#wanted to work on coloring his skin tone in inconsistent lighting as well

[nobie]

rex + expressions

[weepingvoidpenguin]

One of Your Favorites

Jealous Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have an objective. Get Rumlow to confess. Simple enough, right? No. Aside from his usual condescending attitude towards you, Bucky has made it extremely apparent that he doesn’t think you’re capable of - well, anything, but especially not handling Rumlow. And yet, he is the biggest challenge of this entire ordeal.

Warning: T R I G G E R WARNING!! ATTEMPTED SA, DRUGS, language, light smut. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ IF SA WILL TRIGGER YOU. 

Word Count: 8.3k

   “We have good intel stating he’s working as a double agent for HYDRA. Selling information, exploiting tactics, even going so far as to tell them where we’ll be and when.” Natasha scanned the room, making sure she had everyone’s attention during the briefing. 

   You slouched back in your swivel chair and twisted to-and-fro slightly with your hands gripping the arm rests on either side. It took all of your willpower to act engrossed in her words. And you meant every single drop. You’d been paying attention, sure, but the only issue was the dominating presence two seats to your right and directly in your line of sight to Natasha. You rolled your chair to the left to clear the path for the third time, only for him to block your way without missing a beat. The growl that left your mouth was nearly involuntary. Nearly.

   How long would this man act like a child? Despite his graceful and seemingly unsuspecting movements, you were fully aware his placement was intentional. This was not the first, nor did you doubt that it would be the last, time that Bucky acted impudently toward you. Frankly, you’d grown bored of his behavior. It was the same thing everyday. He would act a nuisance during the briefings, speak over you whenever he had the chance, steal the limelight from you and invalidate any concerns or thoughts you shared. The whole charade grew tiring and he had been dancing on thin ice for months now.

   You averted your gaze from burning holes through the freshly washed, brown locks and switched your attention back up to the redhead. Thankfully, too, because you managed to catch the end of her sentence just as she locked eyes with you.

   “And that’s why Y/N is going to be the one to extract the information from him,” she finished.

   You blinked, “Wait, what?” 

   Bucky straightened his posture and threw a quick glance your way, “Yeah, what? She’s got no heat, couldn’t toast marshmallows if we gave her all day. She shouldn’t lead this, she wouldn’t know how,”

   “Well, tonight might be a good time to start learning, then,” Steve chimed in, throwing a wink your way. You smiled and appreciated his aid, not because you needed it but because at this point, you were seething and if you opened your mouth to defend yourself this meeting would go south, quickly. Luckily, Steve always believed you were capable of a great deal of things and knew you strove for more experience so any opportunity to lead or expand was one he thought you should take. 

   “Besides,” Tony spoke up, twirling a platinum pen between his fingers from across the table, “our little double-agent has always had the hots for Y/N so unless you’re gonna be the one to bat your eyelashes at him and get him alone in a room, Mr. Barnes, we have to use his own flaws against him.” He turned to face you and held up a hand, “Not to say that liking you is a flaw, you’re great Hot-Stuff but exploiting him is our best option indefinitely,”

   “Do I have to seduce him?” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and raising a brow towards Nat, trying your damned hardest to avoid the unmistakable glare the brown-haired super soldier was sending your way. 

   “The only thing you have to do is extract any information on him that you can. Get him a little drunk, catch him in a slip-up or two, take note of any inconsistent stories and be on your merry way,” she reassured, “How you manage to do that is up to you,”

   “Ooh, extortion,” Clint chirped up from the far back corner, his hands rubbing together maliciously around an arrow he pulled from his sheathe, something you noticed he did a lot when he was uninterested; be it a person, mission, or conversation.

   “No. Not extortion,” Steve shut it down and you chuckled at how Clint’s countenance fell into one of disappointment. 

   “Not yet anyway,” Natasha mumbled and you sighed as she walked around the room and handed each of you a folder with your individual objectives inside.

   “But he’s such a pervert,” you grumbled.

   “All the easier,” 

~

   The rest of the day was drudged with Nat while she taught the pertinence of body language (both yours and theirs), verbal ruses, and overall ensnarement. You bat your eyelashes until you were certain you would catch enough wind to fly away, smirked enough that your cheeks began to ache and raised your eyebrows ‘til you felt the impending wrinkles on your forehead. By the end of the drill you weren’t sure you were even going to make it to the company party from the migraine creeping its way on.

   “How’s the bait coming along?” His voice alone caused you to roll your eyes but you paid no mind while you rubbed at your temples and stood up alongside Natasha.

   “She’s not gonna be able to lie to me any time soon but she can flirt her way to whatever she wants,”

   “Benefits of targeting a narcissistic misogynist, they don’t think anyone can fool them.” Tony belted as he sauntered into the room with strawberries, offering them out to you while he munched on one.

   “She’ll still mess it up,” Bucky countered, “Make someone else do it,”

   You plucked the fruit off Tony’s tray and examined it, trying to figure out whether you were going to consume it or use it as a weapon.

   “I really appreciate your words of encouragement, James. Unfortunately, they’re not wanted, nor are they needed.” You bit into the fruit and glided towards the door, looking over your shoulder at the super soldier, “So unless you actually have something to contribute, I suggest you stay the hell out of my way while I get the job done,”

   Nat walked out behind you and handed you a tiny, skin-colored device meant to conceal itself and you placed it in your ear. 

   “The conversation is gonna be recorded so we can catch any inconsistencies. We’ll all be able to hear what you’re saying so tread on delicate waters but don’t be afraid to shake mountains if you have to,”

   You nodded and opened your door for her to enter your room knowing she’d want to help you get ready for the event. Natasha, shocking as it turns out, enjoys company while preparing for events. She would much prefer to be surrounded by people than be alone. You never had gall to ask her why that is. Or maybe you respected her too much to ask.

   An hour had passed, maybe two, but you enjoyed the silence between you both. There was no need to fill the empty quiet when it was so comfortable and welcoming. You two spoke without words at times and that was probably your favorite personal skill. Eventually, there came a knock on your door and you opened to find Wanda with her flat iron and make-up bag in tow. It’d long since been decided that your room was the gathering center.

   Wanda helped you finish touching up your outfit and you waited on your bed while they finished getting ready. Nat occasionally quizzed you on certain situations and how you should act depending on the tones and moods of the conversation. You tried to explain that you didn’t have difficulty reading a room but Nat tested you all the same. 

   “And if he puts his hand on your thigh?” She called out from your bathroom.

   “Then he loses it,” you practically sang in response.

   You were met with a flying hairbrush and laughed at the onslaught.

   “You’re not the only one with that mentality,” Wanda called out as well, her iron glossing over thin strands of hair.

   “Nat knows I can handle myself.” You sat up on the bed and went over to your closet to collect your favorite pair of shoes to go along with the formal attire Nat selected for tonight. “What a coincidence that we happen to have a company party the same night we have to extract information,” you hollered over your shoulder, moving aside terribly worn shoes while you scoured for the pair you had in mind.

   “This objective has been in the works for weeks now,” Nat released the tendril of hair from around the barrel and pinned it to her head so it could cool.

   “Wow, thanks for the heads up, then.” You gripped the desired pair and placed them beside your nightstand for later.

   “The plan wasn’t solid until we knew for a fact that Rumlow was coming. It’s a company party so it’s not mandatory but once he heard you were making an appearance, it didn’t take very much persuading,”

   You rolled your eyes and plopped back down on your mattress, “He’s so annoying, I doubt I can hold much of a conversation with him,”

   “Take a shot or two to ease your nerves, if he sees you drinking it’ll put him at ease too. He’ll be more inclined to drink,” Natasha recommended. “But don’t act too out of character. If you were always curt and short with him and suddenly you start acting over-friendly, he may get suspicious. He’s an idiot but he’s a paranoid one,”

   You nodded, taking a mental note to have a half-empty bottle in your grasp when Rumlow arrives. If he thinks you’ve already been drinking, he might also consider catching up. 

   “Y/N? Not uptight for once?” Wanda sarcastically questioned. “I can’t picture it,”

   “Oh, fuck off,” you grumbled and in turn received laughter from the two girls. “Besides, of all of us I’m by far the least uptight. Barnes takes the cake for that one,”

   There was a beat of silence that you didn’t register before you were met with a response.

   “Ya know, he’s not as bad as you paint him out to be.” Nat unpinned the curl from her head and moved on to the next section, “He’s got some serious loyalty and always willing to volunteer first for everything,”

   You lifted your head to stare at her reflection through the mirror, “What are you talking about? He’s annoying and irate and lacks a filter,”

   “Mmm, irate isn’t the word I would use,” Wanda countered, looking over to Natasha.

   Nat shook her head in response, “I’d lean more towards . . . over-protective,” 

  “Much better,” Wanda agreed.

   You squinted your eyes at their image and felt the corners of your lips turn downwards, “Over-protective? Since when are you two defending Barnes?”

   “We’re not defending him, per say.” Wanda glanced over to Nat, “We’re just trying to give you a fresh perspective,” 

   “You could give me a brand new pair of eyes and I’d still see him the same,” you retorted, now leaning on your elbows due to the strain on your neck. 

   They ignored the comment, “And he’s only annoying to you,”

   “You’re telling me he doesn’t annoy you at all?” You asked, an eyebrow raised.

   “More like . . . he doesn’t go out of his way to mess with us.” Nat applied a nude color onto her lips.

   “So you agree that he goes out of his way to irritate me,” you stated rather than asked.

   “That’s been made very apparent,” Wanda responded. “But you have to wonder why,”

   You huffed a little and sprawled back out on the bed just to result in staring at the ceiling above. If you looked hard enough your mind would create pictures from the chaos of the cracks and shapes began to form. Sometimes, when the night lay still and life seemed to dwindle at the edges of your reality, you could swear a familiar face fashioned together and your imagination ran wild with the images you’d see. Some that brought a warmth to your cheeks even now. 

   You shot up out of bed and shook the memories from your vision. Ugh. He haunts you even when he’s not actively tormenting you. How he’s managed to crawl his way so deeply within your skin you had no idea but you fought for control of your thoughts whenever you caught them slipping into that hellhole.

   “Or slipping into euphoria,” Wanda chimed in.

   “Wanda!” You scolded, crossing your arms, “Euphoria my ass,”

   “Yeah, he thinks so too,” she continued and you chucked the abandoned hairbrush back their way. 

   “Stay out of my head,” you jokingly sniped at her but was met with a low chuckle.

   “I didn’t even have to be in your head to know what you were thinking of,” Nat defended and caught your weapon of choice.

   “Are you guys done yet?” You rolled your eyes and stretched yourself out before swiping up the pair of heels you’d chosen and sliding them onto your feet.

   “Why? Are you in a hurry to see a certain someone?” Natasha teased and Wanda let out an eruption of laughter.

   “All right, I’m done.” You made a beeline for the door and threw it open, “Lock up when you’re finished!” You bellowed over your shoulder and made your way to the top floor of the building where all the parties are typically held.

   You didn’t run into anyone on the way up and you used that time to calm yourself, prying inch by inch away from the invasive thoughts that called for you in the darkest hours of the night. But, then again, maybe those tormenting thoughts weren’t that bad? You mean, he certainly IS handsome, very much so actually. And he has the most knee-wobbling smirk you’d ever come to know, not to mention those little tricks he does with his knives always manage to entrance you. God, did he know how to use a knife. 

   On more than one occasion had you caught yourself staring at how his hands encapsulated the hilt of the blade. How they clenched and relaxed, drawing out some of the more prominent veins on one of the extremities; of course, you were even more so enticed by the hand he hid as well. You’d imagined what it felt like to have such strong hands grip onto your thighs and coax you into spreading them open with just a few teasing touches here and there. You couldn’t fathom the front you’d put up would last very long, he was stellar at pulling reactions from you. He’d see you break under his caresses and he’d degrade you like he always did but this time it’d emit a different response from you, one that made you whimper and shake. At that, he’d probably call you a good girl, he definitely seems the type to switch between degradation and praise, and would press his mouth up just where you wanted it the most. You’d try your hardest to be quiet but damn the way that tongue moved against you and the way he’d pull you harder against his face at each sound of pleasure you let slip past your lips. He’d enjoy it, too. Eyes closed as he devours you, he likes to put on a show for you to watch. Give you a memory that’ll slick your thighs later that night if he hadn’t fucked you into a coma by then. He’d make you watch him and if you dared to close your eyes you’d earn a firm, cold smack on your ass. He knows you like when he uses temperature play. He growls a little too, he can’t help his innate behavior. Then, just as the accumulation is coming to its apex he’d pull away abruptly and kiss you straight on your mouth so you can taste yourself and that’d earn him another whimper which would result in another smack that leads to that cold metal trailing its way to your core and just as he pushes the tip of his finger inside-

   You cough and straighten your posture as the elevator door opens. When had you leaned up against the back wall of the elevator? Oh Gods, you could feel the slick at the apex of your thighs and you squeezed them together as inconspicuously as you could in fear that you were producing a . . . scent that would be rather difficult to conceal. But the slick only grew worse when you locked eyes with the person stepping into the elevator.

   Fuck.

   “That’s what you chose to wear?” He asked, a certain venom in his tone that immediately calmed the ache in your heat.

   “And what would you have me wear instead, Barnes?” You quipped back, your body facing forward as he took his place beside you in the cramped space.

   There was a beat of silence. Then another. “Not that,” he responded.

   “Well I’ll make sure to ask you next time since you have such impeccable taste,” you retorted, your eyes yet to abandon the sight of the closing doors.

   You weren’t sure of all the effects of the Super Soldier Serum that had been injected into Bucky and all that it heightened but you prayed to any God that would listen that his hearing wasn’t one of those things. You were too preoccupied with attempting to settle the hot pulse beating between your legs to worry about how loud your discomfort came across.

   “What do you look so nervous about?” Bucky’s gruff voice prodded. “You can’t possibly be nervous about the mission considering how big-headed you are,”

   You took a deep, long breath and held it to soothe you. Had you not been so previously preoccupied, you’d have given him hell for the insult. “I’m not nervous about that,” you sniped and rested back against the cool wall to satiate your burning skin before lifting your gaze to him only to find him already examining you.

   “Of course not, I just said that,” he retorted, bringing a gloved hand to his face to rub along his jaw, “there’s obviously nothing for you to worry about,”

   You scoffed, “And why is that, Barnes?” Cue the dramatic crossing of your arms. 

   “You’re smarter than Rumlow and significantly better trained. Overall, he really doesn’t hold a candle to your ability,” He paused for a second, his whole frame tensing until he remembered to relax, “But that’s not really saying much considering it’s Rumlow,” 

   You hadn’t noticed you raised your eyebrows until you felt your face fall, “Ah, there he is. You had me worried there for a second, Barnes. Thought you might actually try something new and display common decency for once,”

   A corner of his mouth turned up subtly and he shook his head. You trailed your gaze down to his hidden hand and stared long enough to burn a hole through the fabric.

   “If something’s bothering you, Dollface, go ahead and speak up,” 

   You weren’t sure what possessed you to say anything, especially knowing how touchy the subject was for him but the words left your mouth anyway, “I don’t know why you insist on hiding yourself,”

   He lurched his head back, your statement seeming to have a physical affect on the man and you mentally slapped yourself for saying anything.

   “I’m not hiding myself,”

   “But you are,” you interrupted, your thoughts coming out in pools of candor, “you aren’t your hand. You aren’t your past. You are you. Presently. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. That’s not even the same hand you had back then. It’s not tainted and neither are you. I say drop the gloves,”

   “And why would I care about what you say?” He growled, his eyebrows furrowed together and his neck tight in potential restraint.

   The elevator dinged and you looked towards the opening doors, “You don’t have to but they don’t look right with your suit either.” You walked through the exit and sauntered over to the others who had already gotten the party started, leaving Bucky dumb-founded behind you. “I need a shot,”

   “Already ready,” Tony quipped up, holding the small glass in the air for everyone to behold before bringing his cheek to yours in mock welcoming, “This’ll up your tolerance for the next hour, try to get all your drinking done within that time-frame,”

   You pulled away with a warm smile after faux kissing his cheek, “Finally!” you displayed and threw the liquid back in one swift motion, your face scrunching together against your will.

   “Yeah, she’s got a kick to her,” he mumbled and handed you a fruity drink to chase it down with. 

   You went around and said hi to everyone as you recognized most of those present. You made small chatter with those lesser known and drank the liquid in your hand significantly quicker than you’d like to. You excused yourself after you finished the drink and walked over to the bar, scanning the room as you were handed another glass. No Rumlow in sight.

   You headed towards the foosball table and gripped the handles after setting the beverage down on the counter beside you. You flinched as a reflection of light caught your eye and at first you thought your glass was the source. Until your eyes fixated on the reflection’s actual origin. To your far right, and up a few steps you found Bucky conversing with Steve, a dull light emitting from his hand. Not a glove in sight.

   “So, where’s your boyfriend?” Sam inquired when he filled the opposing spot.

   You rolled your eyes, “Bucky’s not my boyfriend,”

   “Bucky?” Sam’s tone chirped up teasingly, a knowing look wearing on his face.

   Your grip tightened around the handles and you slowly pulled away to throw the little white ball through the circle, your hands immediately twisting the miniscule players around. Your eyes shot back and forth, your sight never leaving the darting sphere. Sam still managed to win the first point.

   “Ha!” He shouted in triumph, bringing his finger up as if to scold you, “Don’t think you got away with that comment either, Y/N,”

   “What comment?” you questioned and gulped most of your drink before slamming it back down on the table.

   You heard your earpiece come to life with quiet static and you tried to keep your face masked. Rumlow had entered. Not a surprise either, the party was finally starting to pick up now.

   Sam threw the ball in and you turned the players meticulously this time, brute strength hadn’t helped you earlier so maybe you should take it slow. Steve made his way over to the table and threw his drink back, the liquid trickling down the side of his face before he wiped it away. Sam won the second point.

   “I play winner,” Tony chimed, standing beside Steve.

   You made a point to catch up and now you two were tied at three each. 

   “Best out of five?” You proposed, quirking an eyebrow at Sam.

   “If you didn’t want to play anymore you could’ve just said that,” he teased and you smirked at him as Tony made a subtle show of handing you another drink and you finished your second. “Loser takes two shots?”

   “Deal.” You nodded, knowing you didn’t have much of a choice as a small crowd began to form around you two. Rumlow amongst them. 

   Your jaw dropped when Sam shot the ball directly into your goal as soon as he’d let the ball go.

   “What the fuck?” You shouted, “No fair! That doesn’t count!”

   Thor erupted in laughter to your right and you blinked slowly, staring at the gargantuan man. 

   “It most certainly does,” Sam shouted back, his grin practically touching his ears.

   “Sam, take it easy on her,” Bucky muttered from beside him, quickly averting his gaze from yours and his expression loosened, “The brat hates losing,”

   “Brat?” You snarled.

   Bucky took a swig of his beer, watching you the entire time and you reeled back the fire beginning to form in your chest just to bring your drink up to your lips and chug the entire thing down. You handed it over to Tony who left to replace it. 

   “Last point,” Sam stated, “It’s not too late to quit now,”

   You shook your head and blinked away the feign distortion you were supposed to have. “Just play the ball,”

   “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he teased and threw the ball in. 

   You wanted to win. Desperately. But you had a character to play tonight and she was supposed to be drunk. So you hit your hand against the corner of the table just as Sam happened to make the winning point. You grumbled and threw him a glare when Tony broke through the crowd.

   “Coming through,” he shouted, handing two small glasses to you while you gripped your knuckles in pain. “Noooo, you’re not getting out of taking these. C’mon, take your punishment,”

   “Yes, Daddy,” you grumbled and cringed at your own words when the realization hit you. Whatever. You were supposed to be drunk, anyway. 

   “Daddy?” Tony quipped and pulled the drinks back towards himself, “Maybe you should be cut off,”

   “What?” You argued, leaning slightly on the table with your hand and snatching the drinks from Tony’s hold, effectively spilling some on yourself. “See?” You lifted up the half empty shot glass, “This barely counts as a shot,”

   “I’ll get her a new one,” Rumlow offered and disappeared before anyone could argue. 

   “She really doesn’t need another-” Bucky tried to interject and take the shots from you but you twisted around and chugged down the one full glass.

   Water.

   You looked up at Tony and his smirk was barely noticeable. But you could tell. Bucky nearly ripped the other drink from you but Tony blocked his path and you exaggerated your next drink as Rumlow broke back into the crowd, shot in tow.

   “Here.” Rumlow’s calloused hand held the drink up above you and you stared at him with a questioning look. “Open,” he ordered and the fire burning in your chest fought to destroy everything in its vicinity. You bit your lip in refrain but tossed your head back and opened your mouth.

   Static broke over your earpiece. Don’t drink that! Wanda’s voice erupted.

   Your eyes widened as the liquid made its way down but you coughed hard to stop whatever you could. 

   Why? Steve’s voice came through right after.

   You choked on the liquid and shut your eyes at the way it burned its way down. You reached your hand out to grab someone’s drink to ease the burning and grasped a tall glass and tossed it back. The burning didn’t ease up and you felt a hand rest on your back.

   “Are you okay?” Rumlow’s voice rang out and your skin nearly recoiled from the contact, “How about we get you some water?”

   You looked up at him when the burning subsided minimally and nodded your head, letting him lead the way to the bar. He parted the crowd and someone took step right behind you to follow when the presence suddenly died out abruptly. You turned around to check who it had been and found no one.

   Why? Steve asked again.

   Where’s Wanda? Bruce broke through.

   You lifted your head and flitted your gaze around the room until you found the familiar Sokovian on the couch, laying down with her eyes closed. You pulled away from Rumlow but his grip on your hand tightened and his steps grew in haste. You whirled your head to yell at him but the way the room swayed with the movement cause you to shut your mouth in surprise. 

   Didn’t Tony say you would have a higher tolerance?

   “Couch...” you muttered, pointing over your shoulder just in case your target was curious enough to ask but the message was delivered.

   Rumlow hoisted you up onto the bar stool and stood on your open side, using his body to keep you from falling over. Or to cage you in.

   “I don’t feel good,” You rested an elbow on the countertop and held your head up.

   “I can’t imagine you would. You’ve been chugging those drinks like they’re water.” Despite that, Rumlow motioned to the bartender and asked for two more.

   You giggled and your head lulled forward with the action. You let Rumlow catch you from tumbling over. Why did your body feel so heavy? Not to mention the way everything around you dazed about. You couldn’t catch a single action, let alone attempt to read Rumlow’s body language. But you did happen to notice the way his eyes searched the room before coming back to you.

   “You okay?” You rested your forearm against his chest and pushed slightly to allow yourself a better view of his face.

   A small smirk, “Am I okay? What about you?”

   You smacked your lips and brought the ice cold glass to your lips. That’s not water. “I’m doing reeaalllyy good,” you drawled.

   Rumlow chuckled and pushed you deeper into the chair, “I can tell.” He took a sip, his attention never faltering from your body, “Just be sure to pace yourself from here on out,”

   You made a show of cocking your head to the side and letting a smile sprawl onto your face as you studied him. 

   “What?” he questioned, a curious lift in his brow.

   You shook your head gently and kept your gaze on him over the brim of your glass, “You’re just . . . not what I was expecting,”

   “And what were you expecting?” 

   Don’t forget to bat your eyelashes. “Worse,”

   “Sorry to disappoint,” he jeered, his attention once again cast throughout the room before centering back on you.

   You followed his action but quickly came to the conclusion that moving any pace faster than a sloth was going to make you nauseous and you could barely keep a thought together. Your stomach began to rise in your chest and the fear seized your throat shut. Why couldn’t you hold onto a thought for longer than a second? It was like you were aware of your lack of consciousness but could do nothing about it because any thought or bout of panic phased through just as soon as it arrived.

   “What are you so tense for, Rumlow? You know you’re not currently on the clock, right?” You teased, your head leaning on your shoulder as you spoke.

   He brought his drink up to his lips and finished it off in three gulps, “I’m not tense. It’s just hard to turn it off sometimes,”

   You nodded slowly and pushed your drink towards him, “Relax. You know everyone here,”

   He shook his head and placed your drink back in front of you before asking for another beer.

   “And two shots!” You shouted to the bartender, throwing two of your fingers high up and instantly regretting how fast you’d done it.

   “Are you trying to get me drunk?” He asked you, a side smirk beginning to form.

   You placed your finger over your lips and hushed, “Shh, I won’t tell if you don’t.” You dragged your lower lip down and his eyes fixated to commit the scene to memory. “Besides, I always feel dumb if I’m the only one drunk,”

   He motioned to the rest of the party, “Believe me, Sugar, you’re not the only one enjoying yourself,”

   “But are you?” 

   “Am I what?” 

   “Enjoying yourself?” 

   Your skin crawled when he placed his rough hand on your barren thigh, “Absolutely,”

   Don’t forget what you’re here for. Don’t let the objective slip. Gods, how the fuck were you supposed to retain anything when you were so sleepy? And why was it so warm?

