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coff33andb00ks · 5 months ago

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Mountain Mama - LH

Lewis Hamilton x unnamed ofc summary: You can take the girl out of the country, but can you ever really take the country out of the girl? songs: Take Me Home, Country Roads by John Denver and Is This Love by Bob Marley & The Wailers a.n.: am currently soft for Lewis and had to write to get him out of my system spoiler alert it didn't work warnings: discussions of prejudice and racism, pure disgusting fluff, author unabashedly shows her love for country music, author also is fully in love with one sir lewis Hamilton now

She wasn't worried about her family liking Lewis. Her sister had already met him and was doing her part to talk him up as the greatest man that ever lived to the rest of the family. She knew there was a wary level of respect between her parents and Lewis after their unofficial meeting over FaceTime. He'd been a little shy but very sweet, telling them a little about himself, and later her mother had said well he seems like a nice young man.

High praise from mama, who'd called her last boyfriend dried up dog shit.

Her father hadn't said anything about him. He didn't follow formula one, only knew about it because of her photography, so he didn't know who Lewis was. But when he'd texted her to tell her he'd watched a bit of the race after she'd confirmed Lewis was coming home with her during summer break she knew he was at least trying.

So here she was, behind the wheel of the rental car, driving to her parents' home with Lewis in the passenger seat and Roscoe in the back. Music was on, the windows were down, and with each mile she traveled closer to home she felt both more relaxed and more anxious.

She needed them to like him. They didn't have to love him, call him the son they'd always wanted, or even add his name to the Christmas card list. They didn't need to learn everything about him. She just needed them to like him enough to want him around when she came home for a visit. She needed them to like him and understand how very much she loved him.

They would bristle a little bit. Especially Grandma. Because he was older. Almost 40 and never married? Hm… And all those tattoos… She could hear Grandma clicking her tongue in disapproval over the tapestry of artwork that covered most of his body. And her father's eyebrows would hit his receding hairline when Lewis inevitably dressed as though he'd just stepped out of Vogue to go down to the diner in town for lunch on Friday.

"Babe." Lewis spoke just loud enough to be heard over the music. She glanced over at him, saw his playful little smile as he lifted his phone.

"No," she laughed when the song playing ended and another began. Immediately recognizable because it was one of her lifelong favorites. The one her grandpa had sang on summer nights around the bonfire when he was a few slugs of moonshine deep.

Lewis held up his hands and swayed in time to the music. "Almost heaven, West Virginia… Blue Ridge mountains, Shenandoah river…"

And she had to sing along, because she always did. Because it was her favorite, yes, but also because he always sang it. The man who shook his head in disappointment over all the other so-called embarrassing songs on her Spotify never failed to belt out John Denver with his entire soul.

She slowed, turning onto the path that wound through the trees, anticipation growing as the trees grew further apart, spreading into the dusty lawn she'd learned to ride a bike on. A turn and she saw it. Home. The front porch where she'd sat on her grandma's lap sipping lemonade. The ever present barn cat sitting on the top step, black tail twitching. Her dad's truck was parked crookedly near the back of the house and she could just see the sheets rippling in the breeze on the clothesline in the back yard.

Stopped, song still playing, she stared at the place she'd grown up, trying to view it as a newcomer. The grass needed mowing, the barn needed a new coat of paint. The roof on the old smokehouse was sagging a little. The porch railing looked crooked. But for every imperfection she saw a beautiful memory. How many millions of dandelions had she picked when the grass got a little tall? Up in the hay loft of the barn her name was carved into the top plank. The smokehouse, which had always held the lingering aroma of curing meat, had been the best spot during hide and seek. And she'd been leaning against that porch railing when she'd had her first kiss.

Her throat tightened with emotion.

Home.

"C'mon, mountain mama," Lewis said softly, unbuckling his seatbelt.

She wanted to apologize for not growing up rich, for not having a stately home to show him. She knew she didn't have to. Lewis didn't care about that, and he hadn't grown up much better than she had. He only cared about seeing where she'd been raised and meeting the people who'd raised her. What had he said when she'd asked him to come home with her?

I already love that little town because it made you.

She climbed out while he got Roscoe out of the backseat, and was opening her mouth to tell him they could get their bags later when the screen door banged.

"Is that my baby finally come to see me?"

It wouldn't matter if it had been two weeks or two months or two years, she would get that greeting. Not even bothering to close the car door she broke into a run, jumping the top step and laughing through tears as she was wrapped in her grandma's arms.

"Oh I miss these hugs." Grandma kissed her cheek, gripping her shoulders and holding her at arm's length. "Look at you. That boy of yours is treating you right, huh?"

"He is, Grandma," she promised, looking back to see Lewis closing the car door.

"Oh." Grandma squinted her eyes a bit. "He is handsome."

She giggled. "Heart of gold, Grandma."

"What's his name again? Louis?"

"Lewis."

As if he knew they were talking about him he glanced to the porch, smiling. Roscoe was already making his way to the steps, looking warily at the cat.

"Go on, get," Grandma said, shooing the cat away.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Grandma's shoulders were a little more stooped, her hands a little more shaky. Why oh why did time have to go by so quickly? Pushing away the invasive thoughts of her beloved grandmother not being around forever, she slid her hand into Lewis's once he was on the porch. "Grandma, this is Lewis. Lewis, this is Grandma."

"It's so nice to finally meet you, ma'am." He extended his hand and as soon as he smiled she knew her grandma was smitten.

"Oh honey aren't you sweet." She shook his hand. "Well, c'mon in – is that dog house trained?"

"Better than some humans," he promised with a grin.

They'd barely gotten into the house when her father came to greet them. He wasn't nearly as smitten as grandma, and she recognized the old macho act he'd played on all her old boyfriends. Then her mother came hurrying out of the kitchen, bringing with her the aroma of lemon meringue and peach cobbler.

There was overlapping chatter. Greetings and questions and the beginnings of an interrogation. Roscoe was cooed over by Grandma, given a begrudging welcome by her dad.

"I straightened up your old room," mama said when Lewis excused himself to go get their bags. "And got new sheets for your sister's old room."

"Is she staying too?" she asked in confusion, squatting to give Roscoe ear scratches.

"Of course not – you know her and Dale are almost finished the new addition on the back of their place? The twins will have a nice big playroom."

"Are the twins staying?" Why would mama need to do anything to her sister's room?

"No… It's for your boyfriend."

She froze. Oh god. Of course her mother would think… "Mama…"

"It's not fancy or anything but I don't think he'll mind do you? It's got plenty of room for him and Roscoe."

At that, Roscoe nudged her hand, silently begging for more scratches. "Mama, I thought he'd sleep in my room."

"Oh. Well you two can switch." Her mother shrugged.

"Jesus, Kathy, she wants to sleep with the boy," her father said loudly.

Surprise, Mama, I'm not a virgin!

"I don't think your dad likes me."

She looked up from unpacking her suitcase. Usually she didn't, usually she just rummaged to get what she needed, but she'd wanted a break before the rest of the family arrived for the cookout. The time change was affecting her a little and she wanted to get a nap in.

"What makes you say that?" she asked, setting her toiletry bag on the dresser.

"He calls me boy." Lewis was standing at the window, hands in his pockets, looking out at the back yard. Where her father and brother in-law were firing up the grill.

"He doesn't mean… He calls anyone younger than him boy," she promised.

"I get it. Really, babe," he said, looking over at her. "It just rubs me wrong."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" she asked, crossing the room.

"Will it change anything?"

"He's not like that, Lewis. He's southern, yes, he's a good ol' country boy, pickup truck, cold beer, guns and 'Murica, Toby Keith and Hank Jr, but he's not racist. If he's told that the way he says something is offensive, he stops saying it." She slipped her arms around him from behind, pressing her face to his back.

"It'll just make him like me even less," he sighed.

"No, babe… If he didn't like you, you wouldn't be in my bedroom."

He chuckled, covering her hands with his and interlocking their fingers. "Not only am I boy, I'm the asshole that deflowered his little girl."

She snorted at that. "Please, like I was an untouched virgin."

"How you were able to have sex way out here is a mystery to me."

"There are so many spots where you can go to be unseen," she told him.

Lewis hummed, unwrapping her arms and turning to face her. "Were you shagging farmer boys in the woods, babe?"

Leaning up, she pressed a kiss to his lips. "Once, yes. Most of the time it was in the cutoff down the old service road. Or out at the powerline."

"You weren't seduced in a bed?" He shook his head in disappointment. "I'm so sorry."

"And where was your first time, hm?"

He rolled his eyes. "Coat closet."

"That's even worse than a pickup truck."

"Didn't count, I wasn't in love."

"Oh see you didn't tell me that." Pulling on his hands, she walked backwards towards the bed. "That changes everything."

"Hotel room? Back seat of a car?" he guessed, letting her pull him along.

"A penthouse, actually," she murmured as she fell onto the bed.

He hesitated briefly then joined her, holding himself above her. "Penthouse? In Bumfuck Virginia?"

"You said it only counted if I was in love, right?"

"Mhmm."

"Penthouse. Monte-Carlo. Afterwards he took a bubble bath with me and we danced to Bob Marley." She watched his eyes soften and leaned up to meet his lips in a kiss. "He was the first one that made me feel loved."

"Does he still make you feel it?" he whispered between kisses.

"Every day."

"If he ever doesn't make you feel that way, will you tell him?"

"Yes." She kissed him again.

"Promise?" he whispered.

"Promise."

The food was delicious, and she was so happy her parents had made vegan alternatives for Lewis she could have cried. He seemed happy too, and during the meal she watched him talk with her dad and Dale, heart swelling each time he turned to praise her mama's cooking. Roscoe was parked between them, his gentle snoring just barely noticeable above the music playing.

It was a balmy evening, lightning bugs flashing as the sun sank low, and she watched Lewis's head drop back with a groan after he finished a third helping of Grandma's peach cobbler. "I think I hurt myself eating, ma'am."

Grandma glowed, patting his hand. "It's how I won her Papa," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Lewis chuckled, rubbing his abdomen with his free hand. "If I was twenty years older…"

She beamed as Grandma giggled, so obviously charmed she looked twenty years younger in the golden glow of the sinking sun. "Oh bless your heart, honey, I don't think you could handle me."

"I can barely handle her," Lewis told her in a stage whisper.

And she knew her family liked him. Their laughter was natural, the conversation flowed. Her twin nephews kept coming over to him, asking him questions about his tattoos, his jewelry, and she fell in love all over again at how patient and gentle he was with them.

When he insisted on helping with cleanup she saw the warmth of approval in her dad's eyes. The twins said they would help, too, and she could only look on as they followed him back into the house, Roscoe taking up the rear.

"He's a good one," Grandma said.

"He's alright." This from her dad, and it was the best she knew she could get for now.

"I like him a lot, honey. You ain't looked this happy in a long time." Mama squeezed her shoulder on her way past, and right behind her was her sister, flashing a grin as she helped gather the platters.

"You wanna take a walk?" her father asked.

It was a callback to her childhood. Dad always said it was to work off what he'd just had to eat, but she had figured out in her early teenage years it was his way of checking in on her. Their walks after dinner had been when they'd bonded, and as she fell into step next to him and they strolled beyond the barn she realized how much she missed these walks.

"I didn't want to like him."

She pressed her lips together to keep from asking why. Always best to just stay silent and let him get all his thoughts out in his own way.

"He's a little older than you. But I think that's what you need. Someone to keep your head from floating with the clouds." He sighed, snapping a leaf off the old oak tree as they walked under the branches. "And… You know how people are around here, honey."

She nodded. "But not you, dad," she whispered.

"I don't give a shit, you know that. But even Dale said something, and… I know you always worry about what people think."

"I used to," she said.

"You always hid away from the world. And I let you. Thought I was protecting you from how bad it can be sometimes." He twirled the leaf between his fingers, sending it swirling. "You're out in it, now. Can't protect you anymore."

"I don't need protecting, daddy," she promised.

