#in case the ao3 police get me I am NOT GETTING PAID this is just me writing people stuff because they donated to a good cause

[pittdpeaches]

Over on Twitter, some lmk artists are participating in #lmktwt4gaza, and I figured I’d let tumblr know I’m participating as well! DM me proof of your donation to an organization/relief fund for Gaza and I’ll write you a one-shot of whatever you’d like!

Keep in mind, I am a full time student, so it’ll take time to write the one shots of course.

If anyone on tumblr would like to join in, here’s a link to the template

[glorixuspurpose]

Help.

Leon Kennedy x Black!Fem!Reader

A/N: finally did it yall

warnings: not much except canon-typical violence...and zombies. No swearing in this christian minecraft server!!! the ending is cringy as usual, aaaand reader also knows Chris Redfield(because I love him).

ao3 link here

 Of course the one time you actually needed help from the police, or any kind of law enforcement, the line was dead. 

‘It’s probably just because of the rain…’ You thought to yourself. Your car had stopped in pretty much the middle of nowhere(which was really just the outskirts of Raccoon City), and you managed to push the car to some gas station that was 200 feet away. 

 You got back in the driver’s seat, the door still open just in case someone decided to be a good samaritan(though you were pretty sure those didn’t exist anymore), and used your chunky “mobile” phone to try and call 911 again. Of course, the only answer you got was the dead ring from the other side. You would have paid for gas…if you had money. You only planned to drive to a family member’s house and back, with all of your gas. 

 You lightly tossed the phone to the passengers seat in defeat before getting back out of the car just to sadly lean on the car door. 

“Is everything alright, ma’m?” You heard someone, supposedly a man, ask. 

You turned your head, fully prepared to give some sarcastic remark to make them back off, until you actually saw him. 

 There was no doubt that he was quite handsome, with his strong, but soft features and his ash blond hair, and you were hoping that he knew something about cars. 

“Uh, not exactly. My car stopped like, two hundred feet back, and I had to push it here. Unfortunately, I didn’t bring my wallet, or any cash for that matter, and I’m pretty sure no one is inside.” 

 He raised his eyebrows, almost in an “I’m sorry I asked” manner, before shoving his hands in his front pockets and looked towards the store. 

“I could look for you…if you want.” He asked timidly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“We should probably just go together, I would feel kinda guilty if you got killed or something in there ‘cause of me.” 

 Your remark seemed to get a soft chuckle out of him. 

“Hopefully I wouldn’t go down too easily..if there were danger in there. I am a police officer after all.” You sighed heavier than expected out of relief, but quickly regained your composure. After all, it���s the 90’s. How much sense would it make for a white male cop and a black female to be together in the middle of nowhere with dead powerlines? 

 You two walked up to the entrance, but quickly stopped. “Are you sure about this?” He asked you, his tone laced with worry. 

“Yeah, totally. Let me just…” You started jogging in place for a second, trying to hype yourself up, before quickly realizing how stupid you looked. 

“Sorry…I was trying to get amped up.” Now it was your turn to be timid. 

 He laughed. “It’s fine.” 

It took a strong pull on the door handle for it to open, but you two finally managed to get inside. There wasn’t a single light on in the place, and there was a strong sweet-but-disgusting smell. You looked over at the male, to see if he was smelling the same thing, just to see him making an adorable disgusted face. 

 “Wait,” You said, putting your hand in front of him. 

“What? Is there danger?” You shook your head, even though you really had no idea. 

“What’s your name? In case I do need help.” 

“Leon. Leon Kennedy.” He held his hand out for you to shake, and you gladly accepted. 

“Y/N L/N.” 

  “Eugh…” He said under his breath. “You smell that too?”

You silently nodded, before seeing him start to walk the other way, most likely trying to figure out where the smell is coming from. You grabbed him by the wrist, trying to stop him. “Have you seen a single horror movie? Don’t split up!”  

He rubbed the back of his neck again. “Sorry. We’ve been in here a while, and we still haven’t found out if anyone was here.” 

 Absent-mindedly, you yelled: “Hello? Is anyone here?” 

Both of you stayed still, hoping for a response, but got nothing in response except for a pained groan. You two quickly looked at each other, as if saying “Should we go check it out?” Before going on to do so. 

 You two ended up finding a man sitting against the wall, with many gashes on his body. 

“Holy crap…” You said to yourself. “Do you need help?” You asked, before mentally facepalming. Of course that poor man needed help, but still, all he did was groan. 

You and Leon looked at each other once more, then stood up from your kneeling position. 

 “We should call for help. I take it neither of us have any idea what to do..” Leon suggeste, but you vigorously shook your head. 

“We should, but we can’t. The lines are dead. I’m lucky you showed up, because I’ve tried for hours.” 

Leon sighed. “We can’t just leave him here!” 

 You warily kneeled back down and pressed two fingers to the man’s neck. He was barely breathing, and his heart seemed to be going five beats per minute. 

You stood back up. “He’s pretty much on the verge of death. That might be the only option. Come on…” You told him, gently grabbing his wrist again to lead him out, as if he were in shock.

 “What now?” He asked as you two stood outside. 

“Could you give me a ride?” 

“What about your car?” 

“It’s a piece of junk anyways. I just need to get a few things.” 

He scratched his head, then looked back at his car. “I guess I could do that. I can’t just leave you like that man. I’ll…go start it.” He answered, before awkwardly jogging off to the car, leaving you the privacy to go grab your things. 

 After taking everything you needed, you hopped into the passenger seat of his car. 

“So,” He started, hands on the wheel. “Where too?” 

“The station, I guess. Maybe I could reach someone there.” 

He pulled the car out of the parking lot. 

 “Not to pry…but who?” 

You shook your head, like the topic wasn’t that important, which it really wasn’t. “Just someone I used to work with.” 

Leon nodded. “I was thinking about heading there too. I guess it was a sign. I was seeing if I could reach someone too, I’m looking for him.” 

 You lifted your head off your hand. “Not to pry,” You started, sort of mimicking him. “But who?” Another chuckle. 

“Some guy named Chris Redfield.” 

You whipped your head towards him. 

“That’s who I was trying to reach!”

 “Jeez, just coincidence after coincidence. Would you happen to know where he is?” 

You leaned back. “Nope. We aren’t super close. I’m closer to his sister, Claire.” 

Leon nodded. “We should be close to the station now.” He told you as you two reached the city. 

 “Why are there so many people out there?” You rhetorically asked, looking out the window, until one tried to jump right at you, which made you thank every existing god that there was a window to keep the contact from happening. 

“Wait…are those…zombies?!” You yelped. 

It was about to be a long night.

A/N: kinda feeling like i want to do a prequel(-ish) to this where Chris and reader meet? idk lmk if you would want one :p

[divinemissem13]

I'm With Her - Chapter 2

Or, the 2nd time Sharon 'saved' Brenda

Chapter 2: Rainbow

Another day, another case wrapped, another shithead off the streets. It had been a good day, all things considered, and Brenda slid open her desk drawer to reward herself. She was just about to rip open the pack of Reese’s Pieces when a sharp knock on the door reminded her of the other, less successful part of her day. “Come in,” she called out, unnecessarily since Captain Raydor was already sticking her head through the doorway. Oooh! That woman!

Brenda plastered a big smile on her face and stood to greet her. Their power dynamic was such that she needed every inch of her diminutive stature to remind her who exactly was in charge. “What can I do for you Cap’n?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve finished my report and as long as no one in your division shoots anyone, I should be out of your hair for a while,” Sharon said, handing over the thin folder. Brenda shivered involuntarily as the other woman’s serene voice washed over her. It would be easy to get lost in that voice, if she let herself. But she wouldn’t.

“Well isn’t that just the best news?” Brenda drawled through her stiff smile as she tossed the file onto the desk. “Pope come out ok?”

“I never said I was doing a background check on Pope, Chief,” Sharon said with an amused smile.

Brenda fumbled for her glasses and picked up the file again. Apparently, one of her officers was in trouble and she hadn’t even known it. Hopefully it wasn’t her. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw when she began to skim the first page. “What is this?” she asked as she sunk back into her chair, temporarily too much in shock to be concerned with power dynamics. Luckily, Sharon took this as a cue to sit as well, prim and proper with her legs crossed at the knee and her hands placed just so in her lap; a stark contrast to the rather haphazard way that Brenda had plopped herself down, hunched over so that her nose was only inches from the file she was reading.

“It’s an application for Chief of Police,” Sharon explained needlessly. “As the LAPD’s Women’s Coordinator, I am on the search committee and we feel it is important for there to be a strong, female candidate for the job.”

Brenda peered at the older woman over the rims of her glasses. “And that’s s’posed to be me?” she asked skeptically.

“Yes, Chief. That’s supposed to be you,” Sharon confirmed with a sigh.

“I see it’s already filled out,” Brenda observed, blindly reaching for her abandoned bag of candy and opening it with her teeth as she continued to read.

Sharon gave a tight smile that even reached her eyes a little bit. “I wanted to make it as easy as possible. All it needs is your signature.”

“Mmhmm,” Brenda replied through a mouthful of candy. She popped a few more into her mouth and caught a glimpse of Sharon watching her and she suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable under her gaze. Which was odd because she had barely paid attention to the captain while she followed her around all week. “You, uh, you want some?” she offered, waving the bag of candy in Sharon’s direction.

Keep reading on AO3

[bitchinfawkseh]

Heaven Knows Your Name, I've Been Praying: Chapter 1

————————————————————————

Summary: When a mysterious string of suicides bring the Winchester brother's to Waterville Maine, they meet a fellow hunter: Cheryl Jones, who helps them with the case of La Llorona.

W.C: 3671

Warnings: mentions of suicides.

[A/N] Ahhhh chapter debut. I love Cheryl, I hope you guys like her as much as I do!!! And I'm excited to develop her and Dean's relationship:)))) I'm obsessed with using songs and applying them to my fics (if you read lyrics after you'll understand.) So if interested please listen to the songs I link each chapter

Masterlist | AO3

Rain drizzled from the sky, little droplets darkening the roads and sidewalks - giving off a sweet earthy smell. Students bustled around campus from class to class and they all were hoping and praying that they didn’t fail this semester. College town: this is where that newspaper article about kids killing themselves like crazy took them.

Dean passed Sam a cup of coffee, it was nearly burning his hands with how piping hot it was - but the fresher the better. “Any leads?” Dean muttered before blowing on the coffee and taking a small sip. A jolt of energy to get him through the rest of the day was just what he needed. Sam shrugged and glanced up at Dean "We could try talking to the girlfriend of the vic? Her name is Maya Jameson." He suggested. Sam took a sip from his coffee, wrinkling his nose a bit at the taste. It was watery, not good at all, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. Then again, Dean would drink sludge if he was told there was caffeine in it.

Dean pursed his lips together and nodded slowly "Sure. Been lookin' for an excuse to go by Agent Jones again." He smirked. Sam rolled his eyes and glanced around the wet scenery, he liked the rain, which is why he was happy to be in a place like Waterville Maine - even if they were there only for a case.

It was a very beautiful city too, with a huge river running through it and beautiful old buildings. The changing of the leaves from green to red and orange was a nice touch too - it was peak autumn in Sam's eyes. Dean didn't have an eye for stuff like this, he paid no mind to it actually unless there was something noteworthy - which was usually just some huge tourist trap.

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

"Thank you for speaking with us, Miss. Jameson," Sam said, a small smile stretching across his face. Maya ushered them into the small living room of the apartment. It looked weirdly homey and nice for a college student. "No, thank you." She tucked some of her tangled light hair behind her ear. Dean glanced around the place, the kitchen had a sweet bar area tucked in the corner and magnets on the fridge from various states and cities. He gestured toward the fridge and pouted his lips together, "Travel a lot?" Dean asked. Maya glanced over her shoulder and then shook her head. "Oh no, my roommate does. She likes knick-knacks."

Dean nodded along and grinned "Nice."

The boys sat down next to each other on the loveseat across from Maya. Sam started with a " We're sorry for your loss." He was much more empathetic than Dean tried to be, but Sam just had that personal connection of losing a partner like that. She gave a curt nod and pinched the fabric of her shirt between her fingers. "The police already came and talked to me - so what don't you know?" Maya asked. Dean raised his hand "Tell us everything. The reports got all messed up," He then let out a small chuckle and then smirked. "Stupid interns, am I right?"

Sam glared at Dean and elbowed him in the side discreetly, now was not the time for jokes. Maya's eyes widened slightly and then she let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah."

"Did Noah show any signs of duress? Like… seeing things that weren't there or doing impulsive things?" Sam asked. He seemed very engrossed in the conversation at hand, he was leaning forward and his hands were clasped together. Maya considered his words carefully before replying "He would talk about this woman who seemed to be watching him - he even filed a report with the police but nothing came of it." Dean and Sam both sighed and then the girls' eyes widened. "Wait!" Her voice was laced with urgency and slight panic. "You don't think he was murdered right?! It was just a suicide -"

Sam waved his hands and cut her off "No! No, just standard procedure. Sometimes before people… do that, they have some issues."

As Sam and Maya continued to chat, Dean listened until he noticed a book on the coffee table. It was a hefty book, there were various runes along the spine of it and the title read 'Mexican Folklore & Superstitions.' Under it, there was another novel that looked like it was about runes and ways to protect yourself from the supernatural. He cocked a brow and pursed his lips together, "Were these your boyfriends?" He asked, gesturing towards the stack of supernatural books. She glanced over and then down at the books, she seemed a little confused about what he was talking about until she read the title. "No, they are my roommate's stuff. She's into all that creepy weird stuff." She replied shortly before turning her attention back to Sam.

Sam's brows furrowed and he shot a knowing look at Dean. "Where is your roommate? Can we talk to her?" He asked. Maya picked at the skin around her thumbnail and tucked her tongue into her cheek. "She's on a work trip right now, but as soon as she heard she said she was coming home. She'll be back in the next couple of days." Maya explained.

Dean squinted "She's not in college like you?"

She shook her head. "No, she's like 27 - and she thinks paying for an education is stupid when you can get knowledge for free from quote on quote 'life experiences'" Dean chuckled softly and shook his head, her roommate seemed amusing.

Sam reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and passed her a (fake) business card with his number on it. "When she gets back, give us a call, we'd like to chat with her. Standard procedure." He said. Maya read over the card before smiling and nodding. "Will do. Thanks."

As they walked out of the building, Sam nudged Dean's arm with his elbow. "I think the roommate is a witch, I mean come on- those books she had… and maybe she's the cause of all of this." He motioned around them, clearly talking about all the suicides and the case. Dean pursed his lips together before shaking his head. No, this woman wasn't a witch. "Notice all the magnets from different states and cities? And the fact that she's always travelling for work?" Dean said. He grinned and looked back at the apartment building before Sam again. "She's a hunter."

His eyes widened and he glanced around before leaning closer to Dean. "What? How would she even afford an apartment-?" He asked.

"I dunno."

"What do you mean I dunno?" Sam mocked. Dean shot him a glare and pulled the driver's side door of his beloved Impala open. "I mean I dunno. There could be thousands of reasons why she can," He slid inside and Sam slipped in as he started up the engine. Baby roared before settling to a familiar soft sound that he oh-so loved. "Just saying," Dean began as he switched the car into gear. "It's a good possibility she is a hunter."

The rumbling of her bike between her legs made her entire body vibrate, Cheryl tucked some of her damp chocolate brown hair behind her ear. She pulled the keys out of the ignition and adjusted the collar of her bright red leather jacket. 1 more day until she's back home, and then no more shit motels for a while. When she heard of Maya's boyfriend's death - she left almost immediately to go back home. They weren't that close, but it was just a nice thing to do. Besides, his death was… sketchy to say the least.

Cheryl worked her leather fingerless gloves off and shoved them into her pocket as she strolled into the motel's cramped lounge to book a room. She flashed the desk clerk a polite smile, "Buneas, room for one, please?" She asked. It was like any regular motel, keys hung off nails on the wall and they each had a key chain that had various room numbers on them. The yellow lighting made the woman's hair at the front desk look white - and it brought out every little blemish on her face. The clerk glimpsed up at her before spinning in her chair and snatching a key off the wall. "Double fine?" Her voice was gravelly and quiet. Cheryl nodded and reached into her coat for her wallet. "Yeah, whatever you got." She said as she pulled some cash out. The clerk spun back around to face her and handed her the key "$15 and check out is 11 AM." This woman was really in a hurry to get her out of there. They swapped the key for cash and Cheryl nodded along, her lips thinning. "Alright. Gracias." She muttered before leaving.

Cheryl shouldered her way through the room, it was a typical motel. White bedding, ugly walls stained with cigarette tar and stinky crumby carpets that should have been burned years ago. She set her things down on the desk in the corner of the room and peeled her jacket off. "I should give Maya a call…" She mumbled under her breath. She glanced over at the clock above the bed and wrinkled her nose. She may or may not be asleep, it depends on how she is feeling. With a heavy sigh, she grabbed her phone from her bag and flipped it open.

It rang a couple of times before she picked up with a quiet hello. Cheryl frowned at how sad Maya's voice sounded, "Hey, how are you feeling?" She asked softly as she sat on the edge of her bed. Cheryl untied the laces of her black biker boots and listened as there were some crinkles of wrappers in the background before she sighed. "Oh you know, like my life is ending and how I should have noticed something." She finally answered.

"Oh, querida, nobody could have predicted it. Didn't his therapist even say she didn't expect it-?"

"Yes but-"

"But nothing, it's nobody's fault, Maya. And certainly not yours." She interrupted.

Cheryl cleared her throat as she tossed her boots by the door. "I'm in Massachusetts right now, and I'm leaving bright and early tomorrow so I'll be home around noon," Cheryl said. She heard Maya gasp over the phone, causing her brows to furrow and her posture to straighten. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing - that just reminded me. Police came by today again, they asked to talk to you when you get back."

Her forehead creased and she swallowed hard, "Why?" Cheryl hated the police - even though she often posed as them; yet another misdemeanour to add to the list. "He just said that it's standard procedure. They probably wanna talk about…" Maya trailed off, her voice sounded strained and thick with grief. "Oh! It's fine, I'll talk to them. Whatever they need - I'll provide. Even blowjo-"

"Shut up!" Maya giggled.

The next morning Cheryl got up around 7, had a quick shower, bought a cup of coffee and smoked two cigarettes before she left at 9. Carlos would probably kick her ass if he knew that she was still smoking - she swore she could hear his nagging voice in the back of her mind going: "Woman! Those are horrible for you."

Cheryl loaded up her things on her bike, strapping the last bag up and tugging on it to make sure it stayed. She's good on gas, and she wasn't that hungry so she didn't need to stop until she reached home. Cheryl zipped up her jacket, pulled on her gloves and helmet and then she was off. Biking was exhilarating - how fast you could go - the scenery - everything. She loved all of it.

"Maya told us to swing by around noon," Sam said as he exited the bathroom and came back into the main room. Dean sighed and tossed the nude mag he was glancing through onto the bed side table. "Alright, let's get goin'." He muttered.

Sam and Dean both sat down on the sofa, they got there a little early - the girl wasn't here yet. But Maya said she should be here soon, "She was in Massachusetts last I heard." She told them. She set their coffees down on the table in front of them and smiled weakly. Dean nodded in thanks and took a small sip. It was strong - warm, this was a good batch of coffee. "This is good, thanks." Dean said as he leaned back into the sofa. Sam raised his mug to Maya and took a big sip, he had barely gotten to swallow it when there was a jingling of keys in the front door before it opened.

Everyone looked over their shoulders at the brunette woman who just came in. She set her bags down on the floor in the hall and her brows raised as she took in the scene. Maya was quick to jump to her feet and sweep her into a hug. "Oh, Cheryl!" She cried. Cheryl awkwardly patted her shoulder and rubbed her back. Dean tilted his head as he took in the scene, a soft grin forming on his face. Cheryl looked to be a little shorter than Maya was - they both had pretty eyes. 

She pat Maya's shoulder again before pulling back from the hug. Cheryl glanced over at the men on her couch "Sorry, I underestimated how bad the rain was gonna be." Dean pursed his lips together and raised his hand and Sam sent her a reassuring smile. "No problem. You're here now, that's all that matters."

After Maya went for a walk, Cheryl sat in front of them with an expressionless face. Her brows raised and she stared at the two of them "So, what did you wanna ask me?" Cheryl started. Sam and Dean both looked at each other briefly before leaning forward a bit, their hands resting on their knees. "Did you notice anything off with Noah before he died?" Sam started. Cheryl pouted her lips together before shaking her head. "No, I wasn't here for a month and before that he was you know- the normal Noah." Dean's eyes narrowed and he glanced over at Sam briefly. "What exactly is your job?" He asked.