   “Hot,” you mumbled, fishing around in your glass for an ice cube to rub on your face.

   “Thank you,”

   You threw your head back in laughter and nearly earned yourself an up-close and personal view of the floor had Rumlow not wrapped an arm around your waist and held you steady. Once he was certain you weren’t going to toss yourself onto the ground, he parted your legs and stood between them to keep you rooted to your seat.

   All the movement had you spinning and you white-knuckled Rumlow’s cotton shirt to keep yourself grounded to something, anything. Red warning lights were firing up in your chest and you tensed with the way your body buckled to the panic coursing through you. Your heart pounded in your ears and danced across your skin, lighting it on fire and making the room too stuffy to bear. Please, no. Not now. Focus. Snap out of it. Come back, stay back. Your breathing hitched and you looked down at the sensation crawling its way up higher on your thigh. Too hot. Everything was too hot, if you didn’t get out of this now you would never-

   “Vision!” You cheered, happy to see your friend.

   The presence on your thigh recoiled slightly.

   “I’m taking Wanda to her room, seems she’s had a bit too much to drink,” Vision informed and you’d only just then noticed the body in his hold.

   “Wanda!” You smiled, admiring her peaceful features as she slept in his arms. You poked at her cheek then jerked your gaze back up to Vision. “What? Wanda doesn’t drink,”

   She’s not acting, Sam’s voice erupted in your ear and you flinched at the sound. 

   Vision’s eyes went from you to Rumlow then back to you slowly, “Y/N . . . are you okay?”

   You beamed at him and slowly brought up your thumb. “Good,” you responded.

   You followed Vision’s gaze back up to Rumlow and smiled at the agent beside you. You guess he’s kind of cute. In a strange, unsettling way.

   “She’s had a lot to drink, so we’re just trying to slow down the pace. Aren’t we, Y/N?” Rumlow looked down at you.

   You nodded fervently, “Yup!” 

   Vision hesitated but knew he didn’t pose much of a threat with Wanda in his arms unconscious, so he quirked a smile and walked towards the hall.

   Someone get to Y/N, something’s not right, Vision ordered and you lifted your head up to find him. You could have sworn he just left.

   “Here.” Rumlow handed you a glass, “Drink this, it’ll cool you down,” 

   You stared at the glass in his hold and looked up at him, “You drink it first,” you slurred, holding your finger up at him.

   He cocked his head to the side but took a swig of the drink and you watched it go down his throat. You shrugged and grabbed at it.

   Do not drink that, Nat ordered from somewhere and you looked around in wonder at who she was yelling to.

   Bucky, Sit down! Steve growled.

   Like hell, responded a voice you knew all too well.

   Your smile grew and you looked through the crowd, “Bucky!” You feverishly called, completely expecting to see him before you. Rumlow’s head lifted instantly, his eyes scouring the area.

   “I’ve got this, Pretty Boy,” Tony hastily spoke, “How ya doin’, Hot Stuff?” He interrogated and you reeled at the tone.

   “Quite well, thank you,” you responded tenaciously and attempted to take a swig of the drink in your grasp.

   Tony’s hand shot out and covered the top, slamming the cup back down on the counter and effectively getting the drink all over your dress.

   “What the fuck?” You tried to shout but the words came out heavy and required too much energy to speak.

   “You’ve had enough for tonight,”

   “It’s just water,” Rumlow defended but Tony paid him no mind.

   Your jaw dropped open and you glared at the older man. Who the hell did he think he was? Tony’s stare burned through your skull and despite your irritation, you couldn’t help but wonder why he was so pissed.

   “Are you mad at me?” You drawled, lulling your head to the side.

   “No,” he responded curtly. 

   “Am I being too loud or something?” You pushed. You couldn’t imagine you were any louder than any other drunken bastard at this party.

   “No,”

   Get her out of there or I swear to God I will, his voice hissed into your ear.

   Your eyebrows rose slightly in excitement, “Mmm, Bucky,” you smiled and Tony nodded.

   “’Mmm, Bucky’ is right. Wanna go see him?” Tony offered, sticking out his hand for you to take.

   You fell forward into Rumlow’s chest but shook your head furiously none the less, “For what? So he can tell me I’m horrendous at my-”

   Oh shit. Your job. The job.

   If only your body didn’t feel so heavy and your mind so light.

   You pushed off Rumlow’s chest and glared at Tony, “I can handle myself,” you insisted, a new sort of sober tone making its way through that caused him to do a once-over. “I know what I’m doing,”

   “How many drinks have you had?” Tony challenged and you fell silent.

   Then you felt a tap, and another and a few more.

   “Six,” You said, hoping you’d counted right.

   Tony, don’t you even fucking consider it, Bucky threatened.

   “You could at least change, recuperate and then come back,” Tony offered and you sighed a breath of relief before nodding.

   “Deal,” you agreed, “I’m hot anyway,”

   Tony gave you one last glance before turning around and blending into the crowd on the other end of the room.

   You looked up to Rumlow who’s gaze was still locked on the sea of people, “Don’t you wish you’d taken that shot now?” you tried to jeer, every last word bringing you deeper and deeper.

   “Are they always that intense?” He questioned, not turning his attention to you.

   “They can be over-bearing,” you admitted, hand grabbing the water from earlier and pressing it up against your forehead, “They consider me the baby so they’re always criticizing and suffocating until I just wished they’d disappear.” You took a gulp, “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the family and I like that I have a cause but . . . they don’t let me do anything. It’s exhausting,”

   You let out a long breath and smeared the condensation from the glass onto your chest. Rumlow studied you then, not just your body but your reaction. He was watching how you dropped your shoulders at the confession and how you faced your back to them to block them out. 

   You plastered your torso on the countertop and tried to slow your heartrate down. You couldn’t be the only one here unfathomably hot.

   “Why is it so fucking hot?” You questioned, fanning yourself weakly.

   “There are a lot of people around,” Rumlow offered, “how about we go somewhere else? Tony did say you had to change,”

   You peered up at him through half-lidded eyes and meekly groaned in compliance. “Fine,”

   You lifted yourself away from the counter and gently placed your feet on the floor. You’d touched the ground faster than anticipated. Had the ground always been so close?

   “Don’t worry, I gotcha.” Rumlow threw an arm around your waist and helped you trudge towards the elevator.

   Where the hell are you going? Bucky yelled and the sound of shuffling could be heard from his end.

   We can’t let you leave with Rumlow, Y/N. We’re not even sure you’re acting anymore, Sam stated.

   Rumlow pressed the button when you couldn’t muster the strength to do it yourself. The level that your room was on lit up and the doors began closing. You thought you saw Rumlow wave at someone but the mock smile on his face didn’t make it seem like a warm good-bye.

   Your legs had all but given out by the time the elevator reached your shared floor. 

   “Heavy,” you muttered, letting Rumlow carry your weight fully.

   “I know, Sugar. We’re almost there,” he soothed and you conceded to the fatigue wearing you down.

   Your head hung low and your arm dangled uselessly at your side. The familiar sound of your door sliding open caught your attention but you did nothing. You couldn’t. 

   “How . . . know . . . my room?” You questioned, each word causing you to pull from an empty well of energy.

   “I’ve been here before.” Rumlow tossed you onto the bed and sprawled you out.

   “Oh. Ok.” You tried to turn on to your side but strong hands gripped down onto your ankles.

   Rumlow sighed and slipped the heels off your feet, examining the pair like he wanted to wear them. You extended your feet until you felt every muscle in your leg stretch to its capacity and let out a groan of pleasure at the release. Those shoes hurt so bad.

   “You seem . . . intelligent, Y/N.” Rumlow dropped your shoes onto the floor and slithered to the side of your bed, standing beside it with his hands tucked into his pockets.

   A bead of sweat trickled down your forehead, “Hot . . .” you croaked and he nodded.

   “You’re right. It is getting kind of hot.” He brought a hand up to his neck and ripped off the tie hanging around it.

   Get the fuck out of my way, a growl erupted in your ear.

   We’re going with you, Buck, Steve responded before knocking something over.

   “So, what I have a hard time understanding is. . . why you’re here?” 

   You groaned a weak ‘huh’ but even that didn’t sound right.

   “You’re good at what you do, you finish every mission successfully and yet you’re underappreciated.” He took a seat at the foot of your bed and placed one of your legs into his lap, “Why do you allow them to treat you like that? We wouldn’t,”

   The shuffling in your earpiece halted.

   “We?” 

   He began to massage your calf and brought your knee up to his lips, peppering light kisses on it. “We could use someone with your skillset, babe. We’d take real good care of you,”

   The shuffling started again.

   Rumlow had made his way onto your thigh at this point and you let out an involuntary moan when he skimmed over a delicate part on your inner knee.

   “Ya like that?” he questioned but didn’t wait for a response. He brought a hand up to his temple and grabbed the earpiece. You figured he just hadn’t taken it out from his earlier shift but when he pulled it apart, you understood why he always kept it on him.

   “Flash . . . drive earpiece?” Your weak tone tilted a little. “W-why tell . . .”

   “I figured I’d give you the option to leave since you seem so . . . suffocated. If you said yes tonight then I would remind you tomorrow. If you didn’t,” he chuckled, “well, you wouldn’t remember anyway.” His hands trailed to your mid-thigh and you squeaked. “I’m impressed though, I’ve never given anyone else as much as I’ve given you tonight. The drug usually works so quickly on others, but not you. It’s kind of hot, actually,”

   Sick fuck, Natasha growled through a ragged breath.

   The world around you was slow or maybe it was you that was slow? You couldn’t tell, honestly. But when Rumlow moved as if he could predict your actions before you could make them, you wondered whether you were moving at all.

   “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon,” Rumlow sighed.

   You shook your head, or thought you did but despite the way your body was live-wired, it remained still against all desire. 

   Fight. Move. 

   You managed to push your legs shut but his hand slithered between and spread them open similar to opening a door, but this required much less force.

   “Kill,” You threatened and the sinister smile that crawled its way onto Rumlow’s face was vile enough to sink your heart into your stomach.

   “Kill is fucking right.” Someone snarled and your door was ripped from its hinges.

   Rumlow’s hand jerked away from your body and Bucky seized his open palm, intertwining their fingers and pushing Rumlow’s so far back that they touched the back of his own hand. The cracks were sickening onto themselves but had you not been so weak you would’ve turned from the sight altogether. You really couldn’t fathom how his fingers were still attached at all.

   “Lay another hand on her and you won’t be able to use it again.” Bucky spit.

   Despite Rumlow’s pain, the sinister smile remained sprawled on his face, “You should’ve heard the noises she made,”

   Bucky’s grip tightened and the bones in his palm broke next, “I did,”

   Natasha flew in right behind Barnes but completely dismissed the two and headed straight for you with a needle in hand. Your eyes shifted from the needle to Nat’s face and back again until she stabbed it into your upper arm. Ouch. 

   “Wha-”

   “Shh,” Natasha hastily hushed, “Keep your strength, you should be back to normal soon,”

   Steve came behind Nat and scooped you up to lead you out of the havoc going on in the room. Nat turned her focus to Bucky and reached over to grab the earpiece from Rumlow. Who knows if his nose will ever heal back normally. You held one finger in the air as Steve stepped over the splintered door.

   “Goddamit, Y/N,” Steve huffed, jogging towards the elevator and pressing the floor that led to the infirmary.

   “We won,” you croaked out, a small smile on your face and Steve shook his head.

   “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” 

   Steve looked you up and down for bruises but couldn’t find any and you promised you weren’t lying to him when you told him Rumlow did not get very far in his ‘advances�� at all. You had to swear the mid-thigh was the worst that it came to. 

   Bruce was the one that took a few blood samples and made sure everything was reversing back to normal. Apparently, as soon as Rumlow took you to the bar Tony handed Banner the shot glass that Rumlow gave you and Banner ran analysis on it. The cure was pretty easy to find.

   After being given strict orders to lie down for the next hour or so, it had been decided that Rumlow was to be turned in considering all the evidence required to make the arrest was in the flashdrive and everyone was to gather together for a ‘family night’. Whatever the hell that meant.

   You were in the middle of debating which movie to pick with Steve when the infirmary doors flew open.

   “Where is she?” Bucky nearly shouted upon seeing Bruce.

   “That’s my cue.” Steve stood up just as Bucky rounded the corner, “If you need anything me and Banner will be right over there,”

   You smiled and thanked him then turned your attention to the super-soldier who just arrived at the foot of your bed.

   He didn’t say anything for a while, just looked at you. No, not really. Not at you but through you. A few painstakingly slow seconds went by that way.

   “You owe me a new door,” you joked, a half-smile on your face.

   “Are you okay?” He asked, finally registering your presence.

   You nodded slowly, “I am,”

   Then a few more seconds.

   Bucky turned his gaze down to his hands, both of them barren and on display for the world to see, before shifting his weight between either foot, “Did he- did he touch you?”

   “Not really. Just really liked my legs for some reason,” your attempt at another quip didn’t reach Bucky. He stared back up at you waiting for an answer, an honest one. You sighed, “The damage is more mental,” you admitted, now you were the one not able to look up, “I didn’t like being in this altered state of mind. It’s invasive and . . . scary. He could’ve done things, much worse things but it never got that far or that bad. It was more realizing that I wasn’t completely conscious or present and having that state of mind be taken advantage of, that mostly frightened me. Ya know?”

   “More than anyone,” he answered immediately.

   You looked back up towards him, finally making eye contact, “But I’m fine now, really. Just a little spooked. Steve wants to do a movie night tonight and I would actually prefer that over being alone.” Your eyes fixated on the way his hands clenched and unclenched on the bar by your feet, “If I’m alone then I’ll get stuck in my head about it. Besides, I consider this a hard victory with a few bumps in the road,” 

   He chuckled, lulling his head a bit, “You’re too stubborn for your own good,”

   You shrugged, “Maybe. How’s Rumlow?”

   Bucky hissed and moved over to the side of the bed where he took a seat, “He’s unconscious. And has a hand that he’ll never be able to use again. But other than that, he’s fine,”

   You chuckled and Bucky watched how the laugh met your eyes. He liked that look on you. It was one of his favorites.

   “Why are you looking at me like that?” You questioned once it fell silent between you two again.

   “You called me Bucky earlier,” he remembered.

   You scoffed, “I call you Bucky all the time,”

   “Not to my face,”

   “Not to your face,” you agreed, a teasing smile dancing on your lips and Bucky had one that mirrored yours. 

   “It was nice. Hearing it, I mean,” he admitted and a wave of warmth made its way to your face.

   “I see your hands are exposed,”

   He looked down as though he weren’t aware that he’d taken off his own gloves, “These bad boys? A friend of mine reminded me that I’m not my past. I’m my present. Why hide my growth?”

   You twiddled your thumbs together, “She sounds smart,”

   Now he scoffed, “Oh, it wasn’t a girl, it was some old buddy of mine.” He quirked up a brow, “Unless the person being a girl would make you jealous because in that case it was most definitely a girl,”

   You fought against the natural tug at the corners of your mouth, “Is she at least pretty?”

   “Stunning,” 

   “Smart?”

   “Genius,”

   “Good at her job?”

   “Amongst the best,”

   “Then consider me jealous, Barnes,”

   Bucky chuckled and you watched how the laugh met his eyes. You liked that look on him. It was one of your favorites.

[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​

[toosicktoocare]

AU where the Avengers don’t know that Spider-Man is Peter Parker just cuz

inspired by a fantastic ask about concussions from @carley-carley-carley (hope it’s okay that I tagged you!)

“Young man? Young man, are you alright?” 

Grunting, Peter drags his head away from the insistent tapping against his cheek, an almost rhythmic, steady pressure that jerks up his temple to spread across his forehead. The pressure isolates to the base of his skull, where the pounding seems to be at it’s worst, and it holds ground there, pulsing uncomfortably. 

“Young man, you fell from a four-story apartment building.” 

Peter’s brows furrow at this. He wants to object because he’s Spider-Man, and a fall like that is minor compared to the novel of inuries he’s suffered alongside the Avengers. He opens his mouth to do just that, to explain to this woman that this is nothing, that he’ll walk it off, but a pricking senstation hot against the back of his neck hotwires to his eyelids, forcing them open. 

He’s aware of two things: One, the woman leaning over him is far too close, and she’s doubling and tripling before him, going in out of focus against his blurry eyes. Despite hazy around the edges, she looks concerned, if the deep-set wrinkles etched into her forehead are anything to go by. Two, there’s a small crowd surrounding him, and while Peter’s not particularly claustrophobic, right now, it feels like each body is pushing against his lungs, and his stomach. When the hell did he start feeling so nauseous? 

“Young man, do you know what day it is?” 

No, Peter thinks flatly to himself. He really doesn’t. He could dig through his mind, eager to push out logic, work through his mental calendar that operates soley around when homework assignments are due, but there’s a solid rock of pulsing pain blocking all normal, brain functioning. “Monday?” he tries weakly. He’s faintly aware that his own voice sounds hollow and distant, but more so, he’s distinctly aware of the saliva pooling in his mouth, a copper taste that coats against his tongue. 

Peter didn’t think it was possible, but the woman somehow frowns deeper at him, and she climbs to her feet, body rigid. He supposes it’s not Monday after all. 

“Call an ambulance! He’s concussed.” 

Peter shoots forward into a sitting position, and the pain in his head bursts like a balloon. The redistributed pressure is blinding, and Peter drops his face into his cupped hands with a low groan that threatens to bring more than just air up his throat. 

He wants to assure them that a hospital isn’t necessary, that his enhanced healing defies medical science, but when the white light coating his vision dies down to an unsteady sway of darker, blurring colors, he only sees scraped up palms before him, not gloves. He rips his hands away, and one, quick look down shows that he’s sporting a blue NASA hoodie and blue jeans and that he’s definitely not wearing his signature red and blue Spider-Man suit he thought he had on. 

The hell? 

He glances to see his backpack beside him, thankfully still zipped up and intact. He tries to wrack his brain, briefly craning his neck up toward the rooftop he assumes he fell from, only to quickly jerk his gaze back down when the setting sun seems to shine past his eyes to burn at his skull. He can’t remember why he was up there in the first place, especially since he’s in civilian clothing. He can’t remember much of anything, now that he dwells on it. 

“Young man, by all accounts, you should be dead.” 

Peter makes to reply, his clenched jaw unhinging almost painfully, but a different, probing jolt sparks up his spine to the back of his neck, and he’s climbing to his feet, pale, wobbly, just as two, new voices somehow carry over the wall of chatter around him. 

“What’s going on?”

“Make way. Crowds typically mean one of two things: some weird alien contraption that equals bad news or a dead body, either of which I can’t really fit into today’s schedule.”

Even if Peter didn’t have the two voices memorized, down to the timbre, the sudden, loud squealing from the crowd of “Tony Stark!” and “Captain America!” is enough to have him eyeing for a quick exit, determining if he can duck his way through the pressing bodies. 

“This young man fell from the roof!” 

“So,” Tony draws out, his voice growing closer. “Dead body it...” He trails off as he nudges around a few people until he’s breaking into the center of the circle with Steve hot on his heels. 

“Well, hello there, not dead person.” 

Peter wants to shrink away from Tony’s gaze. He wants the ground to crumble and break and swallow him hole, to rid himself of the awkward fear and warm embarrasment that flushes his cheeks. He can feel a thick, lukewarm liquid dripping down his neck, and he doesn’t want to look down to see the concerning pool of blood at his feet. 

“Son, are you alright?” Steve shoves forward, and on instinct, Peter backs away and brings a hand to the back of his neck, a nervous tick, but he pulls it back almost immediately, faintly frowning at the splattered red coloring his palm. 

“You fell,” Tony starts, and Peter knows this tone well as it’s Tony’s signature speculation tone, where he dissects the situation around clipped, short sentences. 

“From up there?” 

Leveling his gaze, Peter huffs out a shaky sigh, wincing slightly as Steve prods lightly at the back of his head. 

“Um, yeah. I guess?” 

“You guess?” 

“I don’t really remember,” Peter laughs awkwardly, clears his throat. He can sense the tension that builds behind him, can almost feel the way Steve’s muslces grow rigid. 

“He’s concussed, Tony. Maybe save the interrogation for another time?” 

“Sure,” Tony says, and he steps forward, carefully avoiding the puddle of blood. “But, you can’t blame me for finding this entire situation unsettling, Steve. This kid fell from the roof of a four-story building, landed on his back, and now he’s standing, and aside from the fact that he looks a tad worse for wear, he’s alive?” 

“I’m right here,” Peter mutters under his breath, and Tony nods and crowds too close to him. 

“You are. Standing. Speaking. Alive. Three things that don’t exactly pair well with falling off a roof.” 

Peter’s head hurts, bad. Deflect, he thinks. But how? “I’ve always been told I come from a family of hard heads,” he mumbles around a hollow laugh, and, he thinks, it definitely sounds as stupid out loud as it did in his head. 

Tony’s gaze, in response, his sharp, and narrow, and Peter unconsciously closes his eyes. He can feel the ground rippling below his feet, and he sways, steadying only when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

“Enough, Tony.” 

“How much would it take to get you to come back to our labs so I can run some tests-”

“-Enough, Tony.”

Steve’s voice vibrates all across Peter’s body. It’s a powerful yet familiar feeling that makes him shudder slightly. 

“What’s your name, son?” 

Peter contemplates lying, maybe even using Ned’s name. But, he’s been careful as Spider-Man thus far, so, he thinks, he’s not at risk by sharing his real name. Besides, it’s not like it’s uncommon. “Peter,” he says after a moment. 

He could hear Steve talking beside him, but an unannounced rush of blood in his ears begisn to drown out close sounds. He grows hot suddenly, or maybe, he’s been getting steadily hotter this entire time and he couldn’t fully realize. His body’s shaking a little harder now, inconsistent trembles jerking his limbs. His throat’s tightening, and when he realizes what the hell is happening, he’s shoving away from Steve and hunching over to vomit. 

He feels worse when he finishes. He’s exhausted, and his head is positively throbbing. Yet, there’s a color of clarity flicking across his mind. Through the thick pain, he can think a little clearer, see a little clearer. 

“Peter?” 

“Gross, kid. Time to go to the hospital.” 

“No!” Peter whips around, staggers, and unconsciously reaches out to Steve’s arm for support. “I mean, that’s not necessary,” he clarifies at the two, wide expressions looking at him expectantly. “Really. I’m already feeling better.” To punctuate his point, he lets go of Steve’s arm and bends down to snag his backpack, clutching it close to his chest. “See, totally fine. No passing out or anything.” 

On the back of his head, he can already feel his broken skin moving, closing torn gaps, slowing the bloodflow. He figures he’s got about an hour until it’s completely healed, and he’d rather not be around two Avengers when it happens. 

“I’ll just go home and... rest! I’ll rest. Scout’s honor.” He mock salutes, and then he spins on his heel and starts pushing his way out of the crowd, missing the furrowed gaze from Tony. He swallows thickly when he hears two sets of heavy footsteps behind him. 

“Peter, wait!”

“I’m with Steve on this one, kid. I can’t, in good conscience, let you disappear in this condition. I can see the headlines now. Iron Man Abandons Helpless Teen.” 

“Tony...”

Peter keeps walking ahead, keeps his gaze locked to the sidewalk below him as Tony and Steve take either side of him. “My apartment’s just a few blocks from here,” he mumbles, focusing on the rhythmic pound of his shoes on concrete and not on the hot pain pushing all across his head or on the fact that he can’t shake a couple of Avengers, something he’d never consider as Spider-Man. 

“Do you not like hospitals, Peter?” 

Steve’s question is a gentle prod, and Peter goes with it, shrugging. 

“Not really,” he offers, keeping his voice low, indicating he doesn’t want to pursue the conversation, and luckily, Steve takes the bait and drops it. At least, Peter thinks, they’ll stop insisting he seek out medical assistance now. Though, he does feel a little bad lying to Steve; he doesn’t like lying, unless it’s to egg on Tony’s nerves as Spider-Man. But to Steve? It feels morally wrong, and he thinks he should seek out a confessional for his sins later. 

“Not interested in having a bunch of doctors deem you a medical miracle?” 

“Definitely not,” Peter groans, finally dragging his gaze up until he’s looking forward and not at the scuff marks on his shoes. His memories, though fuzzy, are filtering through cracks in the thick mud that’s currently his mind. He can remember standing atop the roof, maybe a little too close to the edge. He was getting ready to rip open his backpack for his suit, and then he remembers losing his footing. He remembers the back of his foot hitting the edge of the roof, and everything goes dark after that. 

Embarrassing, he thinks. He’s the only super hero he knows clumsier than a newborn deer. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize he’s reached his apartment until his leg muscles are dragging to a stop on habit. He looks up, craning his neck, and sighs. “Well, this is me. I appreciate the escort, but I’m good now.” He starts up the steps, sighing louder when he hears the two follow. 

