#jack black would perfectly voice him I'm not kidding

[silkendandelion]

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

Chapter 2 (END), ao3 link

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

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

Or

A romantic, creepy, canon-compliant retelling of the game's narrative where Jack and Connor are more fleshed out characters, and not immune to falling for a voice on the radio—until they aren't.

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

Cross-posted to ao3, same username, here.

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

Chapter 1 (Below)

It was only a transfer.

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

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

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

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

Just a bit of indigestion, nothing to worry about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Over and out.”

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

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

NIGHT 2

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

The static of his radio breaks the silence.

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

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

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

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

“Give me a second, I’ll check.”

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

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

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

“I see it.”

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Connor.”

2:27AM

He can’t explain what wakes him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or he was now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is an emergency.”

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

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

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

“I think they’re gone now.”

‘Did you see what they looked like?’

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

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

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

“… Yeah.”

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

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

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

“I didn’t think about it.”

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

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

“Connor?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Goodnight, Jack.’

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

“Envy me? Why?” Jack sipped quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then maybe you should be nicer to yourself.”

‘You first, Jack.’

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

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

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

‘Night, Jack.’

BETWEEN 2 AND 3 AM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C-Connor, get something to—Connor—”

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

“This is Tower 11.”

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

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

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

“What equipment do you have?”

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

“I have a map, let me take a look.”

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

“One more second, it’s all right.”

‘Oh. Oh, I see you!’

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

“What? What do you see?”

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

“Hey, HEY! That’s not me, I’m—”

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only he hadn’t gone for firewood.

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

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

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

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

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

“Names can be deceiving. Call me Silas.”

“Do you always work so late?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Jack? Come in, new guy.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He called me Jack.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Got you to laugh, didn’t I?’

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

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

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

“I need to go to sleep.”

2 DAYS LATER

If it rains any more, his tower might flood.

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

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

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

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

“Jack, come back to bed.”

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

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

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

‘Can’t—need h—Jack—can you hear—’

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

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

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

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

He just stared at him.

Jack stared back.

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

“You’re alive.”

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

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

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

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

“Sorry about your floor.”

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

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

“You’re a mess.”

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

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

“The radio…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d like that.”

Chapter 2 (END)

[geoffreytoday]

Just got home from the Super Mario Bros. movie.

As I anticipated, it's a perfectly cute little flick. Crisp Rat is easily the weakest link, but not in a "his performance sucks" way, he's just very bland. You could replace him with anybody.

It's really short, barely 90 minutes including credits. It's very thin on dialogue, which I expect was done on purpose to make it easier to localize and market around the world. I would have been happy for the characters to have gotten a little more to say personally.

The movie succeeds at doing exactly what it's trying to do though. It is a very straight forward Super Mario Bros adventure. It knows what it's about, and it's about it very efficiently. It's not a pixar movie, and it's not trying to be one.

Plenty of little easter eggs for the old school nintendo fans, but not nearly as overt or in your face as I was expecting them to be, which I appreciated. The details are there if you look for them, but they don't waste screen time on them.

Jack Black is a great King Koopa. Charlie Day is a perfect Luigi. Keegan-Michael Key is great as Toad. Anya-Taylor Joy is a solid Princess Peach.

The visuals are very pretty. I'll look forward to picking it up on 4K. Kids are going to love this flick. Parents will have a decent time too, especially if they were old school fans. There's possibly a few too many needle-drops, but they're all bangers so I'm not complaining.

If they make a sequel, hopefully they'll lean a little harder into the writing, and find a better voice for Mario.

[the-other-puppet]

Jevil (aka Jables)

The Monster

THERE HE IS LOOK AT HIM GO

now THIS, THIS mf, takes Susie's role in this story .

Spamton's self-proclaimed roomate and bro.

Jovial. Extroverted. Talented. Funny, can do anything.

the kind of person you'd love to have as a friend... and would've hated to be bullied by as a child.

Jevil was a demon in all it's meanings as a kid, in fact, he was spamton's personal childhood bully, and haven't seen him since they parted ways many years ago.

And now it's back, coincidentially meeting the human again and somehow having to live with him; the only face he "knows" in the city and the garbage can being the only place he could stay on. thinking it's both, a re-encounter with an old friend and a way to show how much he's changed through life.

guess chapter 1's arc will involve him showing and proving that the human can trust him.

Despite all the talent and potential he has, is still a NEET, lazy asf, and doesn't seem to have interest on finding a way to get money that soon...

[lonely-lost-soul]

