#evidence... file names... autopsy complete... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Misread Details, Part One

CW: Death talk, BBU, dehumanizing language about Box Boys

A Box Boy Serial Killer On the Loose? Part 1 of 3

r/LetsTalkTrueCrime

•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee 1 month ago

Hello, r/LetsTalkTrueCrime!

I’ve posted this write-up in a couple other reddits, but someone pointed me to this one as being a good place for discussion, and this is a really weird set of three unsolved murders (well, one death and two murders? Maybe?) and I wanted to see if any of you have some thoughts or maybe more info on these cases.

Three men died within two years in three different cities.

While each death is unique, all of them have one thing in common - fingerprints and DNA from a single human pet was found in every single location.

Let’s start with the first death.

Nathaniel Matthew Benson, who went by “Nanda” (a childhood nickname given to him by a younger brother who couldn’t pronounce his full name as a toddler, apparently), was forty-one years old at the time of his death.

He was born and raised in North Dakota by very strict religious parents, and had three younger brothers and one younger sister. There is some disagreement here about whether his home life was peaceful or not. His younger sister claims that the environment at home was strict but fair, and the family was mostly happy. Two of his three younger brothers tell a different story, about a father who put too much on their shoulders, especially “Nanda” as the eldest, and the pressure they felt to be perfect.

His other brother, the youngest of the family, has never given a public interview beyond a short statement that he and Nanda were not close, and he did not feel able to speak about his character. There were nearly fifteen years between the oldest and youngest childrens’ births, and Nathaniel had moved out of the house by the time the youngest was four years old, so this makes sense.

By all accounts, Nathaniel was an excellent student, getting all A’s throughout his years of education. He was considered quiet and shy, and most of his high school classmates don’t have many standout memories of him. He graduated valedictorian of his high school class, then surprised everyone by stating he wouldn’t be attending college, and instead would be taking a “gap year” to travel the United States using money from his graduation party and also some he’d saved up from working part-time retail and restaurant jobs.

Between ages 18 and 19, he took his small secondhand four-door vehicle around the nation, calling home every week or so to give his family updates, sending postcards, etc. After about six months, though, the phone calls and postcards became fewer and fewer, and eventually he told everyone he had gotten a new job and decided to forgo college entirely.

His family was shocked - and by all accounts his father was furious - but Nathaniel refused to budge.

There was apparently a very hostile phone conversation about one year after this decision which was the last time Nathaniel Benson spoke to his father directly until his death.

After this, his family received only sporadic communications sent from a P.O. Box located in central California, in a mid-sized city known as Dosaba. He never did give anyone an actual home address.

He occasionally called them, mostly his sister and one of his brothers, but surviving family states that the phone number he called from was different every single time, and usually didn’t have a California area code.

“He used burner phones for everything,” Nathaniel’s sister Samantha told WNDR, a local news station, shortly after his mysterious death. “And he would never tell us what job he did. We asked and asked and Nanda would just say ‘oh, this and that’, or ‘I do contractor work’. Just answers that don’t tell you anything. It was all very mysterious, very secretive. You know, we talked about how maybe he’d gotten into drugs or something, but my brother wasn’t a drug user, ever. It just seems so out of character for the brother I knew.”

“He was always reading his Bible when we knew him,” Younger brother Timothy stated. “But you know, I asked him once if he had found a home church wherever he was living, and he laughed and laughed. Then he just said, ‘they’d have a lot of opinions on how I live my life if I did that’, and changed the subject. So I knew whatever he was doing, it probably wasn’t good.”

There has been a lot of speculation by investigators that “Nanda” had indeed picked up employment within some kind of drug smuggling group at this time. Evidence found after his death has even opened the possibility that he worked as a high-end hitman.

There’s a lot of international travel during this time period, far more than can be accounted for unless travel was part of his workplace responsibilities. Employment records show him working as a sales manager for a company called Sunrise Investments, but this is believed by many to be a shell corporation hiding something much, much darker.

However, all of this remains speculative, and there’s never been any proof that Nathaniel Benson did anything but the financial sales the company claims. No one ever did much work with him, and other employees at the company stated contact with him occurred entirely by phone and fax (and then e-mail) at this time.

When investigators pored over the documents after getting a warrant, they weren’t able to find anything suspicious - and that in and of itself seems suspicious to some.

For years, Benson seemed to simply drop off the map entirely when it comes to local information - investigators did find that he owned a vintage Corvette that he fixed up himself (found via vehicle registry and taxes listings, which is public knowledge), and that about two years before his death he bought a large five-bedroom house with a basement in Dosaba, which he renovated in total secrecy. I was able to find records of him paying home taxes through his mortgage company, and that he spoke to local contractors and building companies, paying for consultations about the renovations he undertook.

None of the companies he spoke to kept any kind of detailed notes about these consultations, but you’ll see why it’s relevant when I discuss what was found after his death.

Nathaniel Benson’s life came to an abrupt end on August 16th, 20XX, but nobody would find his body for more than two days.

On August 18th, his cleaning lady arrived for her usual weekly visit to discover him crumpled at the foot of the stairs, face-up. She called 911 immediately and first responders arrived within twenty minutes to her white-faced and nearly silent.

First responders noted that Nathaniel’s eyes were closed, unusual for a violent death. A wet cloth had been laid over them to help them stay that way. The medical examiner stated later that this would have to have been done within the first hour after he died, before rigor mortis could stiffen muscles and lead to them opening again.

That whoever witnessed his death knew to do this is deeply unusual, and may be a sign of affection or grief.

The autopsy found that Nathaniel had met his end approximately 36 hours before he was found, and had died due to an undiagnosed heart defect that had resulted in cardiac arrest.

Sounds like any sudden death that can simply be written off as sad but natural, right? Well, there’s a few details that make things a little murkier than that, and have led to his death being listed as “undetermined” officially, and possibly including foul play.

For one thing, Nathaniel hadn’t simply collapsed next to the stairs - he had fallen, or been pushed, and showed evidence of bone fractures and head trauma consistent with the fall. A bit of blood was found on one step that came from his injuries. This head trauma would likely not have been fatal if he had received medical attention, but cardiac arrest ensured death even if head trauma didn’t.

Did Nathaniel Benson suffer a heart attack and fall down the stairs, dying only when he reached the bottom? Maybe.

Or maybe he really was pushed, the shock of it is the reason he went into cardiac arrest.

There’s one more unusual fact that makes foul play a possibility in this mysterious death.

Nathaniel Benson owned a legally purchased Box Boy, no known legal name, who went by his original purchase number: 334235. The Box Boy was a Romantic designation, and was purchased from Facility 001 in Berras, a city in Southern California, where the WRU headquarters is located.

WRU, when contacted by investigators, easily agreed to meet and provide detectives with information regarding the Box Boy’s purchase, as well as the DNA and fingerprint samples the company keeps on file.

According to WRU’s internal records, this Boxie was not only a designated Romantic, but a specialty Romantic, trained for ‘masochism’. This tracks with multiple books on, shall we say, somewhat salacious interests that Benson had for his love life.

As Benson never seemed to date anyone or maintain a relationship, it’s theorized that the Boxie was his way of dealing with the stress of his work. WRU noted that Benson had contacted them after the purchase was complete to give his compliments on the Boxie’s training and note that he was ‘perfect’ and they ‘got along just fine’.

The Box Boy’s fingerprints were found all over the house, which is totally normal. He was living there full-time, after all. But investigators also located something a bit more unusual: a secret room within the home that the cleaning lady had never seen before, hidden behind a carefully camouflaged door.

This is what Benson had been working on when he ‘renovated’ his newly purchased home: He built a secret dungeon room with stone walls and a concrete floor, outfitted with a dip and a “drain”, plus a garden hose hooked up on one wall.

The room also had rows upon rows of cabinets full of various tools consistent with a ‘hard BDSM lifestyle’, according to one detective. I wasn’t able to get ahold of the actual list of items found, but was able to determine that whips, knives, ‘unspecified implements purchased from adult stores’, and other things were found.

Tests done on the walls and floor showed that blood had been spilled nearly everywhere in the room at one time or another, and large amounts of it. There was also evidence of blood found in Nathaniel Benson’s bedroom, primarily on the floor and in the bed. A small faded stain was found on the headboard just below a set of cuffs hooked into it.

A few small dried bloodstains were also found around the master bathroom sink, and investigators were able to determine the blood matched the DNA of the Box Boy, and was left there much more recently than the rest of the blood in the house, possibly even on the day of Benson’s death.

Here’s the thing, though: the Box Boy himself was nowhere to be found.

Was this Box Boy tired of being used as a human pincushion? Did he take matters into his own hands and commit the ultimate crime a pet can do, killing his owner? If he did, he no doubt knew what happens to pets who kill their owners, usually either being ‘put down’ or wiped clean to be resold.

Is our Boxie a killer right from the start? Or was he only a witness to a natural death who panicked and ran away?

Without locating the Boxie himself, it’s impossible to know.

The cleaning lady remembered him, and gave a description: Somewhere between 5’8” and 5’11”, wiry but with some muscle, usually dressed in just a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt when she was in the house. He has short dark hair, brown eyes, and an angular face. She mentioned visible scars on his arms, but none on his face. She was told to call him only “pet” if she needed to speak to him. She stated his voice was slightly hoarse and rough, as if he had a sore throat all the time.

They had only one significant interaction, where the cleaning lady inquired about a large bruise on the Boxie’s face and bandages on his arms. He apparently told her, at the time, that he ‘liked the reminer’, but thanked her for asking after his health. They never spoke directly again.

The detail about his face being unscarred will become incredibly relevant in parts 2 and 3.

Neighbors, when asked, mentioned that they had seen someone matching that description walking away from the house somewhere around 4 and 5 pm on August 16th. The medical examiner believes Benson died around noon, so this leaves about four or five hours between the death and the Boxie leaving.

He appeared to be walking very quickly and one neighbor noticed he was holding what looked like crumpled cash in one hand and a plastic shopping bag in another.

He was spotted waiting at a nearby bus stop, and footage from a camera mounted inside the bus shows someone matching the Box Boy’s description riding the bus all the way into Dosaba’s historic, artsy downtown. There, he was again captured on CCTV purchasing a one-way train ticket with cash. The train station employee who sold him the ticket remembers offering him a round-trip ticket for a discount, which she always did anyone who asked for a ticket to another city, only to have him “nervously” say he wouldn’t need to come back. She mentioned that he scratched at the side of his neck, and that when he walked away, he looked like his shoes were a little too big for his feet.

It is believed, as Nathaniel Benson was found barefoot but wearing clothing that suggested he had been outside doing yard work just before his death, that the Box Boy stole his shoes.

The fleeing Box Boy is captured one more time on camera as he arrived at his destination, Red Hills, approximately a two-hour train ride to the south. He walks past the CCTV quickly, hunched over as if trying to hide his face.

After that, he disappears.

Red Hills is a significantly larger city than Dosaba, with nearly a million residents within city limits and another 600,000 filling its suburbs and outer neighborhoods. Red Hills is a city that has seen better days, and it would be easy for a runaway Box Boy to simply fade away into its seedier districts. While Red Hills has had more than a dozen runaway Boxies picked up over the years, mostly Romantics who engaged in prostitution to make ends meet, it’s not believed that Benson’s Box Boy knew this when he chose the location.

As Romantic Boxies usually can’t read, it’s believed he simply chose a location he’d overheard someone else say, knowing nothing about what he would find when he got there.

Two days after his death, Nathaniel Benson’s debit and credit cards, Driver’s License, and a folded-up note he had written to himself about buying toothpaste were found in a plastic shopping bag tied-off at the top, were found inside the bus the Boxie had ridden, stuffed between the edge of a seat and the wall. The Boxie’s fingerprints were on everything.

But the Boxie himself wouldn’t be seen again until more than a year later.

Nathaniel “Nanda” Benson’s death for a time remained a one-off unsolved mystery. A little on the unusual side, but entirely possible that no foul play occurred, just some details that need filling in.

The shocking murder of a Red Hills man known locally as “Brute” would bring this Box Boy back into law enforcement’s line of sight, and open up questions about whether the Box Boy had simply been running away from Nathaniel Benson’s death… or leaving to find a new victim.

I’ll post Part 2, about “Brute”, shortly! Then Part 3 will be about a third murder, in which our potential Box Boy serial killer takes out… another serial killer.

I told you this one gets interesting.

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @raigash @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @outofangband @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary

115 notes · View notes

darwin-xf · 3 years

Text

Bedside Manner . 9

So this is new. But in the middle. To start from the start click here at A03

She was chilly. Cold actually, naked too, her flesh goosed, the air conditioner still chugging away, the bedspread cast aside. Gently, she disentangled from her sleeping partner, lifting his arm slung heavily over her ribs, and slipped out of bed. He resettled, but didn’t stir.

Thirsty.

Before ducking into the bathroom, she copped a gaze at snoozing Mulder in the bed. Her bed. Mid- morning sun filtering in through the windows, him bellied down on the mattress, smooth back and spindly calves protruding from the sheet that covered his glutes, his thighs. His strong stubbled jaw. Breathing deeply.

And yeah. Mulder’s recent confession aside, she wasn’t sure she should hold out any hope of ever being the pretty one in this relationship. Mulder.

Thirsty. She filled a glass with cold water from the tap and tipped it toward her lips, intent on draining it down. She caught herself, though, and spilled it down the sink. Between the hurricane and the resultant power situation, no telling what type of beasties might’ve worked their way into the water table, sea monsters aside.

Instead she grabbed a fresh washcloth off the shelf, stopped the sink and cranked the spigots full blast, holding her face over the water, breathing steam. She dipped her cupped hands and scrubbed her neck and her cheeks, her chin and nose, eyes and her forehead. She rose, and was surprised by her reflection in the glass. She smiled ruefully, though not without mirth, shaking her head.

After Mulder had turned up in her room on an otherwise ordinary night and dazzled her with his... rather extraordinary skill set? They could have walked things back. That would have been the time. Shattered as she was, there had been some privacy in the dark. A sense of remove. The fiction that he was just helping her with her cramps. Returning a favor, as it were.

After she came, she rolled away from him and hugged her knees. Remembered how to breathe. And whatever doubts and fears she’d batted away while in the clutches of her outsized need for him and the resultant hormonal surge returned all at once. Then she was rocking, swaying side to side, praying she’d come back to herself. Anxious to recover a sliver of dignity. She wished he would take the hint and go away.

She could feel him behind her, waffling...waiting... shifting on the bed. Go away, she thought. But she did not say.

A few heartbeats later, he fitted his bare chest to her back, stilling her body. When his arm came around and gathered her closer, her mind also came to rest. Then he nuzzled his face in her hair— Mulder—and she, spent and depleted, surrendered to sleep.

Still, she’s pretty sure that from there, they could have tucked that moment into some forgotten pocket and moved on. Plausibly.

Recovered their practiced dynamic, established and perfected over the course of dozens then hundreds then thousands of days and nights, filled with slideshows and jokes and car rides and quarrels and flights, interrogations and meals and phone calls and chases and meetings and fights. It was what they did. It was who they were. It was what she knew.

It was a fine thing they built over time, a beautiful jalopy of a partnership. Every week they kicked the tires, hopped in and away they went.

But it could be fragile. It was threatened, she knew on some elemental level, by whatever Mulder was working out with Diana Fowley. She planned to stay as long as she could.

But this. This. This could be even more destabilizing. Which is why she knew he’d never touch her. Even after she’d absorbed the fact that he absolutely wanted to.

Instead he’d lean into his porn and his pickup basketball, his burritos and geek talk with the Gunmen, his phone sex and his books and his movies and always, his true love, his files. Clearly he found time to pump some iron too, as much as he’d filled out in recent years. He sharpened and hardened his torso, bringing to the fore obscure muscles and tendons and veins she’d long forgotten the names of. She’d look him over coolly in the car or office, then look them up later in Gray’s Anatomy, then get herself off with the tome open next to her on her bed just like she did when she was fourteen. As if he needed another way to vex her.

To get him back she whetted and sculpted her own physique, got a better stylist who vamped and fussed over her hair until it curled just so, till she imagined that it whispered to him through the dark. After her cancer, after Jerse, with that chip in her neck and a new fierce determination, she learned to carry her losses, afraid but brave, with one true mission, and she became a new thing. So she took to wearing lower waisted pants and black bras and tighter shirts, maybe releasing an extra button to show him the hollows above her collarbones, her sternum and her throat. She gave as good as she got.

As iron sharpens iron, as it says in that oldest of books, so one person sharpens another. That was what they did. They were two flinty bodies and mismatched minds grinding and colliding, sparking and sliding, until they were each honed to the finest edge. Which they then turned against any who dared come at them.

It was all for their work. He needed it for his reasons. She needed it for her own. She loved it. Her work was the one thing she was finally getting right.

Which was funny, because by any rubric she herself might have once applied, her career was orbiting in irreversible retrograde. The types benchmarks, promotions, and accolades she might once have sought after and craved were all but lost to her. To dutifully, dumbly climb those rungs was all she had known to do, before. Before she’d met him, before she’d been drawn in to his nebulous, hazy, imbroglio world. But there, in a place she once hadn’t ever dreamed of or dared believe in, she was thriving.

Her family didn’t understand, that she knew. Within the Bureau, she'd been written off. And the funny thing was, she didn’t care. He didn’t care either, and that was the beauty of him, the quality she’d found so perplexing and attractive when they’d met. Even when it pained her, the way he led with his chin.

These days at work she’d catch wind of some drabble of gossip, or be faced with another agent, driven by petty jealousy, ignorance, or worse, who’d dismiss and demean them, and it blew right by her. Not because she’d adopted his mindset, but because she knew now what he knew then: They were scared. And they were wrong.

What she and Mulder did, what he had taught her to do, the most important tool in their remarkable combined skillset, was to not know.

