#that leads him to be accidentally left in his room to have his body mutilated by some dangerous thing that sweeps thru the city

[pankomako]

oh shit wait last time i wrote (i say wrote but i really mean came up with concepts for) my characters going through horrors i predicted a similar thing that happened to me. that was with boardwalk. what the fuck am i about to predict through my gang's bay concepts if im really going down this darker route with it

[pseudowar-archived]

CANON DROP ; TRICK HARPER

Survivor's Guilt. Patrick Harper enlisted with Thomas Owens - Moe's brother. They were the same age and, considering the Owens basically adopted Trick at a young age, essentially brothers themselves. It was during basic that tragedy struck - Thomas was accidentally shot by another recruit. He wasn't there at the time, but he arrived during the aftermath and it's a scene that still haunts him. They were only eighteen.

Eidetic Memory. As a child, Trick showed signs of having a photographic memory, and if you asked Moe, he was really fucking annoying about it. He was the straight A student in school (and a star football player) and ridiculously popular and she liked to torment him despite being years younger. Due to PTSD from incidents (Thomas's death, the accident that nearly cost him his leg, etc.), and general growth, he no longer has an eidetic memory - but he still has a ridiculously good one.

Career. His career was basically spiraling before Laswell found him - survivor's guilt and general aggression over the fact that the guy that had killed his best friend and brother got off with a slap on the wrist, well, it didn't make him a very good boy. His record is spotted with red marks, disciplinary actions, and a general personality that could not be broken. He was, quite literally, one foot out the door with getting discharged when he ended up working with Laswell for a mission. She was impressed with his memory, and he was impressed with her ability to be a woman in her field that was looked up to, as opposed to down on, and from there, it's sort of history. Kind of. He had to earn Price's respect, and then the team's respect, and that was a whole ass other can of worms that he will never be getting into again.

Reputation. Trick has a reputation of being a flirt, and a little bit of a bunker bunny in a sense. He's had on and off casual sex partners since basically enlisting, and Moe likes to [affectionately] call him the army slut. This has slowed down since being picked up by Laswell, but sometimes people still think of him that way because he is a massive flirt and he doesn't really care.

Open Door Policy. He doesn't have a roommate for, well, reasons he will never disclose, but he does have an unlocked door policy when it comes to visitors. If anyone needs anything, and they see his light is on, and his door is unlocked, they're welcomed to come into his room. He's not very good with life advice, but he is an excellent yapper and good at taking people's minds off serious problems for at least a little amount of time.

Relationships. Prior to going to basic, Trick did get married to his then longtime girlfriend of a few years. She was, and he'll freely admit it to anyone who asks, completely out of his league - smokin' hot. They ended up getting divorced about a year after he enlisted, mainly due to wanting different things in life. There is no bad blood between them, although he hasn't spoken to her in quite some time.

Fingers. Trick learned the hard way during basic that you can get mutilated by a wedding ring when his ring got caught on a nail during the climbing wall of a course. The weight of his own body when he went to drop snapped his left ring finger and his pinkie finger so seriously that he ended up losing half of his pinkie and basically his entire ring finger. Thankfully, he's right handed.

Knee. Between his high school football career, a serious injury from said career, and general training, Trick's left knee was in pretty bad condition by the time he was twenty-four, and this lead to him getting a knee replacement. Of course, after that, there was - as he refers to it - a clusterfuck of a humvee accident, and you know, his poor knee just can't catch a break. He's too stubborn to get another knee replacement at this point, and it really doesn't hurt too much on a regular basis, so he uses a cane. And yes, he does use the fact that he uses a cane to get out of most things, like PT, and sometimes he uses it to flirt, and literally no one has stopped him, so he's going to keep doing it.

[alpaca-writes]

Mystics, Chapter 33

Synopsis: Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by the strange shopkeeper Lyrem Nomadus, and everything seems to be going well. In fact, their life nearly becomes perfection; no more bullies, better grades, and a lot less stress. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as it seems and that Lyrem has been hiding a very dark, and troubling secret…

taglist: @myst-in-the-mirror ​ & @livingforthewhump ​

CW: blood, organs exposed, bodily mutilation, torture, gore, not for the faint of heart..

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

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: THE FINAL COUNTDOWN

         From outside the dining hall, Arch was pacing and shaking their hands out of nervousness with a fresh apron on. They were about to remove Lyrem’s heart. Lyrem’s.

         They liked Lyrem. They understood that he was dead. Paimon had to remind them of that fact, since he seemed so alive in Paimon’s realm. The removal of his heart would be a symbolic gesture. Nothing more. The so-called demon compared it to a rite-of-passage, citing the history that Lyrem had with the removal of his father’s heart when he was first working with Paimon. It was just the natural way to do business in Paimon’s mind. Lyrem always knew this day would come. That knowledge comforted Arch to a certain extent, and explained why Lyrem wanted Arch to run. He had gotten cold feet about giving up his position and didn’t want to give his whole self to his work after all.

         Arch tried the door. It was still locked. Paimon said he would retrieve them when everything was ready but Arch just couldn’t seem to wait for much longer. They just wanted to get it all over with.

         Their fingers fiddled with the buttons on the discman, starting the Peasants, Pigs, and Astronauts album from the beginning. Finally, they heard Paimon clicking his hooves from down the hall. He held up a black blindfold.

         “Here?” Arch scrunched their face. “Now? I thought I’d be able to talk to Lyrem before we started”-

         Paimon spun them around and placed the cloth over their face.

         “Lyrem betrayed me by trying to take you away,” he replied, tying the knot tightly in the back. “And for that, he has lost the privilege of using his tongue for the next five minutes. Don’t worry, he’ll still be capable of speech after you’re finished with him. Alright.”

         He spun them around again, and prevented Arch from playing with the blindfold with a quick removal of their hand from their face. Paimon flicked his eyes nervously towards the door, and then looked back.

         “Now, timing is everything, sweet thing, so do whatever you need to, to remove his heart. There might be distractions, or you may get nervous, but as long as you do this, then you will never need to return to Earth the way you left it. You can be free to recreate yourself once again with Lyrem’s blessing and under my guidance.”

         Arch blinked beneath the blindfold, hearing the rush to his voice.

         “Are you nervous?” They inquired after a pause.

         “No. Not at all.”

         Arch didn’t believe that for a second. Their ability to detect bullshit was heightened at the placement of the blindfold. It bothered them that they could not see anymore.

         “Now, we’ll start the music first. You can put your headphones on,” Paimon briefly instructed. “Take your time to get started. Once the first incision is made, I’ll time your progress. Understand?”

         Arch nodded, placing the headphones over their ears. The speakers even without music were dense enough to prevent any sound from interfering. They pressed play.

         A hand gripped theirs- Paimon’s, leading them forward, straight through the door. There was a momentary pause where Arch didn’t move, because their leader had suddenly left them alone without direction. The hand returned, pressing their upper back and then they found themself at the end of the dining table as they bumped into it. Paimon took both of their hands in his and then allowed Arch to feel the two objects on the table. When their hands brushed over them, they knew immediately what they were.

         One was worn-out and almost warm to the touch, while the other was cold, and metallic and never seemed to age at all.

         Arch took their time, feeling both blade handles over completely. Paimon wanted them to choose. They were well practiced with the bowie.  It would be the obvious choice.

         Paimon watched on curiously as Arch made their decision. They placed the bowie down with a sigh, and picked up Lyrem’s jeweled blade instead. Arch nodded, indicating that they had made their decision. Paimon led Arch by the hand until they stood beside Arthur. Quickly, he helped them find their tools sitting on the table nearby. A bone saw, and clamp waiting to be used as well as a handy cloth to wipe any excess blood from their hands they didn’t want.

        When Arch was comfortable, Paimon left them there and took the other side of the table. He pulled a grin over the man who seemed to be realizing all too suddenly that Arch, really was going to start pulling him apart only because Paimon had told them to.

         “I thought I’d let you know, that I’ve decided what I want.” Paimon declared, unbuttoning Arthur’s shirt.

         “What are you talking about?” Arthur growled, enraged and equally humbled by the almost tender action that Paimon was performing on him.

         “For when I win this little bet.”

         “You won’t win.”

         “I will win,” Paimon argued, pulling Arthur’s shirt open and baring his chest. “And when I do, I’ll make sure that Arch eats your heart, fresh from your body. Raw and make you watch.”

         “They won’t”-

         “Ah, ah, ah. Are you really sure you want to make another bet on that?” Paimon shot his eyes up from Arthur to Arch and then back down again. They would likely start at any moment. Arthur fell silent.

         Paimon left the stage. His brow furrowed at the sight of Lyrem and Apollo’s arrival. They were now sitting in audience chairs that he had not set up for them with a look on their faces like they didn’t think they belonged either. Quite simply, Paimon didn’t summon them. Thinking it odd they would choose to be present for this moment, he glared at the two and made his approach.

        Creating two more small yellow programmes for the newest arrivals, he handed them out, hoping his startled demeanor was not noticeable. He ignored the uncomfortable itch to ask how they removed themselves from the basement and sat between them both. Neither of them looked happy to have found themselves there.

         “Glad you both could make opening night.” He grinned, patting both of them on the shoulder.

         Arthur’s head turned towards Lyrem, waiting for some indication that there might still be rescue- a plan, at least. Lyrem shook his head and his eyes cast downward, then back up as Charlotte was addressed by her little brother.

         “Char, turn away. Don’t… Don’t watch this. Please,” Arthur pleaded.

         Paimon sniffed and muttered, “it’s beginning so tragically. I was hoping for an opening number of some kind. You know, to lighten the mood.”

         Arch adjusted their stance over the body. No such opening number would spare the crowd from the hellish scene. Arch reached out a hand, feeling first the bare skin over a set of ribs, and then trailed their fingers higher until they found the right area. The knife came in close to Arthur’s chest and immediately, a loud shout filled with expletives ripped out of his throat as the blade started to dig into his flesh.

         Arch grunted, removing the blade and pulled the discman from the belt loop of their pants. They altered the volume buttons until they were satisfied.

         “No! No, Arch! Listen to me! Hear me!” Arthur shouted at them and tried his mightiest to lean up.

         Arch paid him no mind. The natural reactions like screaming were simply another distraction. They would do better if they spent ten seconds to up the volume instead of pausing every time Lyrem had something new to say. They returned the system to their hip, and continued.

         “Oh, see. I suppose there are some funnier parts,” Paimon mentioned off-hand and let out a quick breathy chuckle.

         Lyrem turned to him with a new and profound look in his eyes.

         “How can you find any humor in such gore?” he postulated rhetorically. “I am not a fan of Arthur myself, but this”-?

         “Is a masterpiece,” Paimon interrupted and then he hushed Lyrem with a finger to his lips. “Just allow it to happen.”

         Lyrem scanned the room for a timer, and he found one off to the side. A sandglass sitting on a wooden stool by the wall.

         Arch had finished the first cut, and the blood from the incision began to pool in the center of his chest. Arthur’s jaw had been fully clenched to prevent himself from screaming as the pain ripped through him. He didn’t want Charlotte to hear him. His tears were hot against the sides of his face as they pooled into two puddles near his ears on the wooden planks. He opened his eyes during the reprieve while Arch planned the spot for their next cut. He caught sight of Charlotte who was watching every moment with steadfast terror. Her eyes were wide, and her face shined under thick black lashes.

         He let out another howl as Arch found the proper point of incision and cut across. Again, they found the third incision point and finished the I shape that would soon be widened by the clamp to hold open the area for the saw to separate his breastbone. It had been two minutes. They worked quickly to adjust the metal bar to their desired length and then pulled the portions of flesh aside. They picked up the saw, giving it two quick whirs before carefully finding the correct spot to break him open without accidentally taking one of their own fingers off in the process.

         Calmly and quietly, they sang to themself as the saw whirred jaggedly through the bone until it was only their voice they heard in their mind:

         “-Are you glad to see how far you've come?

         You're a wizard in a blizzard-

         A mystical machine gun

         Bwow, wowowow, benerner! Bwow”-

         They felt a little silly mouthing the words and tune, but it was only Paimon and Lyrem. Surely, they would understand Arch’s need to keep calm as the guilt racked through them. The buzzing stopped, and Arch inserted the clamp forcefully. They pried open the chest cavity with a sharp crack. They leaned over their subject without any tools. They just wanted to feel around and yep, they found the heart and the aorta first in all that squishy, squelchy, softness. Arch wondered for a moment whether there would be any practical use in keeping the blood from shooting out when they remembered that they needed their knife to sever the many arteries and ventricles.

         Now, where did they leave the knife? They felt around the table with a bloody hand, brushing the top of Arthur’s arm. Arch got in a bit close and the man’s hand strained just far enough to take one of Arch’s small hands into his own. Arch paused.

It was just another distraction.

They pulled their hand away, but not before something tiny, metal, and attached to a chain had been placed in the palm of their hand.

The audience watched Arch stop suddenly. They felt the small gold crucifix and held it tight. A gleam of a single teardrop rolled down one cheek.

Paimon shifted to the end of his seat, watching the sandglass pouring out of time. There was perhaps one minute left. Not much more.

“What the hell are they doing?”

“Nothing,” Lyrem answered. He too was at a loss for as to why Arch had stopped, but recognized that Arthur must have been able to tip them off somehow throughout the ordeal. “And you can’t do anything about it, remember?” He quickly reminded Paimon. The god looked like he might just launch out of his seat and shut the whole performance down.

It was all a distraction.

Arch dropped the crucifix. There was no going back now. Definitely no going back. It was a trick. Their mom wasn’t with them. She was stuck in another realm. Thinking the little gold man ended up somewhere on the man’s stomach, it had actually fallen directly into the cavity they created. They found the knife stashed near the shoulder and got back to work with maybe thirty seconds left on the clock. They searched around for the bloody tubes connected through the heart again.

         Twenty seconds.

         They started with the aorta first and severed it cleanly at the top. An arc of red was released through the air that nearly hit them in the face.

         Fifteen seconds.

         Next, the right pulmonary vein, pulmonary artery, and superior vena cava. All severed and done. Inferior vena cava and then left ventricle on the bottom: severed- though the chain from their mother’s crucifix distracted them once more as they found it sitting in the midst of all the blood and gore.

         Ten seconds.

         Pulmonary vein on the left and the descending aorta- severed. Moving up again, their fingers found the heart slippery and difficult to grip the last of the veins and arteries that needed disconnecting. Arch grunted, trying to find the last step. Their fingers brushed the top of the left ventricle. A short strand-no several short strands of hair, or maybe fur, caused Arch to furrow their brows in confusion.

Just a distraction. It had to be.

        They followed the top of the ventricle, searching for it to lead them to where the blood was supposed to flow in from the rest of the body. They cupped their fingers underneath and gasped, pulling their hand out with sudden shock.

         “Ow! Fuck! What the hell was that?!”

         Paimon watched the timer run until not a single grain of sand was left on the top tier.

         Arthur cried with a silent relief and then stared down at his open body. He would have hurled on sight if he had anything to heave up, because he could feel something…

Something was moving inside of him.

         Inside.

         Inside of him.

         Slowly moving, up and down, covered in red, and sticking up like spikes with some grey underneath, and then came an unmistakable purring noise. They all heard it- except for Arch who hadn’t pulled off their headphones yet. They stood against the wall, knowing they had failed miserably and cradled their scratched hand. It was a deep one.

         Paimon strutted towards the table with an enraged announcement on the tip of his tongue:

         “It’s over! I’m sending you all back to the Labyrinth!”

         Charlotte turned toward Persephone who looked back in just as much concern and reminded herself of the deal they made. Arthur and Arch had been damaged beyond repair in one way or another.

         Paimon clapped his hands, expecting the action to produce an instant portal into his realm, and none came. Apollo also stood up, and walked toward the human on the table. Paimon tried to push him back into his seat, but was unsuccessful as Apollo tried to get a look at the interruption that had saved them all.  He smiled, looking down into the gaping hole and reached inside.

         Arthur grunted in pain as Apollo’s hand dug into him. Soon the Sun god’s arms were filled with the weight of a familiar family member. 

        “Arty, it’s been ages,” Apollo muttered, as the cat looked up to her brother with eyes of steel blue. “What were you doing inside of this human, huh?”

        Arch had finally had enough and ripped their blindfold down. They saw Apollo, holding a bloody Maleficent in his hands, Lyrem, frowning from the corner in confusion, their mother Charlotte and two strangers standing in a line on the opposite side of the table, and Paimon glaring, not at them, but everyone else in the room.

         Then they looked down. Instantly, Arch paled with the realization of what happened; who they had been mutilating for the last five minutes without mercy. They could hardly speak.

         “U-uncle Arty…”

         Arthur met their eyes weakly and breathed raggedly.

“Hey, kiddo.”

[kainissoable]

Homecoming but Okayer

I started thinking about how to make Silent Hill: Homecoming more coherent and emotionally satisfying without having to discard too many of the major story beats. What I ended up with was about 2000 words of a half-baked idea, which in fairness is still slightly more baked than the idea the team who were paid to make the game came up with.

We start with a shorter version of the opening nightmare with more of an emphasis on the nurses. It’s hard to tell, but the two or three patients they’ve mutilated all bear a resemblance to Alex without actually using the same model. The dream ends when a nurse stabs him in the chest. Just behind her, he sees Josh, and wakes up shouting for him.

Alex wakes up and winces, putting a hand to his chest. As he takes some nondescript medication and looks around the shabby motel room, we get a voiceover of his mother, reading out the letter she sent to him inviting him back home before his next deployment. She never mentions his name.

When he reaches Shepherd’s Glen, the fog is so thick he can barely see. There are dozens of abandoned vehicles on the road in, and eventually he has to get out of his car and walk.

The town is pretty much deserted, but there are signs of violence on almost every street. Then he recognises someone in the fog – Detective Wheeler. He runs over, but Wheeler doesn’t recognise him, or know of any Alex Shepherd. Wheeler coldly tells him that whoever he is it’s best if he leaves town. There’s nothing good here now.

He leaves, confused and unsettled, but carries on down the empty streets. On his way, he finds one other living person – Judge Holloway. He calls out again. Surely his Aunt Maggie will remember him. There were no ties of blood between them, but he’d been friends with her daughter Elle since they were small, and she’d almost been a second mother to him.

Judge Holloway looks at him blankly until he says his name, and then she’s all smiles. Oh, hasn’t he changed, no wonder she didn’t recognise him in all this fog. Go see your mother, dear, she’s waiting for you. Such a pity Elle isn’t here to greet you but she’s busy.

Alex continues, feeling more optimistic, until he sees the third figure in the fog. From a distance, it looks like someone crawling along the street, but as he gets closer, he sees it’s no human. Armed with only a utility knife, Alex either fights it or flees, and eventually reaches his childhood home.

When he gets there, he can look around a little and pick up a couple of things. There are several pictures of his parents and brother, Josh, and in his mother’s sewing room is a picture of Josh and an older girl. Alex says he remembers that being taken, must be eight or nine years ago by now.

When he finds his mother, she looks like she’s been crying. She looks at him for a long time before hugging him and starts crying again. “I missed you too, Mom.” Alex tears up a bit too. It’s been a long time since he was last home. She glances out the window and hands him his dad’s old pistol. “See if you can find Elle. It’s not safe out there.”

Alex takes the pistol and goes out in search of her. He finds Elle hanging up a missing person poster. Her little sister Nora vanished a few days ago. Alex says he’ll help her look.

There’s no sign of Nora, but once or twice Alex sees Jake in the fog. If he runs towards him, the vision fades and all he finds is a dead end. He finds a hairband at the playground near the cemetery, but then sees Mayor Bartlett in the graveyard. Concerned for him, Alex follows him to a run down hotel.

He doesn’t find the mayor inside, but he does find several more monsters and a room he can’t get into with a woman inside. He sounds like such a nice young man, she says. Would he help her remember? Alex agrees and finds some letters and postcards of hers. As her memories start returning, she becomes distressed and guilty for her infidelity to her dying husband. Alex can choose to comfort her, help her come to terms with her actions, or speak to her harshly. Her ghost may then move on, leaving him a key to find the mayor.

Mayor Bartlett is in a garden that actually looks like a garden. He’s talking to himself, or possibly to the tree in the centre. Either way, he laughs when Alex asks about Nora, then panics. “He” has woken up.

The world changes and the tree twists into something closer to a corpse. It picks up Bartlett in one hand and crushes him. Then it turns its attention on Alex.

Alex fights and kills it, then faints as the world tuns back to normal.

He wakes up in a jail cell with Deputy Wheeler staring at him through the bars. He’s clearly suspicious, and things might have gone very badly for Alex if Elle hadn’t vouched for him. Wheeler releases him because law isn’t starting to mean much in this town now, and Alex and Elle find themselves fighting through dozens of monsters on the streets.

Jake appears again in the distance, but Alex holds Elle back when she tries to help him. He says he’ll explain later, because the monsters are closing in.

They take refuge in Dr Fitch’s surgery after being surrounded and find his daughter Scarlett’s playroom. Elle picks up one of her dolls which has fallen on the floor and asks if now is a good time for Alex’s explanation. He tells her that it can’t be Josh. He died last year in a boating accident. Alex says it was his fault, he should have been watching him more closely, but he was so distracted doing his reading for the army aptitude test, Josh wasn’t a priority. He wanted so badly to make his dad proud, but all he did was fail his family again. Elle starts to say something, but she doesn’t get beyond Alex before the world changes and she vanishes.

Alex explores the Otherworld surgery looking for her. He doesn’t find Elle, but at the bottom of a perilous descent littered with monster nurses, he finds Dr Fitch crying and cutting himself over and over with a scalpel. Alex tries to talk him out of it, but Fitch keeps babbling about his sins and how sorry he is to his little girl. The “little girl” is a disproportionate porcelain doll over twice his height, which kills the doctor and makes a spirited attempt to do the same to Alex.

Once Scarlett is killed for the second time, Alex wakes up in the playroom where he was. Elle wakes up beside him, but instead of a doll, she’s holding a key. She recognises the seal as matching the one in the town hall where her mother works. Elle gives the key to Alex and returns home to check on her mother and let her know what’s happened.

Alex goes to the town hall alone and discovers a ceremonial dagger hidden there. He recognises the pattern on its hilt as matching his mother’s jewellery box. He goes back home in search of answers and walks in on an argument between his parents and Judge Holloway. He doesn’t catch much more than his dad shouting that he failed.

They all turn as Alex bursts in and his mother’s face goes pale. Judge Holloway asks him to come with her. Elle’s tracked down Nora in Silent Hill, she says, what reason does he have to stay here?

Alex wavers, but before he can make a decision, a group of monsters burst through the window. His parents and Judge Holloway are dragged away, the former by more inventive redesigns of Pyramid Head, the latter by a monster taking some design inspiration from the Missionaries in SH3. Another of the same type attacks Alex.

The Otherworld returns once it’s defeated and Alex has to navigate a twisted version of his childhood home. While there, he finds his mother’s jewellery box and inside finds some photos of him and Josh growing up. This is where anyone who hasn’t already twigged finds out that Alex is a trans man, and always felt that he was letting his family down because of his identity. Looking at these photographs with his mother’s neat hand crossing out an illegible name and replacing it with Alex is the first time he feels accepted by her.

Alex escapes the hell house and finds Wheeler, who he convinces to help him rescue his family and loved ones from Silent Hill. Once there, they split up to cover more area. In the undercroft of a church, Alex discovers the shared history of Shepherd’s Glen and Silent Hill, of how his town’s four founding families kept the Otherworld’s influence at bay with a blood sacrifice every 50 years – a child for every family.

He heads deeper into the crypt and finds his parents at the centre of a shrinking ring of fire, two of the pyramid headed monsters looking on impassively. It transpires that his mother had invited Alex back to be sacrificed, but they couldn’t go through with it, not after losing Josh the same way. They hoped that the town would accept the accidental drowning, but realised too late that it hadn’t. Alex has the option to try to save them, but either way he fails. The monsters don’t stop him from leaving the church.

Outside, he finds Judge Holloway. Apart form a couple of bruises, she looks unharmed, and she comforts him as he weeps. Eventually, Alex asks after her daughters. He says he knows what the powers that be want her to do, but they can’t save the town now, but they can still save the people. She agrees, says she knows where Nora was being held and if they hurry, they might be able to rescue her. She leads him to a large open room and runs though a door which locks behind her. Nora was already dead, and this human centipede of hands reaching out to choke him is all that’s left of her.

Alex defeats the monster that was once as close to him as a sister, and when the noise ends, Judge Holloway returns, expecting to see him unconscious on the floor. She flies into a rage, telling him to abandon this selfishness or everything will be for naught. As she speaks, her voice becomes more and more difficult to understand as her body changes and she abandons the last of her humanity.

The monster that she changes into tries to drown Alex and fulfil the final sacrifice. She loved him as  much of either of her daughters and she’s willing to sacrifice him just the same. Alex fights for his life and takes hers with a heavy heart. It wouldn’t have worked, he knows. It has to be someone of the Shepherd’s blood to consign him willingly to the water, and now there’s no one else left. He looks into the deep, dark pool he was so recently fighting to get away from, and jumps.

Depending on his actions, there are three fates for Alex. If he lets his self hatred and guilt rule him, his death saves the town in a bittersweet ending. If he chose wrath and vengeance, his body is dragged out of the water by the two pyramid headed monsters to become another judge of the guilty. If he chose to accept himself and come to terms with his actions, Elle and Wheeler pull him out of the water and he survives as well as the town of Shepherd’s Glen.