"You telling me your knight back there doesn't protect you?" he asked, stopping at the fence to the back pasture. "That bo – sorry. That man loves you, honey."

"I know. And I love him."

"People around here will talk." He propped his arm on the fencepost and looked out. "Ain't got nothing better to do."

"I don't care what they say." And she didn't. She used to, yes, used to care too much, pretending to be someone else so she'd be accepted. The only people whose opinions mattered were inside the house and standing beside her.

"Good. Because I want him to come around more often."

"You like him?" she asked. She knew he did, but she needed to hear him say it.

"Yeah, he's alright," he chuckled. Throwing his arm around her shoulders when she groaned, he pulled her in close.

"Dad…"

"Rest easy, honey. I like him. Long as he treats you right I'll never say a word against him."

They stayed at the fence and she let herself be her dad's little girl for a few more minutes, watching the sunlight fade. Walking back to the house she could hear music still playing, but now instead of her dad and Dale's country it was the smooth beats of reggae and she was smiling as she entered the kitchen to see Lewis dancing with the twins to Is This Love.

He spun to face her, face lighting, and ducked to speak to her nephews then held a hand out to her, drawing her to him. His lips met her forehead. "I wanna love ya, I wanna love and treat, love and treat you right…" he crooned softly as they danced in her mama's kitchen.

"You better," she whispered. "Because I think they like you more than me."

His laugh was warmer than any sunlight, and she didn't mind at all when he kissed her then broke away to ask her grandma to dance.

She missed all of this, the love and the comfort and all the memories.

But she couldn't wait for the love and memories to come.

#f1 #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fic #my writings > lh #one parter

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ltwilliammowett · 1 year ago

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Sea Shanties and Shipboard Music aboard Warships

Traditionally, sea shanties were sung on board both warships and merchant ships to help light the work involved in sailing the ship. They are usually divided into two main groups - capstan shanties, designed to accompany the hard effort involved in heaving on the bars of the ship's capstan, and halyard shanties, where either the rhythm or the words were designed to help the men pull together, for instance when raising a sail pr raising up a new spar to the masthead.

Most shanties follow the same pattern, with short versesand boisterous but repetitive choruses. Sometimes the lyrics were either made up aas the seamen went along, or else improvised or repeated, especially if the task proved longer than the shanty. The words were often less important than the rhythm of the song, although some shanties such Shenandoah or Blow the Man Down have become famous as songs in their own right. Oh and by the way the first known shanties date from the mid-16th century, recorded in the Complaynt of Scotland (1549), but their origins probably lie much further back than that.

It has been argued that sea shanties were much more commonplace on merchant vessels than on warships, as the later were comparatively well manned, so the labour involved in sailing the ship was less arduous. This theory isn't borne out by what we know about life in the sailing navies of the world. While shanties might have been less commonly used as working songs, they were widdely sung as a means of recreation. Music was important on board a sailing man o'war, and instruments such as fiddles, fifes and flutes were often played when sailors were off-duty. And the sailors loved singing on board until ordered to their hammocks at pipe down, these shanties are known as fo'c's'le songs or forebitters. Dancing was also popular, and many captains encouraged it, as a way of keeping spirits high and of providing exercise.

Popular songs in the Royal Navy during the Napoleonic Wars were Nancy Dawson, Spanish Ladies and Drops of Brandy and some ships carried an official band, and during the approach of the British Fleet to the enemy at the Battle of Trafalgar, many ships played Rule Britannia, Hearts of Oak or Britons Strike Home.

Shanties during work on board depended on the captain, because not everyone wanted music. It was more like silence aboard a warship so that the men could hear the orders better and not get lost in the singing. But it also happened that there was singing or a flute was played when the anchor was being aweight but that mostly depending on the situation on the ship.

Well the truth was, music such as sea shanties made the work appear easier, whether on board a merchant vessel or a warship. But the shanties went out of favour with the coming of steam. With no sails to raise, and with steam powered capstans there was little need to sing during work. By the later 19th century they had lost their original workmanlike purpose, and shanties became something that were sung for fun and get mixed with the so called sailors songs, rather than as a song of work.

#naval history #sea shanties #mid 16th century -19th century #age of discovery #age of sail #age of steam

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crazycurly-77 · 2 months ago

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Healing processes - Ch 1

Dear @hobby27, thanks a lot for sending me the wonderful prompt for this story!!! Hope you enjoy the result 😄😘

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A Navy officer was found dead in Shenandoah National Park and since it was a Navy member, Team Gibbs was tasked with solving the case.

As always, Gibbs hung up after the call, threw the car keys to Tim and asked you all to follow him.

It was the same routine as on every mission and everything seemed harmless, but this day was to become your worst nightmare.

When you arrived at the location, you found a horrific sight. Human parts were scattered all over the ground around a large boulder. Even Ducky and Gibbs had to collect themselves for a moment at this sight - and they had seen a lot in their long service.

Tim was about to vomit, so Tony took him with him to carry out the measurements as a distraction.

Since you had the camera in your hand anyway, you immediately started taking pictures and Ducky and his capable assistant Jimmy gradually collected the parts.

Meanwhile, Gibbs was talking to the sheriff in charge, who could only tell him when he had found the dead man, or rather his remains and his wallet with ID.

Snorting in frustration, Gibbs decided to get an overview of the disaster and climbed onto the large boulder that was in the middle of the body parts.

From up there he could see that the pieces were being dragged away from the head and in different directions.

So the place where the head was lying was probably the crime scene.

“Ducky! Can you say anything?” he called down.

The coroner looked up at him, shielded his eyes from the sun and sighed: “Jethro, you really should be more patient.

I don't even have a complete body at the moment. But judging by the bite marks, our poor lieutenant was probably a meal for the coyotes.”

Gibbs had to accept this for now. At first glance, he didn't see any signs of a fight or anything like that.

"Y/N! Get up here!" he finally called to you.

Pictures from up there would certainly be helpful in solving the case.

So you tried to climb up to him, but it had rained during the night so you couldn't really find anything to hold on to.

"Come on, what are you waiting for?" came your boss's impatient request to hurry up.

"The rock is too wet. I keep slipping," you called up to him.

He rolled his eyes in annoyance, pointed to a spot a few meters to your left and said: "Try there."

In fact, it was drier there, so you were finally able to climb up to him.

"Take pictures from all sides, I want a view all around."

"Yes, boss."

He continued to look for traces and you got to work taking photos. Meanwhile, you tried to stay as far away from the edge of the rock as possible, but then you saw something lying on the ground near the rock face that caught your attention.

Slowly and carefully you walked towards the edge in an attempt to get a better look at what it was.

It seemed to be something small and colorful.

You took the camera and held it over the edge, but the awkward position meant you couldn't focus it properly, so the picture was completely blurry.

There had to be some way to see what it was or at least take a picture of it...

Looking for better angles for the photo, you knelt down, got up again, walked carefully along the edge, but nothing was even remotely suitable for seeing anything.

So you went back to your original position and continued to think about how you could get a clear photo of the object.

Maybe Gibbs had an idea, but he was standing on the other side of the rock examining something. Disturbing him is never a good idea, so you decided to try your luck again and stood right on the edge.

Certainly nothing will happen...

Millimeter by millimeter you moved towards the abyss, but the rock became more and more slippery.

There! Finally! Now you could see the object and take a photo of it.

But suddenly you lost your footing and slipped.

As if from far away you heard Gibbs calling your name and he seemed to be running towards you in slow motion.

Gibbs was seized by sheer fear and panic when he saw that you had slipped. He screamed your name as loudly as he could and ran towards you.

He ran as fast as he could and hoped fervently that he would be able to reach you in time, but he was too late.

Your fingertips touched, but that wasn't enough to prevent the accident.

He was horrified to see you fall into the depths right before his eyes and your panicked scream cut him so deeply into his soul that he thought his heart would stop.

(To be continued...in Chapter 2)

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Here you will find the other chapters of this story.

Masterlist stories - Part 1

Masterlist stories - Part 2

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27

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#ncis #jethro gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs #gibbs #gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #ncis fanfiction #jethro gibbs #mark harmon #leroy jethro gibbs fanfiction #jethro gibbs fanfiction #gibbs fanfiction #ncis x reader #ncis reader insert

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2nd2ndalto · 4 months ago

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what if there were two (side by side in orbit)

(chapter 1 here)

Chapter 2

September 1998

When Will opens the door to the basement office the next morning, there’s a flurry of activity.

“Thornhill, Virginia,” di Angelo says by way of greeting. He squeezes past, handing Will a map. Will accepts it, his eyes following his new partner’s progress across the office. The dark-haired man drops to a crouch to dig through a drawer in the corner. “Little town, right at the edge of the Shenandoah National Forest,” he continues, his voice muffled. “Place is known for maple syrup, mostly. Tourism. Some very picturesque bed & breakfasts. At least, that’s what the librarian told me when I called.”

“Sounds… nice?” Will says, a little confused. He glances to the clock on the wall, just double-checking. Yes, he’s almost 15 minutes early. Di Angelo has clearly been here for a while already. There’s a bag open on di Angelo’s desk. From what Will can see from where he’s stalled several feet into the office, there are files inside, and a jumble of clothes.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Di Angelo turns to raise an eyebrow at Will. “Except for the recent string of murders.”

Comprehension dawns, probably a little late. “Oh.” Will blinks, trying to catch up. “How – how many murders?”

Di Angelo stands, running a hand through already messy hair, causing it to stand half on end in a way that somehow makes him look even more attractive rather than insane. “Three in the past two months. The most recent being Sarah Wilton, age twenty-four. Her body was found yesterday morning. But I was looking through some old newspaper articles, and the recent deaths are very similar to a string of murders in the same town fifty years back.”

Di Angelo delivers all of this rapid-fire and Will gazes at him for a moment once he’s stopped speaking, still processing. His gaze drifts to the map he suddenly realizes he’s still holding. “Oh. Okay. So, road trip?”

“Yeah, I thought so,” di Angelo says. He’s stuffing a few more things into his bag, then forcing the zipper closed. “You okay with that? If you’re not ready to go out in the field yet you’re welcome to stay here, take a look at some more files. I don’t mind–”

“No,” Will says immediately, “a road trip sounds great. What do I need?” He’d anticipated possibly being out on some overnight trips, or longer. He’s brought a minimal overnight bag to work today, though it won’t be adequate for a longer excursion.

“Shouldn’t be much,” di Angelo says. He plucks his bag from the desk, makes a fluid turn to grab his coat from the hook on the wall. Will stares, transfixed by the other man’s movements. He registers that he’s still standing in the middle of the only open space in the office, and takes the few steps over to his desk.

“It’s maybe a two-hour drive,” di Angelo is saying. “I just want to take a look around, talk to a few people. We should be back by the end of the day, but I’d take a change of clothes just in case. Oh, here,” he adds, fishing a folded newspaper from the edge of his desk. “You can take a look at that on the way. Ready?”

Di Angelo’s eyes are bright. He looks a little manic. It suits him.

A car has already been requisitioned, apparently, and Will follows di Angelo to the parking garage.

“Who’s driving?” Will asks, surveying the line of monochrome sedans and hatchbacks.

Di Angelo stops in his tracks, his gaze a little over-intense. “I drive.”

Okay, then. Will’s a decent driver, but he grew up in a house with too many teenagers and only one vehicle, so he never got into the habit of doing it regularly. That, and he still finds the freeways around DC a little daunting.

“Did you grow up around here?” Will thinks to ask as di Angelo turns off Ninth Street and angles the car towards the freeway entrance.

A brief glance to Will, guarded. “Yeah. Sort of.”

When it seems no further information is forthcoming, Will supplies, “not me. I’m from Texas. Little town with one traffic light. My mom lives near Fort Worth now.”

There’s no response to this. Will decides not to take it personally. He reaches across the dashboard for the newspaper di Angelo handed him earlier. Deaths Shock Small Town reads the cramped headline under the fold.

