#i do love cell and swirly shots

[raisinbran79]

((( Please give feedback!! I'm a sad writer))))

The day came late for Jack Brown. The afternoon sunlight shot through his broken blinds pulling him from a restless slumber. Sometimes before he opens his eyes, he’ll forget where he is. He’ll forget his dread of embracing the day. 

Jack opens his eyes and in a haze looks towards his smartphone. His skeletal fingers were shaking and the camera app on his phone flashed a reflection at him. Jack brown could be mistaken for a corpse if it wasn’t for the bright, ice blue of his eyes. He cringed at his reflection and went to check the time.

Sitting up in his single bed, his lungs felt full. He pushes out a strangled cough. Jack wiped his face and saw the black sludge that had leaked out of his lungs. Jack felt a lump in his stomach whenever he thought about his grandmother dying of lung cancer. even though his grandmother had passed from lung cancer when he was 21, hence the reason he is now the sole resident of her rent-controlled apartment. Jack remembered the day he had found her in the kitchen slumped over a bowl of cheerios with her oxygen tank screaming for more air, as her lungs probably did. 

Jack looks around her apartment: It was a small place stacked with his grandmother's old paperba and erotica novels, her moth-eaten old furniture, and  pictures of her friends and family that he had never met. Evidence of a long and happy life should have been a comfort to Jack. He wanted to erase all the evidence of her. Make this his real home, yet he couldn’t bear to do it. These photographs lined every wall, even in the bedroom. He felt like a stranger here, like he didn’t belong. Like everywhere else, even in his own home, he had strangers staring at him. The constant loneliness of a million eyes glaring was now the only comfort he held inside of himself. 

Jack pulled himself out of bed, groaning with each pop in his bones. He picked up his uniform from the floor, A grey pinstripe button-up with SECURITY detailed on the front pocket and black slacks. In the pocket were a crushed pack of cigarettes and his father's red pocket knife, a reminder of the man he would never be. Beside him on the nightside table was a photo of Jack and his father. When his father was younger you could’ve sworn he was a movie star. Long blonde hair, and not even one crooked tooth. Jack pushed a hand through his dusty blond hair and ran his tongue over his yellowing teeth. He cleared his throat again and placed a cigarette in his mouth. One of his darker fantasies involved him waking up one morning and coughing so hard bits of his lung would spill out of his mouth, at least he wouldn’t have to go to work.

Jack made his way to the kitchen and opened up his fridge. The only thing cast in the fluorescent light was a dilapidated birthday cake. It had been Jack's birthday less than a week ago. Some of his coworkers had got together and purchased it for him. It was a vanilla cake ( he hated vannile) with pink icing. On the top of the cake, in red swirly lettering was “ Happy Birthday Jake!”  The mistake did not bother Jack, the subject of birthday cake had always been a sore spot anyways. 

His father Bo Brown, smelled like cheap barley and stale tobacco. A cigar always seemed to be perched in between his index and pointed finger. Jack, had always thought the way his mama, Eleanor Brown, was different and more delicate. As if in between those red painted fingernails she was holding a daisy. It was Jack’s sixth birthday and Eleanor had baked him a vanilla birthday cake with cream cheese frosting. His father, always being one for celebration, was very very drunk. What Jack didn’t understand was that drunkenness was the closest thing to goodness his father was capable of. The alcohol disillusioned his ambitions making him an unpredictable and stupid man.  

In the doorway of the kitchen his mother stood with the birthday cake. She was a round woman. 

Her eyes were like two round blue and green globes like the one in his classroom, and her cheeks round summer peaches. Jack did not receive his mother’s body type, instead he was cold and angular like his father. Eleanor stood with the cake on a platter and six red candles illuminating her smile in a heavenly halo. Bo sat at the kitchen table tapping his yellowed fingernails on the table and sipping his drink. The ice cubes clinked as he clapped his son on the back and yelled drunkenly 

“ Well, Ellie, our sons are finally a man!” he shouted, “ and a man deserves a man’s gift.” 

From his work jeans Jack’s father brandished a black box. When he opened it, a tiny red pocket layed there peacefully. 

“ Now Bo, don’t you think he’s a little.. Young” his mother laughed sheepishly, her eyes brandishing terror. 

“ Now Bo, don’t you think he’s a little young” Bo mocked as pure rage flashed across his face and he flicked open the knife and pointed it towards his wife. 

“ Don’t you ever tell a man what to do and what not to do with his son!” he drove the knife down into the table. 

The room was so quiet  Jack could hear the blood pumping in his father's veins. His father’s face erupted into a tepid smile as he handed Jack the knife

“ I’m only joking Jackie” his father clapped him on the back once again. 

Jack was too afraid to cry. However as his mother placed the birthday cake in front of him, he saw tears in her eyes. 

“ Happy birthday Jack” 

He was too young to feel this old, but even the twenty-minute walk to the bus stop winded him. He passed young millennials with their smartphones and turtlenecks. He didn’t know who he was a part of, 23 is an ever confusing age anyways. If Jack had it his way he’d be seventy already so there would be an excuse to be so miserable. 

Jack sat toward the back of the bus as he always did. In front of him was a younger couple. The girl had short bleached hair and was wearing an oversize jean jacket with the words `` Reject society!” painted in bright red. The boy had a shaved head and was wearing a green knit sweater. His large combat boots were sticking in the aisle. As the bus started to roll the girl pulled out a cell phone and a set of headphones. She put one earbud in his ear and one in hers. The boy smiled at her, and she giggled. She set her head on his shoulder and even though Jack couldn’t see her, he knew she was smiling. He felt strange looking at them. As if he was eavesdropping on their little world. Jack was jealous of them. He was jealous he didn’t have someone to rest their head on his shoulder. To hold hands as they walked home together. To smoke cigarettes on his balcony with. Jack wasn’t unattractive. It was that Jack was terrified of people. Isolation, Jack realized, brings a lot of things. Jack thought he would forget how to speak. That his words would shoot up in his throat, and stop just behind his teeth and he`d choke on them. That his tongue would never move again and turn to cement, that`d he'd die struggling for breath. Even if those things happen .. then he wouldn’t mind too much. 

The bus slowed to a stop and the young, in-love couple scurried off. Once again as Jack stood up, his bones popped and cracked. He exited the bus, gently apologizing as he bumped into people. They said nothing back. 

Most people were exiting the museum as he hurried up the steps. Jack loved how it looked. It was reminiscent of the old homes in the south. Tall white, marble pillars in front of the doors, large glass doors with gold trimming that never chipped. Long flower boxes on each of the windows that always held cigarette butts and grocery store flowers. The building itself held an undeniable glow to anyone that stood in its shadow. 

As he entered the building one of the curators, Quinn, gave him a polite smile. Quinn was tall with dark, dark brown hair. For what Jack knew, she was nice and very very smart. Quinn always knew when to speak and she was the best with guided tours. Jack thought maybe he could ask her out for a drink one night. Maybe they'd start talking about art, and the music they liked and what he wanted in ten years. Maybe she would kiss Jack outside of his favourite Chinese restaurant and maybe Jack would meet her parents. If not that, maybe they could just be friends. 

