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imagoddamnonionmason · 7 days

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Holidays At The Mason Home - Chapter 5: Slice Of A Nicer Life

Fandom: Call Of Duty: Cold War

Word Count: 6358

Character(s): Alex Mason, Frank Woods, (Toddler) David Mason, Female OCs: Sarah Mason, Female OCs: Jodie "Bell" Hall

Author Note: a big chapter, sorry guys! Basically, chaos and adorableness are in this chapter, so please enjoy!

NO TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY

It had been a few days since their arrival and it had been easy for four of the five people to settle into a pattern, one they had done for many years before when Frank had come to visit. As for Bell, she had been finding it difficult to sleep easy in a new place and by the time she would fall asleep it would be the early hours of the morning; then, she’d find herself sleeping in against her will.

That morning, there were four people in the kitchen-dining room and sitting at the table was David, Alex and Frank. A pot of freshly done, steaming hot black coffee was nestled in the centre of it, pushed further to the side of the men. There were also the remnants of breakfast, crumbs and a spare slice of toast on a plate, while David still held onto his empty bowl of porridge. He had eaten most of it, while the dregs were around his mouth and dripping down the side of the bowl - he showed it to his Mum, proudly, and then to his Dad and Uncle Woods. All three had praised him in their own ways, causing the child to beam at them with a toothy grin.

“Oh, you do like to make a mess,” Sarah commented as she took a damp, clean cloth and started to wipe her son’s face. At first, he wriggled and writhed in her motherly grip.

Alex, who sat across from his son, a half eaten slice of toast in his hand, raised his brows at David, a silent order to stop misbehaving or see what would happen. Beside Alex, Frank was sitting with a newspaper in hand. He was idly reading the articles, not entirely taking in their information, but rather giving himself something to wake him up. He peered over the top of the newspaper to see David still causing a slight ruckus, then sidelong at his friend to see the stare become a glare. Woods chuckled, “oh, kid, you better start behaving.”

David stilled, nodding affirmatively, as Frank took a sip from his newly poured cup of coffee. Above the boy, Sarah mouthed ‘thank you’ for their help, managing to finish cleaning him up. Sarah ruffled her son’s dark hair, lightly prodding the tip of his nose before she collected the pots and cutlery from the tabletop, most of which had been dirtied by the mischievous toddler. As she carried the collection into the kitchen side of the room, placing them down by the sink, she turned back to the men, “either of you want anything else before I start cleanin’ up? I’ve saved some breakfast for Jodie once she comes down.”

Lifting his coffee-filled cup, Woods said, “got what I need here.”

“Not for me, honey,” Alex added, “need any help?”

He had asked this as he rose from his seat, coming to stand behind his wife as she started to run the tap, hand under the mildly warm water to gauge when it was the right temperature. His hands rested on her hips and she leant back into him, as she replied, “nope. All good here.”

Sarah started to wash the pots once the basin was filled with hot water and sufficient suds of soap floated along the water's surface. Usually, Alex would help with things like this, but when guests were around he knew better than to interfere with her process without asking. Given she didn’t want his help, he returned to the table, hovering at the edge as his knuckles wrapped on the surface, “so, plan for today, Sarah and I are going to the store to pick up a few things. After, we go out to the usual spot, take the rifles, take out a couple of cans.”

“We can watch David while you’re out,” Frank offered, meaning himself and Bell. He then nodded in agreement with the latter part of the plan. He and Mason often went out into the woods by his home, rifle in hand, and talked about anything while shooting the shit out of some unsuspecting bottles and cans. It was a habitual pastime and it would likely never change.

“Don’t you two do anything other than shoot things?” Sarah appeared as though she was complaining, but really she was having a good natured jab at the two men. The smile she wore on her face proved so.

Woods scoffed, “sometimes we shoot people.”

“Frank.” She gasped, turning to him to offer a chiding look, though it was betrayed by the smile on her features and the look of laughter in her eyes.

Alex laughed, before he gave his wife a lovingly amused look, “it’ll only be for a couple of hours.”

“Can I come?” David asked, looking at his Dad pleadingly. Alex shook his head, and Sarah firmly said, “absolutely not, David, you are three years old.”

In all honesty, David didn’t know what they were talking about, he just wanted to go with them. But, his Mum had spoken and what she said was always final. Alex placed his hand on top of his son’s head, keeping it there for a little while, “there ya go, buddy, Mom says no.”

The little boy huffed, then placed his head in his hands as he sulked against the table. Frank watched him amused, but said nothing.

David’s sulking did not last for long, however, and as Alex took his seat back down next to Frank, the boy excitedly chirped, “Uncle Woods! Uncle Woods!”

Without looking up from the paper, folded over onto itself so he could hold in one hand, Woods hummed, “what is it, kid?”

“Is Dodie my auntie now?” the boy asked, standing on his chair, causing Alex to give him another stern look to sit back down. But David was too excited, having remembered what his parents had said some nights before. Uncle Woods was married to Dodie and that meant he had an auntie now.

Frank narrowed his eyes on the boy, tilting his head to the side as he shifted in his chair. Sometimes Frank noticed that kids often spoke about or brought up the most random of topics and this topic had left him quite confused, “uh… I don’t…Jodie isn’t…”

“Have you ever? Um, thought that. That you, um, that you, would you,” David heaved a sigh reserved for men three times his age and everyone was surprised with his exasperation, “you wanted- you want. That you want her to do you so much you were married?”

Hot coffee spilled over the edges of the cup, running over Frank’s fingers, as he felt some of the liquid catch in his throat, causing him to snort and splutter. The liquid scalded his chin, his lips, his hand, and it had splashed onto the table; Frank couldn’t recover as smoothly as he wished, as the coffee caught in his throat continued to rob him of air. He choked, as he fought to place down the cup slowly.

Alex could not help the laughter that escaped him, a hand slapping Frank’s back in an attempt to help him out, but it was weakened by his amusement. It was not every day that Alex got to see something make his friend lose his composure and the mere fact it was his toddler son made the situation all the more funny. Sarah rushed over with some paper towels, wiping down the table and offering some to the spluttering man, though she bit down on her lip to stop herself from laughing alongside her husband.

David watched on, innocently, as Sarah then came to him and picked him up, saying “I think it’s time I got you dressed.”