“Three deaths this year,” Will muses, half to himself. The rest of the article is on page six, just a few short paragraphs. “Seems as if something like that would be bigger news in such a small place. Do they get a lot of murders out that way?”

Di Angelo raises an eyebrow. “I’m willing to bet they don’t.”

Will reads further. “New housing development encroaching on the forest… bodies found with limbs ripped off –” he frowns. “Couldn’t these be animal attacks? This place is right on the edge of a national forest. If this housing development is pushing into established animal habitat…”

“That would be the most logical conclusion,” di Angelo says slowly, eyes on the road.

“But?”

“But…” di Angelo lets it hang for a moment. “The bodies appear to have been gnawed on by human teeth.”

Will grimaces, glancing back to the newspaper. “The article doesn’t mention that.”

“No,” di Angelo allows. “But I have other… sources.”

“The librarian?” Will asks.

There’s a pause as di Angelo changes lanes, passing a slow-moving RV. “It can be helpful to keep an open mind when gathering information,” he says cryptically.

Will glances over the article again, then at the other man. “Local law enforcement asked for FBI assistance?”

Now di Angelo looks a little guilty. “I’ve found, in this job, that often it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” he says carefully.

Will snorts.

“The case sounded like it had potential,” di Angelo says, not quite apologetic. “I figure we’ll drive out, have a poke around, talk to a few people. If nothing pans out, no harm, no foul.”

“Sure,” Will agrees. It’s not as if he’s an expert.

Di Angelo clears his throat. “Have you ever heard of the Shenandoah Strangler, Agent Solace?”

Will raises an eyebrow. “No, I have not.”

“There are some legends in this area – a being only ever seen in the forest. People have reported a creature with horns or antlers, the upper body mostly human, lower half more like a goat.”

There’s a brief silence in the car.

“That sounds… unlikely,” Will says evenly. “Is that what you think is going on here? Some kind of cryptid?”

A shrug. “Only one way to find out.”

Will watches the other man out of the corner of his eye for a moment. He reminds himself that this is his second day on the job. And he does always try to keep an open mind. “Have you encountered other reports of… cryptids? In your work?” Will asks.

Di Angelo doesn’t respond for a moment. He reaches up to nudge the rearview mirror, the tiniest adjustment. He flicks a glance at Will, hesitant. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes,” Will says, decisive.

Di Angelo’s lips twitch into a grin, eyes bright.

An hour later Will has learned more about cryptids of the Southeastern and Mid-Atlantic US than he ever would have thought there was to know. The more he listens to his new partner, the more he’s surprised how easily their views align, or at least complement each other. Di Angelo doesn’t come across as gullible, or guileless. He’s sharp and thoughtful. Knowledgeable, but more impartial than anything else. Open to possibilities. And who could argue with that?

The further they drive, the more Will finds himself warming to the other man. The idea of acting as a snitch is repellent in itself. As they begin to pass the exit signs for Thornhill and the impromptu cryptid lecture draws to a close, Will feels a wash of relief that maybe, really, he won’t have to.

They arrive at a trailhead just outside of town, miles of forest stretched out before them. The sun’s been up for a few hours but the air still feels cool here, misty. They’re set to meet someone from the Parks department, reportedly. Will trails behind his partner as di Angelo scopes out the area. Before long, a battered-looking red pickup pulls up, kicking up a cloud of dust in the parking lot.

Di Angelo walks back towards the lot, Will following. An older man exits the truck and begins making his way up the path towards them.

“Morning,” di Angelo calls. “Ranger Blanchette? I’m Agent di Angelo, this is Agent Solace.”

They both shake the ranger’s hand. He’s got thick gray hair and a thicker mustache. He’s shorter than Will, and solid-looking.

“Surprised to see FBI out this way,” says Blanchette, gruff. “From what I understood, sheriff’s office had this investigation all wrapped up.”

Di Angelo chooses not to respond to this. “Thanks for meeting us. Do you mind showing us where Sarah Wilton’s body was found?”

The three of them troop into the woods. It’s not far, just a few minutes down a narrow, uneven dirt trail and then a few yards into damp, mossy forest. Blanchette seems in no particular rush; slow, measured steps down the path. Though they’re not moving at any great speed, Will still manages to stumble several times, and reminds himself to keep all-terrain footwear at work. Di Angelo seems light on his feet somehow, even in dress shoes.

Will has spent most of his life feeling clumsy, too big for his body. Di Angelo and Blanchette are both noticeably shorter than he is, and it makes Will extra aware of all the extra space he occupies, as unreasonable as he knows that is. He grimaces to himself.

“You okay?” di Angelo asks. He’s slowed his own pace as the path widens a little, falling into step beside Will.

“Yeah.” Will shoots him a smile.

Blanchette leads them into a small area bare of trees. “This is where they found her. Not much to see. They cleared the crime scene pretty quickly.”

The ground in the little clearing is more trodden than one might expect, but aside from that, there’s nothing of note. Di Angelo crouches, running his fingers over a patch of flattened moss. “Third death in these woods this year, right?” he says, glancing up at the park ranger.

“Yeah.” The older man pauses, thoughtful. “You see some weird stuff out this way. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard.”

“You ever see anything weird?” di Angelo asks. He sounds cool as anything, but Will can tell he’s dying to hear something juicy.

“Hard to say,” Blanchette hedges, a shifty glance at di Angelo and then Will. “There were some similar murders, a few decades back…”

“One case in 1947, right?” di Angelo says. “Man wandered off the trail, body was found a few days later with a leg gnawed off.”

Blanchette nods slowly. “Yeah, and then a couple of other deaths the following year. Folks say it wasn’t a human that killed them. People seem to think it was some kind of… creature.”

Will stays carefully quiet, taking in this exchange. Di Angelo’s face is impassive, but not judgemental. He’s clearly had similar conversations in the past.

“I thought I saw something, a few times,” Blanchette continues, gazing beyond the clearing where the trees thicken to a nearly-solid wall of lush green. “Something almost human but not quite, you know? Thought I saw it come out of the trees once, near sunset. Long, scraggly hair. Looked like it had horns. It kind of sniffed the air, like a dog would. And then it went back into the woods. Scared the crap out of me to be honest.” He glances at Will who nods sympathetically. “After a while, I figured it was just some kids messing around.”

“That’s interesting,” di Angleo says. “How long ago was that?”

“Couple years.” Blanchette rubs the back of his neck. “Everyone’s got their own weird story out here. Something they’ve seen. My brother swears he once found a dead rabbit with a human tooth in it.”

“Whereabouts?” di Angelo asks.

“All in this general area. There are some caves down over yonder.” Blanchette jerks his chin in the direction of thick brush. “People ‘round here tend to give them a wide berth. These murders’ve got everyone nervous. I’d advise you gentlemen to stay armed, if you’re planning on wandering around out here.”

Will has no argument with this. And he has very little desire to go wandering into caves, mythical creatures or not.

They don’t spend any longer in the woods. Apparently di Angelo has already secured an appointment with the county coroner. Will’s privately impressed that he managed to line all this up before the sun had even properly risen this morning.

“Mind if I put on some music?” di Angelo asks as they return to the car. The radio is on, something mindless and chattery, the volume too low to get the gist of the program.

“Sure, go ahead,” Will agrees, remembering Kayla’s comment about di Angelo’s music choices. He smiles to himself. “Got anything good?”

The other man huffs. “Anything good, he asks,” he mutters to himself, pulling a zippered sleeve of CDs from his bag and popping one into the player.

There’s a sharp buzz of electric guitar and then a hum of bass. Well. Kayla’s right about at least one thing.

“Nine Inch Nails,” di Angelo says, glancing over at Will.

Will grins. “Yeah, I’m familiar. A little emo, don’t you think?” he asks the other man – because he’s quickly realizing that there’s something about di Angelo that makes Will want to tease him mercilessly. He won’t, though. Probably.

“Emo,” di Angelo rolls his eyes. “And what do you listen to? Top Forty?”

Will laughs. “Rude. And yeah, sometimes.”

“Should’ve known.” Di Angelo’s eyes are on the road, a smile playing on his lips.

Will shrugs. “I listen to a bit of everything.” With five kids in a small house, there hadn’t been much space to be picky about music choices. “Lots of show tunes lately. A few Disney soundtracks,” Will adds, nonchalant, glancing over for a reaction. He’s not disappointed.

Di Angelo’s brow creases. “Show tunes,” he says, flat. “Like Cats?”

Will shrugs. “Not recently. I’ve been listening to a lot of Rent. And the score from The Little Mermaid is pretty flawless.”

Di Angelo shakes his head, slow. “I’m requesting reassignment as soon as we get back to DC.”

Will laughs, loud. “You could. You might just end up with something worse, though.” He gazes out at the woodland flashing past the window, weak sunlight just starting to catch the bright yellows of the changing leaves. “It’s my turn to choose the music, next road trip,” he adds. He enjoys di Angelo’s cringe immensely.

Will’s been feeling a little lost all morning, wanting to make a good impression, eager to prove he’s more than just a tagalong. It’s a bit of a relief to get to the coroner's office. Here, at least, he’s in his element.

The coroner is a tired-looking, bespectacled man. He’s probably only about a decade older than Will, but with the posture of someone who’s been carrying the weight of the world for a good few years. “They say animals can develop a taste for human flesh, but this was no animal,” he tells them, pulling on gloves and reaching for the sheet covering the body.

Will moves closer. White female, 20s, healthy-looking aside from being dead and missing most of her right leg and a portion of flesh at her shoulder. He glances at di Angelo, who’s standing several steps back, paler than Will’s seen him. “You okay?” Will asks under his breath. The other man nods, tight.

“You see these teeth marks, just below the clavicle?” the coroner asks. “Those sure look human to me.”

Will inspects the marks, a semi-circle of dark red imprinted into ghost-white flesh. “Yeah, that’d be my conclusion, too. What was the cause of death?”

“Blood loss, as far as I can tell,” the coroner says. “She was likely still alive while her leg was eaten off.”

They pause outside the coroner’s office, neither of them rushing into conversation. Nico leans back against the warm brick of the building, closing his eyes and taking in a deep lungful of fresh air. He’s lightheaded, clammy.

The smell of morgues, the artificial chill in the air – no matter how many times he revisits these scenarios, even years later, his mind always goes right back to Bianca, identifying her body after the crash. His body remembers, even when his mind tries to push it down. It doesn’t help that this victim was a young woman, close in age to his sister when she died. He takes another breath, trying to force himself to feel less like vomiting. Or crying.

“Not crazy about corpses?” comes Solace’s voice.

Nico attempts to unclench his jaw enough to answer. “Morgues, mostly. Can’t get used to them.”

There’s kind concern in Solace’s blue eyes, a crease to his brow. And the sentiment isn’t unappreciated, exactly. Solace seems like a decent guy. But the fact of the matter remains that everything is so much simpler when Nico works alone. When there’s no one here he needs to explain himself to.

Solace’s gaze lingers. “You’re definitely not the only one. Anyway, that’s what I’m here for, right?” He offers Nico a shadow of a smile that Nico can’t quite return.

Solace turns his gaze to the street before them, propping himself up against the wall next to Nico without further comment, not making any move to rush them back to the car. After a long moment, Nico levers himself upright. He scrubs a hand over his face. Solace follows, unhurried.

“You know, I think I’d be willing to gnaw someone’s leg off in exchange for a coffee right about now,” the taller man says thoughtfully, and Nico barks out a laugh, surprised. Solace turns, a sunny, toothy grin.

“Or at least chew on a clavicle,” he amends.

Nico feels his own face relax into something that’s almost a smile, feels the ache of grief fading into the background again. Solace has really nice teeth, Nico thinks suddenly. White and straight, except for one slightly crooked lateral incisor. Nico’s struck by the bizarre thought that those teeth look like they probably could gnaw on a clavicle. He finds himself horrified and intrigued in equal measure.

“Coffee sounds good,” he says.

“So what’s next?” Solace asks as they make their way back to the car, coffee in hand.