He makes it all the way up the steps to his apartment door and unlocks it before he spins on his heel, a second, longer sigh pushing past his lips. “Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but don’t you both have... bigger things to do? Iron Man and Captain America things?” 

“You busy, Steve?” Tony asks, and Steve mutely shakes his head before following Tony into the apartment. 

Groaning, Peter rubs at his forehead and shuffles inside, knowing full and well that both are incredibly busy on an hour-to-hour basis. He’s quick to slip his bacpack into his bedroom and close the door before he steps back out into the living room to see Steve motioning toward the couch with a pack of frozen peas in hand. 

“It’s all you had.” 

Shrugging, Peter drops down flat onto the couch, sitting up briefly so Steve can slip the bag of frozen peas behind his head. He shivers on contact because shit, it’s freezing, and Steve’s reaching over him to snag the blanket draped behind the couch. He hums absently when Steve tucks it around him, and then he cracks an eye open to see Tony staring down childhood pictures with a familair set of glasses on. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

“Huh?” Tony whips around, already plucking the glasses from his face. 

“Really, Tony? How much info is FRIDAY feeding you right now?” 

“What?” Tony drags out, both hands raised in defense. “Kid fell off a roof and walked away. Sue me.” 

“I promise, Mr. Stark, I’m not even remotely interesting,” Peter tries, and Tony raises a single brow his way. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” 

Peter’s kept his identity tightly under wraps thus far, and he knows childhood pictures or pictures with May aren’t going to reveal that he’s Spider-Man. Still, it’s annoyingly intrusive, and he sits up with a groan. 

“If I swear on my best friend’s lego model death star that I’ll stay put, rest, and wake up every few hours to monitor my condition, will you both please leave? You really don’t need to hang around here; I know you both have to be really busy.” 

“Your best friend has a lego model death star?” Tony starts, isolating that one fact. “Is your best friend in second grade?” 

Peter clambers to his feet, stalks over to his door, and yanks it open. “We’re the same age, and I happily helped him with it,” he challenges, motioning toward the doorway. 

“Easy, champ,” Tony says around a laugh as he and Steve start toward the door. “If you and your friend want to play with legos, that’s none of my business. Just try not to fall off any more roofs because, unfortunately, that is my business.” 

“Yes, sir,” Peter says, offering a nod as the two step out. 

“Consider going to a hospital, Peter,” Steve adds. “Maybe take your friend with you for comfort.” 

Yeah right, Peter thinks. Ned can’t even handle the thought of a needle without feeling faint. Still, he nods, if only to appease Steve, and then he’s closing the door and sinking against it with a low sigh. He listens for a long time until he can no longer make out their footsteps, and then he’s ignoring the pressure in his head and running to his room to don his suit. 

Concussion or not, Queens still needs the friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man.

[ddaeng-danvers]

dreams

pairing: anakin skywalker x reader

genre: fluff

summary: in which you and anakin are padawans, and a night of braiding each other’s hair leads to something more

warnings: the absolute briefest mention of smut, mentions of anxiety

word count: 2258

a/n: i’ve never written for star wars so i apologize for any inconsistencies, and i’m newly back to writng in general so this is kind of a mess (and unedited btw) also!! this was inspired by @passable-talent​ ‘s anakin padawan headcannon!! go check out their works they are all so fantastic!!

masterlist

You open your eyes when you hear the sound of a lightsaber retracting. The blue of Anakin’s saber is gone, and you turn to your side and switch your green one off as well. Anakin is practically laying on top of you, having just pinned you while training. His knees are on either side of your hips, and his face only inches from yours. 

“Gotcha,” Anakin smirks. You laugh from underneath him, before playfully pushing him off. 

“I let you win, y’know. I don’t think your ego could take another defeat.” You chuckled back as you stood from the floor. Anakin stands up a moment later, laughing at your commentary. The two of you spent almost all of your free time together, as you were almost the same age, although you had joined the order far before Anakin. 

Your parents were told you were force sensitive at a young age and were quite willing to send you for training when you were of age. You met Anakin when you were eight. He suddenly joined your group of younglings and was a bit old to begin training. You and your peers helped catch him up to speed, and the two of you became the best of friends, despite your differences. Anakin is rash, quick-thinking, and sometimes quite the show-off. You, on the other hand, have always been the rule follower. You also exceed far more in technique, while Anakin’s power with the force is unprecedented. You were thirteen when you finally passed the initiate trials and were assigned a master, Shaak Ti. Anakin was assigned to a master two years earlier due to his gifts; Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. You didn’t see him much when he left, so you were elated to train with him again when you became a padawan. 

One of your favorite memories as a young padawan was your journey to Ilum with Shaak Ti to obtain your lightsaber crystal. It was one of the things that fascinated you most as a youngling. Shaak Ti had told you that during the ritual it was likely you would see visions, hallucinations, while you mediated. Still confident, you practically dove into the ritual to assemble your lightsaber. One of the lasting memories you have of the experience is a vision of you and Anakin on Naboo. The vision has become blurry with time, but all you can remember is Anakin in a black cloak standing in the doorway watching the sunset. Faintly at the end of the vision, a child seemed to start crying, and Anakin quickly turned around to resolve the crying child. You’ve treasured this vision in secret for seven years. 

“Hey, you okay?” Anakin lays his hand softly on your shoulder, you must’ve been lost in thought. 

“Yeah, I’m alright, just thinking,” Anakin observes your expression, puzzled. 

“Want to tell me what you’re thinking about?” He asks. He squeezes your shoulder lightly before rubbing his thumb against your skin. It is then that you realize how sweaty you are from training. You smile up at him again. 

“I promise I’m alright, Ani.” You saved his nickname for sincere moments. Moments where the conversation is devoid of sarcasm and joking. The first time you used the nickname was the first time you returned from a mission seriously injured. Anakin panicked, almost sliced the medical droid in half until you reassured him, “I’m alright Ani, it’s just a broken arm, I’ll be fine.” You could practically feel his Force signature release and uncoil. 

The sweat and exhaustion from training seem to seep into your skin and bones. The light tunic you are wearing is practically soaked through. Anakin doesn’t seem to be faring much better. You reach to comb your hands through your hair and feel a light tug at the top of your braid. It must be time to rebraid it. 

About once a year, a padawan’s braid must be rebraided and tightened. This is done until a padawan graduates to the role of Knight when it is cut off with a lightsaber in a ritual ceremony. You and Anakin have made a small tradition out of braiding each other’s hair. You always do it together in one of your quarters, just the two of you. You both make an effort to meditate after, but you are both (Anakin at the very least) generally unsuccessful. 

“I need to tighten my braid.” Anakin looks up at you as you pinch the braid between your fingers. You can see the loose top of his braid because of his short hair. His needs to be rebraided too. 

“And it seems I do as well.” He looks at you again with a smile. Everything about him seems to be smiling. “Do you want to do it tonight?” He asks eagerly. You smile back and nod. 

“Sure, but we both need to hit the refresher first.” You laugh. Anakin lets out a light scoff at your observation. “I’ll meet you in your quarters in an hour, Skywalker.”

Your time in the refresher gives you time to think. When you first met Anakin, you were peers. That relationship eventually developed into an everlasting friendship. You were inseparable through your training and all of your padawan-ship thus far. Obi-Wan was practically your master as well. But weren’t attachments discouraged by the order? Wouldn’t they have separated you if they thought you weren’t following the Code? These questions nagged at you as you undressed and stepped into the shower. 

You’d felt differently towards Anakin ever since your journey to Ilum. Like something was pulling you towards him as if the Force willed it. It wasn’t until around age sixteen you noticed something had changed. Anakin had gotten taller, his face filled out, and his training bulked him up just the right amount. You’d catch yourself staring at him for as long as possible during debriefs with the Council, and after missions. But you willed these feelings away. You couldn’t form an attachment with Anakin, your friendship was already on the fence. It was forbidden. 

You drowned these thoughts away as you finished washing your hair. After finishing in the shower, you dried your hair and dressed in a loose shirt and night pants. As you stepped out of the refresher into the main room of your quarters, you glanced at the holo to see an hour had flown by. You quickly slipped on shoes and made your way to Anakin’s quarters. 

When you arrived, you let yourself in, assuming he would already be changed. Anakin, 

who always seems to prove you otherwise, was wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitting pants. His back (his toned and muscular back) was turned to you. You cleared your throat loudly to alert him of your presence. He turned around to face you.

“Oh, I already knew you were in here.” He smirks. Another one of Anakin’s hobbies; teasing you. He slipped a black tunic of his own on, and moved to sit on the bed. Before sitting next to him, you grabbed a comb and a few pieces of twine to retie along with your braids. You set them out lightly in front of him, before motioning for him to sit in front of you. 

“I’ll do yours first.” Anakin settles at the foot of the bed, and you begin to untie his braid. Nothing about these nights were sexual. You were simply braiding his hair. But anyone who walked in could cut the tension with a knife. Your hands moved swiftly through his hair, occasionally brushing against his neck and collarbone. Every time you did, you felt Anakin inhale slightly. You’d always finish Anakin’s braid quickly, likely due to your skill of elaborately braiding your own hair for missions and other events. (Also because Senator Amidala made it her mission to do your hair at any chance she received.) You tied sections off with light-colored twine and weaved the new braid through your fingers. “Good as new.” 

Anakin silently begins to work on your braid, but something in his eyes looks different. He looks at you with a new fondness. Softness even. He pulls the rest of your hair back with an elastic and begins to undo your loose braid. He combs his fingers through the unbraided hair. “Your hair is soft.” He mumbles, shyly. You never thought you would see the Anakin Skywalker acting shy.

“I washed it earlier, after training.” Anakin nods, thoughtfully. He begins to braid the hair, his fingers grazing your neck every once in a while. It took Anakin a bit of practice when he first learned to braid, you remember fondly. It seemed to be the only thing that stumped him as a young padawan. So much so that Obi-Wan had to help him for the first few years without you. He finished the braid silently and tied new pieces of twine around the braid. He left his hand to rest on your shoulder, before slowly moving it to your cheek. You looked up at him in shock. Anakin was always quite touchy, likely a result of his childhood, but he’s never been this upfront. 

“Ani, what are you-” He combs his hand through the rest of your hair, before putting it back down in his lap. He looks confused, anxious. Your thoughts from the refresher seem to come back. Seeing Anakin like this seemed to awaken something in you. You knew you have always cared for Anakin. You’d been there through all his injuries, through the passing of his mother. He held you when you’d missed your parents when you agonized over the future. But you’d never assumed you could be more than what you were. It was forbidden. You’d been taught to avoid forming attachments, as they always led to suffering. 

But tonight, on the soft sheets of Anakin’s bed, having just rebraided each other’s hair, sitting in your nightclothes, you said to hell with it. You believed in the Code, truly and wholeheartedly. When you were with Anakin, you felt nothing but peace and serenity. Anakin made you a better person, a better Jedi. You balanced each other out more than you could alone.

You reached for his hands, fidgeting in his lap. As you intertwined your fingers, Anakin looked up from his hands. “Credit for your thoughts?”

Anakin seemed to gather himself for a moment. He tightened his grip around your hands, before releasing them and placing his hands on your cheeks. He glanced at your lips for less than a second. He leaned in suddenly and brought his lips to yours. 

The kiss was brief, but Anakin’s smile as he pulled away from you shined brighter than any sun in the galaxy. “I never thought you’d feel the same way. You were raised here, and I just assumed you wouldn’t agree with forming-” You cut him off by kissing him again. You leaned your foreheads against one another, catching your breath as the tension in the room floated away. 

As you told Anakin of your vision on Ilum, he told you of his dreams, the ones of you dying the same way as his mother. He told you he was petrified of losing you. “We should tell the Council Anakin, it may be serious.” He looked at you in agreement. 

“I agree, my love, but can’t it wait until morning.” The sun had set completely since you came back into his room, the Coruscant skyline lit up by speeders and homes. You sighed and looked back up at Anakin. 

“Fine, but you must tell them, this is serious, Ani.” Anakin nods again, before placing a chast kiss on your lips. You spend the rest of the evening under his sheets, celebrating the love you have finally accepted. The attachment you have finally pursued. 

Obi-Wan opens the doors to Anakin’s quarters, expecting him to be awake by now. It is not until he senses another familiar presence in the room, that he realizes what he has walked in on. His padawan and his dear friend, sleeping peacefully in Anakin’s bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms. As Obi-Wan closes the door silently, he makes his way to Master Shaak Ti’s quarters to collect twenty credits. 

After collecting his bet, Obi-Wan makes his way to the Council to discuss an upcoming mission. “I sense, seen something, you have, Obi-Wan.” Obi-Wan's expression turned surprised. How had Master Yoda known? “No fear, gift from the force, this is. Prevented a dire fate from your padawan, it has.” Obi-Wan sighed, his padawan’s secret is safe. “The Force works in mysterious ways, Obi-Wan. Sometimes a gift from the force, attachments are.”

You wake up before Anakin. It seems sometime through the night, he removed his shirt. You knew he ran hot at night, which is the likely explanation. You press a soft kiss to his jaw and he begins to stir. “Good morning, Ani.” 

“Good morning, my love. Sleep well?” You nod and continue to pepper kisses along his jaw. A bout of silence goes by until he begins to speak again. “I dreamt of you, actually.”

You smile, “Tell me about it.” Anakin dives into describing his dream, which sounds eerily similar to your vision on Ilum. You let his story evelop you, and imagine a future with Anakin. A peaceful one, free of conflict or war. Maybe you’d settle on Naboo, or stay on Coruscant. Maybe you would have children, how many can be decided later. All you know now is that any future with Anakin is one living for.

[knifesxedge]

hi love im deep in ur art blog for reasons and im SO in love with the fact that ur ghoul has his OWN nickname tattooed on him in party's writing they are SO 🥺 was wondering if you wanted to talk a bit more abt ghouls tattoos??? theyre just SO gorgeous and intricately laid out

HI i LOVE u i am KISSING u i would love love love to talk about ghoul’s tattoos 🥺❤️

^ yeah ghoul & party have each other’s handwriting tattooed!! for party it’s one of the only tattoos they have & it’s right over their heart (im sure ive mentioned this fact before but idk if ive explicitly noted that it says ‘sunshine’) and ghoul didn’t have the space to put his right over his heart because poison’s kj symbol is there so his is on his upper arm (they ARE soooooooo 🥺 i love them)

ghoul’s tattoos are a healthy mix of sentimental ink and things he just thought were beautiful. when he met the rest of the four he didn’t have THAT many tattoos because 1. he was 14 2. he’d only been in the zones for a little under a year and a half at that point but the ones he DID have (aka his oldest tattoos) were his knuckle tattoos (‘freed’ and ‘fuck’ what can i say he was 13), the big raven on his upper shoulder and neck (he started believing in the witch very early compared to other cityborns but yeah that tattoo was both a way of symbolizing his devotion to the witch and a way of marking himself as a killjoy/shedding his past in the city in the way that he considered clearest), the fangs on his hand, two bats on his leg, the zombie bite on the other side of his neck (i could get a little more into this but BASICALLY ghoul being an ex-crow trainee + a cityborn + being the only surviving member of his first crew had a problem with feeling inhuman and a lot of survivor’s guilt and so he really. idk he connected a lot with zombies & frankenstein’s monster and ghosts & the like when he was a runner for dr. d post-his crew’s deaths. he got better about Seeing Himself as a Person especially once kobra + the other two showed up but the fascination remained) (also not tattoo-related but that’s when he chose his name. before that he’d been called ‘sandpup’ by his old crew & he never had a chance to tell them before they passed but he really loved that they used that as a name for him especially with how much he didn’t want to associate himself with the city) (ghoul had A Lot of issues but the difference there is that he worked thru them a lot earlier than the rest of the four) and “I FORGIVE U” on the back of his neck (in remembrance of said former crew).

umm along with that kind of fascination with the undead/feeling that kind of connection are the frankenstein stitches on his wrists (tho thats more of a common hc) and he has this pretty big tattoo of abstracted bones following his vertebrae down his throat and chest that he’s gotten expanded/fixed/touched up over the years. ik i do a lot of b&w doodles but i feel like i’ve been kind of inconsistent about coloring (most of his tattoos are color). pretty sure ive mostly drawn them in green (???) but in my head they’re like a faded light blue using natural skin tone as highlights.

his more sentimental tattoos…let me see if i can outline them here. this might not be exhaustive but i will do my best to list what ive figured out at least thus far:

the two little bats on his right thigh are for his grandmother and little sister. his sister (juliet adele fujikawa, b. april 2009 d. december 2014) was killed in a car crash shortly before he left the city, and likewise, his grandmother (charlotte fujikawa [藤川 千尋] b. june 1936 d. december 2014) was “moved to retirement housing” at about the same time. that was pretty much the last straw & ghoul left battery city within the week

there’s his crewmates’ symbols on his chest (in order from his right to left: kobra, jet, party) (gotten when their crew had been together for a while. dating this one is based on a couple things: 1. ghoul had been with them for long enough that he felt secure 2. poison and ghoul were friends by this point, or else he wouldn’t have included their symbol and 3. poison’s is over his heart so you can read into that as you will)

text from the graffiti bible on his right calf, as protection for his crew & as a reminder of one of his former friends who was a droid that believed very strongly in destroya’s return

his raygun on his chest (he was pretty proud of the design! this was when he was ~15 or 16) that he had poison’s added to post-sing post-engagement pre-commitment ceremony (so. september 2023) (yes i have my handwritten timeline + my own drawings + my fics out in front of me rn cross-referencing sldkdksksbx!)

one of the girl’s childhood drawings (one she drew of him & her & the stuffed animal he made for her when she was a baby all having a tea party together) from when she’s about 5 or so on his right hip (december 2022 or so)

shooting stars on his upper right shoulder, partially because they’re pretty and blend well with his other tattoos and partially because they’re a reminder of a lot of things, including but not limited to his first night out in the zones seeing the stars for the first time, stories his grandma used to tell him, and right when he’d first joined the fab four and him & kobra sat on the roof during a meteor shower

besides the other one i already mentioned ^ he has more of poison’s handwriting on his left inner forearm — this is also one ive mentioned before but once they’ve been in a relationship for a while they get into the habit of leaving little love notes around for each other! there’s nothing particularly special specifically about the one he got tattooed, besides the fact that it reminded him of poison and they love each other. the text in full (which i don’t think ive ever put anywhere, though im pretty sure ive put fragments of it in fics and art) is as follows:

Good Morning baby <3! I needed new paints, went on a run. Kobra has the Girl @ the Crash Track, Jet’s at the station. call me when you wake up! I love you, be back soon. XO Party <3

he also has the anniversaries of when they started dating and their commitment ceremony (03•03•21 and 10•26•23 respectively) on the inside of his right wrist ^ !

he’s got a snake wrapping around his left leg that kobra picked out and a hand of cards with the ace of spades face up that jet picked out (and these ofc are because they remind him of his crewmates!!)

he has the phoenix witch tattooed on his ribs, left side, styled vaguely after catholic saints (since that imagery can still be found in the inner zones & especially where ‘joys who still practice that religion gather!)

there’s a version of the eye from the mailbox on his right shoulder, and this one is also a sort of symbol of protection/good luck, to show devotion to the witch and to help protect himself and his crew

the constellation libra on his left forearm! this one was done a little while after he started running transmissions and supplies for dr. d! he liked the connection that astrology — whether he believed in the practice or not is up for debate — gave people to the stars, and the feeling that he had a place in the universe, predestined or not

after charlie is born, he gets a portrait of her (~age 4) with her name and birthday underneath done on his left thigh! (~2036)

and on his lower back, he has a fairly simple tattoo of two crows on a wire with their beaks pressed together (aughhhhhh romance) that he gets done as an anniversary surprise for their 10-year (so. 2033)!

his non-sentimental tattoos are largely based off of images from books, either from dr. d’s collection when he was working as a runner for him or from cherri’s after he joined up with the fab four, or else they’re naturally occurring in the zones!! this includes but is not limited to: california golden poppies on the back of his left shoulder, strawberries around his left bicep (he doesn’t ever have a strawberry until he’s like 35, this one is absolutely based off of a particularly pretty illustration), a thundercloud with lightning on his left elbow, a moon on his right inner bicep, a ring of thorns around his right forearm right under the elbow, a dagger on his inner left calf, and a sun, small bat, cross, rose, ribbon (with the word ‘faith’ in script), and wing on his right forearm and hand, all picked from flash sheets

so yeah! that’s about everything i have to say about ghoul’s tattoos atm but ty ty ty sm for letting me ramble abt them i think about his tattoos so much 😔❤️

[maleksrami]

ORIGINAL → EDITED gif making process tag

I wasn’t sure if this was something anyone wanted to see from me specifically, but I’ve been tagged by @cuddlerlouis @ltwalls2020 and @finewalls to do it so!!! okay sure!!! 

LEFT: animated, cropped, resized from a 1080p video RIGHT: sharpened, colored, text added (optional)

Listen...I’ve been making gifs since the dawn of time. I think I first taught myself how to gif when I was 11 with Windows Movie Maker and a program called Paint Shop Pro 9 and the only social media that existed were fandom message boards. I’d have to manually screenshot the video frame by frame. Nowadays, (and for the last decade on tumblr) I’ve used KMPlayer to screencap and Photoshop CS3 to make the gifs because the “load files into stack” extension doesn’t work in my version of CS5 and that’s how I like to do it lol. My entire experience of making gifs on this site is still documented on my blog, and you can absolutely see how I’ve improved over the years and discovered my own style and stuck with it. But I am STILL constantly learning and adapting!!! so it’s quite fun. anyways, onward.

I load the screencap files into a stack. Then, I use an action I made myself of my basic giffing steps to speed up the process once my files are imported—make frames from layers, reverse frames, flatten frames into layers, set time delay to 0.04. Time delay is a personal preference but I like smooth gifs, especially when I have a lot of frames. I run this action before I crop so I can see exactly where my subject moves around and compare where they are in the first frame vs. the last frame, so I don’t accidentally cut them off somewhere when I crop. Once it’s cropped how I want, I run a sharpening action.

Then I color it from scratch! I used to be big on finding PSDs and altering them to fit the look I was going for, but I find that doing it yourself layer by layer is how you really learn about coloring. I specifically chose clips for this that were gonna need more editing than your average gif that is already well lit with a decent white balance (rip to every person who has ever filmed Harry and Louis but I’m different) so you can see the difference and how I work around inconsistent lighting or unstable concert footage with ever-changing colors and shadows. I usually go in the same order: 

curves - (I only JUST recently discovered what the eyedroppers in this tool can do for a gif’s white balance, so....*clown music*....glad I know that now) and do a minor adjustment to lighten the gif a tiny bit. 

levels - to further crisp up the black and white points and brighten 

brightness/contrast - ya know

selective color - I bump up the black in every gif to avoid any noise and this also helps lower the gif size by the time I save. it helps make a gif pop a little more and gives it some good contrast. Then I’ll fuss a bit with the red and yellows and take out any unwanted tones I don’t want like the blues/cyans in the background or the yellows in the original color grading (why the FUCK is the Lights Up video this way). BUT! This is not always necessary and there are times where it should be avoided. I included a gif of Rami here because I notice a lot of gif makers go ham on the selective coloring and brightening, that he’ll look pretty whitewashed in their final gifs because they take out a lot of reds/yellows and his skin loses color. so it’s important to pay attention to your subject’s skin tone especially if you’re giffing a POC, pay attention that your editing doesn’t wash their gorgeous skin out ok!!!! you can brighten a gif without brightening their whole being!!! moving on!!!!

color balance - this is a fun layer to play with and a very crucial step to how my final gif looks in terms of color. I gave the Lights Up video a reddish tone with this, but you could also go with more blue-ish look here too. 

text/captioning - I have my font settings saved as a PSD file so I just pull that up and drag and drop the text, and edit the layer to whatever my caption is. I’ve been using the same font settings for YEARS and I think that is one of the main things that differentiate your gifs from others is having your own style of captioning. It’s fun to experiment with this!

I might add a couple more brightness layers or a black and white gradient map set to soft light at a very low opacity!!! or play with the exposure tool!!! it depends on what I’m working on, but those are my basic steps!!!!! then I save them set to Pattern or Adaptive (whichever looks better) and that’s pretty much it :) i’m happy to answer any questions or help if you’re starting out!!! 

Idk who else has done this yet but I’m gonna tag some of my favorite gif makers in other fandoms to spread the love @summercohen @joewright @barrysberkman annnd @s-k-y-w-a-l-k-e-r  but no worries if you don’t wanna share all your tips and secrets, fam. We totally get it xx

[ashleaannya]

The 2200, Chapter 1

Everything for Kamiya started with a deep breath. She took a deep breath before writing her hit single “Marketplace,” an semi-autobiographical Indy rock ballad about how men (her exes) treated women’s bodies like a grocery store. It was a hit. “It resonated” was how Billboard described her riffs and runs about feeling like, quote, a “man’s meat market”, with no say in how she should be loved. That was five years, two Grammy’s and three tours ago. She still took a deep breath before approaching the microphone, before recording herself in the studio, and before giving her fans the BTS (Behind The Scenes) content her 35 million fans craved—no, demanded.