Sarah made a quick exit from the kitchen with her son, exchanging her presence with a fully dressed Bell. The brunette had entered with a yawn, hand covering her mouth as she tiredly murmured ‘morning’. The sentiment was returned hurriedly by Sarah, which caused Bell to pause in her movements and watch after her for a moment. Then, she pointed in the direction of the stairs from her position in the kitchen doorway, a frown on her features, “is everything alright?”

Alex’s laughter was still present but less rowdy and he waved Bell down to the seat at the end of the table. He attempted to tell her what had happened, as the woman then let her wide-eyed gaze land on Frank; his white vest had small stained spots of brown, a cough still rattling in his throat, and his hand clutching a paper towel for his life, like it would help in any way to gather much needed oxygen into his lungs. Alex failed to speak, however, as each attempt was spoiled by a new bout of incessant laughter, caused when he turned to look at Frank and was immediately reminded of the image of coffee coming out of his nose.

Another burst of a laugh came out when Frank barely managed to force out, “fuck off, you prick.”

Although Frank would like to have the room think he was furious that he was being laughed at, it was difficult to believe when the anger was lost in translation by the interrupting coughs and splutters from his heaving chest. He eventually caught his breath, leaning forward on the table with his head resting in his hands comically, “where’d the hell that come from?”

Alex Mason, for the life of him, could not begin to explain to the woman what had actually happened, unsure as to whether he would be able to accurately reenact what his son had said or even do the scene justice with his words. It truly had been a situation you had to be there to witness and he found it criminal that she had been a few mere moments late and missed the spectacle. Instead, he opted for slapping Frank on his shoulder in a light friendly manner, a sort of apology for laughing at him in a time of critical need, then mentioned, “my son thinks you’re married.”

“Ok,” Bell replied, shrugging.

“To him.” Alex jutted his thumb towards his best friend.

Bell sighed.

Alex offered, “he must have heard me mention what happened the other night, to Sarah.”

Her eyes settled on Frank again, who was rising out of his seat to go and pour the coffee into the kitchen sink. After that, he rinsed out the cup, gave it a quick wash, then put it to drain with the rest of the pots on the side.

“And the stains on Woods’ chest are coffee, right?” She asked, having assumed what had happened, though the image in her mind was not enough to portray the amusement of the actual event. She added, sly smile on her face as she poured herself a coffee, “I thought David was the toddler here.”

Behind her, Frank shot her an incredulous glare, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from replying.

A brief pause passed.

“Hey, you don’t mind watching David for a few hours?” Alex asked, rising out of his chair and heading towards the kitchen door - he was going to join his wife in getting dressed for the day.

She had frozen on the spot, much like a deer would have in the blaring headlights of an oncoming car, except she was the deer and the car was the simple question that now hovered around her. Bell could do nothing but stare at Alex, eyes wide, unblinking, as her cup hovered just in front of her lips, coffee teetering at the rim. There were twangs of worry that shocked the core of her gut, electrifying the nerves and short circuiting her brain.

The woman did not feel as though she had earned the trust Mason was placing in her; she did not deserve it. But, there he was, asking for her to care for his child while he was out in the simplest of ways to showcase that trust.

Through her mind were the racing thoughts of anxiety, merging into multiple voices and faces of people she had come across in her life, from those she had been forced to trust herself, those she had betrayed, those she had come to trust and had been betrayed by - they all seemed to speak to her, haunting her with the same rhetoric.

They can’t trust you. You’re a woman with blood on your hands. You shouldn’t be anywhere near children. Why does he trust you?

“Woods is sticking around,” Alex added, once he could see that she had faltered. Did she not like kids? Maybe he hadn’t thought about whether she’d be comfortable with it, it should have crossed his mind. Bell didn’t really know David, perhaps it was that.

“He’s a good kid,” Frank said, coming to stand by her right, fingers lightly brushing over her shoulder. She found herself leaning into his touch, comforted by it, but murmured through a thick swallow, “won’t he be scared of me?”

The two men chuckled, before they realised she wasn’t joking.

Alex reassured her, “hey, that kid has already asked Uncle Woods if you’re his Aunt.”

Wait, what?

“Why would I- oh, because of,” she gestured between herself and Frank and they all silently nodded, “alright, that makes sense.”

A beat.

“I’ll look after him,” she said, choosing to ignore the anxious voices in her head.

They retreated, for now, but she knew they would be back at some point, haunting her for a different purpose, at a different time.

With that being said, Alex thanked her, then made his way upstairs to start getting ready; it was only half an hour later that the Mason family appeared downstairs, all dressed and ready to tackle the day ahead. Frank took his leave, heading to go shower and dress, as Alex and Sarah said their goodbyes and headed through the front door and into the snowy outside.

There was the sound of Alex’s pickup truck starting and then it really was just her and a little boy stood next to each other in the hallway. Bell looked down at David and he looked up at her, hand in his mouth as he chewed on his fingers. She offered the boy a tight-lipped smile, before gesturing at him half-heartedly, “they probably don’t taste very nice.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied, wiping his soggy hand down his shirt. Her smile softened and then he was waving his hands out at her, “up!”

Staring at him, she stood in a pause, before he wiggled his fingers and demanded, “up! Up!”

Gently, as though she feared she would snap him entirely in two, Bell lifted him up and into her arms. He snuggled into her side and wrapped his tiny arms around her, resting his head in the crook of her neck before giggling, “Auntie Dodie.”

Her heart swelled, guiltily, unable to bring herself to correct the little boy that she was not such a thing to him; it caused a softness within her, something she had not felt for such a long, long time and she selfishly grasped onto it, even for a moment. But, now he was in her arms, she wondered exactly what she should do to keep him entertained - she couldn’t walk around with him for hours on end. With that in mind, she hummed, “what would you like to do, David, while Mum and Dad are gone?”

“Hmm,” he pulled his head from where it had been laid against her neck, then put his hand on his forehead as he thought to himself. As he spoke, Bell made note that he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of saying his ‘r’s yet, instead the consonant being replaced with a ‘w’ sound. It made him all the more endearing, “radio! I want radio.”

With an affirmative nod, she replied, “alright, radio it is.”