Jack didn't have time for all that, if Jack had the right words, maybe. 

He set his bags down on the front desk and clocked in at the computer. Jack sat down and stared at the setting sun through the long windows. It was just about time to lock the door. He crossed the large entrance hall, his work boots echoing through the museum. Jack pulled his ring of keys from his belt when all of sudden Quinn was barreling up the stars. Beige high heels in hand. Jack opened up the door as she reached the top.

" Jack!" She shouted, " You're a damn lifesaver!" 

" Is everything okay?" He said 

" Yes, yes I just forgot my wallet" 

Jack let her in, and she pushed past him walking toward the front desk. 

" It's my anniversary tonight, and I didn’t want to be without" she chuckled 

" Congratulations Quinn" he smiled 

" Thank you, thank you. Were going to his favourite Chinese place on the upper side -"

" The Golden Castle?" Jack asked 

" Yes! That's the one?" She asked 

There was a silent pause as Quinn dug through the drawers at the front desk. 

" Is it only you here tonight?" She asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence. 

" Always is" 

Quinn lifted her wallet into the air triumphantly. Smiling beautifully. 

`` Well, Jack if you get too bored, there's a new exhibit just down the hall..``

She came close to him, too close. Jack tried not to be weird. But He saw her crystalline eyes reflect from the dying sunset and the small scar above her top lip. She had freckles too, hundreds of them dotted all across her face. When she smiled, her top teeth were crooked, it made her face look kind and warm. Jack looked up from her lips. 

`` Technically it’s a preservation piece, I haven’t even seen it. But, since you’re all alone” she said “ Maybe you could take a peak and tell me all about it.” 

Her body pressed against his as she leaned into his ear 

“Just don't let anyone find out, it`ll be our little secret. Okay?”

Jack beamed at her request . He put two fingers to his lips and then into the air.

“I promise, Scouts honour,” Jack said with fake confidence

There it was again, that little laugh, and that gorgeous smile. 

“ Have a good night Jack” she moved past him and out the door. She fluttered down the stairs quickly. 

“Hey, Quinn!” Jack called after her horsley 

“ Yea?!” Quinn called back from down the stairs 

“ Try the eggrolls” 

Quinn looked up at him, smiled once again and slipped into a taxi. Jack was still smiling when he closed and locked the door. He turned away from the door, and finally his cheeks fell. His face burned from smiling so hard. 

“Jesus Jack,” he thought to himself, ``Try the egg rolls?`

The night rolled on as it always does, slow and with no mercy. Jack had his feet up on the front desk and was scrolling through the 10 cameras set up on an old computer monitor. He moved his hand onto the mouse and clicked through the cameras carelessly. 

Jack knew that there was no way that anyone could get in or out of this place. His job was merely peace of mind to the faceless millionaire that owned this place. While he had never met his boss, he always pictured him as an overweight man in a tight navy suit. Usually smoking a thick cigar and having a large shiny bald head. Kind of like the old mob bosses in his father’s favourite movies. 

 All of a sudden, there was a slight itching behind his ear. He dragged his dirty fingernails behind his ear, trying to soothe the itch. The more he scratched however the more that erupted into a burning hot inflammation. He whipped his head around and smacked his ear violently. 

What the fuck, What the fuck, what the fuck? Jack screamed to himself in his head.  

Without warning, a tiny black beetle fell from Jack’s ear and into the palm of his hand. Its exoskeleton was hard and smooth. It’s mouth curled into two lewdly sharp pincers, 

Jack’s heart leapt into his throat and he threw the beetle on the ground. It scurried toward the far end of the hallway. Panting, Jack watched as it’s tiny body disappeared into the shadows. 

It was then that he noticed that there was a long shadow running up the hallway walls. Had he forgotten to turn off a light? No way Jack thought to himself. All the lights in the museum only used two switches. One for one-half of the museums’ lights, the hallway on his left, and another the hallway on his right. But one ominous light burned through the darkness. Jack stood and went to investigate. Just as he stood from his chair, the burning in his ear ceased. 

Once again his boots echoed in the empty hallways. Clump..clump….clump.

The source of the light was nowhere to be seen. Yet long shadows still ran up and down the walls. Jack turned a corner and finally there it was. The light was shining behind a large security door labelled " The Art of curse and passion DO NOT OPEN" 

This was the new exhibit Quinn had told him to venture into. Jack had made it a habit to stick to the rules. Even though Jack didn't move an inch, the door seemed to be getting closer to him with every beat of his heart. 

Lub dub….lub dub...lub dub

He outstretched his palm now drenched in sweat and grasped the polished door handle. 

When he pushed open the door, a blinding white light pierced into his eyes. Jack screamed at the pain and tried to cover his eyes but it seemed as if his hands had melted to his sides. 

In a matter of seconds, his eyes adjusted to the light.

The room was empty except for one painting. It was in a midsize thin brown frame. The painting depicted a woman. Her face was cold each angle smoother than the next. The woman's hair was deep deep obsidian and her eyes crystal white, almost as translucent as glass. A melody of flowers pooled around her, encircling her in the richest colours of flaming crimson Rose's, Bold purple violets and sapphire forget me not. She was the most beautiful woman, Jack had ever seen and once again without moving a muscle, the painting seemed to move closer to him with each beat of his heart. 

His hand hovered to her face, begging to touch her skin. Jack's body burned for her, itching like a junkie wanting a fix he yearned for her more than anything he's ever wanted. 

A soft voice came slithered over Jack's neck and into his ears 

Touch She begged Touch me 

With no second thought, Jack was removed and there only lay his desire. His long skinny finger brushed what he hoped to be canvas but instead was supple flash. Jack jumped back his heart hammering in his chest, closing his eyes tight praying hoping that this would all be a dream. He dug his fingernails deep into his palms praying that maybe that would wake him. 

Yet when he opened his eyes, the painting had gotten closer and closer. The fear left his body as a receding tide. He was left face to face with Her. Jack’s breath left him in fleeting gasps. Her face moved, looking through him and at him all the same.  Her blushing rose lips grazed him. Jack melted at the feeling of her tongue grazing his bottom lip.

She tasted like springtime. Fresh warmth after months of bitter cold and for the first moment, Jack's world was no longer colour blind. He was locked into her. 

Help me Jack her voice was smooth and kind,  I know, I know how lonely you are. How your heartaches as mine does. How the emptiness fills you like desire, I feel it too Jack. Please, please let me out. 

I can’t Jack thought to himself I’ll lose my job 

Please Jack, she begged, you hate it here, you despise this place. 

From the bottom corner of the painting, a milky white hand appeared. It outstretched and wrapped itself around Jack’s cheek. Digging her palm into his jagged face, seemingly touching him from the inside. 

