#I wrote this instead of doing my science assessment

[bunny-with-a-chainsaw]

First time posting and I've decided to make it my headcannons surrounding Dave Miller from the Silver Eyes since there's barely anything for this man. Just as a warning this isn't proofread or anything, it's kinda long and this is my first time writing headcannons so expect it to be cringe. Constructive criticism is appreciated!

•    I won't lie, this man absolutely despised you at first. He had always prefered to work alone as if there was any 'unwanted attention' from people who didn't know not to stick their nose into things they didn't understand, he could take care of them without much fuss. So when he heard that he'll be having someone else to work with, he was... agitated to say the very least.

•    First time actually meeting him he was grumpy and gave either one worded answers or snide remarks, to which both confused yet annoyed you. It was only when you brought up Freddy's did he show any interest in talking to you.

•    He gave you the usual tale he told anyone, with how several kids disappeared, nobody wanting to rent out any of the stores around it due to bad vibes, all that jazz. Though what really compelled him to go further into detail was the fascinated look you gave him as you listened. Reguardless of if you believe in the supernatural or not, stories about it always piqued your interest and that was something Dave could relate to.

•    Eventually your conversation branches off to other stories you both heard, and before you two knew it you guys were bonding over scary ghost stories. Of course all good things had to come to an end as 7am rolled around and the two of you headed out of the abandoned mall and back home. Dave flopped on his couch and thought about his conversation with you, wondering if working with you might not be so bad after all.

•    You guys became good friends after that and even started sharing more personal stories with each other, though Dave was always careful not to reveal too much about himself that might hint at his real identity. He simply told you that he used to work at Fredbear's Diner as a technician there and that was as close as he dared got to the truth. Over all you both greatly enjoyed each other's company... then feelings started appearing.

•    Dave was always horrible with feelings so it took him a while to realize that what he felt was more then just a close friendship then you and he looked like he got dunked in cold water when he did. It's even worse if you're amab due to the sheer amount of internal homophobia this man has, and he'll even actively try to distance himself from you though that does nothing to get rid of his feelings.

•    Either way it'll take Dave a while to confess as he wants to make sure you feel the same way he does. Though even when he's confident you are and tells you that he wants to be more then friends with you, he'll still be a little overwhelmed when you say you like him and will ask again just to make sure you actually want this. If you end up confessing first though congradualations! You've successfully caused his brain to cease all function and it'll take a hot minute for him to come back, to which he'll just ask you to repeat what you said. Best if you don't tell him while he's holding something unless you want him to drop it on his foot.

•    Now at the beginning of your relationship it'll take him a little bit to get used to it all but you guys get into the groove of things after about two or three weeks of awkward touches and hesitant I love yous. After all that one of you sitting down on the office chair while the other sits on their lap looking at the cameras, doing rounds around the mall holding hands and staying over at each other's place is quite common with you two.

•    Dave's main love languages are surprisingly touch and words of affirmation. He loves cuddling and playing with your hair while he mutters sweet nothings to you as you both lay in bed, not wanting to get up just quite yet. He also enjoys quality time, where he shows you some of the stuff he worked on as a 'engineer' or just read something while chilling on the couch with you.

•    Dates normally consist of going out in the woods, screwing around in Freddy's or a quiet cafe where barely anyone goes to. He hates going out in public incase of the little chance someone recognizes him, though he'll just tell you that he doesn't like people which isn't really a lie, so you guys tend to stick to the much less busy areas of town. If you're amab he'll refrain from any pda or even pet names as he doesn't want to draw any unwanted attention, even if you are capable of defending yourself.

•    He'll start opening up more at the same rate you do, as he sees it only fair that he tells you things about himself as much as you tell him about you. Hell give him a few months and he might even tell you about Elizabeth, though he'll only be refering to her as Lizzy and say that she just went missing one day while he was working. Just be careful not to pry too much as it's still a sensitive spot for him, and he's not fond of talking about it even to someone he trusts dearly.

•    He always makes sure to only let you know about things he wants you to know, and knows how to hide the things he doesn't want you to know well. Dave will never fully shake the fear of you finding out who he is and what he's done. If you ever do he isn't going to force you to stay with him and will even move out of Hurricane with the money he's saved up over the years, and if you decide to stay he'll just think you're too scared to break up with him. But if you somehow not bothered by everything, maybe even intrigued by what he's discovered... he might just show you all the things remnant's truly capable of.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

By Jonathan Howard

It doesn’t bode well for the future that leaders of major American institutions say naked emperors are wearing beautiful clothes.

We need to make every effort to get people who disagree, even sharply, in dialogue with one another. In a previous article, I wrote an open letter to the Stanford President, Jonathan Levin, regarding a conference at his university, Pandemic Policy: Planning the Future, Assessing the Past. As SBM readers know, this conference featured doctors who mostly didn’t treat COVID patients, but instead spread misinformation about it and tried to purposefully infect people with it. My letter predicted that the conference would be a giant exercise in deliberate amnesia. As such, I encouraged President Levin to reject censorship and simply play videos of the speakers from the first two years of the pandemic.

Sadly, President Levin embraced censorship. Instead of honestly informing the conference attendees about the speakers, he whitewashed their pandemic record with the following speech:

Good morning and welcome to everyone. I appreciate the opportunity to be here.

Now, you might wonder: Why is Jon Levin opening this conference on pandemic policy? You might say, Jon is no public health expert. And I might say: Well, I did run a business school during the COVID pandemic, so I have some experience making pandemic policy decisions. They also say you learn most by making mistakes. So I think there are probably a thousand Stanford MBAs who are willing to argue that I’m basically a world expert.

However, that’s not why I’m here.

When I was invited to participate in this event a few months ago, it was with the understanding that the goal was to bring together people with different perspectives, engage in a day of discussion, and in that way, try to repair some of the rifts that opened during COVID.

That struck me as a valuable goal, and the sort of goal we should aim for at Stanford. So I agreed to give a few brief remarks to that effect.

What followed was disappointing. When I was invited, I asked around and indeed the organizers were talking to some well-known people with quite different views who were likely to speak. However, it was not so straightforward. Some invitees weren’t able to make it, or withdrew, or didn’t want to participate in an event with other speakers whose views and behavior they found attacking or abhorrent.

When an initial and partial agenda was posted, it was immediately perceived as one-sided, and as I’m sure you all noticed became the subject of op-eds and social media posts.

Ironically, instead of repairing rifts as intended and perhaps spurring fresh thinking, the process seemed to reopen old and existing divisions.

As an observer and as the leader of this university, I found the episode dispiriting, in a way that goes beyond the specifics of this particular event.

We have many issues today at Stanford, and on other campuses, where views are divided, and in some cases, like this one, where feelings are raw.

Yet I believe we need to make every effort to get people who disagree, even sharply, in dialogue with one another. I believe it’s essential for us to do that as members of the faculty and university leaders – not just because it’s a way to advance knowledge, but because we need to model that behavior if we want to expect it from our students. And in today’s world, we absolutely need to ask and expect our students to be able to engage with, listen to, and debate with people with whom they disagree. My view is that we need to err on the side of talking to one another.

So I hope today’s conference will come off in a way that involves just that – thoughtful and robust discussion across different perspectives. I hope it yields some important insights about future pandemic policy – we certainly need that. Perhaps it does even bridge a few divides among those in the room.

And I hope even more that all of you will join in the larger project of trying to make Stanford and other campuses forums for the type of robust and thoughtful discussion that is at the heart of universities when we’re at our best.

I wouldn’t have been have afraid to mentioned that many of these doctors predicted COVID would kill less than 50,000 Americans and that the mass infection of unvaccinated youth would lead to herd immunity in 3-6 months.

We’ve had more flu deaths among children this year than COVID deaths. With President Levin’s admonition to “listen to” people in mind, let’s revisit just one of the videos I presented to him. In this video, from November 2020 Dr. Jay Bhattacharya said “we’ve had more flu deaths among children this year than COVID deaths”.

The first reported COVID death in the US was on 2/28/2020. By the time Dr. Bhattacharya recorded that video, COVID had killed at least 133 children according to the American Academy of Pediatrics. During that same time frame, the flu killed 9 children. The next year, just 1 child died of the flu while COVID killed several hundred children. Currently, the CDC reports 1,935 COVID deaths and 438 flu deaths amongst children since the start of the pandemic, though obviously children should be vaccinated against both viruses.

Yet, according to President Levin, its fine for people to have “different views” on this topic. He feels “we need to make every effort to get people who disagree, even sharply, in dialogue with one another.” Sounding more like a college freshman than a university President, President Levin feels everything is a matter of opinion and what really matters is that no one get their feelings hurts. In President Levin’s telling, it’s not wrong for Dr. Bhattacharya to say that 9 is larger than 133, however it is wrong for people like me to say this isn’t a “different view” and it shouldn’t be a topic of “dialogue”.

I supposed I’ll be accused of silencing debate and discussion, but 133 is larger than 9. This wouldn’t have been controversial in 2019. When someone spreads dangerous, blatant misinformation, honest brokers call it out, even if the person spreading the misinformation has fancy credentials and can speak in scientific jargon. It’s not that hard. President Levin, however, expects us all to be open to the possibility that 9 is larger 133, and it doesn’t bode well for the future that leaders of major American institutions say naked emperors are wearing beautiful clothes.

[snaillamp]

1, 4 and 19! In love with your writing btw<3

Ahhh thank you!!! <3 back at ya!

1: What are your favorite whump tropes?

A list of ones I don't like would be way shorter ahaha. I'm a sucker for sickfics, fainting and hidden injury. When a big, tough stoic character is so cool, calm and collected and then bam they start sweating, fainting and being all delirious... solid stuff. Also absolutely love whumpees being knocked out if you couldnt tell from my writing. If they're unconscious I'm there.

Love a good little stabby stab too, but a fun little trope I've tried to include a couple times if the knife to the throat and drawing a teensy little bit of blood. That visual in my head is always so great and the whumperflies are insane.

I also love soft fluffy stuff, team members looking after their Leader is a solid fav and the tough character cracking and becoming the fluffiest caretaker for whumpee is where it's at!

My writing contains my favorite whump tropes, I don't really write anything I don't like cause why would I? That being said if it was requested I would try my best, some of the prompts for JOD I didn't like turned out to be my favorite stories to write (Day 27 as an example might be my favorite story I wrote from the entire month, we might need to visit Enjar again?)

I also write different tropes depending what I'm studying at the moment! I recently started ~trauma studies~ so I hope it improves my physical whump a little more. (I'm a 2nd year uni student. Transferred from nursing to paramedicine at the end of last year and I have to do first year again yayyyy...) I was doing a lot of CPR as well as assessments for illnesses last semester (cardio-respiratory, abdominal and neurological) and last year did medications, life support and wound dressings. I have to try really hard not to do the step by step of aseptic non-touch technique or describe in detail how Rescuer inserts and OPA when I write lmao.

I usually resort to "And caretaker applied the dressing and went away" instead of "Caretaker lined up the dressing and using the fold method, applying the dressing cleanly to the sterilised skin" cause thats way too specific.

Anyway, the point of that ramble is that I use it to practice for my assessments, it helps me wrap my head around concepts I'm struggling with and it's good inspiration and fun to use my free time in an effective way. Whumpee fell over and broke their leg? Snail is on the scene! Whumpee had a seizure? Snail is doing AEIOUTIPS to figure out why! I love medicine as a science, that shits cool as fuck!

I don't tend to post those ones as they are kinda long, boring and kinda personal as the Caretaker is me. It feels like writing what is effectively fanfic about myself and doesn't make me feel right, I'm not a super boastful person really. I have posted a couple Cranky Whumpee is an example of when I did a mental check of how much I remembered about wound care and what I needed to study up on (the massage was just cause I wanted a massage). It keeps me interested in my more boring skills, prevents skill erosion and is good practice for writing and medical care, my two favorite things!

**I would like to clarify however, that I have a love for whump and a love for medicine but they are too seperate things. I don't get whumperflies for my patients and dont like to imagine scenarios in whump similar to what I have done irl. I got into whump as a thing after I began studying. I did not decide to study these things because of whump. I've always had an interest in medicine and almost everyone in my family are in the medical field in some capacity.** - thank you potential employersssssssssss :)

✨we love ethics here✨

damn thats a long answer sorry for the essay :) im coverin my ass lmao

4: Do you prefer physical whump or emotional/psychological whump?

It really depends on the whumpee and what's happening. Physical whump is more fun to write, but psychological whump is a close second. Love delirium and all that jazz. Emotional isn't as much of a favorite cause I just can't get into it as much as the others, idky. I guess it just feels mean which is weird cause I happily write about people smashing Leader's ribs or whatever. Do love an emotional moment tho, fluffy emotional caretaking is the best.

maybe its cause I was a touch starved child but hugging, cuddling, being close just is nice to write about and I love giving my whumpees something nice as a treat.

19: Who are your favorite whump bloggers? Tag them!

I love this whole community but a few favs are

@allthewhumpygoodness - it says it in the name folks

@whump-or-whatever - the prompts here are so good

@hufflepuffwritingstuff2 - I love the sense of humor in their writing

and last but certainly not least: @fallenwhumpee - Surprise!

I love your work it's awesome! I think we both like similar things which is so cool. You may have noticed me scrolling your blog a few times before sorry for the spam of notifs <3

I could list more but also I would be here all day. To anyone new in the community I recommend finding a tag you like and just going at it, find stories and prompts from people and just follow them all! the whole community is lovely and talented!

other answers

[blackcandlesinwinter]

Oh man. Yep, this got me last Fall when I taught a class for mostly freshman college students and non-science majors for the first time. I was like "I will set the bar super-low for these students, make things super simple, and make my expectations of what they need to do extra-extra clear and it will be fine!" But oh man. It was not fine. Little did I know that floor-level was not where the bar needed to be; I needed to start digging.

I'm teaching the class again and I have done my best to make the class even MORE fail-proof than before. But if this batch of students is as tough as last Fall's, I'm not sure it will save me. I fear that the person to prove me wrong is even now barrelling in to meet me.

Just me rambling about my frustrations below the cut:

Like, I get that it's kind of in vogue on this website to blame any failure of the student on the teacher, and I don't even totally disagree with the impulse, but... also... I can't MAKE a student try. I can give them tons of opportunities, I can invite them to my office a million times, I can stop at their table and check in with them, I can offer feedback, I can give them second chances, I can try to work around their life circumstances, but at some point, they also have to make an effort back because I can't do the class FOR them.

Like for instance, I gave them an assignment. I handed out printed versions of the instructions. I read through the instructions in class and asked for questions. I put the instructions up on the screen in class multiple times and summarized them verbally. I linked the instructions multiple places on the website and placed them in the class google drive. I emailed the instructions to the students as well. And multiple students still turned in things where it's very clear that they just hadn't even touched the instructions. Like, they saw the title of the assignment, ignored everything else, and just did something 100% based on vibes which had nothing to do with what was actually requested. I just... don't know why you would even bother to do the work of making and turning something in at all at that point?? It's like if someone handed me a Physics exam and instead of reading or trying to solve any of the problems, I just turned the exam over and wrote a random essay about Physicians and then handed that in expecting to get a passing grade. ??????

Even if the work was good (which it wasn't) this just fundamentally doesn't demonstrate that you've learned or gained the skills that my class is supposed to teach you, which is the whole point of me assessing this assignment! I hate grading. I'm not doing it for fun. I grade because that is how I tell the college "yes, this student has demonstrated that they have gained the expected skills/knowledge that this class is intended to provide" or "no, they haven't."

And since I am an explainer, my automatic impulse is to try to explain and re-explain things in new ways, with new words, make it simpler, make it clearer, make it more engaging, make it more repetitive so maybe it will stick, etc etc. But none of that helps if folks just... won't listen, won't read, and won't care. I kept hoping, "surely the students will at least just do this much" and the answer was always no, no they won't. And it made me feel like I was going crazy because they seemed so confident that they would get a good grade while they did just the most absurd, nonsensical things. And they seemed to think I was being unreasonable and confusing when I wanted the 2-page writing assignment to be a 2-page writing assignment and not a set of 5 power-point slides with just stock photos of weather phenomena in them???? And they're like "I didn't know we needed to turn in any writing" and I'm like "did you not... read... the very first sentence of the instructions???? Is asking you to read at least one single sentence unreasonable?????" and I genuinely started to wonder if maybe it was because I was just so baffled by this brazen behavior!

And to be fair, there were students who did try. I did have functional students. But there was a critical mass of non-functional ones that just really sucked the life out of me last Fall and I am still dreading this class as a result. I sincerely hope that it was just an especially bad crop of students and this semester will be better but I am afraid. I am afraid that they will not just...

If any part of your plan involves the words "nobody could be that stupid", please be prepared to be proven wrong at any minute at a moment's notice. Pay in mind that the person determined to prove you wrong may already be aware of this assumption, and is already approaching your current location at an alarming speed.

[echoesofadream]

for the asks

1, 16, 19 <3

hi <3

what’s the best advice you’ve ever been given?

it is a bit hard to say what is the best advice i've ever been given but i can say a good advice is that of a cbt therapist gave me when she was intermittently seeing me after screening me for autism and i was waiting to get evaluated at a psychiatry where they would do a real assessment for diagnosis. i do not have a good experience with cbt, it's never worked for me, but we were basically talking about thoughts, and how do you know whether you can trust your brain? because if there is a fire and you touch, your brain tells you to withdraw your hand and you do, so you learn to trust your brain. but then the brain tells you many many things and not all of them are true. and she said telling these things apart can be extra difficult for people on the spectrum. and for me until that point which was in 2022, so i was 21 years old, had never questioned a single thought of mine. i did not understand that there was a difference between what i believed and actual truth. not as in i never changed my beliefs but i never questioned my own thoughts. okay so there is a difference between thoughts and thoughts here... i mean more like impressions? In a situation and I got a certain impression, I believed this to be truth instead of a projection of my own thoughts.

it's a very well known mind trap in CBT therapy especially with regards to social anxiety that you can read other people's minds. the thing is though i did not even realize this was a mind trap because i didn't know it was a thought i had rather than just fact. Well anyways this therapist took out a paper and wrote down a thought, and then she showed me i could replace that thought with literally anything, like oranges are yellow or whatever i wanted because the thought is meaningless and not real. i don't know but something just clicked for me. this was really helpful though i don't know if it's changed much about my life because i still get insecure and feel like other people are thinking the same thing that i think about myself. but at least I know it's not the case. it's not really advice persay more like a realization and a way to question my thoughts or understand what they are, the writing down and just scribbling down thoughts and playing around with them on paper was an advice she gave me that helped understand this.

wow... that got long sorry. there's probably good advice i've gotten that i've forgotten, this was what came to mind rn.

2. what is a skill or talent you’ve completely lost or overlooked? why did that happen?

hmm... i feel like those questions are quite different. i've probably lost most of my math "skills". i've never been a natural math and numbers are still my enemy. but when i got older like starting from 7th grade i started taking math more seriously. in 8th and especially 9th grade i started to understand it and like it. then i started swedish equivalent of high school but its more like a fusion of hs and college, age 16 to 19 (for me, depending on when you're born in the year) and i went to the natural science program. and basically i went into a frenzy started to study math every day and did so for three years more or less, i took math 1-5 (this means nothing to anyone who hasn't gone to swedish school ik). then i studied maths for a little less than a semester after graduating, starting with introduction to math which was awesome and then one variable analysis (envariabelanalys) which was also awesome. did start a course called like algebra and geometry but i didn't understand vectors and i couldn't give it the time i needed because i was also busy with other classes that were incomprehensible to me and i dropped out. this was november 2020, and since i have not done math like. once. so it is pretty safe to say it's all gone even though doing all that math probably altered my brain chemistry. yeah i'd say i've probably completely lost it.

idk any skills or talent i've overlooked. i'd have to think about it.

19. tell me something you don’t like telling the people you are close to.

that i can have pretty violent psychopathic thoughts.. and don't really care about things that i should. like i'm not a good kind person, i'm very selfish and don't care about other people like i should. my thoughts are very cruel and judgmental. i don't like telling people i know irl about how i live mostly in daydreams and things and that reality does not interest me. my general philosophy and way i view things or the way i live. my fanfiction or writing. how really obsessed i am with some things like kpop. and how bleak my life is. i also don't like telling people about my desires and like how lonely i feel. i also don't like telling people how i feel about religion because i grew up in a very cold atheist place and family whereas i'm more questioning and sometimes pray.

Thank you <33 i'm sorry this got so long

[mu1167]

November 13

Title: 

Silverman & Crandell (2011),

“Vocabulary Practices in

Prekindergarten and

Kindergarten Classrooms”

Williams, et. al. (2009),

“Word Study Instruction in

the K-2 Classroom”

(Used reading rockets version because it wouldn’t open for me for some reason)

Takeaway of Author: 

Silverman & Crandell: The key takeaway of the authors is that there is a lot of research being done  on pre-kindergarten and kindergarten age vocabulary. But even though there is a lot of research and a lot of good effective strategies and teaching curricula, that there still needs to be more research done. The authors say that it is on the teachers to decide what is best for their students. 

Williams: The key takeaway of the author is that based on the research, educators need to focus on the 9 tips when utilizing word study in their classrooms. This author also believes that educators should use word study other than traditional teaching of spelling  and sight words, instead we should teach the rules for transfer.

Nugget: 

Research on vocabulary has shown that young children learn words from interactions with adults, just talking to them, hearing them talk and explain what words mean, and through being read to. Children also learn words through direct instruction, meaning as a teacher you’re explicitly explaining what words mean and how we use them. They also learn through combining vocab instruction practices, not one size fits all but having multiple opportunities. 

The 9 tips that came out of the study are, assessing students word knowledge using multiple assessments, using homogenous small group instruction and differentiated these, making sure to make time to prepare these lessons especially when differentiating them for different levels of students, teaching word knowledge not just words so that they can transfer, demonstrate how word study can be used in reading and writing, teach strategies that are helpful, make word wall work and accessible, and word work should work and be Hands-on. 

Activity:  The activity I decided to do for this assignment was to take a field trip off campus, specifically to my field placement. Here I utilized one of the strategies mentioned in the Word Study Instruction in the K-2 Classroom. I decided to do this because after reading this I wanted to get more hands on experience and try out  the strategies. One of the tips listed was to demonstrate how word study can be used in reading and writing. In their ELA time, science is sometimes combined in our kindergarten class. I read aloud a non-fiction book about isopods because we had isopods in our classroom for our science unit. After the book, which talked about the isopods body parts, I made a giant sticky of the different parts. To make it more interactive and fun for the students instead of them telling me the part and me writing the words, I allowed them to do it. We spelled it out and each student got to come up and write what sounds they heard and have been working on. This shows that the students were engaging in learning how word study can be used in reading and writing. I said the word, we read the word and then they wrote it out. This was 2  months into kindergarten, when most came in without knowing their letters or sounds. After reading this article I wanted to utilize the strategies, we have a word study walls called trick words that have king of -ing, are, and, I, and is. My mentor teacher teaches these new words during center time in small groups and then as a whole group we learn more about the word and utilize it in kid-writing. I wanted to try out this strategy in my lesson. I haven’t seen my teacher do this strategy of interactive writing, so I wanted to see how it went. I didn’t tell them how to spell anything or  give them any hints other than tapping it out with them. This was their spelling, most of them weren’t far off! 

Reflection: When I was creating my lesson plan at the same time as reading this article, I asked myself ,“How could I utilize one of these strategies in my read-aloud?” I knew we were going to identify the parts together and then it hit me to allow them to sound it out and write it themselves. This helped me to explore the world through reading of the text and helped me generate new questions about this topic. Doing this helped me understand more about the author and more about the topic of word study in the early years. This allowed me to get hands-on experience trying to do the tips that came out from all of the studies. I got to see how studying the alphabetic layer that students then examine the relationship between letters and their sounds; phonemes to graphemes. 

[geducation]

The start of a new year

I generally like getting up in the morning – I like what I do, and quite often, I love it.  I work in a school with great people and fantastic children.  It’s not easy, but I like the challenge.  When I’m not doing that, I get to speak to and work with colleagues from schools all over the country.  

Having said all that, there’s something about the start of a new school year that looms large.  I don’t know whether it’s out of necessity or habit, but when September approaches, I find myself needing to revisit why I’m doing what I do.  It’s not that I have to talk myself into it all over again, but there’s no getting away from the fact that the job that we do is hard, and at this time of year, it’s impossible not to think about the work that lies ahead.

For me, it means I go back to the question of the purpose of education. I reread stuff that resonated with me - stuff that reminds me of the importance of what we do. 

Interestingly, none of this sits within the realm of cognitive science.  Now, I’m a fan of cognitive science, I wouldn’t say I’m obsessed with it, but it’s undoubtedly made a difference to the way that we think about learning in the classroom.  What it doesn’t do though is give us any help with the bigger questions in education.  For some people, this doesn’t matter – if you believe that the purpose of education is purely about making kids cleverer, then it would make no sense to look anywhere other than the science of learning for the answers.  If however, you think there’s more to it than that, then the world of cognitive science comes up short. 

Despite there being plenty of people out there who’ll tell you otherwise, it’s not about one view being right and the other wrong – instead, it’s about getting off the fence and deciding what matters to you.  This cropped up in the assessment blog I wrote a couple of months ago – Dylan Wiliam’s assertion that ‘assessments operationalise constructs’ – in other words, before we can start talking about assessment, we have to decide what individual subjects mean to us.  

Similarly, the fact we might not agree on the purpose of education isn’t important – what matters is that we make a decision – we decide on our ‘construct’.  

For me, this construct sits more comfortably within the world of philosophy rather than science.  One of the best books I’ve read on this issue is ‘The beautiful risk of education’ by Professor Gert Biesta.  The main theme explored in the book is the idea that education always involves risk – and any attempt to remove it completely, or to guarantee a match between input and output is not only undesirable, but threatens the idea of education itself.  

One of the ways in which Biesta frames the purpose of education is through the idea of poeisis and praxis - two words that were used by the philosopher Aristotle to describe different domains in education.   For Aristotle, pretty much everything in our lives happens in the domain of the variable – the place where we act with intentions, but where we can never be entirely sure what’s going to happen.  If that’s not the perfect summary of what goes on in a classroom, then I don’t know what is.  You can have all the cognitive science in the world, but nothing’s going to make the blindest bit of difference if there’s a wasp in room.  The domain of poeisis is represented by these intentions – it may have been my intention that the children learn how to construct compound sentences, but then the wasp got it and it all went to shit. 

Aristotle described poeisis as the process of production – an action in order to produce something, and to produce something we need specific knowledge and skills in order to do it.  

This domain would be the one that most closely aligns with the thinking of the Department of Education – something that’s expressed in black and white through the language of the National Curriculum… ‘Children should be taught to… Children should be taught about…’ 

Now there’s nothing wrong with this – we want our children to have the knowledge and skills they need, but if it’s our only consideration, then it becomes a very narrow interpretation of what it means to be educated.  

The other domain that Aristotle described was praxis.  This dealt with the other significant variable in education – the fact that it’s a social interaction.  In this domain, we’re not after producing things but instead are interested how we might contribute to what Beista calls a ‘good life, lived well’.  This focuses not on how to do things, but on the kind of wisdom we might need to know the best way to act.    

This is the bit that gets me.  The bit that picks me up again when the new academic year begins.  We’re not in the business of ‘producing’ children, we do something much more important - we educate them.  Classrooms can never be clinical spaces where ‘evidence’ dictates our every action, and if we recognise that this is something to be embraced, rather than rallied against, we can create a climate that enables our children to flourish - to understand what it means to be human.  It’s why I do what I do - I contribute to the good life, lived well of the new generation - we all do.  

Here’s to a great year.

[libramonthlyhoroscope1]

Power meter for running

Let’s assume, for the moment, that you want a device that measures your running power. Yes, there are reasonable questions and spirited debates that verge on the philosophical about what running power really means, and whether it offers anything that you couldn’t get from a GPS watch or a heart-rate monitor. But as I discussed in the March issue of Outside, lots of runners are leaving those questions behind and wondering instead about more practical issues—like which running power device they should spring for.

Power meter for running

That’s what a research team at the University of Murcia in Spain, led by Jesús Pallarés, decided to explore in a new study published in the European Journal of Sport Science. They report no outside sponsorship and no conflicts of interest. (Neither do I.) They recruited 12 trained runners, strapped on equipment from the four main players in the running power market, and put them through a series of tests to assess how the various power meters performed.

The power meters they used were: a Stryd footpod linked to either a phone or a Garmin watch; a pair of RunScribe footpods linked to a Garmin watch; the Garmin Running Power app using a Forerunner 935 and a chest-mounted heart rate monitor equipped with accelerometers; and Polar’s watch-only estimate of running power. Bear in mind that because of the lag between experiment and publication, these likely aren’t the current versions of any of these devices.

The runners did four days of testing: two identical days on an indoor treadmill, and two identical days on an outdoor track. (The Polar device was only used outdoors, since it makes its estimates based on GPS data.) By comparing the data from nominally identical sessions, the researchers were able to calculate various measures of repeatability: if you measure the same thing twice, how close do you come to getting the same answer? This is obviously a pretty important characteristic if you want to base any training or racing decisions on your power data.

There are various ways to measure repeatability, and the Stryd device came out on top in all of them. For example, the coefficient of variation should generally be less than 5 percent to get meaningful data from exercise tests. In the outdoor tests, Stryd came in at 4.3 percent, compared to 7.7 percent for Garmin, 14.5 percent for Polar, and 14.8 percent for RunScribe. Even for Stryd, that variation was the equivalent of 12.5 watts, suggesting that you shouldn’t get too stressed if your power output fluctuates by a few watts from one day to the next.

The other set of tests involved comparing running power to oxygen consumption, or VO2, which is a proxy measure for how much energy you’re burning (at least during relatively easy running). Here, much as I’d love to avoid it, it’s worth dipping back into those arguments about the meaning of running power.

As I wrote in 2018, the concept of power has no useful intrinsic definition in running, since each stride consists of a mishmash of positive, negative, internal, and external power as your legs and arms swing backwards and forwards, your tendons stretch and recoil, and so on. Instead, what people think of as running power is basically an analogy to cycling power, where the power applied to the pedals has a consistent relationship to how much energy you’re burning and thus how sustainable your effort is. As a result, my conclusion in 2018 was that a running power meter is useful only insofar as it successfully tracks VO2—which, as it happens, was precisely what Stryd was trying to rig its algorithm to do.

Not everyone agrees with that definition. While reporting my recent magazine piece on running power, I went back and forth with an engineer at Garmin about the goal of its running power app. Their algorithm, they insisted, is not designed to track VO2. Instead, it’s designed to estimate the power applied by your foot to the road. I still can’t quite figure out why you’d care about that number in isolation, if it doesn’t also tell you something about how much energy you’re burning, like it does in cycling. Be that as it may, it’s worth noting that the VO2 tests below are only relevant if you think (as I do) that VO2 matters.

They did three sets of VO2 tests, each of which involved three-minute bouts of running separated by four-minute bouts of rest. The first test started at just under 11-minute mile pace and got progressively faster with each stage until the runners were no longer running aerobically (meaning that VO2 would no longer provide a useful estimate of energy consumption). The second test stayed at about 9:30 mile pace, but subsequent stages added vests weighing 2.5 then 5 kilograms. The third test, which was only performed indoors, varied the slope between -6 percent and +6 percent in five stages.

Here’s a set of graphs showing the relationship between running power (on the horizontal axis) and oxygen consumption (on the vertical axis) for each of the devices for the running speed test. If running power is indeed a good proxy for energy consumption at various speeds, you’d expect all the dots to fall along a nice straight line.(Courtesy European Journal of Sport Science)

Once again, you can see that the Stryd data is pretty tightly clustered around the straight line. Their calculated standard error is 6.5 percent when connected to the phone app and 7.3 percent when connected to the Garmin watch. (For what it’s worth, I see no reason that the Stryd device should give different data based on what it’s connected to, so I assume those results are equivalent.) The picture gets a little uglier for the other devices: 9.7 percent for Polar, 12.9 percent for Garmin, and 14.5 percent for RunScribe.

When you vary the weight or the slope, the Stryd remains just as accurate, with standard errors of 6.3 and 6.9 percent respectively. But the other ones don’t handle it as well, particularly when slope is varied: Garmin’s standard error balloons to 19.0 percent and RunScribe’s to 18.5 percent. Polar doesn’t even get a score for slope, because it doesn’t work on the treadmill.

A side note: Polar does reasonably well in the VO2 test, and it’s worth pausing to understand why. The other three devices are all using accelerometers to estimate the accelerations and forces of your feet smacking into the ground, and feeding that data into an algorithm that essentially estimates VO2. Polar is completely skipping the middleman, because it doesn’t even bother trying to estimate the forces and accelerations. It just uses the speed measured by your GPS and the slope measured by a barometer, along with other personal data you’ve inputted. In a sense, it’s taking my claim that running power is only useful as a VO2 estimator to its logical conclusion—though calling its calculation a “power” seems a little cheeky.

