#the song has mentions of abuse/beatings/child death so be warned!

[snazzydwarf]

A Place To Rest

Do you guys ever think Danny wanderers the cemetery at night, looking at all the graves of past Amity residents and finding a sort of solace in their resting place. 

Maybe he has certain places he likes to visits, certain graves he finds to have a more comforting aura to them, almost as if they’re beckoning the young hero to take a break and rest upon their grave. Promising to protect him from harm within the shadow of their gravestones.

Perhaps he’s even envious at the fact they can rest easy, that they have a place to sleep undisturbed while he shambles around in a body that holds his soul but not his heart.

As the years gone pass his visits to the gravesite becomes more and more frequent, to the point he has his own designated area that he claims as his on resting spot. 

It’s not much, just a small empty spot under a young tree that’s barely passed the sapling stage. Fitting, he supposes, that the place he wishes to rest is under new life. 

His usual Rouges barely visit the place, not only is the cemetery a “not fight zone” for all of the undead but also because they recognise the signs of one mourning their past life. While the kid may not have a body to bury he does have his dreams to entomb, his past wishes and hopes are beneath the earth where his body should be. Instead it sits on-top of the dirt, surrounded by lonely headstones.

Maybe once the day comes for him to go they’ll bury him under the tree that has now fully grown. At least it’s no longer lonely there, he’s surrounded by a few new graves some older than the last.

Two sit either side of the hero's new tomb, while an extra three guard the front protecting the newest but most anticipated headstone. 

Finally there’s no reason to be yearning for sleep when he has an eternity to catch up on it. This time though he’ll have people there to watch over him like how he did to them. A town gathered together to protect their oldest and youngest soldier.

The one who fell first but rested last. 

[mandos-mind-trick]

00:00 (Zero O'Clock)

Summary: On the run from your family, you meet your soulmate after he's sent to retrieve you. Can he offer you what you've been yearning for since your mark first appeared? Or will he turn out to be just like everyone else in your life?

Loosely based on the BTS song of the same name.

Pairing: Hunter x reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: NSFW, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, some brief mention of kink related things, brief mention of a knife kink, canon typical violence, some semi-descriptive mentions of abuse and child abuse, some angst, lots of fluff, as usual reader has a backstory for plot.

A/N: I'm trying a bit of a new format with this one, at least as to how the story progresses. I'm not sure about the beginning, but let me know what you think.

MASTERLIST

Five Minutes.

Your legs are aching almost as much as your lungs, but you don’t stop. 

You can’t stop. 

Tree roots and vines threaten to trip you with every step, but you push onwards. Get to town. You just have to get to town and you can stop. 

Three minutes. 

The timer on your wrist is like some twisted countdown. When it appeared over ten years ago, you were confused. Your soulmate couldn’t be that much younger than you. You had thought perhaps they were a different species, one that matures faster than others. 

Ten years, forty-seven days, six hours, and fifteen minutes. 

That had been the number seared onto your skin one day, the numbers slowly counting down as time went on. You tried to mark the exact day on the calendar, but it was difficult. You went off galactic standard time, as your countdown seemed to match how the hours and days passed for you. 

You daydreamed constantly about your soulmate. You researched species after species, trying to find any sort of answer you could as to why your soulmate mark had shown up so late. 

It wasn’t until the war when things began making sense. 

It wasn’t until the war that things began falling apart for you. 

The sudden appearance of the clone army, millions upon millions of beings created over the ten years before the war started, answered many people’s questions. Millions upon millions of beings in the galaxy that had lived for years without a soulmate link suddenly having theirs appear in the last ten years. 

Your soulmate’s a clone. 

Your father was not pleased. 

Your home planet was not part of the Republic. It had always been independent, and once the war started, the governing body decided to side with the Separatists. Your father was a loyal supporter of this decision, funneling your family’s vast wealth and resources to aiding the Confederacy of Independent Systems. 

You thought the entire war was stupid. Why couldn’t people just be happy with being either part of the Republic or not? 

The first time you spoke out against it in front of your father, he dragged you from the room and beat you with his belt. 

The second time you spoke out against it, at a dinner with several important political figures including your grandfather, he beat you right there in the dining hall. 

When he discovered your soulmate timer, it got worse. 

He tried everything he could to remove it. 

You knew it was useless. Even cutting the skin off with a knife, the mark would only appear again as it healed. Burns, scars, even chopping the limb off wouldn’t work. It would simply appear elsewhere. 

Your father thankfully never went that far. 

Your hatred towards him only deepened as time went on. 

News of your grandfather’s death reaches you shortly before the end of the war. You don’t cry. You barely knew him, and what you knew of him was that he was equally as cruel as your father. 

As the war ends, so does the Republic. 

Shortly after, the Empire is on your doorstep demanding allegiance. They get it, and the occupation begins. 

Six months later, you run away. 

You run and keep running. A month later, the bounty hunters begin appearing. You evade them easily enough, and when you can’t evade them, you make sure they can’t follow you.

It’s been almost a year since the war ended. Your timer is still steadily counting down. Your soulmate is still alive somewhere. You debate trying to find them, but you know finding clones means getting close to the Empire. You know nothing good would come from getting caught by the Empire. Even worse, they might return you home. 

Two minutes. 

Your feet hit solid ground, relieved to be free of the damp mud you had been running through for the past ten minutes. You race into town, hoping to lose him. 

He had appeared an hour ago, your little shack that had been offering you reprieve his target. He’s here for you, sent by the Empire or your father, you’re not sure. Either way, you’re not keen to find out. 

You were gone long before he reached your abandoned hut. You had headed towards town, hoping to reach the spaceport and convince someone to take you to their next stop before he even noticed you weren’t in the hut anymore. 

Except it was a long trek to town, and this wasn’t a normal bounty hunter. 

The first shot had narrowly missed you. 

A warning. 

You had taken off running, zig-zagging through trees as fast as you could. The shots had followed right behind you until they had died out, leaving nothing but the sound of the jungle, and your own heavy breathing. 

He’s right behind you. You know he is. You should have run for it from the start. 

You desperately need to stop. You need air, your lungs beginning to spasm painfully. You’re not going to get much farther without a reprieve. You hope you can lose him in the evening crowd, ducking into an alley. 

You press your back against the wall, putting a hand to your wheezing chest. Your eyes screw shut for a moment, urging air back into your lungs. Your legs are trembling like they may give out under you, but you know you don’t have long. He’s probably already in town. You need to stay ahead of him. Pray you can catch someone leaving at the spaceport and escape. 

One minute. 

Your soulmate is about to appear. Maybe they’ll help you get out of this mess. You can’t reach the spaceport in that short amount of time. You glance at both ends of the alley. There’s no one. So who-

A hand wraps around your throat, slamming your back against the wall behind you. Your hand is quick to grab your knife, aiming it for the throat, but his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping it.

“Give up, kid.” He drawls, tightening his grip around your wrist until you’re forced to drop the knife. “You’re not going to win this.”  

You struggle against his hold, even though you know he’s right. 

30 seconds.

Just thirty more seconds. You can fight that long. 

You drive your knee up into his stomach, but he doesn’t release you. His grip tightens around your throat, black dots beginning to form in your vision. You drive your fist into his elbow, his arm bending awkwardly. His fingers slip from your throat and you inhale sharply, your vision swimming for a moment. 

“Let her go.” 

You both look up in shock at the voice. Modulated by a familiar looking helmet, grey with an orange stripe down the middle. He’s standing at the entry to the alley, blaster drawn and pointed at the bounty hunter. 

“She’s my quarry.” The bounty hunter says, hand dropping to his own blaster. “I found her first.” 

You quickly duck, covering your head as the shots ring out. Your gaze is drawn down to your timer, eyes widening a bit. 

00:00:00:00:00

This is your soulmate? 

You push yourself back up, glancing at the body of the bounty hunter for a moment before your gaze falls on the clone. His armor is pieced together, lacking the normal consistency you associated with clones and their armor. Had you been wrong? Is he not a clone after all? 

“It’s you.” You whisper, dropping the knife from your hand. 

“Give up the fight, kid.” He says, voice distorted by his helmet, blaster trained on you now. 

You make a face. “I’m not a kid. I’m older than you.” You press your back against the wall. “When I pictured us meeting, this wasn’t what I had in mind.” 

He tilts his head, and you can picture the confusion on his face. You hold up your arm, revealing your soulmate timer now at zero. He lowers his head slightly, looking at it. He glances down at his own arm for a moment before lowering his blaster. You watch him fiddle with his vambrace, tugging it down with his sleeve enough to reveal tanned skin underneath. He’s quiet, staring down at his skin for a few moments. 

You could run. You could use his distraction to try and escape.

You don’t want to. You had been destined to meet at this moment. Since your creation, maybe even before. 

Maybe he can help you. 

But he was sent after you. 

He wouldn’t really return you to your father, would he? You had heard about clones being forced to reject their soulmates under the Republic. Was the Empire enforcing that too? He wouldn’t...would he? 

Your legs are shaking still, your body exhausted from running for so long. Always on edge, always watching your back. You slip down the wall, sitting on the ground. You stare up at him, finding him watching you. “Are you with the Empire?” You ask. 

“No.” He says, straightening up a bit. “We were sent after you by a third party.” 

“Oh.” You say, nodding. “Are you...going to take me back to my father?” 

He stares at you quietly for a long time. This was going to complicate things for both of you. Would he still return you to your father, even now knowing you’re his soulmate? Did you try to run, leave behind your soulmate to try and save yourself? You know it’s only going to get harder to be apart from here. Now that you’ve met, the longing will start, the need to be close. 

That’s why the Republic wanted clones to reject their soulmates. Not even the best programming can undo the natural need to be close to one’s soulmate. 

“I’ve caught her.” He speaks into his comm. “Get back to the ship and meet us at the spaceport.” 

“You should just reject me now.” You say, and he looks at you again. You wish you could see his face, read his expressions. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? At least, that’s what the Republic wanted.” You shrug. “It’ll hurt less for you later when my father decides to kill me.” 

“Why would he go through all this trouble to get you back if he’s just going to kill you?” He asks, stepping closer. 

You snort. “You don’t know anything about me, do you?” 

“You’re a runaway rich kid, and your father is willing to pay a lot to get you back.” He says, wrapping a hand around your arm. He hauls you to your feet far too easily, spinning you so you’re pressed against the wall. 

“Moving a bit fast, aren’t we?” You quip, his hands gripping your wrists behind you. 

“Can it, kid.” He grunts, cuffing your arms behind your back. 

“I’m not a kid.” You huff, tugging against his hold, but you quickly give in. 

This wasn’t what you were expecting when you pictured meeting your soulmate. Of course, you’d spent most of the war hearing nothing but propaganda against the Republic and the clone army, so you really didn’t know what to expect. They’re not quite the mindless soldiers like you’d been told, at least that’s what you’d discern since this group was apparently working independently of the Empire. 

“You’re making a mistake.” You say as he takes your arm, tugging you towards the end of the alley. 

“I’m sure you see it that way.” He says, leading you onward. 

You plant your feet, trying to get him to look at you. “No, I’m trying to warn you. If you actually bothered to look into who I am, you never would have taken this job in the first place.” 

He finally stops, turning to look at you. “Why do you care?” 

“You’re deserters, aren’t you? I’ve only heard propaganda, and seen clones in passing once, but I do know most of them are loyal to the Empire now. Most of them aren’t out here playing mercenary and bounty hunter. You received coordinates for a place to drop me off, right? Somewhere in the D’Astan sector? You know what that sector looks like right now? It’s crawling with Imperial troops and ships. The war had barely ended and they were already invading. I ran because my father is a cruel man who spent my whole life beating me to submission. He’s a weak man who can’t stand things not being in his control. The Empire has completely taken over and I’m one of the few things he has left he can control. I don’t want that.” 

He stares at you for a while. You know he’s thinking over your words. He won’t trust you, not completely. If you can just get to him a little, though, you may be able to save your own skin, and maybe his as well. 

“You’re my soulmate.” It feels unreal saying those words. You’d pictured it a thousand times, and yet, none of them had come close. “If nothing else, trust me on that basis. I know you’ve been told your whole life to reject me. I don’t want you to.” 

He stares at you for a moment longer before turning, tugging you along as he makes his way towards the starport. Tears prick your vision. You have no idea what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. For all you know, he doesn’t believe you and he’ll take the risk returning you to your father. 

He has no reason to trust you. 

For all you know, he’s going to reject you. 

If that’s the case, though, why hasn’t he done it yet? 

“Can I at least know your name?” You ask softly, looking up at him. 

He stays silent, walking you into the starport. Thankfully it’s late enough that it's not very busy. This looks bad, it looks really bad for you. 

“Hunter!” 

Of all things a child runs towards you two. 

“We were getting worried.” The child says as Hunter leads you towards an Omicron-class ship. 

He leads you up the steps, three more clones inside. Well, at least you think they’re clones. None of them quite look the same, at least size and height-wise. One is lankier and is wearing goggles, the other is a giant of a man, and the third has a cybernetic arm and legs. 

Hunter pushes you down into one of the seats rather roughly, pointing his finger in your face. “Don’t move.” He says threateningly, leaving you sitting there.

It’s not like you have much of a choice. There’s not much room to move anyway, as the large one and the child join you. The ship rumbles as it comes to life, forcing you to press back into the seat as it lifts off the ground. Your arms are pressed uncomfortably behind you, hands going numb as the cuffs cut off circulation. 

Your stomach churns with the familiar jump to hyperspace, Hunter not returning until the ship is well on its way to most likely your drop off point. You’re nervous, not just for yourself. Hunter must not have believed you. You’re sad for them, and yourself. 

The large one pulls off his helmet with a sigh. Though he’s very large, his face is unmistakably that of a clone’s. They really must have been hired by a third party. Your father never would have stooped that low. He’s in for one hell of a surprise when they show up to hand you off. 

Your gaze is pulled away from the big one as Hunter enters the hull, removing his own helmet. He doesn’t look like you expect a clone to. His hair is long, held back by a red bandana. He has the rugged face of a clone, but the left half is covered in a skull tattoo. It’s intimidating, just like his gaze as it burns into you. 

The one with the cybernetics follows him, his helmet removed as well. He’s paler and gaunter than the others, a headset wrapped around his head. He takes a seat at the computer, typing rapidly. 

“If what you said is true, we can’t risk turning you in.” Hunter says. 

“Why would I lie to you?” You ask, though you already know the answer. 

“To save your own skin.” He says. “I believe you, that you were running for a reason. But that could be any reason. Not just the story you told me.” 

“Then by all means.” You say, trying to get comfortable with your hands behind your back. “Research away.” 

It’s quiet for a few moments, part of the screen visible over their heads from where you’re sitting. You are telling the truth to them. You have no reason to lie. Especially not to your soulmate. 

“You’re a Separatist?” Cybernetics asks you. 

You roll your eyes. “You know, just because someone lived on a Separatist planet doesn't mean they were Separatists too. I hated them. I thought the war was stupid. Why couldn’t they just be happy not being part of the Republic and the Republic just leave them alone?” 

“I think it was a bit more complex than that.” Hunter says. 

You roll your eyes again. “Well, it’s not like I was ever getting the truth there. We were fed Separatist propaganda for years, even before the war started.” 

The ship goes quiet again, broken only by the sound of Cybernetics typing at the computer. 

"She's telling the truth." He finally says, breaking the quiet. "Imperial files have that whole sector listed under their control.” 

“We can’t risk revealing ourselves.” Hunter says. “But we need those credits.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes once more. “If you bothered to check my bag, you’d see I have plenty of credits in there.” 

Their eyes fall to where your bag has been placed on the chair behind them. Hunter opens your bag, digging through until he finds the box of credits. He opens it, looking inside. 

“That’s far more than we’ll get from Cid for this job.” Cybernetics says. 

“You can have them.” You say. “It’s my dad’s money anyway. I took what he had on hand before I left.” 

“You’d just let us take this.” Hunter asks speculatively. 

“If it means saving both our skins and keeping me from having to see my father ever again, then yes. You can have my whole bag, if you’d like.” 

Hunter stares down at the credits for a moment before heading into the cockpit once more. 

“Hey, Cybernetics.” You call before he can follow Hunter.  

“My name’s Echo.” He says with a frown, obviously offended by your nickname. 

“Okay, how was I supposed to know that? It’s not like you’ve been very hospitable.” You shrug as he disappears into the cockpit too. You nearly jump out of your skin as you turn, finding the child standing next to you. “Oh my, you’re a sneaky little thing.” 

“Sorry.” She laughs. “My name’s Omega. That’s Wrecker.” The giant clone waves. 

You nod back, your arms still cuffed behind your back. “Hello.” 

Hunter reappears, coming to stand in front of you. “If you’re tricking us in any way, I will not hesitate to shoot you.” 

“If you knew the things my dad did to me growing up, the things he would do to me if he ever got his hands on me again, you wouldn’t hesitate to trust me when I say I want absolutely nothing to do with him or the Empire.” You stare into his eyes as he kneels in front of you. “He’s a horrible man and he can waste all of his money and resources looking for me for all I care.” 

Hunter undoes your cuffs, and you rub your sore wrists. “We’ll drop you off on the next inhabited planet we can find.” 

You frown. “So that’s it? We’re not even going to talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He says, turning his back to you as he sits at the computer. 

“Like hell there isn’t. If you’re that dead set, then just reject me now and get it over with so we can both move on with our lives.” 

“I can’t trust you.” He says over his shoulder. 

“I’m not asking you to trust me.” Your voice wavers a bit. “I’m asking you to talk to me. Either talk to me, or just reject me and get it over with.” 

***

The ship is quiet as it floats aimlessly through space. You gaze out the viewport at the thousands of stars in front of you. Hunter is in the seat across from you, his seat turned to face yours. 

“I have to protect them.” He says. “If anything happens to them...” 

“I know.” You nod, turning to look at him. “They’re lucky to have you. All my life I’ve been wishing for someone to care that much about me. Someone who would protect me. My mother was always too scared he’d turn on her if she said anything. It wasn’t long after the war started that I figured it out, that my soulmate was a clone. My father wasn’t happy about it. He tried everything he could to remove my timer. It never worked.” 

Hunter tenses a bit at your words. It feels good, talking about it finally. Even if he did decide nothing was to come of your link, it still felt good to tell someone about what had happened to you. You’ve never had that chance before. 

“I never thought much about my link.” Hunter says, turning his gaze out the viewport. “I couldn’t. The Kaminoans created the rules about seeking out soulmates and the Republic agreed. I didn’t have time, anyway. We were always moving, always on a mission. I hoped the war would end before the timer reached zero. I’m not sure I could have rejected my soulmate. Most of the clones ignored those rules. They kept their links, secretly keeping contact with their soulmates.” He shakes his head. “I figured it would happen when it happened. I didn’t think it would be like this.” 

“What, that you’d desert the army and wind up bounty hunting your soulmate who was a Separatist?” 

“Something like that.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. 

“Where do we go from here, Hunter?” You ask, turning to look at him. You take in his profile. The skull tattoo, the slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. He’s handsome. Ruggedly handsome. Not totally what you would consider your type, but perhaps the link to him was more than just looks. 

You’d been raised with the idea of becoming someone’s trophy. You’d never hold power in your own family. You’d be someone’s pretty little wife who served drinks and made babies and made her husband look good. You’d marry someone just like your father who would beat you with a belt if you spoke out in opposition against him. 

Then your mark had shown up, and with it came the idea of something else. Something more. Something different. 

Hunter is different. 

So very different. 

He turns to look at you, his eyes studying your face. “What is it you want?” 

You smile, leaning back in the seat. “I want to live on a farm on a small planet with kind people that care about each other. I want to care for animals and to play in the dirt. I want a house that’s just the right size. I want to be happy and safe away from politics and war and my family.” You stare into his eyes, deep into the rich depths of them. “I want to be happy with my soulmate.” 

***

You lay in bed, staring out the open window. The cool morning air is blowing in, rustling the curtains. The sun is just starting to rise, painting the sky in yellows and oranges. It’s quiet, the only noise the occasional bird song as the world begins to wake up. It’ll be warm today, the perfect time for you to finish planting your garden for the season. 

An arm wraps around your waist, warm lips pressing kisses to your exposed neck. You smile, leaning back against the broad chest. 

“Morning.” You murmur, biting your lip as his stubble tickles the sensitive skin. 

He murmurs his greeting against your neck, his hand trailing up your bare side. 

“We have to get Omega up for school soon.” You say, his lips working on sucking a mark onto the skin under your ear. “And we should take that milk into town.” His hand slides higher, cupping one of your breasts. “And we need to get the guest room ready for when Crosshair arrives.” 

Hunter hums in your ear, pulling you tighter against his chest. You can feel him, hard against your lower back. “Worry about that later. Right now, I need to make love to my wife.” 

It’s been nearly two years since that fateful day your soulmate hunted you down during your escape from your father. 

Not long after, you had found this place. It was almost exactly what you had imagined, what you had told Hunter you wanted. It had felt too good to be true, at least until you began to settle in. It took some adjusting for the others as well, but they eventually found their places. 

Echo decided to leave with Rex, feeling it was the right choice. You know it hurt the others to let him go, but you felt if he was happier fighting with the rebellion, then he should. You still see them occasionally when they drop by for a quick rest. 

During one of those rests, they had brought a new figure into the house. They had stumbled across Crosshair being held at a facility and had rescued him. That had been a big adjustment, as he dealt with a lot of trauma from his time being controlled by the Empire. 

Eventually he healed, and he grew bored. Echo and Rex offered him a place with them, helping them, but he decided on a different route. 

He became a bounty hunter. 

He still stopped by every so often, spending a few days on the farm before he’d leave, heading out to catch more quarries and get more credits. 

Wrecker and Tech settled into farm life nicely. You had worried Tech might work himself to a coma as he spent endless hours learning everything he could about the planet, its flora and fauna, its weather patterns and seasons, the native cultures. He’d set up the house to best utilize the weather and natural phenomena, picked the best crops to grow and which animals would be the easiest to keep. Wrecker was more than thrilled to help with the actual farm work, tending to the animals and the more heavy-lifting aspects that came with it. 

Omega settled in best of all, making friends in the nearby town and starting school. Hunter’s happy in this domestic life. You can tell just looking at him. He had shared similar dreams with you, settling down on a remote planet so that Omega can just be a kid while she still can. A place that’s safe, far from the reach of the Empire. 

It’s been quiet since you landed here. You haven’t seen or heard anything from the Empire or even a bounty hunter. You had all been a bit on edge at first, waiting for the inevitable arrival. 

It never came. 

You’ve been safe, you’ve all been safe, for the first time ever. 

Marrying Hunter had been an easy decision. There was no legal benefit in it, since he was a clone and you had left your family and its name and its standing behind you. You had done it mostly because you wanted to. Adopting Omega had been the natural next step, of course. It hadn’t been a legal adoption, again for obvious reasons, but it still felt good to put a name to it all. 

You’ve built a new family, one you actually want. 

One you actually love. 

Hunter turns your body just slightly, his hand trailing up to your jaw. He cups it gently, looking down at your face. 

“What?” You ask, your cheeks flushing just a bit. Two years and you still feel a bit sheepish under his gaze. 

“You’re just so beautiful.” He says, leaning down to kiss you. 

“You say that all the time.” You murmur against his lips. 

“Because it’s true.” He murmurs back, deepening the kiss. 

You press your body back against him, touching as much of him as you can. He’s softened a bit in two years, you’ve noticed. With the constant strain of fighting and continuous missions behind them, they’ve all softened a bit. Farm work is hard, but not nearly as demanding as what they had spent their entire lives doing. He’s still just as strong, but the hard ridges of muscle are gone, leaving soft edges in their wake. 

That, and finally getting some real food in them has helped. 

You like him no matter what, but you prefer his soft body. It means he’s well rested and well fed. Something he deserves after everything. 

His lips trail down your neck and shoulders, his deft fingers sliding from your jaw down your body, pausing just to pluck at one of your nipples playfully. You gasp quietly, reaching back to tangle a hand in his hair. 

You’ve had plenty of time to learn each other’s bodies over the years. Your first time together had been rushed and desperate in the fresher on the Marauder. It had been a result of the yearning, the need deep within your souls, your very beings, to be linked together. To be as close as you possibly can to each other. It had been awkward fumbling in a too-small space. 

Once you’d found your home, you both finally had space and privacy to take your time. Testing, trying, playing. A few times you’d allowed his knives in bed, and once you’d reenacted your first meeting, except that time ended with you being fucked handcuffed against a tree on the edge of your property. 

Most of all, though, you enjoyed the quiet moments like this one. The gentle lovemaking on lazy mornings, the quick moments when you can slip away from your responsibilities. The nights when he gets that look in his eye during dinner and you know you’re going to end up tangled in the sheets, moaning his name. 

Twelve years ago you never would have thought this could be real.

Two years ago you never thought this could be real. 

Fate is hardly ever wrong. 

You gasp quietly as his fingers slip between your thighs, finding your slick folds. He licks and nips at your skin, leaving a trail of marks no doubt. He has said more than once he loves your scent and the taste of your skin. It had taken some adjusting to his enhanced senses knowing he could hear and smell everything, and he has a habit of smelling and tasting everything. 

His hand grips your thigh, draping it over his waist. His fingers slip through your folds again, gathering your slick on his fingers before he presses one into you. You’re already wet, anticipating a rather satisfying morning. He runs his thumb over your clit and you jolt a bit, still sensitive from the night before. 

You moan quietly, tugging lightly on his hair. He groans in response, breath fanning across your ear. His scalp is sensitive. You’re able to reduce him to shivers by just raking your nails across it. 

He slips a second finger into you, his pace lazy and slow as you writhe in his arms. You can cum easily just from his fingers, something he’s rather proud of. To you, it’s a testament of just how perfect you are for each other. 

You know he wants you to cum on his cock this morning, yet you can’t help but whine as he pulls his fingers from you. He shushes you, shifting you ever so slightly before the head of his cock slips along your folds. You moan, walls clamping in anticipation. You’ll never get tired of him, of his body, of how perfectly it fits against yours. How perfectly it fits inside yours. 

He slides in, in one go, pausing for a moment once he’s seated fully inside you. His arms wrap around you, holding you as close to him as he can. You can still feel it like the first time you had sex, the bond between you. The link tying you together. The energy thrumming through you and into him, and then back like a circle. 

It’s something unexplainable. Something precious and unique and it fills you with warmth every time you think about it. 

“Hunter,” You whisper, walls clamping around him. 

He shushes you, lacing your fingers together. “I’ve got you.” 

He begins to move, slow and steady. Your eyes drift closed, savoring the feel of him, the drag of his hips, the stretch of his cock. The softness of him around you. You feel safe in his arms, like nothing can hurt you, nothing can touch you. Nothing can ruin this moment. 

You’re not going to last long, his fingers slipping between your thighs to circle your clit once more. Your legs shake, walls gripping him like your body is trying to hold onto this moment forever. 

You cum quickly with a quiet cry of his name, his own thrusts getting sloppy as he moans quietly in your ear. He stills as he reaches his own release, his groans vibrating through your back.

You lay there for a moment, clinging to each other, basking in the early morning glow. Neither of you have the will to move, wanting to stay like this forever. 

Alas, that’s not possible as a loud crash is heard from downstairs followed by Omegas giggles and Wrecker’s rather loud apologies. 

“The kids are awake.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. 

“Yes, it seems they are.” You say, a smile tugging at your lips. 

“We should get up before they destroy the kitchen again.” 

“Agreed.” You say, reluctantly pulling away from him. 

You both dress, preparing to start another busy day. Hunter pauses by the door, leaning down to kiss you softly. 

“I love you.” He says, practically beaming down at you. 

You smile, tracing your fingers over his cheek. “I love you too.” 

And you mean it. 

Taglist:

@stressed-cherry, @6oceansofmoons,  @ladytano420, @spicy-clones, @kaminocasey

[romana-after-dark]

The Wrong Way: Chapter 8

Dark!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader Tommy Miller x reader (secondary)

Masterlist

Spotify playlist

Summery: You are sold to Joel to clear up some of your fathers' debts, and he takes you back to his house where him, Tommy, and high ranking members of his raiding trope stay. Joel is mean, cruel, and hash, but had small moments of softness that confuse you in your venerable state. Over time, you get to know him and Tommy, and see different sides of each, and both are hiding secrets. Was it possible to fall in love under these circumstances? Or was that just another way Joel was fucking with you?

Aka: my mom sold me to One Direction

WARNINGS FOR FULL FIC, NOT CHAPTER BY CHAPTER UNLESS SOMETHING NEW IS ADDED AFTER MASTER WARNING LIST: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Fic contains graphic depictions of sexual assault, rape, molestation, dubcon/non con. Blow Jobs, PIV sex, lose of virginity, sex trafficking, past incest, death/people dying everywhere, Stockholm syndrome, falling for your rapist, victim blaming, torcher, branding, physical abuse, rape (not Joel), somno, dub con on tommy? idk he's not really into it but feels like he has to, self-harm/depression/suicidal thoughts (not a lot) but fair warning, major age gaps, love triangle, pregnancy/birth, threats of abortion, major character death, mentions of potential csa/child abuse but does not even come close to happening, forced pregnancy, forced housewife shit, breeding, breeding kink?!?!

I wanna add we're really heavy on the birth/pregnancy, forced birth, choking, domestic violence, threats of hanging and murder. Can't say I didn't warning yuh (unless i missed a warning of course. then please let me know so i cant edit ASAP) Like this is a rough chapter, a lot of violence to a pregnant woman. but I wanna say right now...

The baby will not be harmed in anyway. Baby will be born healthy, and live and have a good life in both the main ending and alt ending.

5k words (sorry not sorry lol)

Also to clarify a few things I guess i didn't make clear enough in previous chapters!

Joel only 'guessed' that Tommy and LO slept together. He had suspicions but thought he could trust Tommy and his 'girlfriend'. When LO rushed to stop Joel from hurting Tommy, that was his 'evidence'. Joel was beating Tommy because he found out about Maria.

Joel only heard part of the conversation between Zach and Little One. Nick said way back in chapter 3 the wall are thinner than she thinks. He didn't know Lorenzo had any part of it, and because LO didn't rat him out, he never will.

Thats my bad for not being clear!

Can you catch the Superstore homage? (aka i rewatched two episodes just to take it line for line lol)

***************

Month 3

No one warned you about morning sickness. 

You knew fuck all about sex before you came to Joel’s, just a thing or two from your friend back at the ranch and how to get a man off with your mouth or hands, but pregnancy and birth was next to nothing. You didn’t even know how pregnancy happened really, other than a penis in a vagina until you asked Tommy early on if you were going to get pregnant. After a very uncomfortable talk for both of you, Tommy explained that Joel told him he pulls out, so you should be good… Lorenzo said you can still get pregnant that way, but thinking back to the night Joel almost killed Tommy and you… Joel finished inside… the timing added up. 

Pregnancy and birth were entirely unknown to you, and you wished someone would just give you a heads up. Joel had a daughter and no doubt had been through at least once pregnancy, and Lorenzo had mentioned 4 of his 6 older sisters got pregnant before leaving the house… something about no sex education, men too old for them, and their religion not believing in birth control or abortion… but you didn’t know what half those words meant, and after Lorenzo mercilessly made fun of you for days about not knowing Joel’s song for you was actually a very famous song, you didn’t dare ask him about the words, or anything with pregnancy. You didn’t want to ask Joel either, not wanting to give away how terrified you were, not wanting him to think you didn’t want to… But you did! You did want this baby, you reminded yourself again and again and again, because Joel was good to you, Joel took care of you, Joel would care for this baby too. You’d be bound to him, and he’d never get tired of you this way, and he wouldn’t hurt the mother of his child, right?

The birth was something you tried not to think about.

So here you were, puking your gut out before you even had breakfast and Joel held your hair back.

“Shhh, shhhhhhh” he coo’d and you heaved, yellow bile and acid coming up from inside you since the little food in your stomach from dinner had been thrown up 5 minuets ago.

With a final spit into the toilet, you sink back and Joel wipes your mouth for you. “I think that’s it.” You mutter, and Joel carries you into your shared bedroom, laying you down with the care of an infant before kissing your forehead. 

“Don’t worry about breakfast, little one. I don’t need anything this morning.” He says before kissing your cheek. But you were worrying about breakfast, because you wanted it… but the only way you’d be getting food is if you made it. Tommy wasn’t here to care for you anymore. “I’ll be gone until the evening, what's for dinner?”

The thought of cooking, the thought of raw meats and the strong smells of spices made you want to vomit again. “I dunno…”

“I think a few of them chickens is ready to be butchered, you ever made chicken parmesan? We got that cheese I brought back yesterday, you could make something like that.”

