met you,” the leader's voice is strong and somehow still gentle. Although it didn’t sound mature, you didn’t expect it to be, after all, he looked to be young.  “He contacted us and told us about your situation. Groundbringe explosion, interdimensional time-travel, you carrying the sparkling of Nemesis Prime–”

“Optimus Prime is the father of my child,” you immediately cut him off.  “Not Nemesis.”

“Well, Nemesis is what he is now, and he destroyed this world, to the point that it's no longer habitable for humans.”

There was a sharp pain in your heart. He reminded you of the harsh truth and yet you didn’t want to accept it. You couldn’t believe nor wanted to. Your Optimus, had become that which he hated. And yet, on Nemesis yellow optics, you can see a faint light of who he used to be.

“But you guys are here.”

“We are not completely human,” the leader looks around and so you do. Noticing how everyone used their transforming abilities to accomplish their jobs. “We are hybrids. We age slowly like Cybertronians do. Some can transform certain parts of their bodies. Some more than others. And others like me …”

He makes a pause and puts a hand on his chest.

“We can’t transform at all,” he says.  “Nemesis Prime took my transformation cog the day I was born.”

You will never fully know that feeling. There was a time when Bumblebee was unable to transform for a couple of days. He described it as feeling empty. Like a void. Like you know you are born to do something. One simple thing. But you can’t. Its like having a constant craving to draw but you are unable to pick up a pencil. 

“We’ve been attacking from the shadows, gathering our strength but eventually, we’ll show ourselves to the rest of the world.”

And now, Jetfire’s words made sense. The war wasn’t over but it had just started it. 

“Now that you are here, it is our time to rise up.” 

Unconsciously, his words ran a shiver down your spine. Strong enough that you were sure your sparkling felt it. 

“What are you planning?”

“Nemesis’ dismantlement and governmental surrounder. Right now, I am sure he has his entire Army looking for you. This is the perfect moment to strike. If we take Icon City, we can sneak into the Hall of Records.”

“And that’s important because…?”

“Because there we can find the location of the AllSpark,” he simply says as he walks towards another station. You follow closely, wanting to hear more about his plan.  “And if we find where Nemesis is hiding it, we’ll have all of New Cybertron at our disposal.” 

“And after that, we’ll help you get back to your dimension,” he reaches a desk where he picks up a cowboy hat. Now that you take a closer look at him, he doesn’t have a fashion sense at all. None of them do. It’s not like you could blame them, they don’t have any idea of how humans used to dress. 

 “You don’t hold any responsibility for Nemesis actions nor does your sparkling.”

You stay quiet and look around you one more time. Everything looks so alien to you. It feels off, you know you don’t belong here but you are afraid of how long you have to stay. Your mind drifts to your friends. Are they worried? Is Optimus going crazy? How will you even get back?

“My father used to tell me stories of how great Optimus Prime used to be,” his voice breaks your thoughts, it was comforting.  “So I am glad that in another dimension, he has his happy ending with you.”

You are curious about him. Wondering about the story of the cogless boy that became leader of the resistance. 

“Who was your father, if I can ask?”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself, I am the son of Megatron, Leader of the Resistance,” he says as he puts on the cowboy hat. 

“My human name is Sam, designation, Skylight.”

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Answering Questions you all may have: 

Why do the Cybertronians stay on Earth if they have the AllSpark?

Earth has the biggest source of Energon in the galaxy, however, Nemesis knows it won’t last forever, they have to expand eventually. The AllSpark, is what creates new Cybertronian Life. But in this fanfic canon, the AllSpark can also take lives. Nemesis plans to build a weapon of destruction by using the AllSpark in which he would be able to destroy organic lives in an instant without suffering.  But this idea is still in the works. 

Cybertron can never be habitable again due that the Matrix of Leadership is gone and is needed for the production of Energon. 

How come Megatron is Sam’s father if in Nemesis’ letter, he admitted to killing Megatron?

While Optimus was going on a rampage, Ratchet was able to resuscitate Megatron. (Since the letter to himself was written from his point of view, this wasn’t mentioned) Ratchet tells Megatron to leave and disappear. But as he was to leave the MECH building, he heard the sad chirping of a sparkling. Left in an ammunition box (Probably left behind by a human nurse who felt pity for the baby and wanted to save him from dissection.) And when Megatron picked up the baby, he noticed his transformation cog had been missing. 

Meg thought he had given Optimus the sparkling’s spark chamber but turns out, he actually gave him his transformation cog! He was the first human-cybertronian sparkling so his anatomy was completely different. This one didn’t have a spark but a heart. 

Megs thought of returning the sparkling to Optimus but seeing that Optimus was drowning in madness and grief, he didn’t want the sparkling growing up nor seeing his father like that. So he took him under his wing. (I should written a chapter about this with Meg’s POV but its too late for that now lol)

This is why Sam sees Megatron as his father figure … Megs disappearance is surrounded in mystery. 

And yes, Sam is Optimus and Reader’s sparkling.

…….

… If any of y'all have any more questions, let me know! Honestly, and I mean this seriously, DO NOT expect any kind of well-thought writing in this fic. This was supposed to be a one-shot fanfiction that got turned into a multi-chapter fic due to popular demand. And this is the fic I least worry about. I think it has good ideas and has the potential for more but I definitely don’t have the patience nor time. 

So, this story will conclude in the next chapter … at MAX, in two. 

Now, I have two possible endings for this fic and I want you guys to help me out on deciding which ending I should go for. 

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD, DO NOT READ ONLY IF YOU WANT TO HELP ME OUT TO FIGURE OUT THE ENDING!!!!!

Ending 1: Nemesis realizes his wrong doings and makes the ultimate sacrifice. He is given the ultimatum. Save the world or let his son (Sam) die. Nemesis chooses to save the world and Sam dies, proving once again that he is worthy of the Matrix of Leadership. He accepts the burden and he will atone his sins by continuing living by doing what’s good until the day of his days.

Optimus and Reader return to their dimension and they live happily ever after. 

Ending 2: Sam makes a sacrifice and he is given the Matrix of leadership. Along with Optimus, he defeats Nemesis. But they let him live. After learning that Sam is his son and that Nemesis almost kills him, Nemesis sacrifices himself to save the world. Ending the story. Finally fulfilling your dying wish … to protect your sparkling. 

Optimus and Reader return to their dimension and they love happily ever after. 

Which one do you all prefer or anyone got better ideas?

END OF SPOILERS!!!

…..

Lastly, I feel like I have strained too far away from the original concept of the story and there’s no going back. I may never finish this and if there isn't much interest, then I’ll abandon this story hehe, back to writing my one true love, The Darkest Hour~~~ 

Ok that’s it byeeeee 

Ps. sorry for the bad grammar, spelling and structure and everything :)

.....

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[sirxlla]

Wrapping Paper Prints 🎄 (All Batboys)

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Prompt: "You know of you if took all the tape stuck to wrapping paper from Christmas and analyzed it you would have a database of a bunch of different fingerprints probably not in the system." You stated to them randomly.

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Dick: "Trust me Gotham's database is pretty wide already and prints aren't commonly used anymore especially in Gotham where a random innocent person usually gets dragged into it." He spoke with experience from being a police officer a few years back.

Jason: "Now this?! This is the kind of out of the box thinking that makes me love you so much!" He looked at you with such pride in his eyes and a smile on his face.

Bruce: "The paper degrades of the prints too much to even remotely think about using them in theory it's a good idea but it execution it doesn't entirely translate." He spoke in a monotone voice like it was no big deal that you would just said that.

Tim: "Yeah, I already did that one year but it's only good for occasional partials because the wrapping paper messes up the print." He says ecstatic that you came up with the same idea, his tone is a little concerning but unsurprising considering how he found out exactly he was Robin and exactly who was Batman with little effort.

Damian: "Fingerprints are usually mostly entirely useless around the city when you can usually catch somebody red-handed if you watch them long enough. Now blood on the other hand, that's more of a smoking gun." Damian replies as if it's the most normal thing for anybody to think of as he continues to sharpen his sword.

( send me prompts if you would like )

Masterlist

[nnnaaahhhiiiaaa]

Spy Rivals in Love Pt.1 - vick (iris)

Summary | You, known as the 'Scarlet Lady,' are a spy for the NSS in Korea. Your greatest rival is Vick, an agent from an enemy organization. Although you both despise each other and face off with all your hatred, every time you meet, the tension turns into something more intense—a connection you can't ignore, despite everything that separates you.

Pairing | iris!vick x fem!reader.

Genre | 2000s era, enemies to lovers.

Warnings | explicit violence, use of weapons and chase escenes, strong lenguage, tension, blood.

Author's note | English is not my first language, so I apologize for any spelling mistakes.

"You know what to do, Scarlet Lady. If you get caught, the whole plan goes to hell."

Kim Hyun-joon's voice was firm, but in his dark eyes, a warning gleamed. He knew this was a game of precision, and any mistake would cost more than just a failed mission.

You didn’t need to respond. You simply nodded in silence before turning on your heels, letting the dim warehouse light glisten over the latex of your black catsuit. The familiar weight of the gadget belt rested on your waist, each tool meticulously selected for infiltration.

Your objective: classified information, buried under multiple layers of security within the NSS headquarters. A file so valuable it could dismantle covert operations and expose the agency’s deepest secrets. But for you, this wasn’t just another mission. It was personal. The same organization you were about to tear apart had betrayed your older brother, Hyun-joon, condemning him to a fate he could never escape.

Before leaving, you covered the suit with a brown trench coat, added a matching beret, and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. A flawless disguise. No one inside the NSS knew your face or your real name. If everything went according to plan, you could move unnoticed. And if something went wrong… well, you always had an escape route.

From the outside, the building looked like an ordinary government facility: reflective windows, guards at the entrance, a pristine lobby. But you knew the truth. Behind that façade lay the very heart of the NSS, where the most clandestine operations were carried out far from the world’s eyes.

For someone like you, this was a challenge, yes, but far from impossible. You weren’t considered one of the world’s top three spies for nothing. At least, that’s what Hyun-joon and your few allies said. The reality was that no one truly knew you. You didn’t exist in databases, left no fingerprints, had no past. If someone searched for you, they would find little more than a ghost.

On the surface, however, you led an ordinary life, meticulously crafted to divert suspicion. A professor at the prestigious Seoul University. History and physical chemistry. Two subjects with enough logic and strategy to keep you sharp, and enough narrative to hide the truth between the lines. No one at the university would ever suspect that the quiet and elegant professor was, in reality, the shadow that haunted the world’s most powerful organizations.

Tonight, however, you weren’t a professor. You weren’t an ordinary citizen. Tonight, you were the Scarlet Dame, and the board was set for the first move.

With steady steps and natural elegance, you walked toward the reception desk without raising suspicion. Every movement was measured, every gesture calculated. You weren’t just an infiltrator; you were a shadow slipping through the cracks of the system.

Behind the counter, a woman with brown hair, an immaculate uniform, and a friendly expression looked up as she saw you approaching.

"Good morning, may I help you with something?" she asked professionally.

You smiled with the warmth of someone who had absolutely nothing to hide. Leaving behind the façade of a reserved woman, you tilted your head slightly and spoke enthusiastically:

"Oh, thank goodness! Look, my forgetful husband has left his lunch at home again. Again! So, I decided to bring it to him personally before he spends the whole morning without eating."

The receptionist blinked, hesitating for a second before composing herself. "Oh, I see, but... I’m really sorry, miss. We can’t let you through. If you tell me your name, I can notify him to come down and pick it up."

Your smile remained intact, but a glimmer of mischief shone in your eyes.

"Come on, sweetie, you know how men are when they’re in important meetings. He asked me not to disturb him under any circumstances. Plus, it’ll only be a minute. Our eight-year-old son is waiting in the car, and I can’t leave him alone for too long."

You added a slight note of urgency to your voice, just enough to stir the receptionist’s empathy without raising suspicion.

The woman bit her lower lip, visibly uncertain. Finally, with a resigned sigh, she handed you a visitor's pass.

"Okay, but please don’t mention that I let you through."

"Of course, darling! Nothing happened, okay?" You winked at her and waved goodbye as if you were lifelong friends.

Two security guards approached to escort you to the elevator. Everything was going according to plan.

But as soon as the doors closed, the game changed.

You drew an innocent smile as you raised the tupperware you were holding in your hands. "Guys, would you like some kimchi with rice? It’s delicious."

The two men exchanged confused looks. One raised an eyebrow.

"No?" You feigned an expression of regret. "What a shame..."

The blow came without warning. With a precise motion, you slammed the tupperware against one of the guards’ noses, making him stagger back with a muffled curse. Before the other could react, you delivered a direct kick to his chest, sending him crashing into the elevator wall.

The first tried to recover, but you didn’t give him the chance. With a flawless spinning kick, you knocked him out. The second guard fell to the ground with a sharp thud just a second later.

