#The Inconvenient Lost Hiker

[eruden-writes]

I'd lik to know more about Griar pls - loved that snippet 😍

Ahaha, that one starts off kind of silly. I think it was based on a prompt from a different page, but I can't find it now.

Here's the first part, written in 2020, so my style of writing has probably changed.

If there's interest, I'll post the second bit of what I have written, but after that I'd have to write more.

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Next Part

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“I can smell you. Come out!” 

Lapine gasped and ducked back, obscuring herself further from the other person with the tree she hid behind. Chewing on her bottom lip, she contemplated her options. 

There was a person hanging, upside down, in a tree not far away from Lapine’s current position. Judging from the backpack that lay beneath their swinging form, they had dropped any means to cut themselves down or even call for help with a cell phone. And they could smell her. So, they were probably not fully human.

Her heart pounded, cursing her friends for bailing on her. And screw herself, too, for thinking it was a good idea to hike alone!

Somewhere between starting out and now, she’d gotten turned around. That, in turn, got her confused as she struggled to find the beaten path, again. By the time she thought to check her cell phone, there was no signal to be had.

Now, she had to admit she was utterly lost. The trail map had been shoved to her backpack, crumpled from frustration.

That was partly why she followed the annoyed grunts and flagrant curse words the moment her ear caught them. Perhaps, she thought, they’d be able to assist her. Never, in a million years, did she expect to find someone hanging upside-down from a tree!

Instantly, her imagination fired up, producing a litany of scenarios. A convoluted scheme to kidnap passerbys. They were setting traps and one triggered on themselves. Some sort of kinky reason. An art school project. A… A....

Her brain spluttered, returning to ‘kinky reason’ and wondering if being suspended upside down enhanced anything.

Before her imagination could push that thought too far, she shook it out of her head. No. Stay focused. 

There’s a person in a tree, able to smell her, and she was alone. And possibly lost. Possibly.

She chewed on her bottom lip as she weighed her options. Just leaving seemed a bit callous. What if they were genuinely stuck?

But if it was a ploy to kidnap kind strangers, she’d be screwed. 

But who’d set up such a scheme in the middle of the forest, off the trail?

Fuck. Lapine pressed her head into her hands, wishing her friends were here to help.

---

Griar glared at the, from his point of view, upside-down forest. His situation, suspended in the air like a helpless animal, was a bad one. Whoever set the coyote snares he’d been disengaging for the last month had set this one especially for him. They had plans for him. He gnashed his teeth, considering his options.

The ongoing irritation only cracked when a sudden aroma infiltrated his nose. It was faint, but stabbed at an ache in his gut. Potential mates in heat. And he was stuck in a tree. Great.

He could get a noseful, all the way up here, but pursuing anyone wasn’t happening. Another deep-throated growl rumbled into his chest. Why the fuck hadn’t he waited to trigger the snares until tomorrow? Admittedly, his preoccupation with tonight’s humpfest probably played into his distraction.

Considering the trap was strong enough to hoist him, it was likely enchanted. Whoever planted the trap had access to magic. It could have easily been glamored into near invisibility. Since he hadn't passed out, he guessed it was ensorceled to keep his blood from pooling to his head, as well. That meant the people setting these traps wanted him alive and conscious. Griar wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing, yet.

Despite the danger of the situation, his body reacted to the cloud of pheromones slowly rising from the forest. Parts of him - ahem - were stirring in excitement, completely unaware he was upside-down.

Well, he had refrained from howling, just in case his potential captors were near enough. But, if he roused his pheromones to attract attention, maybe another -thrope would come and assist. As hairbrained of a thought it was, it wasn't as if anyone was going to stumble on him. Whoever he'd scented earlier had disappeared and the trap was located away from all the popular trails.

With mixed feelings of embarrassment and hormonal need, Griar reached for his pant's zipper. Unfastening, he grabbed at his half-mast erection, rubbing his thumb over its throbbing head. 

Whatever milquetoast enjoyment he got from jerking himself off was immediately ruined as movement caught his eye. He twisted his body, craning to see the newcomer. The scent from before wafted up from them. A human stood in the clearing beneath him, large eyes on Griar. Well… their eyes were on a part of Griar currently clutched in his hand. 

Shit. His body went rigid as he fumbled to cover his cock. Of course, a non-thrope would arrive when he finally gave in to his libido. Of fucking course.

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t realize-” They babbled, scrambling backward, back to the safety of the underbrush. 

“Wait! Come back!” More than a little snarl leaked into Griar’s voice, which he instantly regretted.

“I-It’s OK. Do your thing,” they squeaked, finally turning. They waved their hand over their shoulder as they added, “I-I’ll send a ranger your way to check on you, so finish up soon!” 

“This isn’t a kink thing!” Griar howled in explanation of something not even stated, swinging himself forward out of frustration. He growled to himself when no answer returned. With a heaving sigh, he pressed his hands to his face - his erection deflating - and groaned. “Fucking dammit.” 

---

Oncoming dusk crept along the edges of the forest, tailing after the setting sun. A once vibrant blue sky had bled into oranges and purples. The warm day was fading quickly into a cool dusk.

Griar still swung from the enchanted snare. Desire frothed in his loins as the scent of other -thropes in heat worsened. Every so often, he thought he could catch yowls and moans of pleasure, far off in the distance. Perhaps they were rutting in caves, or right beneath the canopies, or even in the fucking trees themselves.

Every time he considered touching himself, the expression of that stranger swam by his expression. And, every time, a cold shame softened his arousal.

A sudden fumbling in the underbrush caught his ear. Craning his head, he caught sight of the wide-eyed stranger from earlier. Annoyance and relief filled his thoughts.

“I’m sorry.” Lapine’s shoulders hunched with embarrassment, heat licking up her face over the angered look the stranger gave her. “I couldn’t find the trail again.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty far off the beaten path.” He couldn’t keep the growl of frustration from his throat. “I could’ve told you that, if you hadn’t taken off.”

Lapine couldn’t meet the dangling stranger’s eyes. “Sorry.” 

He heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes. “Just get me down, already.”

“I don’t have a knife,” she replied, voice small. Her imagination braced for derision from this stranger.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t expect you to. You need a rune knife for this kind of trap, anyway.” It was a straightforward tone; no mocking with - perhaps - a slight hint of acquiescence. What casual hiker carried a rune knife, right? He motioned toward his fallen bag. “There’s one in my stuff. Look for a stick doll or something and cut whatever binds it.” 

After rifling around in the stranger’s bag, she found a knife with runes carved into the blade. A sense of surreality clipped along her thoughts as she sought the doll the stranger spoke of. Was this normal? Or was this some weird cult thing they’d gotten wrapped up in? 

It took some rooting around the immediate vicinity, but - eventually - she found what they described. A crude little doll, made from sticks and grass bound with thread. She sliced the thread, careful as to not nick the poppet. 

From behind her, there was loud THUMP and a yelp.

“Oh, shit,” she hissed, under her breath. Immediately, she spun and started for the previously snared stranger. Lapine knelt beside them, guilt and concern needling through her thoughts, as she reached out to them. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” 

Their hand shot out, catching hers by the wrist. A small whine began at the back of her throat as she jerked slightly back. Long, dirty fingers held firm to her, though. Her gaze swiveled to their face. 

Tanned. Scruffy. Dirt on their clothes. Thick dark brown hair. Golden-green eyes. As if the sounds they made earlier wasn’t indicative enough, they were definitely a -thrope of some sort. There was just something particularly animalistic about them that made Lapine’s skin prickle. Not entirely unpleasant but wary.

While Lapine sized Griar up, the favor was returned.

Long dark hair, pulled into a ponytail. Moon-grey eyes, made even larger with a pair of glasses. A tint of skin that spoke of days indoors. Griar’s fingers twitched, suddenly thinking how soft their warm flesh would feel under his fingertips, under himself. Mentally, he booted the thought away. That was heat-brain talking. 

"Don't touch me." He released them, ignoring the blunt pain that throbbed along his back. Now that he was released, the swell of heat washed over him. His hindbrain keened, wanting to find a willing participant to sink into. Getting to his feet, Griar put distance between himself and the stranger, going to grab his pack. "It's a heat night."

"What's that mean?" She had a feeling she already knew. After all, she’d found them in a very compromising position earlier.

Picking up his pack, Griar replied nonchalantly over his shoulder. "It's a night when all nearby -thropes get hot and horny. So, y’know, I’m a bit sensitive, at the moment."

"Oh…"

He glanced up at the sky, narrowing his gaze toward the setting sun. "It's too late to get you back on the main trail. You'll have to come home with me."

Lapine paused, nose wrinkled. Her phone’s weight hung in her pocket. If only it worked out here, off-trail. Uncertainty and skepticism made her tone a little harsh as she said, "Uh-huh. This has nothing to do with the heat night?"

Griar sighed and turned to his companion. He couldn’t blame them, could he? Though, it was so irritating to waste time tonight, of all nights. From beneath his shirt, he pulled out a lanyard, flashing an ID. "I work here. You'll be safe at my place." 

Lapine narrowed her eyes at the laminated badge, but scuttled closer, staring at the words. Griar Peterson. Forest guard. Lycanthrope. He/him pronouns. The photo seemed to be him, but a few years younger, with a clean-shaven face and an awkward, almost wincing, smile. A smile with some very sharp teeth attached.

She’d heard of these sorts of positions, usually offered to -thropes only. They lived in the forest, helped stray hikers and saved illegally caught animals, and - sometimes - they found missing people or murder victims. They were a sect of unsung heroes that people often forgot about.

"Alright…" She pressed her lips together, still uncertain. He shoved the badge back under his shirt. Shifting on her feet, she realized she should introduce herself. "I'm Lapine, she/her pronouns."

Griar snorted, casting her a sidelong glance and a smirk. "Well, can't say your parents mis-named you, timid rabbit."

She glared at him, ready to give a bitter reply, before he began tromping off in the woods.

“Keep up. As soon as you’re settled at my place, I’m heading out to join the festivities.” He called over his shoulder, a bit more bounce in his step. How quickly a person’s dour mood could lift, if there was the promise of sex on the horizon. Lapine sighed, a sense of awkwardness blanketing over her.

She didn’t have much choice, though. There was no way she was spending a night in the darkening forest. Quickly, she followed after Griar, biting at the inside of her cheek as she wondered about -thropes and heat and what, exactly, she’d be hearing all night.

[wanderingstudio]

Comictober 2024 Day 3

“Monster” part 3 of 3

Mildly inconvenient for the hikers who lost them, and surprisingly convenient for the eponymous cryptid.

[ part 1 ] [ part 2 ] [ part 3 ]

[oreoambitions]

I think we're alone now for supercorp! :)

If you'd asked Lena this time yesterday whether there was anything she wasn't prepared to do for friendship, she'd have said no. Certainly there was nothing she wasn't prepared to do for Andrea, best friend and roommate, social mentor, fellow genius entrepreneur-to-be. But if you ask Lena today, she'll tell you there's precisely one thing she's not willing to do for friendship, no not even for Andrea, not even if the fate of the world depends on it, and that's hiking.

Specifically backpacking. More specifically, multi day backpacking trips with a gaggle of fellow undergraduates who want to behave like they're hiking the PCT and not trundling down some 60 miles of backwater footpaths just a few hours away from NCU in what was allegedly supposed to be an attempt to form long lasting social bonds but which appears to be in fact a thinly disguised mating ritual. This, in retrospect, is something that Lena should have seen coming. But she was blinded by friendship -  or perhaps by Andrea's pouty face - and so here they are some 16 miles from civilization and Lena has come to the conclusion that hiking is in fact literal hell.

By which she means that everything is burning. Her legs are burning. Her lungs are burning. Her throat is burning. Her lips are chapped and there is a distinctly red tinge to her cheeks which is either going to be a whole new generation of freckles or else it's the beginning of a skin cancer which will lead her to an untimely death and leave the Luthor legacy in Lex's questionably capable hands.

But more than any of those things it's Lena's pride which feels burnt to crisp, and it's the fault of the woman marching along in front of her like none of this is the slightest physical inconvenience. The woman who turns around and, walking backwards without missing a step, fixes Lena with a goofy smile.

"Hey Grumpy," she says, "You doing okay?"

Lena doesn't have the breath in her lungs to protest that Grumpy isn't her name, so she fixes the energetic woman in front of her with a deadpan stare and hopes that's going to do the trick. Ahead of them, Tech Support is talking too loudly about something that would be mildly interesting to Lena if they were, say, chatting over beers in a building with air conditioning and not courting death and mosquitos in the middle of nowhere and calling it fun.

"You need to take a break?"

Potsticker. That's the name Lena knows this woman by. Because everyone agreed ahead of time to go by trail names, and it's ridiculous, and Lena hates it, not only because she somehow got saddled with Grumpy, but because her eyes fall to those lips, those shoulders, and she wants to think some kind of semi-horny thought, and here's the thing: it's difficult to have semi-horny thoughts about someone whose name evokes the image of Chinese takeout. Lena tears her eyes away from long fingers wrapped securely around a backpack strap and tries to arrange her expression into something other than pure exhausted despair.

"I'm good," she gets out. "It's just. A lot."

And it is. Tech Support and Playboy are both vying for Andrea's attention, which is not in and of itself particularly strange since Andrea always seems to have a half dozen boys wrapped around her finger, but it is... annoying. Annoying because Andrea's trail name is Blowjob and it makes Lena uncomfortable in a way she can't quite put her finger on. And Potsticker's sister, Shades, has been falling all over a woman who has been unironically going by Daddy since she met up with them at the trailhead yesterday. Lena isn't sure if that's a sex thing or a gender thing and at this point she's afraid to ask.

Potsticker squints up the trail at their gaggle of hikers and smiles. Somewhere ahead, Dreamer is shouting about stopping to crack a beer, and Short Stuff is shouting something back about needing to check the GPS. 

"They're a little... rowdy," Potsticker admits. "Probably not what you picture when you think of a wilderness trip. But they'll grow on you."

Privately Lena thinks not. "Undergrad is where you make the best friends of your life, that's what Andrea told me," Lena huffs.

"Blowjob?"

"I spend all my time in the lab. Trying to graduate early. Two degrees. Lot of ground to cover. World isn't going to change itself. Not for the better, anyway. So we thought. Join a hiking group. NCU has a. Group for-"

Lena almost smacks into Potsticker where she's halted right in the middle of the trail. "I think we should take a break," Potsticker says.

"But the others-"

"Do you trust me?"

The answer to that question is an easy and obvious no. Lena didn't know any of these people a week ago and they're all going by assumed and frankly borderline obscene names and now that she thinks of it there's no way to be sure that any of these people actually attend NCU in the first place. But Potsticker is standing there in that tanktop with those deep blue eyes and her head cocked to the side and "no" doesn't feel like an appropriate answer.

So Lena says, "Of course."

"You want me to get your water off your pack for you?"

They stand together wordlessly in the middle of the trail, Lena taking sips from the HydroFlask she's schlepped all the way out there and Potsticker nibbling on the water valve looped through her pack straps. After a long moment, Potsticker cocks her head to one side again.

"You hear that?" she asks.

Lena listens. The wind brushes through the tops of the trees and nearby an insect is buzzing. The roar of the river they followed for some time this morning has long since faded into nothingness. "I don't hear anything," Lena says.

Posticker nods. "Exactly. I think we're alone now." And then, hastily, "I know where we're going though; we aren't lost. Alex - Shades - and I, we've done this trail a hundred times. Usually just us. But she's got this thing going with Sam, and Sam likes to do the hiking groups, so. What I'm saying is, it's a lot for me too. I come out here for the quiet. The group is nice; they really do grow on you. But it's... they're out here for something else. It's a more social experience."

"We were looking for a social experience," Lena says. Her eyes are drawn suddenly, intensely, to the rim of her water bottle. "Just not... just..."

"You weren't looking for 60 miles of frat party."

"That's a little on the nose."

"Look me in the eye and tell me that I'm wrong."

Lena looks her in the eye. No words come out. Potsticker is suddenly very close, or maybe Lena is suddenly too aware of her proximity.

"That might be what Andrea came out here for," Lena says. "And there's no shame in that. But I think if I had known I would have stayed home. I'm not- I don't think Andrea and I are looking for the same things."

"And what are you looking for?"

Lena is definitely not imagining it; Potsticker is absolutely getting closer to her and it's absolutely on purpose. And those deep blue eyes have fallen to Lena's mouth and Lena, who has spent the last 24hrs annoyed with her best friend for flirting with everything on the trail with a male pronoun, who is out here actively complaining about how she came looking for community and found a wilderness matchmaking service, is seriously considering whether it's hygienic or legal to rail someone right here in the middle of the trail.

Lena clears her throat. "I am, against my better judgment, going to kiss you now," she announces. "And I'd really like it if before I did you could give me something to call you that isn't so... greasy."

Potsticker laughs. She ducks her head to capture Lena's mouth and for a long, glorious moment, grease is the furthest thing from Lena's mind. It's a clumsy kiss, and the backpacks are not conducive to really holding one another, and it mostly hurts when Potsticker brushes a thumb over Lena's cheek because of that damn sunburn. But Lena smiles anyway.

It’s another 6 miles before she realizes that Potsticker never gave up her name.

///

Thank you for the prompt, Anon! 

Shout-out to @mrsluthordanvers for Sam's trail name

[imaginepirates]

Modern! Jack

Another modern au where Jack stumbles upon your house in the woods. This is an outdoorsy one for everyone who loves Jack being Jack. You try to convince Jack that the mountains are just as beautiful as the sea. (Poll: which do you like better?)