A couple of other caveats to consider. One is that they forced everyone to maintain the same cadence (based on their individual cadences during an initial familiarization run) throughout all the test sessions to “improve the quality of the repeatability.” This strikes me as bizarre: one of the main points of the study was to find out how repeatable the measurements were, so eliminating one of the potential sources of variation sort of defeats the purpose. Maybe one of the devices gives terrible data when you change your cadence due to natural variations in pace or slope, while the others handle it fine. If so, that would be worth knowing.

The other caveat, as I mentioned above, is that all of these devices and algorithms continue to evolve. My article in the print magazine focused on how the latest Stryd devices can now measure and account for wind conditions, which is a pretty cool new feature that doesn’t make it into this study. The other devices and algorithms continue to evolve too, so this isn’t the final word on the topic. But for now, if you’re in the market for a running power device—and if what you really mean by that is a consistently repeatable estimate of oxygen consumption—this data suggests that Stryd is your best bet.

[quokkacore]

phenomena | s.jn

summary: the majority of your adult life you’ve been practically married to logic and science. until your superiors at the FBI assign you to work with special agent johnny suh on the so-called x-files project—cases that were never solved due to unexplained phenomena. as time goes by, and you chase case after case, you find yourself drifting further from logic… and closer to johnny. (part of the 90s love collab)

pairing: conspiracytheorist!johnny x doctor!reader

genre: x-files!au (with johnny as fox mulder and reader as dana scully), fbiagents!au, coworkers-to-lovers, slow burn, sci-fi, angst, fluff, comedy, crack-ish at times, fakmarriage!au at the end

warnings: language, murder, eating, blood, general violence, police presence (txf is fbi level copaganda but oh well), johnny is a low key dick initially, sexual references, general american ignorance, implied sexual harrassment in the workplace, mental hospitals, reader witnesses a distressing panic attack, guns, body image, referenced child/animal abuse, repressed memories, mentions of anti-semitism & nazism, christian allusions, occultism, mild gore, slight body horror, some 90s pop culture references, i am not !!! an fbi agent so there may be some inconsistencies, suggestive content but no actual smut, Karens being thirsty for johnny, johnny is a Single Man and is Kind of Gross, both reader and johnny get knocked unconscious Several Times

song recs: gorillaz - dirty harry // john mellencamp - martha say // elton john - whitewash county // arctic monkeys - all my own stunts // kesha - spaceship // the cranberries - dreams // exo - oasis // the cure - friday, i'm in love // billy joel - we didn't start the fire // david bowie - starman // phoebe bridgers - chinese satellite // tom petty - wildflowers // selena - bidi bidi bom bom // soda stereo - persiana americana // bruce springsteen - dancing in the dark // the cranberries - linger // bruce springsteen - human touch // r.e.m - it's the end of the world as we know it (and i feel fine) // david bowie - heroes (or just listen to the playlist i made instead)

word count: 34.3k (YOWZA u should prob read this on a browser)

a/n: a fic this long......never again

X-FILE 62-J: THE PINEWOOD PATTERN

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—08:00 hours, Monday, March 16th, 1992

The morning you met Johnny Suh, his glasses were crooked. It was two years after you'd started working for the FBI, and you were 28 years old. 

You'd spoken to your Division Chief—an older, balding man named Carson Brooks—the afternoon prior, just before you left home. He, along with two other men had asked you about the man in question. 

"Agent L/N, tell me. What do you know about an agent named John Suh?” 

You had furrowed your eyebrow, staring up at him. “John Suh? He had quite the reputation at the academy. Let's see… Oxford educated psychologist. He wrote a monograph on serial killers and the occult… helped the FBI catch Ezekiel Braun in 1988. He’s generally considered to be the best analyst of the violent crimes division. I’ve never met him personally. There’s a nickname for him around the division, though. They called him that in the academy, too." You had to hold back a chuckle, "Spooky Suh."

One of the men next to him nodded—a senior officer whose name you couldn't quite remember—before leaning forward. “It has come to our attention that he’s devoted himself to a project outside of the bureau mainstream. Agent L/N, are you familiar with the so-called X-Files project?”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, trying to recall where you’d heard the name. “From what I understand,” You said, looking up at the man, “They’re cases that are related to unexplained phenomena.”

Your division chief straightened his glasses. “Agent L/N, we’d like for you to assist Suh on these files. You are to write field reports and assess the validity of his work.”

You blinked, not letting your face crack. “...Am I to understand you want me to debunk the X-Files project, sir?”

Your eyes scanned the room. So far, the third man, the one smoking the cigarette had been the only one to not speak.

“Agent L/N,” Your division chief replied with a pursed smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “We expect you to make the proper scientific analyses required for these cases. We trust you won’t disappoint us and will be looking forward to seeing your reports. You are to meet with Agent Suh tomorrow morning.”

That had been the day before. Now, here you were, on your way down to the basement, which was apparently John Suh's natural habitat within the Bureau headquarters. The lighting was relatively low in the hallways, shelves upon shelves of cardboard archive boxes seemingly closing you in. When you finally reached the office door at the end of the hall, you rapped your knuckles against the wood twice.

“Sorry, no one down here except for the FBI’s most unwanted!” A deep, sardonic toned voice lamented. You made an amused face to yourself, before quickly composing yourself. 

Professionalism above all else, Y/N. First impressions matter.

So you took a deep breath before opening the door slowly. Your eyes scanned the room, widening slightly despite your mantras of professionalism. The man had his back to you, so he didn’t catch it, thankfully. He was too busy studying photographic slides on a lightbox on his desk, hunched over in concentration. 

But amongst those metal filing cabinets that were all that same atrocious shade of gray, the entire room was pretty much a mess—papers scattered across the desk and pictures tacked to the walls haphazardly to the point where it was hard to tell what color the wall he was sitting in front of was. Among other things, you caught newspaper clippings, pictures of bright beams of light igniting the night sky, a diagram of the human skeleton, and in the middle, a large poster. On it, a large UFO was hovering above a pine forest skyline, the words “I WANT TO BELIEVE” printed in bold, white letters across the bottom.

The man in question turned in his swivel chair to face you. You took note of the crooked glasses propped up onto his round nose, wide eyes studying you up and down. The sleeves of his white button up were rolled up to his elbows, and his tie, just like his glasses, was crooked. Still, you mustered a curt smile, urging yourself to remain professional in spite of how handsome he was.     

"Agent Suh," You declared, holding out your hand, "I’m Y/N L/N. I've been assigned to work with you."

John shook your hand, eyeing you somewhat skeptically. "Agent L/N. I've heard a lot of things. So, who did you piss off to get stuck with this old nut?"

"Actually, I’m looking forward to working with you. Division chief Brooks has asked me to do an evaluation of your work ethic and the overall project, I’m hoping we can work well together."

He pursed his lips, obviously trying to hold back a laugh. Finally, he broke into a grin. "So, they want you to babysit."

You bit back a huff as he turned to look back at his slides. Well, yes, he was right in a way, but you weren't going to admit it. Not with the slightly condescending tone he'd taken with you. Running your tongue against your front teeth in annoyance, you did your best to remain cordial. You plastered your polite smile back onto your face and crossed your arms.

"If you have any doubt about my credentials—”

“You’re a medical doctor,” He said, pulling out a folder with a clear plastic front, “You teach at the academy, did your undergraduate degree in physics…”

He looked at the blue folder in his hands. “Einstein’s Twin Paradox: A new interpretation. Y/N L/N’s senior thesis, now there’s a credential: rewriting Einstein.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you bother to read it?” Your tone had a dangerous roll to it. Already you were starting to doubt how much you would enjoy this. 

“I did!” He stood up from the swivel chair, revealing to you just how tall he was. As he walked to one of the gray filing cabinets on the other side of the room, he turned his head and flashed you a crooked smile. “I really liked it, actually. It’s just in my line of work, the laws of physics don’t seem to apply.”

John walked back over to his desk, picking up some of the slides on the lightbox and popping them into a slide projector a few feet away. You stepped out of his way as he made his way to the light switch next to the door, engulfing the room in darkness except for the lightbox, which gave the room a dim, industrial white glow. Turning back to the projector, he pressed the on button, before he looked back at you. His face had turned serious, wide eyes peering at you in the dark.

“Maybe I can get your medical opinion on this.”

Turning your head to the first slide, your eyes settled on the body of a young woman lying amongst old leaves. She was in a white nightgown smudged in dirt, and her arms were spread out as if she were waiting for someone to embrace her.

“Oregon female,” John said, “Aged 21. No known cause of death. Autopsy tells us jack.”

He changed slides, and the image projected on the wall changed to a close up of skin, two small red dots puckered up about a few centimeters away from each other. “However, these were found on her lower back. Doctor L/N, can you ID these marks?”

Walking closer to the projection on the wall, you sighed softly in thought. “Needle punctures, maybe?” You asked, “An animal bite? Electrocution?” 

“The coroner wasn’t able to ID them either.” He pressed a button on the projector, and it whirred as it changed slides. This time, it was a figure of a chemical composition. You furrowed your eyebrow. 

“This was found in the surrounding tissue. How’s your chemistry?” He asked, sounding amused. You glanced at him in dislike, then at the composition, racking your head at the sight of so many cyclohexanes. 

“It’s organic… Is it some kind of synthetic protein?”

He didn’t answer, and your mouth fell open in confusion, shaking your head. “I… don’t know, what is it?”

John laughed. “Beats me! I’ve never seen it either. But it’s also been found in Amaranth, South Dakota…” He clicked the button on the projector. It changed to an image of a middle aged man laying face down in a ditch. He did it again, and a younger man appeared strewn in the middle of the desert, eyes glazed open. “...And again, in Verona, Nevada.”

“Do you have any theories?” You asked, squinting as to avoid looking at the glare of the projector, and instead stare at him. He made his way closer to you. The light of the projection caused the image to warp and distort, projected onto the right side of his face. 

“Oh, I have plenty of theories. What I want to know is why it’s bureau policy to claim these as unexplained phenomena when there’s clearly a pattern here.”

He sighed, before stepping closer to you. He wasn’t necessarily invading your personal space. But from this proximity, caught in the light of the projector you could make out the soft flecks of amber in his brown eyes, the soft curve of his lips. “So, doc,” He murmured, voice low and raspy, “Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

Oh boy, you thought, here we go. 

“Logically, I would have to say no. The energy capabilities required to travel through space, as well as the technology you're implying would exceed a spacecraft's—”

"Conventional wisdom," He said, raising his eyebrows. He crossed his arms, pointing at the projection. "Do you know that this girl in Oregon is the fourth person in her graduating class to pass away under suspicious circumstances?" 

 He shifted his weight to lean on one leg. “When there’s no logic, and there’s no convention, is it such a crime to turn to the fantastic for explanations?”

 You frowned. “She had to have died from something. Whether it was natural, then it’s possible the medical examiner missed something. If she was murdered, then maybe it was a cover-up, or a sloppy investigation.” 

Leaning your head forward towards him, you put your hands on your hips. “What I find fantastic is the idea that you would be willing to look anywhere except the realm of science for answers. The answers are there, you just have to be willing to look for them.”

    “And that’s why they put the I in FBI,” He quipped, sounding quite amused at his joke. He turned on the overhead lights, then made his way to sit down at his swivel chair. He leaned back against the black cushion. “So, L/N. You, me, a flight to Pinewood, Oregon, bright and early tomorrow at eight AM. How’s that sound?”

 You bit back a smile. John Suh was… quite the character, that was for sure. Smug. Intelligent. Maybe just a tiny bit off his rocker.

But you didn't really have much of a choice, and you were growing curious as well. 

 "Alright,” You conceded, “I’ll bite.”

 John grinned. “Awesome.”

You set your purse down next to the projector, before turning it off. “I’ll be right back,” You told him, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

He nodded, turning back to the files next to the lightbox.

 “And John?” You leaned against the doorway, watching as he straightened his posture to look up at you, expectant of your words. His eyes, from behind those crooked, round rimmed glasses, were poised on your frame. 

“Yes?”

“Your glasses are crooked.” You turned to exit, smiling to yourself when you heard him move, and softly mumble, “Oh, shit.”

PINEWOOD, OREGON—11:32 hours, Tuesday, March 17th, 1992

The plane touched down with only the slightest bit of turbulence. John Suh was sitting right next to you, snoring softly as you pored over the four different medical reports. The reports of the first three victims—Kaya Tate, Jisung Park, and Alex Gallagher—were basically the same word for word, other than specific physical details of the victims, like hair color, height and weight. All of them were found in the woods and were estimated to have died somewhere between one and four in the morning. Possible causes of death included exposure and cardiac arrest, but there wasn’t enough evidence to list anything. The oddest part was that of the three of them, all of their pupils were shrunken. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

 When a person dies, what occurs next is called primary flaccidity. In this state, all of the muscles relax—their head might fall back as the neck loses strength, the jaw falls open, fingers loosen their grip. And the pupils should dilate. But here, they weren’t. Not in the slightest.

You frowned, looking over the first three reports again. There was no sign of red marks anywhere. At the end of all three medical reports, the same signature was seen: Aaron Choi, MD. 

Flicking through the medical report of the fourth victim—Kaya Tate—you looked over the similarities of the other autopsies, and the one unavoidable difference: those damned red markings John had shown you yesterday. With a sigh, you skimmed over the report one last time, before one final difference caught your eye at the very end. This report wasn’t signed by one Aaron Choi, MD. No, it was signed by Hank Rodrigo, MD.

You didn’t have time to think over it much as the pilot made the announcement that the plane would be landing soon. John jumped awake at the sound of his voice. His eyes cracked open, and he frowned as if he were upset at being woken up. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” You greeted when he gave you a sideways glance. 

“And here I was, hoping for a kiss to break the spell.” He laughed sleepily, but you frowned as you pulled the reports off of the tray. You didn’t answer as you put them away and put the tray back up in preparation for the landing.

John stretched his back, inhaling deeply before staring at you awkwardly. “...Sorry. I’m being inappropriate.”

You shook your head, but then smiled. “Thank you for apologizing. Some guys at the bureau can be real creeps.”

He frowned. “...You’re trained in self defense at the academy for a reason, y’know.”

Rolling your eyes, you zipped up your bag. Still, you couldn’t let go of the smile on your face. Still, you put some sarcasm into your tone when you next spoke. “Of course I am.”

When the plane landed, you picked up the rental car the bureau had provided, and put your suitcases in the trunk before getting in. John drove, popping in a cassette of his that played some rock song you didn’t know the name of. 

Martha say she don't need no stinking man making no decisions for her

She don't need his money, she don't need him between the sheets

She ain't gonna sleep on the edge of the bed for no stinking man...

“Kaya Tate’s medical report was signed by a different examiner,” You pointed out, even though you knew that he’d already realized that.

“And there it is,” He said, not taking his eyes off of the road. “Those marks are pretty hard to miss. If they all had similar circumstances in the autopsy, who’s to say the first three kids didn’t have the same markings? And why would Doctor Choi avoid putting that in the reports?”

For a moment, he looked at you, and raised an eyebrow. You mirrored his expression at his implication. “So, you think the medical examiner has something to do with the murders.”

“Maybe?” He glanced briefly in the rearview mirror. “He’s a person of interest. Not necessarily a suspect. I’ve arranged to exhume Alex Gallagher’s body. Maybe we can come to some conclusion of our own—”

He was interrupted by the sound of the song from his cassette distorting, static blaring in between the music and the sound of the vocalist’s voice.

At first, you thought it was something to do with the cassette… until the windows started rolling up and down of their own accord, and the lights on the dashboard started to flicker. You felt the car even swerve slightly, despite John’s firm hands on the wheel.

Within a matter of seconds he managed to pull over and put the car in park. As soon as it had started, it was over, but as John turned the motor off, he met your eyes. He looked just as perplexed as you did. 

“What just happened?”

He didn't answer, unbuckling his seat belt. As he got out of the car, you did the same thing, wondering what kind of failure could cause a car to go haywire like that. 

Wordlessly, you watched as John took a good, long look at his watch, before walking over to the trunk and popping it up. From his suitcase, he pulled out a can of spray paint. He pulled the cap off of it and leaned over, aiming at the asphalt. You raised your eyebrows.

"What are you—" 

The sound of the paint can interrupted your words. You watched as he sprayed a big X on the street, right in front of where he was standing. Your mouth remained slightly open, unsure of what to say. When he stood up straight, he placed the can back in his suitcase, and looked up at you. Slamming the trunk shut, the both of you exchanged stares: his blank as if vandalizing forest streets were a part of his day to day life, and yours somewhat perplexed. 

When the two of you got back into the car, it turned on with no issue. John's cassette started up again on the same song. Again, you exchanged a wordless stare, the both of you now equally unsure.

“Welcome to the Twilight Zone,” John muttered, putting the car in drive. You didn’t reply.

 Hi-de-hi-de-hi, brother,

Hi-de-hi-de-hey now, Martha...

Ten minutes later the two of you rolled into the cemetery. It was an uphill slope, a small field atop it, connecting to the woods. John drove until a small, yellow bulldozer caught your eye and you pointed it out. He parked as close as the road permitted, and the two of you exited the car, ready to head up the hill.

As the two of you pulled out your FBI badges, an officer came running up to you. He darted between tombstones and stopped in front of you, pursing his lips awkwardly. You both help up your badges. "Special agents Y/N L/N and John Suh," You said.

The officer nodded sheepishly. He seemed young and rather inexperienced. "Officer Mitch Swenson. The chief couldn't be here right now, ma'am."

"Oh?" John continued walking towards the grave, which was fully undug. A crew was in the process of using a pulley to lift the coffin out of the ground. "Couldn't, or didn't want to? He didn't seem very happy when I contacted him on the phone. Didn't even tell me his name."

Officer Swenson looked down. "I'm sorry to say that he's opposed to this intervention, sir."

"Unfortunately," You told him, "After so many unexplained deaths, we're obligated to involve ourselves. If he has an issue with our jurisdiction then he can take it up with—"

A loud snapping noise stopped you in your tracks, and your head turned just in time to see the ropes on the pulley snap, dropping the coffin. It quickly began tumbling downhill, towards you. You barely had time to step back. Before you could be trampled by a goddamn coffin on what was quickly becoming one of the strangest days of your life, you felt a strong hand grip your forearm and yank you back harshly. 

The coffin barrelled right into the back of a tombstone, cracking open ever so slightly. Your back collided with John's chest. Neck craning back to look at him, you realized both your chests were heaving in shock. He was staring at the small opening in the coffin.

You pulled away from him, charging towards the coffin. John and Officer Swenson did the same, as well as some from the lifting crew.

As soon as you got within five feet of the coffin, a putrid odor hit your nose and seemed to hit everyone else's. John's hand went to cover his nose. Officer Swenson turned green. You held back a gag.

Still, despite the heinous stench, you leaned forward, trying to get a good look inside. Fully expecting to see a decaying corpse, you squinted, trying to make out the shape of the face.

"Holy shit," You heard the young officer say off to your left. Your eyes widened, just as you made out some features of the cadaver.

"Make sure no one else sees this," John ordered someone, as you made out a snout and very thin arms. As your eyes widened, John turned to you. You turned your head to him, and he flashed you an awkward grin.

"...I'm guessing he was no student athlete," He joked, scratching the back of his head. You shook your head in disbelief, face frozen in shock.

"I… is that a—?"

CORONER'S OFFICE, PINEWOOD, OREGON — 14:48 hours, Tuesday, March 17th, 1992

"A chimpanzee."

You didn't give John's unsatisfied tone much of a second thought, continuing to ensure you had everything ready for your analysis.

"You think it's a chimpanzee," John said again a few seconds later, snapping a picture of the body, which was spread out on a metal table. 

"Or an orangutan," You replied, not looking up from your tools. Pulling out your tape recorder, you finally met his eyes. "I was thinking it might even be a bonobo, but it's too big. Mammalian, that's for sure."

"Y/N, we're in Oregon! Where would someone get a monkey—why would someone put a monkey in some dead kid's coffin?"

You shook your head. "John, you can't possibly think this is anything other than a sick joke, can you?"

He huffed, too engrossed in taking pictures of the body. He looked like he had just discovered sliced bread.

"This is amazing. It—it's unprecedented… I want a full report," He demanded, "Toxicology, x-rays, tissue samples, genetic testing, the works. We can get those tissue samples and x-rays done now, everything else we take back to DC." 

You laid a measuring tape next to the subject's body, before putting your hands on your hips. 

"You’re kidding," You said, glaring at him from the other side of the table, "Try telling Alex Gallagher's family that his body was replaced with an alien. You'd probably lose a few teeth doing it!" 

John lowered his camera, taking a deep breath. He thought for a few seconds before answering. "I'm not crazy, Y/N," He insisted, "I have the same doubts you do." 

Flexing your fingers to see if the surgical gloves fit adequately, you sighed. 

"Please leave for a moment," You mumbled, "I need to record my observations and I can't do that properly if you're flashing that camera in my face and talking about little green men." 

He frowned, not meeting your eyes. He looked like he wanted to protest, but he shook his head to himself as he turned around. Soon, he was out the door. 

During your analysis, you made several observations: the subject was 157 centimeters in length, and weighed 56 pounds. Long limbs and fingers, and large ocular caverns that suggested it belonged to the ape family, as you'd told John minutes ago. It was in an advanced state of decay and desiccation. 

When you turned the subject over, you couldn't help but look at the lower back. Lo and behold, there and ready to give you a headache, were two bumps. They were no longer red, tinged gray, same as the rest of the body, but they were there.

Only when the x-rays finally developed two hours later did you discover the cherry on top: a small metallic implant in the subject's nasal cavity, embedded in the skin, which was extracted and placed in a small glass vial. The vial was placed in your blazer pocket, which you'd removed to put on the PPE gown. 

When you were finally finished with the report, you put your blazer back on and discarded the PPE and surgical gloves. All you'd managed to do was give yourself a migraine at all of the oddities piling up in this case. When you got back to DC? A bubble bath was in order. With a very, very large glass of wine.

As you approached the door to the lobby, the voices of two men arguing got louder and louder. Rolling your eyes, you sighed at the feeling of your head pounding. One sounded angrier, the other significantly calmer. When your hand was on the knob, you realized who the calmer voice belonged to.

"Shit," You whispered to yourself, flinging open the door. A middle aged man yelling at John—who looked very blasé about the whole situation—was waving his finger in his face. Behind him stood Officer Swenson, another officer, and a young girl dressed in an oversized windbreaker and jeans, who looked like she wanted to evaporate into thin air. 

"You people think you can march in here and do whatever you want," The man growled, "I don't see why—"

"What's going on here?" You asked, stepping between the man and John. The man scoffed at you, eyeing you up and down. 

“Who are you?”

You pulled out your badge and flashed it to him. His scowl deepened. “Special Agent Y/N L/N, FBI. I’m Agent Suh's partner for this investigation. Now, what is going on? And who are you?”

The man’s face twisted in disdain at your authoritative tone. “I’m Doctor Aaron Choi, the county medical examiner. Now, the audacity of you and your partner—”

“Dad, please,” The girl exclaimed, sounding embarrassed, “Let’s just go home!”

 The man waved a hand in her direction, tone dismissive and angry. “Lia, be quiet. I’m talking. The audacity you two have to come here and interrupt our procedures—”

“Doctor Choi, this is the fourth unexplained death of a student from the Pinewood High class of ‘89,” John pointed out, “After the county was unable to come up with any conclusive evidence, the FBI was forced to become involved. I take it you weren’t informed of the exhumation and the analysis of Alex Gallagher’s body?”

Doctor Choi shook his head. “I’ve been away with my family. We just got back.”

That explains the different medical examiner on the latest autopsy, you realized. 

“Doctor Choi, I’m sorry you feel that way,” You said, “But it’s our obligation to come and investigate. Now, I’m sorry, but it’s getting late, and we have to get going. I can give you my cell phone number if it were to make you more comfortable, but—”

“No. That’s quite enough,” He snapped. He turned to the young girl, nodding his head at the door. “Lia, let’s go.”

The girl sighed, and met your eyes before she turned to follow after him. She looked desperate; you assumed it was because of the scene her father had caused. The two officers followed after them.

As the two of you watched them leave, you turned to John. He simply shrugged, looking done with the whole situation. “Talk about a warm welcome,” He grumbled. You glared at him. 

“Let’s just go,” You huffed, rubbing at a spot above your eyebrow, “I still need to get started on this report.”

The two of you exited the building, and John explained that tomorrow, he’d arranged a visit to a mental institution in the town over. That there were two more students of the class of ‘89 were staying. Both of them were reportedly a part of Alex Gallagher’s circle of friends.

 In your pocket, the vial holding the metal implant seemed heavier than it had been when you first extracted it.

ALOYSIUS GRANT MENTAL INSTITUTION, CRESTHILL, OREGON—10:47 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

The wing where Chenle Zhong and Nancy Goldstein were staying was relatively quiet. As the nurse explained their circumstances, Nancy remained glued to a book in her wheelchair. Next to her in his bed, Chenle lay perfectly still, lips parted slightly, eyes wide and unmoving. 

You were informed that Nancy had developed delusions and become extremely paranoid as a result of post-traumatic stress. Chenle was living through something called a living coma. He never moved, never spoke. The only indication you saw that he was still alive was the constant rise and fall of his chest. Both of them had been in an automotive crash in the autumn of 1989, and had been like this ever since. 

“Nancy,” The nurse said softly, “You have guests, can they speak with you?”

Nancy lifted her head, “I can’t,” She answered, shaking her head. “I’m reading to Lele right now.”

“Does… does he like it when you read to him?” John asked, and she nodded.

“It calms him down,” She said, “It distracts him from everything.”

You looked down, thinking about her words and what she must have gone through—Chenle as well. At the feet of Chenle’s bed, you noticed odd specks of… ash? It was sprinkled sparsely in front of the bed, on what was a seemingly pristine floor.

You wanted to pick it up, but didn’t want the nurse looking at you strangely. So you turned your attention back to the conversation between John and the nurse. He lowered his voice and leaned in towards her, as if he didn’t want Nancy to hear. “Would it be possible for us to run some medical tests on Ms. Goldstein?”

The thing was that Nancy did hear, and at the mention of medical tests, her large eyes nearly popped out of her head, and she started to tremble in the wheelchair. “N-no tests,” She pleaded, before throwing her book to the side and raising her voice, "No tests! You can't take me there again!"

She began to thrash in the wheelchair, hyperventilating and begging in between breaths to not go anywhere. She threw herself out of the wheelchair but was unable to stand, and instead remained on the floor, crying. 

"Nancy, sweetie, you're going to be fine," The nurse said gently, leaning down to placate the poor girl who was shaking her head. She looked up at the both of you. "Can you help me please?" 

John leaned down to gently assist the nurse in helping Nancy up, and you picked up the wheelchair, which had fallen onto its side. You gripped one of the back handles of the chair to steady it. Your other hand smudged along the ground to try and pick up some of the powder. As the pair helped her sit down, your eyes caught something. 

Nancy's shirt had ridden up during the ordeal, and there, along the small of her back, you saw them. The same marks that Kaya Tate, Jisung Park, and Alex Gallagher had. 

When Nancy refused to calm down, wailing and begging not to be taken back to wherever she thought you and John wanted to take her, the nurse ushered you out.

 "I'm sorry," She told you, "But you're upsetting my patients. If you absolutely need to come back, then do it some other day when she's calmed down." 

The two of you set off towards the exit down the stairs, your heels click-clacking quickly along the floor as you walked in front of John. 

He held open the exit door for you, and as soon as you were out the door and headed toward the parking lot, you whirled on him. 

"How did you know she would have those marks?" You asked, almost angry at him. John shrugged. 

"A hunch," Was all he answered.

"Dammit, Suh, cut the crap. What the hell is going on here?"

"What, so you can go off and write it in your little reports?" He fired back, raising his voice at you for the first time. Your head snapped back at the sudden disdain in his voice.

"I'm here to solve this case just the same as you are," You growled, "Now tell me the truth. I think I'm entitled to it."

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, scowling at you. He leaned closer to you and lowered his voice. "You want my honest opinion? Fine. I think those kids have been abducted by an alien force. I think that they run tests on those kids, which is why Nancy Goldstein freaked out, and why Alex's body and hers have those markings. That's what I think."

You tapped your heel along the sidewalk in frustration and thought. "John, do you realize how insane that sounds? I—Why, there's nothing to substantiate—"

"Nothing scientific to substantiate," He corrected.

"Science is all there is, John!" You shook your head. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. The  both of you knew that this conversation would lead nowhere. Looking down, you remembered the ash smudged onto the palm of your hand. 

"Look," You said, quieter now. "This was on the floor around Chenle Zhong's bed."

"'S that… ash?"

You nodded. "I know what you think, John. Let me tell you what I think. I think those kids might be involved in some sort of sacrifice of some sort. Think about it, they're always called into the woods. The medical examiner doesn't want us looking at the bodies. And now, ash."

John's eyes darted back and forth, considering the options. He walked over to the car, unlocking it so the both of you could enter. 

"We can head into the woods tonight," He offered finally. "That way, we can both look into our own hypotheses."

"Sounds good to me," You answered, "Tonight."

THE WOODS, PINEWOOD, OREGON—20:26 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

A few hours after sundown, the two of you drove to the edge of the woods, armed with flashlights and your handguns. You'd tied your hair back and changed into a dark blue windbreaker, along with sweatpants and running shoes. It was a bit windy, and you could see storm clouds rolling in.

"Stay close by," You'd told John. "And be quiet."

"Yes, mom," He sighed. You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to punch him in the arm. 

Once the two of you were out of the car, you split up, trying to stay within earshot of his footsteps. You spent about ten minutes wandering around, flashing your light around, taking slow steps as you scrounged for any hints. 

Above you, thunder rumbled, the occasional strike of lightning lighting up the sky for milliseconds. Leaning your head forward, you squinted in the dark. No way. 

The whole ground around you was covered in ash. If not the exact same ash as what was in front of Chenle's bed, it was very similar—sprinkled on top of the leaves and dirt. As you kneeled down to pick some up, your eyes widened at the same texture and pigment as the one of today. 

"What the fuck," You muttered under your breath, mind racing a mile a minute. These woods were creepy enough without the implication of a ritualistic cult, or close encounters of the third kind, or whatever John believed was happening. But now you had the possibility of a connection between these woods and two seriously disturbed kids.

A sudden mechanical rumbling made you snap your head up. You squinted, lifting your other hand to shield your eyes from the sudden brightness that lit up the trees. 

"John?" You asked when you heard footsteps. Your heart rate began to speed up, hand reaching for the gun tucked into your waistband. 

When you realized that the sound was coming from the direction of the light, you called his name out again. "John?"

A tall figure emerged from the light, and you soon realized what was pointed at you—a shotgun. Definitely not John Suh.

Not hesitating, you pulled out your gun. "Special agent Y/N L/N, FBI! Identify yourself!"

The figure only stopped until it was about ten feet away. You squinted, making out some familiar features. Surprisingly, you realized it was the officer who had been at the coroner's office with Doctor Choi. 

John came stumbling up to you, chest heaving. "Chief!" He sounded strangely enthusiastic. "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"You're trespassing on private property," He announced, seemingly unamused by John's tone. 

"We are conducting an investigation," You countered, lowering your gun. 

"You are trespassing," He said adamantly, "Now get out, before I have you both arrested."

John glanced at you momentarily. You frowned as he shrugged, obviously wanting you to stand down. The staredown continued for a solid ten seconds before you groaned softly. Tucking your gun back into your waistband, you followed the chief out of the woods, right back to your car, which was right next to his.

As John drove away, you watched as the flashing police lights faded into the distance. "What's he doing out here when he's got a whole town to take care of?"

John shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows. "I don't know," He hummed in that deep voice of his, "But I don't like him one bit."

The two of you drove in relative silence after that. The storm finally came down, drops of rain cascading angrily onto the windshield. Thunder rolled overhead, and the lightning grew bright.

In the dim light, your eyes turned to watch John, hoping he wouldn't take notice. You watched him alternate his eyes between the road ahead and the rearview mirror every few seconds. Your eyes raked over his features—a strong brow bone, a round nose, lips that seemed to curve upwards in a natural smirk.

You looked back up at his eyes, and his own gaze glanced at the watch on his wrist before returning to the road.

"You're staring," He said, sounding like he’d caught you with a hand in the cookie jar. You felt the scoff leave your lips before you could catch it, your cheeks heating up.

"I am not—"

A flash of lightning lit up the sky, far brighter than any of the other strikes. Then, an odd sensation filled your body: for the briefest of moments you felt absolutely weightless, unable to feel the carseat beneath you. Then a moment later when the light faded, and the feeling disappeared.

The car rolled to a stop, the engine’s rumble dying. You frowned even though you were glad that you’d have a chance to change the subject. “What happened?”

Johnny looked at the lights on the dashboard, and pressed on the accelerator tentatively a few times. He raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “Uh… we lost power.”

