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five-rivers · 3 years

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Long Night in the Valley chapter 5

Toshinori found himself thinking about his brief and extremely ill-advised time as a quirkless vigilante. He had a sinking suspicion that it because of his uninvited mental guests, but he couldn’t exactly do anything about that. Between the two of them, Izuku had always been better at the mental portion of their quirk.

He finished washing the bleach out of Izuku’s hair and couldn’t help but wonder if Izuku had ever contemplated going down that path. It had been cruel, and knowing what he did now, he would never repeat it, but his speech to Izuku on that rooftop had been intended to keep him from making the same mistakes Toshinori had in his youth.

If Nana hadn’t picked him up… he shuddered to think what would have become of him. He’d certainly been in over his head, hitting far above his weight class.

Although, to be honest, they weren’t in a good position right now, either.

“I’m sorry,” said Izuku, softly.

“It isn’t your fault,” said Toshinori.

“But I couldn’t make him leave. And now he’s going after your secrets.”

“My boy, they sent a highly skilled infiltrator into your mind.” Toshinori was not entirely sure how he knew this, but it felt correct. “You don’t have the training to combat that. What you have done is remarkable.” He toweled off Izuku’s hair. The damp and the product had conspired to make it less fluffy than usual. “The last you told me, you couldn’t even manifest fully in that place.”

“I tried to distract them,” said Izuku, miserably. “It didn’t work. It—He’s still there.”

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” said Toshinori. “Other than One for All, I don’t have any secrets worth all these tears.” It might be annoying if they found out about all the illegal stuff he’d done over the years, but most of it would be nigh-impossible to prove. “Let’s get you into that suit.”

“Right,” said Izuku, peeling out of his clothes. “Why a suit, though?”

“It’s something you’d never choose to wear and relatively anonymous,” said Toshinori. He started to put on his own coat, checking that all the hidden pouches were filled. To stay true to his disguise, Izuku was only carrying a messenger bag, and they would need the supplies.

“How do I look?” asked Izuku. The first thing Toshinori noticed was that he hadn’t bothered with the tie, but Toshinori had planned to take care of that from the beginning.

The second thing—

Toshinori did not blanch.

Of course, that’s what he looks like, whispered seven or so voices. Knew from the beginning. Have to read the DNA to rewrite it. Can’t give this to just anyone.

Yes. Of course.

“You look wonderful,” said Toshinori, reaching for the tie. “And also unrecognizable.”

“Well, that’s the point, right?” asked Izuku, running a hand through his hair. “So… How are we going to do this?”

Toshinori made a face. He wasn’t terribly good at this part. There was a reason he’d relied so heavily on Sir Nighteye once upon a time.

“I… could come up with a plan,” proposed Izuku. “Tell me how Trace’s quirk works.”

The fight reached the other side of the tunnel, and spilled out into bright, yellow sunlight. Midoriya had been fighting Iida up until a moment ago, but upon exiting the tunnel he had run off. After stabbing Suzuki in the eye with a pencil.

Meanwhile, All Might, Teenage Menace special edition, was holding his own against them.

One thing Aizawa didn’t understand, though, was why All Might wasn’t using his quirk.

Thankfully, after leaving the tunnel, the boy began to falter, and then ran off after Midoriya. Aizawa wasn’t interested in pursuing either of them. Were there questions he wanted answered? Yes. Did he want them answered at the cost of invading his student’s privacy and breaking his trust? No.

In the meantime, he did have to see if the idiot needed medical care. That was, unfortunately, part of his job.

“Want help with that?” he asked.

“No,” said Suzuki, pulling the pencil out. In less than a second, his eye was fine. “That hurt,” he complained.

A small part of Aizawa mourned the fact that breaking Suzuki’s legs would not be enough to stop him. A small, but very present part. He pushed it away. Thinking on might-have-beens was illogical.

“Sensei!” called Uraraka. “I think we’re in America. All the signs are in English!” She pointed.

The signs were, in fact, in English. Considering how much time All Might had spent in America, it wasn’t terribly surprising that Midoriya would construct such a place for him in his mind.

… Although, he had to wonder why Midoriya’s mind had a teenage vigilante All Might running around in it. Because if he were Midoriya in this situation, and he could pick any All Might, he’d pick top-of-his-game natural disaster All Might, so, this had to be an All Might that Midoriya just. Had. For some reason.

“This proves it,” said Todoroki.

“Proves what?” asked Aizawa.

“That Midoriya is All Might’s secret love child.”

Iida sighed, heavily, leaving off prodding his formerly impaled shoulder.

“Think about it!” said Todoroki, as emotive as Aizawa had ever seen him. “Who else would All Might tell about his dark past?”

Regrettably, he had a point.

“Add that to the quirk, and the smile, and how they meet up for lunch at least once a week—”

“That is literally the dumbest thing I have ever heard,” said Suzuki. “All Might is a natural-born hero. A pillar of society!”

“Yes?” said Todoroki, squinting at Suzuki as if daring him to say something that made sense.

“He isn’t going to have a secret love child.”

Regrettably, he also had a point.

“Much less one like Midoriya Izuku.”

Okay, the point was gone.

“In any case, black tentacles are not at all like All Might’s general enhancer.”

“It is like his mother’s, though,” said Todoroki, “and even though I keep saying ‘secret love child,’ my current theory is that Midoriya-san and All Might are, in fact, married, but they had to do it secretly, so that All Might’s enemies wouldn’t find them.”

“Todoroki, please, you can’t just spread baseless rumors like that about your classmates!” said Iida, chopping at the air. “Much less your classmate’s families!”

Todoroki looked hurt. “But I have evidence!”

Aizawa should probably put a stop to this, but he kind of wanted to see where it was going, and there was no way this was true. At all.

If Midoriya was All Might’s kid, he would never shut up about it. All Might, that was. Midoriya was, evidently, capable of keeping secrets.

(On the other hand, Aizawa didn’t have a better theory for their obvious close bond.)

“What evidence?” asked Iida, clearly intrigued despite himself.

“Midoriya-san is amazing.” Todoroki’s eyes sparkled like he was in a manga.

Aizawa sighed, he should have known the ‘evidence’ would—

Wait.

“Where’s Uraraka?”

Uraraka really should have been paying more attention. Especially after all the situational awareness classes Aizawa-sensei had given them.

Izuku didn’t blame her. This was a distracting situation, and he rather suspected being asleep and ‘dreaming’ was affecting their judgement.

Still. It was almost too easy to pull her to the side and through a door into another part of the dreamscape.

But after that, she shook off his grip and readied a fighting stance.

“I don’t want to fight,” he whispered, making a quelling motion.

Uraraka looked like she wanted to believe him but frowned. “Sorry, but I kind of find that hard to believe after you stabbed Iida. I mean, I know you’re under the effects of a quirk and all, but you’re still under the effects of a quirk.” Despite her words, she matched his volume.

