#there was literally a serial killer who lived nearby around that time like if its his blood are you gonna argue jason was still involved??

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

by the way adding onto the Meat Farm Y/N AU, I’d imagine as the name implies that Y/N owns a Vita Carnis “meat farm” of sorts. They water The Crawl, have a pet Trimming, they have a pet Meat Snake they use to dispose of bodies in their Morgue job (a farm such as this can only pay so much, unfortunately— people still don’t quite like this species, especially considering Mimics and Harvesters— Speaking of)

They feed a mimic that hangs around the morgue dead bodies of serial killers and whatnot, they have a Harvester in their backyard (it feeds on pests in the back yarn like deer and moose, which often is where gardening takes place— Y/N is safe as long as they have their safety equipment, such as thick boots and gloves typically seen on police and whatnot [likely stolen from said police, considering they know about top secret government stuff.])

Watches a monolith far in the distance, not ever moving an inch. Knows about the Singularity, due to hacking government files. Everyone in the town nearby knows a majority of their life (minus the mimic part obviously) revolves around Vita Carnis, so they’re considered very much as a freak who is obsessed over living meat— as such, they’re not treated kindly, especially by townspeople who (admittedly at least somewhat understandably) don’t like the new species roaming earth, but that’s fine! The townspeople might not like Y/N, but they have their meaty friends, and that’s good enough for them. The townspeople wonder how they aren’t dead yet.

sorry this is long I just really loved your idea ok,,

I love everything about this.

For the Host of Influence, I imagine them safely collecting its spores (not for the flavor enhancing seasoning tho bc they know it's a bunch of brainwashing bs) and going out to use them against bad people they learned are out of jail. People they think deserve a gruesome execution but got off with merely a slap on the wrist

Literally goes up to their door and says "pocket sand" while throwing some spore dust in their eyes before running off.

After that, it's only a matter of hours before the Host in their backyard gets its dinner :)

Also

Since the Trimming plushie is out, imagine they get one bc they deserve something nice, y'know? They deserve a little treat

But then imagine their actual pet Trimming thinks its being replaced and will S C R E A M every time it sees this "impostor" and they have to hide it and shouldn't hold it in their little meat puppy's presence

[dreadpoetssociety]

I Told You So

TW: Suicide, abuse, kidnapping, blood, death

Note: Sorry for any spelling or grammatical mistakes, I didn’t go back through it LOL, but I may in the future. Enjoy !!! 

Request: “hi was wondering if i could request a reid x sister fic where the reader gets a boyfriend and spencer doesn’t like him and it turns out the boyfriend is an unsub. i love your work so much!!!”

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Sister!Reader

()()()()()()

When Spencer met your boyfriend for the first time, he told you immediately after that he didn’t like him. He began explaining the signs he was noticing, but you didn’t dare to listen. You told him he was a great guy, and that he was just being over protective because he was your brother. You told him to stop profiling everyone you meet, that who you date and who you’re friends with is entirely up to you, and that he should just let you live things out on your own. Of course, you did appreciate his concerns, but you just figured he was a bit overdramatic. I mean, you were all just kids, and of course Spence would have a biased view on you hanging out or dating someone.

Your boyfriend’s name was Noah. You’d been dating for about four months, he had wavy hair, dressed pretty plainly, very smart, and liked classic rock (Except Led Zeppelin, damn did he hate that band.) You’d met after the death of a mutual friend, Elaine Richards, a year ago, and the two of you became close after helping each other through such a hard time. You hung out all the time, called all the time, merged your friend groups together. Everything. And you loved him. Your friends all knew you both liked each other, and eventually, you finally went out on a date.

School had ended, and you had just got to the apartment to actually see Spencer in it, which was a very rare occurrence. 

“Hey Spence! I didn’t know you were off.” you said with a smile.

“I’m not, actually. There’s a case locally.” he said, which turned your smile o a frown.

“Well that’s not good.” you replied, trying to lighten his mood. He seemed stressed and aggravated, as that happened every once in a while when a case was particularly difficult. It always made you feel bad for him., “We should go do something before you have to go back. You know, some good ol’ sibling bonding.” 

“Sorry, Y/N, but not today. Serial killers don’t exactly wait for ‘sibling bonding.”” he sighed, annoyed. You figured at this point you’d just leave him to his thoughts, and decided to go out.

“I’m going out with Noah then. “ you replied, grabbing some of your things together. You didn’t’t notice, but this grabbed Spencer’s attention.

“No, Y/N, you’re staying here. This guy that’s out there is killing people who look like you. You fit his type.” he explained, “And I don’t trust Noah, not for a second.” 

“Jesus, Spencer, can you stop profiling literally everyone? There’s thousands of girls in this city that look like me, what makes you think I’m the one he’s gonna scoop up?” you realized that was a bit insensitive, and that you probably should care about those other girls, “Besides, wouldn’t it be safer to not be alone? You’re going back to the BAU anyway.” 

“Y/N, seriously, this can happen to anyone. You of all people should know that.” he answered. You knew what he was referring to. So a girl almost gets kidnapped once, and suddenly must live her whole life in fear.

“Spencer, that was a while ago.” you said in a small voice, “I don’ want to be afraid of it anymore.”

At that point, Spencer sighed and realized that he most likely shouldn’t have brought up the experience. He of all people should know that this was your way of trying to move on, and bringing up the past would mostly just set you back majorly, but his answer still stayed the same, “I shouldn’t have brought the up, but you’re still not going. I don’t trust Noah, you know that. Especially with a serial killer on the loose, Y/N. You’re staying home.”

This just pissed you off, “You know, you’re not right 100% of the time. You think you know everything about everybody you meet, but you literally do not. Noah is so good to me, and you just bash him and for what? I get you’re worried, but it’s started to get old. I’m not a kid anymore.” 

You walked off into your room without any other words being exchanged, and had decided you would just go anyway once Spencer left. You aren’t generally the rebellious type, but every once in a while you liked to have a little fun here and there. Spencer wasn’t home for long, after finding whatever it was he was looking for, and you just walked out the front door ten minutes after he did, texting Noah along the way. 

Your boyfriend lived nearby, so it didn’t really take him long to come driving up in his black sedan. You loved his car. It was so sleek, had a brown leather interior, a wood dashboard, and just drove beautifully. If he ever put it up for sale, you would buy it. But once you got into the car, you realized something was off. Noah seemed antsy, like something was bothering him.

“Hey, baby, what’s going on?” you asked, concerned. Noah got like this every once in a while, and you figure dit was just anxiety or something along those lines, and all you could ever do was jus be there for him.

“It’s nothing don’t worry about it.” he answered, somewhat blandly. Almost monotone, like he wasn’t happy to be there. But he was, and for what reason you were unaware. 

“Alright.” you said, “Let’s go to the mall, but not the one downtown, the one off the highway.” 

“No.” he snapped. He then recognized your surprised expression, “I mean, sorry, I just have a surprise for you.” this made you smile. Your boyfriend had always been a hopeless romantic, and he would constantly surprise you with nice dinners, cute gifts, and it just made your heart warm. He drove for a while, to an area you’d actually never been o that seemed to be completely secluded. There were empty fields, and eventually an old house that looked to be abandoned. You didn’t pass by much after that, except for one cemetery and a church. Even you had to admit, it was a bit weird, but knowing Noah, you knew to just be patient. He didn’t talk much the whole time, and just sat there smiling as he drove. The windows were closed, and you also noticed the doors were locked, but thought nothing of it.

“Spencer wasn’t even going to let me go out tonight, isn’t that so stupid? Like, he said some wack about some serial killer who’s been killing girls nearby. I looked it up, but they kinda seem to be right outside of town, like the dude’s avoiding it or something. I guess that girl from the Washington High soccer team got killed, too. It’s sort of scary.”

“That’s a shame.” was all he said in response.

Eventually, you pulled up to another house. It was absolutely destroyed, but you trusted him anyway. Stupidly. The two fo you walked in, and walked down to its basement. You knew Noah really dug these abandoned places, and you did, too, but the basement was full of rusted weapons, ropes, a table in the middle with restraints. It hadn’t clicked just yet.

“Noah, I don’t think I’m really fe-“ you turned around and were he was, gun in hand, pointe dat you, “What are you doing?”

“Get in the chair, and don’t scream.” he demanded. His whole personality changed. He was dominant, and his voice was heavier. You complied. He tied you tightly to it.

“So it’s you then?” you asked, weirdly calm. 

“Shut the hell up, Y/N.” and you did. You looked around you as he walked into another room. Looking to your right you noticed a shelf full of random things, mostly girl’s clothes and rings. Until you recognized one of them. A brown sweater with a tear in the shoulder, folded neatly on he bottom. Your heart stopped.

That was Elaine’s. And you had cut the shoulder open by accident after the two of you were messing around.

“Elaine?” you whispered, “You killed Elaine, didn’t you? She didn’t kill herself, you did! This whole time you faked it? You killed her and I mourned her and you pretended to feel with me? You killed her?” It was now that you fully processed what was happening. Your mind was racing, your heart was pounding, and all you could think about was the amount of clothes up on that shelf, and the fact that you were about to die. The items on the shelf far exceeded the numbers on the news. 

“I said shut the hell up, Y/N” he screamed, hitting you across the face with something solid, which knocked you out quickly, but not for long. The dizziness and pain when you woke up two minutes later was almost unbearable, and you had to re-process what was happening to you all over again.

Until your phone rang from the other side of the room. He must’ve taken it while you were out, and the ringtone was specialized to let you know that it was Spencer who was calling. 

“If I don’t answer it he’ll know. He’ll track everything from before I got here.” you said. Noah shot you a look, but promptly brought the phone to you. 

“Say anything, and I’ll make it painful.” he held a gun to you again, and your heart rate went up. He slide the phone open.

“Y/N?” you’d never been happier to hear your brother’s voice, “Where are you? I told you to stay home, and you’re not here.”

“Sorry,” your voice wavered slightly, “I just really missed Elaine Richards. I went to Southwoods Cemetery to visit her.”

Spencer sighed, “Please get back here as soon as possible, Y/N.” and he hung up. You prayed he picked something up.

()()()()()()

Spencer knew as soon as you spoke that something was wrong. Firstly, you’d never referred to your friend by first and last name, and Spencer actually hadn’t really known her last name until now, and secondly, Elaine wasn’t buried at Southwoods Cemetery. She was buried in the complete opposite direction, actually, at Rose Hill. He couldn’t pinpoint why you would say Southwoods, and why you would talk about Elaine, but he completely forgot about his case, and sped back to the BAU. 

The team knew instantly hat something wasn’t right when Spencer came back to the office. He couldn’t pay attention to the case evidence enough to put it together, and wasn’t staying on track.

“Reid, what’s going on?” Hotch asked him.  Spencer shook his head.

“Something’s not right.” he said, “Y/N went out earlier, but something’s not adding up.”

“I’m sure she’s alright, kid, teenagers go out all the time.” Morgan joked.

“No, no, really. I understand how the teenage mind develops, and how their brains develop. I know that rebellion is primarily a process that teens go through almost as a way to reject a “child” identity. I know that. But this wasn’t that. I told her not to go out, but she did anyway.” he rambled.

“Spence, kids do that.” JJ reassured.

“No, it’s not right. When I called to ask where she was, she would’ve lied. She wouldn’t have known I was home. She said she was visiting her friend’s grave, but she used her full name and said the wrong cemetery, her voice wavered, but nervously, not in a way that expresses sadness. If she had snuck out, she wouldn’t tell me she went there, and especially get the cemetery wrong when she’s been going to Rose Hill practically religiously. Southwoods is in an area she barely ever goes to.” he explained. Then his eyes grew a bit, “Garcia, can you trace her call?”

“I can try.” she said, rushing back to her computers, the team close behind. They knew not to question Spence, most of the time he was right. They all sat there for about three minutes before Garcia spoke up again, “That’s weird.”

“What?” Prentiss spoke up.

“Reid, her phone pinged off of like, twelve different towers in the two minutes you called her. I can’t track a location for the last hour.” she turned to him, concerned. The team all looked at each other worriedly. 

“We’ll have to split up, we’ve still go a case and this is off protocol.” Hotch broke the silence, bearer of bad news.

“No, actually, I think it’s the same case.” Spencer sighed. He looked up at them, “She fits the UnSub’s type.”

“You can’t be a part of this then, Spencer.” Hotch replied, which caused him to whip around, “It’s personal now. You’re  victim.”

“There’s no say in this.” Spencer had never defied Hotch’s authority before, but his sister was missing, “What do we have so far?”

“Well, we know he’s a sadist, white male, probably in his 30’s. He’d be social, fit in with a crowd. Probably good with the ladies, which means he sticks out, but not too much.” Prentiss relayed. Spencer thought for a moment. Who would you know that fit that profile at all. This UnSub seemed to make a connection with these girls beforehand. The team thought that maybe the victims were a surrogate to a daughter, or a sister.

“I don’t know how this related to Elaine and Southwoods. Southwoods is an hour and a half away, I had only been gone for about an hour, so she couldn’t have made it there yet.”

“Reid, who is Elaine?” Morgan asked.

“Elaine Richards. She was a friend of Y/N’s who died about a year ago. She committed suicide.”  Spencer explained. They were all silent for a moment.

“Garcia, can you bring up a picture of Elaine?” JJ asked. The analyst nodded and did so quickly, showing a picture of a brown hair, brown eyed, thin girl. It was saddening, really. They’re always too young. But JJ had confirmed her thought, “Spence, what if it wasn’t a suicide?” 

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“She fits his victim ideal, the hair, the eyes. Her file says she was smart, she had friends. They interviewed an ex boyfriend, her father, so on.” JJ explained, “What if Y/N stumbled onto something she shouldn’t have? Maybe Elaine was one of his victims staged as a suicide. The profile says he became active a few weeks ago, but what if it’s been a year? Maybe he’s been testing things out until he finally got something he liked.” 

“Garcia, bring up Elaine’s autopsy report. Is there anything about anything that matches up with his current MO?” Spencer asked, “Elaine was found at the basin of a bridge within the water. It was written that she had jumped off.” 

“Uhh,” she hesitated, “I’m not seeing anything. . . Wait. Yes, yes there is. The UnSub usually cuts three lines on their necks, right? Elaine had them, too, but there was loads of glass under her, so it was written off that she’d been cut when she reached the ground.” 

“This means he’s been at it for at least a year, then. The profile is wrong. This changes everything.” Prentiss sighed. Spencer still couldn’t pinpoint who you would’ve trusted enough that fit the rest of the profile, until it hit him. Noah.

“I knew there was something wrong with that boy.” Spencer said aloud, “Y/N’s boyfriend, Noah. He fits every part of the profile. We got the age wrong, he’s a teenager. He knew Elaine, too.”

“Noah’s the name of the ex boyfriend they interviewed.” Garcia stated. “Noah Allen.” 

“That’s him.” Spencer said, “What do we know about him?”

“Well, his parents are divorced, his mother lives somewhere in California while his father- oh geez. His father has a history of abuse towards his second ex-wife, who,” she stopped, “this poor kid. His second ex wife committed suicide after trying to file multiple reports of abuse towards her and Noah about three years ago. His father was finally convicted a year ago and sentenced to life in prison.” 

“That must’ve been the trigger. He blames her for his father being sent away.” Hotch said.

“But why would he be angry? Wouldn’t he be happy to see his abuser in prison?” Garcia asked.

“He’s lived with his father his whole life. Most likely he’d developed some kind of Stockholm Syndrome or was manipulated into thinking that’s how life was. He thinks his father can do no wrong.” Morgan said.

“But what’s this have to do with Southwoods? She wouldn’t have made it that far, and something tells me they were already at their destination.” JJ asked.

“Who owns Southwoods?” Spencer asked.

“Let me see. . . The Burke Family. They also own funeral homes.” Garcia said.

“Do they own any other cemeteries?” 

“Yes, one, Marshall Fields Cemetery. It’s in a more secluded area. It was considered completely full a few months ago.” she replied.

“Garcia, are there any properties around there that Noah’s family would’ve owned? Even a family friend?” Morgan jumped in.

“His uncle owned a house about a mile and a half up the road. It’s the only house in a two mile radius. It was foreclosed a few years ago and hasn’t been bought or even kept up since.” she said, “I’m sending you the address now.” 

“Let’s go.” Hotch demanded. The team ran to the garage and jumped into the SUV’s, but Hotch stopped Spencer beforehand, “You know you could get in trouble for this. This case is too personal.”

‘“I really don’t even care.” Spencer answered, quite informally. Hotchner sighed, and let him go.

()()()()()() 

It’d been a few hours by this point. You were beaten up, bloody, concussed probably. Noah had used a whole slew of different objects to torture you, pipes, knives, anything he could find. You could barely stay awake, but he wouldn’t let you fall asleep.

“I’m not going to let you die, yet.” he said with a twisted smile, “That ruins all the fun.” 

“They’ll come for you.” you replied faintly, blood dripping from your mouth. He yanked your head back by your hair, which caused a deafening wail from the bottom of your throat.

“They won’t find me. If they could, they would’ve by now.” he giggled. He tightened your wrists until you almost couldn’t feel your hands. Your shoulders were sore from being tied behind your back, but that didn’t amount to the pain in the rest of your body. You bleeding out practically everywhere, you could feel the start of every bruise forming, your head spun and pounded, and you were convinced you had a few broken ribs at least. 

“W-why?” you huffed out with tears.

“Why? Why? I’ll tell you why. I spent my whole life looking up to my father, but it’s women like you who ruin men’s lives. And for what? For attention? For power? You’ll never be on the same playing field, but the system is so messed up that it threw my father in prison for something that wasn’t his fault. He didn’t make Brenda kill herself, she did that on her own. And her reasoning? How she cried about him abusing us?” he let out a posh laugh, “That’s just how the world is. She should’ve known her place like I knew mine. And should’ve never spoken for me.” 

“Why me?” your face twisted in pain as you spoke, but if you were going to die, you at east had to know.

“I just told you!” he slapped you, causing you to sob, “It’s stupid women like you, Y/N. You just exist to ruin lives, and I’m going to stop you before you start.” 

But the door upstairs burst open just then, causing him to look. You smiled mischieviously, “They’re here. You better let them get to you before I do.” you threatened. It was an empty threat of course, given your state, but you felt so much rage that you honestly thought you might’ve killed him, too, which scared you.

“Noah Allen, FBI!” you recognized Emily’s voice, and it was like music to your ears. 

Noah had moved towards you and covered your mouth, holding a gun to your head, waiting for them to come down stairs. You watched frantically as you saw JJ and Morgan step carefully down.

“Noah, drop your weapon.” JJ demanded. At this point, Spencer, Hotch, and Prentiss joined them after hearing JJ speak. Spencer’s expression was horrified, and angry. 

“Death is an honor, you know.” Noah taunted as he pulled your head slightly back. 

“Noah, you don’t have to do this. If you cooperate, we can lessen your sentence, and we can negotiate a deal for your father.” Hotch said. Noah’s head turned slightly.

“That’s not how the system works and you know it. You’re lying!” he yelled.

“That’s not how the system works for civilians. I’m the Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. I can pull some strings, but only if you let her go.” he said. Spencer was surprised, Hotch never really used lying as a coercion, but he understood that all this boy wanted was his father to be free, and that he wasn’t a rational thinker. He’d fall for it.

“Swear? Swear on God?” Noah asked.

“Yes, Noah, I swear on God.” Hotch said. The boy lowered his weapon and came closer, but was startled when Morgan quickly, and not so kindly cuffed him.

“What? What are you doing?” he yelled out.

“Noah Allen, you are under arrest for multiple counts of murder. You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer quest-“

“What the hell! You lied! I’ll kill you for ly-“

“Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future.” and with that Morgan walked him out with a few other backup, while the rest of the BAU rushed towards you.

“Y/N? Are you okay? Can you hear me? What hurts?” Spencer asked questions at about a mile a minute, but you ignored them.

“I g-guess,” you painfully said, “I guess this is that part where you say ‘I told you so.’ huh?” 

“Y/N, I don’t care about that.” he said, holding your face trying to check for any signs of concussions, that were definitely there, while Prentiss and JJ worked on getting you untied. One you were, you tried to stand up, stupidly.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hotch said as you almost fell and hit the floor, “take it easy.”

You had your arm wrapped around Spencer while JJ had her hand pressed on your upper back and above your chest to keep you balanced.

“Heh, so humble.” were your last words before blacking out.

“A medic! Somebody get a medic, goddammit!” Spencer yelled, as he and JJ slowly followed you to the door, “Y/N? Stay awake.” 

()()()()()()

You woke up with bright white lines shining in your eyes. Confused you tried to sit up, but painfully failed.

“Y/N? Wait, Y/N, no, no, no, no, no, lay down.” you heard Morgan’s voice and felt him slowly and gently push you back down to the pillow, “How you feeling, kiddo?”

“Like sunshine.” you mumbled sarcastically. You heard Spencer chuckle, “I’m sorry. You were right.”

“Y/N, it doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you’re safe now.” he said. His face dropped, “Y/N, I’m honestly impressed by the hints you gave us. It was clever, and you just saved a bunch of lives.”

“They’re going to have to question you soon. They don’t care what condition you’re in.” Morgan stated.

“I don’t even really remember.” you whispered, eyes closing from exhaustion. 

“They’ll do a cognitive interview with you, then. It won’t be fun. But for now, get some rest.” Spencer knew that it didn’t matter what he said anyway, because you were already half way asleep. He was glad that you were falling asleep on your own accord, rather than from being knocked out or drugged up, and smiled at you. He swore then to do better at keeping you safe, and also not to underestimate you, either. How you knew that he would pick up on something as simple as a last name and a cemetery chain was beyond him, but it made him realize that you were actually much smarter than you ever let off. He patted your head gently, before falling asleep in a chair near your bed. 

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Comte AU Event

Aight because I have Comte brainworms (is this a surprise to anybody I sure hope not), there’s something I’ve just been thinking about a lot ever since completing one of the story events a month ago:

The cover art being very sexy aside, I naturally did Comte’s story event and I have yet to move on. Namely because of one specific line. (Disclaimer: Keep in mind I don’t mean to say I’m an expert, I just translate for fun--I don’t have the same prowess as an official linguist. That being said starts the circus music let the show go on)

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

This is the line I want to dive into, but before I can really talk about it, we need proper context. 

Event spoilers below:

This event is a little different since it’s an AU, so the mansion and its residents don’t exist. (Comte lives in the mansion on his own, but it’s not the same one we know.) Instead Comte, Leo, and Arthur are stand alone suitors who have turned MC into a vampire. Because MC has no clear memory of how and/or why it happened, MC is seeking vengeance against her paired hottie--and fully intends to end their life one way or another.

Aside from how sexy revenge is and how much I love the enemies to lovers trope, Comte’s entire storyline gave me more life than I can humanly convey. Here goes nothing!

So it begins with MC knocking on his door and Comte answers it and literally just stares at her silently like some kind of Furby. MC starts out by saying she’s been trying to narrow down the bastard that ruined her life and her search has finally brought her to his doorstep. She basically demands the truth from him and he just keeps. Staring owlishly (lmao). He eventually relents and tells her that a conversation is much better held inside, and invites her into his home to talk. 

She's sus as hell but enters the house, and he asks if she's had blood. This stops her in her tracks, shook, and her monologue drifts to explain a few things. When she woke up years ago, a new vampire, she had instructions to approach the Rouge/Blanc dispensary for what she needed. The staff there told her that everything was paid for, and she continued to receive support from an unnamed benefactor. She asked them for the identity of this person, but they were beholden to customer confidentiality. As such, she's been searching for information to narrow down her target for years until she finally found him tonight.

Despite the years it doesn't mean she's any more comfortable with her new existence. She notes that she still tends to stick to drinking Blanc--only drinking Rouge (in other words, blood) when she has no other choice. When Comte puts the Rouge on the table, she becomes notably unsettled. She's thirsty, but she won't concede to his request that she drink it; she refuses.