[kimminstudying]

Case Study - 006

Warning: Graphic Content

Dr. H.H Holmes was born Herman Mudgett on May 16, 1861 in Gilmanton, New Hampshire. He is an infamous swindler and con artist who is considered America’s first known serial killer and was a main suspect in the Jack the Ripper murders. While he confessed to 27 murders, only nine could be proven by police and several of the people he claimed to have murdered were still alive. Police suspected that they were next on Holmes’ list. Sometimes referred to as the "Beast of Chicago," Holmes is believed to have killed somewhere between 20 and 200 people. He killed many of his victims in a specially constructed home, which was later nicknamed the "Murder Castle."

Holmes was born into a wealthy family to Levi Horton Mudgett and Theodate Page Price in Gilmanton, an isolated town 20 miles away from Concord. In his childhood, Holmes showed signs of high intelligence at an early age. He was fascinated with anatomy and medicine from childhood, as he would trap animals in order to perform “surgery” on them. Sometimes the animals were still breathing when they went under the knife. A young Dr. Holmes is suspected of killing a child playmate for the same reason, but this has only been rumored and not proven.

One challenge Holmes faced in early life was a strabismic left eye. Strabismus is a medical condition that involves poor control of the eye muscles. Many people commented on Holmes’ inability to look them in the eye, but this was a physical deficiency, not a spiritual one. By all accounts, Holmes was a charming conversationalist. He went on to marry at least three women, some at the same time as he was a compulsive womanizer who carried on several affairs.

Holmes attended the University of Michigan in 1884 before moving to Chicago in 1886 and taking a job as a pharmacist, taking on the alias “Dr. H.H Holmes.” Police suspect it was soon after his arrival that his killing spree began. His criminal career began with various frauds and scams with both insurance policies and with people directly. While he was attending school in Michigan, Holmes would steal the bodies of cadavers and use them for insurance claims as well as for his own private experiments as well.

For instance, he often rented bicycles or articles of furniture and hide them away to sell for cash. Obscuring his identity helped him avoid paying bills, but did not help him in avoiding lawsuits. It is rumored that Holmes killed the pharmacy owner, then his wife when she gained the property, but that is only a rumor. The truth is, it was owned by a young FEMALE doctor and HER husband who both sold the pharmacy to Holmes and outlived him by decades. Across the street from the drugstore, Holmes was constructing a building he said to be a hotel. Popular theory has it that Holmes designed his “Murder Castle” so he could slaughter victims away from prying eyes. For example, the second floor of the hotel was set up like a maze with rooms reporters dubbed, “The Room of the Three Corpses” or “The Asphyxiation Chamber.” There were doors leading nowhere and rooms concealed behind false walls.

Holmes has opened his hotel for business for the 1893 World’s Fair and dozens, if not hundreds, of fairgoers, were said to have been gassed in their rooms as they went missing after their stay. It is suspect that after they were gassed, they were then lowered by ropes to the basement, where Holmes would dissect their corpses. The Castle was proven to have been the place of at least 5 out of the 9 murders that Holmes confessed to and was found guilty of. 

The murder for which Holmes was caught and put on trial was that of Benjamin Pitezel, his partner in his insurance fraud schemes who was also planning to stab Holmes in the back by stealing all of the money on their last run together. After discovering this betrayal, Holmes would obtain a dead body, using his medical connections, and partially mutilate it. He claimed the body was that of his partner and helped Pitezel’s “widow” obtain the insurance money, keeping some for himself after the fact. Holmes killed Ben Pitezel and said it was the result of an accidental explosion for his insurance money, but then Holmes went on to murder Pitezel’s son and two of his daughters for reasons never fully explained. The story of Pitezel’s death was challenged by the insurance company. Holmes was investigated and ultimately hanged on May 7, 1896, nine days shy of his 35th birthday.

Though Holmes has been suspected of killing strangers, his proven murders were all of people he knew. 

The first canonical victim was Julia Conner. Holmes employed Mrs. Conner as a clerk in the jewelry shop that was part of the drugstore. Julia’s husband, Ned Conner, worked as a jeweler and sometimes managed the store. The couple lived for a time at the Holmes Castle and at some point, Mrs. Conner began to have an affair with Holmes. As a result, Mr. Conner broke off the marriage and left his wife and daughter. Julia and Pearl appeared to have favored this decision, as they lived fairly happily in close association with Holmes and the castle’s friendly janitor, Pat Quinlan.

 Like Ben Pitezel, Quinlan later became known as an accomplice of Holmes as he was good with tools and had a strong back. Quinlan reported to his wife and daughter, who were friends of Julia and Pearl, that Julia had moved to California with a new husband around Christmas of 1891. On the contrary, other tenants at the castle reported seeing the two on Christmas Eve before they were never seen again. At various times after his imprisonment, Holmes claimed that Julia had died on the operating table while he was performing an abortion on her. He is suspected to have either killed her intentionally or by accident while performing the operation. 

It’s possible that Holmes killed her in another way, as there were no witnesses and Pearl was also missing. The abortion gone wrong is plausible for the death of Julia, but there was no explanation for the disappearance of Pearl. Years later, when the castle basement was dug up, the bones of a child about Pearl’s age were discovered. They were the most incriminating evidence against Holmes ever found at the site. Pearl was likely poisoned, possibly smothered, by Holmes. Holmes felt no remorse about being the blame for the death of a child, as he tries to rent out the rooms the Conner family occupies during their stray merely weeks after their disappearances.

When he did manage to rent out space, the new tenant reported that personal items and clothes were still in the room, but not packed away like one would expect. These items were thrown around the room as if someone was looking for something and didn’t bother to clean up their messes. According to the new tenant, these items included a doll that Holmes kicked under the bed. It is suspected that Holmes ransacked the room in the hope of finding valuables to pawn off or take for himself. Holmes offered to give his new tenant the goods left behind, but when she refused he had them shipped away, possibly to his own home. 

His third victim, Emeline Cigrand was unmarried, had no children, and didn’t live at the castle, though Cigrand worked for Holmes before becoming romantically involved with him. When she disappeared in December of 1892, Holmes said she’d gone off to get married, like he’d said for Julia. In his later confession, Holmes claimed that Cigrand also passed from a botched abortion in which he was performing.

Quinlan, the janitor, also plays a part in Cigrand’s disappearance. The day after she was last seen, Quinlan helped Holmes and another man toting a large crate from the castle. This was reported by one of the same witnesses who saw the clothes left by Julia and Pearl a year before. When compared to each other, the murders of Julia and Emeline look like the acts of a narcissist who is desperate to protect his fake reputation. The killing of little Pearl is harder to fathom, but it does fit the profile of a psychopath.

The last of his canonical victims at the castle were Holmes’ mistress and her sister.  There was money to be made from the death of his mistress, Minnie Williams and Holmes most likely killed her sister Nannie to remove her as a possible witness. Holmes and Minnie seem to have been well matched. Her name appears on several deeds for his property, and she’s known to have sold the property she owned, very likely to turn the money over to Holmes. 

Some may think that it’s illogical for Holmes to have killed Minnie if she was bringing money into him, but according to Holmes himself, Minnie was the murderer. He claimed that when Nannie came to visit the castle, Minnie got jealous and struck her sister with a stool, ultimately killing her. Holmes then confessed to disposing of the body and helping Minnie flee the country. With a letter Nannie wrote on the Fourth of July, 1893, it’s safe to say she did meet Holmes and possibly had an affair with him while her sister was out. Holmes’ report of Minnie’s jealousy-filled rage has some credibility as there are reports from other witnesses from various states involving Minnie in other fights across the nation. On the other hand, it’s always unlikely that Holmes is telling the truth to it’s easier to believe he killed both sisters, considering there are numerous holes in Holmes's autobiography that have been debunked as lies. Neither sister is confirmed to have been seen after July 5th, 1893. The next day, several transactions were carried out on behalf of Minnie, all to the benefit of Holmes. Holmes stayed remarkably consistent in saying he hadn’t killed either Williams's sister and it is unknown how they died. The modest profit Holmes made doesn’t seem like much of an amount for Holmes to commit murder for,  given how eager Minnie was to help him lie, cheat, and steal it seemed illogical for Holmes to kill her as well.

If we can believe a minor detail in his autobiography, he had been considering high-stakes insurance fraud for a decade before his execution. There had always been a missing ingredient, the lack of which made his plans too dangerous to implement. Necessity may have been that ingredient. Chicago had gotten less and less safe for Holmes since the insurance company started investigating the castle fire and him moving would mean leaving several sham businesses behind, so he may have wanted big money, fast. Rather than a necessity, the habit may have driven him to kill Ben Pitezel. Having gotten away with a string of murders, he’d learned he didn’t have to make murder a last resort.

In 1894, Holmes left Chicago to first go to Colorado, then go to Texas. In Denver, there was money that Minnie had left unclaimed, in which Holmes took for himself as he made himself Minnie’s next of kin on her life insurance policy. While in Denver, Holmes married again. This was his third marriage if you count only the wives he didn’t kill. Counting Emeline Cigrand and Minnie Williams brings the total to five.

Along with his new bride, Holmes went to Fort Worth. Financial security was to be provided by Ben Pitezel’s life insurance, a $10,000 policy had been taken out months before, with Holmes paying the premiums. It was at this point that Holmes made two crucial mistakes; the first was stealing horses in Texas, the second was blabbing about his insurance scheme in jail for stealing said horses. Holmes had borrowed horses and sold them, just as he had borrowed and sold bicycles and furniture before. His second mistake happened after he left Fort Worth to hide out in St Louis, Missouri. The same-old hustles that worked so well in Chicago got him into immediate trouble there. Though he had a shot at building up a new drugstore business, he decided instead to rip off his suppliers. Holmes was arrested and jailed, while he was awaiting bail, he met a criminal hero of his and asked a favor he would come to regret.

Marion Hedgepeth, a train robber who was famous for the shine on his shoes, shared a cell with Holmes. Probably feeling they were kindred spirits, Holmes bragged about the insurance scheme to him and asked if Hedgepeth knew a lawyer filthy enough to want in on the action. Hedgepeth did. He gave Holmes the referral but later flipped on Holmes in the hope of getting time knocked off his sentence. It didn’t work, but that was no comfort to Holmes. In the end, Hedgepeth didn’t get time off. He was parolled in 1906, went back to crime, and got shot holding up a Chicago saloon in 1909.

Ben Pitezel moved to Philadelphia, PA in August 1894. On September 1st, Holmes visited him, killed him, and rigged the scene to look like an accident. It was a failed attempt at tricking the police, however. Since the murder was done with chloroform. Holmes then broke a bottle, poured it over Pitezel’s head, and set his hair aflame with a book of matches. When the body was found three days later, the doctor on the scene said it couldn’t have been an accident. A second party had clearly been involved. Still, there was no evidence tying that second party to Holmes. Carrie Pitezel, Ben’s widow, knew about the scheme. Like her husband, she’d been told that the body would not be Ben’s, but a substitute. To claim the insurance money, Holmes needed a family member to identify the rotting corpse. When Carrie fell ill, he lured 15-year-old Alice Pitezel to do the job. Alice ID’d her weeks-dead dad by his teeth. The insurance company cut a check for $10,000. The crooked lawyer Holmes had hired took $2500. Three hundred was spent on expenses. All but $500 of the rest went to Holmes.

Holmes claimed that the money was for a purchase Holmes financed with Pitezel and he had not been paid back. The purchase was a Fort Worth property which was owned by Minnie Williams. Instead of walking away with $6700 in his pockets with his newest wife, Gerogiana Yoke, under one of his numerous alais’, his greed drove him to set out on a mission to exterminate the Pitezels. Over the next several weeks, Holmes separated Carrie Pitezel from her children: Alice and a younger boy and a younger girl. 

Holmes and Georgiana moved separately, Holmes being the only one he and his wife were following the two groups, none of the groups were aware of any other, though they visited the same cities, often riding the same trains at different times. Only Holmes knew they were on each other’s trail. Philly to Cinncinatti to Indianapolis to Detroit, with stops in between. Toronto, Canada, and Ogdensburg, New York. Carrie went where she was told because her husband was supposed to be waiting at the end of the tracks. Holmes said, “Minnie Williams” was taking care of 15-year-old Alice, 12-year-old Nellie, and 8-year-old Howard while Carrie rode the rails. Carrie didn’t know Minnie had been dead for more than a year. She also didn’t know her children were staying in hotels within miles of her own.

Holmes kept a collection of letters from mother to children and vice versa. Occasionally, he even delivered letters, some he likely wrote himself, cribbing phrases he’d heard from the children, whom he soon would kill off to gain their insurance money. Howard was the first to go. Most likely, he ate poisoned eggs. Teeth and chunks of his skull were found in the flue of a stove in a rented house in Holmes’ name. All of the remains of Alice and Nellie were recovered. They had been stripped naked and buried in a shallow half-basement. Holmes described running gas into a trunk he shut them in, but there was no gas in the house. Their cause of death was unclear, but police found no evidence supporting Holmes’ statements regarding their deaths. Only the method of their burial is known. Holmes borrowed the shovel from a neighbor, saying he wanted to make a place for potatoes.

Holmes then took time off from assassination to visit his hometown in Vermont, an act which continues to puzzle investigators to this day as there was no apparant reason as to why Holmes would suddenly want to go off the grid. After all, there was always money to be made. In his hometown was Holmes’ first wife, Clara, as well as their son Robert. Robbie was 15, the same age as Alice. The Mudgetts hadn’t heard from Holmes in six years. He sent a letter saying he’d recovered from amnesia and was welcomed with open arms. Even though there was news that he’d married a lovely nurse who tended him after a railway accident.

The peace Holmes sought at home didn’t last as good things came to an end. Soon after Vermont, he was busted in Boston, where he’d taken Georgiana to finish their vacation. She had enjoyed the trip so far – staying at the best hotels, going for nights at the opera, ignoring the chemical smell her husband carried around. It was the Pinkerton Detective Agency who brought Holmes down, in cooperation with the Boston P. D. and investigator W. E. Gary of Fidelity Mutual, the insurance company who had paid for Ben Pitezel’s death. Train robber Hedgepeth had spilled the beans by this time. The crooked lawyer likewise confessed to irregularities. A long list of fraud victims were found who stood ready to condemn Holmes’ character in court. Holmes then quickly confessed to insurance fraud. Ben Pitezel wasn’t Ben Pitezel, he said, just some dumb corpse. Newspapers picked up the cover story and ran. From November 1894 to July 1895, fragments of truth were uncovered. After being transferred to Philadelphia and charged with murdering Ben, Holmes claimed Minnie Williams was keeping the children. He had the District Attorney place a coded personal ad asking Minnie to get in touch. Minnie never came forward. 

The Chicago castle’s strange construction caused an excavation to be ordered to start on July 20th, 1895. Clumps of ash were mistaken for rib bones and reported as such. Lists of possible victims were written that included the living and the dead. It’s a mistake to think TV invented the media circus. Crowds flocked to the Murder Castle, spurred on by newspaper coverage. On Sunday, July 28th, 4900 gawkers were turned away by police, while a hundred were allowed to trample the crime scene. Over the months that followed, the bodies of the Pitezel children were found. A lawyer for Holmes managed to convince the judge not to allow evidence about any murder but Ben Pitezel’s to be discussed in court. It was one of the defense’s only victories. Twelve jurors convicted Holmes of killing Ben. His appeals were denied. When he stood at last on the gallows, he insisted once more that the only lives he had ever taken were Julia’s and Emeline’s, in the botched abortion surgeries. According to a doctor who observed the hanging, Holmes died instantly of a broken neck, though his body twitched for several minutes after that.

A long-standing rumor held that Holmes escaped his death. He was supposed to have bribed guards and priests to screen him from witnesses while he swapped places with a dead body. Though the story was never taken that seriously, the rumor that he lived to wreak vengeance on people associated with his trial persisted until recently. Jeff Mudgett, the great-great-grandson of Holmes, attempted to prove the rumor in 2017. In a televised excavation, Holmes was unearthed from his grave, which involved consulting old records of where the grave was since it wasn’t marked. The excavators had to dig through concrete. Holmes feared his body would be desecrated, so he took extreme measures. After the excavators dealt with some extra protection Holmes had put in that scholars didn’t even know about, his DNA was found to be a close match to Jeff Mudgett’s. It turns out, he was dead the whole time. Unsurprisingly, rumors about Holmes didn’t stop when he did. Sloppy reporting and deliberate myth-making continued to mislead the public for decades to come. Holmes is remembered today mostly for what he might have done, rather than the crimes he actually committed.

~brianna

[real-fanta-sea]

Red thread trash - AU Trikey fanfic

Hey! I promised to upload my fanfic here as well - find it right below the “Keep reading” button. Let me know what you think about it - your feedback fuels me like anything else :) I included some minor hints of pop culture/literature every now and then and generally had a great time writing it even though it’s still short.  I plan on updating it soon so if you like it, stay tuned :) Chapter 1 -  My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense “You are sick, dickhead!” That was all she was able to spit out before shutting the door with such force all the yellowish photos on walls thumped the disgusting, bleached out wallpaper they were attached to. It was getting dark and a sharp sound sent shockwaves through creeping silence of the night. Tired street lamps gave out eerie orange light which sculpted everything in soft outlines and gave a fine monochrome touch to washed-out colours of the early evening. Dust, startled by the outburst, sat back on surfaces it originally sat on, creating a delicate icing on the ugly cake of an apartment it was in. It was full to the brim, filled with dying cacti in flower pots, virgin self-improvement books, some of them sealed in original plastic, action figures, statues, souvenirs from places so distant and abstract no one ever heard of them, old calendars and along with dozens of empty ball pens an assorted clutter of a bachelor. It was a miracle the small, one-room apartment did not explode with everything stored inside. On the wall next to the door, the landline phone decided to commit what it’s silent owner contemplated for years and fell down from the holder, and hit the ground with an ugly crunch. The sound made the owner snap from lethargy. Up to now, he only stood in the middle of the place, staring at the door emotionless.

 He felt nothing but a gentle touch of the street light and bags under his eyes growing heavier. When he heard what happened to his world link, he blinked and with a sigh, he took a step forward and hanged the phone back to the holder, inspecting it only to find nothing broke so far. “There, there, not today- You’ll outlive me, little friend” he let out a raspy mumble and rub back of his neck with his other hand. He didn’t feel anything out of ordinary. His back hurt a bit from the lair of his improvised bed and his sedentary job - the latter was most likely the culprit there, but he wouldn’t admit it. His stomach rumbled angrily through the thin skin and onto the fabric of his shirt - two cups of ramen a day were not enough to shut it anymore. His nose was full again - and the dust irritated it as much as it annoyed him. Yet somewhere deep inside him, the void seized power a long time ago and he didn’t give a shit about any of these things anymore. For the life of his, he couldn’t bring himself to grieve the recent loss of a lover either. People always came and went, he thought to himself. People always used him. Cheated him. Played him and inevitably left him when he needed them the most. They left him miserable. Vulnerable. Hurt. He didn’t need nor want them anymore. He abided them. He just wanted them all to die a horrible, gruesome death and if possible, to watch the whole process from the first row, bathe in their cries and pleading and enjoy his utter shortage of fucks to give with a wide grin on his face. Aaand it would make the show so much fun if he got to sprinkle his popcorn with a bit of fresh blood! Hell, if he murdered his shrink first, he would help more people than that stupid jerk ever did in his life. Come to think of it... Suddenly, before he could slide any further on his twisted spiral of thoughts, there was a familiar pressure on one of his feet and a soft purr vibrating against his shin. He blinked the mental image of creatively mutilated psychologist away and eyed his pet with a soft smile. The tomcat which settled on his foot was one of the new members of the pack as he prefered to call his furry companions. It gave those obese fluffy balls of fur a feral glamour of feared predators they might have shared with their ancestors. In reality, his pack preferred the luxury of being fed three times a day and shedding hair on his sweatshirts while sleeping wherever they collapsed. The tiny apartment currently held six members including the human one. They were all flawed to perfection, collected from behind the bars and given a new life. John Silver, the tomcat, curled up securely on his master's barefoot, lack one paw to be a complete, light grey cat. He probably lost it in a scientific experiment which went tremendously wrong and accidentally involved an electric can opener and children of his previous master. He never meowed about it but other cats knew anyway. Then there was Jude Hardy, a brown cat who smelled so bad other hissed anytime at her anytime she came close and made her spend life under the kitchen sink. Johny Lemmon had shotgun scars visible through his tabby and white fur - he got them for meowing too loud. Somewhere under the blanket on a bed was a tabby named Ulysses who lost his tail and ear on his way home one day in an accident. Right beside him slept his sister Sybile who was terribly short-sighted and bumped to anything when she attempted walking around the flat. She was there when her brother was hit by the car but there was nothing she could do to prevent it as she didn't see it coming. The only human left in the pack was named Trevor Philips.

With a cat in his arms, he made his way through a maze of full bookshelves and sat heavily into an old armchair, fidgeting to find the perfect angle. Nothing could ever compare to a fuzzy feeling of love he shared with his pack. A soft touch of fur soothed him in a way his prescription pills would never do. Trevor raised his eyes from a purring bundle of joy he held and run his fingertips down its spine, scratching and gently stroking every now and then, completely lost in his own palace of thoughts again. There’s still a couple of hours left till next dose, he thought to himself. He vividly remembered the first week he was forced to medication - a wild roar of anger and disgust from being put on a schedule, from becoming a number not worth anything else but chemical alternation. He hated every touch of an old, naphthalene smelling nurse or the bull kind of a doctor who forced his jaw open to the point it snapped on one wonderful evening. He always had himself for a person not bound by any chains or rules. His persistence in breaking rules and spitting medicine was legendary. Heck, he did it for fun. It gave him all the attention he never had and fuck people who had to pay for it with their health of job. However, one day, he woke up a different person. The mighty, untamed creature he once was was gone, and the only memory it left were nail scratches on sterile white walls of his cell and a variety of body fluids mixed and smeared all over the ceiling in a brutal, honest impersonation of Michelangelo’s chapel. The day the beast went missing was a breaking point. The world he woke up to was void of bright colours. Every bit and piece of his existence felt detached, taken aback, abstract. He would always recall the feeling of cold liquid under his bare feet and a horrid smell that brought him to senses. He never asked the doctor how long he had stood in his own faeces nor did he ask why he pissed blood. He would never tell him. Instead, he got yet another dose of medicals. And he obeyed this time. And every time they came he accepted it. Trevor knew too well they broke him and shaped him like a piece of Tetris puzzle so he could fit in the line. He knew he lost himself in the process. But since he got separated, he couldn’t bring himself to care. And when they eventually let him out of the bright white hell, when they dressed him in a cheap second-hand suit and gave him a small place to live, he didn’t rebel. He obeyed. He followed the lead. He spoke to his shrink. He got a pet. He got a job. He drank water. He ate. He slept. He shat. The same fairy tale noir of a lonely life on repeat forever. He fit the line too well. Trevor let his hand slip from Silver’s back onto an armrest. Orange coloured light from outside mixed with neon from a place he could see through a narrow alley which led to his block of flats. A bright red, intrusive and obscene. A moth trap set up with fresh meet every week, he thought to himself. He eyed the place from his armchair and looked around. His last love interest came from that bar. All she left behind was a used toothbrush in a plastic cup on a kitchen sink, a pair of bob pins under the bed and lingering smell of cheap perfume piercing everything it touched with a brutal force. She was not that different from any other woman he ever knew. Each of them wanted money and stripped men of it by shaking their asses and burying faces into their sagging cleavages. Even if they did not admit it, be it high-class wive all glamour and chic or a grey mouse of an accountant in his shithole of a job, they all were miserable whores, bitches not worth a dollar yet they would surely kill for it if given a chance. They all wore insufferable perfumes and fake smiles that made his blood boil. Unfortunately, when he got a job as an assistant in a small branch of a Fleeca bank, he had no idea the place would be full of such creatures. He recalled the first day of work with a sigh, being yelled at for not bringing a latte for accountants, then for not fetching paper clips fast enough, and then again and again till he was let out in the afternoon, completely stripped of dignity and quite frankly, he didn’t even have the energy to sustain one at given time. Now that the fifth year of his atonement passed by, all he wanted was to burn the place down as a celebration. He hasn’t done it yet. His favourite coffee mug was there and he chose not to risk such a loss. The red light took over and illuminated his way when he carefully put Silver down and took a couple of careful steps towards an old cupboard and let it moan its screech into the night. With a light chuckle, he grabbed the colourful box realising they made his mind work in schedules and tech plans. He never put it on the same place two days in a row when he first came there. Now it had its fucking place right beside unused penis-shaped pasta he received in secret Santa game at work a couple of years ago. They had their place too. Never moved an inch. Trevor popped the lid and slid an elephant worth of pills into the palm of his. Funny how everything looks like candy a second before you start tripping balls. He knew the thrill too well. Fishing a dirty glass out of the sink, filling it with piss some still called water and swallow it like an obedient little bitch he was. Good, good. Let them keep you alive or let them kill you in ways which are not as fun as drugs. As he felt the chemicals taking rule over him, everything was good somehow. The room swayed. The colours exploded. He fell on the bed. Good. Good. Good.

