#and it's one of those long button up fancy coats too!

[mrsoharaa]

oh god oh god ohhh goddd, imagine getting a bit chilly in the brisk breeze of autumn and your loving, attentive bf, Suguru just easily wraps you up into his long, cozy coat and nuzzles over your head and embraces you close to him. emanating his radiant body heat, keeping you nice and warm...with head kisses!!!

[annwe24]

SUGAR DADDY! LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X READER

Part 2

Summary: Lucifer and you reach a somewhat transactional relationship. However, you find yourself develop feelings for him.

A/N: i just wanted to write something short:)

Sighing, you put one of your rings back into your jewelry box. You have been sitting in front of your makeup mirror for 2 hours, suffering from having too many jewelry options. Well…maybe that's not exactly suffering.

It is a cycle repeating almost every week. The King of Hell takes you out for some fancy dinner date and almost always ends up with you and him making a mess in bed. You don't know how long this relationship will last and you are sure he will soon find another "entertainer" (probably skinnier). That thought makes you recoil when looking at your reflection in the mirror. You have never been comfortable in your own skin. Heck, why would a King of all places dote on someone who looks like they can eat 10 pounds of grilled cheese?

*Circus ringtone*

Shit! You think to yourself. Nervously gripping at your designer hand bag, you inhale and exhale to calm down before finally pressing the accept button. Despite being quite close to the King (maybe too close), he never fails to make you stumble over his every little actions. He commented politely on this once; however, that hasn't improved one bit.

Hey, just wanna check up on you, darling. Are you ready to head out?

His sugar-coated voice makes you shiver a bit. You take a silent glance at your jewelry box before answering:

Yeah, you can pick me up now.

You finally admit defeat and settle down on the (f/c) set of earrings despite his preference being crimson. Sometimes, you just want to add a bit of yourself to the clothes you are wearing as a reminder to not lose yourself when indulging in his gifts. It's scary watching you slowly turn into nothing but a dress-up darling for the King. You feel less alive and more like a doll every time you go out with him. Your messy lines of thoughts are abruptly cut as a portal pops up. Standing straight and dusting the invisible dust off your fancy dress, you watched as Lucifer strides out gracefully. He pridely plants a soft kiss on your knuckles before taking in the most beautiful scenery before him-you. His eyes lingers a bit on your set of earrings before chuckling:

Darling, you look like the finest angel in hell.

Oh, Lucifer… You look away embarrassingly.

Fixing his coat, he opens another portal leading to a fancy-looking restaurant. The meal is going to cost more than all your organs combined. You think quietly to yourself.

…

You know what happens after the date. You and him. On the bed. Your clothes lying on where you don't fucking care because he will just buy you new one anyway. But you’ll be a liar if you don't find yourself enjoying the moment right now. It's your favorite activity. After intense moments, you always find yourself lying on his warm chest. It's addicting and capable of burning you alive. Maybe you do have a thing for him. Does Lucifer have a thing for you? Heaven knows. He tries to present his best version of himself for you. You don't know when the masterful actor will break his role and go off to find another toy. You just hope this lasts longer than you think. But that's enough thinking for today, you decide to focus on his gentle combing of your hair and the rise and fall of his chest instead, slowly drifting away to sleep.

Sleep fails you. It's one of those nights again where your thoughts are too loud.

Feeling a pressure on his chest, Lucifer let out a light grunt before opening his eyes. Your (e/c) ones stare back at him. You have always been… intriguing. That's why he keeps you so close, desperate for this relationship to work. He finds you addicting.

Do you love me?

Taken back by your question given the time and place, he scrambles his brain searching for a reasonable answer. The dinner went out as usual. He also makes sure to be as gentle as possible during the…uh…nevermind. Everything had been normal until now. Until you ask. Smiling sweetly at you, he tries to deliver his sentence as thoughtful as possible:

Of course, honey. You meant the world to me. What makes you question that?

Yeah, what makes you question that? You don't know. What do you even want from him? You don't know. Pushing further could lead to him getting annoyed and dumping you in the process. That reminds you of your old life. It's best to play it safe, maybe you are just confused. Afterall, you didn't have any time to process the relationship when all of this started. Nuzzling your head into his chest, you answered with your usual sweet bimbo voice that you hate so much:

Nothing! Just making sure.

You hear him let out a sign of relief and feel his shoulder relaxed. That night, you slept with a confused mess on your mind, just like any other night with him.

[amarylliasky]

Number 7! Tomorrow’s a week, guys!! I’m also putting this one under the cut cuz it’s a bit longer than I anticipated(as per usual). Let me know if you all are fed up with me putting everything under the cut. I’m just trying to make it easier to peruse these posts, as there are going to be a lot by the end of this.

Oh, Absolutely Not. (Twins AU)

Cale wouldn’t call himself vain, but he knew how to appreciate a good thing. He knew he had a good face and body, that’s not even talking about his perfectly styled hair. He prided himself in taking utmost care of his appearance, unlike his lazy, ‘the only exercise I need is breathing,’ brother. To top it all off, he had a sense of style. Sure, all those fancy outfits and accessories could be a pain to put on, but that much was nothing compared to the final results.

He stared as the other person squirmed under his gaze. This simply will not do.

Normally, Cale would leave his brother to his own devices about his wardrobe, heaven knows he has no sense of style and doesn’t care what other people think of him on any given day. But he would be absolutely appalled if he let his twin brother come dressed to a gala like he just got out of bed. This wasn’t like those times they just teleported into the Crown Prince’s bedroom, this was an actual gala, with actual nobles and royalty, all looking at them. Cale was not going to go around letting someone with his face dress in poor standards.

Calyan apparently had enough of Cale’s withering glare, as he finally spoke, “I don’t see why it’s a big deal. I can just go dressed like this.” And Cale would almost rather he not go at all. When his glare deepened, Calyan said something else. “Or I could go in the commanders uniform?” OK, that’s it.

“Calyan,” Cale started “for the love of your slacker life and both of your Hyung-nim’s dignities, please just don’t talk.”

Any more of this and he might start wishing for a slacker life himself.

How his twin brother grew up in the same household, with the same spoiled rich life as him, and yet still had no sense of fashion appalled him. If it wasn’t for the fact that Calyan was just a weaker, paler, skinnier copy of him with long hair, Cale would sometimes question if they were even brothers, let alone twins. Alas, Cale Henituse is stuck with the weakest and laziest(at least when it comes to his wardrobe and getting out of bed) brother in the history of the Roan Kingdom. Is this really the Supreme Commander of the Allied Armies who defeated the White Star and resealed the Sealed god? This shrimp? This guy who looked like he was about to march into his own funeral instead of a gala hosted by the Crown Prince(soon to be Emperor), aka, his Hyung-nim?

Commander or not, if Cale had to go “mingle” with the other nobles on account of his newly acquired Swordmaster status, then Calyan had to go as the Commander and Cale’s twin. There’s no way that Cale would torture himself going if Calyan wasn’t forced into going too.

And if Calyan was going too, then Cale would make sure he looked absolutely fantastic. It was also his face after all. The face is the final piece to fashion, but a nice get up never hurt anyone.

Ignorant to the long suffering look his model/brother wore, Cale got to work scouring, not Calyan’s, but his own closet.

Calyan watched with dawning horror as his twin pulled out what must have been some people’s (even by noble standards) entire closet. And the worst part is, it didn’t seem to have even made a dent in his brother’s vast collection of apparel.

It was an exhausting three hours in which Cale played dress up with what was probably over thirty different ensembles. Including, but not limited to; a silver button up with a heart pattern on the chest(just why.), paired with a navy dress coat and dark grayish blue dress pants. And heeled shoes. Yeah, no. Another ensemble included a white button up under a gold colored vest and a black overcoat with a pair of simple black dress pants, all under a white cape with gold accents and embroidery; and we can’t forget the gold-rimmed glasses. He didn’t even wear glasses. Another ridiculously lavish outfit was a white dress shirt with a black vest that had little flower designs on it, under a purple tailcoat and a silver scarf of all things. Furthermore, the tail of the coat nearly reached his ankles, and the white pants were paired with a gold belt connected to a dangling butterfly. Hard pass.

At the end of it all, they(Cale) finally decided on a white dress shirt under a burgundy vest with intricate swirling patterns, paired with sophisticated black dress pants and a cape that was such a dark red color that it looked black. Throughout the fabric of the cape was a pattern of gold vines, and the vest had several gold chains hanging from it. Last, there was a simple yet stylish black ribbon around the collar.

Cale stood back to inspect his choice of outfit. Not too bad. It didn’t scream luxury like his own often did, and yet it easily told of his status.

Of course Cale had to match his brother. What better way was there to show that were a set?

Cale’s outfit consisted of a wine red button up with the same black ribbon, a black vest, and a white cape with gold vines in the fabric. Of course, he also had several gold chains hanging from the black vest and dress pants. And where his brother chose to go with simple black boots, Cale wore stylish black leather dress shoes with gold buckles. Because he had class.

Now the cherry on the cake would have to be Calyan’s hair, which he would entrust to Roan’s best stylists, Rosalyn and On. On loved to style her father’s long hair and Rosalyn didn’t suffer through countless balls and other formal events for nothing.

Now with their gala attire selected, they finally finished their much needed revisions for the party preparations. Both redheads were exhausted by the end of it, however, one was filled with a sense of victory and accomplishment at finally succeeding in convincing Calyan to wear ‘appropriate’ attire.

As a reward for putting up with his brother’s relentless nagging, Calyan was now relaxing with a nice book, some desserts, and some sweet tea since Ron had yet to return from his errands in Huiss, and thus the butler was not there to torture him with a sour beverage. As for Cale, he left his lazy brother to his own devices.

Sometime later, Cale passed Ron, who had just returned, it seemed, on his way to the underground training room of the Henituse estate in the Capital. He figured he could get in some extra sword training until Hans came to fetch him for dinner. While he didn’t need the practice, per se, he still enjoyed the light workout.

During the final battle against the Lion Dragon, Cale Henituse had finally reached the Swordmaster level. It was quite the accomplishment, being only twenty years old after all. Hannah and Clopeh were both a few years older than him, and according to Calyan, Choi Han was much older than he looked. Yes, quite an accomplishment indeed. Even without his memories from his previous life (if you could even call those fragments ‘memories’), which he hadn’t actually acquired until right before the final battle at Puzzle City, Cale still made astronomical progress in his swordsmanship. So, he could confidently say that he reached that milestone using his own strength.

When he arrived at the training grounds, he found that it was already occupied by their resident “Youngest” Swordmaster. Scoffing, he headed toward the rack of training swords. The Korean had surely noticed his entrance, but chose to keep doing his practice drills rather than to address the redhead’s interruption. Well, we can’t have that now, can we?

A wooden sword came flying at Choi Han, which he easily caught without even looking.

“Up for some light practice, our Dear Youngest Swordmaster?” The black haired individual finally turned his head to face the young master who was looking at him with his trademark cocky grin. Even after two years, it still weirded him out seeing that smile on his “liege’s” face.

“Try and last longer this time, Cale-nim.”

So the two started their “light spar.” Needless to say, it ended in Choi Han’s victory, much to Cale’s incessant whining about the unfairness on account of Choi Han’s many years of experience.

Well, old man or not, to Cale, Choi Han would always maintain his youthful, emo glow.

——

Yes, Cale learnt what emo means thanks to one of Calyan’s off topic comments about pre-regression Choi Han. And yes, he does use it to tease Choi Han every chance he gets.

For the outfits….you’re just gonna have to use your imagination. Mostly, it was my own imagination and a mashup of outfits from Pinterest that inspired the ones described. I might draw them later though.

[hinamie]

hi hina! if you were yuuji, megumi, and nobara's personal stylist (you already kind of are 🙂‍↕️) what's an outfit you would pick that represents their casual style and one look that represents fancy attire? and what's an absolute No for each of them?

SORRY FOR GETTING TO THIS LATE i have . fashion opinions and need 2 articulate them Properly. gomen ik this isn't /exactly/ what u asked this is moreso just. my style headcanons fr each of them but i think it more or less gets the point across gFGHDSHFGJ.

will get long btw :')

yuuji:  casual: 

i loveloveLOVE him in jean jackets . since a hoodie is a staple for him that + a jean jacket i think is The Go-To fit for him hands down i think he pulls it off so well. u can even ditch the hoodie to opt for a baggy graphic T shirt but the jean jacket carries the fit.  it’s so casual n classic which helps it be ~versitile~ and it's just boyish enough to rly suit yuuji’s character. I have him in distressed jeans (grey or dark wash blue, as long as it’s a different shade of denim) whenever i can bc i think it looks good but athletic pants (think like adidas jogger-shaped) work also . add red sneakers of choice accessorize that boy with a gym bag or backpack Bam yuuji fit. 

formal: 

i feel very strongly about yuuji in a dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up. no suit jacket fr him but definitely a tie and a waistcoat + straight leg trousers. i want to keep a pop of red on him so the safe option wld b to make his tie red but i think maybe he could pull off a maroon dress shirt + black everything else combo. important thing is He Wears Red :)

no’s:

honestly I can picture yuuji in most anything but i don’t think he wears long structured jackets, even fr fancy outfits. he’s too stocky of a build and i think a long jacket makes him look shapeless in a bad way i think mid-thigh is as long as i’d be willing 2 go for his outerwear, though im sure with the right fit i could b convinced otherwise

megumi:  casual: 

tl;dr: loose sweater over turtleneck/over collared shirt i feel SO strongly about megumi in loose straight silhouettes. HEAVY on the grey/black neutrals with the occasional cool jewel tone (green or teal u know how it is) though i do also like him in a chocolate brown! it is important 2 me also that whatever pants he wears r not too baggy since his top will have a lot of that Chunkiness to it and u need some shape n slimness 2 the leg 2 balance it out. this overall silhouette on megu >>>>>>>

formal:

unlike yuuji i Do think megumi could pull off a suit jacket or maybe even a blazer but whatever it is u best bet this boy is in All Black . I also like him in a turtleneck instead of a dress shirt but if we button him up Completely i think it achieves more or less the same look 

no’s: 

ok i have a couple but my biggest one is Fushiguro Megumi Does Not Wear Shorts end of story no further elaboration. also, this is slightly more forgiveable but like w yuuji i would avoid him in long jackets Also, altho fr the opposite reason . it’s not tht he’s too stocky for it rather i think he’s too lanky n a long coat runs the risk of drowning him — again situational tho !!!!! he would probably look good in a black wool coat so i will entertain the possibility . 

also listen. this is a personal headcanon and ik it likely puts me in the minority and i may even get flack fr this . but i do not think fushiguro megumi would have piercings. i know ive drawn him with earrings before but listen those were for Me . those were for the fit. he was an acting mannequin. but just him??? his personal feelings?? i just have a hard time thinking that boy is th type 2 put metal in his face sue me :’/ 

nobara:  casual: 

this is so hard because a. women’s fashion has SO many more options b. nobara is 100% the type to have a different style every week and c. she looks good in all of it. I think though i like her best in long skirts and layers so something along these lines is a Hard yes from me, though possibly with a brighter colour palette

formal:

i had Other ideas but god just spoke to me through pinterest by showing me this dress and this is all i want to see nobara in actually. 

(((real talk tho in terms of fancy dresses I like her in black/gold/red/pink for colours, either baby doll or bell skirts, strapless sweetheart necklines,, etc etc etc)))

no’s: 

similar to yuuji, I don’t have many things that i picture as off-limits for nobara fashion-wise bc she seems the type to experiment :’) I think any faux-pas i can name r just my own fashion icks so i’ll just go with those: no low rise and no full skin-tight fits (ik i said she seems down for anything but i think she draws the line @ athleisure). also maybe a pocket pick but i don't think she would wear orange or hot pink on account of her hair

[targwh0re]

New Ideas for HOTD Alicent Fashion pt.3

So for this one, we’re going to be combining Rhaenyra in this again. The reason for this is bc I’m coving the nightgowns we saw/should have seen. The reason I say some of them are ones we “should have seen” is bc why was everyone still dressed that night on driftmark???? It was late af, why were Rhaenys and Corlys the only ones dressed for bed🤨

But to start, Alicent.

This:

We love this, we need this.

Idk what this is:

What happened, she was dressed so elegantly even if it was just for bed. Now she look like a spinster with a house full of cats.

I just don’t like the way the second dress is designed. The fabric is fine. I don’t like the buttons, I don’t like the sleeves, and I don’t like the bland embroidery around the neckline and the wrists and the waist.

The first dress is flowey, yet form fitting. I like the ties in the front, and the over dress that goes over the dress. It’s the same material and looks the same but the way it is positioned is very flattering and creates a more fanciful appearance.

So to firstly redo the nightgown we see in the picture above we need to take some things into consideration. Alicent has had a confusing interaction with Rhaenyra the night before, almost a ghost of their friendship in girlhood radiating around them, and she even says she will be a good Queen (previously having told Aegon that he is not her son). So, we don’t really know what’s going on in Alicent mind right now. Seriously, I mean this girl gave me whiplash sometimes. That being said, she’s still at the height of her Hightower propaganda kick.

Looking at nightgowns in other historical/period dramas, I’ve noticed that it tends to be the simple additions that you don’t even realize (a pop of color, the material of the dress, the way it hugs the body, a simple embroidered design place somewhere) that really give the dress a more fantasy appeal to them.

So considering her mindset and actions, as well as those design factors:

This actually isn’t too different from the original dress if you really look at it, only the high neckline is an overdress of sheer fabric, still allowing the (perhaps) less appropriate, yet more beautiful nightgown beneath. The overdress helps keep in tact that sense of modesty Alicent seems to be reflecting in her clothing after the time skip, whilst maintaining the more fanciful nightgowns of royalty we see her embracing in her youth. And it is a lighter shade of green as opposed to her usual darker greens, signifying her uncertainties or her wavering ideals.

It is true she also misinterpreted Viserys statement before she went to bed as well, thinking he wished for Aegon to succeed him. However, she is very against Rhaenyra being hurt in any way from the get go. Confliction, family vs. Old friendships

The one thing I would change is that the embroidery around the neckline, the wrists, and the waist would be a gold and red. Not quite Targaryen colors, but the small bit of red fabric on her nightgown could be like the small thought of Rhaenyra being queen tugging at the back of her mind.

Now for the redesign dress. Why is she still in her funeral attire🙄:

She should have been asleep, or at least pretending to be, so I at least think she’d dress the part.

Now I’m not gonna repeat myself with the yada yada yada about the dress should be bc royalty and style bc we been over that.

That being said, we combining again:

We’re keeping the long jacket from the first pick, and the dress in question from the second.