“Not sure.” Nico unlocks the doors, settling his coffee in the cup holder and flipping his phone open. No new messages. “I tried calling a couple of the previous victims’ families this morning, but I couldn’t get a hold of anyone. I guess we could try going by their residences.”

He reminds himself, not for the first time today, that he’d better play this one by the book. He has a feeling Solace’s field reports will be scrutinized more carefully than he’d like.

There’s quiet as they both buckle in. Solace looks like he’s chewing on something. “You’ve got copies of the police reports from the victims this year,” he begins, sounding hesitant. “Do you think the sheriff’s office would have the autopsy records for the historical victims?”

Nico shoots Solace an approving look. “That’s an excellent idea.”

A tentative smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nico agrees, anchoring his hand on the back of the passenger seat as he reverses out of the parking spot. That’s perfect, a logical next step. And he didn’t even need to plan it out himself.

Nico glances at his new partner. That look on his face, it’s… relief.

Nico merges back into traffic, taking a moment to make sense of this. It’s almost as if Solace is worried about what Nico thinks of him.

That’s surprising, somehow. Unexpected, at least. Solace is smart and easy to talk to and he wants Nico’s approval. Is it possible Reyna sent the wrong agent downstairs?

Logically, Nico should be suspicious. It’s not an act, though, he’s pretty sure. Nico doesn’t love putting his profiling skills to work on a personal level, but Solace is an open book, emotions painted clearly across his freckled face. And Nico hasn’t exactly conducted extensive polling, but when he ran into a buddy from Violent Crimes in the cafeteria yesterday, the guy had nothing but good things to say about Solace.

Nico finds, occasionally, that friends and acquaintances will expect him to have particular insight into their psyches. It’s so far from the truth that it’s laughable. Nico’s much more adept at piecing together the motivations of serial killers than navigating the complexities of the people right in front of him. And he’s even less interested in examining his own interiority.

Solace told him, yesterday, that he just wants to do good work. Well. That’s something Nico can help with.

“You’re already thinking like a special agent,” he tells Solace, his voice coming out warmer than he meant it to. He clears his throat.

Solace huffs, looking pleased at this. “I’m not feeling very special yet.”

Nico shrugs. “That’ll come.”

The ease of their day ends at the sheriff’s office. Deputy Tait is another sturdy old white guy, unfortunately possessing none of the chill of the park ranger they met this morning.

“You don’t have any jurisdiction here,” Tait says, impatient. His face is several shades redder than when they arrived, Nico notes with some interest. “No one contacted the Bureau. I don’t even know how you heard about this incident, but there’s no reason for the FBI to be involved. Woman wandered off a trail at night, got mauled by a panther. I don’t know what you two think you’re going to find here!” His voice rises, and several heads turn in the vicinity.

Solace seems to shrink in on himself a little, but this is familiar territory for Nico.

“Look,” Nico says, still as calm as when they walked in twenty minutes ago, “I’m sure you’re right. We’re not looking to cause trouble. Just let us take a look at the case files and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Nico waits patiently as the sheriff regards him with acute exasperation. Finally, the older man lets out a noisy breath. “Fine. Come back in an hour and I’ll see what I can do.”

Nico glances towards the empty file room and the woman sitting at the desk inside with a crossword spread out in front of her. She meets Nico’s eye and shrugs.

“Thanks so much for your help,” Nico says, trying hard not to roll his eyes.

“And don’t go making a spectacle of yourselves around town,” Tait adds irritably. “We got tourists coming from all over the county this weekend and we don’t need FBI poking around and scaring them off.”

Nico’s still hoping to speak with the previous victims’ families, but no one answers when they try knocking on doors. He hasn’t been able to obtain contact information for anyone who might have been acquainted with Sarah Wilton.

Some time later, Nico’s seated beside his partner on a park bench near the center of town, both of them having acquired canned drinks and hot dogs from a cart nearby. The sun filters through the trees above, dappling the yellow leaves beginning to pile up on the grass at their feet. The smell from the hot dog cart is mouth-watering, and the hot dogs are perfect; lightly charred and nestled in fresh, fluffy buns.

Solace groans in appreciation around his first bite. “Oh my god this is so good.”

Nico nods in agreement, mouth full. He shoots a glance to his partner, who’s looking blissful, still chewing. “Um. You have mustard on your nose,” Nico says.

��Oh. Fuck.” Solace grimaces, fishing in his pocket for a paper napkin and then scrubbing at his nose. He turns, looking mildly abashed, freckled cheeks and nose tinged pink. “Better?”

And it would be overwhelming looking at anyone at such close range, wouldn’t it? Nico glances away quickly. He nods. “Yeah. Got it.”

“You still thinking cryptids?” Solace asks. He cracks open his Coke and pops a straw into the can.

Nico glances over, still half-expecting to see disdain or impatience on the other man’s face. But there’s only curiosity. It’s unnerving. Nico finds himself relaxing a little more each time it happens.

He shrugs. “I’m open to the possibility.” He gazes off into the distance, cars zipping by on the street ahead of them, a whole town full of people going about their business as if there isn’t a potential murderer lurking in the woods.

“It’s a nice little town,” Solace says.

Nico nods in agreement. Red brick buildings, a pretty town square edged with well-tended flowerbeds. People lunching on patios and on the grass in the afternoon sunshine. The kind of quaint little place city people like to escape to, especially at this time of year when the leaves are changing. They’d seen several signs advertising harvest festivals and craft shows on their drive out.

“Reminds me of the place my little brother went to college,” Solace offers.

And Nico knows it’s not meant as anything more than an offhand remark, just idle conversation, but he feels his jaw tightening.

“Those files should be ready by now,” Nico says, standing and crumpling the foil from his hot dog.

Solace stays seated a moment longer, blinking up at him. Then he follows. “Yeah. Lead the way.”

The files aren’t yet ready, as it turns out, and they pause outside the sheriff’s office.

“Looks like this might be a little more than a day trip,” Solace comments with a glance at his watch.

“Yeah,” Nico agrees. “Not sure why they’re making us wait if they’re so eager to get us out of town. Might be an overnight stay, though. Are you okay with that? If you’ve got someone expecting you home, you could always head back,” he says, suddenly realizing he hasn’t the vaguest idea what the other man’s personal life might entail.

But Solace shakes his head. “No, I’m good. I’ll give my sister a call later and let her know. We share an apartment.”

Okay. He has a sister. And an apartment. And the brother he mentioned earlier. That’s… useful information to have, Nico supposes.

“What about you?” Solace asks. “You have someone at home? A girlfriend?”

Nico snorts. “No.” He unlocks his door, then reaches over to pop the passenger side lock.

And Nico doesn’t know why he feels the need to elaborate, but the words are out of his mouth before he has a chance to overthink it, tumbling into the sun-warmed car as Solace reaches for his seatbelt. “I um. I have fish,” he says.

Solace pauses, seatbelt pulled halfway across his chest. “Fish?”

Nico feels his face warming, the embarrassment and discomfort of being known, even a little. He knows it’s stupid, but that’s what he is. “I have pet fish. At home.”

“Oh. Nice.” Solace looks unreasonably pleased at this.

“I get my sister to feed them if I’m going to be out of town for a while,” Nico continues, for some unknown reason still talking, “but they should be fine for a couple of days.”

“You have a sister too,” Solace says, far too curious.

“Yeah.” Nico turns from the other man abruptly, puts the car in reverse and backs out of the parking space. For good measure, he turns the CD player back on and bumps the volume up.

With no luck in contacting the victims’ families and without any joy from the sheriff’s office, di Angelo suggests the library – a scan through old newspapers on the off-chance there’s some insight to be gained there. Will agrees easily. He slowly feels as if he’s getting his legs under him, checking off boxes, following the trajectory of the mystery. He’d been worried he’d feel like he was in the way – di Angelo is surely accustomed to working alone – but the other man doesn’t seem to mind the company, as long as Will refrains from asking any personal questions.

Di Angelo pulls a film sheet off the microfiche reader, sliding it carefully back into its envelope.

“No luck in January 1948?” Will asks. He leans back, rubbing at tired eyes.

Di Angelo shakes his head, pressing a hand to his mouth. Will raises an eyebrow and the other man grimaces. “These things make me queasy,” he mutters.

“Take a break,” Will says, firm. “Pass me the next month and if I find anything, I’ll read it to you.”

But aside from the few short articles di Angelo had in his archives back at the office, there’s nothing. Most of the news from February 1948 is about new, post-war housing being built at the edge of the town. It’s strange.

Di Angelo’s phone buzzes, and he stands, digging in his coat pocket. He glances around at the other library patrons, walking quickly out into the hall as he answers, his voice low. He’s back only a minute later, looking frustrated.

“Everything okay?” Will asks.

“Reyna,” di Angelo mutters. “She’s not happy that we came out here without prior authorization. Sheriff called the Bureau. Reyna wanted us back immediately. I convinced her to let us stay until tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Will says, taking a moment to process. “Reyna. The assistant director. You’re on a first name basis with her?” Ramirez-Arellano hasn’t struck him as the sort of person who’s on a first-name basis with anyone.

Something shutters in di Angelo’s expression. “Oh. I guess.” He turns back to the case of film sheets on the table beside them.

“Care to elaborate?” Will asks, curious.

“No.”

Will resists the urge to tease, though it’s a close thing. “Are we in hot water?” he asks instead.

Di Angelo scrunches his nose.

Cute, Will thinks, involuntary, then inappropriate his brain tells him, louder. What is with him. All he can think is to blame it on Kayla. He never would have considered this man in anything but a professional capacity without her interference.

“Probably not,” di Angelo says slowly. “Reyna’s under a lot of pressure from her bosses. She knows my hunches usually pay off. And I solve cases. Besides, you should be okay.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re new.”

Will bites back a smile. “I’ll just tell her you’re a bad influence.”

Di Angelo shoots him a grin. “Exactly.”

There’s a young man waiting near their car when they exit the library, and the two agents exchange a glance as they approach him. He’s thin, mouse-brown shaggy hair brushing the shoulders of a threadbare checked shirt. He watches the two men as they approach, looking like he might run if they get too close. Will’s struck by the thought that the guy looks like someone his father would cross the street to avoid.

Apollo’s mouth, twisted in distaste: “don’t give them any money”. The thought makes Will’s jaw clench and his stomach ache. He has no desire to examine that any further at the moment. Luckily, he doesn’t have to.

“Are you the FBI agents?” the man asks once they’re close enough for conversation.

Di Angelo nods. “We are. I’m Agent di Angelo and this is Agent Solace.”

“I’m Billy Wilton,” he says, holding out his hand. “Sarah Wilton’s brother.”

Billy looks as if he could use a good meal even more than di Angelo, Will thinks. Di Angelo must be thinking along the same lines, because ten minutes later he’s led them to a nearby diner, and the three of them are seated in a red vinyl booth. Di Angelo waves off the younger man when he tries to reach for his wallet.

“Thanks for taking the time to talk to me,” Billy says. “The police didn’t want to. They told me the case was closed, it was an animal attack. I just want to make sure someone knows about Sarah, you know?” He drops his gaze and Will feels a surge of sympathy for the young man.

“Why don’t you tell us about her,” Will says, gentle.

“Sarah was my big sister. She loved the woods,” Billy begins. “When we were kids, we used to go exploring there all the time. She used to tell me ghost stories, stories about half-humans living in caves there.”

Will glances over at his partner, half-expecting the cryptid-fervor back in his gaze again. But there’s only sadness there.

“She was a good sister,” Will says softly.

“Yeah. She was. Our family lived out in the trailer park – until they closed it down to make room for the new housing development, anyway. In high school… well. Our family never fit in. There’s a lot of money here, and we didn’t have that. But Sarah always made me feel like I fit in,” Billy continues, twisting a paper napkin in his fingers. “We were always a team. Then after high school… she kind of got mixed up with the wrong crowd, I guess you could say.” He glances up, looking guilty. “You might have seen that, if you read the police report. She was a good person, though.”

