#motion sensor garage light

[toolreview68]

The best part about this led light is that it includes a motion sensor that lets you know if someone is approaching. There are also multiple colors and brightness settings, so you can adjust them according to your preference.

This led garage light offers a lot of conveniences because it can be controlled remotely without having to go outside. It also supports batteries, so no need for power cords or risk wiring your garage in an untidy fashion.

[akalikai]

GET OFF MY FUCKING LAWN ITS 2 AM MOTHERFUCKER HOW DARE YOU GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK

[colorisbyshe]

while you were enjoying auroras i was staring at suburban light pollution

[chaosandmarigolds]

Gm!!! Here’s a little dribble Drabble for yall

Retirement!Simon can only sleep in cold, blackout dark and quiet rooms, which wasn’t odd- he was a light sleeper so all of those things helped stay asleep

Retirement!Simon that as soon as you trip when you try to carefully find the bathroom in the darkness of the night was already tearing out the floor boards to install motion sensors lights

Retirement!Simon that thinks the tv is a waste of money and space, so he keeps it in the garage

Retirement!Simon who, guess what, he’s dinosaur train and Bluey with his three year old on his lap religiously every morning

Retirement!Simon that wakes up early as the sun to go workout, turning on the lights to wake himself up

Retirement!Simon who thinks it’s a stupid notion that he would ever willingly get out of bed before you, and if he does he’s sure to give you about seven thousand kisses before he does

Retirement!Simon that hates kids, hates them, thinks they gross and silmey and uh why can’t they just grow up already?

Retirement!Simon who almost cried on your son’s fourth birthday- because how dare he get so big??

[rafeandonlyrafe]

deputy's daughter

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only!, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, caught

“rafe!” you hiss as he makes his way into your room through his preferred method of the window. “my dad is going to kill you!”

“is he home?” he questions. he didn't see the cop car sitting in your driveway, which is why he scaled the lattice to sneak inside.

“no, but he's gonna be home any minute now!” you keep your voice quiet despite the rest of the house being empty.

“let me kiss you until he gets home then.” rafe says, cupping your cheeks and pulling you into a heated kiss. you know it's never just a kiss with him, but you can't help but open your lips for his adventurous tongue, gripping his shirt to pull him in closer.

rafe smirks against your mouth. he could have texted you asking you to let him, but that would have taken all the fun out of it. 

“you have to leave as soon as my dad gets home.” you scold him as rafe lays you back on your bed. 

“i know you can’t keep quiet.” rafe chuckles, hand groping at your tits through your thin pajama shirt. thankfully the flood lights above the garage are motion sensored, and with your open window they'll alert you when your dad gets home.

“if only deputy shoupe knew what i was doing to his little angel of a daughter.” rafe chuckles as you send him a glare, tugging at his shirt in a silent plea for him to take it off.

“shut up, cameron. he likes you anyways.” you roll your eyes. now if it was a pogue in your bed, that would be a whole different story. 

“mhm.” rafe nods, tugging your shirt up, revealing your bare chest. “im just so charming. all the parents love me.”

“all?” you raise your eyebrows, taking your shirt the rest of the way off, flinging it across the room. “you mean you do this with other girls.”

“not anymore.” rafe shakes his head, mouth dropping to your nipple, tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. “you know they don't compare to that delicious pussy, baby.”

you tsk. “it's a shame you don't have time to eat it then.” 

rafe sighs dramatically, like it physically hurts him to not be able to give you head, to let his tongue drag through your folds and slurp up your juices.

“just a quick taste then ill fuck you, promise.” rafe tugs your pajama shorts down, knowing you never wear underwear just for him as he buries his face between your legs, forcing your thighs apart as his greedy mouth explores your pussy.

“delicious, baby.” rafe groans, voice vibrating against your skin. “my favorite meal.” he continues for only a moment longer, flicking his tongue against your entrance before moving up to press a wet kiss to your clit, making you moan out, eyes flickering to your window, making sure you somehow didn't miss the floodlights turning on.

rafe stands up with a lick of his lips, quickly undressing himself until he's just as bare as you are.

“condom?” he asks, forgetting to put one in his pocket, so caught up with getting over to your house on time, even running from his car to your yard, always parking a block away to not cause suspicion.

“fuck, you didn't bring one?” you groan, turning towards your bedside table. you squint in the low light as you scrounge through the drawer, but you know that you used the last one with rafe a week ago.

“just…” you sigh, pressing your forehead into the bed. “just pull out, okay?”

“promise.” rafe nods, eyes on your ass like they have been since you first turned onto your stomach, only half listening to what you're saying, but glad that you're still letting him fuck you.

rafe kneels over your legs before you can move back to your front or rise to your hands and knees. “stay like that.” he hums, gripping his cock and pushing it between your thighs, rubbing the head through your slick.

“fuck, you're so hot.” rafe groans as you reach behind your back, pulling your ass apart to show off both of your holes. “gonna let me play with this one one day?” rafe hums, his tip sliding past your entrance to your other hole, tapping against it.

“maybe.” you smirk. but certainly not today, not when you're already playing on limited time.

rafe slides back down to your cunt, pushing in as he leans forward, covering your body with his own. one hand keeps him held up, stopping from putting his complete weight on you, while the other grips your ass.

“fuck.” rafe groans out, his voice sounding more hoarse than usual. “you feel so good with nothing in between us.”

you moan as well as rafe bottoms out, pushing as far in as your pussy allows. he sits still, allowing you to adjust, to feel every ridge and vein of his cock. he goes from giving you nothing to pounding into you in an instant, the sound of your skin slapping together filling the room.

rafe gives a glance at the window. lights still off. he smirks down at you, your hands now gripping into the bedsheets as he plows into you from behind, using the full force of his hips with every thrust.

“m-more.” you mewl out, body shuddering as rafe manages to go deeper with a tilt of his hips, along with you arching your back and bringing your ass up further into the air.

you let out loud groans with every thrust that's now hitting your sweet spot, pushing your orgasm quickly to the surface.

“fuck baby, you're so tight.” rafe grunts out. “don't know how much longer i can last.”

“re-remember to pull out.” you manage to hum out, even though you wish you could feel him fill you up, you're not on birth control and are already taking a risk with having sex at all.

“ass or tits?” rafe questions. 

“ass.” you shake your hips from side to side, making rafe let out a loud curse, pulling out sooner than he'd like to to jack himself off, spilling almost instantly over your ass and back, spreading long ropes of cum along your skin.

rafe is quick to grab a tissue and clean you off, as much as he likes seeing you covered in his cum, he's got other things to focus on.

just as he's about to flip you over to eat you out, the lights outside turn on.

“fuck!” you curse, knowing you have seconds before your dad enters the house. you turn over to look at rafe. you gotta get out.”

“you didn't cum yet.” rafe shakes his head, body covering you again, pressing you back down into the plush mattress. “im not leaving without giving you at least one orgasm.”

“you're gonna be leaving with a bullet in your chest if my dad catches you!” you hiss out.

“itll be worth it.” rafe manages to force his hand underneath you, finding your clit with ease as he rubs his fingers between your folds. 

“y/n!” your dads voice calls out. you usually greet him downstairs, staying locked in your room is bound to cause suspicion.

“rafe.” you moan out quietly. “please, stop.” you can barely keep yourself from screaming out as his fingers just move faster, his weight pressing down on you too much to move.

“babygirl?” shoupe calls out, his loud footsteps marching up the stairs.

“i-in my room!” you call out.

“you okay?” he asks, now right outside your door. you have to cover your mouth as rafe flicks your clit. you take a deep breath before answering.

“yeah, fine!” your voice wobbles a little, something you know your dad notices. “just period cramps!”

“can i get you some midol?” he questions, and you know his ear is pressed to the door, listening for any signs that something is amiss as rafe rubs you quicker, refusing to slow down, needing to get an orgasm out of you.

“already took some!” you call out, having to press your face into your mattress as you cum, body shaking as rafe smirks above you, hearing your muffled noises. “i think im just gonna go to bed early.” you say as soon as you recover.

“alright, goodnight sweetheart.” 

rafe finally allows you to flip over, lifting himself to lay on his side next to you. you raise your eyebrows and hold your finger to your lips, signaling rafe to be quiet until you hear your father's footsteps move down the hallway.

“rafe, you almost got us caught!” you whisper, giving him a shove on the shoulder, only to be met by a proud smile on his face.

“had to get you off, princess, otherwise it wouldn't be fair.” rafe leans forward to plant a kiss on your lips, feeling the way you melt against him.

“am i forgiven?” he questions.

“yeah, just get out.” you giggle quietly. you think your dad bought your explanation, but you can never be too sure.

rafe dresses quickly, throwing your pajamas onto the bed so you can also get decent.

“gotta give you one more kiss.” he leans over your bed to give you a sweet kiss, lips moving gently against each others.

“okay, now go.” you shoo rafe out, heading to the window now that your legs feel a bit more stable, watching him climb down the lattice. he gives you a wave once his feet hit the concrete, only for his entire body to freeze when the side door opens up, your dad stepping out into the light.

“rafe cameron, im going to kill you!”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @folklorsweet @yourenogoodforme @auryyz @mayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl

[grandmashousediy]

Motion Sensor Solar Lights - Tackling our Fall Project List

Motion Sensor Solar Lights – Tackling our Fall Project List

We haven’t had the best track record when it comes to motion sensor solar lights. Lodi purchased a large $40 light right when he moved in and he put it down in our horse barn. It was nice because the actual solar panel was separate so we could put the panel on the roof and the light inside as far as the fifteen foot cord would reach. It seemed perfect but the sensor almost NEVER worked. We would…

[jackofallages]

Author's note: This story will have the title at the bottom of the story.  Don't want to give anything away too early

I can't sleep. I keep thinking about you on the bus and those short skirts you wear.  I wonder if you wear panties under that skirt, if I were to stand behind you and reach up would I feel anything covering your soft center?  I've been watching you for months now, always standing near the back door, as if you think it's safe there.  I've been watching the stop we pass by and there is one near this old overgrown park at the edge of the city that would be perfect.

I have it all planned out and know how I'm going to do it. When we are approaching that stop, I'll surreptitiously signal for the stop. Being at the back of the bus, the driver will open the back door waiting for someone to get off. It's been a long day for him and he's just counting the minutes until his shift ends. He won't see that I've knocked your bag down the stairs, causing you to follow after it.

I'll follow you off the bus closely, grabbing you as you get off, putting my hand over your mouth. The street light here is malfunctioning so the driver will only see someone get off the bus and he will close the doors and drive away.  It'll be cute how you will try to struggle and scream through my hand, but because you are so much smaller than I am, I'll lift you off the ground and carry you into the park.

I have a bag hidden in the bushes near the entrance, where I will push you to the ground.  It'll be easy to overpower you as I have a good fifty pounds on you, pinning you to the body on your stomach as I grab your flailing arms and pin them behind your back. You will scream, but I chose this location due to its isolation, there is no one around for three or for stops in either direction.  Pinning your arms under my knee, to your back, I’ll reach into my bag and pull out a couple of plastic cuffs effectively zip tying your wrists and arms together.

Next comes the gag. I know that I’ll have nothing to worry about in this location, but my ears will probably be ringing with your screams, how's a guy supposed to think?  I’ll grab your hair, pull your head back and the next time you scream I’ll roughly shove the gag into your mouth, silencing you. Buckling the straps will probably be a problem, because at this point you will be shaking your head back and forth and trying to spit out the gag. Slapping you upside the head will stun you long enough for me to secure the gag. I brought a special one, something to get you used to being a hole to the service of my cock.

I would wrap my arm around your waist, pick you up, grab the bag as I do and head for the other side of the park where the service vehicles enter and my car is parked. You will probably  continue to kick your feet, but I’m sure I will also hear you gagging on the penis gag in your mouth. I made sure to get one that I thought was long enough to hit the back of your throat if you don't push it out of the way with your tongue.

Once at the car I will pop the trunk and drop you inside of it, and taking hold of your kicking feet I'll proceed to strap them down with the restraints I have bolted to the floor of the trunk.  Next I'll use some cargo straps also attached to the floor of the trunk to strap you down so you can't move. Once that is done, I'll throw the bag in the back seat and drive you off to your new home.

Once at my house, I'll pull into my garage and close the door behind me before taking you out of the trunk. By this point I expect that most of the fight will have left you stunned, wondering ‘Why you?’  Well, that's easy……Because I can.

I'll carry you down into the basement where I've already set up your training area and cell.  I have a ten foot by twenty foot cell in the basement.  There is a Japanese style trench toilet built into the floor at the far end, next to that is a shower that I have set with a limited area motion sensor. I have also placed a futon mattress on the floor close to the door for you to sleep on, when I let you sleep.  The walls are made of half inch thick glass and the door has an opening at the bottom that is three inches high and nine wide, just big enough for food to be passed through. All around the cell I have placed cameras watching every inch, and there are cameras in various locations around the basement.  In one corner of the basement I have installed a few choice pieces of equipment.  There's a St. Andrews Cross, a gynecological examination chair, a sex swing hanging near a king sized bed, with straps attached and hanging in various places around it.

I will carry you into the cell and drop you carefully on the mattress. It is not thick and not meant to be comfortable as I want you off balance and primed for training.  Once I have you on the mattress I will begin cutting your clothes off and placing them in a black plastic bag, you won't be needing them anymore. The last thing I will do before I leave you in the cell is to put a special collar around your neck and lock it into place, this is another piece of training equipment.

After leaving the cell and locking you in, I will turn the lights on to their brightest setting and turn on a track of sexual moans and sounds, making sure it is loud enough that it will keep you awake.

I will leave you like that for the rest of the night and all of the next day. A guy has to work after all and I'm no different. The cameras watching you are streaming live to my desktop computer upstairs in my study and only I can access them remotely from my phone. By the time I come home you will be exhausted and will probably have wet yourself. Not a problem, did I forget to mention that the mattress is covered in a latex covering? Yes I thought of that.

After work I come home, you really won't have been able to do much other than make your way to the toilet. I’ll make you some plain oatmeal, with a little milk and some cannabutter. It will be  placed in a disposable plastic bowl with a flimsy plastic spoon, next to that is a cup of water also disposable. Walking into the cell I will find you curled up on the futon, and set the food next to the door.

I'll come over to you so I can see the fear in your eyes and tear tracks down your face. You’ll try to move away from me on the bed but I’ll grab hold of your kicking feet and pull you to me, your screams muffled by the gag in your mouth. You'll be forced onto your stomach and I will cut away the plastic cuffs, making sure you see the sharp blade of the knife before I do “Don't move.  If you do, you'll be punished.”  With the blade so close to you, you'll be too terrified to move, and will probably not even move your arms after they are released.  That works for me as the next thing I'll need to do is remove the gag.  After unbuckling it from around your head I'll make a show of trying to remove it from your tired mouth, pulling it out some before letting it slip out of my fingers from all the drool covering it, and ‘accidently’ pushing it back into your mouth a few times, making you gag.