I’ll save you Jack if you save me first. 

There was no more Jack, only the paint that had seeped from her lips into him. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out his father's pocket knife, assuming his destiny and releasing Her from her cage. 

Jack rolled her up and cradled her in his arms. He felt her warmth radiate all over him. 

Jack left the room, now dark as if the lights had never been on. His boots clomped once again, faster as he sped towards the door. Jack saw that hours had passed by him while he was in the room ; dawn illuminated the museum. To the front doors in which he quickly unlocked and threw open. The screech of the security alarms rang in his ears and he pumped his legs, not worried about turning off the alarm, not worried about anything. Jack's lungs felt as if they were made of lead and his blood pure and burning adrenaline

 Feeling the bright morning dew slick on his skin and the light finally breaking through his fog. 

Faster Jack, they can’t catch us 

Jack ran so fast that the gods would never touch him. His long legs burned and begged him to slow down but Jack had what he never did, purpose and love. 

It was too early for passersby to see him. The occasional morning jogger passed judgement at his uniform. They assumed he was just another nighttime degenerate crawling into the day. 

He ran even faster. 

Jack entered his apartment. The silence was crowded by the blood pounding thick in his ears. Jack stood for a moment. Revealing how the faces in all of his grandmothers' photographs seemed to smile at him now. 

Unravel me Jack she said 

All at once Jack rushed toward his kitchen table, swiping the ashtrays and stacks of paperbacks onto the ground. He opened her onto the table and was once again swept by her burning beauty. 

He pulled up a chair and sat there at his table staring intently at the painting. Memorizing each curve, each line of her face. Tears burned at his eyes, and he wept onto her. 

It’s okay Jack, You’ll never have to feel that way again, I just need one more thing

Anything, absolutely anything Jack smiled though his gut-wrenching sobs. 

You must devour me

The life he lived before her was black and grey and now he breathed technicolour.

Dust settled on the table around him and on his fingertips. Spider’s and dust mites scurried up and down his furniture and the carpet. Large moths had fluttered onto my clothing, slowly but surely tearing away my cotton uniform. Leaving me a bare corpse dissolving into dust.  I was disappearing as if his body was becoming weaker, and weaker with each passing breath. 

You must devour me. Her voice echoed through his brain, and Jack became aware of what he must do. 

Jack moved his skeletal frame towards his fridge. His stomach was caved inward, and his ribs jutted out at all angles. Jack’s stick-like fingers grasped the door and opened it. The cartilage in his knuckles cracking like ice on a pond. 

In his fridge, behind the cake, there was a glass cup of cream and a mason jar of honey. Jack used his failing strength to set the cream and the honey on the table. He slumped down once again. 

Jack lowered his head to her face one last time.  Pressing his forehead to hers and his chapped lips to hers. All he tasted was canvas. 

Please don’t leave me he thought, I love you

Jack, don’t you see, now I’ll always be apart of you

You’ll never be alone again 

He stuck his fingers into the jar of honey and slathered her face encompassing her in sweetness. Delicately he ripped a piece of her and stuffed it past his lips. Dissolving the canvas into a soft pulp. His back molars did not dare tear the paper to bits. His stomach screamed for fullness. The ball of dissolving canvas lodged itself below his Adam's apple. Jack poured the cream down his throat and colour entered him. With ravenous lust , piece after piece Jack began to gorge himself stuffing every last piece inside him. He ate around her face, devouring the prismatic flowers first. Slathering each piece in gobs of honey and gulping down cream. Sputtering whiteness from his full mouth. Jack paused when it came to her waxy and pointed face. He ripped larger, and larger portions from her face until the only pieces left were her eyes. He held the last pieces of her in his hands and dipped her in the honey. He swallowed so much of her she gripped his throat. The yellow liquid dripped down his chin and onto his wrists, the long self inflicted scars of his youth were bathed in sweetness. 

Never again Jack promised himself,

Never again the woman's voice promised him. 

If alone was a feeling, loneliness was a hole in the bottom of his stomach an ache in his tooth. An itch in the back of your eye. I had always had this hole, this ache and this itch. 

As she entered me, as her color filled me….

Jack brown was never lonely again. 

….

#writer #writers on tumblr #writing #writeblr #love #horror #harry potter

[shirtlesssammy]

3x12: Jus in Bello

Then:

Demons are everywhere, Bella stole the Colt, and Dean’s still going to Hell.

Now:

The boys are on the hunt for the Colt and Bella. They find her hotel room in Colorado.

The phone rings and Dean answers. It’s Bella, calling from her car two states away. She has the Colt still (just casually sitting in her passenger seat, like what?) and just to keep the boys safely away from her, she called the cops on them. And who happens to show up with the cops? Agent Victor Henriksen! Dean is not impressed. 

At the sheriff’s station, Henriksen realizes that they are understaffed and unprepared to handle the two dangerous monsters they’re about to house. He tries warning the local sheriff, and scares a cross-wearing secretary in the process.

The brothers are hauled into the station in chains, and then placed in a cell together. Hmm, I think I’d keep them seperate maybe. (Although their chain maneuvering hijinks is mildly entertaining.)

Side note:

His eyes are hazel (not fanfiction green?!?) and one of his aliases reminds me that once upon a time we didn’t completely live in a nightmarish hellscape here in the US.

The FBI can’t risk losing these two again, so they’re sending a helicopter. In the meantime, Henriksen shouldn’t take his eyes off the two wanted criminals. He decides to taunt them.

Henriksen’s boss, Deputy Director Steven Groves, shows up in the helicopter and hands Henriksen a pile of paperwork while he wanders off to find the fugitives. He finds them and after a quick greeting, starts shooting them! Dean gets hit in the shoulder before Sam and Dean hold the guy back. It’s then that Sam sees his eyes turn ---he’s a demon. Sam starts chanting the exorcism and the demon bolts, leaving Henriksen and the local PD to find the Deputy Director dead on the ground and Sam holding a gun. The boys insist that they didn’t shoot him and, indeed, there is no bullet wound. Sam informs them that the man was possessed. They try contacting officers outside the jail cell, but only hear static.

Once outside, Henriksen’s partner finds out why.

They’re all dead. The helicopter then explodes and the agent meets his own demise.

Inside, things are a tad chaotic. There’s no phone, internet, or cell coverage. Then the lights go out. Henriksen orders the station on lock down. He then goes to berate Sam and Dean for their latest plan of escape.

They assure him that whatever is out there, isn’t going to help them. Henriksen refuses to hear the word “demons.” He leaves and Nancy the secretary peeks in on them. They plead for help --or a towel for Dean’s wound, but she runs away silently --but comes back almost instantly with a towel. She hands over the towel but Sam grabs her arm and she screams, alerting an officer who helps escape. Dean wants to know Sam’s angle: San grabbed Nancy’s rosary.

