#caffeine pouches

[hnpillow]

NOX | HNPillow

NOX by HNPillow redefines the nicotine pouch experience with its ultra-smooth texture and intense flavor profile. Engineered for a slow and steady nicotine release, NOX ensures maximum satisfaction without compromising on quality. Ideal for users seeking a potent yet refined alternative to smoking, NOX pouches are a modern, smoke-free solution for a premium lifestyle.

[android-anathema]

how did we fuck nicotine up so badly???? it's not that dangerous on its own but we keep trying to smoke it and vape it and shit and it gets a whole bunch of weird carcinogenic shit mixed in or in the best case scenario if some totally safe vape mix was made one day its still hot enough to permanently damage your lungs blood vessels literally just get pure nicotine in powder form and snort it. if instead of alcohol and smoking and vaping we just did lines of nicotine and heroin the world would be a happier and safer place

[shouts-into-the-void]

I am surviving on Tiger Balm, Epsom Salt, an extra large bottle of Ibrupofen, and so so so so much caffeine

[goodluckb4be]

0 days since having the thought “i should delete tiktok (off my phone)”

[dnangelic]

for him , she says , and his expression immediately shifts --- his lips curl into a small smile and he flutters his lashes at her , first innocently then exaggerated with playful purpose , his heart fluttering just a little with ... but not too much .

' you sure know how to spoil . ' it's a tongue-in-cheek remark . he knows that sakura , across all sorts of fronts , was as utterly hopeless as she was oblivious . but she still had the sort of sincerity that sometimes pierced through every smoke-and-mirror barrier , through the thorny nettle forest until it reached his very heart .

he says nothing more as sakura staggers backwards and fast stumbles over her own words . his posture adjusts itself : a cheek ends up pushed into the center of his cold , smooth palm . ' i'll keep eating as long as you keep feeding me . ' the twinkle in his eye is awfully expectant . ' is it wrong to want to try out something new every once in a while , too ? '

it wouldn't have surprised him to end up chided for trying to answer a question with another question , but it was the truth .

' some people are fine with sticking to what they know for the rest of their lives , but i think that gets boring . the more things you try , the more things you can say that you like or dislike --- it's the experience that's the most valuable to me . ' sure , there might have been a few other reasons . things like making sure his --- daisuke's body didn't end up collapsing , or wanting an excuse to loiter around in public for once , but they all felt like excuses in the face of his truest desire , which was to simply spend what precious time he was allowed and allotted with the other .

with sakura ; someone he not only knew and could recognize but trusted .

' besides , something like this every once in a while between us isn't so bad , right ? ' the spoon arrives , and another lyre-chord hum leaves his throat as he opens his mouth , flashes his teeth , and takes his gentle bite . ' i don't get an appetite unless i'm with another person . if you left , or if you weren't here from the start , i wouldn't have bothered at all with something like this . '

She knows she’s bein’ baited for fun. She knows it. Still, though, she growls, “Grrr, ya better not be, dammit, or I won’t feed ya nothin’ ever again!”

Her frown turns itself into a full-blown scowl for a quick second; not that she’s one to think he’d use any’a the ways for any genuine malice against’er—and it ain’t like he’s ever really been cruel to her, either—it ain’t like a warning ever killed nobody. It’s not like this’ the first time she’s gotten after him, in particular, for some shit like this, anyway, so she figures it’s all fine.

“But no I don’t.” Still snappin’, she pulls both herself and the spoon back when he’s done with it; setting the latter against the rim of the jelly’s plate so she can rub at her free hand’s wrist, too (she didn’t throw’erself back, at least, but his cold-ass hands always leave’er with goosebumps, and she hates it—hates that she has to rub his touch away at all, too), her scowl levels out into a bonafide pout. “It’s for you, anyway, so it wasn’t like I was plannin’ on it in the first place.”

His description of it all doesn’t help, though; it isn’t a bad one, really, she’s just not a big fan of either of those things. Her incident with mizu yokan, especially, still kinda pisses her off...

Not that they need’a go talkin’ about all that, though.

“Ya better eat it all ‘cause’a that, yanno.” She adds on after a second. Then, as a beat passes; “N-not because I said so or nothin’, I just—I dunno who the hell else’d eat it if you don’t...

“But, hey—why’d ya wanna try it so damn bad, anyway?”

‘s just genuine curiousity, now, since he’d made a fuss about it enough that they came out just for it; and, sure, she’d been the one to talk about it herself after she tried it with a certain team leader, and it wasn’t anything special to any other fuss he’s made before, but she figures she may as well ask just to know. Warnin’im ain’t a harm, and neither’s askin’ something like this, either, she’s pretty sure, so What the hell, yanno?

(Also, she’s pretty sure there’s some kinda somethin’ about learnin’ the wants and interests of the people in her life, or somethin’, but...)

Since answerin’ the question’s all on whatever he decides to do, Haruka’s already let go’a herself and grabbed the spoon again, running it through the dessert to raise back up to his face (all prior protests for nothin’, it seems...).

“Here, though,” and despite her quick-temper and the way she huffs this out, she’s just about cooled back down again. “‘s another one, so open up.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unorthodox 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you bring order to the disordered life of Captain Syverson.

Characters: Captain Syverson, this reader is known as Izzie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

The rumble keeps you awake. A storm but not the type in the sky. You yawn and lean against the hummer door, jostling with the wheels as the roaring snores fill the compartment. Pierson drives and sends dark looks in the rear view, equally as disturbed by the burly man snorting and snuffing beside you. Neither of you dare disturb him. You’re not that dumb. 

The man is intimidating even in slumber. You pull on the seat belt and adjust your posture. The hours spent in the back seat have you stiff and restless. You envy Syverson. He can sleep through anything. You really believe that. If it wasn't for you, he'd oversleep the alarm in his phone every time. 

You yawn as you sense Pierson's attitude shift. You're almost there. He nods at you in the mirror and you sigh. You reach to grab the thermos that will be lukewarm at best by now. Still, you have to appease the bear. 

You reach to squeeze Sy's shoulder. He snorts and sucks in a deep breath. You try to shake him, an impossible task for most. You brush your fingers down his sleep and poke his muscle. 

"Syverson," you say tersely, "time to wake up." 

He slumps away from you and snores even louder. You roll your eyes. He's stubborn even when he's asleep. You pull your hand back and snap your knuckles against his arm. 

"Sy! Up." 

Still he is unaffected. You undo your seat belt and move closer. You uncap the thermos and reach around him, hovering it under his nose. He quiets and sniffs, grumbling. He moves stuntedly to wrap his hand around yours and slide the metal cup free. He sits up and purrs over the brim.  

"Coffee," he growls and gulps deep. 

"About there," Pierson states. 

Sy hums flatly and finishes the coffee in another swig. He hands back the empty cup and you shimmy back to other end of the seat. You cap the thermos and put it back in the plastic holder. 

"Remind me," he flicks two fingers at you. 

You stir around and bring out your tablet, sliding back the protective cover. You tap and bring up the contract, flicking through the maps as you go over the numbers. Units in the east, with another party coming from the north. Estimates are about sixty men total, fifteen vehicles, and ammunition to match. 

"They're tryin' to short us," Sy insists. "I can sell half as many for double." 

"Yes, you can," you agree, "but you also need to network." 

He chortles, "this isn't a boardroom, Izzie." 

"Don't I know it," you utter. You miss those days sometimes. Sand and sun make you long for climate control and complimentary coffee. "Money is money, I get it, but this is a big one. Could open a lot of doors. Make it so you can demand your worth." 

"Mm, so wise," he praises in his grizzly way, "kit." 

You fold up the tablet cover and once more search around the pack. You take out the toiletry pouch and hand it over. He finds the mini toothbrush and uses a gulp of the bottled water to wash up, spitting out the window. As he checks his watch, you reach over with a tissue to wipe a spot of paste from his beard. 

"Thanks, Iz." 

You go about cleaning up yourself. Worse than the cold caffeine and sleepless night, its the lack of hygiene that gets to you most. You use a face wipe on your skin and ball it up. The money is convincing and as much as you might long for the old ways, those office walls drove you mad. 

"I need a fuckin' drink," Sy grumbles as he rubs his eyes. 

"Tell me about it," you scoff. 

"Huh? You never do." 

"Not with you," you counter. "Don't drink on the clock." 

"Mm, so you do partake?" 

"None of your business." 

"Ah, come on, Iz, you can't dangle the bait in front of me like that." 

"You got your vest on?" You ask. 

"Always. Don't change the subject." 

"Not much else to say about it," you zip up the pack and sit back, watching through the windshield, a cage between the front and backseats.  

Sy straps on his fingerless gloves and furls and unfurls his fists. He's getting impatient. He always gets a bit uppity before a meeting. Especially with money on the line. You don't doubt him for a minute. He handles numbers as well as he does a gun. 

"Let's say I get them to tack on another fifty," he says, "will you drink to that?" 

You look at him from the corner of your eye, "depends." 

"Depends on what?" He challenges. 

"No Titos." 

He's quiet as he drags his boot tread on the floor. Even in such a large vehicle, he's cramped. 

"How'd you know?" 

"Someone has to keep your pantry stocked," you tut. 

He chuckles, "s'pose." 

You tidy yourself as best as you can and set your jaw. It took a lot to get used to the whole not smiling thing. You were never very keen on it but every job you had before required it. 

"You get this one, you get a lot more than money," you gird. "I know you will." 

"Ah, you trust me, Izzie." 

"Trust is a strong word. I know you'll handle it," you say as you stretch your legs, checking your own vest as you tighten the straps.  You sense him watching you. 

"Eh, I think I might let you take lead," he snorts, "you can be terrifying when ya want to." 

"Whatever," you shrug off the joke. Scary? You? 

What's scary is walking into a job interview with a brute sharpening a hunting knife as casually he might clean his nails. Scarier even is to say yes to the offer. Life does lead you to the most unexpected places. Still, you prefer it to the purgatory of predictability house in the white corporate walls of the past.  

[xothatnerdykid]

Aizawa x Reader Established Relationship Headcanons

(Cannot, for the life of me, get over my writer's block but I've still got Aizawa brainrot thanks to s7 so here.)

I might be in the minority here but I don't think Aizawa would smoke. He eats healthy and works out to keep his body in shape. Why would he compromise his health by smoking?

His only vices are chronic snacking (he loves those jelly pouch things) and caffeine.

He's usually up 'til dawn most days because duh, he works two jobs (hence the 5-7 shots of espresso in his coffee). 

Despite his sleep deprivation most days, he is soooo sexy when he wakes up in the morning. Messy hair. Baggy shirt and boxers. Or sometimes a body hugging tank top and sweatpants. And his voice — his raspy, sleep-addled voice. The feeling of his stubble against the smooth planes of your face waking you up. 

He doesn’t usually cook breakfast but he does always brew a fresh pot of coffee for you. And he never leaves without a kiss goodbye, even when you’re still snuggled up in bed, asleep.

When you first start dating, Shouta talks to you pretty much the same way he talks to everyone else. So curt and succinct, you sometimes used to wonder if he was upset with you. He’d usually get confused as to what made you ask that, and then explained that he’s just a man of a few words, that’s all. 

As your relationship becomes more established, you notice subtle shifts in the way he communicates. It's not a sudden change, but your conversations start to feel more like a secret code over time, filled with inside jokes that never fail to make him smirk.

Shouta’s love language is definitely acts of service. He’s a pragmatic, action-oriented person who values efficiency. So of course he’d think that actions speak louder than words when it comes to letting someone know your true feelings. 

That’s why he loves it when he comes home to your cooking, especially when you surprise him with his favorite dish. Because after 16-hours or so of working two jobs, he usually just passes out on the couch the moment he gets home and you’re not around.

He feels so bad when he comes home too late sometimes and finds you already asleep and his dinner sitting cold on the stovetop or in the fridge. He always makes sure to make it up to you by preparing breakfast the next day or…other…pleasing ways…

Seeing you take care of Sushi, the cat his very-well-and-alive friend Nemuri sometimes asks him to babysit, makes him feel all warm inside, too (although he doesn’t actually admit it, you just catch him smiling softly at you sometimes and quickly looking away when you notice).

As for how he expresses his love for you, it mostly comes in the form of acts of service, too, as well as gifts and physical touch.

Shouta’s romantic gestures are like rare collectibles. They often come as a surprise, but when they happen, you cherish them dearly. He'll surprise you with a thoughtful gift and leave it on your desk with a simple, "Saw this and thought of you."

He won't serenade you under the moonlight or anything, but he'll make you a warm cup of tea when you're tired, or wrap a scarf around you when it's cold.

You don't really have time to go out on dates most weeks, but when you do, you're either at a quiet restaurant or taking a walk through nature in the parks. 

His favorite thing to do is sit with you by the window sill on rainy days and just have you snuggle up to him, bundled in his arms, while you read or do your own thing in comfortable silence.

Fighting with Shouta was like having a verbal sparring match. He’s always strategic, although his patience wears thin sometimes, even with you. Still, he knew when to bring something up and when to back down. 

He won't shy away from a disagreement, but he's not one to let it linger. He’ll tackle the issue head-on, find a compromise, and move on.

One of your favorite things about him was that he never held a grudge or took conflicts personally.  

Shouta’s life is a constant juggle between being a pro hero, a UA teacher, a single dad, and being your boyfriend. But oh, does he master it.

At first you thought maybe he was just a really efficient and organized planner, but one look at him, his apartment, his phone, and his non-existent planner told you otherwise.

“How do you plan on getting all of this done?” You often ask him about his mountain of papers to grade and reports to submit, to which he just shrugs.