Silence.

You looked down at the unconscious bodies at your feet and sighed, adjusting your trench coat.

"I think I may have overdone it..."

You crouched down to pick up the tupperware from the floor. Fortunately, it was still tightly sealed. "Well, at least the food’s still intact."

With a swift motion, you discarded the trench coat, beret, and sunglasses, letting them fall carelessly on the unconscious bodies of the guards. Now, dressed only in your black latex catsuit, you felt much more in your element. The slight pressure of the suit against your skin was familiar, almost comforting.

As the elevator descended toward the underground levels, you shrugged and opened the tupperware. After all, you weren’t going to waste food because of a simple infiltration plan. It had cost you money, and besides, you didn’t know when you’d have the chance to eat something decent again. Calmly, you took a bite of rice and kimchi, enjoying the slight burn of spice on your tongue as the numbers on the panel descended.

But when the elevator was about to reach the final underground level, your real job began.

Without wasting any time, you agilely climbed onto the side security bar and pushed open the elevator’s roof hatch. You opened it with ease and propelled yourself up, emerging with the precision of someone who had done this a hundred times.

From your new position, you opened a nearby ventilation shaft and slipped inside silently. Before moving forward, you looked down at the unconscious guards. You couldn’t leave loose ends.

With efficiency, you grabbed them by the armpits and, with a bit of effort, hauled them to the top of the elevator, leaving them there. You took two chloroform-soaked handkerchiefs from your gadget belt and gently placed them over their noses. They wouldn’t wake up unless someone found them.

When the elevator reached its destination and the doors opened with a metallic sound, the interior was completely empty. From the security cameras, it would just appear as an elevator arriving with no passengers.

Perfect.

You slipped silently through the ventilation shaft, keeping your breathing as controlled as possible. Every movement was calculated to avoid the slightest noise, knowing that any out-of-place sound could give you away. The cold metal beneath your hands and knees made a faint creak with each move, but you were careful enough to minimize it.

From above, through the slats of the vent, you observed several rooms as you moved. Some had messy desks and monitors left on idle, others had metal file cabinets full of classified documents. However, none seemed to be your destination. You knew exactly what to look for: an access terminal with a highly protected system, strategically placed cameras, and, most importantly, the complete absence of regular employees.

Finally, after several meters of movement, you found it. Through the lower grate, you spotted a larger, almost sterile room with a huge security screen on the wall and multiple files organized with unsettling precision. Everything was in place, too neat. This was the place.

With precise movements, you carefully removed the grate and set it aside inside the vent. You gripped the edge with both hands and dropped down with feline elegance. You rolled onto the floor to cushion the impact and stood up fluidly, quickly scanning your surroundings.

Absolute silence.

Something didn’t feel right.

You had expected at least one guard patrolling or an active camera, but the room was empty, almost as if someone had cleaned the area before your arrival. The feeling of unease began to settle in your chest.

And then, a voice broke the silence.

"You’re late."

The sound came from behind you.

Your body reacted before your mind processed the danger. In an automatic move, you drew the mini pistol from your belt and spun on your heel, aiming directly at the source of the voice.

It wasn’t necessary to see him to know who it was.

His relaxed posture, the way he pronounced every word calmly, and most of all, the fact that he hadn’t tried to attack you immediately, confirmed what you already suspected.

"I see we’re after the same thing, Vick." Your tone was cold, controlled, though deep down you hated that he had caught you by surprise.

The man in front of you smiled to the side, that mocking expression you hated so much. His eyes sparkled with amusement, as if finding you here was more of a game to him than a real competition.

"But only one of us is going to walk away with it, Y/N."

Your jaw tightened as you heard your name leave his lips. No matter how many times he did it, it always provoked the same reaction.

"Don’t call me that." You murmured with a mix of irritation and warning, not lowering the weapon for even a second. "I’m still wondering how you figured it out."

Vick sighed with feigned laziness before holstering his own weapon, as if his confidence in the situation was absolute. He was the kind of man who enjoyed playing with his prey, testing the waters before making his move.

"You know I always find out what interests me." His voice was calm, even seductive, as he slowly began to advance toward you.

You didn’t hesitate to take a step back. His intentions were never clear, but you knew his game well. He had learned to read you over time, to provoke reactions in you that you didn’t want to give him the pleasure of seeing.

"Stay back." You warned firmly, raising the gun again and pointing it directly at his hand. "I won’t show mercy this time. I’m warning you."

Vick stopped for a moment, assessing your expression, as if looking for a crack in your determination. However, his smile didn’t fade. On the contrary, it widened, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

The tension in the room was palpable, like a taut rope ready to snap.

One of you would walk out victorious.

The other… wouldn’t.

@kartdeko @i-might-be-vanny

[theswisscheeserag]

IMHO one of the uniquely appealing things about the X-Files is that it IS a cop show, and cop shows are unfortunately an appealing genre because unlike vigilante mystery shows, it is fun to watch people solve mysteries with the full resources of many bodies, cars, fingerprint labs, DNA databases, and other things that only a police force has access to, but there is the discomfort of it being copaganda, and the main characters, as cops, implicitly Sucking. But the message of the X-Files is so deeply anti-government and the main characters are only holding onto their jobs through a series of elaborate blackmails because they are not unethical enough cops for the government, some of the discomfort is eased. Also there's aliens.

[revehae]

indulgence

pairing ↠ killer!johnny × (f) detective reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, graphic depictions of murder, graphic depictions of violence, noncon, mentions of pregnancy, johnny is 43

summary ↠ you're an accomplished detective in the detroit area and johnny suh is a prolific serial killer. when your department sends you on its behalf to pull back his layers, you attempt to convince johnny to recount his experiences and unravel the mystery once and for all.

wc ↠ 10.3k

a/n ↠ this is a repost. it is connected to do you like it, dr. lee? but can be read as a standalone story. this fic is somewhat darker than my usual fics and i encourage readers to proceed with caution and heed the warnings; you have been advised.

don’t like it, don’t read.

the deepest prick of unease settled through you and you shuddered from its nipping cold. 

killers were your forte, but none like this. never in your life had you ever met a killer who’d been at their craft for over a decade. they typically got sloppy after the first half, which insinuated that this johnny suh guy, whoever he was, was far from an amateur. 

“gate twelve,” came the guard’s voice, speaking into a transmitter. he was to escort you to johnny’s holding room.

the gate lifted. behind it, you clocked the riveting face of detroit’s worst nightmare, hands cuffed at his back as he sat facing you. there was a sort of twisted grin on his face, not as if he was excited to have a visitor, but excited his visitor had been you.

“good luck with this guy. officers tried to get him to budge. he didn’t take the fifth, but the bastard’s damn good at talking in circles,” the guard whispered in your ear.

“duly noted,” you replied quietly, stepping further and taking the seat across from johnny. 

the guard left you to your devices, shutting the door behind you and leaving through the passage that led to the gate. complete and total privacy was the only way johnny agreed to talk. your department initially refused, insisting there should at least be one or two other officers monitoring the interview, but you let him have his way.

if you wanted to get this man to talk, that was your only option.

“hello, johnny. i’m detective ___ from the detroit police department,” you introduced yourself coolly, cloaking your nerves with confidence. never would you show a guy like this any fear.

johnny hadn’t stopped grinning since he made eye contact with you. you’d seen pictures at most and he was devilishly handsome, even more so in person, but it didn’t compensate for his unsettling aura. “that’s a beautiful name, detective.”

“flattery will get you nowhere, suh.”

“it’s gotten me here,” johnny quipped. 

“yes, it has. and i suppose you already know why i’m here.”

“yes, i do,” johnny said, pleasant thus far. “you want me to tell you about the murders.”

you bobbed your head. “i do. you see, you’re an enigma to me, johnny. you turn yourself in, get fingerprinted, and all of the sudden our database’s going off because your prints are connected to three other crimes over the past twenty-five years.”

johnny feigned surprise. “wow, it’s been that long?”

“it has,” you replied, in spite of knowing he couldn’t have not been aware. “martina mortes in 1998, sabrina lee in 2005, christine dalton in 2013, and the college professor this year.”

johnny leaned back in his chair. “i’m familiar with those names.”

“you should be. you sexually assaulted and murdered these women,” you spat, none too tender. “except for martina mortes. you only strangled her. do you want to tell me why that it is?”

“what’s the weather like today? i haven’t been outside, but summer has been kind to detroit.”

ignoring him, you persisted, “let me guess. she was your first victim and that kill, unlike the others, was spontaneous. her being dead defeated the purpose of the sex act, didn’t it?”

“well, do you like your partners warm or cold, detective?” johnny asked, deflecting. 

you were heeding the guard’s warning. it seemed this guy liked to answer questions with questions, your least favorite type of offender. “that’s why when you subsequently added the sex act to part of your crimes, you kept your victims much longer, because you like to see them suffer. until you got bored. then, you killed them and dumped their bodies like trash.”

as if he was disinterested, johnny glanced to the side and yawned. 

the audacity on this guy was astounding. “am i boring you, suh?”

johnny replied with total indifference, “if you think you know everything, then why are we here?”

you answered without hesitation, “because i think you’ve wanted to tell someone about what you’ve done for a long time, johnny. but you realize that you’re not like other people. i’m giving you the opportunity to get it all off of your chest.”

johnny cocked his head to the side, as if he was contemplating your offer. his face was borderline inscrutable. it was difficult, if not impossible, to decipher what he was thinking.

you restrained from heaving a breath. there was a crushing weight on your shoulders, the expectation to get this guy to crack. if you couldn’t do it, nobody would - ever. “how many victims do you have?”

“four.” johnny’s answer was quick, automatic. like he didn’t even have to think about it for a second.

folding your arms on the table, you shook your head. “no, i just don’t think that’s true. see, we’re pretty sure martina mortes, your high school girlfriend, was your first victim, and the college professor was your last.”

johnny cocked a brow. “but?”

“but there’s no way someone like you could’ve resisted your urges between four kills over the past two decades and then some.”

there was no point in denying the four victims, because you already had substantial proof. nor did johnny deny that martina was his first victim, because given the decomposition of the bodies, she died long before the other three. admitting that she wasn’t would be admitting that there were unfound others.

and johnny had no intention of implicating himself more than he already had. the only reason he turned himself in was because he didn’t want to prolong the inevitable, for whatever reason. he pulled his lips into a mock frown. “your assumptions about my self-restraint are hurtful,” he replied.

whatever, moron, you thought irritability. “i think they’re more than just assumptions.”

johnny teased, “then, let me know when you know something.”

you narrowed your eyes, groaning, “oh, come on. i know and you know that you can’t ignore your desires for a month, let alone over ten years. you have a compulsion. killing makes you feel powerful, it makes you feel in control, and you can’t live without the high it gives you.”

“you make me sound like an addict,” johnny remarked, pretending to be offended.

“it wouldn’t be so far from the truth,” you said, glancing over the file at your end of the table. “the first two kills were seven years apart. the second two kills were ten. full offense, i don’t see how you could control yourself for so long.”

“you can believe what you want, detective. i didn’t kill anyone else,” johnny lied, not that you ever needed to know. 

of course, he couldn’t control himself. the second he took someone’s life, it became a part of him, and his purpose in this world became clear to him. for the first time in his life, he felt as if he had something that made living worthwhile.

you surrendered. it was obvious johnny was intelligent and he wouldn’t be easily tricked into confessing. “okay, fine. let’s talk about the victims we know of. tell me about martina mortes.”

“what is there to tell?” johnny asked, brow cocked. “we met in junior high. then, in eleventh grade, we got together.”

“tell me about why you killed her,” you insisted, painfully curious. “it happened in chicago, before you moved to detroit over the summer. you killed her in the heat of the moment.”

johnny gave the impression that he would take a minute to crack, so you were surprised when he said in response to your prodding, “we got into a wrangle, if you will.”

that much was obvious. “what kind of wrangle?”

the garage was hot and the air was stuffy, making it difficult to breathe. to say nothing of the frustration scorching johnny’s skin, his face tensed into an irritated glower.

there was something about women he never liked, the seemingly inherent ability to blow almost anything out of proportion, as exhibited now as his girlfriend screamed in his face. his stepmother was the same, never not coming up with a reason to fuss at him. he was always walking on eggshells around that woman. 

martina was bristling. “you always fucking do this, johnny.”

johnny heaved a breath, sighing, “what - what do i always do, martina?”

“you trivialize everything i go through. you make me feel like i’m overreacting when i’m not, you just refuse to hold yourself accountable,” she spat. 

“martina, we’re about to go to college, for fuck’s sake! you can’t focus on your academics and a goddamn child. i don’t get why you won’t just have an abortion and call it a day,” johnny roared, heating up a thousand degrees.

