#couple that with a love of nature and predators and a bit of dabbling in actual hunting herself
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OC Aesthetics for the Entities (Magnus Archives)
I'm not sure how much new Spooky Month content I'll be doing this year, I'm pretty tapped out at the moment, but I have had this for a while (created by @sagamemes) and it's pretty spooky, so I figured I'd do it for the start of the spooky season \o/
Tagging @inafieldofdaisies, @turbo-virgins, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @direwombat, @adelaidedrubman, @florbelles, @cassietrn, @unholymilf, @strafethesesinners, @paganminiskirt, @henbased, @deputyash, @roofgeese, @fourlittleseedlings, @josephslittledeputy, @jillvalentinesday, @corvosattano and @voidika to do it too - ONLY if you want to <3
aesthetics for the entities. bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here. this is based on a horror podcast; potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!
Deputy Morgan Malone (FC5 OC)
i. THE BURIED. weighted blankets. drowning. the comfort of a loved one’s weight. soil & sand piling on top of you. hugging so hard it hurts a little. cramped hiding spots. letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool. walls pressing in on you. not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little. dragging the last second before you have to inhale. lonely subways. feeling like one with the earth. a layer of dirt on you. looking for something below. cardboard boxes & tiny pillow forts. hands calloused from digging. knowing that your purpose is just below the surface. entering your final resting place before it kills you. a storm drowning you out. dust & sand speaking to you.
ii. THE CORRUPTION. insects. a close imitation of the natural course of life. an illness in a community. a rag that dirties more than it cleans. an untreated wound. containment. breaching containment. unbreathable air. fungi. one with that you love. one with what loves you. a corpse unfit for a glass case. hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings & legs. honeycomb patterns. an ecosystem within a person. a curse passed on. the hubris of a scientist. an ugly death where a glorious one is owed. blood on a handkerchief. parasites. something pushing up the sewer. a mask to keep something out. trypophobia. knowing you belong. death weeks after impact. fever. food that’s gone off. pandora’s box. death behind a glass.
iii. THE DARK. shadows. lights that turn off by themselves. the feel of cold marble. a beaked creature in the night. the difference between seeing darkness & seeing nothing. touch of something you can’t see. hiding under a blanket. white, clouded eyes. months without going outside during sunlight. pouring dark. unscrewing lightbulbs. black matter. light sensitivity. a starless night. time before light was created. a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to. withering plants. a world without a sun. footfalls in an empty house in the night. a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should. desperate reach for a flashlight. clothes that hide your shape. staying unperceivable. winter months in the north. an empty church.
iv. THE DESOLATION. senseless pain. warmth of faith. wax where skin should be. a blazing fire. heat without a source. the third or fourth tragedy in the family. losing everything you’ve ever held dear. so much to live for, gone so soon. the smell of gasoline. touch that scars. coffee cup that never goes cold. scorch marks on wood. inescapably warm air. a child born in fire. death of a loved one. a candle without a flame. an altar in the middle of the woods. animals with burnt fur. plastic explosives. burning hot metal. sweating in an interrogation room. never touching a loved one. disfigurement. kiss that ruins you. the scent of burning fat. a tattoo that terrifies its viewer. the agony of hellfire displayed as art. auburn hair. little clothing in cold weather. a ripple in the air. trying to cool down in vain.
v. THE FLESH. body horror. factories. a hunger for something more filling. never quite happy with how you look. the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter. a very good meal. the liquid of a perfect steak. fighting your worst survival instincts. a twisted bone. long nights working out. more than one heart. appearance that shapes like clay. a bag of bones. bone broth in a pot. knowing to fear pigs. the butcher’s shop. plastic surgery. something alien inside your body. a hunger in the gaze laid upon you. unwitting cannibalism. forgetting what you used to look like. being admired for your appearance & appearance only. teeth marks on skin. scars from wounds that should’ve killed you. cooking in scarcity. fenced in with one way to go.
vi. THE END. the last page of a book. nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares. a skeletal hand. the grip of the grim reaper around your throat. existential pain. ivory dice. flatlining in a hospital. gambling with death. as old as the universe. soul & spirit tied to an object. a dream where you die. closing your eyes for the last time. the pleas of a dying one. knowing the fate of someone you know & being unable to prevent it. a thousand cords tugging you towards your end. skin that’s freezing to the touch. an act of desperation. someone’s life for yours. an eternity spent alive. the cost of your selfishness. watching your own burial. causing your own burial. the smell of death. numbness to fear. words from someone gone. meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe. multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.
vii. THE EYE. googling something you shouldn’t have. eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera. witness reports. hidden libraries. eyes of different colors. feeling of being watched. a death recorded in tape. a tragedy you can’t look away from. endangering yourself for knowledge. truth. analog records. a symbol of an eye. a watch tower. compulsion to document. turning on recording devices without thinking about it. saving the evidence before the person. extracting information. truth or dare, without the dare. a thirst for knowledge. books that speak to you. coordinated shelves. cataloguing systems. voyeurism. police report you can’t put down. reasoning your way out. smell of old papers. books that read you back.
viii. THE HUNT. sharp canines. sore calves after a run. the scent of blood. an adventure for the journey’s sake. the adrenaline right before the kill. a whistle’s echo. the woods. the doe eyes of a prey animal. your own breath in the air. sharpened claws. being tracked. fear of someone knowing your every movement. hunting down monsters. hide & seek. running away only to end up where you started. staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run. a set of footsteps behind you. blood dripping from bare hands. barks & growls. focused eyes. a victim going limp under your hands. a mouth full of fresh blood. catching the scent of something monstrous. perfecting your craft. peering into the dark & running after it.
ix. THE LONELY. an apartment too small for a double bed. completely vacant streets. waking up to see everyone gone. fog. point nemo. a house too big to hear your family members in. alone in a faceless crowd. a mask with nothing behind it. separated cubicles. a deafening silence where joy should be. a blinding spotlight. the least missed in your friend group. streets without lights in the windows. isolation. not truly knowing your friends. your friends not truly knowing you. need for silence. fear of crowds. staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you. a ship alone at sea. depression. knowing your friends are better off without you. talking to someone only to realise they’re gone. a family too large to notice you there. safety in being alone.
x. THE SLAUGHTER a game of tag. senseless violence. a true crime hobby. improvised weapons. blinding rage. intent to kill. a horrific day in a quiet community. a medal of bravery. holding on to what validates your anger. history books that spare no details. an injury you want revenge for. war. counting kills. songs of soldiers. a knifeblock on the counter. a pool of blood. shellshock. unspeakable horrors. anger pushing you forward. unimaginable pain. not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming. a fully human monster. an authority sending its lessers to their deaths. kill or be killed. unedited wartime memoirs. a weapons collection. not knowing the names of who you kill. too many to remember. loss of hope. there’s no heroes in war.
xi. THE SPIRAL sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves. losing possessions. losing people. losing your sanity. corkscew curls. rows of funhouse mirrors. optical illusions. a separate reality. walking through the wrong door. delusions. not knowing what your hands are doing. blank spaces in documents. hallucinations. wrong proportions. a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind. blind faith. losing track of names, labels, categories. distorted sound. an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time. a garish colour. doors that open to nowhere. lies. an unnatural laugh. jokes & tricks. illusions. a doorway. a sculptor with a wild imagination. limbs in impossible angles. doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible. fractals you can get lost in.
xii. THE STRANGER wax figures. a close approximation of a human face. a borrowed appearance. a strange smell. glass eyes. furs & pelts. a dance. a song of a choir. the uncanny valley. stitching yourself together. the colours of a circus. a puppet with no strings. mannequins. glitter & sequin. a stranger you’ve always known. someone strange in the place of someone you knew. stolen identities. stolen skins. a machine imitating humanity. the anonymity of a service worker. hiding in plain sight. uncomfortable to look at. a faked accent. concealing. forgetting who you are. forgetting who others are. a replacement no one notices. images that look posed. the only one seeing the false face of someone.
xiii. THE VAST. open spaces. carnival rides going up & down. fear of heights. endless infinity around you. your insignificance in an universe. stomach turning at a drop. fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip. the sway of a cable car. an adventure holiday. losing track of where the surface is. miles & miles of nothing around you. staring at the sky & feeling like you may fall into it. loss of control. a fall that doesn’t end in death. glass floor to the view below. terminal velocity. the sound of wind in your ears. a reach over the railing. a jump from the top of the building. falling into nothing. feeling your feet let go of the ground. a leap of faith. motion sickness.
xiv. THE WEB. undecipherable code. a puppeteer holding the strings. power over the weak—willed. strings of fate. manipulation. an arranged accident. a hundred minions doing your bidding. cobwebs. spiders. a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater. doing things without realising it. red string across a corkboard. finding something lost where you were sure you checked. power over the unrealiability of chance. watching others dance for you. an entangled death. a thousand tiny legs & fangs. shady forum threads. something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case. a missing witness. connections. the world wide web. power of victimhood. gullibility. no control over your own decisions. an invisible leash. mass psychology. a horror film in the making. scapegoat. never remembering to ask for a name.
+ THE EXTINCTION. the end of an era. apocalypse movies. the alarms of warning systems. a desolate landscape. end of the world cults. nihilism. the last written history. a changed world. no survivours. old prophecies. a thousand predicted ends. a new chapter. an end with no escape. catastrophes. a calendar counting down. breaking point. overindulgence.