@emdrabbles​ @tesserphantom​ @paljonkaikenlaista​ @viper-official​ 

~3000 words

~~~~~~~

          The wind whispered through the trees, the light dappling through the leaves to fall across the ground in mesmerizing patterns. You stood under them, watching the movement in the undergrowth. Mice scuttled through the bushes, insects skittered across the ground, and a thrush took flight from its place in the grasses. You walked along a path that led away from your small home and out into the woods. You lived in a secluded area, away from the hustle and bustle of city life. It was nice, out in nature. It was relaxing, and your walks always took you somewhere new.

          You stepped off the path, letting your feet lead you. You knew the area well enough that you wouldn’t get lost. You made your way to a small brook, using the stones jutting out from the water as a pathway across. The stream burbled up at you as you crossed. You were glad to have this space to yourself. Sometimes, hikers came along, and you held pleasant conversation with them. They came down from the hills behind your home, a beautiful range of white-topped mountains that stretched for miles, carved out by glaciers. You could swear that they were the most beautiful land formations on earth. A bird cawed somewhere nearby, taking off from its perch. You watched it fly overhead, admiring its deep blue coloring.

          You noticed the man not long after. He came stumbling through the trees, looking disoriented. He carried no pack, and you worried that something might have happened to him while he had been out hiking. Your fear was amplified by the fresh bloodstain on his shirt. You both stared at each other a shocked moment before either of you moved.

          You moved toward him, taking his arm. He must have been one of those modern hippies; his dreadlocks reached his lower back. There was some sort of dark makeup around his eyes, and his clothes were strange, too hot for hiking in. You brushed the thoughts of his strangeness out of your mind, intent on getting him some help. “I live not far from here. I can help you.”

          “Thank you, love. But may I ask: where exactly is ‘here’?”

          You glanced over at his face, realizing that he was sincere. Surely he had to have some idea of where he was. He’d likely gotten lost while out on the path, but there was no way that he could be utterly confused as to his location. “You’re by the Cascade Mountain Range.” Seeing his still-confused expression, you decided that the injury on his chest might be taking more out of him than you originally thought.

          You rushed him back to the house, a little surprised to find how steadily the man walked across the rocks in the stream. Once inside, you sat him on your couch and went to the bathroom for your first aid kit. You kept one around just in case, especially considering the fact that accidents like this did, in fact, happen.

          When you stepped back into your living room, you saw that the man was standing in your kitchen, casting a curious glance at your toaster-oven. Seeing the kit in your hands, he nodded, stepping back over toward the sofa.

          You pulled his shirt to the side to find a long gash. It was shallow, but it had bled a concerning amount. You bandaged it as best as you could, making sure to apply generous amounts of disinfectant. With the bleeding stopped, you took another look at your patient.

          He wore a bandana around his head with trinkets dangling from it, including a rather large piece of what you assumed to be plastic, though it looked convincingly like bone. His outfit was…interesting, to say the least. He wore what appeared to be a worn waistcoat over a billowing shirt, and he had thick belts around his chest and middle. The very personification of a swashbuckling pirate, you thought. He was the strangest person you’d met in the woods to date.

          “I know you might feel a little confused,” you said, carefully folding a bloodstained washcloth. “You seem to have lost some blood. Would you mind telling me what happened?”

          “Confused is a bit of an understatement, love. I’m baffled. Bewildered. Befuddled, if you will.”

          “And why is that, Mr…”

          “Sparrow.”

          “Mr. Sparrow.” Sparrow? you thought. Certainly not Sparrow as in Jack Sparrow, fictional pirate and dashing rogue?

          “Because I have no idea where I am. In perfect honesty, I have no idea when I am.”

          You almost laughed. The notion seemed so ridiculous. Then you realized he might have passed out somewhere, and was probably asking for the day of week. “It’s Thursday,” you said. “March thirteenth.”

          He nodded.

          “Do you mind telling me how you got hurt?”

          “Oh! That.” He looked down at the injury, as if analyzing it for the first time. “Swordfight.”

          “Swordfight?” At this point, you were fairly sure that you were hallucinating. You’d heard of strange things happening to people, encounters that left people shocked, but you’d never thought that you would have one. You couldn’t tell if the man was a very good actor, or if he was simply insane. You realized that it would be best to call the police. “You should get some rest,” you told him. “You look tired. When you wake up, I’ll have some food ready.”

          He thanked you, sprawling out across your couch to take a nap. You moved over to the kitchen, picking up the phone on the way there. Any man who claimed that he had been injured in the middle of the woods in a swordfight wasn’t the type you wanted to be around. You looked back at Sparrow, who had his thick leather boots slung over the edge of your sofa.

          A glint of metal caught your eye. There, resting by his hip, was a belt. A large sheath hung off one side, and a sword seemed to be inside it. “Excuse me,” you said without thinking. “Is that a real sword?” The pommel looked lovely, and you wanted to know where he might have gotten something so convincing.

          Sparrow cracked an eye. “Of course it is.” He flashed a glint of steel, then returned to his nap.

          You put down the phone. Maybe he's not crazy. You busied yourself making a snack, trying to calm your panicking mind. The man laying on your couch was too much like the actual Jack Sparrow, and you were afraid that you’d hit your head in the shower, or that you were still dreaming.

          By the time he woke up, he seemed very thankful for the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that you handed him. He ate it with gusto, eyes widening with what you knew was the unusual taste of peanut butter.

          “Thank you, love.” He licked the jelly off his fingers. “It seems that I’m in need of a place to stay. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to provide?”

          “Of course,” you squeaked.

          “Unfortunately, I don’t know my way home, and I don’t know how long I’m supposed to be here. I hope it’s not too inconvenient.”

          “Not at all.” It really wasn’t, but it was certainly odd to keep a strange man in your house for an undetermined amount of time.

          The next few days passed blissfully uneventfully, leaving you to tend to Jack’s injury and introduce him to modern technology. Hilariously, the bed was probably the thing he enjoyed most. You had a guest bed, and he flopped into it unceremoniously all the time. You supposed that if this truly was Jack, then he hadn’t slept in a proper bed in ages.

          He was wary of the shower, but you convinced him that scrubbing some of the grime off his face and body would make him feel better. He admitted, later, that it did.

          His wound healed up nicely. It hadn’t needed stitches, which you were thankful for. It had been a shallow cut, but it had bled a lot in the beginning, which had concerned you for obvious reasons.

          He kept flicking open a compass that looked suspiciously like the real one, staring at it before snapping it closed again, annoyed.

          “What do you keep looking at your compass for?”

          “Nothing.”

          You raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that.”

          “Look, lassie. I appreciate the hospitality, but the compass is my business.”

          You frowned. You hadn’t realized that Jack probably kept the compass a secret. From most people, at least. You supposed the people who knew about it were exceptions, given that they had known him for a while.

           You could tell he was growing fidgety, and that he needed something to do. He paced around the room sometimes, and he kept toying with some of the beads in his hair.

          “Do you want to go for a walk?” You asked. “You seem like you could use something to do.”

          He agreed. You left the house with a backpack full of food and water, just in case you needed it. Always better to be safe than sorry. You walked back along the little path you’d found him on. Again, he was surefooted crossing the rocks in the stream, and you wondered what would make his balance so good. The mountains rose up ahead of you, a hundred trails splitting off into the wilderness.

          “How can you tell where you are with all these trees?” Jack asked.

          “I suppose you have to know the paths. Or get a map. Or look for landmarks. It’s pretty easy to tell where you are in comparison to what mountains are around.”

          He looked up. “All your mountains look the same.”

          “That’s not true.” You pointed out the jagged rocks at the top of a mountain to your left, and the smoother top of the one to your right.

          “It’s easier to see things on the open ocean. The sea is the most beautiful thing in the world.” He spoke with such reverence, you could tell that he really believed it. He must love the ocean.

          “There’s nothing out there!” you said. “There aren’t any landmarks to tell you where you are.”

          “Stars, lassy.”

          “That’s only good at night,” you pointed out. “And I think the mountains are more beautiful than the ocean.”

          Jack made a face.

          “Have you ever hiked up to the top of one and looked off at everything down below?”

          “Why would I?”

          “Because it’s amazing. I’ll prove it to you.”

          Jack looked up at some of the towering peaks. “I’m not sure I can make it up there, love.”

          “It’s not so bad, I promise. We won’t go all the way up to the top, anyway. That requires rock-climbing gear.” Jack still looked dubious, but you kept on. “You can’t say that something isn’t beautiful if you haven’t experienced it. I’ve been to the ocean. I know it’s pretty, but not as lovely as the sight off the top of the hills.”

          “If you say so.”

          You led him up a dusty path that connected to the base of one of the mountains. There was a ledge of rock that you could climb up to and look out at all the things down below. You started leading him up through the trees and bushes.

          Jack looked around at all the foliage. His eyes followed flying birds, gliding butterflies, and flowers lining the path. He stared, wide eyed, at all of it. As you climbed higher, he looked out between the trees to see the view. You enjoyed the look of surprise on his face when he gazed out over your home.

          “I don’t think I’ve ever been this high up before,” he said.

          “We still have a ways to go, too. You’re going to love it when we reach the top.”

          He looked back at you with a silly grin. “You’re right: this is beautiful. Not sure it beats freedom on the ocean yet, but it’s something.”

          You couldn’t wait for him to see it all sprawling out underneath him. The true views were something else. You loved looking down over the little valley you were in, trying to find your house in the trees, looking across at more towering mountains, the sun framed by the peaks.

          When you finally reached the top, the afternoon sun hung overhead in the sky. Jack stopped a moment to catch his breath before walking out onto the shelf of rock that extended from the cliff face. He sucked in a breath as he looked out at the view.

          The trees had fallen away behind you, and the shelf of rock gave you an unobscured view of the valley below. You could just pic out your small house among the trees far beneath you. The sky seemed to stretch on forever, over the mountains opposite you, bright blue in the midday sun. Everything looked so small; the stream you’d crossed earlier was a winding ribbon, and the road leading up to your house was no wider than a finger from where you stood.

          “This is…there aren’t words, love.” Jack gazed out over the expanse. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And the air is crisp, crisper than on the sea, even. And there’s no sound. It just...disappears.”

          “I know. Now you can see why I love it so much.”

          “I do.”

          You sat on the rock, enjoying the view and eating snacks. There was the occasional bird whistle, but other than that, you were in complete silence. No sounds from the road traveled up to greet you, and you were there all alone. Jack couldn’t stop staring. Obviously, he’d never hiked up anything in his life.

          He flipped open his compass with a practiced flick. Chewing on a granola bar, he looked down, almost lazily, and the expression on his face changed at once. He was on his feet in an instant. He stepped out off the outcropping, back onto the trail, and took a few short strides to the left. Then, he turned in a few circles, finally stooping down to pick something up.

          He brought it back to you, inspecting it carefully. It seemed to be some kind of broach. Why his compass pointed him to a broach, you couldn’t understand, but you were beginning to understand that this was, in fact, the real Jack Sparrow in front of you. He sat back down, and pulled at a piece of string attached to the object. It had some paper on the end of it. A note, probably. His eyes widened, and he cursed under his breath.

          “What is it?”

          “Nothing.” He shoved it in a pocket.

          You looked at him suspiciously, but decided to leave it. He’d tell you if he wanted to. Besides, you had to head back down the mountain if you wanted anything to eat for dinner.

          You headed back with Jack in a dark mood. He glared testily at the trees and shrubs. Obviously, whatever he’d found in the woods was bothering him. You didn’t want to pry, but you were curious to know what made his mood change so quickly.

          You arrived back at your house just as the sun was beginning to sink over the opposite mountains. The air conditioning felt blissful against your warm skin. A shower was in order, you knew, but you decided to clear the air first. Jack had dropped onto the couch, and you walked up, sitting down beside him.

         “What was it?” You asked gently.

          “What was what?”

          “You know what.” You sighed. “The thing you found while we were out hiking.”

          “My ticket home, is what.”

          “Your ticket home?” You didn’t understand.

          He moved closer, showing you the broach. It was a silver ship, and the light bounced off the reflective surface. Then, he grabbed the note, holding it up for you to read.

          Jack, it seems you’re doing well where I put you. You were never very good at facing your problems, so I decided to give you one you couldn’t run away from. You seem to have acclimated to the future, and you deserve a way back. Just rub on the ship and think of home.

          You stared, flabbergasted. What did it mean? The initials at the end caught your notice. T.D. Surely that had to be Tia Dalma. Was Jack going already, then? Was he leaving you to go back to your everyday life? You’d enjoyed his company, and the more you thought on it, the less you wanted him to go.

          “Damned woman put me in the future herself! I can’t believe her, sometimes. But that’s women for you.” He turned to you. “Well, not all women, I guess.”

          “Are you leaving, then?” You asked, a little afraid of the answer.

          “I do want to get back to my Pearl,” he said, “but I like it here. It’s a nice rest from the ship. Besides, Tia said I needed to do some learning. I don’t suppose it would hurt to do a little more.” He grinned cheekily. “So, tell me about yourself.”

          “I don’t think that’s what she meant.” You smiled in spite of yourself.

          “You’re right. She wanted me to face my problems. And you’re certainly not a problem, love.”

          Oh dear. You rolled your eyes. It was going to be different, if he decided to stick around. Different, but decidedly worthwhile.

          “Tell me one thing,” he said. “Does my not-problem kiss? They’ve certainly deserved it. I mean, they’ve patched me up, and given me a place to stay, and shown me some beautiful views.” With that statement, he raked your body over with his eyes. “I think we can do more beautiful things, too.”

          You blushed furiously. “I suppose that depends. Are you a good kisser?”

          “You’re going to have to come over here to find out.” He winked.

          He was. And he insisted on proving it to you quite a few times. Not that you minded.

[victoriareyloficlists]

There Was Only One Bed

Updated 7 November 2021

Rest of the Masterlist.

as luck would have it by prncesselene (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 16 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When a case of violent food poisoning ruins Rose and Hux’s honeymoon plans, who better to take their place at a pre-paid Hawaiian beach resort than the Maid of Honor and Best Man? Sure, it’ll take some maneuvering, but a free vacation is a free vacation. They just have to pretend to be devoted newlyweds for a bit to enjoy it. There’s only one glaring issue, really: they can’t stand each other.) Crisis: Girlfriend by perperuna (AO3 2018  Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben had been in love with Rey for over a year when he asked her to go with him to his ex’s wedding as his date and ‘girlfriend’.) Deceit, Delusion, and Desire by AttackoftheDarkCurses, thebuildingsnotonfire (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 16 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Rey realizes her student visa is about to expire, she struggles to find a way to stay in the country legally. Her roommate has a terrible idea, and it's just risky enough to work.) Fireproof by SpaceWaffleHouseTM (AO3 2020  Rated M Complete, 7 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Rey's home is overrun by a wildfire, she has to evacuate with little time and no warning. Then she saves the life of Ben Solo, the neighbor she barely knows, on the road and he offers her a place to stay in the aftermath.) Gimme Shelter by JaneNightwork (AO3 2018  Rated T Complete, 14 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben Solo meets Rey Niima when his mother asks him to drop off a few boxes of old sheets and towels at the animal shelter. He is immediately charmed by her and decides to volunteer at the shelter to get to know her better. In the process of building his relationship with Rey and learning to take care of the animals, Ben learns new ways to heal old hurts.) Happy to Help by SuchaPrettyPoison (AO3 2020  Rated E Incomplete, 13 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Sometimes you just need your neighbor to pretend to be in a relationship with you. Repeatedly.) Home for the Holidays by LarirenShadow (AO3 2016  Rated T Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Kylo Ren, in a moment of weakness, tells his mother he'll be home for Christmas and will bring his girlfriend. Problem is he doesn't have one. Enter Rey, his grad assistant. He makes a deal with her so she'll be his girlfriend for the trip home.) In the Woods Somewhere by Verdantsolstice (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Hikers Ben & Rey meet on the trail when they’re both lost. Hours of walking lead them to a convent in the woods. The sisters are very friendly, but refuse to let them both stay unless they’re married. TW: Mentions of ICE and immigration.) Laid Between Words by jeeno2 (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 15 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is nearing the end of her temporary work Visa. Her friend Ben offers to marry her so she can stay in the U.S. She says yes.) Let me Dream, Let me Stay by Melusine11 (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 12 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey has kept up a charade of a non-existant boyfriend for two years and now that Rose and Finn are getting married, she needs someone to pretend to be said boyfriend, enter her coworker Ben.) Look No Further by thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily) (AO3 2019  Rated T Complete, 9 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is spending Thanksgiving alone but a late-night Craigslist ad ends up with her agreeing to crash some asshole's family dinner. At the very least, she's curious what kind of people name their son "Kylo Ren" anyway.) Lucky Number Seven by Pearl Gatsby (DrPearlGatsby) (AO3 2019  Rated T Complete, 3 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Number seven on First and Order orders pizza again. Rey groans when she sees the address, remembering how they didn't bother to tip; but that's nothing compared to how she feels when she's been standing outside the door for two solid minutes, knocking and calling the cell number she has. Nobody answers. :: pizza delivery/college AU) Merry Christmas, I'm Yours by captain_staryeyed (AO3 2018  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: After finding out that Rey has nowhere to go for Christmas, Ben invites her to spend Christmas at his parents’ house. During the time spent together, they are forced to confront their growing feelings toward each other.) miles from where you are by Mooncactus (AO3 2018  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: After an argument over Star Wars fandom with a "gatekeeping, entitled monster" with the cryptic username of KyloRen, Rey finds herself stuck in a series of unavoidable video calls.) Miss Johnson & the Professor by ElegyGoldsmith (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Professor Ben has his TA Rey accompany him to a conference in Japan but she accidentally booked a single room.) mountain at my gates by KyloTrashForever (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 7 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Hard Outside/Soft Inside Lumberjack Alpha Ben Solo and Horny Engineer Omega Rey Johnson featuring Explicit Hand Holding, ABO, and Mutual Masturbation. (Ft. Snowed In and Bed Sharing for funnies.)) My Whole Life by AttackoftheDarkCurses, thebuildingsnotonfire (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 13 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: The "Without a Hitch" high school sweethearts, fake-dating rom-com AU.) Needing A Teacher by Twisted_Mirror (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 4 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Rey tells her roommate, Ben, that she has only had sex in missionary position, he offers to let her use him to see what she likes. He vows to himself it's all for her pleasure, he has no idea that Rey is trying to drive him crazy.) Nominis by Oh_Snapcrackle (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 8 Chapters, Harry Potter AU, Quick Synopsis: When Professor Skywalker partners Rey with the notorious Ben Solo for occulmency lessons, something goes wrong (or very right) and now their minds are bridged. Between sharing thoughts, inconvenient astral projections, and bedsharing Rey starts to learn that while Ben Solo deserves the reputation he has built, he also deserves the opportunity to change.) Off the cuff by Blueyedgurl (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 4 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Poe gets Ben a stripper for closing a business deal. Ben reluctantly takes part to not waste Poe's money. The stripper hand cuffs him and robs him of clothes and money. Rey heads back to the office late night and finds her hot boss cuffed to the office chair in nothing but his tie.) Only Make-Believe by Hartmannclan (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is in a car accident, so best friend Ben races to the hospital to be with her. What happens when she wakes up with amnesia and believes they are married?) Peacock by AttackoftheDarkCurses (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 22 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Thanks to a series of misunderstandings, failed attempts at flirting, and loud Katy Perry music, Ben grows to hate his new neighbor. Proposing to her wasn't the best solution to his problems.) Plus Won by AmberDread, DarkMage13, Erulisse17, Trish47, venetum (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: After a drunken night of complaining at a bar, Rey and Ben agree to be each other's plus-ones for a variety of events. As friends and family continue to invite them to things, they discover that they really enjoy spending time together. And holding hands. And... kissing. What happens when their relationship starts to feel a lot more real than fake?) Saving What We Love by naboojakku (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 18 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: In which Ben and Rey are voluntarily quarantined together for two weeks. Includes: copious amounts of fluff, discussion of mental illness, and way too many hours of Animal Crossing. Feel-good read during these batshit crazy times.) Say it With Sugar by fettuccine_alfreylo (AO3 2016  Rated E Complete, 20 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben Solo is the owner of his family’s small chocolate shop. Rey Kenobi is a talented chocolate maker he hires. They both share the same passion for chocolate. Unfortunately, they share the same kind of anxiety, too.) Snow Sparkles Like Stars by raptorginger (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 9 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: A blizzard forces Professor (of mythology and cosmology) Kylo Ren, aka Ben Solo, off the road while on his way to his parents’ house in Seattle for the holidays. Luckily, the woman who owns the house he’s stranded at is well prepared for a snow-in and (as a bonus) is adorable. Unluckily, she’s the owner of eight mischievous Alaskan Malamutes, who may or may not be the physical manifestations of the old gods of Norse myth.) Someone to Watch Over Me by AttackoftheDarkCurses (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 6 chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Rey is gifted a state-of-the-art all-house AI to beta-test, she never expected "Kylo" to become her best friend, and she never expected him do anything within his power to give her the winter holiday she's always wanted.) Someone You Love(d) by AttackoftheDarkCurses (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 7 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: A misunderstanding leads to a lot of hate sex between roommates Ben and Rey. But when Rey ends up joining him on his trip to visit his family, the truth comes out.) Stone Hollow by violethoure666 (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben and Rey have been tasked with convincing a very grumpy old man to let them use his private road for a bus route. They’re stuck in the middle of nowhere and there’s only one room at the inn *smirk emoji*) Sugar and Spice by Rebel_Scum1221 (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 6 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey bakes when she's stressed, but unfortunately never has enough room to finish all of her baked goods. Thus leading her to give her neighbor- who she may or may not have the hots for- her leftovers. Shenanigans ensue.) Sweet Home by Violetwilson (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Honestly, she only came to Waffle House at two AM to pick up Finn and Poe and maybe order some pancakes. Maybe. But what was she supposed to do when she found a hot businessman with a broken car in the parking lot? Not invite him to sleep over at her place until the town's only mechanic sobered up?) the man, the stallion, and the wind by voicedimplosives (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Weary and alone, Rey barrels west on the Trans-Canada Hwy in her old pickup truck. Weary and in need of a lift, Ben Solo stands by the side of the road with his thumb out, in the hopes of hitching a ride. One hell of a winter storm’s about to roll in, leaving them stranded. What ever shall they do?) The Trial of Naboo: Fall of a Duke by Twin_Kitten (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 2 Chapters, Historical AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben and Rey are engaged to be married, but after several attempts on her life, he takes personal responsibility for her safety, including keeping her in his bed at night. Problem? Ben is extremely attracted to his bride but the MUST wait until marriage. ) Trapped by spacey_gracie (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey and Ben have been sworn enemies since they were eight years old. When their best friends Rose and Hux start dating, they decide they're sick of the fighting, and force the pair together to work out their issues once and for all.) under thy own life's key by galvanator (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 7 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben and Rey share a bed on a trip and everything is totally normal and nothing is weird.) variations on a theme of you by diasterisms (AO3 2017  Rated E Complete, 7 Chapters, Canon AU, Quick Synopsis: "Who knows?" Luke darted a faint smile at Ben and Rey as they stewed in silence and disbelief. "The two of you might even learn to get along. Right, Leia?" "Like a house on fire," the General deadpanned. "Complete with screams, flames, and people running for safety." "Indeed." Luke's blue eyes twinkled. "There may be no survivors.") What if I want to kiss you tomorrow? by Hellyjellybean (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben needs to share Rey's bed for the night, but does he want to share more than a bed with her? ) what you take with you by irridesca (AO3 2021  Rated E Complete, 16 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Rey's former boss, heartless defense attorney Kylo Ren, is shot in the head, she's asked to return to her position as his assistant to oversee his recovery. The only problem? When he wakes up two days later, he has no idea who Kylo Ren is. According to him, his name is Ben Solo.) When the party ends by Blueyedgurl (AO3 2021  Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey gets wasted at a frat party. Ben finds her, puts her in his room, where she's safe. Rey wakes in the morning after Ben comes out of the shower and nakedness ensues.) would you be so kind? by youcarrymeaway (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 3 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: An au where Ben accidentally hits Rey with his car, and also falls in love with her a little.)