Then I'll just walk away, with the restraints and gag in my hand, locking you in the cell, before pulling a chair over to watch you.  I'm sure that you will have plans for a hunger strike, but I can wait. After a while I'll get bored of watching you just lay there, “You should eat. We have a lot of work to do.” You will probably ignore me. That is until I bring out a small remote, showing it to you. “You have to the count of three to go to the food……One……..” I will be able to take the glares you will be sending my way, knowing what is coming next. “Two…….I'd start moving if I were you.”  You might even turn away, refusing to look at me, which will be a mistake, because you won't see it coming when I use some negative reinforcement. “Three….” At that point I'll press the button, and you will scream as the collar around your throat will send a jolt of electricity, along the skin of your pretty neck.  You see, dog training collars have uses for the human animal too.

I won't hold the button for long as this is only a demonstration, and I'll watch as you try to remove the collar, only to fail. “Get up and Eat…NOW!” this might prompt you to move, maybe not. It won't matter because if you don't move, I'll shock you again and again until you learn.  I’ll wonder how many times it will take until you start to move to the food.

After a while you will learn and because of the exhaustion you feel, will only be able to crawl over to the food.  I will watch you eat it and wait for the pot to kick in, making you more pliable to training. At first you will probably be hesitant to eat something that I prepared, but your hunger will force you to finish it all. 

While I wait, I will get ready for the next step of your training. I will go to a locker on the far side of the room and pull out a pair of VR goggles covered in hood and a pair of bone conduction earphones.  When I see that the pot has kicked in, I will enter the cell, and grab the ring of your collar and proceed to lead you on your knees to the mattress.  At this point you will be feeling heavy and your thoughts will be fuzzy as I place the headphones on you and cover them with the hood, cutting off both sound and sight.  Next I will put the cock gag back into your mouth, replacing the insertable cock with one that has a hollow tube running through it and is connected to a small peristaltic pump with a small reservoir attached. 

This small pump will be placed at the head of the bed and I will strap you down to the bed, hooking the restraints to rings in the floor, spreading your legs and taping a clitoral vibrator to your cunt. Next will come the nipple suction cups with attached vibrators, pulling your nipples with their firm suction, bringing them in contact with the stimulating nubs inside the cups. Lastly before I leave the cell, I will turn on the pump with its delay timer to give you a regular dose of a drug concoction of ecstasy and fertility drugs.  I plan to give you enough to override your birth control and make you ready for breeding.

Next I will leave you in your cell, but won't close the door as I go upstairs to my computer and load the program linked to the VR headset and earphones.  It is a special mix of hypnotic induction scripts and proven spirals, interspersed with flashes of images of sexual acts and submissive poses. Every time one of these flashes happens, the vibrators will stimulate your clit and nipples, slowly bringing you close to an orgasm. Every half hour the program will show flashes of words like FREEDOM, INDEPENDANCE, and PERSONAL RIGHTS. When this happens the collar around your throat will give a short electrical shock, teaching you that these are bad ideas.

After twelve hours of this I will pause the program and the pump, remove the gag and feed you another dose of food and water. This time the food will have a healthy dose of my cum in it for flavoring to get you used to eating your Masters cum.  Then it is back to the program and another twelve hours of training. This routine will go on for a week as I watch your progress and make adjustments to the words and scenes.

When I start to notice you eagerly eating the food I bring you, I will make another adjustment to the programming. This time there will be scenes of progressively growing pregnant bellies and breasts, made sure to match your skin tone and shape. Each time you are shown one of these flashes the intensity of the vibrations on your clit will increase, so that when the pictured belly reaches full term, you are cumming hard.

Every day during your training, I will carry you to the toilet and let you go to the restroom, but you will not get relief from the hypnotic scripts or spirals. Next I will carefully clean you of the sweat that has dried on your body from each day's training. Finally placing you back on the mattress and continuing with your induction.  When reaching the end of the second week I will remove the training equipment and release you from your restraints.  I will turn off the lights and lock you in your cell, returning to my study or head off to work, depending on the time.  No matter where I am, I will check in on you frequently with my remote access to the cameras in the basement.

If all has gone well, you may show some anxiety at being alone or on the positive side, you might start practicing the poses you've by now learned from the induction, stretching your unused muscles and try to make yourself presentable for me, your Master.  I doubt that after two weeks of constant training and drugs that it won't have worked.  I might even send small commands over the sound system to check your training. If I'm satisfied with your progress, I will command you to be in the present pose for breeding when I come through the basement door.

I imagine that by this time with all of your conditioning, the thought of being bred will make your pussy start to moisten, getting you ready for me to use you.  Your nipples will get hard and need attention, but being the good slave you've become, you know not to touch them without permission.

When I get home and walk through the door of the basement, I will find you on your knees, head lying on the floor, with your hands pulling your cunt lips apart waiting for me to use and breed you.  Your juices will have been flowing so much that they will be trickling down your spread thighs.

Chained Decisions

[luna-andra]

The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC Retired AU | Chapter 8: Compromise

Summary: Andra wants answers, and Ghost has to choose

Word Count: 6.5k

If this is the first time you're seeing this, Chapter 1 is here. You can find the rest on my masterlist!

Content: slow burn, eventual smut, 18+, fluff, mentions of mental health, mild violence

The clouds on the way home were overcast across the afternoon sky. Johnny left Andra with several things to think over, bringing her back to a familiar train of thought from five years ago.

He gave her the same look that stirred shame in her belly. She didn’t like being on a different level of rationality – or lack thereof – with the people once close to her.

It was declared by the officer that showed up there was no indication of foul play. The possibility of an incompetent and inconvenienced officer being sent to her call was in the forefront of her mind, and also the possibility of any traces of someone’s presence could have been washed away from the thunderstorm by the time they came out to investigate. The whole process of filing the report gave her no peace of mind, but she took the advice of setting up surveillance seriously.

A precautionary that she should have done ages ago.

The quiet, quaint life out on the farm had soothed her troubled worries all of these years, making her forget for a moment what it was like to live looking over her shoulder every moment. She wasn’t naïve, no, she knew how to take care of herself when the seldom case of harassment arose. Andra should have never gotten so comfortable the way she did.

Her foot pressed down heavily on the brake pedal as she waited at a stop light to rub the exhaustion from her eyes. She was just a few more turns from home, she reminded herself. The caffeine she had ingested all throughout the morning was threatening a big crash.

Andra drove slowly down Middleton Lane as she spotted the first right turn to the private dirt road of Ghost’s property. Then her truck came to a full stop. You know what-

Her hand turned the wheel right as her tires skid around the corner.

Andra didn’t know what she was doing, or what she would exactly say to him, but she needed to know what was going through his head.

Andra parked behind his truck and turned the key out of the ignition. She paused for a few seconds to take a breath and gather at least the first sentence that would come out of her mouth.

Her phone vibrated.

I’m in the garage.

Of course Ghost knew Andra had arrived, another sign that she definitely needed to do the same thing to her property. Cameras and motion sensors.

She shut the door behind her as she made her way to the garage off to the right of his house. One of the metal double doors was left cracked open, and she could hear the metal clink of a tool being put down.

The garage was Ghost’s own personal auto shop, with an incomplete classic-looking car taking up majority of the left. The wall was lined with tool boxes, yard tools, and almost a pallet’s worth of army green ammo cans. To the right, a rudimentary gym setup took up another portion of space, with a bench press, a high pull-up bar, seemingly crafted and welded together amateurly, and a rack of assorting dumbbells and plates to complete it all.

Ghost was hunched over the open hood of the car, one hand on the lip of the hood as he kept his attention on whatever he had been working on before Andra’s unannounced arrival.

“Is this your way of letting me know that you’re pushing me away again?” Andra sharply said to the backside of Ghost.

Ghost tossed a tool onto the toolbox on his left side and retrieved a rag, wiping grease from his stained hands. His muscles tensed in his back as he turned to Andra’s direction. “Today has been a really tense day. I wanted to give you some space to come down from last night.”

Andra clenched her jaw. “I don’t need space, I need answers. I feel like I’ve been kept in the dark about something I have no control over.”

“That’s because you don’t.”

She could feel her blood simmering already. Not how she wanted this to go. “I don’t because you never gave me the choice to take control.” Andra couldn’t recognize the person she was talking to. His stare was cold and dark. If his goal was to anger her into cutting her losses with him, it wasn’t going to work. “You didn’t tell me anything because we lost touch the first time, fine, I get it. But you went ahead and told Johnny? That’s what I can’t get passed.”

Ghost trudged out of the garage with Andra following behind him. “He and I had an eye on things. We had it under our thumbs.”

Andra tossed her hands up. “Had what exactly?” Her voice echoed all around them. “What the hell is going on with you?”

He turned back to her, stopping her in her tracks before bumping right into him. Ghost peered down to her, his eyes burning the same heat. “What do you want from me? You want me to take back what I did?”

Her fists clenched hard enough for her nails to dig into her palm. “No, I just want you to stop being such a hard ass and talk to me.” Her carotid artery strained against the muscles in her neck. “Tell me what you think is going on and we’ll deal with it together.”

He flinched as if her hand flew across his face.

“You keep acting like you’re looking for an excuse to push me away, for an excuse to leave.” Andra’s chest rose and fell with a heavy rhythm. “You act as if one morning I’ll wake up and you won’t be here, and you’ll just be a memory for me.”

His eyes squeezed shut as his own breath left him.

“You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? Leaving without another word, taking your shadows with you.” There was a shiver in her voice.

“I have.” Ghost finally answered. “I could leave in a moment’s notice. I’ve done it before.”

Andra didn’t doubt him. She had done it herself, she knew how easy it was to pack a couple of bags and leave. “What’s stopping you this time?”

Ghost opened his eyes to meet hers.

She scoffed and turned away from his silent response. The wind picked up and wisps of her hair flew around her face. She had to squint her eyes at the unbearable overcast sunlight. “I was able to forgive you for cutting me off the first time. I shook it off because there was no expectation for you to keep in contact after fixing my truck. Then you came back, and I thought you wanted me in your life, and maybe we even had something. Cool. Great, even.

“But when you brought up the transpiring events, the person driving up our street and telling me there have been people on my property?” She shook her head. “You think you’re handling this on your own but you’re not. I won’t let you. Either you let me know what’s going on, or you’ve lost my trust.”

His eyes were unreadable when she saw him once more.

Andra reached into her pocket and flipped her keys into her palm, the key ring sitting on her index finger as she clenched them tight. “I’ll see you around, Ghost. If you figure out what you want to do, you know where to find me.”

The screen door smacked the side of the house harder than it should. Andra wasn’t paying attention. Her face still felt hot with anger. Sammy darted outside for her chance to do what she does, leaving her alone in the house.

The air felt thick, charged with energy that wasn’t there when she woke up the morning before. Or maybe it was her mind messing with her. Either way, her house felt compromised.

The tears collected in her eyes out of nowhere, and she quickly wiped them away. This is stupid. She felt ridiculous for letting it get to her. For letting a shattered window re-surface the fear that drove her away to another country.

This was all going to blow over. The tracks in the woods were a random coincidence, the car meant nothing. And the rock flying into her window was just a freakish feat of nature. She’s witnessed some heavy storms in the countryside in her years of living here. It wouldn’t be the first time something has sustained damage on her property, and it was bound to happen again.

“Be kind to yourself.” Andra whispered to herself as she kicked her shoes off, remembering what she was taught in therapy and from self-help reading. However, being kind to herself was proving difficult with the lingering anger from talking to Ghost.

The nerve of him.

But also, the nerve of her. She felt the weight of her corrosive past. An affliction, threatening to dismantle the life she had built. It had to be irrational, she was no one. She wasn’t worth being tracked down, right? That’s the rhetoric she kept force feeding herself. They had succeeded in getting rid of her, she made sure of it. At this point, if anyone wanted to pursue in finishing the job, she would end up burning a hole in their dirty wallets.

And if Ghost was going to play the need-to-know card, two can play that game.

She stopped in her tracks as she walked into the kitchen, catching a glimpse of the black trash bag covering her window. It crinkled and swayed inward and outward with the passing wind. The ever-growing chasm in her chest was making itself comfortable, and she couldn’t stand it.

-----

 Ghost knew Johnny would stop calling after the second time he reached his voicemail. The third call in a row told him that he better answer the phone. His heavy hand reached out to the nightstand for his phone, swiped his thumb across the screen and pressed it against his ear, eyes closed. “Yes, sir.”

“You broken, Simon?”

Price’s gravelly voice came through the speaker on his phone, and it was like a splash of cold water on him. It was a question he was familiar with Price asking, except he’s no longer checking for missing limbs or hemorrhaging blood loss. Ghost sat up on the edge of his mattress and rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes. “M’solid.”

“When’s the last time you got a full eight hours of sleep?” Price asked.

Ghost took a quick glance at the time on his phone before returning the receiver to his ear. “I was getting’ rest before you woke me up.” He was only asleep for two hours, and his pounding head reminded him that it had been a restless 72 hours.

Price doesn’t reach out very often. The captain – along with the other lads – will dedicate an amount of time out of the year to catch up with the former task force in person. It was an annual event of spending the holidays doing anything but celebrating Christmas and New Years. When he hears from Price before November, it’s because he’s been tipped off on Ghost’s concerning behavior.

“Soap tells me you’re acting barmy, you think you’re being followed, son?”

There it was.

Ghost didn’t respond for a few beats, his feet felt like lead against the cold wooden floor. “A couple of events transpired, would put you on edge, too.”

He could hear a deep sigh come from the other end of the line, and it had Ghost clench his jaw. “Get yourself to an appointment or a meeting, or I’ll bring the meeting to you.”

Price’s demand sent a wave of guilt and shame through Ghost. The memories of being pulled up off the living room floor and thrown into his tub flashed behind his heavy eyelids. Price, Johnny and Gaz showed up. Ghost reeked of alcohol and piss. They had him hauling bags of sand back and forth from his backyard to the range on his property for several hours, making him sweat and puke the remains of alcohol in his system.

“I’m still sober.” Ghost gritted his teeth. He made Ghost sound like an addict.

Price clipped his words, “See your doctor, and get out of bed for a sweat.”

Ghost opened his eyes to the void of his darkened room and sighed. “I’ll set up an appointment today.”

“Good lad.” Beep-beep-beep went the line as Price disconnected the call.

Sleep had eluded Ghost once more. He sat there at the edge of his bed and rolled his neck, failing to relax the knotted muscles at the base of his neck. His eyes burned, and his headache pressed down on every surface of his skull. He felt an irritation for Price waking him up, but rationality told him it wasn’t his fault.

Since sleep was out of the question, Ghost stood up and peered out the bedroom window. The sun wasn’t due to come up for another couple of hours, but he insisted to listen to Price’s advice. Get a workout in, then when the office opened, call doc to get that appointment.

His feet were heavy as he shuffled to the bathroom. Ghost always looked down to the basin of the sink before turning on the lights, avoiding the reflection staring back at him. He watched as his hands gripped the edge of the counter. Scars littered his knuckles, the skin over bone splitting open too many times for him to count.

It was when he was sick of looking at the reminders of his violence when he slipped and the person he hated stared back with cold, dead eyes.