You groan a bit, exhausted and tired despite being only 3 months in. You didn’t sleep at all last night, nightmares of the past and the future plaguing you. He knew that you didn’t sleep, you had told him… “Joel I can’t, the butchering, I feel so-”

“I’ll make Lorenzo do it.” He promises. “Chicken parmesan it is then?” He decided for you. What he didn’t understand is it wasn’t just butchering a few chickens. To make chicken parm you need chicken breasts, not the rest of it. You didn’t waste meat, so Lorenzo kills (you could do it on a normal day, but not with your heightened smell) then you pluck, clean, Lorenzo butchers, then you have to separate the different parts and put them into hygienic storage and take them to the freezer locker, then thoroughly clean yourself, all the tools and surfaces (and Lorenzo) to prevent illness. It would take hours. But Joel didn’t see that, he only ever saw the food at the end of his day.

“Okay” You agree reluctantly, and he begins kissing your neck and groping you, no doubt wanting a quicky before a long day of unspeakable violence. “Joel, please, I don’t feel good.” You beg him not to, but you learned in the past that this never got far.

His morning breath wasn’t helping anything as he tugged down your shorts. “I’ll be quick.”

You knew what that meant. Joel slid into you with no prep, no lubrication, and it burned. The steady rocking was the last thing you needed right now, and with his head buried in your neck, you covered your mouth as the nausea took over. You threw up, but like everything the last several months, you just swallowed it down again to deal with when Joel was gone. When he came inside (wasn’t he worried about you getting pregnant again?) you quickly pull up your pants and run to the bathroom, pushing past Lorenzo no doubt on his way to babysitting duties with you. 

As he watched you run past and heard the sounds of throwing up, Lorenzo caught Joel’s arm as he brushed past. “Peppermint or ginger. Find it, whatever form it's in. Oils, drops, whatever. If you can find the leaves or the root we can make it into a tea. Just find it, it’ll help her nausea.”

Month 4

“Okay Lorenzo, I got a question for you, and you can’t make fun of me.” You say as you cook, the swell of your belly beginning to show now.

“No guarantees.” He says, sitting his drink. How did he find so much alcohol?

“Fine. Okay… when Joel and I have sex-”

He visibly cringed. “Since when do we talk about our sex lives?” 

“Renzo.”

“Fine, go on. But remember I’m not exactly an expert on female anatomy.”

You take a deep breath. “Okay. Well I told you he always pulls out right? Um… ever since I told him im pregnant… he doesn’t.”

Lorenzo waits for you to continue, but you don’t. You think that’s it. “What the problem?”

You continue to avoid looking at him, stirring the soup. “Well.. what if I get pregnant again?”

He stares at you like he’s trying to make sense of your question before the recognition sets in. “OH!” But before he explains what he means… his face shifts… theres something sad in there, a hint of pain in his eyes you only saw once, the face he had as he looked at you in disgust while Joel carried you from the bedroom to the bath while you were covered head to toe in spit and cum and period blood… was it pity? “Jesus kid… No one really taught you anything, did they?”

“C’mon, just tell me.”

Scrubbing his face, he sighed. “No, you can’t get pregnant while your already pregnant.”

Oh. “Wait… really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Ah. Okay then.”

There was a long, long silence before he spoke again. “If you got any other question about, like… pregnancy and birth… I can try and answer.”

Joel had been trying to find a doctor, a midwife, something for you… but it was slim pickings in Wyoming. 

Five minuets later, you were squealing, covering your ears, but laughing. “Ew! What the hell is a mucus plug! You know what, I don’t wanna-”

“IT’S A PLUG FULL OF MUCUS IN YOUR VAGINA WHAT DO YOU THINK IT IS?!?!” He yells loud enough to get past your attempt at blocking your ears. 

“NAH NAH NAH NAH NAH!!! I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” But you still could.

“Honestly in the last month or two all kinds of weird things are gonna come out of you including but not limited to a very slimey and weird looking baby.”

You gasp, feigning indignance. “How dare you insult my unborn child!”

“It ain’t personal, sweetheart. All babies look ugly as fuck as newborns. Now, let’s get back to the gritty details.”

With a squeal, you try to run away. “No! I know enough!” But you’re laughing. It felt like you were messing around with Zach back in your childhood home. 

“My sister Elaina lost like 4 teeth.”

“AAAHHHHH!”

Month 5

Joel had finally found a midwife of sorts. Well, technically, Jack did, as it was his cousin. Maura had been a nurse in the birthing wing a short time before everything went to shit and had been helping women deliver babies ever since. Initially, she told Jack to keep his mouth shut. She hated Joel and didn’t want a thing to do with him, but when no one else showed up and you were in your 5th month, she relented, purely for the sake of the innocent kidnapped girl. 

“Put the fucking gun away, Joel.” She said as she entered your room, grabbing the barrel in Joel’s hands and pointing it to the floor. “Point that shit at me again and I’m not helping your child bride.” She stared him down, head tilted up only slightly to reach his eyes. If she was intimidated by Joel, she wouldn’t

Joel glared at her, but he didn’t have many options. “If you hurt her-”

“From what I hear, you’re doing enough of that yourself. Now, you stand up against the wall and watch if you want to, but don’t interfere, and do not try to intimidate me, understood?”

You watched in awe as she stood her ground… It had been months before you had done anything of the sort against Joel, only standing up to him when Tommy’s life was in danger. Joel gave a curt nod and she turn to approach where you lay, sat up against some pillows.

A gentle smile was on her face, but it was clear she was here for business. Still, her confidence and certainty put you at ease.

“My name’s Maura, I’ll be helping deliver this baby.” She was beautiful, with long black hair and a light smattering of freckles on her face, but got straight to the point. It was clear she knew what she was doing, asking you questions you hadn’t even thought of yet and examining you. When she was done, she stood up, looking at you, not Joel. “It seems despite the circumstances-”

Joel tried to interrupt. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean”

But Maura ignored him, keeping your attention with her bright brown eyes. “Despite the circumstances, everything appears to be progressing naturally, theres no cause for concern as of right now. But you need to keep things low stress.” It was then she turned to glare at Joel, to emphasize her point.

Maura said she’d be staying near-by and Joel was paying her a hefty price for her services. When you’d go into labor, Joel was to send a man on horse to fetch her, preferably Jack, but she warned she would armed, and she’d be there shortly.

That night, Joel held you close as you discussed baby names. 

“How about Loretta? Like that singer you liked?”

Joel hums, none commital. “I always liked Dorothy, we could call her Dolly as a nickname. I know you like Dolly Parton” Joel had been teaching you about old country music, and you certainly had a few favorites. Not knowing many women in general, your pool of girl names was not strong so you drew from singers he’d mentioned. 

You scrunch up your nose a bit at that. “I like Dolly, I don’t like Dorothy.”

“It was my grandmas name, I’d really like to name our daughter after her.” His voice had that tone to it, the one that left little room to argue, but you tried to push past Dorothy.

“Maybe June? Like June Carter?” You knew how particle he was to Johnny Cash, but also... that was the name of the only friend you had before Tommy.

“That’s beautiful, little one, June it is.” He smiles into your skin, and you think you’ve won, when he says. “Dorothy June.” 

He had already decided, and there was no real option to argue or change his mind. You’d just call her Dolly, then.

You had one thing you really, really wanted for boy name, and you desperately hoped you could get it, but you couldn’t tell him why. You didn’t want any more kids so this was your only shot. You hadn’t even wanted this one, but as your stomach swelled with life, motherly love came with it and you decided you’d make the best of the situation. The child inside you was your number one priority. “Okay, boys? I really like Caleab… It’s my favorite boy name…” You didn’t have to tell him that was Zach’s middle name.

“I like it, bebita.” 

You got what you wanted. You knew Joel was hoping for a girl, so you figured he was less particular on the boy name. 

“Got any ideas for the middle name?” You ask him.

“Nothing in mind, really. I’m open…” He kisses your neck.  “Anything you want?”

You keep quiet. The name you wanted… he’d never go for.

Joel pulled you closer, nuzzling his face against you as he whispered. “Ah. I see.” You freeze. Tommy hadn’t been so much as alluded to since he barely made it out alive and you thought for sure Joel would have a fit, and you began to prepare yourself to feel a hand wrapped around your throat… But he tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed into your locks as he settled down for bed. “Caleb Thomas”

Month 6 

Lorenzo was getting on your fucking nerves today, and you were about to fling the frying pan, bubbling grease and all, at his face. 

“Will you shut up?”

“No, I’m not going to shut up because you are being fucking stupid!” Instead of his usual spot sitting at the kitchen table, he’s standing, arms crossed, in the doorway as you tried to get diner done. “I told you the first day, you are a dumb. Bitch.” he was drunk, three sheets to the wind and absolutely no filter.

“You have no fucking idea what I am! I am trying to fucking survive, Lorenzo, I am trying to keep myself and this baby-”

“You are playing housewife to a serial murder and a rapist!” He yells at you, clearly frustrated. “You are rewarding all the bad things he’s ever done you just give positive reinforcement-”

“Don’t fucking blame me! I’m not reinforcing the bad, I’m reinforcing the good!” You storm over to him, glaring Lorenzo down. “You have no fucking idea how bad things were! I used to dream about killing myself, about dying, about Joel finally snapping and doing it! I am doing the best in the conditions I have!”

“You could have left! You could have left with Zach and gone off with him for fucks sake!”

With a burst of anger you didn’t know was even in you anymore, you shove him, hard, causing the drunk to fall over. “You wanna know what he did last time I tried to run? He caught me within 10 minuets, dragged me back and chained me to this table-” You point at the table that you and Joel sit at most evenings now for diner. “And raped me in front of everyone, Lorenzo! Then he branded me and left me to be gang raped by all your little buddies here! And no one could stop him, not even Tommy! All Tommy could do is stand by and watch, and unchain me after Joel left before anyone could do anything more!”

Lorenzo was not deterred. “That’s my fucking point!”

“If I leave and he catches me, I am dead!”

Scoffing, Lorenzo rolls his eyes from where he’s slumped against the floor. “Yeah, that’s why”

Unsure how much more you can take from him, you motion him to continue.

“You just don’t wanna admit you fell in love with your rapist.”

That was enough. You begin to walk away from him, but he follows after you. 

“What about when you give birth, huh? What kind of father is he going to be? Are you going to stand by while he beats your kids?”

“SHUT UP!” You scream, still walking away. 

“And what if you have a daughter? You just gonna let him molest her like your dad-”

You wipe around so fast you don’t even have time to blink. “No, Joel isn’t like that.” 

Lorenzo laughs at you, cruel and loud. “You are 20 years younger than him, he raped you! You really think he’s above-”

“YES! He will not hurt her like that!”

“And if you have a son? Do you really wanna raise a man like Joel? The kind of man who beats and rapes innocent girls?”

Tears prickle at your eyes now, a terrible tightness in your chest bubbling with stomach bile. “N-no, that’s not gonna happen, I won’t let-”

“Oh, because you’ve had so much choice the last year, havn’t you. Sooooo much control.”

“I won’t.” You shake your head vigorously. “I won’t let anything happen to my baby, Joel won’t hurt them.”

“So, say he doesn't. You really gonna raise a kid here? Half the men here would’ve raped you, given the chance! You really think your child is safe here?”

You can’t argue with him when he’s right. But he doesn’t get it. Joel is good now, Joel protects you, Joel will protect the baby… Joel is gentle now… soft, kind… he thinks of you, he sings you songs… he plays music for you, he’ll be a good dad… You’ll be okay…

You shut down, going into autopilot. You don’t look at Lorenzo as you walk back to the kitchen to finish frying the chicken. Joel would be home soon.

Month 7

“JACK! GET MAURA!” Joel shouts as you groan on the bed, the tight contractions hurting.

“Joel, it hurts!” You call for him, and in a flash Joel is at your bedside, letting you squeeze his hand. 

“I know, little one, I know…” He pets your hair, having flashbacks to Sarah’s birth…. He wanted another girl so bad, but god, he just wanted a healthy baby and for his girl to make it out alive. Birth was dangerous in modern medicine, nonetheless a post-apocalyptic shitstorm. 

Lorenzo stood in the doorway, biting his nails. “You’re not due for another 8 weeks!”

Grunting through the pain, you let a rare bout of sarcasm slip. “Oh yeah, that’s right, never mind.”

“Could be false labor, you know? That’s called Braxton-Hicks contractions?” Lorenzo looked more nervous than you.

Joel ignored him. “It’s gonna be okay, Maura’s on her way and I think even out here 32 weeks is gonna be okay.” Joel wasn’t entirely sure about his own words. 32 weeks meant a premature baby, and pre-mature usually meant NICU… but there was no NICU to go to… if the babies lungs were under developed or anything like that, there were no options. 

Lorenzo was chewing through his nails enough to draw blood. “Or maybe it’s Braxton-Hicks”

At that, Joel finally acknowledges Lorenzo. “Okay, we get it, you know the term Braxton-Hicks, we’re all very impressed.”

“AHHHHHHH” You yell, wishing to get there was something for the pain.

Lorenzo wouldn’t shut up. “Okay, contractions are getting longer, that means your in active labor?”

“Her water hasn’t broke yet!” 

“Is she dilated?”

“Does it look like her pants are off to you?”

“Well check!”

“I don’t know how to tell! Weren’t you bragging last month you helped your sister give birth in a Walmart?”

“That doesn’t mean I know how to check if she’s dilated!”

“You know more than me!”

“I’m not sticking my fucking face between legs!”

“Oh, because you’re gay you’re suddenly scared of vagina’s?”

“What are you talking about?”

“So you’d rather let her just die?”

“DIE? Joel she’s not gonna die because I’m not looking at her fucking cu-”

“GUYS” you shout, causing both to turn and look at you. “The contractions stopped.”

There’s a moment of silence before Lorenzo speaks. “Oh. Huh. That’s uhhh… Braxton-Hicks I guess. False labor.”

As Joel kissed you that night, sex was the last thing you wanted, but you knew there was no point in fighting it.

Joel sucked on your throat, already bruised with dark marks from the night before, now sore and aching with new licks and bites, his hands roaming to expanse of skin presented before him. Gripping, feeling, pinching, tugging, some things felt good, some hurt, but that didn’t matter. He’d get you off, he always did, at night anyway, but you knew sometimes he just liked to feel you, feel what he owned.  The pain is mine. Your cries are mine, your cunt is mine. And if you bleed? Your blood is mine.

Your belly round and swollen with child, he could not hardly keep his hand off it, every time his hand traveled to explore, it quickly found itself returning to its home, never wanting to miss a kick. He slithered down, nestling his face between your legs and devouring your pussy the way he did your neck, the way he did every piece of you, body and soul and until there was nothing left but this subservient version of you, weak and obedient to his hands. He lapped you up, skilled tongue exploring through your folds only pausing to nibble at the soft skin of your thighs or kiss the round stomach above him. He felt extra possessive today, a desperate, anxious way about him as he devoured you so hungrily you wondered if he intended to eat you, swallow you whole to keep you with him forever; a communion, and you were the eucharist, a matrimony of cannibalism. 

You wanted to tug at his hair, you wanted to entangle yourself in him but your belly was in the way, so you simply laid back and enjoyed as he tongue fucked you, prodding at your entrance, his hands on the globe where your child waits to be born.

“Fuck, Joel, need you, need to cum, please.”

You beg for him, plead, and he devours. Joel knows you love when his perfect, plus lips such at your mound and your clit with long fingers fingering into you, and you yelp when they curl up and hit that spot inside you. “Keep moaning, little one, let me hear you.”

You obliged. Sometimes you wondered how sick everyone in the house was of hearing you, but they weren’t the ones you needed to please; pleasing Joel kept you alive.

“I need you inside me, please” Nudging him with your leg as you cry for his cock. “Joel, I gotta have you inside me, I need to cum on your cock, please? Please, Joel-”

A wet, sloppy sound as he detached from you, and his eyes looked just as hungry as he acted while he crawled up. “You beg so pretty, little one, such a pretty little cock whore.”

But you didn’t have time for his talking, you needed him inside you, now; the hormones of the pregnancy had a mind of their own. You take a chance and push him down, watching Joel smile as you straddle his waist. “God, I just- just need you.”

“The take me, little one, take me” 

You cry out as you sink down onto him, feeling your cunt split on him. “Fuuuck!” Sobbing, you take him fully and begin to fuck yourself on him.

“Just like that, pretty girl, fuck, taking me so well, gonna have you all stretched out to have this baby, huh? Gonna give me a child, little girl? A baby of our own? Fuck, fuck you look so pretty like this, swollen with my child, stretching your stomach as I stretch your cunt, fucking perfect, my perfect wife.”

Wife.

Wife.

Wife?!

You knew Joel was delusional… but fuck, Lorenzo was right… you were playing house wife. Joel thought of you as his wife… 

“Gonna fuck you full of my cum, again, and again, keep you constantly knocked up, make our happy little family, you and me and a dozen little kids running around, FUCK, our family, our family.”

You continued the pace, you couldn’t falter, you couldn’t slow down, you couldn’t hesitate; you couldn’t give any sort of reason for him to think you didn’t want this…

But it suddenly struck you

You were trapped. Joel trapped you with a baby, knowing you’d need him to protect it, knowing you’d never leave your child… and now he was going to keep you pregnant. You could never leave with 5,6,7 kids, it would be impossible. 

“Yeah, fuck yourself on my cock little one, just little that…” Joel reached out to touch you, roughly manhandling your tits that were swollen and engorged.

You begin to cry, but that wouldn’t give away anything for Joel; he fucking loved that shit.

One hand on your breast, one on your clit. “Cry on my cock, baby girl, cry when you cum.”

You did, you sobbed as you came, your body betraying the horrors you felt at his hands.

Month 8

“Hey Joel? Can I talk to you about something?”

You had to do it. You had to. And it had to be now. You two had fucked less than half an hour ago and he was currently eating your food, humming contently. He was always lovey-dovey after sex, and was always much happier after food… The pair didn’t line up often, so now was your chance. 

“What’s on your mind, little one? Nervous about being a mother? You’ll be a great mom; I just know it.” He smiled at you with puppy dog eyes, looking up from his plate, and you couldn’t help smiling back, not when he showered you with compliments.

“Well… you’ve said before you wanted lots of kids… but we… well this little baby was an accident.”

“A miracle, not an accident.” Joel corrected you. You didn’t see how conceiving a child the night he was threatening to blow your brains onto a wall for sleeping with his brother if you didn’t shoot said-baby’s uncle was a miracle… but you digress

“Right. Well… we never really talked about more kids… and although I’m over the moon about this baby, I did initially not want to have it.” Joel’s face began to darken, but you powered through. “Maybe we could see how we feel about one kid after a few years before thinking about-”

Joel slammed down his silverware. “What are you trying to say.”

But you freeze. This was a bad idea, you needed to placate immediately, you needed to calm him down. “N-nothing, Joel, just thinking out loud.”

He stood up, a deadly, blank stare on his face, so far removed from the adoration as he bestowed kisses on your ever-growing belly. Joel walked around the table, standing behind you and placing firm hands on your shaking shoulders, leaning into your ear. 

“You say’n you don’t want my kids? Don’t wanna be their mama? You don’t wanna be my wife?”

“No, no that’s not-” But you don’t get a chance to finish, his hand is wrapped around your throat and insane strength pulling you up and out of the chair, the wooden furniture toppled to the side in a loud clatter. He slams the back of your head against the drywall, you’re toes barely touch the ground; struggling to breath, you claw at his hand, but he doesn’t even blink.

The panic begins to set it.

“YOU ARE NOT IN CHARGE! YOU DO NOT GET TO MAKE CHOICES!” He screams, and out of the corner of your eye you watch as a few men hesitantly gather, like vultures waiting on the next piece of deadmeat. You couldn’t see who, but it didn’t matter. Even the good ones couldn’t intervene.

Joel’s face was suddenly right in front of yours. “Everything you have, any freedom, any luxuries, any power you think you have is because I have given it to you.” Black spots appeared, your vision blurring, sinking into the unknown and god, did it feel sweet. Was it finally over? “I bought you, I own you, you have no rights! You are nothing! You are nothing but a toy for me to play with, a breeding bitch and you should be so lucky to sit at my table!”

He let go, but as you gasped for breath, Joel yanked at your hair and patched you across the room, not letting go of his grasp on you as you flung into the counter. What he didn’t know, what he could never understand was how the handle of the draw rammed into the brand on your side. Suddenly, all sense, all rational went out the window, and you were violently thrust back to last year as he burned his initials into your skin. The flashbacks were triggered, and the result was nothing short of hysteria. You cry out for the only person who would step in.

“TOMMY!TOMMY!TOMMY!TOMMY!TOMMYYYY” You scream, the fact Tommy was miles away didn’t matter, nor did the fact this would only anger Joel more. This didn’t matter; you wanted him, no one but him, and all sense was knocked out of you.

Joel pulls you up by your hair and slaps you hard enough that you taste blood and screams at you to not say Tommy’s name, but you can’t stop, you scream and scream and scream for him to come save you and your baby, the precious little life inside you that has never done anything wrong. 

You fight and claw and panic, hysterics drowning out the one or two voices telling Joel to stop; who they belonged to, you couldn’t say. 

Joel stopped listening, and the voices grow louder as Joel drags you, kicking and screaming, outside; rope and a chair in his hand, your hair in the other, and Joel walked with long strides to a tree outside.

****************

YEEEEEEESSSSHHHHHHHHHHH Cliiiiiff hanger, hanging from a cliiiiiiffff thats why he's caaaaallled, Cliff Hangers!

Who else used to watch Inbetween The Lions? Anyway.

Who wanna guess what happens!

Only two chapters left!

For the sake of credit, if you didn't find the superstore reference or dont watch the show, most of the dialogue between Joel and Lorenzo and LO was between Amy and Jonah from two birth related episodes of superstore

Also, Maura is named after my dear dear friend @maura-honey who although is not generally a fanfiction girlie, made a tumblr so she could read, like and reblog this series and always sends me such lovely messages <3

Reblogs are the best way to spread and support, but comments mean the world. I know not everyone likes to share dark content on their blog, but even a kind anon is such support!

for those who voted you dont like or hate or Lorenzo, I hope that doesn't mean you hate him as n he's a bad character. I got a comment on AO3 that said "i cant tell if i like lorenzo or not, but i like him in the story" which makes sense! His victim blaming is really fucking shitty.

no poll today, sorry!

MoonBanana said they think LO copes by lying to herself until she beleives it, what do y'all think? is she as delusional as joel?

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @howaboutcastiel @tidlewav3 @bunnnyy-dummy @slutfortimotheechalamet @foggymoonbanana @dinsbaby @miraclesabound @jenna-ortega @primosworld @marclovers @threeheadedlamb @secretwriterpp @the-fox-den

@bitchyglitterfox @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @lunar-ghoulie @pedritosdarling @dreamonseems @alwaysdjarin @amoramorquetepintas @milla-frenchy

[ash5monster01]

hey i saw that your requests are open and can i request a charlie fic where he realize that all this time his parents blatantly favors his childhood friend (aka a fem!oc) and sister (yes he has a sister in the movie—a super tiny details) and grew to resent them both especially the fem!oc? feel free to ignore if your requests are actually closed or if you feel the idea is way too dark ;;;

p.s.: i love ur new romantics fic so much and we're on the same discord server;)

Turn Back Time

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x OC!FemReader

Warnings: angst, minor depression, emotional abuse, disconnect, mentions of death, personality issues.

Summary: Charlie hated a lot of people in this world but the one he never planned on, was her.

word count: 1.6k

Masterlist

Charlie was used to it. In fact he was used to his parents favoring everyone over him. Friends, Teachers, Aunts, Uncles, hell even Neil. Most of all though was his sister and Iris. The girl next door, only daughter of a successful family that his parents were always trying to keep up with. They always wished he would be more like her, but to him that thought never really occurred. In fact it never even bothered him, especially since he could escape from it all at school. He could be at Welton for months on end with no worry about being the perfect child for once. That is until he was expelled.

Now that he was permanently home he never realized just how long he would be under the criticism of his parents and that it would make it harder and harder not to blame the people they favored more. Everyday it was ‘You should be more like your sister’ or ‘You know Iris is already scouting Ivy Leagues’ and he was beginning to hate it. Nothing he could do would get them to stop and because of all this it had started to put a strain between him and his sister. Worst of all between him and Iris. Iris, the first girl he loved and the only girl he always thought he would. For years all he had ever wanted was her and now when he looked at her, all he could see is an image of something his father wanted him to be. The last thing he ever wanted to do was please his father.

“Hi Charlie” his sister sweetly smiled from her bedroom door. He tried to offer a small smile back but he had just finished mowing the lawn and the sweat that was beaded on his forehead was already beginning to fall.

“Hey Claire” he responded and that’s when she opened her door a touch more to reveal Iris laid upon her bed, magazine pinched between her small fingers as she bounced her leg to the song on the record player.

“Me and Iris are hanging out if you want to join?” Claire offered, clearly excited at the idea of spending time with the brother she never gets to see, but as Charlie looks between them, he struggles to find the desire to spend any time with either of them. If he did his father would just see it as him wasting time. Time he could be using to get back into a good school.

“Thanks but I’m going to take a shower and probably study” he says and neither him or Iris miss the way Claire’s face drops at the denial. Charlie practically begs himself to feel a semblance of guilt but all he sees is a girl his parents would always deem better than him.

“Let us know if you change your mind” Iris says after a beat, sitting up to usher the small girl back inside and leave Charlie to do what he needed.

As soon as the relief of the cool water pounds on Charlie’s back he finds himself stuck in thoughts surrounding the current life he was living. He hadn’t heard from his friends in months, which wasn’t their fault. He had been banned from any phone use, and if he tried to write a letter, his Dad would remove it from the mailbox immediately. He was all alone, he no longer could even enjoy the comfort of his sister. Worst of all he couldn’t enjoy the comfort of Iris. She was once a girl he adored and now he couldn’t even look at her. He couldn’t look at anyone, not even as they all sat and ate dinner that night. All he could do was listen to the praise his parents gave to everyone but him as he pushed his peas around his plate.

Iris watched him from across the table, how he never looked up to meet her eye and she suddenly found herself missing him. She only ever got to see Charlie in the summer but for those short three months every year, he had become important to her. He was different now, he wasn’t as happy or witty. His sarcastic nature had been eliminated completely and worst of all he didn’t look at her with desire anymore and even though Iris had found it annoying before, now she missed it. So later that night, as she sat on her back porch she watched Charlie step out onto his and she decided to say something.

“You’re different” her voice carries out into the night air, startling Charlie as he turned to spot the girl with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, trying to bring himself to admire how beautiful she looked in the moonlight. He knew she did, he just could no longer bring himself to care. He hated that, all these years of loving her and somehow any feeling inside him had died along with Neil.

“It just means that the Charlie I know would never say no to spending time with Claire, let alone me. You won’t even look at me” she argued, a breathy chuckle falling past her lips even though she found nothing about this funny.

“I just-.. I can’t” he says, his excuse weak and coming out in a breath that couldn’t carry. Iris had no sympathy, she no longer understood him.

“I know you went through a hard thing and I know your parents are hard on you, but if you push away everyone who actually does care. Then you’ll have no one” she says with the shake of her head, scoffing into the night air as her eyes scanned the dark back yard. Charlie felt the smallest twinge in his gut but nothing strong enough to make him feel anything.

“Sorta feels like it already” Charlie says and Iris sucks in a sharp breath, not expecting the coldness from her friend. Charlie had a big ego, he was cocky and could be rude, but those were things that made him who he was. Now, he was the shell of something she never understood and her heart broke for the chance they could’ve had.

“We never stopped being on your side” she tells him and Charlie shrugs as he looks up to the night sky. The stars are bright tonight, shining down at him just as he spots orion’s belt.

“My parents already decided you weren’t” and it finally hits Iris exactly why he had been so distant. Something that wasn’t even her choice.

“You know that’s not my fault” she whispers, tears stinging at the back of her eyes. She may have never loved Charlie the way he did her but he was still there. A safety net of someone she always cared about and she always thought that maybe someday they’d have their chance.

“I know, but nothing ever is” he says, mind stuck on all the tragedy he had just endured. How he had tried to express free will only to find out it would backfire on you every time.

“So this is it then? You decide me and Claire are the bad guys and leave us behind forever?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the railing. The distance between the two porches feeling more and more.

“I didn’t want it to be that way” he tells her earnestly and Iris finally feels the tears begin to pool in her eyes as she looked at the brunette boy across from her.

“Will it ever change?” she asks, voice tearful and crushing Charlie’s chest even more and he looks back at the house that holds his parents. Parents he had to live with until they found another school to ship him off to or until college. Parents that will continue to compare him to every person in his life until Charlie wished he was dead. Thing was, Charlie hasn’t entirely lost hope. He had hope that time and distance could change him. Hope could be fleeting but it never meant it wasn’t there.

“I hope so, it’s not like I can turn back time” Charlie says with a pressed smile, knowing just how much he yearned for the ability to go back and change how things had ended up. Change how he felt about her.

“Me too” she says, tears glistening in the porch light as Charlie finally looked at her. Looked at how grown and beautiful she had become.

“You saying I had a chance?” he asks, knowing how many times he had tried to ask her out, tried to make her his own. Just to get denied every time, see the beautiful roll of her eyes and purse of those perfect lips.

“You always did Charlie, I was just waiting until you grew up” she answers honestly and Charlie’s heart clenches, practically begging his brain to stop being so dumb. Two parts of himself torn over what to do when the girl he always loved admitted to wanting him too.

“Don’t count me out just yet, I still have about a year of growing up to do” he tells her and Iris laughs, hands wiping the tears off of her face. Head tipping to the sky and eyeing the big dipper just to make sure no more tears resurfaced.

“Sounds good, we can talk about it in a year and if not then, maybe after college” she agrees and Charlie lightly laughs, a real genuine laugh for the first time since he came home.

“Okay, it’s a deal” he says with a nod and Iris smiles one more time, listening to the cicadas buzz and feeling the cool air around them.

“I miss you” she suddenly whispers and Charlie nods, knowing exactly what she meant.

“I miss me too”

[isa-beenme]

Moonlight

Chapter 1: Bohemian Rhapsody

When Hybern falls, all of their prior experiments are free to take the world as they want, but for months no one hears anything coming from the castle. Until the massacre. Until the whole palace explodes. Their biggest weapon is out, and she only has one objective: get back to her sisters.

Warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of child abuse, mentions of experiments with human beings, mentions of child murder (please someone tell me if I forgot something)

The reason why I chose the name of the chapter is quite simple: This is the song I listened to and repeated the whole time while I wrote the chapter. Also, Rhapsody means a collection of different beats and rhythms united in a song, and that represents this lovely group of ladies that are together now fighting for their lives. And Bohemia is the city where Fausto (a mythological German character) was born, it's said that he traded his life with a demon for knowledge, eternal life, and love, kinda reminds me of a certain Archeron sister that I created haha

When the country lost its king, we also lost our hope. Not me, exactly, but the younger girls who still thought we had a future of our own. We didn't, we were taught that our lives were never ours, but the king's, and after so many years, after Feyre Cursebreaker freed the High Lords in Prythian, after they entered the castle and left more damaged than they already were, after getting the Book of Breaths, after Prythian winning the war, and yet, no one coming here to actually free us, we were all just waiting for death.

Aemma's POV

I don't believe I ever got the chance to think about my life. I had a simple routine: get up in the early morning, eat breakfast, train my powers, eat lunch, train physically in the camps, eat dinner, study with the king, and go back to the cells to sleep. It was easy, it was enough. But then the war came, and Hybern fought there, and they lost.

We could’ve just left, it was an option, but some weeks after the war had ended, they received a new shipment of younglings to transform into faes, and we had to take care of them since the camp lords and ladies were busy trying to take care of everything that had left. It would be the perfect moment for anyone to come and save us. But they never did. And the camps started to work again, and the children were dead. Useless; they said.

Some of the girls had to take time to process the loss, they were grieving. Weird feeling this grief is. We always cry for others, no matter how hurt and broken we are, but after some time we stop caring about ourselves. We do not grieve our souls enough. Some girls were punished for feeling grief. Faes do not grieve, they said. But deep down, we were always humans. Would forever be. I told the king that once. He laughed, and I never uttered a word about my thoughts ever again.

After the grief, they went through a rough phase of pure anger. I was the same as I ever was, leading. We protected those children as our own. For months, we fed, washed, and taught them as much as we could. No one told us that the cauldron was gone. If so, I would've told Vivie to not get too attached. That was their mistake. To not prepare me for the rush of feelings that came after. The king knew how to pacify me, how to make me an obedient servant. I always knew he was bad, evil, disgusting, and sadistic. But somehow, so was I, and he offered me a place, a listener, a task, and an objective. I couldn’t help but grieve for him too. 