“I don’t know, the usual? Coffee. Eye drops.” He sucks on his second jelly pouch of the day and goes back to his cluttered desk, papers strewn about like fallen leaves. "Duct taping my eyelids," he grumbles the last part under his breath.

You laugh, watching him from the couch with a fond look in your eyes. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

He looks up, one eyebrow raised. “For what? Managing to stay awake?”

“For…everything,” you shrug, walking over to perch yourself atop the edge of his desk. “For being you.”

He hums appreciatively as he pulls you closer by the waist.

“I don’t know how you do it, but I’m grateful.”

He glances up at you, smiling a little. You scratch at the stubble on his chin. 

“Ready to call it a night?”

“Not quite,” he smirks before leaning up to kiss you fervently, tangling his hands in your hair.

Both of you slept better than you have all week. Afterwards.

You occasionally surprise him by finding him when he’s out on patrol and checking up on him. You love seeing him like this, in his element. He’s so kind to all the people he helps…

(A lot of the time, you end up making out against an alleyway or with him hanging upside down from a fire escape, but that’s neither here nor there.) 

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Drabbles of MC reflecting M6's love language or doing things for their beloved that their beloved does for them?

So like, carving wood figures for Muriel and getting him new tools when his wear down too much, getting Nadia thoughtful gifts that she would appreciate, spending time with Portia and Asra, and I think Julian and Lucio would love big dramatic displays of love

The Arcana HCs: Reflecting M6's love languages

Julian

Oh. Oh my. Be still, his rapidly beating heart (he really needs to cut back on the caffeine, but at least half of this is genuinely because of you) You're giving him affection?? In the best possible way???

You're fussing over his physical wellbeing when he's had a long day and helping him wind down?

You're playing music for him or telling him a story from your past?

By far your best stunt was when you decided to visit his clinic while it was closing to surprise him with a picnic dinner date

The front door was locked when you got there, so you decided to go through the back instead with the spare key he put in your bag a while back and completely forgot about ...

On your way through the back room, you spotted some of the spare uniforms and decided to throw on one of the coats and masks (as one does) to better surprise him

The surprised fumble, dramatic "en guarde!", and theatrical flourish with his own doctor's coat that you got when you surprised him was so typical of your first meeting that you fell apart laughing

The picnic on the docks afterwards where you reminisced on your (very successful) relationship so far was delightful

Asra

Oh, they're not used to this, and it's making them feel safe and loved and grounded in ways they don't know how to handle

You're offering constant reassuring physical touch, but leaving it up to him to accept it/only going ahead if he says yes first?

You're going out of your way to make safe, comfy spaces for them to take quick catnaps and breaks from the world and bringing them tea when they're deep in thought?

You're constantly bringing home things that reminded you of him and finding new niche experiences to treat him to?

They are turning into a puddle. They are melting through the floor. If this keeps up there will be water in their eyes and there is never water in their eyes -

It's not that he's incapable of accepting love, it's that he's become accustomed to carrying so incredibly much of it for you and expecting nothing in return, finding his reward in your happiness

But now it's like you're turning it all back on them and the connection they already feel with you is vibrant and alive in ways they never dreamed of experiencing

He can't help it, he is returning every single gesture no matter what

Nadia

This is a little hard to pull off, at first, given how much of Nadia's love language shows up in the way she uses her vast resources to pamper you and make you feel special and important

Unlike her, you have about as much money as you need to live comfortably in the apartment above your shop. You don't have enough to commission seven gold owls in her honor

However, what's quickly obvious about her gifts isn't how much money she put into them, it's how closely she noticed your little wants and went out of her way to meet them

And now you can do the same

Keeping a small heating surface and teapot in her suite so you can have her favorite brew hot and fresh when she wakes up

Stitching a pouch of soothing, memory and focus boosting herbs onto a decorative scarf for her to use between meetings

Tending to Chandra for a little while every day so she doesn't have to worry about her familiar going neglected for very long

Introducing her to the glorious (though not very fashionable) concept of long underwear for the chillier Vesuvian months

You doing this without making her feel small is what she loves

Muriel

... help

This is so, so strange to him, he has no point of reference for this and therefore little to no means to control how he reacts

You noticed how he likes to take care of the charms around the hut and repaired one for him when it was starting to fall apart?

You spent hours sitting next to him quietly until he found the words for his troubles, and then listened to him??

You even learned how to embroider so you could start putting together a new tapestry of the life you're building with him???

What nearly breaks him is when you start to cook dinners for him when he already has a habit of cooking breakfast

Sure, having a life where food is consistent is something he doesn't take for granted, and he's held onto the value of it long enough to make sure anyone who stays a while gets something (eggs)

But now it's a whole new level of safety and care where he can trust that neither of you are going to bed on an empty stomach, and he doesn't even have to worry about there being enough

If you start carving little companions for the wooden animals he's made and set them up like they're snuggling he'll implode

Portia

Is she used to receiving affection? Yes. She's a fairly well-adjusted adult with unmatched people skills, her friend group and social network are vast and she rarely goes forgotten

Is she used to being somebody's first affection recipient? ... not so much, no. She's the person who gets called up after her important people have called up their most important people

So to be your most important person ... that's new

She's hearing something from you before you've told anyone else?

You're not deciding on whether to attend an event until you know if she's going? She's the person you look at when you find something beautiful or funny because you want to see her reaction first?

And let's not even get in to the ways you praise the efforts that usually go unnoticed or the work you've put into knowing her

Not only do you check in on how she's feeling, you don't even need her to tell you half the time. You can read it on her face

And you don't act like it's below you to support her when she's so used to supporting others. You even bring her lunch so she eats!

There's always plenty of affection when she's around, but to be noticed and known and important - that matters to her most

Lucio

Just. Be proud of him? (yes, he's grown enough to know that that's a big ask, depending on the situation -)

His instinctive way to show you how much he loves you is to make a big deal out of you and what you mean to him. Bragging about what a good person you are, what a happy life you have, etc

But if you do the same for him? After years of knowing (even though he wouldn't admit it) that he wasn't necessarily someone whose fondness people would be especially proud of?

Man, you make being a good person sound amazing

If you brag about his swordmanship and survival instincts to other journeymen in a tavern after a finished job, he'll stare at you with stars in his eyes. If you call him handsome, he'll melt

Don't even get started on the massive boost to his security if you show him off. You ask him to give you a flourish while he's trying on a new red cape and compliment it to the vendor?

He'll be thinking about it all day (he might walk into a tree)

He remembers being a source of social discomfort for his ex-wife (and worse, his mother's shame for raising him poorly) but the moment you loudly call him yours it gets just a little bit lighter

[hnpillow]

WYLD | HNPillow

WYLD by HNPillow is a premium nicotine pouch designed for those who crave an exhilarating and long-lasting experience. With its bold flavors and smooth texture, WYLD delivers a refreshing nicotine release without the harshness of traditional tobacco products. Crafted for convenience and discretion, WYLD pouches provide a satisfying sensation, whether you're on the go or unwinding at home.

[honorarysimp]

Chapter 3: Honeycomb

series masterlist

The manor is a chaotic mix of half-packed boxes and disarrayed belongings.

There's an assortment of boxes accumulated, some hastily packed and stacked against the walls. Others sitting open, their contents scattered on the once-polished hardwood flooring.

Everywhere you look, there's evidence of neglect, cobwebs in the corners, and a layer of dust that's settled over nearly everything.

It makes you wonder just how bad of a condition your Pop was in before he kicked the bucket.

The only things infusing life into the manor are the fresh smell of coffee you purchased from town this morning and the soft melodies of music coming from the speaker of your phone nearby.

The aroma of the coffee drifts through the air, mixing with the faint melody to create a small pocket of vibrancy in the otherwise stale air of the abandoned estate.

You stand and stretch, feeling your back pop with a mix of relief and soreness. The thought of getting a hotel room crosses your mind — it would be so much more comfortable than sleeping on the park bench. But something in the back of your mind nags at you, telling you to stick it out just a bit longer.

But getting a hotel room could invite comfortability, which could indirectly coax you into staying longer than you care to.

And staying here is not an option.

You brush the thought away, deciding to tough it out and continue packing. You don’t want to take your time with this, you want to be done with it as soon as possible and leave as soon as possible.

As your mind wanders, the caffeine from the coffee seems to steady your thoughts, allowing you to replay the events of the past few days in your mind.

You've been back in town for three days, but it seems like a lifetime. The memories flood your mind as you pack — the funeral, facing the tormentors of your past, meeting Lorraine again, the strange mix of familiarity and tension you feel in her presence.

Your mind drifts to the strange pouch you discovered in Bobby-Lynn's room, but you shake off the thought immediately. It's not your business, you tell yourself.

Trying to understand the pouch, or making it your problem, will only invite trouble. You continue to pack, determined to stay focused on the task at hand and avoid getting tangled in anything more complicated.

Yet… curiosity continues to gnaw at you as the thought crosses your mind.

Why would vindictive women like Bobby-Lynn and Maxine be suddenly so friendly with Lorraine, the one they constantly degraded in high school?

Not to mention RJ, who you definitely remember Wayne gave hell to for years.

And now they’re all buddy buddy? It just doesn’t add up.

Or maybe that just happens naturally overtime when you stay stuck in your small hometown in the middle of nowhere.

Questions start to swirl in your mind, making you wonder if there's more to the story, if perhaps these women have somehow roped Lorraine into something.

The thought of Lorraine being involved in something sinister makes your protective instincts flare.

A sharp and unexpected knock on the manor’s front door cuts through the music and the noisy thoughts in your head, making you stand upright. Your gaze instinctively flits towards the foyer, your senses suddenly on high alert.

You stride towards the front door, intending to peek through the peep hole to see who's outside. However, before you can reach the door, another knock rings out, followed by a loud, familiar voice on the other side. You can't quite pick out the person's words, but the sound of the voice instantly makes a scowl form on your face.

You swing the front door open, and there stand the three women who have been occupying your thoughts all morning — Bobby-Lynn, Maxine, and Lorraine.

The sight of all three of them together on your doorstep sends a mix of annoyance and unease through you.

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms in an attempt to appear nonchalant. "Sorry ladies," you say sarcastically, "I won't be buying Girl Scout cookies today." Your gaze flickers between them, your defenses slowly rising in the presence of their unexpected and unpleasant visit.

The corners of Lorraine's lips twitch with a concealed smile as Bobby-Lynn steps forward with a fake smile plastered on her face.

"Lorraine mentioned wanting to stop by," she says, her voice dripping with pretend sweetness, "we reckon you wouldn't be opposed to havin’ some extra hands to help, would you?"

Maxine nods beside her, a sly gleam in her eyes.

Your unfiltered thoughts spill out of your mouth as you speak your mind. "I told Lorraine she could come by if she wanted," you say bluntly, your irritation clear in your tone.

"Not you two folk, and if I needed help, I would have asked. Which I did not” you gesture to the two of them from where your arms are still crossed. Maxine smirks at your statement, while Bobby-Lynn's smile turns smug.

Bobby-Lynn and Maxine exchange a glance, a spark of challenge in their eyes. Your refusal to welcome them in seems to fuel their determination.

"C’mon now," Bobby-Lynn chimes in, her voice dripping with feigned innocence “what, you don't trust us or somethin'? We just wanna help”.

As you begin to protest, Lorraine's gentle voice cuts in, her words silencing you.

"Rooks ain’t said none of that” her voice soft but firm, she shoots Bobby-Lynn and Maxine a reproachful glance before turning back to you.

"They're just tryin’ to be helpful” she murmurs, her expression silently asking you to not be so defensive for her sake.

You sense a change in your demeanor as Lorraine turns her attention back to you, a distinct caw echoes nearby. Your irritation eases, replaced by a strange mix of gratitude and something deeper. You find yourself faltering in front of her, unable to maintain the same defensive front.

It's as if her presence has an inexplicable effect on you, causing your usual walls to crumble. You hate how weak she makes you feel, yet at the same time, you're silently grateful for her calming influence.

You reluctantly step back, your feet moving even before you fully make up your mind. You silently grumble as you slowly move aside, pushing the door back open just wide enough to let the women pass through.

Bobby-Lynn and Maxine happily waltz into the manor, their grins widening as they saunter past you.

Lorraine hesitates in the doorway, her gaze lifting to meet yours. A soft smile forms on her lips as she murmurs a sincere "thank you" for your efforts to be civil.

Her eyes hold a hint of appreciation, silently acknowledging the way you've been trying to be polite despite your reservations about her new companions.

The moment passes quickly, and without a word, she follows the others inside, leaving you standing by the door.

As the door clicks shut behind you, you release a weary sigh, bracing yourself for the unexpected intrusion into your once-peaceful morning.

Mentally preparing yourself for the company of these women, you steel yourself for the unknown length of time you'll have to endure their presence in the manor.

As hours pass, to your surprise, you find yourself strangely enjoying their company.

Despite your initial reservations, Bobby-Lynn and Maxine seem far more subdued and mellowed out than they used to be in high school.

The four of you work together to sort through your Pop's belongings, and a sense of unexpected ease settles over the task.

As you sift through the chaotic mess of old belongings, you can't help but notice the way Bobby-Lynn and Maxine crack jokes, making the task almost... bearable.

You observe Lorraine silently working beside you, her focus on the task at hand, but you catch her stealing glances at you occasionally.

It's as if these women have transformed into different people altogether, and you can't help but wonder what brought about this change.

Bobby-Lynn continues to fold down the flaps of one of the multiple boxes you've all filled, and she turns to you with a casual question.

"So, you got any plans tonight?"