(I feel like he can probably tell because he's her sire/because of his experience with vampires). Comte--naturally--refuses to let her go hungry, so he knocks it back and kisses her to get her to drink it. He lets go as soon as she's swallowed it, and doesn't resist when she shoves him off. She rails at him about how awful he is for doing that, he agrees. She asks if he was the one that killed her parents, he confirms with blasé indifference. She's fuming quietly, but she notes that he doesn't really look happy or triumphant about it. What he's saying isn't reaching his eyes; his gaze is distant and sad. And it's confusing her. Isn't he supposed to be the enemy?

She's lost in her thoughts and unresponsive until there's a loud cry from outside the house, the shriek of a nearby owl. She snaps out of her daze to see that she still has his hand in a vice grip from when she shoved him off, and his skin is blanched--she cut off his circulation from the pressure. She releases him, startled, but he says nothing. 

She's trying to sort out what's going on, and doesn't have enough information to really piece anything together. She wants to hate him but things aren't making sense. Why did her parents have to die in the first place? Why does he bother keeping her alive at his own expense? Even just now, what he did felt more like an attempt to get her to eat than anything else. Why isn’t he more malicious? This MC is desperate for answers, and she says as much: "What are you hiding…?" 

Comte doesn't answer her, just averts his gaze and remains silent. MC decides she won't do anything until she learns the full extent of what happened the night she was turned. Furthermore, she's well aware of Comte’s status being a problem. If she goes too far without proper motive, the aristocracy could come back to bite her in the ass. (The implication here is that she's more concerned about being wrong and living with that regret, rather than any necessity to protect herself. The state of his gaze--the melancholy there--keeps eating at her. Until she knows why, she won't move forward.) 

Comte is shocked that she demands to live alongside him in the mansion, but he doesn't take any issue with it. He says the mansion is pointlessly huge for one person anyway--she's welcome to stay. Either way she wins with this arrangement: either she gets the truth or she finds an effective way to destroy him by the end. And so their little cohabitation begins!

After a timeskip, MC recounts how she's been spending her days in the mansion. She's been tidying around the house, both in the hopes of finding evidence and/or in the hopes of repaying all the years of living on his assistance. He doesn't stop her, letting her do as she pleases and keeping his distance.

One day, she's about to step out into town to grab some groceries. Comte approaches at the front door, cautioning her to be safe--there have been many reports of scuffles/dangerous encounters. MC brushes him off, unsurprised he knows what's going on in town. He's very well connected to the aristocracy, and she notes that he's often at dinner gatherings and parties when he's not home. She insists she can't let her guard down, that he can't be trusted; no matter how kind he is to her face.

Another day, he asks her to attend a ball later in the week. He tells her she's under no obligation to stay with him while they're there, just that he wants her to take some time and relax--to have fun. She tries to insist that going to something like that would be more stressful than fun but he won’t hear of any protest, walking away before she can fully reject the outing. (Comte, an idiot, speed-walking out of the room: and that is what we call finessed). She sighs, thinking she'll be nothing but a burden to him given her lack of knowledge about events like that. She doesn't really know the proper etiquette or how to dance, it’s completely out of her depth.

Surprising no one at all Comte buys MC a dress and accessories to match regardless, and when she comes down the staircase leading to the front door he's awestruck. He tells her she's beautiful and she's miffed by the raw sincerity, trying to remind herself that he is eeeeevil. He knows how to talk to women given his status, he's just smooth talking... (She's trying to convince herself, essentially.)

And so they go, and she's a bit of a wallflower. He leaves her alone--doesn't want to bother her--while she sticks close to one wall. Several men ask her to dance, but she politely declines. Her monologue explains that, given what she is and the fact that she’s only living for revenge, she sees no merit in trying to court human men. She sees it as irresponsible and inevitably disastrous, and…

[Given the nature of what I am I just can't. I can't fall in love with a human man. Besides, the only person I really want to dance with is...as much as I hate it, my line of sight keeps drifting to Comte. Suddenly he looks up and meets my gaze, but I hurriedly look away--my heart pounding in my chest. Why. In a room full to the brim with people, why do my eyes keep looking for him. Whatever, time to go cool off for a bit.]

She leaves the ballroom--mortified at herself--to get some fresh air. Not five minutes into trying to figure out whatever the hell is going on with her shitshow of a life, a man appears asking what she’s doing alone. And da da da d a Zelda treasure chest sound effect he whips out a knife covered in blood and tries to stab MC. Naturally, because I’m an idiot, my first thought was:

TW: knife attack

TW: homicides by serial killer

But it turns out our local serial killer remains nameless in this event, so I can point no fingers. MC is panicking about needing to run and frozen in place from the shock, but Comte appears to pull her out of range--knife sinking into his back. He doesn’t react much to the violence as the attacker runs away, yanking out the knife and focused on checking her for any wounds. She’s still reeling from how quickly he reacted, and he reassures her (probably at the sight of her bewildered/worried look) that law enforcement is on alert in the area. They’ll find him, they’ll arrest him. 

She tries to ask him why. Why would he protect her like that? His first instinct was to take the hit and ensure her safety first, and it doesn’t make sense. Comte reassures her again, joking that purebloods are sturdy. See? The wound’s already healed c:

[Even though I've been spending all this time trying to get my revenge on him, my heart stopped when he was attacked. As if to reassure me, frozen and speechless, Comte smiles gently. This person.......I can't do it. I can't kill him without meaning, without being sure of the truth.]

"...Comte, I can tell you're a good person. What happened that night, so many years ago?" Because even now, he's still protecting me. "Please...tell me the truth. I want to know." 

[I know this isn't the time or place, but if I don't know I can't worry about him with a clear head.]

TW: human trafficking and drugging unconscious

Comte concedes and goes into what happened that night so many years ago. Apparently he was acquainted with her parents long before the incident, and they fell into debt as a result of gambling. He approached their home in the hopes of paying them a visit, checking up on them, only to encounter tragedy. They intended to sell their daughter off and the man they ended up making a deal with more or less slaughtered them all in cold blood. The reason MC doesn’t remember any of this was because her parents drugged her the night it happened. No consciousness, no resistance.

"In that room suffused in the odor of blood and despair, I found you, MC." Her pained, struggling cry is what led him into that room--and seeing how desperately she was fighting to survive, he turned her against all his better judgement. Feeling certain she would hate him forever for the choice he made compounded by her terrible circumstance, he bailed, leaving her instructions and resources to survive on her own. 

"Sold off by your own parents, attacked by a serial killer, seconds from death. I thought....I thought telling you about it would only bring you pain, that it would leave you numb from the shock and despair. That's why I kept it from you.”

"...After turning you, I was consumed by regret. I felt certain you would hate me for the choice I made. So I left." [When I don't know what to say, he keeps talking.] "But I was worried about you even so. I tailed you quietly, making sure you were getting along okay. I was fully aware you wanted to kill me for what I'd done. Even so, I wanted to check on you." 

And that is where the line comes in.

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

He admits that he fell in love with her after a point. And she’s baffled, considering she’s been looking for every reason to tear him apart--assuming he was the perpetrator when he actually saved her life. She protests immediately, asking how he could possibly feel that way after the level of vitriol and judgement she’s levied against him when he was only trying to help.

"That's not true at all. At heart, you're a very kind young lady. You haven't raised a hand against me all this time. And even when you considered me to be a repulsive presence, you were worried about me." 

At this MC is conflicted--because his words are a further extension of his equanimity. He’s well aware that he brought about all the confusion by not being honest, but it’s also clear there was no ill intent involved in that decision. He was concerned; hitting her with that level of misfortune and senseless terror all at once could have been incredibly destructive to her health. (This isn’t to say he made the ‘right’ decision; I don’t think there is any right decision in the face of such a complex situation. Given he takes full responsibility for what happened and does his best to help her, I think that’s a fair response.)

This is essentially where the common rt ends. But because I’m feral for Comte and enjoy talking about him, I’ll finish up the summary and then go on to do my analysis.

After that riveting assault, MC is feeling very lost about how to move forward. Her fury at Comte’s injustice has all but evaporated, which means a complete re-evaluation of how she’s going to move forward from now on. Does she continue with her revenge anyway, still angry for the dishonesty? Or does she try something new?

If you do the premium end that means choosing to forgive Comte and climb him (as he deserves). Therefore I, being an intellectual, chose to ride him into the sunset.

The premium end begins with Comte taking her to another ball because the first one kind of went to shit and he feels bad about it (retraumatization was not in the plan...). And so MC basically does the same thing as the first time, just vibin and taking in the scenery, thinking things over. Comte’s concerned about her not having fun, so he approaches her to ask if she’s feeling okay. He makes it clear that he really doesn’t mind if she dances with someone else--even if he admitted his feelings for her. She doesn’t owe him anything, and he has no intention of imposing on her future.

"Whatever it is you choose to do, I don't mind. I just want you to be happy"

[This person is so, so gentle...His words penetrate deep and settle with warmth over my heart, my chest light.] "Comte I.......I don't want to dance with anyone but you." [I still don't know what to do about the future, but for now I think following what my heart is telling me is the best move] 

"!!!....well then, if you insist..."

Comte’s just:

He’s beyond shocked, but accepts her invitation when she confirms it’s what she wants to do. Leading her in all his infinite grace, MC marvels at his ability to dance so elegantly--even with a partner who’s deadweight, like her. She also finds it astounding how easily he makes her forget what they are, how easily she just enjoys the moment; no turmoil, no lingering in the worst of her miseries. She’s just...having fun? For the first time in so very long.

[Comte murmurs in the short distance, clear remorse on his face--as though he can't help it.] 

"MC, it's kind of you, honestly. That you'd give me the time of day, that you'd agree to dance with me. But I...I'm the one that turned you. There's no denying or escaping that fact. If it's you, I'm ready to accept any consequence. If you want me gone, you're free to attack me. If you just want to be as far away from me as possible--to live your life in peace and solitude--I will do everything in my power to help you." 

[He said it as if he was trying to convince himself. Like he was trying to remember why he couldn't assume more of this single dance together, why he couldn't let hope emerge from this single shared moment.] 

[.....I'm not that kind, Comte. I asked because it's you.....Feeling his warmth beneath my hands, I come to a decision.]

There’s a timeskip, and then MC--being the badass that she is--knocks on Comte’s door the night of the crescent moon. He lets her inside more than ready to accept her judgement, whatever it may be. MC asks about his feelings, seeks to confirm that he still loves her before she confesses herself. 

"Comte. Comte you said--that you loved me right?" 

"Yes that's correct...no matter how much you might hate me, these feelings won't change. I love you." 

[Hearing those words again sets my chest on fire. And I decide to tell him my honest feelings.] 

"I love you too. But......I've held a misguided grudge against you for so long, is it okay for me to love you now?" 

[Can that misunderstanding really be forgiven? Am I allowed to love you? Comte's eyes widen, and the breathtaking gold of his eyes shimmer/waver.] 

"...shouldn't that be my line? I mean even despite the circumstances, I still made the choice to turn you :o Can you really forgive me?" 

"...If I'm honest, I still have a hard time drinking blood and I'm a little scared of an immortal life. But......I think if I could spend that eternity at your side, I could find the means to smile again. And....the thing is....I also want to see you smile, to make sure you remember how to smile." 

".................." [Le Comte stared at me, before extending his hand. And he hugged me so, so tightly.] "MC......." 

[In that single word all the raw emotion of ten years can be heard. It was an indescribable sound--one that spoke of an unimaginable, impossible love. This person loves me so very dearly.]

The event ends with them biting each other as proof of their bond, essentially a vow to stay together moving forward. It felt very much like the shared act of biting was a promise of love, how vampires might get married or commit to each other romantically. The summary essentially ends here.

Here’s where the semi-meta comes in, because I literally just can’t stop thinking about the implications of this event. 

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

I just...I just don’t even know where to begin with how hard this line hits. Comte’s MS conveys this sentiment powerfully too, but there’s just something about them choosing to emphasize it yet again. The reason Comte falls in love every time has to do with his MC’s strength, her ability to surmount remarkable obstacles with so much poise. She’s deeply in tune with her reality, but no less relentlessly positive. She won’t burden others with her problems, and she’ll do everything in her power to move forward in constructive ways.

Even when every day was a living hell. Both Comte and Leonardo perceive eternity to be something of a curse; an endless sentence. Whether it means suffering boredom, reliving tragedy, or going nigh numb from the loneliness--being an immortal creature isn’t always sunshine and rainbows. 

And that’s exactly why I think he fell in love with this MC? I don’t think his feelings would have run half as deep if it was just anyone. He doesn’t strike me as the type to get attached easily. Because if he’s going to have a life partner, he needs someone who's going to be able to roll with whatever life throws their way for conceivable lifetimes. Somebody that loses heart quickly or is easily prone to delusion would suffer eternally, and the last thing he wants is to subject a person to that. MC gives him hope certainly, but she’s also emblematic of a kind of fortitude he both needs on a personal level and she would need to be beside him. It’s interesting because it’s a responsible choice on his part, but also just very befitting of his nature. He’s somebody that staunchly believes in the ability of good to prevail, but he’s also realistic about it. He knows doing the right thing isn’t necessarily easy; he does it because he could never live with himself if he did otherwise. 

(Think about Comte’s approach with Jeanne. It meant years of being on the receiving end of hatred he didn’t deserve, but he didn’t mind if it meant Jeanne could find a way to heal. It’s not the most practical or immediate solution, but it is the most restorative option. Comte doesn’t care that he spends years living alongside Jeanne’s outspoken displeasure and even violent outbursts. Why? Because it’s all a means to a greater, better end. If he has to suffer a little discomfort, he’s willing to make that sacrifice. That’s the thing with Comte; intentionality is everything. Comte’s intention is to help. Whether that’s a short or long process, a smooth or rough process, he’s going to do what he can within his means.)

That dynamic is reflected in his respect for this MC who is filled with fury on behalf of all the life that she lost unfairly, her relentless pursuit for the truth of what happened to her. Notice, she’s more interested in truth than retaliation. She refuses to lay an intentionally violent hand on Comte until she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was worthy of being on the receiving end of that retribution. Who does that sound like? If you guessed Comte himself, then you see where I’m going with this. What MC and Comte have in common is that they have a sharp emotional fortitude that they keep under tight, rational control. They will react with sizable passion or hurt or warmth--but their externalized reaction will vary depending on the situation. If it’s a minor annoyance, they have the patience to diffuse and try to alleviate the problem. If it’s on a larger scale or it’s an egregious violation of their personhood, then they up the ante accordingly.

Think about it. MC appears on Comte’s doorstep full of righteous rage and even when he confirms what he’s “done,” she hesitates. Her emotional intelligence is telling her something isn’t aligning properly; something isn’t quite right. She forgoes immediate revenge for proper answers instead. MC and Comte have this kind of balance, where they are more than happy to hear people out--but there is a limit to that propensity. Push them too far? They’ll bust your head. I guess I’m particularly interested in the way Comte seems to yearn for that kind of identification with a partner. Somebody who has similar values: not merciless, but also won’t bend when a situation requires confrontation.

All that being said, there was one more aspect of the story that I was endlessly interested in. I’m going to link the post here, in that it’s tangentially related to this meta; it really made me better able to articulate what I mean to say. 

“Never let generosity hold hostages; courtesy is an essential tool, but a cruel master.”

I’m gonna let that sink in for a moment.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, because it’s very rare that I read something once and I’m forced to read it several more times before I begin to understand it. My interpretation of that line is to say that benevolence can showcase your good will to others; it can be a reliable proof of good character, and a way to help someone. But the problem comes when people do conventionally/perceived generous things with the explicit intent of repayment by some measure. While it is only responsible to care for others as they care for you, you shouldn’t make impossible sacrifices with the expectation that the other person is indebted to you--especially if the other party had no ability to consent to that sacrifice.

How does this apply to Comte in this event story? Er, in almost every way humanly (vampirely?) possible, in my view. Comte turns MC into a vampire after seeing her plight, largely because he gets the impression that she was fighting for her life--had impossibly survived against all odds. The situation is complicated though. MC wasn’t fully conscious when it happened, so she doesn’t have a proper understanding of how everything went down. So what does Comte do? If he can’t bear to face her or reveal the truth of how horribly she died, he at least gives her every means to survive and makes sure she’s doing okay since she’s technically an orphan now. He doesn’t interfere with her life, or demand recognition for the life he gave her. He fully understands that she wasn’t able to properly consent to his decision in that split second moment, and even if she had he doesn’t see it as a debt she owes him now. He was able to help save her life for at least a little while longer, and so he did. It was as simple as that. He had the ability, she had the need. That’s the end.

But Comte’s emotional acuity doesn’t just end here. Even when she comes after him to kill him, he doesn’t respond with anger because he knows full well he hasn’t explained. Sure he’s sacrificing their relationship (the ability to get along on half-decent terms) but if it means she can find a reason to live, then so be it. He doesn’t lord that sacrifice over her head by any extension; he’s just sad about it because he thinks she’s a wonderful person, and he doesn’t want to be estranged from her. But in his view, her needs supercede his wants.

He doesn’t force her to do chores around the house during her stay, she does it to keep herself busy and search for the truth about his intentions. He even asks her to take breaks and look after herself first, more concerned with her well-being than the state of the mansion. At the ball, he doesn’t force her to linger around him or dance with him despite inviting her there and giving her the dress/jewelry to attend. He leaves her alone as she wishes, only glancing at her to make sure she’s doing okay. When he takes the hit from the violent stranger--a knife straight to the back--he jokes about being s t r o n k, never once blaming her for the wound he sustains no matter how brief.

He explains that he didn’t tell her the truth because it was incredibly traumatic, and it’s only in the safety of the moment--after years of having conceived of her own selfhood beyond the event--that she’s able to take the weight of what happened without falling apart. The premium end just keeps hammering this shit home. He openly tells her she doesn’t have to dance with him at all, that she doesn’t owe him anything just because he likes her. He’s aware it’s unrequited (he thinks) and he doesn’t go on and on about all the sacrifices he made for her with the expectation she’ll reciprocate. He just did what he wanted to do, nothing more. If she feels the same way by some miracle, that’s amazing! If she doesn’t, as it would be valid if not, that’s fair too; no hard feelings.

She has to be the one to invite him to dance and insist. She’s the one that smiles fondly when he’s telling her that she can choose whatever outcome she pleases, even if it means wanting to live as far as possible from him. There is no guilt trip, no expectation, and no pressure. She has the freedom to leave or stay. It is entirely dependent on her own will. For the first time in a lifetime of loss, her agency is restored to her. That’s huge.

She even admits that she feels bad about being so angry when he really was just trying to help, now that she can understand what he’s doing. And he’s openly shocked to hear it. He had no intention of expecting or asking for an apology. He understands it was his own imposition, both biting her and obscuring the truth, that led to her setting her mind on vengeance. 

I’ve probably hit it home harder than necessary, but Comte just feels like the epitome of good will in the best way possible. One can argue he’s a little selfish for keeping the truth from her for so long, but honestly? Given the horrific trauma of her situation--and his personal fear of making her miserable for an eternity when all he wanted was to give her a second chance away from all that hurt--I feel like his reaction was closer to considerate and reasonable. Comte doesn’t sacrifice anything he isn’t unwilling to give, or anything that would cripple him to give. Furthermore, he doesn’t make love out to be a kind of 1:1. He recognizes that while he might know her well, she doesn’t know squat about him. And, as such, he doesn’t expect her to trust his intentions or reciprocate his feelings in any capacity. It’s just a delightful surprise when she does. When he tells her that he loves her that first time, it’s an explanation. Not a guilt trip. He knows she won’t be satisfied years of protecting her simply because “he wanted to” and he promised her the truth, so he tells her. Not only that, in the aftermath he repeatedly reminds her she isn’t bound to him. She commits to him before he relies on any kind of active bond between both of them.

I don’t know, maybe I think too hard about it, but I feel like the older I get the more I see a shortage of this kind of fine-tuned caring about the other person in a relationship. I guess I just enjoy seeing a man give a woman her health and agency without treating her wellness/happiness like it’s a burden to his life? First and foremost Comte really is concerned with her self-actualization before his feelings can have any place in their relationship. And even when he does confess his love, it isn’t a way to force her to feel indebted to him; it’s an attempt to erase any false pretenses. MC loves him, not because she has nowhere else to go, but because he’s proven himself time and again a worthy companion. Always putting her first, always worried about her feelings, paying such close attention that he sees her to the core of who she is despite her iron front--kind, beneath all that hurt. They spend so much of this event really listening to each other despite such difficult circumstances, and it leads to a deep and abiding love against all odds. And I find that incredibly moving...

Oh and, before I forget? Let me circle back for a moment:

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

The best part about this event is that--while Comte says this about MC--this is also precisely the reason MC falls in love with Comte too, even if it’s never stated outright. Because despite how lonely and tired he may be of eternity, no matter how many troubles he’s facing himself, he never stops trying to help and support others (namely MC) in any way he can.

Drops mic

[hexalene]

What's your wildest cruise ship story?

Oh shit I meant to post this sooner whoops

Uh

I have less “ONE BIG THING” stories and more of like, a series of surreal Events that happened to me over the course of the years and years I went on cruises (my family could go on cruises for free, so we abused the shit out of that for reunions and vacations for a long time)

So here’s a few of those, and I SWEAR TO GOD they’re real, and I might have photos buried somewhere to prove some of them, but idk, that’s like effort.

-I loved wandering around ships super super early in the morning. Like, crack of dawn early. I’d usually go hang out on one of the open floor restaurant areas around the middle of the ship, which had built in window seats you could curl up in. Pillows n shit too. Super comfy. I’d draw and listen to music, ect. One morning, I looked up and saw the Black fucking Pearl from Pirates of the Caribbean sailing by. Did not believe my eyes. It and four other ships, two of which were for non-pirate movies, were being sailed into a bay on the island we were headed to. I did manage to get a distant shot of it when I got on land.

-In 2006 (date relevant) I met two men in two different families, who were not related and had never met, named Tony Stark. As this was before the movie came out, I was left tragically alone with no one to be awed at this strange coincidence with me. One of them was even a dark haired man with a nice goatee.

(The other was a cute chubby grandpa type)

-Given the opportunity to demonstrate how corporations rig the system against the consumer, my father brought me down to the casino level and sat down across from a very fancy claw machine that dispensed iPads and other expensive tech prizes. He told me, “some people will win, and I’ll tell you when they will.”

I was like “okay dad sure” but we sat there for HOURS, and dad would say “okay, this guy will win if he goes for this prize” or “this guy will lose” and finally, “that woman will win an iPad.” Of course, most were losers, but he was DEAD ON every time someone would win. After a while he explained that the machine would only dispense prizes after collecting the money to pay for two more of whatever was won. He’d just sat there and done the math on the people playing the game and when it added up, he’d wait to see what they went for and let me know if they won. It had absolutely nothing to do with skill.

To make his point, he waited, counting out loud the money being put in, before standing up and slapping the button randomly on one of the lower rank prizes. He won an otter box phone case and told me that no one will ever give you the chance to win out at a loss to themselves, so don’t make a bet unless you’ve rigged the game to win. I was 14.

-uhhh what else

-The dance troupe arranged to do shows suffered a tragic undisclosed accident, so the short term bullshit to entertain people in the theatre was an honest to god passenger led talent show. Surreal on its own, but one of the passengers was a contortionist, and ran off to get their suitcase.

Now, they did a lot of fun bendy stuff, very weird, very cool, but they asked for volunteers at one point. I, my sister, our cousin, and two other kids were asked to come on stage. I was the oldest, maybe 12/13ish, my sister and cousin were 9, and the other two kids were between 6-9.