But what did they did to the kids? Unacceptable. I killed, tortured, and fed Enchantress' soul with their despair. I enjoyed that too. I burned their houses, their camps, their ships, everything I could. Silently, I learned how to use my power and ended them with it. We took the studies they kept in the castle and saved them for the land we were going to. To sell the knowledge, use it as a job, or just give it to someone, it didn’t matter. Not when everyone in Hybern was dead and the only thing that had left was their experiments. 

Some girls went back to Wotawa. Some went to Vallahan. But me and the bigger group? We are in Prythian. The fae realm of Prythian. The idea is to simply find a place for ourselves and start life again – no, not again, simply start it. My objective is as simple as life: find my sisters again. But I have to secure all of the other girls somewhere I know they will be safe.

We first came to Spring Court, knowing that the High Lord wasn’t watching for the land anymore. We’ve been here for a few days now, mapping the area with Alyssa’s power, since she can see the world with different eyes than us. Oletta is making sure we don’t get caught surprised by any danger, since she can feel any kind of movement from living beings. And Naomi has been keeping us hidden from view any time someone gets too close to our little camp. That’s how we work, together and smoothly. We can be railed up at any moment if we don’t.

Or not anymore. It’s hard to leave the idea that we can be punished for our mistakes behind. Although a mistake can get us punished by nature. The real world is as complicated as the King told me. It’s dangerous and unpredictable and scary and big and-

- Aemma? Alyssa finished mapping the Night Court, the girls want to know if you will decide where we are going now or if we need to wait - Ada appears behind me, taking me out of my thoughts suddenly.

- Reunite the girls, we are deciding now - I tell her while getting up from the place where I was sitting.

Ada has the power to talk to animals, a power considered useless for Hybern, and became one of the first girls to be considered our slaves. It’s clear by the poor and ragged dress she’s wearing, different from all of the training uniforms we have dressed. Each one of us was designated a different color so that the king could differentiate us in the training from afar. Either way, I am the only one wearing blue, the cobalt blue designated for me because of my eyes that carry the same shade so everyone would know where to look when I started to train.

Once I get in the middle of the camp a good number are already reunited, waiting for the debate we know won't take long. It was always like this, I said, they followed. Easy. Alyssa is looking excited, and I simply know it’s because her power was finally used for something good. Somehow I understand the feeling. 

- Where is Clover? Someone bring her here, please? - Soon I say the girls start to open a way for the dark-skinned girl to come to the middle too - Clover, show us what Alyssa is seeing.

Clover’s power is, at the same amount that is useful, is very specific. She can project the image that someone is thinking as something visible to everyone, that’s how we end up with a sort of map in the middle of us with very detailed forms and named with the principal cities and borders.

- Okay, I think all of us agree that the Autumn Court is a big no since we know who the High Lord is. Winter Court is a no too since we need to keep Olive alive and she needs heat. This makes us take Summer Court out too because, on the other side, we need to keep Livie alive and she needs the cold. We are already at the Spring Court and the High Lord is still a lost cause, although Missy, Lyanna, and Elara are making a list of the ones that want to stay here and help the Court and prevent it from falling even more apart, so anyone with plant, weather, and healing related powers are welcomed and appreciated. The three will be waiting on their sleeping spot in case someone is interested.

The map shines in front of me as the said Courts disappear from view.

- All of the Seasonal Courts are out then. Dawn Court is out because of the number of mountains, and we all know Shuri needs space - The said girl gets red as a big amount of the group laughs. Shuri is our runner but is still adapting to her power, and the last time she collided with a mountain we stayed almost three whole days cleaning the mess. That’s when the camps were moved to a more plain place - Now we are only between the Night and the Day Court. And I won’t lie, for me the choice is quite obvious. 

- And why?

- Day Court is amazing, it’s true, but Night Court is the biggest of all of them, they have different races of faes and the most powerful beings in their Inner Circle. They can keep our training and give us resources. 

- And why exactly do we think they are going to help us? - Vivie comes from behind, her eyes still red and puffy from the nights she hasn’t been sleeping.

- They were the only ones who tried to stop Hybern from the beginning. Feyre Cursebreaker is the High Lady, and just the fact they accepted a High Lady is already a positive point. And you know about the General trying to include Illyrian females in the training. They might not be perfect but we can help too, offering our knowledge.

- And it has nothing to do with the fact that your sisters are there? - She asks with a stoic face, making me stop in my tracks, and slowly turn.

- How do you know that Nestha and Elain are alive? 

- I heard your conversation with Anika. She heard a group of peasants talking about them and told you. But were you planning to tell us that we are after your sisters too?

- We are not after my sisters. If I had to take you all to a different side of the world to make you safe I would, if I had to choose between keeping all of you secure and seeing my sisters again, Mother knows I would choose you without thinking twice, the fact that they are there too is a matter fact of coincidence - She downs her head and another one of the girls put a hand on her shoulder to half hug her - I know you are hurt, I consider the incident my fault too, but we cannot throw rocks at each other in such a delicate moment like this. I chose the Night Court uniquely because it’s the best place now. If anyone has an objection, tell me right now and I will consider it. But we will leave tomorrow morning. The ones who can winnow can already go rest, you will work less than the day we escaped but it is still a lot. The rest can go do the normal chores.

As the bigger group starts to dissipate Vivie stays in place, waiting until everyone goes back to their place.

- So? Something else you want to accuse me of?

- I’m sorry. I’m just… I don’t know. It feels weird.

- You’re sad and tired. It's okay. I shouldn’t be so hard on you either. I understand that after so much time being reprimed of feelings is weird to have so much freedom to… hm.

- Talk? Yeah, I know. Sorry once again - She glances at me with a shadow of a smile, the best she has done in all these days.

- Aemma Archeron, you dirty little liar - Enchantress decides to make her appearance after Vivie walks away, her shadowed body standing in front of me with only her face fully visible to me. Laughing. She’s laughing at me.

- It was for the greater good. Night Court is the best option - I answer in the language I took years to learn how to speak, the one only she can understand.

- It might’ve been, but your true objective is to find your dear sisters, is it not?

- Can be, but I’m taking them with me, they are my family as much as my blood sisters - I start to walk away to my own sleeping spot, seeing the shadow figure following me, knowing damn well that her shadows are curving around my shoulders as a way of telling everyone else for us to not be interrupted.

- You are indeed lovely, young Aemma. How long can you stay like this? - She asks while taking one of my hair’s strands.

- Depends on how long you will keep talking shit in my ears - I shove her away, hearing her laugh slowly dissipate into the deep parts of my brain.

- That’s why I like you so much, little Aemma.

Maybe that’s why I hate myself too. Tomorrow would be a new day, and the pull I feel in my chest could finally be released.

[quokkacore]

phenomena | s.jn

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

pairing: conspiracytheorist!johnny x doctor!reader

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

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

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

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

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

X-FILE 62-J: THE PINEWOOD PATTERN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If you have any doubt about my credentials—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh boy, you thought, here we go. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 John grinned. “Awesome.”

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What just happened?”

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

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

"What are you—" 

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

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

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

 Hi-de-hi-de-hi, brother,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I… is that a—?"

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

"A chimpanzee."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A hunch," Was all he answered.

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

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

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

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

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

"Nothing scientific to substantiate," He corrected.

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

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

"'S that… ash?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am not—"

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

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

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

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

“Uh, John, where are you g—”

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

“Fuckin’—I—WOO! WOO HOO!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Johnny, shut up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But how do you know—”

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

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

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

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

 You frowned. “The girl in the wheelchair?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 He nodded. "You hungry?"

  "Um… yeah, why?"

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

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

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

You rolled your eyes, but didn't disagree.

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

"I… There's something in the woods."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "I was 17. I'm turning 21 in June."

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

Oh?

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

"So you called us?"

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

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

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

  "Does this normally h—"

 "Lia Choi."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Empty," He groaned.

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

"I think I know who did it."

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A-and the marks are…"

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

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

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

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

"This—Johnny, this is insane!"

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

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

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

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

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

Right into the forest.

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

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

"Shit," He muttered, "Do you think—?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brightness?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N, are you alright?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John clenched his jaw. "But—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Understood, sir," You said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don't care if Monday's blue

Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, Oscar the Grouch." 

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

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

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Ouch."

"Any witnesses or anything?" 

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

Johnny tilted his head. "Hooves?"

You hummed in confirmation.

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

"No." 

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

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

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

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

Dressed up to the eyes

It's a wonderful surprise

To see your shoes and your spirits rise...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, but I still want coffee."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We wanted to… you know."

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

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

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

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

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

"Did you see what happened?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What did it look like?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Johnny frowned. "I think maybe—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Our investigation is ongoing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Something to do with that girl?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Johnny—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frowned and crossed your arms. "Johnny—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Johnny, I—"

"Can you get out, please?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This just got a whole lot more complicated. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded, and that was that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

A commotion from the kitchen cut you off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Johnny nodded. “Hopefully we’ll find—”

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

“Sheriff, what’s going on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who called the police?"

"Clinton."

"Clinton?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Johnny tilted his head. "Why not?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Believed?"

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

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

"Who did, then?"

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

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

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

"Why even use Phoebe in the first place?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What? But—"

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

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

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

Your friend needed you.

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

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

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

Where was Johnny?

"Y/N?"

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

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

"Y/N? What's… going on?"

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

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

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

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

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

His eyebrows shot up. "He did it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that—?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who, Mrs. Walker, who?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Johnny, what about—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed. "I mean, maybe you—"

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

"Johnny—?"

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

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

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

And two, you were being dragged by Hillary Clinton. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But—"

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

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

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

Donghyuck gasped. "Holy shit."

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

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

Then she broke out into a run. 

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

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

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

"We're not leaving without—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Johnny made a face. "Again?"

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

"Stupid?" Johnny offered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowned. "Why? You saw Walker."

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

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

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

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

"Uhh, Agent Suh?"

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

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

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

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

X-FILE 229-B: THE SAN CEFERINO SHIFTER

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

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

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

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

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

Yikes.

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

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

"Oh, nice. Who are we?"

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

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

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

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

Frowning at the profile, you nodded half-heartedly. It stated that your backstory was that of college sweethearts at Cornell in the 80s. He was class of 1984, you of 1986. You were moving to California two months after getting married, because "Fox" got a job offer just outside of San Francisco. 

"You're staring at that paper like you're Nancy Kerrigan and it just broke your knee," Johnny pointed out, "You okay?"

"Huh?" You looked at him, swallowing. "Oh… yeah. I'm fine. I'm just a bit… unsure about the whole marriage thing." 

Johnny shrugged, offering an amused smile. "Really, Y/N. We've been working together for two years and you still find me that unbearable?"

You laughed, standing and circling your desk to stand in front of him. "No, not at all. I'm just not the best when it comes to undercover work."

Johnny leaned against the desk, smiling sympathetically. "Well, I'm no Tom Hanks either. But if you think about it, we spend all our time together anyway. It's not that big of a stretch to say we might as well be."

"We definitely argue like one," You fired back. You both laughed, simply staring at each other in silence once it quieted down. Johnny's eyes studied you up and down, dark eyes warm. He was wearing his glasses today. 

You wondered if he was judging your outfit, because he did that sometimes with other people. Apparently, before he became interested in criminal psychology he'd wanted to become a fashion designer, or so he told you. Six months later after he'd told you that and you still weren't sure if he was joking or not.

"What are you looking at?" You asked. He shook his head. 

"...Nothing. Let's get going?"

The two of you picked up your faux suitcases—the bureau had a department full of fake clothes for agents going undercover needing to fit a certain persona. The two of you were nothing close to the white picket fence suburban life, so you were better off picking up some fake clothes.

You laughed when you saw the first outfit Johnny had been given. A pastel yellow LaCoste polo shirt, and grayish blue dress shorts. He glowered at you when he saw your face.

"Oh, yeah, very funny."

Your outfit wasn't much better. High rise, light wash jeans and another polo, this one bright red, a pair of dark red casual loafers to match. Johnny didn't laugh, but it was clear he was trying not to.

You decided to sleep on the plane. There wasn't a lot to look over, as you'd received the file the night before. By now, you knew the drill. 

You dreamt you were back in that hotel room in Oregon. Johnny was kneeling beneath you, but you still hadn't taken your robe off. He was saying something, but you couldn't understand what. His eyes were full of a warm emotion that you couldn't quite place.

Until he raised his arms to try and remove the robe. This time, when he spoke, you could hear him clearly. "This is what you wanted me to do, right?"

Your hands grabbed his. "What? Johnny, I… Well…" 

He stood, face impossibly close to yours. There was an odd smile on his face. "Don't worry," He murmured. "I want to, too."

Slowly, your hands let go of his and he began to pull off the robe. You didn’t protest. When you were bare, his hands slid to the skin of your waist, and he pulled you against him. His forehead pressed against yours.

"Johnny, are you sure?"

"Y/N," He said with a smile, "We are beginning our descent into LAX. Please put on your seatbelts and put up your trays."

You jumped awake in your seat, eyes impossibly wide. A laugh from beside you caused you to turn your head. Johnny was giggling into his palm. 

"What?" You asked, voice raspy from sleeping. 

"Oh my god, that was beautiful," He declared, "You were sleeping so peacefully and then, oh my god, that was hilarious."

"Ha, ha, ha." Your tone was devoid of any emotion. You rubbed your eyes, yawning slightly. "What time is it, here?"

"Three hour time difference. It's one PM." 

You nodded. And you still had a six hour car ride. Lovely. 

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE I-5, CALIFORNIA—15:22, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

"Couldn't they have just flown us to San Francisco and have us drive from there?" Johnny complained after being cut off by yet another car. 

You sighed. "Budget cuts, I guess. We're not infiltrating the mafia, or taking down human trafficking rings."

"Yeah, we just fight the boogeyman and the little green men," He agreed. You laughed. 

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we hadn't gotten assigned together?" He sounded wistful, not taking his eyes off of the road. 

"I don't know." You picked at a loose thread on your jeans. "I would probably still be teaching at the academy. I think Brooks was considering placing you with Jung if I wasn't up for it."

"Jaehyun Jung?" He turned his head, making a face. "Really? He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," You insisted, "He just thinks like me, science before all, except… less nice about it."

"You sure?" He asked, fiddling with the radio, "Every time we're in a room together, I catch him staring at me like he's trying to shoot lasers into my head, the prick."

You shrugged. "He's nice to me."

"That's just 'cause he's trying to get into your pants."

You hummed. Jaehyun was pretty handsome. "Would that be such a bad thing?" 

He coughed, shrugging. "Well, it's your love life. You do you."

The air turned awkward. Johnny fiddled with the radio, but in this particular stretch of the interstate, all that came up was a Latin beats radio. Trumpets, and soft snare drums filled the car. You immediately recognized Selena's Bidi Bidi Bom Bom, a song about a girl realizing her heart went crazy whenever her lover passed by—while you didn’t listen to a lot of Latin music, you had a friend who did and always played this song when you met up.

Me tiemblan hasta las piernas

Y el corazon igual

Se emociona, ya no razona

No lo puedo controlar

"Oh, I hate this song," Johnny mumbled, reaching to turn the radio off.

"No, wait! I like it." You pushed his hand away. He groaned, but didn't turn it off. 

Y me canta así, me canta así…

Bidi bidi bom bom, bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

So, the two of you continued on listening to Selena, Johnny silently pouting. 

"So, what were you dreaming about on the plane?"

"Huh?" You cleared your throat.

"Yeah, you said my name in your sleep."

You shifted in your seat. "Oh… Um. I can't even remember."

He hummed, but didn't say anything. The drive continued on, both of you alternating between discussing mundane things and the case. All of them had been found in their homes, with no sign of a struggle—which suggested they knew their assailant. They'd all been strangled to death. No odd fingerprints could be recovered from the crime scenes. 

The first victim lived alone. The other two's husbands had solid alibis that were confirmed by the police. 

Which meant that it had to be someone in the neighborhood. There was reportedly a strong sense of community there, which was part of why the bureau had you going undercover. 

Around six, the two of you rolled into San Francisco, for a brief stop to talk to the detective who had contacted the bureau, a woman named Wendy Son. 

The two of you rolled into the precinct, and upon showing your badges, were prompted to the woman’s office. She had her light brown hair tied up in a ponytail, wearing a black pantsuit similar to what you would wear, had you not been dressed like a soccer mom.

"Oh, thank you for coming," She said once you sat down. "I have some extra material here that I wasn't able to fax you."

She pulled out a folder, setting it in front of you on the desk. Johnny opened it to reveal more images you hadn't initially seen. 

"We sent the sample to Los Angeles because their laboratory has a higher capacity," She told you both, "They still weren't able to identify it, but apparently it apparently has an a mild tranquilizing enzyme. That might also be why there wasn't much of a struggle." 

Johnny hummed. "There aren't any cameras in San Ceferino, are there?" 

Detective Son shook her head. "Only around the perimeter and the gates." 

"Maybe there's something there," You said, "Could we have access to those tapes?"

She looked back down at the pictures. "I could certainly get it to you by tomorrow afternoon, though. Come in past two and I should have it by then."

Johnny nodded and smiled at her. "That would be great, thank you." 

She smiled, and you'd have to be blind to not notice the blush on her face. She handed him the keys to the house that the heads of the community had arranged to have semi-furnished ahead of your arrival. The rest would be arriving tomorrow in the morning, during which time you would go through the motions of being a newlywed couple moving into their “forever home”.

Johnny apparently was blind, though. He didn't say anything about it once you were both back in the car. You couldn't really blame her. 

Johnny was… well, he was Johnny. He was incredibly handsome, and funny. Any reasonable person interested in men would find him attractive. 

"Detective Son likes you," You told him as you were getting onto the road that led to San Ceferino.

"Does she?" He answered, smiling smugly. "She's pretty."

You don't know why that ignited something in you. "You think so?"

He nodded. "She seems nice. But I'm not interested."

The odd sensation in your chest simmered down. "No?"

"Not really. I'm not interested in something long distance. Plus, I work too much to have a relationship."

You nodded. "Yeah. I understand."

You arrived as the sun was setting, around seven. The two of you pulled into the gate to the place, where you introduced yourselves with your fake names to the guard. He checked his roster of approved people and let you both in. 

San Ceferino consisted of four different cul de sacs, each house practically identical. The house you would be staying in was towards the end of the second one. The house was a pale pastel yellow, orange rays of the sunset making it seem a deeper color. Your car rolled into “your” driveway, and with a sigh of relief, Johnny turned the car off. 

“I’m so tired,” He groaned, “Should we try and introduce ourselves today or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” You said, letting your head fall back against the headrest, “These people are probably all having dinner or something, it’d be weird for us to do that now.”

He nodded, and got out of the car to open the trunk. You got out to grab your suitcase, and as you were getting out you realized that just maybe the universe disagreed with your decision to wait to meet others around the neighborhood.

A woman was crossing the street. She seemed a bit older than you both but was still dressed almost identically. You walked over to Johnny, who had his back turned, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Fox,” You mumbled, “We’ve got company.”

He turned, and upon spotting the woman flashed a comically fake smile. You offered the friendliest smile you could muster, but the way her eyes lit up when doing a once over of Johnny and then drooping in disappointment once she spotted you. If she thought she was subtle, she was dead wrong.

“Hi,” She said, impossibly enthusiastic, “I’m Anne Morrison. I’m the head of the Homeowners Association.”

You nodded in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you,” You said, holding out your hand, “I’m Dana. This is… my husband, Fox.”

“Fox,” She repeated, turning to look at Johnny, “That’s a lovely name. So, what brings you two to San Ceferino?”

“Oh, I got a job offer in San Francisco a few months ago,” Johnny answered. He was good, you decided. “We looked at some houses in the city, but it’s so busy there, you know? We were living in Maryland, so the transition between small town and big city… it’s not for us.”

She nodded, eyes wide. “I absolutely understand. My ex-husband wanted to move to the city now that our kids are in college. I don’t enjoy any of the hustle and bustle, really.” She chuckled, “So guess who got the house in the divorce!”

You and Johnny exchanged a glance, then laughed as if it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. “Oh, my goodness,” You wheezed, clutching your hand in your chest, “I can imagine!”

“So, what do you two do?”

“I’m an architect,” Johnny said.

“I’m a publicist.” You scratched at your cheek when you felt a mosquito try to land. Her eyes zeroed in on your hand.

“You two are married, right?” She asked, “How come you’re not wearing your rings?”

You froze. Did the bureau even have fake jewelry? Why didn’t either of you think of that detail?

“Oh,” Johnny shrugged, coming to the rescue. “It’s so stressful having to take everything on and off at the airport, so we decided not to wear them today. Right, honey?”

He wrapped his hand around your waist, and you nodded. “I never wear jewelry when I’m on a plane. Too much hassle.”

She nodded, mouth slightly agape. “Oh, I see.”

Johny cleared his throat. “What do you work as?”

She grinned. “I’m a chemist.”

“I hated chemistry in high school,” Johnny groaned jokingly. Anne apparently thought this was hilarious, swatting his arm. He laughed again, but it was empty, awkward. You leaned your head against his shoulder in hopes that she'd get the message. 

“Well, Anne, it was lovely meeting you,” You declared, “But we’ve been awake since five in the morning travelling. We’re exhausted, we really should be getting inside.”

Anne sighed, eyes turning away from studying Johnny’s face to you. “Oh, go ahead. You two must be so tired.”

Johnny nodded, pursing his lips. “We’ll speak soon?”

She smiled. “There’s an HOA meeting on Friday night at another member's house. You should come and see what we’re all about, consider joining.”

"Swing by tomorrow!" You grinned, "You can tell us the details then."

"Of course, of course. Well, I'll leave you two to it. It was nice meeting you, Dana." She raked her eyes over Johnny one more time, "...Fox."

When she was out of earshot, Johnny pulled the suitcases out of the trunk and scrunched up his nose. "That was... awkward."

Your hand pulled up the extendable handle of the suitcase, looking back at her to see her close the door to her house, which was at the very end of the cul de sac. 

You looked back at him. "So, a chemist. And she's involved with the community, everyone probably knows who she is."

He shrugged before closing the trunk. "Let's keep an eye on her. She gives me the creeps."

The two of you made sure the car was locked before making your way towards the front door. He fiddled with the keys

"She might even have a motive," He said, as you stepped inside. "Ah, c'mon, aren't you gonna let me carry you over the threshold?"

"Not the time," You said, picking up your suitcase to carry it to the bedroom. "We were talking about a motive. Evidently, she likes looking at… married men. If it's her, she might be doing it out of jealousy."

"Exactly," He agreed, following you up the stairs. "Maybe there's something else at play—jealousy or something. how old were the other victims?" 

"Between 25 and 35. She didn't say how old she was, did she?" You rolled into the bedroom, sitting on the bed and immediately flopping down onto it. Johnny rolled past your room, looking for the separate bed the bureau had said would be there as well.

"Finally," You sighed with a smile. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stifled a yawn. For a second, you considered falling asleep just like this, uncomfortable jeans be damned. 

"Y/N?" 

You cracked your eyes open, frowning at Johnny who was standing in the doorway. "What?" 

"There's only one bed."

You almost stopped breathing for a moment. "Huh?" 

He shuffled on his feet. "There's only one bed," He said, speaking slower.

"What do you mean there's only one bed?" You sat up.

Johnny sighed. "I mean there's only one bed." 

"But the bureau said—"

"Well, the bureau lied," He interrupted, "Because there's no other bed."

You  crossed your arms. "I could take the couch."

"That's supposed to get here tomorrow." 

"Oh," You frowned. What were you going to do? 

"I mean, I could sleep on the floor," You said, "So that way we don't have to sleep, you know…"

"Together?" He offered.

"In the same bed," You corrected, turning your face. It felt hot all of a sudden. 

"No, I couldn't do that to you." He set his suitcase next to yours, then sat next to you. "The bed seems big enough. I'm sure we'll be fine."

You were too tired to argue further. "Sure…" You didn't sound too convinced. 

"Great," He sighed, "I just gotta tell you. I snore a bit."

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—08:43 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

That night, surprisingly, you slept like a baby. You initially thought you'd overthink it all with Johnny lying right next to you but… it was comforting, knowing he was there. You hadn't slept next to anyone since you were 26.

Life as an FBI agent was demanding. Because of this, you'd given up on the idea of having a meaningful relationship ages ago. And due to the nature of your work, it was easy to throw yourself into it to drown out the desire to have someone to come home to. The fact that whenever you did get free time, if you spent too much of it alone… 

But now, lying awake in the morning, seeing Johnny's sleeping face curled up into his pillow… You remembered. 

He looked peaceful. Even at 33, like this he barely looked a day past 27. You could make out the details on his face, old acne scars and the occasional mole. The smile lines along his cheeks and the corners of his eyes… maybe in another lifetime, another universe, you could have gotten used to—

No. You shot up, heading towards the en suite to go to the bathroom. You were still sleepy, that was all. The time difference between Washington and California was having second effects. 

You pulled down your pants, blinking sleepily, and promptly had a heart attack when you sat down. Your knees barely missed your nose, your stomach dropped, and a shriek tumbled out of your lips before you could even register what was happening. 

Standing, now wide awake, you had half a mind to pull up your pants as Johnny tumbled into the bathroom, eyes wide in alarm.

"What happened?" He asked, voice raspy from disuse. You didn’t answer, but instead stared at the offending lifted toilet seat until he got the message. 

"Oh…" His face turned awkward, lips tilting from side to side. "I got up a few hours ago. I must have forgotten to put it back down, sorry." 

You didn't answer, yawning instead. He shrugged. "I've never… lived with another woman before, so…"

"Never?"

His eyes looked down. "...Never."

"Not even with that ex-girlfriend from Oxford you told me about?"

"Mary? No."

You held back an amused grin. "Johnny, when was the last time you even went on a date?" 

He pursed his lips. "I… am starving. Do you want me to go to the supermarket to pick something up for breakfast?"

You blinked, putting your hands on your hips. 

"...Breakfast sounds great."

Johnny promptly changed and left while you got into the shower. Once you were out, you brushed your teeth, did your general morning routine and waited for the car to roll back into the driveway, doing a quick background check on Anne in the meantime. 

No criminal record whatsoever, but that didn't automatically discard her from your list. Mostly because she was the only one on it, so far. 

Johnny rolled back into the driveway just before 9:20. You helped him take the bags into the kitchen, when he said, "Think fast!" and tossed you a small box.

"What's this?" You asked, opening the box. You sputtered at the sight: two simple gold bands. He looked at you like you were a moron.

"Wedding rings," He said, plucking one of the rings out from the box, "Hopefully so Anne lays off."

"You didn't have to go out and buy actual—"

"It's fake gold." He waved his hand dismissively, sitting down at the island and slathering an ungodly amount of cream cheese across a bagel. 

You settled on some coffee after hesitating to put on the ring. As you were finishing up, a knock at the door caught your attention. You looked at him, and he shrugged. "Moving van won't be here till 10:30."

So, you sighed, but still headed to the door. Johnny followed behind, second bagel in hand. When you swung the door open, you were met with Anne and a man you hadn't met yet. A wide Cheshire grin was plastered onto her face.

"Dana, hi!" She greeted. Her eyes landed on Johnny. "Good morning, Fox."

"Morning, Anne," You said with a nod, catching her attention again. You turned your eyes onto the man and held out your hand. "Hi, I'm Dana."

He shook your hand with a friendly smile. "My name's Scott Hernandez. I'm on the HOA board."

Johnny walked up to the door, putting a hand on your shoulder. "I'm Fox," He said, face speckled with crumbs and mouth full of food. You wanted to crawl into a hole.

"Hey, man," Scott said, eyeing Johnny, "Uh… Welcome to the neighborhood!"

"So," Anne asked, eyes raking over Johnny's chest, "How was the first night?"

Johnny swallowed his bagel before speaking. "It was lovely. We just snuggled up together and slept like little baby cats." He turned to you, eyes warm. "Isn't that right, honey bunch?"

Your neck snapped to look at him, holding back a look of disgust. "That's right…" You racked your brain for something sweet to call him and a moment later came up with, "...Poopy head."

Poopy head? Nice one, L/N.

Johnny’s smile faltered for a second, but neither Scott nor Anne seemed to notice. You flashed them both a bright grin. "So! Would you like to come in?"

Scott and Anne nodded. "That'd be great, thanks," He said. You led them into the dining room, where Johnny managed an awkward laugh. "Sorry it's such a mess, we just got up about an hour ago and I immediately went to the supermarket."

"Oh, don't worry, Fox," Scott hummed, sitting at the island, "Moving is so stressful. Especially with…"

Anne flashed him a dirty look. You raised an eyebrow at the interaction. "With what?" You asked, tilting your head as you feigned innocence. Anne sighed, shaking her head.

"Three women have been… murdered over the past few weeks." Scott looked down. "Police haven't been able to catch who's responsible."

"That's horrible," Johnny murmured, standing next to you. "Did you know them?"

"We know everyone because of our HOA responsibilities," Scott answered, "I wasn't that close to any of them, but they were all very nice women. It's awful, what happened to them. You knew Yolanda, didn't you, Anne?"

She nodded, eyes glassy. "Her son and mine used to play together. She was such a nice woman. Lovely family, too. It just breaks my heart." 

"I'm sorry for your loss," You told her. She offered a sad smile.

"But what, is it someone from the community or what?"

Anne shrugged, eyes full of concern. "The police don't really know, but it would make sense if they were from the community—"

"It couldn't possibly be someone living here," Scott huffed, "Everyone knows everyone, why would someone want to—"

"Scott is just in denial," Anne said, waving her hand. "Did you two really not know?"

"Not at all," Johnny replied, eyes wide with fake worry, "These past few weeks have been so hectic we barely had time to sit down. Right, honey?"

You groaned, partially putting up an act and partially in disgust at the name. "It's been a nightmare!" 

You made up some problems, like a crappy travel agency, yard sales, things going missing, stuff like that. Johnny occasionally chimed in, embellishing your stories. Occasionally, Anne or Scott would ask a question, and Johnny would answer with something he pulled out of his ass. 

"So that's why Fox isn't allowed coffee, anymore," You said a few minutes later, rolling your eyes. Scott was cackling, Anne giggling into her palm. Johnny glared at you, but there was no malice behind it. 

"But anyway, I'm guessing you two didn't come here to hear about how anxious I get with caffeine." Johnny turned to the pair. "What brings you to the... Kang-Baker residence?"

"Oh, we came to talk to you about joining the Homeowner's Association," Anne explained, "Not everyone in the neighborhood is a part of it, but it's very convenient to join." 

They laid down the basics, and as they talked, you realized just how much you appreciated living in an apartment rather than a house. Yes, it was a bit small at times, definitely not as idyllic, but 300 dollars as an initiation fee, and monthly payments of 150 dollars? You had half a mind to call the bureau and tell them that the real crime was the extortion from the Homeowner's Association. 

You didn't really see any advantages—probably because you didn't even own this house and wouldn't have to worry about selling it later. It just sounded like a nightmare. What did they mean you could only paint your doors pastel colors if you joined?

When they finally left, you looked at Johnny. "Maybe I'm not cut out for the American dream after all. That HOA stuff sounds even worse than the time we got attacked by the flesh eating virus."

He held back a laugh. "That bad, huh?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, this is much more irritating. The moving van will be here any second, come on, let's go."

127TH PRECINCT, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—14:29 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

After unloading the furniture boxes (empty boxes with nothing really in them), you and Johnny settled on lunch—some crappy junk food—and drove all the way to the police station where Detective Son worked. 

"What did you think about that Scott guy?" You asked Johnny, who shrugged. 

"Seemed nice enough. We'd have to look into him too, since he's also involved in the community."

You nodded. "I'll run a background check once we get h—back to the house."

He glanced at you, but said nothing. "...What are you doing once this is over?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What, once we get back to DC?"

He nodded. "Well, yeah."

You stared ahead at the car in front of you. "Oh, well… I'm not sure. Probably finish writing that stupid report for Brooks and then curl up on my couch, watch some movies, drink some wine. I don't know."

He snickered. "What, and watch Pretty Woman for the 700th time?"

Smacking him in the shoulder lightly, you huffed. "Which is no better than watching Full Metal Jacket 700 times, and you know it, Johnny Suh."

He shrugged. "Well, if sex on a piano is what does it for you then who am I to judge?"

"Shut up." You rolled down the window, the heat too much to handle. 

When you finally got to see Detective Son again, she handed you the cassette and made her way towards the door. When she spoke, she looked only at you. "I'm actually headed out to check out another call we got just now," She explained, "But feel free to use the VCR in my office to look it all over."