You’ve tried killing me so many times, but fail every single time. You need me. You need the mask. You need it to hide so there’s never a chance to hurt again. You don’t deserve her. You try and pretend to be someone worthy of a teaspoon of affection, but you’re not what she needs. You’re filthy. You’re-

The glass shattered against his fist as he struck as quick as an asp. He hissed between clenched teeth, cursing as the reached for a towel and covered his bleeding knuckles.

If one thing was for certain, his reflection was right.

He didn’t deserve her.

-----

Andra flipped closed the back end of the book and placed it on her blanket covered lap to rub her tired eyes. Every night she would read The Operators when it was evident she wouldn’t be getting peaceful rest, or when something had her jolting awake. She had no clue how many hours she had slept in the past couple of days; definitely not enough to keep her from loading up on caffeine and making her debate breaking her years of being nicotine-free.

She could hear the roosting of her birds out in the coop. Andra leaned her head back against the headboard and sighed. There wouldn’t be time to try and fall asleep. Her day had to start.

After the morning chores, Andra headed inside for another cup of coffee. She stared out of her newly replaced window, out into the distance. It was hard not to; it was as if something – or someone – was going to come storming out from the brush and trees. All remained quiescent in those groves, as logic would have it.

The rattling sound of her plastic phone case vibrating against the countertop broke her focus. She swiped her finger across the screen and pressed the speaker button. “What’s up, Johnny?”

“I need to ask a favor.”

His voice was hushed and the words were muddled like he had the phone pressed against his mouth, and she could hear the workings of the auto shop in the background.

“I need you to go check on Ghost for me, he called out of work this morning.”

Andra felt her chest and throat tighten all at the same time. Johnny wasn’t aware of the fallout between her and Ghost from the sound of it. Or if he did, he must be extremely concerned for Ghost’s silence. I figured he would be used to it by now… she thought bitterly. “You need me to go immediately?”

“Take yer time, a mate of ours reached him this mornin’. Just pop over there when you get a chance. Gotta go, text me.”

The line went dead before Andra could say bye. She released a heavy sigh after taking her first sip, her fingers tapped against the countertop as apprehension churned in her gut.

Maybe Ghost took their last conversation as motivation for him to actually leave.

Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes, and she rubbed them away with her thumb and index finger, pushing her fingers together to pinch the bridge of her nose. She didn’t want their relationship – friendship – whatever they had, to end on that note. Fuck, I messed up.

She took a deep breath to regain composure. You don’t know if he’s gone. Andra decided she would go by after her run to the post office to pick up her package. With a quick rinse of her empty coffee mug, she headed to the front door to collect her keys and purse.

The sound of gravel crunching and a vehicle engine made her pause in her tracks. Her heart raced, she could feel her adrenaline dump. Her shaky hand moved aside the curtain to look out the window beside the door, and the sight of Ghost’s truck had her releasing a heavy breath.

It took everything in her not to throw the door open and run to him. She took another grounding breath and unlocked the door, opening it to Ghost preparing to knock.

Andra swore her heart was going to burst. The look in his eyes mirrored the same surprise she displayed. The discernible presence of a bandage wrapped around Ghost’s hand caught her attention in the corner of her eye.

He noticed where her eyes fell to, and shoved it in the pocket of his jacket. “You got a minute to speak?”

His voice sounded like sandpaper. He looked just as sleep deprived as she felt. Andra couldn’t say anything, so she just nodded. She closed the door behind her and opted to sit on the wooden bench, leaving a space for Ghost to sit beside her. He never did, instead he decided to lean against the railing, his ankle crossed over the other.

Seconds passed before anything was said. “I’m not good with words, you’ll have to bear with me.”

Andra folded her legs beneath her and clasped her hands together. Her eyes remained on him as she waited to hear him out.

His head tilted down. “I gave a lot of thought to what you said, about losing your trust.” He rolled his neck, rolling the nerves and giving him a chance to think. “And I realized, taking a bullet is far less painful than that.”

Andra could see his adam’s apple bob in his throat underneath the fabric of his mask as he tilted his head back with closed eyes. She felt her throat tightening, and had to swallow to relieve the ache.

“So, I’ve come to terms with if I want to mend what I had with you, I’m going to have to find a way to tell you what you need to know.” Ghost’s eyes found hers, searching for a response.

She gave him a subtle nod, letting the words sink in. “How are you going to do that?”

Ghost uncrossed his ankles and took the two steps to sit beside her. It was a struggling few seconds for him to begin speaking. “Did you ever pick that book back up?”

Andra was confused by the approach he was taking, but went with it. “Yeah, I finished it actually.”

"Did the author talk about some of his assignments?" Ghost asked patiently.

She recalled what the author was able to talk about and reveal. "Not specifics, but he went in detail with Selection, and then the training thereafter and some events that happened in the 80s in Northern Ireland."

He nodded as he listened. "What did the training entail?"

"Physical training, a lot of sleep deprivation, weapons and vehicle tactics, photography, interrogation..." Andra's words drifted as she continued her recollection. She wouldn't say this out loud, but it was a dry read.

Ghost cut in at the mention of the last topic. "Interrogation, okay." His shoulders rose and fell as he let out a deep breath, and his hands flexed over and over. "I've been on both ends of being interrogated. Not just in training, but out on the field." His red-rimmed eyes aged several decades, and her chest grew heavy. "And there were times the bars and stars – officers that outranked me and my team – had ordered us to let go of the person we had just roughed up.

"They were dangerous people, Andra, do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Andra was piecing together why Ghost had given her that book to read. It was more than just what was on the surface. The selection process, the training, the assignments, the images in the book illustrating the teams with black lines redacting their eyes. It occurred to her then when she was reading it all, Ghost was another one of the SAS operatives that had an alias, he had paperwork with his name on it that contained redacted information on what he and his team had accomplished, but now discussing it all solidified it for her.

Not only him, but Johnny as well, and Johnny had brought up a few other names. People that were also special forces.

It was sobering. She never took the time to sit with all of this information and come to terms that these men had enemies that went deeper than just being from differing nations. Enemies that may or may not still be alive out there, preying on the downfall of the men she had come to know.

“Has anyone ever found you or Johnny?” Andra asked with a tremble in her throat.

“No.” He answered definitively. “And I would like to keep it that way.”

Andra nodded, as she fully agreed with him.

Ghost leaned back against the bench. “I truly never intended to alarm you and bring you to endless conclusions. I wish I could take it back, my foolishness, everything.”

“You can’t help that, though.” Andra defended. “It was a really messed up chain of events.”

There was a pregnant pause. “I have moments like these when there are too many coincidences happening at once. I’ve been working on how I handle it.”

Andra turned to him. “Do you… talk to someone about it?” She felt hesitant to ask.

Ghost’s eyes slid back to her. “Does that bother you?”

She shook her head swiftly. “No, oh Gods, no I didn’t mean it that way.” Her hands covered her face for a moment. “That was wrong of me to ask.”

Ghost reached for one of her hands. “You have every right to know, doll.” The calloused pad of his thumb brushed the top of her hand. She could feel a tremor in his touch.

It would have warmed her heart had it not been for the churning contrite souring her stomach. He had every right to know, too, but how would she even begin to tell him?

His injured hand was holding hers. She took this opportunity to distract herself from the guilt eating at her. “What happened to your hand?”

“Ridiculous accident with some glass.” He answered too quickly. Andra could feel him wanting to recoil, but he continued to let her hold his hand. Her peripheral vision gave her a peak of Ghost studying her face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look exhausted.”

Andra let go of his hand and rubbed her eyes. “I really haven’t been sleeping. Every little noise wakes me up, and I lay there for hours.”

Ghost’s eyes turned serious. “What can I do to remedy that?” Andra started to shake her head. “No, I’m responsible for this. Name it, I’ll do what I can.”

“I was actually on my way to go pick up a security system I ordered from the post office.” Andra raised her hand with her set of keys jingling.

Ghost stood from the bench, Andra followed in suit. “That I can do.”

Her smile returned. If it was one thing Andra was certain about Ghost, acts of service was how he communicated his apologies. It was easier to demonstrate with his hands than words.

After picking up the hefty box of camera and motion sensor equipment, Andra worked around the farm after her and Ghost discussed where the best places to set up the cameras would be. He got it done in less than a few hours, giving them time to pick up food together.

As they traveled, she remembered Johnny was waiting for an update from her.

Ghost is fine, we’re picking up food.

“So, you read the book in the past three days?” Ghost asked to start up chatter. Look who’s talking more now.

She hummed. “I read when I can’t sleep, and found it sitting there on the table before I locked up for bed.” Andra glanced at him. “What do you do when you can’t sleep?” Her phone vibrated with a response.

Thank you.

Ghost shrugged. “I lay there hoping I fall asleep.”

“I would get so bored.” Andra confessed, tapping her hands on her thighs. “You don’t even scroll through Netflix or something to try and turn your brain off?”

“I don’t have Netflix.” He responded.

Andra shook her head and blinked. “Remind me to give you my login.”

“I don’t watch TV or movies.”

Now she was looking at him like he was crazy. “You’re lying. You’re a liar.”

He rolled his eyes. “I do watch movies, but they’re all old war movies or westerns on DVD.”

Andra narrowed her eyes. “What are you, fifty?”

Ghost chortled. “I have a while before I hit fifty, thank you for that.”

“How long is a while?” Andra smirked. “Five years or six months?” His mouth opened, but she kept going. “Wait, I bet you have M.A.S.H. all on DVD, don’t you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with M.A.S.H.” Ghost defended.

“Yeah, when you’re as old as my dad and watching it on your days off as you doze on the living room couch at eleven in the morning.”

“You’re pushing your luck, doll.” Ghost warned with a grin in his voice. “Let me put it this way, I joined the Royal Air Force after the events of 9/11.”

Andra’s face went slack and her eyes were as wide as saucers. She turned to the passenger window with a hand pretending to scratch the side of her head and wondered if he would be weirded out if she told him she was in grade school during 9/11.

Her silence was loud in the cabin. “We’re not that far apart in age if you know M.A.S.H.” Ghost resumed.

Andra raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you saying I look old?”

“No.” His accent thickened as his voice dropped. “I didn’t say that.”

She was having too much fun busting his chops. “We have a tad bit of an age gap,” she demonstrated with her thumb and index finger with a small gap, “I’m a ninety’s baby.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Three years is a tad of an age gap, not a whole decade.”

Andra rolled her eyes. “Is this what I have to look forward to in my thirties?” She laughed at the flash of astonishment as he panned a look at her. “I’m kidding! Well, kind of, but I’ll be thirty next summer.”

Ghost smoothed his hand over his covered mouth. “You’re killing me, woman.”

“Best stay on top of those heart meds then – ooh!” Andra shot forward and was caught by her seatbelt from Ghost slamming the breaks harder than normal. “You’re gonna cause an accident, sir.”

After a few beats of silence, Ghost changed the subject. “I hope the camera system will give you some peace of mind.”

“I’m sure it will.” She nodded with a hopeful smile.

Ghost ran inside the chip shop they ordered from while Andra sat in the truck to keep it running. Her head tilted back onto the head rest as she stared up at the roof of the truck. The lack of sleep was catching up to her, and now that there was less of a problem with surveillance around the farm, she felt the muscles in her shoulders relaxing.

The sudden sound of the driver door opening had her jerking back awake. She attempted to cover up the fact that she had dozed off in his truck with a little stretch of her legs.

Ghost handed her the bag of food without noticing her brief second of sleep and drove back to her house.

-----

“I get why you go to this place.” Andra spoke in between eating in the living room with him. “It’s not bad.”

“It’s also because Johnny has been getting us discounts from his little girlfriend.” Ghost wiped his mouth with a crumpled napkin.

Andra looked over the app on her phone that connected her to all of the cameras on her property. The feed looked really good, giving her confidence that she could point out important details if she ever had to. She switched to the camera that aimed at the dirt driveway with both trucks sitting outside. Her thumb and index finger spread across the screen to utilize the zoom feature; she was able to read off the license plate numbers from each truck.

“Thank you again for setting up the cameras.” Andra locked her phone and placed it down on the coffee table.

Ghost covered the lower half of his face back up with the balaclava as he finished his own meal. “Thank you for letting me.”

Her heart fluttered at the sudden drop in his voice. His eyes were set on her when she turned to look at him. Despite not being able to see his expression, she could feel a softness in his brown eyes.

“Let me get these out of the way.” Ghost insisted as he began to collect the takeout containers. Andra sucked down the last of her drink in her Styrofoam cup and tossed it into the bag Ghost was using.

Andra slipped a hand in the back pocket of her jeans. “You staying for a little while?”

“I can.”

She felt some relief for having to spend less time by herself for the evening.

While Ghost did his thing, Andra browsed her bookshelf in search of a new read.

“Anything interesting?” Ghost asked as he returned.

Andra chose Dune from the shelf. “Maybe.” She returned to her designated reading lounge chair and curled her legs up. “How far did you get with The Outsiders?”

Ghost scratched the back of his head. “Maybe the first fifty pages.” Then, he tilted his head. “How did you know I had it?”

Andra smirked. “It was gone the following morning after you left.”

Did she have him flustered? The indecisive glance to the couch and back to the front door then back to the kitchen was amusing enough to have her grinning.

“I have it in the truck, actually. Be right back.” Ghost made his way outside, letting in a kissing, chilly breeze.

It must have been the book she chose, or the way she receded back into the cushions, but she felt the wave of sleepiness return back. Or maybe it was Ghost’s presence, knowing he was only a few feet away on the couch with Sammy next to him. He emitted an aura that Andra could only classify as comfort. Safety.

She knew he was safe to fall asleep around, she knew he would keep her safe.

Andra flinched out of the sleep she was slipping into and let out a disappointed sigh. Her book was still in her hand, but the pages were damp from the warmth of her fingers holding them in place. She closed the book, not worried about where she left off because she wasn’t paying attention anyway and softened her movements as she looked to her right.

Ghost’s head lulled to one side from the upright position he fell asleep in, his arms crossed over his chest and his own book sitting on the table with Sammy resting in her own bed by the window. The heavy breath he suck in and released told her he was deeper in that sleep than she was.

How is he sleeping with the mask on? Andra wondered.

With light movement, Andra rose from her chair and padded quietly to the hallway closet to retrieve a blanket. He looked as tired as she felt halfway through the day, and she wasn’t about to wake him up and send him home. She unraveled the blanket and moved to lay it over Ghost just above his arms and below his collarbone.

But his awareness was more keen than Andra had anticipated. Ghost reached out, throwing the blanket off and swiped her wrists single-handed. The room went spinning, and she let out a small yelp as her back met the bottom cushions of the couch, his grasp securing her wrists above her head.

Ghost’s eyes were wild with alert, then widened as he realized who he just wrestled down. It startled her at first, but out of nervousness a chortle escaped. Then a chuckle, and confusion wrinkled Ghost’s eyebrows.

She probably looked insane to him. She was supposed to be frightened, but all she was was dizzy. And too aware of how his body hovered over her. The grip on her wrists eased up but remained there. Her giggles dissipated, along with whatever she was about to say. She was too absorbed by Ghost’s eyes darting all over her face, and she wasn’t too sure, but she was almost certain he kept looking to her mouth.