“I know, I know,” said Izuku. “It looks bad, but…” He wrung his fingers together and adjusted the sleeves of his uniform. “There’s something you guys need to know about what’s going on, and you were easiest to grab. Can I explain? I’m not going to fight you guys anymore. Not like- Not like I was.”

Uraraka sighed and relaxed her shoulders, just slightly. “Alright, Deku, I—” she faltered. “Midoriya.”

“You can still call me Deku,” said Izuku. “I mean, it is my hero name.”

“Yes, but… they used it to hurt you, didn’t they?”

Izuku shrugged. This wasn’t the conversation he wanted to be having. “If—I guess, if you want, you can call me Izuku. It would feel weird for you to go to calling me Midoriya.”

Uraraka blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Yes?”

“Then you have to call me Ochako!”

Izuku blushed. “Okay,” he said, in a tiny voice. He coughed. “So. Um. Imagine, imagine you’re in a room.” He gestured at the facsimile of the American diner. “You’re standing in the middle.”

Ura—Ochako nodded. “Sure,” she said.

“Right. So, you can’t see all the walls at once, no matter how you turn. Unless, like, you have some kind of vision-related quirk, or a quirk like Shoji’s I guess.” Izuku shook his head, putting aside that train of thought for the moment. “Does that make sense, so far?”

“Yes,” said Ochako, “but I don’t see what it has to do with… this.” She spread her hands in front of her.

“Well, um. It’s what was going on back there,” he gestured vaguely towards where they’d come from. “From the beach until the tunnel. You were in my head. Kind of… inside my personality, I guess? So, you couldn’t see the whole thing at once. Just the walls from the inside. Each, um, each one of me? Each one of me was like a different wall. You couldn’t see the whole shape. They were incomplete.”

“Okay,” said Ochako. “But that should still be what’s happening, then, right? We’re still in your head.”

“Yeah, that’s why I needed to talk to you. You aren’t. You’re… This me, the me you’re talking to, right now, I’m complete, because you’re seeing me from outside, now. Well, mostly complete. Like, you can’t see the other side of the room from the outside… Oh, no, All Might is right, I’m terrible at metaphors.” He buried his face in his hands.

“It’s fine,” said Ochako. “But, um. You’re saying we’re in someone else’s head?”

“Sort of. Just… not my dreamscape. Mindscape? It’s-It’s complicated.” He lifted his head.

“D—Izuku-kun, is this All Might’s mind?”

It was going to be pretty obvious once everyone woke up, so Izuku nodded.

“Why?” asked Ochako. “How?”

“I can’t explain everything right now. It’s too much, and I don’t know if the commission has someone listening with a telepathy quirk from the outside. I know they’re not using it on me, because I’m awake, but—”

“What? You’re awake?”

“Sort of, sort of. It’s a side effect of what’s going on here. I woke up when Suzuki-san shot me. And I’m sort of on the run. It’s really, really, not something I can give details about, though, because, you know. Listening.”

Ochako took a deep breath. “So, what did you want to tell me?”

“Well, all of that, but also, we need to coordinate. It would be best if we could get Suzuki-san to stay in one place, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“We were trying to do that before.”

“I kind of thought so,” said Izuku. “The problem is, if you’re moving around, you’re going to run into All Might like you ran into me back in my dreamscape. If Suzuki-san’s quirk works the way I think it does, and he keeps using it on me, that’s not a problem at this point. But if he starts using it on T—on All Might, that’s different.”

“You know what his quirk is?” asked Ochako, raising her eyebrows.

“I think he can make people think of particular topics,” said Izuku. “Like secrets and stuff. Which is why him realizing he’s in All Might’s mind would be bad.”

Ochako nodded and perched on the edge of one of the tables. “All Might was number one for so long,” she said, “I’d be surprised if he didn’t know a whole bunch of different classified things. Should we try to go back?”

“… I’d say yes, but I need my brain power for escaping, not rendering traumatic moments from my childhood, and I know a lot of different classified things. Some of which are, uh. Significantly more recent. Plus, I’m not sure All Might will let you go back.”

“Oh,” said Ochako, tilting her head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but there isn’t any truth behind Todoroki’s secret love child theory, is there?”

“Absolutely not,” said Izuku.

“Okay. I’m guessing you have a plan?”

“More like a distraction,” said Izuku. “I don’t know how well this will work, but…”

“You know,” said Izuku as he shouldered his bag, both fascinated and horrified, “with your head shaved and the face mask bit, you kind of look like, you know.”

“Ah,” said Toshinori, uncertain how to react to realizing that he had dressed both himself and his successor as their worst enemy. “I suppose,” he said. “The coat is very different, though.”

“Yes. It is.”

“Speaking of which,” said Toshinori, forcibly changing the topic, “remember to take the tie off if you get into a fight. It’s too easy to grab on to.”

Izuku nodded, partially distracted by all the conversations happening in his head. Then he blinked.

“Vigilantism?”

Toshinori shrugged sheepishly. “Did you ever consider it?”

All Izuku had ever wanted to do was help people. Save people. Heroics had been the best option. For a while, the only option. In theory, a person could get into heroics on merit and skill. Everything else… Anything like a doctor or a police officer or a lawyer… It would have been impossible for a quirkless person. Even finding housing could be difficult for the quirkless, because most landlords made people disclose their quirks, to ‘prevent accidents from bad quirk interactions.’

Toshinori wrapped an arm around Izuku’s shoulder. For a moment, Izuku had forgotten he’d been listening in. For a moment, he’d forgotten how bitter he could be about that particular

“Not then,” he said. He’d known that he’d never survive without training he couldn’t get except at a hero school like UA. “But now?”

“Heh. We’ll make quite the duo, won’t we, my boy?”

They needed to leave. Before Trace got too close. They both had their directions, but it didn’t really matter if they remembered them clearly or not. Not when they could hear and feel each other, and they had so much help.

They exited the hideout, climbed up through the storm drains, navigated through the building above them, walked a block together, and split up without another word.

Trace’s quirk could tell where a person had been. She wasn’t as good at determining when they had been there. Any trails left within two hours of each other looked more or less the same, according to her registration with the hero commission. According to an interview Izuku had seen her give once, in the aftermath of a kidnapping, after ten, the trail disappeared entirely, and she needed to have the trail to follow it.

If Izuku and Toshinori looped over their trails often enough, she wouldn’t be able to tell which trail was which. With luck and planning, they could lead her in maze-like loops, break their trail up with buses and jumps between buildings, and get a head start on her. A head start that they could use to outdistance her, because her tracking quirk took time to work.

At least, that was what Izuku hoped would happen. In reality, the commission records tended to be out of date, heroes rarely gave completely correct information about their quirks to the public, and even Izuku’s encyclopedic knowledge had limits. After all, encyclopedias gave only short overviews of their subjects.

But there had to be some relation between reality and record.