She left, not even looking Johnny in the eye. You turned to Johnny, who was wide-eyed. 

"And you said she likes me."

In her office, you went over several days' worth of sped up hours of footage of six different camera angles. By the third hour of watching sped up, grainy footage, Johnny huffed. "I don't think we'll get anything," He said, "Especially considering the killer didn't even need to break their way in—"

"Hold on, hold on." You shook your head, eyes zeroing in on a dark shape in one of the cameras. You walked up to the VCR machine and hit the rewind button.

"Watch camera six."

He narrowed his eyes, fixing his glasses as he watched the dark shape run out from the treeline and up the wall, then out of the camera's view—presumably inside the community. You rewinded one last time, pausing just as it leaped onto the wall.

"There."

"That's too big to be a cat," He murmured, standing to get a closer look at the grainy black and white still image, "Right?"

"Could be a big cat—bobcat or a lynx, maybe, but…"

"It's movements are too… jerky for it to be a cat."

You hesitated, before nodding. 

"Could this be the thing we're looking for?" Johnny asked, and you crossed your arms, giving the dark blob a skeptical look.

"Looks like we have some digging to do."

One more hour of poring over the footage, plus another hour of looking at the archives of the police department turned up nothing on big cats in the area. There'd been no calls to 911 to report big cats in the neighborhood, and looking over the tape again showed nothing else, not even the thing leaving.

Which made Johnny’s theory that it was still there weigh even more.

By 7:30PM or so, Detective Son had returned. "I brought coffee," She said, entering the small space, "Find anything?"

You shrugged. Johnny looked at her. "We saw a weird blob go inside. It never came out and we couldn't figure out what it was."

She frowned. "There haven't been any reports of wild animals there in years. Not since that huge military base opened up."

Johnny's eyebrows knit together. "Army base?"

She nodded. "Fort Talbot. It's about fifteen minutes west of San Ceferino. There aren't a lot of roads that lead to it, they're pretty private."

You locked eyes with Johnny, who was probably thinking the same thing as you. Military base? That was new.

 “I don’t suppose you could take us to see it?”

She shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, we could try, but there’s a fence around the perimeter about a mile or two away from the actual base. They’re not gonna let you in.”

“No, we’re not military,” You sighed. “But thank you for telling us about that.”

SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—20:44 hours, Thursday, February 12th, 1993

When the car rolled into the driveway, the two of you had found that Anne was at your front door. You shot each other a quizzical look when she turned at the sight of your headlights. “What’s the cougar doing here?” He sighed, and you elbowed him.

“Hush. Be nice.”

She reached the car once you’d both stepped out. “Oh, I was wondering where you two were! I wanted to invite you over to have dinner. The spinach quiche I made was a bit too big for just me!”

At the mention of the meal, your stomach panged in hunger. All you’d had since you left the house was that coffee Wendy had given you. Plus…

Johnny seemed to read your mind. “We’re starving. Quiche sounds great, thanks so much, Anne.”

She beamed at his praise. “Oh, come on! Wouldn’t want it to get cold.”

Anne took the both of you into her house, leading you to the dinner table where she’d already set up spots for the both of you. “It’s not too much, is it? I’m sorry if I’m being overbearing. I really do want you to ease into the neighborhood, and plus, living in this big old empty house gets… lonely.”

As you sat down, you frowned in sympathy. You watched as she began to slice the quiche for you both. “Don’t worry, Anne. I understand where you’re coming from. It’s so lonely in my—or, it was so lonely in my apartment before Fox and I met. Sure, you can distract yourself during the day with all of the stuff you have to do, but at the end of the day you come home to… nothing.”

She handed Johnny a plate, and he took it. “There you go, Fox.”

He smiled, handing the plate to you. “Thank you.”

Her eyes followed his hand, and blinked when she spotted the ring on his hand. “Oh, I see you have your rings now.”

Johnny’s smile grew into a grin, as he held out his hand, flashing the band around his ring finger. You did the same. “No more pesky metal detectors,” He declared, “So why not?”

Anne nodded, eyes lowered. She handed him another plate, then served herself. And then, finally, you all started eating. It occurred to you as you took your first bite that if she was she easily could have laced the food with whatever was in those women’s systems when they died. But that would be too different from the killer’s modus operandi. They only went for women and they killed them in their home. Autopsies didn’t find anything recent in their stomachs at the time of death, so you concluded to take a bite. 

Besides, it smelled good. If you were going to die, then it would be nice to die by the hands of some good quiche.

“So,” You began, “You said your kids were off at college?” 

She nodded, digging around her food with a fork. “My oldest is in grad school at USC. He’s currently in South America doing research on bats, or something, I really can’t remember. My second is off backpacking for the summer, she’s graduating from UCLA next year, and my youngest left for college two years ago. He managed to get a full scholarship to Duke, can you believe it?”

You smiled, nodding. “Wow, that’s impressive.” 

She sounded proud, but there was a sadness behind her gaze. “It’s hard, it really is. Especially trying not to worry. They rarely call and only come home during the holidays. Drives me up the wall not knowing what my kids are up to!”

Johnny laughed. “My mom was the same when I went to college. My freshman year she called me once every day. My roommates always made fun of me for it.”

She chuckled. “Oh, that’s how all moms are,” She turned to you, “I imagine it’ll be the same when you two have kids.”

You almost choked on the food in your mouth at her words. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Johnny go white. Somehow, you managed to hold it back, hitting your chest lightly as the food made its way down. “Oh, well… it’s a bit early for that, I think.”

“We only got married six months ago…” Johnny murmured awkwardly. 

“Oh, I totally get it,” She said, “But, y´know, accidents happen. Especially when you’re still in the honeymoon phase after the wedding. I had my first less than a year after we were married, we weren’t even trying!”

You chewed on your lip. “Well, if something happens…” You met eyes with Johnny, whose gaze was unreadable, “Something happens.”

Not looking away, Johnny licked his lips subtly, before picking up a napkin. Anne didn’t notice, surprisingly, and seemed satisfied with your answer.

You ate a little bit more, when Anne asked, “So, tell me, how did you two meet?”

Remembering the file, Johnny perked up. “We met at a party in college. I was in my junior year, I think? Right, honey?”

You shook your head. “Your senior year,” You corrected, “Because I was in my sophomore year. I remember it like it was yesterday. He came up to me and was wearing this horrible button up shirt—”

“You ended up stealing it from me!” He joked, and you held up your index finger.

 “I use it to sleep. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that in public. Much less to attract a mate.”

Anne cackled, and the two of you laughed too. Again, you managed to make up a story: he was drunk and accidentally spilled some punch on your pants. He’d tried to help you by washing it in the bathroom but only made it worse.

“When I got back to my dorm, it was around three in the morning, my leg was sticky and I was miserable, but we ran into each other a few days later and he was very apologetic about the whole thing.”

“I was mortified,” He said, “I mean, here’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life and I managed to screw it up by ruining her pants. I was so sure I’d screwed up.”

Anne raised her eyebrows. “So, you knew from the start that you liked her?”

Johnny’s eyes landed on you again, turning wistful. He leaned over and grabbed your free hand. “The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.”

You tried to smile, but suddenly your chest felt like it was caving in on yourself. You let your hand rest in his for a moment, before pulling away. “Oh, Fox. Don’t get all sentimental on me now.”

Clearing your throat, you didn’t miss the way Johnny’s eyes fell slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, where’s your bathroom?”

She pointed up. “Upstairs to the right.”

This was your chance to get some dirt on her, and put some space between you and Johnny. As you walked away, you touched a hand to your cheek and it came away burning. 

“Get it together,” You muttered to yourself.

The quick search yielded nothing. She had nothing in her drawers, all of the papers on her desk were related to her work at a hair care company. You always could have missed something though. You couldn’t take more than a few minutes, you certainly couldn’t risk her coming up to check on you and finding you sifting through her work documents.

Before you came down, you did your best to leave everything as you found it before heading back downstairs. 

When you sat back down at the table, things were a bit more tense. You sensed it immediately. “Everything alright?”

“...Yeah,” Johnny mumbled. 

“Fox and I were just talking about how… difficult marriage can be.”

You nodded, wondering if that was all that had happened. “Oh, it’s no walk in the park, that’s for sure.”

The rest of the dinner was not as lively. There were more awkward silences, more lulls in the conversation, less laughs. When you finally left, his elbow intertwined in yours, you looked at him. “What happened while I was gone?”

He shook his head as you both crossed the street. “I don’t like her,” He told you in a hushed voice, “She started talking about how it won’t be like this forever and it’s only fun now because we just got married or whatever.”

“What, was she trying to open something up between you and her?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t exactly been subtle, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she was.”

The two of you marched up into your house, and while Johnny was showering you did a background check on Scott Hernandez. Nothing also. A perfectly ordinary citizen, no criminal record at all. 

Then, it was your turn to shower. As you did, you couldn’t help but think back to Anne’s words. The whole situation, feigning domesticity was proving to be bad for you: you couldn’t help but imagine a small child with his wide eyes and your nose, his lanky limbs and your hands. 

The amount of time you put into your work made you fully aware that it would make having children difficult. Truth be told, you hadn’t really put much thought into settling down. The right person had never been there.

But what if he had? What if he’d been by your side for the past three years?

He had to be putting on an act when he’d said it.

The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.

Thinking back to the moment you’d first met him, and he’d come across as slightly patronizing and dismissive of your conclusions. But thinking about when he’d first turned to look at you, that particular morning in 1992…

You turned off the shower. Alone time wasn’t doing you any good, either.

When you emerged from the shower, you sighed as your eyes landed on the toilet seat, which was lifted. You set it back down with a huff before getting dressed.

Once you stepped out of the bathroom in your pajamas, toweling your hair, your eyes fell to the pile of dirty clothes on the bed. “Please don’t put your sweaty clothes, where I have to sleep,” You told him, tossing the clothes into his face. He let out a soft groan, picking them up. 

“Oh, come on,” He grumbled, “They don’t even smell that bad.”

After he set them off somewhere (you didn’t see where as you were shutting your laptop off), he sat back down on the bed, leaving a space open for you. "So, what if we looked into Scott tomorrow?"

“That sounds like a good idea. Tomorrow night there’s that HOA thing we need to go to. We might be able to pick up some more stuff there.”

He nodded, and as you stood in front of the bed he waggled his eyebrows and patted the spot next to you. “Come on, Dana,” He murmured sarcastically, “We’re married now.”

You didn’t smile. He took that as a sign to continue. 

“Plus, if something happens, something happens.”

You grabbed a pillow and flung it into his face. “You’re the worst,” You grumbled. He laughed, but it was muffled from the pillow.

Slowly but surely, you realized with the sound of his laughter, this feeling was soon going to become something you couldn’t ignore.

HERNANDEZ RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—09:02 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the door opened, Scott Hernandez had a welcoming smile on his face. “Dana,” He said, “Good morning. Did you need anything?”

“Oh, I just wanted to ask if there was an official guidebook or anything for the HOA? Fox and I are still considering joining, but we’d need to go over everything.” You scratched at the cardigan you were wearing. Why did the bureau have to give you something so thick and scratchy when they knew you were coming to California in the middle of July?

“Come in! I’m sure I have a rulebook. Plus, if you have any other questions you could always just come over.”

He led you up the stairs. “I keep all of my stuff in the office,” He explained, “That way my kids don’t mess it all up.”

You offered a soft laugh. “Oh, you have kids?”

“Yep.” His voice was warm. “Two kids, a nine year old and a six year old. They’re not here right now, though. My wife took them up to Washington to see their grandparents.”

“Ah, that’s sweet.” As he led you into the office, your eyes studied the room. A picture frame behind him of a professional family portrait, a houseplant in the corner a big clunky computer on top of the desk, and a cabinet pushed to the side of the room.

Your eyes fell onto the things placed on top of the cabinet, a stapler and some other office supplies. But when your eyes caught a different type of metal that wasn’t the standard gray color, you focused on it. A small medallion, decorated with a ribbon. When you recognized the logo, your eyes widened slightly.

“You’re military?” 

His eyes turned to you, eyebrows raised. Then he looked to the side. “Oh… no. My brother was. He passed away in the Gulf War.”

You looked down, but something about his tone didn’t sound quite authentic. “I’m sorry for your loss,” You answered anyway. 

The silence hung overhead for a few moments, before he pulled out a small booklet. “Here’s a copy of the rulebook.” He held it up, waving it back and forth, “This has pretty much everything.”

“Oh, really?” You straightened your posture, feigning a smile. When he handed it to you, your smile grew bigger as you looked down at the small book. “I’ll be sure to show Fox when he gets home. I really appreciate it, Scott.”

He waved his hand. “Don’t mention it. If you need anything else, just come on over. I work from home, so I’m here pretty much all day.”

Scott studied your face, and a second later you looked away. “So, I should get going,” You murmured. “I’ll see you tonight? I don’t think nor you nor Anne said where it would be.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Here, actually! Tonight, at 7.” 

“Great,” You answered, “I’ll see you tonight.”

When you got back to the house, you walked to the office, where Johnny was waiting. “Hernandez has military links.”

His head shot up. “He does?” 

“There was a military medallion on his cabinet in his office. He looked like he was gonna piss himself when I asked about it.”

“And what did he say?”

“Said his brother was a Gulf War veteran. I didn’t believe him for a second.”

“So could he be our guy?”

You took a deep breath. “Honestly? I don’t know. I could try to look through his office tonight at the HOA thing.”

“You?” He shook his head vehemently. “You fit his profile. All of his victims were around your age. You’re not going somewhere you could be alone with him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then what?” 

He looked at you as if you were dumb. “I’ll go.”

“But—”

“No.” His gaze turned stern, before walking all the way up to you. He put his hands up on your shoulders. “Y/N, he could kill you.”

“Has that ever stopped me before?” You asked, tilting your head. “Johnny, it’s in the job description to deal with people who could kill me. What’s so different now?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His eyes were wide, urgent, and his face was inches away. You shook your head, trying to prompt him to speak. “What?” 

Johnny pursed his lips, studying your face. And then, finally he shook his head. “Nothing.” 

He stepped away, and left the office, leaving you speechless. You leaned against the desk thinking about what just happened.

For the rest of the day, he was relatively distant. During lunch—you went out to buy some sandwiches—and he barely said thank you, before you ate in tense silence. You could only wait until 7 o’clock rolled around. In the meantime, you placed a call to Detective Son, telling her to look into Scott Hernandez and his family. You typed up the rest of your preliminary report, and then all you could do was wait. 

When five thirty rolled around, you started to get ready. You took only about five minutes, before stepping out, fully dressed. When you stepped out of the bathroom, Johnny had his back turned to you. It was almost as if he hadn’t noticed you were right behind him, because he was humming softly to himself, tapping his foot to a non audible melody. You could hear him humming it though, and after a few seconds of listening. you were able to recognize the song.

He froze when he heard your giggling. “What?” He asked, turning his head.

“Is… is that Bidi Bidi Bom Bom?” You asked, leaning against the wall. He straightened his posture before shuffling on his feet. 

“...No.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “Sure, it isn’t.”

He raised his eyebrow, but it wasn’t as serious as he had been before. And when you spoke again, his mouth grew into a crooked smile. 

“You like Selena,” You sing-songed. 

“Alright, enough. We’ve got a job to do.” He was biting back a laugh. You knew him too much to believe the opposite. 

When the two of you finally walked the few houses towards Scott’s house, he held out his arm for you to hold onto. Taking a deep breath, your hand hesitated before it grabbed onto him. Approaching the house, you could tell that it was alive with a lot of people on the inside. You wouldn’t necessarily say it was overflowing, but you could tell it was definitely close to filling up. 

“Let’s go?” He asked, and you nodded. He led you to the front door, where he rang the doorbell before the two of you waited. 

A minute or so later, Scott opened the door with a grin. 

“Hey, you two! You’re just in time.”

You put on your best smiles. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Johnny sighed. You didn’t miss the tense undertone in his words.

The two of you made your way into the room. Across the room you heard someone call for you both. You held back a groan. You really didn’t need this right now. 

“Hey, over here!” Anne called, beckoning you over. Johnny heaved the sigh of a man ready to end it all, and then you both made your way to her and her group. All of them seemed to be the same age as her. 

“Ladies, these are our new neighbors I was telling you about.” She pointed at the both of you .”This is Dana Baker, and this is Fox… the architect.”

Oh boy. 

And the talking began. You and Johnny having to rehash the same details over and over again. It felt like having to navigate a minefield. You had to recall all of the lies you’d told Anne and Scott, this time in front of an audience of women very clearly ogling the man who they fully believed was your husband. 

You made idle chit-chat after that, but eventually, about twenty minutes had passed until they sat everyone down. The living room was full of grown ups, including a few young children. The thought of everyone being in such close proximity to someone, something that could hurt them all the way it had hurt those other women.

It was easy to tune them all out. It was then that you realized that suburban life would never really be for you. This was all so dull and monotone. You were sure that if you had decided to actually go into the medical field and settled down… you would probably lose your mind. 

They went over some things you didn’t pay attention to: lawns and whatnot. It was so tiring you had to stifle a yawn on more than one occasion. Anne was going on about some infraction that didn’t even sound that bad to you, when it occurred to you to slip away, Johnny be damned. 

You patted Scott on the shoulder as Anne went on. “Where’s the bathroom?”

He nodded back once, “Upstairs. Green door. We’re almost done, though, are you sure you can’t wait a little longer?”

“I had the genius idea to drink two whole bottles of water before we left,” You murmured so as to not make too much of a scene, “I really don’t think I can.”

He sighed, before nodding. “Go ahead.”

Gotcha. You slipped up, sparing Johnny a glance. He was glaring at you. If looks could kill, you didn’t even want to know where you’d end up going. You made your way up the stairs, remembering the way to the office from this morning. You slipped into the office, making your way to the cabinet. The medallion was gone, which made you wonder why he had done so. 

As you shuffled through the drawers of the cabinet and came up with nothing, you had to remind yourself to keep count of how long you’d been up here. You moved on to the desk, shuffling through the papers on the desk and then the ones on the drawer. In the first drawer, you found an ID: Alma Hernandez, Lazarus Programming.

In the second drawer, nothing. 

In the third and bottom drawer, you found something: a pair of dogtags. Neither of them said Hernandez. Instead, they read Simon Walsh. 

Simon Walsh? That was new. You stashed them back into the drawer, suddenly remembering how long you’d been up here. Probably a bit over five minutes. As you made your way back down to the living room, you ran into Johnny. 

“Hey,” He said, “I was just coming to look for you.”

He looked disappointed, bordering on anger. In the small space, you could feel his proximity. You couldn’t help but shake your head.

“I had to take the chance. I wasn’t sure if there would be a chance after this.”

He sighed. “I can’t believe you. Come on, they’re serving pizza.”

You laughed, letting him grab your hand as he led you back into the living room, where you two ate a few slices of pizza. Enough to feel satisfied, but not enough to feel too full. In theory, if you had to make a detainment or worse, have a confrontation then it’d be a bad idea to have stomach cramps. 

You two kept to yourselves, occasionally speaking to other couples who introduced themselves to you. Once you’d finished gorging yourselves on the food, he kept his hand around your waist the entire time. It was a gentle touch, but comforting. You couldn’t help but feel tense.

“After we get home, I’ll tell you all the details I saw.” You looked up to see his face, watching you tentatively. 

“Alright,” He murmured, leaning closer to your face, “But I wanna talk about something together first.”

Raising an eyebrow, you leaned away from him. “What, are you okay?”

Johnny nodded, smile reassuringly. “Yeah. I just realized something earlier today.” 

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—21:17 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the two of you left, Anne had bid you both goodbye. She’d said Scott had gone to bed with a headache, which made you feel a bit uneasy. The entire way home, Johnny kept himself relatively close. The entire way home, he was silent. It wasn’t until the both of you were inside of the house that he leaned against the front door. As he led you to the couch )which had finally arrived), you tried to remember all of the details you’d seen as you looked through Scott’s office.

When he sat you down, you placed both hands in your lap. He scratched at his shoulder, before meeting your eyes.

“Simon Walsh.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widened at the same time his had. “What?” You asked, shaking your head. You were suddenly aware of everything going on. You were in an ongoing murder investigation. It was quite possibly linked to a very secretive military base. Three women had been murdered. A fourth would be soon if you didn’t hurry.

“Johnny, I don’t think…”

“No, please. Just a few minutes, okay? I’ve been dealing with this for years. I need to get this out of my system and then we can talk about this back in DC. Please, Y/N.”

Your gut felt heavy at the same time your heart felt incredibly light. It was by far one of the strangest sensations you’d ever felt. Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded. 

“Alright, John. Five minutes. Then we talk about what I found.”

He nodded with a small smile. Gently, Johnny grabbed your hands, rubbing the knuckles with his thumbs. He was silent for a while, tilting his head back and forth as he tried to figure out what to say. 

“What I said last night at Anne’s. I meant it. That first time I saw you, I… I knew. I knew we didn’t get along initially, but I just had this feeling in my chest. You were so smart, and eventually we realized how much we clicked…”

He looked up, leaning closer. You swallowed softly as his eyes met yours again. He managed a soft chuckle. “Y/N, I tried to hold it away. But it got stronger every single day. You understand me. Even though we push back against each other, you don’t think I’m crazy. You take them into consideration and don’t brush them off. I really appreciate that. I look at you and… I’m home.”

Looking to the side, you sighed. “Johnny, I really don’t think this is appropriate. Especially not right now—”

"Y/N, I know what your dream on the plane was about."

You inhaled sharply, alarmed gaze meeting his own. His eyes had turned soft, warm. You knew you had to push him away. The name Simon Walsh was on loop in your head, but you couldn’t find it in you to push him away.

“What?”

“I heard you moan my name,�� He sighed, “Trust me, Y/N, I know what I heard.”

He leaned even closer, cupping your face. You could feel his breath puffing softly onto your skin. His eyes were knowing as his voice dropped to a whisper. 

“You want me too, don’t you?”

When his lips met yours, you couldn’t find it in you to pull away. He pulled you closer, and your arms found their way to wrap themselves around your neck. His lips were soft, but demanding. You could tell he’d been waiting for this a long, long time. 

You don’t know when he laid you down onto the couch, but honestly… you didn’t really mind. Johnny was warm, comfortable. And yes, July in California was hot, humid, but… up until Johnny put his hands on you, you’d never realized how cold you’d been, even before your arrival here.

He deepened the kiss, hands sliding down to your waist. They toyed with the hem of your blouse, humming against your lips. You gasped against him, hands sliding into his gelled hair.

Your eyes snapped open. Johnny never used this much gel in his hair.

Two things happened in the next two seconds. You pushed Johnny off. Johnny would never prioritize his feelings like this over a case. You hadn’t seen Scott as you left. All of this pretending, playing house had gotten to you. You were in real danger now.

The other thing that happened? Johnny burst through the door, wearing clothes he hadn’t been wearing when you first left. He was panting heavily. There was a bruise on his cheek and his wrists were red.

You backed away from Not Johnny, who turned to you, gaze now furious. A wave of nausea passed over you, breathing heavily. Whatever Not Johnny had in his system, he had passed onto you with his spit, and you could feel it settling into your system. You looked up at Johnny, before pulling out your gun. Taking a deep breath, you looked at your work partner, closest confidante, love of your life.

“I had a feeling,” You mumbled, realizing how the sinking feeling in your stomach was actually dread.

Stumbling, you heard Not Johnny let out a ghastly screech. You fired your gun at him before passing out. 

SAN FRANCISCO METROPOLITAN, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—10:39 hours, Saturday, July 14th, 1994

The room smelled sterile. You knew this smell. You’d lived it for several years before in medical school rotations. This had to be a hospital, you realized. Slowly, you let your eyes open. You let out a soft groan at the discomfort of having been stuck in one position for so long.

“You awake?” A deep, familiar voice asked. Your vision was blurry, but you could still recognize it was Johnny. His eyes were rimmed red from exhaustion, but he looked relieved. 

“No. I died, actually.” Your voice was raspy. Johnny scoffed, shaking his head.

“You’re impossible,” He mumbled, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“What even happened after I passed out?”

Johnny took a second to gather his thoughts before speaking. “You hit him in the face. It wasn’t pretty. He freaked out a bit, and then he took off. I couldn't catch him. Called Son, she came in with the precinct and they looked through Hernandez's house."

His gaze turned somber as you sat up with a soft huff. Your muscles were stiff.

"They found the real Scott Hernandez, his two kids and his wife, in their basement. Autopsies are being performed today, but it looks like they've been dead a few weeks."

Your eyes shut. Two kids, a man, and another woman. Seven victims total.

"And that thing is still out there," You mumbled, "If only I hadn't been so stupid—"

Johnny put his hand on yours. "Don't say that. Even if you hadn't gotten knocked out, he would still be way too much for just the two of us to handle. Y/N, you shot him in the face and it barely stopped him. He wasn't human anymore."

You shook your head, burying your head in your hands. "Still… I know you, Johnny. I should have seen the signs, but he was so—somehow he knew everything—"

"It's something to do with touch," He said with a nod, "He knocked me to the ground and locked me in a closet before he found you. I was a bit out of it, but I remember he touched my wrist for a few seconds and then he turned into me. My head still hurts, too. Maybe he can also copy some memories from the people he touches long enough."

When you didn't answer, he grabbed your face. He looked desperate. "Y/N, you're only human. I would have fallen for it too."

"I fell for it because he told me exactly what I wanted to hear," You whispered, feeling tears spring to your eyes, seemingly out of nowhere, "He played me like a fucking fiddle and I fell for it."

His thumb brushed away a tear. "Don't think about the what-ifs, Y/N. It's already happened, and now we need to focus on what's gonna happen next. We need to find a way into Fort Talbot. Somehow. Turn your report into the bureau and we can figure it out from there. There’s something going on there. Human experimentation on soldiers, or something."

"We're never gonna get clearance to search a military base, Johnny. It's impossible."

He shook his head. "Y/N, if you were able to convince Brooks to let me, Spooky Suh, FBI's most unwanted? keep running around hunting ghosts and aliens and Bigfoot all over the country, you can figure out a way to get access in there. I know you can."

You were shaking now. "We won't be safe if we do. You think the military won't retaliate? We'd be dead, Johnny," Your words were garbled and your voice wouldn't stop cracking, "There has to be another way."

He shook you gently, shaking his head. "Dammit, Y/N, I can't do this without you."

"They placed me with you for a reason, Johnny," You snapped, "To debunk your work, to reign you in and shut you down—"

"But you saved me," He insisted, "You did exactly the opposite. And as a result we kept working together, and you kept me honest. You… you've made me a whole person."

He rubbed his face with his hand, pushing a strand of dark hair out of his eye. "Y/N, as frustrating as it's been sometimes working with you, your stupud science and rationalism have saved me a thousand times over. I owe you everything. Y/N, you owe me nothing."

His forehead brushed yours, and his eyes fluttered shut. "I can't do this without you," He murmured. And despite the fact that you knew that this was your Johnny, you shook your head. The deja vu was making your head spin. 

"Tell me something the real Johnny would know," You whispered, putting a hand on your chest.

He thought for a second, before sighing. "I had three moments when I realized I was in love with you. When you first walked into my office that morning, I had a feeling," He said, voice full of conviction, "It grew into something concrete when you told me my glasses were crooked. And the moment I knew—I mean, I already knew from that first moment but this was when it truly hit me—was when you told me you'd kept that stupid fucking nasal implant in your sports bra so that you wouldn't lose it."

He laughed warmly, obviously thinking back to the moment. "No one else has ever believed me the way you do. And I doubt anyone else ever will. You're my one in…" He looked to the side, trying to remember the number, "Five billion."

Your hand came up to caress his face. He seemed to melt against your touch. 

This time, when your lips met, everything felt right, despite the feeling that the world was crumbling around you. His hands squeezed your face gently, as if you were about to disappear. When your hands slid into his hair, it felt slightly sweaty still, but it wasn't tacky with gel. 

This was your Johnny. You knew it with your entire being.

Yes, Johnny was sarcastic, stubborn, eccentric and had low impulse control. But he was also highly intelligent, empathetic, hilarious and yes, you could now admit that he was the most beautiful human you'd ever seen in your 30 years on this planet. 

If it had to be him and you against the world, so be it. The truth was out there. You and Johnny would just have to be the ones chasing it.

taglist: @doderyscoffee​ @always-wishing-for-rain​

[pwarkluv]

❝ idk you yet ❞ - p.js

park jisung x reader | angsty, fluff | 1.6k words 

WARNINGS | TW: mentions blood, abuse, drug and alcohol abuse, smoking, lowercase au, non-idol au, high school au, badboy!jisung, mature language/cursing, reader is like an angel sent from heaven for him, jisungie just in need of love :(

SUMMARY | being an outcast has him wondering if he’ll ever be happy. cue you, the new girl, stumbling into his life (literally).

AUTHOR’S NOTE | inspired by the song “idk you yet” by alexander23! also AHHH this is my 100 followers special fic :) THANK U LOVES FOR 100 IM SO SHOCKED CJSBFKEJD <33 the writing is a little crappy because i’m currently on my period and my patience for sitting down and writing this went down halfway through lol but I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, ENJOY THIS JISUNG FIC BC JISUNG MY BABIE AND SO ARE YOU GUYS!

whenever anybody thinks of park jisung, they think of the chains and dark clothing he wears. they think about the faint smell of smoke and men’s cologne that follows him wherever he goes. 

they think of the boy who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. 

but what they don’t think about are bruises on his face he fails to hide whenever he walks into school, the dejected look on his face whenever random people give him disapproving looks, the way his smile slowly faded into a permanent frown wherever he went. 

jisung quickly accepted his reputation at school and in their little town, not having enough energy to feel insecure about it like before.

the only group of people that even remotely cared about the boy were his best friends in the whole entire world, nct dream.

they were outcasts just like him, the most “fucked up group of boys” in their town (the people’s words, not theirs).

see, they were your typical bad boy group straight out of your typical fanfic. bad grades, smoking in their free time, getting into fights, always being late to class; not a single person had hope in them.

but behind their scary and intimidating facade, all seven boys were big softies with misunderstood hearts and difficult backgrounds.

people were just too dense to look into it, only judging them based on their looks and personality on the outside. 

❝ how can you miss someone you’ve never met ❞

love was a foreign thing to jisung, the only form of love he’s ever felt being from his friends. his parents were… interesting to say the least. 

jisung’s father was a hard-core alcoholic, his mother being a major druggie. with no siblings in the house, jisung was usually their main target to push around and beat up.

and so because of this at a young age jisung learned to distance himself from other people and found different ways to release stress.

he started smoking when he was 14, the warm and hazy feeling of the smoke entering his lungs comforting him.

if jisung humored himself enough, maybe smoking could count as his first love. it was always there for him, never leaving him alone even if he wanted to quit. 

he relied on it knowing it was the only constant in his life. 

now of course the boy has heard of proper love, love like in the movies or shitty romance songs he hears on the radio.

and he won’t lie, there were moments he thought about what it felt like to be in love. but he knew that would never happen, at least not in their small town anyways. 

he just wanted to be loved. 

jisung would never admit it but sometimes he’d be jealous of the old couples walking down the street in their own world like it was just them two against the universe. he was jealous of the happy kids running around, their mother’s and father’s fondly smiling at their child. he was jealous of all the “normal” kids in his neighborhood. 

jisung wanted that, craved that. 

but most importantly, the boy wanted love.

❝ cause i need you now but i don’t know you yet ❞

everything hurt. 

his head, his body, his mind, his heart; everything was in pain.

jisung walked down the empty streets of their city, a trail of blood following behind him as he accepted his fate. the boy was 99% sure he had a concussion and at the very least had a few broken ribs. 

he felt like this was the end, and he was ready.

-

wandering aimlessly around town, you decided to take a late night walk to familiarize yourself around the area. you had just moved into the city a week ago, spending all seven days trying to help your family unpack and rearrange your cozy new home. 

now that you were finally free of the smell of tape and the dust of the boxes, you decided it was best to get to know the place you were living in. 

the autumn air seemed to settle at night as you shivered, cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket of some sort. the sight of a convenience store up ahead of you brought you relief as you rummaged through your pockets wondering if you had enough money for ramen.

your steps became excited as you found a couple dollars, fondly thinking about what type of ramen you should buy. you became so lost in your thoughts you didn’t even notice the poor boy who was staggering in front of you, or the trail of blood he left behind. 

-

jisung pushed himself to reach the convenience store a couple feet away from him, in desperate need of supplies to at least try and fix himself. 

if it didn’t help in any way then oh well, maybe death was indeed an option. 

grinding his teeth though the pain, he did not expect to feel a small body bump into him. had he been at his regular health, jisung would’ve easily been able to keep still but because of how much blood he was losing the boy was knocked down like a bowling pin.