Bell had remembered, when Sarah had ushered her around the house in a bid to show her where everything was, the radio was in the living room. The room itself was small and cosy, carpeted, and in the centre of the room was a low oak coffee table - surrounding it on two sides were a patterned, aged sofa and armchair, but clearly comfortable. There was one spot that dipped lower on the sofa, meaning it was someone's favourite place to perch. Beside the arms of the sofa were two, small side tables, hooded desk lamps nestled atop them, and picture frames of the Mason family.

Against the wall opposite the sofa and armchair was a large cabinet, filled with records, tapes and ornaments in the top section, whereas the middle section was taken up by the TV. Below that, the cabinet had doors and behind them were two shelves, of which one housed the radio. There were some toys, crayons and colouring books that were kept there for safekeeping. Bell reminded herself to keep note of that, just in case David eventually got bored of the radio.

The radio was a small black and silver box, with two circular dials on the left upper corner signalling FM and AM; the upper right corner had two knobs, one to swap between channels and the other to dictate tone, treble and bass.

She had set David down on the carpeted floor next to the cabinet, whilst making sure he didn’t bump into the coffee table, and she picked up the radio. Her thumb hovered over the text in the top centre, Zenith, then switched it on and fiddled with the knobs. Bell did this until a station came through loud and clear, setting it down on the cabinet.

There was a man talking for a little bit first, but David didn’t seem to care that music wasn’t playing just yet, instead already clapping his hands together and laughing delightfully. Bell watched, fondly, as the speaking then gave way for the beginning of a song. It was one she hadn’t heard for a while, but instantly recognised it as one of her favourites: These Boots Are Made For Walkin’ by Nancy Sinatra.

At the time of its debut, Bell remembered being based somewhere in the north of Vietnam, tucked away from the war, but close enough to track radio signals and decode any military messages that would dance along the radio waves. She also recalled how she had stolen her own little radio, disappearing from time to time to tune into the westerner’s radio stations and listening to their music.

A smile grew across her lips, as she watched David’s eyes light up and his body begin to move to the beat of the song. He bobbed up and down on the spot, occasionally jumping, before he reached out to Bell. Her hands caught his and she guided him in a small side-to-side dance, quietly singing along with the words on the old radio. It would crackle every now and again, but its signal remained strong and the volume stronger.

After a moment, David pulled away from her, jiggling around on his own before he fell flat on his bottom. For a moment, she thought he might cry, but then he burst into laughter, the kind that captured you and dragged you in to join. Bell let a chuckle bubble in her throat, a genuine smile resting steadily on her features.

“Sing!” David giggled, and Bell did, a little louder for him, even going as far as to put some flare into her movements. He was clapping, giggling, enjoying the show.

You keep lyin’ when you ought to be truthin’

You keep losin’ when you ought to not bet

The woman scooped David up into her arms, holding him close as she began to jig around the coffee table, bouncing him to the beat on her hip.

You keep samin’ when you ought to be changin’

Now what’s right is right, but you ain’t been right yet

By now, David was making noises in an attempt to join her singing, which caused Bell’s vocals to be disrupted by laughs, soft, endeared. She then paused in her singing to place the toddler on the sofa, making sure she treated him with care, still afraid that she might snap him in half with a strength she didn’t know she had. Of course, this did not happen, but her anxieties were high and the last thing she wanted was to accidentally hurt the adorable boy.

The song was now in the last leg and she picked up the lyrics.

These boots are made for walkin’

And that’s just what they’ll do

One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you

David was bopping his head along now. For the last lines of the song, Bell stood with her hands on her hips, blowing a piece of hair from her face, before she dramatically acted out the words.

Are you ready, boots?

Start walkin’!

As the song came to an end, she finished up her performance with one last lap around the coffee table, before she sunk into the seat next to David and feigned going limp. He pushed at her arm, at her head, giggling as he said, “you tired? No!”

“I am,” she sighed, emphatically, “so tired. It’s all that dancing!”

“Again, again!” He yelled excitedly, hopping off the sofa to go over to the radio, dialling up the volume a little more. By now, the radio host had mentioned how it was time to cycle through the hits of the year, and another song had been started; she started to rise out of her seat, amused by the boy's antics, consequently spurred on to continue her current train of entertainment for him.

It was keeping him happy and that was enough for her.

The song was Abracadabra but she hadn’t caught who it was by - still, that didn’t matter much, and she focused on the drums, the guitar. Just as she was about to take David’s little hands in hers with the intention of dancing with him again, she caught a shadow of a figure in the corner of her eyes, a figure that she had failed to notice there moments prior.

Her body felt like it had been shocked and she jolted upright. In an instant, she had turned to where she had seen the movement, hands beginning to ball into fists, though they remained at her side despite her mind telling her to have them up guarding her.

“Woah,” Woods had been leaning against the doorframe, unnoticed for pretty much the entire time she had been dancing, hands hidden in the pockets of his jeans, “only just noticed me, huh?”

He had been standing there, watching as Bell came out of whatever constantly guarded state she was in, letting loose. His eyes had trailed across her features, noticed how there wasn’t that fogged look of worry, of being lost, and he wished that she could always look so genuinely happy. But, as soon as she had noticed him, the stony features had returned, the mist of apprehension had come over her eyes, and she was once again guarded.

“Do not do that,” she seethed, as she forced her fists to relax. Then, she turned away from him, embarrassed, “how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know you can’t dance for sh- nothin’,” he pulled a face in the presence of his almost-error, eyes darting to the boy, who was now holding onto the leg of Bell.

“Like you could do better,” she scoffed, then directed her question at David, “you think your Uncle Woods can dance better than me?”

David looked at her, then at his Uncle Woods, then back at her with large unblinking eyes - he then grinned, “I don’t know.”

Bell gave Woods a thin stare, eyes narrow, “maybe he should try.”

“Uh, no.”

“Yeah!” David howled, jumping up and down, “Uncle Woods should dance!”

The look that Bell received from the other caused a mirthful, but mischievous smile to grow on her features, as she felt the young boy move from her side to grab at the jeans of Woods. He tugged and tugged, until eventually Woods peered down at him, “yeah, kid?”

“Please,” David drawled, elongating the vowels.

Bell joined in, much to Woods’ chagrin.