#i tried to do a mix of morgan's canon life and pre-canon life - and then a few of her more regular aus for the 'situational' occurences#she honestly got the most 'definitely''s for Slaughter but that's mostly because of what others do in the reaping tbh#and she got one more 'never' in Slaughter than she did in The Hunt#so I would say overall she got the Hunt#i didn't actually know that much about the magnus archives and all the entities before this so i didn't know all the options#but i'd say the Hunt suits her frankly#between her 'lust' for life and adrenaline junkie nature - she is a bit of a hunter at heart#couple that with a love of nature and predators and a bit of dabbling in actual hunting herself#and the general nature of what happens during the Reaping#the Hunt probably is the one that typifies her life the most#with some dabblings in the Slaughter (due to her experiences in the reaping) and the Vast#with honourable mentions I think to the Extinction (also due to the reaping) the Eye and the Web#aesthetic games#bold your aesthetic#tag your aesthetic#spooky month 2023#horror#blood tw#gore imagery#the magnus archives#the entities#tag games
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I'd love to know what the other Barians are up to in the college AU!
YESSS like i said when i was talkin about Vector, I rly wanna properly draw all these guys sometime this year, theyve been bumping around my brain for Months now. some tidbits about the other guys:
Shark/Nasch: MISTAH TRANS MASC HE/THEY OF ALL TIME. Has a really dense Carrd covered in sea predator gifs and dA stamps. I thiiink I assigned him Pursuing a Marine Biology degree, naturally--he spends a lot of time at the aquarium wishing he worked there (he works at a country club currently. he drives golf carts to go pick up errant golf balls. his little nametag says 'Reginald'.) Does really well in his classes but is becoming. a Little Bit Burned Out trying to deal with them And work And whatever bullshit his current and ex-roommates are entangling him in. Vector stole his Ikea blahaj plush and tied it to a ceiling fan. Frequents Not-Lawrence State University's esteemed Smogon Club (usually because Yuma begs and begs for him to come,) and runs a nasty Walking Wake led Monotype team.
Rio: I NEED TO DECIDE ON HER MAJOR WAHHH Atmospheric Science would be kind of insane... invested interest in meteorology and winter events. I know she's dabbled in a bunch of campus sports and ice skates at a very skilled level, probably is banking on maybe doing that professionally if she can qualify. She's also buddies with Alexis! :3 Works at a bougie gelato place not far from the country club Shark works at so sometimes she will come bother him on her break. Has a modest interest in birding and sometimes meets up with the town Birding Group. All in all just likes being active and stylish and is closing in on a date with Miss Anna Kaboom~ lord dont get me started on butchfemme annario i aint got no brakes
Girag and Alito: THE BESTIES. THE ROOMIES OF ALL TIME. They actually live in the same apartment complex as Primo and Claus so they hang out and shoot the shit sometimes. Alito I feel is majoring in something like English, he's not super attached to it, what he really is banking on is a boxing career (whether or not that pans out for him remains to be seen.) He goes and spars at a local gym frequently! Girag is a history major with a focus on feudal Japan and he's also a furry. The boys' r/malelivingspaces ass apartment is a haven for the other Emperors if they dont want to be in the Nightmare House for a hot minute. Don't mind the giant knockoff red panda squishmallow taking up half their couch. Also Ponta is still there he's still a little spirit guy that Girag is nebulously aware of but Alito isn't.
Mizar: OH MIZAR..... one of my favorite zexals in the College AUverse tbh. my failwoman. Tentatively out transfem overdramatic fake blond trying out she/they pronouns for the first time. Has a big expensive gaming desktop that lights up (it looks vaguely like Tachyon Dragon lol) and uses it primarily to get into heated furry drama online and write extensive papers and lab reports for her Physics degree, usually while under some degree of white knuckle meltdown stress. She and Dumon were dating for a while but broke up and truth be told Mizar's still got a couple hangups about it. Gets into a LONG, STUPID beef with Kite over their fursona designs "being too similar" that culminates in them having a brawl on the roof of a hotel mid furry-convention. Yes they were both in fursuits. No you can't tell anyone you saw Kite in a fursuit keep you voice down shh!!!!!!! They end up having some kind of t4t qpr-ish situationship i think. not avoiding the mizakai allegations i fear HDFHSFGF
Dumon: WHO UP STUDYING THEY MEDIEVAL TEXTS. god. I love college AU Dumon. little library dyke. dweeb he/him butch kind of sort of dating clark's Paula From Earthbound and they are having In Depth discussions about a podcast they just listened to. Medieval lit major who knows more about knights than you ever will in your entire life. He was born in Utah. Organizes the finances of the Barian Rental House and takes it all dead seriously and Vector still owes like three months of back rent and he kind of wants to strangle him over it. Type of guy who spends all day at the campus coffee shop nursing the same matcha latte for five hours. Mizar is his best friend and they still hang out post-break up and they're both just kind of constantly putting up with Vector's bullshit. i mean all the Barians are but STILL.
Shark, Rio, Dumon, and Vector also all have the distinction of having known each other when they were kids, before they all moved off on their separate ways (until reconnecting in college) As you can imagine, Vector and Shark's playground wars would get. Violent. 🥴 Dumon has had a bit of a crush on Shark since they met but has absolutely never disclosed this. Because I think it is funny.
The funniest detail about them as a whole in college AU to me is theyre all transfer students from NLSU's sister-campus in Barian, Indiana. WOE! Midwestern be upon ye! And also the previously mentioned nightmare queer housing situation they live in under Don Thousand The Dogshit Landlord (or, well, at this point it's just Mizar, Dumon, and the Kastle twins living there. The situation has improved Somewhat after Vector got kicked out HHDFDF he still loves fucking with all of them though in true 🥕 fashion)
#DONT MIND THE RAMBLE THEYRE ALL VERY LOOSEY GOOSEY THOUGHTS waauughh i wanna draw themmm#also yeah alito n girag do frequently hang out with their fucked up ex-roommate's cousin and they thought he was a vector psyop for a WHILE#ygo posting#ygo spinoff college au#asks#anonymous
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Love Me Less
A/n: This was up on Patreon a week before I posted it here, I release fics around a week early over there and have some Patreon exclusive drabbles, fanart, so feel free to check it out at my Patreon. Commissions are also always open. I’m going to be doing profiles and such for characters here too, so stay tuned!
Summary: Jimin is an undercover cop, and you know he’s lying to you. But he’s trapped in a huge mess, and he doesn’t want you in the crossfire. Multifandom Mafia AU (BTS, EXO, Got7)
Warnings: Some violence, mention of drug use, angst
Word Count: 2892
Jimin winces when the door shuts too loudly, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because you’re sitting at the kitchen table and there’s a bag packed by your feet and his heart sinks to his toes. Suddenly he’s so tired he can barely hold his head up, and you’re looking at him warily and he can’t help thinking about how this all started.
Jimin couldn’t help but notice you bartending at this little place near the freeway, a dive bar called the Dirty Dozen and owned by Min Yoongi, who was well known for playing all sides of the game, letting certain gangs drink free depending on who owned the area that month. He’d been trying to blend in, trying to be just another thug ordering soju from you, but he couldn’t help catching your eyes when you brought him a drink in these little cut off shorts, asking you about the tattoo on the long line of your thigh.
It’s second nature, flirting with a bartender, especially one that looks like you, and your easy smile made the two years he’d already been undercover seem just a little bit lighter. It’s fun and casual and easy, and he tells himself it’s just for intel, buying you soju so that your tongue gets looser, maybe you’ll slip out something about Kim Yugyeom since he was always hanging around you at the bar.
A month later, he has a drawer at your apartment and he’s spending four nights a week there, barely making it out of the house to meet with Namjoon and Hoseok because he just can’t stop kissing your upturned mouth.
Hoseok gives him a wary look the sixth time he shows up with your nude lipstick on his collar, and throws a few pictures on the interrogation table. Jimin only glances at them, sees they’re mostly of you with those long thighs draped over his lap at the bar, and looks up at Hoseok expectantly.
“What? You gonna tell me you never got some strange while undercover?”
Hoseok shrugs, sits down across from him, slumped in the chair a bit, legs spread wide.
“Sure. But that’s not what this is, and we both know it.”
Jimin leans back in his chair, smirking a little, putting his hands behind his head. He hasn’t even seen Jung in a couple of months, not since he’d given him the poke and stick “Nevermind” across his ribs, telling him if he’d be telling people that he’d done time, no one would ever believe he got away without a mark.
“It’s not? You know something I don’t?”
“I know you’re spending an awful lot of time at her place.”
Jimin shrugs. “That Yugyeom kid from the Im gang is sweet on her. Sometimes he tells her stuff.”
“Yeah? You think he’ll keep doing that after you threw him up against the bar wall last night?” Hoseok says, deadpan, and Jimin laughs a bit.
“What can I say? I’ve always been a bit territorial.”
“Just tell me you aren’t getting too deep, Jiminie,” Hoseok says, softly, and Jimin loses his smile, sighs and places his forearms on the table.
“Maybe I am. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell, Seok. At first it was just a pretty smile and long legs and intel, but now… I’ve been in this what? 18 months now? It’s easy enough to believe a street kid from Busan chose a different path. Hell, sometimes I believe it myself.”
Namjoon comes in, then, with a huge file, and Hoseok groans.
“Fun’s over. Christ, look at that paperwork.”
“It’s good news,” Namjoon promises, throwing it down on the table with a thud. He looks as if he’d had one too many late nights, his white button up wrinkled and stained with coffee, hair mussed and too long at the collar.