Instead, to listen. To people, to situations, to evidence. Instead, to ask questions, then better questions, then even better questions, and of the right people, no matter how impertinent. With him, she was willing to forget what she knew, and open to what was really happening. And then open some more. And it was terrifying. But she did it anyway.

Every day she watched cops and scientists and doctors close themselves off. Cleave to their comfortable stories that allowed them to keep it all together. But Mulder had helped her understand something she would have once claimed to know: science is not about certainty. In fact, it’s the lack of certainty that grounds it, and the most valuable journey a scientist could undertake is to find a way of unlearning how to think about something.

Their stalemate gifted her weekends to herself, and she, monkish, holed up with her books and papers from all corners of science and strived to make senses of some of what she’d seen, to at least find the gaps between the known and what she knew, to knit the worlds together. It engrossed her completely. She’d found compatriots in the realm of theoretical physics, guys she’d dismissed out of hand when she’d been piloting toward med school, and was in regular communication with several think tanks. These people devoured her and Mulder’s work, and were startingly close to beginning to explain some of what she’d seen. In fact, if Mulder was as determined to undo them as she feared, that would be her next move. Though the prospect grieved her.

She loved him. Of course she did, and had for some time, just for his eyes, God. And his loneliness. And his compassion. And his courage. And his mind alone was like candy to her. And in a lot of important ways he loved her back, and properly. So she accepted this stasis, leaned into it. Learned to love it. He was her ticket to this ride, with his bottomless mind and nose for the unfathomable, and it thrilled her on every possible level.

But he didn’t touch her. And she didn’t touch him. That was how this worked.

When, in the dead of night, after he’d broken this very important rule, the power had returned, she’d pulled on some clothes and stole into the bathroom, splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth with jittery hands. She found her own eyes in the mirror, breathed into her belly and steadied.

“It’s fine,” she said to firmly to herself. She repeated it like a mantra as she prepared to emerge and dismiss him, send him back to his room. It’sfine it’sfine it’sfine it’sfine it’sfine it’sfine it’sfine.

When she felt good and girded, she slid into bed and settled herself. Smoothed the covers around her body and pivoted on her pillow to face him.

And then?

She doesn’t remember changing her mind. Just the feeling of her anxiety washing away. What was it she had been so worried about? It was Mulder one pillow over, feigning sleep. Just Mulder. Her dorky—albeit dashing—partner who used anagrams for pseudonyms, got seasick on ferries, and once asked her to autopsy an elephant. His ties were hopeless and half the time his socks didn’t match. Mulder.

She must admit, she’s not exactly crystal clear on how, a half hour later, she’d wound up stretched out on the bed next to him, shirtless. While he lay back on two pillows, his fingers laced behind his neck, eyes slivered to slits and raking over her body, his stiff cock in her hand, a revelation.

She loved how quiet he was in bed, his slow hands and his eyes on her, stalking her, strafing her, taking her in. She assumed he’d be as loquacious and frenetic in the sack as out of it. Not so. Mulder, surprising her again. If she had any inkling it would shut him up, she would have made a grab for his package years before.

As she worked his cock slowly with a twist of her wrist, she looked up his long brown body, his stomach undulating, his jaw clenched. And when her fist slipped over his head, he’d gasp. He reached down toward her. She thought he was going for her tits, as one would. Instead, being Mulder, he snagged her foot. Held it snug between his palms and brought it to his lips, kissed her instep, her arch. Nipped at the tips of her toes, hard enough to get her attention.

When she looked up, he captured her eyes with hers, locked her in like a tractor beam. A playful smile on his lips. She met his gaze and, held it, held it, held it... until it was too much. She blinked first, looked away.

He smiled bigger, hitched his hips and let his eyes drift shut. Closed his lips around her big toe and sucked. And some floor she’d not even realized she’d been standing on her whole life dropped out from under her.

Whoo-boy.

She was parched. She dried her face with a towel and crept back into the room. She opened the half fridge hoping for water, willing to pay the minibar markup, only to find it stocked with wine beer and soda. Chocolates and sports drinks. Blech.

Needing the real deal, the h2o, she pulled on a clean tee and some joggers, then paused. She didn’t want to rouse him, rooting around for her usual armor.

Because as the light rose in the room she could see he was well and truly out, not fake sleeping like before. Powered down, his breathing full and even, brainwaves oscillating slower and slower, La plus que lente, destination delta, lost to the world. Mulder. She was glad he was resting so deeply. He wasn’t easy to subdue. And they had, after all, kept each other up until the sky, so inky black, had turned perfectly blue.

Whoops.

As a kid she liked to imagine she’d captured a wild animal, a meerkat or panther or linx. In her pretend world she’d charm it and tame it and train it and feed it until it wanted to stay, then hide it in her room all day while she went to school. So when she got home they could play.

This was like that.

The motel was nearly deserted, and her plan was to score some cold clean water, slip back into the room, and catch a bit more sleep herself. Checking her wallet, the smallest bill she had was a ten. She folded it into her pocket, slid her keycard in beside it, and slipped out the door, making sure it shut softly behind her.

Outside, fresh air washed over her, sun bathed her face. Mulder had been spot on, the dank thick air had cleared out overnight. And the sky that had been clogged with low gray clouds for days was high and bright blue. She cased the parking lot out of habit; felt for her Glock at her back.

But she wouldn’t need it. Their rented taurus was now the lonely occupant of the sad parking lot, the lines cracked and faded, the asphalt once black baked and bleached to blue.

Everyone else had checked out and bugged out, she supposed, even the two who’d been up to no good in the next room the night before. All the better. She took a big gulp of air and steadied herself, set a course for the office to get some change.

The door was open, the little bell twinkling as she entered. But no one was manning the ship. She pressed the buzzer, stuffed her hands in her pockets, wandered over to the rack of pamphlets advertising local tourist traps. Mulder must have read every one when he came over here to scare her up some Advil, her hero for real, voracious as he is. God, Mulder. Maybe she would do something touristy with him. She eyed their options.

Wine tasting was the most adult activity. But all wrong for them. Mulder wasn’t a wine kinda guy, and she wasn’t all that curious about the fruits of the vineyards of central Florida.

She remembered Daniel raising up a glass of Burgandy or Shiraz and sniffing deeply, then offering it to her to do the same. He’d be holding forth over dinner on the finer points of wine. Or the history of photography. Or, most boringly of all, Jazz. She remembers feeling like she should learn to like these things, too. Making herself listen attentively, ask questions. And it shamed her, how she just wanted to catch a buzz and get him alone.

Mulder had never made her feel like that, not once, like she needed to try to be someone she wasn’t. They were peers, friends and foes, two kids struggling and scrapping in a sandbox, then coming together to build something intricate and fine.

Of all the touristy stuff, she found herself drawn to the go carts. Mulder’s gangly legs tucked into a little car, knees akimbo, his gaudy tie flying over his shoulder as he rounded a curve. Could be fun.

Then again, they should probably just head to the airport, let things normalize a little. Settle down. They’d passed up a half dozen chances to pump the brakes the night before, but it needed to be done. They had both agreed at some sober moment during the most interminable unlikely lovely complicated evening she’d ever spent with her partner, that they would need to reassess in the morning.

A man came into the office from the back door.

“Hello there. You must be room nine.”

“Yes,” she said. “Hello.”

“Sorry for the wait. My son’s home sick from school today. And my wife’s over in Sugarmill checking on her mom, after the storm. He’s only six so he needs some TLC. Double duty.”

“You didn’t leave him alone?”

“Oh no. My dad’s with him. They both love themselves some Spongebob.”

Scully smiled.

“How are you feeling, by the way, Miss? Your partner was concerned. Had me scare up some Advil.”

“Oh, that was you. Thank you for that. I’m fine, though.” “And your partner? He asked my wife about a doctor?” “He’s okay too. We’re both well. Thank you.” “Checking out?”

“No, actually,” Scully hadn’t even thought about calling the airport yet. They both needed badly to rest. “We’ll need the rooms one more night.”

“Very good. We’ll put you down for another night,” he said, taking a pencil to the tidy registry book in front of him. “Not like we’re busy. Storm scared away all the tourists. For a minute, at least. You two must be looking for those idiots who robbed the bank.”

Scully nodded.

“We appreciate what you do. If it wasn’t on the government, I’d comp your rooms. I don’t advertise it, but Elmer’s my cousin.”

“Really?” Scully said, shifting gears slightly. “Elmer Santiago Smith?” “Yep. Blacksheep to his bones. We’re good people, for the most part.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Scully said. She noticed the man for the first time really. Big guy with a tidy beard. Solid.

“I even gave him a job last year when he got out of prison. A-gain. Fixing things, sweeping up. That didn’t last long. He could work, Elmer, he’s always been great with cars. But work’s just never been his thing. He’s a lazy no account freeloader. But he’s harmless for the most part.”

This was true. He’d only been nabbed for bumbled burglaries, petty theft. Drug possession. “I don’t know the other guy.”

“Robert Bacon Blight,” Scully said. “He’s from Orlando. They met in prison. He’s much less harmless.” His rap sheet was more colorful: domestic violence, armed robbery, possession with intent, sexual assault.

“That’s Elmer,” he said, shaking his head. “Always falling in with the wrong crowd.” “Has anyone talked to you?” Scully said, perking up some more. “Mister?...”

“Smith. Bertram Smith. Bertie.”

“Do you have any idea where Elmer might be, Mr. Smith?”

“If I did I’da called y’all already. I doubt I’d be much help. Haven’t seen him since he quit.”

“All the same,” Scully said. “I’m going to get someone over here to interview you and your wife, in case anything comes to mind.”

“We’d be happy to help. Why not you though?”

“Oh, we’re off duty, Agent Mulder and I. We were down here on another case. Just helped out yesterday with the pursuit. We’re in a holding pattern until we can catch a flight back to DC.”

She felt a little self-conscious, now snapped back into professional mode but wearing a flimsy tank top, braless no less, and some joggers.

“Hey,” he said, peering closely at her. “You delivered that baby. I saw your picture on the news last night. They interviewed the mom. She seemed like a whack job, talking about a sea monster, of all things. Still,“ he said, shaking his head, “it was a sweet story.”

Scully nodded grimly. Oh no. The FBI was getting better at public relations. They wanted to take the focus off flubbing the bank robbery thing by pushing some human interest.

Now she had even more reasons to want to get out of Florida.

“They sure do keep y’all busy. Makes me feel a little better about that big Federal tax bite.”

“As I mentioned, we’re off duty. If you see Elmer and this other guy, Robert Bacon Blight, don’t confront them. Just call 911 and let us handle it.”

“Yes Ma’am. But I don’t expect to see him. On the news they said they were looking in Georgia. Makes sense. He’s got people there too. Anything else I can help you with?”

She flashed to Mulder asking her the same question the night before. Then shook it out of her head. “There is, actually,” Scully said. “I need change. For the vending machine.”

“Sure thing.”

He dished out ten ones and handed her back her ten spot.

She quirked her eyebrow at him.

“Drinks and snacks on the house for FBI agents who deliver babies and have to bother themselves looking for my dumbass cousin Elmer, besides,” he said, winking at her.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith. Bertie. I hope your son feels better.”

She was back out the door, and around the side of the motel, thinking only of water. She fed the limp dollars into the slot and bought three bottles, downed one of them on the spot. As she turned to head back to her room, a bottle in each hand, something caught her eye. A flash of chrome in the bright sun. It had come from a nearby abandoned barn.

She walked toward it, crossing the country road that ran behind the property and shielding her eyes, peering into the shaded structure.

She stepped inside. And there, behind a pile of stacked haybales, amidst the stifling air and dust, slatted with sunlight slashing through the crumbling roof, was a car.

An El Camino, to be exact. Red with a black racing stripe. The very same car that had spit gravel in her face the day before.

Bertie’s dumbass cousin Elmer had come home to roost.

They were here.

#msr #x files #today in fic #the x files #xf rewatch #x files fanfiction #msr fanfic #xfiles fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #agua mala #season 6 #Scully #Mulder

38 notes · View notes

calnivore · 2 years

Text

The top photo was a candid my mother snapped the day I told my brother Douglas he couldn’t possibly overpower the riding lawn mower in a push off. I’m proud to say that I won as he narrowly made his jump to safety! He passed away shortly after that picture was taken but moments like those are the most cherished memories I have.

You see, my brother was brutally murdered at 19 years old in Fredericktown, Mo on July 15th, 2010 along with numerous other young people in the years since. Many deaths were claimed to be ss as suicides until an outside investigation (2nd autopsy) proved the gunshot in the case could not have been self inflicted. The people who did it were happy to brag around town about what they did as they are in business with a large percentage of the sheriff’s dept. Written statements have disappeared upon completion, numerous leads were left uninvestigated & several potential articles of would be evidence were never looked into. Also, the department lost my brother’s open Homicide file & actually requested we give them a copy from our personal files . We refuse until something is done about the negligence! I almost forgot to mention that approximately 1/3 of the evidence collected & listed on the official evidence manifest has been lost or stolen since my brother’s passing. Luckily we still have a copy of that because fredericktown was on the news just a year or two ago for none other than missing evidence that was proven to have been collected.

I’m not asking anyone for anything as we have outside investigations being conducted now for the first time in almost 10 years. I just wanted to speak it out into existence as Doug has been heavy on my mind. If my brother & the other youth who tragically lost their lives since are not awarded justice against their killers, I intend to eventually use my name in comedy (if I get one) to expose Madison County, Mo as well as any other department who is so clearly engaging in criminal activity or turning a blind eye to heinous crimes.

I simply find it important that people understand that these things do occur outside of films & cold case files. My brother deserves justice so that he can finally rest easy.

Please like & share if you read to the end!

#true crime #justicefordouglasteel #justicefordoug #justicematters #cold case #murder investigation #my words #bullet journal #in loving memory

5 notes · View notes

emonaculate · 3 years

Text

Swindle (I)

❥ AU: Modern!Mafia AU

❥ Genre: Future Smut / Angst / minor Violence

❥ Rating: 16+

❥ Pairing: Eren Yeager x Black!Reader

❥ Word Count: 1.9K

❥ Warnings Include: Domestic abuse, Profanity, Mentions of Rape, Murder, Violence, Corruption

Summary: Y/n L/n has been a world-renowned detective-turned-lawyer who has never lost a case, well that is until the criminal she is going up against, the notorious Eren Yeager, a man who just so happens to run one of the most dangerous mafia clans known to mankind, the Yaegerists. Will Y/n manage to beat this case too or will she fall to Yeager's charm and power?

Once her black heels connected with outside concrete, Y/n felt the flashing light of paparazzi taking her picture obsessively. She held onto her file folder and walked urgently into the federal courthouse. Y/n pushed her shades up, smoothed out her white button-down blouse and her black pencil skirt before entering the courtroom to see the jury and judge already being seated.

"I guess it's time to get this show on the road." She spoke to herself as she made her way to her seat.

Y/n sat down and checked the watch on her wrist, seeing that defendant was late. Her glossed lips remained in a respectful smile as she waited for the trial to begin. This case meant a little bit more to her than the usual ones; countless women and men have been going missing only to turn up dead or worse. While there was no real evidence of what was happening to them, all the data and clues lead back to international playboy Eren Yeager. Just his name alone carried enough weight that no one else from her firm even wanted to take the case.

The dark-skinned woman opened up her file case and looked over photos and evidence gather by the incompetent police force, she had a hunch that they were well aware of Yeager's ties to the crimes but had been paid off. No matter though, Y/n took down others with even less evidence, this was going to be a breeze. A light gleamed in her dark brown eyes as her smile grew wider, she had found the perfect loophole to get him before the trial even began.

"All rise!" She heard a loud voice announce meaning the trial had finally begun.

Y/n looked up, stood, and turned her head to see the nonchalant Eren Yeager leaning back in his seat, he didn't even look prepared to go to court. His long brunette hair was pulled up into a horrible-looking man-bun, the white button he wore was untucked and slightly wrinkled, pink lipstick marks littered his neck and Y/n couldn't help but roll her eyes in annoyance.

"You may be seated. And now we will commence the trial, Eren Yeager V..."

The woman stood up and moved out of her seat heading to the floor to speak; she walked past the male without a spare glance despite feeling his turquoise eyes greedily take in her form.

"I'd like to call on the defendant to speak. I just a few questions." The smile on her face was as polite as it was sinister.

"Mr. Yeager?" The judge looked at Eren and his lawyer.

"Sure." He shrugged and stood up heading to the floor as well.

Once Eren sat down, Y/n begun throwing her questions at him with the intent of getting him to slip up.

"Mr. Yeager, the first victim I'd like to bring up is your ex-girlfriend. Historia Reiss."

"Oh? You think I killed my ex?" He said slightly amused by her claim.

"Getting to that but first; as you know, all the evidence I have was given to me by Military Police, and it's no secret that evidence mysteriously disappears within their hands. So, I took it upon myself to do research."

"Well aren't you, a good little girl?" Eren hummed as he leaned over the banister.

"There's nothing little about me, however, I do pride myself on being a good girl." Y/n matched his banter whilst remaining professional, there was no way she'd allow him to get under her skin today, after all, she needed to avenge those poor souls.

"Back on topic, You and Miss Historia were a public couple for two months and then you just broke it off correct?"

"Correct. Mutual break up."

"So you had no problem seeing her with your brother just two days afterward? You felt no type of jealousy or anger?"

"I felt nothing at all. She was someone that lived in the moment. One day her favorite color was red, the next it was blue."

"Are you saying that Historia was just a fling?"

"Precisely."

Y/n's smile wavered for a moment and she bit her lip, knowing that what she was going to say next could throw the case from her side. It was risky but given how calm and collected Eren was currently looking, she knew she needed to get the jury antsy or at least stir something in the male to make him break or crack just a little.