This MADMAN, without straining any of us to bend in any weird or uncomfortable way, managed to fit all five of us into his empty suitcase. I was in the damn thing and I have no idea how he managed it. He then zipped us all up inside and walked around the stage a bit. And it was fine, like not uncomfortable or hard to breath or anything!

I remember getting out of the suitcase clearest of all. We’d all been fit inside so snugly, in this order:

Me, stranger kid 1, cousin, sister, and stranger kid 2. To get us out, he lay the case flat and lifted my sister up. Somehow this like??? Was like those monkey in a barrel toys, we all just neatly unfolded with her, no tripping or falling or anything. That feeling, where one moment I’m staring at my cousins’ feet and some other kid’s elbow, and then I see the dude lift my sister and then all of us just RISE WITH IT and unfold like a flower blooming I have no idea if this makes any sense at all but it felt magical.

- Something bad happened back home, but we didn’t know what. My dad had a business meeting but mom wanted to see the beach. We got off the ship, and like, HARDCORE struggled to find a way to get to a beach, any beach. We were in....Mexico, somewhere in the neighborhood of Chichén Itzá, maybe an island nearby I think? There were some massive ruins somewhere, I remember that much.

While mom hunted down a beach, my siblings and I sat under a giant box fan, near a TV. Something was happening, the employees were changing the channel, trying to find the clearest signal to the American news. I remember looking over at the grainy footage being interrupted by commercials and other signals and piecing together through the static and the employee trying to translate that back home, the 2008 financial crash was happening and that mom’s insistence that we find a beach and have fun was because that business meeting dad had stayed behind to deal with was him trying to make sure we’d still have a house to live in when we got back to the states, and she didn’t know if this would be the last truly carefree time we had before we went home to face the music.

-However, mom’s eternal struggles to find a beach didn’t begin in 2008. The previous trip we’d taken had another Beach Adventure.

That time, it was also just mom and the siblings. I don’t remember why dad was staying behind, maybe a poker tournament or something?

We disembarked and the struggle began. Nothing was in English, other than the scant few signs the cruise ship put out to guide passengers off the docks. However, THIS was not a problem, as I was about as fluent in Spanish as a third grader restricted to the present tense, and this worked well enough to get us around.

There was a massive bus to a beach, just PACKED to the gills with Americans. As we waited in line, a nondescript man came up to us, and said, “that bus will go to a very crowded beach with many other passengers of other ships. I know a better beach, and cheap! I’ll charge only half of what that bus will charge you and my beach is much much nicer!”

You might be thinking that common sense would tell us not to get in a random unmarked car with an un-uniformed man offering an amazing half off deal to a perfect isolated beach in broken English on a largely rural island, wouldn’t you? You’d be wrong.

My mother is a sweet devout catholic lady with a hidden core of raw chaos. Her idea of a nice day out in the snow with her tiny children was to strap us in the back, drive to the massive Schnuck’s parking lot, gun it up to 90mph, and hydroplane/drift like a fucking drag racer across the ice, laughing. Common sense does not exist in any normal capacity in this woman.

We spent an incredibly tense, silent, 45 minutes driving into the wilderness packed into a tiny car with no AC, sweating with heat and nerves as he drove us out in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly the driver pulls over. There is literally nothing but trees and cliffs for miles and miles. Mom is clutching my hand, my baby brother, and her knitting needles. The driver runs quickly to the center of the road, leans over, and picks up a huge tortoise that had frozen up when his car approached. He carried it over to the grass, and pat it goodbye.

Before he comes back Mom turns and looks at me and says, “a serial killer probably wouldn’t save a turtle, I think we’ll be okay.”

[5283]

wanted to do this for some time now, it's literally useless and doesn't matter but i want to have some fun and share

how i see each stray kid:

― i.n (maknae first rule applies here too let's go)

a freshly baked butter croissant with just right crunchiness on the outside and sweet softness on the inside; one of those clean plain oversized outfit aesthetic instagrammers; handsome not in an intimidating way but in the has-the-warmest-heart kind of way; probably finds "boring" activities like sitting in cafes or in parks for hours and just talking very fun; is a true food connoisseur but somehow you only see him eat the same few foods everyday; has a lot of mysterious hobbies he tells no one about and also has a secret talent de-shelling shrimps very fast.

― seungmin

a barista that you could feel insulted by if you took things very personally but he just asked your choice of milk in a way too serious tone; not a puppy at all, only likes pretending being one and either thinks he's deceiving everyone around him very well or just couldn't care less if anyone notices; encourages swearing as an emotional release technique but doesn't swear himself and speaks in an almost uncomfortable refined manner; cat-type of clingy where one moment he's on your lap purring not letting you remove him and the other he's biting your finger when you just wanted to scratch his chin quickly to say goodbye as you were leaving.

― felix

a house gnome that silently dusts off your window panes and bookshelves at night while you soundly sleep; a schoolmate in elementary school that would always braid your hair during recess; you can see his bright yellow aureole around his head even if you're not a clairvoyant; a pastor at your local church that gives free drums lessons every week; has glittery fairy wings and fangs that appear once on a full moon; has a power of reading minds and secretly helps you with little things but you couldn't figure it out because of how discreet he is about it; the cousin living nearby that had the newest playstation so you'd come over to play often.

― han

the sequence of golden ratio; a friend that always remembers his dreams from start to finish and every other day tells you about the one he had last night so enthusiastically you could believe it actually happened in real life; the safety of entering an empty coffee shop when it just opened and them having your favorite cake; would tell you the entire plot of an anime he recently finished watching including spoilers because he was just so excited about it and couldn't hold it in any longer; would forget to text you but once he'd do, it would be 5 detailed paragraphs on how he's been lately and asking you how you've been too.

― hyunjin

would send you facebook event requests for new art exhibitions every week; carries a film camera when he goes for a packet of banana milk to a grocery store 5 minutes away; gifts you polaroid pictures he's taken of you on your birthdays; a person whose little gestures and speech patterns you could observe for hours out of pure fascination; your aunt that lives far away from you and is not involved in your personal life at all but still remembers to congratulate you on your birthday every year and her text is always the one that hits home the most.

― changbin

would buy you that big ikea djungelskog bear plush and leave it at your door without an explanation; actual manifestation of the leo zodiac; isn't about brands at all but somehow his socks are prada nevertheless and they're different colors too because he couldn't find the matching pair in the morning; his hugs are probably your favorite type of hugs even if they're short and you start feeling suffocated after 5 seconds; could not take the seat designated for the elderly / pregnant women and would just stand when riding the bus even if it's almost empty.

― lee know

knows about the most embarrassing moments in your life better than your trusted parental figure; is the first one you would come out to about your gender or sexuality; believes in 3 second rule and counts down the seconds faithfully everytime a food touches the ground; on his bookshelf you can find a book about studies on serial killers touching the back of one about moomins by tove jansson; comes over to clip your cat's nails and clean its ears; knows names of every tree by looking at its leaves; a family member who wakes up earlier to make everyone breakfast along with their favorite warm drinks.

― bang chan

the feeling of oneness when you look up at the night sky and see the stars; the "look at the moon!!!" person that always uses a she pronoun when talking about it; would probably get into a playful argument with you about how you used some big word wrongly in a sentence; truest personification of an ENFJ - the word 'family' should actually be credited under his name; most probably was a greek god in one of his past lives; growing up didn't skip an episode of H2O when it was airing real time, also watched series about lifeguards as a teen; probably used to be a tumblr user in like 2013 reblogging those #grunge photos and #quotes in white bold italic font on top of a darker background picture of some blurry dried rose.

[etherrealoblivion]

Chapter Seven: Spencerspective

Table Of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 2,512

MASTERLIST

~

Spencer didn’t fall asleep for hours. He tried not to keep watching the door, but keeping Y/N safe was more important than rest.

If you're exhausted tomorrow how are you supposed to protect her?

Finally, with that thought in his mind, he let himself succumb to slumber, which was surprisingly easy with Y/N cuddled against him.

After a night of horrible dreams and tossing and turning, he woke up to the wonderful smell of shampoo and flowers. Following his nose and breathing deeply, eyes still closed, he found himself suddenly with a face full of hair.

Spencer yanked back, eyes blowing open.

No. No. No.

It all came back in a rush. She’d gotten closer to him, holding him tighter than anyone had in a long time. And he hadn’t resisted. He’d given in to her so quickly.

It wasn’t like he didn’t like her. He did. Too much. His job was to protect her, not fall in . . . fall for her. Plus, it was taking advantage. She was only getting close to him because he was protecting her. It was a whole reverse Florence Nightingale situation. If they’d met anywhere else, she wouldn’t have given him a second glance.

But now, with her back pressed up against him — a little too much — how could he resist.

He had to. He couldn’t hurt her like that. He was just going to slip out of bed and go back to the floor. Without waking her up. Easy.

“Mm,” she moaned, stretching her spine and snuggling against him tighter.

Oh no. There was no way he could sneak away with one of his arms under her head and the other wrapped tightly around her waist. Not without waking her up.

How had he even gotten into this position? Looking back, it was his fault for pointing out just how large her bed truly was.

Wiggling a bit, she pulled a pillow closer, pushing herself even closer to him.

Now another problem was . . . rising. Literally.

It was a no-win situation. He could slip out of bed, almost definitely waking her up resulting in a potentially huge misunderstanding. Or, she’d wake up before he could leave the bed and certainly feel his. . . .

He had to get up.

As gently as he could, he removed his hand from her waist and slipped the other one out from under her head, placing it softly back on the pillow.

Her whimper at the loss of his warmth was like a dagger through the heart. More than anything, he wished he could jump back in bed with her and comfort her, holding her how he’d wanted to last night. How he’d found himself holding her this morning.

Why are you so crazy for this girl?! You barely know her!

“Spencer?” even with hours of sleep, her voice was still so melodic. If he weren’t so cold without her against him, he would have melted.

“Hey,” he said softly — too softly, get it together, Spencer!

“Is everything okay?” she rubbed her eyes sleepily, adorably. 

“Yeah, yeah, I just, um, had to go to the bathroom. I didn’t wanna wake you.”

“What time is it?”

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Nearly 1:30.”

“PM?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus.”

She sat up and blinked, looking at the space on the bed where Spencer had been. 

Spencer cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him.

“What do you want to do today?” He tried to say it casually like he cared more about what they’d do rather than what she wanted to do. It was unclear if that had come across.

“I don’t know,” she wasn’t meeting his eyes. “I kinda wanna go out?”

Spencer froze.

“Go out? Like on a . . .” he trailed off.

“Like a date,” she mumbled, then, quickly: “As a cover, of course. I just think it might be a good distraction.”

But Spencer was already shaking his head fervently.

“It’s too dangerous. In fact, nightclubs are responsible for about 60 percent of rapes and 20 percent of murders. It’s the perfect place to commit most crimes. No one is paying any attention and—“

“Spencer!” she interrupted, “I didn’t mean a nightclub. I mean, seeing you dance sounds amazing but that’s not really my scene. What about like a restaurant?”

“A restaurant?”

He considered it. Respectable restaurants had professional waiters, unlike nightclubs; better security; and, best of all, they were more spaced out, meaning less opportunity for a stranger to get close. He’d have to be on high alert, though.

“I know a great place nearby,” she spoke up, breaking his train of thought. 

“I don’t know. . . .” he said, still wary.

“It’s walking distance.”

His mistake was meeting her eyes. She looked so hopeful, so helpless. Oh god, there was a hint of puppy dog eyes. How could he resist?

Seriously, how?

“Okay,” he said, giving in as she let out a little squeak of happiness, heart warming at the sound. “But at the slightest danger, we leave.”

“Yes! Of course!”

“And no alcohol.”

She hesitated for a split second, then sighed.

“Yes, okay.”

“And no dancing,” he added, sliding into the bathroom, leaving the door partially open.

“WHAT!?”

~

“Hey, it’s almost seven.”

Spencer and Y/N had been slumped on the couch for hours watching old episodes of Doctor Who and arguing about the science of time travel.

“Time doesn’t work that way! It’s like a line.”

“But what if you went back and changed something?”

“No, no, no, you can’t do that because it would have already happened. Like if you in the future traveled to right now, it would happen right now, but since you didn’t just now, then it doesn’t happen in the future. It’s the rules of physics.”

She’d scoffed at that.

“Maybe time doesn’t follow the rules of physics.”

“Okay, speaking as a certified genius with a Ph.D. in Chemistry, you are on dangerous grounds.”

And then she’d thrown a pillow at him, the both of them descending into giggles.

Spencer had almost forgotten why he was there. Why he was really there.

“Oh, yeah. Should we go?”

Y/N laughed derisively, gesturing to her t-shirt and pajama shorts.

“Not like this. Gimme fifteen minutes.”

She jumped up and ran to her bedroom, closing the door.

“Door open!” Spencer reminded her.

She stuck her head out and blew a raspberry but she did leave the door slightly ajar. Not enough that he could see what she was doing, just enough to know that she was safe.

Meanwhile, he rummaged through his bags, trying to find something appropriate to wear. Everything he had was either too casual or way too casual.

Finally settling on a cornflower blue dress shirt, a grey sweater to wear over it, dark slacks, and a jet black tie, he stood, waiting by the door and fidgeting with his sweater so it covered his revolver. He knew it made her nervous and didn’t want to put any stress on her that could be avoided.

The door to her room opened and Spencer’s head shot up. His jaw practically dropped.

Sure, her outfit was dazzling, small sparkly black heels, a short swishy blue dress that was both casual and classy (and happened to match his shirt), and long dangly earrings with little clocks on the ends, but what really got him was the way she was looking at him. Expectantly, patiently.

He realized she was waiting for him to say something.

“You look . . .” he tried so hard to think of a compliment that expressed his awe while remaining professional. “Stunning.”

A smile lit up her face and Spencer’s heart soared.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said, adjusting his tie.

The contact made him jump.

“Ahem, shall we?” he opened the door and held out his elbow for her to take.

“We shall.”

So she took his arm and they set off into the night, locking the door securely behind them.

An hour later, they walked up outside a small bistro, Spencer slightly out of breath.

“When you said walking distance. . . .”

“Three miles is walking distance!” she said defensively.

“For superman!”

“Oh come on! You’re in the FBI, I'm sure you do your fair share of chasing bad guys.”

“I’m an FBI profiler. And while I do enjoy the occasional walk through the park, exercise isn’t exactly my strong suit,” he explained, gesturing to his lanky body.

“Suppose not. Then again, I saw the way you ran after that blue car. I know you’ve got some hidden muscles under all that . . . dork.”

He feigned offense at her remark.

“Pardon me, ma’am, I am a nerd. Very big difference.”

“Mm-hmm. Something only a dork would know,” she laughed, booping his nose and walking into the restaurant, Spencer taking a moment to be shocked before following her.

They got a nice table by the window at her request. It seemed she knew the waiter, calling him by his name and exchanging a brief greeting, introducing Spencer as Doctor Reid.

“Have you been here a lot?”

“No, never, but the waiter here, Tom, works at my regular coffee shop. Barista by day, waiter by night.”

Spencer laughed softly.

Okay, so she’s never been here before, meaning she’s never been here before with a guy, meaning she wanted to take you somewhere special. Meaning she likes y—

“Stop it!” he muttered to himself through gritted teeth. 

“Hmm?”

Spencer blushed.

“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering about what to order. I don’t really go to a lot of restaurants, to be honest.”

“Me either,” she smiled softly at him and Spencer found himself smiling back.

“Ready to order, Doctor Reid?” The waiter said, smiling.

“Ladies first,” Spencer said, relishing in the way Y/N smiled at him. This would be a long night.

~

“ . . . and the whole point of his writing is to experience a whole new idea of life!”

“Did you even read Walden?”

After the food came, a chicken empanada for Spencer and a bowl of pasta for Y/N, the conversation had somehow shifted to a heated discussion of what Henry David Thoreau’s ideals were.

“I’ve read . . . parts.” 

Spencer gave her a doubtful look and she sighed.

“I’ve read the Sparknotes.”

“Exactly! His point is to go live in the forest to achieve inner peace. The problem is, as humans, we need society and interactions with others in order to function. I actually had a coworker who had a cabin in the woods and he never mentioned becoming one with nature.”

“Well, maybe he just picked the wrong forest. Like, I couldn’t relax in the Forbidden Forest. It’s all about location.”

“Forbidden Forest?”

“Like from Harry Potter.”

Spencer glanced away.

“You’ve never read Harry Potter?” she said incredulously.

“Nope,” he blushed. “I’ve always preferred—“

“Oh god, please don’t say Twilight.”

“Nooo,” Spencer chuckled, “I was gonna say I prefer Doyle’s works.”

“Oh, I love Doyle!” she said happily. “Everybody always talks about Sherlock Holmes but have you read The Narrative of John Smith? It’s definitely some of his best work.”

Spencer’s mind went haywire. She had brought up his favorite book of all time in casual conversation. Who was this girl?

“Spencer?”

He snapped out of his daydream and looked at the woman in front of him. She was working on two doctorates, she loved Doyle and Doctor Who, she owned a goddamn bookstore, and she walked almost everywhere. How was he not supposed to fall for her? 

“Spencer?”

“Yes, yeah, sorry.”

The waiter came up and placed the check next to him.

“For the gentleman.” 

Avoiding eye-contact, Spencer took out his wallet to pay.

“Hey!” she swatted his hands away, making him drop his wallet into his lap. “We‘re not leaving yet! What’s the rush?”

This relaxed him a little. His nerves were starting to get to him. C’mon, Spencer, you’re a professional. Get it together.

“There’s no rush!” he quickly recovered. “I was simply checking to see if I had the adequate resources for the evening,” he smiled widely, waggling his eyebrows. But she had frozen, a shocked expression on her face.

“What?” she breathed.

Spencer cocked his head, not understanding her confusion. He was clearly reaching into his wallet for a surprise. What other resources did people keep in their walle—

Then it hit him.

“Oh! Oh, no I meant. . .” he fumbled with his wallet, trying desperately to pull out—

“This!” a shiny golden key. “I, uh, have a surprise planned.” It was extremely hard not to blush, and he was even less sure he was succeeding.

But, upon seeing her face contort into one of excitement, he was reassured.

“Okay! What are you waiting for? Let’s go now!”

And she jumped up, leaving the appropriate change in the check.

“C’mon!” Spencer was about to protest her paying, but she was grabbing his hand and pulling him out of his seat, out of the restaurant.

“Hey, I’m supposed to be surprising you, here!” he protested, stopping her just outside the door.

“Fine, lead the way, Doctor,” she giggled, bowing deeply.

Spencer curtseyed and walked off in the direction they had come, his woman on his arm.

A woman, he corrected himself. Not his.

“So,” Y/N said after a while of walking, “Where are you taking me?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Ha. You know, statistically, around eighty percent of people who say that, secretly love them.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she spun around and started to walk backward, maintaining eye contact, “but I’m not exactly a person that most statistics apply to.”

“So you don’t like surprises?”

She frowned.

“Touché.”

Spencer laughed as she spun back around, walking next to him. Their footsteps became a rhythm and they stayed silent for a while, just enjoying each other’s company.

Then, Y/N’s footsteps started to falter, breaking the pattern.

“You ok?” Spencer knew that people favoring the balls of their feet while walking was a sign of anxiety.

Rather than answer verbally, she yanked him down a dark alleyway, pushing against him.

“Y/N?”

She was holding him against her, her own back to the brick wall.

“I’m sorry, Spencer, this isn’t how I wanted it.”

“What are you sor—Mmf—“

A hand snaked around his tie and pulled him down sharply. Their lips met in an instant.

He should have pulled away. He should have stayed professional. He should have done anything but what he did.

Hands flying to the side of her face, he pulled her closer, coaxing open her mouth and moaning softly into it, feeling her hands travel down his waist, running along his belt.

Her lips were so soft. He’d wanted this so bad. And now that she was against him, lips against his, he realized how much he’d needed it. It wasn’t fair to her. He’d deal with that later.

But before he could process anything else, a sudden weight left his hips, her lips left his, and the unmistakable noise of a gunshot rang through the air behind him.

~

@aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13​ @yourmisosoup @queenofthebees003 @pinkdiamond1016 @eu-solidao

[steves-on-a-plane]

Midnight in the City

Words: 1487 Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader Summary: Reader was in New York for her Bachelorette party when she gets a call from her Fiancé saying that things are over between them. Heartbroken and distraught, she starts walking back to her hotel alone only to get turned around and lost. When she tries to seek shelter in a nearby bodega, she bumps into a certain billionaire unexpectedly. It’s almost laughable how quickly things can chance in a New York minute. Author’s Note: Y’all ever start to write a fic thinking it will be one thing and then it turns into a whole new beast? That’s how this fic came alive.

It was late at night much later than you’d planned on being out. It was also cold. There was frost on the windows of the shops and bars you past. You shivered, regretting that you left your coat back at the hotel. There was a delicate silver tiara in your hair. The teeth of the Tiara’s comb felt like they were digging into your skull. You tugged the thing off, no longer caring has nicely its gemstones sparkled under the New York City lights.

Your toes were wedged into a pair of high heels and you knew your feet would be covered in blisters by morning. You should have worn something more comfortable like your sister had suggested, but you’d wanted to look your best that night. It was supposed to be your Bachelorette party after all. Tired from a long day, your feet and heart both aching and your continued ambling down the street until you came upon a bodega.

You stepped inside, shielding your eyes from the store’s florescent lighting, you stumbled inside. You were relieved to find the place toasty warm. At least comparing to the dropping temperature outside. You had a pounding headache and you knew the best cure for that would be water and maybe some food. You slowly made your way over to a selection of fridges where several bottle water brands were displayed.

“I don’t want to sound rude here, but are you, okay?” You looked to your right startled. You had thought you were the only patron in the shop.

“Where the hell did you come from?” You gasped. You glanced at your smart watch to check the time, only to realize its battery had died. Most of the man’s face was covered by a pair of sunglasses with red tinted lenses. But he smiled at you. It was a crooked mischievous smile. He wore a simple red zip up hoodie, and a pair of jeans. Only his shoes seemed out of place. They looked like some type of designer boots but you couldn’t identify the manufacturer.  

“I’m sorry,” He apologized, pushing his hood back. “It’s just that you look like you need help. You’re not from around here are you?”

“I ah…” You bit your lip not sure how to answer. This man could be dangerous and if he knew you were from out of town and no one was expecting you home any time soon, that could put you in even more risk.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes. A real New Yorker would have told me to mind my own damn business by now.” The man laughed.  “So, a tiara?” He pointed to the nearly forgotten accessory still gripped between your fingers. “What are we celebrating? Birthday or wedding?”

“Wedding.” You struggled to say the word you’d been so happy to exclaim the weeks leading up to tonight.

“You don’t seem very happy about it.” He tilted his head to the side, waiting for an explanation.

“It’s been canceled.” You explained. Your throat felt dry. You wished you hadn’t drank so much.

“Canceled? The man frowned. “Well that’s no fun. Can I ask what happened?”

“My fiancé…ex.” You reminded yourself. “Sent his mother to my bachelorette to tell me that he wasn’t coming to the wedding tomorrow. He took the day to think things over and just didn’t see a future with me. When I called to ask him if this was some kind of joke, he sent my calls to voicemail. I called him twenty-three times.”

You didn’t know why you were telling this stranger any of this. You didn’t know him. He could have been a serial killer. Maybe it was just nice to have someone to talk to about it. Someone was just going to listen to what you had to say before working themselves up. You needed time to process what had happened. Still there was a quiet thought in the back of your mind that you knew this man from somewhere.

“I told my friends I was going back to the hotel.” You continued. “I decided I’d walk, enjoy the fresh air, you know? But somehow I got turned around and well, here I am.”

