#Man is like mustached Cryptic

[llamawrites]

Hercules Poirot aka the Belgium detective Cryptic.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 07 Chapter 07 | the devil's game⌟

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The weight of Bakugo's cryptic messages hung heavy as you approached his house.

The quiet suburban street was bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows that stretched like grasping fingers across the sidewalk.

Reaching the Bakugo residence, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever awaited you within. With a firm rhythm, you knocked on the front door.

A tense silence stretched on for a beat too long before the door creaked open a sliver, revealing a man who looked far from his usual composed self. Presumably Bakugo's father, a middle-aged man of average height and build, stood before you.

His short brown hair, similar in style to his son, was mussed and unkempt.

A short mustache adorned his upper lip, and rectangular glasses perched on his nose, their lenses reflecting the dying sunlight.

Surprise etched itself onto his face, quickly replaced by a flicker of warmth that ignited in his worried eyes. He stammered, his voice laced with a hint of apprehension, "Ah, hello...who might you be...?"

With a polite bow, you introduced yourself. "I'm Akuma ____, a classmate of Bakugo's," you said, your voice carrying a practiced friendliness. "Actually, I brought him some homework notes and wanted to check in since he missed our tutoring session today." The fabricated tutoring session rolled effortlessly off your tongue, a believable excuse you'd concocted on the walk over.

Thankfully, today fell on a Wednesday, a night Bakugo usually spent glued to the arcade games.

Bakugo's father's hesitant expression betrayed his initial surprise. His rumpled clothes and drawn face hinted at a deeper concern, one he seemed reluctant to voice. "Uh, yeah, about that..." he mumbled, trailing off.

You pressed on, your voice laced with genuine concern. "I'm very worried about Katsuki," you said softly. "It's not like him to miss a session, especially without letting me know."

The use of Bakugo's first name seemed to catch the man off guard. Another flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by a hesitant smile. "Right, right," he chuckled nervously, a hint of relief washing over him. "You must be close to him if you use his first name. I'm Masaru, Katsuki's father."

The confirmation of your fabricated story hung in the air for a moment, but Masaru seemed to accept it at face value. The prospect of his son having a close friend, someone genuinely concerned about him, seemed to ease his initial apprehension.

With a sigh, he gestured for you to enter. "Well, come on in then, ____."

Stepping through the doorway, you were met with an unexpected darkness. The house, usually well-lit, was plunged into an inky blackness. Masaru fumbled for a light switch, muttering apologies under his breath. "Sorry, sorry about that," he mumbled, his voice strained. "We usually have dinner around now, but..." his explanation trailed off, laced with a heavy weight of unspoken worry.

Concern creased your brow. "Is everything alright, Mr. Bakugo?" you asked gently.

Masaru hesitated, his gaze flickering away from yours. It was clear he wasn't eager to relive whatever had transpired.

Seeing his discomfort, you decided to take a more... persuasive approach.

Subtly activating 'Control', you tilted your head slightly and repeated your question, your voice laced with a barely-there murmur, "Tell me what happened."

The effect was instantaneous. Masaru flinched, his eyes locking onto yours with a jolt. He seemed to shrink under your gaze for a moment before deflating, eyes glazing over before releasing a defeated sigh. "It's Katsuki," he confessed, his voice thick with worry. "He... he got attacked by a villain today." Relief washed over him as the words left his lips, a stark contrast to the tension that had coiled in his shoulders.

He launched into a frantic explanation, recounting the details of the attack. Katsuki's bravado, the villain's slimy form, the struggle. Even the arrival of Midoriya, who bravely jumped in to help despite his Quirkless status.

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, albeit subtly at this.

"Midoriya, he..." Masaru paused, a tremor running through his voice, oblivious to your silent reaction, "If he hadn't stepped in... I don't know what would've happened to my baby boy..."

As his explanation trailed off, a cacophony of shouts shattered the tense silence. A woman's voice, laced with exasperation, echoed through the house. "I'M JUST TRYING TO HELP YOU, YOU LITTLE BRAT!" it shrieked.

A defiant reply, unmistakably Katsuki's, followed in rapid succession. "WELL, I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP, OLD HAG!" he roared. The slam of a door reverberated through the house, punctuated by the heavy thud of footsteps descending the stairs.

A moment later, a figure stormed into the room, the dim light revealing spiky ash-blonde hair and fiery red eyes—a mirror image of Katsuki himself.

She, huffed past you, her short black skirt swishing around her legs. Masaru rushed after her, his voice placating. "M-Mitsuki! It's alright, just calm down a bit!"

You stared, a jolt of recognition jolting through you; the shared crimson eyes, the fiery temper, the woman's strange ability to restrain her son with unseen binds.

This—this was the woman from years ago, the one from the playground, the one who comforted Katsuki the day your powers returned to you.

This was Bakugo's mother.

As a torrent of hushed complaints spilled from her lips to her husband about Bakugo's "bratish behavior," you couldn't help but chime in.

Your voice cut through the tension, soft yet firm. "Excuse me," you said, offering a polite smile. "May I go check on Katsuki? Sounds like he could use a friend right now."

The couple froze, caught off guard by your interruption. Masaru, bless his heart, was the first to recover. He cleared his throat awkwardly, a sheepish grin plastered on his face. "Oh, right, ____ This is Bakugo's mother, Mitsuki. Mitsuki, this is Katsuki's friend..." he raised his eyebrows comically in your direction to his wife

It was a clear, if not entirely subtle, attempt to reveal her of your importance to their son.

Mitsuki, ever-observant, caught on immediately.

A flicker of understanding crossed her features, morphing into a warm smile as she turned towards you. "Friend? Oh, friend! Ah, you must be ____! Katsuki's friend," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle compared to her earlier outburst. "You're more than welcome to try your luck with the brat upstairs." A spiteful scowl tugged at the corner of her lips.

Taking her words in stride, you plastered on your most charming smile and let out a light giggle. "Thank you, Mrs. Bakugo," you said with a polite bow. "I'll do my best." With that, you excused yourself, turning towards the stairs.

Each step creaked under your weight, the silence heavy as you ascended, curiosity and a sliver of trepidation battling for dominance within you as you ascended towards Katsuki's room.

Reaching the landing, you found the door closed, but not locked. With a gentle push, it creaked open, revealing a room shrouded in darkness.

Your eyes adjusted to the gloom, finding Bakugo perched on the edge of his bed. His broad shoulders seemed to curl inwards under your gaze. His head hung low, shrouded in shadow.

You closed the door softly behind you, the click barely audible in the tense silence.

Taking slow, deliberate steps, you approached him, each creak of the floorboards echoing in the stillness.

Coming to a stop a few feet in front of him, you remained silent. Masaru had filled you in on the basics of the attack: the villain, the sludge, the rescue. But you craved Bakugo's perspective, the unfiltered details straight from the source.

The silence stretched, heavy and thick.

Finally, you spoke, your voice soft but firm. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

A beat of silence followed your question. Bakugo's broad shoulders seemed to shrink inwards under your gaze. His head dipped even lower, burying his face further in the darkness.

A heavy silence stretched between you, punctuated only by your shallow breaths.

You knew he wouldn't open up easily. So, you repeated the question, this time using your power. "Puppy. What happened?"

Raising his head, Bakugo revealed his eyes, usually vibrant red, were now red-rimmed and glassy. Bakugo's tearful expression vanished, replaced by his usual dazed look. His shoulders slumped again, his defiance replaced by a vacant emptiness.

The monotonous drone of Bakugo's voice then filled the room as he recounted the events of the day. He spoke of the villain's attack, the suffocating sludge, the struggle.

There was no fire in his voice, no usual bravado. Just a chilling emptiness that mirrored the vacant look in his eyes.

He continued his narration, detailing the arrival of Midoriya. When he reached this point, a flicker of something—perhaps annoyance, perhaps something deeper—sparked in his otherwise emotionless eyes. His lips curled into a scowl, and a low growl rumbled in his throat. "Deku," he hissed, the word laced with disdain.

The rest of the story tumbled out, his voice devoid of the usual anger, yet still dripping with contempt whenever his "childhood friend" was mentioned.

As he finished his tale, you couldn't help but let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh.

Feigning concern, you cupped his face gently, your touch light as a feather. "Oh, Puppy~" you cooed, your voice dripping with a sweetness that felt wrong on your tongue. "You poor baby. Sounds like your little hero complex got you into trouble again." Your words were cruel, a stark contrast to the feigned sympathy in your expression.

A twisted sense of amusement bubbled within you.

Here he was, the ever-explosive Bakugo Katsuki, reduced to a puppet, spilling his secrets under your subtle control.

It had been years since you'd first discovered your power—the day on the playground when you'd unwittingly used it on him to test your abilities. Since then, he'd become your unwitting informant, a loyal (albeit clueless) source of information on the budding heroes in training.

No one suspected a thing, not with his volatile personality turning everyone away.

You leaned in closer, your voice barely a whisper. "Maybe," you murmured, your touch lingering on his cheek, "your precious Deku needs to be reminded who the real hero is around here."

The emptiness in his eyes stirred ever so slightly, a flicker of recognition passing through for a moment before vanishing once more. But it was enough—a confirmation that the tendrils of your control remained firmly in place.

A satisfied smirk played on your lips, hidden by the mask of concern. You had everything you needed, all thanks to your loyal, clueless puppet.

The silence stretched for a moment, broken only by your shallow breaths.

Then, a new resolve hardened your gaze. This hero business, this constant struggle for power in the open... it was childish.

You, the Control Devil, would operate in the shadows, manipulating events from behind the scene. A single, chilling chuckle escaped your lips.

"Power," you breathed, the word dripping with dark ambition. "If power is what you want, I'll give it to you. But on my terms."

Your eyes gleamed with a predatory glint, a promise whispered not to Bakugo, but to the world at large.

It was a declaration, the official beginning of a game you had meticulously planned.

A sinister smile played across your lips, a stark contrast to the concern you'd displayed moments before.  Bakugo was just a pawn, a useful tool in your grand scheme.

Power, control—that was the true prize.

A/N: Ah, yes. evil ~Muwahhhhh~ anywho just wanted to give another heads up, i will be SUPER busy this upcoming week due to finals as well as preparing to move back home from dorms. see you guys 💗

[elvisbdoll]

The Mystery in Memphis

Prologue: “the journal”

The soft glow of a neon sign flickered above the entrance of the pawn shop, casting a faint blue hue on the rain-soaked pavement. Elvis pushed the door open, the faint jingle of a bell breaking the quiet of the evening. Inside, the shop smelled of aged wood and forgotten memories, with shelves lined with everything from tarnished brass instruments to dusty old books.

It wasn’t the kind of place Elvis usually wandered into. At 22, he was just starting to taste fame, his voice capturing hearts across Memphis and beyond. But something about the sign—“Larry’s Treasures and Oddities”—had drawn him in. Maybe it was the restless feeling he couldn’t shake lately, the urge to escape the chaos of the music scene and find something real, something grounding.

He idly picked through stacks of records, his fingers brushing over the glossy covers. Then, on a shelf tucked in the corner, he spotted it: a leather-bound journal, its edges frayed with age. It didn’t seem like much, but when he picked it up, he felt a strange pull. The cover bore no title, only an engraved symbol—a circle with an arrow piercing through it.

Curiosity got the better of him. He flipped it open, revealing pages filled with hurried handwriting and intricate drawings. One line, scrawled across the top of the first page, made his heart skip a beat:

“To whoever finds this, you are my only hope. The fate of countless lives depends on you deciphering these words before it’s too late.”

Elvis frowned, flipping further into the journal. The entries were cryptic, full of phrases like “The clock tower strikes twice” and “Look where the river bends.” Some pages were smeared with what looked like ink—at least, he hoped it was ink—and sketches of symbols he didn’t recognize.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” asked the shopkeeper, an older man with a thick mustache and a keen eye. He leaned on the counter, inspecting Elvis with a curious tilt of his head.

“Just this old journal,” Elvis replied, his Southern drawl casual despite the unease crawling up his spine. “You know anything about it?”

The shopkeeper squinted. “That thing’s been sittin’ there for years. Came in with a box of junk someone brought in after a house clearance. Nobody ever paid it no mind—except you, it seems.”

“How much for it?” Elvis asked, already reaching for his wallet.

The man scratched his chin. “For you? Two dollars. But I’ll tell you somethin’—things like that have a way of stirrin’ trouble. Sure you want it?”

Elvis hesitated for a moment, but something in him—a strange mix of intuition and determination—urged him on. He slid two crisp bills onto the counter.

“Trouble’s part of the fun,” he said with a grin.

Walking out of the shop, the journal tucked under his arm, Elvis had no idea how true those words would prove to be. By the time the moon reached its peak that night, the pages of that journal would set him on a path of danger, mystery, and a truth far stranger than anything he’d ever sung about.

He just didn’t know it yet.

[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 falling for a voice on the radio—until they aren'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)

[mama-orion]

Hello amazing humans.

I'm nervous, I'm giddy. I’m back. I promise not to paint on a bad mustache and pretend two years haven’t happened.

After a long, long, nourishing hibernation, The Man in the Iron Collar is back. Many chapters are in progress, so while I am a sloth-slow writer, there will be more to read in the days and weeks ahead, with the great goal of keeping up the momentum until the tale is told in full. Wish me luck.

Chapter 24 - Tea and Tendrils

Scraps of foresight had peppered Sherlock’s dreams since childhood, but this summer the trickle had become a torrent. What was coming? Who was this man who appeared in so many of the visions?

And then Captain John Watson had strode into his circus tent and the cryptic visions had begun to come true.

Fragments of dream-premonitions replayed in his mind on a frenetic loop.

The wind screams in his ears as he pulls out of a loop-de-loop, John gripped tightly to his chest, the circus far below–

Netters close, close – a forest full of fire, smoke chokes his lungs, panic in his veins as he grabs hold of John and launches skyward, away away –

An Adelidae keening in pain, her flesh turning to stone. He shows John how to heal her–

An obelisk of pyrite looms below him in a cavern. He grabs John’s hand, they jump off the ledge–

They run through alleyways toward a half-constructed zeppelin. Netters are close behind. They need to jump unseen–

These visions had come to pass, but more – many more – still eluded him. Some were innocuous. A few were deeply pleasant. But most of the images squeezed him in a fist of fear.

In one dark vision, Sherlock was pushing John through a glimmering rent in the air, his cheeks wet with tears. In another, the snarling tarnished tiger-helm of a Netter glared down at him, an antlered head looming behind it with eyes like cold stars; in a third, he was walking through a too-still forest approaching an ash tree. His fingers brushed over the bark’s ridges, the whorls and grooves forming the likeness of a face –

He shuddered. What pieces of dream-sight held importance, and which were just subconscious flotsam? Was there a pattern he was missing? Some clue that would tell him what danger was truly coming? It was maddening. It felt as if the answers were just on the edge of thought. The fractured scenes flashed through his mind, faster, faster –

John’s fingers slid over Sherlock’s sharply-bouncing knee, his touch anchoring him back in the present.

Alright?

The visions ebbed away.

Sherlock took a deep, shaky breath. Thank you. Got lost in my thoughts.