Later, the brothers discuss why the demons are coming for them Dean wonders if they have a contract out on them “Think it’s because we’re so awesome? I think it’s ‘cause we’re so awesome.” Sam is not amused.

An officer comes in to move the boys, but then Henriksen comes in and shoots him. Sam grabs  Henriksen and gives him a very holy swirly, expelling the demon. The deputy and Nancy look on. Henriksen comes to and admits, “I shot the sheriff.” Dean, MY HERO, replies, “But you didn’t shoot the deputy.” They then tell him he was possessed. His brain clearly does a little rainbow wheel moment to process, but then releases the brothers from their chains.

Sam breaks out his mad spray painting skills and wards the joint. Dean gets patched up and tells them to gather the salt, and then asks where is car is.

Dean races out to his car in the jail’s impound lot and weapons up.

Meanwhile, lights flicker nearby and the smoke monster - I mean, demons - blaze their way towards the jail. Dean looks back at the maelstrom growing behind him and races for the building.

Smoke streams towards the police station, buffeting it and rattling at the doors and windows. But the building holds fast. They’ve put enough salt around the borders to keep the barriers strong. The first assault over, Dean hands out anti-possession medallions for everyone to wear.

Outside the townspeople gather. It’s their friends, their loved ones. And they’re all possessed.

Victor gets the monster-hunting 101 treatment from Dean as they load up shotgun shells with salt. Victor handles this all incredibly well...which is why we love him.

“My job is boring. It’s frustrating,” Victor tells him. “I’ve been busting my ass for 15 years to nail a handful of guys and all this while, there’s something off in the corner so big...” He kind of regrets spending his whole life on the long slow fight against normal, human criminals, when he could have been fighting the wider world of monsters.

Dean tells Victor with his usual bravado that he thinks the “world’s gonna end bloody. But it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight. We do have choices. I choose to go down swingin’.” Put that on a t-shirt. Dean Winchester, resistance hero <3

Victor and Dean’s bromance is interrupted by a crash. It’s Ruby! She got in through a broken salt line on the window. She grouchily informs them that there’s a new player in town: Lilith. Dean’s pissed that Sam didn’t tell him about her.

And Ruby’s pissed once she learns that they lost the Colt. Wherps. She offers a demon super bomb spell so strong it’ll even kill her. All she needs is a virgin.

Dean I’ll-pretend-to-be-a-virgin Winchester tries to sacrifice himself, but Ruby isn’t falling for it (because she’s not a babbling idiot, come on guys). It turns out there IS a virgin in the station, though. It’s Nancy!

Great! It’s a plan. Ruby gets ready to move forward with...ripping Nancy’s heart out of her chest. Yeesh. Let’s just...take that all back. Everyone argues over Nancy’s fate until Nancy interrupts. She’ll sacrifice herself to save her friends outside.

Victor cuts in when the argument starts getting out of hand. Nobody gets sacrificed, damn it. He and Dean share a best buddies look of friendship over this!!!

Sam, meanwhile, hasn’t picked a side yet. Should he kill Nancy or save her. If he saves her then he’s potentially endangering all the possessed townspeople by not bombing out the demons. Classic demon trolley problem. Dean’s extremely concerned about Sam’s moral fog and pulls Sam aside. They can’t “throw away the rule book and stop acting like humans.” They’ve got people with them now that they can save...so they’re gonna do it. Besides. Dean has a plan. It’s a good one.

Wait for it…

“Open the doors, let them all in and we fight.”

Dean. Bean.

Ruby tells Sam she’s done with him and they let her out of the police station. She brazens her way through the demon crowd and exits, stage parking lot.

Inside, Dean’s plan begins. They all remove the salt lines and scratch away the devils traps. Then, armed with salt shotguns, they wait...

One by one the demons invade and the fight quickly gets dirty. Dean and Victor end up back to back, helping each other out and I’m singing BEEEEST FRIENDS FOREEEEEVER.

Nancy and the other cop wait on the roof. “When this is over, I’m gonna have so much sex,” Nancy vows (but not with that dude). Then they scatter salt at all the doors and windows...on the outside of the building. The demons are all trapped inside. The battle rages on.

It’s looking bad for Sam and Dean when Victor breaks free from the demons attacking him and triggers a tape deck. Sam’s voice sounds over the loudspeaker and an exorcism begins!

Outside, a big bad demon runs past Nancy and spares her. I’m glad to see that she’s going to survive this!

All the demons smoke out of all the people, swirl up into a cloud and, trapped, explode into flame. Which is kind of badass.

They’re left with a station full of recovering ex-demons. Victor bids the Winchesters farewell. He’s going to fake their death. Dean looks at Victor. BEST BUDS.

The Winchesters skedaddle.

A little later, a small girl enters the station. She tells Nancy that she’s looking for two brothers. “One’s really tall, and one’s really cute.” (Oh you’re not wrong, honey.) She introduces herself as Lilith and her eyes turn white. Eeesh. She destroys the folks in the station. So much for Victor’s and Nancy’s survival.

Ruby bursts into the Winchesters’ hotel room and tells them to turn on the news (I love that demons are just seemingly tuned to TV signals). They see footage of the charred remains of the police station. Everyone was killed including Victor and Nancy.

(I didn’t see Victor die. Did you? I definitely did not. Dean and Victor: best friends forever!)

For Science

Ruby blames them for this disaster. If they’d done it her way, the townspeople AND the station folks would have survived. But since they didn’t pull a big demon nuke, the blood’s on them. Sam listens intently to Ruby…

Oh, Sam, your first (second, third, fifty-fourth?) mistake.

Best Quotes Forever:

Why all the sourpusses?

You kinky sonofabitch...we don’t swing that way

Let me tell you, something. You should be a lot more scared of me

Would it kill these cops to bring us a snack

It’s like we got a contract on us. Think it’s because we’re so awesome? I think it’s ‘cause we’re so awesome

“I shot the sheriff.” “But you didn’t shoot the deputy.”

If it makes you feel better, Bigfoot’s a hoax.

I’m sorry, I must have blood in my ear. I thought I just heard you say that you were stupid enough to let the Colt get grabbed out of your thick, clumsy, idiotic hands

Nobody kill any virgins!

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spnrecap #spnrewatch #spn 3x12 #jus in bello #dean winchester #sam winchester #victor henriksen #ruby #supernatural season 3

[justinehudock]

Marble-turkey-flirty-birdy-vagina-cow.

Unlike a box of chocolates, a bag of marbles is not like life. Life is more complex. A marble is a glass ball with dye injected into it to create those swirly swirls of color. It has little scenes delicately fed into it with the dye, sometimes, by the hand of an artisan, of cowboys in the middle of a standoff, ready to knock each other’s brains out because one proposed marriage to the other but the other hoped to reserve that pleasure for himself. A marble is a perfect thing. A perfect thing. A wonderful thing. I love them. But they are not like life. 

