#was on a call and getting DISTRESSED about a report due tomorrow morning

[coldswarkids]

the ray of sun abt working at a company that has an 8:1 men-women ratio and is in tech, is that i can be utterly distraught at work and there is a chance the dudes will either be too socially oblivious to notice or too awkward around women and shall desire to immediately fix it

[weather-usa]

Hiker Found Dead After Making Distress Call During California Heat Wave

Police report that Le Nguyen continued hiking after her group stopped. She later called her sister, stating she was "extremely hot and needed water."

A search helicopter pilot made a tragic discovery, ending the nearly two-day mystery of a 50-year-old woman who went missing during a group hike on Sunday morning amid a California heat wave.

At 9:15 a.m. on Monday, a police helicopter spotted a body just a quarter-mile from an intersection.

Climate and Average Weather Year Round in Utah:

"She nearly made it out," said San Diego Police Department Lt. Dan Meyer at a press conference.

This discovery concluded an all-hands-on-deck search that had been ongoing since the previous morning.

Woman Disappears After Leaving Group Hike

Le Nguyen set out Sunday morning with around 100 other hikers for a 5K fundraiser, police reported. She even appeared on the group's livestream from the mountain top, according to FOX 5 San Diego.

"We need your help finding Diem Le Nguyen. Diem was hiking on 'Nighthawk Trail' on Black Mountain," read the San Diego Police Department's plea on social media. "Due to the weather and difficulty of the trail, she is missing at risk."

Around 8 a.m., the group stopped halfway up the mountain, but other hikers said she continued up the trail alone to finish the hike. She contacted members of the group at 9:30 a.m. to inform them she had reached the end of the trail.

About 10 a.m., Le Nguyen made a distress call to her sister, saying she was "extremely hot and needed water," according to Lt. Dan Meyer. That was the last anyone heard from her.

Woman Disappears After Leaving Group Hike

See more:

https://www.behance.net/gallery/196861831/Weather-Forecast-for-South-Dakota

Le Nguyen set out Sunday morning with about 100 other hikers for a 5K fundraiser, according to police. She even appeared on the group's livestream from the mountaintop, reported FOX 5 San Diego.

"We need your help finding Diem Le Nguyen. Diem was hiking on 'Nighthawk Trail' on Black Mountain," read the San Diego Police Department's plea on social media. "Due to the weather and difficulty of the trail, she is considered missing and at risk."

Around 8 a.m., the group stopped halfway up the mountain, but other hikers said she continued up the trail alone to finish the hike. She contacted members of the group at 9:30 a.m. to tell them she had made it to the end of the trail.

At about 10 a.m., Le Nguyen made a distress call to her sister, saying she was "extremely hot and needed water," according to Lt. Dan Meyer. That was the last anyone heard from her.

Other hikers commented on the heat in the social media post.

"I went hiking alone, and it was hot! The air felt like opening an oven door," wrote @badbaddiechef. "Take extra water and eat hydrating foods beforehand, because something can always happen."

A veteran hiker in the park noted that the trail is about 3-4 miles long and wide open.

Weather Forecast For Hawaii:

"As long as you're staying on the trail, you're going to be fine," said hiker and volunteer searcher Roger Sunahara. "The trails are pretty wide open and not a lot of trees, so you can't really get lost."

"But if you took the wrong trail and tried to find your way back, slipping or tripping on something is always a possibility," he added. "And with this heat, it's been a while. I can see how that could be dangerous."

Despite efforts from police, sheriff's search and rescue teams, search dogs, helicopters, and drones, no sign of the woman was found on Sunday. The search resumed Monday morning.

The San Diego County Medical Examiner’s Office will investigate the death and confirm the body's identity.

See more:

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-85054

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-85055

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-85060

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-85062

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-85061

[quokkacore]

phenomena | s.jn

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

pairing: conspiracytheorist!johnny x doctor!reader

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

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

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

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

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

X-FILE 62-J: THE PINEWOOD PATTERN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If you have any doubt about my credentials—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh boy, you thought, here we go. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 John grinned. “Awesome.”

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What just happened?”

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

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

"What are you—" 

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

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

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

 Hi-de-hi-de-hi, brother,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I… is that a—?"

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

"A chimpanzee."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A hunch," Was all he answered.

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

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

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

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

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

"Nothing scientific to substantiate," He corrected.

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

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

"'S that… ash?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am not—"

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

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

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

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

“Uh, John, where are you g—”

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

“Fuckin’—I—WOO! WOO HOO!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Johnny, shut up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But how do you know—”

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

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

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

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

 You frowned. “The girl in the wheelchair?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 He nodded. "You hungry?"

  "Um… yeah, why?"

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

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

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

You rolled your eyes, but didn't disagree.

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

"I… There's something in the woods."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "I was 17. I'm turning 21 in June."

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

Oh?

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

"So you called us?"

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

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

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

  "Does this normally h—"

 "Lia Choi."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Empty," He groaned.

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

"I think I know who did it."

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A-and the marks are…"

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

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

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

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

"This—Johnny, this is insane!"

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

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

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

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

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

Right into the forest.

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

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

"Shit," He muttered, "Do you think—?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brightness?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N, are you alright?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John clenched his jaw. "But—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Understood, sir," You said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don't care if Monday's blue

Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, Oscar the Grouch." 

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

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

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Ouch."

"Any witnesses or anything?" 

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

Johnny tilted his head. "Hooves?"

You hummed in confirmation.

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

"No." 

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

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

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

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

Dressed up to the eyes

It's a wonderful surprise

To see your shoes and your spirits rise...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, but I still want coffee."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We wanted to… you know."

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

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

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

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

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

"Did you see what happened?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What did it look like?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Johnny frowned. "I think maybe—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Our investigation is ongoing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Something to do with that girl?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Johnny—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frowned and crossed your arms. "Johnny—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Johnny, I—"

"Can you get out, please?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This just got a whole lot more complicated. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded, and that was that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

A commotion from the kitchen cut you off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Johnny nodded. “Hopefully we’ll find—”

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

“Sheriff, what’s going on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who called the police?"

"Clinton."

"Clinton?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Johnny tilted his head. "Why not?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Believed?"

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

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

"Who did, then?"

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

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

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

"Why even use Phoebe in the first place?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What? But—"

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

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

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

Your friend needed you.

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

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

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

Where was Johnny?

"Y/N?"

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

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

"Y/N? What's… going on?"

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

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

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

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

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

His eyebrows shot up. "He did it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that—?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who, Mrs. Walker, who?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Johnny, what about—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed. "I mean, maybe you—"

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

"Johnny—?"

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

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

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

And two, you were being dragged by Hillary Clinton. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doyoung!” Beatrice snapped. “We don’t have time for this. Don’t you sense it getting angrier? If we don’t sacrifice them now, it’ll take us like it took Grant.”

Doyoung turned to her, breathing heavily through his nose. “Fine,” He bit out.

They dragged you into the bathrooms, leading you to the showers, where they dumped you both next to each other. You rolled onto your side to look at Johnny, whose eyes were screwed shut in pain. His breathing was labored. 

You squirmed again, trying to free yourself as the shower roared to life. Curling in on yourself as cold water soaked your body, you tried to think of a way to save both Johnny and yourself. Doyoung and Beatrice pulled out large daggers from their  coat pockets, and raised their arms to the sky. They began chanting in latin, but the roar of water, the shock of the cold temperature, and the panic beginning to set in caused the words to blur together. 

This was it. You and Johnny were going to die. 

Until the two of them crumpled on top of you. You jumped as Doyoung’s weight toppled onto you, eyes squeezing shut in pain. His elbow had landed on your stomach. For a moment, as you lay there reeling in pain, and you wondered if this was a part of the ritual. But then…

"Agent L/N?" Your eyes shot open, and you met eyes with Amy Espinoza. She managed an awkward attempt at a polite smile, fiddling with what she was holding in her hands. Your eyes widened when you registered the shotgun. A flashlight was duct-taped haphazardly to the barrel, probably so that she could see wherever she was aiming.

"Mmh-hffpnffh?" You couldn't stop yourself from trying to speak, unable to contain your surprise. 

A second set of hands turned off the shower, and you craned your neck to see Donghyuck Lee, holding an old baseball bat underneath his armpit. He pulled Beatrice off of Johnny, making a disgusted face. "I always knew there was something up with her," He grumbled, "She never laughed at my jokes."

"Yeah, 'cause you're annoying as shit," Amy countered, pushing Doyoung to the side. "Can you guys sit up?"

She untied your hands, and you got to work on untying your feet before pulling the gag off of your mouth. 

"What are you two doing here?" Johnny asked, voice raspy and out of breath. 

You stood up, wiping water off of your face. "Where did you get that gun?"

 "Oh." Amy suddenly sounded embarrassed. "I, uh… Stole it from my dad?

"Donghyuck helped Johnny stand. "We went to visit Phoebe in the hospital, Mr. Suh—"

"Agent Suh," Johnny corrected, bringing a hand to his stomach. "Whatever. Anyway, we went to visit and once she woke up she told us something… not good."

"Mrs. Walker is the thing," Amy said. "Phoebe said she was dissecting the pig and she saw her grab the bracelet she'd given her—"

"And she did something and her eyes turned orange, like the thing we saw in the woods!" Amy continued. "The officer that was there didn't believe her, but we did."

"So we decided to take matters into our own hands," Donghyuck said. "She killed our best friend, so we thought—"

"That coming to your school with a shotgun and a wooden baseball bat, to kill a demon was the best course of action?" You didn't sound amused, and the two of them exchanged a look.

Amy looked down. "Well… when you put it like that…"

"It doesn't matter," Johnny said. "You kids need to go home now. It's not safe for either of you." 

"Like hell we're going anywhere! We were able to save you guys, so—"

“You kids got lucky this one time," You pointed out, sounding stern, "Agent Suh and I are trained for dangerous situations like this. You two aren't, and we certainly aren't about to expose you kids to one. Go home."

You searched your pockets, not finding your gun. You crouched to look through Doyoung and Beatrice's pockets, handing Johnny's gun to him and putting your gun back into your holster.

"But—"

A large crack of thunder startled you all, and the ground seemed to rumble as it did. Johnny looked past you and the kids, at the end of the shower hallway, and inhaled sharply.

"Oh, that's so much worse than Hillary Clinton," He mumbled. You didn't even see what he meant, but in that split second something in you took over. You pulled Donghyuck behind you, Johnny grabbing Amy and doing the same. 

At the same time, Amy aimed the gun to where Johnny had been looking, the light landing on...

Donghyuck gasped. "Holy shit."

It was like exactly what Donghyuck had said, except worse. Glowing, orange eyes, goat legs, stringy black hair. Johnny was right—standing like this, she was much taller than him. Her jaw was unhinged, open impossibly wide. She was panting heavily, hobbling slowly towards you. 

You and Johnny pulled out your guns, shooting instantly. One hit her in the shoulder, the other in the stomach. Her jaw opened even further, and a blood curdling screech echoed throughout the tiled room. 

Then she broke out into a run. 

You forced yourself to stand still, shooting another round before she jumped over you. Out of the corner of your eye, Donghyuck swung the bat, hitting her in the leg, causing her to fall face first to the ground.

 Taking that advantage, Johnny fired another round into her back. She shrieked again, and you and Johnny took the opportunity to run out the door, pushing the kids with you.

"Go! Both of you, now," You ordered once you were in the gym again. They shook their heads. Donghyuck held up his bat.

"We're not leaving without—"

"Donghyuck, this isn't a movie," Johnny insisted, "Now go!"

 Amy grabbed his arm. "Hyuck, they're right, we have to—LOOK OUT!"

You turned to see what had once been Mrs. Walker stick its head out of the doorway. Amy was able to fire one last shot into it, with her shotgun. You didn’t see where it hit—the door shut and you heard one final wail. 

A few moments later, the lights flickered on. You stood there, clothes dripping onto the hardwood floor for a good minute or so, until you looked at Johnny, who wore a pained grimace. "I can check," You told him. "Stay here with the kids." 

"You sure?" He asked. You nodded, holding out your gun and slowly making your way towards the door. You spared the odd trio one final glance. 

Johnny—soaking wet hair falling into his eyes—was standing in front of them, aiming his gun at the door. Donghyuck was holding his bat up, Amy's MacGyver-esque flashlight gun making you squint.

Then, you opened the door. You could feel your heart hammering a mile a minute. Very slowly, you scanned the room. You stopped when you glanced at the showerhead Beatrice and Doyoung had placed you under—the same one they should have been under, knocked unconscious. You swallowed a lump in your throat. 

Because they weren’t there, and neither was Mrs. Walker. What you did see, however, were two large streak of blood dragged up the wall and to a window, staining the green tiles.

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—20:47 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

The four of you made your way back to the main building on high alert. The rain seemed to have stopped once the thing was gone. Amazingly, there wasn't even a cloud in the sky. Even the air felt different—cleaner.

Shockingly, this time when Johnny tried the phone again, it worked. In order, he called the sheriff, who had no issue believing the ordeal you had gone through. Then the principal, who was incredibly confused as to how four of her teachers could vanish in one night.

 And then, you turned to the kids and gestured to the phone. "Alright, your turn now. Call your parents, both of you."

If they were more afraid of the murderous hellspawn they'd just helped you fight off, it didn't show. "Please just let us go now, Agent L/N," Donghyuck pleaded, "My mom will never let me leave my house again after this."

Amy shook her head. "My dad's gonna kill me if he finds out I stole the gun again."

Johnny made a face. "Again?"

She turned even paler when she realized her screw up. "I'm not going to omit witnesses from a report because you'll get grounded," You told them. "You're good kids, with good intentions. You just lost someone and had another friend go through something traumatic, we get that. But what you did tonight was incredibly dangerous, reckless, and—and—"

"Stupid?" Johnny offered.

"Johnny!" You snapped, lowering your voice. He shrugged.

You sighed, trying to get them to understand. "Alright, listen. There's a Yellow Pages over on that desk. If you don't call them, I will, or the sheriff will. Which would scare your parents less, huh? Getting a call from their kids, from the sheriff's department, or from the goddamn federal bureau of investigation?"

If they didn't get it before, they definitely understood now. Amy took the fall first, telling her dad she'd brought her car to the school, had gotten into trouble, and needed him to come by to talk to the police. She left out the gun, much to your amusement.

While Donghyuck did the same, you pulled Johnny into the hallway to speak to him.

"Are you okay?" You asked, "Doyoung seemed to kick you pretty hard." 

"I'll take a few days off once we get back to DC, I'll be fine," He murmured. He leaned against the wall and winced.

You nodded, but weren't sure how to respond. Finally, you spoke again.

"Look, about last night," You said softly, and he looked up in thought. 

"What about it?" He didn't seem to want to meet your eyes.

You took a step forward. "Johnny, other than when we first met, have I ever treated you like you were crazy?" 

Your voice was quieter now, gentler in its approach. He looked to the side, crossing his arms. "...No."

You shrugged, before sighing. "It's not that I don't trust you. I have my scientific conclusions. You have yours. Every time I see something I can't explain I try to explain it with what I do know. Tonight was… insane, and you were right. But honestly? It just reinforced my wanting to go the scientific route every time we have a case."

He frowned. "Why? You saw Walker."

"Exactly." You crossed your arms. "If I went into every single case, expecting to see that or something even worse? God. I… I don't know how you do it, John."

He smiled, but still didn't meet your eyes. "I didn't mean what I said last night either. Y'know… that. Or at least, I didn't realize I didn't mean it until today. I… I care about you, Johnny. I really do. You're smart, and you're really funny, and you give me perspectives I wouldn't consider otherwise."

He looked at you, and you put a hand on his upper arm. "I'm glad I have a friend like you to work with," You admitted, "And I'm glad you're okay."

His smile grew, and he let out a chuckle. "There's no one else in the bureau I would rather be murdered by Hillary Clinton with," He said, with the most endearing tone possible. You burst into laughter, Johnny joining you. He stepped closer, pulling you into a hug as you continued to laugh. Your eyes shut, and despite Johnny's cold, damp clothes pressing against your cold, damp clothes, it still warmed your chest. The two of you stood together for a while, enjoying each other's embrace. His chin rested on your head, and you sighed happily. Johnny gave good hugs.

"Uhh, Agent Suh?"

Johnny and you broke away immediately. Johnny cleared his throat."Uhh, yes, Donghyuck?"Amy and Donghyuck exchanged a glance from the office doorway. "Uh, my mom said she'll be here soon. A-and I saw some police lights across the street, so…"

"Oh." Johnny straightened his tie. "Thank you."

A few seconds later, the sound of sirens came into proximity. You took a look at these two kids, and despite the stress they'd caused you, you felt an odd fondness in your heart. 

“Come on, you two," Johnny murmured, "Time to go."

X-FILE 229-B: THE SAN CEFERINO SHIFTER

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—07:08 hours, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

On this particular summer morning, you were enjoying the air conditioner for as long as you could wait. You'd be flying to San Ceferino, California, twenty minutes outside of San Francisco. 

The assignment was at a gated community where three women had been found dead within the span of three weeks. You and Johnny would be sent in to investigate due to a strange, unidentifiable residue being found on the bodies. A local detective had contacted the bureau for help.

The kicker? For some reason, due to some sensitivities of having their community "invaded" the head of the community had requested you be placed undercover.

So what was the bureau's idea? "Moving" you and Johnny into the community, posing as a newlywed couple. 

Yikes.

This seemed like a bad idea to you, but you didn't say anything. Because if you spoke up to your superiors, they'd ask why, and you'd be forced to explain. 

"I got the flight tickets and our fake profiles!" Johnny entered your shared office, causing you to look up from the case file.

"Oh, nice. Who are we?"

He curled his lip, making a face. "Whoever makes up these names should be demoted, I swear to god. My name is Fox. Fox Kang. Who the hell names their kid Fox—"

You stifled a laugh as you grabbed the file from him, flipping to yours. Dana Baker. A bit ordinary, but the more inconspicuous, the better, you figured. 

"God, I kind of don't want to go," You hummed, "It's hot enough as it is here in Washington. I don't wanna imagine the California heat."

"Well, suck it up," He said, but he didn't sound dismissive. "We're leaving in three hours. We still have to pick up our undercover wardrobe and get to the airport, y'know?"

Frowning at the profile, you nodded half-heartedly. It stated that your backstory was that of college sweethearts at Cornell in the 80s. He was class of 1984, you of 1986. You were moving to California two months after getting married, because "Fox" got a job offer just outside of San Francisco. 

"You're staring at that paper like you're Nancy Kerrigan and it just broke your knee," Johnny pointed out, "You okay?"

"Huh?" You looked at him, swallowing. "Oh… yeah. I'm fine. I'm just a bit… unsure about the whole marriage thing." 

Johnny shrugged, offering an amused smile. "Really, Y/N. We've been working together for two years and you still find me that unbearable?"

You laughed, standing and circling your desk to stand in front of him. "No, not at all. I'm just not the best when it comes to undercover work."

Johnny leaned against the desk, smiling sympathetically. "Well, I'm no Tom Hanks either. But if you think about it, we spend all our time together anyway. It's not that big of a stretch to say we might as well be."

"We definitely argue like one," You fired back. You both laughed, simply staring at each other in silence once it quieted down. Johnny's eyes studied you up and down, dark eyes warm. He was wearing his glasses today. 

You wondered if he was judging your outfit, because he did that sometimes with other people. Apparently, before he became interested in criminal psychology he'd wanted to become a fashion designer, or so he told you. Six months later after he'd told you that and you still weren't sure if he was joking or not.

"What are you looking at?" You asked. He shook his head. 

"...Nothing. Let's get going?"

The two of you picked up your faux suitcases—the bureau had a department full of fake clothes for agents going undercover needing to fit a certain persona. The two of you were nothing close to the white picket fence suburban life, so you were better off picking up some fake clothes.

You laughed when you saw the first outfit Johnny had been given. A pastel yellow LaCoste polo shirt, and grayish blue dress shorts. He glowered at you when he saw your face.

"Oh, yeah, very funny."

Your outfit wasn't much better. High rise, light wash jeans and another polo, this one bright red, a pair of dark red casual loafers to match. Johnny didn't laugh, but it was clear he was trying not to.

You decided to sleep on the plane. There wasn't a lot to look over, as you'd received the file the night before. By now, you knew the drill. 

You dreamt you were back in that hotel room in Oregon. Johnny was kneeling beneath you, but you still hadn't taken your robe off. He was saying something, but you couldn't understand what. His eyes were full of a warm emotion that you couldn't quite place.

Until he raised his arms to try and remove the robe. This time, when he spoke, you could hear him clearly. "This is what you wanted me to do, right?"

Your hands grabbed his. "What? Johnny, I… Well…" 

He stood, face impossibly close to yours. There was an odd smile on his face. "Don't worry," He murmured. "I want to, too."

Slowly, your hands let go of his and he began to pull off the robe. You didn’t protest. When you were bare, his hands slid to the skin of your waist, and he pulled you against him. His forehead pressed against yours.

"Johnny, are you sure?"

"Y/N," He said with a smile, "We are beginning our descent into LAX. Please put on your seatbelts and put up your trays."

You jumped awake in your seat, eyes impossibly wide. A laugh from beside you caused you to turn your head. Johnny was giggling into his palm. 

"What?" You asked, voice raspy from sleeping. 

"Oh my god, that was beautiful," He declared, "You were sleeping so peacefully and then, oh my god, that was hilarious."

"Ha, ha, ha." Your tone was devoid of any emotion. You rubbed your eyes, yawning slightly. "What time is it, here?"

"Three hour time difference. It's one PM." 

You nodded. And you still had a six hour car ride. Lovely. 

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE I-5, CALIFORNIA—15:22, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

"Couldn't they have just flown us to San Francisco and have us drive from there?" Johnny complained after being cut off by yet another car. 

You sighed. "Budget cuts, I guess. We're not infiltrating the mafia, or taking down human trafficking rings."

"Yeah, we just fight the boogeyman and the little green men," He agreed. You laughed. 

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we hadn't gotten assigned together?" He sounded wistful, not taking his eyes off of the road. 

"I don't know." You picked at a loose thread on your jeans. "I would probably still be teaching at the academy. I think Brooks was considering placing you with Jung if I wasn't up for it."

"Jaehyun Jung?" He turned his head, making a face. "Really? He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," You insisted, "He just thinks like me, science before all, except… less nice about it."

"You sure?" He asked, fiddling with the radio, "Every time we're in a room together, I catch him staring at me like he's trying to shoot lasers into my head, the prick."

You shrugged. "He's nice to me."

"That's just 'cause he's trying to get into your pants."

You hummed. Jaehyun was pretty handsome. "Would that be such a bad thing?" 

He coughed, shrugging. "Well, it's your love life. You do you."

The air turned awkward. Johnny fiddled with the radio, but in this particular stretch of the interstate, all that came up was a Latin beats radio. Trumpets, and soft snare drums filled the car. You immediately recognized Selena's Bidi Bidi Bom Bom, a song about a girl realizing her heart went crazy whenever her lover passed by—while you didn’t listen to a lot of Latin music, you had a friend who did and always played this song when you met up.

Me tiemblan hasta las piernas

Y el corazon igual

Se emociona, ya no razona

No lo puedo controlar

"Oh, I hate this song," Johnny mumbled, reaching to turn the radio off.

"No, wait! I like it." You pushed his hand away. He groaned, but didn't turn it off. 

Y me canta así, me canta así…

Bidi bidi bom bom, bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

So, the two of you continued on listening to Selena, Johnny silently pouting. 

"So, what were you dreaming about on the plane?"

"Huh?" You cleared your throat.

"Yeah, you said my name in your sleep."

You shifted in your seat. "Oh… Um. I can't even remember."

He hummed, but didn't say anything. The drive continued on, both of you alternating between discussing mundane things and the case. All of them had been found in their homes, with no sign of a struggle—which suggested they knew their assailant. They'd all been strangled to death. No odd fingerprints could be recovered from the crime scenes. 

The first victim lived alone. The other two's husbands had solid alibis that were confirmed by the police. 

Which meant that it had to be someone in the neighborhood. There was reportedly a strong sense of community there, which was part of why the bureau had you going undercover. 

Around six, the two of you rolled into San Francisco, for a brief stop to talk to the detective who had contacted the bureau, a woman named Wendy Son. 

The two of you rolled into the precinct, and upon showing your badges, were prompted to the woman’s office. She had her light brown hair tied up in a ponytail, wearing a black pantsuit similar to what you would wear, had you not been dressed like a soccer mom.

"Oh, thank you for coming," She said once you sat down. "I have some extra material here that I wasn't able to fax you."

She pulled out a folder, setting it in front of you on the desk. Johnny opened it to reveal more images you hadn't initially seen. 

"We sent the sample to Los Angeles because their laboratory has a higher capacity," She told you both, "They still weren't able to identify it, but apparently it apparently has an a mild tranquilizing enzyme. That might also be why there wasn't much of a struggle." 

Johnny hummed. "There aren't any cameras in San Ceferino, are there?" 

Detective Son shook her head. "Only around the perimeter and the gates." 

"Maybe there's something there," You said, "Could we have access to those tapes?"

She looked back down at the pictures. "I could certainly get it to you by tomorrow afternoon, though. Come in past two and I should have it by then."

Johnny nodded and smiled at her. "That would be great, thank you." 

She smiled, and you'd have to be blind to not notice the blush on her face. She handed him the keys to the house that the heads of the community had arranged to have semi-furnished ahead of your arrival. The rest would be arriving tomorrow in the morning, during which time you would go through the motions of being a newlywed couple moving into their “forever home”.

Johnny apparently was blind, though. He didn't say anything about it once you were both back in the car. You couldn't really blame her. 

Johnny was… well, he was Johnny. He was incredibly handsome, and funny. Any reasonable person interested in men would find him attractive. 

"Detective Son likes you," You told him as you were getting onto the road that led to San Ceferino.

"Does she?" He answered, smiling smugly. "She's pretty."

You don't know why that ignited something in you. "You think so?"

He nodded. "She seems nice. But I'm not interested."

The odd sensation in your chest simmered down. "No?"

"Not really. I'm not interested in something long distance. Plus, I work too much to have a relationship."

You nodded. "Yeah. I understand."

You arrived as the sun was setting, around seven. The two of you pulled into the gate to the place, where you introduced yourselves with your fake names to the guard. He checked his roster of approved people and let you both in. 

San Ceferino consisted of four different cul de sacs, each house practically identical. The house you would be staying in was towards the end of the second one. The house was a pale pastel yellow, orange rays of the sunset making it seem a deeper color. Your car rolled into “your” driveway, and with a sigh of relief, Johnny turned the car off. 

“I’m so tired,” He groaned, “Should we try and introduce ourselves today or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” You said, letting your head fall back against the headrest, “These people are probably all having dinner or something, it’d be weird for us to do that now.”

He nodded, and got out of the car to open the trunk. You got out to grab your suitcase, and as you were getting out you realized that just maybe the universe disagreed with your decision to wait to meet others around the neighborhood.

A woman was crossing the street. She seemed a bit older than you both but was still dressed almost identically. You walked over to Johnny, who had his back turned, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Fox,” You mumbled, “We’ve got company.”

He turned, and upon spotting the woman flashed a comically fake smile. You offered the friendliest smile you could muster, but the way her eyes lit up when doing a once over of Johnny and then drooping in disappointment once she spotted you. If she thought she was subtle, she was dead wrong.

“Hi,” She said, impossibly enthusiastic, “I’m Anne Morrison. I’m the head of the Homeowners Association.”

You nodded in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you,” You said, holding out your hand, “I’m Dana. This is… my husband, Fox.”

“Fox,” She repeated, turning to look at Johnny, “That’s a lovely name. So, what brings you two to San Ceferino?”

“Oh, I got a job offer in San Francisco a few months ago,” Johnny answered. He was good, you decided. “We looked at some houses in the city, but it’s so busy there, you know? We were living in Maryland, so the transition between small town and big city… it’s not for us.”

She nodded, eyes wide. “I absolutely understand. My ex-husband wanted to move to the city now that our kids are in college. I don’t enjoy any of the hustle and bustle, really.” She chuckled, “So guess who got the house in the divorce!”

You and Johnny exchanged a glance, then laughed as if it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. “Oh, my goodness,” You wheezed, clutching your hand in your chest, “I can imagine!”

“So, what do you two do?”

“I’m an architect,” Johnny said.

“I’m a publicist.” You scratched at your cheek when you felt a mosquito try to land. Her eyes zeroed in on your hand.

“You two are married, right?” She asked, “How come you’re not wearing your rings?”

You froze. Did the bureau even have fake jewelry? Why didn’t either of you think of that detail?

“Oh,” Johnny shrugged, coming to the rescue. “It’s so stressful having to take everything on and off at the airport, so we decided not to wear them today. Right, honey?”

He wrapped his hand around your waist, and you nodded. “I never wear jewelry when I’m on a plane. Too much hassle.”

She nodded, mouth slightly agape. “Oh, I see.”

Johny cleared his throat. “What do you work as?”

She grinned. “I’m a chemist.”

“I hated chemistry in high school,” Johnny groaned jokingly. Anne apparently thought this was hilarious, swatting his arm. He laughed again, but it was empty, awkward. You leaned your head against his shoulder in hopes that she'd get the message. 

“Well, Anne, it was lovely meeting you,” You declared, “But we’ve been awake since five in the morning travelling. We’re exhausted, we really should be getting inside.”

Anne sighed, eyes turning away from studying Johnny’s face to you. “Oh, go ahead. You two must be so tired.”

Johnny nodded, pursing his lips. “We’ll speak soon?”

She smiled. “There’s an HOA meeting on Friday night at another member's house. You should come and see what we’re all about, consider joining.”

"Swing by tomorrow!" You grinned, "You can tell us the details then."

"Of course, of course. Well, I'll leave you two to it. It was nice meeting you, Dana." She raked her eyes over Johnny one more time, "...Fox."

When she was out of earshot, Johnny pulled the suitcases out of the trunk and scrunched up his nose. "That was... awkward."

Your hand pulled up the extendable handle of the suitcase, looking back at her to see her close the door to her house, which was at the very end of the cul de sac. 

You looked back at him. "So, a chemist. And she's involved with the community, everyone probably knows who she is."

He shrugged before closing the trunk. "Let's keep an eye on her. She gives me the creeps."

The two of you made sure the car was locked before making your way towards the front door. He fiddled with the keys

"She might even have a motive," He said, as you stepped inside. "Ah, c'mon, aren't you gonna let me carry you over the threshold?"

"Not the time," You said, picking up your suitcase to carry it to the bedroom. "We were talking about a motive. Evidently, she likes looking at… married men. If it's her, she might be doing it out of jealousy."

"Exactly," He agreed, following you up the stairs. "Maybe there's something else at play—jealousy or something. how old were the other victims?" 

"Between 25 and 35. She didn't say how old she was, did she?" You rolled into the bedroom, sitting on the bed and immediately flopping down onto it. Johnny rolled past your room, looking for the separate bed the bureau had said would be there as well.

"Finally," You sighed with a smile. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stifled a yawn. For a second, you considered falling asleep just like this, uncomfortable jeans be damned. 

"Y/N?" 

You cracked your eyes open, frowning at Johnny who was standing in the doorway. "What?" 

"There's only one bed."

You almost stopped breathing for a moment. "Huh?" 

He shuffled on his feet. "There's only one bed," He said, speaking slower.

"What do you mean there's only one bed?" You sat up.

Johnny sighed. "I mean there's only one bed." 

"But the bureau said—"

"Well, the bureau lied," He interrupted, "Because there's no other bed."

You  crossed your arms. "I could take the couch."

"That's supposed to get here tomorrow." 

"Oh," You frowned. What were you going to do? 

"I mean, I could sleep on the floor," You said, "So that way we don't have to sleep, you know…"

"Together?" He offered.

"In the same bed," You corrected, turning your face. It felt hot all of a sudden. 

"No, I couldn't do that to you." He set his suitcase next to yours, then sat next to you. "The bed seems big enough. I'm sure we'll be fine."

You were too tired to argue further. "Sure…" You didn't sound too convinced. 

"Great," He sighed, "I just gotta tell you. I snore a bit."

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—08:43 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

That night, surprisingly, you slept like a baby. You initially thought you'd overthink it all with Johnny lying right next to you but… it was comforting, knowing he was there. You hadn't slept next to anyone since you were 26.

Life as an FBI agent was demanding. Because of this, you'd given up on the idea of having a meaningful relationship ages ago. And due to the nature of your work, it was easy to throw yourself into it to drown out the desire to have someone to come home to. The fact that whenever you did get free time, if you spent too much of it alone… 

But now, lying awake in the morning, seeing Johnny's sleeping face curled up into his pillow… You remembered. 

He looked peaceful. Even at 33, like this he barely looked a day past 27. You could make out the details on his face, old acne scars and the occasional mole. The smile lines along his cheeks and the corners of his eyes… maybe in another lifetime, another universe, you could have gotten used to—

No. You shot up, heading towards the en suite to go to the bathroom. You were still sleepy, that was all. The time difference between Washington and California was having second effects. 

You pulled down your pants, blinking sleepily, and promptly had a heart attack when you sat down. Your knees barely missed your nose, your stomach dropped, and a shriek tumbled out of your lips before you could even register what was happening. 

Standing, now wide awake, you had half a mind to pull up your pants as Johnny tumbled into the bathroom, eyes wide in alarm.

"What happened?" He asked, voice raspy from disuse. You didn’t answer, but instead stared at the offending lifted toilet seat until he got the message. 

"Oh…" His face turned awkward, lips tilting from side to side. "I got up a few hours ago. I must have forgotten to put it back down, sorry." 

You didn't answer, yawning instead. He shrugged. "I've never… lived with another woman before, so…"

"Never?"

His eyes looked down. "...Never."

"Not even with that ex-girlfriend from Oxford you told me about?"

"Mary? No."

You held back an amused grin. "Johnny, when was the last time you even went on a date?" 

He pursed his lips. "I… am starving. Do you want me to go to the supermarket to pick something up for breakfast?"

You blinked, putting your hands on your hips. 

"...Breakfast sounds great."

Johnny promptly changed and left while you got into the shower. Once you were out, you brushed your teeth, did your general morning routine and waited for the car to roll back into the driveway, doing a quick background check on Anne in the meantime. 

No criminal record whatsoever, but that didn't automatically discard her from your list. Mostly because she was the only one on it, so far. 

Johnny rolled back into the driveway just before 9:20. You helped him take the bags into the kitchen, when he said, "Think fast!" and tossed you a small box.

"What's this?" You asked, opening the box. You sputtered at the sight: two simple gold bands. He looked at you like you were a moron.

"Wedding rings," He said, plucking one of the rings out from the box, "Hopefully so Anne lays off."

"You didn't have to go out and buy actual—"

"It's fake gold." He waved his hand dismissively, sitting down at the island and slathering an ungodly amount of cream cheese across a bagel. 

You settled on some coffee after hesitating to put on the ring. As you were finishing up, a knock at the door caught your attention. You looked at him, and he shrugged. "Moving van won't be here till 10:30."

So, you sighed, but still headed to the door. Johnny followed behind, second bagel in hand. When you swung the door open, you were met with Anne and a man you hadn't met yet. A wide Cheshire grin was plastered onto her face.

"Dana, hi!" She greeted. Her eyes landed on Johnny. "Good morning, Fox."

"Morning, Anne," You said with a nod, catching her attention again. You turned your eyes onto the man and held out your hand. "Hi, I'm Dana."

He shook your hand with a friendly smile. "My name's Scott Hernandez. I'm on the HOA board."

Johnny walked up to the door, putting a hand on your shoulder. "I'm Fox," He said, face speckled with crumbs and mouth full of food. You wanted to crawl into a hole.