The darker green tone reflects the mood, and having been woken up I’d think she’d grab a coat as driftmark seems cold. The floral patterns add a beautiful design that takes away any simplicity, and I also imagine her liking to take strolls through the garden w/ Helaena so yeah. Just imagine this trailing behind her.

As for the dress, I love the white sleeves tucked into the belt, imagine this falling from her shoulder in her tousle with Rhaenyra, the fabric having ripped or simple fallen instead of the golden ornament across her chest in the original dress. It looks hella a lot more comfortable to sleep in that’s for sure. The simple shade of a slightly darker green making the designs subtle and elegant are just mwah. Just imagining her storming into the room half asleep with her messy hair is so pretty in my mind. No jewelry, no shoes, just messy curls, a nightgown, and an overcoat.

Now for Rhae:

This sucks😭 like it isn’t bad but idk I just don’t like the sleeves or the way the hair looks with the dress. I love the simple braid for bed, it’s literally just the sleeves and the way it hugs her that I don’t like. Okay maybe the shade it is as well. The bottom part looks fine from what I can tell, but the top is what bothers me.

Maybe something a little more like this:

The lighter red for her youth. She’s still been hanging around daemon, although he’s now been sent away at this point, he’s still heavily been influencing her since he’s been there and Daemon is big on Targaryen propaganda (though not Alicent level with faith of the seven stuff).

It’s again one of those where it actually isn’t too far off from the original dress. The color has changed, it’s more fitted, a little design was added, and the sleeves aren’t ruffled anymore. I didn’t care for those at all. And with this I feel I’d like the braid better, though perhaps have it resting over one should instead. It still holds a girlishness about it but has a little extra with the lace and the small design added to the top.

[wishingstarinajar]

so i said in the last ask that i had some head canons. and i wrote one out. it ended up being a lot longer then it was meant to be but here is it. (also im not the best at writing, having dyslexia sucks so sorry if it sounds a bit off or anything.) hope you like it :)

Case has a secret room in his lab/office. 

This room is hidden behind a bookshelf, and to open it you need to pull on a certain book and the middle shelf moves to the side, like the secret doors in movies. 

Once the shelf moves you're greeted with a long dark hallway. No light. No sound. It's all pretty scary and spooky until you reach a big metal door with a complex lock on it. Your first thought is that it's just another room filled with experiments and computers. Or maybe something darker. That's why it's so hidden.  

But if you somehow manage to unlock the door (or it was left open) then…

The first thing to catch your eyes is a big fancy old shiny gramophone sitting on a dark red-wood cabinet with records stored neatly underneath it. Above the gramophone is a photo of Case, his brother and queen, in a golden frame to match the horn of the gramophone. Under your feet in front of the door is a little dark red doormat. It looks pretty old.

The left side of the room is full of sewing equipment. Everything is neatly laid out. There is a big table in the middle with an industrial grade sewing machine mounted to it. Near the table is one of those fancy expensive mannequins with a half finished project pinned up on it. 

Against the wall just next to the door is a small desk with a big pin board hanging on the wall above. The pin board is covered in photos, patterns, little sketches of coats and corsets, a few buttons and gems on it too along with some scraps of fabric and post it notes. 

On the desk there’s a notebook with a hand made pattern next to it, as well as a little cup holder with pens, pencils and chalk. Next to that is a tiny annoying dog shaped pin cushion and a little box filled with sewing needles and more pins. You can never have too many pins. 

Sitting just under the desk is a little red stool on wheels. 

Around the room, and under the big table there are boxes and containers. You can't see inside them. it must just be storage. On top of one of the containers is an older looking sewing machine and an over-locker. 

The walls are lined with shelves filled with big rolls of all different types and colours of materials and fabrics. 

At the far corner of the room there’s a set of drawers that matches the red-wood cabinet of the gramophone with golden handles and trimming. On top of the cabinet is a lamp and an empty wine glass. 

Next to that cabinet is a big rack of clothes, That are all mostly the same colours that Case likes to wear, that being red and silvery shiny grey. Most of the clothes are corsets or have some kind of corset built into them.

The other side of the well lit room is mostly empty. This is when you notice the fact that the floor of this secret room is wooden. It’s a nice change from the cold tiled ground of the lab. 

The only thing in this half of the room is a big dark red well loved comfy looking armchair with a little grey pillow sitting on it. In front of the armchair sits a matching ottoman. On the back wall of the room, near the armchair is a small window covered by some dark red curtains that match the red doormat. 

Just next to the armchair is a wine rack filled with fancy bottles of fine wine. The top of the rack acts as a table and has a few wine glasses resting on it. The glasses look pretty fancy and expensive, one has a golden handle and a few others are made of clear crystal with ornate patterns and designs in them. 

You overheard something about Case liking to dance. Perhaps this big open space is where he practices. 

The only other thought that crosses your mind is why keep all of this hidden? (the answer to that is this as the only other room big enough that would fit the big sewing table and the armchair.) 

You shouldn't enter rooms you weren't invited to~

Damn, you went in-depth about his stuff! But it's all rather fitting for him, very fancy. Nice work!

I really love the last bit because, yes x'D Case doesn't hide away his corsets, sewing machines, designs, gramophone and records. He's too proud of these things. Just cozy at home, away from the lab in Waterfalls and prying eyes.

Megalosomnia belongs to @megalommi~

[roll-of-royces]

L&DS Drabble (With AFAB Reader)

Content: You long for one particular stuffy, the perfect bunny for your collection. Xavier is determined to get it for you, but well Zayne might feel the need to step in. Rating: G for all the girls and gays

Spoilers: None

Word Count: 1078

You stare into the claw machine. Perhaps you are in fact staring a little too hard at the fluffy, elusive creature, but it's been at least fifteen minutes. And it's so cute with its big long bunny ears, and the bowtie around its neck. There are several variations in the machine: blue, pink, purple, and yellow. You have your heart set on the yellow one, but you don't dare say a word about it. 

It is already hard enough for Xavier. He too is looking at the claw machine, but his eyes are far more akin to a glare than desire. You keep holding the bowl, checking to make sure your nails haven't chipped since you got them done last week. Being a hunter has made it difficult to have nails that last, but for now the sparkling red is still in good condition. 

For now, being the key phrase. You keep your face supportive as he reaches for another coin. "You can do it." You tell him, because really you don't know how to tell him he's utterly hopeless when it comes to the art of getting a claw machine to do what you want it to do. 

Xavier who can stand down an army of wanderers single-handedly and yet cannot win at a claw machine. It's cute. He's cute, but then you've know that since you met him. 

Shuffling to the side you lean in and give him a smile. "I'm serious, I know you can do it." 

He gets that gleam in his eye, and you worry he may just blast the machine's glass into shards and collect your prize that way. You really hope he doesn't do that, because you like coming here. You come here all the time. 

You're in luck, he doesn't choose violence. He grabs the handle and with newfound determination sets to his goal ... and fails. You can't help the giggle that pulls from your mouth even as your hand comes to hide it. 

He eyes you, raising an eyebrow, and then lets out a long beleaguered sigh, "Alright, alright. Aren't you supposed to be teaching me anyway?" Xavier gestures toward the control and steps back. He falls into the position you see him take when he's actually paying attention. 

Not the one in meetings (he's usually not paying attention in those) but when there's danger in the air and he needs to listen and focus. It's that pose. You smile at him and reach for the controls. 

"You're here." You recognize the voice immediately and turn to look at Zayne with a smile in greeting. 

He's off duty, no white doctor's coat to be found. His glasses are in the front pocket of his button-up. You never expected to see him in a place like this. In fact, he looks downright out of place. 

"Zayne! Hello." You grin at him, task momentarily forgotten as he strolls closer. 

"I was just passing by when I noticed you." He explains and slips his hands casually into his pockets. His eyes shift, focusing entirely on Xavier and you notice a pitch in moods between both. "I didn't realize you were out with a ... friend." 

You pivot, realizing you'll need to introduce them. First you gesture toward Xavier, "This is my work partner, Xavier." You then gesture toward Zayne. "And this is Doctor Zayne, he's my well doctor." 

"And an old childhood friend," Zayne adds. 

You blink at him in surprise, since you reconnected you've never heard him introduce himself that way. Normally he's happy to be introduced as a doctor, but he puts such emphasis on childhood. 

Honestly, your stomach flips at the way he says it. Such an undertone, a connotation that you've never dared consider past a passing childhood fancy. 

Xavier shifts, touching your back along his side as he holds out a hand. This too is unusual, he only stands this close if the two of you are in the thick of a battle. "Right, it's good to know she has friends."

The way they shake hands feels bordering on aggression. It feels cold. A shift of frigid air waves past Zayne causing you to shiver. And then in the corner of your eye, you swear you see the faintest glint of light. 

Boys, the both of them. 

"Right, well I'm going to get this bunny." You declare, ignoring whatever weird competition they're going through, and turn back to the machine. Tongue between your teeth you make your best attempt, and normally you're pretty good (better than Xavier at very least) but maybe it's the passive-aggressive men standing behind you or bad luck but again the yellow rabbit evades capture. 

You groan, "Come on." 

Zayne chuckles and you feel his hand on your side pressing you away so he stands in front of it. "A coin?" He asks, and holds out his hand. You dutifully hand one over from the hoard that Xavier has at his disposal. "You were attempting to grab the yellow one, is that the color you want?" 

You nod. 

"You didn't tell me that." Xavier complains, standing at your other side. 

"I didn't want to pressure you." 

He frowns, glancing down at the tiled floor of the arcade. He's definitely frustrated. You'll apologize later. It's not like you guys don't see each other basically every day for work and often outside of it. 

Huh, now that you think about it, you have been spending a lot of time with both of them lately. There's been lunches and dinners, outings, and sitting around in Zayne's office or Xavier's apartment.

You've been a whole lot less lonely. It's nice. 

Zayne hums in concentration, the claw comes down, the bunny lifts, and boom. He got it. 

"Yes!" You jump a little in excitement as he bends down and plucks the stuffed animal from the slot and holds it out to you. 

He's got that sparkle in his eyes as you grab it, hugging it in close. You've wanted this one for like a week now. Everytime you pass the arcade you find yourself eyeing it. 

"Are there any more that you would like?" Zayne asks leaning down to look at you. "Your friend seems to need some help." 

When you turn you see Xavier bent over the controls of another machine, to your surprise he gets it in two attempts. Grabbing his prize he comes back to your side and holds out this terribly ugly purple turtle. 

You accept it anyway, holding it with your rabbit. "Thanks, guys." 

Zayne smiles back, "My pleasure." 

Xavier nods, "Yeah, anytime." 

[licncourt]

I just went back and read your original Louis head canons, so I have to ask: do you have any new ones? They're all so good, I could listen to you talk about him for ages !

Nasty baby boy!! Thank you for asking, I need to gnaw on him like a chew toy rn because of my IWTV reread. It's giving me even more Louis brain worms than usual. Little guy....

He is not an animal person in general, but he has a very special and very strong affinity for birds. He has bird feeders at all the windows in his favorite spots, and an assortment of little bird friends (he's had lots of different kinds) in a big aviary who are very spoiled and very well trained. He's also a big fan of the birdtok scroll hole and fighting about birdkeeping on reddit until someone is crying

Louis knows his original family name from France, but never uses or speaks about it. If anyone were to ask, he'd say he doesn't care for it because he wants """his""" achievements to speak for themselves, but in reality it kind of bothers him that his ancestry is "common" and nouveau riche

Lestat's dumbest nickname for him is Minky (because Louis' hair reminds him of those fancy mahogany mink coats, all dark, shiny and fluffywavy). He perhaps maybe possibly finds all the stupid pet names a little bit sweet

Phone game junkie. If brass buttons were that interesting to him, imagine candy crush or the businessman enrichment he would get from animal crossing. Lestat has to limit his screen time so he doesn't rot his brain

He watches Protestant televangelists and bitches at the screen like a dad watching football. Just in general he likes to look at things that make him angry and then complain about it (big fan of Facebook and the news for the same reason)

Really into modern self-help and wellness culture. He konmaris his house every two months and is a top user of the headspace app. It's really annoying for everyone else but it does seem to be working

He uses his vampire prodigy skills to do a lot of sketching outside, especially when the weather is nice. He's always been a nature enjoyer but now he can capture it easily and keep it close. He likes to take pictures too. And show them to other people whether they care or not. The oak tree in his favorite park is like a grandchild to him

Because of his poor feeding habits very early on after being turned, his fangs are just slightly smaller and duller than the average vampire. It makes his kills messier/harder to keep tidy because there's a bit of sawing and ripping involved in the feeding process instead of a clean bite

Contrary to popular belief, he does enjoy physical affection from very close people, like his siblings when he was human and Lestat now. He needs more space than his stage five clinger husband (they would be surgically attached if Lestat had his way), but he likes having someone to lean against while he reads or a lap to sit in during a movie or cuddles after a long day. It just took an acclimation period and some trust building/bonding to get there

His hatred of granulated sugar was partly financially motivated (business competition) but also because he had a massive sweet tooth as a human but it didn't fit his image. Almond mom who sneaks twinkies in the bathroom

On a somewhat related note, his disordered eating wasn't a totally new thing as a vampire. His image of himself was always very reliant on his ability to be "godly" and In Control which led to a lot of extreme monk food habits and secret binging on fat, sugar, and alcohol. It's also why he spiraled into being an actual alcoholic so quickly after Paul's death

Against all odds, he is a fancy bath guy. Hot water was obviously not super easy to get and regulate for most of his life so it wasn't really a feasible option, but now he's extremely into the idea of being up to his neck in hot water that smells like lavender. He's kind of embarrassed about it though so he takes them when he's alone like it's some kind of petty crime. Lestat knows and leaves him little bath product gifts (and eventually gets to be in included in the baths sometimes)

[ciaossu-imagines]

Just the thought of Bokuto at a prestigious event sounds so interesting to me. So can you do the ‘Your character has been invited to a prestigious formal event. What do they wear? What do they do when they get there?’ prompt for him?

C

Aww, this is actually such a cute scenario. I loved imagining it out, so thank you so much for sending in this request! I hope you’ll enjoy what I came up with for the owl baby 😊

So, when my mind hears prestigious event, I don’t know why but it automatically jumps into thinking it’s some kind of fancy party. I’m not imagining this big shindig that gets all loud and wild, where’s there’s all this noise and celebrating and letting loose. My mind goes instead to those black-tie affairs where there’s live classical music and it’s held in this big ballroom and there’s white-coated waiters threading through the crowds with glasses of champagne and finicky, fancy little nibbles on big silver platters. A real rich person kind of party, if you get what I mean – the kind of party where you’re not really so much there to have fun but to look good and feel superior in your richness. (Sue me guys, I come from strong backwood country hillbilly stock, even if I moved up and away from it as much as possible, and have no other ideas as to prestigious events than what I see in movies, so I have no idea how else to imagine them.)

Anyway, that’s where my head is at as to the kind of event it is. It’s something related to volleyball, naturally, because Bokuto has been invited and I cannot for the life of me figure out a reason for him to have been invited to this kind of party except as some kind of honored guest. So, spinning that out, to me, this is some really wealthy asshole who just really fucking loves volleyball and he wants to not only sponsor a team but create one himself and he’s invited all the players he’s really interested in, hoping to convince them to leave their current teams and come and play for him. Bokuto is actually an exceptionally gifted player. Though all his dramatic tendencies and over-the-top personality traits might make people forget it at times, Bokuto has serious skills, a thorough understanding of the game, a real passion for it that leads him to constantly be improving and evolving. It only makes sense for him to be invited.

He’s also the kind of guy who would hear the word party and be down for it right away. And when he gets invited to this event, he really is under the impression that it’s just some big party, right? It also really helps that some of his other friends and former rivals got invited too. Kuroo, for one, and Hinata. With his friends attending, and with the prospect of a fun party, he doesn’t even think twice about accepting the invitation.

He might have some second thoughts though, once he notices the dress code required for the event. Bokuto really does prefer more comfortable attire, stuff that’s more relaxed and casual, kind of sporty and effortless. Black tie required dress codes are so far from his thing that they might as well be in another atmosphere, to tell you the truth. He does manage to figure out an outfit – he goes with Hinata to rent tuxes. He looks fantastic, don’t get me wrong. Even though the tux isn’t custom-tailored to his body, he’s got that long, well-muscled body that just kind of looks good in most things. It’s more that Bokuto looks entirely uncomfortable in what he’s wearing the entire night. At some point early on in the festivities, because he’s been yanking at it and adjusting it so much, his tie starts to come undone and then he just kind of wears it loose. He loses his tux jacket at some point during the night because he took it off and forgets where he set it (thank god one of his friends remembered for him – he doesn’t think he’d get his deposit on the tux back if he didn’t return all of it). He rolls the sleeves of his button down up until they’re at his elbows. All this to say, he’s visibly uncomfortable in the clothing and he behaves as such, showcasing how decidedly unfancy a person he is by breaking the dress code, step by step, until he becomes a little more comfortable.

Not that anyone would have mistaken Bokuto for being someone particularly refined anyway. Right from the get-go, Bokuto is who Bokuto is. He doesn’t change his energy levels, the volume of his voice, or his personality in any way to fit in better into the environment. For starters, he isn’t even really sure of the rules of social behaviour, not in an atmosphere like the one he finds himself in. He just figures being friendly and being himself is always the best bet. Unlike on the court, Bokuto doesn’t really have the best skills when it comes to adapting on the fly in social situations.

Bokuto’s very much a people person. He has zero issues with talking to new people, assuming most people are just friends he hasn’t met yet. Despite him being an owl, haha, he gives me strong ‘dog’ energy that way. The strongest ‘good boy’ energy outside of an actual dog, that’s what Bokuto has. So he definitely does try to socialize, to get to know people. He’s not sure why a lot of people seem to be looking at him a little taken aback and why they excuse themselves after just a bit. Bokuto’s enthusiasm, his loud laughter and bright smile, his complete and utter lack of restraint in how he lives just isn’t clicking with the upper crust, who are utterly confused by someone so unrefined.

However, his host is definitely striking up conversations with Bokuto as much as he can. He starts getting frustrated throughout the evening though, because his conversations with Bokuto tend to wander off. They start talking about volleyball and then things go off onto tangents that Bokuto starts on and while the talk isn’t unpleasant, the host can’t seem to get Bokuto to start seriously talking about, or even considering, switching teams.

He also hasn’t made too much progress with many of the others. And the others definitely do talk about it. Bokuto, who has, of course, been checking in with his friends often throughout the night, just kind of doesn’t seem to get what they’re talking about. He’s all very much ‘what…wait, what? What are you guys talking about? I was never given that offer? It wasn’t even mentioned to me. This is the first I’ve heard about it…” even though it’s actually probably about the twentieth time he’s heard it that night, it’s just always been that his attention has been taken by something else throughout the night the other times it has come up.