Di Angelo nods. “She’d gotten involved in drugs. Sex work. Is that right?”

Billy nods, his gaze darting back to the table. “Maybe she was killed by an animal, I don’t know. But I couldn’t help feeling the sheriff just wrote her off. Because…” he trails off.

“Because she didn’t act the way she was supposed to,” Will says quietly.

Billy nods.

“Do you know of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Sarah?” di Angelo asks.

Billy lets out a long breath. “Honestly? We hadn’t been in touch as much over the last year or so. But no. I don’t think so.”

“Poor kid,” di Angelo says, gruff, as they get back into the car.

“Yeah,” Will agrees. He thinks about the shadows under Billy’s eyes, the way he’d cleaned every crumb from his plate.

Di Angelo puts the key into the ignition and then pauses, scrubbing a hand over his face. “That’s the hardest part of this job. All the people left behind. Sometimes I can find answers for them, and sometimes…” he shrugs.

“All you can do is your best, right?” Will says, soft.

Di Angelo nods, gazing out the window. “You never really forget any of them. Not the ones we help and not the ones we don’t.”

There’s a long pause wherein Will tries to piece together the right kind of reassurance. He comes up empty-handed.

“Anyway.” Di Angelo clears his throat, starting the car, “we should go see our good friend Deputy Tait.”

Finally, the historical files are waiting for them, but they’re frustratingly sparse. Bare-bones, autopsy reports nowhere to be found. There are a few witness testimonies, really not anything more than what they already learned from the park ranger, vague reports of sightings of a creature in the woods near where the bodies were found.

An hour later, squinting in the low light of the small office they’ve grudgingly been provided with, and di Angelo sighs, pushing his chair back. He turns to Will, looking tired and a little regretful. “I might’ve dragged us all the way out here for nothing.”

Will shrugs. He’s not going to start complaining on his second day. “It’s not a problem. You never know unless you try, right? Besides, I need to get my field legs under me,” Will adds. “Probably better with something like this than a super high-stakes chase through the city. You know, scaling brick walls, running after perps.”

Di Angelo huffs. Will shifts in his chair, the gun at his hip digging into his skin. His hand drifted to it, almost subconsciously.

“You don’t like the gun,” di Angelo states, a bit out of nowhere.

Will makes a face, twitching his suit jacket back over his hip. “I don’t love it,” he admits.

Di Angelo nods, thoughtful.

“I do know how to use it,” Will feels the need to add, and the other man offers him a faint smile.

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise.”

“I’m trained in medicine,” Will continues, feeling as if he needs to defend himself, though he’s been given him no indication that this might be necessary. “I spent a lot of time learning how to save people. Sometimes from this.” He gestures to his hip where the gun is hidden by his jacket.

“Makes sense.” di Angelo gazes at Will for a moment, contemplative. “I don’t love it either, I guess. But it’s a tool. It’s good to have when you need it.”

Di Angelo’s gaze lingers on his face for just a moment longer, a quiet intensity, and Will looks away, feeling his cheeks warm. He reminds himself that di Angelo is experienced in psychological profiling, one of the best in the business. He suddenly feels too exposed.

“So what’s next?” Will asks, eager to change the subject.

They both settle into their motel rooms after bidding each other goodnight. Nico pores over his notes. Something isn’t adding up. The sheriff seems way too eager to sell this as a simple animal attack. And then there are the missing autopsy reports. Tomorrow they’ll head back to DC, and the mystery will be lost forever.

He pushes away from the small table, restless and twitchy, not nearly tired enough to sleep. He glances at the TV. He could find something to watch. Or go for a run.

Or he could head back into the woods.

Nico gathers his things quickly, pulling his coat back on and closing the door behind him. Then he stands in the near-dark, conflicted. Because there’s no need to bother his new partner with this, right? The work day is long over. Solace is probably asleep anyway. And Nico’s made similar excursions on his own countless times.

Nico heaves a sigh, stepping a little further from the moths fluttering around the exterior lights of the building. Plans for wandering alone into possibly-creature-infested woods are the kind of thing one should probably share with a partner, when one has had a partner assigned.

It’s late now, almost eleven. Nico decides that he’ll leave a note, if Solace has already gone to bed. But as he nears the door, he can see light filtering through gauzy curtains.

A soft knock at the door and Solace answers just a moment later, surprise on his freckled face. He’s got glasses on, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. His blond curls are mussed, a frizzy halo in the half-light seeping from the motel room. He looks taller in the near-dark, if that’s even possible. It shouldn’t be. He’s not even wearing shoes.

Nico shakes himself internally. Focus. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I was just writing up my field report. Should have gotten to it earlier, but there was a good episode of Star Trek on,” Solace grins, easy. He seems like the kind of guy who’s easy with everyone. He’s even easy with Nico. Nico’s never been easy for anyone. He’s certainly not about to start now. Not for all the six-footedness and blond curls and toothy grins in the world.

“I just wanted to let you know, I’m gonna head back to the woods where we met the park ranger,” Nico says.

Solace blinks, owlish behind his glasses. “Right now?”

“Yeah. I can’t sleep. I just want to go take another quick look around before I turn in.”

There’s a beat, and then Solace says, “I’ll come with.”

“No, you don’t have to. I just wanted to let you know where I was –”

“What, in case you turn up missing a leg tomorrow?” Solace asks over his shoulder, dry. “Let me grab my coat.”

The drive back to the woods is quiet; no music playing, di Angelo not offering much in the way of commentary. Will gazes out the passenger window at the darkened houses. There’s next to no traffic at this time of night, especially once they leave the town limits and head into rolling hills and woodland.

“So, what are we looking for?” Will asks as they step out into the cool night air.

“Maybe nothing,” di Angelo says, “but most of the sightings of this creature have occurred around this time of night. It can’t hurt to take a look around.” His eyes are serious as he turns to Will. “Just stay alert.”

Will doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s got his gun holstered and his flashlight lit as they walk towards the trailhead. The crunch of leaves and gravel underfoot seems unnaturally loud.

It’s weirdly quiet and still, and it remains so as they make their way through the woods to the place Sarah Wilton’s body was found. It puts Will on edge, like the trees are closing in on them. They pause in the small clearing they visited earlier in the day.

“I don’t think I want to go too much further into the woods. We’ll lose the trail,” di Angelo murmurs after a moment. Will is privately relieved. He’s glad di Angelo hadn’t decided to come out here alone, but before the other man had shown up at his door, Will had been making important plans involving a hot shower and the vending machine he’d seen beside the reception desk.

They wait, flashlights trained on the ground in front of them.

“Flashlights off?” Will says after a moment, quiet. “We’re not going to sneak up on anything like this.”

Di Angelo nods, and they flick the beams off. The silence is eerie, pressing in on Will’s ears, but at least the moon is bright, and after a few moments Will’s eyes adjust and he can see the contours of the landscape. Trees loom over them, moonlight filtering into the small clearing.

Will glances at di Angelo. He’s alert, watchful, scanning the trees around them. But as time passes, even his fervor starts to fade.

Will is just about to suggest that they head back when there’s rustling off to the left. Will resists a gasp at the sudden noise, his heart picking up speed. Both men turn in unison, silent. Will’s hand goes to his gun, a similar motion from the man next to him.

Will’s barely breathing, primed by the stories of cryptids di Angelo shared on the drive out, and honestly off-balance from being in this situation at all. Most of the fieldwork he’s been involved in have involved people who were most certainly already dead. Not… potentially going to be murdered very shortly.

There’s movement among the trees. Will’s definitely not imagining it, nor the way his partner tenses beside him. Will’s hand tightens on his gun, his eyes straining into the darkness.

There’s still and quiet again, long enough that Will feels he’s finally able to take a full breath – but then there’s the distinct snap of a twig and the movement of branches, too close.

Whatever’s moving in the trees looks human, but… not. Will feels a shiver run down his spine at the unreality of it. It’s walking on four legs, but it doesn’t look like any animal Will’s ever seen. It moves parallel to them, loping through the underbrush, a weird, uneven gait. Then it stops to sniff the air and torturously slowly, turns to face them where they stand in the clearing.

Will’s mouth go dry. Di Angelo’s still as a statue beside him, the three of them motionless in the moonlit woods. For an interminable moment, they gaze at each other.

The creature slowly stands, rising to two legs and looking much more human now, except the short, curly horns growing from the crown of its head, just barely visible in the cool moonlight. It’s head has an odd shape, distinctly not human, and the dissonance makes Will’s skin tingle.

The creature surveys the two of them for a long moment before continuing on its path, moving deeper into the woods.

Will let out a long breath. He and di Angelo turn to each other, and Will thinks that his expression must mirror the other man’s – half terrified, half amazed.

“Seen enough?” Will asks weakly.

Di Angelo beams at him. “Holy fuck. Yeah.”

Will laughs, mostly at the expression on the other man’s face, feeling more than a little awestruck himself.

“Did that look human to you?” asks di Angelo once they’re back in the safety of the car.

“I don’t know what to think. Whatever – or whoever that was… they certainly match the description from the park ranger.” Will shakes his head slowly. “So what now? We alert the sheriff’s department?”

Di Angelo nods, his eyes on the road. “Yup. They’ll want to search the woods and surrounding area again.”

It’s nearly three in the morning by the time they pull back into the motel parking lot, and Will decides to forgo the shower in favor of a bag of Hickory Sticks and then bed. He sleeps hard and dreamless, waking to a brisk rap on his door and sunlight already pouring in the window.

Will stumbles across the room and squints into the peephole to see di Angelo fully dressed and looking tense.

“Give me a minute,” Will calls, quickly shedding his t-shirt and sweats in favor of the same dress pants and shirt he wore yesterday. It’s a good thing they’re planning on heading back today, because he really hadn’t packed for a prolonged stay.

Will unlocks the door. Di Angelo is pacing on the walkway. “They shut us out,” he says, before Will can open his mouth to speak.

“They – what?”

“They shut us out,” the other man repeats, angry. “Fucking NSA. They’ve got the whole area barricaded, I couldn’t get in there, couldn’t even get anyone to talk to me. They threatened to arrest me and they gave me an armed escort back to the main highway.”

Will frowns, bewildered. “But - why NSA? Do they think this is some kind of threat to national security?”

Di Angelo throws his hands up. “Beats me. No one’s talking. I’ve got a call in to Reyna and I’m heading to the sheriff’s office now. You coming?”

Will’s already nodding. “Yeah. Of course. Can – can I brush my teeth first?”

Di Angelo’s expression softens, marginally. “Yeah. Of course.”

They gaze at each other for a beat. “Here. Come in.” Will opens the door wide, stepping back. The other man enters, dropping into a chair. He’s still there when WIll exits the washroom, feeling a little more human after having taken the time to shave and splash some water on his face.

“Sorry,” the other man says. “For barging in –”

“No, it’s fine, I was…” Will hesitates. “Okay, I was sound asleep, but it’s fine.”

Di Angelo huffs out a laugh. “Coffee? To make up for waking you?” He holds up a styrofoam cup, clearly from the coffee maker on the desk.

Will’s face must betray his relief, because di Angelo laughs. “What do you take?”

“Oh, um. A sugar and a creamer. Thanks.” Will stands there awkwardly as the other man prepares his coffee. Di Angelo takes care to secure the white plastic lid before handing it to Will.

“Cheers,” Will says, and they awkwardly bump their styrofoam cups together. Their fingers brush and the swoop in Will’s stomach catches him off-guard. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again as he realizes he has no idea what he was going to say.

Then di Angelo gives him a nod and leads the way out to the parking lot. Will follows, giving his head a shake.

Deputy Tait meets them at the front desk of the station. “I had nothing to do with this,” he says, raising his hands in surrender, maybe taking in di Angelo’s fierce expression. “I reported what y’all saw last night, and next thing I know we’re overrun with feds.”

In this instance, Will’s inclined to believe the sheriff. If anything, he hadn’t wanted more attention drawn to the matter.

Di Angelo nods, deflating. “What can you tell us?”