"Hey, man," Scott said, eyeing Johnny, "Uh… Welcome to the neighborhood!"

"So," Anne asked, eyes raking over Johnny's chest, "How was the first night?"

Johnny swallowed his bagel before speaking. "It was lovely. We just snuggled up together and slept like little baby cats." He turned to you, eyes warm. "Isn't that right, honey bunch?"

Your neck snapped to look at him, holding back a look of disgust. "That's right…" You racked your brain for something sweet to call him and a moment later came up with, "...Poopy head."

Poopy head? Nice one, L/N.

Johnny’s smile faltered for a second, but neither Scott nor Anne seemed to notice. You flashed them both a bright grin. "So! Would you like to come in?"

Scott and Anne nodded. "That'd be great, thanks," He said. You led them into the dining room, where Johnny managed an awkward laugh. "Sorry it's such a mess, we just got up about an hour ago and I immediately went to the supermarket."

"Oh, don't worry, Fox," Scott hummed, sitting at the island, "Moving is so stressful. Especially with…"

Anne flashed him a dirty look. You raised an eyebrow at the interaction. "With what?" You asked, tilting your head as you feigned innocence. Anne sighed, shaking her head.

"Three women have been… murdered over the past few weeks." Scott looked down. "Police haven't been able to catch who's responsible."

"That's horrible," Johnny murmured, standing next to you. "Did you know them?"

"We know everyone because of our HOA responsibilities," Scott answered, "I wasn't that close to any of them, but they were all very nice women. It's awful, what happened to them. You knew Yolanda, didn't you, Anne?"

She nodded, eyes glassy. "Her son and mine used to play together. She was such a nice woman. Lovely family, too. It just breaks my heart." 

"I'm sorry for your loss," You told her. She offered a sad smile.

"But what, is it someone from the community or what?"

Anne shrugged, eyes full of concern. "The police don't really know, but it would make sense if they were from the community—"

"It couldn't possibly be someone living here," Scott huffed, "Everyone knows everyone, why would someone want to—"

"Scott is just in denial," Anne said, waving her hand. "Did you two really not know?"

"Not at all," Johnny replied, eyes wide with fake worry, "These past few weeks have been so hectic we barely had time to sit down. Right, honey?"

You groaned, partially putting up an act and partially in disgust at the name. "It's been a nightmare!" 

You made up some problems, like a crappy travel agency, yard sales, things going missing, stuff like that. Johnny occasionally chimed in, embellishing your stories. Occasionally, Anne or Scott would ask a question, and Johnny would answer with something he pulled out of his ass. 

"So that's why Fox isn't allowed coffee, anymore," You said a few minutes later, rolling your eyes. Scott was cackling, Anne giggling into her palm. Johnny glared at you, but there was no malice behind it. 

"But anyway, I'm guessing you two didn't come here to hear about how anxious I get with caffeine." Johnny turned to the pair. "What brings you to the... Kang-Baker residence?"

"Oh, we came to talk to you about joining the Homeowner's Association," Anne explained, "Not everyone in the neighborhood is a part of it, but it's very convenient to join." 

They laid down the basics, and as they talked, you realized just how much you appreciated living in an apartment rather than a house. Yes, it was a bit small at times, definitely not as idyllic, but 300 dollars as an initiation fee, and monthly payments of 150 dollars? You had half a mind to call the bureau and tell them that the real crime was the extortion from the Homeowner's Association. 

You didn't really see any advantages—probably because you didn't even own this house and wouldn't have to worry about selling it later. It just sounded like a nightmare. What did they mean you could only paint your doors pastel colors if you joined?

When they finally left, you looked at Johnny. "Maybe I'm not cut out for the American dream after all. That HOA stuff sounds even worse than the time we got attacked by the flesh eating virus."

He held back a laugh. "That bad, huh?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, this is much more irritating. The moving van will be here any second, come on, let's go."

127TH PRECINCT, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—14:29 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

After unloading the furniture boxes (empty boxes with nothing really in them), you and Johnny settled on lunch—some crappy junk food—and drove all the way to the police station where Detective Son worked. 

"What did you think about that Scott guy?" You asked Johnny, who shrugged. 

"Seemed nice enough. We'd have to look into him too, since he's also involved in the community."

You nodded. "I'll run a background check once we get h—back to the house."

He glanced at you, but said nothing. "...What are you doing once this is over?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What, once we get back to DC?"

He nodded. "Well, yeah."

You stared ahead at the car in front of you. "Oh, well… I'm not sure. Probably finish writing that stupid report for Brooks and then curl up on my couch, watch some movies, drink some wine. I don't know."

He snickered. "What, and watch Pretty Woman for the 700th time?"

Smacking him in the shoulder lightly, you huffed. "Which is no better than watching Full Metal Jacket 700 times, and you know it, Johnny Suh."

He shrugged. "Well, if sex on a piano is what does it for you then who am I to judge?"

"Shut up." You rolled down the window, the heat too much to handle. 

When you finally got to see Detective Son again, she handed you the cassette and made her way towards the door. When she spoke, she looked only at you. "I'm actually headed out to check out another call we got just now," She explained, "But feel free to use the VCR in my office to look it all over."

She left, not even looking Johnny in the eye. You turned to Johnny, who was wide-eyed. 

"And you said she likes me."

In her office, you went over several days' worth of sped up hours of footage of six different camera angles. By the third hour of watching sped up, grainy footage, Johnny huffed. "I don't think we'll get anything," He said, "Especially considering the killer didn't even need to break their way in—"

"Hold on, hold on." You shook your head, eyes zeroing in on a dark shape in one of the cameras. You walked up to the VCR machine and hit the rewind button.

"Watch camera six."

He narrowed his eyes, fixing his glasses as he watched the dark shape run out from the treeline and up the wall, then out of the camera's view—presumably inside the community. You rewinded one last time, pausing just as it leaped onto the wall.

"There."

"That's too big to be a cat," He murmured, standing to get a closer look at the grainy black and white still image, "Right?"

"Could be a big cat—bobcat or a lynx, maybe, but…"

"It's movements are too… jerky for it to be a cat."

You hesitated, before nodding. 

"Could this be the thing we're looking for?" Johnny asked, and you crossed your arms, giving the dark blob a skeptical look.

"Looks like we have some digging to do."

One more hour of poring over the footage, plus another hour of looking at the archives of the police department turned up nothing on big cats in the area. There'd been no calls to 911 to report big cats in the neighborhood, and looking over the tape again showed nothing else, not even the thing leaving.

Which made Johnny’s theory that it was still there weigh even more.

By 7:30PM or so, Detective Son had returned. "I brought coffee," She said, entering the small space, "Find anything?"

You shrugged. Johnny looked at her. "We saw a weird blob go inside. It never came out and we couldn't figure out what it was."

She frowned. "There haven't been any reports of wild animals there in years. Not since that huge military base opened up."

Johnny's eyebrows knit together. "Army base?"

She nodded. "Fort Talbot. It's about fifteen minutes west of San Ceferino. There aren't a lot of roads that lead to it, they're pretty private."

You locked eyes with Johnny, who was probably thinking the same thing as you. Military base? That was new.

 “I don’t suppose you could take us to see it?”

She shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, we could try, but there’s a fence around the perimeter about a mile or two away from the actual base. They’re not gonna let you in.”

“No, we’re not military,” You sighed. “But thank you for telling us about that.”

SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—20:44 hours, Thursday, February 12th, 1993

When the car rolled into the driveway, the two of you had found that Anne was at your front door. You shot each other a quizzical look when she turned at the sight of your headlights. “What’s the cougar doing here?” He sighed, and you elbowed him.

“Hush. Be nice.”

She reached the car once you’d both stepped out. “Oh, I was wondering where you two were! I wanted to invite you over to have dinner. The spinach quiche I made was a bit too big for just me!”

At the mention of the meal, your stomach panged in hunger. All you’d had since you left the house was that coffee Wendy had given you. Plus…

Johnny seemed to read your mind. “We’re starving. Quiche sounds great, thanks so much, Anne.”

She beamed at his praise. “Oh, come on! Wouldn’t want it to get cold.”

Anne took the both of you into her house, leading you to the dinner table where she’d already set up spots for the both of you. “It’s not too much, is it? I’m sorry if I’m being overbearing. I really do want you to ease into the neighborhood, and plus, living in this big old empty house gets… lonely.”

As you sat down, you frowned in sympathy. You watched as she began to slice the quiche for you both. “Don’t worry, Anne. I understand where you’re coming from. It’s so lonely in my—or, it was so lonely in my apartment before Fox and I met. Sure, you can distract yourself during the day with all of the stuff you have to do, but at the end of the day you come home to… nothing.”

She handed Johnny a plate, and he took it. “There you go, Fox.”

He smiled, handing the plate to you. “Thank you.”

Her eyes followed his hand, and blinked when she spotted the ring on his hand. “Oh, I see you have your rings now.”

Johnny’s smile grew into a grin, as he held out his hand, flashing the band around his ring finger. You did the same. “No more pesky metal detectors,” He declared, “So why not?”

Anne nodded, eyes lowered. She handed him another plate, then served herself. And then, finally, you all started eating. It occurred to you as you took your first bite that if she was she easily could have laced the food with whatever was in those women’s systems when they died. But that would be too different from the killer’s modus operandi. They only went for women and they killed them in their home. Autopsies didn’t find anything recent in their stomachs at the time of death, so you concluded to take a bite. 

Besides, it smelled good. If you were going to die, then it would be nice to die by the hands of some good quiche.

“So,” You began, “You said your kids were off at college?” 

She nodded, digging around her food with a fork. “My oldest is in grad school at USC. He’s currently in South America doing research on bats, or something, I really can’t remember. My second is off backpacking for the summer, she’s graduating from UCLA next year, and my youngest left for college two years ago. He managed to get a full scholarship to Duke, can you believe it?”

You smiled, nodding. “Wow, that’s impressive.” 

She sounded proud, but there was a sadness behind her gaze. “It’s hard, it really is. Especially trying not to worry. They rarely call and only come home during the holidays. Drives me up the wall not knowing what my kids are up to!”

Johnny laughed. “My mom was the same when I went to college. My freshman year she called me once every day. My roommates always made fun of me for it.”

She chuckled. “Oh, that’s how all moms are,” She turned to you, “I imagine it’ll be the same when you two have kids.”

You almost choked on the food in your mouth at her words. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Johnny go white. Somehow, you managed to hold it back, hitting your chest lightly as the food made its way down. “Oh, well… it’s a bit early for that, I think.”

“We only got married six months ago…” Johnny murmured awkwardly. 

“Oh, I totally get it,” She said, “But, y´know, accidents happen. Especially when you’re still in the honeymoon phase after the wedding. I had my first less than a year after we were married, we weren’t even trying!”

You chewed on your lip. “Well, if something happens…” You met eyes with Johnny, whose gaze was unreadable, “Something happens.”

Not looking away, Johnny licked his lips subtly, before picking up a napkin. Anne didn’t notice, surprisingly, and seemed satisfied with your answer.

You ate a little bit more, when Anne asked, “So, tell me, how did you two meet?”

Remembering the file, Johnny perked up. “We met at a party in college. I was in my junior year, I think? Right, honey?”

You shook your head. “Your senior year,” You corrected, “Because I was in my sophomore year. I remember it like it was yesterday. He came up to me and was wearing this horrible button up shirt—”

“You ended up stealing it from me!” He joked, and you held up your index finger.

 “I use it to sleep. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that in public. Much less to attract a mate.”

Anne cackled, and the two of you laughed too. Again, you managed to make up a story: he was drunk and accidentally spilled some punch on your pants. He’d tried to help you by washing it in the bathroom but only made it worse.

“When I got back to my dorm, it was around three in the morning, my leg was sticky and I was miserable, but we ran into each other a few days later and he was very apologetic about the whole thing.”

“I was mortified,” He said, “I mean, here’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life and I managed to screw it up by ruining her pants. I was so sure I’d screwed up.”

Anne raised her eyebrows. “So, you knew from the start that you liked her?”

Johnny’s eyes landed on you again, turning wistful. He leaned over and grabbed your free hand. “The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.”

You tried to smile, but suddenly your chest felt like it was caving in on yourself. You let your hand rest in his for a moment, before pulling away. “Oh, Fox. Don’t get all sentimental on me now.”

Clearing your throat, you didn’t miss the way Johnny’s eyes fell slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, where’s your bathroom?”

She pointed up. “Upstairs to the right.”

This was your chance to get some dirt on her, and put some space between you and Johnny. As you walked away, you touched a hand to your cheek and it came away burning. 

“Get it together,” You muttered to yourself.

The quick search yielded nothing. She had nothing in her drawers, all of the papers on her desk were related to her work at a hair care company. You always could have missed something though. You couldn’t take more than a few minutes, you certainly couldn’t risk her coming up to check on you and finding you sifting through her work documents.

Before you came down, you did your best to leave everything as you found it before heading back downstairs. 

When you sat back down at the table, things were a bit more tense. You sensed it immediately. “Everything alright?”

“...Yeah,” Johnny mumbled. 

“Fox and I were just talking about how… difficult marriage can be.”

You nodded, wondering if that was all that had happened. “Oh, it’s no walk in the park, that’s for sure.”

The rest of the dinner was not as lively. There were more awkward silences, more lulls in the conversation, less laughs. When you finally left, his elbow intertwined in yours, you looked at him. “What happened while I was gone?”

He shook his head as you both crossed the street. “I don’t like her,” He told you in a hushed voice, “She started talking about how it won’t be like this forever and it’s only fun now because we just got married or whatever.”

“What, was she trying to open something up between you and her?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t exactly been subtle, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she was.”

The two of you marched up into your house, and while Johnny was showering you did a background check on Scott Hernandez. Nothing also. A perfectly ordinary citizen, no criminal record at all. 

Then, it was your turn to shower. As you did, you couldn’t help but think back to Anne’s words. The whole situation, feigning domesticity was proving to be bad for you: you couldn’t help but imagine a small child with his wide eyes and your nose, his lanky limbs and your hands. 

The amount of time you put into your work made you fully aware that it would make having children difficult. Truth be told, you hadn’t really put much thought into settling down. The right person had never been there.

But what if he had? What if he’d been by your side for the past three years?

He had to be putting on an act when he’d said it.

The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.

Thinking back to the moment you’d first met him, and he’d come across as slightly patronizing and dismissive of your conclusions. But thinking about when he’d first turned to look at you, that particular morning in 1992…

You turned off the shower. Alone time wasn’t doing you any good, either.

When you emerged from the shower, you sighed as your eyes landed on the toilet seat, which was lifted. You set it back down with a huff before getting dressed.

Once you stepped out of the bathroom in your pajamas, toweling your hair, your eyes fell to the pile of dirty clothes on the bed. “Please don’t put your sweaty clothes, where I have to sleep,” You told him, tossing the clothes into his face. He let out a soft groan, picking them up. 

“Oh, come on,” He grumbled, “They don’t even smell that bad.”

After he set them off somewhere (you didn’t see where as you were shutting your laptop off), he sat back down on the bed, leaving a space open for you. "So, what if we looked into Scott tomorrow?"

“That sounds like a good idea. Tomorrow night there’s that HOA thing we need to go to. We might be able to pick up some more stuff there.”

He nodded, and as you stood in front of the bed he waggled his eyebrows and patted the spot next to you. “Come on, Dana,” He murmured sarcastically, “We’re married now.”

You didn’t smile. He took that as a sign to continue. 

“Plus, if something happens, something happens.”

You grabbed a pillow and flung it into his face. “You’re the worst,” You grumbled. He laughed, but it was muffled from the pillow.

Slowly but surely, you realized with the sound of his laughter, this feeling was soon going to become something you couldn’t ignore.

HERNANDEZ RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—09:02 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the door opened, Scott Hernandez had a welcoming smile on his face. “Dana,” He said, “Good morning. Did you need anything?”

“Oh, I just wanted to ask if there was an official guidebook or anything for the HOA? Fox and I are still considering joining, but we’d need to go over everything.” You scratched at the cardigan you were wearing. Why did the bureau have to give you something so thick and scratchy when they knew you were coming to California in the middle of July?

“Come in! I’m sure I have a rulebook. Plus, if you have any other questions you could always just come over.”

He led you up the stairs. “I keep all of my stuff in the office,” He explained, “That way my kids don’t mess it all up.”

You offered a soft laugh. “Oh, you have kids?”

“Yep.” His voice was warm. “Two kids, a nine year old and a six year old. They’re not here right now, though. My wife took them up to Washington to see their grandparents.”

“Ah, that’s sweet.” As he led you into the office, your eyes studied the room. A picture frame behind him of a professional family portrait, a houseplant in the corner a big clunky computer on top of the desk, and a cabinet pushed to the side of the room.

Your eyes fell onto the things placed on top of the cabinet, a stapler and some other office supplies. But when your eyes caught a different type of metal that wasn’t the standard gray color, you focused on it. A small medallion, decorated with a ribbon. When you recognized the logo, your eyes widened slightly.

“You’re military?” 

His eyes turned to you, eyebrows raised. Then he looked to the side. “Oh… no. My brother was. He passed away in the Gulf War.”

You looked down, but something about his tone didn’t sound quite authentic. “I’m sorry for your loss,” You answered anyway. 

The silence hung overhead for a few moments, before he pulled out a small booklet. “Here’s a copy of the rulebook.” He held it up, waving it back and forth, “This has pretty much everything.”

“Oh, really?” You straightened your posture, feigning a smile. When he handed it to you, your smile grew bigger as you looked down at the small book. “I’ll be sure to show Fox when he gets home. I really appreciate it, Scott.”

He waved his hand. “Don’t mention it. If you need anything else, just come on over. I work from home, so I’m here pretty much all day.”

Scott studied your face, and a second later you looked away. “So, I should get going,” You murmured. “I’ll see you tonight? I don’t think nor you nor Anne said where it would be.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Here, actually! Tonight, at 7.” 

“Great,” You answered, “I’ll see you tonight.”

When you got back to the house, you walked to the office, where Johnny was waiting. “Hernandez has military links.”

His head shot up. “He does?” 

“There was a military medallion on his cabinet in his office. He looked like he was gonna piss himself when I asked about it.”

“And what did he say?”

“Said his brother was a Gulf War veteran. I didn’t believe him for a second.”

“So could he be our guy?”

You took a deep breath. “Honestly? I don’t know. I could try to look through his office tonight at the HOA thing.”

“You?” He shook his head vehemently. “You fit his profile. All of his victims were around your age. You’re not going somewhere you could be alone with him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then what?” 

He looked at you as if you were dumb. “I’ll go.”

“But—”

“No.” His gaze turned stern, before walking all the way up to you. He put his hands up on your shoulders. “Y/N, he could kill you.”

“Has that ever stopped me before?” You asked, tilting your head. “Johnny, it’s in the job description to deal with people who could kill me. What’s so different now?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His eyes were wide, urgent, and his face was inches away. You shook your head, trying to prompt him to speak. “What?” 

Johnny pursed his lips, studying your face. And then, finally he shook his head. “Nothing.” 

He stepped away, and left the office, leaving you speechless. You leaned against the desk thinking about what just happened.

For the rest of the day, he was relatively distant. During lunch—you went out to buy some sandwiches—and he barely said thank you, before you ate in tense silence. You could only wait until 7 o’clock rolled around. In the meantime, you placed a call to Detective Son, telling her to look into Scott Hernandez and his family. You typed up the rest of your preliminary report, and then all you could do was wait. 

When five thirty rolled around, you started to get ready. You took only about five minutes, before stepping out, fully dressed. When you stepped out of the bathroom, Johnny had his back turned to you. It was almost as if he hadn’t noticed you were right behind him, because he was humming softly to himself, tapping his foot to a non audible melody. You could hear him humming it though, and after a few seconds of listening. you were able to recognize the song.

He froze when he heard your giggling. “What?” He asked, turning his head.

“Is… is that Bidi Bidi Bom Bom?” You asked, leaning against the wall. He straightened his posture before shuffling on his feet. 

“...No.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “Sure, it isn’t.”

He raised his eyebrow, but it wasn’t as serious as he had been before. And when you spoke again, his mouth grew into a crooked smile. 

“You like Selena,” You sing-songed. 

“Alright, enough. We’ve got a job to do.” He was biting back a laugh. You knew him too much to believe the opposite. 

When the two of you finally walked the few houses towards Scott’s house, he held out his arm for you to hold onto. Taking a deep breath, your hand hesitated before it grabbed onto him. Approaching the house, you could tell that it was alive with a lot of people on the inside. You wouldn’t necessarily say it was overflowing, but you could tell it was definitely close to filling up. 

“Let’s go?” He asked, and you nodded. He led you to the front door, where he rang the doorbell before the two of you waited. 

A minute or so later, Scott opened the door with a grin. 

“Hey, you two! You’re just in time.”

You put on your best smiles. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Johnny sighed. You didn’t miss the tense undertone in his words.

The two of you made your way into the room. Across the room you heard someone call for you both. You held back a groan. You really didn’t need this right now. 

“Hey, over here!” Anne called, beckoning you over. Johnny heaved the sigh of a man ready to end it all, and then you both made your way to her and her group. All of them seemed to be the same age as her. 

“Ladies, these are our new neighbors I was telling you about.” She pointed at the both of you .”This is Dana Baker, and this is Fox… the architect.”

Oh boy. 

And the talking began. You and Johnny having to rehash the same details over and over again. It felt like having to navigate a minefield. You had to recall all of the lies you’d told Anne and Scott, this time in front of an audience of women very clearly ogling the man who they fully believed was your husband. 

You made idle chit-chat after that, but eventually, about twenty minutes had passed until they sat everyone down. The living room was full of grown ups, including a few young children. The thought of everyone being in such close proximity to someone, something that could hurt them all the way it had hurt those other women.

It was easy to tune them all out. It was then that you realized that suburban life would never really be for you. This was all so dull and monotone. You were sure that if you had decided to actually go into the medical field and settled down… you would probably lose your mind. 

They went over some things you didn’t pay attention to: lawns and whatnot. It was so tiring you had to stifle a yawn on more than one occasion. Anne was going on about some infraction that didn’t even sound that bad to you, when it occurred to you to slip away, Johnny be damned. 

You patted Scott on the shoulder as Anne went on. “Where’s the bathroom?”

He nodded back once, “Upstairs. Green door. We’re almost done, though, are you sure you can’t wait a little longer?”

“I had the genius idea to drink two whole bottles of water before we left,” You murmured so as to not make too much of a scene, “I really don’t think I can.”

He sighed, before nodding. “Go ahead.”

Gotcha. You slipped up, sparing Johnny a glance. He was glaring at you. If looks could kill, you didn’t even want to know where you’d end up going. You made your way up the stairs, remembering the way to the office from this morning. You slipped into the office, making your way to the cabinet. The medallion was gone, which made you wonder why he had done so. 

As you shuffled through the drawers of the cabinet and came up with nothing, you had to remind yourself to keep count of how long you’d been up here. You moved on to the desk, shuffling through the papers on the desk and then the ones on the drawer. In the first drawer, you found an ID: Alma Hernandez, Lazarus Programming.

In the second drawer, nothing. 

In the third and bottom drawer, you found something: a pair of dogtags. Neither of them said Hernandez. Instead, they read Simon Walsh. 

Simon Walsh? That was new. You stashed them back into the drawer, suddenly remembering how long you’d been up here. Probably a bit over five minutes. As you made your way back down to the living room, you ran into Johnny. 

“Hey,” He said, “I was just coming to look for you.”

He looked disappointed, bordering on anger. In the small space, you could feel his proximity. You couldn’t help but shake your head.

“I had to take the chance. I wasn’t sure if there would be a chance after this.”

He sighed. “I can’t believe you. Come on, they’re serving pizza.”

You laughed, letting him grab your hand as he led you back into the living room, where you two ate a few slices of pizza. Enough to feel satisfied, but not enough to feel too full. In theory, if you had to make a detainment or worse, have a confrontation then it’d be a bad idea to have stomach cramps. 

You two kept to yourselves, occasionally speaking to other couples who introduced themselves to you. Once you’d finished gorging yourselves on the food, he kept his hand around your waist the entire time. It was a gentle touch, but comforting. You couldn’t help but feel tense.

“After we get home, I’ll tell you all the details I saw.” You looked up to see his face, watching you tentatively. 

“Alright,” He murmured, leaning closer to your face, “But I wanna talk about something together first.”

Raising an eyebrow, you leaned away from him. “What, are you okay?”

Johnny nodded, smile reassuringly. “Yeah. I just realized something earlier today.” 

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—21:17 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the two of you left, Anne had bid you both goodbye. She’d said Scott had gone to bed with a headache, which made you feel a bit uneasy. The entire way home, Johnny kept himself relatively close. The entire way home, he was silent. It wasn’t until the both of you were inside of the house that he leaned against the front door. As he led you to the couch )which had finally arrived), you tried to remember all of the details you’d seen as you looked through Scott’s office.

When he sat you down, you placed both hands in your lap. He scratched at his shoulder, before meeting your eyes.

“Simon Walsh.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widened at the same time his had. “What?” You asked, shaking your head. You were suddenly aware of everything going on. You were in an ongoing murder investigation. It was quite possibly linked to a very secretive military base. Three women had been murdered. A fourth would be soon if you didn’t hurry.

“Johnny, I don’t think…”

“No, please. Just a few minutes, okay? I’ve been dealing with this for years. I need to get this out of my system and then we can talk about this back in DC. Please, Y/N.”

Your gut felt heavy at the same time your heart felt incredibly light. It was by far one of the strangest sensations you’d ever felt. Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded. 

“Alright, John. Five minutes. Then we talk about what I found.”

He nodded with a small smile. Gently, Johnny grabbed your hands, rubbing the knuckles with his thumbs. He was silent for a while, tilting his head back and forth as he tried to figure out what to say. 

“What I said last night at Anne’s. I meant it. That first time I saw you, I… I knew. I knew we didn’t get along initially, but I just had this feeling in my chest. You were so smart, and eventually we realized how much we clicked…”

He looked up, leaning closer. You swallowed softly as his eyes met yours again. He managed a soft chuckle. “Y/N, I tried to hold it away. But it got stronger every single day. You understand me. Even though we push back against each other, you don’t think I’m crazy. You take them into consideration and don’t brush them off. I really appreciate that. I look at you and… I’m home.”

Looking to the side, you sighed. “Johnny, I really don’t think this is appropriate. Especially not right now—”

"Y/N, I know what your dream on the plane was about."

You inhaled sharply, alarmed gaze meeting his own. His eyes had turned soft, warm. You knew you had to push him away. The name Simon Walsh was on loop in your head, but you couldn’t find it in you to push him away.

“What?”

“I heard you moan my name,” He sighed, “Trust me, Y/N, I know what I heard.”

He leaned even closer, cupping your face. You could feel his breath puffing softly onto your skin. His eyes were knowing as his voice dropped to a whisper. 

“You want me too, don’t you?”

When his lips met yours, you couldn’t find it in you to pull away. He pulled you closer, and your arms found their way to wrap themselves around your neck. His lips were soft, but demanding. You could tell he’d been waiting for this a long, long time. 

You don’t know when he laid you down onto the couch, but honestly… you didn’t really mind. Johnny was warm, comfortable. And yes, July in California was hot, humid, but… up until Johnny put his hands on you, you’d never realized how cold you’d been, even before your arrival here.

He deepened the kiss, hands sliding down to your waist. They toyed with the hem of your blouse, humming against your lips. You gasped against him, hands sliding into his gelled hair.

Your eyes snapped open. Johnny never used this much gel in his hair.

Two things happened in the next two seconds. You pushed Johnny off. Johnny would never prioritize his feelings like this over a case. You hadn’t seen Scott as you left. All of this pretending, playing house had gotten to you. You were in real danger now.

The other thing that happened? Johnny burst through the door, wearing clothes he hadn’t been wearing when you first left. He was panting heavily. There was a bruise on his cheek and his wrists were red.

You backed away from Not Johnny, who turned to you, gaze now furious. A wave of nausea passed over you, breathing heavily. Whatever Not Johnny had in his system, he had passed onto you with his spit, and you could feel it settling into your system. You looked up at Johnny, before pulling out your gun. Taking a deep breath, you looked at your work partner, closest confidante, love of your life.

“I had a feeling,” You mumbled, realizing how the sinking feeling in your stomach was actually dread.

Stumbling, you heard Not Johnny let out a ghastly screech. You fired your gun at him before passing out. 

SAN FRANCISCO METROPOLITAN, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—10:39 hours, Saturday, July 14th, 1994

The room smelled sterile. You knew this smell. You’d lived it for several years before in medical school rotations. This had to be a hospital, you realized. Slowly, you let your eyes open. You let out a soft groan at the discomfort of having been stuck in one position for so long.

“You awake?” A deep, familiar voice asked. Your vision was blurry, but you could still recognize it was Johnny. His eyes were rimmed red from exhaustion, but he looked relieved. 

“No. I died, actually.” Your voice was raspy. Johnny scoffed, shaking his head.

“You’re impossible,” He mumbled, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“What even happened after I passed out?”

Johnny took a second to gather his thoughts before speaking. “You hit him in the face. It wasn’t pretty. He freaked out a bit, and then he took off. I couldn't catch him. Called Son, she came in with the precinct and they looked through Hernandez's house."

His gaze turned somber as you sat up with a soft huff. Your muscles were stiff.

"They found the real Scott Hernandez, his two kids and his wife, in their basement. Autopsies are being performed today, but it looks like they've been dead a few weeks."

Your eyes shut. Two kids, a man, and another woman. Seven victims total.

"And that thing is still out there," You mumbled, "If only I hadn't been so stupid—"

Johnny put his hand on yours. "Don't say that. Even if you hadn't gotten knocked out, he would still be way too much for just the two of us to handle. Y/N, you shot him in the face and it barely stopped him. He wasn't human anymore."

You shook your head, burying your head in your hands. "Still… I know you, Johnny. I should have seen the signs, but he was so—somehow he knew everything—"

"It's something to do with touch," He said with a nod, "He knocked me to the ground and locked me in a closet before he found you. I was a bit out of it, but I remember he touched my wrist for a few seconds and then he turned into me. My head still hurts, too. Maybe he can also copy some memories from the people he touches long enough."

When you didn't answer, he grabbed your face. He looked desperate. "Y/N, you're only human. I would have fallen for it too."

"I fell for it because he told me exactly what I wanted to hear," You whispered, feeling tears spring to your eyes, seemingly out of nowhere, "He played me like a fucking fiddle and I fell for it."

His thumb brushed away a tear. "Don't think about the what-ifs, Y/N. It's already happened, and now we need to focus on what's gonna happen next. We need to find a way into Fort Talbot. Somehow. Turn your report into the bureau and we can figure it out from there. There’s something going on there. Human experimentation on soldiers, or something."

"We're never gonna get clearance to search a military base, Johnny. It's impossible."

He shook his head. "Y/N, if you were able to convince Brooks to let me, Spooky Suh, FBI's most unwanted? keep running around hunting ghosts and aliens and Bigfoot all over the country, you can figure out a way to get access in there. I know you can."

You were shaking now. "We won't be safe if we do. You think the military won't retaliate? We'd be dead, Johnny," Your words were garbled and your voice wouldn't stop cracking, "There has to be another way."

He shook you gently, shaking his head. "Dammit, Y/N, I can't do this without you."

"They placed me with you for a reason, Johnny," You snapped, "To debunk your work, to reign you in and shut you down—"

"But you saved me," He insisted, "You did exactly the opposite. And as a result we kept working together, and you kept me honest. You… you've made me a whole person."

He rubbed his face with his hand, pushing a strand of dark hair out of his eye. "Y/N, as frustrating as it's been sometimes working with you, your stupud science and rationalism have saved me a thousand times over. I owe you everything. Y/N, you owe me nothing."

His forehead brushed yours, and his eyes fluttered shut. "I can't do this without you," He murmured. And despite the fact that you knew that this was your Johnny, you shook your head. The deja vu was making your head spin. 

"Tell me something the real Johnny would know," You whispered, putting a hand on your chest.

He thought for a second, before sighing. "I had three moments when I realized I was in love with you. When you first walked into my office that morning, I had a feeling," He said, voice full of conviction, "It grew into something concrete when you told me my glasses were crooked. And the moment I knew—I mean, I already knew from that first moment but this was when it truly hit me—was when you told me you'd kept that stupid fucking nasal implant in your sports bra so that you wouldn't lose it."

He laughed warmly, obviously thinking back to the moment. "No one else has ever believed me the way you do. And I doubt anyone else ever will. You're my one in…" He looked to the side, trying to remember the number, "Five billion."

Your hand came up to caress his face. He seemed to melt against your touch. 

This time, when your lips met, everything felt right, despite the feeling that the world was crumbling around you. His hands squeezed your face gently, as if you were about to disappear. When your hands slid into his hair, it felt slightly sweaty still, but it wasn't tacky with gel. 

This was your Johnny. You knew it with your entire being.

Yes, Johnny was sarcastic, stubborn, eccentric and had low impulse control. But he was also highly intelligent, empathetic, hilarious and yes, you could now admit that he was the most beautiful human you'd ever seen in your 30 years on this planet. 

If it had to be him and you against the world, so be it. The truth was out there. You and Johnny would just have to be the ones chasing it.

taglist: @doderyscoffee​ @always-wishing-for-rain​

[stab-the-son-of-a]

Whumptober No.4 - Taken Hostage

TW: Guns, off-screen assumed character death, sexist character, smoking

Taglist: @whumpers-inc

There is a surprising (and hand-cramping) amount of paperwork that goes into working at a call center, even one as unconventional as 1-877-WHMP-NOW. An annoying, several hour, several stack amount. Bianca will never forgive whoever it was in HR or accounting (the only two departments who actually seem masochistic enough to enjoy bureaucracy) that suggested all these extra reports and encounter summaries and redundancy measures.

In the same way you tune out the world while enjoying a nature walk and only begin paying attention again when your unconscious mind notices something dangerously wrong, Bianca pauses in her muttered curses to the paperwork gods and listens.

“Why of course she’s in today,” Fran says in a tight tone. “I’ll just transfer you right to your personal whump-passionate care coordinator, Dom.”

Not Dom. Not that irritating, overly stuffed up crock of shit again. Dom had run through almost the entire call center, leaving Bianca the only person who had yet to swear to walk if they were forced to deal with the self-impressed asshole. Jerking her head up, Bianca stares Fran down, like a deer willing a semi-truck to change paths. She shakes her head, desperately miming cutting across her throat with a rushed flail.

Their gazes lock. Fran continues to dial, even as they watch Bianca’s distressed pantomime with all the impassive finality of a monarch’s sentence.

“Don’t you dare, Fran,” Bianca hisses. “I swear by all that is good and holy if you transfer him--”

Her line rings, and she answers it with a chipper grin that doesn’t touch her glare one bit. “Well hey, sugar!” If looks could kill, Bianca would be in a whole other line of work right now as she tosses an eraser at Fran’s head. “What can I do for you today, hun?”

Well, she can already tell this isn’t going to be a pleasant call, not if the sirens are any indication.

“Brianna,” Dom cries, “I’m too handsome for jail!”

Bianca mouths to Fran, “I’ll kill you,” even as they duck their head and pretend to be oh-so invested in their latest call report. She tosses another eraser and this one hits the mark, bouncing off the back of their skull.

“Hello! Brianna! I need you to put down the Covergirl or your nail file and do your job, sweetheart.”

Rolling her eyes, she returns her attention to Dom. “I’m awful sorry. What did you say your emergency was?”

“Thank you for the urgency,” he spits.

