#on camera for 1 second and still served face

[korelore]

rachel zegler crumbs pls

[valentinebugzee]

Sonic Boom! Agent Stone AU (pt.1)

(This is kind of an outline thing for the fic I plan on writing in the future btw!!)

Chapter 1 posted!

•On one random Tuesday, a coffee shop named "The Mean Bean" appeared in the middle of town, with no construction and no posters for the place, as if it fell from the sky.

•It probably did since it's sonic boom and all.

•Sonic and friends had different opinions on the place, but all of them went in anyway.

•Sonic thought he wasn't really a coffee guy but it wouldn't hurt to try something new.

•Amy admired how beautiful and modern the place looked, unlike the rest of the establishments in their formerly unnamed village.

•Tails questioned how they had managed to construct a cafe that quickly without anyone noticing.

•Knuckles wondered why this bean shop smelled like coffee.

•Sticks, however...had her theories.

•Upon laying her eyes on the establishment, she started coming up with 50 theories per second; her friends dismissed her to get the plot going.

•Sticks's suspicions didn't subside one bit once entered the shop and made eye contact with a grinning barista with the name tag "Stone"

•What really got Sticks paranoid is how nice and friendly the barista was, and how he was the only person working there.

•Stone served them and said their orders were "on the house"

•Sticks refused to order anything, claiming it was a trap and the food had microchips in it to read the villager's thoughts and know the village's most crucial secrets.

•Right in the middle of Stick's yap session, Eggman initiated a very well-timed attack.

•Cut to Shoujo vision-eyed Stone laying his eyes for the very first time on the village's one and only villain (or the only one that matters)

•He quickly snapped out of it, adjusted his clothes, and cleared his throat, then walked out of his coffee shop to greet the villain.

•He had politely asked Eggman to take the fight somewhere further away from his coffee shop and Eggman surprisingly obliged (not without blowing up in Stone's face ofc) (Stone didn't look like he minded) (He actually looked even more love-struck) (weirdo)

•The fight ended, and the gang went back to the coffee shop, where Stone inquired about the evil doctor who almost blew up his shop.

•That was Stick's last straw; she started screaming about how Stone was a government agent who would doom the entire village if they didn't stop him.

•She ran out screaming when her friends still didn't believe her.

•Girl, get better friends.

•She figured that if she was going to foil the evil government agent's plans she needed someone else helping her, another pair of eyes to look out for the village if the government agent decided that she was an obstacle in his way and kidnaps her to a work in a secret underground trees-that-are- actually-spy-cameras-factory.

•And that's when she found Shadow in a cave that he definitely doesn't live in.

•He reluctantly agreed to help her because he was also suspicious about that guy, not that he cared about the village but he didn't like being oblivious about evil happening on his turf.

•He didn't believe stick's microchipped food theory, but Stone being a government agent didn't seem too far off for him...

•They both had their separate attempts at getting answers out of Stone.

•First was Sticks, she set up a trap.

•ofc Stone fell for it because how else would the story progress.

•She interrogated him as he was upside down hanging from a tree outside her home.

•He denied all claims and feigned innocence, claiming he was just a barista that came from far far away to simply serve people happiness in the form of coffee.

•She opted for more efficient interrogation techniques, she turned around and entered her home to..grab a feather and tickle him idfk

•Once she returned outside she saw the net was burnt to crisp and the human was nowhere to be found.

•Now she's sure she's not paranoid.

•She reported her findings to Shadow.

•Now it was Shadow's turn, seeing how Stone definitely had some special equipment/weapons on him the idea of there being microchips in the food didn't seem too uncanny.

•Shadow showed up to The Mean Bean, Sticks intently staring at him from behind the glass doors (creeping everyone in the shop out)

•Shadow thought he shouldn't interrogate him as that would end up as fruitful as Stick's efforts.

•Instead he chose to just behave as a normal customer, he was the ultimate life form after all, if there was something odd about the food then he'd know (I'm pulling this shit outta my ass okay)

•Just like the badger had described him "Very sweet with an evil aura", and something about trees.

•Stone felt somewhat nervous/awkward towards the hedgehog, so far all his customers were either stupid or friendly excluding the badger that kidnapped him because she wasn't a customer at all)

•The Hedgehog chose a cat muffin, glaring at stone the entire time.

•That was the best goddamn muffin he has ever had in his life.

•He slammed the money on the counter and returned back to a very distraught badger.

•"ARE YOU OKAY?! ARE THE RADIATIONS GETTING TO YOUR BRAIN?! ARE YOU BRAINWASHED?! DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR TRAGIC BACKSTORY?! DID THE MUFFIN DO SOMETHING TO YOU?!"

"Raspberry jam..."

"huh?"

[mariespen]

➸ Late Working Nights

Sheriff!Rafe x Teacher!Reader

➸ Masterlist!

Requests open!

Rafe was drowning. He was up to his head in paperwork at the station—reports, affidavits, evidence logs—everything he dreaded in life. The worst part? He couldn’t go home to you, his precious wife, and three kids. His eyes wandered to the family photo on his desk, focusing on your faces as he tried to muster up the motivation to keep writing.

On the other side of town, you had just finished dinner, and your daughter, Samantha, had pulled up a chair to the counter. She was clumsily measuring ingredients as you guided her, always stepping in after a few seconds to help. The curiosity that fueled your daughter was so much like Rafe’s, it made your heart melt.

Your other kids, Oliver and Lucas, sat in the cozy living room, their eyes glued to the Candy Land board. They had begged you to get it out of the game cabinet, eager to play.

You looked up at the clock as you served plates, knowing Rafe wouldn’t be home in time to even kiss his babies goodnight. His apologetic text still shone brightly on your phone screen.

Rafe: I’m sorry, honey. Rafe: Going to be late. Home around 11 pm. You: No worries! You: Attachment: 1 Video

“Okay, guys! Sammie, get in the video!” You giggled, coaxing your kids into making a small message for their dad. You felt horrible for how hard he worked, so this was the least you could do.

“Alright! One... two... three! Go!”

The camera in your hands started recording the faces of your young children.

“We love you, Daddy! We miss you!” they said, somewhat in unison.

“Okay! Say, ‘See you in the morning!’” you gently reminded them.

“See you in the morning!”

You stopped the recording, revealing your smiling face as you quickly sent the video to Rafe.

“Good job, my loves! It’s time for dinner. Olie and Luke, please find a stopping point!” Your voice was gentle as you used their nicknames, coaxing them to the dinner table and away from their intense Candy Land session.

Each family member sat in their unspokenly assigned seat, but the head of the table remained empty. Your eyes lingered on the wood for a moment before you turned to your meal, suppressing the loneliness as you interacted with your kids. Every so often, your eyes flicked to your phone on the counter, waiting for it to light up with Rafe’s contact.

Rafe: You’re killing me. Tell them I love them too, and I’ll be home soon.

“I miss Daddy,” Samantha pouted. She had finished dinner and craved Rafe’s comfort.

“I know, sweetheart,” you said, trying to extend some grace toward her.

Suddenly, as Oliver and Lucas finished their plates and sat patiently to be excused, an idea struck you.

“What if… we visited Daddy and brought him dinner?” Your heart fluttered with relief at the thought, knowing Rafe would do anything to see his family.

The dinner table exploded with excited “yes’s,” and your kids instantly got up, helping you package his portion of dinner in Tupperware. Samantha grabbed a juice box for him while Oliver sneakily stuffed a pack of gummies into his pocket as you opened the pantry. You pretended not to notice—after all, you had just slipped a sparkling water into your purse for Rafe, balancing out Sammie’s juice box in a way that would surely devastate her.

Eventually, all four of you piled into your shiny white car, listening to kids' music as you drove the ten minutes to the station.

Rafe’s face scrunched in confusion as he heard a car pull into the parking lot, but the moment he caught a glimpse of your curly hair helping Lucas out of his car seat, the tension in his shoulders melted away.

Sammie ran up to the station doors, opening them like she owned the place. The other men working late smiled at her as she power-walked—because she knew better than to run—straight to her dad’s office.

Just like that, Rafe’s boredom and lack of motivation were gone.

“Sweetheart!” he said, instantly getting up and kneeling down to hug his daughter tightly.

You stumbled in not long after, Tupperware in one hand and Lucas in the other, scolding him for picking his nose. Oliver squeezed past you, his eyes lighting up as he looked around his favorite place—Rafe’s office. Oliver, your oldest, always dreamed of being the sheriff just like his dad. Small moments like these felt surreal to his nine-year-old mind.

Rafe’s eyes shot up to you in gratitude. “Thank you, honey.”

“Of course. We brought you dinner—Sammie brought you juice!” You nodded toward your daughter as she pulled the juice box out of the pouch of her purse—one of your old ones that you had handed down to her.

Rafe kissed you deeply, feeling Lucas hugging his leg tightly and listening as Samantha and Oliver toured his office.

“Thank you,” Rafe said again, his hands lingering on the small of your back as he rested his forehead against your neck.

“Always.” You leaned down to kiss his head, letting him grab his dinner.

“Daddy, can we eat with you?” Samantha asked, her eyes wide with curiosity as always.

“Of course, sweetheart. Oliver, can you grab your mama a chair from outside?”

Oliver rushed off, trying his hardest not to show his struggle as he lugged the chair in. You pushed it closer, kissing the top of his head in thanks as he settled into the seat beside Sammie. Lucas remained in your lap, happily playing with your necklace.

The next hour—well past their bedtime—was filled with sleepy conversations from your kids and quiet looks of gratitude between you and Rafe.

After finishing his meal and kissing each of you goodnight, he reluctantly shuffled back to his desk, watching through the window as your car left the parking lot. However, his paperwork was finished just two hours later, and he was on his way home.

When he walked through the door, his eyes landed on you, curled up on the couch and watching TV quietly in the living room. He set down his bag and took off his boots before collapsing next to you, scattering kisses across your face and neck. Eventually, he settled in, and you gravitated toward him, smiling as you rested against his chest, listening to his deep, exhausted breathing.

“I love you,” Rafe whispered, just as you drifted off against him.

“I love you too,” you murmured, your voice soft and muffled against his body.

Just like that, everything was how it should be.

[lushrue]

hockeyteam!141 x figureskater!reader pt 2!

part 2 of this au finally! i'm so glad people like it! comment if you wanna be added to the taglist, already planning pt 3 so there will be more where this came from 💗

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9

your name was announced through the loudspeaker as you skated onto the ice, all covered in sequins and polyester. you’d always thought it was a little bit silly, the conventions around figure skating costumes. that fit that Margot Robbie threw in I, Tonya about the ridiculousness of it? yeah, you’d had a moment like that once or twice. the rough fabric scratched your arms, the glint of the sequins drew focus away from your expressions. but you still felt elegant as you set your mark at center ice, hitting your starting pose in the silence before the music began.

breathe in, breathe out. focus. momentum is everything, remember your character, focus going into your jumps.

in the moment before your routine started, you flicked your eyes up and scanned the crowd. it was something that you’d done ever since your first routine that you took to competition. usually, you were looking for your parents, their smiling faces and the flash of your mom’s digital camera. now, though, it became more curiosity, finding a spot to let your eyes settle when you weren’t looking at the judges’ table. it was then that you saw them. four big, brutish hockey players sat shoulder to shoulder in the stands. the one with the mohawk (soap, you remembered) lifted his hand to wave at you, only for the man beside him (kyle, you guessed from this distance) to swat it down.

the shock must have played out on your face, because you saw price smirk as your music began playing. you let the sound seep into your bones and just like that, it all melted away and you skated.

…

the four of them watched pretty intently for the first few seconds of your routine. price was focused on the placement of your body, how you kept your center of gravity in the middle at all times. he had to admire how precise you were in your movements, like you knew the physics behind all of it. for all he knew, you did. he could tell you were skilled and he liked that about you. talent recognizes talent, or however the saying goes.

kyle was simply admiring your choice of music. Moonlight Sonata, though basic, was like black coffee, he thought. a classic choice that never really got old, but so many things could be added to it to make it new and exciting. and watching you skate to it, he felt like he’d never heard it before. he watched your face more than anything else. you were so expressive, a story playing out in your eyes, and he soaked it all up. it was like reading a novel, and this one was a page-turner.

ghost was watching the lines of your body. it was like you were painting the air as you moved, each flick of the wrist and lift of the leg deliberate and purposeful. it all served to make a pretty picture. every now and again, he’d look at the thin lines your skates left on the ice, the swirls and curves detailing everywhere you’d been. much prettier than the harsh notches he left behind when he stepped out of the rink, he thought. just like you, they were delicate.

soap was far less interested in the artistry or skill of it and more focused on you. the way your hair moved as you spun on the ice, the way your costume clung to your skin. he couldn’t even act as if he wasn’t watching disrespectfully, thinking of what your body might look like under the spandex and sparkles. you lifted your leg and began spinning, and soap thought he might keel over right then and there. ghost nudged him as he adjusted himself on the bench, a silent gesture that told him to behave.

johnny gestured to price behind kyle’s back, getting his attention. “didn’t i tell ya, cap? a right beaut, that one,” he said, earning himself a flick to the head from ghost. price chuckled, turning his attention back to where you were winding up for a jump. two turns in the air and you landed perfectly. he knew you would, you talented thing. “yeah. a beaut,” price responded, a small smile curving his lips.

...

you skated remarkably, in your opinion. it was a relatively simple routine, but with every completed skate, regardless of skill level, came a sense of accomplishment. as you hit your ending pose, you made eye contact with your hockey players in the stands again. ghost’s face was unreadable from this distance, but you caught the pleased expressions of the other three as they clapped for you. soap had a glint in his eyes that spelled mischief and made something in your stomach tighten. kyle was looking at you like the artist you perceived yourself to be, almost how you imagined someone would look at their favorite painting. and price’s face had pride written all over it. you caught an almost imperceptible nod from him, as if to say well done.

you bowed to both sides of the rink and skated off the ice, a performer’s smile on your lips. it wasn’t entirely fake, not like it had been at some competitions. this time, it was born of the idea that four of the men you’d been watching, nay, pining after for a month were finally turning their attentions to you. for the first time in a while, you wondered what someone besides the judges thought of your routine. the worst part was, you needed them to like it. you felt the intense need to please them, keep them coming back for more.

the four of them found you in line for the concessions, grabbing a hot chocolate to soothe your cold bones in between programs. your free skate was coming up next and you knew you’d need a little pick-me-up before then. as you thanked the high schooler who’d poured your drink, you turned to walk away and almost collided with a wall of solid muscle. price, you’d realize as you looked up. “told ya we wanted to see ya, bonnie!” soap’s voice chirped from behind the broad shoulders of the team captain.

you glanced around him, noticing kyle and ghost stood off to the side. kyle was all polite smiles and ghost looked as though he was aware of how much space he was taking up, supremely uncomfortable as people brushed past him. soap was stood off to the other side of price, arms crossed over his chest. then your eyes turned up to the captain himself, feeling a sense of pride radiating off of him. you weren’t sure why; this was a man who barely knew you. but it made your stomach flutter all the same. “good performance you put on out there, love,” he said, the rumble of his baritone voice more compelling when it was directed at you. you’d seen the boys scramble to follow his orders before during a game, but you’d thought it was just his rank on the team. no, you realized, it was definitely the voice.