He seemed calm enough. Until he glanced at his watch again. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he let out a single, excited laugh. “No fucking way,” He murmured, rushing to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Uh, John, where are you g—”

He was out of the car before you could finish your sentence, heading into the downpour. You groaned, unbuckling hastily and following him. Already, he was drenched, and within seconds you were too. He was walking towards something on the road, a few feet in front of the car. When he turned to look back at you, he looked like a preschooler who had just discovered Sesame Street. His fists pumped into the air, his eyes squeezed shut and he began to jump up and down.

“Fuckin’—I—WOO! WOO HOO!”

“For the love of god,” You grumbled, standing right next to him despite his loud cheering, you tried your hardest to make out what had gotten him so excited. When the next flash of lightning lit up the street, plus the lights of the car helping illuminate the road, you saw it: a big, bright, neon X. Almost the exact same place the car had started acting strange yesterday.

“We lost time!” He yelled over the sound of the downpour. "I looked at my watch before the flash! It was 9:02 then, now it’s 9:13! That’s eleven minutes—GONE!”

You shook your head, stepping away. You threw up your hands in confusion. “What—John, that’s not possible! You’re saying time disappeared, time can’t—it can’t just disappear! That’s not just crazy, it’s—i-it’s a universal invariant! It’s impossible!”

John shook his head at you, eyes wide in wonder. Right before he started walking back to the car, he let out one last gleeful laugh. “Not in this zip code!”

Much to your displeasure, your headache returned soon after. You were more than content to let John ramble on while you zoned out, rubbing your forehead. What little you picked up was that people who claimed to be abductees always mentioned a bright flash of light and losing time, anywhere from five minutes to several hours.

You weren’t sure what to think at this point. You had half a mind to drive John to the Aloysius Grant Mental Institution and leave him there with Chenle and Nancy.

When you got back to the hotel, you ran straight to your room. When you tried flickering on the light, you found that it wouldn’t turn on. With a sigh, you realized the storm had to have blown the power out. Peeling off your wet clothes before you did anything else, you stripped to your underwear before pulling on your bathrobe. Shivering, you scrounged in the darkness of the room for anything, a flashlight, some candles.

Surprisingly, they did have a candle, a holder and some matches. As you lit it, and went over your bedtime routine (yes, you were a grown woman going to bed at 9:30 PM, you were tired), you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling settling in your stomach. Everything felt so off here, and there were so many things you couldn’t explain.

As much as John wanted to convince you, he couldn’t explain them either. The whole situation felt bizarre in a dreadful way. As you marched into the bathroom for a quick shower, you tried to reassure yourself everything would connect eventually.

When you took off the bathrobe, your hand went to rub at your lower back. The stiff mattress wasn’t doing you any favors. You let your eyes flutter shut, fingers rubbing at the muscle below your skin.

Until your fingers brushed over something that you knew hadn’t been there before. Your eyes snapped open, and you turned your back to the mirror, craning your neck to see. Your fingers ached to touch the spot again, but in your sudden alarm, your fingers began to shake.

There. At the small of your back, just above the waistband of your underwear, there they were. Two bumps. Just like Nancy’s. Just like Alex’s. Just like Kaya’s.

You didn’t know what overtook you. All of a sudden, you were putting your bathrobe back on and strutting stiffly out of your room. Before you knew it, you were knocking insistently on John’s door.

You didn’t stop until a very confused looking John opened up, holding a candle. “I—”

“I need to show you something,” You said shakily. His demeanor changed instantly when he saw your frantic state. He nodded wordlessly, widening the door and stepping to the side. Once the door was closed, you faced him, before untying the robe. His eyes widened slightly despite your shaking hands, and the tips of his ears turned red.

“Woah, at least take me out to dinner first—”

“Johnny, shut up!”

He froze at your tone, your slip up—calling him Johnny instead of John. You were too distressed to care, tossing the robe to the floor before turning, trying to poke at the marks on your back.

“What are they?” You asked, and John reached out a hand as if to placate you.

“Hey, hey,” He murmured, “Deep breaths. Can I get a closer look?”

Nodding, and trying to do what he said, you let him step closer, before kneeling. Tentatively, he ghosted a hand over the marks. You tried to ignore the goosebumps, shivering from what you assumed was the cold.

“What are they?” You repeated. “John—”

He spun you around, putting a gentle hand on your hip. You peered down at him, panting softly. “It’s okay,” He said softly, “They’re just mosquito bites.”

Your eyes fluttered shut in relief, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady your wobbling knees. “You’re sure?” You asked, looking down at him.

He nodded, amber eyes staring up at you. You were suddenly hyper aware of his hand on your hip, unable to break his gaze. He cleared his throat, standing up but not stepping away from you. “Yeah, I got some out there too. I’m positive.”

You put the bathrobe back on, then crossed your arms. “I need to sit down,” You mumbled. He gestured to his bed, sitting on the chair next to it. You raised an eyebrow, not wanting to impose. He shook his head, setting down the candle on the table.

“You’re shaking,” He said, “Go ahead.”

Inhaling deeply, you tried to compose yourself. Your hand rubbed at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling tense. You chewed on your lip, wondering if you should ask the question itching to come out.

“John?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. He nodded, eyes earnest.

“Yeah?”

“How did you… Why are you so interested in this stuff?”

His eyes lowered, rubbing his palms together slowly. He took a deep breath, resting his elbows on his thighs. Finally, he sighed.

“I was twelve when it happened,” He whispered. His gaze turned solemn, almost angry. “My little sister, Maggie, went missing in the middle of the night. Just… disappeared, like she vanished into thin air. No note, no phone calls, no discernible trail or evidence at all. Gone, just like that. How does an eight year old girl disappear without a trace?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, not answering. Outside, the rain had stopped, but John’s eyes were a storm of their own, several emotions swimming around in pools of golden brown.

“It tore my family apart. My parents got divorced, everyone else refused to talk about it. There weren’t any facts to confront, nothing to give anyone closure, and the search just stopped.”

“What did you do?” You asked softly. He shrugged, pursing his lips.

“Eventually, I ran away to England. Came back, got recruited by the bureau.” He offered a sardonic smile, no joy behind it. “Apparently, I have a natural aptitude for applying behavioral models to criminal cases. My success allowed me a certain amount of freedom to pursue my own interests. That’s when I found the x-files.”

“On accident?” You leaned to lay down on your side, propping your head up with one hand. He nodded.

“At first, it looked like a dump for UFO sightings, cryptids, alien abductions. Real Hollywood kind of stuff. But… I was fascinated by it all, I read all the cases I could get my hands on. Hundreds of them, Y/N. All the paranormal phenomena, the occult, and then…” He sighed, lowering his head.

“What?” You leaned toward him, trying to read his face in the dark.

“There’s… classified government information I’ve been trying to get my hands on. Someone keeps blocking my access.” He looked to the side, palms still rubbing together. “The only reason I’ve been allowed to continue my work is because I've made connections in congress.”

You shook your head, “I don’t understand, are they afraid you’ll leak this information?”

When he met your gaze, the anger had returned, now far less subdued. “You’re a part of that agenda,” He murmured, “You would know.”

Your mouth dropped open slightly, and you shook your head before scooching closer to him. “I’m not a part of any agenda,” You answered. “You need to trust me.”

He sighed, before standing up to move onto your bed, leaning very close to you. The usually playful glow in his eyes was nowhere to be seen. “I’m telling you this, Y/N, because you need to know. In my... research, I’ve worked very closely with a man named Hans Kruger. He’s taken me through deep regression hypnosis, and through my repressed memories I’ve been able to return to that night my sister disappeared. I remember a very bright light outside and a presence in the room, and the sensation of being paralyzed, unable to answer her cries for help. Listen to me, Y/N, this thing exists.”

“But how do you know—”

“The government knows! And I gotta know what they’re protecting.” He leaned even closer to you, face inches away from yours. “Nothing else matters to me, and this is as close as I’ve ever—”

   The ringing of the telephone made the both of you jump away from each other, and John stood to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

   He made a face as the person on the other side answered. “What? Who is this? Who is—”

   Pulling the phone away from his ear, he looked at you. He seemed confused, alarmed. “That was a woman,” He said, putting the phone back on the housing, “Who told me that Nancy Goldstein is dead.”

 You frowned. “The girl in the wheelchair?”

 HIGHWAY 227, PINEWOOD, OREGON—23:11 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

 Quickly, the two of you dressed. The crash wasn’t hard to find in such a small town. Surrounded by witnesses and two police cars, a large semi truck was stopped in the middle of the road. Once there you produced your badges to get past the police cars. John went off to ask one of the cops questions about the accident, and you walked over to the body, which was draped over with a white cloth.

 Right next to it, a man, who you assumed was the driver, was being questioned. Showing the officer next to the body your badge, you crouched down to peel back the cloth covering the body.     

Poor Nancy Goldstein, wet with rain and blood, lay strewn in the road. A dribble of drying blood was running down her mouth. Her once white and purple polka dotted hospital gown was tinged with red, brown and gray. You sighed in sympathy. But your eyes travelled down at the watch she had on, and the sympathy made way into confusion. The hands had stopped, right at 9:02.

You took a deep breath when you recognized the coincidence. That's all it had to be, right? A coincidence?

 "You said she just ran out in front of you?" The officer speaking to the man asked.

"Yes, officer," He answered, "Just came charging out from the trees and right into the truck."

Nancy Goldstein, running. Not even walking, no, full on running. You stared at the body, eyes travelling to her legs. Somehow, they were specked with flecks of dirt, mud and small wood chips. It was consistent with someone moving through a wet, muddy area while barefoot. You swallowed anxiously, trying to figure out what was going on in this town.

 When you got into the car with John, you raised an eyebrow at him, getting ready to speak. Before you could, however, his cell phone rang. He pulled out the device and answered the call with a tired, "Suh. Who am I speaking to?"

You watched as his face turned confused. "What?"

 You couldn't hear what he was told, but when his face twisted into disbelief, and then anger, you knew it couldn't be anything good. "Of course. We'll be there as soon as possible," He said, tight-lipped.

 When he hung up, he immediately started the car. He didn't meet your eyes. "Fuck!" He growled, causing you to jump.

 "What?" Your eyes widened at his sudden outburst, barely having time to buckle your seatbelt before he sped away. "John, what happened—"

"Fuck if I know!" He snapped at you, before shaking his head and sighing.

 "There was a fire at the hotel." His tone was softer now. Your stomach sank. "Our rooms were the ones that were most affected."

"You've gotta be kidding," You sighed. He didn't answer, simply kept his eyes on the road.Only when the two of you got there did you realize just how bad the situation was. The fire department was there, hosing down the inside of your room. A crowd had come to watch the firemen work.

"There goes my computer!" You groaned. John kicked the car door.

"Fuck! The x-rays and pictures!" He seemed just about ready to explode.

Your eyes drifted back to the blinding, orange glow of the fire, crossing your arms in frustration, exhaustion.

Suddenly, a tap on your shoulder caused you to turn. You were met face to face with a familiar looking young girl in a bright blue denim jacket. She looked just about on the verge of tears.

 "John," You called, not looking away from her. When he saw the girl, he came up to the two of you.

 He raised a finger at her. "You're Do—"

 "My name is Lia Choi," She declared, voice wobbly, "You have to protect me."

 You quickly ushered Lia into the back of the car. When you closed the door, John raised an eyebrow at you. "She might know something," He murmured.

 "I know," You answered. "She seems terrified."

 He nodded. "You hungry?"

  "Um… yeah, why?"

  "I'm starving," He admitted, gnawing on his lips. "Let's get something to eat and question her there."

 "How the hell are you thinking about food at a time like this?"

He raised an eyebrow, making a face. "What, and you aren't?"

You rolled your eyes, but didn't disagree.

 The car ride took about ten minutes, and you pulled into the small diner with little to no issue. By then, it was a little past midnight, so it was starting to empty out. It had started raining again. You sat next to Lia, as she seemed somewhat more intimidated by John. He paid for some burgers and fries for the three of you, and then Lia finally spoke.

"I… There's something in the woods."

You exchanged glances with John, who rested his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers. "What do you mean, something in the woods, Miss Choi?"

 The young girl shook her head, looking sheepish. "Please, just call me Lia," She said.

 Taking a deep breath, you flashed him a look that said let me try. "Lia, do you know that there's something in the woods, or is it just a feeling?"

 She stared at the table, looking for words. "I've never actually… seen anything. Not really. But I… I have these dreams. They're not like normal dreams, I-I have no idea how to explain it, but they just feel so… wrong. It's like my body's vibrating the entire time, a-and when I wake up, I'm there. In the woods. Every time. They—they've started happening more and more, and I don't know what to do, I-I'm just so—"

 "Woah, slow down there, kid," John said, holding up his hands. She'd started rambling, and it didn't take a genius to say that she was on the verge of tears. His dark eyes looked gentle, sympathetic. "Deep breath, Lia."

She let her eyes close, breathing slowly. "I'm sorry," She mumbled. "I just don't know what to do anymore."

Looking at John again, you spoke up. "We understand," You answered softly, "Can we ask you some more questions?"

 As she nodded, the one waitress working the place, who looked one strong gust of wind from falling over, set down your three plates. Sticking a fry into your mouth once the waitress left, you met eyes with the young girl.

"You said, 'I've never seen anything, not really.' What do you mean by that?"

Lia poked at her fries, not seeming that interested in the food. She pursed her lips, before sighing. "I… We saw something, once. I think. My friends were all out there—celebrating graduation. It was… maybe 11:30? I-I can't really remember. But we saw a bright light, and then this huge thing flew over us. When it was gone… Kaya checked her watch. It couldn't have been more than ten seconds after, but her watch said it was almost 2 AM, and then Chenle checked his watch, and so did Jisung, and… they all said the same thing.

"I didn't think much of it. I tried not to. I thought we just missed the time going by, somehow. But then Nancy and Chenle got into the crash, and then Kaya turned up dead in the woods… Then Jisung, and now Alex…" She shook her head, blinking back tears. "It can't all be a coincidence."

"How old were you when that happened, Lia?"

 "I was 17. I'm turning 21 in June."

John stared at her for a long time. "...And why did you decide to call me when you heard about Nancy's death?"

Oh?

You raised an eyebrow to look at Lia, who looked down. "They called my dad about it, and I know that Nancy's death has to do with whatever's in the woods. M-my dad, he… He keeps telling me he can keep me safe. But I don't think he can."

"So you called us?"

She nodded, not looking up at either of you. John and you exchanged a glance.

"Lia," You asked lowly, "Do you think your father—"

Your words died when blood began to spew from the girl's nose, your eyes widening and John's expression growing alarmed. He reached for the napkins, handing them to you to hand her quickly. Her eyes shut and her brow furrowed, obviously distressed. John pursed his lips.

  "Does this normally h—"

 "Lia Choi."

The three of you turned your heads to see Aaron Choi and the police chief standing next to each other, glaring at you and John.

Dr. Choi walked over to Lia, handing her another napkin. "Sweetheart, come on, let's go home."

John narrowed his eyes. "I don't think she wants to leave."

"I don't give a shit about what you think," The man snapped. He turned back to Lia, "Let's go home. You'll be safe there. Remember, I said that Chief Zhong and I would keep you safe—"

You exchanged a glance with John. You could see the gears turning in his head. Skywalker moment. "You’re Chenle Zhong's father?"

The chief scowled at him. "You stay away from my boy. He has no business in any of this."

Dr. Choi managed to pull away, with minimal protest from Lia. She managed to give the two of you one last apologetic glance before being pushed out the front door by your father.

"You gotta love this place," John grumbled, reaching for Lia's plate, "Every day's like Halloween."

"They know." You were sure of it. "Choi's been hiding evidence from those medical reports, and Zhong might just have enough authority around here to get access to our rooms to set them on fire."

"Why would they want to destroy evidence?" John asked, but it wasn't really a question. It sounded more like a parent trying to get their child to figure out something obvious on a math problem. "What could they possibly want with that corpse?"

You looked down at the table, heart pounding suddenly. When you met his eyes again, they were burning with curiosity and determination.

"Makes you wonder what's in those other two graves, huh?"

PINEWOOD MEMORIAL CEMETERY, PINEWOOD, OREGON—01:26 hours, Thursday, March 19th, 1992

Getting into the cemetery was easy. Finding the graves, with only your flashlights in the pouring rain, was a lot harder. You pored over different headstones for almost forty minutes, until John called your name.

"Did you find them?" You asked, turning to him. He was scowling down at the headstones. You didn't understand why… until you looked down to see the dirt piled up, and the two holes in the ground.

"Empty," He groaned.

"What is going on here?" You cried. John stared at the hole in the ground, before a look of epiphany dawned on his face. He turned to you, slowly.

"I think I know who did it."

You looked to the sides in thought. "Who? The chief?"

John shook his head, mouth tipping open. You leaned forward, hoping to hear his words better over the rain.

He chewed nervously on his bottom lip. "The chief's son."

When the words registered, you leaned away. All the fight in you seemed to deflate, and your face twisted into a confused mess.

"What?"

He nodded, and you raised your eyebrows. "Chenle Zhong? The boy in the hospital. The boy who's been in a goddamn coma since 1989. That Chenle Zhong? He somehow got here, dug up these graves, and is somehow responsible for the murders of four different kids?"

John's eyes fell shut, and he took a deep breath. "Nancy Goldstein was wheelchair bound but ran in front of a car, it's not entirely impossible. All of this fits a profile of alien abduction. She was killed around 9—the same time we lost time in the car."

"A profile." You crossed your arms, trying to stop the shivering racking your body. March showers in the Pacific Northwest—you wouldn’t be surprised if all of this was just a delusion induced by hypothermia.

"Look, something happened during those 10 minutes," He insisted, "Time, as we know it, stopped, and it has something to do with the forest."

You shook your head in disbelief, unable to hold back your shocked sigh. All you could do was stare, watching as John's expression hardened.

"You think I'm crazy," He murmured defeatedly, "Just like everyone else does."

He turned on his heel, starting to walk away, when a soft scoff caused him to turn back. "What?"

You wore a smile of disbelief. "The hands of Nancy Goldstein's watch stopped at 9:02," You admitted, looking up at the sky before meeting his gaze. "I made a mental note of it because of how insane the coincidence was. But…"

"The forest is controlling the kids," John said with a nod. He sounded more hopeful now, as he took a step closer. "It summons them here!"

"A-and the marks are…"

"The remainders of some sort of experiment. They put that weird chemical into the bodies—"

"Which leads to genetic mutations, like the one we saw in Alex Gallagher’s body!"

John nodded, a hopeful grin spreading across his features, the rain causing his hair to fall into his eyes. "And the woods summoned Nancy Goldstein here tonight, but the one who brought her was—"

"Chenle Zhong," You gasped. Meeting eyes with John, the two of you exchanged surprised, awed, slack jawed smiles, before promptly bursting into giggles at how silly it all sounded, the sheer absurdity of it all. Like the plot of some crappy Fox TV show.

"This—Johnny, this is insane!"

"That’s just how all the x-files work!" He exclaimed between laughter, "This isn't even half of it!"

That did it for you. The idea that there had to be something even stranger, something that paled in comparison to this. You had to reach out for his shoulder to stop yourself from falling, bending over and clutching your stomach to the point of tears. John’s laughter never let up either, not until the two of you were panting, out of breath from cackling so hard.

"I can't believe any of this," You sighed, shaking your head once more.

"It doesn't matter. As long as we're on the same page," John said with a shrug, "It'll make things a whole lot easier. Now, let's get back to the car—"

A high pitched scream filled the air, and the two of you locked eyes before darting in its direction.

Right into the forest.

Mud squelched beneath your shoes as the two of you ran. It was damn near impossible to see anything with the rain and the darkness of night, the way your flashlights swung back and forth with your running.

Your light reflected onto a piece of black metal, causing the two of you to slow down. John flashed his own light side to side, before landing on the white door of the car, the crest emblazoned on it: PINEWOOD POLICE DEPARTMENT. You sighed at the revelation, turning slightly.

"Shit," He muttered, "Do you think—?"

"John." You took a step to the side, focusing your light onto something on the ground. "Look."

When he turned his head to look at what you were seeing, you heard him inhale sharply.

Dr. Choi's body lay strewn on the muddy ground, blood streaking down his temple. You couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

Another scream pierced the air, the sound distinctly female. You exchanged a brief glance with John, before nodding in the direction the noise came from. "You go! I'll check his vitals."

"Be careful," He warned before darting off. You knelt on the ground, reaching out to feel for a pulse over the carotid artery. You let your eyes fall shut in relief when you found one a few seconds later. All you needed to do now was assess his injury.

But they snapped open when the mud squelched behind you, and when you turned your head, you saw a flash of black and beige. A loud thwack! cracked against the side of your head, and you fell to the ground, vision turning dark.

When you came to, you weren't sure how much time had passed, but it couldn't have been too long. It was still dark, and while the rain had calmed, it wasn't over yet. Sluggishly,  you reached for the flashlight, and struggled to stand.

Stumbling, you tried to surmise where the noise was coming from, but the world felt like it was spinning. You were confused, disoriented, that the sudden brightness knocked you on your ass, quite literally.

Brightness?

White, seemingly industrial light lit up the forest so suddenly that you reeled back in surprise, falling into the mud. You blinked dazedly. If this were a Loony Tunes short, there would be little Tweety birds flying around your head right about now.

Still, you knew you needed to get up. So you did, still stumbling as if someone had spun you around to hit a piñata, and carried forward. The shouting had stopped now.

In the distance, where the light was the brightest, you could hear the shouting. One of the voices was distinctly John's, but as you got closer, it stopped.

And by the time you got into the clearing? The light disappeared, and so did the rain. Gone at the same time.

There were three men standing in the clearing, seemingly in a triangle. John's back was turned to you. In front of him? Someone was lying on the floor (had you not been so dizzy, you would have recognized her as Lia), and…

"Chenle?" The police chief asked, voice shaking. Your eyes turned to the young man, whose dark eyes were wide in confusion and fear. He was barefoot, clad only in a pair of gray sweatpants.

"...Dad?" He asked as Chief Zhong walked to him, before crushing the young man in a hug.

"J-John?" Your voice was small. The man in question turned to you, eyes widening at your state. He stepped towards you, face full of concern. When you buckled, he gripped you by your forearms.

"Y/N, are you alright?"

"Th-there was a light," You murmured, "It was so…"

He nodded, smiling sympathetically. "I know," He said, "But I think you have a concussion."

"Uh…" You stared at him blearily. "...You're really strong."

He held back a snicker. "Am I now?"

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—10:04 hours, Wednesday, March 25th, 1992

After a stop to the emergency room, a minor concussion diagnosis, a flight home, a few days of bed rest and finally that bubble bath (sans the wine, unfortunately), you were finally allowed to present your findings to your superiors, in the report you'd written in the past few days (you were advised to rest over the weekend, and you did just that and wrote the report all Tuesday).

You marched into that office, John already sitting in one of the two seats in front of the desk. He didn't speak while you presented your findings. Again, Chief Brooks was accompanied by the same two men.

"And what of the boy?" Division Chief Brooks asked, "Chenle… Zhang, you said?"

"Zhong," You and John corrected in unison, exchanging a sheepish glance when you both realized what happened.

"He's in custody. So are his father and Doctor Aaron Choi. He claims to not have remembered anything."

"I understand you and Chief Zhong had an exchange in the woods?" The older man asked, staring at John.

He nodded. "Yes, sir. I asked him what the need was to take the Chois to the woods, he seemed desperate—said that if it got his son back, then he'd do it."

"So, what, are we to believe all of this—the abductions and the mutations and the mind control without any concrete evidence?" The second officer asked.

"There was an x-ray of Chenle’s that revealed a small piece of metal lodged in his nose, just like Agent L/N's report mentioned with—"

"The Gallagher boy's implant, yes. But that could be anything, Agent Suh. It hasn't been surgically removed so we can't verify what it is."

John clenched his jaw. "But—"

"Agent Suh, with no evidence of the implant existing we simply cannot continue to waste bureau resources," The chief explained, "The fact of the matter is the original implant, as well as your other evidence, was destroyed in that fire and—"

"What if it wasn't, though?" You asked.

It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room. All four men's eyes snapped up to look at you. John’s eyes were wide in shock.

You met eyes with him briefly as you reached into your blazer pocket, placing the small vial holding the implant onto the table.

"None of the tests I ran on the implant were able to reveal what kind of metal it is," You sighed, "It all came back as inconclusive."

"I—" For the first time, the third agent spoke for the first time. "How did you manage to salvage it?"

Tilting your head back and forth, you tried to sound professional. "I kept it… on my person at all times after I extracted it. I felt it was too important to lose."

The three men exchanged a silent conversation with their eyes. You looked at John, whose expression towards you had shifted from shock to awe. You offered him a sly smile.

"Well, then." Division Chief Brooks sounded frustrated—like a father allowing his children ice cream after being worn down by them. "Considering this… new piece of evidence, I—I suppose I could authorize the continuation of the project."

You breathed a sigh of relief. John’s shoulders sagged.

"However, Agent L/N, I will expect your reports on every single one of these cases within three days of them being closed, unless medically justified. Failure to do so will result in the termination of the project."

"Understood, sir," You said.

The third man lit a cigarette, before pointing to the vial on the table. "That implant will be kept with us, it's evidence now. Any and all evidence will be handed over to us," He ordered, taking a drag.

You nodded, but something told you John wouldn't approve. He didn't say anything, but you knew he'd have something to say sooner or later.

"You're both dismissed," Division Chief Brooks told you both.

Once you were out of the office and out of earshot, John stopped in the middle of the hallway. He put his hands on his hips and stared at you.

"I—That was… Wow. Y/N, how did you even do that?"

"Honestly?" You bit back a grin before lowering your voice. "...I hid it in my sports bra."

He broke out into a shocked smile. "In your—amazing. Y/N, you’re a genius."

"Am I now?" You asked, raising your eyebrows. You started down the hallway again, and he followed. "Thank you," He mumbled.

With a wave of your hand, you shook your head. "I'm just doing my job, y’know? Plus, I enjoyed working with you, John. I think we make a... decent team."

He looked down at his feet, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Well," He said, "If we are going to keep working together, can I ask you to do something?"

"Sure," You replied. By now, you were headed down the basement steps.

"Just… call me Johnny. John feels too… formal."

"Johnny," You sounded the name out, before smiling. "Yeah, it suits you better."

X-FILE 144-A: THE BELDAM'S GLENN BLOOD RITUALS

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE EVERETT TURNPIKE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—07:32 hours, Thursday, February 11th, 1993

"Brief me again on this case?" Johnny sighed as he drove ahead, "I was too tired when you explained on the flight here."

You nodded, rubbing your eyes and putting on your glasses. Outside, rain hit the roof of the car, and the sky was that bluish gray tinge of an early morning drizzle. That, paired with the soft guitar from the radio along with Robert Smith's voice made for gentle ambience.

I don't care if Monday's blue

Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love...

 Pulling out the folder from your bag. Truth be told, you were tired too—you'd been called just before 3 in the morning by someone at the bureau telling you you'd been assigned to work a murder case in Beldam's Glenn, New Hampshire. A fairly small town, less than 10,000 people.

You'd had an hour to pack some clothes, then take a taxi to the bureau to grab some things from the office and pick up the file briefing the incident. Then, just before four you arrived at Reagan International, where you met a seemingly bedraggled Johnny. His suit was a bit wrinkly and there were dark circles rimming his eyes.

By now, you'd been working with Johnny for almost a year. You'd learned in that time that he did not enjoy waking up before 5 AM. 

"Good morning," You'd greeted, and he shook his head.

"It's not morning yet, and it certainly isn't gonna be a good one," He'd grumbled in response. 

"Okay, Oscar the Grouch." 

Now, in the car, flicking through the folder, you read out loud the information. A fifteen year old boy identified as Mark Lee had been found dead in the woods, near an area rumored to be where satanic cults practiced blood magic. His eyes and heart missing, torn clean out.

"...Ouch," Johnny muttered, stifling a yawn.

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Ouch."

"Any witnesses or anything?" 

"No," You mumbled, reading over more details. One in particular caught in your eye. "Huh… Additionally, animal tracks in the form of hooves, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, were found leading to Lee’s body."

Johnny tilted his head. "Hooves?"

You hummed in confirmation.

He raised his eyebrows, facing you for a second before turning his attention back to the road. His eyes were wide. Somehow, you already knew what he was going to say. "Do you think there's a small possibility—"

"No." 

Johnny huffed. "Oh, come on! Y/N, humans are innately spiritual beings. Is it so crazy to think that just maybe a creature akin to a demon could exist?"

"I don't know, Johnny. Maybe there is. But I think now that the middle ages are over and we have more logical explanations for things like this, we shouldn't immediately jump to conclusions."

For a long time, he didn’t speak. Another thing you learned during your time with Johnny was that while it was relatively easy to smother his wild conclusions during calmer discussions, it was damn near impossible to get him to let go of them completely. You knew he'd mention it again later, but for now, you were content to just drive like this with him. You were… comfortable with Johnny. 

He had a sort of dry wit that, paired with his suave persona, made him incredibly charismatic. Once you got to know him better, it surprised you that no one around your department of the bureau really liked him.

Dressed up to the eyes

It's a wonderful surprise

To see your shoes and your spirits rise...

He shrugged. "Maybe you're right. Look, there are the cop cars."

Johnny pulled over on the side of the road, one man holding an umbrella seemingly waiting for you both. You looked at the man in the driver's seat, and he nodded toward the back seat. "There's an umbrella in the back."

"Thanks," You said, grabbing the thing. You both stepped out of the car, tugging the vinyl umbrella open. You did a once over of the officer—sheriff, actually, once you saw the badge on his chest. Johnny stood behind you and grabbed the small umbrella from you, so that he could fit under it.

"You're the FBI guys?" The sheriff asked. The two of you pulled out your badges, presenting yourselves. He offered a smile, but it was obvious the middle-aged man was shaken up.

"My name is Bill McNamara," He said, beginning to walk towards the trees. The two of you followed. "Thank you for coming on such short notice." 

He led you to a spot crowded by a few more officers scattered across the space, a white sheet hiding the body, a few feet away from a large, mossy cracked tree stump, so wide it was probably older than 100 years when it fell.

"Is this Mark Lee?" Johnny asked, and Sheriff McNamara nodded. Another officer peeled the sheet back. The poor boy was, in fact, missing his eyes, and there was a large hole in his chest. Even after several years as an MD and an FBI agent, corpses still filled you with dread.

Johnny, in his proximity from behind, nudged you slightly and pointed to the ground next to the boy. 

"So," You said, turning your attention back to the officer once you noticed the hoof tracks, "Have there been any reports of missing animals in the area? Cows, sheep?"

"...Goats?" Johnny added. You nodded stiffly. Sheriff McNamara shook his head. When he spoke, he seemed resolute.

"They say this area is popular for blood rituals, witch's magic. Now, these rumors have been around for years—since I was a kid, actually."

"Any basis to those rumors?" You asked. The Sheriff gave you a look. 

"Agent L/N, just look at the body!"

"Lots of homicides involve victim desecration," You pointed out, "Is there anything else that might point to that?"

The sheriff put his free hand on his hip. "I know he and his friends listen to that disgusting devil's music."

"I didn't like Madonna's latest album either, but I don’t think it's bad enough to call it that," Johnny mumbled sarcastically. You gave him a subtle elbow in the ribs, flashing him a dirty look. The sheriff didn't seem to notice his banter.

"No, I'm talking about that heavy metal stuff. It takes root in our children, poisoning their minds."

He led you over towards the tree stump. Johnny took a more serious approach. "Have Mark Lee or any of his friends ever been spotted at any of these supposed rituals?"

"More rumors," You muttered. The sheriff shook his head, stopping in front of the stump. 

"Not that I know of," He said, before gesturing at the stump, "This is allegedly their altar. What do you think?"

Johnny's seriousness seemed to only last in short bursts, because he fired back with, "Honestly? With a few rounds of sandpaper and some cans of shellac, it'd make a pretty nice coffee table."

The sheriff replied, "Oh… Uh… Well, from the looks of this wax on it, it was probably being used when he died."

You rolled your eyes, turning your head to the side in embarrassment. But then a flash of white, and translucent pale yellow on the ground caught your eyes.

"Do you know if Lee was out here with anyone?" Johnny asked, not saying anything as you stepped out from under the umbrella. You heard the sheriff say, "We presume he was alone."

"You sure?" You asked, picking up the library card, and the piece of wet paper. "This Franklin Pierce High library card belongs to… Haechan Lee. And the paper here is torn at the stamp so that it doesn't say which library it's from, but it's safe to say that it's from there. The title at the top is torn, too, but it says '...In America'."

You stepped back under the umbrella, raising an eyebrow as you handed them to him. "I'm surprised your people missed this."

The sheriff balked, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I'm sorry, Agent L/N," He murmured, "I'll admit, we're all a bit… shaken up here. This isn't something that we've ever dealt with, which is why I called the FBI. I'll have my men escort you to Franklin Pierce. That kid, Donghyuck Lee… He's Mark’s best friend. He's most likely there."

The sheriff stalked off, and you raised an eyebrow at Johnny before lowering your voice. "Better hide your Metallica albums… I could barely take him seriously."