And if it didn’t work… Izuku’s self-preservation skills was trash, but eight minds whirred behind his, more than ready to put theirs to work for him. The consensus was to fight, and, in this state, they would operate by the consensus. Nine of them together.

Nine here, keeping them physically away from the commission. Nine inside, keeping their secrets safe. Nine keeping the doors strong and the vault clo—

He stumbled at the unexpected direction of his thoughts. His head throbbed.

It would be much easier if they weren’t in his head anymore.

He hurried forward.

Miles away, in the most secure prison in the country, the guards of the most dangerous villain in the worlds scrambled for answers. They had sedated the man known as All for One to what was, frankly, a dangerous degree. He hadn’t so much as twitched in hours, nor had he spoken, even before that.

His brain activity was elevated.

Highly elevated.

It had been for hours, and they had no idea why.

All for One smiled at the vault door in front of him. It had been a long time since he’d seen it, but, nevertheless, his memory of it was pristine. It was, after all, a place he revisited often in his thoughts.

Wondering, wondering.

But this wasn’t then. This wasn’t a result of him being lost in thought. Oh, no. This was something infinitely more interesting. Infinitely more valuable.

He ran his hand through his curly hair and hummed contemplatively. Interesting, interesting indeed.

He walked to the door an ran his fingers down the cold interior, the little scrapes and knicks catching at his fingertips. Now, this, this was more detail than he had retained, but not, perhaps, more detail than, say, someone who had been imprisoned here for a long time would recall.

A smile stretched out over his face, wide and sparkling and full of glee.

This, he thought, would be quite amusing.

He pulled back his hand and made a fist.

“Knock knock, little brother.”

Izuku slowed to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk.

That.

He blinked, hard.

That would be a problem.

He started walking again, faster.

Toshinori leaned against a grimy city wall, out of breath. The mask was thick and made it hard to breathe, especially with his singular lung.

Of course, what had him gasping wasn’t anything physical, but the massive weight of dread that had just settled on his chest. Was Izuku in trouble? Did the commission get him?

No.

Slowly, unerringly, he rotated until he faced Tartarus.

Ah.

Not again.

Izuku broke off mid-sentence and grabbed Ochako by the wrist as the restaurant vibrated.

“What was that?” asked Ochako.

“A problem,” said Izuku, staring off into the distance, as if he was seeing something completely different. Well. He could be, Ochako realized.

“Something in the real world? Wherever you are?”

“No,” said Izuku. “Change of plans. You guys really, really need to get out of here.” He pulled her out the door onto the street. The sky was rapidly darkening. He seemed to realize he was still holding onto her, and blushed, dropping her wrist. “S-sorry.”

“We don’t know how, though. I thought that was why we were doing the distraction.”

“We don’t know how, but…” Izuku bit his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, no, one might be able to do something. But if they’re closer… Can’t just wait. Can we still wait? What do you think? What… That would work? Maybe. We can work with maybe. Seven, that’s too far. Okay, yeah. Yeah.”

“Izuku-kun?”

“Sorry! Sorry. I think… I think you might have to go forward after all. The others have been here longer than I have. They know more.” He started running down the street. “Come on!”

“Others? What others?” asked Ochako, hurrying to catch up.

“The, um. The others we’re connected to, me and, and All Might.” He wasn’t looking at her as he ran. “If you ask them—They’ll know more than me. They’ve been doing this longer, and this is tangled in one’s quirk. One of them might have seen a quirk like this before, been in this position before.”

“But—”

“It’s just really dangerous for you to be here right now.”

“Why?”

Izuku stopped and bounced in place. “Weakened mental immune system, basically. Something else is trying to get in. Can’t do both at the same time.”

A building behind him exploded into rubble. He winced.

“What’s going on?” asked Ochako.

“Flashback,” said Izuku. “Toshinori…” He shook his head and pointed down a cross street. “If you go this way, you’ll be able to meet back up with everyone.”

“What about the plan?”

Izuku shook his head. “Just try to stay alive, for now. This isn’t going to be fun. I’m sorry, I have to go!”

Before Ochako could protest further, he was gone.

#bnha #fic #fanfic #long night in the valley #boku no hero academia

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thedeaconj · 4 years

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The Deep Sleep - a “Hypno Noir” Story

(Bit of a fun Noir style story I’ve been working on, mostly written today so I may tidy it up at some point and improve it)

Christie, a private detective gets involved in a classic missing persons case. Except with an expert on brainwashing, a strange strip club, and no clear bad guy, this case may prove Christie’s most important one yet.

Christie sat in her office, a glazed over look in her eyes and a lit cigarette hanging from her lips. Across from her sat Mr Taylor, the client who’d started this whole mess. It started a week ago, an ordinary missing persons job, the case went as for from ordinary as you can go. Now though, with the case solved, everything was clear to her, it was just a matter of making sure Mr Taylor got what he needed. From now on, she’d always be making sure her clients got what they needed.

A week earlier, a panicked Mr Taylor came to Christie as a last resort. She was a private detective, an up and comer in the business, despite being still quite young and not exactly an imposing figure. Short, cute, she’d been mocked by goons and lowlifes when started out for these features. Lewd comments were commonplace, lewd gestures would shortly follow. They shut up the moment they found out she was a world class martial artist. If that didn’t work out, Christie found the barrel of a loaded gun pointed at someone was a quick way to earn their respect. Mr Taylor though was too desperate to care what she looked like, or whether she could go fifteen rounds with the champ, he just wanted his son back.

There were two things different about their first encounter, Christie’s mindset, and the brand of cigarettes she was smoking. Otherwise Mr Taylor was just as panicky, going on about his missing son. He’d come out west in hopes of finding some stardom, and from a photo of the guy, Christie could believe it. Well built with light blonde hair and an earnest smile, he’d be a shoe in for roles in just about any major motion picture. Usually, she didn’t take these kinds of cases. Most of the time naïve young wannabe stars like this ended up swallowed by the great black hole they called Hollywood. Maybe it was liquor, maybe the pressures of a rapid-fire success, or often, Christie found they couldn’t quite handle just how sweeter the nose candy was here than it was back out east. No, it wasn’t Mr Taylor’s grief that would make her take this case, it was what his son was doing beforehand. Tom Taylor, a name for the silver screen if she’d ever heard one, was a genius. At least, in the awfully specific field of mind-altering technology.

‘So, your son was involved in some CIA level mind control tech, outright disappears, and you come to me? Why not go to the government, this is some cold war level trouble,’ Christie asked.