Cheryl tucked her tongue into her cheek and tapped her fingers against her knee. She didn't know how to reply exactly - but they didn't seem like professional real cops either… She shrugged slightly and squinted "Ehhh - stuff. I help people." She finally said. She couldn't exactly tell them she hunted the supernatural as a job - a job she didn't even get paid for, it could be considered "volunteering" at most. Dean's brows furrowed and he nodded slowly, swallowing hard. He tapped the hardcover of the book he noticed before - 'Mexican Folklore & Superstitions' and met her eyes. "Does it involve stuff like this?" Cheryl's eyes widened slightly and her nose scrunched, she looked a little… unimpressed. Sam watched her carefully - this was the moment they were waiting for.

"Yes." She answered, glancing at the two of them. Cheryl's voice dipped low - her accent making it sound like a purr. "So then you're hunters too?" Her eyes darkened and Dean's breath hitched, damn she was a sexy minx. He was too focused on her - her curves - her tits, he wasn't really looking before - but now he sure was.

Sam let out a relieved sigh and his lips quirked up into a small smile. "Yeah, we are." He was at least relieved to know that she wasn't some sort of crazy witch. Cheryl’s lips thinned and she looked Dean up and down "And you're here because of all the suicides? What do you think it is?"

Sam elbowed his side and he jumped, snapping completely out of it. "What?"

Cheryl grinned "What do you think it is? Ghost? Demon? Monster?" He struggled to form words - he was completely out of it. Sam answered for him, "We don't know yet. Maybe we can work together on this?"

This caught Dean's attention, he glanced over at Sam with wide eyes and swallowed hard. They didn't even know this woman's last name - let alone whether she was trustworthy or not. Cheryl's grin widened "Yes, gracias. Can't do much myself since I live here." She then glanced up at the clock on the wall over the fireplace and pouted her lips together. "Maya will be back soon - uhh, why don't we meet at the library at 5 and talk then?" She suggested as she glanced back at the brothers. Sam nodded frantically and smiled nervously "Yeah - sounds good. Right, Dean?" He said. Dean’s lips thinned and he nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Cheryl's face. "Yep."

This was the second time they were leaving that apartment - and this time the energy was much more tense. Dean was in a sour mood and Sam was cheerful about the fact that they found a fellow hunter and got to work with her. It was finally Dean who spoke first, his forehead wrinkling as he looked at Sam in disbelief. "You really asked her to work with us? Seriously?" His voice got progressively more annoyed as he spoke. Sam narrowed his eyes, seemingly confused by why he was so upset. He shrugged slightly and shook his head "Dean she lives here - she knows the area better than us and she knew Noah personally too." He explained. Of course Dean didn't think of those aspects - she was a local and she knew the history of the area. He grumbled something incoherent under his breath as he jerked open the driver's side door of Baby.

Cheryl took a short nap before she went out again, and obviously changed into some more appropriate attire. A worn cropped Metallica tank top and simple black jeans. And of course, her leather jacket and biker boots.

By the time she pulled up to the library, it was a little past 5. Cheryl wandered the library a bit before finding Sam and Dean at a deserted table between shelves. "Hola." Cheryl greeted. When they both glanced up at her she corrected herself: "Hey." Dean's eyes narrowed and his brows knitted together. "We know what hola means." He said. Cheryl smirked and crossed her arms, "I'm sorry, I just assumed since you're a bunch of gringos." She chuckled. Cheryl slid into the seat next to Sam, across from Dean, and peered over his shoulder at the book he had. Both their eyes stayed trained on her as she moved.

"Are you fluent in Spanish?" Sam asked. Cheryl nodded and sucked air through her teeth, of course she was. It was all she spoke for the first 14 years of her life until she had to learn English for American high school. "Yes, I was born in Mexico." She answered. Dean's brows raised and he looked a little surprised. Explains her book. "Really?" Sam asked, his eyes widening slightly. She nodded and leaned back in the uncomfortable wooden chair. These were good for cracking her back - she loved them. "Yes." Cheryl shared as little about herself as possible all the time. It gave an unfair advantage over her… she didn't like to have things she told people in confidence to blow up in her face.

"So what have you got?" Cheryl asked, her eyes briefly meeting Dean's before they both looked away. His were so green - it was kind of eerie. "Well," Sam began. "All of the victims drowned themselves in the river - and they all mentioned seeing a strange woman around them." Cheryl nodded along and pouted her lips together, clasping her hands together to rest on her stomach. She inhaled deeply "How old are they? The vics?"

"All under 18, except for Noah." Dean said.

"Which breaks the pattern." Sam interjected. Cheryl suddenly sat up straight, her hairs rising on her body. It couldn't be - no way. She tapped the table and leaned forward towards Dean. "And they died in the river?"

His eyes narrowed. "Yes…?"

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, her mother warned her of something exactly like this when she was a little girl. "It's La Llorona." She muttered.

Sam's eyes widened and he turned to face her. "The weeping woman - are you sure?" They encountered her once before, it was their first hunt together since Sam left for university, except it didn't really follow the actual legend of La Llorona. "Yes - I'm sure." Cheryl said. Her eyes landed on Dean for his reaction, he had an expressionless look on his face(not really, she just didn't know him well enough to read him). His lips curved up into a grin when he noticed her looking at him. "Like what you see?" He teased. Cheryl rolled her eyes and crossed her arms square against her chest. "No." Cheryl retorted . His grin only widened, he wasn't going to let her end his teasing that easily. "Really? You're starin' at me quite a bit."

"Dean." Sam said firmly, a warning. They could be pissing off a valuable asset like Cheryl.

After they were kicked out of the library because it was closing time, Dean walked her to her car while Sam went to grab food across the street. It was dark - and who knows what could've happened to her, it was just the gentlemanly thing to do. When Cheryl went up to the red and black Harley instead of the white Nissan next to it, Dean grinned widely. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his heavy coat, rain spitting onto it. "You ride a motorcycle?" He asked. Cheryl grinned herself and stared up at him as she pulled on her gloves and fixed her helmet on her head. "Why? You wanna ride?" She purred. He flushed a bit and shifted to appear more confident. "One day - maybe."

Her expression softened to something much less flirtatious. "Okay, well. Buenas noches, Dean."

"Night, Cheryl." He replied with a little smile.

[marlasomething]

(my) Mag a Week: The Brothers Non-Slayer

 Hello there!

I am participating in the "a mag a day" idea by @a-mag-a-day which is BRILLIANT and I decided to do "statement a week", rolling dice with the characters and fears that were ftw that week in the episodes I have listened. This week I am publishing late...I have a hell of a week, sorry.

For today I rolled Archivist!Tim (FINALLY A NORMAL ONE) and The Web (Eps. 58-65).

As usual, please do forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes, Marla

Allons-y!

CW: THIS IS A HEAVY ONE --> Domestic abuse, murder, explicit violence, child neglet, manipulation, police brutality, trauma of varios kinds, corruption of the "soul", paranoia

Also on AO3!

Statement of Ashley Giles, regarding how he believes he has managed to sell his soul to his lawyer (more or less).

Recorded by Timothy Stoker, Headless Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

  Sometimes I wish I was actually guilty of the charges I was being accused of. At least, that way, I could…I don’t know; feel less guilty about the crimes I am committing now? You know, since I would already be a “felon in soul” or something on that style.

That is not the case, though: I am completely innocent. I didn’t kill my brother. That cop did, that bloody cop did kill him and all because…all because he was delusional and thought he had found an actual vampire and, er, murdered him.

Yeah, yeah, I know how it sounds: in less than ten lines I have already told you that I am currently involved in multiple criminal activities, that I was accused of murdering my very own brother and that he himself had killed someone believing he was a Hammer’s classical bloodsucker. Oh, yes, and don’t forget there is a cop in this story, which that makes it a bit more terrible.

However, this is not a Goncharov type of story. There is no tragedy larger than life taking place, neither a lot of mafia-esque characters going around. It is just the story of two brothers, one sick in the head and other sick in the leg, and how the system just managed to push them aside until working to be paid by the hour in the most shameful of positions was all they had left.

 It all began when my father died and we were left alone with our mother. I have not mistaken the words: the man that died was just my biological father, for my older brother (Iago) was the son of our mother’s first husband, who hung himself when he was barely a baby. However, we both went by her maiden’s surname because…I actually don’t know why, sorry about the side-note.

My father was a complete asshole that drunk himself to the tomb and that, one evening he was feeling especially outraged by how dumb and useless and lacking of any remarkable future I was, came to me as if he was possessed by some evil deadly spirit and started hitting me until I was left unconscious.

Iago did nothing; he was too scared to even move. My mother locked herself in the bathroom and pretended nothing was happening, almost as if we were no longer her family, just people that happened to look just a lot like her. My father went out, probably to try to cheat on his wife just to realise he couldn’t get it up even if he took a full box of Viagra (which I hoped he would have done, being the chances of giving him a heart attack quite a delightful thing to look forward).

Meanwhile I…I crawled to the kitchen, since there was a framed picture of the four of us in my room and I couldn’t even begin to handle the thought of facing it for the time being.

Maybe, if Mister Sinclair had appeared back them; I would be able to even remember him with something ever so slightly reminiscent to kindness. But he didn’t, and I was just there, alone, crying in the kitchen while trying not to look at my mangled leg.

 My leg started to go black and, since my parents would do nothing to put a remedy to it and I was…rather afraid of hospitals as a concept, I took it upon me to find how to get it back without dying in the process.

As the teenager with zero to none medical knowledge that I was, I couldn’t; so I ended up cutting it off with the help of my brother.

That is exactly how we found out my brother was sick in the head. In some manner at least, though it isn’t as if doctors ever diagnosed him properly and, as you likely can imagine, we didn’t have the kind of money to get an expert opinion.

He blanked out. Not in shock because of the blood, not because he felt asleep due to tiredness, not because he was high or wasted. No, he just spaced out. He sometimes did, I just hadn’t realised until then.

What a brother I was…

Anyways, I was about to bleed out when he came back to his senses and, in spite of my prejudices, in spite of the more than certain repercussions from our parents…he called an ambulance.

I, obviously, didn’t die and we both silently formalised the fact that Iago wasn’t ok either. Our mother stayed home and…my dad got infected. After cutting himself in the doctors’ bathroom, where he entered without permission, feeling somehow entitled to use “the best facilities” due to, well, I don’t know: most resistant liver ever to have been born on this wrecked Earth?

Anyways, it is not important. My father died of a hospital infection before I was even released and, since both Social Services and The Police believed this was all related to the jerk that had just become a corpse; they released us to go to our mom.

To find she had flown away, never to be seen by either of us again.

I can’t say I blame her. At that moment, I was fifteen and Iago, seventeen; in her old-fashioned mind, we were likely old enough to survive on our own, and she had had enough of a life she had never asked for.

I am not saying I forgive her either, nor that what she did is ok by any means. Just that I understand how she came to be so broken and willing to make such a harsh decision.

The both of us, being the brainless teenagers we were, refused to call anyone and chose to fight for ourselves.

Oh my god we were so stupid, so bloody stupid…

  Flash-forward to almost ten years later; when my brother decided that vampires were, obviously, a real thing.

Now, my brother became extremely superstitious the moment we started living on our own, almost as if he hoped that, if he deposited part of his soul on growing a faith, the World would give something back to him for his…devotion? Patience? Open- eyed mind?

Among all those things he began to take a liking to investigate monsters, the sooner they had begun being spoken around humans, the better. I considered this a waste of time, especially since he had less free time than me as I could work less hours since got extremely tired much easier due to the whole, well, only-one-leg thing (and that my hand-made fake one wasn’t exactly the epitome of comfort).

He wouldn’t listen, though, and he should have! He should, and, then, he would still be alive.

And I would still have the whole of my soul with me.

  It all happened one day I left him alone to have a date because, yes, even in the life of barely-above-misery that we were living I refused not to have fun. Not to, basically, Live . So I kissed my brother goodbye in the cheek as he complained we were both far too manly for those gestures and headed back to the Soho.

Meanwhile, my brother got one of his attacks and, when he came back to himself, there was a rail thin person with their mouth disproportionally opened right next to him. Layers and layers of shark-like-teeth were about to close around his neck while a tubular tongue of an unnatural purple colour twirled with anticipation from the back of their vocal cavity. It could barely be seen, but, the moment you did, there was not mistake possible to be made.

On an act born out of pure reflexes, he pushed the creature to the window and threw our only remaining candle to hit It, just in case.

It burned to the ground.

  Yes, I know, if your brother with, very likely, medical mental-health problems, clear traumas and a life-time of being worn out had told you this…you would probably have not believed him but, here is the thing: I know my brother, he would have never, ever, lied about any of this.

If he told me so, this was what had happened. At least, from his perspective point of view.

 This doesn’t mean, of course, that I condemned his behaviour or encouraged it in any way imaginable, but I couldn’t change it. He had found a mission and started to dedicate more and more time to find and take down vampires (and, apparently, werewolves and insect-like-people too? I am not certain about that point, sorry), occupying this hobby of his more and more time while real-life occupations mattered to him less and less by the hour.

I tried not be mad at him for it, I had also screwed up a few too many times before and he had always been exemplar until that point, but I couldn’t help but letting an animosity as nothing I have ever felt before come into me and fill my entire soul. Everyone around us noticed, too, and the whispers about us began to grow; the rumours about how the two brothers that had always had their backs were about to stab each other.

All nonsense, that much I knew. Or, at least, I think I did.

  One day, as I was wondering around the market, I saw a knife with an intricate cobweb design on sale and, somehow, I knew I had to buy it. After all, I was a disabled person living on a very dangerous city; it was a cautious measure to be

taken. As I bought it, I was told that my brother and another customer had bought its

twin , but I didn’t truly process the actual words, just getting the idea that

my brother had a fucking knife as a shiver run all through my back.

What if my brother thought I was a vampire too?

So, I made up my mind: that very night I was going to go and find my brother dear and begged him to come to his senses.

Little did I know, he was bringing his knife too, and he wasn’t the only one with one of them. By the time I arrived, he was bleeding out, his knife fallen next to him and a figure standing nearby. There were a sandy-blonde haired female-presenting person, in their mid-thirties, muscular and with a face of not being messed up with.

They were holding a knife, just like ours and, when they realised I was in that very same position (if you could equiparate my utter harmless pose to their deadly one) to her clear murderous aspect), they shrugged, muffled a “you are likely not much better” and knocked me down.

 I woke up already at the station, handcuffed and with a concussion that could only be rivalled by the one thanks to which I lost my leg. The first thing I did was, obviously, asking whether my brother was ok or not. By the cops’ reactions I could already tell the whole story: he had been found dead and I was the main and only suspect.

I even have the murder weapon with me! What an easy win at the trial; or that is what they thought.

They didn’t count with Ronald Sinclair.

  Ronald Sinclair is a private lawyer whose usual fee I couldn’t have payed even with all the money I had earned in my entire life. However, from time to time, his firm takes in some free cases, usually in exchange of recruiting whoever they chose to represent. This might sound cynical and harsh, but I was almost certain he had chosen me because they were lacking on a corporative image including someone with a visible physical disability.

I wouldn’t complain, though. A stable job! Well-payed! And the only thing I would have to endure would be condescending looks from time to time was perfectly fine with me.

Oh, and the whole not-being-declared guilty of murder, of course.

 Since the first moment we had a proper lawyer-client meeting, I sensed something was off. First of all, the contract I signed said that I bounded myself to work with Mother & Co. Associates as long as my thread remained intact. It made no sense to me, and it was rather ominous, but I wanted to get out of there and I wasn’t getting a better change, so I signed it and, as I did, I swear

something was guiding my hand.

I’ve haven’t had such a good calligraphy never before (and never after that signature).

 The trial went as smoothly as possibly imaginable and, still, I didn’t feel comfortable for a single second.

Yes, Ronald allowed me to talk and let me explain everything to him before each session so he could defend me and teach me how to answer every possible question those answers based on what had really went down; but somehow…each time, he just, he just managed to convince me things were to be understood in a particular manner, usually not the same I was coming from beforehand, and that, actually, this was what I meant in a much more succinct and clear way.

And I believed it, somehow, it wasn’t until I was alone that I started to point out the moment in which I could have said something, in which I have thought

something and just…let it go. And, here is a very funny thing, when a version of reality is only in your head, completely incorporeal and the other one is being spoken, real sound waves sending the message across space and time…no matter how strong your convictions, one is clearly going to bury the other in the mud.

I won the case, he even found the cop who was the actual killed, whose name was Alice Tonner, and she got convicted for it (to what he smiled a bit to widely and said, without further explanation, she works for the competence ).

Then, I started working for Mother & Co.

  It was all paralegal at first; they paid for a speed education so I had the the basicest and I am rather proud of being able to say that, from working at housewares, I learned pretty quickly and handle my way around better than much of the people with fancy degrees that worked alongside me.

Then, more morally dubious stuff started to come in right to me desk and…I don’t want to keep writing for much longer (my hand starts to hurt and, with the leg thing is more than enough, thank you very much), so I will just tell you about the very first time all red flags started to show up in my head.

And, as the fucking coward I am, I did nothing against it.

What is even worse, I am not even sure if I wanted…if I

want to do something about it.

  There was this kid; Wesley, he was called, that had got into trouble with his step-mother, claiming she had been substituted and was no longer the woman his biological mother had married thirteen years before.

He was making charger and with everything he had in his entire persona (both practical and metaphysical ) to take her down and we, well, we defended the mother. Also known as the scariest woman I have ever faced while being also the most vanilla person in all of Creation.

You know what is the worst part? This Wes kid…he was a lot like Iago had been. He was cunning, hot-heated, a bit of a nerd even if it was of the things usual nerds would mock him for, too naïve while being too mature…Shit! They even dressed a bit alike!

I have always been instinctively good with technology so, the moment I had access to a proper education on the subject, I wasn’t just good, I excelled. So, what I had to do was simple: play with Wes, twist his little world up-side-down via the Big Net so by the time the trial began, he is the least believable person in the history of trials.

Not only that: while I made conversation with the boy letting the precise words to rise his curiosity in the most troublesome spaces, to generate nonsense questions that had no answer so he believed he had found The Holy Grail of information. By the end of this process, if I did well my job, his behaviour would belong to us as it truly never belonged to him in the first place.

I was... am amazing at my job, so I didn’t do well . I did

AMAZING !

I was conscious that what I was doing was bad. I knew deep down the boy was right, even if the pictures of his step-mother clearly matched the ones of our client. And I wanted to do something, I wanted, I don’t know, go full American movie and renounce my freedom sentence.

However, every time I felt as acting, something else happened. Usually, small

events where to be blamed: a text message, a person in the office suffering from some health issue, a casual meeting in the elevator (and, you know, I cannot simply take the stairs), a song sounding in the background…just the exact thing to trigger in me a thought that, sooner or later, made me realised I should act.

So I didn’t, though until the very last moment I thought that, in the end, I would be the hero. I would defeat the bad guys. Like Iago would.

That is what heroes do, right? And what wasn’t I except the hero of my own

story?

  Well, apparently, I was the villain for, the moment the trial began, my boss came into my office and told me I had to tewak a little bit the online presence of Wesley. Not only the one that I had affected directly, but the previous one too. Not to change, steal, erase or manipulate anything on itself, just alter the order they were presented, the elements external to Wes’ presence around which each file appeared.

I am ashamed to admit I actually enjoyed the challenge and put an extra effort to it.

  When, in the trial, they tried to prove that the recent mental and sentimental state of Wesley was not representative of who he had been when he had begun this whole

Hamlet-esque fight; his very own lawyers almost dropped death at the stage when they started to realise the information they had wasn’t exactly accurate…once again, as I began to feel bad, I wanted to do something but…the ambiance (we were watching on video the trial as it happened, I still don’t understand how they have access to basically all cameras; the only explanation I received “the pathetic old man owes us” ), the interactions…before I could realise it I felt fitting in this web of people I hadn’t actually choose, behaving that someone that wasn’t who I truly was.

Though I might be becoming him piece by piece.

  The alleged fake step-mother won the trial, delighted us with her presence one more time and, in a very Ofelia manner, Wesley drowned himself. I even went to the funeral. I was devastated, I felt hopeless, for Wes but also for myself; especially because part of me was, still is, proud of me being there, of my actions having such a determinant impact on someone’s life.

It scares me, it scares me that I am losing myself in this other me that is still me and yet…sorry, I am rambling. Please, take this statement and, I don’t know what kind of influence you handle but, if you can destroy them (I am not even to pretend I am in too deep now), do it.