He shrugged. "Well, the body's clearly displayed in a ceremonial manner. Plus, those goat tracks are highly unusual, Y/N." 

"I was under the impression he made you skeptical once he started speaking," You hummed, crossing your arms. He shook his head.

"I didn't wanna feed his imagination. Poor guy's clearly overwhelmed."

"I think he fed your imagination, Johnny. This is nothing but some murderer taking advantage of local folklore. I mean, there's nothing that odd about—"

The sound of slapping and bouncing against the vinyl of the umbrella caused you to jump back, crashing into Johnny's chest. Your shoulders tensed up as Johnny dropped the umbrella and let out a startled, "What the—"

You caught the umbrella as it fell from his hands, but it was too late for him. Something large, wet and brownish green hit him in the forehead before landing on the ground and flopping away. 

Your mouth dropped open and you met Johnny's equally shocked expression as you both registered the multitude of toads raining down on you. 

A few seconds later and it stopped, but now the ground was covered in toads, now jumping away in different directions. Neither you nor Johnny spoke for a good fifteen seconds, until he wiped his forehead free of… mucus. Your shoulders dropped slowly when he finally spoke.

"So… wanna get coffee before we head over to the school?"

Your face dropped from confusion to disbelief. "Johnny, toads just fell from the sky."

"Yeah, but I still want coffee."

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—09:04 hours, Thursday February 11th, 1993

Coffee on the table, you sat at a desk situated in the school office. Your laptop, the case file and a copy of today's newspaper were laying on top of it. A few feet away from you, the school psychologist and the secretary you'd borrowed the desk from were speaking to each other. You paid them no mind, looking over the file as you typed up your preliminary report.

You continued typing until the door opened, Johnny stomping in tugging a scrawny looking teenage boy—who was most likely Haechan Lee—by the upper arm. Two girls followed meekly behind, as well as a middle-aged woman, who you assumed was a teacher. All three of the kids seemed to be on the verge of tears. You raised an eyebrow at the sight. Johnny looked pissed off, and he asked the psychologist in a clipped tone, "Hey, Doyoung, could Agent L/N and I use your office to talk to the kids?"

Doyoung looked at the boy in Johnny's grip, then at the secretary, then you, before he nodded. Johnny opened the door and made a motion for the kids to go inside. "Sit down at that table. Don't speak unless spoken to," He ordered, tone stern. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek at his voice as you stood. What had gotten into him?

You pulled him away from the doorway, lowering your voice. "You good?"

Johnny sent the boy a glare before sighing. "Kid tried jumping out the window in front of the entire class to escape. I'll calm down. Just pisses me off that he thought something that stupid would work."

You bit back a smile, patting him on the shoulder. "Pull it together, Suh. He can't get away like this."

Johnny nodded, looking down at you warmly. "Ooh, last name. I'm in trouble."

"Shut up," You huffed, only half-joking. You were about to turn when you remembered something you'd read from the cover of the newspaper.

"By the way," You murmured, "National Weather Service reported tornadoes in northern Massachusetts early this morning. The toads probably got picked up from the winds."

Johnny sighed, before walking into the psychologist's office.

He turned to the woman. "Mrs. Walker, we'll take it from here, go on back to the other kids in your class."

"Are you sure?" She asked, pushing a black, stray hair back into her tight bun. Johnny nodded.

"The one day I'm called in to sub and all of this happens," She muttered to herself. 

You spared a glance at the middle-aged woman, giving her a polite smile. She did the same, and you followed behind Johnny, pulling out your tape recorder from your pocket and closing the door behind you. 

Johnny crossed his arms and leaned against the door, you standing in front of the table and setting the tape recorder on the table. 

"This is going to be recorded," You told them. None of them protested, so you hit the record button.

"So, let's get this out of the way," Johnny began, "None of you are under arrest. We just want to ask you some questions. First, I want you to state your names for the record. Understood?" 

They all nodded, and they introduced themselves: the dark haired, tan boy was in fact Donghyuck Lee, the shorter curly haired girl was named Amy Espinoza, and the taller redheaded girl was named Phoebe Howard. 

The questions were basic and thus, so were the answers. Donghyuck and Mark were childhood best friends, but not related. Mark introduced Amy to him with Phoebe's help. Donghyuck took the book Witch Hunt: A History of The Occult in America out because he and Mark wanted to make the whole thing seem legit. When asked why they really wanted to go out there, Donghyuck looked down. He held his hands together between his thighs.

"We wanted to… you know."

"We really don't," You said, raising an eyebrow. He looked like he wanted to sink into the earth then and there.

"Mark and I had a bet that whoever got past second base with the girlsfirst  would do the other's biology homework for the rest of the year."

Amy nudged Phoebe. "Told you," She grumbled quietly. Phoebe glared at her. 

You continued the interrogation. The incantation taken from the book was apparently one meant to summon Azazel. They'd gone out there just before midnight because the book said that was the best time. 

Donghyuck insisted they didn't kill him. "I'll let you search my car and everything, that's how we got there."

"Did you see what happened?"

Phoebe took a shaky breath, before burying her face in her hands. Amy nodded. "...We did. We ran but it had already… gotten to Martin."

You and Johnny exchanged a glance. "It?" You asked. 

Donghyuck nodded. "Lady, you're gonna think we're bullshitting you—"

"Language," You and Johnny scolded in unison. Donghyuck at least had the audacity to look embarrassed. 

"We got out there," Amy continued, "Martin lit a candle on the stump and did the incantation. The wind… changed. It suddenly got a lot colder and we started hearing… I don't even know."

"It sounded like, I guess what you would call speaking in tongues," Donghyuck said. "And then suddenly, there was this thing a few feet away from us. Maybe over six feet tall, and at first I thought it was a goat, but… it wasn't."

"What did it look like?"

Phoebe cried even harder, and the other two exchanged a weary glance. "It had… glowing orange eyes, and long dark hair." Amy shuddered. "It looked like it had goat legs, but a human torso. It was like…"

"It had a… a woman’s chest," Donghyuck mumbled. Your eyes landed on Phoebe, who seemed to be extremely upset. You exchanged a glance with Johnny. He seemed to understand what you were saying, and nodded wordlessly.

"Phoebe, are you alright?" You asked, feeling that something was up. She was shaking like a leaf. With a sigh, you turned the recorder off, and pointed at Amy and Donghyuck. "Both of you, wait outside on that chair. Don't move."

The two of them left, and you nodded at Johnny to sit next to you. 

"Phoebe," Johnny said softly, "Is there something going on that the other two don't know?"

She wiped her eyes, lip wobbling. You put a hand on his shoulder, taking over. "No, there isn't," She mumbled, "I'm just… this whole thing's freaked me out."

Johnny raised an eyebrow, and you sighed. She didn't sound very convincing. Something wasn't right here. Still, you knew it would be hard to get anything out of her when she was so upset.

"Alright. You—you're free to go." You took a deep breath, hesitating before you spoke again. 

"...But if you do want to tell us anything, you can come to us and we can—we'll speak off the record, if it makes you feel better."

Johnny frowned. "I think maybe—"

You flashed him a strong glare, cutting him off, before turning back to Phoebe. She sniffled, eyes darting between the two of you. When she settled on you, she allowed herself to relax a little bit more than when she'd been looking at Johnny. She nodded wordlessly, fiddling with a silver charm bracelet on her left wrist, and you gestured towards the door. "Go wash your face, drink some water. Tell your friends they're free to go. 'Kay?"

She gave a small smile at your gentler tone. Once she was gone, Johnny was on you. "We could have pressed her further. Why did you even offer to go off the record if we haven't ruled her off as a suspect, that's breaking bureau protocol—" 

"We'll talk about this later," You answered as you stood. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the three teenagers leave.

He lowered his voice as you opened the door. "Y/N, I can't believe—"

"You're letting them go?" The secretary—Beatrice, you believed was her name—asked, glaring at you. Her coiffed blonde bob bounced as she shook her head disapprovingly. Immediately, Johnny straightened. 

"There's not enough evidence to keep them here," He said, "Besides, they're minors. It's always tricky with them."

"It's so obvious that they did it." Doyoung crossed his arms, "They've clearly been influenced by all that stuff on MTV."

You sighed. "The FBI recently concluded a years long study researching any correlation between homicides and media consumption and found that it only occurs in 0.01% of cases. If there were any it would mean thousands of people murdering tens of thousands of other people. It'd be the biggest conspiracy in human history."

Doyoung scoffed, giving you a mocking glance. "Yeah, and J. Edgar Hoover never admitted the existence of the mafia. Really trustworthy source, the FBI."

Johnny barely contained his scoff. He glowered at Doyoung as he gently pushed your upper back towards the door. 

"Our investigation is ongoing."

ROSE GARDEN HOTEL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—19:57 hours, Thursday, February 11th, 1993

Johnny's door opened to a sight of you, no makeup, in sweatpants and hair tied up. You took in his appearance. He had on a similar pair of sweatpants, and a white t-shirt. His hair was pushed back, and he was wearing his reading glasses. 

"What's up?" He asked, letting you in. 

"I found something," You murmured, holding up your laptop as he closed the door. You sat at the foot of the bed, and he sat next to you. You opened the laptop, green text flashing onto the screen. His shoulder brushed yours due to the proximity. 

"'The grisly discovery of a young boy's mutilated body in the woods in the early morning has local law enforcement worried about the organization of conspiratorial dark forces.'"

He nodded. "Okay, is that from this morning's newspaper?"

You didn't answer, but rather read another quote from the article. "'The Jew is known to sacrifice teenagers and remove their organs during their religious rituals.' This is from a Nazi newspaper, from 1934. I found another similar case from 1967, where they pinned it on LSD users. The details are always the same, they just fill in the blanks with whoever was being persecuted at the time."

Johnny met your eyes. "And this time, it's occultists."

"Maybe this is some hidden organization, but I'm not sure. But something's just… not right. I have a bad feeling." 

"Something to do with that girl?"

You nodded. "Is there anything you picked up? Something I might not have noticed?"

He chewed on his lip. "Now that you mention it, I did notice something a few minutes ago, but it doesn't have to do with her. Come on."

He stood, and you set the laptop down on the bed before following him to the bathroom door, where he flicked the light on.

"So, we're in the northern hemisphere." He marched to the sink, leaning over it.

You leaned against the doorframe. "Last time I checked, yes."

He pressed the plug into the sink drain, before turning on the faucet. "The Coriolis Effect dictates that due to the Earth's rotation, water should swirl clockwise, right?"

You nodded, having an idea of where this is going. He motioned for you to come closer. He turned off the faucet. By now, some water had filled the sink just enough. He removed the plug, and you watched as the water went down, whirlpool swirling counterclockwise. 

"Johnny—"

"Something is here, Y/N. It's strong enough to affect this, then who knows—"

"Johnny, the Coriolis Effect works on storms and large bodies of water. Sinks and bathtubs usually don't fall under—"

He groaned, tipping his head back. "Of course," He grumbled, "It's been like this since day one."

You squeezed your eyes shut in frustration. Yes, in your time working with Johnny, you'd seen some truly unexplainable things. A pyromaniac that could light things on fire with his mind, a prehistoric parasite that turned its host violent, a serial killer that entered houses by squeezing his body through impossibly small spaces like an octopus. 

But still, you always had your doubts. "Johnny, once cases are over and we have our explanations, and I've seen things for myself, have I ever not believed you—"

"You don't trust me during these cases, Y/N, that's what matters! It's always been like this, I'm always right, but you never believe me, you go off and write your little notes about me like I'm some field experiment—"

You frowned and crossed your arms. "Johnny—"

"Have I ever gotten anything wrong? 90% of the time, my conclusions are the correct ones—"

"We come to those conclusions together! Don't start taking credit for them now."

"Oh, so you believe it only when your name is also on the report, huh?"

"Don't twist my words, Johnny. You know what I mean. I believe my conclusions first, and then I listen to yours and based on circumstantial evidence and once I discard all logical scientific explanations, then I turn to the extraordinary. I don't jump to conclusions like you do!"

"Why can't you be a good friend for once and fucking listen to me—"

"Because I'm not your friend, Johnny! I'm your fucking coworker!"

The silence that filled the room once you were done was deafening. It was only then that you realized how loud you'd gotten. The shocked disappointment in Johnny's eyes seemed to be even louder, though. 

Immediately, you realized your mistake. Yes, you'd grown close to him, but that was necessary for working well on these assignments. Keeping your work life and your personal life separate was paramount for you. Evidently, Johnny didn't feel the same, and as a result, you'd hurt him.

For a long time, no one said anything. Simply staring at each other, small space ripe with tension. Your eyes softened when he looked away from you, leaning his back against the counter. You took a step closer, until he was right in front of you.

"Johnny, I—"

"Can you get out, please?"

You stared at him for a few moments, trying to think of something to say. 

Ultimately, you didn't. You took a deep sigh, and grabbed your laptop on the way out.

Being an FBI meant you had little to no personal time, working pretty much 7 days a week and being on call for anything at any time, in any part of the country. You knew that when you started your training.

You'd entered with a statement and left with a question. Could you really call Johnny a friend? You really only saw him during work. You didn’t meet outside of it—but considering how much you worked, always on call and spending nights holed up with him in hotel rooms or in your office going over evidence of different cases, at what point did you start spending more time at work than at your day to day life?

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—10:11 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

You were looking between the notes you’d scribbled down on a small notepad using a pen you’d stolen from Johnny the day before. It was while you were transferring them to the report on your computer that you jumped in your seat when the office door burst open. Mrs. Walker guided a sniffling Phoebe Howard into the room. Johnny, who had been speaking to Doyoung to ask him about other students, turned his head. 

Doyoung held up a hand, to which Johnny nodded, and the shorter man walked over to the two of them. "Phoebe, are you alright?"

She shook her head, breaking into tears again, unable to speak. Doyoung turned to Mrs. Walker, who simply patted her head. "Lab project," She murmured, "They had to dissect pig embryos. She just… broke down. I've seen it happen before. Some kids are just more sensitive than others."

"No, no, it's not that," Phoebe blubbered, "Can I…"

Despite everything that had happened last night, when you looked at Johnny, you saw he'd done the same. A tense, knowing stare was shared between the two of you, and then Phoebe spoke.

"Can I speak to Agent L/N please?"

Your head snapped to her when she said your name. You stood, and nodded.

You lead her out the door while ignoring Doyoung’s frown and Mrs. Walker's confused look. Johnny followed behind at a distance. 

The three of you went out the door, to the outdoor lunch tables. You had Phoebe sit down, Johnny and you remained standing. 

"What is it you wanted to talk about, Phoebe?" You said gently.

She took a shaky breath, rubbing her hands together. "So… Do you know who my stepdad is?"

Thinking back to when you'd made a basic profile on the three kids yesterday afternoon, you nodded. "He's the gym coach here, right? Grant Howard?"

She nodded. "So… he married my mom when I was 6. And he adopted me when I was 8. One year after that my mom got a new job, a-and she started travelling a lot, y'know? So I was alone with him a lot more. I-I don't know when it started, but…"

The sinking feeling in your chest grew as she started to cry again.

"S-sometimes when she wasn't here, h-he would invite people over. They'd come i-in with these red cloaks and they—would bring small animals. Kittens a-and puppies, birds sometimes… They would take me down to the basement, to a room where the walls are painted red and there's this dirt floor, and they would—they would stand in a circle and sing and they would give m-me knives, o-or screwdrivers and…"

You sat down next to her, rubbing her shoulder as she let out a gut-wrenching cry. Looking at Johnny, the hand that wasn't in his trench coat pocket was balled into a fist. He was looking down, eyebrows furrowed.

"I didn't want to!" She wailed, "They would hurt me if I didn't, they said they would hurt my mom if I said anything! I had to be the one to kill the animals and then they w-would drink the blood—I don't know how I blocked it out or why I never remembered it until Mrs. Walker put the—the pig on the table, and I… I… I just…"

"It's okay, honey," You murmured, nodding. She buried her head into your shoulder, sobbing freely, and you rubbed her back to soothe her. 

Again, you looked at Johnny, who didn't look at you. You realized just how difficult it would be to keep this off the record—this was something that involved a child being abused, you couldn’t let her go home to a dangerous situation. 

This just got a whole lot more complicated. 

HOWARD RESIDENCE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—15:49 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

Phoebe was to remain at school. Donghyuck and Amy would pick her up, and she would spend the night with Amy. She wouldn't be going home until the situation was thoroughly investigated. She'd been left with Doyoung, who would speak to her as a mandated reporter, and would later go back to attempt to finish the project. You left her your number in case she needed to speak to you again. 

You'd spoken to Mrs. Walker as her final class was out, just before you and Johnny left. The lab was spacious. A large python lay sleeping in a glass case in the corner of the room. The space was ripe with the smell of blood, which didn't surprise you, given the amount of pig embryos she was having her students dissect all day long.

The woman had a soft voice, and seemed very sympathetic to Phoebe's struggle. "I absolutely understand, I might have her do something else for her grade, but I'm afraid I might not be able to find any other activity on such short notice."

You nodded, sighing. "Of course. Thank you for considering, regardless." 

Your eyes fell to her desk, where a small basket of random items glinted with a small charm bracelet, the same bracelet you'd seen on—

"Ah, the students usually ask me to hold onto their things when we get messy like this," She said with a smile when she noticed where you were looking. "You said you're a doctor, so you understand, right?"

"Oh, yes. I can't really wear anything at all," You said with a soft chuckle.

"Not even a ring? Oh, your husband must be disappointed." 

You felt your face heat up, scratching your neck awkwardly. "I'm not married."

She smiled. “Oh, good for you then. It’s literal hell. And, you get to ogle your partner all day.”

You choked on your spit, coughing awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

She laughed, waving her hands, “Oh, Agent L/N, don’t be so modest. You can’t deny that Agent Suh is an absolute dish. Why, if I were 25 years younger… oh my, the things I would—”

“I really must be going, Mrs. Walker,” You insisted quickly. “I’ll contact you should I have any other questions for you."

“Could I have your phone number, in case anything comes up? I-I’ll admit, this whole situation has frightened me a bit.”

You nodded sympathetically, ignoring how uncomfortable you’d felt a moment ago. Pulling out Johnny's pen and your notepad, and you jotted down your number there.

“Y/N?” A knock sounded, and Johnny popped his head in the door. “We need to go.”

“Yeah, I know,” You replied, tucking the notepad back into your pocket. You bid Mrs. Walker goodbye, and off you went, kitten heels clacking as you went.

As for your time with Johnny? The entire ride there was tense.

“Were you expecting that?” He asked a few minutes into the ride. You raised an eyebrow.

“The secret cult that forced a nine year old girl to murder puppies and kittens?” You answered in a clipped tone, “No, John. I can’t say I was.”

He hummed. "Okay… no tape recorder today?"

"I forgot it. Left it at the hotel."

He nodded, and that was that. 

Her mother and adoptive stepfather were, to say the least, shocked at their daughter's confession. You spoke to the girl's mother in the living room, Johnny spoke to her father. Mrs. Howard, whom Phoebe had insisted had never said anything was beside herself, crying as she spoke to you.

“Mrs. Howard, you’re absolutely sure you’ve never witnessed any violent behavior from your husband?”

She nodded, sniffling. “He’s always treated me and Phoebe very kindly. In front of me, at least.”

You hummed, looking down at the carpeted floor. “You said this is your husband's house, and he’s lived here longer than you have? Have you been in all parts of the house? Is there maybe an area a guest might not know about?”

She looked up at the ceiling in thought. “After hearing what Phoebe told you both, it made me realize that I’d never been in the basement. Grant’s always said that was his woodworking space, and he didn’t want anyone in there.”

With a nod, you looked at her. “Could my partner and I maybe take a look at--” 

A commotion from the kitchen cut you off.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING OF THE SORT! I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE ACCUSING ME OF, SUH!”

You shot up, and so did Mrs. Howard, just in time to see Grant Howard push Johnny into the cabinet. Your training kicked in, and you stepped between the two, holding up your hands to placate the man. 

“Calm down, now,” You growled, dangerously low, “Or I will place you under arrest for assault of an officer.” 

“Grant,” Mrs. Howard called, “Breathe.”

“Leave, both of you! If you want to see my basement, get a damn warrant and you’ll see there’s nothing down there!”

You tugged Johnny away by the wrist, leaving out the front door. “What happened?” 

Johnny shook his head in aggravation. “I asked to see the basement, said that it would clear my suspicions of him. He said he didn’t hurt Phoebe, and I said I didn’t believe him. Then he snapped, grabbed me by the collar and shook me.”

He unlocked the car. “Should we try and get that warrant?”

You got into the passenger seat, shrugging. “I can do it.”

Johnny nodded. “Hopefully we’ll find—”

A ringing from Johnny’s phone caught him off guard. He fished the phone out from his pocket, answering, “Suh.”

“Sheriff, what’s going on?”

You could hear him through the speaker, and you didn't like what you heard. 

"We'll be there right away," Johnny said, face turning serious.

ROOM 471, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—17:37 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

"You're saying she just… had a seizure?"

"I was sitting at the desk, and she was about halfway through the dissection when she just… collapsed on the floor," Mrs. Walker said, voice trembling, "She was shaking and her eyes were rolled up into her head… Agent L/N, it was terrifying."

You sighed and looked at Johnny, who was speaking with the sheriff. When you looked back at Mrs. Walker, she was shaking her head. "I feel a dark force is among us, Agent L/N," She murmured, putting a hand on her chest, "So many horrible things in such a short span of time."

"Agent Suh and I are working hard to solve the case, Mrs. Walker. I promise we're doing our best."

"Y/N," Johnny called, "We gotta go."

You bid the older woman goodbye, and she gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Once you were out the door with Johnny, your voice lowered. "What do you got?"

"Not a lot. The Howards have been notified, but Grant Howard isn't being allowed into her hospital room."

"Who called the police?"

"Clinton."

"Clinton?" 

He shook his head, grimacing to himself. "Shit, sorry. Beatrice Pratt. The secretary." 

You stared at him. "Pratt and Clinton don't sound alike at all."

"Well, yeah, but…" He scratched his head and lowered his voice. "The pantsuit and the bob remind me of the first lady."

You frowned. "I wear pantsuits all the time."

"Yeah, but you don't look like Hillary Clinton."

You sighed. You didn’t have time for this, especially when he was still mad at you. "Okay. Sure, whatever. I talked to Walker. I… I'm not so sure about her."

Johnny tilted his head. "Why not?"

"I don't know. I don't have a lot to go off of, but it seems just a little bit odd that she shows up the morning of Mark Lee's death, replacing a man who apparently hasn't missed a day in a fifteen year career."

"Maybe he had an emergency. Happens to everyone."

"Johnny, he contracted flesh eating bacteria. Does that sound like something that happens to everyone?"

He didn't answer. Obviously, he hadn’t been expecting that. "Ohhh-kay, then. Let's do this. The sheriff said that the warrant should be ready within a few hours. Howard would probably beat my ass if he sees me again, so you check out that basement, and I can do the background check on Walker. Sound good?"

"Actually, I don't think you'll need a warrant."

The two of you turned, stunned, to see Grant Howard standing in front of you both. His eyes were rimmed red and he was clearly restless, shifting his weight onto his legs constantly. 

"Agent L/N, I'll show you the basement."

HOWARD RESIDENCE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—18:09 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

"My entire life," The man said, sounding tired, "I was taught that humans are no better, no worse than animals. Do what thou willst, rather than do unto others." 

He pulled open the basement door, gesturing for you to go first. Immediately, you were on edge. If you had your back turned he could easily push you down the stairs or hit you in the head.

"You go down first," You ordered. He nodded understandingly. "You were saying?""My family has kept this religion for seven generations. My great, great, great, great grandfather was born in 1777, Agent L/N, and he was the one who brought us into it. We've been keeping it alive since, with two other families. It kept us in good health, we had no money problems."

When the two of you got to the bottom of the stairs, he turned the light on and you realized Mrs. Howard had been right, it did look like a normal woodworking space. Until Mr. Howard pulled a rug up from the ground to reveal a hatch, which he pulled up to reveal another set of stairs.

"I was raised to believe that Christianity was synonymous with hypocrisy. And for years, I believed that." He led you down this pair of stairs again, where he lit his flashlight. The room was a bit smaller than the basement but still large enough to keep a large group of people like Phoebe had said. Also identical to her story were the red walls and the dirt floor.

 "Believed?"

"Believed," He confirmed. "I believed until I saw it in my own religion as well, not even an hour ago. When I got to the school to gather my things and was met by the heads of the other 2 families, asking me to pin the murder of Mark Lee on my own daughter. That if she were permanently affected by what just happened, we could get away with all of it. That was when I knew that I was better than an animal. I need to keep Phoebe and Linda safe."

"So one of you did murder Lee," You murmured, trying to get a solid confession. However, he shook his head. "I didn't. The others insist they didn't either." 

"Who did, then?"

He sighed. "Agent L/N, you have to understand, I'm trained in these arts so I know when there’s a difference somewhere. Something is here. Something bad."

 You frowned. "Alright. Did you or did you not abuse your daughter?"

"I never laid a hand on her. The others, however… they wanted to make sure she would stay quiet through fear, and they wouldn't listen to me. We have a ritual that blocks out memories, every time we would perform that ritual when we were done. The plan was to reveal the memories when she turned 18, and then allow her to join or reject the religion. It's a rite of passage."

"Why even use Phoebe in the first place?"

He shook his head. "The magic of an innocent soul is a powerful thing. It's one of the most powerful things we could ever use in our magic. That's also why we used those sacrifices. She was the youngest of all of our children. The others were all past 11 at that age."

With a sigh, you led him up back to the main basement. "Would you be willing to give me a written statement of who the heads of these families are?"

He nodded. "Of course. I just want my daughter and my wife to be safe. They believe that whatever's here wants a sacrifice. That it took Mark Lee as a warning to us, and unless it gets a sacrifice from us…"

"It'll strike again," You finished."And it won't stop." He sounded desperate. You found your notepad, but the pen was nowhere to be found. "Do you have a—"

Your cellphone ringing interrupted you. You groaned quietly, scooping it from your pocket. "Hello?"

"Y/N?" You heard Johnny's voice say. His tone was urgent. There was a faint crackle of static, but as you listened it began to get louder. "I'm at the school. You need to hurry, Y/N, there's something—!"

The static overpowered the sound of his voice, and then the call dropped. "Johnny? Johnny! Hello?"

Your heart dropped, and you tucked the phone and the notepad into your pocket. "I need to go. My partner's in trouble."

"I'll go with you," He offered.

You shook your head. "No. You're under arrest."

"What? But—"

"You just admitted to animal abuse, your complicity in child abuse and conspiracy. If I take you to the school, how do I know you won't take the other two and bolt?" You snapped. "Against that beam, there.

Pulling out some handcuffs, you forced him against the side of the stairs, where you handcuffed him to the railing. "I'll come back for you later," You growled, "Don't move."

Rushing up the stairs, and out the door, into the rain, you ran towards the car. Johnny needed you. 

Your friend needed you.

FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—18:30 hours, February 12th, 1993

You burst into the school, trying to keep calm despite the horrid feeling in your gut. You eyed the office, which was right next to the main entrance. The lights were on, you could see your laptop was on. But the seat was empty, and so was the rest of the office, or so it seemed to be from where you were standing. Taking a deep breath, you pulled out your gun, and entered the office slowly. 

"Hello?" You called, looking into the window of Doyoung’s office. Empty. The principal's office? Empty. Your mouth felt dry. 

Where was Johnny?

"Y/N?"

In a moment your professors at the academy would've been ashamed to see, you shrieked, and turned the gun in the direction the voice came from. But when you realized it was Johnny with a styrofoam coffee cup, whose eyes had gone wide at the sight of the gun pointed at him, you lowered it.

"Don't fucking scare me like that," You muttered as you tucked the gun into its holster. A second later, you raced forward, engulfing him in a hug as you realized that he was okay.

"Y/N? What's… going on?"

You pulled away once it registered what you'd done. "Sorry," You mumbled. "What happened? Where did the thing go?"

"Y/N, what are you talking about?"

You shook your head in confusion. "You called me. You said you were in danger. My heart fell out of my ass, Johnny, what happened?"

Johnny's face contorted at your statement. "Huh? Y/N, I never even touched my phone. I was running the background check on Walker—who, by the way, is pretty much clear in the system. But… I don't know."

Staring at him, you put your hands on your hips. "Johnny, I heard your… never mind. We have to go. Howard confessed."

His eyebrows shot up. "He did it?"

"No, but he admitted to conspiracy and has names. Come on, we have to go."

For the millionth time today, you made your way from the school to the Howard residence, where you found the door was still open. As you opened the door to the basement, you looked at him.

"He's down here."Johnny turned on his flashlight, and you followed him down the steps. The room was eerily quiet, and when Johnny flashed the light at where you said he was, it was empty.You huffed at the sight of the empty handcuffs. How had he slipped out of them?

"Y/N," Johnny said, flashing the light a few feet away, "Look."

You turned to see what he was pointing at. Your eyes widened at the sight of bones, tinged pink with the small chunks of meat still attached to it.

"Do you think it might be some kind of acid?" You asked, and Johnny shook his head.

"There's no sign of a reaction on the floor," He answered, flashing the light around the basement floor. He stopped a few feet away. You felt yourself grow even more confused.

"Is that—?

""Snakeskin," Johnny whispered, "...There's a python in Walker's class."

"B-but, that's not possible," You muttered, "It would take a snake hours to consume a grown man, and weeks to digest it!"

Johnny grabbed your wrist, shaking his head at your rambling. "C'mon, Einstein," He told you, "We gotta go pay Walker a visit."

ROOM 471, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—19:01 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

The school was a lot darker than when it had been when you had been there previously. Seeing the halls, which you'd grown used to being full and lit up, suddenly so dark and empty made you uneasy.

 It was raining a lot harder now. The sound of the rain pelting the roof made it harder to listen for anything. When you got to Walker's room, it was also dark. She said she'd be here until eight grading papers, but the room was empty. There were some broken beakers on one of the lab tables, and when you really strained your ears to listen, the sound of soft yet strained breathing could be heard behind the desk. 

"Mrs. Walker?" You called, slowly walking towards the desk. Johnny tried the light, but to no avail. The rain must have knocked it out.

The woman was on the floor, nose bleeding and leg bent at an angle at which legs weren't meant to bend at all. She seemed to have been hit in the head, a sizable lump protruding from her temple.

"Th-the snake—" She mumbled, "They took the snake—He hit me,"

"Who, Mrs. Walker, who?"

"Kim," She spat out, "Pratt. I think they—think they killed that boy."

Doyoung and Beatrice. You and Johnny exchanged glances, and you remembered what Grant had said.

"Did you see where they went, Mrs. Walker?" Johnny asked. She blinked hazily.

"Said something about the conference room," She muttered.

"We'll call paramedics for you, okay?" You stood, trying to reassure her gently. "You'll be fine."

Johnny had already picked up the phone. Thunder crackled overhead as he dialed the number, but you could hear the busy tone all the way from where you were standing

."Damn storm is jamming the signal," He said, "Y/N, we gotta go, now."

"Johnny, what about—"

"Y/N," He growled, "Now."

Something about his tone set you off, and you did as he said. He immediately shut the door, and sped up his steps down the hall. 

"What was that about?" You asked, turning on your flashlight and trying to keep up with his pace. 

"Y/N, do you have that pen you borrowed from me yesterday?" He asked, not slowing down. Thunder rumbled overhead.

"What?" He had a point, probably. He always did when he got like this. "No, I dropped it I think."

"The pen was on Walker's desk. Next to the phone. Next to Phoebe's bracelet. It was my pen."

You inhaled sharply as Johnny tugged the door to the conference room open. "What are you implying?"

"Walker was clear in the system. But when I was talking to the principal yesterday, she couldn't even remember hiring her. What are the odds that a woman pops up out of nowhere the same day a murder happens?"

You pulled a filing cabinet open, looking through random folders. "Okay, yes, we agree. But what if—"

"Y/N, did you not see how tall she was?"

You shook your head, turning to pull out some papers from a file. "Sure, she's a bit taller than average, but she's shorter than you—"

"She's slouching to look smaller. Trust me, I did that when I was younger. If she stood up straight, she would be taller than me. Donghyuck said the thing that grabbed Mark was tall, had female breasts, and had dark hair. She fits the profile."

You sighed. "I mean, maybe you—"

A thud! and a groan from Johnny had you turning your head. Your flashlight landed on Johnny, on the ground, unconscious. Your body turned cold. 

"Johnny—?"

But then you felt something hit you in the back of the head, and everything went dark. 

Your eyes cracked open at the sensation of being dragged, and as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you realized two things. 

One, you arms and legs were bound, and there was a gag placed in your mouth. You craned your head, and Johnny was in the same situation as you, only he was still unconscious. 

And two, you were being dragged by Hillary Clinton. 

Shit, no. Maybe you'd hit your head harder than expected. Your vision cleared up further, and you realized it wasn't, in fact, Hillary Clinton, but rather Beatrice Pratt. Doyoung was dragging Johnny, and then you realized what was going on. 