“Here you are.” The man nodded. His cellphone began to ring. The man pulled his phone out and looked at the caller ID. “I’m sorry, I have to take this, just give me one second. What do you want Rogers? Yes, I remembered to get you your disgusting black licorice, even though I’ve told you a hundred times only old people eat licorice. What does Barton want? I can hear him yelling in the background. Circus peanuts? The gross orange things? God, who raised you people? Okay, okay, I got it. I’ll get everything. Listen, I’m in the middle of something, I’ll call you back.” The man ended his call and looked back at you.

“Sounds like you have an exciting party to get back to yourself.” You observed.

“Hardly.” The man rolled his eyes. He bent down and picked up a shopping basket by his feet. “It’s movie night and it was my turn to pay for the snacks. Of course, it’s sort of always my turn to pay for the snacks.”

“What time is it?” You asked him. “It has to be past midnight, and you’re only starting a movie night now?”

“Well we just got back from a week-long trip in Russia.” The man told you casually. “When you account for jag lag and losing a day from time zone changes, we were all just exhausted. I only woke up twenty minutes ago. I’d probably still be sleeping if they hadn’t woke me up and sent me out in the cold for snacks.”

“New York is very different from where I live.” You shook your head in disbelief.

“I bet there’s a whole new world I could show you.” The man smirked. “I’m Tony, by the way.” He introduced himself at last.

“Hi, Tony I’m [Y/N].” You told him. “Can I ask what exactly it is that you do? You mentioned that your friends make you pay for things a lot.”

“Seriously?” The man put his basket back on the floor. “You don’t know who I am?” He tugged his sunglasses off and waited for you to recognize him.

“No I’m sorry…” You shook your head.

“This has literally never happened to me.” He said, seemingly in total shock. “I mean it. Never.”  

“I’m sorry!” You apologized again. “I don’t know many actors, have you been in any movies recently?”

“An actor?” Tony gasped. “I’m Tony Stark!” He pointed at himself. “I’m freaking Iron Man.”

“Oh!” You giggled. “I guess you do look a little bit like him.”

“I don’t look like him, I am him!” He exclaimed. “This is outrageous!” He started patting himself down, looking for his wallet. “I left…I left my wallet in the car.” He sighed.

“It’s okay.” You tried not to laugh. “I believe you, I believe you.”

“No, you don’t.” He teased. “I can tell by your tone. I’ll prove it to you. Come to movie night with me, as my guest. You can pick out any snack you want as long as it’s not black licorice. You can be my guest tonight.”

“Would that be alright?” You asked. You couldn’t believe that you were seriously considering his offer.

“Well I own the building.” He shrugged. “Thant means I can pretty much do whatever I want.”

“Uh, okay. Let me just call my friends to let them know where I am.” You pulled out your phone and initiated a video call with your best friend, Rachel.

“Oh my god [Y/N]! Where have you been? We’ve been worried sick about you!” She said when she answered the call. “Did you get lost? Do you need someone to come pick you up?”

“I got a little turned around.” You confessed. “But I made a new friend.” You turned to camera so that Rachel could see Tony. He was pretending to browse the drink fridges once again.

“Is that Tony Stark?” She gasped.

“Uh, yeah.” You nodded awkwardly. “How did you recognize him?”

“Everyone knows who he is!” Rachel laughed. “That’s who you ditched us for? I totally understand! Have fun, but not too much fun if you know what I mean!” Rachel wagged her eyebrows suggestively at you.

“Gross! I barely know him!” You hissed back.

“Whatever, have a little fun!” Rachel laughed. “Seriously, you deserve it. I gotta go, your sister is trying to get the bartender’s number. She’s told her no six times. I don’t think there’s going to be a seventh. Gotta go, love you, bye!”

“Who’s that?” Tony asked, walking back towards you. “I like her!”

“My best friend, she’s married.” You explained. “So she tries to live vicariously through me. Now what’s all this anti-licorice propaganda I heard you going on about earlier?”

[team-free-will-oneshots]

Bed Rest

Title: Bed Rest Summary: You’ve been sentenced to bed rest after dislocating your knee on a hunt. Good thing your boyfriend Sam is more than willing to dote on you. Written for @insomniac-with-a-juice-pouch Pairing: Sam x Reader Warnings: just fluff! Word Count: 1,500ish

note; here u go, i chose sam bc i love him lmao. hope u heal quickly !! <3

Knowing the Winchesters could give a person a lot of reasons to be jealous.

Their underground bunker, for one - packed with resources any hunter would kill to get their hands on, warding that made it, almost indisputably, the safest place on earth. Or their hunting skills - impeccable aim paired with strength that could pry envy from any onlooker. Even their looks - unbelievably attractive at times, so physically beautiful it almost hurt to look at them.

But none of these things drew jealousy from you - you lived with them in that incredible bunker, had hunting skills to rival their own, and you were lucky enough to be dating Sam Winchester himself. Or in his eyes, he was lucky enough to be dating you.

No, none of these things spurred jealousy. What did was quite simple:

Their ability to walk.

You’d been on bed rest the past few days after dislocating your knee on a hunt. It had been a more difficult scenario than most - a ghoul hunt, and a vicious one at that. But the hunt itself wasn’t what had injured you.

The three of you had finished off the ghoul relatively easily, but as you were walking back to the car, joking around and carefree, the dark night had concealed the hole in the ground. Of course, you fell. You weren’t sure there was anything more embarrassing than when Sam had to carry you back to the Impala while you were groaning in agony, even after they had relocated the joint.

And that left you here - on bed rest, trapped in your room, in the bunker, with nothing to do but read and watch documentaries on netflix. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean lived their lives as per usual while you needed help just getting to the bathroom.

“How are you feeling?”

Sam’s voice was gentle as it echoed from the doorway, paired with a sympathetic smile as he walked inside and sat on the edge of your shared bed. You made a hmph of discontent, and he chuckled, reaching out to take your hand in his. He ran his thumb over your palm in soothing circles, and you closed your eyes, pressing your head back into your pillow as you stared at the roof. It was a sight that had become all too familiar over the past few days - you could point out every crack in the ceiling, every bubble in the paint just from memory.

“Can I do anything?” Sam asked kindly, and you shook your head as you sighed.

“No,” you mumbled. “It’s just… it sucks. It feels like I’ve watched every single good movie on netflix, and now I’m on to the true crime documentaries!” you exclaimed, and Sam’s eyes lit up.

“Which one?” he asked eagerly, crawling into bed next to you and pulling the covers up as he slung an arm around your shoulders. You smiled as he pulled you against his chest, and you relaxed into him as you pressed ‘play’.

“Oh, this is a good one!” he exclaimed. “See, they’ve left out some stuff, but this guy…”

Sam trailed off into a long explanation of the serial killer’s tactics, but you found yourself only half listening as your eyes fell on his face - eyes alight with excitement, though framed with the permanent creases of bags beneath them; a result of the sleep that’s stolen from him by hours of research. You drank in the sight of the hard line of his jaw, coated with a thin layer of stubble that stretched down his neck and over the Adam’s apple that bobbed when he talked. It didn’t take him long to realise you weren’t listening, and he nailed you with a hard stare that countered the teasing spark behind his hazel eyes.

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?” he asked, snapping you from your awe. You blinked a few times, clearing your throat as your gaze met his.

“W-what? ‘Course I am,” you said unconvincingly, and he chuckled, pressing an idle kiss to your temple.

“Right. Well, I’m grabbing a snack - want anything?”

“To get up,” you grumbled, and his expression shifted from playful to empathetic. You sighed. “Just a water,” you conceded, and Sam nodded, leaving you to rest as he sought out the kitchen. You huffed in frustration as you adjusted - your limbs were growing numb from staying in the same position for so long, but any sudden movements caused a hot stripe of pain to flare up in your knee. Wincing through it, you finally got yourself into a somewhat more comfortable position, only for the movement to result in an uncomfortable pressure on your bladder. Growling, you gritted your teeth and tossed your head back in annoyance.

“You good?” Sam asked as he re-entered, handing you a glass of water that you took with a sulky nod.

“I need to pee,” you muttered, a wave of embarrassment pairing itself with your confession. But to Sam’s credit, his expression remained entirely composed as he nodded.

“Okay, here, I’ll help you,” he said, easily helping you to your feet and all but carrying you to the bathroom, giving you your privacy until it was time to carry you back to your bed.

“Wait, wait- can we go to the library or something instead? I think I might literally go crazy if I have to stay in that room another second,” you objected, and Sam chuckled as he switched course, cradling you against his chest as he carried you over the library’s threshold. You saw Dean researching at a desk nearby, and he smirked at the two of you as you entered.

“You’ve really got him wrapped around your little finger, huh?” he mused, shooting you a wide grin as he nodded to Sam carrying you without complaint. You stuck out your tongue at the eldest Winchester, who rolled his eyes playfully in response.

“Damn right,” you said, shooting Sam a wink in return to the quizzical rise of his brow. He shook his head in amusement, laying you carefully on the couch before throwing a blanket over you. Sam made to leave, and you cleared your throat, raising an expectant eyebrow as he turned around.

“Forgetting something?” you asked innocently, and Sam snickered, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. You hummed into the kiss, your hand fisting in his flannel and pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss, one of his hands moving to rest on your cheek as the other found its home on your waist.

Dean gagged in the background, and you shot him an annoyed glare as you and Sam separated.

“Get a room,” Dean muttered, and you made a face at him.

“We have one, not our fault you’re in it,” you shot back. “Besides, you’re really making fun of me, right now? I could be on my deathbed, Dean!” you said in mock offense, and the eldest Winchester rolled his eyes again.

“You tripped. Walking over a flat surface. I think you’ll live,” he said, eyes glinting playfully.

“Hey! There was a hole!” you protested. “You were there, you saw it!”

Dean shrugged innocently. “Me? It was dark, all I saw was you tripping…” he said as he took his leave.

“Dean Winchester, you get back here right now!” you snapped.

“What are you gonna do, chase me?” he asked, casting you a shit eating grin as he left. You spat a string of curses after him, but all you could hear in response was the echo of his laughter bouncing down the hall as he made his escape. You fell back against the couch with a huff, shooting Sam an annoyed look at his chuckle of amusement.

“Sorry, babe,” he apologised, sitting next to you and grazing a kiss over your forehead. “Come on - what do you want to do?”

You pouted, but your petulant expression quickly shifted into one of thought as you considered your options. A smile crept over your face as you spied the open novel on the library desk, spine worn and cracked from frequent use. It was Sam’s favourite book - you’d caught him re-reading it several times lately, and you’d yet to find a chance to flick through it yourself.

“Why don’t you read to me?” you suggested, and Sam grinned as he snatched the book. You shifted your position, giving him an opportunity to snuggle in behind you and draw the blanket up over the two of you. He began to read, his voice slow, deep and soothing, the rumble of his words vibrating through his chest and against your back as he spoke.

And as you laid against his warm, solid torso, Sam’s arms slung around you as his voice melted over you like smooth honey, you considered the notion that just maybe, bed rest wasn’t so bad after all.

__________

Forever tags: @babygirloreo @calaofnoldor @lmpala97 @sebastianshoe @81mysteriouslyme @castieliswatchingoverme @spnlovr73 @kina666 @liviaolivia @simplyxparker @helpmeluci @demonsofhunting

Sam tags: @sammys-dimpless

if you wanna be added to any tag lists just let me know! xxx

[thewincestgospel]

Do you have an established relationship wincest recs? Where they are in love and together :) thank you!

Of course!

I live for the boys getting their HEA and just growing old with each other.

Established Fics aka Curtain Fics

Anniversary by sonofabiscuit77   The Smith-Wessons go away for a ghost-hunting mini-break to celebrate their anniversary. Just a slice of life, domestic Smith/Wesson thing where they salt and burn the ghost, have brunch and Dean gets tied to the bed.      

Backseat of My Brother’s 67 Chevy by  NaughtyPastryChef  Extended scene from “Baby”. Dean’s feeling proud of Sam’s hookup until he hears that Sam tried to give that waitress his number. Uncharacteristically, he lets Sam force him to talk about it.

Better Homes and Gardens  by  chick (orphan_account)   After getting whammied on a hunt, Dean wakes up a househusband in Lawrence married to his little brother. Trapped in this world where down is up and up is completely fucked, Dean desperately tries to figure out a way to get back to a world that makes sense without completely losing his mind in the process. Featuring: spice gardens, bridge clubs, and the power of incestuous, gay love.

Cat’s Cradle by  saltandbyrne   My version of curtain fic, with human furniture, the Outback Steakhouse, and brutal, loving BDSM.            

The Chicago Verse by  compo67 After angels and demons and things that go bump in the night, Sam and Dean want a place of their own. Finding a place is easier said than done; and settling somewhere isn’t taken lightly. They take a chance on the city Death spared because he liked the pizza. The boys settle in a Mexican neighborhood just south of the Loop called Pilsen. Sam looks back at how they got here.

Crush by  sonofabiscuit77   Five years after the apocalypse didn’t happen and Sam and Dean have settled down, or as much as the Winchesters can ever settle down. Sam is a college professor and Dean a well-respected small business owner and they’re learning how to balance work, hunting and dog-ownership while coping with the metaphorical and literal scars of war. Life’s not perfect, not for a (sort of) out and proud couple in small town USA with a lot to hide, but they’re dealing, that is, until Dean employs one sexually-confused teenager who develops an unhealthy obsession with both of them. Switching between five years earlier and now, we learn how the boys came together, how they made it through the big fight and whether they’ll ever manage to find that flighty temptress, happily ever after.

Give Him What He Needs  by  brokenlittleboy   Sam wakes Dean up for some good old-fashioned morning loving and Dean is more than happy to comply. They’ve been going at it for almost eleven years now, and it seems like every day Sam gets dirtier and dirter, and more and more desperate for it. Dean’s not complaining–he’s just a little worried someday he won’t be enough for little brother’s needs.              

How Does Your Garden Grow by majesticduxk From the prompt: Sam getting his hands all dirty, Sam getting bad knees as he ages, Sam being excited about his bean crop, Sam bringing vast quantities of zucchini to the Bunker kitchen and expecting Dean to figure out something to cook with it, Sam being wrathful and indignant about caterpillars, Sam out there all day with the sun hot on his neck and the soil cool in his hands thinking about nothing at all but the tactility and the way he’s having this small, steady good effect on the world and coming back HAPPY.

 A Life Most Ordinary  by  sonofabiscuit77   Sam and Dean Winchester are two ordinary brothers living ordinary small-town lives. Okay, so having a mother who was brutally murdered by one of America’s most notorious serial killers and a father who was forever mentally scarred by the event is not that ordinary, but the rest of their problems: marriage breakdowns and relationship failures, job disappointments and sexuality crisis, and Dean’s two kids, 9 year-old Jonah with his disturbing passion for the music of Lady Gaga and 6-year old Simon with his severe hearing loss, well they’re all completely ordinary. The only thing extraordinary about Sam and Dean is how they fell in love.Written for 2010 spn_j2_bigbang challenge    

Just Another Day  by  selecasharp   When rain keeps them in a motel for another night, Sam settles in for a quiet day of movies, popcorn, and cuddling (and maybe more) on a couch with Dean — until he realizes what day it is.      

Just Say My Name by  leonidaslion   Dean turns into a complete and utter nympho. It takes Sam a while to notice the difference.              

The King and The Lionheart by waywardelle     After the disastrous but effective removal of the Mark, Sam and Dean Winchester suddenly face a life without allies or a reason to keep hunting, so they leave their old life behind them in flames. They re-emerge from the ashes as Sam and Dean Wesson, residents of Misty Luna, Maine– a town with a personality all its own. As they settle into civilian life, they gain careers, a home, good friendships and the kind of fulfillment they never thought possible. But with nothing left to fight, the underbelly of their particular kind of love is thrown into sharp relief, especially considering the whole town thinks they’re married, anyway. After dancing around their feelings for the past twenty years, Sam and Dean find a peace they never knew existed, and through it all, they find each other again. And maybe, just maybe, forever. Curtain!fic. Canon divergence after 10x21, “Dark Dynasty.”            

Like a Fish Out of Water by nyxocity AU after Plucky Pennywhistle’s Magical Menagerie. During the final battle with the Leviathans, God finally makes an appearance and deigns to intervene. After granting Sam and Dean a few final requests, he ‘packs his bags’ and takes everything supernatural in existence with him. Left with nothing to hunt, Sam talks a reluctant Dean into settling down in a small town outside of Sioux Falls. Sam seems to want them live a normal kind of life, but between the ridiculous estate sale Sam bought to furnish the house, the arrival of a very human Castiel who’s overwhelmed by human emotions, and their quirky, invasive neighbors, it’s anything but. Dean’s having a difficult time adjusting, convinced everything couldn’t be more abnormal until Sam reveals exactly what kind of life he wants to have with Dean. Dean can’t deny the part of him that wants it–but can he accept it? 

Love is Never Blind  by Calysta18 Love is the only game that is not called on account of darkness!!

Milk Me  by LittleSparrow69   Fill for this kinkmeme prompt:  A knocked-up Dean’s lactating and he hates it but it hurts. Sam “milking” him is less humiliating (barely) than leaking all over his shirts. Sam, though, lives for this.              

On A Friday We Call Good by  gaialux   One unlucky moment. That’s all it took to turn Dean’s life upside down. Sam seems to be on board with the fallout; insisting they take a break from hunting and set up in suburbia. While Sam finds himself assimilating, Dean is far from Mr. Domestic. If he can’t hunt - if he can’t save people - he has nothing. Or so he thinks.                      

Over the Hills, Far Away by roxymissrose   Somewhere in the middle of season seven, this world careens towards the left.Dean looks at Sam and decides enough is enough. They need to settle down for a while, take a breath.                      

The Psychology of Genetic Sexual Attraction by  sonofabiscuit77   “…50% of of reunions between siblings, or parents and offspring, separated at birth result in obsessive emotions…”This story begins in 2001 in a garage in Palo Alto when 18-year old Stanford student, Sam Sharma plucks up the courage to ask car mechanic, Dean Cooper, out for a cup of coffee.   Their attraction is instantaneous and overwhelming, and the relationship that develops seems perfect.  Except nothing is really perfect, and this particular love story started a long time before Sam and Dean even met.  Wincest non-hunting AU. This is my attempt at a boys-don’t-know-they’re-brothers story.  

The Theory of Relativity by wutendeskind   The Apocalypse is over. Sam writes it all down, and the result tops the New York Times bestseller list for an entire year. Dean loves that Sam’s found something to do with his life, but doesn’t know how he fits in. And when Dean reads Sam’s second novel, things get even more confusing for him.     

Trust Me, I’m A Doctor by  checkthemarginsThe one where Dean is a pediatric neurosurgeon and Sam is a law student and they figure out they’re in love.            

Walkin’ the Tightrope by  non_tiembo_mala  It’s 2036, and twenty years since Sam and Dean called it quits on hunting to take up a secluded, quiet life. Maybe Jesse and Cesar gave them the idea, but after Amara, they realized they’d done enough. And they wanted a proper life together even more.Known as Sam Wesson and Dean Smith to the residents of the nearby town they call home, Sam and Dean keep mostly to themselves, their immaculately kept ‘67 Chevy Impala, and their cabin in the woods. That is, until someone from their past tracks them down, desperate for help.Sam and Dean can’t say no, not when it’s their dear friend Jody Mills in deep trouble – she’s missing – but the wedding bands they wear make going back to their old life just that little bit more complicated…              

Wanna make your motor run  by  cordelia_gray   Four times Dean got road head, and one time he gave it.      

I could literally go on and on with this list so I might make a part two of this list.

[greekowl87]

False Flags - Ghost Ship 6/?

A/N: I know this isn’t my most popular work but it is one close to my heart that I continue to work on even when real life and chaos reign supreme. I thank you for anyone who still takes a moment to read it and/or supports this endeavor. Finally got chapter six done. Chapter seven is underway and being formulated.

For those that need to catch up...The First Fic: (False Flags Redux) | Ghost Ship: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) or if AO3 is your thing, you’ve got your choices. Sorry for any grammar or issues of that nature. No beta, I suck at editing on the computer, and Grammarly only does so much. I still hope you enjoy it. Tagging: @today-in-fic, @improlificinsarcasm,  @baronessblixen, and @suitablyaggrieved

Buckley sat by the window of the hotel room carelessly spinning an unloaded Colt 1911 on the small table the motel staff had placed in the double room. Across the room, Alex Krychek groaned in annoyance and turned up the volume on the television with his one good arm. Buckley snorted and continued to spin the pistol. “Will you stop that!” Krychek shouted angrily. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

“Am I? Good, Alexi.”

“Stop calling me that! I don’t know what the old man sees in you. Enlisting your help a second time? You screwed up and got caught last time.”

“And I got shot by Mulder too but the tip came from an anonymous informant. Besides, shouldn’t you be doing something useful. Like getting us dinner or something.”

Krychek shuddered. “And I lost a goddamn arm thanks to Mulder and I’m not complaining. God, don’t you ever shut up? I’m not your servant so stop bothering me. I’m not supposed to let you out of myself or else god forbid you to go rogue.”

“Why worry?”

“I’ve seen your work,” Krycek huffed. He thought about the file folder and the gruesome pictures he had seen. It reminded him of Jack the Ripper, especially when Mulder and Scully had caught him during his last crime spree. “You’re fucking insane.”

“I used to be a gangster from the 1920s.” He replied. His voice took on a Chicago accent briefly. 

‘That’s where I learned all that.”

“You really are insane. Bipolar. Order a pizza or something if you’re so damn hungry. The phone book is right there.”

Buckley chuckled and continued to stare on the window, spinning the pistol.

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

They slept through the night but that didn’t do anything to calm one agent’s nerves. The ocean pounded the sandbars only matched Scully’s racing heart. Mulder sipped his coffee and leaned against the counter. “Scully, you’re pacing,” Mulder quipped from the couch.

“I feel like a prisoner here,” she answered. She looked around at the ocean-inspired theme and shook her head. “It feels irreverent like Arcadia did.”  She crossed her arms and looked at Mulder. “Don’t you feel the same? We can’t leave.”

“I don’t remember anyone saying that. Skinner didn’t say that. We’re free to come and go as we please. It isn’t like Skinner has placed us in protective custody and he’s standing in the corner watching our every move. We have our weapons. We’re trained, federal agents. We’re okay.”

She shook her head in frustration. “I have the worst feeling growing in the back of my mind. He’s closer than they think he is.” She scratched the back of her neck and Mulder got from the couch to catch her hand. “What?”

“It’s not the chip,” he answered quickly. “This isn’t like Ruskin Dam. This isn’t the Syndicate coming after us. This is just old fashioned…” He sighed, unable to find the word. His fingers caressed the back of her neck gently. “It’s just our past coming back to haunt us. Quite literally. In the physical form of a sociopath.”

“You should have killed the bastard when you had the chance,” she replied. Scully relaxed into his touch and closed her eyes. “Might have saved us this headache.”

“You are the better shot between the two of us. Sorry. Couldn’t kill Model, couldn’t kill Buckley even at close range. But you, my kick-ass G-woman can shot a Sig Sauer P-226 with the precision of a surgeon and still take out and heal with the same ability. Maybe I should just give you my own weapon.”

Scully smiled ruefully and leaned into the shoulder she had shot years before. Mulder laughed and held her close. She took a deep breath and looked up to him and said, “I imagined our time down here filled with doing the tourist traps, relaxing with you on the beach, and just having fun.”

“We still can. The Bodie Lighthouse isn’t that far. Neither is Roanoke Island. Let’s go there. Check out the history. Maybe we can solve the case of the missing colony.”

“They’re national parks.”

“And we’re federal agents. We’ll be fine.” He gave her a weak smile. “Let’s do the lighthouse today. We can spend tomorrow on Manteo and have some dinner or something.”

“Mulder…”

“It’s better than seeing you pace back and forth. It’ll be fun.”

“Fine,” she conceded. “Anything is better than just being stressed.”