[ratedbangtann]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐭 | 𝙆𝙞𝙢 𝙉𝙖𝙢𝙟𝙤𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙅𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙣 𝙭 𝙅𝙚𝙤𝙣 𝙅𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙠𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 

 𝙲𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝙷𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊. 𝚁𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

                                        Pairing: Namjoon/Jimin/Jungkook/F Reader Word count: 5.2k Warnings: unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral, choking, double penetration, throat fucking, voyeurism (sort of)

a/n: hi so um this is unedited and probs littered with typos 

                                        "I'm not sure this is such a good idea, guys..." you whined as they shoved their tents and overnight bags into the back of their cars, Jungkook and Tae both attempting to shove each other in at the same time.

"Um...she's got a point," Hoseok stood beside you, quivering like the terrified little child you also were. Both of you just didn't see the up side of spending Halloween night in the middle of the woods, around a campfire telling scary stories. How dumb could you get?

"I mean didn't you guys ever watch Friday 13th? Kids getting killed at some camp in the middle of the woods? We're just asking for trouble," you protest as Jungkook yanks your bag out of your grasp to add it to the pile.

"Don't be a whimp, y/n," he teased. You hit out at his shoulder playfully.

"Aww, is my little pumpkin scared?" Jimin wraps an arm around your shoulder, using his overtly sexual charm to lighten the mood. He's constantly flirting with you, making passes that could come off sleazy but because it's Jimin, it's strangely charming. "I'll keep you safe, y/n. Maybe me and you should share a tent, hmm?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'd rather get eaten by a werewolf, Jimin-ah," you grimace, pushing him off you with a smug smile as Yoongi scoffs at the idea.

"Well, if you wanna be eaten, I can arrange tha-"

"Ew. Stop," you hold a hand up to him, interrupting him. He laughed at you and got into the car.

"It'll be fun, y/n. Nothing to be scared of, I promise," Joon shut the trunk to the car he was designated to drive, turning to you with a reassuring smile. Now him, you could believe.

Taking a deep breath, you joined the rest of the group in climbing into one of the cars - Jin's car - and setting off on your Halloween adventure.

*****

After the debacle that was trying to set up the two large tents in the middle of the forest whilst the sun set and daylight became scarce, you were having even larger doubts about the night to come.

Jimin had - of course - been teasing you with mild sexual advances the entire time, while Namjoon tried to reign him in (to no avail, of course.) Jungkook and Tae had thought it would be a wonderful idea to sword fight with the tent poles rather than actually use them to hold the damn tents up. Jin had lost his patience with the maknae's more times than you could count on one finger, whilst Hobi and Yoongi surprisingly actually attempted to help with the set ups.

You had tried to lend a hand, interrupting the sword fighting and snatching the poles back before Jin blew a blood vessel in his neck, but that only turned the pair on you. They thought trying to freak you out with google searches about murders paranormal phenomenon in the woods was a marvellous idea, when actually it was making you more anxious than you let on.

By the time the tents were actually in place, the sun was already half-tucked under the horizon, glowing an astounding red colour that seemed just a little too apt for the Halloween atmosphere. It cast a blood orange glow through the trees and illuminated the dying leaves so brilliantly, you had to snap a few shots for instagram.

Namjoon suggested getting a large campfire going, and setting up a few lanterns outside the tents. You had eagerly jumped up from your camping chair to help, ready to get as much light surrounding you as possible. And once the campfire was lit, the eight of you surrounded it to cook some food and drink, as was the plan. You had hoped that by your fourth or fifth beer you may have started to care a little less about your current predicament; sat in the forest in the dark on Halloween night with seven of your closest friends.

And you had been right, until...

"Okay can we start with the scary stories, now?" Jungkook whined, clearly bored with the Love Yourself tour as the topic of conversation. He wanted the spooky stories; it's why they came after all, right?

"Alright but make them good. If they're not actually scary, what's the point?" Yoongi grumbled, tucked under 3 different fleece blankets he had brought with him for his personal use only.

"Don't worry hyung, this is gonna scare the shit out of you," he rubbed his hands together with exaggerated glee, making shifty eye contact with everybody to emphasise his point. "So this happened at my old high school..." Jungkook dove into his story with dramatic reenactments, accents, even sound effects as he told the story of the masked man who crept around the grounds, and how if you ever looked into his eyes he would come after you while you slept that night.

You could help cowering into your blanket, only your eyes popping out of the top of the burrito you'd created for yourself. Every snap of a twig in the distance or rustle of leaves had you jumping like a fish out of water. Hobi had moved his chair as close to you as possible to cling onto your side, cowering just as much as you. With each of Jungkook's sudden outbursts and jump scares, he buried his face in your hair and gripped onto you tighter, as if you were in any position to make him feel better.

Once Jungkook had finished scaring the shit out of the pair of you, Yoongi decided to go one better. He was unfazed by Jungkook's attempt to scare the group and decided to tell one that was a little too close to home...

A story about a little girl who got lost in the woods, mauled to death by wolves, and creeps up on unsuspecting hikers and campers, begging them to help her escape but actually leading you to the same pack of wolves w. Had you been paying attention to anything other than Yoongi, you may have noticed Jimin get up and wander off. However, it wasn't until you heard Jin's worried 'where did Jimin-ssi go?' that you had looked up to see his empty chair.

Panic flooded through you, the whole group looking out into the dark veil of the forest to try and find him, but nothing...

Just as you turned your head to look behind you, you heard a panic-inducing growl, like some kind of wolf directly behind you. You jumped up, as did Hobi who still clung to your side, and crumbled to the floor in a pile of you, him and blankets.

The pair of you hugged each other, shaking with pure fear and waiting for the inevitable death you felt coming, but all you heard was a very, very familiar laugh.

Looking up, you saw Jimin, screeching with laughter, holding his stomach and rolling on the floor like he always did when he laughed so hard.

"JIMIN-AAAHHHH!!" you shouted, absolutely livid that he would do that to you and Hobi.

"Fucking asshole!" you stood up, brushing the leaves and dirt off your clothes and blankets, before hitting out at him. Hard.

"Ow, y/n that hurt..." he whined like a child in his thick satoori accent.

"Serves you right!" Hobi scolded, equally as pissed as you.

"Fuck this, I'm going to bed. Enjoy your night," you spat, pissed off and ready to leave. You stomped over to your designated tent, zipping the hatch closed with as much anger as it takes to slam an actual door.

From inside, you could hear the muttering of the boys scolding Jimin.

"Jimin you idiot, you know she was already freaked out about coming here..." Namjoon whisper shouted.

"That was a little too far, Chim..." Tae mumbled.

"You just had to fucking terrify her, didn't you?" Yoongi didn't bother to lower his voice.

"Hey, you were the ones telling the stories!" he argued, but Hobi clapped back.

"Still it wasn't funny, Jimin. She's not gonna sleep now and neither am I, you jackass."

You felt a little guilty that Jimin was getting so much shit for scaring you. It wasn't really fair; he was trying to have some fun, you guess...

"I think we should probably just get into our tents... I'm calling it a night. Jimin maybe you should sleep in the other tent tonight..." Jin suggested, trying to remain soft. He knew how much Jimin liked you and he'd never do anything he thought would actually hurt you.

You poked your head out of the tent and the boys all turned in unison.

"It's fine, Jin. Just freaked me out, that's all." Jimin smiled apologetically at you, kicking the ground with a newfound shyness. "Get in here, asshole. And whoever else we're sharing with." You rolled your eyes and settled back down on your blow up mattress.

You were sharing with Jimin, Namjoon and Jungkook. The others were in the tent opposite, but still close enough that you could hear Tae's deep vibrato snores at 3:42am. And it was keeping you awake.

That, and the underlying anxiety in the pit of your stomach about sleeping in the woods on Halloween night.

Looking around the tent, you could make out the dark silhouette of Jungkook, who had flung his leg over Joon's and was cradling him like a monkey hugging a tree trunk. In the years you had known the boys, you knew Jungkook was a cuddler. It was cute but in the times you had shared a bed, highly inconvenient.

Joon didn't seem to mind, soft little snores coming from him, laying on his back and fast asleep. Jimin was next to you, on the other side. He was facing you, but in the dark it was difficult to make out his sleeping face. You could barely see his features, just his frame rising and falling in rhythm with his breaths.

You lay awake, staring up at the fabric of the ceiling and flinching at every little noise your heightened hearing picked up on. You really couldn't wait until sunrise. Only a few hours to go...

You let out a deep, breathy sigh, aggravated at your lack of sleep and ability to fall into it.

"Hey..." a soft whisper from Jimin's side had you flinching away from him yet again. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you..." he whispered again.

"I-it's okay... I just thought you were asleep," you whispered back, turning your body to face him in the dark.

"Nope. I can't... I feel bad, y/n. I'm sorry I scared you."

"It's okay..."

"You're still awake because I freaked you out. I wanna make it better..." he shuffled a little closer to you, lightly tracing circles on the back of your hand with his finger.

"Jimin, this isn't the time for your ridiculous flirting," you scoffed.

"No, no... I'm not trying to do that. Just wanted to help, I'm sorry." He rolled onto his back, removing his finger from your hand and placing his hands behind his head. You sighed, feeling like an asshole. You know Jimin wouldn't ever actually try anything, no matter how much you sort of, kind of, completely, not really, but definitely wanted him to not be joking...

You both lay in silence for a few moments, before you inched closer to him, resting your head on his chest and getting comfortable. Jimin was still your friend. A good one. And he could still comfort you when you felt scared...

After a moment of confusion, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled your body closer to him, snuggling into you and protecting you from absolutely nothing other than your own fear.

"You're not always an asshole," you joked. He chuckled at that, squeezing you a little in his arms.

"I know I go too far sometimes. If I make you uncomfortable, just say. I'll stop, I promise."

You shifted a little uncomfortably, knowing that if he were ever serious, you'd jump at the chance. Who could blame you, though? You weren't stupid; Jimin was gorgeous. And you were only human...

Spending your time with seven heartbreakingly beautiful men meant that you were more than a little, shall we say, hard up...

"You don't make me uncomfortable, Jimin... I just-" you stopped yourself before you went any further. This was not a good idea.

"You just, what?" he probed. Damnit.

"I just wonder sometimes if you're serious or joking. Sometimes it's hard to tell." Jimin hummed beneath you as he thought for a moment.

"Would it make a difference if I was serious?" he asked, no humorous tone to it at all.

"M-maybe..." you stuttered, the tension in the air starting to thicken. His grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly as your reply.

"Do you want me to try?" he lifted your chin to look up at him in the dark, speaking so softly and delicately through hooded eyes as the first embers of desire started to burn inside him.

You nodded slightly, lips parted as his got a little closer, almost touching...

"Jimin, I-" before you could say anything, he had planted a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. The pair of you pushed against each other, slowly but surely deepening your kiss as lips parted and moulded together. When Jimin pulled back, your lips followed him, trying to reconnect so desperately. In the dark, you could just see the outline of a smirk on his face.

"Do you want me, y/n?" he whispered, still trying to keep quiet to not disturb the other two men you were sharing the tent with, let alone the four in close proximity just across from you in the other tent.

"B-but... the others?" you protested weakly as Jimin pushed your shoulder to lay you flat, hovering above you.

"You'll just have to be quiet, won't you?" he teased, leaning down to press another kiss to your lips, soft but so heated you could feel your blood rushing to your cheeks. "Do you want me?" he muttered against your lips between kisses, just starting to use his tongue against you.

"Mmhmm," you hummed in approval, weak to his advances and knowing that you truly did want him.

"Say it, y/n. I wanna hear you say it," he mumbled against you again, starting to leave open mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your neck...

"I want you, Jimin. So much..."

He wasted no time at all pulling your blankets back and helping you shuffle out of your underwear and of the fleece pyjama bottoms you wore to keep you warm. The cold fall air immediately hit your skin, a layer of goosebumps raising immediately.

Jimin noticed, wrapping the blankets around himself and over you in the process as his mouth attached to the soft skin below your belly button, leaving sloppy, wet kisses down towards the warmth of your pussy.

With Jimin hidden beneath the blanket, you couldn't see what he was doing but god, could you feel it as he inched closer and closer to where you needed his mouth most.

Finally, his mouth covered the mound of your pussy, leaving a sloppy wet kiss to it before using his tongue to give between your folds to find your clit.

You had to slap your hand over your mouth to stop a moan escaping. Whatever he was doing with his tongue as he attacked your clit felt incredible, like nothing you could ever mimic with your own fingers or toys.

Jimin's hands slid under your thighs, coming around to hold them apart as he dipped his head further down to tease your entrance. He'd imagined how you'd taste so many times, but he never imagined you'd be this sweet, lapping up your juices as the arousal pooled right before his eyes.

His mouth re-attached to your clit as he slowly slid two fingers inside you with no warning, the sudden stretch not unpleasant in any way but completely heavenly. You were already so turned on your pussy welcomed him. You had to bite down on your hand to stop another long, loud moan escaping but you couldn't help the small mewl that slipped past.

You both heard and felt him chuckle against you as he started to curl his fingers inside you, finding that spot the had your body jolting up the air-mattress with a squeak. Jimin held you down by his free hand on your thigh, his fingers digging into the muscle almost painfully.

With his mouth and his fingers working their magic on you, you found it so difficult to keep quiet, soft little moans and whimpers slipping past your lips as your hands fell to clutch the blanket where Jimin's head was protruding. Even more so when he quickened the pace of his fingers, tapping at the sweet spot inside you harder than before.

Just as you were about to let a deep, loud groan emit from your throat, a hand clasped over your mouth to stop you.

Your eyes snapped open, suddenly very aware of the hand inside you, the hand on your thigh, and the hand on your mouth... That was too many hands...

You looked to your side and saw Namjoon looking down at you, his eyes standing out in the dark as he stared, lips parted and lids heavy with lust. Your eyes widened in horror; you'd been caught.

Jimin, unaware of the situation beneath the blanket, continued to assault your cunt bringing you closer and closer to a climax as Namjoon continued to stare down into your eyes, watching as you became more and more panicked the closer you got.

As the pressure built in your abdomen you couldn't help the moans that were muffled by Joon's hand from erupting. Your hips bucked from the air-mattress and hand flailed about trying to grab onto something  when your orgasm finally hit. Jimin didn't stop, his tongue still dancing slowly against you as your hips moved, riding his face as you came down.

Namjoon just grinned as he looked down into your face, watching the tears that had rolled out of your eyes from the intensity of your orgasm fall down the sides of your face.

Just as Jimin was about to sit up, the blanket covering both him and your modesty was ripped off the pair of you. But you hadn't moved. Jimin hadn't moved. Namjoon hadn't moved.

Looking up, you saw Jungkook's dimly lit form sat on his knees, blanket in his hand, smirking impishly down at Jimin who was still between your legs.

He looked up, making eye contact with all three of you and only now realising that he had been caught. The game was up.

"Oh, fuck..." he cursed, hiding his face against your thigh as he laughed a little, embarrassed.

"What the hell, Jimin?" Jungkook sounded offended, almost peeved at his hyung. "We promised." Huh?

Namjoon lifted his hand from your mouth, using it to push a strand of hair back past your ear.

"Promised what?" you demanded, confused.

"Uh... we kind of, um..." Jimin sat up onto his knees, still between yours, and scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

"We all made a promise that none of us would make any real moves on you, y/n," Namjoon finished for him, bluntly stating a fact.

"What?!" you asked, surprised. "All of you?"

"Yeah, we had like, a group meeting about it..." Jungkook laughed, realising now how stupid it sounded aloud. "You've no idea how difficult it's been."

"Y-you all..."

"Wanna fuck you, y/n." Namjoon, again with the bluntness. It seemed that perhaps he was a little too affected by watching you cum to put on any airs or graces. "And Jimin had the fucking audacity to break a pact, right in front of us..." he emphasised his disbelief.

"Wh-what if... what if I let you?" you asked, suddenly shy as all three boys stared intently at you.

"Let us what?" Jungkook asked.

"Fuck me... I-I want you to."

They didn't need to be told twice.

Namjoon immediately attacked your lips, harshly forcing his own onto you with such bruising force you had to use all your strength to push back for some control. The hand he had used to cover your face was now around your neck, applying just enough pressure to send your heart racing and adrenaline flooding through you.

Jungkook immediately undressed, throwing his pyjamas off to one side and using a hand to pump his already hardened length a few times. Jimin sat up to, removing his own clothing.

Namjoon sat back, beckoning to Jungkook; already he had taken control of the situation, governing who would get to do what to you. You loved it, watching his dongsaengs willingly submit to their hyung knowing he was in charge.

Namjoon moved out of the way, sitting back and palming himself through his sweats he wore to bed and watching as Jungkook knelt beside your head and pressed the tip of his cock to your lips.

Gladly, you opened up for him, innocently staring up into his eyes as he pushed the head of his cock into your mouth. He moaned as he felt your tongue on the underside of his cock, the warmth and wetness the most incredible feeling he had felt in so long. He hissed as he bottomed out, feeling your throat muscles constrict around him.

"Fuck, you're taking me so well..." he muttered, drawing his hips back and slowly pushing in again. This time you hollowed your cheeks, creating a drag against his cock that had him leaning forward over you, rest on his fists and using his upper body strength to keep from falling over completely.

Namjoon moved to sit next to Jimin, hungrily eyeing up your pussy that was still glistening with the sweetest glaze.

"Jiminie, how did she taste?" he asked, not bothering to look up at him.

"Like fucking cotton candy, hyung," he mused. Namjoon hummed in approval as Jimin moved out of the way, letting Joon dip his head between your legs and lick a long, wet stripe against your slit. You moaned as much as you could with Jungkook's cock in your throat, the vibrations setting his nerves alight.

"Ah, shit... Make her moan again, hyung."

Using his fingers, Joon spread your pussy open to him again, dipping his tongue into your entrance. The intrusion felt incredible, another moan vibrating deep in your throat. Jungkook growled and thrust his hips a little faster, chasing the feeling.

Jimin sat to one side, stroking his own cock in a steady rhythm, watching his best friends use you the way he wanted to. It was such a turn on, his cock leaking pre-cum at the sight.

"Oh fuck, Jimin you gotta feel this..." Jungkook sat back on his heels, letting Jimin take up position on the opposite side of your head as you turned to face him, mouth wide open. He sank his cock deep into your throat as another throaty moan left your lips at something Namjoon was doing with his fingers on your clit.

"Shit..." his hand stroked your cheek, feeling the bulge under the skin where his cock pressed against the inside of your mouth. "B-baby, can I fuck your throat?" He sounded so desperate, you couldn't say no to him.

You nodded your head, looking up at him with doe eyes. Jimin started to piston his hips, slowly at first but gaining pace as he chased that intense feeling of pleasure your throat constricting gave him. You gagged a little, but it wasn't unbearable and the lewd noises of your wet mouth was starting to affect everybody.

Namjoon stopped to undress himself before spreading your thighs and kneeling between them, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick to ready himself. You were so desperate for him to fill you up, you moaned as loud as you could with your mouth full to encourage him.

"Wait, I have an idea..." Namjoon stopped, gripping onto your waist and flipping you onto your front. "Jungkook, get under her." He did as he was told, the both of you moving to let Jungkook lie underneath you. "We're both gonna fuck you, y/n, okay?" he whispered in your ear. Your eyes widened at the idea, the thought of being stretched to your limits, filled with both of them.

"I-I don't know if I can..." your voice shook with nerves until Jungkook interrupted you with a finger to your lips.

"We'll take care of you, princess. You trust us, right?" he asked. You nodded. And then slowly, Jungkook positioned himself at your entrance and pushed into you, filling your pussy up. You gasped at the feeling, wondering how on earth you were supposed to take Namjoon as well. He wasn't exactly small...

Jungkook started to move, his hips lifting and bucking up into yours, enjoying the feeling of your walls constricting around him.

"Gonna use a finger now, sweetie. Okay?" Namjoon whispered in your ear again, leaning over your back now that you were on all fours. You nodded, nervous.

As he slid in his finger alongside Jungkook's cock, you couldn't help but bite your lip. The added little stretch felt so good, albeit a little painful. It was nothing you couldn't get used to though, and soon he had added a second, pumping them into you with the same rhythm as Jungkook was thrusting into you.

It didn't seem to bother either Namjoon of Jungkook that they were both intruding on each other. If anything, Jungkook seemed to enjoy it even more. And Jimin... god, he was in awe of you. How you could take both of his friends like this, and how you were about to be filled even more so by them both... He had to use his hand on himself, turned on far too much to be able to sit still.

"Okay, you ready baby?" Namjoon asks, slipping his fingers out of you, spitting into his hand and lathering his cock up with enough lubricant to ease into you.

"Y-yes... please," you begged, needed to feel full, needing to feel the stretch.

Jungkook stopped moving, patiently waiting and pressing little kisses to your neck as you hovered above him. Carefully, Joon pushed his cock into you, the tightness compressing against both him and Jungkook.

"F-fuck..." you cried out. Jimin immediately leaned forward, cupping your face and searching for any sign you wanted to stop this. You didn't, you just needed a minute.

"You okay, y/n?" he asked. You nodded.

"J-just gimme a second," you stuttered.

"Of course, baby. Whatever you need," Joon cooed from behind you, drawing circles on the curve of your back as you got used to the intrusion.

After a few moments, you nodded, signalling both boys to move. Without even communicating, the pair of them found a rhythm that worked not only for you, but for each other too.

"Fuck, this feels better than I thought," Joon groaned, loving not only the tightness of your cunt but the way Jungkook felt against him too. This was new territory for them both but god damn, they were loving it.

With a comfortable rhythm mapped out, you were now feeling nothing but pure fucking bliss as both the men hit spots inside you that you didn't know existed until now. You had nowhere to hide now, completely stretched to your limits and your walls constricted with each pulse of pleasure they gave you.

"Jimin, come here," you looked up at him, never wanting to leave him out. He shuffled forward, and you happily took his cock in your mouth, the movement of both Joon and Jungkook fucking into you propelling you forward and back enough to engulf Jimin's cock and bob your head along his length.

Jungkook and Joon never relented, not even when the pleasure built up so dramatically inside you you were practically crying out, tears slipping down your cheeks just because it felt so. damn. good.

You knew you were close, you could feel that coil tightening inside you.