You dart a quick glance towards Lorraine who is working nearby, not-so-inconspicuously listening in.

You hesitate before replying to Bobby-Lynn, questioning her question. "Uh... just this," you gesture towards the boxes surrounding you, "why?"

With an over-the-top cutesy gesture, Bobby-Lynn rests her elbows on a nearby box and props her chin up on her fists, another award-winning smile lighting up her face.

She answers smoothly, her voice dripping with persuasion “we're havin’ a bonfire tonight out at Jackson’s. You should come, y’know, for old times' sake”.

Despite Bobby-Lynn's attempts to entice you with the offer, your expression remains impassive. You give a noncommittal shrug, the idea of attending a bonfire with everyone isn’t currently sounding like a thrilling prospect.

You reply with a neutral tone, adding a condition to your potential attendance "depends, will all the guys be there?"

Your voice is casual, but your words make your stance clear — you aren't keen on attending the bonfire if RJ and Wayne are going to be there.

Bobby-Lynn responds with a nod, her insistence evident in her voice. "Yeah, ‘course they will! It'll be a real blast. C'mon, it'll be better this time around, I swear."

You shoot Bobby-Lynn an unintentionally comical look, one that perfectly expresses your disbelief and skepticism about her promise.

Your expression causes Lorraine, who's been quietly watching the exchange, to let out a stifled laugh. She tries to hide it behind her hand, but her amusement is evident nonetheless.

Bobby-Lynn scoffs in mild frustration, straightening up and turning to Lorraine, her voice exuding annoyance "Lorraine! Tell Rooks to come for godsake! The damn stubborn ass only listens to you!"

Lorraine raises her hands in mock innocence, her feigned obliviousness all too apparent.

Despite the situation, a smile threatens to form on your lips, and you attempt to shake it off as you continue packing your Pops’ belongings into a box.

As Bobby-Lynn's protests to Lorraine become background noise, you suddenly notice that Maxine has vanished from the scene. The realization causes you to pause, wondering where she could have gone. You scan the room quietly, your focus shifting from the half-packed boxes around you to the surroundings, searching for Maxine's whereabouts.

Your mind races to figure out where Maxine could have gone and what she could be up to. The sudden disappearance leaves you slightly uneasy, and a sense of suspicion begins to grow within you.

You continue to glance around discreetly, and wait a bit, because chances are she slipped off to find the bathroom.

But why not ask where it is? She’s never been here before, not to your knowledge at least, she would’ve asked if that was the case.

You bide your time, waiting for an opportune moment to slip away unnoticed. Once Lorraine and Bobby-Lynn are sufficiently distracted with their banter, you quietly make your escape, moving stealthily through the manor in search of Maxine. Your steps are silent as you proceed, your determination growing with each step.

It doesn’t take long for you to find her.

You locate Maxine in your Pops’ old study upstairs, her fingers tracing along the spines of the books on the shelf lining the wall.

The sight of her in this room, touching your Pops’ belongings, causes a flicker of irritation to surface within you.

How dare she? You, his only child, would get a tearing into so help you set foot past the threshold, and she just lets herself in?

Anxiety courses through your veins as you step into the room — old habits die hard — footsteps deliberate and intended to alert her of your presence.

Maxine doesn't even acknowledge your presence, continuing to scan the spines of the books as she speaks. Her words are casual, her tone nonchalant as she reflects on the room's decor. "I always wondered what the Mayor’s private office looked like," she muses aloud.

Irritation flickers within you as you respond, your voice laced with annoyance at Maxine's nonchalance, “now you know what it looks like. Anythin’ else you need to satisfy your curiosity?"

Maxine glances over her shoulder, her vixen stare meeting your gaze. The look on her face is a mix of innocence and subtle suggestion.

She responds, her voice as innocent as her gaze, though the underlying meanings behind her words are clear “oh, I'm sure there's plenty more here to satisfy my curiosity”.

Her words and her stare leave you feeling unsettled. The suggestive undertones in her voice and the knowing look in her eyes ignite a sense of unease within you. You straighten your stance and narrow your gaze, sizing her up.

“Don’t even try that here, you go on and take that bullshit and shove it up Wayne’s ass for me” you say bluntly, crossing your arms as you glare her down without remorse.

Maxine feigns looking around the room, her body slowly turning towards yours “for what it’s worth,” she takes deliberate steps in your direction, her movements almost calculated.

As she approaches, her voice continues, dripping with nonchalance as her movements bring her closer to you “your Pop was just as strange as you are," she adds, a sly smile playing at the corner of her lips.

Her words ignite a spark of anger within you. Her audacity and presumption in speaking about your Pop, as if she knows him or you, infuriates you.

You try to bite back a sharp retort, your jaw clenching as you try to control your rising irritation. Your voice is taut with underlying anger as you respond, “watch your mouth, you don’t know shit about me or my Pop”.

Maxine remains undisturbed by your outburst, her gaze steady as she continues to approach you. As she nears you, she casually drops a hint, her voice dropping to a lower decibel.

"Oh, believe me, I know more than you do”.

Maxine stops within the doorway, standing close to you, her presence palpable and suffocating. Her eyes lock onto yours, a silent standoff between the two of you.

With a sly smile, she muses aloud, her voice dripping with intrigue “I can only imagine what secrets might be hidden in this old place, just might be the death of you”.

With that, Maxine smirks, her gaze trailing slowly up and down your figure. The look in her eyes is both challenging and appraising.

Then without another word, she turns on her heel and leaves. Exiting the study to rejoin the others downstairs, leaving you standing in the silence of your thoughts.

You take a moment to process the strange encounter with Maxine, your mind racing with unanswered questions. But then you snap out of your thoughts, refocusing your attention to the task at hand.

You begin checking the room, meticulously searching for anything that might be missing or out of place. Your senses are heightened, your intuition on full alert as you carefully comb through the study.

As you filter through the study, nothing appears out of place. However, Maxine's words continue to linger in your mind, creating a nagging feeling that something may be hidden.

Even if anything was missing, you probably wouldn’t notice, you can count on one hand how many times you’ve been inside this study.

Despite the seemingly undisturbed room, her cryptic comment about secrets hidden right in front of you casts a shadow of doubt over the room's appearance.

You shake off the lingering doubt, reminding yourself to revisit the room later. At the moment, you're focused on getting everyone out of the manor, your trust in Lorraine to keep the other two in check only goes so far.

Despite Lorraine’s presence, you’re not entirely comfortable with these women poking around in your Pops’ old place thinking you aren’t paying attention.

With a final glance around the study, you exit and make your way downstairs, the sound of muffled conversation from Bobby-Lynn and Lorraine guiding you towards them.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, you discover that all three of the women are already at the front door, preparing to leave. Maxine maintains her usual indifferent demeanor, exiting the manor nonchalantly, followed closely by Bobby-Lynn.

Bobby-Lynn's voice rings through the air as she calls out, her words firm and authoritative “we'll be seein’ you tonight, Rooks! You ain't got a choice in the matter!"

You stand in the now-empty foyer, your gaze fixed on the two women as they descend the steps of the front porch and make their way to their car.

Lorraine still stands nearby, lingering in the doorway. You slowly approach, your mind still preoccupied by Maxine's ominous hints and Bobby-Lynn's demand.

You break the silence by addressing Lorraine, stating matter-of-factly, "you need better friends."

Lorraine fondly rolls her eyes at your comment, unable to stifle a small, amused smile. She responds to your comment with a playful retort, a hint of humor in her voice.

"And you're any better?" her words are lighthearted, a hint of teasing in them. Lorraine knows you well enough to understand the irony in your comment.

You cast a glance towards the car where Bobby-Lynn and Maxine are getting in, a feeling of uneasiness settling over you.

There is something about them that doesn't sit well with you, something off that raises your suspicions. They play nice, they work their acts extremely well, but you can smell bullshit out of anyone.

You suddenly feel a little sick for even allowing yourself to somewhat enjoy their company. Or maybe you’re just being ridiculous and they actually aren’t that bad. Doubt chews at your mind, like a boat in the middle of a storm at sea.

Lorraine's voice is soft as she speaks, catching your attention."You should come this evenin’, if you want” her words sound almost like a casual suggestion, but coming from Lorraine, you know there's a hint of more beneath the surface.

Lorraine’s gaze drifts to the floor, her hand moving reflexively to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

There’s a vulnerability in her gesture, and her next words add intrigue to the invitation “and for what it's worth, RJ won’t be there”.

There’s something unspoken in her words, a hidden meaning you can almost grasp.

Lorraine's gaze, those big brown eyes staring up at you from under her eyelashes nearly mesmerize you, you miss chattered caws nearby. You feel your mind growing foggy, despite your desire to think clearly, her presence makes it difficult to focus.

Lorraine raises her hand, pausing for a moment before gently resting it on your forearms, which are crossed over your chest.

Her touch is gentle, her voice tentative as she asks, "just… think about it?"

There's a hopeful note in her question, her eyes searching your face for a response.

As Lorraine's hand rests on your forearms, a tingling sensation runs through your body. The pull you feel towards her only seems to grow stronger with each moment spent together.

Will you regret this? Probably, you regretted going the other night.

Despite your resistance, you can't help but relent as your breath releases in a sigh.

One of these days, you need to do your own study on yourself to figure out why the fuck you can’t seem to deny Lorraine.

"What's the address?"

____________________________________________

You bring your motorcycle to a halt, pulling up to the location Lorraine provided. As you shut off the engine and remove your helmet, you can't help but make a face as you dismount your bike.

The place is not exactly what you expected, and you have a feeling this event may get… interesting.

Walking towards the house, you take in the surroundings, noting the subtle details. The structure is a modest two-story house with a wraparound porch, located within a quaint, older neighborhood.

Soft tendrils of smoke rise gently from the backside of the house, the scent of burning wood and leaves wafting through the air, a clear indication that a fire is crackling somewhere inside.

As you approach, the hum of distant conversations and the faint strains of music grow in volume, letting you know that the party is already in full swing.

You arrive at the doorstep and knock, expecting a quick response. However, to your surprise, no one comes to the door.

Silence hangs in the air, the only sound accompanying the quiet neighborhood the soft buzz of insects in the trees nearby.

It's as you stand at the front door, contemplating the lack of response, that you realize that the sounds of the party is coming from behind the house instead of inside.

A look of confusion crosses your features as you descend the porch steps and move to round the house, curiosity tugging at the corners of your mind.

As you make your way around the corner of the house, a subtle shift in energy envelops you, a sense of unease settling in because isn’t it a little early to be starting up a bonfire?

When it comes into view, you notice the light from the bonfire flickers eerily, casting long dancing flickers on the nearby trees.

The laughter and chatter of the group by the fire sound more like whispers, the words distorted and almost unidentifiable.

There's an odd stillness in the air, as if the evening itself is holding its breath. You cannot shake the feeling that something is not quite right.

The scene before you is surreal and almost dreamlike. A few figures are sat around the bonfire in a strange circle, sitting on an assortment of different chairs. They chant, whispering amongst themselves, their voices inaudible as they echo in the clearing.

However, it's the two figures dancing around the fire that truly catch your attention. Their movements are disjointed and erratic, their limbs moving to a rhythm that doesn't quite align with the music.

Wait. Is that music even music?

The cawing of birds in the distance disrupts your observation of the dancing figures, and you recognize the familiar sound immediately.

The haunting call sends shivers down your spine every time you acknowledge it, and your eyes dart to the trees. For a split second, a large black crow swoops into view between the branches before disappearing again into the foliage.

Something is wrong. Something is very wrong here.

The air suddenly feels heavy with an ominous and foreboding energy as your heart rate quickens, your thoughts beginning to spiral in uncertainty.

Then, just as you’re about to be engulfed entirely by the growing tension, you hear a familiar voice calling out your name.

“Rooks?”

The moment your eyes meet Lorraine's gentle brown gaze, an instant sense of relief washes over you. The heavy atmosphere seems to melt away, replaced by a feeling of comfort and familiarity.

Lorraine's mere presence has a calming effect, her soft demeanor chasing away the heavy dread that had begun to build.

Your gaze shifts back to the bonfire, and now everything seems different. The music playing sounds normal, the voices raised in conversation are clear, and the dancing around the fire carries a joyful atmosphere.

You can hear laughter in the air, but all you can truly feel is confusion. It's as if the scene before you has been completely transformed, and you're left questioning what you experienced moments before.

No. No not again. You worked too hard to stop this from happening, was all of that effort for nothing?

You flinch instinctively at Lorraine's touch, the sensation of her hand suddenly on your arm sending a jolt through you, even through the leather of your jacket.

But as your eyes meet hers again, the tension in your mind eases, her gentle gaze providing an unexpected sense of calm.

Lorraine watches you closely as you remain silent, her hand still resting on your arm. When you don't respond, she continues, her tone soft and gentle, "I was just about to head out, if you wanna come with?" her words are a subtle invitation, her gaze searching your face for a response.

You furrow your brow in confusion, puzzled by Lorraine's sudden announcement of departing.

She was the one who invited you here, and now both of you are supposedly leaving? It doesn't make sense, and the confusion is evident on your face as you contemplate her words.

Lorraine's hand hangs in the air for a brief moment after dropping from your arm, her gaze shifting to the bonfire. She seems to sense your confusion, a subtle shrug of her shoulders is followed by a soft admission.

"My parents are having a cookout," she explains, "and I know you really don't wanna be here with them” her words are filled with understanding, her eyes expressing her knowledge of your discomfort in this setting.

You attempt to brush off the concern by quickly muttering, "I don't mind-" But Lorraine cuts you off before you can finish, sensing your attempt to downplay your discomfort.