"Good news?" Hoseok looks skeptical.
Namjoon slides a photograph out of the file and flashes them at Jimin.
"This is your girl, yeah?"
Jimin stiffens a bit. It's you, all right, piggybacking on this muscle pig's back, he'd recognize those legs anywhere.
He nods. "Who's the beefcake?"
"Lee Hoseok. He was high up in Hyunwoo's crew until he went ghost a couple of months ago. Everyone thought he was dead along with Hyunwoo, but turns out both of them have been in lock up over in Daegu. Turned themselves in, been ratting out all their friends for weeks. We just got the file."
Jimin groans. "So you're telling me the crew I've been trying to bust for a fucking year and a half just rolled over? Just like that?"
"Just like that," Namjoon agrees, but he's rifling in the file again and Jimin knows there's more.
He slides a photograph across the table to Jimin.
Jimin looks it over curiously. The guy is tall, lean but his suit is expertly tailored and there are muscles there, for sure. His first undercover stint had been in an underground fight club and he hadn't broken the habit of sizing people up. Probably not too strong, but fast, likely, well balanced. His hands look manicured so he probably didn't get his hands dirty, and that suit…
"New player? Family ties, I'd guess?"
Namjoon nods. "Good eye. He's Kim Junmyeon's cousin, and mostly we'd dismissed him because he stays quiet, to himself. Lately he's been seen with Do and Zhang, though, and the rumor is that he's up to take over for Kim."
"He looks young," Jimin muses. He's handsome, full mouth, charming smile.
"He's only a few years older than you. We'd expected Minseok for next in line but he's been in the spotlight so much, been arrested five times this year. This kid... Jongin... he's clean. No record at all."
Jimin throws the photograph down on the table. "What's this got to do with me?"
"Turns out he drinks at your girl's bar. Not only that, Min says he tips double when she serves him."
Jimin frowns. "Min's giving intel again?"
Hoseok snorts. "Yoongi would sell out his own mother for a few thousand won."
Namjoon nods, his eyes going wide and bright like he gets when he's chasing something.
"Your girl has all the connects. She used to live with this Lee Hoseok and now someone from Im's crew and Jongin have the hots for her? You've gotta stick with her."
"She's popular," Hoseok grins, and Jimin wants to punch him in his perfect teeth.
"So you brought me in to tell me to use my girlfriend for intel?"
"Oh, she's your girlfriend now?" Hoseok teases, but Jimin ignores him.
"She's got ties to three of the major players in Seoul, Jimin. You know how to pick em."
Jimin leaves soon after, popping the collar of his leather jacket against the wind. He's pissed off, having them tell him to stay with you as if he'd ever had any intention of leaving.
Hoseok was right. He'd been in over his head since the moment you'd smiled at him and now that he knew you lived and worked in a snake's den, it made panic claw up his throat to think that he couldn't protect you.
First, Kim Yugyeom with his predator's eyes and wolf's smile and now the fucking future head of the Kim crew?
Jaebeom and Hyunwoo were small potatoes compared to Kim, dabbling in carjacking and marijuana mostly.
Kim had his fingers in all the pies, heroin and cocaine smuggling, black market guns, whores, every crime you could think of, they were committing...and most of them got away clean.
Only a couple of them even had records and it was for petty shit like battery or simple assault.
Jimin would have stayed with you anyway because of the way he felt waking up with your long leg looped over his hip, the way you'd grumble and tuck your face into his neck in the mornings.
But now? He had to make sure you were safe, no matter what that meant for him.
It's less than a month later when everything falls apart for Jimin, and he can't tell you a single word of it.
Jimin manages to track this low level crew boss, a foreign kid, not even 21, goes by Lucas to an opium den.
He catches him outside the abandoned building, has the arrest warrant based on pictures and intel already. There's no one in the alley so Jimin cuffs him on the spot as he whines in protest. Then he hears a familiar verse and drops the kid on the ground, cursing.
"Well well well," Yugyeom drawls. "Park Jimin the piglet. I can't fucking believe it."
"Don't fucking try me, Kim. I could bust you right now."
"Bet you won't. Bet you won't want that pretty little thing of yours knowing how clean you really are, yeah? She wouldn't like you as much."
Yugyeom is grinning, eyes glassy from alcohol or weed or god knows what and he's getting closer to Jimin.
"Don't-" Jimin warns, already instinctively spreading his legs, in a fighting stance while barely realizing it.
"Baby likes it dirty," Yugyeom continues. "She likes to slum it, I should know."
Jimin's hands are itching to clock him, right on the chin because Yugyeom isn't protecting himself at all, too drunk or stupid to block, but he waits for him to get closer.
Yugyeom is tall and lean, has a higher center of gravity and the closer he gets the better, and they always do, the tall ones, think because they tower over Jimin they have the advantage.
But they're easy, always go high, swing wide without protecting their middle and when Yugyeom swings, Jimin ducks and punches him in the gut, a sharp jab that takes the younger man's breath.
While he's gasping for air, doubled over, Jimin grabs him, swings him around and puts a knee in his lower back, taking him to the ground easily.
Yugyeom is still laughing and Jimin presses down on the back of his neck, grinding his face into the gravel.
Lucas is staring wide eyed at them, having turned over on his side, but Jimin ignores him.
"What the fuck are you laughing at?" Jimin growls, and Yugyeom's snorts, blood spurting from his nose when Jimin presses down harder.
"Now I get to do whatever I want. You can't fucking touch me."
Jimin's heart sinks and he hauls them both into the station but of course, Yugyeom is right, he sings like a canary and now he's an informant and Jimin can't touch him with a ten foot pole.
Now instead of shoving him into the bar wall for palming your ass when he slips a tip into your back pocket, Jimin has to grit his teeth and ignore it.
Jimin buys a ring after nine months, keeps it in a sock in his underwear drawer because he can't get down on one knee when he's lying to you.
He starts to drink more than he should, stays out too late because he can't bear to come home and lie to you about where he's been.
The third or fourth night he gets home and you're already asleep, you wake when he plops down clumsily on the bed, turning over and trailing your hand across his chest.
"Baby," you murmur. "What's wrong?"
There's something stuck in his throat, all the secrets he's been keeping from you and he snakes an arm around you, squeezing you tight.
He can't bear to say "nothing" because that'd just be another lie so he tugs you on top of him and kisses you silent.
When he's got you flipped onto your back, buried inside you, he says the one thing he can, the one truth he can tell you, over and over.
"I love you, jagi. You know I love you, yeah?"
But of course, love isn't enough.
He ends up here anyway, with you looking at him with hollow, wary eyes.
"Jagi-" he starts, but you cut him off.
"Is there someone else?" You ask, your voice low and shaking.
Jimin scoffs. He's barely noticed other women even exist since you'd come into his life, but when he puts himself in your shoes, he supposes it isn't a far stretch.
"Not since the moment you smiled at me, jagi," he says earnestly, and your face softens.
"Then what is it? What's going on?"
You stand up, come around the table to wrap your arms around his waist and Jimin wants so badly to tell you everything, to pour out all the secrets that burn like acid in his throat.
"You're leaving me," is all he can choke out, his voice hoarse, and you sigh and rest your forehead against his chest.
"I don't want to," you admit, locking your hands at his back.
"Then don't. Jagi. Y/n. Please don't."
You shake your head against his chest and Jimin's heart cracks right down the middle when you look up at him, tears standing in your eyes.
"All you have to do is tell me the truth."
His throat works and you sniffle.
"Jiminie...please. I don't care what it is. We'll work it out just...just tell me."
He feels tears rolling down his face and he doesn't bother to stop them.
"Please," he pleads, and you release him, put a hand on your suitcase and Jimin wants to rip it from you, throw it across the room but all he can do is stand there and watch you, a sob catching in his chest.
He can't watch you leave, stands with his back to you, and when he hears the door close behind you, quiet and anticlimatic, something inhuman rips from his chest and he grabs onto the back of the dining room chair when his knees give out.
Jimin lets himself wallow, turning off his phone so that he doesn't call to beg you to come home, crying into your pillow because it smells like your shampoo, going only as far as the corner store to replenish the soju he replaces all his meals with.
It's Hoseok that finally nearly breaks down his door and Jimin stumbles to the door and jerks him inside, rubbing at the stubble on his chin and blinking at him blearily.
Hoseok looks around at the bottles of soju littering the table and Jimin gives him a look.
"Don't, Jung."
Jimin expects him to berate him, tell him he was stupid for falling in love and losing all their intel, but he doesn't.
Hoseok just puts a hand on his shoulder, pulls him into a hug, and Jimin can't stop the tears that are always so close to the surface.
After Jimin is sniffling instead of sobbing and Hoseok has gathered all the bottles to throw in the garbage, he sits down at the kitchen table.
"Jimin...I came to tell you something."
"Fuck," Jimin mumbles, rubbing a hand across his face and taking a long sip of the glass of water Hoseok had brought him.
Hoseok nods. "Jongin is spending four nights a week at the Dirty Dozen."
"Let me guess," Jimin says tiredly. "Only the nights Y/n works."
"Bingo. Joon has been going in your absence, he's gotten close to the other bartender. Y/n is living with her and Joon says…" Hoseok pauses and Jimin drops his forehead to the table.
"Just spit it out, Jung." He says miserably, keeping his head on the table.
"Joon says Y/n went home with Jongin a couple nights ago."