"F-fuck, y/n. Gonna cum..." Jimin groaned, throwing his head back. "Can I? In here?" he tapped your cheek and you nodded, using your tongue as a weapon against him and bringing him closer to his end quicker and quicker, until he released inside your mouth, a deep growl emitting from his throat. His hot cum filled your mouth, so much of it you almost had trouble keeping it in until you swallowed it, every last drop.

Jimin sat back, out of breath and weak from his orgasm as the two other men continued to fuck into you,  your own orgasm so fucking close.

"J-Joon I can't hold on much longer... Should I pull out?" Jungkook asked his hyung, unsure of the boundaries in this situation.

"I don't mind if you don't, Kook," he grunted, his thrusts getting a little harder, hands gripping onto your hips.

"Wanna cum inside my princess. Would you like that?" He brought his hands to your face, making you look down at him. You moaned in approval, biting your lips trying so hard to stave off your climax. "O-Oh fuck..." Jungkook stuttered, his rhythm faltering as his orgasm ripped through him, thick spurts of cum coating not only your walls, but Namjoon's cock at the same time.

The new layer of slick inside you gave Namjoon the edge he needed to get himself to his own end, motivating him to thrust harder and Jungkook stayed put, motionless and catching his breath.

"J-Joon, please..." you begged, needing that sweet release you were so close to.

"I know, baby. I'll get you there, I promise," he said, changing the angle of his hips to hit directly into your g-spot continuously, the tightness inside you getting unbearable. Just as Joon was about to lose his shit, your orgasm burst through you.

You fell forward onto Jungkook's chest, his arms catching you and holding you as your body shook and muscles convulsed, Joon still fucking you to get you through it with maximum feeling. Another few hard thrusts had him cumming too, spilling inside you as both he and Jungkook slipped out of you.

Joon sat back, panting like a dog in the sun, watching with glazed eyes as both his and Jungkook's cum dripped out of you onto the air mattress.

"Fuck," Jungkook was the first to speak, running his fingers through his own sweaty hair and looking at you lying on his chest, totally spent.

"Fuck, indeed," a new voice spoke, a hint of annoyance behind it. All four of you turned to look towards the hatch that was now unzipped, four very pissed off men looking in on the rest of you.

"Well, this really isn't fair," Tae grumbled.

"Wait, before you say anything..." Jimin held up his hand to the other four members of bangtan poking their heads into your tent.

"It's fine, Jimin," Jin spoke softly, interrupting him. "We'll let her get her breath back, before we get our turn..."

[ziracona]

What sort of detective Shenanigans does meg get up to?

All kinds. Some of it ends up more like investigative journalism, some more traditional, some downright wild. Tapp tries to start her off small and get her to do safer jobs, because she’s just been through one life-threatening extended period, but Meg is...incorrigible, to say the least. Most of their first cases completed were smaller ones—missing pets, stolen property, anonymous threats. Meg really wanted to work missing persons, and kind of expected mostly to be doing that, and hunted some down specifically and got some, but those are pretty overwhelming and distressing. Still, there’s a lot of good and incredibly basic and not hard to do work law enforcement simply doesn’t get done that one or two very determined individuals with minimal equipment absolutely can do, so they get a lot done. First missing persons case completed they got a kid who had been missing for two years back from a parent who kidnapped her from the parent who had custody when she was four. They actually only thought they had a lead to the dad’s last known address and had been lead to believe he’d moved out two months ago, so they were completely unprepared when he opened the door, panicked, and attacked them. They got shot at, and Meg bounced back real hard becuase they were both fine, got a dangerous man off the streets, she got to see Tapp tackle someone, and she got to carry a kid out of a horrible environment and drive them to a restaurant to get food while comforting them and calling their mom, and then reunite a family. Tapp on the other hand, was horrified, becuase Meg got shot at.

After that, he tried really hard to get her to swing towards more safe cases, or to at least go about things differently, but it had the opposite effect on Meg, who decided she wanted to accept a request to look into a murder being thoroughly ignored by law enforcement in the area even though it was overwhelmingly clear who did it. Tapp didn’t take well to the request, because it was exponentially more dangerous, and they had their first real work fight over it, but Meg woke up at like 3am to get a snack and saw him up investigating back research on it on his own because he’d been super lying about being willing to ignore it and just hadn’t wanted her involved, and after that she figured out pretty easily if she wanted to do a more precarious case, Tapp would also want to do it, but not want her to, because he was scared for her, relented a little, and absolutely kept investigating more serious cases, but extremely carefully and always with complete discussion with Tapp beforehand. Tapp was still wary, but Meg doing dangerous stuff super carefully with him and under his guidance was better than Tapp says no so Meg goes off and does something stupid alone, and gave that a try. It has worked out well. It also has been unexpectedly helpful that Meg loves to document. She started doing video diaries/documenting cases and uploading them (although while sometimes live streaming even, if it’s something someone could see and use to know they’re being investigated, always at an intelligently later date instead haha) as a for fun thing and to keep her pals informed, but it got a decent amount of attention. The plus side of this is that no one can just murder either of them and cover it up, the downside (or upside, depending on who you ask) is that this also means that sometimes people know who they are when it is inconvenient & a situation where a disguise (which Meg enjoys wearing so ridiculously much) will not cut it, and they have to call in Susie or Michael or any one of their 50 friends to come lend an assist. (Everyone but Tapp considers this a plus. Tapp considers it a nightmare. Living with Meg easily adds 10 hours to his life span per day, but living with Meg also definitely /subtracts/ six hours off his lifespan most days, which is still a really substantial net gain, but he’s for sure feeling the effects of both as they happen (I realize by this math Tapp will live forever, or at least until/if Meg dies. Idk what to tell you. I guess he will.)

Anyway, the full answer is they do a little everything. They try to go one case at a time, but that doesn’t /always/ work out. And while sometimes they work murders or assaults or track down stalkers or people running animal fighting, sometimes they spend four days looking for a missing pet or a lost hiker, or proving a school expelled a student unfairly, or that someone in corporate management broke a law and the Target employe was ordered against disability law to work without their documented and by law required accommodation, etc—they’ve actually weirdly gotten the most actual financial profit from that kind of thing/assisting in lawsuits, and in stopping scam artists. They have like, tracked down a lot of scam artists. Specifically the kinds who do things like the Grandparent scam (were you call a grandma in the middle of the night sobbing pretending to be a grandkid you know they have from Facebook, say you’ve been arrested, and patch in just enough believability from public details, and sobbing to make it hard to recognize a voice or not for sure, especially on someone ahead of hearing, and two people playing a cop and lawyer to back you up, that you manipulate them to empty out their accounts and send cash overnight to “pay bail”)—which is the kind of crime law enforcement pretty much will never do anything to rectify at all and you’re just f’d, won’t usually even intercede if the grandparent realizes post-sending the money and before it is for sure picked up.

Meg’s heart will always be most in Missing Persons cases, as probably will Tapp’s (although I think he’s about as motivated to work murders. Homicide was his former department, and he cares deeply about people getting closure and justice for the loss of their loved ones. I’d say he prefers working Missing Persons cases though, even if he doesn’t care more, because sometimes those have a happy ending). They get along well and make quite a team (them and their doggo, who has greatly enjoyed it and been useful trying to find missing animals and people lost in the woods by scent). Tapp makes Meg take a steady supply of less terrifying cases for the sake of literally everyone, and looks out for her. Meg works hard to actually not get killed and do the job right, and is extremely happy in the line of work she chose. She kind of wanted to be a superhero as a kid, and even if that wasn’t very practical, it stuck with her. This isn’t totally the same—still no Spider-Man powers—but she is kinda doing only just barely technically not vigilante justice, and she’s helping people. She feels fulfilled. The only thing Tapp does not do well leading this operation is making them take breaks, because Tapp doesn’t know how to take care of himself and shut off crime fight mode. Thankfully, Meg is pretty good at that because she does shots of loving her friends juice every morning and needs to see them constantly. When she hits that ADHD focus real hard and forgets too, Susie Taylor, Michael Tapp, and Rachel Thomas reel them in just fine. They spend a lot of time hanging with the whole party, and have found a pretty good balance so far between work and life. Haha, I think with as many people watching out for them as they have, they could hardly do anything but.

Side note: I know this was specifically about Meg, but for the record, Kara and Tapp are on friendly/casual terms again by about two years out as well. Things are still a little awkward, but they’re at the stage of beyond past hurt and plus gained familiarity again where they can remember why they got married as well as why she broke it off. He gets to see her sometimes, and it’s nice. They’re kind of taking it slow, and I don’t think romance would ever ever be in their future again, but I think it’s safe to say they will stay some kind of friends.

[somuchfuckingsalt]

The Faerie AU

Alright I just found this post about faeries and Ireland and how even though it’s a very modern country there’s just places you don’t go and things you don’t fuck with because even if you don’t believe in faeries, you don’t want to find out they exist by pissing them off.

So anyway, here’s my Fae AU where Annabeth unwittingly puts herself in danger because Fae are Not Real and why would she believe in children’s stories.

One year, after the Chase family has spent many an hour in therapy together, Frederick decides to take the entire family on an extended vacation to Ireland, where his uncle resides. Said uncle is going to be spending the summer elsewhere and has offered his very large house for their use while he’s gone.

Annabeth finds both good and bad things about the trip.

For good, her great uncle lives in a very old, historical home and she has been studying it obsessively with great fascination.

For bad, her father insists on ‘bonding time’ since the whole point of the trip was to help them work through their collective shit.

For good, Annabeth can escape bonding time by going into the local village.

For bad, the local village is a bit of a trek on foot and she’s not allowed to drive her uncle’s nice cars.

For good, there’s this hill that she can climb over that will cut the walk time nearly in half. It’s a large hill, with a few dips and rises but nothing major or terribly difficult. It’s spotted with trees and there’s a natural path made out of the roots of trees breaching the ground that provides an easy way not to get lost.

For bad, it’s One of Those Hills.

The first time Annabeth walked across that hill, it was shortly after lunch and she was following a google search that told her that the village was home to a small second hand bookstore that she wanted to explore. When she started out she slowed herself down though because the path was scenic and she had a healthy appreciation for how green and beautiful Ireland is.

When she emerged in town the first person who saw didn’t even bother to greet her, just asked if she’d come from the hill and then proceeded to inquire whether she’d littered or taken anything from the path. She hadn’t, but she was both baffled and annoyed by their behaviour. Since she had done neither of those things the local had let her be and she’d brushed it off as someone who just didn’t want the American Tourist to mess up their home.

Later that day when she had started home the same way, a young woman who introduced herself as Katie, had warned her to stick to the road because it would be dark soon. Thinking she had meant wild animals were more likely to come about at night on a remote hill rather than road, Annabeth had listened and walked the long way home.

It didn’t take long for Annabeth to learn that those incidents were not because the locals were concerned about wild animals, but rather because of the Fae. Each time Annabeth took that tree root path or mentioned her shortcut some local would warn her about being respectful and never, ever taking the path at night. 

Annabeth never failed to roll her eyes at the warnings, laughing slightly and asking if the newest well-intentioned local actually believed in fairies. They never did, agreeing whole-heartedly that the Fae (as they called them) didn’t exist.

But don’t go to the Hill at night. 

She found this endlessly confusing, however, she also never failed to take the long way home when her trips to town ran a little bit late.

Maybe it was the story Katie told her of some drunk high school kid who’d thrown his empty beer from the paved road high up onto the hill and spent the next three weeks in the hospital because of an unknown but extremely aggressive stomach bug.

Or perhaps it was the story the bookstore owner Anthelia told her, about a nature hiker taking a pretty, crystal looking stone from the path and find the next morning that every tire in her care had somehow gone flat from running over sharp rocks.

Or it was the story of the dairy farmer’s daughter, who’d taken the short cut but wandered off the path, not to be seen for three days and with no memory of where she’d been. 

Most likely it was the fact that there was an apparent string of missing persons who were last seen heading towards The Hill at night. 

Meanwhile there’s Percy, 100% Fae and 100% up for stirring some shit among the humans. He knows about the American girl with the pretty, long blond hair, and very time he heard a tale of her rolling her eyes at the stories the locals told he rolled her eyes at her, just waiting for the day that she’d specifically do something the locals warned her against just to prove them wrong.

Part of him hopes he’d be the one to catch her tossing her crips bag into the grass or picking a flower, mainly because her smarter-than-thou-foolish-fae-believers attitude was pissing him off just a bit. It had been a long time since someone had managed to do something that warranted more than having a minor inconvenience bestowed upon them and quite frankly, Percy was a bit bored.

Percy’s hopes of tying the girl’s long pretty hair to the bars of her headboard (or perhaps to the branches of a thorn bush) were dashed when his only and favouritest little sister came home one day and told her about the human princess with golden hair she’d met on the Hill who’d given her half a chocolate bar and rigged the straps of her dress with a ponytail when a button fell off.

Estelle was too little to give the girl a gift, or do her a favour, herself so could her bestest big brother do it for her? Pretty please?

Well fine. He could do something nice for her now but that doesn’t mean he still won’t switch all of the covers of her books around.

He’d planned on watching her a bit for a day or two so he could know what she’d appreciate best without noticing it as an outright gift (although he’d played around with giving her the most FaeTM gift possible just to watch her question everything but that would not fall under the ‘nice gift/favour’ category).

He’d been thinking about slipping some kind of precious book or an interesting antique into her belongings when she’d left a dinner out with her family abruptly, pissed off, and heading straight for The Hill.

Percy was astounded. Truly baffled. Because of all the dumbass ways to prove the local legends wrong, going to The Hill at night was the dumbest of the dumbass ways.

Quite frankly, Percy didn’t entirely think fixing his sister’s dress and giving her some chocolate was enough of a good deed for him to catch shit for rescuing the girl from herself and preventing the local Fae community from having their first kidnapping in decades. And he knows, deep in his heart, that Beckendorf is going to tease him for the next century about saving the pretty human girl and he does not want to deal with that even a little bit (he does think she’s pretty, and that may or may not be why he’s been paying extra attention to the gossip about the American vacationers, but that’s besides the point). 

However, if his sister found out her golden princess was going to have her pretty grey eyes added to someone’s collection, she’d probably be upset.

So Percy followed her in, keeping his distance at first, until words began to whisper and began to slow, her eyes scanning the land for what could possibly be making the noise. She probably didn’t even notice she was slowly moving off of the path until Percy kicked a rock to get her attention with the noise.

Now both scared and angry, she directed her venom at him. “Who are you? Why are you following me?”

“The locals warned you about coming up here. Stellie would be upset if you got carried off.” Percy replied, thinking at first she was freaked because on a regular day his appearance could be *ahem* alarming to humans. Until he realized he’d glamoured himself and he was a boy and she was a girl and it was night and even Fae know human girls should not be around strange boys at night.

“I don’t believe in children’s stories and I don’t know who that is.”

“My sister. You helped her with her dress and gave her a treat, so she asked me to help you.” That last bit he wasn’t looking at her as he said it, instead passed her to the land beyond the path and those that occupied it. They weren’t entirely pleased with him but even though they’d complain and kick up a fuss about their lost prey, fighting with him would be fruitless.

She didn’t look like she particularly trusted him, though she believed that he was the brother of the little girl she had helped. That wasn’t entirely comforting to her though, because that little girl had freaked Annabeth out just a touch with her too big eyes and odd speech and the way Annabeth swore there were little growths underneath her hair.

He offered to walk the path in front of her. That way she could keep an eye on him and he could tell his sister he walked her home safe and sound.

Along the way he couldn’t quite help himself, he asked why in the fuck she would go for a nature walk in the middle of the night when everyone who knows the area has told not to do. Children’s stories aside, it’s still partial wilderness and she’s alone.

That was the wrong thing to say, because she was not a happy camper and no matter what Percy said she was not pleased.

To be fair to Annabeth, he was a strange boy who’d apparently appeared out of nowhere, she’d been plague by chills and an ominous feeling the entire walk, and she had just gone through one (1) horrendous dinner with her family. The Boy was also infuriatingly smug for a reason she could not for the life of her comprehend and every word coming out of his mouth was a frustrating mixture of annoying as hell and super sexy because goddamn that accent.

Percy manages to get her all the way home, respectfully staying at the gate while she walks to the front door, and waiting until said door is locked before he turns to leave.

(To his chagrin both Beckendorf and Grover are waiting to give him hell but goddammit word travels fast).

Annabeth may or not be slightly obsessed with the hot boy who appeared one (1) time in a village small enough that by week two of their family vacation everyone knew her name and where she went to high school. A boy who was rather strange but no one seemed to know when she gave them a description.

She also may or may not have been plagued by bad luck until the end of her trip (lost items, ripped clothes, tripping lots, etcetera). Percy thinks it’s a decent trade off for being carried off in the middle of the night.

It’s not until her next summer trip two years later that she finds out why Percy was so very smug when she insisted that Fae aren’t real. 

[whitecatgraycatblackcat]

Fictober 2019, Day 13

Prompt: “I never knew it could be this way”

Original Fiction

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 1536

Yu and I talked for a long time after we got into our sleeping bags, but we had been quiet for a while when he spoke up again.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

He paused for a second and then replied quietly. “Whatever’s been on your mind for the last few days, that you haven’t wanted to talk about.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yeah. Even I haven’t been oblivious to the fact that something’s been bothering you this trip. You left the ax when we went to chop firewood, you forgot a fishing rod in the middle of the river, and earlier you tried to start the fire with our gutting knife. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, though.”

“Um, okay, thanks.” Truthfully, it had been on my mind since before the trip. It’s why I asked Yu to go camping in the first place, but I’m still not sure if I’m ready to talk about it, so I stall with a piece of the truth.

“Uh, do you ever have something you want to talk about, but also don’t want to talk about?”

“Sure. Doesn’t everybody at some point?” After replying he just waited. I knew he wouldn’t push, and I knew if I wanted I could make this end here, and he would let me. But I realized I didn’t really want that. So I tried to get a little closer to what I wanted to say without actually saying it, because I still wasn’t sure if I was ready.

“I never knew it could be this way.”

“What could be what way?”

He was still talking quietly, and that was a relief. I had decided to talk about this with him a while ago because he was the most level-headed person I knew, but I was still nervous. 

“Um, life. I never knew life could be this hard.”

“Oh. Um, yeah.” 

I could tell he was a little confused still, that the big secret I had been hiding was just this, a boring statement lots of people make. I wasn’t done yet, though. Not even close. But I also wasn’t sure how to continue, even when I had gotten this far, so I tried from another angle, one even more oblique.

“Let me put it another way. How do you feel when you think about the future? Do you get excited when you think about next year, or the next, or the one after that?” I wait for his response, pretty sure of what he’ll say. 

“Sure. A little anxious, too, I know there will be hard things in the future, but I’m excited about my future with Hana.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. For me, it’s a bit different. I have a good job, a nice apartment, plenty of friends, so I really shouldn’t have anything to complain about, but…” I sigh again, still reluctant to put how I feel into words. It’s going to sound so stupid, so childish and melodramatic. Yuzuru and I aren’t kids anymore. But sometimes I still feel like one, so I plow ahead and say everything all in one breath, like I did when we were kids, younger brother sharing secrets with his older brother in the dark.

“That’s not how I see the future anymore. I used to see it that way, I think, but now it just feels like drudgery. Like I have to fight to make it through each day, and next week feels impossible and next month feels… insurmountable.” I stop, glancing over at Yu. I can barely see him in the dark, but I can tell he’s still looking over at me.

“Oh. Mitsu.”

Oops. I can hear the pain he’s trying to keep out of his voice, but I’m not sure what to do about it. Maybe this was too much, maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. I speak quickly, before he can say anything else. 

“Really, though, it’s not that bad. I’m sure everyone has bad days occasionally, right? I just have them a little more frequently than others.”

“Mitsu. How bad is it?”

I can hear the warning in his voice now, he won’t accept a lie, and I wonder again if I’ve made a mistake. I still don’t know if I’m ready to share all of it, and I wanted to pass it off as something casual, just an inconvenience. But Mitsu won’t settle for that now; he can tell I’m trying to downplay. Maybe I should have kept this to myself. Or maybe this is what I need. I take a deep breath.

“Alright, some days are really bad. Some days I don’t want to go to work but I do anyway, and some days I wonder why I’m here, why anyone is here. I don’t want to die, exactly, I just don’t want to keep living, either. It’s not like I’ve made plans or anything, but sometimes I think about it, or I wonder what I would do if a car jumped the curb and was headed straight for me. I don’t know if I’d step out of the way.”

I can hear Yu give a deep sigh and then pause to think. “I… don’t know what to say to that, to be honest. I want to say something about the importance of life, or how much our family loves you and would miss you, but I know we’ve both heard more than enough platitudes to last a lifetime. So I’ll just say I’m sorry. I’m sorry you feel that way, and I wish I could do something to show you how much you mean to me, at least. I wish I could help you see how important you are, but I’m guessing it’s not really that easy”

I nod, then realize he probably can’t see me in the dark. “Yeah, it’s alright. You’re right, I don’t want another platitude and it’s not that easy. I just wanted to tell someone, I guess.” 

We fall silent again, not really sure where to go from here. I want to feel relieved, but I don’t, and it’s disappointing.

He speaks up again, so quietly I can barely hear him. “You’d tell me, right? If you ever got serious, if you ever did make a plan? I know we haven’t exactly kept in touch the past year, but..” 

I cut him off before he can finish, speaking what we both need to hear. “Yes, absolutely. You don’t need to worry about that.”

We fall silent again, not sure what to say.

After a few more minutes of debating with myself, wondering if I should have brought this up, I realize that the bottom of the tent has started to glow. 

“Yuzuru, do you see that?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Weird.”

I can tell he’s still preoccupied, thinking about what I’ve told him. Well, that’s only fair. Growing up I was one of the most level-headed siblings, and by far the most cheerful. I’m sure he never expected to have this conversation with me, of all people.

“Uh, Yuzuru, I really think we should check this out now.” The brightness had crept up to the middle of the tent now, and it was moving faster. It didn’t look like it was from flames, exactly, since it wasn’t flickering in the same way. It wasn’t a late night hiker’s torch, either, since different spots had different levels of brightness.

I reached past Yu to unzip the tent. “Yu, come on, I’m checking this out now.”

I stepped out of the tent, disoriented for a moment when I realized I was stepping out into space. Well, not space exactly, just something that resembled what I’d always imagined space to look like. I was surrounded by points of light, gently glowing, slowly spinning and ascending, and they were so bright at their centers that they somehow managed to make the spaces in-between them darker than seemed possible. It was beautiful. 

By now Yu had stepped out, too, and I figured he was just as shocked as I was. When I finally looked over at him, though, he was just smiling. 

“I had forgotten this was one of the reasons I chose this site. The reviews online said that this occasionally happens at this time of year.”

“Oh. I’m glad I let you pick the site.”

‘Yeah. Me too.”

We continued to watch as the lights rose higher and higher, eventually disappearing into the sky and blending with the stars.

We silently climbed back into the tent and into our sleeping bags, lost in thought. 

I speak up quietly, figuring it’s only fair to tell Yu this, too. “Stuff like that makes it almost okay some days. It doesn’t make it better, but sometimes, for moments at a time, I think it’s not so bad to be alive.”