[esculentevil]

Septic Scripts: Canti Cong

Jameson: [pokes head through doorway; makes a beckoning gesture; smiles]

Anti: [in the shape of a void black cat; fears nothing, not even curiosity; follows]

Jameson: [giddily leads the almost foot long feline to his personal stage room]

Anti: [stands by the door, observing as Whiskey hurries over to his camera]

Jameson: [double checks that the recording equipment is ready for them before grabbing a pull cord on his left and beckoning an incentive to Canti, yet again]

Anti: [realizes the chord is for the red, velvet curtains in the center of the room; also realizes the mute Ego wants him to actually go to aforementioned curtains; surprised; cautiously (but still fearlessly) goes to the stage waiting in the center]

Jameson: [claps thrice like Seán counts down and claps before recording]

Anti: [twitches an ear and stares at him]

Jameson: [gives Canti a thumbs up and pulls the cord]

Anti: [watches the curtain go up; realizes the camera is already recording; stares down at the stage revealed: a tiny town with tiny townsfolk; confused]

Jameson: [snaps fingers to get Canti’s attention; signs for the AntiCat to play]

[Anti stares at Jameson for a silent, still moment before turning to the tiny town; understanding, now, what he’s supposed to do, Canti raises up on his hind legs before, like a monster, pouncing on all the toys laid out domestically before him; puppets go flying, barbie houses are destroyed, even the layout gets cracked; and Whiskey happily films it all, switching between preset cameras for different angles and shot types and lighting effects and even some really good close ups; when the debris settles, Canti sits happily with a tiny, mutilated doll in his maw; there’s dust in his fur, pieces of buildings and bodies stuck to his small form, and the long hairs of his fluffy scruff and tail have snagged on the miniature rubble in a way reminiscent of demonic tentacles or tendrils from a literal Lovecraft being.]

Jameson: [excitedly claps to let Canti know they’re done; runs up and pets him before waving to the camera (rather: the audience) and drawing the curtains]

Anti: [purrs at being pet; flicks the tip of his tail, pleased; chews the dead doll]

Jameson: [silently laughs; signs:] Good show, ol’ chap! Better than even Kong! Now... What setting shall we destroy next?

((For those wondering: Whiskey is my Anti’s nickname for JJ since Jameson is a whiskey brand; he also uses it because he thinks it’s highly ironic [because Chase is the alcoholic Ego, not JJ]; this is also tied into the fact that Seán, himself, seems to associate JJ with Suntory Whiskey.))

((Also, did you All know that Cong is actually a word? It means several different things but, really, I was most amused intrigued by it being “ a form of ancient Chinese jade artifact.” I mean, the title of this piece was just a play on King Kong, sort of like Futurama’s Queen Quong, you know? But, instead, I end up accidentally calling Canti a jade vessel from ancient China. I love it, lmao!))

((Lastly, this is the Fifth script in a series I’m calling Canti the AntiCat; the rest of the scripts are:  Part One [+Seán], Part Two [+Jackie], Part Three [+Henrik], and finally Part Four [+Chase]. There’s also, now, a reference pic of Canti that I drew! If you’d like to see how I envision him.))

[purple-spring]

In here, too.

Post-2x12 extended moment.

Summary: The Jones trailer was a document of their story - of their love, their wounds and their scars. Tonight, they were writing a new chapter.

“Betty’s limbs were imbued with a will of their own, and though she was slowed by the headiness of the moment, she had never felt more sure of herself, or of what she was doing.

He wanted her. Needed her.

And she was going to give it all to him.”

Author’s notes: My first smutty fic, so please be kind! Thank you to the incredible @jandjsalmon and @theatreofexpression for all your help, encouragement and support as I wrote this, and to @aunt-imogene for the gorgeous gif.

Read below the cut, or here on my Ao3.

The Jones trailer was dotted with remnants of their history.

From where she sat, Betty had a clear view of everything. The spot in the living room where he first told her that he loved her. The kitchen counter where he had lifted her roughly, his mouth hot and searching on hers, overcome with passion. The door he creaked open to an ominous crowd of Serpents, who handed him his own jacket. The couch where they had fallen asleep the night they were investigating the Black Hood.

And where they sat now, silently watching TV.

What chapter of our history is this supposed to be? Betty pondered the question as she glanced at him tentatively. They were seated away from each other, their bodies not even touching, yet painfully, the closest they’d been in weeks. Her shoes were off and his beanie was lying flat on the space next to him - small items of clothing discarded casually, as though they were learning to be exposed and unguarded around each other all over again.  

The last 24 hours had been a blur. By some twist of fate, they had fallen into the old rhythms of Betty and Jughead, Sleuthing Duo Extraordinaire, all over again. It felt familiar. It felt right.

But there was something else there - something aching and tender that lingered beneath the dynamic energy that came from bouncing ideas off each other and pursuing leads. To Betty’s surprise, Jughead had broached the subject of their relationship and had been open and vulnerable, apologising to her and owning up to so much - his regret over their breakup, his misdemeanours with Toni, his brief time as a drug mule, and his mutilation of Penny Peabody.

He was laying it all out for her, exposing himself willingly after weeks of shutting himself away from her.

And she was overwhelmed.

What does this mean for us? She looked over to him, fought the urge to reach out and touch his face. Is there still an ‘us’ to be salvaged from the wreck?

Jughead turned the television off. “Good old Hiram Lodge,” he muttered. “I wonder what he’s planning for us. On the Southside.”

She contemplated the question silently. “Maybe we can ask Veronica on Monday.” Oh god, Veronica. Betty winced at the thought of her best friend being drawn into this mess. How does she fit into all this? For the most part, she may have been reeling from the suddenness of being thrust back into Jughead’s sphere again, but still, she couldn’t help but wonder about what would become of them - Veronica, Archie, Jughead, herself. Even Josie and Cheryl. The children of Riverdale. The victims of their parents’ histories.

“Yeah.” Jughead sighed. “Maybe we should just investigate quietly, until we know more.”

Betty nodded, acquiescing.

“We haven’t saved the trailer park yet. And I’m on probation from the Serpents, whatever that means. Because of what I did to Penny.”

What I did to Penny. The thought of it still unsettled her. He hadn’t gone into detail, but Betty knew him enough not to feel angry or incensed - instead, she could only feel unbearable sadness at the desperation he must have been driven to, to feel as though he had no other option than to do what he did.

“But we stopped her from coming back,” Jughead conceded. “ And we got rid of Tall Boy.”

“ We. ” She couldn’t help it. Her face broke out into an involuntary smile. “It’s just nice to hear that again.” And it was. After the many lonely nights that followed their breakup, the dark days of the Black Hood, the emotional rollercoaster of finding her brother and being led into the sordid, clandestine world he inhabited, sitting here with Jughead felt… good. Stable.

He turned to her. “ Look, I’ll be apologising for it for the rest of my life, but I’m sorry. I am.” Betty looked up at him, and saw that his eyes were filled with remorse. “For feeling like I needed to shield you from what I was going through with the Serpents, or… my darkness.” He scoffed at that last word, seeming to cringe at the cliche, but finding nothing better to describe the bleakness of his world without her.

“I can handle it.” And I want to, she added silently.

“I know,” he responded, as if reading her thoughts. “I know you can.”

Betty exhaled. The weight of his words stirred something in her, and suddenly the door she had worked so hard to close since their breakup flew wide open, inviting her to walk through again. And though every part of her longed to do just that, she felt tentative and scared. There was still so much that she needed to tell him. So much that she feared to divulge.

She sighed, her yearning overcome by common sense. “I should probably…” she broke off. You should stay. You should stay. You should stay. “…start heading home.”

The fragile bubble of their moment deflated. But what else was she supposed to do? This had to be enough for her, for now - the simple hope that they weren’t done yet. She needed to leave on that note, because she wanted to fall asleep tonight with that hope tucked away into her heart.

“Or you could stay,” he said, in a half-whisper.

Oh.

Betty stared straight ahead, alarmed by the sudden turn of events and afraid that if she so much as breathed in his direction, she’d betray just how desperately she needed to hear him say that - a direct reversal of their ill-fated conversation in front of the Whyte Wyrm, when he told her to go home. This was anything but that. He was inviting her into his home, into himself. No more pushing each other away.

I guess it didn’t stick, after all.

She exhaled slowly, releasing a breath that had been constricting her chest. She still couldn’t bear to look at him, not now when every part of her - body, heart, mind and soul - was clicking into place as it pointed her to one inevitable conclusion.

“Stay,” he repeated.

His fingers grazed the edge of her dress, a wordless request for her consent. His eyes were fixed on her, all but begging. His mouth hung open, parted as it lingered on the remnants of that single word. Stay.

Betty’s limbs were imbued with a will of their own, and though she was slowed by the headiness of the moment, she had never felt more sure of herself, or of what she was doing.

He wanted her. Needed her.

And she was going to give it all to him.

…

Betty’s heart was clamorous in her chest as their lips met for the first time in what felt like an eternity. She felt curious rather than shocked at the sight of herself climbing up to straddle his lap and pin him against the couch. How did her body even know how to do such things? Then she remembered who she was kissing, remembered that his touch incinerated her unlike anything or anyone she had ever known, and she knew that the answer to that question was tied up entirely in him.

This is your doing, Jughead Jones. This is –

A sharp, metallic sound interrupted her thoughts, and suddenly she was aware of goosebumps raising on the bare flesh on her back as it met the cold air. He had unzipped her dress, and his hands now frantically, expertly grasped the hems, sliding them forward, away from her body.

If there had been any question about where this was going, they were swiftly answered in that one motion. She was now partially naked, her dress bunched around her waist, her silken lavender bra exposed. Hungrily, Jughead continued to kiss her, but his mouth now wandered downwards and away from her mouth, to her neck, her chest, the top of her breasts, leaving a trail of heat in its wake, every coherent thought undone. Underneath her, his desire was making itself evident as she felt his length harden against her, right where she was already growing wetter by the second. On instinct, her hips pressed forward, wanting this, wanting him with a primal, possessive fierceness. He bucked up in response, and she felt a jolt of pure, white-hot pleasure shooting through her body.

“W-wait, wait, wait…” she managed to breathe out. He barely let up, his lips now making quick work of her collarbone. “I need to tell you something.”

If Jughead heard her, it would’ve been entirely accidental. He was completely focused on her, and she remembered now how he always had a thing for kissing her neck, for nipping his teeth at her pulse point in a way that always elicited a breathy moan (which she always had to bite back whenever they were making out on her bed, afraid of the thin walls and of Alice Cooper’s wrath). She knew that if she didn’t physically pull away, he wouldn’t have paid her any heed.

“What?” he panted. “What is it?”

S he felt her body screaming at her, protesting now as Jughead’s lips left her skin. Yes, Betty, it huffed at her. What IS it?

She looked down at him - his head slightly tilted, questioning, his eyes soft and vulnerable but darkened by lust, his face flushed by the heat from its contact with her skin. She had stopped them with the intention of telling him the truth - which truth, she could barely say herself. There were… a few, to put it mildly.

But they were immediately overwhelmed and overtaken by the one truth that mattered most in that moment.

That she loved him. That she never stopped. Couldn’t stop.

And that this - this swirling storm of passion and lust that churned between them, even now as they were parted - was long overdue.

She decided to tell him that truth.

“Nothing,” she whispered in response to his question. Her fingers grazed his bare chest, longing to undo his shirt. “I just… want you. I want all of you. Tonight.”

All of him. Every last inch. Every shade of light and dark. Everything.

If Jughead was impassioned before, her words clearly switched on another gear. She watched him, with a faint sense of pride and smug pleasure, as his eyes grazed greedily over her breasts, evidently seconds away from ravishing them with his mouth.

No, she thought, as she gently tilted his chin up and pulled him in for a searing kiss. Not yet.

Betty needed him in slow motion, at least for now. Needed to savour each second of this encounter. To store up every last frame of it in her memory.

Jughead instinctively picked up on the hint and circled his arms around her bare waist, leaning into the kiss, gentler than before. She sighed into his mouth, their tongues tangling together as they sought a softer intimacy.

How long they spent there, suspended in the leisurely heat of their kiss, Betty had no idea. But as she felt his fingers inching their way up again to the clasp of her bra, she quickly decided that she’d had enough of being the only one naked on the couch. She broke away from their kiss and swiftly pulled him up by his suspenders, which she promptly slid off his shoulders.

Betty saw surprise register on his face at the abrupt change in pace before leaning forward to kiss him again, this time with her hands busy at his shirt. Her fingers sought flesh, and was rewarded when Jughead reached down and unbuttoned the shirt himself. Mirroring his early movements, she gripped the hems and half-tore the garment off his body, freeing his skin so that it was hers to explore. This time, it was her turn to gawk at him - the sinewy muscles of his frame, the slight shadows made by the ripples on his torso.

She had barely finished sweeping her eyes over the expanse of his skin when he pressed his mouth to her left shoulder, the lacy strap of her bra falling off as it gave way to his persistent need to taste her. Leaving a trail of hot breath in their wake, his lips caressed the downward slope of her right breast, and she tilted her head back, closing her eyes in ecstasy as she bit back a cry.

Jughead noticed that and pulled her closer to him, pressing his mouth against her ear. “You’re here with me, Betty, not in your room,” he murmured against her earlobe. “Let me hear you. Please.”

She was so caught up in the urgency of that whisper that she was stunned when her bra suddenly came loose, his clever fingers having worked the clasp, her breasts now freed and exposed to his hungry stare. As he bent down and took one peaked nipple into his mouth, the moans she had worked so hard to stop in her throat pierced the air of the empty trailer, fast and breathless.

“Yeah, Betts, that’s it,” he said, murmuring against her skin. She rocked on top of him, her pussy wet and in desperate need of friction. He was right there with her, thrusting his hardness up against her, and she thought - in between the ministrations of his mouth and the wandering of his hands - that if they kept this up any longer, she’d probably end up reeling over the edge of an orgasm before she even knew it.

Jughead broke away and looked up at her, their eyes level. “Turn around,” he said, his voice low but assertive, no trace of softness or vulnerability evident.

Betty arched an eyebrow at him as she stood up, discarding her dress on the couch, her body completely naked, save for her lacy lavender briefs.

“Wait,” he said, interrupting her as she began to turn. “Can you…? Just stand there for me.”

Betty obeyed him tentatively. They had done some fooling around prior to their break-up, but she had never been this nude in front of him before. His eyebrows were knitted together, his brow furrowed as he looked her over. Betty grew nervous as his silence extended.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, nothing,” he said, his voice ragged, reverent. “You’re just… you’re breathtaking, Betty.”

His words reduced her to a hot, wanton mess. He inched forward in his seat and drew her closer, planting a flutter of a kiss on her abdomen while his hands grazed the back of her thighs. He reached up to cup her ass, then hooked his fingers underneath the flimsy material of her underwear, dragging it down slowly over her lithe, shapely legs.

Her heart was hammering in her ribs as his hands gripped her hips and swivelled her around before pulling her naked form down onto his lap, with the two of them facing in the same direction. Immediately, Betty saw why he wanted her positioned this way: his hands reached around, firmly groping her full, pert breasts.

Jughead’s hands had wandered before, and she had actively encouraged him, but those incursions upon her body were nothing like this: forward, dominant and sure. Perhaps the darkening days of Riverdale were propelling this need: if tomorrow can’t be promised, if death and danger were right around the corner, then…

“ Fuck, Betts.” He swore as she reached behind her to stroke his cock. Sitting up slightly, he pressed his mouth up against her jaw, whispering and groaning her name, loosening forth a stream of words incoherent, sweet and filthy all at once. In rare moments of lucidity, she watched her body in fascination as it squirmed and contorted in response to him, her legs spreading wide open, begging for him to touch her. When his fingers finally found her throbbing entrance, her back arched right off him, she let out an obscene moan, and he threw an arm around her to hold her down against his body.  

“Stay with me,” he commanded. Her breath was coming out in wild spurts now as he traced circles on her clit. It took all of her restraint not to bear down and have the whole thing over quickly. She was frantic for release, but she needed more than that tonight; she needed intimacy.

Jughead slipped a finger into her, slowly at first, gauging her reaction. “Keep going,” she pleaded, and with one slick movement he buried it in. Her cries were pure and primal as he pumped it in and out of her, his voice still raspy in her ear, his other hand working her breast as she writhed in ecstasy.

The tightness that was winding up in her abdomen was now building up to an eruption. Betty recognised the onslaught, and reached up to grab a firm hold of Jughead’s hair - not enough to pull, but certainly enough to be felt. “I’m… I’m nearly…”

“Let me feel it, Betts,” he muttered into her ear as he nipped on her earlobe and pressed down on her clit. “Every bit of it.”

She clamped her pelvis down into his hand, shamelessly fucking his finger. “Jug. I’m, oh god , I–”

Explosions of white behind her eyes. Her mouth forming a silent, salacious scream. Every muscle taut with pleasure as she rode wave after wave. Then, just as she thought it had died down, the aftershocks of her orgasm shuddered through her body like small tremors.

It could’ve been seconds or hours later - she wasn’t sure. Time suddenly felt fluid, irrelevant. Her body lay limp in Jughead’s arms as he kissed her neck, which was now covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

“Jug… please. In me.” Her breath hitched and she was on the verge of incoherence as the last quivers of their encounter shook out of her.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder before looking around the living room. “Here? You don’t want to move to the bed?”

If he had asked her the same question on that night when he unceremoniously slammed her against the kitchen cabinets, she would have undoubtedly said yes. After all, his bed was the trailer’s closest approximation to how she’d pictured their first time in her mind: a small, quaint cottage in the middle of nowhere, a four-poster bed covered in damask curtains, roses on the sheets, candles on the floor.

But she had tended to his wounds on this couch. Fallen asleep in it while enveloped in his arms. Sat upon it with him through happiness and tension and peace and instability.

It was perfect.

“No,” she whispered, as she turned around. “I want this. I want you. Right here.”

Jughead didn’t need to be told twice, as he undid his belt and pushed down his trousers, his hard length springing forth. Betty straddled him again and immediately started kissing him, her wetness slick on his cock. In between kisses, he managed to ask her, “Are you still…? Do I need to…?”

“I’m on the pill, yeah,” she murmured.

He leaned back and looked at her. “If you want… I can still get a condom, Betty. It’s no big deal.”

“No, no,” she protested, before fixing her stare on him. “I said I wanted all of you, Jug. I… I want to feel you, too.”

Jughead could only nod dumbly, much too overcome for speech. He wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a soft, sweet kiss. They locked eyes, and she nodded in assent. Yes. Now.  

Betty sat up off his lap and lowered herself gently, gingerly, onto him. She hissed through her teeth as she felt her walls expand suddenly upon his entrance, a sharp pang of pain shooting through her body. Jughead groaned as he was buried to the hilt, but kept his eyes on her. As she winced, he grabbed her hands, gently prying her fingers open before kissing her palms, right where her scars were.

Betty was suddenly less alert to the pain and more conscious of the significance of that gesture. How was it that the person who had shattered her world just moments earlier was now being so gentle, so tender? She looked down at him before tucking her hair behind her ear, and bending down to kiss his shoulder - the very same one that Toni had tattooed with the symbol of his loyalty to the South.

When she said she wanted all of him, she meant it.

Every mistake. Every misdemeanour. Every dark and hidden corner.

Jughead began to thrust up into her, and though some remnant of pain lingered behind, she began to sense how this might feel good, how she might want to try it again, and soon. He leaned back on the couch, taking her forward with him, and the new angle sent sparks of pleasures through her. Slowly, they began to build a rhythm - thrust, grind, up, down.

She clenched down on him, experimenting with the sensation, wanting to see what he liked, what made him feel good. At times, he stopped their rhythm in order to press her down onto him, lapping up her tits, ravishing them again with his mouth. As he built up pressure, his speed increasing, she sensed it; he was nearing the brink, and he was ready for freefall.

She pushed up against him, grinding, bucking up her hips with wild abandon, the pain now a distant memory. He groaned his appreciation, all words lost in incoherent bliss, only sensation remaining. Tight. Wet. Euphoria. Faster, she rode him, every part of her thrumming and throbbing and present in the moment.

“Betts, I’m–”

“Yes, Jug,” She closed her eyes. “Yes.”

“I’m about to –”

His body tensed. Their voices mingled as they said each other’s names in tandem - her voice a whisper; his, a muted shout. Seconds of stunned silence followed as he wordlessly buried his head in her neck before breaking out into a deeper, more guttural groan. Betty held on to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as his warm release filled her. A final moan escaped his lips before he collapsed back into the couch.

A small laugh escaped her lips. 

Holy.

Shit.

 …

Later on, after they were both cleaned up and somewhat dressed, they did end up on his bed, only because she was cold and the couch was too narrow for them to lie on. His arm was slung lazily over her bare stomach, their legs entangled, their silence a comfort.

“I need to go home soon,” she finally said, her tone regretful as she stared at all the missed calls on her phone.

Jughead drew her closer. “You’re home here.”

Betty smiled and turned so that she was facing him. “I know. I am.”

She kissed him before she sat up and got off the bed, the soreness in her legs a pleasant reminder of their encounter. He groaned as she stood up, loathe to part with her. As she slipped her dress back on, combing her fingers through her hair, he fixed his eyes on her, unrelenting.

“You feel okay?” he asked.

“I’ve never been better, Juggie.”

“Good,” he said. “Do you want a ride home or something?”

“No, I’ve got the car,” she replied, somewhat reluctantly, the temptation to feel him between her legs again sorely inviting. “Thank you, though.”

They both fell quiet.

Three unsaid words hung in the air between them. It had been a while since either of them had verbalised it. If she really thought about it, Betty supposed that it might be nice to hear themselves say it. Complete the circle, as it were.

But the night had made that redundant, at least for now. And there were many nights ahead of them. Many days in which they could let it be said, whether whispered against a pillow or uttered in conversation or screamed at the height of pleasure.

Betty looked around Jughead’s room. She thought of the trailer, how it framed and reflected their story, and what her presence in his room now said about the next sequence in their narrative.

The Underwood typewriter she had given him sat proudly on his desk. His small library of books was piled high on the floor. His Serpent jacket was draped over a chair. His bedsheets of dark plaid were soft and inviting.

All of a sudden, she knew the three words that she wanted to and could say, right here and right now. They came out of pure desire, but also out of the promise that the chapters of their history had not shuddered to a halt; that they were being written again.

“In here, too,” she half-whispered to herself.

Jughead smiled, not quite catching it. “What was that?”

“In here, too,” she repeated more clearly. “It’ll happen again, and it’ll happen in here. You and me. We’ll make this ours.”

“‘Ours’,” he exhaled. “I like that.”

She stooped down to kiss him one more time. Quietly, she made it a vow. Imbued it with her love, her desire, her passion for him. Whispered into it the memory of tonight. Made it a wish for an infinite amount of tomorrows.

“Yeah,” she said, her laughter on his lips. “Ours.”

[afaye1999]

Ever At Your Side [Final Fantasy XV]

Tagging: @jojopitcher @momokitty27 @alice250598 @amicitonia @its-lunafreya

I want to apologize, like always, for any mistakes or misspellings. I didn't have someone proof-read this before posting, So I have no idea how good this is, so I hope you guys enjoy. I also want to say sorry for how late it is.

Chapter 3:

Young Gods, That's What they'll call them. 

All of Eos at their disposal

Life is a tricky subject. It's not easy like death. Death is swift; Cold. Death shows no mercy for the young and comforts the old. Death is sweet like chocolate late at night, while life is bitter like black ebony coffee early in the mornings. Death releases you while life constrains you. Confines you. 

Right, Left, Right.

Left, Right, Left.

She, the one who takes lives into her own hands. She, the one who plays Grimm Reaper nearly every waking minute of her life, should know the differences between life and death. She should know that her life wasn't hers to begin with. It belongs to Insomnia. To the Kings of Lucis. Whether that be King Regis or the Crowned Prince Noctis. She was brought into the world unwillingly and forced into slavery. To be ruled by the King until the day Death decides to come for her.

"Ours..."

The flashbacks of her dream a few nights ago replay in her head. Her fists dented the leather punching bag. Her hands, although wrapped and protected, forming bruises underneath their protective coverings.  Insomnia, Eos, hers? To share with the prince? No. This world may be at her sinful little finger tips, but it would, could never be hers. What if though? What if this was her destiny?

"Hey."

She jumped. A sore hand presses to her sweaty chest as she relaxed. She inhaled through her nose and opened her eyes, sending a glare to the future King.

"Your Highness," She greeted, a small bow acted out before she returned to her punching bag, "is there something you need?" Her tone was a little more harsh than intended. Her punches became rougher and she couldn't help but notice Noctis flinch when her fist collided with the leather.

Noctis felt nervous. Her harsh tone didn't help much either. He caught every bead of sweat drip from her forehead. Every strand of hair that jerked and fell from the loosely tied bun at the back of her head. He fumbled with his words.

"Uh.. Nah, nope. Just, uh.." he stuttered as he rubbed the back of his neck. He caught her eyes flicker towards him before she stopped and caught the punching back. Her eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"Training with Gladiolus..?" He said, sounding like he was asking more of a question.

"Mm," she hummed, "I'll get out of your way, Your Highness." She bowed once more before picking up her towel and half empty bottle of water. She slipped past him and towards the open training room doors. Gladio passed her as he entered the room.

"[Y/N]."

She nodded her head and continued her way out.

"What was she doing here?" Gladio asked the prince, curiosity on his face as he jabbed a thumb behind him. Noctis shook his head as he sat his bag down.

"Training, I guess.." He mumbled out, every few seconds, his eyes would flicker towards the door wondering if she would come back. 

"Figures. She's normally out of here before we arrive for our session."

"You mean, she's here every morning? Like you guys talk?" Noctis asked, his face becoming flushed at the last statement. Gladio chuckled as he threw Noctis's blade towards him and picked up his own.