‘I tried! They wouldn’t take my calls, wouldn’t let me see anyone. Look he’s not a bad kid, the tech he was working on he said was to help people. You know, Alzheimer’s patients, people with severe mental disorders. I don’t know why he wanted to become a star, I just want him back, please,’

Christie had half a mind to tell him her theory. That Tom Taylor wasn’t just a “bad kid”, that he’d fled to Hollywood to try and brainwash some starlets. Although, there was another theory in the back of her mind. A more frightening one. Some whiz kid with the know how to build a mind control machine who’s enamoured with stardom could prove dangerous in the right hands. Christie always kept abreast of the local gangs on the LA scene, the major players would kill to get their hands on someone like Tom Taylor. Tom Taylor, all American boy, all star quarterback, but also some sort of technical wizard. Christie wondered how the hell he’d had the time for it all. With herself in the middle of a dry spot, and the prospect of some true criminals getting their hands on the holy grail of unethical tech, she decided to accept.

‘I’ll find your son Mr Taylor, but if he’s not quite the kid you thought he was, then there’s nothing I can do about that,’ she told him.

Mr Taylor shook her hand; just thankful she’d take the case. He arranged a wire payment to her and would then spend the next week praying that Christie could find him. He had his own theories, but didn’t want to dwell on them, he just prayed his son was alive and well.

Christie meanwhile got to work. Mr Taylor had given her all the preliminary information needed, and a quick call through to some choice contracts gave her the rest. Tom Taylor was shockingly easy to track down, but then he’d made quite a scene when he first moved to the city of angels. Notably, he’d splashed a lot of money at an up and coming club in the north side of town, the Sapphire Club. Christie, being in the know, had heard the name before. The Sapphire Club was a place for gentleman, not that she found anything particularly gentlemanly about gawping at breasts. It opened a few months back, by all accounts doing stellar business. Like a good detective though, she had some hunches. First, she followed the money, a tangled web of shell companies and cryptic accounting, Christie came to a conclusion. No strip club did this well, even a popular one in north Hollywood. Either someone was moving serious amounts of product through there, or they weren’t paying their workers. With inquiries made into the local friendly drug fiend community, it was looking like the latter.

Situations like this one were where Christie’s frame and looks gave her the edge. Your traditional masculine, ex-cop private detective with a five o clock shadow wouldn’t get two words in with a strip club owner before the word ‘lawyer’ was thrown out there. She however could spin a yarn. How she was a struggling actress, just looking to make a little bit of money on the side, and wasn’t stripping like, empowering anyways? With a black dress and heels picked out, a smoky eyeshadow and thick, red lips as sweet as candy, she believed she could play any sleazeball club owner like a fiddle.

The club was a dark, smoky place, with blasting music and a strong smell of booze. Ravenous looking men sat around tables, ogling the women who danced on poles and on stages. Christie looked up at them, seeing how they twirled their bodies, twisted and contorted into all sorts of suggestive poses. They were blissed out, smiles on their faces, and Christie theorised, not much going on in their heads. A genius brainwasher who’d blew his load figuratively (and probably, literally) in a joint like this, who convinced the management there was another way he could pay. Now that was a story Christie could get behind. At the bar, a woman in a black bodysuit and bunny ears shook a cocktail shaker, unaware of her bouncing breasts and the customer who stared at them. Christie approached her, taking a seat at the bar.

‘Hey, I was wondering, is there like a manager I can speak to, I’m in between roles right now,’ she said, smiling up at the bartender.

The bartender nodded at her, pointing to a pink door in the back of the club, where a burly looking man with a shaved head stood, arms crossed.

‘You’re looking for Tyler, just say Bunny sent you over,’

Christie couldn’t help but smirk. Bunny? Wasn’t that a little on the nose? Then again, she didn’t expect peak creativity from these sorts. She clutched her handbag close to her, which contained a pack of cigarettes, and her gun. Hopefully, she wouldn’t need to use it, but she did know she’d need a smoke after talking to Tyler. She wandered over to the door, explaining to the six-foot Adonis of a man how Bunny sent her over. She’d have found him attractive if he wasn’t a meathead working security for a strip club. He ushered her into an office, where behind a desk and a pile of paperwork, Tyler was sat on a comfortable looking leather chair.

‘Surprised?’ Tyler said.

Christie was surprised indeed. Tyler was far from what she was expecting. Dark skin and long, flowing black hair, dressed more like one of the ladies on stage than any sort of manager, she was the kind of woman who could play with your mind, no whiz kid tech needed. Not that Christie swung that way, but she couldn’t help but admire her, with how long those legs looked, she was sure that Tyler would tower above her. There was a seat on the other side of the desk to Tyler, one Christie sank into. Walking in heels was never her style, so it was nice to grab a moments rest.

‘I didn’t expect you to be a woman, that’s much more comforting to me really,’ Christie replied.

Tyler smirked at her. Her deep brown eyes seemed to be captivating Christie’s gaze, but she did notice something on her. A necklace on a thin chain, at its centre was embedded a shiny, blue stone. No doubt a sapphire, but that wasn’t what bothered her. Christie did her reading on mind control and hypnotic paraphernalia before setting out, looking for any way she could be affected. A necklace like this was suspect.

‘And why’s that Christie? You know, a lot of women who come to work here have certain desires. Perhaps you do too,’

‘Wait, how did you know my name?’ This wasn’t good, Christie thought. She’d been made.

‘I make it my business to know people who do their research on my club,’ Tyler said.

Christie wasn’t’ sure exactly where to look. Her eyes were an obvious focal point, through which Tyler could try to mesmerise her, but then if she looked down she was greeted by the necklace. Further down were Tyler’s legs, with a mesmerising quality of their own. Christie noticed how she wore a similar bodysuit to Bunny, except with fishnets and heels. Her worry was that Tyler here was some sort of trap, set by the real powers behind the Sapphire Club.

‘Then maybe you know who I’m here looking for. Tom Taylor, ring any bells?’

Tyler laughed.

‘Oh, I know Tom Taylor, he’s quite alright no need to worry. Made a real ass of himself at the club, but everything’s fine now, he’s just working off his debts,’ she said.

Her voice was rich, one Christie thought was quite musical, fit for radio even. Her theory was looking to be true, with Tom Taylor making the sort of technology that made girls like Bunny call herself that. The only question was, who was in charge of all this, and what were they planning?

‘That’s good to know, I’d be interested in talking to him Tyler. I bet if you brought me to your boss, they’d be more than happy to chat to me, if you catch my drift,’ Christie replied.

There was an angle here, a way to get herself in. With how Tyler was acting, she believed she was more of a wrangler of sorts than a true manager at the club. A hypnotized hypnotist to keep the girls in line. If she could get this brainwashed femme fatale to think Christie wanted to fall, wanted to be like the girls out there, maybe she could find the man in charge. Tyler crossed her legs, which drew Christie’s attention to them.

‘So, little Christie really wants the job, she isn’t just here on an investigation. Are times that tough for you?’ Tyler said, then uncrossed her legs, spreading them. As if to invite her to look between them. Christie noticed it instantly, a damp spot. A possible weakness.

‘Well, who’s to say I can’t earn a little extra on the side, private detective is hardly a full-time job anymore,’ Christie replied, leaning onto the desk, doing her best to act sultry.

Tyler laughed again, she pulled open one of the drawers to her desk. Producing a cigarette, she placed it into a cigarette holder.

