#I’m not immune to cowboys.

[coffentyme]

I should have known you hiring me was more than just to help around the pasture.

You came into town one day looking for a couple guys to help you on your ranch, just through the season until the upper grazing fields were lush and ready for your cattle.

Of course, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Tending to peaceful angus, away from most anything/one, surrounded by just the sound of gentle wind and rustling denim? Who could say no.

It took a couple weeks for me to notice, I’m fresh faced after all and wasn’t all too familiar with farm hand etiquette. Slowly though, over time and visits to town on my off days, I realized you needed me, no, wanted me for more than just up-keep and tending.

I knew the ropes by then, you’d shown me all I needed to know, hell I even started or ended earlier than you some days. That didn’t stop you from checking in, staring, correcting - you were getting more handsy too, not hesitant to yank me by the belt loop, or by the back of the shirt.

I couldn’t assume though. I needed to know, really know.

On hot days I’d sweat through my cotton t-shirt, strip it and work the rest of the day without it. Sometimes I’d share morning coffee with you half dressed and sleepy, and maybe I’d pull my jeans a little higher or lower than normal.

I’d be damned if that didn’t do it, and it did. You’d advert your gaze but catch glimpses before tilting your brim down and turning away. You’d lean up against a fence post and tug at your belt buckle before having to walk away. You’d always make sure to leave that lamp on a little later than normal, to cast a shadow over to my cabin.

And even as I lay here, huffing the freshly disturbed dirt on the pebbled barn floor, feeling your calloused hand gripping the back of my neck like one of your misbehaved livestock dogs, my knees digging into gravel, and hearing between blissful grunts “It’s your damn fault boy.” “You think I want to do this?” “Serves you damn right windin’ me up like this for weeks.” “I ought to teach you this lesson.” I can’t help but think this won’t be a one off. In fact, I hope it isn’t.

[inkzectz]

Save me factventure,,

Factventure,,

Factventure save me,,,

[hischiersjohnston]

twisters changed me. i am now fully locked into glen powell and i’ll be watching set it up + other glen powell movies xx

[naughtydogg]

okkkk im going to play fallout 4 again

[macksartblock]

This was from a WHILE ago but I figured I’d share in the meantime lol

Idk when cowboy x city boy talk began in the server all I know is I’m not immune to propaganda

[beyourownanchor6]

you've got game

—idk this silly idea came to me after last nights ep and i just blacked out and wrote whatever this is <33

words: 1.1k | rated: g | read on ao3

They’d been lying there for about ten minutes with nothing said between them. Buck had asked Eddie about Chris and the letter, listening to Eddie work his thoughts out, offering commentary when needed.

The conversation with Chris had devastated both of them, but especially Eddie. With Chris getting older, the difficult questions kept coming. They were both finding them harder to answer.

For the time being, Eddie had settled with the fact that Buck had talked Chris through it and that Chris had eventually read the letter and put the picture of his mom back up. It was a start.

It was a serious matter, one Buck knew Chris wasn’t going to be “over” with a single letter, but it helped; for now.

Even so, Buck couldn’t help the silly little thought that kept creeping in the back of his mind. He let out a little laugh for it, quickly trying to cover it with a cough. Eddie didn’t buy it.

“Care to share?”

Buck cleared his throat as he turned to lay on his back. Eddie laid on his side next to him, facing Buck.

“Nothing. It’s uh, it’s dumb. And probably not uh, not appropriate right now.”

Buck knew if he turned toward Eddie he’d find his boyfriend directing a raised brow his direction. And so, Buck avoided it, turning back onto his side and away from Eddie. Still, Eddie wasn’t having it.

Eddie snuggled up behind him, snaking his arms around Buck as he pulled him in close, nuzzling into him.

“Inappropriate thoughts have never stopped you from sharing before.”

Buck snorted as Eddie squeezed him tighter.

Buck tapped his fingers over Eddie’s, stalling.

“Well it was just, I was kind of—proud.”

“Of what, that I didn’t have a panic attack about the whole thing?”

Buck smiled as he brought one of Eddie’s hands up to pepper kisses over. “Well yes that, but I was thinking more that ya know…our son has game.”

A groan fell out of Eddie and he was turning away and abandoning Buck in an instant. Buck rolled to face Eddie, propping his head up on his arm.

“C’mon babe, he has five different girls going after him? I’m just saying; that’s pretty impressive.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Buck pushed into Eddie’s space, nosing into him.

“I mean, I’m just saying…we know he doesn’t get that from you.”

A playful yet warning pinch came to his side, Buck yelping a little for it as he pushed further into Eddie’s space. He made the smart decision not to say anything further.

Eddie’s arm reached out, his fingers landing on Buck’s hip. His hand fit right into place, molding into Buck.

“I got you, didn’t I?”

Buck was grateful the room was dark enough to hide the flush of his cheeks. Even after all these years, Eddie still had such an effect on him. He hoped that would never change.

Buck slid his hand down to meet Eddie’s and he threaded them together.

“I’m not immune to your charm like the others.”

Eddie snorted. “You just like my ass.”

Buck quickly shifted their positions so he could get his hands on Eddie, practically pulling his boyfriend on top of him. He squeezed Edddie’s ass before kissing him a little filthily.

“Well it is a nice ass. But it’s not why I fell in love with you.”

A smile fell off Eddie’s lips, one he placed to Bucks.

“Then tell me cowboy, what did lure you in?”

Buck preened for the dorky pet name. He brushed his hands up and down Eddie’s arms a little absently as he thought over all the things that made him fall in love with one Eddie Diaz.

“Well, you’re badass under pressure, you let me into your adorable sons life, you always have my back, you’re my best friend, you’re the best dad I know, and you’re probably the most selfless person I’ve met besides my sister. You’re always there when anyone needs you, and adorably afraid of technology. You make me wanna be a better person and you just…well you love me for—me.” Buck squeezed Eddie’s arms before leaning up to kiss him and whispering into him. “And you have a nice ass.”

Eddie rolled his eyes then kissed Buck again, sweet and slow.

“Thank you Buck, for always being there for us. Chris looks up to you; trusts you.” Eddie looked down to him, those browns wide and endearing. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Buck smiled up to him while pulling Eddie closer.

“Good thing you’ll never have to find out.”

Their lips met in the middle, soft yet passionate kisses shared between them. They eventually settled back into each other, Buck on his back with Eddie nestled in close.

“You know,” Eddie started, tapping a finger across Bucks bare chest. “I’m pretty proud of you too.”

“Why’s that?” Buck asked, settling further against Eddie.

“Well, I know how badly you wanted to congratulate our kid for being a total ladies man, but you somehow managed to refrain. I know that must’ve been hard for you.”

Buck sighed as he tossed his head back. “God Eds that was so badass of him! I wasn’t meant to be the un-fun parent.”

Buck pouted while Eddie snickered. Eddie sat up to kiss his pout away, Buck easily accepting it.

“You know, I still have pretty good game.”

Eddie raised his brows. “You think so?”

Buck puffed out his chest a bit. “Oh I know so.”

“Prove it,” Eddie challenged, Buck not backing down.

Buck pulled Eddie back against him, wrapping him up tight as he whispered in his ear, sliding his hand down the expanse of Eddie. “So are you just excited about this talk or is that a—“

“Buck—go to bed.”

Buck totally had game, for the record. Eddie was no fun sometimes.

“You didn’t even let me get to the punchline!”

“That’s because I already know it dork. You use it on me all the time.”

Well, when Buck found something good, he stuck with it. Especially at work when it tended to send a blush across Eddie’s cheeks as Eddie gave him a firm yet bothered warning.

“Fine, but I have more, that I will be wooing you with starting tomorrow.”

Eddie chuckled in his hold. “Can’t wait. But just remember, you already have me. I’m all yours Buck.”

He did love the sound of that.

Buck snuggled in closer, Eddie tilting his head up so their lips could meet.

“And I’m all yours.

Just when Buck was finally settled and on the verge of sleep, Eddie’s voice filled the silence.

“You can use your cheesy lines to pick me up any day.”

Buck smiled into him. “Yea, or you know uh, you could-you could use them on me.”

Why did they need game when they had each other?

————————————————————————

tagging squad below; lmk if you wanna be added or removed <3

tags: @loserdiaz @redlightsandicedtea @loveyourownsmiilee @monsterrae1 @buddierights @swiftiebuckleyhan @honestlydarkprincess @barbiediaz @spotsandsocks @justsmilestuffhappens @eddiiediaz @djdangerlove @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @jacksadventuresinwriting @stanningsky @wh0re-behavi0r @ronordmann @spaceprincessem @transbuck @disasterbuckdiaz @giddyupbuck @wildlife4life @betty-boom @hippolotamus @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @pirrusstuff @nmcggg @theotherbuckley @louis-tenn @the-gayest-wug @buckley-diaz-rules @muppetbuddie @gamer-kai @blorbodiaz @heartshapedvows @trashbaget @steadfastsaturnsrings @buckbuckgoose @wikiangela @hobbitnarwhal l @shortsighted-owl @pirrusstuff @goldencherrymooon @murder-trio @daffi-990 @greenfairrryy @mattsire

[calkale]

i’m back! and in dire need of hangster fic!!

omg thank god you're back thank you for sending this again!! im honestly not the best person to ask cause i dont really read fics anymore and if i do i apparently havent been bookmarking them 😐 but i do wanna help you out! ill mark the nsfw ones but that is the majority of what i used to read so if you're not into that my apologies 😭

(nsfw) this is the first top gun fic i ever read so it has such a special place in my heart AND its hot so huge win: like, what up, i got a big cock by seresins

cute little reunion fluff: and i went to bed, and i loved you by multifandommonster

(nsfw) JAKE IN GLASSES!!!: look into my lens, give me all you got by dracculaura

(nsfw) COWBOY HAT RULE: you got me stuck on the thought of you by popstar

(nsfw) you know i gotta add an only one bed fic: whiskey and rye by sreshaw

domestic fluff with morning person jake <3 i am not immune :(im just layin in bed with) my little ray of sunshine by littlewoodsisabelle

cute little comfort fic: pressed sunflowers by scled

(nsfw) THEY ARE SO BAD FOR EACH OTHER: keeping dreams alive by miiichaaan

(nsfw) boobs..: a place to rest your head by ginnydear

AND im sorry to plug my own work but im very proud of my hangster fics so if you havent read them already heres a link to my ao3 profile, i only have 3 up right now but im working on a few more!!

(small disclaimer i havent reread any of these in a while i did scan through them all before adding them but i really need to clean out my ao3 bookmarks cause my opinions and characterizations have changed but these all should be good!!)

[midwestmade29]

Wildcard🃏

Hangman's vignette on Collision was very inspiring 😂 Thus this story was born. I miss him and have my fingers crossed so tightly that he really is the wildcard for Dynamite this Wednesday 🤞🏻

Word count: 2.2k Divider by: @saradika-graphics *GIF is not mine. All credit goes to original creator.

Disclaimers: Cursing, unprotected sex. Read at your own discretion.

Written from Hangman's POV 🙂

Hangman's nerves are getting the best of him so he calls on you to help calm them...

It was the night before I would be making my return to AEW as the wildcard. These last few months have been difficult, mostly because I’ve had to learn to live without her.

I knew she would be in Chicago. I knew that despite all the hell I’ve put her through, she wouldn’t miss this big moment. My mind is racing, my anxiety is through the roof of this hotel. I’m pretty sure if I don’t stop pacing, I’m going to be greeting the guests below me soon after my feet burn a hole in this floor.

The whiskey wasn’t helping. Shit, I’ve used that one too many times as a way to numb anything and everything, I’m practically immune to it now. There was only one thing that would calm me down at this point. Only one person who quiets my thoughts and makes me feel whole. I had to see her.

I pulled out my phone and sent Y/N a text, hoping and praying that my gut was right, and she was in fact in Chicago.

