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[girlbloggersfolly]

DELTA DAWN - part 1 // Camp Woodrow

Pairing: camp counsellour!joel miller x camp lifeguard!afab!reader

Rating: Explicit (not yet but it will be) 18+ MDNI

Word count: 5.4k

Summary: (1979 summer camp AU) After making a spontaneous trip northwest to a summer camp in need of staff with a few new friends, you find not everyone is so welcoming.

Chapter warnings: age gap (20 + 49), a whole lot of me waffling, extreme slow burn enemies to lovers ect ect ect, swearing, drug use, cigarettes, complicated relationship (not joel and reader.. yet), perv!reader, f!masturbation. absolutely NO use of y/n, reader has hair that can be put in a ponytail, and she can swim duh. This chapter is very tame, basically, just setting it up.

a/n: ok wow this is exciting, first chapter done and i'm pretty happy with it. Just a warning, i really mean it when I say slow burn, there will be no fluffing around at alllllll for a couple chapters, i'm not sure where i'm taking this or how long it will be, i'm thinking maybe 4? anyway enough chatter there'll be enough of that in the fic, if your reading this i love you sooooo much!!!!!!!

Camp Woodrow 1979

The Knack blasted from Sharon’s stereo, smoke plumed from Billies Joint, you’d been driving for a night or so. Mid-morning sun streamed through the windows, it was a brackish heat you had been getting all too used to. You’d met Billy, Sharon and Abel in Salt lake city at a gig, and now you were pleasantly stuck with them for the rest of summer. The drive from Salt lake city to Oregon was long, even longer in Sharon’s dads Buick which hadn’t seen the inside of a mechanic’s since 71’. The three of them had been working at Camp Woodrow each summer since they were, what was it? 15? Somehow they’d managed to persuade you to pack up your whole new life of groupie love and tour buses into a beat up Buick, taking the scenic route up to Oregon for a long, stagnant summer of campfires and controlled water sports, organised fun. You’d made the mistake of mentioning to Sharon you had lifeguard training; there and then it’d been decided you’d be the perfect replacement for their good friend Woody, who usually took the role of Lifeguard in camp, he was off in L.A, having made a name for himself in adult film. It was a long story you’d heard each salacious detail of. 

It’d been a total coincidence, meeting the three of them. You’d let some girlfriends drag you to a gig in a shifty basement venue (Billies band’s place (who weren’t nearly the legendary group they thought they were)) and had been… charmed by Billy… You’d fucked, he was just okay at it but he was easy on the eyes, knew a good dealer and it was cool to tell people you were fucking a hotshot ‘rock star’, even if he was less than generous in the bedroom. Soon you were fast friends with the whole group of them, groupies and all. So here you were, head in Billies lap, high off the broken sun on your face and second hand smoke, his hand drumming along to Doug Fieger’s voice on your bare stomach. You’d hitched a ride in Sharon’s dad’s car with her, Billy and her ‘it's complicated’ Abel.

“Are we there yet?”

Billy coughed through a cloud of smoke, yellow tinted sunglasses making him look all the pretentious rocker he wished he was. 

“Can you open a fucking window, do you know how hard it is to get that smell out these seats?”

Sharon said through agonising chomps of that wad of gum she’d had in her mouth since they’d driven through Boise. Billy cranked open the window. The hideous thrum of wind on the highway beating through the static air of the car. Your hair whipped around furiously and you sat up, stirred from the holy-half-high state. 

“Happy?” Billy said over the obnoxious sound of the engine and the wind. Sharon scoffed loudly over the sound. “I asked when are we going to fucking be there.” He spluttered yet again over his joint, smirking at you while he complained like a child to a very frustrated Sharon. “It’s just down the next turn,” He said, looking at the map in Abel’s lap, he was more focused on the magazine in his hands, you peaked over his shoulder, a sexy nun, the big, hot pink letters ‘TEASE’ haloing the cover.  

“We’re lost,” Billy hit his head back against the window, gosh he could really be a baby sometimes, you remarked internally, increasingly tired of the whole ‘Billy’ thing, a sticky situation you’d gotten into. The car broke into complaints, Sharon, searching frantically for the inconspicuous turning and little wooden sign to Camp Woodrow, stationed at the mouth of lake Calgonie. They’d eagerly shown you their collection of polaroids from the camp in the first few hours of the drive. It was exactly as you’d imagined, a classic all-American summer camp, straight from a gnarly slasher flick. 

“Motherfucker!” Sharon retaliated triumphantly as she manoeuvred the cranky old Buick down the sharp dirt road turning Camp Woodrow 500 yards. Bullseye. The road was almost too narrow, lined with unruly trees, leading up to the clearing in the dense foliage. Billy threw his joint out the window, stretching so his shirt rode up, showing off that lean torso that he was so damn proud of, flashing you a movie star grin. You tucked your hair behind your ears, putting your chuck taylor’s back on after the drive. You knew you all stunk of weed and BO.

 The car came to a pained, screeching halt in a makeshift parking lot. There were two cars parked in the other ‘spaces’, you noticed a blue Ford F-100 pick up, covered in mud and dust, your dad had one of those. Sharon let out a suggestive moan as she stretched, slamming the door behind her so hard you thought it might fall off. You all followed after her, Billy’s arm over your shoulder proudly, as if he was the one who’d just driven for 10 hours instead of whining the entire drive. You told yourself to just get over it, the summer was too long and too hot to hold onto this strange resentment you’d been harbouring for him as of late.

“Hey Abel! Sharon!” You heard from behind you, spotting a man you hadn’t seen before. He was shorter and well built, had a groomed moustache and lustrous black curls. “Tommy!” Sharon squealed, The pair embraced. You took the chance to get acquainted with your surroundings, turning away from the reunion to the woods behind you. Beautiful, it really was. You were a city kid, a suburban mole, so any chance at kindling some kind of a relationship with nature had you jumping at the opportunity, even if it meant dealing with children - Billy included. Trees as far as you could see, as high as you could see, the air clearer than you’d known it in the weeks you’d spent with these stoners.

“You remember Billy,” Abel said to Tommy, motioning to the boy next to you, who waved in his wanton fashion; too cool to put any effort into something as taxing as a wave. “Of course,” Tommy put his hands on his hips, it was hard to forget Billy. “And who’s the lady?” Tommy grinned, sauntering over, offering his hand to shake. Before you could introduce yourself, Sharon did it for you, telling him your name, which he repeated to himself. “She’s Woody’s replacement… lifeguard.” Sharon added, showing you off like an action figure. You fiddled with the hem of your denim shorts absentmindedly. “Ahh, lifeguard,” He had a firm handshake, making polite eye contact, you knew you’d get along with him. “It’s so nice to meet you, I’m super excited to get started.” You said warmly, the words falling from your mouth in something like a croak, you realised you’d hardly spoken for the entire drive, absorbed in tireless thought. Tommy clapped his hands together and turned to Abel and Sharon, then back to you and Billy.

“Well the kids are coming tomorrow, so, should give y’all time to settle,” He gave a little talk, friendly, he was what a camp manager should be, what you expected him to be. It immediately settled you, but the dead weight of Billy’s arm on your shoulders, tying you to him, was a constant jarring reminder of the mess you’d got yourself into with him.

The path to the camp staff cabins was a pretty one, scenic, you listened to your own steady breaths merging with the sounds of the forests. Billy walked ahead of you, his own suitcase swinging as him and Abel laughed their way into their own cabin. Separated by gender, convenient for yourself. Sharon lit a cigarette and grabbed the bottom bunk. You guessed it was so she could sneak Abel in and fuck him a little less conspicuously.

You sat on the top bunk, staring up at the damp ceiling, smoking a cigarette and listening to Sharon tuning a little radio, she cursed over the static.

In the evening you and Sharon decided to take a walk, leaving the boys to turn their cabin into a gas chamber, the forest stunk of them. “C’mon Lifeguard,” Sharon taunted, grinning at you through her cherry chapstick-ed lips. You took it all in, the forest, which opened up to Lake Calgonie.

“Holy shit,” You breathed as you stepped out onto the dock, the sun was setting over the trees, casting a vibrant orange hue over the lake. Your trance was broken by the click of Sharon’s Polaroid camera, the whir of the picture being processed. “It’s something, huh?” She nodded, somewhat proud of the landscape. “This is-” You started, unsure of the right word for how you felt, a little stoned from earlier, weary from the drive, muscles aching, brain heaving from the whole Billy thing, in complete awe of the situation you were in, impossibly, fucking happy. “Is it deep?” You turned to her, realising she was taking a picture of you. Click, Whirrrrr.

She fanned the two polaroids for a bit, tucking them in her bra, a trick she’d giggled about a few weeks ago. “Yeah, gets pretty deep in the middle,” She shrugged, more absorbed in the development of the polaroids she’d taken of you. She noticed the curious, awe-struck look on your face.

By the time you and Sharon returned to the camp the fire was blazing, crackling pleasantly, Billy, Abel, Tommy and an older lady. “Now, I know it wasn’t you two dumbasses who got the fire started,” Sharon landed the playful jab as she planted herself on Abel's lap, announcing her arrival the way she always did, her laugh echoing through the forest. Billy shuffled up to make space for you on the log, his arm around you in seconds, you were sure that that fucking arm would break your damn shoulder soon from how much he rested there. 

“Hey where’s Joel?” Billy asked suddenly. You were only half listening, now the fully developed polaroids were being flashed at you; it was you looking over your shoulder in candid surprise, engulfed in the flashlight and the rich sunset from behind, like a deer in the headlights. “Well what’s he doing in his cabin?” Billy said loudly with a cocky chuckle.

You tuned him out, letting your brain run away with itself, watching as the older woman examined the polaroid that Sharon was passing around for admiration. “Beautiful ain’t she,” Sharon quipped, shooting you a playful wink as she peered over the older woman’s shoulder at your picture. Tommy poked at the fire, blowing at it expertly, so this was the country man. “Oh, this is Lou by the way,” Tommy nodded towards the bright eyed older woman, “She’s one of our senior camp leaders, and our chef,” He said with a tight smile towards you, clearly the introduction was pointed. It was dark now, the faces of your friends and acquaintances lit up by firelight, illuminated in the orange. 

“Hey I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” You whispered to Billy, waiting for him to direct you. “It's between the weird tree, with all the branches, remember? and the bigger Cabins, showers there too.”

It was the first time you’d been alone for a couple days. As much as you were charmed by your fast friends, a long lonesome walk to the john was very much needed. Abel’s lighter, you'd borrowed one night from his coat pocket, clicked to life in your hand, the small flame lapping at the cherry end of your cigarette as it hung between your lips. You walked slowly to prolong your time alone, admiring the trees, listening to the forest by night and the gentle padding of your sneakers across the dirt.

After relieving yourself in the makeshift hut you wondered if you could even call a ‘bathroom’, you wandered as slowly as possible down the path, blowing plumes of smoke into the still night, feeling the trees sigh around you. You imagined what your parents were doing right now, sitting in their condo in Cedar city, probably off to bed. You rarely thought of them anymore. 

You were brought to a standstill by one of the larger cabins, you took a drag of your cigarette and stood watching the window. You suddenly felt like a complete peeping tom; a man appeared in the window, not a man, a wife-beater clad god. He paced up to the edge of the room, giving you time to properly take him in; a quality of moustache you’d only seen in porn flicks, a soft, yet muscular torso, paired with arms that looked like they could snap Billy in two. You let the cover of nightfall mask the growing warmth on your cheeks. He stretched, wife beater riding up to reveal the unruly outline of a happy trail. Jesus christ. He was older, that was obvious enough, late forties? early fifties? You tucked your lips into a thin line, gazing at him, feeling like one of the fucking creeps you so often complained about and really not caring.

“Who is that guy?” You mused to Sharon back in the cabin, as she went through her skincare regiment in the janky little mirror, your limbs draped down from the top bunk like a fancy throw rug. “What guy?” She said, the tube of moisturiser taking up her full attention. “I ran into this guy when I went to pee? Moustache, in his forties, maybe fifties?.” You were like a teenager again, batting your eyelashes up at the ceiling. “Joel?” She cooed, turning to face you abruptly, clearly she had the same idea, you’d pulled her attention now. “You met Joel?” She seemed very impressed by this, but met was a strong word, you’d watched him in his cabin for a minute or so. You suddenly felt like this was something you shouldn’t have done, for whatever reason, maybe it was that sultry look in her eye all of a sudden, the accusatory tone in her pouty mouth. “Mhmm” You hummed warily, sitting up to look down at her from the top bunk. She scoffed, massaging her skin “Joel’s Tommy’s big brother, he runs the camp with him, total hunk right?” She teased. It made sense, Joel had looked like his brother, taller you thought, a little rougher around the edges. “How come he wasn’t at the fire?” You pictured him in his cabin, all alone. You now remembered Billy asking for him earlier. “He’s not the biggest fan of um, Billy and Abel, caught them sneaking in these girls, y’know, getting high a couple years ago, but they were like 17, like he’s had it out for them for a while.” This story didn’t come as a surprise, you imagined a young Billy and Abel getting caught smoking pot with girls by the lake. “It’s really only thanks to Tommy that we were allowed back, Joel would’ve gotten rid of them a while ago, wouldn’t’ve been outta line to either,” Sharon rambled on, all you could think about were those broad shoulders, the curve of his aquiline nose, it was a perverted stereotype you didn’t mind filling, young girl absolutely taken by an older man she most definitely could not have. “It’s a shame, he’s so fucking hot,” Sharon said as she pursed her lips, applying a healthy amount of lip balm to her pout. 

Camp LIFEGUARD t-shirt on, little red running shorts that covered next to nothing, chuck taylors to match, another pair of Billies big brown sunglasses on your nose, you were every bit the summer camp lifeguard. Tommy had your lifeguard certificate and paperwork, breakfast had been a breeze, it was all ready. The kids were arriving in the afternoon, so you had the morning to scope the place out alone, leaving Sharon with the guys and taking the path to the lake.

The lake was invigorating as you dipped your toe through the strangely still surface, chuck taylor’s, socks, shirt, glasses and the little metal whistle all bundled into a polite little pile on the edge of the dock. You sat down, taking a deep breath and splashing your feet gently in the water, the tiny ripples lapping back at your calves. It truly did feel like a movie to you, clad in that red, lifeguard swimsuit, hopefully catching some sun.

The morning was pleasant, if a little humid. As warm as it gets in the pacific northwest, you basked in the quiet of the lake, sliding slowly into the water. It was eerily calm after the recent chaos that had become your beloved life. 

You hadn’t swam leisurely in a while, not in a lake for even longer. You avoided the silty bottom by pushing off immediately to the middle, planning to test just how deep this lake was. It was strangely clear, you could see the bottom for a while, but as you swam out, below you it was just your flailing limbs treading in the dark blue. The hum of a boat engine broke the trance you’d been under all morning, snapping into consciousness as a small speedboat made its way around the lake, right up close to where you were treading water. You hadn’t seen it from the dock, hadn't noticed any waves.

��It came to a quick halt, splashing water in your face. “Motherfucker” You spluttered as you spat out lake water. You wiped your eyes and shielded them from the sun to see who this obnoxious, nautical asshole was. He looked down at you, crouching, silhouetted by the sun. 

“You shouldn’t be swimming without a lifeguard.” As your eyes adjusted to the bright light you identified the asshole: Joel, your blood ran colder than it already was. You could see him better now, dark glasses on, those sun kissed forearms, his slightly sun bleached STAFF t-shirt, that low, southern voice still unbearably charming, pouring over you like molasses even when he was being cold.

You realised you were staring and looked to your left at the dock. “Sorry, sir,” You started, hoping he’d appreciate the formality, “I am the lifeguard,” You grinned up at him with a saccharine bat of your eyelashes, really trying to appeal to the sexiest man you’d ever seen. He was still staring down at you in the water, sunglasses giving away nothing.

He let out a short scoff, obviously not amused. “Well what happens when you drown?” He said coldly, he did not seem at all charmed by that killer grin you flaunted so well, so you let it drop ever so slightly. Maybe you couldn’t kill him with kindness? “No lifeguard out to save your ass,” He looked down at you pointedly, still crouched beside you like you would’ve done with a kid that dived in a no dive pool. 

“I’m a strong swimmer.” You cocked your head, he scoffed again, shaking his head in casual disbelief. You were too absorbed in working out whether he looked more like Burt Reynolds or Tom Selleck. “I don't care how strong’a swimmer you are, missy,” He retaliated quickly, your lips parted in slight surprise, you weren’t used to people being even slightly unpleasant to you, thanks to your people pleasing.

“I'm sorry?” You said in the wake of your surprise.

“Look, lifeguard, I’m gonna ask you to strongly swim back to the dock right about fuckin’ now,” He stood up to his full height chuckling at you in that southern baritone, again darkened to a silhouette by the sun. You remembered how good his muscular body looked in that wife beater, his goddamn broad shoulders, then pushed the thoughts from your brain, it was fucking embarrassing, you batting your eyelashes and grinning at him like he wasn’t reprimanding you.

After hastily making your way back to camp, a complete state, your cheeks annoyingly hot with embarrassment and a sinking feeling that you could only call ‘horny’, you caught up with the rest of the guys. They’d somehow got the radio set up and were sitting around it outside the boy’s cabin like moths to a light, Buffalo Springfield was playing softly, the sound slightly subdued, broken by static every so often.

You leant on the wall beside them, trying to collect yourself after whatever the fuck that was. “How's the water temp, sugar,” Billy landed a light slap on your ass. You couldn't even look at them, afraid to see your own flushed reflection in their tinted sunglasses. “Tepid.” You heard yourself say absentmindedly. You knew two things for sure, Joel was an enigmatic pain in your ass; another to add to the ever growing list. The other, he had you wrapped around his little finger, you hated yourself for it, but hated him more. “I need a dart,” You sighed, keeping your eyes on your feet as Billy lit your cigarette.

The kids arrived intermittently once Abels casio read 15:00, hoards of them, and quickly. Bumbling groups of girls and boys, completely feral. You silently thanked god that all you'd be doing was watching them, making sure none of their little heads stayed underwater for too long, leaving the morale-boosting, camp spirit stuff to your friends and the other staff. Luckily no water sports on the first day, so you were free to lounge around without worrying about some kid dying on your watch.

You sort of wished you had a way to get your mind off the whole Joel thing, it really shouldn't have gotten to you as much as it had. But there was something about the whole thing, something simply despotic about the way he looked down at you, ordering you about, it fucking jarred you all afternoon, distracting you even from Billy’s hand on your ass.

The next time you saw Joel that day he was with a few kids, a couple suitcases tossed over his shoulders, a big grin on his face as he spoke to them, it wasn't mocking, wasn't charged with some quick-witted comment that he’d make sure really stung, it was paternal, sweet. You don’t know why you thought he’d be cold to everyone.

Damn kids didn't know how good they had it as he made them laugh, beaming with child-like enthusiasm. “Who’s that?” You asked Billy quickly, as if you didn't know full well who that was, as if he hadn't been the only thing on your frazzled, embarrassed mind. Billy scoffed, watching Joel just as intently as you had been. “That’s Joel Miller,” he said that name with more passion than you’d ever heard him put into anything, “Him and I don’t get along so well, sweets,” He nodded, you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes at these pet names he’d been experimenting with. You tuned out the rest of Billy’s moaning, regretting even asking him, the phrases ‘Grade A asshole’ and ‘hypocrite’ were tossed around quite senselessly. 

You needed a shower, everyone did but you weren't going to be the one to tell them that. With a crispy towel in hand and Sharon's flip flops you haphazardly made your way through the dark forest, the kids all in their cabins, staff eating round the campfire. Sharon said she'd meet you there in 20, at least one other person in this damn place knew when they needed a shower. The shower shack was something you’d have to get used to. Even in the abysmal water pressure, even with the ceiling completely caked in cobwebs occupied by creatures you really did not like the look of, the hot water was balm. It washed the smell of the lake off of you, and the dizzying BO you’d gotten used to in the last few days, cleaned off that lingering scent of pot from your skin.

You sang quietly to yourself, an Elvis song that'd been stuck in your head all week. “Your kisses lift me higher,” you scrubbed yourself with the ratty bar of soap you’d found in Sharon's wash bag, the song falling out of you at an increasingly enthusiastic pace, volume rising as you let the water infiltrate your scalp.

“I just might turn into smoke but i feel fine,” Billy was not an Elvis fan, never had been, but that didn't stop you from humming along every time he entered your brain. You heard another shower start and Sharon getting in, not for one second stopping the music falling out of you. You weren't a particularly gifted singer, but in the shower that never mattered. After singing the song countless times you turned off the water. “Just a hunk’a burnin love,” You hummed, the cool night air causing your skin to goose pimple, your nipples to harden as you wrapped your body in the itchy little towel that really didn't do much to cover you up. 