A Pirate's Life for Me

Cover Art Done By: @fridaydev-draws and @friday-dsv (Dreamsmp x reader) Pirate Au! Love Interests: C!Wilbur, C!Techno, C!Dream, C!Sapnap, C!Quackity, and C!Schlatt

~~~

Salt burned your lungs as you tossed open your window with a loud bang, the seagulls perching on your flower boxes screeched in protest and flew from your window. “Fucking sky rats get the fuck out of here you heathens!” You snarled out the window shaking your fist at the bothersome birds, the sounds of the ocean crashing on the shore filled your ears as well as the chatter of the dock workers. You let the breeze blow back your hair and you heard someone calling your name from down below.

“Good morning (Y/n)!” You glanced below you and grinned,

“Morning Eret!” They waved back enthusiastically their dress spilling around their ankles, a basket of fruit was balanced on his hip. “Opening early today? I'm sure your patrons would be happy to start their drunken stupor early,” She held a hand to his mouth snickering and you shot them a look.

“If that gets more money in my pocket then so be it, I won't complain too much.” You shrugged, “Will I still see you later tonight?”

“Always do dove, how can I resist a drink from my favorite bartender.”

“You can’t it’s my charm.”

“Will the both of you shut the fuck up!” Another man’s voice growled from another open window, “It’s too early for your bullshit.” You saw Eret click his tongue but smiled up at you despite the man's protests,

“I’m heading to the market anyway. These fruits won’t sell themselves, I'll see you later.”

“See you soon!” You closed your windows once more, but not before urging your daisies to grow one last time. You tossed open the curtains allowing light to spill into your cozy home, a small carpet was in the middle of your room. It was a deep red and the pattern was made of gold yarn, aside from that everything in your residency was made of dark wood. Your shelves were littered with books and empty cups, and your old worn journal sat open on your desk. It was filled with childhood memories and you continued to write in it to this day, it was easier then, things were simple and everything was innocent and new to you. Now your days were filled with sea fairing idiots who liked to drink themselves stupid, but you could handle yourself, you always kept your father's dagger on your thigh at all times. Those who were frequent customers knew not to mess with you and those who were new learned their lesson within the first ten minutes of meeting you. You inherited the bar from your father, a kindhearted man who died a few years before today, leaving you with the bar and the dagger you had on your hip. You fished through your closet pulling out your clothes for the day, your dress was a gorgeous light coffee color and came down to your ankles. The bottom was flared and had dark brown panels on the sides, it faded inward to a light green then back to the coffee color. The corset around your waist was a dark brown with light green trim, you tied it tight with a small huff making sure your waist was sinched perfectly. The sleeves came down to your elbows allowing you to move your arms freely while making drinks. The top of the dress ended just below your collarbone, you strapped your dagger to your thigh before lacing up your knee-high black boots.

You thought back to your tavern downstairs, you were fortunate enough that you weren’t running this entire operation yourself. You ended up hiring help and they were like family and you knew they saw you as such as well. Most of the girls didn’t have a family of their own so you gave them room and board, also money, of course, you weren’t a terrible boss! You opened the door to your room, you watched Cecil, the tavern’s mascot trot out of Juniper’s room. The border collie liked to switch up which rooms he stayed in protecting every one of your girls when you couldn’t be there for them.

The first of your girls was Adelaide or Addie, she was one of the first to fall under your care. She was around your age, a motherly type, sheep hybrid, who cared for the girls, and always gave the drunk patrons with mommy issues a shoulder to cry on. Her long brown hair always hung down her back, she typically worked tables, served food and drinks, and always got a generous tip from patrons.

The next girl was Judas, a squid-enderman hybrid who was taller than you could ever wish to be, although intimidating you couldn’t meet a kinder woman. A jack of all trades the woman helped out wherever she could, black-ish purple hair curled around her shoulders and some people came specifically to hear her sing. Her voice was like rich velvet and lured men and women in like a siren.

Juniper was after Judas, a demon hybrid who was naive but you’d be a fool to underestimate her. She worked beside you at the bar, she can make some mean fruity drinks, Eret always preferred her drinks over yours. Freckles adorned her face and shoulders, her light brown hair curled down to her middle back, purple horns sprouted from the top of her head. You wanted to adorn it with gold jewelry and you were saving up to gift some to her.

Yeti was a human woman like yourself, she didn’t bother with those who were rude or obnoxious. She kept to herself only really talking when she was spoken to or when there was an opportunity to crack a rare joke. She typically stayed on the sidelines, out of the scenes and Yeti liked to help Judas decorate her sets.

Zig was a kind young adult, they got along with everyone who came inside the tavern. Soft emerald eyes drew people in, and they tried to make sure tensions within the bar didn’t rise and start a fight. There would always be one or two that’s just natural, but one look at Zig and his magic words and they seemed to disperse, not wanting to hurt the kid’s feelings.

Vendetta was the tallest member of the group you had taken in, she was stunningly beautiful and didn't take shit from anybody. She was a guard dog if you will, making sure no one fucked with any of the girls in your tavern. While Zig did their best to keep people under control sometimes they couldn’t win. That’s when Ven would step in and ‘kindly’ escort them off the premises with or without force.

The youngest member here was Luvena. She was a moo-bloom hybrid with soft brown hair that sprouted flowers, her cow ears would twitch when she was excited and followed Addie around like she was her daughter. Addie took her under her wing and was training her to be a perfect little waitress, absolutely warming customers’ hearts. Luvena also loved to give out flowers, she was a fan favorite bringing new life into the tavern.

Cecil barked seeing his mama and scampered over to you, you poured food into his bowl as Juniper wandered into the hallway. Her head rested on the doorframe as she gave you a tried wave, “Morning (Y/n).”

“Morning Juni, We’re opening a little early today. Take your time I’m not expecting a big rush of bar patrons this early.” You assured her and she gave a sleepy nod,

“I’ll be down as soon as Ven’s out of the shower.” She yawned, “This beauty doesn’t come naturally.”

“Hardly darling you’re gorgeous just the way you are.” You reassured with a wink, Juniper flushed a little, happily laughing beside you.

“Just go wake the others will you, you flirt!”

Tossing your head back you gave a happy laugh heading down the hallway to make sure everyone was awake and ready to go for later. Addie and Luvena shared a room so she was in charge of waking up the youngest member of the tavern. Judas was already awake making breakfast for everyone when you headed downstairs, Zig was sitting on the counter beside her, they were the designated taste tester.

“Good morning Miss (Y/n)!” Zig chirped, the young adult hummed fondly, “Sleep okay?”

“Absolutely. What about you both? Thank you for making breakfast Judas.” You hummed fondly and Judas had a shy smile on her face.

“I slept well thank you.” Judas hummed softly, “Also it’s my pleasure. Want to make sure everyone’s healthy and alright.” She let out a little squeak as you wrapped your arms around her body, you barely came up to her chest,

“Judas please marry me,” You complained, “Your breakfast is always heavenly and you care for everyone. Please be my wife.”

“(Y/n)! Please.” She sputtered face turning a dark purple, Zig made a noise of protest and held his hand in the air.

“If she won’t marry you I will!”

“Zig! I’d be honored!”

Their entire face lit up with excitement and they hopped off the table to hug you tightly, you hugged them back and pressed a fond kiss to the top of their head. “I got to open up the tavern, you mind setting the table for me Zig?”

“Sure Miss!”

You sent Judas a kiss in the air which her face burned at, quickly going back to her cooking. You smiled eagerly and unlocked the door to the tavern, you shoved a bucket in front of the door to keep it open. The salty ocean air wafted through your nostrils and your eyes sparkled wondrously.

Today is going to be a good day.

Almost immediately a particular bastard caught your eye,

“You’re here early.” You mused raising an eyebrow,

“Heard you were opening early today sweetcheeks,” His voice was a low baritone, rough from years of smoking and drinking. Horns curled around his fluffy ears that stood out against his gruff exterior, he was a ram hybrid at its finest. “Figured I’d take the opportunity to get a special drink from my special girl,” He mused looking you up and down drinking in your figure. You scoffed at the retired man, he dressed like he was cosplaying captain jack sparrow, the gun’s in his belt just added to his costume and so did his large ruffled shirt, he was never one to forget his gold jewelry.

“Where’s Quackity?” You ignored him sitting him at his usual table, he frowned but you knew he was taking it as an opportunity to stare at your ass. He slid into the stool and put his feet up on the table, his boots were muddy but you could only control him so much. He was too much of a regular to get scared off by your threats and scolding.

“He’ll be in at his normal time. He’s not much of a day drinker, although can’t say I’m complaining. Having all your attention on me and all, considering I’m the only one in here. That being said, I’ll have my usual sweetcheeks.”

“Stop calling me that,” You scolded with a certain fondness that was reserved for the man. “You’re lucky you’re my favorite regular Schlatt,” you gave his ears a fond pinch and he bleated. He sent you a scalding look as you walked away, although the look soon fell as he got a good look at your ass once again.

“I’m your only regular sugar tits!”

“Schlatt feet off the table.” Addie criticized whacking his boots with a rolled-up menu, he rolled his eyes but dropped his feet to the floor. “You should know this by now, we go through this every day.”

“Yeah, yeah little lamb I’m on it. Judas here?”

“She’s always here,” She huffed spreading the menu down on the table. “Do you want your usual or something different? Should I get Quackity’s drink ready too?”

“Nah just stick with mine, for now, tell Judas I’d like to see her.”

Addie clicked her tongue and placed her hand on her hip, “fine. But if you’re just going to grossly flirt with her as you do with (y/n), then keep it to yourself.”

“You’re not the boss of me. Just because you look like an old hag-” The way she glared at him sent a chill down his spine, “shit babe take a joke will you.”

Eventually, people began to file into the tavern, as the morning faded into the afternoon and then into the evening. The tavern was bustling with life, Judas’s elegant voice traveled through the crowds and her voices seemed to float above the voices. Quackity joined Schlatt by his side seemingly irritated by a conversation they were having, Schlatt was about five drinks in at this point, which was much less than his usual, and Quackity on his second.

“What are they talking about?” Luvena asked swinging her legs as she sat on the bar beside you. Her moobloom ears twitching every so often as she tried to eavesdrop on their conversation,

“Vena it’s impolite to eavesdrop.” You scolded bopping her on the head lightly, she whined and rubbed the top of her head.

“I wasn’t!” She argued as you rolled your eyes, you looked over at the two men to find Quackity looking over at you. His hand was raised in the air, one finger was up summoning you to get him another drink.

“I’ll be back, why don’t you talk to Ven while I’m gone. She’ll keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t need a babysitter!”

“Good thing she doesn’t want to babysit your ass either, now shoo.” You motioned her to hop off the bar and she did so with a long, dramatic sigh. You looked over at Ven who gave you a silent nod, letting you know she’d watch out for the youngest member of your band of misfits. Meanwhile, you grabbed Quackity another drink and walked over to the two men at the table, “Someone order a drink?”

“Aye! Mamacita! Fancy seeing you here.” Quackity purred a bright smile spreading across his face seeing that you were the one to deliver his drink,

“Hey Big Q,” You greeted placing the drink in front of him, “You doing okay?”

“Better now that an angel walked into my sight,” He flirted and you rolled your eyes. “What? It’s true! You always brighten my day you know? Ow!” Schlatt hit his ex-first mate over the head,

“Take a breath lover boy. Thanks for the drink sugar tits.”

“You’re welcome, what were the both of you talking about if I may ask.” You hummed grabbing some of Schlatt’s empty glasses, an uncharacteristic frown came over both their faces. “Oh? Touchy subject?”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Just dishing out some old problems, most of which are better left unsaid.” He aimed that statement at Quackity, his jaw seemed clenched and Quackity’s brow furrowed in annoyance.

“Well I just want to remind the both of you,” You passed the tray of empty glasses over to Addie as she walked by, she took them swiftly. You grabbed the side of both their heads and pressed them against your chest, not that you knew but both men’s flushed to the tips of their ears. “No physical fights are allowed in this tavern. If one starts I won’t hesitate to kick your fucking asses. Got it?” They looked over your chest and locked eyes with one another, after years on the sea they could read one another’s facial expressions rather easily and at that moment they shared the same thought,

‘They should fight more often.’

“I said, got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” The repeated simultaneously as you pulled away,

“That’s what I like to hear-”

“(Y/n)!” Vendetta’s velvety voice called out from behind you, you turned and saw a group of newcomers file into your bar. Your body tensed momentarily,

Pirates.

Schlatt turned his head to follow your gaze and he tensed from behind you, “fuck me.” He growled and Quackity raised an eyebrow at his captain, he turned to look over his shoulder and his face lit up.

“Sapnap!”

The pirate who had a white bandana tied around his forehead glanced over at him and a smile lit up across his features. “Quackity? Is that you?”

“My man!” He stood up from his chair heading over to wrap the man in a hug, “I haven’t seen you in years, man.” You zoned out of their conversation eyes locking with a few of the other pirates who walked into the tavern. Vendetta and Addie both greeted them, but everyone who was under your care knew to keep their guard up around pirates. From what you could gather there seemed to be two crews, a crew of what only seemed to be two, Sapnap was included. The fire demon was still talking with Quackity, while the other man took in the view of the tavern, he had shaggy blonde hair, and had a few scars across his face. A porcelain mask sat on top of his head, a forest green cloak was around his shoulders, his hood was lowered around his neck. A sword was strapped tight against his hip and there was another dagger that seemed to be tucked against his side. His eyes gazed towards you and he winked teasingly with a coy smile, you scoffed looking over at Addie.