These were the others that Grant Howard had been referring to. They seemingly hadn't realized you were awake yet. You were in the school gymnasium, headed towards a doorway in the corner. The room was dark, occasionally lit by flashes of lightning.

"—The showers, right?" Doyoung asked, sounding out of breath. Beatrice huffed. 

"Yes. The blood will get washed away there."

You couldn’t move your hands, no matter how much you squirmed. Your eyes looked at Johnny, who was beginning to stir. His brows furrowed, mouth trying to form words. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” Doyoung hummed, disdain dripping from his voice, “Lovely.”

Johnny’s eyes cracked open, immediately glaring at Doyoung, who chuckled. “Please. I’m terrified.”

“Doyoung, shut up,” Beatrice snapped. “Open the door.”

Doyoung let Johnny’s legs fall onto the floor. Johnny groaned in discomfort as Doyoung opened the door, propping it open with something.

He approached Johnny again, but before he picked him up to drag him further, he landed a swift kick to Johnny’s gut. Johnny let out a muffled moan in pain, and you thrashed against your restraints.

“You just had to come and ruin everything, huh? This is a once in a century opportunity, and you--” He proceeded to kick Johnny again, over and over, “Just--won’t--quit.”

“Doyoung!” Beatrice snapped. “We don’t have time for this. Don’t you sense it getting angrier? If we don’t sacrifice them now, it’ll take us like it took Grant.”

Doyoung turned to her, breathing heavily through his nose. “Fine,” He bit out.

They dragged you into the bathrooms, leading you to the showers, where they dumped you both next to each other. You rolled onto your side to look at Johnny, whose eyes were screwed shut in pain. His breathing was labored. 

You squirmed again, trying to free yourself as the shower roared to life. Curling in on yourself as cold water soaked your body, you tried to think of a way to save both Johnny and yourself. Doyoung and Beatrice pulled out large daggers from their  coat pockets, and raised their arms to the sky. They began chanting in latin, but the roar of water, the shock of the cold temperature, and the panic beginning to set in caused the words to blur together. 

This was it. You and Johnny were going to die. 

Until the two of them crumpled on top of you. You jumped as Doyoung’s weight toppled onto you, eyes squeezing shut in pain. His elbow had landed on your stomach. For a moment, as you lay there reeling in pain, and you wondered if this was a part of the ritual. But then…

"Agent L/N?" Your eyes shot open, and you met eyes with Amy Espinoza. She managed an awkward attempt at a polite smile, fiddling with what she was holding in her hands. Your eyes widened when you registered the shotgun. A flashlight was duct-taped haphazardly to the barrel, probably so that she could see wherever she was aiming.

"Mmh-hffpnffh?" You couldn't stop yourself from trying to speak, unable to contain your surprise. 

A second set of hands turned off the shower, and you craned your neck to see Donghyuck Lee, holding an old baseball bat underneath his armpit. He pulled Beatrice off of Johnny, making a disgusted face. "I always knew there was something up with her," He grumbled, "She never laughed at my jokes."

"Yeah, 'cause you're annoying as shit," Amy countered, pushing Doyoung to the side. "Can you guys sit up?"

She untied your hands, and you got to work on untying your feet before pulling the gag off of your mouth. 

"What are you two doing here?" Johnny asked, voice raspy and out of breath. 

You stood up, wiping water off of your face. "Where did you get that gun?"

 "Oh." Amy suddenly sounded embarrassed. "I, uh… Stole it from my dad?

"Donghyuck helped Johnny stand. "We went to visit Phoebe in the hospital, Mr. Suh—"

"Agent Suh," Johnny corrected, bringing a hand to his stomach. "Whatever. Anyway, we went to visit and once she woke up she told us something… not good."

"Mrs. Walker is the thing," Amy said. "Phoebe said she was dissecting the pig and she saw her grab the bracelet she'd given her—"

"And she did something and her eyes turned orange, like the thing we saw in the woods!" Amy continued. "The officer that was there didn't believe her, but we did."

"So we decided to take matters into our own hands," Donghyuck said. "She killed our best friend, so we thought—"

"That coming to your school with a shotgun and a wooden baseball bat, to kill a demon was the best course of action?" You didn't sound amused, and the two of them exchanged a look.

Amy looked down. "Well… when you put it like that…"

"It doesn't matter," Johnny said. "You kids need to go home now. It's not safe for either of you." 

"Like hell we're going anywhere! We were able to save you guys, so—"

“You kids got lucky this one time," You pointed out, sounding stern, "Agent Suh and I are trained for dangerous situations like this. You two aren't, and we certainly aren't about to expose you kids to one. Go home."

You searched your pockets, not finding your gun. You crouched to look through Doyoung and Beatrice's pockets, handing Johnny's gun to him and putting your gun back into your holster.

"But—"

A large crack of thunder startled you all, and the ground seemed to rumble as it did. Johnny looked past you and the kids, at the end of the shower hallway, and inhaled sharply.

"Oh, that's so much worse than Hillary Clinton," He mumbled. You didn't even see what he meant, but in that split second something in you took over. You pulled Donghyuck behind you, Johnny grabbing Amy and doing the same. 

At the same time, Amy aimed the gun to where Johnny had been looking, the light landing on...

Donghyuck gasped. "Holy shit."

It was like exactly what Donghyuck had said, except worse. Glowing, orange eyes, goat legs, stringy black hair. Johnny was right—standing like this, she was much taller than him. Her jaw was unhinged, open impossibly wide. She was panting heavily, hobbling slowly towards you. 

You and Johnny pulled out your guns, shooting instantly. One hit her in the shoulder, the other in the stomach. Her jaw opened even further, and a blood curdling screech echoed throughout the tiled room. 

Then she broke out into a run. 

You forced yourself to stand still, shooting another round before she jumped over you. Out of the corner of your eye, Donghyuck swung the bat, hitting her in the leg, causing her to fall face first to the ground.

 Taking that advantage, Johnny fired another round into her back. She shrieked again, and you and Johnny took the opportunity to run out the door, pushing the kids with you.

"Go! Both of you, now," You ordered once you were in the gym again. They shook their heads. Donghyuck held up his bat.

"We're not leaving without—"

"Donghyuck, this isn't a movie," Johnny insisted, "Now go!"

 Amy grabbed his arm. "Hyuck, they're right, we have to—LOOK OUT!"

You turned to see what had once been Mrs. Walker stick its head out of the doorway. Amy was able to fire one last shot into it, with her shotgun. You didn’t see where it hit—the door shut and you heard one final wail. 

A few moments later, the lights flickered on. You stood there, clothes dripping onto the hardwood floor for a good minute or so, until you looked at Johnny, who wore a pained grimace. "I can check," You told him. "Stay here with the kids." 

"You sure?" He asked. You nodded, holding out your gun and slowly making your way towards the door. You spared the odd trio one final glance. 

Johnny—soaking wet hair falling into his eyes—was standing in front of them, aiming his gun at the door. Donghyuck was holding his bat up, Amy's MacGyver-esque flashlight gun making you squint.

Then, you opened the door. You could feel your heart hammering a mile a minute. Very slowly, you scanned the room. You stopped when you glanced at the showerhead Beatrice and Doyoung had placed you under—the same one they should have been under, knocked unconscious. You swallowed a lump in your throat. 

Because they weren’t there, and neither was Mrs. Walker. What you did see, however, were two large streak of blood dragged up the wall and to a window, staining the green tiles.

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—20:47 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

The four of you made your way back to the main building on high alert. The rain seemed to have stopped once the thing was gone. Amazingly, there wasn't even a cloud in the sky. Even the air felt different—cleaner.

Shockingly, this time when Johnny tried the phone again, it worked. In order, he called the sheriff, who had no issue believing the ordeal you had gone through. Then the principal, who was incredibly confused as to how four of her teachers could vanish in one night.

 And then, you turned to the kids and gestured to the phone. "Alright, your turn now. Call your parents, both of you."

If they were more afraid of the murderous hellspawn they'd just helped you fight off, it didn't show. "Please just let us go now, Agent L/N," Donghyuck pleaded, "My mom will never let me leave my house again after this."

Amy shook her head. "My dad's gonna kill me if he finds out I stole the gun again."

Johnny made a face. "Again?"

She turned even paler when she realized her screw up. "I'm not going to omit witnesses from a report because you'll get grounded," You told them. "You're good kids, with good intentions. You just lost someone and had another friend go through something traumatic, we get that. But what you did tonight was incredibly dangerous, reckless, and—and—"

"Stupid?" Johnny offered.

"Johnny!" You snapped, lowering your voice. He shrugged.

You sighed, trying to get them to understand. "Alright, listen. There's a Yellow Pages over on that desk. If you don't call them, I will, or the sheriff will. Which would scare your parents less, huh? Getting a call from their kids, from the sheriff's department, or from the goddamn federal bureau of investigation?"

If they didn't get it before, they definitely understood now. Amy took the fall first, telling her dad she'd brought her car to the school, had gotten into trouble, and needed him to come by to talk to the police. She left out the gun, much to your amusement.

While Donghyuck did the same, you pulled Johnny into the hallway to speak to him.

"Are you okay?" You asked, "Doyoung seemed to kick you pretty hard." 

"I'll take a few days off once we get back to DC, I'll be fine," He murmured. He leaned against the wall and winced.

You nodded, but weren't sure how to respond. Finally, you spoke again.

"Look, about last night," You said softly, and he looked up in thought. 

"What about it?" He didn't seem to want to meet your eyes.

You took a step forward. "Johnny, other than when we first met, have I ever treated you like you were crazy?" 

Your voice was quieter now, gentler in its approach. He looked to the side, crossing his arms. "...No."

You shrugged, before sighing. "It's not that I don't trust you. I have my scientific conclusions. You have yours. Every time I see something I can't explain I try to explain it with what I do know. Tonight was… insane, and you were right. But honestly? It just reinforced my wanting to go the scientific route every time we have a case."

He frowned. "Why? You saw Walker."

"Exactly." You crossed your arms. "If I went into every single case, expecting to see that or something even worse? God. I… I don't know how you do it, John."

He smiled, but still didn't meet your eyes. "I didn't mean what I said last night either. Y'know… that. Or at least, I didn't realize I didn't mean it until today. I… I care about you, Johnny. I really do. You're smart, and you're really funny, and you give me perspectives I wouldn't consider otherwise."

He looked at you, and you put a hand on his upper arm. "I'm glad I have a friend like you to work with," You admitted, "And I'm glad you're okay."

His smile grew, and he let out a chuckle. "There's no one else in the bureau I would rather be murdered by Hillary Clinton with," He said, with the most endearing tone possible. You burst into laughter, Johnny joining you. He stepped closer, pulling you into a hug as you continued to laugh. Your eyes shut, and despite Johnny's cold, damp clothes pressing against your cold, damp clothes, it still warmed your chest. The two of you stood together for a while, enjoying each other's embrace. His chin rested on your head, and you sighed happily. Johnny gave good hugs.

"Uhh, Agent Suh?"

Johnny and you broke away immediately. Johnny cleared his throat."Uhh, yes, Donghyuck?"Amy and Donghyuck exchanged a glance from the office doorway. "Uh, my mom said she'll be here soon. A-and I saw some police lights across the street, so…"

"Oh." Johnny straightened his tie. "Thank you."

A few seconds later, the sound of sirens came into proximity. You took a look at these two kids, and despite the stress they'd caused you, you felt an odd fondness in your heart. 

“Come on, you two," Johnny murmured, "Time to go."

X-FILE 229-B: THE SAN CEFERINO SHIFTER

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—07:08 hours, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

On this particular summer morning, you were enjoying the air conditioner for as long as you could wait. You'd be flying to San Ceferino, California, twenty minutes outside of San Francisco. 

The assignment was at a gated community where three women had been found dead within the span of three weeks. You and Johnny would be sent in to investigate due to a strange, unidentifiable residue being found on the bodies. A local detective had contacted the bureau for help.

The kicker? For some reason, due to some sensitivities of having their community "invaded" the head of the community had requested you be placed undercover.

So what was the bureau's idea? "Moving" you and Johnny into the community, posing as a newlywed couple. 

Yikes.

This seemed like a bad idea to you, but you didn't say anything. Because if you spoke up to your superiors, they'd ask why, and you'd be forced to explain. 

"I got the flight tickets and our fake profiles!" Johnny entered your shared office, causing you to look up from the case file.

"Oh, nice. Who are we?"

He curled his lip, making a face. "Whoever makes up these names should be demoted, I swear to god. My name is Fox. Fox Kang. Who the hell names their kid Fox—"

You stifled a laugh as you grabbed the file from him, flipping to yours. Dana Baker. A bit ordinary, but the more inconspicuous, the better, you figured. 

"God, I kind of don't want to go," You hummed, "It's hot enough as it is here in Washington. I don't wanna imagine the California heat."

"Well, suck it up," He said, but he didn't sound dismissive. "We're leaving in three hours. We still have to pick up our undercover wardrobe and get to the airport, y'know?"

Frowning at the profile, you nodded half-heartedly. It stated that your backstory was that of college sweethearts at Cornell in the 80s. He was class of 1984, you of 1986. You were moving to California two months after getting married, because "Fox" got a job offer just outside of San Francisco. 

"You're staring at that paper like you're Nancy Kerrigan and it just broke your knee," Johnny pointed out, "You okay?"

"Huh?" You looked at him, swallowing. "Oh… yeah. I'm fine. I'm just a bit… unsure about the whole marriage thing." 

Johnny shrugged, offering an amused smile. "Really, Y/N. We've been working together for two years and you still find me that unbearable?"

You laughed, standing and circling your desk to stand in front of him. "No, not at all. I'm just not the best when it comes to undercover work."

Johnny leaned against the desk, smiling sympathetically. "Well, I'm no Tom Hanks either. But if you think about it, we spend all our time together anyway. It's not that big of a stretch to say we might as well be."

"We definitely argue like one," You fired back. You both laughed, simply staring at each other in silence once it quieted down. Johnny's eyes studied you up and down, dark eyes warm. He was wearing his glasses today. 

You wondered if he was judging your outfit, because he did that sometimes with other people. Apparently, before he became interested in criminal psychology he'd wanted to become a fashion designer, or so he told you. Six months later after he'd told you that and you still weren't sure if he was joking or not.

"What are you looking at?" You asked. He shook his head. 

"...Nothing. Let's get going?"

The two of you picked up your faux suitcases—the bureau had a department full of fake clothes for agents going undercover needing to fit a certain persona. The two of you were nothing close to the white picket fence suburban life, so you were better off picking up some fake clothes.

You laughed when you saw the first outfit Johnny had been given. A pastel yellow LaCoste polo shirt, and grayish blue dress shorts. He glowered at you when he saw your face.

"Oh, yeah, very funny."

Your outfit wasn't much better. High rise, light wash jeans and another polo, this one bright red, a pair of dark red casual loafers to match. Johnny didn't laugh, but it was clear he was trying not to.

You decided to sleep on the plane. There wasn't a lot to look over, as you'd received the file the night before. By now, you knew the drill. 

You dreamt you were back in that hotel room in Oregon. Johnny was kneeling beneath you, but you still hadn't taken your robe off. He was saying something, but you couldn't understand what. His eyes were full of a warm emotion that you couldn't quite place.

Until he raised his arms to try and remove the robe. This time, when he spoke, you could hear him clearly. "This is what you wanted me to do, right?"

Your hands grabbed his. "What? Johnny, I… Well…" 

He stood, face impossibly close to yours. There was an odd smile on his face. "Don't worry," He murmured. "I want to, too."

Slowly, your hands let go of his and he began to pull off the robe. You didn’t protest. When you were bare, his hands slid to the skin of your waist, and he pulled you against him. His forehead pressed against yours.

"Johnny, are you sure?"

"Y/N," He said with a smile, "We are beginning our descent into LAX. Please put on your seatbelts and put up your trays."

You jumped awake in your seat, eyes impossibly wide. A laugh from beside you caused you to turn your head. Johnny was giggling into his palm. 

"What?" You asked, voice raspy from sleeping. 

"Oh my god, that was beautiful," He declared, "You were sleeping so peacefully and then, oh my god, that was hilarious."

"Ha, ha, ha." Your tone was devoid of any emotion. You rubbed your eyes, yawning slightly. "What time is it, here?"

"Three hour time difference. It's one PM." 

You nodded. And you still had a six hour car ride. Lovely. 

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE I-5, CALIFORNIA—15:22, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

"Couldn't they have just flown us to San Francisco and have us drive from there?" Johnny complained after being cut off by yet another car. 

You sighed. "Budget cuts, I guess. We're not infiltrating the mafia, or taking down human trafficking rings."

"Yeah, we just fight the boogeyman and the little green men," He agreed. You laughed. 

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we hadn't gotten assigned together?" He sounded wistful, not taking his eyes off of the road. 

"I don't know." You picked at a loose thread on your jeans. "I would probably still be teaching at the academy. I think Brooks was considering placing you with Jung if I wasn't up for it."

"Jaehyun Jung?" He turned his head, making a face. "Really? He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," You insisted, "He just thinks like me, science before all, except… less nice about it."

"You sure?" He asked, fiddling with the radio, "Every time we're in a room together, I catch him staring at me like he's trying to shoot lasers into my head, the prick."

You shrugged. "He's nice to me."

"That's just 'cause he's trying to get into your pants."

You hummed. Jaehyun was pretty handsome. "Would that be such a bad thing?" 

He coughed, shrugging. "Well, it's your love life. You do you."

The air turned awkward. Johnny fiddled with the radio, but in this particular stretch of the interstate, all that came up was a Latin beats radio. Trumpets, and soft snare drums filled the car. You immediately recognized Selena's Bidi Bidi Bom Bom, a song about a girl realizing her heart went crazy whenever her lover passed by—while you didn’t listen to a lot of Latin music, you had a friend who did and always played this song when you met up.

Me tiemblan hasta las piernas

Y el corazon igual

Se emociona, ya no razona

No lo puedo controlar

"Oh, I hate this song," Johnny mumbled, reaching to turn the radio off.

"No, wait! I like it." You pushed his hand away. He groaned, but didn't turn it off. 

Y me canta así, me canta así…

Bidi bidi bom bom, bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

So, the two of you continued on listening to Selena, Johnny silently pouting. 

"So, what were you dreaming about on the plane?"

"Huh?" You cleared your throat.

"Yeah, you said my name in your sleep."

You shifted in your seat. "Oh… Um. I can't even remember."

He hummed, but didn't say anything. The drive continued on, both of you alternating between discussing mundane things and the case. All of them had been found in their homes, with no sign of a struggle—which suggested they knew their assailant. They'd all been strangled to death. No odd fingerprints could be recovered from the crime scenes. 

The first victim lived alone. The other two's husbands had solid alibis that were confirmed by the police. 

Which meant that it had to be someone in the neighborhood. There was reportedly a strong sense of community there, which was part of why the bureau had you going undercover. 

Around six, the two of you rolled into San Francisco, for a brief stop to talk to the detective who had contacted the bureau, a woman named Wendy Son. 

The two of you rolled into the precinct, and upon showing your badges, were prompted to the woman’s office. She had her light brown hair tied up in a ponytail, wearing a black pantsuit similar to what you would wear, had you not been dressed like a soccer mom.

"Oh, thank you for coming," She said once you sat down. "I have some extra material here that I wasn't able to fax you."

She pulled out a folder, setting it in front of you on the desk. Johnny opened it to reveal more images you hadn't initially seen. 

"We sent the sample to Los Angeles because their laboratory has a higher capacity," She told you both, "They still weren't able to identify it, but apparently it apparently has an a mild tranquilizing enzyme. That might also be why there wasn't much of a struggle." 

Johnny hummed. "There aren't any cameras in San Ceferino, are there?" 

Detective Son shook her head. "Only around the perimeter and the gates." 

"Maybe there's something there," You said, "Could we have access to those tapes?"

She looked back down at the pictures. "I could certainly get it to you by tomorrow afternoon, though. Come in past two and I should have it by then."

Johnny nodded and smiled at her. "That would be great, thank you." 

She smiled, and you'd have to be blind to not notice the blush on her face. She handed him the keys to the house that the heads of the community had arranged to have semi-furnished ahead of your arrival. The rest would be arriving tomorrow in the morning, during which time you would go through the motions of being a newlywed couple moving into their “forever home”.

Johnny apparently was blind, though. He didn't say anything about it once you were both back in the car. You couldn't really blame her. 

Johnny was… well, he was Johnny. He was incredibly handsome, and funny. Any reasonable person interested in men would find him attractive. 

"Detective Son likes you," You told him as you were getting onto the road that led to San Ceferino.

"Does she?" He answered, smiling smugly. "She's pretty."

You don't know why that ignited something in you. "You think so?"

He nodded. "She seems nice. But I'm not interested."

The odd sensation in your chest simmered down. "No?"

"Not really. I'm not interested in something long distance. Plus, I work too much to have a relationship."

You nodded. "Yeah. I understand."

You arrived as the sun was setting, around seven. The two of you pulled into the gate to the place, where you introduced yourselves with your fake names to the guard. He checked his roster of approved people and let you both in. 

San Ceferino consisted of four different cul de sacs, each house practically identical. The house you would be staying in was towards the end of the second one. The house was a pale pastel yellow, orange rays of the sunset making it seem a deeper color. Your car rolled into “your” driveway, and with a sigh of relief, Johnny turned the car off. 

“I’m so tired,” He groaned, “Should we try and introduce ourselves today or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” You said, letting your head fall back against the headrest, “These people are probably all having dinner or something, it’d be weird for us to do that now.”

He nodded, and got out of the car to open the trunk. You got out to grab your suitcase, and as you were getting out you realized that just maybe the universe disagreed with your decision to wait to meet others around the neighborhood.

A woman was crossing the street. She seemed a bit older than you both but was still dressed almost identically. You walked over to Johnny, who had his back turned, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Fox,” You mumbled, “We’ve got company.”

He turned, and upon spotting the woman flashed a comically fake smile. You offered the friendliest smile you could muster, but the way her eyes lit up when doing a once over of Johnny and then drooping in disappointment once she spotted you. If she thought she was subtle, she was dead wrong.

“Hi,” She said, impossibly enthusiastic, “I’m Anne Morrison. I’m the head of the Homeowners Association.”

You nodded in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you,” You said, holding out your hand, “I’m Dana. This is… my husband, Fox.”

“Fox,” She repeated, turning to look at Johnny, “That’s a lovely name. So, what brings you two to San Ceferino?”

“Oh, I got a job offer in San Francisco a few months ago,” Johnny answered. He was good, you decided. “We looked at some houses in the city, but it’s so busy there, you know? We were living in Maryland, so the transition between small town and big city… it’s not for us.”

She nodded, eyes wide. “I absolutely understand. My ex-husband wanted to move to the city now that our kids are in college. I don’t enjoy any of the hustle and bustle, really.” She chuckled, “So guess who got the house in the divorce!”

You and Johnny exchanged a glance, then laughed as if it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. “Oh, my goodness,” You wheezed, clutching your hand in your chest, “I can imagine!”

“So, what do you two do?”

“I’m an architect,” Johnny said.

“I’m a publicist.” You scratched at your cheek when you felt a mosquito try to land. Her eyes zeroed in on your hand.

“You two are married, right?” She asked, “How come you’re not wearing your rings?”

You froze. Did the bureau even have fake jewelry? Why didn’t either of you think of that detail?

“Oh,” Johnny shrugged, coming to the rescue. “It’s so stressful having to take everything on and off at the airport, so we decided not to wear them today. Right, honey?”

He wrapped his hand around your waist, and you nodded. “I never wear jewelry when I’m on a plane. Too much hassle.”

She nodded, mouth slightly agape. “Oh, I see.”

Johny cleared his throat. “What do you work as?”

She grinned. “I’m a chemist.”

“I hated chemistry in high school,” Johnny groaned jokingly. Anne apparently thought this was hilarious, swatting his arm. He laughed again, but it was empty, awkward. You leaned your head against his shoulder in hopes that she'd get the message. 

“Well, Anne, it was lovely meeting you,” You declared, “But we’ve been awake since five in the morning travelling. We’re exhausted, we really should be getting inside.”

Anne sighed, eyes turning away from studying Johnny’s face to you. “Oh, go ahead. You two must be so tired.”

Johnny nodded, pursing his lips. “We’ll speak soon?”

She smiled. “There’s an HOA meeting on Friday night at another member's house. You should come and see what we’re all about, consider joining.”

"Swing by tomorrow!" You grinned, "You can tell us the details then."

"Of course, of course. Well, I'll leave you two to it. It was nice meeting you, Dana." She raked her eyes over Johnny one more time, "...Fox."

When she was out of earshot, Johnny pulled the suitcases out of the trunk and scrunched up his nose. "That was... awkward."

Your hand pulled up the extendable handle of the suitcase, looking back at her to see her close the door to her house, which was at the very end of the cul de sac. 

You looked back at him. "So, a chemist. And she's involved with the community, everyone probably knows who she is."

He shrugged before closing the trunk. "Let's keep an eye on her. She gives me the creeps."

The two of you made sure the car was locked before making your way towards the front door. He fiddled with the keys

"She might even have a motive," He said, as you stepped inside. "Ah, c'mon, aren't you gonna let me carry you over the threshold?"

"Not the time," You said, picking up your suitcase to carry it to the bedroom. "We were talking about a motive. Evidently, she likes looking at… married men. If it's her, she might be doing it out of jealousy."

"Exactly," He agreed, following you up the stairs. "Maybe there's something else at play—jealousy or something. how old were the other victims?" 

"Between 25 and 35. She didn't say how old she was, did she?" You rolled into the bedroom, sitting on the bed and immediately flopping down onto it. Johnny rolled past your room, looking for the separate bed the bureau had said would be there as well.

"Finally," You sighed with a smile. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stifled a yawn. For a second, you considered falling asleep just like this, uncomfortable jeans be damned. 

"Y/N?" 

You cracked your eyes open, frowning at Johnny who was standing in the doorway. "What?" 

"There's only one bed."

You almost stopped breathing for a moment. "Huh?" 

He shuffled on his feet. "There's only one bed," He said, speaking slower.

"What do you mean there's only one bed?" You sat up.

Johnny sighed. "I mean there's only one bed." 

"But the bureau said—"

"Well, the bureau lied," He interrupted, "Because there's no other bed."

You  crossed your arms. "I could take the couch."

"That's supposed to get here tomorrow." 

"Oh," You frowned. What were you going to do? 

"I mean, I could sleep on the floor," You said, "So that way we don't have to sleep, you know…"

"Together?" He offered.

"In the same bed," You corrected, turning your face. It felt hot all of a sudden. 

"No, I couldn't do that to you." He set his suitcase next to yours, then sat next to you. "The bed seems big enough. I'm sure we'll be fine."

You were too tired to argue further. "Sure…" You didn't sound too convinced. 

"Great," He sighed, "I just gotta tell you. I snore a bit."

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—08:43 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

That night, surprisingly, you slept like a baby. You initially thought you'd overthink it all with Johnny lying right next to you but… it was comforting, knowing he was there. You hadn't slept next to anyone since you were 26.

Life as an FBI agent was demanding. Because of this, you'd given up on the idea of having a meaningful relationship ages ago. And due to the nature of your work, it was easy to throw yourself into it to drown out the desire to have someone to come home to. The fact that whenever you did get free time, if you spent too much of it alone… 

But now, lying awake in the morning, seeing Johnny's sleeping face curled up into his pillow… You remembered. 

He looked peaceful. Even at 33, like this he barely looked a day past 27. You could make out the details on his face, old acne scars and the occasional mole. The smile lines along his cheeks and the corners of his eyes… maybe in another lifetime, another universe, you could have gotten used to—

No. You shot up, heading towards the en suite to go to the bathroom. You were still sleepy, that was all. The time difference between Washington and California was having second effects. 

You pulled down your pants, blinking sleepily, and promptly had a heart attack when you sat down. Your knees barely missed your nose, your stomach dropped, and a shriek tumbled out of your lips before you could even register what was happening. 

Standing, now wide awake, you had half a mind to pull up your pants as Johnny tumbled into the bathroom, eyes wide in alarm.

"What happened?" He asked, voice raspy from disuse. You didn’t answer, but instead stared at the offending lifted toilet seat until he got the message. 

"Oh…" His face turned awkward, lips tilting from side to side. "I got up a few hours ago. I must have forgotten to put it back down, sorry." 

You didn't answer, yawning instead. He shrugged. "I've never… lived with another woman before, so…"

"Never?"

His eyes looked down. "...Never."

"Not even with that ex-girlfriend from Oxford you told me about?"

"Mary? No."

You held back an amused grin. "Johnny, when was the last time you even went on a date?" 

He pursed his lips. "I… am starving. Do you want me to go to the supermarket to pick something up for breakfast?"

You blinked, putting your hands on your hips. 

"...Breakfast sounds great."

Johnny promptly changed and left while you got into the shower. Once you were out, you brushed your teeth, did your general morning routine and waited for the car to roll back into the driveway, doing a quick background check on Anne in the meantime. 

No criminal record whatsoever, but that didn't automatically discard her from your list. Mostly because she was the only one on it, so far. 

Johnny rolled back into the driveway just before 9:20. You helped him take the bags into the kitchen, when he said, "Think fast!" and tossed you a small box.

"What's this?" You asked, opening the box. You sputtered at the sight: two simple gold bands. He looked at you like you were a moron.

"Wedding rings," He said, plucking one of the rings out from the box, "Hopefully so Anne lays off."

"You didn't have to go out and buy actual—"

"It's fake gold." He waved his hand dismissively, sitting down at the island and slathering an ungodly amount of cream cheese across a bagel. 

You settled on some coffee after hesitating to put on the ring. As you were finishing up, a knock at the door caught your attention. You looked at him, and he shrugged. "Moving van won't be here till 10:30."

So, you sighed, but still headed to the door. Johnny followed behind, second bagel in hand. When you swung the door open, you were met with Anne and a man you hadn't met yet. A wide Cheshire grin was plastered onto her face.

"Dana, hi!" She greeted. Her eyes landed on Johnny. "Good morning, Fox."

"Morning, Anne," You said with a nod, catching her attention again. You turned your eyes onto the man and held out your hand. "Hi, I'm Dana."

He shook your hand with a friendly smile. "My name's Scott Hernandez. I'm on the HOA board."

Johnny walked up to the door, putting a hand on your shoulder. "I'm Fox," He said, face speckled with crumbs and mouth full of food. You wanted to crawl into a hole.

"Hey, man," Scott said, eyeing Johnny, "Uh… Welcome to the neighborhood!"

"So," Anne asked, eyes raking over Johnny's chest, "How was the first night?"

Johnny swallowed his bagel before speaking. "It was lovely. We just snuggled up together and slept like little baby cats." He turned to you, eyes warm. "Isn't that right, honey bunch?"

Your neck snapped to look at him, holding back a look of disgust. "That's right…" You racked your brain for something sweet to call him and a moment later came up with, "...Poopy head."

Poopy head? Nice one, L/N.

Johnny’s smile faltered for a second, but neither Scott nor Anne seemed to notice. You flashed them both a bright grin. "So! Would you like to come in?"

Scott and Anne nodded. "That'd be great, thanks," He said. You led them into the dining room, where Johnny managed an awkward laugh. "Sorry it's such a mess, we just got up about an hour ago and I immediately went to the supermarket."

"Oh, don't worry, Fox," Scott hummed, sitting at the island, "Moving is so stressful. Especially with…"

Anne flashed him a dirty look. You raised an eyebrow at the interaction. "With what?" You asked, tilting your head as you feigned innocence. Anne sighed, shaking her head.

"Three women have been… murdered over the past few weeks." Scott looked down. "Police haven't been able to catch who's responsible."

"That's horrible," Johnny murmured, standing next to you. "Did you know them?"

"We know everyone because of our HOA responsibilities," Scott answered, "I wasn't that close to any of them, but they were all very nice women. It's awful, what happened to them. You knew Yolanda, didn't you, Anne?"

She nodded, eyes glassy. "Her son and mine used to play together. She was such a nice woman. Lovely family, too. It just breaks my heart." 

"I'm sorry for your loss," You told her. She offered a sad smile.

"But what, is it someone from the community or what?"

Anne shrugged, eyes full of concern. "The police don't really know, but it would make sense if they were from the community—"

"It couldn't possibly be someone living here," Scott huffed, "Everyone knows everyone, why would someone want to—"

"Scott is just in denial," Anne said, waving her hand. "Did you two really not know?"

"Not at all," Johnny replied, eyes wide with fake worry, "These past few weeks have been so hectic we barely had time to sit down. Right, honey?"

You groaned, partially putting up an act and partially in disgust at the name. "It's been a nightmare!" 

You made up some problems, like a crappy travel agency, yard sales, things going missing, stuff like that. Johnny occasionally chimed in, embellishing your stories. Occasionally, Anne or Scott would ask a question, and Johnny would answer with something he pulled out of his ass. 

"So that's why Fox isn't allowed coffee, anymore," You said a few minutes later, rolling your eyes. Scott was cackling, Anne giggling into her palm. Johnny glared at you, but there was no malice behind it. 