You lit a cigarette as you stepped out, deciding to wait for Sharon outside the showers as she’d instructed earlier, admiring your reflection in the clouded mirror, wiping them clear. “Hurry up, fuckin’ cow,” You chuckled, raising your voice over the sound of the shower that was still going. Like a spell, it stopped, for once she was feeling nice.

"‘Bout time,” You giggled as you combed through your hair with your fingers, cigarette hanging precariously from your lips. You didn’t look away from your reflection as you grabbed your toothbrush from the pocket of your shorts which lay in a little discarded pile beside the sinks. “It's like being at The Westgate, Las Vegas,” The familiar voice chuckled, that condescending comment about your spectacular rendition of Elvis’ ‘burning love’ going right over your head in favour of utter shock and realisation, which hit like a ten ton truck.

You practically spun on your heels to see a smirking Joel Miller shirtless, a towel slung carelessly around his hips. The wind was knocked out of you as you let your eyes linger on his torso, just how fucking built he was, beaded with water, his chest sprinkled with hair matching that on his face. Holy shit. 

You looked back at yourself in the mirror, hugging the towel tighter to your body, scooping up the toothpaste you’d jetted all over the sink from squeezing the tube in your state of shock. Holy shit holy shit holy shit. “Thought you were Sharon,” You said shakily to the sink as you washed the toothpaste from your fingers, your voice now lacking the confidence it’d possessed when you called Joel Miller a ‘fucking cow’. You felt like slamming your head through the mirror right about now, not daring to check if the heat that had spread across your cheeks was visible. “Thought you were Elvis,” He quipped, ever the witty bastard, pulling out a small razor and some shaving foam, clearly he was planning on staying. 

You took a drag of your cigarette to pull yourself back to earth. “You make a habit of sneaking up on girls in the shower?” You heard yourself say, like your mind hadn’t turned into that of a perverted teenage boy after you saw him last night.

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart,” So he knew he was hot shit, standing there more naked than you were comfortable with in that moment, that towel doing very little to distract you from the fact he was right there, all of him, rubbing shaving foam on his jaw. “You're too old to be talking like that,” you said coldly through your dead-pan, the biting words lacking the fire you intended for them. He chuckled slightly, his low voice almost a growl, reverberating through you as you attempted to squeeze your toothpaste onto the toothbrush without making another mess.  “Definitely Billy’s girl,” He said to himself as he held his razor up to the light.

Now that was too far, you turned your face to him, lips parted into a half-hearted scowl as you watched a couple droplets fall from his hair, you held on to the little towel for dear life. “What's that supposed to mean,” You shook your head in disbelief, that had truly been a low blow. “Well you are ain’ch’ya?” He shrugged, bringing the razor to his cheek, you said a silent prayer to god that his hand would slip. “No,” You said after a moment's hesitation. Billy wasn’t your guy and you certainly weren't his girl, he was a friend you sometimes, reluctantly let hump you until he finished. “He know that?” Joel scoffed, suddenly very talkative, you hadn't expected that from the authoritarian asshole who’d scolded you this morning, now a scintillating asshole. “Seemed awful comfy this even-” You cut him off quickly. “It's none of your business Joel,” you snapped, turning back to look at your glassy reflection.

This man would be the death of you; all of this, and now another mouth to ask you about Billy. “Billy’s a prick,” Joel said casually as he shaved his face, it almost startled you, the first thing you agreed with him about. “Aren't you perceptive?” The sarcasm rolled out of you, prompting another of those short, patronising chuckles from Joel.

“What's the appeal then?” It was a good point, why did you hang around with Billy when you could admit that the kid was a complete dickwad. Was it those looks? the way people seemed to gravitate towards his obnoxious laughter? It was all embarrassingly shallow.

“We hang in the same circles,” You shrugged, now completely absorbed by watching Joel shaving so expertly, still hoping your prayer would be answered. “Is he a good fuck?” Joel asked brazenly, not looking away from his own cold expression in the mirror as he cleaned up his moustache, your breath caught in your throat and you stamped out your cigarette on your ratty sneakers to disguise your prudish shock.

The answer was no, a dead no, no matter how much he thought he was. “And there's another thing that's absolutely none of your business,” You began brushing your teeth, glancing at him to see the telling smirk on his lips, that was all he needed to know. 

After a much needed break in the conversation you spat out the toothpaste, holding your hair back and running the tap. You turned to leave with the pile of clothes in your arms, you’d rather’ve taken the short journey to your cabin in the little towel than spend another damn second in that room with Joel fucking Miller. “Hey, kiddo,” Joel interjected casually, you turned to look at him with an obedience that made you sick.

“Next time you find yourself peepin’ on me in my cabin, just knock on the door.” 

You huffed an exasperated, short breath as you slammed the door to the cabin behind you, happy that Sharon was nowhere to be seen. You changed, cursing Joel under your breath over and over and over again as you pulled one of Billy’s ‘Supertramp’ t-shirts over your wet head of hair. That motherfucker! Where could you even start?

He’d seen you watching him. He’d known all day that you stood in the treeline in the unassuming disguise of nightfall, smoking as you’d watched him get ready for bed. He’d called you ‘kiddo’?! you groaned as you curled yourself into the quilt on your top bunk.

You guessed that Sharon was banging Abel in the next cabin, Billy had probably passed out from a long day of doing absolutely nothing. No matter what you thought about to get your mind off Joel; the image of him shirtless and dripping wet, his quick retaliations, nothing helped. You counted sheep, sang ‘Burning love’ a couple more times through, the shame just didn't wear off. He’d gotten the better of you today, catching you out at all the right moments, embarrassing you over and over again.

Finally, after stalling what you knew would be your only relief after a day like this, you let your hand venture under your panties, touching yourself gently at first, ego too bruised to allow yourself what you really wanted. Soon you were practically crying his name into your pillow, back arching desperately. You’d broken into a slight sweat, lips parting quiet ecstasy as relief washed over you. 

You made the decision then and there, it was sink or swim, you weren't going to let today happen again, not let your epic, man-eating reputation be stamped into the dirt  by some old washed-up cowboy with an ego for days and some strange Tom-Selleck-esque power over you.

You were going to become Joel Miller's worst fucking nightmare. 

PART 2

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[tempestaslokni]

Nodding affirmatively, Lokni replied, "born and raised. Lived on a Buena Vista rez with my family until I was 'bout fifteen, then we headed up to Oregon for work. There were... multiple reasons for leaving, but it was mostly for economical ones. Not much traveling done, unless we're talking horseback, I've spent hundreds of hours in the saddle." A subtle smile played on Lokni's lips at the tour suggestion. "Maybe, if we find a way off this godforsaken island. Gotta' survive until then." "It sounds like a big country, if I remember correctly, it's a lot of islands, right? Is the weather similar to this place so far?" Lokni hoped that he wasn't making a bunch of sweeping generalizations, but his scope of the world was shamefully small. He was doing his best to make connections to what he had even the slightest frame of reference for. Despite this, Elijah's warm demeanor and gaze made Lokni feel more open to speaking. Traveling for work was a concept that Lokni had a difficult time wrapping his head around. How could someone make money by doing that? Wasn't traveling expensive? Even his smaller treks up north into Canada had burned a hole in his already worn pocket. "Does the world feel smaller now that you've been to so many places? Or bigger? Ever get homesick?" Lokni had the opposite problem most of the time; cabin fever. Every so often, snowstorms would blow in during the midst of winter, effectively confining those in the area to their homes until things thawed out. Those days had been the darkest for Lokni, staring at the same four walls, the ice filtering any light that did stream through the windows in a frozen tint of blue. Elijah's mention of stories caused Lokni's eyebrows to rise in curiosity. "Do you have a favorite story to share?" He asked as he shouldered open a cabin door, eager to see if there was anything salvageable inside.

"Lou or Lokni, no misters and sirs. Understood." Elijah bowed his head in agreement. The initial tension of their meeting had, by this point, dissipated, leaving Lokni looking much more relaxed with his unexpected company. Perhaps it was the sense of safety - after all, if they had to face off against something, they would be able to handle it together.

Then again, it hadn't exactly helped him and Zaid.

And then again, Zaid had been fine, and so had he. And if anyone was to worry, Elijah wouldn't be the one. Especially when there was good company to be had. "Ah, west coast born and raised?" Elijah asked, raising his eyebrows curiously. "And I guess you haven't had the chance to travel down deep south just yet? Savannah-" He continued, thoughtfully. He'd been there, once, a whole lot of years ago. "Savannah's beautiful. "The historical district is a sight. Forsyth park, especially. Not sure if it's the most beautiful, though." An amused smile tugged on his lips. "It depends on what you like. Perhaps, once we get off the island, I might be able to show you a bit of it. Or at least, give some recommendations, as is my duty of southern hospitality."

One thing was for sure, Lokni was curious. A continuous flow of questions, as if he needed to utilize their expeditions into the bowels of the ship to it's fullest. And not just the polite, trying-to-make-conversation-questions - there was a gleam in Lokni's eyes, something in that delighted smile of his, that Elijah very well recognized. "South of it. And that's a hard question to answer. It's a big country, after all." Elijah sucked his tongue against his teeth. He'd stopped feeling the cold seeping against his skin since then. "It's warm. The beaches are pictureesque, though rather full if you go into the tourist areas. Which I did, a mistake on my part. And I didn't get to see much of it. I would go back again, though, so that has to mean something."

The conversation turned back around, to the matter of Lokni himself. "A ranchhand?" Now, that was interesting. "Don't undersell yourself. A ranchhand likely already makes you more adept at survival than someone like me. Though, I do know some about it. You pick up on it in my line of work." Mirroring the words right back, Elijah grinned at his newly found partner in crime. "I travel. Across the US first, then across Europe, and Asia, and parts of Africa. Wherever I feel like going. It's freeing, really. And it gives me some good stories to tell."

And if his sense for a good, interesting story proved him right, there was something there with Lokni. "I think you understand the urge to leave where you used to live for something else. Or is there a different reason for why you moved from Cali up to Oregon?"

[humanismtoday]

In Police State America cops can violate all of your rights over a stop based on supposed tinted windows, and then engage in an illegal search over um, tinted windows.

According to these cops if you exercise your rights you are “playing games”.

THIS is why we have www.aclu.org

[lizzyverydizzyyo]

D.E.A.N | Chapter 15 - Visit

Masterlist and overall summary of the whole novel is here. | Prompt on trope-appreciation-tuesdays that inspired this is here. | @whumptober-archive

Fandom : Original Work

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

AO3

A/N from the bottom of my heart, I am very sorry for taking this long to update. I swear I'm trying my best ;____; anyway here you go enjoy Mark indulging Nick's whims again

Wordcount: ± 4324

TW : Allusion to Past Sexual Assault and Forced Prostitution (noncon), Mentions of Drug Use and Drug Trafficking, Mention of Torture, Captivity

Summary:

The team’s charge is requesting a (literal) trip down the memory lane, and Mark chooses to grant it, much to everyone’s chagrin (and their eventual surrendered blessing).

This story is set in the last half of 2016.

------

Once again, his team gives Mark disappointed and teasing looks.

He thinks that maybe this time, it’s warranted. Sort of.

Really, he can assure them that he is not illogical and can still function perfectly and objectively when needed. He is just very sympathetic with Nicky.

That’s why he ordered a perfectly disguised run-of-the-mill car with a supposedly full-body sticker typical of car advert (a fake company, of course) and fake plate number from their drop point agent. It isn’t their usual disguised SUV with tinted windows that they regularly exchange on every visit to avoid detection and recognition, either by hidden Helga member or civilian.

Horace and other agents have tried to convince him that it’s a bad idea, but since they’re nowhere near raid time yet (because changing information made tactical intelligence recommended delaying it), he might as well do what he is doing. After locking Nightingale in Nick’s room with food and water, of course.

“If Helga member caught you, killed you, and kidnapped Nick again, we’re not gonna fetch either of you or your body,” Don said before he and Nick departed three hours ago.

Luke, as disappointed as he is, told George to come with so that if the worst scenario happens, Mark is not going to have to hold off the danger alone with just inexperienced Nick.

He changed the SUV once he arrived at the drop point at around one and a half hour mark after three of them left the team’s headquarter. He left the double FBI/D.E.A.N agent looking at him in puzzlement with only “Don’t worry about it”. Then George, Nick, and Mark got into the disguised shitty car.

Now, they’re enroute to Oregon to visit Nick’s family.

Indirectly, of course.

Even if he likes to indulge Nick lately, he is still smart enough to not let him anywhere near his family to directly interact with them. That’s why he also ordered a new disguised car that doesn’t look like D.E.A.N’s typical vans, SUVs, or battle jeeps.

As he gives a slight look to his right where he sees asleep Nick’s head leaning against the window, Mark considers that maybe he needs to be a little firmer to the younger man.

He just doesn’t have the heart to do so, especially as he saw Nick’s pleading and sorrowful face when he was training his marksmanship.

“Can I….can I see my family,” Nick said with shaky and small voice, “please?”

Of course, he can’t say no to that face. How is he supposed to?

On the back, George is crossing his arms with irritated but alert look.

They’ve all been trained to always be on guard, especially outside of their headquarters so that they can anticipate sudden attacks. They are not really anticipating any as they’re going from Nevada dessert to Oregon suburban, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.

They’re planning to change drivers at four hours mark out of their projected eight hours drive (excluding the drive from the headquarter to their drop point that took around one and a half hour before), without including Nick.

They don’t know how well Nick can drive considering he’s been under Helga’s hold for almost four years. In that time, he was probably not allowed to operate any vehicle, so even if he’s had driver’s license at 16, he might be out of practice at this point. Or maybe, he doesn’t even have a driver’s license.

Mark has never seen any social media post displaying Nick driving or looking like he drives a car on his own. Maybe he can ride motorcycle, as shown by some of his photos on top of motorbikes, like his extended family members in South East Asia. That region is pretty famous for their abundant bike riders.

But car? Neither George nor Mark can trust him with it.

“So, what is he gonna do exactly once we arrive there?” George asks him.

He throws a look at the rearview mirror. “Probably just checking how his family is doing.”

“And how is he gonna accomplish that? It’s not like we can talk to them.”

Mark rolls his eyes.

If he hates it so much, why did he agree to go with him? He could have just told Lena to go instead.

“He can watch from afar. We’ve got all of his family members’ addresses, right? We can check them one by one indirectly.”

George shakes his head. “I can’t believe you really use your clearance to access confidential census database to gather his families’ data illicitly.”

“Well, it’s not like he minds. He doesn’t know where they live now since they moved after he was kidnapped.” He looks ahead again. “They don’t keep it secret either. Showing their home appearance and geotagging their location voluntarily on Instagram. You know how social medias are nowadays.”

George cocks his head to the side slightly with raised eyebrows as an agreement.

“Why is no one teaching anyone internet safety anymore? I never told anyone my full name or any real-life identifying info back in the 90s and early 2000s while in chatrooms.”

Mark throws a look at the rearview mirror again. “Yeah, me neither.”

“How do people even make money just by being pretty on that site anyway? They just use the same pose, same background, and same style, and same captions too, and somehow companies are willing to drown them in cash,” George grumbles again.

“I’m offended, Georgie,” Mark says with exaggerated look and a hand on his chest like a pearl-clutching lady. “I used to model for extra cash, too, remember?”

“Yeah, but you were, like, professional. Not like these…” George raises his hands to make air quotation mark, “‘influencers’, whatever that means.”

Mark chuckles.

“You’re just jealous because D.E.A.N agents aren’t paid as much.”

“Shut up,” the ginger agent rolls his eyes. “We’re paid almost 150k already. I’m not greedy. I just think their ‘jobs’…” he makes another air quotation mark, “…are stupid and don’t contribute anything useful to society.”

Mark laughs louder, agreeing to some extent.

“You want them to go into D.E.A.N instead?”

George rolls his eyes again. “Oh, please. Like they can survive even a day of our training anyway.”

“True,” Mark chuckles.

Two and half hours later, Mark pulls over, unbuckles his seat belt and walks to the back passenger side while George goes into the driver’s side. By this point, Nick has woken up and fallen back asleep again at least 10 times.

It’s probably because they departed quite early at 5 AM and Nick, with his sporadic sleep between nightmares, hasn’t gotten enough rest yet. Even in the car, he sometimes wakes up normally, and sometimes wakes up with a jolt and frantic look while whipping his head around in anxiety.

Both Mark and George worried in the beginning, but then they unfortunately end up waving it off since it seems to be Nick’s normal anyway. Even Nick himself seems used to it.

Eventually, nearly at 3 PM that day, Nick looks around the surrounding area with reminiscing and familiar look. This seems to be where he used to live before the rug was pulled under him. There is a smile on his face, but a sad one.

“Do you know where they live now?” the heterochromatic-eyed boy asks.

“Yeah. I’ve got the addresses marked on the satellite GPS,” Mark replies as he pokes his head between the front seats and fiddles with the encrypted satellite map screen.

“Whose address is that?” Nick stares at the red dot nearest to their own location as they pull over around a hundred yards away the house on the dot.

“Your parents. Or do you want to go to your sister first?”

“Um—”

“Dude, we’re already here,” George interrupts irritably. “Let’s just see the parents first.”

Mark rolls his eyes while Nick looks guilty and cowering almost in fear. George sighs at the expression on Nick’s face.

“Do you mind just checking your mom and dad first since we’re already here?”

Nick still looks demure while looking down, even if George sounds less annoyed and hands him a binocular. “I guess—I—yeah. Yeah, sure.”

When he looks out the window, he fortunately sees even his other family members there. There is a young woman maybe around Mark’s own age walking into the house with a man wearing baby sling on his chest going around his back. The woman hugs a much older woman and does cheeks kiss with her, then she hugs the older man besides who seems to be the young woman’s mother.

“Oh, my sister is here too,” Nick says while looking out with a binocular that George handed to him.

“Yeah, Alisa Conrad.”

Nick looks back to Mark questioningly.

“She’s gotten married, Nick. She’s no longer Belyaev.”

Nick’s face falls before he turns back around to looks out of the window.

“When?”

Nick’s voice is tight.

“Almost two years ago,” George now replies softly. “One of your sister’s posts on her social media says that she met the guy on a support group for missing people’s family.”

Nick’s bicolored eyes blink fast as they get glassy.

“I’m sorry, dude,” George tells him gently again.

Nick forces a smile. “I mean, at least she is happy, right?”

“She still does vigils and remembrance every 12th February. She hasn’t forgotten you, Nicky,” Mark tells him. “As do your parents.”

Nick’s Adam apple moves as he gulps deeply, trying keep his tears at bay.

“Are they—” Nick gulps again and inhales shakily, “—are they safe?”

“Yeah. D.E.A.N keeps an eye regularly on the families of the missing kids suspected to be taken by Helga,” George informs him. “From afar, of course.”

“That’s—” Nick inhales again with shaky breath, his tears finally falling from the corners of his eyes, “—that’s good. I’m, yeah, I’m glad.”

He raises his hands, trying to frantically wipe the tears falling on his cheeks.

“What else have I missed?” Nick shakily asks both of them.

George and Mark look at each other contemplatively.

“Um, okay. The guy? Next to your sister?” George starts, pointing at the house where Nick’s family are walking into. “That’s her husband. Tom Conrad. Thomas Isaac Conrad, to be exact.”

George looks at Nick to gauge his reaction.

“He is in the same support group for the surviving family of missing persons, as I said,” George continues to explain. “His older brother, I think he was named Lee Conrad, went missing on the 2004 tsunami when his family was going on holiday in Asia.”

Nick is still slightly sniffling as he watches George raptly, but more composed now. He responds, “That’s sad.”

“Yeah, but you know. It’s 12 years ago,” George then quickly adds, “Well. Almost, I guess.”

“That’s still horrible,” Nick replies with slightly squinting eyes.

“I mean, yeah, of course,” George hurriedly explains again, “but he’s probably more used to, or more adept at, dealing with the loss than your sister.”

Nick sighs shakily, an understanding flitting on his face.

“I saw…” Nick pauses, “I saw the guy—Tom, right?—wearing a baby sling.”

He doesn’t really phrase it as a question, but Mark understands.

“Yeah. Your sister has a kid with his husband just recently,” Mark explains.

Nick bites his lips again, seemingly with a new bout of weeping incoming.

“We had a pact, you know,” Nick sniffles shakily, trying to compose himself visibly, “that when either of us gets married, we will be each other’s best man and maid of honor. And we’ll also be each other’s kids’ godparent.”