“Seat those two gentlemen yeah? Be careful, I’ll tell Ven and Yeti to keep an eye.” Addie looked at you, concern written on her soft features but she nodded. While Addie departed, you noticed Ven talking with the other group. Luvena was hiding behind Vendetta’s long legs, although a tall blonde boy seemed very keen on talking to her. You smoothed out your dress and moved towards the group of three, you eyed them up casually. The blonde looked to be around Luvena’s age, he had a shit-eating grin on his face and his uniform matched that of the second tallest in the group. The second tallest was clad in a light blue jacket with large golden buttons on the red collar. He had a cream-frilled shirt underneath and a black belt holding up his brown slacks, those were tucked into black boots. On his back seemed to be a guitar and was the only one of them not holding a weapon, but you knew better than to assume with pirates. His curly brown hair seemed to bounce every time he talked, he seemed to be the ringleader but there was no doubt that the real ringleader was the hybrid standing beside him. He was taller, on par with Vendetta in height, he had long pink hair that was tied in a ponytail on top of his head. A few pieces framed his face elegantly, there was no doubt he was the captain of the little crew that was in your tavern. He had a white shirt on with a deep low cut ‘V’ it showed off a good portion of his scared chest, around his shoulders sat a deep red jacket but his arms were outside of it and crossed over his chest. He seemed content on letting his second in command do all the talking, his red eyes were the only ones to meet yours. His head tilted upwards and before Vendetta could stop him he walked over towards you,

“You own the tavern?” His voice was a low monotone and it sent an array of pleasant chills up your spine.

“I do,” You raised an eyebrow crossing your arms over your chest, “Names (Y/n). You are?”

“Captain Technoblade of the ship Odyssey, I was hoping you had a few rooms and a table available. My brothers and I are pretty exhausted, we’ve been sailing all night.”

Brothers, they certainly didn’t all look alike, but then again you certainly had a mix of girls in your care. Your tongue swiped against the top row of your teeth, “Why don’t you and your brothers take a seat at the bar for now. Juniper will be happy to serve you, I’ll see if we have some free rooms available.”

“Thank you, once you return I’ll introduce them to you if you’d like,” Technoblade bowed his head before turning back to get his brother’s attention.

“I’d like that thank you.” You gave a nod motioning for Vendetta to follow you as you slid behind the bar with Juniper, Judas had also taken a spot sitting on the bar. You figured you’d let her know as well, considering she was another adult figure in the group. You knew either Juniper or Judas would fill in Addie considering the three were close. “Ven, can they be trusted?”

“Not too sure about the masked man, the one Quackity seems to be familiar with seems decent enough. He’s a fire demon though, could smell him from miles away, we all just need to be cautious.”

“Agreed,” Juniper added tapping her finger on her chin. “We should just try to curb all fighting if at all possible, what did the captain of the other group ask you?”

“They want a room, I’m about to check to see if we have availability. Thoughts on that?”

Judas let out a low hum her eyes followed both sets of pirate groups around the tavern, “I say if we have availability let them stay. They seem harmless so long as we don’t mess with them, which we’d never do.”

“Plus I can always stay awake to keep an eye on them.” Vendetta tapped her nails against the table,

“You sure.”

“As if I’d let anything happen to any of you, you’re my family.”

You all smiled softly, and you noticed Judas’s eyes widen, “Zig! Get that out of your mouth this instant!” She shot up from her spot and over to the person in question. The three of you laughed fondly at the nonsense, meanwhile, Juniper saw the three brothers sit at her bar. She moved away from you to greet them, you immediately could tell she was taken with the second eldest brother.

He seemed to be an absolute lady killer.

Vendetta ruffled your hair before going back to stand at her place by the door to keep the peace. You headed up the stairs to the rafters to check on the extra rooms you had, “Excuse me?” You tensed visibly turning around to face the man in all green. His eyes were mesmerizing, a fierce jade green to contrast his cloak, “Do you happen to have two rooms available?” The man held up two fingers to clarify his request,

“Do you usually start introductions with a blatant request like that?”

He chuckled a smile spreading across his lips, “I’m Dream and you gorgeous?”

“(Y/n), it’s your lucky day I’m about to check and see if any are available. My tavern is a hot commodity tonight.”

“Well, I can see why,” he spoke and you raised an eyebrow and tilted your head to the side.

“Oh?”

“It has the hottest owner around. Word spreads fast.”

You couldn’t believe this man was making your cheeks burn, he chuckled softly taking a step towards your figure. “Oh really, word spreads that fast on the open sea, Captian?” It was his turn to turn light pink, but he covered it up quickly with a chuckle.

“Touché.”

“I’ll get on that room for you and your friend. Take a seat, for now, this part is for guests and staff only you know?”

“So I have you all to myself?” He cheekily mused, he stepped towards you and before you knew it you were pinned against a wall. His hand suddenly brushed against your cheek, it was cold in comparison to your warm cheek. You felt Dream’s thumb brush against your cheek slowly, “You know...being on the open sea alone does something to a person.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” You mused pushing your forehead back against Dream’s, “All alone with only your crew with you.” Taking his other hand within your own you slid it up to your hip, you saw his entire face turn red as he stared down at your chest. “You’re probably missing a little love in your life, aren’t you Dreamy?” He nodded dumbly, his eyes still not leaving your chest,

Perfect. You weren’t going to let some pirate boy get the better of you.

He let out a grunt of pain as you spun him around and pressed his head into the wall with your elbow, your other hand has his pinned behind his back. “This hallway is for staff and guests only,” You purred in his ear before letting him go and swinging your hips before heading up the stairs fully. From behind you, Dream’s face was a deep, dark red and he had to clear his throat. Dream wasn’t going to let you go after that, I mean look at you, tough and able to hold your own, it awakened something inside him.

After checking up on the rooms you headed back down into the main hall, three-room keys in your hand. Glancing over at the scene in front of you, you saw Juniper dancing in the middle of the tavern the flirtatious brother at her side. Judas was sitting beside Schatt and Quackity at the bar, Addie was tending to Technoblade and the blonde at their little table. Dream and Sapnap were whispering to one another in the corner but still seemed to be enjoying the show. Vendetta was smiling softly by the door, beside her were Luvena and Zig both playing various instruments. You noticed Eret was also amongst the crowd, she had a brilliant grin on his face, it was flushed pink with alcohol and you smiled to yourself.

It was peaceful, and for a moment you forget half the patrons were scoundrels or pirates.

That was until the man dancing with Juniper locked eyes with you, his eyes lit up and he spun Juniper off into Addie’s arms. She giggled snuggling into the mother sheep’s arms, you heard a distressed “Juni! I’m holding glasses!” Before your vision was overtaken by the handsome flirt.

“Hello love,” He hummed, “May I offer you a dance?”

You were about to refuse but you saw Yeti, who finally made her appearance as it was getting closer to Judas’s set, giving you a big thumbs up “I’d be honored.” You responded taking his hand within your own, he pulled you out onto the dance floor and you felt his other hand politely hover on the small of your back. He allowed you to lean into his touch as he began to elegantly spin you around the dance floor, you were almost embarrassed to say felt like a princess. “Maybe I could get your name?” You asked above the music, “Since it seems you’re my dance partner this evening?”

“Wilbur Soot my love.” He hummed proudly, “The first mate of the ship Odysseus at your service. Plus I play music on the side.”

“Well now you need to play for us,” Wilbur twirled you around in a circle,

“Maybe one day. If you give me your name?”

“(Y/n) (L/n).”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

“I was right.” You commented biting the bottom of your lip trying not to smile,

“About what?”

“You.”

“Ah? Already talking about me I see? Is my manliness and gentlemanly qualities that renowned?”

“Not exactly.” He picked you up slightly and pulled you into a low dip, “I was right in thinking you a nothing but a flirty playboy.” Wilbur almost dropped you, you squawked grabbing onto his neck. He began to laugh as you clung to his chest,

“Alright love. You caught me red-handed.”

Wilbur set you on your feet hands on your lower back, you were pulled close to his chest. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I get them for free hon. I own the place.”

“Oh...oh.” He paled a little, “I didn’t fuck up our chances of getting a room did I?”

“Nah lucky for you and your brothers, I have you covered, same with your buddies over there.” You motioned to Dream and Quackity’s friend, Wilbur’s face paled as he felt the chilled room key get placed in his palm. “What’s your little brother’s name?”

“Tommy.”

“Tell them both we serve breakfast free from 7 am to 10 am.” He nodded as you walked past, Wilbur meanwhile turned to look at Technoblade. It seemed he had his red eyes on the couple the entire time they were dancing. He held up a room key, it was labeled 205; Technoblade nodded his head before leaning back and talking to Addie once more. “Dream!” You called throwing a hand up into the air, instead of Dream, Sapnap looked up he nudged Dream with his elbow. The man was now wearing his mask, but at least you could tell he was looking at you,

“Well hello, darlin’ you must be (Y/n). Name's Sapnap. Dream told me about you, so you have good news for us I hope?”

“Pleasure, I'm sure he told you all about me,” He nodded, his eyes taking in your body especially your ass. “Got you both a room key, your neighbors. Across from the other crew of pirates. Just don’t fight and we won’t have any problems.”

“You mean those jackasses are staying?” Sapnap complained loudly, looking over your shoulder at the other crew members.

“You both didn’t think you were the only patrons, did you? This is a business after all.” You, tossed the keys their way, Dream caught it with ease and Sapnap fumbled it only a little bit. After they were in their hands, you waved them off with a flutter of your palm you turned around to go speak with Judas about her set but before you could take a step you saw Schlatt stumbling up from his seat. “Ah shit,” You knew what was about to happen, you weren’t paying attention to the ram hybrid so who knew how many drinks in he was. You felt responsible, for a while you and Judas had been trying to help Schlatt with his addiction. You couldn’t help but wonder what exactly set him off for him to get this drunk, Quackity caught him in his arms with a grumble. The man was a drunken mess, and as you approached you could hear his slurred speech and could practically smell the alcohol on his breath. “Schlatt,” You spoke carefully and as soon as you got close Schlatt detached himself from Quackity and lunged at you. His head was buried in his chest, he almost purred like he was very happy to be there, you rolled your eyes and ran your fingers through his hair. You were mindful of his horns but he seemed pretty eager for you to touch them,

“(Y/n).” He whined although it was muffled against your ample chest, “Why do pirates have to fuck everything up?”

“What are you on about Schlatt? No one likes pirates.”

“They’re gonna take you away from me, sugar. You’re my safe space, this tavern is my safe space.” You sighed listening to his drunken ramblings, you grabbed his horns and pulled him away from your chest.

“This is my life Schlatt, I’m not going anywhere trust me. Plus my family is here, they need me. So try not to worry okay?” You slicked back the hair on his forehead before planting a fond kiss there, everyone in the tavern narrowed their eyes at the scene. Even your girls were green with envy, at the sight of their lovely boss kissing someone who wasn’t them. He leaned against your lips eyes fluttering closed,

“Well, well, well if it isn’t Captian Schlatt? Or ex-captain if I remember correctly.”

“What?”

You turned your head and felt Schlatt’s arms wrap around your waist and held you close to his chest. The touch was protective and you felt your heart skip a beat, why was he protecting you, and why did you actually feel protected?

“Has the drinking finally caught up to you? Or was it the fact that you lost your so-”

Was that Dream's voice?

“Shut the fuck up.” He snarled and you were shoved behind him into Quackity’s arms, you felt less protected. “I’m not that person anymore and you fucking know that,” Vendetta came to stand beside the both of you a hand was placed on your shoulder protectively. You knew she was desperately wanted to step in and you held up a hand to stop her.

“This isn’t good…” Quackity murmured, “They’re going to fight. Schlatt’s going to get himself fucking killed.”

“Calm yourself. We won’t let it get that far.” Ven grumbled eyeing you waiting for your signal. But you were lost in the conversation or argument, the two were having, you couldn’t believe Schlatt was a pirate. He was so...he just didn’t...he was a drunk okay? That didn’t exactly shout feared pirate to you!

“Oh, are you sure? I remember that look, that’s the look you’d get before you stomped someone’s lights out. No wonder your son disappeared under mysterious circumstances-” Dream was shoved against one of the poles holding up the building. He grunted and Schlatt’s arm was pulled back ready to punch, but his arm was stopped by smaller hands,

“Pardon me Mr. Schlatt but you know how we feel about fighting in our tavern.” Addie bubbled, she had a smile on her face but it wasn’t kind, it was full of warning.

“Get the fuck off me, sheepie. This doesn’t fucking concern you.” Schlatt shoved her away and as soon as his skin made contact with her body he made a sound of distress.

“(Y/n)...” Addie murmured quietly, your father’s dagger was embedded in Schlatt’s arm,

“Fucking hell you bitch!” He snarled baring his teeth, you glared at him twisting the dagger he yelled in agony.

“Touch one of my girls again and next time this dagger is going right into your back.” You ripped the dagger out, splattering the floor with blood. He grabbed his arm tightly and looked at you with slight betrayal in his yellow eyes. “I mean it Schlatt, Quackity take him home.” The man nodded looking at you longingly, he muttered a quiet ‘Sorry’ before escorting him out of your tavern. “You,” You glared harshly over at Dream, “Go to your room.”

“You’re not my mother.”

“Then find another play to stay.” You spat, he turned away and you looked over at Addie, “Are you alright?” Your voice turned tender as you cupped her cheeks. She nuzzled against your palms and nodded her head,

“I’m fine. You didn’t need to-”

“Yes, I did. No one messes with you. With any of you on my watch.”

The sheep hybrid made a little sound as her bottom lip trembled, she wrapped you in a tight hug which you accepted without hesitance. Judas walked over next and wrapped you both in her arms, pretty soon you were surrounded by your girls and Zig.

All of them had the same mindset: comforting both you and Addie.