“thank you,” you replied sheepishly, clutching the warm styrofoam cup in your icy fingers. “i’m glad you all liked it.” kyle spoke up, stepping a bit closer to where you stood. “liked it? i loved it! you’ll have to tell me more about how you choreographed it, the musicality was insane!” “easy, garrick,” ghost’s voice rumbled from where he stood, a bit muffled by the black surgical mask. “don’t wan’ to scare off our pretty bird.” oh, you could get used to that. you spoke up, your eyes flicking between the four of them. “actually, i still have another program to skate.” you hesitated, almost worried you were being too forward. but then you continued. why not live a little, take some risks? “if you all wanted to stay, that is.”

you didn’t have to tell them twice.

taglist: @cadotoast

[alltimefail]

Can we take a second to talk about Niko's connection to the Principal?

Because I think we all moved on a little quickly from that!

General disclaimer before we begin: this is just my own theory and my personal interpretations. <3

As a refresher, The Principal is the Night Nurse's "Superior." We see her for the first time at the end of season 1, episode 8. In this theory, I will be analyzing the potential role The Principal plays in DBDA, especially where our beloved Niko Sasaki is concerned.

A connection between The Principal and Niko is undoubtable to me for two reasons: the first reason being that they intentionally focused the camera on The Principal zero-ing in on Niko's case card, and she has a visible emotional reaction to seeing Niko's name.

The second being that, before departing, she quotes what Tragic Mick told Niko before the face-off with Esther which ultimately resulted in her death.

One popular theory I saw floating around in the first few weeks after DBDA released was that The Principal is Niko herself, and while this is a fun concept I can't get behind it because, well, Niko is "alive" at the end of the season. Yuyu has confirmed that she's the one in the igloo with the sprites, and Steve has confirmed that Niko is not dead/off the show as well. While we have no clue where the igloo is for certain, or what state Niko is in, it's safe to say that Niko has not moved on to her afterlife, so she can't be the Night Nurses' superior in the Lost and Found Department.

My theory doesn't reinvent the wheel, but I personally think The Principal could be Niko's mother.

From a non-storyline standpoint, The Principal looks to be a perfectly appropriate age to have a 16 year old daughter. From a casting standpoint, Yuyu and Tamlyn also are a convincing mother/daughter pair. I think their mannerisms (body language and expressions) are even a bit similar:

But most importantly, from a writing and storyline standpoint, Niko's mother is mentioned multiple times throughout the season but we never actually see her or hear from her - not in a phone call, a voicemail, or even in a picture in Niko's meticulously decorated, aesthetic bedroom. This is what leads me to believe that the persistent mention of Niko's mom is an example of Chekhov's gun being fired.

Emphasis here on: "If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there."

From the persistent plotline surrounding...

Niko's grief not just with her father's death but also with her mother who sent her to school across the world literally the day after her father's funeral to "escape the sadness,"

to the pile of letters from her mother that she couldn't bring herself to respond to,

to the response letter she finally writes to her mom but we don't learn the fate of,

to Niko telling Crystal that her mom would always say "A mother's intuition is very strong," (which could be why The Principal reacted to Niko's case card in the way she did...)

to even Jenny mentioning Niko's mom in the finale

... and so on, the writers seem to mention her as often as they can, even up to the very end. This makes Niko's mom a sort of looming figure in the narrative, a thought persistently brought back in a "Hey, remember this?" kind of way to the viewer, and that kind of intentional presence needs to serve a purpose or have some kind of payoff later. After all - if it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there... if we aren't going to get some kind of closure regarding Niko's family, especially her mother who is still alive, it shouldn't be brought to the viewer's attention again and again.

Also, The Principal being Niko's mother would make Niko at least half supernatural being (we don't know much about her father, but considering the fact that he's dead we can assume he was likely fully human). Niko being half supernatural-being would explain a few allusive plotlines such as:

Why Angie the fish does not try to tempt Niko into the water.

Why Crystal tells Niko that she should stay behind and not fight Esther because Niko is "Just a human."

Why we don't see Niko's spirit separate from her body at any point, nor do we get Death's blue light.

How the Principal knows Tragic Mick's last words to Niko and why she quotes them to the boys who were not even present at the moment the sentiment was delivered the first time.

Starting with Angie, it's obvious why the boys are not affected by her call: Charles and Edwin are incorporeal spirits, they have no physical body and Angie's call is sent out with the goal of finding food to eat, plain and simple. Niko not hearing Angie's call, considering the fact that she's flesh and bone just like Crystal, is noteworthy to say the least. After all, we can safely assume Angie's call can beckon more than one person at a time because the group is worried about the populated kite festival becoming an all-you-can-eat buffet, essentially. They need to figure out the case and only have 24 hours to do so before area is filled with bodies for Angie to tempt into the water, that's the whole time-constraint conflict that adds pressure to an already delicate situation. The first time Crystal hears the call she is with Charles at the top of the lighthouse with Niko nowhere near Angie, but the second time Crystal hears Angie she and Niko are standing literally right next to each other. Niko then confirms that there's "No voice" coming from the water after they save Crystal, but considering how Niko's grief surrounding the death of her father is such a huge part of her characterization - in the same way Crystal not remembering her parents is critical to hers - it makes no sense that Angie wouldn't try to lure in Niko as well by using the voice of her deceased father.

But let's consider what we learn from the Night Nurse: trans-dimensional beings don't die when they're swallowed by a giant fish, so they do not satiate Angie's desire for food. This is why everyone assumes Kashi is not human because he, like The Night Nurse, is alive inside the stomach of a fish. So if Niko's mother is like The Night Nurse, a trans-dimensional being, that would explain why Angie's call would not effect Niko, because Angie just wants to eat... and ghosts and immortal beings (even if only semi-immortal) do not count as food.

As for Crystal telling Niko to stay behind because she's human: this line felt so... strange to me the first time I watched the series. After thinking about it though, I couldn't help but compare it to Charles' line in the pilot episode right before they enter Esther's house. He tells Crystal that "She still has a life to lose" and they want to "Protect it while they can," and while the sentiment is the same, the dialogue feels vastly more natural and understandable being delivered from the mouth of a ghost - a dead 16 year old boy - to an alive 16 year old girl. On the contrary, Crystal citing Niko being a human when she is also alive and very much a human just as capable of dying as Niko is, feels out of place. There's simply no need for Crystal to clarify that Niko is a human as the audience has already assumed that and been given no reason to believe otherwise. It's a small detail, but the only way for this line to make any sense is if it serves an ulterior motive - perhaps with the intention of getting the audience's gears turning and/or serving as the framework for a future plotline. Again, if Niko is related to The Principal, this would make her half supernatural at least... so, ironically, less human that Crystal is and less likely to face a typical human death...

which also might explain the "Outlook not so good" on the Magic 8-Ball. It's not the worst response you can get, it's not a critical failure or natural 1 in DnD so to speak... but it's also not great. Niko's not alive, but she's likely not as she once was either (but that's an entirely different can of worms).

As far as explaining how The Principal would know what Tragic Mick told Niko, I feel like an infinite trans-dimensional being who works as a higher up in the afterlife's Lost and Found Department would have no issue accessing their own child's file. We know the Lost and Found Department is nothing if not rigid, specific, and detail-oriented, and the files they have include the details of every child's death - it isn't so far-fetched to believe that Niko's file (and all the files, really) would also include insight on what Niko's last day on Earth (interactions and such) were like. Not to mention the fact that The Principal tells the boys she can pretty much do "Whatever she likes..." so she's powerful, she has resources and abilities that might even surpass those of the Night Nurse (who can literally dig around in people's minds and choke people with a snap of her fingers). If she is Niko's mother and she just lost her child and husband in a short amount of time, it would make sense for her to allow Charles and Edwin to keep doing what they do because they are helping people like her daughter, and maybe they could help her daughter again.

Lastly, I can't help but acknowledge how there is some kind of recognition, spark, or tenderness on The Principal's end when she first appears before the boys. I've seen other people say they feel similarly, almost like she seems disappointed or a bit taken aback when they ask who she is. She especially lingers on Edwin for a beat, and we all know how important Edwin was to Niko! Again, this is all just my own theory, but if The Principal is Niko's mother, her sparing the boys of being taken by the Lost and Found Department with the tenderness she does - by using Tragic Mick's words, the ones offered alongside a good luck charm (the last kind act toward Niko before she died) at the boys who loved her daughter and saved her once and could very well save her again - feels tear-jerkingly poetic to me. The Principal seems choked up before she goes, almost as if she's repaying them a favor they didn't know they were owed - the boys saved Niko once, and now that good fortune is coming back around to them.

So what would that all mean for next season? Where might Niko be? Who knows for sure! Perhaps she is imbued with Dandelion Sprite magic, or is currently an "Undead," a zombie, like the kind mentioned in the Night Nurse's book in Episode 6... but whatever she is, I have a feeling the boys and Crystal will find her again.

But all this to say, whether The Principal is Niko's mother, a reincarnation of Niko's father, an estranged aunt or family member we haven't met yet, a complete rando with invested special interest in Niko's case, or shit - even Niko herself somehow - I can confidently say that episode 8 won't be the last time we see The Principal, and that we're meant to draw a connection between her and Niko.

Now we just need a season 2 so we can get some answers @netflix!!!!!

[chu16a-blog]

Benji Dunn x Reader - Ennemy to Lover (Part 2/6)

Paring: Benji Dunn x Reader

This is chapter 2/6 chapters. This fanfic is already completed, I just upload one chapter per day, ehehe

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

CHAPTER 2: PARIS ROOFTOPS

The team had traced your signal to Paris, a private showing in a tucked-away art gallery near Montmartre. The building was sleek and modern, all glass walls and sharp white angles, the kind of place where secrets dressed up as elegance.

For you, it was more than a hideout, it was the next step in disappearing.

The gallery served as a meeting point with an old arms contact turned fixer. He had what you needed: access to a backdoor encryption key tied to the CIA’s tracking grid. With it, you could finally vanish from their radar, no more pings, no more traces, no more ghosts in your shadow. No more cute guys chasing you.

And yet, in the quiet hours leading up to tonight, you’d found yourself distracted. Curious, even. About him.

The man from Berlin. The one who’d said hi instead of pulling a gun. You’d made a few discreet enquiries, hacked into a system or two. It wasn’t easy but you managed to put a name to that flustered face.

Benji Dunn.

It shouldn’t matter. He was CIA. A tech operative with no field experience, judging by the way he held himself. Harmless on paper, too harmless to have gotten that close to you. Still, something about him stuck.

You shook the thought off. Tonight was about the plan. Make the trade. Get the key. Erase yourself for good.

If it went smoothly, your next stop would be Geneva, where the future you didn’t dare imagine might finally begin.

From the surveillance van parked across the street, Benji watched you through a live camera feed patched in from one of the hacked gallery security cams.

“There she is,” he muttered, leaning closer to the screen. “That’s her.”

You stood near a sculpture installation, exchanging a few quiet words with a sharply dressed man. Your posture was relaxed, but your eyes constantly scanned the room, sharp, alert. Calculating.

Benji’s breath caught for just a second. Okay… seriously? Why does the world’s most dangerous fugitive have to be so, so.. stunning? His brain scrambled somewhere between admiration and mission protocol. Focus, Dunn.

Then, without ceremony, you took the case and walked out.

“She’s moving. She’s got something.”

“Visual confirmed,” Ethan said through the comms. “Luther, track her.”

Benji didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “What the hell is in that key?”

As you vanished from the camera’s view, he exhaled sharply, already moving to intercept.

Luther hacked traffic cams. “She’s heading north, fast. Rooftops."

The rooftops of Paris glistened under a light rain, turning every step into a gamble. The skyline blurred past as Ethan vaulted over a rooftop ledge.

Benji flanked from the opposite direction, breathing hard, eyes flicking between rooftops and the signal tracking your movement.

“There, northwest corner,” Luther said in his ear. “She’s on the move.”

Benji spotted you just as you sprinted across a skylight, a silhouette framed in fractured neon. You turned, mid-stride, and looked over your shoulder.

Not at Ethan.

At him.

Benji felt the moment freeze just a fraction of a second, your eyes catching his across the gap. No smile this time. Just sharp awareness.

Then you vanished over the edge.

Benji picked up speed, heart hammering. “I see her! I think I can—”

His foot hit a slick tile. His balance faltered. “WHOA—!”

The rooftop pitched sideways in his vision, and suddenly, he wasn’t falling.

A hand caught his wrist. Firm grip. Cold rain. A flash of your face above him.

You.

For the second time.

He stared, too stunned to say anything.

Your grip tightened, jaw tense as you leaned back slightly and stabilized him. Your eyes scanned his face, assessing.

"You okay?"

Benji opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

You paused just a beat longer. Then nodded once, decisive. “You’re okay,” you stated.

Before he could gather a single word, you let go and took off, vaulting over the adjacent roof like you’d never stopped.

Benji remained there, crouched on the ledge, blinking at the empty air you left behind.

His comm crackled.

“Benji?” Ethan’s voice. “What happened?”

He exhaled slowly. “She… she saved me.”

“You sure?” Luther asked.

“She didn’t hesitate. Could’ve let me fall. But she didn’t. She pulled me up like it was nothing.”

A pause.

Ethan: “She’s fast. Faster than me. That’s not normal.”

Luther: “Still think she’s dangerous, Benji?”

Benji stared across the rooftops, voice quieter now. “She’s supposed to be… but she just saved me.”

Then, almost to himself, “And she smells really good.”

“…What?”

“Nothing! Nothing. Focused. Super focused.”

Luther chimed in: “Starting to think we’re not the good guys in this story.”

At the safehouse in Paris, the room was dimly lit, screens flickering with maps and intercepted communications. Ethan, Benji, and Luther sat around the table, sifting through the fragmented intel.

“Something’s not right,” Ethan muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Why does she keep running, always just out of reach, but never strikes?”

Luther nodded thoughtfully. “The CIA files paint her as lethal. Cold. Remorseless. But she’s passed up at least a dozen clear opportunities to take us out.” Looking at Benji.

Benji caught avoiding Luther’s gaze and leaned closer to the monitor, eyes scanning the data. “Either she’s the world’s nicest assassin… or someone’s been feeding us a pack of lies.”

Luther’s fingers danced over the keyboard. “Most of the intel has been scrubbed or fabricated. The only thing I managed to get from the database is the weapons she stole, the Cyberspine, but I can’t get access to details.”

He paused, eyes narrowing at the screen. “There’s one lead. A codename—, ‘Project Helix’. But the files are heavily redacted.”

Ethan stood, rubbing his chin as he paced the room. “We know for certain she stole the Cyberspine. And looking by how desperate the CIA wants it back, it probably dangerous.”