Nick chokes again, and George awkwardly hands a box of tissue. Nick doesn’t even try to hide his messy composure and just roughly pulls out so many sheets of tissue.

“I wasn’t even on her wedding. Or the kid’s birth. I didn’t even know she had a wedding and a kid. I’m fucking terrible.”

He weeps again with face buried into his palms.

“Nick, it’s not like you wanted to miss any of that. You’re a good brother, I’m sure she knows that still,” Mark tries to touch his shoulder calmingly. “I don’t doubt that she still believes in you and your capacity to the best brother she could ever ask for. And the best uncle her kid can have.”

George just looks sadly and awkwardly as Mark rubs Nick’s shoulder gently to soothe him.

“She’s named her daughter after you,” Mark tells him again, hoping that it will at least cheer him. “You have a niece called Nikola Lee Conrad. Or Nicole.”

Nick gives a tight, trembling smile before choking out another sob as he pushes the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“You want…um,” George unsurely speaks up, “wanna see her pictures?”

Nick continues to laugh-sobs as he looks at George beside him. Both George and Mark feel somewhat serene but also uncomfortably puzzled about what Nick is actually feeling, and what they should do next.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” Nick finally announces as he finally manages to keep his weeping under control. “Where can I see it?”

George then turns around to the back to face Mark as Mark unbuckles the seatbelt that secures their highly encrypted mobile laptop. They always have one with them in travels or any occasion outside of headquarter, just in case they would need to access internet, database, or more complicated communication with other departments or agents that can’t be done with their barebone phone.

George opens the device and starts clicking, activating secure activity masking protocol on top of its already built-in safeguard. The screen flits around for a while before it shows an online page of Nick’s sister’s social media profile.

“Here. It’s posted on the day after the kid was born,” George explains as he turns the monitor to Nick’s direction and hands it to his lap.

Nick’s face, even wet with tear streaks, breaks out into a wide and loving smile as he stares at the screen. It’s showing baby Nicole in a swaddle with her slightly swollen face under a beanie and teeny palms covered by baby mittens.

Nick smiles affectionately still. “She’s beautiful.”

Mark doesn’t want to comment on how the baby still looks very much newborn, and like any newborn, her appearance is quite strange and… alien. In front of him at the left, George is also visibly holding his tongue.

However, Mark will admit that there is something more in her tiny body. It’s almost like Nicole is radiating sunshine at anyone who sees her. There is a power, in a way, that pulls everyone who lays eyes on her to cradle her and protect her.

On his other front, Nick cocks his head to the side gently as he coos.

Nick visibly looks down on the caption below the picture, where there is an extremely long text. He starts to read it.

Sometimes, life deals us unavoidable losses—losses that cripple our heart, our soul, our mind—losses that leave a gaping, aching void that can never be filled with anything but the ones we've lost. Sometimes, losses befall us in the most unexpected time and way, and we are left reeling with the sense of detachment from reality—because how can that possibly happen, our loved ones were just right there, next to us.

Mark can see his smile faltering slightly, but Nick continues.

In times like these, with the reminder of what we've lost approaching fast and passing by just as quickly, it can feel like we are stuck in a cold, paralyzing thunderstorm full of relentless lightnings that strike deep fear into our innermost selves. The downpour may also freeze us, leaving gripping chill in our bones and all over our skin for hours on end. But even the harshest rains will taper off, and afterwards follows a rainbow littering the sky with color, hope, and warmth. A new weather—new beginning arrives at last.

He chuckles affectionately. “Alisa has always been such a poet.”

Of course, the two bright young men now gone despite the long lives supposedly ahead of them—Leroy Hansen Conrad and Nikolai Khiem Belyaev—can never be replaced, ever, and their accomplishments forgotten. But the pain that has become a permanent fixture in our lives, creeping up deeper and tighter since the days our dear brothers left us behind, has never felt so manageable and the air so breathable since our little angel blessed us with her presence.

Nick’s face is unreadable this time.

We know that Lee and Nicky will forever stay in our hearts, and so, to commemorate and celebrate their lives—however short they were with us—and the marks they left on our own, we will let their spirit live on through our beloved daughter, Nikola Lee Conrad.

Nick pulls his lips in and bites them, then he lets out shuddering breath as another roll of tear falls down his cheek which his quick hand immediately wipes. Finally, he looks up at both Mark and George.

“When’s her actual birthdate?” Nick asks shakily.

“See this?” Mark points at the date of the post at the beginning of March. “She was born on 29th February this year.”

Nick chuckles, still frantically rubbing his face and wiping his tears. “A leap year baby. She must be special.”

Mark is sure she is.

Nick scrolls through his sister’s profile to see the other photos. There are quite scant pictures there. She doesn’t seem to post more than four or five times a year, but Nick finds a newer picture anyway of his niece at maybe around three months old.

“Awh,” Nick coos again, still in wonder and full of love. “She’s so chubby. I’m happy she is healthy.”

Mark agrees, and he is sure George does too. Unlike the other one, she looks very pretty and adorable in that photo.

“She’s cute, isn’t she?” George comments with his own smile.

“She even has your eyes,” Mark comments absently to Nick. “Her eyes also have mix of brown and blue color.”

Nick chuckles at the picture before going back to forlorn look again.

Our little angel is getting bigger now! Before we know it, we’re going to send her to college 🥺

“They’re already content with each other. Without me,” Nick absently comments as he looks out again with binocular.

George looks somewhat sad and angry too, although not really at Nick.

“Dude, of course not! They still want you back. They still remember you,” the ginger says quite passionately, “besides, you’re asking to come here for a reason. You can’t possibly just give up and abandon your family now.”

“I just…” Nick bites his lower lip again, seemingly racking his brain for the perfect words to say, “they’ve made themselves at peace with just each other.”

Nick waits a while again before continuing, “I’m just gonna intrude if I come back and shake up whatever dynamic and relationship they have together.”

Marcus rolls his eyes and take the laptop gently from Nick’s lap. He clicks a little bit until it gets to a picture posted on August 7th that year, where it shows Alisa, her mother, her father, her husband, and some young relatives standing behind a kitchen counter with Nicole in baby carrier on the table.

Some of them still have their aprons while holding the baking rack’s edges with the macaron shells on top. Next to the baking rack, there are also some piping bags filled with colorful creams.

“Look, Nick,” Mark gently tells him as he puts the laptop back to Nick’s lap.

Happy 21st birthday, Nicky!!!! Remember when I said I would bring you to a club to drink yourself silly and dance with as many strippers as you want this day? That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Apparently, Mom and Dad are quite the stickler for upstanding behavior in our community, so we’re just baking you French macarons instead, which you also love anyway, right?

Nick clenches his jaw and gulps, mixture or affectionate reminiscence and grieving regret visible in his bicolored eyes.

All of us have never stopped wishing for you to come home and eat these with us again, Nicky, or even bake with us—with me—like so many times before. We’ll never stop praying for your homecoming. Wherever you are, baby bro, I hope you’re enjoying as many macarons as you’d like (until you have cavity hahaha), but come on here sometimes, okay?

“They’re still celebrating your birthday,” George quips in, “and better celebration too than what we gave you.”

Nick looks up at George with a slight smile. “You guys gave me macarons and ice cream cake. It was really nice.”

“Yeah, but, we were kinda, you know…” George squirms in his seat, “mean to you on your birthday. And locked you in the holding cell. Which wasn’t very nice.”

Even Mark looks down slightly in embarrassment.

“It’s…okay,” Nick responds unsurely, “since you guys are, you know, indulging me nowadays.” Nick contemplates a little more. “Especially you, George, for tolerating Nightingale,” the aforementioned agent smiles lopsidedly, “and you Marcus, for bringing her to me.”

Mark feels that weird jolt in his heart again at Nick’s small but earnest smile and colorful bashful eyes.

“And also taking me here.”

Mark pulls his focus back to the present again.

“I know the others aren’t really cool with it, but you insisted for me. I hope they’re not gonna be too mad at either of you.”

Mark waves off Nick’s reserved words as he looks at Mark through his lashes unsurely. “They’ll get over it, don’t worry.”

Nick gives another small smile then looks back out the window.

The silence goes on for around half an hour as Nick repeatedly looks at the binocular and putting it down again. He finally turns around to face George and Mark again.

“Where do they live now?” Nick asks, “my sister’s family, I mean.”

“15-minutes drive from here. In an, um,” Mark replies, pausing unsurely to think about how to say the next thing appropriately, “affordable apartment. To say the least.”

Nick looks to the back at him in question, earning sad sighs from both agents.

“They sold almost all of their assets, both your parents and your sister,” Marcus starts, “to hire more private investigators around three or so month after you were taken. The police department lowered your case to less urgent level at that time to deal with more recent missing persons cases.”

Nick blanches at the explanation, slowly looking out again now with the realization that his parents’ house is much smaller and different—as also shown by his sister’s post on his birthday—than his childhood one. It’s also in a less than stellar neighborhood, even if the previous one isn’t too far or too extravagant either. But they were at least almost upper middle class before.

“They shouldn’t…” Nick’s swirly blue-brown eyes start getting glassy again, “they shouldn’t have done that. Why would they waste all of that for me?”

“Because you’re their family, Nick, and I told you before that they still want you home with them,” George says, uncharacteristically reassuring and sympathetic. “If I were in the same situation, and anything happens to one of my family members, I would give anything too to save them and bring them back home.”

Nick chuckles sarcastically as he still chokes on his sob.

“I don’t think they would want to anymore if they know how I am now,” he hoarsely says, “what I’ve done. What I let people do to me.”

Mark knows the implication, of course, as does George surely. It’s always been highly suspected that what the kidnappees inside Helga are going through aren’t just physical torture and forced drug uses or forced drug distribution jobs. It pretty much goes unsaid that what Nick went through are also more… violating.

“Hey, don’t say that,” George touches his shoulder. “Your sister just made birthday celebration for you, remember?”

“I know they won’t love you any less for what you’ve gone through, Nick.” Mark offers this time. “None of it is what you wanted or sought out, is it?”

Nick avoids looking at both of them. There is grief and humiliation on his face.

“I don’t think I can look any of them in the eye if they know what I had to do to survive, even just a little bit,” Nick mutters with trembles, more tears falling from his bicolored and glassy eyes. “Hell, I can’t even look at myself in the eye. I’m just…”

Nick pulls up a hand to frantically wipe out his tears again.

“Looking at myself just makes me nauseous and ashamed, you know? Like I’m dirty… and tainted. Not to mention—” Nick chokes out a sob again eventually, “—I hate my eyes now. They…” Nick shudderingly inhales, “those bastards, they kept making me look at my own eyes in the mirror, when…”

Nick clenches his jaw, unable to finish the sentence, although it isn’t necessary. They both, and especially Mark, know what Nick means.

“Fuck. They just kept taunting me, telling me that my eyes are what brought all of those shit to myself. I don’t have any dignity left anymore.”

Jesus, those fucking bastards don’t disappoint, do they? They truly are just as heinous as the worst prediction D.E.A.N and the entire government have of them, if not more.

“I can’t… I don’t want to know what my family thinks—how they’re gonna look at me, if they find out.” Nick sniffles again. “I don’t… I don’t want to come back. Not like this. Not after everything done to me.”

George and Mark give him some time for in silence, sensing that any reassurance will just sound empty to Nick. After a while, he eventually just gives back the binocular, signaling that he has seen all he wants to see and felt all the turmoil he’s willing to feel.

***

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

[mulderist]

Five Times Mulder Got Scully Coffee, And One Time He Didn’t

MSR || 2k words || @today-in-fic

A/N: I wrote this on the fly based on a post about types of intimacy including knowing your partner’s coffee order.

1 “we leave for the very plausible state of Oregon at 8 a.m.”

It was her first assignment with Spooky Mulder; a crisp Wednesday morning in September. From the backseat she checked her boarding pass once more while the taxi arrived at Dulles International. The red-orange sunrise broke through the distinct wing-like architecture of the main terminal building. The driver idled then popped the trunk and hoisted out her carry-on letting the wheels click to the pavement. She knew she over packed. She thanked him and adjusted the strap on her leather satchel as the cab pulled into the congested river of departure drop-offs. 

The sliding doors opened with a breeze of recirculated air and she paused to let a cluster of businessmen pass by. She scanned the corridor and saw Mulder hovering near the escalators, a duffle bag at his feet. He was wearing a smart light blue shirt with a striped tie. She grinned at the fact that his dark grey suit jacket didn’t fully match his lighter dress pants. On her approach she noticed a particular boyish charm to the curl of his hair. He caught her eye and gave a wave. She quickly smiled and shifted her shoulder bag once again while she pulled her carry-on behind her.

“Good morning sunshine,” he stated while balancing two cups in a flimsy caddy, “I hope you don’t mind but I grabbed some coffee.”

“Thank you, Mulder.” She was genuinely surprised. He set the caddy down on the lid of the square trash can and pulled out a cup, handing it to her.

“How do you take it?”

“Uh, just cream and sugar.” Mulder fished around in the middle of the caddy and found her accoutrements. She slowly removed the lid and doctored up her drink. 

“Not too early for you is it?” He asked after taking a sip from his cup.

“Reminds me of residency,” she said, shaking her head with a smile and pouring a splash of cream. “The line between late night and early morning was pretty hard to differentiate at times.”

“I find it’s when I’m my most productive. However the T.V. choices leave a lot to be desired,” he said with a shrug, reaching down for his well-travelled duffle bag. He unzipped it and pulled out a folder.

“Is this my debriefing?” Scully asked.

“A little light reading for the flight,” Mulder replied, watching her tuck the documents in the pocket of her shoulder bag. “C’mon, looks like we’re at the C gates.” She followed him down the corridor and to the entrance of the shuttles.    

2 “I’ve heard the truth, Mulder. Now what I want are the answers.”

He offered to drive her home. She was exhausted but insisted she was fine. He squeezed her hand when she left to go find her car in the hospital parking deck. 

Restlessness had set in when he arrived at home. Eyes darted to his cell phone on the desk, making sure he hadn’t missed a call. She’d call if she needed to. He shuffled through a stack of files he took from the office, looking for a particular case that matched a tip from Frohike. He flipped it open and returned to the computer keyboard, adding to the paragraph he was working on. The TV droned on in the background, coffee finished its brew cycle in the tiny kitchen. 

Three taps on the door. He turned down the TV and listened then heard three more. He walked across the room and peered into the peephole then quickly flipped the lock and opened the door 

“Hi,” she began, “I’m sorry I didn’t call.” She sucked her lower lip. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Come in,” he said stepping aside. She exhaled and slowly entered his apartment, brushing a wave of hair behind her ear. He quickly stacked his work and moved the pillows on the couch. She took a seat, fingers knitted tightly together in her lap. Her eyes closed as she climatized to his space. He gave her a minute and stepped into the kitchen. When returned she had pulled her hand away from her face, gracefully dabbing at her eye with her knuckle. He set two mugs down on the table and joined her. 

“If you want to talk..”

“I don’t,” she said curtly, not intending to sound that short with him. “Not..not yet.” Her anger was still fresh. She was a raw nerve. He pressed his lips together and was patient. He had all the time in the world for her. Another slow exhale to steady herself and she reached for a mug. Cream and sugar. Warmth from the ceramic radiated against her hand; she felt another wave ready to break. He saw the downturn and gently took the mug from her, placing it next to his. She fought so hard but reluctantly crumbled. He embraced her; a shelter from the storm.

3 “Oh I don’t know Mulder, some things are better left unexplained.”

“So tell me more about this talking doll you found,” Mulder stated. Scully swallowed her bite of food and blinked at him.

“I never said it was a talking doll, Mulder. And besides, that was weeks ago, why are you still hung up on it?” He tossed the brown end of a french fry back into the bag and licked the salt from his thumb. 

“Color me jealous.” 

She stuffed a napkin in the empty fry container and added it to the trash on the table.

“Please tell me this hasn’t kept you up at night.”

“Not more so than usual,” he said with a shrug collecting their fast food wrappers. They left the outdoor seating area and started to walk down E Street. The lunch dates were a little more frequent than before. Her remission and recovery brought them closer together. Scully didn’t want to assume he missed her when she took a well-deserved weekend to herself but Mulder was shit at hiding how clingy he could be. It was all part of the process. He tapped the back of her arm and pointed at a coffee shop window. She agreed and he held the door. The wonderful aroma of roasted beans and steamed milk hit her senses. She peeked at the bakery case as he went to place their order. Mulder soon presented her with a cafe au lait and a wink. Her lips pursed as she blew on it. His gaze shifted to the perfect “o” of her mouth complimented by a subtle glossy lip tint. He then proceeded to burn his tongue as he eagerly went to drink his Sumatra roast, snapping him back to reality.

4 “Get over here, Scully”

The lights in the office were dim. He had set-up the slideshow reel to provide visual aid to a fairly vague case detail. However the only detail he was concerned with at the moment was the taste of her lips. A hint of honey from her lip balm, the whisper of milky coffee. Their cups grew cold and lonely sitting on his desk while they turned up the heat hiding amongst the shadows. 

She was needy and pulled no punches. Hand rested firmly against his cheek as tongues danced and twisted. His stubble coarse against her fingertips. Last night at the ball field had ignited a spark. Remembering the feeling of his hands on her hips, cheek to cheek in the cool night air. His weight against her with each swing of the bat. He held her close once again; entwined together in a dark corner of the basement office.

“Remind me to bore you with slideshows more often,” he said, catching his breath. A warm smile crossed his face as he admired her. 

“Shut up, Mulder,” she said before kissing him once again.  

     5 “What if there was only one choice and all the other ones were wrong?”

Three weeks had passed. Scully discovered she was leaving small items behind; a toothbrush, a sweatshirt, a travel sized hairbrush. Evening was still the preferred time of day. Dinner, maybe a beer or a glass of wine followed by ignoring the T.V. Mulder knew just the right amount of pressure to put on the tired muscles of her neck. A rush of circulation flowed through her. She leaned back against his chest and his hands wandered followed by his lips. She loved how he tenderly nipped at her earlobe, He was hard against her lower back and she worked her advantage between his legs. Clothes were shed like new skin. He was swift to carry her from the couch into more comfortable surroundings. 

The linens held her scent, the walls held their cries. Deep and passionate. Primal. Two become one. He broke first and she was quick to chase him down. Chest heaving, muscles aching in the best way. They lay together as heart rates slowed. He traced her jawline, a thumb laid claim to her full lower lip. Lust-laden eyes blinked heavily. She decided to stay. Naked, satisfied, and loved.

Morning arrived with a deep yellow glow. She slowly shook off her slumber and reached beside her, feeling an empty bed. Her ear perked up listening for the shower but heard nothing. She slid to his side of the bed and glanced at the clock. Two hours before work. Her hand clutched the bedclothes to her chest and she heard keys hit the wood table in the other room. Mulder nudged the bedroom door open. Scully smiled and ran a hand through her hair, sitting upright. 

“Morning,” she said. He approached and kissed the top of her head. 

“I got us some coffee. Cream and sugar, of course.”

“You’re too good to me,” she said before realizing it. There was always so much unspoken between them. Affection was a given but rarely vocalized; arousal and desire usually won out. They operated well without words. She blushed and swung her legs over the edge of the bed tucking the sheet closer. 

“Hey. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said. 

6 “We will find him -- I have to.”

She needed an out. It was too much too fast and the fuel from her anger was on fumes. Scully dried her hands on the edge of her jacket and stormed down the corridor towards the elevator. That might have been the first time she actually threw a drink at someone. A bit dramatic but she would deal with that later, right now she needed to leave. 

   Her cell phone chirped and she promptly ignored it. The car shuddered as it idled in the parking deck, her head lay back against the headrest, a hand on her belly. She fought against an angry sob. The caller was persistent. She tried to collect herself. Another series of rings and she finally answered.

“Agent Scully? It’s Skinner.”

“Sir?”

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m on my way home. Is something the matter?” she questioned.

“You tell me,” Skinner replied with concern. She closed her eyes and slowly caressed her belly once again. He was the only one she could trust right now. He was trying to be a friend. She exhaled and asked if he could meet her in Georgetown.

Scully sat down at a familiar cafe with small outdoor tables nervously fidgeting with her phone. She didn’t want to deal with the questions, she just wanted to find him. She wanted to talk to him about what was going on and they could figure things out together. She needed to find him. Her attention shifted as a couple walked past with a friendly golden retriever. The animal bumped its nose into her leg then happily licked her hand before it’s owners chuckled and led him back down the sidewalk.

Skinner arrived and set down two cups of coffee along with a handful of sugar packets.

“I got you decaf.” he said sincerely as he took a seat, “hope that’s alright.”