For me, for Wes, for my brother, for so many other (except all the cops they have ruined, there had to be something good about Mother & Co. ).

  Statement ends.

   Wow, Ash; that is…wow (since you opened so much to me, I hope you don’t mind I call you Ash). Good calligraphy, by the way.

I remember Ronald Sinclair; he was the only survivor of Hill Top Road, after the fire that burned it to the ground. Apparently, he was hidden in the basement… He always wanted to go to that…sorry, I was digressing.

About the statement on itself: everything can be verified (well, except for the morally deplorable practices of a successful lawyer firm, but that is so blatantly true I guess there is no problem with believing that).

On a sad note, I looked upon what had happened with Ash and…quite recently, Ashley Giles got a promotion in Mother & Co. He seemed completely at home in the picture.

Embracing being a worst version of yourself…I wish I could say I cannot relate.

End recording.

   SUPPLEMENTAL : Melanie King came by the other day and, when Jon went to talk to her, she started screaming. Not regular screaming, crazy-mad-out-of-your-mind-horror-movie-death kind of screaming. She kept saying that wasn’t Jonathan Sims and even texted Georgie Barker (who, apparently, used to know Jon…I want the full story there…) a picture for her just to say…that he was clearly Jon.

Sad, I thought I might count with an ally in Melanie, since I don’t feel comfortable about no one around here…

…I am royally screwed.

End recording.

[space-mermaid-writing]

Faded Black Ink [IronStrange] - Chapter 6

Relationship: Doctor!Stephen Strange x Mafia!Tony Stark

Tags: Mafia AU, Angst, Romance, Idiots in love

Ko-fi | Series Masterlist | Read it on AO3 | Previous | Next

Chapter's note: New chapters will come every Tuesday from now on. Now back to what happened: oh yeah... FBI. Or as I like to call it: Stephen and the no good, very horrible night.

Chapter 6: The FBI

"Well, that's a pretty interesting company you've gotten yourself into." Ross had taken a seat across the table with a coffee mug and was eyeing Stephen. "You moved to New York two months ago and immediately started working for Tony Stark. How did he recruit you?"

"I work for the Metro General Hospital." Stephen sounded annoyed, but not intimidated enough for someone who had just been arrested in a raid for human smuggling. And certainly not for someone who, according to his records, had no prior experience with the FBI or even the police.

"Look, I don't care how much he pays you, all right? You're of no interest to us. I want Tony Stark. If you cooperate, I can make sure nothing shows up on your record and you get to keep practicing."

Stephen was not only angry, but also offended, as he always was when someone suggested that he was being paid by Stark.

"Why were you in that warehouse, doctor?" the agent asked, trying a different approach when Stephen didn't answer.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality," Stephen replied.

"Those are some very interesting patients you have there," Ross remarked.

"If you say so."

"You know they're dangerous. Don't you think it would be beneficial to have us in your corner to watch out for you?" he offered.

"You've already looked out for me enough," Stephen replied as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. At least he wasn't handcuffed anymore. That had been embarrassing enough.

Inwardly, Ross sighed, but outwardly he didn't let on and took a sip of his coffee. "Is medical care for the Italian mafia really what you want to do?" urged Ross.

"I'll remember that I'm not treating a fever or a cancerous growth, but a sick person whose illness can affect his family and his economic stability. My responsibility includes these related issues if I am to take proper care of the sick," Stephen quoted.

"What is this, the Hippocratic oath? What about the people they beat up the next day because you doctored them?" countered Ross. "What about the victims' families?"

"The people on the docks didn't look like they were beating people up. Besides, I'm a doctor, I treat everybody. I might even have to treat you someday," Stephen said. He was losing patience. If the clock in the large office they passed on the way to interrogation room number five, where he was currently sitting, was anything to go by, he had arrived at three in the morning. Ross had kept him waiting for quite some time before finally rejoining him for a conversation. The interrogation room had no window, but Stephen bet it was almost early morning. He was tired and grumpy and had not even offered a cup of coffee.

"What exactly are you accusing me of?"

At that moment, the door opened.

"That's what I'd like to know!" Pepper Potts entered the room in all her business splendor. "Have you even read my client his rights?"

"They have," Stephen said. He wasn't sure what she was doing here, but he wasn't going to complain about it. She had made a competent impression on him from their first meeting. Anything was better than a public defender. He did have a lawyer from the hospital for cases involving his work, but the hospital was the last place he wanted to inform about this incident.

Pepper nodded at him with professional distance. "Good."

Ross's demeanor changed to scowling. He looked at Stephen as if it didn't speak well for him that Tony Stark's personal attorney was representing the doctor.

Pepper stepped up to the table at Stephen's side. "Why did the FBI arrest a doctor while he was performing first aid?” Offense was the best defense, and Pepper was fearless and combative.

"He's involved in a case of human trafficking." Ross wasn't intimidated by her. He knew her skills, but he'd been working this case too long to show weakness.

"He got a call about a medical emergency. He only did his job."

"Why him? Why not an ambulance?" Ross asked the same questions Stephen had asked Tony. "Why didn't anyone call the police?"

The doctor answered more quickly than Pepper. "These are good questions. I usually ask them after I treat my patients."

He got a sharp look from the lawyer, but she couldn't fool him. The corners of her lips curled. At least one of them was having fun at this ungodly hour.

Ross did not have a valid charge to keep Stephen at headquarters. There were only unsubstantiated accusations, but they were not enough to hold him and so he had to grudgingly release the doctor. Stephen got back his doctor's bag, which someone had brought, and left FBI Headquarters with Pepper at his side. Morning was already dawning, turning the sky on the horizon in a soft orange. Stephen had never been so glad to have a later shift.

"Are you alright? Do you need anything?", Pepper asked him. She had the audacity to not even look guilty about what happened. Sure, she had nothing to do with it, as far as everyone who was involved with Stark had nothing to do with what happened last night.

Stephen was simply unhappy with the overall situation. He was grumpy that he had been woken up in the middle of the night. He was disgusted with whatever had happened at the docks. And he would be downright furious if he weren't so tired that he was arrested by the FBI.

"Sleep," he said. "I need sleep."

Without paying any further attention to her - she probably had more work to do here anyway - Stephen walked away. He had no idea where he was, his car was still at the docks and he had left his wallet at home.

Just fucking great.

Stephen got the bare minimum of sleep, not even nearly enough of what he actually needed after such a long night. He showered, ate and then went to his shift at the hospital. His mood was at an absolute low.

His thoughts were constantly circling around last night. He was thinking about the people at the docks, wondering what had happened to them after the FBI appeared. His hope was that they had been taken to a hospital, as Stephen had suggested. They were not at Metro's, however. But there were enough other medical facilities in New York and it was actually not surprising that they were not taken to where someone worked who might be involved in the case.

On the other hand, Stephen doubted that these people carried any papers or had health insurance. He thought of the wife who was afraid to let anyone near her dead husband and his mood dropped even further.

His colleagues stayed out of his way. After he snapped harshly at Becky for handing him a wrong chart that she turned away with tears in her eyes, they kept their distance and made only the most necessary interactions with him.

Stephen would have preferred to stay in his office, to do paperwork or to sleep with his head on his desk. Unfortunately there were patients waiting for him.

He had to tell Mr. Reese that he had not suffered a stroke, but amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. At best, he would have four years left in which he would slowly lose all of his motor skills. Without giving the man any time to process this information and what it meant for his life, the doctor enumerated various treatments. All of them only slowed the progression of the disease, none could stop it.

Christine, who for some reason stayed by his side most of the day - the only person who could stand to be in the same room as he - and acted as a buffer between him and the rest of the world, stared at him in bewilderment. "Doctor Strange, can I talk to you for a second?"

Her tone brooked no argument. She walked out of the room, but did not stop there. Instead she kept moving until they came across an unoccupied storage room, into which she pulled Stephen.

"Christine, what are-...," Stephen began, but the nurse whirled around to face him, her face more angry than he had ever seen her.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind? I know you can be a brick sometimes but this was highly unprofessional and outright cruel. What’s your problem?"

Stephen, taken aback by this sudden outburst, became defensive. „Nothing.“

The nurse crossed her arms, not taking the bullshit. „Try again, Stephen.“

They stared at each other but for once Christine was the more stubborn between them.

"I will take you off that upcoming pediatric cervical spine surgery you were so keen on if I feel your bad mood is affecting your performance," she threatened, at which Stephen snapped.

"You can't do that. I'm the best for it."

"I can and I will." Christine was a woman who stood by her word, Stephen knew that. He swallowed his anger, which wasn’t even directed at her, and rubbed his face. She waited while he considered how much he wanted to tell her.

"Something happened. The FBI interrogated me about Tony Stark and it was rather... unpleasant." He wasn't going to drag her into this as far as telling her about the incident at the docks and the arrest. But she knew the dangers that came with the name Tony Stark. She had stood by his side when he had performed emergency surgery on Peter, and he had seen the fear on her face back then.

Her face fell. "Shit." She leaned against the shelf in the back, her former demeanor gone. "Stark won't be happy about that. You have to be careful!"

A new kind of worry came over her. She knew what Stark was capable of, knew what his men were capable of.

A question came to Stephen's mind that he had asked himself a few times before but always pushed aside because he was afraid of the answer.

"What happened to Doctor Cho?"

She had been his predecessor and the one Stark had asked about when they brought in the injured Peter..

Christine looked at him, trying to follow his train of thought. "She moved away. There was something about marriage and money."

"Did she move away or was she moved away?"

The nurse hesitated for a moment, thinking about it. "I don't know." She sighed. "I will look into that. Be careful until then, okay? Better stay away from Stark."

Stephen snorted softly. "I'm not sure if I have a saying in that," he muttered. But he did feel a bit better, knowing he had Christine on his side. They left the storage room - he didn't even want to know what that looked like to colleagues who happened to be passing by - and went on with their shifts. The doctor's mood lifted only slightly, but at least the rest of the day was calmer. He pulled himself together and, whenever it was possible, handed over any further contact with patients to colleagues.

It was already late evening when he headed for his office. Visitors had left for the day and a certain quietness spread through the corridors as everyone prepared for the night shift.

Over the past few weeks, Stephen had so often found Stark unexpectedly in his office that he was no longer surprised to see him leaning against his desk. Crossing his arms, Tony raised his eyes as Stephen entered. He wasn’t here alone, but had two of his men - Steve and Sam - with him. It had been quite a while - except for last night - since Stephen had met Tony with one of his goons. The last few times they had always been alone, and Stephen wondered what that meant for his own safety.

Pepper Potts had obviously done her job as a lawyer pretty well, bailing Tony and Steve out of the claws of the FBI. Both looked well rested or at least maintaining the appearance that nothing had ever happened. Tony's suit was sharp as always.

"We need to talk." Tony’s voice was less aggressive than full of anticipation. It sounded almost soft. Did the man have a guilty conscience? Stephen doubted it, but it gave him the confidence he needed.

"I agree." His eyes darted to the two bodyguards. "Alone."

The men didn't move an inch until Tony waved his hand at them. "It's alright. Wait outside."

Steve still looked skeptical, but followed Sam out after the slightest hesitation. Tony waited with his next words until they had closed the door behind them.

"Look, this wasn't planned to hap-..."

"First, I’ve got a question," the doctor interrupted him. "And your answer is really important to how this conversation will go."

Tony looked irritated at being interrupted; he wasn't used to it. Stephen wondered if he had gone too far, but Tony motioned him to continue. He was sure that any other person would be taught a lesson for this kind of insolence.

Stephen looked at Stark. "Did you ship those people in the container?"

Tony stared at him, actually offended. "What?"

The doctor took a step closer. „Was this your doing?“ he repeated.

„Are you wired? Is the FBI listening?“ Tony’s whole demeanor changed, became almost defensive. This was not how he thought this talk would go.

Stephen shook his head, not quite following. „No.“

„Prove it.“ Tony asked as he went to stand up straight and took a step towards Stephen.

„Answer my fucking question.“

Tony went from defensive to pissed off in about a millisecond. Stephen involuntarily backed off as Tony stepped towards him and leaned into his personal space.

“No, I got a tip and came to rescue these people.” Tony spoke to Stephens chest, exactly to where a wire would normally be taped. “I’d never do something remotely like this.”

“Are you sure? Because from what I heard, you’re right up in illegal stuff.”."

“Gotta draw the line somewhere. I protect the city in a way the police can’t.” Tony was back talking to his face, but Stephen snorted at this explanation. Tony ignored it.

“Okay, my turn. What did you tell the FBI?”

Of course, Stephen thought sourly, that was the reason for his visit. "Well, I didn't lie to them, that's for sure." He watched Tony walk back to the desk and lean against it as he had earlier. Stephen followed him, stopping right in front of him.

“By the way, I don’t need your lawyer to bail me out.” He actually did, but he hated that it was necessary.

Tony threw his hands in the air. “That was a courtesy, because we got you in that situation.”

“Which is another thing we need to talk about. What were you thinking, calling me at one in the morning?”

„Why?“ Tony growled at him. „Did I take you from your lover‘s arms?“

All Stephen knew was that the next thing he did was kiss the man, pushing him against his desk. The one man that he had been thinking of on a regular basis for a couple of weeks. The scary part was that he was being kissed back and at some stage he wrapped his arm around Tony’s back and was gripping his ass. He had also slid his other hand down so that he could wrap his hand with Tony’s.

All this came to him when Tony pulled away from the kiss. Lips disengaging and Stephen just wanted to chase after them again.

“What were I supposed to do?” Tony asked, his voice a husky breath against Stephen’s lips. “Let these people die? They needed medical help and you’re the best.”

The doctor had trouble actually listening to him, while being so close to the man, inhaling his scent. He didn’t want to talk about last night anymore. “Do you ever shut up?”

Tony smirked. Strange walked right into that one. “Make me.”

It was like they were trying to meld their bodies into one, be it via their hands, their lips or their hips. Stephen sucked at the tongue invading his mouth and could feel the beard rubbing against his face as they moved back and forth trying to find the best angle. It wasn’t a perfect kiss. Teeth clashed and they sometimes didn’t quite fit together perfectly but Stephen only wanted more.

Tony slid his palm up, maneuvered it under Stephen's shirt and found bare skin. Hot, bare skin. He groaned into the doctor’s mouth and pressed in harder with everything he had. Stephen heard nothing but white noise, could feel nothing but hot breath and smooth skin. All he could think was that this better not end. Ever.

Something fell from the table, hitting the floor with a loud clatter, and there was a demanding knock on the door. Annoyed at the interruption, Tony turned his head. "I'm fine, boys."

That gave Stephen time to sober up enough to see where they were, and he backed away as Tony looked back at him. "No."

"No?" Tony raised his brow questioningly, his eyes locked on Stephen's lips.

"I'm not doing this here in my office like some horny teenagers."

Tony followed him, as the doctor backed off some more, cornered him at a shelf on the wall. „It sure feels like one.“ He put his hands shamelessly in Stephen's crotch, stroking the bulge with his thumb. Stephen grabbed his arm and pulled it up.

„I forgot, the good doctor has standards,“ Tony actually purred, licking his lips and watching Stephen's reaction. „How about another dinner date? Tomorrow?“

"I don't think it's wise after last night for the FBI to see us together." It was an excuse, but a good one. Tony thought about it for a moment, but silently agreed with him.

"I'll find a way," he promised Stephen with a wink.

Stephen should say no. It would be best if he left the city right away and moved somewhere else, like Doctor Cho. Had she fled from Tony Stark, too?

He didn‘t know what he got himself into, but he knew for sure that nothing good would come out of it. He mustered his best scowl. „Get out of my office.“

Tony grinned broadly, not the least bit intimidated by it. „Get out of my office, please.“ He ignored the glare of the doctor, but took a step back. He flattened his clothes and then left.

Stephen found himself still standing in the mess he just made five minutes after Stark left him, almost choking on the humiliation that tried to strangle him. He swiped at his face, mentally chastised himself for acting like a teenager at a frat party and marched out of his office to get himself a coffee.

So much for staying away from Stark.

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

Whoops, they kissed

[bardofheartdive]

OC Kiss Week 2022: Truth or Kiss

Summary: Leigh’s gotten herself into a bit of a scrape and needs a hand (or pair of lips) to help get her out of it.

I’ve been working on this piece for longer than I care to admit and SO happy to have finally gotten it done for this year’s @ockissweek. Marcus “Mark” Carter belongs to @ronqueesha - thank you so much for letting me borrow him!

The idea for this actually came from Mark and Veerla playing Truth or Dare with each other and I’d planned to write it with Vee. But I could NOT get it to work with her. Then along came Leigh and the whole thing just flowed so here is her fic debut! Enjoy!

Truth or Kiss (also on AO3)

There were many things Ansleigh Albright liked about working alone—she took the cases she wanted to take when she wanted to take them and completed them however she saw fit—but she would willingly admit it would have been nice to have someone to pull her ass out of the fire when things went sideways. And judging by the police officer that rushed out of a side street a few blocks ahead of her, things were in fact going sideways.

The outdoor mall didn’t offer a lot of cover besides the crowds. She took her cardigan off and turned toward a nearby kiosk, careful to keep her back to the guard as he passed. Another officer appeared from a shop and joined the first, hurrying off in the direction of her planned escape route. She left her sweater draped over an empty cafe seat and turned back the way she came. There were other ways out of the city and off Terra Nova.

None of them were going to be easy though. More and more police were coming out of the woodwork at every turn. It didn’t make sense, she mused as she slipped from kiosk to kiosk, group to group. Neither the target or client of her current job had the money or pull to be worth this level of response. She could almost believe it was purely coincidence, that they were looking for someone else who just happened to be in the same general area, if she hadn’t seen them stop a few different petite, blonde women. Of course it didn’t actually matter if they were looking for her or not. It wouldn’t stop them from arresting her if she fell into their laps.

Which she was in serious danger of doing at this point. She needed a place to regroup and she couldn’t do that on the street. Without anywhere else to go, she darted into the closest business, not knowing or caring it was a bar until the door shut behind her.

Despite being early afternoon, the bar was surprisingly busy. All the better for her. The pair of volus barely visible behind the bar were too preoccupied with drink orders to care about a new arrival and no one paid her any attention as she beelined to the bathrooms, only to stop halfway there. Tucked into a back booth, sipping a bright blue drink out of a martini glass with a sugar rim and a whole strawberry at the bottom, was Marcus Carter.

Of course.

Of course, Marcus Carter was here, because this was a bar and it was 11:43 AM on a Wednesday and she didn’t have enough to worry about without adding another piece to the board.

It was too late to leave entirely but as far as she could tell he hadn’t seen her yet. She could probably still get past him to the bathrooms and hide there, hoping he didn’t notice and the police didn’t search the stalls first when they came looking for her. She hadn’t had anything but bad luck so far today and if there were going to be more hiccups she wanted to get them out of the way early. She strode up to his table and slid onto the seat next to him. 

Mark made a startled sound that could only be called a yelp and nearly knocked over his drink as he scrambled away from her deeper into the booth. Her laughter seemed to convince him she wasn’t a threat to anything more than his wallet and he stopped flailing. He stayed leaning against the dividing wall, aiming for nonchalance and might have been successful if he hadn’t missed his glass and almost tipped it over a second time.

“Expecting someone else?” she asked, still grinning.

“Wasn’t expecting anyone.”

He finally managed to get his fingers around the stem of the glass and raised it to his lips, eyeing her skeptically over the rim. She might have gotten him to stop actively trying to remove her from the booth but she needed to get him to let her stay and she only knew one way to guarantee that.

“Care to play a game?”

“Pretty sure it was my turn, Leigh.”

“If you say so. Truth.” She couldn’t risk doing anything that would draw attention.

He drained the last of his drink, including the berry, with the confidence of a man who knew someone else was buying the next one. “What are you doing here?”

She’d ribbed him about his sloppy questions before and the temptation to do it again was strong. “Playing truth or dare,” “trying to get a free drink,” and “sitting next to a man who can’t phrase a question for shit” were all truthful answers to the question, despite being incomplete. But, again, he might try to argue it and she didn’t want to give him any excuse to make a scene. So she sucked it up and told him as much of the truth as she could.

“I’m on a job. Trying to find this guy’s grandkids.” Mark quirked his eyebrows at her but she just shrugged. “Not the kind of work I usually take but I vetted the whole story and it held up. Grandpa takes the kids from their sand-tripper mom, mom decides she wants them back and absconds with them in the middle of the night, grandpa hires me to hunt down the lot of them. Not sure how I’m going to get him the kids’ location without the mom’s but he knows my policy and I figure I have to find them before I need to worry about it, so . . . we’ll see.”