Bianca waits for him to elaborate. The sirens on his end of the line continue blaring, the voluming growing as they grow closer.

“Did the line cut out, sugar?” she prompts, carefully sterilizing her tone with a thick layer of honey.

“I tried to rob this small town little podunk town store and took this girl--” Dom lets out a short cry of pain and kicks at something. He corrects himself, ”This bitch. And someone had the nerve to call the cops on me!”

At the sound of gunfire- too close to the gun to be from any policeman, Bianca raises a single brow in silent question of his intelligence. In her humble, professional opinion wasting ammo on puerile displays and a lead tantrum is useless, but again, she’s just a professional. She only graduated at the top of her class and has years, if not decades, on Dom in terms of experience.

Of course, Bianca says none of that.

“Have you taken the girl hostage, Dom?”

“Yes! Jeez, do I have to spell everything out for you people?”

“It’s very helpful when our clients are clear and precise, Dom,” Bianca returns, an almost feral edge to the too wide portions of her smile. “Have you read our informational brochure, ‘So You Want to Take a Hostage’? Or perused our FAQs for whumpers?”

“Why should I?”

A year ago maybe Bianca might have been surprised. Now she’s just glad Dom can’t see the various mocking faces and mouthed insults she indulges in due to such a response. That doesn’t mitigate the desire she feels to bash her head against her desk until her mental faculties match Dom’s. Instead, she parrots, “No. Why should you.”

“So, what do I do?” Dom asks, impatience clear in his tone. “How do I get out of this?”

“Well, Dom, could I speak with your hostage for a hot sec?”

Completely ignoring her question, Dom muses aloud, “What if I just went out there with my guns and just started shooting. There’s only one car out there. I can take out some backwater donut cop.”

She loves her job. She loves her job. She. Loves. Her. Job. She may be a masochist.

“That course of action might not work well, sugar,” Bianca says carefully.

“Why not?”

Just as she’s about to answer, said aforementioned cop starts in with the megaphones and the offers for surrender. Quickly, she traces the call while Dom yells back about assholes and what he deserves and specifically what the cop deserves, involving his megaphone and uncomfortable places.

That ‘podunk’ little town is more of a small city, and even if there is only one cop currently there, there are bound to be more en route, and rapidly at that.

“Are you listening to me, sweetheart?” Dom demands. “There’s only one of him and I’ve got two guns. It’s fool proof.”

Oh, it’s something to do with fools alright. “So, to clarify, you’ve got a gun in each hand?”

“I just said that, honey, put your listening ears on and try to keep up.”

Over her ten plus years working with the call center, Bianca has heard plenty of stupid shit in her time but trying to go out dual wielding guns is… a new one. She quickly shoots Fran a short text reading, You SO owe me, Franny.

“What about your hostage? How are you going to keep control over her? Is she bound?” Bianca tries to reason with Dom, the apparent Blade wannabe, even if it’s futile.

“I’ll bring her with and put the gun to her head. Easy.”

Easy. Yes, so easy. Fran returns her text. ‘You’re the absolute goddess of dealing with BS I am not worthy.’

“Dom, could you be a dear and let me speak with her, please? Thank you sugar.”

“God what is it with women always needing to yap yap yap?” Dom complains as he rips the gag out of the hostage’s mouth.

“FUCK YOU!” She howls immediately. “I’ll bite your fingers off, you small dicked piece of shit!”

So, Bianca had admittedly harbored suspicions that the ‘girl’ was actually a grown woman, considering Dom’s typical behavior, but this certainly confirms that. A wistful sigh builds as Bianca listens to the hostage chew Dom out and insult his manhood and intelligence.

‘Damn straight. I expect pumpkin spice brownies and a latte on my desk tomorrow morning.’

‘It’s June.’

“It’s DOM.’

‘Pumpkin spice brownies gotcha.’

A solid, but wet crack jerks Bianca’s attention back to the matter at hand. The hostage is eerily quiet. Waiting for a response from either Dom or the hostage, she picks at the dry skin on her lips and taps her foot.

“Oh shit,” Dom whispers.

Screwing her eyes shut as if that will change what his answer is, Bianca asks, “Dom?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you just pistol whip your hostage?”

“Yeah.”

Nope, this is officially the stupidest, most asinine, bass-ackwards call from a client she’s ever had to suffer through. Clearly having overheard, Fran twists around to get a better vantage point to watch as Bianca places her head in her hands and fights back a scream of frustration.

Collecting herself, Bianca chirps, “I’m sorry, sugar, but you really ought to have read our guide. The first rule of a hostage situation is to keep your hostage alive as leverage. Now, as it stands, you’re a murderer surrounded by... “ She counts up each little blip. “Four cop cars and another two on the way. You have to understand, honey, that it goes against policy to stay involved.”

“What? No! You can’t do this you bitch!”

Bianca grins, sharp and vicious. “Oh, Dom, I can, and I will.” With that, and Dom still shouting injustice, she hangs up.

“I’ve wanted to do that for forever,” she breezily admits to Fran.

They match her smile inch for inch, and then some. “Bee, you’re my hero. I’m throwing in maple walnut fudge pancakes just for that.”

“Of course we’ll have IT burn the connection and remote into Dom’s phone before the incident gets too close to home, blah blah blah, and we’ll look into whether that lady remembers anything after the whole gun to the head thing,” she dismisses, “but for now, I need a smoke break or twenty. Toodles!”

[hearteyesdameron]

Follow - General Hux x OFC Reader

Words: 5.6k Ao3

Commission for the lovely @mrs-ghuleh​! Hope you like it!

Female OFC/reader. Working on the starship Finalizer, Ensign Eliora Nott finds herself the object of Hux’s affection. Soon, his cat and mouse game threatens to expose their affections, and steps are taken to diffuse the tension. 

NSFW Below Cut. Dom Hux, Sub reader. 

The galaxy of stars before you is breathtaking. Those around you had spent their entire lives, some life spans tripling your own, staring out at them under the rule of the Order, and the spell of the endless blackness before them had worn off; dulled even. You’re still optimistic. Enchanted by them and all they have to offer, as well as enthusiastic about your position within the Order. You have your whole life to raise through the ranks, and this isn’t a bad place to do it. Your entire family before you had served in the Galactic Empire back before the days of the Skywalkers, and you would follow in their footsteps as everyone with your name had.

The relaxing sound of patrol fighters just outside and mouse droids transporting data to storage have become your daily ambience, if Kylo Ren isn’t present to add haphazard lightsaber strikes to it. Thoughtfully, you turn back to your post at the comms on the bridge.

“Was it like this back on Devaron?”

The horned, red-skinned co-worker sitting to your right turns away from the control panel to look at you. “What? The people, or the workplace politics?”

“Both,” you smile. The Devaronian takes a glance around behind him, before turning back to his position of duty.

“The officers here are nothing like my people. The environment here on the Finalizer is particularly dramatic, compared to the starships I skipped from prior to joining the First Order.”

“Ren?”

“Ren.” You continue to smirk as the horned officer goes on. “I’ve been told that just the other day, he was dissatisfied to say the least with the performance of the head cook on this ship. Half of the kitchen was destroyed, and I imagine that was catching him on a good day. Palp wafers for breakfast lunch and dinner it is, I guess.”

“That’s nothing compared to what I heard,” you whisper back. “Just the other day, Ren called the General to tell him just what he thought about how he runs things. Do you know what he said?” Your colleague’s eyes widen as he senses something, and turns back to his work as your own eyes slide shut.

“What he said is none of your business,” a sharp voice snaps. “Rather disappointing that you would while away your time on this bridge discussing matters not privy to you—ensign.”

“The comms were quiet, General,” you attempt to explain, gaze downcast. Hux’s resulting sneer is nothing short of terrifying.

“Is that so?” he spits. “Then why is it Lieutenant Mitaka has reported an incoming transmission from our liaison on Dromund Kaas about an escaped rebel prisoner within their camp?”

You glance over to Mitaka. He’s always been up Hux’s ass, desperate to snitch on anyone for the approval of the higher ups. You sigh. You can’t really blame him, with the kind of punishments they dole out around here. “It appears I missed that. I’m sor—”

“Would you fail to send out a distress signal were it necessary in favour of discussing the state of my uniform with your fellow officer, perhaps? Neglect your duties to gossip about the way I give orders, or perhaps the way I speak?”

“Certainly not,” you reply quietly. He scoffs.

“You’re lucky my forgiveness isn’t lacking when it comes to you.” You exhale in relief, but feel yourself tense again when the redheaded General beckons. “To my office.”

Your heartbeat picks up as you squirm in your seat. “Why?”

He glares down at you. “More backtalk?” By now, the entire bridge has gone silent, trying and failing to pretend not to listen to the standoff. Your cheeks burn under the scrutiny, especially under the intensity of Hux’s gaze.

“No, General.”

“Good. Follow, before I have the stormtroopers escort you.” You follow Hux with your head bowed, down the hallways. He walks with the purpose of a spiteful leader, his boots clapping loudly against the pristine floor, and the only sound he makes is a hiss when he kicks a small black droid out of his path. He’s intimidating, always has been, but it doesn’t stop that small twinge inside of you.

By the time you sit down at his desk opposite him, the flush in your cheeks is not from your public embarrassment on the job anymore... instead, it’s from being in Hux’s quarters alone with him.

“Ensign Nott.” Hux takes his time sliding his gloves off, lifting his chin and staring down his nose at you. Unfortunately you’re unable to make the appropriate eye contact when listening to your superior—you’re preoccupied by the exposed skin of his hands, distracted wondering why he removed the gloves in the first place. “Eliora.” You startle, looking up at him finally. He narrows those icy blue eyes. “When one is dismissed from the First Order, they are not given the luxury of a formal chat such as this one.”

“Please, General—”

“—They either find themselves simply and suddenly out of work, on a pod to the nearest sith-controlled planet, or dead.”

You shift nervously. “Are you letting me go?”

“Are you unhappy with your work?”

“No. No, of course not.”

“Good. Because the First Order is not in the business of caring.” He sits back in his chair, his face softening only by a fraction. “If I am not mistaken, you graduated top of your class in the academy.”

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes narrow even further at the title, and he goes on. “Despite this, there are many behind you fresh out of the academy who would readily snatch up your position given the chance. Is this what you want?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I’ve made it clear how devoted I am to our cause.” Hux nods, settling forward once more in his seat.

“Very good. I am inclined to give you another chance.” He watches you sit before him, nervous and squirming. A small, mean smile begins to grow on his lips. He’s instilled the fear of the maker into you, and he appears to get off on it. “If you continue to shirk your duties and speak so rudely of me, the Supreme Leader will mistake me for a fool if I don’t terminate you. To ensure this doesn’t happen, you will shadow me tomorrow.” He flicks his wrist. “I will teach you what it means to be an Imperial officer, and how important duty is.” He sneers. “We’ll just pretend, you and I, that I have the time to do such a thing.”

You swallow, your throat dry. “I’ll be following you around tomorrow?”

“Is there a problem, Miss Nott?” He sees the way your cheeks flush pink, his smirk growing even wider. “Did you have some other form of redemption in mind?”

“That’ll be fine,” you nod. “Just fine.”

“Good. The start of tomorrow begins in this office. If you are late, you will be on the next pod to Coruscant. I understand they are in perpetual need of cantina workers there.” A flash of anger shoots through you at the implication.

“I’m not getting on any pod, or working for any rebel scum in a bar. I’ll see you tomorrow, General.” Hux flicks his wrist once more.

“Dismissed, then.” He watches you go, taking off his hat and pattering his fingers against it. Toying with you has been fruitful since he began, but you’re starting to strike back. Is it worth pursuing? He removes your file chip from beneath his desk, inserting it into the small black droid in his office and watching your details project.

Yes, he decides, Eliora is worth the pursuit.

--

When you get to Hux’s office early the next morning, he’s already inside, dressed and ready for duty.

“When you are on time, you’re late. When you’re early, you’re on time. Thankfully, all our pods are under maintenance today. Follow.” You walk quickly after him as he leads you down the hall. “We begin with patrol. Ensure that everyone is performing their best even at the start of their day, before handing that task off to those who have been hired to make my life easier.” He sniffs. “Not that they do.” He sharply directs his gaze to his left. “Lieutenant Kuna!”

“Yes, General?” The woman turns immediately from her station. Although she is much taller than Hux, you notice that he still manages to talk down to her.

“You are needed in the hangar.”

“Yes, General.” She keeps her voice monotone and her eyes straight forward as she abandons her post immediately and walks the other way.

“Notice her?” He clucks his tongue. “She doesn’t ask questions.” His eyes spend too long lingering on you. Are you mistaking his usual intensity for a different sort of interest? You can’t stop the words as they come out, taking the chance to find out.

“Was my questioning so offensive yesterday when I asked why you were interrogating me?”

“Silly girl. If you want diplomacy, join the rebellion.” He takes a step closer. “Here, we put an end to those who threaten disorder.”

“With all due respect, I know what we do.”

“Then why do you stick out like a sore thumb under my command?” For the first time today, Hux looks genuinely frustrated.

“Maybe it’s because you notice me more than you do others.”

His jaw clenches, and you know you’ve hit a sore spot. He simply leans in until you can feel his breath on your face. It’s strangely cool. “Be that as it may... you are an ensign. Here, you obey.” You fully intend to respond with another standard yes sir, but you’re distracted by the General’s proximity. You’ve never been this close to him before, outside of your fantasies.

“All I ever want to do is obey you, sir.” Hux can tell your tone is pointed, and he’s surprised—not unpleasantly.

“You can start today,” he murmurs, “Right here.”

“Here?” You tease him slightly. “Right here, on this floor?”

This time, it’s Hux’s turn to be rendered speechless. He only drops his gaze down to your lips, and your chin inclines ever so slightly in preparation.

“Have you found the droid?”

Kylo Ren’s unmistakably warped voice comes through his helmet, and draws Hux back to the present. He quickly stands up straight to face the grandson of Darth Vader. “I give you the news when I receive it myself, Ren.”

“You give me the news when I ask for it,” Ren replies, his voice sharp as he approaches Hux. You can’t tell if he’s looked your way or even noticed you from beneath that brooding black mask, but you can see Hux’s expression of utter hatred and distaste. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

“How could one, when you have such a distinctly foul presence?” Hux shoots back. You get the impression he’s toeing the line to bolster himself in front of you, and you’re right. Ren does as you’d feared he would—he brings three fingers up in a force chokehold, and Hux’s arms immediately fly up to his neck, fingers clutching at an invisible tether.

“Don’t test me.” He chokes Hux harder, and leans in. “Double the efforts on the droid. If lives are lost, replace them. I want it found.”

“Done,” Hux wheezes out, and Ren drops him, breezing past without a single glance to you. Hux catches his breath, climbing up from his knees and righting himself.

“Interesting,” you dare to break the tense silence. “I forgot you had a boss too, General.”

“Don’t you dare insult me,” he snarls. “My boss is the Supreme Leader.” He pulls down his uniform, brushing it off. “Not that overgrown, force-sensitive brat.”

“It doesn’t look like it.” Before you can gasp, you feel yourself slammed back against the wall of the hallway. It’s deserted—no one to witness but the two of you, and obviously, Hux enjoys it that way.

“Don’t forget your place,” he growls. His hands crawl up from where they’re bracing him around you on the wall, to grip your shoulders and hold you firm. “What you have just witnessed may have been demeaning, but I will not accept your insolence or disrespect. I am the cat. You are the mouse. Am I understood?” You exhale.

“Yes, sir.” He lets you go, straightens his hat out, and sticks his chin up.

“Very well. Follow.”

You catch a smirk growing on his face as he turns to walk ahead of you, and your brain begins firing off presumptions a mile a minute. He likes to exercise his power, that much is certain and understandable. But with you, it’s as if he sees it as a game.

A game of cat and mouse.

You almost laugh at the hilarity of it, then remember that you’d gone and caught feelings for your boss and he’s toying with you over it. Now, you could groan from what seems like the worst punishment in the galaxy. When General Hux dismisses you from shadowing him today, you know he won’t be finished with you.

--

The next few days, things had warmed up between the two of you. Threatening eyes had softened, and harsh tones had become as playful as they could in a professional setting. However it had happened, the ice encasing Hux’s heart had begun to melt, but that didn’t mean he had gone soft. Far from it.

Back at your post the next week assigned to work on the case of the missing BB unit, you mistake approaching footsteps for a patrolling bridge officer, failing to turn around and acknowledge whoever they are.

“Eliora.”

You look up to see Hux standing above you, lips downturned in his perpetual scowl. Secretly, you hope you haven’t offended him in some way, but that’s ridiculous. You hadn’t even seen, let alone spoken to the man standing before you.

“General Hux.” You raise an eyebrow, and Hux blinks down at you. He studies your face for a moment, pleased by the submission in your eyes and the growing flush in your cheeks from his presence. He folds a cocky arm behind his back, chest broadening.

“Anything to report on the droid?”

“Transmissions from Jakku have been sparse and very limited when they do come through, but there have been sightings of one that matches the description.” Hux’s eyebrows raise.

“Excellent. Good work.” Your coworker glances over, and Hux notices the attention on the both of you. He scowls again, and takes a step between you. “What of his location?”

“He’s been spotted in the Eastern dessert. With a girl.”

“A girl?” Hux mutters. “Hm. I’ll get Mitaka on it. He can pinpoint where this wretched outcast is, and where she’s harbouring the last piece of the map.” He nods. “Ren will be pleased.”

“Are you pleased?”

A hand rubs down your back. “Very much so.” Warmth flowers throughout your body, and the hand begins to travel down and rub circles. He goes on, tone morphing not back to his usual strictness as you’d imagine, but into amusement. “Did I tell you could refer to me by my name?”

“I put General before it,” you retort. He sniffs, nods.

He seems reluctant to let you go and resume his duties as General on the Finalizer, but when officers begin to take notice of his lingering presence, he does so, leaving you with a sensual trail of his fingertip up your spine to the back of your neck. Maybe the cat has become the mouse, you think, chewing on your bottom lip as the bundle of nerves in your stomach begins to spark flame elsewhere.

--

It had been a long day of enduring abuse from Ren, summoning you and your coworkers in to have a fit about the droid not being found yet. It had only been a few days since the assignment had been given, and Mitaka had already been forced choked over it after one minor loss. You don't particularly like Mitaka, but his life must have flashed before his eyes during that encounter with that moody sociopath. You wonder in abject terror if the Sith had come up with mind-reading devices yet. Certainly those force-sensitives could do it whenever they liked...

Hush, back on track. Nobody wants to read your mind.

The knight wanted the crew of the Finalizer to do the impossible. You suppose the Order is in the business of getting the impossible done, but it still takes hard work and at least a little time.

Hands behind your back and posture impeccable, you walk down the sleek black passage toward the bridge. As you're heading back to your station, you notice none other than General Hux walking by you.

"General," you say, and he turns swiftly.

"Eliora. I heard what Ren did." He shifts uncomfortably for a moment. "He... shouldn't have done that."

"That's the kindest thing you've said to me in a while," you smile.

"Mm. I won’t hesitate to speak to him if he goes too far," Hux reminds you. “I have the authority, no matter how he loves to choke me for it.”

"I appreciate it."

"What he did in there was the equivalent of a child taking a tantrum. Not that it's any different than dealing with him in any other capacity." The two of you start to walk together.

"I'm used to getting yelled at," you shrug. "I'm still fresh out of the Academy."

"Ah, yes. The Academy," Hux nods. The barest glimpse of a smile crosses his lips. "It was long ago for me, but I remember the torture."

"Is that what whipped you into shape so strictly?" you asked.

"No. That was of my own doing." You both come to a stop in front of Hux's office. Tentatively, you reach forward to put a hand on the General's hip. Reflexively, he jerks at the touch, glancing everywhere and ready to reprimand you.

"What are you doing?"

"Just a little something to keep us through the day." He's still tense, as you're still his subordinate. You back away in defeat and embarrassment, but he inhales sharply at the loss of your touch. “I’m—” Giving in when he sees there's no one around, Hux takes you by the arm and holds you against his door.

"You think you can tease your superior like this?" he whispers in your ear, fingers coming up to stroke a strand of your hair that had come loose from your standard uniform bun away from your neck. He tsks. "Eliora. You know how I value respect above all things."

"Then I respectfully offer myself to you," you whisper, almost begging, and he can't resist any longer. He closes his hands over your breasts and seals your lips in a kiss. You reach your hand forward to cup Hux between his legs, and he draws in a sharp breath as he humps forward at the touch. He begins to kiss you like a starving man, as if it had been all he could do to stop himself from touching you earlier. You're just as lost in the sensations, forgetting where you are and why you can't tease him into fucking you right there in the hall against his door.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, the two of you break away from each other, and you wipe your lips as patrollers come around the corner. A small droid toots around behind them, and it backs up for a moment. Hux sneers down at it, and it beelines past the two of you. He’s only taking his anger out on it; the two of you always seem to get interrupted before anything can be done about this infernal tension.

You nod to Hux with a shrug, and he watches you go as he lets himself into his office. The sheer power he has over you is intoxicating, but for the first time, he doesn't feel the inkling to abuse it. He touches his lips as he sits down, sliding his tongue to taste you again. You do the same as you take your seat at comms and stare off through the front of the star destroyer into space. 

--

You’re awakened by a loud banging on your door. Groggily, you open one eye to take a look at the blinking time on your watch by the bed. It’s nearly midnight.

The bang sounds again. It’s systemic, as if a droid is doing it. You know it’s not droid, however. Rising from bed, you open the door to find what you had expected—two Stormtroopers.

“Ensign Nott. General Hux requests your presence.” You rub your head.

“He has duties for me at midnight? There are alternate comms workers for that, when I’m off.”

“Come with us.”

“I have to get my uniform on—”

“He said it was urgent. No need to change.” Your eyebrows raise. Sighing to yourself and tugging on a shawl, you follow them until you reach Hux’s office. They leave you at the door, and it slides open by Hux’s control from inside.

“Enter.”

You expect him to be pacing—facing the window with his hands clasped behind his back. You expect him, despite the late hour, to be impeccably dressed as usual and at his sharpest, determined never to be seen in any state of vulnerability. Instead, you find him behind his desk, one hand braced. His ginger hair is hanging in his face as if he’s attempted to sweep it back to no avail. His lips are parted and his pale skin is slightly flushed just beneath his eyes.

“Sir, are you alright?” you ask, stepping forward. He looks up at the stormtroopers patrolling the door.

“Leave us.”

They do as he says, and you turn back to him, confusion and concern evident in your expression. The first thoughts that flood your mind are thoughts of an attack, some kind of issue or sickness even he might have come down with. Then you start to wonder why he would call you to discuss any of that. No, he isn’t sick. He looks particularly affected. Physically compromised, even, as if he had been caught in a compromising position. Standing up straighter, you present yourself properly in front of his desk.

“Thinking of me?”

“Watch yourself,” Hux snaps, panting as he sits himself up higher to appear presentable. “You know better than anyone who you’re speaking to.”

“That’s how I know what you were doing. General.”

He narrows his eyes at you, standing from the desk. He’s in a black bathrobe, one he was obviously sleeping in or got into to relax before calling you here. “And what if I told you what I was doing? How urgently I touched my cock with your name on my lips?” He turns away from you with a harsh sigh. “Our little game is becoming too heated, Eliora. Something must be done about that.” Your stomach drops. Of course you should have expected this little tryst to come to an end sometime; it’s inappropriate and dangerous anyway, and you suppose it’s for the best that it end.

“I understand.”

“Mm. Good.” He walks circles around you, but when you try to turn to face him behind you, you feel his grip on the back of your neck. You don’t feel the usual icy fingers—instead, his hand is hot tonight, clammy. “Then bend over the desk.”

“What?”

“Need I remind you again that I won’t tolerate the questioning of my authority?” he asks slowly, annunciating his command. “Over the desk.”

You obey him, bending over. The shiver that runs through you is prolonged by his hand cupping your ass through your nightie. You’re suddenly hyperaware of your state of dress, or undress as it may seem. You’re only in your small night gown and panties. “I apologize. I didn’t have time to get into my uniform when you called for me, General.”

“On this occasion, Miss Nott,” Hux smirks, smoothing your nightie up your back to expose your underwear, “You are forgiven.” His breathing becomes ragged as his other hand comes up, rolling the meat of your ass around and squeezing. “Do you know how it tortures me so to see you every day, and restrain myself?”

“I know,” you breathe, arching your back and pressing your breasts further into his desk. “I can tell by your touches.”

“Curious that an ensign could steal my affections so quickly,” he mutters, giving your ass a sharp slap. “Like a spell. I, normally, am unbreakable.”

“Except when it comes to Kylo Ren.”

“What?” he snaps. He smoothes his hand up your back again and you moan, until he grips the back of your neck once more and pulls you up to snarl in your ear: “You do not mention him here. Him, or Snoke. Here, I am your Supreme Leader.”

You nod, grinding back against him. “You seem tense. Take it out on me?”  

“An inspired idea,” he nods, “But you don’t deserve it just yet.” He helps her stand up, and directs her into the other room, onto his black satin sheets. He stands over you. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble. I can’t get you out of my mind, and my performance has suffered for it.”

“Your performance on the job, or in bed?” Hux scowls.

“You know as well as I, I haven’t fucked anyone. How can I when you haunt my mind?”

“I only thought you wanted to play.”

“We’ve played.”

“You won.”

“Not yet.”

“And your work has suffered.” You pout. “How can I make it up to you?” you coo. His lips curl up again.

“On your knees.” You stalk forward on your hands and knees and meet him at the end of the bed, where he stands. You get to work untying his black robe, but do it slowly to entice him. Hux looks down at you, lips parting slightly and tongue darting out at the prospect of what you’re about to do. Flippantly, he huffs. “Take care of it.” You hum.

“Yes sir.” First, you give a small lick up his stomach, where his ginger happy trail leads up to his belly button. You keep moving up, kissing and sucking gently, sensually around his chest, until you reach his stark pink nipple and graze your teeth along it. Hux’s cock twitches into visibility through the part in the robe, and as your mouth waters, you decide to finally do as you’re told.

When you first take him into your mouth, his hand can’t help but bury into your hair. It’s not tucked into a bun like it usually is beneath your uniform cap, and he appreciates how he can finally run his fingers through it as he’d dreamed of doing each night. Every small tug of passion he gives only makes you take him deeper.

“Tell me how much you like it,” he sighs, watching your every move. You pop off with a moan, eyebrows knit. “Tell me how you’ve had no other like me.”

“It’s so good. You taste so good, General. I’ve never tasted a cock so nice... so big.” Hux’s breath hitches, and he watches you on your knees for him as he sucks in his cheekbones.

“I never imagined what talents you possessed in the bedroom,” he notes. “Especially with that silver tongue. I’ve learned however, you have a talent for obedience. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then tell me. Hold nothing back. I want to hear of your fantasies of me. What did you think of when you would watch me, your superior, walk by your station? When I would reprimand you?” For the first time in several minutes, the blush returns to your cheeks. Realizing he expects an answer, you search for words. “I expect you to speak when you are spoken to,” he growls, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. The fear in your eyes makes him smirk, chin jutting out in that smug manner he always seems to possess.  

“What if my mouth’s full?” you grin, kitten licking his head. Something flashes through his eyes, but you start to jerk him off before he has a chance to reprimand you again. With his head rolling back, you go on. “I thought of deliberately mixing the signals just so you would come over and take me to your office to spank me.”

“You would jeopardize the First Order’s mission just to ride my cock like a little slut, wouldn’t you?” he mutters. You look up at him, tongue out as you nod. The General buries his fingers once more into the back of your hair, guiding you back onto his cock. “Then let us correct this insatiable desire, before you get into any more trouble.” He guides you on and off a few times, and when he groans, he pulls you off and lays you down. Flipping you over onto your stomach, he humps against your ass a few times. You bite into the sheets as you feel his prominent erection prod against you, and wiggle back. “How badly do you want me?”

“I would have fucked you that day you kissed me against the wall,” you murmur into the sheets, “I would’ve let you take me right there, I wanted you so bad. I’ve held off on touching myself while thinking of you, because I wanted the real thing. I can’t wait any longer.” Hux hisses as he takes himself out of his pants, and tugs your panties down with his free hand. He slaps the head of his cock against you, getting himself slick, before he finally breaches you, bracing himself on his forearms around you and burying himself inside. You gasp, arching back, and he takes one of your hands, slamming it down in his fist and pinning it to the mattress as his other one slides between the bed and your stomach, reaching down to rub at your clit. The first stroke of his fingers makes you jolt, gasping even louder, and he nips at your ear.

“Get nice and loud. I want to know just what I’m doing to you. I want all of them to know who you belong to. The General’s little whore.” Your cries grow, the rhythm of Hux’s thrusting with each circle of his finger around you drawing out pleasure from the pit of your stomach.

“Please,” you whimper, “Sir, harder!”

“You want me to pound you until you scream, do you?” he growls. “I’ll give you exactly what you need. Move yourself back on me.” With fervour, you grind back with every pound of his cock, and he starts to grunt. His teeth sink into the back of your neck, and he presses soft kisses to the top of your back as he slows his movements inside of you to deep, gentle pumps, keeping himself at bay. Each throb you feel inside of you makes your pussy clench, and you grind back again. Hux turns you over and makes eye contact with you, lifting one of your leg up to wrap around his back. This leads to you sitting up and in his lap as the two of you push and pull and kiss hard toward your orgasm. Your lips meet his first, and he bites your bottom lip as your teeth clash and lips overlap one another’s.

“Hux,” you sigh into his mouth. He swallows your gasp, holding you up by your back. He buries his face in the nape of your neck, and your moans grow in pitch until they reach a crescendo. “Fuck—I’m coming!”

“Eli—” He shudders, sinking his face down your chest into your breasts. You feel him finish inside of you as he pounds twice, growling out his release. When you fall backward away from him, his lips are parted, forehead damp. His pale chest is heaving, covered in dark love marks you don’t remember leaving there.

The large floor to ceiling window opposite the bed gives the two of you an unobstructed view into the vast corners of space.

"I used to feel insignificant within all that before I joined the Order."

Hux hums. "I did as well. Very much so." He takes a pause to think. "At first, it was freeing to join. I had found my place in the universe-- I had found my calling. What is life without order? Then, as I raised in the ranks and took on more responsibility, I began to feel as though I was only a mouthpiece. I still feel that way, subordinate to Ren when I truly only take orders from Supreme Leader Snoke."

"I think you're a competent leader. A great one at that. You get things done like no other, and you're feared."

"Yes. I find though, I've lost some of me in who I’ve become." He runs a hand through his hair, and shakes his head. "But I have found my purpose here. At first with you, I was afraid of the disorder I would experience when another's feelings were involved. I enjoyed toying with you, of course, but then I began to worry I was getting too attached."

"What changed your mind?"

"I haven't an idea. I just made a decision. Perhaps with you in my life, I can find balance."

"The balance that we're working to restore to the universe."

"The balance of a just galaxy," he nods. "And order." Hugging you closer to him on the bed, he buries his lips into your hair.

"What's your name?" He pauses.

"What?"

You stop your hand where it's running up and down his chest. "What's your first name?" He exhales.

"Armitage."

"Armitage Hux." He smiles down at you.

"That's General to you."

"Is it?" you challenge. He sniffs.

"Perhaps not in here."

"I'd say especially in here," you whisper back, and he places a kiss to your forehead.

"Perhaps you call me by my first name, as I do you Eliora. My life, I think, could use a little disorder." 

[lovelylogans]

debutante

previous chapter / chapter three / next chapter

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: mentions of transphobia, food mentions, alcohol, kissing, someone makes an approach as if they’re going to start a fistfight but they do not, please let me know if i’ve missed anything else!

pairings: logince, moxiety

words: 15,031

notes: the spanish is from an online translator, so if it’s terribly wrong, please let me know! also, the emails in this are fake, please don’t try to email them, pretty sure they don’t exist lol. also the wine advice is from my general family's ideas about the value of wine, but the pretentious way you're meant to drink wine was taught to me when i was in italy by some other students who went to sommelier class, a few days before i posted the first chapter of wyliwf, so

⁂

patton’s lingering over one last (decaf, darn virgil) mug of cocoa/coffee when the bell over the door jangles. 

patton turns to glance over his shoulder and automatically brightens when he sees that it’s logan.

“hey!” he says eagerly. “i hope everything at the slange’s went okay, and even if it didn’t, i have masterfully wrangled virgil into allowing you to select a sweet treat of your choosing, or we can stop by lucy’s, if you want, and—oh!”

because logan had made a beeline straight for the counter, and has wrapped his arms around patton, burying his face in his shoulder.

“oh,” patton says softly, because—because logan’s not much of a hugger, and if he’s hugging him now... 

patton immediately wraps his arms around logan in kind, rubbing a hand up and down his back as he does so. logan’s taller than him—patton distantly wonders if that will ever not be strange to him—and so he has to duck his chin to place his face into the space between patton’s neck and shoulder. patton squeezes tighter, and logan shivers a little bit.

“oh, hey, buddy, are you okay?”

logan nods, but he doesn’t say anything, lingering with his face pressed into patton’s sweater for a couple seconds, taking a couple deep breaths, shoulders relaxing slowly, oh so painstakingly slowly, before he emerges, looking slightly embarrassed, in a way that feels distinctly teenager-y.

“sorry.”

“you don’t gotta apologize for hugging me, kiddo,” patton says, frowning, reaching out to cup logan’s cheek. “is everything okay?”

“yeah,” he says. “just—” and he awkwardly reaches out to poke patton’s shoulder. “y’know. you’re my dad.”

“well, yeah,” patton says, still a little confused. “super thrilled i’m your dad, lo, have been for sixteen years and—how many days has it been since your birthday?”

logan’s lips twitch up into a little smile, and he settles into the chair next to him.

“d’you wanna talk about it?” patton says.

logan shakes his head, and he says very quietly, “not here.”

patton nods, absorbing this, but before he can say anything else, virgil comes out from the kitchen, rag and spray bottle in hand, ready to wipe down the counter.

“oh, hey, you’re back!” virgil says. “uh, your dad’s been taking decaf most of the night in order to get you a sweet, if you want one, even though nutrition doesn’t work like it’s split across two people—”

“can i get a brownie?” logan asks. “no offense, virgil, i just—kind of want to get home.”

“that’s cool,” virgil says, not at all offended. “one brownie, to go, comin’ right up.”

and so virgil plucks a brownie from the pastry case with a pair of tongs, setting it in a wax paper bag, before sealing that inside of a virgil’s diner to-go bag, passing it across the counter. “see you tomorrow for breakfast?”

“breakfast,” patton confirms, and leans forward, cheerfully demanding “kiss!”

virgil obligingly leans forward the rest of the way, giving patton a quick peck. patton passes over enough money to cover his meal and a tip, before he gently taps logan on the shoulder. 

“let’s go, then, the couch is calling my name,” patton says, like he isn’t even a little worried about what could have prodded logan into hugging him out of the blue.

they step out into the night, the bell jangling in harmony with virgil’s goodbye. patton tucks himself a little more snugly into his jacket—spring may be approaching, but winter wasn’t letting go without a fight, so he was stuck with steel-gray cold mornings and too-early sunsets for a while longer—looking over to logan, who’s backlit by the street lamps and the fairy lights dotting a few of the buildings around town. 

his face doesn’t give anything away. it almost never does, but patton studies his face anyways; stiff and unyielding, eyes sharp and looking out for any oncoming traffic. patton wishes a little bit that logan’s face would at least give him a little hint as to what happened at the slange’s, but logan just looks like he normally does, if a little stressed, and that could be for any number of reasons—school, or tiny bureaucratic roadblocks for the debutante ball, or a fight with dee, or just something to do with dee in general.

either way, patton jerks his head in the usual direction they walk to get home, and logan nods, falling into step beside him, the pair of them mirroring each other’s posture; hands in coat pockets, faces ducked to shield from any stray gusts of wind, their pace the same, the way it only ever is when you’re very used to walking to the same places with the same person.

they walk in silence for a couple minutes before logan takes a deep breath.