For all of thirty seconds, Woods took his hands out of his pockets, hanging them in the air stiffly, as he then moved on the spot - just as quickly as he had started, he grumpily went back to his original stance, except he had his arms over his chest as he looked away to the side. David pouted, turning to Bell, as she stared at the other with her mouth agape, “what was that?!”

Woods shrugged.

“You’re my favourite,” David murmured into Bell’s leg, as he had begun to hide his face against it, not wanting to let Woods see the impish smile on his face. If there was one thing David knew how to do, it was how to get Uncle Woods to do as he wanted; Woods quickly straightened up, eyebrows raised as he asked, “sorry, kiddo, I didn’t hear ya.”

David turned his head so that he could peer up at Woods, his eyes round and watery, and forced another pout. He made sure he was heard loud and clear, “Auntie Dodie is my favourite.”

Bell kept quiet, unsure of what to do; was he misbehaving? Or was he just playing? She thought the latter, but couldn’t be sure.

“I see, that’s how it is, huh?” Woods used his thumb to itch his chin, feigning an image of being incredibly offended by the boy’s words, “she’s your favourite, now, and you’re just gonna forget about me? Uncle Woods?”

“Yup!”

Woods quickly hopped into a stance ready for a chase and a shrill screech devolved into a fit of giggles, as David began to run away, rushing around to one side of the coffee table. Woods set upon him, allowing the boy to run just that little bit ahead of him, whilst saying, “come here, come here and say it to my face!”

Eventually, Woods had caught up with David, scooping him up; he had him dangling upside down, held securely with the boy's legs against his side, “who’s your favourite?”

“Dodie!”

“Who?” Woods swung him gently, “come again?”

David could only laugh and between the giggles he cried happily, “it’s you!”

Woods turned the boy the right way up, then set him down safely on the floor, grinning victoriously, “knew it, I’m always the favourite, don’t you forget it, kid.”

He then ruffled the kid’s hair, as he turned to face the woman, who had been watching the whole thing unfold with a fond look in her eyes. Once he had turned around and his eyes were on her, she steeled herself, forcing that look away and offering a small, tight smile. He faltered, somewhat, disappointed that she had seemingly become stiff and closed off now that he was in the room. Woods sighed, inwardly, unwilling to let his disdain show.

“I, uh, I’m gonna head out for a smoke,” he murmured, “don’t steal him from me while I’m gone.”

Bell nodded and soon David was back in her arms. Another song had been playing, now just passing the first chorus. Neither of them had been listening to the host and as Woods left the living room, moving to the back door in the kitchen, the song faded to a low buzz in the background. Occasionally the lyrics would drift through to him.

And my life’s lookin up

I think I’m in love

He pulled the packet of cigarettes that had been hiding in the breast pocket of his flannel shirt, hitting the bottom of it to pop out a singular cigarette. He placed the end between his lips, then pulled it from the cardboard packet. It hung loosely, as he opened the door and then stepped outside. As part of his routine, he’d gone and put his boots on, but his laces were not tied - he wouldn’t be spending too long outside anyway.

It controls me

Makes me do all the things I do for you

He lit the cigarette.

You’re on my mind, babe

Thinkin’ about you now

Woods drowned out the song by closing the door behind him.

Drawing in a deep, long drag of the cig, he let the smoke fill his lungs and held it for a second. On the exhale, he let his eyes close, thoughts heading back to the image of Bell acting goofy for the kid. Shaking his head, he found himself amused by her antics, yet yearning for that opportunity to see it for himself, without the need to hover and witness it from the outside.

Who was he kidding, though, that woman would never casually let herself be unguarded around anyone, no matter how much they could prove they would never be a threat to her. Betrayal had followed her like an old friend, to every corner of the world she had gone to, through every experience. He supposed it was hard to expect that anything else could happen - maybe, she was counting down the days until he and Mason did the same as everyone else.

He wasn’t great with words and even worse with comfort, so there was probably nothing he could say or do that would sufficiently convince her that her current team were not like the rest.

He was not like the rest.

Then again, if he was in her position, he’d have wanted to watch the world burn; he’d have thrown his trust in anyone away, watch it circle the drain and descend.

God fucking damn it, Frank, he thought to himself, this ain’t like you gettin’ caught up on someone. So what if she doesn’t trust you? She’s a colleague. A soldier.

He took another drag of the cigarette, as a chill breeze blew over the snowbanks, wrapping itself around his body. Flashes of the other night filtered into his head, how her body felt against his, how her touch had caused a rippling sensation of heat to wave over his body. His thoughts were entirely consumed by her, distracting and incessant.

There was a slight burn at his fingertips and he found that he’d neglected to keep his eye on the burning cigarette, which had now come towards the end of its life. It singed the skin of his fingers and he quickly tossed it into the snow. His tone was seething, as he moved to take another cigarette, “fuck.”

To his right, Maximus padded up to him, sitting at his feet and staring up. He whimpered a little before he nuzzled Woods’ hand, causing the man to sigh and relent; Woods crouched down, discarding the want for another smoke, and decided to fuss Maximus.

“You got any advice for me, buddy?” He asked the dog, receiving nothing but silence, “nah, didn’t think so.”

Maximus stared at him for a little bit longer, eyes squinting in enjoyment caused by the scratching of his ears by Woods, before he jutted his nose right into the man’s face. He bumped his nose against his features a couple of times, finally finishing by licking his cheeks adoringly. Maximus did not know what was being said, but he could sense that Woods needed a little comfort and Maximus was good at that.

“Alright, alright,” Woods chided, gently pushing the dog away as he rose to his feet, having almost been knocked over by Maximus’ sheer strength, “I already had a shower this morning.”

After a few more minutes of hanging around outside, Woods ventured back into the warmth of the home, kicking his boots off so that he didn’t trudge melting snow through to the living room. Once he was back there, he noted how the radio was now quieter and there was a colouring book splayed out on the coffee table. Crayons were also askew its surface, some broken and others barely even usable with how small they were, but David was managing to colour the pages well enough. He was so occupied with his work, his tongue sticking out in concentration, that he hadn’t noticed his elder walk back in.

Bell was sitting in the armchair, one leg over the other, with the newspaper that he’d read earlier. It was resting on her knee, as she leant forward to fill in the blank spaces within the puzzles.