Yu responds out of the dark. “Good. I hope you can find more of those, wherever you can.”

“Thanks Yu. Me too” As I snuggle deeper into my sleeping bag, I realize that my chest feels lighter than it has in months, maybe even a year. Maybe this wasn’t a mistake.

“Good night, Yu.”

“Good night, Mitsu.”

[antiques-for-geeks]

Review Special : Talking to Stuart Benny of Benny Games

It’s all the rage these days, tracking down the authors of games you used to play to find out more about them, their game and what happened to them. As you’d expect, some are more difficult to track down than others and even when you do, not all of them are willing to speak with you about the past.

Surprisingly, Stuart Benny was quite easy to find - a quick search on LinkedIn turned up a profile and a quick exchange of messages later, he agreed to do a short interview over Skype as like the rest of us, he’s isolating while the latest Pandemic plays out.

We caught up with Stuart from his home in the Midlands to find out more about Benny Games, how he came to write the seminal On The Busses, the aftermath and were intrigued to hear that he is back on the development trail.

The familiar, minimalist logo of Benny Games as it adorned software shop shelves for those fleeting few years in the 1980s. 

AfG : Hi Stuart, how the devil are you?

Stuart Benny : Not bad thanks. I’ve managed to avoid this Corona thing that’s going around up to now thankfully. Seeing all the news stories, it’s quite scary.

Yeah, it’s quite something isn’t it? We’re all working from home which seemed a bit inconvenient, but at least we no longer have to put up with Meat reading Twitter out loud at us all day and telling us every five minutes that we need to buy more bog-roll.

Fortunately I work from home these days, so not a problem for me. I don’t miss sharing an office.

So what do you do today?

At the moment I work with development teams out in India building commerce software. These days I don’t write the code, I just prepare a specification for the off-shore coders and talk to the clients here in the UK. IT is not as much fun as it used to be. Back in the day I worked in a team of coders that wrote the software the team in India now extend. Seems to be the way of the world.

Your early work led to a career?

Yeah. To be fair Benny Games ending was a good thing as it meant I was able to do things like go to University. I think I would have missed a valuable experience, but it would have been brilliant to have been up there with Peter Molyneux or David Braben.

Tell us about it. Pop, Meat and I tried our hand at a lot of programming but didn’t get very far.

It’s not an easy business.

How did you get involved in it?

I had gotten hold of a Spectrum in 1984, it was one of the rubber key ones that we got from my cousin who changed his for a Spectrum+. I’d played games round my friend’s houses but really wanted to create my own so I spent my lunch break learning how to write BASIC on the school computers. Getting the Spectrum was the final piece in the puzzle because now I wasn’t limited to an hour a day on a computer and had a proper manual that showed you how to write programs.

So I studied the manual and experimented. I created a basic Space Invaders clone called, imaginatively, Invaders from Space and sent it to budget labels, but they weren’t interested. That’s when Benny Games were born, I thought the game would be able to sell so I took some money I’d earned from my paper round, bought a pack of ten computer cassettes from Boots and my brother duplicated the game on his tape-to-tape. My friend Martin [Freeman, no relation to the actor] drew a cover, which I got photocopied on the machine down the library. Once they were all ready, I put a classified ad in the local paper and waited for the orders to come in.

And was it a success?

I managed to sell the ten tapes eventually.

I guess that not having the advertising push didn’t help.

At the time I was really disappointed, but I think that it was definitely a learning experience. It didn’t occur to send a review copy to a magazine, but to be honest, it was probably for the best.

But it still sold, so that must have been a small encouragement.

Maybe, but it underlined that I couldn’t do it all by myself. So I asked Martin if he wanted to help me on the next game. He had a Spectrum too and things like a joystick interface.

And that game would be Star Crash?

Star Crash, Yes. Martin had got a copy of the film on VHS from his Uncle and we used to watch it. We wanted to make a game that closely followed the plot, but we didn’t really know how to make it work, so we focussed on the space battle at the end of the game and made a shoot ‘em up. I did the code for the game itself as well as the sound effects and Martin designed the in-game graphics and box art.

It was a nice little game, influenced a lot by Galaxian, but subconsciously. There was one of those machines at the youth centre and Martin played it a few times. The big difference technically was that we did it in machine code, which sped the game up.

Again, we sold it direct for £4.99, but this time we put our money together and bought an ad in one of the Spectrum magazines and got more orders than the first time.

Looking back, at the time it didn’t occur to us to think about licensing for Star Crash. We were working in such a niche and at such a small scale, we got away with it I guess.

I must confess I struggled to find Star Crash. It’s not on sites like World of Spectrum.

No, I think it’s been largely forgotten. I think that Martin sent a review copy to Crash, but we never heard back from them. Must have got lost in the post.

I recorded over the original tape I saved the game on in the 1990s with a Menswe@r album.

So when would this be?

Probably 1995.

No, I mean when was Star Crash released?

That would have been 1985.

You’ve released two games now, so how did you go from that to writing On the Busses?

Well, Martin and I decided to leave school at 16 and set up for ourselves. We got a small loan with my Dad from the Local Government Enterprise scheme and set up in our garage.

Our plan was to release our own games, but a couple of our mates wanted us to release their efforts. That’s how Fletch (Andrew Fletcher, musician for On the Busses) got involved. He had written a text adventure version of a Doctor Who story called The State of Decay on the Commodore 16 and gave it to us. We changed the names of the characters and the planet and put it out as The Vampires of Proximus 3. It had this in-game music that really added atmosphere. It sold pretty well.

We also were sent a rough and ready version of Track and Field for the Spectrum by a local man who had bought one of the copies of Invaders from Space and wondered if we’d be interested in releasing his game. That was an ego boost. It had this weird bit in it where if you medalled, you had to negotiate with the doping control about why your wee smells funny. No-one else was doing it, so we left it in.

We tried to tie it into the buzz about the 1986 Commonwealth Games. It was called Edinburgh Games ‘86. That was less successful because we rushed it out.

Again, we struggled to find any trace of them online.

Yeah, I’m not sure where they ended up in the end. When Fletch sold his Commodore 16 in the 1990s, he sold his development tapes too. Probably someone out there still has it.

Point is, we were a bit fed up having to compromise bits of our games because we didn’t have access to the IP so decided to set our aim much higher. We were all better at coding, we had better hardware. It just seemed the right thing to do.

A scan of the cover is the only trace of The Vampires of Proximus 3 that we could find. Anywhere.

While Vampires is not licenced, On the Busses is. How did you come by that licence?

It really annoyed Fletch that we changed his game because we didn’t have a licence. My Dad, who was basically acting as manager for our company, said it was too risky to release it without the consent of the BBC as it was.

So, with the monies from Vampires we decided to see what we could do.

Initially we were going for a licence for OutRun. I was writing a game based on the arcade already - the busty woman sprite in On the Busses was originally for that game - and had a version of the first level done. It wasn’t very complete as I had to do it from memory, but it proved the point. At this stage it had no music.

We had no idea that US Gold had that relationship with Sega all sewn up, so after a very polite exchange of letters with Sega to see if they would do a licence with us, it looked like the project was going nowhere.

However, my mind cast back. My Grandma used to love watching On The Buses on a Saturday evening. When I was little we used to go round to hers for our tea and it would be on. I loved the antics that Stan and Jack got up to. So the thing held good memories for me.

I called the film and television company and they weren’t interested in doing a licence. After searching in the library, I eventually found a defunct publisher who had got the rights to produce new fiction books based on the series, but had never used it so I approached them.

The liquidator was only too happy to sell on the licence as they thought it was worthless.

Did it cost a lot?

I think it cost us £500 at the time. The liquidator was just pleased to get something for it.

What inspired the game?

Well, OutRun played a massive role obviously, but also games like Maniac Mansion with it’s dialogue and Infocom games like Hitch-hiker’s Guide with their in-box feelies that we copied in a unique way [the game infamously came with, amongst other things, a “used” condom in the box].

We wanted the game to be as close to the series, in spirit at least, as it could be. We wanted it to be like a new episode. Martin was doing a course in the evenings at the local college where they were digitising video, which is how we got the pictures of Stan and Blakey in and Fletch spent ages learning how to code for the AY chip in the [ZX Spectrum] +2 to get the music right. It took up so much memory though, we didn’t have anything left for the in-game music we’d planned. He was always a lot happier coding for the Commodore 16.

And the droop meter to monitor Stan’s ardour?

Yeah, we got that from Martin’s Mum. She said that she had no idea why young women in their twenties would be attracted to middle aged men with a gut who probably had the droop when there were plenty of virile young men about. Martin’s Dad shuffled awkwardly when she said it.

We put it in there because it was funny. If I did the game again today I’d probably leave it out because you can get Viagra now so there’s no need to worry about that kind of thing.

Yeah, I think that there might be other reasons.

How do you mean?

I mean, it’s a bit inappropriate isn’t it?

Loads of men have a wives half their age. You see them all the time in the celebrity pages of the papers. I think that Stan and Jack were proved right in the end.

Erm, the attention to detail in the game, like the digitised cut-scenes, were a bit of a breakthrough for the time and lauded in the reviews. How long was development in the end?

It was something we were all proud of, the lengths we went to to recreate the experience. It meant development took ages though, like nine months in the end. To get the dialogue for the arguments between Stan and Blakey, I spent ages watching tapes of the original series and writing it down. Things like that ate in the schedule and we were lucky to get it out for April 1988.

Why is the name spelt wrong though?

This again. I’ve had to explain this so much over the years. It was spelt wrong on the licence document we had so we followed that on my Dad’s friend’s advice; he was a solicitor.

So when the big moment came, the launch, were you happy?

I was thrilled. We rented a room at the local pub and invited the gaming press as well as the local paper and some people from an On the Buses fan group.

We had a bloke turn up from Video and Computer Games and he went very quiet when he saw the game. He took it away and after some negotiation with my Dad, we managed to get a full page advert opposite the review. We scored 91% from them which we were all ecstatic about.

The local paper did a nice article on us - you know, local boys done good - and said some nice things about the game. The On the Buses fan mob put us in their quarterly magazine for Summer 1988 complete with a glowing review.

Which was absolutely useless as we were out of business by then.

Out of business?

Well, yes. After we put out the game, it became clear that we’d not followed the rules of the licence. It was for original content only. As we’d used the digitised grabs and also the dialogue from the episodes, it didn’t count.

Ah, I can see why that might be a problem…

Always read the small print. After a couple of days on sale, we had to pull the entire thing for risk of getting sued.

So what happened then?

We ended up with a load of tapes duplicated that we could not sell, promotions we couldn’t run that still had to be paid for and so on. We were not able to absorb the cost of all of it and with no money coming in to fix it or release new games and try to keep going, we had no choice but to pull the plug.

Everything we had relating to the retail version of On the Busses ended up being thrown away, it had no value.

Closing the company must have been tough.

Fletch took it hardest; he had nearly finished a Commodore 16 game called Road Racer that was an unofficial port of OutRun. It was seriously good considering how weedy the system was. Our plan was to release it to the duplicators when the first payments for On the Busses came in. We’d have cleaned up with that one. It had started as a port of On the Busses, but we quickly realised it would be better to make it it’s own distinct game.

After we collapsed, he took it to a couple of other labels but could not find a market for it; everyone said it was two years too late. No doubt he felt like he’d wasted a year of his life, I know I did.

And you all left the industry at that point?

As I said earlier, I decided to quit while I was still not too far behind and get myself to University while Fletch and Martin decided to carry on with another company of their own. Sadly theirs didn’t see out the transition to 16-bit, but they had some success with a couple of budget games on the Commodore 64. Not sure what they are up to now.

Benny Games was a name that seemed to disappear without much explanation and there is precious little on the internet about them.

Now you know!

Are you involved in the retro scene these days?

Not really, I’m aware of people streaming games and things like that, but I’ve not sought the limelight.

I have been doing some coding though to keep my skills sharp. I’ve wanted to go back to OutRun for some time and do it like I wanted to back in 1987. Now there’s stuff like MAME I can see the reference material without shovelling 20p coins into a machine and get your mate to make notes.

Sounds interesting. We can’t wait to see what happens next. Thanks for your time Stuart!

Thanks; it’s been nice. It’s not often I get to talk about Benny Games these days outside of a job interview.

[doubleshuck]

Mount Nyangani is located in Zimbabwe, and according to local tradition it is steeped in all manner of supernatural occurrences. The inexplicable is intrinsically linked to the mountain and has resulted in a lot of superstition about the area, as well as many rules that have to be observed in order to explore the mountain without angering the spirits which call it home. Some of these rules involve abstaining from certain behaviours, such as urinating on the mountain, using foul language, or engaging in sexual activity of any kind. Other rules state that permission should be sought from the village elders of the area before visiting the mountain, and visitors are warned against tricks that the spirits may play on them in order to lure them in. Despite these rules being in place, strange experiences on the mountain continue to be reported, including:

Compasses and electrical equipment tend to malfunction or break entirely on the mountain.

The weather is liable to change suddenly and unpredictably, and acts in strange ways; wind will roar out of nowhere at inconvenient moments, gusts will kick up when hikers are in dangerous areas, and thick fog will materialise and appear to follow hikers around.

Visitors are often reported to become dizzy, confused, and disorientated while on the mountain.

Hikers with a lot of experience in the area find themselves inexplicably lost, despite being very familiar with all the trails.

Unidentifiable sounds and strange lights have been reported, coming from no obvious source.

Animals appear to watch visitors and follow them as though keeping track of them; they display none of the usual caution expected from a wild animal and seem to fully comprehend what they are watching, as though they’re keeping tabs. 

Mysterious disappearances are so common in the area that the mountain has been nicknamed “The Mountain That Swallows People”.

Some of those who have vanished on the mountain have returned, all with strange tales to tell. A senior government official who vanished on the mountain in the early 1980s claimed that during the time he and two companions were missing, they had wandered around aimlessly, feeling increasingly confused. They were missing for a total of four days, but felt no exhaustion, hunger, or thirst. Despite the length of time they were missing, the group believed that they had been gone for only a couple of hours. They reported that they had seen rescuers searching for them, but when they called out, the rescuers had neither seen nor heard them, as though they were completely invisible.

[Photo credit: Angus Shaw]

[gcnenineteen-blog]

HE COMES HERE. HE HAS A BURNED HAND.

     She had begun seeing the graffiti about four months ago, appearing in stark crimson spray paint first on the alley wall of the deli six blocks from her office building, then on a park bench near her usual bus stop in Brooklyn. The lost pet posters she was used to; she checked them regularly out of habit, the way someone might read the classifieds with only a vague sense of what they’re looking for, but rarely made an effort to look for the people they described, largely uninterested in her civic duty toward her fellow undead. But when the can-toi stooped to such obvious warnings, you took notice, because it meant that more subtle methods hadn’t worked to eliminate the problem - it meant that the person they were after wasn’t just an inconvenience, but a danger. 

     She knew about the Burned Man, of course - what vampire in NYC didn’t? He was the latest fashionable urban legend, something thrilling and frightening to gossip about in the Dixie Pig on Saturday evenings: a figure taken straight out of Dracula, an Abraham Van Helsing for the modern age, and he allegedly did his hunting with horrifying efficiency. They said he could smell the death in you, would know you for what you were at a glance - that he had some sort of glam that hid him until it was too late. She knew there had been too many disappearances lately, too many to blame them all on vampires growing bored with New York and picking up stakes - no pun intended - but she had never credited the rumors. It was too fanciful, too storybook, tailored too perfectly to vampiric primal fears; the Burned Man was no more real than the Jersey Devil, which had after all been nothing but a mutie goat that had wandered into the Pine Barrens through a thinny and mauled no more than a handful of hikers before expiring in its own tumorous juices. She’d thought, at most, that ‘our irish setter - one wounded paw’ was a psychic, someone the can-toi wanted for the Breakers. Someone they’d have under control in a month.

     But she was standing a block from her new bus stop now, looking at the back wall of the pub across the street, reading the warning there - no whimsical chalk stars or comets, just red text that shouted at the eyes. They were dead serious. The direct servants of the Crimson King not only believed the Burned Man was real, that he was a threat - they believed that he had been in no fewer than three of the places she frequented regularly. It wasn’t just unsettling - she had bypassed unsettled days ago. It was actually frightening.

     It had been nearly fifty years since she’d genuinely been afraid of something. The disease stole compassion first, because a predator wouldn’t survive if it could empathize with the animals it was supposed to hunt, but over time all of the other emotions seemed to go too - it was like progressively going colorblind, and after awhile you almost forgot what things like yellow and orange had looked like, until they returned without warning and scorched your eyes. She was afraid, but she also needed to work if she didn’t want to depend entirely on the good graces of Richard Sayre and his cronies - and the mistake that would undo her, on this gorgeous late fall afternoon, was the simple, universal assumption that nothing truly bad can happen in the middle of the day. 

     She sat at the bus stop, back stiff, smoothing her dark brown hair with a slender, olive hand. Her nerves were rattled, yes, but she felt fine - the overblown incompetent she did secretarial work for was so prodigiously fat that she could afford to drink from him twice a week, and she had left him in his office in a daze, totally unaware that it wasn’t his cock she had sucked. She’d started to notice small sores at the corners of his mouth, and wondered how much longer it would be before she needed a new job. She wondered if he’d given what he’d caught to his wife - if the woman could even bear to be touched by him at all. She wouldn’t have blamed her if she couldn’t, not at all. 

     Fifty years ago, she might have felt some stirring of horror at her own train of thought, at how casual and flippant it was - she could even remember a time when she had felt horror over it, long ago - but she had, as they said, lived since then. Why should she care if her fat, lecherous boss died of the GRID? Why should she care if his wife, or even his wife’s mistress caught it? What should she care if the whole of the tri-boroughs caught it? If she had learned anything about people in the last half century, it was that there were always more of them, much the same as the last had been, and that only the calamity of all calamities would ever succeed in wiping them out entirely. It was none of her business.

     She wrinkled her nose at a sudden waft of unpleasant odor - the tang of whiskey, overlaying a smell that reminded her vaguely of a fish market. Her back stiffened a little further when a tall, lanky man dropped down on the far end of the bench from her: he was obviously homeless, bundled in a ratty coat and jeans faded to the color of dishwater, leather shoes whose expensive brand she could only excuse by their battered condition - he had pulled them from a dumpster, probably, and worn the tread threadbare since. There was no debating the source of that stench, and she felt a ping of irritation and contempt, avoiding the man’s haggard face with the reflexive ease most Haves experience when confronted with a Have Not. Don’t make eye contact, the maxim went, and she wouldn’t, because he might ask for change, or take her attention as an invitation to begin some delusional panegyric. Christ, but he stank. 

     The homeless man sat blessedly silent and unobtrusive beside her, hands jammed into his pockets and face buried in the collar of his coat, but she still felt a flood of relief when she saw the bus approaching, and shot to her feet with a haste that bordered on rudeness. She didn’t care - the homeless were, in her own opinion and that of many of her friends, useful only as a very last resort. If one had to stoop to feeding from vagrants, one was either incompetent or desperately ill - or possessing unaccountable poor taste.

     She boarded, paid her fare, and chose a seat halfway down the length of the bus, preparing to settle in with the half-finished book in her purse. Another wave of that stench stopped her before she had even opened the cover. The homeless man had boarded the bus behind her, slotting coins slowly into the farebox, and she firmly glanced away the moment he turned down the aisle, holding her breath as he passed. He took a seat near the back of the bus - probably planned to sleep there until he was kicked out at the end of the circuit - and the driver pulled away into the thoroughfare, leaving her in a steel box with that horrible stink.

     After suffering it for five minutes, she glanced cautiously to the left and ahead of her, gauging the reaction of the other passengers - really, it smelled so bad she thought someone else must have noticed it, but none of the other commuters seemed bothered. The old woman sitting across the aisle from her had glanced toward the back of the bus once with an expression of sadness, or maybe pity, but that was all. Humans had weaker senses as a rule, but she didn’t know how they could miss it - that horrible, pervasive scent of raw fish. 

     And...and something else, she thought. The overlaying smell of alcohol made it hard to pick out, but there was something beneath it, too - a sort of musky, polecat odor that made her think of roadkill. She curled her lip at the thought, then frowned at a tickling of familiarity the smell tried to bring her. It was a vague thing, and she couldn’t quite seem to get it, fleeing further away the harder she tried to focus on it. Shaking her head like a dog trying to clear its ears of water, she determinedly opened her book and tried to read.

     She managed twenty minutes of the hour-long drive across town before she finally gave into the urge to actually turn around in her seat and look at the man, whose presence she didn’t seem able to completely shut out. She had been prepared to look away immediately if she thought he might catch her, but she found that she needn’t have worried: the homeless man did indeed appear to have fallen asleep, his forehead pressed to the grimy bus window, mouth a little ajar, breathing slow and even. He was older, long, steel gray hair shot through with strands of shock white, but just looking at his pale, bearded face, she couldn’t have said if he was fifty or seventy. She got the sense that he might have been remarkably handsome, once - in the strong cleft of his chin, the shape of his jaw, the evenly spaced eyes - but she couldn’t bring herself to find any beauty in the dirty ruin of a thing he was now. She felt another surge of contempt for him, stronger this time.

     He had stuffed one hand into his coat as if to hold in the warmth, and his other hand rested lax on his lap, tough, pitted fingers curled between the V of his bowed knees. He looked dead to the world, and she thought the odds that he would get off before her stop extremely slim. She thought of mentioning the man to the driver and asking to have him removed, but she had seen him pay his fare, and no one else seemed the least bit bothered by him, or even aware of him.

     She tried to read again, actually angry now, but after little more than a page or so found her mind wandering, snagging again and again on that lingering sense of familiarity that was trying to become memory somewhere in the back of her mind. It niggled at her, like something important that she knew she had forgotten, and she smoothed her hair again, didn’t see the single silver disc of an iris gleaming at her from under coal gray eyelashes. The elusive memory began to infuriate her even more than the smell, and she was glaring intently out the window when the bus passed Tom & Jerry’s Artistic Deli, and the muscles in her lower belly tightened into a stone.

     All at once, it recurred to her: she remembered this smell from the first time she had seen the graffiti, on the alley wall of that very deli. She had had to pass through the alley to get to the subway station from the Italian restaurant across the street, where she had stayed late with a date she had ultimately decided she could do better than. She had noted the graffiti then, passed it by, and then had given herself quite a scare along the following blocks toward the subway. It had been that smell - not the booze, but the fishy stink, and that underlying, musky odor that tickled something in her lizard brain. She had fancied she heard footsteps behind her, been absolutely convinced at one point that she was being stalked, and had made the trip down the last block at a clipped walk with her keys clenched between her fingers, thinking Burned Man, Burned Man, Burned Man. 

     But she had reached the station safely, mingling among the night shift commuters unharmed. She had looked up the street before descending the stairs underground, and all she had seen had been-

     Had been a homeless man, staggering across the street toward the bar on the far side. 