Luther crossed his arms, eyes sharp. “But why? We have no idea what she plans to do with it.”

Benji swallowed, still unsettled. “Is she going to sell it? Use it herself? Or maybe destroy it?”

Ethan stopped and faced the others. “That’s what we need to find out. We capture her alive and get answers, no more guessing.”

Luther nodded. “Priority one: extract intel. Whatever she’s planning, we need to stop it.”

Benji added quietly, “And if she’s not the ruthless killer they described... maybe there’s more to this than just a simple theft.”

He didn’t sleep that night.

Not really.

He tried, God, he tried, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw hers. That glance across the server room. The sharpness of her movements paired with the softness of her hands when she held his. The ghost of her perfume, something warm and unexpected, lingered in his mind like static.

She hadn’t killed him. She could have. She didn’t even threaten him.

That should have been enough to shut it down, to keep things black-and-white. But it wasn’t.

Benji turned in bed again, groaning into his pillow. Enemy, he reminded himself. She’s still the enemy.

But some part of him, deep and stupid and stubborn, hoped she wasn’t.

[moutheyes]

gelboys cinematography go brrr

I don't have a way (or time tbh) to do this coherently but I did want to point out some of the visual aspects of gelboys that have invigorated my brain so far.

1. depth of field and visual texture

I loved how long the mall scene was and how it was shot to take maximum advantage of the space. in the first screencap below, the dialogue action is taking place all the way at the back, but because everything is more or less in the same field of focus (blah blah phone camera depth of field but i'm not getting into the technical nitty-gritty) the viewer can take in everything all at once, while also following the spots of color—baa's pink guitar case, bua's green sweater—that tell the eye exactly where to look. compare that to the second shot, which maintains a very similar framing: now the action has moved to the front, so the camera's focal point does naturally focus on fourmod and baa, but chia and bua are still in the same spot they were earlier, in the center of the frame, inescapable for both the viewer and fourmod. you get so much information from every single shot, and the way the action moves forward and backward in these spaces to create visual texture in this show is so pleasing to me.

2. ambient + diagetic nighttime lighting

I was SO happy about this. we always complain about how people in QL are always sleeping with the lights on but the gelboys team is out here showing us you can have it all! you can have a realistically dark room that utilizes natural sources of ambient lighting! in this scene, there's the various LED computer lights, the phone screen, the lava lamp, and the street lights coming in through the window. that overhead shot with the phone screen illuminating fourmod's face through the glass table is one of my favorites from the show so far.

3. montage of decorative elements

serves a few purposes: scene transitioning and shorthand exposition (fourmod suggested they all get gel nails for the performance so the implication is that these are the designs they chose), reinforcing the visual motif, and revealing the individuality of the characters. the bassist seems to be more minimalist compared to baa and fourmod, but even they have different decoration styles, with baa repping his favorite girl group, while fourmod goes for cute and hodgepodge (and changes his mind quite a bit—stickers and nails are good for the fickle-minded because nails grow out and stickers are generally easily removable).

4. dirty framing (with additional layers)

semi-related to the first point, but the use of dirty framing to show both context and conflict is so effective. back to the mall scene—fourmod seething while creeping on chian and bua via spotify playlist was a pretty classic use of this, but when he comes back a third time (these are unprecedented levels of downbadness, I'm afraid), the crowd action has surged to the front and grown even more chaotic. now, not only are there more people between fourmod and the object of his obsession, but this time he's behind the glass, and thus smaller in the frame—an even more isolated position.

also want to shout out my favorite dirty shot from ep 1; the scene is populated with students but the framing of bua and chian's faces in the foreground keeps the viewer grounded, and I especially love the second frame, where you can only see fourmod's eye.

oh! and these; the amount of contextual information the viewer gets here is so pleasing. the intense flirting is the centerpiece, but the framing and body movement also shows you baa's annoyance/displeasure one moment, followed by fourmod's other friends playing documentarian. the social aspect of how this is all unfolding—not only the use of social media, but the monitoring of said social media as well as real-life interactions—adds additional textual layers on top of all the visual layers in this show. it's so good I wanna cry.

[waterlilyvioletfog]

Notes on Criston Cole in 2x02

I was fascinated by Criston Cole in this episode. We don’t really see much of him in ep. 1 so I really wasn’t sure what to do with him and his current choices. This episode we see him a TON and everything in it had me sitting up, eyes sparkling, stupid grin on my face like OH HO HO!! We’re doing good tv!!

More below cut.

1- Fabien Frankel’s Acting

So, last episode, many people noted how Criston generally seems completely blank, no expression, dead eyed. I think this episode confirmed for me that this is a conscious choice by Fabien Frankel, not a reflection of a bad actor or director— Jared Padalecki half-acting in 90% of his scenes for the last several seasons of Supernatural THIS IS NOT!! (Sorry, spn is one of my other natural habitats. The comparison is right there for me.)

There are two smaller moments where we see these really interesting bits of physical acting letting us in on Criston’s internal thoughts even while he’s got the dead face on— I think we should be thinking of this as his Kingsguard Face, roughly equivalent to the customer service smile, but for bodyguards— Criston doesn’t want anyone EVER to know what he’s thinking and feeling unless what those things are can be summed up as “bloodthirsty shark dog with knives pointed at you” (more on this later).

These two moments are first, when we see the servants clearing out the bedroom and Criston flinches away from the sight of Jaehaerys’s bloody mattress. It doesn’t look like a flinch in the way that, say, Emma D’Arcy’s flinch when the door slams closed behind Daemon after the fight does, but it’s an uncalculated movement away from something distressing nonetheless. The scene is basically just this— we see the room coming down, we see Criston, we see the mattress, we see the flinch, there’s like one line of dialogue, the scene ends. The scene has very little function except, one, to show us background minutiae and detail that bring the world and the moment to life, and two, to let us see Criston away from Alicent, Otto, Aegon, and Aemond. It’s a moment that lets us into Cole’s interiority, his guilt.

This guilt is articulated clearly later, when he says to Alicent that nothing can absolve him of what he has done. After Alicent closes the door on him, the camera pans back to Criston where we get the second piece of physical acting that fascinated me— Criston is shaking his head ever so slightly, as if trying to push away thoughts creeping in. This is the moment that really sealed for me the idea of Criston’s Kingsguard Face versus the actual interiority of the character as articulated by Frankel. Essentially, just because Criston’s busy not projecting anything doesn’t mean that Frankel isn’t trying to convey something to the audience in that moment. Criston’s dead eyes and stupid face are a front. There are three scenes where we see something other than this front, and I’d like to look at them more closely.

2- Promotion

We’ve all memed hard on this moment— the scene where Aegon fires Otto and says, “oh?? I need a strong hand??? Well!! Guess what!! I’m promoting— him!”

[camera focus shifts to show Criston Cole standing there like🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️]

(I cackled.)

As usual in any scene where Cole isn’t actively radiating malice, he’s mostly expressionless, serving in his capacity as bodyguard. However, if you look at his face, you can see that his expression isn’t actually “blank” so much as it is “poleaxed”— another thing which has been deservedly memed on. It’s still a minute expression, but it’s visibly different from his standard 🫥 face.

Here the significance of the expression serves a different purpose than in other scenes. Here, Criston’s obvious surprise and mild befuddlement function as a way to hammer home Aegon’s impulsivity and irresponsibility. Criston’s been thinking for the last 36 hours that he got a toddler killed by fucking the king’s mom, and now, after ZERO PRIOR DISCUSSION, has gotten his second insane promotion in like three months maximum.

He’s gone from Kingsguard No. 2 to Lord Commander to the fucking Hand of the King. Criston was fully prepared to be LC of the KG— at most, Criston is expecting to be a crucial lieutenant and battle commander in non-aerial combat for the Greens. Now, as Hand, he would get to decide which battles get fought where by who. Oh, and he has zero administrative skills, so jot that one down.

3- Punching Bag

I talked before about how the turn in Alicent and Criston’s relationship left me with mixed emotions. This scene— the ending scene, notably, which I respect as a denouement and to avoid breaking the flow of the Rryk Fight Plot— helped things fall into place for me.

Criston is waiting inside Alicent’s bedchamber, armor off. If I had the time and energy (or if anyone else has the time and energy…? 👀) I would love to do a post looking at Criston with him armored versus unarmored, because I think the pattern will show that, generally, when he is literally vulnerable he is usually also personally vulnerable.

But I digress— the bigger point I’m trying to make is that Criston, who just kind of got a toddler killed by fucking the king’s mom and also just got promoted over said queen’s dad for a position he’s not qualified for, has shown up wearing pajamas in her room. This man is expecting intimacy. He has prepared himself for it by removing his armor before she even enters the room. There can be no pretense for this. This is about as close to reclining naked, oiled up, on a bed of rose petals, as Criston Cole’s gonna get. Alicent initiates the scene by storming over and getting physical, but I think in his own way, he’s asking for it. Criston plays at passivity, but the point of the scene is to show that he’s very much in it with her.

The scene itself is without dialogue, no recriminations. I think Criston and Alicent have said all that can be said earlier— “What do you take me for?” “One who seeks absolution.” “There can be none for what I have done.”— and this is what’s left: guilt and pain, tangled with a desperation for human connection and someone who understands. Last episode, the commentary talked about how Criston functions as Alicent’s punching bag, and in this episode we see that both with her actually hitting him and I think also with the fact that they keep having sex, re-enacting the thing that they’re feeling guilty about. It’s a way to keep self-flagellating, keeping the wound open so they can atone for their sins by constantly feeling the guilt.

If it works for them, hey. Fair enough.

4- That Bitch

This is the scene that had me GIGGLING, eyes sparkling, stupid grin on my face, kicking my feet, THRILLED. Criston Cole, my dear friend, my evil bitch.

What many people who find themselves bewildered by the genuine Team Green fandom fail to recognize is that, apart from Team Black suffering a lot of iffy writing in s1 that made them uninteresting, most people who like Team Green like them BECAUSE they are not nice people (Helaena excepted 🙂‍↕️😌🙏💜). They are not uniform in this un-niceness, either— Alicent pontificates and pines and looks guilty, Otto calculates and schemes in a very Lawful Evil manner, Larys manipulates and schemes creepily, Aegon is taking notes from Theon Greyjoy, Aemond is an anime villain who just wants his mommy to love him and his brother to say sorry and also to bite people in half with his dragon and maybe get his uncle to fuck him idk we’ll get back to that, and Tyland is an Econ Major. There’s a looooot in there!

Criston is a violent person who for about 95% of his time currently cannot express any of the sheer hatred, rage, malignance, resentment, or pettiness that he is feeling, because he is Too Busy Doing His Fucking Job, where such emotions are a hindrance. Set Criston Cole in a battlefield melee, and he’s fucking set. Set Criston Cole in front of a door for six hours and he’s about ready to die.

In season 1, we saw how Criston found outlets for this— beating men to death, antagonizing the Strong boys in the yard, and getting into fights with Harwin. But now, he’s older, and now, he’s the Lord Commander (though soon!! Soon!!!!) and he can’t do any of that because everyone in King’s Landing is, for better or worse, functionally on Team Green and therefore un-fuck-with-able.

So what’s a man to do when he wants to lash out? The old classic— take it out on the underlings.

People have already said this, but the way the light comes into Criston Cole’s eyes when he’s guilt-tripping his brother-in-arms into either killing Criston’s ex or committing suicide by cop is genuinely incredible. Criston doesn’t even really think Arryk harbors any traitorous inclinations— he just has the excuse of it theoretically being a concern and theoretically having a built-in plan if he needs some justification. Aegon swallows the plan easily enough before Otto forces him to think about it.

Criston gets his co-worker killed and he looks ALIVE while he’s doing it.

It’s clear, too, that Criston lashing out like this at the other Kingsguard isn’t unusual. First, there’s how Arryk reacts to Criston initially entering the room like “oookay. Here we go. While I’m eating breakfast. This fucking guy.” which is telling in and of itself, but could have been a personal acting choice from Arryk’s actor. The bigger clue to this being a regular occurrence comes when Criston hits the table and IMMEDIATELY all the Kingsguard FLEE. THE. SCENE. They don’t exchange looks, they don’t say anything, they know that the best they can do is clear out before they get caught in the crossfire. They know, each and every one of them, exactly who Criston is and how he acts, and they are NOT about to get in the way of their evil boss when he’s on a rampage.

Criston, my guy, you are so awful and I love you. Congrats on getting your co-worker killed. It looked like fun.

Looking forward to the next few weeks when we start to see the Criston-Aegon Hand-King duo in action! I’m sure that everything will go SUPER smoothly and no one will get killed and everything will be fiiiiiinnneeee.

[about-faces]

Batman: Caped Crusader, Episodes 1-2 thoughts (SPOILERS)

First things first, Harvey is as bad as I’d expected. I honestly can’t tell whether this is worse than the version we got in the last Timm-produced animated Batman show, “Beware the Batman.” That Harvey was a humorless prick straight out of the William Atherton school of jerkasses, while this one is a smug sleazebag who would be someone you’d love to hate if he weren’t also a complete inversion of a great tragic hero turned villain.

I’m just so sick of people portraying Harvey as a politician first and foremost, performing for the cameras and thinking about his career ambitions. I’m sick of him being a corrupt asshole and even an authoritarian. I’m sick him being two-faced, when the irony of his character is that he himself never WAS. Now that that’s out of my system, I’ll move on, because I know he has an arc in store that may prove more interesting than the usual Asshole Harvey takes.

They tried several things with the Penguin, and I’m not sure they gelled into anything that worked for me this time out. Making her a woman, that’s no problem, and I appreciate her classic style and appearance in a time when everyone just wants to turn Cobblepot into a boring Tony Soprano knockoff.

Ultimately, though, it all just served to make her a standard “Ma Barker” archetype. You know, the alleged matriarchal crime boss who was killed by Hoover’s FBI, who may have dragged her name through the mud to excuse their killing of an old woman? There used to be several takes on her in pop culture, although nowadays the only famous one is probably Ma Beagle from “DuckTales.”

With that in mind, they should have just cast Margo Martindale. Excuse me, didn’t use her full name: Beloved Character Actress Margo Martindale. Minnie Driver is a fantastic actress (I’m still mad that “The Riches” was not only cancelled but totally forgotten), but it was a waste not to let her use her real accent. As it was, she was fine, but she didn’t bring anything special to match the physical design. As an actress, she deserved more to play with.

Also, “Oswalda” is a terrible fake name. Like come on guys, you can do better. That’s on par with Revolver Ocelot’s real Russian name being “Adamska.”

The biggest problem with this take on Penguin is that she’s set up as some kind of brilliant mastermind, only to act incredibly stupid, reckless, and gullible. She kills not one but two innocent goons, including her own son, without so much as an investigation or even keeping tabs on the suspected rats to use them as pawns against Thorne! To paraphrase Dijkstra from the “Witcher” books, you don’t kill spies, you USE them. You feed them misinformation! You blackmail them into being double agents! This Penguin is bad at her job, so no wonder she loses everything within hours. It’s amazing she was able to build a crime empire in the first place!