What can I say? I love the boy but he has a very one-track mind at times.

[2nd2ndalto]

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

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***NB there are two parts to this chapter since it was too big for one Tumblr post!!***

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I started writing this fic a year ago to the day!! It's hard to fathom. And it's still not done! Haha, sob.

TW for Luke being a huge dick. In canon, I don’t have particularly strong feelings about Luke & I feel there’s a lot of potential nuance to his character. But for my X-Files purposes, I just needed a bad guy. My apologies to any Luke stans.

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Chapter 6 (part 1 of 2)

(chapter 5 here)

April 1999

“Nico, look what arrived,” Will announces, bouncing back into the office.

Nico looks up, hopeful. “Is it my new three-hole punch?”

Will looks thrilled enough that it just might be the three-hole punch.

“Even better,” Will says. He pulls up a chair next to Nico and begins attempting to open a cardboard box. Smaller than a bread box, probably the wrong shape for a three-hole punch. Damn.

Nico watches Will struggle for a good thirty seconds before snatching the box away, grabbing a letter opener and easily slitting the packing tape. He hands the box back, one eyebrow raised.

Will just grins like an idiot. “My hero.”

There’s yet another box inside the first, and Will, very sensibly, hands it over before he can try breaking into it.

“Oh. It’s a… camera?” Nico says, confused. The X-Files already has a camera. It’s been serving Nico well for years. He’s rather attached to it, honestly. The little device has seen better days, but it’s small and sleek, fitting in his coat pocket and into the cradle of his hands like it was custom made.

“It’s a digital camera,” Will says, taking the box back once Nico’s cut the tape.

“Oh –”

“So you don’t need film! Plus you can take a photo, and see it right away on the little screen.” Will looks delighted.

Nico nods in recognition. “Yeah, Frank’s got one of those. That’s cool.”

Nico doesn’t think he’s ready to retire his film camera yet, despite its sometimes-reluctance to power on and the little piece of electrical tape holding the battery door shut. But maybe Will can use the new camera. He seems intent to try, anyway. Prodding at it for a moment, Will manages to turn the thing on, then aims it at Nico, pressing a button. The camera makes a fancy little digital beep.

“Hey,” Nico protests, scowling. He tries to shove the camera out of the way, but Will’s already lowered it to his lap, poking at the buttons.

“Aww,” Will exclaims. He turns the camera to Nico and yes, sure enough, there’s Nico on the tiny screen, looking blindsided and five-o’clock-shadowed.

“Amazing. What a time to be alive,” Nico says, flat. “Now delete that immediately. I know you can, I’ve seen Frank do it.”

Will shakes his head, trying and utterly failing to maintain a straight face. “No can do, this model doesn’t have that function.”

“Fuck you,” Nico complains, reaching for the camera. But Will pulls it away, fumbling and almost dropping it. Will’s eyes go wide as he catches it just before it smashes to the floor. Nico snorts.

“One of the best things about digital cameras,” Will is saying, continuing to keep the thing out of Nico’s reach, aided by his unfairly long arms, “is that you can take as many pictures as you want!”

Nico smirks. “Because you can just delete the ones you don’t like?”

Will freezes, looking hilariously caught-out, and Nico laughs. “It’s cool, anyway,” Nico says. “I heard the Bureau was getting them.”

Nico regards Will for a moment, his partner now carefully lining up possibly-artistic shots of the mess on Nico’s desk, the empty coffee maker, his own shoes.

“Wonder how long before the Bureau writes up a new policy about agents not using the cameras for personal photos,” Nico muses aloud, thinking of all the possibilities. Not possibilities for him. But maybe for others. It’s his job to think of what other people might do, okay?

Will binks in confusion for a moment before turning abruptly, adorably pink. Nico laughs, pretending his own face isn’t also warming.

“Oh god,” Will says.

“Exactly.”

Something seems to occur to Will. “Hey, now we can take pictures of us together!” he exclaims.

Nico sighs. He somehow didn’t see that coming, though he probably should have. “Because we couldn’t have done that before?”

But Will’s already scooting his chair up next to Nico, leaning in while he holds the camera out in front of them, lens aimed in sort-of their general direction. “Say cheese,” Will says.

Nico tries to look as unimpressed as he can manage. It turns out not to make any difference anyway, because when Will checks the camera, it’s captured a blurry shot of the wall behind them, a flash of gold at the bottom of the frame that might be Will’s hair.

“Damn it,” Will frowns, shamelessly deleting the image. “We need to get closer.”

“Not sure that was really the issue,” Nico mutters to no avail as Will comes in even closer. Nico’s gotten accustomed to Will’s lack of personal space over the months, has gotten to appreciate it, mostly. But this happens so fast and somehow Nico finds himself unprepared – for Will’s arm, tight around his shoulders, Will’s warm cheek suddenly smushed against his.

His whole body warms; tingling heat accompanied by the sudden, intense desire for more, aching like an open wound. Nico’s desperately hoping it doesn’t show on his face, when Will snaps the picture.

Will’s touch is gone just as fast – too fast – as he moves back, flips the camera to look at the photo. Something softens in Will’s expression, and he doesn’t speak for a moment.

“What?” Nico asks, nervous about it now.

“We look –” Will shakes his head, smiling. “It’s – just a good camera.”

Nico reaches for the camera and Will passes it over. It is a good photo. There’s Will, beaming like an idiot, looking somehow thrilled to be pressed up against Nico. And Nico looks… content. Maybe a little harassed, but happy. He’s not smiling, but there’s a quirk to his lips. A warmth in his eyes.

And the weirdest thing is – they don’t just look good individually. They look good together. Like the two of them add up to more than the sum of their parts. It’s as if, seven months ago, there was a Will and a Nico. And now there’s a them. How did that happen, without Nico realizing?

“I’m gonna print that one,” Will says, a bit softer. He takes the camera back.

“Sure,” Nico agrees, as cool as he can. “We can put it right next to the picture of my fish.”

Will looks pleased. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Nico turns back to his desk, shuffling papers unnecessarily.

Will stands, glancing at his watch. “Oh, it’s almost five. Wanna walk me to the train?”

More often than not these days, they leave the office together, deep in conversation – lingering first in the lobby, then making their way to the metro station where they finally part ways and Nico heads back to the parking garage.

“Um.” Nico clears his throat. “I was going to stick around, actually. Some Fridays I grab pizza from that place on F Street, pull some old files.” He’s not sure why he’s suddenly feeling awkward about it. But he supposes he’s never mentioned it to Will before.

Will blinks, surprised.

Nico shrugs. “You know. Try looking at things with new eyes. See if I can find anything I’ve missed.”

“Oh –”

“You don’t have to stay,” Nico adds quickly, because he suddenly realizes that he would like the company, but he definitely doesn’t want Will to feel obligated. “I’m off the clock. It probably sounds stupid, but I just kind of like hanging around here when the building empties out. It feels –”

“Spooky?” Will grins.

Nico rolls his eyes. “No, nerd. It’s – relaxing. I don’t know, I can’t explain it. Go home,” he adds, tossing an eraser at Will and turning back to his desk. “We’re done for the day.”

“No, I get that.” Will doesn’t make any move to leave yet. “I’d like to stay, actually. But –”

Nico’s quick to shake his head. “No, go enjoy your Friday night. You don’t have to–”

“No, I was going to say I would stay, but my little brother’s in town with his band. We’re going out for dinner. But next week? If we’re not out on a case?” Will asks, suddenly sounding nervous.

Nico gives him a dry look. “You wanna stay after work. Put in unpaid time. In the spooky basement.”

“Yup.” Will beams at him.

Nico rolls his eyes. “Fine. Next Friday, I will permit you to stay late and do work you’re not being compensated for. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” Will grins, plucking the eraser from the floor and tossing it back. “I’ll even cover the pizza.”

It becomes a routine, after that, nearly every Friday.

And before too long, case research begins bleeding over to Nico’s apartment, which isn’t far from the Bureau, after all. Somehow, Nico’s not surprised when that begins to evolve into something more; Nico putting on a movie, in disbelief that Will’s never seen it. This, inevitably, leads to Will falling asleep on Nico’s couch, Nico draping a blanket over him before heading to his own bed.

And if Friday nights begin leading to Saturday morning coffee, before Will heads back to home… well.

::

Will’s sprawled on the couch with a book when the apartment door clicks open. He raises a lazy hand to wave at his sister. “There’re leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry. How was your date?”

“Lovely, thank you,” Kayla answers happily, kicking off her shoes and joining Will on the couch, shoving at his feet until he moves them out of her way.

“What did Luke want?” Kayla asks, reaching for the remote.

Will frowns. “Luke? Luke who?”

“Luke Castellan. Luke your ex.”

Will makes a face. “He’s not exactly an ex.”

“Well, he’s an ex-something,” Kayla mutters, beginning to flick through channels. “He called. Did you not see the message?”

::

Coffee is what Luke wants, apparently, and mid-morning the next day, Will excuses himself, vaguely telling Nico he has an errand to run.

Leaving the Bureau and walking up Ninth Street, he feels guilty about the white lie. And maybe a little guilty that he felt the need to lie in the first place. There’s no reason for it, Will reminds himself firmly. Luke is a colleague, same as Nico. The coffee meeting is about a case, ostensibly. It’s all on the up and up.

Nevertheless, waiting to cross the street to the coffee shop, all Will really wants to do is turn back the way he came. There’s a chilly breeze, and he pulls his blazer tighter around his shoulder. He wishes he’d brought his coat. He wishes he was back in the Bureau basement.

When Will pushes the door open at the Starbucks, Luke’s already sitting at a table by the window, all lanky height and tousled brown hair and dark, smoldering gaze. And okay, Will can admit to himself that it was attractive, once upon a time.

Luke stands, pulls Will in for a handshake, just a little too friendly, looking just a little too pleased at Will’s arrival. Waiting at the counter for his coffee, Will feels more than a little like fleeing, not entirely sure why.

“I heard about your reassignment,” Luke is saying once they’re both seated. “Field work, hey? How’s your spooky partner?”

Will cups his coffee with both hands, warming his cold fingers. “It’s been great, actually,” he says lightly. “Nico’s an excellent agent. We’ve had some really interesting cases.”

Luke grins. “Yeah? Aliens? I think I heard something about vampires.”

Will feels a sharp flash of annoyance, not in any mood to joke about a job he’s become very fond of, nor the partner he has very similar feelings for. Never mind that the maybe-vampire case almost culminated in Will losing that partner, permanently, something that continues to eat at him in quiet moments. “We’re just solving cases. No different than what you do.”

Will can hear the irritation in his own voice, and surely Luke can too. Luke holds up one hand in surrender. “Okay, okay, take it easy Will. I was just kidding.”

“What do you want, Luke?” Will asks, abruptly finding himself completely devoid of patience.

Luke looks surprised, but quickly recovers. “I wanted to get your input on a case, actually.”

The no need to be rude about it seems unspoken, but Will can’t find it in himself to care. The truth of it is that he doesn’t really like Luke Castellan, whatever they had together a couple of years ago aside. But if this is purely about work, Will supposes he can live with that. He takes a deep breath. “Sure. What’s the case?”

Luke reaches for his bag, extracting a file. “It’s a local case. Alexandria PD, they want our help on a serial killer profile. Three murders in the past six weeks. Victims vary in age, race, gender. No known connections to each other.”

Will frowns, feeling his shoulders relax a bit at the now-familiar feeling of sinking into a new mystery. “I take it there’s some kind of pattern?”

Luke raises an eyebrow. “The point of entry. Or rather, the lack of one.”

“What do you mean?”

“First victim, college student. Killed in her ten-by-twelve cinder block dorm room. She was found with the windows locked and the door chained from the inside. Second guy was found in a maintenance shed. Again, locked from the inside. The last incident, yesterday, was the top floor of a high security office building. Nothing at all on the security monitors. Janitor spoke to the victim minutes before the murder, didn’t see or hear a thing out of the ordinary.”

Will considers. “Suicides?”

“Each victim was found with their liver ripped out,” Luke informs him. “No cutting tools used.” Luke opens the file then, pulling out a photo and pushing it towards Will. A gory mess of someone’s midsection. Will raises his eyebrows.

“The killer what – used their bare hands?” Will asks, pulling the file closer for a better look.

“As far as we can tell, yeah.”

Will surveys the bloody evidence, impressed despite himself. “Physiologically that’s… pretty improbable. This sounds like it could be an X-File.”

Luke leans back. “Let’s not get carried away. What I’d like from you is a look over the case histories. Maybe come down to the crime scene. See what you think about a profile.”

Will glances up to meet Luke’s gaze. “Do you want me to ask Nico?”

Luke shrugs, seemingly trying for unconcerned. “If he wants to come along and give you a hand, sure. But just make sure he knows this is my case, Will. The thing is – our section leader’s all tied up with another investigation at the moment, and I’ve been given clearance to run this on my own. If I can break a case like this one, it might just be the bump up the ladder I need. And who knows? If you can help, maybe it’ll be your ticket out of the basement.”

::

Nico seems willing enough, his eyes lighting up at the mere mention of the extracted livers. Will smiles to himself. They’ve reached a point in their partnership where Will knows exactly what will get his partner going, and it warms him a little every time he’s able to provide it. Even if it is in the form of manual dissection.

It’s a short drive to the crime scene, a glass-fronted six-storey office building on a block lined with several other such buildings.

“No balconies, no fire escapes,” Nico notes as they approach the entrance, glancing up at the shiny exterior, glinting in the early afternoon sun. “And those windows don’t open. Can’t imagine it would have been easy to get to the sixth floor from the outside.”

The place does seem particularly secure, Will thinks, as they pass through two different checkpoints just to reach the elevators. He takes note of the security cameras in the lobby and the elevator.

All’s quiet on the sixth floor when they arrive, no sign of Luke or his partner. The office where the murder occurred is a far cry from their office at the Bureau. Besides the fact that it’s currently a crime scene, it’s impressive; vast, with floor-to ceiling windows and a desk that Will’s pretty sure is worth more than all the furniture he owns. If he and Nico had this kind of space in the basement, they could add a sofa. Maybe a stationary bike.

“Just think how many filing cabinets you could fit in here,” Will murmurs.

Nico grins. “Right? I could finally take my cryptid art collection out of storage, start a whole gallery wall.” He spreads his arms out in front of him.

“Wait – what?” Will laughs, but Nico just waggles his eyebrows, immediately getting to work. He pulls out a camera (not the digital one, Will notes) and evidence bags. He drops to a crouch, a close inspection of the carpet around where the most recent victim was found. Will takes in the dried blood, soaked through lush, sand-colored carpet, yellow plastic evidence markers scattered over the room like fallen leaves.

A moment later Nico turns to glance up at Will, brow furrowed. “You said there was nothing on the cameras, right?”

“Yeah,” Will agrees. “And there was a security guard right outside the door.”

Nico chews on it for a long moment, thinking. “This is definitely an X-File. Why didn’t they just send a consult request straight downstairs?”

Will shrugs, ignoring the flash of guilt. “Luke and I knew each other at the Academy. I’m sure he just felt more comfortable approaching me.”

Nico, unfortunately, is an excellent profiler, when it comes right down on it. Normally Will doesn’t mind much, having that intense gaze directed at him rather than any given murderer. He tries not to give it too much thought, but the truth is he usually likes the attention. Right now, however, he could do without it. Nico rises, watching Will a little too intently.

“And I make people… uncomfortable?” Nico guesses.

Will grimaces. “Look, Luke likes to play by the book. He thinks your methods, your theories –”

“Are spooky?” Nico’s lips quirk.

“You know how people are.”

Nico holds Will’s gaze a moment longer, all big dark eyes and long lashes, just long enough for Will to feel butterflies stirring in his stomach. Honestly. Does Nico know what he’s doing?

“And Luke…” Will shifts awkwardly, wishing he didn’t always have to be so obvious, an open book. “He wanted to make sure you knew this is his case.”

Nico rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I know. He thinks it’ll be good for his career.”

Nico huffs dismissively and Will feels a rush of fondness. He’s known Nico less than a year, but he’d never call him competitive, nor does he seem to have any interest in climbing the corporate ladder. He’s truly just about the case. Finding answers. Solving the puzzle. At the very least, it aligns nicely with Will’s own moral code, and at the most, it endears him deeply.

Will glances toward the doorway, checking to make sure Luke hasn’t arrived yet. He lowers his voice. “Luke likes to come out on top. You know the type. But it’s not as if we really have to work with him. We’ll just take a look at the evidence, give our expert opinion and then move along.”

Nico nods. “I can live with that.”

“You’re the expert,” Will adds under his breath, aiming a light kick at Nico’s shoe.

Nico laughs, low. He looks pleased. “I already knew that,” he says, kicking Will back.

“Agent Solace is right in here,” comes a voice from the hallway, and they both turn.

“Will,” Luke grins, striding into the room. “Sorry I’m late.” He reaches out to shake Will’s hand, his gaze lingering just long enough to make Will take a step back. He’s sure Luke does want their help on his way up the ladder, has no doubt that that’s exactly what prompted this meeting. But he’s getting the feeling the other man may have other intentions as well. And Will is very much not interested.

Will clears his throat. “Not a problem. We just got here ourselves. Luke Castellan – Nico di Angelo.” He gestures between the two men.

The two shake hands. Nico watches Luke even as Luke turns away, a slight furrow to his brow.

“And this is my partner, Annabeth Chase,” Luke adds, as a serious-looking dark-haired woman enters the room, her gaze thoughtful. She brightens as she catches sight of Will.

“Agent Solace,” Annabeth extends her hand. “It’s good to see you. How are you enjoying field work?”

“I’m loving it, actually,” Will smiles. “I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

Will hadn’t realized Annabeth was partnered with Luke. He briefly worked with her at Quantico before she was transferred to Violent Crimes. She’s a consummate professional, almost always more knowledgeable than anyone else in the room. Just her presence is reassuring.

“Nice to see you again, Agent Chase,” Nico says.

Annabeth nods, a small smile. “You as well. I was pleased to hear you’d be able to offer your expertise,” she tells Nico. “I suggested to Agent Castellan that this case might be in your wheelhouse.”

Luke clears his throat. “Annabeth, they’re purely here as consultants. At least this time.” He offers Will a winning smile that Will doesn’t return. There’s the slightest crease to Annabeth’s brow as she flicks a glance between them.

“So, Agent di Angelo, what do you think?” Luke asks, light. “Does this look like the work of little green men?”

“Gray,” Nico says, deadpan. His expression doesn’t change, but Will knows him well enough to take in the slight tensing in his posture. He feels its echo in his own jaw.