"You don’t have to front with me” she tilts her head, her gaze is unwavering and her tone leaving no room for argument as she calls you out on your attempt to mask your true feelings.

As you survey Lorraine, your mind races with conflicting thoughts. You've always seen her as delicate and innocent, pure, untouched by the world’s harsh realities.

But seeing her with them, surrounded by the atmosphere they create, feels wrong. Your intuition tells you they only seek to corrupt her, to taint the purity you've always attributed to her.

Lorraine notices your mind wandering, your thoughts consumed by the conflicting emotions and worries.

With a gentle "hey," she coaxes you back to the present moment, her warm eyes locking onto yours, searching for a connection.

As your gaze meets hers, again you feel a sense of calm wash over you, the worries and concerns that had been swirling in your mind moments before start to recede.

You snap back into the moment, focusing solely on Lorraine's presence, and strangely you find yourself unable to remember the exact reasons you were so worried.

Lorraine maintains eye contact with you, a small, gentle smile on her lips as she turns to walk away from the party. "C’mon," she urges softly, "my momma is gonna love to see you again, she was always more tolerable when you’re around”.

Her words echo in your mind, the mention of her mother bringing back memories of the warm, welcoming energy she always exuded.

The poor woman can’t help her husband is a narcissistic control freak, or at least, those are Lorraine’s words.

You follow behind Lorraine, your mind slightly foggy, your thoughts swirling as you cast a glance back at the bonfire. The flicker of its flames seems to provoke a sense of unease within you, stirring up those earlier feelings of disquiet.

Despite that, the pull of Lorraine's presence and the promise of her mother's warm welcome keeps you moving forward, away from the unsettling atmosphere.

As you approach your motorcycle, the change in Lorraine's demeanor catches your attention. She suddenly seems uncomfortable, her eyes scanning your bike with hesitance.

Her gaze settles on the helmet rested on your handlebar, and a hint of unease creeps into her expression. She hesitates, watching as you retrieve your helmet and turn to her.

You take notice of this and address it directly, gently coaxing her with the words, "what’s up, talk to me”.

Your fingers loosen the strap of your helmet, but your gaze remains fixed on her face, silently urging her to open up and share whatever is on her mind.

Lorraine takes a deep breath and finally gives in to your gentle coaxing. She looks at the motorcycle with a mixture of apprehension and intrigue and then turns her gaze back to you.

“I... I've never ridden one before," she admits, her voice a whisper, her eyes searching yours almost apologetically.

Your response is instantaneous, a slow shake of your head followed by a reassuring smile.

You lock eyes with Lorraine and ask, “you trust me?" The question is genuine, and you hold her gaze, silently assuring her that her trust would not be misplaced.

Lorraine listens intently to your question, her fingers absently reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She averts her gaze for a moment, her teeth nibbling on the inside of her cheek in thought.

Then, with a newfound determination, she looks back up and locks eyes with you as she nods once.

As Lorraine nods, a subtle wave of relief washes over you. You carefully place the helmet on her head, adjusting it gently until it sits snugly against her temples.

The helmet seems oversized on her slight frame, and for some reason the sight of it on her is endearing.

Your touch is gentle as you tighten the helmet's strap beneath her chin, your fingertips brushing against her skin.

The contact sends a small shiver down Lorraine's spine, but she remains still, her eyes never leaving yours. As you mutter the word "perfect” under your breath, there's a hint of tenderness in your voice.

You reach out and take Lorraine's hand in yours, guiding her to the back seat of the bike. You feel her hesitance and uncertainty palpably, but she follows your lead, allowing you to help her onto the back of the bike. Once she's settled, you slide into the seat in front of her.

With Lorraine now seated on the back of the bike, you turn slightly to check on her. "Okay?" you ask, wanting to make sure she's comfortable and ready. You kick up the stand with your boot and adjust your grip on the handles, all while waiting for her response.

Despite the bulky helmet covering her face, the nod Lorraine gives is undeniably adorable. Her head moves up and down, the helmet bobbing slightly, and it's difficult to keep the small smile from forming on your lips. The sight tugs at your heartstrings, stirring conflicting feelings within you.

You start up the engine, the rumble of the bike filling the air as you twist the handle, revving it up.

The sudden sound startles Lorraine, and her arms instinctively wrap around your abdomen from behind, holding on for dear life. You can feel the warmth of her embrace through the leather of your jacket.

It’s hot, with the sun still beating down, but honestly you can’t find it in you to be bothered. With her arms around you like this?

You struggle to maintain a neutral expression as Lorraine's arms remain wrapped around your abdomen, the feel of her fingertips pressing into your stomach sending a wave of unwelcome warmth through you.

As you begin to drive down the road, heading towards her family's farm, your mind tries to dismiss the way her touch makes you feel.

____________________________________________

It’s almost unfair, how well it goes, how quickly it becomes the only moment you’ve felt peace since arriving back into town.

You had forgotten how much you genuinely adore her momma, her warm and welcoming presence making you feel at home in a way you didn't expect.

Lorraine's mother, a woman as warm and welcoming as her daughter, always greets you with a smile that lights up her face. Even after being gone for five years, and it's always been clear to you that Lorraine inherited a majority of her traits from the older woman.

However, her father stands out as someone who is far more intelligent than he lets on. Despite the farmer's hardworking exterior, there is a hidden depth to him, a mind that is both sharp and astute. But he projects control, his words always strict and his demeanor definition ‘alpha male complex’ in the most bible-thumping-back-in-the-sticks type way.

Your Pop was the same way, maybe that’s why you and Lorraine relate so well.

Despite your initial thoughts that you would be treated differently due to the recent passing of your Pop, Lorraine's parents treats you no differently than they ever have.

Her momma never allows you to remain a wallflower, drawing you into conversations and activities with her easy-going nature.

There are no judgmental comments or subtle digs; she simply continues to welcome you into their home with open arms.

Her father however, is quiet, observant in the presence of company. You don’t need to see it physically to know the underlying truth here, the way Lorraine and her momma both tense any time he speaks says plenty.

You find yourself caught in a mix of conflicting emotions as you’re somewhat forced to assist Lorraine's father at the grill, only to find yourself roped into helping her mother setup not long after.

A part of you rebels against the feeling of being a part of a family dynamic, not only because you’ve never had one yourself, but because you also know deep down that it's all a facade.

But, even as reluctant as you are to admit it, you’re glad Lorraine drug you along for this. Maybe pretending that everything is fine, that it always has been, that you never left… is okay for now.

Just a minute to breathe.

As the evening settles in and the warm glow of the sunset casts a golden hue across the sky, you and Lorraine decide to head out into the backyard to watch the last few moments of daylight.

The air is still warm, but a gentle breeze carries with it the familiar scent of the countryside — the smell of open pastures and blooming wildflowers.

That, you will admit, is something that has a nostalgia factor. The quiet out here, the tranquil, the peace, the ability to check out of reality even if for a second.

As you walk, the crunch of the ground underfoot is the only sound between the two of you.

You and Lorraine walk to the old tree that stands behind the barn, its branches stretching out like a protective canopy. The old beehive still hangs from one of the branches, a silent testament to the past.

You find yourselves a spot beneath the tree, the grass soft and slightly cool beneath you as you sit. The silence around you is broken only by the soft hum of the bees still going about their work within the hive.

As you sit beneath the old tree, Lorraine bumps your shoulders together innocently, a playful smile on her lips.

"Not so afraid of bees anymore?" she teases, memories of a time when you feared those buzzing creatures flood your mind.

But as you sit there, surrounded by the gentle hum of the bees, you can't help but scoff and roll your eyes at Lorraine's comment, a playful scowl on your face.

"I was never afraid of ‘em," you protest, gently bumping her shoulder back in response "I just had a healthy respect for the little guys”.

Memories flood your mind of the day you both sat here a few years ago. She had carefully explained the difference between a honey bee, a bumble bee, and the carpenter bees, her voice soft and reassuring as she did so.

You can still picture her sitting next to you, the sunlight filtering through the branches and casting dappled shadows on her face.

It feels like a lifetime ago, and yet the memory is as clear as if it had happened only yesterday.

You can still remember the way her fingers gently touched the petals of the wildflowers that grew, her face lit up with excitement as she pointed out different insects that flitted among the flora.

Despite your initial wariness of bees, you had listened intently to her explanation, the sound of her voice and the look of genuine joy on her face having completely captivated you.

It was a simple moment, but it was one of the first times you had ever seen Lorraine truly open up and show a side of herself that she usually hid away.

Yet you still try to convince yourself you two weren’t that close.

As you continue to sit beneath the tree, your thoughts suddenly shift to a darker time.

Memories of high school come rushing back, specifically of how girls like Bobby-Lynn and Maxine and guys like Jackson and Wayne would torment both you and Lorraine during the school years.

The feeling of helplessness and rage wash over you like a wave, bringing with it a bitter taste in your mouth.

As you mull over those unpleasant memories, Lorraine gently bumps her shoulder against yours once more, noticing the shift in your demeanor.

She murmurs softly, her voice laced with a hint of concern and curiosity, "you're thinkin' awful loud, might as well share with me”.

At Lorraine's words, your lips quirk up into a small smile, staring off across the field at the sun setting on the horizon. It brings in the cool breeze, the rays of light not so intense and beating down from above.

Absentmindedly, your fingers begin plucking at the blades of grass at your feet, the repetitive motion a mindless distraction.

With your eyes fixed on the setting sun, you remain quiet for a moment, collecting your thoughts before speaking. "I just don't understand," you murmur, the words heavy with frustration and disbelief.

"They were awful to us, to you” the memories of their cruel words and actions flood your mind, the anger you felt on Lorraine's behalf simmering beneath the surface.

Your voice falters as you continue, your eyes finally turning to look at Lorraine. “I know we weren’t… as close as we could’ve been,” you begin carefully, the unspoken words hanging in the air between you.

“But with the amount of times I stood up for you and for you to just—” you pause, taking in the sight of Lorraine’s face, the sight of her sitting there, listening to you intently.

The silence between you stretches on, your eyes locked on each other’s faces. It’s as if the two of you are trying to read each other, searching for understanding and deciphering the other’s thoughts.

The wind rustles leaves and grass around you, a soft whisper against the silence. As you listen to the sound of the buzzing bees above, your gaze drifts for a moment, lost in thought.

The familiar hum of the bees provides a comfortable background noise, calming your mind and allowing you to process your thoughts.

Then, Lorraine speaks up. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, and it draws your attention back to her.

Lorraine looks at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of wisdom and compassion. "I learned the hard way," she begins softly, "that holdin’ a grudge will only eat you alive on the inside”.

Her voice is quiet but firm, as if she's speaking from personal experience “I forgave ‘em because I refuse to let anyone’s actions define or control me any longer”.

As the sound of a bird’s caw rings out in the distance, the hairs on the back of your neck bristle. Instinctively you whip your head around, watching as a few crows cut through the darkening sky, their wings creating a black streak against the orange and pink twilight hues.

You watch the crows as they soar through the sky, your eyes glued to their path. You keep your eyes fixed on the crows until they vanish from sight, a sense of unease settling in your chest.

Even after all these years, you can't shake the feeling that they're something otherworldly.

Your voice is strained as you murmur your concerns to Lorraine, "they're actin’ strange, Lorraine. I just... don't think they have good intentions." The unease lingers on your tongue, and you chew at your lower lip absentmindedly.

You look towards Lorraine, speaking intently with your hands as you explain the small bag you found at Bobby-Lynn's. Your fingers move in sharp, nervous motions as you describe the contents.

"There were these bones and herbs," you begin, "and strands of hair braided to a leather string inside” your eyes flit to Lorraine's face, trying to gauge her reaction to your words.

Lorraine's face shows a look of disbelief as she responds to your revelation, “you went through Bobby-Lynn's things?"

Her voice is a mixture of surprise and mild confusion. You can see the question in her eyes: why would you snoop through someone's belongings?

“I just— I didn’t mean to it— goddamn it I don’t know I guess—“

You take a deep breath, trying to articulate the feelings that have been swirling around in your mind since you arrival.

"Ever since I got back, I've just felt off. My head's been all clouded, and I just get these really weird vibes around ‘em. It's like somethin’ just ain’t right” you can feel the frustration and confusion bubbling up within you as you speak.

You moisten your lips, your gaze flicking towards the now darkening sky as you continue. "Maxine..." you mutter, your voice filled with contempt.

"I found her going through Pops' study, said somethin’ about him hiding secrets” the words hang in the air between you, the implications of Maxine's words sending a shiver down your spine.

Lorraine's bewilderment grows at your revelation, and she mutters a soft "what? What’s that even mean?"

Her eyes are wide, and you can see the wheels turning in her mind as she tries to process what you've told her about Maxine. The sky continues to darken overhead, the first stars of the evening beginning to appear.

You look at Lorraine, your voice dropping to a hushed whisper as you shift in your spot. "There's somethin’ going on here," you say urgently, "somethin’ ain’t right with ‘em." The sky above you is now fully dark, the sky a blanket of velvety blackness pierced with bright specks of light.

The moonlight streaming through the branches of the tree casts a silvery glow on Lorraine's face as she processes your words. Her usually soft features are now sharp in the silvery light, her expression thoughtful and a hint of worry creasing her brow.

The crickets chirp around you, a soft chorus providing just enough background noise to keep the silence from becoming uncomfortable now that the bees have turned in for the night.

Lorraine takes a moment to collect her words, a hint of hesitation evident on her face. Her voice is gentle but firm as she speaks, "I don't want to dismiss your concerns, or invalidate what you're feelin’, Rooks. But you do see how this is comin’ off, right?"