"But anyway, I'm guessing you two didn't come here to hear about how anxious I get with caffeine." Johnny turned to the pair. "What brings you to the... Kang-Baker residence?"

"Oh, we came to talk to you about joining the Homeowner's Association," Anne explained, "Not everyone in the neighborhood is a part of it, but it's very convenient to join." 

They laid down the basics, and as they talked, you realized just how much you appreciated living in an apartment rather than a house. Yes, it was a bit small at times, definitely not as idyllic, but 300 dollars as an initiation fee, and monthly payments of 150 dollars? You had half a mind to call the bureau and tell them that the real crime was the extortion from the Homeowner's Association. 

You didn't really see any advantages—probably because you didn't even own this house and wouldn't have to worry about selling it later. It just sounded like a nightmare. What did they mean you could only paint your doors pastel colors if you joined?

When they finally left, you looked at Johnny. "Maybe I'm not cut out for the American dream after all. That HOA stuff sounds even worse than the time we got attacked by the flesh eating virus."

He held back a laugh. "That bad, huh?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, this is much more irritating. The moving van will be here any second, come on, let's go."

127TH PRECINCT, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—14:29 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

After unloading the furniture boxes (empty boxes with nothing really in them), you and Johnny settled on lunch—some crappy junk food—and drove all the way to the police station where Detective Son worked. 

"What did you think about that Scott guy?" You asked Johnny, who shrugged. 

"Seemed nice enough. We'd have to look into him too, since he's also involved in the community."

You nodded. "I'll run a background check once we get h—back to the house."

He glanced at you, but said nothing. "...What are you doing once this is over?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What, once we get back to DC?"

He nodded. "Well, yeah."

You stared ahead at the car in front of you. "Oh, well… I'm not sure. Probably finish writing that stupid report for Brooks and then curl up on my couch, watch some movies, drink some wine. I don't know."

He snickered. "What, and watch Pretty Woman for the 700th time?"

Smacking him in the shoulder lightly, you huffed. "Which is no better than watching Full Metal Jacket 700 times, and you know it, Johnny Suh."

He shrugged. "Well, if sex on a piano is what does it for you then who am I to judge?"

"Shut up." You rolled down the window, the heat too much to handle. 

When you finally got to see Detective Son again, she handed you the cassette and made her way towards the door. When she spoke, she looked only at you. "I'm actually headed out to check out another call we got just now," She explained, "But feel free to use the VCR in my office to look it all over."

She left, not even looking Johnny in the eye. You turned to Johnny, who was wide-eyed. 

"And you said she likes me."

In her office, you went over several days' worth of sped up hours of footage of six different camera angles. By the third hour of watching sped up, grainy footage, Johnny huffed. "I don't think we'll get anything," He said, "Especially considering the killer didn't even need to break their way in—"

"Hold on, hold on." You shook your head, eyes zeroing in on a dark shape in one of the cameras. You walked up to the VCR machine and hit the rewind button.

"Watch camera six."

He narrowed his eyes, fixing his glasses as he watched the dark shape run out from the treeline and up the wall, then out of the camera's view—presumably inside the community. You rewinded one last time, pausing just as it leaped onto the wall.

"There."

"That's too big to be a cat," He murmured, standing to get a closer look at the grainy black and white still image, "Right?"

"Could be a big cat—bobcat or a lynx, maybe, but…"

"It's movements are too… jerky for it to be a cat."

You hesitated, before nodding. 

"Could this be the thing we're looking for?" Johnny asked, and you crossed your arms, giving the dark blob a skeptical look.

"Looks like we have some digging to do."

One more hour of poring over the footage, plus another hour of looking at the archives of the police department turned up nothing on big cats in the area. There'd been no calls to 911 to report big cats in the neighborhood, and looking over the tape again showed nothing else, not even the thing leaving.

Which made Johnny’s theory that it was still there weigh even more.

By 7:30PM or so, Detective Son had returned. "I brought coffee," She said, entering the small space, "Find anything?"

You shrugged. Johnny looked at her. "We saw a weird blob go inside. It never came out and we couldn't figure out what it was."

She frowned. "There haven't been any reports of wild animals there in years. Not since that huge military base opened up."

Johnny's eyebrows knit together. "Army base?"

She nodded. "Fort Talbot. It's about fifteen minutes west of San Ceferino. There aren't a lot of roads that lead to it, they're pretty private."

You locked eyes with Johnny, who was probably thinking the same thing as you. Military base? That was new.

 “I don’t suppose you could take us to see it?”

She shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, we could try, but there’s a fence around the perimeter about a mile or two away from the actual base. They’re not gonna let you in.”

“No, we’re not military,” You sighed. “But thank you for telling us about that.”

SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—20:44 hours, Thursday, February 12th, 1993

When the car rolled into the driveway, the two of you had found that Anne was at your front door. You shot each other a quizzical look when she turned at the sight of your headlights. “What’s the cougar doing here?” He sighed, and you elbowed him.

“Hush. Be nice.”

She reached the car once you’d both stepped out. “Oh, I was wondering where you two were! I wanted to invite you over to have dinner. The spinach quiche I made was a bit too big for just me!”

At the mention of the meal, your stomach panged in hunger. All you’d had since you left the house was that coffee Wendy had given you. Plus…

Johnny seemed to read your mind. “We’re starving. Quiche sounds great, thanks so much, Anne.”

She beamed at his praise. “Oh, come on! Wouldn’t want it to get cold.”

Anne took the both of you into her house, leading you to the dinner table where she’d already set up spots for the both of you. “It’s not too much, is it? I’m sorry if I’m being overbearing. I really do want you to ease into the neighborhood, and plus, living in this big old empty house gets… lonely.”

As you sat down, you frowned in sympathy. You watched as she began to slice the quiche for you both. “Don’t worry, Anne. I understand where you’re coming from. It’s so lonely in my—or, it was so lonely in my apartment before Fox and I met. Sure, you can distract yourself during the day with all of the stuff you have to do, but at the end of the day you come home to… nothing.”

She handed Johnny a plate, and he took it. “There you go, Fox.”

He smiled, handing the plate to you. “Thank you.”

Her eyes followed his hand, and blinked when she spotted the ring on his hand. “Oh, I see you have your rings now.”

Johnny’s smile grew into a grin, as he held out his hand, flashing the band around his ring finger. You did the same. “No more pesky metal detectors,” He declared, “So why not?”

Anne nodded, eyes lowered. She handed him another plate, then served herself. And then, finally, you all started eating. It occurred to you as you took your first bite that if she was she easily could have laced the food with whatever was in those women’s systems when they died. But that would be too different from the killer’s modus operandi. They only went for women and they killed them in their home. Autopsies didn’t find anything recent in their stomachs at the time of death, so you concluded to take a bite. 

Besides, it smelled good. If you were going to die, then it would be nice to die by the hands of some good quiche.

“So,” You began, “You said your kids were off at college?” 

She nodded, digging around her food with a fork. “My oldest is in grad school at USC. He’s currently in South America doing research on bats, or something, I really can’t remember. My second is off backpacking for the summer, she’s graduating from UCLA next year, and my youngest left for college two years ago. He managed to get a full scholarship to Duke, can you believe it?”

You smiled, nodding. “Wow, that’s impressive.” 

She sounded proud, but there was a sadness behind her gaze. “It’s hard, it really is. Especially trying not to worry. They rarely call and only come home during the holidays. Drives me up the wall not knowing what my kids are up to!”

Johnny laughed. “My mom was the same when I went to college. My freshman year she called me once every day. My roommates always made fun of me for it.”

She chuckled. “Oh, that’s how all moms are,” She turned to you, “I imagine it’ll be the same when you two have kids.”

You almost choked on the food in your mouth at her words. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Johnny go white. Somehow, you managed to hold it back, hitting your chest lightly as the food made its way down. “Oh, well… it’s a bit early for that, I think.”

“We only got married six months ago…” Johnny murmured awkwardly. 

“Oh, I totally get it,” She said, “But, y´know, accidents happen. Especially when you’re still in the honeymoon phase after the wedding. I had my first less than a year after we were married, we weren’t even trying!”

You chewed on your lip. “Well, if something happens…” You met eyes with Johnny, whose gaze was unreadable, “Something happens.”

Not looking away, Johnny licked his lips subtly, before picking up a napkin. Anne didn’t notice, surprisingly, and seemed satisfied with your answer.

You ate a little bit more, when Anne asked, “So, tell me, how did you two meet?”

Remembering the file, Johnny perked up. “We met at a party in college. I was in my junior year, I think? Right, honey?”

You shook your head. “Your senior year,” You corrected, “Because I was in my sophomore year. I remember it like it was yesterday. He came up to me and was wearing this horrible button up shirt—”

“You ended up stealing it from me!” He joked, and you held up your index finger.

 “I use it to sleep. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that in public. Much less to attract a mate.”

Anne cackled, and the two of you laughed too. Again, you managed to make up a story: he was drunk and accidentally spilled some punch on your pants. He’d tried to help you by washing it in the bathroom but only made it worse.

“When I got back to my dorm, it was around three in the morning, my leg was sticky and I was miserable, but we ran into each other a few days later and he was very apologetic about the whole thing.”

“I was mortified,” He said, “I mean, here’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life and I managed to screw it up by ruining her pants. I was so sure I’d screwed up.”

Anne raised her eyebrows. “So, you knew from the start that you liked her?”

Johnny’s eyes landed on you again, turning wistful. He leaned over and grabbed your free hand. “The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.”

You tried to smile, but suddenly your chest felt like it was caving in on yourself. You let your hand rest in his for a moment, before pulling away. “Oh, Fox. Don’t get all sentimental on me now.”

Clearing your throat, you didn’t miss the way Johnny’s eyes fell slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, where’s your bathroom?”

She pointed up. “Upstairs to the right.”

This was your chance to get some dirt on her, and put some space between you and Johnny. As you walked away, you touched a hand to your cheek and it came away burning. 

“Get it together,” You muttered to yourself.

The quick search yielded nothing. She had nothing in her drawers, all of the papers on her desk were related to her work at a hair care company. You always could have missed something though. You couldn’t take more than a few minutes, you certainly couldn’t risk her coming up to check on you and finding you sifting through her work documents.

Before you came down, you did your best to leave everything as you found it before heading back downstairs. 

When you sat back down at the table, things were a bit more tense. You sensed it immediately. “Everything alright?”

“...Yeah,” Johnny mumbled. 

“Fox and I were just talking about how… difficult marriage can be.”

You nodded, wondering if that was all that had happened. “Oh, it’s no walk in the park, that’s for sure.”

The rest of the dinner was not as lively. There were more awkward silences, more lulls in the conversation, less laughs. When you finally left, his elbow intertwined in yours, you looked at him. “What happened while I was gone?”

He shook his head as you both crossed the street. “I don’t like her,” He told you in a hushed voice, “She started talking about how it won’t be like this forever and it’s only fun now because we just got married or whatever.”

“What, was she trying to open something up between you and her?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t exactly been subtle, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she was.”

The two of you marched up into your house, and while Johnny was showering you did a background check on Scott Hernandez. Nothing also. A perfectly ordinary citizen, no criminal record at all. 

Then, it was your turn to shower. As you did, you couldn’t help but think back to Anne’s words. The whole situation, feigning domesticity was proving to be bad for you: you couldn’t help but imagine a small child with his wide eyes and your nose, his lanky limbs and your hands. 

The amount of time you put into your work made you fully aware that it would make having children difficult. Truth be told, you hadn’t really put much thought into settling down. The right person had never been there.

But what if he had? What if he’d been by your side for the past three years?

He had to be putting on an act when he’d said it.

The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.

Thinking back to the moment you’d first met him, and he’d come across as slightly patronizing and dismissive of your conclusions. But thinking about when he’d first turned to look at you, that particular morning in 1992…

You turned off the shower. Alone time wasn’t doing you any good, either.

When you emerged from the shower, you sighed as your eyes landed on the toilet seat, which was lifted. You set it back down with a huff before getting dressed.

Once you stepped out of the bathroom in your pajamas, toweling your hair, your eyes fell to the pile of dirty clothes on the bed. “Please don’t put your sweaty clothes, where I have to sleep,” You told him, tossing the clothes into his face. He let out a soft groan, picking them up. 

“Oh, come on,” He grumbled, “They don’t even smell that bad.”

After he set them off somewhere (you didn’t see where as you were shutting your laptop off), he sat back down on the bed, leaving a space open for you. "So, what if we looked into Scott tomorrow?"

“That sounds like a good idea. Tomorrow night there’s that HOA thing we need to go to. We might be able to pick up some more stuff there.”

He nodded, and as you stood in front of the bed he waggled his eyebrows and patted the spot next to you. “Come on, Dana,” He murmured sarcastically, “We’re married now.”

You didn’t smile. He took that as a sign to continue. 

“Plus, if something happens, something happens.”

You grabbed a pillow and flung it into his face. “You’re the worst,” You grumbled. He laughed, but it was muffled from the pillow.

Slowly but surely, you realized with the sound of his laughter, this feeling was soon going to become something you couldn’t ignore.

HERNANDEZ RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—09:02 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the door opened, Scott Hernandez had a welcoming smile on his face. “Dana,” He said, “Good morning. Did you need anything?”

“Oh, I just wanted to ask if there was an official guidebook or anything for the HOA? Fox and I are still considering joining, but we’d need to go over everything.” You scratched at the cardigan you were wearing. Why did the bureau have to give you something so thick and scratchy when they knew you were coming to California in the middle of July?

“Come in! I’m sure I have a rulebook. Plus, if you have any other questions you could always just come over.”

He led you up the stairs. “I keep all of my stuff in the office,” He explained, “That way my kids don’t mess it all up.”

You offered a soft laugh. “Oh, you have kids?”

“Yep.” His voice was warm. “Two kids, a nine year old and a six year old. They’re not here right now, though. My wife took them up to Washington to see their grandparents.”

“Ah, that’s sweet.” As he led you into the office, your eyes studied the room. A picture frame behind him of a professional family portrait, a houseplant in the corner a big clunky computer on top of the desk, and a cabinet pushed to the side of the room.

Your eyes fell onto the things placed on top of the cabinet, a stapler and some other office supplies. But when your eyes caught a different type of metal that wasn’t the standard gray color, you focused on it. A small medallion, decorated with a ribbon. When you recognized the logo, your eyes widened slightly.

“You’re military?” 

His eyes turned to you, eyebrows raised. Then he looked to the side. “Oh… no. My brother was. He passed away in the Gulf War.”

You looked down, but something about his tone didn’t sound quite authentic. “I’m sorry for your loss,” You answered anyway. 

The silence hung overhead for a few moments, before he pulled out a small booklet. “Here’s a copy of the rulebook.” He held it up, waving it back and forth, “This has pretty much everything.”

“Oh, really?” You straightened your posture, feigning a smile. When he handed it to you, your smile grew bigger as you looked down at the small book. “I’ll be sure to show Fox when he gets home. I really appreciate it, Scott.”

He waved his hand. “Don’t mention it. If you need anything else, just come on over. I work from home, so I’m here pretty much all day.”

Scott studied your face, and a second later you looked away. “So, I should get going,” You murmured. “I’ll see you tonight? I don’t think nor you nor Anne said where it would be.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Here, actually! Tonight, at 7.” 

“Great,” You answered, “I’ll see you tonight.”

When you got back to the house, you walked to the office, where Johnny was waiting. “Hernandez has military links.”

His head shot up. “He does?” 

“There was a military medallion on his cabinet in his office. He looked like he was gonna piss himself when I asked about it.”

“And what did he say?”

“Said his brother was a Gulf War veteran. I didn’t believe him for a second.”

“So could he be our guy?”

You took a deep breath. “Honestly? I don’t know. I could try to look through his office tonight at the HOA thing.”

“You?” He shook his head vehemently. “You fit his profile. All of his victims were around your age. You’re not going somewhere you could be alone with him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then what?” 

He looked at you as if you were dumb. “I’ll go.”

“But—”

“No.” His gaze turned stern, before walking all the way up to you. He put his hands up on your shoulders. “Y/N, he could kill you.”

“Has that ever stopped me before?” You asked, tilting your head. “Johnny, it’s in the job description to deal with people who could kill me. What’s so different now?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His eyes were wide, urgent, and his face was inches away. You shook your head, trying to prompt him to speak. “What?” 

Johnny pursed his lips, studying your face. And then, finally he shook his head. “Nothing.” 

He stepped away, and left the office, leaving you speechless. You leaned against the desk thinking about what just happened.

For the rest of the day, he was relatively distant. During lunch—you went out to buy some sandwiches—and he barely said thank you, before you ate in tense silence. You could only wait until 7 o’clock rolled around. In the meantime, you placed a call to Detective Son, telling her to look into Scott Hernandez and his family. You typed up the rest of your preliminary report, and then all you could do was wait. 

When five thirty rolled around, you started to get ready. You took only about five minutes, before stepping out, fully dressed. When you stepped out of the bathroom, Johnny had his back turned to you. It was almost as if he hadn’t noticed you were right behind him, because he was humming softly to himself, tapping his foot to a non audible melody. You could hear him humming it though, and after a few seconds of listening. you were able to recognize the song.

He froze when he heard your giggling. “What?” He asked, turning his head.

“Is… is that Bidi Bidi Bom Bom?” You asked, leaning against the wall. He straightened his posture before shuffling on his feet. 

“...No.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “Sure, it isn’t.”

He raised his eyebrow, but it wasn’t as serious as he had been before. And when you spoke again, his mouth grew into a crooked smile. 

“You like Selena,” You sing-songed. 

“Alright, enough. We’ve got a job to do.” He was biting back a laugh. You knew him too much to believe the opposite. 

When the two of you finally walked the few houses towards Scott’s house, he held out his arm for you to hold onto. Taking a deep breath, your hand hesitated before it grabbed onto him. Approaching the house, you could tell that it was alive with a lot of people on the inside. You wouldn’t necessarily say it was overflowing, but you could tell it was definitely close to filling up. 

“Let’s go?” He asked, and you nodded. He led you to the front door, where he rang the doorbell before the two of you waited. 

A minute or so later, Scott opened the door with a grin. 

“Hey, you two! You’re just in time.”

You put on your best smiles. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Johnny sighed. You didn’t miss the tense undertone in his words.

The two of you made your way into the room. Across the room you heard someone call for you both. You held back a groan. You really didn’t need this right now. 

“Hey, over here!” Anne called, beckoning you over. Johnny heaved the sigh of a man ready to end it all, and then you both made your way to her and her group. All of them seemed to be the same age as her. 

“Ladies, these are our new neighbors I was telling you about.” She pointed at the both of you .”This is Dana Baker, and this is Fox… the architect.”

Oh boy. 

And the talking began. You and Johnny having to rehash the same details over and over again. It felt like having to navigate a minefield. You had to recall all of the lies you’d told Anne and Scott, this time in front of an audience of women very clearly ogling the man who they fully believed was your husband. 

You made idle chit-chat after that, but eventually, about twenty minutes had passed until they sat everyone down. The living room was full of grown ups, including a few young children. The thought of everyone being in such close proximity to someone, something that could hurt them all the way it had hurt those other women.

It was easy to tune them all out. It was then that you realized that suburban life would never really be for you. This was all so dull and monotone. You were sure that if you had decided to actually go into the medical field and settled down… you would probably lose your mind. 

They went over some things you didn’t pay attention to: lawns and whatnot. It was so tiring you had to stifle a yawn on more than one occasion. Anne was going on about some infraction that didn’t even sound that bad to you, when it occurred to you to slip away, Johnny be damned. 

You patted Scott on the shoulder as Anne went on. “Where’s the bathroom?”

He nodded back once, “Upstairs. Green door. We’re almost done, though, are you sure you can’t wait a little longer?”

“I had the genius idea to drink two whole bottles of water before we left,” You murmured so as to not make too much of a scene, “I really don’t think I can.”

He sighed, before nodding. “Go ahead.”

Gotcha. You slipped up, sparing Johnny a glance. He was glaring at you. If looks could kill, you didn’t even want to know where you’d end up going. You made your way up the stairs, remembering the way to the office from this morning. You slipped into the office, making your way to the cabinet. The medallion was gone, which made you wonder why he had done so. 

As you shuffled through the drawers of the cabinet and came up with nothing, you had to remind yourself to keep count of how long you’d been up here. You moved on to the desk, shuffling through the papers on the desk and then the ones on the drawer. In the first drawer, you found an ID: Alma Hernandez, Lazarus Programming.

In the second drawer, nothing. 

In the third and bottom drawer, you found something: a pair of dogtags. Neither of them said Hernandez. Instead, they read Simon Walsh. 

Simon Walsh? That was new. You stashed them back into the drawer, suddenly remembering how long you’d been up here. Probably a bit over five minutes. As you made your way back down to the living room, you ran into Johnny. 

“Hey,” He said, “I was just coming to look for you.”

He looked disappointed, bordering on anger. In the small space, you could feel his proximity. You couldn’t help but shake your head.

“I had to take the chance. I wasn’t sure if there would be a chance after this.”

He sighed. “I can’t believe you. Come on, they’re serving pizza.”

You laughed, letting him grab your hand as he led you back into the living room, where you two ate a few slices of pizza. Enough to feel satisfied, but not enough to feel too full. In theory, if you had to make a detainment or worse, have a confrontation then it’d be a bad idea to have stomach cramps. 

You two kept to yourselves, occasionally speaking to other couples who introduced themselves to you. Once you’d finished gorging yourselves on the food, he kept his hand around your waist the entire time. It was a gentle touch, but comforting. You couldn’t help but feel tense.

“After we get home, I’ll tell you all the details I saw.” You looked up to see his face, watching you tentatively. 

“Alright,” He murmured, leaning closer to your face, “But I wanna talk about something together first.”

Raising an eyebrow, you leaned away from him. “What, are you okay?”

Johnny nodded, smile reassuringly. “Yeah. I just realized something earlier today.” 

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—21:17 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the two of you left, Anne had bid you both goodbye. She’d said Scott had gone to bed with a headache, which made you feel a bit uneasy. The entire way home, Johnny kept himself relatively close. The entire way home, he was silent. It wasn’t until the both of you were inside of the house that he leaned against the front door. As he led you to the couch )which had finally arrived), you tried to remember all of the details you’d seen as you looked through Scott’s office.

When he sat you down, you placed both hands in your lap. He scratched at his shoulder, before meeting your eyes.

“Simon Walsh.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widened at the same time his had. “What?” You asked, shaking your head. You were suddenly aware of everything going on. You were in an ongoing murder investigation. It was quite possibly linked to a very secretive military base. Three women had been murdered. A fourth would be soon if you didn’t hurry.

“Johnny, I don’t think…”

“No, please. Just a few minutes, okay? I’ve been dealing with this for years. I need to get this out of my system and then we can talk about this back in DC. Please, Y/N.”

Your gut felt heavy at the same time your heart felt incredibly light. It was by far one of the strangest sensations you’d ever felt. Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded. 

“Alright, John. Five minutes. Then we talk about what I found.”

He nodded with a small smile. Gently, Johnny grabbed your hands, rubbing the knuckles with his thumbs. He was silent for a while, tilting his head back and forth as he tried to figure out what to say. 

“What I said last night at Anne’s. I meant it. That first time I saw you, I… I knew. I knew we didn’t get along initially, but I just had this feeling in my chest. You were so smart, and eventually we realized how much we clicked…”

He looked up, leaning closer. You swallowed softly as his eyes met yours again. He managed a soft chuckle. “Y/N, I tried to hold it away. But it got stronger every single day. You understand me. Even though we push back against each other, you don’t think I’m crazy. You take them into consideration and don’t brush them off. I really appreciate that. I look at you and… I’m home.”

Looking to the side, you sighed. “Johnny, I really don’t think this is appropriate. Especially not right now—”

"Y/N, I know what your dream on the plane was about."

You inhaled sharply, alarmed gaze meeting his own. His eyes had turned soft, warm. You knew you had to push him away. The name Simon Walsh was on loop in your head, but you couldn’t find it in you to push him away.

“What?”

“I heard you moan my name,” He sighed, “Trust me, Y/N, I know what I heard.”

He leaned even closer, cupping your face. You could feel his breath puffing softly onto your skin. His eyes were knowing as his voice dropped to a whisper. 

“You want me too, don’t you?”

When his lips met yours, you couldn’t find it in you to pull away. He pulled you closer, and your arms found their way to wrap themselves around your neck. His lips were soft, but demanding. You could tell he’d been waiting for this a long, long time. 

You don’t know when he laid you down onto the couch, but honestly… you didn’t really mind. Johnny was warm, comfortable. And yes, July in California was hot, humid, but… up until Johnny put his hands on you, you’d never realized how cold you’d been, even before your arrival here.

He deepened the kiss, hands sliding down to your waist. They toyed with the hem of your blouse, humming against your lips. You gasped against him, hands sliding into his gelled hair.

Your eyes snapped open. Johnny never used this much gel in his hair.

Two things happened in the next two seconds. You pushed Johnny off. Johnny would never prioritize his feelings like this over a case. You hadn’t seen Scott as you left. All of this pretending, playing house had gotten to you. You were in real danger now.

The other thing that happened? Johnny burst through the door, wearing clothes he hadn’t been wearing when you first left. He was panting heavily. There was a bruise on his cheek and his wrists were red.

You backed away from Not Johnny, who turned to you, gaze now furious. A wave of nausea passed over you, breathing heavily. Whatever Not Johnny had in his system, he had passed onto you with his spit, and you could feel it settling into your system. You looked up at Johnny, before pulling out your gun. Taking a deep breath, you looked at your work partner, closest confidante, love of your life.

“I had a feeling,” You mumbled, realizing how the sinking feeling in your stomach was actually dread.

Stumbling, you heard Not Johnny let out a ghastly screech. You fired your gun at him before passing out. 

SAN FRANCISCO METROPOLITAN, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—10:39 hours, Saturday, July 14th, 1994

The room smelled sterile. You knew this smell. You’d lived it for several years before in medical school rotations. This had to be a hospital, you realized. Slowly, you let your eyes open. You let out a soft groan at the discomfort of having been stuck in one position for so long.

“You awake?” A deep, familiar voice asked. Your vision was blurry, but you could still recognize it was Johnny. His eyes were rimmed red from exhaustion, but he looked relieved. 

“No. I died, actually.” Your voice was raspy. Johnny scoffed, shaking his head.

“You’re impossible,” He mumbled, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“What even happened after I passed out?”

Johnny took a second to gather his thoughts before speaking. “You hit him in the face. It wasn’t pretty. He freaked out a bit, and then he took off. I couldn't catch him. Called Son, she came in with the precinct and they looked through Hernandez's house."

His gaze turned somber as you sat up with a soft huff. Your muscles were stiff.

"They found the real Scott Hernandez, his two kids and his wife, in their basement. Autopsies are being performed today, but it looks like they've been dead a few weeks."

Your eyes shut. Two kids, a man, and another woman. Seven victims total.

"And that thing is still out there," You mumbled, "If only I hadn't been so stupid—"

Johnny put his hand on yours. "Don't say that. Even if you hadn't gotten knocked out, he would still be way too much for just the two of us to handle. Y/N, you shot him in the face and it barely stopped him. He wasn't human anymore."

You shook your head, burying your head in your hands. "Still… I know you, Johnny. I should have seen the signs, but he was so—somehow he knew everything—"

"It's something to do with touch," He said with a nod, "He knocked me to the ground and locked me in a closet before he found you. I was a bit out of it, but I remember he touched my wrist for a few seconds and then he turned into me. My head still hurts, too. Maybe he can also copy some memories from the people he touches long enough."

When you didn't answer, he grabbed your face. He looked desperate. "Y/N, you're only human. I would have fallen for it too."

"I fell for it because he told me exactly what I wanted to hear," You whispered, feeling tears spring to your eyes, seemingly out of nowhere, "He played me like a fucking fiddle and I fell for it."

His thumb brushed away a tear. "Don't think about the what-ifs, Y/N. It's already happened, and now we need to focus on what's gonna happen next. We need to find a way into Fort Talbot. Somehow. Turn your report into the bureau and we can figure it out from there. There’s something going on there. Human experimentation on soldiers, or something."

"We're never gonna get clearance to search a military base, Johnny. It's impossible."

He shook his head. "Y/N, if you were able to convince Brooks to let me, Spooky Suh, FBI's most unwanted? keep running around hunting ghosts and aliens and Bigfoot all over the country, you can figure out a way to get access in there. I know you can."

You were shaking now. "We won't be safe if we do. You think the military won't retaliate? We'd be dead, Johnny," Your words were garbled and your voice wouldn't stop cracking, "There has to be another way."

He shook you gently, shaking his head. "Dammit, Y/N, I can't do this without you."

"They placed me with you for a reason, Johnny," You snapped, "To debunk your work, to reign you in and shut you down—"

"But you saved me," He insisted, "You did exactly the opposite. And as a result we kept working together, and you kept me honest. You… you've made me a whole person."

He rubbed his face with his hand, pushing a strand of dark hair out of his eye. "Y/N, as frustrating as it's been sometimes working with you, your stupud science and rationalism have saved me a thousand times over. I owe you everything. Y/N, you owe me nothing."

His forehead brushed yours, and his eyes fluttered shut. "I can't do this without you," He murmured. And despite the fact that you knew that this was your Johnny, you shook your head. The deja vu was making your head spin. 

"Tell me something the real Johnny would know," You whispered, putting a hand on your chest.

He thought for a second, before sighing. "I had three moments when I realized I was in love with you. When you first walked into my office that morning, I had a feeling," He said, voice full of conviction, "It grew into something concrete when you told me my glasses were crooked. And the moment I knew—I mean, I already knew from that first moment but this was when it truly hit me—was when you told me you'd kept that stupid fucking nasal implant in your sports bra so that you wouldn't lose it."

He laughed warmly, obviously thinking back to the moment. "No one else has ever believed me the way you do. And I doubt anyone else ever will. You're my one in…" He looked to the side, trying to remember the number, "Five billion."

Your hand came up to caress his face. He seemed to melt against your touch. 

This time, when your lips met, everything felt right, despite the feeling that the world was crumbling around you. His hands squeezed your face gently, as if you were about to disappear. When your hands slid into his hair, it felt slightly sweaty still, but it wasn't tacky with gel. 

This was your Johnny. You knew it with your entire being.

Yes, Johnny was sarcastic, stubborn, eccentric and had low impulse control. But he was also highly intelligent, empathetic, hilarious and yes, you could now admit that he was the most beautiful human you'd ever seen in your 30 years on this planet. 

If it had to be him and you against the world, so be it. The truth was out there. You and Johnny would just have to be the ones chasing it.

taglist: @doderyscoffee​ @always-wishing-for-rain​

[is-the-horse-vid-cute]

ive been riding horses for almost 15 years now across three barns and my learning process has felt slow lately. do yall have any resources you can reccomend for learning ethical horsemanship and equine welfare? i've mostly done my learning through experience (and i know ive made mistakes in that time) so even something that might seem like basic literature would be helpful for me.

Hello! I can recommend some books and concepts to study. I would definitely start with Karen Pryor's book Don't Shoot the Dog, an excellent book about behavioral training science that is written in a way that makes it easy to grasp without technical jargon.

Patricia Irene-Barlow's book How 2 Train A _____ is another amazing book, but it is very dense so I would recommend waiting to read that one until you're a bit more familiar with some of the basic concepts.

Language Signs & Calming Signals of Horses by Rachaël Draaisma is a phenomenal book. The author studied several hundred hours of video footage of equine behavior and wrote an entire book dedicated to explaining stress signals and self-soothing behaviors of horses. It's full of photographs and wonderful explanations. I can't recommend this one enough.

Equitation Science by Paul McGreevy, Janne Winther, Uta König von Borstel and Andrew McLean is more college textbook-like and therefore a bit pricier than some of these other books, but a wonderful resource nonetheless.

The most important thing to internalize when learning to become a more ethical horseperson is that horses are not humans, they do not think like humans, and they never will. Instead of expecting a horse to think like a person, teach yourself to think like a horse. A horse is not capable of being spiteful or mean just because. If a horse is acting up, step back and assess why. Are its social, exercise, and foraging needs being met? Is it free of pain? Does it understand what you are asking?

Ask yourself what the function of the behavior is. If a horse flinches away when the saddle approaches, if a horse is slow or stiff under saddle, if the horse is resistant to bridling, if the horse doesn't let you pick up one specific hoof...all of these are attempts at communication that are often overlooked. Learn to listen to the whispers before the horse resorts to yelling.

If you have any more specific questions, I'd be happy to answer them over DM :)

[skellebonez]

Hear me out: Spider Macaque in the Spider Monkie AU with prompts 14 and 35?

I hear you and oh this was way too much fun... I took a great deal of liberty with exactly how Mac transforms into his Spider Monkie form and who says what and the TIMELINE because I... re-wrote this into a ship fic because of you. I call it ShadowCodingShipping because someone had to name MacaqueSyntax eventually! I guess you could say this is definitely a what-if story more than anything.