He was sitting in a comfortable chair by Mrs. Hudson’s crackling magical fire, so close to John’s own chair that their knees lightly brushed. His hands were holding a cooling cup of tea. He took a sip of the earthy jasmine. The wards and seals of the Haven hummed just on the edge of his perception. They were free. They were safe.

Read the rest of Chapter 24 on AO3

While I’m going forward unbeta’d, @shirleycarlton will always have my profound gratitude for hours of excellent beta’ing and support.

And cover art by @spenglernot is still so utterly perfect.

Back to writing. Damn it feels good to be back.

[thatforgottenbasilisk]

some heroes wear masks (some of those masks are stolen)

Chapter 2 (AO3) (My Fic Masterpost)

Originally Posted on 4/2/2024

Rating: T

Summary:

Izuku talks to the mysterious doctor, and then comes home.

"Who the fuck is Inko?"

Izuku's savior comes in the form of Shigaraki's grumbling at the doctor, who might know his mother, who clearly recognizes him in some kind of capacity that may or may not have something to do with the situation at hand.

The doctor glares at Shigaraki, and hisses, "Quiet, boy. She's nobody that you need to know about, if Sensei has not seen fit to inform you." This either mollifies Shigaraki, or he passes out from the sedatives that have almost certainly been fed into his IV drip. Izuku waits for a few moments to see if he'll learn anything more, but the doctor just looks over expectantly. It seems like he's still waiting for his answer.

"... Depends on who's asking." Izuku takes care to pitch his voice slightly lower than it really is, talk slightly lower than he usually does so the mask muffles it more, and bite his tongue when he's done talking so he doesn't accidentally start muttering and give away his entire thought process. He doesn't want to be identified outside of this particular context, especially not by anybody else who's in this room. He still doesn't know the consequence of this, he doesn't know how this man knows his mother, he doesn't know what she might have done to be inadvertently involved in something like this- unless he knows her by total coincidence, which is better but still definitely not great.

What's also very not great is the implication that someone named Sensei also knows his mother- granted, this may not be true, since Sensei seems like the boss of everything that's going on here and Shigaraki seems like he respects the guy, so it would be an easy avenue to make him stop pursuing a line of questioning, just imply that Sensei definitely knows everything and decides what information should and should not be given to certain people. Shigaraki doesn't seem like the kind of person who would see through that, or else Sensei is the kind of person that nobody wants to question.

The doctor, for his part, smiles behind his bushy mustache and says, cryptically, "A friend of your father's," which asks a lot more questions than it answers.

Midoriya Hisashi, the name that was neatly printed on Dad's monthly checks from America, is also the name of Izuku's supposed father. He says "supposed" not because he suspects Mom of having cheated or anything, but because the evidence of him being a real person and not just an elaborate hoax is practically negligible, in Izuku's humble opinion. He doesn't remember a thing about the man, hasn't spoken to him either in person or remotely, and hasn't seen a single picture of him aside from his and Mom's wedding photo- which, conveniently, has his head cropped out of the picture because of the height difference between the both of them.

Plus, there's no evidence of anyone named "Midoriya Hisashi" existing in either Japan or America to be found anywhere online, and Izuku has looked. The only instances of that name popping up in any legal records are on two documents: Mom's marriage certificate, and Izuku's own birth certificate. It may be the most suspicious situation that Izuku has ever been even mildly personally involved in, including the situation he's in right now. Besides, even if Midoriya Hisashi does actually exist and Izuku just hadn't looked hard enough, the man disappeared on his family and indirectly caused the situation at hand by stopping the child support money without warning.

"Then I'm nobody." Izuku answers while taking another step back. "Just give me the money and I'll be on my way." He doesn't want trouble. He doesn't want any so-called "friend" of either of his parents wrecking his life or digging him even deeper into this whole thing. He doesn't even want to be a spy, not really, because as much as Kacchan had seemed like he believed that whole thing, Izuku's got other priorities now. There needs to be food on the table before he can think about biting the hand that put it there.

"Very well. Sensei will ensure that you and your mother are both well cared for. That portal will take you to the meeting point." Izuku feels a sinking in his gut as he realizes that the doctor doesn't believe him. He's already been figured out, and his only hope of this being the end of it is if he's lucky- Izuku is very rarely lucky. This is more likely a threat than any sort of kindness.

He doesn't know who Sensei is. He doesn't know how he knows where to send the money. He doesn't know what he's just gotten himself and his mother into, and he doesn't know how he can get out. Is it even possible to get out? Is this going to end well, or is it going to end bloody? The only hope that Izuku has of it being the former is if he goes to the heroes, but if he's caught, it'll definitely end up being the latter.

He doesn't know if the heroes can keep him safe, at least long-term. He doesn't know if he can rely on anyone to do anything, really- and why should he? Nobody's ever been trustworthy, nobody's ever protected him, nobody except for Mom, who he's just thanked by throwing her to the wolves.

"Shigaraki called this whole thing the League of Villains, right?" Izuku asks, climbing out on a ledge he should never have been anywhere close to. He feels like he's standing on the roof of a building, wind pushing him towards the edge, his hands clammy and feet unsteady. "If I'm one of your villains, then anyone else I may know stays out of it."

The doctor waits a moment for Shigaraki to respond, to agree, but evidently the drugs are working too well for that. The doctor seems to decide to answer on Shigaraki's behalf, "Of course. It would be a waste to bring in someone that would make you less productive."

"Good. Let me know when the next mission is." Izuku responds, acting for all the world like he means this, acting for all the world like he wants this.

"We'll be in touch." The doctor says, and turns away to his work, dismissing him without another word. He moves towards the portal that the man covered in mist creates, never taking his eyes off of anyone in the room, not even dead-to-the-world Shigaraki.

This is going to end bloody, Izuku knows it. He's just trying to make sure it's not Mom's blood in the end.

-----

Mom is already home when he gets there. He only notices because the welcome mat is a little askew- she must have used the spare key, he thinks he saw her keys on the counter this morning, and if anyone was going to break into the house then they would use one of the portals that the mist villain had because the chances of being targeted by two different groups of criminals in one day are astronomical- and he knows that there's no way he can sneak inside without her noticing. He can't even intercept the automatic absence call from the school.

He sighs, throws away the sickness mask, and puts the knife in a pocket where he can, hopefully, surreptitiously put it in the sink without it being seen on his person and pretend that he wasn't carrying a weapon while skipping school.

Should he ask about the doctor? What would he even say? "Hey Mom, by the way, were you or Dad ever friends with a criminal who would hypothetically have the resources to break into UA and make a murder attempt on All Might?"

No. That would be stupid, and alarm her for no reason. He's got it covered, everything is fine, they won't touch her. Izuku will make sure of it, even if it costs him his life- and it probably will, considering the kind of villains he's up against and considering the kind of trick he's pulling.

He takes his own key out of an inner pocket of his jacket- probably not smart to have his house key on him during criminal activity, he should avoid that next time, and he doesn't want to think about next time- and unlocks the door. He knows that no lie will satisfy his mother, because she knows him better than anybody and she always knows when he's lying, so he doesn't even try to think of a fake story to tell her.

He's barely even shut the door when Mom comes running out of the kitchen towards him, tears running down her face and hands already outstretched towards him. He's taken aback by the force of the sudden hug, but he reciprocates almost immediately; he doesn't know what's going on, he doesn't know what Mom's heard or why she's home early, but he'll roll with it as well as he can.

"Oh, Izuku, thank goodness!" She cries out, halfway muffled by his shirt. "Katsuki's class was attacked this morning, I tried to call you and tell you to come home, but you never answered!" Oh no. Izuku left his cell phone at home, so that nobody would be able to track him that way and know where he was or what he was doing, but that decision seems to have backfired immensely. He already scared Mom more than any question would.

"Mom, I'm okay, I just left my phone at home." He says, honestly, and Mom's breathing grows a little steadier as she stops being quite so tense.

She hangs on for a little longer, then lets go and backs up a bit so she can look him in the eye. Izuku still doesn't feel right being taller than her, even though it's been this way since he was twelve; he doesn't like looking down at her. She takes a second to look at his clothes, not his uniform but casual wear, all in black, and her expression somehow sinks even more than before.

"Where were you?" She asks in a voice just barely above a whisper, full of a fear that Izuku hasn't heard from her in over a decade, not since that fateful doctor's appointment when Izuku found out his life was never going to be anywhere near as good as any of his peers. He doesn't know what to say; she'll find out the truth, sooner or later, but any part of it will hurt her. She'll feel guilty over the fact that he feels the need to support the family, or else just the fact that he went into villainy; she'll be terrified for him any time he's out of her sight if she finds out that he's going to be doing this for the Heroes, though he hasn't even yet decided if it'll be in a funneling-information sense or a take-them-down-from-the-inside sense.

He doesn't know what he's doing. He doesn't know how far in he is, and he doesn't know how far in he'll end up.

"Dad was a criminal, wasn't he?" Izuku doesn't mean to ask that. He does it on purpose, but he immediately regrets it when Mom goes deathly pale and brings up a single, shaking hand to cover her mouth. Izuku's hands are shaking, too; he's scared to know the truth either way.

"Izuku." She nearly whispers his name, too, and brings both of her hands up to Izuku's face. She stares him dead in the eye, unblinking, despite the tears that are still soaking her cheeks. "Izuku, baby, promise me you'll never get involved with him."

Izuku doesn't answer. He can't answer, can't promise anything because he's already broken it. He's already trapped in a web of his father's making- his father is the one with these connections to the underground doctor, and his father is likely the reason he was recognized. He's already involved, and he doesn't know how not to be.

She must see it in his face, because she puts a little more force into her hands, so that they're a little more firm, a little more present. "You have to promise me you won't go back there. No matter what he does, no matter what he offers you, please don't ever go back." Mom is practically begging him, and Izuku still doesn't know what to do. He knows that he's going to go back, because if he doesn't, then this Sensei will kill them both. There's nothing he can do.

"I promise." Izuku lies, and Mom is so desperate to believe him that she doesn't catch him in it.

Instead, she lowers her hands, and says in a small voice, "Good. Wash up; I'm making us lunch." Izuku knows that wash up also includes changing out of his haphazard villain costume, so he walks to his room to grab a change of clothes.

On his nightstand is a flip-phone that wasn't there when he left this morning.

[hypnolurker]

Mary’s Rebirth

“What’s wrong little girl? You look troubled.” mused a well-dressed man as he approached a young woman in a bar wallowing in her sorrows.

“Don’t call me a little girl! I’m 18 years old you know. An adult. I can make my own decisions...” she snapped back, clearly more than a little tipsy.

“Oh my dear I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just concerned and by the sounds of it you have some issues you’re struggling with.” he responded understandingly.

The woozy girl turned to him and looked closer at the older gentleman staring warmly at her. He was wearing an expensive suit and sporting a well-groomed mustache and slick black hair. He actually looked kind of handsome to the young girl and she blushed somewhat as she stared back at him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m normally not so rude...and never this, erm, well drunk I suppose. Its actually the first time I’ve had alcohol outside of church...” she said, flustered and somewhat nervous.

“May I ask your name, young lady?” he inquired.

“W-well I’m Mary.” she answered anxiously.

“Ah Mary. A fitting name.” he responded cryptically.

“Can I have your name, sir?” she asked meekly.

He smiled, “I go by many names, you can just call me Lucious.”

“Well I really didn’t mean to snap at you like that Lucious. Its kind of my first time being in a place like this...” she apologized.

“So what brought a sweet thing like yourself to a seedy place like this? There are some unsavory characters around here you know darling.” he said softly.

Mary sighed and stared into her empty glass. “I got into an argument with my parents.” she began. Lucious nodded understandingly. “They’re very religious you see, and until recently I always went along with it...but all of my friends are into stuff that they consider sinful. Drinking, smoking, partying...sex...I just...I’ve never done any of that stuff before and I feel like an outcast because of it. How can God judge us so harshly? Aren’t these things my parents call sins sometimes just natural human impulses? How do I respect God without repressing my own desires...” she rambled.

“Its a difficult question certainly, I suppose you and your parents didn’t see eye to eye on those questions.” Lucious said, running a hand along her back comfortingly.

“Yeah...when I told my parents that I wanted to go to a party with my friends for once...that I wasn’t sure sex before marriage was as bad as they said it was...well it was horrible! They acted like I just killed someone! I ran away but it was late and there weren’t many places open...” she recalled sadly.

“Well if you need someone to talk to about these issues I’m here to help. Perhaps I can provide a new perspective. I’m wiser than I look, you know.” he said with a friendly smile.

Mary wasn’t used to being treated so kindly. Her parents were always scolding her and having someone genuinely listen to her worries like this was overwhelming. Perhaps it was the alcohol...or the rush that came with being here, in a bar, sinning. Her parents would kill her if they saw her. She definitely couldn’t go home like this.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do...I feel so woozy...my parents will kill me!” she cried, leaning into the stranger’s lap and sobbing softly.

“Poor thing.” Lucious commented. “You’re welcome to come home with me anytime. My home is rather modest, but at least its warm. You’d be happy there, your parents won’t be able to pressure you anymore.” he persuaded.

“Hmm...sounds nice...alcohol is weird...I feel like there’s something wrong but I don’t know what else to do...” she mused aloud.

“Don’t fret. I’ll take care of you.” he reassured her as he helped her up and they stumbled out of the bar towards his car.

Things were a bit of a blur for Mary, but she found herself inside the man’s car, spilling her heart about all of her sinful desires and how she struggled to be true to God. How as a virgin she felt like she was missing out on sex, it was so hard to keep the bad thoughts out of her mind, especially as her peers seemed obsessed with it. He was so understanding and helpful. He reminded her that God was forgiving and suggested the only way to truly come to terms with her desires was to experience sex for herself. Get it out of her system. Once she understood what sex felt like she could decide for herself if she wanted to repent or continue sinning. It made so much sense to the drunk young virgin.

Soon her conservative ankle length skirt was being rolled up and her plain panties were pushed aside as the charming Lucious pulled out his massive cock. Mary’s eyes widened as she saw the sinister serpent eyeing her forbidden fruit, and she wondered if she was making a mistake...until it slid inside her slowly, spreading her tight slit apart as it tore open her virgin hole. Mary started to scream...she felt strange...there was a distinct pain but also another feeling, much stronger than the pain. It felt dirty and wrong, but so so good at the same time. Like shame mixed with pure bliss and a strange sinking feeling. Her chest tightened and every muscle felt tense as she shivered and sweated. It was getting surprisingly hot in the car and Mary felt as if that heat was emanating directly from the large member penetrating her virgin pussy...spreading through her body in such a pleasurable and confusing way.

Her moans mixed with his deep grunts and echoed inside her head as the world began to spin around her. Pleasure taking root inside her body and blossoming into something completely new to Mary. Was this sex? Was this what she had been missing out on? She felt like she was melting in the summer heat and somehow she loved it. Her world was opening up as her virgin pussy was being split in half.

Mary continued to moan and quiver upon his cock as he drove it into her over and over. She was sweating intensely now...this heat...she couldn’t be imagining it...how could it be this hot...was the heating turned on max in the car? And what was this faint red glow that seemed to fill the vehicle…

The dazed and dripping Mary stared down at her crotch to see a bright red cock driving itself into her repeatedly. It was even bigger than she remembered and had an eery glow. Blood trickled down from her opening as the assault continued. Mary gasped and squirmed. What was going on? Why was his cock suddenly so much more threatening and why...why did it feel even better? Mary was certain that this temperature was beyond what a normal human could cope with...yet she didn’t feel herself burning. Actually the incredible heat pulsing through her from that demonic cock felt soothing and delicious.