     She sucked in a breath between her teeth, first resisting the urge to turn and look again, and then giving into it, turning her head very slowly over her right shoulder so she could see him, across the aisle and three rows back. He was still asleep; his face had slid a little down the pane of the bus window, pulling up the top lid of his eye to reveal a crescent of cornea, and his breathing was still slow - and in his lap sat an unblemished hand. She was about to turn around again and scold herself for being stupid when her eye fixed on his right arm stuffed into his coat - hiding the hand.

     They’re whispering his name through this disappearing land, but hidden in his coat is a red right hand.

     Who wrote that? It didn’t matter. A flicker of real fear had begun to take the place of paranoia, and she desperately tried to place his face, to determine if she had ever seen it before. It was hopeless; she hadn’t seen the face of the hobo that night by the subway, and who in New York paid attention to the faces of the homeless anyway?

     God, but what if that was it? They said the Burned Man had a glam, something that kept him safe from notice until he was right behind you, but why would he need a glam when every New Yorker worked so hard not to see vagrants by choice that it eventually became second nature? A homeless man was the only type of person in the city who never looked out of place, and as a result never drew any especial attention. 

     Her heart hadn’t beat in over half a century, but she felt as if it had lodged itself in her throat, and when the old woman across the aisle gave her a curious look, she turned stiffly to face the front of the bus again, fear crawling on her back like a skittering insect. She was safe - she had to be. Who could look less like a vampire than she did? Middle-aged, middle-class, pretty but not beautiful, modestly dressed, second-generation immigrant from Italy - there were tens of thousands of women just like her in this city, and to think that she might be suspected of anything so far-fetched was ludicrous. The homeless man was human - foul-smelling, but undoubtedly human. She had nothing to fear.

     The homeless man snorted, then belched, face sliding a little further down the pane. If he was pretending, he was very good, and she tried again to convince herself that she was being silly, shutting her eyes tight, and trying to clear her mind. She wasn’t such of a much as far as power went, had never been all that potent even among her own class of vampires, but her senses were still keen, and with concentration she could call upon them - call upon them to hear the quiet rasp of his steady breathing. And the steady thrum of his heart, thud-thud, thud-thud.

     Too fast. The man’s heart wasn’t just clipping along, it was racing, and all at once she was in a paroxysm of terror, absolutely certain of his identity. Certain that she was trapped in a bus with the Burned Man, and that there was nothing she could do. Cry out? Make a scene? No, she would look like the aggressor, with him feigning sleep so artfully back there, and even if she didn’t simply provoke him into pouncing on her immediately, she could be detained, and he could just wait in some alley for her to leave. Ask to be let off the bus, go somewhere crowded? She’d give away that she knew, then, and he might simply follow her. No matter where she went, it would close eventually, and she would have to leave - he’d just have to lie in wait. 

     Home. She would have to go home, exactly as she had intended - she had a gun in her closet, and once she was inside she could call in at the Dixie Pig. If she said the Burned Man was outside of her house, the can-toi would be at her door in minutes, and he would either be caught or driven away. If the latter happened, she would just appeal to Sayre to relocate her. It would cost her a few more years’ debt, but she could cope with that for peace of mind. Yes, there - that was a solid plan.

     But the last fifteen minutes of the drive felt like an eternity, constantly aware of his slow breathing and dark polecat odor somewhere behind her, and it took all of her willpower not to run off the bus the moment the door was opened. She walked slowly, forcing herself to look absent, natural, and preoccupied, and when she reached the curb she even took a moment to glance at her watch - in reality, glancing over it at the bus window, where the homeless man was apparently still sleeping, his breath visibly fogging the window. He stayed there, unmoving, even as the bus door closed and it began to pull away with a shriek of gears and exhaust. She watched, nonplussed, as it chugged on down the street and turned onto the adjoining avenue, and out of sight. 

     And just like that, he was gone. Swept out of her life, and after another minute of standing she had to make herself turn in the other direction and begin to walk. For the average person - and, for all that she had died sixty years ago, in mindset at least she was an average person - six blocks of walking is more than enough to begin doubting the memory of an irrational fear. What feels so visceral and absolutely true in the heat of the moment becomes vague, uncertain, because the mind is eager to discard the confounding, and will look without thinking for reasons to do so. 

     By the time she stepped into her brownstone and considered actually contacting Sayre, she didn’t just feel silly - she felt ridiculous. Was she really going to give Richard Sayre and his bookies a foot through the door of her privacy because she had gotten spooked by a sleeping homeless man on the bus? It was two in the afternoon, for Christ’s sake - broad daylight! The idea that that haggard man on the bus might have planned their meeting and deliberately stalked her now, when the world was alive with light, was stupid and absurd, and even if he had gotten off at the next stop, he would have had no way of knowing where she’d gone from there. She was not going to call Sayre.

     She did take the revolver out of the closet and load it, but she placed it on the coffee table when she sat down in her loungewear to read and listen to a record, and after an hour she had nearly forgotten about it. By four, she had forgotten about it, and got up to make herself a late lunch, leaving the gun in the living room. When she discovered that the trash was full beyond her ability to jam it back down into the can and, grumbling, slipped on shoes to take it out, she did not take the gun with her. 

     The sunlight had taken on a darker hue as early afternoon became late, but it was still a gorgeous day out, and she took a moment to breathe it in before padding down the front steps and heading around to the dumpster between her building and the next. It didn’t smell half so pleasant in the alley - it didn’t matter how much money you paid per month, alleyways in New York always smelled like wet garbage - and she held her nose as she flipped the dumpster’s lid up and dropped her bag inside. She held it, and did not smell that musky polecat odor when it mingled with the rest of the alley stink. If the shriek and crash of a car accident close by hadn’t startled her into turning, she would have died immediately. 

     A heavy carpenter’s hammer cut through the air inches from her head with a sharp whoomp, and she uttered a breathless scream, turning to see the man from the bus, his shock-white hair windblown, chapped lips drawn back over his teeth - shock and fury mingling in a pair of wide, wild, red-rimmed eyes. She tried to scream again, but could manage nothing, because it wasn’t the hand holding the hammer that had arrested her attention, but the other one, clutching what she realized had been her book, forgotten on the bus - her book, with her name and mailing address written inside the back cover. And the hand that held it was hideous, mottled - and a dark, livid red. 

     “No, no, no, please,” she hissed, backing away from him, further into the alley. He advanced on her, and in the avidity of those pale eyes she thought she read not just rage, but fear. Was he scared? Afraid now that his ambush had been foiled and the element of surprise was lost? She was afraid, oh yes, but she was also a predator, and even a fearful predator is crafty - perhaps especially then. Always looking for the way out.

     “Please, I don’t understand - I haven’t done anything to you!” Her voice cracked and quailed, and as she made her body small and held up her tiny hands in a warding off gesture, she was sure this time that she saw him hesitate, saw him swallow, saw those pale eyes flicker. The thing inside of her with its low cunning scented the air, smelling vulnerability. “I don’t have any money - it’s all inside! Bu-but...but you can have my jewelry!” She started to frantically remove her sapphire earrings, then went for her emerald ring as well when she saw an expression of horror dawn on his face. “Here, take them!” She shoved her palms out at him, and he actually took a step backward, holding up the disgusting ruin of a hand that held her book as if to say ‘oh cripes, I’m so sorry, my mistake’, mouth working soundlessly.

     “Please, I don’t want to die.” She played up the pathos as much as she could, hearkening back to decades-old memories of what it had been like to feel, and he staggered back another step, arms dropping to his sides, bamboozled by doubt. When his fingers went lax around the handle of the hammer, she knew she had him, and lunged.

     There were vampires more powerful than she - most of them, in fact. She walked by day in exchange for her weakness, but even she could dominate this human given an opening - her strength would surely match his, even if it didn’t exceed it. Serpentine fangs slitted through her gums with shocking abruptness as she pounced on him, wrapped her arms around his neck and locked her legs around his waist like a lover - but when she sealed her lips to his neck, she both felt and intended nothing but ruin. 

     Her teeth did not so much as graze his skin. The second her mouth made contact with his flesh, she was overwhelmed with that stench, that dark animal musk that had been lingering under the smell of raw fish like a dirty secret - it hit her like an open-palmed slap to the face, and she immediately began to heave, driven away from that primeval pheromone by instinct that was now wired in her blood. Not for you, that smell said. He is not for you. You are not allowed. Unclean. Unclean. 

     She staggered away from him, gagging, and in the moments before her death - her final death - she looked up and saw a horror. There was a sickly, bruised blue aura hanging around the old man’s head like a miasma, slicked over his cheeks and his chin and down his neck like glowing paint, staining his tongue, his teeth. All at once she knew that roadkill stench for what it was - the mark of the Unclean, who had drank of the Old Blood but not changed. Not dead, not undead, but never again truly living, cast out from the natural order into a no man’s land where neither side would greet them as kin. She had heard of it as a form of punishment, but never of a time in recent history when it had actually been done.

     “Unclean-” She moaned, gut still wrenching, and for a moment the man looked absolutely thunderstruck with what some dim, forgotten part of her recognized as anguish. He looked gutted, wretched - and then furious, and when he swung the hammer back over his head, she screamed. And because this was New York City, even her neighbors that were home on a weekday afternoon did not look out their windows. 

     The homeless man stood in the alley in the aftermath of what he had done. He looked down at the crumpled pile of untenanted loungewear, the shock of brown hair, the little pile of teeth. Old-fashioned fillings - couldn’t have been done any later than the forties. After a moment he listlessly scuffed the teeth down a storm drain, and kicked the hair into a pile of garbage, where it looked like a discarded wig. He knelt down and reached for the clothes, then stopped. For a long moment he simply knelt there in the alley - then, very slowly, even fearfully, he traced the sign of the cross in the air in front of himself, and spoke with the voice of a man expecting to be struck.

     “May the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and of all the saints, whatever good you have done or suffering you have endured, heal your sins and reward you with eternal life. Amen.” Silence reigned again, half-expectant, but no thunderbolt descended from the cloudless sky to smite him. Perhaps even the Unclean were permitted to dispense sacraments when the cause was just - because the woman who had left her copy of The Collected Works of Robert Browning on a bus in Queens two and a half hours ago was not undeserving of prayer.

     Because she, like a Saint Bernard that once lived in Castle Rock, Maine, had always tried to be a good person, and had never wanted to hurt anybody. And like that poor dog, she had stuck her head into a cave and been bitten by a bat, and all of the misery that had followed, both for her and those around her, came down to no more than a virus. The disease had stolen her humanity, rather than her reason, and if the woman she had been today had willfully contributed to the spread of the AIDs crisis, the woman she had been once could not be blamed for it. For that woman, who had been dead indeed for nearly sixty years, it had never been a matter of choice. 

     The man in the alley picked up the clothing and jewelry, and dropped them into the dumpster, then pulled a few bags of trash over them. Even if they were discovered when the woman’s disappearance was noticed, he wasn’t concerned - what evidence was there of murder? The teeth had already been washed away in the greywater, and the hair might be perplexing, but would lead nowhere. He left the alley the way he had come, and wandered back down to the bus stop. 

     When the 4:30 bus arrived, he boarded it, and when he saw the bar he had had in mind out the window, spotted the graffiti on the bench in front of it, he decided to stay on a few more stops - and the city swallowed him, because it was hungry. The city was always hungry, and not all of those it devoured were unwilling. 

[bernardschweizer1]

Taishan (1)

I recently had occasion to learn the Chinese vocabulary of noise, inconvenience, and complaint. An apartment below us in our building is undergoing an ambitious and extremely thorough renovation, resulting in deafening noise levels. Thank goodness, I have noise-cancelling headphones, but sometimes even Stevie Ray Vaughn’s amplified electric guitar cannot drown out the jack hammer. At those times, I would storm to the management office (guǎnlǐ chù) and complain (tóusù) that the noise (chǎo) of the demolition (chāi fángzi) had gotten too bad (tài bú hǎo le), especially the drilling (zuǎn kǒng). And I would insist that they tell me until when (dào shénme shíjiān) this madness (#@*!) was supposed go on, so I could come up with a plan to stay sane. After I’ve had my say, they would usually tell me something about a fast approaching end of the project, but nothing would change.

So, one day when it got particularly annoying, I decided to take a hike—literally. To plot my escape, I pored over a map of China, crossing it with my bucket list of places to go hiking. I quickly narrowed it down to one location which, though more than 800 km away (roughly the distance from Switzerland to Holland), was located along the high-speed train line to Beijing, which means that traveling would be less than four hours. Soon, I held the ticket to Tai’an in my hands and busied myself with booking accommodations.

The hiking destination, Taishan, is one of the five holy mountains of China. Some consider it to be the most important of the five mountains. My sense is that this judgment is influenced more by worldly than spiritual considerations. Indeed, being located relatively near Beijing, the place was favored by frequent visits from the emperors. This, in turn, means that the mountain received a rather lavish amount of resources for development. For instance, by the standards of hiking trails, the path they beat up to the Heavenly Gate on the top of the mountain looks rather like a superhighway--a multilane stairway to heaven!

This was not a point of attraction for me, but I figured that there might be alternative routes to go.

But before I get to the hiking portion of the report, I want to clarify that this was my first solo trip in China. In a sense, it was the final exam to see if I was ready to graduate from my “survivor Chinese” level. But early on in my stay at Tai’an, I had reason to suspect misunderstandings because the prices I heard seemed to be wrong, making me wonder if I had my numbers all mixed up. But then I realized that the dollar (or rather kuai/yuan) simply stretched much farther here than in Shanghai. For instance, my large, well-appointed room at the Sheraton set me back all of $73.

The bathroom even fancied a large picture window with a mountain view next to the tub. Another example: a fancy retractable aluminum hiking pole with spring shocks cost just 20 kuai (or $3). In the US, you would not even get the hand strap on said hiking pole for that amount. In many regards, Shanghai is as expensive—or even more expensive—than major Western cities, but Tai’an is in a different league. Here, I noticed a certain financial insouciance that would be unthinkable in places like Shanghai: One lady who wanted to sell me a tourist map told me it was 8 kuai ($1.30), but when I wasn’t bargaining, she voluntarily lowered the prince to 5 kuai. I ended up giving her 6 to play her game of defeating each others’ expectations. For a moment I felt like I was in a Monty Python scene.

People here also don’t charge Westerners more than they do locals. By contrast, in Shanghai even native-born Chinese like my wife (who are considered as “returnees”) are charged more than died-in-the-wool Shanghainese at the fish market and other bargain-intensive places. But along the path up to Taishan, I bought a bag of local herb tea for 5 kuai, and as I walked away, I saw the sign board in Chinese characters that did indeed list the price as 5 kuai per baggy.

Finally, to top it off, when I stepped on a bus for a few stops but did not have the 2 kuai exact change required for the fare, an elderly lady nonchalantly handed me two 1-kuai pieces. Since I didn’t want to be remembered in this town as another dirt-poor Westerner spooning off the locals, I insisted that she keep my 5 kuai bill, which she did, but only reluctantly. In any case, this aspect made me feel perfectly comfortable as the sole Westerner in this place.

I’m not kidding, I didn’t see another Westerner here, and the scarcity of my kind showed in the behavior of the locals: I lost count of how many times I had my picture taken with enthusiastic Chinese who just wanted to be seen with a wàiguó rén (foreigner). 

What this meant to them was not entirely clear to me…maybe they considered me exotic. Or I appeared to them as a kind of walking status symbol. This sort of treatment (which scholars would call “reverse othering”) didn’t bother me at all since I obviously derived not disadvantage from it. On the contrary, I reaped a tangible benefit from the attention I was getting: I’m not saying that I was feed like an animal at a petting zoo, but the locals did show a strong proclivity to hand me edibles for free. It started on the way up when a fellow hiker, who kept pace with me, spontaneously offered me half of his freshly purchased cucumber. For a moment I hesitated because of food safety concerns but then I bit into it, and the cold bursting freshness was a sheer delight to my parched mouth.

Later on, a group of women picnicking right on the steps of the stair path held out their bag of freshly baked sponge cake to me and let me grab a couple. Another guy I chatted with for about half an hour using my stumbling Chinese rewarded me for my effort with a whole pack of cookies. During our conversation, he told me, he’d spotted me five hours earlier down at the middle point of the hike. That’s how much I obviously stuck out there.

But as good as folks here are in the friendly-overtures department, giving directions is not their forte. The concierge at the Tai’an Sheraton usefully told me that the Dai Temple—the town’s main attraction, beside the mountain—was a mere 15 minutes down the road. I naturally thought that most people’s 15 minutes was my 10. But the “map” the concierge handed me turned out to be equivalent to an imaginative child’s drawing: It bore only a slight resemblance to the actual lay of the land.

It took me almost one hour to reach the Dai Temple, for it was over two miles away, and I took a few wrong turns. I was again surprised the next day when at the conclusion of my hike I ended up at the foot of the mountain looking for local transportation. I asked some people at a store about the location of the bus stop to return to Tai’an, but they looked at me as if I were asking where the launch pad to the moon was. I know the word for bus stop (chē zhàn) and the question word “where” (zài nǎlǐ), so that was not the problem. Anyway, they could not help me, but when I kept walking down the road, I spotted the bus stop merely two blocks further. Fortunately, the little confusion did not prevent me from being back at the Sheraton in time to order a taxi to take me to the train station. At least the taxi driver had a decent sense of orientation.

[chillensnart-blog]

One Fork, Two Forks

AO3 Link

Pairing: Coldwave

Summary: Mick takes a summer job in Wyoming as a fire lookout, nothing goes as he expects it to.

Or the Firewatch AU no one asked for, but I wrote anyways

The hike itself isn’t all bad, the heat is refreshing after a long winter and a cold spring. The air is crisp and clear, making it easy to just breath in everything around him. It’s the hottest peak of the day, the time every other hiker would be complaining about, trying to find shade to hide under. Not him, though. Mick loves the heat, even when it’s blistering and suffocating. Even when it licked at his skin, boiling and scarring it up.

Mick isn’t quite sure how he managed to get this job, but he isn’t about to complain. People in charge was probably being stupid, didn’t do a more thorough background check. Otherwise, there is no way they’d let a pyromaniac be on fire lookout. Mick just got lucky.

It’s still quite a ways from the tower, looming in the distance. He estimates it will take the rest of the day and a bit of the evening before he arrives. There isn’t much else for him to do other than look at trees and the occasional stream along the way. Better get going, he doesn't want to have to set up camp again.

He’s exhausted by the time he reaches the top of the tower, the stairs the last hurdle of his hike. The sky had turned dark a few hours ago, the air getting chillier with each step. He just wants to flop down onto the bed and let himself sleep for a full day.

“Hello, Two Forks Tower. ” A male voice pipes up, slightly static-y and with a slow drawl to it.

Mick stares at the small, yellow walkie-talkie radio sitting on the desk, charging. He frowns and narrows his eyes at it, wondering if whoever speaking will go away if he ignores it.

“Hello? Mick Rory? ”

Mick picks it up, examining and trying to find an off button for it. Maybe he can just pull the battery out.

“My name is Leonard Snart- ”

“Yeah, I know.” He interrupts, distantly remembering that he heard the name during orientation at some point.

“Oh good, he speaks! ” Snart says, heavy with sarcasm. “So what’s wrong with you? ”

“What?”

“No one in their right mind comes out here, so what’s wrong with you? ”

“‘S none of your fuckin’ business.”

“Aww. ” Snart mocks and Mick can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Someone’s grumpy. ”

“What’s wrong with you ?” Mick shoots back with a snarl.

“Oh! That’s a great idea, go ahead. ”

“What?”

“Take a guess, what’s wrong with me? ”

“I fuckin’ hiked for two days, I just wanna sleep, okay?” Mick sighs, sitting on the small bed and slumping down.

“C’mon. Five more minutes, that’s all. Go ahead. ”

“You pissed off the mafia so now you’re hidin’ out here.”

Snart laughs for a full minute, “ I wish .”

“Right, g’night, then.” Mick yawns, laying his body down. He doesn’t exactly fit, the bed a little too small for someone of his stature, but it’s softer than the floor, so he can’t complain too much.

“Wait, now it’s my turn. ”

“Good. Night.”

“Let’s see, I know nothing about you. You’re not an axe murderer, are you? ”

Mick ignores him, yawning again and closing his eyes. “Mick? ” He starts to drift, hand loosening around the radio until it drops to the floor with a thump. “Heh. Good night, Mick. ”

 DAY 1

“Good morning, Mick! ” Snart’s voice was overly cheerful as Mick grumbles his way to a meal in the tiny kitchen of the tower. “Or afternoon, you almost slept the whole day away. ” Good, he needed that sleep.

“There’s still some daylight hours left, so I hope you’re ready for your first job! ” The cheery voice is starting to grate on his nerves, but he suspects Snart is doing it for that purpose alone. “Just call me back when you’re done floundering by the stove! ” Mick rolls his eyes at that, muttering insults under his breath.

Wait.

Snart can see him? His movement stops from the realization. Slowly, he goes to the radio still on the floor where he had left it and picks it up.

“You can see me?” Mick demands, snarling.

“Hello to you, too. Yes. I’m just north of you, at Thorofare lookout. ” Just great. Perfect. “You can’t see me? I’m waving. ”

Mick sighs, and goes back to ignoring Snart. He’ll take a look later with his binoculars, after food. It isn’t anything fancy, just potato stew with a few spices he brought along. No meat, since it’ll just go bad in this heat. Nothing fancy, but filling enough.

“Are you done, yet? You’re certainly taking your time. ”

“And you’re fuckin’ annoyin’.” Mick answers, mouth full.

“No one ever taught you not to talk with your mouth full? ”

“What do you want?” He asks, swallowing the last bite and already regretting the question.

“I’m getting you acquainted with the job. There’s a thing in the middle of your room, round with a map on it? ”

“Yeah?” Mick turns to it, raising an eyebrow even though Snart can’t see it.

“That’s the Osborne Fire Finder, invented in 1914 by W.B…. ” Snart trails off, obviously trying to get Mick to finish his sentence.

“...”

“Guess! ”

“...Osborne?” Mick says dryly.

“You use this to spooooot…? ”

“...Fire?”

“You guessed it-, what the fuck? ”

“What?”

“West window, you see that, right? ”

Mick walks over to the window, confused. What exactly is he suppose to be seeing? There’s trees and the almost setting sun, and- Oh.

“Fireworks.”

“Yeah. Fucking idiots. You need to get down there. Fire hazard alert. ”

“‘S that even my job?”

“Your job is whatever I tell you to do. ” Wow, this guy sure is bossy. “And the closest ranger is two days away. So, get hopping, Mick. ”

“Do I arrest them?” Mick asks, unsure of what the protocol is.

“No. Just. Tell them to knock it off and take the fireworks away. You might need a rope to get down the shale between you and the lake. There’s one in the supply box on the way, code is: 1-2-3-4. ” Snart pauses, “It’s actually that for all of them .”

“Secure.” Micks scoffs, but picks up his backpack, slinging it behind him.

“Easy to remember and surprisingly, no one thinks to guess it. ”

Mick laughs a little at that, making his way down the tower. His body is still a bit sore from his two day hike, but stretching his muscles after the long sleep will be good for him. Besides, he’s always up for yelling at a few idiots stupid enough to light fireworks in a forest. Not that getting to see a giant fire will disappoint him.

He checks his map, making sure he’s heading the right way. Getting lost will just be inconvenient, not to mention, embarrassing. It only takes him a few minutes to get to the supply box and as promised, the rope is inside. It looks a little old, less sturdy than he likes. Better than nothing. Step one done, Mick continues on his way.

The shale slide is steeper than he first imagined, “That looks pretty steep.” He reports to Snart, peering down to the bottom. “I dunno about this.”

“Hm. I don’t remember it being that bad. It’s not even named. ”

“Why don’t we call it ‘you’re gonna get me killed’.” Mick snips back, hooking his rope onto the hook beside it.

“Don’t be so scared, you’re a big boy, right? ”

“Fuck you.” He growls, then takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

The rope snaps half way down, Mick yelling out in panic. Thankfully, it isn’t too high that he breaks something, but it sure is painful for his back. He groans, rubbing at the bruise that he’s sure will appear and wishing he never listened to Snart. The radio crackles beside him, lucky that he hadn’t land on it.

“You’re not dead, are you? ” Snart asks, voice wary. Serves him right. Mick wonders what Snart will say if he just doesn’t answer for a bit. “Mick? ”