“Excuse me?” says Luke, still smiling.

“Gray,” Nico corrects. “You said green men. The Reticulan skin tone is actually more of a dark gray. They’re notorious for their extraction of terrestrial human livers, due to iron depletion in the Reticulan galaxy.”

Luke’s smile falters. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do you have any idea what liver and onions go for on Reticula?” Nico asks, just this side of impolite. “Excuse me.” He turns, crossing to the other end of the room.

Luke looks sour at this, but makes no comment. Will lingers near Luke and Annabeth, all three watching Nico. He crouches at the wall across from the desk, pulling out tweezers and extracting something from the carpet, then glancing to a vent cover near the ceiling. He pulls over a chair, climbing on it and proceeding to dust the vent cover for prints.

Luke frowns. “What the hell is he doing? That ventilation shaft is maybe six by eighteen inches. Even if someone could squeeze through it, it’s screwed in place.”

Nico walks back towards them, holding up an evidence bag. Inside, just visible, is a thin metal thread. “Well, something came through there.”

::

Will’s at the Bureau early the next morning, but when the door of the basement stairwell falls shut behind him, he can see light already shining through the door of the office.

“Come take a look at this,” Nico says as Will enters, not turning from where he’s hunched over a lightbox.

“What, not even a good morning?”

Nico’s head shoots up. He blinks, wide-eyed and bemused, taking a minute to focus on Will. “Hi?”

Will laughs. “Hi.” He hangs his coat and crosses the room, pulling up a chair.

“This is the print I lifted from the vent cover yesterday,” Nico says, tapping a slide on the left. “These others are from an old X-File. I’ve found records of nine murders, Alexandria and surrounding area, undetermined points of entry. Each victim had their liver removed. Prints were found at nine of the ten crime scenes.” Nico sits back so Will can lean forward over the table, squinting at the prints.

“Nine murders,” Will says slowly. “Luke never mentioned…”

“He’s probably not aware of them,” Nico says. “Didn’t do his research. These prints were lifted before he was born, in Fort Hunt.” He taps the right side of the lightbox, five sets of prints. “And these two others were lifted probably before his mother was born.”

Will frowns, peering at the small type on the sheets on the lightbox. “Wait – the dates on these are 1939 and… 1909?”

“Yup. And fingerprinting was just coming into its own in 1909, so there’s not a lot of print evidence from that time period, but I found records of two other murders that year that sure sound similar.” Gingerly, Nico hands Will two handwritten reports, the paper brittle under protective plastic sheets.

Will sits back, scanning through the text; neatly handwritten records from some agent who’s likely long dead, a voice back echoing through the decades.

“Thirty nine year old woman, found dead in a room locked from the inside,” Will reads, frowning. “Cause of death, blood loss, major trauma to victim’s abdomen, liver appears to have been forcibly removed.” Will shakes his head, bewildered. “That’s bizarre.” He double-checks the date at the top of the page – May 3rd, 1909. “Do you think the murders this month were copycats?”

Nico shakes his head. “Not copycats. Each fingerprint is unique, right? The prints I lifted yesterday are a perfect match to the ones in 1909 and 1939.”

Will frowns. “How, though?” He returns his attention to the slides on the lightbox, now looking more closely. “And why are the prints so long?” Each one looks stretched, elongated. Not like any prints Will’s ever seen before. At first he’d assumed the records of the historical prints were somehow compromised. It’s not unusual for decades-old files to be damaged in some way. But as he looks closer, Will realizes none of the text on the slides is stretched, only the prints. Including the ones from the office building yesterday.

“Not sure yet.” Nico shrugs. “But these murders seem to occur in clumps, over the decades, right? There have only been three this year. I’m betting that means we can expect at least a couple more missing livers.”

“So we go to Violent Crimes and present a profile saying these crimes were committed by what – someone who’s over a hundred years old, yet still capable of overpowering a healthy, six-foot-two businessman?” Will asks, doubtful. He’s not questioning the evidence, or Nico’s research. But it’s a lot to wrap his mind around this early in the morning.

Nico grins. “And the guy should stand out in a crowd, with ten-inch fingers.”

Will laughs. “You know, Nico – this is incredible, but – I don’t know how much further we’ll be able to follow this line of inquiry. Bottom line, this is Luke’s case.” Will’s gut twists uncomfortably. He can already anticipate Luke’s reaction to this theory. ”He was pretty clear on that.”

“Not a problem,” Nico says. “Our X-File dates back to 1909. We had it first.”

Will glances back to the lightbox, his gaze drifting out of focus, considering.

“Look, how about this,” Nico says. “We have our investigation, and they have theirs. Never the twain shall meet.” There’s a spark in Nico’s eyes. Curiosity and discovery, a little manic. It’s become harder and harder to resist with each passing month.

Will nods. “Sure. I can get on board with that.”

Nico beams, radiant and inconveniently adorable.

Will laughs, glancing back to the report in his hand. He hands it back to Nico and crosses to his desk, in sudden need of a little space. “Hey, how’s your profile coming?” he asks.

“Actually,” Nico says, “I was thinking maybe you could take a crack at it.”

“But you – you’re the profiler. You’re the expert –”

Nico shrugs, apparently unconcerned with this. “Yeah, but Luke and Annabeth came to you for help. It makes sense for you to do the write-up.”

“I – don’t know if I can –” Will begins, awkward.

“Of course you can, Will.” Nico’s smile is warm. “You’re an excellent writer and you’re great at analysis. I’m always impressed when I read your field reports. Why don’t you give it a shot and then we can talk it over together?”

::

Will pushes back from his desk, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Okay,” he says. “wanna hear what I’ve got so far?”

Nico turns, grinning. “Always.”

Will rolls his eyes and begins reading aloud. “After careful review of these murders, I believe the killer to be a male, twenty-five to thirty-five years of age, with above average intelligence. His manner of entry has so far been undetectable. This may be due to his superior knowledge of the inner structure of buildings and duct works, he may be hiding in plain sight, posing as delivery or maintenance workers.

“The extraction of the liver is the most significant detail of these crimes. The liver posessess regenerative qualities. It cleanses the blood. The taking of this trophy is the transferring act for the killer, to cleanse himself of his own impulses.

“As the victims are unrelated and we cannot predict the next, we must utilize the fact that a killer will not always succeed in finding a victim. When this occurs, a serial killer may return to the site of a previous murder, hoping to recapture the emotional high. Given this, I believe our best course of action is to target these sites.”

Will sighs, tossing his papers on his desk and raising his eyes to Nico’s. The look on Nico’s face catches at Will’s heart. It’s not just approving, but fond. Proud.

“What?” he laughs, self-conscious.

“It’s good. I think you nailed it,” Nico says. “You left out the part about the killer being over a hundred years old, though. And being able to travel through vents.”

Will laughs. “Well, I don’t think Violent Crimes is quite ready for that. But it’s like you said – they’ll do their investigation, and we’ll keep looking for… alternate possibilities.”

They regard each other for a moment, Nico’s gaze still fond. Open. It makes Will want to give him more to smile about. Makes him want to keep Nico’s attention, his approval. It feels like a stupid impulse, childish. But then –

“Hold on,” Will says slowly, his memory suddenly catching up with their conversation this morning, with the bits and pieces of his profile. “There was another case – it could have been 1909 –” and Will’s up and heading for the file cabinet in the corner, the one where Nico keeps newspaper clippings, old magazine articles. Nico follows, watching as Will feverishly flips through folders in a bottom drawer.

“I was going through this stuff, when you were away sick a couple of weeks ago,” Will says. Where did he see it?

“Here!” he says, triumphant. He rises, newspaper clipping in his hand. “I don’t think the story about the death was even meant to be saved, the clipped article is about a geomagnetic storm. But there’s a little article on the back.” Will turns the paper, reading aloud, “a seventy-two year old man and his forty-five year old son were found dead in their home, apparent victims of an animal attack.”

Will scans further. “It says… both had significant wounds to the abdomen, no other trauma to the bodies. It doesn’t mention anything about missing livers, but –”

“But maybe it wouldn’t, if it was assumed to be an animal attack and it wasn’t investigated any further.” Nico’s eyes are alight with interest as he carefully takes the yellowed clipping from Will. “Yeah. This fits. And the dates line up perfectly.” Nico looks up, beaming. “You’re brilliant.”

Will snorts, but he can feel himself blushing. “I learned from the best,” he manages.

“So that’s – that’s five murders in 1939,” Nico says, his gaze going unfocused, the clipping loose in his hand. “And six in 1909.”

“I wonder if there are more,” Will says.

Nico nods slowly. “That’s definitely possible.” His gaze shifts back to Will. Will can almost hear the gears turning. “Wanna head over to the Library of Congress? I bet we can unearth a few more missing livers. Whoever finds the most buys dinner?”

Will laughs. “As appealing as that sounds – I think we need to present our profile to Violent Crimes.”

::

Luke and his team seem to be in agreement with Will’s profile, and that evening finds Will and Nico in the parking garage under the building where the last victim was killed. They’re in Nico’s car – a newer-model black sedan, shiny-clean and freshly detailed. While Nico’s always happiest in his own car, Will privately prefers the Bureau fleet cars. Although snacking is technically permitted in Nico’s car, he gets twitchy about crumbs.

So far, the stakeout has been profoundly unexciting. Will shifts, stretching. His stomach rumbles, and Nico quirks an eyebrow. Will sticks out his tongue.

Then, sudden in the silence of the parking garage, there’s a clanging and scrabbling in a nearby ventilation shaft. The agents glance at each other, alarmed. Will scrambles to sit up straight, then quickly and quietly follows Nico out of the car, both of them drawing their guns. Every little movement seems loud and resonant in the mostly-empty space.

“Call for backup,” Nico says under his breath.

The scrambling noises continue. A rat? Maybe a squirrel? It sure sounds like something bigger.

Will retreats a few steps, quiet as he can. “Position ten requesting backup,” he says into his radio, never taking his eyes from the ventilation shaft.

Will’s jaw is tight, heart pounding. He’s finding situations like this more harrowing ever since Nico’s near-exsanguination in St. Ambrose, his anxiety rising off the charts at the drop of a hat, a fierce thread of protectiveness running through it all. It’s only been a couple of months, though, he reminds himself. Things like this must get easier in time.

Nico creeps in closer, calm, focused, dress shoes quiet on the concrete. When he’s within a few yards of the ventilation shaft, he raises his voice to yell. “Federal agent, I’m armed. Proceed out of the vent slowly.”

Still half-expecting a rat or a stray cat, Will’s eyes widen as the hatch at the bottom of the duct is kicked open and a young man emerges. He slowly stands and turns, holding his hands in the air.

There’s the slam of car doors and the sound of footsteps, then the chatter of radios and voices as agents approach from the other end of the parking garage. Will slowly lowers his gun.

::

“He doesn’t look any older than thirty, does he?” Will murmurs to his partner. “You think he’s our guy from 1909?” They’re seated side by side in the darkened observation room. The man from the ventilation shaft is on the other side of the glass, so far cooperating with a lie detector test.

Nico grimaces. “If he is, we should ask him for his skincare routine before they lock him up.”

Will bites down a laugh.

The door to the observation room opens, Luke and Annabeth quietly filing in. Luke automatically takes the single empty chair. Will glances up to see something like disbelief flicker over Nico’s face. Nico quickly stands, offering his chair to Annabeth. She shakes her head. Nico, stubborn as always, remains standing next to her, propping himself against the wall at the back of the little room.

Will rises after Nico, quirking an eyebrow at Annabeth. She rolls her eyes and sits. Will joins Nico at the wall, bumping their shoulders together. Nico bumps back. Will stumbles and Nico snorts, grabbing his arm. Luke turns to give them both a disgusted look and they fall silent.

The man on the other side of the glass – Eugene Victor Tooms, apparently – answers the examiner’s questions in a slow, dreamy monotone. He’s slim, dark-haired. Unobtrusive looking. He’s employed by Animal Control, he says, and his story is that he was in the vent for work-related purposes.

The examination continues, running first through the usual biographical queries before pivoting to questioning about the recent murders. Tooms denies having killed any of the victims.

“Are you over one hundred years old?” the examiner asks.

Luke shifts in his chair, brow furrowed. “That must be a control question.”

“I had her ask it,” Nico murmurs.

“No,” says Tooms.

“Have you ever been to Fort Hunt?” the examiner asks.

“Yes.”

“In 1939?” the examiner asks.

“No.”

“Are you worried you’re going to fail this test?”

“Yes. Because I didn’t do anything wrong.”

::

“He passed with flying colors,” the examiner tells the four agents in a conference room afterwards. “Either we’re not asking the right questions, or your suspect didn’t kill those people.”

Nico reaches for the readout, frowning over the results.

Annabeth nods. “I just spoke to the maintenance department at the building where we found him. They confirm that a strange smell was reported earlier in the day. Makes sense that Animal Control would be there investigating.”

Luke lets out a breath, frustrated. “Fuck. It’s a dead end.”

Will peers over Nico’s shoulder at the polygraph report. “Still doesn’t quite explain why he was there so late at night – crawling up an air duct, by himself. Without alerting security,” Will muses. Nico glances up, a quirk of his eyebrows in agreement with this assessment.

Luke shakes his head. “Will, he passed the test. His story checks out. This isn’t our guy.”

“No, Will’s right,” Nico says.

Luke turns his gaze on Nico, his expression dismissive. There’s a buzz of frustration under Will’s skin. It’s clear to him that Luke’s not going to put any stock in whatever Nico’s going to say, and he hasn’t even spoken yet.

“He lied on questions eleven and thirteen,” Nico says, tapping the readout. “His electrodermal and cardiographic responses are almost off the chart.”

Luke steps closer, just a little too far into Nico’s personal space. Will’s aware of precisely what constitutes Nico’s personal space at this point, not to mention who’s permitted to breach it. He feels the incursion as if it’s happening to his own body. Will pushes down an overwhelming, visceral desire to shove Luke out of the way.

“Was number eleven the hundred-year-old question?” Luke asks, hard. “Because I had a reaction to that stupid question too.”

“Can I see?” Annabeth asks mildly, reaching for the report.

“I don’t need you or that machine telling me this guy was alive in 1909!” Luke says, his voice rising.

Annabeth lowers the paper slowly to the table, shooting her partner a supremely unimpressed look. “Luke –”

“He’s the guy,” Nico says, obstinate.

“We’re letting him go,” Luke retorts. “It’s my case. It’s my call.” He turns to leave the room. “You coming, Annabeth?”

“Give me a minute,” Annabeth says, calm, and Luke rolls his eyes, the door slamming shut behind him.

The three of them stare at the door in silence for a moment.

“Nice guy,” Nico says, dry. “Seems like a real joy to work with.”

“He’s… stubborn.” Annabeth frowns. “He’s usually not quite this bad, honestly.”

Nico huffs. “You think I set him off?”

Annabeth gives him a wry smile. “It might have been mutual.” She pulls out a chair. “Can we take a closer look at these numbers?”

::

“Hey, you beat me here,” Nico says, opening the already-unlocked office door and beginning to pull off his coat. He glances at the clock on the wall. It’s not even 8:30, a good half-hour before Will usually appears. Will’s bent over his desk, scribbling into a notepad, coffee at his elbow. The coffee maker on the counter is half-empty. As Nico moves further into the office, he notices Will’s used one of his mugs, the one Frank got him for Christmas last year that says Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. Nico smiles, opening his mouth to comment on this.

Will clears his throat. “Yeah. I had an idea and –”

Will’s voice, wet and wobbly, is a jolt to Nico’s solar plexus. “Will? What happened?”

“Sorry,” Will shakes his head, wiping at his cheeks as Nico approaches his desk. “It’s nothing really. I um – I thought I’d see if I could get in touch with any of the family members from the 1939 murders –”

“Oh –” Nico begins, an automatic understanding.

“Yeah.” Will gives a wet laugh, another swipe at his face. “I’m fine. I really am. Just, one of them – Nolan Campbell – his parents are still alive, both in their 80s. They live in the UK now, which is why I thought it would be okay to call them at eight in the morning. His mom was really lovely. She wanted to tell me all about Nolan. So she did.”

Nico shifts so he’s sitting on the edge of Will’s desk. “It was good of you to listen.”

Will lets out a long breath. “What else could I do?”

“Yeah.” Nico’s fingers itch to reach out, and before he’s completely thought it through, they have – a quick squeeze to Will’s forearm that makes his heart stutter. It gets a smile from Will, though, and that’s what counts.

Will shakes his head. “I don’t think I got any new information.”

“That’s not what matters,” Nico says immediately.

“I don’t know if Reyna would agree. Definitely Octavian wouldn’t.”

“Well. Fuck Octavian.”

“I hope they don’t keep too close an eye on our long distance usage. My dad – he would always get all bent out of shape about that.” Will makes a face.

“They don’t even notice,” Nico says. “Fucking Bureau probably spent five grand on staples last year.”

Will laughs, blue eyes sparkling up at Nico. His eyes are even prettier when he cries, Nico realizes with a jolt, bright blue and shining. Really not fair. Nico looks hideous when he cries, all splotchy and wild-eyed.

“He was a musician,” Will says.

“Who – the 1939 victim?”

“Yeah. His mom said. She was telling me how relieved she was that he wasn’t drafted – he had some kind of heart condition. And then he went and got murdered anyway.” Will takes a shaky breath. “She might be sending us a Christmas card. And I said I’d call back if – when we manage to solve the case.” Will carefully tears the corner off the sheet he was writing on – a name and phone number – pinning it securely to the bulletin board at the end of his desk, taking care to push the pin in all the way.

“He was murdered sixty years ago,” Will says, soft. “You’d never have known it, listening to his mom.”

Nico swallows. “Yeah. Those things stick with you.”

Will takes another deep breath, a little steadier now. “Sorry,” he says. “I guess I’ve been crying at work a lot lately.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay to have emotions.” Nico clears his throat. “Personally, I try to avoid them whenever possible, but I’m not exactly a model of mental health.”

Will smiles, lopsided and fond.

Honestly, Nico’s still hasn’t quite recovered from all the talking they’ve done in the last couple of months. He’s definitely never had a working relationship anything like this; emotions so close to the surface, heart-to-heart talks about work and family. In the aftermath, he finds himself feeling raw and exposed. Weirdly healthy, though. Oddly grounded. Though he still hasn’t figured out how to start those conversations in the first place, and he’s not convinced he ever will. Luckily, he’s got Will.

Will tilts to the side, bumping his arm into Nico’s leg where it’s still resting on Will’s desk.

Nico watches him for a second more before – “I have a job for you.”

Will’s lips twitch. “Yeah? Other than the job I’m already doing?”