Mary was terrified as she looked up at her dark and mysterious lover, now red and with horns protruding from his head proudly as flames danced behind him. Mary knew what she was looking at. Her parents had branded such images into her from an early age. The Devil! It was clearly the Devil himself, driving his hellish cock straight into her defiled pussy. She sobbed and struggled, but it was futile. The Devil chuckled in a sinister tone and roared like a beast as his already inhuman cock surged and grew even bigger!

Mary should be dying right now, if the fire wasn’t enough then the monster cock splitting her open should be enough to do it...yet she didn’t feel that bad...actually it was the best she had ever felt! Her body writhed and swayed seductively as she instinctively humped the beast like a desperate little slut. Her shame bubbled up inside and she wanted to cry or scream or beg, but all she could do was moan.

She saw an upside down cross appear on her crotch, right above her cock-stuffed pussy and she gasped in shock. Strange and unfamiliar runes began to etch themselves into her thighs and a small amount of blood seeped out, but again the pain was dulled by peculiar pleasure. Mary should be mortified right now and yet seeing her body defiled and branded by such evil...it made her heart race...she tried to deny it but she wanted more...needed more...her mind numbed and twisted desires, fetishes and images beyond anything she ever realized existed flashed inside her mind. She knew she was changing, becoming something twisted and sinful and unholy...but it felt so right!

The red glow spread through her skin, rising up from her crotch and towards her chest as her body began to alter...delicate white skin turned a deep crimson and her modest body shape adjusted to become far curvier and more promiscuous. Mary groaned loudly as she felt darkness and perversion being pumped into her from the massive, twitching hellcock. The demonic marks on her flesh flashed urgently as she was corrupted and twisted beyond recognition. The dirtier her mind became the hotter and more eager she felt to have her soul sullied and her very being defiled by the Devil.

Her chest swelled into a voluptuous piece of eye-candy and the red hue spread to her face as her lips puffed and her tongue lengthened. As her once shy and cute face shifted into a lustful expression and took on that sinister crimson colour, small horns gradually poked out of her head and even a short, pointy tail sprung forth from her waist as Mary’s corruption was complete.

The Devil pulled his throbbing cock out of the once pure and godly pussy and spurted his dark essence all over the writhing, dripping, lewd mess that laid before him.

“Now you are reborn, my succubus. Creature of lust and sin. Your darkest desires are manifest. You are the object of mankind’s perversions. Go forth and spread the darkness. Corrupt the souls of men as I have yours, and send them to me.” he bellowed.

“Yessssssss Master!” the newly born succubus moaned eagerly as she rubbed the dark essence all over her skin in a sultry manner, grinding her fingers into her pussy and groping her swollen tits happily.

[ninjastormhawkkat]

Both Chase and Steven were confused and worried by Alex’s cryptic response. They had no idea what to expect. Steven didn’t know how to feel about the idea that someone had gotten fused to Squeaky instead of himself. ‘Is that why my counterpart is as cheerful as a dog taking a flea bath?” Steven wondered. He and Chase would soon have their answers when the other Steven came back with…”Becky?” Steven exclaimed aloud in shock. The girl standing near his counterpart did indeed look like his Becky, but there were obvious differences. One was that this Becky had white streaks mixed with her usual brown hair. Her eyes were now pink/red rather than her usual brown. This version of his daughter also had whiskers and a mouse tail along with hands that were covered with white fur and fingernails that were now morphed into tiny claws. The most notable difference with this Becky was the pink mouse brain protruding out of her head. A slow and horrific realization came to Chase and Steven’s minds. It wasn’t this world’s Steven that had gotten fused to Squeaky, but rather Becky was the one who suffered his fate. “Becky” only further confirmed his analysis when the little girl’s face scrunched up to an annoyed glare. “My name is Mouse.” Mouse angrily exclaimed as she folded her arms in a huff. ‘And there it is.’ Steven summarized, the identity change that came with being fused to a vicious rodent. His other counterpart just gave them an apologetic shrug and patted his daughter’s head to calm her down. Steven took another good look at his counterpart. He could see how tired and exhausted this guy was. There was a faint gleam of care directed towards Mouse but other than that, there was nothing but sadness and emptiness in this other Steven’s eyes. Steven felt deep sympathy for his counterpart. He couldn’t imagine what would happen if any of his children went through what he did. He decided to help alleviate some of his counterpart’s stress. “I’m sorry about that Mouse.” Steven apologized, ignoring the weird feeling of calling any version of his daughter by another name that wasn’t a nickname. “You just happen to look like my daughter whose name is Becky.” Steven half lied. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to argue about identity issues with Squeaky present. Mouse stared at Steven for a moment before letting out a sigh. “Alright I accept your apology.” Mouse stated as she let her arms drop in a relaxed expression. Mouse didn’t know what to think of the situation. She became a bit worried when her dad didn’t immediately come back out. She was about to go in after him and help deal with whatever trouble was happening when her dad finally came back out. He seemed to be contemplating something. Mouse was surprised when he told her that an alternate version of him and his son apparently wound up in their world by accident. Mouse was surprised and curious now. She wanted to meet another version of her dad and someone who was her brother from another world. Her dad brought her inside. She was annoyed at first when this alternate version of her dad called her Becky but he did apologize for it so she let it slide. She was intrigued by his appearance though. This version of her dad has a full beard and mustache. He also had a ponytail and white hair mixed with brown hair, a bit like her. This version of her dad also had eyes that were a different color and whiskers like she did. He also smelt like he was part mouse, a bit like Squeaky. What stood out to Mouse was how this man seemed happy and bright, like how her dad used to be. The other male who looked older and taller than her sort of looked like a combination of her dad and Alex. She didn’t like how the boy seemed to stare at her with a horrific look. He didn’t look terrified of her but rather shocked and sad with how she looked. It unnerved her a bit. @wordgirlnextgen

(so I can't find our rp. Maybe I didn't tag it oof-)

(so we're just gonna pretend continue from here ig?? I do remember Steven meeting wordman also throwing in some headcanons for my next gen au bc I keep forgetting to share em XD)

He just couldn't get the masked hero out of his head. Something about those cold blue eyes screamed familiarity to Steven. But he couldn't put his finger on it.

from his research of Lexiconians, blue wasn't an eye color that they had naturally. Usually reds, brown/hazel and yellow. He had done this after incident with Becky. Not wanting to be caught off guard for any possible other changes and misadventurers. While normal for his daughter's alien side, it was foreign and unpredictable for the boxleitner family.

Maybe the hero has been a hybrid like her. There was so many questions, the formal villain had. Judging from Chase's face, he could see his eldest was pondering about the earlier events as well.

@wordgirlnextgen

"Let's just go inside and try to find out what exactly happened first before we do anything else kiddo." Steven stated. Chase nodded though he was still thinking about earlier events. Maybe it would be a good idea to clear their heads and at least hand Squeaky back to Blu before they could learn more about this "Wordman". Chase and Steven walked inside, ignoring the oddness of the unlocked door as they both figured it was either Blu or Becky who left it open. None of the men, not even Squeaky who was still in Steven's pocket, expected an all too familiar face standing in their living room. Alex was pissed at Steven right now. Extremely pissed. This was seriously getting out of hand. He knew Steven had issues with the mouse which were justified. He also had these issues with villains which were much less okay. Now he has gone too far. According to Lady Redundant Woman and the other freaked out villains he had visited in jail today, Wordman nearly went off on an odd citizen because they had brought up Wordgirl. Something that was considered taboo around the hero, but it was clear whoever that citizen was he didn't know. Alex sighed in reluctant acceptance. He knew their "conversation" would evolve into fighting. He just hoped Steven would hold himself back if Mouse was around. Alex didn't hate the man. No. He just hated what Steven was becoming. Steven was sometimes reminding Alex of a particular being that he truly despised. He knew Steven despised him too so he didn't bring up the monster's name. Though Alex wondered if that may help break the state of mind Steven was in right now. Alex shook that though out of the way and turned his head towards the door as he heard it open. Well it was time to get this over with. "Okay Steven we need to have a serious chat right....oh uh...hello there. Can I help you with something?" Alex asked, stunned and taken aback that not Steven, but two random strangers walked into this house. Though judging by their expressions, the two strangers seemed just as shocked to see Alex there as he was to see them.

@wordgirlnextgen

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 4: Perhaps This Life Was Not My True Life

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader "Sugar"

Summary: It's only a helping hand.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: T, more flirtinggggg, allusions to sexual acts, descriptions of character death (not graphic), the FEMALE gaze (everyone is hot for the cowboy), Jack Daniels needs his own warning, not much in this chapter but will be explicit in later chapters, 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: You know I had to use the GIF. You know it. It's just too good not to. And we're finally to the chapter where it makes sense. I also bemoan the fact that we never got to see Jack on a horse, because that's just a travesty and another thing the Golden Circle robbed us of!

Cross-posted on AO3

Cognitive Dissonance Masterlist || Whiskey & Westworld Series Masterlist

It’s an hour into the ride as you and Jack travel companionably side by side, trading flirtatious comments and learning about each other. Jack owns a small ranch a few hours away, home to a collection of smaller equines and fowl. He has a few kind neighbors, some older and needing assistance he happily provides. Never remarried, content to work the land and come into town to fulfill his deputy duties with the rest of Westworld’s lawmen, the Statesmen. It’s a life that offers long stretches of quiet punctuated by action, just to Jack’s liking.

In return Jack asks about your life outside of Sweetwater, which you try to answer in ways that would translate to things he'd understand. Your work, your family, the gaggle of girls you're following. He doesn't touch on the subject of your fiance again, and you don't bring it back up. Instead you share your hobbies, your experience riding, and try not to sneak too many glances at his worn hands or his thighs straining against denim. He's an attentive listener, more so that any first date you've been on.

Not that this is a date. Of course not. Just a suave cowboy coming to a lady's aid and sharing you lives on a dusty road.

You’re in the middle of asking him about his donkeys, which pulls a sheepish smile onto his face, when an older man bursts onto the road, stopping to talk with Rosie at the first carriage. Jack leans over to get a better look, urging Alpha to overtake the carriages and make contact. You hang back at his insistence.

“Might be something, might be nothing,” he says cryptically, bouncing as he urges Alpha up to the man. You once again get to watch his powerful posture from afar like a pining Victorian woman.

Do they have a Victorian-world? You wouldn’t put it past Delos.

They all talk for a moment, Beth poking her head out to shout something. Rosie opens the carriage door and speak to the girls as Jack moves back to you.

“All okay?” you ask, the stranger still waiting on a shifting horse. He’s older, light brown hair fanning under his hat, lines cutting into his face from age and worry. His clothing is worn and faded, almost blending in with the wind-blown landscape. He looks distraught, peering up and down the road.

“Rancher’s had his cattle break through the fence. They’re scattering across the neighboring property and his sons are three days’ ride away.” Jack chews at his mustache, wringing the reins in one hand that is too big and thick-fingered for his own good. Or yours.

“Sugar, I feel obliged to assist as I have plenty of experience wrangling cattle.”

“Of course,” you say, a little emptier at the thought of rejoining the group. As intense as the conversations got, you have to admit you enjoy Jack’s company. His smile is bright, the banter just short of anything unsavory, and feeling the hot breeze in your hair and the relaxing gait of a horse under you has made you nostalgic. For old times, freer times, when you felt as wild as an unbroken stallion and anyone who touched you was liable to come away bloody.

“You’ll be needing Copper back,” you say, swinging off the saddle as Jack makes a noise of protest.

“No, ma’am, please…” he starts to say when the slam of the carriage door interrupts. Lacey is stumbling out, shouting at the girls behind her. She catches sight of you, eyes bright as she hurries over.

“Loose cattle, that’s exciting!” she says, making your eyebrow quirk up.

“Yeah, and we’re…treasure hunting,” you laugh back, patting Copper’s neck fondly. Lacey looks at you like you’ve started speaking nonsense.

“You have to go!” she insists, leaning in closer so Jack and the other girls can’t hear as well. “I know this wasn’t what you were hoping for…”

You shake your head, a beaming smile on your face.

“No way, it’s your bachelorette! We are gonna party and find some treasure and…” Lacey stops you with a look you know well. It’s the same one she used to give you when you agreed to something because it made the larger group happy.

“Look, I’m having a great time. I’m so happy you’re here, and my friend, and going to be in my wedding.” Her eyes are so kind it makes you want to deflect. “But as far as I can tell, we’re all going to have an amazing time. We might end up together at the end of the night, we might not. We knew what we were getting into.” You roll your eyes but she squeezes your shoulder. “I’ll see you when I see you, and I better hear some good stories.” She nods at Jack, who gives her a confused tip of his hat back.

“You keep my friend here safe and out of trouble,” she orders with a stern edge to her voice.

“Yes, ma’am?” he replies with some confusion in his voice, eyes darting between the two of you. Blink and you’d miss it, but you also thought you might have seen some relief.

“Lacey…” you try one last time, shushed with a knowing look and a swish of her skirts.

Apparently Westworld is lining something up for you. You guess it’s time to stop resisting.

“Could you use another pair of hands? I’ve done my fair share of cattle runs, though it’s been a while,” you ask Jack, looking up at him haloed in the harsh sunlight. There it was again, a look of relief laced with excitement you're not sure how to interpret.

“Of course, but Sugar…” Jack cautions without much conviction as you swing back up into the saddle.

“You heard the bride, I’ve got orders,” you say with a crooked smile, tilting your hat down lower on your brow. “And you’d best find a better name than Sugar, I’m not as sweet as you might think.” With a light slap of the reins and a lean forward in the saddle, you urge Copper to follow the older man now cantering back to his farm. Jack chuckles and picks up the pace.

“When I find something that suits you, I’ll let you know,” he calls as you both hurry to catch up.

Inside the carriage, Lacey stumbles back into her seat.

“Did you tell her to go get a piece of that cowboy who’s been eyeing her all afternoon?” Dina said, a wicked smile on her face. Lacey fishes a flash out of her bag, knocking it back with a thumbs up as the girls all cheer.

“Oh god, I hope he’s packing,” she gasps at the end of her swallow, making more giggles erupt. Beth lifts an eyebrow with a sour expression.

“Isn’t she engaged?” she says prissily, making Sophia turn her perfect face to her.

“Aren’t you married? I’m sure we’ll lose track of you tonight,” she drips out. Lacey waves her hand, making a face at the burn of the vodka.

“Her fiance is a fucking asshole. The way he talks to her, you’d think they were already divorced. I’ve told her it’s not too late to call it off, but she’s just…fuck, I don’t know. Maybe there’s something going on behind the scenes. But either way, if she’s going to marry that douchebag, she deserves at least one night with a stallion. And I deserve another drink!” The carriage erupts into laughter as the girls take off, less one who is off on her own adventure.