           “Let’s do this,” Kamiya said to her herself, breathing deeply and sitting on the goose feather bed in her presidential hotel suite. She adjusted her DSLR camera to better frame her upper body and flipped the lamps on the hotel suite’s end tables. The tripod creaked with newness as she made the micro-adjustments to get her and her hotel suite backdrop in perfect focus. It was a little dark, but it would fit the mood she was about to create for her fans.

           Her phone pinged and vibrated beside her as another thousand comments on her social media rang through. Text messages burst through as people who wanted her money, attention or both made their voices heard in all capital letters, exclamation points and emojis. Without looking away from the camera flip screen, Kamiya reached beside her and powered her phone off. She glanced over at her hotel door, looking at the silk and gold furnishings and designer dresses hanging on a rolling rack. Rows of flowers from athletes, and fellow musicians wanting to sleep with her wilted on a glass dining table designed to seat twelve. No one ever ate there. It was a reservoir for gifts and miscellaneous stuff. She lived in this room now. The floor of this hotel was more her space more than the three homes she paid ghastly mortgages. Kamiya’s eyes lingered on the cream colored double doors, making sure it was locked. What she was about to do would cause her team to beat her door off the antique hinges. By then it would be too late.

           The camera’s light flickered and then settled on a bright amber. Kamiya knotted her fingers in her lap seeing the word “REC” blink in the upper corner of the screen. It was time. She had already left written, detailed instructions for her manager, accounting team, design team, social media team, and news outlets she wanted to break the story. The courier would deliver her instructions in exactly one hour. The timing mattered. Her wishes were explicit and once her video aired, the necessary parties would have no choice but to honor her demands. There would be nothing to second-guess. The video especially would be very clear. She practiced how she would do it and even recorded herself doing mock versions of the act to make sure she would not loose her nerve.

           “You got this, Miya.”

           Kamiya also knew that nothing else “groundbreaking” would be going on in the social media sphere that would distract from her message. The good thing about being connected was other celebrities in her circle and members of famous teams (say a stylists or nanny) told her what dates to avoid. For example, when Kamiya’s second album was set to drop on Sept 1st, a friend of a friend whispered that she should not use that date because TMZ was about to report on an impending divorce. Divorces in her world were common enough, but this divorce was a megachurch pastor and there was digital evidence the break-up of his marriage was due to a transgendered mistress who had a massive social media following. Needless to say, she changed the date. Her album release would have been overshadowed and her release week would have been abysmal. She released a week earlier to the delight of her voracious following and debuted at number one on the Pop charts. The same connections would today make sure her choice went viral. This was her one life. She should get to live her life on her own terms. A tear fell down her cheeks, realizing that her freedom was on the other side of this post. She would have her body back, her mind, her music, her voice. Should she go live instead? That way people knew it was real.

           Kamiya jumped up off the bed and grabbed her laptop. She would record both. Just in case.

           “Hey guys,” Kamiya said, waving at the screen.

           The numbers in her Live Chat jumped from 300 to 3,000 to 2 million instantly. Kamiya swallowed. Her mouth was dry and her hands were damp with sweat. Texts jumped up on the bottom of the screen as her followers flooded the Live Chat with emojis, declarations of love, and sexual comments that would make a porn star blush.

           “Whoa, whoa, guys, this is going to be quick so I can’t answer a million questions right now—um, guys, whoa, um, no, no I can’t do a video chat with anyone. Thank you though that went bad last time,” Kamiya said, laughing awkwardly.

           She glanced up to make sure her camera was still recording. It was.

           “Ok. I have an announcement. I wanted to record it and make it all fancy, but my career started here, right?”

           Thumbs up emojis and hearts flooded the screen in unison. She smiled and tears pricked at her eyes, but she coughed and rubbed her eyes into her sleeves. People were commenting about how they had followed her since abandoned building days.

           “Wow, that’s a throwback. Um, for those who don’t know, let me explain all of the abandoned buildings comments.”

           Kamiya sat up and twisted her long curly extensions in around her fingers. She dug her nails into her spray-tanned legs, leaving pink nail marks. She was already black, but her team told her, going a shade darker would make her skin look even and was the ideal skin tone for her audience.

           “Ok. So most of the videos have been deleted because, well, I was fat then.”

           That comment was met with encouraging remarks and angry emojis. She felt relieved at that response. Then as if reading her mind, onscreen comments appeared. Some people were proud of her ‘healthy weight loss journey’. This pride flooded the comments. She ignored them. She was thin now with the dimensions of a doll, narrow waist and all. She ate 400 calories per day and had more cosmetic surgeries than a Kardashian. She was discrete about them and timed everything so it looked more believable, but nothing was healthy about her new body.

           “Um, yea. I actually started on social media for singing in abandoned buildings with my sister. She would record me singing in old churches and subways and other random places that were technically condemned but had great acoustics. That’s how I build my fan base and YouTube channel. A lot of people think it was from Marketplace, my first single, but I didn’t get attention until after my Abandoned Concerts page went viral or whatever.”

           The comments zoomed by so fast she could barely ready them. The emojis were all wide-mouthed shocked faces and then there were demands for her to post the old videos. Kamiya shook her head and laughed. She did not want to see her old body ever again. Kamiya froze seeing a familiar handle enter the Live Chat. It was @Camera_Cat, her sister. She was in the hotel lobby grabbing dinner and would likely be banging on her door at any moment. Everyone knew that Kamiya hated going live so Cat would be giving her the Catrina patent “WTF” face.

           “Okay, guys, real quick. I have an announcement,” Kamiya said, straightening her back and lowering her voice. She had to say this seriously or people would think she was playing a game. As you all know, I hate social media and, like, hardly ever post, because—well, let’s keep this all the way real, okay. You guys are trash.”

           Question marks and angry and shocked emojis flooded the screen at lightning speed. Kamiya smirked ready to drop every bomb in her arsenal before the grand finale.

           “Yes, you are. Half of you lie to yourself and to others every day and will never accomplish your dreams because you are inconsistent and talentless. There. Now you know.”

           Kamiya jumped hearing rapid knocking on her hotel room. She pulled her laptop closer and swallowed. She could hear her sister calling her name.

           “I don’t care if it hurts your feelings. It’s true. You aren’t loyal to yourself or your dreams so why should I expect you to be loyal to me or care about my mental health. I have done so much and sacrificed so much to make you bastards happy. I’m literally so damn lost right now I barely recognize myself. I hate having you guys around me.”

           Some of the comments were consolatory and others were curses and name-calling. Kamiya did not care. She was right and she would show them.

           “If half of you were forced to be honest about how jealous you are of my life before you could comment on my posts, you would never hate on me. You hate me because your dreams are dead and your work ethic is trash. Do you have any idea what I go through to be here. I’m supposed to be nice to you hateful bitches when you are all collective trash.”

           The banging on the door sounded like thunder. Muffled yelling echoed outside of the room. The voices were getting louder and Kamiya was glad the deadbolt was on because her sister and manager had keys to her room. Well, technically, they could access her room through the hotel app. The app could not work against a deadbolt and an old fashioned chain.

           “I’m being honest when I say I hate most of you. I wish you never heard of me. I wish I never shared my music with you. You don’t deserve me. I give so much to you people. You people who are supposed to be the woke generation. I hope you die alone.”

           Kamiya sat back and watching as the number of people watching her quadrupled. Screenshots of her and clips of her ‘rant’ would be viral in seconds. She smiled ready for the final blow.

           “Effective immediately, my social media is closed. My website is closed. My brands are closed. I am closed. You hear me? You no longer have access to me. You all have officially been fired from being my fans.”

           The word ‘no’ with about a hundred Os flooded the screen, followed by side-eye emojis and comments about her going crazy.

           “There is one exception,” Kamiya took a deep breath. “Moving forward, I am only accessible to 2200 loyal fans. I will hand select these people. If you look at my main page now, you will see that no one is following me and I am following no one. You will also notice that all of my posts are now gone. In one hour, my page will be private, so get your screen shots now. Yes, I’m talking to you Shade Room.”

           The number of people watching her, now exceeding the number of followers she had ever had on any platform. Tears pricked her eyes realizing she finally had their attention. The same question kept popping up: “How do I join the 2200?”

           “You don’t join. I choose you.”

           Kamiya slammed the laptop closed and fell backward on the overstuffed pillows of her European king bed. Phase one was complete. Now on to phase two.

[lenavonschweetz]

Deep End

Loki x S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Reader

Synopsis:  You don’t trust Loki.  You hate Loki, everything he stands for, and everything he does.  You are not becoming friends with him.  And you are most definitely not falling in love with him.

Warnings: tiny D.C. Cross over (whaaaat?) Talk of Mental Health/Distress, Depression, Angst, fluff, lil bit of Avengers Hate, Mind Control, foreshadowing of Infinity War (no spoilers though) that is tied in from the original Avengers film.

A/N: This doesn’t really follow the MCU timeline. I guess pretend that Odin got desperate and gave Loki to the Midguardians to handle for a bit while he caught up on that #OdinSleep.  Also, I saw a post a while back that really inspired this fic.  You should definitely check it out (and keep in mind that the blue and green eye color shifts in this fic are on purpose)  As always, I have no Beta. (If anyone wants to be my Beta, I would love you FOREVER) Let me know of any mistakes and I’ll fix them.

A/N/N: MY FIRST LOKI FIC!!!  Not sure how I feel about it, but it’s my first time exploring writing Loki as a character and I wanted to focus more on that than a huge, exhausting plot.  And it’s a beast. over 4,000 words (and an unnecessarily excessive amount of gifs)

 You didn’t want to admit it.  

You didn’t want to give him the power he so desperately wanted.

Yet here you were, handing it to him on a silver platter.

Loki Laufeyson was a snake, always has been, always will be.  But he knew who he was, which was more than you could say for yourself.

When the Avengers first brought him to your branch of S.H.I.E.L.D., you told everyone what a bad idea this was.  But no one listened.  Of course they didn’t.  Instead, they followed the advice of the foolish bunch that made up the team.  You didn’t understand how their words held so much weight.  They were people just like you, they made mistakes (a lot of mistakes) but because they were some overpowered assholes people bent to their whims left and right.

No one heeded what you had to say.

So when things started going wrong around the base, you had to bite your tongue from saying “I told you so!”  Nothing too extreme, no deaths or injuries, but you could tell the trickster was trying to amuse himself somehow.  You gathered that being held captive wasn’t exactly entertaining.

Loki’s magic was far stronger than any cage you could keep him in, that you knew for sure.  What you didn’t understand was why he didn’t just break out.  He could be free if he really wanted to, and you and your people wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop him.

You’d heard terrible things about him, about what’d he’d done both on your world and his own.  How he gleefully tortured humans before he was brought to justice in New York.  How he took advantage of his brother’s exile and all but doomed Asgard.  How, on many different occasions, he’d even tried to kill his brother and father.  Not his mother though... that bit stumped you.  There was definitely a monster painted in your mind when it came to Loki.

So when those great buffoons brought the Prince of Asgard to your people, your walls immediately shot up.  You prepared for day one to be absolute hell, having to wrangle Loki into a cell and keep him from trying anything.

Instead, what you got what a husk of a man, grey and weary, who was shoved unceremoniously into a cell to rot.  Everyone was ready to forget him.

A luxury you wish you shared.

But when you saw those sunken eyes and broken man, you wondered how the hell this was the infamous Chitauri leader who practically leveled New York City.  Something about him wouldn’t let you be.  Something about him begged to be discovered and damn it, you were never one to turn away from a mystery.

And a mystery he was.

Every time you saw him, you saw a different shadow of a man.  Sometimes he would terrify you, his smile stretching across his face in genuine enjoyment when he unsettled someone.  Others, he wept - openly, not giving a damn who saw him.  You couldn’t figure him out and it infuriated you.

Your superiors weren’t happy when you all but demanded to be assigned to Loki’s charge.  In fact, they were downright pissed.  Accused you of having some sick fascination with the murderous trickster.  ‘We don’t need another situation like Gotham.’  They hissed, and that was the last of that.  In your defense, you were never really good with authority.

But you were not Dr. Quinzel.  You didn’t lust after this man, or love him. 

You hated him and you wanted to figure out what made him tick.  That way you could crush him just like he’d crushed your world.

You’re careful as you try to weasel your way through the system and get yourself reassigned.  Lucky you, a rookie agent is overjoyed at the chance to get out of Loki’s charge.  He thinks you’re insane, but he doesn’t need to be asked twice.

You bide your time, exchanging small favors with the high ups of the department.  An overlooked disappearance here, a waived debt there.  You didn’t like it, but it was a means to an end.

And it was all worth it when you were finally placed as Chief Observation of the operation - in charge of keeping an eye and ear on Loki at almost all times.  The increased personal time between the two of you gives you plenty of time to notice strange ticks and inconsistencies in the Trickster’s behavior.  Even inconsistencies in his appearance.

You think you’re imagining it at first.  That it’s a trick of the light when his eyes sometimes look blue, sometimes green.  Sometimes his skin even looks duller than usual...almost, a sickly blue... You write it off as some of his distasteful magic tricks.

Your first several exchanges are useless.  An angry man throwing out hateful words.  He goads you, giving you absolutely nothing when you ask your questions, slowly trying to ease your way in.

Over the weeks your strained relationship doesn’t become any less hostile, but the routine seems to offer you both some sense of comfort.  On days you don’t have an encounter with him, you find yourself feeling a little out of sorts.

Even though he says horrid, dehumanizing things...days without his presence seem...odd.

You attribute it to his (probable) magic use on you.

The first time he shows you even an ounce of kindness, you’re shocked.  You don’t know how to take it, analyzing it from an emotionless standpoint - the one you’d trained so hard on.  What was his motive?  Did he think he could butter you up, get you on his side with false promises and Asgardian chivalry?  If he thought he had a read on you, he had another thing coming.

Passing months make your relationship feel odd.  You don’t like each other, that much is evident.  But you tolerate each other.  One could say you even look forward to your time together.  

Maybe it’s a sick perversion.

As time goes on, however, you worry that perhaps you understand him, maybe even identify with him.  You quickly shove that revelation to the side, doubling down on your combat training to work off some of the stress.

“It’s good to see you, pet,”  Loki says, voice soft and pleasant.  You wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but you did prefer days when he seemed softer.  Not just his tone of voice, but even the way he carried himself.  He didn’t seem so...sharp.

You had to put your guard up on high for days like these.

“Goodmorning, Loki.”  You greet, wearing a small smile.  The one he returns makes your heart flutter makes you suspicious.  “How was breakfast?”

“Tasteless, barely fit to be called a meal, but sustenance none the less.”  There doesn’t seem to be any malice in his words, but you won’t let him get the better of you.  A chuckle, mirthful, not aggressive.  “As usual.” Something changes in his face then.  A flicker of movement in his eyes, sorrow on his face. “I’m glad you’re here.”  He whispers.  “I wanted to talk to you.”

You wait with bated breath, unable to place the note in Loki’s voice that sounds as if he’s about to break.

“About?”

“I’m sorry.”

You’re not expecting that.  To be honest, you don’t even know what he’s apologizing for, but you’re not sure if he’s ever said those words in his entire life.  

“I...I have said things that...done things.”  He struggles with the word.  The way he gulps down his nerves is audible.  “Vile things.  Know that I am not typically all that loathsome. Though I do not deny that I do have perhaps a little too much fun with discourse.”  His smile is genuine, shy, and small. It takes him a moment to go on.  “I do not deserve your forgiveness.  I know it’s strange and unrequited - not like that -” He tacks on when you raise an eyebrow.  “But I have come to consider you...a friend.”

No.  No no no no no no no no no.  You should not.  You do not feel the same.  Feeling the same is a slippery slope, and you were. not. Harleen. Quinzel.  You would remain strong.  You would not fall victim to those beautiful green eyes and bad boy attitude. You. would. not.

“I do consider you a friend, Loki.”  Well, you tried.

You do your best to convince yourself that you’re lying to him, feigning friendship as a manipulation tactic.  It doesn’t help that he’s smiling at you like that.

You know it’s a lie.

So does he.

It still keeps you up at night.

“Goodmorning, Agent X.”  That sick smile crossed a pale, hardened face.  So it was one of those days.

“You know that’s not my name, Loki.”  You say as a way of greeting.  he merely shrugs, shackles clinking quietly against the desk where he was tethered.

“I know.  But why would I bother to learn the name of someone so abysmally insignificant when I can just call you whatever I’d like?”

“Charming.”

“I try, pet.”  You hate when he calls you ‘pet’ on his worse days.  It taints the memory of how affectionately he says it on his good days.

Sighing and rolling your eyes, you sit down opposite him and do your best to avoid eye contact.  It was an action that you deemed unwise when he was in this mood.

“Alright, your majesty,”  you begin with a stabbing smirk of your own.  The title brings a fire to those blue eyes.  One you try to ignore.  “Let’s get to it then, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s.  Tell me, pet, how do you want me?  On the floor, against the wall?”  He licks his lips, blue eyes drinking in every inch of you in your too tight tactical gear.  “On the table?”

“I’d rather compliant.”  He tsks at that, cocking his head to the side with an infuriating smirk.

“Well, I’m normally the one in control, but I must say the thought of a woman like you dominating this whole...squabble is quite enticing.  Especially when you choose to keep me bound like this.”

“Get your head out of the gutter, Trickster, before I remove it for you and then shove it up your own ass.”  The smirk does not disappear, in fact, it grows wider.  You ignore it.  “New York.  I assume I don’t have to elaborate?”

“But I do so love it when you drone on and on,”  Loki says, sarcasm dripping off every word.  “The sound of your voice does so arouse my interest.”

“Yeah, and yours does so quash mine.”  You snap back, voice mocking in a different way than his.  “Loki.  New York.  Your take over.  We still have agents missing, and I aim to find them.  The ones you controlled and otherwise.”

“Well, my dear, might I suggest going to check where this all began?  I do think it would be quite obvious, no?  Tell me, did you bother to check the rubble.”  Your teeth gnash, your jaw clenching, and you so desperately try to hide your fury from him.  It does not go unnoticed.  “As for the ones I controlled, what is it you humans typically do with a beast of burden who has outlived its usefulness.”

Metal screeching against metal echos through the interrogation chamber as you violently push your chair away from the table.  Loki doesn’t even flinch when you slam your hands down to hold your shaking body up.

“God damn it, you sick sonofabitch, where. is. my. sister?”  Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall over.  The tighter you clench your jaw the less it seems to help.

“Oooh.  It finally comes out.”  His voice is a snarl, balanced and timed perfectly. “The thing you’ve been dying to know since we met a year ago, yes?  I’ve seen it, you know?  The utter need to hear the answer, the truth.  Listen to me very carefully, pet.”  His voice is chilling, his power looming over you without him even having to move a muscle.  “You will not raise your voice to me again.  I am a god, and I will not be threatened by a meager Midgardian who I could crush if I so wished.  Just like I did your sister.  Now, shall we try that again?”

You want nothing more than to punch that sickening grin off of his sharp, pale face.  It takes everything you have not to, and then some to gather your composure. You can’t look him in the eyes, not after that, ot while you have to clench your fists to keep from choking him to death.  Finally, you feel like you can speak without breaking.

“I hope you enjoy your stay, Loki.  Because you'll get no more kindness from me.”

“And here I thought things were going to get boring.”

You don’t speak to Loki for weeks.

You don’t go to visit him either.  The last exchange has left you so livid that you even change his meal schedule, only letting the guards feed him once a day now. Perhaps it was cruel.  But nowhere near half as cruel as what he had done.

Your routine shifts, something you’d secretly been dreading.  Your entertaining, albeit unorthodox, company leaves a hole in your life that you find difficult to fill.  

The change affects Loki as well, though he wouldn’t tell the peons you’ve sent him in your stead.  No, instead he would suffer in silence.

And suffer he did.

A darkness that he hadn’t known for a while, not since you began to visit him a year ago, begins to creep back into his consciousness.  It darkens his days, keeps him up at night - though the tears may be the real cause of his sleeplessness.  

A sickly sweet voice haunts his dreams and even his waking hours.  The lure of power and revenge.  Of acceptance.  He fights it as best he can.  He hadn’t completely shaken it before, that he knew.

And he regretted it more than anything.

He hated the days when that darkness made him that much more foul.  Of course, he was never aware of it in the morning.  No, instead he would wake up the next day, sometimes even days later, with the memory of your face as he hurled something particularly nasty your way.  The image would haunt him, and it took everything he had not to cry when you came to see him again.

But now those visits had stopped, and it becomes harder and harder for Loki to pull himself out of his abyss.

Odin did not want him, he was not worthy of a throne, or affection from his people or even his own brother.  He did not belong, he never did.  The only time he felt like he was wanted was with this putrid force manipulating his mind.

He’s losing himself again and the only person who’s been able to find him again is gone.

You have no patience.  You’ve reached the end of your rope.  It was your day off, yet here you were, stomping into the base because Loki was throwing a fit.

The god of mischief was throwing a temper tantrum.  And you were, apparently, the only one he would let into his cell without hurling some projectile at them.

You hear his screaming in the corridor long before you see him, your heart hammering painfully at the sound of utter agony in his voice.  The guards outside his cell raise their eyebrows at you, obviously not impressed with that fact that you were the one he asked for demanded.  When you pass through the first measure of security to get a glimpse of him through the two-way mirror, your heart breaks at what you see.

Loki is huddled on the floor, debris of the furnishings S.H.I.E.L.D. had so generously provided after you kept pestering asking them strewn all around him.  He’s covered in blood, sweat, and tears - literally - and for the first time in a long time, you feel bad for Loki.  Finally, his thrashing ceases and he slumps against the wall behind him, falling silent.

At least he seems to be done screaming.

“Are you going to act like a big boy now, Mr. All Powerful God, or should I come back later after you’ve decided to grow up?”

The answer to your biting sarcasm is silence.  Loki doesn’t even bother to glance at the glass (which you know he can definitely see through with those powers of his.)

After several more moments of silence, you relent, scanning your badge and inputting your fingerprint and code to enter the Trickster’s quarters.  He’s silent when you enter, the only sound in the room is his heavy breathing as he attempts to recover from his tantrum.  Still, his eyes are trained on something invisible in front of him, something dancing behind those haunted eyes.

“What was so damn important that you had to go destroying your room over.  S.H.I.E.L.D. is not going to replace this, by the way.  I hope you enjoy your redecorating.”  You stand there for several, tense minutes, as unmoving as the man in front of you.  Finally, after what seems like an eternity, you can take no more.  “Well, Loki?  What do you have to say for yourself?”

When he still doesn’t answer, you scoff and turn on your heels to make a hasty retreat.

“I didn’t kill your sister.”

His voice is so quiet, so broken, that you have to take a moment to figure out if he’d actually spoken or if you were hearing things.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t kill your sister.  Though my intentions with her and other agents’ skills were less than admirable, I did not hurt them.”

“Alright,” your voice wavers far more than you would like.  “So you didn’t hurt a small group of people.  And though I can...appreciate that you didn’t hurt my flesh and blood, you still killed hundreds.  Possibly thousands.”

“I know.”  You had expected him to sound cocky.  Not like a small child.  “I am not claiming I’m worthy of any sort of redemption.  I deserve it here.  But I had to tell you.  I did not hurt your sister.  And if I could, I would tell you where she is.”

“And why can’t you?”  Your voice fills the small chamber as you scream at Loki.  His green eyes come up to meet the fire in your own.

“It’s...difficult to explain.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t remember where she is.  Only that the last time I saw her and the other agents there were safe.”

“Well then, where did you last see them?”  You press.

“That’s the problem.  I can’t remember.”

“How do you forget something like that?”

“Because I wasn’t the one who abandoned them!  It was me, but then again it wasn’t.  I don’t know how to - it’s all turned upside down in - It’s because of him.  He found me.  After I’d been...denounced by my father.”

“Who found you?”

“Thanos.”  You’re not quite sure why, but the name sends nausea straight through you.  Perhaps it’s the way even Loki seems to fear it.  “He gave me an offer...one I could not refuse, but then you can’t really refuse anything when your mind isn’t your own now, can you?”  His laugh is forced, hollow, and you find yourself missing his true laughter as his words sink in.

“Agent Barton.”  You surmise.  “You controlled him with your scepter...you got the scepter from Thanos...”

“Correct.”

“Did...Loki, did the scepter control you?”

His answer lies in the shame he exudes when he can’t bring himself to look at you.

“Not...entirely.  He offered me what I wanted.  I am sorry to say that I...took his offer with no hesitation.  It wasn’t until after he accentuated my desires that I realized I was...changing.  I was not...myself. I know I’m no saint, pet, but I’ve seen what Thanos wants.  It makes even me sick.”