It was good to be loved.

Wilbur watched the scene curiously and glanced over at Technoblade who stood up from his chair.

“I think that’s our cue to leave for the night.” He looked over at his first mate, Wilbur nodded in agreement grabbing his guitar from the chair beside Technoblade.

“They...Techno were they talking about Tubbo.” Tommy whispered to his brother, his brow furrowing in concern as they all climbed the steps up to their room, “You don’t think-”

“It just might be Tommy.” Technoblade tilted his head to the side, “Guess that’ll be something we ask him when we get back to the ship tomorrow.”

“Well, this trip is going to be way more fun than I thought.” Wilbur snickered lighting a cigarette, taking a long drag, before letting the smoke curl out of his mouth and up into the rafters. ~~~

Tag List: @v01dw4lk3rz, @jam-bombs, @abovenyx, @glitterydigitalart, @phoenixaesthetic19, @luluwinchester, @boiled-onionrings, @pastelmoonwitche, @roxy3457, @alovestruck-fool, @victory-is-here, @mack4676, @fiorenc, @theoneandonlyyeti, @bloodrose0723, @sandyy-woo,

[hellhoundsprey]

For Jack's birthday - how about sweet little virgin boy (or maybe he's dark and twisted and needs to take it out on someone, I'm up for anything) decides to lose it on his birthday. And... Dean's a sex worker maybe? Unless we need something based in canon in which case I'll gladly send in something else 😉

Who says you can’t be dark and twisted AND a virgin?

Warnings: sex work, unsafe sex, stealthing

Tags: alternate universe – no powers, first time, top!jack, bottom!dean

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Jack closes the door behind them.

‘Dean’ strolls right to the bed to unzip his jacket. He cracks the window and pulls the curtains closed. ‘Dean’ throws Jack a smile. Professional as it may be, it’s a good look on him.

Jack smiles back. His hands are clasped behind him, sandwiched between his ass and the door. His heart jackrabbits and the rush of his blood can’t quite decide what body part to prioritize.

So, this is it. Finally.

‘Dean’ takes off his jacket and hangs it over the back of the single chair. “So.” Dean inspects the room from where he stands, checks his watch. “Here we are. One hour.”

“One hour.”

“One hour.” Dean sets his watch. He peers up at Jack through the thicket of his girl-long lashes. His lips purse. He’s gorgeous. “A lot can happen in an hour.”

Jack is too excited to reply. It doesn’t seem necessary. Dean comes over to him and drags his cold hand over Jack’s shoulder, down Jack’s arm. Plucks his hands free from behind him and squeezes them, stands tall and beautiful and thick in front of Jack—the manifestation of all of Jack’s fantasies, really. Clearly a sign.

“Nervous? I was nervous,” admits Dean. Half a wink. “Been some time, but I remember just fine.”

Jack says, “Undress me?” and didn’t mean for his voice to rise in the end. But the corners of Dean’s eyes crinkle soft with his smile and he does as requested. Jack’s denim jacket. Jack’s sweater.

“This okay?” Dean’s fingertips pause on the buckle of Jack’s belt. Jack nods. His face is hot.

Dean is close enough that Jack can feel and taste his breath: mint and coffee and booze. The cold of his skin from standing outside for hours on end. A car pulls out of the parking lot in front of their motel room. Jack can hear the rain hitting the asphalt.

Jack’s, “Can I kiss you?” is met with Dean, nudging their mouths together. Jack’s breath stumbles. His first time kissing someone who is not his dad. Dean’s shave is just unclean enough for Jack to be aware of the rasp of stubble against his own, smooth skin.

Dean opens Jack’s jeans. Lifts Jack’s tee up his stomach and ends their kissing with a last, firm smooch before he pulls back to get rid of that shirt for good. Despite the ajar window, the room is overheated. Jack shivers for different reasons.

Hands on Dean’s chest; feeling. Squeezing. Dean chuckles knowingly.

“Touch all you want. Dealer’s choice.”

Dean kisses him again. Slides his hands around Jack’s hips and pushes into the back of Jack’s boxers, holds and pets him. Jack’s dick throbs against his leg. He tiptoes to better press against Dean’s mouth.

“Someone’s been waiting on this, huh?”

Jack nods, gulps. Dares to put his hands on Dean’s face and it’s Dean who starts walking them backwards, towards the bed. The room is small and the distance negligible. Dean hums against Jack’s mouth. Jack gets his jeans and underwear pushed down his ass, down his thighs. Dean grabs Jack’s ass again—easy, with the size of his hands.

“What do you need, sweetheart? Wanna take the edge off, first? My hand or my mouth, maybe?”

Jack heats with hearing all that. That it’s him who is asked, but also in general. He’s…yes, all of it, everything. He wants it all. Wants Dean to teach him everything, show him what he can do… “I—yes?”

Dean chuckles. He spreads Jack’s ass just enough to be able to rub down his crack, touch his asshole. Jack shudders—Dean wraps his other hand around Jack’s cock and squeezes before he strokes. So so different from how Jack does it to himself, wrong way around and not his own hand, and it’s... Oh, that’s what Dean meant by edge. Jack flushes for the embarrassing noise he can’t hold back on and Dean tuts, kisses him some more.

“You’re all right. Let me take care of you.”

Jack holds onto Dean’s shirt, Dean’s flanks. He’s so firm underneath his clothes; Jack wants all that, too, to see and touch and kiss—Dean twists his hand and Jack groans it’s so good. Dean goes from petting Jack’s asshole to roaming up his stomach, his chest, to thumbing and then plucking on his nipple. Jack chases the touch, gets a chuckle.

“Sensitive all over, aren’t we, Jack?”

Jack moans. Tugs Dean’s shirt out of his jeans. “Can you…? Please?”

Dean lets go of Jack in favor of stripping out of his top. A single thick pendant dangling from a black leather string rests on his bare chest, and Jack realizes how there are freckles here, too—milky-light skin not much different from his own. He drags his hands over the newfound plane, gets a feel for how soft and warm exactly Dean is. No six-pack. Jack isn’t into those, anyway.

“Like what you see?” Dean smiles, gets his hand back on Jack’s cock. “Hm, yeah, you do. You think about this a lot? Kissing other dudes? Looking at each other naked?”

Jack mumbles, “Yes,” and licks his lip, can’t stop staring. Dean jacks him confidently, perfectly.

“You tell me when you’re close, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Awesome. Okay.”

Dean pushes Jack backwards so he can sink to his knees between Jack and the bed. Can rub his available hand up-down Jack’s thigh. Can ask Jack:

“You ever done this?”

Jack shakes his head, beet-red. He’s seen videos, of course. So many videos.

But nothing compares to—having it done to you. To watch Dean closing his eyes and leaning in and—wrapping his lips around Jack’s cock, held steady by the base with his skilled fingers. Dean takes him halfway down in one swift push, engulfs Jack in hotwetsoft and Jack gasps, shocked with how good it is, and the drag out is just as intoxicating. Dean suckles the tip and bats his lashes, peers up at Jack and Jack moans, didn’t expect to be watched. Dean chuckles around Jack’s cock and goes back down on it. Swallows it whole. Oh, gosh.

Jack’s hands can’t help but dig into Dean’s hair and hold on. Push him in, off, both—too much and not enough at the same time, making Jack’s balls draw tight and tingle. His cock fattens further in the confines of Dean’s beautiful throat. Dean lets him move his hips, lets him pump in and out of his mouth on his own accord. Jack groans, widens his stance. Oh, this won’t take long. Not long at all.

Dean reaches around to play with Jack’s asshole some more, and that’s that. Jack holds Dean’s skull firm and presses in, locks his hips—Dean startles, tries to pull back, but Jack is strong enough to keep him right where he is. Jack watches—fascinated, blurrily—how Dean struggles, how his face scrunches up and starts to go red. Jack lets him up once he’s done shooting down his throat. Dean gulps for air and coughs wetly.

Dean wipes his messy mouth and chin with the back of his hand. “Jesus, I said…! Not cool.”

Jack doesn’t tell him sorry. He huffs and grabs his cock instead, kneads the lingering swell of it. Dean’s spit makes the drag perfect, makes Jack’s toes curl inside his sneakers. Besides a small glare, Dean doesn’t protest getting Jack’s dick stuffed back into his mouth.

“On the bed. Take off your jeans.”

Again, “Jesus,” and a glint in Dean’s eye when he adds, “Bossy,” and then that grin again, wild and beautiful and Jack smiles back, bites his lip.

Jack climbs the bed, rids himself of the remnants of his outfit and watches Dean peeling himself out of his skin-tight jeans. He’s bare underneath. He toes off his boots, his socks. Dean crawls after Jack, hovers on all fours.

“This what you had in mind? Yeah?”

Jack nods, pleased. Rubs Dean’s skin again, the baby-flush on his tits and the lightest sheen of sweat. Dean licks his puffed lips. Watches Jack’s face with lidded eyes.

“You still sure you want to…?”

Small, “Yes,” and Jack’s cock struggles to get ready again in his own grip. “Can I… Can I maybe suck you, too? To see what it’s like,” and Dean kisses him for that, licks fat into his mouth. Pushes himself up and kneels forward until he’s straddling Jack’s shoulders. Geez, his thighs. His pretty, fat cock.

Only chubbed, not fully there yet. Dean works himself rough but lets Jack take over. Lets him get a feel, get mesmerized by how thick he is, here, too. Cut, like Jack. Dean leans back to brace all his weight onto his hands. Sighs, relaxes. Lets Jack tease him full. Or, full enough.

Dean hums, “Easy,” when Jack tugs him forward, cranes his neck to get his lips on Dean’s cock. Dean cups the back of Jack’s head to support his neck and Jack laves his tongue around Dean’s glans—prods at the slit and closes his lips and pushes on, lets it poke into his mouth, pillow against his tongue. It’s—he likes this. He didn’t doubt he would. “Fuck. You have a cute mouth. You know that?”

Jack hums. Keeps exploring and circles his tongue, fucks at Dean’s frenulum. He imagines him growing fatter for it. Jack’s fist strokes the many inches his mouth can’t get to just yet.

Soft, “Fuck,” from above. Jack’s available hand gets plucked off Dean’s thigh, gets circled and pressed down below, fingers against Dean’s…! Jack’s fingers stiffen and rub eagerly. “There you go,” and a hitch to Dean’s hips when Jack sinks one finger inside—it’s all soft and slick already, well-used and ready for Jack. Jack’s cock surges for that idea—that either Dean’s had other customers before him today or that he just keeps himself available like this constantly. Jack stuffs a second digit next to the first and Dean gasps, purrs his chuckle. “Fuck. Greedy kid,” he jokes, without an ounce of an idea how right he is.

Jack wants. Jack craves.

Dad doesn’t know where Jack is right now, because of course Jack is at school, of course Jack wouldn’t skip class and fake Dad’s signature and cash out the savings account Jack’s grandparents started for him years ago. It’s Jack’s birthday. Jack is old enough to make his own decisions.

Dean’s asshole sucks at his fingers like his mouth did mere minutes ago. Clings to them soft and needy and Jack will put his cock in there, next, and it will feel so so good, better than he imagined it would be—so dirty, with another guy, but Jack always knew he’d prefer this. That when he laid eyes on Dean the first time, driving past that alley with Dad who insisted on hurrying it up, this part of town is no good news, Jack, and Jack understood that he could just purchase Dean’s time, buy him for a while, that his mind was already made up.

Jack churns his fingers in and up, pumps them steady with Dean’s cock shuddering in his mouth. Dean groans and lets him, rolls his hips just-so—careful, subtle, because this is for Jack, not for himself. Jack is paying him for this. Jack gets to call the shots.

“Can we put it in, now? Please?”

Dean snickers. “Good to go already? Wow. To be young again…!”

Jack demands, “Sit on it,” and Dean nods with gentle, practiced compliance. Dean grabs the travel pack of lube and one of the condoms he tossed onto the bed before getting rid of his jeans. He rips both open. Jack makes a face as Dean rolls the condom over his dick for him.

Dean slathers the lube on Jack’s wrapped cock and straddles him again. Holds it steady with one hand and slowly sinks down on it—it goes in without struggle, just like it did with Dean’s mouth, and Jack’s hands fly to Dean’s hips. Jack gasps and lifts his ass off the bed to get more, deeper—Dean chuckles and allows it, can let go of Jack to stem both hands into the mattress next to Jack’s head instead, balance his weight.

“Good?” Dean smirks. Jack moans. Grinds them together, up into Dean’s tight, perfect body. Dean hums, obviously enjoys himself. He’s crushing, swollen-hot inside—Jack’s cock parts the slick walls of his insides anew on each stroke, forces him back open every time. Bottomless. Jack can’t get enough of it. “I’ll start moving now, all right?” and Jack falters, confused, until—Dean moves.

Lift and drop of his ass, circles of his hips, knocking Jack’s cock around inside him. Flexing inside and milking at Jack, and Jack can’t splutter fast enough, “W-wait,” before he’s already coming, shuddering apart inside someone. Jack’s eyes roll and Dean laughs low, kisses Jack’s mouth, his face, his chin.

“Still a good fifty minutes to go, bud. No worries, you’re getting your money’s worth.”

Jack can’t protest or do much than submit to Dean’s kisses and touches. Still buried inside him with the condom now slippery from inside and Jack’s cock so sensitive every nudge and clench of Dean’s insides makes him jump. Dean coos at him. Pets his throat for him; his chest. Sucks on Jack’s earlobe, on Jack’s clavicle. Jack closes his eyes. Dean’s weight holds him down effortlessly. It’s—nice.

Jack sighs. Dean smells nice. The bed does, too. Clean. The lube. The latex. Jack’s come laced into Dean’s hot breath.

Jack wants to ask him—so many things. How long he has been doing this kind of work. If he likes it. What his most and least favorite parts are. What kind of music he likes. If that one time Jack spotted him in church was an accident and why Dean even went there in the first place (why he doesn’t go anymore). But: fifty minutes left. Jack’s paid for sex, this time.

“I want to do it from behind.”

Dean chuckles, grinds his hips. Jack grunts, squeezes him in an attempt to keep him still—uselessly so. “You’re overworking that poor dick, kid. Gotta let him breathe for a minute. Why don’t you lay back, let me spoil some other parts for a change?”

Jack reluctantly agrees. His load drips out of the condom once Dean pulls him out. Dean cleans him, discards the condom. Kisses and nuzzles Jack’s clean, floppy dick before he moves lower to mouth at Jack’s balls. Jack groans—they’re not any less sensitive than the rest of his junk. His knees draw up and out on their own, though. He keeps his dick in his hand just to protect it from Dean’s eager mouth.

Dean gets comfy on his stomach and goes to town on Jack’s balls. It’s nice, yes, but Jack would rather…! But he has to get hard again first, somehow, so he’s all out of ideas. Dean’s laps and kisses travel lower and lower until he’s making out with Jack’s asshole, and that is… Oh, that is good. Really good.

“You like that?”

Jack nods, groans. Squeezes his dick; wills it hard, hurry it up.

Dean hums. Laps at Jack’s hole again. “I can put something in here if you want. My fingers…my cock…!”

“No, just…” Jack huffs. Tugs harder on his dick. “Just—keep going. Get me hard again.”

Dean scoffs. Spreads Jack’s hole with his thumbs. “Sure thing.”

Doesn’t take much longer until Jack is hard enough to consider it ‘enough’. He nudges at Dean’s head. Dean complies, moves. On all fours, his ass towards Jack and the headboard, he’s—geez, he’s stunning. Waxed bare and freckled here, too. He shakes his ass and grins over his shoulder, dips his chest lower into the bed.