I don’t understand a thing. All that I have are my imperfect beliefs, and my spoiled humility, and my potpourri-scented wardrobe, and my father’s ashes, which act as the sand in my desktop zen garden. My name is Jackie Turkey, and I’m a turkey whose feed, one day, contained a perfect purple marble.

The farmer’s son flipped it by accident, playing some juvenile marble game in the barn where I live which the young boy often escapes to, to get away from his overbearing father farmer and mother farmer, who want him to become a veterinarian but the young boy, a vocal product of the anti-war movement, cannot stand the thought of a career prefixed with Vet. 

I would not give it back to him, this marble. I’m a turkey, see. Jackie Turkey. And we don’t have hands to give things back with, so, what we finds, we keeps, and there’s nothing the law can do about it. If a legless man found himself in possession of another’s soccer ball, you wouldn’t ask him to kick it back, would you? I nearly choked to death on the thing, too, bastard. I can accept a gift with as great a level of shrinking modesty as the next turkey, but, we’ve all heard stories of the ceremonious jerk who put his girlfriend’s engagement ring on a breadstick, which she swallowed unknowingly, and choked to death on. We’ve seen the tabloids!

Anyway, I didn’t choke on the marble. Turkeys, of which I am one among, have what’s known as an “inner gobble.” To put in layman’s terms, this is sort of like a fleshy pinball flicker. It’s located inside our long, scrubby necks, and if anything goes down that pipe that’s not supposed to — like sticks with cotton wool at the end on fire, or ghost peppers, or what have you. A clump of wet sand, I don’t know — the inner gobble flicks it back up, like how you sometimes see humans flick flies mid-air, just for fun. Except it’s not a matter of fun. It’s a matter of choking or breathing, and I usually opt for the latter. 

This marble dislodged, shot straight upward, ruptured through my barnhouse’s ceiling (making me quite the nice bullet-hole-sized skylight, slash secret passageway for my flirty little girlie, the hummingbird from Tree #223) then fell straight back down, through the hole, and landed softly in the hay at my little turkey talons.

I didn’t know what to do with it, at first. It seemed sort of like it could be a very small alien spaceship, so I watched it for a few minutes to see if a little hatch would open and tiny, possibly turkey-shaped aliens would step out and demand I let them conquer me. I wouldn’t let them, mind. I would have eaten them whole, or kept them as friends, but friends with handcuffs on and muzzles and no cell phone privileges, and also I would have blocked all extraterrestrial area codes just to be safe. But nothing of the sort happened. I was glad. Aliens are tough to assimilate. People don’t like their green skin, even if they are turkey-shaped and in that way, seemingly benign and familiar. 

I pushed the marble lightly with my beak, then jumped backward ten feet and watched, guarding my turkey loins, to see if it did anything. It didn’t. Cautious but markedly less afraid, I approached the marble again. I used my talon to poke it this time, then jumped forward ten feet, rotating mid-air so that I landed facing the marble, my wings poised in a Taekwondo starting position. I was ready for anything. Except what happened. 

Which was nothing. By this point I was happy to accept that this was probably one of those spheres that the farmer’s little boy was always playing with, which had never given any hint of being anything but, as I intuitively dubbed them, glass spheres. I had watched the marble as it flew from his hand into my feed, after all. I said that before, didn’t I? I’m just careful, is all. You never know. You never do know.

It must be, oh, seven months since the marble passed the beak-push, talon-push test. Since then, we’ve become close friends. I’m a male, see, but sometimes Marble will role as my little egg baby, and I’ll pretend I’m laying him, then I’ll pretend I’m sitting on him, just like a chicken. Other days, my hummingbird girlfriend from Tree #223 will come over, and she’ll load Marble in my throat like a cannon, which activates my inner gobble, then she’ll quickly turn me so I’m facing an unsuspecting barn-mate — like Harry Horse, or Vagina Cow — and Marble will shoot through the air like a bulleted list item as it’s checked off the virtual To Do and gets sucked through the plumbing of the internet.

[btsinwonderland]

Love Me Better - Ch. 18

A Monsta X Story...

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter 

Full Chapter List

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

She knocked on a mahogany door. The hallway had rose wallpaper and a dark wooden finish along the corners. It reminded her of some horror movie she had seen when she was young. She could almost picture the walls splashed with blood.

Wonho opened the door with a serious expression and led her inside. He glanced out at the hallway before shutting the door.

"Where is he?" Vy said.

Wonho pointed his thumb towards the closed bathroom door. Wonho had messaged her about his whereabouts when he found David hiding out at this hotel. She wondered what condition David was in but decided to wait and see. She gave Wonho the items that the restaurant owner gave her. He took the envelope and looked through it quickly.

"Hmm,looks like he's been associating with a few different people. Some I've seen on the business side of things. But that could mean anything."

It seemed he was more speaking to himself but she quietly listened. She watched his hands flip quickly between the papers and then suddenly he stopped. She observed his eyes go wide with terror for a split second then return not quite to normal. His grip on the paper tightened to the point he crumpled the sides and almost ripped it. She felt waves of tension coming off his body. He tossed the other papers on the bed and kept the crumpled one with him.

He stormed into the washroom and Vy heard him interrogating David. She remained by the bed unsure of what to do so she just listened.

"What were you doing here?"

She heard him straighten out the paper and assumed he held it up for David to see.

David’s voice was low and fatigued. "Look, I swear I don't know anything. They just made me cover up some paper trails, that's it."

She heard Wonho punch him. The sound made her cringe, she knew Wonho was angry about something and that his hits might not be as controlled as they should.

David spat on the floor and moaned in pain. It seemed like he was doing his best to hold back tears. "Please, if I say anything they'll kill me."

"You already dug your grave when you betrayed the Park family by doing business with the Hanamuri. Did you think we wouldn't find out?"

There was silence, then David took a breath. "I went to that club to get my instructions. That was the only place they'd meet me."

It was silent for a long time. Vy wondered what she should do and then a phone rang from a jacket on the table beside her. She took it out of the jacket pocket and realized it was David's phone. Wonho ran in and she passed him the phone. He took it back to the washroom and showed David.

"Fuck! It's the guy I meet at the club...they're going to kill me..."

"You're going to answer this phone, and you're going to do your god damn best to meet with them again. You do that and we will protect you," Wonho said.

He answered on speaker and handed David the phone.

The man on the other line sounded slightly drunk and annoyed. Vy was not sure if that was just the lilt of his voice or if he was really inebriated.

"David...you fucked up."

"I don't know who broke into my office sir, it was a mistake-"

"Tsk tsk, we don't like mistakes. You know this."

"Please sir, I can give you everything I had on the-"

"Bring the files to our usual meeting place. We'll call you. And make sure you bring all of it David."

With that the phone call ended. She heard David sighing loudly.

"They're going to kill me as soon as I give them everything."

"I know," Wonho said, "that's why you're going to cooperate with us since at least this gives you a chance. Think about your options right now, you don’t have many, I’ll be back."