“god, do you listen to a word that comes out of my mouth? my parents will kill me, johnny. if not for being pregnant at eighteen, then for killing it.”

johnny sighed. “i don’t see the part where that’s my problem.”

tears blurred martina’s eyes. she came up to him, shattered by his careless and embraced by isolation, and bellowed, “you want to know what your problem is? your problem is that you’re an incompetent bastard with no regard for other people!”

johnny’s body was engulfed in flames but his shoulders were cold, and he lost control of his emotions, grabbing martina by the throat. he effortlessly lifted her with a single hand and smashed her against the closest wall none too gently, watching her eyes wince closed.

“you wanna say that again?” johnny asked, nothing short of belligerent.

ache spread out through the back of martina’s head, a ceaseless throbbing worse than any hungover. her feet dangled off of the ground, waving and kicking, fingers weakly prying at the ones pressing down on her windpipe. until she was completely still, legs dropping, hands going limp at her sides.

“i didn’t even realize how long i spent standing there, until she felt… empty, and i knew she was gone,” johnny confessed, but his tone was far from sympathetic. “she scratched me. you know, when she was trying to pry my hands off. i didn’t know until hours later.”

you shook your head, disdainful. “you killed your pregnant girlfriend?”

johnny groaned, “oh, please. i was eighteen. i would’ve been a terrible father.”

“i would be slightly more inclined to accept that as an excuse if it weren’t for the fact that you had a son by sabrina lee only two years later,” you said viciously.

“a lot can change in two years.”

“i’m sure it did.” your eyes flickered over the file again, but nothing would allow you to familiarize yourself with this killer more than talking to him yourself. “for example, you realized just how much you liked killing.”

if johnny could’ve raised his hands, he would’ve. “your words, not mine.”

you leaned over the table, unrelenting. “tell me about it, johnny. how did it feel when you strangled her with your bare hands? what was it like?”

johnny chuckled. “is that what you wanna hear?”

you nodded. 

johnny leaned in too, getting closer to you, and whispered in your ear, “i squeezed every last breath out of her, one by one, until there was nothing left for her brain and she went slack in my arms. and when i was done, i felt elated. i felt free. it woke up this dormant sensation inside of me that i swore to never repress again, because it made me feel alive.”

your lungs started to feel shallower, like no breath could reach the bottom, and you sensed your heart come to a halt for a minute. johnny pulled back, grinning from ear to ear, as if he was proud of himself. 

“detective, did i startle you?” johnny asked, tilting his head ever so slightly. 

your face hardened. “why would you ever think that?”

“you’re not as good at feigning indifference as you think you are, detective. full offense,” he mimicked, mocking.

he’s just a fragile man that kills women to make him feel better about himself, because he needs to be in control. don’t give him power over you. that’s what he wants, you said to yourself, shutting any and all other thoughts. “so, you killed martina, nobody could connect her disappearance to you, and by the time they discovered her body you were already studying for college two states over.”

johnny ignored you, at least for a little. he was taking a liking to making you feel uneasy around him. “has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?” he asked out of nowhere.

“you aren’t my type. i don’t fool around with serial killers,” you replied sharply.

johnny didn’t seem to be offended, but you didn’t expect him to. “really now? it feels like we’re on a date right now. after all, we are getting to know each other.”

you asked, “have you always had such a distorted perception of normal human interaction?”

johnny shot with no hesitation, “have you always had such a sharp mouth?”

you pulled yourself together. the only way you would get anywhere with this guy was by establishing that you were the one in control. “okay, enough. this is my interview, suh. you answer my questions, not vice versa.”

“that’s not any fair,” johnny told you, that unnerving smile still on his lips. “i don’t have to tell you anything, you know. and without me, you lose the only key to those answers you want so badly.”

“you shutting up doesn’t make much of a difference, considering you’re already dodging my questions,” you replied.

“let’s play a game,” johnny suggested.

you weren’t in the mood for any games, but that was johnny’s method of operation. “i don’t like games.”

“you’ll like this one,” johnny insisted, laughing. “twenty questions.”

your shoulders dropped. “am i supposed to be guessing something?”

johnny shook his head, something sinister about him. “no, it’s much easier than that. we take turns asking each other questions until i’ve answered ten and you’ve answered ten.”

you stared into his eyes, willing yourself not to break contact. he was just as relentless, silently cocking a brow at you, as if to challenge. and you weren’t an idiot. that’s exactly what it was. you asserted, “i go first, you can only ask me yes or no questions, and if i don’t like your final answer i get to press you for another.”

johnny slightly lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “yes, ma’am.”

“okay,” you started. “what made you move from illinois to michigan?”

“i was kicked out of the house. didn’t have anywhere else to go. but i had a buddy here whose family took me in,” johnny answered frankly.

you pondered those words, wondering if his aforementioned buddy knew about his secret indulgences. or if he asked why johnny’s parents kicked him out of their home. it would’ve been the question scratching at your mind, itching to be answered.

johnny’s lips parted. “what kind of perfume are you wearing - honey lavender?”

“yes,” you said, focusing your attention on anything but the possibilities of how he could’ve known that. he’d been with so many people to the point where he just knew. “why did you get kicked out of the house?”

“my dad always thought there was something different about me, ever since i was a child. he was a nasty piece of work. he found my journal, read a couple of things i wrote, and decided there was no hope for me in the house,” johnny ranted.

that piqued your curiosity. “what did you write about?”

“wait your turn,” johnny sang. “your hair smells just as lovely as the rest of you. do you match scents all the time?”

you were mildly uncomfortable, but given the type of dude he was, you stifled it. “yes. you don’t have to be such a pervert all the time, you know?”

again, johnny rolled his shoulders, chirping, “you call it perverse. i call it amusing.”

you almost cursed under your breath when you realize you’d asked him a question. “wait, i didn’t mean to ask…”

johnny cut you off, “that’s too bad. it’s my turn again. do you like necklaces?”

“not ones made out of fingers,” you retorted. it was meant to be a joke to hide how unsettled you were, hyper aware of the necklace dangling around your neck. you could feel invisible pressure on your throat.

johnny snickered. “i’ll admit that was funny.”

you pressed, “what did you write about in the journal?”

“my dreams,” he admitted vaguely, though in reality, he wrote endlessly about his corrupt fantasies of abusing women. some pages were about his stepsister, and there was a few about what he’d done to martina, though not explicitly. “you have the most beautiful eyes. they’re the perfect shade.”

you were certain he had told many other girls those same words and were not flattered in the slightest. the glare you were giving him was ferocious. “i’m not sure if there’s a question in there somewhere.”

“do you think your eyes are pretty?”

“i haven’t really thought about it,” you told him, quick to change the topic. you’d encountered your fair share of stranglers and it was no secret why he was so interested in your eyes. “was your relationship with your father estranged?”

“nothing was enough for that man. i had the top grades in my class and the highest gpa, and he took my door off its hinges and seized my privacy,” johnny told you, words harsh, but his tone plain. “he was obsessed with being the perfect family, something that was ruined the second my mother destroyed everything, and rather than embrace me, he turned me away.”

your eyes flickered. there was something about his language that stood out to you. courtesy of the research you’d done on him beforehand, you were aware that his father was divorced then remarried his stepmother, who already had a daughter johnny’s age. but rather than describe his parent’s separation as a divorce, he said his mother destroyed everything.

what a hostile view towards women, you mused, repulsed. but given the nature of his crimes, it adds up. and it might’ve been the origin of his hatred.

his family was twisted. you couldn’t fathom how his father, aware of just how unwell his son was, clocked his abusive fantasies towards women, and instead of getting him the help he needed, he left him to his own devices to slaughter them as he pleased.

you blinked when johnny leaned, craning his face towards yours, and snapped out of your reverie when you jolted back. 

“there you are,” johnny said, chuckling at your surprise. it was all over your face. “i’ve been talking to myself all this time. you must’ve been thinking about me.”

“no, not really. i was wondering if i forgot to feed my dog last night.” it was an obvious lie, but you would never encourage this guy to feel more important than he was.

amusement gleamed in johnny’s eyes. he was having a wonderful time, truth be told. had you not been so pretty, he would’ve clamped up like a crab, but you were so pleasing to the eye that he didn’t mind confessing a couple of truths. “a dog. that’s interesting. i myself have always wanted a pet - a snake. the constricting kind are my favorite.”

“you don’t say,” you droned, voice dripping with crisp irony.

your sarcasm was chucklesome to johnny, but his words were the truth. he remembered, all those years ago, asking his father for a pet snake. and when he refused, johnny, in turn, killed the family dog. he added, “they don’t just suffocate their prey. they coil around them, almost like a straitjacket, and cut off its blood supply.”

you replied, “yeah, but animals hunt to survive. you hunted because you had nothing better to do with your life.”

“in my humble opinion, we’re all animals of nature, and creatures of sin,” johnny told you in a whisper, as if he were telling you a secret of some kind. “anyways, it’s my turn now.”

you resisted a disgruntled exhale. 

like his questions couldn’t get any more absurd and strangely perverse, johnny asked, “when you shower, what do you use - a washcloth or a loofah?”

“that’s not a yes or no question,” you replied with total disinterest. 

“it’s hardly any less simple.”

“a washcloth,” you replied, though only because you needed to ask him your questions and resisting an answer would only waste valuable time. “why did you wait so long before killing sabrina lee?”

johnny smiled at the mention of his son’s mother, but the grin on his lips was distinguishable from the others. like he didn’t even realize he was smiling. “she was special. i loved her.”

“no, you didn’t. you don’t hurt people that you love.”

“maybe that’s true for you, but you’ve called me everything but a child of god and it’s clear you don’t think you and i are alike,” johnny said. “i don’t miss her, though, because she left a better print on this world. a world that was never made for her in the first place.”

a better print on this world. your brows furrowed, until you remembered the child they shared together. “you know what i think? i think whatever you felt for your son’s mother was the closest thing to love you’ll ever be able to pull from your ugly black heart.”

“you’re very strongly opinionated,” johnny responded, ever so unbothered. maybe some decades ago, it would’ve irked him to the point of breaking, but he was much more in charge of his impulses now.

you lifted your shoulders, gazing at him with the most discerning of eyes. all he could think about was how nice it would’ve been to seize you by the throat and watch the light dull from them.

to your surprise, johnny’s next question was not as a deviant as you assumed it would be, asking, “what made you decide you wanted to become a detective?”

“because of the people i used to know that aren’t around to tell you why,” you answered distantly, before pressing, “how was sabrina different, johnny?”

johnny perched over the table again, an uncomfortable distance close to you, made worse by his whispers. “because unlike the others, she didn’t beg me to stop - she begged me to finish. for it to be over. and when i wouldn’t, she begged me to kill her.”

the mental picture you got was cruel. your heart hurt for these women that had no idea what hit them until it was too late. 

“i put these women out of their misery,” johnny continued. 

you spat in a heartbeat, “the misery that you forced them to endure.”

johnny winced. “no, these women were miserable long before they met me. they were just ignorant of it. impressionability is a weakness.”

“either you have one hell of a god complex or you are working overtime to justify your sick actions.”

johnny merely shrugged, vicious and ominous and everything in between. there was something so dark about his spirit. you could feel it just from sitting within a couple of feet of him. 

johnny’s memories were triggered. he was reminiscing about the times he shared with his son’s mother, how perfect she was. there were no other women like her. she was his favorite victim, someone he took his sweet time with, while the others were disposed of in a few months time. 

midnight loomed, riding on the tail of dusk. johnny was counting down the minutes until the clock struck twelve, a self-imposed rule to gauge his willpower. the second the hour came, he bolted from the crackling sound of the cabin’s fireplace to a bedroom, anticipation like a stimulant.

the wooden floorboards creaked the closer johnny crept to the door. save for himself and the woman chained to the bedpost, the cabin was void of life. it belonged to the parents of a close friend who ensured it was vacant whenever johnny needed a place to indulge his twisted fantasies.

which was basically all of the time.

he meandered inside with a crisp bottle of water in hand, droplets condensing at its sides. sabrina laid right where he left her, just as broken, dreading her next breath. tape adhered to the flesh over her mouth, muffling her whimpers. there was nobody around for miles, the cabin was totally isolated, but it was a safety measure.

the chains were used likewise. when johnny was not there, the restraints kept her prisoner. johnny, reckless as he could be back then, was many things and stupid was not one of them. the chains stretched long enough to reach the bathroom but no further and he had his loyal friend help him test it after each victim.

“can you go further?” johnny called out.

jaehyun’s lower limbs were shackled, ceasing his footsteps just shy of the hallway as he came to a total standstill. “not if i want my legs to follow me,” he’d retorted.

johnny had snickered. “good.”

had johnny been there, though, he would take the chains off. none of this was fair, even johnny didn’t believe that, but not giving them the chance to fight was too unfair. he needed not to chain them when he had the gift of his big, burly arms.

johnny waltzed over with a lighthearted and carefree gait, as if this was just another wednesday afternoon to him. and in some sick, despicable way, that wasn’t too far from the truth. he ripped the tape from sabrina’s lips, watching her face tense with pain.