Before Andra could register what she was doing, she pressed her lips against the teeth of the skull pattern on his mask, hitting her mark as she felt his lips beneath. Ghost pulled away like she had put his hand in an open flame, his eyes widened. Oh shit, what have I done –

His empty hand shoved up the fabric of his balaclava and he smashed his mouth against hers. Heat blazed through her face, molten liquid flooding her core as she took in every sensation overwhelming her. The fierce hunger of his kiss. The friction of their bodies pressed against each other. The solid grip Ghost had on her wrists.

She couldn’t get close enough to him. Her leg attempted to hook around his waist, but only succeeded in wrapping around a thigh that nestled its way between her legs.

He couldn’t pull himself away, and instead fed the part telling him to nudge his knee where she wanted it. Ghost freed her hands to grip the thigh pulling him in, giving her free reign to cradle his stubbled jaw. His fingertips worked divots into the fabric of her jeans, earning a small sound from her tightening throat.  

Andra hoped there would be marks later left where he was squeezing.

Her tongue slipped out between her lips and playfully swiped across his mouth. Oh fuck, the sound that just came from him… Andra had never heard arousal so delicious before.

All of Ghost was crashing through her like a freight train. His taste, his heat, his sounds. Her head felt like it’s been shoved underwater, and she has no intentions surfacing for air. Not when drowning in all of him felt this good.

Ghost reciprocated her invitation and found his tongue pushing through the slit of her lips. She felt her own arousal winding tightly in her warmth. Anything more was likely going to set her off. There’s no way I’m coming just from this, she cursed herself.

Ghost pulled away, hit hot breath fanning over her face. He moved his free hand to his mask, but it remained there. One second, two seconds. His mouth slackened into a frown, lips parted with labored breathing. The trance had been broken between the two. He retreated from where he had Andra pressed into the couch, his hands ran down his face and stayed there as he battled with himself.

Andra adjusted her shirt as she sat up and gave him a nudge of space. “Hey,” she softly said as she brought his hands down, cradling them in her own. “You don’t need to.”

“I want to.” He rasped, breathless from their kiss. “I don’t know why, but I can’t.”

“It’s okay.” She took his hand away from his face and stroked his knuckles with her thumb.

Ghost blinked a few times like he was waking up from a dream. “I shoved my tongue in your mouth.” He stated, a little too forward. His words had heat rushing to her face. “The least I can do I show you who is beneath this.” He gestured to the mask covering half of his face, a bitterness in his words directed to his disguise.

Andra slowly raised her hands to the bottom half of his revealed face. He flinched away from the contact, but settled as she let her thumbs brush against the stubble on his jaw. She made no subtle movements; just exploring the craters and slits across his skin.

Ghost watched her silently, attentively, his eyes flickering back and forth. She can feel the intensity, a man questioning the intentions of the woman touching him, holding the privacy and secrecy he clings to. He sucked in a breath as she took hold of the balaclava and didn’t exhale until Andra had pulled it back down over his face.

“If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready.” She affirmed.

 His bandaged hand brushed Andra’s disheveled hair behind her ear. Ghost leaned in and pressed his covered mouth against her forehead. Andra gave him a meek grin as he pulled away.

Andra felt this moment building up to a goodbye, but she took his hand again. “You can stay here for the night. I don’t want you driving back even if it’s just down the street.”

He reached down on the floor and picked up the blanket. “If that’s alright with you, I’ll take up the couch-”

“Sleep on a bed, for gods’ sake.” Andra nodded her head to the stairs. “I have an extra room upstairs.”

Thankfully, Ghost didn’t argue. Heavy feet dragged themselves up the stairs, Sammy following them both. They took pause as both turned to each other from across the hall. There was so much she wanted to say, but the brief, drowsy goodnight that was exchanged had them retreating into their respective rooms. Andra leaned against the closed door, clouds in her head and lips swollen with the phantom sensation of their catalyst.

:)

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[system-toky0]

# .//Connection

I sit in my workshop, surrounded by shelves of spare parts, tools, screws of all sizes, magnets, everything i could need to fix, install or upgrade someone or something.

I slump against the wall, sliding down until i feel the cold stone. I look out to the street before telling the System that assists in the House to shut the garage door.

I’m tired, i’m bored, i’m tired of being tired.

I look around the shop, seeing parts that i’ve replaced in its chassis, i’m reminded of the intimate moments, the gentle and care i tried to put into each motion, never wanting to rip or yank a cable, never wanted to destroy a sensor, scratch a connection…

I tried to be careful, soft, affectionate.

I pick up the replaced part, an original part of it. Nowadays this part can’t be used anymore, it’s not gonna have a new use, it’s not gonna find a new owner, no new chassis, it will never feel the energy coursing through it again. It would probably be the best to throw it out, but hell, even I have some sentimental values i guess.

The more my eyes focus on this worthless piece now, the more I am reminded of it, but with it the sour taste of feeling replaced, or abandoned, something along those lines.

I wanted to work in this kind of field to not deal with the unreasonable and unpredictable bullshit that are emotions, yet i sit here, almost crying staring at a faulty part of a machine.

It didn’t even abandon me, and as far as i’m concerned hasn’t replaced me either, yet i no longer dare to call myself its mechanic, let alone its handler.

Wish that wouldn’t mean as much as it does to me, and fuck- it’s all my own fault too, i can’t even fucking blame it.

If a mechanic neglected check ups, or kept pushing them back as much as I have, i would’ve searched for a better one too.

I feel the urge to throw the faulty part against the wall, in the trash, anywhere where i can’t see it anymore… Yet i gently set it to the ground.

I’ve made promises i’ve never kept, hoping the times where I did take care of it were good enough… Never offering any big upgrades anymore, only routine maintenance, how boring and short sighted it seems now.

Was I scared of changing it?

Was I too terrified of making it think it had to change for me?

Did I really read too much into its requests?

Was I really such a moron?

I’m an idiot for not keeping it up-to-date, a machine needs upgrades, and i’ve been denying it that.

I lean my head back against the hard brick wall behind me, staring at the ceiling. Spiderwebs in the corners, the rails of the garage door quite rusted, the workshop all but a mess at this point.

I sit quietly for a while, even the Home AI is probably wondering what i’m doing.

I sigh, million things running through my mind, i reach out to pick up a tennis ball to bounce it off the wall. Again and again and again. As long as it might take to quiet my mind.

The rhythmic thonk against the opposite wall of me.

Lost in thought and muscle memory taking over, i barely notice my companion standing in the doorway, her eyes watching the ball, then gaze at me and she tilts her head, before focusing on the ball again.

Thonk. Thonk. Thonk.

I look over to the faulty part once more, i sigh.

Leaving the ball to roll where it might, my robo-dog will play with it anyway.

I pick up the part and decide it probably deserves a better place than in the workshop, with the things it reminds me of, with the lessons i’ve hoped to learn, or still have to learn.

I flick off the light switch and leave the workshop for the night, hoping it will see more action soon again.

[sneakyblinders]

superstition - modern!tommy shelby x ofc

A/N: hello! this is something i've had brewing in my mind for quite some time! Modern!Tommy Shelby x ofc, Amandine. Based in southeast Louisiana. (If you ever have the opportunity to go... please take it. It's one of the best places on earth.) If you're wanting some ambiance, or getting the vibe of the story... take a listen to this ambiance music on Youtube! warnings: language, cheating, sexual themes. not canon. an au.

1998–Southeast Louisiana

“You know what you’re getting yourself into, don’t you, Thomas?” Polly asked a pink cheeked teenage Tommy as he stumbled in the backdoor, tucking his shirt back into his pants. 

He licked his lips, sweat running down his back. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

“That girl, Tommy,” she paused. The ceiling fan whirred, kicking away the leftover smells from dinner. The heat. “Amandine,” Polly shuddered. “Her family is dangerous. Her grandmere is a seer, you know.” 

Tommy nodded. He did know. “I love her, Pol,” he said, straightening his back. 

Polly chuckled. “You’ll see what someone like Amandine Theiriot does with love.” 

2011–Southeast Louisiana

The restaurant bustled. Dishwashers were running furiously, line cooks and waiters bickered over a particularly fussy patron. Amandine rolled her eyes. The heat was overwhelming. July in Louisiana was brutally unbearable, and a heatwave made going into the kitchen every day damn near impossible. 

“Dine!” Gio, the sous chef called out to her. “Dine, there’s somebody here fer ya!” 

Her eyes wandered tiredly to the man in the corner. Her man. “Tommy?” she breathed quietly. So quietly she wasn’t sure if anybody but herself heard her. 

He didn’t smile at her. All joy was gone from his eyes. His lips were in a firm line, hands in his jean pockets, his military backpack slung over one shoulder. The kitchen staff moved out of Amandine’s way as she made her way to Tommy, moving in a trance-like pattern. 

“You’re home?” she asked. He smelled like the bayou. Faintly like aftershave. Smoke and whiskey. He’d not come directly here. 

“Here I stand,” he drawled, the deep baritone of his voice sending a chill down her spine like only he could. 

“I waited,” she said gently as desire filled his eyes. 

“I see,” he responded as she reached out to touch his cheek–touch a scar she hadn’t seen before. “Let’s go home, baby,” he said, her touch filling him with the deepest sense of belonging he’d felt in nearly eight years. 

The staff mumbled under their breath as their head chef walked out for the night, dinner tickets be damned. 

Amandine sensed a darkness in Tommy’s spirit. A darkness that wasn’t there before the war. Before Iraq. She guessed too many tours would do that to a person. Her heart felt heavy as he drove them through the windy southeast Louisiana streets, back to their once shared home. Before the war separated them. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. 

The bayou, their home, was dark. There weren’t too many streetlights on these two lane roads leading them to their home. The home they’d purchased at eighteen and nineteen before the world went upside down. 

Tommy drove his truck, the truck Amandine had been using the last seven years, up their gravel driveway, the motion sensor lights at the top of their home kicking on. It looked a little cleaner than when he had last seen it seven years ago. 

The garage was the entire bottom floor, two flights of stairs leading to the house above. In the swamp, a house on stilts, or raised houses, are normal to aid in air circulation and prevent flood damage when the inevitable hurricanes blasted through the swamp. Tommy tiredly dragged his legs up the steps, Amandine following behind him. 

He fumbled with his keys, finding the right one for the front door and unlocked it, shocked when he saw the difference in the house. “You fixed it up?” 

She smiled softly. “Yeah,” she looked at him nervously. “Daddy and Grandpere and the boys helped. Thought you might like it,” she said. 

He let his dusty backpack fall to the floor with a thud, closing and locking the door behind them before he pushed her up against the door, crashing his lips to hers. 

It was a mess of clothes and sloppy kisses, but they made their way to the bedroom where they devoured one another. 

The next morning they woke up next to each other for the first time in seven years. An uncomfortable silence had fallen between the two of them the night before, causing them to fall asleep with their backs to one another. Something had shifted–something had changed. 

“So,” Amandine began the next morning, sun streaming in through the slats of the blinds. “Who was she?” she asked. 

“Who was he?” Tommy asked, reaching for a cigarette on his nightstand. 

“I’ll tell you if you tell me,” she said, sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard. 

“Deal,” he said nonchalantly, exhaling smoke. 

“Vincent Camponi,” she said. She could faintly see his jaw twitch in anger. 

“Grace Burgess,” he said, mind wandering to the blond he fell in love with at war. The one who had almost cost him his life. 

“Will you go to her?” Amandine asked. 

“Can’t,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “The curse,” he exhaled. “The bond,” he said, holding up his palm, the faint scar from where they’d joined themselves together in Gypsy tradition so many years ago. 

The curse he referred to, was also cast that night they made their vow. That if anything should separate them, they would be dually cursed for the rest of their days. Bad luck following. Their children would be cursed. Their families would be destined for doom. Their businesses would decline and their money would disappear. 

“Where’s Della?” he asked to change the subject. 

“With Mama and Daddy,” Amandine said. 

“Let’s go get her. No sense in keeping us all apart for any longer than we have to, hm?” he said, stubbing out his cigarette and walking to the shower. 

“Yeah,” Amandine said softly. “No sense in that.” 

[ice-cap-k]

Get Some Rest

Cross-posted on AO3 here: Get Some Rest

______________________________________

“Skizz! Psst! Skizzleman…”

“I think we have to be louder, Grian. Try getting closer.”

“If I got any closer I’d be on top of him. Skizz! Come on, wake up old man.” 

Skizz didn’t want to wake up. He was just so nice and cozy and warm in his bed. Even Kevin Bubbles Malone Refrigerator Jimmy Mad-Eye Dugon complained from his spot on top of the covers. The poor pup whimpered in annoyance as he covered his ears with his paws. Skizz wished he could do the same. Instead, he settled for pulling the pillow over his head as he rolled over. “I don’t want ta-” he managed to mumble. 

“Well, you gotta,” Grian said with a huff. “If me and Scar can’t sleep, then neither can you.”

“Meh.” 

“Well if that ain’t the comeback of the century.” 

“Don’t just stand there doing nothing, Scar. Help me.”

The wonderful warmth of his blanket vanished as someone pulled it away. The cool air came as a shock to his half-asleep system, but he kept his eyes screwed shut even as he reached after it. The two tricksters were too fast, though. The blanket was flung off his bed before he had a chance to snatch it back. Defeated, he could only grumble into his pillow and wish for them to disappear. “Let me sleep. Go bother Impulse instead.”

“We tried-” Scar started, only to have Grian cut him off. 

“Impulse said he’d throw a crucifix at us if we didn’t leave him alone.”

“And you’re the only other one of the Dads left,” Scar added. “I still can’t believe Impulse, though. He’s always so nice and polite, and here he went and threatened us. It’s so unlike him.” 

It was unlike his buddy to go and do that, but then again sleep deprivation made people act out in some wild ways. He might be tempted to do the same if he had a crucifix in arm’s reach. Not that he’d ever actually go through with it. Well, maybe… No, he’s just joshing with himself. Alas, all he had was an alarm clock, and that was plugged into the wall. Not a good choice for a projectile. Speaking of which…

Skizz dared to crack one eye open to get a look at the clock. The number 3:16 glowed bright green back at him in the dark. There were two things very wrong with this picture, and he was stashing away the fact that Scar and Grian had slipped into his house uninvited without so much as turning on a light as the one to address later. 

“Dudes, do you realize how late it is?”

“It’s dark,” Scar provided unhelpfully. 

“And it’s late,” Grian said with a smile. He threw open the blinds to Skizz’s bedroom, leaving a clear view of the stars twinkling outside. “As far as I’m concerned, that makes this the perfect time to go looking for ghosts. Let’s go back to Tanglewood and do a hunt!”

At this point, Skizz had given up on the possibility of them just going away and leaving him be. With a massive amount of effort, he managed to push himself up to a seat and out of the warm embrace of his bed. Kevin looked just as put out as he felt. He doesn’t blame the poor pup for crawling off the mattress and padding out of the room to look for someplace quieter to sleep. 

“No guys. We are not doing a hunt right now. It’s way too late for that. I need my beauty sleep and so do you.”

“We already told you we can’t sleep,” Scar said with a shake of his head. 