“How can I trust you, Loki?”

“You can’t.  But I trust you.”

You scoff at the sentiment, trying to ignore the tears that collect in the corners of your eyes.

“This is just another bunch of your lies.  I don’t have to listen to it anymore.”  You have to get out of here.  You’re powerless to him and his magic.  Powerless to his charms.  He was trying to manipulate you, nothing more.

“Pet,”

“Stop trying to control me, Loki!”  You screech, turning on him as your hand finds its way to the holster on your hip.  Green eyes follow the movement, flicking away from your fingers resting on the butt of your gun back to your intense gaze.  He’s calm.  He knows you won’t shoot him.  The thought makes you even angrier.  “Plead all you want, but I am not falling for your - your mind control again!”

“I would never do that to you!”  You’re terrified for a moment, unable to keep from jumping at Loki’s sudden outburst.  Around you, debris flies out ward.  Some of the wooden furniture intact from his last fit splinter against the wall.  Instinct takes over as metal and woods scream around you, and before you can register what’s happening, your gun is trained right on Loki.  His red-rimmed eyes absolutely bore into you and a wet sob breaks from his throat.  “I have never done that to you.”  Tears.  Actual tears roll down Loki’s cheeks, his voice cracking with sorrow.  “I would never put anyone through the torment that still haunts me.”

You holster your gun, and not even you can pretend its because of Loki’s magic.  You do this of your own free will.

Your legs have a mind of their own, moving before you can even register what’s happening.  Kneeling, you reach for him and for the very first time, you touch him.  His cheek is cold, his tears even colder as you wipe them away from his smooth skin.  Those haunted green eyes find your own and you have to swallow the emotion welling in your throat.

“I still feel it sometimes.”  He pants, reaching up to hold your hand against his cheek.  His eyes flutter shut at the comfort it brings.  “It scratches at my mind until I give in from the pain.  I can’t control it, I don’t know which way is up or who anyone is - who I am.  But you...”  His brow furrows - a tension that you brush away with comforting fingers.  As you lovingly caress his skin, his eyes find you once more.  “You, Y/N, you calm the storms within my head.”  You realize in that moment that Loki has never called you anything other than pet, or Agent.

His cool hands close around your hand placed on his cheek, bringing your knuckles to brush against his chapped, cracked lips. Unable to hold them back any longer, your tears fall free with a shuttering breath.  Loki’s face is kind, gentle, as he reaches forward with his free hand to brush your tears away as you had his.  You’re lost in his eyes, in the cool, pale expanse of his chilled skin, the way your hands feel so good against each other’s skin.

It isn’t until some stray wire behind you (displaced by his earlier outburst) sparks loudly, illuminating the bags under Loki’s gorgeous eyes that you suddenly remember where you are.  Grievously, you pull your hand away from him and sit back on your haunches across from him.

“Loki...we...we can’t.  They’ll take me off your charge, or worse - detain us both.  I cannot be another Dr. Qui-”

“I would never ask that of you.  I don’t deserve you.  You have my word, that I will do everything in my power to fight Thanos’ spell and I will find your sister, my love.”  He reaches forward once more, his knuckles brushing briefly against your cheek.  A forbidden touch.  One to help him hold off from more.  “But a friendship.  A helping hand.  Help me become the man I was before all this.  Please.  Help me to be better than that.”  He smiles remorsefully.  “Maybe then, if I am given a second chance...maybe we can try.  All I ask of you now is to just be here.  Calm my storms, pet.”

“I can try.”

“I could never ask for more.”  You regard him as you stand and proceed toward the door.  The two of you share one last glance for now, one that is free from any masks or malice.  The only thing you see in Loki’s eyes in affection and trust.  Something you’re sure is reflected right back at him in your own eyes.

“Loki, you wouldn’t need to ask.”

You didn’t wanted to admit it.

You didn’t wanted to give him the power love he so desperately wanted needs.

And here you are, handing it to him on a silver platter.  And he was doing exactly the same for you.

(please be gentle.  It’s my first time with Loki (lol) and I know it was underwhelming.  Thanks for reading anyway!)

TAGS:

TRUE LOVE TAGS:

@bxtchybrie , @sergeantjamesbarnes107th , @itsanotheravengersimaginesblog, @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme , @james-bionic-barnes , @mickeyl322 , @stank-tower , @lostinspace33 , @thecrownedrose , @nikkitia7 , @redroomproperty , @magpiegirl80 , @fifi1433 , @knittingknerdy , @specs15 , @justareader , @metalarmandredstar , @agentsofcap , @marvel-lucy , @pickylittlebitch , @shamvictoria11 , @twistedfate108 , @tori-medusa-belongs-to-bucky , @too-many-fandoms-and-shitposting, @allinhishands , @hellomissmabel , @mizzzpink , @smexy-bucky-waifu , @annwhojumps , @avengerofyourheart , @saffreelove , @palaiasaurus64 , @flowercrownsandmetallicarms , @sexyvixen7 , @armenian-nerd, @thiddlestoff, @callingmrsbarnes , @avengebuckybarnes , @splaine-to-me , @to-be-a-sunshine , @heismyhunter , @miladycollie , @4theluvofall , @sebastianbarnesandchrisrogers , @writingourwildestemodreams , @imadandelion-yourearose, @sebbymylove16, @harrysbbby, @italyand5soslover283, @gingerbatchwife,@httpbarnes, @subtletynotwithstanding, @panickingwiththefalloutboys, @hardcorehippos, @ryverpenrad, @stellarfairie, @nativesebby, @violentlyfarts, @dianelogan, @mrtinslydia, @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @unidentifiedanonfics, @microscopicmonsters, @elohunnie, @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x

Loki Lovers:

@boobearlover2469, @notthegodofknives, @mayamegs, @unicornsxfandoms, @boohooiamthefool, @mdgrdians, @fvckingromantic, @orighami

[altonadventures]

ALTON ADVENTURES BIG ANNOUNCEMENT

So...because its Friday and I usually update AA on Fridays, I figured it was time to make my big announcement! 

And that is...that Alton Adventures is changing. A little bit. 

Am I rebooted the comic again? No haha! Once I get back to it it shall continue as normal but some characters may look a bit different going forward. 

Who may those characters be?

Sir Gareth Nemesis 

Why is he changing? 

Sir Nemesis’ change is actually less drastic than one may think. For starters, he needed a design rehaul. I wanted his armor to be more simple, easier to draw but with still details that could tie him to Nemesis (the green eye, the arms, the light pink details instead of inconsistent tentacles). I also had an issue where his hair was too close to his skin color, so to combat this I turned him into a ginger! His eye color also changed from gold to green, another thing to visually tie him more to Nemesis. 

So yes, I changed Sir Nem’s design because I was unhappy with it. His armor was never drawn consistently ever, I was constantly changing the tone of his hair and his skin so that was inconsistent. I want my designs to be more consistent and polished going forward.

What else is different? Well, you can probably tell he looks much more serious, like in older pictures I drew of him. Why is that? Well, I was kind of..honestly tired of his role as the “dad character tm” that he kind of turned out to be. It almost undermined his true characterization and turned him into a typical over the top exaggerated hero character. And I started to realize how much I missed his original concept. A battle hardened solider that was filled with regret and remorse, who heavily sympathizes with the plight of the alien he’s locked in combat with. He’s still much a father however, as he has a biological son and adopts an alien who mimics his likeness (hence another reason he’s a ginger now as his Nemesis daughter always was one). He’s just returned to his roots as a character. Because I felt that characterization was a unique one for the Nemesis ride. And it was an idea I really loved. Sir Nemesis actually WAS one of my favorite characters...I wanted his role to be much larger than it is in the comics. I don’t blame anyone for him becoming a joke, I did initially kind of fuel the fire for it, I’m just hoping that its not to late to get back to the Sir Nemesis I originally wanted to write. And of course, all my characters are still meme and joke worthy. I just want to tackle much more serious issues with my comic and show the more serious side of some of my characters and don’t want there entire existence to be a joke Mr.S can’t have too many folks 1 uping him in the laughs department!  I guess to note with this change that his original voice claim has also been solidified as well. It’s a more somber and serious tone that I feel fits him as a character. 

Final Notes 

Sir Nemesis is a character that I have a lot of thought put into. His backstory is tragic, emotional, and his character is complex and he’s not the perfect hero people might image him as. I plan for his Arc to follow the Fireworks arc in the comic, as well as I am planning to start some more text heavy short stories about how the Secret Weapons became Secret Weapons (which I will likely call Secret Weapon Short Stories hehe) and will be writing his first. Also a very important thing i must address. Yes, the eye on his chest moves. (I have a gif but it doesn’t want to work on this post Ill have it up later ><)

Erica Annabelle Cloud 

ooof okay this is a huge one. Confession time. Erica was always my least favorite character. Why? She just had...no character. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with her, her design felt phoned in and there because I needed an Air/Galatica character, (yes, she is changing as her Galatica stage too). She was just. not well thought out. She had a dual identity but I think a lot of people didn’t pick up on that? She felt like a Rita 2.0 as just a nice and friendly optimistic person and literally had 0 backstory. Originally she was supposed to have had some sort of accident that turned her into Galatica and she had memory loss and forgotten about when she was Air, yeah it was a mess. That eventually just turned into Nebula Corona being a character she made up (bc her one trait was that she was into space and wrote a lot) that she played as when her rides themeing changed. 

She was just..barely a character and her design was abysmal (Her Galatica suit was okay but her Air outfit was an afterthought) She needed a massive visual upgrade. A sleeker flight suit that makes more sense (I used a ref or two for this design!) A different face shape to help her stand out more, my signature they wear glasses they have dot eyes look. Long, wispy, flowing hair to resemble those trails planes make. A bit more lanky and tall. And let me tell you I LOVE her design now. It looks so much more unique and you can just SEE she has so much more character now!  As for her characterization im going full into her being a nerd. A very tech nerd at that! She designed her suit to help her fly at her best, and eventually will be the one that designs and builds all her Galatica tech! Her Galatica design hasn’t been done yet, mostly bc I wanted to focus on her current comic canon design, but not much would change I feel with her upgrade anyways! She is effectively the brains of the group, and the others often turn to her for plans of attack when dealing with a situation, or innovative solutions to problems! I have yet to get a voice claim for her, but im sure one will come to me soon enough! 

Final Notes

Erica/Nebula was a character I struggled to connect with. Everyone else had Airs that were either super plot important, or just much more cool and creative in general. I felt, that with my Air/Galatica she was just there, and I wanted her to be more. So a full character rehaul was done with her and it makes me so happy. She feels much more fleshed out, better designed, and I’m super excited to do more stuff with her, and hopefully you will all see her much more now that I’m a lot happier with her as a character! <3 

Welp that's the end of the updates....wait. Hold on. I have something written here. What could this be? Oh! I remember now! 

Black Hole, AkA Beatrix, will be joining the MAIN CAST of Alton Adventures! 

When I drew my Black Hole design, I knew she was something special. She stands out compared to a lot of my characters, and her design SCREAMS main character. While the biggest main roles will still be held by Mr. S and Rita, I wanted to add another non SW coaster to the main crew, and because Canonically Corkscrew is MIA, Black Hole seemed like a fitting addition to the main crew! As she isn’t human, a species literally only referred to as Black Holes, I thought making her a main character and giving her a big arc would help flesh out the reality of non humans in Alton Adventures! Her powers and design and character and personality are just too fun to shove her into the background. I feel that adding her to the main cast gives them not only another character to support them, but a closer friend! You will all see her much more in the future for certain! 

Well that's about it! In terms of comic updates themselves...its still going to be hiatus as long as I’m being swamped with school work. I hope you all understand. I’ll try to squeeze in updates over the breaks I have IF im not working on assignments for class. As I also said, I wanna do short stories as well, to expand the world and explain it better, as a comic will only develop the world so quickly and lots of you have tons of questions! I also wanna do something animated at some point, that’s my dream. I’ve ALSO mentioned to some people about merch, likely going for making stickers first since that's simple. I got an excited reaction for that so I’ll come up with designs for them soon! I just wanna do a lot with Alton Adventures, because I know how much it means to people, and of course it means so much. Goodness I really need to actually get to this park, I look quiet silly constantly gushing over a themepark I’ve never been to all the time XP  That all aside I thank you all for sticking by me. I promise that even if I don’t do comic updates as frequently during the school year, I’ll still work to push out as much AA content I can outside of that! I’m always open to suggestions to what you guys want to see! ALSO, working on a big google doc spreadsheet with info on all the characters I’ll be posting when its more completed! So be on the lookout for that! 

Again thank you to everyone who’s stuck with me through this, Your support makes me feel nothing but proud of what I’ve created. These characters may have been created out of something some may consider silly or odd, but the only thing that matters to me if that I can make at least someone happy with what I create. 

Patreon (note that patrons got to see all of this content as it was being worked on!) l Ko-fi

[qwerty-the-duck]

‘Cuz this post bouta be hella long, Imma out the text under the cut ^U^

Also, here’s the link to some background info to the story for these characters

Welcome To LSS!

So, as you can see I separated these twenty OC’s into 5 groups. I will be going down the groups and from left to right through the characters. But, first a few disclaimers. 

A) I did not draw these in the order that I am introducing them, and my art is already pretty inconsistent so…sorry?

B) These are only the first 20 characters that directly interacted (or are) the main characters of the story. The reasoning was explained in an earlier post

C) All art was done digitally on Medibang, a free art program.

D) As we go down the list the explanations and descriptions of the characters will become vaguer, but I am always down to answer any questions.

E) Lastly, I am not planning on posting any of my writing soon after this post so I will be being less careful about spoilers in this post. I am still going to avoid major things though, so yeah.

At the top is the main four characters, which is why they have full bodies instead of just busts.

Alecs. She is eighteen years old, technically, and is just over five feet tall (153cm.) She has silver (not gray) hair that is lazily parted to one side. Due to a necessary “procedure,” she only has one purple/pink eye. The other is just a socket filled with a special worm, thus eyepatch. She is not a full human, and her body is sexless. She doesn’t really have a gender and doesn’t have sexuality either (as stated before she is not a sexual being) and other people use She/her pronouns but she doesn’t actually care herself. Her body is feminine shaped but a little extra chub on her.

She is quiet and observant. Her emotions are very compact and she really only gets angry when someone is talking sh*t about Bee. She is illiterate and not very knowledgable of the world, making her very dependent on Bee whenever they go on a mission or travel. She isn’t a mean or malicious person but she isn’t altruistic either, really only doing things when she is asked to. She also keeps Bee focused and tries to keep him from starting drama.

She used an old fashioned sword for fighting for a few reasons. One, she has never been practically trained so it’s easy to just swing around. Two, the sword is made of reinforced materials that balance out her overwhelming strength. Three, it was a gift from Bee (daw.)

Being as she is not a real human, her mutations are a little strange. Her offensive mutation is just raw power. She has overwhelming strength due to her body being made mostly of just straight hyper-radiation. Her defensive mutation is endless regeneration, that’s right, she literally cannot die. I want to point out that while she does sound OP, she doesn’t actually do a lot of fighting and can only act when Bee allows her to. 

Alecs gets assigned to the Black Department. She was originally assigned to red, but her lack of social skills and her apathetic attitude lead to concern and she was then moved to Black.

Bee (Benson) (My personal fav) - He is thirty-two years old, and is pretty tall, around six-six (201cm) He has white hair slicked back on top with it shaved on the sides and black (Yes it grows that way naturally, and it actually serves as vital tell of his character) and blue eyes. He often wears dopey and bright clothing with some utility, such as large pocketed pants and boots. Often on his wrist are his dog tags. He has a scar on his left eye that cuts through his black brow. His teeth are jagged and sharp. He is muscular and toned, having a bit of heft to his body. He is our gay son and I love him with my whole being. And he is cisgender male. 

He is the guy who is always smiling. His light humorous attitude comes through is any circumstance and sometimes leads to other people becoming irritated or offended. He is humble but cocky at the sometimes, only speaking the honest truth about situations. He is a bit of a loveable asshole, constantly taking the piss out of a person or situation. He’s a great teammate but performs better alone, often taking is out route in a plan without risking others. He pretty much takes care of Alecs as like an older brother but isn’t always great at it. 

Bee uses his bare fists to fight. He is part of the “military” - an elite selection of mutants who handle tasks deemed too difficult for other citizens to handle. He is well versed in several weapons and fighting styles but a more mixed style of hand-to-hand works best with his mutations and personality on the field. 

Bee is a Clan Breed mutant. His two powers stem from his one mutation. Due to his role in the military, his mutation has been named by his comrades and authorities. His mutation (named Beelzebub) allows him to convert multiple forms of energy into his own, most efficiently through ingestion. The offensive power from this is the ability to use this as his own strength, literally, like, he is strong boi. His defensive power is a little cheat. Not only can he absorb the energy from the attack, negating damage, but he can also use energy to heal injuries and combat fatigue. But with such a one-sided power there is always a catch. He does have to be careful since his power does originally come from hyper-radiation. While he can use other forms of energy, his body depends on HR, when he loses too much he falls into a primal type of state and just kinda tries to eat everything. This leads to Bee depending mostly on his military and physical training over the use of his powers.

Bee is in the Red department. His prowess for battle, as well as the versatility of his mutation, made him a great battle asset. (The the fact that he is Military would have told them that but whatever.)

Kat - Kat is an unknown age and is five-ten in height (177cm.) She has bright purple hair (yes, naturally) and medium brown eyes. She has a slimmer build but is toned. On her sides are zipper-like black shapes that run from her navel around her back to the other side.  When fighting, she often wears smaller articles of clothing, due to her defensive mutation, but otherwise, she wears casual, lounging clothes. Kat is pansexual and is in a relationship with Ric. She is cisgender female but can change to a male-sex body if need be.

Kat is a kind person if you are kind to her. She is a mutual respect kind of woman who is stern, cool and collected but has a big heart. She is like the vodka aunt but more responsible. She has an unexplained knowledge of the history of the world.

Kat has a combat knife but is able to manage with several types of weapons and uses her offensive mutation to turn whatever surrounding objects into a weapon. She joined the department a long time before the beginning of my story so she already has a lot of experience with how it works. 

Kats offensive mutation is the ability to change the shape of objects. She cannot change the mass of said material but can change its density, size, and shape to make weapons, tools, etc. She cannot change the basic compounds of things either. Iron cannot be changed to water etc. And also cannot change the state of matter of an object against its nature. She cannot make room temperature water into ice or solidify oxygen. Her defensive mutation is the ability to "shed her skin" With this she can heal simple injuries as well as change her appearance. She can change everything but her skin color and hair color. However, she can only shed once a day and will have to later revert back to her natural body. 

Kat was formerly a member of the white department, her transformation ability seen as a valuable resource for field support. But, since she has been a member of Central for so long she is qualified as a freelance member who can come and go as she pleases. 

Ric (the edge lord) - He is twenty-five years old and stands at five-seven (170 cm.) His hair is pitch-black. It is actually so dark that it seems to absorb the light from around him. He slicks his hair back to keep the dark shadows from covering his face. His eyes are a similar black darkening the whites of his eyes around his iris. Ric is lean, slightly lanky as isn’t as muscular as Kat or Bee. Due to his past and constantly being dirty and wearing hospital garbs, he is now slightly obsessed with wearing neater, collected clothing..thus suit. He also wears a brown leather gun harness around his chest when battling. Ric is a panromantic asexual. He is in a happy relationship with Kat and is a cisguy

Ric is a reserved, cynical person. His past lead him to miss proper people skills. Not to the extreme that he doesn’t know how to communicate or is clueless, he just very brash and direct. He would rather not talk to people if need be. He is nice though and does has a heroic part of his personality, finding himself helping strangers when he can. He is very calm and collected...on the outside. He is a very anxiety-filled guy who is constantly watching his surroundings. This causes him to overthink a lot and sometimes find himself overwhelmed. Both Kat and Ai help to keep him calm. Ai is an identity in Ric’s brain (no, this is not an attempt at DID or schizophrenia or anything and I try to make that clear is the story as well) who helps Ric process and organize his rampant thoughts. 

Ric battles using two specially made guns loaded with bullets that disrupt hyper-radiation. They were made by Kat and often have to be repaired due to Ric’s excessive use of the guns as blunt melee weaponry. Ric is also incredibly intelligent and can quickly make plans in his head with his observations and quick thinking.

Ric was originally born a nonmutant but his crazy-ass dad found a way to save him just before he turns into a “zombie” and this also resulted in very broken powers developing. His offensive mutation is the ability to turn of the subconscious hesitation in the human body that keeps him from using his full strength. In simple terms, he can push his body past the breaking point to use the high levels of strength that would normally be held back. This power does destroy his body when he uses it so he has to be careful when decided to use it. His defensive ability is a good combo with his offensive, however. He can heal any wound that he can reset or hold shut. So he can heal bones, semi-deep cuts and low-level amputations like fingers or a hand. He can’t heal damage to internal organs, his brain, or missing limbs like arms or legs. 

Ric is put in the Blue department. His exam was actually sabotaged, but his score on the writing part was high enough that his value was still seen for the field. He is a valuable recon asset to do his ability to quickly take in a communicate information to a team.

So from here on the explanations are going to be more limited to name, gender, sexuality (for whatever reason), mutations, and department. 

Lucy - Cishet guy. Clan Breed mutations. His offensive mutation is just having horns all over his head. They fall out and grow back all the time like shark teeth lel. Defensive is also having horns all over that grow back. He isn’t that great at fighting but is great as organizing his team and exploiting their abilities to make a great squad. His skills are so revered that he is Department Head of the blue department. 

Amanita - Cisgal bisexual. Her offensive mutation pores that she can expel from her palms and mouth that poison or weaken humans and kill nonmutant “zombies.” Her defensive is the blubs on her hair like tissue on her head. She can pull of these white and red-speckled balls and they can be ingested to heal and energize. Her powers sound similar and like they should be clan breed but they ain’t, I promise. Her ability to take down large amounts of foes from a distance makes her a strong fighter. Her stern attitude also makes her a level headed leader, helping her reach the position of Department Head for the red department. 

Erik - Cisguy aro-ace. So...prefacing by saying that Erik runs around in nothing but green painted handprints and bandages loosely covering his groin...yeah. His offensive power is the ability to change the density of objects. While the power can be used in multiple more ways that he uses it (sigh, phuck Erik) he tends to just make things heavier. The bandages are a convenient tool that he can use a weapon. He increases the density and can use them as restraints and traps. He can also make living things heavier. His defensive ability is able to make things fatigued. His voice is loud and tiring and commanding and his touch literally saps your energy away. His ability to catch and restrain unwanted individuals in Central along with his ability to motivate and organize his department is what let him become the Department Head of the green department, The Department of Central’s home security.

Alula - SPACE! Non-binary who uses she/her. She basically drips “space” designed black liquid everywhere and can control it as an extension of herself after that. She is a Clan breed so she also can heal wounds as long as it is covered in the black liquid. She is ruthless and quick to cut off those who don’t meet her standards. Her unruly behavior along with her overly powerful mutation gave her the spot of Department Head for the black department. 

Fifty-four  - Cishet guy. Named after his longest battle, lasting almost an hour, fifty-four sports the offensive mutation of weight distribution. His mutation can affect the way gravity and magnetism affects his body, moving his center of mass around in his body. His defensive mutation is a thick jelly-like coating that surrounds him. It’s invisible but is strong/thick enough to stop even a bullet from only a few feet away. Fifty-four is a member of the green department and is a proctor of the practical entrance exam due to his durability and stamina in battle. He is a member of the green department.

Belen - (the asshole egh) Cisguy gay. He has the ability to cause a hazing fog to appear. He can’t control what is shown, but often times is negative memories or hallucinations. He is a clan breed, his offensive and defensive stemming from one mutation.  His hazing fog can also have other psychosomatic effects on those who breathe it in. It can trick the body into thinking it’s lighter, heavier, frozen, injured, etc. Belen’s abilities, as well as his experience, make him a famous person amongst the Sanctum and Central. It also makes him a possible replacement as Head Chairperson for Sanctum, which is why he wears a golden pin. He is a member of the red department.

Sophia - Cishetwoman. The current Head Chairperson of Sanctum. Her offensive ability is the ability to force blood to flow out of the body and fester wounds. Any small cut from Sophia allows her to drain the entire body of blood or cripple the wound to a borderline amputation. This powerful offensive skill is countered by a weaker defensive ability. Her *literally* golden hair releases a cloud of dust that mesmerizes people forcing them to listen to her commands. It really only works on a human since “zombies” are mindless anyway. Sophia is technically a member of the red department but her position of Head Chairperson overrides that title.