I also dislike Bullock being a corrupt cop in the mob’s pocket. That fits Flass perfectly, but Bullock? Fuck no. Bullock IS dirty, but he’s dirty in a very acceptable way to cops. He’s brutal, he cuts corners, he’s crass, and he’s probably not above planting or concealing evidence, but selling out to the mob? Hell no. That’s just wrong. Hate that choice. Unless it’s a misdirection. This show sure does love its misdirections from what I’ve seen so far.

Batman himself is… fine. He’s Batman. He’s not a bad Batman. He’s serviceable but unremarkable. But at least he wasn’t an irritating asshole, which is more than I can say for most Batman depictions these days. I liked Bruce trying his “falling off a boat” joke a second time, delivered verbatim after it flopped with Barbara.

Barbara being a defense attorney is a rather contrived choice, one that gets to put her at odds with Harvey while also giving her a professional in with both Batman and Gordon. Essentially, she’s in the role Harvey Dent is supposed to play. Except here she’s a defense attorney, which SHOULD put her at odds with her dad, since lawyers and cops don’t seem to like one another, for SOME reason!

And Harvey, even as District Attorney, can’t be in the role of legal ally to either Gordon, because the story is far more focused on making him a mayoral candidate who throws people under the bus for his own advancement! Feh.

Anyway, that was episode one. It was fine, I guess.

The screenplay is by novelist and DC veteran Greg Rucka, so of course Renee Montoya is the central focus. Seeing her interact with Sleazebag Harvey gave me war flashbacks to what Rucka did with Renee and Harvey in the comics: setting them up with a poignant dynamic of tenuous respect and kindness before dashing it all with “Gotham Central: Half a Life,” which solidified the perception of Harvey as a creepy, obsessive stalker for a generation of fans. That version of them was very much of display here. Sigh.

Also, Lucius Fox is Bruce’s lawyer now? Why? And also, what the hell? God, poor Lucius. He starts off in comics as the guy actually running Wayne Enterprises, then “Batman: The Animated Series” makes him Bruce’s right-hand-man, then Nolan and Goyer get the inspired idea to make him the Q to Bruce’s 007, while the comics don’t know what to do with him and even make him an authoritarian to cause friction with his vigilante son, and now this? It’s such a random choice. There’s no reason why this character should be Lucius. Hell, Lucius could have shown up there WITH the lawyer and that would have been fine. As it is, it’s just weird.

That said! I overall liked this episode an awful lot! For DECADES now, I’ve wanted to see someone remember that Basil Karlo was an older actor in the classic horror movie vein (his name is literally a combination of Basil Rathbone and Boris Karloff), but ever since “Batman: The Animated Series,” everyone has just tried to make him BTAS’ Matt Hagen. Like, I really liked the “One Bad Day” issue for Clayface, where he gradually killed his way to the top of Hollywood stardom, but even that was still BTAS Hagen, the Serious Actor, not Karlo, the old horror ham actor.

But with this episode, someone finally drew on the old Hollywood horror roots of the character, and they found a way to combine his shape shifting abilities into the mix! I’m so happy!

Of course, this is me, so I still have criticisms. Like, I think it was unnecessary to frame it as a mystery, because that added unnecessary complications. I know the original Clayface story was a whodunnit and you can’t do that now that everyone knows that Karlo is Clayface. I was annoyed by the misdirection of Karlo’s “death,” in part because I feared this would be another Clever Subversion, just like how the animated adaptations of “Gotham By Gaslight,” “Hush,” and “The Long Halloween” purposely went against expectations from the source material in stupid ways. Hell, they’re doing the same thing now with Penguin (“But wait, there’s a twist: she’s a woman!”) and Harvey (“But wait, there’s a twist: he’s an asshole!”), so I was afraid this Clayface would end up being someone else entirely. I was okay with it in the end, but I’m annoyed at the cheap fakeout as a plot point.

Furthermore, I don’t get why Basil disguised himself as the doctor (whose name I don’t remember) for the benefit of the actress (whose name I don’t remember) he had chained up in his hideout. What benefit was there in making her think he was the doctor? She was already aware she was a prisoner and was scared, so why the facade? It served no purpose in context, only just to misdirect the viewers.

This is what happens when you try to make something a mystery when it would work better as a thriller. Stop trying to wow audiences with twists and surprises when you could just be focusing on telling a good story. So what if everyone figures out Karlo is Clayface? Who cares! Just go with it! Let them be in on it while Batman and Montoya figure it out themselves, that’s where the tension lies! Stop trying to be clever.

Regardless, I really liked this episode. I want this to now be the canon comics origin for Basil Karlo’s Clayface. Just explain that the treatments for his face gradually affected his whole body, and boom, you’ve successfully explained how classic Slasher Clayface became Mud Monster Clayface. This is how Karlo should always be written from now on. If you really want a sensitive, angsty lug Clayface, bring back Hagen. Let Karlo be the gloriously hammy monster with aspirations of stardom.

[dark-elf-writes]

Write more biblically accurate Hawks you coward

“I’m going to regret asking this? But how?”

For his part Hawks didn’t so much as look up at the question, still sitting cross legged on his desk happily munching away from the bucket of fried chicken resting in his lap like he belonged there. It was almost enough for Vlad King to decide to try his luck at strangling the new Number Two hero… almost.

“How am I so handsome? Genetically lottery.”

Vlad sighed, long and soul deep. “How did 1-A convince you to cover yourself in googly eyes and serve as their high priest.”

That actually got a laugh out of Hawks. Bright and sharp. As sunning as his frequent displays of falling feathers and twice as deadly. “Convinced? Vladdy baby, I offered.”

A million questions jumped to his tongue. Why? What did Hawks get out of it? Why those kids? How the hell did Hawks have the time to humor them when he should be patrolling? Why the fucking eyes? The only thing that managed to trip its way over his clumsy tongue, however was, “Don’t call me that.”

A scoff around another bite of chicken, a dismissal of he had ever heard one, but Vlad stayed rooted to where he was. It was his desk that Hawks had taken over if nothing else. After a minute, and once the chicken bones had been picked clean and tossed in a perfect arc into the garbage can across the room, Hawks sighed.

“Look, I don’t expect someone like you to get it and honestly I don’t care enough to try to put it into words that you might actually understand, so let me tell you everything you need to know: those kids are different. Special even. That’s why I offered.”

Vlad blinked. “That’s it?”

“As far as you need to be concerned, yes. I think they’re interesting. They think the eyes are funny. Everyone except you wins in the end.”

“And you expect me to just accept that?”

All at once the air in the room changed. Hawks didn’t move. Didn’t rustle a single feather or set the bucket of fried chicken to the side. Still, Vald could feel the danger pouring off of him in waves. Could all but taste it on his tongue. He remembered then who Hawks was other than the odd little man that broke into UA every other week or covered himself in plastic eyes for the apparent delight of children he found “interesting”. He was Japan’s Number Two Hero hand picked and trained by the Commission themselves to be the ultimate idea of a hero. He took the missions no one ever heard about, taking care of all of the Commission’s dirty little secrets, then washed the blood from his hands and came out to pose for the cameras, the perfect irreverent pretty boy once again.

When Hawks smiled at him that time, it was nothing short of a threat. “It’s the answer you’re being given. I don’t care if you accept it or not.”

Vlad couldn’t say a word if he wanted to. Couldn’t drag his eyes away from the man, the predator, in front of him either.

Behind him, the door opened. Hawks didn’t look away from him when he spoke. “How’s it hanging, Eraser? Miss me?”

Great. Now Vlad was stuck between two eldritch abominations that wanted him dead. This was exactly how he wanted his afternoon to go.

Something sailed through the air, and Hawks caught it without looking, causing a merry jingle. When those eyes finally did leave Vlad’s face, slowly like they were savoring every second of his discomfort and wanted to draw it out just a bit longer, all of the tension left with it. Hawks was just a man again, sitting and enjoying lunch on a desk that wasn’t his.

Hawks snorted at the pack of little plastic eyes in his hand. “I thought I didn’t count as supervision, Eraser.”

“You don’t. Fuyumi will also be there.”

“Oh? The Princess?” Hawks’ smile went sharp in a completely different way.

Behind him, Eraserhead snorted. “She will eat you alive.”

Hawks laughed, bright and easy and so at odds from the animal stillness mere moments before. “As fun as that sounds, I’m gunning for her big brother and nothing pisses him off more than someone flirting with his sister.”

Vlad was out of the room before Eraser could respond again, wisely deciding that the desk was well and truly no longer his.

[kristinamae093]

Ghosted

Ghosted - Family Ties (Chapter Thirteen)

Series Summary - Prince Liam fell for Riley Brooks hard and fast. A marriage filled with love and devotion was within his reach, but everything changed when she vanished just before the end of the social season. As everyone voices their concerns regarding her scandalous departure, a confession from an unlikely source turns Liam's world upside down and makes him question everything around him.

Book/Pairing - TRR - Liam x f!MC (Riley Brooks)

A/N 1 - This AU starts right before the beginning of the engagement tour. There is a two-month lapse between the coronation and where we pick up, but we will stray from canon. Please excuse any errors found. Not beta'd.

Characters belong to Pixelberry.

Tags - @choicesficwriterscreations

It's another long one 😬👉👈🥹. Listen I'm only slightly sorry, lol. A lot is happening here, LOL.

A few evenings later, what would have been a polo match in Portavira was canceled, and instead, a small, intimate memorial took place for Penelope near the water. The forecast for the day perfectly matched the melancholy atmosphere, as storm clouds rolled in and painted the sky in dark hues of blue and gray, the crisp breeze causing the temperatures to drop well below average. 

The nobility mourned alongside the family, but whispers of what happened and why spread like wildfire. An official announcement about her death was released, but the details were incredibly vague; they wanted to withhold that information until they had someone to hold accountable. Emmaline and Landon cooperated with Ray, who worked around the clock to find some kind of suspect or a clue to lead them to one.

Liam was confident Ray would promptly produce an answer. Olivia helped him scour the crime scene from top to bottom, but little clues remained. However, Penelope’s note had fingerprints on it and her body showed prominent signs of a physical altercation, all of which pointed to her trying to fight back. The coroner extracted DNA from underneath her fingernails and found bruising and discoloration on her forearms and shoulders. He concluded this case was a homicide, which didn’t come as a surprise to anyone. 

Every ounce of evidence was sent off for further analysis, and everyone anxiously awaited the results. The cross reference in the national security database would surely produce a name to match those fingerprints, and they hoped it would put them one step closer to unraveling the chaotic web around them. Ray looked at the surveillance system but found someone deleted the footage from the camera positioned outside of Penelope’s room for a certain period — no doubt when whoever took her life was inside. 

They had a time frame, which was at least a start, but that was the only thing they knew.

Ray did as asked and backtracked to look into Rhonda’s demise. Liam was correct in his assumption that most of the damning evidence was long gone, but they confirmed the legitimacy of the second report they found; Bastien’s fingerprints were indeed on the murder weapon. Although they remained unsure of where the brutality initially took place, Bastien would face charges of homicide — and more — as the story unfolded, and Liam intended to serve him multiple platters of cold, hard justice. He was being monitored at a local hospital under a continuous watch from three heavily armed guards and medical professionals. 

Liam told the guards if Bastien miraculously disappeared, they would face charges of aiding a dangerous criminal, even going as far as threatening to make them stand trial for treason. He didn’t use the term hate lightly, but he hated Bastien and was determined to make him stand before God and everyone to take accountability for what he’d done. His doctors had no choice but to put him into a medically induced coma while they tried to stabilize internal bleeding from Liam’s relentless assault, but when he woke, he would get moved to a permanent cell. 

They still knew who held that kind of control over Bastien, and that was Constantine. Liam avoided him at all costs in the short time since that revelation. He wanted to question him and knew he needed to, but he honestly didn’t know how he could remain calm and keep his head level, and this wasn’t something he could send Olivia to do; he needed to hear it, straight from the horse’s mouth. However, he genuinely didn’t want to hurt the man who gave him life, but if it came out that he harmed or acted against Riley, his body might react without a second thought and he knew that would not be pretty. Perhaps he should have kept his cool with Bastien to get more information, but he didn’t regret taking out some of his aggressions; if anything, it was a release he didn’t realize he needed. 

Since Ray was now officially investigating the homicides, Olivia took over the search for Riley and Tariq. She wasn’t as skilled as Ray in tracking missing persons but had some basic knowledge. Her results were the same as his — there were no traces of either. She contacted the airport and requested security footage for the date and time Bastien specified, but unfortunately for them, he told the truth when he said he dropped her off in a blind spot; the SUV wasn’t on camera and Riley was nowhere to be seen.

She watched the footage from every angle until the sun broke out and illuminated a nearly empty parking lot, but never saw a single sign of anyone relevant. 

They dissected the file ‘Operation Ghost’ from top to bottom for every detail. It held no other useful information, but enough to charge Bastien with murder and prove Riley did not disgracefully leave with another suitor. Technically, it was enough to clear her name, but it did nothing to ensure her safety or help them locate her. Her phone also received a thorough examination but uncovered nothing of importance.

Liam knew he could not wait any longer because time was of the essence, and they needed answers; he had to corner Constantine and demand an explanation. It crossed his mind more than once that his father could know something, but he shook it off, concluding there was no way Constantine would do something of that nature. In retrospect, he was the reigning monarch at the time of the incident; something of this magnitude couldn’t have gone completely undetected, especially if Bastien was involved. The thought alone shredded his fragile heart, but he pieced it back together with bandaids and pushed forward. 

Liam’s mental state was fluctuant, at best. He felt unending guilt for allowing all of this madness to happen, and that pit doubled in size with every passing hour. If he had been more attentive and alert from the beginning, none of this would be happening. Innocent lives were taken all too soon from a path of unrestrained fury, and he truly felt like that blood lay on his hands. Not to mention Riley’s heinous assault rested heavily on his conscience, creating wave after wave of remorse mixed in with soul-consuming rage. His out-of-body experience continued to taunt him; her screams and those vile chortles flowed through his mind on an insistent loop, taunting him with shreds of the truth, but he still couldn't put a face to that man's voice. And now, he had the added stress that she suspected he ordered her assault. He hoped she wouldn’t believe the lie, but without seeing her, he automatically jumped to the worst-case scenarios all the way around. 

They decided Liam and Leo would quietly pull Constantine aside and question him after the memorial concluded. There were only a few events left of the engagement tour, and now the wedding had much more at stake than only the future of the monarchy. It wasn’t a hunch they had confirmation for, but they just knew if they didn’t locate Riley before it was time for Liam to say I do, something drastic would happen. 