“Not much,” Tait admits. “They’ve been searching the woods for a few hours. Last I heard they were gonna blow up a couple of caves on the north angle.”

Will isn’t the only one surprised with the fact, and di Angelo sounds aghast. “They’re blowing them up?”

“Seems they got a hold of whatever animal’s been causing these deaths. They killed it on sight, and they want to make sure there aren’t any others.”

Di Angelo curses under his breath, then turns on his heel. Will thanks the deputy before following the other man back out to the car.

Di Angelo is standing beside the sedan, eyes on the mountain range, his jaw tight. There’s smoke rising in the distance, silhouetted against a haze of green forest.

“Fucking cowboys,” he seethes. He turns to Will. “You saw what I saw, right? That wasn’t any kind of animal.”

WIll hesitates. “It was dark, and I didn’t get a great look at it, but… no. It didn’t look like an animal.”

Di Angelo scrubs a hand over his face. “What happened to discovery? What happened to curiosity? Living in harmony with nature? No. Instead we have to blow up what we don’t understand.”

Will stays quiet, eyes on the horizon, an ache in his chest.

Di Angelo’s gaze flicks over to him. “Don’t get me wrong,” he says, quieter. “I get that they had to do something. But is this the solution?” He waves a hand towards the woods, frustrated.

“It’s not as if this creature, whatever it was – was coming into town looking for victims,” Will agrees. “The deaths only happened once humans started invading its territory.”

“Yeah.” The other man regards the smoke in the distance for another moment. “Reyna’s expecting us back,” he mutters after a long moment. “We should pack up.”

They return to the motel, retrieving their few possessions and preparing to leave town. Di Angelo looks truly defeated.

“Hey,” Will says over the top of the sedan, “I can drive, if you want.”

Di Angelo regards him, inscrutable. “No. That’s okay. Thanks, though,” he says, finally.

Will watches the other man as he hefts his bag into the back seat.. “Why don’t we make one more stop before we head out?”

Billy WIlton’s place is on the way out of town anyway, as it turns out. The mansions and wide lawns gradually fade to smaller, post-wartime houses, close together, sagging roofs and crumbling staircases.

Billy’s sitting on his front porch when they pull up in front of the house, and he rises to greet them. He’s already heard the news, or at least some of it.

“I’m so sorry,” di Angelo tells him, “NSA’s shut us out now and the Bureau wants us to leave it alone. There’s really not much else we can do. But whatever killed your sister, it’s gone. I hope that brings some closure, at least.”

Will thinks Billy looks calmer than he did yesterday, something settled in his expression. So there’s that.

He nods in understanding. “I’m glad you came by. I wanted to thank you again.”

Di Angelo shakes his head. “We really didn’t do anything.”

Billy shrugs. “You let me talk about Sarah. It helped. I appreciate your time.”

Will thinks his partner looks almost tearful for a moment. Then he seems to collect himself, reaching out to shake Billy’s hand. “Take care of yourself,” he says.

Billy nods, reaching out to shake Will’s hand, too. “Safe drive.”

Will gazes out the window as di Angelo guides the car onto the highway. The day’s turned wooly and overcast, iron-grey clouds hanging thick and low over red-yellow foliage.

“That was a bust,” di Angelo says after a long silence. He sounds exhausted.

“I wouldn’t say that. Billy Wilton was grateful. We helped at least one person.”

“Maybe.”

“You showed me my first cryptid,” Will offers.

Di Angelo glances over, almost smiling. “Yeah? Is that what you’re gonna write in your field report?”

“Something to that effect. Apparent humanoid creature, didn’t resemble an animal, horned, oblong head, four-legged gait.”

“Well sure, when you put it that way,” di Angelo mutters.

Will laughs.

They ride in silence for the next few miles, a far cry from the treatise on cryptids Will was subjected to on the drive out. He glances over at the other man.

“So, Agent di Angelo. How’d you get interested in this field in the first place?” Will asks, fully expecting not to have to say much for the next twenty minutes.

The other man lets out a long breath. “It was a bit of a hobby, when I was a kid. You know. Paranormal… stuff.” There’s a long pause. “And then I became aware of the X-Files when I started at the Bureau. Transferred over from Violent Crimes when the opportunity presented itself.” He falls silent.

“That’s a good story,” Will says, when the silence continues to stretch and the road continues to disappear under their tires. “Detailed and compelling.“

Di Angelo huffs. “How about you?” he asks after a long moment. “You were in med school, before the Bureau snagged you. How’d you end up there?”

Will takes a second, considering his answer. “Hard work. A few scholarships, too many part-time jobs. Lots of sleepless nights and no social life to speak of. My dad could have helped a lot more than he did, but…” Will shrugs.

Di Angelo shoots him a sympathetic look.

“It’s kind of the family business, I guess. My dad’s a doctor. His dad too. It was what everyone expected. I kind of found myself in the middle of it before I’d properly thought it through.”

“Those things are hard to back out of, once you’re committed,” di Angelo says, quiet.

“No kidding,” Will sighs. “I did think I wanted to practice medicine, for a while. And then I didn’t. And then the FBI came calling, and that seemed like a good opportunity. Two years at Quantico, and then I got shuffled over to sit in a car with you listening to –” Will grabs the CD case from the dashboard. “Green Day.”

Di Angelo huffs. “At least you got the last part right.”

Will laughs. They fall back into silence, though it’s briefer this time, maybe lighter.

“You grew up in Texas,” di Angelo says, out of nowhere.

“Yeah, I did,” Will says, surprised at the unprompted query. “Carleton. Sixty miles from just about any kind of civilization. Three brothers, one sister.”

“That must have been nice,” di Angelo says. His voice is almost wistful “Growing up in a big family.”

Will shrugs. “Yeah, for the most part.” It was a big family… until it shrunk by almost half. But there’s no need to get into that right now. “There were too many of us and not enough space,” he settles on, instead. “Lots of good memories, though. How about you? You mentioned a sister?”

Di Angelo doesn’t immediately react, and Will wonders for a moment if the other man didn’t hear him.

“That’s Hazel, that I mentioned,” he says finally. “My half-sister. She lives in Baltimore. But Bianca. She was… my other sister. She died. A little over ten years ago.”

“Oh,” Will says, suddenly feeling as if he’s completely put his foot in it. “That must have been… I’m really sorry,” he says, softer. And for a second he wants to mention Michael, and Lee, but at the closed-off set of di Angelo’s face, he thinks it might be better to move on.

“Thanks,” di Angelo says after a moment. “It sucked. Still does, to be honest,” he laughs without humor.

“Yeah,” Will agrees, his own voice hoarse. He has a stupid impulse to reach out and squeeze the other man’s hand where it rests on the gear shift. Instead he diverts and distracts; much as therapy has taught him it’s not his job to raise the spirits of everyone in the room, old habits die hard.

At least he’s successful, pointing out a Krispy Kreme sign at the next exit and drumming up some excitement about coffee and doughnuts. They get back into the sedan after the brief stop, di Angelo pops in another CD, and there’s not much conversation aside from the occasional “sorry” or “oops” when their fingers bump as they reach for the cup holders.

Traffic is heavier as they near the DC city limits, and the CD cycles back to the first track.

“Want me to change it?” Will asks, reaching for the zippered case between them.

“Sure. You can choose one. Or just stick in whatever’s next.”

Will flips through the discs, trying and failing to find anything he’d choose to listen to voluntarily. There’s a CD at the back of the case with the title written in Sharpie on the disc.

“The Early Years?” Will asks, holding it up.

Di Angelo glances over. "It's Tom Waits. You might like it."

Will’s not entirely sure about that, but he goes for it anyway, surprised at the gentle acoustic guitar that flows from the speakers when he pops it in. They're three tracks in when he catches the dark-haired man smiling, truly smiling at him, and Will laughs. "It's good," he says, surprised.

Di Angelo just nods, looking pleased. He turns his attention back to the road, one hand loosely gripping the top of the steering wheel. Will leans back into his seat, lulled by the quiet melody and hum of the car. He sneaks a glance sideways. Di Angelo looks just as relaxed, Will thinks, the tension of the case in Thornhill drifting away in the hum of the highway, the miles under their tires.

Di Angelo drives the way he moves around his basement office, Will thinks. Languid and graceful, like he belongs in the space. Like he’s a part of it. It’s not… unattractive.

There’s a pause and another track begins, a soft progression of chords in a major key. Di Angelo begins singing along softly, under his breath, then a little louder with the chorus.

Will watches him out of the corner of his eye, something warm and unexpected blossoming in his chest. The other man has a low voice, well suited to hitting the lowest lows of the song. Will grew up in a house full of musicians, and he’s a quick study. When the second chorus begins, Will joins in with a light tenor harmony.

Di Angelo shoots him a smile, not faltering in his melody as they begin passing exit signs for DC and as the chorus slips back into the verse.

The song ends and Will grins. “You have a nice voice, Agent di Angelo,” he tells the other man.

Di Angelo huffs out a laugh. “You’re not so bad yourself. Maybe we can have a second career as lounge singers, if this FBI thing doesn’t work out.”

Will laughs. “Sounds like fun.” He tilts his head. “I’ll bring my Disney soundtracks along next road trip. We can sing the Aladdin duet.”

“Oh my god,” di Angelo mutters. He’s fighting a smile. “Next road trip, I’m requesting separate cars.”

Will laughs. There’s a moment of quiet as the CD continues to play and di Angelo smoothly changes lanes. “You know,” he glances at Will. “You can call me Nico.”

Will grins, somehow feeling like he’s won something, like maybe this whole case wasn’t such a bust after all.

“Nico,” he says, trying it out. Stupidly, it makes his cheeks warm. He carefully turns his face towards the passenger side window.

Three weeks later

Reyna pauses in front of a filing cabinet in the basement office, surveying the mess on its surface. Most of it is unremarkable - books, files, newspapers, overdue expense reports. She peers at a framed photo sitting atop a box of envelopes.

Then there’s the slam of the stairwell door and a voice in the hall. Reyna turns, brow furrowed. It sounds like Nico’s voice, but the voice is singing. Not only that, but Reyna’s quite sure she recognizes the song, because it’s from the animated mermaid movie her nieces are obsessed with. So perhaps it’s not Nico? But who else would be in the basement, particularly after five pm?

The office door opens and it is indeed Nico, still singing to himself, eyes on a sheaf of paper in his hand. He crosses to his desk, completely unaware that he has an audience.

Reyna clears her throat.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Nico jumps about a foot in the air, clutching at his chest. Reyna’s gaze follows the trajectory of the papers he was carrying as they flutter to the floor.

Nico slumps against his desk, breathing hard. “What the fuck, Reyna – what the fuck are you – Jesus Christ.”

“Whose fish?” Reyna asks.

“Whose – what?” Nico asks weakly.

Reyna turns back to the filing cabinet, plucking the framed photo from the top of it - four tropical fish in a tank, an array of plastic tropical plants anchored in colorful gravel, a skull sitting in the corner. “Whose fish?” she repeats, holding the photo out to Nico.

“They’re – they’re mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah –”

“You have a framed photo of them. In your office.”

“It was a – stupid Christmas gift from Hazel. Reyna –”

“But you brought it to work. And put it in your office.”

“Reyna, what the fuck are you doing here?” Nico bursts out, exasperated.

Reyna carefully replaces the photograph. She turns and watches Nico for a long moment. “I wasn’t aware you were a Disney fan,” she says.

“I’m… not?” Nico says, looking completely lost.

“Part of Your World? The Little Mermaid?”

Now there’s a trace of something other than irritation on Nico’s face – recognition, or embarrassment. Interesting.

“That’s not me, that’s my idiot partner,” Nico mutters.

“You know all the words.”

Nico frowns. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Reyna –”

“Speaking of which, how are things progressing with Agent Solace?”

Nico’s posture softens. “He’s – fine. I mean, he’s got garbage taste in music. And he thinks he’s funny.”

“You seem to think he’s funny as well.”