You open your mouth to respond, but suddenly, your mind grows fuzzy. You can feel it slipping away almost like a cloud of haze settling over your thoughts.

Your brow furrows as you try to grasp onto the threads of your thoughts, but they slip through your fingers like water.

The sound of crickets and the soft rustle of leaves in the wind seem to fill your ears, as if they're amplifying the silence.

She looks at you with a mixture of curiosity and empathy, trying to understand the situation from your perspective.

Lorraine notices your struggle to grasp your thoughts, and her eyes soften with concern. She speaks up, her voice soft and reassuring. "Hey, it's okay," she whispers “just take a deep breath, focus on the sound of my voice”.

You hadn’t even realized you’d started breathing irregularly, the subtle racing of your heart uncomfortable as your veins tingle with small but sharp prickles. Lightheaded, as you force your eyes to stay focused in.

Her brown eyes are soft in the silvery light, and she reaches out to gently touch your arm, her touch both comforting and grounding “you're okay, just focus on me”.

You do as she says, focusing on her words and the soothing tone of her voice. You're suddenly aware of the moment and the atmosphere around you.

The moonlight casts shadows on Lorraine's face, and her eyes are like dark pools of honey. The trees around you create a protective canopy, and the sound of the crickets is a soft background noise that somehow enhances the intimacy of this moment.

Your gaze is fixed on Lorraine, and the world fades into insignificance as you take her in.

Lorraine's fingers fiddle idly with the leather of your jacket sleeve, her eyes dropping to watch the small action as she speaks. Her voice is soft and gentle, filled with a hint of concern.

"Rooks," she murmurs, "you've got a lot goin’ on right now. I just... hope you ain't projectin’. They ain’t perfect, but they care." The words hang in the air, a quiet plea for you to give them a chance.

The sweetness of Lorraine's words is like a honeycomb trap, sticky and irresistible. Her soft voice, as if spun from silken threads, wraps around you like a gentle embrace.

Every word she says seems to make more sense, a soothing balm to the doubts and confusions that cloud your mind.

Lorraine's small smile is like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. With a hint of playfulness that belies her shy nature, she turns to you and says, "since we're on serious topics, you ever gonna to tell me why the hell you named your motorcycle Brad?"

The question is casual, a lighthearted distraction that is clearly designed to change the atmosphere.

You laugh, the sound bursting out of you like a dam breaking. Your hands clutch at your belly, and you lean back until your back hits the soft grass.

The moment is unexpected, but the relief it brings is undeniable. You can't help but feel a sense of levity, a momentary escape from the heavy conversation.

The laugh feels like fresh air in your lungs, and for a moment, Lorraine's presence feels lighter, warmer.

Maybe she’s right, why should you continue to hold grudges?

They only tear you apart from the inside, leaving behind nothing but bitterness and poison.

previous, next

————————————————————————

Tag List: @thatshyboy1998

[righteous-r0de0]

i saw a bunch of other people doing this so

random redacted headcanons!

- vincent can’t handle spicy food very well, even post-turning

- ivan hates fishing

- david loves egg salad sandwiches with hot sauce (it’s his favorite comfort food)

- caelum has never had cotton candy and freelancer is pretty sure if he ever did, he would implode

- gavin doesn’t like snow

- lasko on the other hand LOVES spicy food and testing his tolerance to certain things

- damien doesn’t drink coffee or tea or energy drinks, this man is just out here raw-dogging life

- kody still tries to look at all the damn crew’s socials, even though they all have him blocked

- huxley (opposite of damien) gets his caffeine anyway he can but his favorite are the caffeine pouches (similar to zyns (these are also my favorite))

- asher loves watching mma fights and tries (gently) to recreate the moves on babe (“i could have dropped you just then! you gotta keep your guard up!”)

- james “i’m exploding you with my mind” redacted

- marcus begged his mom for a mohawk in middle school but he didn’t have the right texture hair for it and she refused to buy him all the hair gel necessary to make it a real mohawk so they just had to shave his head (kids thought he had lice)

- anton loves sending and receiving physical mail. he knows it’s impractical in comparison to texting or calling, but he loves it

- ollie has a favorite blanket, pillow, and set of sheets. he’s very particular about his bedtime routine

- elliot however could drop anywhere at anytime. and that’s nothing to do with him being a dreamwalker. he’s just a fantastic sleeper

- brachium has never had candy, but he’s curious about it

- avior really really likes classical music and it’s brought him to tears multiple times (especially jupiter comp. by gustav holst iykyk)

- milo holds the door open for everyone whenever he can. sweetheart once thought he was following them for like fifteen minutes but he was still stuck at the door

- cam loves fresh produce and is a frequenter of any local farmers market

- blake had a phase in middle school and early high school where he was super patriotic and right-wing leaning and he hates when people bring it up

- aaron actually knows most of the shaw pack boys. he tried to hire them for an event before realizing they were an empowered company. david thought he knew

- sam showed pigs and sheep when he was younger. he kinda misses it but he doesn’t have the room for livestock anymore

- vega in all his years of existing both in aria and on earth has never been truly hugged

- before falling, regulus lived on earth with his charge. they had two cats

- xavier used to travel ridiculous amounts of miles to go to food festivals around the country. he took the team with him once or twice

- geordi never deleted any pictures of him and cutie. he’s still hopeful that things will work out and he doesn’t want to get rid of older memories with them

- guy was friends with a lot of the unempowered boys in school, but lost touch with them in college

- morgan is very into hair-care. his shower looks like an apothecary shop full of mystery vials and oils. he knows what everything is and how to use it though.

- porter loves classic literature and translating latin to english. it’s one of the few hobbies he allows himself to have

- hush once traipsed into doc’s apartment, mud up to his knees and all over his face and hands, holding a bull frog. he only came to ask what it was.

[jordanmoreau]

Nothing In Particular

limoreau au; → in which two strangers come to understand one another as friends and (perhaps) as something more♡ 1,6k words

───

“Can you not be a jack ass for like, 5 minutes?” Marie grumbles weakly, her slender fingers lazily stirring the spoon that sat in her half drunken coffee. It must have been almost cold by now, the foam now separated and sad.

Her eyes never strayed from the window opposite where her and Emma sat, watching absentmindedly as leaves swayed and danced down from the trees above. Her friend snorted lightly next to her, nudging Marie’s leg with her foot jovially.

“C’mon, can’t you take a joke? she chirps. Her notes are left forgotten in front of her, half of them threatening to fall off on top the slabbed floor. They were barely legible due to the excessive highlighter however Emma insisted she could read them perfectly. Marie didn’t believe her.

“If you're interested in them, why don’t you just go over and say hi?” she says, as though its as easy as that. She begins scrunching up her face when Marie protests, “they’re not going to bite your head off, top ten or not”.

───

Emma was referring to a certain bi gender student that now occupied the furthermost booth inside the tiny cafe they had begun to frequent since the beginning of the semester.

It was a few weeks before that Marie had decided to give the new spot a try. She had sighed shakily to herself before entering, bracing herself for the certain conversation at the counter. The bell above the door chimes as she opens the door and it startles her a little. Did she always have to be so on edge, she thinks.

She orders at the counter with ease (a chai oat latte, extra cinnamon). Whilst waiting she leans against the counter, hugging her self tightly from inside her jacket.

Her head turns as she studies her surroundings curiously. It’s quiet apart from one other person, their mass of dark curls falling across their forehead as they bowed their head, clearing immersed in whatever they were reading. A pair of round wire rim glasses sit on the table in front of them along with a small pouch of pens and a stack of textbooks. Marie can make out 'Hero Ethics' in bold on the side of one of them, the rest of the words escaping her vision.

As if feeling eyes on them, the strangers head suddenly shifts, wet brown eyes coming into view as they peer upward. Marie's cheeks feel hot and she hurriedly turns away, feeling caught and almost knocks her order off the counter with her arm. She pulls her bag higher up on shoulder with a grimace and picks up her drink. A beeline for the nearest window table, she doesn't look back over for fear of making eye contact.

───

Over the next few visits Marie catches herself looking for the stranger in the corner. Her bottom lip snagged subconsciously between her teeth and a ridiculous amount of caffeine under her belt.

The stranger never looked the same twice in one week, she realized. On one day she’d entered to find them leaning back nonchalantly, legs spread in a comfortable manner. One hand held a book with ease, the other playing with their hair. It was short, slightly wavy and swept back off their face. A necklace that hung around there neck was balancing against their lip as though placed there as they read and a jacket was draped across their broad shoulders.

The next week, she almost missed them. Marie could tell it was the same person instinctively, the same blue jacket slung over the back of the booth and a sleek curtain of raven black hair falling against their cheeks in a little bob. She watched intently as the stranger pouted softly, pausing their note taking and reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind their ear. They seemed to think for a while, twirling their pen between their fingers before returning to the page.

Marie liked the way their hair sat prettily around their face, the way their shoulders tensed slightly or when they chewed absentmindedly on their pen.

She didn’t know what was so magnetic about this stranger; maybe it was nothing in particular.

───

It was the day before last that Marie had chosen to peek at the stranger again, only tilting her head slightly and peering through her eyelashes. Her heart faltered though when she realized they had met her gaze. This caused her mouth to run dry and she felt a pang of panic rise in her stomach.

Their head tilted slightly to one side almost cat-like, the corners of their mouth twitching almost like a smile was threatening to break through. Marie silently cursed herself for being so nosy and decided to concentrate on her work, head ducking down. She almost dove head long into her latte in an attempt to seem busy, the cinnamon causing her to cough lamely as she inhaled it.

By the end of her study session (Marie had persevered, very bravely she thought) she had completed a few pages of work for her intro to Hero Ethics class. She blows on the pages from a short distance, hoping to hurry along the ink drying. The bell above the door chimes behind her and she flinches only to notice that the booth in the corner was now empty.

“Chai latte, extra cinnamon?” the server appears at her table, cradling a cup and saucer. Marie frowns with confusion, finger tips tapping her empty cup.

“I didn’t order anything, I’m sorry,” she says, to which the server shakes the head.

“It’s been paid for,” they say, gently setting it down. Marie freezes for a second at that before thanking the server. She tries to push away the butterflies in her stomach, giving the cafe one last scan before returning to her notes.

───

“It must’ve been them!” Emma says loudly. Marie’s gives her a tight lipped expression in return, causing Emma to roll her eyes with a playful grin.

“You know I could introduce you,”

Marie almost gets whiplash from how quickly her head snaps up at that. “You know them?” she whispers, almost afraid of them hearing her from across the room.

Emma mumbles something incoherent, gesturing with her fingers.

“Vaguely,” Marie scoffs at that. Emma throws her a look of indignation. “I do!”.

Emma knew of them. She recognized their face from the rankings board, nearly tackling Marie when she told her about the 'mysterious booth stranger' with the unreadable demeanor.

Today, the stranger was hunched over their table with their head down. Marie assumed that they were writing something urgent, a paper perhaps. They had barely looked up, hand gliding over each page without stopping.

Marie hadn’t looked over hardly at all that day, bringing Emma along for a good distraction. Besides, the girl was always a good friend to have around. Unfortunately she also had a habit of never letting anything go. Marie swallows.

“Do you have a pen I can borrow?”

Marie’s trance is broken, the gentle cadence new and almost musical. It was the stranger from the booth. They were in their male form, expression controlled and brows knitted together. Marie couldn’t help but stare for a moment, mouth slightly ajar before Emma interjected.

“Marie has one, don’t you Marie?” Emma says, intentionally pushing her own pencil case toward Marie with the end of her pencil. The stranger looks to Emma for a moment before focusing back on Marie.

“Yeah?” they ask, their hip grazing the table as they step closer. Marie, finally snapping out of her momentary daze, pushes the pen in her hand toward them. Their eyes follow Marie’s movement, flitting between the pen and her face.

Marie gives them a tight lipped smile, inwardly urging them to leave. She can’t take the awkwardness she’s exuding. However the stranger suddenly smiles, a small lovely smile. She notices the dimples that appear as they smile wider and her pulse jumps at the sight.

“Thank you, Marie” they say, waving the pen as if to indicate they were taking it. They don’t move for a second, a moment of silence falling across the trio. Emma pretends to clear her throat, leaning across the table.

“And you are…” she asks, her face contorted comically as though she has a lot riding on the answer. Marie felt like she at least, did.

The stranger half smiles again, scratching the back of their head.

“Uhh, Jordan?”they offer, almost posing it as a question. Emma grins, clearly pleased with herself.

“Emma,” she says, using two thumbs to point at herself, “and this is Marie, obviously”

It’s then with a pang of embarrassment that Marie realises Jordan’s eyes haven’t left her face since Emma began talking.

Jordan nods at her and Marie wonders if they’re usually this shy. Emma coughs again as if to alert Marie, eyeing the two exasperatedly.

Jordan smiles again awkwardly, mumbling something about “seeing them around” and wonders off back to their table, pen in hand. Emma smacks her hands dramatically on the table to which Marie jumps. Emma expression screams “are you kidding me” as she jabs a finger at a retreating Jordan.

“Stop,” Marie hisses desperately. Jordan finds their way back to their table, leaning down to test the pen on a loose bit of paper. Presumably pleased, they sit back down. Marie wants to scream at herself. She rubs her face roughly, frustrated.

"Hero Ethics, right?" a voice calls. It's Jordan, leaning across their table with their textbook presented toward Marie. She can read it more clearly now and she realizes that Jordan must be the year above her, maybe even a senior.