As she came to a stop mid-writing, the end of the pen came to rest against her lower lip, tapping the same spot gently as the thoughts moved in her head. Bell didn’t necessarily like crosswords, but she had already finished the sudoku puzzle.

Woods enjoyed watching her work, taking in her appearance. Her brows were furrowed gently, the smallest of creases working its way into the centre of her forehead. Her eyes were narrowed on the page, irises unmoving as she stared at the words intently, as though willing them to reveal information to her. Woods noticed how her lips were slightly pursed, as the pen rested against them. A strand of hair had come out of place from her hair tie, framing the left of her features.

Sitting on the sofa adjacent, he decided not to disturb the peace by saying anything, but his presence was acknowledged and sought after when Bell questioned, “Clue, they come in last. Three letters. Any ideas?”

He tilted his head, as he adjusted his position, leaning further back into the sofa, “what have you thought so far?”

“Words that are too long to fit,” she admitted, “this is quite a hard one.”

There was a little bit of silence, then she hummed something unintelligible to herself; she quickly tutted at the thought and threw it aside with a disconcerted shake of her head. Then, she was looking at Woods, as though scrutinising him, but he soon realised that she was giving her sight a break from staring at the page. There was a hint of looking through him, rather than at him, as a fog drifted over her gaze and he noticed the familiar look of being lost again. Part of him wanted to click his fingers, clap her back into reality, but he had learnt the hard way that doing that to someone like her, like Mason, was not a good idea.

So, he waited patiently for her clarity to return, and after that brief moment of being lost had passed, her eyes blinked and focused on him. It was like she hadn’t just checked out of the room, as she quickly said, “so? Got anything?”

“No, I don’t,” he replied. Bell sighed, rubbing a hand down her features as the sounds of angry scribbling filled the room; they looked at David, who was currently colouring in enlarged images of the alphabet. He had gotten as far as the letter ‘W’ and was getting annoyed with the crayon - it was pretty small to begin with, but had snapped in half making it even smaller. This is what had caused him to scribble furiously.

The two adults shared a look with each other, one that was entertained by the little boy’s behaviour, and Woods found himself enamoured with the slight upturn of her lips as they curled into a furtive smile. There was that light again, that relaxed air about her, and he could see the guard slip a little. He willed it further, but it didn’t, though he found himself unable to be entirely disappointed.

After a moment, he saw her eyes drop back down to the pages, focusing on the bubbled artwork of the alphabet. The smile then dropped a little and that intense, thoughtful stare returned to her features. If a lightbulb could have gone off above her head for all to see, it would have been glowing bright, almost blinding; Woods then witnessed, as he had done many times before in their line of work, how the cogs sunk into place and whirred into life inside her mind.

The pen was then to paper, as she scribbled down the three letter answer.

Curiously, Woods murmured, “you figure it out?”

“X, Y and Z.”

“What?”

“They come in last. The last three letters of the English alphabet.” She offered a shy smile, then kept her gaze down on the paper. Part of her felt a little childish, showcasing her excitement for having figured out something as simple as a crossword puzzle. She needed to reign herself in, to harden herself and keep up her walls.

“Huh, that’s…” Woods nodded slowly, then shifted in his seat. It was actually a very clever little thing and would have had him running around in circles for days, yet she’d clicked on as quickly as ever. He shouldn’t have expected any less, as it had only taken her a few days to crack the floppy disk decryption - she was a meticulous mind.

“Sneaky,” she finished his sentence for him, “it’s sneaky. But he helped.” Bell gestured with the pen towards David and his colouring book. Woods leant forward, peering at the now haphazardly coloured letters. As he peered over the boy's shoulder, his hand absentmindedly ruffled his hair. David swatted at his hand, trying his best to keep his eyes and attention solely on the task of furiously colouring.

“Slow down, kiddo, you’ll tear the pages,” Woods chided, gently.

Then, there was the sound of the front door opening and a sweet, huffing voice called out, “we’re baaack~”

David stopped his scribbling, then tried his best to get up as quickly as possible to greet his parents. Woods followed him, just to make sure that he didn’t take a tumble in his haste, and Bell was left alone in the room. She watched after them, as a swelling feeling in her chest grew warm. She supposed, if she allowed herself to think about it for any length of time, that this kind of life was really nice. Bell could only wish for it, though, and reconciled with the fact that this snippet was good enough for her.

#cod fanfic #call of duty #black ops cold war #frank woods #jodie hall #alex mason #sarah mason #david mason #oc x canon #alex mason x oc #frank woods x oc #frank woods x bell #bell oc #cod bell oc #my writing #holidays at the mason home

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wild-lavender-rose · 8 months

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Sorry, first time requesting anything im not sure if im doing this right haha. But can you do a gender neutral reader with hank lawson. Where reader gets shot, dr mike does surgery, and we wake to up hank there. Fluff please!!:)

I've been waiting for inspiration to write this, anon, and it finally arrived! I hope this is fluffy enough for you :) Please feel free to send me another Hank request, I'm pretty sure we're the only two on here who love him and I'd love to grow my Dr. Quinn master list!

My Fault - Hank Lawson x reader

Warning- Cannon-typical language

It had been your own fault. One second you were between Hank and the black-clad stranger, trying to keep the two from killing each other over a misunderstanding about a horse. You had focused on the stranger, knowing Hank would listen to you and stand down the moment you intervened. You thought that the matter was settled and had turned around, walking back to where Hank waited, broody and silent.

The gunshot had sounded practically in your ear. You had fallen forward, pushed by the bullet. More gunshots. People were screaming. You tried to get up and fight. Hank was shouting but you couldn't understand him. You felt numb and cold all at once. The dirt was wet under your hands. Blood. But whose?

"Get Michaela, now!" Hank was on his knees next to you, keeping you from getting up. You had looked at him, vision blurred. You called to him, your voice sounding hollow and distant. His blue eyes were the last thing you remembered, frantic and helpless. He picked you up and the world went black.

The next time you woke you were in Dr. Quinn's office lying on her examination table. The pain was white hot, coming from your right shoulder. You cried out, trying to move, to escape. You were calling for someone over and over again. Hank. Hank, please. It's my fault, I'm sorry. Please.