•••

I need to see you. Are you here?

To anyone else, the message might be slightly vague, but I knew that she would understand. I sat the phone on the desk and pulled up the rolling chair, just staring at the screen. For 10 minutes, the damn thing only said “delivered.” She hadn’t read the message yet.

I sighed and walked towards the bathroom when my phone dinged and stopped me in my tracks. I damn near tripped over my boots on my way back to the desk in my hurry. My heart was hammering against my chest when I unlocked the screen and went to my texts.

•••

Yes. Marriott next to the arena. Room 3412.

I let out a shaky breath once I realized she was staying in this very hotel. I was on the 37th floor so we weren’t far apart. With my phone placed back in my pocket and my keycard in hand, I walked out of my room to the bank of elevators.

Some higher power had to be messing with me right now. Y/N is only 3 floors below me, but damn is this thing moving slowly. Not to mention the large group of people that got on and off every floor on the way down.

The doors slid open, and I stepped off, looking left and right trying to see which direction I needed to go. With a right then left turn, I was standing outside Y/N’s door.

When she opened it, I swore I saw an angel. She was just as beautiful as the last time I saw her almost 4 months ago. It hurt like hell and felt so good at the same time being in her presence again. I’m just thankful she even agreed to see me.

I entered her room without a word spoken between either of us. I looked around and only saw 1 bed along with 1 suitcase. She was alone. Thank God.

“I know you’re nervous, but the crowd is going to love you, Adam. They’ll be happy to have their cowboy back,” Y/N said softly.

She was leaning against the wall with her arms wrapped around her body, making me wish they were my arms around her instead. This woman knew me better than anyone, hell she knows me better than I know myself. She understands me. She accepts me. She’s always been my missing piece.

“Is it that obvious?” I asked with a nervous laugh. It was comforting and sometimes maddening that she could read me so well.

“Everything will go smoothly, and you’ll get back in the swing of things. You’re a natural. You just have to believe in yourself the way everyone else does Adam. You’ve got this. I know things aren’t ideal right now behind the scenes, but you’ll figure it out. Pick the path you want to go down and don’t look back,”

It felt like I was 20 pounds lighter hearing her words and knowing she still believes in me. I offered her my best smile while I took a moment to let her encouragement sink in. She shocked me when she walked over to me and placed her hand on my cheek. The familiar scent of her started to dance around my nose as I inhaled, it was intoxicating. It still lingered on her pillow in my bed at home.

Her fingers rubbed my beard, making me melt into her touch. Our eyes were on one another as we drank each other in.

“I’m glad the mustache is back to normal by the way. You look more like my-“ Y/N smiled before she stopped herself from saying whatever else she was going to say.

“I look more like your what, Y/N?”

Sadness flashed across her face, but she recovered quickly. She brushed a stray strand of hair away from my face while she answered me.

“My Adam. You look more like my Adam now,”

Y/N looked up at me, waiting for me to make the next move. I could tell she was afraid she had said too much, but she said everything I wanted, needed to hear. I leaned down and kissed her. I kissed her hard and I kissed her good. She tasted so fucking sweet as I slid my tongue in between her lips, savoring every second of this moment. God, I missed this. I missed her.

When I broke the kiss, her lips were already a little swollen. She tried to catch her breath as I kissed her jawline down to her neck, nipping and sucking until I found that sweet spot that made her come alive for me. My cock twitched in my jeans when she let out a breathy moan, letting me know I found my target.

I stole the moan right out of her mouth when I kissed her lips again, swallowing the sound whole and eating it up. Her fingers worked quickly to undo the buttons on my shirt, and when she slid it down my arms, the fire blazing in her eyes threatened to set the entire room on fire. Her fingertips traced along the lines of my chest, lightly grazing the scars that were scattered on the skin there before kissing them softly.

I tried my best to let her have the lead, at least for now but my resolve was fading the longer she looked at me with those lust blown eyes. Y/N unbuckled my belt, then the button and zipper before helping me shimmy my jeans down my legs and to the floor. She drug her nails gently up my thighs to my hips and up my chest, causing a shiver to run through me. She snaked her arms around my neck and splayed her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck.

I picked her up and she wrapped her legs around my waist as I carried her over to the bed. The feeling of her pressing against my hard cock through my underwear was so good and torturous at the same time. I needed her. I needed this. We needed each other.

I laid her down on the bed gently, my lips finding hers once more. She arched her back and lifted herself slightly as I pulled her shirt up to remove it, revealing her bare breast underneath. Y/N is perfect. She’s the epitome of all things good and beautiful.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen Y/N. Every inch of you is divine. I can never get enough of you,” I whispered as I made my way down her torso.

I made a trail with my lips and tongue until I reached the hem of her pants. I hooked my fingers underneath the band and tugged while she lifted her ass off the bed to let me pull them off. Her underwear was next and ended up in the pile on the floor with our other discarded clothes. Y/N watched me intently as I spread her legs wide and positioned myself in between them.

“I’ve tasted your lips, but now I want to taste the rest of you sweetheart. Let me pleasure you, take what you need from my mouth. I don’t plan on stopping until I hear you cum,”

The gasp she let out the second I dove in made me stiffen even more. My boxers were feeling tighter and tighter with each minute that passed.

Every swipe and flick of my tongue against her clit was bringing her closer and closer to her release. I licked and lapped around her while I pumped my fingers in and out of her. Her moans were sugary sweet and satisfying, I couldn’t help but groan against her sensitive bud. Y/N intertwined her fingers in my hair, lightly pulling and tugging while her hips bucked and pressed herself even more against my tongue.

I wrapped my arms around her thighs when she finally came, holding her in place as I licked and sucked her through her release. She squirmed and moaned as each tremor wracked her body. I placed a kiss on her inner thigh before sitting up and pulling her to me. Our centers collided, making us both blow out a rush of air as my cock slid around her wet folds.

I refrained from pushing myself all the way into her. I wanted to draw things out as long as I could before we couldn’t take it anymore. My mouth took in one of her nipples while my hand played with the other.  My teeth grazed the pink bud, my tongue following afterwards before I sucked it into my mouth and released it. I kissed my way over to her other stiff peak, taking it into my mouth to continue my teasing.

“A-Adam please. I want you; I need to feel all of you. Please,” Y/N’s plea was nothing more than a breathy murmur.

She was ready for me, and I was so ready for her. I reached between our bodies and lined myself up with her entrance, my breath catching in my throat as the head of my cock rested against the soft inner lining of her pussy. If I could bottle this feeling up, I would so I could enjoy it any time I wanted to.

My forearms supported most of my weight as I inched myself inside of her. Y/N felt incredible, so tight and so warm against me.  So wet and so perfect for me. Her walls stretched around me, eventually giving me full access and allowing me to be fully sheathed. I started moving against her slowly at first before increasing my speed.

Our bodies worked together in perfect harmony as we both chased euphoria. Y/N dug her nails into my back whenever I hit her sweet spot, her eyes fluttered closed when I leaned down and kissed her neck. We were both panting and sweaty and so completely lost in each other.

“Darlin, you’ve been so good for me. So, fucking good. I can feel how close you are. Let yourself go sweetheart,” I whispered against the shell of her ear.

Y/N pressed her heels into my ass, bringing us even closer together as I continued thrusting, much deeper now. I felt her flutter around my cock, and I knew she was done for. I watched as the most incredible woman I’ve ever known fell apart beneath me. Her lips parted and her sweet voice cried out my name. Her legs twitched and her cheeks flushed while her body absorbed every ounce of pleasure her orgasm brought.

I’ve never wanted time to stand still as badly as I do right now. Y/N completely blissed out and me seconds behind her. Both of us so fucking high off one another we may never come back down from it. My release detonated, wave after wave of satisfaction crashed against every part of me as I thrusted erratically. I grunted into Y/N’s chest as each rope of my cum filled her until I had nothing left.

It was minutes before I could bring myself to pull out of her. Part of it was because it just felt so damn good being inside of her, but the other part was because I wasn’t sure what would happen between us next. I couldn’t help but feel sentimental during this intimate moment, my thoughts and feelings threatened to drown me when they came flooding back into my mind.

Once I was lying on my back with Y/N resting her head on my chest, she worked her magic again. The warmth of her skin against mine mixed with the feeling of being completely sated, she put an end to my thoughts and worries. The noise in my head was now quiet. She did all this without even trying!

Not long after I pulled the covers over both of us, we fell into a peaceful sleep. I held her through most of the night before we repositioned, and our limbs ended up tangled together. There’s no way for me to ever thank her properly for all that she’s done for me and continues to do. I know I’ll spend the rest of forever trying my best to show her just how grateful I really am. Months ago I made the biggest mistake of my life letting her go. Tonight felt like a second chance, a fresh start. I had to do whatever I could to make her mine again.

[banamine-bananime]

my concept of donut is like, he should be on a 1960s white america boyscouts poster but like, goofy about it. do you get what i mean.

like to me donut was basically cooked up in a lab to be a parody of the Good Ol’ Boy Back When Boys Were Real Boys who played outside all day with friends smacking each other with sticks playing space cowboys and aliens, rubbing dirt in all his cuts and knowing big boys repress all their emotions except Boisterousness, always says his yes maams and yes sirs and never questions authority (but also, y’know, boys will be boys so of course they’re up to Mischief when unsupervised, a bit of chaotic and violent rule-breaking fun is all fine and good as long as they’re respectful to authority and just accept their punishment with an “awwww, man! Shucks!” in the end).

a parody because it plays up how someone genuinely like that probably must be pretty stupid/oblivious/gullible to be so pliable to authority and follow dumb norms of “what is a nice polite young man supposed to act like” without any thought into “wait, what makes this something it’s important or nice to do? are there perhaps other things i could focus on doing that would actually be more important or nice to do? do i actually get or care what being nice and doing good is, or do i just like doing whatever i want without having to think about Ethics and then having a very easy set of rules of How To Be Nice to follow”.

and also a parody because he also is like, extremely gay, and he literally just does what he wants and acts how he wants and it’s simultaneously ^that whole Good Ol’ Boy thing and the most flamboyant stereotypically gay mannerisms and hobbies you’ve seen in your life. and he just fully lacks the interest in doing any reflection that would lead him to conclude anyone might see these as rather contradictory or subverting expectations. he’s exposed both to norms of good behaviour coming from conservative places and from progressive places and doesn’t really think about these perhaps being conflicting ethos, he just grabs this random patchwork of “hey this is something someone told me yayyyy :)”. he can enthusiastically follow the letter of many laws rooted in heteronormativity and toxic masculinity and also the letter of laws coming from Progressive Ideals but he fully does not give a shit to consider whether there might be a bigger spirit to any of those laws. dumbitchitis got him immune to internalized homophobia (no he isn’t actually. but he is quite certain that just Not Thinking About It means any negative emotions don’t exist. this is a foundational truth to donut’s understanding of the universe)

what i’m saying is donut should simultaneously give the impression of walking straight off a cheery WWI Join The Troops poster or 1960s boy scouts ad, but also of being absolutely A Pansy of the same era, but also of being the kind of modern queer who says “be gay do crime” not because they’ve given two seconds of thought to prison abolition but because they find doing crime really fun

[spitinsideme]

HEY YOU 🫵 I FOUND ANOTHER SONG THAT I THINK YOUD LIKE >:D

I’m just gonna go find more gay songs now bye—

SCENE WUEEN SCEEN QUEEN SCEENE QUEEN !!!!!!!!!! GOD I FUCKING LOVE HER KAUIX SOMCUXH OHMYGOD I LOVE TJAY SONG SONUCH MYFAVRLIOTE SONG THAT SHE HAS MADE IS MILF MAN I LOVE FUCKING DIDDLE ME PINK SLAP MY ASS TIL ITS BLUSHING ots rhe beat its so amaozng AND RHE MUSIC VIDEO ???? WOAH ?????? ASS ??? WOMEN IN SHORT SHORTA ???? i am not immune to womej with cowboy hats and short shorts and a country style song because i am in fact an enjoyer of women, especially from the south also the wpart where she has this hige ass pink dilro is very finny to me i love sex jokes scene wueen is the best evee i want to biy her bimbocore shirt si badly bit unfortunately i am poor .. one day i will she fucks so hard i love her songs somuxh SHE HAS THIS SONG CALLED PINK HOTEL ???? AND ITS SO GOOD AND ITS LIKE WOAH !!! BEST SONG EVER

[bromcommie]

what cowboy fic were you reading?