“can i ask you a morality question?”

patton smiles, just a little—journalistic morality and ethics questions are always interesting conversations with logan, as patton’s innate moral compass works well with logan’s encyclopedic knowledge of the history of journalism, so they tend to spend almost hours talking about stuff like this, hypothetical situations they can puzzle over together. plus, it’s a nice little insight into something logan’s so passionate about; it’s something they can do together that increases patton’s appreciation for logan’s talent.

“‘course you can!”

logan chews at the inside of his cheek for a few seconds, getting his question in order, before he says, “let’s say i’m interviewing someone. a peer.”

“yes.”

“and, not due to any prodding from said peer, i come into knowledge of something from… that peer’s family.”

ah. okay. so this might not be a hypothetical question.

“yes,” patton says cautiously.

“and if a previously established… editor,” logan says, edging carefully around it. “already knows sensitive information about said peer that was previously, ah. decided against publishing. if the reporter wished to ask advice, should they ask the editor, or keep said knowledge to themselves?”

patton rolls the question around in his head, removing the hypothetical-ness of it all. so, if patton knows sensitive information about dee that he’s already keeping secret, and if logan found out something else, then is it okay for logan to tell patton about it?

if patton knows one thing about dee, it’s that he’s secretive. the fact that dee has secrets isn’t surprising. the part that’s surprising him is that logan feels the need to get his dad’s opinion on the secret. so that probably means it’s a pretty serious secret—logan’s a smart kid, he knows what to do in a lot of situations, so if he feels like he needs patton’s help...

“well,” he says cautiously. “um. i guess it depends on the knowledge itself. is it going to hurt d—um, the peer, if no one knows? is it something that puts them in danger?”

“...no,” logan says. “i—ah, the reporter doesn’t think it will put the peer in physical danger.”

patton frowns. “so it would be more of an emotional distress situation.”

“yes,” logan says, relieved. “yes, exactly. it would put the peer in emotional distress. it causes the peer emotional distress.”

“currently?” patton says, frowning deeper.

“yes.”

“is the peer alone in knowing this? do they have other people to talk to about this in their personal life, not just the reporter and their editor?”

“technically,” logan says and frowns. “the peer and their family… employs people. so, the staff are aware of the situation, but they aren’t—friends.”

“the peer’s family?” patton says, glancing. “is that an option, for them to talk to their family?”

logan’s face deepens into a scowl. “it seems like that is not an option, given the information that the reporter has learned about the peer’s family.”

patton sighs, because, well. he probably should have expected that. dee’s dad was never particularly kind, but. he’d been hoping things like marriage and fatherhood might have changed him.

“um,” logan says, and gives patton a sidelong glance. “i thought a potential solution could be… offering the peer a space to come in and sl—um. interview. in the presence of the editor who already knows things. because the reporter feels out of their depth, but—but maybe the peer will decide to discuss things with the editor, who seems to have more expertise in this… area.”

the sleepover text, patton realizes. logan bringing dee over doesn’t just mean more planning, or an easy place for dee to stay after Get Cultured day; it’ll mean that patton will be there, too, and if they all get to talking, like last time, and dee lets something slip, like last time, or (more preferably to patton) if dee decides that patton seems like an adult he can trust with information, if patton seems like an adult who can give out sound advice...

“that seems like a great choice for the reporter to have made,” patton says, smiling at logan. “not divulging any confidences, but offering a way for the peer to decide if they want further support or not. agreed. that was a good moral exercise.” 

logan nods. “on a completely unrelated note, i texted you earlier—”

“oh, yeah, totally unrelated,” patton agrees, winking. “but—yeah, that sounds good to me! totally down for that, it’s been a while since you’ve had a slumber party. have you already asked dee over?”

“no, not yet,” logan says, and that line of conversation has carried them to the front door of their house, where patton steps ahead of logan to unlock the door and let him in, flicking on the light as logan divests himself of his backpack and his jacket.

“well, you can go ahead and do that, i may as well mention now that you don’t need to get some gloves, i ordered some,” patton says, “so we can cross that off the list. um, your escort—what’s her name again?”

“poppy,” logan says.

“right, poppy,” patton says. “one, do you know if she’s coming to Get Cultured day, and two, does she have a tux?”

“i’ll text her and ask,” logan says. simultaneously, they collapse on the couch. logan makes no move to text her. instead, he frees his brownie from virgil’s, breaks it in half, and hands one half to patton. patton, grinning, accepts it.

“so,” patton says, taking a bite of the brownie. “how was the slange’s house, anyway?”

logan turns wide, beleaguered eyes to patton. “rich people are ridiculous.”

patton snorts and tucks his legs up underneath him, propping his head on his hand. “tell me about it.”

⁂

dee’s eyebrows arch at him as logan opens up his lunchbox. logan’s had his lunchbox for a few years, so it’s not quite as pristine as it was when he first bought it, after a lot of time spent in backpacks with heavy textbooks, and dropped on the ground, and shoved into lockers, but logan still likes the design of it—it’s black, with white sketchings of chemical formulas.

logan glances at his ziplocked jam sandwich and back up at dee. “what?”

“i don’t know how you can eat the same thing every day,” dee says.

“just for lunch,” logan says, removing a clementine. “and the fruits and vegetables change seasonally. dessert depends on what grocery store sales are on. what do you have for lunch, anyway?”

dee, wordlessly, proceeds to remove a gold-foil-wrapped something from his lunchbox, a black yeti-branded one, and logan eyes it.

“that’s excessive,” he tells dee.

dee shrugs. “yellow and gold are my favorite colors. shortly followed by black.”

“what, not brown?” logan says, eyeing his cape. “also, do you have a special understanding to flout uniform rules? ted grayson got pink-slipped because he wasn’t wearing a jacket or a sweater, how do you get away with—” he gestures vaguely to the bowler hat, the cape, the yellow gloves.

dee’s smile flits across his face so fast that logan thinks he might have imagined it, before he pulls out his phone.

“if you ever come to my parents’ house, i’ll show you my pink slip collection,” dee says decisively. he hands over the phone to logan, and logan obligingly looks.

it’s a wall full of filled-out pink slips.

“it’s the most precious art piece i own,” dee says in an officious tone, taking his phone back.

“how have you not been expelled,” logan breathes out disbelievingly.

dee’s smile is much less fleeting, this time, and he says, “anyways, speaking of clothes. you know a tailor, right? i need one for the ball.”

“well, tailor,” logan says with a shrug, beginning to peel his clementine. “it’s just virgil, but i could ask him. he’s doing a lot of dresses for sideshire high kids, is yours very complicated in terms of alterations?”

dee looks at him, before he says in a measured tone, “it fits perfectly fine, i just think the fabric at the shoulders needs reinforcing.”

logan blinks at him. “the shoulders?”

dee stares at him, for a few seconds, before he says in a purposefully casual tone, “yes, i had to look at a binder full of designs and i thought this one would be the best, what with the binder and all, but it turns out it needs a little bit of cover. some of the lace at the shoulder’s torn already, i need to make sure that’s hidden.”

logan promptly feels like an idiot—dee would need alterations to ensure that his secret’s kept, and if he’s wearing a binder and has a lacy shoulder, that would surely show—

“of course,” logan says. “i can ask him later. should i… tell him? about the… shoulder?”

dee chews at his lip for a moment.

“virgil’s my dad’s partner,” logan adds, as a means of explanation as to why he’s the tailor, but also to somehow pass along that virgil is supportive of trans people. “he’s been a bit puzzled by brick’s dress—brick’s nonbinary, they’re a year or so younger than us—but i think virgil’s managed to figure out how to customize the dress to best help brick feel comfortable. that was the biggest alteration, for a while, all the rest of the ones he’s doing are mostly hemming and the like. other than mine. mine used to be my dad’s, and he was quite a bit shorter than me at the time.”

dee chews at his lip a little harder.

“i’d tell only virgil,” logan says, and tacks on hastily, “about the, ah. torn lace at the shoulder. you don’t need to worry about that getting out to anyone else.”

“...i suppose you can,” dee says eventually. “as long as he’s discreet.”

“of course he is,” logan says. “you can let me know if you change your mind, though, i’ll probably tell him after dinner tonight. anyways. if we’re already talking about the debutante ball, shall we go over any of the more recent developments?”

dee nods, and the conversation turns to less fraught topics.

well. perhaps a little bit fraught, because if this blows up in their faces, logan still isn’t entirely sure of what repercussions could face him, but he’s sure there are repercussions.

poppy less casually enters dee and logan’s murmured conversation during lunch about the last touches before Get Cultured Day, and more quite literally shoulders her way in.

“so,” she barks, setting down her lunch tray with a clack, “what are the registration numbers looking like?”

logan looks at dee, and dee shrugs at him, tilting his head ever so slightly so his bowler hat covers his yellow eye, as if to say, you’re her partner, you’re less of a social threat than me, you handle it.

logan turns to poppy, and instead of saying any of that, asks, “aren’t you a freshman? why are you at sophomore lunch?”

she gives him a look, before she says, “so. numbers?”

“it looks like the final number of our participants is at forty-six,” logan says, “barring any last-minute entries, of course.”

poppy looks impressed for a moment, before she says, “i’ve gotten my tux, by the way. what’s your dress like?”

logan pulls up a photograph on his phone—the dress on the mannequin, not on himself—and tells her, “it’s still being altered, but it should be done by the end of the weekend.”

“you have your gloves, your fan, all of it?”

“yes. heels, too.”

poppy nods, and pulls out her planner, ticking talk to logan about dress off her list—logan spots bribery? and namedrop logan to dr. kramschissel and ask opinion on pitch as part of a sub-list underneath it—before she pulls out a manila folder and hands it to him.

“what’re these?” he says.

“design plans, new letterheads, and font families i think we should start using,” she says briskly. “oh, and a few new ways to update the website. that thing hasn’t been updated since before the dot com bubble burst, and we need to stay up-to-date on the latest design trends in the newspaper circle to be able to win a pacemaker, or at the very least continue the all-americans.”

(hey, a definition break from a former staffer here: all-american awards are distributed through the nspa, or the national scholastic press association, and the jea, or journalism education association. an all-american yearbook or newspaper is the highest rating given in critiques; it covers approximately the top five percent of high school and college publications in the entire country. the pacemaker is the highest award a high school publication can receive. these awards are basically high-school versions of pulitzers. and, uh, not to flex, but two-time all-american winner here!)

logan opens the folder, and his eyebrows arch at the infographic example greeting him. it looks incredibly professional, like an image in a magazine, with a color palette pleasing to the eye and simultaneously incredibly simple to read.

“so you’re a designer, then,” logan says; he’s dabbled in adobe photoshop and illustrator, and he knows better than most how long it takes to seem even slightly competent in illustrator, and by the looks of this, poppy is incredibly competent.

“artistic hobbies are proven to improve job performance, ease stress, and can improve memory and cognitive function,” poppy says matter-of-factly. “there’s no front-runner for design editor your senior year, which means there’ll be a gap, and if i prove early now that i know my stuff in design i can get an editor position my junior year. which means i put even more of an impressive resume forward to secure editor in chief my senior year. also, the style guide hasn’t been updated at this school in eight years. i want to write the newest edition.”

“...right,” logan says, and gestures vaguely with the manila folder. “have you shown these to mel?”

“obviously,” she says. “she said i had to wait until i got on staff, but my enthusiasm is apparently very encouraging. anyways, editor-in-chief gets a say in who the other editors are, so i figured i’d submit a portfolio early. also, there are pitches back there. you’ve already had three contribution bylines and i want your opinion on my chances of getting at least one this year.”

she takes the folder from him, flips past a couple pages, before she slides over another infographic, centered with empty boxes for photographs, placeholder text for an article. she’s designed an entire double truck layout. (double trucks are two facing pages in a newspaper; these are usually reserved for photo stories or large events. these are double trucks.)

DEBUTANTE HEADLINE HERE, it screams at the top of the page.

logan’s eyes flick across the table to dee, whose face is entirely blank, even though logan knows that an entire story about the debutante debacle would just draw more attention to what they threw the debutante event to cover.

“you’d have to be interviewed,” poppy says. logan cringes.

“i know, i know, you’re used to being the one who holds the pen,” poppy says. “but—”

“tell you what,” dee cuts in, voice smooth. “i know a way to pitch this to mel that benefits all of us, and won’t require poor logan to have to undergo the interview hell he’s used to submitting others to.”

“hey,” logan says mildly, without any heat.

poppy turns her attention to him, and dee digs out a pen, flipping it smoothly over his fingers.

“may i?” he says, gesturing to the mock-up.

poppy takes it from logan’s hands and passes it to him.

“right,” dee says, and draws a large circle around the infographic, jotting a p beside it, then circling one of the articles (headlined as DRESS SHOPPING PIECE?) and putting l beside it, along with the PARTICIPANT COLUMN, which also gets an l. DEBUTANTE STORY HEADLINE, he circles, and places a d beside it.

“there,” dee says matter-of-factly, capping the pen. “we all get actual bylines, not just contribution ones. logan can write a column and a dress piece, because he knows the person who’s altering sideshire dresses, and i can write the debutante piece, because i’ve been integral to the process, but i’m not as close with the organizers as logan is, which clears him of any bias. he’ll write the column about why the whole thing started. you can get credit for graphics and layout. we’d only need a staffer to take photographs.”

poppy’s eyes dart to him. “you’d think she’d take an entire double-truck by students who aren’t staffers yet?”

dee shrugs, spreading his gloved hands. “the worst she can do is say no. plus—” he slides the paper back, and takes a photograph of it with his phone, tapping a few buttons. “there. now we’ve got proof we came up with it first, and you and i can pitch a fit if they take the idea without involving us.”

“not me?” logan says.

“obviously not,” dee says, “you’re the favorite, which means you’ll be editor-in-chief once you keep that up, and i can benefit from nepotism.”

“i won’t be—”

“okay,” dee says with an eye-roll, “and who else are you going to trust to be your managing editor, louise? please.”

logan hesitates, because, well, he has a point. dee is by far the most capable person in their grade, aside from logan, of course. louise would be best qualified for entertainment editor, or perhaps photo, and then he shakes himself before he starts mentally assigning every proficient journalism student in their grade to editor positions.

“it wouldn’t be nepotism, you’d be qualified,” he says pointlessly.

dee tsks, patting logan’s hand. “of course not. mcmaster, buzz off for a moment, while i finish up this chat with logan, and then i’ll walk you to the journalism lab and help refine your pitch on the way, if you like.”

poppy’s eyes sharpen. “what, pitch it now?”

“no time like the present,” dee says. “and anyways, they’ll probably want a photographer there as we learn all the dances and curtsies this weekend, so—”

“right!” poppy says, “right. i’ll be right back” and she darts off, forgetting her folder, backpack, and lunch entirely.

logan watches her go, and says, resigned, “she really is going to be one of my editors, isn’t she.”

“editor in chief works closest with managing, copy, photo, and design, so she’ll practically be your right hand,” dee says gleefully.

“yours too, if you’re going to be my managing, so don’t look all smug because i will delegate if you make some kind of comment,” logan says, and dee grins at him—an actual, real grin, not a smirk or a smug little smile, a grin, like he’s happy.

and so of course logan has to ruin it by saying, “oh, i’ve been meaning to ask—would you like to come over and spend the night on Get Cultured day?”

the grin vanishes. dee actually looks somewhat alarmed. “what?”

“come over and spend the night,” logan repeats, trying his best to maintain a normal tone even though dee is looking at him as if he’s said come over and we’ll sacrifice you in an attempt to perfectly re-enact aztec ceremonies. “we could make sure everything’s done, then, and you could bring your dress so virgil could alter it and it could go home with in the morning, already done.”

he waits a beat, and when the alarmed look on dee’s face doesn’t abate, he adds, “it could be practice for a work night at the newspaper,” as if that is at all helpful.

“a sleepover?” dee says.

“well, yes,” logan says. 

dee continues to stare.

“you can just say no,” logan says, perhaps a bit snippy, because dee’s acting like logan’s invited him away to get murdered. he is trying to help.

“at your house?”

“yes, at my house,” logan says. 

poppy comes back; she’s managed to pull her hair back into a neat french braid that shows off the sharpness of her cheekbones, the intensity in her eyes. 

“all right, i’m ready for the pitch,” poppy says decisively. “i think we should open with pointing out how this feature wouldn’t exist without you two, but i’m the one who came up with the idea.”

dee ignores her. “are you sure?”

“yes.”

“just you and me,” dee checks, wary.

“well, and my dad, but that’s a given.”

dee absorbs this, still looking rather spooked, before he says decisively, “fine.”

“fine?” logan repeats, arching his eyebrows.

“i mean—yes,” dee says. “yes, i’ll come.”

“all right, then,” logan says. “we can text about details.”

dee clears his throat, and offers his arm for poppy, which she takes with a confused look on her face.

“poppy,” he says, as they’re exiting the cafeteria. “i don’t suppose you’ve been to any slumber parties lately, have you?”

“oh, my mom usually pays me to stay at parties until ten-thirty,” poppy says cheerfully. “she thinks socialization is important and i’m not enough of a people person, so she keeps sending me to parties, so she has to keep paying me, which means i can save up so i apply to the summer science program through mit this summer. mom wants me to stay and do some kind of internship at a beauty company, but how is that going to further my career in cancer research? once i get in she can’t just keep me from going, it’s mit.”

great. his first sleepover, ever, and his only options for in-person advice are the person who invited him to the sleepover and the girl who has her life planned out through her forties likely down to what she’ll eat for lunch every day.

“fantastic,” dee says through gritted teeth.

⁂

From: melissakramschissel@chilton.edu

To: logansanders@chilton.edu; dslange@chilton.edu; poppymcmaster@chilton.edu

CC: laurenpatrikis@chilton.edu

Subject: Debutante Spread

I’ll admit, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten quite so ambitious a pitch from three underclassmen, and never one spearheaded by a freshman. I absolutely love the idea, and if you stumble across a spare ticket for an adult to witness this socially conscious display, please feel free to let me know. I’ve CC’d Lauren Patrikis on this email—she’s a staffer on the Franklin who’s free on Saturday, and she’s very talented with a camera. Feel free to exchange numbers and text about other photography opportunities that you think would help benefit the spread.

Poppy: please put your infographics on a flash drive and drop it off in the lab so we have the highest resolution to upload. Thank you very much for coming up with this idea; I’m all the more excited to have you in class.

Dee: I think that about 1000 words should be the goal for the main piece, but we can discuss length when you come by. After school still works for you, correct?

Logan: Please confirm a time to come and see me so we can discuss the more specific story pitches for the two columns you’re doing.

I very much look forward to what you three get up to in your years in the Chilton journalism program. I have a feeling this is just the beginning of all the unique ideas you’ll have, and I eagerly await the opportunity to edit them.

Best,

Mel Kramschissel, PhD.

 From: logansanders@chilton.edu

To: laurenpatrikis@chilton.edu

CC: dslange@chilton.edu; poppymcmaster@chilton.edu

Subject: Directions for Lessons

Hello,

The directions to the dance studio we’re holding lessons in are attached. Please let me know if you have any further questions about navigating to Sideshire, or about the event in general. I can get you the phone numbers of the teachers, if you’d like them. Would you mind sending me your number, as well?

Regards,

Logan Sanders

 From: logansanders@chilton.edu

To: melissakramschissel@chilton.edu

Subject: Pitch meeting

Hello,

I’d be available during sophomore study hall, if that would work for you? If not, I can stop by after school with Dee.

Regards, 

Logan Sanders

 From: melissakramschissel@chilton.edu

To: logansanders@chilton.edu

Subject: Re: Pitch Meeting

Logan,

I’ve got a feeling that you’re the de facto leader of this little trio, even though the current spread is quite clearly Poppy’s brainchild, and I must say, this is very promising in regards to your future on the paper. I’m sure you’ll do exceptional work with this.

Sophomore study hall works great. You’ll be peeking in on the paper, but I have a feeling you won’t mind that at all. 

Best,

Mel Kramschissel, PhD.

(P.S.—Me pairing Lauren on this project is entirely out of selfish curiosity. Take from that what you will.)

⁂

patton is not sure if he has ever been more awkward eating a cherry danish in his whole life. he supposes that’s a pretty narrow gap to clear, but really, today has blown it out of the water.

most of the time whenever he’s around isadora, he feels like anything he does is dreadfully awkward, so it isn’t like this is news.

they’re together in isadora’s office, a small room just beside the studio; patton had offered to pick up supplies from remy’s café, so he’d brought her a tea and gotten a coffee for himself, and a little tray of assorted pastries. patton had grabbed the danish primarily because it was closest to him, and because isadora had already laid claim to a cruller that she’s been slowly picking at.

he winces a little as isadora takes a sip of her tea, pinky up, more preoccupied with the list in front of her. seriously. he went through years of etiquette training, he knows every fiddly little rule of silverware, he knows the various subconscious messages you can send while selecting a menu for the evening, and yet attempting to eat (or talk, or walk, or do most things) in the presence of isadora’s effortless, intimidating grace, it, well.

patton’s not the most refined person (anymore) but he knows he’s refined enough that he shouldn’t feel so buffoonish in isadora’s presence. he swallows his bite of danish, chasing it quickly with a sip of coffee.

“have you done the viennese waltz before?” he asks, just to break the silence.

“twice,” she says idly, turning the page. “well enough that i can remember the choreography and teach it to the children.”

“oh, good!” patton says. “good, good—um, not that you wouldn’t be able to pick it up really fast if you’d never done it before, since you’re obviously very good at dance being, um, being a dance teacher. and also a professional ballerina! even though i suppose ballerinas don’t really do waltzes, unless it’s, like, the waltz of the flowers or something, so i guess ballerinas do do waltzes! sometimes! what do i know, you know?” and immediately takes another sip of coffee because oh my god, patton, shut UP, he always gets like this whenever he and ms. prince have a one-on-one conversation, she’s so quiet and patton can’t help but word vomit because sometimes the silence gets agonizing.

isadora politely ignores him. patton takes another bite of his cherry danish and chews with fervor, because this way he won’t start blabbering about whatever comes to mind.

“all right,” isadora says at last, closing the handbook. “so, we’ll need to ensure that they know how to do the st. james bow, the viennese waltz, and the circle dance with the fans. that will all be my jurisdiction to lead, with you helping demonstrate, of course.”

“of course,” patton says, nodding like a bobblehead.

“—which means you shall take lead on the proper walk, proper dinner manners, and general courtesy, comportment, and etiquette.”

patton keeps nodding.

isadora takes another sip of tea and says, “so, we have approximately thirty-five kids coming, is that correct?”

“logan’s checking, but some of the chilton kids are being sent to other prep courses by their parents,” patton says, and frowns. “so—maybe a little less than that number, really. i can text him, if you want? i should text him—”

“that’s acceptable,” she says, waving him off. “he’ll be home from school soon enough, we can ask then.”

patton freezes, phone already in hand, before meekly puts it aside. 

“i think we should begin as one big group,” isadora says, “and demonstrate the bows and curtsies, then we can split off into groups to cover the fans and the walk…”

and so patton mostly just listens and takes notes—he does not want to forget any part of this process—on how isadora thinks the teaching should be done. honestly, it’s a miracle she agreed to do it when roman pitched it to her, because one, she’s a teacher and he has basically no experience in teaching teenagers other than his own very curious kid, two, the studio is basically the only space big enough to hold all of them at once, and three, isadora has come up with a way to do this in such an organized way that’s almost militaristic. he’s very grateful that she’s agreed to this, and he tells her so once she’s finished informing him of the general outline she’s come up with for Get Cultured Day.

she nods in acknowledgement and says, “well, roman’s quite excited about the whole ordeal.”

patton grins at her. “i heard about their date—sounds like his dress is a definite statement piece.”

isadora huffs softly, shaking her head; she hasn’t yet put her hair up in a severe bun for her afternoon lessons, like she almost always does, though she’s in a pair of stretchy leggings and a loose sweatshirt that tumbles down to her mid-thighs. her hair’s in a ponytail, with a few black strands framing her face. it’s one of the only times that patton’s seen her hair out of a bun, though he’s never seen it down. he’d had no idea that her hair was so long—he guesses that it might come down to her ribs, maybe even her waist.

“roman wants everything to be a statement,” she says. “he got his dramatics from his father.”

“ah, but he makes it work, doesn’t he?” patton says. “both did, from what i hear, if a bit differently.”

“more than a bit,” isadora says. 

“he wouldn’t be our roman without it, though, would he?” patton points out.

isadora’s lips twitch with what might be a smile.

“no,” isadora says. “no, he certainly wouldn’t.”

“wouldn’t have him any other way,” patton says. “love that kid, i’m thrilled to see what he’s gonna do—not just with the debutante ball, either.”

she’s certainly smiling now. “that’s the wonderful thing about children, isn’t it? watching them grow. like you’ve done with my boy, and i with yours.”

patton smiles, too, a little bittersweet. “gosh. we’re presenting them as adults to society. seems like yesterday roman was putting logan in a dress for a fashion show for the pair of us.”

“oh, yes,” she says, “and roman nearly dropped logan because he wanted to have a grand finale stunt he’d seen the older dancers do, i remember it well.”

patton snorts a little; after the initial rush of paternal panic when logan had clung to roman’s neck and it looked like they were both going down, it had been kind of funny to see logan, eyeshadow smeared over his eyes and lipstick messy on his mouth squawking in protest at roman even as roman had attempted to do the stunt again, even as isadora was telling him all about the importance of recovering from mistakes smoothly on stage. 

“they’ve come a long way from a fashion show for the pair of us.”

“that they have,” isadora agrees, and offers an expression to patton that is the softest he’s ever seen from her. “i’m very fond of your boy, as well.”

patton can’t help but smile—he always smiles when he hears about people loving logan, because it’s logan, his son, of course he’s happy about logan being well-loved.

“we did a good job with them,” patton says musingly. “the weird parenting pool we’ve made—you, me, virgil. we turned out two amazing boys.”

“that we did,” she agrees. “and it looks like they’ll stick with each other. it’s rare for a young love to last so long, i know, but—”

“but they’ve been stuck on each other since they were five,” patton says, with a nod of agreement, and holds his breath as he reaches over to gently squeeze isadora’s hand, moving slowly enough that she could move away if she wanted to. she does not swat him away, so, success! “should we do the stereotypical thing now and start planning their wedding? i think logan and roman would be lovely spring grooms, personally, but i’m not totally set on season yet.”

isadora’s letting out that soft huff once again when the studio door opens, and patton turns to see who it is.

roman, his red backpack slung over one shoulder, him bracing the strap with one hand to unceremoniously dump it on the nearest bench, and scrolling through his phone with the other.

“¡mamá!” he calls.“¿qué peluca crees que se vería��?”

he pauses in his tracks, blinking, before he grins sheepishly at patton.

“hi, pa—mr. sanders,” he corrects. patton can feel the force of the arched eyebrow that ms. prince was giving him to make him correct himself.

“hi, roman,” patton says; he doesn’t know much spanish, so he isn’t really sure what roman’s asking. “how was school?”

“oh! good, good,” roman says. “the cheer squad finally figured out what uniform we’re gonna wear at the next game, and also they finally decided who’s officially escorting who—sasha’s mine, i’ve got a list i was gonna send to logan—”

“do i know sasha?” isadora asks.

“nah, i don’t think she ever took classes here,” roman says. “she’s one of the kids who comes in from the farm towns nearby, y’know?”

isadora nods, noting this, and roman hesitates, looking between patton and isadora, before—

“do you think you can keep a surprise a secret?” roman asks patton.

patton considers this. “well, i can definitely try my best!”

“oh, good, i want opinions,” roman bursts out and rushes over, showing off two pictures on his phone.

patton blinks at them; they look like two people, from what he can tell, with big hair and a lot of makeup, maybe a bit familiar, and if he could get a closer look ohhhh he knows where he recognizes them now.

“so, looking at wig alone, which one?” roman asks, and patton glances at roman, before he looks back at the pictures, and back at roman.

“you’re doing drag?”

“uh-huh,” roman says brightly. “as soon as i got my dress, i realized, like, i have to go full camp with it, you know? it’s this massive eighties monstrosity, i adore it. it’s definitely something a drag queen would wear, and i’ve been looking at makeup tutorials, and—”

“—and i was a private instructor for a few queens back in the day, so i know enough of the process to help,” isadora says, as if this is an utterly casual thing to say and not the most wild job he could imagine for her.

“you did?!”

“mm,” isadora says, sparing him a slightly bemused look, as if his surprise is completely unnecessary.

“i know, i had the same reaction,” roman says to patton. “my mom, isa-diva prince! anyways. from someone who’s seen a lot of drag queens, and someone who has been to a debutante ball—?”

“oh, yeah, i’ve attended one,” patton says, “i just never actually, y’know, debuted. but, um, lemme see the options again—?”

patton, as one might guess, does not know anything about wigs. he doesn’t have to, either, because isadora tuts at roman for one of his options, which is apparently subpar, and her son is going to make his drag debut fabulous—

roman, grinning, sends the link to isadora so that she can order the wig for him, drops a kiss on her cheek then patton’s, and calls, “i’m gonna go change and warm up to get ready for the baby’s class soon! you gotta remember to put in calls to get me an actual fairy drag mother!” and darts up the stairs, the door closing behind him.

patton turns to her, smiling. “drag?”

“drag,” isadora agrees. “he’s been watching some shows for long enough, i’ve been expecting him to at least express a little interest in attempting it for himself. and now he is absolutely exhilarated by the concept of wearing drag to an event that is so traditionally heteronormative and surprising everyone. well, except for you, now, i suppose.”

“everyone?”

“everyone,” isadora confirms. “he hasn’t told logan, or virgil. he wants to see their reactions.”

patton laughs, a little bit. “that seems… very roman.”

isadora huffs softly and agrees, “remember what we said about dramatics?”

⁂

New Groupchat

Logan Sanders, Dee Slange, Poppy McMaster, 1 Unknown Number

Logan Sanders: I’ve taken the liberty of putting everyone involved in the debutante spread for the newspaper into one group text. This is Logan Sanders.

Unknown Number: Hi, Logan, I’m Lauren! We’ve got a friend in common, you’re in the GSA with my boyfriend Kai. 

Dee Slange: dee slange here

Poppy McMaster: I’m Poppy McMaster. 

Logan Sanders: I was wondering where I’d heard your name before. Yes, Kai’s talked about you.

Groupchat has been titled: Franklin Debutante Spread Team

Lauren Patrikis: Okay, so, I think I should get to the debutante lessons about fifteen or so minutes early, just to get my camera set up with the lighting and to get a general idea of the space. Do either of you have ideas on who you want to focus on in your pieces, so I have an idea of who to photograph?

Dee Slange: i’m going to interview ana and janey definitely, plus logan’s dad and the ballet teacher, but other than that, I haven’t settled on who I’m getting quotes from

Lauren Patrikis: Ana and Janey, got it. Logan?

Logan Sanders: One of my pieces is a column from me to explain where the idea came from, and the other one will be focused on dress shopping, but Kram said she got photos for that already.

Lauren Patrikis: Oh yeah lol I went with a few of the other Clairs to get their dresses, so I got that taken care of. Good thing they wanted me there for Instagram otherwise we’d be depending on student-submitted cellphone shots Lauren Patrikis: Not that those aren’t nice, but. You know. Gives off a certain vibe.

Dee Slange: yeah, really convenient for us that you’ve withdrawn your participation into the ball and turned it into something for our direct gain

Logan Sanders: You’re a Clair?

Dee Slange: don’t be obvious logan Dee Slange: ofc she’s a clair

Lauren Patrikis: Haha yeah I’m a Clair

Poppy McMaster: Really??? Poppy McMaster: Can I text you with a few questions about that Poppy McMaster: And about your plans on going into journalism after high school

Lauren Patrikis: Ofc! Love to help a fellow journalism gal, and that you’re an aspiring Clair makes it all the better, girls gotta stick together, right? Lauren Patrikis: no offense boys

Logan Sanders: None taken. We’re all feminists here.

Lauren Patrikis: Now, with all the planning out of the way, can I ask your guys’ specific interests when it comes to the paper? Lauren Patrikis: I’m planning on applying for an editor position next fall, and fingers crossed I get EIC, but I’d be happy with managing or copy, really, and it’d be cool to get an idea of some of the juniors I’d (hopefully!) be working with

Dee Slange is typing…

Logan Sanders is typing...

⁂

“logan?”

logan glances up from his plate, where he’s been spearing scalloped potatoes without really lifting them to his mouth. virgil and patton are giving him twin looks of what might be parental concern, and logan grimaces without really intending to.

they’re having dinner, all three of them, which logan has been carefully edging around calling family dinner in his head, because if he says it aloud, he’s pretty sure it’ll spook virgil or patton. it’s a good dinner, too; the butcher was having a sale, so virgil got three good cuts of steak and made scalloped potatoes and asparagus and herbed butter, with something brought under a round tin that is now in the fridge. patton’s eyes have been darting to it, then back to virgil, trying to evaluate what dessert fulfills virgil’s stringent ideals for nutrition. 

“sorry,” logan says, and eats the scalloped potato that he’s been butchering.

he is also slightly certain that this is their way of having a date night without leaving logan home alone on a week night. he is also edging carefully around that in his mind. he is very happy that they’re dating. it’s just that if he gives any thought to the implications for what they might do after their date it would be, as he would have declared ten years ago, icky. 

the trouble is, logan reflects, is that it’s much more nerve-wracking to come out on another person’s behalf than his own coming out process was. 

as he’s chewing, he reflects; it’s not like virgil is going to have a negative reaction, given that his boyfriend has been openly trans for sixteen years, and in regards to the dress tailoring, the worst virgil can do is say no.

“no need to be sorry, kiddo,” patton says. “busy thinking about that awesome double-pager—”

“—double truck,” logan corrects—

“—which, again, we're so thrilled for you, or is something on your mind?”

logan sighs to himself. there’s an opening if he’s ever heard one.

“dee still needs a tailor for his dress,” he says, and then he turns his attention to virgil. “i am wondering if you would be willing to offer your services.”

virgil’s face twists up.

“look,” virgil says, sets down his fork, and sighs. “i’m glad that you’ve got—i dunno, an understanding or whatever with this guy. you’ve got two more years at that school and i’m glad you’ve settled into things there. but—”

“but,” logan repeats quietly.

“—but,” virgil agrees, looks at patton, who has a polite listening expression on his face, and then virgil looks back at logan again, “look. you might have heard some things about my teenage days around town, and you’re almost an adult, so i don’t really hold any compunctions with telling you i was an asshole. a lot of teenagers are assholes, and some of them even manage to grow out of it. as a former teenager who was also an asshole, i can tell you that i got into some scrapes here and there. now, did i punch a few people on my own? ‘course i did. i was an asshole, i got into fights. but i can tell you that even in the depths of my stupid teenage actions, i never manipulated someone into punching someone else for me.”

logan absorbs this with a slight dip of his chin, a silent go on.

“these are just my two cents,” virgil adds, firmly, “you can do whatever you want, it’s your life, and you’re the one who’s at that school for hours and hours a day, you have a better idea of how to navigate things there than me. but. to add in my two cents, i don’t think the kind of guy who manipulates someone into doing physical harm on his behalf and has been openly very competitive with you to the point of doing something like that is a—a good buddy to hang around.”

he spreads his hands. “i could definitely be wrong. but—”

“but those are your two cents,” logan murmurs. “right.”

patton’s chewing at the inside of his cheek, now. “well,” patton offers timidly, and then snaps his mouth closed, clearly not wanting to spill the secret.