“I – what?”

“I saw the two of you walking back into the building this afternoon. I would have said hello, but you were busy laughing at something Agent Solace had said.” Reyna quirks an eyebrow.

Nico sighs, finally dropping into his chair. “Is there a reason for this visit, or did you just come down here to antagonize me? Because I’ve spent the last two days in a car with Solace, and honestly I’ve had my fill of that.”

“Fine.” Reyna clears her throat. “I came to speak to you regarding your investigation in Thornhill.”

“Oh.” Nico sags in his chair. “Look, I know we went down without prior approval, but –”

Reyna raises a hand to quiet him. “That is not what I came to speak to you about. I had a meeting with Octavian this afternoon.”

Nico grimaces. Honestly, Reyna can relate.

“He was initially quite unhappy with what he considers a misuse of resources to chase down a lead that didn’t pan out, especially one he deems outside the purview of the Bureau’s mandate. What I most wanted to impress upon you, however, is that Agent Solace’s field reports were flawless. He was able to outline your investigation in a way that even Octavian was unable to find fault with.”

Nico blinks. “Oh. That’s…”

“Yes, it is,” Reyna agrees. “Agent Solace was also able to delineate your role specifically in a manner that cast you in the best possible light.”

Nico looks a little stunned.

“And, purely as a matter of interest,” Reyna says pointedly, “Agent Solace’s reports were typed, submitted on time, and scrupulously proofread.”

At that, Nico rolls his eyes. “Do you want Solace to take over down here? I can go upstairs and do autopsies if you like.”

“What I am saying, Agent, is that it may be very much in your best interests to be nice to Agent Solace. If you’re very lucky, this partnership could be a significant factor in helping you keep your department.”

Nico scrubs a hand over his face. “I let him play his stupid CDs in the car. What more do you want from me?”

Reyna watches him and he sighs, watching her back.

“Fine," Nico says grudgingly. "I’ll be nice. He’s – he’s not so hard to be nice to. As it turns out."

(chapter 3 here)

Notes:

1. I have done a LOT of work on this chapter and tbh it's still probably my least favourite. I found it really hard to write these two as complete strangers, not to mention this was the first ~case chapter I wrote and I felt entirely out of my element. Not looking for sympathy, just sharing because I like to hear about people's writing processes :) Incidentally, writing casefic got MUCH easier with some practice. 2. On a related note, I wrote this chapter completely cold turkey, no planning, the way I'd usually write a one-shot. DO NOT RECOMMEND. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what was going on when I got to the editing stage. 3. At some point I realized I could just make up town names and it made my life so much better. 4. Thanks a ton to @rosyredlipstick for the beta & to @anything-thats-rock-and-roll for random troubleshooting :)

#my writing #x-files au #solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #reyna ramirez-arellano #casefic #conservatively rated teen for now #alternate universe - fbi

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silkendandelion · 16 days ago

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I was inspired to write up some more OCs so here we go, some new, some old

Darling: Former Legate, Legion runaway, lifelong cowboy. Real name Shenandoah, but he admits no one’s ever really called him by his first name since his family died, and now he prefers Darling because it’s easier. Absolute sweetheart, he loves Sunset Sarsaparilla, cigarettes, and hot showers (has a running joke of getting naked immediately when they find a motel, vault, or safe river because he always wants a bath). Prefers to cook breakfast, which is good since Kane prefers to cook dinner. They keep Arcade fed between the two of them. The gun-slinger of the group with the highest agility and highest repair skill.

Kane: Enclave defector from Illinois, one of many thousand genetically augmented "Cadmus Children" from Project Cadmus, later called the Spartoi colloquially, one of the Enclave's many failed attempts to make a super soldier. Kane is still the best combatant of his friends by a wide margin due to his dulled sense of pain from overuse of chems. Call sign "Lover Boy", because as a child he would never fail to collect the dog tags of his fallen siblings. Other Spartoi, including the three who held Harrisburg with him during an Enclave raid, say there's "something wrong with him", that the brainwashing didn't take. He loves his "siblings" despite it all, remembers every life he has ever taken, and now spends his evenings cooking dinner for his friends.

Nero: For a long time, Nero was the man Caesar left in charge of the East, and Nero took advantage of the fact that Caesar rarely visited (if ever), declaring himself a pseudo-emperor and stocking his Praetorian’s with loyal supporters. Upon Caesar’s death, he removed officers he knew he couldn’t control, including having Vulpes Inculta and Lanius arrested for incompetence and brought to Ft. Carson, Colorado, where the fort functions as his “palace” and a training center. Nero is an older man with a soothing voice and a soft-spoken cadence, calm and cruel, with 10 charisma. Despite Caesar’s teachings, Nero loves so-called degenerate pleasures, and keeps his troops tightly controlled with vices and anti-Caesar propaganda.

Romulus: Praetorian, a hulking, might-makes-right man who says he has no scars because he has always been the strongest person in the room. A violent, yet obedient man who despite his larger stature, obeys Remus’ orders because he has never beat him in an armed fight. When Darling is recaptured by the Legion on the Colorado-Utah border, Romulus voices his pleasure in beating him because he quote “never deserved to be Legate”. When Darling says Nero will not want him harmed, Romulus lies to him that Nero only stated “alive”, and does not tell him the true orders: that Nero wanted Darling hurt so he would be more likely to act docile for the sake of safety. Kane absolutely beat the brakes off him in trying to free Darling the second time, but Romulus lived and will come back in later scenes.

Remus: Romulus’ “brother” (they are of similar age and are from the same dissolved tribe), a smaller, more pleasant man who values duty above all else. He served Caesar faithfully and pledged his allegiance to Nero after Caesar’s death, who then named him Chief Praetorian, of which he gives the officers orders in the emperor’s absence. Never cruel, endlessly fair, but completely loyal to his orders. When Darling was recaptured, Remus furiously scolded Romulus for his harsh treatment and even gave Darling medical care, right before carrying out his orders and escorting him to Moab to be received by the Emperor (they did not succeed and Darling escaped again). If he wasn’t ride-or-die Legion, Darling would really like him.

#Fallout au #fallout rp #fallout oc #fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #arcade gannon #original character #legion #caesars legion #silkenspeaks

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kvetchlandia · 8 months ago

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Poet Delmore Schwartz, New York City Uncredited and Undated Photograph

O Delmore how I miss you. You inspired me to write. You were the greatest man I ever met. You could capture the deepest emotions in the simplest language. Your titles were more than enough to raise the muse of fire on my neck. You were a genius. Doomed.

The mad stories. O Delmore I was so young. I believed so much. We gathered around you as you read Finnegans Wake. So hilarious but impenetrable without you. You said there were few things better in life than to devote oneself to Joyce. You’d annotated every word in the novels you kept from the library. Every word.

And you said you were writing “The Pig’s Valise.” O Delmore no such thing. They looked, after your final delusion led you to a heart attack in the Hotel Dixie. Unclaimed for three days. You—one of the greatest writers of our era. No valise.

You wore the letter from T.S. Eliot next to your heart. His praise of In Dreams. Would that you could have stopped that wedding. No good will come of this!!! You were right. You begged us—Please don’t let them bury me next to my mother. Have a party to celebrate moving from this world hopefully to a better one. And you Lou—I swear—and you know if anyone could I could—you Lou must never write for money or I will haunt you.

I’d given him a short story. He gave me a B. I was so hurt and ashamed. Why haunt talentless me? I was the walker for “The Heavy Bear Who Goes With Me.” To literary cocktails. He hated them. And I was put in charge. Some drinks later—his shirt undone—one tail front right hanging—tie skewed, fly unzipped. O Delmore. You were so beautiful. Named for a silent movie star dancer Frank Delmore. O Delmore—the scar from dueling with Nietzsche.

Reading Yeats and the bell had rung but the poem was not over you hadn’t finished reading—liquid rivulets sprang from your nose but still you would not stop reading. I was transfixed. I cried—the love of the word—the heavy bear.

You told us to break into __’s estate where your wife was being held prisoner. Your wrists broken by those who were your enemies. The pills jumbling your fine mind.

I met you in the bar where you had just ordered five drinks. You said they were so slow that by the time you had the fifth you should have ordered again. Our scotch classes. Vermouth. The jukebox you hated—the lyrics so pathetic.

You called the White House one night to protest their actions against you. A scholarship to your wife to get her away from you and into the arms of whomever in Europe.

I heard the newsboy crying Europe Europe.

Give me enough hope and I’ll hang myself.

Hamlet came from an old upper class family.

Some thought him drunk but—really—he was a manic-depressive—which is like having brown hair.

You have to take your own shower—an existential act. You could slip in the shower and die alone.

Hamlet starting saying strange things. A woman is like a cantaloupe Horatio—once she’s open she goes rotten.

O Delmore where was the Vaudeville for a Princess. A gift to the princess from the stage star in the dressing room.

The duchess stuck her finger up the duke’s ass and the kingdom vanished.

No good will come of this. Stop this courtship!

Sir you must be quiet or I must eject you.

Delmore understood it all and could write it down impeccably.

Shenandoah Fish*. You were too good to survive. The insights got you. The fame expectations. So you taught.

And I saw you in the last round.

I loved your wit and massive knowledge.

You were and have always been the one.

You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him think.

I wanted to write. One line as good as yours. My mountain. My inspiration.

You wrote the greatest short story ever written. In Dreams

-- Lou Reed, "Oh Delmore How I Miss You" 2012

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*Autobiographical Character in several Schwartz works

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aplaceinthedark · 10 months ago

Text

CONSUMED by the DARK

(a TOWERING MAN story)

Word Count: 2.9k+

CW: supernatural themes, religious sacrifice, body horror, animal cruelty, being buried alive

Pain. Fear. That’s all Noah could feel right now.

He clutched at his side, trying to staunch the blood flowing from the stab wound. Whatever cultists that stabbed him had thankfully not stabbed him deep enough. They had been aiming for the heart, but he twisted just in time.

“Noooo-ahhh!”

He whimpered at the sound of his name being called. He couldn't tell what direction it had come from. Whatever freaks they had out here were searching for him, and they were using his loved ones' voices. Some of them he hadn’t heard in years. Those he could care less about, but when he heard his best friends’ voice, crying out in pain for him, he wanted to curl up and wait until they found him, finishing him off for good.

That's when Noah stumbled face first into another tree, adding more blood to his body. He had entered the woods with a flashlight, but it was gone now. He was stumbling blindly, with no moon to guide him. Why did the gods decide to coincide the summer solstice with the new moon? Whose great idea was that?

Where was the end? How far into the woods was he?

“Noooo-AAAHH!”

God, they had to be close. He could barely run anymore. His fingers were ice cold despite the warm blood slipping between them. His foot caught a loose root, and he fell face down in the dirt. His cry of pain surely would alert them to his location.

Indeed, a low glow lit up the back of his eyelids as he lifted his head. Through bleary eyes, he could make out the dull red glow. Except it wasn’t a cultist standing before him.

Its pelt was black; blacker than the darkness surrounding the two. Noah was certain he would’ve been able to track it in complete darkness. The dull red glow, though, lit up the hollow, and he could see that it came from its antlers. He couldn’t count how many points the stag had, mainly because they seemed to twist and turn in on themselves. Like oak branches, he thought.

Noah could only imagine what he looked like: covered in blood and dirt, leaves and sticks caught in his shoulder- length hair as well as his clothes. Despite the circumstances, he felt like he wasn’t worthy to be caught in the thing's presence. The stag dug at the ground with one of its massive hooves. Noah was tall, but this beast had to be more than twice his size.

Before Noah could contemplate any further, it spoke, not aloud, but in his mind:

CHILD OF THE VALLEY, WHY HAVE YOU COME TO MY COURT?

Noah flinched at the harsh tone. It was guttural, like a scream that came from the gut rather than the throat. He sputtered, unsure of how he even managed to get to that spot. He told the stag so, through chattering teeth as the coldness of the hollow finally caught up to him.