Till there were no more wolves in the West by the amazing @dharmasharks! I’m still only about halfway through (shaking fist at daily adult responsibilities) but truly this fic is blowing me apart at every step and then very tenderly and painstakingly gluing me back together again. I have to admit, I’m generally really not a big whole-different-world AU person and never have been, but this is one of those fics where not only is it an exception to the rule but it is so masterfully adapted and the environment is crafted with such care and love and vivid detail that it’s singlehandedly changing my mind on the whole thing and also making its way up the list of my all-time favorites very quickly. And I’m not even done yet.

Highly recommend to anyone looking for a fresh, engaging, wonderfully characterized and oh-so-tender adaptation of stevebucky - even people who, like me, perhaps think that they’re immune to the Western genre. You won’t be by the time you’re done reading this, I can tell you that much.

[silkendandelion]

My Own, Distant Home (Completed), A Fears to Fathom: Ironbark Lookout fanfiction

Chapter 2 (END), ao3 link

Jack Nelson x Connor Hawkins Words: 16.6k Genre: Horror, humor, smut

"Jack thinks him a good guy, Connor, despite what others probably thought. He wasn’t particularly friendly, a bit of a short fuse, but he took his job seriously, and didn’t forget to wish Jack well, even among his rush for a solution. Some people would call that dedication. Jack decided, as he tied his boot laces, that it was endearing."

Or

A romantic, creepy, canon-compliant retelling of the game's narrative where Jack and Connor are more fleshed out characters, and not immune to the emotional threads that form when your only friend is a voice on the radio—until he isn't.

Rated Explicit for sexual content, strong language, horror elements, frightening imagery and descriptions of violence.

Cross-posted to ao3, same username, here.

Cheers to rarepairs, and to all the people who had a crush on Connor during the game: I have heard you. If you like Firewatch, or Do You Copy, check out fears to fathom, you could play the entire series in a day but I liked Ironbark the best. Even if you haven't played the game, I'm sure this can be read alone for people who like horror and making love in a thunderstorm 💙

Chapter 1 (Below)

It was only a transfer.

Not usually a big deal, this other park needed to fill a lookout position urgently, and Jack was probably the best suited for it. Not only because his coworkers spoke highly of him, but because he had the RV, and relocating was as easy as driving down the road. When you’re this free, no wife, no friends, no obligations, 2 hours is nothing to go to the next job.

Yeah, he thought as his eyes wandered off the road to the side mirror, the endless blacktop behind him, the empty road in front of him. No obligations. Free.

So why did driving up to the trail-head make his stomach ache?

He blamed it on his last meal in civilization for the time being: a perfectly greasy, buttery cheeseburger, no doubt made by a certified home-cooked chef with hairy arms. He wasn’t used to eating out, eating so much, and in hindsight, the large coke was a bit of an Icarus move.

Just a bit of indigestion, nothing to worry about.

Not at all related to his walk to the gas station next door for cigarettes that was interrupted by a creepy local. The one leaning against his car and mouth-harassing his own hamburger, gossiping cryptically about big foot and missing kids like he was a Stephen King minor character. Real “you wanna watch out for that road” stuff.

The same missing kids on the poster across from the gate office. Gone without a trace, with no more search parties willing to keep looking after they lost some of their own people to what witnesses called “strange whistling in the dark”. Anyone saner, smarter, might have gotten back in their RV and not looked back. But Jack loved nature, and liked his job. Until he heard this strange whistling for himself, he had bills to pay and a guy named Billy to see for check-in.

The light to the guard shack was on, the door unlocked as he turns the handle. Worn out and road-fatigued, his brain hardly lends him the advice he should have probably called out to see if anyone was inside. His eagerness earns him a twin-barrel to the face, and a rightfully earned yell from both of them.

“You scared the piss out of me!” The ranger scolded him, and Jack fired back—

“Do you shove a gun in the face of everyone who sneaks up on you? What if I was a camper?”

“You can’t be too careful out here. There’s bobcats, bears and—wait, you say you’re not a camper? What are you doing barging in here anyway?”

“I’m Jack Nelson… Your new hire? Tower 11?”

“Well,” the mustached man regarded him with suspicion beneath his black cowboy hat. “Tower 11 is empty, but I didn’t hear about any new hire. Give me a second.”

“Oh,” Jack refrains from saying anything nasty, regardless of his fatigue, and puts up a patient, half smile. “Sure. Take all the time you need.”

He wandered out of the shack, back to the billboard with the missing poster, only half-reading the posted copy of the trail map he already owned when Billy came back out.

“You’ve been vetted. Sorry about all that, I don’t check my email as often as I should. You must be tired from driving, I’ll just take a copy of your ID and get the gate open so you can start the hike up to the tower.”

Billy was gone for only a minute before he came back, enough time for Jack to get his duffel and lock the RV. He handed back his ID, and pushed open one of the arms of the gate.

“… Hey.” He called before Jack could get passed him.

“Tower 12 is your closest neighbor, call him if you need anything. And don’t—I mean, do NOT go out further than maybe a 1/4 mile north of your tower on foot. Got it?”

“Uh, sure?” Jack gapes at him, unprepared. “Why?”

“It’s dangerous out that way. You’ve got bears, bobcats, all sorts of stuff.”

“Right… Thanks again, Billy. Goodnight.” He waved, eager to make some distance between him and this newest creepy local, and start wearing down the trail to his tower.

Did everyone in this town take etiquette lessons from a paperback horror novels? They were at least in the same book club, which actually wouldn’t be weird for such a small, quiet place.

The walk to the tower is easy, if a little cold by the time he crosses the creek. Tower 11 sits up against a nearby radio spire, lit up red and guiding him to the foot of his home for the foreseeable future. He knows to gas up the generator and crank it before he starts up the long flights of stairs to the top, and the tower cabin, small but not cramped, is a welcome sight.

The sheets on the bed are clean, free of holes and smelling of cheap detergent (ocean breeze something, he guessed), and the good burn of a wood fire seems to be baked into the panel walls and secondhand furniture. All his needed tools are haphazardly scattered but identifiable at a glance, and the fridge, beginning to kick on, is filled with old, freezer burned food.

Not rotted, there’s no unpleasant smell besides stale, and the room is otherwise well-kept, but he can’t help feel that the last occupant left in a hurry. Beside the bed lay a pair of abandoned wool slippers, and those go in the trash too.

All he needs to do is lay out his blanket and pillow to call himself moved in, and getting a fire going is even faster. He’s tying off the trash, waiting for the microwave to finish heating up a cup of coffee, when his radio, boxy and cumbersome on the little desk, clicks to life.

Static greets him before another male voice, deeper than his own.

‘I saw the lights go on. You copy, new guy?’

“Yeah, hey. I’m Jack.” He squeezes the receiver on and off as he sits in the old, steel chair in front of the desk, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow with the back of his arm.

‘Connor, Tower 12. Your new neighbor, I guess.’

A beat of silence, and then a click. “Billy mentioned you, just not by name. Nice to meet you.”

He hears Connor hum into the receiver, distantly wondering if it was a sound of irritation at him or something Jack couldn’t see. ‘Well, you got a fire started, that’s good. It’s good to see Tower 11 alive again.’

With a pause, his voice was friendly again, like whatever he was worried about suddenly resolved itself. ‘Anyway, don’t let me keep you. Oh, and don’t forget to submit your report before you go to bed.’

Jack suppresses his yawn with a wince—half headache, half ready for bed, and clicks the receiver. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

‘Get some rest, new guy, don’t let the bed bugs bite. Over and out.’

“Over and out.”

The radio dims with no open connection, and Jack forgets his coffee in the microwave when he can’t manage to avoid dozing off in the chair.

A few hours pass, midnight rolls upon the park and an unintelligible static rouses him from his sleep. He wants to investigate, his instincts whispering to him that something was wrong, something lurking in the forest beyond his tower, but an ache in his lumbar and the pressure in his bladder leaves no room for anything except the urgency to get comfortable quick. He stretches until his back gives a satisfying crack, and with a quick leak off the railing of the tower, he falls into bed without another thought.

NIGHT 2

On nights like this, Jack can imagine being a lookout forever, nipped by the last throes of winter on a chilly wind yet cradled safely between the warmth bleeding out of his tower and the hot coffee in his hands. Perched up high, nearly brushing against the clouds, the sunset seems brighter than down on the trail, all melted pinks and oranges that don’t begin to betray how in less than an hour the forest will be all but black.

The static of his radio breaks the silence.

‘New guy, this is Connor from Tower 12. Do you copy?’

He drops his empty mug among the dirty dishes from dinner when Connor speaks again. ‘Tower 11, do you copy?’

“Tower 11, I copy. What’s up, Connor?” Jack answers before he eases himself into the desk chair.

‘Son of a bitch! Nobody bothers to get a camping permit anymore. Do you have eyes on the smoke north of your position? Looks like it’s off the Lacey Trail.’

“Give me a second, I’ll check.”

He grabs his binoculars, is almost out the door when Connor’s opening the line again. ‘I need you to confirm.’

“You can hang on, it won’t kill you,” says Jack to himself while peering off the railing. Exactly as Connor described it, north of his tower, and near enough to likely be off the Lacey trail—a closed area—he spies the telltale white smoke of a campfire.

‘Do you see that smoke up north?’, comes the radio again and Jack answers with what he hopes passes for patience.

“I see it.”

‘Shit. People like that don’t clean up after themselves either, and fire risks are high this season. Do you mind checking it out?’

“I’ll head up there, and report back anything I find.” He rises to get his coat and boots.

‘Stay safe out there, new guy. Don’t forget to carry your bear spray. Over and out.’

Jack thinks him a good guy, Connor, despite what others probably thought. He wasn’t particularly friendly, a bit of a short fuse, but he took his job seriously, and didn’t forget to wish Jack well, even among his rush for a solution. Some people would call that dedication. Jack decided, as he tied his boot laces, that it was endearing.

Lacey Trail was several miles away on foot, no matter how close the smoke had seemed in the binoculars, and he pocketed both his bear mace and his flashlight before leaving the tower.

~*~

Unseasonably cold air nips through his fleece jacket, fingers already red around the knuckles as he fumbles to zip himself up. The beam of the flashlight bobs about over the dark trail, “3.2 miles” the optimistic sign had declared back near his tower. Only, the longer he walked, surrounded only by the icy wind biting on his ears and a deafening chorus of insects, the more it felt like “ETA unknown”.

A campfire lights the path around a bend in the trail, a match flame at the end of the path.

Whatever he wanted to call out, “hello”, or “get lost”, was cut off by the unmistakable sound of a man’s scream.

He makes no attempt to call back, taking off in a sprint towards the glowing campsite. The campfire in the center of a couple picnic tables and a tent illuminates the entire clearing between the trees, fresh wood popping, what must have been tossed in only minutes ago. But the campsite is empty. The tent’s open flap reveals a rumpled sleeping bag, the tables are crowded with an oil lantern, a battery-powered radio, and heaps of fresh food—but completely empty.

“Hello? Where are you?” He shouts into the dark with no answer. On the side of the clearing closest to the creek, a closed gate and red sign read ‘No camping allowed’.

“Are you hurt? Where—oh!” Jack coughs out a startled grunt, nearly tripping into the dirt over what he discovers is an abandoned flashlight.