"When Miss. Reiss's body was found, did you know she had been sexually assaulted moments before being shot to death? Her autopsy showed signs of struggling."

"..." Eren's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the woman.

"Miss. L/n.." The judge warned cautiously.

"My apologies. I have no further questions." Y/n turned prepared to walk back to her seat.

"I heard. I heard what happened to her. But no I had no part of it." Eren coolly breathed out.

Y/n looked back at him as she sat back down knowing that now it was time to bring out the big guns. She knew that there was no way in hell that he had anything to do with the death of Historia, but it was still a necessary blow to get him to crack and it certainly worked its magic. Even though the crack was no more than a small slither, it was enough for Y/n to slide through.

She took a sip of her water to wet her tongue as she listened to multiple victims' families break down and cry in front of Eren as they questioned the whereabouts of their loved ones' remains. Despite all of that Eren insisted he had no idea or part in any of it. Y/n stood back up prepared for round two, feeling confident enough that she was going to break him.

"As previously stated by others, most of the victims died in the same way and were women. I couldn't help but notice one fact."

"And that might be?" His guard was up, no longer holding onto that flirtatious persona, he had dawned earlier.

"They all rival the murder of your mother Karla Yeager."

And there it was, the mask that his face held came crashing down straight to the floor. Y/n's smile disappeared as well, nothing left but a solemn look as her brown eyes held a serious gaze with his rage-filled turquoise ones.

"My mother?" He sounded pissed and had begun to slightly shake.

"I told you, I did my homework. The autopsy for the late Mrs. Yeager, she was gunned down in midday light and no one saw anything, well know one but you. Am I correct?"

"Miss. L/n." The judge's voice boomed as he stared down at the woman in disbelief.

"Just a moment. Eren when your mother died, you were a young boy. So no one believed you when you protested about the 'titans' that took away your mother. And everyone that has been murdered besides Historia Reiss had a connection to 'Titans', excuse me, I mean the Marleyan Mafia." Y/n concluded not noticing Eren's face morphing into one of complete and utter rage.

"Now I have no further question-"

Y/n's words were cut off by the sound of an explosion, the commotion and debris sending her to the floor. The courtroom door burst open as Y/n began to sit up, the sound of gunshots rang off in her ears.

Screams and cries soon began to follow, Y/n's eyes widened in horror as she watched the body of the judge fall from his bench, blood splattering against the ground and oozing out of the open wound against his split opened head.

Eren stepped down from his stand and moved towards Y/n who shook on the floor. His face calm and collected again, despite the chaos that was raging. He gripped Y/n's arm harshly and tugged her up off the ground despite her struggle and stumbling.

"Drop the act, Y/n. The majority of the section has been cleared out." He finally said.

With his words, Y/n stood up straight as a smile formed on her face as she shoved him away from her.

"About time. I don't think I could sit through any more sob stories."

"That was a low blow about my mother, don't think you're getting off easy." He frowned gripping her wrist again.

"Oh? I did what I had to do. But consider it payback for all the other dirty work, I've had to do for you."

"You like getting dirty for me." His hand trailed up to her face as he squeezed her jaw tightly.

"Not when it involves me dealing with those perverted pigs at the station. Now let's go, I'm sure Armin is waiting for us."

She shoved him away again and turned on her heel walking past the fresh corpses toward the back exit that had been cleared completely out, Y/n gave Eren a blank look pausing in her steps.

"You owe me a new pair of shoes by the way."

"You keep giving me attitude and we'll see who owes who," He warned as he pulled out his phone to call Armin. "Blow this shit to hell."

Y/n watched him give commands over the phone and bit her lip, it was making her feel some type of way. God, it had been too long, a year without any real contact to ensure that this latest plan would work. Most of the jury had been people with ties to the Marleyan gang that Eren had been plotting to take out. The only way to get so many of them in one place was to have a trial and make it look as if it was certain Eren was going to jail.

"You know that if you come with me, you'll be a wanted woman." Eren voiced having hung up on Armin.

"Come on, you going soft on me Yeager? What happened to the only way out is death?"

He walked up to her and placed his forehead on hers silently. Y/n knew what he was trying to say, he had a superstition that if he admitted he loved her vocally, she would wind up dying just like everyone else he loved.

"I'm not leaving you. Now let's go before we get blown the fuck up." She mumbled softly as she pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

He laughed and held onto her hand as she made her way to the car that had been planted for them to escape in. The model was an old and retro mustang with a classy red paint job.

"Connie?" Y/n questioned as she slipped into the car.

"He thought it would look badass if we drove away from an exploding building with a mustang." Eren rolled his eyes whilst getting in as well as revving the engine.

"I gotta admit, it does sound hot."

Eren rolled his eyes and began to count down from ten, continuously revving the engine waiting for the explosions to begin. Y/n leaned back in her seat with a crazed smile on her face, the thrill of living life on the edge was getting to her again. Out of nowhere, the planted bombs began to go off one by one. Eren stepped on the gas and sped away from the sounds, the car jumping and bouncing from the debris of the explosions hitting against the car. Y/n held onto her seatbelt and laughed whole-heartedly as she looked at her boyfriend whose eyes were trained on the road, and that's when she knew she meant what she said.

She would follow him until the day she died.

41 notes · View notes

daily-dose-of-imagines · 4 years

Text

ᴀɴ ᴜɴʟɪᴋᴇʟʏ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ | ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ 𝘋𝘳. 𝘚𝘛𝘖𝘕𝘌 | [ꜰᴏʀᴇɴꜱɪᴄꜱ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟɪꜱᴛ!ꜱᴇɴᴋᴜ x ᴅᴇᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ] ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇ

Here’s a one-shot for my best leek boy~! As you can most likely tell-- I absolutely adore any sort of show that deals with the realistic and understanding of human decomposition and how the forensics teams work~ So I decided to do a little twist with a modern AU~! I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did writing it ;; and as always, thank you all for your love and support for our blog~!

» » Admin Ko

An aggravated sigh filled the empty void of white. The figure that stood near the stacks of unfinished paper work couldn’t help but run a hand through his silver and green hair as he lazily flipped through the stacks of paper awaiting to be filled in with his chicken scratch.

Despite having chosen this career, he couldn’t deny the blatant hatred he had for filing out the mountains of paper work that was undoubtedly tied to it. Ishigami Senku, a renowned forensics specialist at such a young age, had to admit that despite how much he wanted to avoid and honestly burn the hoard of paper, that it was most definitely vital in his line of work.

After all, no matter how much he enjoyed being able to complete experiments on the human body and testing new theories, he had to at least make up for the sheer horror and grotesque methods he choose to come exhibit during his trials.

“Tch...I wonder if I can pawn this off to Chrome... hehe perhaps with the right convictions I’ll get him to do it all for me~.”

A devious grin graced the young specialist as he began to shift the paperwork from his desk to his apprentice’s desk. A soft melodic tune escaping his pursed lips as he casually whistled the troubles away as he admired his handiwork.

“Hello? Is Ishigami in?”

The new voice that filled the cramped and bright space had the male in question quirk an eyebrow up as he slowly cocked his head. Scarlet hues quickly began to dissect and analyze the new body as the person in question merely stared back at him with a curious gaze of her own.

“...mmmm....garbs are too tattered and clearly worn in....dark circles around the eyes....lack of physical appeal to the opposite gender...a detective?”

“Hey! I heard that! What the hell do you mean by lack of physical appearance?!”

Immediately, irritation flitted through her veins at the blunt and uncaring tone that left the male’s voice. Despite having been warned about his careless and aloof personality, she hadn’t exactly expected to be ‘insulted’ within the first couple of minutes with meeting the estranged specialist.

“What brings you here detective? As you can see I’m quite...busy, so I’d rather you cut to the chase rather than try to argue with me.”

Again, a mere shrug off his shoulders as he lazily began to pick at his ear. The lack of care and desire to even properly greet her grated against her nerves as she fought the urge to walk over and rip the multicolored leek colored locks out of his annoying head.

“I-- god I’m not even going to bother. I’m here to introduce myself to you. Believe it or not Ishigami, but we’re going to be much more...acquainted.”

“Oh? I’m intrigued. Explain to me what you mean pea-brain.”

“P-Pea-brain--”

Another aggravated inhale.

“T-To put it simply ‘you short leek’ I’ll be visiting your office frequently. The cases I’ve been assigned will have me practically in and out of your office constantly, and I would appreciate your expertise and help in completing and solving these cases.”

“Ah, you’re insinuating the sudden uproar of with the murders popping up throughout the city. Haven’t gotten any leads, have you detective?”

“N-No-- as I said I just received the case---”

“Well no point in trying to solve them if you’re trying to make friends with me. Tell you what pea-brain, if you’re able to come up with some interesting new evidence that even the veteran detectives can’t find, I’ll consider partnering up with you.”

A twitch to her right eye. One that she could feel and was almost certain that it was noticeable as the cocky grin that graced the other’s lips beamed straight at her. The first thought that came to her mind was: insufferable. How had she been given such a ‘privilege’ to work with such an experienced forensics specialist? Even she didn’t know. At this point, she wished she could take back the enthusiasm she showed for the case.

“Well? What’ll it be pea-brain?”

Again, she reviewed his words in her head. The choices that were lain before her only had a headache slowly work it’s way up as she felt the sudden strong desire to have a drink after her shift ended for the day.

“...Fine. I’ll take on your stupid challenge.”

“Excellent~. Do make sure it’s something worth my time Detective~.”

With a wave of his fingers being the last thing she saw, she immediately rushed out of the office back to the hallway before letting out an aggravated yell. Completely unaware of the mirthful scarlet eyes that kept watch on her retreating back as he made his way over to his desk.

“Hmmm...let’s see just who you are detective.”

»»————-　★　————-««

A week had passed. The information she gained only seemed to multiply in her face as she sat her desk. The stacks of paper work and empty coffee cups that littered her car and desk seemed to be all too telling to her associates as to how hard she was working on the case.

Taking a deep breath and leaning back into her chair, she couldn’t help but stare up at the ceiling as she allowed her eyes the much needed break from staring at the black and white texts along with the grotesque mutilated bodies that were photographed at each crime scene.

A light chuckle escaped her lips as she reminisced on her first visit to one of the many crime scenes when she was first assigned to the case and found how terrifying it was that she now was practically immune to the sights and smells now. Of course, the motive and reasoning behind each murder had her stomach swirl with disgust and unprecedented rage, but even then she couldn’t do much besides look.

“What exactly are the motives...why are there so many?”

Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to briefly rest. A brief run through of all the images of the bodies and words mindlessly ran through as she soaked up the information she had tried to observe when she had first started for the day.

Though as she thought back to the photos, she couldn’t help but furrow her brows at the strange pattern that continued to show up. Quickly sitting up, she rummaged through the photos and theories that the rest of the detectives on the case had come up with.

It was without a doubt something sinister. Tragic even, and many had considered it to be a large organization. A cult even.

“But...even for a cult...a lot of these are premeditated, yet hold such strange religious symbolism...what exactly--- maybe?”

Jumping out of her seat, she found herself rushing towards the forensics lab. The weariness that once plagued her body now gone as she felt a surge of adrenaline run through her body at the sudden information that ran through her mind.

Finding the familiar and dreaded door, she pushed her way in. The sight before her practically comical as she almost forgot what was on her mind. Ishigami sat atop what seemed to be his assistant. Two cotton swabs placed against the male’s nostrils as screams of pain escaped from the brown haired male.

“Wake up and smell the ammonia. We have paperwork Chrome~.”

Though as dark burgundy eyes finally met her own adrenaline filled (e/c) ones, he couldn’t help but slowly pick himself up as the man named Chrome pulled the cotton swabs out of his nose before kneading at the abused airways.

“Oh? Looks like the pea-brain stopped by. What did you find out---”

“What if this is all an elaborate plan?”

“...Okay, explain?”

“The cult-like activity. The multiple killings. Sacrifical pawns. The strange messages? What if...it’s a preparation for something big? A doomsday sort of attack?”

“A demand for a rebirth for the country then. That’s what you’re saying? Even so, why is that a theory?”

“The positioning and contents of the bodies. I know you did the autopsies, you saw what the bodies were filled with Ishigami.”

“Tch...you’ve got some brain cells that’s for sure pea-brain. You’re correct, each body was filled with something that coincided with the corrupt society we live in. Even then--”

“What if...the people involved aren’t cultists, but people in the higher ups with position of power?”

The silence that filled the room had her heart quicken in pace as she watched dark scarlet eyes shift to the files that laid messily across his desk. A low chuckle escaping the male as he slowly returned his gaze to her.

“Well that means we’re going to have to look into this a little more then. Won’t we, partner?”

#Dr. Stone x reader #dr. stone #dr. stone imagines #ishigami senku x reader #ishigami senku #senku x reader #modern au #modern crime au

105 notes · View notes

maxineswritingcenter · 3 years

Text

Bray Road - Fox Mulder x nonbinary!reader part 4

It only took a couple months for my to get back on the old horse, everything's fine.

(Y/P/L/N) = your previous last name since the character is adopted

---------

"Good evening, agents. I'm doctor Winterfield, how can i-" The doctor stopped as he looked up at the agents and closed the door, "Assist you..." (Y/N) recognized everything about him. His gravely voice. His dusty blonde hair and his dark brown eyes. He had been so young when she last saw him, but now he looked to be around his mid-forties. Twenty fives years since they last saw his face.

Mulder interrupted the silence, flashing his badge, "Agents Fox Mulder and agent-"

"(Y/N) (Y/P/L/N). I never forget a patient." The doctor said their name before Mulder had a chance to. Their stomach clenched as the doctor took a step forward.

"Look at you, I haven't seen you since were up to my waist. How's your asthma?"

(Y/N) swallowed, "It's fine. I only use my inhaler for emergencies." They gave a weak smile to be polite but everything was telling them to run.

"That's good. Very good. If your parents, may they rest in peace, if they had let you continue your treatment here, we would could have cured you of your asthma." He said.

Mulder narrowed his eyes at the doctor, "Asthma can't be cured. It's not like a pneumonia."

"The trials (Y/N) was undergoing was for a new strain of albuterol and would repair their lungs and airways and the asthma would simply become useless genes." Winterfield explained.

"Would you be able show us the research for this strain?" Mulder asked.

"Oh no. There was a fire about ten so odd years ago. Everything was destroyed, files, research you name it."

Mulder only nodded. Fighting to keep themselves from breaking down, (Y/N) opened up the file they had been keeping at their side.

"Dr. Winterfield-"

"Oh please, call me Lyle." The doctor grinned. His teeth were impossibly white.

"Dr. Winterfield-," They repeated, "Have you treated these boys?" They showed the pictures if the boys who were in the latest attack. There seemed to be some recognition in his eyes.

"Of course. I've treated all the children in this town."

"Did they also have asthma?" Mulder asked. Confusing (Y/N) profusely.

"Oh if I can recall. I do believe the Mulligan boy had it. I don't see how that's relevant to them being attacked by a bear." The doctor said.

"The medical report never mentioned a bear." They said, scrunching their eyebrows together.

"No, but from what I've heard, there isn't anything else is could be." Dr. Winterfield mused, then turned back to (Y/N), "Even your parents."

Mulder opened his mouth to tell the doctor that (Y/N) parents were only considered dead on the technicality that even though their bodies were never found with the blood evidence found they were dead. But his partner spoke up.

"Agent Mulder, I think it's time we leave and let the doctor get back to work." They smiled politely, "Have a good day, Doctor."

"And you too." Dr. Winterfield smiled, opening the door for them.

The agents were driving toward the motel when Mulder spoke up.

"You okay?" He asked. (Y/N) hadn't noticed they were staring off into the distance until they heard his voice.

"No," They said honestly, "he really shook me up. I don't know why."

"I have a theory." Mulder said, stopping at a four way. The sound of the rentals blinker filled the silence.

"What's that?"

"Well, I'm no dentist, but it doesn't take a degree to tell that one of his molars was missing." His words made their blood go cold.

"You don't think-"

"I don't think, I know. But the only connection to you and the most recent case is that the Mulligan kid has asthma." He paused when his phone rang, he motioned for them to grab it. (Y/N) tried to keep their blush to minimum when pulling the phone from his jacket pocket. They answered and pressed the speaker.

"Mulder." He said.

"It's Scully, are you alone?"

"No, I have Agent (Y/L/N) with me." There was a pause on the other end of the line. Mulder looked over at (Y/N) out of the side of his vision, then back at the road. "It's alright, Scully, I trust them. Besides, they're apart of the XFile."

"That's good. It's better that they hear this then." She said.

"What is it, Agent Scully?" (Y/N) asked.

"I was able to get a look at the autopsy reports you sent and the blood work was strange."

"How so?" They asked.

"The blood types of the victims were identified but there was also another blood type found that didn't match any of the others. And this blood type is nothing like I've ever seen before. It's human but we also found traces of DEA."

"DEA? Isn’t that-" Mulder asked.

"Dog Erythrocyte Antigen. Humans have ABO blood typing while the DEA is for canines."

"Like wolves." Mulder and (Y/N) said together.

"Exactly. And there's something else, the victim in the hospital, Jason Mulligan, also has traces of DEA in his blood." As soon as Mulder heard this he made a complete u-turn, leaving the direction of the hotel to go to the hospital.

"Scully, I'm gonna have to call you back." He hung up the phone.

"Mulder, what's going on?" They asked, holding onto the dashboard from the sudden movement.

"What's going on is the sun is going down and Jason is about to have his first transformation."

At the hospital, both agents exited the vehicle, but Mulder paused.

“I gotta make a call, you go inside and check on Jason.” (Y/N) nodded, making their way inside. Mulder jogged to the payphone near the hospital entrance. He fed the machine a quarter and dialed the number.

“This is the Lone Gunmen, who gave you this number?” A distorted robotic voice answered the call.