‘Mind if I smoke? I’m getting a little heady thinking of you on stage,’

Christie shook her head, not really caring, as Tyler took a long drag on her cigarette. The holder was close to her face, but Christie could now see she was gaining the upper hand. Tyler was visually excited by this whole thing, no doubt getting some reward for the sick task of bringing her to her master, or masters. Christie noticed how hard Tyler’s nipples were as they pointed through the bodysuit’s thin fabric. Then, came the puff of smoke. Straight into Christie’s face.

‘You were focusing in all the wrong places detective, don’t worry, I’m going to bust this case wide open for you,’ Tyler said.

Christie only half heard it as the smoke hit her. The smoke was pink, an oddity her mind only half registered as a sleepiness came upon her. There must have been something in that cigarette. She felt, sleepy, droopy, Christie couldn’t think. She couldn’t stay awake. Darkness washed over her, the last sound she heard being Tyler’s laughter.

When Christie awoke, she saw only a thin blue plastic looking material over her eyes. She could tell she was naked too, and upon attempting to move her hands and legs, could tell she was clamped into place. Cold steel pressed against her wrists and ankles; her arms were stuck to some sort of chair as her legs were spread wide. It was like a dentist’s chair, as she was on her back looking upwards. That same cold steel feeling she felt on her forehead. Christie was completely immobile, her clothes and her gun, gone. She struggled against these restraints, but soon realised they were inescapable. It was just a matter of talking her way out of this, at least she hoped she could do that. Two figures then entered Christie’s vision, both now familiar to her. Standing as naked as the day she was born aside from her necklace, was Tyler. Beside her in a lab coat, was Tom Taylor.

‘So, you’re the one behind this, I’ve gotta say your dad is awfully disappointed in you,’ Christie hoped to rile him up, maybe throw him off guard.

Tom Taylor said nothing, instead Tyler once again laughed.

‘You really don’t get it, do you detective?’ she said.

Then, she turned to Tom, and pulled off his labcoat. Christie could see how he was wearing a tight looking metal collar, and a red g-string.

‘Slave, why don’t you go calibrate the device for Christie here while we chat,’ Tyler said.

‘Yes Mistress,’ Christie saw him wander off, a blank look on his face.

‘So, you brainwashed the brainwasher, and now you’re going to do the same to me,’ Christie said.

Tyler pulled at a lever at the bottom of the chair, one out of Christie’s view. She felt herself being raised upwards, where she could now look down to see some other parts of the contraption she was stuck in. Noticeably, the buttplug placed precariously close already, and the quite frankly, comical looking artificial tongue and lips. She couldn’t help but smirk at it.

‘Yes yes, it’s a little silly looking, but I assure you Christie they’re incredibly effective. This newer model comes without your usual phallic attachments, for I have big plans for you detective,’ Tyler said.

‘Let me guess, turn me into one of those dancers on stage, controlled to dance for me for Money?’

Tyler shook her head, she asked Christie to think back on what she saw there. It was clear what she saw, dancers looking blissfully happy, and men ogling and staring at them.

‘And who do you think held the power in that situation detective? The dancers who chose to be on the stage, knowing how to mesmerise with their bodies, or the men willingly handing all their hard-earned money over?’

There was something about this that didn’t track. This wasn’t some typical male mind controller with big ambitions, there was another layer to this.

‘Tell me detective, did you find anything unusual when investigating our funding? Something to do with a certain liberation front?’ Tyler stepped in closer now, so close to Christie’s naked, vulnerable body.

‘Something to do with the Sapphire liberation front? I assumed it was a shell company,’ Christie replied, squirming in place, now frightened of what was coming up.

Tyler traced her fingers up Christie’s body, who let out an involuntary moan. The soft touch was heavenly, and only felt better when those fingers found Christie’s nipples.

‘Such beautiful, soft skin, so smooth and well preserved for someone in your line of work. No detective, it wasn’t the Sapphire Liberation Front. See, we’re the Sapphic Liberation Front. We have an interest in bringing women to the forefront of this city, and if that means brainwashing a few silly men into servitude, or handing over all their money, then why not?’

Christie squirmed now more out of embarrassment and pleasure, it was clear that Tyler was an expert at this. How she caressed her, how her touch was both gentle and warm to her. Christie hadn’t ever felt this way from a woman’s touch before. She needed to focus though, to solve the case, to find a way out of this.

‘So, you got Tom over there to build you this thing, let me guess, some women don’t agree with what you’re doing?’

‘That’s right, although don’t worry, they don’t quite end up like the men. Rather willing agents of our organisation, who’ll go off and brainwash those we need brainwashed,’ Tyler said, as she brought her head to Christie’s chest, running her tongue down it. Christie couldn’t help herself, she twitched and moved as much as her restraints would allow.

‘Wh-what’s your endgame here Tyler, take over the city? Is it wrapped up in real estate? You scheming mastermind types always have a hard on for real estate,’ she said. It was out of desperation, to keep her from doing anything more to her.

‘Oh detective, this goes much further than you think,’ Tyler moved away from her, giving the order to Tom to begin phase one. Whatever that was Christie didn’t like the sound of it.

The plastic looking visor that covered Christie’s eyes now lit up with a swirling purple spiral. In her research for this case, she’d read up a little on resisting such techniques, and this spiral alone wouldn’t prove enough to affect her. Christie laughed at it, saying aloud how this was rather sad, such a complex machine and this was what it had to offer?

‘You could accomplish as much by tying me to a chair with a television screen!’ she cried.

Then came the helmet. Comfortably cushioned, it lowered down fully onto Christie’s head, as large headphones muffled her hearing. It slotted into place, as binaural beats started to play. She’d heard about these, how they could be used to induce a relaxed state. Christie believed they’d only be more useful against a willing participant though. With her vision filled by the spiral, and her hearing blocked out by the beats, she didn’t notice Tyler approaching her body again. Tyler ran her hands over Christie, causing the squirms to start again. Christie attempted to close her eyes, but that spiral, that damn spiral was proving too bright.

‘Good slave, the isolation of two primary senses is done, now activate the gas at the minimum dosage,’ Tyler said, running her hands over her new prize. She may have set out to empower women through this, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have fun doing it too.

Christie still struggled in vain, the flailing of her hands and feet pathetic, but all she could do. From the machine, a gas mask lowered itself onto her face, cupping her nose and mouth. From it came that same pink smoke that caused her to end up here. This time though, it didn’t put her out like a light, but she could feel a certain sluggishness sinking into her. Flailing like she was doing wasn’t helping anyone, she needed to conserve her energy. At least that’s how she justified it. It wasn’t that this was starting to get to Christie, she was just planning her next move. Not that the binaurals, or the gas, or the spiral made that any easier.

‘Very good Christie, your initial responses have been as expected. On the off chance you can hear me, I’m just going to walk you through what’s happening to you,’ Tyler said, caressing Christie, toying with her breasts.