His blood chills, colder than the unseasonable weather. Beyond the cautionary signs, where the darkness swallows the unkempt trail, drifts up the sound of a whistle. A human whistle, devoid of any recognizable melody.

It’s all he can do to stagger back, swipe an empty dinner pot from the picnic table and douse the fire with cold water from the creek. He tosses an unseeing glance over his shoulder, and is hoofing it out of the campsite and up the trail before the campfire has even stopped sizzling.

The cold air stings his lungs as he runs most of the trail back, hot blood thrumming into his ears and all but drowning out the insects. Were he less panicked, he would have heard over the sound of his own breathing that the insects had actually stopped, startled to silence by the looming shape in the treeline.

~*~

The glow of his tower beckons him home, and he scrambles his faculties to remember to grab firewood before climbing the steps, as well as relieve himself in the portable toilet beside the stairs. With what he witnessed, too vivid to not want to trust his own eyes but too strange to possibly be real, he wasn’t sure he would have the nerve to walk back down before dawn.

His radio flashes with an open channel, presumably Tower 12, and he sits heavy down in the metal chair. “Tower 12, do you copy?”

Beats of silence remind him his blood has yet to warm up.

‘Loud and clear, new guy. Sorry for delay, I was just cooking up some hot—’ Connor pauses, too much like Jack did when he thought he was being boring.

‘Nevermind that. What did you find out there?’

“The campsite was abandoned. Not a soul around,” Jack said, pushing down his nausea and the phantom sound of an eerie whistle.

‘Are you—’ A loud clang in the receiver, like a fork dropped in a bowl. ‘Kidding me? Son of a bitch. People like them are part of the problem, and on top of everything they run off.’

Jack fingers the sleeve on his jacket, realizing suddenly he had been too worked up to shrug off his fleece or his boots when he came inside. “I put out the fire, but there’s nothing else we can do tonight.”

‘No no, I get it… Thanks for checking it out, Jack. Tomorrow morning, I’ll report it to the authorities and they can take care of it.’

The words are out of Jack’s mouth before he can scold himself for being frightened in front of someone else. “I heard a scream. Honestly, I feel kind of bad for not sticking around to look harder.”

‘A scream? Probably just a red fox, they sound almost like a screaming lady when the rest of the forest is buzzing.’

Jack clamps down on a protest that it was a man’s scream, clearly no fox, then Connor is speaking again.

‘This is the third time this month. Ever since those kid’s went missing, there’s all sorts of rumors about the area being haunted, and we just can’t keep people out. Well, maybe I could, but not from this tower. I’ve got a job to do.’

The whistle is back in his mind, as vivid as Connor’s voice over the radio but, again, Jack keeps that to himself.

‘Well.’ Connor breaks him from his thoughts. ‘I’ll let you get to dinner, or whatever it is you do after you log off. Goodnight. Over and out.’

“Goodnight, Connor.”

2:27AM

He can’t explain what wakes him.

Nothing immediately seems wrong but he can’t begin to trust his senses, not with the greasy film that smudged his eyes no matter how hard he blinked, the heaviness of his limbs, and a sluggish mind at the helm, ripped from the deepest parts of his sleep cycle.

But even blind, dumb, and lame—he knew he was being watched.

Weak hands scrubbed at his face, trying to clear the sleep, until the room came into some kind of focus. Moonlight drifted in the one open panel behind his computer desk, casting the upright shadow of a—

His heart all but stopped. He squinted, unbelieving, blinking more at the peculiar silhouette painted across his front door. Unclear if it was man or beast, the sloped shoulders suggested humanoid but the shape of the head, wide with points that could be horns or ears in the dark made him unable to do anything more than stare.

Struck by a sudden wave of courage, he leapt up from the bed, throwing the blanket aside without certainty his legs would support him, and dashed to the light switch.

The shadow vanished with the incandescent bulb over head, banished by the light but lending no evidence as to whether it was some paranormal, hungry entity vulnerable to light, or something more secular afraid to be caught. Jack didn’t know which was worse, and standing alone in the center of his floor, he could finally hear how fast his heart was racing.

Whether by insanity or curiosity, though they hardly seemed different from where he stood, one of his shaking hands grabbed his bear mace while the other went for the door. The abrupt quietness of the night lent him courage where it shouldn’t, and upon venturing outside he was horrified to realize he was truly, tragically alone.

Or he was now.

Against the railing, and almost disturbed by the bear mace that clattered to the ground, was a skull.

Goat, from what limited knowledge he had, flanked by a few, worn, lit candles, and smeared across the ivory forehead with a red symbol he refused to get closer to identify either it’s shape or composition. He resigned to shove the door shut, slamming the lock’s hammer in place with no regard for the bear mace he abandoned.

“Tower 12, come in.” He tries the radio receiver, met with static. “Tower 12, can you hear me?”

More static and another beat of silence makes his stomach ache. “Connor, I need you to wake up.”

He’s never been so happy to hear the quiet click of another radio opening the line.

‘Do you have any idea what time it is?’

“This is an emergency.”

‘Are you okay? What’s happened?’ Connor immediately sounds more awake, like he’s sat up straight.

“Someone’s been on my tower, I woke to—I heard footsteps, it woke me up.”

‘Are you kidding me?’ Less composed now, angry but not nearly as when he vented about the campers earlier that evening. Though it was easily explained by the remnants of sleep clinging to him.

“I think they’re gone now.”

‘Did you see what they looked like?’

Jack’s mind raced back to the shadow, the beastly silhouette, and the footsteps that seemed to vanish when they passed by his door.

“N-No, but they left a skull on my doorstep. An animal skull, goat or—something, with candles, what looked like blood. Sick shit, Connor, I don’t—know—”

‘Take a deep breath, new guy. Let’s think about this rationally. You went and investigated a fire tonight, right?’

“… Yeah.”

‘So we know there’s unregistered campers in the area who don’t care about rules or regulations, probably bratty kids or college students. Suppose they wanted to get back at the fire watcher who doused their evening, it wouldn’t be that far of a walk. It’s just kids, Jack, don’t let it bother you.’

“You—” He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “You’re right.”

‘Did you happen to get a photo of the thing?’

“I didn’t think about it.”

‘No shame in that. It’s all right to be riled up, but it’s not okay to panic. Lock your door, try to get some rest. Take a photo in the morning, and we can file a report with the authorities.’

But no sooner was Jack beginning to calm down, the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise, his stomach tightening with the idea that Connor was only coming to the conclusion of what limited information he had.

“Connor?”

Sleepier now, the other man’s voice came back a bothered rumble. ‘Yeah, Jack?’

“What if it’s related to the disappearances? At the campsite tonight, sure, it was empty but I heard… I heard whistling beyond the barriers for the closed trails. It’s a heck of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

For all his neighbor’s frustration at being woken so suddenly, there was no doubt that he was fully awake now, deliberately staying quiet on the other end of the line as Jack waited for any kind of answer.

‘New guy… You don’t believe all those rumors, do you?’

Behind his ribs, Jack’s heart is back to hammering. “Nah. No, I mean. You’re right, it’s gotta be kids.”

Connor didn’t seem convinced, even for a disembodied voice. ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll send someone to check on you tomorrow. For now, try to get some sleep, new guy. There’s nothing we can do in the dark.’

“Yeah… Thanks. Of course.” He rakes his hand through his hair like if it might knock his anxiety loose. “Goodnight, Connor.”

‘Goodnight, Jack.’

~*~

The skull was gone when he awoke the next morning. Nothing ever came of the report, and for a short time, the forest was quiet.

He’s gotten quite used to this little routine: submit his report, have dinner, say goodnight to Connor, bed.

Check the weather, put dinner in the oven, submit his report while talking to Connor, bed.

So they continued for days, falling into the comfort of predictability and looking forward to their goodnight radio checks.

‘Honestly, I envy you a little bit,’ said Connor one night while Jack posted himself up beside the radio, blanket around his shoulders and holding a hot mug of coffee. Probably not the best idea before lights out, but the warmth in his core more than made up for what his little wood stove lacked in power.

“Envy me? Why?” Jack sipped quietly.

‘You’ve got the RV, you can literally just pick up and go wherever you want. Hell, you did it once already when you relocated out here.’

“It’s… lonelier than I like to admit.”

Down in his cup, Jack could see the undissolved granules of his coffee lying along the bottom. With a quick swish, they’re gone and Connor speaks again.

‘While Tower 11 was empty, I forgot how nice it was to have someone to talk to.’

“You must really be desperate if you’re enjoying my company that much.” Jack found himself smiling, a bittersweet thing.

‘I should be the one saying that to you. Every day I call you to vent about these fucking campers, leaving their trash and shit. And you answer for me every time.’

He chuckled, unaware Connor was also smiling on the other line. “It’s kind of my job.”

‘Ouch.’ They laughed together this time. ‘You’re not supposed to agree with me.’

“Then maybe you should be nicer to yourself.”

‘You first, Jack.’

A comfortable silence falls over both sides of the radio transmission, twin smiles and the warmth of more than quick and dirty coffee between them.

‘You still with me? Sounds like you’re about to go any minute now.’ Connor said, soft and slow. If Jack kept his eyes closed, he could have imagined he said those words beside his ear.

“I think that’s all I’ve got, Connor.” He scrubbed at his eyes. “You get some rest too. Goodnight.”

‘Night, Jack.’

BETWEEN 2 AND 3 AM

A hand over Jack’s mouth bolts him awake, his entire body tensing as he grabs at the arm that holds him.

“Shh! Shh, Jack. It’s me… Its Connor.” He hears a familiar voice somewhere above him, and the blonde man comes into focus as Jack blinks away the last of the sleep. Moonlight shines through the open paneling, illuminating the side of his handsome, worried face, the width of his broad shoulders in a thin t-shirt.

“There’s something outside.” He looks briefly to the window. “Scoot over, Jack.”

He hardly has time to obey, let alone time for rational thoughts like What’s outside? and How is us both getting under the blanket supposed to help? before the other man is climbing into the single bed and pressing against him from the shoulder down.

“What are you doing?” Jack half demands, half pleads.

“Shh.” Connor hushes him, and he wants to relent—almost does—under such dark eyes, close enough to see they were brown in the dim light. “We have to be quiet, or they’ll hear us.”

“Who will hear us? Connor? What’s happ—mmf! M-mm,” Jack moans, startled, when their lips meet, smooth and wet like Connor had licked them before he leaned in.

His belly twinges, toes curling from only a kiss, and he might have been embarrassed if it weren’t for the hot outline of an erection digging into his hip. Connor’s tongue tastes of instant coffee, no doubt he himself tastes like cigarettes, but Connor doesn’t seem bothered. Not with how hard he is and the firm grip of his palm on Jack’s ribs through his old shirt, the way his thumb flicks at his nipple with little regard for how it makes him shake.

Teeth rake his bottom lip when their kiss turns deeper, hungry, panting hot into each other’s mouths as they work together to yank their sleep pants down to their thighs. A whimper jumps up between them as Connor’s hand clasps around them both, and Jack realizes it must have been him because when his thumb slips in the pre leaking from his tip—he makes it again.

The hand retreats long enough for Connor to lick his palm, but Jack knows he’s getting wet enough for the both them, so long as those capable hands keep pulling needy noises from his lips, pulling on his cock like that. Just like that, just how he likes.

“They’re gonna hear you, baby, you gotta be—quiet,” Connor pants against his wet lips. Jack wants to kiss him back, needs it, but he can do little more than leave fervid little moans against his tongue, joined by the spit-slick sound of Connor’s hand, warm and tight around them.

“I’m—s-sorry, Connor,” Jack fusses when the tightness in his belly finds the next gear, and for all his warnings, Connor is doing nothing to help him make less noise when he leans down to suckle at the side of his neck.