“I know you hate flying but are you afraid of heights?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Have you ever been up in a lighthouse?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

“Really? Coming from the woman who loves the seas.” Mulder grinned. “You’re going to love it.”

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

The FBI partners gathered their weapons and badges to hide them discreetly among their clothes. They grabbed Scully’s purse, locked their beach house, and went down to Mulder’s car. He hated seeing Scully like this and knew that this trip would be just the thing. They made the drive down NC-12 to Cape Hatteras National Park chatting silently with one another. When they arrived at the fork for Cape Hatteras National Park, he took the right back down the highway. After a short distance, he turned left down a small paved road where Bodie Island Lighthouse was. Mulder pulled their car in the small gravel parking lot and smiled at Scully. “Well?”

She leaned forward to look out of the windshield. The black and white striped lighthouse stood off in the distance with the white lightkeeper’s house nearby. “It’s quaint,” she smiled. “Very tucked away. I’d imagine you might be used to up in New England.”

“I’ve seen a few.

“It has a history as well.”

“I bet it does.” 

They climbed out of the car and Mulder was surprised when Scully openly took his hand and led him towards the Lightkeeper’s House, which served as the gift shop and the National Park Service’s Office. As if she had been there before, she knew right where everything was. Mulder became interested in some of the lighthouse knick-knacks as she purchased two tickets to climb the lighthouse. “Got those tickets to the stairway to heaven, Scully?”

“Hahaha,” she smiled. Much to this delight, she took his arm as they ventured back outside to a bench near the lighthouse to wait for the next tour. She guided him to sit with her on the bench overlooking the lighthouse. “I should really purchase a camera for this trip.”

“We can buy a postcard.”

“I’m talking about us.” She rolled her eyes in amusement. “Why do you have to be difficult?”

“Because I love it when you say, ‘You’re crazy, Mulder.’  Besides, who needs a camera when you have a photographic memory?” He tapped his temple. “All our recent memory making…”

She laughed and it lifted Mulder’s spirit. Despite having a reincarnated her ex-husband murderer who happened to be a serial killer in this life hunting down them while they were on their first vacation as a couple, he was so happy to hear her laughter. She smiled and rested her head against the bicep. She closed her eyes sleepily. “What do you say to about taking a nap in the hammock we have on the deck when we get home?”

“Despite the threat of…”

“Ssshhh. But yes.”

“As long as we pick up dinner along the way. Are you in the mood for seafood?”

“What about some Carolina BBQ?”

“I like you in a vacation mood. Why can’t you be more open to greasy foods when we’re in the field?”

“Vacation. There’s a difference,” she laughed.

Mulder watched a park ranger walk past them, calling, “All those for tickets for the 12:00 lighthouse tour line up behind me.”

“That’s us,” Scully whispered.

“Do you have to be first at everything?”

“I have to remind you who is the boss in this relationship. Tell me, Walking History Textbook, what is special about this lighthouse?”

“I remember,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head, “trying to blow it up with the retreating troops but I got orders to report to Norfolk instead.”

She chuckled. “Fucking past lives but then again, I have those to thank for my better sex life.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Shut up.” Her eyes opened and she tugged on his arm. “Let’s go.”

“This salt air is doing wonders for your spirit,” he remarked.

“Maybe it’s the company more.”

Mulder smiled and kissed her forehead lovingly. She walked together to the front of the lighthouse where others were lining up in front of a park ranger. The woman park ranger smiled and waved people closer. “Gather around everyone. First, a few rules before we go up. The stairs in this lighthouse aren’t like the ones at Cape Hatteras. Only one person at a time can be on them, going up or going down in either direction. You can have multiple people on the landings,” the park ranger explained. “Now that we have that out of the way, can anyone tell me about the lighthouse?”

The tour group was met with silence as the park ranger started to talk about a mini-history lesson about Congress approving the lighthouse and its history from the Civil War to the present. As the park ranger concluded her mini-speech, she stepped back and motioned for everyone to begin their journey upwards. Mulder and Scully were in the middle of the group and took a moment to take in the moment all around them. Other tourists, the lovely March weather, and Scully in sunglasses smiling and laughing with her arm wrapped through his. It was so nice to see you here relaxed and happy.

“Are you happy?” Mulder whispered to her.

“Yes,” she answered. 

That was all he needed at that moment. He really should have bought a disposable camera to capture this moment. As they climbed the lighthouse in a single file line, he was entranced by the magic of the moment. They paused periodically on each landing, overlooking various aspects of the horizon. The salt marshes and sounds of the Ocean on the other end. The Atlantic on the other side. Scully laughing. Eventually, they reached the top, the wind whipped Scully’s hair.

She gripped the railings of Bodie Lighthouse and leaned over to look at the people below. Mulder’s hand rested lightly on her back and he whispered, “What a view huh?”

“Hey, mister!”

A young kid’s voice caught both of them off guard and as they turned they saw a young boy with a brand new Polaroid camera. He smiled, speaking loudly over the wind. “I’ll take three pictures of you for five bucks.”

“Try three,” Mulder haggled, getting into the spirit.

“Two dollars includes on the spot printing. Memories last forever.”

“You sound like a Hallmark commercial.”

“Mom lets me watch a lot of tv. What do you say? Five dollars for three pictures?”

“What do you say, Scully?”

She nodded and smiled. The kid smiled and raised his camera. He took a series of three shots. One of them both overlooking the railing out to the Atlantic sea, second of them together smiling for the camera, and an unscripted kiss that briefly turned passionate, all of which was captured on the kid’s camera. Scully broke away, her cheeks flushed as she smiled. Mulder dug through his jean’s pockets until he produced a crumpled five-dollar bill. He exchanged it as Scully still took the still-developing photos.

Scully waved the photos in the sea air in a vain attempt to get them to develop quicker. She briefly flashed back to when she found that picture of them in the library archives in Newport News months ago from 1863. But there was something else that bloomed up inside of her; pride love, tenderness, devotion. Finally, something to memorialize and immortalize this moment now. She eyed the top image of them kissing with affection. Mulder was saying something before he returned to her.

“How did they turn out?”

“The kid has an eye for photography?” She answered.

They both gripped the photos to keep them from flying away in the sea breeze. “The Gunmen can make copies of these,” he whispered into her ear. “We can put one down into the basement and make Skinner jealous.”

“Or we can keep the copies for ourselves,” she answered. She rested her head against his chest; the sea breeze was in one ear with echoes of eternity from the Atlantic and his heartbeat was steady with promises of the future. “We need to buy a camera.”

“I can agree with that.” They watched the pictures develop on top of the lighthouse as they stood close to each other and as another momentarily in the winds of their entwined existence became immortalized once again on film. Scully felt relaxed and, for once, at peace. “Let me put those pictures in my purse,” she whispered softly.

Mulder gladly obliged and she carefully tucked away their pictures. They stood together, admiring the 360 panorama view that Bodie Lighthouse gave. After a while, they descended the staircase back down to the ground. Scully took his hand in public, unafraid who was watching and dragged Mulder to the gift shop. As he enjoyed the moment of this rare display of public affection, Mulder had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that disappeared when Scully’s lips met his.

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

Buckley sat in the farthest car from the lighthouse, looking through his binoculars. Krychek sat next to him and asked, “Is it them?”

“Yep,” the other man replied. “Just like I told you.”

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

Mulder looked at the Polaroids that had been taken at the lighthouse that day. He could only imagine the film on the disposable camera and how wonderful the shots were going to be. He and Scully laughing, posing together as a couple framed by the lighthouse and the Atlantic Ocean. The little kids who had charged them five dollars for the pictures were ruthless but he finally had some proof of their happiness in this life. He contemplated calling upon the Gunmen to use their technological magic to digitize the photos but that would be for another day. He had been relatively low profile with his relationship with Scully over the past three months and he did not want to push it unless she was okay with it.

“Hey, Scully,” he called, “when do you think we should tell your mom?”

“About what, Mulder?”

“Us,” he replied.

From the kitchen island, Scully was curled up on the couch with a blanket watching ‘Dharma and Greg’ and not really paying attention to him. She rested her arm on the back of the couch and twisted to look at him. “What aspect of us?”

“Well,” Mulder began, setting the photos down, “the change in our relationship for starters.”

“Or the IVF?”

“I wasn’t going to go there.”

“But you were thinking about it.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he admitted. He set the pictures aside and joined her on the couch. “I’ve just been thinking lately.”

“Well, I feel like there’s been a lot of that going around,” she said. Mulder unfurled her legs and rested her feet in his lap. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I’m not really thinking.”

“Or maybe you’re just too busy thinking. Are you thinking about the IVF?”

“I would want to try again if you are willing too.”

“I still want to think about it,” she replied.

He lightly massaged her feet and she hummed in approval. “I can’t believe how sore my feet are from climbing all those stairs.”

“It’s not like you aren’t used to all work. You’re the FBI equivalent of Wonder Women running in high heels.”

“I appreciate the compliant, Mulder, but if you remember, I decided to wear flip-flops that have no support.”

“Well, where else could you get weather nice enough to wear flip flops in March?”

She giggled as he got a particular ticklish area. “Only in Nags Head.”  She nodded to the show that was on. “So, I caught this the first time when I was in San Diego. Have you ever heard of it?”

“What is it?”

“The show’s called ‘Dharma and Greg.’”

“I believe I have,” he said. “Some flower child marries a lawyer and chaos ensues when they decide to marry on the first date. So which one am I? Dharma or Greg?”

“Dharma,” she answered. “But opposites attract and make us better for it. Wouldn’t you agree, Mulder?”

He chuckled. “I might be inclined to. Do you want to keep it on this or find some nature documentary?”

“I like that and this version of Domestic Scully.”

“Did you lock the doors downstairs?”

“Yes,” he answered, “and I triple checked all the locks and windows. The only window that will be open is the one to our bedroom on the third floor.”

“And our weapons?”

“In the bedroom on the nightstands.”

She relaxed and nodded in approval. She withdrew her feet and switched her sitting position. She lounged against Mulder, wrapping his arms securely around her, and they enjoyed the rest of the comedy sitcom. He smiled into her arm and pressed a kiss, solidifying this moment in his memory. Even though there was a psycho that might be trying to kill them, he was the happiest he had been in a long time.

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

Mulder and. Scully had retired after television for a few more hours of watching prime time sitcoms. Scully disappeared into their bedroom and he did a quick lap around the beach house to check all their locks. By the time he got back up to their third-floor bedroom, he could hear the water running in the master bathroom.

“Mulder,” Scully called through the partially closed door. “Did you get everything you needed to do done?”

He could hear the partially slurred speech. “Is that wine I smell?” He dare not open the door. While this vacation had stress from fear of a psycho, it was bringing out sides of Scully he had only dreamed of and seen in one other lifetime. “Scully?”

“Hmm.” She giggled. “Maybe. Come join me, Mulder.”

“Where did you get the wine?”

He was already taking off his shirt and Scully’s laughter was causing his blood to boil in anticipation. “I snuck it in our last shopping trip,” she replied. She was giggling again. “Mulder, come on. There are still bubbles.”

Bubbles. “Aw, Scully.”

He pushed the door open slightly and saw her hair clipped back and a coffee mug in her hand. Most of her were covered by the bubbles from the jacuzzi so all that he saw was the one bare leg perched near the faucet. “Scully…” he crooned.

“What? Go grab yourself a coffee mug and bring the bottle with you!” She was smiling. Even though they decided to take their relationship to a new level, this still seemed so uncharacteristic of her. “Come on, Mulder. We’re on vacation.”

“I know we are,” he answered. He chose his next words carefully. “Weren’t you the one earlier who was concerned about our safety?”

“I’m not letting them get to me. Us. I was thinking about what you said earlier.”

“About telling your mom?”

“No. I want to try again when we get back to D.C.”

Mulder smiled and his concerns momentarily forgotten. “I’ll be right back.”

He went to the fridge, grabbed the open bottle, and a coffee mug from the fridge. She was smiling coyly at him. He topped off her coffee mug and shucked his jeans. In one fluid movement, he slid behind her and coiled his arms around her. “It’s a good thing you’re so small,” he teased. He kissed his favorite spot behind her ear. “Or else this w

Scully lounged back into him. “I’ve been dreaming,” she whispered to him softly. She sipped the wine-filled coffee mug. “Don’t worry, it’s not any new past lives or anything.”

“I’m glad?”

She heard the question in his voice. “I am just thinking about this life and the last. Us. What could have been.”

Scully was always amazed how well they just worked together, either spiritually, or as she had discovered lately, physically as well. She sipped her wine. “Now or then,” he asked.

“Then. I still have a hard time believing it was real, Mulder.”

Together, they entwined their hands and caressed her flattened abdomen. He nuzzled her neck and closed his eyes. They both could remember those memories for the early 1860s, the joy of their unborn child, laying together, and dreaming about the future. “It was,” he replied. “And I don’t know how this whole past life thing works but we’ve been given a second chance.”

“By remembering?”

She turned her head in question and Mulder found her lips. “We’ll have that again.”

“Your faith is grounding.”

“Did you enjoy the lighthouse today?” He asked, changing the subject. “I was thinking why not tour all them? We can drive back down to Cape Hatteras and climb the lighthouse there. Or drive an hour or so up to Corolla and climb the Currituck Lighthouse. And there are the ferries...Ocracoke, Knotts Island…”

“One day at a time, Mulder,” she laughed. “Today was Bodie Lighthouse. Tomorrow is Manteo. Tonight is this.”

“So,” he paused, setting aside both of the wine mugs. “Do you want to try to experiment and push the bounds of this fancy bathtub?”

“I bet you’re more effective than those water jets,” she challenged.

Mulder smiled and kissed her deeply. “I’ll get you to relax on this vacation.”

Scully just deepened the kiss and pulled him closer.

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

Further up the barrier islands in Duck, North Carolina, Franklin Buckley, and Alex Krycek were at a small pizzeria. Over shared slices and bad beer, they talked. “I still don’t get it,” Krycek started. “Why is this so fucking important to you? Mulder is no one.”

“Your boss is interested in them.”

“And this somehow makes you the best choice?”

“Alexi…”

“Alex.”

“Alex.” Buckley grinned. “Have you ever wanted revenge so badly that you would do anything? Take back what is rightfully yours?”

Krychek grew quiet. “I have.”

“Then this is no different. It’s all a matter of waiting. Are you going to finish that pizza?”

“No.” Krycek was distracted. “Go ahead.”

“Must suck having one arm but I’ll tell you, this pizza is better than anything than they served in the joint.”

“What’s your plan?”

“You’ll see. In the meantime, it is all the matter of waiting and seeing.”

[pfenniged]

 tagged by @anathenma WOO GIRL <3

rules: tag 10 followers you want to get to know better

name: Lauren

gender: Female

star sign: Virgo Sun || Leo Moon || Leo Ascendent, which basically means I have the usually quiet reserved personality of an analytical, organised virgo on the fact of things, am usually the goofy, chill friend amongst my friends, and don’t like to take anyone’s shit, but if I am disrespected, I’m a sensitive six foot flower and withdraw from the world until I can get over it. xD I don’t like conflict.

height: 183cm/6 feet 

age: 27 (YIKES XD)

wallpaper on my phone: (I had to check XD) A calendar of May 2020 stylistically arranged around ribbons

house: Slytherin

ever crush on a teacher: Both my parents and my uncle are teachers and consequently I knew every teacher in my school as actual human people and not ‘crushes’ growing up. So no. XD

coolest halloween costume: I went as the Starbucks logo one year when I was eight, a gigantic Lady Luck die one year with a top hat covered in poker chips and cards. I had some good ones I made: I was creative as fuck when I was 9-11 especially, and I had to be, because I was already around 5′7 and people assumed I was just some weirdo dressing up to get candy (Hearing ‘AREN’T YOU A LITTLE OLD TO BE TRICK OR TREATING’ at eleven CRUSHED me XD)

Favorite 90s tv show: 

Okay. So there’s one’s I watched actually as a child of the 90s, and ones that were just always ON in the 90s that I ended up watching. It’s debatable whether these are actually good NOW. XD

That being said, the background ones were Saved By the Bell (ZACH MORRIS IS TRAAAAassssh~~), Boy Meets World, Seinfeld, Everybody Loves Raymond.

As a kid, I loved the Aladdin Animated Series, The Hercules Animated Series, CHIP AND DALE RESCUE RANGERS (Which didn’t really hold up sadly but still has the best theme song of all time, fight me), and Timon and Pumbaa.

One I rarely caught but really liked was All That, The Wonder Years, Sabrina the Teenage Witch- occasionally Fresh Prince.

Out of all of these, I still have a super fond spot for Saved By the Bell, especially with the ‘Zach Morris is Trash’ series on Youtube (Seriously, go watch it. It’s fucking hilarious and basically breaks down how much of a serial killer in the making Zach Morris is XD). The clothing is ridiculous and no one really dressed like that in the early 90s outside of commercials and TV (unfortunately). Maybe one shoddy item out of the bunch. Meanwhile Saved by the Bell is like LETS PUT IT ALL ON. XD It was terrible once they got to college, but it was stupid and fun and made me feel ‘cool’ watching it because I was like three and being like, “YEAH, IT’S BRIGHT AND THESE PEOPLE ARE COOL AND I CAN FOLLOW THE PLOT. I’M MATURE.” XD It’s literally still the only one of these I actively watch now in the form of Zach Morris is Trash, so I’ll go with it. xD

Last kiss: Never had a consensual kiss. Make of that what you will. xD

Have you ever been stood up: Nope.

Favourite pair of shoes: 

I have terrible plantar fasciitis from sports, so I’m a shoe snob, and have to have properly fitting/constructed shoes. It depends on what I’m doing in them, really. I got a pair of trail running shoes for trail running during COVID, but they’re not the most aesthetically pleasing. I’d say the best mixture between comfort and style are either a good ol’pair of black ankle boots with a slight heel (so I can be 6′2 and intimidate people with my height muhahahaha), or more practically on a day to day basis, I have a pair of Reeboks that are 90s-styled with pastel pink and blue triangles on the side. They’re pretty dope. xD

have you ever been to vegas: No, but my parents have. Basically, they said you tire of shopping after two days, and then you’re just stuck inside hotels and shopping malls there. If you’re not a gambler, drinker, or have a ton of money to splash out on stage shows, I don’t think it’s particularly worth going.

favorite fruit: Mango or raspberry, but they’re super-expensive in the land of Maple Syrup so I usually don’t get them any other way other than frozen in smoothies.

Favourite book:

 I could never choose a favourite book. It’s literally like choosing between children. It’s my microcosmic version of Sophie’s Choice. xD Tasteless joke aside, it’d honestly depend on the occasion. There’s a huge difference between entertainment reading, literary exploits, and educating yourself through books as a whole. 

My ‘plane’ book (which I’m terrible at flying, so that was a joke), as in, an easy, fun, instantly rereadable read to read on the plane when I used to have super long fifteen hour flights to Australia, was always Mario Puzo’s ‘The Godfather,’ because I also had a huge crush on Michael Corleone. 

But it’s also not the ‘best’ book and literally spends an inordinate and honestly disturbing amount of time on the fact that this poor woman in the story (which thankfully in the film, it gets cut down), but the bridesmaid Sonny Corleone has sex with, and how you see his wife indicating his ‘size’?

THAT’S LITERALLY AN ENTIRE SUBPLOT OF THIS BROAD’S STORY I SHIT YOU NOT BECAUSE NOTHING IS ‘BIG’ ENOUGH FOR HER AFTER HIM AND THEN YOU FIND OUT SHE HAS A MEDICAL CONDITION AND GOOD FOR HER SHE’S ABLE TO FIND LOVE AGAIN BUT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK MARIO PUZO XD IT WAS A LOT OKAY.

(Footnote: I also suffered through his horrific sequels because I love Michael Corleone and will take him in any form he comes in, even horrifically written Sicilian backhill exploits that were never told to us in the original book and were clearly just written because Puzo needed another pay check but I digress.)

Horrific subplots aside, I really enjoy The Godfather for its sheer pulpiness. The book is essentially what Andrew Lloyd Weber is to musicals. xD (Yes, I come with musical theatre burns. Fight me.)

In terms of a piece of literature that I think is amazingly well done? Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, or Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury.

Stupidest thing you ever done: 

Um, maybe when I was at Cambridge I tried to dye my roots to match the rest of my ‘blonde’ hair at the time, and it turned out bright orange? And because it’s Cambridge, they had this super-strict attendance policy, so I was literally trying not to hyperventilate because it was running close to class (which was across campus) and I was trying to find some way to remedy my hair without it falling out/ someone asking about it. So, I grabbed a toque-cap-thing despite it being literally one of the hottest summer on record in the UK (It was like 35 degrees, it was MENTAL), and had to sprint to class all the way on the other side of campus from my college dodging dodgy tourist groups blocking the sidewalk while I went. Then when I sat down inside, I had to be weirdly rude and wear my hat inside the lecture hall even though the professor was looking at me (it was a specialised program in German Literature) like, “Are you going to take that shit off?” xD THEN I tried to dye it back to brown, and it literally looked like mud mixed with a runny egg had exploded on the top of my head; it was AWFUL. XD So FINALLY I did my research and found a salon, but by THAT point I had done 250 pounds worth of damage to my hair (WHICH IS LIKE 400 DOLLARS CANADIAN AT THE TIME), and I almost had a heart attack and thanked my lucky stars that I had money put away so I could give my parents the ‘parent price’ when they asked why they hadn’t seen me on FaceTime or Skype for like, three weeks, and I replaced my face with a photo of John Cleese from Fawlty Towers, which they tease me about to this day. xD

The other dumbest thing I ever said was when I was so desperate for friends in grade six when I moved to a new school (and because being American was ‘cool’ at the time, apparently), I told everyone I was a dual citizen because my mother LITERALLY GAVE BIRTH TO ME ON THE BORDER CROSSING WHAT. XD And bless this poor bespectacled girl named Mara (who was actually a little class friend of mine), who just said timidly in the back, “That’s not how citizenship works.” xD It basically came out of attempting to be cool and failing, but I’m still SO embarrassed about THAT one that I’d never admit it to ANYONE besides shouting it out into the Tumblr black hole. xD I’m still embarrassed to THIS DAY.

All time favorite shows: 

 I’ll go for the original run of The Twilight Zone, which has some schmaltzy episodes (I’m really not a fan of any of the episodes entirely dedicated to the Space Race or the weird cowboy fanaticism of the fifties/ sixties, or anything that’s overtly like “ALIENS DID IT SO THERE”), but I LOVE their psychological horror episodes or Dystopian episodes. It’s when Rod Serling’s writing and narrative voice is the strongest and most prophetic, and the twists are usually the best. Other shows have tries to imitate it, or reboot it, but I really think the original, due to Rod Serling’s unmatchable voice, in every sense of the word. There’s lists of some of the greatest episodes, but I remember LOVING the episode ‘A Stop at Willoughby.’ The twist literally made me clap my hands in horror and delight, it was amazing. xD

Other than that? Off the top of my head, Mad Men and Band of Brothers, even though I haven’t rewatched either in ages.

last movie you saw in theaters: 

Oh God, before all THIS hit? Probably Rise of Skywalker. I get agoraphobic and itchy if a movie theatre is too busy, and we only have really pokey sort of ones nearby that you’re guaranteed to see someone you went to high school with (terrible), so now that I can properly drive I go out to the big redneck theatre out in the boonies. I miss living in Montreal though, because when you live in a big city like that downtown (and can actually afford to live there), you could see blockbuster movies at like ten in the morning. xD Which would be AMAZING because I’d go to see any of the early Avengers/Marvel movies when they opened, the day of opening, and it was literally me, one old man who fell asleep halfway through and sat near the back, and maybe an elderly couple on a morning date to the movies. xD I get really annoyed with obnoxious movie-goers, and I’m really picky about just being completely absorbed in the movie, so I tend not to go unless I’m guaranteed that space. 

tagging: Anyone who wishes to tag me back so I can learn about them <3

[themassculture]

Russia's youngest serial killer

Vladimir Vinnichevsky in many ways, a unique serial killer, and not only in the domestic criminal history, but also the world. It is surprising that such a truly monstrous in its cruelty and at the same time smart and resourceful criminal caught, in General, quite by accident, still remained unknown to the General public. Meanwhile, the story of Vova Vinnichevsky deserves attention.