Jimin had been bracing himself for what his friend would say next but he hadn't been prepared for this, how it took the very breath from his lungs.
"No," he wheezes through the pinhole that has become his throat. "No, he's wrong, it's only been a couple of days, she wouldn't-"
"You've been mia over two weeks, Jimin," Hoseok says softly.
Jimin gasps in a breath, lifts his head.
"We've got an unmarked car following her. We'll watch out for her, you don't have to-"
Jimin barks out a bitter laugh. "Shut up. Just shut up, Seok. Of course I do."
Hoseok sighs and nods. "I told Joon you'd say that. Word of advice?'
Jimin looks at him.
"Shower first."
So Jimin ends up right back where he started, sitting at a table at the back of The Dirty Dozen breathing in the fog of tobacco smoke and the errant joint, watching you walk toward him with a bottle of soju and a shot glass.
"Hey," he says dumbly, and you give him a ghost of your easy smile that makes his heart skip.
"Hey, Jiminie. Long time no see."
You pout the shot and go to leave but Jimin takes your wrist.
"Ah, leave the bottle."
You frown at him, and he wants to tell you he has to stay a certain level of drunk so that he doesn't beg you to come home, break down when Jongin inevitably shows up and arrest him the second he smiles at you, to keep the steady ache in his chest just numb enough.
You leave the bottle, though, going back behind the bar, and sure enough, Jongin has already slipped in while Jimin was distracted, leaning across the bar with a big smile.
Jimin takes in a shaky breath and downs the shot, thinking he had a lot of long nights ahead of him.
#jimin x reader#park jimin x reader#park jimin#jimin imagine#bts mafia au#undercover detective Jimin#kim namjoon#jung hoseok#kim jongin#exo mafia au#monsta x mafia au#got7 mafia au
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It’s been a rough month for me and one of the things that helped me through it is @seraphinitegames The Wayhaven Chronicles. A couple playthroughs of this game truly helped lift my spirits. So I wanted to do some fanart for it. I also wrote some fanfiction for this picture too which will hopefully not break the lore too much >.> But seriously, thank you Sera for creating such a lovely and romantic game for all of us.
F!DetectivexNate fiction with a hint of Adam on the side (spoilers: takes place over halfway through the game)
"I'll stay," he offered, the second Adam asked for a volunteer. Nate realized how eager he sounded and attempted to temper his enthusiasm, "I doubt you'll have need for me if you're planning to knock a few heads together."
"I'm sure that's the only reason," Felix grinned at him and Nate rolled his eyes. He never missed an opportunity to grind him.
"Sounds good. Call us if anything happens," Adam said, although he could sense the slightest bit of hesitation in his friend. Adam had seemed reluctant to watch Nate's relationship become any closer with Emma since they'd returned from the Agency.
"I'm sure the Detective and I will be quite capable of handling things while you're gone," he smiled, playing ignorant to it all. Adam's mouth opened and closed, some prudent piece of advice hanging on his best friend's tongue before his lips snapped shut, deciding against it.
"By handling, do you mean--" Felix filled in the gap.
"Felix, that's enough," Adam cut him off, tired of hearing his quips. Nate threw Adam a grateful expression and headed back into the apartment.
"Try not to have too much fun, Natey!" Felix couldn't resist throwing one last dagger over his shoulder as they parted. Nate pursed his lips, shaking his head at his immaturity. Once back inside, he found Emma leaning into the fridge. He stumbled briefly, not sure how much of the conversation she'd overhead.
"I thought today was our day off," she said. She pulled a carton of eggs out of the fridge along with a gallon of milk.
"Something came up that needed our immediate attention. It'll be just the two of us until later in the afternoon," Nate said. Her bare feet padded across the tiled floor, mind set on breakfast. Her robe draped casually off her right shoulder and her hair was tied up in a loose bun. He wondered sometimes if she was doing it on purpose. It wasn't polite to stare but he couldn't draw his eyes away.
"That's too bad," she said. He frowned but quickly hid his expression before she could see.
"That disappointed to be stuck with me?" he asked. She chuckled, throwing half a smile over her shoulder at him.
"Don't be ridiculous, you're my absolute favorite vampire to spend time with," she said as she reached into a cabinet to pull out a pair of bowls.
"I'd be flattered, but technically you only know five of us personally," he said. She clicked her tongue, lightly jabbing his shoulder with her fingers as if scolding him for his pessimistic view.
She pushed up onto her tip toes to reach the dishes and he closed the distance between them instinctively. Pressing his chest to her back, he reached up and easily extracted the mixing bowl her fingers were grasping for. Her pulse jumped at their contact. While not the initial intent, he was more than pleased by her reaction.
"Well, aren't you handy," she played it off as best as she could, getting her revenge by leaning back against him briefly as she examined the dish in her hands as if it were a piece of fine art. His pulse sped to keep pace with hers, "How about... I can't think of anyone I'd enjoy spending time with more?"
"Now you're teasing me," he said and he gripped the top shelf of the cabinet to keep from following her as she moved away.
"I'm thinking french toast. It's been awhile since I had a chance to make breakfast," she said, "What about you? Want some?"
"That sounds delightful," he leaned against the kitchen counter.
"Ok, come take a bite then," she opened up her neck, brushing her loose strands of hair away and gesturing for him to come closer. Nate's eyes widened.
"I would never--"
"I'm kidding. Don't worry," she laughed, reveling in his response. He sighed at one of the oldest jokes in the book. Yet it had still flustered him, "Come on, you know me. I had to use that one at least once."
He finally cracked a smile if only amused at how pleased she was with herself, "The french toast will more than suffice," his eyes lingered a shade longer on her skin, briefly imagining his lips pressing against her porcelain skin. He swallowed, "Do you cook often?"
"Not as much as I'd like to. Being the lone detective in town doesn't give you a lot of free time, especially during a murder investigation," she said, "Not to fear, I won't poison you."
"On the contrary, I was only thinking about what a privilege it is to taste something you've homemade," he said. She mixed together the eggs, milk, and spices.
"Charmer," she said and his smile turned into more of a smirk, his gaze falling, half lidded and low.
"You underestimate me, Detective. I can be much more charming than that," he said. He reveled in the slight flush on her cheeks. However, she matched him blow for blow, smirking as she casually licked her fingers clean of the liquid mix. She turned on the cooktop burner adding to the heat coursing through the apartment.
"How about yourself, Agent, you ever tried cooking?" she asked as she dipped a slice of bread in the mix.
"I've dabbled in it," he shrugged.
"I can understand. You're a little lacking in test subjects," she said, "I really don't want to think what a vampire delicacy would be like."
He shifted uncomfortably at the topic, "I enjoy going out to eat when I can as well, as long as the place is reputable."
"So you're a food snob?" she said with a laugh.
He pouted, "Is it so wrong to appreciate quality?" She chuckled at his reaction as she laid out each individual slice of bread on the griddle.
"You're right, I can't say I enjoy wasting calories on bad food," she said. He maintained his sour expression until she reached up and tapped his pursed lips. He startled and blinked his gaze back to her, "I've never seen you make that face before."
His regular smile returned again, wider than ever, "You always pull the most unique expressions out of me," she shook her head at his flirting, putting her full attention on the french toast. What was it that caused his fingers to tremble in the ache to touch her? He dreamed of peeling off her robe, his course knuckles mapping her curves, relishing in every small shiver of her body. Tsk... he was starting sound like Mason.
In the midst of his thoughts, he found himself surprisingly swaying. He caught himself quickly enough, blinking rapidly in response. He shook the cobwebs out of his head. He frowned knowing the sure signs of rare exhaustion. He tried to recall the last time he even lied down for a nap and came up empty. He could usually last longer than this, but he supposed they'd all been under quite a bit of stress.
He would let Adam know he needed a break when he returned. When he focused his attention on her again, she was plating the french toast.
"Whipped cream? Syrup? Butter?" she raised a brow in question.
"All of the above," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets to ground himself.
"Ugh, I bet you have abs like a washboard too," she said disgusted. He laughed.
"How do you know? You haven't been peeking, have you?" he said mock disturbed.
"I have been unsuccessful so far," she said. He stood up from his lounging position and making his move, capturing her with his gaze. The back of his fingers grazed against the line of her jaw causing her to reflexively tip her chin up to him. A thrill coursed through his veins knowing that she responded to him naturally without any complicated pheromones clouding her judgement.
"You don't need to resort to such desperate measures, Emma," he said. Her heart skipped when he said her name. Not to be outdone, her free hand enveloped his caressing one and tangling her fingers through his. He smiled moving even closer, wondering if he was turning from predator to prey as she drew him within striking distance.
His thigh bumped against the burner, causing it to click and light again. They both turned their attention away from each other, ending the heated moment as she extinguished the flame once again. She picked up their plates, bringing them over to the couch, gesturing for him to follow.
Sometimes he felt like there was otherworldly activity keeping them apart. He stifled his sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he trailed behind her. After he sat down next to her, she handed him a plate and utensils. He held them for a moment not satisfied eating with the plate in his lap. He ended up pulling the coffee table closer and cutting his food from there.
"So, were you a prince in your past life?" she asked. He noticed she'd haphazardly cut her french toast into chunks. He lulled his head in her direction, giving her a weary look, "What?"
"You remind me too much of Felix, sometimes," he sighed.
"That's better than Mason or God forbid, Adam," she said in mock horror eliciting another laugh from him.
"He grows on you," Nate said.