Marie nods slowly. She blinks and Jordan's half way across the room already, rounding her table before she can utter an audible response. A folder in hand, Jordan offers it to her. "First year notes," they explain. With a shaky hand, Marie takes them. She smiles, her first proper smile in their presence and meets their gaze.

"Thanks," she says, trying to keep her voice steady. Jordan shrugs coolly.

"Least I can do, freshman".

// authors note: did someone say, slow burn?? I am fairly rusty at writing like this so this was a little daunting to start however I hope this reads well. If this does well, I'll begin writing a part two soon! <3 trust me the study partners will be partnering eventually.

[steviewashere]

🪱🪱Worm Wednesday!!!!!🪱🪱

I was tagged by the lovely @hotluncheddie! Hello, I'm sorry for the rambling mess this is going to be. But I know I missed this like two weeks ago, so bear with me.

Okay, I'm going to try and be normal here. I have, honestly, so many worms in my brain. They're dancing and stomping and I'm just going fucking nuts with how much is in my brain at the moment. And also I took excedrin this morning for my migraine and that had caffeine in it and it's more caffeine than I would normally have—anyway.

Y'all already know one of my brain worms, the whole omega verse sensitive nips omega Steve thing. Which, I will plug the post here because I don't have the energy (yes, I do, but I don't want to echo myself) to share all the craziness about that in one post.

I'm also thinking about young Steve Harrington, which is kudos to this post and lots of people's tweets over on the twitter. I won't go into it, same reasons as the omega verse thing so just...again, bear with me.

But! But the actual brain worms I'm having currently, in this very moment, also have to do with another post I made on here. I want to go more in-depth with, though. So, some days ago, I came across an Instagram Reel that was a clip from the YouTube video interview between Jon Bernthal and Dungeon Master Deborah Ann Woll.

So, brief brief summary of this video is basically: Jon Bernthal says that he wants to play D&D, Deborah Ann Woll then gives him a scenario of walking through the woods and while he's walking he hears snap of twigs, and then she basically prompts him with "What do you do?" And he responds, now I can't remember exactly what he says, but I believe it had something to do with investigating the source of the snapped twigs.

Anyway, the video is excellent and you all should check it out. She basically explains D&D in a way that would make sense to anybody, in the matters of asking a player or a potential player what they'd do in certain scenarios, then bringing in the "rougher" elements such as the History checks or Perception checks in the game.

And I want to write something along the lines of Steve approaching Eddie about D&D. Maybe he wants to play because Dustin keeps bugging him about it, but he's too nervous to accept. Maybe he just wants to know what it's like. Maybe he even wants to be a substitute player one of these days just in case somebody can't show up. Something, y'know, where he's approaching Eddie. But he's really, really confused about where to even begin. He's got a character sheet, he's looking at the manuals loaned to him or he even bought himself, he's looking at all these stats and all these options and he just doesn't know where to begin.

Also, brief intervene here, I would be basing this off of 5e rules because that's what I play and frequently toy with. So...don't be mad at me if I get something "inaccurate for the time". I, first of all, honestly don't care. And second, I was not alive in like 1977 when the game first came out. And there's nobody in my life who played it then or possibly has played it ever outside of 5e. Moving on.

So, he tries to explain his character sheet to Eddie, obviously getting a bit overwhelmed in the process. But Eddie stops him. Says something like, "Hold on, okay? Let's just take a baby step here. I'm going to give you a scenario and then I want you to tell me what you'd do."

And he lays out that same, or even just something similar, to what Deborah Ann Woll gave. (I'm going to base this off of the video. Very original, I am.) So it's something like:

"Okay, you've got a small dagger attached to your belt, it's concealed within a hilt. And on your back, there's a bow and a quiver—or a pouch—of arrows. You're walking through the woods. It's dark, heavy clouds hanging overhead, moon obstructed, you can barely see your surroundings. There's leaves under your feet, gravel, sticks. But then, before you can step your foot down next, something crunches in the distance on your left. What do you do?"

There's a pause. A long moment where Steve is considering his options.

"It's a far away sound, right?" Steve checks and Eddie nods. There's a little hmph from Steve as he continues to think. "Can I tell how far away it is? Is there a way to distinct the length of it?"

Eddie maybe smirks, eyes already glowing. "Give a perception check." And at Steve's befuddled expression, leaning in and brows furrowed, Eddie continues on. "So, you're going to roll one of those dice that you always see the kids with. The D20, that's the one you'd use right now. 20 is the highest you can get"—

"The best I can get. And 1 is obviously the lowest, so the worst."

"Right! So...let's say you were to pick up a D20 right now and roll it. You get a...a fourteen. And your perception, one of those skills on the top of your paper"—and Eddie would grab Steve's character sheet, to point out the number he already placed there—"this one right here. And on your paper, it looks to be pretty high. A sixteen is what you have. So...I'm going to ask you to add three more to your dice roll."

Steve squints at the paper. He doesn't take long to do the math, muttering a little under his breath. "Okay...I'd have a seventeen for my perception check." And he looks up to Eddie for confirmation, in which he gets. "And if it's possible out of twenty...that means I can probably figure it out well, right?"

Eddie nods with a smug hum. "You're already a natural." He leans back a little from Steve. Eyes away in thought. Goes on, "So, I'll know right away, based on that number you give me that you're extremely perceptive. I tell you...okay, the sound you hear is roughly ten feet away on your left."

"That's really close," Steve murmurs. "I think I'll...I'll ready that bow on my back. Take it off, grab for one of my arrows. Poise it."

"Mmm...And as soon as you get your bow in the right position, you begin to make out what seems like a pair of eyes. From the darkness between the trees, those eyes emerge closer and closer, revealing the large figure of a sixteen foot owlbear. Its feathers are spread wide, splaying defensively. Eyes glowing, it seems, yellow and bright. The body girth of a bear, but the head and mannerisms of an owl. It trills and squawks in your face. What do you do?"

Anyway, it would go from there. Tried to figure out a monster that wasn't an owlbear because that's what was used in the video. But uh...my brain is not being original right now, so that's basically the whole example from the video. But I just adore that video so much, the simple, yet impactful way she taught the basics. And I think it could translate so well to Eddie and Steve messing with D&D together.

Sorry for a long ass post lmao

Tagging (no pressure): @puppy-steve @scoops-aboy86 @ataliagold @marvel-ous-m @pearynice

@wheneverfeasible @rogueddie @sidekick-hero

[postmodernbeliever]

Thoroughfare- Fox Mulder x Female Reader

Chapter Five: Two Creams, Two Sugars, and a Little Blood

table of contents <3

if you’d prefer my ao3 | word count: 3,750

TW: mentions of murder details, some slight graphic description.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

You were running a little late, which meant you were scatterbrained to the nines. You managed to fall asleep at some point between when Fox left your room and when the rain stopped and you forgot to set your alarm, so now you tore through the motel room like a tornado. You were exhausted, all the residual stress and anxiety of yesterday catching up to you, and you weren’t even dressed by the time your partner came knocking at your door. Bright and early, too- seven in the morning- and he was chipper as a bird. You wondered if he ever slept because you could see the violet shadows that caused his green eyes to glow, but he was in far better shape than you were. You swung the door open and then shut it, realizing you had two rollers sitting matronly atop your head, and you were in a wrinkled dress shirt and pajama pants, squinting without any contacts in. You opened it again, revealing just a sliver of yourself to a bewildered face.

“Woah. Good morning, sunshine,” Fox sing-songed. 

You peeked through the crack of the doorway, and he was smiling sweetly at you, holding two paper cups. He nudged the door open to hand you the coffee, which you took gratefully, feeling the crabbiness of caffeine deficiency creeping up already. You were almost jealous of how easy it must be for him to wake up and get ready. His hair was tucked tidily atop his forehead, but he was not dressed in uniform- all he wore was a pair of slacks and a blue button-down, no tie, with the sleeves rolled up. You knew he was smarter for it because the mugginess hit you smack in the face when you opened the door, but you got a whiff of the piney scent he wore and knew he probably rolled out of bed ten minutes ago just looking alright to begin with. How nice would it be to look like that in just a few minutes, needing only a comb and some cologne to make you presentable? If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve seen him wearing something like this on a date, all laid-back, careless, dripping with charm as always…

Visibly flustered, you croaked, “Morning. Thank you,”

“Yeah, no problem. They have a coffee maker in the office. It’s not great, but after last night, I don’t trust any of those shops in town claiming they’ve got the best coffee in Marysville,” Fox joked, “You, uh, you don’t look ready,” 

“Sorry,” you winced, “I overslept.”

“It’s okay. They want us down at the M.E.’s office, but we have a little time. I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ll just be a minute!”

You made him stand outside as you shuffled into a pencil skirt, hoping it was wiser for the weather, and tugged a little cardigan over your creased blouse. You grabbed your makeup pouch and took it with you, hoping he wouldn’t pay much attention to your bare face. He may have seen you last night, but you’d already convinced yourself that it was dark enough to hide anything of notoriety. The agent chuckled when you opened the door again, seeing your arms full with a coat that it was far too hot out for, the coffee, a loose gun and badge, a glasses case, your hairbrush– you looked like you just looted a house of all its most unimportant belongings. 

“Let me take that for you,” he stole the coffee back and walked you to the truck parked outside your rooms, opening the door for you. You hopped inside and threw your crap in the backseat, and he slid into the driver’s side, setting your drinks down in the cupholders. He started the truck and gave the engine a minute to warm up, reaching for the Kansas map that you left on the dashboard, but he wasn’t really looking for directions to meet the coroner. He peeked at you in his peripheral, watching as you swiped some kind of sheer powder across your face, smoothing your complexion over. He never noticed the little beauty mark on the bridge of your nose, but now he watched you paint over it, and he wished you wouldn’t. You’ve gotten ready like this before, he could tell; you had the motions down, knowing exactly how not to poke your eyes out with the mascara and not to overdo the blush in the car. When he felt like he’d sufficiently given the engine enough time, he placed the map down between you two on the bench and shifted it into reverse. 

“You okay if I start driving?”

You turned to him, mid-lipstick swipe, and you nodded. “Sure. I don’t look like a mess, do I?” Fox admired how you pushed your glasses on, adding, “I forgot about my contacts. I feel like a librarian.”

“No. You look… smart.”

“Wow, thanks,” you giggled, rolling your eyes. “I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

“Well, who wants to look stupid?”

Yours challenged the flush of his cheeks, and you rolled down the window, letting some of the hot air out of the car. He began to back out of the motel, taking a right onto the main road.

You’d never seen the Midwest in the morning. The sun wasn’t high yet, so everything had a soft, golden tone to it; the wheat fields swayed, lining the street into town, homes croaked on sprawling acres, and street signs were so faded you had to rely on the shapes to conclude the directions they gave. It was silent, only birds and wind. You liked this part of the middle of nowhere. Back in D.C., and even worse in New York, people are everywhere, clogging the streets until they burst, cutting you off and giving you the finger. You can’t get a seat at a restaurant. You have to get put on a list for bestsellers at the library. But out here, life is slow. There’s always room to breathe, and to look up and see actual stars, rather than cloudy, light-polluted skies. Something about that spoke to you. You found yourself thinking that maybe someday when your work was done with law enforcement, and you have some money put away, you could come back out here and buy a little bungalow and live out the rest of your days in a place where you don’t have to worry about running out of space and time. Fox seemed to enjoy the quaintness of it all, too, because he was quiet as a mouse beside you. 

Fox drove straight through town, and you finally got a glimpse of what the local life looked like as you passed. There weren’t many men around, but given that it was mainly an agricultural economy down here, they were probably out working on the farms. But there were pretty women in sundresses crawling up and down the streets with coffee cups and big purses, hair done up like it was a Sunday; little kids were scuttling down the sidewalks towards the school near the police station. You spotted Sheriff Hale’s car parked outside the bakery, but no one inside. 

“Wonder where all these people were yesterday,” you observed.

“At the crime scene,” your partner answered, shooting you an apologetic glance. “I think we showed up at an unusual time.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

You rolled the window up a bit, knowing you were allowing your hair to poof up like yesterday. You settled against the bench seat and took up the map, flipping to the larger scale with the main country road running through. With your finger, you followed it to the county medical examiner's office, which was a whopping sixty miles from Marysville. You knew this place was a blip on the radar, but you had no idea just how far away you were from civilization. Fox’s screw-ups getting you both here had skewed your sense of direction.

“Jeez, we’ve got a while to go. You see this?” You asked, pointing to the location. 

Fox glanced over and gave a wry chuckle. “Yeah. Straight shot up. We should get there in a little over an hour if I ignore these speed limits,” he winked, pointing to a sign. 

You watched it fly by, announcing the stretch of road was a 35 miles per hour zone, and you smiled. Flopping the map onto the dashboard, you reached for your cup of coffee and took a sip, relishing in the room-temperature taste. It tasted good for about a second, and then it turned sour on your tongue. No cream, no sugar. Your face scrunched up and you smacked your lips. Fox seemed to have his own lightbulb going off, and he kept one hand on the wheel while he reached across your lap to open up the glove compartment. You drew in a short breath as his arm brushed against your thigh, and when he uprighted himself, you huffed in frustration. 

“You could’ve swerved us into the field, Fox. Why don’t you let me open the damn thing? I’m sitting right in front of it!”

“Jeez. We’re on the road, aren’t we, Piglet?” he mocked, gesturing for you to look inside. A mess of pink sugar packets and little cream containers littered the compartment, and he giggled, “I didn’t know how you liked your coffee.”

A shameful heat flooded your chest, and you shut your mouth. 

“You’re welcome.”