“Give it a rest, it’s Mulder.” He smiled slightly.

“Oh.” The voice said before Langley’s familiar voice spoke, “Hey Mulder, why did you call through the tip line.”

“Keeping you on your toes and being mysterious.” He joked.

“He’s not wrong.” Frohike chimed in, surely getting a glare from Langley, “How’s Scully doing.”

“Scully’s fine, casanova. She’s resting. How much do you know about pharmaceuticals?”

“Not much from me. Byers?” Langley called.

“Nothing I can’t find.” Byers spoke up, “What are we looking at: opioids, depressants? Anti-depressants?”

“Albuterol.” Mulder answered, “Our suspect is a pediatrician who gave his patients a “new strain” that supposedly was meant to cure asthma.” He could hear typing in the background.

“I’m not finding anything from the CDC or any published medical literature on anything about a new miracle cure for asthma.” Langley mused.

“Checks out. What about DEA in human blood?” Mulder asked, waiting for the theories.

“It’s impossible for human and canid blood to mix in anyway to create a living being.” Langley said.

“What about the Michigan Dogman, how do you explain that?” Frohike cut in.

“Oh have you tested the Dogman’s blood? Let me see your research, you little gremlin.”

“Hey. Enough. Last thing, I need a background on a Doctor Lyle Winterfield.” Mulder looked around, seeing an the sheriff pulling into the parking lot.

“We’ll look into it for you.” Byers said over the yelling of Langley and Frohike, “Gunmen out.” The line went dead. The sheriff seemed to make his way over to Mulder in a hurry.

“Agent, we got a problem.”

“What is it?”

“That Mulligan kid, he’s goin’ on a rampage inside.” Mulder’s eyes widened, realizing he had sent (Y/N) in there alone.

“Lead the way.” They both ran inside.

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

So this part is a little shorter than usual, but I wanted to save the next scene for its own post. Also sorry it's been a while. I've been sad.

Read part 5 here!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

To be on the taglist, please message me.

Bray Road Tag:

@theres-a-dog-outside-omg

@nyotamalfoy

@bi-andready-tocry

#fox mulder x reader #xfiles imagine #fox mulder #the xfiles #maxineswritingcenter #mulder x reader #spooky mulder

26 notes · View notes

enigmaticxbee · 4 years

Text

✖️✖️✖️✖️ 4x13 Never Again

The one where... Scully gets a tattoo.

Best: Scully: Not everything’s about you, Mulder. This is my life. Mulder: Yes but it’s m- Followed by uncomfortable silence. This ending haunts me. Their utter inability to communicate.

Worst: Let! Scully! Fuck! The original script made it clear Scully slept with Ed Jerse. But the episode doesn’t. It goes out of its way to show Ed waking up on the couch and Scully in his bed. She’s wearing his shirt, so mixed messages. But that was enough for me, as a young watcher who shied away from the thought of Scully/other, to think it didn’t happen, Scully wouldn’t do that! Now, as an adult woman, I’ve come around to: of course Scully would do that. Why shouldn’t she? Some of the fics I list below helped me come around on this.

❌ Flashlights

❌ Woods

❌ Slideshow

❌ Autopsy

❌ Evidence Disappears

❌ Scully Misses It

✔️ Mulder Ditch

❌ Sunflower Seeds

❌ Voiceover

❌ Catch Phrase

✔️ Scully is a (Medical) Doctor

❌ Mulder is Spooky

❌ Scuuullllaaaaayy! Muullllderrrr!

❌ Fox/Dana

❌ Inappropriate Touching (that I am here for)

✔️ Casual Scully

✔️ Casual Mulder

✔️ Trench Coats

❌ Bad Tie Watch

❌ Glasses Watch

✔️ Taking! It! Personally!: Scully & Mulder

50 States: D.C. x29, Pennsylvania x11 & Tennessee x4 (33/50)

Investigate: Together & Apart

Solve Rate: 62%

❌ Bechdel Test: Scully doesn’t speak to another named female character.

MSR: 🐝🐝🐝🐝

Goriness: 👽👽👽

Creepiness: 👽👽👽

Humor: 👽👽👽

Rewatch Thoughts:

I understand why the change in episode order bothers some people. Never Again was originally slated to come before Leonard Betts. And it does change things if Scully’s motivated by the revelation that she may have cancer rather than just a general dissatisfaction and disconnection from her life the way everyone feels at times. But I do take it as canon that this comes after Leonard Betts. And it fits for me that pushing away the fear of her own mortality would make her edgy and impulsive and questioning her life choices.

Is that Jodie Foster at the beginning as one of Ed’s coworkers? Or just a Jodie Foster look alike? She’s just credited in this episode for her voice work.

Scully in RED. She should always wear red.

Mulder complaining that Scully needs a multi-media laser show to keep her interested. Is that why he put together all those elaborate slideshows in the first season? He was nervous she might not be interested?

The desk argument. This is such a pet peeve of mine. I love the interpretation that the desk is really their shared space. But he should get her a fucking nameplate. Or she should get herself a fucking nameplate. The show should have gotten her a fucking nameplate! The fact that this wasn’t addressed in the revival - uuuuhhhhhhh!!! I digress.

Mulder: This work is my life. Scully: And it’s become mine. Mulder: You don’t want it to be. He seems taken aback, hurt by this. Even though he just accused her of being just assigned. My most charitable interpretation of Mulder’s shitty behavior in this scene is that he’s noticed her pulling away from him recently, he sees her completely disinterest in this case and is feeling insecure. To Mulder interest and investment in the X-Files are synonymous with him - this work is my life. Rejecting the X-Files is the same as rejecting him. But he can’t express any of that so he just lashes out with nasty quips about squeezing another desk into the office.

I never really found Ed Jerse attractive. But I can see it now in this tattoo parlor scene where they first meet. And he is definitely at least superficially similar to Mulder - tall, dark and handsome.

Mulder says let’s take some time apart but then CALLS her from Graceland. Mulder: I’m at that special place, and I wanted to share it with you. Mulder: I knew you wouldn’t abandon me. Mulder’s being pretty clingy. See above re: Mulder’s insecurity about Scully’s commitment to the X-Files and to him.

I don’t think Scully was intending to call Ed Jerse until Mulder provokes her with the date comment. Is this first time since The Jersey Devil in early season 1 that he’s asked her about her dating life? On screen anyway. And he clearly doesn’t think she’s going to say yes, because he’s surprised and hurt when she doesn’t deny it. Notice he immediately turns around and is back in DC by the next morning despite telling Scully he was taking a week’s enforced vacation.

The burn through Ed Jerse’s face in the picture with his kids. Scully looks at that and instead of getting out of there she... asks him to take her to a crummy bar, which he described as being good for when you’re feeling down. Is she thinking well, clearly this date is not going to go anywhere, no use in pretending by going to a fancy restaurant - it can just be what it is - getting drunk at a crummy bar and then maybe a one night stand?

Scully describes her daddy issues as being attracted to controlling authority figures who she wants approval from but ends up rebelling against. Superficially you can see how that might apply to Mulder, and how trying to break that pattern might be holding her back from admitting her feelings for him. She does want his approval, we’ve seen how much she doesn’t want to disappoint him or let him see her weaknesses. (Her conversation with the therapist in Irresistible in season 2 comes to mind). But they’ve always been partners, equals. And she doesn’t need to rebel against Mulder - she’s rebelling with Mulder against expectations for her life, her father, the FBI, the government.

Is this tattoo scene the sexiest scene in txf? And then in his apartment when he restrains her wrist, and she definitely likes it. (Cue the pain turns Scully on fanfic)

Seeing Scully brutally attacked like this is really upsetting.

I’ve never seen an apartment building with an incinerator in the basement. But this not the last man who will stop himself from killing Scully by burning something (tattoo here in Ed Jerse’s case, book in Padgett’s case in Milagro) in a basement incinerator...

Episode-Related Fanfic Recs: There are SO many good Never Again fics.

The Common Fate of All Things Rare by @aloysiavirgata & Scarlet. This is a longer multi-chapter fic that fills in the blank between the silences and raw emotions of Never Again and Mulder bringing flowers to the hospital at the beginning of Momento Mori. I’ve gone back to this one many times.

Submission by @admiralty-xfd . This one really brought me around on Scully having sex with Ed Jerse by bringing it back to the msr. The first chapter takes place during Never Again and gave me the headcanon of Scully asking Ed to call her Scully instead of Dana while they’re fucking. And the second chapter takes place during the revival with Mulder and Scully finally talking about her tattoo and Jerse.

Seeing Red by @mldrgrl . Short post-ep. Scully gets a nose bleed. This isn’t about a desk, is it?

Prompt 8. Hands brushing unexpectedly by @whats-a-scully . The post-episode tension between them is exquisite.

Blackberry by @foxmulders . Scully accidentally gets punched by a guy in a bar and Mulder goes after him. Raw feelings from Never Again finally get addressed.

The Tattoo by @soft-thrills . They finally discuss her tattoo and everything it represents many years later.

Philadelphia by @soft-thrills . Missing scene for Home Again from season 10, but Scully’s thinking about another ill fated trip to Philadelphia.

#xf rewatch #xf fanart #the x files #the xfiles #thexfiles #xf #txf #i want to believe #truth is out there #xf motw #xf review #msr #fic recs #4x13 #never again

94 notes · View notes

cutelittlestar · 4 years

Text

Maniac: Chapter 4 || Peter Parker x Detective!Reader

Summary: As you and Peter investigate an abandoned warehouse, you come to find something shocking and terrifying, paralyzing you with fear.

Note: Hello lovelies! I am so sorry this took FOREVER to post - I’ve been extremely busy with college and never had the time to write - but here it is :) Also, I know the image above is of Taskmaster, but this is how I pictured the villain to look like!

Warning(s): topics of death and murder, prostitution, violence, stalking, blood, angst, cursing. MATURE CONTENT, 18+

Word Count: 6.1k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

You sat in front of your desk, rubbing your eyes as you tried your best to remain awake. Your eyes scanned over the various sheets of paper scattered around your desk, and you let out a sigh of frustration. There was no resourceful information discovered on Elizabeth’s devices.

Despite the setback, you thought it would be a good idea to search the streets. Since Elizabeth was committing the same activities as the previous victims, you went to the same location Glimmer and Amanda were usually at. You knew that it was a big stretch, but you hoped that the other workers would tell you what they knew. However, once you arrived, none of the workers were willing to talk to you. You could see in their eyes how much they wanted to speak, but just as they were about to open their mouths, they remained silent. They knew of something but decided it was better to not involve themselves. You were disappointed, but you couldn’t blame them; they were terrified of becoming the next victim.

It’s almost been a week since Elizabeth was murdered, and you have yet to find any new information about the killer. You started to become convinced that the killer was never going to be caught.

No, you think to yourself. I can’t think like this, not when so many people are counting on me.

You stand up and walk away. Maybe you weren’t looking hard enough. Maybe you missed a crucial detail in the files, so you decided to check once more, hoping you would discover something new. You head towards the evidence room and scavenge through various boxes. As you grab the files and walk out of the room, you begin to read. Your eyes scanned over the paper, but everything that was written down was information you already knew. Just as you’re about to close the file, your fingers stop moving as you come across a photo.

You sharply inhale as you stare at the photo of Glimmer, her bright smile causing immense pain to course throughout your body. Your fingers lightly trace her face, and you began to remember the memories you shared with her. A soft smile makes its way onto your face, but then it quickly disappears as you notice another photo attached to the file.

The autopsy photo of Glimmer.

“I’m sorry,” you softly whisper, hoping no one heard your voice.

It felt as if you stood in the middle of the room for an eternity, but you’re immediately pulled out of your thoughts as you hear a loud cough come from behind. You rapidly close the file, holding them to your side before turning around to greet the citizen. Instead, you’re met with Peter, who awkwardly stands a few feet away from you.

“Oh. Peter,” you say, surprised to see him. “Is everything alright?”

You expect him to respond, but he doesn’t. Then, you notice how his lips form a firm, straight line like he’s distraught on what to say. You furrow your eyebrows, worried about Peter’s silence, but before you could say anything else, your eyes land on the clock behind Peter. Your shift ended two hours ago.

“Shit,” you said, thinking that Peter was upset you didn’t come home when you were supposed to. “Peter,” you began to explain, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you, I was just-”

“It’s alright, Y/N,” Peter confesses, offering you a genuine smile. You close your mouth, a bit puzzled that he was so calm, but then you nod your head, happy that he wasn’t angry. However, Peter’s smile is immediately gone and is now replaced with a serious expression.

“Can we talk? In private?” Peter whispers, stepping closer to you. Peter’s hand delicately rests on your forearm, and he softly squeezes it.

You stare at where his hand lays, ignoring how your heart accelerated, but then you looked into his eyes, nodding your head. “Sure.”

You placed the files on your desk, giving Michael a short response when he asked where you were going. As you head towards Peter, you didn’t realize how Michael eyed you until you were out of his sight. He was a bit jealous - jealous because when Peter arrived, you immediately dropped everything.

Peter directed you towards the supply closest, to which you were a bit confused about, but you decided to not question it. Instead, you grab the doorknob and open the door, flicking on the light switch. You watch Peter linger behind, making sure no one was watching nor following before he entered and locked the door.

“Pete, you’re kinda freaking me out.” You stare at his cold expression, wondering what was on his mind. If he had to come all the way to your work, it had to be something important.

“I’ve been searching every possible location with high levels of vibranium,” Peter finally manages to reveal, gaining your fully devoted attention. “But there were no traces of anyone recently there.”

Peter watches your face contort to disappointment, but no words come out of your mouth.

“There’s only one more place left that I need to check out, and I wanted to come to you and let you know of my plan before I go tonight,” Peter adds.

There’s a short moment of silence, and you place your arms across your chest. Peter waits for your response, but you merely take in a big, deep breath before releasing it.

“Okay,” you say a few seconds later, nodding your head. “But I’m coming with you.”

“What?” Peter said, not liking what you suggested. “There’s no way you’re coming with me. It’s too dangerous.”

A scowl appears on your face and you felt your blood boil as you listened to Peter’s words. Of course you knew that it was dangerous, but you’re a fucking detective. You knew of the risks, but that wasn’t going to deter you away from danger.

“Peter,” you loudly exasperate. Peter could see your anger, it was apparent, and just as you’re about to scold him, you bite your tongue. You needed to go. After everything that the person has done to you, you felt it was only right if you came along. It was your case.

“I’ve been chasing this prick for weeks,” you reveal to Peter, your voice as smooth as silk. “I need to come. I need to catch him. Please, Peter,” you beg, hoping that he would understand your request.

Peter stayed quiet, a bit conflicted about what to do. But, after a while, Peter let out a sigh, nodding his head. “Alright, but we need to leave now.”

“I’ll go grab my jacket.”

- - - - - - - - -

The abandoned warehouse was tightly nestled between other desolated buildings. The stillness of the area was ominous, causing you to become a bit worried, but you brushed your fear aside and raised your head high- ready to investigate the area.

“The frequency of the vibranium is a lot stronger than the other places I’ve been to,” Peter confesses, standing right beside you. Both of you stared at the tall, wrecked, and stretched-out warehouse but neither of you move; if you wanted to cover the whole building, you would have to split up, so you needed to come up with a plan. Before you could suggest your idea, Peter interrupts you.

“Stay here,” Peter declared. You whip your head to face him, giving him a disbelief expression.

“What? There’s no way I’m staying put. I’m coming with you,” you argued, once again, becoming bothered that Peter wasn’t giving you the chance to speak for yourself. You weren’t some damsel in distress, you were perfectly capable of investigating with him.

“I thought we were supposed to be partners, Peter. I’m not you’re fucking sidekick,” you spat. Your patience was running thin, and Peter’s comment was making you more aggravated by the second.

“Damnit Y/N!” Peter yelled, causing you to take one step back. Peter’s breathing was more noticeable than before, and you knew that he was angry with you, but you didn’t give up. You continued to stare him down, despite being unable to look into his eyes. It looked as if Peter wanted to argue, but he remained quiet. Instead, Peter steps back.

“You don’t get it,” Peter whispered, thinking you were unable to hear him, but you heard him perfectly clear.

Within a mere second, your fury returned. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m a cop, Peter. I risk my life just as many times as you do.” Peter rubs his hands over his face, feeling his body turn hot from irritation.

Suddenly, Peter drops his hands and furiously walks over to you until he’s only a few centimeters away from your face. You expect Peter to continue yelling, but instead, Peter reaches down, tightly grasping your hand. You take a sharp inhale.

“What if something horrible happens and I’m not there to protect you?” Peter weakly states, his voice slightly cracking as he begins to imagine the worst. “What if -god forbid- you die? I can’t have that on my conscious, Y/N. I can’t lose you, not like-”

Peter bites his lip, unable to continue speaking; he hangs his head low as if he’s ashamed of mentioning his name. The frustration you once felt was completely gone as you watched Peter stand still. Although Peter’s face was covered by his mask, you recognized that he was trying his hardest to hold back the tears. You knew who he was speaking of, but you were also scared to mention his name out loud.

At that moment, you understood Peter’s behavior. He wasn’t holding you back because he doesn’t think you’re strong enough.

He was holding you back because he’s afraid he’s going to lose you.

You never thought that anyone cared about you, but as you continued to stare at Peter, you learned that you were wrong. A heavy load sits on your chest, making it hard for you to properly breathe.

Peter cares.

By instinct, you reach your hands out until they rested on Peter’s cheeks; you hoped he had the strength to look into your eyes, but he continued to stare at the ground. He was petrified, and so were you, but you needed to remain strong.

“I know you’re scared, but I can take care of myself,” you remarked, gingerly rubbing his face with your thumbs. “You have nothing to worry about, Pete, but you have to trust me.”