During the ceremony, Liam’s heart broke for the shattered remnants of a mourning family, but he couldn’t help but feel they were on the verge of a breakthrough. If his father was involved, this couldn’t climb the social ladder any higher, meaning Constantine could hold all the answers he desperately sought. He kept telling himself he would control his emotions regardless of what his father said, but everyone knew that was a lie, especially given his unfiltered and raw reactions as of late. Leo expected a knock-down, drag-out between Liam and their father, but he would stand beside his brother through hell and high water when it came down to it. 

As the service winded down, Liam made a bee-line for Constantine, who was deep in conversation with Godfrey and Adelaide, with Leo hot on his heels. He made it to the group and plastered on the politest smile he could muster, ignoring a glare from the duke. “Excuse me, but I need to speak with my father.” 

Constantine waved him off, barely even glancing in his direction. “Not now, son. I’m in the middle of a discussion.” 

Liam forcefully clenched his jaw and swallowed down the ball of rage forming in his throat. “I insist on speaking with you. It is urgent.” His eyes pleaded, but he didn’t make it too noticeable; just enough for Constantine to read because the last thing he wanted was to alert Godfrey and Adelaide. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to get irate and start screaming right then and there, but he was determined not to lose his head — at least until after his father answered some questions.

Constantine’s irritation rose, but he paused and observed Liam and within a second, his resolve weakened. For the first time in weeks, he truly took in his son and what he saw left him speechless; his sunken and darkened eyes with large bags underneath, his slouched posture, and he spotted Liam fidget with his hands, even though he tried to hide it. He knew Liam spent a few hours at the hospital recently, but since he was released so quickly, he assumed it was a farce, or someone being overprotective of the monarch. However, at that moment, he started to question his well-being.

Leo stood beside him, but wouldn’t look up to meet any of their gazes. Constantine heard he was around somewhere, but hadn’t seen him until the beginning of the ceremony. That wasn’t unusual, as Leo typically avoided his father like the plague, but he consistently interacted with Regina when he visited, and even she hadn’t mentioned him. His body language seemed nervous compared to the usual cocky demeanor Leo always wore, as he continuously bounced in place and mindlessly trapped his fingers against his thigh, raising multiple red flags.

Constantine had never seen his sons in such a way; the tension within them was palpable, making it impossible to ignore. 

He casually finished the rest of his wine, doing his best not to raise suspicion of their distress to the current audience. “Alright, boys, you have my attention.” He politely waved toward the lingering duke and duchess, before following Liam and Leo away from the crowd.

Liam silently led them down the beach, away from the surrounding commotion. While they walked, he racked his brain, trying to figure out the best way to approach this. When he ascended the throne, he never imagined it would lead him here — questioning the man he put on a pedestal his entire life about his one true love's disappearance. 

His heart pounded so hard in his chest that he was sure it would jump out at any moment, and the bites of finger foods he consumed tumbled in his stomach, threatening to reemerge. Every step crunched in the sand, the sounds echoing in the deafening silence. The ocean lapped against nearby rocks, but was the farthest thing from calming, white noise; every violent crash amplified the tension, the air nearly crackling from the combined stress and the distant lightning. 

They reached a small enclosure away from the gathered nobility and sat inside. As they did, Constantine quickly asked, “What’s going on? Are you alright, Liam? Were you in the hospital?” 

“I was, but that’s not important right now… ‘’ Liam trailed off, his voice soft; a stark contrast to the swell of emotions in his head. He remained silent momentarily before murmuring, “I need to ask you about something…”

“Alright, well, what is it?”

“Before I begin, will you promise to be honest with me? I — I’m begging you.” Liam pleaded, but wouldn't meet his father's curious gaze. His hands trembled violently, leaving him with no choice but to clasp them tightly in his lap. 

Constantine furrowed his brow. “I shall do my best, son, but what’s this pertaining? What’s the matter?” 

Liam glanced at Leo, his distress shining brightly, and his brother gave him a reassuring nod in return. He wanted so badly to believe his father was innocent, but deep down, he knew he wasn’t, and the thought alone made him fearful; he wasn’t sure he could stop the wrath that may ensue once the confession left his mouth, but he needed to hear it, regardless. 

With a deep, shaky breath, Liam began. “I think you know something about what happened with Riley. We know she didn’t leave with Tariq and the photos were fake. We found her things in Applewood with evidence to suggest she suffered an attack. Bastien has been working to cover it up and is responsible for that maid’s death — possibly Penelope’s too — to ensure this stays hidden. He confessed and told us you ordered him to engage… I don’t want to believe it, but I think he told the truth…” 

He sat forward but kept his vision cast downward, dread hitting the pit of his stomach like an anvil. “I need to know where she is. I don’t care about everything else, aside from the murders. Just — tell me where Riley is.”  

Constantine’s jaw dropped further and further the longer Liam spoke. Leo observed with a critical eye, but his father’s confusion only intensified throughout the story. Constantine was good at a stoic facade, but he was no actor and Leo knew all his little tells — he was genuinely shocked. However, there was guilt in his eyes; when Liam mentioned the scandal, Leo saw the flash in his gaze, but otherwise, he only showed bewilderment. 

“Liam… I —” Constantine started before he forcefully coughed, but quickly cleared his throat and tried again. “I admit to knowing of the scandal and her relocating back to New York, but I know nothing about the rest.” 

Liam’s vision turned crimson, but he squeezed his hands into fists and used every speck of restraint to deny the urge to act on his intrusive thoughts. “How? Bastien has been working to cover it up this entire time! I didn’t tell him to do that — you did, didn’t you?” 

“I — I did, son.” He stopped to take a steadying breath. “I told Bastien to bury the tracks, but I only approved the scandal and her returning to the States.” 

“You approved the scandal?” He repeated, his brows nearly touching his hairline. “What does that even mean?” 

“That’s correct —” Constantine admitted with his head held high. “But I assure you, I did not partake in any of these other things, nor did I know they were happening.” He sighed heavily when Liam and Leo merely stared at him, disbelief etched on their features. “Son, I knew how you felt about her — it was clear. If given the chance, you would have selected her as your queen, but I couldn’t let that happen…” 

“Why?” Liam demanded, his tone sharp and harsh. 

Constantine’s shoulders slumped, an air of melancholy clouding his expression. “I was afraid, Liam. Look at me — I’m withering faster than an apple rotting in the summer sun. I needed to do everything in my power to ensure you had a stable, capable queen to rule beside you.” 

Liam shook his head, the rosy hues in his complexion brightening with every sullen breath. His willpower teetered, hanging on by less than a thread. “Riley would have made an excellent queen. She thrived during the social season! She may not have been born royal, but she fit right in! Everyone accepted her! The people loved her!” 

“She was inexperienced, Liam.” 

“She could have learned everything she needed to know,” Liam bit out, his patience dwindling rapidly. Leo noticed and shifted in his seat, praying with everything in him that he wasn’t about to go postal.

“Inexperience equals weakness. I was protecting you.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Liam scoffed. 

“Liam, believe it or not, I only did it to protect you—” 

“So you made me turn my back on her to protect me? She’s in fucking danger because of you! I ignored her because you shoved this down my goddamn throat!” Liam yelled, not caring who heard.

Constantine winced at his volume but calmly responded, “I didn’t know she was in danger. Bastien told me—” 

“I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you.” Tears blurred his vision as his entire world came crashing down. He felt a fool for giving him the benefit of the doubt, but that was a mistake he wasn’t willing to make more than once. 

“Son—” 

“No, you — you’re not my father, not anymore. You threw my mother in my face so much, but look at you! What you’ve become would disgust her!” Liam seethed. “I should banish you right now for lying and betraying your own flesh and blood. Do I mean anything to you?!”

“You mean everything to me, son.” Constantine held his hands up in surrender but remained calm as a cucumber. “And I understand your anger, but I need you to listen to me for a moment—” 

“Fuck. You.” Liam growled. He got into Constantine’s personal space quick as lightning and grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him to his feet. “I hope you rot in hell, you spineless piece of shit.” 

Liam balled the fabric in his hands and bore his eyes into Constantine, who merely let it happen, but he didn’t recognize his son; Liam was nowhere to be seen, and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what this monster before him was. He’d never seen him so worked up, but knew he needed to calm him down so he could plead his case. 

Leo approached and rubbed Liam’s shoulder, gently pulling him from his enraged trance. “Li, man —” He gave him a sad smile as Liam faced him. He understood his brother’s fury over the situation, but Constantine hadn’t even started talking. Until they got useful information from him, he had to keep his cool — for Riley. His eyes pleaded with him, but he breathed a sigh of relief when Liam’s features softened as if he got the silent message loud and clear. 

Liam turned back to his father and held his intent gaze for a long moment before he pushed him away with a firm shove. The former monarch stumbled, but quickly regained his footing. 

Constantine straightened his jacket and sat back down while avoiding the judgemental glares from his sons. He took a deep, shaky breath before he softly started. “Do you remember what happened to your mother? Did you want something similar to happen to Lady Riley?”

“Look around!” Liam bellowed, his face red as a ruby. “It is happening, and you fucking did it!” 

Constantine sighed. “I told you, I knew of the scandal and her departure — nothing else. I ordered Bastien to send her back to New York so you both could start over.” 

“She never returned to New York!” Liam and Leo yelled in unison. 

Constantine furrowed his brow. “... Pardon?” 

“Bastien told us he left her for dead in a parking lot after Penelope drugged her, with a plane ticket, but she never went inside!” Liam hastily explained. “She didn’t board, and Bastien told us he later received all her forms of identification in a sealed envelope. We have no fucking clue where she’s at!” 

Constantine’s mouth fell ajar. “Bastien told you this?” 

“Yes! Are you really trying to sit there and tell me you didn’t know any of this?!” 

Constantine remained silent for a long moment, gathering his thoughts, but both Liam and Leo noticed his anger escalating; neither was aware his elevating state caused his already labored breaths to shallow themselves further. His chest tightened and a strange discomfort erupted and traveled the length of his spine, but he shook it off as best as he could, and focused on the need to prove his innocence.

But Constantine was having trouble keeping his composure because he realized he'd been played and lied to — that was abundantly clear. Someone took matters into their own hands and ignored a direct order, and he was unwilling to take the blame for that. Bastien was at their disposal but even he disobeyed his wishes. 

They went rogue. 

As he took in the deadly determination staring back at him in Liam’s eyes, he realized it was time to come clean. Whatever happened that night did not go according to plan; not his plan, anyway. 

“Liam — let me tell you what I know because I did not wish for any of those things to happen. As a matter of fact, I strictly forbid them…” 

Lythikos, during the Winter Ball

Constantine retired to the king’s suite much earlier than normal. Usually, he would keep Regina on the dancefloor until both of their feet ached, but he just didn’t have the energy. He insisted she stay at the gathering, as it was still fairly early in the night and one of them needed to be in attendance, but he couldn’t withstand another minute. He was exhausted and found his lung capacity was nowhere near what it should have been; no doubt from his recent cancer diagnosis. 

Since Liam’s social season was in full swing, he knew he needed to step down and let him take the position of reigning monarch. He and Regina made the difficult decision together, after hearing his condition was fatal. However, Constantine realized in doing so, he would dump a world of responsibility on Liam’s shoulders, and he remained uncertain if he could handle the pressure so soon after taking on a role that was never meant for him. 

Regardless, the suitors all proved themselves capable in one form or another; some more than others. He hoped Liam would make the best decision for Cordonia when the time came, but knew his heart already belonged to a specific candidate. He wanted to forbid Liam from picking her but realized he would ultimately follow his heart. And, at one point, Constantine defied his father and married Eleanor; to speak ill of their hypothetical union would make him a hypocrite, and he knew that. He tried to convince his son to be reasonable and view the situation from a governance perspective, but Liam couldn’t see anything past his puppy love.

Just as Constantine was about to begin his nighttime routine, a sharp knock echoed throughout the room. He furrowed his brow, as everyone knew not to bother him after he retired for the night unless it was an emergency. He hastily dashed to the door and swung it open to find a familiar face on the other side. 

“Your Majesty.” 

“Hello…” Constantine answered unsurely. “It’s been a while…” 

“I’ve kept myself rather busy these days.” Constantine’s face contorted, but before he could press, they continued. “Respectfully, I’m in a bit of a pinch for time.” His company heartedly chuckled. “Do you mind if I come in? I have a proposition for you. One where we both get something we want…” 

Constantine eyed his visitor for a moment, but ultimately let them inside as his curiosity got the better of him. He ushered them to the seats situated around the fireplace and took one across from his guest, a thick silence filling the air. “What is this proposition you speak of?” 

His companion took a short moment to collect themself but soon began with utmost certainty. “It’s clear who your son intends to choose at the end of this… Lady Riley.” 

Constantine noticed the hint of distaste in their tone. “Yes, I believe that as well…” 

“And you’ve done nothing to stop it? You and I both know Madeleine is the one who rightfully belongs on the throne.” 

“Really?” Constantine challenged. “I’m not sure I understand why—” 

“She is a commoner, sir — nothing good will come from that for anyone.”

“I agree with you to an extent, but what am I supposed to do?” Constantine shrugged. “I’ve tried speaking with Liam about it, but he’s not listening.” 

“He’s thinking with the wrong head.” 

“I concur, but again, how am I supposed to remedy this situation? It’s not like I can send her home before he has the chance to choose her!” 

“Perhaps you can.” 

His visitor smiled, and Constantine had never seen such a chilling sight. “Pardon?” 

“I have a plan… We set her up.” 

Constantine’s interest rose. “… How so?” 

“We get her alone, send someone to her room, and have a photographer waiting to capture a scandalizing scenario… I’m not sure where just yet, but we can dispose and erase all traces of her after.” 

“Dispose?” Constantine shook his head when his comrade nodded, completely stunned by the suggestion. “No, we will not be doing that.” 

His guest winced. “Perhaps not dispose, but only ensure she leaves and can never return.” 

“And how do you suggest we do that?” 

“We detain her somewhere — perhaps use the tun—” 

“No.” Constantine sternly interrupted. “I will not allow you to do such things to her. Staging a scandal I could agree with, but I will not let you imprison her simply because of her origins.” He scratched his chin, deep in thought. “Perhaps a ticket back to New York would suffice, instead.”

“We can’t just send her back to New York! She will surely find her way back, or Liam will—” 

“If Liam is heartbroken, he will let his duty guide him; that’s the only way he will leave her behind.” Constantine returned but kept his vision locked on the floor. 

“We can’t simply rely on breaking his heart!”

“I know my son — he’s emotionally driven. If he’s devastated, he’ll keep going…” Constantine admitted in a low voice. He felt guilty about even entertaining the idea; to manipulate his son and the situation, knowing how he felt about Riley, but the past would always be there to haunt him and he couldn’t let it go, no matter how hard he tried. 

“... So, you’re agreeing to the scandal?” 

Lady Riley’s presence was pleasantly surprising and she had undeniable chemistry with Liam. In another universe, he would eagerly support their relationship. However, the throne was not to be taken lightly; it was a dangerous position that would put not only her but Liam at risk as well. He’d already lived through one assassination attempt and buried his mother after her demise, yet he still entertained the idea of letting a commoner rule beside him. He didn’t understand this weakness could bring Cordonia crumbling to the ground, taking his heart and man-hood down with it.  