The stag tilted its head, the glow of its antlers moving as if filled with liquid. Like blood. The movement almost seemed… human-like. It unsettled Noah even more.

I THINK YOU KNOW WHERE YOU TRULY ARE, NOAH SEBASTIAN DAVIS. YOUR KIND HAVE TOLD THE TALES OF THE WATCHER OF THE WOODS FOR A LONG, LONG TIME.

Noah flinched again at those words that sounded like a parent coldly scolding their child. To be honest, until recently, he never had believed in those tales of darkness roaming the Shenandoah Valley. Then, when what happened with the Folio kid happened, he started to believe it more and more.

“Please… please help me. I-I’ll do anything,” he pleaded, feeling a fresh spurt of blood despite his numb fingers. It wouldn’t be long now.

THERE WILL BE A PRICE.

“I… I don’t care. I- I’ll do any… thing.” He didn’t want to die here, alone in the woods.

GIVE YOURSELF TO ME. BECOME THE INSTRUMENT OF MY WILL, AND I WILL FREE YOU FROM THE PAIN OF YOUR HUMANITY.

Noah could barely speak at that point, so he merely nodded. The Watcher made a sound, and the world went black. With one last steady breath, Noah spoke his final words:

“I think I've had enough… enough now.”

And that was how the young human, Noah Davis, died and became the Towering Man.

The search parties were few. That didn’t surprise him. Ever since he and Nicholas were made to be the boys who cried wolf, the people in town were quick to make excuses for his disappearance.

"He was a troubled boy.”

“He probably just ran away."

“Kids these days. He’s probably lying face down in a drain in the city right now.”

If he could feel anger, it would be at the woman who had claimed to love him. The woman who had turned out to be just like the rest of them. She was the reason for the state that he was in. She was the reason why he had died and sold his soul. After that, she only fueled the rumors that he had run away. Even with Nicholas trying his best to combat the rumors, it was only him against a town of five thousand.

Nicholas tried his best to keep the search parties going, but when you live in a town that values old superstitions over the life of a 21-year-old, it’s hard to do anything. Noah wanted to tell his friend that it was okay, to ease Nicholas’ pain and anxiety, but he was forced to watch as Nicholas continued to put up missing flyers and stay up late at night to wait for Noah to come home.

But after a few months, even Nicholas seemed to give up. His family convinced him to move to Richmond, and for a while Noah would only see Nicholas every once and while, when he would visit Granny. And Noah was forced to do nothing but watch from the treeline.

During the day, he would root himself near Granny Ruffilo’s home. He tried to resist the Watcher’s pull, even at night when he was demanded to collect the offerings left by the cult: mostly blood and wine. Except on the nights when the moon was darkest, then he couldn’t resist the voice inside his head.

Noah wanted to scream out whenever he would see Nicholas through one of the windows; scream at him that he was right there, outside of that window, just past the treeline. Except Nicholas wouldn’t be able to hear him, even if he could use his voice.

And Noah’s heart - or whatever counted as his heart now - turned black.

He watched Nicholas move on. Seasons passed, and so did Noah’s feelings. By the time June came back around, he had pretty much given himself over to the Watcher’s will. He accepted the fact that his best friend would no longer be saving him.

The night before the summer solstice, Noah was summoned to the Watcher’s Grove. Some would joke that it could be a courtroom, except the Black Stag was too proud of itself to share its power. All it needed was its minions, which it was surrounded with now.

THE TIME HAS COME, CHILD OF THE VALLEY. YOUR GOD DEMANDS ONE LAST THING OF YOU.

Noah thought he was being rewarded, being given his human body back. Like some kind of horrific Cinderella, he just needed to explain to Nicholas everything that had happened; that he had made a deal with the devil that he couldn’t take back. The Watcher knew that the first thing Noah would do was run to Nicholas, and he planned accordingly.

Noah should’ve realized his mistake. When he called for Nicholas, he should’ve realized it when he felt his bones shift in response. He should’ve realized it when he felt his body stretch and grown when Nicholas came out into the woods. It wasn’t until Nicholas’ face twisted in fear did Noah realize the Watcher’s plan.

Nicholas was to be the Watcher’s next Vessel, and Noah was to bring him to the Watcher.

Except the Watcher had underestimated Nicholas. See, it turned out Nicholas was a part of an old bloodline of Practitioners. Usually, it passed down onto the women, skipping a generation if need be. For some reason, instead of picking his sister, the practice chose him. It did so not long before this incident, so Nicholas was still learning the extent of what he could and could not do.

So when Noah reached out for him with a thorny hand, Nicholas accidentally blew him apart. But Noah had died in the Shenandoah Valley, where dead things don’t stay dead.

Nicholas crafted a body made of sticks, leaves and mud, and bound Noah to it. It nearly killed both of them. It wasn’t the best; Nicholas had just learned how to manage his practice, after all. Noah had a body again, and this one wasn’t under the control of the Watcher’s will.

And he would use it to his advantage.

“I’m gonna fuck up that deer god.”

Their plan wasn’t perfect at all. Nicholas was going to pretend to be captured, the perfect Vessel to be sacrificed. That way, hopefully they would have the element of surprise.

Which of course, wasn’t how it happened. Leave it to him to underestimate how good the Watcher was at reading minds.

YOU THINK YOU CAN STAND AGAINST A GOD?

the Watcher of the Woods asked. The cultists stood around them in a circle, not getting too close, but ready to jump in at a moment’s notice.

YOU, A SCARED LITTLE BOY AND HIS LITTLE WITCH, AGAINST SOMETHING OLDER THAN THE DIRT YOU STAND UPON? OLDER THAN THE STICKS IN YOUR BODIES THAT YOU CALL BONES?

Was Noah scared? Absolutely, even though he couldn’t really feel it. But for once, he didn’t let his fear show, like he did when he faced the Watcher the first time, a year and a day ago in this same grove.

This time he was ready.

With Nicholas helping him, his concentration divided between bolding off the Cultists with a warding barrier and aiding Noah, Noah found he was evenly matched with the Black Stag. He had learned the deity's tricks over the past year, and could counteract them easily. Noah acted as an almost perfect counterbalance to the darkness: whenever the Watcher would throw decayed dirt edged with frost that was colder than the universe, Noah would ruin it with life and nature and warmth.

The Watcher of the Woods even tried to take Nicholas out of the equation with a malediction, but Noah wouldn't let it. With a roar that could shake mountains, Noah charged forward and grabbed onto the Stag's twisted antlers. Under his grip, they were bitterly cold, almost turning his fingers instantly blue. The stag tried to rear back to shake off Noah, but he only tightened his grip until his knuckles cracked.

“After all that you've put me through? After all the hell you created for these hollow souls? After all the lives you've torn apart for your sick enjoyment? You think for one second, I'll let you destroy one more? You think that this makes you a god?”

Noah's eyes flared green, lighting up the darkness in his eyes, as with a loud growl, he spoke:

IF THERE'S A GOD, IT'S FUCKING ME!

And with a twist, Noah tore off the crown of bloody bones with a mighty crack. At first, he thought the sound had come from his body, but when the red in his vision faded, he saw the head of the Black Stay on the ground, separated from its body.

There were numerous cries of disbelief around him. Some might have tried to attack him, but with one look, they stopped. Noah held up the antlers that were still in his hands.

DON'T EVER COME BACK, YOU HEAR ME? IF I FIND OUT YOU EVEN TRY TO START THIS SHIT AGAIN, I WILL COME AFTER ALL OF YOU! YOUR FAMILIES TOO, IF I HAVE TO!

And they scattered like roaches.

Noah and Nicholas stood in the grove, alone and quiet. The corpse of the Black Stag had decayed fast; even the bones and antlers had rotted away. Noah shook his hands until the decay was gone. All that was left was the skin of his palms had been burned black.

“Now what?" Nicholas said, breaking the silence.

“I don't know. I don't feel any–”

There was a sudden shifting beneath Noah. He looked down in surprise to see that the ground had swallowed his feet. He was sinking.

And with one last raspy chuckle, he heard the Black Stag mutter in his mind:

THERE MUST ALWAYS BE SOMETHING TO WATCH OVER THE WOODS.

Nicholas tried to pull him free, but when Noah was up to his waist in the ground, he pushed Nicholas away. “But I just found you!” Nicholas cried.

“Don't worry, I'll be back. Just listen for your name.”

And the earth swallowed Noah up, and darkness claimed him once again.

He felt the suffocating weight of the ground pressing on him from all sides, the darkness so absolute he didn't know which way was up or down. A weird feeling spread through him, like a panic attack but… absent. Like he should be having one, but it wouldn't come.

That's when he realized his eyes were closed, but when he opened them, he was faced with something much worse.

Something fell into his eyes, and when he opened his mouth to scream, it fell in there too. The taste gave him his answer to where he was.

Dirt. He was buried underground.

Still, he didn't feel panic. He struggled against the dirt, trying to claw his way free, but his limbs were numb and weak from disuse. There was no way he was going to get out of this without some help.

Naturally, he called for the person who would help him without question.

NICHOLAS.

He felt ridiculous. How was Nicholas gonna hear him? How did he even get buried in the first place?

There was no time for questions or memories. He had to dig himself out somehow.

He willed his arms to move, his legs to kick. Either he was so weak, or buried so deep, he couldn't move a muscle. He tried to remember what he was taught about being buried alive. Don't use a lighter; breathe short little gasps to prolong the air. That was if he was buried in a box, though, and he didn't need to worry about breathing. He hadn't needed to for a long time.

He didn’t know how long he was there, buried deep beneath, barely moving despite his mind shouting at his limbs to just move already! He had almost given up when he felt the earth shift somewhere near his head. Were those voices?

It sounded like great amounts of dirt were being thrown around, like when a dog digs for a bone. It stopped for a moment, a new voice joining whoever was above. Then the digging continued, but with the rhythm of what might be a shovel.

When the weight got lighter, Noah used the last of his strength to move his arm. Without the weight of the dirt pressing down on him, his hand burst up from the ground. There was a shout, and suddenly two pairs of hands grabbed onto his arm and pulled him free.

“I came as soon as I heard your call. In my head,” Nicholas said.

The other two, Joakim and Nick, had heard it too. If there were others like them, they didn’t show. But Noah didn’t care. These were his friends now.

This was the Circle of Omens and Thorns.

And that’s how Noah Sebastian became the new Watcher of the Woods, the King of the Shenandoah Valley.

Something was wrong with the woods, and it was driving Noah crazy.

As he peers over the top of the mountains from his perch on Stony Man Mountain, he feels the Appalachian Spring air sweep through the trees, barely ruffling his long hair. He mindlessly twirls a braid around his finger, thumb rolling a bead around as an anxious tic. A chill runs down his spine, and he knows it’s not because of the wind. The Spring season up here is a lot like a joke; he’s seen wildflowers poking through big heaps of snow before. That wasn’t stopping him from shedding his shirt, like now.

He likes to come up here, despite it being a popular stop on a hiking trail. At night, no one will bother him; not even Folio. He knows that when Noah goes up Stony Man, he doesn’t want to be disturbed.

Except he’s still disturbed, just in a different way.

He lays back on the ground and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as he curls his fingers through the dirt and grass. He grounds himself to expand his consciousness through the Valley.

He can feel the way the trees seem to curl in on themselves, like an old man wrapping his coat tighter around him as he trudged on through the bustling air. His skin crawls as he feels roots wind their way through the soil, touching something so foul it fills his throat with black mud and he gags, but can’t move. The black mud chokes him, whispering in a familiar voice that promises nothing but venom and sweet lies.

He wrenches from his reverie, coughing and spitting despite nothing is in his mouth other than cold air and saliva.

Something has returned to the Valley. Something dark, and something… black.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens rpf #bad omens au #noah sebastian fanfiction #paranormal au #horror au #series: lost in the labyrinth #fic: the grove of secrets #cw: supernatural themes #cw: religious sacrifice #cw: animal cruelty #cw: body horror #cw: buried alive

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