“Remember that Polish bakery we found on Indiana Avenue?”

“This is a baked goods related job?”

“Yes,” Nico says, firm. “It’s a beautiful morning. You probably got here before it was light out. I want you to walk to Indiana Avenue and get a box of those poppy seed strudel things.”

Will snorts. “Weren’t you just criticizing my choice in breakfast foods like, a week ago?”

Nico regards Will solemnly. “Desperate times, Will.”

He has such a fucking ridiculous desire to lift his hand, brush his fingers across Will’s cheek. He can almost feel the rasp of stubble under his fingertips, can almost imagine the quirk of pink lips.

Quelling that urge as best he can, instead Nico plucks Will’s glasses from where they’re sitting on the desk, sure to keep his fingers away from the lenses. Breath held, heart pounding, he leans in, places the glasses carefully on Will’s face. Because that doesn’t quite count as touching, Nico decides. Nico’s stomach does a frankly impressive backflip as he gently pushes the glasses up the bridge of Will’s nose with the tip of his index finger.

Will’s smile softens into something that makes Nico’s insides turn to mush.

And – It’s just a crush, right? It doesn’t have to be a big deal. God, it’s been a long time since Nico’s had a crush on anyone. That must be why it feels like this with Will. Why it feels like more.

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to distract me or get rid of me,” Will says, still puffy-eyed, but looking pleased.

“The sad truth is, you may never know for sure,” Nico says, sliding off the desk before he does something even stupider.

Will shakes his head, one more wipe at his face, and then he stands, bumping Nico on his way to the door. “Fine. And who’s covering breakfast?” he asks, eyes sparkling now in a way that makes Nico’s mind settle and his heart swell.

“You’re buying,” Nico says, deadpan.

::

And Will does feel lighter after the walk outside. Calmer. As much as Nico sounded like his mother, telling Will to go get some fresh air, he may have had a point.

“Good, you’re finally back,” Nico says, as Will returns with the pastries. “Come take a look at this.”

Will glances at the clock on the wall, laughing. “What do you mean, finally? I don’t think I was even gone for half an hour.”

“Oh.” Nico looks up, bemused. “Seemed like longer.” The new, shorter hair looks good on Nico, Will notes privately. It makes his face look younger, makes those big, dark eyes look even more dramatic.

“Any amount of time I’m gone is interminable,” Will teases. He drops the box of pastries on his desk, crossing the room and pulling up a chair to see what’s got his partner’s attention. He bumps his chair up against Nico’s and a brief battle ensues, but Will can tell Nico is far too eager to show him what he’s found to be much of a contender. He settles for nudging his chair up against Nico’s and peering over his shoulder.

Nico turns and shoots him a sweet smile, quick, his face inches away, and Will’s stomach flips. He frowns to himself, determinedly focusing on the prints in front of them and not the scent of Nico’s hair; rain-washed stone, something sharp and fresh.

“Okay, check this out,” Nico’s saying. “These are the prints they took from Tooms at the station last night, and these,” he taps the other side of the lightbox, the elongated prints, “are the ones I lifted from the vent in the office building two days ago.”

Will nods. “Okay. But they’re not even the same shape. The ones from the office building don’t even look human.”

“True, but now, look at this.” Nico raises an eyebrow at Will and then zips across the office to his laptop, his chair making a neat beeline on the linoleum. Will, not trusting his coordination or his probably-1960s-vintage chair, stands and follows, squinting at the screen over Nico’s shoulder.

“Here are the prints, side by side, and – voila.” Nico hits a few buttons, and the prints taken from Tooms last night stretch out, familiar elongated ovals. “A perfect match,” Nico announces, eyes bright.

Will blinks at the screen. “What the fuck,” he says flatly.

“I know!” Nico exclaims.

“But how–”

“No idea,” Nico shrugs, thrilled by it.

Will gazes at the screen, trying to wrap his mind around any logical explanation for this. Nico’s hunched over the laptop, carefully making small adjustments to the images, fiddling with the brightness and contrast. Will lifts his hand up in front of his face, considering the whorls of his own fingerprints. “Can you print out that fingerprint comparison?” he asks Nico.

“Yeah, sure.” Nico clicks through a few windows and a second later the printer on the counter hums to life. Will crosses the room to collect the sheets as they emerge.

“Oh. Fuck,” Nico says suddenly, fumbling in the pocket of his jacket, draped over the back of the chair. Will hears the buzzing of Nico’s phone as he extracts it.

“Di Angelo,” he says. Then, “Okay, we’ll be right there.”

“Where –” Will begins as Nico stands.

“Another missing liver,” Nico says, grim.

Will shoots a longing look at the abandoned box of pastries. He folds the printed sheets carefully into quarters as he follows his partner out of the office.

::

“This is it, right?” Nico puts the car in park, glances up at the large, brick-fronted house they’ve just pulled up in front of.

Will double-checks the address he’d written down in their rush out of the Bureau. “Yup, 247. That’s the right one.”

They exit the car, and Nico leads them up a tree-lined drive, then wide stone steps. The front doors stand open, yellow crime scene tape standing out against dark, polished wood.

“Nice place,” Nico comments, glancing around as they step inside. “Maybe this guy likes high-end livers.” The floor is shining, immaculate hardwood, reflecting a crystal chandelier overhead.

“Think I could fit my entire apartment in this entryway,” Will says under his breath. He and Nico follow the sound of activity and voices through the entryway into a vast dining room.

“Let’s run a check on liver transplants in the next twenty four hours,” Luke is saying as they enter. “Maybe this thing is black market.”

Annabeth looks skeptical. “Luke, the way the liver was ripped out – can you really imagine it being of any use as a transplant?”

“Look, at this point I’m willing to give any theory a shot.”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” Nico says as he and Will approach.

Luke turns, a reflexive scowl as he catches sight of Nico. “I’m willing to give any sane theory a shot. Sorry, Will,” he says, pointedly turning away from Nico, “but I only want qualified members of the investigating team at the crime scene.”

“I asked them to come, Luke,” Annabeth says, frowning.

“What’s the matter, Castellan? Worried I’m going to solve your case?” Nico asks, cool. He goes to walk further into the room and Luke steps in front of him, blocking his path. Nico raises an eyebrow, not backing down.

“Luke, we have authorized access to this crime scene.” Will cuts in, trying for cool and collected, though his heart is pounding in his throat and all he really wants to do is turn and run back to the car. He moves to stand beside Nico. He can feel the tension radiating off his partner. “A report of you obstructing another officer’s investigation might stick out in your personnel file.”

Before Luke can respond, Will grabs the sleeve of Nico’s jacket, physically pulling him over to the corner of the room where the collection of evidence markers is densest.

“I could have taken him. He’s only like, a foot taller than me,” Nico mutters. But he follows willingly enough.

Will snorts. “Yeah, but I’m willing to bet he doesn’t fight fair. Let’s just have a look around and get out of here. The two of you are making me nervous.”

“He started it,” Nico grumbles.

“I know. Let’s just… try to get along for a bit longer.”

Nico rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder into Will’s. Will fights a smile, mouthing be nice.

Nico mouths back, hand to his chest, who, me? and Will laughs, too loud. Grinning, Nico walks over to the fireplace, a close examination of the mantel.

Will scrubs a hand over his face, taking a second to steady his breathing. This collaboration is already starting to feel like a terrible idea. Will has always hated conflict, always shied away from it. Austin was the mediator, at home. Will was the one who’d avoid the situation altogether if he could manage it. He still prefers it that way.

“You okay, Solace?” Annabeth asks, low, walking over to join him a moment later.

“Yeah,” Will sighs, glancing over to where Luke is speaking to a police officer a few feet away. “I’m fine. Just – want to get this case dealt with.”

Annabeth shakes her head. “I’m sorry he’s being such an ass. I’ve never seen him so territorial before. We really do appreciate your help.”

Will nods, tired.

Luke joins them a moment later. “So, what do you think?”

“Well,” Will says. “It sure matches the profiles of the previous victims – liver extracted, no obvious point of entry.”

Luke’s nodding, brow furrowed, his gaze on the chalk outline.

“Actually – Nico found some prints you should take a look at,” Will adds, remembering what he and Nico were doing before they were interrupted with the news of yet another victim. “The prints taken from Tooms last night matched –”

“Okay, but this isn’t Tooms,” Luke interrupts.

“It’s Tooms,” Nico announces, his voice unexpected at Will’s shoulder.

“We cleared Mr. Tooms last night,” Luke says, his voice tight.

Nico shrugs. “There’s a vent over the fireplace. The vent cover was removed, and I found metal threads on the mantel, same as the crime scene at the office building.” He holds up an evidence bag. “And I’m pretty sure the prints I just lifted from the vent are going to match, too.”

“What the fuck are you saying, di Angelo? That the killer came through the fucking vent?”

Nico just quirks an eyebrow and heads for the door, thankfully electing not to antagonize Luke any further this time. Will begins to follow his partner out, feeling a headache starting to throb between his eyes, a knot of tension in his shoulders.

“You leaving too?” Luke asks, catching up to Will in the entryway.

“Yeah. Like I mentioned, Nico was doing a print comparison, evidence from the other crime scenes. Here, I can show you.” Will fishes the printout from his pocket, unfolding it and offering it to Luke.

Luke just scowls at the paper, though, seemingly reluctant to even touch it. “What the fuck is that?”

“These are Tooms’ prints.” Will taps the paper. “And these are the ones Nico lifted from the third crime scene.” He indicates the elongated prints.

“Your partner doesn’t even understand elementary print collection,” Luke says, disbelieving.

“I know they look strange, but they’re a match –” Will tries.

“You can go ahead and tell your partner to leave those prints alone,” Luke says with finality.

Will lets out a breath, sharp. “Look, Luke. You’re the one who asked for our input on this. Why bother if you’re going to block our investigation at every turn?”

“I’m not blocking your investigation,” Luke says, his voice rising. “Your partner’s got a screw loose. Did you hear those questions during the polygraph last night?”

Will’s in no mood for further argument. “I’m going back to the office. I’ll check in with you and Annabeth later,” he says.

Luke scoffs. “You know, Annabeth said di Angelo was a good agent, that we’d stand a better chance of solving this thing with him on board. So far, all I see is the two of you slowing us down.”

“Luke, Nico’s been working his ass off on this case. He’s found evidence of historical murders with the same MO –”

Luke doesn’t even seem to be listening. “Di Angelo had a decent reputation, back when he worked for Violent Crimes, but he’s lost his marbles working down in that basement.”

Will opens his mouth to protest, but Luke continues –

“You know, maybe it is for the best, that we’ve got the two of you on this case. Maybe your department needs to be exposed for what it really is. Octavian’s wanted the X-Files shut down for years.” Luke pauses. “He’s a buddy of mine, you know.”

Will blinks, a chill running through him. “Are you threatening us?”

Luke hesitates. When he speaks again, his tone is slightly more conciliatory. “Just trying to give you some friendly advice, Will. Give it some thought.”

Will shakes his head, turning to leave.

“Hey,” Luke says, sharp, a hand on Will’s shoulder. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

Will jerks away from the touch. “The victim’s, Luke.”

Will fully expects a (completely justified) rant about Luke’s behavior on the drive back to the office. Nico’s uncharacteristically quiet, though, shooting Will an appraising look as he eases himself into the passenger seat and then flicking the radio on low. Will closes his eyes, tilting his head against the cool glass of the window.

::

“You okay?” Nico finally asks as they let themselves into the basement office.

“Headache,” Will says, short, dropping into his chair. He rubs at the bridge of his nose.

Nico hums in understanding. He digs in a drawer for a moment. “Tylenol?” He shakes the bottle at Will.

“Please.”

Nico tosses the little bottle across the office, a neat shot that should have landed directly in Will’s outstretched palm. Will fumbles it and sighs, dropping out of his chair to crawl under his desk.

Nico laughs, but when Will surfaces again, the other man is on his feet, a sympathetic look on his face.

“Where are you off to?” Will asks, blearily looking around for his water bottle.

“Coffee. I think you need it.” Nico says simply, a squeeze to Will’s shoulder as he walks past, collecting his coat at the door.

“God, yes,” Will groans, dropping his head heavily to the desk. “Have I mentioned how much I love you?” He’s tired and muddled and the words are out before he realizes what he’s said. He freezes, head to the wood of his desk, feeling his face heat.

There’s a pause across the room, then a huff of laughter. “I’ll be right back,” Nico says, his voice softer than before.

::

Will’s mostly recovered his composure by the time Nico returns with the coffee, flipping through files with (finally) a pastry on a paper napkin next to him. When Nico hands over the Dunkin’ cup, Will accepts it gratefully, taking a small sip and then several gulps after determining the temperature is below-scalding. He glances up to see Nico watching him, something soft in his gaze.

“What?” Will laughs, self-conscious. Nico shakes his head, smiling. A second later Will feels Nico’s touch at his wrist, making his stomach lurch pleasantly; a brush of fingers over bare skin.

Will blinks up at the other man.

“Didn’t realize it was formal Wednesday,” Nico says, his voice catching lower than Will expected.

“Oh,” Will laughs, flustered, glancing down to the silver cufflinks he put on this morning. “Those were my dad’s. My mom gave them to me when I was in Fort Worth.”

“Nice,” Nico murmurs. They gaze at each other for a moment, heat buzzing in the air between them. There’s something unreadable in Nico’s expression. Something thoughtful, maybe resolving. Something warm.

Will glances away, suddenly eager for a change of subject.

“You know, I think I’d like to see if they’ve got the autopsy report yet – from the victim at the office building,” Will says.

Nico nods. “Yeah, good idea. You gonna head upstairs?”

“Yeah.” Will stands. He supposes he’ll have to. He’d prefer to avoid interacting with Luke as much as he can, honestly. But he at least can pretend to be a grown up about this.

“You won’t be offended if I don’t come along?” Nico asks, dry. “I’m not sure my presence would be appreciated.”

“No, you don’t have to come.” Will makes a face. “Look, I’m – I’m sorry about Luke. I didn’t have any idea he was going to be… the way he’s been.”

Nico shakes his head, dismissive. “Definitely not your fault.”

::

Will takes the stairs up to the second floor, giving himself a bit more time to mentally prepare. The gods must be smiling on him, anyway, because when he reaches the Violent Crimes section, it’s quiet, Luke’s cubicle empty. Will rounds the partition to Annabeth’s, knocking softly on the dividing wall.

Annabeth’s head rises at the sound.

“Hey, do you have a minute?” Will asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Annabeth smiles. “Here, pull up a chair. Luke just left for lunch.”

“Oh,” Will says, “that’s – that’s good to know.” He hopes his relief isn’t too obvious. But it probably is. He can feel the throbbing in his head decrease by a couple of degrees.

Annabeth’s lips twitch. “Yeah,” she agrees. “I was just going over the autopsy report from the third victim –”

“Oh, perfect. That’s mostly why I came up here.” Will grabs a chair from the corner, pulling up next to Annabeth when she shifts to make room.

“It’s odd,” Annabeth’s saying, thoughtful. “What do you make of this?” She flips to the third page in the report, the toxicology screen, tapping a line with her finger and pushing it over to Will.

Will reads it over, frowning. “They found… evidence of an unknown sedative compound. That is odd.”

“Yes. It looks to be something that was ingested very shortly before the victim’s demise.”

“So something administered by the murderer, maybe?” Will asks, scanning down the rest of the page.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Annabeth agrees. “No obvious site of administration, though, and the perpetrator doesn’t seem to have used any substance that the tox screen recognized.”

“Anything similar on the previous autopsies?” Will asks.

“Nothing so obvious,” Annabeth says. “There were some wonky tox results on the first victim, but nothing as specific as this. And you know what else is strange,” Annabeth continues, flipping a couple of pages, “there’s no one living at the address Tooms provided at the police station.”

“Sketchy,” Will says. “Was it an old address, maybe?”

“That’s what I thought too,” Annabeth says, “but there’s no record of him ever living in that apartment, or any others in that block. I checked with the building management this morning.”

There’s an uncomfortable knot in Will’s stomach, growing. Luke’s positive that Tooms isn’t the guy, but there are just too many coincidences to ignore. He thinks back to his long-distance call this morning, a mother halfway across the world still mourning her son decades later.

“Hey, back at the crime scene, you mentioned some fingerprint evidence,” Annabeth says.

“Yeah,” Will says slowly.

“Not ready to share with the class yet?” Annabeth smiles.

Will sighs. “No. It’s not that. Just –” He glances around the cubicle farm, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone nearby. “I – I don’t want to cause problems. For Nico.”

Annabeth’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

Will grimaces, wondering how much he should share. The idea of getting some of the weight off his chest is tempting. And he’s not worried about Annabeth reporting everything he says to Luke.

“Luke… doesn’t like Nico. Obviously,” Will begins. He chances a glance to Annabeth, who looks sympathetic. “And I know that Octavian isn’t a big fan of Nico’s either, or of our department. Luke – he mentioned something earlier, at the crime scene. He kind of alluded to being friends with Octavian, that Luke would report back to him, if he thought Nico wasn’t… handling things the way Luke thought he should,” Will finishes, awkward. He really doesn’t like the feeling that he’s trying to tattle on Luke – never mind that Luke just threatened to do the same to Nico. But he’s feeling nauseous and exhausted about the whole thing. It feels a tiny bit better telling Annabeth.

Annabeth taps her pen on her desk, a twist to her mouth. “Well,” she says finally, “last I checked, Octavian didn’t have any friends.”

Will breathes out a laugh, nervous.

“I won’t tell you not to worry about it, but I think Luke’s mostly just blowing off steam, to be honest,” Annabeth says. “I don’t believe he has a closer relationship to Octavian than anyone else in the department. And Luke certainly isn’t Nico’s supervisor, or yours.”

Will feels that impulse he always does, to smooth things over, to reassure that he’s okay. “Thanks, Annabeth. That’s – good to hear. And look, I know this is Luke’s case, and I definitely don’t want to be the one to step on his toes, or to be responsible for bringing Nico into a situation where he does the same thing –”

“It’s not just Luke’s case,” Annabeth interrupts. “It’s our case.”

“Oh.” Will frowns, diverted. “He – he said something about your section leader being involved in another case, so Luke was running this one on his own –”

Annabeth’s eyebrows rise higher and higher as Will stammers out this sentence, and Will feels himself going red with realization.

“Oh shit.” Will presses a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah,” Annabeth agrees, unimpressed. “Our section leader is away, yes. So Luke and I were asked to lead this case.”

“He – he didn’t – specifically mention that,” Will says haltingly. “I’m – I’m sorry, Annabeth. I didn’t mean to –”

Annabeth’s already shaking her head. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. It’s not entirely surprising to me. But I’m glad you mentioned it. Even if you didn’t mean to.”