Mark looked almost sulkily at his empty glass until the door swung open and four officers swept into the room. Two of them went to the bar, though the volus showed as much interest in them as they had every other patron. The other two split up, one heading toward the back, the other toward the bathrooms. The satisfaction of being right was completely overwhelmed by concern as one of the pair at the bar started down the aisle toward them.

“Think this is my cue to bow out,” Mark said, subtly tilting his head to indicate the officer. “Your turn next—”

She didn’t let him get any further, tucking in close against him, pushing him back into the booth and whispering, “I dare you to kiss me.”

The words caught him off guard, or maybe the urgency of her tone, bordering on pleading. Surprise quickly shifted to understanding and some snarky retort formed on his lips but she interrupted him again, surging upward to cut it off with a kiss. Even with the dare as a warning, he froze for a minute but recovered as soon as she flicked her tongue against his lips. They were sweet from the sugar but his mouth tasted like cheap alcohol when he opened it to her.

The officer was coming at them with intention now. She tracked his movement in the reflection of the glass divider, sneaking glances when she could without blowing her cover. She scooted even closer to Mark, halfway into his lap, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the officer got closer and closer and she fought the instinct to take a swing or bolt. Starting a fight with a police officer with three more in the building and who knew how many others circling outside was a one-way ticket to booking and she didn’t have anywhere to run. 

Her best bet was trusting Marcus Carter to pull her ass out of the fire. Terrifying thought.

Mark kissed her while the officer approached the booth. He kissed her while the officer took up a position at the edge of the table and waited, trying to figure out what to do about being ignored. He kissed her while the officer cleared his throat and leaned in to get their attention. He kissed her until the officer was practically on top of them before looking up at him and demanding:

“You mind?” The officer stammered an apology but Mark just rolled his eyes and muttered, “Creep.”

Ansleigh giggled, a mix of amusement and mocking, seemingly relaxed despite the alarms blaring in her head. Mark leaned down for another kiss, running his hand through her hair, further hiding her face while playing it off as simple affection.

By the time they pulled apart again, all four of the guards were gone and Ansleigh’s blood was racing, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. A normal reaction to any near-arrest situation, she told herself. It didn’t explain the butterflies in her stomach but she pushed that thought aside for the moment. Mark’s own eyes were bright, his lips flushed and pink. It made him handsome if you didn’t mind a gangly build and a bit of scruffiness.

She was dangerously close to leaning back in again so she distracted herself with something familiar. She insulted him.

“You actually might have pulled that off, Carter.”

“Hey now. I refuse to take this abuse from someone whose ass I just saved. Where’s my ‘Thank you for keeping me from getting arrested, Carter,’ ‘You did great and I wouldn’t have been able to get out of here without you, Carter,’ ‘Your grifting skills are second only to your devilish good looks and roguish charm, Carter.’?”

Ansleigh laughed, a little softer and fonder than she intended. Even the edge in her voice came out playful as opposed to shrewd. “Don’t push your luck.”

“I was sitting here, enjoying my drink, minding my own business,” he quipped back. “You’re the one who threw yourself at me. You usually have to at least buy me dinner; can’t have anyone thinking I’m easy.”

“Next time,” she answered, not sure if it was a tease or a promise or a hope. She laughed and pulled a few credit chits out of her pocket. Leaning in to leave them on the table, she gave his cheek a soft peck and whispered “thank you” as she left.

[soysaucevictim]

“todo da vueltas como un carrusel”

(See warnings/summary on Ao3. This one gets pretty violent.)

<Prologue/Start>

Chapter 3: Change The Formality

Leaving the Lair was jarring. It was like parts of himself pulled away, yet they remained within grasping distance.

Roman reconvened with his brother on the rooftop, the sun was still visible, but he didn’t have a sense for how much time passed.

Remus shouted and waved at him, “So, how’d it go?!”

Roman dropped down onto the ceiling, hugging himself, “It went… well?”

Roman was growing confused about his feelings, looking down at his hands, half-expecting to see his claws again. No, they were merely “human”. Remus noticed him appearing to space out, “A trip, huh?”

“I-I wish I could hold onto before– but I’m starting to question that.”

Remus beamed, “Good enough for me!”

Roman was again glad Remus was there, experiencing these things. He had no idea how he would have been able to cope if he had to do all of this alone. His thoughts circled back to his childhood, how he tended to push the other kids away from him due to his predilections. His intensity frequently scared them away. He was taught that these games with classmates were just that, games. Lighthearted romps for an hour or two and you moved on, come what may. He understood this, but he couldn’t describe just how much he felt the need to win.

Roman was suddenly overcome with feelings of profound loneliness and started to cry. “I-I guess never had the chance to–”

Remus was concerned and confused. For how much he understood his brother, he was never great in the Dealing with Feelings Department. “… ‘chance to’ what?”

“… be a normal kid.”

“I have no idea why you still latch on to that. Especially after everything. After revisiting yourself, just now.”

“I mean. I know that now, I guess. But I think… I wanted to believe I was like them, so I didn’t have to feel so alone.”

“Well. You’re not now! You still have me! And there’s probably a lot of other Beasts like us!”

“… y-you’re right.”

Why haven’t they noticed others like them? Why was Janus the only one who reached out to them for this? Roman felt weird about the notion of meeting more monsters like himself.

He felt weird calling himself one.

-

“... never seen anything like this in their careers. Here’s our reporter on the ground, Dani Wexler, to tell you more.”

“… Thank you. I am at the Golden Delicious Orchards. In recent memory, this could only be described as the strangest case of burglary this community has experienced. I am with the district chief of police, Scott Dennis.”

On the screen was the reporter in front of a building, with what looked like law enforcement and a family of three. It was mostly obscured, but Roman could see scorch marks and a gaping hole through one of the building’s sides. It was unmistakable.

Remus left the news on when he left their house. Roman got antsy when they announced the Fair being around the corner, but almost paid it no mind until he remembered everything. Roman immediately sat down in rapt attention.

“What can you tell me about what happened, sir?”

“Well. We think the perpetrators entered the community from over there,” the officer pointed roughly in the direction where the twins entered.

As the cameras swiveled, the officer continued, “They then entered through the back door of the property…”

The officer was interrupted by a livid, rude and unfortunately familiar voice, “MONSTERS! Monsters did this! They fucking blew up my house and took our STUFF!”

It was Steve. Roman couldn’t help but snort, especially after the expressions the officer and reporter gave him.

The officer cleared his throat, “Yes. We are pretty sure the culprits were thorough in their endeavor, since they haven’t made it easy for us. We admit that whoever they were, this was either carefully planned or that they had extensive prior experience.”

Roman almost spat his drink.

Steve was practically screaming, “What happened when you dusted for fingerprints!?”

Steve’s parents and the officer were trying so hard to stay composed in front of the camera, “Excuse me. Those details are sensitive, as this is an active investigation. We aren’t at liberty to furnish details such as that.”

Steve was clearly having none of this, “Have you heard of a burglar stealing random ass trophies from someone? Or-or–”

Steve looked like he was about to sob, “… my precious Woody doll. And PEZ Dispensers...”

Seeing and hearing the abject distress in Steve sent a thrill through Roman, far more intense than when they initially made their getaway. Was this one of those Beast things? Who was he kidding, he knew it was. There was something about the obvious grief he felt from them losing prized possessions, that was absolutely… intoxicating?

Roman shook his head and muttered to himself, “You really ARE a monster, aren’t you?”

Elizabeth, Steve’s mother, interjected quietly, “Yes. Officer, don’t you think this was beyond bizarre? Who would have any need for a bowling trophy?”

The patriarch barely contained his fuming, glaring at the camera man and occasionally looking down to Steve. The officer looked somewhat defeated and addressed the reporter, “I’m afraid that’s the only information I’m at liberty to discuss here. If any of your viewers have any leads to offer, the tip line is...”

Roman turned off the TV.

He was still euphoric over Steve’s suffering, but he felt a twinge of something else. Worry.

-

Roman kept going back to the sensation of his Hunger being appeased. He thought the initial sensation was something, but this was in a different league. He wanted that again, he never experienced something so exciting and gratifying before. Remus took notice, “Am I missing something or–?”

“I-I saw the news and-and-and–”

Remus giggled. He recognized where this was coming from, since he caught the rebroadcast. So, he let his brother stammer on jubilantly. “Oh MAN, the look on Steve’s face! Priceless!”

Remus waited for Roman to catch his breath before talking, “Sooo… wanna do something like that again?”

“YES! I mean, I don’t know. I-I don’t want to be caught, now that they’re back in town and–”

Roman ran his hand through his hair dumbfounded, “I-I… ¡Ch-chancecito!”

Roman took a seat on the sofa, feeling overwhelmed again. Remus sat next to him and awkwardly patted his shoulder, not verbalizing anything.

Roman’s thoughts returned to worry, “Do you think Steve knows?”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“About us?”

Remus shrugged carelessly, “Do you really want to know, though?”

Roman slumped into the back of the sofa, frustrated, “We just graduated. And he still hates our guts! I don’t think it’s a great idea. What would we even say to him, anyways!?”

Remus shrugged again, not really inclined to press the issue either.

Roman grunted, wanting to go back to savoring the treasure in his mind, “Whatever. Table it, I guess.”

-

The twins were strolling toward one of the many downtown coffee shops, it was midday. 

Despite trying to avoid him, Steve was there. They stopped in their tracks, short of Steve noticing them.

Steve had a similarly athletic build to Roman and both happened to wear their jerseys from school. Steve also wore clear signs of stress in the dark circles around his eyes, mirroring Remus’s default bedraggled look.

This was the first time in months that they saw him this close, and noticed he had an obvious five o’clock shadow. They couldn’t help but compare that to Roman’s clean-shaven face and Remus’s patchy mustache that was growing in. A slightly disturbing blend of both of their looks, all told.

Steve was drinking an iced coffee. Roman guessed the drink had dangerous amounts of caffeine or that Steve probably shotgunned a bunch of energy drinks earlier in the day. Steve was twitchy as he fiddled absentmindedly with his phone. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice the twins about to round the corner into his view.

Roman whisper-shouted at his brother, hoping to not be heard and barely joking, “This is the first time I actually kind of regret what we did.”

Remus chuckled, “Suuure… but, now what? We can’t be standing here forever, like a bunch of camotes, Ro.”

“I know! I’m just– I’m just thinking…”

“Thinking? Pffft.”, Remus was starting to fidget restlessly in Steve’s blindspot, “If you don’t do something, I will.”

Roman saw Remus had produced some of his tentacles. He watched as they went for the table where Steve was seated.

Roman’s eyes widened, “Oh no. What are you doi–?”

Remus winked at his brother before he lifted the table, knocking Steve’s drink all over him. They heard a clipped, “What the–!?”

Remus obviously wasn’t done, holding aloft the glass and metal piece of furniture, rocking it like a cradle. Roman smacked his own face, “Are you– are you serious right now?”

Roman stole a glance around the corner seeing just how utterly confused and upset Steve looked. Steve scrambled to record this phenomena. Before he could, Remus struck Steve’s hands holding his phone with the table. In the same action, Remus smashed the table into the side of the cafe building.

Steve stood there wincing at his hand, scowling. Everyone that was there besides Steve ran away screaming, at that point. Remus loved that, wearing an extremely manic grin.

Roman was getting concerned about why Steve didn’t run off like the rest, “Should we turn around?”

Remus was getting lost in the haze of destruction and was about to grab at Steve. Roman tried to snap his brother out of it, “DUDE!? I think the guy’s hand is broken, we should really–”

Steve heard them and faced them. “YOU.”

Roman nervously laughed, noticing something on Steve. A holstered pistol, barely concealed. “H-Hi there, Steve. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

Remus didn’t seem to care as he grabbed a few more pieces of furniture and threw them every which way. A table landed on a parked car, a few chairs and the trash bin into the street, and a potted tree at the building again. The indoor customers and staff could be seen cowering for cover at this point. He was clearly feeding on their fear, completely distracted.

Steve’s eyes widened as if he could see what Remus was doing, “You have t-tenta–?”

Roman moved to shake Remus by his shoulders. That seemed to work to reorient Remus, “What just–?”

Roman grabbed his brother’s wrist and started to make a run for it, “No time, Rem!”

Steve took off after them, shouting and panting, “I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT! YOU’RE GOING TO PAY.”

Roman didn’t know where they should go, he might be able to carry his brother off in the sky. But there were too many people staring at the three of them and he wasn’t actually sure he could. He was internally going, “Think. Think. Think.”

He made the split second decision to have them duck into an alleyway. Ahead, there was a fire escape stairwell next to them. “Rem?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you be okay if–?”, Roman gestured up to the sky.

Remus gulped, with a rare expression of hesitation. He heard enough of Roman’s nightmares and was keenly aware that he was built for the ocean, not the air. Roman sighed, as if he understood and expected it. “Okay, let's get up that fire escape then, get to the roof, and–”

“– go from there?”

“Yeah.”

Remus lifted himself up by his tentacles to get into the stairwell, knocking the ladder loose as he fit himself in the space, and ran up the stairs. Roman jumped up, boosted by his wings. Once Roman’s claws grasped the railing, his weight lightened on the structure with his wings, to scale the thing…

They could see that Steve entered the alleyway.

Steve screamed at them, recognizing immediately the unnatural abilities the twins were displaying. The twins sped their way up toward the roof of the complex, Steve closing the distance.

Steve managed to barely grab the bottom rungs of the ladder, mostly with his good hand, pulling it down and scrambling his way up toward them. Once in the well himself, there was about a three-floor distance between him and the twins.

The twins moved faster upwards, too focused on the task to get chatty. Steve found the ability to keep shouting up at them, “COME BACK HERE.”

The twins had no interest in stopping once they got to the top of the stairs. Roman was the first on the roof leaping from the top floor railing toward it. It was an open balcony, so Remus lifted himself up over to him, shortly afterwards. The twins then began scanning the nearby buildings for a path to lose Steve.

Steve was scarily adept in scrambling onto the roof, muscling himself up to them. How was he able to summon that strength, with a busted hand no less? Roman knew something was very wrong about Steve.

Steve seethed as he reached for his pistol, “I KNEW you two weren’t normal. I-I just didn’t realize just how HIDEOUS you actually were!”

Roman stood next to Remus, feeling torn up about what was happening. “It’s not like we asked to be this way!”

“I. DON’T. FUCKING. CARE. Your evil must be STOPPED!”

Steve took aim, and without thinking, Roman boomed, “NO–”

From Roman’s mouth, an enormous gout of flame erupted instantly. Steve, in a blinded panic, aimlessly fired a shot and dropped his pistol. The wall of heat and light was so intense, it forced Steve to back away towards the edge. Before Roman could register it, he heard Steve scream as he tumbled over the ledge of the roof.

When the flames dissipated, the twins stared at each other. Roman especially, not wanting to look until they heard a sickening thud.

They looked over the edge. Even from as high up as six stories, he saw Steve in gruesome shape down there. There was a lot of blood. This was a moment where he wished he didn’t have this new enhanced sight. He turned back towards the roof and began hyperventilating, “O-oh God. Did we– did I– oh God.”

Remus was looking like he was attempting to process what just happened. Looking over the edge, it was not quite as clear to him just how bad off Steve was, but he could only imagine. Remus looked at Roman again, who was shutting down in front of him.

Remus wished he was better at helping his brother, only to realize a dull pain from his cheek. A small mercy that the bullet only grazed him. He didn’t know if he could’ve bore it if either of them…

His thoughts interrupted when he heard some noises from the body, it sounded like groaning. Remus shook his head and looked over the edge again. “Uuum, Roman? What’s happening down there?”

Roman was hugging his knees and barely registered what Remus said, “¿¡Qué más podría ser!? We– I killed–”

Remus didn’t want to make his brother see it again, but he needed him to. Remus carefully nudged his brother to face the edge. “Ro, vamos.”

Roman hesitated as he submitted to the cajoling. He had to blink away his tears and rub his eyes, when he peered down at something unspeakable unfolding. Steve’s twisted limbs flinched until they slowly relocated themselves. Steve rolled over and he heard another grotesque scream erupt from him.

“A-am I seeing things?”

“I definitely heard that. How in the fuck?”

They peered over and Roman could see the bones mending and the wounds stitching themselves together. They watched with alarmed confusion as Steve slowly got up to his feet. Steve’s breathing was labored, so he didn’t have it to yell anything at the twins.

Roman saw the intense hatred in the scowl Steve held, as they made eye contact. It was unlike any other moment they had as kids. He felt like he was dunked in ice.

Steve limped away, with no choice but to retreat. He’d allow the twins to have this one.

Roman slumped back down onto the roof and sat against the ledge. He hugged his knees, shaking, before erupting into pained laughter. There was another small surge for Roman winning this fray, but it didn’t abate his feelings of disgust and terror.

Remus just sat next to him, feeling a similar sense of madness. Both swept up in a newfound fear and the highs they felt.

Roman weakly asked, “W-what… Just happened, Rem?”

Remus only shook his head.

-

Feel free to ask to be on a tag list, if you wish!

-

<Previous> | <Next>

[unitchiefs-blackbirdphoenix]

“The Tall Man” Rewrite

Summary: A few additional moments and scenes from “The Tall Man” episode.

A Jemily comfort fic again, this time with JJ.

Read on AO3

“Breakfast is served.” JJ set out two plates of wheat bread, scrambled eggs, and green grapes for Henry and Michael.

“Now what do we say, boys?” Emily said, appearing from the kitchen behind JJ.

“Thank you,” their sons said in unison.

“You’re welcome,” JJ answered.

Emily held two cups of coffee for JJ and herself, kissing the blonde’s cheek when she gave one cup to her. JJ smiled and thanked her wife.

“Any special requests while we’re here?” JJ asked the boys.

“May I have some ketchup with my eggs?” Henry piped up first.

Michael followed after, “Can I have lime juice?”

Emily and JJ looked at each other before bursting into laughter. “Lime juice?!” the blonde mother playfully exclaimed. “What? On your eggs?”

“I’ll go get some,” she said, ruffling her youngest son’s blonde hair and going to the kitchen.

A buzz was heard from the kitchen table and Emily took a look at her phone, receiving a text from Penelope. As she read the message, her eyes widened. JJ’s not gonna like this, she thought and clicked her tongue.

On cue, JJ came back with a glass of lime juice for Michael and saw Emily’s worried expression. She frowned at her, “What’s wrong? Is there a case?”

The older woman slowly nodded, “Yeah. Penelope just texted.” JJ took the phone from Emily and looked over the message. Her body stiffened and eyes widened as memories flashed back to her. “East Allegheny,” she blinked.

“Your hometown,” Emily stated.

JJ sighed. “I swore I would get out of there and never go back.”

“Look, Jen, if this is all too much, I’ll tell Penelope to look after you,” Emily offered. JJ told Emily before that she never wanted to go back to her hometown because it brought too many painful memories for her. Emily respected her wishes and kept her word.

The blonde shook her head, “No. I have to go. Right?”

“If you feel it’s right,” Emily gave a neutral answer, knowing she can’t control her wife’s decisions. “The case is in the woods, two girls missing. In Dead Man’s Conservatory.”

“Wait, wait. Where?” JJ backtracked Emily’s words, looking at the text again.

“Dead Man’s Conservatory. Is that important?”

Emily pinned a victim’s picture up on the clear board. “Ok, so let’s roll with this for a second. Bethany has a secret boyfriend. He doesn’t want to be exposed, neither does she. But then, Chelsea gets her hands on something neither one wants her to have.”

“Yeah,” JJ nodded. “I think I know what they were looking for."

“Right,” JJ absentmindedly responded, nodding.

“So, the jewelry has to be the key to all of it. What motivates them to this extreme?”

All of a sudden, Emily’s voice becomes a little distant to JJ. The blonde conjures up a memory she had been locking away in the past as she nodded along to what Emily was saying.

“JJ?” Emily’s voice became soft when she saw her wife distracted, her professional voice breaking.

The blonde looked up at her, breaking through her cursed memory.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The unit chief gave her a sympathetic look with her eyes softening.

JJ blankly stared at Emily for a few seconds, contemplating on telling her why she’s been off during the whole case. She lightly shook her head and bit her lip.

“Look, ever since we took this case, all of these…” she exhaled out a breath before continuing, “memories are coming back, and they are not good memories, you know.”

“About Roslyn?”

“Yeah. Like, that morning she took my father’s razor,” JJ started. “I found her. And I just stood there. Frozen. For probably 10 minutes. It’s like my brain couldn’t, um, comprehend what I was seeing.”