He closed the bathroom door on his way out and tossed the crumpled paper on the bed. His hands ran through his hair and he rubbed his face. Vy noticed Wonho's restless behaviour increased since she showed him the envelope. He refused to sit down and paced around the room before staring out the window.

She picked up the paper and saw that it was a printed photo. It was incredibly grainy  and faded but it was a street shot. One building in particular stood out and it had a bright sign titled “Siren Song” in swirly letters with a small crowd of people at the front doors. She wondered if Wonho had been there before.

Then David called out from the washroom. He said he would cooperate with them if they would help him. Wonho agreed and released him from his binds. He was surprised when he saw Vy for the first time but said nothing.

The car ride was silent. They put a bag over his head and had him lay down in the back. She almost apologized for the uncomfortable ride but thought it was best to remain quiet.

They pulled up to the front of the apartment and Wonho turned the car off right away. It was dark outside and the lack of head lights made it hard to see. Wonho pulled David out of the car and told him to be quiet. Vy was directed to lead the way to the basement and make sure nobody was around to see them.

They snuck inside and Wonho led their visually impaired guest in. He guided David through the hallways and Vy led them down the stairs. She wondered why they were going downstairs with him.

Out of routine her body turned towards the gym but Wonho turned the other way. It was the area she had been before with all the metal doors, a place she had never been.

Wonho pressed some combination on a keypad and opened one of the doors. She peeked inside and her eyes widened. It was a cell. The entire room was a metal box with a small toilet and a cot. She stopped Wonho and looked at him. He pushed David into the cell and took the bag off his head.

David looked around and Vy could see his sinking expression. She knew that the man was no angel but there was an unsettling feeling in her stomach at the thought of leaving him there.

"I'm sure you understand why, " Wonho said.

David nodded and went to sit down with his hands resting on his knees. "What will we do when they call?"

"For now, rest up. I'll give you details later. Do you know when they would notify you?"

David looked purely dismal, "sometimes they don't call for days."

Wonho brought him food and jugs of water and placed it in the corner of the room. Vy watched over him while Wonho got the room ready.

"I know that the situation seems bad, but if we help each other it will get better," the words slipped out before she could do anything.

David looked up at her from the cot and gave her a tiny smile, "you must be new." He laughed a bit and then spoke again, "I don't mean that in a bad way, but usually the greener  you are, the more the optimism. But I appreciate it."

She simply nodded and then Wonho came back with the last of the provisions. Then they closed the door and locked it. Wonho turned to Vy and grabbed her shoulders looking her square in the eye.

"We have to make sure nobody here knows about David, no one. Make sure nobody saw us. We don't have to worry too much since it's sound proof but just in case keep an eye out. Okay?" Wonho said.

She nodded and he let her go. They walked towards the gym when she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. She looked in the direction of the sound and saw a scared looking Changkyun hiding within the equipment. From his expression she had a feeling he saw all of it.  

Wonho stopped, "what's wrong? Did you see someone?"

She looked away quickly and changed the subject. Wonho seemed to believe it and moved on. When they got upstairs Wonho sent her on a short errand while he started the meeting with Shownu.

On her way to his office, she got a phone call, it was Minhyuk. He told her that he would be coming back earlier and her spirits rose immediately. She excitedly spoke with him for a few minutes then hung up though her heart could still feel the after effects.

When she approached the door she heard yelling from Shownu’s office.

"It's her! She's fucking involved in this I know it. Let me go there to talk to her, I can get the information! I don't care what I have to do..." It was Wonho that was yelling.

During the silence Vy thought it was appropriate to knock and walk in. Shownu and Wonho were both standing and facing one another.

"Wonho, we are not going to war with the Hanamuri. So we need to play nice. But I agree with you, I think we need to go there and make a deal with her. But it's too dangerous for you and Vy alone. I'm putting Minhyuk and Hyungwon on this."

Wonho looked livid at the mention of their names. "Are you fucking crazy? I can handle it on my own, why would you drag them into this. It's hard enough for Hyungwon."

Shownu did something he usually never did, he got in Wonho's face. Quite close. He towered over him.

"You are too close to this, and it's too important to not be careful. I trust you Wonho, I don't trust her."

They stayed like that for a moment then Wonho broke away and stormed off. She wondered if that was a regular interaction for them.

"You're probably wondering if that's how it always is with him, and for the most part not really. Ever since you got here and since..." Shownu said trailing off.

Vy hesitated when she spoke. "I'm a bit confused on what we're doing?"

Shownu sat back down and clasped his hands together. "Oh right, I know that you have David Porter locked in the basement and we need him to meet with the Hanamuri guys. I also know that they will meet him at a nightclub called Siren Song. That's where a lot of deals and information exchange goes down. That night club is run by a group called the Jeon Syndicate. We have to make a deal with their leader to let us go undercover into their club and protect David and also get information from the people he's meeting."

She went over his words slowly in her mind. "Is that what Wonho wanted to do alone? Why was he so emotional about it?"

Shownu stiffened up more than usual. "It's a complicated issue, just do your best to keep him under control. That's why I'm sending Hyungwon and Minhyuk with you. Hyungwon can do the talking."

"Who's the leader of the Jeon Syndicate?" Vy said.

"Her name is Chae Soo."

#monsta x #monsta x fan fiction #monsta x fanfic #monsta minhyuk #monsta x wonho #monsta x hyungwon #monsta x i.m. #monsta x kihyun #monsta x jooheon #monsta x changkyun #monsta x shownu #monsta x rush #monsta x trespass #monsta x the clan #wonho fan fiction #shin hoseok #lee minhyuk #kpop #kpop fan fiction #wonho fanfic #love me better #gang au #mob au #angst #monsta x angst

[be11atrixthestrange]

Like It Never Happened

This is a crime story I wrote for The House Competition. Writing it stretched my creativity and deeply challenged me, but I’m extremely proud of how it turned out! 

(Loosely inspired by the TV Show ‘Supernatural’ because Dean + Sam = Harry + Ron, and there’s no point in trying to change my mind!)

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

Theme: Crime Prompts: 1 — [Dialogue (multiline)] "Trust in your gut." / "What's your gut telling you?" 2 — [First line] She never knew that a simple run in the morning could change her life, but it did.

Word Count: 3k

Read on AO3 | FFN

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

She never knew that a simple run in the morning could change her life, but it did.

Marianne had sensed that something awful would happen that morning. It was a rock-solid pit of dread that sagged in her stomach as her husband Bill laced up his trainers. She would have tried to keep him from going on his morning jog, but he wouldn't have listened to her anyway. Instead, he'd have shrugged her off, paying no mind to her silly premonitions, which, according to Bill, were more of a reason for caution, not trust. Gut feelings couldn't hold a candle to facts and evidence.

He used to joke about it. "Trust in your gut? That's no way to live."

"Why? What's your gut telling you?" The corners of her mouth would curl in amusement; she secretly loved their playful debates. Challenging each other had become a flirtatious past-time over the years, and it was good for him too. As the lead investigator of the local detective squad, Bill had her to thank for his polished interrogation skills.