You grabbed two creams and two sugars, and as you stirred them into the chilling coffee with your finger, Fox made a note of how you took it and kept driving. You piped down and watched the scenery go by, all yellow fields and blue sky, and wondered what they might have found regarding Liane’s death. What you were aware of from the case files was the girls were all beaten and penetrated postmortem, but in the last murders, the object of violation wasn’t ever identified. There was no clear definition of the instrument used in the mutilation of their bodies, either. Everything was suspiciously contactless, like whoever was murdering these teenagers never had to lay a hand on them to do it; you weren’t sure how that was possible, and you weren’t convinced it was. Someone had to be committing these crimes. It was just in a way you’d never seen. 

You were engrossed in your thoughts when Fox began to slow the car to a stop in the center of the road. You saw his attention being drawn by a dilapidated building on the side of the route– a building that could barely fit twenty people was rotting all over, with an eaten-away roof and rusted windows. You would’ve assumed it to be an abandoned shack if it weren’t for the silver cross nailed to the front door. 

“Is that a church?”

“I think so. It’s not on the map.” Fox replied, turning off the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Hey, wait, we have to get to the–”

“I’ll only be a minute. It’s not like anyone’s driving out here anyway.”

You watched the man slip out of the car and trot around the front, heading off the road. You sat for a second, watching him disappear into the overgrown weeds, and a pressure began to inflate in your chest. 

“Damn it.”

You unbuckled yourself and hopped out of the car, leaving your door wide open as you followed in his footsteps. You watched the church door close, his hands slipping out of view behind it, and you groaned. You patted your hip to find you forgot to grab your gun, so you prayed to God that these wouldn’t be your last moments alive, stranded in Kansas with Spooky Mulder. You walked up to the door, looking back to check no one was coming on the road, and you huffed, pulling it open. Stepping inside, you instantly felt disgusting. It was dark and windowless, trapping all the heat in a dead building where mold was absolutely growing within the walls. The only light inside poked through holes in the wood where bugs probably had eaten through, and everything was upturned or offset. It looked like people had left in a hurry- there was still a cloth atop the altar, and Bibles were discarded on the six slender pews filling the room. You looked around for Fox, walking further down the aisle when you heard a creaking from somewhere behind you. Turning quickly on your heels, you saw nobody by the door, and then a creak sounded again, this time too quick for you to locate its direction. You slowly turned back towards the alter, and when your eyes caught up with your body, the agent appeared but inches from your face, holding a flashlight and shining it on a creepy expression. You yelped and turned away from him, covering your face. 

“Fuck! You scared me, Fox!”

“Peace be with you,” he wiggled his eyebrows, digging into that creepy smile.

“Not funny.”

“What, you don’t enjoy a little blasphemy? I thought you weren’t religious.”

“Not particularly,” you grumbled, “But I don’t like getting snuck up on. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Fox dropped the flashlight and let his expression mold into something much more like himself, and he hummed. “Good to know.”

You pushed past him and stepped up onto the stage, feeling a bit odd. If your father were here, he wouldve insisted you make the sign of the cross and kneel before it, but you haven’t done that in quite a while. Instead, you paced the sinking platform, running your fingers over the dust-covered podium and chairs. 

“What do you think happened here?”

“I don’t know. The rapture?” Fox scoffed, picking up a Bible that was hanging split open over the back of a pew, and flipping through the thin pages. “Looks like everyone up and left.”

“Yeah,” 

You walked to the back wall, in front of the chairs, where there was a little wooden trapdoor. You tugged it open, fighting with the swollen lumber, and inside was a silver bowl full of what looked like wine, and beside it, a torn-open package of Eucharist. 

“Hey, come look at this,” you called for your partner, and he stepped out of the pews to meet you at the altar. 

Upon seeing the contents inside the wall, he asked, “What is this, like, a makeshift tabernacle?”

“Might be. But this bowl looks polished, and…” you paused to reach into the Eucharist bag, taking one and popping it into your mouth, “These are fresh, not stale.”

“You think someone’s been back to replace the bread and body?”

Curiously, you dipped your fingertip into the wine, and a violent chill ran down your back. The liquid was a familiar viscosity as it ran down into your palm, staining the creases. You drew the bowl out of the cupboard and carefully raised it to your nose, and a gag rose in your throat. 

“That’s not wine,” you choked, “Jesus!”

Fox leaned down to sniff it, catching the metallic warning, and his eyes blew wide with shock. “Blood.”

You put the bowl back inside the cupboard and shut the door, feeling an anxiety swell in your chest. You stared at the brownish-red on your finger and thought of how it once belonged to somebody, and now it was sitting inside an abandoned church. You stumbled back like you were learning to walk, heading down the altar steps and to the pews.

“Can we please get out of here?” You pleaded at Fox, who stood at the tabernacle making faces. 

“You know, now that I think of it, the other girls in the file had a loss of blood reported in their autopsies. Each a few pints. I figured it was a result of the mutilation of their chest cavities, but it could be possible that some of the blood was for sacrifice…”

“You think this has to do with the case?”

Fox began to pace, spanning the church from wall to wall as he mused. “Think about it. Whoever’s killing these girls is doing it for some divine purpose, right? What if they’re making sacrifices to God with their blood, the blood of another who’s untainted and innocent as Jesus Christ?”

“Fox–”

“No, seriously, it makes sense! This guy is clearly working in the shadow of Iscariot, and if that guy had a connection to the real Judas, wouldn’t he need to atone for his sins passed down through history? By sacrificing pure blood to God he could be saving himself from damnation in his own twisted way. Maybe his God-fearing devotion drives him to kill, to make up for Judas’ betrayal.”

“But the sacrifice of human blood isn’t exactly Catholic,” you pointed out. 

“Sure it is, people drink it every Sunday!”

“Yeah, but that’s not–”

“You were not redeemed with corruptible things as gold and silver, but with the precious blood of Christ, as a lamb unspotted and defiled,” the man recited, “Peter 1:18. Maybe it’s not widley known as human sacrifice, but Christ and the lamb are thought of as one. Maybe this guy is recreating the sacrifice in the hopes that he will be forgiven. Offering up sacrificial lambs to win the favor of Heaven.”

Fox reached to open the tabernacle again, then hesitated. Turning to you, he asked, “Would you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Could you go grab my coffee cup from the truck?”

You looked at his hand on the tabernacle door, and looked to the blood on your palm, and you rolled your eyes in utter disbelief. “Fox, no way.”

“If I had a vile, I’d ask for that, but–”

“You are not going to bring that shit into our rental car!”

“What if this blood belongs to Liane, Ro? We owe it to her to find out what happened. And maybe it isn’t hers, but it’s someone’s, isn’t it? What if he’s already got another victim?”

“We don’t even know if it’s our guy!”

Fox shot you a look that said, You know it is. He wasn’t going to budge, and you knew it. You watched him open the cupboard and take the bowl out, carefully walking it to the table at the altar. Even if you wanted to leave and forget you ever stumbled upon this shithole, you knew he was right. Churches don’t store human blood in silver bowls, and if that belonged to someone who could be in danger or already dead, it was your duty to find out. You let out a stressed groan and hurried out the front door, jogging back to the truck. The sudden sunshine strained your eyes, but even through a squint in both directions on the road, there was still not a soul to be seen out there. You leaned in through the open passenger side door, fished his empty coffee cup from the cupholder, and hurried back inside where the man waited with the bowl in his hands. 

“It’s gonna be contaminated,” you nagged.

“Well, we can’t just leave it here. You know that.”

Fox was careful to only pour a little of the blood into the cup, and even more careful not to spill it on you or the mildewed carpet. Once there was an espresso shot’s worth, he tipped the bowl back level and shoved it in the tabernacle, shutting the door tight on it. You fastened the lid onto the cup and held it between two fingers, freaking out just to have it in your grasp. You followed the man down the steps again, and he held the church doors open for you, which you walked through quickly, hoping it would be the last time you ever had to. 

“We can get this tested at the county morgue, they can test it alongside Liane’s blood to see if there’s a match,” Fox explained, taking the evidence from your hand as you hopped into the truck.

You placed your dirty hand on the door handle and said, “You’re crazy.”

“We would’ve never found it if I wasn’t.”

He shut your door for you, and then he clambered behind the wheel, placing the blood down beside your coffee cup, which you elected to have no more of. As he started up the engine and remind himself of how many more miles he had to go on the map, you tapped his shoulder. The two of you gazed through the windshield as a little truck with a tow attachment sped past, the first car you’d seen all day. Inside was a pale man, one you didn’t get a good look at, but you saw his dark hair and small eyes, and as he drove by you felt the presence of him like an omen. You remembered how it felt to look at Liane’s cold face, and recognized the feeling as the same. Maybe you were just on edge, but everything about this felt very, very wrong. 

“Something’s off about that guy,” Fox scratched his forehead in thought, “Should we follow him?”

“What? No. We’re going to see the medical examiner. Now.”

“Well–”

“Fox, you dragged me into a church and made me put blood into a coffee cup. Drive.”

“You could’ve waited in the car–”

“I said drive!”

Fox raised his palms in surrender and chuckled, shifting the car into gear and pedaling away down the road. You watched the run-down church grow small in the rearview mirror until it disappeared, and you wondered what happened inside. Maybe everyone did get up and leave. Maybe a Mass had gone horribly wrong. Maybe teenagers broke in and trashed the place. Maybe God had come down, or He had brought them up. But of all the theories you could draw, not one of them explained what that blood was doing inside the wall, and even if it was your job, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know. Liane’s face flashed before your eyes as you closed them and slumped in your seat. Fox watched you out of the corner of his eye, and he saw the blood on your finger, and he hoped that you’d come away from this case with more than just resentment for his insane methods. He kept driving, and you kept breathing, and the both of you prayed that the medical examiner hadn’t called the Bureau about the agents who were an hour late for their meeting. 

You were running a little late, which meant you were scatterbrained to the nines. You managed to fall asleep at some point between when Fox left your room and when the rain stopped and you forgot to set your alarm, so now you tore through the motel room like a tornado. You were exhausted, all the residual stress and anxiety of yesterday catching up to you, and you weren’t even dressed by the time your partner came knocking at your door. Bright and early, too- seven in the morning- and he was chipper as a bird. You wondered if he ever slept because you could see the violet shadows that caused his green eyes to glow, but he was in far better shape than you were. You swung the door open and then shut it, realizing you had two rollers sitting matronly atop your head, and you were in a wrinkled dress shirt and pajama pants, squinting without any contacts in. You opened it again, revealing just a sliver of yourself to a bewildered face.

“Woah. Good morning, sunshine,” Fox sing-songed. 

You peeked through the crack of the doorway, and he was smiling sweetly at you, holding two paper cups. He nudged the door open to hand you the coffee, which you took gratefully, feeling the crabbiness of caffeine deficiency creeping up already. You were almost jealous of how easy it must be for him to wake up and get ready. His hair was tucked tidily atop his forehead, but he was not dressed in uniform- all he wore was a pair of slacks and a blue button-down, no tie, with the sleeves rolled up. You knew he was smarter for it because the mugginess hit you smack in the face when you opened the door, but you got a whiff of the piney scent he wore and knew he probably rolled out of bed ten minutes ago just looking alright to begin with. How nice would it be to look like that in just a few minutes, needing only a comb and some cologne to make you presentable? If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve seen him wearing something like this on a date, all laid-back, careless, dripping with charm as always…

Visibly flustered, you croaked, “Morning. Thank you,”

“Yeah, no problem. They have a coffee maker in the office. It’s not great, but after last night, I don’t trust any of those shops in town claiming they’ve got the best coffee in Marysville,” Fox joked, “You, uh, you don’t look ready,” 

“Sorry,” you winced, “I overslept.”

“It’s okay. They want us down at the M.E.’s office, but we have a little time. I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ll just be a minute!”

You made him stand outside as you shuffled into a pencil skirt, hoping it was wiser for the weather, and tugged a little cardigan over your creased blouse. You grabbed your makeup pouch and took it with you, hoping he wouldn’t pay much attention to your bare face. He may have seen you last night, but you’d already convinced yourself that it was dark enough to hide anything of notoriety. The agent chuckled when you opened the door again, seeing your arms full with a coat that it was far too hot out for, the coffee, a loose gun and badge, a glasses case, your hairbrush– you looked like you just looted a house of all its most unimportant belongings. 

“Let me take that for you,” he stole the coffee back and walked you to the truck parked outside your rooms, opening the door for you. You hopped inside and threw your crap in the backseat, and he slid into the driver’s side, setting your drinks down in the cupholders. He started the truck and gave the engine a minute to warm up, reaching for the Kansas map that you left on the dashboard, but he wasn’t really looking for directions to meet the coroner. He peeked at you in his peripheral, watching as you swiped some kind of sheer powder across your face, smoothing your complexion over. He never noticed the little beauty mark on the bridge of your nose, but now he watched you paint over it, and he wished you wouldn’t. You’ve gotten ready like this before, he could tell; you had the motions down, knowing exactly how not to poke your eyes out with the mascara and not to overdo the blush in the car. When he felt like he’d sufficiently given the engine enough time, he placed the map down between you two on the bench and shifted it into reverse. 

“You okay if I start driving?”

You turned to him, mid-lipstick swipe, and you nodded. “Sure. I don’t look like a mess, do I?” Fox admired how you pushed your glasses on, adding, “I forgot about my contacts. I feel like a librarian.”

“No. You look… smart.”

“Wow, thanks,” you giggled, rolling your eyes. “I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

“Well, who wants to look stupid?”