Will lets out a breath. “This is why they keep me in the basement,” he mutters. “So I can’t embarrass myself by talking to my colleagues.”

Annabeth lets out a laugh. “Really, don’t worry about it. I’d love to hear about the fingerprint evidence, though. If you feel comfortable telling me.”

“I showed the prints to Luke this morning – I don’t know if he mentioned…” Will trails off as Annabeth’s mouth twists into a frown.

“He didn’t,” she says.

Will sighs. “Okay. I’ll give you the run-down, then.” Will is hesitant at first – because Nico’s findings are honestly bizarre and as much as he’s gotten used to bizarre in the basement, up here in the noonday light shining over the cubicles, he knows that things tend to fit better into boxes. He and Annabeth have similar backgrounds – medicine, science. There’s no reason for her to accept something that doesn’t seem to make any sense.

“That’s incredible,” Annabeth says, something like wonder in her eyes. “I’d love to have a look at the prints later. Have you thought of any explanation for them being elongated like that?”

“It’s weird, right?” Will agrees, excitement growing with such an easy reception. “I’d thought of some disorder like Ehlers-Danlos, where the skin has increased elasticity, but this is extreme.”

Annabeth nods. “Maybe… I wonder if there could be an extreme manifestation of that disorder, something that’s never been documented. Or maybe some condition that would cause a rapid increase in collagen. If Nico truly thinks the murderer is accessing the victims through the ductwork… something like that might make sense, right? An extreme variant of a disorder that causes hypermobility?”

“Definitely,” Will agrees.

Annabeth’s phone buzzes on her desk. “Oh shoot, I’ve got a meeting in five minutes,” she says, distracted. “I’d love to talk more about this though, and I’d love to come have a look at the prints.”

They both rise. “That would be great. Any time,” Will says, sincere.

“Walk with me down to the main floor?” Annabeth says.

“Sure.” Will stands, following Annabeth out of the cubicle maze.

“Hey, it was good talking to you,” he says as they enter the stairwell. It really was. Will feels as if some of the weight’s been lifted from his shoulders.

“You too,” Annabeth smiles. “I always liked our chats when I was at Quantico.”

Will catches sight of the cafeteria sign as they exit the stairwell at the main floor. “Oh, meatball soup today,” he says. “I better go tell Nico. He gets grouchy when he misses meatball soup day.”

“I’ve never tried the meatball soup,” Annabeth says. “Is it good?”

“Well.” Will makes a face. “It’s –” He shoots a quick look around the lobby. “To be completely honest, it’s pretty mediocre. But Nico was so excited for me to try it the first time I just – I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

Annabeth smiles. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

::

Nico’s very interested in the updates from Annabeth, and he and Will discuss matters as they take the elevator to the eighth floor, and as they make their way through the cafeteria line and then through their meatball soup. They’re in the stairwell, heading back down to the basement when Will remembers – “Annabeth mentioned that Alexandria PD checked out Tooms’ apartment, looks like it was a cover. No one’s lived there in years.”

“Well that’s suspicious.”

Nico’s quiet as they reach the basement and unlock the office. He crosses to his desk, digging for a file. “What was the address of Tooms’ apartment?”

“Um – an apartment building on Carrington Place, I think,” Will says. “I can’t remember the number.”

Nico considers the file for a long moment before looking back to Will. “I have an idea,” he says, slow.

“When do you not?” Will grins. He shifts to sit on the edge of his desk.

Nico ignores this. “103-66 Exeter Street.”

“What’s there?”

“Well,” Nico begins, “I was looking through the historical files, while you were upstairs earlier. One of the victims in 1909 was killed at 66 Exeter. Another was killed two blocks away. 66 Exeter was the address listed for one Eugene Victor Tooms in 1909.”

“Interesting,” Will says. “That’s got to be… what? A grandfather? Great-grandfather?” He’s beginning to feel the tell-tale post-lunch desire for a nap and it feels difficult to force his brain into mathematical calculations.

“Possibly,” Nico allows. “But what about the prints? Prints from 1909 are a match to the ones taken yesterday.”

“That could be genetics,” Will says slowly, though he’s not really convinced himself. “It might also explain other patterns, the sociopathic attitudes and behavior. It begins with one family member, who raises the next, who raises the next…”

Nico looks skeptical. “Could be.”

“Do you think Tooms is living in the building on Exeter?”

“I think someone is,” Nico says rather mysteriously. He stands from his desk, a familiar glint in his eye. “Wanna go for a drive?”

::

Will lets out a jaw-cracking yawn as Nico parks on Exeter Street. He hears Nico snort beside him. It’s a brisk, sunny day, a nice change of pace from the dim basement and the stiff tension at the murder scene this morning. Will takes a deep breath of spring air as he steps out of the car, taking a second to turn his face up to the sunlight. As much as he’s grown to love the cozy basement office, he does sometimes miss having a window, the opportunity to follow the passage of the sun across the sky over the day.

Will looks over to see Nico watching him, a small smile on his face.

“Beautiful day to solve a murder,” Nico says.

It’s a short walk up the block to number 66. The street is filled with derelict buildings, some boarded up. None look habitable. They climb the cement stairs together. The entrance to the building was probably pretty at one time, two tall wooden doors with little crescent windows at the top. Now, though, one door is missing entirely, a pane of glass broken in the one still standing.

The building is dark once they leave the front entryway and both men reach for their flashlights. Will takes a moment to scan the hallway, blinking as his eyes adjust. The place is dilapidated, but it doesn’t look to be in any immediate danger of collapse. They pause, checking the numbers on the dusty doors. Down the hall there’s a skittering; some variety of small animal, probably.

“This way,” Nico says, muted in the dusty hall, and Will follows. They near the end of the hallway and the door to 103 swings open at Nico’s touch.

It’s a small apartment, bare but for some debris around the edges of the room, filtered sunlight attempting to penetrate a dirty window on the far wall. Will crosses the room to scan a small bedroom off to the side, the smaller room in a similar state, the single window boarded up. The whole place smells sour, something rotten catching at the back of Will’s throat. He suppresses a shudder.

He can’t help glancing over his shoulder, squinting into every corner, though he’s sure the room is empty. It feels claustrophobic somehow, closing in. Will’s back in the main room of the apartment quickly, reluctant to linger.

“Nothing in the bedroom,” Will says, his voice coming back to him in the empty space.

“Look at this,” Nico says, quiet. He’s in the corner, his attention on a battered mattress propped up against the wall. He tucks his flashlight under his arm and pulls on latex gloves.

Will approaches, donning gloves as well. Together, they shift the mattress and lower it to the floor, careful not to stir up too much dust.

“Jesus,” Will murmurs, blinking at a hole in the wall that had been hidden by the mattress.

Both men approach the opening cautiously, but the floor surrounding it seems solid enough. There seems to be a ladder inside, leading to somewhere below. Nico crouches and presses on the wall around the opening, testing the integrity of the plaster. He grabs a hold of the top rung of the ladder, gives it a shake. It doesn’t budge.

Nico turns, quirking an eyebrow. “Spot me?”

Will grimaces, but takes a step closer. There’s a creeping feeling here, visceral and wrong, something he can’t quite put his finger on. He opens his mouth to voice this to his partner, despite the fact that he doesn’t think he can explain why this feels like such a bad idea. He’s well aware that “I have a bad feeling about this” isn’t scientific in any way.

But before Will can think it through any further, Nico’s through the opening, a nimble climb down to whatever lies beneath. Will hesitates, wondering if it’s more prudent to stay above in case he needs to call for backup, or an ambulance if the ladder isn’t as sturdy as it looks. But the bottom appears to be only a story below, and Will sighs, turning to follow his partner down. He finds his footing a moment after Nico, who automatically reaches a hand out to steady him as Will misses the last rung.

They pause, casting flashlight beams around the dark space they’ve found themselves in. The smell is worse down here; damp and mildewy. Something rotting.

“Looks like an old coal cellar,” Will says, low. There’s no reason to keep their voices down, not really, but, there’s a strange, pressing feeling, like they’re being watched. Or stalked. Will flicks his flashlight back on, his other hand brushing the gun at his belt, just making sure.

The smell of rot grows stronger the further in they walk, the air cool and clammy. The ceiling is low enough that Will has to duck to avoid pipes. Clinging cobwebs catch on their hair and the concrete floor is cracked and uneven. The close atmosphere combined with the stench and the pounding behind Will’s eyes is making him queasy.

At the far end of the cellar there’s a bend in the building, what looks like it could lead to a room, or a hallway, but it turns out to be more of a nook, plaster crumbling to the floor.

Nico approaches for a closer look, cautious.

“Careful,” Will murmurs. “That wall looks like it might come down on you.” The source of the smell must be nearby. Will’s eyes are watering.

“No,” Nico says slowly, looking it over. “I don’t think it’s part of the building’s structure. Someone… made this.”

“What?”

“Look,” Nico takes a step to the side so Will can approach. The sight before them doesn’t make sense at first, revealed in increments by the twin flashlight beams. But as Will looks longer, he realizes it’s a mess of rags and bits of newspaper, somehow all glued together into a misshapen structure that seems to have become part of the wall around it.

“This is a nest,” Nico says, equal parts amazed and horrified. Still clad in latex gloves, he presses his fingers against the structure. The surface gives under his touch and then slowly regains its shape when Nico pulls back. Something green oozes out. Will leans closer, wanting a better look but not eager to touch. Then, he draws back suddenly, fighting down a gag.

“It looks like – the green stuff – I think it’s bile.” Will takes another step back. “How is that – do you think someone lives in there?” His brain is fighting to make sense of this at the same time as it’s screaming at him to run.

Nico gazes at the structure, an abomination of a paper mache. “I don’t think anyone lives in there so much as… hibernates.”

Will shudders. He’s not sure he’s ever wanted to get away from a place faster. He glances over his shoulder, convulsive, feeling more than ever that there are eyes on him. “Hibernates?” he asks under his breath.

“Imagine if…” Nico takes a step back from the wall and turns to Will, his eyes serious in the dark space. “What if some genetic mutation could allow a man to awaken every few decades? And what if he could sustain himself for that hibernation period by consuming human livers?”

The horror Will’s feeling is somewhat mirrored on his partner’s face, but there’s also that familiar look of amazement and discovery in Nico’s dark eyes.

“What would - what could the evolutionary advantage be? To such a mutation?” Will asks, trying for reasonable. He’s still half-trying to convince himself that this cannot be possible. But he can’t help but think of the bizarre, elongated prints. The unidentified substance on the autopsy report. The impossible points of entry. If those things can be true, why not this?

Nico pauses, his gaze drifting. “Hard to say. I mean, longevity, I suppose?”

“To what end? And what about… reproduction?”

“Yeah,” Nico says thoughtfully, seemingly not particularly put off by having this discussion in the crumbling basement of a lair possibly belonging to a genetically mutated serial killer. “Good point.”

“In any case”, Will says. “He’s not here now, but he’s going to come back. At some point.” He glances over his shoulder again, nervous. “Can we – why don’t we get a sample from this… nest.” Will grimaces, approaching the wall again and digging in his coat pocket for a sample tube.

There’s just so much of the green gunk, everywhere. He’s more aware of it the longer he looks, seeping out in gluey drips and congealed to a brownish yellow across the surface like some kind of horrible glaze. Will carefully collects a sample, dropping the little vial into his coat pocket. It definitely looks like bile, but… more gluey. Viscous. And bile doesn’t have much of a smell. But Will feels certain it’s related. He’s not usually so squeamish about possible bodily fluids, but this one just feels so wrong.

“We need to stake this place out,” Nico is saying. sounding much more certain than Will feels. His eyes flick to Will’s, maybe reading hesitation there. “You don’t think so?”

“No, I do…” Will says, gazing somewhat longingly toward the hole they climbed through, the path back to the upper world. “I’m just wondering how we’re going to spin it so Luke agrees.”

Nico’s brow furrows. “Since when do you care about Luke’s agreement?”

Will sighs. His stomach twists again, the memory of Luke’s threats just a few hours ago. If this was any other case, he’d be more than willing to follow Nico’s lead. But he’s more and more worried about Nico leading himself right out of a job. “Look, this is bizarre, and definitely suspicious. But you know how Luke is. He’s going to want something more solid to go on before he’s willing to admit you’re right.”

Nico doesn’t answer, turned away to examine the nest. Will tries again.

“Maybe we can run some forensics first. Or present it to Annabeth,” Will says, thinking aloud. “She’ll be reasonable.” His head is still pounding and the smell is really getting to him.

“This is reasonable,” Nico says, voice rising. “Look around you. You’ve got an oozing paper mache bile nest, a secret hibernation hideout at the suspect’s last known address. How much more reasonable do we need to be?”

Will blinks, a little caught off-guard by the intensity of his partner’s reaction. Nico seems to read it on his face.

“Sorry.” Nico shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to direct that at you. I’m just – it’s frustrating. This whole case just takes me right back to when I was working at Violent Crimes – I felt like I was never being taken seriously. Like I was some kind of joke.”

Will nods in understanding. “There are more than a few dickheads in that department. Clawing their way to whatever they think the top is.”

“Yeah,” Nico says, deflating a bit. “You’re right, though. We can try to get along before we try anything else. Let’s get some forensic evidence and see how that pans out before we investigate this site any further.”

Will nods.

“Hey, look at this,” Nico says suddenly, crouching and angling his flashlight downwards. Will peers over Nico’s shoulder.

There’s the glint of metal, and when Will looks closer, he sees a row of small objects lined up against the wall beside the nest. The horrible green substance has trickled out across the floor here, seeping into cracks, a gooey line partially obscuring most of the objects.

“They’re trophies,” Nico says, horrified.

“Fuck,” Will breaths out. “Are you sure?”

Nico glances up. “Yeah, I’d be willing to bet. We should take note of what’s here and compare it with the case files back at the office.”

“Should we just take them as evidence?”

Nico hesitates. “No. I don’t think we want him to know we’ve been here, if we can help it.” With a gloved fingertip, Nico gently prods at one of the objects; a tie clip, maybe, or a barrette. It doesn’t budge, glued to the floor with the greenish-brown goo. “We won’t even be able to move most of these without it being obvious that we’ve disturbed them,” he mutters. Then – “look at this one, on the very end.”

Will squints. The trinket is larger than most of the others, a shiny gold disc. It’s cleaner than the other items, too, like perhaps it was only placed there recently. “A pocket watch?”

“Pretty sure the most recent victim was missing a pocket watch,” Nico says. He nudges it. It’s the only object that seems to be completely free of gunk. “We should be able to get prints off it, too.” He fishes around in his jacket pockets, pulling out a notepad and paper. “Fuck, I forgot my camera.”

“Oh – I brought the new one,” Will says, reaching into his own coat pocket.

“Amazing.” Nico accepts the camera, snapping a few pictures before handing the notepad to Will. “Here. Can you take dictation? Your handwriting is better than mine.” He gives Will a sympathetic look. “And then you can move a little further away from the stench. You’re looking green.”

::

When Will arrives the next morning, he’s anxious and underslept, his head still lightly throbbing. He’d had the same dream over and over last night, each time he managed to drift off; vague visions of a man appearing in his bedroom, watching him in the dark. It had spooked him so badly he’d had to sleep with the light on.

He gives Nico a vague wave and a half-smile when he enters the office, hanging his coat and crossing to drop heavily into his chair.

“Everything okay?” comes Nico’s voice.

Will turns, making a valiant attempt to look more alive than he feels. “Yeah. Just couldn’t sleep.” He yawns hugely.

Nico hums in sympathy. “Coffee’s on,” he says, nodding at the little five-cupper on the counter, just gurgling out the last few drops to fill the pot.

“Yay,” Will says, rising instantly and making a beeline for the pot. “You want some too?”

“Yeah, please.”

“Hey, what do you think about this?” Nico asks when Will brings his coffee over, setting it carefully in the few square inches of available real estate on the desk.

Nico taps a file. “This is one of the victims from 1939. There’s a pretty thorough description of what the victim was wearing when she went missing. No photos, unfortunately, but it mentions a bracelet – gold with two small rubies.”

Will nods, remembering Nico’s dictation yesterday. “Yeah, that sounds like it matches up. I remember a gold bracelet. Can I see the camera?”

Will scans through the pictures Nico took at Exeter yesterday, finally finding the bracelet. “Too bad the light wasn’t better,” he muses. “But this could definitely be the one.” He turns the camera to show Nico, who nods, serious.

“Hey,” Will says, flipping through the photos more slowly now. “Nolan Campbell – the victim whose mother I was talking to – she said Nolan was wearing his dad’s class ring when he went missing. There were a couple of rings, weren’t there?” Will clicks back and forth between several poorly-exposed photos. “Do you think this could be a class ring?” he asks Nico, turning the camera again.

Nico squints at it, then takes the camera from Will, turning it slightly. “Yeah, that could be it. It was kind of half-buried in a crevice, remember? It definitely had that kind of signet shape.” Nico continues to poke at buttons, trying to zoom in, grimacing at the little screen.

“God, I’d love to get that ring back to his mom,” Will says, his voice going rough.

Nico looks up, a sympathetic twist to his mouth. Will shakes his head. He really doesn’t want to get back into that right now. “Did you find any other matches?” he asks.

“Yeah, one more.” Nico sets the camera down, reaching for another file. “There was a silver ring – one of the 1909 victims. No further description – so that could match. And then I was thinking about the article you found, about the animal attack –”

“Yeah, me too,” Will agrees. “Field trip to the library?”

Nico beams.

::

(here is part 2 of chapter 6!)

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Nine

I huddle behind the till with Petra on the last Friday before Christmas, watching as she tallies up the till for the final time before the new year. 

“Okay, so we sold five of these, three of those, and the last eight of those ones… and I’ll have to check the books again but I think I sent twelve to the post office today.” I glance over her shoulder at the long receipt that’s been spit out of the till to confirm. “So that’s almost all of them sold?”

She glances over to the card rack on the wall nearby. “Everything except for, I think, four?”

“Wow.” I say. “I can’t believe people actually wanted them.”

“Oh for goodness sake!” She grins. “Of course they did, you did a beautiful job on those cards. You should be very proud.”

I blush. “I actually am.”

Petra empties the last of the till coins into a plastic bag and locks it into the safe for the bank. “Well you can enjoy the money, my dear, and enjoy your christmas. Have you planned to do anything nice?”

“The usual. I’ll just go to my granny’s house and we’ll have dinner with my aunts and uncles and cousins. We just found out that my uncle’s wife is pregnant again, so that’s something to chat about at the dinner table.”