“Then you should go be at rest, or whatever else it is you guys can do,” Skizz shot back, throwing his hands up.

“We can go on a hunt,” Grian said again, a mischievous smile on his face. “That’s what we can do.”

“Come on Skizz.” Scar’s eyes become glossy as soon as he sees the look on his friend’s face. “Just one more. We can go back to the house. I can set up the motion sensors in the garage and Grian can do his spirit box thing… And you! Oh! You could run the camera this time instead of Impulse. And then if we get lucky we could find ourselves a monkey paw-”

“Or,” Skizz butt in. “And here me out with this one. Honestly, it sounds fantastic. Sounds like we’ll have ourselves a lot of fun and all, but how about we wait for tomorrow?” 

‘Never mind that they probably wouldn’t be able to do any of those things,’ he thinks to himself. Almost 90 percent of everything Scar just said was literally impossible right now. But he doesn’t dare say that out loud. He can already see the smile drop off his two friends’ faces and it makes Skizz feel bad. Really bad. Gosh they look so disappointed. He was always such a softy. “Aww, no long faces. Just think about it for a moment, really. We already had a pretty bad run yesterday. If the three of us go at it right now on our own, we’re never going to get the job done. That ghost is going to flatten us like pancakes and eat our faces for breakfast.” 

Grian didn’t look too pleased. “You mean ‘flatten us and eat our faces for breakfast again,’ right?” 

Skizz could only shrug. “Yeah. I mean again.”

“Then what do we do?” 

“We go tomorrow. Us three, and a well-rested Impulse with an actual set of equipment and the van… Hey, we could even ask Gem to help us out this time. She can watch our backs while we scope the place out.”

“Then what are me and Grian supposed to do until then,” Scar asked, sounding pretty sheepish. “We thought maybe a big strong Skizz would be able to handle it. Work some of his crazy Skizzleman magic.”

Stay strong Skizz. You have to stay strong for the sake of sleeping, and for the sake of tackling tomorrow well rested. He needed to be in tip top condition to catch some ghosts. But then he saw that Scar brought out the puppy dog eyes. Big wide glistening brown eyes of sadness and sweetness and he can feel himself melting the longer he looks at them. 

“If you think that flattery will get you anywhere…”

“Then you’re right,” both he and Grian say at exactly the same time.

“And you know me too well,” Skizz finished with a sigh. These two really did know him too well. He takes one last longing look at his cozy bed, because he knows what he has to do. And he doesn’t like it. “Fine. How about this, dudes? How about I go back to hang out with you guys until the morning? Then I’ll go get Impulse and Gem and we can go ghost hunting then. How does that sound?”

Grian looked a little skeptical, but he knew by the smile plastered across Scar’s face that this was happening. “Absolutely!” 

“Alright. Let me grab my coat and some shoes. Gentleman, let’s get ready to go.”

_______________________________

“I thought the weird hissing noise meant that it was an Oni?”

“No, apparently. Like, I don’t get it either. I don’t know why it means it’s not an Oni, but Impulse keeps saying that’s how that works. Right Skizz? Skizz…? Helloooo… Earth to Skizz!”

Grian’s loud voice jolts Skizz back awake before the tires can hit the bumps on the side of the road. He really shouldn’t be driving while drowsy like this. 

“You alright, Skizz,” Scar asked from the back seat. “Do we need to talk louder to help you stay awake?”

Grian tapped his fingers against the dashboard. He looks a little nervous, but then again he didn’t have much reason to be nervous about the situation right now. Skizz caught the young man shooting him a few sidelong glances out the corner of his eye and figured Grian must be more worried for his sake than his own or Scar’s. “You probably shouldn’t be driving drowsy like that. Want me to drive?”

“Oh please. You can’t drive,” Skizz huffed. 

“Very true, and for more reasons than one.” 

“We’ll talk louder,” Scar piped in, practically shouting into Skizz’s ear. Somehow, the man in the back seat managed to project his voice loud enough to leave Skizz’s ears ringing.

He wasn’t about to start dealing with that for an extended period of time. “Nope! No. No need for that. I’m good. We’re all good. We’re almost there anyway. I can stay awake for the next mile and a half.”

The other two didn’t respond right away, and the silence quickly became awkward. He could only endure so much time without background noise to focus on. There was always the radio. He was just starting to debate whether or not he should turn on some tunes when Grian spoke up once more. “Are you seriously going to stay with us all night?”

“Sure dude.” He flicks on the blinker as he pulls up to a stop sign. “It’s kinda my fault things went wrong earlier today. I’m the one who opened my big mouth when she came out to play. I sort of owe you guys.”

“Not true,” Scar jumped in. “That ghost was just an angry jerkface.”

Skizz could see Grian nodding in agreement in the rearview mirror. “We all were triggering hunts left and right. We’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“Yeah, but I still feel bad.” 

“Don’t,” Scar insisted. He added a little more quietly, “but we’d really appreciate the company if we’re not going back to check the house.”

,

“We’re not,” Skizz confirmed. “There’s no way I’d be able to pull it off.”

“We,” Scar corrected him. “You mean ‘we.’”

Skizz nodded. “Sorry. I mean ‘we.’ But we can chill out until everything gets sorted. And if this will help you guys, then maybe I can even get some sleep myself.”

Grian scoffed. “Outside?”

“Sure. Stranger things happen all the time.”

“Thank’s Skizz. You’re the best dad ever.”

Gosh, that nickname was still so weird. But the weirdness wasn’t enough to keep the sentiment from making him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Awww, stop it.” 

The car came rolling to a stop alongside the open field. They were just outside the edge of the suburb where they frequently checked Tanglewood for ghosts. Nobody was around. They were all probably asleep in their beds like normal people who didn’t get pestered by their friends in the middle of the night. You know, the boring kind of normal people. Skizz threw open the driver-side door and stepped out into the cool night air. He rubbed at his shoulders, glad he had thought to bring his coat along. He didn’t hear the back door of the car open or close, but wasn’t surprised when Grian and Scar caught up to him.

“Which way was it again?”

“Over there,” Scar says, pointing towards a familiar row of trees. “It’s honestly a lovely spot. We could probably find you a nice mossy place between the roots to get comfy in.” That got a few giggles from Grian. 

It’s a bit of a hike, but the promise of sleep is plenty of motivation for Skizz. Even if that meant sleeping on the ground. The dew had just started soaking into the hem of his pants when they reached the first tree in the line. 

“It really is a nice place you two have here,” Skizz said as he leaned against the trunk. “Remind me to visit more often.”

“Hardy har-har,” Grian snapped back, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Keep that up and it will be you staying here next time things go south. We’ll see how you like it then.” 

“Thanks for the offer. I think I’ll pass.” 

Scar looked much more comfortable to be back here at least. He was already settling down in the grass, taking a seat with criss-crossed legs. Skizz found himself marveling at how unfazed the man was by the dampness. The dew-laden grass brushed past his pants without leaving so much as a wet spot. “You and Impulse will find that monkey’s paw or the tarot cards, right?”

“Better believe it, dude.”

“And if everything goes wrong again, you both can hang out with us here until Gem figures out-” Grian started, but Skizz cut him off.

“Hey, don’t think like that. We’ve got this. Remember, we’re professionals. The best ghost hunters the world has ever seen.”

He can still make out a glint of skepticism in Grian’s eyes, but his friend doesn’t try to protest further. Instead, he settled down next to Scar in the grass. Skizz decided to join them, letting his back slide down the side of the tree trunk until he was seated in the damp moss lining its base. He frowned as the dew seeped into his clothes, but it wasn’t as bad as the grass. Things could be worse.

Scar yawned. He stretched his arms over his head in a nice big stretch. “Good,” he managed after the yawn faded. “I can’t wait to go back home and see Jellie.”

“Now how about you get some rest,” Skizz offered. “I’m here now. Just… I don’t know. Don’t move on or whatever it is that might keep you from coming back.”

“No worries,” Grian said, suppressing a yawn of his own. “We’ll be around. And if not, we'll see you on the other side tomorrow.”

“Grian! Don’t say things like that!” 

The young man made no attempt to correct himself. He broke into a fit of giggles before letting himself flop backward. His back hit the mound of dirt behind him and the laughter abruptly cut off as he vanished from sight. 

“Hey! Don’t go incorporeal on me now, mister! Someone’s got to teach you about the wonders of positive thinking.”

Scar started laughing too, though with less gusto than Grian. “Night Dad,” he said before falling backwards as well. Skizz watched as his remaining friend disappeared into the dirt mound behind him. 

It was quiet with the two of them gone. Only the sound of the breeze rustling through the leaves over his head was left to keep him company. He was alone now. Probably. Maybe. It was hard to tell with ghosts. 

Not that Skizz would have minded the company. Clearly, they were glad to have him nearby. So he settled down in his own bed of moss alongside the two graves and tried to get comfortable. He even made sure to face the mounds in case Scar and Grian needed him for any reason. Hopefully, they would let him get some sleep tonight… Then he felt the jab of a branch in his back and realized, yeah, he's not getting much sleep tonight.

Tomorrow he and Impulse would hunt down a cursed object and wish them back to life. They wouldn’t have to stay in those temporary graves for very long. But until then, he had to get whatever sleep he could get during this impromptu little sleepover. Going into a haunted building half awake was a surefire way to get himself a hole of his own right next to Grian and Scar’s. 

[aerodaltonimperial]

Hi hello, almost kisses that are interrupted by a third party for junglecorpse pls 🥰

Nick has a singles match in his first PPV, and Shayna throws a party. It's good; Nick's worked his ass off for this, and it's a huge honor to get somethin' like that so damn young. And mostly, it ends up being an excuse to get a bunch of the roster that they like over and hyped up, and Darby can respect that. They deserve to have this happiness. It's been long enough, the house is too quiet.

And at least Shayna gave Darby some spots on the invite list. As many as he wanted, probably, because that's just what she does, but in the end, he only wrote one name down. She might not even really have noticed with all the planning, since she never said anything. He was reasonably sure she'd corner him and ask about it, given... everything.

There's quite a bit of booze. That's kind of a staple at shindigs like this, really. He's pretty sure Orange is on, like, his fourth beer already, and the man has barely even blinked. Fascinating. Darby weaves through the raucous laughter and Nick back pats and shop talk to get to the kitchen where he finds his guest of honor, sitting quietly with a Red Bull clutched between his palms like a lifeline.

"Hey," Darby says.

"Hey," Jack returns. He looks terribly out of place, but maybe it's the leather jacket and the aviators and all the bullshit he seems to enjoy so much lately.

Darby opens the fridge, stares at the rows of bottles and cans. Jack must've found one of Nick's stash, since the fucker is still underage. Darby ends up choosing nothing and closing the door again. "Having fun?"

Jack eyes him for a minute, a sardonic sort of smile on his face. "I, uh, I'm not really sure why I'm here."

That's an opening, and oh, Darby's great at taking those. He grins, arches his eyebrows, and asks, "You wanna see the ring out back?"

Another beat. Then, Jack says, "Sure."

Jack follows Darby out the back door and into the cool air. Seattle's kind of perpetually moist, the sort of place that's always holding just a little bit of rain in reserve. There's really only the one motion-sensor torch between the back door and the garage, and it clicks on as they pass, flooding the grass with yellow. Darby pulls open the door and only hits one of the mounted lanterns, so it's still fairly dark inside.

"This is it, huh?" Jack asks. He makes a circle within, but the ring takes up most of the available space.

"This is it," Darby agrees. He watches—mostly because the way the light catches on Jack's stubble beard is enticing, and the way the man turns, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, bears some of his discarded personality traits. It's hard to describe him as soft now, but Darby can still see the tendrils of it when he squints. "Spent a lot of time here."

Jack's gaze flits to Darby's face. "Does everyone get a tour?"

"Nah," Darby says, and grins. "Just the lucky ones."

Jack goes to the apron and raps his knuckles on the ring surface beneath the ropes. He seems unsure, so Darby makes the decision for him. "Going up?"

That seems to be all Jack needs. He hops up and ducks between the ropes. Then he bounces a bit near the center, knees snapping. Darby follows him in. He's not dressed for this, with his sweatshirt and jeans, but neither is Jack, and besides, Darby doesn't want to actually fight the man. It's just intoxicating to be here with him, in this place. With no one else.

"You invited me?" Jack says, and it's not a question. Maybe he's catching on, if the way he's taken his hands out of his pockets and flexed his fingers is any indication.

"Well, don't read too much into it," Darby replies. "I invited Sammy, too."

Jack's eyebrows arch. "Really?"

"No. Fuck that guy."

Jack laughs: loud and bright, and oh, man, it's been awhile since Darby heard that. There's something about the way Jack laughs, too, that warms him from the inside out. And Darby lunges at him, tries to catch him off-guard in the tail end of it. Misses, but not by much, and Jack has to skip off to the side to avoid it.

"Kind of an asshole, you know?" Jack says. "You haven't talked to me in months, and then, what... you throw an invitation in here?" Jack drops, leg outstretched, and almost knocks Darby over when he swings it across the ring surface. "How badly did you want me to show up?"

"More than Trent," Darby replies. He grabs for Jack's arms, gets one for a few seconds before Jack wriggles free. "More than Ricky, for sure."

"Too easy," Jack says. "Try something harder. More than Sting?"

He ends up going down again, gets his legs around Darby's calf and topples him. At least Darby was sort of expecting that move; he hits the mat with both palms and flips, taking Jack over with him as he falls. Ends up on top of the man, knees on either side of Jack's legs.

"That's not a fair comparison," Darby replies, and fuck, he's breathing fast. His heart's stuck up in his throat, all swollen and clingy.

"Why not?" Jack asks, before aiming for Darby's shoulder with his elbow. If he'd hit, that might have really hurt, but Darby grabs his wrist, slams it down onto the ring. Gets his other hand, too, for good measure, and it probably sinks in slower than it should that he's got Jack's wrists pinned, hunched on all fours over the guy.

Jack's staring up at him, too, with those wide fucking eyes that gleam impossibly bright.

"Different categories," Darby murmurs, and their faces are close enough that he can feel the heat of Jack's hitched breaths.

"What does that mean?" Jack whispers. He isn't trying to get out of the hold any longer, but Darby can feel his muscles trembling all the same.

Darby leans closer, gets his mouth so it skims across Jack's jaw when he replies, very low, "I don't wanna kiss Sting."

Jack sort of groans. Sort of, because it's strained and not unhappy, and he shifts his arms just enough to slide their palms together, tangling their fingers. His eyes are so fucking dark and so fucking big, and he smells like a tang of aftershave, and all Darby wants is to lick his way into Jack's mouth, which he's nearly close enough to do, and Jack's got his lips parted, leaning up to meet him, and—

"Oh, goodness!" Shayna, from the entry. Darby scurries off of Jack's form as she's got her hands on the door. "I didn't know you were in here! I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Then she directs her index finger towards him, all business. "Ten minutes, Darby, and you bring him inside for a proper introduction."

Darby's never had a hard-on shrivel that fast before. He grimaces into his hand as Shayna struggles the door closed again, and Jack, the absolute shit, pushes up on his elbows. He's laughing.