“That’s fine. Thanks,” she said, reaching for the cup then removing the lid and adding half a sugar packet. Her heart ached and she was sure Skinner could see it. He was quiet, not wanting to overstep his boundaries.

“I uh, I just want you to know that I’m your ally in all of this. And if you need to talk…” he trailed off when he saw the change in her expression. She pressed her lips together.

“That means a lot, sir. Thank you.” She brushed away an errant tear and swallowed hard. They had much to discuss.

[flying-nightwing]

Double Cross (Jason Todd)

Hi people! So this is my little project I was talking about. A sudden blurb of inspiration led me to this and uh. Here it is! Once again, this is super experimental so yeah idk about its potential. You’ll be the judge of that I guess

This time I worked on time jumps back and forth and perspectives, so let me know how it turned out!

Masterlist in bio/pinned!

Pairing: Jason Todd x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 6937

Warnings: swearing, uhhh idk it’s dc so you know what you’re into 

-- 36 hours ago --

Your heart was beating hard against your ribcage as you flew down Washington DC's streets. Your motorcycle was burning under you, and you had a feeling you were on the clock to get off of this ticking time bomb before it exploded and brought you down with it. The bullet holes broke the black paint, decorating your bike in a way that flagged unwanted attention. About six blocks ago, unmarked cars had joined your fast paced parade across the city.

A terrible mistake, all of this was. That was certain. 

You took a sharp right, your knee scraping on the asphalt on the way. An infernal noise came out of your bike, but you still willed it to accelerate on the straight alley. You shot back on the main roads like a bullet, swerving around the black police car that had tried to cut you off. But soon enough, you saw the blockade on the street in front of you. You could never jump it with your bike so in disarray, and there were no viable alleys to sneak into. You shut your eyes tight for a moment, then exhaled.

"I'm sorry Jason" You muttered to yourself. "But you left me no choice"

With a firm grip, you pressed the brakes and came to a stop a fair distance from the blockade. You turned off your bike and kicked the foot to hold it up, slowly getting off and pulling your hands up. Shouts erupted around you as the police mobilised themselves in tight formations, guns up and ready to shoot. With one hand up, you undid your tinted black helmet and let it fall to the ground. 

"On your knees!" An officer shouted as he approached. "Keep your hands where I can see them"

You complied.

-- Now --

The white of the neons glaring down on you made your already tired eyes hurt, saturating your vision with a harsh and constant flash of light. You were left alone with a room temperature glass of water on your left and your own reflection on your right. You couldn’t hear them, but you knew they were there, observing you. Instead, all you could see was the dark bags under your eyes and your messy greasy hair. 

You perked up when two men in suits came in by the door in front of you, thin files in their hands and calculating glances. They were nicely dressed, one with a gray suit and the other, black. Both suits were obviously tailored to them. They sat down in front of you and observed you before the one in the gray suit spoke. Dark hair, blue eyes, taller than the other, maybe around six feet.

“Good morning, Agent”

You only nodded, looking down to the table. 

“My name is Agent Baker,” He said. “My colleague here is Agent Tanev. We will proceed to your debriefing”

“Sure” You nodded again.

Agent Baker set a recording device on the desk and turned it on. “Please tell us again why you are here today”

“I am--” You paused, clearing your throat. “I am here today to deliver crucial information on a wanted criminal in exchange for a pardon” 

“Which wanted criminal should that be?”

“The Red Hood” You said, meeting his eyes. “I have names of associates, safe houses locations, frequent territories of operation as well as his specific m.o.”

“How come you know all of this?” He asked, his voice neutral. “No seasoned agent has ever managed to get this close to him, let alone a rookie. We want to know how you gained his trust, start from the beginning, spare no details. Leave nothing out”

“I met the Red Hood during operation 7381 in northern Lithuania” You began as Agent Tanev started to take notes. “I was in the back up team for the extraction of General Kradiev from a local opposant group. I wasn’t supposed to even see action, as it should have been simple enough against an untrained mob, but when is it ever…”

They had known you were coming. A whole grab and go operation had been compromised by the feeling of invincibility of the CIA, that looked down so much on whoever they went against that they never stopped to think that maybe--maybe--they were prepared.

So when the Alpha team stormed the country house where the General was supposed to be kept and found it empty, all action plans were thrown out the window. The Beta team was mobilised to close off all the roads surrounding the area and to search for the hostage. You were ordered to search a single decaying house in between two pine trees because the structure was so old, so  nobody could have ever been hiding in its debris. However, as you were leaving, you heard whimpers coming from the cellar a few feet away from the foundations. Carefully, you made your way to the wooden doors on the ground, and after making sure your magazine was full and the safe of your semi automatic off, you kicked the doors open and raced down the stairs.

“Don’t move or I’ll blow your head off” You yelled, pointing your gun at the first person you saw. It was clearly a man, wearing a bright red helmet that shone under the single lightbulb hanging down from the ceiling. He slowly held up his hands, but he didn’t seem so bothered. Your eyes found another man next, tied to a chair and wearing a bag on his head. The military uniform was a dead giveaway of his identity, so you returned your full attention to the red helmet guy. “You’re going to back up and face the wall now”

“Or what?” He challenged. “You’ll ‘blow my head off’?”

“Shut up!” You barked, taking a step forward. Your firearm was ready to shoot. “Do as I fucking say”

“You’re CIA uh?” He changed the subject, looking down at your marked bulletproof vest and not listening to you. In fact, he didn’t seem worried at all by the situation he was in. “Should have known. You guys have never cared who lived or died. What fucking difference does it make, as long as they’re good pals with the good ol’ US of A right?”

“God would you just fucking shut up and back up” You were getting impatient, but also nervous. You were alone without backup, with a guy in a red helmet who was clearly taunting you, and you had never shot anyone before. It was your first oversea mission, and already it was fucking catastrophic.

“See, that’s the thing” He held a finger up. “You’re pointing a gun at me like I’m the bad guy, while you are trying to rescue the scum of humanity. You’re going to extract him, give him a nice long life on Florida’s golf courses with the taxpayers' money and wipe out from History the mass graves in the woods two miles away”

You remained silent.

“Oh, did you not know about the mass graves?” He asked rhetorically in a mocking tone. “Your friend here decided he wanted to test the new shipment of automatic weapons, because their bullets per minute capacity had been expanded. And what better targets than the group of students that opposed the american military presence in the country? The youngest was 16 and her name was Vera Beliskava. Isn’t that right, Kradiev?”

He pulled the hood from the general to reveal his bloodied and bruised face. He had been gagged and beaten, that was obvious. He looked at you, pleading. 

“You’re the only one who saw” The man in red said, softer this time. “You don’t have to save that piece of trash. Just say your search came up empty and I’ll make him disappear from the Earth's face permanently without leaving so much as a trace. Nobody else will know, and you will go to sleep knowing you made the world a better place”

You took a breath, a million thoughts running into your head. Who was that guy? Why was he here? Why did he not attack you, while he clearly had a handgun strapped on his thigh? Could he be right about Kradiev? You knew he didn’t have the cleanest record concerning human rights, but mass graves? 

“Beta team, report”

You both froze as your comm broke the silence. He gave you a challenging look as you were still debating. You wanted to do good, that’s why you went into the secret services. Being complicit in mass murder wasn’t something you signed up on. 

“Nothing to report on the north road”

“Clear in the valley”

“Farmer’s house empty”

“No traffic on the south road”

You knew it was your turn now. Slowly, you reached for your comm, not breaking eye contact.

“Pinetree house’s clear” You spoke in a flat line, decided and direct as you lowered your gun. You shut down your comm and glanced at Kradiev, whose relief morphed into fear once again as your decision registered. You averted your eyes. 

“You made the right choice”

“I hope so, or I’m dead” You mumbled. “I’m going back now. Don’t make me regret my decision”

“You won’t”

“So just to be clear,” Agent Baker frowned. “You just… Believed him? And you let General Kradiev in his hands?”

“When I left, I went to check, and the graves were there. Kradiev was guilty”

“That was not your decision to make” He pointed out.

“I know” You sighed. “That was my first mistake. I-- I lost it for a moment. He mentioned the graves and the victims and there were so many people the same age as them I could think about and I decided with my feelings rather than my judgement. And I’m paying the price today”

“Alright” He mumbled, passing a hand on his face like he was already done with this debriefing. “When did you cross paths with him again?”

“We were back in America” You continued. “By that time, I was no longer on training wheels. It was a little more than a year later, in Newport Oregon during operation 9004. We were busting a trans pacific drug dealer on the docks when we got unexpected company…”

You were running as well as you could through the maze of freight containers on the docks, trying to push back the pain of the bullet in your leg. You had drawn the fire of the hired gang so your colleagues could proceed, but things went down the drain when you were met with heavier fire than the briefing stated. Outnumbered and outran, you stopped in your tracks and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. You wouldn’t go out as a coward, that was certain. If you went down, you’d take as many of them as you could with you. 

You reopened your eyes and checked the magazine of your gun, letting it drop on the ground and pushing a full one in. You loaded and clicked the safe off, flexing your fingers on the handle as footsteps surrounded you. You spun around and pulled the trigger, but before the bullet even reached your target, two men dropped on his side. 

You weren’t the only shooter. 

Thinking it was backup from your team, you allowed yourself to back up against a container, trying to stop the bleeding. You were starting to feel light headed, but you still had a bit more fight in you. Soon enough, all hostiles were down, and you were in for a surprise. Instead of the black uniform of your colleagues, you looked up to a red bat, a leather jacket and a familiar red helmet. You squinted your eyes and let out a chuckle of disbelief.

“Do I even wanna know?” You asked.

“I owed you one” He shrugged. “You okay?”

You looked down to your leg, your pants soaked in blood that was already cooling, then back up again. “Peachy” You gave him a thumbs up. “You were right about Kradiev. He was a fucking trash bag”

“It’s often the case” He said as he rested his hands on his hips. 

“You here for Hiko?”

“Yep” He nodded, then snorted derisively. “Any tips?”

Ever since Kradiev, you have developed a habit of researching your target better. Most of the time, it was a capture or an execution on site, so it didn’t matter the extent of their crimes. But there were moments when you were extracting the package without knowing what came next, and those times usually meant they’ll make them disappear under a new identity, without giving them any repercussion for their actions. This one, Hiko, was the later case, without any plan revealed for when you get him back. He was a known drug trafficker, but he was also rumored to smuggle people back and forth between Asia and North America through the docks he owned. The Red Hood’s appearance was well timed, to say the least. 

“Sneak past the squad through the east” You panted. “If you can move on top of the containers without being seen or heard, you’ll cut them off with about two minutes to spare. Make sure you’re gone with Hiko when they bust through the door, or neither of us will ever find him again”

He paused, studying you. “Thanks…” He trailed off. “Why are you telling me this again?”

“Well, you said it yourself” You managed to smirk. “If I can go to sleep knowing I made the world a better place”

He didn’t answer with anything else but a quick nod before he climbed the containers and disappeared from your field of vision. You sighed, then reached for your comm. “Alpha 003 to central, I’m down and need medical attention, Northwest entry of the docks”

“So if I understand correctly, not only you let him go again,” Baker exhaled, looking bewildered. “But you told him how to get there first? You realize those are becoming serious crimes right?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t” You snapped, before recomposing yourself. Both agents had backed away just a little at your outburst. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Sorry. I’m just tired, it’s been a crazy last two days” 

“Did he offer you any medical help then?” Baker returned on topic. 

“No, I called the medics and I was extracted with the chopper” You replied. “I knew he was there for Hiko, not for me. It was a coincidence we crossed paths, and at that point I thought it was the last time I’d see him. I mean, what are the chances, right? But you see, that here was my second mistake”

“How so?”

“The CIA goes after threats to national security, but so does he, in his own way” You said, locking eyes with Baker. “The guy’s everywhere, even where we don’t go. And he’s at least three steps ahead of us at any turn. He has good funds, good intel and exceptional skills. You don’t find him, he finds you. And that’s what he did”

“He contacted you after the affair on the docks?” He raised an eyebrow.

“We could say that...”

You finished washing your tea cup when you heard a thud coming in from your living room. Slowly, you grabbed the gun hidden in your cupboard and held it up, quietly making your way to the next room. You rounded the corner and pointed your gun to the man standing with his back to you, registering his identity as he turned around. You must have been a sight in your baby pink pajama shorts and mismatching turquoise tank top, pointing your handgun to a man in a shiny red helmet. 

You scoffed and lowered your gun, clicking the safe back on and putting the firearm on the lamp table. “Breaking and entering, really?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst crime I’ve committed” He shrugged, and you could just imagine him rolling his eyes, whoever he was under that helmet. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, crossing your arms against your chest. “How did you find me?”

“Like I find anyone” He answered like it was the simplest of evidence. You waited for him to continue, but he seemed to have no intention to reveal his methods. This time, you rolled your eyes. “And I’m here because I wanted to check on your leg”

“No you’re not” You snorted. He would have come months ago if it was about that, and even then, the little you knew about him told you he was not the kind to just check upon people who didn’t mean anything to him. “But I’m doing fine, thanks”

“You’re welcome” He nodded. “And you’re right. I need something from you”

“Well, go ahead, since you’re already in” You gestured at him to go on.

“Wait wait wait” Baker held his hand up. “He broke into your house and you just let him? You put your gun down and didn’t call anyone?”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said” You replied slowly. 

“And it never occured to you that he was dangerous?”

You paused, thinking your answer over. “No, it didn’t. I mean, if he wanted to get rid of me, he would have done it on the docks where I was an easy target”

“Fair point” Tanev muttered under his breath, earning him a glare from Baker. 

“Now do you want to know what happened or not?” You said, annoyed at the interruption.

“Please, go ahead”

He reached inside his jacket and handed you a file. You took it and opened it, staring at the picture and the description beside it. “This is Ian Markstrom, he has been suspected to kidnap young women, mostly tourists, to sell them on the sex trafficking market” He began. “Not only is he friends with your big bosses, but those who were brave enough to try and get him locked up never got anything to stick, and that was the best case scenario. The others either disappeared or ended up dead, so I’m assuming someone in this government does not want Markstrom to stop”

You nodded. “What can I do for you?”

“There’s a secret auction strictly reserved for the elite, Markstrom will sell his best teenagers there” He explained, a hint of disgust in his voice. “The CIA chief of operation received an invitation. I want to know what it says on the card”

“I’m not sure I’m good enough to reach anywhere near it” You mumbled. “But sure, I’ll try”

“No, I believe in you” He said, and he seemed pretty sure of himself. You raised an eyebrow to hide your surprise at his compliment. “What I’m wondering though, is why you’re not asking questions”

“Well, you are two in two so far about targeting the bad guy” You said after a moment. “You seem qualified to spot ‘em, and you’d be real twisted to to make up that scenario for a petty revenge, so I’m guessing you’re on the mark again”

“Huh. You might just be the only smart CIA agent I’ve ever met”

You snorted. “Well, the more it goes the more I’m questioning the integrity of my employer”

“You keep impressing me” 

“With what I saw, I believe the bar was pretty low to start with”

“Keep talking like this and I might need a cold shower”

“You’re an ass, you know that?” 

He let out a short bark of laughter. “If only you knew”

“I’ll do my best for the invitation” You brought him back on topic, closing the file and putting it beside your handgun. “How can I contact you if I get it?”

He paused, then took a step forward and grabbed your wrist. He fetched a pen from his jacket and wrote a number. “This is a burner phone, which I will destroy after this whole deal. Don’t try and trace me with that, it won’t end well for you”

“Yeah yeah” You rolled your eyes, pulling back your arm when he was done. You cleared your throat, trying to ignore his overwhelming proximity. “I gave you two fast passes just to trick you into seeking my help to finally bag you, I’m busted”

“Hey, listen” He backed up, holding his hand in surrender. “I make that threat to everyone. It’s only a disclosure thing, I didn’t doubt your motivation”

“To each their own I guess” You shrugged. “Alright. If this is all, please get out of my apartment”

“Oop, sure”

Baker blinked slowly. “And did you? Communicate him the details?”

“Yeah” You nodded. “I managed to get into the chief of operation’s office, break into his safe, memorize the date, time and place of the auction and communicate it to Red”

“Red?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Short for Red Hood” Tanev clarified, and judging by yet another glare from Baker, he wouldn’t speak anytime soon.  

“He kept it on the quiet, but after that the chief of operation did seem a changed man” You smirked, before dropping it instantly. “And I didn’t hear anything from Markstrom, it was like he disappeared for good, which he most likely did. So I guess the Red Hood succeeded in taking him down”

“Jesus Christ” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Why do I have the feeling it wasn’t the last law you broke?”

“Because it wasn’t”

“Are you going to make a habit out of dropping out of nowhere to ask me for favors?”

This time, you knew who had broken into your property without even looking. You put the keys into your car and turned the engine on, trying to warm yourself. The Red Hood pulled himself upright from your backseat, shaking his head.

“Your car is very comfortable,” He declared. “You have good taste”

“So that means yes”

“Back at it again with your superior deduction skills” 

“What do you want?” You went straight to the point, but you were just a little amused. You could have a worst stalker. 

“I’ve been thinking this through,” He began, moved his legs so he was properly seated on the backseat. “You are skilled and you’ve got balls of steel. I could use your help more often. A partnership, if you might”

“Why do I have the feeling it took a lot to admit that and reach out?” 

“Because I don’t just trust people” He said plainly. “They disappoint me, among other things”

“So why me?”

“Like I said, skills and balls of steel” He repeated. “You went against the fucking CIA not once, not twice but thrice to do the right thing. That’s enough of a test of will for me. And besides, your job would be an advantage that is hard to turn away”

“Makes sense” You mumbled as you put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking spot. He buckled his belt like it was a reflex. “Will this partnership imply me shooting bad guys?”

“If that’s what you wish for” He shrugged, leaning forward in the space between the two front seats. “I won’t be the one to limit you”

“Okay, yeah” You nodded. “Where do we start?”

Baker was looking into nothing, processing your words. He shook his head slowly in disbelief before he met your glance. “I shouldn’t be surprised” He spoke after a moment. “But this is Everest high levels of stupid”

“At that time it did seem like a good idea” 

“Yeah, might as well jump off of a bridge…” He trailed off, eying you suspiciously. “Did you do that too?”

“Well, if we consider the time when--”

“You know what, don’t tell me” He cut you off. “Please go on”

“Alright” You held your hands up in surrender. “So, where was I?”

You and the Red Hood operated on the field like a well oiled machine. Your expertise and contacts with the CIA helped him get into places way more easily than alone, and your somewhat reckless ways were compatible with his mode of operation. You knew who he was as well, you found out after he nonchalantly took off his helmet after a stakeout. You had not been prepared for what you saw then, when you were faced with what you could qualify with the most beautiful man you had ever seen. 

“Hey, you okay?” He waved a hand in your face, making you snap out your daze. You blinked a few times, shaking it off.

“Yeah” You replied. “I just wasn’t expecting this”

“Expecting what?”

“I mean, the helmet did give disfiguration vibes… Obviously I was wrong” 

“So you think I’m hot then?” He snorted derisively.

“I do” 

His head did a whiplash. “Huh?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable” You backed away. “Sometimes my filter doesn’t work”

“No it’s--” He tried to find his words, then sighed. “I’m just not used to that, I guess”

“What’s the point of this?” Baker groaned, his head in his hands. 

“It’s a turning point that brought me here today” You explained, turning your palm up briefly. “You asked for details, I’m giving you details”

“I kinda wanna know what went down, to be honest” Tanev added sheepishly.

“Tanev, I’m going to drive you through the mirror if you do not shut up”

“Jeez sorry” He mumbled.

“As I was saying”

That day was the moment things changed in your relationship. There was this tension that hadn’t been there before, the little brushes of hands when you were side by side, the staring at the other while they weren’t looking, the unspoken invitations to stay a moment longer after a mission for a cigarette and a good conversation. He was one of a kind, you had to give that to him. He was passionate, driven, smart in a way that told you he never really had it easy but always made it work somehow; the way he always thought of the less obvious way to do things, how even his messes seemed calculated. 

It was raining in Chicago and the air was crisp. Your muscles ached from the fight in that warehouse against drug lords that enrolled kids in their schemes, that and from the unforgiving cold of January. You had one too many whiskeys back in that little studio flat he rented under a false name, and it led you straight to his bed. Trying to find warmth, trying to find a connection, it didn’t matter why, as long as you were as close as humanly possible to him. 

And it didn’t stop there. The night after, and the night after that, always in his company past the business hours. Your chemistry translated way beyond the field, for you found him in a partner in more ways than one. You grew quickly to feel love for him, more than you had ever felt for anyone. The number of times you woke up naked and tangled with him--

“Okay I don’t need to know this-- I do NOT need to know this” Baker yelled. If he could have flipped shit from the table, you’re sure he would have. 