Peter slightly moves his body from side to side, and you feel your hands turn clammy as you were met with silence.

“Do you?” you asked.

You stared into his suit goggles, hoping he would say something, but Peter simply nods his head before stepping back. A sharp pain settles itself in your chest as your hands fall to your sides, but you swallow your emotions and put on a poker face, hoping he didn’t detect your slight change of behavior.

Peter digs his hand into his pocket. “C-can you just wear this? Please?” Peter said, extending his arm out and grabbing your hand, placing something in your palm.

“It’s an earpiece, so we can communicate. Press the center if you’re in danger; I’ll be there as fast as I can.” Peter remarked. You twirled the device laying on your hand before placing it in your ear. Soon after that, you and Peter began to form ideas until you were both satisfied with the plan.

“Be safe,” you tell Peter as you now stand in the middle of the main floor. You barely entered the abandoned warehouse, but you were already entirely swallowed by the darkness.

Peter strides forward, ready to part ways, and just as you’re about to think that Peter isn’t going to say anything else, he stops walking. There’s a long pause, but then he speaks.

“You too.” He was gone in an instant.

The sounds of the wind brought you back to reality, and you now diverted your attention back to your environment. You tightly clutched your gun as you stared into the darkness before walking down the hallway.

The wallpaper was utterly decaying, moss was beginning to grow from the cracks of the cement, and the items left behind were being covered by nature. The flashlight you held in your other hand provided some assistance, but as you walked down the hallway, you felt your stomach twist. You turned the corner, softly stepping, hoping you remained undetected, but as you look further down the path, nothing appears to look out of place. The hallway stretched itself for so long, it felt as if you were going down an endless path. You continued to tightly grip your gun, still uncertain if the area was completely abandoned.

“Everything alright?” Peter’s voice echoed through the coms. You’re a bit startled by his unexpected voice, but you quickly recover, responding to his question.

“All good. You?”

Despite Peter’s attempts on being discreet, you could hear Peter’s footsteps through the ear device. “Everything is clear. Looks like no one’s been here in a long time,” Peter said.

“I doubt that,” you responded. “In fact, it feels as if something is pulling me towards the gloom.”

You wait for Peter to reply, but then you’re swallowed by the silence once again. There’s a burning sensation brewing in the center of your chest, yearning to hear Peter’s voice again, but you don’t even hear the faintness of noise.

“Peter?” you anxiously whispered. “Hello, can you hear me?” Suddenly your ears perked up in delight as you hear a noise, but then it’s immediately covered by static.

You let out a cry as a loud siren powerfully burns your ear. You take off the earpiece and whimper in pain; there’s a long ringing echoing itself into your head, and it won’t go away. You glance down, staring at the earpiece on the floor, and bend down to pick it up. Peter guaranteed it was new tech, so why did it malfunction so quickly? Your mind formulated reasonable explanations as to why it didn’t work, but it seemed very unlikely given the fact that Peter ran various tests beforehand.

Unless...

Was there something interfering with the signal?

As you stand pondering, you immediately hear a noise come from a distance. You whip your head towards the direction of the sound, quickly disregarding the earpiece you were so focused on seconds ago. The noise sounded as if something had fallen, so you hastily head down the path, determined to know where the sound was coming from. You raised your flashlight, scanning your radius until your eyes landed on something that seemed strange.

A pile of boxes hidden by worn-out and moldy sheets caught your attention, and you began to examine the cardboard. The damage done to the cardboard was horrible, but it stood out from the rest of the boxes. It didn’t look old enough to be there. You moved the boxes out of the way, hoping to find a piece of evidence, but then you begin to see an outline of a basement door. You stopped moving, staring at the now visible entrance, uncertain on what to do. Your first instinct was to inform Peter, but since the earpiece was no longer working, you were on your own. Without a second thought, you reached the handle and opened the door.

Once you reached the lower level, you lifted your hand out in front of you. With the flashlight, you were able to see how narrow and uneven the hallway was; there were more boxes scattered down the hallway, but you managed to push them out of your path with ease. As you began to walk further down, your flashlight began to flicker, causing you to stop moving.

“Shit, shit,” you whispered to yourself as the light eventually gave out. You tapped the flashlight, hoping it was just a slight malfunction, but that couldn’t be it. You put new batteries not too long ago. As you stood in the darkness, your breathing began to grow heavier; you didn’t feel like you were alone. Then, something catches your attention as you stare off into the void.

A faint light at the end of the hallway.

It was warm and soft, projecting the same amount of light a candle would, and if you squinted your eyes hard enough, you could make out a door at the end of the hallway. You slowly placed the flashlight on the floor, now using both of your hands to hold your gun.

Once you arrived at the end of the hallway, you leaned against the wall, taking a sharp inhale before raising your foot and kicking the door down. The hinges of the door immediately came off, and within a second, you entered the tiny room, scanning the premise. Noticing that no one was no one there waiting for you, you lowered your gun. Rather, there was a candle on a table which was situated in the middle of the room. You came closer to the table, noticing an envelope was there, waiting for you to open it.

You felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach as you realized the handwriting looked familiar.

To Detective Y/L/N

The killer was here.

Your eyes flickered back to the light, watching the wax slowly drip onto the candle holder. Your blood began to boil as it dawned on you that you were so close to catching them, but now they’re gone. Ignoring the shivers running down your body, you moved closer, grabbing the envelope and tearing it open. You pulled a paper out, tightly clutching it as you read the words over and over again until your hands began to shake.

So close yet so far away. Better luck next time, Detective.

You slammed the paper and envelope on the desk, your chest rapidly heaving as you took a step back. The wrath you were feeling was more powerful than you’ve ever undergone before—but instead of kicking the table, crumpling up the paper, or storming out of the room—you began to sob. An uncontrollable wail took over your body, making it harder for you to breathe. Every emotion you suppressed since the death of Amanda began to crawl its way out of you, and you didn’t know how to stop it. Your legs felt like jello, and the tears streaming down your face made it harder for you to see.

You failed them.

Amanda.

Glimmer.

Elizabeth.

All of them dead, all because of you.

You roughly wiped the tears away, biting your lip in hopes that your sobs would crumble, but it was hopeless; there was nothing you could do. Numbness was what you felt after—a feeling too familiar—but despite your desire to be with Peter again, your feet remained planted on the ground. Your red-sunken eyes landed on the letter once again, but before you could reach down to grab the paper, you felt an unsettling presence stand behind you.

Within an instance, you grabbed your gun from the side grip and spun around. As your finger was about to pull the trigger, the dark figure grabs your wrist, twisting it in the process, causing you to lose your grip. You panted in distress, and within a mere second, the figure ripped the gun away, leaving you vulnerable. You step back in fear, your eyes glued to the figure as it walks out of the darkness.

“If you make a sound, I’ll fucking kill you.” The figure morbidly muttered, powerfully standing over your shriveled body. Your breathing became jagged, but you try your hardest to remain quiet, fearfully complying. Your body shook from terror, and you break eye-contact with the assailant, feeling that if you stared any longer, he would violently react.

Man, roughly around six feet tall, slender yet well-built, voice dark and raspy, race and age still unknown. Has a black skull mask, where the prominent features of the face are outlined with stainless, grey metal. Wearing a black cowl and a well-armored suit. You constantly repeated this to yourself, hoping you would remember every detail of their appearance, but a part of you felt like you weren’t going to make it out alive.

Peter, where are you? you said to yourself. Your mind twisted horrific scenarios, and your eyes started to water as you imagined the worst.

“You should be more aware of your surroundings, Y/N,” the dark voice spoke again, twirling the gun in his hand. The calmness of his voice brought instant rage, and you narrowed your eyes.

“What the hell do you want?” you angrily asked, gripping the frame of the table with such intensity.

He swiftly took a bullet out of the chamber and tossed it to the floor. Then, he detached the magazine body from the gun and crumbled the body in his hand as if he was crumpling up a piece of paper. He has superstrength abilities, just like Peter.

“You’re asking the wrong question,” he replied. “As usual.” The killer stepped closer until he stood inches away from you, but you remained frozen.

“What you should be asking is if that little boyfriend of yours is still alive.” Your breathing came to a sudden halt as you processed his words.

“What did you do to him?!” you yelled, tears gushing down your face. Your fear and anger got the best of you, but you didn’t care if your voice disobeyed his threat. Peter can’t be dead, he can’t...

He didn’t move an inch as he continued to stare. “Still breathing, but if he lives or not, that’s on you.” You bit your lip to muffle your cries, but they easily slipped out; there was nothing you could do. You were useless. Defenseless. Weak.

The immensely cold silence brought anguish and sorrow, and no matter how much you wanted to hurt him, you needed to stay alive. “Why did you kill those women?” you softly questioned.

“For you, of course,” he deadpanned.

Your hands began to tremble. “Wh-”

The killer slightly leaned backward, as if he was surprised you didn’t understand what he was saying. He shook his head from side to side, clearly disappointed that you were so far behind. “Oh, Y/N. You still have so much to learn.”

“If you’re doing this for me, then stop!” you snapped. “Stop killing innocent people, they had nothing to do with this!”

“But Y/N, they have everything to do this with.” He reached out and placed his hand on your shoulder, slowly rubbing circles on your jacket. Your skin turned cold as he continued to massage your shoulder, and you felt sick to your stomach. You heard him take a deep breath before speaking, “I won’t stop, not until you learn the truth, but don’t worry, I have something in store for you.”

His grip loosened, and you watched as he created a significant amount of distance between you and him; you quickly looked at the door, but you knew it would be impossible to try and escape. Something in store for me? you pondered to yourself, but then everything immediately clicked.

You shift your direction back to the masked assailant, shaking of rage. “I swear, if you kill another person, I’ll-”

“Your threats are meaningless to me, Y/N.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

As you’re about to respond, a piercing scream echoes throughout the abandoned warehouse. You whip your heads towards the door, immediate relief washing over you.

“Y/N!” Peter frantically yelled. “Y/N WHERE ARE YOU?! PLEASE! ANSWER ME!”

“If you want to save him and Luna, then I suggest you leave.” His voice was faint and dark, and if your senses hadn’t been dialed to eleven, you would’ve missed what he said. You glance at the door once more before looking at the killer, unable to register his words. Luna? You didn’t move an inch, uncertain if you could believe his words. There was no way he would let you go, just like that.

“Go,” the killer hummed, “run as fast as you can.” Without a second hesitation, you bolt towards the door, using all the strength you could muster to sprint to Peter. Tears of relief streamed down your face as you began to assume you were safe, but then the killer’s words flooded your mind. Save them from what? Various ideas immediately came to mind, and your fear of not finding Peter in time began to grow stronger. You needed to find him before it was too late.

“Y/N!” you overheard Peter’s voice echo throughout the warehouse. You stopped in your tracks, hoping you could pinpoint his location, and when you heard another shriek, you immediately ran towards the sound of his voice. I’m coming, Peter. Please be okay, please be okay...

Peter’s eyes began to cloud with tears as the silence grew stronger. His heart started to frantically pound, and if he didn’t find you soon, he was certain his heart was going to stop. He knew it was a horrible idea to split up, and he should’ve fought harder—but you were so stubborn you didn’t want to listen—God, if you would’ve just listened to him, none of this would’ve happened. As he continued to scream your name, Peter was unable to focus due to a constant noise echoing around him; the beeping grew stronger and stronger, causing Peter to become more anxious and fearful.

“Peter!” you shouted, but you regretted screaming, notwithstanding how much your throat burned.

Peter’s feet stopped moving and turned his head towards your angelic voice, immediate relief engulfing him as he sees your face. Without hesitation, Peter picks up his feet until he’s sprinting down the hallway. You roughly collide with one another, but you ignore the pain as you tightly hold onto him; Peter takes a deep breath in, inhaling your scent, already feeling safer. You briefly close your eyes, glad that he was alright, but the moment had to over. You pull away from the hug, and Peter instantly noticed something was wrong; your clothes were disheveled, and the fright settled in your eyes caused Peter to panic.

“We have to go,” was all you could muster out.

“Are you alright? What happened?” Peter worriedly inquired, but you shook your head, ignoring his questions.

“He’s here, Peter. We have to go now.” His spider senses hit him like a truck the moment you finished your sentence, and Peter stared into your eyes once again before nodding his head. Suddenly, the beeping noise gets louder and faster, and Peter’s eyes widened, knowing what was about to come. He grabbed you by the arms, pulling you into his chest before ducking to the ground.

A loud explosion erupts throughout the east side of the building, causing the whole floor to shake. You scream in shock and horror, but you feel Peter’s grip get tighter. Before Peter could run, another explosion erupted fifteen feet away; you open your mouth to scream again, but no words are able to come out as the entire ceiling collapses on you and Peter.

Within a blink of an eye, everything went dark and silent.

- - - - - - - - -

When Peter opened his eyes, it felt like he slept for eternity; his head achingly throbbed but when he tried to shake the pain away, he came to realize that he couldn’t move freely. With every slight movement, his body contorted and Peter let out distressed groans and grunts, trying his hardest to remain calm. Peter began to loudly cough, and he was having a difficult time properly breathing. Slowly, he began to raise his arm, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain coursing throughout his body. Luckily, he was able to take off his mask, but the debris was still dense. For a short moment, Peter’s memory was a bit foggy, but then everything came surging back. He remembered the reason why he was surrounded by rubble and darkness.

The explosion.

Y/N....

Peter’s eyes widened once he thought of your name. Oh god, Peter thought to himself, what have I done? Just as Peter was about to start losing his mind—wondering where you could’ve been—he felt something move underneath him.

His eyes dart down, his breath making contact with your skin. “Y/N? Can you hear me?” he softly called out, hoping you would respond. Moments of silence pass by, but before the panic can settle in, he hears a tiny groan depart your lips. Peter slowly moved his hand upwards until he touched your cheek. The air was becoming more crowded, and Peter was taking shorter breaths.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get us out of here,” Peter promised, leaning his forehead against yours for a brief second before forcing himself to sit up as much as he can.

While Peter was being crushed by the heavy concrete, there was still enough space for him to move. Sweat, blood, and dirt trickled down his forehead, and Peter took a deep breath before raising his arms up. The pain was intolerable but he continued to persist; he had to make sure you were okay, that was his first priority. His hands landed on the concrete—and before taking another deep breath—Peter mustered up all of his strength and pushed as hard as he could. As the distance between you and the concrete started to get further, Peter was able to rise up to his knees before quickly standing up and pushing the rubble off of his body; the concrete fell a few feet away from where Peter stood. He was no longer surrounded by the darkness; rather, he felt the slight coolness of the moonlight settle upon his skin, causing chills to run down his spine. Peter felt comfort in knowing that he successfully managed to pull the rubble off him, but as he shifted his attention to you, he noticed you weren’t moving.

Peter’s legs shook with such intensity that he dropped to the floor; his knees made a rough impact with the ground, but he ignored the burning sensation—instead, his eyes were settled on your lifeless body.

“Y/N,” Peter’s voice cracked, “wake up. We’re okay.” Peter leaned forward, his shaky hands reaching out for you. He gingerly held your head with one hand and wrapped his other around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. Peter was unable to register how your skin was colder than his or how you remained unresponsive to his voice—he didn’t want to belive. No, this couldn’t be happening.

He pushed your hair away from your face, and as he delicately rested his hand on the side of your head, he felt something drench his suit. Peter slowly pulled his hand back and stared at his trembling hand. It took him a while to notice the crimson liquid running down his fingers.

“No, no,” Peter whispered, “please wake up.” Peter’s world began to shatter as his worst fear unraveled into a real nightmare.

Tears began to slide down his face, and Peter cried out, pleading for anybody to hear him. It was futile; he was all alone. Peter couldn’t stop himself from shaking. “You’re going to be fine,” Peter said out loud, wiping his tears with his shoulder. Peter didn’t know if he was lying to you or himself. A sob rippled through his body, and an excruciating scream broke out of him.

“Don’t go...” Peter wailed, tightly clutching your body, “don’t leave me.”

Peter began to hyperventilate; his body uncontrollably heaved and his eyes remained shut, unable to accept reality, but Peter was so lost in his mind that he failed to see how your eyes slowly opened.

The sound of cries was the first thing you heard; it was faint, at first, but as you continued to concentrate on the noise, it grew louder and louder, causing you to open your eyes. The thought of even moving your body brought such immense pain, so you decided to remain still; however, you quickly forgot about your own injuries once your eyes landed on Peter. His face was filled with bloody cuts, dark bruises, and moist dirt; a smile appeared on your face—knowing fully well that he was safe, but then your smile disappeared as you realized tears were pouring down his face. Your hands found it way to his face, but Peter continued to cry; he thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

“Peter,” you weakly murmured, causing Peter to stop breathing.

At first, Peter was unable to believe he heard your voice, but once he opened his eyes and looked down, Peter let out a cry of relief as he stared into your beautiful eyes. They were so soft, and he loved how they melted in the moonlight. Peter brought you closer to his body, carefully resting his forehead on yours, fearing that if he let you go, you would be gone again. You instantly melted into his touch, feeling immediate warmth. You didn’t care that he was bloody, dirty, or sweaty; you didn’t mind at all.

Peter slowly moved his head back, and you stared into his sweet, chocolate eyes.

“I thought you were gone.” Peter softly whispered, his voice uneven.

“I would never leave you,” you heartedly confessed as you rubbed his beaten cheek with your thumb. “I’m right here.”

“Y/N,” Peter breathed out. You smiled once you heard your name roll off his tongue, and your heart fluttered. You never thought your name could sound so beautiful, but you were wrong. Before you could register what was happening, you felt Peter delicately place his lips on yours. Your breathing came to a sudden stop, but as Peter cradled your face with his smooth hands, you breathed once again. This was real, you said to yourself; you never would’ve imagined this was how your first kiss would’ve gone. Nevertheless, it was just as wonderful. Your hands worked their way around his face, and you felt every line along with his beautiful physique. It felt right, and you didn’t want this moment to end. A strange feeling began to brew in the pit of your stomach, but then you remembered what this feeling was.