Nadine - Cisgal lesbian. She has the offensive ability to be able to “disconnect” the brain from certain parts of the body. It can affect anywhere from just a finger to the whole body. This can be used to stop bleeding, paralyze a limb, stop motion, etc. This is a defensive and offensive ability, but Nadien is not a clan breed. Nadine also has the ability to read emotions, intentions, and feelings through touch. It’s not really a benefit in combat but helps when dealing with nonmutants in other sanctions and organizing squads in battle, setting her in the Blue department. Nadine is also a candidate for Head Chairperson but isn’t interested in the position, thus she doesn’t wear the golden pin.

Gideon (the grimy gross guy) - Cishet guy. His offensive ability is being able to directly influence the hyper-radiation in an object. While it is a very strong ability, he doesn’t like using it, since it also disturbs his own balance and makes him very sick. His defensive ability is being able to sterilize his surroundings. This sterilization goes beyond just germs and bacteria. Any single targeted compound can be immediately destroyed from a specific area. Gideon is a member of the yellow department, the research, and development department. He has been offered the DH position but declines every time in favor of his personal research and projects.

Frederick -  Cisguy pansexual. The youngest personal in Sanctum at the young age of fourteen. Federick has the offensive ability of super speed, pretty straight forward. The only problem with super speed is that the body is not build to handle that type of pressure change and inertia. Luckily, his defensive power is his ability to turn his bones and muscles to a rubber-like thing that bend to prevent damage from the speed of his movements. Sometimes he forgets though and hurts himself before activating his mutation. Frederick is a member of the blue team because his speed is good for recon and support.

Morgan - A selectively mute ace lesbian gal. She has “metal” sheets layered on her arms and legs that move and fold to cover her arms like claws and feet like talons. She also has the ability to communicate with animals with intent and body cues rather than spoken words as her defensive mutation. Morgan is a member of the red team do to the high defense and offense of her offensive mutation.

Idonea - (Got help from my friend @i-am-papercrane for this one) A young bisexual woman. She has the Clan Breed ability to control liquids. Thicker liquids are easier to manipulate for her. Her offensive ability is her control of blood, which she forms into weapons and tools. Her defensive ability is controlling moisture in the air to form quick, disposable shields, platforms, or other strategic things. She is in the Red department due to her working easily with others and her strong desire for battles. She also can (somewhat) tell how strong someone is by the quality of their blood.

This last section is mutant characters who did directly interact with the main characters, but I’m not sure if they will be coming back later in the story.

Keagan - A straight boy who lost one of his mutations due to losing his eye. His defensive mutation is the ability to condense and combine molecules in his surroundings. For example, he can combine hydrogen and oxygen to make water. He is not a member of Sanctum

Elliot - A genderfluid pansexual friend of Kat’s (pronouns change but I will be using she her cuz that’s what she uses during her scene in the story.) She is a clan breed. Her power to control threads that she produces acts as both defense and offense. She can quickly stitch together cloth and fabric to take the brunt of attacks and she can control puppets she made to attack for her. She owns a small clothing shop in the outskirts of East sanction so the puppets are just used as models and employes. Elliot is not a member of Sanctum

Roady  - An old cellmate of Ric’s. He has more likely hood of coming back in the story. His offensive mutation is the claws on his hands. His defensive mutation is acidic blood. He is a member of the green department due to his abrasive attitude and smug personality. His incompatibility in a team means he doesn’t fit in a field department but his fighting prowess is still valuable in the green department.

Arbor - A friendly neighborhood tree. Cishet guy. His brother shows up later, but for now, he doesn’t need to come back. Sorry, tree bud. Clan breed his offensive power is he’s a tree increased strength and his defensive power is he’s a tree having dense and tough skin

So that’s the notable characters that have been seen in name and face so far in LSS. Obviously, my concept art still isn’t exactly how I would like it, but it’s nice to see my guy, gals, and NB pals chillin’ in the real world. Depending on how I’m feeling I may do this for other stories (they won’t be nearly as long lel.) AS ALWAYS I am always down for answering any questions about the characters and/or story and I hope you the post is entertaining and interesting. Can you figure out who the antagonists are?

*Lastly, I’m sorry if this is a bit unorganized or confusing, this is my first time doing a) such a big post b) a post with multiple characters in it like this.*

**Also! I want to do some valentine’s day art with the main 4 so keep an eye out**

Have a good day everyone!

[texanredrose]

Symphony of Souls (Pt 3)

It took her some time to recover, deep breaths helping to ease the turmoil in her chest. Velvet immediately came to her side, offering a comforting touch and soothing words- though they brought with them a bittersweet sort of pain as well. She spoke of the six she knew, friends she'd had for a while now.

They all lived in the city and remained close friends after college, often meeting at one residence or another for a shared meal or movie or just to talk. She'd only been formally inducted into the friend group during their senior year, with the others sharing ties going as far back as kindergarten, but she'd quickly bonded with all of them. They were staunch friends who sometimes felt more like a family, which made things easier for the rabbit Faunus who'd moved to Vale from Menagerie. Sun and Pyrrha understood her plight, hailing from Vacuo and Mistral respectively, while Blake and Emerald seemed to have bounced around before finding Yang and Sun here in Vale. Coco and Yang were somewhat local, with the former having family out west near the border and the latter's lived just a few miles up the coast.

Weiss honestly couldn't be happier.

After she regained the ability to speak, calming her tears for the meantime, the deity showed her guest around, allowing her to marvel over art no one except her had seen in thousands of years.

"I studied photography in college but I recognize all these pieces from my art history class." She frowned, ears falling slightly. "Except..."

"They don't look exactly the same." Weiss nodded, reaching out to touch the gilded frame on one of the paintings. It showed Thief's- Emerald's, oh, how she'd missed the sound of her name, even in the privacy of her own head- first encounter with the ancient deity. In her fury, a cascade of white light radiated from Weiss' form, with her precious Nightowl just a few steps behind, watching the groveling mortal with curiosity, ears flicked forward. "I had my Thief recreate them, changing the appearances of my chosen and even myself a time or two. I keep the originals here and have destroyed all copies; a tedious task but... I had time." She sighed, allowing her arm to drop. "I had to divert suspicions."

"I don't think anyone would see a classical painting resemble someone they know and jump to the conclusion of deity aided reincarnation," Velvet said, lips curled in amusement, but the chuckle died in her throat upon seeing the seriousness in the deity's expression.

She knew better. "You'd be surprised. I remember when mortals thought physical deformities were the sign of witchcraft; when silver eyes meant terrible power; when freckles were signs of sin. Mortals are funny creatures, when left to tell their own stories." A frown touched her lips. "I also have to consider there are others like me- fallen deities who could try to harness my power to reclaim their former glory."

"They can do that?" Any lightheartedness was swiftly replaced by concern, brows pinching together in worry.

Her lips pressed into a tight line. "I don't know. But I know there are times when I feel almost as powerful as I used to be, like with the six of them by my side I can be as strong as I was before I met Blake that first time. I had many names then and only a handful of consistent depictions- enough to make me a true deity, to bend the world to my whim." She moved on to another picture, depicting a hunt lead by her Gladiatrix with Dragon not far behind, the others following in various states of interest. The thrill always appeal to the first two more than the others, though her Thief and Jester rather liked the physical exertion if nothing else. "I've little idea what could restore one like me or if it's even possible... but I wouldn't put it past half my pantheon to try, so I must protect them."

Velvet leaned closer to a bust of her beloved Seamstress, muttering something about glasses before sighing. "What about you?"

"Pardon?"

"Could you restore yourself?" She gestured to a few more paintings- these obviously made centuries after the initial batch, cataloging their reunions and individual adventures through history. Her Gladiatrix standing in defense of Haven during the Great War, Nightowl rallying humans and Faunus alike during the Azul City Revolution, Dragon proudly posing with Remnant's first suspension bridge behind her, Thief's mugshot on a stylized wanted poster from an exhibition during the resurgence of noir media, Jester leading a caravan across desert dunes, and Seamstress dressing some noble in the fashion of the times. They looked different those times- hair color, skin tone, scars and the like, sometimes taller or shorter, and Weiss recalled each iteration vividly- but they were still her chosen. "If they-"

"No!" She snapped, anger and fear lending power to her voice, before smoothing out her expression a moment later. "No, I- I won't do that. The cost would be far too high." Shining blue eyes fell on a painting of them out in the field behind the temple, beneath the shade of the tree that stood at the edge of their garden. "I'd lose them forever... I can't bear that."

Silence echoed in the room, only broken by Velvet's soft footsteps.

"So you... hide their identities in classical works, hide among mortals yourself, and hope you can find them again, thinking they might reject you..." She paused, obviously putting the pieces together. "They have before... haven't they?"

"More than once," she said, doing her best to keep her tears in check. "By the time I found them, sometimes... they had lives- happy ones. They’d settled down for love or necessity; sometimes, they clung to each other in pairs, doing what they could to make the best of a cruel world. They didn't want to risk uncertainty, so they turned me away, and I understood. I watched over them from afar." Weiss sighed. "Other times... I just... found them too late."

"Why?" The Faunus shook her head. "Why keep putting yourself through this?"

"I love them, Velvet." She smiled, a sad and broken thing with her eyes still shining wet with tears. "For all the pain and loneliness I endure, just one moment more with them... it's worth it."

She truly believed that. At the end of each day, it's what motivated her to face the next one, to continue walking down this endless road rife with agony she could hardly articulate. Just one more moment, one more smile, one more laugh, one more kiss from their lips- she would keep going until the sun turned to dust.

Suddenly, she found arms wrapping around her, a light embrace that eased the turmoil within all too easily, loosened her tongue enough for the words to flow.

"There are times though... when I wonder if I should resign." She closed her eyes and tried with all her might to keep her voice steady. "If I allowed myself to fade away entirely, what remains of my power would strengthen their bonds. They'll find each other earlier in their lives and, together, they will find the happiness they deserve." A shuddering breath. "That's all I want for them."

"But then they wouldn't have you." The Faunus squeezed her a little tighter. "It sounds like you make them happy; they've chosen you before and they will again."

"Maybe." She muttered, pulling away just enough to look into umber eyes. It still hurt, because she could see the soul shining bright, calling to her, looking to ease her distress as the others had... but she couldn't indulge more than she had already. "I bring them pain, too. Just look at Blake."

A sigh slipped past her lips as she turned away, leading Velvet further into the room, to the very last painting at the back of it. Unlike all the others, this one her Thief painted many centuries after the fact, plagued by nightmares of the night the temple fell. Flames burst from between blackened columns, stone crumbled along the foundation, and thick smoke obscured all but the bright red of the soldiers' eyes as they marched up the steps and desecrated their home.

"Wait, I know this one. I did a paper on it." The Faunus leaned closer to inspect it, noting every little inconsistency with a keen gaze. "This is 'Fall of Maiden Temple' based on the old legends describing the sacking of Tempir. The army of King Sidom swept across Mantle, destroying effigies of ancient gods and ransacking places of worship so he could install himself as a God King. By all accounts..." She paused, the pieces falling together. "That was three thousand years ago."

Absent of every other recreation were the two figures lying in pools of blood in the courtyard of the temple- partially blurred and obscured by smoke and the boots of soldiers as spears were thrust down into prone bodies, unable to defend themselves. Further up the steps, another lay with a sword imbedded in his gut, and more beyond.

"Yes." Weiss swallowed thickly. "These are the memories I bring back. I'll never forget the night I failed them; seeing me reminds them of that. I failed to protect them. I did this." Thousands of years' of guilt fell heavily on her shoulders, but she stood tall. She brought this upon them all; the least she could do was own up to her terrible failures. "Each time they choose to stand beside me again, they forgive me this, my greatest transgression... but I've yet to forgive myself."

She turned away in shame, her mind playing tricks on her and lending movement to the flames. Moments like these, she felt her weakest, the agony of being without her lovers compounded by the memories lodged deep in her soul, her final moments with each of them mired in sorrow and regret. She should've given her life to protect them, not the other way around.

"Do you tell them this every time?" Velvet kept her voice soft, falling into step behind the deity as she made a hasty retreat from the room.

"No." She shook her head, closing the door quickly and setting the locks, as if such physical means could ever hide away the memories, the guilt and sorrow, the pain and rage. "When the memories come, I let them vent, let them process in their own time, and let them decide to move on, which they always do. After suffering through the vague memories of their first death, they usually want to focus on happier times. I keep all this to myself... until now." Blue eyes slid to the Faunus and she could tell by the worry shining in her eyes and evident in her expression that she'd drained herself by dwelling on the night her temple fell. A little rest would recharge her; unlike the wear of weathering centuries alone, this loss of strength came from resisting the inclinations inherent to all her kind, the urge to exact harsh punishments against those who wronged her tempered by the futility of the gesture. Beyond that, Velvet had no recollections to draw upon and no duty to share in the memories, and another pang of regret stabbed at her heart. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have burdened you with this."

"Weiss, it's not a burden." She paused, then shrugged. "Okay, it is a burden, but the sort you're supposed to share. Everyone needs a friend." She smiled, ears perking. "And maybe I can help make this right. I could call everyone together for a party, introduce you to them again. I'm sure I can talk Blake into it."

"That won't be necessary; in time, Blake will make her decision," the deity said, drawing herself up and offering a polite smile. "I've been through this before. I must merely wait."

Weiss started for the door, ready to escort her guest out; she couldn't imagine Velvet would want to stay bear witness to more. Or, perhaps, she didn't trust herself to keep it all locked away, for it wouldn't be the first time secrets were coaxed from her lips. She'd always been so weak to those whose souls appealed to her, one of the many failings she possessed. Sometimes, she wondered why Mother stood to make such an imperfect creation, but, then again, weren't they all?

Halfway down the stairs, she turned back, aware she was no longer being followed and curious as to what had drawn the Faunus' attention. Instantly, she recognized the glint in Velvet's eyes, determination coupled with compassion, and she'd seen it in too many shades to mistake it now.

"What were the first words you said to Blake when you were in our apartment?"

A frown touched her lips- yet another bittersweet memory. "I asked her 'do you believe in destiny', it’s-"

"Here's the thing, Weiss," she said firmly, not wavering in the slightest as she stood at the top of the stairs. "I really didn't before I met you. But it's hard to argue with what I'm seeing and I don't think it's just a coincidence that you came to the park that night or that I already know everyone you've been looking for, that I live with one of them." Velvet looked around, noting that very little outside the locked room indicated much about the person who dwelt within the penthouse. So instead, she turned to point back down the hall, towards the room they’d just left. "I don't have, what, seven millennia of memories to sift through, trying to find the right path." She then pointed down, at the space between her feet. "I only have the here and now. And from where I'm standing?" Her brows pinched together. "There's an obvious way to approach this and it seems to be the best solution. Let me talk to Blake and the others. Just... see if I can get all of them together to meet you." 

Weiss sighed, sensing already her odds. “I’ll not talk you out of this, will I?”

“You can try.” Velvet crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight to one foot. “I mean, you’ll fail, but you can try, if it makes you feel better.”

“Very well,” she said, conceding the fight a bit too readily. The chance to be among them again- immortal she may be, but she had her weaknesses the same as any mortal. Six of them, to be precise. Then again, were it any other making the offer, she might still be able to resist... but not Velvet, with her bright soul shining in her eyes. “But I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring up what I’ve told you here today or try to push Blake one way or another. It’s her decision and I will respect that. I expect you to do the same.”

After a moment, rabbit ears twitched. “Okay, fair. It’s not my story to tell.” At the deity’s continued stare, she rolled her eyes. “And I won’t twist Blake’s arm.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

“Look, I think we can both agree she has her... stubborn streaks. All of them do.” The Faunus began descending the stairs, moving her hands in vague gestures. “But I have the benefit of not remembering a damn thing. I’ll ground Blake in the present and presently? You’ve gone through hell and high water to just spend a little time with her where she isn’t figuratively tearing your throat out. The least she can do is humor us both.”

“You’ve certainly come around quickly.” Her lips lifted into a small smile. “I’d imagined telling someone a time or two before- sharing my grief with a mortal. I never imagined they’d believe me, though.”

“Guess I’m different in a few ways, huh?” Velvet smiled, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “But, honestly, between what Blake told me of your explanation and what you’ve said thus far, I can at least trust that you’re being honest, and all those paintings are hard to argue with- especially because I’m pretty good at spotting forgeries.” Her expression turned a bit more somber. “I get the feeling there’s more you’re not telling me, though.”

“Much like with the others, too much too soon can overburden even the most accepting soul.” The deity stopped at the landing. “I do hope we can continue talking after everything’s settled with the others.”

“Will you ever tell me the rest of the story? About Myrtenaster and who you were before Blake? The past seven thousand years are pretty well accounted for but what about before that? And-”

“Answers in due time,” she replied with a chuckle, accepting the little, sheepish smile and nodding towards the kitchen. “Would you like some lunch before you go?”

One ear flicked as a smarmy smirk claimed her lips. “I think there’s a legend or two cautioning against sharing a meal with a goddess.”

“Lucky for you, I’m a deposed one, so it’s not nearly so dire a concern.” They both laughed, her offer accepted as they started towards the kitchen. “And thank you, Velvet. For helping me with... all this.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” She smiled, and Weiss could already feel another piece of her heart beginning to break off. “Are we going to have another one of Blake’s favorites?”

She raised a brow, feigning ignorance. “Whatever do you mean?” The look she received, however, encouraged her to drop that act rather quick. “I’d hoped it wasn’t quite that obvious.”

“Well, sure, not to the average person looking for neat recipes,” Velvet said, a smile tugging at her lips. “But aside from the fact you literally named the tabs after them, I’ve known Blake for a while now. When I recognized some of the entries, I kinda figured you’d pointed me at something... special.” Shrugging her shoulders, she let out a little chuckle. “And I mean, it’s exciting, in a way.”

“How so?” They stepped into the kitchen together- an area of the penthouse she rarely entered, unless struck by a particularly strong bout of nostalgia.

“There are times we’ve been out before, like at a restaurant, and she’ll order something.” The Faunus leaned back against one counter, reminiscing with a grin. “She’ll be excited until it comes, and then her expression kinda... drops.” Despite the sour turn of her recounting, Velvet seemed rather giddy about it. “We’ll always ask her if she’s okay and she just brushes it off. Says ‘I thought it would taste different’ or something, because it is good, and now I know why.” Her hands moved with every word as her smile grew. “It’s these memories- the times she’s eaten this stuff before the recipe changed, or a certain ingredient became more popular. She’ll still order them, still eat them, but it’s like she’s always known something’s missing or off. And now? I know!” She shook her head a little. “You even included cooking instructions- no one thinks to prepare suya using the old religious methods anymore!”

Unbidden, the smell of cooking meat and burning wood filled her nose, called forth by a memory, and she could hear laughter in her ears and feel at least one set of arms around her waist. “It certainly changes the taste, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” A brief pause. “Watching Blake’s face light up, having finally found the taste she’s been expecting...” Her ears drooped. “I... kinda feel bad, now that I think about it, depriving you of that.”

“It’s quite alright.” She went to the pantry, possessed by a mission. “Did you enjoy the meal as well?”

“Yeah... are you sure-”

“Velvet,” she said, turning a smile towards her guest. “It’s fine. I’m sure you noticed how long the Nightowl tab is; there’s more opportunities ahead. I make it a point to treat them like the royalty when I find them- I cook all their old favorites, bring back dishes the whole world’s forgotten.” Weiss tried to focus on assembling the ingredients but felt her resolve weakening, turning to look at her guest. “But I do wonder... when she catches wind of something she particularly likes, sometimes her ears will... do this thing-”

“Oh, you mean this?” Although longer, her rabbit ears twitched in a peculiar pattern. “Yeah, she does that.”

Despite the inherent differences, she found her heart fluttering all the same. “I’m glad.” Shaking her head slightly, she focused on the task at hand, cataloging what she had readily available and mentally going through the recipes to see what she might have to offer. “I look forward to seeing it again myself. But for now, perhaps you’ve noticed the others have similar reactions to certain foods?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it.” Velvet’s brows furrowed very slightly before she laughed.  “Coco’s usually the loudest about it.”

“I suspect we both know why, now don’t we?” She motioned to one of the cupboards. “Grab the skillet and saucepan from there. Let me show you what she remembers.”

The kitchen came alive with the sounds of cooking- an activity she didn’t do near as often without her beloveds present. Velvet turned out to not only be a great helper but attentive to the process as well, asking little questions about the benefits of using a mortar and pestle versus store bought ground peppers and the like. All in all, a nice afternoon capped with a meal Velvet enjoyed enthusiastically, proclaiming something along the lines of ‘the universe finally makes sense’ and a promise to ‘cook more things with wine’, though it would likely be difficult for her to find bottles as old as Weiss had readily on hand.

It remained one of those bittersweet things that her existence brought, made all the easier to bear when a smile flashed her way. It wasn’t one of the ones she’d longed for... but that didn’t bother her in the slightest.

Three days.

Weiss tried to not count each second but felt too restless. Never before had she entrusted her secrets in such a manner, not since she'd lost her chosen. The ones she took to pass the centuries rarely called to her the way they had, the familiar thrum of a compatible soul rare enough that she didn't want to sully the years with her ever present regret. She feigned happiness and that seemed to pacify her temporary partners, if she deigned to care about their opinions at all.

However, after three days, she began to worry. Did they begrudge her using another to bring them together? Velvet promised she wouldn't mention their previous lives though. Perhaps Blake had?

When her scroll rang, it quite nearly gave her a heart attack, anxiety spiking rather suddenly as she saw the name flashing on the screen.

The Reckoning had come.

"Hello?" She did her best to sound composed as she answered, nervously picking at the hem of her blouse.

"Hey Weiss!" Sorry it took so long. Someone wanted to be difficult." Velvet seemed in high spirits, a teasing lilt to her tone.

"There's a difference between 'difficult' and 'cautious'," Blake said, her voice raised as if yelling from another room.

"Whatever you say, Bookworm!" The rabbit Faunus laughed, bringing a small smile to the deity's lips. "Anyway, I know it's short notice, but everyone's coming over to the apartment tonight. Wanna join us?"

Blue eyes flicked to her bed, where she'd laid out an appropriate outfit after seeing her guest down to the lobby the other day. She'd thought it foolish at the time- wishful thinking and it did nothing to settle her nerves- but perhaps the spontaneity had remained intact, too. Her beloveds were always prone to last minute decisions. "I would love to."

"Great! Do you remember how to get to my apartment?"

"Yes."

"Perfect! Swing by, let's say, around seven?" Velvet lowered her voice. "Everyone else will be here around six thirty; I think it'll be easier if you only have to go through the whole explanation once."

"That's considerate of you. Thank you." More words sat on her tongue but she refrained, by the barest margins.

"Blake's looking forward to seeing you again, by the way." Weiss felt her heart stutter. "I think she's starting to remember more. She asked me about going to the library the other day. I think she misses the smell of books."

She couldn't help but blurt out the first thing that came to mind. "Should I bring one of her old ones? I still have her original collection. Most of it, anyway."

Silence followed her words and the deity cursed her impatience, more than aware how terribly reckless she became when so close to reuniting with her lovers. The thought occurred to her every time yet she always decided against it, feeling as though it would do more harm than good. She'd just never spoken it aloud before, not to someone capable of responding anyway.

"Actually, I think she'd love that."

"... you do?"

"Yeah!" Velvet's smile could be easily heard across the line. "I think something from her past might help make these memories seem more real, more tangible. Bring one from the early days if you have it; it might remind her why she decided to stay with you at the temple." She paused, humming. "But, if you do bring a book for her, maybe you should bring something for the others as well? It might give them something to focus on while they remember; a grounding rod to a particularly strong memory."

She blinked. Bringing them something from their past had occurred to her but choosing an item specifically for its importance hadn't; she usually considered something they especially liked, not something from a shared memory. 

"That... actually sounds like a wonderful idea." Blue eyes darted towards the hallway. "It may take me some time to choose what I'll bring. There are... so many choices."

"Do you need any help carrying them over?"

"No." Her mind raced with possibilities. "Thank you, Velvet, but I'll keep my physical limitations in mind."

"I dunno, seeing you waltz through the door with a work bench over one shoulder would be entertaining." The Faunus chuckled. "But seriously, you can thank me if this all works out. I'll see you later, okay?"

After bidding Velvet goodbye, Weiss hung up, hardly able to process how quickly things had progressed. Usually, she'd still be working to get the first one she found to remember, to trust her, but now she'd have all six together again.

Quickly, she got to her feet and hurried to the secured room, excitement hastening her steps. She already had ideas for what to bring and only a few hours to be ready.

Music and laughter drifted down from an open window as Weiss waited for seven o'clock to roll around. Her eagerness had gotten the better of her and she'd arrived fifteen minutes early with a bag slung over her shoulder. As people passed, they gave her odd looks and she could hardly fault them; if it bothered her, she could always hide herself away, but she didn’t want that. Weiss wanted all the world to know that tonight, she would have a chance to reclaim those whom she’d lost so long ago, and so many times since. For such an auspicious evening, she would not hide herself away, and would soak up the curiosity just as easily as any other attention paid her.