"Like a tumor?" she asked. He blinked, eyes curious, "Did you know that's what he said about Wayhaven?" He closed his eyes, silently cursing his best friend's poor attitude, "Well, it must have, as terrible as it sounds. He's a bit less knotted up now."
"You've noticed?" he asked and she took a large bite with a nod.
"Mm-hmm," she said, "He's even cracked a smile at a few of my jokes."
"He's warmed up to you at least. It may take a little more time for the rest of the town," he finally took his first bite. He let out a muffled groan, savoring the flavor as the bread melted on his tongue.
"Oh come on, it's not that good," her voice cracked although he found her smiling while she watched him.
"It is! I had no idea you were such a talented chef. Why are we even bothering to visit Haley's?" he said. She shoved him lightly, telling him to stop, "Strangely, I usually have to work a bit harder to enjoy food this rich, too."
"Because of your sensitive taste, right? I went a bit lighter on the spices in the mix," she said. He was taken back by the consideration. He let another forkful linger in his mouth for a moment, so he could properly collect his thoughts. When he remained speechless for too long she started to worry, "Did I do something wrong?"
"No, of course not, I'm just-- I'm not used to such thoughtful gestures," he said honestly, making direct eye contact. She smiled initially thinking he was joking but her brows raised, smile fading after studying his reaction.
"Serious?" she asked to confirm nonetheless. He ate another bite, not able to deprive himself too long.
"This may surprise you, Detective, but most humans do not react as well as you did to our secret," he said. He averts his gaze, trying not to give away how much that fact hurts him, "It's hard to empathize with your perceived predators," he continues to eat to distract himself, enjoying it until the last piece.
"I guess that was what Felix was hinting at," she said. He glanced back at her in question, "Honestly, I thought the revelation that demons were walking around was much more terrifying. I mean, maybe last century it would be different but have you seen the vampire literature recently? The most terrible you lot are portrayed as anymore is a tad too sexually aggressive," he almost choked as he started to laugh, "Besides, I'm not afraid of things that will eat me. I think lions and tigers are adorable."
"To be fair, it wouldn't be wise to step into a cage unguarded with one either," he warned, his protective side winning out even at his own detriment. His thoughts drifted somewhere distant for a moment, imagining Emma on the other side of a barrier to keep herself safe from the monster. Never truly trusting him, never letting her guard down. His heart clenched slightly until her hand landed on his thigh.
"Well, not until I tamed him first," she said, rubbing his leg in a comforting gesture mixed with a suggestive smirk. He returned a sad smile and slid his hand over top of hers.
"There will always be a risk, though," he leaned closer. When her gaze lifted to connect with his, there was determination there, causing his heart to skip, matching hers.
"A risk worth taking," she whispered. Their lips pulled within a hair's width apart. Her fingertips climbed up his thigh and her pupils dulled slightly. The jolt from his nerve endings almost tore a moan out of his throat.
RRRRing!
He twitched in annoyance, gritting his teeth at the grating sound of his cell phone. He retrieved the phone from his pocket and almost crushed it in his grip. He still put on his best smile for the Detective.
"It's Adam," he lightened up when he saw the name.
"It's alright, I need to get dressed anyway," she patted his knee before getting up and heading into her bedroom. His eyes followed her and his lips quirked at the brief stutter in her step. He barely registered Adam calling for him on the other end of the line.
"Nate, are you there?" Nate juggled the phone before putting it to his ear.
"Yeah, Adam, sorry about that," he quickly apologized, "Is everything alright?"
"It's fine, but this might take a bit longer than we thought. We're having trouble locating the suspect," he sighed.
"I thought he was already in custody?" he said. He grabbed the used plates to wash them in the sink.
"Yes, he was," his voice inflects as if he's sending a very scathing look towards someone nearby, "We're going to search the area, see if we can pick up a scent of where he went. We'll probably be here awhile. How are things there?"
"Great, no signs of trouble here, why?" he asked, scrubbing the plates rougher than necessary, unconsciously trying to peel the paint off with the sponge.
"Well, you sound..."
"What?"
"Cranky," he said and Nate stopped cleaning for a moment, surprised.
"I'm fine, what would I have to be irritated about?" he asked.
"I bet you interrupted a moment with the Detective," he heard Felix clearly and Nate was suddenly glad that they couldn't see him right now. He dropped the plate in the sink before he could crack it beneath his grip.
"Felix..." Adam said exasperated.
"I don't hear him denying it," he could hear his grin from over the phone. Nate rolled his eyes.
"I guess the stress is catching up with me a little," Nate pivoted to another excuse, "It's been awhile since I got any rest."
"I'll send Felix back--"
"No, there's no need for that. You need everyone you can get down there," he said. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck with Felix and his jokes for the day every time he merely glanced in Emma's direction.
"Are you sure? If anything happens and you aren't in shape to defend--"
"Nothing is going to happen in the middle of the day, Adam. Even if it does, I'm sure the Detective is capable of protecting the both of us," Nate said.
"You can't seriously expect--"
"Goodbye, Adam," he said decidedly ending the call. He leaned over the kitchen counter briefly letting out a long shaky breath. Adam could be overbearing to even Nate sometimes. He frowned thinking of the real reason he was irked. There were many complicated emotions rolling through him at the moment.
Especially after what the Detective had just said to him.
"Everything alright?" he turned around, finding core of his thoughts behind him. He ran a hand through his loosely styled hair as Emma fixed him with a curious stare.
"Yeah, apparently they are having trouble locating the man they were supposed to interrogate," he said.
"An interogee is sorta necessary for the process," she said with a smile and he returned it, shoulders loosening.
"They won't be back until late, so I hope you were serious when you said you enjoyed my company," he shrugged.
"You mean I get bonus time? What did I do to deserve such a prize?" she asked with feigning surprise, pressing a flourished hand against her chest. Nate was always happy to see how eager Emma was to return his flirting, "I was thinking of watching a movie. You want to help me pick?"
"Sure," he said. It was probably best that they didn't go out and mingle about town without backup. He hid a small yawn behind his fist as he sat down once again on the couch. She took up a remote and he stared at her in confusion.
"Don't you have a collection somewhere to choose from?" he said.
"Oh, no, I have streaming services so we just pick one from the list and it'll come directly to--" she interrupted herself when she saw Nate's blank stare, "Do you not know what internet streaming is?"
"No--I know--I just find it impersonal and unnecessary," he said crossing his arms with a small pout. Her grin only widened, "What's with that look?"
"You're like my grandfather," she teased him, and he practically repelled, "'What do we need all these new fangled contraptions for? Back in my day we wrote everything by hand. Walked twenty miles in the snow back and forth from school, uphill both ways.'"
"That's not even possible," he said with a roll of his eyes. He noticed she continued to stare at him with an amused grin and he cocked his head.
"It's kind of nice knowing that you aren't the master of everything. Makes you seem--"
"More Human?" he finished for her, a disappointed inflection in his tone.
"I was going to say less like a romantic god," she corrected him. His gaze snapped to her in shock as she caught him off guard, "You cook, you clean, you know all the right things to say, and you could make a person swoon with a mere glance. You're a bit much, Adonis."
He chuckled, caught off guard. He rubbed the back of his neck, sinking under the shower of praises, "I'm sure you'll find I have plenty of weaknesses. I'm certainly not perfect."
"Says the guy that can speak almost every known language and could probably recite the periodic table of elements backwards," she said sipping on her tea.
"I've had my share of free time," he mumbled, now thoroughly embarrassed.
"The funny thing is I'm usually turned off by genius types. I'm a B average at best, so it's almost intimidating to spend time with a person that above my head," she said and he tried to ignore the niggling anxiety building inside of him as he waited for her to mention an exception after she finished sipping her tea, "And yet I find you charming."
It was exactly what he wished she'd say so he was speechless for a moment when he heard it. Finally he came up with a standard response, "I'm honored to be considered a special case," he tried not to sound overly relieved, "Still not thrilled about this method of entertainment," he gestures towards the TV screen.
"Come on, old man. Just help me pick," she said, poking him playfully. As they scanned to movie titles and descriptions, he found himself losing focus a number of times. He braced his chin on his palm, resting his elbow on his thigh.
"We could watch Twilight and you could tell me all the things they got wrong," she asked with a chuckle. His lips tugged up for a moment in response and then he inwardly groaned.
"Sounds exhausting," he said.
"Yeah, I wouldn't even subject Adam to that torture," she said. He noted the way it bugged him slightly whenever she spoke fondly or playfully of Adam. It was an unpleasant and unfamiliar feeling. He pushed down the disgraceful emotion and returned his gaze to the screen, "I think I'm gonna go with La La Land. I heard that was good. Will that work for you?"
"Mm-hmm," he answered, his eyelids drooping a tad.
"Nate, are you alright?" she asked, her hand resting on his back, causing him to sit up in alarm.
"Sorry, I'm fine. La La Land is a good choice," he said, answering her worried frown with his usual smile.
"I know this is a strange thing to say to a vampire, but... you look exhausted," she said. He sighed, drawing a hand across his face.
"I'm a little tired, but it's nothing serious. The long week must be catching up to me," he assured her.
"You could rest in my bedroom if you want. I'm sure I can guard the apartment for a few hours," she offered. He put his hand over the one now resting on his shoulder, mimicking her earlier move.