Love.

You love Peter so much—so much that you would do anything to save his life.

Meanwhile, Peter felt his body shake from excitement; he was afraid—afraid you were going to pull away, but once he felt your hands travel down his chest and tug at his suit, he was no longer terrified. Peter pulled apart and took shallow, shaky breaths, still unable to process that you returned the kiss. You deeply stared into each other’s eyes—eyes filled with hope and love; neither of you said a word, but there was no need to. He knew, and you knew, and it was enough for you. Peter could feel the beating of your heart against his chest, and it brought so much happiness.

Before Peter could press his lips on yours once again, he paused. The sounds of sirens came closer, and a frown settled on his face, knowing he couldn’t kiss you anymore.

“You need to leave.” Peter turns his head to look at you, furrowing his eyebrows. You gave him a reassuring smile, knowing it was best if he left before the cops arrived, but Peter shook his head in protest; he wasn’t fond of leaving you alone—not after what just happened.

“No, I’m not leaving,” Peter sternly stated.

Your heart fluttered once again; you didn’t like the idea either, you wanted him to stay, but he had a responsibility. No one can know he’s Spider-Man. Without hesitation, you lift your hand up and touch his bruised skin, hoping he would understand. His heartbeat slowed down as your skin touched his, and he instinctively nestled his face into your palm.

“I’ll be fine, Peter. You need to keep your identity a secret.”

Peter let out a sigh, knowing you were right. “Okay.” Peter reluctantly agreed.

Peter gently helped you stand up, and as he led you down the path of rubble, he noticed the blue and red lights were coming closer. After a few minutes, they would be here. Once he made sure you were in a safe location, he knew he had to go, yet his body didn’t move. You stared at Peter, wondering what was on his mind, but before you could ask, Peter grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer. He rested his forehead on yours, and for a few seconds, he closed his eyes, sulking that the moment was coming to an end.

You closed your eyes as well, a genuine smile resting on your face. “I’ll see you soon, don’t worry,” you reassured him. Peter slowly opened his eyes, blissfully staring at your face before leaning down and softly kissing your forehead. Your body went rigid with surprise, but then you ultimately relaxed.

“See you soon, Angel,” Peter said; you slowly opened your eyes and gazed into his once more before he drew away and left without a trace.

- - - - - - - - -

yay :)

Taglist: @whatthefuckimbisexual @cyrusandhiscollaredahirts @caitsymichelle13 @averyfosterthoughts @lukesbabylon @spideylovin @juliebean247 @fangirling12566

59 notes · View notes

youresog0lden · 4 years

Text

Last Thing I Do II Spencer Reid

Summary: SSA Davis has found her sister shot in front of her by her sisters stalker. When her best friend is left pick up the pieces just like she did for him.

Warning: Cursing, Drug Mentions, Guns, Shooting, Blood. Very sad, Angst

This story is very similar to Maeve’s story. I completely made up the scene where they try and catch the unsub.

WC: 2.4k

I used a real name because it was easier to write feel free to change the name !!

masterlist

I DO NOT OWN THE GIFS I USED !

"SSA Davis," I spoke confidently on the phone.

"Yes I understand." I say. I walk out of my office and into the meeting room.

"No time to get comfortable. This is huge." Garcia said turning on her remote.

"Three Murders in the past two nights."

"A mom and son and a younger man?" Reid questioned.

"Yes."

"Okay they need us in Atlanta Georgia. Wheels up in 30." I sigh.

"Are we ever going to get a break." JJ sighs. I shake my head no before going to my office. I sit in there for a second my head spinning a little bit. I hear a soft knock at my door.

"Yeah." I say. Spencer steps in.

"Hey what's up." I say

"Can I ask you a question?" he asks.

"You just did." I laugh. He rolls his eyes.

"No but for real what do you need?" I ask

"There was three different drugs found in the bodies. A drug for each person. What do you think that could me?" he asks.

"They're probably a sadist. Who somehow has a connection to drugs." I say.

"I get that but how would all of them get the types of drugs into them without a prescription. Besides LSD." he said

"I don't know but we'll figure it out." I say softly rubbing a hand on his arm. He nods.

"Let's go." I say we both grab our to-go bag's and head out onto the plane. We sit down on the plane only having to be on there for an maybe twenty minutes all of us decide to just sit quite and do our own thing. Ever since Hotch left to spend more time being a dad and I was put in charge I've always felt different. I don't like being in this high authority but I promised Hotch I would keep this team on track. Ring. I look down at the contact. Amber is calling,

"Hey I'm on the plane I'll text you later. Love ya." I send the text and turn off my phone. We land all of us heading to the cars. Driving down to the police station. I walk in there.

"Hello, I'm SSA Davis, These are agents Rossi, Morgan, Jareau, Prentiss, and Dr. Reid." all of them shake hands with the Sheriff except Spence. He just nods shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Okay. We have all the files Garcia asked for on a table and a conference room set up. If you need anything don't be afraid to ask." we all nod.

"Okay JJ, Morgan ya'll go to the the house of where the last murder took place. Prentiss and Rossi, ya'll talk to the witnesses and families. Reid and I will go down and get the autopsy report's and examine the body." I say we all split up. I give Spencer the keys as we drive. I feel a vibration from my pocket. I pull my phone out to see my sister calling again. I hit decline deciding to call her tonight. We pull up at the morgue. I look at my notebook making sure I have a pen to take notes.

"Who still takes notes." Reid teases.

"Not all of us have an eidetic memory." I ruffle his hair. He let's out a huff before laughing.

"SSA Davis?" the autopsy technicians asks.

"Yes."

"Okay well in the mom there we severe levels of a date rape drug called Rohypnol in her body."

"Rohypnol also knows as Forget-me pill, R2, and Roofies is a pill some versions of it turns blue when added to liquid but other forms have no color when added to liquid." Spencer states.

"So she was roofied. Did she have an alcohol in her system? Maybe she got it at a bar and the unsub followed her home."

"No there we're nothing but water and rohypnol found in her body."

"Any food?"

"No."

"What about the-" I was cut off by my ringer going off. I shut it off again.

"Sorry about that. What about the boy?"

"He was a teen there we're high levels of Phencyclidine found in his system."

"It creates numbness of the legs and arm areas so he can't move."

"Yes, we think this was a really well though out plan to this because there was no way that this could've just happened randomly." I nod.

"What about the other one. We we're told high levels of LSD were found. So was he drugged when he died or was he coming off the high?" Spencer asked.

"We looked but couldn't really tell. But we made an educated guess and are saying that it was already in his system maybe to get him where they wanted him."

"They?"

"There's no way that only one person could do this. It had to be a team." she says. I nod.

"Thank you for you're time. If you have any more evidence please give us a call." I give her my card and she nods. We walk out and sit in the car.

"So they we're drugged before they could get away. Kept there for a day or two given water but no food and then brutally murdered. They are definitely a sadist." Reid says I nod.

"Let's go Morgan says the father of the kids are there."

"Father as singular."

"Yes apparently he is the father of both kids. Different moms." I say. He nods speeding off. We make it to the precinct. Spence and I walk into the interrogation room.

"John Hunter." I shake his hand.

"Why am I in here I didn't do anything." he pleaded.

"We needed you to be somewhere where there were not many people." he nods.

"Do you know who these three people are?" Reid asked.

"Yes that's my wife and sons." okay.

"Who are these two people." I ask.

"That's my ex-wife and son."

"Why isn't you're son with you in these photos. But you're youngest with you're first wife is."

"He was mentally ill. They had to take him away when me and my first wife Rose got a divorce he tired to kill his brother. Drowning him in a bathtub. He was sick." I nod.

"Can you give me his name." I ask

"Jack Hunter." he says. I nod and walk out. Dialing Garcia.

"Goddess of Everything Computer Related how may I help you."

"Hey can you do a background search on Jack Hunter and when he was released form a mental hospital. "

"Yes ma'am." she says,

"Okay so he was released from St. Claire's Mental Instantiation two weeks before the first murder."

"What about his mom?"

"Rose Strut she was given... you'll never guess."

"What."

"Phencyclidine"

"God I love you Garcia." I hang up seeing four missed call from my sister in the past twenty minutes. Reid walks out.

"It's time to give the profile." I said.

----

"We are looking for Jack Hunter and Rose Strut. They we're last seen two miles south of the Savannah River." I said.

"They could possibly be armed so if you are to see them do not go up to them. They will not be afraid to kill at this point." Emily said.

"If you do see them at any point. Please call the police and get away fast." Morgan finished. I hear my ringer again.

"Hey Garcia what's up."

"You'll never guess who's phone just pinged at a cell phone tower five minutes away,"

"Send the address." I circle my fingers telling everyone to load up.

---

Jack and Rose we're now being put into life in prison without the possibility of parole. We we're all getting off the plane when my phone goes off.

"Ash. "

"Hey Amber . What's up."

"She's back help-" before she said anything else I heard screaming.

"AMBER" I yell into my phone.

"AMBER." I yell again. Everyone looking at me. They put the stairs down. I grab my bag running down.

"Davis." I hear my team yell. I race to my car unlocking it. I start the car as fast as I can driving away. I'd be at Amber's house in a matter of minutes but realizing I wasn’t going fast enough I turn on my lights speeding down the high way. I finally pull onto her street. I stop at her drive way running up my gun sitting in my hand. I try opening the door but its locked, I kicked in the door. Looking all around before sighing. I heard a muffled scream come from the front yard so I run out the door as quick as I can seeing her. Holding a gun to Amber’s head. I must have forgotten my head set was on because I could hear the team yelling for me through it.

"Don't you come any closer or I will kill her."

"Please you don't have to do this." I begged.

"You killed my mom. I think it's only fair." she laughs. I take a step forward.

"Stop fucking moving." she yelled. I held my hand up my gun still in my hands.

"Drop your gun." she said. I drop my gun. She looks at me again and laughs,

"See I'm going to kill her either way but now you're just defenseless." she laughs. It was almost to fast to happen. A ring came into my ear's and I see her drop to the ground.

"AMBER." I called out

Blood spilling out of her head. I don't know if something kicked in my I grab my gun out of my leg canister and pull the trigger.

"Oh hun. I'm not that easy to kill." she picks up her gun. Before shooting one last shot hitting me in my arm. I hissed in pain.

"I will kill you if it's the last thing I do. Weather I actually kill you are watch you fall apart mentally I will watch you suffer." she laughs falling to the ground. I see the lights flooding around us. I drop to my knees crying.

"Amber." I say softly. I put her limp body in my lap. I stroke the hair out of her face kissing her forehead. I see my team moving out of there cars. Kiera being taken away into cuffs. At this point all I'm doing is crying. I feel someones arms around me as they pick up my sister. I try to fight back but its inevitably not worth it. I'm covered in her blood. I turn around to see Spencer's arms around me. I almost fall in them crying.

"Come on. We need to get you're arm looked at." We walk to the ambulance. I sit on the edge having them tear into my shirt cleaning up the barley scraped skin. I start staring into the space. Until. I grab Spencer's arm looking into his eyes.

"She has a kid. Where's Blake." I said softly.

"We'll find him. Right now you have to go to the hospital. I'll come with you okay." he says just as softly.

"Okay."

----

They say it's always the hardest after. But what's hardest was telling my mom that it could've been me not her or that she would still be alive if I didn't move. Her funerals today. But a part of me can't go. This is my fault. I can almost hear my parents saying it to me but, none the less I still go. They found Blake and Tom her husband. They we're on out at a movie. Amber had to stay home for work. They don't blame me. They tried to tell me that I couldn't stop it even if I tried. Blake isn't old enough to understand what it means yet but he'll get there one day.

---

The funeral is over. I'm sitting in my tiny apartment surrounded by my feelings. My team couldn't be here. They were needed somewhere else. Even though Spence did offer to stay with me.

~ Flashback ~

"Spence." I called out.

"Spence I'm not leaving so please let me in." I say. I hear the door's locks come undone. He opens the door. He's standing there in a t-shirt, a cardigan, and a pair of pants, his hair was a mess, his eyes were puff, and he had bags under his eyes.

"Spence." I pull him into a hug. He wraps his arms around me crying into my shoulder.

"I couldn't do anything about it." he cries harder.

"Pretty boy, listen. It's not your fault. As much as I hate to say it. Diane already knew what she was going to do. Baby you couldn't stop that." I said softly. He just cry's.

"Can I come in?" he nods. I grab his hand he shuts and locks the door. I walk to his bed and lay down opening my arms. He cuddles into them laying his head on my chest.

"Go to sleep kid. I'll be right here when ever you need me." I look at him. I kiss his forehead before putting my hand in his hair.

"I'll always be here for you." I said softly. His grip around my waist got tighter.

~ End of Flashback ~

I stood there a picture of us hung on the wall.

"I'm sorry." I said softly.

"Ash." I hear Spencer's voice call out. It startled me so i let out a yelp.

"Ash let me in please." I couldn't move. I hear keys jiggle and I see the door nob turn. Fuck why'd I have to give him a key.

"Ash." he says softly looking at me. He looked at me head to toe. I was wearing a pair of sweatpants and some how his 'Caletech' shirt. He sets his stuff on my counter and looks at me. I walk over to him standing in front of him. I let a tear drip down my cheek. He wraps his arms around me. I start sobbing in his chest.

"Why are you here..." I ask looking into his eyes. He placed a kiss on my forehead. His hands on both sides of my face.

"Because you we're here day after day when Maeve was killed so I will be here day by day until you are okay. because I love you. I love you more than anything." he says softly. I look into his eyes they were glistening with hope

"You love me?" I ask.

"Of course I do. I've loved you since day you offered to help me through everything you stuck by my side through everything, all my stupid little lectures, my rants, and facts. You're one of a kind." he said. I look up at him one more time. I lean forward into his lips. Melting together like butter.

"I love you too." he smiles and kisses me again.

"Let's go lay down." he says I nod.

“Everything will be okay” he whispers in your ear

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #spencer #spencer reid smut #mgg fic #matthew gray gubler #mgg fanfiction #mgg #mgg smut #derek morgan #garcia #emily prentiss #jenifer jareau #david rossi

61 notes · View notes

solbabies · 4 years

Text

CSI But Make It PJO

While writing this I remembered that Will is from Texas so I tried to incorporate some generic southern twang but IDK! Enjoy!

________________

Will lifted the thumbprint off of the broken shard of glass, holding the tape under the light to make sure the transfer stuck. Laying in onto the tracing sheet, he ran his finger over it to secure it in place.

“Anything interesting?” Jackson asked from the doorway, his badge catching the strong fluorescent lights overhead.

“Nothin’ anyone’s gonna to write a book about,” Will joked, peeling away his rubber gloves and tossing them into the trash, next to the work bench. “What can I do for you, detective?”

“I came to see if you started on my case yet?” He wore a brilliant smile that only served to charm the forensic scientist and convey how desperately he needed his evidence processed.

“Which is that again?” Will asked, sliding his chair to the stack of boxes piling up in the workspace.

“Beckendorf. C,” Percy told him with a somber note to his voice. Will raised his brow at the infliction, but didn’t press. Muttering the last name to himself, Will moved alphabetically past the As to the Bs.

“Here it is,” Will announced tapping an unopened box from Major Crimes. “I haven’t gotten to it yet, I’ve had a shortage of hands and too many cases to get through.”

“Is there any chance you can bump it up your ‘to do’ list?” Will hummed, slicing through the seal on the box and removing the case file. Looking through it, he shook his head.

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t be able to finish the report. The autopsy hasn’t come through, which means the shrapnel from the… explosion, is it?” Percy nodded. “The explosion hasn’t been removed and sent over yet.”

“Great,” Jackson sighed, running his hand through his hair, sweeping it out of his face. “Do you know what morgue he was sent to?” Will pushed his chair over to his computer, typing in the case number into his system.

“The one downstairs, actually,” Will mused. Bodies got sent anywhere and everywhere depending on the day; Percy was lucky the body wasn’t sent to the Bronx or Jersey.

“Great! So you can go and get that report fast tracked then!” the detective cheered, tapping his hand on the doorframe. Will leaned back in his seat.

“I’d love to, Jackson, but that ain’t happenin’.”

“Come on, di Angelo hates me. He will literally move it further down his list to piss me off.”

“What’s so important about this case? You know we can’t just magically move cases around at the beck and call of the precinct.” Percy shifted from foot to foot, a serious look overcoming his usually positive attitude.

“I have a personal stake in this case and I’d like to solve it as soon as possible.” Will bit his lip, watching his friend beg him for help.

“This is an abuse of power,” Will groaned, standing up and snatching the casefile as he rose. “I can get in serious trouble for this, Percy.”

“I love you so much, Will,” the detective said with a smile curling on his lips.

Will scrunched his nose up as the elevator door dinged open, flooding him with cool air and the anticipated unsettling smell of the mortuary. He hadn’t gone completely numb to the smell but it had lost its edge.

“Hey,” Will announced his presence as he walked into the office. Luckily di Angelo hadn’t been cutting into a cadaver at the moment but rather searching through files in the small room near the back. Nico turned around at the sound of Will’s voice, a surprised but content expression settled on his features.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Will shrugged walking over to perch himself on the desk.

“Visitin’.” Nico’s skepticism came in the form of a huff and a side eye as he continued to rummage.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any ulterior motives?” Will tucked the file behind his back, playfully hiding it from the other’s sight.

“Absolutely not, sugar.” Nico made a face at the endearment, the southern nicknames always worked best to make him blush.

“Sure,” Nico said, shutting the drawer and allowing Will to pull him by his hand into the other’s arms.