“johnny,” sabrina rasped, voice croaking. he could tell from her flushed face and misty eyes that she’d been crying. “i’m thirsty.”

johnny cocked a brow, glancing to his hand. he had an irritating knack for playing dumb. it used to be endearing. now, with everything she knew to be true torn from her bare hands, sabrina didn’t know what to think. “what - you want this?”

sabrina nodded.

“yeah?” he popped off the top, throwing back a few gulps just before releasing a satisfied, “ah.”

sabrina’s lips trembled. “please.”

had she been anybody else, johnny probably would’ve dangled the water in her face just to snatch it away, but there was something about sabrina that made him gravitate towards her. in a rare moment of benevolence, johnny handed her the water, letting her drink.

she didn’t drink in short sips, but in giant gulps as if she’d known for some time that they’d be her last. when her thirst was satiated, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, handing the bottle back, and whispered, “thank you.”

johnny set the drink aside before returning to her, unshackling her limbs. sabrina’s breath quickened the moment the chains clacked harshly against the floor and nearly stilled when he brought his hand to her flushed face, tracing her chapped lips with a calloused thumb.

his thoughts rushed with unbridled exhilaration, ablaze with suspense, but he slowed for a moment to marvel at her loveliness. johnny’s hand touched her hair, touch tender in ways it would never be again, because he would never again know a woman as great as her.

he brought his lips to her ear, nibbling at the shell before asking, “do you know what i want you to do?”

sabrina bobbed her head, starting to halfheartedly peel off her clothes without needing to be told. with so many days held prisoner in this hell hole, it became routine. like she’d already resigned herself to her fate and knew johnny getting his way was inevitable. he always got what he wanted.

to be frank, it came out of nowhere. she never saw this twisted side of him coming. all she knew was that she became suspicious of his lack of family presence and it was too late when she saw him for the monster that he was, and then she woke here.

it had to have been months ago, although sabrina couldn’t have been sure how many. everyday started to bleed into the static hopelessness of another. sometimes johnny wouldn’t show for days, leaving her to live antsily, dreading his unavoidable return. other times, he would spend a day or two in the cabin, fucking her into kingdom come. 

as if she couldn’t be any more faultless. johnny smirked. “smart girl,” he purred. he would never deny her wit, given that she’d caught onto him, but her lack of strength was her only vice.

johnny restlessly tossed his own shirt over his naked shoulder and came to step out of his boxers. there was mischief on his plush lips. he knew something sabrina only knew from the unkind churn of her gut.

the end was more than near. it loomed over her, relentless and remorseless, and all she could like it to was dark and leaden clouds in a somber sky. even then, there was almost nothing she wouldn’t give to see the world again, but she’d long kissed that hope goodbye.

“down,” johnny told her, tone dark and stern.

she pliantly did as told, bare back meeting the mattress. johnny crept over her, hard cock twitching at the sight of her so meek. typically, he liked when they put up a fight, but sabrina knew better.

johnny could tell she was fighting back tears, willing herself not to cry with a stabilized breath, but her endeavors were in vain the second he started to force his way inside her. they escaped her eyes and dampened her cheeks, unable to overlook the agony of the stretch. 

“shh, baby,” johnny crooned in her ear, the weight of his body bearing down onto hers. “what’s the matter? you used to beg me to fuck you.”

sabrina shook her head, silently pleading for a mercy she knew deep down that johnny wasn’t capable of. “please make it quick.”

johnny’s tone was almost sweet. “but baby, you told me you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, remember?” 

johnny knew that his words weren’t reassuring and he didn’t intend for them to be. there was a reason why he loved how she tried to hold herself together. he got to push her limits, find her breaking point. in the end, she would get her wish, and in a way, johnny thought that that was love.

her walls were just as tight and vice-like as they’d been all those times he’d taken her before. if johnny got close enough to her, let his hands wander and tease as they never not had done, sabrina would still involuntarily gush around his cock. like her body knew she was forever a slave to his touch. 

just looking at her face as she wept sent shock waves of pleasure rippling through his dick and chest. sabrina didn’t cry in noisy, gasping sobs. her tears dripped from her thick lashes quietly, mouth parting in the most silent of whimpers.

and she orgasmed the same way, johnny remembered. back when things were normal between them, when she begged for him to fuck her, as he called it, her release was marked by a volatile shudder, but a silent cry of ecstasy.

johnny pushed sabrina’s lips into an upward curling with his thumb and index finger. “smile for the camera, sabrina,” he whispered.

sabrina’s brows furrowed, painfully oblivious to the camera tracking her every emote. johnny couldn’t not document his deeds. there was something about being able to play them over, immersing himself back in that moment over and over, even when the life itself could not be so easily brought back.

but for johnny, they could be. when he rewatched these videos again and again, it was like he could feel their pulses thump in their neck, resuscitating.

johnny’s hands were everywhere, fingertips traipsing towards sabrina’s neck where marks lingered from all the times he’d strangled her, only to slacken his grip when she was just shy of passing out. the bruises were different colors, indicative of different healing stages. sabrina tensed, startled, and wondered when it would all be over.

“johnny.” sabrina was overcome with defeat. her voice cracked as she asked, “johnny, please just cum.”

johnny’s face tensed with pleasure. “fuck, babe, when you say it like that…”

he stood at the brink of climax, threatening to teeter over, and there was only one thing that could knock him over quicker than anything else. it wouldn’t be anything she said, anything she did, but only a weakness johnny had the power to wield against himself.

“you want me to finish?”

sabrina nodded. 

johnny chuckled darkly. “then, in that case, it’s time for you to get your wish, baby.”

he watched her shoulders slump, releasing all hope of ever knowing anything different again and accepting that this was where things ended. thinking about the feeling he remembered none too distantly, one that almost seemed to keep his blood pumping through him, in a way, johnny’s fingers itched.

johnny lifted his hands, bringing them to sabrina’s face, but before he could touch her, she exclaimed, “wait, johnny!”

his brow cocked. 

sabrina’s lips trembled. “can you tell me what today is? please?”

“wednesday,” johnny replied, holding his hands around her neck, but keeping his grip slack. for now.

“wednesday,” sabrina said, pulling her lips into the faintest of smiles as tears blurred her vision. “will you tell haechan that i hope he has an amazing thursday?”

“that can be arranged,” johnny said, grinning.

sabrina nodded, setting her mind at ease. she’d already made peace with this day some months ago. she never knew when it come, but she saw it as something bound to happen. “thank you,” she whispered. 

those were her last words. because when johnny tightened his grip at her throat, almost like tightening a noose, he couldn’t bring himself to stop in spite of the agonized gleam in her stare. and then her stare was empty, and johnny had already emptied his load inside of her.

to describe the sensation he got from killing in a way that captured its essence would be impossible. it was more than feeling the life leave her. it was more than watching her eyes become soulless. it was a release, a way of relinquishing all of the vacantness he harbored, and knowing that his heart was still there.

it would always return, sometimes as soon as the next day, but for a minute, johnny was whole and no drug could replicate that kind of contentedness.

johnny did tell haechan what sabrina said. he wasn’t all too sure why, maybe it was because she was his mother and haechan was her son that they’d created together, and johnny would never have it any other way. for her to be the one to give him a child, he couldn’t imagine any other woman in her place.

it was almost unfortunate that she had to go so soon. even johnny thought that her demise was premature. had she not grown so suspicious of him, johnny could imagine making her his wife, maybe even spending the rest of his life with her.

their marriage wouldn’t have been without his secret dark life, but sabrina wouldn’t’ve been a victim. alas, loose ends needed to be tied. johnny couldn’t trust that she would’ve kept quiet, and even then, she was in a much more fitting place for an angel like herself.

there was much of this memory that would be abridged. never would johnny reveal anything about the cabin or the dear friend that helped him commit his indulgences, or even the existence of the tapes. if they found those videos, that was proof of murder with a grand total of 106 women.

the air around you was heavy and the words you’d just been fed weren’t easily take in. “what you’ve just told me is really sad.”

but johnny didn’t look sad. whether or not he ever truly cared for sabrina would perpetually be a mystery. “maybe,” he started. “but tell me that you wouldn’t hurt the person you loved most if it was what was best for them.”

“i did. but what i had to do is different from what you were.”

johnny’s interest was piqued. “how come?”

“it was my responsibility to decide whether or not to take my sister off of the ventilator. there was no hope for her,” you confessed, though brushed over it quickly. “what happened to your ex-wife?”

“not that interesting of a story,” johnny said. “she wasn’t sabrina, i got tired of her, here we are.”

“and yet she wasn’t a one-off like martina mortes.”

“had she been a one-off, my body count would be one number higher. that was a favor,” johnny told you, grinning as if you actually had something to be grateful for.

you didn’t waste a second to accuse, “because you need to keep your victims to extract all the relief that you can from them, right?”

“i’m afraid it’s not your turn to ask questions,” johnny replied tauntingly. “what was your sister like - did she have long hair? what color were her eyes? how long were her lashes?”

sick son of a bitch, bellowed the voice in your head, though you willed yourself to remain composed. it was plain on his face that johnny didn’t want an answer - he wanted a reaction. and as furious as that made you, you couldn’t let him provoke you. “that’s none of your business,” you said, but there was a loophole. “but she was beloved.”

that qualified as an answer. johnny glanced at you in a way that made you feel see-through, as if he knew that you were threatening to come apart at the seams and didn’t buy your nonchalance for a minute. 

sated, he went on to feed you bullshit about his ex-wife’s death, though there were only four people who knew what truly happened to her and one of them was dead.

johnny remembered that day like it happened yesterday. it was a thursday evening when he’d come home from work. christine had picked haechan up from school hours ago and johnny wholly expected to come home to her in the kitchen.

it was dark outside. the moon was a mere sliver and the stars were duller than they typically were, almost like they had witnessed something that drained their spirits. johnny remembered struggling to identify his house key, trying each of them until the door clicked open.

“i’m home,” johnny’s voice thundered as he turned to lock the door. 

there were quick footsteps from upstairs. haechan, johnny thought, more than familiarized with the sound. but there was none of christine’s usual voice.

“dad, i’m hungry,” came haechan’s voice from the stairs, coming down them one by one.

that in itself should’ve been suspicious, but instead, all johnny could think about was how sabrina would’ve already fed her son. “hasn’t christine made dinner by now?” johnny asked, irritated.

haechan shook his head, though johnny couldn’t see. he was hanging his coat on the rack, like he always did after he locked the door. “she can’t right now.”

“why not?”

“because i think she’s dead,” haechan replied, nonchalant as ever.

that was the very second that johnny turned around and noticed that haechan was stained with blood. it was all over his face and the spots would probably never come out of his clothes, not that they would be kept.

for half a minute, johnny was genuinely stunned.

haechan didn’t say what happened, and there was no need to. “the blood won’t come off,” was all he said, showing his father the pair of hands that he’d washed with vigor.

johnny heaved a breath. he should’ve seen this coming. haechan took after his father and he never liked christine. to say the least, johnny couldn’t blame him. “where is she?”

“where they all go,” haechan replied, as if it was the most normal and natural thing in the world to him. 

johnny headed for the basement with quick footsteps, haechan following behind. if somebody were to come down there, they wouldn’t suspect a thing. not only was it decorated to look like one, but it was used as a man cave. behind a soundproof wall, though, was a dungeon for his prisoners. 

in this case, there was a trail of blood leading to the wall, proof that haechan had somehow brought christine there after he hurt her. johnny entered the cell and saw her there behind the bars, coming to her side to check her pulse. 

pressing his thumb to her wrist and neck, johnny sensed a pulse, though it was weakening. “she’s not dead,” he said, wresting his phone out of his pocket.

haechan didn’t look so relieved, but he didn’t voice his dissatisfaction. “are you mad?”

johnny glanced down at christine. haechan had used a kitchen knife, attacking her in the heat of the moment. she was butchered and blood-splattered, on the verge of slaughter, and yet johnny couldn’t find it in him to offer any compassion. “that you hurt her? no. that you made a mess? a little.”

now that was a relief. to haechan, at least back then, his dad was the coolest guy that he knew.

there was quite the scene in front of him and johnny didn’t have a thing for blood. he shook his head in reproach, chastising, “i’m going to teach you the right way to get rid of a woman when you’re sick of her.”

that piqued haechan’s curiosity. 

johnny was quick to dial jaehyun’s number. he had medical experience and that was what he needed right now. when the call connected, he said, “i’m in calling in a favor.”

jaehyun patched her up again. at least for a few months, johnny still needed her breathing. they scrubbed the floors free of blood, burned haechan’s bloodied clothes, and it was as if nothing ever happened.

what johnny had told you was only a fraction of the truth, but still enough to make you want to grimace. it bemused you how he got away with murdering his ex-wife and nobody thought to suspect her husband with a track record of disappearing partners.