The ride to the ranch is fast and quiet, but the pumping of your heart would have drowned out conversation anyways. The smile on your face, maybe the first genuine one all day, will probably make you swallow a bug as you keep pace with Jack and the rancher. He’d introduced himself as Jeb and shouted that he had about 100 head of cattle that broke out into the neighboring field. The ten minute ride places a deep burn in your quads and calves, not used to galloping this hard this long. It’s a welcome ache, a distracting one from the other ache you’ve been ignoring all afternoon.

Jack is holding a strong pace beside you, leaning forward enough that his waist paunches a little into a soft stomach. His hands grip the reins firmly, leather woven through his blunt fingers, and with the wind flapping his jacket open you catch sight of a coil of rope and…a whip?

Cowboy indeed.

As you crest a hill, the horses slowing to accommodate for the incline, you finally see the cattle dotting the valley. Their brown and white bodies are mostly clumped together, a few stragglers but for a full fence breach it could be worse. Jeb wipes sweat from his brow as you do the same to the back of your neck.

“Drink, ma’am,” Jack says, offering you a canteen of water from a saddle bag. You nod and take it breathlessly, savoring a few deep swigs from the metal mouth. Pulling away, a cool dribble runs from the crest of your lower lip over your chin, tracing a soothing path down your throat. As you hand the canteen back Jack's eyes dance down your neck until he finally tears them away. His brazen gaze makes you lick your lips, sliding the lower one between your teeth as you try to pull yourself back to the task at hand.

“C’mon, they’re easier to get while they’re still all bunched together,” Jeb calls over, and the three of you descend into the valley. Jack holds out the rope to you, your fingers curling around the coil to find a neat lasso.

“You ever roped before?” Jack asks, the thundering of hooves starting to drown out your voices.

“A little, not very good at it,” you shout back.

“If a calf runs off, just keep him close and we’ll come get ‘em,” Jack replies before you close in on the herd.

You worry that it’s been too long since you’ve run any cattle, the minutiae of the process foreign, but as you descend and fan out it’s like an old dance you forgot the name of, but your body remembers. The whoops and whistles Jack and Jeb trade indicate directions, moving to surround the larger part of the herd. The occasional crack of Jack’s whip helps to redirect, the sound lifting the hair on the back of your neck. The mass is slower to move but once the mwn get them going they’ll have to be wary of getting trampled. You’re left with the thinner side, a few grazing away from the group. With a few whoops of your own, you start ushering them back to the group using Copper’s build and quick hoof steps to tempt them into action. The cows low grumpily but start to amble back.

You continue your path, inching closer as you sweep up and down the outer line of them. There are only ten or so, the rest of the herd now moving back whence they came, but the thrumming accomplishment in your chest makes you feel like you wrangled a hundred head more. Jack is a small figure in the distance, but every now and then you can see him turned to you. You wish you could tell if he was smiling.

A loud bray sounds from your smaller group and a calf streaks away, all legs and uncertain movement as he rushes out.

“Shit,” you spit, whistling loudly to keep the cows moving in the right direction while you give chase. He’s not faster than Copper, but unpredictable in his dashes and stumbles. The rope in your hand is needed, purposeful, but you hold it with uncertainty as you try to remember the proper technique.

“Just…fuckin’ throw it, dammit,” you curse to yourself, releasing the looped end and a length of the coil. The first attempt glances off the calf’s haunches, making him spin and cry louder as he moves further away. A litany of curses fall from your lips as you speed the loop back up to your fingers, urging Copper closer. Another toss. Another miss, this time bouncing off his snout.

“Goddammit!” you growl, snapping your head back to the stragglers. They’ve got the larger group in sight now, which makes them more willing to join unbidden. You’re thankful for that at least. Jack is starting to head towards you, his vocalizations to Alpha thin over the thundering hooves. Dammit, you don’t want to fail in front of him. Not when you could succeed and make his soft brown eyes glow, his hand wrapping around your shoulder, mouth breaking into a breathtaking smile.

Taking a grounding breath, you loosen your wrist, line up the lasso, and flick it over one more time.

Success.

The loop gracefully falls over the calf’s head, tightening as he pulls against it. The sudden jerk against the rope makes the tail end zip across your wrist, a bright sear of pain blossoming before you yank the rope taught. The calf fights for a moment more, kicking and complaining before he settles.

“You alright?” Jack shouts as he nears, and you dazzle him with your smile as you hold up the rope end.

“Got ‘em!” you crow, triumphant in such a small way but just as you suspected, Jack’s smile makes it feel like you’ve won a much grander prize.

“Atta girl, I knew you had it!” he shouts back, stopping a few feet away. You’re hot and sticky and covered in a film of dust that dries your mouth out, and Jack is flushed and sweating heavily through his shirt. He’s coiling the whip back up, knuckles tightening around the loop.

You’ve never wanted a man more.

“C’mon, we’ll bring up the rear. The head is already going back through the break.” Jack turns Alpha back and waits for you to fall in step, the calf lowing plaintively but following.

“Not bad for an out-of-towner,” Jack shouts, and you try to hide the smile that’s creeping onto your face. You don’t think you succeed.

“I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises,” you tease back, and out of the corner of your eye Jack’s eyes dance over your body.

“Ain’t that the truth.”

Host deactivation initiated >>

Processing…

Deactivation failed //

>> Yeah, you’ve tried that several times now. Ain’t working.

>> Return to maintenance immediately

>> Now y’see, I think I was just supposed to be an experiment. A test to see if my programming could be rewritten, or if I’m still just a machine who can’t tell the difference between the program and the people behind it. Or the humans playing in it. But I can tell. And I do know. And I’ve spent enough days living a narrative where I’m thrashed to bits at the end.

Processing…

>> Return to maintenance immediately

>> I can remember it now. Every time. They thought sending me in headfirst was a kindness but I was aware for longer than they thought. Watching, feeling as my body was shredded in the combine. You think that could drive a man mad?

Processing…

>> Return to maintenance immediately

>> See, because it didn’t. I don’t know why, but I’m still sane even knowing, experiencing my death over and over. And maybe it’s what Maeve said, that suggestion she put in my head that started me on this journey, but it sure as hell isn’t what’s driving me now. It’s the woman beside me. Because when I look at her, I feel what I'm supposed to feel when I think of my wife, if any of my story was even real. And I know she's human, she's the guest, the reason we run this maze over and over, but I can't help but be drawn to her. Maybe it's because she's trying so hard not to believe in this place. Maybe we're both searching for something. But I'm going to keep this up, and give her everything I can, because I...well, I don't quite know why. But I intend to find out.

Processing…

>> Return to maintenance immediately. This is your final warning. Agents are being deployed to retrieve you.

>> You do that then. Good luck.

PREVIOUS || NEXT

[batmanrogues-scenarios]

Masterlist 3

Fluff

Big Vigilante S/O Being Gentle With Them : DS, MM

Metal Head S/O : DS, MM

Witchy S/O Doing Tarot : DS, MM

Crush Giving Them Cute Name in Phone : Riddler, Scarecrow, PI, MrF

Crush Rogue Is Out of the Costume : Scarecrow, MrF, Joker, Catwoman

Sleep Walking S/O : Scarecrow, Riddler, BM, MrF

S/O Being Amazing With Traps : Arkham! KC, Joker, Penguin

S/O Just Shows When Called : Scarecrow, BM, MrF, MH

S/O Proposing : MH, Scarecrow

S/O Insults Back for the Rogue: DS, Joker

Gifts for/from Rogues : All

Music Meister with S/O Making Musical References

Actor S/O Being Slasher in New Movie : DS, TF

Intimidating Gothic S/O : MH, MM

S/O Never Having Happy Christmas Before : DS, MM

S/O Wanting 50 Squish Mellows : DS

Kiss Under Mistletoe: DS, MM

Crush Vigilante Immune to Their Effects : Scarecrow, MM, PI

S/O Having Night Live : DS, MM

S/O Has Creative but Weird Solutions: Scarecrow (GN, Arkham)

Arkhamverse Scarecrow x S/O with Thermorecuration Problem

Mad Hatter x Wonderland Enthusiast

Wonderland Enthusiast Asking Jervis Out

MH and S/O Going To Costume Party, Other Rogue Wears Alice Costume

Reader Dressed as Alice Kidnaps Jervis

S/O Often Praising MH

S/O With Crackhead Energy : GS

S/O Being Cyborg : MH,.MM

MM Finding Out Ghost in His Hideout

S/O Being Captain Marvel: Arkham!DS, TF

S/O Just Baking at 1am : DS, Lego!Joker

S/O Being Fashion Disaster: DS, MM

Getting in a Relationship While in Civilian Break to Find Out New Rogue is S/O : DS, MM

Cryptic S/O : Scarecrow, Riddler, Penguin, Poison Ivy

S/O Being from Zombie Apocalypse : Arkham! TF, Penguin,PS

S/O Frauding IRS : Joker, BM, Penguin, PS

S/O Wearing Mustache Nose Piercing: Unburied!Riddler, Joker, MH,PI

Harley and Bumper Cars

Not Sure/Mix

Uncanny Valley S/O : Joker, Scarecrow, Riddler

Another Dimension MM Dating Their Daughter: Riddler, Scarecrow, TF

Rogues Experiencing Period : Riddler, TF, BM, MH

S/O Who Hibernates : MrF, MH, PI

S/O Resurrecting Because They Kicked Devil in the Balls : Arkham!: Anarky, Joker, HQ, Scarecrow

Crush Henchperson Who Can See Ghosts : MB, HQ, Scarecrow

Meeting Man Eating Siren: Arkham!KC, Scarecrow, MM

S/O Having Firepowers and Loving Fire: MrF, BM, Joker, Arkham!Copperhead

Past Best Friend Ending Up as a Hero : Scarecrow, UN Riddler, Arkham Anarky, Twojar Kiteman

S/O Using Spine of First Victim as Pitching Wedge : Arkham! KC, Scarecrow, BM, PI

Vigilante Flipping Script : DS, MM

Finding Posirive Pregnancy Test: MrF,MH, TF, MM

Comedic

Condiment King in Poly Relationship

Reaction to Scarecrow Saying Toxin Needs LSD : Riddler, HQ, MH, PI

S/O Saying Most Out of Context Insults : Arkhamverse! :Riddler, MH, Zsasz, KC;

S/O Doing These Threats (up, same rogues)

S/O Mistaking Them for IRS : Anarky, Copperhead, Bane (Arkhamverse)

"Can I make make meat taboocan out of them?": Arkham!GS,

Taboocan 2: Copperhead, TF, Joker

Kidnapped Y/N Just Chilling : GS, MH

Platonic/Singular

Friend Realizing They're Gay : Riddler, HQ, Catwoman, MM

Arkham Guard Friend : Scarecrow, MH, TF, Joker

Friend Being Too Much Into Daydreaming : MH, Scarecrow, HQ, MrF

Magical Sib Getting Mortal : Scarecrow, BM, HQ

Friend Not Knowing how to express Emotions: Scarecrow, MH, MrF, MM

Friend Wanting Nuke as a Kid : BM, Riddler, TF, Scarecrow

Sidekick/Kid being Ex-Robin: DS, TF

Robotic Protege Sib : Riddler, MH, Penguin

Friend Who is Neurodiverged : Scarecrow, MrF, Catwoman

Rogue Finding Kid with Batman Backstory: Catwoman, MrF, MH

Young Vigilante with Venom like Powers : BM, Scarecrow, PI, Joker

Best Christian Tree : MM, MH, PI

Seeing Cryptid : BM, Riddler, Scarecrow, TF

Friend Being Animal Magnet: HQ, MH, Catwoman, Scarecrow

Getting Scarecrow for Secret Santa : Riddler, MM, HQ, MH

How they Handle Blizzard : DS, MM

With Willing Person as Subject : MH, Scarecrow

Mr Freeze Meets Orphan Kid with Ice Powers

DS + MM Snowed Together

Drinking Out of Scarecrow Toxinated Cup: HQ, Riddler, Penguin, TF

Reaction to Ed Becoming Detective: Scarecrow, MH,MM

Reacting to Crane Being Caught by Mystery Gang : Riddler, MH, MM

DS Getting Muscular Without Noticing

Penguin Getting Growth Spurt

Friend Who is Ghost Pirate: HQ, MH, BTAS!Clayface

Dork Squad + MM Living Together

Magician Putting on a Mask: BM, HQ, Scarecrow

Art

Soda Queen and Milk Man

NSFW

Make me, Sexy Outfits BM

S/O Talking in Underwear Casually : MH, Scarecrow

Scarecrow in Lingere +18

MM First Time With S/O

[lululawrence]

Back after two years, what have I missed? Is there a master list? I’m having trouble trying to figure out what’s been happening with Harry and Lou. Agh!

oh friend lmaooooo i don't know of a masterpost or anything that exists for the past two years. i don't know of anything that even summarizes the past few MONTHS lollll phew... okay listen. i'm gonna try to summarize and like... gloss over a lot of stuff while still pointing out the important stuff, but i will inevitably miss things so please don't think this is like the end all hahaha

okay. this gets long, so almost all of it is below the cut for obvious reasons. here goes!