"Nah, but I know of her, people in the Crownsgaurd are chatty. She's a glaive. She tends to hang with Nyx Ulric the most. I heard she's really good. The king summons her personally when he has something a "normal glaive" can't do. I don't know," He scratched the back of his head, "enough talking. You can fantasize later, lets get to work." He said before swinging his great sword at Noctis, catching the prince off guard.

Noctis's face turned red as he blocked the attack and pushed back with force, "I'm not fantasizing, I was just curious." The prince attacked this time, Gladiolus chuckling at Noctis's embarrassed face.

She glanced once more at the coordinates on her phone before setting it down and slipping on her fingerless leather gloves. Nyx sat next to her drinking the last of whatever was in his cup and shoving the last piece of meat on his wooden skewer in his mouth.

"I gotta head out, Ulric." She said as she stood. Nyx nodded and Crowe frowned.

"So soon?" She asked grimacing at Nyx's ill mannered methods of stuffing his face.

"Yeah, I've put this off long enough." She said, sending a small smirk at Crowe's dis-pleasures.

"Alright, be careful, [Y/N]." Libertus said, waving her off. She gave a small salute to the group and pushed her way out the door.

She spends more time outside of Insomnia than she does inside the city walls. Her bike spurred up the dust on the unused, unpaved streets. The world is quiet besides the voice of her GPS device installed in her bike leading her to a small pit stop in the middle of no where. Every so often a small bird would fly past above her and caw or a few sabertusks would run in the barren pastures next to the road.

Her leather boots hit the ground as she parked. The diner spot the coordinates lead her towards was  a flame. Mutilated and charred bodies were scattered across the parking lot. She pulled the helmet off of her head and hung it on the right handle bar. Her hand pressed to a blade, sheathed, at her side as she pushed through the mess, ashes finding their way from the sky and into her hair. The loud sounds of flesh being ripped from the body and cracking of bones mixed with the crackling of the flames.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

She carefully stepped over the pieces of destroyed building that littered the black top, inching closer towards where the sickening sounds were emitting from. As soon as she rounded a corner of the broken diner, there it was. The cause of the disgusting sounds.

In it's humongous paws were the remains of the informant she was supposed to meet. Chunks of cooked flesh were stuck between it's large, yellowed, canine like teeth and blood stained the blue-gray fur it sported. This behemoth, although still very much huge, is obviously young and a lot smaller than it's parents, ripped the meat off of the body and chomped away at it like it was nothing. Her eyes widened and as she took a step back she accidentally stepped on broken glass, catching the monster's attention.

It huffed out air from his red-stained nose and locked eyes with her, before letting out a loud roar and stomping it's paw onto the skull of the now deformed human. She turned quickly, breaking into a sprint as fast as she could, being sure to leap over scattered debris. The child behemoth chased after her, its loud growls echoing through the area, its large paws making the ground tremor each time they touched the black top. She glanced back quickly, panic setting into her body as it inched closer with each passing second. Its large teeth snapping at her everytime its snout nearly grazed her. 

Out of no where another carnivorous creature hit her from the side flinging her across the destroyed parking lot and farther away from her motor bike. She groaned lowly and rolled over, gasping slightly as she held up her arm blocking the much smaller creature from locking it's jaws on her face. Her arm took the attack and it's teeth buried their way into her flesh. She winced and bit her tongue, keeping the scream she wanted to let out lodged in her throat. She pulled her blade from her side sheath and lunged it through the bottom of sabertusk's skull, the hilt pushing into his almost reptile like skin and the point of the blade piercing through the top of it's head. She quickly pulled it out, blood pulling out onto her as she pushed the creature off. Standing to her feet she saw the behemoth staring at her, ready to charge like an angry bull.

Returning her blade to her side, she glared at the monster, blood from her wound oozed from the torn area and dripped off of her fingers. Her focus shifting from the behemoth to her bike. She broke out into a full on run, heading straight for him. Just before his jaws locked down on her head she dropped to the ground and slid underneath the beast, pushing up quickly before it turned around. She jumped onto her bike frantically staring the engine and speeding out and away from the area, the behemoth trying to chase after her a for a few miles, but giving up after so long.

She hit a few buttons on her phone, speed dialing Cor.

"Something went wrong, I'm on my way back to Insomnia."

Over head, a few of Niflheim's ships flew past her.

Noctis lounged on his couch, scrolling through the pointless apps on his cellular device. He wanted to focus on anything and everything but him leaving to Altissa and having to marry Lunafreya. How is he supposed to marry someone who he, although cares for very much, doesn't love? Not only that, but how was he supposed to marry someone he has dreams of killing?

He groaned catching Ignis's attention, tossing his touch screen phone down on the cushion farthest from him, ignoring the incoming texts from his blond haired best friend.

"What ever is the matter?" Ignis asked, never stopping his task of preparing a small pot if tea for himself.

"Nothing, I'm boutta go pack.." Noctis mumbled, leaving the room after grabbing his phone. Ignis shook his head and pushed his spectacles up.

"Tell Prompto to be ready, that we are leaving early to pick him up." Ignis semi-shouted at the prince so he could hear him. Noctis waved Ignis off and slightly slammed his bedroom door behind him.

She pulled into Hammerhead a little recklessly, nearly crashing the bike. She unmounted, letting it hit the cement in front of the gas pumps and stumbled into the one stop shop. She gripped her arm trying to keep blood from dripping onto the white tile. She walked over to the bandages and gauze and ripped open a few boxes, wrapping her arm up and then heading towards the cashier, slamming some Gil on the counter and pushing out the door, ignoring the looks she was receiving. Outside next to her toppled over motorcycle was a blond headed, busty female bent over inspecting it.

"Excuse me, miss?" She said cautiously, approaching her. 

"Howdy there!" Cindy greeted her with a warm smile, "I hope ya don't mind, I was just checkin out yer fancy bike there."

She shook her head at the blond," Nah, Don't mind at all," She answered the busty girl, " What's your name?" 

"Name's Cindy. I'm Cids granddaughter."

She went to answer her, but her phone rang. It was Cor.

"Sir."

"The King requests to see you immediately. Get back to Insomnia as soon as possible."

"Yes, Sir." She hung up and walked towards her bike, Cindy stepping aside

"If you ever fine yer self in Hammerhead, I'd love to work on yer bike if you don't mind."

She smiled and put her helmet on, "Will do, Cindy. Name's [Y/N] by the way. Nice meeting you." 

Cindy waved bye to her and watched as she pulled off. 

[itskimtaehyung]

Alibi (M)

Detective Jungkook keeps getting himself into trouble… But he can’t stop. Not until he’s caught.

Member/Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, Jungkook x Jimin, Jungkook x Yoongi, Jungkook x @jeonjiah, Jungkook x OC Genre: Detective!Jungkook, SerialKiller!Jungkook, drama, mystery, horror, smut.  Word Count: 20.1k Content/Warnings: Very graphic depictions of death/mutilation/gore, LOTS OF SMUT, necrophilia, strong language, BTS member deaths A/N: This is my first time writing mxm smut so forgive me if it’s not... idk accurate? and I know all the medical stuff isnt 300% accurate please forgive me.

Also special thanks to jeonjiah for letting me use her as a character, @hipsterminseok and @pasteljeonggukk for helping me brainstorm ideas, @taendencies for encouraging me to keep going even when I really did not want to, and @4oclockvmin for being my beta 💕

Where the fuck am I?

Jungkook pried his eyelids open to find himself lying on a bed, the room completely silent aside from the soft whirring of the ceiling fan above him.

I don't have a fan in my room.

It was dark, but the room was just faintly illuminated by the street lamp shining through the window.

He reached a hand out and swept it across the sheets next to him, only to be met by a warm, sedentary lump.

Jungkook sat up, a bit too abruptly, and was met with an intense pounding in his head. He pressed a palm to his forehead, trying to still the room that was spinning around him.

Oh god, how much did I drink?

He always drank too much. It was a habit he picked up during his college days and he could never seem to shake it. However recently, he'd been blacking out more than usual, and it was starting to affect his work.

Jungkook looked over at the naked woman passed out next to him.

Please be alive.

He reached out two fingers and pressed them against her neck, searching for a pulse. To his relief, she stirred when his fingers made contact with her skin. He breathed out a sigh and silently put on his clothes, tiptoeing around the stranger and walking out of the room, careful not to wake her.

He exited the house to find his car in the driveway. Well, kind of in the driveway. It was half in the driveway and half on the neighbor’s lawn, having torn hideous tire marks through the grass.

Now where the fuck are my keys?

He patted down his jeans and jacket until he felt them in one of his pants pockets. He pushed the button, unlocking his car with a chirp chirp! and climbed inside.

His head was killing him, but at least he wasn't drunk anymore. It was stupid of him to drive drunk the night before. Who knows who he could have accidentally killed because of his stupid mistake. Even more stupid considering what he was. But what's done is done, and he can't undo it.

He pulled his phone out of the glove compartment and unlocked it.

12% battery. Shit.

Jungkook opened up the GPS application and searched for directions to his house.

Sunrise District. What the fuck am I doing in this neighborhood?

It was clear on the other side of the City from where he lived. He had no reason to be here, especially not at this hour. But whatever, he'd gone home with a lot of strange people before, so he decided not to question it further.

God, I really can't remember anything. Jungkook, you really need to stop with all this drinking.

But he's told himself this many times before, almost every weekend as a matter of fact. And it was to no avail. Every weekend he still drank until his liver screamed and he went home with questionable men and women, forgetting nearly all of it the next day.

One day you're going to do something really stupid and you won't be able to fix it.

He started the engine and tore down the quiet suburban street, making his way toward his house on the other side of the City.

Jungkook walked into the precinct the next day, fully caffeinated and with his dark circles prominent beneath his eyes.

“Good morning, Detective Jeon.” You approached him, handing him one of the cups of coffee in your hands.

He greeted you and accepted the beverage.

I guess another cup wouldn't hurt.

It was his fourth cup that morning. It took two just to stop him from feeling like a zombie after the night he had, and another to give him enough energy to sit through rush hour traffic to the police station.

“Hey, Jeon, you look like shit.” Detective Kim Seokjin came over and clapped him on the back.

“Thanks, Jin.”

“Rough night?” You asked him.

“Yeah. A bit. But nothing I can't handle.” He tried to laugh it off, but he knew it sounded forced.

You gave him a smirk, an expression that made him immensely uneasy.

“I hate to get right into it,” Jin said, directing Jungkook’s attention away from you, “but there's been another murder this weekend.”

Shit.

“Again?” Jungkook tried to sound surprised. In a way, he was surprised, since the person he woke up next to was still alive when he left. “Where this time?”

“Sunrise,” Jin informed him.

Fuck.

“Where in Sunrise?”

“Over on Smeraldo and Bloom Street.”

That was just a few blocks away from where he woke up. But it couldn't have been him. How would he have killed someone and then gone home with someone else? Without any blood on his hands?

Usually when he woke up he was still at the scene of the crime, more often than not lying in a pool of blood. Not his blood.

Other times he would wake up in bed with a random person he met at the bar, but those times, there was no murder.

Never had he done both.

Maybe it was just a coincidence? Maybe this had nothing to do with him?

Maybe… Hopefully…

Jungkook pulled up at the house, with you in the passenger seat and Jin in the back. It was a small, unassuming, split-level home, painted a faded retro pink. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the neighbors peeping through their curtains, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on next door.

When the detectives set foot into the home, the sharp tang of blood filled their nostrils. There was a trail of it, leading down the cream carpeted staircase, through the living room, and disappearing at the door.

“So the blood just stops…?” Jungkook asked, to no one in particular.

One of the medical examiners walked over to where the three detectives stood, confused by the odd and abrupt end to the blood.

“Yeah,” the medical examiner answered. “There’s no trace of it past the threshold of the building. But…” He hesitated. “That’s not even the most bizarre part.”

“What do you mean, Hoseok?” You asked.

Hoseok let out an exasperated sigh. “Just… It’d be best if you just came to see for yourselves.” He led the detectives up the blood soaked stairs,ensuring they put on shoe covers beforehand so that they wouldn’t get any precious evidence on themselves.

There was a lot of blood. Seemingly more than a human body could possibly contain, appearing to be an endless trail that led down the hall toward the master bedroom.

“I hope you had a light breakfast,” he told them, voice devoid of any humor, before pushing the door open, letting out an even stronger whiff of metallic iron. “Men, prepare yourselves. I’m sure this will be far worse for you than for Y/N.”

The three detectives nodded and entered.

“Oh god!” Jin gagged the moment he saw what was in that room.

“Holy fuck!” As gruesome as it was, you couldn’t take your eyes off of it.

Yet Jungkook just stood there, dumbstruck.

Shit.

However, it was not the horrors before him that had him so aghast, but rather the fact that this was definitely his work.

The man lay on the bed, surrounded by his own blood. Much of it was dried, however some pools were so deep and thick that they remained wet and sticky, even hours later. It appeared that his eyes had been removed, with X’s carved into his eyelids. There was a long, deep gash down the middle of his chest, sliced with the utmost precision.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

“Oh god. Is that his dick?!” Jin exclaimed.

“Detective Jin,” you scolded, “we are in a professional environment. Please, watch your language.”

“Sorry. Is that his penis?” He revised.

Everyone in the room looked over to the window. Laying on it’s sill was indeed the man’s penis, surrounded by even more blood, soft and flaccid, with testicles still attached.

You and Jungkook approached the window while Jin stayed behind, trying his hardest not to vomit and taint the crime scene. Upon closer inspection, the two of you saw that the shaft was cut down the middle lengthwise, held together only by its base.

“What do you think, Jungkook?” You asked.

“I– uh– God, who knows. I’m at a loss for this one.”

You nodded and turned toward Hoseok. “Do you think it was a woman? I mean, who else could hate a man this much?”

Hoseok shook his head. “I don’t know. The M.O. seems to be consistent with a couple other murders that have been happening lately.”

“So you think this was a serial killer?” You pursed your lips.

Hoseok crossed his arms and nodded.

Jungkook’s mouth went dry. If they noticed a pattern between all of his victims, that just meant they were one step, even if it were a miniscule step, closer to catching him.

“But the thing is,” Hoseok continued, “most serial killers leave a signature, like some carve messages into their victims, or decorate them with flowers, so that the cops know that it’s them. However, this one…” He walked over the the victim, using his hand to gesture toward the slash down his chest. “The only way I could tell they were the same person is the way they made the cuts, quick and precise, with a sharp… I would like to say knife but really it could be any sort of sharp object, but they were done with the same weapon.” He stood back and looked at the man, particularly at the bright red void in between his legs. “They also like to mutilate their victims, in this case sex organs, which is actually quite common among serial killers, often because they feel like they’re ‘ridding the world of sin’ by doing so, so I couldn’t use that reasoning in drawing my conclusion that this, the Ambrosia murder, and the Skyline murder were all committed by the same person.”

“But they are committed by the same person, right?” You asked.

Hoseok nodded. “I believe so, yes.”

Jungkook fixed his gaze on the body and clenched his fists at his sides. “And do we know anything about this person?”

Hoseok sighed. “No, nothing. We don’t know gender, height, weight, age. Nothing. Although since all his victims are in their twenties and all the murders seemed to have occurred during sexual intercourse, I would assume the murderer is also around that age. Each victim seems to have experienced some sort of penetration before being murdered, but that could have been with a penis, strap on, or anything else long and rod shaped. Again, these are just guesses. We don’t know anything.”

Good.

Jungkook continued to stare pensively at the victim.

The thing was, whenever he killed someone, he never remembered it afterward. Not until he saw the bodies again, and then his memories came rushing back.

He was at a new nightclub in the Seaside district. It was one of those trendy ones, with a light up dance floor, white leather chairs and booths, and touch screen table tops so you could order drinks without having to leave the comfort of your seat. Whenever Jungkook went to places like these, he avoided the VIP area, and he avoided anyone who went up to dance on the shiny gold stripper poles. Not because he had anything against those people, but because those are the ones that people will recognize. If one of them went missing, or had their face shown on the news as a murder victim, there was a higher probability that someone recognized them from the club or bar or even remembered that they left with Jungkook.

He hovered by the bar, downing enough shots to get himself in the mood, and scanning the premises, searching for his next victim. It had been a while since his last kill, and he was feeling anxious to get some blood on his hands. Jungkook could feel the alcohol starting to seep into his veins. His mind grew fuzzy as he ran his thumb over the small knife in his jacket pocket.

That’s when he spotted him. He sat at a table alone, watching as the people around him swayed their hips sensually to the music, and drinking away his sorrows.

He had a sad look in his eyes, something that told Jungkook he wouldn’t mind hooking up with a random stranger to take his mind off things.

Jungkook downed another shot and strode over to the man.

“Hey,” Jungkook greeted him. “Mind if I join you?” He asked, yelling over the loud thumping of the fast paced song that just came on, flashing the man a flirty smile.

The man, with his mouth slightly open and seemingly taken aback at the fact that someone was approaching him, paused before replying with, “Sure, go for it.”

Jungkook sat down in the seat next to him. "You doing okay? I noticed you earlier and you look kinda down."

The man took a sip from his cocktail and shrugged. "I've been better."

"Care to elaborate?"

The man raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "I just met you."

"Good point. Why don't we introduce ourselves. You are...?"

The man stared back out into the crowd. "Jimin," he answered curtly.

Jungkook extended his hand out. "Nice to meet you, Jimin. I'm James."

He gave Jungkook a questioning look, ignoring his extended hand. "James..." Jimin repeated slowly. The name was foreign on his tongue, in a language he wasn't used to speaking.

Jungkook reached over and placed his hand on top of Jimin's, which held onto his cocktail glass that rested on the table. "Say, Jimin... You up for some fun tonight?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"What kind of fun?"

"Oh, I think you know what kind."

Jimin chuckled. "So my place or yours?"

"Yours."

Jimin nodded and finished his drink before standing up. Jungkook followed him out the door, pushing through the crowd and into a cab.

By the time the two of them stumbled into Jimin’s house, groping and covering each other with sloppy wet kisses, the alcohol had plenty of time to set into Jungkook’s veins. He felt bold and energized. So much so that, when Jimin was tripping over his own feet trying to get up the stairs, Jungkook brazenly picked him up and carried him. He didn’t want to waste any time. He needed this and he needed it now.

Jungkook threw Jimin on the bed and began undressing.

“I take it you’re a top,” Jimin said, propping himself up on his elbows to watch Jungkook, who stood at the foot of the bed. “What if I am too?”

Jungkook ignored his question and continued vigorously yanking his clothes off his body.

“I guess I don’t really have a say in this, do I?” Jimin raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

“Why are you still dressed?” Jungkook was now fully naked and pulling a condom out of his pocket.

“Do you really have to use a condom? I swear I don’t have anything,” Jimin said as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor.

“I don’t fuck anyone without a condom. Especially not a stranger.”

“Tsk tsk. Is that all I am to you?” Jimin smiled playfully.

“Precisely.” Jungkook rolled the condom over his hard length and gave it a couple of strokes to make sure it was secure. He then, deciding that Jimin was not getting undressed nearly as fast as he liked, leaned over the bed and helped Jimin yank off his jeans.

Jungkook saw how hard Jimin was through his underwear. His cock strained against the fabric, trying to break free. Jungkook’s mouth watered at the dark stain of precum pooling at its tip.

This is going to be a fun one.

Jungkook lowered himself onto Jimin, grinding his thigh against Jimin’s dick, watching the precum spill out of it.

Jimin gasped as Jungkook rubbed against him. He grabbed onto Jungkook’s ass and pulled him closer, Jungkook’s latex clad cock grazing his hip.

“James, I–” Jimin gasped as Jungkook pressed his thigh harder onto Jimin’s length. “How long are you going to make me wait?”

Jungkook pushed himself off of him. “You got any lube?”

Instead of answering, Jimin reached over to his nightstand, pulling out a bottle of clear gel and tossing it to him.

Jungkook squeezed a glob onto his hand and ran it over his shaft, making sure the condom was nice a slick before leaning over and lining himself up at Jimin’s entrance. He pushed himself in slowly, watching Jimin’s eyes roll back as he took in every inch with ease. Jungkook placed a hand on either side of Jimin’s shoulders, trapping him with his body.

“Fuck,” Jimin breathed as Jungkook began moving his hips, guiding his cock in and out of him.

Jungkook bent down and latched his mouth onto Jimin’s neck, sucking hard, enough to get him to moan, but not hard enough to leave marks. He quickened his pace, thrusting vigorous enough and fast enough to cause the bedframe to creak beneath them.

Jungkook took one of his hands and placed his thumb on Jimin’s nipple, massaging it, pressing hard circles into it as Jimin squeezed his eyes shut, breathing erratically and getting lost in the pleasure. Soon, Jungkook looked down to see Jimin’s abs twitch as milky white streaks of cum shot out of the tip of his cock, onto his stomach, his abs, some making its way even to his chest. Jimin cried out as he came, and Jungkook was grateful that they were in a house and not an apartment, otherwise the neighbors would have definitely heard him.

Watching Jimin cum made Jungkook’s cock throb, but it wasn’t enough to push him over the edge. He needed more. So, as Jimin was coming down from his high, Jungkook pulled out, and pumped his dick in his hand. Jimin was so far gone, that he didn’t even notice Jungkook rummaging around in his clothing, cock in one hand, digging in his pockets with the other, and finally pulling out a small knife from his jacket pocket. Jungkook grabbed it by the hilt and placed the blade between his teeth, ripping it out of its sheath with his mouth.

Jungkook returned to kissing Jimin’s neck, the knife hidden behind his back. “Did you enjoy that, Jimin?” Jungkook asked with his lips pressed against Jimin’s skin.

“Couldn’t you tell?” His eyes were still closed, and his softening cock still twitched from his orgasm. He opened one eye and looked at Jungkook. “What about you, though? Aren’t you going to cum?”

Jungkook hummed and placed a kiss on Jimin’s collarbone. “Oh yes. Very soon.”

With that, he pulled back and plunged the knife into Jimin’s chest, dragging a clean slice down his torso.

Jimin’s scream was cut short as Jungkook punctured his trachea and severed one of his lungs. Blood oozed out of his chest, along with the last remnant of his life, which only served to turn Jungkook on even more.

But Jungkook didn’t want to stop there. He placed a hand over Jimin’s now soft member, picking it up and squeezing it, playing with it in his hands. He brought the knife to its base, carefully slicing it off.

Beautiful.

That was what he thought when he brought the severed penis up to his face to get a closer look at it. Blood dripped down his wrist and forearm as he held it. He licked a stripe up the shaft and swirled his tongue around the head, letting the remainder of the cum drip into his mouth. He used his hand to stroke himself while he did this, feeling the muscles in his abdomen tensing and the heat rising in his core.

“Mmmm,” Jungkook moaned at the salty taste that coated his tongue.

He continued to stroke himself as he walked over to the window, placing the cock on its sill.

I wonder if there’s any cum left inside.

To get his answer, Jungkook ran the knife swiftly from the testicles up to the head, slicing it clean in half, held together only by the base in a V shape. To his disappointment – or maybe his enjoyment – there was only blood. More blood than he expected.

“Fuck,” Jungkook couldn’t help but say out loud. Jimin was so healthy, his blood so red, its scent so metallic, it made Jungkook’s head spin in the best way possible. Although, that might have also been due to all the shots he took at the bar.

Taking one last glance at the mutilated penis, Jungkook turned back to Jimin’s body, Jimin’s glorious, sexless body. He pushed Jimin’s legs together – which only forced more blood out of his gaping wound – and straddled him. He leaned over and rubbed his cock on the oozing slit that tore through Jimin’s torso. A slew of grunts and moans escaped his lips as he thrusted himself closer and closer toward his orgasm.

But there was something missing. He felt like there was something else he had to do. Then, he looked up at Jimin’s face. He saw that Jimin’s eyes were still open, frozen in the split second horror and realization that he was being murdered.

Jungkook tilted his head to the side, studying, contemplating. That’s when he decided.

He grabbed the knife that had since been resting beside Jimin’s thigh and brought up to Jimin’s face. Without hesitation, he jabbed the weapon into one of Jimin’s eyes, swirling it around and nearly pulverizing the eyeball. He did the same with the other eye, until both eyeballs were pools of blood and jelly. When he pulled the knife out, he closed the lids over their empty sockets, carving X’s on top of them.

Jungkook pulled back to get a better view. He chuckled at how comical it looked, like how cartoon characters were marked as dead with X’s for eyes.

He pushed himself off of Jimin and sat back on the bed, admiring his work. One hand held onto the knife while the other gripped around his cock, moving up and down until Jungkook was releasing into the condom, chest heaving and raspy breaths leaving his throat.

God. That was one of the best ones yet.

Jungkook continued to run his hand up and down his cock until his sensitivity became unbearable and he began to soften.

He lay back on the bed next to Jimin, waiting for himself to calm down. Intending to rest only briefly, he closed his eyes, but accidentally fell asleep.

He couldn’t seem to recall how he woke up in that woman’s bed, or who the woman was for that matter. All he knew was that he fell asleep at Jimin’s place and woke up somewhere else, with both him and his clothes completely clean of Jimin’s blood. And it obviously wasn’t a dream since he was standing here now, staring at his creation.

“Jungkook, are you still there?”

The sound of your voice pulled Jungkook out of his memory.

“Huh? Yeah.” He shook his head, trying to bring himself back to the present.

Noticing the uneasy look on his face, you placed a hand on his arm. “You don't look too great. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just. I don't know what to think," he lied. "This and the previous unsolved murders. I'm stumped.” He let out an exasperated sigh, which he hoped didn't sound too fake.

“Don't blame yourself. We’re all stumped," you reassured him, giving his arm a light squeeze.