Constantine briefly thought back to the torturous months after Eleanor’s death — how heartbroken and hopeless he felt. Those were the darkest times of his life, and he truly didn’t know how Cordonia wasn't brought to its knees then. He wanted to protect Liam from experiencing that type of pain at all costs. A harmless scandal and sending Riley back to New York was a decent option; he would ensure Liam continued for the greater good of Cordonia and, eventually, she would become a distant memory. 

His country and his son would be safe, and Constantine could rest in peace, knowing he did everything to protect what was important to him. 

However, he didn’t know if he could genuinely trust the person before him. The solutions they suggested were extreme, and he did not wish for those to come to fruition. On the other hand, he recognized his time left dwindled rapidly, and as it was, he physically could not make any plan come to fruition and he couldn’t step away at such a crucial moment either. He needed to ensure the transition from monarch to monarch went smoothly, especially after Leo's sudden abdication.   

There was no other choice than to take a chance and hope for the best. 

“Will you be present during the operation?” Constantine questioned with a curious eye.

“Yes, sir. I will make sure everything goes according to plan and they’re removed from the premises after.” The response came immediately, with not even a single second of hesitation.

“They? Who’s the other?”

“Lord Tariq — he’s the perfect candidate. He’s naïve enough to go along but still noble. The goal is to photograph them in a compromising position.” 

“Compromising how?” 

“That will depend on how the situation flows, I suppose, but something to disgrace her and make your son and the nation believe she left to be with Tariq. We’ll find a media outlet or something to leak the story and soon, her name will leave a bitter taste in everyone’s mouths — including Liam.” 

“And how will we enlist this photographer? We can’t do it ourselves — it’s too risky.”

“I'll request the aid of Lady Penelope.” 

Constantine’s brows rose. “And you expect she will agree? What will you offer in return?”

“Don’t worry about her,” His guest smirked. “I have my ways, sir… She will comply with the request willingly.”

After a moment of deep consideration, Constantine slowly nodded. “I can agree to this, but perhaps we should let her finish out the season to avoid raising suspicion.”

His visitor tensed. “Respectfully, I don’t see that as a viable option. If someone has the chance to get to her, they may convince her to stay. It has to happen before the end of the social season — at a random moment, without notice.”

Constantine stared off into the fireplace as he pondered that statement, but ultimately knew it was true. He could admit Riley was kind, funny, and incredibly smart, but those features couldn’t grant her the specific birthright she needed. He couldn’t let it happen; it wouldn’t end well for anyone involved, especially Liam and Riley. 

This had to happen. 

“I suppose you’re correct.” Constantine finally agreed with a heavy sigh. 

“She has to leave beforehand. It’s the only way we can make it work.”

Constantine bowed his head, overcome with a rush of various emotions, as their plan snapped itself into place. “... Alright, I’ll allow you to oversee the operation.”

“Marvelous!” His company grinned. “Perhaps you have a few guards to spare? Just to ensure everything runs smoothly… Maybe — Bastien?” 

“Alright — you have Bastien at your disposal to assist in whatever you may need and he will report to you, but he is to be in charge of Lady Riley’s departure at the end of the night.”

“As you wish, my liege… Just to clarify, you’re putting me in charge of this operation?” 

“I — am.” Constantine reluctantly agreed, but quickly added, “Do not make me regret it… Now, what of Tariq?” 

“I'll handle him. You and Bastien deal with the commoner.” 

“Okay, but neither of them is to be harmed in any of this, and I shall tell Bastien the same — do you understand?” He eyed his visitor critically, searching for any signs of ill intent, but found none.  

“I do, sir.” His guest snickered, a small notion the monarch didn’t notice. 

Constantine mindlessly nodded, sufficed by the answer. “This needs to happen fast — perhaps in Applewood, as it’s an older estate and it’ll be easier to have all of this go unnoticed.” 

“I agree.” 

Constantine inspected the person across from him once more, causing his cohort to shift in their seat. “Remember what I said — neither of them is to be injured, only removed — that is an order. And you had better make this quick and quiet — nothing that’s going to end up causing more harm than good.” 

“Understood, Sir… Now, what can we do about Duchess Olivia?”

“I ordered Bastien to ensure she went back to New York — safely, and he told me he did. I pushed the scandal on you because I assumed the plan came to pass as instructed. It wasn’t until this conversation that I realized they played me.” 

Liam couldn’t believe what he’d heard. It hurt him in a way he didn’t know was possible, to know his father acted against the woman he loved in such a way, even if he says his intentions were pure. Plus, the manipulation he suffered at the hands of the person who should’ve shielded him from the animosity shredded the frail remnants of their relationship. He felt the tear within his chest, as that father-son bond crumbled into a million pieces. He truly didn’t know who the man sitting across from him was, and couldn’t conclude if he could trust his confession. Constantine looked genuine, almost remorseful, as he spoke, but he knew his father could shift and mold himself to adjust to any situation.

That’s what snakes do best. 

“I don’t believe you,” Liam suddenly declared, breaking the tense stillness. 

Constantine’s shoulders sank. “Liam, I —” 

“No!” Liam shouted as he shot up from his seat to tower over his father. “You’re lying and I demand to know the truth!” 

“Look at me, Liam!” Constantine breathlessly pleaded. “What do I have to gain from lying at this point?! I’m dying! I never wished for harm to come to her — I only wanted to remove her from the situation—” 

Liam sardonically laughed. “Yeah, well they fucking did, alright!” 

“Liam, I apologize. I trusted the wrong person and—” 

“Me too — me too.” Liam shook his head, tears of rage burning his eyes. “How could you?” 

“Son —” 

“YOU LET THEM HURT HER!” Liam wailed, not caring if anyone could hear their altercation. 

“I didn’t! I specifically told them not to!” 

“But yet — you ordered Bastien to go along with it?” 

Constantine winced. “I did, but he never mentioned any of the additional things you speak of. I told him to cover up the scandal — nothing else. His job was simply to escort Riley to the airport and ensure it stayed quiet. Anything additional, he did under the supervision of someone who was not me.” 

“But you told him to clean it up?” Leo questioned. 

“Yes…” Constantine swallowed thickly, followed by a small coughing fit. He recovered quickly and continued, “But I didn’t know—” 

“Yeah, well, for once, Bastien understood the assignment — maybe even a little too well.” Leo retorted, completely blown away by Constantine’s admissions. He regained himself rather quickly, however, and a light bulb suddenly went off inside his head. “Have you ever heard the names Anton and Claudius before?” 

Liam froze, but centered his death glare on his father, watching for any waivers in his facade but  Constantine’s face only contorted, his confusion showcased brightly. “... Who?” 

Liam scoffed. “Keep lying and see what happens.” He laughed indignantly, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I’m not playing these games. I want to know the truth, and I want to know now.”

“I am being truthful with you. Listen to me, Liam — I never should have gone along with it and I am so incredibly sorry,” Constantine pleaded, but as he finished, his lungs screamed for air. He inhaled deeply, searching for oxygen, and found just enough to continue. “I never should have agreed, but I was afraid, and I let that fear guide my decisions in the matter.” 

“I do not accept your apology! You–you’re a monster!” Liam yelled, his voice cracking on the last syllable as one lone tear traveled down his cheek. 

“I — I know, son…” Constantine hung his head. “I regret the things I’ve done, even more so now that I know Lady Riley is potentially in danger.” He hacked again, but then forcefully clenched his jaw. “I told him not to…” He grumbled to himself, which Liam nor Leo heard. 

His lungs burned with every shallow breath, and his pulse steadily rose, causing his hands to shake and turn clammy. He wanted to blame his sudden change in state on nerves for being caught, but realized it ran deeper than that; something was wrong. A tight sensation in his chest made him feel as if a weight sat on top, growing in pounds by the minute, and every breath seemed to do the opposite of what it should. His windpipe slowly narrowed, and the erratic thump of his heart was so forceful, that he felt it from the tips of his toes to his temples. 

Leo interjected himself. “You don’t know where she is? Or Tariq? Really?” 

Constantine didn’t answer but stared off into space with furrowed brows as he recalled conversations, while simultaneously trying to catch his breath and settle his elevating state. He and his conspirator spoke only a few times regarding the ordeal, but every time, they subtly asked for insignificant details regarding a specific location within a few of the duchies. He never thought much of it because the areas were abandoned, never used, and inaccessible; but it would be possible if someone knew where it was, and he’d practically given them a detailed road map to it. 

His eyes widened as he slowly turned to Liam and spoke just above a whisper. “The tunnels…”

“You mean that old wives’ tale about underground passageways?” Leo returned. 

“It’s not a tale, but very real,” Constantine replied, matter-of-factly. 

“And you think that’s where she is?”

“It's a huge possibility. If you go deep enough, the passageways lead to cells, almost like a hidden dungeon. Our ancestors used them as torture chambers when someone spoke out of line against the monarchy, but those accusations are mostly hearsay. He kept asking about it when we spoke, but I didn’t make the connection.” Constantine coughed again, trying his hardest to hide his rapidly deteriorating state. 

Liam’s heart rate involuntarily quickened, the light at the end closer than ever before. “The tunnels?” 

“Yes… If you believe Lady Riley is still in the country, I would almost guarantee that’s where she is if you haven’t found her by now.” Constantine answered through a wheeze, but neither Liam nor Leo noticed, as they processed this new information. 

“Where? Which estate?” 

“I’m not entirely sure which duchies still have one. A lot of the dukes and duchesses opted to have them filled with cement long ago to erase the remnants of what their ancestors used them for. All I know is they are only accessible through a hidden door, likely on the outside, but it won’t be easy to find without knowing what you’re looking for. It will take you underground, but the chambers will have concealed doors as well. I know for a fact the one at the palace remains open, but Portavira and Ramsford are closed.” 

“Why is the one at the palace still open?” Leo demanded. “And how do you know so much about this if you’re ‘innocent’?” He air quoted.

“My father’s father brought forth plans to fill it, but uprisings started and it got lost in the hands of time. As far as my knowledge of it, I was young and curious once as well. There is a book in the library that has a lot of useful information on it, and I know for a fact that it has not moved from its spot on the shelf.”

“How?”

“Maybe I knew in my subconscious that something wasn’t right, and I wanted to ensure it was there so I knew it wasn’t being used to gain access.” Constantine shrugged. “As long as it was there, I didn’t have to face the possibilities of what I allowed to happen, I suppose.” 

“Yeah? How’d that work out?” Leo rolled his eyes but centered his attention on Liam. “Applewood, maybe?”  

“Yeah… Yeah — that makes the most sense, right?” Liam responded, his mind racing a million miles an hour. Every muscle in his body shook as wave after wave of adrenaline rushed through him. “Perhaps I’ll send teams to all the duchies.” 

“Not a bad idea — knock ‘em all out at once, and we can’t leave any stone unturned. And I think we should check all of them, despite what he claims.” 

“I agree, boys,” Constantine hoarsely interjected. 

“Don’t even act like you helped us at all. You knew about all of this and never said a word to me about it! And you had Bastien fucking me around this entire time!” Liam bellowed. 

Constantine let out a slow breath and spoke in a low, quiet voice. “I understand you’re upset. However, I truly thought she safely returned to New York. Bastien mentioned none of these things to me, nor you. Granted, perhaps I should have stayed more on top of the situation. I was aware of the deaths, but you never told me there was foul play involved or that you suspected Bastien. If you had come to me sooner, I would have told you what I knew.” 

“Yeah, I bet you would have.” Liam huffed.  

“I would have, Liam. I never meant for this to happen — all I wanted was to ensure you and Cordonia would be safe after I’m gone. It was my duty as Cordonia’s king—” 

“No, it wasn’t! And you’re behind Olivia leaving too?” 

“She’s far too irrational to sit on the throne, Liam. I knew if you had her as an option, you would choose her.” Constantine’s face contorted as the knife in his chest suddenly twisted. He somehow pushed through it, but the pain only flourished, alternating between sharp, sudden jabs and a dull, throbbing ache. “You still tried to select her, but I assumed she would speak to you and not leave without saying a word.” He breathed, his face turning a bright shade of pink.

“I don’t understand something—” Leo spoke with furrowed brows. “Why was all Riley’s stuff in Applewood?” 

“I didn’t have any part of that. I was not interested in taking things from her — I only wanted her to leave.” He wheezed. Liam and Leo both continued to glare at him, but their fury and curiosity blinded them from seeing their father’s deteriorating state.

“One more,” Leo went on. “If you were behind the scandal, why’d you drop it during the coronation of all moments?” 

“That was the only hiccup in the ordeal that I knew of; the timing. I realized Liam would have an adverse reaction, but it was supposed to be released early enough to give him some time to let the general shock wear off.” Constantine rasped, and that’s when Leo finally took notice of his father’s struggles. Despite his sideways feelings, a surge of concern bolted through him. 

“Wow…” Liam spoke before Leo could address their father's state. He shook his head, tears of rage and devastation stinging the corners of his eyes. “You played me like a goddamn fiddle and I let it happen. You had everything planned out, down to my emotional needs.” He indignantly laughed, the sound sending waves of uncertainty through everyone. 

“I — I’m sorry, son. I regret what I’ve done, and I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me for getting caught up in this—” 

“Don’t hold your fucking breath.” Liam snapped. 

“I’m willing to do whatever I can to help you find her, Liam.” Constantine held a shaky hand over his chest as the pain intensified, momentarily taking his breath away. Leo rose to his feet, torn between his brother's wrath and his father's struggles, but Liam continued before he concluded what to do.

“How can I trust you? You knew about all of this! I think you know much more than you’re leading on, too!” 

Constantine’s mind raced so fast, but he tried with all his might to fight off whatever was happening within his body. “I’ve told you all I know, son. I will gladly assist you in any way possible from here on out.” 

“You’re going to be lucky if you don’t wind up in the infirmary next to Bastien, or worse,” Liam snarled as he slowly rose from his seat. “Who?” 

“Pardon?” 

“Who was it? Who came to you that night in Lythikos?” Liam stalked toward him with his hands balled into fists at his sides, his steps loud and menacing. He didn’t even notice Constantine’s struggles — all he saw was the monster who destroyed his life and decimated everything he’d ever cared about. “This is your only chance to come clean because if I have to ask again, you won’t like how I get the answer.” He scowled. 

Constantine stumbled upright and took another ragged breath, but realized he was no longer getting any airflow. He coughed, but his hands flew to his neck after, helplessly clawing at his throat. He suddenly gasped for air and grabbed at the front of Liam’s shirt, his knees buckling under his body weight. His eyes were nearly black as the dilation swallowed his iris, but his sclera was tinted with a bright shade of pink.

“What the—” Liam started, but soon recognized the problem. Constantine’s complexion somehow went from a shade of red to white within an instant, his gasps becoming more panic-laced by the second. One moment they were face-to-face, but the fear Liam saw staring back at him momentarily took him aback; it wasn’t a terror rooted around being caught, but something much deeper. His body tensed, the hands securely holding onto his jacket turning white and shaking from the intensity of the seizing. Constantine choked on his saliva, struggling for air, but soon let out an anguished, blood-curdling cry.