Dr. Mike appeared over top you, pressing a white gauze to your nose, calming you with a soft voice and worried eyes. You sank back into darkness.

The next time you woke you were in one of her recovery rooms, the sunlight highlighting the cream colored quilt you were laying under. You were naked from the waist up but were covered by the quilt. A thick bandage was wrapped around your right shoulder. You felt stiff and hazy, but the pain was gone.

"Hey," a familiar, husky voice sounded by your head.

You looked to find Hank sitting by the bed, his oversized form hunched over in a chair too small for him. He smiled, his eyes even more bleary and red-rimmed than usual. It looked like he had been crying.

"Hank," you tried to talk but your tongue felt thick and fuzzy.

"Here," Hank hurried to pour you a glass of water from a basin sitting by the bed. He raised your head, helping you to drink.

Finishing the glass, you cleared your throat, trying once more. "Did he, am I," you glanced at your shoulder.

"Shot you in the back," Hank shook his head. "Bastard."

"You get him?"

"Jake did. Right in the head."

"Shoulda had a trial." You muttered, pretending that you weren't glad that your attacker.

Harry gave you a half smile. "Talkin' like Michaela now."

You smiled back, the gesture lessening as the memory of earlier washed over you. "M'sorry, Hank. I should have kept out of it. I just, I didn't want you hurt."

"Hey, shh. Don't worry about it," Hank leaned forward, brushing at your cheek with a soft and uncertain touch. "You just focus on resting up, all right?"

"Hank,"

"You'll be back to bothering me in no time." Carding his hand through your hair, Hank blinked a few times, smile wavering.

"Hank," you reached up, fingers tangling in one of the locks of hair falling in his eyes. You caressed his grizzled jaw with the back of your hand, your touch causing his eyes to close.

Hank leaned into your touch as if starved, like he was trying to memorize the moment. You felt yourself drifting off once more but fought to hold on, touching his face, conveying the thoughts you were unable to explain. I love you, you thought. I couldn't live without you.

Your hand grew weak, falling back rest on the quilt as your eyes fluttered shut. Hank pressed his hand, warm and steady, over yours. He whispered something you probably weren't supposed to hear. Something you would never forget.

"I love you, sweetheart. Don't leave me."

Fanfic Masterlist

#dr quinn medicine woman #dr quinn #dr mike #hank lawson #hank #hank x reader #hank x you #hank x y/n #hank lawson x you #hank lawson x reader #hank lawson x y/n #dr Michaela quinn #hurt comfort #gun shot wound #collapse #surgery #gender neutral reader

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pinkiepiebones · 1 year

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Let’s see if this works... Talkin’ about Renfield’s apartment again PART ONE OF TWO

So Renfield’s apartment is located right by one of the stairwells. In this shot you can see Rebecca opening his front door (no number on the door) and you can see beyond her into the apartment just a bit. The curtains that are visible behind her are the same curtains in this shot; window by the dinette set

Back outside, based on where Rebecca and Renfield are standing on the stairwell (is it a stairwell if it’s uncovered and exterior?), as well as windows inside the apartment, I believe Renfield’s apartment is on the same level of the W in the TOWER part of the SUNRISE TOWER sign. (Do you think he chose the place because it’s SUNRISE??? Like, as an anti-Drac measure?)

This is a shot of the same basic space, when Rebecca sees the cop cars arriving. I’m like 90% sure this is the level Renfield’s apartment is on.

Back to the apartment itself.

Here we have Renfield standing outside, letting his bugs free. Notice the one window behind him- it’ll come up here in a sec.

That one visible window correlates to the window beside his TV in this shot-

Please take a moment to appreciate that he keeps every light on and has a lot of little plants everywhere. Okay, moving on. See the window above his sink? That’s what breaks this. Scroll back up to the exterior shots. There is no place where that window can exist. This is an eldritch apartment. In the kitchenette there you can also see an indent in the ceiling that has got to be recessed lighting, because, as I established earlier, Renfield does not live on the top floor, so it sure as fuck isn’t a sky light.

Just a full shot of his little kitchen here.

This is a capture from one of the behind the scenes things on the BluRay, I’m including it because it’s just nice to see the stuff on counter. Is that a retro as fuck toaster? A cookie jar? Precious. And behind them is the second of three windows along the “far wall,” if you will. So, if you were to walk in to his apartment, directly in front of you would be the “living room” (sofa, chair, table, TV) with the “dining room” behind it (dinette set), kitchenette to the left... And I don’t know what to call this space in front of the kitchenette. There’s a record player on that dresser, and there is at least one bar stool. “Entertaining room”?

Here’s a shot from the ��living room,” you can see the record player, some records, and a speaker behind Renfield here.

And at this angle you can *just* see the top of a stool like I said. It’s hard to spot. Look at Renfield’s right knee, it’s the tiny white bit below that. Boom. Stool.

Renfield’s “bedroom” is directly beyond the “entertaining room.”

In the confrontation scene, as Dracula keeps moving in to Renfield’s space, you can see more of the “bedroom.” After Dracula passed through the “entertaining room” we get this great angle which shows a dresser with what I’m like 99% sure is a nice printer on it, and curtains framing the third window on that “far wall.”

The final window is centered on the “bedroom wall.” I’m only pointing that out because I misremembered and thought it was closer to the corner space and Renfield could, like, look out the window from his bed.

After Dracula leaves we get a fuller shot of the side of his “bredroom” that does not contain his bed. There’s one window there, which makes no sense based on the exterior shots, of course. On the left you can *just* see what seems to be a sink counter? I’m wondering it that’s a wash basin of some kind, and the space immediately to the right of it- you can see a black robe hanging on a door there- is a shower and toilet space. Also, beanbag chair.

I rotated and lightened the shot from when Rebecca wakes up on the sofa. YOu can see the closet door and beanbag chair from this angle. The kitchenette flows directly into the “bedroom.” Also notice the floor- shaggy rugs on what I think is linoleum

Another rotated shot of basically the same thing, just, again, floor. And stripey socks :3c

#renfield #renfield 2023 #in all ways except physical I am living in his non euclidean apartment #zombie's screencap analysis

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geewintg · 2 years

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Day With You

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Ship: Cyno x Tighnari

Warning: Written during 3.0 update

Link for full version in ao3

Tighnari’s eyes fluttered open. The dark sky past the tree tops made him aware of what time it was when he jolted up. It seems he accidentally fell asleep during his afternoon walk to gather the luminescent mushrooms he had been researching. Resting in a nearby shade while staring at the streams of sunlight passing through the leaves… burdened by his almost sleepless nights…drove him here.