“There's no DNA evidence at any of the crime scenes?” Jin called from where he was hunched over in the doorway, trying not to look at the body and still attempting to keep his morning coffee in his stomach.

“No,” Hoseok replied. “This person was very careful. No hair, no semen or vaginal fluid. Not from anyone but the victims. And there's not enough saliva to pull a viable sample.”

"Well if that's the case, can we pack up the body and get out of here already? Before I projectile vomit all over the place?"

Hoseok nodded and motioned for this assistants to pack up the body into a big black bag.

"What about the...?" You nodded toward the window sill.

"Ah, yes. Boys," Hoseok called to the men who packed up the body, "don't forget that too."

The men nodded and followed their orders.

Back at the precinct, Jungkook sipped on his fifth cup of coffee of the day as he looked over the case files for the Ambrosia and Skyline murders on his computer. He looked for any evidence that could point toward him. To his relief, there was none.

All three case files said the same thing.

Each victim suffered from some form of mutilation and it was most likely that the mutilation occurred during sexual intercourse, after the victim was deceased. However, there was never any DNA left at the scene, or any readable fingerprints. The weapon could be a number of things: a small knife, a switchblade, anything small and sharp, and most likely untraceable. Each one used the same kind of weapon. There was nothing that they could use to determine the height, weight, or gender of the killer.

"Whatcha doin?"

Jungkook jumped at the sound of your voice and turned to find you leaning over, your face right next to his, reading over his shoulder.

"I– I'm looking over the case files of the previous unsolved murders to see if there's anything I missed."

You raised an eyebrow. "Mhm."

"What?"

"Nothing. Don't overwork yourself." You smiled and patted his shoulder before returning to your desk.

That was fucking weird.

Jungkook looked back at his monitor, opening the Ambrosia murder file.

I remember this one.

June 13th, 2020.

That date marked the one year anniversary of Jungkook working at the precinct. In such a short time, he had already become well loved by his boss and fellow coworkers. He was considered one of the best detectives in the precinct, something that gave him a tremendous amount of pride.

To celebrate this anniversary, you, Jin, Hoseok, and the rest of the precinct took him out to a fancy bar downtown. Hoseok, quite the party animal outside of work hours, ordered an excessive amount of shots on Jin's credit card. Which meant Jungkook got utterly fucking drunk.

By around midnight, more than half his coworkers were passed out, leaving you, Jungkook, and a few other guys from forensics still standing. The lot of you helped haul your inebriated friends out of the bar and into cabs so that they got home safely. Soon, the forensics guys had also had enough, and went home, grumbling about the killer hangover they would have the next day.

"I should get going, too," you said to Jungkook once they've left.

"What? So soon?"

"Yes, I've had more alcohol tonight than in my entire time in college."

Jungkook pouted. “Fine, but I'm gonna stay. Maybe find a friend." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Alrighty, well I'm gonna call myself a cab." You threw on your jacket and patted Jungkook on the arm. "Don't stay up too late, Kookie."

He chuckled. "I'm not making any promises."

You smiled at him before walking out of the bar.

Now that his coworkers were gone, the real fun could begin.

Jungkook scanned the bar, looking to see if there was anyone worth flirting with. Not finding anyone to his liking, he stumbled out to a bar a couple of blocks down. The second he walked in, his eyes fell on a man, talking with a small group of friends and sipping on a beer. He had shiny blonde hair, golden like a halo around his head. Jungkook tilted his head to the side and watched him. He was intrigued by this man, and the glittering aura he gave off.

Jungkook decided to study him a bit longer, not quite ready to approach him.

Have I ever seen someone so beautiful?

He went up the the bar and ordered a few drinks, keeping his eyes on the man and his group of friends. He leaned back against the bar and took a couple swigs of the beer the bartender had set in front of him.

One of the man's friends said something funny, causing him to laugh, his smile taking up his entire face.

Wow.

Jungkook toyed with the small knife in his pocket. It was a gift from his grandfather, something he considered a good luck charm. He always took it to work with him, and now, he hoped it would give him the confidence he needed to talk to this man.

Luckily for Jungkook, soon the man's friends left him, probably to go home. Jungkook set his beer down and took a shot of liquid courage before making his way over to where he stood.

The man raised an eyebrow as Jungkook approached him.

"Hi," Jungkook greeted him with a confident smile.

"May I help you?"

"I just noticed you earlier and thought you were very attractive."

"Thought? Past tense?"

Jungkook laughed. "No. I still think you're very attractive."

"Mmmm," the man hummed. "Interesting..." He narrowed his eyes.

"You alone tonight?" Jungkook asked.

"I am now."

"You single...?"

"Maybe..." The man looked at him, wanting to know where he was going with this.

"You up for a little something tonight?"

"Hmmm." The man looked Jungkook up and down, taking in his loosely fitted white t-shirt, tight black jeans, and scuffed up sneakers. "You're a bit younger than I usually go for."

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"But I think I'll make an exception. Because I think you're very attractive, too." The man flashed him a flirty grin.

"Then can I get your name?"

He smiled. "Yoongi."

Yoongi. That's why he seems to be glowing.

"I'm Joshua." He never gave his real name when it was just a one time hookup, in case they tried looking for him afterward. Too many times in the past have previous hookups added him on social media or searched for his contact information, wanting to hook up again, but to Jungkook, they were a one time, and one time only, type of fling.

"Nice to meet you, Joshua. So I guess that leaves the question of my place or yours?"

"Yours."

"You're the one approached me, and now you're imposing on me?" Yoongi teased.

"Believe me, you would not want to see my place." At this time Jungkook's roommate hadn't moved out yet, so he still shared a tiny studio apartment with one of his college buddies.

"Why? You're not a serial killer with some freaky dungeon or something, right?" Yoongi joked.

Jungkook let out an airy laugh. "No, I just have a roommate."

"Ahhh, Of course, it's a bit early for an audience. Maybe, one day, if you're up to try a little exhibitionism."

Jungkook chuckled. "Not in this lifetime, I don't think."

"Very, well." Yoongi finished his drink and led Jungkook out of the bar.

Turns out Yoongi's place was quite swanky. He lived in what appeared to be one of those old hotels that had been converted into apartments. It was the kind that was decorated in gold and velvet and looked more like an opera house or theatre than those modern condos that have been popping up everywhere.

"Whoa," Jungkook breathed as he entered the lobby.

"Nice, right?"

"Yeah, man. How old is this place?"

"It's a replica. It was actually built in the last ten years or so."

"Really? It looks so authentic."

"And how would you know what authentic looks like?"

"Movies."

Yoongi chuckled. "Of course." He and Jungkook entered the elevator and Yoongi pressed the button for the 8th floor. "Coolest part is, that, like the old hotels, each room has its own name and theme."

"Really? What's yours called?"

"Ambrosia."

The way that word rolled off Yoongi's tongue, the way it danced on his lips, the way it tickled Jungkook's eardrums, sent shivers up Jungkook's spine.

And sure enough, when they arrived at Yoongi's gold painted door, Jungkook saw on it a little placard that read "Ambrosia."

"I like that word," Jungkook told him.

"Hm? Ambrosia?"

There it was again. That beautiful sound, rolling exquisitely off Yoongi's tongue. Jungkook licked his bottom lip and then caught it with his teeth as Yoongi opened the door and let the two of them in.

Through the golden door was a one bedroom apartment. Everything was decorated in white and gold. It was somehow fitting, not at all excessive or gaudy or cheap looking, but rather pristine, like it belonged to the gods. It suited this glowing man and his golden aura.

"Wow," Jungkook gasped, taking in his new surroundings. "You really live here?" He walked around the moderately sized living room and adjoined kitchen. It was beautiful yet dizzying, and he wondered if it was because of the alcohol that was still ever so present in his bloodstream.

"Yeah, man." Yoongi replied as he shrugged off his coat and threw it on the white leather love seat. "The great part about this place is that it all come fully furnished and decorated. You only have to pay for the furniture if you damage it. Bad part is, the availability of these apartments is low, so if you're first on the waiting list and a room opens up, but you don't like the theme, you either have to live with it or give up the room and rejoin the waiting list. Thankfully I got a nice one."

"Shit. Yeah. I haven't seen the other rooms but I'm pretty sure you have the nicest one in the entire complex."

Yoongi chuckled. "I don't know about that. I heard there’s one decorated like a sex dungeon."

"Oh? I take that back. You have the second nicest one."

Yoongi laughed and stepped over to Jungkook, grabbing onto his waist. "Now, are we gonna do what we came here to do?"

Suddenly remembering, Jungkook leaned in, pressing his body against Yoongi's. "Oh, yes. Definitely."

Yoongi closed the distance between them, crashing his lips with Jungkook's, and placing his hands on the back of Jungkook's neck to pull him closer. Jungkook returned the kiss eagerly, feeling the excitement and electricity coursing through his veins. Yoongi's tongue snaked it's way into Jungkook's mouth and played with his. They stood there kissing for a few minutes before Yoongi pulled back.

Jungkook's eyes grew wide. "Shit, that's some tongue you got there."

"You wanna find out what else it can do?"

"Fuck yes."

With that, Yoongi pushed Jungkook into his bedroom and onto the bed.

Jungkook lay flat atop the puffy white comforter, his erection protruding prominently through his jeans. Yoongi crawled on top of him and began kissing him, stroking Jungkook's hard cock with his hand.

Jungkook groaned into the kiss, feeling Yoongi's erect member rubbing against his thigh.

"Fuck," Jungkook moaned. "Get undressed."

"You too, handsome."

The two of them discarded their clothes onto the floor and returned to their original positions.

"God, you're so fucking hot, Yoongi."

Yoongi chuckled and started kissing down Jungkook's jawline, neck, chest, abs, belly, until his face hovered over Jungkook's crotch.

"Are you ready to experience Min Yoongi's tongue technology?"

Jungkook nodded, unable to form any words. His breathing ceased in anticipation. He could feel Yoongi's warm breath against his cock, which quivered at the sensation.

"But first." Yoongi got up to grab a condom from his drawer.

"Do we really need one of those?" Jungkook asked impatiently.

"Hey, I don't know who you are or where you've been and I don't wanna catch anything you might have."

"I'm clean, but I get it if you don't trust me. Just hurry up."

Yoongi rolled the condom over Jungkook's length, giving it a couple pumps of his hand to make sure it was secure. Before he knew it, Yoongi's mouth was around him. Jungkook gasped at the sudden warmth that enveloped him, and couldn't contain his moans as Yoongi proceeded to give him the greatest blow job he'd ever experienced in his entire life.

In mere minutes he was already coming into the condom, filling it with his milky white goo. But Yoongi didn't stop there. He kept going, using his hands, fingers, his lips, his throat, and most importantly, his tongue, until Jungkook came yet again, overflowing the condom with his sticky cum.

He had never experienced pleasure as intense as that second orgasm. Yoongi was the first person to have ever left him completely speechless. His mind was completely blank, only thinking about how good it felt and how he couldn't move.

Yoongi still continued even after Jungkook came, until he was squirming and whining at the sensitivity.

"Yoongi!" He moaned. "Agh. Stop. That's enough."

Yoongi pulled back with a loud smack as Jungkook's cock left his mouth and flopped down into Jungkook's stomach.

"Did you like that?"

"Oh, fuck yeah," Jungkook answered, still trying to catch his breath. "I'm pretty sure that was the best blowjob I've ever gotten."

"Great, because that was the most fun one I've given." Yoongi smirked. "You came twice."

"I know. Shit. I didn't even know I could do that."

"That's the magic of the tongue technology."

"Oh my god, is that really what you call it?"

"Yep. Coined the term myself. I'm quite proud of it. 'Whether man or woman, I'll make you cum with my tongue technology'."

"Oh that's good. I like the sound of that."

Yoongi chortled. "Thanks."

Jungkook lay back and sighed while Yoongi reclined next to him.

"Let me know when you're ready again," Yoongi said. "I want you to fuck me hard in return for what I did for you."

"Oh, god. Give me a few minutes. I need to recover," Jungkook jested.

The two of them lay there for a while, staring at the white marble ceiling. All Jungkook could think about was how good Yoongi's tongue made him feel. Yoongi knew just how to use it, and it was no doubt he was experienced. He had a right to brag about his "tongue technology" because it was truly incredible.

Jungkook recalled the way Yoongi's tongue licked up and down his shaft, the way it expertly swirled around his tip. It was no surprise that soon he was hard again. He leaned over and ran his hand down Yoongi's chest until he reached his crotch. He grabbed Yoongi's still hard cock and stroked it, spreading the precum all over.

"I think I'm ready," Jungkook muttered.

Yoongi looked down at Jungkook's crotch. "Oh I definitely think you are."

Jungkook smirked and moved to straddle Yoongi. He ran his hand over the cum filled condom that hugged his cock. "I think I need a new one."

Yoongi pointed toward the nightstand. "That drawer over there. The lube is in there too."

Jungkook reached over, opening the drawer and pulling out a fresh new condom and a bottle of lube. He removed the old one, tied it, and tossed it aside to deal with later.

This cannot wait.

Jungkook put on the condom and slathered his length in lube, giving his cock a couple of pumps before lining himself up at Yoongi’s entrance.

“Ready?”

Yoongi nodded and Jungkook pushed himself in. Both of them moaned as Jungkook slowly slid in.

Jungkook fucked him fast and hard until Yoongi’s chest was coated with his glistening cum. Jungkook kept fucking him, trying to get himself off for the third time that night. He thrusted into Yoongi over and over, but it wasn’t enough. Jungkook leaned down and kissed Yoongi’s neck, sucking hard until purple patched began to form.

Maybe I could try…

Jungkook jutted his teeth out, biting into Yoongi’s skin softly, testing the waters. Yoongi moaned at the feeling, causing Jungkook to become more bold. He bit down harder this time, drawing the slightest bit of blood. He ran his tongue over the wound, and his mouth was coated with a salty, metallic taste, and Yoongi groaned loudly.

Jungkook pulled back. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, that feels good.”

Jungkook stopped thrusting and pulled out. “Wait here, I have an idea.” He leapt off the bed and over to the pile of his clothes on the floor, pulling out the knife from his pocket.

“Does this scare you?” Jungkook asked, holding out the knife and peering at Yoongi through his lashes.

“Not at all,” Yoongi smirked. “Josh, you seem to be into some kinky shit.”

Jungkook unsheathed the knife and returned to the bed. He re-entered Yoongi but stilled his hips. Yoongi gasped as Jungkook pressed the knife to his throat, feeling the cold metal against the delicate skin that housed all his most precious arteries.

“I won’t hurt you,” Jungkook reassured him. “Just tell me if you wanna stop, and I’ll stop.”

Yoongi nodded. “Go for it.”

The first slice was not very deep. Jungkook just barely breached the dermal layer, inciting the tiniest bit of blood to arise from Yoongi’s veins. He took two fingers and brushed them against the beads of crimson oozing from the cut. His lips curled as he inspected the blood smeared on his fingertips. Their eyes locked as Jungkook slowly brought the fingers up to his mouth, and sucked them clean.

His blood tasted pure and rich, like nectar of the gods. Like ambrosia.

That’s when something in him snapped. Jungkook stared at Yoongi, cocking his head to the side. Something about his expression darkened, and for a split second, Yoongi was scared. It was only for a split second because – he doesn’t know what came over him, but – Jungkook slashed the knife across Yoongi’s throat, cutting off his air supply, and allowing more of the divine nectar that Jungkook loved so much to spill from his veins.

Yoongi lay still as Jungkook began thrusting again, getting himself off to the sight of Yoongi’s blood spilling down his pale neck, onto the clean, white bedding.

Mmmmm.

Jungkook leaned over Yoongi’s lifeless body. He hovered right above his face, somewhat expecting to feel Yoongi’s breath against his nose, but there was nothing. Jungkook’s fingers parted Yoongi’s lips, and he leaned in for a kiss.

Still warm.

His tongue roamed Yoongi’s mouth, swirling the soft muscle around Yoongi’s, relishing his sweet taste. But there was something, some weird feeling, gnawing at the back of his brain. It was like a weird persistent buzzing that he couldn’t quite decipher. He thought that maybe it was just the alcohol messing with him.

Jungkook pulled back and focused on Yoongi’s open mouth.

Do it.

Without thinking, Jungkook brought the knife up to Yoongi’s lips. Jungkook’s fingers pried his jaw open wider, allowing him better access. Jungkook slowly placed the blade of the knife into his mouth and in one swift motion, sliced off Yoongi’s tongue.

The muscle fell to the back of Yoongi’s throat, and Jungkook fished it out with his long fingers. He held it up to his face, juggling it in his fingers.

Exquisite.

Jungkook played with Yoongi for a little while longer before finishing, completely overwhelmed with pleasure, coming so hard that it drained him of all his energy. He fell asleep next to Yoongi’s dead body and awoke the next morning covered in blood. He showered in Yoongi’s bathroom and put on his clothes. When he left, he took his used condoms with him. Of course he wasn’t stupid enough to leave them behind, he was a detective for god’s sake. He knew exactly how to avoid getting caught.

Jungkook placed his elbows on his desk, clasping his hands together in front of him, and sighed at the memory. His brows were furrowed and his lips pursed as he stared at the screen.

“What did I say, Jeon?” You called to him from your desk.

“Hm?” Jungkook peeked his head over the monitor so that he could see you.

“‘Don’t overwork yourself’,” you told him, quoting what you had said earlier.

Right then, Jin entered the precinct after trying to subdue his nausea in the bathroom. “Any updates from Hoseok and his crew?” He asked as he strode over to your desk. His skin had lost its usual color and glow, taking on a sick, slightly green tinge to it.

“Nope, nothing,” you answered him. “I don’t think there’s anything to report. There were no fingerprints, no DNA, nothing. He’s just as confused as we are.”

“Should we pay him a visit?”

“Would you be okay with that, Jin? You still look a bit pale.”

Jin straightened his posture and puffed out his chest. “I’m perfect! Totally fine! Let’s go!”

You and Jungkook stood from your desks. Before joining Jin, you waited for Jungkook to catch up to you so you could whisper, “Can you believe this guy is our boss?” You scoffed. “How is he head detective if he can’t even handle a crime scene.”

“You shouldn’t speak that way about our boss, Y/N. Especially at work,” Jungkook deadpanned.

Your eyes widened slightly. The coldness in his voice surprised you. His steely expression didn’t change as the two of you followed Jin to the morgue. You brushed it off as just being his stress talking, but something had been off about him all day.

Hoseok was running lint samples in the precinct’s materials database when the three detectives entered the morgue. On the cold metal table lay Jimin, completely exposed, causing a sour taste to creep up Jin’s throat.

You leaned over to him. “You alright there, detective?” You asked him.

He gave you a quick nod and nothing else.

“What do you got?” Jungkook asked Hoseok.

“I got nothing, man. The only fibers I found were cotton fibers from a white t-shirt, but that doesn’t help, because do you know how many white cotton t-shirts there are out there?!”

“Yeah, I have like 30 of them in my closet.”

“Exactly! And it could even be the victim’s for all we know! We took some samples from his clothes and he has at least three shirts that match this damn lint. ”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you can determine that this, the Ambrosia murder, and the Skyline murder were all done by the same person just from the way they made the cuts, but you can’t find any other evidence that could point us to an actual person?” You asked incredulously.

“I– uh, well. Yes,” Hoseok stammered nervously.

“Well, do we have a name? Anything to identify him?” Jin joined in.

“Mhm. That we do. His DNA matches that of a man named Park Jimin.”

You nodded. “Send us his identification number and we’ll do some digging.”

Jungkook stared at the body that lay before him, the sick, mutilated mess he’d created. Sober, he could barely stand the sight of it. It was revolting, horrifying, and utterly wrong. He found the psychology behind it quite intriguing, because the human brain just knows that that body part shouldn’t be missing, the flesh there shouldn’t be exposed, or there shouldn’t be so much blood outside of the body, and has the most extreme reaction to it. Some experience dizziness, nausea, or even fainting, because something in their brain is telling them this is not right.

But drunk, the pleasure he derives from this kind of mutilation outweighs it all. It outweighs the anxiety, uncertainty, disgust, and most importantly, the fear of getting caught. He can’t describe it. He’s never quite been able to replicate the intensity of this pleasure, this thrill, through anything else, especially not sober.

And that is precisely why Jeon Jungkook cannot stop. Not until he’s caught.

You and Jungkook were sitting at your desk, working on paperwork for a drug bust the three of you did last week, when Jin came around and plopped a manila folder stuffed with various papers in front of Jungkook.

“Park Jimin, born October 13th, 1995. Recently laid off from his job at an accounting firm,” Jin announced.

So that’s why he looked so down that night.

“A couple of months ago he broke up with his boyfriend, Kim Taehyung, but friends and family say it was a mutual decision and they split off amicably.”

“Did you check his alibi?” You asked him.

“No, I just took their word for it.” Jin rolled his eyes. “Of course I checked his alibi! What do you take me for?”

You gave Jungkook a knowing look and he snickered.

“Hey! What was that look, Y/N?” Jin waved his arm at you. “Are you forgetting I can fire you?”

“Sorry, sir,” you replied with a smile, not at all meaning it. You knew he was bluffing and would never actually do it.

“Anyway, as I was saying, Taehyung was at the vet with his dog last night after his dog got a bout of food poisoning. There’s no one else in his life that could be a potential enemy.”

“And you got all of that information in,” Jungkook looked at his watch, “just two hours?”

“There’s a reason I’m lead detective here, kids. Although some of you seem to forget sometimes.” He gave you a pointed look, to which you responded with a sarcastic smile.

“Okay,” you said, “but what do we do with this information? This doesn’t bring us any closer to catching the killer.”

Jin sighed. “That, Y/N, I don’t know. No one knows where he went last night. Taehyung said he asked but Jimin just told him he was going out.”

“What do we do?” Jungkook asked. “We can’t have three unsolved cases.”

I pray to God we have three unsolved cases. Please let these go cold.

The head detective frowned. “I don’t know, but we’re in deep shit if we don’t solve this soon. The public are going to think we’re incompetent if we can’t get any evidence that points to a culprit. Or even worse, they’re going to start panicking because there’s a serial killer on the loose.”

You spun your chair around to face Jin. “How can it be possible that we know absolutely nothing about this person?”

“I don’t know. They seem to be targeting random people in their early twenties. There’s no discrimination in gender it appears, so we can’t make inferences about the gender of the killer.”

You looked back at Jungkook. “It’s like they know exactly how not to get caught.”

The shift of your gaze and the tone of your remark made Jungkook squirm in his seat. He hoped it wasn’t noticeable, but lately it seemed that you were always able to see right through him. The longer you stared at him the more uneasy he felt.

Jin picked the folder back up and tucked it beneath his arm. “I’m gonna do some more digging and I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Sure, yeah,” you replied.

“Mhm,” Jungkook answered.

The rest of the week passed and there was little news from Hoseok. Jin was becoming frustrated because three unsolved murders made the precinct look bad. They were the only detective team in the City, and if they couldn’t solve crimes, then who could? You remained enigmatic as usual, but the uneasiness Jungkook felt around you came in waves, rarely even there, only sometimes flooding him when you looked at him a certain way or said something that made him think you suspected him. However, you never voiced your suspicions outright, which made him anxious. He felt it was only a matter of time before you connected the dots and accused him.

But there were no dots to connect. Hoseok said it himself. There’s no evidence to point toward a killer. Jungkook was safe. So why did he feel so restless?

Jungkook decided to give the drinking a break this weekend and instead spent Saturday night wandering around the shopping district in search of another way to satiate himself. He roamed the streets illuminated by the yellow tinge of the street lamps and neon signs that hung at the entrance of each of the shops. It was nearly midnight, but the streets were still bustling with students from the nearby university, out for a fun night on the town.

Dozens of carts lined the sidewalks, selling various street foods and pretty much every fried thing you could imagine. Jungkook made his way from cart to cart, ordering the most appealing item from each one, and eating it as he made his way to the next one.

After a while, he noticed someone following him. It was a woman, going from cart to cart just like he was, always a few steps behind. At first he thought it could have been you, making sure he didn’t get into any trouble, or making sure you caught him if he did. But once he got a better look at her face, he saw no familiarity in it. She was simply a stranger.

Feeling full of all this greasy and sugary food, Jungkook was feeling a little bold. When he finished his business at the fried shrimp cart, he stayed back, and waited for the stranger to catch up.

“Hi,” he greeted once she approached the cart.

“Hi,” she replied with a smile. “Whatcha got there?”

Jungkook held up his fried shrimp skewer. “Curry. They have a bunch of different seasoning choices, but I think I like curry the best.”

“You’ve tried all of them?”

“Mhm.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Just now?”

“What?” Jungkook shook his head. “No. No. I couldn’t possibly eat that much in one night.”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen you buy something from like seven other carts tonight, so what’s another load of fried shrimp to you?”

Jungkook chuckled. “I’m sure if I ate that much shrimp I’d explode.”

The woman let out a silvery laugh before turning to the cart owner to order. “I’ll have the curry one please.”

The two of them waited in silence until her order was ready. The woman took a bite, making a noise of approval and nodding her head. “You’re right, this is pretty good.”

Jungkook nodded and a silence followed. Wanting to break it, he asked, “So you’ve been following me, huh?”

The woman’s confidence suddenly disappeared as she shifted her gaze away from Jungkook and toward the crowd behind him. “Maybe... “ she replied meekly.

“Why?” He pressed further.

“I just thought you were attractive. And I wanted to look at you a little longer.”

Jungkook let out a sigh of relief, which he disguised with another laugh. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. What did you think? That I was stalking you to murder you or something?” she joked.