She started softly crying at the memory, sniffling. “You know, sometimes l think- I think that’s why I took this job. So I’d always know what to do. So, I’d never freeze again. So, can you- can you give me something to do, Emily? Because I am starting to freeze up again,” JJ’s voice cracked as she blinked her tears away.

Emily checked to see if the office door and window blinds were closed before stepping closer to her blonde wife. She knew it wasn’t the appropriate time or place, but she wrapped her arms around JJ's back and pulled her head close to her chest. JJ reciprocated by wrapping her arms around Emily’s waist and quietly sobbing into her body.

“Shh, shh…” the older agent cooed. “It’s ok, just let it all go. I’m right here.” She rubbed her back in a soothing manner.

“I miss her, Emily,” JJ cried.

“I know. I know," Emily kissed the top of her head. After a few moments, JJ calmed down and slowly pulled back, wiping away her tears.

“Are you ok?”

JJ nodded and cleared her throat, “I think so.”

“Ok,” the unit chief softly kissed her lips and JJ relaxed in the contact. The younger woman gave a small smile, “Thanks.”

JJ was staring through Chelsea’s hospital room window as rage started to build up in her body. She gripped onto the necklace she had taken off when Chelsea pointed it out to her, instantly coming to a realization when she did.

Emily pulled back and nodded. She ran her fingers through JJ’s soft blonde hair, tucking some behind her ear. She then picked up a file. “Luke and Tara are going back to Ally. They are going to use the EMDR technique on her. It’s supposed to be especially effective with schizophrenics...”

“JJ,” Emily called out, walking towards her.

“They had to induce a coma, and we misjudged,” JJ turned to her wife. “The boyfriend, we thought he was a teenager. A peer. Well,” she bitterly chuckled. “He’s older. Much older.”

“How do you know?”

She held up the necklace to Emily with angry, trembling fingers. “Chelsea saw this around my neck. The look in her eyes was recognition.”

“The jewelry the unsub gave Bethany,” Emily noted, piecing together what JJ had found.

“Same one. He gave this to Roslyn, who gave it to me. God only knows how many other girls there’s been since then.” She shut her eyes and gritted her teeth, “I have been wearing this around my neck, his trophy, this whole time.”

Emily cautiously reached out to the blonde. “JJ, we will arrest him.”

JJ had just handcuffed Ethan Howard, their unsub, Roslyn’s older boyfriend and killer and brought him out of the interrogation room. A betrayed Bethany slapped Ethan across the face before being taken into custody as well. JJ, Emily, and Rossi watched as the young girl and unsub left. Emily laid a comforting hand on the small of JJ’s back, and the younger wife eventually relaxed in her touch.

“I know,” JJ nodded. “But when we do, I’m gonna need you to keep me away from him, because if I get a chance, I swear to God, I will kill him.”

“You good, JJ?” Rossi asked.

She nodded, “Yeah.”

“Come on, honey. Let’s go,” Emily softly said and the three walked away. As they were walking to the doors, the unit chief intertwined her fingers with JJ's to comfort her.

JJ and Emily came back home. Emily paid the babysitter and checked on the boys in their rooms. She gave each of them a forehead kiss and smoothed their hair down before going back to her and JJ’s room. JJ let out a heavy sigh and dropped her bag on their bedroom floor before lying down on the bed. Emily laid beside her and pulled her body close to hers. The blonde rested her head on her shoulder, and the older woman ran her fingers through her hair.

JJ took out the gold necklace and ran her thumb over the heart locket. She didn't know what else to do with the necklace. It was her sister's. It held so much meaning to her. So, she put it back inside her pocket and squeezed Emily's hand for reassurance.

“Emily-”

“Shh. Just get some rest, ok? We had a tough case. You did,” Emily whispered.

"I just-" JJ sat up and ran a hand through her hair. "I almost didn't save Bethany in time. She- she would've become… his next trophy. I couldn't save Roslyn then. Bethany could've ended up like her."

Emily sat up, too, and reached out to touch her wife's hands. "JJ, this is not your fault, ok? Don't put yourself down like this."

JJ nodded and sighed, “I’m sorry.” She slumped her shoulders and glanced down at their joined hands, playing with Emily's gentle fingers. "I just really miss her. Ros always gave up her time for me, helped me whenever I got hurt, and… I looked up to her a lot. I even wanted to play soccer because of her," she smiled fondly at the memory of her sister. “She even told me I was a badass."

Emily chuckled along with her, “Well, she’s right. You are a badass.” She kissed her lips and pulled back to look at her. "Roslyn would've been proud of what you did with the case. You did her justice and she would’ve been grateful for that."

JJ slowly nodded and bit her lip. Emily’s right. She did bring justice for her sister, and Roslyn would’ve thought it was badass. The blonde agent quietly chuckled to herself as she remembered Roslyn's words from before, "...he'll know not to mess with Jennifer Jareau. 'Cause she's a total badass.”

"Now, get some sleep. You need it," Emily's voice quietly broke through and JJ felt herself being pulled back down. She laid her head on Emily's shoulder and snuggled back into her body.

The next day, Emily was in her office, fixing a small black box for her wife. Earlier that noon, she had used the last 15 minutes of her lunch break to “run an errand” at the jewelry store, leaving a confused JJ behind because she usually ate with her. When Emily was done with her finishing touches, she went outside her office to see JJ at her desk, concentrating on her reports.

Emily let her wife fall asleep first. She thought about the necklace JJ had before they learned it was a painful and awful reminder of what happened with Roslyn before. She noticed JJ taking the necklace out at the police precinct and made a mental note to go to the jewelry store tomorrow.

“JJ, I need to see you for a moment,” Emily called out across the bullpen, using her stern unit chief voice.

“Ooh, looks like you’re in trouble, JJ,” Matt joked, looking up from his paperwork. JJ playfully rolled her eyes and shook her head before heading upstairs to see her wife.

The blonde profiler followed Emily into her office, closing the door behind her, “What’s up?”

The unit chief grabbed the box from her desk, “I got you something earlier while you were busy.”

JJ took the box from her and slowly opened it. She quietly gasped at the sight. It was a gold necklace, similar to the one Roslyn gave her, but there was a minor difference. The locket was not heart-shaped, but a different one.

“Blackbird,” JJ noticed and looked up at Emily.

The unit chief nodded and pointed at the locket, “Look what’s inside.” The blonde picked it up from the box and opened the locket, revealing two pictures: one of Henry and Michael on one side and the one of Roslyn and JJ on the other side. Emily had enlisted some of Penelope’s help with the photos to fit the locket size. Tears started to form in JJ’s eyes as she ran her thumbs along the pictures inside.

The older woman softly smiled, “I hope you like it.”

JJ nodded and smiled, “I do. I love it so much.” She kissed her and Emily grabbed the necklace from her hand. The blonde wife turned around, brushing her hair aside. Emily clasped the necklace closed when she put it around her neck.

JJ turned back around to face Emily and looked down to toy with her new necklace. She gave a tearful smile and kissed the brunette for a few seconds, resting her forehead against hers after, “Thank you, Emily.”

Emily smiled back, “For what?”

"For understanding. For being there when I needed you," the blonde answered, playing with the fabric on the shoulder of her wife’s work shirt.

"I will always be here for you, JJ. You know that," Emily kissed her forehead.

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you, too, JJ,” the older woman said and pulled her into a tight embrace.

JJ smiled and kissed her again, this time deepening it. She lightly pushed Emily against her desk and her hands blindly found her boss’s belt buckle, attempting to undo it.

“Babe, we have work to do. Those reports aren’t going to finish themselves,” Emily murmured and chuckled.

“Mm-mm, I want to properly thank you,” JJ said, kissing Emily’s jawline. “I’m determined to make you finish first.”

The brunette lightly laughed and pulled away, with JJ slightly frowning at the loss of contact. Emily kissed her cheek and offered to make a deal, “How about this? We get off work at around 5, so I’ll let you have your way with me then.”

JJ’s eyes lit up as she nodded. She kissed her one more time and hugged her again. JJ rested her head on Emily’s shoulder as her fingers played with the blackbird locket again.

The blackbird was very significant to JJ. Not only did it mean a code for danger to her, but it also meant courage and change. JJ thought about how she grew up the person she is today, but she couldn’t have done it without Roslyn in her younger years and Emily in her older years. Her sister helped her learn how to find herself when she was younger, and her wife built JJ to become the stronger version of herself later on. It’s no wonder why Emily chose a blackbird for the locket. It’s because that’s how the unit chief saw JJ: hopeful and brave.

[maclunkee]

Your How-To Guide For Identifying a Predator Online

Hello everyone! I am writing this post in the light of events that have been happening for about a month now and blew onto our faces last night. If you want to understand what happened and why is it important we discuss this, please check out this post.

In light of those events, I wanted to make a resource that was not aimed only at kids and teens, and/or your usual couch incel freak.

Anyone can be a predator and these are some universal signs to watch out regardless of the victim’s age or the predator’s profile.

I am not here to discuss ins and out or how disgusting the whole situation that happened with @mountainsidepossum is. I want people to understand this is not some petty twitter drama about someone who was “cancelled”. This is about someone who was 30+ years old, having romantic feelings about a 17 year-old.

DISCLAIMER: I am not a professional by any means, I am just a regular joe with a regular life, but I have done basic research for this post. I am doing this with the best of intentions, please don’t make unnecessary drama out of an already bad situation. I can change information on the original post at any given time to offer the best support I can. I will have “receipts” or whatever for this specific case I call back to, reach out on DMs for them as >I< (the author of this post) am not comfortable with publicly posting them - There is enough proof on the previously linked post that this person was indeed a predator. I do not want this to be a call out post, but a warning and a helpful tool!

How To Identify A Predator:

The entire situation in our fanbase started when someone showed up: New people show up everyday to fandoms (and remember: shunning out someone for being new is gatekeeping!). This person was friendly, I didn’t have touch with them at start, or at all for a long time for that matter, but lots of my friends did.

“My sweet” - Was a term I saw being used, with less than a month since this person had made an account. That is okay, I myself am not a native english speaker and immediately recognized that as a language barrier. (This was not used with the main victim).

“I love you” - Going further into research I saw this person use this endearment for someone who has not been active in fandom for over a year. I thought it was yet another language barrier, but “I love you” means “I love you” anywhere. (This was not used with the main victim).

“Best Friend” - This is related in the previously linked post. This person called their victim their “Best Friend” even though they had only talked a few times. (This was used with the main victim).

I am using these only as example for what I want to convey

Don’t get me wrong: you can totally have friends online. I myself have made long-lasting, 10+ years, healthy friendships here on tumblr. However, there are plenty of ways to make them besides jumping straight for very personal endearments like that.

Offering too much too quickly into your friendship: Please beware if your “friend” is quick to offer you gifts early on into the relationship, and I’m not talking about the cliché watches or candy, they can be:

AO3 gifts;

Dedicated posts and art;

Commissions paid by them;

Over the top comments about your character and who you are, instead of what you offer to fandom;

Poems;

Etc.

Also beware if:

They ask too many personal questions without prompt;

They try to get in touch with your family and friends to ask about you

They are constantly checking your social media.

Seem to desperately try to grab your attention

Types of Predators

According to Reputation Defender, there are several types of online predators, but I want to make a call out for what they named The Crush: This will be the person who will try to get their victim’s attention at any cost, sometimes through excessive posts, or fabricating lies to make themselves a victim in a situation, thus eliciting their victim’s sympathy (ringing any ms.scribe bells also?).

Please read the entire post to understand more

What to do in case you or a friend are the victim

I know tumblr is complicated, but please reach out to someone who is over 25 years old and that you know you can trust - That person should likely be someone who has a lead role in your community, usually your local discord mod.

Warn your parents if you feel they will make you feel safe and will offer you help and support under that situation.

If the person is in your same country and/or continent, please consider reaching out to the police.

I will try and add to this as we go. Please remember I’m just a normal person whose first language is not english. I am not a victim, I am just trying to offer resources that I don’t usually find.

What to do in case a friend of yours happens to be the predator

HOLD THEM ACCOUNTABLE. If you feel comfortable enough to, please sit down with your friend and try to explain why what they did is wrong. Please let them know hat is going on and that its not just mindless online hating for the sake of trying to “cancel” someone. This does not mean forgive them and give them a hug and tell them everything is fine… NO! Hold them accountable for their harm and their actions!!!

---

I would also highly suggest reading this article: Online Predators - Myth versus Reality. By Janis Wolak, J.D., with the assistance of Lindsey Evans, Stephanie Nguyen, and Denise A. Hines, Ph.D

Stay safe kids!

[forgottenyogurtgods]

Author stuff: Alright, picking up right where we left off! Sorry this took so long. I couldn’t find a bit of research ANYWHERE and it’s super annoying, so I eventually gave up and decided to omit it until I can actually slip it in at some point.

Also, Alya is now actively involved!

no body, no crime

by forgottenyogurtgods

Summary: [I think he did it but I just can’t prove it. No, no body, no crime But I ain’t letting up until the day I die.]

Adrien is a Swiftie. To be fair, who isn’t? And her Evermore album? Chef’s kiss! Except… one song put an idea in his head and now he can’t get it out.

Inspired by this tumblr post.

Chapter 3/?

[First chapter] [Last Chapter]

Episode 3

Two years ago, Emilie Agreste vanished without a trace. Her car was found abandoned on the side of the road, just outside of Paris. All of her things were still inside.

No one has seen or heard from her since that night. 

The police are officially calling it a missing person’s case.

I am your host, Adrian Agreste, and I plan to use this podcast docu-series to find out what happened to my mother and prove to the world that my father killed her.

The investigation on my mother’s disappearance wasn’t that deep of an investigation. It barely scratched the surface. It was all for show.

No one was putting in any effort to find out what happened to her. But why?

Well, that’s actually pretty easy to figure out. My father has a lot of influence here in Paris. There’s no getting around that. He… he can pay off people or threaten them, if it comes to it, to keep their silence or to make sure things never get out.

Which is why he’s my number one suspect. 

Okay, okay. I know what you’re thinking: Adrien, why would you blame your father if you don’t have any proof?

That’s the thing, there is no proof. We have very little beyond what was released to the press. Which is why I, ahem, got Chat Noir involved.

[I still can’t believe that you asked them without consulting me first. I do have ways to get a hold of them, you know.]

I, uh, I was going to introduce you, you know.

[It’s fine. I can introduce myself.

Hey, ladybloggers and listeners! I’m Alya Cesaire. Most of you living here in Paris know me for running the Ladyblog — which has every possible scoop on the dynamic duo, Ladybug and Chat Noir.]

As well as Rena Rouge and the rest of the gang.

[Yeah, Rena Rouge is cool and everything, but have you seen Carapice in action?]

[Uh, dudes, can you not?]

Aw, what’s wrong, Nino? Don’t want to hear your girlfriend talk about a superhero?

[Not that I mind it or anything, but not on the podcast. Okay, Alya?]

[Sure, babe.

Anyway! Where was I?]

Talking about the superhero gang that roams Paris and saves it from Hawkmoth.

[Yeah, still working on unmasking him.]

It’ll happen soon enough.

[Oh, how do you know?]

Eh, it’s just something that I feel. 

So, back to what we were talking about?

[Right, so I run the Ladyblog. Which means I should have been told that Chat Noir was helping with the investigation.]

Uh… Sorry?

[Yeah, yeah.]

So, want to tell my listeners how you figured out how little investigating went into the, uh, investigation?

[Okay, so, me and my girl Marinette got recruited pretty early on in this project. As in, before Adrien even decided to make this into a podcast. Great idea, by the way.]

Thanks.

[So, she and I were printing out as many news articles that we could find. And going to different libraries and going through the newspaper archives. There wasn’t much that hadn’t been digitized, but we did notice some… things, I guess you can say, in wording.

That was kind of my biggest clue. 

In journalism, we have to use certain wording for certain things. It’s pretty standard for the wording to change throughout the investigation as more information is uncovered. In fact, you tend to expect it. This is normal in any missing persons or murder case.

…You okay?]

Yeah. I’m fine. Just, um, yeah. Just continue.

[With Emilie’s case, your mom’s case, the wording never changed. It actually hasn’t changed at all. Except for when your dad held the, um, the funeral service. For her.]

And that… that got you thinking?

[Yeah. It got me thinking.

Why weren’t there any changes? Why wasn’t a whole lot of new info being given out? It’s true that only so much could be said, but there was nothing. No motivation for her running away of being kidnapped, no motivation for murder, no suspects list, no evidence found in her car or in the area surrounding it, no nothing.

She simply disappeared.

This big investigation for a woman — a pretty, white socialite, who would normally garner the biggest investigation you could ever possibly imagine. And you know it’s true. This investigation wasn’t going anywhere. It was stagnant.

Why? Why was that? Why has nothing been put out in the years since?]

You have a theory?

[I have two.

The first: Someone’s being paid off and big time. Someone knows something or someone did something and now we’re all being kept in the dark.]

I hate to ask, but any ideas?

[None that you would like, and I don’t want to point fingers because I wouldn’t be able to afford the legal ramifications if I said who.]

Right.

And the next theory?

[The reason that there’s no new information is because nothing new has been found. It’s… sad, to say the least, but it’s true. 

There is so little evidence, so little motive, so little everything. It’s not difficult to believe that everything is already in police custody. There’s nothing else for them to collect.]

Hm.

[Not exactly what you wanted to hear, is it?]

It’s that obvious?

[It’s understandable. She’s your mom. I don’t think… I don’t think I would be able to handle it if my mom or any of my sisters or my dad ever went missing and nothing new came up.]

Yeah.

[So, I have a question.]

Okay. 

[What makes you think that your dad killed your mom?]

Author stuff cont’d.: Going to have to relisten to the true crime podcast that really got me into them.

Also available on

[Ao3]

[FanFiction.Net]

[Wattpad]

[kdramas-ruined-my-life]

Hiii! My prompt choice for your short hwanghans is "42. I’m going to save you from the terrible date you’re having" because I can imagine either one swooping in to save the other from a blind date gone wrong. Looking forward to the next installment of By Your Side!!

Oooh I love this prompt! Thank you so much for asking it! I hope you enjoy it! It can also be found on Ao3!!!

~

Inspector Han Yeo-Jin tapped out a pattern on the table as she tried to stop herself from rolling her eyes for the fourth time that evening.

Her mother had called her last week randomly as she was leaving work and had told her that she had arranged a blind date with the son of one of her friends. Yeo-Jin was reluctant as she told her mother yes. She was too busy to date, and besides, there were not a lot of men who were interested in dating female police officers.

“...And my company had been developing a new algorithm for analyzing both macro and microeconomics to come up with a...” explained her date as he droned on and on about something she couldn’t even remember ten seconds later.

From the few seconds that she had actually paid attention to the man, she had learned that he was a businessman, apparently someone VERY high up in the corporate world. It seemed like he was used to getting his way with the world. Men like him annoyed her. She had met plenty of them when she interrogated them for fraud, theft, and murder.

His appearance added to her overall dislike of the man. Sure he was attractive by societal standards, but it just didn’t appeal to her. His hair was short and slicked back. The large watch on his wrist and his Italian leather shoes screamed “look at me I have money.” It all reminded her of someone. Everyone’s favorite weasel, Seo Dong Jae.

She had been trying to find a way to get out of the dinner without making a scene. If it was a more casual restaurant, she would have simply stood up and left, but if she did that there, in such a nice restaurant, it would just draw attention.

As she tugged the hem of her black dress down for the fiftieth time that evening, she leaned back in her chair. She thought of any way that she could get out of this situation. Was there anyone who could help her?

Jang Geon mentioned that he was going camping with his family, there wasn’t really anyone she was close to at work, and while she was on better terms with Choi Bit, they weren’t on good enough terms for her to help Yeo-Jin.

It was just then that it struck her. Prosecutor Hwang. It was a stretch, but she remembered from their last text messages a couple of weeks ago that he was going to be in Seoul for some sort of gala for the prosecution. He said he didn’t want to attend, but some of his superiors wanted to send him as a representative for the Wonju firm.

The question was, would he help her? She knew that he didn’t like to get involved in social situations, but she thought he might do it for her. Plus, they hadn’t seen each other since they separated at the restaurant a couple of months ago.

Discreetly pulling out her phone from her purse and setting it in her lap where she could type under the table without her date noticing, she sent a quick text.

Hi Prosecutor Hwang! I know you’re super busy with the gala tonight, but is there any way that you could come to the restaurant that I am at? My mother set me up with a blind date and I feel like I am two seconds away from punching him. How do you feel about preventing me from harming a civilian?