He gets up with a huff and another groan, picking the radio up. “Shit. Please tell me you’re okay. ” It’s a little fun actually, messing with the other man. “Mick? ”

“I hate you.” Mick finally says after a few more rounds of Snart calling his name, but there’s a grin on his face.

“Oh thank god. I mean. You asshole. ” But it’s too late, Mick knows how relieved Snart is. Still grinning, he continues on his way, with only mild discomfort from the fall.

It isn’t long until he reaches a meadow, perfect for pitching up a tent. The downside are the empty beer cans scattered around the area. He finds two backpacks, too, along with a campfire that’s still smoking. Mick reports all that to Snart, the other man groaning about idiots and how stupid some people are. The campfire, he stomps out completely, only slightly tempted to light it back up again. The cans are stuffed into his backpack, but Snart tells him to leave the other backpacks alone, not wanting to deal with complaints of harassment. Now all that’s left is the find the culprits.

Mick finds a bottle of whiskey, half full. Nice, good stuff too. The campers certainly don’t deserve it, he thinks, putting that into his backpack. The fireworks are there, right out in the open. Still no sign of anyone else, though. He heads towards the lake, starting to hear music from that direction.

The bra he stumbles upon has him grimacing, isn't that great. “There’s a bra.” He tells Snart, “And panties, too.” Actually, there's two pairs of them.

Snart laughs, “A nudie pyromaniac. Good luck. ” Mick winces slightly at the pyromaniac comment, if only he knew.

“There’s two…”

“Two? ” Mick doesn’t like the amusement in Snart’s voice.

“Two naked ladies.” He confirms with a sigh. The music is getting louder, he must be close.

“Can you handle that? ” There’s a smile in there somewhere, full of sarcasm.

“Shut the fuck up.” Mick grumbles, stomping his way to the lake. He can handle it, he just prefers not to. “They’re in the lake.” There are two figures there, probably drunk, and a boombox off to the side at the shore.

“Skinny dipping? ”

“Yeah.”

“Is that a guy over there?” One of the girls says, just as Mick was about to say something else to Snart.

“Oh boy. Have fun with that. ” Snart actually giggles, then goes quiet, presumably to let Mick do his job. Asshole.

Here goes. “Hey! Knock it off with the fireworks or you’re fucked!” Mick shouts, getting straight to the point. No use in starting off easy.

“Don’t threaten us!” The other girl shouts back, voice harsh and angry. “Yeah, who the hell are you, creep?” The first girl adds.

Really, if anyone’s the creep, it’s the ones currently naked in a lake. “He’s just one of those lonely guys who likes to boss people around.” Girl two answers back.

“Why do guys think it’s alright to stare at girls?” Girl one says, almost ignoring Mick.

“Why do idiots think it’s alright to light fireworks in the middle of the fuckin’ forest?” Mick shouts back at them and picks up their boombox.

“Whoa! Put that back!”

“You want it back?” Mick taunts, “Stop lightin’ fireworks.” It’s tempting to just chuck the thing into the lake, wanting to piss off the girls like they pissed him off.

“Fuck you! You creep!” Girl two yells back. “Yeah, fuck you!” The other pipes up.

And there it goes, splashing into the lake, the music cutting off abruptly. Pity.

“Oh my god!” They both screamed, “UGH. Let’s get out of here.” Yeah, pissing people off is fun. “Fuck you!” Girl two says one last time before they both swim behind a rock. Mick raises an eyebrow at that, because there’s no way they can swim to the opposite shore and the only way out will be towards him. He wonders how long it’s going to take them to realize that.

“How’d it go? ” Snart asks after a short moment.

“I hope they get hypothermia. Or get eaten by a bear. Or both.” Mick answers and turns away. Whatever, he’s got their fireworks, anyways.

“That good, huh? ”

“Shouldn’t be anymore trouble, boss.”

“Atta boy. Thanks for going down there. ” It doesn’t sound sincere, but Mick pretends it is. What an asshole.

“Right. How do I get back now? No rope for the shale slide.”

“Go through Thunder Canyon. ” Snart instructs, “No shale slides and relatively easy terrain. ”

“Relatively?” Mick repeats warily, but follows the order with a quick check of his map.

Relatively easy was a lie. Mick isn’t scared of heights, but he really doesn’t enjoy having to walk across more than two wooden logs with death below him. The climbing is a pain, too, but it isn’t too hard. Still, relatively easy isn’t a good description for it. He tells Snart as much, who only laughs and tells him to suck it up. Again, asshole.

Snart turns out to be an easy conversationalist, likes to talk a little too much, but he still lets Mick cut in with comments once in awhile. They don’t share about themselves, cutting it off when it got too personal, either by Snart or Mick. When that happens, Snart tries to start a new conversation, usually with puns too horrible for Mick to ignore. Yeah, that’s a thing. Puns. Horrible ones. Ones Mick isn’t ever going to repeat for his own sanity.

Their conversation is helpful, Mick learning more about the area and that there was an incident involving Yellowstone burning down. How he would have loved to see that, not that he tells Snart. He knows can’t hide his pyromania forever, but he sure as hell can try to delay it. It helps that Snart doesn’t suspect a thing, who would?

Thunder booms in the distance as he goes through a cave, Snart commenting about how their job is going to get busier with the storm. Mick takes that to mean they’ll expect a few fires. He can’t wait.

There’s a guy pointing a flashlight at him when he exits the cave, but Mick leaves it. There’s hikers and campers all around, it’s summer and as long as they don’t attack Mick or light up fireworks, they’re cool.

The tower is a welcomed sight and Mick sighs with relief. As he gets closer, however, there’s a feeling of wrongness. His suspicions are confirmed when he sees his cooking pot lying outside at the bottom of the stairs. He picks it up, frowning, and heads upwards.

Mick curses when he sees the broken window, anger raising up. He storms into the tower room, growling at the mess and, great, his sheets are gone, too. “Someone fuckin’ broke in.” He tells Snart, pissed off and itching to burn something to calm it. He can’t, though, not out here. He can’t lose another job, he needs this.

“They what? ” Snart replies, voice serious for once. It almost sounds cold.

“Wreck the place, threw one of my cooking pots out the window, stole my fuckin’ sheets. Fuck!”

“Holy shit. ” Snart says, then, “Or should I say sheet. ”

Mick groans out loud, but the bad pun does help to quell his anger a bit. “Not the time.”

“Sorry, sorry. ” There isn’t a hint of regret in Snart’s voice. “I’ll let the Service know what happened. Any idea who did it? ”

“I dunno, the girls at the lake? I did throw their stereo into the lake.” Mick admits gruffly, picking up his things and putting them back to their rightful place.

Snart sighs, “I wish you hadn’t done that. Alright, I put in a call. ”

“Will they catch whoever did it?”

“They’re not exactly Hawaii Five-o .” Is that a show? Mick doesn’t watch much TV, but he thinks it's some sort of investigation show. That, or Snart's messing with him. “I’ll have the rangers keep an eye out for two girls in the meantime. Best we can do. ”

“Any chance I can get a gun out here?”

“Ha .” Snart laughs, “If you can find one. Good luck with that, though .”

“Great. Should’ve brought my own.”

“As if they’d let you in if you had. ”

“Ugh. I’m goin’ to bed. Without my sheets.” Mick grumbles and puts the radio to its charger.

“Goodnight, Mick! Sweet dreams of beating teenage girls up. ” He hears from the radio as he lays down. His lips quirks up, even with the anger still boiling in him. Tomorrow. He’ll deal with it tomorrow, after possibly watching his stove’s flames for a few minutes.

DAY 2

“Rise and shine, Mick. ”

Mick grumbles, turning away from the voice and blocking it out. Just a few more minutes.

“Wake up. ”

Ugh.

“Waaaaake up, Miiiiick. ”

Yeah, he’s up. Mick rubs the sleep from his eyes as Snart starts to chant his name. “Mick. Mick. Mick. Mick. ” It only stops when he gets to his radio, “Fuckin’ stop.” He yawns out, voice scratchy and deep with sleep.

“Oh good. You’re awake. ”

“Hng.”

“Me, too. ” Snart says sarcastically, “Anyways. Job for you. Storm must’ve knocked out a telephone line somewhere, which means we’re cut off. ”

“And you want me to what? Fix it?”

“You probably can’t. But what you can do is take a hike up to where the wires run through your area and report back if it’s down. Then I can let a ranger know where the problem is and have them get someone on it. ”

“Great. Another hike. Where is it?”

“North. The cave you went through yesterday, just straight north after that. ”

“Got it, boss.” Mick says. Might as well. He grabs a few power bars for the trip, planning a good meal when he gets back. He’s never taken so many hikes in such short amount of days. It’s...new. Not something he likes, but not something he overly minds.

His strange conversations with Snart continues, the man even putting in a few urban legends about the forest. Some of them were so absolutely ridiculous, Mick can’t help but laugh. It’s nice, this easy friendship in just a few hours, in just a day. They’re stuck here, just the two of them in the middle of nowhere. It feels like Snart’s the best friend he’s never had and isn’t that just cheesy. He scoffs and shakes his head at himself, but there’s a small smile on his face.

Mick sees the felled line in the middle of Snart’s explanation of how figure skating points systems work.

“Hey. Found the line. ‘S cut. And look, they left a note.” Mick interrupts Snart’s rambling and picks up a piece of clothing, giving it a look of derision. “On underwear. Says ‘Go to hell’. Beer cans too, must’ve been the girls.”

“How nice of them. ” Snart drawls, “I’m guessing they cut the line? ”

“Looks like.”

“Great. ” There’s a hint of annoyance in Snart’s voice, “Fucking idiots. This is how people die, do they not realize that? What if I need to report something urgent, or god forbid, there’s a fire? ”

“What do y’want me to do?” Mick asks helplessly, sensing the anger from Snart. The man is usually so cool and calm, even when he’s ranting. He’s still cool, of course, but it’s different. Very...chilling.

“Find them. ”

“And?”

“...I don’t know. Nothing that comes to mind is legal. ”

“C’mon, boss. I’m here at your service, whatever you want.” Mick surprises himself at how cheery he’s being. Maybe Snart is starting to rub off on him.

“I want you to scare them. Really scare them. Wreck their shit. Burn a few things. Let’s see how much they appreciate things burning if they like to light fireworks so much. ”

Micks laughs, “You’re serious?”

“Maybe not about the burning, because that’s just more problems for us. ” Pity, since that’ll definitely be something Mick will enjoy doing. “But please, if you see them or their things. Get your revenge. Steal their sheet. ”

“You’re horrible.”

“Yes, I am. ” At least Snart’s back to his old self, all sarcasm and drawled words.

Mick follows the trail of beer cans, picking up after them. Fireworks, littering, cutting up telephone wires, how did they even get up there? Seriously. These girls are the worst kind of people and Mick’s been to prison. That’s saying something.

The view here is nice, all the colors clashing into a beautiful scene of nature. There are reds and blues and greens everywhere. A splatter of white, a peek of yellow. It’s like a painting, except it moves and is apparently turning Mick into a hidden poet. But he dares anyone not to look across the high canyon and think some poetic thoughts.

Mick finds a backpack hanging in a dead tree along his path. Inside, there’s a camera, one of those cheaper single-use ones and a shit-ton of rope. Like, a shit-ton and they look a lot sturdier than the single one he had before.

“Looks like you hit the jackpot. ” Snart comments when Mick tells him his discovery.

Mick smiles as he takes a quick picture with the camera. “Thanks, Jonas Hunter.”

“Wait, wait. Who? ” Snart asks.

“Jonas Hunter, was sewn into the bag.”

“Huh. ” Mick frowns at the surprise in Snart’s voice.

“You know ‘im?”

“Yeah. Kind of. Just haven’t heard that name in a long time. ”

“Yeah?” Mick encourages as he walks and continues to follow the path. There isn’t anymore beer cans to pick up, thank god, but he thinks he’s still going the right way.

“He was stationed where you are three years ago with his father, Rip. Good kid. ”

“You can bring kids out here?”

“I’m not exactly strict with the rules. ” Snart admits, “And they took off halfway through the summer .”

“Must’ve been your charm.”

“Yeah, it just didn’t work with twelve year olds, unfortunately. ”

They go quiet after that, Mick making his way down some shale slides with his handy new ropes. Finding them really was a stroke of luck, he’d probably have to go the long way around if he hadn’t.

“You see that? ” Snart’s voice crackles through the radio as Mick arrives at the cave he first went through. He takes a look around, trying to spot something high that even Snart can see.

“The smoke?” It was thin, hard to notice against the bright sky, but he manages to make it out.

“Looks like it’s way down in the south west. You can cut through the meadow by the lake to get there. Kick their ass. ”

“Got it, boss.” Mick smirks, heading towards that direction.

“So what made you take the job? ”

“Needed a job.”

“That’s it? ”

“Yeah. What about you?”

“Hm. Wouldn’t you like to know. ”

 “So, the fire.”

“The one in Yellowstone? What about it? ”

“How big did it get?”

“It got pretty out of control, how big do you think? ”

“Must’ve been a sight.”

 When Mick finds the campsite, it’s already in pieces. The tent is torn up, clothes strewn everywhere and look, “I found my sheets.”

“Oh nice. Gonna steal theirs? ”

“A little too late. The place is in pieces, must’ve been a bear or somethin’?”

“Wait, it’s already wrecked? I’d say serve them right, but...they’re not hurt, are they? ”

“No sign of ‘em.” Mick ruffles through a few of things and finds a note taped to the destroyed tent. “Dear psycho.” He starts to read.

“What? ”

“I hope you’re fuckin’ happy. We’re leavin’ and we’re goin’ to find the police or whatever and tell them about how you creeped on us in the lake, and then came and destroyed our campsite and all of our stuff. Oh and stealin’ panties is gross out. You’re probably a mental fuckin’ axe murderer and are so going to jail.” Been there, done that. “I hope it was worth bein’ a jerk over some fireworks. Dick.” Mick finishes with a nod. “Lovely note they left me.”

“Wow, I knew you were an axe murderer! ” Snart snorts and laughs, “And you stole their panties? Mick Rory! ”

“I didn’t steal anything! They’re the ones that stole my sheets!” Mick keeps the note, just for future reference.

“Well, there’s no way for them to call the cops and weird stuff happens in the woods. Could be other people, or they were just drunk as fuck. Who knows. They’re gone and they ain’t coming back. We can just get back to work, alright? ”

“Yeah, alright.”

DAY 3

Mick finally starts to board up his broken window today, half talking with Snart as he does his task. He hammers in one more nail, but is still missing three more boards to cover it up completely. It isn’t his best work, then again, it’s not like he can get or find glass out here. It’s the best he can do on such a short notice and with such limited resources.

“Mick? ” Snart asks as he finds a good enough piece of wood by the outhouse. Mick hums in response, waiting.

“What do you look like? ”

“Why y’askin’?”

“Curious. ”

“I look like a guy.”

“Really? I never would’ve guessed, we could be twins. I look like a guy, too! ” Mick pauses his hammering just to dramatically roll his eyes at Snart’s sassy tone. He hopes Snart can see that from his tower.

“I dunno? Tall, big?”

“That’s a start, I guess. ” Snart sighs, “Let’s see. From what I can make out, you’re a white guy wearing pants. How can you even do that in this heat? ”

“I like it hot.” Mick defends, picking up another board and nailing it in.

“Do you wear anything else? ”

“Clothes?” Mick isn’t sure where Snart is trying to go with this.

Snart sighs again, longer this time. “Moving on. What about your face? If I’m sitting across from you, what do I see? ”

“Uh, shaved head, crooked nose. Scruff?”

“Okay, what about your eyes? ”

“What?”

“I’m drawing you, I need to know. ”

“What?!”

“Is that not okay? ” Mick sputters for a second and Snart continues before he can say something. “Don’t answer it. I’m gonna do it anyways. Eyes? ”

“They’re brown?” Mick says helplessly, bewildered by this turn of events. At least he’s got his window finished.

“I mean, happy, cold, warm, tired, sleepy? I don’t exactly have crayons on me. ”

“Angry.” Mick nods, definitely.

“Oh yeah? Hot and angry, got it. ”

“Yeah. So what’s next? My window’s all done.”

“What do you mean what’s next? ”

“You’re the one who's been givin’ me orders, boss.”

Snart laughs, warm and happy. “What’s next is you actually doing your job. You know, sitting at the window till September and calling me at the first sign of smoke. ”

“Oh. Right.” Mick mutters, a little disappointed. The excitement of the two days has him itching for more adventures, but that is suppose to be his job.

DAY 9

“Hey, Mick. Having a good afternoon? ” It’s been awhile since he’s heard Snart’s voice.

“Yeah, ‘s not bad.” Mick answers, mouth full of sandwich.

“I come with bad news, unfortunately. Two young women were reported missing, got parents out in California that haven’t heard from them in a week. If they’re the ones from last week, then...you might be the one who’s seen them last. ”

“I didn’t do anything!” If this becomes an investigation, they’re going to look closer into Mick’s record and that means they’ll know about his pyromania. He’d going to be put back into jail, he can’t have that happen!

“I know, I believe you. ” Snart assures, “It...won’t be an issue, okay? If they turn up dead, then maybe. I’ll just not say anything, save us the trouble. ”

“Okay, yeah.” Mick mumbles, relieved. He really doesn’t want to get wrap up in this bullshit.

“Right. Well, enjoy the sunset. ”

DAY 15

It’s the middle of the night, but Mick hears Snart’s voice from the radio.

“It’s been good. ”

“You’ve been safe? He’s still not out, right? ”

“Okay. ”

“Sure. Good night, Lise. ”

DAY 33

New food. More supplies. Only downside is that Mick needs to get himself over there to pick it up.

“Is it too much to ask for them to deliver it to the towers?”

“I get my stuff hand-delivered. ” Snart brags, Mick imagining a smug smirk on his face.

“That ain’t fair.”

“Life usually isn’t. Perks of over ten years of service. ”

“You let yourself be here for more than ten years?” Mick says with amusement.

“Shut up. Anyways, supplies are for a few other towers, too. So don’t take all of it. I don’t want to have to call for more. ”

“What if I get hungry?”

“Mick… ”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mick checks his map, the supply drop on it circled a few times over. He thinks about asking Snart about the thing a few nights ago, but Mick himself isn’t sure if that was a dream or not.

When Mick arrives at the drop, he decides to go for it, curiousity eating at him. “So, who’s Lise?”

Snart takes a long moment to answer and when he does, his voice is cold and hard. “Why do you know that name? ”

Ah, a touchy subject then. Mick’s not going to push it. “You called me in the middle of the night, ‘s all. Nothing else to it, boss.”

Snart hums and doesn’t say anything else. Mick has a few guesses, girlfriend, maybe? Kid? Family? Snart’s a mystery despite all his endless talking. He’s one of those people who says a lot without giving a single thing about themselves up. Mick doesn’t mind it much, it gives them a distance he likes to keep.

“Alright. Got my stuff.” Mick reports, taking out his box of supplies and heading back to his lonely tower.

“Just yours, right? ”

“Who do you think I am?” If Snart knew about Mick’s history, that answer would be a lot different.

DAY 64

That night, Mick’s outside again, on top of his tower, just watching the light of the fire in the distance. It’s beautiful, captivating. It makes taking his job completely worth it. He wants to go over there, to where the flames are burning everything down in it’s path. If Mick thinks it’s beautiful all the way out here, it must be glorious out there.

“It might be the biggest fire of the year. ” Snart’s voice interrupts his thoughts, snapping him out of his slight daze.

Mick shakes himself off before answering back, “Yeah. ‘S really goin’.” He hopes he manages to keep the awe out of his voice.

“Better call it in. ” Mick feels a shot of disappoint from those words. “We’ll probably still be stuck with her for the rest of summer, though. ” That makes him feel a little better, at least he has something to watch when he’s bored. "Why don’t you give her a name? ”

“Me?”

“Yeah, I’ve named most of the others, I’ll give you a chance. ”

Mick scratches his beard, it’s been growing out once he ran out of shaving cream. “Heatwave.”

“Heatwave? ” Snart laughs, “Strange, but okay. ”

“You’re the one that asked.”

“Alright, big guy. ” There’s a moment of silence, Mick starting to get lost in the fire again. “Hey. Mick. ”

“Yeah?”

“Lise, uh, Lisa. She’s my sister. ” Mick immediately pays attention, this is the first time Snart’s ever offered up information about himself. “She’s an ice skater. Good, too. ”

Mick waits patiently for Snart to continue, “I’m here during the summer, but sometimes, we come during the winter. ”

“Ain’t it closed?”

“Why do you think I’m not strict about rules? ” Mick laughs, Snart gets more and more surprising. “Anyways. We spend a few days here, sleeping in the tower and then ice skating at the lake if the ice is thick enough. ” Snart sounds wistful, quiet and calm in the night.

“Sounds nice.”

“It was. ”

The conversation stops there and Mick goes back to staring at the distant fire.

 DAY 76

“You’re not actually going to go fishing without a license? ”

“I’m sick of all this crap food.” Mick grumbles angrily, he’s very sick of fruits and vegetables and the only meat he’s gotten was jerky. He just wants something fresh and not out of a can.

“Suuuure. ” Snart drawls out, a small laugh in his voice. “If you’re heading to the lake, mind keeping an eye out for bear tracks? Apparently there’s a problem bear wandering around. ”

“You want me to fight a bear?”

“No! Just, let me know if it’s been there recently, alright? ” Mick likes making Snart laugh, it’s a nice sound, something he really can get used to.

He doesn’t find any bear tracks, but he does find a weird clipboard with… Mick’s eyes widens, brows furrowing as he reads over the words. It’s snippets of his and Snart’s conversations, some parts shortened, but...it’s there.

“Boss?”

“Find a bear? ”

“No, but. There’s a clipboard by the lake and it’s, well, it’s a lot of what we’ve been saying to each other.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense. ”

“‘Yeah, it just didn’t work with twelve year olds, unfortunately’.”

“What the fuck? ” There’s a strange sound coming from Mick’s left, his attention turning towards it. He tells Snart to hold up, going over to check it out. It’s a little worrying, but Mick’s a big guy who can take care of himself. If it’s aliens, though, he’s definitely running. Snart continues to talk, voice worried and alarmed.

A red radio sits on the ground a few feet from the lake, looking completely suspicious. Mick takes careful steps towards it, wary and on alert. The hit attempt for his head is expected, Mick ducking just in time to avoid it.

“Shit!” A male voice exclaims behind him. Mick swings his fist out, hoping to catch the guy, but he hits nothing. “Shit, fuck.” Mick hears again, farther away this time. He turns just in time to see a figure fleeing away from him. Mick shoots after the guy, growling. That asshole is going to get it and Mick’s going to make him regret his existence.

“Yeah, you better fuckin’ run!” Mick shouts after him, following as the two dodges through the trees. The forest is thick, easy to get lost and to lose someone. The guy makes it easy to keep track of with his panicked shouting, though.

“Mick?! ” Snart’s voice cuts through, Mick has almost forgotten that the man is still rambling on. It turns his attention away long enough for the other asshole to get away. Mick snarls in frustration, Snart still shouting his name. He sounds almost worried, actually.

“I’m here. Was chasin’ some asshole that tried to attack me.”

“Some guy tried to attack you? You’re okay, though? ”

“‘M fine.” Mick reassures, coming to a stop as he loses the other man completely. Next time Mick sees him, that asshole is a dead man. “What’s Wapiti Station?”

“What? ”

“Says on the clipboard ‘Wapiti Station’.”

“Uh, I think that’s the University ran research site. It’s north of you, check your map. ” Mick checks it, finding the label. It’s a pretty big meadow, about the size of the lake. Not far, though.

“‘M gonna go check it out.”

“Be careful. Who’d you run into, anyways? Get a good look? ”

“Blond, white, British? He sounded British.”

“British? ” Snart’s voice is oddly flat, not in his usual way. “I’ll...call the Park Service. They keep a list of people coming in and out since, well, forever. See if any British people came through. ”

“‘Kay.”

The site, it turns out, is surrounded by miles of chain-linked fence. At least, Mick guesses it’s miles. He can’t see the end of it, but it looks huge.

“Found the site.” He tells Snart, kicking lightly at the fence. It doesn’t look too tall, Mick can probably scale it easily. There’s also a gate there, but it’s locked and Mick doesn’t have a way to break it open.

“Is there anyone there? ”

“No, but I’m gonna climb it.” Mick nods, already half way up.

“Wait, Mick! ”

Mick pauses, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You should bring someone with you. ”

“And who exactly can I bring with me?”

“There’s a few people doing a controlled burn, their camp is south of your tower, a little east of the old scout’s camp. It’s better than going alone, right? ”

“That’s all the way out on the other side, Snart! I can just jump this fence and get it over with.”

“Mick, please. We don’t know who or what’s out there. ”

“Fine. We’ll do it your way, boss.” Mick sighs and hops off the fence, he was almost over, too. Time to take another hike.

 “So, you think they’re spyin’ on us?”

“I...I don’t know. ”

“What about the other towers? You talk with ‘em, right?”

“They haven’t report back anything weird. ”

“What about for yourself?”

“Nothing. ”

 “So what exactly happened during that attack? ”

“Saw a red radio on the ground and this guy tried to knock me out.”

“Jesus. ”

“The...radio. Do y’think that someone could be spyin’ on us with that?”

“I...don’t know if someone could even do that. ”

“That ain’t a no.”

“Let’s not get too paranoid, just keep hiking. ”

 “What if a controlled burn gets outta control?”

“Someone gets fired. ”

“Ugh.”

 “Found a pond, more like a pile of mud.”

“Ah. Pork Pond. There used to be a sign, but people kept stealing it. ”

 Mick finds the camp easily, but it turns out the firefighters are already gone. “Well, it looks like they’re already gone.”

“Ah. ” Mick has a slight feeling Snart planned this.

“They left a note…” Mick scans over it, Dr. Palmer, squad boss Lance, Wapiti Station. “They’re runnin’ some sort of research at the station there.”

“Someone is running a research and writing down our conversations? What the hell is going on? ”

“Thought you might know, boss.”

“Fuck. At least we know something is definitely happening behind the fence. ”

“Maybe ‘s just a coincidence?”

“Do you actually think that? I have a bad feeling about this, Mick… ”

Mick spots an axe buried slightly in a tree. He grins, taking and testing its weight. It’s small, but it’ll do finely. “Nice. Got an axe, can probably break through the gate instead of climbin’.”

“Fine. Check in and keep on alert. You might be followed. ”

Mick only makes it to the pond before Snart speaks up again. “Mick. You said you heard something by the lake, right? ”

“Yeah.”

“So. Let’s assume you’re being followed, where are you right now? ”

“Pork pond, trees, in the middle of nowhere.”

“See anybody? ”

Mick makes a full body turn to check, “No.”

“Tell me what you think of this: ” There’s a slight static and then someone coughing painfully, a mutter of ‘fuck’, then it cuts off with more static.

“The hell?”

“That wasn’t either of us, right? ”

“No.”

“Fuck. ”

“There’s no way someone from another lookout can hear our line, is there?” Mick asks, feeling more paranoid than he has in a long time. This is some fucked up prank if it’s someone from another lookout.

“Not without tapping into it. ” Snart’s voice holds a bit of tension in it, maybe feeling just as paranoid as Mick is. "Get to your tower, don’t let anyone in and don’t use your radio. I’ll call you. I will. ”

 DAY 77

“Good morning, Mick! ”