“you want to know what’s really amazing?” you started, though it was more like disgusting. “how three of the women you’ve killed were your significant others, and somehow, you’ve only now been incriminated.”

johnny looked proud of himself. had it not been for haechan, he probably would’ve never been caught. “sabrina never told anyone that we dated, or that she had a baby by me. her parents wanted her to focus on her education. if they knew she’d gotten pregnant, she would’ve been the black sheep.”

“and you took advantage of that,” you hissed. 

“so what if i did?” johnny asked, careless. “not to mention that dozens of teenage girls in chicago were going missing at the time. they added martina to that number and called it a day. is that sad? maybe. but that’s how it works.”

“and as for your co-worker?” you asked sharply. the boldness of his crimes astounded you. “her husband grieves her. were you having an affair?”

the thought of her made johnny chuckle. oh, were we, he reminisced. it was a misfortune that he didn’t get the chance to have his way with her the way that he wanted. and for that reason, he couldn’t regale you in a truthful account of her death.

what happened that day, the day his co-worker died, challenged his fate and was the reason that he only now knew the imprisonment he thrusted upon others.

johnny knew when he spotted her that he would revel in her vulnerability. married, but she hardly wore her ring. her kind was the most naive - the kind that believed ecstasy was without costly sin. one way or another, she had to reap what she sowed.

he worked his way inside her pants, but it was hardly any work; she was on a desperate pursuit for pleasure and when johnny promised it to her, offering content on a silver platter, she thought less with her brain and more with the throbbing between her legs.

for months, johnny slept with her, which was far from typical. if she were anybody else, johnny would have pursued her for a couple of weeks time, then banished her to the underground prison. though considering he already had a victim down there at the time, he had some time to spare.

it was no secret that she had grown fond of johnny in ways she hadn’t been of her husband in a very long time, and though johnny found her to be special, in a way, he could not reciprocate her feelings. when johnny saw her, all he felt was the overwhelming urge to use her without a lick of remorse, and squeeze those panting breaths out of her.

it was a shame that he never got the opportunity. johnny already tested the bounds of his self-restraint when it came to her, each of their encounters consensual with her oblivious to his deepest, darkest desires. sometimes, his fingers would wander to her neck, but even that was wanted.

what was not wanted was the tyranny over her body that preceded her death. it bemused johnny to learn that his son, along with two of his friends that he thought of like brothers and johnny thought of like sons, ravaged her to the brink of being unrecognizable.

had johnny held control over the situation, he wouldn’t have cared what happened to her and would have even permitted them to go to town. but what happened was somehow darker. when he got a call from the professor late that day, hearing her broken sobs over the phone, he told her to meet him at his house.

that was his first mistake. 

it wasn’t that she didn’t come. she made it there, hopeful to confide in johnny about the nightmare that tore her apart, but it was haechan that opened the front door. and when she entered, there was no hope out of her coming out breathing.

haechan had been a downward spiral ever since a month ago when he stumbled upon the tape of his mother. ever since he was a boy, haechan watched every tape he could find of his father’s dark life, even sharing them with his friends as if they were movies and not snuff.

but this was not like those. this was his mother. and watching her suffer, listening to her final request before her untimely death, broke haechan in ways which he would never recover.

haechan had known since he was little that his mother was dead and his father was to blame, but his understanding of what happened to her was skewed. if he’d known eighteen years ago what he knew today, when johnny had his own son aid him in his mother’s demise, none of it would have ever happened.

to say nothing of the fact that what johnny had haechan do was only a mere fraction of his mother’s suffering. haechan would fetch things from the other side of the cabin he vaguely remembered visiting every now and then for three months. when he was not there, which was often, he would lie to his neighbors about her whereabouts.

even though when she died he was only a kid being taken advantage of, haechan hated himself for letting it happen right under his nose. he wished he would’ve told his neighbors the truth. maybe if he had, his mother would still be alive and kicking, and he would know the only woman he ever cared for.

that was why he went after his professor that he knew his father had also been eyeing closely and having an affair with. her fate was obvious. johnny would entertain her for a while, somehow charm and woo his way into her pants like he did every other woman, kidnap her and keep her downstairs for three months, then kill her and identify the next victim.

but johnny’s liking of her was also hopelessly discernable. she was living too long. and that was a telltale sign that johnny took a special interest in his son’s professor, something that haechan feared would rival the affection (if it existed) for his mother.

haechan was not keen on having his mother replaced. the last time it happened, he snapped and maimed his stepmother. and he was not afraid of doing so again.

when haechan exacted revenge, it felt like nothing he had ever done before. vengeance tasted like heaven. his professor tasted elysian. and he had never felt so good about himself, but then the high wore off, comparable to the fading release johnny got after strangling his victims, and familiar pain seared through him once further. 

vindictiveness was a lethal venom, festering quickly upon injection. after haechan got what he wanted, there was a greed to replicate that feeling, in spite of the fact that nothing would compare to that first blow. in his own way, unlike his father’s but similar nonetheless, he was pivoting towards release.

haechan was on the brink of something like psychosis when he heard those knocks on his front door. and when he peered outside, spotting the professor, his recklessness got the better of him.

she was dead before she even stepped inside the house. haechan yanked her inside, brought her downstairs, and forced himself onto her for a second time that day. when she wept for johnny, wishing he would come home, haechan almost pitied her naïveté.

if haechan hadn’t killed her, wrapping his hands around her throat the way that he knew his father had been yearning to, johnny would have.

the look on his professor’s face was pitiful. “sorry,” haechan said, though he clasped his hands around her throat harder. “but i have to make a statement.”

it was not particularly a difficult thing to do, at least not to stomach, but killing her was merely just a means to an end. he didn’t get off to it like his father would’ve. haechan’s interest lay in inflicting psychological damage, but he did it because he knew how much it pleasured johnny to squeeze the life out of his victims.

and if haechan couldn’t have what he wanted, then as long as he lived, neither would his dad for tearing it away.

johnny came home moments too late. haechan left his professor in the cellar for his father to find, eyes wide and face pale.

johnny glanced around. he saw her car parked outside, but no sign of her. when haechan came from his bedroom on the upper floor, a creeping feeling of deja vu flooded johnny’s chest, but he asked, “where is she?”

haechan’s face was expressionless. “she’s dead,” he replied, confident. “i mean it this time.”

johnny shook his head. “you killed her?”

“wasn’t it you that said you were going to teach me the proper way to dispose of a woman when i’m sick of her?” haechan asked, approaching his father as he crept down the stairs.

though johnny wasn’t pleased, he willed himself to calm down. “did you strangle her?”

“yes.”

johnny figured, from the lack of blood staining his house this time around. “will you tell me about it?”

that caught haechan off-guard. he expected his father to be angry, to let loose. he had to have been dreaming of choking her since the day he laid eyes on her. “you sick fuck,” haechan sneered.

johnny snickered, unbothered. that’s rich. “who do you think you got it from?”

obviously, from the face haechan was making, he didn’t like that. his nonchalant attitude dissipated. “i’m not like you!”

“keep telling yourself that. maybe one day you’ll delude yourself into believing it,” johnny replied, hanging his coat on the rack in spite of knowing he would be leaving again soon.

“i’m not like you - i mean that.”

johnny, miffed, rolled his eyes and said, “come on, son. you think i don’t know you and your friends have been watching my tapes for the past decade and then some like they’re cartoons?”

“but not mom’s,” haechan spat, loathing fizzing in his stare. 

johnny froze, then spun around. “is that what this is all about?”

haechan nodded, pleased his father was finally getting the picture. “i found it in your study. you hid it more carefully than the others, because she was special or you didn’t want me to find it, i don’t know.”

johnny heaved a breath. “you were never supposed to see that.”

“but i did,” haechan replied. “and i’ve suffered every day for the past month because of that.”

johnny shot without hesitation, “a suffering you brought upon yourself. nobody asked you to go snooping around in my things.”

haechan’s lips were twisted into the meanest snarl johnny had ever seen. emotion wrecked through him in its totality. “is that what’s important to you? i shouldn’t be surprised. you couldn’t even spare your own son’s mother from your heartlessness.”

johnny massaged his temple, summoning all of his willpower. “please,” he groaned, sensing an incoming headache. “women are weak, cheating whores. just look at your professor. maybe your mother wasn’t, but she was a liability.”

if that was supposed to console haechan, it had the complete opposite effect. “are you saying she deserved it?”

“i’m saying that you’ve always been too soft,” johnny said, not bothering to sugarcoat his chastising. “just like your mother. even when you were a child. that’s why i had you help me, i hoped you would harden up a little.”

haechan scoffed. “unbelievable.”

“your mother went quietly. she didn’t even fight it, haechan. so, why are you?”

“because of that,” haechan told him, vitriol in his voice. “she didn’t ask you to stop one time. she just asked you to get it over with.”

johnny tipped his head back. “ah, yes. she really was perfect, wasn’t she?”

that was all it took to kindle an unforgiving rage within haechan and in a moment of fury, flickering through him in a flash, haechan lifted his hand to smack his father.

johnny caught his wrist, as if this weren’t the first time this had happened and it was wholeheartedly expected. his voice lowered to a mere hiss, “i’ve never laid a hand on you. ever in your life. don’t make today be the day i start.”

haechan glared, but wrested his way out of his father’s grip and backed away.

johnny smoothed down his shirt and headed for the kitchen, knowing haechan would follow. this conversation was far from over. “now, if you excuse me, i have to clean up your mess,” he said, pulling a burner phone out of a drawer. “if you don’t mind.”

“i can clean up my own mess,” haechan replied, scowling. 

setting the phone on the counter, johnny reached for a glass. “no, you can’t. not without digging your own grave. unless you want to go to prison, pack your shit, ask one of your buddies if you can stay with them for a few days, and take the tapes with you. hide them.”

haechan made a face. “what are you talking about?”

johnny sighed. “we can’t get away with this one, son. her car’s parked outside. there’s too many loose ends.”

“we can get rid of the car. you don’t have to go to jail!” haechan shouted.

“it’s either you or me. frankly, i’m doing you a favor. you wouldn’t last two seconds behind bars,” johnny hissed. he grabbed another glass, sliding it across the counter, then said, “now, wine? you know, to celebrate your old man going away? i believe that’s what you want.”

haechan shook his head. never in his life had he been so conflicted. his father that he’d been so bent on despising until the day he died was voluntarily confessing to a crime he didn’t commit, just so that his son wouldn’t have to suffer in prison.

“why are you doing this?” haechan asked, bristling with emotion. 

johnny sighed. “because i love you, son. even if you don’t think so. and because your mother would be turning in her grave if she knew you were in prison.”

haechan blew out a breath. then, after a moment of reluctance, he grabbed the glass on the counter and reached for the wine bottle. 

johnny snickered. “atta boy.”

“i wonder how your son reacted when he learned you were going to prison for murder,” you said, pondering. “you live in the same house. i wonder how he didn’t know.”

johnny lied, “he was at a friend’s house when i killed her. doesn’t like that it was his favorite professor.”

you nodded along, buying his lies. “that is a lot to take in. i mean, imagine your dad was having an affair with your favorite science professor. then, he kills her, like how he killed your mom.”

johnny shrugged his shoulders. “have you never heard the phrase ‘the heart wants what it wants?’”

“i have,” you replied. “and i guess your heart wanted to stop the function of others.”

johnny laughed at his own expense. “oh, please. you give me too much credit. you shouldn’t make me out to be more romantic than i am.”

you shook your head in disappointment. “you make these women want you, and then you undo everything. that has to be part of the amusement to you.”

“it gets a chuckle or two out of me.”

your lips were tempted to curl into a frown for the umpteenth time that day alone. “why?”

johnny leaned up in his chair, exclaiming, “because it’s fun!”

you were going to say something, but he didn’t give you the chance. 

johnny continued, “everyday, as adults, we do the same job for hours and come home. people want excitement in their lives. women get exhausted of coming home to their husbands or nobody at all.”

your stare was blank. “and your point is?”

“i didn’t just make those women want me, baby. i made them need me,” johnny told you smugly. “i brought a spark to their lives, and i took it away just as fast. and i do it… because i can.”