“Sounds lovely.” She muses, and I suppress a grimace as I zip up my coat. “Yeah, well, have a safe flight home to Spain. I hope you have better weather than we do here.”

“Me too.” She says. “Happy New Year, since I won’t see you before then.” I smile and let myself out onto the dark of the early evening street as the jaunty little bell jingles in the door behind me. 

Luke, who owns the coffee shop across the street, is closing his shutters too, and gives me a quick wave and a “merry Christmas, Evie.” as he covers up the window art I did for him a few weeks ago. He liked what I’d done for Mezzotint so much that he asked me to do one for him too. I went out on a limb and asked him for one hundred euros for it, and he paid it without batting an eyelid. All of that money has gone towards Christmas presents, as for the first time in years I’ve been able to afford them. I hop on the Luas and ride it towards the centre of town. It’s jammed with commuters in big coats, the windows fogged up and dripping with condensation. The lights outside blur together through the fog. 

I get off at Jervis Street onto pavement that’s still wet with the rain from earlier and wander up towards Henry street, where I buy a hot chocolate from the crepe and coffee kiosk that’s still open, just because I want one, and then head towards Arnotts where I walk around looking at fancy things that I cannot afford for half an hour, just for the sake of doing it. There are discounted Christmas decorations in one section, and I’m drawn to a pair of pink feathered ones with silver beads laced along the ribbons. On sale, they are ten euros each but I buy both of them anyway, because Claire would love them. 

On the way out I go to the perfume section and spray Tom Ford on myself. The shop assistant smiles at me like she thinks I might want to buy it, but I avoid eye contact. I will never own perfume like this. I bring my wrists to my nose and inhale the complicated aroma as I head back onto the maniacal December crowds, imagining for a moment how satisfying it must feel to smell like two hundred euro perfume every day, to know that you can throw money at something frivolous, just because you like the smell of it. 

When I arrive home, Claire is in her pyjamas and eating a bowl of plain pasta on the couch. She grins at me as I come in and asks me if I want to binge some Christmas films. It feels like a perfect way to spend our last night of the year together before we go back to Tullamore tomorrow. I go upstairs and put on something comfortable. I don’t really have pyjamas in the way that Claire does. Hers are always matching, satin with lace trims, flannel with pockets and buttons down the front, but I don’t have anything like that. Perhaps it says something about my personality. I grab an ancient vest and a pair of jersey shorts and head down to the couch, stashing the wrapped feathered baubles into my half-packed suitcase to give to her tomorrow. 

First we watch Miracle on 34th street, because we watch that every year, and then inevitably we put on Love Actually, just to scream about how much we hate every single character except for Sam, and we drink more hot chocolate and eat sweets from a tub until I feel sick. As the credits roll I glance over to her to see a glazed expression on the face. She’s gazing through the window at nothing. Blackness, the sky clouded over leaving no space for the stars to peek through them.

“Are you alright?”

“Mm. Yes.”

I shift in my seat. “I’ve been meaning to ask how things have been with Shane, you know, like, with his college work and the football and all that.”

“Oh, it’s fine. The usual. I don’t think we’ve made any progress, to be honest.”

“And his Christmas exams?”

“I don’t have a clue. He barely studied for them so he’s probably failed them, for all I know.”

“Oh.”

She looks at me then, brows furrowed and voice defensive. “I love him, you know. I still love him. I won’t like, break up with him or anything.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“Things will get better. All couples go through this kind of thing. It’s what happens when you’ve been together for three years, things just feel a bit less perfect than they used to, and you have to make compromises. Really though, I love him. I’d do anything for him.”

I wonder if it’s only my projection that she sounds a bit like she’s trying to convince herself of those things, not me. “I’m sure the exams went fine.” I say, even though I’m not sure. On every run and every gym session I’ve been to with Shane in the last few months he hasn’t mentioned college once. His twenty-five-grams-of-protein yoghurts and his various friends who injured themselves in various ways from using the machines wrong (like me), he’s mentioned plenty of times, but unless I knew for a fact that he was in college, I’d assume he didn’t go. 

Claire is frustrated. “I wish he’d just get it together. That’s all. I’m sick of feeling like I’m nagging him, but it really just feels like common sense… oh!” her phone springs to life on the table in front of us, vibrating loudly against the wood. “I bet this is him now, speak of the devil.” She flips it over in her hand and her brows knit together with confusion. “Oh, it isn’t.”

“Who is it?”

“Um. It’s Jude.” She brings it slowly to her ear, as though it might bite her. “…hello?”

It’s quiet enough in the room to hear his side of the conversation. “Hey. Hey Claire. I’m so sorry to call you. Are you with Shane at the moment?”

Her face screws up. “No. I amn’t, I’m at home with Evie.”

“Ah, right. Do you know if he’s around? I tried to call him a few times and there was no answer.”

“He’s in Tullamore. He’s gone home for Christmas already, he had training at the pitch at seven, sorry.” She glances at the clock in the kitchen. “It’s also almost midnight. I imagine he’s asleep by now.”

“Right, okay. That’s fine… uh. Sorry to call you, I better-”

“Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s nothing, I’m just home in Dublin for the next week. I misplaced my house keys, I was hoping to crash at his.” A pause. “And also like, maybe because he has a car I was thinking he might be able to drive me to A&E.”

“What?” I exclaim. Claire’s eyes are wide. She doesn’t know what to do. I take the phone. “Jude.” I say. “It’s Evie.”

“Hi Evie, how’s it going?”

“What happened?”

“No, no, no, nothing big, it’s not a big deal, I just might need a couple of stitches.”

“Stitches where?”

“My-” He breaks away and sucks air through his teeth, muttering “Jesus, fuck” under his breath. “- my eyebrow. It’s fine. It can wait, I can just get a taxi back to Clontarf and get my parents to let me in. Hopefully they’re still awake.” He sounds doubtful. “Sorry to disturb you, seriously. I’ll work it out.”

“For God’s sake.” Claire grabs the phone again. “Come here. We can’t drive you to the hospital but we can clean you up. I at least have a first aid kit. Where are you?”

“The docks.”

“You’re only a few minutes away. Can you walk to us?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” She gives him our address and they hang up, then she sits there in disbelief, shaking her head. “Bloody men.” She says. “I’m exhausted.” She gets up and heads towards the stairs. 

“Where are you going?” I ask her. 

“To put on a bra.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[sskim-milkk]

A Bad Batch Thanksgiving

Words: 2K

Warnings: None. Pure fluff!

Also posted on my AO3

“Papa! Nana!” Omega squealed as she invited herself into Ninety-Nine and Lilly’s home, pushing open the large wooden door. The Batch all beamed at her with pride. Their little girl was so smart, remembering what her grandparents’ house looked like. She sure came here enough. Ninety-Nine and Lilly made it their goal to have little Omega over as much as possible.

“Is that an Omega I hear?” Ninety-Nine asked in a silly voice as he entered the foyer, Lilly following behind. Ninety-Nine was dressed in nice pants and a button-up shirt while Lilly had on a beautiful ankle-length dress.

“Papa!” She squealed again, lifting her arms up to him. Her grandfather happily obliged. He playfully groaned as he lifted her into his arms as if she was heavy.

“Hello, boys! Come in, come in!” Lilly greeted, gesturing with her hands for the five men to come in from the cold. They messily shuffled in with their various bags and dishes they had spent the past couple of days preparing.

“Hey, Dad and Lilly! Happy Thanksgiving!” Wrecker cheered, wrapping his large arms around both of them. The pair shivered against his cold coat, but smiled at him all the same and gave hugs to all the other men too. They too were well-dressed, all wearing different colors of pants and button-up shirts like Ninety-Nine. Tech opted to wear a tie to be extra fancy.

“Fives here yet?” Echo asked as he handed Lilly a bag of food, moving to take his coat, beanie and shoes off. The house was warm and comforting. The heat of the nearby fireplace in the living room diffused throughout the home, and the mix of good, homemade food and candles burning could not make for a better Thanksgiving already.

“No, you know he likes to be fashionably late,” Ninety-Nine chuckled. Echo rolled his eyes.

“More like he forgot to make something so he’s rushing to the store now.”

Omega squirmed in Ninety-Nine’s arms, now reaching out to Lilly to be held. She was dressed in an adorable long-sleeve, fall-themed dress, white tights and tiny black Mary-Jane shoes, and her blonde curls were done up in pigtails. Lilly cooed, holding her tiny granddaughter against her chest.

“Ohh, hello, sweet girl. Are you going to try lots of tasty things tonight now that you’re a big girl with those big ol’ teeth?”

“Yeah!” Omega nodded as she fiddled with Lilly’s necklace.

“That is the plan. Though, if she is proving to be uninterested in most foods we have brought some foods that we know she’ll eat,” Tech added in as he made his way upstairs with a multitude of bags for Omega. They would be staying the night, and Tech had triple-checked to make sure they had everything they needed for their tiny tot before leaving.

“What a beautiful home,” Hunter’s girlfriend marveled as she slowly made her way through the downstairs portion of the house. Hunter followed her, occasionally adding in comments about how different the house looked during his childhood or what he and his siblings would get up to. There were a few holes or cracks in the walls, which Hunter also explained were the fault of him and his siblings.

His girlfriend, Abi, was kindly invited to their Thanksgiving this year. She had a bad relationship with her family right now, and no friends since she recently moved to the area. Ninety-Nine and Lilly were never the type to allow someone to spend Thanksgiving alone. They welcomed her with open arms despite only meeting her once before during the one year her and Hunter had been dating.

Meanwhile, Crosshair marveled at the dining table all set up. When he was little he loved helping his dad set the table. He felt so proud of himself when he was old enough to carry the heavier glass dishes out to the table. Lilly made excellent additions to the table along with Ninety-Nine’s already exquisite decorations. The same could be said for the rest of the house. Despite its old age it was warm, inviting and homey. He was still very happy with how good of a match-maker he was with these two. His dad and Lilly were truly a wonderful couple and it was comforting to know neither had ended up alone in their older age.

As they all got settled, the cacophony of voices throughout the house made the place more lively in the way that only families coming together could. Crosshair made his way to the kitchen to help prepare the last of the dishes and heat up the ones they brought. Echo got out the wine and started pouring drinks for everyone. Tech was showing Ninety-Nine how to operate the radio and speakers he had set up for him last Christmas. The poor old man still didn’t understand all the buttons and cords. He had to first find his glasses, notebook and pen and make Tech slowly-”hold on, son, hold on”-explain how to operate the damn thing. At last, soft instrumental jazz music started flowing from the speakers.

Meanwhile, Hunter and Abi were keeping an eye on Omega as she attempted to play with Ninety-Nine and Lilly’s cat, Hugo.

“Cat!” Omega squealed as she toddled after him even though the poor thing was trying to get as far away from this energetic, unpredictable little menace as possible.

“Gentle, Omega,” Hunter reminded her as the little girl caught up to Hugo and was patting his head.

“You want to play with some toys, honey?” Abi said in a high-pitched baby voice that made Hunter wince a bit. Lilly and Ninety-Nine had some toys for Omega in a box next to a bookshelf. Goodness knows she had plenty at home, so the batch opted to bring some toys over for when Omega stayed here so they had less to bring.

Abi dragged the box over and pulled out some wooden blocks. Omega toddled over with interest. She helped Omega stack up a few blocks before sitting back against Hunter’s chest, his arm draping around her. It was a perfect moment, watching the little girl play with the fire crackling next to them, the sound of familiar voices and music in the background. Hunter gently cupped Abi’s cheek, tilting her head up towards him to drop a soft kiss to her lips. Abi hummed in satisfaction.

“No! Daddy, no! Mine!” Omega protested as clambered up onto Hunter’s lap, the blocks now forgotten.

“Ow,” he winced as her heel dug into his knee. Omega squeezed herself between Hunter and Abi, leaning her own head against Hunter’s chest. She glared at Abi.

“Mine,” she pouted.

“Wha-?” Abi stammered, looking at the pair in shock. Hunter, meanwhile, was trying not to laugh. It was quite funny how protective Omega could be when it came to her dadas and their various girlfriends and boyfriends.

“Yeah, um…” Hunter scratched the back of his neck. Before he could continue, the front door opened.

“Hey, hey, hey, everybody!” Fives cheered as he walked in with, to nobody’s surprise, store-bought pumpkin pies and surely already-melting ice cream.

“Unca’ Fibe!” Omega screeched, getting off the couch and running towards the door to greet her favorite uncle (that’s what Fives says, at least.) Hunter smiled at how quickly both his daughter’s mood and attention could change so quickly.

“She’s a little protective of us,” Hunter admitted sheepishly as he and Abi made their way to the front door as well. He knew they should probably try to fix that behavior if any of them were going to marry someone someday. She was only little though and just too cute with her big brown eyes, chubby cheeks and pouty lips.

“Ya don’t say,” Abi giggled. “It’s super cute.”

Back in the foyer, the gang had all come to greet Fives with hugs. The man in question had Omega in his arms and was blowing raspberries against her belly. She was screeching with laughter, face all red.

He apologized for being late, as he did every year. He quickly found his twin and slung his arm around him, the two catching up as they went to the kitchen to get Fives a drink.

Everyone sat or stood around the kitchen island and ate a few hor d'oeuvres whilst chatting. Wrecker managed to get Omega to try some cheese and crackers. She seemed to enjoy them, leaving only crumbs all over her face, dress and Wrecker’s shirt.

Once the food was ready, the clan moved the remaining dishes to the large table and found a chair to stand behind while Ninety-Nine gave the blessing before sitting down to eat. The table was marvelous. Though it was now dark out, the soft light in the room continued to give off that warm feeling felt throughout the home. A beautiful red table cloth was set with lace trimmings dangling off the edges of the table. Gold flower-patterned place mats and napkins were set throughout at each spot. The food was all squished together in the center, two candles set in the middle. Steam and all sorts of smells wafted throughout the room. People set down glasses of water and wine at their place. Echo lit the two candles in the middle, and all looked to Ninety-Nine.

“I know that we’ve all had highs and lows this year, but we’re just so grateful to have you all here in good health and spirits. We’re so proud of you and feel so happy to be able to have little Omega here these past two Thanksgivings. What a lovely time to be able to come together to eat, drink and be happy together. Dig in!” With that, they all cheered each other’s glasses and sat down for a feast. Omega alternated between sitting in Ninety-Nine and Lilly’s laps throughout the meal, at the head of the table, of course.

The food was amazing. Roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green bean casserole, cheesy potatoes, and salad. Wrecker, especially, was in heaven. Everyone continued to chat throughout the meal. Hunter was pleased to see Abi laughing and chatting with everyone too, seeming to be in good spirits.

Omega took a liking to all but the salad. Ninety-Nine and Lilly would scoop small servings of everything onto a plate for her. She had her own plastic silverware, but the toddler preferred to use her hands to gobble everything up. She giggled and clapped at how yummy everything was.

“Ugh, I’m full!” Wrecker groaned, tossing his napkin onto the table once he had cleaned his plate. He patted his swollen tummy. Everyone seemed to be in agreement with him. Lilly tried to persuade everyone to take more of everything to no avail.

“Well I hope you all saved room for dessert,” Lilly tsked, the small lady getting up to start clearing people’s plates. Abi and Hunter got up to help, not listening when Lilly hit them with her towel to get them to stop. She let them help eventually, though not without a frown on her face.

The family seemed to find new fervor when pies and cookies and ice cream were brought out. Omega had a few bites of pie and ice cream, humming happily about the yummy treat. Everyone bid her goodnight when Crosshair scooped her up to put her to bed. He was a bit worried she would have a hard time falling asleep since she rarely spent the night here, along with the ruckus happening downstairs. Luckily, the girl was pretty tired and was soon snuggled up in her warm jammies, blanket, and Bunny in the travel crib.

Back downstairs, everyone helped to clean the mess. Really only food was put away. Dishes could wait for tomorrow. No-one wanted to deal with them tonight. They all migrated to the living room, alcohol flowing in their systems.

As the night wore on, they all kept chatting as endless conversations were had. A few games were brought out too like Cards Against Humanity and Clue. Wrecker and Fives were of course the loudest and had to be reminded a few times to keep their voices down so Omega wouldn’t wake up. Ninety-Nine and Lilly eventually went up to bed, thoroughly worn out but happy from the last couple of days filled with cooking, cleaning and family fun.

It wasn’t until after midnight when everyone was in their beds. All went to sleep with full stomachs and happy memories made after yet another successful Thanksgiving.

[spacerangersam]

Hello! Could you give me your personal thoughts/criticisms of each of the Button House ghosts' (from BBC Ghosts) costumes/outfits in detail please? Thanks!!

I feel like I should say, I don’t have a problem with most of the ghosts’ costumes. 

Julian’s is fine, I like the garters and the the fact that he’s wearing a striped pale blue shirt and a patterned tie rather than a plain white shirt and a plain red tie. I don’t like what happened to his hair over the course of the series, but I mean, the outfit itself is good.

Pat’s is great - I like his concept/piolet design just a little bit more just because of the green shorts and the rope thing he has around him which is an interesting little accessory - but otherwise, no notes, it’s a scoutmaster uniform, and the aviators are nice. Captain is also fine, I mean, they couldn’t really have mucked up his costume if they’d tried since he’s in a ww2 captains uniform, but point still stands. Robin is fine, it’s fur, it works, Mary’s is also quite nice, I like that’s it’s bright and colourful, and Humphrey's outfit is great, it really stands out against the other costumes because of how bright and bulky it is, and I'm glad they committed to the ruffle.

I legitimately love Annie’s outfit, the cap with the frills, the big fancy collar with the little details - it’s fairly simple but it looks great - Sophie knocks it out of the park with every outfit she wears, they’re all so beautiful, and Isabelle/Francis/Thomas’ outfits are all amazing (I have a soft spot for regency fashion tbh, and for Isabelle’s dress in particularly as a lover of green). The only thing I wish was that Thomas had kept the riding boots (I’m pretty sure he’s wearing them to the party) and the coat he wore to the party. But I also understand why both came off, I just thought they looked nice.

Really, my problem is just with Fanny and Kitty’s outfits.

I don’t know why, but Kitty’s outfit looks a bit cheap to me? I can’t explain it, maybe it’s the material used or something, but it does, and I really don’t like the dark colour scheme. A lot of the dresses I’ve seen from that era have a bit of a lighter colour scheme (though obviously not all of them do), and I really think a lighter colour scheme would really make her pop.  I mean, the other dresses she wears in flashbacks, while still a bit cheap looking, are so much prettier and do suit her so much better. The pink one, the blue one - she looks so lovely in them, and it’s a shame she didn’t get to have one of those as her death outfit. 