“i know you believe the best in people, patton, and that’s great,” virgil says, reaching over to squeeze patton’s hand. “i’m the jerk in this relationship, i’m aware of that, i can be an overprotective asshole, so i couldn’t sit by and just not say anything. you have the main call, obviously, logan’s your kid and this is your house.”

logan sighs a little, meeting patton’s eyes.

“he said i could tell him,” logan says, nodding his head in virgil’s direction. “he needs the tailor to be able to alter the dress without his parents’ interference. or so i gathered.”

patton sighs, too, except it’s more in relief, and he reaches over his other hand, to clasp virgil’s hand between both of his.

“dee’s…” patton says quietly, and then he straightens up a little. “he’s like me, honey.”

virgil’s brow furrows, ever so slightly. patton tilts his head. they’re looking each other in the eyes, a silent conversation, and patton arches his eyebrows at virgil, as if to punctuate whatever thought they’re nonverbally passing between them.

and then—

“oh,” virgil says blankly, and then he looks to logan. “he’s trans.”

it’s not a question, but logan nods anyways.

“he kind of accidentally mentioned it when he was over for the gsa posters, a month or so ago,” patton says, still quiet. “we promised we wouldn’t tell.”

“‘course not,” virgil says, still with that blank tone, reaching over to pat his hand. “you wouldn’t out someone, i wouldn’t want you to, not without their consent, but why—?”

“the dress,” logan says. “he needs someone to alter the dress to hide his binder. i don’t think he can go to any tailor his parents would bring up, they wouldn’t want him to wear one.”

virgil’s brow furrows. “why not?”

“his father never quite managed to grow out of it,” patton says primly, avoiding the swear. “apparently he found a wife who didn’t, either.”

and so the whole story behind why they’re really doing the debutante ball comes out slowly, as they’re finishing up their meal. virgil sits and listens, brow still furrowed, as logan explains how he’d come up with the idea, and patton provides a little further insight into dee’s background, and logan tells him as much as he can about dee’s house, without disclosing his grandmother’s illness, and by the time they both finish, a deep line’s marring virgil’s usually smooth, pale forehead.

“so,” virgil says slowly. “let me get this gay. you—” he points to logan, “came up with this whole idea to hide dee’s status, and you hid that behind the idea of doing this for feminism.”

“well, two things can be true,” logan points out, very reasonably, he thinks. “it started as just dee, sure, but i still despise the tradition of it and the sexist absurdity of it all should be pointed out.”

“and you,” he says, lightly bumping patton with his shoulder, “are hosting the Get Cultured day, plus a sleepover with the pair of them?”

“there’s—more,” logan says haltingly. “in dee’s life. i think dad could be a help with. i’m not at liberty to say.”

“christ, of course there is,” virgil mutters, rubbing at his forehead, as if he’s developing a headache. “right. i’m getting the chocolate-dipped strawberries—” patton brightens—“and the prosecco.”

“ooh, prosecco,” patton says. “fancy.”

“can i try?” logan asks, more out of curiosity than anything else.

virgil pops the cork, and then turns his eyes to patton, attentively waiting for an answer. patton considers this.

“pour him a little one,” patton says to virgil, who nods, and then proceeds to pour logan the tiniest flute of prosecco he can, before pouring more substantial servings for himself and patton. 

“this has fruity flavors of green apple, juicy peach and ripe lemon, framed by hints of minerality,” virgil reads aloud, before he sets down the bottle, passes over the glasses, and then fetches the tin.

logan takes a cautious sip. patton is watching him do so closely, his hands under his chin, pinning logan with a curious look.

“this tastes like none of those things,” logan informs him. it mostly tastes like fizz, and, if he holds it in his mouth long enough, eventually just bitter grape juice.

“yeah, the whole flavor profile things tend to be bullshit,” virgil says, setting the tin at the center of the table and uncovering it to show off a collection of chocolate-dipped strawberries, drizzled over with dark or white chocolate, sitting in cupcake wrappers, and patton oohs and aahs. 

“don’t say that around my family, or else you’ll be treated of stories of about thirty different wineries,” patton says dryly. “mom thinks she could have been a sommelier in another life.”

“don’t tell me you did the grape-crushing thing with your feet,” virgil says to patton, amused.

“i can neither confirm or deny,” patton says, taking his own sip of prosecco. “ooh, this is good!”

“thanks,” virgil says, then, to logan, “just as a pro-tip for when you’re twenty-one, go for the highest rated wine you can find at the lowest price.”

“highest rated, lowest price, understood,” logan says, and claims three strawberries for himself before his dad can take all the ones with white chocolate.

“and,” virgil adds, “if you find yourself around pretentious people—god knows you will, with your grandparents—just swirl it and sniff it and say oh, the bouquet is lovely, is this oak? or whatever.”

“oh, i can teach you the pretentious way you’re meant to drink wine!” patton says brightly, and so virgil and logan are treated to an informal lesson of how to best hold wine glasses (at the stem, so your fingers don’t transfer heat to the wine, which seems logical) and to swirl them (“you’re supposed to do this with wider glasses and wines that aren’t bubbly mostly, but it helps oxygenate the wine so you can smell it better,” patton says wisely) and how to aerate it while you’re drinking (“you’re kidding,” logan says, but obligingly attempts to suck in air and not dribble prosecco from his mouth simultaneously) and the three of them try their very best to drink their wine in as ostentatious a fashion as possible.

once logan’s had his fill of strawberries, and finished his tiny helping of prosecco, he helps wash the dishes and graciously bows out of the kitchen as subtly as he can. virgil and patton pour themselves thirds, kissing as they clink glasses when they think logan’s out of sight.

logan thinks he’s managed to be a fairly good third wheel to this date.

⁂

“well, i’ve got mine hanging in the closet,” patton says. “have you gotten yours yet?”

virgil groans; he’s feeling much too pleasant to think about such things. 

patton’s sitting almost in his lap; his thighs are slung over virgil’s, at any rate, and virgil’s got his free hand resting on patton’s thigh, absently kneading at the muscle, savoring the warmth and weight of him. patton’s got his free hand playing with virgil’s hair; they’re both finishing off the last of the prosecco and talking about the debutante ball.

virgil knocks the last of his back, and sets the flute aside.

“i’ll get mine while you and the kids are off for Get Cultured day,” virgil grumbles. “a tux. ugh. no one more than the people who’re absolutely necessary will see me in that.”

patton smiles at him, fondness making his eyes go softer and sweeter than usual; his cheeks are pink, probably from the prosecco. 

“you’re forgetting that we’re all gonna see you wear it at the ball,” patton points out, voice sugary, and virgil groans, tilting his head back, and therefore into patton’s hand; patton bears the weight of it gently, his hand bracing his skull, giggling even as he does.

“and don’t forget your white gloves,” patton points out, and virgil groans louder.

“oh, stop,” patton says, but any scolding attempt is ruined by how tender he sounds, the way he carefully tilts virgil’s head so he’s looking at him; virgil’s eyes trace along his cupid’s bow lips, lush and wet from the prosecco, the curve of his jaw, his eyes, a loving expression in them that makes virgil’s chest ache with devotion, his cheeks, going pinker the longer virgil looks. his eyelashes brush against his cheeks when he looks down for a moment, unable to hold eye contact.

patton seems to rally, shaking himself a little, before he says with great dignity, “you know looking at me like that makes me go to bits.”

virgil tries for a smirk, but it probably comes out soppy and moonstruck. “do i?”

“you know very well,” patton huffs, before he sits up a little and says, “and. you’re all deeply touched that roman asked you, i know you are.”

virgil’s the one to break eye contact, now, looking down at patton’s legs in his lap and mumbling excuses that sound weak even to himself. honestly, it’s a bit of a miracle he manages to get it out around the lump in his throat.

“i was talking to isadora, about our weird little circle of parenting,” patton continues, his tone victorious. “you, me, her. the boys. our boys.”

virgil squeezes patton’s thigh again, just listening.

“logan and roman are credits to you,” patton says. “not just us.”

virgil squirms a little. sentimentality is still not his strong suit. “you—and ms. prince—are the ones who raised them, took care of them day and night. i helped out where i could. and,” he kisses patton’s cheek, “you’re the ones who let me into your lives, so. they’re still majorly credits to you.”

“mm,” patton says, and looks at him with half-lidded, slightly mischievous eyes. “we’ll call it even, how about that?”

virgil snorts again and says, “if you think i’m about to claim credit for an isadora prince production, i hope you’ll plan out my funeral.”

patton swats his shoulder, but conversation veers away from virgil’s role in the kids’ lives.

good. if they go too much into parental feelings after virgil’s had three glasses of prosecco, he’s pretty sure he’ll get all annoyingly teary, and he’s pretty sure patton would think it cute and sweet, but he doesn’t exactly plan on getting all annoyingly teary to conclude this date.

⁂

the excuse that he’s told logan is that dee is coming early to survey the studio and help set things up.

the fact of it all is that he could probably drive his range rover in fifty laps around this town and he could probably still find something new to surprise him, like some kind of small-town culture shock.

for example—his range rover sticks out like a sore thumb. he has already spotted five people gawking at it as he drives around. two people even elbowed their walking companion and pointed. 

they’re in for an influx of bmws and mercedes’ bought with daddy’s money—dee supposes it must be a car enthusiast’s idea of christmas to be able to see all the chilton students’ cars unexpectedly flood this tiny town, whose ideas of automobile finery are probably topping out at a prius.

he spies the punnily-named cat-themed store that he’d been so boggled by the last time he was here, and the community garden, and the town is just as kitschy as it was at night, except now he can see better in the light of day, instead of the light of fairy lights and wrought-iron street lamps. 

now, he can see a local newsstand. he didn’t even know those still existed. on the same level of outdated absurdity, there is something called a mailboxes etc., which he can only hope is this town’s excuse for a post office. there is also a shoe repair store, because apparently these people are right out of the victorian era and have employed cobblers in this town.

there is a store called harry’s house of twinkle lights, which only sells twinkle lights, how on earth is that a sustainable business model? 

incongruously, there is a tattoo shop right beside the famed virgil’s diner he’s heard logan talk about so much. he spends a lot of time parked in the street, staring at that. a tattoo parlor. well, at least something in this town has evolved past the ideals of a fifties housewife.

(there is a black lives matter sign in a place of pride in the window, along with a rainbow flag. there are a lot of pride flags waving brightly in the bleak wind, of all stripes and colors. there are black lives matter signs staked in a lot of front yards, actually.)

(in his neighborhood, there are no black lives matter signs staked on the professionally manicured lawns. he isn’t even allowed to have one in his room. he’s tried. his parents threw it out.)

dee checks the time, clears his throat forcefully, and moves to park as close to the dance studio as he can.

he’d seen it before; he’d watched as logan got all moony-eyed and reverent at his boyfriend dancing in the window, without the boyfriend’s awareness. it isn’t particularly difficult to find—it’s in what passes as the town square, which he supposes makes it as a technicality of being the shape of a square.

it’s also easy to spot because logan is out front, along with another boy their age; he recognizes him from logan’s birthday party last fall.

he hops out of the car, locking it as he does so (the town may look like it’s a fifties housewife’s dream, but he doesn’t know the crime rates of this town off the top of his head, and his sleepover bag is right in the back, looking prime for someone to steal, but the most they’d get is a decent bag, some clothes and toiletries, and his phone charger, so there.) logan glances at him, holding up one half of the sign; the boy (roman, dee remembers) glowers at him behind logan’s back, and dee tries his very hardest not to grin. thank goodness, something fun today.

“i didn’t know you had your license,” logan comments. he’s in jeans, but otherwise he still looks like an accountant (an actual accountant, not the wink-wink nudge-nudge joking kind that’s been popularized over that one song that says the accountant is a cover for really being a sex worker)—he’s wearing a collared shirt and tie, and a jacket on top of that.

“turned sixteen in february,” dee says.

“well,” logan says. “happy belated birthday, i suppose. roman, would you pass me the tape—?”

even dee has to admit roman is very well-dressed. he is wearing a black overcoat that is so nice that dee would not be embarrassed to wear it over a collared shirt, a red-and-black plaid sweater, and a pair of black, pleated, high-waisted pants and a pair of black booties. it’s like he’s stepped off someone’s painstakingly curated ✨ winter fashion ✨ pinterest board.

roman, however, is still glowering at dee even as he ensures his half of the sign will hold and passes logan the tape.

dee tucks his hands into his pockets. the wind is sweeping in their direction, which means his cape is flowing dramatically in the wind. it’s like he choreographed it. he hopes he looks like a norse god sweeping down to enact destruction.

“roman prince, i remember,” dee says smoothly. “we had a conversation at logan’s birthday party. nice to see you again.”

roman’s scowl deepens. “i can’t say that’s mutual, villain,” he declares, and takes a moment to ensure logan’s got a grasp on the sign (he does, he’s taping the last corner to the window) sweeps dramatically off into the studio with his nose in the air. dee can’t help but laugh.

logan simply looks chagrined.

“villain,” dee repeats, delighted. 

logan rolls his eyes at dee and says, “my dad is just about the only one who’s forgiven the louise incident from you, so. be cautious.”

“when you say the only one,” dee begins.

“virgil and roman are the primary grudge-holders in the family,” logan says absently, too busy smearing a hand over the corner to ensure it’ll stick to the window to catch dee blinking at him, caught off-guard—family?—before logan continues, “and i suppose ms. prince, but ms. prince terrifies most she interacts with anyways, so the fact that she’ll hold a grudge should be indecipherable to those who are not practiced in conversing with her.”

“terrifying?” he asks.

logan looks away from the window at last, the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. if dee didn’t know any better, he’d think that logan was being mischievous.

“oh, yes,” he says. “i’m uncertain if you’ll fear her or love her. perhaps both in equal measure.”

forget the tattoo parlor, this ms. prince woman is by far the most fascinating thing about this stupidly charming town.

dee looks at the sign. DEBUTANTE BALL TRAINING HERE, in logan’s neat hand, and then underneath it in a scrawling, well-practiced calligrapher’s cursive, GET CULTURED DAY! and a variety of other doodles around it. there are sparkles. he briefly entertains the mental image that logan is actually a sparkle enthusiast behind closed doors, but also, dee has seen his boyfriend, so. he’s got a feeling on who insists on sparkles in that relationship.

“well,” dee says, and nods to the door. “shall we?”

logan opens the door as an answer.

dee steps through, pausing just for a moment to sweep his eyes over the dance studio.

there are what look like old church pews in the hall, which leads back to what looks like a small room and a set of stairs; it is, he knows just by looking, renovated from an old building in town—a barn, maybe, or an old house, but one can hardly tell once they’re inside it.

he steps into the actual studio. the studio itself has two walls lined with mirrors, one with the windows facing out into the street, and a few windows facing out into the hallway. there are three round tables shoved to one half of the room; patton sanders, in one of his sweaters (a muted shade of plum, today) and jeans; a short, brown-skinned woman with her black hair swept back into an impressively tight bun.

they both glance over at the sound of someone entering; patton brightens, the woman frowns.

“dee!” patton says. “happy you made it, kiddo, c’mon in!”

the woman must be ms. prince.

ah. roman prince. this is roman’s mother.

“this is isadora prince, but she’s ms. prince to you,” patton prattles on cheerfully, seemingly ignoring the fact that the woman is sizing him up—predator knows predator, dee supposes, so he does not feel any compunctions about doing the same. 

“she’ll be teaching all the dance stuff, the movement things,” patton says, “and i’ve got how to behave yourselves in a fancy-schmancy setting like this. plus, like, the proper walk. now, it’s been a few years since i’ve taken lessons, so i might be a bit rusty, but—”

dee stops paying attention, then, too busy tilting his head ever so slightly to survey ms. prince. she looks almost clinically disinterested, except for a unyielding, rigid look in her eyes that simply gives away impressions of stubbornness, but nothing of observational value. dee could have guessed she’s stubborn, she’s a single mother, as far as he knows, and a ballet teacher. aspects of both of those things require a certain amount of tenacity.

the closest thing dee can amount her expression to is a no-nonsense substitute teacher waiting for class to calm down, with the eerie sense of preternatural calm that the entire class will be in trouble far beyond their wildest dreams. 

it absolutely does nothing to him. he does not react at all. if, perhaps, there is a chill sent down his spine, it is obviously because the heating system in here is inadequate and the old, shoddy architecture is clearly allowing a draft.

“...think it should be okay!” patton finishes, smiling still, completely unaware of what has come to pass. “‘course, i haven’t been around teenagers in a while that aren’t you, logan, and roman, but i manage the part-timer kids at the inn okay, so fingers crossed it’s the same for the chilton kids.”

ms. prince looks away from him. he does not feel anything that could possibly be likened to someone removing the last piece of rubble that was pinning someone down, and at last they could scramble away.

“you shall manage just fine,” isadora says. it sounds less like a comforting statement and more like the prediction of a military officer before a battle.

patton nods, seemingly bolstered by this. dee does not even try to imagine what would have happened if he wasn’t.

“can we practice?” roman says, doing his very best to pretend that dee isn’t there; dee rolls his eyes, even as patton exclaims “‘course we can!” and logan leans in to murmur, “roman usually assists his mother with dance classes, he’ll do the same for the dances we’ll need to learn.”

isadora moves to turn on music, and patton and roman turn to face each other. patton smiles at him encouragingly, and, as if unable to help it, roman smiles back as the music comes in, with an old-timey blare of horns.

“may i have this dance?” patton offers gallantly.

roman tee-hees and takes on a nasally tone reminiscent of most rich brats as portrayed on television, “i dunno, do you have a trust fund?” before he turns and declares, in a passable teacher’s tone, “always make sure, ladies, we’re mocking the original purpose of the ball! gold-dig away!”

it makes patton laugh and logan smile, but roman takes patton’s hand without waiting for his answer. 

patton promptly assumes form—dee isn’t sure why he’s surprised it’s picture-perfect, but he is anyways—and roman does too, their hands clasped together, roman’s opposite hand on patton’s arm and patton’s hand resting on roman’s shoulder blade. 

patton counts aloud as they sweep across the room, “one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three,” for his own benefit or for roman’s, he isn’t sure. 

if not for that, if not for the surroundings of this dance studio, if not for their relatively casual state of dress, if not for the frank sinatra in the background, dee could easily believe that they were leading the opening dance of the actual debutante ball. 

if roman were in his debutante gown, if patton were in his tuxedo, if the studio surrounding them was replaced by a beautiful, marble ballroom, then they would have been the jealousies of everyone at the ball.

roman, dee observes, is good. patton dances with the practiced air of someone who learned how to do this years ago, and roman’s ability to keep pace is so well-matched that dee passively wonders if they make a habit of dancing together; if perhaps they share a common hobby of attending sock-hops.

he recalls the dance-a-thon poster he’d seen while he was in town. he really cannot discount this theory.

“dee?”

dee looks away from the pair of them twirling around the room, roman’s coat flaring with them the way his skirt eventually will.

logan gestures to the table, and holds up a handful each of forks and knives. “would you help me with these?”

you expect me to do what, he nearly says, before he recalls his excuse to get here early was to help set up, and so he heads over to the table, logan handing him the forks and knives, dee setting the table as if for a proper three-course dinner. 

he watches patton laugh as he dips roman, roman laughing too, their faces lighting up with it; he glances over out of the corner of his eyes, and he sees logan’s eyes gone soft, the way that dee has only ever seen him do once, that night of the poster-making when he had watched roman without being aware. he’s stopped unfolding the cloth napkins to stare at roman, that look on his face, the corners of his mouth lifted up; he has the fond expression of someone wed to their husband for fifteen years, watching them do the thing they love, not watching boyfriend of less than three months. 

huh. logan sanders is a sap. he honestly wouldn’t have guessed it.

he mentally analyzes his memories of seeing logan and roman together; at the chilton dance, logan watching him through the window, and now. all three times, logan had looked at roman like he'd hung the moon and stars.

it bears further observation, for certain.

dee clears his throat loudly, just for the pleasure of seeing logan jump, come back into himself, and hastily resume placing napkins.

dee smirks to himself as he straightens the dessert spoon.

all right. that is also his major motivation to continue the observation—the fun of watching logan get flustered. 

⁂

so maybe patton hasn’t thought about the way that a lot of teenagers are until virgil brought it up over dinner, but honestly, patton doesn’t think it’s his fault he overlooked that.

his track record with teenagers isn’t exactly a stellar one: when he was one, he was something of a wild child, and the other teenagers only ever really liked him at parties, and their opinion declined even more once he came out, and then that opinion crashed straight through rock bottom to start digging for the center of the earth when he got pregnant. 

then he dropped out of school, and moved here, and he didn’t really have much interaction with other teenagers in sideshire, except for the occasional part-timer at the inn, who mostly treated him cordially, if a bit awkwardly. 

then he kept working with those teenage part-timers, who were technically coworkers, and most of them carried that same generally friendly attitude throughout the years; then his boys turned thirteen, but he’d been so used to the pair of them, the only turmoil they’d had to deal with were occasional emotional outbursts and boy drama. 

and now, well. dee, too, he supposes. he isn’t sure how much dee qualifies as a typical teenager, though, what with him dressing like a victorian gentleman on an off day and his apparent secret that logan’s hinted at but not said.

and now an incoming horde of chilton students. the last generation of chilton students he’d dealt with while he was at chilton, and he’s pretty sure those opinions are still slow-cooking in the lava in the core of the earth. he isn’t sure how a new generation of chilton students is going to be. for one, they’re chilton students. for another, they’re teenagers. 

so patton is maybe a little nervous about today!

the boys are milling about the room, checking on everything. roman seems to have settled on the strategy of ignoring dee, which seems to suit dee just fine, even amuse him, a little bit. logan goes back and forth between helping the pair of them—dee with the tables, roman with nametags—and isadora is scrolling through her phone, checking to make sure she has waltz-appropriate music queued up, and patton…

well. patton is nervously pacing around the room, trying to see if he can poke in somewhere in help, but apparently they’ve all got it covered, so. patton’s job is apparently pacing.

unsurprisingly, the sideshire kids filter in first; brick comes bearing what they say is a gift from virgil, handing patton a tray full of heat-preserving cups for the four of them, and patton eagerly removes the top to sniff it only to pout that it’s decaf before he passes out the other three drinks to isadora, roman, and logan.

“hi,” brick says to dee.

“hello,” dee says warily, hovering near the corner of the room.

“wicked cool cape,” brick says. “you’ve got the phantom of the opera thing going on, then?”

dee lifts his eyebrows, looks as if he is about to do something that will be great fun, and says in a tone that is mildly threatening, “was that a joke about my vitiligo?”

“okay!” patton breaks in, as brick starts to look like they’re about to fall all over themselves in apology, “brick, kiddo, this is dee, he goes to logan’s school. how about you go on over with roman and get your nametag, huh?”

brick scampers off with a squeaky “sorry!” and patton turns to dee.

“be nice,” he says, in the same tone he’d use when logan was in kindergarten and demanding to know how on earth the other kids were unaware of what he’d thought to be universal common knowledge, like the heat death of the universe. 

“it’s too easy,” dee complains, gesturing to his face. 

“be,” patton repeats pointedly, “polite. i know that wasn’t the best thing for them to say, it was not a very good comparison, but they were talking about your clothes, not your face.”

with a facial expression much the same as six-year-old logan grumbling about how it isn’t his fault the universe might one day reach thermodynamic equilibrium, dee sighs before he goes over to pick up a nametag off the table.

“don’t worry, brick,” roman says, giving dee a dirty look, “that villain is vile to everyone he meets. it’s such a disaster that’s probably where he got his name. dee-saster.”

patton looks between them. brick, looking very much like they would like to duck out of this conversation now please; roman, victorious in his nicknamery even though patton can admit quietly to himself that it’s not exactly roman’s best work; and dee, who looks entirely unaffected. 

and then he smiles. a placid, calm smile. he looks rather mild-mannered, actually. the room is quiet.

“you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid,” dee returns, and roman looks terribly offended, his hand flying to his chest.

“exCUSE you,” roman says very loudly, “i am very happily and VERY CONTENTEDLY in LOVE with the HANDSOME man whose face you chose to MAR through—through your machiavellian manipulations and jealousy of logan’s many talents like you’re the stepmother in snow white! how dare you! i—ew!” he says, sounding like that one character in the canadian sitcom he’s trying to make logan watch. he’s clearly about to continue, but patton takes that as his cue to cut in.

“boys,” patton says loudly. he waits for them both to be quiet before he continues.

“be polite,” he repeats sternly, putting his hands on his hips. “be nice. we are here today to learn about absurd, sexist traditions that we all plan on going in and upheaving, and any good heist team needs to get along! am i clear?”

roman sighs but grumbles out an affirmative; dee rolls his eyes but does the same.

“good,” patton says, and points. “dee, please go help logan. roman—stay here.”

the boys, at last, split up.

“sorry,” brick repeats to dee.

dee shrugs. “i’ve heard it before.”

“still,” brick says, “i’m really sorry. patton’s right. that was a bad comparison to make, i should’ve said mr. darcy or something,” and then brick proceeds to stand as close to isadora’s general vicinity as they dare, as if her mere presence will protect them from any other catastrophes.

it probably will, honestly.

any awkwardness in the air doesn’t linger very long, though, because some other sideshire kids come in; elliott, for one, so they can go stand with brick, along with a few members of the cheerleading squad, which means that roman is distracted. there’s a girl with a camera he doesn’t recognize, but patton’s guessing she’s probably with the franklin, because she splits straight off to talk to logan and dee, stopping briefly to introduce herself to him and isadora, before she takes up residency in a corner and starts adjusting her camera’s settings.

dee and logan stand in the back, heads tilted toward each other, speaking quietly; he catches something about how brick’s in the theater program at school with roman before patton turns his attention to asking isadora a question about waltzing. at one point, brick accidentally catches dee’s eyes, and rather than scowl at them or anything, dee, instead, nods, as if in acceptance. brick’s shoulders relax, they nod back, and they turn to resume talking to elliott.

huh. that’s something.

he doesn’t really have time to think on it, though, because then the first wave of chilton kids start arriving.

the difference between the sideshire kids and the chilton kids is immediately stark, even though it’s not anything as visible as the quality of their clothes, or the way they look, or like all the chilton kids are wearing their blue-and-navy and the sideshire kids are wearing their red-and-white. 

it’s in the way they’re acting. 

the chilton kids are all in clumps of each other, and patton’s sure that logan and dee could tell him the precise clique each of them are in; a group of girls whisper behind hands and giggle together, and the sideshire cheerleaders look immediately ticked off at the sound of it. a group of chilton boys bump up against each other and ruffle hair in typical teenage rough-housing fashion, scoffing at their surroundings together, and the sideshire boys—if patton’s looking at them right, he thinks that group’s mostly the hockey team—look like they’re ready to go over and join in with the rough-housing with a much less friendly intention.

so. patton might have his work cut out for him. he'd say the same for isadora, but he holds no illusions about the fact that isadora will be able to rule her half of teenagers with a firm hand.

once the time ticks to the new hour, patton looks at isadora, who simply nods at him.

right. patton’s doing this on his own, then.

he steps forward into the front of the room, clapping a few times to get everyone’s attention; their conversations die down, and all of their eyes turn on him.

all of their eyes. they’re all watching him. waiting for what he’s going to say. a group of teenagers. yay. so fun.

why is patton’s mouth suddenly so dry.

patton wipes his suddenly sweaty hands on his pants, trying to pass it off like he’s putting his hands in his pockets.

“hi!” he says, in a bright and cheerful tone that sounds fake to his own ears. “i’m patton sanders, some of you might know me as the manager of the independence inn here and town, others might just know me as logan’s dad.”

logan hunches his shoulders slightly when some chilton kids look back at him, looking so much like virgil for a second that patton’s heart pulses a little stronger than usual.

“—and this is ms. prince,” patton continues, gesturing to isadora, “she owns the ballet studio here in town and has been very gracious to let us use this space and to join in on teaching you kids how to waltz properly. she’s a professional ballerina, so this is a really unique opportunity for everyone!”

isadora crosses her arms over her chest. the kids do not look particularly enthused about this really unique opportunity.

“okay,” patton says. “um—if you haven’t already, go ahead and grab your nametags over there at that table, that’s roman, he’s gonna help us out with the waltzing today. we’re splitting you up into two groups, we’ve already assigned—”

some of the kids groan.

“—you’re probably still going to be with some of your friends!” patton continues. “um, it’s just the two groups, one of them will learn dancing first and the other one will get a review of the proper etiquette to have at these sorts of events, and then we’ll switch, and then we can convene back together as one big group to answer any questions you might have, or practice the dance all together, does that sound good?”

there’s a chorus of teenagers grumbling in agreement.

“okay!” patton says, putting a lot of effort into maintaining his bright tone. “if you’ll take a look at your name tag, red dots are with ms. prince first, blue dots are with me, all right?”

there isn’t even a chorus of teenagers grumbling in agreement this time.

“um,” patton says, then, because it seems like the thing to do, “any questions?”

it is a terrible mistake.

“didn’t you get pregnant when you were sixteen?” one of the chilton girls with a very familiar pair of eyes and a strikingly similar chin (god, if this kid is somehow related to shauna christy, and she probably is, patton’s going to have a terrible time trying to teach her anything) and patton clears his throat.

“i, um—yep. yep, i did—”

“wait, you got pregnant?” another chilton student says.

“i’m trans,” patton says, really hoping this isn’t going where it’s about to go, “so, any questions about the ball—”

the first girl, the one who might be related to shauna christy, makes a loud noise as if she is about to ask another question, but there is something louder that even makes patton jump a little.

the entire room swivels to look at what has caused the noise, only to see dee with his hands hovering casually in the air, as if he’s still holding the massive block that isadora uses as a standing prop.

“christy,” dee says, still with that same calm voice (aha! a tiny voice in patton’s head says, i was right, she IS related to shauna!) “if you continue this line of questioning, everyone in this room will know precisely why the words ‘snyder’s hanover’ are significant to you.” 

christy goes incredibly pale, and she squeaks out, “how the hell could you know about—?”

“well, i didn’t,” dee says, looking remarkably pleased with himself. “not for sure, anyways, but now i do.”

the chilton students turn curious eyes to christy, who goes beet red.

dee surveys them all with the same air patton's mother gets whenever she’s observing the way a new maid cleans to see if it’s to her satisfaction. 

“i know at least five significant things about every chilton student in this room,” he continues imperiously. “if you all don’t shut up and let us get this over with so i can get a unique college essay and not just a story about how i was adopted at a young age that thousands of other students will surely have, i will sow social chaos unlike anything this school has ever seen. those of you who will recall the nettie eckstrand incident will know that is not an idle threat.”

a tall, blond boy snorts and says, “what are you gonna do about it? swim back home to haiti?”

“hey,” patton says sternly, but before he can really lecture this boy, dee holds up a gloved hand.

dee looks at the boy, sweeping his eyes up and down him. the entire room is silent; though the chilton kids are clearly waiting with bated breath, even the sideshire kids seem like they’re interested, a fresh batch of drama and gossip that doesn’t affect their school at all. the boy is all smirking, postured swagger, every inch the stereotypical young, rich white boy who’d known no consequences.

then dee looks him dead in the eyes and says, “pj harvey.”

okay, look, patton doesn’t know why a musical artist who was very popular in the nineties has to do with anything, but before he can say anything the boy surges forward, as if to fight him—

“HEY, HEY!” patton yells— 

—and he’s stopped in his tracks by two of his friends who step in to hold him back, and he huffs, straightening his jacket with a bit more fervor than necessary. he stalks off, which doesn’t have quite the effect it would’ve if he’d stormed out of the room.

dee hadn’t even flinched.

patton looks to isadora for help—he can’t imagine she’s often had brawling ballerinas in her classroom, though—but before either of them say anything, a tiny, dirty-blonde girl bursts out from the corner.

“now that the male posturing is done,” she declares impatiently, “can we get to the part where we subvert patriarchal expectations, please? we all have homework to do after this and some of you really need to at least try to make it seem like school is for more than making out with each other and killing your brain cells with alcohol.”

“okay!” patton blurts out, before anyone else can try to start a fight with her, “blue dots over here, please, blue over here!”

the girl comes over to his side of the room first, as does dee.

great.

patton spies her nametag, too; POPPY MCMASTER.

ah. she’s the escort to logan’s debutante. 

even better.

as logan’s crossing the room to join with the red dots, patton bends his head close to his ear and murmurs, “goodness, aren't your chilton friends…" he wracks his brain for a good word, "so enthusiastic?”

logan scowls, and returns in an equally quiet voice, “first of all, that is not exclusively a chilton thing, you have known roman for over a decade, and secondly, poppy isn't quite a friend, she has more attached herself to me in the hopes that i will be a mentor to her and give her an editor position her junior year.”

patton opens and closes his mouth a few times, before he says, "excellent," what on earth is in the water at that school, before he pushes logan gently in ms. prince’s direction and turns his attention to the group of teenagers.

they are not any less intimidating when halved.

“right,” patton says brightly. “let’s get this Get Cultured day started!”

[themilky-way]

Connections {s.r}

gif credit: nobravery on tumblr!

pairing: spencer reid x female! reader

summary: you work at the BAU and are best friends with everybody, except spencer. you think he just doesn’t like you until one day, he proves you wrong. 

warnings: just some minor hints of sadness, reader going through something, nothing major or specific. 

author’s note: ah yes I did miss writing and spencer reid has my heart entirely. stay safe guys! ALSO I’M BARELY ON SEASON 3 SO YA’LL BETTER NOT SPOIL ANYTHING ISTG LMAO

-------

working in the BAU, your job was never boring. five months in had changed your outlook on almost anything and everything in your life, and had your mind now racing at what seemed like a million miles per minute. it was an exhilarating  experience, regardless of how crude the crime scene could be, and it was about time you came to terms with that. 

the BAU team was just as thrilled to have you with them as you were to join. nobody expected-or wanted- a new member, and were ready to reject your application when they finally met you for the interview. however, after you demonstrated to everyone that you could profile a serial killer based on only the amount of blood at the scene and position of the victim, everyone basically wanted to give you the “welcome tour” of the headquarters. 

after you finally got an opportunity to get used to the layout of the job and your training ended, the team always looked forward to your “good morning” notes on their desk. being an early bird, you got there before everyone so you could get ahead on your reports, and always left small notes of encouragement on the person’s desk. it was a small and sweet gesture, and very much needed for the severity of the job. 

“seriously, this girl must be doing some type of hypnosis or something to everybody here. why is it that every time I see her, I just wanna hug her, huh?”

“not hypnosis, morgan. just plain ol’ appreciation,” jj said. they were huddled around his desk as they all read a note that said: “always keep your head up, champ. we appreciate the work you do around here :)”

by then, he was the last of the bunch to read his card. however, he didn't have a gold star attached to it, which meant he wasn’t the “agent of the day” as you liked to phrase it. derek flipped the sticky note over and attempted to find it, but stopped when he realized he wasn’t it. 

“wait, guys, so if I didn’t get a star, who did?” morgan asked, clearly puzzled. garcia shook her head and pouted, jj simply put a thumbs down, and prentiss muttered a “nope.” everyone knew hotch didn’t get it, because they figured he would call you in privately to thank you. everyone turned to look at you work in the conference room through the window. you were scribbling something on the whiteboard and had papers scattered everywhere on the table, unaware of the team’s puzzled expressions. at that moment, spencer walked through the double glass doors of the bureau and headed over to his desk as he normally would. as he did so, he found the team huddled together and looking at something, and when he followed their gaze he knew what this was about.

in truth, spencer never really cared for having a friendship with you. he looked at you as a coworker and just that, and developing a platonic relationship with you just wasn't anywhere in his mind. he did enjoy the words of encouragement and motivation every morning, though, and no matter how many phases of denial he went through, he looked for it as soon as he reached his desk. 