“because you could,” you corrected, confident he would never be free of this place for as long as he lived. “you’re going to be in here a very, very long time.”

johnny grinned. “i wouldn’t be so sure.”

you cocked your brow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“wouldn’t you like to know?” johnny teased. you hated the smugness in his tone. like he knew something that you didn’t.

the door opened, and the guard from earlier returned. “i hate to interrupt, but it’s time for the count,” he said, coming behind johnny to undo his cuffs.

it all happened in a blink. johnny’s weight was pressed flush against yours, roughly thrusting you into the table. your body screamed, agony spreading through your side, but your gun was in a lockbox outside the room.

johnny knew from your conversations alone that you weren’t the type to go quietly. your first instinct was to fight back. naturally, you struggled against his hold, refusing to bend to his will even as panic shot through your chest. your whole body was on guard, aiming for survival.

but to your misfortune, your might was no match for johnny’s. you glanced to the guard for assistance, but when he only stood there as if he was waiting for it to end, the most unsettling feeling of realization washed over you.

“don’t fight him,” the guard said, arms crossed. “you won’t win.”

johnny snickered when he noticed your eyes widen in shock. you hadn’t seen that coming. though you tried to resist, it was over once his slender fingers came to your throat, and you genuinely feared for your life. 

you didn’t realize how good you had it just being able to breathe until you couldn’t anymore. your breaths wouldn’t come. it felt as if your bones were being crushed. your whole body was on fight mode, but it was like johnny had the reins, shutting down your senses one by one.

“you put up a good fight, detective,” johnny whispered darkly in your ear, admiring your struggle.

your lips parted, but you couldn’t speak no matter how hard you tried. your self-preservation instincts were no match against him. all you could do was meet johnny’s stare. the pressure on your neck was too much to handle, and in seconds, you were out.

“lights out,” johnny said. he released your throat, having no intention of killing you and leading you for dead, but knowing that you would likely regain consciousness in a matter of seconds, he grabbed you by the hair, smashing your head flat against the table to subdue you.

jaehyun winced, but he did nothing to step in. “poor girl,” he mumbled under his breath, pitying you. “had enough?”

“for now,” johnny replied. “let’s go.”

jaehyun gave johnny a uniform to wear so that he would blend in amongst the uniforms like jaehyun had and when he was ready, the two of them fled before they could be deterred.

when they had successfully gotten away, jaehyun asked with his hand on a steering wheel, “you know that i don’t agree with this, right?”

johnny snickered. it had absolutely been said. “you haven’t agreed with my lifestyle for the past twenty-five years, yet you still help me. why?”

jaehyun frowned. sometimes, he asked himself the same question, but deep down inside, he knew the answer. “because we may not share blood, but we’re brothers,” jaehyun replied. “and for my brother, i’ll do anything you need.”

johnny quipped, “like smuggle me across the border?”

“like smuggle you across the border,” jaehyun said, chuckling. “when we get there, there’s gonna be this dude named mark. he’s gonna help you out. i’ll be in touch.”

johnny nodded. “i can’t thank you enough, man.”

“just lay low and stay out of trouble,” jaehyun said, shaking his head. 

johnny grinned with mischief. he was already thinking about all of the beautiful women he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. “no promises,” he answered, sighing contentedly.

[samcvrpenters]

word count: 1.9k+

pairing: vampire! joe goldberg x private detective! fem! reader

summary: you meet him at your best friend’s apartment, and when she goes missing the next day, of course you find him again

warnings: vampire joe au, canon storyline divergence, obsession, murder, mentions of stalking, blood-sucking

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

a feeling of ecstasy and euphoria coats joe’s whole body and mind as he feasts on the body below him. marienne bellamy was nothing more than a story, now. something that love deserved to worry about, and something that he worried about for a long time until she had betrayed him.

he no longer sees the appeal. he sees the appeal of her blood, and her insides, but that’s probably all it is now. he doesn’t care about her appearance or personality. there’s nothing left to care about. it’s not like he’ll keep the skeleton or the clothes. maybe a couple of teeth, but that doesn’t make her special. he does it with everyone he kills.

they’re trophies. trophies of his success. stories of how he managed to combat them in some way, shape or form and win. how he was able to claim the victory of being the more powerful and superior being after killing them in whatever way it was. maybe it was some old fashioned strangulation. or a knife to the throat. or maybe he simply gave in to his true identity and drained them of their blood.

that’s the method he chose with marienne. it was quick and easy too. there was no planning that needed to be put in place, no thoughts about where he was going to hide the murder weapon, no bother about fingerprints unless they were going to analyse the slight crevices of tooth marks in the woman’s skin, but it wouldn’t matter anyway. joe isn’t in the database for the police.

he sets the body down, leaving it on the floor before finally finding himself standing up, blood dripping from his teeth and around his mouth before he raises his hand up, and quickly wipes his skin. it does nothing apart from smudge it a little.

he’s spitting saliva into his hand and rubbing at his chin and around his lips, getting rid of as much blood as he possibly can so that he won’t be seen. but there’s not much to see, really. he’s in marienne’s apartment and he could just use the sink to wash everything off, but maybe he wants that final taste of her blood.

and then he hears it, a knock at the door. not delicate. but not harsh. it’s somewhere in between— more of a firm knock rather than anything else. his head finds itself turning towards the door and he’s grabbing a knife from the block that’s on the counter in the kitchen, twirling it between his fingertips before pulling it out.

it’s hidden behind his back, and he takes a quick glance in the oval shaped mirror on the wall, making sure there is nothing left to show what he just did. if it’s an officer behind the door, he’s done for. if it’s someone else, he might just be able to get away with it.

he opens the door, finally seeing you for the first time.

you’re not an officer. he can tell that. you’ve not got a badge and you’ve not got a hat or a jacket. you’ve not got a radio and you holster no weapon.

he doesn’t have to worry. you don’t look like you could hurt a fly— and he loosens his grip on the knife, but he doesn’t let go of it completely. just in case. he needs to be cautious.

“who are you?” you sound cold. very cold. maybe you’re cautious too. what if you knew marienne and that’s why you’re acting like he’s scum? like he shouldn’t be here? maybe you think that he was some fling that she had and maybe you do this with every single person who comes to her apartment: interrogate them.

“i’m joe.” he breathes out. maybe he has to seem like a fling to get you to go away. because you can’t find out that he killed her but he doesn’t want to kill you. he likes you already. he likes your scent already. you may be the one.

“what are you doing here? are you— are you fucking her?” you gesture into the building, because he’s in the doorway and he won’t let you in any further. you’re stuck on the outside so he can’t see the mess that he made on the floor.

you do know marienne. he works that out quickly. you must be a friend if you know where she lives, because she wouldn’t give away that information freely. she was a closed off person. and she didn’t trust a lot of people after she found out who joe was and what he did to his ex wife.

but then does that mean you know him? she may have told you about what he did and he can’t have that— but so far? everything seems fine.

“yes.” it’s an awkward sort of yes. it’s the sort that he blurted out but the sort that also makes sense, in some other light. like he didn’t actually want you to know but he’s saying it anyway. but in this case? it’s the only thing that he can say. the only thing that will get you out of here.

“for fuck’s sake.” he knows you’re mad. you grit your teeth together and you turn away for a second, and he’s analysing you. trying to see if he can find any indication on where you live or what you do for a living, so maybe he could find your workplace and then follow you home.

you’re both standing in an awkward silence for a moment or two. he seems to not know what to say and he’s sure that you’re searching and scrambling for words but can’t quite seem to find them.

“just— tell her i was here, i guess. i found something that she might have wanted to look at and—“ you pause for a moment, glancing him up and down. “you shouldn’t be hearing this. you don’t need to know all the gory details. just— tell her, okay?” you keep your eyes on him.

you’re not making a request. you’re making a demand, and he has to admit that he likes it. he likes your personality. the way you talk. he wants more of you and your attention but he’s stuck dealing with the dead body and he won’t be able to catch up to you that quickly.

“of course.” he smiles. he has to be charming. he has to act charming because he doesn’t want you to get suspicious when the two of you have only just met.

you’re the one to turn and leave, and he appreciates that. he didn’t want to shut the door on you, but now he’s able to do it because he doesn’t feel like he’s rejecting you. and the smell of your blood? fuck. he could bathe in that if he had the opportunity. he’s surprised he restrained himself.

he makes so much effort to try and find you the next day. he goes everywhere. he wanders the streets and he stays near the apartment building that marienne lived in, just in case you decide to go back. but he has no luck. he can’t find you.

so he’s incredibly lucky when you find him.

you knock on the door of his apartment and he’s honestly shocked. he doesn’t know why you’re here but he doesn’t care, because it’s you.

you don’t even let him say a word before you speak. “hi. joe, right? you were the one who answered the door for marienne because you were apparently fucking her.” your words are cold. you’re angry. he can tell. but you’re holding back.

“yeah. that’s me. is there anything i can help you with?” of course he’s acting like everything’s okay. because everything is okay. you just need to see that. maybe you found out she died and you’re coming to question him about it. maybe that’s your job. maybe you are a police officer.

“where is she?” you cross your arms over your chest as you snap out the question, your eyes locked onto his own. “were you so bad that she decided to just disappear? again? or is she dead? did you kill her?” you step closer, almost getting in his personal space.

he almost recoils— but he just manages to hold back the temptation of doing so.

and then you storm past him and into his apartment. he wanted to meet you again, but being accused of killing her? no, this isn’t how he wanted to see you again. he wanted it to be some sort of romantic thing. something that could turn into a first date and then eventually a relationship.

“please, calm down.” he closes the door because he assumes you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. he needs to act like he has no clue. “what are you talking about? what do you mean she’s disappeared?” he steps towards you.

“i’ve been calling and texting her for ages and she hasn’t responded to me. so i decided to— well— go into her apartment.” you’re speaking fast. as if you don’t want him to hear that bit. “and she’s gone. she’s not taken anything with her and she usually does when she goes out so— she’s missing. and you’re the last one who saw her.”

“i’m not. she has other friends, doesn’t she? maybe she wanted a change of scenery, or something. she can’t be dead. or missing.” he has to act like he cares. but he really doesn’t. not anymore.

“are you going to let me look around your apartment or not? because i have an official license and if you try to stop me, then i’ll have to report you.” so you are some sort of detective.

it doesn’t matter to him. he’s just more determined to get to you now. sink his teeth into you and get your blood, maybe. it’s been bugging him all night and all day. and now you’re here and he just wants to go ahead and do it.

“go ahead.” he gestures forward, as if urging you to go and look through his things. why is he simply going along with it? maybe he’s not hiding anything. maybe you only think he is because you’re paranoid and you want to protect your friend.

you look around for an hour or so. he’s honestly impressed, because he’s not sure how you went so long without getting bored.

“okay. you may have been right— she might just have wanted a change of scenery.” you rub the back of your neck sheepishly and turn to face him. “i can’t find anything that says that you did anything to her so… sorry. for all the chaos. i know it’s early. i just worry about her. she told me there was this guy who was hunting her down ages ago and— i just thought that might have been you.”

he shrugs, stepping closer to you. but really? he cares that you apologised. he’s glad that you did. because now you can build a real relationship. or friendship. or whatever you need to do first.

“i don’t mind. i get it. i had a girlfriend in the past who felt the same.” he offers a smile to you.

you do know it was him though. because you found the teeth and you found the necklace and you know that it was her’s. but this was your plan. worm your way into his life and then make him regret everything he had ever done to hurt her.

but maybe you don’t realise that he’s already onto you.

[daylighted]

— journal ! reader's first case !

posting again some of the stuff in my drafts from my break <3 hope u guys didn't think i forgot about my baby lore !!

it was a rare instance in which dean and sam went their separate ways on a case. two separate occurrences of the same oddly specific attack needing investigated, and not enough time in the day to gather both’s information without splitting.

it was easier now, with you and baby in the ranks. as much as sam seemed to be against you initially (which you understood, of course — one moment, you were something he flipped through with comfortable familiarity, and the next you were a girl) he was grateful now for your arrival for times like this.

“this is mine?” you hold out the fake badge in front of you, studying the emblems etched into it. 

sam lightly nudges your hand down, a little laugh falling out of his mouth. “maybe don’t ask that so loud.” he offers a polite nod and smile to a passing couple. “cops don’t usually tend to question their stance as a cop.”

“maybe they should.” you look down, adjusting the badge’s pin into your navy button up again. it was not a flattering look on you, but not many things held a candle to sam’s warm brown jacket that he let you borrow more often than not. “cops are not the most morally sound people.”

sam doesn’t say anything, and when you look up to see why, you can see where he bites down on the corner of his mouth in an attempt to stifle his smile. his deep cratered dimples give him away, though. 

sam nods toward an abandoned house on your path, just branching off of main street. “there’s our house.”

“it already fits the quota for haunted.” 

“unfortunately, i doubt a ghost travels from one side of the town to the other to torment the neighbors of desolate homes.”

you tut under your breath. you’d heard of worse. hell, john winchester had SEEN worse. still, you don’t argue, even though it DOES fit the criteria. rotting, peeling wood on the doorway, paint chipping off of the paneling, the plants around the creaky front steps dead and gray.

sam does a quick glance up and down the streets before he shoulders the door open. he steps aside, holding it open for you to pass. “ladies first.”