“You told me to spare no details!” You argued. “This is a detail. I’m being as thorough as I can”

“You know what-- Forget it” He brushed his hand in the air aggressively. “Just get to the part we have interest in, for God’s sake please just skip to that”

“Okay, okay” You muttered, rolled your eyes. “It went well for the first months or so, it was great. Nothing to say on that front, I was happy and fulfilled in this new englobing partnership we had going on. That was my third mistake, to get into that kind of involvement with him. Because then, like all good things must come to an end, mine slowly began crumbling down in my hands”

“Okay” He sighed, half in relief. “Tell me more about that”

“Well, he started to show his true colors” You admitted, pulling your hands under the table. “Sometimes, he became something else. Something dark. And sometimes became most of the time, but I was too in love to see it. He became manipulative, controlling. He was everywhere, in everything I did. It’s like I didn’t even have control on my life anymore…”

“Where do you wanna eat?”

You looked away from the car window, your feet comfortably up on the dash. You took a deep breath and shrugged. “Dunno, where do you wanna eat?”

“Don’t really care” He shrugged too. “You decide”

“What about chipotle?”

“Sure” He nodded. “Chipotle sounds good”

Tanev shook his head sympathetically. “He wouldn’t even let you choose a restaurant?”

“Never” You looked down, sadness weighing your voice. 

“I’m so sorry you had to live through that”

“Thank you” 

“Alright, moving on” Baker broke the moment. “What happened next?”

“Next? Next came what comes every time in screwed up relationships” You answered, returning your hands on the table and crossing your fingers. “We burned like a meteorite as it tears through the atmosphere, falling to our demise to high velocity and taking everything in our wake”

“That was poetic” He pointed out sarcastically. “What the fuck does it mean?”

You raised an eyebrow. “We got dangerous for real, Agent Baker” You paused to take a reserved sip of the water. “If you thought I was reckless before, you’ll need to reevaluate your scale. I was in for real. I was his battle horse, his wildcard, his whatever that he needed to succeed. And I was good at it. The worst was, I didn’t even realize he used me as a smoke screen. He put me more and more often in fucked up situations that were way more dangerous for me than him, and I was naive enough to think it was love”

“No. This is not up for discussion”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You said you would let me choose--”

“I said I would let you choose, not let yourself get killed” He interrupted, slightly raising his voice. “This plan of yours is stupid dangerous. If it backfires, you are almost guaranteed of not making it out free, or alive for that matter. I’m not allowing you to take that risk. Not for me.”

“Again, ‘if’ being the keyword” You insisted, following him as he stomped out of the storage room. “I am capable of executing it flawlessly. I know I am, you’ve always told me I am”

He halted his steps, hesitantly turning to face you. His eyes softened as he sighed, taking your hand. “I know you can, it’s not about that” His voice was back down, even lower than his usual volume. “I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you for something I dragged you into in the first place, I would never forgive myself”

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead on his. “Okay” You finally said, nodding lightly. “We’ll find another way. Another plan. But we’re hitting that ball out of the park either way, I won’t let Preston get away with it”

He smiled. “Oh no, we won't indeed” He kissed the top of your head. “We’ll get him one way or another, I promise”

“I almost feel sorry for you now, Agent” Baker gulped. “I cannot begin to imagine what terrible things the Red Hood forced you to do under his manipulation. We however must continue this debriefing”

“Of course” You nodded quickly, breathing deeply. “So we planned our next move, but he wouldn’t tell me the final target. I found it weird, he always told me the targets. I don’t know, maybe he sensed I was trying to find a way out”

“And that plan was…”

“Yes” You didn’t have to let him finish his trailing thoughts, you knew what he was getting at. “So this brings us to 36 hours ago”

“Be as thorough as you can” 

“So the Red Hood gave me those instructions to follow” You began. “I was to draw the attention of the authorities to me in a city wide chase. Now, I am rather good with a bike, that I won’t hide, but outrunning police and secret services? That was impossible. I still don’t know how they got there, but it saved me. He would have never dared to come into the melee to get me back, and risk getting caught”

“Was he not afraid you’d talk to us?” Baker asked. “That was a pretty big gamble”

“He thought I wouldn’t talk I guess, probably for the same reasons I stayed with him for all this time” You said, biting the inside of your cheek until it bled. You hated to think about these words. “Because I believed I loved him”

“I guess that wouldn’t be too far fetched” He hummed. “Wouldn’t be the first time we saw it happen”

You nodded, remaining silent. Baker made eye contact with Tanev, then looked into the reflecting glass. He took a deep breath and returned his attention to you. 

“We are going to get you back to the holding cell while we process this information” He said. “But once we do that, you’ll be free, and with a new identity if you wish, as your agreement states”

“Thank you” 

“Just one more thing before we wrap this debriefing” He leaned forward. “You must know his name"

“Of course” 

“Then what is it?” He asked. “What is the Red Hood’s name?”

You looked down, taking a deep breath, then back again, locking eyes with Baker. Then, you spoke. 

-- 36 hours later --

The sunset over the valley was gorgeous. The mixes of pink and orange on the yellowed sky was straight out of a fantasy world, and Jason couldn’t help but appreciate the scenery. It was soothing, like it could swallow up his anxiety at least for a minute or two. He leaned on the wooden ramp, the sightseeing roadside station seeming not so cheesy at the moment.

He only tore his eyes from the burning sun when he heard a motorcycle approach from behind. He pushed himself off the ramp and faced the sleek black bike--the lack of use on it showing him it was brand new--then, the driver with a black tinted visor. 

You took off your helmet and smiled at Jason’s stern expression, whose eyes showed relief anyway. You turned off your bike and parked it, then got off and walked to him. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” 

You walked past him and leaned on the ramp he had been on moments ago, and he joined you. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered you one. He lit up both with his lighter, and you took a long draft before speaking. 

“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice” You smirked, bumping your shoulder to his. “I did save your sweet ass, after all”

“I thought we agreed not to do that” He glanced at you sideways. His annoyance was also mixed with playful disbelief, like he both wanted to throw you off the cliff you were admiring the view from and do celebratory shots with you. 

“We did” You nodded, chuckling. “But circumstances changed. You weren’t out by the time I reached the monument, so I had to draw them away from you, or we would not be having this conversation. ”

“Still” He tilted his head to the side, before his head snapped in your direction. “Wait, did you call the secret services after yourself?”

You shrugged half heartedly. “Mayhaps” Your lips curved upward, while he shook his head. “I mean, it kinda was my fault too. I misplaced the bomb and it barely detonated. I had to flip to plan B, then they shot my bike. They had me surrounded, and my it was running low on life, so I skipped directly to plan fuck this”

“So you gave yourself up”

"Played the victim, pretended I wanted to exchange information on you for my freedom” You sighed, taking a drag of your cigarette. “None of which was relevant enough for them to even get close to you, worry not”

“They must have asked for a name” He hummed, now turning his full body toward you. “What did you tell them?”

“My grandpa’s name” You snorted. “He died two decades ago. Let me tell you, when they found out the last update on him was in the necrology of the 2001 Sunday paper, they were not happy campers”

“Then how did you get out?” He squinted his eyes.

“Oh, do not underestimate me, sweetheart” You grinned. “I’ve spent my whole career getting to know the buildings and the procedures for people like me. It was a piece of cake”

You were escorted out the interrogation room and into the small, yet cozy holding cell. You were on the clock, because the lies you’ve slipped into your story would unravel pretty quickly once they discovered that the name you gave them was a farce. Then, you wouldn’t be put in a minimal security room, but probably somewhere way less fun. 

“Hey wait” You called after the guard before he could close the cell door behind you. He paused his actions, waiting for you to speak up. “This wasn’t there last time”

He frowned and took a few steps into the cell, trying to spot over your shoulder whatever you were talking about. When he didn’t see it, he got closer and closer until he was all the way into the cell. “What wasn’t there before?” He asked, annoyed. 

You smiled. “You” 

With a quick jab of your elbow behind his head, he fell down unconscious on the floor. You grabbed his keycard and exited the cell, locking the guard in. You winked at the camera on the upper left corner of the hallway and made your way down to the garages as the alarms blared through the whole building. That meant it entered lockdown, closing all the escape routes. But you had your own fool proof plan.

Agent Baker began swearing when the hallway was plunged into the red glow of the lockdown alert. It hadn’t taken long for him to figure out you had led them in circles, and he had appeared a fool in front of his colleagues when he proudly revealed the name of a long deceased old man instead of anything tangible. He had been on his way to your cell when he realized the depth of this foolery, understanding you had been stalling them for this opportunity. 

“Sir, we are reporting engine noises in the garages”

“Fuck” Baker shouted, pushing the other man aside. Tanev was a step behind, his weapon drawn. They had stored your bike there, you must have gone back for it. “All units report to the garage, we’re having a break out. I repeat, all units to the garages”

They all flocked to the lower levels, ready to enforce the barrages at the doors and trap you with no exit. It was an excellent execution of emergency measures, but they definitely weren’t prepared for what came next. As they kicked the storage unit of your motorcycle, they came face to face with the bullet ridden bike with no driver in sight. Baker lowered his gun, squinting his eyes. Then, they widened comically as the dark smoke coming out of it and the strong smell of gasoline registered in his brain.

“Motherfucker” He spat. “Everybody out!” 

Seconds later, it exploded.

“You’re unbelievable” Jason scoffed, shaking his head. However, he now had a full blown grin to match yours. “I gotta give it to you though, blowing up your bike as a distraction was smart. Balls of fucking steel”

“Of course it was!” You replied, then reached in your pocket for your phone. “And it’s not even the best part, look”

You unlocked your phone and passed it to him, showing him your most recent picture of the CIA’s chief of operation dead with a letter opener through his neck. His eyes widened. “You got Preston?”

You turned around from your position, now leaning back on the ramp with your elbows resting on it. “The bike opened a window big enough for me to get the target” You said, finishing your cigarette and disposing of it in the ash bin on your right. “And with all those idiots guarding an empty garage, t’was easy enough”

“After all this time, you’re still impressing me” He nodded, holding up his fist. “Good fucking job”

You bumped your fist sideway with his, laughing at his baffled expression. The sky was getting darker and darker by the minute, but the air was still warm. You could hear the crickets in the high grass, and the silence was a peaceful one. You could admit that you had cut it close this time, that this gamble could have very well turned to shit, so you just took a moment to let the pressure slip away from your muscles, at least for now. You had the time to smoke another cigarette before you spoke.

“So now what?” You hummed, looking up to the bright stars above your head. “Markstrom’s ring is no more, and I’m pretty sure I not only lost my job by pulling that stunt, but also bought myself a ticket on at least three intelligence services’ most wanted list”

“Well, that’s nothing a good ol’ fake death can’t fix” He shrugged. “But until we find the right moment for your tragic public demise, I’m sure we can manage to find on our own some domestic assholes to beat up. What do you say?”

You met eyes with him, then raised your eyebrows. “I say let’s get to it”

[codylabs]

December’s Wrath

Chapter 1

It hadn't been a simple decision to leave California and his family and his sister to go spend the holidays in Gravity Falls with Wendy. But that was the decision he had made, and by the time he was really starting to question whether or not it was the right one, he had already crossed the state line into Oregon, and the rumble of the bus's engine had lulled him halfway to sleep. Thoughts like his parents' and his grandparents' disappointment at his absence, thoughts like Mabel wishing he could be there to see her new Hanukkah sweater, thoughts like the price of the bus fare, thoughts like the incomprehensible breadth of miles increasing between him and home, thoughts like the knowledge that the Corduroys had 'apocalypse training' instead of any kind of holiday celebration, thoughts like he wasn't prepared, thoughts like high clouds and dark trees and rare sun, these were the thoughts drifting through his head. Thoughts like he was right. Thoughts like he was wrong.

It was a starless night outside the bus, so all he could see beyond the window was a foot and a half of whirling snowflakes, and his own reflection, both layers tinted a grim color by the bus's pinkish interior lights. Crystals of frost were growing on the outside of the window, his breath was condensing on the inside of the window, and he was fast asleep a minute later, and his dreams were sad and lonely and brave and cold, cold, a terrible and cutting cold that pierced to the bone, clawed like an eagle's talons. His dream was a walking dream, while Wendy called him forward and Mabel called him back. The wind was calling too, but not in any specific direction. It just called.

The dawn came around 8:00, he woke up around 8:30, the bus left him at the stop around 9:00, and Wendy met him around 9:01. He almost didn't recognize her at first, beneath the layers of unfamiliar winter clothes, the gloves twice the size of her hands, the grey jacket and the baggy pants. It was only her face by which he identified her, peaking out from the middle of the hood. There was a light in her eyes and a smile on her lips, and he only barely had time to recognize her before she grabbed him in a hug and lifted him off the ground. "EEEEEYY It's good to see you man!" She hollered as she twirled him around. Her words were drowned out for a split second by the hissing of the bus's brakes as it moved off down the road. "How's it been going?"

"It's been going good!" She hugged her back until she set him back down. His backpack threatened to tip him over as he landed but he managed to catch himself. The ground was icy. He took a deep breath of the chill air as he shrugged the pack higher onto his shoulders and tightened the straps. "Good to see you too! I've really been missing this place! And, uh, and you, and everyone. How about you? How have you been?"

"Oh, same, you know how it is!" She punched him in the shoulder. Her breath crystallized in the air in front of her smile, and for just a moment, she looked to him like the most beautiful thing in the world. "Same as last time you were here, same as last time you called, same... I mean, what changes, man? School still sucks, weather still sucks, life's going great."

"Mood." He agreed, even though school had never really sucked that much for him, and the weather wasn't too bad, was it? It had stopped snowing, at least. "Anyway, I packed as best I could, I got my whole winter... Outfit. On." He gestured inclusively to his heavy jacket, heavy boots, three pants, and gloves, and took some reassurance that she was dressed similarly. "And uhhh toothbrush and sleeping bag and stuff. Is there anything else I need? I've never gone hiking in the winter."

"Nah, you're good. And if you're not, don't worry, we don't set out until after breakfast, and dad'll get you squared away once we get to the house." She led the way toward the Corduroy truck, parked on the roadside. "You got a change of clothes at least?"

"Yeah."

"Eh." She gave a dismissive shrug as they climbed into the truck. "You'll be fine." She was right, she was wrong.

As Dipper tossed his backpack into the back seat and made to close the door, his vision was almost completely obscured for a moment as a gust of wind pushed the vapor of his exhale back into his face. He blinked for just a moment, almost startled, and then as his breath dissipated, his eyes landed on the forest.

The forest.

It was the same forest he'd known before. The same valley, the same cliffs, the same mountains, same dome, same trees, same grass and ferns, he recognized that bend in the road, and that sign, and that water tower. But at the same time, this couldn't be the same place. Could it? The old woods were green, green and brown, and crowned with gold beneath a blue sky. These woods were grey. Grey within grey, grey as pale as snow on the fingertips of the trees and grass, grey as dark as night in the spaces beneath. The sky was grey too, no blue, no shapes of clouds, no penetrating ray of sunshine, all the world stood as if encased in prison.

It was beautiful, to be sure. Beautiful as art. But Dipper couldn't shake the nonsensical feeling that the bus had taken him to some alternative reality, some timeline where the bombs had dropped or the sun had gone out or time had frozen, that his eyes were seeing some grim warning vision and not reality. As he gazed out at that sight that used to look like a playground or a second home or some magnificent untold adventure waiting to happen, he thought, at this moment, that it looked something more like an enemy; a world-sized monster, some overbearing rival of mankind itself. He found himself sizing it up.

As Wendy watched him doing so, watched his eyes travel the landscape with a look so needlessly grim and fearless, for just a moment, he looked to her like the most handsome thing in the world. "Eh, I guess the weather's not so bad." She shrugged.

"...Yeah." He finally climbed fully inside and closed the door. "Not so bad at all." He was right, he was wrong. They rolled off down the road, toward the tall old woods where the Corduroy cabin lay hidden.

Dipper had been expecting some sort of grim, apprehensive, even frightened mood when they entered the house, (the whole 'apocalypse' motif having prepared him for the worst) but was pleasantly surprised to find the place full of laughter. Dan was bent over the stove cooking pancakes and shoveling nuts into bags, while the boys zipped around the house with their backpacks, thinking and rethinking and packing and repacking. Conversation loud and boisterous filled the air, about past trips and future trips and present trips, about weather and trees and old campfire stories and whatever else lumberjacks and mountain men talk about. Wendy joined right back in with it too, reminding her dad to bring the jerky, telling her brother to find the radio, getting told by another brother to bring an extra jacket, and all five of them were arguing about whether one person should carry all the toilet paper, or whether they should all bring their own, or whether they should just rough it off the land and wipe with leaves.

Somehow, though was no tree in the house, and no presents or decorations or cookies or little colored lights either, something about the joy and the togetherness of it all struck Dipper as belonging to a Christmas mood.

"YOU." Dan boomed down in Dipper's direction. He spun with a start to look up into the enormous man's face. "You got a knife on ya, boy?"

"Uh y-yeah. Got one right here." He nodded.

"Got matches?"

"Nope."

"You'll need matches." Dan tapped one enormous finger on a paper on the fridge; a packing list. "Need all this on here. Ask Wendy if you don't know where anything is."

"Awesome. Okay." As Dipper joined the rush, a smile touched his face, and he began to suspect that this would be a good Christmas after all. Different, for sure, different of course, but it may not be so hard, it might not be so worse. This was family, after all, a very close and loving family, and when a family is close and loving, nothing that ever happens to it seems quite so bad.

And besides, Christmas was more than just presents and decorations, wasn't it? More than just a few colorful nonsense traditions. A lot more.

But without all that, what was it exactly?

They were all packed by the time pancakes were done (As they had to be. Part of the Corduroy tradition was to leave immediately after breakfast no matter what; in a real apocalypse they wouldn't have much more warning than that, after all.) With Wendy's help Dipper had managed to get packed with everything on Dan's list, all except for a compass; the family had only six, and the sixth wasn't for using. He'd just finished zipping up his pack by the time breakfast was ready. The warm smell drew them together into the kitchen, and they set in.

"What was your name again?" Dipper looked up from his pancakes to see Wendy's youngest brother frowning across the table at him, mumbling words through a full mouth.

"Dipper." He nodded, and realized he'd never actually talked with any of Wendy's brothers, and didn't actually know anything about any of them. "...I never got you guy's names?"

"I'm Gus." The 11-year-old pointed a pair of thumbs in his own direction. "I'm the cool one."

"And I'm Marcus." Said the 15-year-old, and extended a hand to shake Dipper's. "I'm the actual cool one."

"I'm Wendy." Said Wendy, not even looking up from her phone. "I'm your girlfriend."

"I'm Kevin." Said the 13-year-old. He glanced Dipper up and down. "I bet I could take you."

That took Dipper off-guard.

Wendy snorted.

"Hey, be nice." Marcus snapped. "He's a guest!"

"You be nice." Kevin retorted.

"Everyone fight!" Gus cheered.

"EVERYONE BE NICE!" Dan thundered.

Silence descended rather immediately. u could take him. Wendy texted Dipper under the table.

Not gonna try???? He texted back.

By 10:00 their packs and supplies were all stacked in the back of the truck, and they were underway.

By 10:30 the truck was parked and locked at the end of a narrow logging road, with six sets of footprints leading away from it, deeper into the woods.

That was Friday, the 20th of December. Next week on Wednesday would be Christmas. The very next day, Saturday, was the solstice, when the days would be the shortest of the year and the sun would be dimmest, and the things the light drives out would feel most free to rise.

By 11:00 they were out of range of the cell towers, and there was nobody who could help them.

The sun flared yellow through the briefest gap in the overcast sky.

The wind howled.

A tree broke and fell with nobody to hear it.

The spirit heard it.

[astralbulldragon13]

Fly Me to the Moon Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Espresso and Cloudy Sky

The smell of coffee and the annoying drone of the alarm clock is what awoke sixteen-year-old Kodi Masters in the early hours of that January morning. She growled under her breath as she rubbed at her sleep crusted eyes and ran her fingers through her reddish-brown curls. Her gray eyes, lined with crimson around the edge of the iris, were shadowed with exhaustion as she threw her legs over the edge of the bed, covered in white sheets and gray comforter. 