“holy fuck.” jisung cursed the feeling of the concrete floor colliding with his ribs. he didn’t even notice the girl who had bumped into him sitting on the floor dumbfounded, freaking out over his state.

“oh my fucking god.” the girl said, capturing his attention. jisung glared at the stranger, mentally acknowledging the fact she was pretty. 

but her being pretty won’t get you anywhere, he scolded himself. she’ll leave you just like everyone else.

“a-are you okay?” she said, eyes glancing at his black eye. jisung rolled his eyes, already annoyed. “does it look like i’m okay?” he replied, his deep voice catching the girl off guard. 

“just, fuck off.” jisung said closing his eyes as he laid back down on the floor, knowing he couldn’t force himself to get up anymore. he didn’t even have to open his eyes to know she left, hearing the sound of her footsteps walk away.

the boy sighed as he laid idly on the floor, wondering what sin he committed to lead him to where he is now. not even she wanted to stay, the tears threatening to fall as his thoughts buried him alive.

“why can’t i just die?” jisung said out loud, asking no one but himself.

“because i won’t let you.” a voice replied as jisung forced himself to sit up in confusion. it was the same girl he had bumped into, but this time she had a first aid kit with her. he gave her a lost look despite knowing what she was here to do. 

jisung’s mind just couldn’t wrap around the fact that a total stranger would even bother to help him. 

“now sit up.” she said softly as she bent down to open the box, the boy slowly followed her instructions. “i’m sorry this might sting.” she said though jisung didn’t mind because she was much prettier up close.

-

the next ten minutes were you trying to fix his wounds against the shitty chairs outside the convenience store.

jisung didn’t even bother mentioning his broken ribs, not wanting you to freak out. you cleaned up what you could and the boy was beyond grateful for that.

you subconsciously rubbed his back in a comforting way whenever you’d apply alcohol to his open wounds, trying to ease the sting. you held his hand for him to hold and though he was a big boy and had a high pain tolerance, he still gave it a squeeze just to keep your hand there.  what the actual fuck is this feeling, jisung asked himself as he watched your determined figure work on him.

it was cold and in order to better work on his wounds, the boy offered to give you his hoodie which strangely had no traces of blood on it. you gladly accepted, the faint smell of blood and his cologne engulfing you up. 

the sight of you in something so big and so him made his chest swell in pride.

jisung couldn’t even formulate a sentence as you cursed at the time once you finished patching him up, fleeing the scene before he could say anything with a small smile, his hoodie still on. 

❝ and can you find me soon because i’m in my head ❞

the thought of your soft hands on his, your voice, your whole presence; everything about you couldn’t seem to leave the poor boy’s mind. it was now monday, and waiting for his class to start already made him want to go home.

if only i got her name, jisung daydreamed with his head resting on the palm of his hand. the classroom was loud and bright, people occasionally giving him looks but the boy didn’t mind. 

“jisungie~ did you hear we have a new kid?” jaemin asked, poking the boy’s cheeks. the boy only gave him a pointed look before sighing. 

“hyung i don’t really care.” jisung replied, looking back out the window. 

jaemin only gave him an offended look before grumbling a bit. “i don’t know maybe you will.” he muttered under his breath as their teacher walked into the room. 

❝ yeah i need you now but i don’t know you yet ❞

their homeroom teacher stood in front of the class, jisung tuning out his voice. the boy once again sighed as his teacher called for their attention, explaining they had a new girl in their class. “now make her feel welcomed,” he said before turning towards the door.

“y/n, please come in.” the teacher said and jisung almost fell out of his seat when he saw you walking through the door with the same smile you gave him a couple days ago.

“hi i’m y/n and i hope we can get along.” you bowed to the class, a familiar hoodie you were wearing catching his attention. 

isn’t that mine, jisung thought to himself as he bit back a smile knowing you kept it all along. 

[marauders-venting]

This Love

pairing: wolfstar (remus x sirius)

genre: fluff & angst

warnings: mentions of drowning, child abuse, physical abuse, death/murder, war, grief and guilt

words: 3679

note: based on the song ‘This Love’ by Taylor Swift

a/n: this is a request I got from someone on Instagram :)

okay I know that sirius ran away from home at 16 and they’re not supposed to use magic outside of Hogwarts until their 17 but uhhh idk just pretend that sirius ran away at 17. or that they can do magic at 16, whatever you prefer

Clear blue water, high tide came and brought you in and I could go on and on, on and on, and I will. Skies grew darker, currents swept you out again and you were just gone and gone, gone and gone. In silent screams, in wildest dreams I never dreamed of this

“Hey,” Remus said, waving as he saw Sirius approaching. His nervous expression rearranged itself into a smile when he saw Remus.

“Remus!” Sirius said, rushing towards him and hugging him. The embrace is quick and short, Sirius pulling back as quickly as he came in, but it’s enough to make Remus’ heart pound ridiculously fast in his chest. “I’d ask you how your summer’s been but I guess I already know,” Sirius added with a laugh. Remus smiled. They had been exchanging letters back and forth all summer long. Not that they didn’t usually write to each other over breaks but Remus was pretty sure this summer they had broken the world record for most letters sent in a month.

Remus had planned on using this time away from Sirius to try and get over his crush but the second he saw Sirius walking around the beach he knew he had failed. If anything, being away from Sirius, missing him, had only made Remus’ feelings of longing more intense.

“Come on, let’s sit,” Remus said. He had already spread a towel out on the sand near the water before when he was waiting for Sirius and they sat on it now. “How’d you manage to get away in the end?”

“I just snuck out the window,” Sirius said, shrugging. “And then I took a taxi like you taught me and I used the muggle money you sent me. I will pay you back for that by the way.”

“Don’t bother,” Remus said. “Think of it as me paying you back for all the chocolate you bought me on the last Hogsmeade visit at the end of last year. Nobody knows you’re gone?”

“Nah, they’re not expecting me down for dinner anyway so it’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Remus asked nervously.

“Yeah,” Sirius said. Remus wasn’t convinced. “Hey, come on, don’t worry about them. We’re here now, let’s enjoy it.” Sirius flopped back on the towel, lying on his back, arms stretched up above his head, shirt riding up and revealing a strip of skin above the waistband of his pants that Remus was actively trying to avoid staring at. Sirius was right. They had discussed this all summer, planning exactly how they would make it work. He wouldn’t ruin it by worrying now that they were finally here.

“Yeah, okay,” Remus said, smiling. And lying down next to Sirius. He looked up at the sky. It was a brilliant orange now, the rays of the setting sun giving it the colour. “You feel like going for a swim?”

“Okay,” Sirius said, grinning. They raced into the ocean, spraying each other water so they were soaked before they even got in past their knees. Remus kept going deeper until only his head was above water.

“Come on, Moony, that’s not fair, I can’t stand here,” Sirius complained, treading water beside him.

“Then swim,” Remus replied.

“Swimming is the one thing that I’m not the best at,” Sirius admitted grudgingly.

“What, all that old family money and your parents never paid for swimming lessons?” Remus teased but he followed Sirius back to the shallows.

“I think they were hoping I’d just drown actually,” Sirius said once he could stand. “I wonder why Reg never got any swimming lessons though. Well, it’ll be on their conscience if he ever drowns. If they even have a conscience, that is.”

“What if you drown?”

“Oh, it definitely wouldn’t be a weight on their conscience. They’d probably pat themselves on the back and go ‘see, this is what happens to gay, Gryffindor, blood traitors.”

“That’s… really fucked up,” Remus said. Sirius shrugged and submerged his head in the water. When he came back up, Remus splashed him in the face, starting a short water fight that Remus had clearly won (no matter what Sirius said).

They didn’t stay in the ocean much longer because the lower the sun sank, the colder the water got. They got out of the water, dried themselves with their wands and then sat back down on their beach towel. The blue water was crystal clear and above it, the sky now looked pink. It was a beautiful sight. But Remus was watching Sirius’ face instead. His wind-swept hair, blue-grey eyes squinting at the setting sun, rays of orange light giving his skin a golden look. Remus’ heart was beating loudly in his ears.

“What?” Sirius asked when he noticed Remus’ staring. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Normally this would be the point where Remus would look away hurriedly, his face burning, claiming that he wasn’t looking at Sirius and joking that he should deflate his ego because not everything was about him. And maybe it was the way Sirius looked today, different from what Remus was used to, in a different setting or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t seen Sirius in weeks and his resolve had weakened, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away today.

“Moony,” Sirius said. Remus’ heart skipped a beat. “What? Is it my hair?” Sirius’ hand reached up into his hair and ran his fingers through it. It looked both messier and neater somehow. Remus didn’t understand it. Remus would never admit it out loud, not after the number of times he had teased Sirius about it, but Sirius’ hair was every bit as perfect as his arrogant ass claimed it was.

“It’s you,” Remus said, without thinking. “Just… all of you.” Sirius looked at him, eyes wide.

“W-What do you mean?”

“I—” Remus started, when suddenly it hit him what he was about to do. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was going to tell Sirius. He was actually going to do it. “Nevermind,” he mumbles, looking away and blushing as he should’ve done a minute ago when Sirius had caught him staring in the first place.

“What? No, come on, Remus, just tell me,” Sirius teased. Remus shrugged. Sirius turned around so he was facing Remus.

“Remus,” he said, “whatever it is you can tell me. I’m here for you, no matter what.” Remus hesitated.

“Promise you won’t hate me?” he said. He felt stupid asking the question because even if Sirius did promise, it wasn’t a binding contract. Sirius couldn’t control his hatred. Nobody could.

“I promise,” Sirius said. “I could never hate you, Remus.” He looked genuine but Remus knew better than to believe it was true. Promises are broken more often than they’re kept. But not with Sirius, he thinks. Sirius has never broken a promise he made to Remus. Not once. Well, he’s about to, said a voice in his head. Remus tried to ignore that voice as he spoke.

“Okay,” Remus let out a shaky breath. “Okay. I… I like you, Sirius. Like, um, a lot.” Sirius remained silent for a moment.

“I like you too, Rem,” he said quietly. Remus felt his chest burn.

“You don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. Because Sirius couldn’t… he couldn’t possibly… But his thoughts are interrupted when Sirius speaks again

“Oh, I think I do,” Sirius said. Remus opened his mouth to reply but Sirius got there first. “Can… can I kiss you?” Remus closed his mouth.

“W-What?” he stuttered, his brain taking several moments to process what Sirius had just said to him.

“We don’t have to,” Sirius said hurriedly. “I was only—” But Remus cut him off by pressing their lips together. In a rush of adrenaline, fear and excitement he ignores the voice in his head saying this is a bad idea, that he misunderstood something, that this isn’t really what Sirius wants and instead he listens to Sirius. He hears Sirius’ voice echoing inside his head. Can I kiss you? Can I kiss you? Can I kiss you? Yes, you bloody well can. This is all Remus has wanted, what he’s been dreaming about for months. But not even in his wildest dreams could he have imagined what it would be like to really kiss Sirius. To have Sirius kiss him back. To thread his fingers in Sirius’ hair and feel Sirius’ hands pressing into his back, holding him close. And with all of Remus’ expansive vocabulary, he couldn’t think of a single word to describe this feeling that could even come close to how extraordinary it is. All he could think was Sirius. Sirius is touching me. Sirius is holding me. Sirius is kissing me.

When they break apart, they’re both breathless. Remus can’t think straight. Everything in his brain is one big mess.

“You— I— we just…” Remus has seemingly forgotten how to speak. And the grin on Sirius’ face is definitely not helping.

“Told you I understand,” Sirius said, taking Remus’ hand in his.

“You actually… like me?” Remus asked, bewildered.

“Um, yeah,” Sirius said, laughing as if it had been obvious. “For, like, a really long time.”

“I– why didn’t you say anything?” Remus asked.

“I could ask you the same,” Sirius said, shrugging. “But I don’t think it matters much. What matters is that I like you and you like me and…”

“And?” Remus prompted. Sirius looked him in the eyes and bit his lip.

“And I’d like to, um… take you out. On a date. Sometime. If that’s something that you might be interested in?” He said it like a question, looking nervous up at him.

“Yeah, I– of course, I–I’d love to go on a date with you,” Remus said. He could feel himself blushing. God, he was so awkward. Sirius cupped his cheeks with his hand, leaning towards closer again, ghosting his lips on Remus’.

“Your face is warm,” he said, his lips brushing against Remus’ mouth as he spoke, which only made Remus blush harder.

“Well no fucking shit,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. And then he kissed Sirius properly, fitting their mouths together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When the sun had gone down, they finally left the beach, each going back to his own home. Remus hadn’t known how badly Sirius would be punished for sneaking out the following day; if he had he might have never agreed to it. Or might have told Sirius not to go home.

It was that summer that Sirius finally decided to run away from home for good. Remus couldn’t help but feel guilty no matter how many times Sirius told him that he would have done it anyway. Besides, meeting at the beach was Sirius’ idea, not Remus’. But Remus couldn’t forget the moment he finally understood just how terrible things had been at the Black household.

He remembered going over to the Potter’s house after getting a letter from James saying that Sirius was staying with him. He remembered being horrified when he saw Sirius’. Bruised and scarred from the blows that his own parents struck and curses that they fired at him. That night he cradled Sirius, holding him close and promising that he would take care of Sirius, that Sirius was safe with him. He told Sirius that he loved him and that he always will. It had never occurred to him that maybe Sirius wouldn’t say the same about him.

Tossing, turning, struggled through the night with someone new and I could go on and on, on and on. Lantern, burning, flickered in the night, only you but you were still gone, gone, gone

Everything had changed in a single night. In a single night, he had lost Lily, James and Peter. He’d lost Sirius too but not in the same way. He’d lost them all because of Sirius. Sirius had killed them. And in doing so, Sirius had been lost as well. He hadn’t died but Remus counted him with the losses. He might as well have died. He’s dead to me, Remus thinks, he doesn’t matter. He killed them. He killed them all. It was all him. The man that he knew had died. Remus had wondered how long ago it had happened.

He had been tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep from fear of the war, images of everyone he had lost, turning to Sirius for comfort. To someone he thought loved him. But this was someone else. Someone new. This wasn’t the boy he’d fallen in love with.

Remus remembered laying in bed the night before everything had gone to hell. It felt like a million years ago, but he remembered it all the same. He remembered how Sirius hadn’t spoken to him in the weeks before. He remembered devising a plan to find out if Sirius still loved him. Because that’s what he did best. At school, he devised plans for pranks. After school, he helped devise plans for the Order. He was good at planning ahead. So he made a plan. Because he couldn’t go on living in the same apartment as Sirius, sleeping in the same bed without exchanging a word, not knowing whether Sirius still reciprocated his feelings. His plan kept him sane. But his plan had failed. Or maybe it had succeeded. It just hadn’t given him the results he’d been hoping for. Because when he got into bed that night, he waited long enough that Sirius would think he was asleep. Then he turned towards Sirius and brushed his fingers on Sirius’ back. And Sirius got up and walked away. And just like that, the last flame of hope Remus had left flicked out.

Remus remembered thinking that Sirius had fallen out of love. But maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he had simply never loved Remus in the first place. Maybe this wasn’t someone new at all. Maybe this person, this murderer, was in fact the very same boy he’d fallen in love with all those years ago. Maybe this was all part of some sick scheme. Maybe Sirius had hated him all along. Sirius had promised he would never hate Remus. But what is a promise, really? Promises are made to be broken. Remus had to learn that time and time again. He should just stop believing people when they make promises. He wouldn’t believe anymore, he told himself. He promised himself. There was nobody left to believe. Nobody left to promise him anything anyway. Sirius was gone. They were all gone, all his friends. And they’re never coming back.

Your kiss, my cheek, I watched you leave. Your smile, my ghost, I fell to my knees.

Remus’ world is on fire. Everything has burned the ground and he’s left to scrape away the ashes and try to find something he can put back together. Alone.

He can still feel the sting of Sirius’ lips against his cheek. He can still remember Sirius’ easy smile, his light-hearted laughter ringing through the walls of the room that Remus is in right now. But then he blinks again and now he’s seeing Sirius’ face on a ‘wanted’ poster for the first time. He doesn’t remember how he found the poster that night. It’s not important anyway. All he remembers is the feeling of looking down and seeing a photo of the love of his life behind bars, arrested for the murder of his three best friends. He remembers collapsing. Literally, falling to his knees as quickly as the tears fell down his cheeks. He remembers crying, sobbing, screaming out. 

He remembers thinking of every happy moment he’d ever had with his friends, with his boyfriend. He’d never make any more memories like that. He had felt empty that day. Hollow. That feeling still hasn’t gone away. Remus feels like a ghost. A ghost of the memories from before this all happened. He haunts himself. But Remus is not a ghost. He’s the only one still left alive. He’d rather be a ghost right now. He’d rather be dead. At least then he wouldn’t feel this pain. At least then he wouldn’t feel like he’s been pulled apart. Nobody can glue him back together now. There’s nobody left alive that would try. There’s nobody left alive, period. Nobody but him.

This love is good, this love is bad, this love is alive back from the dead, oh, oh, oh. These hands had to let it go free, and this love came back to me, oh, oh, oh. This love left a permanent mark, this love is glowing in the dark, oh, oh, oh. These hands had to let it go free, and this love came back to me, oh, oh, oh

Sirius has been staying at Remus’ apartment for a couple of days now, sleeping on the couch in Remus’ living room. It’s been weeks since that night he found out the truth. The night he nearly killed everybody he cared about. The few still left alive. The night he saw Sirius again for the first time in twelve years. It’s been weeks but Remus can’t figure out how he feels about Sirius after everything they’ve been through. On one hand, Remus can’t believe how unbelievably lucky he is to have Sirius back. He can’t believe that Sirius is here. That he’s innocent. And he wants things to go back to how they were. He knows that’s impossible but he wishes it could happen.

But on the other hand, there are still so many complications, so many questions. Is being together wise? Is it advisable? Is it responsible? Even if Sirius wasn’t still a wanted criminal, would they be able to repair their relationship? To pick up their shattered love and piece it back together? They’d been through so much together and so much apart. Remus isn’t the same person he was 12 years ago and neither is Sirius. Does Sirius even still love him? Does he still love Sirius, after everything? He buried those feelings deep, deep down inside him on the night of Sirius’ arrest. Are they still there? Do they still exist, locked somewhere in the depths of his heart? Remus is sure they do. What else could be squeezing in his chest every time he looks at Sirius? It’s like a game of tug-a-war in his mind, back and forth. This love is good, this love is bad.

All this is why, right now, when Sirius is saying that they need to talk and they’re seated in the living room side by side on the couch, Remus feels like words are failing him. He’s disappeared into his own head until Sirius’ words snap him out of it, his voice ringing in Remus’ head.

“Remus?”

“Yeah?” he says, sounding dazed.

“I–I just want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. I would never intentionally hurt you, Remus, I promise.” His eyes pleaded with Remus to believe him. Remus had promised himself that he would never believe people when they make promises. But here he was, believing again. Never believe a promise, even when you’re the one making the promise to yourself. Especially when you make the promise to yourself.

“I—” Sirius starts again, seeing that Remus doesn’t know what to say. He closes his eyes and takes a breath before continuing. “I still love you, Remus. And I understand if you don’t feel the same anymore, really I get it. But I just thought you should know. I’ll always love you.” Remus can barely breathe. Sirius still loves him. This is a bad idea, says a voice in his head. Fuck good and bad. Remus doesn’t care. The important this is that this love is fucking alive. It died. And now it’s back. Back from the dead. Sirius is back. He came back to me, Remus thinks. He’s innocent. He came back and now he’s telling me he still loves me. Sirius is here. Remus desperately wants this to be real. He wants them to be real again.

Sirius’ love left a permanent mark on Remus. Not like his scars. This is something different. More like a tattoo. Something that he’d chosen at first and couldn’t get rid of later. In all the years that Sirius had been in Azkaban, in all the years Remus had willed himself to forget Sirius, to hate him, the tattoo had never faded. And now that Sirius is back, Remus doesn’t have to want it to fade. So in a lapse of judgement, he kisses Sirius. He kisses Sirius and that tiny flame that had flickered out all those years ago is back. Remus feels it fill him up as Sirius kisses him back, hands in hair, arms around waists, fingertips on bare skin. And when they break apart, Remus still feels the warmth of Sirius’ body against his.

“I missed you so much,” Sirius murmurs against his lips and Remus feels like he’s back on that beach the first time he kissed Sirius.

“I missed you too,” Remus says, a tear trickling down his face.

“Really?” Sirius asks, pulling away to look at Remus with his eyebrows raised. “But you thought I was a murderer?”

“I know,” Remus says. “I didn’t want to miss you. But I did. I couldn’t help it. I wanted you back.”

“I’m back now,” Sirius says, hugging Remus tightly. “I’m back and I’m never leaving. And I’m all yours, love.”

“I never stopped loving you,” Remus whispers in his ear, tears spilling from his eyes even though they’re squeezed shut. “I hated myself for it. But I loved you every day you were locked in that cell. And I still love you now.”

“I love you too,” Sirius whispers back.

It’s the only light in this crushing, suffocating darkness of death and war and grief and guilt. That flame, his and Sirius’ love, glows amidst the dark. And it’s what keeps Remus going. And this time, Remus will never let go of Sirius.

[impala1967dwinchester]

Dean Winchester: Hurting inside and out

*Credit to the gif owner*

Pairing: AU!History Teacher!Dean x Student!Reader

Pov: Dean (Reader to aged to be 16 and in high school)

Warnings: tw: Abuse tw: Only child tw: Mental health tw: Panic Attacks tw: Anxiety Attacks tw: Anxiety tw: Abuse of a child tw: Chacater Death mentioned tw: Drunk parent tw: Drinking, Protective! Dean, crying, consoling the reader, Mad! Dean, CPS Involved, Adoption of the reader, Talking a little about the past, Mature Content.

Summary: Mr. Winchester is starting to notice and worry about the changes he is seeing in his brightest, and most social student after all of a sudden she becomes quiet and wants to be left alone.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N- This is for @band--psycho Comfort list.

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Taglist- @akshi8278 @deanswaywardgirl @hit-meup69 @doctorlilo @wonderfulworldofwinchester

“Alright class, do you have any questions before we have independent work?” I asked the large class of students. I saw the girl in the front of the class raised her hand. She always has her hand up in the air. Always wanting to learn more about history.

“Yes, Y/n what’s your question?” I asked Y/n, she lowered her arm and said proudly. “What can we do if we have already completed our assignment?” I was used to that from her. She’d finish her assignments early and then have thirty minutes to sit there. She’d sit and read her book, or complete other assignments for classes.

“Well, if you’re already done. Then you, Miss, L/n can read your book, or help other students.” I said walking over to my desk to sit down. Y/n was a teacher's pet, but I tried to lean away from making her think that she was that way in class. I know what it’s like to be a teacher pet

I hadn’t even got to take a breath yet before Y/n was standing in front of my desk with her paper assignment in hand. “Here you go, Mr. Wincheste,r” Y/n said handing me her paper. “Thank you Miss L/n.” I said taking it and then she walked back over to her desk.

Later on that day I called the main office, telling the very nice desk lady that I needed Y/n L/n to come back to my classroom to talk with you about being a student cadet. The front desk lady said okay, and at the end of the day, Y/n was coming walking into my classroom for the second time.

Her backpack is steady on her shoulders. “Yes, Mr. Winchester.” She said sitting down in her normal seat in class. “How was the rest of your day, Miss L/n?” I asked. Giving her a confused look. “Mr. Winchester I thought I was here for detention or something like that?” She said. Starting to mess with her fingers.

"God no, I wanted to talk to you about becoming a teacher's cadet for next semester’s class. It would nice if you'd be able to help me grade papers, make up lesson plans y'know the normal things." I said fidgeting with the pen in between my fingers.

After this semester ends Y/n will not be coming back. So, the only way to get Y/n to come back would be to my class if she became my student cadet.

I waited silently in my office chair. Softly tapping, the nose of my shoe on the floor to the beat of some rock song. "Yeah, I will become a teacher's cadet. I'll become your teacher's cadet." She said a slow smile starting to grow on her face.

This…This teaching, and that wide was the one reason I keep coming to work. Knowing that my little ol' history class is making them so overjoyed. That's what makes me know that I'm doing the best I can at my job.

“All right, so next semester I’ll see you. Remember you’re here to help me. So don’t worry about things okay.” I said getting up from my desk chair and moving around. Y/n stayed in her same position. “You can go Y/n.” I stated.

It looked almost as if she had zoned out, but it’s whatever. “Yes, I do have to get going. Thank you, Mr. Winchester.” That’s all she said before she walked out of my classroom. Christmas break came fast and then it was over, I had ended up going to my parent’s house to see my sister and brother-in-law.

With Christmas and New Year over I was very much ready to see the new kids that I was going to have, and I was more than happy to have Y/n as my teacher cadet. The whole idea of her taking some stress off my shoulders was nice, it was wonderful actually.

For the first few weeks of the new semester Y/n was great she’d get all the regulatory things printed, some tested graded, she’d come to my class during her lunchtime and help me with more grading.

Yeah, I’m one of those teachers who make a shit ton of their students work into grades. The only thing I had to do was print the syllabus out. She’d walk in with her backpack slung over her shoulders, but a bright and wide smile on her face. I’d talk to the class and get the students in order before bringing my attention back to Y/n.

But that slowly started to change as our class progressed into the new year. Y/n wouldn't come in with a smile on anymore, she’d have her earbuds in and to be honest, the music was always blaring. “She’d slump into her seat at the front of the class.

Students would try to say hi or even just try to start a conversation. She’d ignore them, and pull out the tests she had scored the previous day. It started to concern me when she came to school with a large black hoodie, and in a rather bad mood. It was starting to look as if she was losing that bright star inside her.

That bright star that had made her shine in my class just last semester. That bright smile made all the students this year enjoy this class just a little bit more. I let it continue until she wasn’t showing up for class anymore, wasn’t returning graded tests, or coming to the lunch to help me anymore.

I called the front desk and asked the lady to have Y/n come down to my class that I needed her for a teacher and teacher cadet conversation. The front desk lady was able to call down to whatever class Y/n was in and have her jot that note down.

I waited for after school to end to start to worry when Y/n didn’t show up in my classroom. But the worry was forgotten when I heard the soft knocks on my door. “Y/n, can you please come to sit?” I asked her.

Her backpack sat low on her shoulder, her hair in a messy bun, smeared make-up, a dark sweater on, with sagging sweats on. She looked like a wreck, a tragic wreck. Or maybe she sort of looked like that popular game Jenga, if somebody pulled the wrong block who knows what will happen.

She sat down carefully to keep her bag still in her possession. “Y/n, is there anything you want to talk about?” I asked, prying a little too far into the very normal high situation. This just seemed different. How she had changed so quickly, or far off the deep end she had fallen.

I felt like I had to save her. I felt like I was her only saving grace. She hummed, but didn’t dare look up at me. “You can take all the time you need, Y/n. We’re in no rush.” I said trying my best to console her. Make her feel comfortable.

“I can tell you anything right? Mr.Winchester?” She asked, her voice shy and timid. Barely even looking up at me. “Of course,” I said trying not to sound over-excited that I had seen something and now she was communicating with me. All students should feel comfortable with their teachers, or at least one of their teachers to tell them how they're feeling at any given point in time.

She took what looked like a deep breath in and started; “So, lately life at home has been rough, things between my dad and I are kinda on bad terms. I know that as a teacher’s cadet I can’t let things like that bother me, but it’s hard to. And yeah I know I’m different, but Mr. Winchester I promise I’m still the same girl I was before. I promise you I’ll get better.” I went to go raise my hand.

She flinched and ducked under her crossed arms. A slight string of rage ran through me. I myself took a deep breath trying my hardest to find a consoling and nurturing voice. “Y/n please slow down, and take a breath if you don’t you’ll end up having a panic or anxiety attack,” I said to be careful to not scare her off.

“That's what it’s called?” She said. “How many other times have you felt like this?” I asked, now worried about whether or not this was being taken care of at home. She was trying her hardest to regain some sort of rhyme to her breath.

“In the past week?” She asked, her hands starting to shake. “Yeah sure let’s go with that. Also, can I touch your hand, so I can try and help you?” I asked. She hummed, “I’d say maybe like 5 in the past week.” She said.

“Y/n, Have you told anyone else? Maybe your father?” I asked, pushing further into Y/n personal business. There was a split second of a stutter, a pregnant pause laid between the two of us. “Y/n?” I asked again.

“No… I… I didn’t kno… I can’t tell my father.” She finally said. The pauses and stutters between her words gave me goosebumps. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if as a teenager I couldn’t talk to my parents, or even to just one parent.

Come to think of it, I wouldn’t want any of that. Not as a parent or as a child. “Y/n will you tell me why you can’t tell your father?” I asked pushing the subject even further. Wanting and needing to understand the situation the further we got into it.

“I… it’s really my fault you see.” I couldn’t help myself, my mouth opening against my own accord. “Nothing is ever your fault. Whoever told you it’s your fault is wronger than a bat outta hell.” I said my voice steadily rising.

She flinched and lowering her head. Shit, okay different approach. “It’s not your fault, Do you want to continue?” I asked She took a deep breath bringing her head back up and looking me in my eyes. “My mom died recently while coming to pick me up from a friend’s house during the winter break and now my father… he um he blames me for her death. So the animosity between my father and I in the house it’s hard to be that bright child I was.” She said taking another large deep breath of air.

Oh my god, that’s not something you blame on a child. Regardless, you never let a child feel like they have animosity with their parent. What has this world come to that this sort of action is socially acceptable.

“Can I ask why you feel that there’s animosity in your home, Y/n?” I asked making my voice softer and trying to be more welcoming. “Well, it’s a usual nightly thing. Where when I come back from school he’s drunk asleep hopefully. The longer I’m home though the worse it gets for me. He starts to yells and scream, putting me down in every which way.” She said.

Her breathing becoming rapid and raged, tears starting to roll down her already red cheeks. “Y/n, I’m going to ask a serious question tap me one for yes, and twice for no. “ I said she tapped me once so I continued. “Do you... Do you feel safe at home with your father?” I asked I was starting to feel like I was overstepping a boundary an imagery one.

Well if I was overstepping a boundary then Y/n would have said something right? Hopefully, I’m not. “No, I don’t feel safe at home. Please help me,” she said desperation flowing through her words as she spoke. “Do you want me to help?” I asked worrying that she might back out of her own idea.

We sat in silence for minutes besides hearing her little snuffles. “Yes, I want your help. I want to leave that hateful, dreadful, and emotionless house. Please, anywhere but there.” She said grabbing my hand tight, and tighter as she chocked out her words.

I slightly shook my head, I was able to release one hand before grabbing for my personal phone and dialing up the child’s protective services. If this is ending, then it’s ending now and in the right way.

I was able to get an agent and was able to explain the drastic situation. The young lady that happened to pick up the phone could hear Y/n in the background asking if she was okay. “No ma’am she isn’t going to be okay, not if she knows that she has to go back to the abusive home. Please is there anything that I can do about this situation to help?” I asked, my own voice failing me and my desperation coming out.

A week later, CPS was at her father’s house, and he was told that his daughter was being taken. Taken to another home as they did their investigation. He yelled and screamed, which in turn only caused their investigation to start off on a bad hand for her father, but a better hand for Y/n.

The past week she’d been staying with me. She had no other family and when the CPS agent asked if she did y/b only started to cry and, and ended up just hugging me through the entire conversation. The agent asked me if I would be comfortable, and if I had enough space for Y/n to stay for just a little bit.

I was more than comfortable with her coming to stay. I think through the whole situation and learning more about Y/n. I had started to grow a portion of my heart that was held just for her. With Y/n being a junior and that her next year being her last in high school it was honestly more of Y/n’s choice.

“Dean.. can I stay with you? Even after this all ends.” She asked, in the past week she’d been excused from school and was staying with me. We had to get past the normal uncomfortable routines, but besides that, she was absolutely amazing to have around. To think that some person could make a kind soul like her come to tears every night was horrible and made my blood boil.

We did have to get past the “Mr. Winchester” I told her to just call me Dean since that would make us both very comfortable. Being comfortable was all I really wanted her to be. Weeks turned into months that Y/n had now become living with me. The first night she called me dad we were sitting down getting ready to watch a movie.

“Do you want popcorn? Or something else?” I had asked her. As I got up to go to the kitchen. “Popcorn is fine Dad.” She said. I just stood there for a moment a wide smiled starting to spread against my face. “What?” She finally said after she noticed I hadn’t moved. “Did you just?” I said.