“technically, you went first,” you say as you pass, careful to not let any part of you touch any part of him, “but it’s the thought that counts.”

“so you want to break into the house next time?” sam raises an eyebrow, shutting the squeaky front door behind himself. “i’ll keep that in mind.”

you’re ignoring him, but not on purpose. instead, your eyes are downturned to the demon summoning circle painted in vibrant red in the caution tape’s blocked off paths. you duck underneath one strip of it, your eyebrows furrowing.

“careful to not touch.” sam’s hand comes to steady your shoulder as you straighten again. “fingerprints—”

you smile reassuringly up at him. “i know how dna tracing works,” you tell him, lingering a second before you bend at the knee, severing the connection between the two of you. you swipe your fingers through the deep vibrant markings. “i also know that my dna is not in any database. i was a book.”

sam opens his mouth and shuts it with a HM. it always seemed to shut him up when you brought that up. you bring your sticky red fingers to your nose and recoil, choking on a gag. “it’s animal, i think.” you pause, taking a moment to collect yourself before you test the scent again. coppery and rotten and WRONG. “no, it’s human, but it’s…”

“tainted.” you hear your earlier words echoed back to you through sam’s phone speakers, held between the two of you, while dean rambles. “the blood used to draw these circles is tainted, probably because the people sacrificed became the vessels for whatever the hell they brought from the other side.”

sam grimaces. “any idea on what could be possessing them?”

“well, there’s no savin’ them, so if we find them, it’s a cut and dry case. knock ‘em and cut loose.” dean’s voice is scratchy through the speaker, quieting for a second before he comes back close. “baby says hi, lore.”

“hi, baby!” you all but snatch the phone from sam’s hand, letting go the moment your fingers touch.

sam shifts closer to you, bringing the phone closer to your eye level. dean says, “what’s lore thinkin’? she’s got the book written all over her.”

you still, your lips tightening into a little frown. “i think it’s a crossroads demon.” 

the silence is heavy, filled with thought and doubt alike. then, after a beat, baby quietly says into the speaker on her end, “i didn’t know it was so important that demons cross roads.”

you smile, shaking your head a little at the innocence of the statement, even as you start to bunch up the sleeves of your shirt. “it’s a type of demon, i—”

you glance down at the loose, messy scrawl about demons on your forearm, frowning deeper now. “john didn’t have any notes about crossroad demons?”

dean cuts in as sam’s face bunches up; two faces of the same denial. “bull. dad had everything under the sun in that journal.”

“let me look.” sam takes your wrist gently, his eyes scanning over handwriting he’s seen many times before, and read many more. his fingertips are light as they brush across your skin, tracing along to where he was at. you couldn’t look away from him, even though you should have been looking with him. 

he switches to your other arm, each sleeve to your elbows, and no luck. “that’s weird.” and even as he says it, his eyes flash with a blink of realization. “lore, can i…”

you tilt your head at him, not understanding the implications of his unfinished sentence. “…yes?”

sam’s hands go to the back of your neck, brushing your hair off of your shoulders, and you can’t help the shiver that trails down your spine at the gentle, tender motion. he hooks a finger into the collar of your navy button-up and tugs down, just slightly enough to feel the musty chill of the house’s abandoned room and the heat of his breath. 

“baby, are you listening?” sam asks, and you falter, realizing that he isn’t letting go yet, that his face is inches from your skin. 

baby’s voice comes back, along with an audible groan from dean. “you found the answer?”

sam reads verbatim the words you know by heart. every little detail about crossroads demons and their capabilities. it's only when the sentence cuts off that he stops, right before he pulls your shirt down enough to reveal the arch of your spine. 

“so it is a crossroads demon that was summoned?” baby asks, as dean assumedly snatches the phone back at the same time and says, “they were attempting to summon something bigger, and the crossroads demon saw an opportunity and jumped.”

“that’s what i was thinking,” sam says, and he’s still right behind you, holding the phone around your body so that both of you can speak, his arms caging you in. “to have two separate summoning circles on opposite sides of the town instead of one centric location feels like the entire town is in on something, and that the demon smelled gold all the way from hell.”

you loosen slowly, the rush of adrenaline making its way out of your body. now being able to focus enough, you grab sam’s wrist to pull it down lower so it can pick up your voice. “maybe it is a townsmember, coming back to seek revenge on the fact they were chosen as a sacrifice in this town’s schemes.”

dean is quiet. sam is quiet. in the background through the speaker, baby is asking to have the phone again, which dean assumedly obliges when her voice comes in clearly. “do you think there is a map pattern?” 

“what do you mean?” you ask, because it’s easier to focus on baby’s questions than it is to on sam pressed against your back comfortingly. 

“like… the house we’re at is directly on the opposite side of town, so maybe…”

sam whispers, both to himself and to you, “it’s in the shape of a circle on its own.”

“damn it,” dean sighs, “meet back on main street again so we can head to the library and find a goddamn townmap.”

sam adds, “and some history into this town and what the hell they’re trying to accomplish other than invite much more than a victim turned crossroads demon seeking revenge.”

the phone call ends, and neither of you move. not sam, who now stands close enough for you to feel his breath on your neck, and not you, frozen by the proximity. 

finally, you take a step forward, eager to get the hell out of the space of the summoning circle. “thank you for helping me,” you say, offering him a shy smile to follow.

“you did it all on your own.” sam’s smile replicates your own, his eyes full of the warmth that his father’s never had when he looked at you. “let’s go head to your favorite place now, okay?”

being around sam made every place your favorite place, but you were never one to turn down a trip to a library.

[ssoliswitchh]

Let Ruin End Here // Chapter II

Word count: 3.8k // AO3 Link

Chapter I

Taglist: @loneyghosts-stuff

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

New York, 2012

It’s been three weeks since you saw the Winter Soldier in Prague. 

There’s been no sign of the super assassin since that first meeting. Normally, that would calm you down, but his absence is starting to make you feel anxious, especially if HYDRA is chasing down any loose ends they want to clean up. Hornwood found nothing else in the database; nothing that would indicate a looming presence over Project Janus. 

There was no point in obsessing over it, either, so you threw yourself into your work. You spent the last two weeks in Vietnam, tracking down a defense contractor who tried to sell PG blueprints on the black market. The man had taken the money, disappeared into the jungle, and took his newborn out through Laos. You found him in a stilt house on the Mekong, cradling the infant in one arm and a shotgun in the other. 

When it was over, you didn’t ask what happened to the child. You never do. 

Now, back in New York, it’s colder than you remembered. The subway doors slide open with a shuddering hiss. You quickly step off the train and into the station, your nose wrinkling with the smell of pretzels, damp coats, and too many bodies squished together. 

You slip through the crowd, avoiding eye contact as you move towards the stairs. Somewhere in the station, a street performer is half-singing, half-hoping their rendition of “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” will buy them lunch. Their voice is raw and too loud, cutting through the usual hum of train announcements and rolling wheels. 

You’ve never liked New York as much as other cities. It’s not the architecture or the skyline– those are fine.

 It’s the people. They way they shuffle instead of walk, clogging the sidewalks like a backed-up drainage pipe. Tourists with their oversized bags and empty stares, walking three abreast and stopping in the middle of the street to take a selfie. Even now, climbing up the subway stairs, you’re dodging a gaggle of teenage girls laughing to themselves. 

You miss the relative calm of Vietnam. The mission there was quick and ruthless, but most importantly, clean. No media. No bystanders. No goddam Christmas Carolers echoing off subway tiles. 

Hornwood called the moment you landed on American soil, telling you to get to the PG headquarters in Manhattan. Something about a debrief on HYDRA, which doesn’t surprise you. It’s been a long time coming. 

Still, you’re not thrilled to be back. 

The city’s regular rhythm carries you forward. You pass an ad plastered to the side of a building– PG Biotech: Pioneering Human Futures– and your lip curls instinctively. The couple on the poster are all smiles and bright eyes, making it viable for public consumption. Nobody ever questions what it stands for. Nobody knows what it’s actually used for. 

Signing, you adjust your wool scarf around your neck, shoving your hands into your pockets. You’ve been in this life for so long that anything else seems impossible. Normalcy, whatever that may be, has become an abstract concept. There’s not a night in the past decade where you don’t dream about all the shit you’ve done. All the evil you’ve had a hand in, willingly or not. 

It’s where the name Bellona comes in. The goddess of war, worshipped by the Romans for her violence and her hand in the horrors of battle. 

PG is the only constant in your life. The shadow behind every decision you’ve made since you were ten. It’s the reason why you know how to disappear in under five minutes and how to kill a man in one. The reason your fingerprints were burned off before your first kiss, why your name was changed at birth from whatever your real mother named you. 

And yet, it’s the only tether. You hate it, sometimes– most of the time, actually. The way the Peregrines have controlled the narrative to the point where there’s no other option. Why Mateo and his twin will never return to Colombia, or why Hornwood won’t ever speak about the work he did for twenty years. The way they say family like it means something. 

They took you in. Molded you. Loved you the way a wolf loves the prey it sinks its teeth into. 

And you loved them back, didn’t you?

You still do, in some strange way. You don’t know who you are without the Peregrine Group. 

But you dream about running. Sometimes it’s a train station. Other times, it’s a Motel 6 in the middle of nowhere. Or it’s a nameless road you’re walking on and no one is following you. No missions. No files encrypted under your name. 

You exhale slowly, shaking off the feeling that you’ll never escape. You’re here for the debrief, not some existential crisis. 

Before you know it, the PG headquarters are in front of you. No one on the street pays attention as you slip inside the glass doors, locking them behind you. 

The building was bought in 1980, just a few years after the Peregrines split from HYDRA, the building hasn’t been remodeled in twenty years. Your heeled boots click on the pink marble floor as you walk over to the dingy elevator, pressing the button to the tenth floor. 

With a groan, the elevator lurches to life. The doors rattle shut behind you, sealing in the stench of burnt wires and old food. You hold your breath as it drags upwards, grinding through each floor until it finally jerks to a halt. The doors creak open with a metallic wheeze, allowing you to finally step out. 

Unlike the ground floor, PG’s headquarters are sleek and modern, all sharp edges and cold design. Steel beams arch overhead like rib bones, glass walls partition spaces where agents work away at their desk, hunched over their keyboards with glassy eyes. The air is sterile, humming with electricity. No one looks at you as you pass. 

You take the stairs up towards the mezzanine, your boots clicking on the glass steps. At the top, you punch in the code to Project Janus’s private quarters– muscle memory more than anything– and the door swings open with a soft beep.

Inside, the space is utilitarian, but lived in: a compact kitchen tucked beside a long, scarred dining room table. Down the hall, the conference room is hidden from prying eyes by obscured glass, tucked between the rest of the compound and numerous training facilities. 

You hang your coat and scarf on the hook by the door, kicking off your boots as you walk in, and can’t help but grin when you walk into the kitchen. 

Mateo and his twin are sitting at the kitchen counter, pouring over the latest copy of The New York Times. It startles you sometimes, how much they look alike– dark hair, deep brown eyes, a strong jawline softened by lingering baby fat. Apolonia’s tortoiseshell glasses slide down her crooked nose as she reads, her arm inked with scripture and flowers. Mateo’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing a barely-healed cut on his right forearm. 

They were raised in rural Colombia, you remember. Their parents were school teachers. Ordinary, loving. They both disappeared when the twins turned eight and PG swooped in to take them. Officially, it was dubbed “recruitment,” but in reality, PG had marked the twins– their parents were perfect candidates for the prenatal modification program. They were taken from their home and brought here, trained separately from the others. From the start, PG molded them for intel and surveillance, with sharp eyes and sharper instincts. One mind in two bodies.

Nia spots you before Mateo does. She smiles when she sees you, climbing off her stool to hug you, her long paisley skirt flowing around her legs. Nia’s always been the warmer of the two. Mateo’s much more reserved than she is, though you can’t blame him. 

“You’re back!” She exclaims, her thin arms wrapping around your back. “We thought you’d be in Asia for longer.”

“Didn’t miss me too much, I hope.” You squeeze her once before pulling back. 

Mateo hid his grin behind his mug. “Only when she needed a sparring partner.”

“You were getting soft without me,” you tease, leaning back against the marble counter.

You trained them both from the time they were eleven, in hand-to-hand combat, marksmanship, endurance, survival. Kids with steady hands and bright eyes, molded into precision instruments. 

Just like you. 

“Please,” Nia scoffs. “Teo hasn’t even been keeping up with his drills.” She places her hands on her hips and stares at her brother expectantly, looking over the room of her glasses. 

Mateo just rolls his eyes. “I could still drop you in three second flats.”

“Four,” you correct him. “If she still lets you.”