“Another day, another wish to shoot someone in the face.” Kodi grumbled as she smacked the button on top of her alarm with an angry glare on her face. “Including you.” She stuck her feet into her slippers and slung her gray  robe over her shoulders, then turned her head to her bedside table where her evening glass of water sat, three-quarter empty, next to a golden locket, etchings depicting interlocked hearts decorating it. She took it and wedged her thumb nail into the gap, opening it to reveal two faces. It was clear that they were both men; in the left half was a man with shoulder length brown similar to hers, and mahogany-colored eyes. On the right was a man with curly black hair down to his chin, and black glasses that Kodi couldn’t help but consider nerdy. His eyes were like hers, silvery-gray that drew the attention of anyone. Kodi smiled and ran her thumb over their faces. “Morning, dads.” She closed the locket with a click and held it to her lip, pressing a kiss to the cold metal that would be warmed up by her skin throughout the day as she clipped the necklace on. 

She yawned and stretched before standing, shuffling her way down the stairs of her loft and into her living room, the early morning light streaming through the wall of windows. She was really thankful that they were tinted on the outside, these studio loft apartments could be a nightmare on privacy. And rent, but since the  police were paying for most of her utilities, she didn’t have to worry so much. 

She was surprised they would do such a thing, but since she was able to trick her last foster guardian into signing a paper waiving their custody of her after sixteenth birthday. Then, with aid from her superiors in the force, she was able to put them away, and made sure that any other children in their care were taken to a safe new home. So, thank goodness for that. 

She made her way to the kitchen where her automated espresso machine was whipping up her cappuccino. Kodi sighed as she added a few teaspoons of sea-salt and caramel, sugar-free coffee syrup. She can’t help but add sweet to her coffee, she needed something with caffeine in it to kick start her day, but she couldn’t roll with the big dogs when it came to coffee by itself. She picked up her phone from its charging station next to the small radio in her kitchen and leaned against the counter, tilting her head upward towards the ceiling. “Alexa,” she called into the air, “Play Sinatra Playlist #5.” 

The lovely sound of jazz floated through the air as Kodi opened her phone to check over her notifications, reaching across the counter and grabbing her silver-framed reading glasses. It was going to be another cloudy, gray, snowy day in Northern Newport, Oregon when it comes to the weather. In the news, another big-shot actor was accused of assaulting some poor intern, and got away with it with barely a slap on the wrist. Typical. 

E-Mail notifications informing her that the police academy was holding a meeting with a prominent psychologist as well as a physician from overseas, some spam-mail, and a few documents with information and files for some of her ongoing cases. 

She sipped on her coffee as she tucked her phone in the pocket of her robe and popped a pair of toaster strudels into the toaster. She checked the clock, and saw that the hour had just struck 6:00 a.m. “Wonderful, six in the morning and not a call from the chief yet. Must be a blue moon.” There was a pop from the toaster as she tossed the strudel onto a small saucer and drizzled them with the frosting before carrying them to the couch, plopping down on the cushions and propping her legs up on an ottoman.

Her apartment was exceedingly minimalistic: No personalized photos, just a few framed classic movie posters that came with the place, same with all the furnishings. She is so used to moving around in the foster system that she doesn’t really see the point of having a lot of things. She sipped on her coffee and munched on her breakfast, closing her eyes and relaxing for a moment, when the playlist switched to a song that she didn’t remember being on her playlist before. She listened for a moment, her soul seeming to freeze at the lyrics. 

How can I be so sure? 

At a crossroads I’m afraid to

But I can’t let fear get the best of me

Someone once said

Burn my dread…

Kodi nearly dropped her coffee mug at the phrase, her heartbeat nearly beating out of her chest. “How… How do I know this song?” She stumbled into the kitchen and put her dishes to the dishwasher. The song had shaken her to her very core, before going into her bathroom. She needed to shower, to purge her body and mind of all this strangeness. 

The blazing hot water made her skin turn bright red as she scrubbed herself with coconut and lavender body wash, the scent was subtle and didn’t irritate her nose with an overly fruity perfume. After scrubbing her hair with some two-in one shampoo she stepped out of the shower and dried herself off, noting the scars littering her body and wincing . She wasn’t ashamed of them, per say, but it was embarrassing how many of them litter her body from foster parents, foster siblings, foster home officials, from fights with jerks in school. She sighed and looked away from the mirror as she reached into the closet and pulled out some clothes. A pair of wide leg slacks in dark gray, a white button up shirt, and a cardigan-style blazer with black compression socks. 

She brushed her curly hair and applied her daily makeup, covering her freckles and the shadows under her eyes. She added some neutral toned eyeshadow and mascara with some peach colored lip gloss before placing her glasses back on her nose. “Alright, better head in for the day.” She quickly ran back into her bedroom, grabbing her pistol from the bedside table and using a special holster to tuck it into the inside of her slacks so it was practically invisible under her coat. She grabbed her bag and made her way downstairs, hoping the trolley would be warm. 

[loyalty-auto-llc]

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[scribbling-stiks]

AAR - XIV - Reconcile

Russia relaxes back against the bed and fights back a yawn. He stares down at America, who sleeps soundly with tinted sunlight filtering through the curtains and onto his face. It illuminates his face in a way Russia couldn't describe.

Dumbstruck, Russia tenderly brushes a few strands of wet hair off America's face.

He tries to memorize the image.

America's cheeks are still flush with fever, but he had stopped shivering, which is relieving. Russia looks up again as a thought strikes him, snapping out of his daze, and he grabs his bag. He pulls it to his side and begins digging through it, looking for the little arctic fox he had taken to calling Katya. He pulls it carefully out of his bag and cradles it in his free hand.

The little thing sits in his palm, and he pets it with his thumb. The plush animal is fuzzy and white. Its eyes smile.

"Hey, what's that?" Arizona asks, pointing to Russia's hand.

"A little fox America gave me," Russia replies with a small smile.

"It's cute," Philippines comments.

"Yes, it is," Russia agrees, smiling.

'Maybe I could put it in my hat.'

He pulls his hat off his head and finds that only one of the pockets opens anymore. The stitching on the patch closed the second pocket. He shrugs.

'The patch looks nice. I don't use that pocket for much anyway.'

He tucks the plush animal into the right pocket, and its head peeks out from under the flap of the pocket. Then, one of the burner phones begins to ring. Philippines grabs it and fumbles for a second before answering.

"Hello?...Hi Dixie...Yeah, I'll hand it over to Russia...Papa is sleeping," Philippines says before handing Russia the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi Ruski. I was just checking in. How's everything going so far?"

"It is alright. We are stuck in a motel, and America is ill, but everyone is alright."

"Stuck in a motel?"

"Some things outside are waiting for us to open the door."

"Oh. Anything else?"

"America is sleeping right now."

"He has been actin' weird, right?"

"Yes. Conflict between his people and his government."

"God help him. Will he be alright?"

"He says he will be, but he is feverish. I worry for him."

"And thank the Lord you do, because I can't be there to do it for him."

"He says he'll be fine with more sleep."

"Did he sleep last night?"

"No. The knocking started an hour after we arrived."

"Well, sleep would do him some good. But y'all should try to leave by around noon. York-y says the place y'all stopped at is pretty sketchy, and y'all shouldn't be staying there for long."

"Okay."

"And you should probably call your dad if you haven't already."

"What?"

"'m sure Amy would be buggin' you about it if he wasn't sleepin', and if you're gonna be stuck for a while, so you should do it while you can. Sides, I'm getting kinda tired of taking calls from your family. Ain't no understandin' 'em when they're angry."

Before Russia can respond there is shuffling and a distance shout of "No! Sett!"

"Tell New Hamshire I said 'F*** YOU!'" Massachusetts shouts into the phone before cackling and the phone is audibly snatched out of his hands.

"Sorry 'bout the Mass-hole," New York says, an annoyed tone in his voice, "also, Oregon says hi."

"Tell him I say hello," Russia responds with a chuckle, "and tell Dixie that I agree and will call my family."

"You betta. They're some angry b******s," New York replies.

Russia opens his mouth to retort, but the call ends. He sighs and shakes his head with a good-natured smile. He pulls the phone away and dials the number for his father's home phone. It rings for a few moments before someone picks up.

"Hi! Who are you?" Alaska says. It startles Russia a little, but it does make him happy to know Alaska is okay.

"Hello, little one. It's Russia."

Alaska gasps. "YOU'RE OKAY! 'waii said you might not wake up."

"Yes, I am alright. Could you bring the phone to Soviet?"

"Yeah!" Alaska chirps, "Grandpa! Russia's calling! I think he's in his office."

Then he can hear her running through the house and kicking open the office door with a thud.

"Russia wants to talk to you."

There are some muffled noises as the phone is handed off.

"Hello?" Soviet says.

"Hi, Papa."

"Have you come to your senses?"

"I am not coming home. I can't."

"Why not?"

"They need me here. America's home has been ransacked and his country is dealing with a lot of turmoil. I need to stay here."

"That would not keep you from getting a plane ticket."

Russia feels annoyance bubble up his throat, but looking down at America causes it to fade. He takes a deep breath before continuing.

"It's dangerous for you to be there Russia," Soviet insists, "I know New York mentioned that you were getting close with America, but that is not a good reason to put yourself in danger."

"I'm already in danger!" Russia shouts before sighing, "Sorry. I should not be shouting. I am already here, and I'm with America and some of his children. We are trying to figure out what's going on and why. I'm not going to leave them without help and on the run. America can't trust his own government, and it puts his entire family in danger. Besides, we don't have enough money for a plane ticket. They are tracking us by paper trail and potentially by phone locations. It's too risky."

Soviet sighs.

"I'm sorry Papa, but I can't leave them. Not now. I won't let America or any of his states get hurt."

"I do not think this is a good idea."

"I have already made my decision."

"Fine," Soviet bites out, "but you will relay any information you find to me."

"Yes, Papa."

"Goodbye, Russia. Stay safe. Tell me if anything happens. You will come home safe."

"Okay, Papa. I will."

Russia hangs up the phone and sits back with a sigh.

"Texas! Give me the remote!" California shrieks.

"No! You already had your turn."

"You're just hogging the TV!"

California grabs Texas's arm and tries to wrestle it out of his hands. Texas falls back and carefully tries to kick her off. Russia sighs.

"Either give it to me or fight back!" California says.

"No! I don't want to hurt you!"

"I can fight you! Don't underestimate me!"

"I ain't hitting a girl!"

"Stop," Russia says, but the teens ignore him.

"*Stop! Stop fighting!* I will take the remote," Russia threatens.

California scowls and Texas smirks. California climbs off and crosses her arms. Texas holds the remote above his head with a proud smile.

"D***head," California sneers. Texas grins.

"Give it to New Hampshire," Russia demands, and Texas glares at him. Russia scowls right back.

"Fine," Texas grumbles, handing the remote over with a grimace.

Russia sighs and returns his attention to America, who had begun shivering. He pulls America up to his chest and holds him up by his shoulders. America begins to thrash against him, and pushes away. America sits up and gasps, his eyes wide. Russia offers his hands but gives America some space to calm down.

America takes a few shuddering breaths.

"They're okay. See, they are alright," Russia says, waving to the teens watching from the other bed.

America's head whips around and Russia watches as America scans them over for injuries. He turns back and stares down at Russia's hands. He reaches forward with shaky hands and takes them in a tight grip.

Russia takes deep breaths and America tries to copy him. America's shaky breathing finally calms down and he leans forward against Russia.

"Sorry for hitting you," America mumbles.

"It's okay. Everything is okay," Russia says reassuringly, "I'm here, they're here, everyone is here and okay."

"I know. I know," America mumbles.

They sit quietly together for a few moments before America begins to move closer to the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Russia asks curiously.

"Gonna see if those 'kids' are still there," America replies, pulling back a curtain. After a moment of peaking out the window, he drops the curtain.

"Russ, could you move the shelves back?" America asks, "They're gone. At least for now. Kids, start getting ready to go, okay?"

The teens nod and Russia walks forward and moves the shelves back to their original places. America tries to lift one of the mattresses, but Texas has to help lift it so New Mexico and Mississippi could retrieve the firearms and money hidden.

Russia opens the door and helps Philippines and Alabama pack luggage into the back of the truck. Wyoming trails behind them and begins snacking on some of the food in Delaware's car.

They finish packing up around 10:00 AM, and Russia takes one last look in the rooms for anything they may have forgotten. After looking through the bathrooms, under the bed, and flipping the mattresses, he collects a few stray socks belonging to the states before he walks out and sits in the driver's seat, and America sleeps in the passenger seat, one hand on the center console. Russia pulls out and Texas follows shortly behind. California takes the map, and she and Kentucky navigate Russia toward Denver.

They stop for gas an hour later, and Russia goes into a nearby fast-food restaurant to get food, drinks, and a few treats for the kids. He hands out the refreshments to the teens waiting in the car and truck. Then he gently shakes America awake.

"What's going on?" America mumbles.

"Hey, how're you feeling?" Russia asks.

"I've been better."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah."

Russia reaches in and places a hand on America's forehead.

'At least his fever broke.'

"I got some food for everyone. Do you want some?"

"Yeah, please," America replies, sitting up and accepting it with a grateful smile.

He scarfs it down and grins.

"Thank you. It's definitely better than the snacks we've got in the cars," America says with a smile.

Russia drives through the afternoon and into the evening without incident, America snoozing away in the passenger seat. Russia was admittedly getting tired from the driving and the lack of sleep last night, so it came as a relief that America woke up when the sun began to set and stayed up to keep him company through the night.

"When Ari was little, she used to sneeze flames. Flames!" America exclaims his hands in the air.

"Really?" Arizona asks enthusiastically.

"Yes. You won't believe how much paperwork I had to replace because of it," America says with a laugh.

"I was never close to any of my states. I'd meet with them occasionally, but only for political matters," Russia says with a shrug.

"Dad found most of us, right Dad?" Kentucky adds.

"Yup. You guys were a handful. Almost all of you were babies when I found you, and let me tell you, watching a dozen toddlers at once," America says, directing the last part to Russia with a smirk.

"How'd you find us?" Arizona asks.

"I thought I already told you this story."

"Well, I want to hear it again."

"Well, I've got a bit of a sense for it, I guess," America says with a shrug, "I guess it's kinda like I got a metal detector and compass in my head. I know the direction to look and relatively how close I am. I'd be riding horseback for days trying to bring you guys home safe."

Russia smiles, admiring his determination.

'I am so happy you are feeling better.'

~

Next

Previous

Table of Contents

[nautiscarader]

Wendip Week 6 - she loved him

(Ao3)

Dipper's heart was still racing, and even the cool, evening air in the forest around him wouldn't calm him down after the treacherous escape from the Shapeshifter. Leaning against the wooden log, he looked up, seeing the first stars blinking on the sky that was still tinted red and pink, and he was glad that he had the worst behind him.

And then his heart stung when he hear Wendy's soft grunt. She was towering over her, sitting on the log, and though she acted nonchalantly, her fingers toying with her hair showed her nervousness.

- So... are we gonna talk about this... or...?

There was no way of delaying it. With a heavy sigh, Dipper flexed his legs, and rose from his relaxed position. He sat next to her, and turned his head, meeting her gleaming, green eyes that reflected the last rays of the setting sun. In the fifteen years of his life (well, okay, fourteen and 11 months) he has never seen anyone as stunningly radiant, and for the last month he was blessed to live in the most blissful of dreams. And now he could feel that this dream would end, and he would have to swallow the bitter truth.

- Okay, look, Wendy, I... - he started, but words got stuck in his throat - I meant it. Every word. I do love you. But I know you probably don't, and I have been a fool to think that someone as cool and brave as you would ever- - Dipper.

Wendy's hand brushed his, and while he instinctively flinched, he let her fingers intertwine with his.

- I know it's been a bit awkward... - she looked away for a moment - Like, I always knew you had a crush on me... - You-you did? - dude, it was pretty obvious. - she chuckled. - It was the fact that I wanted to wear a suit once when we were going to meet, right? - Yeah, that was a big clue. I was expecting you to drop to your knee, man.

The forest around them filled with laughter, as they both remembered exactly what happened to the suit and how they had to explain to Grunkle Stan the damages caused by alligators in Oregon. But then, after a while the laughter died down, and Dipper continued.

- What I'm saying is... I don't want to lose a friend. And I nearly did lost you today. - he smiled - But I'm glad I told you how I feel, be-because I have never said that to any girl before...

Once more, he shied away from her and only after he finished, he looked at her, surprised to meet a smile on her freckled face.

- Well, I've never had to reject a love confession like this. - Wendy lifted her legs and sat cross-legged on the log - And... I'm not sure if I want to.

It was time for her to avoid Dipper's eyes, and his hopeful stare she could feel burning a hole in her right arm, as she dragged a stick in the small pile of sand on the ground.

- Like, I've never met a guy like you. I never thought I'd hang out with a... - ...a nerd? - Dipper finished. - I was gonna say "a dork". - she chuckled. - That is a fair assessment. - Oh yeah, "That is a fair assessment" indeed! - Wendy laughed and raised her arms and began moving them in synchronised, jittery motion - Affirmative, mistress. Does not compute! Destroy all humans!

The two laughed again, and Dipper had to secure Wendy's back so that she doesn't fall.

- Yeah, "The Seventh Stratagem from Saturn" was a good movie. I mean, horrible, but so good to make fun of. But you know what's the weirdest thing? They are gonna release it on the big screen again! Like, would people even watch it? - I don't know, I would. - Wendy commented. - Yeah, me too!

He spoke automatically, without realising how he sounded.

- Er, so... would- would you like to- - I would. - Wendy answered without hesitation.

She jumped to her feet, and offered Dipper a hand.

- Just don't go directly to my front door, I'll sneak through my window. - Why? - Dipper scratched his head. - My dad would rip your limbs when he'd hear the news that I've got a boyfriend. You coming?

It took a moment for Dipper to answer, and he rushed to meet her pace. After all, it was news to him as well.

[theobsessor1]

Curious Happenings

summary:  Thomas’s great grandfather has recently passed and in his will, he left his large house and giant sanctuary reservation attached to it to Thomas. Only Thomas comes to learn that it’s not quite as it seems, as every day it seems to get stranger and stranger.

pairings: none yet

Warnings: mild language Word count: 4089 co-written with my friend @i-crave-luck , if you wish to be added to the taglist let us know.

(previous chapters ch.1 )

Chapter 2 of Right Here by Your Side

Thomas groans, turning over to his back as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. Warm golden light leaks in from the window, lighting up the room. 

It takes a moment for Thomas to remember where he was as he sits up, confused, realizing he wasn’t in his old Florida home anymore but was in Oregon in his grandfather's home. A small meow catches his attention as the cat from yesterday sits at the door of the room, watching him.

“What? Are you hungry?” 

The cat meows again, more insistently this time, before trotting off. 

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Thomas gets up from the bed, wrinkling his nose at the fact he fell asleep in his clothes from the day before. Heading to his room, he takes some clean clothes from the closet before looking for the bathroom. Trying to remember where it was. 

The cat seems to glare at him, making an annoyed sound. 

“Okay, I get it, I’ll feed you in a sec. Unlike you, I can’t lick myself clean.” 

Thomas isn’t sure if he imagined it, but the cat seemed to be disgusted by this, turning around and haughtily leaving once again. 

Rolling his eyes he takes his time to shower, enjoying the warm water, washing away the anxieties of the previous day. He has time to think, a particularly distressing thought crossing his mind and causing him to pause in washing his hair, realizing he spent possibly the whole night with the giant cat in the bed...yet he’s fine? He usually has an allergic reaction to cats! Did he even remember to pack his epipen or pills?

He would have to check his room before going downstairs, maybe take the pills just in case when he finds them. Could a giant cat like that even be hypoallergenic? You would think not, with all that fur. 

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he finishes up his shower. Finding his small case he had stored his medicine in, taking out some pills before heading down the stairs. 

He’s wonderfully surprised by the scent of something good cooking. He goes down the stairs and pauses, shocked to see Logan in the kitchen making breakfast and humming quietly. The cat was happily sitting on the counter next to him, drinking from a mug that looked like one of the many from the upstairs bedroom they found the cat in yesterday.

Logan looked really different from yesterday, his skin strangely tinted green and ears extremely long and pointed. When the light hits his eyes they would almost appear to glow. 

Thomas took a few steps closer in awe and confusion, though honestly he should be probably questioning how he got back in the house instead of his new appearance. “Logan?” 

Logan jumps slightly, turning to Thomas with wide eyes and brandishing a wooden spoon. “Oh, Thomas! Apologies, I hadn’t noticed you come in. You are wearing a protective charm, correct? That would explain why I appear to have trouble sensing you.” Logan grabs a plate from behind him, handing it to Thomas, stacked with scrambled eggs and wild berries. “Now that you are here you must eat up, there is a lot of work to do to get this place back into proper shape, and I hope we can start as soon as possible.” He sets a plate in front of the cat, snatching away the mug, to its annoyance.