‘See, the binaural beats have been designed by an expert sound engineer, they were among the first we acquired for our organisation. These should disrupt certain brain waves, creating this harmonious mental sensation,’

As if on cue, Christie began to hear a ringing sound instead of the binaurals. It wasn’t an unpleasant sound but seemed an incredibly loud one. One far louder than any of her thoughts. She knew she was tough though; she could resist this.

‘That gas you’re breathing in was quite a feat of chemical engineering. What I dosed you with was a simple knockout gas variant, but this stuff is more sophisticated. A little bit of it used right can have a number of effects. It can dull some of your senses,’

Christie could feel how her face muscles were relaxing against her will. Her mouth drooped open letting more and more gas in, she struggled to control her eyes.

‘There’s of course a relaxing element to it too, but then there’s my favourite part,’ Tyler said, her hand drifted between Christie’s legs, stroking gently.

It was fire. It was bliss. Pure unadulterated pleasure. Screaming through her body as Christie moaned and moaned.

‘The aphrodisiac. Unfortunately, for now, the spiral you’re looking at is just a spiral, bit of a cliché, but it’s fun. Soon though, you’ll embrace what we call the deep sleep, and then we’ll put some more interesting viewing material in its place,’ Tyler said, fingers teasing Christie’s clit.

It was Tyler’s touch that sent her over the edge, that caused parts of her brain to accept what was happening to her. The gas tasted so wonderful, smelled intoxicating, and the ringing sound kept her from thinking, but it was that final, last sense. The sense of touch, of feel. The one Tyler knew exactly how to drive her up the wall with. Not that Christie could go up the wall, or up anywhere, as her body was limp and helpless. Then, something came through the gas mask, a small metal pipe, with a phallic shape.

‘I was wrong earlier, apologies, not all phallic items have been removed from the device. The slave’s designs for this one were very entertaining, and well, his feat of liquefying the gas was too good not to involve,’

Slave felt nothing from this praise, he’d spent some time after meeting Tyler in a similar device, one that rendered him the complete slave of the Sapphic Liberation Front. If he could have any regrets, his slave mind would regret that he’d had to have used such a primitive device for his conversion, unlike the work of art that Christie now found herself trapped in.

She was holding on by a thread when the phallic pipe came in. It fitted into her mouth easily, and soon from it came a pink, sweet, saccharine liquid. It drizzled down her throat, coating it, seeping into her. This was it. The deep sleep. A state of utter mental freedom. Freedom from one’s self, from the real world, from anything and everything. The Christie that would go into this state would not be the one that came out. It was mental oblivion, as her eyes rolled up, her entire body stopped moving at all. Her brain shut down, ready to be rebooted. Satisfied, Tyler arranged for the gas mask and pipe to be removed. She loved hearing the next part.

Christie’s brain was now wiped clean. However, it was still a brain, it still thirsted for information, for input. When the simulated mouth and tongue got to work, there was far too much input. Too much pleasure, an overwhelming sensation. The butt plug only added further. Her mind was becoming addicted to this sort of pleasure, completely distracted, and enamoured by it. That’s when the words got her. They were simple at first. Easily agreeable statements that flashed before her eyes. The images that accompanied them were attractive, so it made sense she was feeling that way. When asked to repeat, well Christie did repeat. Aloud and monotone, devoid of emotion. They were simple, true phrases. How she was relaxed. How she was now compliant. How her mind was now wiped clean.

What proved an initial problem for subjects in this state for Tyler, was it was far too easy to make them into complete submissive slaves. This was all good for men, that’s what she wanted, but there was no fun to being the only hypnotist in her organisation. Dominated dommes dazing future dommes, creating an endless chain of brainwashers like the worlds craziest pyramid scheme. Now that’s what got her off at night, that, and a few well-endowed male slaves. Yes, with Tom Taylor’s new device set up, making this a reality would be even easier. Of course, Tyler would be quick to put Christie in her place, there could only be one Goddess of the Sapphic Liberation Front after all.

Christie meanwhile was bombarded with imagery, her docile state being forced to make new connections, to accept new ideas. There was some parts of her that simply got readjusted. She was already quite a strong-willed woman, that could stay, but now she wished to impose that will more. Some parts were inserted entirely, like her new sexuality. Then there was just changing her viewpoints on certain ideals. The Sapphic Liberation Front weren’t evil, they were hot. What they were doing aroused her. What she could do for them excited her. She’d willingly signed up to such an organisation. She loved the organisation. It was her life, her light, her reason to get up in the morning. As images of men in collars, kneeling before her flashed in her eyes, the case truly was cracked wide open. Christie smiled; everything now clear in her mind. It also helped that she was still being wracked with pleasure.

Tyler began to remove Christie from the device, once she’d done so, her new recruit sat there, awaiting instructions.

‘Hello Christie, please state your purpose,’

‘My purpose is to serve you and the Sapphic Liberation Front, all men will be subjugated, all women enlightened,’

A little militant for Tyler’s tastes, but hey she was once a strong-willed detective.

‘Very good Christie, assume worship position,’

Christie fell to her knees before Tyler, looking down at the ground. Tyler placed around Christie’s neck a necklace on a chain, one with a sapphire in it as well. The machine didn’t just fill her with new desires, with a new outlook on life. It trained her. Trained her in the art of brainwashing, in the prime ways to seduce, and in something else that Tyler was going to enjoy.

‘Look up Christie,’

Christie saw the heavenly sight of Tyler’s pussy, her focal point of worship. She didn’t need to be told what to do, she just did it, feeling that same pleasure the machine instilled in her, the pleasure she now craved at every waking moment. It was simple, she was addicted, and now Tyler would give her the fix she needed. Tyler had broken her and rebuilt Christie in the image she desired, now it was time to reap the benefits.

So, that brings it all back to the beginning. Christie with a glazed over look in her eyes, a cigarette hanging loose in her lips. She was following her programming perfectly, the smoke from the cigarette had knocked out Mr Taylor as expected. She looked down at him, he was rather good looking for an older man. For completing this task, he’d be a slave under her. Tyler saw to it that the government stayed out of Tom’s disappearance, and now the last loose end was tied up. Soon he’d be tied up begging his new mistress to let him worship her, no doubt along side his son at one point. Christie phoned in that Mr Taylor was to be picked up for brainwashing, then set about looking through her old client list. She was looking to make them new clients, and make them feel the bliss of the Sapphic Liberation Front.

#hypnosis #erotichypnosis #hypnotized #brainwashing #mindcontrol #mind control #adult fiction #oc #tech control #hypnokink

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headoverhiddles · 4 years

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I Spit On Your Garage - Tatum Riley (Scream) x Reader [Smut/Fluff]

Synopsis: You and your girlfriend do your best to survive the killings plaguing Woodsboro, while being the cutest couple around.