Warning for body horror because Mac is slowly turning half spider and that's kinda gross and painful. Also this is hurt/comfort but heavy on the HURT. This does not have a happy ending.

Am I scaring you?/I believe I can be of some help here.

"Am I scaring you?" Macaque asked with a smirk, pain clearly barely held at bay behind it. The monkey demon was a mess, fur tussled and miscolored splotches that hadn't yet grown in properly littered his torso. His torso that had gained a good inch in the last failed attempt at... what they were trying to accomplish. "... are you going to answer me, scientist?"

Syntax did not answer. Whether it was out of fear or knowing that regardless his answer would not make the demon leave him be even he didn't know.

"Queenie calls you Syntax," Macaque continued, moving around the computer to watch him over the screen. "That can't be your name, can it? I didn't give enough of a shit to ask before now. Hey. Hey. Hey. H-"

"No, it is not my birth name," the scientist snapped eventually, watching as Macaque smirked in victory. "Only a complete fool would agree to work with someone as infamous as the Spider Queen and use their legal name as if they were sending an unencrypted message containing confidential information across basic messaging applications without a VPN. What in the world are you trying to accomplish?"

"Ooooo, wordy," Macaque chuckled out as he leaned against the monitor and made it tilt at an awkward angle. "I'm. Bored. Entertain me, scientist, you're the most interesting person in this place. believe it or not."

Syntax raised a brow at the demon, sighing as he continued to type into the computer. "Do you want this to be finished any time soon? Because the more you bother me the longer it will take. I may be able to multitask but humans have limits."

Macaque scowled for a moment before shrugging, failing at hiding a grimace of pain. It must have made the new bones in his spine ache horribly. But he moved easily past Syntax without a word, only whipping his tail against his shoulder as he left.

It didn't hurt at all... he wondered what the point of the gesture even was.

~

The screaming rang through the entire hideout, Syntax's ears ringing even as he covered them. They'd tried twice more in their attempts at Macaque's twisted idea, Spider Queen slowly seeming to become less and less comfortable with not only their methods but with what they were even doing. It was working, sort of, but not correctly.

The changes were supposed to be immediate, so fast that the pain receptors wouldn't register properly. Not for the comfort of the converted, but so that it would happen so quickly they wouldn't be able to fight it. Less pain, less of a change for your body to try to fight off the transformation. Syntax had insisted on mechanical changes, nano-bots or something of the sort instead of organic growth. Macaque himself had vetoed this, saying something about how it wouldn't make him feel whole again.

This made the changes slow. Too slow, so much so that the mixture was fought off by his immortal monkey biology too quickly for it to take hold the way it was supposed to, requiring Syntax to make it stronger and stronger each time in the hopes it would finally kick in.

Now Macaque laid on the ground, holding his face and screaming so much Syntax feared his vocal cords would give out. The last two treatments had lengthened his torso even more and changed his fur consistency entirely. Once soft and thick black fur was a mixture of that and the coarse purple hair of a spider, not meshing together at all and instead forming an odd pattern on his body. At some points silver had begun to peak through, though if that was supposed to happen or if it was a reaction to the sheer stress of his body undergoing a change that should not be happening he was not sure. Syntax could see the red mark on his face warping, changing into the same purple on his torso around his eyes and moving up on his face as two more eyes grew above the ones he already had. It was fascinating to be sure, and he would have said that it was almost pretty had it not seen the build up of them forming in a fashion he wished to never see in slow build up ever again.

He was a scientist. He was supposed to be impartial to his work above all else, and he had agreed to help of... mostly his own volition. But this... This made him more uncomfortable than he was ready to admit.

"Help him up," Spider Queen said after Macaque collapsed onto the floor, screaming ceased as his body fought off the mixture for the fourth time. She looked... perturbed. Discomforted. "After his last treatment... move on to your idea. We are not doing this again."

She moved out of the room quickly, to fast to even tell her if he would or not, covering the side of her face with her hand to shield her from the sight of the collapse man on the floor. Yes... discomforted indeed.

Syntax didn't have that luxury. And he would not leave Macaque to lay on the floor regardless of orders. But the way he shook and covered his new eyes and the small amount of tears leaking from his normal eyes made a pang of pity shoot through him. He was a scientist... but he was still human.

"I believe I can be of some help here," he said softly, taking off his lab coat and folding it part way before shoving it under Macaque's head and laying the unfolded part over his face. The demon let out a half whimper, clearly bit back as he didn't want to show weakness, but eased ever so slightly as he realized the coat blocked out the light of the lab just as well as his hands had. "It's not a perfect solution, but it gets the job done.

"Th-thought Queenie s-said to help me u-up," Macaque stuttered out, moving his hands to grip the coat instead of his eyes.

"Yes, but that would be a bad idea," Syntax explained, sitting on the floor next to him with a sigh. He pulled his tablet down from a nearby table, there was no point in not getting at least some work done, and began scribbling away with the attached pen. "Your eyes are far too sensitive and with the other changes you have gone through your body will likely collapse again before we could get you to a cot. It's best you remain stationary for the time being until I am able to assess your pain tolerance properly, then I will move you to your quarters."

Macaque didn't say anything, just huffed in reply and seemed to relax. Syntax wondered if he was thankful he wouldn't have to move immediately this time, and he could have sworn he heard something... rumbling.

Maybe it was the machinery behind them.

He felt Macaque's tail hit his side after a while, thumping softly against him... but he didn't push it away.

He wondered if this would change anything at all.

~

Syntax saw more of Macaque than usual after that. Sometimes he would wander into his lab and just... stay there. Silent as the shadows he liked to hide in. Sometimes he would just watch him work, other times he would bring him plums or mangoes. Syntax never had much of a taste for fruit, not really enjoying any form of sweets, but he would not pass up free food when his stomach rumbled in protest from his long hours. One time Macaque had brought in a book, sat on his desk, and just read it.

That was bizarre, even for him. But Syntax found he didn't exactly mind the company. It was quite... lonely in the lab. He was the only human in the Spider Queen's entourage and her other two companions weren't exactly the best company. Oh, the big guy was nice and all and Syntax even enjoyed his presence well enough. But he would grow bored of the scientist's techno babble and science talk eventually and leave with a nod and a wave goodbye. He was grateful that he seemed to listen, however, even if he wasn't interested in the specifics.

The other one, however, was a pain in his ass. Constantly one upping him, trying to belittle him for being a human, just being an all around annoyance. He tried to act cool and suave but Syntax just found him obnoxious.

Macaque... Macaque stayed, listened even if Syntax ran out of things to talk about. And it was oddly nice. He felt himself growing excited for when the part-spider part-monkey would make his presence known.

He wondered, distantly... if Macaque was starting to mean something to him. To matter, in a way.

~

The day of the final treatment eventually arrived and Syntax actually dreaded what might happen. This was their last shot to make this work completely, there was a greater than 0% chance that this would cause irreparable damage to the monkey demon if they had to continue farther. But it seemed his worries were unfounded. He was smart, a genius even. He had done his job properly, even if it had taken far too long and was the least beneficial way to accomplish the goal.

Macaque screamed worse than with every other treatment, and understandably do. It would have shocked him if Macaque hadn't since he was growing two new arms.

The Spider Queen had taken her leave shortly after, disgusted by the sight before her. It was Syntax's job to watch as Macaque slowly changed before him, bones and muscle and sinew growing slowly and bit by until finally... finally it was finished.

They had learned from last time, placing a cot on the ground for him to sit on while this happened, and he collapsed onto his back. Two new arms limp against the floor as he shook and twitched and cried cold tears in agony. But it was finished.

Syntax couldn't stop himself. He rushed forward, kneeling beside Macaque's head, watching his eyes and expression for recognition and any sign that he was alright. It had only been two weeks since the last treatment, the time needed for him to recuperate, but in that short time... he had grown oddly fond of the man on the cot. He did not know what he felt for him, not yet, but he knew that he did not dislike him in the slightest.

"Ma-Macaque?" He asked softly after no response for nearly 15 minutes, waiting and watching and finally Macaque's eyes turned to him. "How do you feel?"

Macaque didn't say anything to him at first. Just blinked before a weak chuckle resounded from his throat.

"Whole."

~

The transformation was a mistake. Syntax had never felt guilt for any of his scientific achievement before, and he did not feel guilt for helping the Spider Queen in her endeavor, bit this? This he felt guilt for.

Macaque was in pain. Constantly. Sometimes it was just a dull ache, other times he almost collapsed as something moved the way it shouldn't and he had to bite back a scream. But there was no taking it back now and Macaque reveled in "feeling whole" again.

Syntax felt a mix of awe and wonder whenever he looked at the demon. He was... handsome, the purples and blacks and silvers of his fur blending together properly now. His eyes brilliant gold and green. And when he wasn't in pain his smile was nice, soft even if he could call it that. He was unsure of how much of it was true, he knew the Six-Eared Macaque to be a trickster. But he hoped some of it was, at least when directed at him.

But when he was in pain his face twisted in a way that made Syntax sick to his stomach to see it each time the agony rang true on his face. But Macaque brushed it off, not seeming to pay it much mind. Not when he had his eyes and arms "back".

The Spider Queen agreed with him, he could tell, but probably not for the same reasons. She seemed frightened of him. Goliath and Huntsman were just scared of him too. They avoided him like he would kill them on sight.

Syntax, despite his guilt, welcomes his presence still. He was not frightened of Macaque in the least. No, he just felt guilt that he was in pain. And he would never not want to help him through that now. The spider monkie had grown attached to him, almost a constant companion at his side. And he had grown fond of him as well.

He learned that Macaque had a flair for the theater. He made shadow puppets when the Spider Queen wasn't watching, though for what purpose and what audience Syntax had not asked. He liked to watch Syntax work, and eventually as he started to rest his head on the human's shoulder he learned the rumbling from the second to last treatment was a purr. He didn't know demons could purr, let alone to speed up recovery from injuries.

But the day of the Lunar New Year was coming and Syntax could tell he had something else... someone else on his mind.

~

The next day was to be the day. Syntax's last chance to get the new formula and tech right. It almost felt like a repeat of the past treatments but with less screaming. He was worried.

Macaque wasn't, however. He had never been worried, assuring the Spider Queen (sometimes through growls and bared teeth) that it would be done in time. He'd been a success after all. (Syntax said nothing each time.)

They'd never been this close before, but Macaque had eventually dragged the scientist away from his computer for rest. Taken him to his room, sat on the bed with him, and just. Held him. Purring loud and deep and eventually Syntax was lulled into slumber sitting up against the soft-coarse fur of Macaque.

He realized that Macaque mattered to him more than he cared to admit.

~

Syntax had failed. His formula and tech hadn't worked. They only had one shot left, and there was no time for him to fix his mistakes before the end of the celebration. Macaque had been in too much pain, on the other side of the room, to tell Spider Queen off this time. It was all over...

Until she came. The young woman in white and blue. She'd done something, added an ingredient he had not been able to calculate for, and then...

"Let's give it a spin," Spider Queen had said with a smirk as she turned toward her human scientist... her human guinea pig.

"Wait, no!" Syntax backed up, knowing that it was almost pointless to attempt escape. There was nowhere to run. "I helped you! You need me! Maca-AGH!"

Before the spider monkie could rush to his side the little spider drone had jumped on Syntax, adhering itself to his face before he fell backward over some machinery. It crawled around him, situating itself on his back and digging in it's injectors and

pain agony pain pain something came out of his back pain another painpainhescreamedandscreamed ANOTHER AGONYISTHISWHATMACAQUEFELTPAIN one more

And then it was over. Syntax felt... nothing. No pain. No agony.

No... guilt.

He stood straight, facing forward before kneeling. He knew what he had to do.

"My queen."

Yes. His queen. The Spider Queen.

She was the only one who mattered to him.

He heard his name spoken from the other side of the room but paid it no mind. That voice didn't matter to him.

That wasn't the voice of his queen.

~

"Syntax?" Macaque called, unable to stand from his spot as his arms throbbed in ghost pain. He had tried to stand before, when the drone had lunged at him, but the pain shot through him for a split second and send him to his knees too quickly.

His screams... his screams made his ears pull back not from the pain of the volume but from fear and something else.

Then Syntax stopped screaming and stood and knelt before the Queen.

"Syntax!"

... he never responded.

Macaque wondered if this is what guilt felt like.

[allsassnoclass]

hi hazel!! how about “i got you for secret santa so i got you this really expensive but sentimental gift that you’ve always wanted, hoping you’ll never find out it’s from me - and that i’ve been in love with you 1234567 years” with hmmmm mashton? maybe? feels mashton-y to me but whatever u think works best is good with me <3 love you <3

anything for you Iba <3

Ficmas day 10

Rating: T for language

Read on AO3

Getting Ashton for Secret Santa is both a blessing and a curse: a blessing because Michael already knows what he wants to give him, a curse because he wants to give him the world.  Well, more accurately he wants to give him the entire universe.

Ashton Irwin is arguably the universe’s finest creation, founded on stardust and made up of infinite galaxies.  Michael has been in love with him since around the time they met.  Ashton deserves something as wonderful and celestial as himself, but that would require Michael to suddenly develop the ability to trap the universe in the palm of his hands, cradled close until he could hand it off to someone worthy enough to hold it.  Even if he could, the universe seems like a fragile thing.  He’d probably drop it, knowing him.

Maybe getting Ashton was more of a curse than a blessing.  If he can’t give him some sort of celestial body, he’s out of ideas.  It’s probably for the best, because he’s not exactly keen on letting Ashton know that he’s been in love with him for so long, and you can’t give someone the entire universe without prompting a few questions.

He seeks out Calum for advice, because Calum is great at gifts, but he doesn’t want him to know who he got so he asks what he would give Luke instead.

It turns out Calum is so great at gifts because he knows exactly what each person needs.  Knowing what Luke needs does nothing to help Michael figure out what to get Ashton.

Michael spends a lot of time googling stuff like good gifts for friends and good gifts for crushes and then backtracks, because most of those imply that he would be revealing his crush.  The search for good gifts for someone you’re in love with who is also one of your best friends WITHOUT letting them know you love them but still the best present yields no useful results.  Michael doesn’t want to regurgitate generic “sentimental” gifts suggested in lists on various websites, he wants something that Ashton will truly appreciate.  He wants to get him something that only someone who knows him would give him.

He’s pretty sure buying presents isn’t supposed to make you want to pull out all of your hair, but Michael wants to pull out all of his hair.  The one solace is that they selected their people early, so he still has a lot of time to figure out a suitable present.

-/-

Michael mostly forgets about the stresses of Secret Santa for a while.  He has to get presents for other people, too, so he focuses on that, and decorating the house, and baking some Christmas cookies, and everything except Ashton’s present.  Unfortunately, this means that by the time Ashton hosts his yearly It’s a Wonderful Life watch party, it’s late enough that Michael should start panicking a little.

Each year, Ashton invites as many friends as can fit in his basement over to watch his favorite Christmas movie.  He used to watch it with his mom every year, and even though they live physically far apart he once told Michael that it makes him feel closer to her.  Over the years, the night has turned into an entire event.  Ashton sets up a projector and prepares more snacks than can be eaten.  Michael attends every year, even though the movie seems to get longer every time he watches it.  Last year he kept dozing off, enough so that Ashton had let him curl on the couch with his head in his lap and sleep for most of the second half.  The weight of Ashton’s hand resting on his shoulder and the occasional gentle fingers brushing over his hair are something Michael thinks about often.

This year he ends up in an armchair, Luke between his legs on the floor and Ashton all the way on the other side of the room.  It makes him focus on the movie a bit more, and during the scene where George asks what Mary wants and says he’ll lasso the moon Michael thinks yeah dude, you get it.

Unfortunately he is not George and Ashton is not Mary, and by the time he leaves his house that night, lingering late enough that Ashton offers to let him stay, he is no closer to figuring out his gift.

-/-

Michael can’t lasso the moon, but maybe he was onto something there.

He can’t stop thinking about space.  Ashton has always had an appreciation for it, but since his trip to the desert where he was finally able to see the Milky Way unobstructed he’s developed a new fascination with it.  He’s not going to be an astronomer, but he knows more about constellations than Michael does, and he knows a lot about astrology even if he doesn’t fully believe in it.

Michael has wanted to give him the universe this entire time.  Maybe instead of finding a different present, he should focus on figuring out a way to do that.

Maybe he should just get Ashton one of those model solar system kits that kids assemble for science projects.  That would be giving him the universe in a punny way that he might appreciate, but then he’ll have to explain that give you the universe was his original goal, which will still prompt questions.  Without that sentiment, it’s kind of a crummy gift.

He needs something that isn’t punny but that manages to accomplish his goal without revealing that he’s in love.  He’ll find a way to accomplish that out of sheer stubbornness if he has to.

-/-

Schedules don’t properly align for a full group Secret Santa exchange, so everyone is tasked with contacting their present recipient and setting up a time to give them their gift.  Michael sends Ashton a text that reads hey when do you want your secret santa present and gets a string of emojis in response.  Eventually he manages to wrangle a time from him and loads the present into his car.

It’s a decent gift, in his opinion.  He’s both relieved and nervous about having to give it to Ashton without the full group, because there’s significantly less people who can judge him but there’s significantly more opportunity for Ashton to ask uncomfortable questions.

The drive feels longer than it should.  That doesn’t bode well.

Michael lets himself in once he gets to the house, because there’s no telling where inside Ashton might be.  He calls his name and gets an answer in the direction of the bedroom, toeing off his shoes and getting rid of his coat before setting off towards his destination.  Ashton is sitting on the bed, scribbling something furiously in a journal.  Michael waits until he’s done and tosses the small leather book aside to fully enter the space.

“Hi,” Ashton says, beaming.

“Hi,” Michael says.  “Special delivery.”

The package in his hands is rectangular and flat, covered with shiny red and green paper.  Ashton eyes it curiously, taking it when offered and frowning at the weight.

“There’s a few parts, so be careful,” Michael says.

“I will.”

Ashton tears through the paper inelegantly, strips of it floating down to the floor, and Michael watches him read the framed certificate on top.

“I got you a star,” Michael says.  “That’s the certificate for it, and it’s under your name in a database.  There’s a star map, so you can try to find it the next time you have a clear sky.”

“Michael, this is amazing,” Ashton says, aglow with enthusiasm.  “This is so fucking cool!”

He looks at the star map, eyes tracking over the many tiny dots on it and the one circled that’s his.

“Wow.  My very own star.”

It wasn't quite the whole universe or lassoing the moon, but Michael thinks he did alright given the circumstances.

The next frame is a bit bigger, a blue background with a white star chart and lettering at the bottom that reads July 7, 1994 - a star is born.

“Tell me something, boy,” Ashton croons.  “Which one of us is Lady Gaga and which one of us is Bradley Cooper?”

“Neither of us,” Michael sighs.  He wants to facepalm.  He knew this was a risk when he put that inscription.  “Did you even watch that movie?  You want us to end up like them?”

“No,” Ashton says.

“You’re the star,” Michael says.  “It’s a map of the sky when you were born.  I thought it was a fitting caption.”

“Aw,” Ashton says.  “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“You don’t have to make fun,” Michael says, embarrassment flaring inside him.  This was a last-minute decision off one of those generic lists, and he’s regretting it.  Getting teased for his crush was not something he anticipated nor wanted today, especially since Ashton should know better.

“I’m not making fun,” Ashton says, tearing his eyes away from the chart to look up at Michael and frown.  “You just compared me to an actual celestial body.  That’s really fucking sweet.  The only thing sweeter would be if someone wrote me a proper love song.”

Michael could try his hand at that.

He shrugs.

“It’s almost romantic,” Ashton says.  Michael’s breath freezes in his chest.  Ashton puts the gifts down on his bed and shifts so he can face Michael fully, eyes assessing.

“Do you have feelings for me?” he asks.

Brush it off, Michael tells himself.  Laugh and call him bro and say you don’t.

There seems to be a communication delay between his mind and his body, because Michael doesn’t do any of those things.  He stands there like a deer in headlights, paralyzed the longer Ashton looks at him.

“It’s okay if you do,” Ashton says.  “I just want to know.”

Well what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?

No!

What comes out sounds more like a choking cat.

“Okay,” Ashton says.  “You want to sit down?”

Again the answer is no, but that word seems to have left his vocabulary, so he sinks onto the bed next to Ashton.  He reaches out a gentle hand and places it on his forearm.

“You know, you not saying anything is making me nervous, but I’m just going to keep going.  You can tell me to stop at any time,” Ashton says.  “I like you, and I’ve been getting the impression that you like me, too.  If that’s wrong, then correct me, but if that’s right then you don’t have to be embarrassed or upset, because it’s mutual.”

Michael turns the words over in his head, giving them a second perusal to ensure he had heard correctly.

“What?”

“Oh, he speaks,” Ashton says dryly.

“I was not picking up any vibes from you,” Michael says.  “Now you expect me to believe you like me?”

“Well it’s not like I wanted you to know,” Ashton says.  “Seriously, do you think I let anyone sleep through It’s a Wonderful Life?  You got lucky last year because I like you.”

Now that he thinks about it, Ashton might have a point.  Other people who doze off get food thrown at them with the excuse that they should have stayed home if they were planning on sleeping.

“Huh,” Michael says.

“So,” Ashton says, “do you like me?  You never actually confirmed it.”

“Oh.  Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Look, I’m processing a lot right now.  I bought you a fucking star, Ashton.  Use your context clues.”

“Use my context clues?  What are you, my literature teacher?”

“What about your boyfriend?”

Nice.  That was smooth.

Ashton smiles.  Just like that, the bridge Michael was standing on made of their banter melts into a gooey mess, dropping him into a bunch of sappy feelings below.  He could bask in that smile forever, shining brighter than all of the stars in the sky.

“That sounds good to me,” Ashton says.  Michael smiles shyly back, something that makes Ashton’s eyes crinkle at the edges.  He reaches out and squeezes his hand, something he’s going to be able to do freely now, and Ashton tangles their fingers together.

All things considered, Michael thinks he one-upped George Bailey here.  George said he was going to lasso the moon and then didn’t even do that.  Michael bought Ashton a whole fucking star and got his own star in return.  He’s probably the luckiest man in the universe.

[amyrallis]

So I Waged War Against The Skies -The Old Gods Are No More-

Written for my amazing anija, @sleepysenseis (love you uwu) because they are great and they're perfect and so is their art and anija knows exactly how to enable me, dammit. Enabled™ smol otouto me and here is the MASTERPIECE:

--------

“No.” Tobirama breathed, his body a mess from all the times he had been stabbed straight through, the pain barely registering. He sometimes thought it was a good thing he had never finished with the Edo Tensei. This was one of those times.

Madara hummed next to him, his now a greenish white hair drifting in the breeze as he surveyed the broken battlefield in front of him. “No? They already lost. There’s no point in denying it, Tobirama. It’s not like you.” The purple eyed man turned around, a madness that made Tobirama lose his breath settled deep in his eyes.

Tobirama knew Madara was right. The battlefield had gone painfully silent, the symbol of hope that Naruto was having fallen somewhere in the chaos and left them stumbling blindly in the dark. He closed his eyes as another pang went through him. To attack this man so openly without any plan was nothing short of foolish, something that Tobirama had known for a long time but Naruto had somehow missed.  

Sasuke laid on the ground close to them, his blood a pool of red around him as the wind blew over the battlefield –more like massacre, Tobirama couldn’t help but think, a pang of sorrow rushing through his veins- lifting the dust and leaving the painful picture clear for all to see. They had lost and Madara had won.

It was ironic. The way a defeated air hung around the place, the one driving force one side had, lost in grief, ıt reminded him all too clearly of another battlefield. One where Madara had laid on his back and said, me or the village Hashirama. One which Madara had said those things, his sharingan spinning an entirely new shape in his grief and looked straight at Tobirama while doing so.

His breath had hitched lightly, his eyes turning to avoid the cursed red of the sharingan –cursed by gods, cursed for daring to love so very deeply, in a way that no mortal, no god had ever dared to and cursed for caring so much, enough to give everything for fleeting lives. Tobirama knew the feeling very well, in the blood that ran through his veins, in the way that his eyes were the same shade of red as the curse of gods, the beat of his heart as he held pieces of his younger brother in his arms… really, he should’ve known in the beginning- and felt something in him burn. Izuna may have had been an enemy but he was also human. They were at war and Tobirama had his own family to keep safe. He didn’t have to regret protecting his family.

Even if it was at the cost of another’s, for that was how life had dared to work, always so cruel against those who took the chance and thrived in it. 

He already had too many of those very same family’s blood on his hands because Hashirama was brilliant, a sea of hope in the midst of a thunderstorm, burning bright and beautiful and Tobirama could only hope to rest in his shores for some time, before he had to get up and stop the storm from breaching that sacred place, because even though Hashirama was impossible and brilliant and everything, he was only one men. And men were good at one thing above all. Falling.

Tobirama had to stop that, he had to interfere and help his Anija against the fate that was so very determined to stop him and if the cost was his own conscious, nights spent awake, feeling like his very soul would never feel together again and sitting up once more because he could never hope to be enough but that never meant he couldn’t try his best, that was his own problem.

Anija tended to overlook lives, tiny and insignificant as they were to him, for his eyes were burned and blinded by the future he was always marching towards but Tobirama was there to ground him and carry the burdens that grounding would normally lay on Hashirama. He had chosen Izuna for a reason.

Izuna was close to his power, so very close in chakra, maybe even in strength but Tobirama was an inventor and a seal master, he wasn’t known as the greatest suiton master ever seen for nothing. 

Izuna, just, didn’t match up. But Tobirama made it so, allowing the illusion of him being equal to power because if he didn’t, he would have to reach behind him and go full force, after revealing his entire power and skill set, there’d be no stopping for him, he’d be pushed to do it and not even Hashirama could try for his peace when so much of the Uchiha had been slaughtered by his own heir, no one would trust them.

İf the cost came with the Senju that Tobirama hadn’t been fast enough to protect while engaging Izuna, the ones he would’ve been able to had he already gotten rid of the other younger brother, then those were his own demons, hidden behind to be revealed at night, after everyone was asleep and the graveyard in his mind had been awakened once more.

His eyes snapped open as Madara’s hand clasped his chin, forcing his eyes to meet the Rinnegan and the shorter man leaned down slightly with an intense look in his eyes. “What have they done to you? I’m sure you could make the Edo Tensei work so much better than this. All they did was bring back you at  your last second. Truly pitiful like they are. I'm not surprised at all that they had to bring you back to fight me and still managed to mess it up.” Tobirama glared up at him, unable to retort because the Uchiha was right but also unwilling to let the slight against his village go while stubbornly denying the back handed compliment.

“As pitiful as your plan, I suppose? Or are you truly that gone in the head Uchiha? Your plan has so many loopholes in it that Anija could stick his head in it.”

Madara’s eyes twisted with fury even as he slowly caressed Tobirama’s cheek, a wondering look replacing the fury in the next second and making Tobirama question if it had even happened.

“That’s why you’re the one who plans things, Tobirama.” Madara murmured, a slight smile pulling at his lips as he leaned down even more. Tobirama struggled in his kneeling position, the callousness burning at him even as he hid the discomfort from the way Madara looked at him. 

Madara chuckled, his hand coming up to keep Tobirama in place and circled him. “You were always so beautiful when you got angry.” Madara stopped behind him, his fingers sinking into Tobirama’s hair and yanked his head back. Tobirama looked at him, his neck bent at an odd angle as pieces of paper floated in the air. “What are you talking about?” he said, trying to ignore the pressing feeling in his mind.

Madara always acted strange when Tobirama was around, Hashirama had said once. His eyes would focus on Tobirama and all his words would be for him, like he was literally unable to forget that the albino was there and that he existed, even for one moment.  His chakra would seek Tobirama out during the day and his questions would be pointed to Tobirama, something that made Hashirama wonder a lot. Tobirama had tried to ignore his Anija’s foolishness, instead thinking that it was Madara assessing the highest likely threat to himself, because it was so obvious that Hashirama wouldn’t hurt him, the bumbling buffoon.

Hashirama wouldn't hurt him? Like he hadn't killed Madara? Tobirama couldn’t help but question. Just like Madara hadn’t sometimes sought Tobirama out, his chakra exhausted and on the verge of something that Tobirama had never known what? Instead, his mind had been focused on trying to stop what had felt inevitable to him, always, always dangling just over their future and overwhelming. Because even if Madara hadn’t been so beloved by Anija, and hadn’t that always burned so deeply inside him, Tobirama respected the man. For his strength, maybe, for his ability to look past the Senju elders, always trying to manipulate everything, certainly, for his kindness with children , always. 

Tobirama was a man of practicality, he liked solutions and ideas, he liked his science and he liked building things –sometimes, in the midst of the night when everyone was asleep, he dared to think he’d have made a good teacher, a good adventurer, maybe even a good man. In another life. Good for life, maybe or maybe good for humans, perhaps even good as humans had decreed it, he didn’t know. He supposed he’d get used to not doing so. It was one of the first things he had resigned to never knowing, but certainly not the last (the last had been the question, will it ever truly end?)- he always liked kids and helping them. There’d been a certain joy to be found in imparting knowledge to others and knowing that, at least in that way, they’d be safer. Madara had always been that way, something that Tobirama had  known to respect in humans.

Madara was also complicated. Sometimes, they’d tear each other’s throats out and sometimes, it’d be silence in a winter midnight, something that could almost be called amiable between them as the snow rested on their faces and hair. Once, Madara had approached during that time, his hand slowly extending to brush against Tobirama’s cheek and he had muttered, snow is a good look on you, Tobirama. There had been the potential of so many things in that second, and perhaps they had taken that potential and used it, in another life.

Madara had left the other day, gone for a whole week before he returned, one last time, on the back of the Kyuubi and so very desperate. They had come across each other when Madara had waited for Tobirama in his room and there had been an unspoken question before his gaze had sharpened.  Tobirama had looked into the sharingan for the last time and into Madara’s eyes, the first. –the first time he had looked into the sharingan since he had when he was five and there was blood in the air and Anija was gone, gone, gone, missing and the very air was screaming with him and the world had cracked open, the fury of gods falling upon it with his loss, his desperation-

-a bargain was made that day-

“You, Tobirama, I’m always talking about you.” Tobirama’s breath got stuck in his chest, his mind on the cusp of something, a realization so dangerous, too much to even contemplate. Madara gazed towards the skyline, the mural of his victory laid out before him and a self deprecating smile painted on his face. “Always.” 

Tobirama didn’t want to hear it. Tobirama didn’t want to hear anything, he was dead and he was gone, he had done everything he could for this World and he had deserved his happiness, his end, his rest. If Madara wanted him so badly, he could join Tobirama –and Hashirama and everyone he had loved and lost because why was he trying to drag them back up to the very place that had destroyed them, why was he so damn selfish?- in the Pure Lands, saving everyone the pain and exhaustion. Why did he have to be so stubborn, so damn blind? If he loved them, then he could’ve come to them, because his time was over but Madara was always chasing the fleeting wasn’t he? And there was the problem, Tobirama thought bitterly, the man who loved him –he had felt that for a long time, but he would save the breakdown till later- was an Uchiha, the very epitome of loving the fleeting and cursing the ethereal, the endless.

Those eyes weren’t given for naught. 

Amaterasu, seeing their pain  and loss, had blessed the sad, fallen mortals with the chance to always remember their loved ones and in doing so, had also cursed them. There was a reason that Gods didn’t walk the earth anymore, didn’t interfere with their affairs.

-Gods could fall too-

 “Look at me. All the sights of the world, laid out at my feet and I can only look at you.” Madara turned his gaze back down to Tobirama, his hair swaying in the wind as he did so.

Tobirama stopped the imitation of breathing, all his senses focused on Madara. Why was he saying these things? Why now? The war was over, he had won, so why was he still playing this game? Tobirama had seen the way Madara had looked at him as he clashed with Naruto, the other Kage, always, a part of his attention was on Tobirama, he could feel it like the gaze of someone on his back, the feeling of a breath on his nape, with his everything. 

For once during the battle, his chakra had reached out, coaxing and playful and tried to intertwine with Tobirama whose eyes had widened, his attention turning to the Bijuu he was next to. He had departed right after, the idea of pressing the advantage forming in his head. Madara was somehow calm towards Tobirama, something that could’ve been used for their advantage and if Tobirama could give the others an advantage to press forward by making Madara focus on him, then he would. Madara had always been a creature of passion, someone who could easily focus elsewhere if one knew how to play him. It hadn’t worked.

The bright golden of Minato and Anija echoed in his senses as the silence continued, Madara having leant down and sat next to him. His arm raised, grabbing Tobirama’s hair once more and using it to angle his face to stare at Madara. Tobirama's eyes narrowed.

“Close your eyes, if it irks you so.” Madara gave a surprised laugh, the sound escaping with a strange timbre like he honestly hadn’t expected Tobirama to respond that way –and wasn’t that stupid, Madara always knew Tobirama had a sharp tongue, and was logically wary of it. Perhaps he had foolishly thought being in Madara’s hold would stop him from lashing with it, an idea fit for clueless people because Tobirama wasn’t one to bow to pressure.- and he threw his head back for a second before leaning down and crushing their lips together. 