Yours challenged the flush of his cheeks, and you rolled down the window, letting some of the hot air out of the car. He began to back out of the motel, taking a right onto the main road.

You’d never seen the Midwest in the morning. The sun wasn’t high yet, so everything had a soft, golden tone to it; the wheat fields swayed, lining the street into town, homes croaked on sprawling acres, and street signs were so faded you had to rely on the shapes to conclude the directions they gave. It was silent, only birds and wind. You liked this part of the middle of nowhere. Back in D.C., and even worse in New York, people are everywhere, clogging the streets until they burst, cutting you off and giving you the finger. You can’t get a seat at a restaurant. You have to get put on a list for bestsellers at the library. But out here, life is slow. There’s always room to breathe, and to look up and see actual stars, rather than cloudy, light-polluted skies. Something about that spoke to you. You found yourself thinking that maybe someday when your work was done with law enforcement, and you have some money put away, you could come back out here and buy a little bungalow and live out the rest of your days in a place where you don’t have to worry about running out of space and time. Fox seemed to enjoy the quaintness of it all, too, because he was quiet as a mouse beside you. 

Fox drove straight through town, and you finally got a glimpse of what the local life looked like as you passed. There weren’t many men around, but given that it was mainly an agricultural economy down here, they were probably out working on the farms. But there were pretty women in sundresses crawling up and down the streets with coffee cups and big purses, hair done up like it was a Sunday; little kids were scuttling down the sidewalks towards the school near the police station. You spotted Sheriff Hale’s car parked outside the bakery, but no one inside. 

“Wonder where all these people were yesterday,” you observed.

“At the crime scene,” your partner answered, shooting you an apologetic glance. “I think we showed up at an unusual time.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

You rolled the window up a bit, knowing you were allowing your hair to poof up like yesterday. You settled against the bench seat and took up the map, flipping to the larger scale with the main country road running through. With your finger, you followed it to the county medical examiner's office, which was a whopping sixty miles from Marysville. You knew this place was a blip on the radar, but you had no idea just how far away you were from civilization. Fox’s screw-ups getting you both here had skewed your sense of direction.

“Jeez, we’ve got a while to go. You see this?” You asked, pointing to the location. 

Fox glanced over and gave a wry chuckle. “Yeah. Straight shot up. We should get there in a little over an hour if I ignore these speed limits,” he winked, pointing to a sign. 

You watched it fly by, announcing the stretch of road was a 35 miles per hour zone, and you smiled. Flopping the map onto the dashboard, you reached for your cup of coffee and took a sip, relishing in the room-temperature taste. It tasted good for about a second, and then it turned sour on your tongue. No cream, no sugar. Your face scrunched up and you smacked your lips. Fox seemed to have his own lightbulb going off, and he kept one hand on the wheel while he reached across your lap to open up the glove compartment. You drew in a short breath as his arm brushed against your thigh, and when he uprighted himself, you huffed in frustration. 

“You could’ve swerved us into the field, Fox. Why don’t you let me open the damn thing? I’m sitting right in front of it!”

“Jeez. We’re on the road, aren’t we, Piglet?” he mocked, gesturing for you to look inside. A mess of pink sugar packets and little cream containers littered the compartment, and he giggled, “I didn’t know how you liked your coffee.”

A shameful heat flooded your chest, and you shut your mouth. 

“You’re welcome.”

You grabbed two creams and two sugars, and as you stirred them into the chilling coffee with your finger, Fox made a note of how you took it and kept driving. You piped down and watched the scenery go by, all yellow fields and blue sky, and wondered what they might have found regarding Liane’s death. What you were aware of from the case files was the girls were all beaten and penetrated postmortem, but in the last murders, the object of violation wasn’t ever identified. There was no clear definition of the instrument used in the mutilation of their bodies, either. Everything was suspiciously contactless, like whoever was murdering these teenagers never had to lay a hand on them to do it; you weren’t sure how that was possible, and you weren’t convinced it was. Someone had to be committing these crimes. It was just in a way you’d never seen. 

You were engrossed in your thoughts when Fox began to slow the car to a stop in the center of the road. You saw his attention being drawn by a dilapidated building on the side of the route– a building that could barely fit twenty people was rotting all over, with an eaten-away roof and rusted windows. You would’ve assumed it to be an abandoned shack if it weren’t for the silver cross nailed to the front door. 

“Is that a church?”

“I think so. It’s not on the map.” Fox replied, turning off the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Hey, wait, we have to get to the–”

“I’ll only be a minute. It’s not like anyone’s driving out here anyway.”

You watched the man slip out of the car and trot around the front, heading off the road. You sat for a second, watching him disappear into the overgrown weeds, and a pressure began to inflate in your chest. 

“Damn it.”

You unbuckled yourself and hopped out of the car, leaving your door wide open as you followed in his footsteps. You watched the church door close, his hands slipping out of view behind it, and you groaned. You patted your hip to find you forgot to grab your gun, so you prayed to God that these wouldn’t be your last moments alive, stranded in Kansas with Spooky Mulder. You walked up to the door, looking back to check no one was coming on the road, and you huffed, pulling it open. Stepping inside, you instantly felt disgusting. It was dark and windowless, trapping all the heat in a dead building where mold was absolutely growing within the walls. The only light inside poked through holes in the wood where bugs probably had eaten through, and everything was upturned or offset. It looked like people had left in a hurry- there was still a cloth atop the altar, and Bibles were discarded on the six slender pews filling the room. You looked around for Fox, walking further down the aisle when you heard a creaking from somewhere behind you. Turning quickly on your heels, you saw nobody by the door, and then a creak sounded again, this time too quick for you to locate its direction. You slowly turned back towards the alter, and when your eyes caught up with your body, the agent appeared but inches from your face, holding a flashlight and shining it on a creepy expression. You yelped and turned away from him, covering your face. 

“Fuck! You scared me, Fox!”

“Peace be with you,” he wiggled his eyebrows, digging into that creepy smile.

“Not funny.”

“What, you don’t enjoy a little blasphemy? I thought you weren’t religious.”

“Not particularly,” you grumbled, “But I don’t like getting snuck up on. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Fox dropped the flashlight and let his expression mold into something much more like himself, and he hummed. “Good to know.”

You pushed past him and stepped up onto the stage, feeling a bit odd. If your father were here, he would've insisted you make the sign of the cross and kneel before it, but you haven’t done that in quite a while. Instead, you paced the sinking platform, running your fingers over the dust-covered podium and chairs. 

“What do you think happened here?”

“I don’t know. The rapture?” Fox scoffed, picking up a Bible that was hanging split open over the back of a pew, and flipping through the thin pages. “Looks like everyone up and left.”

“Yeah,” 

You walked to the back wall, in front of the chairs, where there was a little wooden trapdoor. You tugged it open, fighting with the swollen lumber, and inside was a silver bowl full of what looked like wine, and beside it, a torn-open package of Eucharist. 

“Hey, come look at this,” you called for your partner, and he stepped out of the pews to meet you at the altar. 

Upon seeing the contents inside the wall, he asked, “What is this, like, a makeshift tabernacle?”

“Might be. But this bowl looks polished, and…” you paused to reach into the Eucharist bag, taking one and popping it into your mouth, “These are fresh, not stale.”

“You think someone’s been back to replace the bread and body?”

Curiously, you dipped your fingertip into the wine, and a violent chill ran down your back. The liquid was a familiar viscosity as it ran down into your palm, staining the creases. You drew the bowl out of the cupboard and carefully raised it to your nose, and a gag rose in your throat. 

“That’s not wine,” you choked, “Jesus!”

Fox leaned down to sniff it, catching the metallic warning, and his eyes blew wide with shock. “Blood.”

You put the bowl back inside the cupboard and shut the door, feeling an anxiety swell in your chest. You stared at the brownish-red on your finger and thought of how it once belonged to somebody, and now it was sitting inside an abandoned church. You stumbled back like you were learning to walk, heading down the altar steps and to the pews.

“Can we please get out of here?” You pleaded at Fox, who stood at the tabernacle making faces. 

“You know, now that I think of it, the other girls in the file had a loss of blood reported in their autopsies. Each a few pints. I figured it was a result of the mutilation of their chest cavities, but it could be possible that some of the blood was for sacrifice…”

“You think this has to do with the case?”

Fox began to pace, spanning the church from wall to wall as he mused. “Think about it. Whoever’s killing these girls is doing it for some divine purpose, right? What if they’re making sacrifices to God with their blood, the blood of another who’s untainted and innocent as Jesus Christ?”

“Fox–”

“No, seriously, it makes sense! This guy is clearly working in the shadow of Iscariot, and if that guy had a connection to the real Judas, wouldn’t he need to atone for his sins passed down through history? By sacrificing pure blood to God he could be saving himself from damnation in his own twisted way. Maybe his God-fearing devotion drives him to kill, to make up for Judas’ betrayal.”

“But the sacrifice of human blood isn’t exactly Catholic,” you pointed out. 

“Sure it is, people drink it every Sunday!”

“Yeah, but that’s not–”

“You were not redeemed with corruptible things as gold and silver, but with the precious blood of Christ, as a lamb unspotted and defiled,” the man recited, “Peter 1:18. Maybe it’s not widley known as human sacrifice, but Christ and the lamb are thought of as one. Maybe this guy is recreating the sacrifice in the hopes that he will be forgiven. Offering up sacrificial lambs to win the favor of Heaven.”

Fox reached to open the tabernacle again, then hesitated. Turning to you, he asked, “Would you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Could you go grab my coffee cup from the truck?”

You looked at his hand on the tabernacle door, and looked to the blood on your palm, and you rolled your eyes in utter disbelief. “Fox, no way.”

“If I had a vile, I’d ask for that, but–”

“You are not going to bring that shit into our rental car!”

“What if this blood belongs to Liane, Ro? We owe it to her to find out what happened. And maybe it isn’t hers, but it’s someone’s, isn’t it? What if he’s already got another victim?”

“We don’t even know if it’s our guy!”

Fox shot you a look that said, You know it is. He wasn’t going to budge, and you knew it. You watched him open the cupboard and take the bowl out, carefully walking it to the table at the altar. Even if you wanted to leave and forget you ever stumbled upon this shithole, you knew he was right. Churches don’t store human blood in silver bowls, and if that belonged to someone who could be in danger or already dead, it was your duty to find out. You let out a stressed groan and hurried out the front door, jogging back to the truck. The sudden sunshine strained your eyes, but even through a squint in both directions on the road, there was still not a soul to be seen out there. You leaned in through the open passenger side door, fished his empty coffee cup from the cupholder, and hurried back inside where the man waited with the bowl in his hands. 

“It’s gonna be contaminated,” you nagged.

“Well, we can’t just leave it here. You know that.”

Fox was careful to only pour a little of the blood into the cup, and even more careful not to spill it on you or the mildewed carpet. Once there was an espresso shot’s worth, he tipped the bowl back level and shoved it in the tabernacle, shutting the door tight on it. You fastened the lid onto the cup and held it between two fingers, freaking out just to have it in your grasp. You followed the man down the steps again, and he held the church doors open for you, which you walked through quickly, hoping it would be the last time you ever had to. 

“We can get this tested at the county morgue, they can test it alongside Liane’s blood to see if there’s a match,” Fox explained, taking the evidence from your hand as you hopped into the truck.

You placed your dirty hand on the door handle and said, “You’re crazy.”

“We would’ve never found it if I wasn’t.”

He shut your door for you, and then he clambered behind the wheel, placing the blood down beside your coffee cup, which you elected to have no more of. As he started up the engine and remind himself of how many more miles he had to go on the map, you tapped his shoulder. The two of you gazed through the windshield as a little truck with a tow attachment sped past, the first car you’d seen all day. Inside was a pale man, one you didn’t get a good look at, but you saw his dark hair and small eyes, and as he drove by you felt the presence of him like an omen. You remembered how it felt to look at Liane’s cold face, and recognized the feeling as the same. Maybe you were just on edge, but everything about this felt very, very wrong. 

“Something’s off about that guy,” Fox scratched his forehead in thought, “Should we follow him?”

“What? No. We’re going to see the medical examiner. Now.”

“Well–”

“Fox, you dragged me into a church and made me put blood into a coffee cup. Drive.”

“You could’ve waited in the car–”

“I said drive!”

Fox raised his palms in surrender and chuckled, shifting the car into gear and pedaling away down the road. You watched the run-down church grow small in the rearview mirror until it disappeared, and you wondered what happened inside. Maybe everyone did get up and leave. Maybe a Mass had gone horribly wrong. Maybe teenagers broke in and trashed the place. Maybe God had come down, or He had brought them up. But of all the theories you could draw, not one of them explained what that blood was doing inside the wall, and even if it was your job, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know. Liane’s face flashed before your eyes as you closed them and slumped in your seat. Fox watched you out of the corner of his eye, and he saw the blood on your finger, and he hoped that you’d come away from this case with more than just resentment for his insane methods. He kept driving, and you kept breathing, and the both of you prayed that the medical examiner hadn’t called the Bureau about the agents who were an hour late for their meeting. 

[tea4br3akfast]

Me when caffeine

(I've began bringing cold coffee to school in a juice pouch because my caffeine crash doesn't make me live laugh or love during school so obviously the solution is more coffee)

[thecoolestnoodle]

You guys are NOT ready for this Dr. Pepper addiction of mine. I have a tiny pouch full of can tabs EXCLUSIVELY from Dr. Pepper cans. No other can tabs are allowed in the pouch even though I know you wouldn't be able to tell them apart. Also if I don't drink one a day I get headaches. Which probably is just from the caffeine or something. Yes I drink water..... on occasion.