“Yeah I did, now popcorn and movie please dad.”She said. She was starting to become more and more like me, these recent months. “Sure thing kiddo. Pick the movie and we’ll eat popcorn.” I said.

This wasn’t something I thought I needed. But I’m glad I have it. I’m glad that Y/n’s in my life now. To be honest I think she’d just as happy as I am.

Completed on:04/23/2021

[whump-town]

Puzzle Peices

Warnings: the vague mention of Emily smoking, child abuse bc Hotch, and major character death but like... not heavy

No pairings

Just not the best but I haven't managed to write anything in like forever and this happened today so what the hell?

As a boy, Jack had thought his father something akin to a knight. Adorned in an armor that he could not peel away as simply as the suits he wore to work each morning. As humble as a knight and lucrative in speech and behavior as only one from the highest order. A right hand to the queen, though Jack could never decipher exactly who that was. Perhaps one of his aunts. Many times he’d seen a customary bow out of his father, carrying a wailing Henry around to give his mother a break or moving Penelope’s couch around to as many absurd places as she requested. Even as protective, as demanding as one. Dragging himself limping and bleeding home to recount a lie meant for Jack’s ears only for Emily to tell him, hushed by the late hour of the night and the novelty of time spent together, that his father had done something heroic. Brave but so very stupid.

Bravery, Jack would come to understand, in his father had always been linked in arm with stubbornness.

He was four when his mother died, too young to understand exactly what had happened. He wasn’t alone in that confusion. The circumstances of her death had been abnormal. No one seemed to be able to understand, least of all his father. Who had held her body in his arms. Who had been pried away, sedated to get him out of the house. Now laying supine and dazed. Repeating his slurred questions for anyone willing to answer them a third time.

Haley had been an attentive mother and with his father’s attention hazed in and out by drugs, Jack had felt the startling icy fingers of solitude seeping into his bones for the first time in his life. Never before had he been so alone. His mother dead and his father stumbling to follow after. Startled into silence he’d sat by his father’s bedside, left swaddled in his suit jacket to wait out the instruction of an adult more put together than Hotch.

Jack remembers his father’s weak cries, his voice dried out and confused. Asking again and again for Haley, until he couldn’t even manage to get words to pass his pale lips. Until his dark eyes sunk shut.

Jessica took him in her arms that night, a habit she formed that day in the hospital and never kicked until he was too big to collect like a baby and nestle in her lap, and told him about his parents. A story mutilated time and time again to create an almost, not even a half-truth. His mother, the prom queen, and his father the too shy, too reserved bad boy. About the night she won the crown and tore out of that dance with her fancy, expensive prom dress to go dance with his father. The delinquent who had been expelled the week before, who couldn’t attend the dance but was adamant she go without him.

But Jack couldn’t imagine his father like that. Only as he is now, only as he has always been in Jack’s memory. The past he could see written out on his father’s flesh, a roadmap that dated him back to this boy Jack could not comprehend him as. Scars raised like mount peaks and valleys of tissue and muscle that Jack traced his fingers along, hoping to catch a version of the truth in their layers. There was still a boy in the depths of his father’s aged eyes. In his falter to punish Jack, never raising a hand but losing control of his voice. In the hot tears that streamed down his face in the aftermath, in the way that Jack felt more guilt over those tears than what he’d actually done. Sometimes in his father’s light, jovial laughter Jack could catch a glimpse of that boy. The one Jessica could only whisper about, the one she’d thought was buried alongside Haley.

How could his father have ever been so young? Knocked around by emotions too strong for such small bodies. In part, Jack couldn’t understand it because he knew nothing of his father’s childhood. He could trace his fingers along scars and date them by his father’s willingness to speak about them. Accidents, the majority of them. The clumsy stumblings of a twenty-seven-year-old, a story to be told with a gently sad smile. Refocused narratives that tell him more about his mother than the scar. Gunshot wounds and horror movies slasher bad guys with knives. Those were the stories told by the light of the lamp on his bedside table. Told in the low grumble of his father’s sleepy voice, ones Hotch didn’t even look to see just laid there and knew by touch which ones were being inquired upon.

It was the scars on the great expanse of his chest, the perfect circles on his wrists and by his elbows that deserved no comment. That Jack learned to know better than to ask about.

“My father smoked a lot,” Hotch began but his eyes would get this haze and he’d fall silent before shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it buddy,” he’d decide instead. Keeping to himself the secrets of those scars. Bit by bit Jack still learned to put together the intricate truths until he understood for himself how those perfect circles made their way onto his father’s arms. Until he understood why Emily never smoked around his father and why she always did her best to stop. His father’s impressive armor torn to shred in Jack’s curious fingers and he no longer wished to understand the human underneath.

His father was unforgivingly private.

Never prone to gossip nor betrayed secrets, or pried into Jack’s life. He asked about grades when he felt it necessary but trusted that if there was a problem, he’d know about it. He never went through Jack’s room, wouldn’t even take out old laundry or pick up dirty dishes. If asked he’d give one of his solemn nods but never followed it with a comment. Never passed judgment on Jack’s frequently messy room, simply went in and left. It never occurred to Jack he’d do anything different. That he’d search through his drawers or scold him for his mess. The boundaries were set. Parent and child and Hotch did not easily forgive these boundaries being scorned in others.

Jack did not find it easy to reciprocate these boundaries with his father.

His gravely sullen father had only ever interested him. The moment his father left in the mornings or in the death of night Jack would find himself in his father’s room. Unzipping the bags holding those larger than life dry-cleaned suits, softly rubbing at the material. Hoping to find something, a puzzle piece to connect to the choppy image he has of his father. Not even the pictures Jack found of the closet answered his questions. There were pictures of his mother, countless in their abundance with his father appearing seldom. Always in the corner, just out of focus.

That’s how most people see his father. The figure standing just to the side of the action and out of focus.

Between the ages of four and sixteen, Jack heard over a dozen versions of the story about his mother being crowned prom queen. He’d seen pictures of her that young, understood why it was that people liked her so easily. She had effortless charm but Jack was left with his father’s fumbling shy ways, reserved where his mother was bright and cheery. Over the course of that time, the story changed a little every time it was told.

Jack placed his own version, understood what parts were truths and what parts were not.

That night Hotch hadn’t been at the prom (that part is always the same) but it wasn’t because he was expelled, he was in the hospital. There’s a scar on the back of his neck, unphased by time and still thick and ugly despite the decades it’s had to heal. Hotch had flipped his old truck the week of the prom, laid up pretty bad in the hospital. Bad enough Haley had been afraid to leave him for the night. Hadn’t wanted to leave him alone that long or even to go have fun without him. She had gone but only because he’d begged her to and when she’d won she hadn’t even waited for her dance. She’d come back to the hospital in her flowing gown and crown, plucked the silly thing down in his messy hair, and decided she was saving her dance for him.

He’d danced with her three weeks later. Having worked hard to stand again, nurses and his physical therapist standing close by just in case he couldn’t make it through the whole song but he had. She was wearing a summer dress and he was wearing her crown.

But he doesn’t learn this in one fell swoop.

On his seventeenth birthday, he walks out of his bedroom, shuffling outside in his boxers and still squinting through the sun when keys are pressed into his hand. A truck, “I had a similar one when I was your age”, and the customary crooked smile his father often wore when speaking about his childhood. Later that night he’d ask what Hotch’s truck had been like, why he got a truck of all things. And, in the spirit of the day and because at night Hotch was always a little more willing, to tell the truth, Hotch had told him about his truck.

He’d spent two summers saving up for it. Working towards his license and the truck and saving to ensure he could keep it on the road. He’d flipped it when he was eighteen. That’s why he hadn’t made it to see Haley crowned prom queen.

But that wasn’t the full truth either.

Hotch really did flip his truck but those injuries were minimal enough he’d driven home and there his father beat him within an inch of his life. The sort of injuries that left nothing but a gaping hole in Hotch’s memory and the need for a story to tell the nurses. With enough panic and tears, they made it through the E.R. and no one mentioned the lack of blood in the cab of the truck or the hand-shaped bruise wrapped around Hotch’s throat. They noticed. They had to but no one said anything.

Jack doesn’t learn about that truth until he’s in college, old enough to cave to curiosity and far enough away from his father to lack the guilt he should have for prying. He’d spent an afternoon looking over newspaper articles from that time. One article is dedicated to the beautiful, radiant Haley Brooks. All charm and intelligence, no one could think of a better girl to win prom queen. The other a hazy black and white photo of that old pick-up truck and his father, so young Jack can’t believe it’s really him, laying in a hospital bed. A tube down his throat but his eyes opened to slivers, giving the camera a thumbs up.

Jessica tells him about the dance and how serious the injuries had really been. She was only a little bit older than his parents but she’d still been young. Scared watching in slow motion as the weight drop off of Hotch. Leaving him skeletal and so still. They moved him around, kept a walker at hand to try and get him to move but most of the time he couldn’t even manage to hold himself upright. The night of the prom he’d been sitting in a chair by the bed, moved to try and make it look like he’d done it by himself. All for the benefit of Haley. All the nurses were in on it, he’d been hard to argue with during these days. No one really knew if he’d make it and it made his soft request impossible to deny.

So Haley had been welcomed by his illusion, blankets covering the chest tube in his side and pillows sitting him up. Her aim for the night was to stay here with him, another request she knew would be breaking the rules but they were just so hard to say no to. But he’d been adamant, breathlessly fighting with her, until he won. She’d caved seeing him gasping for breath, shaking under the exertion it was taking to fight with her. So she went.

Jack grew obsessed with these stories.

Held onto every piece of his father that anyone was willing to tell him about.

Collected newspapers about him. Articles he was mentioned in. Watched interviews. His intense search for his father made it feel more like Hotch was the dead parent. The one just out of his grasp but Haley had always been available to him. He had home videos of her. Photos in bountiful supply. Stories from everyone who had ever known her. He knew about her childhood. He knew she broke her ankle when she was eight and that Roy had been impatient with her. Harder on her because he thought she was too soft, too comforting and he knew someone would take advantage of that.

His father… there was only mystery.

So Hotch was everywhere Jack could put him. In pictures when he was four. Drawn out like a wisp of smoke, dark and thinly stretching up towards the sky. In the stories he fought out with action figures. The broken hero there to save the day at the very last minute. Crashing through the ceiling, shouting down the hall. The hero.

Hotch always encouraged an open, broad education. Boy scouts. Soccer. Swim team. Drama club. Writing classes. Two semesters of ASL. One semester of Arabic. It didn’t matter if Jack stopped the swim team after three months, so long as he learned something. Hotch hadn’t cared that Jack gave up soccer after sophomore year of high school. Not even when the coaches called and begged him to make Jack keep going. Jack was good but Jack hadn’t wanted to play anymore, so he didn’t.

Jack preferred writing.

Writing out his stories when he thought himself too old for those action figures, even if he keeps the collection under his bed in a tote. Sitting for hours recounting every detail Jessica or Roy or Emily or Dave could give him about his father. Constructing a story for the man he thought without one. Until he had one. Put together slowly through the course of years and bound loosely together. As rough and uneven as his father’s skin.

The one book that remains unpublished.

The one Jack can’t bring himself to speak of. It’s not his story to tell. It’s not even his story to know. But he learned a great deal about his father. That he really can read Jack’s mind but chooses not to. How most people regard his father as this thing to look past or as something akin to a dancing flame, edging around his larger-than-life presence afraid to be burned.

It’s how Jack knows he’s dying.

Writing about people had made him something of a profile. That and growing up with a man like his father had meant a lot of silence, communicating through side-eyed glances and grunts. His partners always hate it, “don’t motion at me, just speak Jack. Tell me what you want”. But the silence is a blessing.

Emily thought it was funny that Jack had found a partner worth marrying in James, a deaf man. His father had nothing to say on the matter but it was funny, they all could see that. No one could deny that.

But with James, the silence was never questioned. It was natural to answer James with his hands, to never shatter the silence his father had taught him to treasure.

“Your father,” James signs one night, the two of them stretched out in Dave’s lawn just watching the ever-growing crowd of his family dance. “Your father is odd.” It takes Jack a long moment to understand. In the ways that Jack is bad about not answering his phone and spending far too many hours at his desk writing, James has a brutal way with words. And not in the “brutal” way that Jack’s publicist compliments him on. In a way that leaves much to be desired.

Jack brushes it off, “he’s always been odd.” But he sees it. He knows what James means.

Hotch is standing a few feet away, eyes watching Hank and the younger kids, while Dave and Emily talk on. His attention not on them at all. There’s something in his eyes, Jack can’t tell what the expression is but it’s not good. It’s a type of sullen he hasn’t seen in a very long time. Not since he was just a little boy sitting by the hospital bed, asking for his mother and hating how confused and weak his father was.

They don’t actually talk about it. When Jack gets a call from the hospital, that his father has had a procedure and can’t drive himself home, he goes without comment. Pulls up with milkshakes and takes him home. Double checks things around the house before setting himself up in the old office, and getting to work. James shows up once he’s off work, welcomed into their easy silence.

James tries to get one of them to say something. He mentions it several times, asks Jack if he’s going to force a confession or not. Jack gets another call, his father’s in the hospital with pneumonia and they needed to contact the next of kin. It’s right there. Jack’s spent his entire life pushing at his father’s for more, to tell him something and now he can’t bring himself to ask, to pry and find out.

So they don’t.

They don’t ever talk about it.

It’s dark now. The bedroom door kept shut to muffle the sounds of the others moving throughout the house. To stifle the rounds of sobs taking them all by surprise. Fine one moment and torn the next.

Jack sits softly on the side of the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. “Hey, dad.” He knows his father can’t see him well, his glasses on the nightstand, and the room too dark. He smiles when he hears his name rasped back, just the thin parting of Hotch’s lips. “James is gonna come in soon,” he promises. “He’s just giving us a minute.” He’s thirty-some years old and he realizes he never came out to his father. Just held a string of girlfriends and boyfriends until James. Of course, he’d been nervous to bring anyone home but he’d never stopped to think to warn his father who he might bring home.

“I love you.”

They’ve always said it a thousand other ways but this time it feels like too much. Too heavy. Too painful. Jack starts to cry, big heaving sobs until he can’t breathe. Consumed by his grief until he curls over himself and leans into the palm Hotch puts his cheek. Lays his head down on his father’s chest and allows himself to be held, to seek comfort like a little boy. Drawn in by thin arms and held close.

James comes in at some point.

Jacks only sort of aware of the two of them talking over him.

This is goodbye.

What had he thought he’d find at the end of this puzzle? It’s done. He put it together. He figured it out.

James folds Jack into his arms and Jack can only cry harder. Recognizes the shift is made. The way James is now the person who’s supposed to love and protect him. That his father’s role in his life has come to an end.

The mystery has died.

[pillage-and-lute]

Thicker Than Water (Part 8)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, (here)

Ao3 link HERE

Please note, this is pretty heavy, it deals with a lot of common insecutiries for adults with ADHD and Jaskier blames himself for a lot of things, but it’s not triggering in the traditional sense. Much of this fic has been about the ways Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria and other ADHD symptoms can cause self-destructive actions, this focuses on other insecurities, common blames, and then the self-isolation that can come from guilt, even unfounded guilt.

Please remember, in this fic’s world Geralt and Jaskier actually do have a loving and pretty healthy friendship, albeit with communication issues. People fight some times, these are just ways in which RSD can mess with healthy relationships.

OTHER TW: Mentioned child abuse.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Yennefer and Ciri asked Jaskier to come down for supper that evening. Between lunch and dinner he’d napped, evidently passing out wasn’t the same as actual good-quality rest and his body was demanding it’s due. Evening came around, though and Yen took his elbow to help him stand.

They walked at a slow pace down the hall, Jaskier’s body not up for much more. Ciri stuck behind them, but the pace was embarassingly painstaking.

“Ciri,” Yennefer said. “This is a lot for Jaskier, and will take some time, why don’t you go see if they need help in the kitchen?”

Ciri gave one more concerned look at Jaskier, then bounded off. 

Yennefer steered Jaskier to an alcove in the stone of the hallway. He was embarrassed to find himself out of breath.

“What are you going to do?” She asked him. She wasn’t asking about his lungs.

“Eat supper I suppose.”

“I mean about Geralt.”

He knew she meant Geralt, and sighed. “I don't know, Ciri says I'm angry and I am...”

“But?”

“That day on the mountain I didn’t give him space,” Jaskier said, feeling a lump grow in his throat, blocking off his already small air supply.

“I never know when to give people space, I never have, I've been working on it my whole life and I still don't understand.” His chest ached. With emotion, with pneumonia, with tiredness. With shame.

“I’ve always been different, you know?” He looked up at Yennefer. He was taller than her but she sat regally, and he was hunched over, conserving his air.

“In stories being different is usually a good thing, you get cool powers and people love you, but life isn’t like that. And being different is...it’s so much worse when you’re a kid.”

“I know,” Yennefer said. Those purple eyes...she knew. She understood, probably better than anyone. There were parts of her story that Jaskier didn’t have, wasn’t entitled to, but she understood.

“I cant do things I'm not interested in, not don’t want to, can’t. Even if I am interested, they don't always get done,” Jaskier whispered, like he was confessing to a priest, not a barely-friendly witch in a cold hallway.

“I’m nothing but a ball of loose ends, tangled up and bouncing around, running into people and making them as tangled as I am,” Jaskier said. It came out half-sobbed, which upset his breathing and he began to wheeze, then cough.

“If I’m not interested in something, if nothing lights up my mind, I get so sad and tired it’s like this horrible weight.” Jaskier kept talking, feeling the emotions fighting to get out. “Being around people helps, I can get things done, be more normal. And interesting people, oh they’re the best, of course. They keep that awful sad, tired feeling away because they’re always interesting.”

He looked down at his knees, wrapped in their battered trousers.

“But I need to be around them so much,” he whispered. “And I’m too much for anyone to want around long.”

He leaned his head against the cold stone of the alcove wall, staring blankly and watching as his field of vision blurred with tears.

“I’m dramatic,” he said. 

“You’re a bard.”

Jaskier shook his head. “Dad called me a pansy, among worse things. He tried to beat it out of me. I just, I seem to feel more than other people. Happy is more happy, but sadness, fear, rejection, they’re all so much worse. I overreact and it makes me hard to deal with.”

He felt a tear roll down and get caught in the scruff on his chin. “I need people though, and I need people to like me. Crowds come and go I just needed one person to like me so I forced it to be Geralt.”

Jaskier was crying in ernest now, full tears falling and shoulders shaking, clogging up his breathing so his cries mingled painfully with coughs. Yennefer reached out and pulled at his shoulder, bringing him up from his hunched over position.

“I’m angry at him even though it was my fault,” he said, wretchedly.

“I followed him and took advantage of the fact that he doesn’t talk because he wont tell me to go away. I took advantage of his patience like that so someone could keep me around and I let myself believe that he actually wanted me around, that just one person could bear being around me. And being with him left me time to go seek out other interests, go ahead or stay behind, I never got bored and it was perfect for me and probably hell for him.”

Jaskier sniffled, looking away and studying the wall because he couldn’t bear to see the condemnation that would surely be on Yennefer’s face.

“And I fell in love with him. Which was stupid because I've been using him this entire time,” he whispered. 

“I used him for music and money, then I used him to bandage my self esteem and its all my fault.”

Jaskier finally managed to look at Yennefer and saw that she was actually rolling her eyes.

 “It’s not your fault, he was on a horse, you were walking, he could have left you behind anywhere.”

“He’s too kind to leave me to die on my own.”

“What about towns?” Yennefer asked. “What about the djinn?”

“The djinn was my fault.”

“The djinn was his fault,” Yennefer said, stubbornly.

“The djinn was my fault, I thought he was joking. He’d do that, you know? I’d ask him what he was doing and he’d say ‘cooking a unicorn’ or ‘hunting a gabledegook’ so I just thought he was joking again because I thought surely a djinn was only a story. Even if they weren’t there was no reason Geralt would want one. I made horrible wishes, they could have ruined lives, can you imagine?”

“I can.”

Of course she could. It had been stupid of him to say that, Yennefer knew better than anyone how a careless wish, or even a not so careless one, could turn out.

“I have to ask,” Jaskier said, since Yennefer didn’t seem in the mood to turn him into a salamander. “Did geralt wish for you to love him?”

“He wished for me to be bound to him the sex was just...adrenaline, magic, wanting another outsider, a little bit of the djinn. I won’t do it again.” She said, fervently.

“You don’t have to promise that, I have no claim to him,” Jaskier said.

“No one has claim to anyone,” Yennefer snapped. “But you love him. Anyway, I wasn’t telling you, I don’t want him. I don’t want sex with him I want his destiny, our destiny, nothing more.”

“I love him very much,” Jaskier said, after she settled from her outburst.

“Have you ever told him?”

Never, he might think he owes me something.”

“I think you think he’s more self sacrificing than he is. He wouldn't date you out of obligation, he’s not that sort of man.”

Jaskier tilted his head back against the stone. “But he feels guilty, for everything, all the time. What if he did it as an apology.”

“Geralt wouldn't do you the disservice of a pity relationship.” 

“We had a pity friendship.”

“You didn't.”

“We did.”

Yennefer peered at him with those strange eyes. “You love him though.”

“I do.”

“I don’t think its a lost cause.”

“I do.”

Yennefer shifted, pulling her hair over one shoulder. “When I asked earlier, I meant what do you want to do after this? Do you even want to see Geralt?”

“Oh gods I rambled and --”

“Shut up, you needed it off your chest.”

Jaskier sighed. “I always want to see Geralt, but I don't think I should be around him. He needs more space than most people and I need less. I do want an apology, I don't want him to grovel, I don’t want him to beg for me back in his life because that's a choice I want him to make on his own. I don’t even need him to tell me through speech because I know that can be hard. He could write a letter.I just...”

“And if you got an apology?”

“I intend to apologize first. I’ll apologize, maybe he’ll apologize, and that way we can at least be friendly, if not friends. And then in the spring I’ll leave, take a different path and it won’t matter anymore.”

I won’t be able to hurt him anymore, Jaskier thought, darkly.

“Nilfgaard wants you,” Yennefer warned. 

“I know,” Jaskier sighed. “I may have to fake my death or... oh!” He looked up at Yen, smiling even as he wanted to cough. 

“You can wipe my memory!”

Yennefer actually recoiled. 

Jaskier’s excitement had set off the coughing and he felt it tear through his throat and squeeze at his ribs until the fit eased.

“I’m not wiping your memory,” Yennefer said, severely.

“Why not? Yen, it’s the perfect solution, and Nilfgaard couldn’t get anything out of me.”

“And Geralt get’s his damned wish,” Yennefer snarled.

Jaskier looked down. “I know he didn’t mean it, he’s a good man, he wouldn’t wish anyone gone in that way, but yes, that wish would be granted and I’d never bother him again.”

“Geralt has a habit of making stupid wishes that he doesn’t actually want granted,” Yennefer snapped.

“You’re supposed to be on his side,” Jaskier said, smiling wetly. “It’s my fault, remember?”

“I don’t think even Geralt’s on Geralt’s side,” Yennefer said. “I won’t take your memories. You wouldn’t remember anything.”

Jaskier deflated. “I guess I’m as good as dead if I can’t remember songs or how to play the lute.”

Yennefer shifted uncomfortably.

“I would forget how to play, wouldn’t I?”

“Well...” she said. “No. You would remember anything you’d learn, knowledge isn’t memories, you know? You’d even know your songs, just not why you knew them or that you’d written them.”

“If you won’t do it, is there a mage who will? I’d only need to get to a city, how much do you think a spell like that would cost?”

Yennefer groaned. “No, bard, I’ll do it. If it’s what you still want, if you’re sure at the end of winter, yes, I’ll take your memories. It’s better than some quack doing it, or worse, turning you in to Nilfgaard but...I don’t like it.”

Jaskier was surprised to see her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I won’t take that choice from you,” she said, blinking hard. “But I hope it’s not the one you make.” She sniffed, she tried to make it seem disdainful but it was definitely tearful. 

“Anyway,” she said. “What about Ciri? She adore’s you, if you didn’t remember her it would break her heart.”

Jaskier waved a hand. “I”m only a storyteller,” he said, wishing bitterly that it wasn’t true. “She has a whole marvelous family full of stories they can tell her.”

“Didn’t you hear her, she doesn’t feel like this is a family,” Yennefer said, sharply. 

“We’ll fix that.”

“So that you can abandon her, you mean?”

Jaskier grimaced. “It’ll be safer for her. Even if I traveled with Geralt, there’s no guarantee Nilfgaard wouldn’t take me, wouldn’t read my mind and put her in danger.” He looked Yennefer right in the eyes. “I won’t let myself hurt her.”

Yennefer hung her head. “We’ll discuss it at the end of winter,” she said. “Do you still feel up to dinner?”

Jaskier thought about it. He felt lighter, in a way, unburdening himself of the guilt he’d been carrying was better, but he was exhausted, and his chest felt raw. 

“I think I’d rather eat in my rooms,” he said sheepishly. 

He ate dinner alone, wishing he wasn’t but he was practicing giving people space, and he felt proud of himself for it. He only had to continue it, apologize, and get through the winter.

Then he’d never remember he had problems to begin with.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They will get there. Please read the note at the top, these are all very common ADHD insecurities and relationship problems. Remember, Geralt is not the villain. He needs to apologize, and he’s trying, but the villain is the insecurity.

Tag List!

@frywen-babbles @mordoriscalling @thedarkestangel1 @kerfufflezz  @samukai  @charlies-dragon @live-long-and-trek-on  @holymotherwolf @morte-mistrata @mewithanie @sharondnovels @stinastar @ionlylikemycat @annafortoday @its-the-quenchiest-stuff @kkiyomizu @so--many-fandoms @endless-whump @ineffable-monster-romancer @tookarma @seraphim-miryam  @sweetiepieplum @nerdy-numinuos @ravenclaw-dirt

[polyamoryinfandoms]

Monthly Fic Roundup!

Hey gang! I’m posting the fics that were recommended on our last surveymonkey poll; thanks for everyone who recommended fics. Please note I did not get to read every fic on here and depended on your responses and the AO3 tags to mark for any triggers or story notes, so please read with caution if you’re worried about any content warnings!

If you want to recommend more fics, I’ll be posting another roundup poll later in the day today! 

Under the cut are 32 fics from: 

Agents of Shield (1) 

Bill & Ted (1) 

Castlevania (1) 

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (1) 

DCU (2) 

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (4) 

Game of Thrones (1) 

Harry Potter (1) 

Leverage (1) 

Mission Impossible (1 -- series) 

Sanders Sides (1-- series)

Sense8 (1)

Sherlock (1-- series) 

Star Wars (1) 

Stranger Things (8) 

The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (1) 

The Untamed/CQL/MDZS (2)

Teen Wolf (2) 

White Collar (1) 

Agents of Shield: 

is it chill that you’re in my head? by lazyfish 

Pairing: Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse/Alphonso Mackenzie

TW/TAGS: PTSD, Referenced Torture

Summary: It doesn't take long for Mack to realize he's in love with Bobbi and Hunter and has been for a while. Other realizations take slightly longer.

Bill and Ted (movie):

Our Home, Our Family, Our Love by CaptainWeasley

Pairing: Bill/Ted/Elizabeth/Joanna

TW/TAGS: slurs, implied/referenced child abuse, internalized homophobia, self harm

Summary: A series of firsts in Ted's life, as he slowly comes to terms with his sexuality and learns how to handle being in love with both his wife and his best friend. When Billie and Thea come out as trans, each in her own way, he does everything he can to help them be who they are.

Castlevania: 

Deliverance by cricketsong1985

Pairing: Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades/Alucard

TW/Tags: Blood kink, explicit sexual content,  gore, trauma, angst

Summary: Adrian is beginning to think that Wallachia will be a smoking pile of ash long before he, Trevor, and Sypha can stop Dracula’s war on humanity. They’ve been chasing the castle for months, but each time they get close, it vanishes. Traveling with such genuine and trustworthy allies has been unexpectedly pleasant; Adrian doesn’t mind that Trevor and Sypha are involved with each other, but he is taken entirely by surprise when they open their relationship to him one evening. Hopelessly in over his head, his heart keeps urging him forward, even when he’s forced to confront the darkest aspects of his nature. Adrian must learn to swallow his pride and let himself be vulnerable if he wants a chance at happiness. Unfortunately, there isn’t much time for looking within when the world is drenched in blood and magic, and the path to victory may destroy him completely.

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina: 

We will be judged by the courage of our hearts by MagicClem

Pairing: Harvey Kinkle/Sabrina Spellman/Nicholas Scratch

TW/TAGS: mention of an abusive parent 

Summary: It's been a month since the 13 almost destroyed Greendale. Now a full Witch, Sabrina tries to move on, with the help of one Nicholas Scratch.But one night, Harvey arrives at the Spellman's house and everything becomes complicated.

DCU: 

not for the faint of heart by pasdecoeur

Pairing: Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent

TW/TAGS: Explicit Sexual Content 

Summary: Clark opens a door that was meant to stay closed. Things spiral. or, What Not To Do When You’ve Fallen in Love with Batman: A Guide by Hal Jordan & Clark Kent.

All Good Things Come in Threes (Legends of Tomorrow) by IncendiaGlacies

Pairing: Gideon/Rip Hunter/Miranda Coburn

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

Summary: “Two is a couple, three is a crowd,” Gideon stated. In which Gideon navigates her polyamorous relationship with Rip and Miranda. Domestic slice of life goodness.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off:

Pairing for all of these are Pairing: Cameron/Ferris/Sloane and are written by @fbdo1986

it’s enough to be whiplash

TW: death mention (no character death), drowning

A/N: To put it plainly, I took a few tricks from John Hughes’s earlier scripts of the film, which were more surreal and up-front with discussing death and end of the world scenarios. It was inspired by a concept that I couldn’t seem to shake after I thought of it: what if the pool scene was just a bit more high stakes?

all the things I never told you 

Summary: It’s Sloane, Ferris, and Cameron’s first afternoon alone at the Bueller residence in months. The busy twenty-four year olds who’ve struggled to find time together as their lives unfold in front of them try to think of what to do for the day when Cameron decides to let them in on what he’s been keeping from them.

bye bye love 

TW: Death mention (none of the main characters)

Summary: A hopefully angsty number that details Sloane’s, Cameron’s, and Ferris’s journey through heartbreak and loss after their Sophomore year in college. The title is named after a song by The Cars by the same name!

firestarter

Prompt #5: Where it doesn’t hurt with the OT3

Game of Thrones: 

Constellatory by blueandbulae

Pairing: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell/Robb Stark (polycule, NO incest) 

TW: Some canon typical violence

Summary: It’s strange and messy and maybe nobody else will ever understand them but it works. It’s theirs, and theirs alone, and nobody can take that from them.Or: Robb and Theon storm King's Landing, rescue the princesses, and save the kingdom. Then comes the hard part.

Harry Potter: 

Unconventional by silver_fish

Pairing: Harry Potter/Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger

Summary: A few years, now, have passed since Hedwig’s death, and Hermione thinks it’s time Harry got a new pet. What sort of pet, though, neither she nor Ron know. Not until Harry himself offers her the perfect solution, that is.

Leverage: 

for better or worse (we change together) by idkimoutofideas

Pairing: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer

TW/TAGS: Canon typical violence

Summary: The moment Parker saw the stranger standing by the elevator, a dozen alarm bells went off in her head. She froze, and Hardison nearly walked into her as he entered behind her. It took her a moment to realize that while half of the alarm bells were telling her to get the fuck out of there, the other half were telling her to look closer. Or, Eliot Spencer is a recent war veteran who just moved to Portland in an attempt to lead a calmer lifestyle. He ends up with some weird neighbors, but it's Portland, everyone's a little weird.

Mission Impossible: 

Polyamorous Spies (series of 2 fics) by MagicClem

Pairing: Benji Dunn/Ethan Hunt/Ilsa Faust

TW/TAGS: Blood & injuries (2nd fic) 

Sander’s Sides: 

Love and Other Fairytales by SoDoRoses (Fairychess)

Pairing: LAMP/CALM (Logan, Roman, Virgil, Patton)

TW: violence, major character death, no NSFW in the main fic but there is a side series with NSFW, animal death, description of rot, nonconsentual control of another person, 'like death' state of being

Sense8: 

Crazy Life by MagicClem

Pairing: Kala Dandekar/Wolfgang Bogdanow/Rajan Rasal

Summary: Rajan would admit that this past few years had been crazy and life seems determined to make it crazier and crazier.Or: This is "Amor Vincit Omnia" from Rajan's perspective.