That earns a twitch of a smile from him. It’s a familiar rhythm. The three of you, training together, giving them shit from time to time. If anyone on the team knows what you’re capable of, it’s them. 

“Still,” Nia resolves, looking back at you. “Are you ok?”

You nod once. “Fine.”

It’s the only answer they’ll get right now. 

At that moment, Hornwood walks into the kitchen in his normal unhurried gait, like nothing ever rattles him. A thick file packet is tucked beneath his arm. He hasn’t shaved in weeks, you can tell, because his beard obscures the worst of the burn scars on the left side of his face. 

“Conference room,” he says, his voice low. It’s not a question. 

You exchange a quick glance with the twins. Mateo just rolls his eyes, and Nia’s smile dims. The three of you follow Hornwood out of the kitchen and into the conference room, taking your seats at the long white table, glowing under the clinical white lights. The holoscreen in the center of the table lights up, ready to be used. 

“Tamar?” You ask, crossing one leg over the other. 

Hornwood doesn’t look up as he fiddles with something on his tablet. “Ms. Merabishvili is inbound. We’ll wait for her to start.”

You say nothing more as you watch the holoscreen hum to life, and Hornwood displays a file on the screen. 

Your heart sinks into your stomach when you recognize the face before you. Dominik Blažek. The man you were sent to kill three weeks ago. 

You can see Mateo stiffen across the table, but no one says anything. There’s no reason to– this is the first mission you’ve ever failed, the first one to be unsuccessful. 

The silence is broken by the sharp click of heels across the wood floor, and without warning, Tamar swans through the door like a storm. She’s wearing her signature fur coat, the fabric falling luxuriously over her willowy frame. Heavy gold hoops hang from her ears, matching her rings and the chain around her neck. Tamar has never been one for subtlety– stylistically speaking– and yet, she’s the most reserved out of you all. Even more so than Mateo.

Unlike you and the faux-family you grew up with, Tamar was raised within a compound 

her entire life. Her parents, a poor couple from Sagarejo, had participated in a bogus PG trial that resulted in a healthy baby girl – and a ten-thousand dollar severance package to leave her behind forever. 

You admire Tamar– respect her, even– for her strength. No one else on the team has the cunning and wit she does, not to mention her extensive knowledge of poisons and chemical compounds. It was clear from the beginning that Tamar wasn’t just a weapon like you. She was a strategist, born and bred, operating under the name Medea. The witch of Colchis.

But despite her outward coldness towards most, you’re probably the closest person to her– not that she’d ever admit it. 

When she sees you, Tamar smiles, her red lips splitting into a grin. “(Name),” she says, the syllables rolling over her tongue. “Still brooding, I see.”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair. “And you’re still dressing like a Bond villain.”

Tamar just shrugs, unbothered as she tosses her coat over the back of a chair. “If the shoe fits.”

Nia snorts from across the room. “It’s not a shoe, it’s a fur-lined ego.” 

Tamar just winks at her before making her way to the table, pulling out the chair next to yours. You catch a whiff of her perfume as she sits down– sharp jasmine and bergamot. Like most things about Tamar, it’s designed to linger.

“So,” she begins, folding one hand delicately over the other. “What’s the crisis today?”

You jut your chin towards the holoscreen. “HYDRA’s back on the radar.”

Tamar’s smile falters for just a second. “I thought they went underground?”

Hornwood shakes his head. His fingers dance across the screen of his tablet, pulling up a copy of Blažek’s file on the holoscreen. Your breath catches in your throat when you see his official PG headshot, taken on his first day. He looks almost hopeful in this, as though he expected PG to do better than HYDRA. 

You avert your eyes from the holoscreen, forcing yourself to look away. “Blažek was one of the original members of the Peregrine Group after they split from HYDRA,” you tell the rest of the team. “When he left, there were several missing documents regarding genetic modification and the chemistry around the supersoldier serum– notes on failed prototypes that the public never saw.”

“It’s possible Blažek took those,” Hornwood cuts in. “We think he changed his name after he left, to protect him and his family. That’s why HYDRA didn’t find him until recently.”

Nia shifts in her seat, frowning slightly. “That doesn’t make sense,” she says, jutting her chin towards the screen. “How did HYDRA know Blažek was alive after all these years, if he changed his entire life?”

Mateo hums in agreement, looking at Hornwood for the answer. Instead of saying anything, he just twirls his pencil around, pretending to be deep in thought. You know him better than that. 

“We don’t know,” he says at last. “It’s possible that Blažek got careless as he got older. The timing’s too perfect to be a coincidence.”

You study Hornwood’s face as he speaks. He’s giving you the right answer—but not the full one. You’ve worked with him long enough to know when he’s holding back.

It’s not good enough for Tamar. She scoffs slightly, standing up and walking around the table to get a better look at Blažek’s headshot on the holoscreen. 

“If the Soldier was after him… then that means HYDRA knows about us,” she pushes back. “Not just PG. Us.”

“HYDRA’s always known about us,” you reply coolly, steepling your fingers. “That’s nothing new.”

Hornwood finally puts the pencil down. “There’s a difference between knowing and caring, Tamar. HYDRA lost interest when the Peregrines refused to take sides– they weren’t deemed important enough for anyone to care.”

“The files Blažek accessed weren’t just old notes,” you add, leaning in closer. “They contained experimental models—tech PG shelved years ago because it was too unstable. If HYDRA has them now, they might not care about side effects. They’ll just want results.”

Hornwood walks around the table now, making direct eye contact with you and the twins. “But if Blažek defected from PG– if he started leaking data from us– then someone in HYDRA might be getting curious again. Especially if they suspected he took their files.”

Nia crosses her arms over her chest, her jaw clenched. “Someone curious enough to start looking for ghosts,” she mutters quietly. 

Mateo nods in agreement. He’s usually quiet during these meetings, choosing to absorb the information in silence. It’s one of the traits you respect most about him. 

“So there’s someone in PG who’s leaking information to HYDRA,” you cut in. “How else would they have known that he’s still alive? He wasn’t working for them under the same name.”

“No,” Hornwood sighs, folding his arms over his chest. “He wasn’t.”

Tamar folds her arms, her voice cooler now. “Then it doesn’t matter. He’s dead. The leak—if there was one—is closed.”

You glance at her, surprised by the sudden turn. She’s not usually the one to play damage control, despite her resolved nature. In the years you’ve known her, Tamar has never stepped up into a leadership role, instead choosing to stay in the shadows. 

Hornwood doesn’t take the bait. Just lifts his right brow as he stares down at Tamar, his one good eye boring into her. 

“It’s not our job to decide what matters,” he says. “We follow the trail. We follow orders. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You narrow your eyes. Hornwood’s vagueness isn’t new, but this time, it feels different. More like deflection than ignorance. 

 But you say nothing. It’s not your job to question him in front of the team. Any qualm you have, it’s dealt with in private. 

“So what’s the plan?” Mateo leans forward in his seat, resting his palms flat against the table. 

“We do what we always do,” you say, standing up so you can face the team. “Follow orders. Don’t ask questions. If something comes up, we deal with it.”

Tamar and the twins are silent for a moment. You can feel the tension in the room, thick like smog. 

Hornwood finally speaks again, shutting off the holoscreen with a quick swipe of his fingers. “There’s one more thing,” he begins. “We have to assume HYDRA won’t stop at Blažek. If they’re chasing ghosts, they might come looking for Project Janus next.” 

“And if they do?” It’s the first time Mateo’s spoken, his voice reedy with anxiety. You can’t blame him for being nervous– only nineteen years old, and already dealing with more shit than most people decades older than him. 

“They’ll send the Soldier,” Hornwood says firmly. 

Silence again. No one speaks. You force yourself to hold your breath, as though letting it go would shatter the world around you. 

“You think they’ll turn him on us?” Nia says, her voice low. 

“We’re the only soldiers that were modified prenatally,” Tamar reminds her. “If Janus is still the goal, then we’re the only evidence that it worked.”

“And the only loose ends to tie up,” Mateo says grimly. 

Hornwood doesn’t argue. Doesn’t soften it. “If HYDRA sends the Soldier, they’ll send him to erase Janus. Clean. Precise. Untraceable.”

“But Blažek’s already dead,” Nia says, looking between the rest of you. “If the leak’s gone, then why still come after us?”

You look at Hornwood then, searching his face for the answer he won’t give. But he doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move.

“He might have said something,” you offer instead. “Passed something along before he died. If HYDRA thinks the experiment's out there, they won’t stop until they find it. Until they find us.”

Hornwood finally meets your gaze. “Which is why we act first. We find out who’s talking, what’s been shared, and we bury it. Quietly.”

You nod slowly. It’s the kind of nod that means I hear you—not necessarily that you agree.

Because deep down, part of you wonders if this is what Hornwood wanted all along. Not damage control. Not containment. Just an excuse to sweep the past back under the rug.

And if that’s true, then Blažek’s death isn’t a threat. It’s a warning.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The New York nightlife roars below as you lean against the rails, watching the smoke curl past your lips. 

Everyone left rather quickly after the debrief; Tamar muttered something about prior plans, while the twins split to go find a slice of pizza somewhere. Hornwood disappeared into his office, leaving you to mull over your thoughts on the rooftop with a cigarette. 

You have an apartment in the city. It’s on the opposite end of the island, but you’re in no rush to get back there. There’s not a lot you keep there these days, just some spare clothes and a bed to crash on.

Once the cigarette burns down, you flick it off the rooftop, watching as it falls into oblivion below. You think of Tamar’s sidewards glances, the twins restless twitch when Hornwood enters the room. You think of Hornwood’s quiet fury when questioned– his insistence on protocol, his deflection. The way he talks about the Peregrine Group like it’s fragile, like it actually means something good is going on in the world. 

What the hell are we doing?

You can’t blame Hornwood for his odd reverence to PG. He’s been in this longer than you’ve been alive, spending decades working with failures. Bodies that rejected the science, minds broken before they could be born. Then came you. PG’s first success. The poster child. Proof it could be done. 

And Hornwood– well, he’s always looked at you like a man stares at a blueprint he doesn’t understand but desperately wants to. There’s affection in there, somewhere beneath burnt-out exhaustion and obsession with metrics. 

It’s just not the kind of love you can hold on to. Not after you were taken away from the people who pretended to be your parents, and Hornwood stepped in as your handler. 

You sigh and push off the railing. You check your watch. It’s too late to call anyone, and too early to drink it all down. The rooftop offers no answers.

So you leave. 

The city swallows you whole as you stride through the crowds of tourists, slipping between them like smoke. The hum of traffic and stench of stale perfume lingers in the air as you make your way to the subway station. 

It’s eerily empty when you arrive. You feel the hair on your arms raise almost immediately; there’s no one at the turnstiles, no one lingering at the stop. Just the flickering fluorescent lights above you and the occasional rumble of passing trains. 

You feel it before you see it. The shift in the air, the prickling on your skin. 

You’re not alone.

Reaching into your coat, you pull the knife from your belt, feeling the leather handle against your palm. It won’t kill immediately, but it’s enough to protect you from whatever shitshow you’re about to walk into. 

You walk further into the station, making sure that your footfalls are silent. The air is still, and every instinct screams get out, but your feet keep moving. 

Then, you hear it. 

The sharp snap of bone. A heavy grunt. The thud of a body hitting the ground. 

You stop cold. 

At the far end of the platform, under a flickering light, a man crumples on the tiles. His neck is twisted at an unnatural angle. Standing over him is another figure, half-shadowed, steel glinting where his arm should be. 

The Winter Soldier.

He doesn’t look at you right away. Just stands there, breathing heavy, blood on his knuckles. 

Then, like smoke catching scent, his head turns, and he sees you standing there, jaw slacked with shock. 

Your eyes meet.

It lasts less than a second. Long enough to burn.

Then he vanishes into the dark tunnel behind him, swallowed whole like he was never there.

[drdemonprince]

Just want to pass along this info to any of your trans followers living in Texas:

Trans legal aid clinic Texas just received enough funding to cover 500 passport applicants to update their gender marker and name and get a passport and passport card at no cost. This is going to be their last push for their passport project before the next admin takes over and likely restricts or undos ability to update gender marker on passports. The clinic walks you through the entire process and volunteers help you fill out appropriate forms and direct you where to get your photos and fingerprints taken etc.

If you are a trans Texan you likely already know TX DPS internal policy changed a few months ago and they no longer issue gender marker corrections on TX IDs like drivers licenses, even though they are required to comply with court orders. They are also threatening to revoke any previously changed IDs and are building a database of people who have done this. If you don't have a corrected ID before Trump takes office your life is likely going to be a lot harder to navigate. I know this is something a lot of my trans friends have put on the back burner but take this opportunity now while you still can.

You can apply for the project at linktr.ee/tlact/ and applications close on December 20.

boost!