“Oh, uh, thank you, uh, what exactly is there to do?” Thomas asks, bewildered. What did he mean by protective charm, or this talk of sensing him? Logan’s ear twitches, catching his attention. 

“Well, how much do you know?” Logan has begun cleaning up the utensils he used for cooking, and now that Thomas looks around, the whole kitchen looks a lot cleaner. 

“Well, uh, depends what you mean.” Thomas shakes his head. “Okay, wait a moment. Could you explain why you look like that first?” 

Logan pauses in his cleaning, tilting his head to look at Thomas, eyes glinting. “What do you mean? I am an elf, this is how we naturally look.” He squints at Thomas, metaphorical wheels turning in his head. “Thomas, what do you believe Alkwin did here?” 

“He took care of hurt or displaced animals, right? I don’t-- I don’t understand, elves aren’t real, those are all just in movies and books.” 

That cat makes a sound akin to laughter behind Logan, causing the elf to turn to him with a glare. “Remy, this is not a humorous matter. If you will not help, then I must ask you to leave.” 

The cat huffs, taking the time to stretch before hopping off the counter and wandering off. 

Thomas can’t help but feel nervous when Logan turns his dark gaze back onto Thomas with a sigh. “I assure you the Elven race is real, among many other creatures and legends. Please tell me you know something about this? Had Alkwin, or your parents, ever spoken of such things to you at all?” 

Thomas takes a moment to process how strange the cat was acting and Logan’s information before registering the question. “Uh, well, I remember being told stories as a kid, sorta. It’s a bit hazy. But my parents adamantly disapproved of all that, especially after...Well, after they stopped letting me come around.” Thomas rubbed his knuckles on his chest self consciously before forcing his hand back down. The prominent scar across his shoulder blade and arm itches, reminding him that it’s still there. 

Logan glared at the counter top, grumbling something in another language. If Thomas were to guess, it was probably some not-so-nice things. “I can’t believe your parents would raise you to such naivety, your mother was mostly raised here, like you were to be! Growing up knowing the truth!” He shakes his head, closing his eyes with a huff. “To have locked you away from such knowledge and your own family like that is disgusting.” 

Thomas clears his throat awkwardly. “Okaaaay, but you can’t possibly be an actual elf right? You’re just pulling my leg?” 

Logan glances up, looking deeply into his eyes, taking a deep breath to cool his temper. “I am not ‘pulling your leg,’ I am serious. Alkwin helped creatures, yes, but not just ordinary ones, he helped all range of creatures, magical and supernatural alike... Myself included.” 

Thomas blinks, brows furrowing. “But...they can’t possibly exist?” 

“Yes, they do! I am standing right in front of you, clearly not human!” Logan groans in annoyance. “Alright, alright. This is fine, we can go out and show you a few things to help bring your fragile human mind to peace with this. We can use this to start teaching you proper etiquette and care with creatures around here.” He grumbles.

Thomas nervously spoons some eggs into his mouth as Logan starts mumbling more to himself. This morning has been all kinds of strange. 

The cat, Remy, jumps onto the kitchen bar next to Thomas, startling him. He hadn’t heard the cat return. He might need to buy him a bell so that doesn’t keep happening. Remy was most likely seeking attention if anything from yesterday was to go by, the attention hog. But Thomas was happy to provide, petting the cat as he finished his breakfast. 

“Very well, I believe I have come up with the best course of action. You will accompany me to check on the calmer creatures to help ease you into all this and your role as caretaker. We will be leaving as soon as you’re ready.” Logan looks at him expectantly.

He freezes, mind turning blank “Oh, uh, should I bring anything? Or change?” He asks awkwardly.

“You will want to be adequately dressed for traipsing around the forest. A dagger would not hurt.” Logan suggests coolly, before turning to leave. “I’ll be out back waiting for you, do hurry. I like to keep to a schedule.” 

“Wait! Why would I need a dagger?” 

“Well, it is better to be safe than sorry as that saying goes, correct? There are many creatures that inhabit the forest and not all are friendly, though I doubt they’d attack with me around.” 

Thomas watches as he leaves, feeling his anxiety grow. It would be fine right? They would be safe? He forces himself to take a deep breath, it will be okay. He isn't a scared little kid anymore, he’s not some easy prey like he was back then. He can handle the woods. 

He probably didn’t need to change? Wearing jeans and tennis shoes would be enough, and he hadn’t exactlly packed much of his closet, so he would have to wait for the rest of his wardrobe that's packed away in the moving truck that’s on its way. That would be alot of unpacking when it arrives...and probably a lot of rearranging too. 

Steeling himself for his adventure into the unknown, he leaves the kitchen looking for the back door, Remy silently at his heels.

He finds Logan standing at the border of the tree line, leaning against a tree, inspecting an arrow. He had equipped himself with a quiver full of arrows and a bow, along with several daggers strapped to his person. Where on earth did he get all that?

He looks up as Thomas approaches, an ear twitching. “Stay close and do not stray, we do not need you getting lost. If you do, Remy will keep you safe until I find you again.” He puts the arrow back in his quiver before heading down a slightly worn path into the trees. 

As Thomas follows Logan, he can’t help but notice how smoothly he seems to move and traverse through the forest, each of his movements precise. It was like the plants around him moved out of his way. 

He looks away, aware he might have been staring, focusing on not falling on his face. It’s wild wrapping his head around all this. “You uh, knew my grandfather right? Since you said you worked with him?” 

It’s silent for a moment, making Thomas question if he heard him before Logan finally responds. “I was a colleague of his, yes,” is the short clipped answer he gives. 

“Did you get to know him well? He was a pretty awesome grandfather and I had hoped he had some good friends that stayed with him, since most of the family kinda avoided him.” Thomas knows he may be starting to ramble but he can’t help it, feeling nervous out in the woods does that.  

Logan stops himself from turning around, jaw clenching slightly. “Possibly.” 

“If magical creatures are real? Then how come the entire world doesn’t know this?” Thomas could hear Logan huff in front of him. “ Simple, really. Most creatures keep hidden from humans or humans mistake them for other creatures, subconsciously refusing to believe them as real.” Logan turns his head to look at Thomas from the side of his eyes, baring his teeth frustratedly, slightly sharper than the average person. “You would know all this if your mother hadn't acted so rashly about a simple mistake-- disregard that.” He quickly cuts himself off, eyes widening, before turning his head back forwards to focus on where they were walking, speeding his pace. 

“Wait! Did you know my mom too?” Thomas attempts to clumsily speed up to walk beside Logan, who keeps silent. 

“You do, don’t you, you mentioned her earlier too!” 

“I will not admit to such things,” Logan hisses, moving faster. 

Thomas groans childishly with annoyance, stumbling a bit to try and keep up pace with the more nimble of the two. He was starting to sense a pattern with these conversations. It seems Logan liked to avoid talking about his folks. 

He cries out, tripping over a tree root. Unhelpfully, Remy sits in front of him with a light mew. “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” he states dryly, before flipping over to his back to catch his breath. 

He couldn’t hear Logan, so he could only hope he hadn’t kept walking without him. 

A chittering sound off to his left catches Thomas’s attention. What looked like a rabbit was peeking out of a burrow in the ground, under the tree roots. Keeping still to not scare it away, Thomas watches with awe as the animal skittishly comes out, its little nose twitching and sniffing. 

As it hops slightly out of its home, Thomas realizes with a start that it is not an ordinary rabbit. Mini antlers protrude from its head, and- oh my gosh are those wings! 

He has to keep himself from squealing, seeing something so cool as this. Oh gosh how cute would the babies of this thing look!

“That is a wolpertinger.” 

“Jesus!” Thomas jumps, startled by Logan’s sudden presence as he stands by his head. Thomas’s sudden exclamation and movement has scared the bunny creature back into its burrow. “Dude! Warn a guy before sneaking up on them!” He might need a bell for Logan too, gosh. 

“Apologies, I did not mean to startle you. I thought you were aware I was still here. We will have to work on your perception skills, it seems.” Logan offers a hand to help him up.

Thomas shakes his head, taking the hand. “It’s fine, uh, what did you say that thing was called?” 

Logan perks up, smiling slightly, happy to teach. “A wolpertinger, they are native to Germany, though many of them have been displaced and have been scattered about in sanctuaries to protect the species.” 

Thomas looks up to Logan, bewildered. “Wait, there’s more places like this?” 

“Yes, of course, sanctuaries like this are built all over the world. Many are disguised as regular sanctuaries, much like this one here.” Logan motions for him to follow as he talks. “Magical creatures around the world are often harmed or displaced in the modern day, with the ever expanding human race. Places like this allow for them to continue to live safely and usually within their native type of habitats, undisturbed by technology.” 

“Huh, that’s really cool. Like, it sucks to hear that they have to leave their homes but it’s pretty cool that my grandfather is one of those people that were helping them find somewhere safe.” 

“Indeed.” Logan steps through a curtain of leaves, glancing around at the trees scattering the area. 

Thomas doesn’t understand what he’s doing until the wood on the trees seems to ripple and shift. Small children, maybe young teen size begin, to separate from them, wandering over to Logan like little kids ecstatic for their parents to be home, even though they left only for a few hours.

They all seemed to be made of earth, skin dark and different shades of dirt, hair made of vines and leaves, eyes grey like stones. Logan welcomes them with open arms, crouching down slightly as they all hold tightly to his sleeves, bouncing about and seemingly speaking to him, though it was in no way that Thomas could understand. 

“Hm, yes, it is good to hear the population is rising. Though, we will have to be careful to watch the numbers, we don’t want them having too many kids now, no matter how adorable they are.” Logan tilts his head to another that’s wildly gesturing to him. “No, I believe it will rain later today, don’t worry your little heads about that.” He perks up, ears standing straight. “Oh yes, I brought someone along today.” 

Thomas gives a shy wave as all of them look at him “This is Thomas, Thomas say hello to the nymphs. They are nature spirits that live in most of the plant life found around the world.” 

“Uh, hello.” The nymphs are suddenly surrounding him, tugging at his clothes and touching his skin curiously, making a range of chattering sounds as they excitedly bounce around him like a gaggle of school girls. 

“Apologies for their wildness, there is not much one can do in manners when it comes to nature. They are just trying to get to know you, touch being one of the ways they primarily communicate with one another alongside gestures. I believe you humans have something similar called sign language, correct?” 

“Yeah, people with hearing impairments usually grow up learning it.” Thomas squeaks when one of them touches his butt, jumping away with a light blush. The nymphs collectively make a sound like a chorus of giggling. 

“Alright, that’s enough. Leave him be, you little heathens.” Logan fondly shoos the nymphs away from Thomas. “There’s a reason in myths why men would often be running after them, ugh, the little beasts will tease until you give chase before disappearing. A game of theirs that’s usually harmless but not everyone appreciates.” 

“I--” Thomas again jumps, a sudden ringing and buzzing from his pocket as his phone goes off. 

Logan flinches away, wide eyed. “What on earth is that?” 

“Shoot, I hadn’t realized I left that on.” Thomas sheepishly takes out his phone. Looked like Joan was trying to call and check on him, but the service didn’t look like it was going to cut it to make a functioning call. He can try texting him real quick. As he does this, Logan creeps closer till they are practically butting heads. 

“What is that?’ 

“Have you never seen a cell phone before?” Thomas peers at him after sending the text. 

“There is the telephone on the wall in the house, but I have never seen something like this, is this some kind of advanced  rune magic? No, that can’t be it, you humans don’t use magic anymore. Technology, then, correct?” 

“Uh, yeah, It’s technology, it’s like a mini computer in your hand, if that makes sense?” 

“Not really, I have no idea what a computer is.” 

“Oh.” 

Well, guess the first thing he is going to need to do to the house is get some proper wifi and a computer. He’s sure Logan would have a blast with the internet...Or possibly want to destroy it. It could go either way. 

A loud shriek goes off further in the forest drawing their attention. Logan stands straight, looking off to the distance and ears up twitching slightly. A few of the nymphs have appeared again, feverently chattering to him, looking upset. 

“There’s a problem, let’s go.” 

Shit! Thomas could hardly keep up with his long legs as Logan runs expertly through the woods. He has nocked his bow, that can’t be a good sign. 

Going a bit further into the woods, the trees noticeably becoming much larger as they traverse to a large clearing, finally slowing down, Thomas leans against a tree to catch his breath as Logan continues on ahead. Remy went with him without a second glance. In the clearing stood three gryphons, all looking rather disgruntled and upset, screeching at each other angrily. 

Logan raises a hand towards them, giving a sharp whistle to announce his presence. Each of them turn to him with more angry sounds. “Shush, what's got you all upset? Shouting amongst yourselves will solve nothing.”

They ruffle their feathers unhappily, trilling restlessly at him. Thomas approaches slowly, he’s watched Harry Potter, he knows how this works. Of course, that doesn’t make it any less scary when the giant angry creatures turn their gaze to him. 

“Thomas, I suggest you don’t come any closer. Gryphons can be quite-- what are you doing?’ 

Thomas cautiously bows to the gryphons, feeling a bit ridiculous as he glances at them. Everyone is staring at him.

Logan watches with surprise as the gryphons bow back, puffing out their chests and pleased with this show of respect as they straighten. “What? You said you didn’t know anything about magical creatures!” 

He chuckles abashedly. “Ok, well, um, I don’t really, I just remember a few things that Hagrid said in Harry Potter, that gryphons should be treated with high respect was one of them.” 

The gryphons seem to like this response, chirping happily. Logan looks rather bewildered. “I don’t know who this Hagrid or what Harry Potter is, but you just earned their undeniable respect easily! That takes years to earn!” Logan frowns, putting a hand to his chin. “I will need to study this man you speak of later, he seems to have a good knowledge of magical creatures.” 

“I’d be glad to show you the movies sometime.” 

Logan furrows his brows, opening his mouth to ask a question when something bursts from the tree line, screeching furiously, causing Remy to yowl  loudly in alarm. “Fuck!” 

The gryphons shriek angrily, stomping and flapping their wings at the new creature in the area. It seemed to be a deer-like creature, covered in shimmering teal and gold feathers. It’s hind legs ended in wickedly sharp talons that it dug into the ground. It had a gorgeous peacock tail that it spread angrily, stomping its hooves and throwing its head, showing off it’s antlers. It screeched at the gryphons again, baring too-sharp teeth and flapping it’s gleaming wings. 

“Thomas, I suggest heading home as I try to get this peryton back to its proper territory,” Logan says calmly as he nocks an arrow back, shooting it to the ground near the creature’s feet, startling it in the opposite direction a few steps, flapping its wings some more with an angry, spooked snort.

“But--”

“Go!”

Thomas’s breath catches in his throat, watching Logan and the gryphons continue to shepherd the creature back towards the trees. He feels Remy rubbing against his leg, insistently, glancing at the cat before he can find himself move again and do as he is told. 

Hurriedly, he follows Remy back, hardly paying attention to the trees as they rush past him. His lungs shudder harshly with the need for oxygen as he runs, having been quite far from the house. When he makes it back to the house he quickly shuts the door, leaning his back onto it as he steadies himself. Taking extra care to take deep breaths and calm his heart rate. 

His scars seem to burn with the memories that seem to be taking joy in torturing him at the moment, brought back by the startling encounter. 

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. 

Wait a moment, that burning wasn’t just in his head. Reaching under the collar of his shirt, he takes out the small amulet he always wore. When he was younger, after the accident in the woods his grandfather had given it to him, promising it would keep him safe. It had originally been his, taking it from around his neck to give to Thomas. And so Thomas had kept it, always wearing it for good luck, in a way. 

He’d never suspected it was anything other than an old locket, though by what Logan said, it seemed to be more. 

Curiously, Thomas held it in his palm. The metal of the locket seemed to be heating up a bit and glowing a slight red. Something scratched at the door and he turned. It was probably Remy, right?

Something stopped him from opening the door though, a cold feeling of dread as he spots Remy a few feet away, fur raised, baring his teeth and hissing. 

He doesn’t move, holding his breath he hears something breath heavily outside with a strange inhuman noise. If it were Logan he would have spoken up and attempted to open the door to just come in, he reasoned.

The amulet burned in his hand, pulsing as the red glow grew stronger. He winces, dropping it and letting it fall to rest back around his neck again, the burning smothered slightly by the fabric of his shirt. There are more scraping sounds from outside before it goes silent. Remy quiets down, still wary.

The amulet slowly cools and loses its glow.

Whatever had followed him seemed to have left. He found himself too frightened to turn and check the window, for fear it may be there. Remy comes over to him and mrowed. 

He waits a moment more, just to be sure whatever creature that had been there was gone before finally taking a desperate breath of air and sliding to the ground with relief. Remy happily plops himself into Thomas’ lap, butting his head against his chin. 

He’s going to need to talk to Logan about that when he returns. 

Unaware of the old claw marks in the door frame, left by that very creature long ago.

[lisaofcypher]

My Home (A Dream SMP fan novel)

Once there were two orphan boys, with no where to call home but each other, until one summer trip to a weird town in Oregon, US. From strange disk journals, mystery authors, time traverlers, zombies, amnesiac half endermen half ghast people, hybrids, and teenage angst, with demons thrown in as well, looks like this summer will have more in store then they thought.

(Summary is poor, but try the first chapter, it explains the plot better. Loosely inspired by Gravity Falls)

Episode One- A Mystery in Vinyls

Episode One- Having Disk sounds great

Tommy’s leg bounces up and down, hitting the metal floor of the bus. 

“Are you nervous, Tubs?” Tommy asks, looking out the window as they pass a bunch of pine trees.

Tubbo sighed, “A bit, yeah.”He paused for a moment. “You?”

Tommy smiles. “Of course not? I have two brothers and a dad! That’s awesome!”

Tubbo only smiled, a hint of sadness in the air. It was common knowledge between the two that for whatever reason, Tubbos parents had left him on the side of the road, and if it wasn’t for a random couple driving by and noticing him, he’d be dead by now.

Just the thought made Tommy shudder.

“I hope he has great music taste!” Tommy.riM. “Maybe he knows some hot girls.” He winks.

Tubbo sighs, “Are girls all you think about?”

“I also think about drugs!”

“You disappoint me.”

“I know!”

“Next stop, L’Manburg!” The bus driver yelled, breaking up the conversation.

“That’s our stop,” Tommy exclaims, getting his bags.

Tubbo inhales quickly, grabbing his own small backpack. It was full of clothes and a bunch of pollen and nectar for his weird obsession with bees. There were over 500 different species of bees living in Oregon.

Tommy was never gonna hear the end of it.

As they walked off the bus, thanking the bus driver politely, they were greeted by a guy with a beanie and a JD style trench coat. He was leaning against a pole, looking like a classic stoner.

“Hey,” he says, shrugging, clearly not too bothered by actual emotions. 

Tommy was shocked, no gasps, no hugging and crying about how their baby brother came home. 

Instead he got, “You look scrawnier than I expected.”

Wow.

That’s nice.

“Who are you?!” Tommy snaps, accusingly. How did he know this was his older brother anyway? He could be some weird stranger.

“Wilbur Soot, your older brother.” He replies, casually.

“Huh, my last name is Soot…” Tommy mumbles to himself.

“No shit, we’re family,” Wilbur sighs, as if Tommy had made the worst joke in existence, as he begins leading the boys , quietly through a trail in the forest.

“Who’s this, your boyfriend?” Wilbur asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Tubbo quickly shakes his head.

“Is he mute?” Wilbur asks.

“‘No, he’s not mute, and he’s my best friend, my brother even,” Tommy defensively spats.

“Then why isn’t he talking?”

“He doesn’t like talking in front of strangers.”

“Uh huh,” Wilbur rolls his eyes. He continues to walk down until they get to a small clearing, to a shack with the name “Mystery Carava.”

Next to it there was a road, with cars leaving and driving in.

“We could have walked down the road instead of hiking!?” Tommy asks, panting. He was this close to smacking Wilbur.

Wilbur smirks. “I prefer the scenery trail.”

“This is it? Why is it called the Mystery Carava?” Tommy asks, looking up at the weird van looking shack.

“The N fell off,” Wilbur shrugs, walking inside and gesturing for the boys to come in.

Inside there was a guy fixing up a bear statue. He saw the boys and ran over.

“You’re here!” He exclaimed. “I’m Philza Soot, but you can call me Phil.” He smiles. He has blonde hair like Tommy’s but longer, and  wears a green cloak. Is it a family trait to have a fashion sense?

“Well I’m Tommy! And this is my best bud Tubbo!” Tommy grins, pulling an arm around his best friend, who smiles sheepishly.

“Oh well, I see you’ve met my son, Wilbur, hope he wasn’t too rude,” Phil laughs awkwardly. “His twin, Techno, is out getting some meat for dinner.”