She quickly sent the text and was about to turn her phone off when she pulled her messages back up and sent him an emoji of a cartoon cat winking.

Turning her screen off, Yeo-Jin once again brought her attention back to her date, trying to feign even a small of interest. She really needed Hwang Si-Mok to help her out. It was almost as if that thought had summoned him, the phone in her lap letting out a soft buzz. Glancing at her phone, she saw a single short text.

On my way.

~~~

It had been fifteen minutes and thirty-six seconds since she had received Si-Mok’s reply, and yes she was counting the seconds.

Fortunately, they had only just finished their appetizers and had not ordered the next course. She didn’t want to pay for an overpriced, extremely small portion of food if she was going to leave soon.

However, much to her dismay, the waiter set down two small menus in front of them. She was so close to not having to pay.

Grabbing the menu, Yeo-Jin saw that only four entrees were listed in the front. Flipping to the other side, she noticed that the back was blank. The prices were not even listed on the menu.

Mentally rolling her eyes at the insanity of such a menu, Yeo-Jin fingered the edge, planning to make sure that choosing one of those four entrees was going to be the hardest and longest task she had ever done.

It was then when she noticed a few women at the table beside them start whispering as they looked off in the direction behind Yeo-Jin’s chair. Their slightly wide eyes and opened mouths made it seem as if they had just spotted their favorite idol or drama star. Happy to have a distraction from her date, Yeo-Jin turned in her seat to look to where the women’s gazes were directed. Her eyes slightly widened, almost matching the looks that were on the other women’s faces.

None other than Prosecutor Hwang Si-Mom had entered the building and was walking her way. It was clear that the prosecutor had just come from somewhere fancy.

He had traded out his usual dark suit for a tailored back tux, the craftsmanship emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders. She was shocked to see that he wore a black bow tie. She had always seen him in a tie.

His eyes met hers from across the restaurant, a look of recognition appearing in his eyes as he took a step in her direction. It had to have only taken him a minute to walk over to where she sat, but it felt like much longer as she watched him move in almost slow motion. His steps were confident as he walked over, almost sauntering as he crossed the room. She watched as he brought a hand up to his hair, ruffling it a little, only heightening the greatness of his messy hair. As he approached the table, Yeo-Jin watched as he fiddled with his cufflinks, his eyes never leaving hers. The female inspector felt her heart skip a beat.

Aigoo, is this a runway?

“Inspector Han Yeo-Jin,” Prosecutor Hwang greeted as he gave a quick bow of his head in her direction, not bothering to even look at her date, “I need your assistance on a case immediately.”

Yeo-Jin slightly shook her head, desperate to shake her Si-Mok-filled thoughts from her head. Setting the menu down in front of her on the table, the female inspector stood up from her chair, grabbing her purse and standing beside Si-Mok.

Turning to her date she gave a simple apology for having to leave. When her date offered for them to continue their date, she politely declined and motioned at Si-Mok that she was ready to go.

Noticing that the prosecutor had motioned for her to go first, she stepped in front of him, the click of her heels on the floor confident and unwavering. At least it was until she felt a large hand on the small of her back, the warmth seeping through her dress. She looked to the side, bringing her eyes to his as the prosecutor ushered her out of the restaurant and into the cold night, his hand still not leaving her back.

As they neared his car, she turned to him, a warm smile on her face as she said, “Thank you for saving me.”

She watched as a warm smile appeared on his face in response as he responded, “Of course.”

She tried to hold back her smile as he opened the door for her to get into his car, his hand against the top of the doorframe as if to protect her from hitting her head. A quick glance into his side mirror proved she failed to hide it.

As he hopped in the car and turned it on, Yeo-Jin realized they didn’t have a destination to go to, the case Si-Mok had mentioned clearly simply an excuse. She was desperate to spend more time with him, to simply stay by his side. It had been so long.

“Would you...” Han Yeo-Jin began as his warm voice also spoke up.

“Do you want...”

Yeo-Jin motioned at him to speak first, a warm smile on her face.

“Do you what to get ramen or udon?” The prosecutor asked with an almost apprehensive look on his face, “The gala had horrible food and I have not had the chance to eat much today.”

Yeo-Jin smiled broadly at him as she lightly punched him on the arm, “Aigoo, we must have telepathy. I was just about to ask you that.”

Si-Mok responded with a small smile and she was once again struck by his beauty. Sitting beside him in his car was peaceful, the outside world a blur of neon lights and people talking.

It looked as if he had almost wanted to say something but Si-Mok turned his attention away from her as he pulled out of the parking spot and onto the road.

Yeo-Jin really wanted to know what he was about to say, but she knew he would tell her eventually. He always did.

Looking over at Si-Mok, she felt her lips quirk up into yet another smile since he had saved her from her horrible date.

“So, how was the gala?” Yeo-Jin asked as she leaned back in her seat, “Oh, and how’s Wonju? You’ll have to tell me all about it....”

It was a pleasant drive to the pop-up bar, their conversations as connected and friendly as always, and if Si-Mok had taken the longer route to get there, no one had commented on it.

[rosesgonerogue]

Let the Sunshine In Chapter 2

AO3

Somehow Marinette made it back to the house without causing mass panic or dropping the boy. Once at home she dragged him onto the couch and detransformed, rushing for a First Aid kit before he bled out. 

Tikki sought out a cookie while Marinette unwound the dirty bandages on the boy, doing her best to wipe away the blood and grime. He had wounds both new and older, but to her relief none of them were too serious, nothing that couldn’t be handled with some disinfectant and gauze. Marinette cleaned him up as much as possible, and before long the kwamis swarmed Marinette to get clothes on the boy. 

“He’s malnourished and dehydrated,” Wayzz said, surveying the boy. “How did he get so far from one of the Lazarus Pits so soon?” 

“The Lazarus Pits? What are those?” 

“You didn’t tell her, Tikki?” Trixx demanded. “She’s the Guardian, she needs to know these things!” 

“But I haven’t been Guardian for very long, especially compared to Master Fu,” Marinette said gently. “There are lots of things that haven’t come up yet. But will someone please explain?” 

It was obvious that the boy wouldn’t wake for a while, so Marinette felt fine having the kwamis out and about, especially when it meant there were more eyes on him. She hoped she would be able to avoid taking him to the hospital, because it would just be a mess all around. 

Tikki sighed, settling into her palm. “The Lazarus Pits were a result of a wish made with both the Ladybug and the Black Cat Miraculous gems. It was a long, long time ago when a man lost the woman he loved. When he found out about the Miraculous, he was relentless in his search, and he even killed that Ladybug to steal the earrings. 

“He wished for his love to be brought back to life, but the world hadn’t recovered from the last Miraculous wish yet. This one ended differently than most. The Lazarus Pits were scattered all over the world, pools of water that could heal people, and in some cases even bring them back to life. Since the world was still recovering from a previous wish, the price was paid by the individuals who use the pits. I was weak from my Ladybug being killed, and so the power of destruction was a lot stronger than the power of creation. All of my energy was used for the healing aspect, but Plagg’s surplus energy had to go somewhere.”

“Tikki, what does that mean?” Marinette asked, growing more and more concerned. 

“The person being healed has to pay the price, usually with their humanity. People react differently to the pits. Some find evil and greed growing in their hearts. Others go insane from the transition from death to life, while a few are filled with overwhelming anger and a need to destroy. No matter what, Marinette, it’s especially dangerous for you! He’ll be able to sense your connection to all the kwamis, but especially me. You and Chat Noir aren’t safe as long as he’s in Paris. We need to take him somewhere.” 

“Can it be reversed?” Marinette asked. 

“What?”

“You said he was seriously hurt--”

Tikki shook her head solemnly. “Marinette, based on the amount of energy I feel on him, he was dead, probably for a few years.” 

“What?!” Marinette couldn’t help but stare at the once-dead boy who was currently passed out on her couch. “He was dead?”

“It’s true. And because he was dead, Marinette, means that there’s going to be almost none of his humanity left.” 

“You said almost. That means there’s some left to foster,” Marinette said slowly. 

“Marinette, no. You can’t put yourself at risk like this.” 

“He didn’t choose any of this. It’s not fair that he has to live a life of pain and anger alone. How do I help him?” 

Tikki blinked, some of the panic and tension draining from her small body. “You’re right, I’m sorry Marinette. You’re my strongest Ladybug yet, and the Guardian, so we can’t lose you. But it also means that if anyone can help him, it’s you. None of this was his fault. I… I need to talk to Plagg. We can probably come up with something together.” 

Marinette watched her kwami fly away, a ghost of an emotion rearing its head when she wondered if this would be easier with the Book of Miracles. But it was easily squashed down. It was habit at this point, and Marinette had things to do.

The boy was concerningly pale. It seemed like his bleeding had slowed if not stopped completely, but he needed nutrients. She’d learned to prepare for all kinds of things in her years as Ladybug, so she’d make do with whatever the situation may be. 

For now she settled for making chicken rice soup, chopping everything small enough to reduce the chance of choking. She couldn’t help but wonder about him -- who was he? How had he died?

She had added the last of the ingredients and left the soup to simmer when she heard a scuffle in the living room. Concerned, Marinette went to investigate. There wasn’t a single kwami in sight, and the boy had an umbrella grasped in his hands like a weapon, stationed at the corner of the room, poised to attack. 

His eyes were… unsettling. If Marinette hadn’t known about the Lazarus Pits, she would have worried that he was an akuma -- the were a toxic green, the same color as Plagg’s and Chat’s. But the entire eye was this color, the whites, the irises, and the pupils. 

His knuckles were white from clutching the umbrella too hard, and if Marinette had to describe his facial expression, she would have said feral. When those unnatural eyes turned on her she could feel the loathing, the hatred that emanated from this boy. 

Seeing him awake like this, Marinette could definitely feel a connection to him. Miraculous magic had definitely touched him, but it was tainted, twisted, even more sinister than Hawkmoth’s akumas. 

Lunging forward with a snarl, the boy moved to attack her, bringing the umbrella down in a vicious arc. Even with the reflexes she’d developed from her years of being Ladybug, Marinette was only barely able to dodge the attack, narrowly twisting out of the way, the umbrella crashing into the coffee table instead. 

The umbrella was a mess of broken wires and torn fabric. Marinette had to dodge the jagged bits of metal swinging towards her. She was fully aware that Tikki would have killed her for sticking around to see how she could help the boy. Logically she should have run away and called the police already. 

But Tikki wasn’t here right now and whoever this kid was, he needed help. Was that -- year, he had reopened at least one of his wounds, based on the blood on his bandages. 

“My name is Marinette,” she said, slowly and softly, the same voice reserved for wild animals and child akumas. “I just want to help you.”

He stared at her as she approached, taking a step back. She continued, “I found you bleeding in an alleyway, and you’re still hurt. Let me help you, please. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

On instinct, Marinette took a step forward. It should have proved to be a mistake when the boy lunged forward, snarling. He was really out for blood this time, but Marinette was prepared. When he first reached out, her hand darted out, catching his wrist. 

She was ready to wrench the appendage behind his back to subdue him, but it wasn’t necessary. At the contact of skin on skin, he stilled completely, eyes vacant as the toxic green faded from them, revealing a clear, stunning blue. Marinette couldn’t help when her breath caught. 

“Wha - Who are you? Where am I?” the boy asked in distressed English. He stumbled a step or two forward, nearly collapsing on the ground.

Marinette barely caught him, but she’d been bearing his weight since the moment she’d found him. Maneuvering him onto the couch was child’s play. 

“My name is Marinette,” she said, hoping her accent wasn’t too strong. It had been a while since she’d practiced her English. “I found you bleeding in an alleyway, so I brought you here to try and help you heal up. How are you feeling?” 

“A little like I got the crap beat out of me by a bunch of thugs,” the boy said with the barest suggestion of a smile. “And not to sound ungrateful, sweetheart, but why on earth would you bring me here instead of a hospital?” 

She closed her eyes for a few moments, seemingly deliberating on what to say. “I know this sounds crazy, but I had a hunch that this would be better. I really can’t tell you more than that. But how are you feeling? Why were you in that alleyway?” 

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, and his brain was obviously sorting through optional responses. Finally he simply said, “I don’t remember.” 

It was very obviously a lie, but Marinette took the response without question. She couldn’t share a lot of things with him, it was only fair to allow him secrets of his own.

“What should I call you then?” Marinette asked in response.

“You mean I’m staying?!”

Marinette blinked. “I can’t kick you out! You’re wounded and lost in Paris without your memory! I couldn’t just kick you out!” 

“Wait, I’m in Paris?!” the boy asked, totally blown away. “Like, Paris, France?!” 

“Yes?” Marinette pulled open a curtain, pointing to the barely visible Eiffel Tower that peeked over the nearby buildings. “So, any ideas about what I should call you? I can always make something up, but I’m told that I’m not the best with names.” 

“Just call me Jay,” the boy said, barely suppressing a yawn. “Jay will be fine.” 

“Don’t go to sleep just yet, you need some nutrients in you, Jay,” Marinette said, rising to retrieve a bowl of soup. 

While Marinette carefully fed the boy soup, spoonful by spoonful, unbeknownst to them their every move was watched by a group of kwamis. 

“Are you sure we can’t tell her, Plagg?” Tikki asked, eyes fixated on her holder. 

“He’s got a lot of destructive energy running through his body right now,” Plagg said, uncharacteristically serious. “I’m impressed at how quickly he recovered from this bout of destruction, this kid has a history with controlling his anger. But we need to find something to replace that anger, or it will get worse and worse until nothing is left of the kid.” 

“And what do we replace the anger with?” Pollen asked.

“The destruction is affecting his mind and his emotions, so he needs to create new positive emotions and relationships,” Tikki said defeatedly. “She just has to wait out those fits of rage, even though they’re directed at her.” 

“Lighten up, Sugar Cube,” Plagg said. “He calmed down when she touched him. That means he already trusts her, even though he can feel the Miraculous on her.” 

“Besides, they already kind of know each other,” Trixx pointed out. 

“What?” multiple voices chorused. 

“I’m the kwami of illusion, which means that I can see through disguises and stuff,” Trixx explained. “That boy is the one from three years ago, Marinette’s Robin that died! That kind of explains why she was able to calm him so quickly.” 

“So… what do we tell Marinette?” Kaalki asked. 

“For the boy to truly be healed, Marinette’s actions have to be genuine, with no ulterior motives, however well-intended,” Wayzz said gravely. “I’m afraid we cannot tell her anything. But fear not, Marinette has never let us down before.” 

Murmuring hesitant assent, the majority of the kwamis retreated. Tikki though, couldn’t pull herself away. 

Plagg sighed. “It will work out, Sugar Cube. Besides, when he died, a part of Marinette got locked away as well. This might be what finally brings her back to us.” 

“I hope you’re right,” Tikki said, eyes lingering on her holder. “Because if this ends badly, I don’t think Marinette will ever be the same again.”

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

Note: Hey everyone, sorry for how long this chapter took. I’m a full-time college student with two jobs, so I can’t promise a lot of consistency. But seriously thank you for all of your eagerness and support! If you want to be tagged, just let me know, and let me know if I forgot anyone! 

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[avasharpe]

Good in Goodbye

Summary: When Maggie goes out for take-out she didn’t expect to see Alex and old emotions come up as she watches Alex with her new family.

Fandom: Supergirl.

Relationship: Alex Danvers/Kelly Olson, Maggie Sawyer/Alex Danvers (Past), Nia Nal/Brainiac 5, and Clark Kent/Lois Lane. 

Characters: Maggie Sawyer, Alex Danvers, Kelly Olson, Kara Danvers, Nia Nal, Brainiac 5, Lois Lane, Jonathan Kent, and Jordan Kent. 

Chapter Rating: General Audiences.

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

……………………………………………………………………

“It will just be a few minutes.” The hostess said to her after Maggie paid for her to-go order. 

Maggie just nodded and went to sit on the bench near the door, looking out into the cold fall air. The soft and low light of the restaurant’s lobby reelected in the window as she stared out into the dark streets. It was getting dark so early these days and the rain that fell on the golden leaves doesn't help.

Maggie's not sure what she's doing back in National City. It's only for a few days while she's on assignment finishing up a cross jurisdictional case and then it's back to Hub City. So far she's only seen Supergirl fly over now and then, but she hasn’t seen anyone else, especially Alex. It felt risky, stepping out to get a bite to eat, particularly at this restaurant, which is Kara Denver's favorite place for pot stickers.

She does suppose that it's tempting fate, peculiarly when she caught Kara with her black glasses and her blond hair in a ponytail approaching the restaurant. Kara was under the umbrella and on the arm of a dark brunette, she recognized as Lena Luther. Maggie quickly hid her face as they came in with a cold breeze. Kara and Lena quickly greeted the hostess and she guided them towards a party table, towards the back. It was hard to see through the crowd and Kara and Lena disappeared from her gaze, but then she saw Alex.

It's been years, but Alex still looked as beautiful and warm as Maggie remembered. Her dark brown hair with touches of red still swayed to the side and was buzzed at the bottom. Alex’s smile was still soft and warm and her eyes still crinkled when she smiled. Alex looked so happy, laughing with friends, most of whom Maggie recognized. 

The door to the restaurant opened with a cold breeze that sent shivers right through her. She turned to see two dark haired toddlers pulling the arms of a brunette woman Maggie recognized as Lois Lane and a tall black woman, with a mole above her lips. The black woman held her coat closed as she cradled the baby wrapped to her chest. The boys immediately turned to go towards the dining room, but Lois caught their arms and pulled him back.

“Hang on boys,” Lois said, stopping in the middle of the lobby. “We need to wait for the hostess to seat us”

“Oh,” one of the boys said as they walked up to a waitress as the hostess was in the back.

The waitress got them booked and Maggie was surprised when the waitress gestured for them to have a seat. She wondered if she should say something to them, but figured they would figure it out. 

“I’m going to go use the restroom, Kelly can you watch them?” 

“Sure.”

“Jonathan, Jordan, be good for Auntie Kelly,” Lois said, gave the boys a look before she disappeared down the hall. 

Kelly looked around seeing all of the seats were occupied, Maggie stood up and offered her place to her. 

“Thank you,” Kelly said, taking the seat and pulling back a part of the wrap to reveal a tiny head of black hair and tan skin. 

“They're cute,” Maggie said smiling down at them.

“That's my new nephew,” Jonathan said smiling up at her. 

“Is that right?” Maggie asked, looking down at them as Jonathan and Jordan nodded. 

“Yeah, my wife and I just adopted him and we are so happy to have him,” Kelly said staring down, lovingly at the child. “Do you have any kids?”

“Oh no,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “It’s just me and my girlfriend.”

“I get it, it's a lot of responsibility and not everyone wants that,” Kelly said with an easy nod. She looked down at the boys who were starting to get restless and pulled out a wooden puzzle block that quickly captured their attention. “You and your girlfriend must be happy together though?”

“We are,” Maggie said with an easy smile that graced her lips whenever she thought about her. 

“What do you and your girlfriend do for work?” Kelly asked, keeping the conversation going.

“I’m a police officer and Hub City. I’m just here on assessment and my girlfriend works in the same circle of shorts,” Maggie as she tilted her head, not exactly sure how to describe her girlfriend's vigilante work.

The door opened again and Kelly pulled the wrap up to shield the baby from the cold autumn wind that came in with the rain. 

“Hey Kelly,” a brunette woman smiled as she undid her boyfriend’s large scarf. “Why are you waiting here, Kara texted and said that they've already been seated?”

“Hey guys, I didn't see them when we came in?” Kelly said, standing up and offering Maggie back her seat.

“Yes, I believe they're seated in the back, which can be hard to see in a crowded restaurant.” The man said putting his fingers together in an odd gesture.

“Thank you Maggie. It was nice to meet you and I’m glad you're happy,” Kelly said as she walked away.

“Wait, I never told you my name?” Maggie said standing up, her defenses were raised, despite Kelly’s superfriends.

Kelly just turned back and gave her a smile as she walked away. Maggie turned around to watch them go as she sat back down. She watched as the boys jumped into Clark’s arms and the couple greeted Kara and their friends. 

Maggie's heart stopped when she watched Kelly walk up to Alex and greet her with a kiss. She watched as Alex said something to Kelly and reached down to pull the baby out of the wrap. Alex held him so easily and so naturally in a way that Maggie always imagined she would if Alex became a mother. 

As she watched Kelly and Alex coo over their little boy as he woke up and wiggled his arms Maggie felt that familiar tightness in her chest. It was everything that Alex had always said she wanted and Maggie found herself smiling as she stared at the family before her. They were so happy with their child, surrounded by friends and family. When Maggie imagined what kind of life Alex would have this is what she thought of. 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out to see a message from her girlfriend. ’I hope you got the food because I am starving!’ followed by a string of emojis. It made Maggie's heart warm and an easy smile graced her lips.