Volodya, born in 1923, began killing at the age of 15 years. According to his own confession, he committed about 18 attacks on children aged 2-4 years for the purpose of rape, which often ended in death for them. The first victim Vinnichevsky , about which I learned Sverdlovsk law enforcement, became a 4-year-old Hertha Gribanova, raped and murdered in the garden of his house. It is actually a criminal and wasn't kidnapped. It was an extremely audacious attack.

Vinnichevsky not once, not twice kidnapped children literally from the front door or from under the Windows of the apartment where were the parents. This sleight for a long time baffled all knowledgeable about the details of the crimes. After capture Vova explained the method — in search of the potential victim he safely entered private houses and entrances and if adults weren't nearby, then spoke with the child and took away with itself. If there older then Vinnichevsky pretended Komsomolets social worker, they say, "we will have red Friday, we collect scrap metal, I came here to see if you have a scrap of some change?»

Komsomol members collecting scrap metal were a sign of the time. They did not surprise anyone and the legend worked perfectly. Even when the Sverdlovsk knew about the crimes and the unfamiliar man aroused widespread suspicion that the student is bypassing the house supposedly in search of scrap metal, fear is not aroused.

Going with Hertha in the garden, Vinnichevsky attacked the girl and began to choke. After she was quiet, he decided to try something new. The criminal for the first time started up a knife and began to strike blows to the head. Soviet factory knives have always been of disgusting quality, so that on the eighth blow the blade broke off and the tip remained in the head of the victim. The medical examiner suggested using the victim's skull as evidence. In that case, if the killer does not throw a broken knife and the knife is found, it was possible to conduct an examination, proving the application of wounds with this knife, and not any other. The idea seemed attractive, made decapitation, and the body of the relatives were given without the head of the child.

However, this calculation was not justified. Vinnichevsky did not keep a knife with broken blade and threw it out. But in the future I learned a lesson and began to use a screwdriver and a Swiss army knife. The killer actually turned out to be very trained man, and has come up with many elements of the criminal's handwriting, given that in those days there were no movies, thrillers, and good books-detectives were gold.

Vinnichevsky attack not only on girls, he, as a true pedophile, sexual identity of the victim was not fundamental. So, the fifth victim of Vova as he told, there was a boy, however, the militia didn't receive any messages on it. Most likely, the victim survived and relatives wished to hide the incident from law enforcement agencies. The baby, who became the object of the next attack, 4-year-old Borya Titov, also survived. He was the first who was able to report at least some information about the mysterious rapist and his manner of behavior: Vinnichevsky invited the boy to ride him on a sled, brought to the wasteland at the end of the street, where he attacked, and then threw him unconscious in a snowdrift, taking the sled away to ask the search for the wrong direction.

The mutilated body of the seventh victim, 3-year-old Wali p. Lobanova, Vinnichevsky dropped into a pit of feces under the wooden outdoor toilet. Those who have seen such a latrine can easily understand the calculation of the murderer — there is no light and smell. And this stench will mask the smell of rotting flesh. Dropping kids in the sump — another invention, which Vinnichevsky thought of yourself. He will be faithful to him in the future. One of the girls, thrown into the latrine in an unconscious state, survived. 4-year-old Paradise Rahmatulina saved by the fact that the killer was confined to the stifle and is not used edged weapons. Thanks to this, the girl woke up, began to call for help and heard her.

Vinnichevsky lived in the center of Sverdlovsk, but to commit crimes prefer to go to the outskirts of the city. In the spring of 1939 in the forest near the railway / road station, he killed 4-year-old Lida Surin. The guy stabbed her 24 injured with machetes and the body was camouflaged with branches. The girl quickly enough and began to look for. It was already 11 attack Vinnichevsky when local police finally realized that in the city operates a maniac, attacking young children. Therefore, for practicing all the messages about the disappearance of the toddler immediately rushed all available forces. Surin was found quickly, but she was already dead.

Soon investigators realized that the offender had not taken the victims more than a kilometer away from the abduction site, so if you quickly start a search from the point where the child was last seen, then you can manage to find him alive. Thanks to this speed, some of the children were rescued.

In the summer of 1939 the investigation of the crimes committed Bennicassim in Sverdlovsk, were United in one production. To a certain extent confused picture of the variability of the behavior of the killer — as mentioned above, sometimes he strangled victims with his hands, and sometimes resorted to melee weapons, so even with excessive brutality. The offender disguised the bodies of the dead in different ways, chose different places for attacks and did it, as it seemed, without any visible system.

There was no clarity as to who to look for. For example, according to one version, the killer was seriously ill or disabled. Also, everyone was sure that he has a criminal past. And none of the prosecutors and the police, even in a head could not come that they are looking for 15-year-old student who is attending school loitering in the streets of the glorious city of Sverdlovsk and talking about the collection of waste paper and scrap metal.

Perfectly demonstrate criminal experience Vinnichevsky his actions during and after the Commission of the last murder. His victim was 4-year-old Tasia Morozova, whom he took away from home, promising to buy ice cream. The area where this crime took place had virtually no natural shelters — no forest, no shrubs, no ravines, there was not even a lawn, one dull wasteland with miserable individual houses and working dormitories — in General, a working suburb of the Stalin era. The killer raped and killed the girl in the latrine, threw the naked corpse into a fecal pit, and took away her clothes.

Vinnichevsky was not going to Rob the victim, and had nothing to profit from 4-year-old girl. He took the clothes because he knew that the body in the pit of faeces would sink, but the clothes would remain on the surface and could be seen. Therefore, the offender went to the house of the murdered and dumped the clothes, reaching a few tens of meters. His calculation was based on the fact that if the clothes and find that in itself was not obvious, it will look in the house and around it. And to the toilet, remote by more than 300 meters, you look and will not get.

However, the calculation of the offender was not justified. Not least because by October 1939 the tendency Vinnichevsky to heat the bodies of the victims in the cesspools was already well known in the Sverdlovsk militia. However, when Morozov was found, no one knew that this was the last child killed. The investigation had no leads to the killer. Employees of criminal investigation Department "closed" already more than 300 people, and crimes all didn't stop. The militia worked without days off and holidays, the city was flooded with the hidden patrols, but nobody could give a guarantee that they really will help.

Got Vinnichevsky in the end by accident. Returning from patrol cadets of school of militia noticed the guy who left the tram with the small boy on hands. In principle, nothing particularly suspicious Vinnichevsky did — he looked like the older brother of the child whom he held a casual conversation. And alerted the cadets that the teen took the baby to the side of the houses, and to the forest. So we decided to follow. They had time: in the thicket the guy was already choking the child, so the company immediately detained him.

Not to say that the young killer grew up in poverty and deprivation. Of course, the times were scarce, but Vinnichevsky wore leather shoes, sported in a tank helmet, which was then the dream of all the boys, and owned a Swiss penknife — such an artifact did not have a price in the eyes of teenagers. Plus, during the arrest, he was carrying more than 20 rubles, while the adults survived, then, is based less than 10 rubles per day. In General, it is impossible to call the guy miserable and the poor. Vinnichevsky sang well, knew by heart many songs, the most favorite of which was "Heroes of Hasana". In General, a normal member of the Komsomol. Wanted to be a tanker, the songs they sang in the helmet tank went, kids cut and strangled.

In December 1939, when the investigation was nearing completion, Vova's father and mother wrote letters to local Newspapers, asking the Soviet authorities to give their son what he deserved, according to the gravity of what he had done. In those days, it was politically correct and even politically correct to publicly call curses on the heads of fascists, imperialists, Trotskyists, white guards, unrecoverable opportunists and double-dealers, as well as all other external and internal Hydra of the counter-revolution. These letters by the decision of the regional Committee of the CPSU(b) were published, because the political situation required a demonstration of success in the field of strengthening of social law and order. Then these letters were read in court. Since the death penalty for children from the age of 12 was introduced in 1935, January 16, 1940 seventh-grader Volodya Vinnichevsky was sentenced to “the highest measure of social protection”, and soon shot.

victims

[tellurphantoms]

The Sixth Sense - P.P. (Chapter Three)

Pairing: Peter Parker x OC

Word Count: 1485

Summary: Maria Mendes can see ghosts. She’s had this “gift” for as long as she can remember. When half the universe turns to dust, she realizes that she has a part to play in the endgame. And that part starts with a dead boy named Peter Parker. 

Prompt: Dialogue 18: “Miracles? Really? You’re getting your hopes up.” (Written for @starksparker‘s 4K writing challenge)

Warnings: Infinity War spoilers, mentions of death and ghosts, swearing

Aditional Notes: I literally finished writing this chapter while watching Homecoming bc I just needed to see Peter to keep me motivated lol. Hopefully, the next chapter will be up in a few days, also be on the lookout for my prompt list which will be coming soon!

Masterlist

Meeting a billionaire is not a normal occurrence. Maria had lived her whole life in Queens, surrounded by people of similar socioeconomic backgrounds. Meeting someone like Tony Stark was something for the record books.  

That being said, Maria never thought she would be meeting Tony Stark in a place like this. Happy had given her an address on the phone, and she figured it would be a skyscraper not an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Queens. Upon her entry, Maria spotted a group of three men who stood in a circle. Only one of them was facing her, the one in suit and tie. His fingers snapped and the two others turned to face the newcomer. 

"You must be the psychic Happy's been telling me about." These were the first words spoken to her by the great Tony Stark, and to be honest, they rubbed Maria the wrong way. 

"I'm technically considered a medium," Maria replied. She had tried to hide the annoyance in her tone but failed. Tony could tell he would be dealing with another difficult teenager. This girl and the kid would get along well, that much was certain. 

"Whatever, girl. You see ghosts, that's what matters," Tony said. Maria nodded and the third man came closer. She recognized his face from the television. Dr. Bruce Banner, also known as the Hulk, which frightened Maria more than she would like to admit. She wrung her hands nervously and turned her attention back toward Tony Stark. 

"Yeah, Peter said I'm like the kid from The Sixth Sense," Maria said. Tony's large brown eyes grew even wider when Maria brought up a pop culture reference. That bit of information held more sentimental value for him than this girl would ever know. 

"Sounds like Pete. Is he...is he here right now? Like, can he hear me or are you the only one they can see?" Tony asked. His voice was laced with anxiety and Maria felt confused at seeing such a powerful man reduced to such a state. 

"No, he can see and hear you. Spirits are just different forms of themselves now, so we aren't on the same wavelength. He would have to exert a lot more energy to contact you. And yes, he's here. With a guy named Strange," Maria answered. Tony and Bruce nodded along with her while the third man, who had yet to introduce himself, stood off to the side with a confused expression on his face. 

"How do I know this isn't all bullshit?" Tony asked incredulously. His tanned face was scrunched up. Maria looked to her right, where Peter had positioned himself but was met with his blank stare of adoration at the man who had helped him so much. It was a look that a son would give a father, and it broke your heart that Tony couldn't see it for himself. 

"You don't. I wish there was a way to project what I can see or do a seance, anything that would help you contact him. But I've tried almost everything and nothing has ever worked. I've had this gift my whole life, and no one has ever taken my word for it besides my mother. I promise you that I'm here to help, and I'll do that in any way that I can. Dr. Strange said it was my job to be a translator for you guys, so that's what I plan on doing," Maria responded. Peter gave her a thumbs up when she finished her speech and she laughed at his childish gesture. 

This laugh earned her quite a few looks from the three men opposite her. The girl shrugged in dismissal and turned toward the two spirits in the room.

"What do I need to tell them?" Maria asked Dr. Strange. His blue face scrunched up in thought and Peter glanced between Maria and Tony while he waited for Strange to reveal his plan. Maria gave the boy a smile of encouragement when she saw his nervous expression. 

"According to Dr. Strange's endgame, we have to create a device that allows you to go back in time and destroy one of the infinity stones. If you are able to destroy one in the past, then Thanos cannot use the power of all six stones for his nefarious plan," Maria said. She had no idea what she was talking about, but from the look of understanding that crossed Tony and Bruce's faces, she was sure that they knew what to do. 

"So Strange wants us to build a time machine?" Tony asked, his face contorted in confusion. Maria nodded slowly, her gaze shifting from Tony to Bruce as the two men looked at each other. 

"And how does he suggest we do that?" Tony replied, his voice full of sarcasm. Maria turned to Dr. Strange for an answer.

"He and Dr. Banner are two of the most ingenious minds in the world, if anyone can figure out how to travel through time and space, it's the two of them," Dr. Strange replied. Maria pursed her lips and nodded in thanks before turning back to the two men. 

"He says that with you and Dr. Banner working together, you'll be able to figure it out," Maria said, trying to repeat Dr. Strange's message in as nice a manner as possible. 

Tony and Bruce both sighed. The two men looked at each other and nodded in agreement before turning back to the girl in front of them. 

"Alright, girl. Let's go," Tony said, motioning to the man behind him. The three men started walking toward to door with Maria stumbling after them. 

"What do you mean? Where are we going?" Maria asked. 

"I got a place. Much nicer than this, so hopefully it'll meet your standards," Tony replied with an edge in his voice. He started chewing a piece of gum and threw a set of keys to the man in the suit. "C'mon, Happy'll drive us. Do the spirits know where we're going?" 

Maria nodded and gestured for the two men only visible to her to follow them to Tony's new place. Strange and Peter both nodded and faded, signaling that they would meet up with them again soon.

"Alright, let's make a time machine."

The tower Tony had brought Maria to was the nicest building she had ever seen. She was afraid to touch anything in fear of breaking something that was worth more than her entire apartment building. 

She was standing around what looked like a regular table with the three men and two ghosts nearby. Tony performed some convoluted hand gestures and a complicated 3D system appeared in front of the group. Maria couldn’t help but gasp at the unbelievable technology in front of her. 

“We need to think about all the times we were ever in contact with an infinity stone before Thanos got his grubby purple hands on them,” Tony said to the group with a scowl. 

“Loki had the Tesseract when he went all serial killer in New York,” Bruce said, his face sporting a light green undertone. It was very evident that he didn’t care for Thor’s adopted brother. 

“The Tesseract was one of these stone things? Didn’t it open some portal in New York?” Maria asked with a puzzled expression on her face. The three men turned to face the young girl. 

“Yeah, it was one of the stones. Its real name was the space stone,” Tony said slowly. 

“And how many of these stones are there?” Maria asked again, not completely understanding the concept of the all-powerful stones. Tony pressed a few buttons on his 3D computer display and six lumpy stones appeared in front of them. They varied in color, all representing the various colors of the rainbow. Maria couldn’t help but compare them to her favorite candy, Skittles. 

“These are the infinity stones. The blue one is the space stone. Red is reality, purple is power, green is time, yellow is the mind, and orange is the soul stone. We’ve seen the blue stone, the yellow stone, and the green stone, which would be really beneficial if Strange hadn’t handed it to the purple man like an idiot,” Tony said.

“You tell Stark that giving that stone to Thanos was the only way to save his sorry ass,” Strange retorted sharply. Maria rolled her eyes and saw Peter chuckling at the two adults’ antics.  

“Dr. Strange said that he gave the time stone to Thanos to save your life, Mr. Stark,” Maria said, her voice similar to a parent addressing their bickering children. 

“I would say we go for the tesseract. Loki is a lot easier to handle than those crazy alien things we dealt with when we met Strange,” Dr. Banner said. He clicked on the blue stone and videos popped up of the Avengers fight in New York. 

“Alright then. 2012, here we come.” 

[gaveshillvack]

A Bandit

It wasn't how Gaves thought he would be spending his evening: Lying on his back, bleeding from a stab wound, and losing sensation in his legs. Truthfully, it was a nightmare, and he could have avoided if he had just listened. Of course his curious nature got the better of him, and he stayed put. Perhaps -now- he would remember to run, when told to run.

He had just reunited with the always alluring Mariaute, the shapely woman no longer wearing her dark leathers, but instead dressing in something softer. A top, and dress leaving her midsection exposed. It didn't help that she wore a thin veil over her face, revealing only those gorgeous, golden eyes flecked with silver. A weaker man would have knelt. Standing on the edge of the path that stood out in front of the Slaughtered Lamb, Gaves and Mariaute talked, enjoying each other's quips, and satirical lines. Despite how pleasant the words exchanged were, Gaves couldn't help but feel uneasy at a strange sight. A man, tall as a building, and encased in armor blessed by the light was flanked by what appeared to be a mugger, and woman wearing a robe. They looked strange, standing out in the open, lined up like they were preparing to do -something-. A strange voice invaded Gaves' mind, interrupting the impure thoughts of Mariaute he held. "Run. Your life is in danger." His mouth went dry, ceasing anything that wasn't pertaining to his survival. Inhaling sharply he looks around, trying to find 'the voice'. All he found was Mariaute's golden orbs. "What's wrong?" She asked.

The mugger left the trio, making the long, obvious way up the ramp towards Gaves. It wasn't hard to miss him, dressed as he was. Gaves wondered who told him it was a good idea to dress up like -that- in the first place. As he approached, Gaves whispered to Mariaute, ignoring what she just said to him. "Listen to me right now, please. A voice, I don't who's, just told me to run. Told me I'm in Danger." His ocean colored eyes stared a the approaching masked man, suspecting he had something to do with. Mariaute's honeyed words cooed to him in a soft hush. "Put your arm around my waist." And so Gaves did. Promptly the shady individual walked directly behind Gaves, sniffling; In addition to looking nefarious, he also had a cold. "Sirrah? Spare change for a poor beggar, master?" Who asked for gold dressed like that, Gaves thought. Instinct told him to bolt, but his curiosity got the better of him. Besides, he had Mariaute, and Mariaute knew how to handle herself quite well, or so she would tell you with a smirk. Gaves turned his head towards the man, but didn't betray his position with Mariaute. "What's this? Oh light, another mask." Gaves teases good naturedly, checking out yet -another- mask in his life today.  He gave an honest answer. "Sorry sir, I'm uh. A bit busy whispering in the lovely lady's ear." It was partially true, but the outlaw didn't care.

He struck much faster than Gaves would have thought, especially someone with a cold. The cold steel stuck him in the back, center to his spine from his left shoulder. Had Gaves not been watching the outlaws motion towards him it would have been much worse. Pain, fear, and adrenaline compelled Gaves forward, an arm loosening up from Mariaute's body as he fell forward from the ledge, blood leaking from him as he landed with a thud on the cool grass. It wasn't the first time he was stabbed, but it still hurt. Clutching at his back, he writhed around on the earth, squirming. Arms bent at an awkward angle, trying to put pressure on the wound. All the while Mariaute attacked, striking at the attacker. Despite her harmless appearance she was far from it, and put the sniffling bandit on the defensive. With a brief clash, Gaves heard something metal drop, and the bandit cursed. Retreating, he gave his farewell. "Lord Holt... sends his regards." And with that, he grabbed a pouch attached to his waist, removed it,  and slammed it on the ground.  It burst into a cloud of billowing smoke, and behind that he escaped, climbing the white lattice of a nearby building to dash across the rooftops.

Lord Holt, Gaves thought... which one? It didn't help that the family was spread out amongst many members, and giving the title of lord was like telling him he only had to choose one from hundreds instead of thousands. Which lord? Gaves grimaced, trying to flip over to his side. Just then a familiar voice invaded his distressed thoughts, speaking. "He is employed by those who think you are some sort of serial killer." A serial killer? Of all the things to accuse Gaves of, Gaves, the man who would couldn't stand the sight of blood, or harming someone, him. -He- was a serial killer. The man who had been subject to many beating, and refused to do anything back. -He- was a serial killer. Gaves was insulted, he roared at the alien voice. "The fawk kinda' question is that?" His mind bellowed, showing off that distinct Southshore accent. "How can I prove to ya' I don't look like a serial killer?" Rational thought was absent in the moment. It didn't help that now, at the base of his spine, he felt an immense stabbing pain. Was it poison? It had to be; the bandit was sent to make him a cripple, or was that just a bonus because the attempted killer really loved his job? Gaves didn't know. The only thing he did know was that he felt like he was going to die.

The voice spoke to him again. "This is your mind. And that definitely proved it. Sorry, I had to make sure I wasn't doing the wrong thing here." Gaves groaned. As if any part of finding someone to do this kind of thing was for the 'greater good.' "Whoever told you that is lying, I ain't a killer." A Draenei approached from around the corner, she was holding nothing more than a lute, and dressed like a commoner. Mariaute, on the other hand, leapt down with annoyance. Somehow the man had gotten away, and she accused herself of being useless during the situation.   She landed with the grace of cat, always on her feet. Her golden eyes peered over Gaves, annoyed. Whether it was at him, or her guilt Gaves could see it written plainly on her face. The Draenei came closer, inspecting the damage. He was too busy clutching at his back to explain rationally what was wrong with him, so Gaves only managed to grunt, and spit out four letter words for his description of the wound. The Draenei seemed to understood, and held up her lute, as if she was about to play it. Then, a  moment later she did: Beautiful hymns were plucked in a harmonious manner. The light around her seemed to intensify, giving her a halo of yellow light. She spoke a chorus, lyrics Gaves didn't quite understand, and willed her light to Gaves. In a flash the warm rays from the heavens soaked Gaves, wrapping around him like a blanket. Quickly the throbbing sensation from his back started to cease, as well as the tingling sensation at the base of his spine. Like easing into a hot bath, Gaves relaxed against the Light's will, content as it sealed up his wounds, stopped the bleeding, and purged the toxins from his blood.

Gaves blinked, staring up at the now purple sky; the sun was setting. His head rolled over to the Draenei, smiling. "Thank you." Gaves said cheerfully. His upper half pushed itself up, but his legs refused to act. Panicking, he looked towards the Draenei. The woman shook her head, coming to an end with her music that she played. The light around her ceased to pour into Gaves, and then started to fade away. "It may have saved your life, but there is only so much the light can do. Rest is what you need." Gaves immediate thought was the Cathedral. "I know where I have to go. Mariaute, please help me." Mariaute inched closed, still upset with the course of events. "Take me to the Cathedral." Mariaute's face darkened, but she understood. The much smaller woman leaned down at the waist, and hoisted Gaves up, slinging his arm over her shoulder. How she managed to support his weight, he didn't know. "Cathedral, then I'm gone." Gaves frowned, then nodded. He turned to the Draenei, and smiled. "Thank you, thank you so muc-" His voice, and the rest of him, along with Mariaute, slipped into darkness, evaporating from the current realm of existence. When Gaves blinked again he could still the Draenei, but she was different. In fact the entire city was different. The sky was pitch black, and the sun was a single, white orb beaming light that illuminated everything. People, buildings, and even the grass were all covered by a thick layer of fog, almost like livings wisps. "Where are we?" Gaves asked to Mariaute whom was already dragging him away from the scene of the crime. "Don't ask too much." Was his answer. Gaves guessed it was the realm of shadows, or whatever its 'official' name was. The same place rogues slipped in, and out of to either hide, or attack an unsuspecting soul. What was most strange is how fast they moved, or at least how fast Mariaute moved with Gaves. Like gliding over glass they raced past people unsuspecting to their presence. In a matter of minutes they appeared in front of the Cathedral steps. Gaves felt a tinge of guilt, however he didn't have a chance to learn the Draenei's name.