“You’re awfully chipper.” Mick barely got any sleep last night, too stressed about someone stalking him.

“It’s a brand new day, a great time to celebrate! ”

“...”

“Anyways, I don’t think I’ve ever taught you about this poster you should have hanging up. Floral of the Shoshone? ”

Mick turns, spotting the poster tacked beside one of the windows. “...Yeah?”

“Have it good look at it! It’s very good information about all the trees and stuff around your area. ”

Mick is slightly lost, “...Okay, it’s right there, I’m lookin’ at it?”

“You see the tree on the top row, second to the left? ” Cottonwood, looks bushy, green, like tree. Where the hell is Snart going with this?

“Yeah, it’s-”

“No, no! You don’t need to tell me! ” ...Alright, has Snart lost it? “ You know where you should go for great hike? ”

“Uh.”

“There’s an area in your sector that’s called, that tree’s name, you should go there. Great view. ”

Ohhhh. “I’ll get on it, boss.” Mick grins, Snart is a clever one, if a little strange. Cottonwood Creek, that’s south of him.

“1-2-3-4, 5-6-7-8. ” Mick’s not quite sure what Snart means by that, but he’ll figure it out.

The creek is part of the controlled burn, the trees surrounding it brown and burnt. It’s not exactly a nice view to other people’s standards, but Mick appreciates the leftover destruction fire can cause. There’s a cache not far and, well, Mick can guess the code’s been changed. He finds a brand new radio inside, an ugly color of green, but who cares.

“Nice.”

“Fuck, Mick. I spent all day getting that to you, lied to so many rangers. Hopefully you’re now holding a clean untapped radio. ”

“Yeah.”

“You have to get into that site, Mick. ” Yeah, Mick’s planning on it.

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Fucking shit. I’ve been on this job on and off for thirteen years and nothing like this has ever happened. ”

“I can’t believe this is even happenin’.”

“Me neither. Be careful, Mick. Take care of yourself, just...Don’t get hurt, alright? ” Mick’s a big guy, been in and out of prison, he’s sure he can take care of himself.

“Don’t worry, boss. I got this.”

“Yeah. ” Snart sounds nervous, scared almost. “I just don’t wanna lose you. You’re my best friend. ”

That’s...No one’s ever said that to Mick before. It makes his heart clench painfully. They’ve only known each for about two months and a half, but it really does feel like a lifetime. “You’re mine, too.” He whispers, quiet and like a secret.

 What Mick finds at the site sends a chill down his spine and anger boiling through his veins. “They’ve been monitorin’ us, writin’ reports, assessments, fuck!” He snarls, these people know about his pyromania, about his past. Like, like some sort of lab rat.

“What do you mean? ” Snart asks, voice angry. There’s a huge tent in the site, along with a few monitoring towers and beeping devices. Mick’s not sure what they do exactly, but he has a guess.

“Fuckin’ shit. They know about your sister and your-” Father. Mick doesn’t even know about Snart’s father. From what the reports say, it’s not pretty.

“Fuck! They know about-! ” Snart shouts and Mick winces.

“I should burn this shitty place down.” Mick growls, throwing papers and cans of food everywhere. “See how they like it when people mess with them.”

“No. Don’t. ”

“We could just call it in, like a fire.” Mick finds some weird device and it starts beeping like crazy. It looks kind of like a receiver, can be useful in tracking these people down.

“Mick. ”

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“A firefighter dies trying to stop it. Okay, we can’t. ”

Mick heaves a deep sigh, trying to push down his angry urge. Tonight, he’ll go stare at the giant fire for a few hours. That sounds nice.

“Mick. Just head back to your tower. We’ll figure something out tomorrow, okay? ”

“Yeah, boss.”

As Mick leaves through the gate, he spots a column of smoke, not the one from Heatwave. It’s...it’s burning and it’s beautiful and it’s so close. He can go back and touch it if he wants, all that heat and movement, eating away at everything around it. Absolutely glorious. The flames are getting bigger, crackling in a giant roar. Mick holds his breath, hands clenching around the metal of the gate.

“Mick? Are you back? ”

“It’s...so beautiful.” Mick says dazely back to Snart.

“What? Mick! ”

“The fire.”

“What fire? I told you not to set the site on fire! ” Mick didn’t, he’s pretty sure he didn’t, did he? “ Mick?! ”

“God, you’re beautiful.” It’s getting closer to him, he can feel the heat in the air now.

“The fire? Are you fucking kidding me? Mick?! You’re a pyro? Fucking shit! ” Snart yells, “Mick! You have to get out of there. MICK! PLEASE! You promised to take care of yourself! ”

It takes Mick a few more minutes of Snart yelling his lungs out, but he does snap out of it. Shakily, he answers back, voice hoarse from the smoke. “Sorry, boss. I’m here now.” He rips his eyes away from the fire before he can get lost in it again, running from the area. It happened again, always again. He’s supposed to have this under control, but that’s just a lie he’s been telling himself.

“Mick. Please, tell me you’re okay. ” Snart asks, his voice just as hoarse.

“I’m okay.” Mick answers, panting under his breath as he continues to just run. “I’m okay.” He says again, for himself and repeats it until he reaches his tower.

 “Boss? It’s beepin’.” Mick picks up the receiver he found at the site, glaring at it.

“What are you talking about? ”

“This wave receiver thing I found.”

“Maybe you should go follow it. ” Ouch, Mick winces, so Snart is still angry about the fire. He’s already told Snart that he isn’t the one who started it, but he guess Snart’s more angry about the pyromania thing.

“Will do, boss.” Mick says helplessly. He doesn’t know how to fix this, he just wants his friend back.

He follows the beeping into a bush, which turns out to be some sort of rigged alarm and a backpack with a key marked ‘Cave 452’.

“Mick, that’s you, isn’t it? ”

“What?”

“Where are you? ”

“In the middle of the woods. I found an alarm and a key for a cave, I think it’s the one by the canyon?”

“So the man at your tower isn’t you? ”

“What.” Mick starts to run, if it’s British guy again, if he’s the one who’s been spying on them, Mick’s going to beat him to a pulp.

“He’s leaving. ” Mick pumps his legs faster, hoping to catch the guy before he can get away. There’s no one at his tower when he arrives. He curses and just heads up the stairs. No one still, but there’s a device with headphones taped to his door.

“'I should burn this shitty place down.’” His own voice says when he listens to the recording, it cuts off, then, “‘God, you’re beautiful.'  'The fire? Are you fucking kidding me? Mick?! You’re a pyro? Fucking shit!’”

“There’s a recording. Of our conversation back at the site.” Mick tells Snart, “It made it sound like I started the fire. Fuck.” Mick slams his fist angrily into the door, wood creaking under it. He’s getting real sick of this, all this shit that's been happening.

“Jesus. We’ll get to the bottom of this, okay? Just sleep for now. You have the key to the cave, right? Maybe we’ll find something there, but tomorrow. ”

 DAY 78

“I have some news. ” Snart sounds tired, voice low and heavy with stress.

“Good or bad?”

“Both? I guess. Someone called in a tip about the fire at the site and told the service I know who started it. ” That’s just great, Mick thinks bitterly, the whole world seems to be against him. He’s going to the cave today, no matter what Snart says. He’s going to put an end to all this bullshit that’s just been piling up against the two of them. “And. The girls that were missing? Turns out they just landed in jail for taking a drunken ride. ”

“Serves ‘em right.”

“Yeah, so there’s that. I’m probably going to be questioned and then they’ll probably look closer into your record and find out about your...pyromania. ” Mick grits his teeth, it was always going to come forward one way or another, he had just hoped it would be after this job.

With the two fires merging into an even bigger one, the air outside is thick with smoke. It’s a little hard to see and breath, but Mick gets through it to reach the cave. His radio won’t work inside and he tells Snart as much. The locked door is rusty and old, it takes Mick a few tries before the lock clicks and he can push the door open.

The cave is eerily quiet, such a contrast to the roaring fire outside, even if it’s from a distance. Mick swears he can hear his own heartbeat in the silence, which makes the door slamming behind him a surprise. It’s British guy, Mick can tell from his position. He growls, lunging for the door, but it’s locked again and no way to unlock it from this side. The guy steps back and runs. Fucking great. Mick shakes the door one last time for good measure. Asshole.

He really hopes there’s another exit or Mick’s going to live the rest of his life starving in here. There’s a long steep drop and a crack in the rock, like someone had put a piston into it at some point. It’s gone now and there’s no place he can hang a rope to get down. Farther in, is a pile of loose rocks, Mick manages to dislodge it with his handy axe. There’s another hole, a small shoe sitting halfway down. Mick frowns down at it, that’s weird.

Following the only path he can go, he eventually does make it out. Mick sighs a breath of relief and radios Snart. “Fuck.”

“What’d you find? ”

“Nothing yet, Brit closed the gate on me and I can’t go down the slide inside.”

“He what? ”

“Tried to trap me in, I guess. Found another way out.”

“Fuck. ” Mick agrees with that sentiment.

“Know any place I can find some climbing equipment?”

“Uh, you might find something in one of the caches, but other than that, no. ”

Mick gets lucky again, though. The world may be against him, but luck’s sure on his side. He finds a little fort in an alcove a little ways outside of the cave. It’s actually pretty neat, filled with a few books and pieces of paper. Huh.

“I think I found Jonas Hunter’s fort.”

“Jonas Hunter? ”

“Yeah. He’s got notes and plans, with banners and shit here.” And look, pistons. Mick grins, putting them away into his pack. That will help him go down the slide.

“Wow. I think I know who’s been following you. ”

“Who?”

“It’s just a guess, but...British, white, blond? I think it’s Rip Hunter. ” Which what?

“I thought he left with his kid?”

“Me too, but...first you find Jonas’ backpack, then his fort? It’s almost like- ”

“He’s been herding me here.”

“Exactly. ” Shit, Mick thinks. Was the kid in on this, too? That’s fucked up. He can feel anger pushing forward again, teeth clenching. He’s going back to the cave and finally figuring this whole thing out. Rip wants him in there? Mick’s going to settle this once and for all, find out what’s down the slide.

 “Fuck.” Mick’s seen his fair share of dead bodies, but that’s. Rip knows this is here, his own fucking son . Jonas’ body is crumpled up, dried from the three years, thin and missing a shoe. Did Rip want Mick to find this? That sick bastard.

Mick steps over the body carefully, grimacing. Poor kid. He makes a promise to give Rip a good punch in the face for Jonas, and then the rest will all be for forcing Mick into this fucked up game.

When Mick finally gets out of the cave and his radio is able to receive transmissions again, Snart is talking to himself, pretending to be Mick for some of the conversation.

“Why Mick, you’re a pyro? ‘Grrr. Yeah, boss.’ Thanks so much for telling me!”

“...I don’t sound anything like that.”

“Oh! ” There’s a short scuffle. “You’re back! ”

“Yeah.” Mick knows how down he sounds, but he just saw a kid’s dead body.

“Are you okay? What’d you find? ”

Mick hesitates for a moment, does Snart really need to know? “It’s...Jonas.” Yeah, no more secrets. “I found his body.”

“What? ” Snart’s voice is quiet, disbelief clear.

“He must’ve fell or something. Down a cliff. His body’s at the bottom in the cave. And fuck. Do we call this in?” Mick shakes his head, body moving on its own to take himself back to the tower. He’s a little in shock, he was expecting a fight, not a dead kid.

“Fuck. ” Fuck is right. Fuck this place, fuck this job. Fuck Rip Hunter. “His own kid. What the fuck. ” Mick’s pretty messed up, but even he wouldn’t just leave his dead kid rotting inside a cave.

“Yeah.”

“We’re...We’re leaving tomorrow. They want to evac the area because of the fire. So just, head back. ” Mick can do that.

“Yeah, boss.”

 DAY 79

They don’t talk until the next morning, Mick lost in his thoughts and staring at the fire. It’s hard to see pass all the smoke now, so there isn’t much to look at. He ends up not sleeping at all, anger and sadness coming in short spurts throughout the night. Mick wishes he can be with the fire, burn all his emotions away, free him from all of this.

“You all packed up? ” Snart finally speaks up, sounding like he hasn’t had a wink of sleep either.

“Just about.”

“You hear the plane? They say the fire’s 2% contained. ” The conversation stays stubbornly away from everything happening.

“They’re pickin’ us up?”

“Yeah. At my lookout. Maybe I can finally meet you. ” That makes Mick smiles a little, he’s looking forward to that, has been all summer.

“You never told me what yo-”

Beep. Beep.

Mick looks down at his hand, holding the strange receiver thing. “Was that…? ”

“Yeah, it’s beepin’ again.” Mick doesn’t want to go, he wants to just forget all this happened. “I’m just gonna ignore it.”

“Wait. What if...it tells us everything? Why he did all this? ”

“I don’t want to fuckin’ know what went through his fucked up mind, alright?” Mick snarls. “You go, if you’re so fuckin’ curious!”

“...Okay. Give me the thing, I’ll go. ”

“What? You’re serious?”

“Yeah, if you’re not. I just want to know why. ” Snart says stubbornly and Mick realizes this man is an idiot.

“No.”

“What? ”

“You’re not fuckin’ goin’. I’m headin’ to your lookout and then we’re leavin’. That’s it. No more of this bullshit.”

“I just want to fucking know why, Mick. Get to the bottom of this. ”

“‘S not worth it!”

“Maybe it is to me! ”

“What?”

“I’m the one...I’m the one who didn’t tell anyone about Jonas. If I had, maybe he wouldn’t be there, rotting in that damn cave! ”

“Snart-”

“Maybe you don’t care, this doesn’t have anything to do with you, anyways, but just. Let me do this, please! ”

Mick sighs heavily, as if he actually has a chance. “Fine. I’ll go. Fuckin’ get to the bottom of this.”

“No, just give me the thing, you don’t have to do this. ”

“Shut up, boss.” Mick snarls, slamming his door open and stomping down the stairs. Fucking Snart.

“Mick! Wait, I want to come with you! ”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on the lookout and helpin’ with the evac?”

“I can say I’m looking for you, put one of the firefighters here. ”

“No. Just stay put. I’ll put an end to this.” He clicks the radio off, not wanting to argue anymore about this.

The beeps leads him to another recorded message, ‘MICK’ and a big arrow pointing up drawn on a rock. He listens to the recording, brows furrowing.

“Hello, Mr. Rory. I do hope you manage to find this before it burns up. We’ve been causing each other headaches for a long time now and thanks to you, I have to find a new site for living as nice as the one you’re about to find. You can’t blame me for doing this, not after I bumped into you by the cave when you first got here. I just thought… I’ve been here for the last three years, even past all the winters.

“There are only so many books to read and then I got bored, rigged up something to listen into radios. Ha. Mr. Snart’s not someone you really want to know. He’s not as nice as he sounds. Possibly more of a criminal than you are.

“I only stopped worrying about you two finding out about a week ago and that’s when everything went so bloody wrong. You don’t know what it’s like to have a kid. No one does! I didn’t kill him. Jonas. My boy. I would never-

“He fell. Didn’t put in his piston correctly and it just...I didn’t want it to happen. Nothing I could do.

“I thought about going back, telling the truth. But how can I? My wife, she...I can’t face her. Don’t look for me. Sorry about...all of this. ”

Mick really wants a few moments and few words with this idiot, but it sounds like Rip’s long gone. He looks up the shale slide in front of him, the last piece of the fucking puzzle. Maybe it’s better to leave some things unturned, let sleeping dogs lie and all. He clicks his radio back on, ready to report back to Snart.

“Mick? Mick, where are you? ” There’s coughing, “Mick? I’m...I’m at the cave.”

Fucking Snart. Mick runs, lungs pumping hard from the lack of oxygen in the air so heavy with smoke. “Fucking idiot! Don't move, I'm comin' to you!”

“Shit. ” He hears the voice not only on the radio, but at a distance as well. His heart beats quickly, both in anticipation and from the length he just ran.

“Snart?” Mick calls out.

“Mick!” He turns to his right, spotting a figure just outside of the cave. He’s there, he’s really there. Snart’s taller than Mick first imagined, only maybe an inch or two shorter than Mick. His face, though, that’s something special. Blue eyes, sharp features, Snart honestly looks like he can be in a magazine, a fucking model, he’s that pretty. There’s a smirk on his face, smug and looking like it’s always there. It fits him so fucking well, matches the sass when he was just a voice on the radio.

Snart takes just as long to look at him while Mick slowly steps forward. “Hey you.” When Snart speaks, all quiet like that, Mick can hear the slight nasally tone that’s there. The words are a drawl, deep and as always, holding a sarcastic edge. It’s so familiar, but so new at the same time. It’s everything Mick’s ever wanted.

“Hey.” Mick replies, finally, after a few seconds. The smirk on Snart’s face gets bigger.

“You weren’t lying when you said you’re big.” Snart comments and Mick shrugs. “We better get going, before they stop making the rounds. Tell me what you found on the way.”

“Yeah, boss.” Mick grins, following Snart as the other man leads the way.

 “It was an accident.”

“Still. He should’ve... told someone at least.”

“Said he can’t face his wife.”

“Fucking asshole .”

 “You didn’t go up there?”

“Didn’t wanna know.”

“What do you think ’s up there?”

“Nothin’ important. Maybe some hermit’s house.”

“Kind of impressed that he was there for three years and no one noticed.”

 “What do you think’s next?”

“Dunno. ‘S your call, boss.”

“You mean it?”

“Yeah.”

 “Hey, Mick.” Snart says to him on the helicopter, squeezing their linked hands. Mick turns to him, taking his eyes off the fire. The sight from up here is beautiful, making it look huge and encompassing. “Thanks.”

Mick’s brows furrows, confused. “What for?”

Snart smiles, a real one, not the smirk Mick’s gotten used to in such a short time. “For everything. For...being here.” The man leans forward and presses a kiss to Mick’s cheek. It’s soft and careful, almost questioning. Mick turns, catching Snart’s lips before he can move away. Behind them, the fire roars and Mick gets lost in something different.

It feels like home.

[thefinderoflostthings]

Sam’s earnest pronouncement threw both Wood and me.

Wood: “The Pink Lady? Is Rizzo going to pop out of the trees and show us the worst thing she could do?” 

Sam (perplexed): “What’s a Rizzo?”

It took a beat for Sam’s question to sink in.

Me (my coffee forgotten in my hand, disbelief coloring my words): “John Travolta, Olivia Newton-John, the best high school musical of all time?” 

Sam (still confused): “No…Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens were in High School Musical.”

Me (somewhere the chat circuits must have gotten crossed): “What?”

Did the Squirrels spike the coffee before the adults made it downstairs? Or did Sam turn into a conversational wizard overnight? 

Wood (cocking his head): “Sandy, Danny Zuko, Kenickie, Frenchy? Grease is the word. The movie Grease. You’ve never seen it? The Pink Ladies are a clique of girls who rule Rydell High, Rizzo is their tough but tender leader. Sound familiar?”

Sam (shaking his head): “Never heard of it, is it new?” 

Me (trying hard not to hit my head against something really hard): “No, it came out around nineteen-seventy-seven or seventy-eight? Somewhere in there.”

Sam (face lighting up, doing fast math): “Oh, that’s why I haven’t heard of it!… It came out eighteen years before I was born. So I should see it?”

Wood and I shared a look. Unlike Sam, we couldn’t make that claim, we might have only been six months old at the time – but it still counted.

Me (muttering): “What do they teach in schools now?” 

Wood (with a sigh): “Yes, you need to watch it.” 

Me (shaking my head, trying to clear this conversation out): “So if the Pink Lady you’re talking about isn’t Rizzo, then who’s yours?”

Sam (who looked like he finally found a piece of solid ground – glanced around and lowered his voice): “The Pink Lady comes down Pumpkin Mountain on foggy days searching for hikers she can lure astray. Once you’re off the trail, she runs ahead and then calls out for you to follow her voice. When you are well and truly lost she vanishes into the mist, leaving you to the elements. My friend’s, cousin’s best friend swears he met her once!”

This story doesn’t sound fishy at all.

Wood (trying hard not to laugh): “How did your friend’s, cousin’s best friend get away?”

Sam (earnestness painting his features): “Sat down in the middle of the trail and refused to budge an inch.”

Wood (clearly enjoying the story): “Did she still try to lure him off the trail?” 

Sam (his mouth turning up on one side while he spun his yarn): “Sure did! Promised to show him something special, something secret – all he had to do was follow her. He said ‘No thank you, ma’am.’ And waited three and a half hours for the fog to lift then ran down the mountain. Said the whole time he sat there it felt like she was watching him.”

Staring off into space I kept half an ear on the exchange; something felt familiar here, but I could almost grasp it.

Me (the niggling suspicion closer now): “All of her victims are male, right? They hope the ‘something special’ might require nudity?”

Sam (trying to keep his smile under control): “How did you guess? My friends and I think she must have coaxed those two guys from our high school over the cliff – they knew the area to well to walk over it accidentally. That’s why my friend’s cousin’s bestie didn’t follow her. He remembered the stories. Then about four years ago The Pink Lady upped her game – persuaded three brothers, hikers, to chase after her. The rangers found them a few days later at the base of the same cliff. That’s when people around here stopped hiking Pumpkin Mountain, and Hilltop instituted a new safety policy.”

Wood (looking incredulous): “Seriously? Safety first? That’s the moral of your story?” 

Sam (ears turning pink and a corporate demeanor descending over his countenance): “Hilltop Hotel will not be renting any boats today. The weather will likely worsen which may lead to disorientation on unfamiliar terrain. So we advise, for the safety of our guests, that they follow the well-marked paths within the vicinity of Hilltop. We are sorry for any inconvenience this causes, blah, blah, blah. The official spiel is boring!”

Wood (smiling): “I agree. But why do they call her The Pink Lady?”

Sam (still smiling): “My friend’s cousin’s bestie says she wore a bright pink shirt when she tried to tempt him.” 

Definitely, my Stalker, Tiffany Grindle but whatever else felt familiar about Sam’s story darted just out of my grasp. It reminded me of that annoying sensation when a word is on the tip of your tongue, (or hippocampus in this case) but refuses recollection.

Drat.

(This is utterly not my photo from Grease – here’s where it came from.)

1.40 What’s A Rizzo? Sam's earnest pronouncement threw both Wood and me. Wood: "The Pink Lady? Is Rizzo going to pop out of the trees and show us the worst thing she could do?" 

[creativevisuallearningjournal]

The first exercise was about marketing and branding core commodities, such as socks. It was explained that marketing a core commodity product is one of the biggest challenges for marketing agencies. It can be seen as difficult to for a brand to stand out from its competitors, therefore they need a strategic aim and strong visual impact to capture the attention of consumers. With the knowledge that first impressions count, my group rose to the challenge, identified unique selling points and created “Second Skin Socks”.

The logo was created through the use of Photoshop, we decided on a script font of the letters “SS” surrounded with a circle. This script font creates a sense of authenticity as it appears like a personal signature from the brand. The letters SS were used in the name of the brand, Second Skin Socks, all the words start with the letter S. The circle was incorporated to wrap around the font and encase the logo.   

In our group, we shared ideas and discussed what we wanted our brand to be about. We decided on a theme of sports socks that would be used for hiking and are made for the comfort and safety of its customers. I stated in the outline of this presentation that Second Skin Socks are created for the adventure seeking hiker, avid gym-goer, or the everyday individual who appreciates comfort. Second Skin Socks are all-inclusive and made for everyone. This allowed for a wider customer base then just individuals who hike. 

I created the brand outline of Second Skin Socks and had to come up with its unique selling points. When thinking about socks and their main use I then thought of what I would expect from the perfect pair of sport, hiking socks. What came to mind was socks that are durable and comfortable so that they would not get holes in them and endure the hike. One of the main issues I have come across as a sock consumer is blisters, along with the fact that socks can, unfortunately, slip down the foot which I personally find very inconvenient and would want to be avoided when on a long hike. 

With these initial thoughts in mind I conducted some research on how best to avoid these issues. I came across a website that featured information on how to stop socks from slipping, (Socks, 2017) and was informed about the silicone grip. Then I thought deeper into what I would want from hiking socks, associated with the extensive sporting activity. I then thought to include antibacterial and sustainable materials to prevent odor. Sustainability is also a topical subject that would add value to the brand as customers who enjoy hiking and exploring the world would most likely appreciate a sustainable item. I also included the idea of anti-color run fabrics to create a more convenient product that can be easily washed with other items so that the customer won’t need to worry about colors running in their washing machine after a long day of hiking. Anti-blister technology was also implemented within these socks as I could think of nothing worse than having uncomfortable feet when hiking.

I then continued my research wondering what else could enhance these socks and make them more competitive against other hiking socks available on the market. I came across a website that discussed the best hiking socks of 2018, to then find out what was already available to customers today (Bradshaw, 2018). This website backed up my previous ideas, such as implementing antibacterial materials to prevent odor as the webpage stated that it is best to avoid “sweaty feet” which can then be associated with a bad smell. Along with the idea of incorporating anti-blister technology, as the website also said that a competitive sock brand, known as “Icebreaker” provide their customers with “seamless technology” so that there is “no chance of rubbing”. I also found that this sock brand’s ethos was about using naturally existing materials to create their clothes. Sustainability was also an idea I had used within the production of Second Skin Socks.  

I wanted to come up with a unique selling point that would assist Second Skin Socks in standing out above competitors, which would in turn help them succeed. This was when the idea of incorporating technology by installing a tracking chip in the socks seam came to be. Technological advances are proven to be relevant in modern day society (LARKIN, 2018) with other sporting brands such as Nike already implementing wearable technology into their products. 

This tracking chip would ensure the safety of customers, while also providing them with their distance, time and calories burned during their hike. All this information would be assessable to them in the form of an App that can be easily downloaded onto their smartphone. Safety of consumers is imperative and it can be known that hikers can get lost during their excursions (Shelton, 2018). This chip would assist in preventing customers from getting lost while also providing them with useful information such as their calories burned. The use of technology as fitness trackers is popular among the sporty individuals of modern society. It can be said that keeping track of progress is a great source of motivation (The Independent, 2017).