“That’s always a possibility.”

The woman giggled. “I’m Jiah, by the way,” she said, extending her hand for Jungkook to shake.

Jungkook took her hand into his firm grasp.

So small. So soft. So… Nice.

“I’m–” he paused, trying to come up with a name on the spot, “Jin.”

“You sure?” She asked, noticing his hesitation. “Just Jin?”

“Yeah. My full name is Seokjin, but I usually just go by Jin.” He grinned nervously.

“Well, Jin. What do you say we go to my place for some coffee to wash all this fried food down,” Jiah suggested.

Jungkook nodded. “Sure.”

Just regular sex, Jungkook. No drinking, no murder.

Jiah led him down the street and hailed a cab.

They skipped the coffee, and it turns out that Jungkook couldn’t keep his promise. About half an hour into a very heated makeout session in Jiah’s kitchen, Jungkook still couldn’t get into it.

“Are you nervous?” Jiah asked him. “This isn’t your first hookup is it?”

“No. To both of those questions,” Jungkook replied.

What’s wrong with me?

Jiah hopped off the counter and pulled a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the cupboard. “Here,” she offered him a glass filled with a golden brown liquid. “Why don’t you have a drink to relax yourself.”

“No,” Jungkook shook his head and pushed it away. “I really shouldn’t.”

“Come on, Jin, one little drink won’t hurt.”

But somehow that one little drink turned into a whole bottle finished between the two of them, and Jungkook was, without a doubt, drunk. Their kisses became sloppy, way too much tongue and completely driven by drunken lust. Jungkook’s hips were grinding into Jiah’s as she sat on the counter. He could feel himself getting hard as he rubbed himself against her. The alcohol incited his sexual urges, among others.

Quickly, the two of them shed their clothes, discarding them onto the floor. Jungkook pulled a condom out of his wallet – one that he kept there for emergencies, although it was quite old. He fumbled to put it on, with his vision distorted from all the alcohol.

After quite a bit of floundering, he finally got it on and was ready to go. He wrapped an arm around Jiah’s waist to pull himself closer and used his other hand to reach down and play with her folds. She moaned as Jungkook used his fingers to spread her arousal all over her labia and clit while he kissed her neck.

Jungkook slowly pushed a finger in and curled it, causing her to gasp. “Fuck, Jin.”

“You like that?”

Jiah nodded. “Yes! Fuck!”

He added another and began to pump his fingers slowly in and out, eliciting soft moans from Jiah’s lips. When he felt her tightening around him, he pulled them out, inspecting her juices that coated his fingers. He brought his fingers up to his face, about to put them in his mouth, before he stopped himself.

Instead, he held them up to Jiah. “Suck.”

She was surprised by his order and cautiously leaned forward to wrap her mouth around his glistening digits, using her tongue to lap up every last bit of herself on him.

“Taste good?”

Jiah nodded hesitantly.

“It’s too bad I won’t get to taste it for myself.”

“What do you–”

Her words were forcefully cut off by Jungkook plunging his cock into her entrance, sliding in easily, and causing her to cry out. He began thrusting quickly, in and out, chasing his own pleasure and not paying any mind to hers. He could feel the alcohol pumping through his veins, heating him up from the inside out. The kitchen was filled with the sounds of Jungkook’s slick cock moving in and out of Jiah’s dripping sex and the uncontrollable moans arising from both their throats. She held on to his shoulders as he roughly pushed his hips into her.

“Jin…” Jiah gasped. “Slow down. I’m gonna c–c–”

“Come?”

She let out another moan as she answered, “Yes.”

“Good.” Jungkook’s lips curled as he kissed her. “Come,” he whispered against her lips.

Soon he felt her walls convulsing around his length as she came.

He could hear her heart beating through her chest, and loud thumping that had only grown more intense as time progressed. It was like a siren call, enticing him, provoking him. He couldn’t control himself. Without realizing, pulled away from her, reaching over to the knife block and pulling out a knife.

“Jin, what are you–?”

He watched as his strong hands plunged it into her chest, piercing through her breastplate and puncturing her heart. Her face contorted in horror and she let out a strangled gasp before collapsing into Jungkook, his own chest becoming smothered in her blood.

He pushed he back and lay her against the counter, getting himself off as he leaned over her and twisted the knife around in her chest, carving into it the shape of a heart and then setting the knife down on the counter. He made a rather large hole, just big enough to pull her real heart out. He held the organ in his hand, no longer beating but still warm.

He juggled it in his fingers, squeezing it and watching the blood drip down his arms and onto the kitchen floor.

It’s soft… Nice… Just like her hand.

He set it down next to her on the counter and returned his focus to getting off, thrusting into her, using some of the blood to ease the friction. The sight of all her blood led to an orgasm so intense that he couldn't hold in his scream.

Shit. They just keep getting better and better.

After he came, he pulled out, his cock still slick with her juices and blood. A sticky string of her cum connected his tip to her entrance. Jungkook knelt down before her, his face mere inches away from her glistening slit. He pushed a finger in and then pulled it out, coated with her cum and blood. He put it in his mouth and sucked.

I guess I was wrong.

He stuck his tongue out and dragged it up her folds, savoring the taste of her on his tongue. Jungkook picked the knife back up, and gently used the tip to separate her lips. He could see her juices still leaking out. The tip of it became coated as it just barely grazed her entrance. Without hesitation, he shoved the knife into her, wiping his prints off of the handle and anywhere he touched on the counter. He washed the blood off of his hands, arms, and chest in the sink, put on his clothes, and then left.

The second Jungkook got outside, a sudden rush of cold air blew past him, sobering him up, and he was met with a pounding headache and the sudden realization of what he had done.

What the fuck, Jungkook? I said no drinking, no murder tonight.

He stumbled down the driveway and onto the sidewalk.

How the fuck do I get home from here?

He wasn’t even sure where he was. He had never been in the Parkside district before, and he didn’t notice any bus lines or train stops on the way here. It was much too far from his house to walk, and there most likely weren’t any cabs around at this hour. He looked around the street, studying the unfamiliar surroundings, suddenly feeling trapped.

That’s when he saw something across the street, lurking. It was barely visible, yet its presence was unmistakably there.

Is someone watching me? Do they know what I just did?

That figure approached him. It wore all black, attempting to blend in with the night. But even in the pitch black darkness, he recognized what, or more specifically, who it was.

Jungkook took a step forward. “Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean what am I doing here?” You whispered back, stepping toward him. “I followed you and I’m here to help you.”

“What? But why?”

“Shhh. Would you keep it down?” You gave him a confused look before realizing. “You don’t remember do you?”

“Remember what?”

You paused and studied his face to see if he was bluffing. “Who do you think drove you home after you killed Jimin?”

“I– uh what? I didn’t kill Jimin.” Jungkook shifted his gaze away, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Don’t lie, Jungkook. I know you did,” you stated sternly. “Now answer my question.”

“I–I drove myself home. I woke up in some woman’s bed in the middle of the night and drove myself home.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Jungkook, who do you think that woman was?”

No. What? It couldn’t have been.

“You?!”

“Ding ding ding, genius.”

How had I not recognized her?

“How…?”

“You know that Jimin’s house is just a few blocks from my house, right? On my way home, I saw you stumbling out piss drunk and completely covered in blood. I drove you back to your house and helped you clean up. And then for some reason, you wanted to go back to my place and you insisted on driving. I tried to talk you out of it but you refused so I had to sit in the passenger seat, holding on to the little handle thing for dear life, as you barreled down the streets at 2am and skidded into my lawn. It was stupid as hell of me to let you do that but thankfully there aren’t that many cars on the streets at that hour.”

Jungkook’s brows knitted in confusion. “That… makes no sense.”

“What the hell do you mean it makes no sense?”

“If we drove my car back to your place, wouldn’t your car be at my house? I didn’t see it when I got back there.”

“That’s because there’s never any parking on your street, you dumbass. So I had to park down the block and walk you to your house, trying to conceal the bloody freakshow from the neighbors. Then I took the bus to your place and picked my car up in the morning.”

Jungkook gaped at you, having trouble comprehending what he was hearing. “Why did you help me? Why didn’t you just turn me in?”

“Because you’re my friend. And you’re a decent detective; I can’t have them locking you up. You expect me and Jin to do all the crime solving when you’re gone? Have you met Jin?” You paused and then added. “Also no one ever suspects the detective, so what do I have to lose?”

He scoffed. “You’re fucking crazy.”

Your lips curled into a smile. “Maybe so.”

Jungkook let out a defeated sigh. “So, did you drive here? Where’s your car? How do you plan on rescuing me this time?”

Your face twisted in annoyance. Here you were, doing him a favor and he was getting crabby with you. “It’s over there.” You turned around and silently led him across the street to you car.

Once in the car, you started the engine and drove. It wasn’t until you entered the freeway that cut across the City that you broke the silence.

“So why do you do it?”

“Huh?” Jungkook was caught off guard by your question. “I don’t know. It just feels… nice. Seeing all that blood, feeling it against my skin, it just… I don’t know. Sex just doesn’t feel as good when there isn’t blood involved.”

“Ouch, that hurts,” you reply flatly.

“What…?” Jungkook’s eyes widened. “Did– Did we…?!”

“You don’t remember? Double ouch.”

“Fuck, I guess I should have known. Considering when I woke up, neither of us had clothes on.”

“You know, for someone so smart, you can be really dumb sometimes.”

Jungkook stared out the window as you drove. “So I didn’t try to murder you?”

“Nope. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“But why?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know what goes on in that brain of yours.” You grimaced.

“Shit, I wish I knew, too…” He trailed off and paused before speaking again. “I used to be able to do it, you know. I used to be able to sleep with someone, even drunk, without wanting to kill them. But lately it had become increasingly difficult to refrain from murder.” He sighed and contemplated it. “Maybe it was because you felt just as good.”

“Jeon,” you warned.

“What?”

“Don’t.” His sentiment was so cliched it made your skin crawl.

You rode in silence the rest of the way. Soon you were pulling up in front of Jungkook’s house. All the lights on the block were off, which meant his neighbors were asleep. Jungkook got out and turned toward you.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“Yeah whatever,” you replied, anxious to get rid of him.

“We need to talk about this sometime, though.”

“Sure we do.” He swore he could detect a hint of sarcasm in your voice.

Jungkook’s frowned at your stubbornness. “Anyway, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, murderer,” you called after him as he closed the car door and walked up his driveway.

You didn't bother waiting for him to open his front door before driving away.

Jungkook was awakened a mere four hours later by his phone ringing.

“Hello?” He answered.

“Wake up, Jeon.” It was Jin.

“Why?” Jungkook groaned.

“There's been another murder. Why else would I be calling you?”

Jungkook rolled over and sat up. “What time is it?”

“A little bit before 5am.”

Jungkook groaned again. “Text me the address. I'll be there soon.”

A few seconds after hanging up, Jungkook received a text message from Jin. He opened it, revealing an address in the Parkside district.

God damn it.

Not long after, he received another ping! It was a message from you.

Y/N: It's yours.

Jungkook flopped back onto his pillows and sighed, using his hands to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed out loud, punching the air.

What the hell were you expecting, Jungkook? They going to find the body eventually.

“Shut up,” he said to himself.

Jungkook then got up and got dressed before leaving for the crime scene.

When he got to the scene, Jiah was just how he had left her. Her heart on the counter, blood spilling out of her chest and from in between her legs. Some of it had dripped onto the floor, in a now-dried puddle.

You walked in with your hand over your mouth, trying to stifle a yawn.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Jungkook greeted you with a sarcastic grin. “Late night?”

You shot him a warning look.

A couple of seconds later Jin walked in with three large cups of coffee. “Morning,” he greeted and held the tray forward. Each of you took one, chugging the hot liquid energy down your throats.

You and Jungkook looked at Jin, expecting him to explain.

“Well?” You said, after Jin remained silent.

“There’s been another murder,” he said.

“I can see that,” you replied.

“Her name is Jeon Jiah. Twenty four years of age, worked at the bank on Union street. Hoseok said cause of death was, well,” Jin pointed to the space between Jiah legs, “someone driving that kitchen knife into her chest.”

You grimaced at the sight, letting Jungkook know just how disgusted you were.

“Has he found anything else?” Jungkook asked.

“The knife appears to be her own, since there’s one missing from the knife block that looks about the same size as the one the killer used on her. Other than that, there’s not much else. But let’s look around, see if we can find prints or anything,” Jin suggested.

You and Jungkook nodded, although Jungkook knew that you wouldn’t find anything. He wiped the place clean before he left. He was thorough, and never left anything behind.

After an hour of searching the house and coming up empty, Hoseok had the body packed up and delivered to the lab. You snapped some photos of the crime scene, and Jungkook pretended like he was helping.

“I’ll meet you two back at the station,” Jin said. “I called Park Jimin’s ex-boyfriend in for questioning, and he’ll be there at nine.”

You and Jungkook nodded. After Jin, Hoseok, and the rest of the crew left, you pulled something out of your pocket and handed it to Jungkook.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“I found it by the sink. I think it’s yours. I thought you might want it.”

Jungkook took the small strand of hair between his fingers. His eyes grew wide as he studied it, because it did, indeed, look a lot like his.

“I swear I cleaned up after myself,” Jungkook whispered.

“Then what is that?”

Jungkook frowned. “Thanks,” was all he said to you before walking back to his car.

Taehyung fidgeted in the plastic chair in the interrogation room. He tried to calm himself down, knowing that his nerves would make him look guilty. He had no reason to be nervous. He didn’t do anything. But just this whole situation was incredibly nerve wracking. He had never been in a police station before and honestly never thought he would be, especially not as a murder suspect.

Whenever he shook his leg, the cheap plastic chair – seemingly salvaged from an old high school – creaked incessantly, so he stopped himself. Instead, he scratched at the patch of hair behind his ear, another nervous habit of his. It was all he could do to prevent him from actually ripping his hair out.

Sometimes he would still wake up in the middle of the night, expecting Jimin to be next to him. It had been more than a week, but Taehyung still couldn’t process the fact that he was gone. He read the report that Jin had shown him. It made him sick that someone would want to do that to Jimin. He regretted breaking up with Jimin, and it was a stupid decision on both their parts. Taehyung couldn’t help but think that maybe he would still be alive if they were still together.

Taehyung’s thoughts were interrupted as you, Jin, and Jungkook walked into the interrogation room.

“Good morning, Taehyung,” Jin greeted.

Taehyung simply nodded and avoided eye contact.

“We called you in here to ask you some questions about Jimin.”

Again, Taehyung nodded and stared at the empty table in front of him. “Ask away.”

Jin glanced at Jungkook briefly and turned back to Taehyung.. “Did Jimin have any enemies? Anyone who would want to hurt him?”

“No. Everyone loved Jimin.” Taehyung looked up at the detectives. “I thought this was the work of a serial killer. Why are you asking me about that?”

“We’re just trying to think of every possible scenario,” you assured him.

“Well, then no. He didn’t have any enemies. Like I said, everyone loved him.”

“Was he seeing anybody knew?” Jungkook asked.

“Not that I know of, and I’m pretty sure he would have told me if he was.”

“So you two remained close even after your breakup?”

“Yeah, we were still friends. I like to think that he still loved me, since I still loved him.”

Jungkook frowned. “If you still loved each other, why did you break up?”

And why did he sleep with me?

“We didn’t really have time to see each other. Jimin was always working, and I’m still in grad school, so our schedules never really worked out.”

“Jimin had been laid off from his job recently, right? Wouldn’t that allow you more time together?” You asked.

“I guess we were both too scared to ask the other if he wanted to get back together. So, we just kind of left it and remained friends.”

“Was there anywhere that Jimin frequented? Anywhere he liked to hang out, either with friends or alone?”

Taehyung furrowed his brows, thinking. “Uhhh. We used to go to that new club over in the Seaside district. What was it called…?” Taehyung looked up at the ceiling, trying to recall. “Ah! LightRoom. We used to go there for some drinks and dancing, even after we broke up. But I don’t think he’s ever gone alone.”

Was that the place I met Jimin?

Jungkook couldn’t remember the name of it, but it seemed right.

“LightRoom. Okay, we’ll look into it. I think that’s enough info for now,” Jin declared. “Thank you, Taehyung. Oh, and one last thing. May we take a DNA sample from you just in case we find something and need to rule you out?”

Taehyung opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it, choosing to nod instead.

Jin went out to get a DNA kit and swabbed the inside of Taehyung’s cheek.

When he was done, he said, “Taehyung, we’ll call you if we have further questions.”

Taehyung nodded and let himself out.

“Jungkook, Y/N, I want you to head over to LightRoom and ask the staff if they remember seeing Jimin that night, and if they remember if he was with anyone.”

“Yes, Jin,” you replied.

“We’ll take my car,” Jungkook stated.

“Sure, whatever.” You then followed him out of the room with a frown.

Once in the car, Jungkook started driving in the direction opposite of the Seaside district.

“So where are we really going?” You asked him.

“Back to my place for a fucking nap. We only got like what? Three or four hours of sleep last night?”

“I actually didn’t sleep,” you admitted.

He turned his head toward you. “What? Why?”

You shrugged. “Wasn’t feeling it. Eyes on the road,” you told him.

He returned his attention to the road. “What do you mean by it?”

“Sleepy. Wasn’t feeling sleepy.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Whatever, I’m gonna nap. You can do whatever you want. Just don’t fuck up my house.”

“No promises.”

Back at his house, Jungkook went straight to his room, closing the door behind him and flopping down on his bed. You wandered around his home, studying, observing. You had never been in his home before. As a matter of fact, you knew very little about his private life. But then again, it didn’t seem like he had much of a private life. His house was quite small and  free of decoration, aside from a couple of books, tv, gaming system, and a framed picture of what you assumed was a teenage Jungkook posing with his mother. Other than those few possessions, the place seemed quite impersonal. The walls were white, the shelves were white. His couch was a basic gray tweed sofa, with enough space for three people. He had a glass coffee table which looked like every other glass coffee table in existence.

You made your way into the kitchen rifling through his cupboards and cabinets, not finding much. A couple of bowls, some instant ramen, ground coffee. His fridge was empty aside from a half empty carton of eggs and some expired orange juice. He had a microwave, toaster, blender, and coffee maker, but the coffee maker seemed to be the only one he regularly used among the appliances.

You decided to make yourself a cup of coffee. You searched the kitchen for a mug, opening and closing the cupboard doors, only to find a few still in the dishwasher, unwashed. You sighed and loaded the dishwasher with detergent and turned it on.

All your commotion was making it difficult for Jungkook to fall asleep. After about 10 minutes of you banging around in his kitchen, he grew frustrated and got up, ready to march over to you and tell you to pipe the fuck down.

“Do you mi– What are you doing?” He asked, seeing you climbing on the counter to reach a bag of ground coffee on the top shelf of one of his cabinets. Darn you for being this short.

“I’m trying to make coffee. It’s the only thing that’s keeping me going right now.”

“Why don’t you just take a nap like I’m trying to.”

“Can’t. Too wired. You know that feeling where you’re too tired to fall asleep? Yeah, that’s me right now.” You finally got a hold of the bag and climbed off the counter.

“That’s bullshit,” Jungkook scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Then his demeanor softened. “Come on. Come nap, relax. You can take my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“I don’t think I could possibly relax right now,” you told him, fiddling with the coffee maker.

“Maybe I can help.” Jungkook smirked.

You turned around to face him and raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“What took you two so long?” Jin asked when you and Jungkook returned to the precinct.

You glanced at each other.

“We came up with nothing at the club,” you lied. “None of the workers recognized the photo we had of Jimin. There were some regulars there, so we asked them a few questions, see if they knew anything.”

“So did they?”

“No,” Jungkook answered. “But one of them wouldn’t stop talking. She wouldn’t shut up about how it’s so unsafe to go out these days and that people are getting murdered left and right and it doesn’t seem like the police are – ow!” you elbowed Jungkook to get him to stop talking “– really doing anything,” he finished quickly.

Jin raised an eyebrow. “Damn. Okay… Well, Hoseok wants to see us in the lab now, so we should head on down there.”

“Okay.” Jungkook nodded, relieved at the change in subject.

You and Jungkook then followed Jin downstairs to the lab.

“Hey, Hoseok,” you greeted him when the three of you entered the lab.

“Hey, Y/N, and Jungkook and Jin.” He was standing next to Jiah’s body, which lay on the metal work table covered by a white sheet.

“So what do you got for us?” Jin asked.

“Well, as you may know, this victim was killed with her own knife. As for the other three murders, the weapon was not found at the scene. However, the cuts are the same. Careful and precise. And this case in particular shows quite a resemblance to the Skyline murder. The heart shape that the killer carved into Jiah’s chest was done in the same way the wings were carved into Hyojin’s back. I think our little serial killer has struck again.”

“Okay, but is there anything useful?” Jungkook asked rather rudely.

Hoseok frowned at his tone. “There’s something I found that I still need to double check, but I just thought I’d update you before the day was through.”

“Thank you, Hoseok. Keep up the good work.” You smiled at him, which he returned.

The three of you turned to leave before Hoseok called out, “Jin? There’s something I need to talk to you about. If you could stay for just a moment longer?”

Jin looked at Hoseok questioningly and nodded. “You two can go back upstairs,” he said to you and Jungkook.

The two of you left, leaving Jin and Hoseok alone in the lab.

“So where’s your crew?” Jin asked him, noticing that the lab, usually bustling with all of his assistants running around, was now quiet and empty.

“I sent them on a break. A few of them were getting frustrated because we weren’t finding anything.”

“Ah.”

Hoseok stepped around the table to stand in front of Jin. “You’re probably wondering why I asked you to stay behind.”

“That did cross my mind, yes,” Jin chuckled.

Hoseok frowned. “We found traces of semen in the victim.”

Jin’s eyebrow quirked up. “Semen?”

“Yes.” Hoseok let out a sigh.

“Why do you look disappointed? Isn’t that a good thing? It means we have a suspect.”

“Yes, but…” Hoseok looked down at the his shoes, not knowing how to break the bad news to Jin.

Jin’s brows furrowed. “But what?”

“We ran the sample against the DNA in our system…”

“And…?”

“We might have to run it again just to be sure, because this system is old…”

Jin was getting fed up with Hoseok’s beating around the bush. “Hoseok, just say it.”

Hoseok looked up and made eye contact with Jin. “You’re not gonna like this.”

Jin strode down the hallway that led from the the elevators to the main room of the precinct.

“Jeon Jungkook!” he called out. “Jeon Jungkook, where the fuck are you?!”

Jungkook was over by the kitchenette, making himself his third cup of coffee of the day, when he saw Jin barreling towards him.

Shit.

Before Jungkook could brace himself for impact, Jin had a hand against his throat and pushed him against the wall.

“Jeon Jungkook,” he said in what Jungkook could only describe as a growl. “I swear to god…”

Jungkook gulped. Some of the officers in the precinct turned to see what the commotion was. All of their eyes on Jungkook made him immensely uncomfortable.

Fuck. He knows it was me. How could he know it was me?

“Hoseok is going to double check the semen sample he found inside of Jiah, but if it turns out it does belong to you I will fuck you up far worse than you did any of those poor victims.”

Shit. Semen? But I used a condom. I was so careful…

“I–I–uhh.” Jungkook didn’t know what to say. Should he confess right here? It was hard to breathe let alone speak with Jin’s hand still wrapped around his throat, pinning him against the wall. The room began to spin and he felt light headed as his brain tried to come up with a suitable reaction.

Seeing the fear in Jungkook’s eyes and noticing his inability to breathe, Jin huffed and lifted his hand off Jungkook’s windpipe. Jungkook took in a sharp gasp of air.

After regaining his composure, Jin spoke again. “Until we have definitive results from Hoseok, I think you should take a leave of absence.”

“Jin,” Jungkook started, but he didn’t know how to follow up. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to him. Should he deny? Confess? Accept? What?

Jin sighed. “Just go. Sorry for causing a scene. I’ll call you if there’s anything new. But until further notice, I’m taking you off this case.”

You stood back, watching all of this unfold. It infuriated you, seeing Jungkook just stand there, not saying anything. “Jin,” you asserted, stepping forward. “You said it yourself that Hoseok still has to double check that it actually was Jungkook. You didn’t even let him defend himself. And now you’re sending him home? Like he actually did commit all those murders? What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“Y/N, Hoseok said–”

“Look, I don’t know what Hoseok said, but I know what the law says and you can’t send him home over something that has not been proven.”

Jin gaped at you. He knew you were right. This was just the first piece of evidence they had found on any of the victims that pointed toward a culprit and he didn’t care just how absurd and improbable it sounded, because it was something. He finally had someone to blame, even if it seemed improbable.

“Fine, Jeon,” Jin resigned. “You can stay. But if Hoseok is right about the sample and about you, I will show no mercy.”

“I understand, sir,” Jungkook replied weakly.

Once Jin walked away and the other officers returned to their work, you stepped toward Jungkook and pulled him into an interrogation room so no one would hear you. “I’ll cover for you,” you told him. “I’ll be your alibi for that night, and all the other nights if you need it.”

“What?!” Jungkook exclaimed, stepping out of your grasp.

“I can go downstairs and distract Hoseok while you sneak into the lab and alter the data.”

“Y/N…”

“What?”

“Are you fucking crazy?” He blurted out.

You crossed your arms. “Well, how else do you expect to get out of this?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Prison?”

“Hell no. I won’t let you.”

“But if you lie for me, and they find out, it’s not just me going to jail. You will too for aiding and abetting.”