“C’mon,” he teases. Jack watches Dean’s hand grabbing his own cock, stroking it sweet and firm. “Like that? That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Yes.” Jack sits up. Kneels up behind Dean.

Dean gasps as Jack thumbs his cock into him without preamble. “Jesus, wait—!” No condom. Just the slick inside Dean.

“No,” says Jack, and bottoms out. “I’ll pay extra,” he adds, and Dean’s fury falters a little for that but he’s still not convinced. Not that he necessarily has to be. Jack pulls him back by his hips and churns his dick deep, makes Dean’s tense breath thud out of him—his pretty face is flushed from the position, from the humiliation of a high schooler telling him what to do. How to do his job.

“It’s…” Dean groans for the next thrust. His eyes slide smaller. His asshole wrings tight around the base of Jack’s bare cock. Dean licks his lip. He’s still stroking himself. “It’s not gonna be cheap.”

“That’s okay.”

Jack makes him stay ass-up after he’s done loading him up. Makes him push Jack’s come back out so Jack can finger it back in, watch Dean’s asshole bloom and shudder and take whatever it’s given, how it swallows it all like a greedy mouth. Dean groans. He hasn’t come a single time and his dick is going soft yet again, irrelevant between his legs. Jack drags his tongue over the gape of Dean’s hole and tastes—lube, and ass, his own come. Moves deeper, to Dean’s audible delight, to suck at Dean’s balls. The underside of Dean’s cock. It swells under the attention. Jack nurses on Dean’s frenulum, that tight little bundle of skin right underneath the head—Dean groans, wriggles back against Jack’s face for that.

“You sure you don’t want me to fuck you, kid?” Sounds desperate. Jokingly, but desperate.

“Not this time,” admits Jack, his hand now milking Dean’s cock upside-down.

“Oh? There will be a next time?” Dean’s chuckle rumbles low. His asshole keeps mouthing at nothing and Jack stuffs his thumb inside just to give it something to work with. Dean groans like it feels good. “Jesus, kid. Killin’ me.”

Jack smiles. Keeps working him.

Eventually, soft: “You’re gonna make me blow if you keep that up…”

“That’s the plan.”

“Jesus… Jesus, are all kids your age this filthy? Did I miss something?”

“Shut up and let me get you off,” and that works.

Dean shifts cute in the sheets. His cock leaks wet in Jack’s fist and is all swollen and heavy with blood, every vein popped and tangible. Jack rubs his thumb over every single one of them, teases around the flared edge of the head, makes Dean growl into the sheets. Two fingers up his ass, massaging Jack’s load in deep. Jack licks his lip. His dick flinches but he’s too sore. No way he can get it up again. It doesn’t matter too much.

“Come,” orders Jack. “I want to see you do it. Come on my hands, Dean.”

With a tremble and a groan, Dean does.

He draws up inside, crushes Jack’s fingers—Jack adds a third despite the pressure to bang it soft again while Dean’s cock throbs hard in his grip, shoots thick into the bed.

“Fuck, fuck…!”

“You’re not done,” warns Jack. Keeps moving his hands. “All of it. Give it to me.”

Dean eventually grabs Jack’s wrist, trembling and panting and telling Jack no, for real, you’re killing me, and Jack scowls but does let up on him. Again, “Jesus,” and Jack’s stomach knots mean and he’s this close to reprimanding Dean for cursing so much. He’s too dizzy and sated and frustrated all at the same time, though. Too distracted by the lazy flop of Dean’s body, the way he squirms into the sheets like a sack of flour and just stays that way. He can’t be that old. Younger than Dad, for sure. “Gimme a minute… Phew.”

A minute turns into five. Into ten.

“We can shower together,” offers Dean. Jack declines. Jack goes by himself.

Dean consoles him. Talks about yeah, see how I told you you’re gonna burn yourself out? “I mean, I can’t blame you.” Dean smirks, winks; still naked, hugging Jack close. “I’m quite the motivation, huh?”

While Dean showers, Jack peels out the money from his backpack. He counts it and fans it out on the nightstand. Dean’s eyes dart towards it first thing once he’s back in the room.

Jack put his clothes back on and smiles up at Dean from where he sits on the edge of the (haphazardly re-made) bed. “Extra, like you said.”

“Hm.” Dean comes over, only a towel around his hips. He picks up the money to count, smacks his lips. He holds his hand out towards Jack without looking at him. “Another hundred.”

Jack gives him another hundred. Dean rolls up the money and stuffs it into his jeans’ pocket.

“So,” he says as he proceeds to wriggle into his jeans, “you mentioned a next time?”

[turtlepated]

Pate I'm drunk I want PateDew HCs pleeeeease

@pastelnacht

Oh are you now? Lol, well I will do my best to provide! 

Let's see... PateDew is pretty open-ended so hows about I hit you with the half-formed vaguely self-insert WIP that’s been sitting in my Google Docs for weeks now: 

----

You’d been stressed out at work lately, stressed enough that two days simply wasn’t enough time to fully decompress. So when a couple of your coworkers invited you out for drinks after work, you decided to tag along. Why not? 

The Roadhouse bar was a bit more… rustic than you’d expected for a bunch of office workers like yourselves, but it seemed like the perfect place to lose yourself and unwind for an evening. It was loud, both from the rowdy patrons and the jukebox in the corner, smelled strongly of cigarette smoke and cheap booze and greasy food. Not somewhere you’d ordinarily venture on your own, but it was a nice enough distraction. 

After a couple beers you had a pleasant buzz going. Somebody at the jukebox set Don’t Stop Believin’ to playing and a cheer went up. Grinning widely you swayed back and forth in time to the piano overture and belted along to the first verse about the “lonely girl livin’ in a lonely world”, emboldened by the alcohol and the giggling of your colleagues. 

You spun around, startled, when another voice chimed in just as loudly behind you, picking it up with the “city boy, born and raised in south Detroit”, meeting a pair of brown eyes barely discernible under a mop of messy brown curls. 

And that was how you first met Dewey Finn, both of you belting along to the Journey favorite while other patrons booed and shushed you, pelting you with peanut shells while you both just laughed. 

It didn’t take long to learn pretty much all there was to know about Dewey Finn: he was easy going, funny and energetic and sweet, practically lived at the Roadhouse, and he loved rock music more than anything else. Even when sitting down he was always tapping his foot or thumping his hand against his knee, keeping rhythm with the song playing in his head. 

The two of you were fast friends and the Roadhouse became a regular watering hole for you. Dewey was fun and fascinating, so passionate about whatever topic happened to be under discussion that you couldn’t help getting excited right along with him. 

You bonded quickest over your overlapping tastes in music. While Dewey considered himself more of a purist (classic rock being the pinnacle of human achievement as far as he was concerned), few things seemed to thrill him more than sharing his music with you. The two of you sat across from one another in “your” booth at the Roadhouse, tipsy and giggly, having swapped phones to compare playlists. As expected, Dewey’s phone was full to bursting with AC/DC, Aerosmith, Black Sabbath, Van Halen, Guns n Roses, Rolling Stones. 

“Oh my God,” he laughed, turning your phone around to show you the screen. “Are you serious?” You flushed, embarrassed, covering your face with one hand. 

“Okay, look,” you began. “I didn’t get to have a Britney phase when I was a kid because I didn’t have any money to buy albums! And by the time I did Britney was considered cringey and I was too young to know that there’s no such thing as cringe! So I have to have my Britney phase now!” 

Your rebuttal only made Dewey laugh harder, his cheeks rosy and his eyes glittering both from the mirth and the drinks. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Ah, I’m only messin’ with you! Though I’m impressed that you had like a whole defense just ready to go!” He turned his head, glancing around conspiratorially before leaning towards you over the tabletop, crooking a finger at you invitingly. Giggling, you folded your arms and leaned in on your elbows. 

“Not like Britney needs a defense,” he admitted, grinning, rapping the flat of his palm on the table between you to keep the beat as he started singing. “My loneliness is killin’ me!”

Without missing a step you chimed right in, “And I, I must confess, I still believe!” By the time you got to “Hit me, baby, one more time!” you were both almost incoherent from a fit of laughter, ignoring the vocal annoyance of the other regulars seated around you. 

Looking back, you considered that to be the moment you fell in love with Dewey Finn. 

If you were honest with yourself, that moment was probably when the two of you first sang along with Steve Perry, but you couldn’t help feeling a little silly and even cliched. The whole “love at first sight” schtick. 

In an ideal world, you could simply pluck up your courage and come right out and tell him how you felt. In an ideal world, he would tell you he felt the same way. The two of you might even exchange a tender kiss, if the romance in movies was anything to go on. 

But the world was not ideal. 

He did eventually tell you about the bizarre circumstances that led to his current job, which he so clearly loved and talked about constantly. Hearing the whole surreal tale, from start to finish, was a rollercoaster of subterfuge and deceit, plus a dash of identity theft and sprinkled with heartfelt personal growth. You joked with him that he ought to sell the story to a producer, get a movie deal. Jack Black would make a very believable Dewey Finn, you said, and he snorted into his drink. 

So many unexpected things had come about for him as a result of his improbable plan; not just a job but a career, one that he was passionate about, that excited him every day! Reveling in the talent of his students, their eagerness to learn and explore, seeing them progress and get better and better… It was a feeling that he’d only ever experienced before when playing a show, but now he got to feel it almost every day! In his wildest dreams, he’d never have even thought of where he was now in order to have wished for it. If the kids, his amazing, talented, face-shredding students had come as a shock, then their uptight, pencil-skirted, no-nonsense, secret rocker principal had thrown him for the biggest loop. 

It wasn’t until after the two of you had been friends for awhile (and after Dewey had thrown back a couple shots of tequila on top of his two and a half pints of beer) that he told you about Rosalie Mullins beyond “she’s my boss. Sort of.” 

Even Dewey was willing to concede that he took her out for drinks initially as a ploy to get her to agree to let him take his “class” to the band competition. The kiss that followed their conversation at the Roadhouse had been impulsive on his part, he hadn’t even thought about it at the time, there had been more pressing matters on his mind. In the aftermath of his unmasking; between the threats of arrest and homelessness, his adolescent band rallying his spirits and delivering a powerhouse performance; so many highs and lows in such a short expanse of time, it wasn’t until Rosalie Mullins grabbed his face afterwards and kissed him that it even dawned on him that there might be something to it. 

They’d gone out after things returned to normal, but after a few months of on-again-off-again they decided they were better as friends, as colleagues. Or rather, Dewey admitted a tad bitterly after finishing a third pint and another shot of tequila, Rose had decided they weren’t a good fit romantically and didn’t want to jeopardize their working relationship. 

“I really liked her, though,” he said with a sigh, slumping in the bench seat across from you and toying with the empty shot glass. “Smart, classy, beautiful.” You sat with your arms folded on the tabletop, trying not to let it show that each word struck you like a knife in the heart, wanting to be supportive in the midst of his disappointment because that’s what friends did for one another. Regardless of what you were feeling, it was clear he was still carrying a torch for the principal and when he showed you pictures he had kept on his phone you could see why. 

She truly was very pretty, very put -together, as stark a contrast as she could be in her perfectly tailored blazers and skirts to you in your jeans and T-shirts. You couldn’t help but feel ridiculous and petty, jealous of a woman you didn’t know, had never even spoken to just because the man you loved was still hung up on her. 

It didn’t matter anyway, because whatever your feelings may be, Dewey obviously didn’t feel the same about you, not when his heart was still set on Miss Mullins. 

You put it out of your mind, willfully ignoring it because at least you could still be his friend. No matter how heartsick it made you when his laugh or his smile made your heart swell and you wanted so much to kiss him but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t do that, it would ruin everything. 

As the weeks passed it got… maybe not easier to bear, but you grew used to the gnawing ache inside and you learned to ignore it. You barely even noticed it anymore. Things began to change when Dewey left you a very boisterous and excited voicemail, telling you to meet him at the Roadhouse after work because he had “huge, unbelievable, amazing news!” You had no idea what he could be talking about but whatever it was he met you at the door, practically bouncing like a puppy. 

In between corralling him into a booth and placing your drink orders with the waitress, you finally got him to calm down enough to tell you what he had to say. 

“Every year the country club crowd throws this big charity fundraiser for the city, and since a lot of em are Horace Green parents or alums, this year the school is hosting the charity and School of Rock is lined up to play the whole event! Isn’t that awesome?!” 

You beamed at him, his elation contagious. In the year since their formation and debut, Horace Green’s official student band (led by their music coach, Dewey Finn) had garnered a fair bit of publicity with their electrifying performance at the battle of the bands competition. Despite losing the contest, they had been the unequivocal crowd favorite and the school had enjoyed some very positive press in the midst of their growing popularity. 

But a gig like this would elevate the band to a whole new level, Dewey animatedly explained. You couldn’t help getting swept up in his mounting excitement, almost giddy to see him so wholeheartedly invested in the project. Naturally, you offered to be of whatever help you could to help him pull off such an important show. The band deserved it, and so did he. And if it meant you’d be seeing a whole lot more of Mr. Finn in the coming weeks, well… that would just be a bonus. 

[timeaftertime-chriscornellfanfic]

Chapter 4 - Disappearing One

Toronto Ontario Canada, January 31 1972

Andi

"But John this is crazy... there's got to be some way to explain this,"

"Cathy, just relax. Andrea's  fine see? She's in her playpen, no harm done,"

"But I swear she wasn't there a second ago,"

The sound of my mother's voice filled with worry, echo throughout the living room as my father desperately tries to explain just where I've been for the last 8 minutes. If there was a way that I could explain with actual words, since I can't quite make out full sentences yet, I would just tell my mother that I was only just upstairs but 1 year before this current time.

Yes, I know it probably sounds crazy, and completely confusing so allow me to explain.