“hey, guys, wanna hear something I discovered about dolphins last night?” spencer teased as he made his way over to morgan’s desk. nobody turned their heads from your direction, and it wasn't until reid mentioned your note that everyone stopped profiling you and turned their attention to him.

“you guys wanna hear-yeah that’s what I thought-wanna hear my note (y/n) left me?” he held up the sticky note and everyone nodded eagerly. he turned the note so he was able to read it, and began. “ ‘the world is smart, but you’re smarter. have a great day, reid!’ how cool is this!” he smiled and at that point so did everyone, when they realized that the note still had more to it. 

“oh my god, reid! you got the gold star! congratulations sunshine,” garcia pointed out as she gave him a light punch on the shoulder. spencer’s mind started bouncing back and forth between thoughts when he looked at the tiny gold sticker below your comment. did this mean anything? should he mention it? 

the answer to that was yes, he should, but was he going to? probably not. pats on the back were given as the team got up from morgan’s desk and headed to their own when hotch came out of his office and told everyone to meet in the conference room in five to look over a new case. reid, as he walked back to his pile of reports, looked at you working on your own. he never really thought of you as a friend, and didn't want to for that matter. but the longer he looked at you he started to realize that maybe befriending you wouldn't be so horrible. as everyone entered the room and gave you a hug or cheery greeting, spencer opted to sit at the other end of you. but one thing was for sure: his smile was the brightest one in the room. 

the next few weeks went by quickly, and included a variety of new “agents’ of the day.” after reid, there was morgan, who practically wanted to kiss you after that. emily followed, who was beginning to turn into one of your closest friends. jj and garcia came next, and soon the four of you founded a girl’s night out every weekend. 

however, them being the best profilers in the entire bureau, they noticed that the notes progressively stopped. the team realized something was off with you, and they noticed that your demeanor was different. you began to come later than you usually did, at one point even later than derek. your hairstyle changed to a messier bun, your desk was worse than reid’s, and no more cute notes were seen for almost two weeks. 

“something’s wrong, you guys. she’s been here for months and she’s never once frowned or even forgot to put the cap back on her pen,” emily said, packing her files in her briefcase. jj nodded her head, “yeah I know, and I want to ask but I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. I mean, what if we’re reading too much into it?”

“reading into it? jj, we profile murderers who we’ve never even met, I’m pretty sure (y/n)’s going through something,” morgan stated, standing up from his chair and pushing it in adequately.

“we know one thing: when she’s ready to vent, we’ll be here. in the meantime, we should go home and get some rest. we fly out to oregon tomorrow,” hotch said. everyone agreed, and they stood up and gathered their belongings and headed for the exit door. they waved and said their goodbye’s to you, who was seated at the other end of the room. 

you were the only one left at the bureau, and you were more tired than usual due to your lack of sleep recently. you closed your eyes, took a couple of deep breaths, and began to massage your temples with your pointer fingers. it’s been tough for you, taking care of your grandparents ever since they came to live with you. arguments with your mother always lead to the same thing: leaving. you loved them, and you adored having family with you, especially in a job like the one you had. but you had to sacrifice your sleep and wellbeing in order for them to be safe. 

you were so concentrated in your thoughts that you didn’t hear footsteps coming down the stairs, moving towards your direction, and finally coming to a complete stop next to your desk. it wasn't until a soft voice broke you from your thoughts, or more so from your nap at that point. 

“(y/n)?”

you lifted your head rapidly, and looked up to find the source of the voice, and when you did, you managed to slur, “reid, what the hell, I, uh, thought I was the only one left.

“no, I was just catching up on my reports and was about to go home. by the looks of it, you should too.”

“alright, catch you in the morning, spence. I still gotta finish this case file,” you were looking at him now, and as you spoke you gave a tiny nod to your opened manila folder. “wait you’re staying later? do you know how dangerous it is for girls of your type to be out at these hours of the night? I read a study once that determined women who wandered at night suffered the most danger between the hours of 1 a.m. to 4 a.m.. I mean you don't want to put yourself-”

“I'm not gonna be long, dr. reid, I think I’ll be fine,” you cut him off mid fact. you returned to your paperwork and picked up your pen to write some notes on the margin, and when you looked back up a couple minutes later, you found reid staring at you, confusion clearly manifesting over his features. 

‘I suggest offering you a seat, sir. that way you can look at me in distress as long as you like,” you let yourself chuckle a little bit, and even though it made spencer want to laugh too, he restrained himself and asked you what had troubled him for weeks now. 

“(y/n), what’s going on? you’re not the same since garcia got the last morning note from you. seriously, I-I’m here to help you.”

dropping your pen, you swiveled your chair so you were in his direction and looked up at him to answer him. “in all honesty, and by no means full offense, I don’t think you care what’s going on with me.”

in his mind, reid was going nuts, and his silence? not helping very much. all he could do was look down at you with a shocked expression and his mouth opened and closed before he finally rebutted your statement.

“(y/n), I’m sorry I made it seem that way. I really am and the truth is I didn’t really care for your notes at first until I stopped receiving them.” he crouched down now to level with your height on the chair, a hand laying on his knee and the other on the ground for balance. 

“I didn’t really care for a friend, until I realized I wanted your friendship. I never even thanked you for giving me the privilege of being ‘agent of the day.’”

you realized he meant it, and it wasn’t some cheesy reponse you were so used to getting. he felt it, and you began to realize you could also trust him even a little.

“thanks, reid. sorry for lashing out too, it’s just things haven’t been so easy back home. do you mind?” 

“of course not. I’m all ears, (y/n).” you nodded and thanked him, standing up from your chair and kneeling down to ultimately sit down criss cross on the ground. he did the same as you, and his attention was fully yours.

you told him everything that had happened; the fights with your mom, your grandparents moving in, your lack of sleep and how you felt. you vented to him about almost everything in your life and he listened like his life depended on it. at the end, you were crying a little no matter how hard you tried not to. amidst everything, he had pulled you into an awkward sort of hug, considering your position and the fact he doesn't give much physical affection to people. nonetheless, he gave you the comfort you needed and you valued it. 

he pulled away suddenly, and lifted himself off the ground a little to get his phone from his pocket. he asked you to get yours, and you did so by reaching over to the top of your desk. the both of you exchanged phones and he wrote his rather rapidly, you still trying to think about your own area code by the time he was finished. 

you exchanged phones again, and when you grabbed yours from his hand, he held on to it as well. before he let go, he looked down at the ground and then landed on your hand on the phone. 

“you can call me whenever you want. even if you don’t have a reason too.”

his eyes flicked up to your semi-red eyes, and he smiled softly. you did as well, and he felt small butterflies forming in his tummy when you did. spencer reid didn’t care for affection, nor for personal connections with anyone. but perhaps you were beginning to turn into the only exception. 

and he didn't really mind it at all. 

[optimistic-dinosaur-nacho]

The Search - Requested

Andy Barber x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: Murder, Disappearance, Language

Summary: Andy is on the Ben Rifkin’s case who happened to be murdered. And the same day, Y/N doesn’t return home. After hours and hours of searching for her, Andy finds her in the elementary playground. And she wasn’t in good shape.

I’m sure there won’t be a part 2 cause it will go crazy in the next one and I feel like I’ll mess up the next part so this is just it.

Also things may not sound like the right information, it’s just to bring the story together.

~~~

Andy had gotten a call from Duffy that there was a murder reported in Cold Spring Park. Andy had just started his morning and his case on the man with battery had already been done and he had to skip a meeting with Lynn.

Cold Spring Park was just by the Archer Middle School. And that’s where Y/N and Jacob were. The two would take the trail down. He hoped the two were okay in the school.

Andy parks his car on the side and steps out to see Pam waiting for him. He walks over, “What do we got?” He asked. Pam follows him towards the yellow caution tape, “Ben Rifkin, 14 years old, stabbed three times.” 

Pam watches Andy come to a stop and she knew that look, “Shit,” She says. Andy sighs, “Jacob knows him. Anyway, keep going.”

Pam nods, “The scene was sort of spread out. We found a trail but it stopped midway. They’re taking blood tests on the body and the blood trail.”

“Could it be the suspects?” Andy asks, he looks over and indeed saw the trail of blood leading up to the trail, running off or running towards the boys body if it happened to be a struggle from Ben.

Pam shrugs, “We’ll see in a few hours. This woman here found the body. A neighbor even heard distress what sounded like a woman or a child. He didn’t seem to think it was something bad.”

Andy looks over, “Well that was a dick move. But a woman? Could be an adult murderer.”

“Could be.” They walked up to the body and could smell the blood and mud. Men in hazmat suits surrounded the body and took pictures. Andy would give his regards to the parents. Jacob and Y/N knew him, Y/N was actually good friends with Ben.

Her and Jacob had some disagreements but it wasn’t something. Andy feels his phone ring and he turns, “Will you give me a minute?” He asked. Pam nods and he turns away to answer the call.

“Jake? You okay?”

“Yeah. Our school’s on lockdown. Is everything okay?” Andy looks over to the body and turns away, “Yeah. I can’t talk about it right now, you’re safe. Have you heard from your sister?” 

“She hasn’t texted me...” 

“Okay. Well, I got to go. Just listen to what your teachers say, okay?”

“K...”

“Love you, buddy.”

“Love you too.”

Andy pulls his phone in his pocket and he sees one of the men slip something into a bag. He saw the shape of it, knowing it was a phone. He nods at it, “That’s a cell phone?” He asked.

Pam looks over her shoulder, “Yeah. Not sure if it belongs to the victim, we’ll take a look at it tomorrow.” Pam and Andy leave the scene. They haven’t found the backpack nor did they find anything tied to the case. Weapons. Only blood was gonna be tested. They were sure if the suspect had gotten blood on their clothes but it was a needle in a haystack.

They didn’t have much. He heard his phone ring and he saw it was Laurie’s ID caller. “Laurie?”

“I just heard about the murder on the news. You okay?” She asked. Andy looks down the road, seeing cars drive down as he stood out by the stairs in front of the courthouse. “Yeah. Did you get the kids?”

“I got Jacob and Derek, they’re upstairs. Jacob said Y/N was going to a friends house but she’s not answering her phone.” Andy looks up and breathes in, “Okay. I’ll try her cell. Just stay home, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Andy hangs up and pulls up Y/N’s number, pulling it up to his ear. The phone buzzes. Again. And again. And again. “Come on, Y/N.” He heard the phone click knowing she picked up.

“Y/N, it’s dad. Mom’s worried.”

“Andy?”

The man froze at the sudden voice of someone else. He immediately reacts, “Duff? How do you-?”

“This was the phone that was turned up at the scene. I was taking it in for evidence and you happened to call it.” Andy raises his head up and rushes over to his car. “I’m coming to the department. Something’s not right.” 

Andy jumps in his car and speeds down the road. Andy pulls out the screen on his car and searches for Laurie’s number. He began to call her back. She immediately answered. “Andy? Did you talk to her?”

“Laurie... the phone that we turned up at the scene... it’s Y/N’s. I’m rushing over to the department.”

“Oh, my God. You think she did this?”

“No. I know she wouldn’t. Just keep Jacob home, I promise to call you back.” Andy hears her let out a huff, “Okay...” She says. Andy says bye and hangs up, quickly driving up to the station and doesn’t bother to lock his car as he rushed up the stairs.

He held up his badge to the police officer and she opened the door. He rushes up the stairs and immediately spots Duffy with the phone. “Hey,” She says, Andy takes the bag and looks at it.

“Have you been searching for her?” Andy asked.

“Well, we were just figuring out if she did it or not. They said a fingerprint was on the boy’s sweatshirt. They said the tests are here. Peterson was gonna bring them in a few.”

Andy shakes his head, “Just know... she didn’t do this. I know she wouldn’t do this.”

“You said Jacob and Y/N would walk down that trail, right?”

Andy shook his head, “Yes. But I’m not sure what the hell is going on. I have nothing and I...” Andy turns around and Duff raises her hand. “Hey, it’s okay. Easy.”

The two turn their heads to Peterson who walked up to them. “Andy, you’re here?” He asks, Andy quickly takes the papers. “What did they find?” Duffy asked. Andy began to read the papers, seeing the information.

“They found two different blood tests. One happens to be Y/N Barber’s including the Rifkin’s kid.” Andy looks up to him and his blood runs cold. “You saying my daughter was involved with the murder?”

Peterson shrugs, “We don’t have enough evidence to say she did it or not. This really turns a lot of heads though.”

“Can we send out patrols?” Andy asks, the two don’t reply and Andy turns to Duffy. “Duff, please.” Pam looks over to him and finally nods. “We’ll look around the park.” Andy nods at her and she gathers a few men and they began to head into police cars.

Andy was the first to leave the department.

He called Laurie and told her almost everything. She told him that Jacob had taken the road way instead of the trail. Y/N usually liked taking the trail cause it was quicker. Jacob and Y/N always had their disagreements a lot.

Especially as kids.

The fights they would have. Jacob was more of the damage. Laurie knew it but Andy didn’t. He thought they were just acting like siblings and they are the same age so they fight for the same things.

One thinks the other is spoiled but in reality they both are. Maybe Y/N found Ben Rifkin’s body and she fell, cutting a hand on the ground. No. Andy saw a lot of it. It had been hours since this happened. He reached for his beard in distress, knowing Y/N could be lying on the ground.

Dead.

One police cab had been following him while the rest had been going around the park and Andy’s neighborhood. An hour had passed looking for her. Andy had his windows rolled down for a sudden sound or thing. He then stopped. The elementary school. Their school had ended but he knew it was somewhere she’d be.

Especially the blood trail she left it leading up to this school. The cop was confused as Andy jumped out and rushed onto the campus. “Y/N!” Andy calls, he looks through the playground and looks by the swings. 

Nothing.

He tries the bushes by the school. Nothing. He checks by the bigger play structure and sees a huge slide with large obstacles. The slide was a large tube and he walks over, looking up at the top, “Y/N?” He calls. No one responds.

Looking out to the field, he couldn’t see her. Sighing, he began to walk back till a dark color caught his attention. On the edge of the slide. Was dark liquid. Blood. Andy leans over and sees someone laying in the slide, weak. “Y/N!”

He hears that she doesn’t respond and quickly waves at the officer. “Call the ambulance! I found her!” The officer nods and calls in his units to gather them all together again.

Andy leans in and holds his hand out. “Sweetheart, can you hear me? I need you to get out. It’s dad, baby. It’s me.” He gently grabs your ankles and tugs you down.

The shirt you wore was soaked in your blood. You surely lost a pint of blood. You were holding it. Andy slightly gasps. He reaches up to her cheek, seeing the fear in her eyes. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. Stay with me, sweetheart. I know, I know it hurts.” 

Dry tears being layered with fresher ones, he tried to keep her calm. Till the ambulance arrived.

.

Y/N was rushed to the hospital and Andy had called Laurie. Andy would’ve lied if he said she didn’t cry. Of course, Andy would have a talk with Jacob. Why he would leave her on her own. But what he still didn’t know if she did it. If Ben Rifkin was the one to kill her, she turned against him and killed him instead. 

Or was she planning on killing him and he took it against her. He bled out and she fled. Andy couldn’t find the answers. If that fingerprint matches with Y/N’s, then they’ll have to assume. 

But they don’t know the true story. The fear in her eyes, he knew she wouldn’t have done it.

He jumped out of his car once he parked. Rushing up to the front desk, he blurts out his daughter’s name and the woman lets him go through. There was a waiting room because she had reported that Y/N was in surgery. They needed to transfer a lot of blood and stitch her up.

They said she was stabbed once. Missing the lethal parts of her body. Laurie couldn’t leave the house due to Derek being there and she didn’t trust leaving the kids alone, not even bringing in Derek into seeing their daughter in a hospital. 

She did tell Jacob. His answer was off but she didn’t mind it. Andy heard about it and he confirmed he will be talking to Jake about this. It wasn’t okay. Y/N could die in this very moment.

Andy would still love him but knowing that he left Y/N and she almost died. Andy sat in the hospital for the next hour.

It was around 7 pm now.

Andy had been waiting for 2 hours. And Laurie hadn’t called since. Being worried she didn’t want to know the updates. She’d want to hear it in person. “Are you Andrew Barber?” A man spoke, Andy looks up and the man in the white coat grinned softly. 

Andy stood up, “Is she okay?”

“We were lucky to put some blood back. Losing a pint and for her age it would’ve been fatal for her. When you found her, she’s lucky to be alive. We even caught a small concussion to the head but I’m sure that will settle in a few days.”

Andy drops the tension in his shoulders and sighed, “Is it okay if I see her?” The doctor nods, “Of course.” Andy followed the doctor after he grabbed his coat. Andy entered the room and saw Y/N on the bed. The white sheet pulled over her body. Bandages were on her forehead, small cuts and bruises. 

Andy thanks the doctor and the man left him in the room. 

He takes the chairs and pulls it up to the side of the bed. He noticed her eyes slowly open and he gently takes her hand in his, “Hey, sweetheart...” He whispers softly. Y/N slowly looks at him and inhaled sharply, “Dad...”

He kisses her hand and grins, “I’m here.”

“Jake...” She mutters, Andy sadly grins, “Your brother and mom are at home. They’ll see you tomorrow.”

Y/N looks to him and he saw the shook of your head. “What it is?” He asked. “He... did it.” Andy furrows his brows together in confusion. “Did Ben Rifkin do this to you?”

She again shook her head, “No... it was him...”

“Who?” Andy asked. Y/N looks over to him. She says his name in a low whisper.

“Jacob...”

~~~

No part two cause I don’t know if I can handle it.

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[siimjaeyun]

01: Immortality

Synopsis: it is part of human nature to be flawed and imperfect, maybe even vengeful when things don't go their way, and when seven boys find themselves in power to show those who are wrong that actions come with consequences, will they choose to keep their immortality?

masterlist

tw: mentions of blood, stabbing, murder, death and slight choking

-------

"Wait let me get this straight. Your solution to the problem is for us to get killed over and over again instead of reporting them to the police?" Sunoo stood at the edge of the room, completely baffled by the older boy's plan. 

"You don't get it Sunoo. This is part of the plan, it's always been. Why did you think we saved you?" Sunghoon took the glass of water from counter and gulped it down slowly before staring at Jungwon and Riki. 

"Your immortality is precious and it's a form of power. This is your new job." 

"What job? I don't want this job." Jay let a hefty sight escape from his lips before pulling the three minors closer to him. 

"I get you don't want to be immortal. None of us chose to be here. Come." Jay went to the nearest drawer and pulled out a scrapbook. 

"This is before we were eighteen." Jungwon furrowed his brows and didn't see a difference between them. 

"But you look the same?" 

"Immortality keeps you at this age. But we were normal teens too, we had dreams." Heeseung and Jake looked down, remembering the days from their own past as well. 

"Then what happened?" Riki asked. 

"We don't remember much of what happened. Memories fade eventually. It's been fifteen years since we entered this new world." Jake waited for a response but instead handed the three boys their belongings. 

"Go on or you'll be late. We'll keep an eye on you from afar, but just go with your mind got it?" The three youngest didn't have much to stay and reluctantly accepted the very non-existent plan. 

"Are we sure about this? What if this is a prank?" Jungwon and Sunoo stopped in their tracks and looked at Riki. 

"I clearly remember being dead so might as well suck it up. Team?" Jungwon put forward his hand and the others followed shouting a cheer before entering the room. 

"Sorry we're late, we got lost since we're not used to the campus grounds." Three heads instantly popped up at the sound of their voice. Impossible: it was impossible for them to be alive. 

"You said they were dead!" One of them whispered, close to entering into a panic. 

"They were! You saw they had no heartbeat." The other responded. Their legs began to shake left and right as well as up and down due to fear, nibbling on their nails and surrounding skin. 

"No worries, just take a seat." As if a feeling inside his heart was about to over take him, Sunoo felt a need to take a seat next to one of the three boys. He plopped his backpack onto the desk and gave a smile wave to the tall boy. 

This was the first trial.

----- 

"Hey! You three come here." The basketball players waved their hands at them in a snapping manner and if on que, Heeseung smirks when he looks down at the time on his watch. 

"Humans really are predictable aren't they?" Jake agrees and continues to listen into the conversation. 

"We're having a party tonight, you should come." Again, right on time. 

"Uhh, I'm not sure…" Jungwon elbowed Riki in the stomach before accepting the kind invitation. 

"We'll be there!" Sunoo quickly answered before looking at Jungwon with confusion. 

"What are you thinking! This is a trap to clearly kill us!" Riki states in a distressed manner. 

"Something is telling me to do so, plus isn't that the plan?" Jay and Sunghoon were amused at Sunoo and Jungwon's quick adaptation to their life. 

"Seems like they've got this, but remember to get the car anyway." Sunghoon slung his backpack lazily over his shoulder and led the way as they waited for the second trial. 

------- 

The night had fallen and almost as if the stars had aligned, Heeseung glanced at his watch once more as Sunoo, Jungwon and Riki stepped into the home where the so-called party was being held. It took half an hour for the three school boys dressed in jerseys to drag out three black bags, body shaped to be exact. 

"Hurry the fuck up man, before we get caught!" The other two obeyed the orders and carried the bags into the trunk of the car with much speed. A small drive later and an empty lot awaited them. 

"Throw them there." The sound of shovels digging surrounded the nearby area, and with the rhythm of the sand and dirt hitting the floor, the three bodies were finally covered. 

"We take this until our death beds. This better get the job done." The car drove off; it allowed for Heeseung and Jay to approach the bodies underneath the ground. 

"5..4..3..2..1" The supposed to be dead boys came from behind the trees dusting themselves off from the sand. 

"That was even more terrible the second time. Drugging us and then stabbing us isn't exactly fun." 

"You did great. You're almost there." Jake complimented only for anger to resound in Jungwon. 

"Look no offense, but I don't know if we can continue this. I don't want to relive the trauma of being murdered over and over again." He loosened his tie and threw it onto the pavement. 

"I'm with Jungwon. Is this really the only way to get the job done?" 

"Yes, now let's go get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a very long day." Sunghoon patted their backs and led them back. 

Second trial was complete. 

------- 

"How are you boys holding up? Today's sort of the final trial." Jake walked into their room first thing in the morning, bearing food and other trinkets. 

"To be honest, I cried myself to sleep. I'd rather be dead than be doing this. Why were we saved?" Riki asked with slight hesitancy.

"Heeseung and I asked ourselves that every single day since our murder. We were the new kids and well, these two boys weren't exactly fond of us so their plan was to kill us and they were successful. We woke up to this new life and even though I've never been able to come with a clear answer, you'll find out in time. This is a lot. I get it, but you've got each other. This job isn't fun, but you get used to it. The pain isn't even that bad." He left the room almost immediately and went with the others. 

The same scenario repeated once more. Bewildered eyes met the three boys upon their entrance, and paranoia engulfed the three murderers. Heeseung went ahead and peered into the classroom. Shaky legs, check. Nail biting check. Sweat, check. 

"This can't be happening. This isn't real. What if this is a prank?" Sunoo once more waved at them slightly before leaning in towards them. 

"I had fun at the party last night, maybe we can do it again. Or maybe you'd like to rest since I'm sure digging and dragging must be hard work." With innocent eyes, he smiled slyly and gave a head nod to Jungwon and Riki. 

"What's next? I doubt that they'd be willing to get caught up again." It was lunch time, which gave them time to decide on their next move. 

"You go to them. After all, where else would you find your phone?" Riki began to feel into his pockets but found nothing. 

"Damn it." Satisfied, the four left the three kids on their own. 

The clock struck eight when Jungwon knocked on the familiar wooden door which was opened by the oldest school boy. 

"Y-you guys. Why are you here?" 

"We wanted to party like last night but I left my phone here." Jungwon went straight to the nearest bedroom and found his phone comfortably tucked away under a pillow with a recording. 

"Well what do have here? A memory from last night." Sunoo pressed the small play button and let the audio run though. 

"Hurry the hell up will you!" 

"Did you bring your dad's car like I told you? Get on with it." 

"I'm sad it had to come to this." 

"Get them!" Their hands became tightly wrapped around their necks and before they knew it, they had experienced their third death. 

They went back to the familiar lot, repeating the motions and excavating through the hard ground to create a burrow for the bodies. 

"Dump the brown haired one first." When they managed to pat the dirt neatly and move on to the rest of the bodies, they were gone. 

"Huh? Is this the end of the party? But I wanted to have more fun." Sunoo walked out first and showed a small pout while watching terror and horror overtake the players in their presence. Without a thought, the shovel was swung and he came down, falling unconscious. 

"Boooo, all we wanted was to become friends. Is this really it?" Now Riki emerged from the trees, crossing his arms while glancing at Sunoo's body. 

Another swing over took him, but it was time for the final show. 

"Hi! I'm Jungwon and these are my friends Sunoo and Riki. Please treat us well." Jungwon tried to approach them but they instead fled towards the car, struggling to understand what was occurring. 

"Get away you-you ahh!" Jungwon and Sunoo crept from behind while Riki dangled the car keys in front of them. 

"Have a safe ride! Stay safe!" With the final shouts, Heeseung, Jake, Sunghoon and Jay finally left the shadows. 

Jay let out a maniacal laughter, which caused confusion with the three youngest. 

"Good job boys. Good job." Those were the final words he told them before going home. 

As sleep entered their systems, they began to wonder about their actions and Sunghoon's words from two nights before.

Humans themselves were responsible for the consequences. They were complex creatures, sure, but driven by power and greed can betray the good of anyone. They never created the killer. 

Like a cycle, they went at a similar time to the school in the morning only to cause the three boys to break down in tears.

------- 

taglist: @the-moon-lost-in-joy @twntycm  

[hopelikethemoon]

Proof (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Proof  Rating: PG-13 Length: 1600 Warnings: Fluff. Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set May 4th 1998. Summary: The final article comes out. 

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IRREFUTABLE PROOF — DEA BRIBED COLLEGE STUDENT TO RUIN FORMER AGENT’S CREDIBILITY 

The DEA has maintained that Annette Morley’s termination was related to her perfidious actions, concerning her relationship with Javier Peña. The couple sat down with The Post to clarify why they chose to conceal their relationship.

“It wasn’t an ideal situation,” said Peña when questioned about why he and Morley kept their relationship quiet while working for the DEA. “We were working to take down dangerous organizations, we couldn’t risk something happening to our daughter. We suffered to keep it a secret. Annie gave birth alone, while I filed paperwork at the office. We couldn’t risk anyone knowing that two DEA agents had a child together — our daughter would’ve become a target.”

Could they not trust the DEA with that secret? Morley was quick to clarify why she chose to lie about her daughter’s paternity, “It was hard enough to be a woman working for the government. I was subjected to sexist comments regularly and I feared how I would be treated if they knew that Javier and I were together.”

It should be noted that both Peña and Morley denied that Peña was the father of Morley’s daughter, yet only Morley was disciplined. Documents collected via the Freedom of Information Act suggest that this was an intentional decision meant to minimize Morley’s participation within the agency. Correspondence between high-level authorities, conclude a pattern of suppression targeting women throughout the agency.  

The DEA ardently denies claims of sexual harassment, citing that their agents undergo a seminar about harassment in the workplace during their on boarding. Sources within the DEA have confirmed numerous reports of sexual harassment claims made against all levels of management. 

Evidence provided to The Post by a source close to Peña and Morley, and verified by the University of Miami, concluded that the DEA had orchestrated a scheme to pressure one of Javier Peña’s students to falsely claim that they had been having an affair. The source showed receipts of a sizeable money transfer in return for making the claims to the University. 

Following The Post’s reporting that DEA agent Chris Fiestle had numerous disciplinary claims against him, the DEA has placed him on paid leave. An anonymous source has provided The Post with information and confidently identified Fiestle as the individual who facilitated the DEA’s bribery scheme. A second source, within the agency, provided documentation of the bribery which had been signed off on by two high-level figures. 

Due to the investigative journalism of The Post we are pleased to report that The Office of the Inspector General released a report that a full audit of the DEA’s inter-agency procedures, practices, and correspondences. The Post is working with the OIG to corroborate the reports made in the paper. The Federal Bureau of Investigation has opened a secondary review of misconduct. 

 ———

 It was done. Finally. With today’s issue of The Post, you no longer had to dread the next front page story you’d read. Vickers had exceeded your expectations — not just by addressing what you had endured, but uncovering a whole culture of misconduct. 

“I don’t want to speak to the press,” You told Javier as you sat across from him at the kitchen table. The phone was ringing for the fifth time since you had gotten out of bed and you were certain it was the same type of call you’d already put up with. 

MSNBC, Fox News, and CNN had been hounding you since the first article — but now it seemed to have ramped up. They were all desperate for a sit down interview.

“Not even Barbara Walters or Diane Sawyer?” Javier teased, trying to play off the obvious distress you were in. You were appreciative. 

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, I’m not sitting down for 20/20. I’m humbled, but no. I’ve done what I intended to do.”

Monica sighed heavily as she folded the newspaper in half and sat it on the table beside her coffee. “I’m so glad he respected my request.”

“I told him all along that the article wouldn’t run with your name in it.” You assured her. Monica had spent the night — too anxious about the forthcoming article to spend the night at her own place. “I can’t help if the DEA brings you into it, however.”

She smiled grimly, “I know. I just don’t want my parents…” Monica shook her head, “And what about work? How am I going to work for the government if my name gets black balled?”

Javier cleared his throat, “I won’t let that happen. No daughter of mine is going to be harassed by those fuc—“

You shot him a look.

“Freaks.”

“Mommy, did daddy say a bad word?” Josie questioned as she licked the butter off her toast. 

“Freaks isn’t a bad word.” You shook your head, “Josie, eat your toast right. Please?”

Josie scrunched up her nose as she folded her bread in half and ate the center out of the toast. “But fuck is bad?”

“Josie!” Javier snapped his fingers, “What have we talked about?”

She tried to look as sheepish and adorable as possible, “I sassy daddy.”

Monica stifled a laugh.

“That’s an interesting way to say you’re sorry, Josie.” His brows rose upwards as he stared at Josie. “Josefína Selina Peña—“

“I’m sorry, daddy.” Josie stuck out her bottom lip as she slid herself off her chair and walked around the table to grab at you, pressing her face against your stomach and pretending to cry. 

“Are you hiding with me?” You laughed. “Do I get to play good cop?”

Monica leaned down to Josie’s height, poking her in the side, “What have we talked about bad words?”

“That they’re bad.” Josie offered quietly, before she squirmed out of your hold and dropped onto the floor as she crawled under the table.

Javier rubbed at the back of his neck, giving you a look. “We’ve created a monster.”

“We’ve created a little girl who isn’t acting like she just turned five.” 

Stevie barked, padding through the kitchen and ducking under the table to join Josie. 

“I a baby again!” Josie announced, remaining beneath the table.

Sofía leaned over the side of her high chair, trying to look for Josie. “Sissss!” She made grabby hands, wiggling as she tried to get out.

“Josefína.” Javier said warningly, pinching at the bridge of his nose. 

She popped her head out from under the table, “Daddy are you mad?”

“No.”

“You sound mad.”

“He’s not mad, Josie.” Monica told her with a gentle smile. “But you can’t be saying grown up words.”

“But daddy says them.” Josie said as she crawled out, “I wanna be like daddy.”

“Good lord,” Javier chuckled, grinning at you. “Be like your mother, she’s a far better example.”

“Only because I mind my p’s and q’s.” You teased, nudging Javier’s foot under the table. “Good cop says to go easy.”

“Bad cop is going to eat Miss Josie’s pancakes if she doesn’t get back in her seat and eat them.” He warned and that prompted her to scramble back into her seat. 

Monica started laughing again, “Is this what I miss out on every morning?”

“Every. Morning.” You shook your head. “Josie’s always getting into mischief.”

Javier fixed Monica with a droll expression. “Yesterday she ate Stevie’s kibble.”

Josie clambered back into her seat, picking up her fork and shoveling a mouthful of pancake into her mouth. 

“Josie, please don’t choke.” 

Javier nudged her in the ribs, “Small bites.”

“I’m stress eating.” Josie announced, making dramatic gobbling noises as she mimed eating another bite as she chewed her first. 

“What are you stressed about?” Monica questioned.

“Life.”

The three of you started laughing. Josie had a hell of a sense of humor. You weren’t sure which one of you she got it from, but she could not kill with her dramatics. 

“You know,” You started, looking from Monica to Javier. “That was exactly what I needed.” You rolled your eyes. “From the mouths of babes.”

“Who, me?” Josie questioned, giggling like a mad woman. 

“Yes, you, goober.” You laughed. 

Javier leaned over and kissed the top of her head, “No more bad words, JoJo.”

She tilted her head up towards him, grinning broadly. “But it made mommy laugh.”

He pursed his lips, “Then it’s fine. Just this once.” Javier stood up then, moving around the table to you. He rested his hands on your shoulders, squeezing both of them tightly. “Want more coffee?”

You nodded your head, “I think I may just work for a half a day today.” 

“Do you still want me to stick around?” Monica questioned. 

“If I get home early, you’re welcome to leave.” You assured her as you watched Javier take your cup and head for the coffee pot. “Get a jump start on your weekend.”

“Honestly, I think we may just stay in.” She shrugged, “You guys still on for dinner tomorrow?”

You nodded, moving your pancakes around your plate, dabbing up more syrup. “Javier’s cooking.”

“I hope he’s not grilling.”

“What am I cooking?”

“I don’t know,” You hummed. “What are you cooking for dinner tomorrow?”

Javier sat your coffee cup in front of you, “Wanna help make enchiladas?”

You shrugged, “Sounds good to me.”

“My favorite.” Monica smiled. “I can’t believe the semester’s almost over.”

“I can.” Javier sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “It’s still awkward.”

“We’re not bringing that up.” She offered with a shake of her head. 

“You mean I shouldn’t invite Elena for dinner?”

Monica and Javier both glared at you and offered in unison a firm, “No.” 

“Neither of you are any fun.” You laughed, grinning at them. 

The situation with DEA was finally put behind you and now you could just savor this little family of five you’d created despite everything.   

[summahsunlight]

All For You, Part 3

Rating: T

Word Count: 1986

Pairing: Poe Dameron X Pilot!Reader

Summary: Your life in the Resistance was not easy, being married to Commander Poe Dameron and a skilled pilot yourself. When you unexpectedly get pregnant, your life is forever changed. Raising a child on base is hard, but never having parents of your own as a child, you are determined to love your little girl and give her the best life. Poe is equally as devoted to you and your daughter, vowing to keep you both safe from the impending threat of the First Order.

Taglist: @thescarletknight2014​, @elmoakepoke​, @xxidontwikeitxx​, @liadamerondjarin​ @marvelofwitch​, @blushingwueen​

As promised, here is part 3🥰 I didn’t get to really proof read it so I apologize for any mistakes. Remember the taglist is open so if you want to be added, let me know. Feedback is always appreciated!

Being away from Poe was hard, especially now. It had been a difficult evening, you had been up several times in the middle of the night sick and when you did manage to crawl back into bed you just wanted your husband to hold you. Your emotions had gone from raging mad to wanting to curl up into a ball and cry in a matter of hours. The constant worry about Poe and his safety was nibbling away at you only adding to your overwhelming sadness. 