“Maybe so, but we go together or we don’t go down at all”

“Why would you help me? Y/N, do you like me or something?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What is this? High school? ‘Do you like me or something?’” You mocked. “You think because I’m trying to do something for you, there are feelings behind it? I’m doing this for me, for my benefit, and for the benefit of the City, because we both know this precinct will go to shit if you were found guilty. I would be out of a job and the whole city will be left defenseless.”

Jungkook frowned. “Now you're just being dramatic.”

“Really? Let’s play it out in your head, Jungkook. Let’s say one day you fuck up. You leave behind something that points toward you. Oh look! That day is today! You’re questioned, you get sent to trial, you’re found guilty, you go to prison for the rest of your life. What happens to us? Well first, the media will attack us, asking us how we could let one of our own get away with four whole murders before he was caught. Then they’d speculate. Were we in on it? Were we working with you? We’d have to go on trial, too. Even if we’re not found guilty, there will always be those people who think we are. People who think we lied and used our status to get out of indictment.”

Jungkook was about to say something but you didn’t let him.

“Jungkook, there’s a reason why there are only three detectives in the City. No one wants to see the shit that we see. And no one’s gonna want to step up to fill your place. And we both know that Jin is incompetent.”

Jungkook opened his mouth to protest, but again you stopped him.

“The guy nearly vomits at a crime scene! Like what kind of detective does that? It doesn’t matter how gruesome it is, we have to be able to handle it. And then that just leaves me. You think I can do everything on my own? Actually, honestly maybe I can. But do I want to? Hell no.” You take in a deep breath to calm yourself, which Jungkook feels is the first breath you’ve taken since you started ranting. “Anyway,” you continue, “now do you see? Now do you understand why I’m doing this?” You sighed. “How could you even let this happen?” You asked. “First the hair and now this?”

Jungkook was getting frustrated at all your attacks. “I–I don’t know!” He stuttered. “I wasn’t expecting it to happen last night. I didn’t even know I was going to be having sex so all I had was the emergency condom I keep in my wallet.”

“Are you stupid? You know condoms expire! And keeping them in your wallet can cause them to tear!”

“It wasn’t that old! Plus I told myself that it was just going to be a regular hookup! No drinking, no murder!”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “And how well did that plan go, hm?”

“I–I–”

You groaned. “Maybe you deserve to be locked up.”

“Hey! I made it this far without getting caught. Don’t you think that’s something?” Jungkook pulled a tissue out of his pocket and unfolded it. Inside lay a strand of hair. “I did manage to get this for a little insurance,” he said, picking it up off the tissue and showing it to you.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Taehyung left it behind,” he explained.

You nodded your head in understanding. “So are we going to do this, or what?”

After your whole speech, Jungkook felt like he really didn’t have a choice. He sighed in resignation and led you out of the interrogation room.

You stepped out of the elevator and into the lab having unbuttoned the top three buttons of your work shirt. You took your hair out of its ponytail and gave it a zhoosh before walking over to Hoseok.

“Hey, Hobi,” you smiled at him flirtatiously. “Can I ask you a favor?” You looked around to see if his assistants were around, but it appeared that they were still out.

“Hey, Y/N. Sure, what’s up?” He asked with a warm smile, stepping away from his computer toward you.

“May I see Jimin’s body? There are some things I need for the report.”

“I already emailed you all my data on Jimin.”

“I know but, I just want to double check.”

“Oh, okay, sure.”

Hoseok led you away from the lab and into the morgue. He grasped the metal handle to one of the metal drawers on the wall and pulled, revealing Jimin inside. He removed the sheet that covered Jimin’s body and stepped aside, allowing you to look at whatever you needed.  He started to turn around to go back to the lab, and in the second that he faced away, you dropped the strand of Taehyung’s hair into Jimin’s gaping wound. As Hoseok stepped toward the door, you stopped him.

“Wait, what’s this?” You leaned closer, pretending to get a better look.

Hoseok approached the body. “What?”

“Can you hand me the tweezers over there?” You pointed toward the tray on the far side of the morgue away from the door.

Hoseok went to fetch it and brought it to you. You used them to pluck the hair off of the body.

“It’s a hair,” you stated.

“Wh– How did I miss that?” Hoseok stared at it incredulously.

You shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Give it to me and I’ll run it in the system,” Hoseok told you.

As you were handing Hoseok the strand of hair, you fumbled, dropping it and the tweezers onto the floor to buy you some time.

“Oh my god! Clumsy me!” You exclaimed.

“Y/N, are you okay? You seem a bit... off right now.”

“Yeah! Totally fine! Haven’t slept in over 48 hours but I’m totally fine!” You laughed.

“Oh. Oh my, Y/N. Hopefully, with the evidence that I’m still waiting on, we can wrap up this case soon and you can get some rest.”

“Please. I want nothing more.”

Hoseok smiled and nodded at you before turning toward the door.

“Wait!” You called out to him again. “Maybe… when this case is done…” You draw out your sentence, hoping to stall him for longer. “Maybe you and I could go out for a drink? Just the two of us?” You smiled at him hopefully.

“I would love to, Y/N, but I’m married,” Hoseok replied.

“Oh.” You frowned. “I never see you wear a ring,” you pointed out.

“I never wear it to work,” he explained. “I can’t be accidentally losing it inside a body or something like that.”

You chuckled. “Oh, that’s true. Never mind, then. Forget I asked.”

“I mean we could still go as friends. But from the way you asked me, I felt you wanted it to be more.”

“You’re right. But that’s fine. Anyway, I should head back to work.” You gave him a smile before leaving, hoping you gave Jungkook enough time to do whatever he needed to do.

Jungkook waited about five minutes after you left to head down to the lab. Relief washed over him when he stepped out of the elevator to find that the lab was empty of all personnel. He headed straight for Hoseok’s computer, searching to see if the results from his semen sample came back yet. Thankfully Hoseok was so distracted by your presence that he left his computer unlocked. The program was at 92% completion at that time, and Jungkook hoped it finished before you and Hoseok returned from the morgue. He waited, watching the loading bar inch closer to 100% at an agonizing pace. He stared at it intently, willing it to hurry up.

He was broken from his focus by a loud clang, which caused him to jump. “Oh my god! Clumsy me!” He heard you exclaim from the other room. He tongued his cheek and cocked his head to the side.

Y/N, you need to chill. You’re overdoing it just a bit.

He stared back at the monitor. 96%.

Come on, come on.

97%...

98%...

99%...

100%!

Fuck, finally.

MATCH FOUND: JEON JUNGKOOK, 1997/09/01, CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT

Jungkook quickly deleted the data and entered his own.

ERROR: NO MATCH FOUND

When he was done, Jungkook bolted out of there, not wanting to risk getting caught when Hoseok returned.

Taehyung sat again in that same plastic chair in the same interrogation room, feeling every bit as anxious as yesterday. He had no idea why he was called in again. He hoped it was because they found new information on Jimin’s killer, but the way Jin spoke to him on the phone, it sounded like he was in trouble.

He couldn’t stop his leg from shaking, which resulted in the chair’s incessant creaking that drove him crazy, only adding onto his nerves. The minutes seemed like days as he waited for someone to come in and tell him what was going on.

However, he was completely caught off guard when Jin entered the room, startling him and causing him to nearly fly out of his seat.

“Good morning, Taehyung,” Jin said, although the deadpan in his voice suggested that it most certainly was not a good morning.

“Hi, why am I here?” Taehyung blurted out, wanting to cut to the chase.

“We are here because we found some evidence that could lead to a suspect,” Jin explained.

Taehyung let out a sigh, relieved that the police were one step closer to finding Jimin’s killer.

“Well, do you have a suspect? Who is it?” Taehyung inquired. He stared at his hands which lay in front of him on the table.

“It’s you.”

His heart stopped. “Me?!?” His eyes shot up, looking at Jin for the first time after refusing to make eye contact up until now.

“Yes, you. After a closer examination of Jimin’s body, we found a hair on it that belongs to you.” Jin pulled out the chair and sat down across the table from Taehyung, facing him. “Can you explain to me how your hair got on the victim?”

The victim. Jin said it like he wasn’t even a real person, like Jimin was a thing, an object.

“Please don’t talk about him like that,” Taehyung mumbled.

“Huh?”

“His name was– is– Jimin. Please call him that.”

“Alright. Can you explain to me how your hair got onto Jimin,” Jin corrected.

“I can’t.” Taehyung grimaced. “I already told you, I was at the vet taking care of my dog that night. At that point I hadn’t seen Jimin in a few days, since I thought he would need some space to cope with getting laid off. I don’t know how my hair would have gotten onto him.”

“I see,” Jin said, contemplating.

“Honestly, I find it offensive that you think I would do such a thing to Jimin. What kind of sick person would want to hurt him like that? I just don’t understand what would drive someone to do something like that.”

“I understand, Taehyung. That’s what we’re trying to figure out ourselves. Your alibi checks out, but we just don’t see how your hair could have ended up on the victi– I mean– Jimin. It makes no sense unless someone planted it, but that would mean it had to be someone… within… the precinct.” Taehyung noticed Jin’s faraway expression as Jin remembered what Hoseok told him yesterday about the semen sample possibly being Jungkook’s.

“What is it?” Taehyung asked.

Jin shook his head dismissively. “Nothing.” He then pushed back his chair and stood up. “Thank you for coming down here on such short notice. I apologize for you having to come all the way down here for such a brief meeting.”

“It’s okay. Anything to help find out what happened to Jimin.”

Jin nodded. “We’ll be in touch if anything new arises. Again, I apologize.”

He then walked out without another word, and Taehyung was left confused by his sudden departure. What did he say? Something about someone within the precinct?

“Hoseok!” Jin called out as he exited the elevator. “Hoseok, are you here?” He surveyed the lab to find Hoseok behind a shelf of case files.

Hoseok made his way over to Jin. “Good morning,” he greeted with his usual warm smile.

“The results. Of the semen sample. Have you gotten them back yet?”

Hoseok sighed. “Yes.”

“And?”

“Unfortunately, there was no match found.”

“What?!”

“The DNA didn’t match anyone in our system,” Hoseok explained. “And we have nearly all of the City’s data in there, so it must be someone who isn’t from here.”

“So are you saying that Jiah was not a victim of the serial killer?”

“I didn’t say that. I still think she is. What I’m saying is that the serial killer most likely does not live in the City.”

Jin clenched his fist. “That makes no sense! Why would someone travel all the way here to kill people? Why can’t they go plague their own city? Why do they have to tarnish my beloved town?”

“I don’t know, Jin,” Hoseok replied, disappointed that he couldn’t give Jin an answer.

“So for sure it doesn’t match Jungkook?”

“The DNA does not match Jungkook’s,” he reiterated.

“Are there security cameras down here?” Jin asked, seemingly changing the subject abruptly.

“No, it wasn’t in the City’s budget, so there aren’t any cameras below the main floor. Why do you ask?”

“Do you think someone could have tampered with the evidence?”

“What, you think Jungkook…?”

“Yes.”

“No. I’ve been here all day, everyday since the Ambrosia murder, and I lock everything securely at night. Only I have the key to this place, so it’s not possible for anyone to get down here without my knowledge.”

“But this doesn’t make sense!” Jin exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. “You’ve always been very thorough with your autopsies. There’s no way you could have missed Taehyung’s hair. Someone must have planted it!”

“Well, Y/N was the one who found it. Do you think it was her?”

“Hoseok, do you think she is capable of producing semen.”

“Good point.”

Just then, a rookie police officer stepped out of the elevator. “Jin, we need you upstairs immediately.”

“What is it?”

“Someone confessed to the serial killings.”

Jin and Hoseok’s eyes widened.

“What?!”

“He’s in the interrogation room right now.”

Jin stared at the man in front of him, still shocked that, after months of dead ends and zero leads, someone was actually confessing.

“So… You killed Min Yoongi, Kang Hyojin, Park Jimin, and Jeon Jiah?”

The man leaned back in his chair. “Yup,” he answered with irritating nonchalance. “It was me. The one, the only, Kim Namjoon.”

“Okay, but why?” Jin asked, still confused. He was so sure it was Jungkook, yet here this man was, confessing to every single one of the murders, even with no evidence pointing toward him.

“It’s fun. I enjoy it. Seeing all the blood gush from their veins as the life leaves their bodies. It’s beautiful, almost romantic.”

The way he said it made Jin’s skin crawl.

You scoffed, seeing right through Namjoon’s lie. “So that’s it? Are we really going to just accept that?” You asked.

“Y/N, it’s a confession. There’s not much we can do about it, especially when there’s no evidence that points toward a real suspect.”

When Jin said that last part, his eyes flicked over to where Jungkook silently stood in the corner, seemingly staring into his soul.

Jungkook squirmed under the weight of his gaze.

I know he knows it was me. But he can’t prove it was me.

You roll your eyes. “Fine then, let’s get out of here and fill out all the paperwork we need for his arrest.”

Jin nodded and followed you out of the interrogation room. Jungkook remained behind.

He walked over the the table and circled it, studying Namjoon. “Why did you do it?” Jungkook asked him.

“I already explained why. I enjoy it.”

“No, I mean, why did you lie? You and I both know you didn’t kill them. So why say you did?”

“Why, for the fame of course. This serial killer is the talk of the country if you haven’t noticed. And I crave attention.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“So what if it is?” Namjoon narrowed his eyes. “How are you so sure I didn’t do it?”

Jungkook shot him a warning look.

“Nooo,” Namjoon breathed. “You? The detective? The City’s most praised detective is this country’s most notorious serial killer? Well I’ll be damned.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but you do. I can see it in your eyes, Detective Jeon. I can see the hunger, the bloodlust behind those dark irises. You’re not fooling me, Jeon. Hell, I’m surprised you’re fooling anyone. Seriously, no one else knows?”

Jungkook glanced out the glass paneled door to where you stood, talking about something with Jin.

“No, her? She knows?” A sinister grin spread across his lips. “You’re not fucking her are you?”

Jungkook shifted on his feet, which Namjoon noticed.

“You are! And you haven’t tried to kill her yet? That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Kookie. It’s only a matter of time before you lose control. Such a sad, twisted love story.”

“It’s not a love story. We don’t love each other,” Jungkook corrected.

“Why would she lie for you, then? If not for love.”

“For ourselves.”

“Ah yes, yourselves. Humans are selfish creatures. That would only make sense.” Namjoon sneered.

Just then, through the glass in the door, Jungkook and Namjoon saw six police officers enter the precinct in uniform, here to haul Namjoon away.

“It looks like my time with you is up.” Namjoon feigned disappointment in his voice. “Maybe I’ll see you again soon. Have fun with your game, Jungkook.”

At that moment, the six officers stormed into the interrogation room, placing Namjoon in handcuffs and whisking him away.

Weeks passed and Namjoon underwent trial and indictment. The judge sentenced him to life in prison, which Namjoon seemed happy about. He held his head high and smiled proudly for the news reporters as he exited the courthouse, being escorted in handcuffs to an armored vehicle which would take him to his new permanent home.

Jungkook felt like he could finally breathe. With someone else behind bars, he felt like the suspicion was no longer on him, aside from the occasional sidelong glances from Jin that suggested he still thought Jungkook was guilty.

However, even with Namjoon behind bars, and even when Jungkook decided that he would take a break from the murders for a while, Jin still couldn’t let it go. Something in the back of his mind was still telling him that Jungkook was guilty. Sure, there hasn’t been a murder since Namjoon was locked up, but something still didn’t seem right. Why was that hair found on Jimin after Hoseok did the autopsy? Why did the semen sample not have a match after previously matching to Jungkook? Why were there so many things that just didn’t make sense?

On a slow day, he decided to pull Jungkook aside for some questioning. Not a formal investigation, but more of a boss-to-employee kind of talk.

“Hey,” Jin started, walking up next to you and Jungkook as you sipped your coffees in the kitchen. “What are you two up to?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Just waiting for a case to come in. Things have been slow ever since we put that serial killer behind bars.”

“Yeah,” you added. “Not much to do aside from the occasional missing child cases that just turn out to be some kid who decided to skip school for a day.” You pursed your lips and stared at your coffee.

“Jungkook, may I ask you some things in private?”

“All due respect, sir, but whatever you ask me you can ask in front of Y/N.”

Jin sighed. “Fine, but do you remember a few weeks ago when Hoseok found semen inside of one of the victims, and when he ran it, it matched you?”

“I thought that he ran it again and came up with nothing,” Jungkook pointed out.

��Right… It was a fluke.” Jin didn’t sound convinced. “But I just have to ask…” He hesitated, to which Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Where were you on the night of Jiah’s murder?”

Jungkook slowly turned his head and locked eyes with you. After holding your gaze for a brief moment, he looked back at Jin and cleared his throat. “I was with Y/N.”

“Wow, way to expose me like that,” you grumbled and swatted his arm.

Jungkook winced and rubbed the spot you hit.

“Is that true?” Jin asked you.

You sighed. “Yes, I was with him that night,” you answered.

“So are you two, like… dating?”

“That’s really none of your business, Jin,” you quipped.

Jin grimaced. “I know, I was just curious.”

“I was with her for the rest of the murders, too, if you were curious.” He saw Jin squirm. “And if you’re still not satisfied, I have a camera installed in my driveway. If you go to the night that Jiah was murdered, you’ll see Y/N dropping me off at home.”

“Alright, alright. You don’t have to get so defensive. I’m a detective for god’s sake! It’s my job to ask questions!”

“That’s understandable,” Jungkook replied. “But considering I’ve been wrongly accused before, I felt like I needed to defend myself. Also, I think Y/N’s constant bad mood is starting to rub off on me.”

“Hey! I’m not in a bad mood! I’m just annoyed to be constantly surrounded by men every hour of everyday.”

Jungkook looked at Jin and shook his head, a gesture that said, “Don’t listen to her, she’s just being dramatic.”

Jin let out a nervous laugh. “Well, I best be going. Lots of case files to input into the system.” He nodded curtly before leaving, not wanting to get tangled in a quarrel between you and Jungkook.

Once he was gone, Jungkook turned toward you with an annoyed expression. “What was that all about?”

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows in genuine confusion.

“You said you would be my alibi and then got all snappy when I said you were,” Jungkook answered.

You shrugged. “Just trying to make it more believable. You think I would just let you rat me out to our boss like that?”

“No, I guess not.”

Almost getting caught really put Jungkook on edge. Even months later, he still refrained from killing. He was okay with it for the most part. But, he missed going out and searching for victims. He missed the thrill of the chase and finally getting to fulfill his desires.

He didn’t particularly miss the sex though. Now, he had you to satiate him.

But the blood… The murder… Watching as the life left people’s bodies. That was a lust that couldn’t be sated by you.

“Everything alright, Jungkook?” You asked, noticing the vacant look in his eyes as you straddled him on your bed.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m fine.” He leaned forward to plant kisses on your neck.

You craned your neck back, giving him a better angle. “You want to be on top?”

Without answering he grabbed onto your waist and threw you onto the mattress, knocking the wind out of you.

As you tried to catch your breath, he continued kissing your neck. He started at your jaw, then moved down to your throat, pressing his lips softly against your skin until he reached the large vein that carried your pulse. He paused, able to feel it beating erratically beneath your skin.

That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Kookie. It’s only a matter of time before you lose control.

He could hear Namjoon’s voice so clearly in his head, saying the words Jungkook had been trying so hard to block out over the last few months. He had been successful for a while, but now, all he could think about was that vein in your neck, all the blood rushing through it, circulating throughout the rest of your body, and how satisfying it would be to just slice it open, letting all of that rich, red blood spill free.

You noticed that you’d lost him again. “Jungkook, what’s wrong?” You searched his face for an answer.

“I’m sorry, I can't do this,” Jungkook said, pulling away from you abruptly.

“What do you mean?” You tilted your head to the side.

“I think I need to turn myself in.”

“What? Why?” You sat up and watched him as he threw on his jacket and shoes. “Where are you going?”

“To the police station.”

“Right now? After all I did to save your ass, you’re going to turn yourself in?”

“Y/N, I have to. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me not to kill you right now?”

“What? But you’re not even drunk!”

“I know… But lately… Ever since I stopped with the drunk murders…” He had trouble wording his thoughts. “I’ve been wanting them sober as well. It’s been too long. I need something.”

“Something…” You repeat, not satisfied with his vague answer.

“I can’t explain it! All I know is that right now, all I can focus on is the vein in your neck, and how much I want to cut it open and watch you bleed. I don’t have to be drunk to want to kill you anymore. And I’m scared that one day I will.”

“I don’t know, maybe murdering me wouldn’t be so bad.”

“This isn’t a time for jokes, Y/N.”

You sighed. “If you do turn yourself in, what happens to me? You used me as your alibi. If you go to jail, so do I.”

“I’ll think of something. Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to.”

Without another word he turned around and walked out. Soon, he was gone.

Jungkook stormed into the precinct around midnight. Some police officers were still there, waiting for emergency calls, others were patrolling the streets for crime. Jin was nowhere in sight, probably gone home at this hour.

“Where’s Jin?” He yelled when he barged in.

“Jin went home a couple of hours ago,” one of the senior officers answered. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Yes, Officer Bang. Please call Jin and tell him to get his ass down here.”

Jin arrived at the station confused. Officer Bang had called him to tell him to come to the station without any further explanation other than the fact that it was urgent.

“What the hell is going on that you had to call me at midnight and tell me to come down here with no explana–” He stopped when he saw Jungkook. “Jungkook, what are you doing here?”

“Jin, may I speak to you privately?”

Jin opened his mouth to reply, but instead closed it and nodded. He then led Jungkook out of the main room and into one of the interrogation rooms.

“What’s up, Jungkook?” Jin asked as Jungkook closed the door behind him.

He knew that if he pondered on it longer, he might change his mind. So without hesitation he blurted out, “I did it.”

Jin leaned against the table, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “Did what?”

“I killed Min Yoongi, Kang Hyojin, Park Jimin, and Jeon Jiah. It was me, not Namjoon.”

Jin gaped at Jungkook, not knowing how to respond. He always had a feeling it was Jungkook, and awaited the day he confessed, but now that he had, he couldn’t quite process it.

“You…?”

Jungkook took a deep breath. “Yes, me.”

“Why now?” Jin stood up straight and scrutinized with the detective.

“What?” He squirmed under the intensity of his boss’ stare.

Jin narrowed his eyes. “Why are you confessing now? After months? After an innocent man went to prison?”

“You make it sound like he was falsely accused. He turned himself in, he wanted to be arrested.”

Jin tongued his cheek, trying to decide what to do next. “So you really did it? You’re really confessing?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, that brings me back to my previous question: Why now?”

“For a long time, I wanted to stop with the killing, but I just couldn’t bring myself to. Not until a few months ago when I was almost caught. Then I was able to hold myself back, but lately I’ve been… I’m worried I’ll do it again.”

Jin nodded solemnly. “You know, I have no choice but to arrest you.”

“I know,” Jungkook casted his gaze down toward the ground.

“And, we’re going to have to hold you in the station’s cell until we can get a court date.”

“I’m a detective, Jin. I know how things work around here.”

Again, Jin nodded, his lips pressed into a straight line. “Just making sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Do I really have a choice at this point?”

“No, I suppose not.”

For the first time in his life, Jin was not happy that he was right.

Jungkook sat in the hard wooden chair in the courtroom, listening to the prosecutor drone on and on about his case. It was immensely uncomfortable, both on his ass and his back, and no matter which way he shifted, he experienced no relief. The fact that his hands were chained together didn’t help with his discomfort either. He spent most of the time zoning out and the rest of the time answering questions.

“Regarding the murder of Jeon Jiah, semen was found inside the victim, but no matches were found in the system. Are you saying that it was yours?” The prosecutor asked him.

“Yes,” Jungkook answered. “The reason there was no match was because I snuck into the lab and altered the results.”

“And what about your alibi? You said you were with Y/N for the night of that murder, as well as the others. Did she know about this and cover for you?”

He looked over to where you sat in the audience. “No, Y/N didn’t lie. She didn’t know about the murders. I always met up with her afterward, within the possible time of death timeframe, but I didn’t tell her where I was or what I did before. I used her as my alibi, but she didn’t know.”

“Mhm. And with Park Jimin, did you tamper with the evidence and plant Kim Taehyung’s hair on the body.”

Jungkook nodded. “Yes.”

The prosecutor nodded. “That will be all, your honor.” He bowed to the judge and took his seat.

“Do you, Jeon Jungkook, plead guilty to the murder of Min Yoongi on June 13th, 2020, Kang Hyojin on March 2nd, 2021, Park Jimin on July 8th, 2021, and Jeon Jiah on July 15th, 2021?” The judge asked.

“Yes, I, Jeon Jungkook, plead guilty to all of those murders,” Jungkook announced.

“I hereby sentence you to 85 years to life in prison, without bail and no opportunity for parole.”

Jungkook looked down at his chained wrists and nodded.

It’s what’s right. It’s what I deserve.

“Kim Namjoon shall be released in the next 24 hours, and I request that he undergoes a psychiatric evaluation. That will be all for today. Case closed.” The judge banged his gavel onto the sound block, signalling the end of the trial.

You followed close behind as the police officers escorted Jungkook out of the courtroom, aggressively pushing past the sea of news reporters shoving their camera in Jungkook’s downcasted face. You watched them shoving and yelling, trying to push their way to the front of the crowd to get the best photo of the City’s notorious serial killer. The real one this time. You lingered at the scene, a few feet away, as Jungkook was led into an armored van that belonged to the local penitentiary. He turned back before entering the vehicle, and gave you a reassuring smile, which was undoubtedly forced. You didn’t smile back, and when he saw that, you were met with a frown. You continued to watch as the van drove away, disappearing down the street, taking Jungkook away forever.