“Come on, baby, you’re almost there. Say it again,” he whispers warmly into his shirt collar. The rumble of him speaks to control, all whiskey and smoke, but Jack can feel how the rhythm of his forearm waivers, how the leg he has threaded under Jack’s begins to shake.

“C-Connor, get something to—Connor—”

Jack’s eyes throw themselves open on a gasp when he wakes, startled from the dream by the warm wetness seeping into the front of his underwear. He tries to sit up as best he can but his stomach quivers, heart thumping, as wave after wave of pleasant ache widens the stain on his sleep pants and steals his breath.

“For fucks sake,” he sighs, letting his body flop back to the bed when the feeling in his hands returns.

Awareness follows right behind his mess, and he flips the blanket away to hopefully spare himself the further embarrassment of taking the damned thing to the laundromat. But, even that was better than doing a spot wash in the sink, and having to tell Connor it was an Italian food incident when he sees it draped over the railing to dry.

First his waking hours, now his dreams. Connor filled his mind with thoughts of normalcy, the lingering ache of loneliness, and the insane idea of enjoying another person’s company. Such a luxury eluded him most days, a comfort he hardly believed could be found in these ominous woods.

Between distracting daydreams, some salacious, some sweet, and his immersion in his work, he almost forgot to be afraid.

~*~

The days that follow are easy but hardly quiet, not with Jack’s brain torn and oscillating between the paranoia of the encroaching forest—and his growing crush on his neighbor. His heart struggled under the stress of peering over his shoulder in the dark woods at every broken twig, just to be riled again by his nightly check-in. He began to sympathize with the rabbit his sister had when they were kids, perfectly still for all their fervent affection, until their veterinarian explained it’s early health problems were stress-related: poor creature was unable to distinguish their childish, heavy-handed petting from the musings of a predator biding it’s time to feast.

People had already disappeared. How long did he have until he was eaten too? Swallowed by the woods until all that remained were the tenets of skeptics and a ghostly whistle.

He busied himself with maintaining the tower, hammering down loose boards and checking the horizon repeatedly until the sun was long gone and the eerie quiet had settled it’s blanket across the forest.

“24.4 knots…” He murmured to fill the silence, as a flare lights up the north. Before he can go for his binoculars, the radio flicks on with an unfamiliar man’s voice.

‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

“This is Tower 11.”

‘Oh! Oh, thank god.’ The voice, a young man, shaking and unsure, comes over the line. ‘I’m lost and—I’m really starting to freak out.’

“Take a deep breath,” said Jack, his free hand opening the trail map on his computer. “Can you tell me where you are?”

‘I don’t even know where to start. I went out exploring and lost track of time. Everything looks different at night. The uh, the last trail marker I saw was by a stream, but I couldn’t read it from where I was. I’m walking west because I remember walking east to get here but… I’m definitely lost.’

“What equipment do you have?”

The hiker ignored his question, excited to finally be somewhere familiar. ‘Oh, man. I found the fork in the trail. But, I don’t remember if I’m supposed to go right or left to get back to the trail-head.’

“I have a map, let me take a look.”

‘Thank you.’ He says, but only lets Jack look for a few seconds before trying again. ‘Hello? Are you still there?’

“One more second, it’s all right.”

‘Oh. Oh, I see you!’

Jack looks to the radio, shocked to silence while phantoms of a predator’s fingers slip up the back of his neck, loosing shivers in his warm tower.

“What? What do you see?”

‘I hear you. You’re whistling to me. I’m right here!’ The hiker shouts, surely waving his hands above his head to welcome the unknown danger, and Jack’s thumb nearly cracks the receiver.

“Hey, HEY! That’s not me, I’m—”

‘What do you mean? You’re starting to freak me out—’ The transmission ends early, no crackling, no screams. Only silence, save for Jack’s breathing, his pounding heart.

Fuck.

He shoves the desk chair away, jumping up to grab his flashlight, and was two hastened footsteps from the door when a knock startles him almost to shout. Whatever possessed him to wrench open the door without a second thought, he hoped a well-aimed flashlight is enough to take them down.

“The hell are you doing in there? I’ve been out here knocking for awhile.”

His heart jerks, relieved, having never thought Billy would be the cause. “S-sorry. Was helping a lost hiker.”

“At this hour? Lord have mercy,” he drawled, his perpetually rumpled mustache shifting across his troubled frown. “Anyway—here’s your supplies. Just the essentials.”

“Thanks.” Jack turned away to set the box on the counter, when Billy spoke again. “I hear you been a little stressed lately. Everything all right?”

He never considered himself a liar, but Jack liked to think he knew how to pretend well enough to avoid suspicion about most things. Especially in regards to his own well-being. The smile that slips over his face is practiced, appropriately tired for the time of night. “It’s taken me a little longer to adjust to the new environment than I thought, but I’m getting there. Thanks for asking.”

Address the question logically, formulate a response from a half-truth. Acknowledge their concern. Easy.

Billy is so willing to not push the subject, it’s almost too easy. “That’s the spirit. Well, I won’t keep you. Get some sleep, Jack. Don’t forget to submit your report.”

He leaves as fast as he can without falling down the stairs, and Jack is happy to clap the door shut behind him. In the back of his mind, routine called to him, rubbing on his shoulders and offering him a cigarette after an exhausting day.

“Firewood, dinner, Connor in bed—THEN bed. Firewood, dinner, talk to Connor, respectfully, professionally, finish my report. Then bed.” He waved the flashlight back and forth anxiously as he wandered down the stairs, single-handedly determined to not have anything scary happen for the rest of the night.

If only he hadn’t gone for firewood.

The pile in the shack isn’t dwindling as fast as he anticipated with the weather warming up, and he makes a mental note to skip chopping more wood tomorrow. He balances the wood under one arm, flashlight tottering in the other as he leaves the shack—straight into another man.

“AH—damn! You nearly gave me a heart attack,” he pants when the bald man in clean coveralls doesn’t immediately move to disembowel him.

“No need to be afraid, son… I’m a worker, here for some routine maintenance on the radio tower over there.” The man’s flat, almost drowsy cadence is anything but comforting, too close to Jack’s liking of what he imagined a wax figure or mannequin to sound like, speaking slowly and quietly to not arouse suspicion of their sentience.

“Thought I would say hi to the new guy everyone’s been talking about.”

“… What’s your name?” Jack said as his hands flexed on the firewood, itching to run.

“Names can be deceiving. Call me Silas.”

“Do you always work so late?”

“Every Sunday.” A strange thing to admit, rather than lie about being up on the mountain so late for something so menial. “Just trying to keep the communication lines open. We must ensure the right messages meet the right people, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Right,” Jack said without hesitation, though he doubted he and Silas were talking with the same subject in mind.

“Absolutely. You watch for fires, but some fires are meant to burn. And no amount of prevention can stop them.”

His fingernails ache from holding the firewood throughout their conversation, and he can feel his heart beginning to thump against his ribs. “… It’s late. I should be going back. Goodnight, Silas.”

“Nature has plans,” he called after him, the intonation of his voice carrying without having to shout: an orator’s calm, suffocating inflection. “Ones even you can’t control. It will be cleansed.”

Upstairs, Jack shoved the firewood into the stove, both to relieve his stinging arms and to burn away the creeping dread that prickles at the back of his skull. Something is wrong with these woods, wrong with the people, from the supervisor who seems to have had his tongue stapled to the roof of his mouth, to the radio repairmen who spouted doctrine with the affect of a puppeteered corpse.

When had the woods he found such comfort in become so grim, promising only death to those who didn’t know when to run?

‘I can see the smoke coming from your tower. Don’t tell me you’re not in there?’ Connor’s voice, unbothered and probably craving his evening small talk, laid a calm over the quickly warming cabin.

‘Jack? Come in, new guy.’

“Here, Connor.” He lowered himself into the metal chair, pulling his jacket over chilled fingers.

‘Finally. Where you been?’ If Jack concentrated hard enough, perhaps he could sponge his blissful ignorance, or at least pretend to take refuge in the wrap of his arms. He couldn’t remember the last time he hugged anyone besides his sister, and most recently was still months before he left for the middle of nowhere.

“I went downstairs for some firewood and ran into Silas.”

‘Who?’ He says, half-muffled like he’s sat at the radio with his dinner.

“The guy who maintains the radio tower. Creepy as hell, spoke in riddles—I don’t think I actually saw him blink.”

The silence over the channel lasts long enough Jack reaches to flip the receiver on and off, hands skimming the metal casing for any sign the call had been disconnected, then Connor scoffs with some one-sided realization.

‘Is this about the other night? Tryin’ to yank my chain?’

Jack has to bite down on his lip next to bleeding to not fire back “I am not nearly funny enough to yank anyone’s chain, and if I was going to pull on anything of yours it would be your—”

‘That radio tower’s been out of service for ages now.’

His heart drops into his stomach. When he doesn’t answer, Connor continues to explain as if Jack wasn’t reeling, two seconds from puking into the receiver. ‘It was closed down right after I got here because a lightning strike fried it’s systems. Mitch said he would get it fixed next time there was room in the budget, but—well, you know how that’s going.’

“Then who did I just talk to?!” Jack shouts, too frightened to be embarrassed for his volume, and only hoping it didn’t hurt Connor’s ears or break their speaker.

‘Easy, Jack,’ replies Connor, too cool for the pounding in his ears. ‘Hey, you’re okay. Listen to me. This isn’t our first run-in with pranksters, is it? They got you again, but that’s all they can do. They’re not gonna hurt you.’

“He called me Jack.”

‘He knew your name? Do you think he’s been listening?’

“I don’t know, maybe?” He ran his hands through his hair, hoping to dispel some of the compounding anxiety of an imminent death.

‘Either way, we need to report this. Next time you see him, get a photo or his ID and anything else we can use to identify him. We’ll figure it out, Jack. Don’t worry.’

“Thanks, Connor.” His hands scrub down his face, he can not keep up this pace of being frightened and then having to convince himself nothing’s wrong just to keep from running into the woods and not stopping until he sees the road.

‘Call me if you have a nightmare, all right? I’ll put you back to sleep.’

“You asshole.” He can’t help the chuckle that sputters from his suddenly warm chest, hearing Connor’s smile through his cheeky tone.

‘Got you to laugh, didn’t I?’

Jack’s face is hot, he knows he’s blushing hard, and he summons the strength to not say anything too embarrassing (like “come over”) with a shuddering sigh. “Goodnight, Connor. Thank you… for everything.”

‘So sentimental. I like that. Night, Jack.’

The line clicks closed before Jack can chase him through the line, demanding to know what he meant, why his voice had to drop into the register that made his stomach flutter before disappearing from the face of his very, very small world. His suffering sigh rattles from his chest.

“I need to go to sleep.”

2 DAYS LATER

If it rains any more, his tower might flood.

All day, all evening, Jack had spent the majority of the day watching the shower soak the forest, ignoring the chores he tended to avoid anyway, and drinking far too much instant coffee because it was his only alternative to water. Although, he did get the spray duster out from under the counter, just to say he did.

“Maybe I’ll ask Billy to put some teabags in my next resupply,” he said, pouring out the last of his cup into the sink and picking up his cigarettes to take with him outside.

The forest below should look half-drowned after drinking all day, but it only sways elegantly in the gentle wind, not strong enough to push rainwater over the railing where it might disturb his smoke break. Tower 12 stands in the distance over the treeline, the soft, golden lights in the window suggesting Connor was taking a lazy day too.

Was he reading a well-loved, dog-eared novel? Cooking something warm and spicy? Maybe he fell asleep, belly full of warm food and blanket curled around his legs as the novel slips forgotten to the floor. Down into a deep sleep, the kind of rest what leaves him too warm when he wakes, hair rumpled and shirt risen over his middle to bear birthmarks or a secret tattoo.

“Jack, come back to bed.”

“Ah,” he grunted, sudden static from the radio ripping him out of his daydream. He presses out his cigarette, kicking over the ash tray as he hurries to his feet.