"My gut's telling me to eat more vegetables." He'd lean back in his chair and pat his belly, now round with memories of cozy movie nights spent sipping hot cocoa from matching mugs, their intertwined fingers slippery from the extra butter on their popcorn. "Now, why would I listen to that?"

To a certain extent, he was right. Marianne often relied too heavily on emotions, waving aside inconvenient facts. Her opinions and beliefs were always fast-formed and long-lasting. Bill encouraged her to take a step back; to get to know people before forming judgments, to 'sleep on it' before buying the shoes, and to consider her bias.

And in return, Marianne never hesitated to say 'I told you so' when a roundabout investigation led back to the first suspect, the one that 'seemed a bit off' even before the evidence came through.

What a mistake it had been to keep quiet that fateful morning. She nervously watched from the window as Bill picked up his pace, trotting along the pavement until he rounded the corner and disappeared from view. She should have listened to her gut.

Forty-five anxious minutes later, the front door reopened, and in walked a man. He had Bill's same sandy hair, his jolly round belly, and was even wearing his running clothes, but that's where the similarities ended. He was different. The way he bumped into the doorway looked like someone accustomed to riding a bicycle was trying to navigate a narrow alleyway in a truck.

Then she peered into his hazel eyes, and their sparkle was gone. That was when she knew — it wasn't Bill looking back at her, but an imposter.

So she did what she should have done before. She trusted her gut.

Where did that lead her? Gateway Home For The Criminally Insane.

Her diagnosis? Capgras Syndrome.

She had never heard of the condition before, not until Sullivan, her attorney, pushed a pamphlet into her cuffed hands.

"What is this?" she asked, pinching the paper between her two fingers like a dirty napkin.

"Your defense."

She eyed the pamphlet, scrunching her nose as if it smelled.

Capgras Syndrome, also known as Capgras Delusion, is the irrational belief that a familiar person or place has been replaced with an exact duplicate.

"No," she said, sliding the pamphlet across the table. "That's not what I have. It's not a delusion."

Sullivan tugged at his hair in frustration, which was becoming more and more unruly each time they met. He was beginning to look like a strung-out mad scientist.

"You have to plead insanity. It's your only shot. You killed your husband, Marianne."

"That man was not my husband," she stated.

"No one will believe that," he groaned. "Not unless you have some evidence."

Marianne frowned and tried to cross her arms in front of her chest, wincing when her handcuffs prevented it. She didn't have any evidence. She just knew.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to be enough.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "I'll plead insanity."

And that was that.

x

It was technically a stroke of luck that the judge believed her plea, but she felt far from fortunate as she sat on the lumpy twin mattress in her plain-jane hospital frock.

She opened the drawer of her nightstand to shuffle through cut-outs of newspaper articles that she'd collected for her own investigation. They'd taken away her pinboard — the thumbtacks and cotton twine connecting local catastrophic events back to William's passport picture were deemed too hazardous.

Not a problem; she had it all memorized. She couldn't understand how a plane crash, a mass hospital poisoning, or the collapse of a nearby dam could be written off as "accidents." Even Marianne, who so readily trusted her instincts, agreed that these cases had been closed too quickly. It appeared that the lead investigator for all of these crimes didn't bother with evidence at all.

Two airplanes don't just collide head-on unless it's planned, and there had been no investigation into the air traffic controller that was responsible for directing them that day. She ran her fingers over the headline — Local Detective Says Plane Crash Was An Honest Mistake.

Then there was the hospital event. Police Department Blames Mass Hospital Death On A Bad Batch Of Morphine. Marianne didn't know much about morphine, but she was pretty sure it didn't come in batches, and someone had to be responsible for contaminating it.

And the collapsed dam? Law Enforcement Responds To Dam Catastrophe: "Sometimes These Things Just Happen."

Reading further into the article made her stomach clench.

Det. William McCormick confirmed that although the dam passed a comprehensive inspection a few days prior to its collapse, there was nothing suspicious about the event. "It was a freak accident," he said. "Sometimes these things just happen." When asked what evidence he had to close the case, he responded, "A gut feeling."

She couldn't ignore the signs; Bill's imposter was incompetent and reckless, shrugging off these catastrophes as if he wanted planes to crash and dams to collapse. Someone needed to stop him, and when no one listened to her pleas, she took matters into her own hands.

Now that she was at Gateway, Sullivan told her to stop speaking of such things because her murder case was 'over' and she'd 'freak people out.'

That was the reason she was hesitant to talk to the two strange men who stopped in for an unexpected visit. When they knocked on her door and peered into her room, she motioned them in because, honestly, what choice did she have?

One of the men was tall, freckly, and had blinding red hair. Maybe it wasn't that vibrant, but against the asylum-white walls of her tiny cell of a bedroom, it made her wish she had sunglasses. But alas, she wasn't allowed any. Too pointy.

The other man had a messy black mop of hair, a ghastly scar on his forehead, and wore round, crooked spectacles. He was a bit shorter and scrawnier than the other but still had a look of confidence — a gleam in his eye that suggested he had seen some horrors. Marianne wondered what traumas he could have possibly experienced at such a spritely young age. It couldn't be worse than sharing a bed with a stranger claiming to be her husband, going to trial for his murder, or living in a mental institution.

"Mrs. McCormick?" asked the shorter man when they entered her room. "I'm Agent Potter, and this is my colleague Agent Weasley."

The men stood stiffly as if trapped inside their suits. It caused Marianne's skin to crawl and reminded her of the man she'd killed. Unlike her husband, "William" had hated wearing smart clothes. He'd waddle in a blazer like a penguin wearing a turtle shell, his tie knotted around his neck like a noose because he couldn't remember how to fasten it.

"Whatever information you want, you're not getting it from me," said Marianne. She gestured to the half-empty bottle of antipsychotics locked in the safe on her bedside table. "They say I'm not a reliable source."

"Well," said the ginger, wincing as he adjusted his necktie. "We think you are."

The sleeves of his jacket were too short, and Marianne caught a glimpse of swirly scars on his arms. She wondered what caused those.

"Agent Weasley?"

"You can call me Ron."

She narrowed her eyes at the man. Ron. The way he said his name sounded natural, slipping from his lips like an exhale. It was nothing like "William" introducing himself — pausing before saying his name as if to make sure he used the right alias, over-emphasizing each syllable.

"Ron. Is that short for something?" asked Marianne.

He shrugged, and a lopsided grin spread across his face. "Short for Ronald. But 'Ron's' more me."

Just like her husband didn't much like William. 'Call me Bill.'

The imposter, however, didn't seem to mind it. He wouldn't even answer to "Bill."

"What do you want to know, Ron?" she asked, her eyes shifting between the two, "and Agent Potter?"

"Call me Harry. We want to know why you killed the man who called himself William."