Ever since I can remember, which is pretty far back mind you, I've somehow been able to slip through time. I still can't quite put my finger on what actually causes me to do so but it's usually only for just a few minutes. As I got older, the length of time that I would slip increased from just a few minutes, hours to eventually days and weeks, even years.

Now I know what you're thinking... "How does one slip through time?"

It should be easy to explain the process but really, unless you've experienced it yourself it's hard to explain just exactly what happens. At first it feels like the most euphoric sensation you can think of. Like you're purely at peace with yourself, like nothing else in the world means anything anymore. Then it changes to nausea and dizziness like you just drank a 40 of Jack Daniels so fast it could make your head spin. Then, just like that, everything goes black and suddenly I'm somewhere else, naked and alone, trying to find clothes, shelter anything to protect myself.

When I was younger and I would time slip, most of the time I would just end up somewhere else in the house only it could be either 30 minutes before, or as far back as actually seeing my mother pregnant with me.

Yes I have gone back in time and met myself before. It's not a regular occurrence mind you, but It's pretty much how I taught myself to pick locks when I needed to and find the right places to hide if I so happened to end up in the middle of a sticky situation. Most of the time I was alright though. Most people, when they see a naked girl on the street, they try to help as much as they can rather than the opposite so for that I'm thankful.

Now I know most people would think "Well how the hell does that happen? What about the grandfather effect, the butterfly effect and all the other effects of nature that rule against the fact that you can go back in time?"

Well to tell you the truth, I don't know. It's not something I can explain. I can only say that I've only ever been able to travel as far back within my own life time. I can't go back and see the amazing symphonies that Beethoven wrote nor, go back as far to stop World War 2.

Meeting a your future self is something that's amazing and strange at the same time. Every time it would happen, my younger self always knew it was my older self. My older self knew not to tell my younger self about the future, but gave me useful tools like lock picking so that I could protect myself. I was very careful at not disrupting anything that could alter my future for the worse. And... like I said, it was very few and far between that I met up with myself anyways.

"Cathy, I think you're just imagining it,"

"John, I know what I saw. I set Andrea in her playpen turned around to grab her bottle and when I turned back she was gone,"

My father then walks over to me, his boots thudding against the hardwood floor. He picks me up, brushing a few curls out of my face while I smile at him and he places a kiss on my little forehead. Leaning into him, I giggle, resting my head on his shoulder, my little fingers playing with the shaggy curls of his dark golden hair that rest just at his shoulders, and that familiar smell of Aqua Velva after shave filling my nostrils with delight.

"What were you up to baby girl?"

His deep voice vibrates through my little frame and all I could manage was a giggle.

"Daaaady," I manage with my little voice and he chuckles placing another kiss on my forehead.

I think for the most part, my father was in denial of the whole thing. I know it frightened him to no end at the fact that his only daughter disappears for moments at a time, with no explanation and no reasoning and then re-appears as if nothing had ever taken place.

He sets me back down in my playpen and I continue on with playing with my little stuffies without a care in the world.

"John, I think we should take her to see Dr. Fresno... maybe he can figure out what going on,"

"Cathy, she's still so young, she's only 2 years old, I don't even know if a neurologist is going to even see anything wrong,"

"Are you kidding? John, it's been happening more frequent than you realize... but wait, you're hardly ever here with us so it makes sense why you're in such denial over it,"

Oh the inevitable arguing. They argue over everything and it always seems that my father is the one to blame. My mother always bringing up the fact that he was never home, that he was always on the road travelling with his band Steel Gates - a sort of Black Sabbath/MC5 hybrid- playing bars and clubs never bringing in any real money. I for one love my father's music. It's so real and the way he can play, I swear he was like the next Tony Iommi.

"Ok well, I gotta head out here and meet the guys at The Edge... are you meeting me later on?" My father says walking away from me and towards my mother, who just stands there with her arms crossed.

"No, I have Andrea to look after,"

"I told you, you can bring her... you know she loves it when she's around the band,"

She just stands there and glances back at me with her arms still crossed, reluctant to even say goodbye to him, even if it's just for a few hours. 

With that, he hesitates for a moment, as I laugh and giggle playing with my little furry friends, then leans in to place a kiss on my mother's temple though she still doesn't look at him. He then turns and grabs his leather jacket, slipping it on as his boots thud against the hardwood floor.

"Ok, well I'll be home later on tonight," His voice deep as he heads out the door, leaving my mother watching me as I play.

******

Toronto Ontario Canada, June 13 1976

"Ok sweetie, now place your fingers here, here and... here,"

"Like this daddy?" I ask looking at the fret board of my amber burst VOS guitar with a white pick guard, my dark little curls falling in my face.

"Uh huh, now strum,"

I scrunch up my face as I try to hold the strings down with my fingers, my father sitting across from me with his own Cherry Burst Gibson SG across his lap, reaching over and helping me place my fingers where they should be. I start to strum and the oddest sound emits from the amp but once I'm able to adjust my fingers perfectly, the beautiful distortion bellows through the amp.

"Yea... alright now put them all together... like this," My father smiles as he starts to play the three chords in succession like he showed me and I follow along with him as we play together.

I had been learning to play guitar from my father for the last few months since we discovered that music seems to calm the time slip episodes down. My mother insisted that we see Dr. Fresno to see just what exactly is causing the time slips and though my father reluctantly agreed to, he did eventually see that it was a good thing that I was seen by a neurologist.

I've been diagnosed with a neurological disorder - time displacency -not an actually medical term I know but there's never been a case quite like mine before. After some testing, Dr. Fresno discovered that it's a relation to epilepsy but is also triggered by a multitude of emotions, especially if I feel stressed or anxious. It can happen either consciously or subconsciously and when it does, a seizure will take place inside my brain at the exact moment, somehow causing a time slip. At first, the doctor did prescribe medication - the type that helps with epileptic seizures - but that was no use. I was still time slipping. Possibly even worse than before.

Nothing seemed to really work until one day I was in my father's studio  - I was 5 years old at the time -and I walked up to Cherry Burst Gibson SG, and started to play with the strings while it sat on the stand. I've always loved his Cherry Burst Gibson and when he noticed just how attached I became to that guitar, he got me one of my own for my 6th birthday - well not a Gibson but it looked exactly like one - so that I could practice with him. He was amazed at how quickly I was learning Chords and strumming for only being 6 years old.

"...ok now change... good... now D...." He smiles as he watches me keep up with him though I keep my eyes glued to my fingers making sure I was changing to the right chord properly. Then he starts to improvise on his own, playing a little solo part while I continue to strum and I look up at him and laugh.

"Wait daddy wait... I wanna do that," I giggle and he smiles at me.

"Alright sweetie go ahead..." He chuckles and I attempt to try to improvise but everything sounds completely out of tune. I scrunch my face up again and stop but my father continues to urge me on.

"I'm not really good at that," I say and he chuckles a little.

"Andrea it's alright... just keep going, you'll get it," He smiles at me. We continue to play, with him teaching me some more and after a little while I hear my mother come down the stairs.

"Andrea, your lunch is ready," She calls and I set my guitar down back on it's stand beside me.

"You coming with me daddy?" I ask.

"No sweetie, you go on ahead, I've got to work on some stuff down here," He says sweetly as he sets his guitar back down on it's stand.

"Ok... um... can I come back down when I'm done?" I ask.

"Of course you can sweetie, you know that," He chuckles and pulls me into him and starts tickling me. I begin to laugh and squeal as he laughs as well, then eventually letting me go but not before placing a kiss on the top of my head.

"I love you daddy,"

"I love you too baby," 

*****

Toronto Ontario Canada,  May 15 1985

"Damn it John, I can't do this with you anymore! I told you this is it! You need to leave!"

"Babe - "

"Don't 'Babe' me. It's done! It's over now just get the hell outta here!"

It was the middle of the night and I wake from my sleep hearing voices coming from downstairs. I push the covers off me and quietly get out of bed, rubbing my eyes to rid the sleep as my dark curls fall down around me. Once I reach the hallway, I can hear my mother screaming at my father from the front door.  As much as you think you get used to hearing your parents fight, you never really do. This time though, it was different.

"Cathy just hear me out ok? It was nothing, it meant nothing - "

"No! Don't fucking touch me! I want you outta here! Just get the fuck outta here!"

I quietly sit myself down on the top of the staircase as I listen to their fight. Even though I was still half asleep, I could feel this strange feeling deep inside my chest. I could hear my father pleading with my mother but she was not giving in. There were so many times before when they fought, that I just brushed it off, not letting it affect me. They were never terribly mean to each other, such as calling each other names or anything from what I  remember, but this time like I said, was different. My mom was just letting it all out calling him everything that you could think of and it makes me wonder just what he did to make her so angry. If he did anything at all.

The strange feeling in my chest grew as he continued to plead with her but she still wouldn't give in. Moments later I hear the front door slam and my mother quietly crying. She then appears at the bottom of the stairs and as she takes a few steps she sees me sitting at the top.

"Andrea, what... what are you doing?" She asks looking away wiping away a tear. I say nothing as she looks back up at me.

"I'm sorry you... heard all that... I didn't mean to - "

"Don't mom, just don't," I say trying to hold my tears back, though I'm not sure why I'm feeling like I need to cry in the first place.

"Andrea - "

She starts but I rise from the stairs and turn to make my way back to my room.

"Andrea honey..." She says as I hear her voice breaking while she attempts to hold back her tears.

"Don't! Just leave me alone," I say, still not recognizing my own voice, hearing myself begin to cry as I hear my mother following behind me. I've never felt like this after they've argued. I've always been able to push the feeling away. Shoving it down into the pit of my stomach and only release it when I play my guitar that my father gave me. This time it's different. I can feel my chest tighten and it feels like I can't breathe.

"Andrea - "

"Go away!" I exclaim and slam my bedroom door leaving her outside in the hallway. As much as I try to will this feeling away, I can feel it growing.

Why? What is this? Why does this hurt so much?

As I feel my heart begin to pick up pace, I close my eyes, standing in the middle of my dark bedroom surrounded with posters of Black Sabbath, Aerosmith, Ramones, and Motorhead, I start to feel euphoric, almost like an adrenaline rush, then completely at peace, then suddenly I feel dizzy and nauseous, like I'm about to vomit.

"Oh god," I exhale and suddenly there's a quick flash of light and everything goes completely black.

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

[templeoftheslavegarden]

BLOOD & FIRE

Chapter 7 - Spend Some Time, Drink Some Wine - Ehem Whiskey

New York, New York August 7 1994

"Where in the fuck is my bag?" I say to myself as I stand at the luggage terminal inside John F Kennedy International Airport waiting for the little luggage carousel to push out my bag. I feel like I've been standing here forever waiting for it to pop out and each time a bag rolls by it never ends up being mine.

The meeting I had with Susan went really well and I'm so excited that she appointed me as an assistant for Pantera.

Pantera! Can you fucking believe that? I sure as hell can't. Their tour manager needed some extra help so Susan was able to set it up for me and I am so excited. I had already met with Steve Bainbrige just a few days ago and signed a temporary contract with him so that I am able to assist him for the next couple of show dates for Pantera. Type O Negative is also playing a few dates with them as well so at least Kenny will be with me and it won't be so nerve wracking.

The only time I've ever met Phil, Vinny Rex and Dime was when they played a few shows with Soundgarden when Soundgarden was opening for Skid Row. Damn, that seems like such a long time ago. Like another lifetime ago.

This is my first time doing this all on my own and I'm nervous as fuck. I seriously don't want to mess anything up at all. I'm going to try and be confident and professional and not shy and socially awkward just because I'm such a big fan of Pantera. They're playing here at L’Amours tonight so I will get first hand at what it's like to work for Pantera. I'm so fucking excited!

I glance up at the multiple clocks that were lined up on the wall behind the ticket booth indicating what time it was in each time zone, New York showing just passed 4:00PM. I called Kenny earlier this morning letting him know when my flight was in and he said that he was going to meet me here at the terminal. I just hope I hadn't kept him waiting because of this stupid luggage carousel refusing to give me my luggage. After another 10 minutes waiting and it still didn't come out, I walk over to the attendant at the luggage terminal to ask where my luggage was.

"Your luggage ticket number?" The bulky male attendant asks me barely looking up from his computer screen.

"5023" I say a little impatiently. He types a few keys into the computer still not looking at me and starts to shake his head.

"Nothing in the system with that number, what was your flight?" He says still not looking at me.

"Flight 402, the 11:00AM Seattle to New York," I say trying not to sound frustrated. He punches a few more keys and still not one ounce of eye contact. Suddenly I feel a warm hand slide across my lower back under my leather jacket and I glance up and see Kenny looking so freaking amazing in his black button up shirt loosely tucked into his black jeans and leather jacket, his jet black curls flowing passed his shoulders standing beside me.

"Hey babe," He says a little raspy with a cute grin and places a kiss on my temple, his sweet cologne tickling my nostrils perfectly.

Damn he smells so fucking good.

"Hey," I exhale, my frustration diminishing for a few moments.

"Still nothing in the system... last name?" The attendant says to me still not looking up at me.

"Um, Cornell," I clear my throat.