“This is Tower 11.” Silently, he congratulated himself for sounding perfectly professional and not guilty in the slightest.

‘This—does it—damn.’ Connor’s voice over the radio is smothered with screeching electronic snow, laced with intermittent words of increasing urgency.

‘Can’t—need h—Jack—can you hear—’

He whipped around to the window. The lights of Tower 12 hadn’t dimmed, but the persistent static and ominous, disconnected message chilled his blood. He gave no further thought to logical explanations, common sense could hike up the mountain with him if it really cared that much—and ran from the tower without changing his jacket to something waterproof and only his flashlight to protect them.

Above him, the rain pounds down harder, deafening as it pushed through the treeline to soak him, splattering over his trousers with every puddle he stomped across to get to Tower 12 as soon as he was physically capable, or sooner, even if it wounded him.

He reached the bottom of the tower not long after nightfall, expecting to be met with some sign of a struggle, but found nothing. Apart from the generator flashing a yellow warning light and the stack of firewood down nearly to nothing, there was no ripped grass, no gashes in the mud to suggest there had been anything unsavory in the woods that night. He tore up the metal steps anyway, two at a time, not convinced and not bothering to knock before he threw open the door—

And found Connor at the sink, half-dressed, the last dregs of shaving cream on his cheeks in thin stripes, steaming rag in hand.

He just stared at him.

Jack stared back.

“Can I help you?” Connor broke the silence, wiping his face clean and grabbing the henley draped over the back of his chair.

“You’re alive.”

“Jack?” He gaped at him, blonde head popping from his shirt’s neck hole to piece together the voice he knew with the grainy, black and white photo he had glimpsed on the staff directory website.

“Yeah that’s… that’s me.” Jack’s voice muddled down to a tiny murmur as the embarrassment threatened to melt him into two humiliated puddles inside his boots.

He really ran here, never-mind the several miles, ran here in the rain, dragging in water and mud like he was going to self-promote from fire lookout to ghost-buster with just a flashlight and some home-grown, grass-fed nerve. Death would have been kinder, he thought.

“God, you’re soaked. Here.” The towel that flies across the room to slap gently against his face smells like their cheap, provided laundry soap, with a thin vein of cologne, sharp and clean, a smell Jack suspected was baked into most everything fabric Connor owned.

“Sorry about your floor.”

“If I actually cared, I’d make you clean it,” Connor smirked at him, rummaging through his open duffel on the counter to hand over a sweater, boxers, and a pair of sweatpants of the same brand as the ones he wore himself. “Put these on, I’ll hang up your clothes by the stove.”

Jack changed obediently, careful not to spread his mess any further than his little corner by the door, and sheepishly offered his wet clothes for Connor to thread over hangers.

“You’re a mess.”

He thought to protest, finding he could only continue to rub the towel over his hair, a little like a nervous tick. “Feels like it.”

“So. You gonna tell me why you tore across the mountainside and threw yourself into my lap half-drowned?” Connor said as he leaned against the counter, arms—nice arms—focus Jack—crossed over his chest. But, for all his posture and words that spoke to some degree of scolding, he could only find warmth in his gaze, patient enough to hear every word of his reply with grace and an open mind.

“The radio…”

“The radio?” Connor went to flip it on, demonstrate how it crackled and sputtered before coming online, green light ready.

“My generator started giving me crap a couple hours ago, I thought the power surge might have killed it so I tried to call you. You didn’t answer, I thought you just couldn’t hear me.”

The embarrassment releases him in an instant, he’s suddenly back where he had been an hour ago, disoriented and tearing down the trail. “It was terrifying, you sounded like—you weren’t making sense from the words that did get through. I didn’t know if you were being murdered up here and calling for help.”

He scoffs, then turns away from him, towards the window. “Is this about the missing campers again? Because I’m not willing to entertain all of your theories right now, all right—”

“I was worried, Connor. Scared the shit out of me.” His words left him in a rush, hanging between them, the only sound among the hum of the fridge against the wall.

“… You came all the way up here—in a storm—because you were worried?”

Jack couldn’t bear to look up to see the extent of the confusion he heard in his voice. “It’s—just a shower, really. It’ll stop soon and I’ll get out of your way,” he mumbled and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Weatherman says it’s gonna get bad. You should stay.”

The timber of his voice, softer, almost nervous, had Jack raising his head to meet his eyes.

“I’d like you to stay.” He offered, and the nervousness turned out to be more uncertainty, testing a boundary he wasn’t sure would welcome him on the other side. “I’ll feed you. There’s soup, a couple beers left in my stash. What do you say?”

Jack’s hands tightened in the damp towel, suddenly he struggled to breathe.

“I’d like that.”

Chapter 2 (END)

[circesays]

Previous Part | Next Part | The Beginning

“I do not understand.”

“If anyone in this server can help fix lore stuff, it’s the Lore Master himself!”

(He couldn’t take his mind off of the terrifying view he’d taken in from the gates of Gobland.)

Oli and his companion finally crested the hill, gazing over the unique froglight trees below.

“But Pixlriffs is currently-”

“I know what you said, strange cowboy child, but I’m me and he’s him and I don’t know the first thing about lore! I write songs and poetry and lament my woes.”

(And Oli hid his frown behind grand gestures and dramatic dialogue, but internally, he was afraid. Afraid of this unfamiliar world.)

(Afraid of what had happened to his friends.)

“If you say so, OrionSound. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

So the two unusual companions descended into the orchard, the sun setting in the distance and casting the valley in darkness.

Above, froglights glittered and glistened, softly lighting the surrounding area. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, causing Oli to shiver slightly in his torn outfit. The leaves glowed the colors of their fruits in the dark, various pastel pinks and mint greens and sunshine yellows.

(Oli could not help but look around in awe. This must have taken weeks to grow, hours spent carefully coaxing the trees with magic. Pix never failed to impress.)

The child drifted forward, his form slightly above the ground, like a puppet dangling on strings, before stopping abruptly.

Ahead stood Pixlriffs, his back to them as he inspected the growth of a younger-looking froglight sapling.

Oli had to physically cover his mouth to stop his horrified gasp from escaping.

Pixl was absolutely covered in strings, from tied around his ankles to wrapped around his eyes. Shimmering green threads that weaved and looped, all leading upwards before fading from view.

(Because Oli remembered the strings in the air. Hundreds of strings flowing overhead, each glowing forest green and starkly contrasting the twinkling night sky.)

(Because Oli remembered looking up and thinking, “Oh, Joel, what have you done?”)

The historian turned and smiled at his guests, seemingly oblivious to his situation.

“Ah, Oli! Nice to see you above ground, finally! Welcome, welcome to the froglight orchard. What do you think?”

“Yeah, it’s great. Amazing, even. Superb,” Oli rambled in reply, glancing away nervously to lock eyes with the young ghost.

The historian chuckled, (yet it sounded wrong, not quite his friend, not quite Pix’s-) ever humble, and gestured around. “Thank you. It took a while, I have to say.”

Oli took a couple of steps toward his friend. He didn't understand. Why? Why was this happening?

(And he reached out to the universe, asking, what do I do?)

“Yeah you don’t say! Custom trees? Glowing fruit? It’s amazing sir Pixlriffs, truly. Inspiring enough to write a ballad in its honor, I’d even say!”

Another laugh. “A ballad, huh? I wouldn’t go that far, but if you have one in mind…”

(And the universe reached back, giggling, to whisper: “what you always do.”)

He flashed a fake grin and gestured towards Pixl’s chests. “You wouldn’t happen to have some string and wood, would you?”

The lore man laughed, walking towards his chests to rummage for supplies. “I have a whole spider farm underground, take what you need!”

(“how would music even help?”)

So Oli strung together a lute with crafting magic and love and you are the universe.

And he held it gently, sitting on the roots of the largest froglight tree.

(“Because it is how you love.”)

And Oli began to sing.

“Ohhhh, Pixlriffs, creator of…such…life!”

The man laughed, shaking his head.

“Ohhhh, Pix, immune to all strife~!”

The child hummed, smiling slightly.

“Ohhhh, my friend, all wrapped up in string.”

The historian paused and frowned, his brow furrowing.

“I’m here to free you and I’m here to sing.”

A nervous smile. “That’s enough, Oli.”

Oli stood up and danced a bit away from Pixl’s (not his Pix, not his friend-) reaching hands.

(The words and notes came easier. Unbeknownst to him, Oli’s eyes began to glow with an amber light.)

“You’ve been gone for so long, it’s hard to believe,”

“That the lore master could no longer see,”

“But don’t you worry and don’t you fret,”

“Because good ol’ Oli could never forget!”

(And Pix fell to his knees, some of the threads slipping away and vanishing.)

“Bring back my good friend,”

“Away with the lore!”

“Cause’ the gods up above don’t got good things in store.”

(Faster, faster, glowing strings unraveling at the seams-)

“But together I know it will all be okay.”

(And TheOrionSound knelt before his friend, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows.)

“Cause’ no measly strings can keep Pix away!”

(And the last string unraveled.)

Pixlriffs opened his eyes.

“…it worked? It worked! I can’t believe that worked! Ooooooooo, my rhyming skills have never been so on point! That was incredible!”

(Oli’s glow faded away, and the universe smiled.)

“…Oli?” the lore master stumbled to his feet, steadied by his friend, who scrambled to support him.

“Yeah, it’s me! Are you feeling back to normal?”

And Pix laughed, a true, real laugh this time. “This feels like a scene from one of your anime. Thank you for saving me.”

Another beat. He suddenly paled.

“Oh no! How could- oh- oh no. I forgot. How could I ever forget?”

Pixlriffs’ desperate eyes locked with Oli’s. “We need to go to Tumble Town. Jimmy- Jimmy is in danger.”

Off to the side, the child’s eyes widened as he floated forward eagerly. Pix jumped when he noticed the young figure.

“Uh, what? Who?”

“That’s the thing Pix, Timmy’s already in danger.”

(And the child was full of hope he had thought he’d lost.)

“You freed him. You- you can free us? You can save my family?”

Twin smiles met the young nervous face.

“I think we could manage that,” Pix replied gently. He summoned two dodos with a sharp whistle.

“Let’s leave first thing in the morning.”

(Far away, floating high above the ground, a god frowned as he felt something... odd. Something wrong.)

[anabdaniels]

Flufftober 2023 with Agent Whiskey - Day 18- Sickfic

Paring: Agent Whiskey x Gender Neutral Reader

Word counting: 580

Rating: General audiences

You were comfortably sitting on the bed working on your new crochet project when Jack got out of the bathroom after a warm shower, still looking drained. It was only 3 p.m. and most of the time he would finish taking care of all the livestock around 5 or 6 p.m., but you didn’t question that, he used to come home earlier every chance he got to spend time with you. What worried you a bit when he lay on the bed next to you was his tired face and noticeable dark circles around his eyes. You pondered for a moment since Jack getting sick was an extremely rare event. Your immunity was pretty good, and you used to get sick around twice a year, especially in the seasons changing, but Jack seemed to be 100% immune to everything, at least until that afternoon.

“Are you alright?” you asked looking at him attentively.

“Yes, just a bit tired.” He answered with his voice sounding raspier than usual, alarming your suspicions.

“Hum.” You couldn’t prevent your reflex of touching his forehead, as one would do with a kid “Damn, Jack. You’re burning in fever.” You said already getting worried.

“No, it’s probably just because of the warm shower.” He answered while hugging your legs.

“Only if you were taking a shower in boiling water.” You said while moving your hand over his face and neck, feeling his skin hotter than it should be.

“I’m fine.” He mumbled sleepy, hiding his face against your thigh.

------------------------

A couple of hours later, Jack woke up, his body tired as if he used to feel when he was an agent, stuffy nose and feeling cold even wearing a flannel shirt and being wrapped with two comforters.