Tobirama froze stiff, his entire being wanting to continue to reject the very idea of the situation yet his mind so very aware as Madara pressed impossibly closer, his eyes wide open and running over Tobirama‘s face reverently, the edge of something insane burning in them.

Madara slowly drew back, a satisfied smile on his face as he gave Tobirama a smug look. “I prefer to continue looking. You’re quite the sight, after all.” 

Tobirama looked back, something sharp in his gaze. He had never wanted any of this. He was tired of his life always being one battle, one challenge after another and just when he thought he was done, he had closure…

“I’d rather not to be looked at actually, especially by a madman who can’t even plan.” He bit back, his words trying and failing to mask his unease. Madara smiled and leant down, leaning his head against Tobirama’s shoulder and raising his lips to his ear.

“Always with the insults, To-bi-ra. Don’t worry, I’ll have enough time to look my fill. Right after I’m done with them.” Madara muttered, his body tensing once more. Tobirama lightly flinched at the touch of his horn against his neck, his instincts overwhelming him as he tried to ignore the words, to leave this world and go back to his tranquil existence of before. “Then we can be together, like we’ve always wanted.”

The chakra receiver through his head warmed lightly as Madara moved his hand over it and melted over his body, binding Tobirama more thoroughly than anything else ever could. The edges of panic peeked from his mind as they did, Tobirama having to fight an uphill battle to push them back

Madara was gone with the blast of a wind, his outrageous claims not seeming so stupid. Tobirama knew, there was no way they’d be able to win and Madara was just gloating his victory over them. Naruto was gone, truly honestly dead in the way that Tobirama could sense his chakra pooling out of his body, leaving an empty husk and he didn’t want to think anymore.

He didn’t want to think about what Madara was implying, didn’t want to think about how he wasn’t able to get free as long as Orochimaru didn’t set him -and he wouldn’t if he was trapped in an endless dream, Tobirama was well and truly stuck in a way he’d never been, had always avoided, even without the seals that had locked over his form and bound him to the mortal plane-  he didn’t want to think about losing once more –because no matter what was said, Konoha had been a loss. One that Tobirama had tried his best to salvage but perhaps, perhaps some things weren't meant to be saved.- about all the people who laid dead for a system that had been made to kill them in the first place, the system that Tobirama himself had failed in creating properly and thus, left them to their fates, sent them to their deaths.

Instead, he closed his eyes and let go, his mind soaring through nebulae and galaxies, starlight and  black holes with a pale moon lighting the way home.

[tinyshe]

The global COVID response is simply the exercise of absolute power instead of science For bureaucrats and politicians, gaining power and compelling submission are victory enough, even when their policies fail to vanquish a virus.

Tue Aug 31, 2021 - 2:03 pm EDT  

(American Institute for Economic Research) – Since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, lockdown champions have perennially invoked “science and data” to sanctify any mandate politicians impose. Hard facts have recently shown that neither vaccines nor face masks provide surefire protection against the virus. But no amount of evidence has yet shaken faith in the magic of absolute power.

COVID policies are increasingly degenerating to the equivalent of sacrificing virgins to appease angry viral gods. New Zealand on August 24 imposed a nationwide lockdown in response to a single COVID case in the capital city. Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern ordered her captive citizenry: “Do not congregate, don’t talk to your neighbors. Please keep to your bubble.” Arden asserted that “complying with these rules, making sure we do all we can to stamp it out, still remains the best strategy in the world right now.” Ardern did not deign to explain why almost no place else in the world, including places with vastly more COVID cases, sought to outlaw everyday conversations.

In Australia, the military is patrolling city streets to enforce the latest lockdown. Daniel Andrews, the Premier of the state of Victoria, recently decreed: “There will be no removal of masks to consume alcohol outdoors.” One Aussie lamented, “My business has been forcibly closed. Everyone has been sent home without pay. We are banned from leaving our homes except for the 5 reasons given by the Government.”

There is no “science” to justify prohibiting Australians from going more than 2 miles from their home. But New Zealand and Australia presume that no one will be safe unless government officials have jurisdiction over every breath that citizens take.

In the United States, many of the same pundits and activists who howled about the evils of “microaggressions” are now cheering for the government to forcibly inject everyone with a COVID vaccine. Biden publicly declared that he is checking to see if he has the power to force everyone to get injected.

Biden endorsed the vaccination passports that some cities have already imposed. Radio host Grant Stinchfield commented, in Los Angeles “you can [defecate] on the street, shoot drugs in crack tent on the sidewalk and even steal anything less then (sic) 900 bucks but now you have to show papers to get in a restaurant or gym!?!?” New York City’s passport regime effectively bans the majority of blacks from many activities of daily life, since they have a much lower vaccination rate than other groups.

Far greater restrictions may be on the horizon. The Associated Press reported that the Biden administration is considering “mandating vaccines for interstate travel” but is delaying any such decree until “Americans were ready for the strong-arming from the federal government.” A top former Homeland Security official has called for placing anyone who is not fully vaccinated on the No Fly list, thereby expanding the list to scores of millions of people and creating new havoc for air travel. Biden administration officials have offered no evidence that such restrictions would end the pandemic but it would permit the president to demonstrate the same machismo that President Nixon showed with his illegal invasion of Cambodia in 1970.

Politicians’ anti-COVID recommendations increasingly resemble frightened soldiers shooting at any noise they hear in the dark. NIH Director Francis Collins recently condemned the “epidemic of misinformation, disinformation, distrust that is tearing us apart.” But much of the misinformation has stemmed directly from the Biden administration’s flip-flops and fearmongering. On August 3, Collins announced during a CNN interview that “parents of unvaccinated kids should… wear masks” in their own homes. He conceded: “I know that’s uncomfortable, I know it seems weird, but it is the best way to protect your kids.” A few hours later, Collins recanted on Twitter, perhaps after other political appointees persuaded him to stop sounding like a blithering idiot.

COVID misinformation started at the top. In a CNN Town Hall last month, Biden declared, “You’re not going to get COVID if you have these vaccinations.” Biden administration officials kept reciting the “pandemic of the unvaccinated” refrain long after it became clear that vaccines were rapidly failing to prevent the spread of COVID. On August 8, CDC Director Rochelle Walensky finally admitted: “What [COVID vaccines] can’t do any more is prevent transmission.” Helluva asterisk. Prior to that, the Biden administration even refused to disclose the number of “breakthrough” infections that had occurred among White House staff. Prof. Eric Topol complained that the CDC’s false statements on COVID risks was a “blatant failure putting millions of vaccinated Americans at unnecessary risk for breakthrough infections.”

On Thursday, a front page Washington Post article castigated the CDC for withholding COVID information from the public, noting that its “overly rosy assessments of the vaccines’ effectiveness against delta may have lulled Americans into a false sense of security.” Tom Frieden, former CDC director under Obama, suggested that the long delays in disclosure led some people to “wonder if the CDC is hiding results.” CDC Director Walensky responded to the debacle by promising “to develop a new forecasting and outbreak analytics center to analyze data in real time,” the Post reported. The CDC apparently did not previously consider it worthwhile to spend any of its $8 billion annual budget on such a project.

The Biden administration has sought to blame the resurgence of COVID on scofflaws who did not submit to every revised command. The Official Enemies List has expanded from those not wearing a mask to those resisting getting vaccinated, and it will soon include those who balk at getting a third (and fourth? fifth?) injection.

 The biggest expansion of the Enemies List occurred on August 13, when the Department of Homeland Security issued a terrorist alert, warning law enforcement agencies that “anti-government/anti-authority violent extremists could exploit… potential re-establishment of public health restrictions across the United States as a rationale to conduct attacks.” Anyone who loudly objects to being locked back under house arrest will be the moral equivalent of the Taliban, or maybe Hezbollah. Previous federal driftnets for potential troublemakers expanded far beyond individuals who threatened violence. The feds may already be compiling vast lists of COVID critics that could come in handy at some future point.

But at least government officials now recognize the real enemy. COVID Czar Tony Fauci recently declared, “I know people must like to have their individual freedom… but I think that we’re in such a serious situation now, that… mandates should be done.” Fauci predicts that once the FDA rushes its formal approval of the COVID vaccines, there will be far more mandates imposed on Americans. The fact that the efficacy of the Pfizer vaccine has fallen to 42% is irrelevant. A vaccine isn’t a failure as long as the government can force everyone to get additional injections.

The primary “evidence” for most COVID policies is the job title of the government official issuing the decree. As University of California San Francisco professor of medicine Vinay Prasad wrote last month, “When it comes to non-pharmacologic interventions such as mandatory business closures, mask mandates, and countless other interventions, the shocking conclusion of the last 18 months is this: We have learned next to nothing.”

Prasad slammed his colleagues for failing to do reliable research on key issues of the pandemic: “Anyone who considers themselves a scientist should be embarrassed by our collective failure to generate knowledge, and this failure is once again looming large.”

For bureaucrats and politicians, gaining power and compelling submission are victory enough, even when their policies fail to vanquish a virus. Citizens are obliged to assume “government knows best, even when it knows little or nothing.” People won’t get infected as long as they are groveling to federal commands, right? Unfortunately, the government has no liability for the injections it approves or the freedoms it destroys.

Faith in absolute power is not “science” – regardless of how many scientists pledge allegiance to Washington in return for federal funding. As historian John M. Barry, author of The Great Influenza, observed, “When you mix politics and science, you get politics.” There is no safety in submission to damn fools, regardless of their pompous titles.

Reprinted with permission from the American Institute for Economic Research

LifeSiteNews has produced an extensive COVID-19 vaccines resources page. View it here.

source x

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

I have a silly Napoleon ask for you: if he suddenly woke up in the present day what do you think he would a)like most about it b) like least about it c)get unreasonably addicted to d)decide to do for a living

hahah I’ve answered a similar one before here and here. 

Most Like About It: A lot, I think. Central heating. Guys, he’d fucking love central heating.

In general, he’d love most technological advances. Cars, planes, trains etc. like he’d be very into that. “Bertrand we’re going to ride the TGV all day every day. Look at how fast we are going! This is genius.” 

“Bertrand WE ARE IN THE SKY. This is AMAZING. We are going from Paris to Rome in a matter of HOURS. HOURS BERTRAND. WE DON’T HAVE TO CROSS MOUNTAINS.” (sorry just assuming this is exile Napoleon who woke up in modern day.) 

Public transit in general - the metro, buses - anything that makes life more efficient for people. Dishwasher, washers/dryers, modern electricity, laptops, printers, ball point pens etc. 

I suspect he’d be a big supporter of public health care and all the advances made on vaccines and medicine in general. 100% would hate anti-vaxxers. Pro-modern glasses (he’d get himself a pair asap. Then they’d explain contacts to him and I think he’d be like “WAIT NO, I WANT THOSE.” He would not be into lasik, I suspect). 

Modern hygiene! Razors, tooth brushes, floss, moisturizer - general daily body care he’d probably be keen on. (All that stuff we take for granted.) Though maybe not all of it, he was quite traditional in certain things (his penchant for older fashion, par exemple). Maybe he’d keep the old straight razor shaving approach. But modern dentistry would be a huge improvement and I can’t see him being against it. Especially as someone who had a tooth extracted in the early 19th century. 

‘Oh they give you pain killers now? Fantastic.’ 

‘Sir, we just numb the area where we are doing the work.’ 

‘So it doesn’t impede my awareness? Amazing. Please, fix all my teeth right now.’ 

He’d also support the greater access to education that exists, especially compared to his day. Also, streaming services. He would binge so many things. ‘Bertrand we are watching every thing this very soothing sounding British naturalist made about planet earth. Holy shit look at that they’re under water! They’re at the bottom of the ocean! Bertrand look at this. if only Josephine were here. She’d be so excited.’ 

Pro-zoom/Microsoft teams/facetime etc. 100%. ‘If I had this instead of people relying on my bad handwriting ...’ 

Oh, he’d like the EU as a concept. Except he would be very disappointed that France wasn’t at the helm. I think France’s position globally would disappoint him, overall. But yeah, the broad principles espoused by the concept of the European Union would appeal to him. 

Brexit though. Lol. I think he’d enjoy watching England shoot itself in the foot. But if you asked him for his opinion, as in “do you think the UK should do this” he would answer no. They should remain. 

He would like globalization, trade agreements, things like NAFTA, CETA etc. Supporter of big government. Reduction of religion in public sphere. Though would he be pro-banning visual manifestations of faith? (i.e. Hijab etc.) I don’t know. I doubt it. Simply because he was very focused on religion in government, so if churches aren’t involved in decision making, what citizens get up to on their own is their business (so long as you don’t cause problems). But I don’t know, he might be pro-it, because he was also into assimilation and creating a broad sense of a French culture. I could see him really going either way on it. It’d probably come down to whatever he thought would garner the most public support as a political move (since a lot of his more liberal moves as a leader were tied to understanding that marginalized communities would gun hard for him if he helped them). 

He would be pro-mask wearing for COVID because he wasn’t a fucking idiot and lived in a time when pandemics were still a real going concern. 

He would also probably like how comfortable modern clothing is. I don’t think he’d like how cheap and made-to-wear-out that most brands are, but he’d like the over all philosophy. Like Napoleon would dig t-shirts. Lounge wear. The fact that jeans have some stretch in them. That sort of thing. 

-- 

Least Like: I think he’d be very wary of the internet. For many reasons. For the lack of government control (Napoleon “What is a free press? never heard of her” Bonaparte). But also, because of the misinformation problems. The side effects many of us are now bearing witness to, and experiencing the ramifications of. 

He would dislike the whole fake news nonsense. Oh this man was a master spin-doctor, very good at twisting a narrative around to suit him, but he still did have respect for and a firm belief in basic facts. Especially fake news that usurped the sound advise of scientists and doctors (i.e. COVID nonsense). 

Free press, I think he would be wary of it. Mostly from a government control perspective. Like as a day-to-day citizen, since he wouldn’t be anyone in power in this hypothetical, I think he’d value it. He would do that disassocative thing he did when he talked about things in the abstract. That cold, calculating way he would position himself in a situation and be like “Ah yes, these are the things that need to be tamped down if you want control of a populace as a monarch”. Then he had his more liberal, call-back-to-that-misspent-jacobin-youth moments where his views shifted. 

I suppose it would also depend what age this hypothetical Napoleon is. He softened a lot in retirement exile. Napoleon at the height of his power, thirty-odd years old, different man to fifty year old Napoleon. 

Would not be into women in politics. He’d be like ‘Why is there a woman in charge of Germany? Also what happened to the Habsburgs? Where’s Prussia? Silesia? What the FuCk is happening in the Balkans? I’m very confused about Europe’s current geographic layout. ...Corsica...still doing you, I see.’ 

He’d dislike Trump and his cronies. As I wrote before: “ I think Napoleon would find Trump disgusting on a personal level. Uneducated, incapable of holding a real conversation, gauche, anti-intellectual, anti-fact-based discussion, anti-science, anti-art etc. He’d also feel that Trump is disgracing the position of President and that he is unworthy of leadership. Napoleon would also find Trump physically repulsive as he could be a wee bit shallow in some of his assessments (though, very early modern to 19th century to assume your physical appearance is a manifestation of your interiority).” 

Steve Bannon’s fiddling with finances? Napoleon would find that repulsive. Mitch Mcconnell disgracing his office by fucking around with constitutional loop holes? Napoleon would think it a disgrace. 

He had a lot of respect for America’s experiment with democracy. Like, quite a lot of respect. So I think he’d be vastly disappointed in not only the person occupying the white house, but also a lot of the apathy in voting that is going around. (Yes, this coming from a [mostly] absolutest monarch, too.) But Napoleon valued and respected the notion of civic duty. If you live in a democracy, you have a duty to participate. To opt out is to shirk that duty which he would find insulting and distasteful. Because, I would argue, he was very much a believer in people doing right by their fellow citizens. 

--

Get unreasonably addicted to: MODERN BATHS. HE WOULD NEVER LEAVE THE BATHTUB. THEY CAN HAVE JETS AND EVERYTHING BERTRAND THIS IS GREAT. 

Also central heating. Saunas. Jacuzzis. He was like a wee lizard seeking warmth at all times. 

I think he’d be into driving. I don’t know if he would be good at it. Don’t let Napoleon take the wheel, guys. But if someone else was driving he’d be that person “go faster. you’re driving like my grandmother.” And gods, he’d do dumb shit like drive like a maniac around the arc de triumph six times in a row because he’s an adrenaline junkie and a risk-taker (it’s that bored ADD brain of his). The autobahn would be his dream. 

I think he’d be super into epic fantasy series. Like the big sweeping ones like Lord of the Rings. I think less so GRRM because GRRM is unrealistic and Napoleon is pedantic. Especially about politics and war. Exhibit A: consider Napoleon’s very detailed nitpicking of Virgil on his inaccurate rendition of Troy from a military perspective. Therefore, I suspect GRRM’s lack of accuracy in how society works, how war works, how politics works, all the plot holes and illogical character decisions, would drive him up the wall. Napoleon liked Homer because he could tell Homer had been to war. And you can tell Tolkien has been to war. Also LOTR hits all those notes of high-hearted emotion and big sweeping scenes that Napoleon so liked in Ossian and the Illiad etc.

All this to say, overall, as a genre, I think those big, sweeping fantasies with lots of plot, politics, intrigue, soaring battles, great heights of emotion - he’d love that. It would hit all of his buttons for what he liked in fiction. Lots of emotion, lots of action, lots of big scenes, lots of crazy shenanigans. This can also be applied to Sci-fi. I think he’d be a big nerd on that too. But the science would have to make sense. 

I think he’d be into Star Trek, particularly Picard, if only for the philosophical aspects of it. He liked those sorts of questions and hypotheticals. So I think he’d binge all of The Next Generation (among other seasons). 

--

Do for a living: Teach? God knows. This is Napoleon from 18-something who just woke up? He could be paid for consultant work for historians and film crews and the like, I guess. Just to tell them how accurate stuff is. Of course, be wary, this is Napoleon I Am A Spin Doctor Bonaparte. 

I think he could lean into writing histories - particularly the classics, early French and European history - that sort of thing, where he already has a strong background in it and it wouldn’t require him basically learning an entirely new trade. Like, will Napoleon ever fully be a natural with computers and cell phones? Probably not. Could he be like your old school Professor emeritus who still churns out papers and does 90% of it the old fashioned by-hand way? Yes. And Napoleon had a bunch of histories planned on St. Helena that he wanted to write, so I think he could do that. 

As this is literally Napoleon Bonaparte he’d get a book deal in seconds. There’d be a bidding war over it. 

--

Thank you for the ask! This was very amusing :D 

[spideyscnse]

hey, i saw u were taking requests and i really love your writing!! could u possibly do something where reader is a nerd and she works at a bookstore and peter comes in?? idk where to go from there but i’d like it to be super fluffy and cute if u like :))) thank u so much x

a/n: hi! aw, i’m so flattered that you love my writing! i’m so so sorry for taking so long, but i was so excited by this idea when i saw it because it’s so cute! to make up for it i wrote 3k words and made it extra cute :) hope you enjoy

*

sci-fi

pairing: peter parker x booknerd!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: none :) just super cute fluff and pureness

summary: y/n is so much of a book lover that the moment she hit fifteen, she applied for a job at her favourite, local bookstore. one day, a boy called peter parker shows up at the store.

note: please don’t plagiarise my work!

masterlist

* 

You had your earbuds in as you left the school through the back gate—the gate that would take the least amount of time to get to the bookstore. You had work today, and it was why Tuesdays and Thursdays were your favourite days of the week.

Your school was a small one, almost adjacent to the prestigious Midtown High, where all of the smart kids went. You went to a girl’s private school opposite to it, and while you liked her school well enough, you sometimes wished that you’d applied to Midtown instead. Just because it seemed so much bigger and fun. Maybe it was just you, though.

The store was a fifteen-minute walk away, and you managed to get through four songs on your way there.

Pulling out your earbuds and switching off your music, you pushed the door open with a soft tinkle and made your way into the store. The relaxing smell of worn pages and coffee greeted you instantly, and just at the scent, you felt yourself calm, because it was such a homely feeling for you.This was where you were when you weren’t at school or at home, and it had been your place to go since you were very little.

“Good afternoon, Jane,” You called out to the manager, who sat at the checkout desk, and the kind lady gave you a warm smile, like she did every time she saw you.

“Hey, Y/N,” She responded, glancing up from the tablet she was scrolling through, no doubt checking through book orders, “You got here quickly, today.”

You chuckled, “Oh, yeah, I saw on Instagram that the next book in my favourite series got released yesterday and I rushed here as soon as I could.”

“Alright,” Jane said with an amused, affectionate look in her eyes, “Well, go get changed into your uniform and then you can go find that book you want.”

Eagerly, you nodded and headed to the back room to drop off your bag and change out of your school’s uniform—a white blouse and dark green skirt. The school logo was embroidered over the chest pocket of the shirt, and a silver and green tie hung from around your neck, tucked neatly under the collar.

Quickly, you pulled out your work clothes, which were far more comfortable—Jane was pretty loose on the dress code, so long as you wore the lanyard and name badge. So, today you’d opted to bring a grey sweatshirt and leggings, which would be cosy enough for you to walk between the shelves and look for people who needed help—also, for you to find that book you needed.Once you’d folded up your school uniform and slipped it neatly into your bag, you stepped out into the store again, greeted by the smell again, that you’d never get tired of.You headed to the YA aisle, the one where you knew your book would be, and you spotted it immediately—it was sitting gloriously on the new releases table, and you quickly snatched up a copy, flipping through it and letting out a satisfied sigh. You resisted the urge to just start reading it then and there, reminding yourself that you were at work and there were customers all around you. So, instead you slipped it into the front pocket of your sweatshirt, making a mental note to pay for it when you left.

Despite your efforts to focus, though, the thoughts of that one book remained swirling in your mind. This made it very difficult to maintain a calm tone of voice when people asked you for help finding things, just because on the inside, you were far too excited.

But you still went about your job like you always would—calmly, kindly, and patiently. Even with the people who complained to you about the prices, or tried to haggle you for a deal, no doubt thinking you’d give it to them, since you were young and looked it, too.

You were sorting through a massive stack of books that had arrived the day before, unboxing each, marking them down and then ordering them alphabetically on the new shelves, when somebody tapped you on the shoulder and made you jump…probably more dramatically than you needed to.

You dropped the two books that were in your hands at the time, and yelped, “I’m sorry! What did you need—?”

Your sentence was cut off as you caught sight of the boy’s face, and the words evaporated from your tongue. He had curly, chocolate-brown hair and warm, wide eyes that were currently filled with concern and shock…at your surprise, probably.

But he was extraordinarily pretty, and you found yourself looking away, leaning down to pick up the books you’d dropped. You cleared your throat, “I’m sorry, what did you need help with?”

“Uhh,” He seemed to be almost at a lost for words as he glanced at you, suddenly nervous, “I was looking for some books for my science project? I wasn’t sure where I should start…”

You smiled, and he blushed, and you gestured for him to follow you. It was rare that a high school kid came in looking for books about science—didn’t most people just find things online nowadays for school assignments?—nevertheless, you decided this boy was far too precious to just refer him to online.Especially not when this bookstore had such a great range of science books; while you loved your fiction, the science was your second favourite.

As you approached the wall, even the boy seemed to be kind of in a sense of awe. You began to talk, hiding your amusement at his amazement. “This is the science wall! It’s my second favourite section, and it’s got basically everything.” You pointed to the said areas as you explained, “They’re organised by subtopics, so you’ve got bio here, and then physics, chem, and so on.”

“What would you recommend for a physics assignment?”

You gave him a curious look, “Well, the ones with the green spines are really detailed,” you started, even though you weren’t quite sure exactly what he was looking for. “If you’re into more basic stuff, the ones on the very left of the shelf, and the more complex stuff is to the right.”

He was quiet for a long moment after you finished. You weren’t sure if he was soaking up the information or just blanked out. Regardless, it left you standing there half-smiling, basking in the awkwardness.It was almost twenty seconds later that the boy seemed to remember that you were waiting for his response, and he immediately flushed, “I’m so sorry, thanks for taking me here—um, sorry, I didn’t get your name…”

“It’s Y/N,” You responded, pointing at the name tag that was pinned onto your lanyard, “And yours?”

“Peter,” He responded shyly, running a hand nervously through his curls, “What school do you go to? I don’t think I’ve seen you around on campus.”

“I go to Y/S/N,” You explained, sheepish, even though you weren’t sure why you were so nervous, and why your palms were sweating, “It’s a girls’ private school, which is probably why you don’t see me at school.” You laughed off your nerves, even though you felt heat begin to crawl through your cheeks.

Peter seemed to deflate a bit, the smile fading from his eyes, “Well, then, I won’t be able to see you. I was hoping you went to my school…”

“Guess you’ll have to come ‘round to the bookstore more often, then,” You said teasingly, “To get your books for your smart-kid assignments. Assessments are mostly over now anyway—except for at Midtown, I hear. Is that where you go?”

He nodded in answer, giving a small smile, even as his eyes turned and became glued to the books on the shelves. He scanned through the titles and asked absently, “What gave it away?”

“You’re looking for science books, Peter,” You said with a small giggle, “Isn’t Midtown a STEM school? I just assumed.”

“Y/N!” Jane called from the front of the shop, and you immediately perked up, your conversation interrupted.Peter sighed, even though he diligently kept the kind smile on his lips, “Well, I guess duty calls, huh?”

You nodded, pressing your lips into a taut smile, a bit disappointed as well, that you had to go now. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“You bet you will,” He said, giving a grin, “I’ll be sure to come whenever I can to get your expertise on science-y books for my smart-kid assignments.”

You almost choked on a laugh as you tried to swallow it, “Good luck with your assessment! And the science books!”

***

Peter kept true to his word.

That boy seemed to make it his mission to show up every day, and talk to you all about your recommendations and his science assignments. Not that you minded—it was kind of cute, what with how enthusiastic he got when he was rambling.

Today, though, Peter was late. School ended two hours ago, and still. No sign of him. Usually he would’ve been here almost at the same time as you, since he’d taken to doing all of his homework in the shop.

Despite how hard you tried to not let it distract you, you really couldn’t help the glances you kept throwing over your shoulder at the door, to check for any sign of him. To be honest, you weren’t quite sure why you anticipated his arrival so much, seeing as he probably had his own work to do, but still…You did your job fine; you made sure to put all of the new arrivals in alphabetical order and unbox all of the stock for the week, but even Jane noticed that you weren’t as focused as usual. And from the knowing gleam in her eyes, she knew exactly why you looked so much more worried and tense than usual.

“Y/N, are you waiting for that brown-haired boy?” She called out, her chin leaning on her palm and looking quite amused.

You fumbled with the stack of books you were holding and said, suddenly flustered, “No, no I’m not,” You denied, even though your words were broken by a nervous stutter.Internally, you swore in frustration at yourself because why were you suddenly so nervous? Jane hadn’t even said anything, really, but—

“Then why do you keep looking out the window? I know that the boy comes every time that you’re here. We all fall in love at some point,” Jane said, her tone turning into a teasing one.

Fall in love?

“Oh, I’m not in love with him—I’m just—I just,” You stammered feebly, “I just like looking at the window display.”

Jane hummed, finally turning her gaze away to return to clicking away at her computer, probably filing in orders. “Sure thing.” Even though her stare had shifted from you, her knowing smile hadn’t faded and you bit your lip in embarrassment before returning to sorting the books.

You weren’t in love with Peter, you barely even knew him! It wasn’t like that—

“Sorry I’m late!”

And yet at the first sound of his voice you stopped everything that you were doing and spun around so fast your hair gave you whiplash.

“Y/N!” He called, his hair mussed by the wind, eyes wide. He was holding his bag, seeming to still be stuffing something into the back pocket of it, and he seemed extremely puffed.

“Peter,” You said, furrowing your brows, “You didn’t have to rush. If you were busy you could’ve just sent me a text.”

As if by instinct he reached into his back pocket for his phone as you mentioned texting, and he pulled it out as he responded, “I’m sorry, something came up that I had to take care of. It’s all good now, though! What new books arrived this week?”

Even though internally, you were still concerned for his well-being, since he looked so genuinely out-of-breath, but the fact that he’d rushed over to talk to you today was kind of…touching. Cute.

You brushed those thoughts away, though, effectively stopping the blush you felt beginning to form on the apples of your cheeks, “We got lots of fiction this week, actually. There’s some sci-fi I think you would like. Is your assignment finished now?”

Peter rubbed his neck almost shyly, “Oh, yeah, it was due today, actually. Thanks for all your help, I think I did better than usual.”

“It’s nothing,” You replied, giving him a smile, quickly turning to finish sorting out the last couple books, and then leading him to the fiction section. He eagerly followed.

“Do you read fiction much?” You decided to ask him, breaking the silence that had settled between the two of you.

“Sometimes,” He said, “I get pretty busy, though, so I don’t usually have a lot of time to read. I wish I did.”

You approached the fiction shelves and ran your hand over the spines, searching for the new arrivals you wanted to recommend to him, “Here,” You pulled the first out, then the second.

“These are really good, I read them yesterday,” You told him, passing the two to him, and he flipped through them curiously, “They’re about the stuff you’re into. Like, science-y, smart superhero, space-battle type stuff.”

His eyes lit up as he scanned through, murmuring absently, “I love that stuff! I can kinda relate to them.”

That piqued your curiosity, and you couldn’t stop yourself from asking, “What do you mean?”“Huh?”“What do you mean you can relate?”

Suddenly, Peter bit his lip and ran a hand nervously through his hair, “Oh, what, I said that? Uh, I just mean I relate to the struggles of the superheroes, you know? It’s kind of…inspirational.”

You considered his words, “You’re right. We do have a lot of superheroes around here, don’t we?” You chuckled a bit to yourself, averting your eyes because his gaze had become far too intense and focused for you to maintain the eye-contact whilst keeping your heart rate at a healthy pace.

“What do you think of them?” He asked, tucking the two books under his arm, seeming satisfied with your selection, “The superheroes, I mean.”

“They’re cool,” You said with a shrug, “They do cool things and they’re important. I kind of wanna be one,” You laughed lightly, “They actually make a difference, you know? I kind of just hang around here and just…” You trailed off, unsure of where you were going, but Peter seemed to understand.

Your eyes were fixated on your feet now, and you shifted on your feet when he didn’t say anything.Then, suddenly, he poked your cheek gently, making you look up at him, and then he said, “You don’t need to be a superhero to make a difference, Y/N.” He leaned in a bit closer and tilted your chin up with two fingers.

Oh gosh oh he was so close now you could see every shade in his eyes—

You hoped he couldn’t hear your heartbeat, but you swore you noted his ears tinge with pink ever so slightly as well when he whispered, “You’re pretty amazing already, I can tell you that.”

“I—Peter, I—,”

“Right,” Suddenly extremely shy, he quickly pulled away. Okay, his face was definitely burning bright red now, you were sure of it, “Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—,”

“Peter,” You said softly, taking his hand gently in yours, “I wasn’t uncomfortable, I just…” You shook your head, “Never mind. But, thank you, Peter.”

“It’s just the truth,” He said, meeting your eyes with his own.

You weren’t sure what exactly gave you the confidence to do it, but with a light laugh you leant up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Thank you. You’re pretty amazing too, Peter.”He seemed to be at a loss for words. His cheeks were bright pink and his mouth opened and closed as he searched for the right thing to say. He looked so pretty.

“I-uh,” You bit your lip nervously—shyly, “Are you gonna get the books?”

That shook him out of his trance and he stammered, “Oh, yeah, I will, sorry—,”

“It’s okay,” You laughed, too giddy with the butterflies in your stomach to be nervous about what you’d just done anymore.

After he checked out, you said, “Call me and tell me what you think about those books, okay?”He left with a nod and a beaming smile, and Jane gave you that knowing look again.

“You just like looking at the window display, huh?” She said after the door shut behind him.You half-groaned, half-laughed as you shook your head and began heading back into the depths of the store to keep sorting the stock.

But you couldn’t help the grin of pure joy that formed on your lips the moment you were out of plain sight.

***

Tony didn’t usually pick Peter up, but today he’d been near the store anyway, so he offered to take him to the tower.The moment he got on the car, though, Tony noted his love-struck, dazed expression and said, “So, who’s the lucky person who’s snagged Peter Parker’s eye, huh?”He started up the car, which luckily pulled his gaze away from Peter, because the boy blushed furiously at Tony’s words.

“Uh, Mr. Stark, it’s nothing,” He said, shaking his head, “I just got some books that I like, that’s all—,” he pulled the two books he’d bought out of his bag, and Tony glanced at them.

“Since when did you read fiction?Peter fumbled for an excuse, “Uh, since today?”Tony scoffed in amusement, teasingly saying, “Must be some good books to have you looking so in love.”

Peter didn’t have any reply, or excuse, to respond with because he was really, really bad at lying and he knew that Tony already knew, anyway.“Yeah, they’re pretty amazing books,” He said instead.

Tony didn’t push any further, because it was just too cute.

He smiled fondly.