Notes: Here's your daily reminder that my little bi heart cries for Tatum always 🙃

You have the house to yourself this weekend, so naturally, you find your girlfriend to invite her over.

"Tate!" you shout across the school lawn. She comes running over to you in her black and white cropped jersey.

"Hey, babe. What's up?" She gives you a quick kiss and takes your arm, her usual cheerful self. You walk up to the doors with her, joining Sidney and saying hi to her.

"Parents are out of town," you tell her. She squeezes your arm excitedly, gasping.

"Say no more. I'm bringing ice cream, sparkling wine, and handcuffs."

You blush, and Sidney covers her ears.

"Catch you two later," she laughs, and dashes off before she has to hear any more about your sex life. That's when Stu makes his presence known from behind you two.

"You were saying?"

"Get outta here," Tatum beats her ex's shoulder with her bag.

"Oww! Just wanted to say, there's a party tomorrow night at Sid's."

"Oh. Does... Sidney know about this?" you ask him.

"Not yet. But her dad's out of town, so we'll drop the suggestion to her." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"Whatever," Tatum mutters, "We might make it. If we're not too busy with our tongues in strange places."

You cover your mouth, giggling, and Stu looks at you two in awe.

"Aw, man... why'd we never do that?"

"You never made me cum with your dick, why should it be any different with your tongue?"

You and Tatum slap each other a high five, then a low five, as Stu grumbles.

"See you two at the party tomorrow night."

You both mumble your agreement, distracted by one another. Tatum gives you a playful little lick on the cheek, and blows you a kiss as she runs off to her English class, blonde braids bobbing behind her.

"I love you! You're adorable!" you call after her.

"You're sexy! I love you too!" she calls back, running backward, and nearly trips over Freddy the janitor.

As you continue walking down the hall, books hugged close to your chest, your lovesick smile fades. It had been an unnerving week. Casey Becker and her boyfriend Steve had been murdered... like, gross-out murdered. They found her hanging from a tree by her intestines. That's some serious horror movie shit.

The thing is, they haven't caught the killer yet. He's still out there, somewhere in Woodsboro, waiting to strike again...

The voice of reason, aka your girlfriend, returns to your head, telling you there's no way it's not an isolated incident. But as you take your seat in Spanish, all you can think of is a white mask, mouth as long and dark as Casey Becker's casket.

Later that night, at your place, Tatum arrives faithfully with all the items she said she'd bring. She collapses onto your bed, getting into one of your T-shirts. You're in your bra and panties, the LA heat stifling tonight.

"Hey... pretty spooky about what happened to Casey and Steve, huh?" you say, drawing your curtains closed as the sun finally goes down on your remote property.

"Yeah. It's hitting Sid real hard, since it's the anniversary of... y'know."

"Right." You tie up your hair. "Silly, I know, but I've been looking over my shoulder, making sure my windows are locked and stuff."

"I don't know, man," she hums, "It creeps me out, but we're pretty set. We've got Randy, who knows exactly what to do and what not to do to survive a horror movie."

"True. Plus, your brother's a cop."

"Debatable."

"He's got influence in the local law enforcement," you correct, smiling and sauntering past her.

"Also debatable." She snorts. "The doofus wouldn't know the killer if he was stabbing him in the face."

"Don't joke about that," you mutter, tossing a strewn pair of panties at her, "I like Dewey."

"Yeah," your girlfriend inspects her nails, "I do too."

You peek up through the hole to make sure you turned the porch light out.

"Huh."

"What?" Tatum calls, blowing on her nails to cool.

"It's just weird... there must be something blocking the peephole. I tried to look out but it's all black."

Tatum is quiet for a second, and her silence makes you hesitate as well. "You don't think...?" you begin to mutter, and Tatum glances up.

"Don't worry, babe. It's probably some kids or something, stuck some gum over it. It was just Halloween, could've been a prank."

"Yeah," you agree, not believing a word of her theory. You walk back over, hold your breath, and take another look. A chill runs through you as you see that the peephole is now unblocked.

"Tatum--"

"Mmshhh," she mumbles, her arms sliding around your middle from behind. Her face presses into your back, and she starts kissing the back of your neck, "Let's not forget, we have the place to ourselves. We shouldn't worry about stupid perverts probably trying to watch."

You huff, making sure the door is locked. Then you turn around, to face your persistent girlfriend. Tatum gives that evil smirk, licking her bottom lip slowly as she begins to unbutton your blouse.

"You know," you smile, taking her hands and leading her back toward the bedroom, "Having sex is on Randy's no-no list of surviving a scary movie."

Tatum rolls her eyes. "Randy just can't get laid, and he wants everyone to suffer with him."

"Maybe he's got a point," you tease, moving the two of you to the bed so that Tatum is laying underneath you. Her blonde hair splays out around her head as she stares up at you, amused. "I mean... have you seen Friday the 13th? That whole franchise is about killing horny teenagers."

"Yeah well, we're immune. The rule doesn't apply to lesbian sex. Have you ever seen two girls in one of those movies bite it for having sex? Nope." She pops her 'p' with those perfect lips.

You burst into giggles, and she giggles with you, wrapping her arms around your neck. You concede, pressing your lips to hers, and her giggles turn to moans as you thread your fingers softly through her hair.

"You look like an angel, laying on a halo of hair," you mutter, and she raises an eyebrow.

"What the hell was that?"

"I heard it in a country song," you giggle, and her face blooms into a beautiful smile.

"It's sweet. You know, nobody's ever been this nice to me in a relationship, (y/n). It's nice to feel... appreciated."

"Ditto." You kiss her cheek, and her hands find your panties, fingers sliding in. She's giving that vixen look again that gets you weak. She tugs your panties down, and patters her fingers along your inner thighs, as if she doesn't know what to do with them.

"Mmm," you moan, and she grins, finally moving one finger to rub your clit. You shudder, and she tips your chin so that you look into her eyes. She then goes down, crawling down the bed like a panther until she gets between your legs. Her tongue darts out, and she teases around you for a moment, before going for your sweet spot. She moans.

"You taste so good."

"God," you breathe, fisting at the sheets, "Tate, Tate... baby, I don't deserve you."

"Yes you do. You really do," she replies, and goes back down on you, licking your clit and dipping every now and then a little lower to taste your wetness. After a few minutes of this, hearing her soft moans between your legs, seeing her head bob and move and feeling her tongue slide, you're going to climax.

"I'm-- I'm so close," you gasp, and she swirls her tongue around your bud as you ride your orgasm out.

"What a good little girl," she grins.

You reach down, pulling her up into another kiss as you roll her on top of you. She pulls her panties off, biting her pink lip, and as she continues rubbing you, you slip two fingers into her, curving them and letting her lower down.

"Ahhh, oh god, yeah," she groans. She's always the dramatically loud one in bed. It's a super good thing no one's home.

She starts to ride your fingers hard, and you reach up with your other hand to grab her breasts, taking turns massaging them. She does like it rough sometimes, and so do you, but tonight, she's more in control. She rides your fingers even harder, gasping out your name.