When you entered the bedroom and saw your husband all curled up on the bed, almost disappearing between the comforters, you shook your head and smiled, approaching the bed, letting the tray you had brought on the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Honey.” Jack mumbled and turned on the bed to look at you “I think I’m getting sick.”

“Oh, you think?” you raised one eyebrow and chuckled “Sit down, I have a couple of things for you.” He obeyed like a little toddler, still wrapped in the blankets “First things first.” You said while handing him a glass of water and a pill, and you knew he was miserable when he didn’t even question what it was before taking it.

“What is that?” he asked while looking at the tray.

“Well, I’m having my chance to make you eat something after getting some medicine as you always do with me.” You answered with a soft smile and put the tray on his lap.

“Steak sandwich and orange juice? I think I’m enjoying getting sick.” He said with a slight smirk and didn’t flinch before starting to eat, ignoring his slightly sore throat and mentally thanking that his palate wasn’t gone “Damn, honey, your hand for food is spectacular.” He said without care that his mouth was full, making you laugh and caress his hair.

“Anything to see my dear cowboy better.” You said while brushing his hair with your fingers.

“So, I’ll not have to pretend I’m getting worse for you to let me use you as my pillow?” he asked while looking at you with his infallible puppy eyes.

“You’ll not, but just because I abuse your goodwill when I’m sick.”

Flufftober masterlist

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

tta episode 11

“Last time, on Total Takes Action: we gave our final five a little break from their torture-packed schedule with a mockumentary-styled interview. Fortunately for the ratings, this didn’t stop a second of the drama or the pain! Scary enlisted Max’s help reviewing her mysterious 'evidentiary' notes, Peter and O bonded over being total pushovers, and Scruffy learned about their old “friend” Julia’s new relationship with former contestant Patrick. In the end, Peter stood up to Scary, but it was Max who took the most epic ride home yet after he was blown sky-high, a la minefield. Will Scruffy ever stop sobbing in the confessional? Will Scary be able to rewrite her notes in time for the season finale? Find out here, on Total! Takes! Action!”

The birds are chirping, the butterflies are dancing in the crisp morning air, a blanket of fresh dew lines the grass around the film lot trailers. By all means, it’s a beautiful morning, but there’s an air of tension. 

Peter nervously pokes his head outside the boy’s trailer, looking from side to side before nervously tiptoe-ing out. Every step he takes is delicate and tiny, barely even disturbing the dew drops on the blades of grass around him. 

He makes it about half-way to the craft services tent before O hollers from the trailer behind him: “Hey, what’re you doing?”

Peter winces and turns to shush him. 

“Oh, right!” O says, and then immediately drops his voice to a whisper. “I mean, oh right. Well, wait up!”

The much taller boy ducks back inside the trailer and comes dressed in seconds. He jogs over to where Peter is and the two walk to the craft services tent together. 

---

O: “Peter’s been pretty tense about destroying Scary’s notes. We haven’t seen her in a few days, so I’m assuming she’s trying to put them back together, and after that, she’s probably going to kill Peter. So, I’ve been upgraded from therapist to friend to bodyguard!"

---

The two take a seat at the table inside, looking around to make sure they’re truly alone. Once O gives a thumbs up, Peter releases a long sigh and slouches. 

“Any sign of Scruffy?” Peter asks. “Scary might be tailing them for help.”

“Nah, Scruffy’s been a lost cause for weeks now, and they’re just getting worse,” O shakes his head sadly. “The news from the aftermath was the final straw that broke the camel’s back…”

The two hear huffing as Scruffy runs a lap around the craft services tent, red-faced and sweaty. “Six hundred and fifty-nine!” they shout. Their voice fades out until they circle it again. “Six hundred and sixty!”

Peter and O look at each other nervously. 

---

SCRUFFY: “I spent the last four days crying in bed, sure, but after my 64th consecutive hour without showering, it dawned on me: Julia only… “allied herself” with Patrick as motivation for me! She must be watching my pathetic performance and is cheering me on from the sidelines! She has a special way of doing things,” they sigh happily. 

---

“Attention, campers! That’s ‘roight, mates! It’s outback time! Meet me at tha desert set in ten!”

Peter quivers and O tries to pat his shoulder reassuringly. “It’ll be fine. Scary won’t try anything while I’m here!”

“Yes, she will,”

O sighs. “Yes, she will,”

---

The four remaining players stand lined up in front of Chris as he saunters around in a khaki suit and a cowboy hat. Peter is on one end of the line, barricaded by O, who’s next to Scruffy (currently doing 800 pushups on the ground), who’s next to a bored-looking Scary. 

“Welcome to your next challenge- the Australian western! Also commonly known as a meat pie western, this all-Americana genre has been taken from the dusty deserts of Arizona and Nevada to the dusty deserts of the outback,” Chris explains, smiling widely. “You’ll be competing in a number of Australian-themed western challenges. Winner gets immunity, everyone else on the chopping block, blah blah. Follow me!”

The campers look at each other for a brief moment before walking deeper into the set. 

Peter fans his face. “Is it just me, or is it hotter now?”

“Not just you,” O wheezes. “It’s like the sun got bigger, somehow.”

“Fancy fluorescent lighting,” Chris shouts. “We’re technically still indoors right now- it’s like a greenhouse in here!”

The campers groan, aside from Scruffy, who’s doing front-rolls to keep up with the group. They finally stop at an empty corral, where Chef is repainting some blood-spattered fence. 

“Welcome to your first challenge- kangaroo lasso-ing! Each of you lousy cowboys will get five lassos- that’s five chances to wrangle a ‘roo! I’m sure you can pick it up from here…”

Scary sighs dejectedly, and speaks in a monotone voice. “Whoever wrangles the most kangaroos wins this portion of the challenge,”

“And don’t forget that these guys pack a powerful punch,” Chris chuckles. “It’s basically like trying to hold an MMA fighter with dental floss. Good luck!” he turns as Chef sets down the paint and brush. “Lemonade and the pool?”

Chef grins. “About time,”

The two walk off, leaving the campers behind. 

“Is it just me, or is Chris totally MIA this season?” O asks. “I feel like half of these challenges he just walks off to go eat hor d'oeuvres.”

“Yeah. There was a reason for that, let me see…” Scary starts. “Oh, right! That’s gone now! Along with all my other notes!”

Peter winces and O looks between the two nervously, but Scary eventually calms down and sighs. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with,”

Scruffy is the first to jog over to the color-coded ropes, grabbing their green lassos and hopping the fence into the corral. “Where are they?” they shout, grinning. “Bring ‘em at me! I’m ready!”

A loud mechanically whir starts and they brace themselves, grounding their stance as a large door connected to a barn opens and a few docile-looking ‘roos step out. They hop around merrily, sniffing flowers growing between the cracks of the set and resting. 

“Really?” Scruffy asks, relaxing their stance. “Okay, Chris, you sneaky little so-and-so. I see your game!”

O blinks. “Are they okay?”

Scary mumbles something indistinct and walks off. 

Scruffy bounds up to one of the ‘roos and gets in a fighting stance, putting their fists up. “What are they? Radioactive? Robots? Come on, let me have it!”

Chris’ voice blares over the intercom. “They’re normal kangaroos, dude,”

“Ha! As if! Let me guess, one of them has a bomb strapped to it?” Scruffy asks, turning to one and holding up its tail. “Or-” they bound to another and peer in its pouch. “One of them is a bomb?”

They look up from the pouch to see a very unamused kangaroo, and then receive a very swift punch to the face, sending them flying out of the corral. 

The campers outside of the fence watch in horror (except for Scary, who’s filing her nails). Peter and O back away. 

Finally, Scary sighs. “Fine, let’s get this over with,”

She steps into the corral casually, holding her purple ropes over her shoulder. Peter and O watch in anticipation as she approaches a kangaroo slowly, then…

“Eh,” she says weakly, tossing the rope over the roo’s head. They walk around the corral, half-heartedly throwing ropes over roos. 

Finally, they turn back. “Are any of you going to try or is this national gawking day?”

Peter and O look between each other and then nervously enter the fenced-in space, holding their ropes and looking between each other. 

“Is this some kind of trick?” Peter asks. 

“Chris already said… oh, you mean, me?” Scary chuckles. “No. I’m not going to hurt you, Peter.”

He sighs a breath of relief. “You’re not mad?”

“Oh, no. I’m furious. But what’s done is done, and there’s no logical way I can get my work back now. Might as well…” she sighs, looking back to the Scruffy-shaped indent in the sand a few meters away. “...Play… the game…”

“Well… okay then!” O shouts merrily, jogging off. “Good luck, Peter!”

---

O: “I guess my problem is that… Well, people expect unconditional support from me, but everything has conditions! My therapist, Dr. Anderson, is my only friend, and I have to pay her $120 per session! That’s just how people work!”

---

Peter watches nervously as O begins corralling his own kangaroos, taking the same gentle approach as Scary. 

Scruffy peels themselves off the sand-covered floor a few meters back and limps over to the corral again, weakly dragging their lasso behind them. 

“Um, dude, you might want to go to the medical tent,” O says, tossing another rope over a docile ‘roo. “You’re not looking too great.”

“I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help!” Scruffy snaps. “I have… to prove… my worth…”

O shakes his head sadly. 

---

O: “I keep trying to help Scruffy, and they keep pushing back. They’re bottling up their emotions big-time,” he nods knowingly. 

---

Scary sighs, tossing her last lasso over a docile kangaroo and walking back to the front of the pen. Chris’ voice blares over the intercom:

“And Scary wins! If everyone would please meet me on the south side of the lot…”

---

The campers stand beside each other, most at least a meter apart from the next person. Chris saunters over, still in those terrible khaki shorts, and grins. 

“This next- and final- part of the challenge is gonna be a real doozy for you folks,” Chris explains. “Does anyone know how long it takes to travel from one end of the film lot to another on foot?”

Everyone turns to Scary, who stares blankly back. Finally, Scruffy clears their throat. “Thirty minutes,”

“Correct. Now, does anyone know how long that’d be on horseback, herding a rambunctious group of cows?”

Chef emerges from around the corner, leading a group of 50 or so milking cows atop a brown horse. 

“This challenge will require two things you dudes are majorly lacking on- morale and cooperation. No one will be getting invincibility tonight, so you’ll all have an equal chance to win… or lose! Haha. Your goal is to herd these cows from one end of the “outback” to the other- as a team!”

The players groan and look between each other as Chef brings out four horses. One whinnies and takes a dump on the asphalt. 

---

SCARY: “And then, something just broke inside of me, and I realized: I have no reason to be here! My notes- gone. My lawsuit- gone. No one will ever believe me… I’d need to call in a few favors, but I can’t do that here…”

---

The four remaining troopers sit atop their respective horses, traversing through the film lot. Peter seems incredibly nervous, barely balancing on his steed as if he’s afraid sitting on it will kill him. 

O is grumbling to himself, scratching his ear and watching Scruffy recite wilderness survival tips under their breath from up ahead. Scary is lying on their horse, face down on its back as it guides itself. 

“How long has it been?” O shouts up to Scruffy. 

“Ten minutes!” they shout back, leading the group. Despite this, the sun is already setting over the set.

“G-guys… I think mine hates me,” Peter whimpers. His horse stops to buck a little and he screams in terror. 

“Chill, dude. Animals can read emotions like that,” O snaps his fingers. “If you’re calm, they’re calm. Wanna do some breathing exercises?”

Peter sighs shakily. “...Okay,”

Before O can speak again, a nearby howling catches everyone’s attention (aside from Scary, who, much like a corpse, doesn’t budge). 

“...What was that?” Peter finally breaks the silence with a hoarse whisper. 

“This challenge is supposed to be Australian themed… right?” Scruffy taps his chin. “So those must be-”

A pack of dingoes springs out from behind a set piece, barking and gnashing their teeth. Peter shrieks in terror as one leaps up, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, and carries him off. 

“The dingo’s got my Peter!” O shouts in terror as the pack disappears. 