"Thank you, truly, but I could go another week without sleep. Let's just enjoy the movie," he said. She gave in seeing how emphatic he was. To be honest, his reasons for staying awake were two fold. He was dedicated to do his job and that meant protecting Emma at all times. Secondly, he'd finally gotten a chance to spend some alone time with her and he didn't want to waste it. When she turned back to the TV, her hand twisted around and cupped his. She let their clasped hands rest between them and he noted the increase in her pulse and the spreading warmth of her palm. He tightened his grip, assuring her that he enjoyed it as much as she did.
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This movie was not as good as she'd hoped. She didn't know why she kept trying Oscar movies. She should stick with action schlock. However, she had a feeling action wasn't Nate's favorite genre and she wanted to find something he'd enjoy too. Speaking of Nate, he'd made a few observations at the beginning of the movie, talking about the last time he'd been to Los Angeles, but he'd been quiet for awhile now.
She found out why when she felt a sudden pressure against her side, his head perching on her shoulder. She didn't move for a moment, not sure what to do. She'd never seen any of them even close their eyes for too long. She turned her head enough to see his awkward position had to be uncomfortable, as much as she enjoyed it.
Carefully, she guided his body down so his head was pillowed on her lap. He was so peaceful. Her mind flashed back to the moment she'd found out he and the rest of the team were vampires. She managed to bottle it at the time, but between her fear of an unknown world and anger at being lied to, she wondered how everything would effect her relationship with Unit Bravo.
Nate in particular.
She knew he'd wanted to tell her the truth for awhile, only to be interrupted every time by Adam. So when he froze, not chancing a blink while waiting anxiously for her response after she'd discovered their secret, she couldn't bear to hurt him. And she was glad she didn't say anything rash because once everything was out in the open and she'd had time to calm down, the whole thing was much easier to accept.
Well, she wasn't going to wake him now that he was out. She'd noticed Nate had been the most dedicated to researching and catching Murphy of all of them. He'd poured over documents and books and went through old Agency files searching for a lead. She guessed even supernaturals wore out after enough stress. She took the blanket that was laying over the back of the couch and tossed it over him.
He released a soft moan and she acted quickly, stroking gentle fingers through his hair, brushing any stray bangs from his forehead. He relaxed again with a sigh of contentment. However, she continued combing his soft locks. They felt like silk sliding through the gaps in her fingers. It was just as soothing for her as it seemed to be for him.
----------------
Nate wanted to get up but it was like he was paralyzed. He felt so at ease with Emma by his side. Her intoxicating scent, her open body language, the gentle way she touched and held his hand, it was too hard to resist. He'd passed out on her shoulder. His mind cried for him to awaken again but it was as if ten tons of weight were pressing down on top of him.
Instead, her careful hands were guiding him down, safely cradling his head to come to rest in her lap. It felt heavenly, relaxing against her warmth. But now it became an almost impossible nest to escape from. He felt something spread across him, sending him even deeper. He tried to speak and tell her not to worry about him, but instead all that came out was the weakest of protests.
With delicate fingers, she sent him under for good, brushing his hair from his face and caressing him until he let out a content sigh and lost consciousness.
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It was just past sunset when the rest of the team returned. Emma had moved on to watching sports after the movie ended. Nate never woke up the rest of the afternoon. She was actually contemplating nudging him right before the guys had walked in.
"Nate?!" Adam called and Emma sighed in annoyance as Nate bolted awake.
"You could at least be a little gentle about it," she scolded Adam.
"W-What--Emma--Adam--" he came back to his senses, brushing his hair back, and looking between the two of them in utter confusion.
Felix's laughter cut through the tension and Nate visibly winced, "Oh my God, you actually fell asleep and on her lap no less?"
She couldn't help but take a little pleasure in Adam's horrified expression. Mason stood in the background, leaning casually against the wall, smirking at them with approval.
"So how'd the interrogation go?" she asked if only to bail out Nate, who seemed to be computing things at about half his normal speed. Adam jumped at the chance to change topics.
"It was a waste of time. He managed to escape us before we even had a chance to talk to him," Adam said.
"But how about you two, you seem to have made some significant progress?" Felix smirked, mercilessly shifting back to the previous topic.
"I apologize, Detective. That was very irresponsible of me," Nate seemed a bit more with it this time around. She shrugged at his apology.
"You couldn't have been out for more than a few minutes. Pretty impressive how dedicated you were to your job even when you were obviously running on fumes," she said. He kept his gaze on her, smiling bashfully as he knew she was trying to cover for him, "I know you guys don't need that much sleep, but I think there's a limit."
"Well, if you're offering your bed--" Mason finally added to the conversation only for Nate to immediately shut him down with a glare.
"Seriously, Mason?" Nate said.
"Aw come on, Nate. I want some snuggle time with the detective," Felix quipped and Adam finally put a stop to it.
"Alright, alright, this whole conversation needs to end, now," he said as if the topic was physically hurting him. She held up her hands, leaving them to their own devices as she got up from the couch.
"Why don't you all have yourselves a break? I'll be in my room if you need me," she said.
"We don't need to rest. Not to mention it would be reckless to let our guard down for even a moment--"
"Adam, I promise to keep away from all sharp objects and electric sockets. I'm just going to be reading," she mock gasped in horror, "Oh no, that's a terrible idea, I could suffer death by papercut."
Adam ignored the numerous snickers behind him, narrowing his gaze at her with a growing frown, "This isn't a joke, Detective."
"Certainly not, and neither is your health. So please do whatever it is hardasses like you do to relax. Lift weights, wrestle bears, whatever," she said and before he could talk back she jabbed a finger into the center of his chest, "Don't make me pepper spray you again, mister."
"Oh please do, the audience demands an encore," Felix laughed, unable to hold his tongue any longer. Adam growled at the reminder, letting go a huff of frustration.
"You are the most impossible woman," he said thoroughly flustered. She smiled at the reaction, briefly glancing at Nate before she went into her room. She expected to see him enjoying the lighthearted exchange but instead she saw him staring at Adam with a complicated expression, trying to work out a problem he couldn't quite solve. It was as if something was gnawing on him, a mixture of shame and worry. The next time she blinked, however, his furrowed brow had relaxed and he was returning her gaze with his trademark soft smile.
She resisted blowing him a kiss, shaking off her suspicions and making her full retreat.
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WE ARE THE SHIELD,
Name: Bailey Keaton Nieves
Reincarnate of: Eros, God of Love, Passion and Desire
Species: Demigod
Age: 26
Gender: Cis-male
Faceclaim: Jacob Artist
Position: Artist
AND WE ARE THE SWORD.
There was never any question as to whether Adam Nieves and Rita Russell would marry when they were old enough - they were raised mere streets away from each other, attended the same society functions throughout the years, went through school together, and attended each and every social event on each other’s arm. As far as the outside world was concerned they were the perfect couple, their family completed when they welcomed a beautiful baby boy called Bailey into their life, and their dedication and loyalty to each other was only increased tenfold when it came to the Nieves family business. Records of the Nieves family acting as entrepreneurs in Washington could be found from times predating the city becoming the capital of the United States, though the arenas they played in changed regularly over the years. Bailey’s father continued the focus on technology, deciding to focus almost exclusively on aerospace engineering, with a little bit of clean energy thrown in there to ensure he got some tax dollars back at the end of the year. He expected that when his son became older he would show the same interest as every other Nieves had before him, that he would have a natural tendency towards science and a keen logical mind, but that was far from the case.
Bailey performed above and beyond his peers from a young age, though Adam and Rita soon found that it wasn’t because of an extraordinary potential for analysis, but because everyone around him seemed to find themselves under some kind of spell. Teachers adored him, giving Bailey A grades throughout his time in education even if he gave in an empty page, and while at the beginning this was something that the mischievous child found great amusement in, as Bailey matured he realised that he wanted something more. He wanted to work for something, he wanted to earn it, he wanted to feel that great sense of achievement. As such, Bailey dabbled in as many hobbies and pastimes as he could, determined to find what he was truly good at. Bailey found himself drawn to the arts, naturally excelling in music, drawing and any passionate pursuit, and finally he had a path that he felt was worth walking. His parents were sceptical, and while his father remained convinced that someday Bailey would realise that science was not as far away from art as Bailey originally thought, Bailey’s mother saw that he was besotted with his work, that he was calmer and far less likely to get into trouble or play with others when he had space to let go creatively, and so she indulged every outlet he wished to try out.
Bolstered by Rita’s support, Bailey made quite the name for himself in the artistic community. He had his very first gallery opening when he was only eighteen years old, and while his career was taking off and his father was finally beginning to accept that this was who his son was, Bailey once again began to feel the familiar tingling of longing. He needed something more, his heart cried out for a face that he saw only in his dreams, and so Bailey threw himself into each and every relationship that presented itself before him. Considering his natural charisma and magnetism, that was not a hard thing to find. His family and friends were powerless as they watched Bailey burn through one relationship after the next, all of them ending dramatically, and leaving him far more empty than he had been before.
When Bailey was in his early twenties, he demonstrated abilities that were far from typical, and impossible to discount as mere charisma. It started with feathers appearing in his bed in the morning, tingling at his shoulder blades, and an impulsive desire to travel, to go anywhere in the world with nothing stopping him. Soon, it progressed to full fledged wings appearing on Bailey’s back, and it became far harder for him to hide that from his family. One morning, while he was attempting to cause the wings to retreat as they did before, his mother walked into his room. Rita almost dropped on the spot, letting out a yell, and Adam was immediately on her heels. Bailey’s father was all business, telling Rita to get the phone. No doctors could come up with an answer for why this occurred, and so the Nieves family became bonded by yet another secret -- over the past twenty years, Bailey grew to know far too much about his parents, instinctively picking up on differences in their relationship, and knowing that the lipstick on his father’s collar and the mess of his mother’s hair could not be contributed to each other.