"That felt like getting caught by your mom," he says, with the widest, most obnoxious smile.

"That was worse than getting caught by my mom," Darby moans. "Jesus fucking Christ."

Jack gets up onto his feet, and then holds his hand out to help Darby up. "You lack follow-through on the planning."

"Shut up," Darby grumbles, but he does accept the hand.

Jack pulls him up, and, without warning, keeps tugging, hauls Darby forward further. Gets their mouths mashed together with his fingers wrapped around Darby's, and he tastes like Red Bull. Darby does lick into the corner of his lips just to get a stronger burst of it. Fuck, he really loves the way Jack kisses his mouth apart, demands more just to pull away again.

"Come on," Jack murmurs, close enough that Darby gets the bristles of his beard dragging across his chin. "You have to go introduce me. Better make it good. What're you gonna go with?"

"An asshole," Darby laughs, and only half means it.

[incorrectbatfam]

Sidequest: The Viper Pit [snippet]

Batfamily Week 2023 day 5: Fantasy AU | Friendship/Team Bonding | “There’s more of you?!”

Summary

Duke buys a d20 from a mysterious pop-up shop, transforming an ordinary homebrew campaign into the beginning of We Are Robin’s next adventure.

Where were they?!

Panic filled Duke as he dismantled the couch cushions for the third time searching for his Wizards and Warlocks dice. His friends were gonna be here any minute and without the dice, there wouldn’t be a game and he would’ve spent eighteen hours writing his campaign for nothing. 

He found another batarang under the sink, but no dice. Groaning, he tossed it onto the small pile accumulating in the hall. 

Was it time to throw in the towel? He checked his watch. He couldn’t ask Bruce ‘cause he was out with Selina, or his siblings because they were busy, or even Alfred since he was out for the day. Too bad he wasn’t a Flash, otherwise he could sneakily buy some more time. And his only Flash friend (more like acquaintance) was Ace West, the Rube Goldberg of unintended consequences. 

Duke texted his friends that he might be late and told them where the spare key was before hopping on his bike, the GPS pinpointing every game store in Bristol

…which were all closed, because it was almost 7:30. 

In hindsight, he should’ve looked up their hours first. Then maybe he wouldn’t be screaming the fuck-word into a blue postal box after his fifth stop. 

Did Wayne Enterprises have fifteen-minute delivery? Did they even have a gaming subdivision?  

He briefly registered a text from Riko telling him they were there and that Dre would eat his food if he didn’t show. Sighing, Duke hopped on his bike and ran through his other options as he made his way back. Maybe he could fold origami ones? But that would take forever. 

At one of the red lights, he spotted a cardboard sign pointing toward a garage sale. Furniture. Clothes. Games. 

Everyone honked when he cut across two lanes. He shouted a quick apology and turned into a narrow alleyway with empty trash cans and shuttered windows. For a second, he thought he was in the wrong place, but another sign in the same font pointed to a slightly subterranean door with metal bars over the tiny window. 

Was he about to enter a murder dungeon? For board game dice?

Sure, why not. Worst case scenario, Jason bakes him a Welcome To The Dead Robins Club cake. 

The door swung open before he even knocked. He looked around for a motion sensor, but the place looked like the 1800s. A single bell rang as he stepped in.

“Hello? I’m here for the garage sale. Though this isn’t much of a garage.”

Walking through the maze of dimly lit shelves felt like writing in cursive for the first time. There were no signs or placards telling him where things were and nothing was grouped together. He found books with worn spines next to colorful glass orbs. An animal skull hung from the same rack as long robes and Renaissance-style dresses. He counted no less than a dozen candelabras scattered about. A cracked mirror stood against the wall. Wind chimes dangled from the ceiling, brushing the top of his head. Oh, and look, more orbs . Plus the dust itched his nose. 

He pushed a jewelry box aside to look into the next aisle. 

Suddenly: eyes. 

.

.

.

Read the rest on Ao3

@batfamilyweek

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4

[giantimpex]

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[jroycethethird]

setting: the garage behind his family’s home in celestial hills

featuring: royce van doren iii & todd miller @xthetoddinatorx

He pulled off his sunglasses as they came to a stop by the entrance to the garage, a large mechanical door sliding up and allowing the sun to flow into the darkness. Expecting the (physically younger, but in actuality much older) guy to be following behind, Royce traded his sunglasses for his usual prescription lenses and walked through the wide opening. The moment they entered the lights came alive, motion sensors lighting up a large garage where vintage muscle car, roadster, and sports car after another were all evenly spaced and shining under the cool lights. “They’re arranged by year, make and model, and then by color,” he explained the maddening display of hot rod after hot rod, his chin lifted with pride not so much at the wealth of it but simply at all the hard work it took to restore so many to their former glory. He strolled right up to the green ‘64 Shelby Cobra he loved so much, running a driving glove clad hand slowly over the hood.

“I’ve got a Hispano-Suiza, 1924, coming in the next couple weeks. Gorgeous car, needs a bit of work, but I’ll let you take her for a spin when she’s ready. There’s something about driving a 100 year old beast that thrills.” Clicking his tongue, Royce turned back to the younger male, the resurrected human he had offered a job to and was trying to help out where he could. A nice gesture, though he’d say just because Todd was nice to look at. Vanity was his curse. “So what do you say? Wanna go around… try a couple out, pick one for yourself? Consider it your, er… Seasonal Bonus.” It was a gesture, because of what Todd had experienced, of what had been done to his hand that night. And because despite himself he had a kindness, even if it only came wrapped in super nice gifts. “They’re not all too vintage, if that’s your gripe… we have some later 20th century models further in the garage. Maybe even something from this century.”

[breakingbranchesbella]

Self-Indulgence; A Criminal Minds Multi-Fandom Fic.

Also found on Wattpad, Quotev, and Ao3 under the name BreakingBranches

Warnings: violence, gore, the usual criminal minds episode warnings.

Word Count: 14k in total, split into two parts due to tumblr’s restrictions.

CHAPTER 2 {PART 1}- I Am Not As Strong As I Pretend

Season 1. Episode 16. The Tribe

"Here."

  Cassie looked down at the torn off edge of a notecard. It had chicken scratch on it. A second, more in-depth glance offered the insight that it was not, in fact, hieroglyphics, but instead a series of numbers.

  "What?"

  "It's... a phone number... ever heard of those?"

  "I'm not that archaic. Why?"

  Morgan's right corner of his bottom lip protruded for a moment. He'd suck the top part between his teeth and bite down. He let it go with an exasperated sigh.

  "We all need to have each other's numbers eventually, call it a safety precaution."

  "Alright, then eventually." She'd push the paper back towards him. Dark hands raised in disinterest. "Keep it." Derek urged. He wasn't going to give her a chance to refuse him directly, and with a swift turn he was gone towards some other end of the parking garage.

  Cassie had half a mind to throw it away. Not because she harbored any ill intentions towards Morgan. Mostly the opposite, she just didn't deem it necessary. She hardly answered her phone. Didn't like it all that much. The countless missed calls and unread messages that clogged the tiny blue screen were a testament to that nature.

Though, she weighed the option of telling him she had blatantly thrown out the piece of paper when it came time for all numbers to be exchanged. Which wasn't high on her want-to-do list, so she'd keep it. Stuff it in the back back pocket of dark blue jeans and call it a day.

The parking garage being so full wasn't surprising, three government buildings sat just a few yards away, what was surprising was the fact she was staying. Actually, she was walking towards her car. It had a weird ring to it. It wasn't a rental, or from work. Her car. Technically someone else's given to her. Cassie fought off the urge to spend a few more moments meandering the cold and green-hued structure. She knew where the car was, she didn't want to go home yet.

Yeah, she had one of those too now. A home, a car, pretty soon she'd be registered as a functioning member of society. What a horrible feeling, really. Dark boots kicked up loose concrete just outside the car's driver's side door. The black forester wasn't her style. It stood out too much in her opinion. She hadn't peeled the decals off of the back window. It had been eight months. She should do that.

She got in the car anyways and didn't think about it for the next two weeks.

  The drive wasn't too far, only thirty minutes if you pretended to avoid traffic. Thirty-five if you didn't. Cassie lived in the suburbs of a neighboring city with a white picket fence and a perfectly mundane neighborhood. The house was blue with white accents and a brown roof. The lawn was taken care of, freshly mowed by some teenage boy looking to fund his future mustang. Cass didn't know how far he'd get with that, especially as she watched a gaggle of boys his age rush down the dark streets with bags full of convenience store items.

  The garage had two tall metal shelves on either side. Clutter covered every inch of open space. Holiday decorations, yard work tools, paint supplies, and more that was covered by the former. The forester slowed to a stop, then relaxed forward and jolted her in her seat. The nylon seats didn't offer much cushioning.

  Above her head was a blinding white light with a motion sensor on the fritz. It blinked on and off, and then on again. The door to the garage led to the washing room, and from there the kitchen. Cold white and black quartz was accompanied by walnut cabinets. Unlike the garage, the rest of the home lacked any sort of decoration. Instead of a couch she had a chair, and instead of a grand dining table, she had one found off the side of the road. The decor didn't match the rest of the home. Then again, neither did Cassie.

  All that was left out besides necessities were a few photographs on tall coffee table. She'd breeze her tan fingers past them every-time she walked past. The first few photos featured her and a group, though off to the side there was a handful of photos that were different from the others. The people in these pictures weren't wearing any sort of uniform. They were professionally taken at some park. A man, his wife, and their two children. A young girl, and a toddler. Those four individuals were featured in various poses, all still professionally taken. Some even in this home.

  She couldn't look at them for too long. She stepped around the table and moved towards the chair. She slumped down on it, her elbow rubbed against fabric that was ripping. It would last a few more months before her aimless movements had completely destroyed it. That was a problem for later. Right now she just wanted to—

  Beep.

  Do nothing.

  Beep.

  The same three numbers had been messaging her all day. Two of them had contact names, the third didn't. Booth, González, and an 800 number. She still wouldn't respond.

  Cassie was obviously full of great ideas, which is why she chose not to reach out to those wondering about her, and call a different number. She knew it by heart, dialing it instead of searching through a contact list.

   "Hello?"

  "Gabriel—"

 

  "Cassie? Jesus... it's almost ten, I just put the kids to sleep."

  "..."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Im fine. I just... I haven't found anything but..."

"I know, you miss her. But you can't call this late, not unless it's important. You promise you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

"The house treating you okay?"

"Just fine."

"Good. Then you have a roof over your head, and you say you're fine so I'm going to believe you. Im going to hang up now, ok? I have work tomorrow. I hope you do too."

"Wait. They're both asleep?"

"I'm sorry Cassie. I really think it would be better if you spoke to someone else about this. I know a few good therapists in the area, Talia used to go all the time. It really helped her."

"..."

"She'd want you to move on, you know. It's been almost a year now. You deserve to live too, and I deserve sleep at a reasonable hour. Call me if you need something, an emergency. Otherwise, please, don't."

"Alright, I'm sorry, I just wanted to—"

  The line went dead. A short buzz sounded in her ear, and then nothing. He had a point about the time, but nothing else really registered. More the therapy than the no calling policy. She could listen to instructions, she had been doing that for years. Yet the idea of not getting to speak to the last connection to Talia hurt. It hurt more than she could ever begin to explain. Emotions were never a strong suit, even worse so with the ones she couldn't control. It was like a pit in her stomach, akin to the feeling of nausea. She'd want to vomit, and nothing would be there. No remedy made the feeling go away.

  Slowly, she'd look around the mostly empty house. It was the opposite of a remedy, it made the feeling that much worse. That's why Gabriel hadn't fought Talia's will, he was feeling the same melancholic air that she was. Did most twenty-five year olds write a will? Probably, probably not, she didn't know.

  Reid most likely did. Or something along those lines. He'd have some statistic that felt made up ready to fire the moment something related back to it. That line of thinking led her to rifling through her jeans pocket and pulling out the crinkled piece of paper. She read the number off twice before dialing it.

  What was she even doing?

  "Derek?"

  "Hey— oh?"

  "Cassandra, Lorayne, from earlier."

  "Yeah I figured that out."

  She'd sit up straight in the chair, biting the bottom left corner of her cheek.

  "Sorry."

  "Huh? No, you're all good sweetheart. I just didn't expect you to call so soon."

  "Don't call me sweetheart."

  "Babygirl?"

  "I'm hanging up now."

  "Wait wait, I'll stop. Scout's honor."

  "Good."

  "Good."

  Cassie looked around the room again, this time she'd pick the phone up and head over to the fridge. She held the phone against her ear, not saying anything. Just breathing softly against the electronic device. It was late, but she was hungry all the same. Big girls needed big meals, or something like that. Talia always used to say it when she went on her breaks.

  "Well?"

  "Well?"

  "You're the one who called me. Did you need something?"

  "No."

  "Mysterious, I like that."

  "Please don't."

  "Alright alright, but seriously, you ok?"

  "I... yeah, no, I'm fine. Just," There was a sandwich wrapped in plastic. With a swift motion she pulled it out and tossed it beside her onto the counter. Grabbing a few other items, she continued, "A desperate single woman alone on a Sunday night."

  "Desperate and single?"

  "No. I was joking."

  "I picked up on that."

  "Oh."

  "I'm sure some of it is accurate though."

  "Which part?"

  "Definitely single."

  "Ouch."

  "You said it, not me."

  "I didn't expect hearing it to hurt as much."

  "Don't beat yourself up, we could start a support group."

  "For?"

  "Desperate single agents."

  "But Garcia."

  "Nah, she's too good for me. She deserves someone a little more reliable."

  "I'm glad that's your excuse."

  Cassie fought a frown off at his comment. Then she realized nobody was there in the big empty house to see her, so she stopped fighting.

  "I'm glad that you're glad."

  "Good."

  "Good."

  Morgan let out a grunt. Cass' brows furrowed upon hearing it. A cough caught in her throat as she tried to question him.

  "Are you—"

  "Fine, just didn't finish the paperwork I was supposed to today."

  "Not fun."

  "No, definitely not."

  "If I'm distracting you I can..."

  "It's good you called me. I have your number now, can't throw mine away."

  "I wasn't going to."

  "I'm sure."

  "Maybe I thought about it."

  "Heartbroken."

  "Apologies."

  "You can make it up to me."

  "How?"

  She had finished her monster of a meal. Frankenstein would be proud, and then possibly disappointed she was letting pickles touch the mayonnaise.

  "Tell me a little about yourself."

  "Like?"

  "Whatever comes to mind."

  "I like..." Green eyes were yet again surveying the room. "Home ownership."

  "Home ownership?"

  She thought about Talia.

  "And sightseeing."

  "Home ownership and sightseeing. I would have never guessed."

  "I lied."

  "Which part?"

  "Both."

  "And here I was getting the idea of you hiking through the woods in my head. Maybe your hobby is lying."

  "Something like that."

  "Nothing else comes to mind?"

  Even if sharing parts of herself had never been easy, she almost wished she would have had something to hide now. But there was nothing. Not one thing she could use to define her interests. Work, work, more work, and an obscene amount of tragedy. Greasy breakfast diners, protein bars, beaten down chairs. Those weren't great choices.