You never visited him, and he never called you. To this day you don’t even know if he’s still alive, or if he was killed in a prison fight or poisoned by some corrupt guard. Although, as famous as he became, you would assume it would be on the news if he passed.

Kim Namjoon was released within 24 hours of the trial, per the judge’s orders, and underwent a psychiatric evaluation. You don’t know what became of him after that, and honestly, you don’t care.

Thankfully, the commotion you had so feared, the very thing that drove you to lie for Jungkook’s sake, did not happen. There were no accusations of conspiracy within the precinct. The media and the citizens left you and Jin alone, without so much as a single whisper of corruption. But still, you left the precinct, unable to tolerate working with Kim Seokjin by yourself, and opened your own private detective agency. You were finally at peace, and hoped that all of your lies wouldn’t catch up to you one day.

Read about the Skyline Case here.

[cemetery-john]

In 1993, 16-year-old Kelly Anne Bates left school and moved in with her boyfriend of two years, introducing him to her parents as 32-year-old “Dave Smith.” What they didn’t know was that his real name was James Patterson Smith, a 48-year-old man with a lengthy history of domestic violence. When Kelly visited home, her parents noticed that she appeared to have lost weight and looked unclean. Most worryingly, Kelly often bore bruises and bite marks, which she dismissed as accidental. Kelly became increasingly withdrawn, until contact was eventually cut off, save for a few cards, which were suspiciously not written in Kelly’s handwriting.

On April 16, 1996, Smith entered a local police station, spinning a story about an argument in the bath tub which had resulted in his girlfriend accidentally drowning. Upon arrival at the home, it soon became evident that this story was fabricated and that Kelly’s death was anything but accidental. Kelly was found in a bedroom, naked and horrifically mutilated. Her blood was found in every single room in the house and over 150 separate injuries on her body were identified during a post-mortem examination.

In the last month of her life, Kelly had been kept locked in the house, tied by her hair to the radiator or restrained by a ligature around her neck. She had been starved and denied water in the days leading up to her death. The horrific injuries inflicted on Kelly included burns on her thighs from a hot iron, partial scalping, scalding to her thighs and buttocks, and the mutilation of her ears, face and genitals. Her arms, hands, legs, and kneecaps had been crushed, rendering her unable to walk. Perhaps the most gruesome and disturbing aspect of this case is the fact that Kelly’s eyes had been gouged out somewhere between 5 days and 3 weeks prior to her death. The extensive stab wounds found on Kelly’s body included stab wounds to her empty eye sockets and the inside of her mouth. Kelly was eventually put out of her misery, beaten unconscious with a shower head and then drowned in the bath tub.

Smith continued to deny murder, but did admit to abusing Kelly, claiming she often inflicted injuries upon herself to make the abuse look worse. Smith’s excuse for torturing Kelly was that she’d provoked him into doing so, daring him to do it. A jury found him guilty within an hour and he was sentenced to life imprisonment. The photographs of the crime scene and Kelly’s body were so horrific that jurors were offered counselling.

[ivoryandbonerpg-blog]

 ♛  THE FOUR HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE  ♛

Monsters are crafted from shadow and bone. They give life to terror and consume all that surrounds them. As Hell reigns on Earth, and the wizarding community finds itself in the midst of destruction like their kind has never seen, the superstitious and religious pay their final blessings and respects before their final days have expired. The world is exploding into a flurry of chaos and blood, and Lord Voldemort’s Inner Circle are wielding the destruction.

                                                                  ⚔ ⚔ ⚔

&&. DEATH

She does not search for her prey; they come to her, once her comrades have finished playing with them. She does not submit to hunting after her enemy, but rather ensnares them like a spider in a web; like a predatory feline waiting leisurely for a mouse to scurry out of its hole. She waits inside a manor built like a castle, with old, weathered stone for walls and slick black marble to glide across. She has crafted her own chair out of bone and metal; a tribute to those who have fallen and submitted themselves (willingly or otherwise) to her Master’s command. To her wand. So it is she sits and waits, one leg delicately crossed over the other, revealing a flash of ivory skin through the slits in her black gown. She is a Queen in her own right, and this shrine of submission and defeat her unofficial Throne. The Dark Lord is not a King among peasants in her eyes; he is a deity, and she among his most devout followers. A woman born with the divine right to rule and lead. Conquest is her daughter; a caress of submission and weakness in the aftermath of a battle. War is her brother; a fierce defender and surveyor of the world as it rips itself to tatters before his very eyes. Famine, she saves for last. He is her lover; her pet to do her bidding and suck and mutilate the souls of the weakened while she waits for them to collapse in front of her, defeated and desperate for the sweet embrace of death.                                                all it takes from her is one small kiss;                                                    to undo, to unravel, to unmake

She grows cold as she waits for opportunity to strike; for her prey to be presented to her, weary and broken from the time they have spent with the rest of her family. Her fingernails, stained a ghastly shade of red from the paint she has applied to them, thrum impatiently against the arm of her throne. Her claws dig into the polished bone and metal beneath her fingertips; she grits her teeth in irritation, and anger hot and pulsating boils over and seeps through the room. She is a cloud of black mist; of turbulence and anger and uncertainty. Her eyes remain ever cool and transfixed on the door opposite her, even as the low-ranking followers in the room titter nervously with one another. They do not care as much for accidentally upsetting the others, but she is a woman who has no match. She is unrivaled among her field, with the exception of her master and his greatest lieutenant.

He enters then, Famine, in that hollow, starving way of his. He slinks through the shadows, the husk of a wizard being dragged across the marble floor beneath him. As the filthy prisoner is deposited at her feet, the Queen crinkles her nose in blatant disgust and shifts the lace hem of her dress away from the creature’s grubby fingers. Oddly, she thinks of having the floors clean once his body has been deposited in the burial hole with the others. She toys with her wand contemplatively, wandering if the prisoner will make a break for it, knowing he won’t. War captured him, Conquest captured his spirit, and Famine ate his soul. So it comes to be that she is the remainder; the last of her kind. The conclusion to a peaked climax. And so she lifts her wand, arm steady, eyes focused, and hisses the words that caress her tongue lovingly; as warm and familiar as a child’s embrace.

“Avada Kedavra.”

                        She is all that is left. She is sweet release. She is death.

&&. CONQUEST, WAR, AND FAMINE.

Care to see the other horsemen of the apocalypse and some of Lord Voldemort’s most trusted Death Eaters? You can view Conquest here, War here, and Famine here. Be sure to like and reblog this post, and OUR OFFICIAL CHARACTER TEASERS.

                                                 WHO ARE WE?

A brand new, canon divergent storyline following the Golden Trio and the newly expansive Wizarding World and its corresponding second war is on the way. You’ve never seen the Chosen One’s story this dark before; and now, Harry Potter’s beloved Wizard World will involve dynamic characters from a wide variety of culture and backgrounds, both canonically known and entirely original. In upcoming teasers and infographics, expect to learn the following: a themed playlist for the group, teaser introductions for important characters, upcoming bio releases, and more.

MAKE SURE TO POST IN THE GROUP’S TALK TAG (IABTALK) AND FOLLOW US FOR MORE TEASERS AND INFORMATION RELEASED

[aion-rsa]

Lovecraft Country Episode 3 Review: Holy Ghost

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This Lovecraft Country review contains spoilers.

Lovecraft Country Episode 3

Leti sits in church, and stares into nothing, as the congregation worships exuberantly around her. “Which angels gave you their wings? Which skies have you flown? And when you reached the heavens, who was there to catch you when you fell?” The spoken-word poem, performed by Precious Ebony for Nike’s #betrue campaign provides an evocative soundtrack to the dissonant scene.

Last week’s installment, “Whitey’s On The Moon,” was such an enormous episode, it’s hard to believe that it’s just the second installment of the season. The amount of information it contained, both in the exposition and in the little details that only began to unveil themselves this week, is enough to fill an entire season. But Lovecraft Country isn’t short on ideas, and that is abundantly clear in this week’s episode “Holy Ghost,” a striking classic haunted house entree seasoned with Lovecraft Country’s signature flavor: a pinch of racism.

Tic has been staying at Uncle George’s with Hippolyta and Dana, but he senses his welcome has expired. Hippolyta has a strong sense that the story she’s being told about her husband’s death isn’t the full story, which is true. Tic asks Montrose if he can crash there, but they get into it almost immediately; they disagree on whether Hippolyta should know about magic. Tic wants to tell her, Montrose does not. “You want us to tell them wizards are real. That white people got magic on their side. Hippolyta can’t do shit. We can’t do shit.”

This argument is one of the classic hero conundrums: do we tell our loved ones the truth or do we keep them in the dark? Time and again, superheroes have to weigh the benefits and risks of people in their lives knowing about their secret identities, and usually it comes down to what keeps them safest. In the world that’s been established in Lovecraft Country ignorance has a cost, and keeping people from the truth might leave them susceptible to harm. But awareness doesn’t necessarily mean preparedness, and knowing might be overwhelming. I have a lot more faith in Hippolyta than Montrose seems to. And I have no doubt, this conversation will remain relevant throughout the season.

On the Northside, Leti convinces her sister Ruby to move into the house she just bought, and to rent the extra rooms to other Black folks. Ruby is hesitant because she doesn’t necessarily trust Leti, and she doesn’t want to be a pioneer, at least when it comes to where she lives. When she accepts, it’s because she believes Leti is trying to repair their relationship, and to do something selfless. When Leti accidentally reveals she bought the house with money their mother left for her, it just fractures their relationship further. Ruby, like Hippolyta, does not have the broader understanding of what Leti (and Tic, Montrose, and George) went through, but she is in their proximity, which makes her (and Hippolyta) vulnerable. I look forward to how that will be explored in the episodes to come.

The first sign that something is amiss at the house, outside of the fact that it looks like the textbook definition of a haunted house, is when Leti is showing Ruby the elevator and it drops from an upper floor, seemingly intent on removing a head. Later, Leti has her covers yanked off by something she can’t see, but that we viewers can see is a grotesque, feminine figure. Then, when Leti goes to check on the furnace in the basement, something rattles the floor trying to escape the sub-basement.

As you can imagine, a house full of negroes does not go over well with the white neighbors. During a housewarming party, someone burns a cross on the yard, and we see a return of Letitia Fucking Lewis, who grabs a bat and goes ham on the neighbors’ cars that have been parked out front and have been honking incessantly for a week. Earlier, Tic and Montross recount a story Uncle George would frequently tell about a time the brothers Freeman were surrounded by white boys and were saved by a stranger with a bat swing like 42. This contextualizes the appearance of the baseball hero in Tic’s dream in episode one. And it, perhaps, cues the audience to the fact that Leti’s outburst is a heroic act. While in police custody, we learn she has an extensive record. Leti is about that life.

After swerving the police car so Leti could be brutally tossed about, Officer Lancaster grills her about the Winthrop house, asks if anything weird has been going on, asks who told her to buy it, and tells her about the eight dead negro (hard-r) bodies they found there. When she gets home, she is aggressed by the spirit of racist Frankenstein: Hiram Epstein. She learns the names and faces of the missing Black folks he experimented on. She tells Tic, “I thought the world was one way, and I found it isn’t. It terrifies me. But I can’t live in fear, I won’t. I gotta face this world head on and stake my claim in it.” Because Leti is About. That. Life.

Leti brings in a medium to purge the house of his evil spirit. In the basement, the source of the spiritual energy, they begin to chant. It starts working, but Hiram sets off the sprinklers, which washes away their protective marks, and he possesses the medium, then Tic. When Hiram starts coming for Leti, she calls the names of the Eight, asks them to “help me cast him out.” She tells them, “You’re not dead yet, you can still fight!” and they clasp hands in a circle around Tic—and Hiram—and continue to chant. As they chant, their mutilated bodies give way to their rightful forms, and in a final “fuck you,” as Hiram exits this earthly plane, Leti yells “get the fuck out of my house!!!” 👏🏾 While all that is happening, three white boys break into the house. Two are killed by steam from a radiator, and the other is decapitated by the elevator, as the universe demands. 

The disembodied spirits of Epstein’s victims, trapped in the place of their torturer and death, and stuck in their desecrated forms, are heartbreaking to see. But the purging of Hiram and his evil, and the restoration of the Eight’s true forms, their full and whole spiritual selves, is powerful and affecting. This scene is one of my favorites, and Jurnee Smollet is absolutely riveting in it.

Later, Tic sees Christina Braithwhite enter the realtor’s office—she paid him to lead Leti to the Winthrop house. He follows behind her, closes the blinds, and pulls a gun on her. But he can’t pull the trigger. She tells Tic her father’s claim to fame is invulnerability. “He thought if you couldn’t be harmed, you could live forever.” Having established she cannot be easily killed, she tells Tic about Horatio Winthrop and the pages he stole from the Book of Names, and tells Tic to get in touch when he’s ready to learn more about “our” family history. She ends with, “Tic really, you have to be smarter than this. You know you can’t just go around killing white women.” This is a reversal of the power dynamic in the previous episode. Outside of the Sons of Adam boy’s club, Christina is a white woman, and Tic, a Black man, is at her mercy.

At the end of the episode, the Winthrop House elevator descends several feet below ground, passing Language of Adam symbols, and lands in front of a corridor where we see the three fresh bodies alongside dozens of other long-dead skeletons. Ardham Lodge may be gone, but the Sons of Adam are not. Lovecraft Country gives us an arousing semi-self-contained story within its larger arc, which is a satisfying small triumph amidst the ever-expanding principle narrative.

The post Lovecraft Country Episode 3 Review: Holy Ghost appeared first on Den of Geek.

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10 Of The Most Notorious Murders To Ever Happen During The Month Of November

The Murder of Mary Hall And ‘The Italian six’

In November of 1911 six Italian Immigrants living in Westchester County of New York heard a rumor that a local woman named Anna Griffin had inherited a sum of $3000. Anna was a widow who owned one of the largest properties in the county and ran it as a boarding house, so it seemed plausible she would have such a fortune. With jobs being scarce and money running out, the six men—Santo Zanza, Vincenzo Cona, Salvatore DeMarco, Angelo Guista, Filippo DeMarco, and ringleader Lorenzo Cali, decided to hatch a plan to steal some of Anna’s inheritance.

On November 9th Filippo DeMarco kept watch while the rest of the men went into the home, posing as though they were only there to buy milk and eggs. While handing them their change for a quart of milk, Lorenzo Cali pulled a gun on Anna. She gave them back the $4 for milk, $13 from her purse, and emptied the safe which contained $55. There was no inheritance or fortune.

Meanwhile upstairs in one of the boarding rooms, Santo Zanza and Angelo Giusto came across Mary Hall who was staying at the property. She couldn’t stop screaming even as they tied her up and gagged her, and in the moment Zanza stabbed her to death. They made off with $20 of her jewelry.

An intense manhunt ensued, and one by one each man was caught. Despite only Zanza being guilty of murder, all of the men (known as ‘The Italian Six’) were convicted and sentenced to death by electric chair. It’s been recorded that many of them spoke little English, and it’s likely only 3 knew about the murder. What resulted was one of the most overzealous uses of capitol punishment in New York history.

The Byron David Smith Killings

YouTube

On Thanksgiving Day of 2012, Haile Kifer (18) and her cousin Nicholas Brady (17), broke into the home of Byron David Smith. Smith’s home had be burglarized at least 6 other times over the course of a year, and he had taken to wearing a pistol whenever he was home as well as installed an extensive security system around his property. As he saw both Haile and Nicholas casing the property, he waited in the basement for them to break in.

As Nicholas came down the basement stairs, Smith shot him twice with a rifle and as Nicholas fell down the stairs, Smith shot him fatally in the face. A few minutes later when Haile came to the top of the stairs, Smith shot her as well. Smith’s rifle jammed as she fell down the stairs, so he shot her twice in the chest with a 22 caliber revolver. He then dragged her body next to her cousin, and fatally shot her under the chin. All of the audio and video was recorded by Smith’s security system.

Smith did not notify police about the shootings until the next day because he, “did not want to bother law enforcement on Thanksgiving.” He admitted to shooting both teenagers, including the execution shots. When asked why he continued to shoot despite the threat being gone he claimed Haile had laughed and “if you’re trying to shoot somebody and they laugh at you, you go again.”

The shootings brought up a heavy debate surrounding Minnesota’s “Castle Law” or, the right to protect your home from intruders. But the excessive force, the blatant execution, and audio tapes recorded hours before where Smith was saying things like “in your left eye” (Haile was shot in the left eye) made Castle Law difficult to use as a defense and premeditation more likely. While Smith was initially charged with two counts of second degree murder, in April of 2013 he was indicted on two counts of first degree homicide. The following year he was found guilty on all charges and sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.

The Stabbing of Miranda Fenner

Personal Photo

On November 15th, 1988 18-year-old Miranda Fenner was working a night shift at a video rental store in Laurel, Montana. At some point between 7:45 and 8:15 PM an unknown assailant entered the store, took Miranda to the back, and violently stabbed her before slashing her throat. Robbery was not listed as a motive because little cash had been stolen from either the store or Miranda. At 8:15 a passing by motorist saw what looked like a woman crawling out of the doorstep of the store—it was Miranda. The motorist called 911 and Miranda was airlifted to a hospital where she died from her wounds 2 hours later.

Over 700 people were interviewed in relation to both Miranda and her murder, but no arrests or suspects were ever made or named. According to Billings, Montana police officers there are “binders and binders” of information related to the case, and yet they’re still waiting on a break. In 2012, Miranda’s murder was turned over to the Billings PD’s cold case unit.

Miranda’s murderer is still unknown, and the case remains unsolved.

Babes in the Woods Murders—Pine Grove Furnace

Wikimedia Commons/Concord

On November 24, 1934 the bodies of Norma Sedgwick (12), Dewilla Noakes (10), and Cordelia Noakes (8) were discovered in the Pennsylvania woods nearPine Grove Furnace State Park by two men gathering wood. The girls had been suffocated, placed in the woods, and covered with a green blanket. Initial suspicion was a cult murder due to a mark on Norma’s head, but it was later determined to be a head wound. The same day the girl’s cousin, 18-year-old Winifred Pierce, and father, Elmo Noakes were found dead at railroad station near Duncansville, Pennsylvania. Winifred had been shot in the chest and head, and Elmo had presumably shot himself.

In the investigation that followed suit it was revealed that Elmo had taken out life insurance policies on his three children in September, but had changed the beneficiary from himself to his sister. Other than the fact that the girls hadn’t eaten for more than 18 hours prior to their deaths, no definitive motives or conclusions were ever found. Many people believe that Elmo killed his children after losing his job to prevent them from starving to death, while other’s speculate the death was accidental as a result of automobile exhaust inhalation and stricken with guilt, Elmo committed suicide.

83 years have passed since the tragedy, and it’s not likely anything new will ever be found out about the Babes in the Woods of Pine Grove Furnace.

The Murder of Teresa Halbach and the Trial of Steven Avery

Making A Murderer

On October 31st, 2005 photographer Theresa Halbach showed up at the Avery’s Auto Salvage in Manitowoc County, Wisconsin to photograph a minivan that was for sale for Steven Avery. Avery had been released just two years prior for a wrongful rape/murder conviction. This was the last day Teresa Halbach would be seen alive.

5 days later Teresa’s Rav4 would be found concealed on the Avery property. Bloodstains on the interior matched Avery’s DNA. On November 8th a burn pit on the Avery property was discovered to contain human bone fragments that matched Teresa Halbach. Her cell phone, car key, and stripped license plates would all also be located on the Avery property. On November 11th Steven Avery was arrested for the murder, sexual assault, and mutilation of a corpse. Steven Avery has continuously maintained his innocence, saying it’s a frame job by the police department in retaliation for his wrongful conviction suit against the Manitowoc County Justice Department.

In March of 2006, Avery’s then 16-year-old nephew Brendan Dassey was arrested after confessing in detail to helping his uncle rape, murder, and mutilate Teresa Halbach. Dassey would later recant his confession saying he was coerced by police and got many of the ideas from the book Both Avery and Dassey were found guilty of murder in the spring of 2007—Avery sentenced to life with no possibility of parole and Dassey sentenced to life with eligibility for parole in 2048.

In December of 2015 Netflix released a documentary series titled focused on the case. The series was a hit and garnered widespread public and media attention, primarily focused on the possibility that Avery is in fact innocent, and opened many discussions regarding the prosecution of criminal cases. In August of 2016, a judge ruled that Dassey’s confession had been coerced by police and was therefore unconstitutional and ordered his release. Despite numerous appeals and petitions, Avery remains in prison.

The Sitton Family Murders

Murderpedia

Thanksgiving dinner at the Sitton household in 2009 seemed like any other holiday. Despite having to invite their cousin, Paul Merhige, who was a loner and not close with the rest of the family the evening was pleasant and the family sat down at the piano to sing Christmas carols after finishing the turkey. After disappearing for a moment Merhige returned with “gifts” in the form of several guns and opened fire on his family killing his two twin sisters (one of whom was pregnant), his 76-year-old aunt, and his six-year-old cousin Makayla. He was overheard muttering, “I have been waiting 20 years to do this,” during the rampage.

After the murders Merhige disappeared for weeks until a anonymous tip came through the most wanted hotline in January of 2010. He’d been laying low in the Florida Keys, living off of the $12,000 he’d withdrawn before Thanksgiving.

Merhige accepted a deal and plead guilty to the murders in order to avoid the death penalty. He was sentenced to 7 life terms in 2011.

A Triple Homicide in Shreveport

Wikimedia

In November of 1989 the bodies of 55-year-old William Grissom, his 24-year-old daughter Julie, and his eight-year-old grandson Sean were found stabbed to death in Grissom’s Shreveport, Louisiana home. The family was attacked while preparing dinner that evening on November 4th. And after the murders Julie’s body was mutilated, then cleaned, then posed.

Though he never formally confessed to the murders, Danny Rolling aka: “The Gainesville Ripper”, remains the lead suspect for the case. The case bore stunning similarities to Rollings’ other crimes (stabbing, posing of the bodies, etc). And there was written communication from Rolling describing details about the Grissom murder that only the killer would know.

An arrest warrant was issued for Rolling for the crimes in 1994, but he was never extradited to Louisiana to stand trial. Rolling was executed by lethal injection in 2006.

The Alphabet Murders

The Alphabet Murders were a string of murders from November 16, 1971–November 26, 1973 in Rochester, New York and possibly Los Angeles, California. Also known as the “double initial murders” during that time three young girls were all found raped and strangled in Rochester.

All of the girls had first and last names that started with the same letter. Carmen Colon, Michelle Maenza, and Wanda Walkowicz.

Despite hundreds of people being questioned, no one was ever formally charged with the crimes. In 2011, 77-year-old Joseph Naso (who was living in Rochester during the 70s) was arrested in Reno, Nevada for committing four murders in the California area. The victims all also had first and last names that started with the same letter. However, despite being a person of interest, Naso’s DNA did not match with the DNA of the perpetrator for the Rochester crimes.

The Alphabet murders are still unsolved today.

The Murder of Carolyn Wasilewski

Wikipeida

In 1954, Carolyn Wasilewski was a free spirited, slightly rebellious 14-year-old who ran with a gang called the “Drapes” in Baltimore, Maryland. At around 6 PM on November 8th, Carolyn told her parents she was meeting a friend to register for dance classes at a nearby school. However after leaving her home that night, Carolyn vanished.

When she didn’t come back that evening her parents were worried and went looking for her. The following morning, an engineer on a train coming back to Baltimore noticed something odd on the tracks. It was Carolyn’s body. Her skirt and shoes were missing, and written in lipstick on her right thigh was a name—Paul. It didn’t take police long to determine she was dragged or thrown onto the tracks after being murdered in another location. Several of her personal items, all heavily blood stained, were found in a parking lot eight miles from where her body was located.

Despite more than 60 years passing from the time Carolyn was murdered, no arrests were ever made and the case remains unsolved. However, Baltimore police say every year around the anniversary there’s a spike in interest. “We still get calls generally around the anniversary of the murder.”

The Assassination of John F. Kennedy

Wikipedia

President John F. Kennedy was shot an killed on November 22, 1963 in Dallas, Texas while he road in a motorcade through Dealey Plaza. He was riding in a car with his wife, Jacqueline, Texas Govener John Connally and Connally’s wife, Nellie, when he was fatally shot but Lee Harvey Oswald.

Shots were fired towards the President’s limousine as the car turned and made its way down Elm Street. Connally was hit by the same bullet that went through the President’s neck, and President Kennedy was also shot in the head. After her husband was shot, Jacqueline was seen attempting to climb out onto the back of the limo to grab something, before being pulled back into the car by Special Service Agent Clint Hill. The President was declared dead at the emergency room, and Lyndon B. Johnson was sworn in as President with Jacqueline, still wearing her blood soaked suit, by his side.

Former US Marine Lee Harvey Oswald was arrested after shooting a police officer and attempting to escape by slipping into a movie theater. Oswald claimed he was a “patsy” and hadn’t shot anyone. Two days after his arrest Oswald was being transferred from city jail when he was shot by Jack Ruby on live television.

Though it’s said Oswald acted alone, many conspiracy theories believe there was a second shooter during the Kennedy assassination. There’s also a popular belief that there was a plot to kill Kennedy, though no one is sure who the other gunman could have been. On October 26th, 2017, the last remaining documents which were required to be released under Section 5 of the JFK Records Act were made public, while the remaining ones still classified will only be analyzed for redactions.

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