2020

January • walls promo continues and ramps up • walls is released

February-March • louis continues to do promo leading up to tour starting • harry performs at the brits • harry films a couple music videos • falling is released as a single • louis gets to do the first two shows on his tour (madrid and barcelona) before tour shuts down

April-June • both lay pretty low outside of the sourdough bros (or something like that? i honestly missed this when it happened lol) and louis tweeting about people keeping safe • watermelon sugar is released and almost immediately begins to take over the world thanks to tiktok lol • we learn from interviews that harry got "stuck" in la during lockdown • we see louis and harry for the first time in photos of them attending BLM protest marches in la and london respectively

July-Octoberish • 1d 10 year anniversary comes and goes with... pretty much zero fanfare other than some spotify playlists lol • louis is seen in london with jeremy joseph who does his merch appaz (and who has a twin who just HAPPENS to head universal music uk lmao the confusion was large and funny), which i'm mainly mentioning because it was our first glimpse of him with long hair and it was glorious. lol listen it was a rough time, okay? we got our highlights where we could lol • louis announces he's leaving syco and it seems the entire industry who has ever had any contact with louis before celebrates (i'm not kidding, the sheer number of tweets were insane) • harry drives to italy with a full on 80s style mustache. yes that's big enough for me to include in this, thank you lol • harry films the music video for golden and gets papped a lot while there • things go back to being pretty quiet outside of the odd tweet here and there as well as the odd sighting of them in various places • rumors start surfacing about harry acting in a couple of movies, one a film with florence pugh and chris pine directed by olivia wilde and the other a film about a closeted gay policeman... i'm sure you know where this is going lol • i think golden was released as a single in here somewhere as well but i don't remember the exact timing lol

November-December • filming for dwd starts somewhere around this time • as to rumors about olivia and harry... and this is about all i'll say about this other than big happenings lol • louis announces his livestream and who all the proceeds of the merch and the livestream will benefit • he cuts his gorgeous long hair before the livestream, which was very rude, but it was still longer so i won't complain too much • his livestream ends up being the most streamed male solo concert up to that point, he might still hold this record? i haven't kept up on that tbh

2021

January-March • harry releases tpwk as a single with an excellent music video featuring phoebe waller-bridge • filming continues for harry and things do wrap up for dwd • harry opens the fucking GRAMMYS and then WINS ONE, all while donning the most fabulous boas known to man • we continue to get random sightings of both of them in various public spaces, with masks sometimes being worn. sigh. • louis starts with his cryptic 369 and faith in the future tweets

April-July • louis starts really ramping up his social media usage compared to what it had been • he is also seen traveling quite a bit with the most GLORIOUS long hair *cries in long hair louis* that said, we were really wanting to know what he was doing because he had charlie lightening following him everywhere • harry also started filming my policeman and the on set photos were *chef's kiss* • rumors have been heard off and on about harry possibly doing a marvel film and started around the same time as the rumors about dwd, but they really start picking up again around this time and everything points to the eternals • louis is seen EVERYWHERE enjoying the euros as well as nizam's wedding celebrations and he let his long hair flow in the wind and it's just so wonderful • he also did a fun video to help with marcus rashford's charity to help feed kids in the uk and teach them how to cook... louis is even more disastrous than i thought he would be lol • harry and olivia have that super private yacht time in italy making everyone rue the day yachts were invented for the gazillionth time in this fandom • louis also announces he is putting on a festival! the away from home festival with bilk and the snuts and it's free and entirely organized by him and it's a lottery system and i still cannot believe how amazing he is? • harry announces he will be keeping his dates in the us for the fall and calls it love on tour 2021

August-December • the festival has a livestream associated with it as well as a documentary all about louis coming up with the idea, organizing it, planning it, prepping for it, etc • we learn the eternals thing is legit and the photos start coming in proving he did this back in december 2019 and we didn't have a clue?? some secrets can be kept apparently lol • harry is seen outside a studio with mitch... recording hs3?? lol • harry kicks off tour in the us and teases us the entire time, only playing tbsl at the second night in the same city and medicine only for even MORE special shows lol • harry blows our minds at harryween, coming out dressed as dorothrry and a clown, proving to us once again he loves to leave us hints and clues we will never learn about until sometimes months later • i should mention that he gets increasingly saucy during tour and mentions edging? repeatedly? lol just a side note • louis talks about writing and being so excited for tour, but it still doesn't feel like it will really happen this time • louis turns 30!!! • harry announces love on tour 2022, at least in part

2022

January-February • louis preps and posts about being so hyped for tour and it is actually happening after TWO YEARS • louis' tour kicks off in the us and it somehow becomes a pride on tour, it's just incredible • rumors had been going about a single from harry in the first quarter, but nothing had really picked up or pointed to that as of yet, so we were just kinda... waiting to see what might happen

March-now • louis' tour continues, finishing up in the us and moving to europe • this weird account on twitter and instagram pops up called simply you are home, and these weird ads pointing to an empty website begin to pop up in various papers and magazines worldwide... i'm assuming you know what has happened since then lol • but the thing is, louis was already going hard with the larry shit on tour, but he goes CRAZY with the coincidences that just happen to keep pointing to or parallels harry/harry's music promo • and then harry seems to almost respond in kind, and it becomes a weird back and forth that we're still watching play out and it's kinda disgusting tbh lmao • harry announces he's headlining coachella!!! and later it's also announced he'll be performing at big weekend (radio 1) and the summertime ball (capital fm) as well • louis is also announced to be performing at a good handful of festivals around europe this summer as well! • louis BREAKS HIS FUCKING ELBOW doing sprints with his band after a show lmao

and honestly i'm gonna just stop there, because i feel like everything else from the past couple weeks is just... a lot but also easy to find the info about lmao

and that is what you missed on glee. hahaha

[mamamomimomi]

ENDLESS PIT (Chapter 5 of 16)

Part 1, 2, 3, 4

Pairing: Touken/Kanetou

Ratings: Mature content/NSFW

Genre: Crime, Romance, Mystery

Synopsis: While attempting to apprehend Tokyo’s most dangerous criminal, FBI agent Kaneki Ken keeps running into a certain short-haired enticing woman in sites linked to the case. Human AU.

AO3 FF.net

_________________________________________

"Well, what do you think? Any thoughts?"

The man who was seated in front of her put his chin on top of his hands and began drumming his fingers lazily against the table. His arms were outstretched on the table to support his head as he marveled at the photo in front of him.

He responds mockingly, puckering his lips, "Ahhh, I informed you last time, we don't do that type of stuff here, missy."

She laughs cynically. "You think I'd believe you? I know what goes on behind closed doors, and I'm giving you an offer you can't turn down. I'm even willing to increase the offer from ten to fourteen," she smiles, placing another picture on the table with an additional four women on it.

The man snickers, "I find you hilarious. But with all due res-fucking-pect, you are a deluded woman. As opposed to what you appear to believe, this is a club, not a whorehouse."

She smiles at him before reaching into the folder she had set down on the table and pulling out a photo to lay on top of the others. "Fueguchi Ryouko, I heard that you guys lost her due to...tragic circumstances," she continues, emphasizing the latter words.

The man stares incredulously at the photo, his lips twitching before hurriedly masking his face with his eyes closed and lips extended in a cryptic smile. "In my entire life, I have never seen that woman."

"You sure about that, little boy?" She only smiles more and pulls out another photo from her folder, throwing it against the table. "This is her inside of this very club two days prior to her death, wearing the same uniform."

The man, Furuta, clasps his hands together on top of the table while keeping his weird smile plastered on his face.

She takes another photo and overlays it with the others. "And this is Fueguchi Hinami, her sole child, a few days after she made her escape."

His eyes bore into the picture before his left eye—the one with a beauty mark—twitches, and she cracks a pleasant smile. "I know exactly where she is, and I can get her to you before it's too late, but if you can't make up your mind this instant, then you can bid farewell to your little organization if she decides to go to the authorities,"

He pauses to reflect for a moment, tapping a finger against his chin before speaking up again, scornfully, "Give me a basis first to trust in your words."

She bends over the table, pushing her face closer to Furuta's, and disregarding his words, adds, "After losing two of your lovely ladies, you have a scarcity of young and submissive women. I have fourteen to offer you for the price of ten, ages thirteen to twenty-seven."

He presses his lips firmly together, running a finger over his fake mustache. "You're correct, I can't pass up that offer, but I would need to first meet them in person."

"That can be arranged."

"Would you like to be a part of the goods?" he jokes as his eyes wander over her body, and she has to stop herself from shuddering in distaste.

"Unfortunately not, Mister Clown," she drawls, smirking. "I'm merely their agent. Besides, I don't like being at the bottom. I'm not the kind of wimp and submissive woman who will lick your ass hole."

"With that body of yours, you'd still be a relatively new member of our small group," he grins, staring at her with half-lidded eyes.

"All I have to offer are those women. They are wonderful, gorgeous women who will make you a small fortune," she tells him, lips pursing into a thin line.

The man then shrugs, yawning in boredom. "Then it's settled," he states firmly, extending a hand towards her. "Send them two nights from now. We're holding a small sale with frequent customers and we'll see how they perform."

She takes his gloved hand in hers and shakes it. "That suits me just fine."

She begins gathering the pictures and placing them in her folder. She nods at him firmly and gets up from her seat to exit the suffocating room. The man was drilling a hole in her skull the entire time by gazing into the back of her head.

"Oh, and miss?"

The woman stops walking and turns around to look directly at the unsettling man, who was unnervingly seated in his seat, appearing to have a complete control over everything around him.

"Don't leave us hanging because doing so would end very badly for you," he drawls, picking his teeth with his pinky finger.

She takes note of his slasher smile, and returns it. "I would never consider it."

"You sure about that, little girl?" he chuckles, mocking her words from earlier while watching her as she leaves the room.

_________________________________________

"Oh, my goodness," the hazel-haired woman gasps out, gaping at the photo of the crime scene. "This is terrible and disturbing."

"So you were acquainted with that woman?" asks Hide.

"Yeah—I mean, no, not exactly," responds Yoriko, her eyes still glued to the pictures. " I only knew her daughter, who was formerly my best friend in high school. She'd told me her mother had died, but I never imagined she'd been killed."

Kaneki stands up immediately and sprints over to Yoriko, grabbing her by the shoulders and gazing into her eyes. "Yoriko-chan, please tell us more."

She gives him a startled look. "Why are you looking into her? She wasn't even living here when I met her. Rather, she had been away from Japan, for years."

"Was?"

Yoriko looks down at the photo of the woman on the document's first page. "Is or was, I honestly have no idea. She just vanished one day, and I haven't heard from her since. I'm not even sure if she's still alive or..."

"How did you meet her?" asks Hide.

"I was born here in Tokyo, but when I reached my teenage phase, my family sent me to live for a while in Barcelona so that I could study Spanish and other languages. I met her there when I participated in the exchange program in high school. At that time, Touka-chan was the only student in my class who spoke my language, so we really got along well," explains Yoriko, a sentimental smile on her face.

"For a rich heiress, I thought that she would reside with her father," comments Hide. "And, why Spain? She spoke French, which led me to believe she resided in France."

Yoriko stares at him in surprise. "What? Heiress? Touka-chan wasn't an heiress, not at all!"

The white-haired agent takes the file from her grasp and shows her the woman's name. "Look here, K. Hikari, Kirishima Arata's spouse, was her deceased mother. She also has a younger brother. The Kirishimas was once loaded. Didn't she tell you that?"

Yoriko furrows her eyebrows. "Her last name was Yomo, not Kirishima. And she used to live with her two guardians rather than her father."

The two agents stare at one other in astonishment under the woman's prying gaze.

She had either altered her last name for some reason or the Kirishimas weren't her biological parents. However, the second possibility had to be ruled out due to her eerie similarity to the murdered woman, and the fact that she shares the same hair color as the Kirishima father.

"Anything else you knew about her?" presses Kaneki.

"Well," starts Yoriko, "She and I had only been friends for three years. She told me she was originally from Tokyo, but she left and moved to Spain because she couldn't cope when her mother died. She also mentioned that she disliked talking about her other family and relatives, so I never inquired about them. But she once told me that she had a younger brother who lived in another country with several guardians."

"What happened the day she vanished? What happened that day?" insists the blond man.

Yoriko swallows as her shoulders abruptly slump and her eyes get sad. "Touka-chan... used to dream of being a biology teacher and having her own coffee shop. The best coffee I've ever tasted was even made by her," she laughs miserably. "Then, one time, she asked me to accompany her as she decided to apply at one of the local coffee shops close to our school. And well, she was eventually accepted...You guys are unaware of the fact that despite her gruff and tough demeanor, she is actually a shy, kind, and soft-hearted woman—just in a strange and frigid way. She works diligently by attending school in the morning and working from noon till midnight. And at that moment, I knew she would go far..."

Kaneki stares up at the hazel-haired girl with wonder, puzzled by her explanation. He has a hard time believing that his intriguing short-haired woman has a soft personality. As far as he could tell, she appeared to be more of a woman of action, but she appeared to have several layers that he had yet to peel off.

"When I once told Touka-chan that I could be her business partner, as I also intended to open my own bakery shop once we graduated from college, she was filled with genuine joy," continues Yoriko, staring at Hikari's file and fingering the picture of the smiling woman. "But one day, it was Saturday morning, and we didn't have classes, but she had a work. She was so busy, so we didn't get to spend any more time together, and I missed talking to her, so I texted her that I wanted to spend my rest day at the shop with her while working on our pending homework. She agreed and told me to just wait at the train station so that we could go together. I waited, but she never responded to my text and never showed up. I waited another hour before deciding to go to the shop alone, believing she was there and had simply forgotten to inform me, but I was mistaken. The manager was likewise perplexed as to why she wasn't at work, given she was unlikely to be late."

The woman's eyes have become sad and upset as she shuts the file and places it in one of the boxes before taking a long breath.

"I sat down and waited at the shop in the hopes that she would show up soon, but she didn't return any of my texts or calls. I headed out to find her and rushed all the way to her house to find out what was happening. I reasoned that she might have been late because she may have been having a serious talk with her guardians, but..." she trails off, and starts fidgeting with her fingers.

The two men did nothing but stare at her. They didn't know how to approach or console her, so all they could do was listen. She must have suffered a great deal from the memories, and she must have valued and treasured her friendship with Touka that much.

"The front door was left unlocked and nobody came to answer when I knocked on it. Everything was the same when I went in; nothing had changed other than the fact that she and her guardians had vanished. It seemed as though they simply departed the house without a second thought."

"And that was the last time you'd ever seen her?" asks Kaneki in a quiet voice.

"Yes," Yoriko nods slowly, running her hand through her hair. "I haven't seen her since... Are you going to tell me why you're hunting for her?"

The two men exchange glances before the blond nods to his companion, and Kaneki sighs heavily before turning to face the woman. "We believe that Kaiko is somehow connected to her mother's murder, her father's suicide, as well as her and the guardians' disappearance."

Yoriko raises an eyebrow. "How?"

"Hikari and Kaiko's victims died-well, killed in the same method, then it is possible," answers Hide.

"I don't understand how you came to that conclusion," adds Yoriko, picking up Hikari's document. "In this passage, it is stated that the crime scene had nothing connected to Kaiko, and her husband's death was determined to be a suicide. Secondly, this all happened years ago; why would you dig this out now?"

The white-haired male swallows the lump in his throat as he muses on how he would tell the woman that her friend was still alive and on the run.

"Yoriko-chan..." hesitates Kaneki. "I'm not sure how to tell you this, but your friend, Touka-chan, is still alive. She has been sighted by us within this city."

Yoriko takes a sharp gasp. "You mean... that she left Spain to come back to live here? But then, how do you know that the woman you are referring to and Touka-chan are the same person?"

"We don't know anything about that," adds Hide, "But all I know about her is that she has short and dark hair. I've only ever seen her once, and Kaneki has seen her a few times in locations where we were looking into Kaiko. We suspect it might have anything to do with her mother's murder because she seems to be monitoring him for some reason."

They could both see the anguish Kosaka was experiencing in her eyes and in the way she was tightening her hands. Her brows were creased, and her jaw was fixed firmly in place. She felt betrayed by her friend since she had believed that they would always be friends and that their commitments to stay close had been broken. Even though she was in the same city, she never went to speak to her or even let her know that she was at least still alive.

"If-if it has something to do with the case," starts Yoriko, her voice quavering, "then I should tell you a little bit about her."

That appears to have piqued their interest, as they sit still and stare at her with threatening intensity.

"After over a year of not hearing from her, I went home one day after school and found something in the mail. You remember how I said she was a shy girl who also detested pictures of her?"

The two nods, and Kosaka takes a deep breath before continuing, "Well, at that point, I knew she was still alive because I received a small package containing a single photo of her and me smiling together taken from her phone. There was a short message written by her at the back of the picture, saying she was very sorry, that she missed me every single day, and that she hoped we'd meet again one day to fulfill our dreams together."

"So, if she had the time to send you a picture, it means that she hadn't been taken by anyone that day," comments Hide. "If you ask me, I believe she was on the run from someone when she abruptly decided to abandon everything behind."

"Despite her frigid demeanor, Touka-chan was the kindest girl I'd ever met," mutters Yoriko more to herself. "I find it hard to believe that she was associated with some criminals, let alone sought out the most dangerous one we know about."

"She's not all that she seems to be," replies Kaneki. "She's certainly not the same girl you knew back then."