He had no time to stretch as he gathered his things. The forest watchers must have been looking for him to submit their patrol reports. But in case he wasn’t there, he made sure to have them organize it on the little table on his porch.

The sun has its half dipped below the horizon, painting the sky a gradient burst of red and orange until it faded to purple twilight.

Right, he should get back as soon as possible to cook himself and Collei dinner. He wouldn’t want the poor child to strain herself. But she was too eager to learn, anyway, so instead, he let her help him prepare dinner. Laying out the instructions thoroughly, he gave her measly tasks such as fetching water or stirring the broth. Maybe one day, he can teach her do pita pockets.

As he was washing the utensils they used down the river, almost everyone was already in their huts, albeit with lights on. Collei was in her own hut too, although already asleep.

He heaved out a sigh as he stood up and, carrying the basin containing their things between his hand and hip, he climbed up to his own quarters. He set it down at the small kitchen table and opened the window.

Gazing out in the seeming darkness, he called out, “Come here, you big lummox.” One of the bushes in the elevated area leveled to his hut rustled. It could be passed as just a passing wind to anyone but that wasn’t the case for the green fox.

He saw the black shadow pop out an arm and point at himself while the forest watcher gestured for him to come nearer. “Is there anyone else?” he remarked.

The shadow stared at him, dumbfounded. Nonetheless, he still heeded him and jumped down to climb his porch as a passing shadow then slipped onto his little threshold.

“Is that the noise you make to get my attention?” Cyno chuckled to which the botanist gave him a nonchalant stare.

“Since you know, when asking ‘what’s your name?’ is just another thing of ‘what noise should I make to call your attention?’ since, technically speaking, what we’re doing right now are just random lapses of our tongue that are noises to which people evolved meanings behind each sound but in actuality, we’re just really just doing noises that only made sense because there’s meaning behind it.”

“So that was supposed to be a joke…” Tighnari does not mean it like a question, rather, it was just a slow musing to himself with disappointment laced in his tone; face unamused and ears flattened behind his back.

After a moment of silence brazed through them with only Cyno's cheeks puffing from his own joke, the fox buried his face in his palm with a dragged sigh and shook his head. “Cyno, your humor is too broken. Your free trial of talking has ended.”

Cyno chuckled. With a teasing smirk, he tested, “And if I don’t? Who’s going to arrest me? You? ”

Tighnari stood up, sizing him, as he placed both hands on his hips. “You’re getting too brazen in the forest, general. May I remind you of whose territory this is?”

He took a step forward, his heart pounding from the rush of adrenaline. “Then, tell me, oh great General Watcher of the Forest,” he drawled.

They didn’t dare break eye contact, turning their silent gazes into a heated competition. One smug, one blank. Until one sighed. Tighnari turned away and grabbed a bowl before setting it on the dining table along with the rest of the dinner.

“You must be hungry. How were you planning to supplement yourself if I didn’t save you some?” he chastised, folding his arms across his chest.

“When did you notice?” Cyno propped his chin in the palm of his right hand, the curtain of silver hair followed his movement, his red eyes peeking under. He was sure a while ago he didn’t make any sudden movements to give his presence away.

The forest watcher huffed, a small curve tugging the corner of his lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Cyno shoved a spoonful of soup in his mouth without saying anything. He wanted to retort but couldn’t think of the best one to end it. Flinching, he dropped the spoon and fanned his poor tongue. The thing in his mouth ended up burning his taste buds.

“Be careful. It’s hot.”

“You could have given an earlier heads up.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you would still need instructions on how to consume soup. Maybe next time, I’ll write one for you.”

The back of Tighnari’s head tickled as he assumed the pair of red eyes would have been burning holes at him right now. He quietly laughed to himself as he brought out the fish they sizzled.

“Careful, now. You wouldn’t want to prickle your gums with its nasty fishbones. They’re quite pointy. If you’ve chewed on a cactus, you’ll know it,” he casually said it as factual, further mocking the general. “First, you have to cut the flesh from here.” Tighnari pointed at the top of the fish’s head and then traced its spine. “And continue here until you reach the flesh at the tail.”

If anyone were to see them, they would assume their leader was seriously teaching someone the anatomy of a fish, not the leader of the forest watcher teaching General Mahamatra how to eat a fish without getting pricked.

Cyno, although slightly unamused, decided to humor his friend’s spite, testing to see how far his gloating goes. “Then, is there, by chance, a guide for feeding exclusively made by the illustrious general forest watcher?”

Tighnari crinkled his nose at the obvious attempt. “If even the Mahamatra needs those guides, then I would fear for Sumeru’s future.” He set down the fork and turned around, drying the dishes to put them into their respective holders. “Collei helped me make those. It would break her heart if she knew you didn’t finish it.”

Stop talking and just eat. That’s basically what he said. Cyno let out a chortle and ate.

This was awfully familiar. He couldn’t help but reminisce a fresh memory as butterflies tickled his stomach.

“Home is where I come home for dinner, my wife with the kids finished preparing dinner.”

The meat of the fish was tender. The water-based tomato sauce added aroma to the whole meal. He moaned in delight.

“We would sit down and have a nice meal, chat about what went on my day, for the best or for the worst.”

Cyno set down his fork, swallowing his last bit of water before he turned to his companion. He propped up his elbow under his chin as he leaned towards him. He opened his mouth but decided not to.

Why would he randomly ask how is your day? That would be too boring. The usual response to that at the least was: It’s fine. That would be the worst conversation starter, not to mention, not meaningful. Talking about the weather of the rainforest was a no-brainer's way to go. It’s even worse than asking “how’s your day?”

Tighnari noticed the odd delay in Cyno’s conversation. He stopped eating; he knows even with his back turned on him. He was fixing his table, stacking papers according to their relativeness with his ongoing research. His breathing too… He sounded like he was about to say something but hesitated again and again.

What on kusanali’s name is in that head of his? Was this perhaps another joke in the making?