Wiping at the tears in your eyes, you reminded yourself that Poe was due to be back on base by the morning--you would be hearing your baby’s heartbeat for the very first time by the afternoon. This cheered you up--slightly.

Only slightly because you still felt incredibly sick. 

By the time you arrived for you shift that morning, you had gotten up three more times that night to be sick. The only thing keeping your emotions somewhat at bay was the thought that Poe was due to arrive back on base soon.

“Good morning.. You look a little tired this morning, ma’am.”

“Didn’t sleep well last night, Kaydel.”

“Still sick?”

“It’s getting better.”

Kaydel looked at you suspiciously. You were really going to have to start telling people soon that you were having a baby--otherwise rumors were going to be flying around the base.

Taking your seat at your station, you ignored the grumbling in your stomach and the constant worry about Poe; you had work to do. But your mind kept wandering to thoughts of him, how far away he was at that moment--how much danger he could really be in. Gently your hand cupped your belly, that cold fear of your baby never meeting their father gripping you.  

When Black Squadron missed their scheduled arrival by thirty minutes, you started to worry even more--when it turned into hours you began to panic. The radio operatives assured you that they had heard nothing, that Poe had not sent out a distress signal of any kind--they were just late. 

Just late? Just late is by a few minutes not hours! You wanted to throw up and not because of the baby this time. And that pit stayed in your stomach until it was announced that Black Squadron was pulling out of light speed and would be landing soon. You squirmed, wanting to run up to the surface, but you were still working...

...Leia smiled, knowingly at you and simply gestured with her hand to go--giving the okay to head to the surface to find your husband. 

You were confident you had control of your emotions--until you laid eyes on Poe. He was shedding his helmet and flak vest, handing them off to a nearby technician. He didn’t look injured, his fighter didn’t look any worse for wear--you had certainly seen it arrive back on base in much worse condition before--but for whatever reason when he looked at you and smiled, the tears were unleashed.

Poe walked towards you, taking your face between his hands and wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Gulping, you leaned in closer to him. “You’re late! You were supposed to be back hours ago! I thought...I thought something had happened to you!”

“The mission took a little longer than we planned,” Poe explained, continuing to wipe your tears away. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you worry, baby.”

“Didn’t mean to make me worry? Why didn’t you radio in?” you cried, vaguely aware that everyone was watching your very unusual emotional breakdown. “I thought you were dead! I thought we lost you!”

BB-8 beeped in surprise. Poe anxiously looked around to see if anyone had noticed your little slip--if they heard, they weren’t visibly showing it. Leading you away from the crowds, he found a quiet spot to continue to let you sob and pound on his chest for scaring you. 

Poe pulled you tightly into his arms, his hands rubbing your back. “Breathe, Y/N, just breathe, please. I’m alright. You didn’t lose me.”

You buried your face against his chest. “But I could have; the baby and I could have lost you--we could still lose you--and that scares me so much. I want our baby to know you and for you to know our baby.”

“Hey, look at me,” he said, tipping your chin upwards. “No one wants to meet this baby more than me--well, maybe BeeBee.”

On cue the droid bleeped an affirmative. You laughed, sniffling. “Poe you’re so reckless...”

Poe kissed your tears away. “I’m going to do my best to come back to you, sweetheart, always.”

Feeling yourself calm down, you threaded your fingers through his thick curls and pulled him down for a kiss. 

“Careful,” he chuckled, lowly when you pulled away, “the night you got pregnant started this way...”

“Very funny,” you snapped, playfully, before kissing him again. “Little late to be worrying about that now, hmmm?”

“Just a teeny-tiny bit.”

“I’m glad you’re home. I...it was awful last night without you.”

Poe pushed your hair back away from your face. “Sick?”

You nodded. “I just want to go a day without vomiting.”

He stroked your temples with his thumbs. “Maybe we should talk to Doctor Kalonia... see if she can give you something...”

The mentioning of the doctor reminded you that she had offered to let your hear the baby’s heartbeat that afternoon.  Taking a deep breath, you stepped back slightly away from your husband. “She wanted to let me listen to the baby’s heartbeat yesterday...”

“Oh? Did you...did you hear it?” Poe asked, failing to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“No,” you sputtered, shaking your head, “I wanted you to be there the first time I heard it. I didn’t want...I didn’t want you to miss it.”

“Well, when can we go?”

“She said this afternoon.”

Poe grinned and took your hand. “What are we waiting for then? Let’s go see her.”

You couldn’t help but smile back. “Don’t you have to report to the General?”

He shrugged. “It can wait; this is more important.”

Surprised, you quirked an eyebrow. “Something more important than the Resistance?”

“Of course this is more important than the Resistance--it’s our baby.”

“You haven’t even met the baby yet, how do you love it so much already?”

“Because--it’s a part of you, and I love you so much.”

Playfully you pushed him away. “You’re such a hopeless, sappy romantic, you know that Dameron?”

Poe grinned, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close. He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Well, one of us has to be in the relationship and we know it certainly is not you.”

-----

Your hands lightly brushed over your belly while you waited for Doctor Kalonia to come in. There had been a training accident and she was tending to those injuries before tending to you.  Poe sat next to your cot, watching as you caressed your stomach with such care.

He reached out and placed his hand over yours. “Do you think we’re having a boy or a girl?” 

Looking at your joined hands, you thought about his question for a moment. You didn’t know why, but you been picturing your baby as a little girl when you imagined Poe holding the baby for the first time, or playing with your child. “I...I kind of hope it’s a girl.”

“Me too.”

“Really? You don’t want it to be a boy?”

“I know what I was like as a child--why would I want that?”

You laughed, breathlessly. “You know, a little girl could be just like you, too.”

Poe shrugged and brought your hand to his lips. “Yeah, but she would be as pretty as you...with your eyes and smile...”

Doctor Kalonia stepped into the room then, apologizing for being late. Poe told her it was alright, giving your hand one more kiss--you both could wait a few extra minutes to hear your baby’s heartbeat. She hooked you up to a medical droid, beginning to search around your stomach to find the heartbeat.

Nervously, you watched her, unaware that you even holding your breath until Poe told you to breathe.  Slowly you did so--anxiously. What if she didn’t find the heartbeat? What if the worst case scenario had happened and you had lost your baby? And just as you were about to burst into tears that the worst had happened, a steady thumping sound filled the room. 

“There it is,” Kalonia said with a smile. “There’s your baby.”

“Maker,” Poe sighed, grinning, “That’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s really in there,” you whispered, a few tears slipping down your face, “there really is this little human inside of me.”

Kalonia chuckled. “There is. How has your morning sickness been since I saw you yesterday? Any better?”

You shook your head and bit down on your lip. “I was up most of the night. It should be called all-day sickness.”

Poe leaned closer to you, brushing a kiss on your cheek. “Is there something we can do about that, Doc? I mean... it can’t be safe for her or the baby to be sick so much.”

“I can give you something, Captain, to help with the sickness.”

“Please. I’m begging.”

Kalonia let you listen to the heartbeat a little longer while she prepared the medicine for you. “Have you told your squadron yet? I doubt you’re going to be able to keep it secret much longer, Y/N. You’re going to begin showing soon.”

You looked at the little bump on your stomach, that you were still able to conceal underneath your shirts. “Not yet.”

Poe stroked your knuckles with his thumb. “We should let them know--before BeeBee-Ate lets it slip. Besides Threepio, he’s the most talkative droid on this base.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“No, sweetheart, definitely tomorrow. Are you afraid of telling them?”

“A little--I know they’ll be happy for us.”

“You have nothing to worry about, trust me.”

Wiping at your eyes, you nodded. Poe was right; Black Squadron would be happy for them. You glanced at your stomach once again. Those pilots were going to love that little baby as much as you and Poe, there was no way they would be upset that you had gotten pregnant. You were so insecure, however, about keeping people in your life, that even the happiest news in your mind threatened every single relationship you had made.

Kalonia handed you the medicine to help with your morning sickness and then unhooked you from the medical droid, the room suddenly feeling silent without the heartbeat of the baby echoing throughout it. “Come see me in two weeks, okay? Unless something drastically changes...”

Poe helped you down and promised if there were any changes, you would come see her. Taking your hand, he left the med bay with you. “Are you hungry?”

You threw a little glare at him. “I just told the doctor I was up sick all night and you’re asking me if I’m hungry?”

“Baby, you need to eat.”

“Fine. But I’m not hungry.”

He didn’t respond, instead he led you to the mess hall, where you both grabbed a tray of food for dinner and then went to sit with your squadron. The other pilots all looked at you and then glanced at each other.

Snap cleared his throat, “So, ah... is there something the two of you want to tell us?”

Poe looked at him, innocently. “Like what?”

Karé tossed a devilish grin their way. “Oh... I don’t know... maybe you have some news to share?”

“News?” Poe stammered, anxiously. They know. Damn it BeeBee! 

“Yeah,” Snap said, grinning, “We already know. So...when were you going to tell us you’re gonna be a daddy, Dameron?

[earisu1]

Document-based Time-line: Before Jennifer Arrived at the Orphanage

Original date of the post: 23 of October, 2007.

Disclaimer: not my words, not my ideas, just reposting to spread and preserve.

“ This is an arrangement of the dated documents of Rule of Rose as a time-line, from the earliest document to the ones just prior to Jennifer’s arrival at the orphanage.

This is the time period between 25 April 1929 and 2 March 1930.

The GamesSpot/GameFAQs gamescript faq incorrectly claims that the letter exchange between Jennifer and Wendy began in 1928 (and declares, based on this incorrect date, that the “Joshua” of Gregory’s diary entries must be Jennifer). Although the dates on the letters exchanged between Jennifer and Wendy don’t mention the year, these letters could not possibly date from 1928 as Jennifer was living in the cellar of Gregory’s house when the correspondence began, but the airship that Jennifer flew on, and that crashed, killing Jennifer’s parents and resulting in Jennifer being rescued by Gregory, didn’t take flight until 1929. Therefore, Jennifer was not at Gregory’s house in 1928 and Jennifer was not exchanging letters with Wendy in 1928.

The first document of the time-line, by the way, is one that was overlooked in the GameSpot/GameFAQs game-script faq.

If I have made any errors, or have left out a document that should be here, please let me know in the “comments”.

TIME-LINE:

“25 April 1929

The World’s Largest Airship to Take Flight

In anticipation of the coming era of airship travel, Britain announced the completion of the world’s largest airship. In its long awaited first flight, it will lift off at Cardington and fly to India by way of London. All of Britain eagerly awaits the inaugural ceremony. Along with the Mayor and the Countess, children from the local orphanage will participate in the ribbon-cutting ceremony.

(“Unlucky Clover Field”, Smoking room, newspaper)

~~~

Sunday, June 1

Clear skies. Today, I weeded the fields. Work went well.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Monday, June 2

Clear skies. Today, I weeded the fields. Work went well.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Tuesday, June 3

Cloudy. Weeding again. Tomorrow, I’m thinking of taking my son Joshua with me out to the fields.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Wednesday, June 4

Clear skies. Today, I weeded the fields. Work went well.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Thursday, June 5

Rain in the afternoon. Weeded the field again. Joshua isn’t feeling well, so I worked in the fields alone, as always.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Friday, June 6

Clear skies. Today, I weeded the fields. Work went well.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Saturday, June 7

Rainy. Weeding again. Tomorrow morning, I’ll go into town to sell peas, so tonight I must make preparations. It is a busy day indeed.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Sunday, June 8

Clear skies. I went to market and sold peas and carrots. I had hoped to be able to feed Joshua something nutritious, but sales were not good, so I was not able to buy much.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Monday, June 9

Clear skies. Today, I weeded the fields. Work went well.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Tuesday, June 10

Clear skies. Joshua has been misbehaving. He went and ate sweets out of the cupboard without permission.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Wednesday, June 11

Cloudy. Weeding the fields again. It was chilly today. I’ll have to give Joshua a blanket so he won’t catch a cold.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Thursday, June 12

Cloudy. Joshua is under the weather. He has a slight fever, so I fed him some hot pea soup.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Friday, June 13

Clear skies. Today, I weeded the fields. Work went well.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Saturday, June 14

Cloudy. Planted peas in the ground.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Sunday, June 15

Rainy. I spent the day in my room drawing a picture book for Joshua. I’m sure he’ll enjoy this one.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Monday, June 16

Cloudy. Today, I cleaned out the barn. Joshua told me he liked my latest story. Nothing pleases me more that to see my son happy.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Tuesday, June 17

Cloudy. Barn cleaning again. I’ve been neglecting the fields, so they’re in a bit of a mess. I must drive the insects and mice away.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Wednesday, June 18

Clear skies. I did weeding today. The weather was beautiful. A great day to work in the fields.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Thursday, June 19

Clear skies. More weeding. I wanted to take Joshua out with me to the fields, but his coughs were getting worse, so I had him stay in bed.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Friday, June 20

Clear skies. Today, I weeded the fields.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“21 June 1929

Another Unexplained Disappearance

There has been another mysterious disappearance of a child recently. Following missing children reports on the 7th and 14th, police are now investigating this case as both a possible kidnapping and a missing person.

Local residents are advised not to allow children outside unsupervised and to take caution around any suspicious individuals.”

(“Gingerbread House”, boarded-off room with sky wall paper, newspaper on floor by the chair)

~~~

“Saturday, June 21

Clear skies. Planted peas in the ground.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Sunday, June 22

Cloudy. I thought of a good idea for a story. I’m going to take a day off from the fields and concentrate on refining it.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“23 June 1929

Luxury Airship Missing!

England’s largest luxury airship, which just set sail on its virgin flight—a flight celebrated across the country with great fanfare—was reported today to have gone off course and is currently missing.

It is speculated that the vessel diverted from its course to avoid a low pressure system approaching from the south, but its whereabouts are still unknown.

Due to the heavy thunder and rain that have blanketed the area since yesterday, the search for the airship has faced many difficulties.

(“Gingerbread House” Cellar Bedroom, newspaper clipping pinned up on wall)

~~~

“Monday, June 23

Clear skies. I did weeding today. Joshua told me he liked my latest story. There’s nothing I love more than seeing his beaming, happy face.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Tuesday, June 24

Clear skies. Weeding again. It feels great to work the fields on such a fine day.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Wednesday, June 25

Clear skies. Today, I weeded the fields. Work went well.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Thursday, June 26

Clear skies. Today, I weeded the fields. Work went well.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

“Friday, June 27

Clear skies. Today, I weeded the fields. Work went well.”

(“Gingerbread House”, Study, Gregory’s diary)

~~~

Gregory’s June 1929 calendar

1 (sun) Sunday

2 (sun) Monday

3 (cloud) Tuesday

4 (sun) Wednesday

5 (rain cloud) Thursday

6 (sun) Friday

7 (rain cloud) Saturday

8 (sun) Sunday

9 (sun) Monday

10 (sun) Tuesday

11 (cloud) Wednesday

12 (cloud) Thursday

13 (sun) Friday

14 (cloud) Saturday

15 (cloud) Sunday

16 (cloud) Monday

17 (cloud) Tuesday

18 (sun) Wednesday

19 (sun) Thursday

20 (sun) Friday

21 (sun) Saturday

22 (cloud) Sunday

23 (sun) Monday

24 (sun) Tuesday

25 (sun) Wednesday

26 (sun) Thursday

27 (sun) Friday

28 (unmarked) Saturday

29 (unmarked) Sunday

30 (unmarked) Monday

~~~

10 November

To Mr. Joshua, the bear in distress,

My name is Wendy. I always watch you from the sky. Mr. Joshua, why are you trapped down there?

(“Gingerbread House”, Cellar Bedroom, cradle?)

~~~

16 November

Dear Wendy, my visitor in the window,

Thank you so much for writing to me. The man calls me Joshua, but my name is Jennifer. I’ve been in this room ever since he saved me. He’s a nice person… but he won’t let me leave.

(“Once Upon a Time”, Sickroom, by the lamp)

~~~

27 November

From W to J

My Prince in need of rescue,

It was a pleasure to meet you, my dear Prince. What a wonderful encounter! Yes… I only wish there was a world for just you and I: The Prince and Princess…

Don’t worry. I’ll set you free.

(“Gingerbread House” Cellar Bedroom, cradle?)

~~~

10 December

From J to W

Thank you Wendy.

I want to fly away from this room and run with you in the fields…

But the man is so lonely, so sad. I can’t just leave him alone.

(“Once Upon a Time”, Sickroom, by the lamp)

~~~

9 January

From W to J

…Oh my poor kind prince.

You’re worried because that man sometimes seems crazy, right? Well don’t worry. I know where he hides that awful thing of his. So let’s run away together. You can leave it all to me. Everything will be all right.

(“Gingerbread House” Cellar Bedroom, cradle?)

~~~

14 January

From J to W

Thank you Wendy, my kind and fair Princess. Is there something that I can do for you?

(“Once Upon a Time”, Sickroom, by the lamp)

~~~

20 January

From W to J

My Prince, Please don’t worry. I’ll do anything for you. Just… pledge your love for me. That’s all I ask.

(“Gingerbread House” Cellar Bedroom, cradle?)

~~~

24 January

From J to W

I, Jennifer, pledge to the fair Princess Wendy:

Everlasting

True love

I am yours

(“Once Upon a Time”, Sickroom, by the lamp)

~~~

27 January

From W to J

Tomorrow night, I shall unlock your shackles. Let us live together forever.

everlasting

true love

i am yours

(“Gingerbread House” Cellar Bedroom, cradle?)

~~~

“March 2, 1930

Recently, the children have been engaging in odd activities and spreading disturbing rumors—rumors about creatures that come after children who don’t clean up and stray dogs that kidnap small tots… It’s all very bizarre.”

(“The Little Princess”, Headmaster’s room, desk, Hoffman’s diary)

(“Once Upon a Time”, Headmaster’s room, desk, Hoffman’s diary)

~~~

“Sunday, March 2

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Was it something I did? Last month I failed. What will happen to me this month? Mr. Hoffman said that a new girl is coming soon. Will I even lose to her and be all miserable? I’m scared. I hate to think what’s in store for me.”

(“Rag Princess Sews”, Working Class Luggage, Amanda’s diary)”

Notes: this is really awesome if you want to get into the story but you forgot certain files while playing, or maybe if the let’s player you’re watching isn’t much into reading stuff in games. 

[jungle321jungle]

Do Souls Taste Good? (You Seem To Think So)

Souls taste like sugar, chew like stale gum, and go down like a rock only to dissolve into energy before they even hit the stomach. They're an acquired taste; one for murderers and kishin eggs and the demon weapons who take them down.

Dee has eaten ninety nine of them, and chews them like bubble gum until the flavor is all gone; Roman's not had half as many, but he only gives them a few cursory chews out of habit; and his brother Remus doesn't even have a dozen, but he always licks them with a grin before popping it in his mouth and swallowing hard so that it's path down his throat is violently visible.

They all think the souls taste too sickly sweet.

Ao3

Tagging: @ashensanity

~~~~

Episode One: Matters of The Soul

“Number ninety-nine, congrats! Did your meeting with Lord Death go well?”

Virgil gave Patton a nod but Dee smiled proudly as he collapsed into his seat, “It did! And this time tomorrow I’ll be a full fledged Death Scythe.”

“I could get ninety nine souls,” Roman muttered into the air but hearing him only caused Dee’s excitement to rise.

“Jealous are we?” He asked his sharp teeth exposed as he smiled. “Well we did make a bet a while ago over who would be the better sword, and well, it looks like I win.”

“That’s unfair. You both have different strengths,” Patton chided. “Dee is better with speed and flexibility, and Roman you can switch modes!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and ignored the urge to tell Dee to make him shut up because though he wouldn’t admit it, he was just as excited. But he also equally nervous.

“You are all quite loud this early in the morning.”

Virgil looked up in surprise as Logan sat down beside him. “You’re later than usual.”

Logan sent a glare to his partner who hadn’t seemed to notice. “I am due to certain unapologetic someone.”

“I will never understand how you ended up with Remus.”

“I suppose it’s as the saying goes, opposites attract? So, how was your evening Virgil?”

“Pretty good,” Virgil nodded. “Actually Dee and I-”

“I’m going to be a Death Scythe!” Dee interrupted.

Logan raised an eyebrow unimpressed, “That is the goal of all the weapons in this school, yes.”

“We got the ninety-nineth kishin egg yesterday,” Virgil explained. “So next is...”

“The witch’s soul.”

“Right. We also learned there’s a witch not to far away named Remy. So hopefully Dee will be the newest Death Scythe.”

“And we’re rooting for you guys!” Patton cheered despite Roman’s almost pitiful expression.

Logan adjusted his glasses a few times before he spoke, “...Remy? Then I ask that you both proceed with caution?”

Virgil frowned suddenly feeling more worried than moments before, “You don’t think we can handle it?”

“He thinks that the witch will turn you both into thousands of tiny pieces which he’ll use for potions,” Remus tossed in.

“That is not at all what I was going to say.”

“Or maybe he’ll save you both as sacrifices for spells! Blood of a virgin is an important thing.”

Logan gave a groan as he rubbed at his temple, “I was going to say that reports say that something about Remy is a bit off. Thus you should exercise caution.”

“Ah yes we should be cautious of the witch living in a fucking pumpkin on the edge of Death City.”

Virgil shrugged, his eyes not leaving the large vegetable as he wondered what sort of wards could cover the place. “We should just stake it out today. Come back to attack tomorrow.”

“Or we could just go in that open window,” Dee suggested pointing as he did.

“No! We are not sneaking into a witch’s inner sanctum!”

“Then how else do you expect to fight him?”

Virgil paused, he had planned out multiple possible attacks but all of which involved fighting the witch outside his own home. “We need to lure him out.”

“How?”

Virgil blinked, mentally running through the plans in his head but apparently that had been the missing detail which had been bothering him all day. Finally he gave a shrug, “By... knocking?”

Dee didn’t reply initially as he began to climb a tree. “I’m going in the window,” he said finally. “You knock and tell me how that goes.”

Virgil opened his mouth to complain, but Dee was already in the window. He swallowed listening intently for any signs of distress, before he took a deep breath and climbed the tree. His heart was pounding almost painfully in his chest- and it only increased as he pulled himself up higher. There should be sound.

And yet inside was nothing but silence. If Dee has encountered the witch there should be sounds of fighting, or even if the witch wasn’t there, Dee should be poking his head out to call for Virgil to go faster. There should be something anything. At least if Dee would scream, Virgil would know that he was alive.

As he touched the windowsill Virgil took a breath to prepare himself for what could be inside. He was prepared for the worst. For literally anything.

Anything except Dee standing frozen at the sight of a naked man who was standing there with a frown. Virgil felt his cheeks heat up as he tried to force himself to function.

“Y-you’re Remy?”

The man nodded once a casual expression on his face, “Oh there’s two of you? Shark teeth here is a tad cuter though.”

Virgil tried his best not to be offended as he moved to stand beside his partner, “Sorry to catch you like- like this, but your soul is ours!”

He liked to think that the words were more confident than they came out, as Virgil tried to look basically everywhere but at the witch. It also wasn’t helpful that Dee hadn’t used that perfect moment to switch to his weapon form.

“Dee!” He hissed. “We kind of need to fight the witch!”

Remy looked amused, “Witch? No need to censor yourself.”

Dee seemed to be finally shaken from his stupor as he blinked, “Oh yeah.” With nothing more said he transformed and Virgil felt the familiar weight of the silvery yellow rapier that was Dee in his hand.

He held Dee in front of him trying to focus on what he was here to do, not how the witch was distracting him. But thankfully the witch seemed to understand the concept of a fight as that’s when he snapped once and he was (thankfully) clothed. He wore a simple pair of jeans, shirt, and a leather jacket, but with that he also has donned a witch’s hat (and a pair of sunglasses?).

“Let’s get this over with,” he smiled raising a hand. “Pumpkin, pum- pumpkin...”

Virgil released a breath ready for the attack, letting his opponent attack first to observe better understand.

“Halloween canon!”

Unfortunately all Virgil observed was the sensation of being blasted backwards out the wall and flying backwards until he hit a tree and promptly fell to the ground.

“Should’ve attacked first,” Dee commented unhelpfully as he leaned over him.

Virgil gave his partner a glare as he pulled himself to his feet unsteadily. “You could’ve caught me.”

Dee gave a shrug and looked back to the pumpkin- with its now Virgil sized hole. “Round two?”

Virgil nodded, “Ready when you are.”

Dee nodded once and transformed again, “This time avoid that attack.”

“I will stab you into a rock.”

~~~~

“How are they doing?” Emilie asked worriedly entering the room.

“They’re struggling,” Thomas admitted as he watched Virgil get hit by a blast for what must've been the third time now. “To be honest I’m not sure if they’ll win.”

Emilie gave a noise of distress drawing Thomas’s attention away from the mirror in front of him.

“Listen,” Thomas started. “I’ve seen many many many students loose their lives again a witch-” at Emilie’s eyes widening Thomas quickly gave a cough and tried to refocus on the point. “Virgil’s not going to be one of them!”

“You think so?”

Thomas nodded with a slight sigh of relief, “Yeah. He may not win this fight, and he may be left with some broken bones but he’ll be alive.”

“How many broken bones?”

“Um... Not too many?” Wow he was bad at this. “He’ll be okay. He’s a tough kid.”

“He’s still-” Thomas watched as the death scythe gave a visible cringe as Virgil narrowly dodged a blast, and from here they could see where a hole had been singled into Virgil’s patchwork cloak. “Still a kid.”

“But he’s a capable one. How many kishin eggs have they collected?”

“I know I know,” Emilie sighed sitting down to watch. “It’s just the father in me that worries. You’d be the same if Logan was out there.”

Thomas gave an awkward shrug in reply, “ I think Logan would disown himself if he ever found out I was worried about him in a fight. He’d probably add it to the pile of reasons he thinks he’s not good enough to be shinigami.”

“Isn’t he doing well though? They’ve finally gotten a few kishin eggs, right?”

“Lo is pushing himself to perfect soul resonance with Remus and they’re not exactly getting results. He’s just too hard on himself. Plenty of students can’t. But I’m sure he’ll gain confidence in himself soon enough. Just like I’m sure Virgil will finally come round to talking to you.”

Thomas has meant it on an uplifting note, but Emilie only seemed to look more upset as he watched the fight. He gave a sigh himself and redirected his attention to his students, one thing at a time.

~~~~

Virgil tried to control his breathing as he sprinted down the city street. It had taken far too much time, but it seemed he had finally lured Remy out of his comfort zone. Unfortunately however, Remy was floating out Virgil’s reach.

He gave a quick turn right, barely dodging a blast as he started down another street. Virgil was silently thankful that no civilians were around to get hurt, but as he ran toward a parked car and idea came to mind. He ran up the car hood and stood on the roof Dee in hand as he waited for Remy to close in.

“I just want the sword!” The witch complained as he came closer. “Come on, I’m sure he’d be happier with me anyway. Right babe?” He purred.

Virgil ignored him launching himself into the air and thrusting his sword forward. It was enough to make contact and shove Remy off the pumpkin and down toward the ground, but not enough to do much else.

The witch gave a groan as he pulled himself up, and he gave a glare as he pulled off his sunglasses and tossed them to the side. “I guess I’ll just kill you then. But I’ll give the pretty sword one more chance to join me and live.”

“Oh shut up!” Virgil shouted at him his anger rising. “You can’t just take my partner!”

Remy seemed pleased with getting under his skin, “That’s up to him, no?”

Virgil grit his teeth, “Fine! Tell him Dee!”

Dee didn’t respond, but Virgil’s grip was forced to be released on the hilt as Dee’s human form moved to stand in front of him.

“Dee?” Virgil asked quietly.

“He makes a good point,” Dee shrugged as he put his hands in his pockets.

“And what point is that?”

“Living? The way I see it, as long as I’m your sword, we can’t win this fight. If I go with him at least I won’t die.”

Virgil felt like he had been kicked in the stomach.

“So you’re just going to throw everything away? Just like that?”

Dee moved closer to stand by Remy’s side. “Surviving and hanging with a witch? Way better than dying with you... Better than being around you in general.”

“Leave then!” Virgil shouted taking a step forward. “Leave like everyone always does! Go ahead and break your promise!”

“You broke a promise? I need some popcorn,” Remy smiled leaning on Dee’s shoulder.

Virgil found himself taking another step forward as he glared at witch before looking to Dee. “When my mom left, you swore you’d always stay by my side as my partner.”

Dee gave a shrug “Did you expect something else? I’ve been a liar since birth. So what are you going to do about it?” He reached out a hand mockingly. “Come on, hit me!”

Virgil moved close enough and set his hand in Dee’s. There was a short pause in which he basked in the radiance of Dee’s smirk before he let his human form go, and embraced his scythe form.

He heard Remy open his mouth to question in response, but Dee had already pulled Virgil’s blade through.

“You’re acting has gotten a lot better,” Dee praised as Virgil turned back to him human form.

Virgil shrugged, “I’m friends with Roman. It’s a consequence.”

Dee laughed and looked to where the dust had settled to reveal the purple soul- souls?

“There’s two?” Virgil asked in confusion.

“Hell yes!” Dee cheered grabbing them both before he offered one to Virgil. “Now we can both become Death Scythes at once!”

Virgil took the offered soul skeptically. “Why would a witch have two souls?”

“Stop thinking so loud. Bottoms up?”

Virgil couldn’t help but smile as he nodded, “Bottoms up.” He took a deep breath before putting it on his tongue, then vaguely aware of his oddly sweeter taste than most kishin eggs, he swallowed whole like a pill.

For a moment he felt nothing.

And then he felt everything.

He could feel the air, his heart, the power coursing through his veins- and then nothing.

He blinked and looked to Dee who looked as confused before a laugh hit his ears. He turned to see a black cat sitting a few feet away, a witch’s hat on its head. “What?” The cat asked. “Do I not taste good?”

Virgil’s brain wasn’t capable of a functioning response, so all he could do was watch as in a plume of smoke the cat vanished and Remy took its place.

“You’re a cat,” Dee stated. “Ass! You tricked us!”

“I never said I was a witch,” he shrugged with a smile.

“Damnit now we need to find more witches.”

Remy gave a bit of laugh which only caused Dee’s scowl deepened. “What?”

“Oh nothing babe,” he purred. “I’m just a cat with multiple lives, and now I’m down two of them. So you took two of my lives... I took your opportunity to become Death Scythes.” He gave a smirk. “I think it’s a fair trade.”

“What are you-”

“We fucked up,” Virgil realized as devastation set in. “The rule is, if you mess up on your last soul... you have to start over. We just lost one hundred and ninety eight kishin eggs... we fucked up.”

Dee shook his head in disbelief, “No, no. We- we can um- we can-”

“We fucked up,” Virgil said again. “We fucked up.”