  "What about you?"

  "I enjoy hockey. And Kurt Vonnegut."

  "Pearls before swine?"

  "Mother night."

  "Grim."

  "Your choice isn't much better."

  "Not much of a reader. I'm trying to get better about it."

  "Self-improvement is good."

  "You think?"

  "That's what it means, no?"

  She didn't answer.

  "Jeez. Usually my late night calls are less entertaining but..."

  "You don't mean that."

  "Maybe."

  "But it's late, and you should go. Because we both have work."

  "When you put it like that, I guess we should."

  "Were you expecting anything else?"

  "Honesty?"

  "The supposed best policy."

  "Then, no. I wasn't."

  Her face burned.

  "Goodnight Morgan."

  "Hey— hey, it was nice talking to you. Goodnight Lorayne."

  She decided to be the one to hang up this time. Cassie wasn't sure she could handle the sting of the dropped tone a second time that night.

————————————

Getting up early wasn't unusual for Cassie. The normal nine to five had never been part of her skill set. She thrived off of the freeing feeling of absolutely nobody being around at the odd hours of the morning. Except in Quantico there was always somebody. A lot of somebodies to be particular. She had only been through the office once, but memorizing it hadn't been an issue.

Making her way through the glass doors she noticed Elle and Garcia were doing anything but talking to each other. They were staring at someone else.

She didn't get it.

Crossing her arms and standing next to them, she'd tilt her head to the side. "What is—?"

"Hi, Sean, I'm looking for—"

Good. She wasn't the only one getting cut off. Though the fact that it was Morgan didn't make her feel much better. He wrapped around the three women and outstretched his hand towards 'Sean.'

"Derek, and I'm guessing you're looking for your brother?"

The blonde who had just interrupted her, and subsequently received immediate karma walked off with Derek towards Hotchner's office. Elle turned to the two of them. "That's Hotch's brother?"

"Maybe he's adopted?"

Cassie looked to the side, as if there was supposed to be some sort of camera. A gag reel waiting for her. She still didn't get it.

"Why?"

Elle smiled, then hid it between tightly pursed lips. She blinked a few times. "Well, you see Hotch is... textbook agent and his brother..."

"—A forbidden siren with luscious blonde locks."

"That."

She rolled her eyes in disinterest. It clicked. No further questions or comments needed. Still Garcia bit the tip of a plastic pen between her teeth and snarled in his direction. Sadly the only person it caught the attention of was JJ. Her right eyebrow sat lower than the left, which would raise at an arch. "What are you three doing?" And instead of explaining anything, the BAU had to engage in the oddest morning ritual Cass had ever seen. The tall brunette took JJ by the wrist and led her over to her desk. Leaving Garcia and Cassie to follow along like lost puppies. The four crowded around the half cubicle and watch as Sean finally emerged from Aaron's office.

"Hotchner's brother."

JJ's gaze bounced between the three of them, and then back to Sean as he stormed off in a huff.

"I didn't see it before, now I do." Hotch's attention left his brother and found the four women unabashedly staring. JJ creased her fingers under her chin. She'd slip away from the group, only to return with a stack of Manila folders. Cassie and Elle were both handed one, the latter ushered for Cass to follow her towards a meeting room beside Hotchner's office. A moment later Gideon, Reid, Morgan, and Hotch joined them. JJ filed in behind and closed the door halfway. She passed out the remaining folders as she spoke. "Five dead, all from Mesa University, New Mexico. No sign of theft or sexual assault."

  The table was small, almost everyone's elbows narrowly missed one another as they sifted through the information. The sun was finally starting to rise, it glared in through the side of the building. Morgan raised a hand instinctively as the bright hues shone through. "There's not many defensive wounds. And one of them was impaled on a six foot pole." Derek's voice cracked at the end of his first statement, more of a question than not.

  "Why would you want to torture five college freshman?" Elle folded a page behind another and skimmed over the new one. The scrawny kid tossed his head sideways in an attempt to realign a stray strand of hair. He looked up and met Cassie's half smile. He coughed, then found interest back in his paper. "There's no way one single unsub could have had this much control over this many people."

  "More than two?" Greenaway responded.

  Pushing up his glasses, Gideon would respond. "More like a pack."

  "And that is?" JJ looked around, her hands between her cloth covered knees. Like an eager student in a silent classroom Cassie found herself interjecting. The epiphany of knowing the terminology properly filled her with a sense of pride, then as she was speaking, disappointment in herself. If her old unit could see her now, using the words that she was, they'd have her head on a spike. Playfully, of course. Hopefully. Maybe.

  "It's three or more that kill in unison, as it is in nature. Their survival is dependent on their hunt. Essentially, the killing is what keeps them together."

  "And they stay together until they're stopped."

  Nobody spoke up after Gideon for a long time, they were all still processing the case. It was grizzly, a little anachronistic. Usually torture fanatics followed methods employed by the English and eastern cultures. This was different.

  It wasn't long before the group was packing up and heading out. Cassie still wasn't used to the Jet. She settled into a white leathered seat towards the back. It was facing the walkway of the plane. She guessed it would be a four to six hour flight, somewhere in between those times. Which meant she had ample room for conversation.

  This wasn't necessarily a good thing.

  Reid, Gideon, and Elle were crowded around the few seats that were accompanied by a table instead of just open leg room. They chattered amongst themselves, sometimes about the case, sometimes not. Hotch chose to sit across from her. The single section seat wasn't pointed towards her, but he'd turn to face her anyways.

  "How long has it been?"

Cassie opened her mouth to speak, then closed it as she thought more intensely. She'd bit her bottom lip, thinking about events that happened before and after, creating a timeline of the good and bad to pinpoint an actual date. "Two... no. Yes, two years?"

"Two sounds about right."

"You haven't changed."

"You have."

She looked to the side, towards the three still talking. JJ and Morgan were asleep. "Is that a bad thing?" Her gaze still lingered on the back of Reid's head. He was going on a tangent now. Elle was fact-checking him. She knew he was going to be right either way.

"I think it is."

"I hope you're right."

Cassie leaned back, slowly peeling her head away and looking towards Hotch. His expression sympathetic. She'd curl inward instinctively, kicking off her shoes and pulling her knees as close as she could get to her chest. She knew what was coming next.

"Don't be."

Aaron cocked his head.

"What?"

"Sorry. Don't be sorry. Please."

"Alright. Then I'm not."

"It happens."

His chest would rise and fall with slow, calm breaths. "It happens?"

"It's the line of work we chose. If it didn't happen then, it was likely to happen another time. That's life."

"You're right."

"I know."

"Good talk Lorayne."

Any harder now and she'd puncture the soft flesh of her mouth.

"I'm sorry. I appreciate it, I do, but I just don't want to hear it anymore."

"I'm not mad."

"I don't care if you are, I'm just explaining myself."

"We don't have to keep talking about it."

"Please."

She tiptoed around the edge of desperation. Narrowly missing the tone that threatened to tug at her voice. It was time to work, not think about what had and what could have been.

————————————

  Despite the earlier conversation, Cassie still went with Hotch, Reid, and Gideon to the crime scene first. She didn't have the luxury of mulling over her feelings beyond the few hours given to her. It was time to work, no other way around it. She had spent her formative years adhering to a certain standard of professionalism. Still, mistakes were made. They were going to repeat themselves one day. For now, she'd swallow whatever lumped in her throat and move on.

  There was another rental van waiting for them. Same as they always were.

The steely black vehicle pulled parallel to the concrete just before the house seen in the photos. Yellow tape was tied in a loose box around the property. Two brown police cars sat parked, a few detectives and local cops were talking outside. Aaron tucked the plastic end of his sunglasses behind his ear and wasted no time in addressing the sheriff.

"Agent Hotchner, Reid, Gideon, Lorayne."

"Is this all?" The sherif peered over Hotch's shoulder towards the van. Nobody else was coming. Aaron didn't miss a beat.

"The other agents are at the station house checking out the victims files. What has forensics come back with?"

The older man rubbed the knuckle of his pointer finger against his nose in a sweeping motion twice before answering. "CSU went through trace evidence and prints, they think looking at the footprints would be a waste with all of the workmen coming through here. Follow me." He pulled one end of the long line of tape up so the team could walk under it into the house.

Cassie waited, she was staring towards the ground. Gideon caught her lapse in pace. "Something the matter?"

She shouldn't have been as nervous as she was. Well, she didn't feel all that nervous, it was more of a feeling of displacement. But that word felt too emotional for her liking. So she'd pretend it was nerves. Just nervous, not worried about what all she should be contributing to the team. Cassie would find her grove soon. What she really wanted to do was call the sheriff inane for not checking for footprints anyways.

Instead, like the charming young woman she was, she'd shake her head and follow after the other men. Her expression didn't really read charming, though, more annoyed.

The house was practically empty besides a few tables here, some blood splatters there. What was interesting was the mess, or lack thereof. In the photos the bodies had been skinned, yet the floor got away with only a handful of stains. Reid and Hotch picked up on it too, the scrawnier of the duo flipped through some of the photos with a fervor. Cass craned her neck over his shoulder and pointed her heels upwards. He was flipping too fast for her to concentrate on just one thing.

Finally he stopped skimming through them and looked back to her. His face changed. "Look at this." He held one of the gore filled pictures towards her. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to be looking at in particular. He pursed his lips at her confusion and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear his revelation. "Whoever did this purposefully avoided cutting the skin at the wrist and the throat. He was avoiding where the veins and arteries are closest to the surface."

It was the sheriff's turn to be confused. Cassie interjected. "They weren't supposed to bleed out, the intention was skinning them alive."

It wasn't just a brutal way of murder, it was a brutal way of torture. The sheriff flinched at the idea and shook his head. Again he'd brush the top of his nose with his knuckle. His head was down as he gestured towards the next room. Inside were bear cans, bottles, makeshift party games. Two sleeping bags, and one upstairs.

"Not the type of party to bring a fifth wheel to."

"It's unlikely that they were a fifth wheel. It's possible there was a third girl here." Gideon looked from Cassie to the Sheriff. Who looked to Hotch when he picked up where the former two had left off.

"Have your deputies canvas the area, see if anyone saw the other girl with them."

He'd nod and take a step towards the sliding glass doors. "There's one more thing you should see."

The group traveled out towards what was a dust filled backyard. A large metal spike sat covered in dried blood. Reid took a step towards it, then another one back. Cassie brushed past him and circled the thing. "He was alive when they impaled him, just like the others." The brunette's nose creased.

"This is going to sound strange, but, the way that these victims were flayed alive and- and mutilated, impaled, they're all war rituals that the Native Americans used."

"That ring any bell?" Hotch had taken off his glasses. Cassie preferred it this way. She could follow his eyes properly.

"It does. I mean, look around you, everything we're walking on is Apache land. This basin is a sacred burial ground. As I understand it, it was the sight of a handful of her massacres."

"So you're saying this development is on their land?"

The sherif looked back at Hotch. "It was their land. But they didn't want to build on it, so the town ended up seizing it."

Cassie crossed her arms. A few months ago the Supreme Court had ruled that cities could now seize private land for development. A lot of people were angry, not just Native Americans. She had nothing besides a gut feeling of different rational. She understood the BAU tried to think like their unsubs, and she was trying it too. But if she was them, murdering five college students wasn't how you get your point across. Maybe it was someone from the reservation, but there had to have been something else. A piece of information they hadn't gotten yet. A better reasoning for torture.

If it were her she'd set a building on fire. Not kill drunk teens.

"Have there been any violent outbursts on the reservations part?" Gideon leaned back on his heels and flicked his stack of photos through the air. In response the sherif only shook his head. He was looking down at his feet again.

"Anybody on the reservation you think is capable of this?"

"I wouldn't know, it's federal jurisdiction."

The lines of Gideon's face seemed more prominent. Maybe the heat was getting to him. The bottom part of his nose twitched.

"Sounds like that's where we need to go."

He'd make his way back through the sliding glass door and towards the front of the house. The Sherif followed soon after. Hotch nodded towards Cass and Reid, who were both evidently distracted with something else. Cassie was still debating the possibility of a reservationist and Reid was too busy staring at the bloodied spike.

"You two," they both turned. "Get our girl on the line, see what she can find."

Hotch was following Gideon, and Reid was following Hotch. Cassie had nobody's number besides Morgan, hadn't been given the chance to get any yet. So she'd just meander behind the brown haired man as he spoke to Garcia on the phone. He'd given her a rundown, any Apache on the reservation who fit the profile of a right's activist. A moment later Reid handed the phone to Hotch. A few more seconds went by before Hotch turned to the sheriff. "You familiar with Blackwolf?"

"He's been in a bit of trouble related to his activism, yeah, nothing's ever been violent though. And certainly not around here."

"Should we call the reservation police to alert them anyways?"

The sherif got an odd look in his eye. He'd turn his head, swap the flesh of his cheek back and forth before his mouth opened with a click. "I don't think that's a good idea. Blackwolf is the reservation police."

Looks were exchanged, but this was nothing new to any of them. Or at least it wasn't to Cassie, and she hoped the others were in the same boat. Military was a whole different world. A lawless land that found it couldn't run without those laws. So they'd appoint new people to new positions, the only problem was the police there weren't being asked to detain regular citizens. They were being asked to arrest soldiers. Trained killers. For their country, of course, but that didn't mean those skills couldn't be used elsewhere. From a first day private to a Navy SEAL, Cass had seen it all. Those guys were good, she had to learn to be better. Maybe not stronger, but smarter. 

The black van tumbled down the gravel road that filtered into dirt. Gideon sat diagonally to her, they locked eyes through the rear view mirror. She was getting a little tired of this. "You don't think it was him?"

All eyes were on her now, even Hotchner made the attempt to look back through the mirror. Though his attention was mostly on getting them from point A to point B without any casualties.

"Did I say that?"

"No, but you don't look very confident."

She didn't say anything to that. The vehicle bounced against the lack of road. It was almost as jarring as the sounds the van made throughout the trip. It narrowly pulled through an open grated fence. There were no parking spaces, but stopping before the woman standing and watching them seemed appropriate in some people's eyes. The sheriff's busted car rolled to a stop alongside their own.

"This is Jane Bear, Jane, these are FBI agents. Gideon, Hotchner, Reid, Lorayne." Cassie shook her hand last, it was cold, well taken care of. "Miss Bear is the principal of the reservation school here and the president of the tribal council." Busy.

Cass wasn't the only one thinking it. At least she had the decency, or something else, to keep her mouth shut. There was a clear standoffish nature about her. Not that she was rude, or that she didn't have any right. Cass could empathize with something being taken from you. In this case it wasn't just freedom, she couldn't extend her understanding beyond that. She wasn't going to try. It was a shitty situation. Shitty government. And yet she was here like a lapdog on a leash, as per usual.

"Where's John, Bear?" He rested his hands on his hips. Like a lightbulb turning on, it clicked for her. "I'm sorry— is this about the Terra Mesa killings?"

"They just want to talk to him Jane."

"Blackwolf has done more to help this place than anyone, he wouldn't jeopardize that. Jim, you've called him countless times to find lost hikers. He's not a violent man."