Her current girlfriend was nothing like Alex. They worked together in Gotham and she was wild and spontaneous. She didn’t want a baby which was what Maggie wanted when she left Alex and it's what she got. 

The hostess called her name and Maggie walked up to grab her food. As she zipped up her jacket and stared out at the unwelcoming rain, she looked back at Alex one last time. She had settled in her seat and was bouncing the now awake baby boy with one arm around Kelly. The sight made Maggie smile and she opened the door heading out into the fall night. 

The rain and the wind picked up as it made the golden lanterns jingled along the awning as Maggie quickly rushed up the street to the hotel. That could have been her sitting next to Alex with a baby on the way, but she didn't want it to be. She was happy with the woman she was with now and was glad that Alex had found the same happiness with someone else.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

I was in Saint Denis and was doing the rob 5 town people challenge, when some woman started sassing me. Arthur grabbed her so her back was against his chest and put the gun to her head, saying "I wasnt gonna rob you but now I am." Could you write Arthur/reader where a few months later she ends up falling in with the camp and recognises his voice?

Woo boy, this one was fun and honestly could be the start of a multi-chapter fic! Great prompt! Also, Arthur is hilarious when he comes up with stuff like this. 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You watch as the ferry floats away from the pier. Your hand lowers as it would be impossible for your cousin to see you at this point. Part of you still wishes you could have gotten a ticket for this ferry, but at the same time, you’re glad you couldn’t. For the last few days, you’ve gotten a bad feeling about the boat. You doubted it was nothing, that you were just being silly, so you said nothing to your cousin. 

As you turn and look down the street at the town of Blackwater, you begin lightly humming to yourself. It couldn’t be a more beautiful day. You’ll miss your cousin, the two of you are good friends, but she lives in Saint Denis with her parents. You live here alone, but you don’t want to leave. Blackwater is all you’ve ever known. It’s where your parents are buried and where you grew up. 

You pass the barber’s shop and you get a sudden sense of dread, like there’s a heavy anticipation settling over the town. You can’t put your finger on as to why. Nothing seems wrong or out of place, plenty of people are milling about the town. It seems like a regular day. 

As you walk down the street, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling, you suddenly hear shouts and screams. A police officer on his horse runs past you, heading for the lake. He yells out “Ferry’s being robbed!” 

You watch in terror as people begin fleeing, cops swarming the streets and heading for the lake. Gun shots ring out. You begin backing up quickly and slam into someone hard. 

“Watch it, buddy,” you say, glaring at the man. Of course it wasn’t his fault, more yours than his really, but you’ve never been known for apologizing. Without warning, the man suddenly grabs you, pins your back to his chest, and he whips out his gun, pointing it to your temple. In the chaos surrounding you, no one stops to rescue you. 

“Now you listen here, miss,” he growls in your ear, his voice mixing with your heartbeats. “I wasn’t gonna rob ya, I was here to rob someone else. But now I have ya, hand over whatever ya got.” 

“Please, mister, I don’t have anything,” you plead, your hands scratching at his arm wrapped around your shoulders, but seem to have no effect. 

“Bullshit. You damn city folk always got somethin’. Now hand it over!” 

“Okay, okay!” You reach into your pocket and pull out the fifty dollars you had. You’d intended to use the money to pay down your house for this month. You stuff the bills into his hand.

“There, that weren’t so hard. Now get outta here, and don’t mention me!” He shoves you hard and runs towards the lake, following the footsteps of the officers. You don’t get a good look at his face. 

The incident of the double robbery terrifies you so much you stay out of Blackwater for the next few weeks. It’s alright anyways as the town is now swarmed by bounty hunters, officers and even Pinkertons, looking for the criminals. They wouldn’t be so bad, until the Governor declared that the town was going into complete lockdown. This meant that all businesses would be shut down until further notice and all residents must stay inside and even open their homes up to be searched in case anyone was housing fugitives. 

This turns out to be devastating for you. Your home sits on the outlying border of Blackwater where you run a very small dairy farm. You’ve always managed to make a decent living as everyone buys milk, but with this lockdown, no one comes. The government has even sent in supplies to the residents, such as milk and eggs, in order to keep everyone alive for the meantime. 

Blackwater, however, is not a cheap place to live anymore. Not ever since it stopped being a simple trading post, and it’s getting even more expensive now that the train station is being built. Even though businesses have stopped, bills haven’t. You still have to pay for the loan on your home as it wasn’t paid off when your parents died, and with no incoming money, your savings quickly dry up. 

Things go on this way for weeks, and your situation goes from bad to worse. The criminals have not been caught yet and there’s been no word on their whereabouts either, so the Pinkertons and bounty hunters haven’t left yet. Your situation is growing dire. Just last week, someone from the bank stopped by to remind you to pay this month’s amount towards your property. You tried to explain that with the lockdown, you no longer have the money. He claimed it wasn’t the bank’s problem and they expected their payment by the end of the month otherwise you risk losing the property. 

You would start selling milk again. Hell, these past few weeks all your supplies have basically been thrown away (the cows haven’t stopped milking after all). However, with the government giving out free milk and supplies, no one will pay for yours. You even try to sell the fact that the milk’s as fresh as it can be, but then the Pinkertons catch wind of your business and threaten to imprison you for it as all businesses are still shut down. They don’t care either when you explain your predicament. 

The month ends and on the first day, officials from the bank come and seize your property. It doesn’t matter how much you scream and fight, claiming it’s the city government’s fault as you could have paid if you’d been allowed to run your business. They don’t care and by the end of the day, you’re left sobbing in the dirt with the few possessions you could carry. How will you be able to survive? 

It’s clear that you can’t stay in Blackwater. There’s nothing left for you here except bad memories. It’s impossible to say how long this situation will last either. Instead of living on the streets, you decide to move to Valentine. Perhaps you can get a job as a waitress. You still have enough money that, even though you couldn’t pay for your house, maybe you can buy a cheaper property up there. Maybe even some cows and you can start over again. Besides, Valentine is a livestock town. You know livestock. 

However, when you get to Valentine, things don’t go as you planned. Sure, you got a job as a waitress in the saloon, but it doesn’t pay very much and there are no properties for sale near the town. The few that are for sale are far away and too much for you to afford. You ask the manager of the saloon (who’s also the bartender) if you can live in one of the rooms upstairs until your situation is sorted out.

“Unless you’re working in one of those rooms, I can’t afford to let you live there.” 

You know what he means by working in those rooms and you won’t stoop that low. You still have standards, after all. In the end, you have no choice but to sleep outside and work as much as possible during the days. You think things have hit an all time low. 

One afternoon, you’re waiting tables. A particularly rowdy group of ranch hands comes in and gets a table. They immediately flag you down and you sigh. These types of men are the worst, but if you play your cards right, they can pay some of the highest tips. Especially if you’re quick on refilling their drinks. 

Usually ranch hands don’t stay too long, but this group seems to want to stay. It’s been well over an hour and all of them have had their fair share of drinks, making them even louder and rowdier. As you approach them with more shots of whiskey, one man puts an arm around your waist and pulls you close. 

“Hey, how much for a night, missy?” he asks. 

“I don’t do that,” you say flatly. 

“Oh come on. Bet you’d do it for someone like me,” he says. 

“Why would I?” you glare down at him. 

“Because I’m the sheriff’s son, miss. I can get you anythin’ you want.” 

“Become the governor’s son and maybe I’ll think about it. And maybe think about becoming more than some ranch hand,” you snap and try pulling away. He just clenches your hips harder. 

“You hear how this girl talks to fellers like us?” he laughs to his friends. They guffaw and point at you. “Seriously, girl, I’ve made all the other women in this saloon swoon before.” 

“Well then go back to swooning them.” 

“Nah, been there, done that. I want you.” 

“Let go of me! I ain’t that kinda girl! Now take your drinks and get lost. All of you!” 

“Hey, you can’t talk to us like that!” one man says. “We’re patrons!” 

“I can, and I’m telling you all to get out!” You march over to the bar and tell the bartender your problem. He recognizes the man who was hitting on you and says that the sheriff’s cleaning his slate for some gambling problems, so he has to let his son stay. However, he doesn’t want you getting harassed, so he has one of the other girls cover for you. 

When your shift is done, you head outside to have a smoke and dreading the fact that it looks like it might rain tonight. You’re still sleeping practically on the streets, so it’ll be a bad night. As you stand and smoke, lost in thought, you don’t hear the footsteps behind you. 

Someone grabs you hard from behind, pinning you to their body. The sheriff’s son’s voice hisses in your ear, wreaking of alcohol. 

“Hey there, missy. Just the two of us now. How about we skip talk of pay and just get down to business, hmm?” 

His hand suddenly gropes you and you kick him in the shin. He yelps in pain and you push away from him. “I told you I ain’t that kind of girl! Now get lost before I tell your daddy what you do to women.” 

His face scrunches in rage and he lunges at you, knocking you onto your back. You try fighting him but he’s much stronger and he’s got the upper hand. His hands pin your arms down as he tries kissing you, so you headbutt him. One hand releases your arm to press on his bleeding nose and you take the opportunity, grabbing his cattleman revolver, pointing it at his gut, and firing. 

The bang echoes against the building, and you quickly throw him off of you. He writhes for a few seconds, a gurgling coming out of his mouth. You watch in shock as he draws his last breath. You certainly hadn’t meant to kill him. 

The door to the saloon slams open and the bartender steps out. He looks at the body, you standing over it with the gun still in your hand. 

“I…. I…” you stammer, not knowing what to say. 

“My God, Y/N! You killed him!”

“He attacked me!” you say. 

“Sheriff’s gonna lose his mind about this! He’s not one to mess around with the law, but when he hears about his boy… oh, Y/N, this is bad!” 

“But he attacked me! I didn’t mean to kill him!” 

The bartender comes over and smacks the pistol out of your hand. “You best get out of here, Y/N. I weren’t the only one who heard that gunshot. Sheriff or one of his deputies will be here any second and if they find you like this…. You’ll be hung by the end of the week. Go on, get outta here. I’ll come up with something.” 

Without hesitating, you run off. He’s right of course, now that you’ve killed a man you can’t stay here. You run as fast as you can, heading south, but it doesn’t take long for you to lose your breath. By the time you hunker down, a painful stitch in your side, you realize how bad things have gotten. As the reality of it all sets in, you begin to sob. 

You killed a man. Sure, he’d been attacking you and if he’d lived, he’d surely have done something truly terrible, but the fact remains. A man is dead because of you. Not only that, but the likelihood of the sheriff discovering the truth is a guaranteed problem. His son’s friends surely must have seen him coming after you. They’d know you’re his most likely killer, and they won’t have a problem telling the sheriff. You’re in big trouble. 

The weight of this all forces you down to your knees and you sob harder. What can you possibly do? Should you head on to another town? But which one? So far, you haven’t had any luck being able to afford a new home. You just can’t seem to dig yourself out of this hole. 

You hear a voice. “Ma’am? Ma’am, you okay?” 

You look up and see an elderly man. His clothes are rough, dirty and torn in places. He’s got a bulbous nose and a thick gray beard and a wide belly. His eyes, though dark, have a kind look to them. 

“I… I killed him.” The words slip out of your mouth. 

“Killed who?” he asks. 

“The sheriff’s son. I… I killed him. It was an accident.” 

“Oh so you’re the one they’re looking for.” Fear stabs you in the stomach. This quick and you already have a bounty on you. He straightens up and looks down the road at Valentine. “You say it was an accident?” 

You nod, getting to your feet and preparing to run. He’s an old man, he won’t be able to catch you easily. “Yeah. Bastard was trying to rape me, so I shot him.” 

The man blinks. “Sounds like you’re in a bad way. Heard he was the sheriff’s son. Say, I don’t do this for everyone, but why don’t you come with me? I got a place you can stay until you get things figured out.” 

“You aren’t planning on raping me too, are you? No offense, but I’m not in the mood to trust many men right now.” 

“Don’t be thick, come on now. I live with a big group. Sure, there’s quite a few men, but I promise ain’t one of ‘em gonna touch ya. Especially when they hear you’ve already killed the man who tried to get ya.” 

Instead of feeling suspicious, you can’t help but trust this man. He leads you down the trail towards a large copse of trees. As he walks into them, he turns to you. 

“Think you’ll fit right in with us, miss. Everyone I live with has got a record behind ‘em. Hell, some of ‘em have killed more people than I’m even capable of counting, but don’t tell ‘em I said that.” 

“So, you run with a gang of outlaws?” you say, feeling nervous again. 

“That’s how you might choose to see it, but they’re alright really. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” 

The old man leads you into a clearing. There you see several wagons and a few tents. Despite the hour, there’s still plenty of people milling about. A man sits at a round table with two women, a guitar in his hand and he’s singing in Spanish. Around one of the fire’s further away is a man in a plaid shirt talking to some other men. Not too far, near a tent, a woman sits next to a small boy, who’s playing in the dirt with a stick. 

“Uncle!” a loud voice calls out. It seems to be directed to the man guiding you in. You look to see the owner of the voice. A tall, well groomed man with dark hair marches over to you, followed by a thin, gangling man with gray hair and a thoughtful face. “Uncle, what the hell are you doing? I said no more passengers!” 

“Hey, hey, relax Dutch! Just a girl, got in a spot of trouble in town, figured she needed some help.” 

“We can’t afford to feed any more mouths, you old goat!” 

“What kind of trouble?” says the gray haired man. The two men look at you curiously. You realize they’re waiting for you to say something. 

“I…. I killed the sheriff’s son. He was attacking me, so I shot him. It was an accident.” 

Another man saunters over. He’s a broad man with curious blue eyes, a leather hat and a blue striped shirt. He smokes a cigarette, the other hand on his gun belt. 

“What’s goin’ on?” he asks. His voice sounds horribly familiar. You try to pin down where you recognize it from. 

“Uncle brought this girl in, says she killed the sheriff’s son,” the gray haired man says. 

“That so?” the blue eyed man says. “Well, we got enough trouble, Uncle. Think you better take her back there. Let the sheriff deal with her.” 

It suddenly clicks where you know him from. “You! You’re the man who robbed me in Blackwater!” 

The man blinks and lowers his brow, clearly confused. “What?” 

“You robbed me in Blackwater! The day that ferry got robbed! You’re the reason I lost my house!” 

“I didn’t make you lose your house, miss.” 

“Bullshit! You pointed a gun at my head and made me hand over everything I had. That money was gonna pay for my house for the next month! I’d still be living there if it weren’t for you!” 

Anger courses through you and you want to hit this man. The dark haired man, Dutch you think Uncle called him, looks at the man. 

“Is this true, Arthur?” 

“Well, sure I robbed a gal down in Blackwater. She was sassin’ me, so I robbed her.”

“I lost everything. Everything because of you!” 

“All you had was fifty bucks, hardly anything.” 

“That was my month’s payment on my house! Then the goddamn town went into lockdown and I couldn’t make money, so the bank took my house back! Way I see it, you owe me, buddy!” 

You’re shaking and quite a few people in the gang have gathered, drawn to your yelling. 

“Wait, explain the situation in Blackwater,” the gray haired man asks. You tell him. Dutch and the man trade almost remorseful looks. You stand there, waiting for them to tell you to get lost. Instead, Dutch turns to the man he addressed as Arthur. 

“You heard her, son. We owe her. Miss Grimshaw? Please show her a place to stay. What’s your name, girl?” 

You’re shocked by this turn of events, but you tell him. A middle aged woman with a stern face comes over. She gestures for you to come over to her and then she puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“Come along, dear. We can get you settled. Sounds like you’ve had quite the ordeal.” 

She doesn’t ask you for further details nor does she explain anything about her gang. She just shows you to a spot under a canvas where three other girls sleep. They pull out a bedroll and spread it, allowing you to lie down. When you do, you realize how exhausted you are. Despite all the things that have happened, you fall quickly to sleep.

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

The next few days are a confusing blur. Most of the members are curious, especially when they hear that you lived in Blackwater and had an unfortunate run in with Arthur, who you’re still convinced is the one who sent you on this downward spiral. 

Grimshaw explains that this gang cannot carry people who don’t work (which is odd because you haven’t seen Uncle do a thing besides drink and play his banjo), so she sets you to work at a wagon run by a man named Pearson, the camp cook. As you set down to chopping vegetables, Arthur walks over, looking sheepish. 

“Um, ma’am, I uh I wanted to apologize. For robbin’ you. Guess… guess I been robbin’ folk so long it just comes natural.” 

“I heard Dutch sayin’ you folks only rob from the rich in order to help the poor. I was never a rich woman, Mr. Morgan.” 

He lowers his head. “I know. I figured since you was in Blackwater you had money to spare. I’m sorry. I know that if I hadn’t taken your money, you’d probably still have a home. You wouldn’t be in this mess. But I got you this. I know it won’t get you your house back, but maybe it can help somehow.” 

He hands you a wad of cash. After counting it, you find it’s well over sixty dollars. You look up at him. “You’re right, it won’t get me my life back, Arthur. But I appreciate the gesture.” 

He swallows a bit. “Well, I just wanted to let you know, you’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you want. I’m gonna vouch for ya, I at least owe you that. And if there’s anything else you need, let me know.” 

You thank him and he walks away. You feel a great weight lift from your shoulders. Your crimes from the other night won’t be erased, but at least you’re not having to be alone to deal with it. You have the possibility of making friends here with this gang out outlaws. After all, you are one yourself it seems. You suddenly wonder where your life might lead now that you’ve started down this path. 

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 2: A Jail

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Sheriff Graham deals with the Golds 

Read on AO3

Graham Humbert did not get paid enough for this.

For the most part, being the sheriff of Storybrooke was easy. This was a quiet, law-abiding community. There were no drugs, no gang turf wars, no serial killers lurking in dark alleys. People kept to themselves and stayed on the right side of law and order. Usually, Graham could manage the whole town by himself. He had never even needed a deputy, though the position had been open for as long as he could remember.   

Of course, bad things did happen in Storybrooke. Graham worked closely with the Mayor, and he knew more than he wanted to about the true nature of evil. But the worst crimes in this town were the things that didn’t get reported to the police department. If whole paychecks were spent at the Rabbit Hole and kids went to bed hungry and property was not stolen, but had been pawned off for much less than it was worth--that wasn’t anything that people called 911 about.

He tried his best, but he couldn’t protect everybody. He was only one man, after all. And Mayor Mills had made his duty very clear: He was paid to make sure Storybrooke looked good. Graham wasn’t there to root out secret crimes. He was there to keep the peace and make sure would-be troublemakers behaved themselves. Most of the time, that job was easy. Most residents of Storybrooke wanted the place to look good too. So they stayed in line and didn’t rock the boat.

With a few notable exceptions. 

It was Saturday night, the day before rent day. Unlike any other Saturday in a given month, the day before rent day was especially quiet. Everyone who owed money to Mr. Gold suddenly realized that they actually couldn’t head out to a bar or enjoy a meal at a restaurant. They stayed home and counted their pennies.

Except for the one person in town who never paid Mr. Gold in cash.

Graham pulled the squad car into the free spot on the road by Birdhouse Corner Park. It was called a park, but it was really a fenced-in lot with a few trees and benches. Every fall Miss Blanchard’s class at the elementary school made birdhouses that hung from the tree branches and gave the park its name. Few birds ever actually took up residence in the bird houses, but it was still a pretty spot to sit outside if you were downtown.

Assuming that no one else had gotten to the benches before you had. 

“Good evening, Mrs. Gold,” he said as he got out of the car. He hadn’t turned the flashing lights on; there was no need to draw attention to the situation. 

He’d taken care of Mrs. Gold often enough to know that attention was exactly what she wanted. 

“Hi, Sheriff!” Mrs. Gold waved with one hand. She was perched on the back of a bench facing the street. Her pale legs glowed orange in the streetlights and they were spread very far apart. Her other hand was plunged down the waistband of her shiny skirt. 

She smiled, like she’d been expecting him. 