"First name?"

"Andrea," I say and he types some more keys.

"What's going on?" Kenny asks me.

"Trying to pick up my luggage," I say looking up at him as I push my curls out of my eyes.

"I'm sorry there's still nothing here with that ticket number," The attendant says.

"What do you mean?" I ask frustratedly.

"There isn't any luggage with that number," The attendant finally looks up at me but doesn't offer any other expression other than a straight face. I pull out my ticket and show him but he still says that there's no luggage with that number.

"So, what... it's like lost then?" I ask attempting to remain calm but the attendant still offers no sympathy or anything which pisses me off even more especially since he is working a customer service position.

"Did you purchase any insurance?" The attendant asks.

"Well no... but - "

"I'm sorry we can't do anything without insurance," He cuts me off.

"Are you kidding me?" I say as my anger starts to rise.

"Babe, hey... it's alright, Here... let me," Kenny says and moves to the attendant window and talks to the attendant, trying to be sweet at first but as the attendant still shows no empathy or anything, Kenny starts to lose it. As he argues with the attendant I try to pull him back to calm him down.

"It's policy, no insurance, we can't do anything sir,"

"Yea well, fuck your policy!" Kenny exclaims.

"Kenny, hey... let's just go," I say trying to pull him away from the window. He was getting angrier than I was and was starting to create a scene which I don't blame him but I really didn't want to draw any attention.

"Fuck you!" Kenny exclaims as the attendant smirks and shakes his head and I'm eventually able to pull him away from the window.

"I'm sorry babe but what the fuck? He fucking needs to show some remorse or something... like, Jeezus," Kenny says as we walk away.

"It's ok, just... what the fuck am I gonna do now? I only have what I'm wearing right now and a dress in here. All my favorite band shirts and my favorite jeans... and my shoes to go with this dress... fuck me, " I say frustratedly as I look down at my bag slung over my shoulder.

"Hey, it's ok babe... we'll get you something. I've had this happen to me more times than I can count... Just that fucker back there could use some fuckin' customer service training or something," Kenny says which makes me giggle.

He takes my hand in his lacing his fingers through and suddenly he stops us from walking towards the main doors. I glance up at him and he has the most sweetest grin on that boyish clean shaven face of his. His other hand reaches up and cups my face, his thumb brushing across my bottom lip and then presses his lips to mine so soft and gentle, lingering for a few moments as his tongue flicks at my top lip and then he pulls away, touching his forehead to mine. After a few moments we break away from each other as he leads me out of the main doors of the airport.

"C'mon, We'll uh... head to my place," He says.

"Ok,"

Fuck, I've missed him.

*****

A short while later, we arrive at Kenny's apartment, a small one bedroom located in Brooklyn near the lower east side. The building was part of a duplex with his apartment on the upper floor. Once Kenny opens the door, I step inside to see his living room that was attached to the kitchen, scattered with stacked Mesa/Boogie amps and a few of his guitars, a T.V on a small makeshift stand and a stereo record player set up on the opposite side of that, a couch that faced the T.V and a large reading chair to the left with a ton of magazines and scattered papers all over the coffee table and floor. It's such a guys apartment.

It reminds me of the first time I went to Chris's apartment that he shared with Andrew Wood from Mother Love Bone. Chris had it set up the very same way. Guitars and amps all over his room and a string of unfinished lyrics that you could shake a stick at.

"Sorry for the mess, I just hadn't had time to uh, you know... clean," Kenny says immediately walking over and trying to tidy up the papers.

"It's ok," I say and close the door behind me as I watch him try to find where to put everything.

"Kenny it's ok, I don't care really," I giggle as he shoves more papers into a drawer in the coffee table then flips his curls out of his face as he turns to face me.

"You want a drink or somethin'?" He asks so cutely, stepping over a stack of magazines.

"Sure,"

He steps into the kitchen and fumbles around to make some drinks as I set my bag down at the door, take off my jacket, head over to the couch to sit down and glance at some of the papers that were still somewhat scattered around the coffee table. I glance up at Kenny as his back was facing me while making our drinks and then pick up the one piece of paper that caught my attention and read a little bit of it. I didn't mean to be so nosey but I couldn't help it.

"Did you write this?" I ask cutely when he steps back over to me and hands me a Jack and Coke.

"Uh... yea, I did," He says suddenly sounding shy about it as he steps passed my to sit down beside me taking a sip of his beer and turning slightly to face me as I glance down at his scribbling. Funny, how I always thought that Peter was the lyricist and Kenny just came up with the guitar parts.

"You want me to play it for you don't you?" Kenny smirks slyly at me taking another sip of his beer.

"No, no I was just... I mean, not if you don't want to," I say getting a little flustered as he leers at me still. He takes another sip and sets his beer down, then leans over and grabs his acoustic guitar.

"It's not like... completely finished but... well anyways," He says so cutely laying his guitar across his lap and plucks a few strings. I couldn't help but grin a little seeing him get flustered and shy. I shift a little in my spot as I watch him get himself situated, clearing his throat and figuring out how to start. Then he begins to play.

"You give your love to me tonight

You owe your flesh to me for life

You give your body and your mind

I'll fuck your warmth and your lies

My lady..."

He continues to strum and the sound of his voice is so different. I'm used to him singing the small parts when he plays with Peter if Peter can't sing in that range. Here, he sounds so clean but raspy at the same time, with so much emotion that I never thought would come out of him. It's making me feel things that I didn't think I would feel ever again.

"You give your heart I'll treat it right

You bring your flaws I'll give them light

You know I wanna sink deep into you

I'm created to love you and finally lose..."

He trails off and stops but still avoids my eyes and I had no idea what to do for a moment, but then I couldn't help myself. I set my drink down and then immediately move myself over to him take his face him my palms and press those beautiful soft lips to mine. For a moment I could tell that I startled him but then as I started to suck his bottom lip, he moves the guitar from between us never breaking his lips away from mine and responds with his tongue swiping across my bottom lip, his hands immediately going straight to my hips and up under my White Zombie band shirt, to the small of my back and further up.

Suddenly after a few moments, I had to stop myself. I have no idea what came over me or why I started to second guess myself but I needed to stop.

"I can't..." I pull away and he looks at me with those dark eyes completely confused and I don't blame him.

"You can't what?" He asks and I lean my arm on the back of the couch covering my eyes with my palm, forcing myself not to cry. I can feel him still looking at me but I can't bring myself to look at him.

What the serious fuck is happening to me?

"Baby...?" He asks slightly worried moving closer to me. I still couldn't bring myself to say anything and all I could feel was this intense feeling of fear and sadness inside me.

"This is stupid... I'm so stupid... I can't... I just..." I try to explain fumbling over my words and still holding back tears and not letting myself look at him.

"Andi, talk to me... what can't you do?" His voice is calm but still worried as he pulls my hand away from covering my face. I open my eyes to look into his, seeing the worry and concern on his face.

"What are we doing? I mean... what the fuck am I even doing? Fuck I'm not making any fucking sense," I say as I start to get angry at myself.

"Baby... talk to me..." He still looks at me with those eyes and suddenly I let everything out.

I tell him everything. I tell him how I was married to Chris, and that I still am though we are separated and haven't talked to each other since we split, other than breaking out of the contract I signed with Soundgarden which I had to talk to him then but other than that, nothing from him since March. I tell him the reason why we split which was the most difficult thing I could talk about since I haven't been able to talk about it since it happened.

"... we tried for months to have a baby you know? The whole time I thought that there was something wrong with me. Like, my body wasn't working right or something. But, then after so long we just decided if it doesn't happen it's ok. But then it did. I got pregnant and I was so excited..." I say as I look down at myself unable to look him in the eye forcing myself to keep it together.

"What happened?" He asks after a few moments though I think he already knew the answer.

"... I uh... lost the baby. She was um... she wasn't breathing when I delivered... her and..." I trail off fighting the urge to cry and I could see the look on Kenny's face that he could tell how I'm still struggling with losing her.

"...anyways after that Chris and just... fell apart. He started to ignore me and I wasn't any better since I couldn't fucking even get out of bed for like 4 months straight. I tried to make it work once I started feeling better but at that point it was too late. We had already grown so far apart that there was no going back at all. Anytime we talked to each other it just turned into an argument. He just threw himself into Soundgarden and left me alone to fight the horrible pain all by myself..."

I cannot believe I'm letting this all out. There is no way in fucking hell Kenny is going to want me after this. If I were him, I'd be heading straight for the fucking door.

"Jeezus..." Kenny exhales.

"Kenny... I'm so fucked up," I say looking away and trying to stop the tears from coming out. He reaches up and cups my face in his palm, brushing away a stray tear that rolled down my cheek.

"No... no you're not fucked up," Kenny says looking at me with those dark eyes.

"I have no idea why you even want to have anything to do with me... I mean, I'm pretty much like damaged goods here," I say looking back down at myself.

"Andi... I don't know if you've figured this out yet though I thought you would've got the hint from that song, but... I'm fucking in love with you so... if you're fucked up then I'm fucked up too,"

I flick my eyes back to his in complete disbelief. I had no idea what to even say but I also wasn't sure I heard him right.

"What?" I ask quietly.

"I love you,"

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

[beelikesims]

OUAC 1

"Oh! Don't look at him kids, you might end up hating Christmas too." He heard a woman tell her kids as he walked by them.

He rolled his eyes and walked away. He was used to this since childhood. He hated Christmas. It was the time of year where he saw people getting together, laughing and smiling. He hated how it united everyone, big or small. He hated people and he hated happiness.

"Hey Mr Grinch. Oops! I mean Mr Green. Why are you out of your house at this time of year?" He was being questioned by an 8 year-old boy. He glared at him and the boy ran away giggling. He mimicked the giggle and stepped ahead on the counter line.

Finally. He thought to himself. I have all the necessities required to keep me inside the house. He paid for his stuff and rushed towards his car. This was definitely not his day. He thought as he looked up to see snow falling.

He banged his hand on his car with irritation. "Is everything OK?" He heard a sweet worried voice asking him. He turned to find her standing with worried eyes. Her eyes, icy blue, filled with worries for him. Her dirty blonde hair hanging down her face with Santa cap on her head. Her 5'3 height was covered in red long sleeved dress made of net as if she was Elsa from Frozen saying that cold never bothered her anyway.

He looked around to find the snow falling around them were slow, as if someone took slow motion video. His eyes were not able to leave her. He found her cute but also crazy. Who walks around without sweater on such a cold weather?

She was genuinely concerned about him. He looked so stressed and angry. Why would he be angry on a such a cheerful holiday? It's Christmas. Everyone should be happy. You had one job to do, idjit. You can't even keep people happy.

She gawked at him as he turned around to face her. He was one handsome piece God made in his spare time. Snow suited so good on him. He was standing in front of her in blue heavy jacket and goggles covering his beautiful eyes. His handsome face donned a beard making his jaw look more chiseled.

He removed his goggles to look at her which froze her even more. She got lost in his eyes. His black eyes looked molten dark chocolate in snow. Bleh, I hate dark chocolate. It's not chocolate. But she can't help liking them. She turned her head to the side to examine this new species.

She couldn't help but examine every inch of him. She was given the task to make a person like this holiday. If she wanted the position of Santa, she had to prove it to her grandfather. He owned this position through elections. He wanted that his family should keep this position a treat it as well as he did.

He asked her to make a guy named Draco Green atleast like Christmas. If she succeeded, then she will be given the position of being The Claus directly. But if she failed, she will never turn towards the throne again. Grandpa said and she quoted Emmanta, if you want this position then make him like Christmas. He is an important task for you. His liking towards you and Christmas will make you powerful enough to rule for the rest of your life.

She loved being a Santa because she loved people and loved giving them gifts and happiness. She loved watching people having fun, staying warm and playing in this weather. Along with her cousin, Jack Frost, she would play with kids. While Jack controlled the weather, she could control the amount of snow.

When she saw Draco, her emotions turned calm and comforted. Snow fall turned slow to the point of stopping in its place. As if someone clicked a pause button. She realized that he was the guy about whom she was told.

She walked closer to him and poked his cheeks. He gave her a weird eye and took hold of her wrist. She was cold as ice. He looked closer in her eyes only find snowflakes swirling in them. She blinked back turning her eyes to normal.

"You are cold. You should wear a sweater." He touched her face with the back of his hands. She giggled and stepped back. "I don't get cold. In fact this weather is warmer than last year. Global warming has ruined all the system. It's hard to keep up." She pouted sadly by then end of the sentence.

"You are not human." He narrowed his eyes looking at her attire again. She looked down to look at her dress and up again to find him gazing her again. She tilted her head sideways.

How can someone look so cute? Why am I feeling this for someone I just met? I swear this holiday is messing with my head more than the past years. Thoughts swirled in his head by just glancing at her.

Why is he so handsome? Why it had to be him? Why would I feel weird by just looking at him? Something is wrong with me I swear. She kept on thinking about him by just looking at him.

"Can I come with you? You look like you need a someone by your side this Christmas," she said putting her hand on his folded arm. He looked down on his hand and back at her again. He jerked away her hand. His eyes flared up with anger. He didn't need anyone. He was just fine. Alone and without any problem.