The ancient deity wore her best silk for the occasion, the white fabric folded and pinned in place by hand crafted broaches bear their marks. When she sat on the throne in her temple to hear the plights of mortals, she wore this very ensemble while surrounded by her lovers. An ivory crown etched with snowflakes pressing against her temples, her Gladiatrix and Dragon at her shoulders, her Seamstress and Jester at her hips, her Thief’s emblem high on her belly and her Nightowl in the center of her chest, a mimicry of the stars that constituted her constellation in the night sky, given new meaning- she truly looked like one befitting her power, the honor and respect conferred upon the pantheon her very birthright. In those days, her eyes never dulled, always shining so bright from the adulation of thousands the world over and multiplied by those she’d chosen to keep beside her through the centuries, and none dared question her divinity.

Now, more often than not, some brave soul would muster the courage to ask if she’d hand made the ‘costume’ or if it was story bought, or snort derisively that she’d be late to her ‘dumb party’ when she deigned to not acknowledge their presence at all.

Weiss checked her scroll, still a minute shy but unable to wait any longer, and ascended the stairs, standing before the door with her heart thudding in her chest. She should give it a few more minutes, to not seem so eager- she’d scared her beloveds quite badly by showing her emotions too quickly in the past and she didn’t want to repeat the mistake.

The test of her resolve came to an abrupt end, however, when the door opened.

“Blake.” The name left her lips like a prayer, confronted with the Faunus giving her a soft smile that melted her heart every single time.

“You’ve always been a stickler for punctuality, if I recall right,” she said, a rueful lilt to her voice. “I think, anyway.” Amber eyes gave her a quick once over, ears twitching slightly. “I... can’t tell if your outfit surprises me or not.”

“I wanted to impress.” Weiss offered a smile, unable to keep herself from drinking in every little detail. Blake and purple dominated Blake’s attire, which seemed rather fitting; the deity had ensured her Nightowl had access to nothing short of the best clothing in her preferred colors, the dark fabrics blending into her midnight hair while the traditionally royal purple affirmed her status at the deity’s side and brought out her eyes all the more. However, she had to admit: black leather with a purple top, while not the most refined ensemble, definitely looked good on her. “I suppose I’m a bit out of date, though.”

Blake flashed her a smile. “Actually, I think you’re rather timeless.” She coughed into her hand, a blush just beginning to rise in her cheeks as the Faunus averted her gaze, missing Weiss’ fond smile entirely. “Anyway, I wanted to be the one to meet you at the door. I... wanted to say... I’m sorry.”

“That’s hardly necessary; this time-”

“No.” She shook her head and waved off the words with a cringe. “I mean, I do feel bad about kicking you out before, but the more I started to... remember...” She glanced at the deity, making eye contact briefly before a sigh escaped her lips, ears laying back atop her head. “For some reason, I kept feeling like I owed you an apology for something but, every time I tried before, you would stop me.” One hand came up to rub at her arm, a long held, self conscious gesture. “I think you know why I want to apologize better than I do. Right now, anyway. Velvet said that everything would make more sense once you talked to us. So. When I remember, I’ll probably try again, but until then, at least I’ve said it.”

Weiss chuckled, ducking her head to buy herself time as she marshaled her thoughts. “I can’t believe I forgot how sneaky you could be, catching me before I’ve even had the chance to raise my guard.”

“If I remember right, it’s one of the things you love about me.”

She paused, looking back up and slowly shaking her head. Although something she would expect in a few years, when her memories were entirely restored and their bond repaired, to hear it so soon, with no hint of insincerity or uncertainty...

“... how?”

Blake looked uncomfortable for a moment before averting her gaze again. “I guess it seems... weird to you. But... it’s weird to me, too.” She raised a hand, rubbing at her temple. “I have... so many images in my head, disjointed from emotions, and I can remember each one, but I can’t... it’s like there’s movies in my head, but the scenes are jumbled.” She looked up, meeting Weiss’ gaze with a pleading expression. “Velvet helped me make sense of some of it. Made some of the pieces fit together- it’s not enough, but it makes me feel like there’s... some truth in your words, in these... memories.” She shrugged, ears lifting slightly- a sign of hope. “I want to hear you out. I want to make sense of it.”

With a nod, the deity smiled. “Thank you.”

“Thank Velvet.” The Faunus puffed out a brief laugh. “She’s... always been scary good at talking some sense into me.” Her shoulders relaxed a little. “She’s... not the only one. But I think you know that already.”

“I do.”

Blake turned, pushing the door open a bit more. “Would you like to come in and meet the others... again?”

“More than anything,” she replied, entering the apartment again and able to hear quiet chatter amid music coming from the living room, voices she hadn’t heard in far too long reaching her ears. “How much did Velvet tell you?”

“It was less ‘telling’ and more ‘confirming’, putting things in order.” The Faunus frowned, brows pinching together. “This is going to be a shock to everyone, isn’t it?”

Weiss reached out, gently laying a hand on Blake’s arm. “It will pass swiftly. I promise.” Her expression turned contrite. “I’m afraid of everyone, your reaction is always the worst. That’s my fault. Theirs will be easier.”

To her relief, a glimmer of her beloved Nightowl returned in the soft smile that answered her. “I trust you. And I get the feeling you’re being too hard on yourself.” She nodded towards the interior of the apartment. “Now, come on; I’ve kept you to myself long enough.”

Deep down, she laughed at that, allowing only a chuckle to break the surface, because she didn’t think Blake understood how vast an understatement that was, but it would come in time. Taking a brief moment to brace themselves, the two stepped beyond the foyer and into the living room, everyone’s attention sliding to them almost immediately. Blue eyes quickly scanned the all too familiar faces, her heart skipping a beat at how happy they all looked, enjoying each other’s company.

Curiously, she didn’t spot Velvet among them, but any question as to the rabbit Faunus’ whereabouts was silenced as the others spoke up.

“Oh, hey! Who’s your friend, Blake?” Yang called out from between Sun and Pyrrha on the couch, leaning forward slightly to get a better look. Then a spark ignited in those lilac eyes as she tilted her head. “Wait, you look familiar- have we met before?”

“Wow, Xiao Long, not even thirty seconds,” Coco said with a drawl, sitting on the adjacent loveseat with Emerald. However, a furrow came to her brows followed by the lowering of her shades prevented further teasing, chocolate orbs flicking over her frame. “But you might be right for once.”

“Maybe we shared a class together?” Emerald offered, glancing at the others before returning her gaze to Weiss, throwing a remote of some sort at Sun, whose mouth was hanging wide open in shock.

He fumbled with it but shut off the music all the same, going right back to staring the moment he’d complied with the unspoken request.

“Sorry!” Pyrrha’s apologetic smile said it all as she made a small gesture with her hands. “It seems we’re all having the same issues. Would you mind jogging our memories?”

“Of course,” she replied, unable to keep from smiling at the phrasing. “Do you believe in destiny?”

[thelionshoarde]

If you still need prompts: Suzu and Shirayuki, the need for warmth and good company, and the mysterious disappearance of a bottle of wine?

Iiii got sick this last week and fell behind so this was rushed and probably shoddy, D: please forgive the errors and inconsistent characterization??

12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS PROMPT-A-THON, DAY 4

Or you can read it here on ao3 if you prefer!

Shirayuki escaped through the balcony door, squeezing her way through the throng of merry-makers and out, gasping, into the sudden dark and quiet and empty space of a frozen night.

Icicles glittered in the dim glow of lanterns, of the stars, of the distant city lights. Relieved to be alone, Shirayuki moved toward the balustrade. Her breath clouded the air, and though the festive gown she wore was ill-suited to winter weather, the heat that flushed her from the crowded ballroom at Wilant Castle kept her from shivering.

A familiar, lethargic voice said, “I’ll have you know I claimed this balcony right from the get go. If you want sanctuary, it’s going to cost you.”

Startled, Shirayuki turned sharply to the side. Benches were set up along the wall, tucked between frosted topiary and hidden largely in shadow. Suzu looked out at her, sprawled comfortably in what looked like Obi’s new, velvet cape. He also appeared to have brought his work satchel with him, the bag slumped beneath his booted feet, oddly shaped and bulging in places.

“How long have you been out here?” she asked. “It’s nearly time for the -- the kissing, you know. I thought you wouldn’t want to miss out on that.”

Suzu waved a lazy hand, gloved in expensive kid skin. If Shirayuki remembered correctly Obi had taken him out shopping for the event, insisting that Suzu had to show up at Wilant Castle in something nicer than his work attire.

It seemed strange, for a moment; Suzu across from her in the cold, as if they were still pulling long hours at Lata’s and had stepped outside for a short break, talking idly and half-asleep as had been their habit, cooling off from the intense heat of their research. Over a year since then, Shirayuki realized with a start.

With their individual workloads at the Pharmacy, with Suzuri and Ryuu and Obi always about, it had been easy to fall back into familiar patterns. Ones where Shirayuki rarely saw Suzu alone. Her heart clenched, an uncomfortable burn, as she realized how much she missed it. Shirayuki had enjoyed his company, and it wasn’t until now she understood that, for some reason, Suzu in a crowd was never quite the same as Suzu alone.

“You look weird,” Suzu accused, rather than answer. “Like a -- a Lady.”

Then again, perhaps absence really did make the heart grow fonder.

“Sorry?” she asked, mouth pursed with irritation, “Should I go inside? I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Eh? Oh, no,” Suzu said, sounding soft and distant, distracted. Shirayuki always forgot the oddity of him -- how he could give off such an air of apathy, and yet have the most direct, attentive gaze -- until his focus caught on her. “I was getting bored anyway.”

“Well,” Shirayuki smiled, crooked and uncertain. “Shall I sit, then?”

Suzu snuggled more firmly beneath Obi’s purloined cape, the crushed, royal blue velvet dark against his pale hair, long enough now to curl against his broad shoulders. “Sure,” he said, tilting his head to the empty stretch of bench beside him. “But I hope you brought your own blanket, I’m not sharing.”

* * *

A brief tugging war later, Shirayuki had the cape pulled over her front, huddled against Suzu in the bitter cold. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to eat my spoils as well,” Suzu sighed, reaching down to his satchel.

“Your -- your spoils?”

“Mm,” Suzu agreed, coming back up with two goblets full of bite sized cubes of cheese and little mince meat pies. Laughing, Shirayuki accepted the prize, flavors bursting against her tongue, the metal goblet biting through her thin silk gloves, Suzu muttering outrageous commentary about the looks he’d received as he piled his goblets high with appetizers.

* * *

“What about you? Not going to go on a kissing spree?”

Shirayuki felt the prickle of a blush in her cheeks, and kept her gaze on the distant stars. She had thought this would be the same as it had been in the past -- when she and Suzu had bowed their heads nearly touching over the olin maris seeds, the glittering crystals, and the heat, murmuring conjectures and frustrated oaths, close enough their breath mingled -- but it wasn’t.

It felt strange and new. Maybe it was because instead of needing the chill air to cool off, they were curled together for warmth. Or the way Shirayuki caught Suzu staring at her, only to have him look away a second too slow not to be obvious about it. Or perhaps it was because she knew what Yuzuri would say -- that dinner beneath the stars, the two of them alone, sounded like a date.

It wasn’t a date. And it was completely normal for them to be talking about kissing. It was Longest Night, after all.

“No, I --”

“Saving all your kisses for a special someone?”

“No,” Shirayuki protested, blush intensifying. “It’s only --”

“Oh.” Despairing, Shirayuki closed her eyes on the stars and tilted her head back against the stone as Suzu interrupted again. “I see. You’ve never been kissed?”

The blush flamed, burning her. “No!” she cried, shifting so she could glare at her fellow pharmacist. “I’ve -- I’ve been kissed! But I only -- well.” What dignity did she even have, here, faced with Suzu’s placid interrogation? For a moment she wished she could scoop up a palmful of snow and throw it in his face. “I’ve only been kissed by one person,” she admitted. “I don’t think I’m quite capable of -- of going around and kissing dozens, even if it is a tradition.”

The North was weird, she had long decided. Kissing wasn’t meant to be a group activity -- right? Nettled, she subsided, leaning back against the wall, head tilted back once more to take in the unfeeling, soothing sky. Only after she settled did she freeze, realizing that her shoulder was pressed to Suzu’s, that her thigh ran along the length of his.

“Who was it?”

Oh! Really. Even for Suzu, that seemed too prying. “None of your business,” she said, tone tart. Beneath the cloak she folded her arms, trying not to pay attention to the solid muscle of Suzu’s arm, a strength that usually went unnoticed.

“Hm, I’ll guess, then. Garrack?”

“That’s your fantasy,” Shirayuki claimed, startled into laughter.

Suzu hummed, sounding pleased. “That should be everybody’s fantasy. Okay, so not Garrak. Shidan?”

“Now you’re just being silly,” Shirayuki snorted, rolling her eyes.

For a moment she thought he was going to let it go. That he had gotten bored, or distracted, or simply satisfied his urge to -- to tease her. But then he asked, voice strange, “Obi, then.”

“W-what? No,” she said, brows furrowing. “Not Obi. It --”

Honestly, she may as well give in. Suzu was obsessive when he chose, and for some strange, unfathomable reason, he had chosen to obsess over this topic. Sighing, she admitted, “Zen. Zen’s the only person I’ve ever kissed.”

“Zen. The Second Prince of Clarines, Zen?”

“That would be the one,” Shirayuki muttered, plucking at the cape. The noise from within the ballroom lifted, loud with cheers, before subsiding back into a gentler, ambient noise of controlled, festive chaos. Maybe she should go back in, but --

She didn’t really want to.

“Huh,” said Suzu. “Well, can’t say I blame you. If he’s as pretty as his brother I wouldn’t say no to a kiss either.”

Shirayuki tucked the cape over her nose, groaning.

* * *

“Well, I think it’s time for drinking,” Suzu decided. “You wipe out the goblets, Shirayuki. I’ll get the wine.”

“The -- how much do you have in there, Suzu! Goodness.”

The cape fell from Shirayuki’s shoulders as Suzu leaned forward, and she shivered, but took advantage of the give to wipe clean the interior of both goblets. “Not much, really,” Suzu said, voice muffled. He grunted, tugging, and then came back upright abruptly, his hair a silvery sweep, like fine snow, that brushed against Shirayuki’s cheek. “Just enough for a quality evening, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” Shirayuki allowed, as Suzu worked the cork out of the bottle. It wasn’t one of the sparkling bottles served by the waiters inside, either, it was cloudy, a little dusty, a wax seal on one corner of the peeling label. Shirayuki felt realization dawn on her, slow and tinged with horror, but mostly amazement.

“Is that -- oh, oh my. Obi got in so much trouble for this!”

The bottle in Suzu’s hand was a very expensive wine that had been, allegedly, purloined from Lata’s house. Obi had been accused, Lata muttering indignantly that he knew Obi wasn’t a real knight. Suzu hummed, but Shirayuki recognized the smug amusement that deepened the corners of his mouth, an almost smile, as he said, “Care for a drink, Miss Court Pharmacist? It’d be a pity to let Obi’s theft go to waste.”

“Might as well,” Shirayuki said, trying to keep the laugh from her voice, and failing.

* * *

With the wine, a full belly, and company that Shirayuki found entirely too pleasing, she was warm despite the sharpness of the air stinging her nose. “I really am surprised you’re not inside,” she admitted, sipping at her second glass of wine. “Rubbing elbows with moneyed Lords and Ladies, and the like.”

“Mm, money would be nice,” Suzu sighed, sounding dreamy. “Think of all the research I could get done if I could only charm one of these rich nobles into funding me? Do you think I could convince Duchess Manaka to make me her sidepiece? She can lavish me in rewards for being so pretty.”

Shirayuki snorted. “I think I would have better luck with that.”

“Oh?” Suzu blinked at her. “Then perhaps I could be your sidepiece, and you can be Duchess Manaka’s. Share the wealth, Miss Court Pharmacist.”

Coloring slightly, Shirayuki looked away, prim. “Isn’t it time you stopped calling me that? We’ve been at Lyrias for two years now, you know.”

“I did notice,” Suzu admitted, voice dry. “But --”

The hesitation was enough to have Shirayuki turning back. Suzu wasn’t one for second guessing his words.

“Weren’t you planning on leaving us all behind and heading to Wilant to be Court Pharmacist?” There was a curious tilt to Suzu’s mouth, one Shirayuki didn’t know how to read.

“It’s not as though it’s far,” she whispered. “It’s not as though --”

“You’ll forget us, left behind amidst the dusty research shelves. Moving on to better, grander things.”

The way he said it -- a brittle quality hidden behind airy distance -- had Shirayuki’s heart hammering in her chest. Unease, or excitement; irritation and fondness. “I won’t,” she declared, catching Suzu’s gaze and holding it. “I would never. I cherish all of you too much. We’ve been through too much. You’ll always be my precious friends.”

“Friends,” Suzu murmured, head tilting toward her curiously. “I’m not your friend, Shirayuki.”

“I...what?”

Suzu took her goblet and his and set it on the ground at their feet, the cape rustling. Shirayuki caught the edge of it before it could quite escape and gripped it, hard, confused. She had thought -- but of course they were friends. How could he say something like that? Even Suzu couldn’t be so --

When Suzu turned back toward her, he was entirely too close, leaning over her in a way that pressed her back against the wall, that blocked the starry sky and seemed to muffle the sounds of the party carrying on inside. Hesitant, he tapped his fingers against her jaw, before withdrawing his hand.

“I don’t think,” he reasoned out of nowhere, “that kissing is that big of a deal.”

“What,” Shirayuki exhaled, starting to get annoyed, “is going on? What do you mean we’re not friends? I thought --”

“You should let me kiss you,” Suzu interjected.

It certainly interrupted Shirayuki’s irritation, her brain suddenly as still as the world in winter, quiet and frozen. He -- kissing. He wanted --

“I thought I looked -- weird,” Shirayuki whispered, oddly breathless. This close Suzu’s eyes were nearly too much, clear and bright as the moon on snow, staring at her as if he might take her apart just to see how she worked.

“I only meant,” he murmured, leaning closer. His gloved hand returned, more confident this time; firm, drawing her in. “That I prefer you as you usually are.”

“Oh.”

“Back to the kissing,” Suzu said, brows arching hopefully. “It really is a shame you’ve only been kissed by a prince. How are you to know what you like if your sample size is only that? We should rectify it. For science.”

Shirayuki’s breath was coming faster, little stuttering inhales and exhales. Suzu’s thigh was firm against hers beneath the cloak, a source of sizzling heat. “For -- ah, science?”

“Sure,” he said. “If you want it to be.”

She managed, just barely, to ask: “You would kiss someone who isn’t your friend?”

“I’d kiss anybody,” Suzu admitted. “And it’s -- you’re misunderstanding. I don’t feel about you the same way I feel about Yuzuri, or Obi. I don’t feel friendly with you.”

Licking her lips, Shirayuki felt hot, nervous. “Then... how do you feel? With me?”

An expression shifted across Suzu’s face, a tightness, a glimmer of sharp longing, that Shirayuki barely knew to recognize. But she did, and it caught her breath in her chest, made her hands tremble where they were clenched in velvet. Oh, she thought. So that’s what it means. That’s what I’ve been feeling.

“Lots of things,” Suzu said, lips brushing just barely against Shirayuki’s. “Awful, annoying, incessant things. I’m going to kiss you now, okay? For science.”

“Sure,” Shirayuki whispered. “If you want it to be. But you can -- you, uh --”

“Mm,” Suzu’s hand slid back into her hair, and her eyes fluttered shut. “I can what?”

How was he so obtuse, she wondered, but she couldn’t get angry. It wasn’t as though she had done much better. Words felt too awkward, her emotions spinning, wild, as everything she had thought she understood revealed new meaning. As Suzu gained new meaning. And --

Annoyed at her own idiocy, Shirayuki opened her eyes, angled her head, and kissed him in the moonlight, in the cold and the dark, while the crowds inside danced and cheered, passed kisses like favors amongst the throngs. Suzu kissed her like a question, a curious, hungry glide of lips and tongue, a nip of teeth; and he kissed her like an answer, a humming moan as he pressed into her, the greedy clench of his fingers tangled in her hair.

Even through their finery she could feel his heart beat fit to burst from his chest, matching the erratic, hungry, startled pace of her own.

When he pulled back, dragging in air, his eyes searched hers, brows quirking. “In case you’re still confused: I’m out here because the only one I want to kiss anymore is you, you know.”

“Yes,” Shirayuki gasped, flushed and embarrassed, confused but pleased. “I -- sort of gathered. Uhm. Shall we -- ah, would you like --”

“Yep,” Suzu agreed, and dipped down to kiss her again.

[skywardsoul]

The Bridge Between You and Me (chapter 6; Finale/Epilogue)

It's here! The finale/Epilogue of the Bridge Between You and Me! I want to start off by apologizing for the delay. My computer's hard drive broke, and I was without access to my works for about two weeks. I'm actually posting this chapter from a loaner as I type this! The next thing I want to address was everyone who has been following this story. Thank you all so much for the kind reviews and constructive feedback! It means the absolute world to me. Finally, I want to talk about whats coming up. I have already mentioned the spin-off of this story, taking place during Akko and Sucy's trip to Japan, but I was also thinking of maybe doing a collection of one-shots/two-shots about various points in Sucy and Akko's life. I hope you look forward to both!

so, without further ado, please enjoy the final chapter!

Ao3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12312885/chapters/28879020

FF.Net link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12682030/6/The-Bridge-Between-You-and-Me

chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5

It was no secret that witches lived a very long time. While the average non-magical human would be lucky to live to a ripe age like 80 or so years, a witch could easily exceed 100. Particularly powerful witches were even rumored to live centuries. This meant that witches had a long and thorough history, one filled with rituals, ceremonies and countless memorials. So it came to little surprise when the High Magic Council filed a complaint against the Blytonbury City Planning Department.

The details hadn’t been made entirely clear, but apparently the city’s plan for building a new park overlapped directly with a landmark considered very important by magical kind, especially to the witch who originally lobbied the council to file a complaint.

And that was who she was meeting with. Eleanor let out a frustrated sigh as she checked the map that had been sent to her. In recent years, witches had come a long way in adapting to new technologies, but were still a ways behind the modern standard. Eleanor appreciated the electronic map, but wished the display was a bit more informative rather than the flat out general area it gave her. ‘Follow the path and you’ll probably find it’ were far from the best instructions.

On some level she still felt betrayed. Eleanor knew she was the newest employee at the office, but it still seemed highly unfair that she was the one who got saddled with this whole mess. Witches were notoriously stubborn when it came to complaints like this, so the chances of her actually changing this one’s mind were next to none. They wouldn’t reach an agreement, it would go to the higher ups to deal with and on and on until something was figured out that made everyone happy. That meant this whole thing was nothing but a waste of her time.

Eleanor shivered as a sudden gust of wind blew, messing up her short, amber locks. Winter was right around the corner, and there was nothing she’d love more than being back in her heated office. But she wasn’t. She was following some dirt path to go argue with a witch. The grass at its edges was tall and untrimmed, spilling into the path itself. Eleanor had read somewhere that at one point it had been used by witches who were on their way to the leyline terminal. Those days were long gone though, for as far she knew most witches traveled to the leyline by the magical roads via broom.

The whole thing just felt, abandoned. Yet for some reason Eleanor couldn’t help but feel a bit at ease as well. It was strange, to say in the least.

After following the path for a good while, Eleanor found herself at a small river. It wasn’t very wide, and the water wasn’t water wasn’t very flowing very fast, but a small bridge stretched over it all the same. The stone of the bridge’s railing over lapped awkwardly and inconsistently, giving the appearance that it was hastily put together. The flagstone used for the actual bridge itself was much cleaner and arranged more orderly, the markings on it revealing years of use. Strangely enough, the bridge didn’t seem worn, or dilapidated in anyway, despite its apparent age. If the path leading up to it were anything to go by, the old thing should have fallen apart and into the river ages ago. Yet, here it stood, sturdy and defiant.

While the bridge was quite the curiosity, it was the woman standing on it that really caught Eleanor’s attention. It wasn’t hard to tell she was a witch, her robes and the broom she had slung over her shoulder being a dead give away. She was quite tall, and on the thinner side. Her skin was a strange almost ghost like pale, and her chocolate brown hair was worn in a long braid, draping over her left shoulder. For whatever reason, her left eye was obscured by her bangs.

As she approached, Eleanor cleared her throat to prepare a greeting.

“Hi there,” she said in a friendly tone, holding out her hand for the witch to take. “I’m Eleanor Van Buren, from the Blytonbury City Planning Department. Are you the witch I’m supposed to be meeting to discuss our planning options?”

The witch didn’t respond immediately, seemingly examining her before a small smile spread across her face. She hadn’t been able to tell before, but up close it was easy to see the witch was nearing her silver years. Still, there was an indescribable energy in her smile, one that seemed warm and boundless. Her dark, scarlet red eye shined with it as she took Eleanor’s hand and shook it.