The next instant, Constantine crumpled to the floor, his entire body going limp.

Before Liam or Leo could register what happened, the guard stationed close by was already on site. The man spoke into his earpiece and summoned medical professionals to their location, a frenzy of lights approaching in the distance nearly instantly. Constantine’s eyes were open but nobody was home, and before too long, the man had no choice but to start CPR. 

Liam could only stand, frozen in place, unable to focus on anything else. He wanted to look away so badly, but couldn’t gather the strength. He felt every push against his father’s chest as if it were his own, and his pulse soon matched the rhythm of the compressions. An overabundance of emotions filtered through him; betrayal, fear, anger, regret, and guilt. Constantine shredded their bond into a million pieces, and he couldn’t find it within him to be sad; he desperately wanted to feel any inkling of remorse that his father might have just taken his final breath right before him, but he wasn’t, and that made him question if he was a monster in disguise all along, too.

He fixated on the fact that Constantine knew who did this and, right now, he wasn’t sure he would get to hear that tale. His heart yearned for Riley, but every time he got even a drop of information, he only met an abrupt wall. He’d almost grown accustomed to having the tiny shrivels of hope dangled in his face and then yanked away, but this time, he couldn’t simply shake it off and pretend like they had the situation under control, because they didn’t.

The abyss of insanity Liam teetered for so long pulled itself dangerously closer. His father had aggressive, end-stage lung cancer, and something like this should come as no surprise. But — for his clock to stop ticking at that exact moment seemed too convenient and at some point, the term coincidence just couldn’t apply anymore. Any other time, he wouldn’t have questioned it, but he instantly fell into a pit of madness as he internally debated the facts.

He couldn’t decide if this was nature taking its course, or a different force pulling strings. 

[dearmura]

a token for a laugh

☆ cw. some swearing, not proofread

☆ pairings: idol! Ni-Ki × fem idol! reader

☆ genre: fluff, crack, arcade dates, idol au

☆ synopsis: both lacking content for both your groups, respectively, ni-ki and you opt for vlogging your date night at the arcade. though you suppose the death threats being passed back and forth would need to be edited out later...

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

"Damn riki, you're gonna suck that bad in front of the fans? What a pity" you tease, recording over his shoulder as he tries for the nth time to win Pac-Man

He quickly makes a glance at the camera, mustering up his best puppy eyes

"Guys this is who your idol really is: a bully" he fakes a cry as he turns back to the game, wiping away a fake tears, making you scoff

"Ya! Don't listen to him! He can't even win a game of Pac-Man" you turn the camera to face yourself to clarify (fans are crazy so they'd probably take it literally)

As if on cue, the sound of him losing is heard, making you cackle as you zoom in on the screen

"I didn't like this game anyways" he says through a pout as he stomps his way to the next game, making you coo

"Oh oh! Riki-san! I bet the fans wanna see you lose at air hockey~" you tease further, already propping the camera off to the side

"Oh it's so on angel" he says through a smirk, challenging you with his eyes, facing the camera soon thereafter

"Place your bets in the comments on who's gonna win" he speaks cheerily, making it obvious as he points at himself. You roll your eyes

"You know the rules pretty boy, first one to seven wins. Try not to cry too much when I beat your a-i mean beat you" You very horribly play off your curse, remembering you were still an idol with an image to uphold. He giggles at your antics, inserting tokens into the slot before serving the puck

Immediately, the game gets heated, both of you refusing to let the other win. Occasionally, either one of you would hit he puck so hard it would go flying, making you both fear it would hit the camera

After a first round that took way too long, he finally scored one over you, slipping the puck right past you. He forms an "L" with his hand over his head as he teases your loss

Ni-Ki 1 - 0 y/n

"Don't get too excited, it's just the beginning, pretty boy" you ground him, a smirk on your face at his look of disbelief

Wordlessly, he serves the puck again, trying to slip it past your guards once more but continuing to fail. Kids awaiting their turn probably ran off to the hoops by now with how long you guys were taking, not that you cared

In the middle of the round, your eyes lock for a second. You look down at the puck, then back at him and shoot him a wink. In an instant, the score is tied, making his eyes widen

Ni-Ki 1 - 1 y/n

"That's not fair! You cheated!" Riki insisted, making you only smirk more. You lean in over the playing board, speaking loud enough for him to hear but low enough for the camera not to pick it up

"Not fair that you're whipped for me? Huh, pretty boy?" You give him your most innocent eyes, making his blood boil

With a smile, you serve the puck, satisfied with his flustered state. Seeing him let out frustrated grunts each time he missed an opening just made you giggle more.

You clearly saw your affect on him as one

Ni-Ki 1 - 2 y/n

After

Ni-Ki 1 - 3 y/n

The

Ni-Ki 1 - 4 y/n

Other

Ni-Ki 1 - 5 y/n

The puck slid past him, eliciting a giggle out of you and an annoyed grunt out of him

Ni-Ki 1 - 6 y/n

He eventually gives up when he realizes he doesn't stand a chance against you. Taking the puck in his hand and sliding it past the goal, the buzzer goes off followed by a series of lights indicating that you won

Ni-Ki 1 - 7 y/n

Seeing a little pout on his face, you stop yourself from celebrating. Grabbing the tickets being dispensed, you hand them to the boy, making his face light up at your gesture

Pulling him aside from the camera's view, you figure plenty would need to be edited out anyway. Placing a hand on his nape to bring his ear closer to your lips, you whisper softly knowing he gets sulky after a loss

"What's mine is yours, darling. Now let me see that handsome face" you say before placing a peck on his lips, caressing the hand that held the tickets you gave him

Blushing intensely, he quickly clears his throat, walking back into frame to pick up the camera, making you chuckle before scanning your eyes over the arcade again. Your eyes immediately catch a bubblegum pink claw machine with god-awful, blinding florescent lights, stuffed to the brim with cinnomoroll plushies

With a squeal, you immediately run to get a closer look, pressing your forehead against the glass like a child looking into a candy store. Looking back from where you ran, you see Riki running to catch up to you, camera in hand filming everything

Seeing the entranced look on your face, he can't help but coo. Taking advantage of his softness toward you, you muster up your best puppy eyes, tugging gently as his sweater sleeves. You weren't the type to do aegyo. Hell, you hated it but, you had your priorities

Your lame excuse at convincing him must of worked as he took your face in his hand and squished your cheeks, cooing at your cuteness

"Consider it yours, princess" he whispers softly in your ear, handing you the camera with a smile

Inserting the tokens into their designated spots, Ni-Ki strategically jolted the stick around, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth in concentration, making you coo. You couldn't help but film his focused face, knowing that the fans would find it just as adorable as you

Camera in hand, you caressed his hair, cheering him on as the claw dropped, grabbing hold of one of its ears but almost immediately dropping it. You frown but still cheer him on for trying, ready to walk away

"No no no, I said I'm getting it for you, angel. We're not leaving until it's in your arms" he says almost without thinking, inserting another coin into the claw machine, this time crossing his fingers as he clicked the drop button

You blush at his determination, propping the camera off to the side as you come up behind him and jokingly massage his shoulders, cheering him on as you do so

After numerous tries and way too many tokens later, the plushie barely managed to drop down the slot but, by some miracle, does. He lets out a sigh of relief, immediately checking your reaction, hoping you were proud of him

You immediately squeal, jumping in joy almost like a child, making him coo. Reaching for the plushie in the slot, he hands it to you, who immediately hugs it tight to your chest

Placing a kiss on his lips, you dance around the arcade, plushie in arms. He giggles at your content state, shutting off the camera before running to you

Moments like these were ones he didn't want to share, ones that would stay just between the two of you

With a smile, he catches up to you, swinging an arm over your shoulder and placing soft kiss in your hair

fin

author's note: a lot of you requested idol! Riki × idol! reader content so I just mashed them all into this! Thank you again for requesting!! Feel free to send more, as always!!!

[wiselyghost]

"Why is it that every time you smile, l lose focus?"

Bokuto Kōtarō x Yearbook! Fem!reader

Author's note: This is part 2! If you are looking for part 1, click here!

Warning: None! just fluff!

WEEK 2

MONDAY

It was another chaotic practice, and you were back in the gym with your camera, ready to snap a few perfect shots for the yearbook. You had to admit, the volleyball team was easy to capture—especially when Bokuto was on the court.

You were so focused on getting the perfect shot that you didn't even notice Bokuto barreling toward you. He jumped for a spike, and in that split second, you managed to snap a picture of him mid-air. his arms were outstretched, his face a mix of determination and sheer excitement. This was the shot you needed for the volleyball section.

You glanced at the image on your camera, and for a moment, you forgot where you were. The light hit him just right, and the motion was captured perfectly—he looked like he belonged on the cover of a sports magazine.

"Hey, [Y/N], what do you think?" His voice broke your concentration, and you looked up to find him grinning at you, clearly pleased with himself.

You helped up your camera, giving it a quick glance. "It's a good shot, I'll give you that," You said, teasing. "But I'm still not sure you deserve the cover."

Bokuto's grin faltered for a split second, but then his eyes sparkled with determination. "What? No way! I'm definitely cover material! No one else on the team is even close to my level of-"

he struck a dramatic pose in front of you, flexing his muscles and puffing out his chest like he was auditioning for a magazine spread. The other teammates paused and stared, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"You really are something else," you said, shaking your head, still smiling. "I'm not sure the world is ready for all this charisma."

Bokuto straightened up, clearly not fazed by your teasing. "Of course they are! Who could resist this face?" he pointed to himself dramatically, then, seeing you still smirking, added, "C/mon, you can't deny it. I'm practically a work of art."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "You're a lot of things, but 'art' might be pushing it."

He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "I'd say you're pretty good at capturing art... especially when it's me."

You almost missed the way his gaze lingered a little longer than usual, the teasing in his eyes softening just a bit. But before you could respond, one of his teammates shouted, pulling his attention away.

"Bokuto! Stop flirting with the photographer and get back to practice!"

Bokuto straightened up with a wink at you. "Fine, fine but you know, this is my best side. You might want to take a few more shots before l leave."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes again, but as you turned to adjust your camera settings, your heart raced for a reason you couldn't quite explain.

WEDNESDAY

The bus ride had been long, but now that the team was at the away game, you were in full yearbook mode, camera ready to capture the action. The court was electric, with the team locked in a fierce match, and you found yourself so engrossed in the game that you could almost feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

You clicked away, but as the score shifted in their favor, you couldn't help but smile brightly at the lead. The team was on fire, and even though you were focused on the game through your lens, you couldn't hide the joy on your face.

Bokuto, mid-serve, caught your smile from across the court. For a moment, his eyes locked with yours. His serve faltered just slightly, and you could see his concentration waver, a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

The match went on, and they won, but the distraction was evident. Ad the team celebrated, you made your way to the bus, your camera still in hand.

Bokuto, always full of energy, slid into the seat next to you. "You know, l've been thinking..." he began, a teasing grin on his face.

You rasied an eyebrow, looking at him. "About what?"

He looked at you seriously, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes. "Why is it that every time you smile, l lose focus?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

He shrugged playfully, leaning closer. "it's like... when you smile, everything else just kind of fades away. Makes it harder to concentrate, you know?"

You shook your head, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "You really know how to get inside of my head, don't you?"

FRIDAY

The week had flown by, and the volleyball team was on a high after another win. As usual, you were there, camera in hand, capturing the moments for the yearbook. the gym was buzzing with energy, but somehow, all you could focus on was Bokuto.

He was always the loudest, the most energetic, the one to get everyone hyped up, but today there was something different. Maybe it was the way he kept looking in your direction during practice or the way his smile seemed to linger just a little longer whenever he caught you looking at him. Whatever it was, you couldn't shake the feeling that the distance between you two had started to close.

The game that night was intense, but even in the thick of the action, Bokuto seemed to seek you out. Every time he scored a point, his eyes would flick to yours, and he'd give you that signature grin, the one that always made your heart flutter.

At one point, he'd even run past you during a timeout, nudging your shoulder with his and giving you a wink. "Did you see that last move? I'm definitely the star of this show."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a softness in your smile as you said, “You’re something, that’s for sure.”

The game ended, and the team was celebrating in the locker room, but you were still focused on capturing some final shots for the yearbook. When you stepped outside to get a few shots of the team heading to the bus, Bokuto followed you, his usual loud energy replaced with a quieter presence.

“Hey, [Y/N],” he said, walking up beside you. “Thanks for all the pictures. Seriously.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “It’s my job, you know?”

He nodded but didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. “Yeah, but you make it look so easy. Like… like you really care about getting it right.” His eyes softened. “It means a lot to me.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words. You’d always known Bokuto was passionate, but hearing him speak like that made you realize there was more to him than just the showman on the court.

The bus ride home was quiet, the usual chaos of teammates being replaced with a gentle, easy silence. You and Bokuto sat together, and this time, he didn’t try to distract you with jokes or poses. He was just there, his presence comfortable beside yours.

As the bus rolled along, the rhythmic hum of the engine filling the air, the dim light from the streetlamps outside filtered through the window, casting soft shadows inside. The glow illuminated Bokuto’s face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the softness of his features. You couldn’t help but notice how the warm light made his eyes look almost… tender. He was staring out the window, lost in thought, but when your gaze shifted to him, you caught him looking back at you, his intense eyes meeting yours with an unreadable expression. The moment felt suspended in time, the bus rumbling gently beneath you both as you held his gaze.

There was no teasing in his stare, no playful challenge—just a quiet intensity, like he was seeing you in a way he hadn’t before. You felt your heart beat faster, the air between you suddenly charged with something more than just friendship.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and soft, almost vulnerable. “You know, I really like spending time with you, [Y/N].”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity, but the warmth in his voice made your heart flutter. “Me too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bokuto smiled, his usual carefree grin returning, but this time there was something more to it. He nudged you gently with his shoulder. “Good,” he said, his tone light but with an undercurrent of something deeper. “Because I think we make a pretty good team.”

The moment lingered, and as the bus rolled on into the night, you couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted between you. Maybe it was the way he said your name or the way the light had caught his face, revealing a side of him that wasn’t just the loud, confident star of the volleyball team. Whatever it was, you knew one thing for sure—there was something more between you now.

THE FINAL PAGE

The year had passed in a blur of practices, games and stolen moments with Bokuto. Somehow, between the chaos of deadlines and the countless hours spent behind your camera, you and Bokuto had become... something. Closer more than just the star athlete and the yearbook photographer. But neither of you had put a name to it— at least, not yet.

and then, the yearbooks arrived.

The entire school buzzed with excitement as students flipped through the glossy pages, pointing out memories frozen in time. You stood in the middle of the hallway, feeling both relieved and nervous as you held the book in your hands. This was it. Your work, your long nights of editing and perfecting, all bound together in a single publication.