Sherlock: 

Lorem Ipsum by Saathi1013 (series) 

Pairing:  Sherlock Holmes/John Watson/Sarah Sawyer

TW: Abduction

Star Wars:

so just pull the trigger by Darnaguen

Pairing: Han Solo/Qi'ra/Lando Calrissian

TW/TAGS: Alcohol use 

Summary: “Oh, don’t pout Haan.” Lando lounges back, licking his newly berry-tinted lips with a lazy grin. “You know all you have to do is ask.”(Qi’ra’s eyes are glinting and her smile is dagger-sharp. Han knows the look: it’s one she wears whenever she has a winning hand.The dice on the table are mediocre at best. He shakes his head and drinks deep.)

Stranger Things: 

All pairings are Steve Harrington/Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler

The Hawkins Three by nonymos

TW: Some canon typical homophobia and slurs

Summary: It's two weeks after the Snow Ball, Nancy's officially with Jonathan, and Steve is trying to move forward. If only he wasn't on a path that keeps circling back to the both of them.

lovers in a dangerous time by diogxnes

TW/TAGS: Briefly: panic attacks/PTSD, parental neglect

Summary: “So,” says Robin, sitting back in her chair, “what’s the deal there, anyway? With the whole you-Nancy-Jonathan thing.”The question makes his mouth run dry. Why would she ask that? Can she tell, possibly, how much he’s been thinking about Nancy these past few days? How starstruck he was when Nancy showed up at his house? Does she know about the mysterious warmth in his stomach when he thinks about Jonathan? “What do you mean, the whole me-Nancy-Jonathan thing?” “Come on, Steve. She’s your ex and he famously beat you up two years ago and now they’re dating each other and all three of you somehow ended up a part of this weird little monster-fighting club together. There’s gotta be a story there.”“I don’t know, Robs,” says Steve, rolling his eyes, relieved beyond measure that that’s all she meant. “You pretty much just covered all of it. There’s not much more to tell.”

Have Happened by cortexikid

TW/TAGS: Homophobia

Summary: "I overheard you. You were talking in your sleep.”Steve's heart fluttered nervously.“It was a little funny at first,” Nancy admitted, her tone a mix of teasing and apologetic, “you were moaning my name and I thought it’d be kinda funny if Mike accidentally overheard you having a sex dream about his sister—”Steve couldn’t control the guffaw that escaped him. “But then you said Jonathan’s name. Right after mine. All in the same breath.”

it’s a risk, it’s a gamble by nondz (pinkjook)

TW/TAGS: NSFW

Summary: “I think we should pretend to date,” Robin says. "What?" Steve answers.

still turning out by scoutshonor

TW/TAGS: Homophobic language

Summary: Steve knows senior year's supposed to be tough, but seriously?Not only does his dad want him to take over his business, but he lands himself into a fight with his best friend leaving him friendless and booted out of his inner-circle, gets stuck watching a bunch of kids after school because of a missing credit, has to repeat eleventh grade history, and, oh yeah. He has the minor issue of having no idea what he actually wants to do with his life.But it's not all that bad: not the kids he has to watch, and certainly not Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers, two friends from his history class. Friends. Just friends. Yeah, he and you both know that's bullshit.Steve's got a lot of figuring out to do.(or: HSAU Stoncy with Steve as a senior, doing his best)

(Following Stoncy fics are by @pterawaters​) 

Now and For Always 

TW/TAGS: Explicit, Sex where one party is drunk and the other isn't

Summary: Between graduating from college, starting new careers, and planning a wedding, the summer of 1990 is a busy time for Nancy, Steve, and Jonathan. When a war starts in the middle east, Jonathan gets called away just three weeks before the wedding. He’s determined to make it back in time, no matter what it takes.

It's not like people live like this

TW/TAGS: Car Accidents, Period-Typical Homophobia, NSFW

Summary: Concerned that Steve's less-than-stellar grades might have been making them look bad, his parents hired him a tutor, Jonathan Byers, they were sure he wouldn't find as distracting as his last one. Sure, Jonathan had good grades in school, but he really wished he didn't have to take the extra work to help his mother put food on the table. After all, everyone knew Steve Harrington was a jerk. Right? It turned out, not so much. After an impromptu study-session-turned-party and a game of spin the bottle, Steve and Jonathan both found themselves dating Nancy Wheeler. And that wasn't even the strangest thing that happened to any of them that week.

Mr. Sandman (series) 

TW/TAGS: Canon-typical violence, Explicit scenes

The Man from U.N.C.L.E.: 

Simmer On Low by canardroublard

Pairing: Illya/Napoleon/Gaby

TW/TAGS: semi-implied consensual voyeurism, whump

Summary: Scenes from five kitchens.

The Untamed/CQL/MDZS: 

inclusions by keiyashi 

Pairing: Sòng Lán | Sòng Zǐchēn/Xiǎo Xīngchén/Xuē Yáng | Xuē Chéngměi

TW/TAGS: NSFW

Summary: “I guess I feel left out. And I’m asking you to show me how not to?”“Show you?” Xue Yang laughs, easing the tension the only way he knows how. “Daozhang, if you aren’t careful, I might think you’re implying something quite forward.”Xingchen blinks at him. “Xue Yang, I feel like you’re trying to embarrass me, but that is what I was implying.”

melting the glacier by keiyashi 

Pairing: Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén/Mèng Yáo | Jīn Guāngyáo/Niè Míngjué

Summary: Wanting to be with Nie Mingjue is something Lan Xichen accepted about himself long ago. He wants only happiness for his friend, no matter what form it takes. Even if that form is quite lovely and possesses an enchanting mouth.

Teen Wolf: 

Feels Better Biting Down by callunavulgari, hiza-chan (callunavulgari)

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale/Lydia Martin

TW/TAGS: Blood

That I See You by FiccinDylan

Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski/Jordan Parris

TW/TAGS: NSFW, abo, m-preg (non graphic), werewolves, triads are normal

Summary: Deputy Jordan Parrish and Chef Derek Hale are in the prime of their lives and ready to take the next step in their relationship by courting an omega. Everything seems to be progressing smoothly until the new omega (aka Stiles Stilinski, the sheriff’s son) surfaces some unresolved tension from Jordan’s past. Jordan originally had the benefit of amnesia to block out his harried background, but now with his amnesia behind him, will he be able to resolve his past before he ruins his future?

White Collar: 

Always Starts the Same, with a Boy and a Girl by lightgetsin

Pairing: Neal Caffrey/Peter Burke/Elizabeth Burke

Tags: AU 

Summary: Summer, 1998. Neal Caffrey robs the gallery where Elizabeth O'Dell is working late, and comes away with a lot more than art. Agent Burke has no idea what's about to hit him.

[kringe]

SONG BREAKDOWN: SAVE ME, DR. KEMPE!

okay so this is just a look into the song, the inspiration, yadda yadda you get it. if you're expecting something well-formatted I'm sorry but there is going to be hardly any structure to this thing and I am NOT proofreading asdfghjkl;

WARNING: contains mentions of physical abuse, alcoholism, and child death

Overall Theme: the theme of the song is child abuse. the song kind of follows the story of an abused child,, it starts off with the child home alone, just playing by themselves, then, the abusive parent gets home, that's when the "heartbeat" starts and the lighthearted almost childish music box at the beginning turns sour, the parent finds the child, the abuse begins, and we descend into terror and chaos. towards the end of the song, the parent has killed the child.

The Music: as stated before, the song begins with happy sounding music being played by a music box. I actually was inspired to make this song because one night I was just playing around in walk band with the music box, just tapping away at random keys and I imagined a child playing with a toy keyboard.

so yeah, at the part where the "parent comes home" we suddenly go from this innocent single notes song to these harsh-sounding, sour chords. these represent the anxiety the child feels at the realization that their parent is home, and the abuse will soon begin. this is also when we first hear the bass drum, which represents the childs heartbeat. the drum speeds up as the song goes on, slows for a bit (which represents the child falling unconscious from the beating), and then picks back up faster than before in the moments before death, before slowly fading away as they die.

now, for the section of the song where the parent is beating their child, there is a lot going on. overall, the music is dreary, it feels dark, and it drags. the drums, piano, and bass all follow a similar beat, but they are all off-beat and rarely ever line up with each other. this part of the instrumentals represent an abusive household. think of each instrument as a member of a family, and the beat is their genes. they all have the same one, but they are all out of sync, so instead of harmonizing, they clash.

we also have the guitar riff. that riff is actually just me playing the funeral march backwards. it adds to the dreary, hopeless atmosphere and kind of acts as foreshadowing to the childs imminent death at the hands of their parent.

Sound Effects: well, there's a lot of em! some have a meaning, some are just to add to the overall chaos. I recorded a couple clips of me uh,, blowing/hissing into the mic.. as well as a recording of me tearing a piece of paper in half. the paper was actually the one I had written the reverse funeral march on, so, I suppose there's some symbolism there (but I mostly just liked the way it sounded..).

there is also audio of a child crying, I don't feel like I need to explain that one. and there's a sound clip of some incoherent babbling followed by a scream and laughter, this is just to add to the chaos of the section (it also reminded me of billy lenz, a fictional victim of child abuse, so yeah).

we also have multiple sound clips of glass breaking, this can be a lot of things, breaking mirror/lamps/whatever as the abusive parent is on their rampage,, it also represents alcoholism. I pictured the abusive parent throwing a beer bottle at the child.

Transition to the last part of the song: so, the music stops, the bass drum/heartbeat slows as a church choir plays over it. the child is succumbing to their parents abuse and dying

The End: the last part of the song is maybe the weirdest and hardest to explain. put simply, it's the barney theme song reversed. have you ever seen that theory that if you play the barney theme backwards there's hidden evil messages? yeah, that's complete BS but I still find it interesting and so I used it. as it plays, there are also bits of the church choir and the bottles breaking (significantly louder than before, doesn't necessarily mean anything, it was just a choice).

at the very end I just replay some of the clips from the song, namely the parts where the reversed lyrics are supposedly "we do revenge and suffer while he's mocking us" and "that's how our lord is" (I personally don't recommend trying to hear the lyrics for yourself, like I said it's BS, there's a youtube video if you wanna read the lyrics with the song asdfjgh) I chose those lyrics because it made me think of dead abused children singing about how god simply watched and mocked them as they were beaten and killed. kind of a "what loving god would let this happen" thing. then lastly we have some cut off clips of the church choir, the end.

The Name: so, the name "SAVE ME, MR. KEMPE!"

he also founded The Kempe Center for the Prevention and Treatment of Child Abuse and Neglect. so, the song title is supposed to be abused children begging him to rescue them. it plays on the feeling of knowing that there are people out there who would help you, but knowing that you have no way of reaching them. so basically the feeling of isolation in an abusive situation.

The Cover Art:

the image is an MRI of an abused child, with brain damage from trauma being highlighted. the text is in a fun/childish font with rainbow colors to portray well, children/childhood and also to kind of contrast this dark subject matter with these bright colors and fun font. (similar to the use of the barney theme, a fun song for children made to sound distorted and "wrong")

well, I think that's all I have to say.. thanks for reading! sorry if there are any typos/grammatical errors, but like I said, I ain't proofreading

<3

[vangoghmusings]

𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

pairing: demon!tendou satori x fem!reader 

rating: 18+ 

word count: 4.1k 

warnings: child abuse, religious trauma, mentions of blood, seizure, religious taboo, degradation, public sex (?), oral (receiving), fingering, unprotected intercourse 

a/n: ahh here’s the first one shot of my 1k halloween event!! this story is VERY NSFW so please do not read if you are a minor. this also have mentions of child abuse and religious trauma and is VERY taboo. each story is partically inspired by a song, this one is “under your skin” by jukebox the ghost, which i have linked below. otherwise, i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it!! 

https://open.spotify.com/track/5oiZiF3fBLHqgTDaH0Pj7M?si=RBkk9ddxS7OMO_ZDhT85Dw

✁ ✂ ✃ 𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖘𝖐𝖎𝖓 ✁ ✂ ✃ 

Growing up in a small town had its pros and cons. The cons were plentiful. Limited things to do, small minded people, and the conservative mindset of the looming church steeple that shadowed over the town. The pro, however, was Tendou Satori.  

You had met Satori when you moved to this godforsaken small town at the age of 8. Your parents moved there for work but insisted on sending you to a private school to ensure a “morally correct” upbringing. It was an ancient Christian school made of brown brick stacked up like a castle. Inside you would meet the son of the pastor, Satori himself. You were the same age, but he looked younger, paler and more shriveled, with cuts and bruises adorning his legs, some covered up by his uniform knee socks. It was common knowledge that Pastor Tendou beat his son, but it was his right after all, it always appeared to him that his son acted out with the persuasion of the devil. You feared your new surroundings and Satori feared the home he lived in. You had found solace in each other quickly.  

As you grew older and closer, some things never changed. Satori often came to you crying, a new injury on his skin from his father present and so you spent the night nursing him back to health. Other weekends were spent helping him clean the tombstones of the graveyard behind the church. Once you two would finish scrubbing the moss and dirt from the stones, you’d have a picnic in the cemetery. It was oddly peaceful, laying upon the ground with each other laughing and ignoring the corpses beneath you. Picnics in the graveyard were calm, but not when your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. Satori had a habit placing his head on your lap as he ate whatever was in the basket for that day. He’d look up at you with wide eyes, passionately talking about whatever was plaguing his mind that day. It was normal for his face to be bruised or cut. And you often kissed them after treating them, but when he looking up at you with such a bright smile, squinting at the sun above just enough for the cuts to break and bleed once again, you wanted to kiss them again, but differently. It felt different, you were different.  

This had to be a sin.  

It felt like you were being eaten alive by the thoughts that ran amok in your head. Satori was this beautifully pained angel with no escape from the constant terror that was his father. Pastor or not, he believed that Satori was filled with hellish intentions of the devil himself. And what father could be proud of a son who was the devil incarnate? Yet here you were, falling slowly, madly, deeply in love with your best friend. While his sole mission was to survive until graduation, yours had become to be able to kiss more than just his cuts and bruises.  

This was definitely a sin.  

You were halfway through your senior year when it happened. When you lost Satori. Every Thursday, the school held liturgy. You and Satori were the altar servers alongside Pastor Tendou. It was surprising how quickly you two could form such serious faces the moment you put on the white garments. You sat in the cushioned chairs beside Satori as his father gave a sermon. Tendou listened attentively, taking in any clue to take as an advantage to possibly get his father to love him. To prove he wasn’t a mistake or a demon.  

“Now a days... the devil presents himself in many ways. From that damned technology to that blasted music...”  

Pastor Tendou was known for hateful sermons. Yet, in such a small town as this, it was normal. He was so adamant about the devil in our everyday lives that felt that there was more hatred and death than the possibility of mercy.  

“And the devil is within us too! We must be willing to cut off his clawed hands from us, and crush his soulless entity that hovers within-”  

A throat ripping gasp cut off Pastor Tendou as his son lurched from his chair and collapsed onto the floor. You jumped back in your chair, watching as his back arched so high it didn’t seem physically possibly; a blood curdling scream filling the church coming from him. The church froze, watching in fear as the pastor’s son began to convulse. You watched in horror as his body slammed back onto the floor and he began to shake viciously. Frothing at the mouth, his eyes rolled back, and it look like his veins were about to rip through his flesh. You looked to Pastor Tendou for any sign of instruction of what to do. He was dying, you were watching him die.  

Before you could shout for help, Pastor Tendou took the glass of Holy Water that was stashed in the tabernacle and poured it on Satori. The water caused his skin to sear, smoke rising from his skin like he was burning alive. More screams fell from his lips, his face only readable as pure pain. You looked away as tears streamed down your own face at seeing him in such agony.  

Pastor Tendou looked down at him with narrowed eyes as his son soon stopped shaking. And then his body went utterly limp, his chest no longer rising and falling with breath. You wanted to scream, he was dead, he had to be dead. You were about to reach out for his body when his eyes shot wide open. He gasped and sat up right, looking around frantically around the church and down at his hands. His face broke into a smile as he looked at his father.  

“H-he left! I’m free!”  

Satori jumped up, hugging his father tightly as they both rejoiced that the devil had finally left him. It was true, that after years of never-ending abuse Satori believed that he indeed had a devil inside of him.  

Pastor Tendou cupped his son’s face and kissed his head in pure joy. He let go and turned to his laypeople who watched from the pews in shock.  

“REJOICE! MY SON HAS CRUSHED THE CLAWED HANDS OF SATAN!”  

The people stood up and cheered, shouting amens and hallelujahs, kneeling and bowing. Satori had finally been saved. You couldn’t believe your eyes. This fake demon that was beaten into belief had suddenly up and left? And Satori needed to go to a hospital, he just had a seizure after all.  

“Sato, we should get you to a hospital-”  

He turned to you, swiftly taking your hands in his. It appeared that all of the cuts on his knuckles had magically disappeared. Before you could process the thought, he kissed your hands and smiled at you.  

“God has saved me Y/N. I don’t need a hospital.”  

You gaped at him. You knew Satori was religious because there was no escape from it in his life, but he never made outright claims about it in front of you. And now he spoke as if he was indeed possessed and was exercised.  

Mass eventually ended. When Satori’s mother had gotten the news, she also leapt for joy, however, with the thought of her son having a seizure ingrained in her mind, she insisted that he go to a hospital. Once you got the okay to visit him, you took your parents car and sped over. You were frantic, worried beyond belief of what could be wrong with Satori, enough for him to proclaim freedom from a demon.  

You walked into the hospital room. It had only been a day since the incident, but the room was filled to the brim with bouquets. The whole town had come to learn of Satori’s freedom. You looked at the red-haired boy sleeping soundly on the hospital bed. It was odd. HIs skin was free of his previous bruises and cuts. He was free, but maybe of physical pain, not a demon.  

You sighed and moved a vase of flowers from the chair beside his bed and onto the floor, taking a seat and reaching for his hand.  

“Sato,” you hummed, hoping to gently wake him up. He didn’t.  

You frowned and took in his features. He looked peaceful but, paler than usual. He had always been pale, but now he simply looked sickly. The veins in his face were apparent, he looked almost translucent. Almost as if, if you tried to look hard enough, you would see the blood moving in veins. Before you could reach out to touch his cheek, his eyes fluttered open, a smile spreading across his face as he saw you.  

“Y/N,” He said softly. His eyes were bright, happy to see you. Yet, his brown eyes almost had a red gleam.  

“Sato!” You beamed, standing up to hug him tightly. He hummed in your embrace and held you. You sighed lightly, just glad that he was okay. “You really scared me.”  

He let go and gave you a frown.  

“I didn’t intend to. I’m sorry.”  

“It's okay,” you mumbled, ruffling his hair. He chuckled softly and leaned into your touch. Was his voice deeper too?  

“It seems that you’ve gotten quite popular Sato,” you said referencing to the room filled with flowers. He grinned and looked up at you.  

“I guess people like you more when you’ve seen God.”  

You froze and pulled your hand out of his hair.  

“What?”  

He nodded and looked at you blankly. He was very serious.  

“Yes. I saw him. He-” Tendou paused, carefully deciding his words, “he’s inside of me.”  

“God...God is inside of you?”  

“Yes.”  

You scoffed and stood up.  

“Sato you sound insane.”  

He glared at you.  

“Don’t speak to me like that.”  

You looked at him incredulously. He was so stern, brows furrowed with anger.  

“I-”  

“Listen to me,” He said getting up from the hospital bed. He stepped towards you, placing a firm grip on your neck with his cold hand thin hand, trapping you between the wall and his grip. You gasped; your face filled with shock. You watched as a smirk spread across his face, as he pressed his nails into your neck. You whimpered in pain, they were sharp, pointed almost.  

“Y/N... God is in me, and I am God.”  

You froze, watching as his eyes were undeniably crimson now.  

“T-this isn’t you Sato-”  

“Shut up,” He snarled.  

You were right, he was paler. You could indeed see the veins in his flesh pulsing, but they were not red. They were a deep inky black.  

You winced as he dug his nails further into your neck, tears prickling your eyes. Under the dim yellow lights of the hospital room, you had shrunken, like trapped mouse beneath the claw of a lion. Satori saw your tears and quickly let go.  

“I-I’m so sorry Y/N...I didn’t mean to!” He cried, falling to his knees and clinging to your thigh. He sobbed into your leg and shook hard. You blinked, looking down at your best friend who had just choked you against a wall and was now sobbing against you.  

“Sato get up, please...” You mumbled, afraid of what his next action would be. This was so unlike him. He was usually so bright and goofy and now he looked like something was eating him from the inside out.  

He looked up at you with tear stained cheeks, trembling. You sighed and helped bring him to his feet.  

“Get dressed, I brought you clothes, and I have a basket with food in the car.”  

He gave a weak smile.  

“Picnic?”  

“Yeah,” you nodded. You pulled the clothes from his bag, a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel from the many times he had stayed over at your house after his father beat the pulp out of him. You set them on the bed and turned to leave. A firm grip on your arm stopped you from walking out.  

“Don’t leave me,” He whispered. His voice sounded fearful and broken, like the many times he cried as you cleaned his cuts.  

You bit your lip, unsure of what to do.  He wanted you to stay as he changed out of his clothes. That had to be a sin. Didn’t he know that? Didn’t he know that you were burning with desire for him? It was all too much. You pulled your arm from you grip.  

“I’ll just be in the hall Sato,” you said with a weak smile. His face fell and he nodded as you turned back to walk out the door.  

You waited patiently in the hall, your feet tapping as you tried to collect your thoughts. In the past 24 hours, Satori had apparently had a seizure, claimed to be freed from a demon, now claimed to be God, and physically hurt you. It didn’t make any sense.  

You turned your head at the sound of the door opening to see Satori, relishing in the warmth of the flannel around him.  

“Picnic?” He asked with excitement.  

You chuckled and nodded, walking out to your car with him.  

You eventually arrived at the cemetery, your usual spot you both had found comfort in. Any stranger would call them crazy, eating among the dead. But to them, this was pure peace. They were among those who were at rest, simply waiting for their own time. You pulled into your usual parking spot, the 6th on in from the right. You grabbed the basket and walked alongside Satori to the spot in the cemetery that was open lush grass. The day was gray, but it was rare that the sun came out in your town. The spot was surrounded by 6 statues of crying Virgins. It was eerie, but to you it was a simple normality of your graveyard picnics.  

Satori helped lay the blanket as you set down the picnic basket. Today you brought sandwiches and cut fruit. He gave you a bright smile and followed your cue to sit down on the blanket and get comfortable. You handed him a sandwich and he thanked you, taking a large bite. You froze, looking at his teeth and how they gnashed through the bread. They were sharp, pointed like an animal. You swallowed your bite and wiped your mouth. You had known Satori since you were 8 years old, had you truly never noticed his red eyes, sharp nails and pointed teeth? HIs paleness and inky black veins? His sudden strength and rage?  

“How many people do you think could fit under your skin?”  

You blinked, being brought out of your daze by your friend’s sudden question.  

“What-”  

“I think I could fit at least two people under my skin. Physically. However, emotionally, plenty of people get under my skin realistically.”  

“Sato...what are you talking about?”  

It was sudden and unexpected, the way he jumped on top of you. He knocked the wind out of you with how forceful the impact was of your back slamming against the ground. You coughed and looked at him in terror. This was not the meek and gentle Satori you had grown up with and this surely wasn’t God either.  

Satori pinned your wrists to the ground and used his own legs to keep yours down. You didn’t bother struggling, he was too strong. And the sinful part of your mind had envisioned this position one too many times for you to fight back.  

“I said, how many people do you think you could fit under your skin?”  

“I-I don’t know,” You whimpered in fear. This fear felt wrong though, this fear caused your legs to try and pinch together. Sinful.  

“You’re pitiful,” Satori growled, his eyes gleaming a deep red. The frown quickly turned into a smirk as he watched you begin to squirm under his weight. “Do you think I’m stupid, Y/N?”  

“N-No, Sato-”  

He narrowed his eyes and licked his lips.  

“Are you sure? Cause you’re a terrible liar.”  

You froze, fear crippling you in your spot. Satori’s smirk stayed in its spot as he let go of one of your wrists, only to grab a firm grip of your thigh. You yelped and looked at him with wide eyes.  

“You’re a sinner Y/N. That’s why we need to cleanse your soul.”  

“Cleanse my soul?”  

Satori nodded; clear he was being completely serious.  

“Oh,” you mumbled, unsure what ‘cleansing your soul’ would entail. He gave you a gently smile and let go of your thigh to softly stroke your cheek.  

“I can save you.”  

He smiled brightly, it looked like it was supposed to be caring but, with how he had pinned your body to the ground, you couldn’t be sure. But apparently you did, since the next words that came out of your mouth were,  

“Save me.”  

The way Satori handled you would lead you to believe that he had done this a billion times. You knew he hadn’t, he couldn’t have.  

“You need to show yourself to God in your purest form.”  

You shivered as his cold fingertips touched your skin as he helped undress you, the weeping Virgins were the only ones watching your nervous form besides Satori himself. Besides God himself.  

Shortly after he undressed you, He took his own clothes off, his translucent skin and inky black veins more prominent in the grey sunlight. You had never seen him so exposed, and the same went for you. You curled up shyly, remembering that you sat naked in front of him.  

“Stop,” He said gently, placing a cold hand on your knee, pulling your limbs away from hiding your body. “You’re perfect,” He breathed out softly. You felt heat rush through your body at his comment. “Such a perfect vessel,” He mumbled, continuing to eye you up and down.  

“V-vessel?” You prompted, only to be cut off by the sensation of Satori sucking down and kissing your neck. You gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as he towered over you, nipping at your skin and sucking harshly. You cried out softly, embarrassed at the wetness pooling in between your legs. You were brought out of your distraction when you felt Satori’s sharp teeth dig into the flesh of your neck. You whimpered and tried to pull away, the new sensation too much to bare. He pulled away to look at you, his lips swollen from kissing your neck and his eyes looked like ruby’s, mesmerizing gems.

“Sato,” you whispered. He looked ravenous and wild. HIs cheekbones looked sharper, the blank veins pulsing rapidly under his skin. He grinned madly, and now you were certain. You had lost Satori. The monster in front of you was a demon. You had fallen in love with demon.  

“Hush,” He purred, placing a icy finger against your lips to silence you.  

You stared, horrified at his next move, what this demon would do to you, with such heavy lust overtaking your vision. You really were a sinner. With unexpected force, he pushed you back down against the ground, the fluff of the blanket cushioning your fall. With iron-clad strength, he opened your legs and buried his head between them. You gasped, Satori’s mouth instantly latching around your clit without warning. You shook under him and he reached up and grabbed your throat, gripping it tightly to quiet you. You whimpered, unable to handle the strength he was sucking at. Your breath hitched feeling his cold finger slide inside you, curling rapidly. It was too much too fast, your vision blurring as you felt tightness coil in your tummy.  

“S-Sato, please; it's too much!”  

You cried, fearing the heat bubbling up in your core. You felt Satori roll his eyes against you as his tongue darted inside of you, sucking and leeching your folds as he slipped a second finger inside. You’d never felt like this, flush and needy and desperate for his touch. He let go of your neck and your arms launched forward, pulling at his hair and attempting to get some form of leverage as you bucked your hips against this mouth. You were so close-  

“Pathetic,” He growled sitting up, his pale face covered in your slick. It was lewd and sinful and quite possibly the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. “You were going to cum just from my mouth? You’re too easy.”  

You frowned, embarrassed that he was right. He chuckled and gently placed a kiss on your lips. You blinked.  

There it was the moment you had been longing for for so long. He had finally kissed you. It took a demonic possession but at last, he finally kissed you. It was just a peck, so he began to pull away. You wouldn’t let that be, you couldn’t. No no no, your mind screamed as you grabbed his face and pulled him back to you. You kissed him hard, every lingering touch filled with needy. You gasped softly when he bit your bottom lip, he pointed teeth puncturing gently. You pulled away, completely aware of what you were going to ask and to what you were asking. There was no longer who inside of Satori’s body, but a what, a demon.  

“Sato, I-I know I’m a sinner and I know this is wrong, but,” You sat on your knees, begging him, taking his icy hand and placing it on your bare chest. “If you can save me, do it now.”  

Satori’s red eye’s sparkled, clearly hearing words he liked.  

“What a beautiful perfect little sinner you are.”  

You sat on your knees, continuously begging for him to do more than just look down on you, until pushed you back, knocking you down onto your back. It seemed this domineering position was his favorite. You watched with wide eyes as Satori positioned his length at your entrance.  

“Beg for my cock.”  

“W-What? Sato that’s so vulgar-”  

“I SAID BEG,” He growled threateningly, there was no softness in his voice, just utter lust and malice.  

“P-please, Satori, I need your cock! Please, I need it so bad-” You cried out when he forcefully shoved his entire length inside of you.  

Your head fell back, your vision blurring from the tears of pain and pleasure. Moans fell from your lips at the sins that were happening before you. Not only were you fucking the pastor’s son, you were fucking the pastor’s son who was possessed by a demon in a graveyard. You blinked several times, the tears rolling down your cheeks as you were able to focus your vision. Staring back down at you, was one of the weeping Virgin statues, crying just as you were.  

You were brought back to focus on Satori when he thrusted harshly into you, hitting your cervix. You groaned, the pleasure becoming too much to handle, the heat bubbling up inside of you once more. Satori grunted with every violent thrust, growling and sounding absolutely animalistic, your legs now sitting on his shoulders to go deeper into you. The moans bounced and echoed against the tombstones in the yard the Virgins watched the scene in front of them.  

“I’m close Sato,” You whimpered, digging your nails into his back, scratching hard as to cling onto him. He moaned, and you knew you were drawing blood. You pulled your hands away, only to see that it wasn’t blood, but the same black ink that ran through his veins. You gasped, unable to deny now that Satori was a demon. You cried out, an unexpected thrust hitting your g-spot directly.  

“Praise your God and I’ll let you cum,” Satori hissed, his pupils slitted like a snake.  

You had realized now that you are Eve. Bewitched by the serpent, Satan, in the garden by the fruit.  

“P-Please o-oh God! I want to cum, please!” You wailed, begging for him to fill you with the same ink that now adorned your fingers.  

“What a good little sinner,” He purred, quickening his pace and bottoming out in you. You arched your back, crying out as you unraveled underneath him. He growled lowly in your ear as he came inside of you with you. He slowed his pace, letting you both ride out your highs. You panted, looking up at him, as the pulsing veins that trailed his cheekbones faded back into his flesh.  

“Sato...” You attempted to catch your breath as you weakly sat up. “I-I love you,” you blurted, praying that somewhere inside, the true Satori could hear you under the weight of the demon that consumed him.  

“I know,” He smiled softly and cupped your chin in his hand and pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “And now I own you.”  

taglist: @mixfi​ @melanimed​ @batwrangler​ @kac-chowsballs (taglist for event is still open)

[tangledstarlight]

so um. didn’t do much at work today. wrote a thing. my entire thought process for this was ‘luke just. throws himself into any and every fight he sees that involves his friends huh?' and then i thought 'but what would happen if he couldn't fight for them??' and here we are. 

it also stemmed from the fact that luke has big pre-serum steve rogers vibes?? if ya get me. 

it’s a 5 +1 also. if that matters to anyone??

BUT ANYWAY!!!! this has a somewhat happy ending? if you squint? it was gonna be sadder, so idk. hmu if you want the sad ending i guess.

also on ao3

trigger warnings! blood mentions, implied/referenced child abuse, implied homophobia, character deaths (cos they’re yknow. ghosts)

one. Luke had spent so much of his time worrying about Reggie and Alex that he’d never stopped to consider the trouble that Bobby might get himself into.

And then he’s kneeling next to where Bobby is lying on the ground, his leg bent at an odd angle and there was a cut running down his cheek with blood dripping on tarmac. But he’s breathing. And that’s all Luke can find himself focusing on even as he hears the car that had hit him speeding away.

“Hey, hey Bobby. You’re okay man, you’re alright,” his voice is shaking but he doesn’t think Bobby notices, too busy trying realising the amount of pain he’s in. Luke can hear someone shouting behind them, thinks that someone called out about ringing 911, but he doesn’t take his attention away from his friend.

“My leg, Luke my– Fuck my leg hurts!” Bobby tries to sit up, his voice whining and letting out a his of pain as Luke gently keeps him lying in place. A vague memory from some long ago first aid class echoing in his mind about neck injuries and keeping the patient still.

“Yeah man, it’s uh,” his eyes dart down to Bobby’s leg, gulps and looks back up. He’s pretty sure his face must give him away. “It’s probably best you don’t look at it right now. Just, just look at me alright. Helps on the way.”

He can hear people talking around them, someone mentioning how far out the hospital is, another saying how disgusting it is for the driver to just run off without even stopping. Luke tries to tune them out. He can’t chase down a car, can’t find one driver in thousands and hurt them for hurting his friend. All he can do right now is try and distract Bobby from his broken leg and his pain.