“Can’t I just miss you?” Will asked innocently, before kissing Nico sweetly. While the kiss was meant to distract his husband, in the moment, Nico managed to steal the file out of Will’s hand instead. “Cheater.”

“Hate the game,” Nico countered with a laugh. He opened the file, skimming over the contents of it before handing it back to Will. “Yeah, this is Jackson’s case. It’s like…” Nico looked up at the ceiling as he counted in his head. “Like number eight on my list right now, what about it?”

“Is there any way you could bump it up?” Nico tipped his head to the side, his arms crossing in front of his chest.

“So Jackson is using you against me? Low.”

“It’s important to him, Ni.” Nico rolled his eyes.

“So are all the other cases I have going on. I have so many bodies piling up in here it’s practically like the underworld.”

“Does that make you… Charon?”

“I see myself more as Hades, thank you very much,” Nico corrected him. Will looked at him with big eyes, hoping to use love to his advantage. Nico glared at him, his straight face not budging under the pressure of Will’s look.

“Please, sweetheart?” Nico held his stare for a few more moments before sighing.

“I’ll bump him to five.”

“Three.”

“Four, and that’s it.” Will smiled at him, slipping off the desk and landing his feet back on the floor.

“Thank you,” he said, kissing him again.

“Only for you, sunshine.”

__________

“I got it bumped to number four,” Will told Percy over the phone once he had arrived back at his office.

“You’re magical, Solace,” he praised, thankingly. Will gave him a light laugh, rolling his eyes although he knew the detective couldn’t see him.

“Yeah, yeah, but Nico wants you to know that if you, and I quote, ‘ever use my husband against me to complete your own agenda, you will find yourself visitin’ my morgue in a bodybag’.”

“Lovely,” Jackson noted. “Understood. Thanks, again.”

“This is where most people would say ‘anytime’ but this is never happening again.”

“Nice talking to you too, Will. I swear, di Angelo is rubbing off on you. You’re sounding like him more and more each day.”

“Goodbye, detective.” Will hung up but not without a shake of his head as he did.

#solangelo #solangelofic #solangelo oneshot #percy jackson #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #PJO #pjo au #pjo fanfic #The Heroes of Olympus #Heroes of Olympus #hoo fanfiction #Will solace #Nico di Angelo #csi au #police au #detective au

81 notes · View notes

hopeless-nostalgiac · 4 years

Text

with all appliances and means to boot: ncis/tiva fic

for this challenge, @loudlooks requested Tiva + "I didn't know you could do that." thank you for the inspiration!! *hugs*

set summer between S3-4 w/ team dynamics & tiva (a LOT of tiva—they took over the fic, basically, and I’m not sorry about it)

also, this turned out like eight times longer than I expected & was the most fun and freeing thing I’ve worked on in years, so

enjoy:)

FFN

“I didn’t know you could do that!”

McGee’s voice filtered over news-chattering televisions, incessantly ringing phones, and chicken-clacking keyboards to reach Tony at his desk.

“There was no reason to mention it earlier. It is not exactly a useful skill, my friend.” Ziva’s full-throated chuckles were wind chimes amidst the office drudgery.

Tony shook off the eruption of gooseflesh on his arms. It was way too early for that. And McGee was babbling again.

“I’ve just never met someone in real life who could do it.”

“Really?!”

A boom of shared laughter enveloped them.

Glancing at the digital read-out on his monitor, Tony silently cheered. 9:07. Totally busted. Then he pretended to be busy with paperwork, so his attention was occupied ahead of time.

The agents’ conversation lowered until it faded completely, coinciding with their entrance into the squadroom.

Tony had that effect on them now. The tables, as the saying went, had turned. They were the class troublemakers to his super-strict teacher. They, the unruly cadets, and he, the veteran drill sergeant. They were Agents; he was Boss.

“Agent McGee. Officer David. You’re late.”

McGee froze while swinging around his desk. Ziva froze after dropping her gear. Tony continued to stare yet not see the file in front of him, but he didn’t need visual confirmation to know the teammates were exchanging glances, coordinating their plan of counterattack.

“Well, technically we were in the building on time.” The opening lob courtesy of McGee.

“Technically, that’s not good enough, McTardy.”

“It was when you were wearing our shoes.”

Tony fought an eye roll. “You can’t throw me off the scent with a well-timed idiom blunder, Officer David.”

“Can’t I, Tony?” Ziva’s voice was louder, closer to him.

Out of his peripheral vision, he spied her leaning on the divider between their workspaces. So close now, he caught a whiff of her lavender mint shampoo as she flicked at a cascade of curls that had fallen over her shoulder. If this was their strategy, well, it wasn’t the worst angle.

But Tony DiNozzo was better.

“No, you can’t,” he reiterated, finally gracing each of them in turn with his steady gaze. Calm, yet intense. Everything rumbling beneath the surface. “And it’s Agent DiNozzo. Or Boss.”

Ziva stared back, golden-brown eyes matching his intensity, but not the calm. She rattled off a string of heated Hebrew, ending with a sharp snap of her teeth before spinning around on her heel and dropping heavily into her desk chair.

Crazy chick.

“So, anyway. Just to be clear: If you’re here after me, you’re late. Period.” Tony slapped a case folder closed, causing his desk to tremble; he could emphasize his words, too. “For today, you can make amends by telling me whatever it is McGee didn’t know Ziva could do. I’m thinking it involves lots of stretching, but if there’s a video game reference, leave it out. Go!”

And like that, authority forfeited for curiosity.

McGee did roll his eyes and muttered something that suspiciously sounded like waste of time under his breath. Ziva scoffed, typing noisily at her computer and decidedly not looking in Tony’s direction.

“That’s an order.” Even he didn’t buy the command.

9:10. The day was shot.

. . .

If someone asked Tony how his first weeks as leader of MCRT were going, he’d say, “Good, considering the circumstances,” with a flash of white teeth. He didn’t like to lose face, sure, but he was pretty confident it was the truth, too.

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, leaving you in charge of a team that for years affectionately regarded you as The Class Clown, the circumstances weren’t on your side and ‘good’ was the most you could hope for.

. . .

“What did you do?”

Passing through the automatic doors, Tony came up short—as much due to the always assaulting antiseptic stench as the accusation. “Why do you assume I did something wrong? Can’t I come see my favorite Autopsy Gremlin with no ulterior motive?”

“Sure you can,” Palmer called from the freezer section, where he was sliding a corpse home. “But I already talked to Abby, who talked to McGee.”

Fantastic.

“So before, with the ‘what did you do?’...that was kind of redundant, huh?”

“Guess so.” A dorky chortle escaped the assistant. “I mean, seriously, they were only late by a couple minutes, Tony. Sorry, Agent DiNozzo.” Another hiccup of laughter.

Great. Just great.

“Gee, I was hoping I could escape some of the ridicule down here....” Tony pressed his palms against the cold steel of an autopsy table, shoulders hunched, depositing weight into the defeated stance. All his course-correcting tactics, including buying his team lunch, had done little to reverse the morning’s death blow. McGee and Ziva were ignoring him aside for a lone campfire, and then their interactions were clipped—aggressively so where the ex-assassin was concerned. Now the damage was spreading to the sub-basement, it seemed.

“Look on the bright side, you’re the team leader. It’s what you’ve always wanted, right?” Palmer mirrored Tony on the other end of the table, adjusting his glasses before adding, “This is a bump in the road, but no one ever achieved greatness without first overcoming resistance.”

“That’s wise, Palmer. For a man who talks to the dead. You wouldn’t happen to know—”

“What McGee didn’t know Ziva could do?”

Tony blinked. Maybe they’d been underestimating the Autopsy Gremlin all along. “Yeah. Know anything about it?”

“It’s not a big deal. We were at the bar last night and first the waitress got Abby’s drink order mixed up, but it was super busy, so I suggested that—”

“Sometime today, Palmer.”

“Well, it turns out Ziva can knot a cherry stem with her tongue, and then...”

Oh, it was more wondrous than he’d guessed (and that list was long).

Palmer’s rambling dissolved to the background of Tony’s thoughts. He couldn’t get to the audacity of everyone going out for drinks without him because the dexterity of Ziva’s tongue was front and center. As he was recently familiarized with that very tongue and the talented mouth it resided in, it was all too easy to lose himself in a sexy daydream of the alleged feat.

Until he remembered how pissed she was at him. Bubble, burst.

. . .

If someone asked Tony how his first weeks sleeping with Ziva, his former partner and current subordinate, were going, he’d say, “What? I’m not—we’re not—how dare—what?!”

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, some of his rules haunted you.

. . .

“Rough day?”

Tony looked up right away. It was best not to play games with the director, who emerged stealthily in the dim, empty squadroom. He’d dismissed McGee and Ziva at regular quitting time, unable to make eye contact with either of them—for different reasons—but stayed behind to catch up on last week’s case reports. Him, voluntarily completing paperwork.

Rough was an understatement.

“I see my shortcomings are making the rounds.”

Jenny’s smile was beautifitic, the one she wore during news interviews. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t seeking it out. I was speaking to Ducky on a separate matter, and he happened to mention talking with Mr. Palmer, who—”

“Got the scoop from Abby because McGee blabbed to her,” Tony finished, barely restrained. “Yeah, I’m well acquainted with the watercooler daisy chain.”

It didn’t slip his notice that Ziva was the missing link. The text he’d started writing to her the second she disappeared through the elevator doors was unfinished and unsent on his phone.

“Did you also hear they went for drinks after work without inviting me?” It came out as a whine.

Jenny didn’t mask her amusement. “Did you always invite Gibbs for drinks? No, because he was your boss and you were probably venting about him.”

Touché.

“I’m trying, ma’am.” This he intoned with every fiber of professionalism and sincerity he could summon in the moment. The problem was that this wasn’t his first mistake since taking over—wouldn’t be the last—but he was trying. He wanted that noted. Also, there was an insane learning curve, and yes, big shoes to fill. Could he be blamed for that?

The redhead stepped forward, switching her smile for an expression of...not quite pity. Understanding? “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, Agent DiNozzo.”

“Robin Hood: Men in Tights?”

“Shakespeare.” Jenny chuckled, her fair eyes sparkling in the light of his desk lamp. Tony could see why Gibbs was once head-over-heels for her, back when they were partners. He knew something of those complicated emotions, of which the text draft on his phone contained damning evidence.

“It’s the nature of being in charge,” she continued. “You’re going to have crappy days and plenty of nights when you can’t sleep. My advice, from experience? When you screw up, apologize and do better next time.”

“Isn’t that a sign of weakness?” It was a reflex, after so many years.

Jenny caught his eye and held it. “No. It’s a sign of respect.”

. . .

He was sober when he showed up on her doorstep. Stopping off for some liquid courage briefly flitted through his brain, but flitted out just as quickly. McGee, he could buy a NutterButter, eat some humble pie himself. All would be cool again. Ziva was a different story.

Namely, a story with a lot of sex in it, and it’d barely been a month yet. That he spent a large portion of the day envisioning her tongue doing erotic dances with a red cherry stem wasn’t helping. It also further convinced him of a brutal truth: Things were changing. Things had already changed.

Ziva, outlined by the glow from inside the apartment, crossed her arms over a baggy workout t-shirt. Curls piled in a messy bun. It was Tuesday, kickboxing night. “If you are here for a booty call, you will be sorely disappointed.” Each word was wrapped in her delicious Israeli accent, momentarily distracting him from their sum meaning.

He’d expected as much.

“See, when you want to get them right…” Tony’s attempted humor and roguish smile failed to earn him leniency.

“Goodnight, Boss.”

The door hurtled toward him, closing on his chance to repent—and more than that, his chance with her. His left hand flew up, catching the wood with a few inches to spare.

“Hey, whoa. Wait. I’m here to apologize, all right?” Breath whooshed in and out of him; sweat beaded instantly on his forehead.

Okay, so it wasn’t just about the sex. He was enamored with her, and it hadn’t been a full month yet.

Ziva yanked the door back, though the arrangement of her features maintained dubious feelings. She raised her eyebrows in a way that said, Yes, and?

“I was an idiot, Ziva.”

A corner of her delicate mouth pulsed. “Good start.”

The heaviness in his chest released. He dared another smile, softer-gentler this time, and the door stayed open. “I was too hard on you and McGee.”

“You will apologize to him as well, yes?”

“Yes. McSweetTooth will wet himself with glee, I’m sure of it.” Tony shuffled his feet, bringing him onto her brown doormat, never dropping her gaze. “But seriously, Ziva, I know I messed up, especially, you know...I mean, you should be able to call the guy you’re sleeping with by his first name, even if he’s your boss. That is,” he sheepishly tagged on, “if I’m still the guy you’re sleeping with, after today.”

For a bloated handful of seconds, Ziva froze, as she had that morning in the squadroom. Eyes like lasers, drilling through him. It lasted long enough for doubts to creep in. Then—

“Are you?”

So simple, but coupled with her head tilted to expose honeyed neck, her popped knee, and the slight part of her plumped lips, the challenge was clearly set for him.

This would be fun.

Tony launched over the doorway, literally sweeping Ziva off her feet as he plowed into the apartment. An honest-to-goodness squeal filled his ears, then that wind-chime laugh took over and his knees wobbled in their sockets—nevermind her 100-something pounds hanging on his torso.

It was the first time he’d carried her this way—any way—but her arms and legs wrapped around his body with an ease he would have analyzed if not for the supple give of her breasts against his chest, or her frizzy hair tickling his chin. Her mouth alternated between whispering the dirtiest promises in his ear and nibbling on his neck. Thoughts would have to wait.

How they shut the front door, how they maneuvered the hallway to her bedroom, how they undressed and (eventually) found the bed was a haze of details that didn’t matter. The shudder that coursed through her at his every touch, mattered. The inverted bridge her back made when his lips and tongue met her center, mattered. His name on a gasp, woven into a sigh, lifted to a shout...

In this area, Tony DiNozzo excelled. He was damn well going to prove it.

. . .

It took two rounds to sate her. The first go was part of the apology; the second was because he had a young, hot lover who could run eight miles at the crack of dawn, kickbox for an hour after work, and still have energetic sex with him—twice. Who wouldn’t take advantage of that?

“Guess I got that booty call after all.” He love-tapped her ass, which was bare to the air. He braced for retaliation.

None came.

Hair mussed and cheeks flushed, Ziva glanced over, fixing him in her line of sight. A smirk hiked up the side of her mouth not buried in the pillow. “As did I, Agent DiNozzo.”

“Never going to live that down, am I?”

“Give it a few months.” Her smirk widened as her eyelids drooped, each blink taking longer and longer to pull back up.

. . .

They dozed together in the dark of her bedroom. They weren’t cuddlers, per se. Their connections left them too sensitive, sticky and unspooled. They stayed close, though. Touching random pieces of her to him, him to her. His head resting on her bicep curled closest to the mattress. Her ankle molded to the arch of his foot. Sometimes as conventional as their hands laid one atop the other, fingers loose.

. . .

He began talking while they ate cereal in the kitchen at quarter to eleven. He was talking as she cleaned and put away their dishes and led him to the front room, his body going where she steered and nudged. What he voiced was nothing new to either of them. All the same issues that overwhelmed him on a cool May night, that propelled him to Ziva’s door in what would become a habit. He was drowning; she was refuge.

For that, and so many other reasons, he trusted her without question.

Ziva allowed him to talk now because that was how he worked out problems. They both knew that, too.

“I think it comes down to the fact that...I don’t know how to be a team leader that isn’t Gibbs.” The admission floated and settled on the sofa cushion between them. It wasn’t often they said his name anymore. The memory was sore to the touch.

“We have been over this, yes?” Ziva tossed a leg across his lap, the other tucked beneath her. He immediately claimed the tanned skin of her thigh, rolling it under his hands. “This is a chance to be your type of leader, make your own rules.”

“Every time I do that, it blows up in my face.”

“Not every time,” she corrected, her eyes darting to his lips and lingering.

His heart rate ticked up. Very true. They might not have happened if Gibbs hadn’t left. But… “We’re one thing, Ziva. The team is another.”

She turned his chin with her hand, locking his gaze with her steady and fervent stare. An imposing combination. “Tony, you either keep trying or you quit, just like Gibbs. What will it be?”

It was Tony’s turn to sneak a not-so-subtle glance at her lips. When she put it like that, the answer was undebatable. What he’d told Jenny wasn’t a lie. And giving up wasn’t an option.

Didn’t mean he’d hand her the win that easily.

“How about we make a deal?” While his eyebrows waggled, his hands roamed farther than her thigh. “I persevere with the team leader thing. In exchange, you show off your fancy cherry stem tying prowess for me.”

Her mouth gaped, eyes narrowing. “Who told you?”

“Palmer. The guy’s actually not a bad sounding board.” He’d have to remember that for future thorny cases.

Ziva deflected, “I do not have any cherries in the fridge.”

Tony returned, “That wouldn’t stop a true parlor trick magician like yourself.”

Her face reformed in an expression that always intrigued him. A cat devising the perfect trap for her prey. It didn’t surprise him when she stretched her leg out, straddling his lap properly. He circled her low back, drawing her hips over him and generating a spark of friction. There was extra verve in her fingers burrowing the short hairs at his nape, tipping his head upwards.

“You must really want me to—”

Ziva covered his lips with hers, swallowing his words as they melted to moans. Instead of continuing hot and heavy, everything slowed. Each kiss long and needy, a continuous caress. Her heady spice invaded his senses. The tip of her tongue slipped by his teeth, running the roof of his mouth before pushing in further.

Tony’s spine straightened at the sensation of tongue against tongue, the rough texture, the strokes and flicks. He gripped whatever part of her was in his reach, would likely leave marks. She didn’t flinch. She was all around him, practically tying him in a knot.

It was exactly how he imagined it, but also superior.

He was smiling when they broke apart, breath imperative for them both. “Your ingenuity is an inspiration, Ms. David.”