Knowing his parents’ relationship was maintained only out of obligation and not love nor passion, and failing to find anyone who loved him in the way that he could love in return, Bailey focused all of his attention on the next power to emerge - his increasing ability to influence the relationship of others. Some of the time he did it to bring who he saw as soulmates together, other times he did it to heal his friends’ broken hearts, yet others he did it just to wreak some chaos. Bailey knew he was more than human, and when it came to Valentine’s Day, it was impossible for him not to draw distinctions between himself and Cupid, or Eros. That being said, self expression and knowledge had never been Bailey’s problem - it was sharing that with other people, and having them share in return, that constantly eluded him, at least in any way that was significant enough to satisfy him.
The night of the masquerade ball, Bailey had almost stayed at home, or ducked out to go to the bar down the road and find someone to waste the night with once more, but his mother insisted that he walked with them. Bailey reluctantly agreed, feeling bound to his parents in gratitude for what they kept for him. Bailey played his part, greeted his parents’ business partners, talked stocks by the punch table, and then, when he was on his way to get his mother another drink, he met a woman who changed his life in an instant. Upon meeting her eyes, all of the dreams and visions, as well as the figure he had been painting since he could hold a brush, came together into one, and Bailey knew that this was the person he was meant to be with. Even when he learned of her true identity, and she learned of his, Bailey was not perturbed. Their families had been at each other’s throats for decades, constantly fighting over stocks or business contacts or advertising revenue of some description, but their families didn’t know what it felt like to spend time with her, to love her as deeply as Bailey did.
Although Bailey was extremely reluctant to disappoint his parents once again, he couldn’t stay away from the woman. No longer did he lose himself in the kiss of someone whose name he would never remember the next morning, no longer did he struggle to put pen to paper or brush against easel because the inspiration was there but far from clear enough, no longer did he wonder what he was missing out on. Bailey had always been a creature of passion and now, he had someone who understood that completely. When she came to him and suggested running away together, Bailey could not think of something more romantic. They arrived at Mount Olympus, and the suspicions that Bailey had been carrying for decades - more like certainties than anything - were finally officially confirmed. He was Eros, god of love, passion and desire, and he was home, in every way that mattered.
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The Unknown’s Pandora
This fic revolves around two OC Mass Effect characters and takes place on Omega after Mass Effect 3. This chapter is SFW. This fic contains spoilers. This fic clocks in at 3,639 words. Enjoy.
This whole fic should probably be rated M for violence.
Chapter 1
Remus strode through the bustling Omega marketplace, his trigger finger itching. He scanned the unwitting crowd through a pair of dark-lensed goggles, but forced himself to stay his rifle. It was hard for him to be a crowd and not pull a gun on a civilian just to see them piss their pants in fear. Or to shoot someone just to watch them die.
But he was out in public as Remus, not The Unknown. Pulling a rifle that only Spectres were supposed to own on someone would call a lot of questions toward him that he didn’t want pointed in his direction.
So he focused on other things.
Namely getting to Afterlife and trying to ignore the disgusting, warm scent of vomit, piss-soaked garbage and too many people in one place that permeated the air and assailed his sensitive, turian nostrils. He’d been living on Omega for years, though. He didn’t like the reek of this place, but he was accustomed enough to it that he could mostly ignore it. It wasn’t like one could hang car air fresheners over every square inch of Omega to make it smell better. It was easier to just learn to live with the stench.
Remus reached into the pocket of his trench coat and pulled out an object that resembled a small whetstone.
The trench coat he was wearing was similar to the one he had been wearing earlier, but the leather of the one he was wearing now was thinner than the one he’d been wearing before. The collar was also different. The collar on the coat he’d been wearing earlier turned up, where as this one folded over and fanned out.
The turian used the thin whetstone to file one of the talons sticking out of a slit in his glove. Just like almost everything he wore, he had the gloves specially made. They had slits in all six fingers so he could use his talons when fighting up close and personal, something few turians did. Many turians wore gloves that padded their talons, and just used guns. They were an advanced race, after all, and the most prominent military force. Only primitive animals used claws and teeth.
Most of the time he was content to shoot everybody from a distance and remain hidden. Still, as far as he cared, sometimes there was nothing quite like tearing someone’s trachea out with your bare claws.
Turians had claws and teeth for a reason, and even if they had guns and knives, he wasn’t below using his natural turian weapons. It had been more than one time that he had quite literally, as turians said, ‘fought tooth and talon’.
Still sharpening his talons, Remus turned his eyes up when he rounded a corner and scanned the crowd once more. One couldn’t afford to let their guard down on Omega. There were more criminals per square foot here than there were in some prisons. True though it was that Omega had its witless civilians that didn’t dabble in illegal things if they could help it, but they were a minority here. The gangs controlled Omega.
And Aria T’loak controlled the gangs.
He snorted indignantly at the thought of the small asari that fancied herself the ‘queen’ of Omega. She hated a lot of people, but none more than she hated The Unknown. Oh she had it out for him, alright. She didn’t like anybody that operated outside her jurisdiction, and The Unknown did just that. Moreover, he knew how much she hated knowing nothing about him.
Aria knew just as much about him as everybody else on Omega, and he knew that it drove her crazy. She was supposed to know everything about everyone significant enough for her to turn her pretty little eyes on.
And he loved to fuck with her.
The asari didn’t go out much, but he’d caught her in public a few times. Those limited times he’d made a game out of following her around and giving her that ‘someone is watching me’ chill that runs up a person’s spine when being stalked. What was even more fun was shooting the guards she always had with her when he’d seen her out and about.
One time he’d had the whole little game planned out. Normally when he sniped someone down he quickly hid behind something or moved to a different roof or window so his next few shots would be from a different angle. It made him hard to track.
He hadn’t moved that time.
Remus remembered it with perfect clarity. He’d taken out all three of Aria’s guards then moved to stand at the very edge of the roof. She’d swung around to look up at where the shots had come from.
People like her were anything if not predictable. They always did one of two things first after he killed someone. They either looked at the bodies first, or they tried to find where the shots came from first. He’d guessed that she’d look for him first, since everybody but her was expendable for all she cared. Well, she and the krogan known as the Patriarch that he swore she had a secret lady-boner for.
For once he’d let her see him as The Unknown, standing masked up on the roof with rifle in hand and a grin on his face that she couldn’t see. She’d glared a ‘how dare you, you little worm’ glare up at him, her tattooed brows knitted and her eyes blazing.
Then he’d reached down into one of his pockets and pulled out a thornless rose, tossing it down at her where it had landed at her feet in a pool of multi-colored merc blood.
She’d taken it as the insult he’d intended it to be and had been out for his blood en force ever since.
Remus still let her catch glimpses of him and even continued to toss her the occasional rose from time to time.
One year, for the human celebration of Valentine’s Day, he’d sent her a heart-shaped box with a literal heart inside it. He’d addressed it, To: Aria. From: The Unknown.
He’d been in the bar in his public attire when she’d received The Unknown’s little gift. She’d tossed the heart across the bar and raged on and on about ‘how she was going to kill that turian bastard when she got her hands on him’.
Little did she know that the same ‘turian bastard’ had been sitting at the bar just under her little spot overlooking the plebian bar-goers.
That was a good day.
As Remus’ marbled green eyes surveyed the crowd, his six-foot-nine height making it easy to see over most humans and some turians, he paused.
Standing away from the traffic was a turian couple, just standing there and holding each other. The male pulled back just far enough to press his forehead against his female’s. The female reached up and caressed her male’s mandible lovingly. They seemed to be oblivious to the world around them. They only had eyes for each other.
Remus felt something strange and foreign then. Something that weighed heavy on his chest. It almost felt like… longing. He scowled at the strange feeling and suddenly felt disgusted with himself, tucking his mandibles tight against his face. He tore his eyes away from the happy couple and continued on his way, putting his whetstone back in his coat pocket.
I must be getting old and soft, he growled in his head. Relationships are for pussies, and I sure as shit ain’t no pussy. I don’t need anybody but me and my rifle. And a stiff drink.
He made his way through the streets of Omega. His mandibles twitched a bit when he saw the blaring neon sign that read ‘Afterlife’. Like always there was a line of people outside the door, held back by a large elcor. Normally you had to wait in line and get permission to go into the bar, since it was practically Aria’s throne room. She did most of her business there and spent almost all of her time there.
Remus ignored the elcor and walked past him. The elcor and the two guards outside Afterlife always let him in. He had – what was that human phrase? Greased enough hands? – to allow passage into the club without question.
The turian adjusted the goggles over his light-sensitive eyes. A normal turian could see very well in the daylight, but their eyesight was poor in the dark.
Remus had had his eyes modified soon after moving to Omega. Since he liked to skulk around in the dark, and his home was in one of the darkest pits of Omega, he needed to be able to see in the dark.
He’d found a guy that could make it happen, and he’d done a spectacular job.
The procedure had added a tapetum, something turians were not born with, to the back of his retinas. This made it easier for the photoreceptors in Remus’ eyes to take in smaller amounts of light than a normal turian eye. And, thanks to the wonders of modern technology and medicine, adding the tapetum to his eye along with a few other modifications didn’t destroy his ability to see colors or see with the sharp clarity of a predator.