At this time of night, all of the businesses in this part of town were closed, and there wasn’t much foot traffic. It was unlikely that anyone driving along Main Street would see the woman hidden in the shadows of a public park. Unlikely, but not impossible. After all, Graham had seen her while doing nothing more than a casual patrol, and what he had seen had been enough to make him stop his car. Maybe he would have done better to just look the other way. 

He did not get paid enough for this. 

He considered his next move carefully. Mrs. Gold was loitering, breaking a few decency laws, and putting herself in no small amount of danger. But she was also his landlord’s wife and one wrong word from her would land him in several different worlds of trouble.

“Bit chilly, isn’t it?” He crossed his arms over his chest to demonstrate that he was wearing a jacket. He tried to keep his eyes above her waist. Mrs. Gold, in addition to her short skirt, was wearing a white blouse and a dark-colored wrap that was so thin he could see her skin through the sleeves. 

“I’m hot,” she declared, leaning back to expose her neck. Her thick necklace plunged past her collarbone and into her cleavage.  “I’m always hot when there’s a sexy man around.”

Graham tried to stand so his stance was more authoritative than sexy. “You were alone before I got here.”

“Was I?” she giggled. “Are you sure?”

His stance collapsed. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried small talk.

“Mrs. Gold, why don’t you go on home? The streets can be dangerous for a woman out at night.”

“Aren’t you going to keep me safe, Sheriff?” Her one hand was still in her skirt and her elbow jerked with quick, repetitive motions. This woman was clearly masturbating, in a public park, in the middle of a conversation with a uniformed law officer. “Besides, what do you think Mr. Gold will do to anyone who touches me?”

Graham ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “So is that why you’re…” he gave up, “... touching yourself?”

She beamed and rocked from side to side on the back of the bench. “Mr. Gold likes me to be ready all the time.”

Against his better judgement, Graham took a step closer to Mrs. Gold. “Are you being coerced? Did your husband tell you to expose yourself in public?”

“Sheriff!” she giggled again. “You should know that I don’t do anything unless Mr. Gold tells me to. And I love doing it!”

Graham rubbed his hand over his face. Suddenly very tired, he pinched the brim of his nose and kept his eyes closed for a minute. “Mrs. Gold, if I tell you to go back home without making a fuss, will that do any good?”

“Nope!” 

When Graham opened his eyes, he could see her smile in the patchy darkness. Jesus Christ, she was still fucking playing with herself!

 “Sorry, Sheriff, but I don’t take orders from you.”

He snapped. “I am an officer of the law, you know! Do you think the law doesn’t apply to you?”

“No-o-o,” she cooed. “I think the law doesn’t apply to Mr. Gold.”

Unfortunately, there was no arguing with that. So Graham did what his training told him was the next step, and what she had probably wanted the whole time. 

He reached for his handcuffs.

“Mrs. Gold, please put both hands where I can see them.”

Still smiling, she put her hands in the air. “You know Mr. Gold owns this park, right?  Sure, the city leases it from him, but it’s technically private property.”

“Mrs. Gold, I just want to take you in out of the cold. I’ll give you a cup of coffee at the station and maybe we’ll have a talk. Will you come with me if I don’t use the handcuffs?”

 She held out her hands toward him, wrists pressed together, begging to be restrained. “I’ll come in all kinds of ways, but handcuffs always make it more fun.”

This was no victory, but what else was he supposed to do? At least he could get her out of public view for the night. Graham closed the silver handcuffs over Mrs. Gold’s wrists. She shivered and made an obscene noise.

He rolled his eyes.

“Wait here,” he said. He left her on the park bench and opened the passenger door to the squad car.

“Yes, sir!” Mrs. Gold pushed her eyebrows together and made a face that matched her voice--mock-military serious, playing that he was in charge of this situation. Hands bound together, she hopped off the bench and stood beside it in her ridiculous heels.

Graham came back with a wet wipe he’d grabbed from the glove box, a souvenir from his last box of wings from Chicken Little’s. He took the wipe out of the wrapper and held it out to Mrs. Gold. 

“Please clean off your hands before you get in my car.”

“Are you going to frisk me, Sheriff?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Aww!” she mocked him. “What a gentleman! I’ll be sure to tell Mr. Gold you were so nice to me.” 

He didn’t let himself react until she was in the back seat and he was shutting the door behind her. Even then, all Graham could do was run his hand through his hair and clench his teeth around a curse.   

****

   The Storybrooke Sheriff Station was a small building. Most of the square footage was used to store archives of case files and other paperwork. The only two cells were in the back of the Sheriff’s Office. Most of the time they were just a place to store belligerent drunks until they dried out. 

But Mrs. Gold was not drunk and she had an odd way of showing her belligerence.  

“Mr. Gold holds the deed to this building too, you know.” A good enough reason for her prance around like she owned the place. The handcuffs didn’t dampen her spirits at all.

Graham walked in behind her, a prisoner even though he held the keys. This time of night, there was no one else at the station. Even the dispatch officer, Mariah Moder, had taken the evening off when she heard that her sister Dotty had had something break in her house again. That was why the red light was flashing on his desk phone. Someone had left him a message, or possibly several.

“Aren’t you gonna take my picture?” Mrs. Gold had wandered over to the mugshot camera. She was posing like a model, pouting and winking at a photographer that wasn’t there.

Graham took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack. “You’re not under arrest, Mrs. Gold. That’s why I didn’t read you your rights. In fact, if you cooperate with me, I won’t even bother writing up a report and you can be home in half an hour.”

She gave him a skeptical look and held up her cuffed arms. “Then what was the point of these?”

“You said yourself that you wouldn’t come quietly unless I restrained you.”  

“Well, I never come quietly unless I’ve got something stuffed in my mouth.”

Refusing to rise to her bait--or sink to her level--Graham cleared his throat. “Why don’t you have a seat?” He gestured to the couch that sat against one wall, perpendicular to the jail cells. 

“What if I lie down instead?” Mrs. Gold was already moving into position, stretching out on the pilly blue fabric. She leaned her head on the armrest, so her red-soled shoes were pointed in Graham’s direction. The position made her skirt bunch up around her thighs but didn’t reveal her underwear--if she was wearing any. 

Graham shook his head and sat down at the desk by her feet. “Just keep your hands where I can see them, please.”

“Well, since you said please,” Mrs. Gold shrugged and stuck her arms in the air. He watched her tilt the handcuffs this way and that. She hummed and admired her reflection. The girl had been picked up by the cops and she didn’t have a care in the world.

Was she even aware of where she was right now? Could she be held responsible for her actions? Should he have her tested for mental competency? Who would he even call to administer a test like that? Dr. Hopper? Or the psych ward at the hospital? Or did he need a judge to give a court order first?

“One thing at a time,” Graham sighed. He pulled out the office rolodex to look up Mr. Gold’s contact information. “Do you think your husband is at home or at his shop?”

“He won’t answer for you,” she said with matter-of-fact smugness. “And this time of night, he’ll only answer his cell phone.”

Graham looked at the front of the index card. Then the back. “I don’t have his mobile number.”

Mrs. Gold giggled. “Of course you don’t!”

He didn’t answer that, and he didn’t think about the flashing red light on the phone. He just turned the rotary dial and waited for Mr. Gold to pick up. Even if Graham wasn’t allowed to charge Mrs. Gold with illegal activity, he could still impress upon her husband that she was a public nuisance and needed to be better managed. 

This was so stupid. He felt like a principal calling a kid’s parents because they had been disruptive during study time. Mrs. Gold should respect the law on principle. She should at least have enough self-preservation not to flirt with danger and enough decency not to do it in public. But she would only listen to one person and that was who Graham was trying to get a hold of. 

On the other end of the line, the phone rang. And rang. And rang. It kept ringing until Graham hung up.

“Well, he isn’t at the shop.”

“Nope,” Mrs. Gold agreed. She was swinging her hands back and forth over her head, testing her range of motion in the handcuffs. 

When Graham tried Mr. Gold’s home number, the phone picked up on the second ring. And promptly cut out. 

“What the hell?” Graham muttered. He dialed again. As soon as his finger had turned the last circle, the other office phone started to ring. He ignored it. Let that call go to voicemail with the others. He needed to get Mrs. Gold out of his hair.

This time, the phone at Mr. Gold’s house hung up on the first ring. When Graham called a third time, there was a busy signal. 

“What the hell?” he said again. He looked at Mrs. Gold. “Do you think your husband would take his phone off the hook when he knows people are trying to get in contact with him?”

“On the day before rent day? Yep!” She had finally put her arms down, and now they were slung over the couch armrest, one on either side of her head.

Graham put his elbows on the desk and ran both hands through his hair. Two hands, for double exasperation. 

The phone rang and Graham picked up the receiver before it had finished the first ring. “Mr. Gold?” he asked hopefully.

“What?” The voice on the other end was female and very angry. Graham recognized it at once. 

“Madame Mayor! I’m sorry about that. Is everything all right?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve been calling the station for hours! Where the hell have you been? Where’s dispatch?”

“Mrs. Moder had an emergency with her sister so she--”

“I don’t care about your excuses, Sheriff. There’s a real emergency happening right now and I need you.” 

“What’s going--”

“Henry’s missing.” For the first time, there was a break in the Mayor’s anger, a deadly serious sliver of fear.

Graham leaned forward in his chair. Henry Mills was the Mayor’s son. He was a good kid--quiet, maybe a little lonely. That was understandable. If Regina Mills was a person in your life, that didn’t leave a lot of room for anyone else. But the lad wasn’t normally the type to cause trouble.

“It’s gonna be alright.” Graham said the cliche with sincerity. “I’m gonna do everything I can to find him.”

“You had better!” Regina snapped. “I haven’t seen him since after lunch. He could be anywhere by now. Something could have happened to him!”

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ll be over at your place as soon as--” Graham looked over at Mrs. Gold, tried to calculate how much longer he’d be playing phone tag. “--as soon as I can.”

“Get here now!” the Mayor barked into the phone. Then the line went dead. 

Leaning back, Graham let out a long whistle. Many of his conversations with Regina were more intense than necessary, but this time she was right to be demanding. Her son was missing. The only person she even came close to loving. 

“Trouble with the boss?” Mrs. Gold was sitting up on the couch now with her feet on the floor and her hands placed primly in her lap.

Graham looked at her through bleary eyes. Maybe he was seeing things, but she actually looked sympathetic.

“Henry’s missing,” he said simply. “The Mayor is upset. She wants me on the case. But I’m stuck here with you, trying to get your husband to pick up his phone.”

Mrs. Gold looked at the ground. When she spoke, she sounded like a human being, not just an inflatable sex doll come to life. “Henry Mills, you said? The Mayor’s kid?”

“Yeah,” Graham said. Dull eyed, he looked at the floor between his desk and her heels. He felt like he should be angry, but he was just so tired. “You didn’t see him, did you? Ten years old, caucasian male with brown hair and brown eyes. Was he walking by while you were playing with yourself in the park?” 

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Mrs. Gold looked embarrassed. Good. Maybe bringing up kids would make her aware of what planet she was living on. A kid could have seen her out there, indecently exposing herself. Anybody could have seen her. There were consequences to her actions--even the actions Mr. Gold told her to take.  

“I didn’t see anybody,” she said quietly. “Mr. Gold always tells me to stay away from kids.”

Graham looked at her. “Why?”

Mrs. Gold shrugged. “Cuz I’m a bad influence.”

“No argument there.”

She looked stung, as if she had expected him to disagree with her. What did she think he was gonna say? No, of course a woman like her would be great with kids! She was Mom of the Year material, sitting in a police station with her skirt hitched up to her panties. 

Not like Graham thought that he was any better. As well as he knew Regina, he had never spent much time around Henry. There was a reason for that. He wasn’t any better than Mrs. Gold. He was just better at keeping quiet about it. 

“Alright,” he said as he stood up. “I’m done with the games. I need to take you home.”

“No!” Mrs. Gold leapt to her feet. There was a real emotion in her eyes. Fear? “I have to stay out until Mr. Gold calls me and tells me I’m allowed in the house.

Graham’s eyes narrowed. “Allowed in the house? Did he kick you out or something? Were you fighting?”

“I don’t fight with him.” She looked down at her hands in the silver cuffs. She had a few rings on either hand, but it was a simple golden band that held her attention now. “It’s just… one of the rules.”

Torn between wanting to know what the other ‘rules’ were and simultaneously desperately hoping Mrs. Gold would not tell him more details of her peculiar marriage, Graham didn’t speak until the phone rang again.

He picked up. “Storybrooke Sheriff Station, this is Graham.”

“Where the hell are you?” The voice on the other end was so loud that Graham moved the receiver away from his ear until it was safe.

“Hi, Regina. I really am on my way.”

“You should have already been here hours ago when I first started calling you, you worthless excuse for a man!” 

Her standard flame of anger had blazed into a white-hot rage. Graham realized what he had done. He had called Mayor Mills by her first name. He wasn’t allowed to do that in public. That was one of their rules.

“Madame Mayor, I am so sorry.” He tried to grovel without letting Mrs. Gold know that he was doing it. “Please let me make it up to you. Please trust me to help you find Henry. I-I want to--” his instinct was to say please you, but he couldn’t say that while Mrs. Gold was watching him. “We can resolve this together, Madame Mayor, I promise. Please just allow me to take care of some official business first.”

“Graham, if you come to my house stinking like some townie slut--”

“I have Mrs. Gold in custody!” he shouted before Regina’s voice could carry any further. When she didn’t answer, he went on. “I caught her… loitering, and I’m going to drop her off at her house whether she likes it or not.”

In the silence that followed. Graham tried to imagine the expression Regina was making. Was she angry that such a stupid problem was delaying the search for her son? Could she possibly have sympathy for him? Would she understand that he did want to be helping her right now? Or would she get a thrill from knowing that Graham was using his authority to make a pretty girl’s life as miserable as he could?

Regina wasn’t really a bad person, but she did have a strong sense of schadenfreude.

“Fine,” she said at last. “If that’s the townie slut you’re busy with, just get rid of her so you can get to work finding my son!”

She hung up before Graham could promise her that he would. When he looked up, Mrs. Gold appeared to be dislocating her shoulder trying to reach her cuffed hands into her blouse.

“Do not--”

“Shut up,” she cut him off. “You’re lucky you’ve got those puppy dog eyes to make me feel sorry for you. I might get in trouble for this.”

If Graham thought of himself as any animal, it was as a wolf--loyal, family-oriented, and cautious. But when it came to Regina, “puppy dog” was the right image. What was a dog if not a wolf that was weak and stupid enough to be put in a cage? 

But it had gotten Mrs. Gold to take pity on him. Even though she might get in trouble. The woman was practically in jail and she was only worried about getting in trouble with her husband. 

Graham sighed. “What are you--”

“A-ha!” From the depths of her decolletage, Mrs. Gold produced a small silver mobile phone. She flipped it open and pressed some buttons on the menu. 

“Give me that!” When he swiped the phone from her hands, it was still warm from being in her bra.    

Gross.

But Graham didn’t have time to think about it. The tiny screen was already lit up with blocky letters that said ‘Mr. Gold’ and the phone was ringing. He put it to his ear just in time to hear a raspy growl on the other end:

“Are you in trouble already, pretty whore?”

“Mr. Gold!” Graham shouted quickly to keep him from going on. “This is Sheriff Graham with the Storybrooke P.D.. I’ve been trying to reach you for a while now.”

The phone was quiet, but not dead, so Graham went on. 

“I’ve got your wife here at the station and I was wondering if I might bring her back to your house?” God, he sounded so weak! When it came to these people, Graham really was a worthless excuse for a cop.

On the other end of the line, Mr. Gold chuckled. “Oh really? Is the pretty whore in trouble already?”

Was there really no difference between how Mr. Gold spoke to his wife privately and how he referred to her when talking to a near-stranger? For her part, Mrs. Gold sat up straight on the couch, one bare leg crossed over the other, staring straight ahead at nothing.

Graham swallowed before answering. “She hasn’t done anything illegal,” he lied. Then he amended: “At least, she’s not under arrest for anything. She was out in the cold and I brought her by the station to warm up. I want to make sure she gets home safely.”

“I’m sure that’s more kindness than that slut has treated you with tonight.”

“Uh…” What the hell was he supposed to say to that? “So there won’t be any problems if I drop Mrs. Gold off at your house?”

“No of course not, Sheriff.” Mr. Gold’s voice was slick and businesslike. “I apologize that the stupid cunt wasted your time. Time is money, as you know.”

Had he really just heard that? “...Yeah,” he said. “I’ll… drive her over to your house.”

“I appreciate the courtesy. And please don’t worry about something like this happening again. I’ll be sure to give that cheap tart a sharp lesson in respect.”

“Uh…” Graham said again. Was that a threat of violence? Did he have to consider that actionable talk? Was bringing Mrs. Gold back to that man really in her best interest?

But then the office phone rang again and he knew he didn’t have time to do that kind of digging. That was Regina. Henry was missing.

He couldn’t protect everybody. 

“Thanks for arranging to bring her back, dearie,” Mr. Gold said. 

And then he hung up.   

Graham snapped the mobile shut and placed it on the desk in front of Mrs. Gold. She picked it up and held it between her hands. Time was of the essence, but he still needed a minute to recover from that conversation.

“So… you might still be in trouble,” he said. 

Mrs. Gold gave a knowing half-smile. It was nice to get a glimpse of a real person out of her. “Did he say he’d give me a sharp lesson or a hard lesson?”

“Sharp.” 

“Oh, that’ll be fine.” She waved her hand as she stood up--or, waved it as best she could with the handcuffs on.

“Can I take those off now?”

She held out her arms. “Yeah, they did their job.” 

Once Graham was done, Mrs. Gold rubbed her wrists and flexed her fingers. She did it automatically, massaging her joints with skill that clearly came from lots of practice.

“So, it’s a ‘hard lesson’ that’s bad news for you?”

“Why, Sheriff!” The fake smile was back, as was the bubbly-bright sex toy voice. “It’s always good when men are hard!” 

“Right.”

He grabbed his coat and they walked out of the station.

****

He let Mrs. Gold sit in the front seat of the squad car, but he didn’t try to talk to her again. He wasn’t trying to be friends with this woman. He didn’t want to get roped into whatever sick games she and her husband played with people in this town. He didn’t want to get to know her. He didn’t want to worry about her.

He didn’t want to think about all the things they had in common.  

But he did turn up the heat when he noticed the goosebumps on her bare legs. And he did put the car in park once he pulled up in front of Mr. Gold’s old-fashioned pink mansion. He wanted to wait and make sure that the door would open, that she got inside. He could make sure she was safe at least until then. 

The lights were on inside the house. When the squad car pulled up, the front door opened. 

Mr. Gold stood, silhouetted in the door frame, leaning on his cane. The lights were behind him, so his face was obscured by the darkness. There was just a small figure with a long, black shadow. 

When she saw her husband, Mrs. Gold let out a gasp of delight. It was dark in the car, but her smile--her real smile--lit her up like a firework.

Graham half-expected her to run up the front steps and leap into his arms. But aside from her smile and some extra-happy humming, she acted just the same as she had been before. She let herself out of the squad car like she was a movie star getting out of a limo--one high heel at a time. 

Then she bent at the waist and braced her arms against the open car door. She had angled herself so that Mr. Gold was getting a very nice view of her butt. 

“I owe you a ride!” Mrs. Gold said, loudly enough that not only her husband, but the whole neighborhood could hear. “You can come anywhere with us!”

Graham sighed. “Take care of yourself, Mrs. Gold.”

She blew him a kiss and then practically danced up the stairs to where Mr. Gold was waiting.

He didn’t want to see what happened once those two were within five feet of each other on the day before rent day. He turned the key and had just put the car in gear when Mrs. Gold came bouncing down from the house, waving to him.

Graham reached over to roll down the passenger window. “Is everything alright?”

She stuck her arm inside the window. There was a crisp fifty-dollar bill in her hand. 

“Mr. Gold told me to thank you for taking such good care of his stupid cockslut. He said he knows what a handful that whore can be and you deserve to be rewarded.”

Mouth open, Graham stared at Mrs. Gold’s face. Then he stared at her hand. Then he stared at the money. This was a bribe. He had to refuse this. He had to report this.

“Mrs. Gold, I can’t--”

“Yes you can.” She dropped the bill on the passenger’s seat and stepped away from the squad car with her hands behind her back. “Your rent is due tomorrow.”

“I’ve got enough for my rent.”

“Then buy a box of donuts.”

Without another word, Mrs. Gold turned on her heel and went back to the house. Mr. Gold was still waiting in the doorway. When she got back inside, he let her in and shut the door behind them.

For a solid minute, Graham sat alone in the darkness. There were a million things he should do right now. But all of them involved being a better man than he actually was. With a heavy sigh, he took the fifty off the seat and put it in his front pocket. He could still report it as a bribe. Or he could give it to charity. 

Or he could buy a box of donuts. 

Graham shook his head and drove toward Mifflin Street and Regina. Priorities. Henry could be halfway to Boston by now and who knew what kind of trouble he might find there?