“My name is Akiko Manbavaran-Kagari. Nice to meetcha!”

Eleanor was a bit taken aback by the fervor in which she shook her hand, and had to catch herself from falling over.

“Uh, r-right,” she said stabilizing herself. “Well Mrs., um, Manbavaran-Kagari-”

“Oh please just call me Aki,” the witch interrupted. It was hard to explain, but her words and attitude were chipper, yet her tone was dry and droll. Almost like she somehow simultaneously excited and bored.

“Right...Aki,” Eleanor began. “Why don’t we start at the beginning. What exactly is it that the magic council is afraid of getting demolished?”

The last thing Eleanor had expected was for Aki to start laughing. It was raspy, yet obviously familiar to the tall witch. She clearly enjoyed her fair share of mirth.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be rude,” Aki said as her laughter died down. The large grin she wore before continuing, giving Eleanor a clear look at her surprisingly shark-like teeth.

“The thing we’re worried about gettin’ knocked over is right under you!” the brunette woman exclaimed gesturing to the bridge around them.

Eleanor simply stared at her in slight disbelief. This was all over some tiny bridge? She knew witches were weird but this was a whole new level of nonsensical.

“You mean..this whole problem, is because of this little bridge?” She asked incredulously.

Aki simply nodded her head, a smile on her face.

“Well yeah. I don’t go through all the trouble of maintaining it for your department to go and wreck it,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Well at least now she knew how the bridge had stayed in good shape all this time. Magic really did seem like the only answer.

“Not to undermine your effort or anything,” Eleanor started cautiously. The last thing she wanted was to get cursed or something. “But is this one bridge really worth it? I mean is it really all that...special?”

Aki paused at this, putting a seemingly contemplative hand to her chin, a sly grin on her face. Suddenly she stopped, turning to point at something to left of the bridge.

“It is to them.”

Confused by her statement, Eleanor followed her line of sight. Her confusion quickly changed to awe. Resting nearby at the bank of the river, was a massive sakura tree. It’s hundreds of out stretched branches, swaying in the breeze. Despite the closeness to winter, each one was covered in beautiful pink blossoms. Gently, pink petals fell from it, drifting down into the river, making the lazy stream flow with color. Equally magnificent, and arguably just as baffling, was the tree that accompanied it.

Pressed against the sakura’s trunk, was a tall and spindly banaba tree. It’s branches were seemingly intertwined with that of the sakura’s, it’s light purple blossoms blending with the pink of its partner’s. The two trees stood proudly, side by side, practically woven together, as if nothing could separate them. Not only were neither of the tree types native to the area, but there was no way that either could have possibly grow to the size they had with another so close. The most confusing thing at all however, was how Eleanor had failed to notice them on her approach.

None of it made any sense. She turned to Aki for an answer, but stopped when she saw the other woman’s face. There was a far off, nostalgic look in her eyes as she gazed at the two planted wonders. Suddenly, she started to walk across the bridge, passing by Eleanor as she did. Startled, Eleanor followed her until they stopped at the base of the two trees.

She hadn’t noticed it before (that seemed to be an annoying trend today) but there were two stone plaques situated just at the base of both trees. What they said Eleanor was unable to tell, as each one was written in a different language, ones she couldn’t read. Slowly, Aki raised a hand, and placed it at the point where the two trees seemed to meet. The brunette witch started to hum as she ran her hand across the bark.

Eleanor was at a lost for what to say. She had expected to come and argue with some crabby old lady about the importance of some enchanted rocks or something. That was all but forgotten at this point. She never would have guessed to see something like this, and the awe of it all simply kept her from caring about something so petty. What she was seeing was special, she just knew it. Just as she was about to break the silence, Aki beat her to it.

“I’m not sure if you know, but when a witch passes on, she must return the magic within her to the earth that gave it to her,” Aki began. Her voice was quieter than it was before.

“We, to put it simply, become trees!” the witch said with a smile, turning to face Eleanor. “Rumor has that the more powerful the witch, the greater her resulting tree.”

“Then...these are...graves?”

Eleanor was surprised at how quiet her own voice had gotten. Aki gave a slight giggle before responding with a nod.

“I guess, by non-magic standards yeah, they are. We like to think of them in a less dark sense though. Less, a burial place for the dead, and more, were they simply decided to live on,” Aki explained.

“Then these witches, the two burri- er, living here, were quite powerful then?” Eleanor asked.

Aki smiled once again before turning back to the trees.

“Yeah some would say my mothers were pretty strong. They were apart of the New Nine Witches after all.”

A wave of realization hit Eleanor in that moment. Manbavaran-Kagari. The name had rung a slight bell when she heard it before, but it was quite clear now. Sucy Manbavaran and Atsuko Kagari; two of nine fabled witches who had helped to save the world from a doom filled missile so long ago. This is where they were buried!?...this was their daughter!?

“Y-you’re the daughter of two of the nine witches!?” Eleanor asked stunned.

“Yes, I am,” Aki said with a laugh. “And as I said earlier, that bridge was very important to my mothers during their lives. It’s important to me too of course. I have countless family memories revolving around it.”

Aki walked forward, stopping to crouch near her mothers’ plaques. Silently, she placed two things, a jar of pickled plums, and a bundle of fungus, down in front of them. Turning back to face Eleanor, Aki began to walk back to the bridge. Once again, Eleanor followed. Looking briefly over her shoulder, she was shocked to find that the trees had seemingly vanished, leaving behind an empty river bank.

“Normally we keep the trees cloaked to non-magical eyes, you know to keep away fanatics and tourists,” Aki explained “Although I’m sure Okasan would have loved the attention,” Aki chuckled at this before continuing.

“I made an exception for you though, because I thought you’d just might need to see them to get where I’m coming from.”

Aki paused and turned one last time to her with a big smile.

“They say the more powerful a witch was, the greater the tree. I say boo to that, it’s all about the love. The love they had in life, that’s what makes for a grand tree. And a lot of my mothers’ Love is centered around that little bridge,” Aki said proudly.

“Do you see why I can’t let the city get rid of it?” the witch asked gently.

Slowly, a smile spread across Eleanor’s face. With a slight giggle, she responded:

“Yeah...I think I do.”

It came to the delight of the magical

Council, and to Akiko personally, when it was announced two weeks later that the city would be dropping its plan to build.

[nicklynch3]

Week 9 Photography in London

Activity 1 - Cropping

Before Cropping

There is a lot going on in this photo. There is the baby in the stroller, the couple on the bench, the trash all over, and the woman on the right pointing to something. Everyone seems to be emotional, alarmed, or somewhat upset based on their face. For example, the baby is crying, the couple is looking at something with a disturbed look on their face, and the woman on the right appears to be on the phone and pointing at something. Although it is hard to tell what they are thinking about, they give the sense that something is wrong. It makes the viewer more curious about what is going on.  

This photo could be about anything. The scene appears to be something similar to a bus stop of some sort. It looks like there is three or four groups of people that don’t know each other, which is typical at a public bus stop. The old couple look to be annoyed by the baby and the parent who is cut out from the photo because the baby’s face looks like he/she’s crying. The woman on the right appears to be on the phone, maybe waiting for someone to pick her up. There’s also a group of people in the background circling up together which, in my opinion, gives the impression, they are discussing whatever is going on. The trash in the foreground brings the scene together because it makes it all look messy and no one wants to be there.

After Cropping

After cropping this photo, it focuses in on one subject: the old couple on the bench. Without previously seeing the original image, there is less to think about. The only question that remains is, what are they staring at? There is no longer trash on the ground or a baby crying so it is easier on the eyes to know what to look at. Even though it is stereotypical to assume that elderly people are upset and annoyed often, that is exactly what this photo shows. It appears to be a sunny day based on the shadows and the natural light of the sun is shining directly on them. You can tell they are older people because of the way that they dress and their faces. 

They seem to be calmly enjoying their food, but have abruptly been distracted by something. They seem to be comfortable and keeping to themselves because of the fact that they are eating food on a bench outside. When you look at their faces up close, they look more bewildered than they do upset. This couple is old-fashioned and minding their own business, but something grabbed their attention.

Activity 2 - Captions

1. Ellie and Jacob on vacation in Florida, 2004.

This caption makes it look like two cute young children are near a pier on the ocean and are on a family vacation. You would assume it was taken by one of their parents to record memories from their childhood. 

2. Messy isn’t always a bad thing.

The two children look to be enjoying their ice cream as it falls down their face. Even though they are messy, they seem to be enjoying the ice cream. The caption emphasizes the ice cream.

3. Keep your loved ones close.

From one perspective, it looks like the car is about to hit them. This caption puts attention to the car before the kids get hit by it. 

4. Look both ways.

This caption makes sense because they are both nearing the street. The caption puts emphasis on the boy as he looks to the side before he crosses with his little sister. 

1. Dozing off into space.

This photo could be about the boy who works at the laundromat who is bored out of his mind. “Dozing off” in the caption makes the viewer look at the boy’s posture and facial expression.

2. Just hanging on.

This caption references the boy’s attitude and posture, as well as the socks hanging from above. Which one is it about? The artist leaves it up to the viewer to decide.

3. Chores

Laundry is a common chore done by kids/teenagers so it gives the feel that the boy is just waiting for his laundry to be done. It makes you notice the laundry basket next to the guy and think back to your own personal chores that you had as a kid. 

4. All red, everything.

This caption makes you look at everything that is red in the photo and realize that the boy’s entire outfit is featuring red. 

Gallery Activity

Mohamed Bourouissa

1. The main message of his work is to convey the societal differences in society and to make people recognize that marginalized people are not given the same attention as others. The premise on most of his work is that these people are not bad, they’re just different. His photos are inspired by a lot of previous art in history. 

2. Depending on the photo, there are various techniques that he applies. In most of them, light is a key tool that he uses to create the mood. In the photo of the man getting arrested, he uses hard light, which looks that appears to be glaring in the window from a sunrise, to make it more dramatic. From my perspective, it looks like the man was sleeping and the cops broke in and arrested him. He looks scared and undeserving of this action which ties into the theme. Also, I really like the one where the light from the sun is shining in, but on the other side of the photo it is raining. I would assume it is making a connection between the happiness of the city and the dullness of the banlieues (suburbs). The shadows in this photo do a great job of separating the two sides from one another. Also, he purposely dressed those two guys in all white outfits to show the contrast between their skin colors and outfits. They’re smiling to show that they are good people that aren’t given a chance. In the last photo from the website, he uses the hard light from the sun shining on the man’s face to show the contrasting skin color as well. 

This photo by Bourouissa has focus on the entire photo. It is more blurry in the background, but still easy to tell what is shown. The contrast between the sunny day and dreary dark rainy day is unique and is appealing to look at. The light and shadows are the most important part of the photo. The natural hard light from the left creates shadows that separate the dry warm setting from the rainy, dark one. It also separates the one guy from the other group of guys. You would probably need to read the exhibition text to understand the underlying message that Bourouissa is trying to convey. This type of photo really intrigued me because I had seen nothing like it before so I thought it was genius. 

Anton Kusters

1. The message that Kusters is trying to convey is the difficulty of representing trauma and sorrow. In The Blue Skies Project, there is a lot of contextual meaning that goes along with the series of photos. He is trying to document the history of the death camps and his personal connection with his grandfather who was a victim of the Holocaust. 

2. When you look at the series of photos, you can see how each photo is subtly different. This makes each one unique and makes it aesthetically pleasing to look at as a collection. There is a lot of context behind each photo. For example, the collection is made up of 1078 photos from each last-known location of concentration camps that existed throughout Europe. Also, each one has individuality by using the blind-stamping process and GPS coordinates attached. As far as each photo, I think that he was able to capture a lot of different tones of blue in the sky by taking them at different times of day, slightly different angles, and various shutter speeds. Even though the sky is beautiful in most of them, I think using the color blue represents sadness and dullness, which is what most people feel when thinking about a death camp. The fact that there are so many photos also makes the viewer realize the impact that genocide had on the world and that group of people. 

The focus in this photo seems to be inconsistent throughout. Some of them show clear cloud shapes, while others show just a more hazy color of blue. the light influences the mood in each photo. It represents different weather and different times of day. The darker, the more melancholy. The lighter, the more happier. But, when you attach meaning to the work, none of it seems happy. The consistent shape and colors from this piece make it all form as one. The separation by the white lines are essential to individualize one another. You would probably need to read the exhibition text to understand the message and the title doesn’t help the audience understand any better. I feel like I have seen this style done before, but this is unique because there are so many. 

Mark Neville

1. The purpose of Neville’s work from this project is to document the town of Guipgang. He was amazed by this small town and the community that lives within it. He states that the town is famous for football and farming and so he incorporates this theme clearly with almost every photo in the project. In an interview, he discusses how photography should have a social ambition

2. He conveys this by putting this collection in a photobook, targeting non-art audiences. He likes the notion of community and he uses many different parts of the community other than football and farming which they are most famous for. He was drawn to the baton twirlers, nuns, beauty pageants, and simple families on an ordinary day that all make up the community. By taking photos of other photos in front of the football stadium and showing community members on the farm in their natural environment, he is touching on all aspects on the community. By having his subjects pose, it makes it more dramatic and appealing to the eye. As they look into the lens of the camera with a straight face, it gives the feeling that the surrounding area is theirs, which draws back to the sense of community. 

This photo by Neville is a good representation of the series. The techniques used were probably thought out carefully. The light is coming from the sky, probably behind the camera towards the man’s face and also from the right. You can tell because the right side of the man’s face is lighter than the other side. The contrast between the grey sky and the green trees make the trees appear darker. The foreground seems to be a lot lighter than the background, making the audience focus on what is happening in the foreground. The man’s posture and the fact that he is centered is a great way to make it clear that he is the subject. Also, the angle at which it is taken gives the feeling that all of the land is his. The lines on the fence and the lines between the dirt and green grass separate one another. The audience would need to read the exhibition text and the title does not help anyone understand. The word “parade” seems like it has nothing to do what is going on in this photo. It reminds me of other photos, but not one in particular. 

Clare Strand

1. The message behind Strand’s work is to represent the failure of communication and misinformation that occurs between people. She used a complicated method to work on this piece, which adds to the meaning of it. The work is meant to show her personal struggle with interpreting information and to display the struggles that the audience can relate to. This poor quality of communication leads to confusion and issues between two parties; some of which are miniscule, while others are significant. 

2. She conveys this by the way in which she did this work. She made the process complicated on purpose to show how she can relate to the audience and to show how everyone experiences miscommunication. It would be hard to understand the meaning behind this if it were not explained. It is, however, easy to understand the different tones of colors that are put together to create one image. ‘1′ being the lightest tone and ‘10′ being the darkest. 

This photo by Strand is done very carefully with different tones. The black and white gives the feel that it is from an older time and the fact that the subject is someone taking a photo circles back around to the message that she is trying to convey. You would probably not know by the title or individual photo what her message is, but after reading the exhibition text, you could understand easily. The red numbers make the photo look raw and natural and bring some color to the black and white. There seems to be a lot of shadow and especially darkness in the background, making the audience’s eyes shift to the woman. The black and white create contrast that separate the pale white woman from the background. Everything is in focus, but the subject is clearly the woman and there doesn’t seem to be anything else going on in the photo. It sort of reminds me of the blue skies photo by Bourouissa because how each little piece on the grid is uniquely different and has a special number, similar to how he stamped numbers on each photo representing the location of the camp that the photo was taken at. 

Who should win?

Each of these artists showed incredible works, but I believe that Aston Kusters should win. The way that he was able to capture a photo from 1078 different sites and compile them into one piece of work shows determination and commitment to something he is passionate about. He organized the work very well by making every shot symmetrical to one another and the same size. It is visually appealing to see the different tones of blue from each site and the context behind the work is purposeful and something that everyone is familiar with. Not everyone has a special connection to the Holocaust, but everyone knows the impact that it had on the world. Lastly, using so many photographs is a key approach to conveying the impact that this incident had. 

Personal photo about something important

Captions:

1. Friendship

2. Coronavirus quarantine, 2020

3. Get outside!

The captions can drastically change the emphasis on the photo. For the first caption, Friendship, the audience focuses on the three guys and their relationship, gestures, and facial expression toward one another. For the second one, Coronavirus quarantine, 2020, I think about looking back on this photo years from now and thinking about how we all stayed inside to prevent the virus from spreading. The third caption, Get outside!, changes the meaning because it looks like a nice sunny day out with the river in the background and these idiots are sitting on the couch! 

I chose to crop the photo like this because I think that it emphasizes the interaction that they are having with one another. The two on the end appear to be smiling and talking about something while the other has his head down and sucking on his e-cig. Before cropping it, you can tell he isn’t being antisocial or upset, he is just watching something on the laptop in front of him. After cropping it, he looks more antisocial because it looks like he just has his head down. Cropping this photo also erases the huge mess that they’ve made in the living room and therefore there are no assumptions that people can make about their lifestyle and how messy that they are. They just look like they are enjoying themselves rather than camping out in the living room for days. I think when you have a photo like this that is up close, it makes the audience think about each person’s personality and what they are like. 

[toosicktoocare]

I have no idea how this is gonna go, but I would do anything for @prompt-master so here we go!

Jeremy’s quick and flexible, but he slips up while he’s gearing up to swing toward an opposite building to put some space between he and SQUIP. The rooftop beneath him is slick from the persistent downpour, and his foot slides out from underneath him just as he’s about to leap off the side of the building. He hits the ground hard and let’s out a low groan as he pushes himself up on his elbows.

“Clumsy for a supposed superhero.”

Jeremy breathes out a shaky laugh. “Minor setback,” he grumbles, but before he can get to his feet, SQUIP is pinning him back to the ground with pointy knees against his legs.

“I wasn’t aware you were into all this,” Jeremy says, voice teasing as he motions with his head to the compromising position the two are in. “I mean, I’m not really into villains, but-”

Whatever snarky comment to follow is lost by a sharp blade slicing across his stomach. He gasps, a pained breath shooting up his throat, as his entire body tenses against the blade.

“You are annoying.”

“Is this what you do to all of the people who annoy you?” Jeremy asks, teeth clenched so hard that his jaw line pushes hard against his skin until it’s jutting out in a defined edge. “I’d hate to see what you do to a-”

A fist collides with his face, and his arms give out until he’s falling down onto his back once more.

“Don’t you know how to shut up?”

“I’m not very good at it,” Jeremy admits as he blinks rapidly against hazy vision. He pushes back up on his elbows when SQUIP suddenly stands, and he wiggles his tingling legs with a wince.

“You are too weak. Come get me when you have an actual Avenger with you.”

“I am an actual-” He shouts just as SQUIP shoots up toward the sky until he disappears behind dark rain clouds. “Avenger…”

A loud groan scrapes up his throat when he forces himself into a sitting position. The small movement pulls uncomfortably at the wound across his stomach, and he lets out a sharp hiss while pressing one arm over it. There’s a damp warmth that coats his arm in an instant, and it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he’s bleeding pretty badly.

A hospital would be ideal, but he’s not sure what kind of response he would get as Spider-Man stumbling into a hospital late at night.

It’s not a good idea, and he can’t go back to the Avengers’ Tower because Tony would have his head on a silver platter for being so reckless.

He needs an alternative plan, but luckily, he knows a guy who would be more than willing to help a hero. Very slowly, he gets to his feet and starts toward Michael Mell’s house.

*****

Scaling the side of a house is something that normally comes easy to Jeremy, but this gash on his stomach has him moving with a slow caution so to not further irritate the bleeding wound. After what feels like years, he reaches Michael’s window, and he raps his knuckles lightly against a glass pane, smiling faintly as the light instantly clicks on behind the curtains.

It takes only moments until the curtains are being shoved back, and Jeremy offers a slight wave and a sheepish smile as Michael’s face shifts from a pinched confusion to a slacked surprise in a matter of seconds.

Moments later, Michael is pushing the window open, ignoring the rain as he sticks his head out with wide eyes.

“Spider-Man!? I–What?”

“Mind if I come in?” Jeremy asks. “It’s a little wet out here.”

“Of course!” Michael steps back, and Jeremy slips through the small gap. His feet hit the wooden floor with a dull thud, but the small drop is enough to leave him doubled over and gasping in pain. He presses one arm back to his stomach just as Michael wraps a shaking arm around his back.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I had a freak cooking accident?” Jeremy manages out, breathing sharply through the inconsistent waves of pain washing across his body.

“No,” Michael says almost instantly before gently walking Spider-Man over to the bed. He drops to a crouch in front of the hero, eyes surprisingly steady and focused despite the fear and shock that has small tremors coursing through his body. “May I?” He asks softly, one hand hovering over Spider-Man’s stomach.

Jeremy shrugs and moves his arm. He tries to ignore the sharp gasp from Michael, and he tries much harder to keep the wincing to a dull minimum when Michael gently prods at the gash.

“Well, Doc? What’s the verdict? Will I Iive?” Jeremy asks, trying to keep his voice light to mask the sharp pain threatening to bleed out into his tone.

“It’s bad, but I can treat it here.” Michael tells him before standing and starting toward his dresser. “I can lend you clothes…”

It makes sense, Jeremy thinks. He’s feeling quite chilled through in his drenched uniform, but he can’t. Well, he could, but… “The mask stays on.”

“Of course,” Michael says quickly before rifling through a few drawers. He pulls out some dry clothes and hands them to Spider-Man. “You can change in here. I’ll– I need to go get supplies.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Jeremy chirps out just before Michael exits the room. Changing is difficult when you have a drenched, skin-tight suit clinging to your body on top of a gaping wound spread across your stomach, but after a few minutes, he’s changed into warm, dry clothes and perched on the bed, panting for breath as nausea mixes with pain and leaves him breathless. Thankfully, Michael returns with a courtesy knock only moments later.

“Sorry,” Michael says, blushing lightly. “The shirt.”

“Oh! Right!” Jeremy slips the shirt over his head, shivering lightly at the cool air hitting his bare skin. He spares another glance down toward his stomach, frowning deeply at the bleeding gash that has his skin split deeply.

“So, what happened?” Michael asks quietly as he resumes his position crouched in front of Spider-Man to get to work. He begins with cleaning the wound; he knows what to do thanks to multiple hours spent lost on medical sites when bored.

Jeremy hisses out sharply at the icy sting that irritates his gash, but he doesn’t pull away and waves away Michael’s hushed apology in response to his discomfort. “SQUIP doesn’t seem to appreciate my charm and wit.”

Michael freezes at this, and he shoots a sharp look toward Spider-Man. “SQUIP did this? Did you get him?”

Frowning, Jeremy turns his head to the side to examine the many band posters littering Michael’s walls. “No,” he says, voice low and holding a slight rasp. “He didn’t want to waste his time on me because I’m not a real Avenger.” His shoulders slump as the realization slowly pulses across his veins.

“I think you are a real Avenger.”

The hope and sincerity coloring Michael’s tone has Jeremy turning back with a wide smile. “You think so?”

“I do!”

Jeremy’s heart flutters against his chest, but a sudden yawn catches him off guard and contradicts his sudden, brightened mood.

“You must be exhausted. Let me finish up here, then you can sleep.”

“That sounds amazing,” Jeremy admits as exhaustion sets in deep within his chilled bones.

*****

Michael watches with a frown as Spider-Man shivers in his sleep. He knows it’s the damp mask that has to be impossibly uncomfortable, and his worry for the hero has him reaching up toward the mask.

It’s for the best, he tells himself as he very carefully slides the mask off, eyes growing wide when Spider-Man’s true face is revealed. His heart leaps up his throat as he studies the boy in front of him.

Someone he knows.

Someone he likes. A lot.

His face glows a deep red blush as he drops his back against his nightstand. 

He’s in for a long night.

*****

Jeremy wakes feeling like he’s just had one of the best sleeps of his life. The gash across his stomach has numbed to a dull throb, and he rolls his head to the side to see Michael watching him with a faint smile.

“Sorry I stole your bed,” Jeremy rasps out, voice thick with sleep.

“That’s okay, Jeremy.”

The smile painting Jeremy’s lips curls down into a deep frown, and he shoots into a sitting position while patting his unmasked face. “What the hell?” He spits out sharply before his face twists in pain, and he drapes an arm across his stomach with a low groan. 

In seconds, Michael is on the bed in front of him, and he leans over and places a steady hand to Jeremy’s knee. “Hey, easy. It’s okay. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Jeremy’s heart is rapidly pounding against his chest, but slowly, he feels as if a weight is lifted from his shoulders. He can share this secret with someone. He doesn’t have to hide this from Michael. He doesn’t have to bare this hidden life by himself. It’s what he’s always wanted, a friend, or something more, to know. His cheeks heat with a light blush, and he rubs at the back of his neck.

“Uh, hi.”

Michael laughs and tilts his head, eyes glowing and fond for the boy in front of him.

“Hi.”