Ziva winked, leaning forward to kiss him again, a casual closed-lipped peck in the wake of such an intimate encounter. And he knew, no matter what came of leading the team, he wanted this—them—to survive.

“Now you must honor your part of the deal, Tony.”

“Whatever you say,” he agreed, flipping her onto the cushion and following her down for round three.

. . .

The next day, Tony waited at his car in the parking lot for his team to arrive. He walked into the building with them, and didn’t check the clock in the mornings ever again.

He apologized to McGee, which just freaked out the newly-appointed Senior Field Agent. As Tony predicted, the Nutter Butter made all the difference.

By the end of the week, he brought Special Agent Lee onto the team because there was symmetry in four and they needed a probie to act as a buffer. Plus, she was good at meeting case report deadlines and Tony wasn’t.

He doubled-up on campfires and went to Jenny for advice more often. Palmer, too.

The team went out for drinks, occasionally inviting him to join. Occasionally not.

A month later, he and Ziva started keeping their love in each other’s hearts along with spare clothes in one another’s dressers. Soon, there would be no sense hiding them anymore.

And when someone asked Tony how leading his own team was going, he said, “Our results speak for themselves,” and meant it.

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, leaving you in charge, you wore the crown and made it your own.

fin

#tiva fanfiction #ncis fanfiction #tat fic #and you don't have to catch up on eight chapters of WIP to read this one!!#tony dinozzo #ziva david

39 notes · View notes

cuntess-carmilla · 4 years

Text

Anna Cook

TW: Lesbophobic violence, murder, rape, strangulation, drugs, mentions of domestic violence.

Ana María Villaroel González, better known by her artistic name, Anna Cook, was a 26 years old Chilean DJ and a lesbian, found dead at the house in which she rented a room in August 2nd of 2017.

The official cause of her death on paper is a drug overdose, despite how all medical evidence points to this not being the case, simply because of her vast history of drug use and how the people involved set the scene to make it look like that was the case.

It’s her mother, Kattia González, the one who’s taken to the internet to spread awareness about Anna Cook’s death, which she believes to be a murder-rape and a hate crime.

Mind you, Kattia and Anna were extremely close, so Kattia did know that Anna did many drugs and whenever Anna got herself in trouble she would call her, which means this isn’t her mother in denial of her daughter’s drug use.

The night before she died some friends went to the house Anna was living in to party. Different people were at the house owned by Raúl Azócar in the Providencia district, with Anna and another friend spinning and playing some music, as she had a gig the next day in Angol.

The next morning, Kattia woke up at 9 pm to very bizarre text messages from her daughter, such as “it’s either them or me” and “someone has to die”. She started frantically phone calling her with no response on Anna’s behalf.

At around 2 pm, Kattia was informed that her daughter was at the ER of the Salvador Hospital and she had to go immediately because her daughter was in grave condition. However, when Kattia arrived to see her daughter, she was informed that Anna had actually arrived already dead to the hospital, brought in by Raúl Azócar.

Proper protocol of the Salvador Hospital indicates that when a person is brought dead, the one who brought them there has to be questioned and tested as they’re considered the first main suspect of murder, but Azócar did not have any procedure of the sort done to him. What’s more, he arrived there without his ID, which he claims he “couldn’t find” at home before taking Anna to the hospital.

It was once they saw Anna’s body that Patricio (a friend of Anna) told Kattia that Raúl and a friend of his (Nikolai) were going to go pick up the IDs they claimed they couldn’t find before, and that he overheard them talking about having to “clean the house”.

There were many irregularities during the investigation. The statements given by everyone who was in the house the night Anna died were inconsistent with each other, so there’s no certain time of death.

Azócar initially failed to mention to the police in his first statement that he was with a friend (Matías Troncoso) at the apartment that night, and when the prosecutor repeatedly asked him about his friend he denied it enough that she had to remind him that he himself uploaded a video that night that showed him with Troncoso. Azócar excused himself by saying he has “poor memory”.

So poor was his memory, that at first he also claimed he didn’t know Anna's name, despite having been roommates for over a year. Raúl Azócar claimed too in his first statement that Anna had a history of epilepsy, which is false, besides bringing up her having a history of depression and drug use too.

The reasons to believe that Anna was murdered and raped are that the tests ran by the Legal Medical Service prove she had NOT used any drugs the night she died, and her alcohol intake had been low.

When Kattia saw her daughter’s body with a friend of Anna (named only as Patricio in Kattia’s Facebook post), they saw that Anna’s body had a large bruise that went all around her neck (5x5 cm), clearly a sign of strangling. Not only that, but she was beaten hard enough for her body to have 5 broken ribs. She was found naked at the scene as well.

Anna had been openly a lesbian for years, everyone who knew her knew this about her. Of all the people involved in this case, Andrea was the only woman present that night, and she is cisgender. Five months after her death, the prosecutor informed Kattia that there were traces of sperm found in Anna’s mouth, which, once Kattia informed the prosecutor about Anna’s lesbianism, made the prosecutor consider this a murder case AND a rape case.

Six months after this finding, the prosecution issued a warrant to compare the DNA of the sperm found in Anna’s body with those of the men present during the night she died. They sampled Raúl Azócar, a guy named Simón, and Magno, even though Magno was NOT present at the house that night. Matías Troncoso, who was present that night, was not tested.

The three tests came out without a match, even saying there was no “male” DNA in Anna’s body despite the sperm, and they ran out of samples of the sperm found in her body after those tests, which Kattia claims to be nothing but negligence.

(The next part is taken and translated from http://esmifiestamag.com/2020/07/27/caso-anna-cook-detalles/)

Once it was revealed that Matías Troncoso might be involved in the murder-rape of Anna Cook, an ex of Matías published that he was psychologically, physically and sexually violent, and that she had reported him in the past for domestic violence.

Months after the comparative DNA tests, Jaime Brieba, a forensic expert who contacted Kattia to help solve the case, checked the records. The expert wrote a report highlighting the inconsistencies of Raúl’s statements, besides a variety of acts of negligence on the behalf of the public health system, such as Anna’s autopsy ignoring the bruise on her neck and how they only analyzed the left side of Anna’s body.

Among the information in the Instagram publications from Kattia, it’s evident that during the investigation, the prosecutor of the case, Mitzy Henríquez, gave a copy of the file of the case to Raúl, despite him only being considered a witness, not a suspect.

In February 2020, the same prosecutor cited Kattia for a meeting, in which she now argued that there wasn’t any proof of anyone other than Anna herself having taken a role in her death, completely discarding the doctor’s statements, and the report that proves there was sperm in her mouth in consideration of Anna being a lesbian.

By the end of 2019, Kattia decided to make the case of her daughter public and her lawyer, Lily Candia, sued with the purpose of keeping the investigation open and going until they find the person or people responsible for Anna’s death. Almost a year from this, there’s still no progress in the investigation.

#⚢#lesbicides #lesbophobia tw #rape tw #anna cook #murder tw #drugs tw

28 notes · View notes

tabloidtoc · 3 years

Text

National Enquirer, October 26

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover Story: Death Mysteries -- Whitney Houston autopsy cover-up; Kenny Rogers’ body is missing

Page 2: Reba McEntire’s new romance with Rex Linn convinced Kelly Clarkson she needed to walk away from her unhappy marriage -- while Reba’s love life was heating up Kelly’s relationship with husband Brandon Blackstock who is Reba’s former stepson was hitting the rocks and Kelly remained very close with Reba and Reba would tell her how happy Rex had made her

Page 3: Control freak Tom Cruise is a basket case after he couldn’t charm Cher into leaving their steamy fling out of her upcoming memoir and the image-conscious actor was so panicky over Cher spilling their sexy secrets that he personally called her -- they had a strong physical attraction when they met at a White House event back in the ‘80s and eventually they hooked up and it was very hot and very intense and over in a matter of weeks but it left a nice impression on Cher so she only has good things to say about their relationship but what happened between them could prove very embarrassing if it got out and Tom doesn’t want that to happen -- unfortunately for Tom Cher wouldn’t say anything about what she intends to write and wouldn’t promise to leave Tom out and that’s made Tom even more paranoid and he’s wondering if he’s going to have to take legal action

Page 4: Kanye West is keeping a secret divorce diary to use against wife Kim Kardashian and its potential dishy dirt has her famous family quaking in their boots -- Kanye’s convinced Kim’s about the kick him to the curb and is putting together collateral to crush her and her family is the couple spirals into a $2.2 billion divorce, Jennifer Garner at 48 is flaunting her best body ever and her motivation is to compete with ex-husband Ben Affleck’s 32-year-old girlfriend Ana de Armas because Jen was tired of hearing how Ben’s fallen head over heels for Ana and wanted to remind him what he’s missing -- Jen’s always been very confident of her looks but she decided to step out of mom mode to remind everyone how hot she still is

Page 5: Devastated Lisa Marie Presley has been relying on an old pal Smashing Pumpkins rocker Billy Corgan to repair her shattered life in the wake of the suicide of her son -- Lisa Marie and Billy were spotted together at Graceland not long ago and he’s been a huge source of support for her -- though they were rumored to have had a romance in 2018 Billy’s fully committed to his baby mama fashion designer Chloe Mendel and Lisa Marie would like nothing better for them to make beautiful music again but she knows he’s taken and she needs his friendship more than ever.

Page 6: Ambitious anchor Gayle King is calling the shots at CBS This Morning after executive producer Diana Miller quit in the latest backstage shake-up; there was tension between Gayle and Diana and now Diana is gone -- it’s like the show gave Gayle the keys to the car and even if she runs it into a ditch the network gives her more power -- Gayle also clashed with former co-host Norah O’Donnell who successfully snagged the anchor chair at CBS Evening News but Norah hasn’t wowed in the ratings and it’s a matter of time before Gayle gets the coveted job

Page 7: The mystery over the fate of country great Kenny Rogers’ body has left his own family members in the dark -- sources close to the singer said he’d been cremated while others charged his body is still on ice and Kenny’s body is missing as far as most people are concerned and there’s no place fans can go and pay their respects -- it’s most likely he’s been cremated and the ashes have yet to be scattered but there have also been whispers in certain circles that he could have been cryogenically frozen to preserve his body for a later date, many of Hollywood’s biggest names are abandoning Tinseltown to escape the COVID-19 pandemic and a collapsing entertainment industry -- Julia Roberts hightailing it to San Francisco and Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson getting citizenship in Greece and Pierce Brosnan put his Malibu mansion on the market and Jim Cameron is peddling his prized L.A. compound

Page 8: Frustrated Jon Stewart’s plans to reinvent himself as the next Steven Spielberg have flopped and he’s pretty unhappy about it and he wants to be viewed as a respected serious filmmaker but he’s hit more roadblocks than he ever saw as a comedian or talk show host -- he was left fuming when Irresistible his latest outing as a director was met by mediocre reviews and limited to pay-per-view and streaming services last summer even with box office draw and best buddy Steve Carell in the cast -- he could snap his fingers and get any TV project but he’s setting his sights much higher and he’s walked away from millions of dollars to go back to TV because he wants to prove he is a creative force in the film industry

Page 9: Frustrated Brad Pitt is threatening to have ex Angelina Jolie dragged to jail if she refuses to end her harassment campaign against him and hash out a divorce and custody agreement and he’s had it with Angie’s intimidation tactics and is fed up with being labeled a bad dad and it’s no exaggeration to say Brad’s scared of Angie and he wants professional witnesses around them at all times when he attempts to see their children but for Brad though it would be the ultimate revenge to see Angie led away in handcuffs, Nashville legend Travis Tritt is trying to keep up with country music’s up-and-comers by getting a lift from plastic surgery and recent photos show the 57-year-old almost unrecognizable with a line-free face and skin as tight as a drum -- Travis is getting ready to put out his first album of new music in more than ten years and it’s hard to blame the guy when he’s completing against singers 30 years younger

Page 10: Hot Shots -- Julia Garner got a touch-up on the Staten Island set of Inventing Anna, Reverend Run visited a mural of slain Run-DMC bandmate Jam Master Jay in NYC’s Hollis Queens, Vanessa Paradis and daughter Lily-Rose Depp in Paris

Page 11: Lovestruck Chrissy Metz is already talking marriage and babies with newly unveiled beau Bradley Collins but she has a history of falling for guys fast which has previously been a recipe for heartbreak and while nobody’s doubting Bradley’s intentions there’s a lot of confusion about why they kept their romance totally hidden until now, the devastating fire that tore through Rachael Ray’s home has made her reassess her life and she and husband John Cusimano are now considering adopting a baby -- losing so many of their possessions in the fire made them realize they weren’t all that important anyway so they bulldozed the house and are rebuilding and the word is they’ll add a nursery

Page 12: Straight Shuter -- Danny Trejo cuddled a rescue pup (picture), Lizzo is the first plus-sized Black woman to ever grace the cover of Vogue but pulling off the shoot was a challenge with most designers unable to find clothes that fit her, Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel are very private and they’re livid with Lance Bass after he confirmed that they had another baby, when he was NBC’s biggest star Matt Lauer conducted almost every high-profile interview and now editors and doing a lot of cropping and zooming to preserve archived footage while removing Matt

Page 14: Crime

Page 15: Rock guitar god Eddie Van Halen who tragically died after a brave battle with cancer wanted to be buried with one of his Frankenstrat guitars that he created to define his signature sound -- Eddie felt like he owed his whole life to that instrument and he loved that thing as much as his family, Perez Hilton dished he kissed notorious skirt-chaser John Mayer in a New York nightclub and the lip-lock happened right in front of John’s then girlfriend Jessica Simpson who didn’t seem to know whether she was incredibly embarrassed or really turned on

Page 16: Cover Story -- explosive new autopsy evidence proves superstar Whitney Houston didn’t have to die -- eight years after she passed mysteries about her final moments and blatant blunders at the death scene point to murder and a shocking coverup and now investigators are demanding a new probe into the 2012 tragedy in a Los Angeles hotel bathroom and for Whitney’s body to be exhumed -- a private eye believes the autopsy proves Whitney was murdered but the case was never pursued because she was dismissed as a druggie and she was marginalized by law enforcement as a dead drug user

Page 18: American Life

Page 19: Horror movie legend John Saxon’s family started battling over his fortune even before he passed on July 25 -- in legal papers filed in May his son Antonio claimed the actor’s third wife Gloria Martel had been pocketing money against John’s wishes, Netflix faces criminal charges in Texas over the controversial film Cuties -- according to court documents a Tyler County grand jury indicted Netflix claiming it knowingly promoted visual material that depicts the lewd exhibition of the private parts of a clothed or partially clothed child younger than 18 -- Netflix said in a statement that Cuties is a social commentary about the sexualization of young children and this charge is without merit

Page 20: Suzanne Somers recently cheated death when she and husband Alan Hamel fell down a flight of stairs at their Palm Springs home and although Alan wasn’t seriously injured the terrifying spill left Suzanne in agony with two displaced vertebrae and forced her to undergo delicate neck surgery but she said the surgery went off without a hitch and promised she is on the mend, Hollywood Hookups -- Sofia Richie has unfollowed Scott Disick on Instagram, Zac Efron hopes to marry Vanessa Valladares, Sharon Stone and Mindy Kaling are both on the market

Page 21: Twelve years after she was placed under conservatorship Britney Spears remains unable to sign her own name on official documents -- Britney recently made moves asking to allow a different financial group to step in and help run her life as well as gain more freedom but lawyer Andrew Wallet said Britney to this day does not have the capacity to sign documents and make decisions for herself and she is susceptible to undue influences, the audience for the Saturday Night Live season premiere came away with more than just a few yuks they also received $150 because to get around New York State pandemic guidelines SNL gave each guest a parting gift of $150 paychecks as if they were employees, Prince Harry and Meghan Markle may soon have a new neighbor in heavy metal maniac Tommy Lee -- the drummer was recently spotted checking out a $2.3 million three-acre plot next to the rogue royals’ $14 million home in Montecito and he was obviously pumped about living there but building the tattooed rocker’s home would mean tons of truck traffic and hopefully Harry and Meghan don’t get upset with the building work he’s planning

Page 22: ABC is reeling from a barrage of allegations from employees and on-air talent who’ve blasted it as a toxic and racist working environment -- the network which is owned by the family-friendly Walt Disney Corporation was rocked when Sunny Hostin the popular co-host of The View accused company executives of institutional and personal racism in her memoir and in later interviews about the book

Page 26: Lonely country singer Kenny Chesney is looking to find a new ladylove and is talking about finally settling down for good -- he is unhappily single after his eight-year relationship with model Mary Nolan hit the rocks -- he spends all the time he’s not on the road at his island paradise in Antigua but he misses having a partner and he’s even asked pals Matthew McConaughey and Richard Branson to play matchmaker

Page 28: America is preparing for World War III as China amps up war games in the South Pacific and readies plans to invade U.S. allies -- military insiders warn China and Russia and their tyrannical accomplices in Iran and North Korea and Syria and Turkey are bracing to launch a coordinated attack against America and the west that could end in nuclear disaster

Page 36: Health Watch

Page 38: Rolling Stones guitarist Ron Wood has traded in his debauched days of sex drugs and rock ‘n’ roll for knitting, Rod Stewart revealed there’s a deep freeze between him and former close pal Elton John and that Elton refused his attempts to that things out -- the two ‘70s icons had been friends for decades before Rod blasted Elton’s biopic and his most recent music tour -- when Rod realized he was in the doghouse he tried to bait Elton with a bone for his kids by inviting Elton’s boys Zachary and Elijah to come play soccer with his sons Alistair and Aiden only to be greeted with the sounds of silence

Page 42: Red Carpet -- The Christian Siriano collection

Page 45: Spot the Differences -- Sophie Okonedo in Ratched

Page 47: Odd List

8 notes · View notes