Both boys look at each other. “Ready to see your room?” Phil winks.

The room is small, with a window in the middle and two beds against the two walls. It was in the attic. 

Tommy takes the red bed instantly, jumping on it and laying out all his stuff. Tubbo takes the tree covered bed, leaving his suitcase by the bed, not bothering to unpack it right now.

“Wanna go explore the forest?” Tommy asks, looking out of the window at the forest looming around the shack.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean- it seems kind of dangerous-“ Tubbo mumbles, not wanting to get himself in danger on the first day.

“Exactly! What if it has like a 

 that we can 

” With that, Tommy grabs Tubbos arm and drags him out of the room and down the stairs.

The forest is beautiful, especially with the nice tint of the sunset. 

“Tommy, it’s getting late, can we please go home?” Tubbo mumbles.

“Do you want to be a pussy?!” Tommy glares.

Tubbo shrinks. “No, sorry.”

Tommy keeps running  until he tripped over a branch and hit his shoulder on a tree.

“Are you okay, Toms?!” Tubbo cries, running over.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He brushes himself off, grabbing his shoulders. “That was really hard for a tree…”

“Well maybe cause you ran into it!?” Tubbo exclaims.

“Or maybe…” Tommy looks at the tree, feeling it. “It feels like metal.” He turns to Tubbo, who walks over, playing with the sleeve of his green sweater.

“Hm,” Tommy looks all around the tree, before finding a button, pressing it excitedly.

The metal part opens, lifting, showing...

“Disks?” Tommy asks, grabbing them immediately.

“What are you doing? What if it’s booby trapped?” Tubbo snaps.

“Or it’s just disks. What are they?” He brushes his fingers along the black circle. There were two disks in here.

“Maybe we should go home, see if Phil has any way to play them?” Tubbo suggests.

Tommy sighs, looking up at his best friend, then at the darkening sun, “Yeah, you’re right,” he says as he begins walking. Then he realizes something and stops “Hey, Tubs?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember the way back?”

After what feels like a lifetime of walking, they reach the caravan.

“I don’t get why it’s called a caravan, it’s not even a van!” Tommy complains as he walks in.

There was Phil, frowning, with Wilbur sitting by the cashier desk, his legs resting casually on it.

“Where were you?” Phil asks accusingly, having clearly already the role of 

“Out in the forest?” Tommy exclaims, shrugging.

“Do you know how late it is? Couldn’t you have sent me a text or something?!” Phil asks.

“We don’t have phones.”

“Told me where you were going?”

“We didn’t think we needed to.”

Phil sighs, walking closer to the boys, “I know you two grew up without a father… but I’m here now. You- you need to tell me where you are. I don’t know if you can take care of yourself, like Techno. Please, boys, work with me, and I’ll work with you. I know the system isn’t kind, and you’re not used to having anyone but each other, but I swear to you, I’m not leaving you, just please stay safe and work with me here.” He rests his hands on both of the boys’ shoulders.

Tommy looks down at his feet. “Fine, but we both know this arrangement is temporary,” Tommy says before walking upstairs.

“Tommy-“ Phil tries, but Tommy is already gone.

Tubbo begins following, but Phil grabs his shoulder, pulling him back.

“Hey, Tubbo, I- I know you’re not related to Tommy or me, but you’re just as much my son now, as he is. You’re a Soot. I promise.” Phil smiles.

Tubbo blinks. “Thank you, Phil,” he says, then walks up.

It was the first time Tubbo had talked to them.

——— ———

“So, I found a disk player in the storage room, I hope Phil won’t mind us stealing this,” Tommy says, bringing in an old disk player and dropping it on his bed.

Tubbo looks up at him. “What if the disks are haunted and we summon an evil demon?”

“If that happens, that’d be like, really fucking awesome, ya know?”

He hooks up the disk player and puts in the disk, connecting it to a speaker.

“Audio log one, side A. It’s been a year since I moved to L’Manburg,” the voice on the speaker says. It sounds familiar, but Tommy can’t put his finger on it.

“And in all my time researching the strange fantastical elements of the town, I never could have expected this. The town has strange mystical elements, ones I can describe but not exactly explain. Just yesterday I saw a giant bee that was purple! That’s not how bees work! Trust me, I know a lot about them. Kind of an obsession of mine. My brother keeps telling me to relax, stop looking into these things. But I won’t. I will get to the bottom of this. This town could be the key to figuring out why I have these horns.” As he says that, Tubbo jolts up, touching his own horns. “He’s like me?”

“My goal for this week is to see if I can help my friend and restore his memory. Perhaps his half enderman nature could have something to do with it.”

“Half endermen? But those don’t even exist!” Tommy yells.

“I hope my brother understands…. He’s always been a loud guy, and I love him, but... at least my new friend is kinder to me. Alas, I must get going, before P gets annoyed and sends T after me. Until next time, my precious disks.”

And that’s when Tommy stops it.

“Oh my god….” Tubbo mumbles, stunned.

“This guy is a total nutcase!” Tommy snaps.

“How are you so sure?” Tubbo asks.

“Look at the guy, he’s talking about endermen and purple bees! That’s not even possible!”

“Maybe not…” Tubbo sighs, he can't help but relate to this mysterious man, with his horns and love of bees.

“What are you guys doing with my disk player?” A voice asks, and they look up and gasp.

It’s a young man with a pink braid who is wearing a white tunic with a red jacket, and has red eyes….

It must be Techno.

“Uh…. hi! I’m Tommy!” Tommy shoots up.

“Yeah I got that part.”

“We just wanted to play some disks we found in the forest!” Once again, Tubbo facepalms at his brother’s lack of a filter.

“You found disks in the forest?” 

“Yeah! In some weird tree compartment!”

“That’s interesting, look, next time ask me, or I’ll make sure you won’t even be able to grab it.”

Oh great, this guy is threatening violence.

“Why are your eyes red?” Tommy asks.

“Uh, contacts,” Techno quickly responds.

Those eyes look far too real for contacts, but Tommy drops it, not wanting to anger the man any further.

“Anyway, welcome. Try not to die.” And then he leaves, closing the door behind him.

“Try not to die!?” Tubbo gulps.

“Well… that was something.”

“Guess we have a mystery on our hands!”

“Mystery….?” Tubbo asks cautiously.

“Well yeah? We have to figure out who the man recording the disks is, and if these enderman creatures are real!”

Tubbo smiles, trying to hide his apprehension at the idea of looking for danger.

“So far, this place feels more like home than Manchester ever did.”

“I mean, we’re in a foreign country, but yeah,” Tubbo shrugs.

“That guy on the disk has the same bee obsession that you do!” Tommy points out.

“Yeah, I guess he does.”

“Are you assuming one's gender, Tobias?” Tommy teases.

“Don’t call me that!” Tubbo smacks his brother over the head.

“Oh what are you gonna do? Tackle me with your short legs? I could take you easy!”

“When was the last time you worked out, Tommy?” Tubbo snaps back with a grin.

“When was the last time you did?” Tommy pushes Tubbo.

“Asshole!” Tubbo pouts.

Tommy laughed, taking off his shirt for bed.

“Sleep well Tubs,” Tommy whispers, turning off the light.

“You too, Toms.” 

Who knows what this town has in store for them. They’re together, and that’s what matters.

——— ———

“Is it almost ready, Sam?” A man asks, as Sam works on the portal.

“It should be, Mr. President, just give me a moment.”

“We need to hurry up before the goons find us.” The man gulps.

“I know, I know. Dream and his forces will never track us down here.”

“You consulted Karl right?”

“Of course not. Karl can suck my dick, this is for the sake of humanity.”

“I hope this works… for my sake and Earths.”

“Mine too,” Sam frowns.

“Because if it doesn’t I know what will happen.”

[wlwoodnymph]

apocalypse diaries

a little account of living in oregon during the 2020 wildfires/COVID-19 pandemic. mostly under the read more :)

Monday, 9/7

This morning, the sky was blue. Hot, the sun harsh for September, but blue and clear. I went on a walk with my mom, threading through shaded forests, cresting the hilltop with a view of town, and passing by fields rimmed with sweet ripe blackberries on the bush. We saw lots of people -- a perfect late summer day in a perfect little town, where the grand brick buildings of campus and small downtown storefronts are ringed by rolling farmland, a smooth-flowing river, and forested hills that grow into sheltering mountains.

Of course, we walked six feet apart, and hid our noses and mouths behind masks whenever we passed others on the narrow trails. And almost everyone else did too, in a show of courtesy -- it felt perfectly normal. I am still occasionally taken aback when I shy away from others or try to trap my breath or hear an announcement beginning “To stop the spread of the virus...” while grocery shopping. But these things don’t surprise me as much as seeing a photograph of two people unmasked and nearly touching, or watching the neighbors have a birthday party, people and music spilling out of their kitchen and onto the balcony. The connection and celebration I had known my whole life, now completely foreign.

Despite it all, that morning felt perfectly normal. After discussing our birthdays, my classes, and my mom’s anxiety about going backpacking, I returned home and made vegetable soup, watched Prince of Tennis with my roommates, and practiced taking integrals. The afternoon passed quietly, doing calculus at the table, until I glimpsed a sliver of strange sky through the blinded window. I stepped onto the balcony and into another kind of apocalypse.

The most welcome thing about outside was the breeze, making the dry air just bearable after the hot day. The concrete was still warm under my feet, comforting. It seemed the wind had blown in smoke from some fire, far-away until now. The sun, setting and shrouded by the smoke, glowed red and foreboding. The rest of the air was tinted yellow, and if not for the sepia tones, it might have just looked foggy, everything smudged and faded. 

Notably, the smoke hadn’t stopped the games of beach volleyball in the park across the street. Quiet shouts and static-y pop music filled the air along with the wind, which rattled the trees’ dry leaves. Someone walked their dog by, pausing to take a picture of the sun. A car started and pulled out of our complex. A leaf scraped across the ground, and the smoke filled my nose.

I stood outside for longer than I needed to, somehow trapped by the warm concrete under my feet and soothing breeze on my arms. The smoke scent was light, and seemed innocuous until I thought about how far away the fires must be -- out in the Cascades, not the little hills that sheltered my town. The wind suddenly seemed a bit less friendly, carrying them closer. I thought about the emergency alert for high heat and winds earlier that day, and (among other things) the big signs along I-5 that discouraged travel during the pandemic, and slipped back inside.

Instead, I raised the blinds, to observe the progress of the red sun and the shrouding smoke and just-green trees buffeted by the wind. I did try to go outside again, to write, but the smoke was thicker, enough to make me cough. I thought about the virus, and watched bits of ash float past, and went back inside. It wasn’t worth the worry of giving myself a sore throat. 

So now I’m sitting in my kitchen, and watching it grow unnaturally dark as the clock passes 7:00. The sky is yellower, and the trees and volleyball players have faded, drifting into the thickening smoke. I looked up the air quality a bit ago -- unhealthy for people with sensitive lungs, which is better than I expected. It all feels very strange, but mundane. The volleyball continues even as the sky grows dark. Cottonwood seeds float by with the ash. And I am just watching from a quiet kitchen, with dishes that still need doing. I wonder how long the smoke might last -- I’d love to open my window tonight. 

This morning had felt so normal in comparison, even though the smoke is such a small thing in comparison to the shuttered schools and stores, the cancelled concerts, and the rules of six feet and masked faces. But still, I get up and do the dishes, move my laundry to the drier, and watch a movie with my sister (over Zoom, of course). I can hear the wind whistling outside, and the smoke scent begins to seep in even though all the windows are closed. I hope that I don’t wake up smelling smoke and that I can open my window soon. Wishful thinking, and I realize that I barely bother to wonder anymore when I might dare to touch someone I don’t already share air with.

Tuesday, 9/8

 I wake up a few times as night fades into morning, mostly from the growing light, but once from the shower starting on the other side of the wall -- my roommate has work at 8:30. My comforter is on the floor, my battery pack and earbuds are in the bed where I discarded them before going to sleep. I am almost too warm under just a sheet, but I curl back into it each time I wake. The whole sky is yellow-orange, as if the sunrise fills all the air, but it’s just smoke shrouding my surroundings. It is alien, this dusty neon sky, but I go back to sleep anyway.

When I get up, the downstairs is dark, one window covered and smoke filtering light out from the rest. It feels like evening, but I make an egg and toast and eat a beautiful nectarine, which reminds me of yesterday morning, a flawless piece of summer. It is hard to think of anything about this summer as flawless. I can see bits of ash flutter by the window, like snowflakes, and I long for last winter.

After breakfast, I water the balcony plants. The smoke scent is strong, sharper than yesterday, and the fires creep closer. There is ash layered in the pots, and on our table and chairs. My bare feet leave prints. I also mist the plants with water, to make the balcony air, dry from the wind, more bearable. Balcony life is ill-suited to most plants, and I wonder if they know where they are, if they know that the salvatory humidity on their leaves is man-made.

I finish as quickly as possible, and return inside, where the air is already too warm (the cool morning outside had been a relief), but clear and clean. I would like to drive to the stormy coast, to go swimming in the cold water of the nearby river, even to cool myself with a mist from the plants’ spray bottle, but I don’t. Instead, I wash my face and brush my teeth and get my calculus workbook and another cup of coffee. I open to the chapter on motion problems and watch a dog-walker drift by with the ash. There is no volleyball today, the air hazardous.

-

The first part of today passes like yesterday. I finish my calculus and eat yesterday’s soup for lunch. I call our internet provider to complain about our abysmal internet speeds. The call takes 30 minutes, and we get nowhere. She asks about the weather where I am, and I hold back a laugh. I glance out the window, as if to check that the smoke hasn’t up and left and say “Not too bad. We have some smoke blowing in from wildfires though.” I guess it’s not too bad -- I’m safe, at least.

Afterwards, I go up to my room to get something, and wince at the scent of smoke inside. My throat has started to catch, and my roommate’s eyes are watering. We decide to venture out to get sealing tape. It’s nice to do something, and for a moment, this feels like an adventure, a brave expedition into the unknown to protect us and ours. For one of the first times since March, I am present, letting the moment, the heavy smoke sink into my skin. I will remember, but who will I tell about these days? What will still be here, who might still be shocked by it when this is all over?

The feeling of adventure only lasts as long as the Home Depot parking lot, where the smoke chokes thick in my throat and the wind whips ash into our eyes. It is evening, and the sun must be sinking again, because the sky turns from dusty brown to red-orange, far too dark for a summer 6:00. It makes the grass a plastic shade of vibrant green and suddenly, I want nothing more than to be home, out of the smoke. The adventure is gone, and even when we return home, the sickly orange from the windows and bright ceiling light makes me feel melancholy, lonely and lost.

I’m not sure what to do with the feeling, but I know that I need to start taping our doors and windows. I go downstairs, where it is the worst, and as I run tape along the seams of the front door, I feel ash beneath my feet. The flames seem to lick at our walls, and for the first time, I wonder how far the winds will drive the fires. Where would we go, when the rest of the state is already fleeing to us? 

I think of March 11th, when my university announced they would go online for most of finals week and the first week of spring term. I remember how we watched other states, other colleges, shutter, and wondered when or if we might do that. I remember March 23rd, when the governor ordered us into our houses to stay, and how we planned grimly for a few weeks’ change. I wonder how long this will last.

Thankfully, we watch Prince of Tennis and read our dumb romance novel, and I forget for a bit -- it is nice to be stuck inside with these people, at least. As the evening winds down, we finish taping windows. We tell our other roommate, who is away, to come in through the garage when he gets home. It’s the only door we don’t tape, the double entrance acting like an airlock. I even carry the balcony plants inside, so we can seal it off. They are dry and ashy, but probably happier to be inside. Even coated in ash, the basil, sage, and tomato still smell like lovely and herby, and it makes me smile.

Wednesday-Friday, 9/9-9/11

    The next few days pass like this. We stay inside, and watch the shifts of the sky from orange to yellow to sepia, a strange fog settled over us. We monitor the smell of smoke in the house, how it changes from day-to-day and room-to-room. At least the smoke blocks the sun, and keeps it cool while we can’t open the windows.

    I am reading a Money Diary on Friday morning, and the author mentions how “shocking the images coming out of Portland are”. For a moment, I am amused -- Portland has some of the least smoke in Oregon right now. Then I realize she probably means the protests, or the detainment of protestors in unmarked federal vans.

    I thought it was a good thing, how little the smoke bothered me. I’m a natural resources major -- I know that forest fires are inevitable. Even though they are unusually bad right now, in part because of climate change, their existence does not alarm me. It is tragic that people are losing their homes, but that is almost inevitable, as long as we build in forests and let fuel grow thick and close to what we love.

    But even so, this has never happened before, and in some moments, it hits me. It is scary the fires have stretched so far, that they may continue to be this bad for many years, that we are so ill-equipped, that this happens as people go hungry and are evicted and die from this pandemic. As I typed the words “detainment of protestors in unmarked federal vans.” I wondered if I had become numb. I know this is bad, but it feels so distant, so unreal, so unavoidable. I am almost powerless, so what does it matter if I care? It’s easier to not feel anything, to fixate instead on the hundreds of tiny crises my mind makes of my body and life. I finish my coffee and do my math and try to ignore the pain throbbing in my elbow.

Saturday-Thursday, 9/12-9/17

    It was supposed to clear up on Friday. When it didn’t, Tuesday and even Wednesday looked better, the air quality “moderate”. However, it remains “unhealthy”, and I cancel my trips to The Arc and Goodwill, so I can at least meet my mom outside for her birthday. She is struggling with the smoke, but glad to get outside for a bit. Instead of the long hike we had planned, we sit six feet apart on a bench, and I feel like a monster for cringing away from her. The breeze on my skin, though, is a blessing, salvation after a week of the same stale, still air in our house. I want to open my window.

    There is rain coming, and wind, and maybe later this week the smoke will clear. We plan for my birthday, assuming that outside, the only safe place to meet our friends, will be safe itself. I imagine pulling all the tape off, and wonder if it will have to go back on. When will we feel safe enough to let the air in? Will I ever shake hands with a stranger again? Will I continue to recoil at the very thought of entering a store without a mask? It feels like being naked.

    The rain does come, in drizzles, on Thursday night. It comes with flashes of lightning and rolling purrs of thunder, soothing, while we make pretzels and fondue, and I feel joyous, unhindered for the first time in more than a week. When we finish our cooking, we go outside. It is still smoky, but muted, and the smell is mixed with the delightful scent of a long-needed rain. I grin and hop onto the curb as we walk to the park. We talk and I climb on the play structures (I dropped my bouldering class, even though I miss it fiercely) until the thunder roars too close, and we return inside. It feels like a gift, something I could pray for.

Friday, 9/18

    I’m listening to ASMR in bed (it’s after midnight, so technically Friday), and when I take my headphones off to go to sleep, I realize it is pouring. I briefly entertain the idea of going outside, but it doesn’t quite seem worth drying off after. Instead, I lay awake, listening to thunder and rain, and think about what could have been. I am still happy, finally given a good form of novelty.

    I wake up that morning and the sky is clear as can be. I grin. As soon as I eat breakfast, I grab my bike to go shopping -- the air quality is “moderate”. I take deep lungfuls, uncaring that the air is public. It smells so good, smoke-free and rain-filled. 

    The first rain of autumn always feels like a return home. I don’t like the dry grass and merciless heat, especially when I am stuck inside, watching. It feels so strange, to see the exact same yellow-brown leaves littering the ground, feel the same cool damp air on my skin, the same weak, soothing sun. So much has changed, but this is still the same. I think of my middle and high school soccer games, of watching my favorite YouTubers play Undertale with a cup of tea on stormy Saturday nights, of sitting next to my dad’s fireplace with our kittens, of doing homework while my mom’s partner watches football. The season reminds me of home, but I’m not sure that I feel comforted. 

    I know that I’ve changed, and so has the world. I desperately, desperately, want this place to still feel like home, and maybe it will tomorrow, maybe it will next fall. I also don’t want to think about next fall -- what will have happened by then? What will have happened in five years? I have my hopes, but they feel slim. I hope that I am home and safe, and that I can take a breath without fearing smoke or virus or tear gas. And I am lucky, in the grand scheme of things.

    At least I can breathe right now. I bike home from the Arc, and revel in cold rain dripping from my legs when I stop at Fred Meyer, where I get prints of my friends for our living room. At home, I pull off the tape and throw open the windows. Cold, fresh air rushes in, and it feels like life. The sound of pouring rain and thunder is refreshing, after so many days of static. Here, now, maybe not in five minutes, but now, I feel relieved, unweighted, even if just briefly. It will not be a long reprieve, but I am grateful nonetheless.