Mariaute looked taxed. Perhaps it was because she was so close to the Cathedral, or maybe because she had just literally dragged Gaves across Stormwind. Still, she never dropped him from her grip. At least now Gaves could feel his toes, faintly. With effort she helped him along, occasionally Gaves would push off the ground with every seventh step Mariaute took, dragging his other foot along. Finally, they climbed the many steps, and slinked inside the holy place. Mariaute must have been continually punched in the gut, because she looked like a weight had been strapped to her neck. Moving to a bench, Gaves stumbles, and falls, missing it. His hands fly out in front of him, and slap against the stone edge, making a loud noise. It interrupted with the otherwise peaceful environment. It was loud enough to distract a devout follower. A man, if one could call it a man, stood up from his kneeling position from the center of the building. Gaves could hear him before he saw him. A hulking -thing- shook the earth as he made his way over to Gaves and Mariaute; Mariaute was helping Gaves onto the bench. "Is everything alright here?" The beast of a man asked. His armor was unnecessary, and looked cumbersome. Pale white in color, and his visor held two burning yellow orbs; it was either his real eyes, or some kind of magic. "Are we fine here?" Gaves said sarcastically, gesturing to himself, and Mariaute. "Just stabbed in the back, and accused as a serial killer. Aside from that?" Gaves pursed his lips, and shrugged his shoulders. "Just fine." The bard's eyes hovered on the large man. In truth he knew who he was, Gaves was just playing dumb. Like all Paladins he was a devout follower, and took the teachings of the church very seriously. It didn't help that Mariaute was looking annoyed to be in the establishment, giving her roguish look a motive to be questioned. "Do you need anything?" The paladin asked. Gaves remembered clearly where the man had been through all this. He was standing next to the man who stabbed him, but why? He, from what Gaves saw, and heard, was a paragon to the light, why had he been with the man before the attack? Gaves told the truth. "Well, I think I've been poisoned to tell ya' the truth. See my legs?" Gaves wiggled his foot slowly. "Think I've been hit with something paralytic.

The paladin grunted, and then nodded. "I've got some anti-venom in my first aid pouch, but that's about it. It's generic, but it should hold you over." Large, metal digits retrieve a vial of red 'goo'. He tosses into Gaves lap. Snagging it, Gaves holds up the liquid to the light, inspecting it. He had a good feeling it would taste awful. "I was lucky someone close to the light was near, else I'd still be laying on the floor." The hulk nodded, and then turned his attention on Mariaute who was steadfast on showing her contempt for the building they were standing in. "If you'll excuse me I'd like to speak to your woman." Gaves smirked, but before he could explain the situation Mariaute barked. "I'm not going anywhere with you." The man, clearly insulted by her lack of respect turned his massive frame on her. "I'd watch your tone if I were you." the deep voice warrior bellowed. Mariaute didn't seem to care. "You can try." Smiling sheepishly Gaves decided to step in, lying. "She's stubborn, ain't she?" His dirty face canted to the side as he talked to the other man. "Look, I promise ya' we'll both be on our merry way once I can manage to walk upright again, ok? I doubt it'd look good for any of us if you had to use those massive arms of yours." Flattery always worked, even for the pious. He nodded with a grunt. Reaching into a separate pouch again he retrieves a golden coin with the initials L.S. written on the face of it. "Should you ever need my help, find me. The name is Leo Swordhand." Again, he flicked the coin towards Gaves. Smiling in thanks, Gaves nodded. "Thank you, sir." Huffing, Leo gave one final hard stare at Mariaute, then turned on his metal heel, and walked back to where he was praying. The bard spoke up once the metal man was out of earshot. "Ain't he great?" Gaves teased.

Sitting next to him on the bench, Mariaute looked like she was in pain, moreso then him. "Crazy day, huh?" Gaves made it sound like this happened all the time. Mariaute rolled her eyes. "Do you need anything else." She sounded tired, liked she was ready to leave. Gaves couldn't blame her, she had been doing -a lot- for him. Fighting off his attacker, pulling him to the Cathedral, and even standing in the very building that was ebbing her energy away. He couldn't blame her if she wanted to go. "You can, if you want. Truthfully I'm a little nervous if someone else will come up to finish the job, so...." Gaves smirked, looking full of himself. "If you could find it in your heart to get me to an Inn for the night, just so they don't follow me home. I'd love ya' forever." Mariaute gave him a cold face to peer back for several moments until she finally nodded. "Very well. We'll move when you're ready." Gaves nodded. "Thank you." The bard's head leaned towards Mariaute, like he was trying to rest his head on her shoulder. in a low tone he whispers to her. "I wondered if he would be here." Mariaute whispered back. "Who?" Gaves gestured with his eyes towards the spot Leo had come from. "Leo. Same damn man was JUST there moments before my attack, was standing with the guy who stabbed me." Gaves leaned more against her, cozying up on the stranger in the middle of a place of worship. "Seen him talking to the Holts on occasion, I think he's friends with 'em. I think they did-" Gaves was silenced with Mariaute small index finger to his lips. "Darling," she cooed. "Don't tell me anything else, not that I don't care, but you could be putting us both at risk if you tell me everything you know. If they come to me, and question me, I might tell them something that could hurt you." Gaves was stunned. She was concerned his own wellbeing. A woman he had just met the day before actually cared to make sure he would be alright.

"Can you take me to an Inn?" Gaves asked, not admitting how touched he was by the gesture of her refusal to learn more. Mariaute slowly nodded her head with a smile. "Sure, let's get you up on your feet." Gaves chose the Gilded Rose because of his history with the establishment. For years he rented out a room in the noisy Inn, often falling asleep with a pillow over his head because of the thin walls. The trip there was without event. If they were followed the person doing it was good, very good. Fighting past the crowds of anguished citizens who had just lost their life savings in the Auction House, Gaves and Mariaute push their way to the doors of the Inn. "Alice!" Gaves called out, hobbling over to the worn woman who wore a simple blue skirt, and white top. "Tell me, you miss your favorite patron?" The woman was overwhelmed with dumb questions; nameless adventurers piling up around her, asking where certain regions where, where was the nearest tavern, where was the bathroom. Worn green eyes peer over to Gaves in acknowledgement. Mariaute helps him closer. "I'll take my old room, ok?" Alice opened her mouth in protest, but was drowned out in the sea of needy faces. "Thanks, Alice!" Gaves called as Mariaute helped him up the creaky stairs, leaving Alice to be swarmed by the nameless strangers. Reaching the top floor, the two of them limped down to the last door on the right. "Good memories here." Gaves mused, looking around at the familiar, thin walls. "Lots of sleepless nights here." They stop in front of the door. "This is the one." He murmurs.

Inside, Gaves thanked the light the room was empty. Too many times had he been subject to barging in unannounced to a half naked man, or woman who wasn't happy at all to see him. His legs were starting to move again, thankfully. Like an old man with a bum knee, Gaves made his way to the night table, grabbing the old, sturdy brass key. Gaves looked over his shoulder. "This damned key, I can't tell you how many times I've los-" Mariaute was gone. Gone without even offering a goodbye. Smiling a thin, flat line, Gaves sighed, and made his way over to the door. "'Least you could do is say bye." Gaves huffed, closing the door, and locking it shut. Back to the bed he went, throwing his half mobile body on the weak cushion with a tired flop. He closed his eyes, and in a matter of moments he fell asleep, exhausted from the day.

[pandabearlikes]

My Husband, Kim JunMeow

Table of Contents 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Chapter o2. I’m Not A Vixen, I Swear  

My mother blinks.  I stand there as frozen as a popsicle could get and maybe even more frozen than that.  Color strips from my face and I’m seconds from passing out in front of the two most important figures destined to be part of my life.  With a chummy grin, the stud extends his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he politely greets with a bow.  My mind whirls and my hands reflexively jerk out to retreat his arm as if I’m afraid the female in front of us would morph into a real tiger and maul his beautiful hands off.  

Hesitantly, my mother takes his hand.  My pretend husband’s politeness strikes her as a positive attribute from the list of qualities her potential son-in-law must have.  

“Kim Jun…Meow…?” she raises a brow.  

“Mmhm,” his friendly smile charms my mother like a spell.  

“Okay, OK, Mum, you got his name.  I’ll explain all else through the phone!” I speedily separate them and proceed to scoot her out the door.  “I love you, Mum.  I’m sorry.  I promise I’ll go home over the weekend for dinner,” I apologize and give her a fleeting kiss on the cheek.  It calms her enough to not grill me further.  With a short shake of the head and palm holding her throbbing head, she struts down the block and gets into her car.  

I slam the door shut and heave the deepest of deep breaths.  My back slides down the ornate engraved designs of the wooden front door.  Palms rest themselves against my sore chest as I take a moment to process what in the actual world just happened.  Am I secretly the main character of a crazy webtoon or something??  Hey, you gotta admit it, W was a kick ass Korean drama but the ending was kind of —

Large hands outstretch in front of me, breaking me from my habitual scatter-brained thoughts.  Its owner leans over like a gentlemen, prince in shining armor straight out of a fairy tale.  On instincts, I take his hand and he helps me onto my feet.  The miscalculated force guides me to land right into his chest.  It’s so warm and broad and perfect and my heart starts to bubble and go crazy.  Bashfully, I peer up at him.  Cheeks heat up in temperatures rivaling the degree of the hotness gemstones in the night sky.  I think I’m floating on clouds.  He’s beautiful.  My fingertips trail down his chest and torso.

“Are you okay?” the handsome man breaks the silence by questioning.  It dispels the entrancing bewitchment and finally registering what I was doing, I bounce myself back and away from him to hide behind my living room table.  I gulp.  

How did you get in here?  Who are you…?

Instead, the words that spill from my mouth are, “Did we…”

“Hm?” he tilts his head and innocently, inches forward.  My eyes roam down his chocolate abs and I know it’s stupid but I feel a sense of satisfaction.  The thought of losing my virginity to such a god-like man was…silly…but satisfying because social college norms are pressuring.  You try to ignore it but it gets to you sometimes and having gone through 90% of college without having touched the opposite sex made me feel unwanted.  Stupid.  Stupid thoughts.  And priorities much?  Shouldn't I be asking him for his identity?  He could be a serial killer for God’s sake.  

“Did we…do it?” I elaborate.

“Do what?” the man is now just two feet from me.  Sensing my discomfort, he settles at the other end of the living room table.  A soft smile spreads across his juicy lips and I’m so in awe by how quickly my pulse calms down to his simple act.  

“You know…” I chew on my inner cheek, lower my head, and shift my feet.  

“I know…?” he pouts.  He looks so soft and cuddly, his cheeks puff up and I have to grind my heels against the floor to not go up and pinch them.  

“Did we…have sex…?” I mumble.

“Sex?” the attractive human raises his brow.  The slight twitch of the corner of his lips sends my heart trembling once again.  

“…You know…hah…” I rub the back of my neck, “Hah…we’re both fully grown adults…it’s okay.  Chill…chill…it’s not that big of a deal…everyone does it…it’s normal…we don’t have to make it such a big dea—"

As a spurt words out of nervousness, I fail to acknowledge his advancement until he’s literally standing right in front of me.  Our toes tickle one another and I’m such a coward, I can’t even tilt my head up to look at him.  Instead, my vision coincidentally lands on the bump covered by the blanket around his hip.  From the close distance, the thin cotton fabric could only hide so much.  

“Like mating…?” his voice is just as soft as his cheeks.  But his odd question causes me to look up at him with an utterly confused expression.  

“Ye-…yeah…” I blink and nod.  Both our cheeks dusts in cherry blossom pink.  

“No, I would never do that to you,” he responds.  I jolt my head up and bite my lower lip, a little hurt by his response.  Again, there goes these stupid and foolish thoughts of self-worthlessness due to being rejected by a perfect guy…

“…without your permission…” the man finishes his genuine statement.  Sucking in air, I peer into his oscillating orbs again.  They’re so sparkly, with a tinge of azure blue.  My tummy flip-flops as my brain repeats his sweet words over and over again.  I flatten my lips.  He gifts me a pure and gentle smile and automatically, my expressions mimic his.  It’s ridiculous and I am not a believer of true love, much less, love at first sight but this moment may have just disproved all my beliefs or non-beliefs.  

But I didn’t want to seem like an easy girl nor want to let go of my pride so I backtrack and cross my arms over my chest.  “Do you use that line with all the girls you sleep with?” I accuse.  He blinks.  Hissing, I grumble under my breath, “But I don’t feel any pain…If we did it I should be super sore because you’re so bi—“  I catch myself before my chatterbox lips vocalize any more of my thoughts.  He laughs into his smile.  

“I…would never hurt you…” the man sincerely promises.  

“We-well…tell me who you are then…” I chuck back.

“Kim JunMeow,” he answers right away.

“Kim Jun…Meow…?” I scratch my head, “That’s the oddness name I’ve ever…”

Sensing my distrust, the lovely man picks up one of my scattered notebooks and pens from the table and scribbles onto it.  With an adorable signature grin, he turns the notebook and reveals the writing.  

“Kim JunMyeon,” I read out loud.  “Oh, JunMyeon,” I laugh.  “You can’t even say your own name?  Is JunMeow a nickname?”  I giggle and admit, “It’s kinda cute.”

Junmyeon’s expressions liven at my comment.  “Will you call me by ‘JunMeow’ then?” he shyly requests and looks at me with hopeful eyes.  

“Sure!” I chirp.  The room echoes with our bashful giggles.  Then I backtrack again; my expression grows serious and I grab a nearby lamp as a makeshift weapon.  Narrowing my eyes, I finally ask the questions I should have asked a long time ago.  “Who are you?”  Wait, God damn it, you just asked that.  Ask the other question.  “I mean…How did you find me?!”

“I followed you home,” the gullible man honestly answers.

My jaw hits the ground with a scoff.  “Are you a psychopath?!” I shrill.  “I knew it, I’ve been dry all my life, no perfect man would suddenly drop into my world,” I groan and then shout, “How did you even get into my apartment?!?!  I’m calling the police!!”

“No!  No, please calm down!” Junmyeon holds his palms up.  

“Are you a rapist?!  A serial killer?  Oh my God…I’m going to die.  I’m going to…” I shout gibberish as my knees start to shake.  He starts to make his way toward me.  Trembling, I hold the lamp out like a sword and shield.  “Please…please…” I start to break down when he’s inches from me.  Though not too tall, his physique towers over me.  His strong grip gathers hold of the lamp and he slowly twists it out of my grasp. “I barely lived life.  I’ve never fallen in love or achieved any life goals.  Please don’t kill me…” I start to beg when he completely strips me of any weaponry or protective barrier.  He locks me with his deep gaze as my body uncontrollably convulses at the thought of being raped and killed and the sad thought that my mother was probably anxiously waiting at home for my phone call.  I squeeze my eyes shut and let tears fall down like a broken pearl necklace along my cheeks.  He’s so close, I could feel heat radiating from his skin and rush through my pores.  Then, the unthinkable happens.  Strong arms mold around the curvature of my back as its owner brings me into his embrace.  Still, not comprehending his actions, I continue to shake against his chest.  He presses me closer until the minimal space between our skin starts to perspire.

“I would never hurt you,” Junmyeon repeats his promise from before while tenderly stroking the side of my arm to calm me down.  His touch is the closest thing to a miracle; the trembles quiet.  

“Yo-you hic you just said you followed hic me home…” I hiccup from fright.  

“You let me in,” he honestly answers.  

Confusion settles into my soul and I aggressively pinch my arm because I’m so sure I’m stuck in a crazy dream right now.  I’ve been reading too much erotic fan fiction for my own good.  If only I had as much interest in my college text books…My skin is beet red but the illusion before me fails to dispel.  Junmyeon grabs hold of my hand to stop my self-inflicted bruise.  He takes my arm and starts to softly brush the red spot with his thumb; it startles me.  Taking his lowered guard to my advantage, I grab onto his wrist and launch him in the direction of the door.  He groans as his body slams against the front door.  Immediately, I climb on top of him to subdue him.  His hands naturally hold the sides of my hip and suddenly, our position is more suggestive than I had intended.  My breathing is heavy and panting from all the action and anxiety.  Junmyeon peers up with a look of innocence and puzzlement.  As soon as I feel a heated throb against my thigh, i bounce off him.

“I DON’T KNOW WHO YOU ARE BUT YOU NEED TO LEAVE OR ELSE I’M CALLING THE COPS!” I warn.

He gives me ‘em puppy eyes, they’re so familiar…but I can’t quite grasp the situation.  My phone rings.  With my eyes locked on Kim JunMeow - I mean Myeon, I sidewalk like a crab over to the kitchen counter to grab hold of my device.

“Hello?”

My father’s thunderous voice almost deafens me.  I hold my phone out at an arm’s length to salvage my hearing.  “I AM DOWNSTAIRS.  YOUNG LADY, YOU HAVE SOME EXPLAINING!”  

I should be relieved.  My father, who is a retired police officer is here to save me from this psychopath stalker, but I’m not.  I’m not relieved.  Anxiety and worry fills my souls for whatever reason, I can’t quite pinpoint.  A moment of de ja vu clouds my mind as I glance over to the patient and innocent-looking man.  Quickly, I shake off the feeling and misinterpret it as a sign that I was stupidly more afraid of getting in trouble with my parents than being murdered.  Very stupid indeed, my logic needs some reworking.  

As soon as my father hangs up, I dash across the room, take Junmyeon by the hands and tug him back into my room.  Wardrobe doors swing open.  I dig through my clothes for the largest t-shirt I could find and hold the contenders up to Junmyeon to find the most appropriate and presentable one.  I don’t even question why he showed up at my house without clothes to begin with.

“You’re pretty skinny, I think you’ll fit this one!” I announce, chuck a black t-shirt at him, and run to dig through my drawers for some jogger pants.

Junmyeon frowns at the graphics on the shirt that read, “Cats are Devil’s Spawn.”

“What are you doing?! Put it on! My dad’s coming up as we speak!” I rush.  When the man doesn’t move, I physically go up to him, stretch the jogger pant’s waist band out, and get down on my knees.  “Leg up!” I order.  Obediently, Junmyeon lets me slip the pants up.  I catch a glimpse of his goods by accident and almost choke on my saliva.  

Keys start to jiggle at the door.  I’m a mess, I jolt up onto my feet and motion for Junmyeon to lift up his arms so I could slip the t-shirt on but he’s stubborn about not wearing the chosen t-shirt.  “ARM UP!” I growl.  The man with breathtaking boyish looks puff up his cheeks and shake his head.  

“KIM JUNMEOW!” I bark, “My father will be right here any moment!”

His lower lip protrudes at the increased volume of my voice.  

“Be good…” For some reason, I reach out and pet his head.  

“Fine,” Junmyeon murmurs and finally reaches his arms over his head.  Instantaneously, I throw the shirt over him and pull.  He’s skinny but so ripped, his pecs protrude through the t-shirt.

“YOUNG LADY, WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ARE MARRIED?!” My father barges straight through my bedroom door, disregarding the fact that I’d have to spend a chunk of my paycheck to repair it.  But worse of all, my hands are still tangled in between Junmyeon’s abs and the shirt.  

Fourth time.  I never ever want to hear my full name ever again.  Immediately, I jerk my hand away from Junmyeon to cover my ears.  On the other hand, my pretend husband is already absorbed into his character.  His arms protectively round over my body.  The older man scrutinizes him, his nostrils flaring out with invisible fire.  Junmyeon spins me around even though the escapist part of me would much rather face plant against his chest.  

“Hello, Sir.  I am Kim JunMeow,” my pretend husband bows and stretches out a hand to take my father’s.  This time, I grab his hand before my shark of a father could sever his limb off.  The furious man hisses at my disrespectful actions but can’t disapprove of Junmyeon’s politeness.  

“Kim Jun…Meow?” the older man’s response is similar to his wife’s.  

“Hah…” I nervously laugh, “He means Kim JunMyeon, Dad.  JunMeow is just the pet name I gave him…heh…” I scratch my head and find myself, also, absorbed in my character too.  My palm rests against Junmyeon’s abdomen and we stand there like any other normal couple.  

“What do you do?  And when did you meet me daughter?” the retired sheriff takes a seat on my vanity chair and starts to interrogate.

“I protect your daughter and summer of 1996,” Junmyeon honestly answers, though, at the time, I assume it is a straight out lie.  I look at him, impressed with his job well done.  

The interrogator narrows his eyes but the shock of Junmyeon’s answers makes him speechless.  My mother had detailed to him that I had randomly married a mysterious man she’s never met and it was quite possibly an impulsive or shot gun marriage.

“Are you pregnant?”

“NO!” I instantly answer.

“Young Man, do your parents know you got married?”

“No,” Junmyeon shakes his head.  I subtly smack his back to reprimand him for his honesty.  

“Why did the two of you get married without your parents' permission?!  Huh?!?” My father stomps his feet in rage.

“Because I love her,” my pretend husband shocks me with his response.  “I want to protect her.  I never met my father and humans separated me from my mother when I was eight weeks old.  I’ve never seen her since and quite frankly, I don’t even remember how she looks like.”  My heart drops at his confession, I peer up at him almost searching for a hint that would tell me all of this was an act and that he didn’t have to go through such unbearable trauma so early in his life.  Because no one deserves such tragedy.  And yet, his jaws are tense and eyes grow glossy at the memory.

My father too, softens his strong front at the younger male’s story.  “That…that is not an excuse for you not to ask for my permission for my daughter’s hand in marriage, Young Man.  You don’t have parents but she does.”

“Dad!” I hiss.  I think I’m stupid for having fallen prey to this man’s lies.  

“Stay out of this,” the middle-aged man orders, “This is a conversation between men.”

To my father’s words, I cower and lower my head in shame.  Yet, to my bewilderment, the normally placid Junmyeon bravely counters, “Why is it a conversation between men, Sir?  Aren’t we talking about your daughter and my marriage?  She has full right to take part in the conversation.”  I inhale sharply.  My father jolts up onto his feet and glares at Junmyeon with intimidation for daring to talk back at him.  Instinctively, I step in front of my husband and hold my arm out in a protective stance.  

In a mature gesture, Junmyeon bows his head and states, “Sir, I admit our marriage was quite impulsive and abrupt.  It was my fault for not informing you.”

“Dad…” I murmur a plea, “Please…”  Please what… “Do-don’t…” my lips tremble, though I’m not sure why.  “Don’t break us apart…” I choke.  Both men in the room paralyze with guilt.  I lift my hand up to my cheeks and realize I was crying…no…I was sobbing.  This sudden rush of emotions is so incomprehensible to me.  I don’t understand why…why…but I start choking with tears.  An unbearable feeling of having a wound resurface in my heart causes me to clench my chest.  Distraught, Junmyeon brings me into his tight embrace, stroking my hair and whispering, “It’s okay” in my ear.  Speechless, the older man can only watch as his supposed son-in-law steals away the job once reserved for him.  

“Sir, I apologize for everything.  I’ll stop by and have this chat with you another time,” Junmyeon promises as he holds me.  My sobs only grow and it breaks both of my guardians' hearts.  I’m riddled with confusion, myself.  

Junmyeon doesn’t let go of me even after my father leaves.  Hiccuping, I peel myself away from him and wipe my eyes.  “I hic I don’t know what hic is hic going on but you need to hic go!” I direct him to the door.  “Let’s pretend that nothing happened between us last night.”  Well, technically nothing happened between us…but…  Compliantly, he lets me shove him to the front of the door but stands his ground when I tell him to go his merry way.  

“I’m not leaving when you are like this,” Junmyeon strictly says.  Looking down, I notice even my hands are shaking.  What has gotten into me?  

Chuckling, I wipe my tears and try to suppress my sobs as best as possible. “I should have majored in Acting, shouldn’t I?” I downplay the incident because I still don’t know why I suddenly burst into tears.  

Junmyeon’s gentle expression tells me he doesn’t buy it.  “I’ll leave after I know that you’re okay,” he bargains.

I bite my lip and turn away to avoid his enticing gaze.  With his brows sinking a bit and lips in a pout, he looks so fluffy and cuddly and I wasn’t sure if I’d hop into his embrace without my own knowledge.  Instead, he steps back into the room, stops in front of me, and takes my hand.  