It did, however, make it hard for him to be around bright lights. Bright, neon lights, like the ones that hummed and glowed over the door to Afterlife, over stimulated his light-sensitive eyes and rendered him momentarily blind.
Remus adjusted his goggles to avoid that very thing. He’d had it happen before, when a drunken idiot had pulled them off of his head. The pain from the sudden onslaught of bright, throbbing lights glaring into his eyes had been indescribable. The second he’d managed to get his goggles away from the man and back over his eyes, he’d beaten the drunkard to a pulp.
The turian pulled a VIP pass out of his coat pocket and showed it to a batarian holding a data pad outside the door. The batarian nodded and the door opened. Remus put the pass back in his pocket as he walked through the door.
The hallway he had stepped into was lit with a mixture of red lights overhead and digital images of fire blazing along the walls. It was dim enough that he could take his goggles off if he wanted, but he didn’t. He knew from experience that he would be blinded the second the door at the end of the hall that led to the main floor of the nightclub opened. Instead he left his goggles where they were, scanning the people that sat on benches lining the walls.
Just like always, there were a few people passed out on the benches that had perhaps had one too many. There were many people that stood and sat in the hallway, though, so they could hear each other talk. The music was muffled there, so one didn’t have to raise their voice to be heard.
Remus spied a small group of four batarians standing but a few yards from him. They were armed and armored. If he knew his thugs, and he did, these were batarian pirates. Likely here to trade, sell or pick up slaves.
If there was one thing Remus was good at, aside from killing people, it was judging people at a glance. He knew they were going to cause trouble for him before the one closest to him even turned to look in his direction. He continued to walk, even as the batarian nudged the one next to him and motioned toward him.
If you’re smart, you’ll leave me alone, Remus thought to himself.
It didn’t come as a shock to Remus when the four batarians stepped out in front of him and blocked his path to the door at the end of the hall. They’re never smart.
“Not so fast, turian,” one of the batarians said, baring his pointed teeth. “You’re coming with us.”
“And I think it’s adorable that you think that,” Remus smirked, lowering his mandibles to bare his own teeth. “Do I really look like the kind of turian that lets idiots like you fuck with him without retaliation? You’d better step off before you decide to do something stupid.”
At the signal from the batarian that had just spoken, they all pulled out pistols and pointed them at Remus. “I wasn’t asking, smart-ass.”
Remus crossed his arms with apparent disinterest and rubbed his chin. He cocked a brow plate and pointed at the pistol in the lead batarian’s hand. “See, that’s the kind of stupid thing I just warned against.”
Feeling the familiar surge of power course through his blood, his muscles, his very being, Remus threw his hand out and released a powerful biotic shockwave. The force of the blast sent the batarians flying through the air and into a wall. Several sickening cracks sounded when they hit the wall then crumpled to the ground in a heap.
Remus grinned to himself at his handiwork. People never think about turians being biotics, he thought as he walked up to the unmoving batarians and looked down at them. He didn’t bother checking them for life. The force with which he had shoved them against the wall was more than enough to break enough bones and damage enough internal organs that, if they weren’t dead yet, they would be soon.
Kill one, and two more pop up to replace him, Remus thought. He stepped over the bodies, and continued down the hall. That’s why I like it here.
He remembered hearing tales about a turian everybody called Archangel. The idiot had foolishly thought that he and his little rag-tag squad could clean up Omega and make it a better place for those that couldn’t defend themselves.
Remus held no such noble fantasies. He didn’t kill mercs because he hoped to help wipe them off the face of Omega and make it a place full of sunshine and bunnies. To do that you’d need to blow up Omega in its entirety with a multi-kiloton warhead. He killed them because it was what he liked to do, and today showed that he himself was guilty of killing civilians in cold blood.
Did he fancy himself better than the mercs and pirates? Did he think he was good and they were bad?
He didn’t.
Remus Malum was a very bad person, and he’d be the first one to admit it.
The door in front of Remus opened to reveal the familiar upper floor of Afterlife. In the center of the room was a large purple screen with blown up pictures of the human and asari entertainers that danced on a raised platform lined with stripper poles.
The music, louder in here than it had been in the hallway, thrummed through his ears. The deep bass notes reverberated through his chest, the dancers above him gyrating perfectly to the electrifying song. He eyed a voluptuous, dark-haired human female twirling around a pole clad in hardly more than a few strings and bits of fabric to cover her breasts and the area between her legs.
It was a tantalizing sight, and if he didn’t plan on just getting some drinks and picking up some rumors before heading home so he could clean his Black Widow, he’d consider renting himself the female that danced so sensually above his head. Normally the entertainers didn’t have sex with the one that requested their attention, but he could be very persuasive.
As could more credits for a quickie than she would see in the entire month. And the entertainers made quite the hefty sum in a month.
Turning his eyes away from the human he headed to the bar located against the far right wall. Tonight a familiar turian was standing behind the bar. His plates were so dark brown they appeared black in the light of Afterlife and his intricate clan marking scrolled across his face in paint so red compared to his plates it was almost hard to look at without squinting.
Behind the bar also stood a second turian who had only started to work here about a week ago, and an asari he recognized as usually working at the bar in the lower half of Afterlife.
Remus sat down at an empty barstool close to the turian he recognized and tapped one of his talons on the counter.
The turian turned when he heard the telltale sound of a talon tapping against metal, his silvery-blue eyes settling on Remus. “You,” he acknowledge with a nod of his head toward the brown-plated turian. For the six years he’d been working here as a bartender, he’d come to know the scarred turian as a regular. For six years he’d served this strange turian drinks, but beyond knowing his favorite drinks and his preference for the human dancers, the bartender knew nothing else about him. Not even his name.
“Alerio,” Remus greeted with a slight grin.
“Don’t go causing any trouble. I just cleaned this counter and I don’t want blood all over it,” Alerio said.
Remus shrugged. “Tell that to the idiots around me, not me. They’re the ones that pick fights and involve me,” he said as he looked around to gauge who was sitting around him and if they were bar fight material. To his right was a group of three chittering women and to his left were two male salarians. Salarians didn’t usually pick fights while intoxicated, since their high metabolism made it hard for them to be piss drunk long enough to do something stupid like pick a fight with a larger-than-average turian with extensive facial scarring, but you never knew.
He’d learned young that drunkards could surprise you.
“Yeah, yeah. You’ve picked your share of fights over the years,” Alerio retorted. He brought a glass and a bottle of purple liquid up from under the counter, set the glass in front of Remus and poured some of the liquid into the glass. He then grabbed a different bottle full of something clear and added just a touch to the beverage and slid it toward Remus.
“Only when I’m more liquor than turian,” Remus replied. He grabbed the glass and downed the purple fluid, shaking his head at the intense burn it left in its wake as it slithered down his throat. The Purple Haze was one of his favorite drinks, and he usually started the night off with one.
“Keep ‘em coming,” Remus said, setting the glass down and brushing it off to the side.
Alerio nodded and quickly brought up a new glass and poured another.
Remus quickly downed the shot, his mandibles flaring. “Damn, that burns good.” He put the glass down, Alerio already pouring another. The bartender knew to keep the drinks coming until this particular turian either told him to stop or was so wasted he couldn’t sit on his stool without falling.
“So, hear anything worth repeating?” Remus asked before knocking back his third shot. He found bartenders to be a useful source of information. When people started drinking, they started talking. When people started talking, they occasionally said something useful.
“Aria’s been MIA for two days,” Alerio replied, pouring Remus another drink.
“Really?” Remus turned on his barstool and looked up toward the platform that overlooked the entire upper half of Afterlife. Sure enough he didn’t see her little blue head peaking over the partial wall. “Know why?”
“No one knows,” Alerio replied, pushing the shot toward Remus.
Remus grabbed the shot glass, tapping one of his talons against the glass. “Wonder what the tentacle-head’s up to.”
“If anybody asks, I didn’t hear you just call her that.”
“Hear anything else?” Remus asked before downing the shot.
“Not much,” Alerio replied, pouring another drink. “I heard tell that some rich human wants to hire The Unknown.”
That was what precisely what Remus had wanted to hear, but he didn’t let it show on his face. “What human would be so desperate as to hire him?”
“Guy by the name of Jordan Serius, so the rumor goes.”
Remus took the shot Alerio slid his way. He was beginning to feel that warm feeling that signaled the beginning of a good buzz.
“Name doesn’t sound familiar,” he stated.
“Couldn’t tell you who he is, either,” Alerio replied, sliding Remus his sixth shot which the turian downed the second it was in his hand. “Just some human with money.”
“Two more and I’ll call it a night,” Remus said. “I got shit to do.”
Alerio quickly poured two shots and passed them to Remus. He downed both in rapid succession and stood up. The alcohol hadn’t quite hit him yet, so he could still stand without stumbling over. He dug his credit chit out of his pocket, paid for his shots and left without another word.
He’d gotten more information than he’d hoped for tonight. Not only did he learn that someone was out to hire him, but he’d even gotten a name. It was better than what he was usually presented with. It was normally a vague rumor that someone may be looking to hire The Unknown. Then he’d have to spend a few days trying to track down a name.
But he already had one. All he had to do was do was stumble home, do a little research, clean Elizabeth and sleep the alcohol out of his body.
If there was one thing Remus never did, it was take a job while intoxicated. He needed his senses at their peak so he didn’t make a stupid, possibly lethal mistake. The last thing he wanted was to get shot or to caught and tortured for information.
Prologue
Chapter 1 - reading
Chapter 2 - to be posted later
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