You barely had time to open it before a familiar voice boomed from across the hall.

“HEY, HEY, HEY! WHERE IS SHE? I NEED TO TALK TO MY FAVORITE YEARBOOK PHOTOGRAPHER!”

Heads turned as Bokuto practically barreled through the crowd, a wide grin stretched across his face as he waved his yearbook in the air. You sighed, already knowing this was going to be dramatic.

“I take it you’ve seen the volleyball page?” you said as he skidded to a stop in front of you.

“Have I seen it?” He flipped open the book with such enthusiasm that a few passing students gave him wary looks. “LOOK AT ME!”

There, dominating the center of the volleyball spread, was a full-page action shot of Bokuto mid-spike—his body perfectly framed, the gym lights casting an almost heroic glow around him. It was easily one of the best photos you’d ever taken.

“You really did make me the star,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost... awed. His fingers brushed the page before he turned to look at you. His golden eyes held something softer, something you weren’t used to seeing so openly from him.

You shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant. “Well, you wouldn’t stop talking about it, so I had to make sure you got your moment.”

He chuckled, but instead of responding, he flipped to the very last page of the yearbook and handed it to you.

You blinked in confusion before glancing down. There, written in his bold, slightly messy handwriting, was a note:

"This page was looking kinda empty, so I thought I’d add my favorite memory. Turns out, it’s not just one it’s every moment I’ve spent with you this year. Wanna make some more together?"

You felt your breath hitch slightly, your fingers tightening around the book. You looked up at him, and for once, Bokuto wasn’t loud, wasn’t grinning like an idiot—he was just watching you, waiting. A little nervous. A little hopeful.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You really wrote that in your yearbook?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I mean… yeah? Seemed like a good place to say it.”

You ran your fingers over the words again, feeling the warmth behind them. Then, meeting his eyes, you smiled. “Alright, Bokuto. Let’s make more memories.”

His grin was instant, bright and infectious. “Wait—was that a yes?”

You rolled your eyes but nodded. “Yeah, it’s a yes.”

Before you could react, he picked you up—literally lifted you off the ground in an excited hug, spinning you once before setting you back down.

“YES! This is gonna be the best thing ever,” he declared, his excitement contagious.

You shook your head, unable to stop grinning. “I don’t know how I put up with you.”

Bokuto beamed, nudging you playfully. “Lucky for you, you don’t have to just ‘put up’ with me anymore. Now you get to date the star of the volleyball page.”

You groaned, but there was no stopping the warmth blooming in your chest. Maybe he was a little ridiculous. Maybe this whole thing was, too.

But as he stood there, grinning at you like you were the only person in the crowded hallway, you realized something—you wouldn’t want it any other way.

©Wiselyghost|Don't copy, rewrite, or translate please!

[sonkitty]

The Sideburns Scheme Post #30

This post was last updated 09/19/2024.

(For reference: The Sideburns Scheme)

Crowley, Good Omens 2, Episode 2, The Clue, Mr. Six Espressos in a Big Cup

...

Sideburns Check

The sideburns are still short. Crowley's still in a human space. The preceding cut showed the first touch in The Pocket Trick. The way those touches work is that they have a designated Touch Point in which the threshold-only touch happens.

...

Brighter Red Streak Check

The brighter red streak is more evident than the preceding cut, especially when Crowley has a left profile view in front of Nina. In fact, it might even be two streaks, but admittedly, the potential streak further to Crowley's right is harder to tell if it is actually a streak.

...

Hairstyle Changes

The hairstyle is much like the preceding cut. The hair splits somewhere on top with the hair that is going to Crowley's left curling up and down toward the top hair. Meanwhile, there is more hair going to Crowley's right. This time, it tilts slightly stronger to the right.

Otherwise, it's a little darker and lower in saturation, at least partly due to the change in lighting.

...

Earthly Objects

(For reference: Earthly Objects | The Pocket Trick - Basics | The Pocket Trick Touch #2 - Triple Part 2 - Between Cars | Rainbow Connection Part 1 - The Pocket Trick - Triple Part 1 and Intermission with Nina).

Crowley's pocket touch is understood to still be active even though the scene does not show his actual hands. The Tied Hands are visible. The preceding cut had a threshold-only touch for the pocket, but those touches have a specific video frame I call the Touch Point.

Otherwise, the game treats this understood touch as acceptable for Crowley and Nina to interact.

Crowley and Nina each get one line before Nina addresses Crowley as, "Mr. Six Espressos in a Big Cup." That's a name and a number. By then, they have a standard set between each other for the rest of the interaction. The interaction will still have more questions and Maggie's name said.

...

So far as the Earthly Objects game is concerned, this scene is a special intermission to alert an audience player of what to look for on how the Tied Hands retie.

If my notes and analysis are on the right track, this scene informs us of 3 primary keys.

The first of these primary keys is the thumb joints. In this particular scene, Crowley's actual thumb joints are kept off-camera. When he turns to ask Nina his silly question, the strands swing about with a clasp striking a lapel edge in the process. I take that as the first clue of what to look for. Based on further thorough studies, this thing is not a requirement for retying to happen. Crowley's actual thumb joints aligning with edges can also play a role in retying. Looking for the clasps at lapel edges is still my top priority. This scene also shows Nina's right thumb CMC joint line up with Crowley's jacket edge.

The second of these primary keys is the time-teller. During this scene, there is a cut over to Maggie. Maggie folds her arms and shows the face of her watch in the process. So, with that in mind, I look for the face of Crowley's watch in other retying instances. The time-teller can also be the face of a nearby clock. Earlier in this episode, it was a sign during the Job minisode that said, "THE NEXT DAY". Usually, the time-teller is visual, but there are bells chiming when Crowley is at the park and arriving at his car at night in episode 1. Such chimes might be audible time-tellers to help with retying. It's always best to look for the face of Crowley's watch though sometimes the knob or buckle seem to be serving some function on the more difficult instances I haven't figured out.

The third of these primary keys is the index finger making a point. By "making a point," it does not have to be strictly extended and pointing with all of the other fingers curled inward. The index finger mainly has to differentiate itself from the other fingers in some way and might have to be showing its tip. For instance, during the scene, nobody seems to have an index finger making a point. I said this scene lacked an index finger making a point in a previous draft. However, I have since studied this scene all the more closely. When Nina moves her hand, her index finger does differentiate itself from the other fingers because it is the only finger with a visual touch over a chair when Nina's right thumb joint aligns by Crowley's jacket edge.

I have noticed that there are, in a sense, 4 primary keys here because thumb joints aligned at edges twice. I still mainly look for these 3 things first.

I suspect there are 7 secondary keys that act as clues and lenience. That way, there are 10 keys. That fits with how many digits Crowley has on his actual hands, further clued in by him saying the number "10" twice in episode 1.

I might make a new, separate post on some theoretical secondary keys at a later time.

As of my latest update to this post, I suspect retying happens more often than I initially thought, such as at least frequently for crossing thresholds.

...

Other pocket-relevant things that happen is that the Rainbow Connection switches from Orange to Yellow. This intermission does not provide a red alert. The switch is instead found by observing the framing of Crowley with yellow lights behind him. These lights also help clue a player in for what to look for regarding Overhead Lights for Crowley's actual head. Overhead Lights for the Threshold Tricks, when applicable, go above the ear and to Crowley's left.

The Pocket Chain of The Pocket Trick allows things to happen. The cut of Crowley walking away from Nina and seeing Aziraphale will not have building windows visibly in it. However, this scene does, so as a player, I'm taking that as Crowley using the Pocket Chain for this intermission. The next Pocket Frame is going to be Cars, and a certain building's windows will also have a special role with that frame during that cut.

Nina is implied to touch her pockets as well even though it's not technically confirmed on camera.

...

I haven't been mentioning my tangential reading in my desperate attempt to improve my play, but it is still happening. For The Sandman, I decided to just borrow the rest of it all at once from the library if I could. And I could. So, I picked up volumes 5-10 today and started on volume 5.

Otherwise, I'm also continuing with the Discworld novels by Terry Pratchett. My current one is Moving Pictures, which is #10 out of 41.

...

Story Commentary

The plotting of Operation Lovebirds continues.

Crowley asks Nina how she feels about sudden rain and the likelihood of sheltering under an awning.

Nina gives him a sarcastic response, expresses her disinterest in Maggie, and complains to him about her partner.

Crowley replies, "Gotcha," which has an extra meaning in the Earthly Objects game since she helped him out with retying his Tied Hands.

Despite Nina's words of Maggie not being a thing, Crowley's still developing his plan to play matchmaker. Coincidentally, he'll earn himself several window points in the process.

Even though Maggie and Nina will rightly criticize Crowley for interfering too much, it is rather sweet and cute that he attempted asking Nina about the rain before he did it, in my opinion.

The Pocket Trick is silly. The Tied Hands are silly. Upon realizing the Tied Hands existed, I speculated the Tied Hands untied at the end of the previous cut. Eventually, I questioned if this scene showed the Tied Hands retying. Crowley says, "Silly question," to Nina right after that clasp hits that edge of the lapel on the jacket. That's funny because of my silly question for if the Tied Hands retied here, which, yes, they did.

That's it for this post. Sometimes I edit my posts, FYI.

...

The next post will take awhile since I'm probably going to redo the post for The Pocket Trick Triple Part 2.

I hope I can somehow include that touch, at least better summarized or referenced, with the broader scene it's part of since I think the whole thing is really, really important.

Another likely reason for delay on the next post is I might prioritize reading the rest of The Sandman.

...

Main post:

The Sideburns Scheme

[2nd2ndalto]

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

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

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

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

__

Chapter 6 (part 1 of 2)

(chapter 5 here)

April 1999

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh god,” Will says.

“Exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Will looks pleased. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

Will blinks, surprised.

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

“Oh –”

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

“Spooky?” Will grins.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup.” Will beams at him.

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

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

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

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

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

::

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

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

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

Will frowns. “Luke? Luke who?”

“Luke Castellan. Luke your ex.”

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

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

::

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

Will considers. “Suicides?”

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

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

“As far as we can tell, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

::

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are spooky?” Nico’s lips quirk.

“You know how people are.”

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

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

Nico rolls his eyes.

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

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

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

Nico nods. “I can live with that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?” says Luke, still smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

::

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

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

“What, not even a good morning?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico beams, radiant and inconveniently adorable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

::

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

Nico turns, grinning. “Always.”

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

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

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

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

“What?” he laughs, self-conscious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

::

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

::

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

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

Will bites down a laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I had her ask it,” Nico murmurs.

“No,” says Tooms.

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

“Yes.”

“In 1939?” the examiner asks.

“No.”

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

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

::

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

Nico reaches for the readout, frowning over the results.

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

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

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

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

“No, Will’s right,” Nico says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s the guy,” Nico says, obstinate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

::

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

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

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

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

“Oh –” Nico begins, an automatic understanding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well. Fuck Octavian.”

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

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

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

“He was a musician,” Will says.

“Who – the 1939 victim?”

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

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

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

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

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

Will smiles, lopsided and fond.

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

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

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

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

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

“This is a baked goods related job?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re buying,” Nico says, deadpan.

::

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know!” Nico exclaims.

“But how–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Where –” Will begins as Nico stands.

“Another missing liver,” Nico says, grim.

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

::

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He started it,” Nico grumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Will nods, tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Will opens his mouth to protest, but Luke continues –

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

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

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

Will shakes his head, turning to leave.

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

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

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

::

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

::

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

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

Will blinks up at the other man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

::

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

Annabeth’s head rises at the sound.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Will says slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Will breathes out a laugh, nervous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He didn’t,” she says.

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

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

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

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

“Definitely,” Will agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

::

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

“Well that’s suspicious.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s there?”

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

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

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

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

Nico looks skeptical. “Could be.”

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

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

::

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico approaches for a closer look, cautious.

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Will nods.

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

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

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

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

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

“Should we just take them as evidence?”

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

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

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

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

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

::

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

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

“Everything okay?” comes Nico’s voice.

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

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

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

“Yeah, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico beams.

::

(here is part 2 of chapter 6!)

[jmdbjk]

This week's ... Bangtan report...

Anyone feel the need to come up for air? Me too...

These two... just acting like they can go anywhere here in peace.

I can't believe they ate reheated grocery store deli pizza. At first I was like I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY ATE GAS STATION CONVENIENCE STORE PIZZA but then I learned it was a whole grocery store. On a scale of 1 to 10, grocery store deli pizza would be a 4.

I'm still speechless. The longer I think about it the more I can't believe what we've seen these past 4 days. After all this time of hoping they are living easily at home they come over here and turn the bucket over on us. Total chaos.

Aside from boat captains being dickwads (that Miss Karma wasted no time on that loser) and radio show hosts being embarrassing ignoramuses... the LUCKIEST regular people are experiencing encounters with JIMIN and JUNGKOOK in the WILD!!

We all know how excited we get just meeting other Armys in the wild but imagine being at work trying to get the soft serve ice cream machine working and you turn around and Jimin and Jungkook are standing there ready to order some greasy-ass pizza.

I'M SO HAPPY FOR THESE ARMYS WHO GOT TO EXPERIENCE THIS!

But we're still trying to decipher JK's similarities in his Seven concept styling. His hair that's reminiscent of Jimin's in his Face era... The both of them wearing a lot of similar things or even just their street clothes that are from the same designer... all of that making me ...

This trip that looks like all intents and purposes of being a weekend getaway... reserving a whole floor of the restaurant. AND TOGETHER ON SILVER DAY.... Going to a brewery. An outing on a boat. Basically roaming the back roads in New England. And JK headed to Old England.

But we might see it at some point in the future BECAUSE THEY HAD CAMERAS????

They spent all day Sunday .... doing what? Every hour, every minute, every second, you know night after night ...

Anyway...

Hobi's master plan is being revealed finally. At least that's what the twitter streets are saying. Those images were created last summer. He's had this in the works.

I love love love the two characters and the styling of this go-round of Jack in the Box.

I watched Namjoon's recent live and he said things like:

..."everyone is doing their thing and the team is being talked about" which he thinks is great... "let's each do well in our places and meet again looking good." All team members doing good.

He always looks great in his lives and now I'm convinced JK's got a potato phone with a crap camera because ALL of his lives are 360p no matter the lighting situation.

TMI warning...

Koo's got a little bit of an upper respiratory cold. It's no fun flying when your sinuses are inflamed. Give that boy some Dayquil/Nyquil. And YES I sympathy yawned with him! hahahahahahahaaa.

Watching this live... how can you be a straight up goofball doofus and also be the same JK dancing and singing "I'll be fuckin you right Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday..."?

I wonder if the slow jam version of Seven was a preview of what's forthcoming?

Jimin got a new phone. I think that's why he had trouble logging into In🌟 (so cute, in-sta). When you move your shit over to your new phone you have to re-login to all your apps.

So let me guess who's gonna turn up with the head cold in a few days? I hope Jimin doesn't have any important schedules coming up in the next week or so.