She jumped back when he jerked her off. She feared he might do something bad. She never had any experience with adult human beings. All she had experienced were little kids and new born babies. Her eyes widened with fear as she saw his angry eyes.

"I don't need anybody. I'm perfectly fine by my own. Noone cares about anyone, noone cared and no-one will. So stop pretending and be on your way." He spat out his anger at her. But when he saw her eyes wide with fear and glistened with tears, his anger fell cold and he calmed down.

He walked closer to her and held her gently. "I'm sorry." He had never apologized to anyone. But for her, it came naturally to him. She looked back in his eyes to find a genuine sorry feeling. She nodded her head and a smile instantly made its way to her.

"Come-on. We have so much to do and so little time." She entwined their hands and pulled him towards the town. She was going to make him like Christmas and he was going to enjoy it.

But none of them knew what this season had in wraps for them.

[the-kryomancer]

"I'm Your Huckleberry." Jesse McCree x Fem!Reader

Warning: Mentions of the death of reader’s parents.

(y/n)= your name

(n/n)= nick name

(l/n)= last name

(f/f)= favorite food

Chapter One

You gripped the strap of your bag tightly, your knuckles going white from tension. Biting your lip, you slowly made your way into the Watchpoint. It was your first assignment, and boy were you nervous. Your stomach felt empty and heavy at the same time; your knees were weak but your feet felt heavy.

You were sixteen; much too young to have enlisted. But you did anyway, because why the hell not.

“(L/n)?” a gruff, deep voice said. You looked up from your feet and saw a blond man, who you recognized as Strike Commander Jack Morrison. You had a poster of him in your room when you were little. You vividly remember having a crush on him, and boasting to your family members how you were going to marry him one day.

Boy, were you a stupid kid.

“Y-yes sir!” you saluted, straightening your posture automatically. Letting out a light chuckle, he nodded at you; a signal that you could relax, at least in his presence. And you did so. Your back hunched a bit, making you look shorter than you were, and you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your pants.

Your assignment was so last minute, you were still in civilian clothes. Then again, you had gotten the call just that morning. Four in the morning, of all things. And the ride in Overwatch’s private transport made the time differences even harder. Then there’s the jet lag.

“You’re a bit young to be enlisting, aren’t you?” asked the commander as he looked through your files on the holo-pad. Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment; you knew he was speaking before but you didn’t hear what he said and you never thought he’d actually think your age as a bad thing. “How hard was it to get your parents’ permission?” He smiled a bit, remembering what it was like when he first told his parents he was enlisting into the military.

Your face reddened more; but you weren’t sure if it was from the sudden wave of dread or the nervousness to answer the question. Either way, you took a shaky breath and answered with as even a voice as you could.

“M-my parents are dead, sir…” your answer quietly, barely above a whisper as you spoke. Jack was silent, and he felt ashamed he assumed and asked you that. He didn’t know until he suddenly glanced over it in your file.

Damn.

“I’m so sorry,” he quickly said to you. “I didn’t know.” You nodded at him, telling him it was okay and that you understood. You just silently hoped he didn’t open that wound up any more. Clearing his throat, he looked down at you once more.

He went over the basics: he was your superior and you had to report to him; you had training with other recruits and there was no holding back; your mission reports were due a week or less after said mission; and you were under no circumstance to disobey orders given by your superior.

It was straight forward in your opinion, and you had no problems with the rules set in place. Jack was about to escort you to your bunks when he got a call over coms.

“Commander Morrison here,” he said, pressing to his com piece. You stood there, awkwardly as he spoke to the individual rather harshly, you noticed. “Damn it, Reyes.” A sigh. “I’ll be right there.”

He looked at you sadly, and a pang of guilt eating at him. Out of the corner of Jack’s eye he caught the sight of one of his friends.

“Ana!” he called out. The Egyptian woman looked over and smiled at the sight of Jack. She walked over to the two of you. Jack gestured to you, “This is (y/n) (l/n); she’s a new recruit. (y/n), this is Captain Ana Amari; the best sniper in the world.”

Ana let out a chuckle, “Oh Jack, you flatter me.” She directed her attention to you. “It’s always good to have a fresh new face; welcome to Overwatch.”

Saluting her, you nodded. “It’s good to be here, ma'am.”

“No need for formalities, dear.”

“Ana,” Jack spoke up, “I need to help Reyes deal with McCree. He got into another fight with one of my recruits. I’ll need to know what happened so I can file a report. Can you take (l/n) to her bunk and show her the base?”

Ana nodded, “Of course, Jack. I’d be happy too. It also gives me an excuse to check on Fareeha.” You raised an eyebrow, wondering who this “Fareeha” was. Ana noticed your confusion. “My daughter. She’s a few years younger than you, actually.”

“I have to run.” Jack said walking away. He muttered something about “Damn delinquents.”

Ana gestured for you to follow and you did, hoping you could keep up with her quick pace. “Jesse never gets along with the recruits,” she muttered to herself. You assumed Jesse was the guy Morrison called McCree. “I blame Gabriel and Blackwatch for that.”

“Black…watch?” you questioned. You didn’t know there was such a thing; you only ever heard of Overwatch.

Ana nodded, glancing at you before grabbing your bicep to hurry you to her pace. She spoke quietly yet harshly.

“Blackwatch is an elite covert operations section of Overwatch. They handle all of the "dirty” jobs the United Nations won’t let us handle.“

"Ma'am, I didn’t know Blackwatch exsisted.” you responded a bit nervously.

“Civilians don’t. Only members of Overwatch and Blackwatch know it exsists; along with all political personnel it concerns. Like I said,” she looked at you, “civilians don’t know about Blackwatch.” She smiled. “But you’re not a civilian anymore, (y/n).”

“It’s going to be… hard to get used to,” you replied, hugging your waist with your free arm. “Not being a civilian, I mean.”

Ana nodded, knowing it was a hard transition for her at the beginning.

“So, what made you want to join Overwatch in the first place?”

You cleared your throat, “It’s a long story…” you scratched the back of your neck.

Ana sensed you were uncomfortable and stopped walking. She pulled you to face her. “It’s alright, dear. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. We all have our reasons for joining, and you choose to keep yours private. That’s perfectly fine.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Captain Amari.” Ana chuckled.

“Please, call me Ana.”

“Okay, Ana.”

Ana showed you to your bunks that you shared with a few other female recruits. There was one bed left, in the back against the wall. There was a chest on the front with a digital name tag on the front that read “(y/n) (l/n)”. She explained that is where your belongings go and where your uniform will be laid out every morning.

There was no one in the bunks since most of the recruits were training or they were in town for a much needed day off. She left you to get settled and promised to be back to take you to dinner.

You set up your little corner of your bunk. It was snug, but you expected nothing less since it was the military. You unpacked your civilian clothing and other personal items into the trunk. You pulled out a crumpled up poster from the bottom of the bag. It was torn and wrinkled, but you smoothed it out on the wall before pinning it above your bed. You smiled at it.

It was an Overwatch poster with “Join now” written in big letters with members of Overwatch on it. The members were Captain Amari, Commander Morrison, a man who you’d heard from news reports as Gabriel Reyes, and a man named Reinhardt Wilhelm, whom your best friend had told you about. Your best friend Jay had taken a few trips to Germany to visit her grandparents and they told her all the stories of the brave crusader. If she could, Jay would’ve joined with you. But her parents told her to wait until she finished high school. You remember how she talked you into joining.

It wasn’t a good day for you. You were running late that morning, and you forgot you had a history test that day. You were pretty sure you just bombed it, and to make it worse it was freezing outside. Your history class was in a portable outside but there was heat.

After you finished the test you got a text from Jay.

‘How are you?’

'I just finished my test. I’m going to the bathroom now.’

You replied to her before stuffing your phone into your back pocket and walked up to the teacher’s desk. You told him you needed to use the bathroom. He typed your name and the date and time into the holo-pass. He handed it to you and you nodded before slipping it into your pocket. It was a small card, see through except for the glowing blue letters.

You silently cursed to yourself for forgetting your jacket.

“Just get in and you’ll be warm, (y/n),” you whispered to yourself as you rubbed up and down your arms. You could faintly see your breath in the air as you spoke.

You got into the building and headed for the girl’s restroom. Before you could, though, you were yanked into a supply closet by a mystery person. They dragged you in and shut the door before pressing the light pad which lit up the room.

It was Jay.

“Jade Yvonne Dampf, I have to go to the bathroom and don’t have time for y-”

You were paused by her shoving something paper into your hands. You looked down at the object in your hands and unfolded it. It was an Overwatch recruitment poster that the school kept in the main foyer. You looked at her shocked. Jay just smiled at you.

“This is the recruitment poster. I thought you were going to wait until you gradu-”

“(n/n), I’m not letting you wait two years for me to graduate. I don’t care if we were supposed to do it together. This is your biggest dream. Live it,” she pulled you into a hug. “Your parents would be proud.”

“Thanks Jay,” you replied. Something finally clicked and you pulled away from her. “Wait, did you steal the poster from the school?”

She blushed a bit. “It’s not stealing if you don’t get caught.”

“You need to stop listening to Hailey and Brenna. They’re bad influences on you,” you chuckled.

You remember that well, especially because you had enlisted the next day.

“(l/n)?”

Ana’s voice caught you by surprise and you fell off your bunk. Groaning, you got back onto the bed and heard Ana laughing.

“S'not funny.” you pouted.

After her giggles faded, Ana gestured for you to come towards her. “I’m here to escort you to the infirmary for your mandatory physical.”

You walked over to her confused. “Physical? I already had one done after I enlisted.”

“Yes, but not by Overwatch.”

She took you to Doctor Ziegler, who you heard was not much older than yourself. You didn’t mind another physical. It was that instead of getting to learn your new home, you had to be in the infirmary. You were eager to meet everyone and learn the Watchpoint like the back of your hand.

You voiced this when you and Doctor Ziegler were alone- hoping she didn’t take it to heart.

She didn’t.

Laughing, she smiled at you. Her thick Swiss accent was prominent in every word she pronounced.

“I would be happy to accompany you to dinner. As well as give you a tour of the Watchpoint,” she said, typing a few things down into your file.

“Thank you,” you replied happily. “I’d enjoy that.”

After the physical, Angela did as promised. She accompanied you to dinner. She showed you the entire mess hall, which was bigger than you expected. But what did you expect? It had to fit hundreds, maybe even thousands, of people.

There was a buffet, of sorts. It was served by the cafeteria workers, and they all seemed rather grumpy when you and Angela walked up to them. Angela greeted each of them happily, calling them by their first name and making a bit of small talk. She explained to them that you were a new recruit and she was showing you the Watchpoint.

While she was talking, you noticed that they were serving (f/f). During a pause, you asked for it and one of the servers gave it to you. You thanked them before following Angela to get some side dishes.

As you stood there, trying to figure out what to get a man, no older than yourself, walked by. He had tan skin and shaggy brown hair. He dressed like a cowboy, hat and all, much to your surprise.

He tipped his hat you and Angela. “Ange,” he looked at you and winked. “Darlin’.” He smirked and walked over to a table where there were other men sitting.

“Jesse,” Angela said, almost distastefully. You looked back at the man and then to Angela.

“Jesse? As in Jesse McCree?” you asked.

She let out a small chuckle. “It’s only your first day and you already know who he is.”

She told you about his reputation in Blackwatch as the two of you walked over to a table where a few nurses and doctors were sitting. The two of you sat at the far end of the table, away from the medical professionals.

You noticed the agents in dark clothing didn’t sit with the other Overwatch agents and you brought this up to Angela.

“Oh, Blackwatch members don’t like to sit with Overwatch agents. I don’t know; it probably has something to do with familiar faces. That, and maybe the fact some of the Blackwatch members were transferred there from Overwatch.” She told you this as she took a bite of her salad.

You nibbled some of your meal before replying. “Did Commander Morrison send them there? Or was it voluntary?”

“Er…” she bit her tongue anxiously. “Maybe that is better left unsaid.” She took another bite of her salad. “But anyway… I think you’ll like it here. Just wait until you get your first mission!”

You listened to Angela talk about how many new recruits get injured on their first mission and how to avoid injury. You noticed Ana sitting with Commander Morrison and three other men. And… a little girl?

“Hey, uh, Angela. Who or those people sitting with Captain Amari?”

She looked over at the table that you were pointing to. “Oh, the man in the beanie next to Jack is Gabriel Reyes. He’s the head of Blackwatch.” You mentally made a note of that. “The biggest one is Reinhardt. He’s a crusader. And don’t let his size intimidate you; he’s a big sweetheart, really. And the last one is Torbjörn. He was my mentor when I first joined.”

You nodded. “Okay, but who’s the little girl?”

She chuckled. “Oh, that’s Fareeha, Ana’s daughter. She’s only a few years younger than you, actually. You two might get along.”

That night, it was hard for you to get to sleep. You finally got to meet your bunk mates, who were actually really nice women. But one in particular, Frankie, talked in her sleep and at the moment it was very annoying.

A million thoughts raced through your mind at the moment. You were nervous about your first official day tomorrow. But you also couldn’t get Jesse McCree out of your mind. He was really cute. Although his reputation was that he was a flirt, and one of your bunk mates even told you how he got involved with Blackwatch.

Either way, as you stared up at the poster beside your bed, you couldn’t help but wonder what was soon to be in store for you.

This chapter is dedicated to @animal-luver2102 @syntheticninjas​ and @infamousbeans who voted for this. And my friend @ukcatsgirl10​ who was my beta reader and loved it and couldn’t wait to read more.