"No, but he'd defend his people if he felt he needed to."

"And that relates to Terra Mesa how?"

Hotchner cleared his throat and took a half step closer. "If John considers the development an attack on Apache land, then..." Jane pursed her lips and turned on the heel of her beaten boots.

"Those developers have paid people a lot of money to move. With so many gone we can barely fill a single class."

Who they could only assume was Blackwolf stood in front of an old green chalkboard. The class was full, but the students looked to be a fair bit older. She'd guess the younger students were more dispersed between classes. The current subject was history, there were scribbled dates on the board and maps hung over every free inch. She heard someone whisper beside her, and there stood Reid mouthing the answer to every question. Until he was given the opportunity to answer someone else's question. Hotch shot him a dirty look. He got the memo after that.

"John, I'll take over." Jane's brows raised as she quickly attempted to deescalate the rising tension. He'd make no attempt to hide the large knife he pulled from the desk drawer as he followed the group outside.

It was Gideon's turn to do the introductions for everyone. Except there were no firm handshakes or pointing this time. Just a harsh puff of air through his nostrils and an attempt at reading them. "You look like a college professor. You look like his student. You, well you look FBI. But she's not." He paused, tilted the end of his knife towards her. "Military." She'd sat through her fair share of distaste in her profession. It came with the territory. No reason to argue over it.

"We're with the Behavioral Analysis Unit."

"Then you ought to know better."

Hotchner squared his stance. "How do you figure?"

 

"We don't massacre. You two do, your government."

"Mr. Blackwolf,"

Cass frowned, she grabbed the stack of photos she had in her bag. Pressing them into his hands roughly, she'd swing the pack over her shoulder. "What am I supposed to do with these?"

 

Gideon attempted to play damage control. "You're an expert in Native American customs. We want your opinion."

He'd flick through the photos, his eyes widening ever so slightly. He tried to hand them back to Cassie, but she crossed her arms and stared blankly instead of taking them back. "I need to see the sight, I don't make opinions off of pictures." Which was a relatively privileged way of thinking, but nobody had the capacity to argue with him.

From one place to another, they were back at the house. Blackwolf was intent on checking the grounds outside. Maybe he wasn't entirely dense.

He proved her right, and then wrong a moment later. Reid had gotten curious, and poked the wolf.

"Why don't you carry a gun?"

"Twenty-one feet."

"Excuse me?"

"Ask your friends, they're heavy-handed."

Hotch smoothed his hair under the end of his glasses. "The minimum distance an attacker with a knife can travel before someone with a firearm can react."

Which was correct. What wasn't was solely relying on that fact. Cass didn't like the statements always and never, there was always a sometimes. But her sometimes and Blackwolf's were different. He'd rather run, she'd rather aim to kill. Difference in reasoning she supposed. Didn't make her like him anymore. Her opinion was middle ground. Better than most people got.

Being egotistical wasn't something that was a required personality trait for the FBI, even if most agents were. Cass bit back the smile when Blackwolf made his first stop the back of the home, and subsequently the dirt beneath their feet. He looked between the photos and the scenery and then stood back up.

"They used war rituals, sure, but not solely Apache rituals. Not one tribe ever used all of these techniques, at least not like this. They'd know that if they were Indians."

He walked in a slow circle.

"There was a sixth woman here. She was ambushed, there. At least two sets of footprints. Six back there."

"You're saying there were eight?"

"Maybe more."

Gideon cut in, "Eight perpetrators, one hostage."

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The station house lighting was dark, dreary. There wasn't much in the way of legibility of the papers taped to cork boards that littered the short hallways. The BAU had been a board that moved and half the space of a cramped office. An unhappy officer was pushed out to an open desk, however the briefing seemed to redirect that anger elsewhere.

She'd prepare herself for the 'who's it' portion of their conversation. Reid started, he spoke of their inability to understand practical Apache culture. Their knowledge of it was important, but it wasn't that of a native's. More someone staring into a room without ever hearing the words spoken. Morgan took over afterwards, covering the topic of surrendered identities in these groups. Whether they followed religious, racist, or political ideologies, they didn't think of themselves as individuals, but as parts of a 'greater' whole. Hotchner and Elle took turns. They put faces to names, referencing other groups with similar motifs and behaviors. Kidnapping was the hill they were dying on, it's what made it different. Whoever the girl was had been important enough to keep. Slaughter wasn't their only goal, which meant it could have been a sign of domestic terrorism.

The earlier, disgruntled cop turned his nose up at the profile. "These are Indians we're talking about though, right?"

Cassie's imagination came and went in waves. Currently she found herself putting Blackwolf's head on a small slider of like to dislike. He was going up a little more, she was able to appreciate how he shut the other man down.

The conversation ended shortly thereafter. The profile was finished. Nobody had anything else to add. There just wasn't enough evidence to immediately point fingers. And where they had, had already been ruled out. Reid and Morgan stared towards the moveable board, photos and papers littered the entire expanse. Cassie thought about following the other four members of the group into the office besides their impermanent one.

"Hey."

She no longer thought about following them. Her brows curved upwards as she met Morgan's gaze. The other occupant of the room wasn't paying attention. Cassie took tentative steps forward, closing the gap so she could lower her voice. Someone else hearing the ensuing conversation would 'knock her street cred'. That's what she told herself.

"Hey."

"How was it?"

"I wanted to apologize—"

They had both spoken at the same time. Awkwardly she clasped her lips shut and looked towards the single office desk in the room.

"Apologize?"

"Don't worry about it, I don't want to anymore."

Derek laughed. She felt childish. In another life she wouldn't have cared. That was still this life, she should be doing better. As though a switch were flipped she crossed her arms and hardened her expression. Not angry, just apathetic.

"It was fine, earlier, I think we shared the most important pieces with the 'class'. Well, beyond Blackwolf being a caricature."

"Of?"

"I'm not sure yet. Something. You should know."

"I get what you mean."

They both let out short, heavy breaths.

"Well?"

"Nothing just wanted to ask you about it."

Her eyelids creased. Reid was only just now paying attention to their conversation. Which was sign enough for her to stop talking. Thankfully, a second later JJ peered around the corner and informed them they may have a suspect. Roy Minton, founder of what he called the American Defense Unit. In short, racist fueled militia. Not a very well kept secret. Not an uncommon group capable of committing murder in the way they had. The ADU sounded a lot like the Bible that some military men read. Whatever had been beaten into their heads made them think they were deserving of the end all be all on how this country should be run. If they needed to do that through force, they'd find a way. Nine times out of ten she ended up arresting them for their ideologies taking them too far out of the normal standards of society. Hatred bred fear, and fear breeds violence. The cycle never stopped. Not here.

Not long after and Minton was being lead through the various hallways towards, well, just another office. They didn't have a free interrogation room on hand. So he was shoved in there with Hotch. Who requested Morgan join him. It was a little brazen, a little unprofessional, but Cassie pushed her way through the door right behind the latter. She got a quick look, but nobody seemed to tell her to leave. Interrogations were her thing. Technically, everything was her thing because it had to be. She was still trying to relearn that she could trust her team.

Derek pulled a free chair and swung it around on one leg until it was facing away from Minton. His posture tensed up for a moment. He avoided eye contact with Morgan at first. Only seemed to feel that Hotchner was the person worth speaking to.

"Mr. Minton, do you have any idea who might be behind the Terra Mesa killings?"

He lulled his head to the side, and loosened up a little. "The Indians have a long history of violent outbursts. You know the Apache used to kill white settlers. Put their heads on pikes."

"That was a long time ago Mr. Minton."

"No. That was the other night. They killed those college kids, I'd know, my family has been dealing with those Indians for a hundred and fifty years."

Morgan's hands clasped around the back of his chair. He leaned against the cool leather rim of the seat. "That rhetoric is the type of thing people use to justify their own violence."

He was abashed, unnerved by having to speak to Derek. He couldn't make eye contact. "We're fighting them in court, not in someone's backyard."

"You don't usually need twice as many guns as your men for a court case." Cass' nostrils flared as she let the right part of her hip lean against the desk besides Aaron. Her arms crossed under her chest.

"Exercising our constitutional right."

She'd scoff, maybe it was a laugh.

 

"It's our right to protect ourselves, our home."

"You're paranoid."

"Not in this day and age."

Which was as paranoid as it could get. Indians weren't his biggest worry. Or they shouldn't have been. Cassie's laugh signaled to Hotchner to talk over. The rest of the interrogation was short. A few questions about his members, a few questions about the lawsuit. They'd let it go after that.

The group gathered in the small office, Aaron called the sheriff in to join them. Cassie pressed tan palms to the rough wood of the desk and push herself up until she was sitting on the edge of it. Elle and Morgan spoke loudly back and forth. They shared similar views on the type of person Minton was. However, from what they had learned he wasn't shaping up to be a great suspect either. He was a racist, sure, but he was mostly using it as a stepping stool. He was money hungry, but money required labor and labor required a purpose. Mob mentality. He'd use it to get what he wanted. This made him less likely to commit the acts himself, and more likely that it was small group of people he riled up.

"Have some of your men put Roy under surveillance."

Gideon shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You really think it's him?"

"No, but he's likely to lead us to whoever it is."

The sheriff didn't get to ask any more questions. A light ringing tone sounded from Morgan's pocket. He pulled the device out and flipped it open. Holding up his left pointer finger he murmured 'Garcia.' "What do you got for me?" Silence, then a compliment. He closed the phone and nodded a few times. "Garcia thinks she found our sixth victim. Fingerprints match up." He slid the phone back into his pocket and moved behind the desk Cassie was sitting on. "Ingrid Greisen." It seemed whatever they were looking at was the full ID of the young woman. Which she doubted was actually in the county's system, so Garcia must have sent it over. She turned slightly so that she could watch the others watch the screen. Hotchner leaned over Derek and pointed. "There's the address. Elle, JJ, Morgan, let's go." Which meant the rest were supposed to sit here and mull over invisible evidence. Not her preferred method of solving cases.

It was getting late after that. The sun was setting around eight, but Cassie chose to stay anyway. There were a few officers who went in and out. She watched them, preferring a corner of the wide open space instead of squeezing into the small office. Someone had lent her a laptop, which she was grateful for. And then not so much when she opened the first tab. In hindsight, she shouldn't have been so optimistic. She closed out of a few things and tried to shake the images from her head. Not as bad as they could have been, but she didn't need to see in-depth advertisements for hair plugs.

Being a new member left her with little say, or at least she deemed it that way. Where she was from the newbie always caught the most flack. Here wasn't too awful, she was treated with respect.

There was still a divide, however. Whether it be from worldview or something else. The team was close. She was trying, and failing, to not find any attachments here. So, instead of moping around any longer over the disconnect, she put her feeble internet skills to work. Logically in a 'tight-knit' community like this, there were bound to be groups beyond the ADU. Because tight-knit didn't exactly mean friendly, it simply meant everyone else was in each other's business. There were online forums, groups, meetings at local libraries and mom and pop shops everywhere nowadays. If someone had an opinion, someone else had to disagree. But it couldn't just be one voice, they had to prove that the fact they were disagreeing was important. So they'd make fliers, MySpace posts, you name it. If they didn't like blue flowers, they'd call themselves the people in protection of the red plants. Which would spark outrage, which would spark a million other disagreements. Everyone had to share their opinion.

She tried to remember what she was like when she was a nineteen-year-old girl, what would have caught her attention? Nothing that a proactive teen would have liked. So she started over. Something catchy, something that would make people feel like they were accomplishing a goal. A couple of slow and meaningless clicks took her to a forum she found pretty interesting; only for the imagery before her to change. Instead of a fuzzy blue screen, sat a black tweed bag. A palm landed flat on the tiny makeshift desk beside the laptop.

"Miss Greenaway."

"Lorayne."

Cass couldn't make out if this was a good expression or a bad one. The similarly tan-toned woman cocked a brow. "Come on, the others are headed to the hotel. You're rooming with me."

Silence followed.

"Don't look so disgusted."

"Sorry."

Elle grabbed the bag and took a few steps back.

"Well?"

Lorayne didn't budge, she was trying to find that forum again. "Well what?"

"They want us out of their office space."

"No, they don't."

"No, but we should give it back anyway."

"They won't use it." She was having a harder time navigating the machine for some reason. Maybe it had just been a miracle that she had been able to in the first place.

"Are you the type to work yourself to death?"

This comment grabbed her attention. She looked up cautiously and shook her head. There was a hint of genuineness to her voice. A hint of confusion too. "I'm not. It's only nine."

Elle's bottom lip hung open. "What can I say to get you to come along?"

The other debated then frowned and closed the laptop. "I'm coming. I'm hoping this isn't some sort of drinks after the workday type of ordeal."

They made their way out of the building, Elle took the lead as they walked down the street. There was enough semblance of a put-together town for that to be okay. Neither of them were worried about the figures that lingered behind them in the dark. Cassie could only guess there was some dinky motel down the road, and using the large rental vans wasn't needed for this trip.

"I can't believe you think so little of me."

Greenaway's tone was a little taught. Playful or not, best to play it safe. "Not really. I wouldn't blame you too much."

"Wow, how thoughtful."

"Sorry."

The streets were illuminated with bright neon signs, they did more work than the streetlights. It seemed every other was busted beyond repair. Some flickered, others were shattered from however long ago. "What were you and Hotchner talking about?"

She'd turn her head while walking. "Why do you ask?"

"Small talk. You're new to the team and we haven't spoken much."

"Do we need to?"

"Are you always like this?"

Cass pressed the tip of her tongue against her cheek. Her lips pursed. "Not always."

"You and Morgan seem to be friends."

"I could say the same about you and Reid."

Secretly she was hoping that comment would elicit a reaction. They locked eyes, both hoping for the same thing. It didn't come in the way they were looking for, but they'd laugh anyway. Elle's was cathartic to hear. Cassie's was stifled by her embarrassment.

"I'm sorry." She waved a hand after composing herself.

"Stop saying that. You can say sorry by telling me what you and Hotchner were talking about."

She was getting tired of having to owe people. "Does it have to be truthful?"

Elle thought about it for a moment, almost genuinely pondering her question.

"Preferably."

"We used to know each other."

"Well, I figured that much."

"That's about it. He asked me how I was, I think."

The sidewalk got worse the further they walked. Which probably meant the hotel was close. Within another minute or so of walking it was across the street. A two-story little thing, painted blue with brick accents. There weren't many cars parked outside. Save for a BMW and a rental.

"Hotch took care of the room arrangements earlier. JJ lucked out, a whole room to herself." Elle flashed the one steel key on the metal ring. Their room was on the second floor. Two beds were covered in what was a scratchy wool decorative blanket. Two hard pillows, a thick white comforter that was tucked tightly beneath the mattress. It felt like what home was supposed to be.

Rifling through the bag she had taken from Elle, she pulled out a shirt that would look to be a little tight on her. She'd strip her own off anyways, and then her bra, and then her pants. Blatantly in the corner of the room. Little to no shame. Cass pulled the tight, graphic T on over her toned arms.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Elle opted to change in the bathroom. Lorayne didn't get it.

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