"(y/n)... (y/n), make me cum... am I doing good?"

"So good Tate, sweetheart. So good for me."

"I need to--"

"Fuck my fingers, my pretty little slut," you smile, and she tilts her head back, hitting her own orgasm. You take your fingers out, and lick them clean as Tatum crawls up beside you on the bed contentedly, sliding under your arm and smiling hazily.

You're about to go in for another kiss, when the phone on the wall downstairs rings. You groan, and Tatum grabs your bra strap.

"Don't leave me. I'm scared." When you turn back to look, you see she's trying not to laugh. You roll your eyes.

"God, it could be my parents!" She gives up, and follows you down the stairs in a bathrobe she found. Just as you're getting down to the kitchen, the ringing stops... you must have missed the call.

"They'll call back if it's important," Tatum shrugs, and motions for your hand. Then the phone rings again. You both turn to look at it.

"Hello?" you answer. As you're trying to focus on whoever is on the line, Tatum takes it upon herself to slowly give you a striptease with the fluffy pink robe, undoing the tie, sliding it down her shoulder to expose one of her breasts. "H-hello?" you repeat, eyes wide as you watch your girlfriend. She opens her mouth in an 'o', presenting her boob like a game show woman would present a prize.

You giggle, and a voice finally speaks over the line.

"What's so funny?"

Distracted, you turn away, still smiling. "Dude, who is this?"

"I asked you first."

"My girlfriend's making me laugh. Randy? Is that you?" Tatum starts to slip the robe all the way off. She kicks it away with her foot, and saunters toward you.

"Talk fast, cause I'm three seconds away from hanging up," you bite your lip, dying to touch Tatum again.

"You hang up on me you little bitch, I'll cut your fucking head off."

Your stomach drops, and Tatum immediately notices the alarm in your expression. She hangs over your shoulder, trying to hear.

"Who is it?" she whispers.

"Uh..." you breathe. "It's... I..."

"(y/n)?"

"I don't..."

Tatum takes the phone. "Who is this?!" she demands.

"Oh. Just somebody who wants to talk."

"Talk to someone else, we're busy."

"I want to talk to you."

"Well, I want a million bucks and you to hang up."

"You must be the funny girlfriend."

"Look. What did you say to my girlfriend, creep?! She looks like she saw a ghost!"

"She will. And so will you."

The line goes dead, and Tatum looks at the phone, frowning. You've never seen her so unsettled, but as usual, she tries to hide it under a breezy smile.

"Ah, don't worry about it. Prank call."

"Yeah," you bite your nail, and Tatum picks up the robe, taking your arm and leading you away. You get into bed upstairs, and before she joins you, she makes doubly sure the doors are locked.

---

You and Tatum arrive at Sidney's around 10, and end up sitting on the couch, making out for a bit. Tatum's a little bit tipsy by 10:30, and you had a few hits off a joint, so the two of you are having a good time. Sid's upstairs with Billy, "talking".

Stu, Randy, and a couple others are sitting on the couch opposite you two.

"Tate, would you get us some more beers?" Stu asks. She glares at him.

"What am I, the beer wench?"

"I'll come too," you grin, thinking of the privacy you two'd get in the garage. Then Randy turns Halloween on the TV, and you gasp. It's your favorite horror movie.

"You stay here and be my cute little nerd," she pats your head and kisses it, "I'll be right back."

"You shouldn't say that," Randy calls.

"Why not?" you ask him, grabbing some popcorn.

"Rule of thumb in a horror movie. If you say I'll be right back, you never come back."

"Hey, careful, Wes Craven," you scoff, "That's my girlfriend you're talking about." Randy puts his hands up. "Besides, why are you so convinced we're living in a horror movie?"

"The body count is rising, (y/n)."

He shuts up when Stu starts making 'woooo' ghost noises, but you start to worry. Randy's right. There was another murder today, and you had gotten that strange phone call last night...

In the garage, Tatum opens the mini fridge and picks out some beer bottles, filling her arms. She hums 'Sweet Dreams' to herself as she kicks the fridge door closed, and hears a rustling behind her.

"So, you gonna help me break all these over Stu's head when we get get back in there?" she asks. She nearly jumps when she turns and sees someone other than you standing by the door. "Oh, shit. Thought you were (y/n). Randy?" The costumed figure shakes his head. "Oh, okay. What movie is this from, I spit on your garage?"

She tries to move past him with a dismissive huff, but she looks down to see a knife in his hand. Her smile fades, and she backs up.

"I think I'm gonna go check on Tatum," you tell Randy.

"Oh, come on! This is the best part!"

"Randy, it's 12 minutes in, Michael hasn't even escaped the hospital yet."

You hop over the back of the couch, and make your way down to Sid's garage.

"Oh beer wench!" you call down the hall, "What're you doing in there, brewing it yourself?" You can't really hear her inevitable snarky reply over the beat of the music, so you keep walking.

Inside, Tatum backs away from the killer.

"You better stay far away from me, asshole," she warns, and when he takes a step, she throws a bottle at his balls. It shatters, and he doubles over, giving her a chance to run. The only way out is through the doggy door... she doesn't know if she can fit, but it's preferable to getting stabbed.

You hear a faint crash, and the sound of the garage door opening. You rush the rest of the way there.

"Tatum!" you scream, and push the door open. She's stuck in the doggy door, and it's going up. You scream again, and tackle the tall figure in the costume out of sheer protectiveness. You take a nearby crate, and break it over his head, making sure he's good and down before you get up.

"(y/n)!" Tatum calls weakly, eyes wide as she looks her death right in the face. You run over, grabbing her hands and helping pull her out of there before the door reaches the ceiling. She holds tight to you, and falls into your arms, crying into your chest.

"It's okay," you whisper, stroking her hair. She finally pulls away, wiping her trailing mascara.

"You literally saved my life."

"Um. Yeah?" you breathe. She surges forward with a deep kiss.

"I god damn love you, (y/n)."

You two leave out the garage door, unwilling to step over the unconscious killer, and from your portable phone, you dial Dewey's number. You have to hold the phone away from your ear as he shouts about Tatum. She snatches the phone, sniffling.

"I'm okay, doofus. Yes, of course, (y/n) was there. She's my hero. Or heroine." She bats her eyelashes at you, then her expression sours. "No, Dewey, I'm not on heroin! I almost died, asshole! No-- I don't know, I didn't stop to check who! See you soon. Don't tell mom."

You two sit, waiting for the cops and paramedics, hand in hand as people start to file out of the party, wondering what the hell happened.

"So... why'd you go out through the dog door?"

She laughs. "Do not start with me. I panicked, okay?"

"But the dog door? Really, Tate? With those boobs?"

"You know I have one brain cell, and it died when I saw the guy with the knife." You just hug her close to you.

At least she's still alive-- that's all that matters.

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