Fuck.

~~~~

Episode One - Episode Two

[saventhhaven]

Fright Night - Part 2

Pairing: none

Tags: angst, mystery, Halloween

Word Count: 3,150

A/N: All right, just so you guys know, this was initially only a two-part series, but part two would’ve been waaaay too long, so I split it up! With that said, a lot of the Halloween stuff in the story will still be happening when I post the finale tomorrow, which is definitely not Halloween anymore, but you know :)

(Gif not mine)

The fake spiderwebs you had just finished hanging drifted gently from the railing of your front porch in the breeze.

"It's looking good!" You jolted a bit in surprise before smiling when you realized who was speaking to you.

"Hey, thanks, Chloe." Your neighbor smiled warmly as she made her way up the porch steps to you.

"How are you holding up?" she asked. You shuddered involuntarily. It had been Chloe who heard you scream this morning when you found the girl's body in your back yard.

"I've definitely been better," you admitted as you began to strategically place fake spiders in the fake spiderwebs. To say it had been a rough morning would be the biggest understatement of the year. You shook your head. "God, my heart just breaks for that girl's family, though." Chloe nodded sympathetically before holding out a Tupperware bowl to you. "What's this?"

"I just made some soup for dinner, and I thought you might want some. I'm sure you're probably not much in the cooking mood." You and Chloe had been friends ever since you had moved in - for two years to be exact - and she was the nicest person you knew.

"You're a really good friend," you informed her as you took the plastic container, earning a good-natured laugh in response.

"I try. Anything I can do for you?" Rolling your eyes, you snorted.

"If you had asked me that a couple of hours ago, I would have had you fend off the reporters that kept knocking my door down." Chloe's eyebrows knit together into a frown.

"Seriously? God, those assholes wouldn't know what the words 'too soon' meant even if they hit them over the head." She definitely had a point. People had a right to know if there was a rabid wild animal in the neighborhood, but still, you couldn't say you appreciated all the reporters that had tried to squeeze every last detail out of you less than an hour after discovering the girl's body. You were sure it was probably all over the local news by now. Not to mention, everyone in a thousand-mile radius had been pausing in front of your house to stare all day. "I wish you would've called me," Chloe continued to rant. "I would have come over here and told those idiots to stick their cameras right up their-"

"Chloe, it's okay," you reassured through an amused smile.

"Sorry," she apologized, letting out an exasperated breath. "That just pisses me off for you. Have some respect for the dead for Christ's sake." You nodded your agreement.

"Anyway, I think they're finally done now. It's been a few hours since the last one asked for a statement. I'm mostly just trying to keep busy now, you know? Keep my mind off of it." You held up one of the fuzzy fake spiders for good measure.

"I totally get that. You want me to hang out here with you for a while?" You shook your head and gave her a grateful smile. "No, I'm okay. But thanks."

"All right. I'm gonna head home, then. There's a bottle of wine in the pantry calling my name. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"I will. Thanks, Chloe." And then, you were alone again, left to your thoughts and the last of your decorations. You usually put them up at least a week before Halloween, but you had been busy. Work had been hellish before you left, and all you had been wanting was some time to yourself. Now that you had it, though, you found yourself wishing there were more things for you to do. Anything that could take your mind off of the horrifying scene you had come across this morning, really.

Plastic bat in hand, you balanced tediously on a step-stool, stringing the fake creature up above your head.

"Excuse me." You paused mid-bat-hanging and glanced over your shoulder in the direction of the unfamiliar voice. Approaching your front porch were two handsome men, both dressed in professional suits. You quickly finished securing the bat in place and stepped down, brushing the dust from your hands off on your pants. "Are you Y/N?" As the two men marched up your steps, you got a better look at them. One was tall; the other was a bit shorter; both had expressions that told you they meant business. You sighed and shoved your hands in your pockets. Great. More reporters.

"I am," you answered. "How can I help you?" Both men pulled badges from the inside pockets of their blazers with well-rehearsed grace.

"FBI. I'm Agent Russel," the shorter one said. "This is my partner Agent Elliot." Unease settled in the pit of your stomach.

"FBI?"

"That's right, ma'am." Both men tucked their badges away.

"We just have a few standard procedure questions, if you don't mind." Mind? Why wouldn't you mind people non-stop pestering you about a traumatic experience that happened less than twenty-four hours ago?

"We realize the events of this morning are still very fresh, and may not be easy to talk about," Agent Elliot commiserated. You blinked, caught off guard. This man had almost read your mind.

"We'll try to be quick," Agent Russel added, "and then we'll be out of your hair." You held back a sigh as you thought it over. They were the FBI. It wasn't like you could just say no. Well, legally speaking, you could, since they were coming to your home, but was that really worth all the trouble?

"Sure," you complied. "Come on in." Bringing the soup from Chloe with you, you held the front door open for the men. Once inside, the two of them looked around your house analytically. "Can I get either of you anything to drink?" you offered. Agent Elliot held up a hand and shook his head.

"No, thank you, ma'am. It's like my partner said: we'll try to be quick."

"So," Agent Russel began, diving right in. "Our reports say you found the body in your back yard this morning, is that correct?" You nodded.

"Yes."

"What time was that?"

"Around seven. Sometimes I like to have a cup of coffee on the back porch, but..." you trailed off with a sigh, not needing to say anything else. Agent Elliot nodded thoughtfully as he finished scribbling something down in his notepad.

"And when you found the body, did you notice anything odd?" You huffed.

"What, besides the fact that there was a dead girl on my lawn?" The moment the snippy remark left your mouth, you regretted it. Reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose, you squeezed your eyes shut. "I'm sorry," you apologized. "It's been one hell of a day. I don't even know what she was doing in my yard. The neighbors have been saying that a lot of high school kids started mischief night a night early, but..." You sighed heavily, the two agents nodding their understanding as you took a moment to gather yourself. "No. I didn't see anything."

"Last night, did you see or hear anything outside that might have suggested any sort of distress?"

"No," you answered with a shake of your head. "I was out having some dinner with some friends from work."

"Do you have any enemies?" Agent Elliot asked. "Anyone who would want you hurt?" You frowned at his odd question.

"Enemies? With all due respect agents, what does that have to do with an animal attack?"

"Just covering all our bases, ma'am," Agent Russel replied shortly.

"No."

"How long have you lived here?"

"I moved in just before Thanksgiving two years ago. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before." The two men exchanged a glance before agent Elliot flipped his notepad closed.

"Y/N, are you aware that this isn't the first animal attack this neighborhood has seen?" You frowned. Animal control had told you that the slash marks on the girl's body were from a bear, but the nearest set of woods was nearly half an hour from here. It didn't make sense this morning, and it didn't make sense now.

"I didn't know that," you admitted, now even more confused than you had been earlier. "How many have there been before this one?" You eyed agent Russel, who was peering out a window into your back yard.

"Six over the past four years," he chimed in. "Do you mind if I have a look around in the back?"

"Not at all." As he exited through your back door, you turned your attention back to his partner. "Why haven't I ever heard about these attacks?"

"Well," Agent Elliot began to explain, "you said you moved in two years ago in late November?" You nodded. "According to the reports the sheriff gave us, they stopped in September of the same year. My guess is the authorities have tried to keep it quiet since then. This type of thing wouldn't exactly bring good publicity to your town if it somehow hit national news."

"Huh." Suddenly, a startling thought occurred to you. "You don't think this could be a repeat of the same pattern, do you?" Agent Elliot looked both interested and impressed for a fleeting moment before quickly returning to his placid expression.

"I'm... afraid I'm not in a position to say." The sound of your door closing effectively halted any continuation of your question, and you looked up.

"The yard seems secure enough," Agent Russel announced. "I think that's all we have for you today, ma'am." He held out a hand, which you shook. "Thank you for sparing a moment of your time for us."

"Of course. Can I assume this case is in good hands with the FBI? It's not that I would mind seeing you two again, I'm just hoping to never have this morning repeat itself." The men exchanged a brief, indecipherable look, before giving you two of the most charming smiles you had ever seen.

"Understandably so," Agent Elliot agreed, shaking your hand as well. "We'll do our best to get to the bottom of it quickly. But in the meantime, if anything comes up - anything at all - give us a call." After handing you their card, the two agents were on their way. Halfway down the walkway to their car, though, Agent Russel turned around, calling out to you.

"Y/N?" You raised your eyebrows in question.

"Yes?"

"It's best if you stay inside tonight. Lock the doors and lay low. Just in case whatever attacked the girl comes back." At his advice, you felt your blood run cold. You had already been worried about the possibility of the animal coming back, but hearing an official say it made you all the more worried.

"I-I will," you assured. With that, the men got into their car and drove off. A chill ran up your spine as you shut the door behind you and locked it. Today just kept getting weirder and weirder. Quite frankly, you couldn't wait for it to be over. You glanced over at the soup from Chloe, which sat on your kitchen counter. Sweet of her as it was to bring you dinner, you didn't have the appetite to eat anymore. As you ascended the stairs to your bedroom, anxiousness gnawed in the pit of your stomach. Lock the doors and lay low. Just in case whatever attacked the girl comes back. You shivered. With a warning like that, you weren't sure you would ever be able to get to sleep tonight. You glanced out the window and took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. At least you had the rise of a beautiful full moon to look forward to.

Dean let out a heavy breath as he drove. The boys had gone back to their motel room to change, grabbed a quick dinner, and had been patrolling Y/N's neighborhood ever since. Sam looked over at his brother at the sound of his sigh.

"You okay?"

"I just feel bad for her," Dean answered. "She didn't deserve to get sucked into all of this."

"I agree, but Dean, we have no control over that. Sometimes bad things just happen to good people. You and I know that better than anyone."

"I guess," the older Winchester grumbled. Dean switched the Impala's lights off as they pulled up in front of Y/N's house for the fourth time in the past five hours. "You sure our wolf would come back here?" Sam gave a slight shrug in response. No, he wasn't one-hundred percent sure, but it was the most logical answer.

"I still think when it killed that girl last night, it was after Y/N. Think about it; Y/N said she was out with friends last night, right? What if our monster was waiting for her to get home and thought the girl was Y/N? Maybe she was just-"

"In the wrong place at the wrong time," Dean finished.

"Exactly. But Y/N said there was no one that wanted her hurt," Sam remembered. "I don't even know where to start with who might be our monster." Dean shook his head with a sigh.

"See, that's complicated," he interjected. "Just because she can't think of anyone that doesn't want her hurt doesn't mean there isn’t anyone who wants her hurt." Dean groaned, irritably, passing a hand over his eyes as his brother brainstormed. Suddenly, Sam sat up a bit straighter as he came to a realization.

"Wait," he said. "If I'm right, and it was waiting for Y/N to come home last night, it has to be someone she knows personally. It has to be a close friend or someone who would know what she had planned. This wasn't random." Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel thoughtfully.

"I think you might be right." The boys sat in silence for a while after that, listening closely for anything that might have been amiss. After about another half an hour of more nothing, Dean let out an exasperated puff of air. "All right," he started. "It's after midnight, it's a full moon, and we've still got squat. Should we do another few laps around the neighborhood?" Sam checked the chamber of his gun, counting the silver bullets.

"We might as well." Normally, Dean loved to drive his baby, but the driving around in near-complete silence was getting old. As far as boring nights went, this made the list of top ten, coming second only to the time that Sam insisted he listened to his podcast over the Impala's speakers since he had left his headphones at the bunker. "Do you think we're going about this the wrong way?" Sam asked his brother as the car purred peacefully. Dean raised his eyebrows in question, his eyes never leaving the road.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. I feel like there's something we're missing. Or maybe-" Sam was cut off as a nimble and inhumanly fast creature darted out in front of the car, the Impala barreling into it. The creature was thrown backward, and Dean slammed on the brakes, his car's tires screeching against the pavement in protest.

"Go, go!" Dean exclaimed. The boys didn't waste a second, getting out of the car and sprinting at their monster, guns drawn and ready to shoot. The angry roar that came from the werewolf heightened their senses as it prepared to charge, but it didn't get a chance to attack. Sam was faster, firing a silver bullet before it could get too close. In the almost complete darkness, they saw the monster recoil in pain and clutch at its shoulder. Sam had missed the heart. With another enraged snarl, the werewolf whirled around, taking off on all fours and rounding a corner behind a line of houses. Gunshots rang out in the night as Dean shot bullet after bullet, none of them hitting his target. "Damn it!" he swore. Again, they ran after their monster, but by the time they turned the same corner the werewolf had, it was long gone. Sam turned to Dean as he tried to catch his breath.

"Did you see its face?" Dean shook his head.

"No. Did you?"

"No," Sam answered. "It's too dark." The two boys stood in the night as they listened for any sign of which way the monster could have gone, but with no luck. Dean clenched his jaw, more than a little pissed.

"...son of a bitch."

By the time the sun rose, the Winchesters still had no leads on their werewolf. So, exhausted and irritated, they headed back to their motel for some shuteye. Tonight was the last night of the full moon, so they had to be ready to go all night again. It was their last chance, or they had to wait another month. Around eleven, Sam's phone began to ring, rousing him groggily from only a few hours of sleep. Grabbing the offending device from the nightstand, he accepted the call.

"This is Agent Elliot."

"-just woke up, and-" Sam jolted upright at the woman's panicked voice and hurled a pillow at his brother, who groaned unappreciatively, but otherwise did nothing. "-bruises and blood-" Sam held the phone away from his mouth.

"Dean!"

"What?" Dean snapped.

"It's Y/N!" At this, Dean was wide awake almost instantly, throwing off the blankets and coming over to listen in on the call. Sam pressed the phone against his ear once more.

"Y/N, slow down. What happened?"

"I don't know!"

Before Dean could even knock on Y/N's front door, she was already there opening it for them.

"Okay," Sam said in a placating tone. "Start from the beginning and tell us exactly what happened." As Y/N paced in her living room, it didn't go unnoticed by either boy that she was covered almost head to toe in bruises. Bruises that most definitely hadn't been there yesterday. She shook her head frantically as she hugged herself.

"I-I went to sleep last night not long after you two left," she began, her words still coming quickly. "And when I woke up, I was covered in bruises, and I have no idea how I got any of them." Dean's eyes honed in on a wet, dark red stain on the shoulder of Y/N's shirt. "I mean I've never sleep-walked in my life, so unless someone broke in and-"

"You're bleeding," Dean pointed out. Y/N stopped pacing.

"That's another thing." She took a step closer to the boys, her voice shaking as she spoke. "I woke up with this." She tugged at the neck of her soft, gray t-shirt, pulling the fabric down past her right shoulder. Sam and Dean stood in stone silence, neither of them moving an inch as they stared at the bullet wound on Y/N's shoulder, just below the edge of her collarbone. Exactly where Sam had shot the werewolf the night before.

Thanks so much for reading!

Happy Halloween!

The finale should air tomorrow!

Taglist: 

@cole-winchester​ @alexwinchester23​ @1-am-made-of-stardust​ @thorukindig​ @fiftyshadesoffandom6783​ @hobby27​ @indigyptian @youshrimpdickfucknugget​

If your username has a strikethrough, it means I was unable to tag you!

[chuffyfan87]

Hiding. Part 48b

“She’s probably there now telling Louis daddy doesn’t love him anymore because he’s already got a family in England and that’s why daddy doesn’t visit often.” He brushed away the tear that slid down his cheek.

"One day the truth will out. It always does." She whispered as she wrapped her arms around him.

“I should’ve thought about Louis. Instead of thinking with my cock and shagging you.” He sighed heavily, “I hate how we’re still been punished. I’ll always regret never doing it the right way.”

"I've always caused problems my entire life. You just had the misfortune to get mixed up in my chaos."

“It was me who made the first move. Even though we were both married.”

"We can't change the past."

“I know. I wish I could sometimes though.” He admitted.

"And stay as far away from me as possible?"

He shook his head, “I’d have just ended things with Baz. And then started to see you.”

"That doesn't get around the fact that I was still married." She pointed out.

“Nor would it change the fact Baz would still be a bitch regarding my access to Louis.”

She sighed. "It was always going to be a no-win situation. Someone was always going to suffer."

“I deserve it. But Louis doesn’t. Louis doesn’t deserve to be caught up in this."

"No-one deserves to be caught up in it all."

“She’s hurting me in the same way I hurt her. It’s what I deserve.”

"No, she's hurting you and Louis because she's twisted and vindictive."

“Because I deserve it.” He repeated again.

"No." She paused. "Please just let me help fix this?"

He shook his head.

"We need more senior nurses on shift - me working more would solve both problems." She reasoned.

“No! You need to rest and take it easy.”

"I'm perfectly capable!" She countered.

“I said no.” He replied, “For the health of you and the baby.”

"I could just go over your head."

“Please Duffy.”

"How many times - I'm completely healthy!"

“I know but I’m not prepared to take any chances!”

"You worry too much!"

“And with your history, do you blame me?”

"I know my limits."

“I’m doing this for you!” He sighed and stood up.

"Louis needs you more than I do."

“I’m not fighting her! Let it go Duffy, please.”

"Well you clearly have so I'm just wasting my time trying!" She shot back as she stood up and went into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

He sighed heavily as the bedroom door slammed shut and went downstairs. He didn’t have the energy to fight, he’d never win against Baz.

Duffy sighed as she sat on the bed. She was sick of feeling Baz's constant presence and interference in their lives - even though she now lived an ocean away.

Charlie kicked the chair over in the kitchen. He was frustrated.

About ten minutes later Duffy came downstairs and grabbed her handbag and car keys from the kitchen counter. "I'm going out." She told him over her shoulder.

“Where are you going? If this is to do with Baz, please don’t bother wasting your time.” He called back.

"I'm going to deal with this once and for all!" She replied as she opened the front door.

“I’ve already made my choice! Why can’t you just accept that?”

"Because its the wrong choice."

“That’s my choice to make!!”

"She'll have to give in once I'm finished." Duffy replied as she got into the car.

“Will you please just leave it?!” He begged.

Without looking back she started the car and drove off at speed.

He sat on the bottom step with his head in his hands.

About an hour later he received a text message - 'You'll need to pick up the girls from school. I won't be back in time. Dx'

‘Where are you? What are you doing? Xx’

'Probably best you don't know.'

‘Tell me! Xx’

'I'll contact you in the morning. Love you. Xx'

‘In the morning?! No, what are you doing?! X’

'I can't reply anymore. I'll be back by tomorrow evening. Xx'

‘Love you! Xx’

As he went into the kitchen to get his keys to pick up the girls he noticed that one of the drawers was slightly open next to where her handbag had been.

He frowned and went into the drawer.

There were only six passports inside.

He shook his head. She was unbelievable at times! He closed the drawer, picked up the keys and left to collect the children from school.

Duffy sat in the airport terminal not exactly sure what her plan was for when she arrived but she knew she had to do something.

Charlie collected the girls and Jake from school.

"Where's mum?" Jake asked.

“Your mum’s—had to go and do something.”

"Will she be back for tea?" Lottie asked.

“No, but she’ll be back for tea tomorrow night.”

"But why?" Tilly complained.

In the background the news report was starting on the car radio.

“I don’t know Tilly.”

"Where has she gone?" Emily asked.

“I don’t know. Ssh, a minute girls.” He turned the radio up, listening to the news.

"Dad!" Tilly whined, meaning Charlie missed half of the reporter's words.

“Ssh!” He didn’t quite catch the news...

Tilly started to scream but in a brief pause as she took breath Charlie heard the word "airport" from the radio.

Airport, shit, what about the airport! “Matilda! Be quiet!!”

The report moved onto other items.

Once the children were strapped in the car, he found himself heading to the airport.

He arrived to chaos. In the crowd of emergency personnel he spotted Harry.

“Oh my God.” Charlie swallowed hard, suddenly feeling really, really sick. “Girls, Jake. I need you to stay in the car for me, ok?” He got out, locking the car behind him. “Harry?” He called, “Harry, what’s happened?”

"Charlie? What are you doing here?" Harry asked, confused to see his colleague.

“Duffy was here.” Charlie closed his eyes. “She just wouldn’t bloody listen to me!!”

"What? She wasn't one of the staff called in to assist. I had her taken off the list personally. No way would she be called on to deal with a crashed airliner."

“No. She was waiting for a flight to Canada. Don’t ask.” Charlie sighed, “Her passport was missing.”

Harry went pale.

“Please don’t tell me she was on the flight that crashed?”

"I don't know for sure. It was a transatlantic flight that crashed into the terminal shortly after take off but I don't know the destination. I'm waiting for the nod that it's safe to enter the terminal."

“I.... I need to take the children home and tell them.” Charlie was very pale. “You need to do everything for her. Her and the baby. But if you can only save one... Please save Duffy. Please.” His heart broke.

"I'll keep you informed. I promise." Harry replied.

Josh ran up. "They've given us the go ahead." He spotted Charlie. "Are you here to help? We could really do with you, its a mess in there."

Hearing Josh, Charlie shook his head; “Duffy was waiting for a flight to Canada. I’ve got the children in the car. I need to take them home... tell them that their mum might be in /that/.”

"What? Why was she going to Canada?" Josh asked.

“It’s to do with Louis. Baz has stopped all contact. Duffy had this bright idea to go and see her. Even though I told her not to.”

Josh attempted to wrap his head around what Charlie was saying.

“I need to go.” Charlie turned and walked away from the airport. Why didn’t she listen to him?

It was several hours later before there was any news from the airport. No-one really seemed to know what was going on.

Charlie had decided not to tell the children. He didn’t want to worry or upset them. He was sat in bed, reading a story to the girls, in his and Duffy’s bed. Jake was already asleep and Peter was round at Sarah’s again.

"I want mummy!" Emily mumbled, her thumb in her mouth.

“I know sweetie. Me too.” He kissed the top of her head. Tilly and Lottie were on either side of Charlie and Emily was on his chest and lap.

That was where the girls eventually fell asleep.

He silently cried because he was scared. Scared he’d never see Duffy again.

Hours passed slowly. The news reports getting bleaker and bleaker sounding.

She was dead. He just knew it. Her and the baby.

A little before 4am it was confirmed that there were no survivers on the plane but they were still searching the terminal where fires were raging. They still hadn't confirmed the destination of the flight either.

Charlie didn’t sleep. He just stayed awake, watching the news. Praying for some sort of miracle that she’d changed her mind and hadn’t got on the plane.

At 5.30am there was a knock on the front door. Flashing lights were visible through the glass.

He opened the door. He wanted to throw up. “She’s dead isn’t she?” He asked without looking up.

"No, she just lost her keys in the chaos so had to hitch a lift home." A familar voice replied.

“Duffy?”

"Last time I checked." She smiled softly. Her face was smudged with soot and dried blood, her clothes were crumbled and dirty but she was alive.

He threw his arms around her. “You're ok? And the baby?”

"I'm fine. I got sent to the wrong terminal due to my paperwork not being correct."

“And the baby? The baby’s okay?” He touched her stomach.

"Yes, we're both fine. Tired and dirty but fine."

He burst into tears.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

“I thought you were both dead.”

"It wasn't a Canadian flight."

“They wouldn’t release the details of the flight.”

"Oh, I guess they wouldn't. It's only been a couple of hours so they'll still be contacting relatives. I had to pitch in with helping the injured in the terminal so wasn't anywhere near the plane."

As soon as she was in doors and safe, he clung to her. And wouldn’t let her go. “You’re alive...”

She couldn't quite understand why he was so distressed until she spotted the clock on the wall. "Is that time right?" She asked.

“Yes 5.45am in the morning.”

"I was there over twelve hours?"

He nodded.

"No wonder you freaked out. I honestly thought it'd only been a couple of hours. I'm so sorry!"

“It’s ok. It’s ok. You’re alive. You and the baby and that’s all that matters.” He kissed her tenderly.

[littlebitoffanfic]

Nightmares

The rake x reader Request: do you know the creepypasta ‘the rake’? ive got such a crush on it and I would love a nice smutty one if you would be willing to do more monster types You had always had nightmares. Ever since you were a child. They were vivid and haunting beyond belief. Your mind would dream up anything and everything from gothic horror to the most amazing dreams. As you grew up, you turned your dreams into reality by becoming an artist. Your dreams inspired you to create some of the most unusual creatures and places. With age, you learned to control yourself in your dreams. Not the dream or nightmare itself, but your actions. No longer would you be unable to move or running on the spot but not getting anywhere. In fact, you often took to mocking the more horrific dreams because the dark humour amused you. there was one which was a more consistent than the others. A presence which you quickly grew attached to. You saw it less and less of a threat and now more of a protector. The first time you met the creature properly, you were convinced it was in a dream. You had woken up with the need to use the bathroom. Barely opening your eyes, you swung your feet out your bed and quickly went to the bathroom. You didn’t turn on the light, knowing the way around like the back of your hand before returning to your bedroom. But with time, your eyes had adjusted a little more and, as you walked in, you were greeted by a monster. It was crouched at the foot of your bed and had turned towards you. Large eyes and a gaunt face. Its flesh was a light grey/white colour and its limbs were elongated and lanky. It looked human, or at least humanoid. With two arms and two legs, a torso and head with no hair on its body. And apart from large eyes, it seemed to be without a nose, and its mouth was pressed together in a fine line. For a moment, the two of you stared at each other. Normally, you could pinpoint what may have inspired your night-creatures like if it resembled an animal you may have interacted with or been interested with the day before. But you couldn’t explain this. It had to be another dream. In fact, you had ‘met’ the creature a few times before this. It had been in your mind a few times long before now. For about 2 years. You sometimes had issues where you would wake and a dream would spill out for a moment. You could be dreaming of a minotaur and when you open your eyes, its there in your room for a moment. You had seen the creature a few times when you woke and rolled over but always shrugged it off. The thought of a creature watching over you as you slept was strangely comforting because you knew it couldn’t be real. Sometimes, you dreamt of the creature when you felt needy, or partly desperate. The thought of a beast like this taking you had always driven you insane with desire, so it was common for it to appear in your dreams when you needed it. Walking into your room, you gave the creature a wide birth as you returned to your bed. Its eyes followed you closely, tilting its head to the side as you sat on your bed. You thought of speaking to it, but your mind was blurry and tired. You had a long day ahead of you tomorrow so you decided that if you could have a sleep within a sleep, it may help you. crawling under the covers, you lay down, breaking the eyes contact. A strange noise, barley over a whisper, reached your ears. Like a mixture between a hum and a purr with a slight crackle through it. You couldn’t help but smile, the noise comforting you somehow. “good night.” You whispered and slowly drifted off, every so often, that same purr echoing in your dreams. The next morning, you woke up with the dream still fresh in your mind. But it felt a little different. Looking to the end of your bed, you saw nothing. throughout the day, you couldn’t help but allow your mind to wonder back to the creature from your dream. It certainly wasn’t a nightmare. The creature, while strange to look at, didn’t try to harm you or cause you distress. And, worse of all, you felt a pull towards the creature. You had never felt so attracted to something or someone. And yet, the presents of this thing sent shivers down your spin. You wondered how tall it was when standing, how its skin felt, how it moved and what it thought. Frustrated with yourself, you grabbed your sketch book and started to draw the creature. Maybe if you moved it from your mind to paper, it would help. Once you were finished, the likeness close enough to satisfy you, you had felt tired and decided to call it a night. And he appeared again. This time, you had felt it at the end of your bed. The weight of the creature. Opening your eyes, you were surprised to see it wasn’t staring at you. Instead, it had your sketch book opening on the bed. its fingers were moving over the page. Long and slender but looked more like claws towards the end, the fingers seemed to be carving something on the opposite page of your sketch book. Curious, you sat up and moved down your bed to look. In capital letters, was the work ‘RAKE’. “Is that your name?” you asked, looking to the creature. Its eyes found your own and that same purr/hum came from its chest as it nodded once. sometimes, your creations would name themselves in your dreams, which you liked because it took some pressure off your mind to try match a name and your subconscious took care of it. “Rake.” You mused over the name, your eyes instantly going to his fingers that, now you were closer, were claws. moved by curiosity once again as you slowly extended your hand towards its own. It froze but allowed your fingers to brush against its own as you examined it. The tips were clawed and felt hard to the touch, like nails, but then it became softer as you went further up his finger and they became more like human hands. “interesting.” You mused as you turned its hand over so its palm was facing up. Placing your hand on top of its own, you couldn’t help but smile had how much bigger its hand was than your own. Your eyes moved back to Rakes, who was watching you closely as you had expected. “im just curious, is all.” You smile, a playfulness in your tone but you didn’t want to push the creature. Not even in your own dream. moving backwards, you lay back down. “My names [y/n].” you don’t know why you gave it your name, or why it would want it. But it felt right as you closed your eyes over. You could feel its gaze fixed on you once more. -------------- present time ------------ When you woke, you sat up and stretched, until something caught your eyes. Lying on your bed, was your sketch book. You had left it on your desk the night before. Sure, Rake had had in it your dream, but that was a dream for Christ sake. Or was it? Fear flashed through your body. True, the last 2 dreams had been a lot more vivid and felt real, but they couldn’t be. Reaching for your book with shaking hand, you picked it up and opened it. The sight made your heart stop. The picture of the Rake had been ripped out, but on the opposite page to where it had been, you could see the indent of where its name was. Running your fingers over it, you could feel which the page indented with the pressure. You jumped, throwing the book away from you as you looked around the room, your heart now racing. It was real and it had been here. Twice. Would it come back tonight? What did it was? You spent the whole day in fear and wanting more information. So you took to the internet. However, what you found sent chills down your spin. People had been getting killed at night. It had been reported a few times over the last few weeks in various places near you. How had you missed this? You tried to find anything about a survivor, but nothing came out. People reported a figure in the woods, moving on all fours, white with long limbs. you didn’t know what to do as the day dragged into night. You couldn’t go to bed, you were too scared to ever close your eyes. So you sat on your desk chair but moved it so it was pressed into the corner so nothing as behind you. You had a large kitchen knife and a few other things to possibly ward off an attack by you. you also put on a summer dress which you used as a nightgown because it was easy to move in. if you needed to move quickly, the dress allowed you that freedom. All that you could do was wait. but waiting was easier said than done as your eyes grew heavy. You began to blink for longer and longer, your eyes struggling to open after they closed. blink. there was nothing in your room. blink. Nothing. Blink. nothing. Blink. the rake. you jumped when you realised you had fallen asleep long enough to allow it into your room once again. It was perched on your bed once again; its knees dawn up to its chest as it stared at you. it looked between you and the bed. “why not asleep?” Its voice sent a shiver through your body. It was deep, low and had a little crackle to it like its purrs. But you didn’t know it could speak at all. “I-i-I-“ You stutter, unable to move from fear. But this cause more confusion for the creature. “Why scared now?” it asked, moving for the first time. Stretching out one of its legs, it stepped onto the floor and moved its whole body down. Its crawled towards you on all fours. “Because you’re real.” You responded, your eyes darting to the knife which had fallen to the floor. You must have dropped it in your sleep. But the Rake saw. A hissing noise filled the air and you looked back to him, nearing screaming. Its mouth had grown and now showed a number of teeth. It pounced forward at you, making you raise you hands to cover your face out of fear. But no pain ever came. Instead, you felt it take your right hand and guide it away from your face. The rake was now crouched in front of you, but due to its size, its eyes were level with your own. “Why haven’t you killed me?” You whisper to it. “interest. Curious.” It reply’s, the words rolling off its tongue as it begins to run the tips of its sharp fingers along your palm and up your forearm, not nearly hard enough to draw blood. A shiver ran through your body as the long nails raked over your skin. But it was short lived as your door bell rang twice and you heard your elderly neighbour call your name. Rake twisted towards the bedroom door and hissed, becoming more aggressive in his stance and demeanour. Instantly, fear ran through you as you grabbed its wrist. “No, please. Shes a friend. Just, just let me see what she wants.” You begged, unsure if your pleading with do anything. But apparently, it did. Rake moved back a little, allowing you to stand up. You noticed him move to your bed and his normal spot before you ran to your front door. Your neighbour, Mary, asked if you were okay as she had heard screaming and you looked pale. You laughed it off, saying you had just had a nightmare which she seemed content with the answer. She knew your dreams were often bad. She left and you closed the door over and returned to your room. You could see the rake in the same spot, waiting for you to return. You closed your bedroom door over and leaned against it, unsure of how to proceed. Slowly, you walked closer to the creature, to him. Since he was on your bed, he was now taller than you were, but you didn’t mind that too much. Standing at the foot of your bed, you raise your hand slowly so not to startle him. Rake allowed you to move your hand closer to his face so you could ever so softly brush the tips of your fingers over his skin. His eyes closed at the contact, his body seeming to relax as you grew more confident with your movements and cupped his cheek. The rake started to move forward, stepping off the bed as you took a step back and allowed your hands to drop to yours sides. The sheer size of it, standing fully in front of you was enough to make you stare in awe. It towered over you when it stood up straight. You weren’t sure if this as a intimidation tactic or why it had felt the need to step off the bed. its large hands raised, and you could see them both by your head in your peripheral vision, but you didn’t dare drop the rakes eye contact. You felt like you were in some type of hypnotic trace, unable to allow the part of you which was in charge of self preservation to demand you run. But you couldn’t. You felt one of its hands twist itself into your hair, gently pulling your head back. You broke eye contact to obey its demand as you closed your eyes, fear and adrenaline coursing through your body. Then you felt it. A breath upon your bare neck. Your eyes snapped open and you saw it had lowered its head down to your neck. You could feel its mouth open and its sharp teeth grazed the skin on your neck. You let out a soft gasp but made no attempts to stop it. In fact, your body reacted to the danger of its touch in an unexpected way. You arched your back, your head falling further backwards without its demand. You felt the hand which wasn’t in your hair trailing down your sides before grabbing the loose material of your nightgown. Its claws tore the fabric, ripping a hole in the side of your gown. With this access, its hand slipped under the fabric, touching your bare sides and sliding to your lower back. Another gasp as your hands reached out, finding its chest. But you didn’t push it away. No, your hands slid up and to its shoulders and you hung onto it for support as it bends you further backwards. With its hand on your back and the other in your hair, you allowed it to lower you to the floor as it crouched between your legs. Its mouth moved down to tease your collarbone and even gently bite the area. You gasped, a soft moan leaving your lips. Lust had long taken over your body as you felt your insides swirl with the feeling. You could feel yourself becoming hot and bothered as you clenched your thighs together in some sort of desperate attempt to control yourself. But you were past the point of no return. You knew of your attraction to this creature, its body appearing in your deepest and darkest dreams, the ones which you woke up panting and gasping for air as you cursed your body for still feeling the need. It moved the hand on your body, turning it over so the craws were facing out from your skin before tearing the material down to the hem of your nightgown. You dug your nails into his shoulders as you felt the material fall away from your legs. But the rake wasted no time as it pulled away from your collar. The hair in your hair retreated so it could tear the upper part of your nightgown. It started by placing a claw to your neck, trailing it down the front to the neckline of the nightgown before beginning to tear the fabric. Since it only only had thin straps, you moved your hands from its shoulder to pull them down, along with your bra straps. With that, you arched your back to reach under yourself, unclasping your bra and pulling it from your body to throw it away. your actions certainly pleased the creature as its head ducked down, its touch touching your skin and trailing across your right breast. You moaned, arching into it as it licked at your nipple, its teeth even grazing over the soft bud. Your hands fell above your head, offering your body to it completely as you allowed the pleasure to overtake any fear in your body. It moved to your left breast, offering it the same treatment. The cool air made the saliva on your right breast go cold and send a shiver through your body. then a snarl left its throat as it moves from crouching to kneeling between your legs, pressing its body against yours. your legs wrapped around it, pulling yourself close so you could gently grind against it, the friction offering a little relief against your now swollen clit. But because of its position, your legs were around its torso. It would have to move higher for you to feel if it had the anatomy of a male. you hadn’t seen if it had when you were looking it over. But you so hoped it did. You moved your hands to the back of its skull, feeling the soft skin which covered its head. Another growl left its lips as its head snapped up to look at you as your hands found its cheeks. There was something so primal and dominating about tis gaze that broke you. Sitting up slightly, you were able to guides its lips to your own in a desperate kiss. Its whole body froze at this, allowing you to take control off the kiss. You were surprised but it moved further up your body, hovering over you as you kissed it deeply. Wrapping your arms around its shoulder, you arched your back up and felt its chest press against your own, which cause a shiver to run through both your bodies. It seemed to like it as its arm moved under your back and pulled you up against it again. Then you felt the hardness now pressed between your legs. It throbbed slightly as you rocked your hips against it, creating a friction that made you moan into the kiss. You wondered how the rake had a cock or rather how it hid it. Perhaps it was in a sheath which allowed protection except when ‘needed’. You didn’t know, but you were most certainly happy to have made the discovery. Its free hand clawed at your sides, making you gasp and groan into the kiss before moving to your panties. In a single rip, it tore the side as the other hand left your back to mirror this and finally pull them away from your body. But it didn’t break the kiss the entire time. In fact, it seemed to be enjoying the kiss and unable to break away from it. Even when you pulled back for air, it slammed its lips back to your own. Finally, you felt the bare cock pressing against your slit. It rubbed against the area for a moment, in a almost teasing way before the rake seemed unable to control itself and slammed into you, filling you completely in a sudden movement. You threw your head back as your fingers dug into its flesh in both pain and pleasure as you moaned and gasped for air. A snarl left the rakes mouth as its whole body shakes at the feeling. Raspy pants left its lips as it began to move inside you, the speed quickly picking up. both its hands moved to grab your hips, the claws digging into your sides as you welcomed the pain. You kept your arms around its neck, playfully digging your nails into its skin when its own claws got a little too much to balance the pleasure with, in which case it would release. The room filled with your moans of pleasure and its low growls and groans along with the sound on its hips meeting yours. The rake lifted your hips off the floor slightly, add a new angle as it began to pound into you at such a speed you thought you might be driven insane. You cried out, begging for more and it was more than happy to provide with a low growl that vibrated deep in its chest, it thrusts becoming harder. Your eyes squeezed shut as your hands fell from its shoulder to your own hair. You took handfuls, pulling as you gasped for air. Your back arched and your chest against its own. There was a loud snarl and you felt its hand leave your hip to grab your right hand and pull it away from your hair. Your eyes opened in shock as it moved your arm back around its neck before it replaced your hand with its own. It took a chunk of your hair and pulled, making you cry out and arch your whole back and neck off the floor. Your other hand flew out your air to grab at the rake, only to feel it duck its head down to your neck again. This time, it didn’t just gaze your skin. You felt the nips of its bites along your lower neck, collar and shoulder to the point you cried out in pain. Its head snapped up to meet your gaze and you saw your blood on its mouth along with concern in its eyes as its hand let go of your hair. Its hips began to slow but you couldn’t stop. You were so so close and you needed it. You knew it was just trying to please you, that was obvious in the way it was trying to do what you were doing. You moved to slam your lips to its own once again. This time, you could taste your own blood on its lips and something in you broke. You darted your tongue out, licking its sharp teeth as another growl left its chest and the speed was picked up again. This time, it was harder and faster than before. You wrapped your arms around its neck, bringing yourself as close to it as physically possible as your whole body seemed to tense in anticipation. its arm slipped under your back and shoulder once again, raising you off the floor completely in its arms as it slammed into you, its own thrusts becoming sloppy but almost demented. The knot in your lower stomach tensed one final time before your orgasm swept over your body in a wave of pleasure and bliss. It felt like your skin was on fire as you moaned against its mouth, your walls pulsing in you. apparently, that was all the rake needed before a loud growl left its chest, filling the room and almost shaking it as it came deep inside you. The first thing you remembered after you came was the soft furnishing of your bed as you moved there by the rake. As it placed you down, you felt it pulling fully out of you and you suddenly felt very empty. you opened your eyes when you felt the bed dip at the end and saw it had returned to crouching at the foot of your bed, this time facing the door. You didn’t even notice the blanket that had been carefully placed over your nude body until it fell down as you sat up. “Rake?” You called out, your voice horse from the noises you had just been making. It turned its head to you, obviously confused as to why you didn’t fall back asleep. “Now what?” You ask, scared of the response. “Now I protect.” It said, its low voice sending a shiver through your spine. “Protect?” You ask, moving out from the cover to its side. “Protect. Never mated before. Now I have a mate, I must protect.” It nodded, more to itself than to you. “Im your mate?” You ask, a soft smile on your lips. “does that mean you’ll stay?” A single nod sends your world into joy as you smile widely at the rake. You press a soft kiss to its cheek before moving under the covers but with your head at the foot of your bed, next to it. Whatever was happening, whatever it was, nothing could ruin your moments of bliss as you drifted off into a nightmares sleep.