“Go,” I say, though my heart tells him to stay.  But I learn very quickly that listening my heart is an untrustworthy one-way trip to misery.

“You really want me to go?” Junmyeon softly questions as he kneads my fingers.

“Go.”

I can’t stop the half twitch of my brows when he lets go of my hands.  Footsteps grow lighter and lighter, my heart drops when they stop.  Calm your thirst, Woman.  You barely know him.  Frustrated, I tousle my hair.  When I look up again, I do a double take.  My eyes widen.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” I suck in my breath and almost trip over flat surface.  

Junmyeon is stripping out of his clothes.  Choking myself from my quick breathing, I rush forward to stop him before he got to his bottoms.  My hands outstretch to grab onto his loose waistband but miss it by a jiffy.  His perfectly symmetrical butt cheeks stare back at me as he lets the jogging pants fall to the floor.

“AHHH!” I scream and cover my face with my hands.  Notice, I said face and not eyes, my fingers part in “V” because my thirst or as Fifty Shades of Grey would describe as “inner goddess” contradict with my outer reserved demeanor.  And NO, I didn’t read Fifty Shades of Grey O.o I just saw the movie trailer…but I digress.  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, KIM JUNMYEON?!”

With his blank kitten stare, he starts to turn.  

“DON’T TURN AROUND!” I shout.  

“Hm?” the man innocently explains, “The shirt and pants are yours so I didn’t want to leave with them without your permission.”  

“YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!  PLEASE TAKE THEM!” I instantly reply and physically lift the pants back up to cover him.  The thought of other woman getting a glimpse of his body angered me for whatever reason I don’t know.  Maybe, I’m just hella possessive.  Wiping off the sweat from my forehead, I throw my head back in exhaustion.  First that cat and now —

“Wait…what happened to…” I scratch my head and scan my premise for any signs of the furry monster.

Junmyeon is finally allowed to turn around.

“Put the shirt back on,” I command as I get down on my knees and look under my sofa for the lost cat.

“I don’t want to,” my pretend husband complains.  Running my fingers through my hair, I throw him a displeased look.  

“Be good and put back on your shirt, please,” I hear myself say.

“No,” Junmyeon crosses his arms over his chest and pouts.  The shirt is an abandoned heap on the floor.  For a moment, I mistake it to be the missing cat playing hide and seek and lift it up.  

“Argh,” I toss the shirt at the hot stud, who flicks his arm to reject my present.  “Argh, you act like Lila’s ungrateful cat!” I groan under my breath.  Junmyeon takes a seat at the arm of the sofa and observe me as I almost tear my apartment up in search of the runaway feline.  

“I don’t like that shirt, even if I love you,” he grumbles.

I stuck my head out of my laundry basket and ask, “Why?”

“I love cats.”

“Oh my God.”  My body collapses onto the floor in disbelief.  

Junmyeon suppresses a chuckle at my dramatic reaction.  “You used to too…” he whispers but I don’t hear over my own hypothesis about how every one has been hypnotized by freakin’ cats.  

“You should just marry Lila.  My God, you two would love each other,” I half-heartedly say as I dig through the boxes above my shelves in case the kitty fell asleep there.  

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you and we’re married now,” he smiles into his reply.  I stop the search to look at him.  Mistake.  Cleaning my throat, I hold a hand up to block my view of his flawlessly sculptured abs.  

“You’re really good at acting.  Are you an actor?” I probe.

“Nope.”

“Are you…a thief?” I narrow my eyes.  Hey, they are good at lying after all.  

“Nope,” Junmyeon answers, this time a little amused.

“Then what are you?”

“A cat,” he bluntly answers.

I roll my eyes and throw a sofa pillow at him.  He catches it with ease and hugs it against his chest.  “You’re such a good liar.  You almost had me earlier,” I click my tongue, now pretending to search through my house so that he didn’t know I am actually interested in his response.  

“Earlier?”

“Earlier, with my father,” I completely terminate the search and plop myself onto the sofa next to him.  Finally, I can look at him without my heart racing in turbulent speeds due to the nifty pillow blocking my eyes from gawking over his lethal bod.  

“I was honest with every word I said,” Junmyeon retorts.

Scrutinizing his facial features, I try to hunt for any hints of dishonesty.  But his expression is so pure and lovely.  Unknowingly, my lips curve up into a friendly smile.  

“I will protect you…”

Shaking my head, I laugh.

“…with my life,” he quiets me with his words.  It doesn’t make sense but I feel my heart clench.

“…You…you must be an expert at picking up girls…” I remark to distract myself.

“Popular with them but I don’t pick up girls on purpose.”

I scoff and he chuckles.  Even his laughter is friendly.  

“…So…about your—“ I turn my whole body around and begin to ask but the loud grumble of his stomach halts my curiosity.  Junmyeon slaps his tummy.

“Hungry?”

“Hm…” he timidly lowers his head, “A little.”

“Want some ramen?” I offer and chirpily get up to the kitchen to cook brunch.  

“Do you have fish?” Junmyeon questions as he follows you.

“Fish?  Hm…I think I have some.  Do you mind leftovers?” I say while rummaging through my fridge.  I close the door a bit when I sense Junmyeon hovering over me.  Heh.  I’m not the most organize to say the least…especially not the refrigerator.  

“Nope.  My diet is primarily eating what people throw away anyway…I’m used to it,” he states with such nonchalance that if makes my heart sink a little.  Though, I’m uncertain of his identity, a part of me believes his promise that he’d never hurt me.

“I also have chicken breast left, do you want some?” I attempt to dig out the most delicious and presentable dishes a broke ass college student could have.

“Yes!!  Fish and chicken breast are my favorite,” the handsome man cheers. Muffling a giggle, I throw all the food onto a plastic container and chuck it into the microwave while I start to prepare the ramen.  From his seat, Junmyeon watches me with admiration.  He looks like a giddy, fluffy, happy kitty.  His invisible tail wags to the sound of the microwave’s beep.    

It smells like pure bliss, my tummy flip-flops with anticipation.  Steam vaporizes into the air.  I turn off the fire and bring the entire pot of ramen onto the kitchen counter.  Quickly, I motion for the gullible man to come over.  He leaps up onto his feet and joins me at the table.  

“Here you go,” I divide the left over tilapia and chicken onto two plates and serve him one.  Eyeing his food as if they are bricks of gold, he lifts a hand and gets ready to dig in.  

“Wa-wait!” I chime and hand him a fork.  “Wow.  You must be hungry.”  

Smiling, he takes it and starts to chomp away.  With a giggle, I take the lid off the pot and fetch myself a bit of ramen.  “Hot.  Hot!” I squirm and whimper at my scalded tongue.  Junmyeon blinks.  “Ramen is so delicious but you always have to wait a few minute—“  I start but notice a fork come into my peripheral vision.  My new friend had forked a piece of fish and held it up to my lip.  

“You…you can eat it,” I shake my head.  “I have some of myself,” I explain as my cheeks start to heat up.  That was seriously so sweet, knowing that he had offered to share his favorite food.  Rubbing my neck, I slurp up the cooled ramen.  

“So…” I start.

“Hm?” he looks up from his meal.

“You said what you told my dad was all true…?”

“Yes,” Junmyeon firmly states.

“So about your dad…and mom…” my voice softens in projection as I spot the wavering glint in his pearly orbs.  

“Yeah,” he nods.  

My heart drops.  The thought of a small 8 week old baby being torn from his mother crushes my soul.  And I don’t know why and I don’t know when, a tear slips down my cheeks.  Yes, I’m overly empathetic, but it still doesn’t quite make sense why I’m suddenly an emotional wreck in the presence of this man.  With a sad smile, Junmyeon reaches out his hand and brushes off the tear.  I freeze in place.

“You saved me though,” he whispers.

“Huh?” I blink.  My sweet fake husband simply gifts me a wide smile of gratitude.  Just like a cat, he licks the plate of the last crumbs and sauces.  Laughing, I offer him some ramen but he declines them, stating that they aren’t healthy.

“Oh goodness, are you one of those health freaks?  Is that why you have such a nice body?” I tease and serve my portion of the fish and chicken breast onto his plate.  The kitten boy grins brightly and munches away.  

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” I complain.  

“I don’t like that shirt,” he replies with a mouthful of food.  It makes his chubby cheeks look like that of chipmunks.  

“So picky…” I roll my eyes and tap on my phone.  A gasp escapes my throat.  Junmyeon blinks.  “Look, I have to get to class now…um…”  The young man’s shoulders droop, realizing it was time for him to take his leave.

I scratch my head.  “Wait for me to come back…okay?”

His eyes flicker and flattened lips curve upward.  The enthusiastic nod of a reaction causes my heart to flutter.  Checking that the gas on the stove were turned off, I gather my textbooks and backpack and head for the door.

With a hand over the doorknob, I playfully question, “You’re not a thief, right?”

“Nope.”

“Okay,” I giggle and swing open the door, “I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll wait for you,” he promises.  I throw him back a smile.  “Wait, bring an umbrella.”

“The weatherman said it was sunny today,” I note, but he places an umbrella into my hand and squeezes.    

My protector watches me as I step through the door before he heads back into the apartment.  But I surprise him by popping my head back in.  “Kim JunMeow~” I call.

He twirls around with pure bliss upon his face.

“If you don’t like that shirt, feel free to grab another one,” I chuckle.  

~

Can’t concentrate in class.  Can’t concentrate.  

My friend, Lila, sniffs me.  With raised brow, I distance myself.  First, my mother sniffs me and now my best friend sniffs me…did I really smell like…

“What does sex smell like?” I pop the question, which causes Lila to choke on her coffee.

“Certainly not like you two,” a popular girl, seated behind us, overhears, and mocks, “You two reek of cat.”

“Oh, shut up,” I bark, roll loose leaf paper into a ball, and launch it at her.

“But…hey…to be honest…you do kinda smell like cat today.  Trust me, I would know,” Lila whispers into my ear.

With the toss of my head, I groan, “It was pouring last night so I took home a lost cat.”

A loud gasp shrills from Lila’s lips; she bounces up and down in her seat.  “Can I come over?!  Can I come over?!?!”

“NO!” I accidentally shout louder than expected.  

“Why?” the cat lover slumps.

“The cat isn’t there anymore,” I lie.  Well, it isn’t exactly a lie…it’s only that the fact she can’t come over is because I’m hiding a testosterone filled human, who I suspect is a part-time nudist.  

As soon as the professor dismisses the class, I pack my bag, wave a fleeting goodbye to my dear friend, and skip happily back home.  Raindrops coat my skin; my little feet dances along the puddles.  Twirling, twirling, I spin down the streets, in circles.  My umbrella sends splashes of rainwater back onto earth like paint on canvas.  It doesn’t even occur to me that I’m so over-the-moon until I spot my glowing reflection on a glass building.  Kim Junmyeon may be strange but he fills a hole in my heart I never knew existed until today.

“I’m home!  Which shirt did you pick out?  It better one be one of my Victoria Sec—“  I scan the premise and toss my shoes off.  “Kim Junmyeon?” I call, parading through my living room into my kitchen.  I open my bedroom door and even checked the bathroom.  My heart starts to sink.  He said he’d…wait for me…

Just as I am about to slump against my couch, an intruder reveals himself.

“Meow~” the handsome white kitty comes up to my feet and rounds his furry paws around my ankle.  His chubby cheeks snuggle against my skin, welcoming me back home.  

A/N: Omg this chapter is so long.  Junmyeon is so innocent & girl is so thirsty hahaha.  Rereading the striping scene made me crack up.

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>>My Husband, Kim JunMeow Archive<<

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I’m sorry my tumblr keeps breaking :(

Any cat lovers out there??

[quess-writes]

//Holy crap Enma’s one turned out longer than I expected//

Undercut for length

Tsuna

Tsuna is insecure as he is so when rumours arose that you were, well, essentially cheating on him, he panicked. Hard. You were so handsome and had both males and female admirers . He wanted to talk to you about it but never gathered the courage to. Will you confirm it? He doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle that. Will you deny it? He’d take your word for it but there would always be a lingering green monster whispering in his ear. So against his better judgement Reborn he started to follow you.

First of all, he’s a horrible spy and tapping into his HDWM will light a giant fucking fireball on his head so that plan was a no-go (he has the subtly of a kid on crack). Actually, he stumbled upon you by complete accident. He lost you somewhere in the market area and decided to abort mission for that day - what was he going to do? Stand around like a lost puppy? But as he was heading back, his intuition was nagging at him to go the other way. So naturally he followed.

Through dense forestry and unpaved roads, Tsuna stumbled stumbled an abandoned warehouse of some sorts. Dead trees, debris, broken crates littered the area.

One look and he left - wait? Feet? What are you doing? Turn back around! Why are you going closer to the LITERAL FUNHOUSE OF SERIAL KILLERS???

Upon entering Tsuna will scream. He’s seen some shit from Reborn’s training and the mafia but oh lord, that’s so much blood. And in the middle of it all is a limp man suspended in the air by the hands of some man covered in blood. His body was taunt, fangs sharp with broken sunglasses hooked onto the curve of his shirt as piercing red eyes bore straight into his victim. 

Recognizing the scream, you quickly turned your head, dropping the limp body; like a deer in headlights, you froze. “T-Tsuna! It’s not it looks like…?” Great excuse brain.

“What are you…?” Of course he recognized you. You could see Tsuna’s hyper intuition working itself trying to rationalize the situation. “There’s blood on your f-face.“

You stuttered, your mind going into overdrive trying to think of some bullshit way out. Can you use the prank excuse again? No you already used that too many times. Maybe the whole dream thing? Like that’ll work. Shit.

Meanwhile, Tsuna was equally uncomfortable abut the situation as you were. Does this explain your tendency to stay in the shade? He just thought you get hot easily underneath all that clothes. Your preference for late night dates? He’s never dated before so he followed your lead. Wearing sunglasses indoors and circle lens all the time? He just thought you were manly and cool the bodyguards you see in anime. Your inhumane strength? The mafia warped his brain on what was considered and accepted as “normal” - he forgot that normal everyday citizens couldn’t just jump twenty feet in the air. No wonder you ate so little, skipped physical ed. all together and still looked like a fucking model.

“Tsuna…?“ you say, unsure.

He snaps out of his thoughts, straightening up. “Y-Yes?“

You wipe your mouth and throat trying to appear non-threatening as possible - though it made it worse as your clothes were smeared with blood. “I’m not going to hurt anyone.“ His eyes gravitates over the body discarded next to you. “He’s not dead, I swear! A-And I swear I didn’t bring someone from their homes or something!” You could feel your cold, undead body getting colder. “He was out in one of those red light districts drunk off his ass harassing some girls so I stepped in and got him here and I did something that was necessary for me I didn’t beat him up or anything he was just so drunk that when he tried to hit me I dodged and the momentum flew him straight into those crates outside and I brought his unconscious body inside-“

You rambled on, Tsuna’s nerves calming down as he saw the unconscious man’s chest moving and your regular self back in you. Of course you wouldn’t kill someone! Even covered in blood you were still the same cute and slightly awkward mess he fell in love with.

But that still didn’t explain the blood.

“-and well… Oh… that…“ He said that out loud, didn’t he? “I’m. Err…“

Tsuna could hear his heart pounding but his intuition told him to trust you - or at least hear you out. “Please tell me the truth. I know you. You wouldn’t do something like this out of pleasure or sport. So please, tell me the truth.“

You closed your eyes. Could you trust him? No, you could. This was Tsuna, the most kindest humans you’ve ever met. He wasn’t like the others. Like them. “…please promise me you won’t run or attack me or scream or try to kill me. At least not without hearing me out.”

His eyes widened bigger than saucers. Just what were you hiding to say those things? Just what did you go through to say those things? “I promise.“

You took one more breath before confessing, “I’m a vampire.”

Byakuran

When Byakuran was faced with problems, he would consult his parallel selves. But you were the one person he couldn’t extract any information from for various reasons. It gave him a bit of anxiety that the relationship may not work but you proved him wrong on several occasions. That is until the rumours started. Byakuran, surrounded by weird people and being one himself, didn’t notice all your suspicious actions. Well, he did notice but he didn’t particularly care. You weren’t betraying him or attracting unwanted attention so he let you do your thing. It honestly shouldn’t have bothered him, rumours were mostly consisted of false pretenses after all, but what irked him was you. You denied the rummours but gave him some bullshit excuse to as why you left in the middle of the night with a pair of clothes and some needles.

(When Byakuran pointed that out, you could only reply with, “No, I’m not a drug addict calm down. It’s just for a friend’s experiment I’m helping with. We’re testing on honeypot ants and how food colouring changes the honey in their abdomen.”)

So naturally, he followed you out of curiosity. Though his previous selves might have been prone to jealousy, his present self rarely felt envious. He had no reason to be because once you were in a relationship with him, like it or not, you were his. So any other men, or dare he say women, who tried to seduce you were like trying to fight a toddler - not even worth it and so easily... discouraged given the right circumstances.

During another one of your “science experiments” he had followed you to an abandoned house in the middle of scenic nowhere. He was instantly intrigued. There was no way you would try to fuck an unconscious person in a dinky little shack when there were hundreds of love hotels located around you - no matter how paranoid someone was. So either you were a hitman or an unregistered scientist. Either way, he wanted to know what you were doing.

Okay, that wasn’t what he expected.

What he expected was you being from another famiglia or a freelance hitman disposing of a body or something. Not laying them down, checking their vitals, then drawing some blood, testing for negatives, then drinking it. You didn’t even for for their jugular, you just extracted their blood, placed it in a glass, then tended to the bleeding man before sitting down on a nearby couch and drinking it while scrolling through your phone. Well, no one can’t say you weren’t classy.

Byakuran left without another word after confirming all he needed to. “A vampire, perhaps a dhampir, hmmm?” Byakuran hummed happily, “I heard the wendigo were also blood suckers and even in some myths shape-shifters. Considering his human appearance vampire has the highest possibility.” He chuckled, calling Kikyo to cancel all his appointments for the week. “Well, I guess some punishments are in order for that naughty lover of mine.”

It was one thing to hide something, but to hide it from him? Good luck, friend.

Enma

Enma wasn’t exactly the picture-perfect boyfriend or friend in general so when he heard of your “nightly escapades” his reaction shifted back and forth from defeated acceptance to burning white fury (10% himself, 30% you, 60% this “mystery man/woman”). Though his unstable emotions were nothing compared to the absolute rage his family felt.

He didn’t even want to confront you about it - maybe if he lived in ignorance, it’ll all just go away? You were still nice to him at school and everything so maybe the rumours were baseless and from the mill. But it was late one night where he was off feeding one of the stray cats under the bridge he spotted you crossing it… with your arms over some busty woman. Laughing. Joking. Smiling.

His heart shattered into million pieces.

He felt as if every one of his heart strings snapped, and someone set his blood ablaze. His throat was dry, his eyes glossy, and it wasn’t until the warmth of the kitten he was feeding rubbing against him that he snapped out of it. He laughed humourlessly, stroking its chin mechanically. Of course. He should’ve excepted it. You were strong, smart, funny, handsome; comparing him to you was unfair. He left the scene knowing his rage taking over wouldn’t solve anything. It’s wouldn’t take the pain away. It wouldn’t.

Because he still loved you.

The moment he stepped into the house, his family (especially Adelheid) noticed his depressed mood. They tried to cheer him up without bring the situation up knowing it had something to do it you. Enma, ever the introvert, was rarely depressed (shy and anxious maybe but depressed? Never.) so the only person who could’ve made him like this was you. Days passed and the Shimon refused nay and all contact between you and Enma. 

You were confused. Why was the Shimon acting like this? Why was Enma avoiding you? Did you do something wrong? Was something going on? With no answers and no one else to turn to, your turned towards the night. You didn’t want to, but at times like this, it felt just like that incident.

(You needed a distraction and what better way for a filthy monster like yourself to do what you do best?)

It was about a week later when Enma saw you again. He was under the bridge feeding the local strays when he heard you talking to someone. Peeking out through the shadow of the bridge, he saw you carrying an unconscious man into a forest? Honestly he could care less what you were doing but he needed confirmation. He had to see you in the act with his own two eyes so he could extinguish any love he still had left for you. So he did.

What he expected was some kinky outdoor voyeur shit. The last thing he would ever think in his mind was you walking into an abandoned building, setting the man down over a small make-shift bed made of wooden boxes and tarps, leaning over his sleeping body, and biting his neck.

Enma just stared in morbid awe and fear as your sharp fangs dug into his flesh, your tongue lapping up the blood like sweet honey. You weren’t exactly the epitome of perfection in this scene but you still managed to look beautiful even with that blood painting your face and staining your shirt. He couldn’t look away. On one hand, he was relieved you weren’t cheating on him so the dread in his heart was gone. But on the other hand, seeing you like this? A completely new dread filled his heart.

You were in the middle of a feeding frenzy. You could smell the sweet nectar of succulent humans every step you took and your primitive desires tempted you to act upon those urges. But you didn’t - at least not in the way you attacked every human you saw. You hunted and targeted drunk humans, people who were alone intoxicated. It wasn’t the most ethical thing to do but for someone like  yourself, what could you do? You practically lived in the red light district these days. Enma was your boyfriend and though Tsuna and the others were great, you couldn’t feel the same connection as you did with Enma. But that didn’t matter now, did it? It all started this way. First they would distance themselves from you then they would never return. He was just like them. The same thing happened now as it did last time.

The guilt of feeding masked the pain of loneliness well.

Just stopped right before the man’s blood smelled thin, the pain hitting you harder as the taste of blood left your mouth. Thankfully you smelled another human nearby. This one smelled good, familiar, reminiscent. You wondered how long this one would last.

Enma saw your head detaching from the man’s neck, the man still breathing. He stared at you, the light of the moon lining your form in a pale ethereal glow. Your eyes were crimson - like fresh blood dripping into a rose. Enma would be lying if he didn’t find you incredibly attractive despite the blood (to be fair he’s seen much worse for less).

You just stood there, your desperate tongue savouring every last drop like a parched man deprived of his basic needs given a glass of water. Then you just stopped, twitching. And before Enma could even question you odd behaviour, his vision blurred and his body met the ground.

Enma groaned, opening his eyes to see your panting face. Your eyes were glazed, hands covering his mouth, fangs ready for the incision. He tried to push you off, but your other hand kept his arms in check. Kicking you off was no good as your blood-fueled body was vastly stronger than his noodle limbs. In one last desperate attempt, he called out your name.

It worked.

“E-Enma…?“ you said in disbelief. “What are you-?“ No… Where you about to hurt your own boyfriend!? No. No. No! You sprung away from him like he was scalding water. You hugged yourself, unsure if the action was to protect yourself or protecting him. You knew you were a monster but this? This was too much. All you wanted was to forget, not hurt!

Enma saw your claws dig into your skin, hyperventilating. In the midst of your meltdown, he walked over to you slowly, giving you enough space so you wouldn’t feel threatened but close enough to thwart your escape. He called out your name several times, using the softest voice he could muster, as if he was talking to one of his kittens. "Don’t hurt yourself, I know it was an accident. I’m not hurt. Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you and I won’t run. Can I come closer? Please? I’m walking over there slowly, okay? I promise I won’t do anything you don’t like. And you can tell me to stop if you feel uncomfortable.” He came closer, and for some reason you listened. “See? I’m here now. Not a single scratch on me - well, besides from the usual anyways - but nothing from you. I’m going to get a little closer, okay? Are you cold? Do you want my jacket? It’s not much but it’s better than nothing. No, actually it’s great because you stitched it up for me remember? It has your gentle handiwork on it.”

Before you knew what happened, Enma’s arms were around you, his warmth encompassing your cold, undead body, and thought your mind told you to leave - to run - your body melted into his embrace.