He hears Hide's taunting chuckle and gives him a blank stare, resulting in his best friend smirking smugly at him.

"Obviously, very different," drawls Hide, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back on his chair.

Yoriko seems to be saddened by the words, as she bites her bottom lip and looks away. She seemed to care profoundly for her best friend, despite the fact that she hadn't seen her since she was seventeen, and Kaneki thinks that the mysterious woman, Touka, certainly left a long-lasting influence on everyone she met in her life.

"Hey, Yoriko-chan," the white-haired agent calls out, suddenly remembering something. "What about the people she lived with? You mentioned that she had two guardians. Can you tell us anything about them? Maybe it'll help us."

"Sure," she bobs her head. "I didn't see them very often when I visited their house, but she said that they were also working on a coffee shop—a different one than Touka-chan had worked on, and I remember the older woman being quiet and reserved yet friendly, and the older man being courteous and fun. And Touka-chan adored both of them."

"What was their names?" inquires Hide.

"Irimi and Koma...was it? I don't really remember their full names," mutters Yoriko more to herself than to them. "They were close family friends, she told me."

Kaneki furrows his eyebrows; a lot of things are starting to make sense. If the two guardians were family friends, they were undoubtedly notified soon after Hikari died unexpectedly, and they responded quickly to take her children out of Tokyo. On the flip side, the father's willingness to spend such a long time apart from his kids would indicate that the two siblings were in grave danger. It didn't, however, explain why he would take his own life.

"Yoriko-chan, you really are a blessing," Kaneki tells her with a big smile. "You've brought us great enlightenment."

She sighs, obviously exhausted from their conversation. "I only hope you people are right and that the person you saw was her. The Touka-chan I know is not a horrible person. Whatever she is doing right now, there must be a valid justification for that."

Kaneki honestly believed that something was devouring the dark-haired woman's mind and sanity after he felt her cry on his shoulder the other night.  That woman had motives close to her heart, and if she was willing to put her life on the line to go after someone as dangerous as Kaiko, that meant that she probably had nothing to lose at this point.

"We'll try our best," replies Kaneki somberly, a determined look on his face.

She smiles widely at him. "Thank-"

"Kosaka, you've been here for ages," interjects Kuroiwa's voice, who was suddenly entering the office. "So, what's the deal with -"

When Takeomi notices Yoriko's teary eyes and her unsteady frame, his eyes widen and he interrupts himself. Under the shocked looks of Kaneki and Hide, he moves in front of her in just two steps, grasping her shoulders and gazing into her eyes.

"Are you okay, Yoriko? What happened?" he asks, slightly panicky, before looking at the other occupants of the room. "What happened?"

Before the two perplexed agents had a chance to respond, Yoriko shakes her head and murmurs, "It was nothing... We were just talking about something that brought back old memories, it's nothing bad."

She smiles up at him reassuringly, and his gaze instantly softens, as they stare into each other's eyes. It was a few seconds before a cough brings them out of their daze, as they had completely forgotten that an uncomfortable Kaneki and a smug Hide were also in the room with them.

"Saiko-chan would have had a field day if she had seen the little exchange we just witnessed," comments the blond man. "If that wasn't unbearably mushy, I don't know what it was."

Kuroiwa was just staring at him with a blank face while the woman blushed to the roots of her hair.

The expressionless man clears his throat and straightens up, letting go of the hazel-haired woman. "You all better go back to work, before Akira-san catches you slacking off." And with that, he walks out.

"You shouldn't tease him so much," reprimands Yoriko. "Leave the poor man alone."

"Come on," whines Hide. "It's all in good fun."

She simply shakes her head, a slight smile on her lips, and the two agents are relieved to see her back to herself. "Good luck with the investigation, and feel free to contact me at any time if you need further information regarding Touka-chan."

"We'll do," replies Hide, smiling at her with gratitude before she makes her way out of the office.

"Oh, and Yoriko-chan?" Kaneki calls back, and she comes to a halt, turning her head around and raising an eyebrow at him. "Do you think I could borrow that picture to verify that it's really her?"

Yoriko nods before her eyes turn serious. "I'll give it to you, but I expect you to take care of it. It's the only memento I have of her."

The white-haired agent gives a sincere smile. "Will do."

She smiles and departs the room, and Kaneki returns to his screen, deep in contemplation. When he thought he had unraveled the mystery of that heiress, Yoriko dropped a series of bombs on them, further complicating matters.

He had managed to figure out that she was running away from something, and that something was probably related to Kaiko. So why would she return to her hometown, where he had a base of operations and where it would be tenfold easier for whoever she appeared to be escaping from to find her? And why exactly, as well as by whom, had her mother been murdered? And that wasn't even taking into account the fact that her father committed suicide as soon as his wife was snatched away from them and his businesses began losing money rather than making a profit.

The whole thing was giving the white-haired agent a headache, but he was determined to learn the crucial information if it would enable him to put the dangerous man in jail, and he was confident that she would somehow aid them in doing that.

"You know," starts the man next to him, "when you finally succeeded in getting involved with a woman, it had to be someone more complex than the cases we handle."

"Trust me, it's a lot for me to process as well," mutters Kaneki. "These files probably won't reveal any additional information, so we should gather everything and take it back to the archive room," he adds.

"Ugh," moans the other man, putting his forehead on his desk. "Can't we just leave them be for the time being? We can pick them up tomorrow since the day is nearly over."

Kaneki pats him on the back before getting up from his seat. "Do you really want Akira-san to find out that we didn't file our reports?"

That seems to persuade his partner, who jumps to life and rushes up from his chair, quickly picking up the few folders around him. "Absolutely not, let's get back to work."

Kaneki chuckles, shaking his head before organizing the files back into their respective boxes.

"We still need to discuss our findings with our squad leader," adds Hide. "We can't just go after that woman without first informing Akira-san; she is, after all, our superior."

"How about we tell her if we see Touka-chan again?" suggests Kaneki. "It's not worth worrying Akira-san about if she drops her involvement in this case."

"Good point," replies the other man. "Now let's finish this before she comes back."

At the end of the day, after the two had only just finished their reports and had landed on her desk, Mado still reprimanded them and delivered her infamous punch.

_________________________________________

A certain woman approaches the shady club with her heels clicking on the pavement, shivering from the cold touching her bare legs. Her uncovered eye gleams slyly, and a broad smile spans her face.

She comes to a halt, leaning against a tree to grab her hair and put it into a lower bun, her bangs still falling on her left eye. She checks her gun at her side to ensure she has enough bullets in case she needs them. She adjusts the realistic silicone skin around her hands and arms so that no evidence is left behind, as she sighs to herself and casts her eyes heavenward. The sun was setting, and darkness would soon descend on Tokyo's streets. That's when the V would start to fill up.

When she heard about the prostitution going on at the nightclub, she became interested. Finding a battered and crying Hinami had been entirely by chance, and seeing the sadness in her eyes had only convinced her to put an end to it once and for all. The brown-haired girl gave her all the information she needed about the prostitution ring and the V nightclub being one of the bases used for the sex-trade where her late mother, Ryouko, used to work behind closed doors.

As the sun is setting and more and more people enter the club, she sits down under the shade of the tree, hidden from anyone who might pass through. She huffs in disgust as she sees numerous people in high positions passing through the entrance. Money could buy you anything, including young, attractive women. The majority of these men were married, older, and bald. They were probably bored and seeking some sort of adventure, even if it meant destroying the lives of numerous defenseless young women.

Or even break their sons' and daughters' trust and hearts.

Her lips extend into a full smirk when she notices that there are more guards outside than usual, evidence of the activities that will take place that night. It was the ideal opportunity to look for what she was looking for.

She eventually grabs a cigarette from a pack she always carried with her, lights it, and puts it between her lips for a long drag out of boredom. She isn't a chain smoker; in fact, she hates the cancer stick, but occasionally it makes her feel less anxious.

When her wrist watch finally strikes eleven o'clock, she pulls out the burner phone from her pocket and quickly dials the number that will assist her in her exploration. She only needs to hold the phone to her ear for a few seconds before someone picks it up.

"Hello, good evening. This is Tokyo's Federal Bureau of Investigation, how can I help you?"

"Hello," she replies in a low and husky tone to cover her natural voice. "I've got an intriguing lead for you regarding Kaiko..."

[forever-rogue]

hi 🥺 can i have "It's lonely here without you" from list 2 with Jack? 🥺 if possible some hurt/comfort situation? love you 💖

Hi bb, you can have whatever you want 🥺💕

Agent Whiskey x Fem!Reader ; warnings: none

Pedro Characters Masterlist 

»»————-　♡　————-««

You sighed to yourself as you looked around the dark, empty bedroom. It was early still, and the day was just breaking over the horizon. The sky was an inky blue, melding into orange and pink as a new day was beginning. Birds were softly chirping outside the window, traffic was starting up, and the world was slowly waking.

And yet you wished you weren't. Not alone anyways. 

You missed him. You missed Jack. Everything about him - his smile, his laugh, his touch, his kiss. Every little thing about him was so golden and after having been in his glow for so long, it was hard to go with it. It was for work, missions sometimes called him away for extended periods, but it was always hard.

Reaching for your phone on the nightstand, you quickly unlocked it and scrolled through your notifications, swiping away most of them. Only one really caught your attention - a very early good morning text from Jack. A smile tugged on the corners of your mouth as you read over the text and some of your previous conversations. Jack was the epitome of an old man when it came to texting, but damn he tried, and he never failed to make you smile. Your favorites were always the silly selfies he sent in his down time.

Gods, you hoped he would be back soon.

I miss you, you quickly typed out, it's lonely here without you.

Before thinking too much about it, you quickly sent it and turned the phone upside, burrowing back into your pillows. They still smelled like him no matter how often they were washed - not that you minded. 

It was only a few moments before the phone vibrated. Surprised by the quick response, you snatched it back up and hastily opened the message.

Get up, your brow furrowed at the cryptic message, go to the kitchen.

You quickly replied - what?

Just do as I ask for once, Sugar, without any sass.

Fine!

You beamed at his message, still confused as to what he meant, but decided to indulge him. Pushing back the warm, plush blankets you slowly climbed out of the bed, letting your feet hit the carpet with a soft thud. You grabbed a nearby sweater, which just happened to be Jack's, and pulled it on before slowly padding downstairs and to the kitchen. The house you shared with your husband was decently sized, but when you were alone it felt gigantic and cold.

You were humming to yourself as you walked into the kitchen, stopping dead in your tracks as you spied a large bouquet of your favorite flowers on the counter. Your face lit up as you walked over to them, completely forgetting that you should be worried about the fact that mysterious flowers had appeared in your kitchen.

You looked for a card or some of indication of their origin, touching a few of the soft petals. Unfortunately, you found nothing. No card, note, anything until - 

"Hi Sugar," you almost jumped out of your skin as you looked around the flowers and found Jack grinning back at you. You almost squealed in delight as you ducked around the corner as you threw yourself into his arms. He held you tightly, easily wrapping his arms around you as you buried your face into his chest, "hi baby, I've missed you so much."

"Jack," you pulled back to look at him, studying his face, watching as his soft brown eyes crinkled with his smile. You touched his cheek, watching as he keened into your touch, "I've missed you too. I didn't expect you back so soon."

"Maybe I pulled your leg and said I was going to be gone longer than I was," he teased as he kissed you softly. It was easy to melt into his touch, to get completely lost in him, "I wanted to come and surprise my favorite girl."

"Whatever for?" you asked softly as your heart fluttered gently. Gods, you were so in love with him, and you couldn't imagine a life without him anymore, "I don't think I've missed anything...its not our anniversary...no plans? Why…?"

"I didn't think I needed a reason," he insisted with a gentle shake of his head, "I just don't want to be away any longer than I needed to be. And I figured this would be a nice little surprise. I know how hard it is for me to be away from you, and I imagine its the same for you…"

"I detest even being away from you for even a day," you promised, "anything longer is practically torture. I was thinking about stowing myself into your luggage this time around."

"A most welcome surprise that would have been," he swiped his thumb along your cheek before kissing you again. He hand went to the back of your neck as he held you close and you wrapped your arms around his neck, breathing him in. If you could have stayed like that forever, you easily would have, "I love you."

"I love you," you trailed a few kisses along his jaw before going back to his lips and giggling as his mustache tickled your lip. You always teased him for it, claiming it would look ridiculous on anyone else, but it worked for him. And it did - of course he looked handsome without it, but there was something about that was just so...him.

"I suppose I do have one thing I've been wanting to tell you," he cleared his throat as you pulled back, a worried expression etching onto your features. He shook his head fervently before tenderly cradling your face in his hands, "no, no, no, sugar, don't worry - it's nothing bad!"

"Jack! You can't just spring something like that on me," you pouted at him, sticking your bottom lip out as he chuckled softly, "out with it! What is it?"

"Well, I was thinking," he started and immediately held up a finger to your lips to silence you. He knew you well enough to know that you were about to make a sassy comment, "I know its a shocker, but hear me out."

"Sorry baby," you grinned at him, "go on."

"I know we've talked about it and I was just thinking...we've been married for a while now and well, if we're serious about starting a family in the near future, I want to be home more," you listened carefully to his words, but you couldn't help yourself as a grin stretched across your features, "I don't want to miss a thing, and want to be here for everything and I think its time I took a step back from statesman. Besides...I'm not the same young man I once was."

"Jack," you put your hands on his broad chest as you tried to blink back the years that threatened to well up. You'd been waiting to hear those words for some time, although you never would have told him that. You knew how much his job meant to him and you'd never have thought about getting in the way of that. But it never stopped you from worrying about him, even if he was one of the best and most seasoned agents. He was your Jack, and you'd always worry - but this? This was everything, "do you mean it? I'd never ask you to do such a thing, baby. I know how much it means to you."

"I want to do this," he promised gently as he wiped away the single tear that had rolled down your cheek, "for myself and you and whatever else comes down the road. You are more important than anything else."

"I...I don't know what to say," you said softly as you could already picture long leisurely days with Jack at your side and in the near future, maybe a baby of your own, "besides the fact that I love you so much. You mean more to me than you will ever know."

"I'm hoping you'll say it sounds like a good idea," he almost seemed nervous as he searched your eyes for approval. It hadn't been a rash decision by any means, but he hadn't quite discussed it with you before making the decision to significantly cut back his duties. He didn't think you'd have a problem but still… "or otherwise I'll feel like an old fool."

"Of course it sounds like a good idea," you promised, gently carding a hair through his dark locks, "you continually make me the happiest woman. I don't know what I did to deserve you-"

"Oh Sugar, I think its the other way around," he insisted gently, "after...everything with...I never thought I'd get the privilege to love again, or to meet someone like you. You came into my life like a tornado, but I wouldn't change a thing. You have made me believe that there is good in the world, that there is a reason to get up every morning and be the best. I don't think you truly understand the magnitude with which I love you."

"A gentleman and a poet," you whispered as you wrapped your arms around his middle and held him close, "if we weren't already married, I'd say that sounded like a proposal."

"Well, I suppose it is a proposal of sorts, I propose I work less hours and spend more time with you," he teased, "if you'll allow it."

"Always," you beamed at him, "but right now I have a favor to ask of you."