“Don’t think I’ll be making it to rehearsals tonight.”

“Suppose we can let you off. This is a better excuse than Reggie’s one about the ducks that chased him,” Luke grins, he can hear sirens in the distance and lets out a shallow breath.

“My dad, I need to–” Bobby trails off and Luke isn’t sure if he’s lost in thought or just not sure what he needs to do. It’s not like either of them have been hit by a car before. They don’t know what they’re meant to do in a situation like this. Luke squeezes his hand, shrugs one of his shoulders.

“It’s alright. We’ll just take it one step at a time, don’t worry.”

There’s a beat of silence between them as they both seem to register what he said before Bobby is laughing and Luke is gaping in silent horror before feeling his own lips shaking with laughter too.

“Can’t believe you just made a comment about walking to a guy that’s just broken his leg. That’s low Patterson, even for you.”

two. Luke knew he had a reputation amongst his friends of being a little oblivious to certain things going on around him. He knew that he could sometimes get too caught up in his song writing, could miss obvious hints that people threw at him, could sometimes completely miss read a room. But he wasn’t stupid.

And he certainly wasn’t blind.

He had known Reggie since pre k. Had seen him at his best and his worst, had been there the day he showed up at school with the worlds worst hair cut, had helped him pick out his first bass from a cheap second hand music shop, had patted his back when Linsday Walters had dumped him during lunch when they were twelve.

Luke knew Reggie better then he knew just about anyone. So he knew when there was something wrong.

Not that it would have taken a genius to know there was something wrong when Luke was woken up at three am on a Thursday to someone knocking at his window. Reggie’s face peered in through the window, back lit by the streetlight across the road and making it incredibly evident that he had been crying, had Luke throwing his blankets off and out of bed quicker then he knew he could move. It took some awkward manoeuvring but eventually Reggie crawled in through the window and stood uncomfortably in the middle of Luke's room.

“Hey Reg…” Luke started, his eyes trailing up and down his friend quickly, trying to pinpoint what had brought him here so late. His eyes caught on the way the bassist held his left arm close to his chest, fingers shaking as he tried to ball his hand into a fist only to wince every time they moved. There were spots of blood on his shirt. Luke heard a roaring in his ears as he put together puzzle pieces of information he had always glanced over.

The Sullivan’s were well known in their friend group as the parents who fought the most. Reggie often made off hand comments and jokes about not getting much sleep, about stepping over broken glass, about falling down the stairs.

It had never once occurred to him that Reggie’s parents might ever hurt him.

“I– I didn’t know where else to go,” Reggie’s voice is quiet, small in a way Luke has never known him to be small. Reggie was always light and loud, the first to fill an awkward silence and to reach out in comfort. In all the years he has known the other boy, Luke doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so subdued.

“You know you can always come here man, windows always open.” It’s an attempt at a joke and all it gets is a half hearted tug of his lips. “Are you bleeding, Reg?” Luke hates having to ask it, hates having to broach a subject that he’s fairly confident Reggie doesn’t want broached, but he needs to know how hurt his friend is.

Reggie blinks down at his arm, still held close to his chest, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it there like that. That it was hurt at all. But now as he looks at his fingers twitching and fresh tears filling his eyes, Luke can see him, physically, mentally, spiritually, falling apart in front of his eyes.

“Woah, hey, hey, it’s okay man. Let’s, let's just get you out of your jacket, yeah? We can do this, one step at a time.”

Luke walks towards him slowly, worried that any sudden moves might set off some kind of flight or fight response in his best friend and the last thing he wants right now is to cause him more pain. Reggie watches him with watery eyes, dipping his head once when Luke reaches out to gently move his arm and slip the leather jacket off him.

There’s a red stained cloth wrapped around his forearm, another around his palm and it takes all Lukes resolve to stay exactly where he is and not jump out his window and run all the way to the Sullivans house and scream at them for being able to hurt someone they’re meant to love. It takes a few more minutes of careful moving and unwrapping, pausing every time Reggie so much as hissed in a breath, before the damage is laid bare for Luke to see.

“Can I ask what happened?” It's a quiet question, and if he doesn’t want to talk about it Luke will drop the subject, wait until he’s ready to talk. But the cuts don’t seem deep, don’t seem like they were purposefully inflicted in the way he had first worried.

“They were– they were shouting at each other. I,” Reggie pauses to breath in, breath out, shakes his head. “I tried to get them to stop. Dad he– he threw a glass at me, mom pushed him then they both pushed me on the ground when I tried to stop them. Guess I kind of deserved it, got in their way.” He says it without making eye contact and Luke can feel himself staring at him with his mouth partly open.

Because Reggie is one of the best people he knows. He’s kind and funny and talented and just has so much love to share with the world that it sometimes comes out too forcefully for people to understand. If Lukes ever had a bad day, he knows without a single doubt in his mind that Reggie will always find a way to cheer him up. He knows that if there’s anyone in the world who doesn’t deserve this, it’s Reggie.  

“No, that’s...no. Just no. You don’t deserve any of this Reg,” Luke isn’t sure what to say, how to make him see that nothing about this is okay. Luke is good with words, he’s good at writing down his thoughts and feelings and putting them to a melody and a beat, it’s what he hopes will one day help him achieve his dreams. But right now, right now all he can see is his best friend from childhood crying on his bed and all his words have fled.

He doesn’t know how to fix this. It’s not a fight he can jump into, take a hit while the other runs to find help. Luke has spent half their friendship standing in front of bullies for Reggie but he feels helpless in front of this one. So he gives his friend a smile, squeezes his shoulder and stands up.

“I’m going to find the first aid kit, alright? And mom made some cookies yesterday, there should still be some left. I’ll be right back, okay?” He waits until Reggie gives him a nod, a small smile on his lips before he goes.

Luke can’t fight this fight for him, all he can do is find the first aid kit, clean his cuts, steal him some cookies, and let him know he’ll always be there no matter what.

three. Some fights Luke knew, had to be fought with words. Some couldn’t be won with a quick shove or a haphazard punch to the nose. Some fights, he knew, weren’t his to get involved in. No matter how much he might have wanted to punch Alex’s parents as he stood under the porch light at the front of their house, peering in through the side window at the fight raging inside.

When Alex had first asked him if he’d come with him tonight, if he’d wait outside ‘just in case it goes badly, or y’know even if it goes well’, Luke had said yes without even a hint of hesitation. There was nowhere else he’d be then right here, right now.

Alex coming out to his parents, it was a big deal. It was more than a big deal. It was a life changing moment, a life destroying moment, and Luke wished he could shield him from this hurt. But all he could do was stand outside and watch it all unfold. He’d promised not to get involved. To just be a silent bystander. He really wished he hadn’t made that promise.

The look of disgust and hatred on their faces is something he thinks he’ll remember forever. Even from this distance, a window and a room away, their faces are clear to see.

It’s the exact reaction he had feared would happen, what he knew Alex had always known deep down would happen despite a small part of him hoping for the complete opposite. Holding on to a fruitless hope that his parents would look past all their bigotry and still remember that they loved their son. That he was still the same person he had always been.

It's one the many things that make Alex so wonderful, Luke thinks, the way he holds onto even the smallest bit of light in the dark even when everything shows signs of a total black out approaching.

And his parents are snuffing that light out.

With each shouted word, each hurled insult and slur.

Luke can hear Alex crying, begging for them to listen to him through the ajar door. Can’t they hear his desperation? How can they stand there, hurting him more, while he’s crying right in front of them?

His hands curl into fists at his sides, this isn’t a fight he can take on for Alex, he knows this. But god, he wishes he could just push that door open, deck Mr Bennet in the face, take Alex out of the house and never look back. Luke stays where he’s stood. He’s here as support, as someone to pick up the pieces when they were done, not to start a fist fight. He’d promised.

“Get the hell out of my house! Get out! And don’t ever fucking come back here, you understand? Get out!”

There’s the sound of a scuffle, of Alex saying something that gets lost in the sounds of more insults and words that Luke wishes he didn’t know the meaning of. Then the door is being pushed open and Alex is standing in front of him, face red from crying and hands shaking as he struggles to breathe. Luke doesn’t even think Mrs Bennet notices him as she throws a coat and bag out the door before slamming it shut.

“They– I– oh god,” he can’t seem to get a sentence out, his breathing ragged and Luke knows the signs of an impending panic attack well enough now to know what’s happening. So he puts aside his own anger, pushes down his instincts to fight back, and puts his hands on Alex’s shoulders, bending his head to get the blonde to look at him.

“Hey, hey, look at me man. Just breath. In and out, in and out, like me.”

They stand like that for a few minutes, breathing in and out until Alex has some semblance of control over his own lungs again and gives Luke the smallest of nods of reassurance that he doesn’t believe for a second. But he lets go of his shoulders, bends down to pick up the coat and bag, slinging a strap over his shoulder and offering the coat out to Alex. It’s still early spring and it’s bound to get cold.

“They–,” Alex has to take another moment, eyes darting between the closed door and the items in Luke's hands, “Th– they kicked me out.” His voice breaks on the word.

“I know.” Because there’s nothing else he can offer Alex right now other than his understanding.

He can’t take on this fight for him, can’t absorb the blows or the hurtful words, can’t go inside the house and force his parents to take back all the hurt they have caused in such a short amount of time. All Luke can do is reach out to take Alex’s hand and gently pull him down the road, away from the only place he had ever called home and give him somewhere to feel safe. Somewhere he can fall apart and put himself back together again.

“Come on, let's go back to mine,” he gives Alex’s hand a gentle squeeze and walks at the pace he’s set. It’s slow, hesitante, almost like he’s walking in a daze and is just letting himself be pulled along, muttered things under his breath.

“What am I going to do? God they’re right.”

Luke tilts his head to look into the drummer's face, frowns at the distant look he finds in the other boy's eyes even as his lips move, words he probably doesn’t even realise he’s saying out loud spilling from his lips. So he pulls them to a stop and stands in front of the blonde, grabbing hold of his other hand until he’s gripping them both.

“Hey Alex, Alex look at me man. Look at him,” Luke waits until he’s got Alex’s eyes on him, until he can see the drying tear tracks on his cheeks and can watch as he tries to keep a fresh wave from falling. “We take this one step at a time, okay? We get through tonight, and then we take on tomorrow.”

Something in his words seems to catch his attention and Alex takes in a ragged breath, eyebrows furrowing.

“We?”

“Yeah man. You’re stuck with me forever. You, me and Reggie did that whole blood oath with tomato juice thing like five years ago, remember? I’m not ever going anywhere,” Luke frees one of his hands and pushes Alex’s shoulder, grateful when he gets a huffed laugh and roll of his eyes in return.

They walk the rest of the way back to his house in silence, but Alex seems just a little more settled in himself then he had half an hour before and Luke takes that for a win.

four. Whenever Luke had thought about dying – and he hadn’t really given it much thought, he was seventeen, he was supposed to have more time – he’d always assumed it would be when he was old and in his bed.

Or maybe in some tragic accident like other rock stars before him.

He had never stopped to consider it would be a fucking hotdog.

The pain had started suddenly and forcefully, making sure it was the only thing he could think about. Like it had wanted to be the star of the show and would do so in any way possible. Luke can’t remember what it felt like to not be in pain.

Alex lets out a guttural moan of pain next to him that draws Lukes attention, stretching out his arm until his hand brushes the fabric of Alex’s pink hoodie, twisting his fingers into it so he knows that he’s there. That he’s not alone.

Reggie is quieter, even as he vomits – and Luke is trying to ignore the blood he can see, trying to not think about what that means – his chest heaving even as a paramedic rushes towards them. Luke catches Reggie’s eyes, tries to make his mouth move, to form words, to let him know something, anything.

But Luke doesn’t know what he would say even if he could. He doesn’t know how to save them from this. Doesn’t know if he can.

Luke had never thought about what happens after you die, but ending up in a dark room with Alex crying and Reggie sitting scarily still, it wouldn’t have been high on his list of possibilities. As he walked around the room, left hand on the wall so he could follow it around and around, Luke wondered if he could have fought harder to live. And then he sees Alex’s eyes going dim, sees Reggie’s chest stop moving, and remembers feeling his heart break. He doesn’t think this is a fight he ever had a chance at winning.

Whenever he’d thought about life and death and what came next, he always put it off. He just always figured he’d get the time, later in life, to think about it all. He’d been trying to take his life one step at a time and he’d accidentally leapt to the end goal by mistake without getting any of the fun in between.

They were seventeen and death wasn’t supposed to be something they gave much thought too and now they had all eternity to think about it. At least they’d have each other he guesses.

five. Twenty six years after dying Luke finds himself once again thinking about it.

Death.

Dying.

He doesn’t really think it’s something you can fight, if the Grim Reaper comes calling he’s going to leave with a soul. But Luke would personally fight the Death themselves if it meant he’d never have to see Julie cry the way she is right now. Soft and heartbroken and never ending.

But he can’t fight death. All he can do is sit next to her on the couch in the garage, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other holding her hand – because they’re tangible more and more often now, and on any other day he would be smiling like an idiot at getting to hold her like this. But it’s not any other day. It’s today and he’s just grateful he can touch here at all. – as she cries silently on his shoulder.

Alex has settled himself on the other side of Julie, tucking her legs under his longer ones almost like a blanket to keep her safe. Reggie has pulled a bean bag over in front of the couch and has his head resting between Julie's knees and Lukes. Each a solid presence around her.

Some days he can almost forget that the reason they are here at all is because Julie lost one of the most important people in her life. And that it was in grief and avoidance of memories and the need for a fresh start that she put on a cd and they had poofed back into the world.

He finds himself wishing he knew more about her. 

The woman who had kept their EP, their shirt that couldn’t hold up in water, who had remembered them even when the world had forgotten.

“Tell us about your mom, Jules,” Luke whispers, not wanting to disturb the quiet bubble they have created but being unable to stop himself either. Julie’s crying stilts, her breathing stuttering as if she’s trying to comprehend what he’s asked. She knows she can always say no, that she can just not respond if she doesn’t want to. But Luke knows that this is the sort of pain you can’t fight, but you can ease it. He’s pretty sure Julie knows that too.

After a few minutes when Julie doesn’t say anything Luke accepts that she’s maybe not ready to talk yet and that would be okay too, they can just sit in silence.

But then slowly, hesitantly, Julie starts talking. 

Starts telling them about her mom who had taught her to play the piano by sitting her on her knee. Who had chased her around the beach and made her laugh until her side hurt when they’d buried ray in the sand while he napped. Who had stayed up all night sewing tassels and strands of fabric together because Carlos just had to be Cousin Itt for Halloween.

She tells them about the times they had curled up watching her favourite films, the way they had shouted the lyrics to their favourite songs loudly in the car, their disastrous first attempt at making a rainbow cake.

She’s still crying, still keeps her fingers linked between Lukes, still lets her other hand alternate between Reggie's hair and tapping on Alex’s knee. But there’s a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there that morning, she’s laughing through her tears a little bit more with each story.

“I miss her,” she says eventually, letting out a shaking breath.

“I know,” Luke says, because it’s not really the same but he knows what it’s like to miss someone.

“But it’ll hurt just a little bit less each day,” Reggie chimes in, because it’s not really the same but he knows what it’s like to miss someone even when it hurts to think of them.

“And y’know, she’s always with you because you’ve got all these stories to share,” Alex tilts his head at her with a smile, because it’s not really the same but he knows that holding on to the good memories is sometimes all you have.

“Thanks guys,” she gives them a watery smile. “I don’t know what I’d do with you all.”

Luke doesn’t like to dwell too long on that thought, on a world where they pass over and leave her alone. Because it’s an all too real possibility so he pushes the thought back and nudges her shoulder and smiles.

“Nah, you’d be fine. You’d just take it one step at a time, you don’t have to go fast, you just gotta get through it.”

He doesn’t think he’s said anything too weird but Julie is looking at him with wide eyes and a silent ‘o’ on her lips. Luke frowns at her wondering what he’s done wrong now.

“Don’t look at him like that, it’s his go to advice for any problem. Just take it one day at a time,” Reggie laughs, imitating Luke’s voice as he says it and nudging his leg as he wiggles his eyebrows which causes Alex to laugh and draws Julie in too. 

And Luke doesn’t mind that they’re kind of laughing at him, he’s just glad Julie is smiling. He’s not sure he’d win a fight with Death, but he’d give it a go if she asked.

+one. When Caleb pops back into their lives it happens so suddenly that Luke doesn’t even have a chance to second guess what he’s doing. All he knows is that Caleb is threatening the people he cares most about in the world, that there’s one option in front of him which only gets him hurt and Luke really hates bullies.

He doesn’t think about the pain that the jolts cause or that there’s a very good chance he’ll never see his family again or that playing music without Alex and Reggie and Julie just isn’t worth it.

He doesn’t think about that.

He thinks being seven and meeting Reggie, about meeting Alex, about meeting Bobby.

He thinks about all the bullies he was never big enough to protect them from, quick enough to run away from.

He thinks about when they were fifteen and Bobby got his by a car, broke his leg and got a concussion and how Luke just wasn’t quick enough to push him out of the way.

He thinks about being sixteen and Reggie knocking on his window covered in cuts and bruises and how Luke wasn’t able to protect him from the people who were meant to protect him.

He thinks about being seventeen and calming Alex’s breathing as his parents' shouts still echo around their heads and how Luke couldn’t make it any better because he didn’t have the power to change minds.

He thinks about being seventeen and suggesting they get street dogs and dying, about not being able to save them.

He thinks about being seventeen and stuck in a dark room for twenty five years and how Alex cried and Reggie looked lost and how Julie had to lose her mom to find them.

He thinks about Julie, crying between them all as she misses her mom and how much it would hurt her to lose them all.

“Luke, please. Don’t.” 

Julie holding his hand, trying to pull him away. He can feel Reggie gripping tight to his other hand, standing half behind him with Alex who’s twisted his fingers into the material of his shirt. Standing behind him, just where they had always joked they’d be in a fight.

But Luke was never joking about it. Taking the hits so they don’t have to? It’s the easiest choice he’s ever made. It’s the one he’ll always make.

“I don’t want any of you to get hurt.”

Luke doesn’t realise he’s crying until his vision starts to blur a little, the image of Caleb in front of them going fuzzy.

“We take it one step at a time, Luke,” Reggie squeezes his hand tighter, tugging him back half a step.

“And we do it together, remember? A blood oath with tomato juice, Luke. We’re stuck together,” the hand Alex had had gripping his shirt loosens just enough to to circle around his bicep and he manages to tug him back another step.

“We can’t get through this if we don’t have you Luke. You don’t need to make the sacrifice play. There’s always another way,” Julie’s crying too, he notices belatedly as her tears drip on to the hand she is holding, his knuckles pressing against her lips.

“Come on man. Let’s go home.”

Luke holds steady for a second longer, eyes focused on Caleb's face before he gives in, letting the three of them pull him back from a line he can’t uncross. 

But he’d do it. 

He’d do it in one of his non-existent heart beats if it meant they’d be safe. He’s always jumped into a fight without a second thought. And for Reggie and Alex and Julie? He’d do it in even less. If they’d let him.

[yotd2009]

i am curious, as someone who’s only exposure to arthurania was reading jane yolen’s young merlin as a child, would you mind saying why hnoc is a bad adaptation? i’m super curious but no worries if not <3

this has been sitting in my inbox for months bc i kept telling myself i needed to write a full essay with proof from medieval lit to make myself feel smarter.  however, since i’ve recently lost all credibility bc i can’t articulate points to save my life, and since i’ve realized that i could answer this in a just a couple paragraphs, now seems like the right time to answer this ask. sorry for the wait.

under a cut bc length

also warnings for mentions of racism bc this is hnoc we're talking abt and sexual assault bc this is med lit we're also talking abt

the basic problems are pendragon polycule itself, the story beats of the album, the fridging and lack of characterization of morgan le fay, the clear influence of pop culture arthuriana, and whatever the fuck happened with gawain/e.

pendragon polycule is... just not a good take.  there’s a bit in the lancelot-grail abt arthur viewing lancelot like a son (and lancelot not giving a shit abt him).  also arthur knew his parents for years before lancelot was even born.  plus lancelot just Doesn’t care abt him and i can’t stress this part enough.  arthur repeatedly tries to have guinnevere killed, mostly in the lancelot-grail, and guinn didn’t really have any say in marrying him bc she was a teenager.  lancelot and guinnevere is a lot better but that’s not saying much.  guinn doesn’t exactly treat lancelot too well... like at all, BUT it’s not intrinsic to their relationship and is completely caused by medieval misogyny and i’m all in favor of modern retellings saying fuck that.  but also lancelot has multiple pseudo-canon boyfriends (this is med lit after all), and one pseudo-canon husband so like... there were better options.  (also lancelot’s husband is basically in a lavender marriage with guinnevere’s maybe girlfriend who most authors just eventually forget abt as the story progresses).

this next one is a problem with a lot of modern arthurian works bc the inclusion of elayne of astolat is too much to ask apparently.  the grail quest isn’t tied to the fall of camelot, it just happens to be one of the last grand adventures the knights of the round table have.  the event that traditionally sets off the fall is the death of the maiden of astolat/the lady of shalott/elayne of escolat/she has a lot of names, her story has a few variations but usually she either is cursed to stay in a tower and weave and only be able to see the outside world through a mirror positioned across from her window, until lancelot rides by and she rushes to see him out of the actual window and her mirror shatters, setting off her death, or she lives with her father and brothers and takes care of lancelot bc he was injured for a time and she gets to go on adventures to find him and she’s friends with gawaine and she dies bc lancelot rejects her and this version’s a lot more fun but also more happens which makes it harder to explain.  the way her story ends however, is that she dies after she makes arrangements for a glorious boat to drift from astolat to camelot carrying nothing but her dead body and a letter explaining that she died of love for lancelot du lac and the court mourns the death of such a beautiful and young maiden (her age varies a lot but i’ve always read her as a young teenager at most).  but the important thing is, camelot is doomed from the moment she washes up on its shore bc she’s an omen of the end and has symbolic meaning and all that, the maiden of astolat washes up on camelot’s shores, the court mourns the loss of a maiden in her prime and she marks the end of camelot’s prime as well, morgan le fay reappears after being presumed dead and warns arthur of guinnevere and lancelot’s affair, aggravaine and modred conspire to bring lancelot and guinnevere’s affair to light, they succeed but lancelot escapes, guinnevere is to be burnt at the stake and lancelot rescues her, killing aggravaine, gaheris and gareth (gawaine’s brothers) in the process, gawaine drags his uncle and camelot to war bc he was driven mad due to the loss of his brothers, lancelot accidentally kills gawaine, his best friend and maybe boyfriend (i have RECEIPTS), and gawaine forgives him on his detahbed while lancelot and guinn rejoin arthur, meanwhile modred, who practically had the throne handed to him, usurps and invites the saxons in, camlann happens, and camelot is destroyed.  no where in there is the grail quest.

morgan le fay is honestly the most questionable part of the album bc there’s not a single text where she dies.  like....  at least with eurydice in udad she died in the original... there’s no basis for morgan dying.  also she is NOT modred’s mother and anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar, she interacts with him once in the vulgate bc she had three of her nephews over and that’s IT.  it’s a horrible take which originated in the mists of avalon by marion zimmer bradley who is an honest to god monster for reasons i don’t want to trigger tag this post for.  also she’s one of the most dynamic and thought-out characters in the entire canon and they just made her a watered down morgause (modred’s actual mother, morgan’s sister, canonical milf)... there was no reason for it to be her apart from the fact that she’s more well known......

pop culture arthuriana is,,, one of my least favorite things.  no, morgan wasn’t modred’s mother, no, morgause wasn’t abusive but her husband sure was implied to be, no, aggravaine didn’t kill his mother, that was gaheris, he loved his mother, you’re only saying that bc he has a reputation as the “evil” orkney, no, the once and future king is not a good descriptor for arthur, stop making me read it, no, morgause wasn’t the one to initiate the thing with arthur resulting in modred, no, lancelot and arthur weren’t friends, no, tristan wasn’t a self-centered asshole, tennyson is a fucking liar, no, galahad didn’t have sex or want to, he’s one of the first ever explicitly asexual characters out there, no, galahad’s conception was NOT consensual, lancelot was tricked, and no, elayne of astolat wasn’t galahad’s mother, she’s implied to be younger than him.  those are just the big glaring ones, but i swear it’s bc of arthuriana’s reputation as a mythology and the connotations belonging to that word (no one true canon (which is true but there are still things that just AREN’T canon, not completely written down, passed by oral tradition) that causes ppl to see mediocre modern texts and go “oh. well this is abt as close to the original as i’m going to get” and don’t bother to look into so much as malory (who i only name bc he’s one of the most well known medieval authors with the most commonly used storylines, don’t read malory kids, he’s a mediocre-at-best writer even by medieval standards).  the big perpetrators of modern arthurian tropes are the books the once and future king by th wh*te, who is a shitty person and lets it bleed into his writing (which isn’t like... nice to read or anything, seriously why do ppl love this book so much it doesn’t have redeeming qualities), and the mists of avalon by marion zimmer bradley (it’s poorly written, the story is a mess, and mzb is honestly a monster and one google search will tell you that), and unfortunately the writings of tennyson, which are mostly good but he clearly didn’t read the povest (a later text that’s also my favorite, known for significantly improving ppl’s opinions on tristan, isolde and co.) before deciding he hated both tristan and isolde and he has HORRIBLE takes on them.  high noon over camelot is SEEPED in pop culture arthuriana and i think it would have been so much better if the band had read so much as a SUMMARY of the events of le morte.  it’s evident in the song “the once and future king” bc it’s,,,, literally named after one of the worst books in existence.  it’s shown in the morgan le fay thing, and it’s shown in the pendragon polycule thing.  and hell, i think you can even explain away the lack of elayne of astolat with pop culture arthuriana, bc ppl have had bad takes on her ever since th wh*te combined her character with that of ela*ne of corbenic, and the band probably went “huh, let’s write lancelot’s abuser out of this” and they would’ve been right to do so if that’s who elayne of astolat was.

the final big issue is gawaine, the closest thing the genre has to a protagonist, he’s pretty much canon bi and, in some texts, arospec, he’s a dashing knight of great reknown and he derails every romance to steal hearts, commit murder, and make out with every knight and lady mentioned.  and in hnoc he’s... racist.  that’s it.  it’s,,, almost completely unfounded by the arthurian canon and shows a major misunderstanding of his motivations (like i said earlier, he wants to avenge his brothers bc there’s a reoccuring motif of how much the orkneys value family).  i say almost bc in one text it’s his motivations for killing palomydes but i’ve never heard it mentioned by name bc that’s just what it’s known for.  most arthuriana fans just look away from it except when critiquing hnoc but that one text is an outlier, shouldn’t be counted, and i highly doubt the mechs made hnoc gawain how he is bc they found this text.  it’s just a bad text.

hnoc has,,, quite a few more minor issues, such as villainized ladies of the lake (their ONLY crimes were sealing away merlin bc he tried to assault teenage nimue/ninniane (proto-nimue/vivianne from the vulgate), and that one time vivviane/ninniane kidnapped adopted baby lancelot), assigning brain to merlin (y’know,,, the predator who helped arrange the [redacted] of arthur’s mother and tried to assault a teenager,,,) although merlin is portrayed in a positive light throughout modern arthuriana so i don’t think they knew, giving a song to pellinore, who my perception of has been forever altered bc i was introduced to him through malory and the explanation of torre’s conception, which you can just look up “sir torre arthurian” to find out abt if you can’t just Guess, if they wanted a song abt the questing beast palomydes was Right There AND has been associated with the questing beast for longer, but once again i don’t think they knew.

also namedropping a bunch of knights in the fiction is... it Suggests a bigger world full of all these other stories but they just don’t work bc the world of hnoc wasn’t designed in a way where the appearance of half these characters would make sense.  like,, tristan is referenced as dying in the grail quest in the same sentence as bedevere (one of the characters who is known for almost always surviving), but tristan Isn’t one of the knights who dies on the grail quest, his possible deaths (ignoring the potentially happy ending of the povest for a second) are either being murdered by his uncle, king mark (bc mark married tristan’s gf to try and get tristan killed and also to spite him), bc he was driven into a fury bc of tristan and isolde’s affair, or he’s injured and only isolde (the best healer in the world) can save him so he sends for her and if the ship he sent for her is supposed to fly white sails if she’s there, or black sails if she’s not, and the ship flies white sails but his wife (also named isolde) says it’s black sails (the why depends but usually comes down to jealousy), and so he gives up bc he thinks all hope is lost and usually succumbs to his injuries, either way isolde dies of a broken heart over his body.  there’s no way for the tristan and isolde story to play out like it’s supposed to in the world of hnoc, just as there’s no way for any story with gawaine (and Oh Boy are there a lot of stories with gawaine) or pretty much anyone else, without severely altering the canon.

of course, there are still parts of hnoc i like a lot, most of the music i adore and i just like the idea of space cowboys and the secret good hnoc that lives in my head.  and it has one of my favorite characterizations of galahad, even though galahad hnoc is nothing like galahad arthuriana.  it’s not GOOD but i like it and it’s fun to turn my brain off too, and i’ll always value it as my introduction to arthuriana.

also there are modern arthurian tropes i do like such as characters being genre-savvy/knowing they’re fictional/knowing they’ve done this before (which hnoc does wonderfully!) and bedevere-as-the-storyteller (everyone say thank you lord tennyson).

WOW that was longer than expected, i feel very passionately abt this, when i was planning to write a fully sourced essay i meant to include a bit at the bottom with recommendations to get into better arthuriana and i think i’ll keep that in this post.

if you like hnoc for the arthurian music i’d like to suggest heather dale’s arthurian music to you, she does occasionally fall into the trap of modern arthuriana (some parts of lancelot and arthur being close, morgan as modred’s mother), sometimes she’s just wrong (galahad at lancelot’s trial, a lot of tristan and isolde), and her stuff is kinda straightwashed sometimes (sir gawain and the green knight, for example) but i’d be lying if it wasn’t catchy, and it’s not quite as bad as hnoc adaptation-wise.  culwch and olwen is pretty accurate (albeit abridged bc culwch and olwen has SO many tangents), as is lily maid (it’s abt elayne of astolat!).

if you liked hnoc for king arthur... in space! then may i recommend to you my own fanfic? it's not posted yet but the second i finish writing the first chapter i'm going to make a Big Deal out of it that'll be impossible to miss!

if you want to learn abt arthuriana through tumblr-osmosis like i did at first, i’d like to recommend the love of my life @acegalahads, first and foremost (it’s me on a sideblog i’m just obsessed with myself), and i can’t recommend my arthuriana mutuals over there, @/gringolet, @/merlinenthusiast, @/jcbookworm, @/elayneofshalott, and @/elaineofascolat (the elayne urls have been popular recently), also i know for a fact that my mutual-in-law, @/itonje makes great arthuriana posts that i look forwards to whenever i open the tag.

here are a few good reference posts, a quick guide to the characters, a guide to characters of color, and a much more comprehensive intro to arthuriana post with even more texts linked to it.

if you want to ease into med lit, i’d like to introduce you to pre-raphaelite poetry, alfred lord tennyson and william morris are my favorites, although tennyson can’t be trusted with tristan and isolde.  the poem the lady of shalott is basically a rite of passage for arthuriana fans, although when it comes to tennyson’s writings abt elayne of astolat, i prefer lancelot and elaine, which is part of his much larger story, idylls of the king.  for morris, don’t trust what he says abt aggravaine killing his mother, but my favorites of his are sir galahad, a christmas mystery, which sounds like a shitty disney sequel, and palomyde’s quest, which i blame for my love of palomydes (that and the one bit of the povest where he asks tristan to be his greatest enemy and that he wants nothing more, gay ppl,,,,).

if you want to read abt lancelot and his husband, there’s the lancelot-grail cycle, which i believe was taken off of archive dot org and i think i found it on @/tobeisexhausting’s blog but don’t quote me on that.

the povest, which was a religious experience for me and i can’t reccomend enough if you want to like tristan and isolde, is here, i don’t know who scanned it but i think i found it on @/lanzelet’s blog

the dutch texts are just good in general, here’s a link to their section of a(n unfinished) site for hosting various texts by my former mutual @/reynier (who’s no longer on tumblr).  i’d like to recommend lancelot and the white hart specifically bc it’s mainly just just gawaine being gay for lancelot.

if you want older works, here’s my scan of the history of the kings of britain, and here’s culwch and olwen and pa gur.

oh wow this is even longer than i thought it would be so i’m going to wrap this up by saying that i always love to talk abt arthuriana more than anything if you have any questions or just are curious!