Marianne froze, her mouth agape. She was the only person to phrase it that way. No one "official" had ever believed her. "You're… you're not agents, are you?"

The two men exchanged a knowing glance, engaging in a silent conversation, the kind only two close friends could have. Then Harry let the door close behind him, and Ron took a step closer. "No, we're not really agents."

"Then who are you?"

The men briefly met each other's gaze and nodded. Ron pulled up a chair from the corner and took a seat. "We're called Aurors. We investigate crimes that might have a…" he trailed off, unable to find the correct word.

"Paranormal aspect," Harry finished for him. "We think there's something sinister going on."

"Well, I could have told you that," said Marianne. "So, Aurors, huh? Is that a fancy word for Ghost-hunters? Demon-exorcisers?"

"Something like that," grinned Harry.

Marianne waited, but the men did not provide any more information. She wasn't surprised, as she knew better than to expect it, but still, something about the men seemed trustworthy, even after admitting they were imposters too. They believed her.

So, she told them the truth.

"I killed him because he wasn't my husband. He was part of a network of imposters, and he was using my husband's position in law enforcement to cover up their crimes. They were trying to wreak havoc on our society." She slid open the drawer containing relevant headlines, fully aware of how unlikely her proposal sounded, and handed them over to the men.

Marianne then lowered her voice to a whisper, fearing that Gateway staff might overhear her and increase her medication dosage. Again. "I thought he was working with the dam inspector, the air traffic controller, and someone in charge of quality control at the hospital. Maybe the crime reporter too. But no one believed me, and now I'm stuck living in this hell hole."

There it was, all of her trauma, simplified and watered-down into a bite-sized tablet. It was an easy enough pill to swallow but an impossible one to believe, at least while still maintaining a facade of sanity. It made the judge pity Marianne enough to recommend a Clozapine prescription over a prison sentence. How lucky for her.

She wondered if the judge had truly believed that Marianne was insane or if she simply feared ending up in the empty cell next door, wearing her very own hospital gown. When Ron and Harry's eyes grew wide in shock, she momentarily wondered the same about them.

"You did the right thing," said Ron. He beamed at her, and her shoulders relaxed in relief. "And we thank you for it. We've been trying to track down that bugger for ages."

Marianne felt a rush of something warm but couldn't name it. She could only hide so many pills under her tongue during med-checks, and emotional clarity was the first thing that disappeared with each dose.

"Well, if not my husband, who was he?"

"His name was Walden McNair, and he was a murderer."

Marianne didn't even bother feigning surprise. "Huh. Never heard of him. Did you find Bill?"

Ron and Harry smiled at her. "We did. He's back at home, and you're getting out of here today."

Marianne shot up to a seat. "Bill's alive?"

The men nodded.

"And I'm going home?"

They smiled and nodded again.

Marianne narrowed her eyes. "How are you going to convince them to let me leave?

Ron fiddled with a stick in his pocket. "We have our ways. You just have to trust us."

She crossed her arms in front of her body and cocked her head to the side. "Only if you tell me what's really going on."

Ron reached into the small knapsack on his belt and pulled out a pile of folded clothes. Marianne peered at him curiously — the bag surely wasn't big enough for that. "Fair enough. Here's a change of clothes. I'll cause a diversion, and Harry will bring you home."

She looked down at the clothes. They were hers, so the men had definitely been to her house.

They weren't lying. She could tell. But something strange was happening.

"Where did you find Bill?" she asked, watching as Ron fished in his too-small bag for something else.

"In a dungeon," said Harry. "He was taken hostage with a dam inspector, an air traffic controller, a hospital lab technician, and a crime reporter."

"I was right?!"

"Don't act so surprised," said Ron. "But you do need to change into normal clothes."

"Right." The men averted their eyes while Marianne shimmied out of her hospital gown and into a pair of trousers and a jumper. It smelled like home.

"Here's what's going to happen," said Harry, once Marianne was fully dressed. "Ron is going to throw something, and the whole floor will go dark. When that happens, I will grab your hand, and you have to hold on as tightly as you can."

"Wait, what? I don't understand. We're not driv—" started Marianne.

"One, two, three, GO!" interrupted Harry, and multiple things happened at once.

Ron threw what looked to be a grenade, and as soon as it hit the floor, a cloud of black smoke engulfed the room. They were immersed in darkness less than a second later.

That was when the screams began — people were surprisingly terrified of the dark.

Then Marianne felt Harry's hand grasp hers, heard a deafening crack, and was jolted backward into a different dimension, like a fish flailing from the water on a hook.

A few seconds and a whirlwind of nausea later, Marianne tumbled onto solid ground, panting.

"What the BLOODY HELL—" she started, but she cut herself off when she realized where they were. A stately white house with blue shutters stood before her, and she could hear Bill's favorite Beatles' album reverberating from his living-room record player. The comforting smell of dinner sizzling on the stove leaked from an open kitchen window.

She was home.

Marianne scrambled to her feet and turned toward the door, but Harry's grip on her wrist tightened.

"Hold on," he said with a surprising amount of authority. "Let's talk about this first."

She shuddered when she met his gaze, unsure if she should continue to trust Harry or give in to her sudden, overwhelming fear of him. Who was this man, anyway?

A better question: What was this man?

They had just defied physics by vanishing from the hospital and appearing at her home. Either something supernatural was happening, or her Clozapine prescription was a placebo. It didn't seem possible. Imposters were one thing, but this?

She recalled Harry's introduction, "We investigate crimes that might have a paranormal aspect." She had believed him without question. Maybe everyone was right, and she was insane.

"I need to see my husband. NOW," she said through clenched teeth. "I need to know what he went through—"

Harry kept his grip on her wrist. "I know you want him to tell you everything, but I'm afraid he won't be able to. He doesn't remember."

"What? How is that possible?"

"Marianne, listen. I need you to go inside and act completely normal. Can you do that?"

"How the hell can I act normal after all that's happened to me?"

"Trust me. Please."

She stared into his pleading emerald eyes, once again conflicted. Act normal? She couldn't possibly.

"Okay," she told him. It was clearly what Harry wanted to hear.

When Harry nodded and let go of her hand, Marianne pivoted toward her doorstep. She was fully aware that he was watching her, and it made her shudder.

As soon as she reached the front door, the shudders ceased, and she was overcome with euphoria. A loud crack sounded behind her, and she whipped around to find the source, but nothing was there.

We really need to trim the hedges, she thought to herself, scanning the overgrown greenery lining her front yard. How did we let it get so wild?

With a shrug, she turned back toward the house. It would be nice to see Bill after such a long day.

"Bill?" she called as she stepped inside.

"Marianne! I'm in the kitchen!"

Marianne smiled and followed the hearty, mouth-watering scent to reunite with her husband, completely oblivious to the trauma of the last few months.

Like it never happened.

#Ron and Harry BrOTP #auror ron #auror harry #supernatural #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #muggle world #Ron Weasley #Harry Potter #harry ron