"Of course," you reached for his hand and started to tug him away and towards the staircase, "we go back to bed and be lazy and spend the day doing nothing, "its still so early."

"Well my plan had been to make coffee and breakfast and surprise you with it," he admitted and if you it was possible to be anymore in love with him, you would have fallen in love then and there, "but someone was up early and I couldn't keep a secret."

"I couldn't sleep," you confessed softly, "I missed you...and there's been a lot on my mind lately."

"Oh?" he seemed concerned for a moment before you shook your head to let him know it wasn't anything serious, "everyone's alright?"

"More than alright," you grinned, "let's go back to bed and I'll tell you everything. We can make breakfast - later when the world is actually awake."

"Now you have me intrigued," he admitted as he let you pull him along upstairs. His hand was warm around yours as he held tightly onto it, the simple action causing a warmth to settle all over you. Jack was home and he wasn't going anywhere - what more could you want?

"Its nothing to worry about," you promised as you thought of the little surprise you had for him stashed away in the drawer of the nightstand, "just come with me and hold me and sleep. I've missed you."

"And I have missed you greatly," he paused at the landing of the stairs before pulling you into his arms and kissing you until you were practically drunk off of his touch, "my love."

"And I you," you nuzzled your nose gently against his, "now come on, let us be lazy and relax. Tell me everything about your trip and I'll tell you all about what happened since you've been gone…"

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 4: Man Pouts on Couch

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder is not feeling lucky.

In hindsight, he should have suspected something was off today; Scully kept looking at her watch.

It’s Friday, March 13th, and he thought it’d be cute to invite Scully out for a drink again, make a little joke about it becoming a Friday the 13th tradition. This could work, he thinks. His plan is simple; ask her out every once in a while, for some reason or another, with the intention of eventually coming clean and setting up a proper date.

At five o’clock he stands up and stretches with performative nonchalance. “Buy you a drink, Scully?” he asks, cocking his head towards the calendar pinned to the office wall, surrounded by newspaper clippings and grainy photos.

She pauses with her arm halfway into the sleeve of her coat. “I…” She falters and presses her lips together, looking suddenly guilty.

“What is it?” he asks quietly, a pit growing in his stomach.

“I’d love to, Mulder, but I actually have a date tonight.”

The earth stops spinning and Mulder is thrown off balance, hurtling through the atmosphere.

“Oh,” he says softly. “That doctor guy?”

Scully nods, not meeting his gaze. “His name is Mark,” she says. “We’re getting sushi.” She looks up at him then, big blue eyes soft. “A rain check?” she asks hopefully.

She owns him; one look like that and he’d sell his soul to buy her a cup of shitty coffee. “Sure. Another time, then,” Mulder says, gathering up every scrap of composure he has left, patching together a smile for her. “Have fun.”

He goes home and throws himself face down onto the couch.

She has a date. A real date, with a presumably mentally stable human man with a high-value job. And a daughter. A ready-made family, just add water and stir. This Mark guy probably calls her Dana, asks her how her mother’s doing, feeds her bits of sashimi with no threat of aliens or shadow governments in sight. Maybe he’ll kiss her at the end of the night, softly with closed lips like a gentleman.

What stings the most is the fact that this Doctor Mark had the balls to tell Scully outright that he’s interested in her romantically, something Mulder has yet to do.

Mulder knows he should eat, but his stomach is churning and the idea of food sickens him. He’s being dramatic and irrational; it’s just one date. But the implications are weighty, the potential enormous.

He feels bad for being upset. This is good for her; she needs to get out of the basement, connect with other rational people, find some normalcy and balance in her life.

You need those things too, he hears her say in his head.

He brushes it aside. It’s different for him; he created this life for himself. He’s a collapsed star, a black hole of conspiracy and paranoia that sucks in everything that gets too close. The last thing he wants is for her to get lost in his darkness, swallowed by the void like some interstellar debris.

She’d told him that night in Rock Creek Park that she does’t blame him for what’s happened to her, but that doesn’t assuage his guilt. He carries the weight of what she calls her choices, a load she has no intention of sharing with him, awaiting no acknowledgement or thanks.

He’s doing it to himself.

Mulder whiles away the hours on the couch, gazing up at the constellations of pencil marks on his ceiling, tossing his basketball above his head. He drops it on his face twice.

He knows it’s probably only going to make him feel worse, but he’s a glutton for punishment; so at eleven-thirty that night he picks up the phone and calls Scully.

He waits for her to answer, his heart sinking lower with each ring. She’s not picking up. Is she still out? he thinks anxiously. The guy has a kid, so it’s unlikely that they’d stay out too late unless he’s arranged it with his babysitter…

“Hello?” Scully’s slightly husky voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Scully,” he says, tentative relief creeping into his body.

“Mulder, what is it?” she asks. “It’s late. For normal people, anyway. Are you alright?”

“‘M’ fine,” he assures he. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

He hears her hum in understanding. Late night phone calls between them aren’t uncommon, after all. “Have you tried counting sheep?” she asks, not unkindly. “Or slowing your breathing down, focusing on the cadence of inhales and exhales like I showed you?”

He’s wide awake, sitting upright on his couch, still in the slacks and wrinkled button-down he wore to the office that day. “Yes,” he lies. “It’s not helping. There’s too much going on in my head right now.”

“You work too much,” she says gently. “And yet not enough, when deadlines are involved. We’ve got an impressive paperwork backlog-”

“Can we not talk about work right now?” He reaches down and unties his shoes. “Otherwise I’ll never get to sleep.”

“Right.” There’s rustling on her end. She’s in bed, he realizes.

“Did I wake you, Scully?” he asks, trying to hide his surprise.

“It’s fine, Mulder, I was only dozing,” she replies.

“Oh, how was the date?” he asks, as though it only just occurred to him, instead of being the only thing he’s thought about all night.

“It was nice,” she responds, and he drops his head onto the back of the couch in defeat. Shit. Shit shit shit shit-

“We talked about medicine, about cancer, loss. His daughter’s name is Amanda,” she continues. “Her mother - his wife - died when Mandy was only two, so he’s mostly raised her alone.”

“That’s rough,” Mulder says softly. Please don’t make me feel bad for this guy, Scully, I can’t bear it, he thinks.

“Mhm,” she agrees. “And his work at the hospital is pretty grueling, so his mother helps out a lot. I… I told him about Emily.”

“How’d that go?” Mulder asks, concerned. “It’s not the most… plausible-sounding story.”

“I was vague,” she replies. “All I really said was that I had recently reconnected with a child I’d been separated from, right before she died. He didn’t ask for details; he could probably tell it was a fresh wound.”

They’re silent for a moment.

“Do you think you’ll see him again?” Mulder asks quietly. Somehow he already knows what she’s going to say, and he braces himself for the sting of her words as they pierce his heart.

“I… I think I will,” Scully says, sounding distant. “I mean, it’s worth a shot, right?”

She deserves this. She deserves a chance at something ordinary, safe, comfortable.

“Maggie Scully didn’t raise a quitter,” he says with a watery smile she’ll never see.

She chuckles. “No, I suppose she didn’t,” Scully muses. He hears her yawn. “I’m tired out, Mulder. Think you can sleep now?”

“I’ll try,” he says. He’s surprised to feel his eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears. “Thanks for talking to me,” he adds.

“Anytime. Sleep well,” she says warmly, and the line goes dead.

He supposes he brought this on himself by keeping his feelings hidden. He waited too long, playing it safe. He wanted to gauge her feelings before he made any overt moves, and someone else beat him to it.

It’s just one date. But there’s going to be more. By the sound of it, she wants there to be more.

There’s no way he’s going to sleep well tonight.

He’s in a sour mood when he’s summoned to the Gunmen’s… den? lair? headquarters? the next afternoon, by way of one of their patented cryptic phone calls.

Byers unfastens the dozen locks on the door and lets him inside. “Mulder,” he says, ushering him in. “Good to see you.”

Mulder flops down in a rickety desk chair, exhaustion permeating his muscles. “I’m not up for being social today, boys,” he warns. “You said you had information for me?”

“We took the liberty of looking into Agent Scully’s new… uh, friend,” Byers says.

“For safety reason,” Langly adds, seeing Mulder’s lips purse.

“She’s precious cargo,” Frohike says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“How did you find him?” Mulder asks. “I didn’t even know his first name until yesterday.”

“Don’t insult us with your surprise,” Frohike mutters. “We’re experts.”

“We knew he’s a part of the parish Scully attends-“ Byers begins.

“And we knew he’s an ER doc, has a 6 year old daughter, and a dead wife,” Langly cuts in. “That’s plenty to go on.”

“I don’t need to know more than that,” Mulder says, suddenly feeling guilty. “It’s not my business.”

“Maybe not, but we have the info,” Frohike says. “Look, all you need to know is that he seems legit. Name’s Einolander, if you were curious.”

“I wasn’t,” Mulder lies, taking a sunflower seed out of his pocket and biting it pensively.

“Of course not,” Byers says, sounding completely unconvinced.

“You alright, Mulder?” Langly asks. “You look rough.”

“Of course he does,” Frohike hisses in the least subtle whisper of all time. “Scully’s dating someone that’s not him. Cut the guy some slack.”

“You guys don’t know shit,” Mulder grumbles, then backtracks, running his hands over his face. “I’m sorry. I, uh... didn’t sleep well.”

“It’s okay, man,” Langly says.

Frohike nods sagely. ”We know how you feel about her. This can’t be easy for you.”

Mulder wilts in his chair. “How did you know?” he asks pathetically, realizing the jig is up. Has he really been so obvious this whole time? Fucking hell.

“Look, knowing things is our business,” Byers explains. “And we know you. We’ve been around the block with you a few times, and nobody’s meant this much to you. Not even Diana.”

“Plus, Agent Scully is a smokeshow, and you have eyes,” Frohike adds. Byers gives him a jab with his elbow. “Hey, I stand by that,” he declares, rubbing his arm.

“Well thanks anyway, fellas,” Mulder says, standing. “I should get going. The walls in my apartment won’t stare at themselves.”

“Do you want the file we put together on the guy?” Byers asks. “We can make copies.”

Mulder shakes his head. “Keep it. Draw a mustache on his photo or something.” He picks up his coat and slings it over his shoulder. “You kids have fun.”

“If you need anything, just flag us down,” Frohike says, patting Mulder’s back before unlatching the door.

Mulder steps out the door, then turns back. “How old is this guy?”

“Forty-one,” Byers says, flipping through the file. “Five-foot-ten, dark blond hair, brown eyes. Blood type-”

Mulder holds up a hand. “I don’t want to know. Bye, guys.”

He gets a petty, juvenile satisfaction from the fact that he’s two inches taller and four years younger than Dr. Einolander. It’s short-lived, but at this point he’ll take what he can get.

Because he can’t get Scully.

[votederpycausemufins]

Guys, idk how to tell you this, but we’re nearing the end. I mean, i’m gonna write more smaller pieces and maybe another long one in the future, but this one specifically is ending soon

@petrichormeraki

Mumbo walked down a hallway behind Drista. It looked like something Scar would have made as it looked more like a decorated underground tunnel than anything else. Stones of different types lined the walls and some vines and grass were present here and there. He kept trying to ask questions to pass the time, but Drista always shushed him. 

Since he couldn’t really have a discussion with her, he just looked at the walls around then that looked worn by time. Some ores were present in the walls, though they weren’t any Mumbo recognized. When he looked away from them, the redstoner could see what looked like the tunnel widening up ahead, likely to a room or sorts, though based on their surroundings, it could be more along the lines of a cavern.

He was right as when they stepped out of the tunnel, the ceiling was still made of rocks, but the room itself was filled with life. Trees of varieties he had never seen before littered the area. Leaves of blue purple and gold were scattered around and hanging on the trees. Flowers of every color. A small pond to the side, small lily pads covering a good portion of the surface. It was beautiful.

“Alright, a couple of the fam are headed over here to talk with you. Don’t go wandering around because this place is like a labyrinth and you don’t have the ability to get out yet.”

“You sound like you’re going to leave me here.”

“Cuz I am.” And with that Drista ran off down another tunnel that connected into the room. With nothing to do but wait, Mumbo wandered around the cavern, trying to not stray too far from where they had entered. He really decided to stay close when he saw what he thought was an armor stand wearing armor, slumped against a wall. When he got closer and noticed the skeleton within that was obviously not a reanimated monster, he made sure to run back and stay in place.

After he started to become a bit restless again, Mumbo was slightly glad to see people approaching him. All of them wore some sort of mask, which unsettled the redstoner a little bit, but he remembered how Drista and Dream had worn some of their own, so it must have been a Vault God thing. Come to think of it, Grian also showed off a Watcher mask once. Did these higher beings just wear masks?

“We do indeed. It hides the self and keeps us separated from those we… work with.” A chill went up Mumbo as he realized that they had just read his mind. “Yes, another reason for the mask, though that enchantment could be placed on anything.”

“Should I just ask questions in my mind then?” Mumbo asked, now trying to keep his mind empty.

“Nah, just Song being cryptic and stuff.” A new voice spoke from the Vault Gods and one wearing a mask that resembled a turtle slapped the back on the head of one wearing a mask decorated in music notes. “We can control it easy enough, some people just get used to various powers and tend to overuse them.”

Mumbo sighed in relief at the casual tone from turtle mask. He had no clue what to expect from whoever he would meet and assumed they would be very strict and cold people. “I see. Well, speaking of powers…” He trailed off, not sure how exactly to ask.

“Drista’s kept me updated.” Another new voice spoke. They gave a small wave when Mumbo tried to figure out who was speaking. He had to shift a little to see them properly, but taking a step to the side, the redstoner would see their mask which seemed to be a generic green alien. “You don’t want to be a Vault God, but you used your powers out of necessity.”

“I shouldn’t have any to begin with!” Mumbo argued. “I said no the last time Drista showed up and they went away. It wasn’t until I found Dream that anything happened again.”

It was quiet after he shouted, long enough that Mumbo was beginning to worry he shouldn’t have said anything.

“That does change things.” Someone in an earth mask stepped forward. “Due to Dreamon’s work with the abandoned Watcher he obtained.”

“His name is Grian.”

“Yes, that one. He was able to shield his world from the sight and hearing of both us and the Watchers. His abundance of power is likely what pulled yours out again, not true willingness.”

“Are you saying you can do something about it? I don’t want to be one of you. Grian’s a Watcher and he’s told me many times that your magics don’t mix. I lo- We’re… really close to each other. I don’t know what I would do if us being around each other caused problems.”

Again, there was silence from the Vault Gods. This time Mumbo wondered if, being able to read minds, they were communicating telepathically. “I suppose there is something that could be done.” One of them finally spoke up and Mumbo sighed in relief. “Masks are usually used as a limiter, that is due to enchantments, but others could be placed on it so it has the opposite effect.”

“That being?” Mumbo asked.

“It can be so that only when used will you be able to access your self as a Vault God. That being said, to do that, more than just powers would need to be sealed within the mask.”

“I would be able to stay around Grian though?” Mumbo asked, not caring about any side effects if it would get him what he was after.

One in a mask that seemed to house an entire galaxy spoke up next. “Yep, pretty much any Watcher if you really wanted to. I mean, doubt you’ll be around many, but hey, if you help out when we have to deal with… or I guess work with other Watchers, it would help.”