“Who cares?” Scary grumbles. 

Chris’ voice blares over the intercom, feedback whining. “Reminder to all contestants, all four of you must cross the finish line to win the challenge,”

Scary sits up and groans, stretching. Scruffy and O look between each other. 

“I’ll go,” O says. “None of you even care about other people, anyway.”

“I don’t think you should, you’ll slow us down. You’re not equipped to handle the stress of this competition!” Scruffy points at him. “I’ll go!”

“No, way! You don’t care about anyone but yourself!”

“Both of you, SHUT UP!” Scary shouts. It's the loudest he's been all week, and the remaining two look at her in terror as she steers her horse off. “I’m going! I have nothing left to lose anyway, right?” she glares. O shrinks in on himself. 

---

Scary’s horse trots through the set, dotted with green trees and red rocks in every unfitting location. As they move through the city set, they roll their eyes at the elaborate Australian-themed decorations. 

---

SCARY: “I’m at an impasse right now- I could follow Scruffy’s simpleton advice and continue in the show, try to recollect enough evidence to take Chris to court, or… I could…” they shiver. “...Ask for help from an outside source…”

---

A distant howling catches their attention and the horse whinnies and backs up, much to Scary’s vague annoyance. They dig their heels in its sides and press forward. 

“Come on, you’re at least six times their size!” she grumbles, coaxing the nervous horse ahead. “I’ve dealt with worse! At least you’re getting good meals.”

The two round the corner and stop at the entrance of the maze from prior challenges. Scary sighs and hops off the horse. “Stay here,” they instruct. The horse immediately neighs and bolts in the opposite direction. 

She smacks her palm to her forehead. “Why did I think that would work?”

---

SCARY: “I feel like… I don’t know, I feel like I’m coming undone…” Scary coughs. There are heavy bags under their eyes and their skin is even paler. “So tired…”

---

Scary wanders through the maze without any sense of urgency, casually strolling with his hands in his lab coat pockets. He yawns and stumbles a bit before righting himself and pressing on. 

A round of distant barks come into earshot and he shivers, pressing forward. After rounding another corner, they see Peter cornered in the back of the maze, holding out a stick and poking at a pack of dingoes. One of them gnashes its teeth at him and he jabs the twig at it, earning itself a nudge from the dull end of the wood. Peter screams in terror at the barks. Scary rolls her eyes. 

“Scary!” Peter trembles. “H-help!”

Scary scoffs. “You should be so lucky. After ruining my chances? I just wanted to watch you get eaten before I…” they pause. “Never mind.”

Peter looks up for a second and notices Scary’s disheveled state. He frowns. “Are you okay?”

“What do you care?”

“Well, you look sick,” Peter says gently. “We need to get you back to the medical tent.”

“I’m fine,” they growl. “Just shut up and get eaten quietly!”

One of the dingoes snaps its jaws at her and she growls back. It whimpers and retreats. 

“I’m only trying to help!” he insists, waving the stick around. “You don’t have to be so mean all the time!”

Scary coughs loudly. “I don’t need help!”

“Okay, fine!” Peter shouts. “If you go back to the medical tent, I’ll vote myself off tonight so you can stay and… study… or whatever you do.”

Scary looks up from her nails (which she was absent-mindedly picking at moments before) with a slightly amused, slightly surprised expression under her pale skin and eyebags. “Really?” she chuckles. “You’d really give up your precious competition for someone you hate?”

“I never hated you! I don’t hate anyone!” Peter insists again, looking up. “I’m just mad- mad doesn’t mean hate!”

She blinks, still amused. “Huh. But we’re not friends,”

“You don’t have to be friends, or even like someone to care about them,” he says. “Haven’t you ever had anyone who you cared about?”

This seems to strike a nerve with Scary- she turns red and braces herself to shout, but just as Peter covers his face in anticipation, a hand wraps around his arm and pulls him away from the dingoes. Scary carries him on her back out of the maze, jogging. 

Her breaths are ragged and her eyes are drooping as she runs through set. 

“Let me walk! You’re too weak to-”

“Shut up and accept my favor!” Scary wheezes. Peter does as told. 

They make it to the cityscape before hearing shouts. Scary finally slows and drops to the ground, collapsing, too weak to go on. Peter slides off her back, and, with great effort, pulls her onto him, then continues. The shouts become clearer. 

“Help! Scary!” 

“Anyone out there!”

“HELP US!”

“This is a really inspired challenge, Chris, I gotta say-”

“Scruffy, SHUT UP!”

Peter rounds the corner and shrieks in terror. Two massive, man-sized spiders have Scruffy and O wrapped up in webs, suspending them in midair right before the finish line. The herd of cows is already beyond the checkered flag, leaving everyone only seconds away from completing the challenge. 

"Well, this is certainly Australian, isn't it?" Scary grumbles.

Peter stops and Scary slides off his back, collapsing on the ground. 

“Peter! Help!” O shouts. 

“I-I don’t know what to do!”

Scruffy chuckles confidently. “Heh, don’t worry. I’ll get us out of this!” they struggle a bit against the webs. Nothing happens. “This’ll work eventually.”

“Idiot,” Scary mumbles, her face on the pavement. 

“What’s wrong with her?” O asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Peter babbles, stumbling over his words. Finally, Scary sighs and tries to stand before collapsing again. 

“Okay, whatever. Just help us down!”

The spiders click their pincers at him, crawling around their massive expanse of webs. Scruffy makes a joke about Australia before being completely mummified in webs. 

“I- what do I do? I can’t!” Peter hyperventilates, shaking. 

“Peter,” a small voice says. He looks down to Scary on the ground. She wheezes and shakes, her arms quivering. Finally- she extends her hand and gives him a big thumbs-up. “You got this.”

Peter stops shaking and looks at her, then smiles brightly. “I-I got this,”

“You can figure it out,” she coughs. “I... believe in you.”

Peter puts on a serious look, salutes, and begins running steadfast into the webs, just before catching a glimpse of the massive spiders again and screaming and flailing his arms around. His right ankle catches on a loose end of web and he trips and falls, skidding across the asphalt and dragging the web with him. The entire structure unravels, collapsing. The spiders fall first, and then O and Scruffy fall on top of them. 

O manages to wiggle out of his binds and helps Scruffy out of theirs before scooping them, Scary, and Peter up and weakly dragging them all across the finish line, huffing. 

The intercom crackles to life. “Congratulations, final four! Your challenge is officially over!”

The four groan. 

---

A medical helicopter takes off, carrying someone in it, out of the game. The camera pans down to the final three (only having suffered minor injuries). 

Peter, Scruffy, and O wave to the helicopter as it disappears, and Chris salutes it with a grin. “See ya never!” he chuckles, walking off and dusting off his hands as if he just closed a deal. 

The final three look between each other with blank stares. 

---

Scary, now ghostly pale from her skin to her now-white hair, lies on a cot inside the vehicle as it soars through the cityscape. A few medics rush around her, taking her vitals and trying to determine a cause. 

Finally, she holds out an arm and weakly extends her hand. “Phone,”

“Mx., we can’t-”

“It’s important,” she snaps. “If I die before I make this call, my people will personally see to it that you never set foot in a hospital again.”

The medic rolls his eyes and hands her a satellite phone. She dials a number and holds it to her ear. “I’d like to make a collect call to the Open Spaces, Toronto Chapter,”

[okdeedee]

i have some more seven minutes in heaven with a pedro boy of choice as created/coined/prompted by @boliv-jenta, because i’m a goddamn comedian, and this is fun for me. thank you for thinking this idea up.

this is every pedro boy i have an opinion on:

javi p : 7 minutes pretending I have no idea who he is and treating him like your average joe, just so he gets a break from the incessant pablo escobar questions. i will however be unabashedly checking him out and complimenting whatever obscenely well tailored and bright button up shirt he has on that day.

marcus m: split the time in half. first 3.5mins? sorry i’m just gonna throw metal stuff at him (with consent) and test the magic metal powers. second 3.5mins? a little shoulder massage. he seems tense.

dave york: 7 minutes in Court Ordered Therapy. i don’t like him and i don’t like his hair. he gives me the heeby jeebies.

joel miller: i’ll be honest i’ve got 2 options. 1) sit on a porch and chill out with him and his guitar. serenade me, cowboy. i’ll serenade you right back.

or,,

2) do my level best to (with consent) give him life-changing-make-you-want-to-plan-a-future-with-me-level head. yeah. uh. next.

marcus p: let me at this man!!!! i want to play with his hair i want to be all curled up with him on a couch i’ll watch Casablanca! i’ll watch some movie from the 40s. do i like them? no! would i watch them all day (or in fact for 7 minutes) just to be in his presence? yes!

jack daniels deserves a nice one so here’s a nice one for him as well: 7 minutes at some near-empty bar in the early afternoon. maybe i steal his hat and put it on and maybe that holds implications. perhaps i am unwaveringly normal and complimentary and he’s taken aback by my lack of performance and abundance of genuineness and falls in love with me and ditches the whole arrogance and misogyny sort of act. i don’t know. just spitballing.

din djarin: 7 minutes to watch him train or absolutely decimate a group of ruffians in a brawl. i’d like him use his gadgets and his brute strength and proficiency. i’d start wanting to bite things. after? i’d give him orange slices or a cold washcloth or again, head,,,,. whatever he needs. i live to serve.

pero tovar: talking him through a 7 minute personal hygiene and skincare routine. i just have this feeling he’d really be into soap if he ever got the chance to use it. and then if there was time left over i’d re-do his eyeliner.

max phillips: i don’t much like him. think i’d follow him around with a UEBOOM playing various songs from the twilight soundtracks for 7 minutes. then get the hell out of dodge before he could ruin my life.

javi g: anything. i’d stare at him in that white singlet for 7 minutes. i’d let him wax poetic about nicolas cage. i’d go for a swim. i’m terrified of heights but i’d cliff-dive with him. i’ll let him talk me through the entire nicolas cage collection. hell, i’ll hang his laundry out to dry for 7 minutes. I just want to be in his presence. he’s my dream man. ugh.

ezra: since prospect was taken off netflix in my country and i haven’t been able to watch it in 2 years, ezra in my head is now more closely associated with either @oonajaeadira’s bookshop series or @frannyzooey’s in the dark

(this doubles as a shoutout to them for some gorgeous gorgeous writing in these series and in everything they do. i hope you don’t mind me tagging you in this!)

if we’re in bookshop? i’d like to coexist with ezra peacefully for 7 minutes. all domestic. surrounded by the smell of old books. talking about random things. maybe holding his hand and stroking the back of it with my thumb. something soft and loving. what a sweet and heartwarming series.

if we’re in in the dark i’m sorry, i would lean more towards getting absolutely railed into next week by him. god he’s hot. i’m not immune to a bit of an age gap and this one is done so well and so tastefully.

frankie morales: i think i’d enjoy spending seven minutes chatting with an alcoholic beverage while we’re grilling at the barbeque. so dad-coded of me, but maybe the sun is setting and it’s summer and it’s a taste of normalcy he hasn’t had in a while so it’s romantic. i like him. i like him a lot.

oberyn martell: i think i’d spontaneously combust in his presence. he’s just … wow. and ellaria is so gorgeous as well. I’m just one shy bisexual. i’d need the upper hand or at least to impress them. OK let’s set it that I’m like a travelling bard or something and I’ve come to Dorne. Therefore I’d sing for them. that’s my One Great Skill. and then they go oh nice! and i get a full time job just doing what bards do in Dorne. and maybe i am invited to their bed once in a while.

pedro across the street: forget apple originals - to me, PATS is from oonajaeadiras’ good things take time series. her work has a way of sticking in your brain. would love a 7minute non sexual massage from this one. my trapezius (?) muscles are rock hard.

surely that’s it. i feel like i’ve forgotten a big one. well. thanks for reading if you got this far.

peace out.