And Fanny’s outfit… God, I have a soft spot for Edwardian fashion too, and Fanny’s outfit is just so bad. Ignoring the fact that she dies at night so should be in her pyjamas, she has the wrong silhouette, her hair isn’t quite right either, not exactly the Gibson do it should be, I hate the colour, and putting aside historical accuracy, I just hate the dress, I think it’s fucking ugly  asdfgh. When I think of the Edwardian era, I think of those beautifully intricate white blouses and long white dresses, and I wish they’d put Fanny in one of those. She would have looked so much nicer, and not as if she (or one of her servants more like) accidentally put in a black sock with her washing and fucked up the colour.  

Like, I know they call her The Grey Lady, but I wish they’d let her wear white. They could’ve called her the lady in white, or the white lady, it would’ve been fine. If they wanted her to looked stuffy and old-fashioned, there were other ways to do it than giving her an ugly outfit that does not look like it should be worn by a Lady of the house. They could have given her a more Victorian-style dress or something, one that’s a bit outdated and shows how she’s still stuck in her ways. Just anything but that dress. Hell, they could’ve kept some of the grey by giving her a white blouse and a long grey skirt, that would’ve worked fine.

I wish I could like, show some examples but my internet is playing up and any time i try to click on a website it just reloads the page so...

[fizziefactory]

Profile: ♤ Undertaker Fizzy

Model: Undertaker Fizzy

Nicknames: “Undertaker!Fizzy”, “Undertaker”, "Mortis", “Mort”

Pronouns: he/him | it/its | they/them

Height: 6’3”

Can always be found at: A small shed in the Wrath Ring, atop many, many graves.

Works for: Mammon and Satan got a deal, Mortis Cleans up the Wrath Ring, and Mammon takes the cash

Vibes: Weight of the world - Shayfer James || Zeit - Rammstein || Hellfire - Barns Courtney || Daydream in blue - I Monster

Features

Referring to the “hat” as horns, the right one is all black, while the left is white with rib-like stripes on the underside. The horns appear droopy

Instead of the usual jingle bells at the end of the horns, there are two grave bells hanging at the end instead

He has a little black top hat with a green ribbon sitting in between the two horns, he switches it up sometimes though

His “beak” if you will, is black instead of red

He wears all black trousers, coat and vest, a white button up with a standing collar, and a black ribbon tie around his neck. Clothes, once again, often changes.

He frequently wears shoes over his feet to avoid wear and tear

He's quite a bit taller and stronger than the average fizzy, this to handle the heavy workload that comes with handling dead weight all day.

Functions

Its main function is to handle and bury the remains of hellborne that have passed away, a job not many in hell consider necessary. 

This includes performing autopsies, mortician duties such as burial preparation, and of course, gravedigging. You want a fancy grave he'll arrange that for you, and you want a mass grave, he'll fix that too.

While it's mainly working in Wrath, the place where many casualties happen to take place, it can be rented out to other rings as well.

He currently has a contract with Carmilla Carmine, where he cleans up the dead after each extermination, while also collecting all the weapons from the dead. This information is not shared with Mammon. He ain't no snitch.

He may also performs funerals, holding them in Satan's name.

Connections

Satan: Working in the Wrath Ring under Mammon, this fizzy will often take orders directly from Satan.

Asmodeus: He designed him.

Mammon: He works for him and he is considered his “boss”, but he isn't all that faithful to this arrangement. He can do work for anybody really, not like Mammon questions where the money comes from. 

Manager!Fizzy: He was made the same day this fizzy was made, and he's the only other fizzy that can talk to this guy on equal footing. That being said, they aren't particularly involved with one another.

Therapist!Fizzy: Knows him through his psych-evaluations. They will nod at each other from across the room, that's the extent of their relationship

Mind

Mortis is one of the older fizzies, and has been very isolated from the general “fizzy-culture” all the others have been exposed to. He dunno much about that there Fizzarolli feller, he's designed after him, sure… but the only thing he sees all day is the wrathian desert, or the mangled corpses of the dead. He doesn't relate much to the others, which in a sense, is a very lonely feeling.

But eh.

He's just happy sitting in his rocket chair after a long day of hard work, smoking his gas-filled electric cigarette while the charging cable is doing its work in the back. He ain't about to clown around for some rando on the street… he's a busy man.

That's not to say it can't get depressing...

Hellborne teenagers letting the thrill of living in hell get to them, sending their cars crashing and burning. Sinners who thought they'd live on forever, only for an angel to snuff them out with one jab of their spear... Seeing mothers ripped away from their own children, clutching on to the little bodies as they scream into the night...

Your own immortality must feel like such a slap in their faces.. so the least you can do is to treat those moments with the respect they deserve.

[camping-with-monsters]

I kinda have no idea how to properly introduce this so here we go:

I’ve started development on the very last (canon) issue of Tags of Whistlegrimm.

We’ve had Duck Duck Goose, we’ve had Blind Man’s Bluff. Introducing… Spider’s Tag!

I should clarify that this story is still in bare bones right now with not a whole lot to it yet— let’s just say this is a story where I know how it’s going to end before I know how it’s going to begin or frankly know much about it’s body at all.

So who’s our final protagonist? Why, the legendary figure, said to be the story of stories, the impeccable trickster… Anansi the Spider!

(It’s probably easy to tell that I don’t have finalized references of him or the next one I’m showing oopsies—)

Anansi’s power is not 100% equal to Lord’s, but is not far off. Said to have been granted a portion of his power back as Whistlegrimm first found itself founded, Anansi’s ability stretched more to the external kind where he can shape things around him or use surprising abilities to his advantage. The only trick is that he can’t change anything about himself like how Lord’s only abilities lie within altering his own. Course, considering this is a granted magic, the only thing Anansi could do is release it from himself, but he made a promise years ago to protect that.

Though small, Anansi was considered the right hand man of Lord Whistlegrimm himself. Anansi usually does a lot more roaming around Whistlegrimm as a bit of a problem solver (even if it means causing more problems… for the foes at least) and family man than stay with Lord. He has his own shenanigans to tend to, and god does he have fun while doing it! Of course, a long day’s work is made better by coming home to his lovable sons or to his nearest and dearest friend besides Lord himself… but who might that be?

Enter the marvelous Miss Molly Muffet, or Dr. Muffet for short— an actually professional doctor and one of the few who’s careful enough to tend to tiny critters like Anansi himself! She may look a little intimidating, but she truly never means any harm! She’s more sporadic and eccentric than anything, albeit a bit clumsy in other fields. But she’s perfect for her occupational work, and can surprisingly be trusted with doing what she does gently.

There’s actually quite a bit going on with this one and has a lot of different story inspirations tied together. Obviously there’s little miss muffet. But I also included inspiration from “Dr. Know-All” or “Miss Molly/Polly had a Dolly.” to exemplify more obvious doctor themes. As for her weird crab-like hair, the main character of Dr. Know-All is named Crabbe, and she also takes some Spider Crab inspiration to further tie her in with Anansi!

Her clothes are meant to resemble both traditional doctor wear (as in those fancy long coats) with some frilly ends like how a lot of depictions of Little Miss Muffet are. Also surprisingly, the actual origin of Little Miss Muffet has always been something very up for debate and one of the possible inspirations was actually the daughter of Dr. Thomas Muffet, who was a physician and an entomologist! Though it’s hard to say if this was actually the case. This makes the whole Dr. Know-All inspiration even funnier considering that Crabbe in that story didn’t actually know anything and was making well timed guesses as to everything going on… and is the whole Dr. Thomas Muffet thing not just a guess? Yeah, I said there was a lot to unpack.

I also legit forgot I did this but her eyes have a button look to make the Miss Molly Had A Dolly thing more obvious, but we’ll see how long that sticks.

(Also I’m so sorry I tag you so much all the time but huge thanks to @pazam for all the help she does for not just these character designs but so many others in Tags of Whistlegrimm <3)

I should clarify that there’s not too much to them yet in terms of everything that’s going to happen besides knowing the ending already, but this is a story where I want to tie everything in. Everything in Duck Duck Goose and Blind Man’s Bluff… well, I guess we can leave it at some questions will be answered, and that everything starts somewhere. Despite Spider’s Tag being the only one that’s actually confirmed to happen after DDG and BMB (which happen relatively at the same time), it’s gonna help pave the way for the events in this stories.

Not sure what else to say other than obviously stay tuned for more about Spider’s Tag and hopefully updates on its cast haha!! And also just a huge thank you to people who have shown interest in Tags of Whistlegrimm as a whole. I know I hype myself up as if there’s a large crowd here, but there’s really not a lot of people here. But I see every new note on my posts and even a like from a new viewer goes a long way for me. Even when I only get 5-6 notes, that’s a good sign for a tiny little obscure blog like me :) I just love sharing what I love and knowing that there’s someone out there who’s interested :) so thank you all who’ve ever taken interest in Tags of Whistlegrimm!!

[eolewyn1010]

Downton Abbey Fashion 1 - Edwardian mourning dresses

I have decided to stop planning into infinity and just start posting my collected thoughts on the fashion of Downton Abbey on my blog. So, this is the first in what will probably be a rather long series of posts, as I will separate them by season, sometimes by character, and in cases like today's by the purpose of the clothes in question. Nevermind my occasional snarky comments about the characters; I'm here for the fashion, not for the writing choices in Downton Abbey. Keep in mind that I will focus on the female characters because... frankly, I think Edwardian and onwards is the time when Western menswear gets supremely boring. And also, the vast majority of what I'm talking about here is high fashion. I will have a look at some of the servants' dresses, but their wardrobe is limited and they rarely get the prettier pieces of the cake. Shame.

Let's start with Season 1, which plays from April 1912 up to the beginning of the World War in the summer of 1914. And our dear Crawleys start the series in an exceptional situation regarding fashion - they are in official mourning (to Mary's resentment, but we'll get to that). Accordingly, four of Violet’s prominent 11 outfits in the first season (11? Wow, they sure blew up the dress budget later on…) are mourning outfits. Maybe three, because one of those is a heavy black coat and she wears it outside of mourning, too, but I think the character of Violet actually premiered in this.

Unfortunately, it rarely is seen in a light that does not make it look like a flat black blob. But that velvet is actually gorgeous (and might be dark blue instead of black? I dunno, it would be typical for movie outfits). And the sleeve decoration (those aren’t cuffs; they are like in the middle of the sleeve instead of at the hem) as well as the collar show actually some embroidery. There’s not much to be said for the structure – except for the shoulders, and these shoulders? Are very Victorian. Those are late 1890s’ shoulders. Yeah, the series starts out in 1912 and goes well into the mid-1920s, but to be honest, Violet’s fashion never quite gets there. Good on her for sticking to those lovely buttons and the fabulous feathered hats!

Speaking of 1890s, the sleeves on this evening dress are even a few years older than the previous coat. The poofy sleeves are starting to get off around 1895, I think? Give or take a year or two; sleeve fashions throughout the 1890s were highly specific, and I can’t remember every year’s specialty. They aren’t as structured as I would expect; perhaps that is Violet’s concession to the times. The silhouette certainly isn’t. Also interesting: In the first picture, Violet is visibly wearing her wedding ring. Huh. She’s been a widow for a while, and afaik her marriage was, while harmonic, not exactly passionate. So maybe she keeps wearing it as a part of her “duty and reputation above everything” mentality.

I first couldn’t distinguish this dress from the former and threw them in together – same sleeves, same silhouette, same neckline with a translucent bit closing up in a choker. But no, the bodice front isn’t as heavily embroidered, the lower sleeves are see-through. It also doesn’t seem to be employed as an evening gown, if the comparatively light bling is anything to go by. I like the fabric though; the pleating down the front makes me think it may be taffeta.

See what I mean about the comparatively light bling? This dress here? Is very definitely an evening dress. It’s practically nothing but blackwork, the whole top is encrusted with rhinestones, the sleeves and gloves are both made of lace. This is the height of fancy that Violet can do in official mourning. And it barely toes the threshold to the 20th century. Now, granted, the high neck and the pigeon chest are a thing throughout the 1910s, but the dresses slim down by that time. This looks massive and opulent. For as long as the rest of the family looks Edwardian, Violet’s dresses will have a distinctly Victorian feel to them. She’ll dabble in Edwardian fashion by the time the others have moved on to the Roaring 20s…

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I’m already getting bored of the black (Mary attitude? Not on this blog, I don’t). Time for Cora! Three mourning dresses out of a total of 20 notable outfits in the 1st season, that’s not a bad rate. Can’t wait to get to her gorgeous coats.

Speaking of coats. Look at this, and directly compare it to Violet’s first black coat. Granted, you could make a point for the structured Victorian shoulders. But the coat itself is way slimmer, not the wide thing Violet is wearing, but something that’s tailored to shape and actually shows off Cora’s figure, including a lack of chest poof. Pigeon chests haven’t died out until the mid-1910s, I think, but I don’t see it on Cora. That may be because Elizabeth McGovern has such a dainty figure and they wanted to show that off, so she’s very on top of the fashion for now. A shame that the picture doesn’t lend itself to a closer look at embroidery, but I applaud Cora’s endeavor to try and keep up with Violet’s massive hats.

That’s more like it! A house dress, this isn’t trying to drown Cora; it’s showing her off. I mean, it’s modest; it is a mourning dress with a high neck and all, but she looks nice in this. Early 1910s fashion dresses her well! I’m not sure how I feel about that giant pendant thing on her necklace (actually, I do; I hate it), so we’ll just ignore that and look at the dress instead. This rectangular sort of frame that the lace bands form on her chest is something that appears on a ton of late Edwardian lingerie dresses. Now, this mourning dress is of heavier material than those; it’s definitely made to look more severe. But the decoration elements, the narrow sleeves, the high waist, that’s pretty similar. Also, that dangly beads bit on her belt? That seems to evoke the kind of playful design that’ll dominate the late 1910s and then the 1920s.

Cora is still owning the Edwardian fashion with black chiffon, and I really enjoy looking at these sleeves. I wouldn’t enjoy wearing them; the swishy fabric would keep irritating me. But tops partially made of chiffon are kind of a thing for Cora’s early evening dresses, so this is some of the most skin she shows – even in mourning. I mean, the long gloves are mitigating that a bit, but the wide neckline with the delicate lace leaves space for some heavy jewelry. And that is old-fashioned, 19th-century jewelry; look at those clunky cabochons.

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Mary infamously established her character by complaining about having to go in mourning because black is so dull. Which is not only the first instance in a series of remarkably tactless behaviors; it’s also hilarious. Aside from maybe Violet, the Dowager™, Mary’s gotta be the protagonist who wears the most black, even outside of mourning. But alright, chickie; keep your attitude. For this season, it’s three of 21 outfits for this particular purpose.

Call me a contrarian, but I think Edwardian fashion isn’t terribly flattering for Mary the Fashion Queen of Downton Abbey. This is what she’s wearing for the memorial service for her cousin, and I dunno, the waist seems to make it one of the outfits that work the least in favor of Michelle Doherty’s lanky figure. In all fairness, she slays as soon as we hit 1920. It’s still a high-quality outfit, don’t get me wrong. Simple cut, I’m a fan of the white details, the hat with the velvet flowers is lovely. I’m actively appalled by the handbag though. Wasn’t this the time before reasonable pockets died out?? I feel betrayed.

A bored look and an evening dress, if that isn’t a Mary vibe. Also, evening garb is time to show some skin, and what I find interesting is that, different than her mother and grandmother, she’s wearing costume jewelry. It’s a good fit to the netting with rhinestones her dress is made of (going with the principle of simple cut, intricate material), but I didn’t know it was a thing before 1920s’ art deco. Huh.

Fancy black lace there! I like it. The dress is more tailored to fit than the previous, and again, I’m not a great fan of Mary wearing Edwardian. But maybe it’s the wide round or square necklines? Mary usually goes for Vs during most of the season. Ah, well. She sure combines her jewelry well with embroidered chiffon.

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Edith, my girl. They’re doing her looks so dirty this season. This was when she was still the ‘plain’, ‘shrew’ sister. And then, Mary also peed on her for genuinely grieving her cousin. How dare she.

Her memorial service dress, and instantly I go “she’s wearing this better than Mary does hers in the same scene”. And it’s not because she doesn’t have Michelle Dockery’s wide shoulders; it’s because in her case they don’t try to compliment a tall, flat figure with a cut that isn’t made for it. There’s more material on chest and waist here, bunching up in a way that Edwardian blouses often did at the tail end of pigeon chest fashion. I really like the hat, full set with feathers, bow, and netting veil, as well as the collars of both the blouse and the jacket… wait a second, is that a handbag??

Another dress with a lot of blackwork on the top to a simple skirt, and I’m here for it. I wish they would allow her a decent hairdo, but we gotta dress her down somehow, because that nice necklace sure isn’t gonna do the job. In comparison to Mary’s and Sybil’s black evening dresses this season, this looks unassuming and understated, but the cut dresses her well, and the lack of bling on the dress itself allows the necklace to pop nicely. Maybe too nicely, because the next one is a mess.

I wonder how often they had to tell Laura Carmichael throughout the first season to pull this face, not to smile her natural smile (which is gorgeous), and to press her chin down to make it look less defined. Because… she is a beautiful woman, and they didn’t want Edith to look beautiful. They let an unflattering hairdo and a bad posture do the job. Or a dress like this that is made of tulle and lace and all fancy, but looks like it doesn’t fit her. Why does this fit so badly? The sleeves, the uneven V on the front, it’s all over the place. Something went really wrong with the layering here.

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Last batch of first season’s mourning dresses, for Sybil! The youngest Crawley daughter is a genuine sweetheart, different than Mary, and she holds the writer’s favor, different than Edith, so she’s consistently dressed to look pretty and charming and girlish.

On that matter, I envy her that jacket. Look at the lapels and the buttoned front! Shame we don’t see too much of this outfit; the focus of the scene is on Mary being nasty to Edith. But I love the structured fabric they used for the framing. Interesting that she gets away with a brown ribbon around the hat; it's not like they couldn't swap those (and Sybil does a few times over the course of her runtime with other hats).

Not the greatest look at the dress, but it’s the best I got… Doesn’t Sybil just have lovely hair? With Edith, they use these kind of curls or buckles to both sides of her face to make her hairdo look unbalanced, but with Sybil, they went for cuteness and a young look, so she gets her hair tied up in the neck instead of an updo – I’m pretty sure Sybil is only 18 here. The top of her dress seems to be overlayed with lace, and the sleeves are gorgeous!

Different dress, different jewelry! The previous one went for costume jewelry, but this pendant is at least made to look like the real deal. And that giant hairbow! Sybil looks inappropriately chipper for mourning time; I keep expecting her to bounce over flowery meadows. And she gets more lovely lace sleeves.