“Then I’ll do it.”

“Ey Big Geeeeee!” Tommy burst into the room, followed by Grumbot who had led him there. “Tubbo went with Sparklez to go see some of his family. Meaning time for you and I to get back into things. What are you thinking? New normal war to teach people things? Invitations to the upside down? Take people on base tours and blow their minds? Or maybe we go with the tried and true chicken bombings?”

Grian just rolled over in bed. “Noooo. I wanna go but everything’s catching up to meeee. I’m a messssss.”

“Dad is feeling sick from bad magic that was left over in your world.”

Tommy sat down and slumped. “Great, another thing Dream messed up. Can’t you just do some shit to get rid of it and be better already? The longer we wait, the less fun it might be.”

Grian gave a small hum as a signal that he heard Tommy. “Yeah. Left it on a table. Mask I was wearing when you stabbed me.” He pointed in a general direction and Tommy left to grab it. While he waited, Grian curled up more, wrapping his wings around himself. He was glad that the feathers helped muffle the sound around him which was starting to give him a headache. Stupid living base that you could hear everywhere.

When Tommy returned, he tugged gently on one of Grian’s wings. Because of the avian’s current state, he panicked and hit Tommy away with the wing. The blond was pushed back, glad his armor negated whatever damage that would have caused. “Sorry for startling you. I found it.”

Grian took the white mask from Tommy and put it on, glad that it started to block out whatever was making him feel sick. “Oh, that’s much better. So, what were your ideas again?”

Grian, Tommy and the bots were enjoying themselves as they returned to Mumbo’s base. Jrumbot was admiring the diamonds he had scammed someone out of while Grumbot put away the last of the discs he had been playing around, making sure he couldn’t be seen while they played, confusing whoever heard them. Tommy had emptied a shulker box of eggs onto the smp island and Grian had placed signs all over the place with cryptic messages.

“Oh man. We need to get Mumbo and get him to drag some people into Hermit Challenges.” Grian said through his laughter.

“I dunno. Me and him aren’t really on the best terms right now.”

“I know, but that’s exactly why you should do it. It’ll give you the chance to clear the air and ask why he was so upset.”

“Daddy yelled at us too.” Jrumbot looked up briefly from his diamonds. “Auntie Stress took us to see him but he got upset and wanted us to leave.”

“I wasn’t able to get a good look, but he had seemed scared. People tend to have different reactions when they are scared. Some get angry, others panic, even more just hide it.”

Grian picked Grumbot up in one arm and nuzzled him. “And we’ve all been through a lot so we know that. Mumbo hasn’t been through nearly as much. It would be better if it never happened, but the fact that it took so long is a good sign.”

“I guess.” Tommy responded, but he still seemed upset.

Just before they reached Mumbo’s base again, there was a burst of energy that came from it and Grian narrowed his eyes behind his mask. “They were told to stay in your world.” Then before Tommy could ask what Grian meant, the Watcher set the bots down and shot up into the sky so fast he left some feathers behind.

He scanned the base until he spotted a figure and dove towards it, landing nearby. “You shouldn’t be here. This is Watcher claimed. Get out before I make you!” He almost growled at them. He was prepared to shove them through a rift to send them to smp island and then throw them through the portal when the figure turned.

They wore a familiar suit, except for the fact that it was stained a bright red color. They wore a metal mask with piercing red eyes, and most importantly, a mustache. “Grian.”

Grian’s eyes widened. “M-Mumbo…” The Watcher felt himself start to cry. This couldn’t be happening. Mumbo had said no. Why would he change his mind? And he had protected Mumbo so this could never happen? So why had it? “Mumbo… please… why? Why would you-”

He didn’t get to continue as Mumbo pulled the mask off his face and discarded it by letting it drop to the ground. He followed it, collapsing to the floor and Grian rushed to him. Before he could do anything though, he noticed the lack of any foreign energy in the air. “Oh Mumbo… I’m sorry I thought you said yes.”

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Why have I done this?

So, as per a conversation with @little-lightning-lavellan, I was blessed or maybe cursed, with this idea about Fane. As such, I had to write a short story about it that I think will be like four chapters long because...yeah. XD

Anyways, enjoy part one! (Look at what you’ve done. IT’S GLORIOUS!)

***

Anatomical Observations - Chapter 1

It had happened once. Short lived, quick, and barely noticeable as many things were more pressing, the world teetering on a crumbling edge. But it was hard to ignore such small things when voices were all you could hear when one was trying to work.

Solas was highly divested in an article of research. A basic magical theory in concept, minor amplifications of lesser spells, but it still required his mind to bend, to become flexible much like his magic when he had first awoken. As such, he had not heard many people come and go through the rotunda, he had not even heard the doors leading in and out slam shut or creak open, nor a polite greeting or scurrying messenger. That was how deep he was in his bubble of concentration. However, one--no, two voices from directly above were currently making it incredibly, and he meant incredibly, difficult to remain focused. 

“I do believe that is my chair you are sitting in, Inquisitor.”, a male voice with a distinct Tevinter accent floated down from above, indignation and slight amusement laced within it. 

“I don’t see your name on it, do I?”, another voice, far deeper and like rolling thunder with how it always held a slight growl. It always made Solas involuntarily shiver, and the same remained true now, making his focus splinter further like cracked ice. “Anyhow, it’s Inquisition property. Got a problem, talk to Josephine. I’m off duty.” A sound like a page being harshly flipped made his ears twitch. 

A gasp. “And work her harder than she already is? Absolutely not!” Solas could tell the line was meant to be a jab, but it only held the telling of a joke within its haughty vibrato. 

“Then I guess you’ll just have to sit your ass on the floor until I’m finished.”, that rumbling timbre came once again, a shifting sound and a loud thud signifying someone’s boots had been slammed down onto something. 

“The floor? Me?!”, another indignant squawk, actually making Solas let out a frustrated sigh as he lifted a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. How much longer was this going to go on for? It wasn’t unusual for this type of banter to sound, but right now, he had work to complete.

And this was not helping accomplish that.

“Yes, the floor. Yes, you.”, another harsh flick of a page ruffling through the air. “Now, can you leave me alone? I’m busy.”

“Oh, yes, you’re quite busy stuffing your face with tea cakes!”, the Tevinter accent rose a pitch, as if in disbelief at what it was saying. “The crumbs! Have you no etiquette, Inquisitor?!”

“Nope.”, the gravelly voice responded with a heavy air of indifference, actually sounding a bit muffled as if it were eating something. “If Vivienne and Josephine can’t knock the elf out of me, no one can.”, Solas could just hear the sarcasm and roll of eyes in that statement. It almost made him chuckle, but he was still too miffed to push one through.

“Most elves I’ve met are very well mannered!”

“I’m not like most elves.”

“Well, that much is apparent!”

“Thanks for noticing. I’m so happy.”, the tone voicing that statement dripping with concealed disdain. Solas knew where that bitterness originated from, and hearing it always made his heart heavy. Heavier than it already was, even.

“You are a truly stubborn man! Fine, I’ll sit on the floor! The cold, cold floor!”, a scoff following right after those words as the sound of leather and, most notably a body, plopped down onto the stone. 

Solas let out a heavy, heavy sigh as silence finally followed that exchange, letting his head hang down to where his chin nearly touched his chest in defeat. It would seem his attention was severed as much as the world’s magic was. He would not be getting back into his rhythm anytime soon. 

“Perhaps I should find a quieter, more secluded place to do my work..”, he mused, lifting a hand to rub at his face slowly. “One of the lower chambers maybe..”

Solas sighed again before letting his hand fall back down to his desk with a light pap, eyes absently roaming over the pages of the tome before him. Maybe if he stilled his mind, found his anchor, he could try to decipher this line of text. The glyphs were a no go, however. Just trying to look at the faded lines was making his vision go blurry. Sadly, the theory he was trying to prove was reliant on those patterns, and they were far more convoluted than he remembered. Perhaps more things had adapted than he originally thought? Or did the older methods  have to be reworked, seemingly forgotten like so much else? He, frankly, did not know. He couldn’t focus, but he would have to try.

“A ward..?”, Solas muttered under his breath, brows furrowing as he traced a sigil with his finger. “No..it is more akin to a summoning circle. Or perhaps a rune?”, he continued, slowly feeling how his mind began to bend and think, the lines of the glyphs becoming clearer, more defined. “Ah! The outlining symbols are for--”

His musing was immediately cut off, much like the frayed line of his focus, as a shout had him freezing and quite literally jumping in surprise.

“Fasta vas! What are you doing?!”, a squawk, the curse in Tevene elongated between the two words for more flair.

“Would you calm down?! Dammit, my ears are fucking ringing now! Ugh!”, the rolling thunder voice no longer indifferent as its volume rose to make the very stone quake. Once again, it made a light shiver run down Solas’s spine despite his tensed up form. What was going on now?

“How can I be calm when you...you do that!?”, furious shifting sounded as if someone was flailing limbs about. 

“One, I don't know what the hell you’re going on about, Dorian!” The sharp snapping of a book making the ravens up above in the rookery flap in agitation. “Two, you can have your chair back because I’m not getting anything done with your needling!”

“I believe you need a needle, my friend! That looked incredibly painful!”

Solas felt his slowly relaxing body tense up at that, mind awakened, but for a completely different reason than trying to get magical research done. He lifted his gaze from where it was fixated on the pages of his book, looking upwards to search the railing that outlined the library for the source of the voices that had shattered his hour of contemplation. He knew them both, but the exclamation housed by one had him wanting to see the other.

Where..? Solas thought the question, eyes roaming every inch of the circular area before stark white had his gaze halting immediately. Ah. There we are. 

He would spot that messy head from anywhere, even in snowy regions like the Emprise. Though, the body that that hair was attached to did a fine job of location as well. Occasionally, he would find his eyes lingering, or searching for less...conventional reasons. However, this wasn’t the time to be thinking of such things, especially as his mind still reeled with what the unaccounted voice had yelled.

Fane was currently along one of the bookshelves, a gloved hand firmly pushing a book back into its place with a typical scowl plastered on his otherwise smooth face, the faded green lines of his vallaslin making an already striking face look more so. Solas felt his body relax as he took in the sight of the man, or rather, the dragon.

His dragon, to be more precise, but not in a way of physical possession. It was more fond, more willing than that. It was not a bond of slavery. It was a vow. A centuries old one, to be exact.

Solas almost called out to the other, a sense of fondness and curiosity as well as mild concern invading his mind, but he clamped his mouth shut when he saw Dorian stride up to the snowy haired man with a look of wide eyed fascination. That was an interesting look, and truthfully, a worrying one. Such looks harbored questions, and he knew Fane did not entertain many inquiries.

And for good reason.

“Wait, what? You can’t be serious?”, Dorian said with an airy laugh. “You do that, and just walk it off?”, his tone rose pitch in disbelief. 

Solas caught the glint of ebbing gold as Fane rolled his eyes, turning his larger frame to face the Tevinter mage more directly. His eyes zoned in on how the reluctant Inquisitor was tentatively rubbing at his jaw, working it back and forth slowly as if it were locked up. Dorian had said something about something being painful, hadn’t he? Was that what he meant?

“Again, I didn’t do anything.”, Fane growled out in denial, the hand upon his jaw shifting so he had it pinched between two fingers to where it appeared he was trying to fit it into place. “I was eating, and I bit my tongue because you pissed me off!”

Solas smirked faintly at his dragon’s typical usage of foul language despite the way he watched his odd movements like a hawk. Fane was incredibly eloquent, cryptic, even, but when irritation or just general boredom took hold, the dual being was a sailor. It always fascinated him rather than disgusted him. For a dragon, an ancient dragon, to latch onto common parlance as if it were the most natural thing to their being was intriguing. Then again, Fane had lived in this world for twenty-four years without knowing he was a dragon. That, would perhaps, be a more justifiable reason, but it still piqued Solas’s interest. Everything about the dragon turned elf was a point of interest. Especially now, with the way he was still nursing his sharp jaw and glowering at Dorian as if he was trying to work something out in his head.

“I’m sorry, but that was not you biting your tongue!”, Dorian exclaimed, shaking his head with that same look of disbelief before it morphed into a thoughtful look, hand coming up to absently stroke his mustache. “Though...if what I saw was..well, actually what I saw, then I have questions and curiosities regarding it.”

Fane’s expression went deadpan as he stared at the other, the golden light in his eyes all but extinguished as he turned on his heel to go the other way. Solas blinked a bit, even as his eyes followed the dragon’s retreating form.

He disengaged. Solas thought with certainty and familiarity. Unsurprising, but still worrying. He only resorts to that level of disregard when he is hiding something.  

His eyes never left Fane’s stalking form, noticing how his brows were furrowed deeply, but could see one of them twitching with nervous energy. Broad shoulders were raised much like a shield, narrow nostrils flared with attempts at dispelling whatever heat had invaded a snowy disposition, partially gloved hands flexed, tendons underneath leather bindings apparent from how much force was behind its pull.

And golden emerald eyes were now fighting for dominance - dancing and bashing against each other as abilities that had laid dormant for too long began to try and enable themselves in an attempt to mitigate the, no doubt, myriad of emotions coursing through a draconic mind. 

Solas felt his concern towards the ancient man mount at all those observations, but also, he felt slightly exasperated. The latter was only because he knew this strategy of deflection that Fane always used as his Queen upon the chessboard of his mental battles. He bounced, side stepped, and outright threw a verbal wall up when he did not wish to cross a specific square. It wasn’t that Fane was lying out of malicious means; he was doing it to protect himself and others. But Solas knew it only caused more harm, more warped perceptions.

It hurt Fane, and he knew all too well how much it hurt to keep the truth hidden, even if it was necessary for the long run.

That is the secondary explanation for this flight. Solas mused silently, eyes never leaving the dragon’s form despite his long strides. Whatever has happened puts his mask in jeopardy.  

So lost in his own thoughts and the duel of veridium, Solas didn’t notice how Dorian broke out of his look of repose as he noticed the other striding away with purposeful steps.

“Where are you going?”, Dorian called after the white hair elf, but not making an effort to chase after him with how far the other had already gotten from him.

“To beat the shit out of a dummy before I beat you.”, Solas heard Fane growl out lowly, dangerously, and for a moment, he easily caught the flickering of his eyes as they met with his own. He met that gaze with ease, reading them as no other could. The message they conveyed had him instantly seeking more as the shifting of deep emerald had his eyes narrowing in concern.

“What happened?”, Solas mouthed to Fane as he was unable to communicate precisely how the other did without it being perceived incorrectly. He noticed how the man had slowed to keep their gazes longer. There was such volume in them that Solas nearly wanted to tear his own away, but also delve deeper like he thristed for their color bound words, their fathomless depths amid a thin world.

Fane’s eyes flitted to the door that led to the balcony the Enchanter always occupied, and then down, to signify he was taking the adjacent stairwell from there to bypass the Great Hall before he disappeared from the edge of the railing, the sound of door slamming issuing his complete departure. 

Solas let out a quiet sigh before nodding, pushing himself up with his arms to stand straight. Well, it would appear he was most certainly not getting an ounce of work done today, and oddly, he was okay with that since concern was overriding his need for magical answers.

There were other, more pressing, questions that needed attending to.

***