Before he could spout another nonsense, Tighnari broke the silence. “Collei’s studies is progressing swiftly. Although there are some committed mistakes, it’s nothing to worry about. She excels in identifying wild life species, indeed great qualities for a forest watcher.” He nodded in approval, almost teacher-like, reporting to a parent.

Cyno was handed the papers of her written activities and a small smile cracked his lips. “That’s fantastic. Seems like leaving her to you was actually one of the best choices I’ve made.”

“Although…” Tighnari spoke with a troubled expression. Cyno remained silent as he waited for him to continue, his heartbeat slowly rising. The fox closed his eyes as he finalized his thoughts to tell the other. “Don’t worry. It’s not about the archon residue. However, it had something to do with her Eleazar. I’m not sure if it concerns you since it’s not under your expertise but, it acted up and she was bedridden for four days.”

Cyno tensed, almost ready to spring from his seat and bolt to her hut. Tighnari, seeing his reaction, was quick to add, “She’s in stable condition now. You saw her a while ago.”

Cyno clenched and unclenched his fist, something he would do when he feels at uneasy. Then tried to relax as he sat back down. He trusts Tighnari in his expertise.

Tighnari shook his head lightly, his ears laying flat with his hand over his forehead, feeling the growing headache that bugged him for days now.

“If there’s anything you need help with, I’m here,” Cyno determinedly offered while he smiled kindly, grateful, albeit he had nothing to need at the moment.

He had the other forest watchers look out for Collei whenever she’s not under his supervision and currently, he’s brimming with supplies needed for her condition in case of emergencies. Although, he really does appreciate the gesture.

“Are you okay though?”

The next thing he knew, Cyno was holding his shoulders with a firm grip as he realized he just snapped out of his short idleness caused by nausea. He could feel his body light but would suddenly be pulled by gravity. Sometimes his vision would distort or the ground under his feet would be like some sort of an illusion.

He frowned. He hadn’t tested any mushrooms yet. It must be really his scholarly sleep schedule continuing on for consecutive days.

“Tighnari, are you there? You didn’t take any mushrooms, did you?” Cyno slightly shook him, careful not to worsen his condition but enough to at least snap him out of his stupor. His face was paler than usual.

The botanist gripped the edge of the table he was leaning on, finally having his senses return. He breathed in deeply.

Cyno tugged his arm, gently guiding the languid fox towards his bed. “You should sit down first. We wouldn’t want you falling on me now, would we?” Although he was concerned, he couldn’t help but slip out slight laughter in hopes that Tighnari would, at least, respond to it.

It was worrying that he hadn’t said a word out so far.

He knelt down in front of him with hands on his shoulders, his eyes scouring any other signs of discomfort on his face. “Tighnari, speak to me.” But the botanist still had his hands over his head, trying to quell the pinching headaches.

After a few more seconds Cyno could count, he finally dabbed his hands away from him while Cyno stood up, looking down on the exhausted fox. He sighed.

“Are you getting proper rests?” He asked, his exposed red eye piercing through whatever concocted lies the other is planning. Not that he could, the answer is already plain said by his pale face.

The fox turned away, tail swishing to one side, displeased.

Cyno sighed, placing a hand over his head. “You’ll have to rest for today.” When he felt a brush of fur, he then realized what he did. As if electrified, he redacted his hand in an instant and tried to cover it up by bringing a fist over his cough.

As a response, his ear twitched. “But your plate, I’ll—”

“I will take care of it.” He insisted on pushing him to lie on the bed. “Just rest. I’ll watch you over for a while.”

As much as TIghnari persistently resisted it, it crawled slowly onto him. He finally felt the weight of his eyelids as he took one last look at the dark silhouette over him. A yawn escaped his lips before slipping into a slumbered dream. Or so Cyno hopes, even if Sumeru doesn’t dream.

The sleeping fox mumbled something under his breath of “I don’t need your supervision.” But Cyno passed it off as incoherent talks in his sleep.

“Take it as a compensation for my constant absence…”

Cyno smiled, seeing his labored breathing then decided to clean his meal, washing the plate by the river in the dead of night before returning it to its proper place. Releasing the tension in his muscles, he gave out a rumbled sigh as he sat on the floor beside the sleeping fox’s head, leaning his back on the bed’s frame.

He had his hood removed, his silver hair spilling over the mattress. Only the luminance of the full moon gave him the view of his companion’s serene face. With that last image in his mind, he also drifted off to sleep.

#cynonari #cyno #tighnari #genshin impact #Genshin #genshin fanfic #cynari

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viciousoverlord · 1 year

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A long day at work that he is accustomed to. He puts his bag on the table with the key of his car and goes to his room to remove his shoes and socks. A shower is then taken by the warrior to refresh. After he leaves the bathroom and puts on comfortable clothes. He returns to the living room to prepare food for himself.

He takes a large piece of meat from the freezer then fills a basin with klutz to drop it inside. While the meat thaws and absorbs the sweetness of the klutz, he goes to his personal library and picks the book he has been reading to kill time. He opens it at the page he stopped last time and read for some minutes. Eventually, he puts a stop to it and walks to the basin.

He looks at the large piece of meat and, satisfied with the result, he takes a metal board made for cutting meat from the cupboard on the right to the oven. He picks up the knife perfect to cut large pieces of meat and cuts until he has several pieces of long and generous meat.

He puts it all into a large bowl and turns to the stove. He inserts a finger in the hole and pours some of his ki in it. The largest circle heats up as he goes to another cupboard to take a pan. He puts it on the circle and goes to his refrigerator to take a few condiments to add taste to the meal.

He pours a small quantity of klutz in the pan and leaves it on the circle for the moment. He takes eggs of Vespoid that he cracks on top of a bowl until it has a sufficient amount of egg yolk. He takes a spoon to swirl the yolk of water to have an excellent mixture. Then, he adds in the mixture a sauce of Hepe, another sauce of Zecot and to fish, a last sauce of Apaw. He mixes it all with the spoon for one minutes for the egg yolk to take on a red color and release a delicious aroma in the living room.

He pours it into a small bowl and adds blue salt and red grass to put it in the oven at a temperature of 150 degree for 10 minutes. The sauce for the meat being finished. He turns his focus back on the meat in the large bowl and smirks after it has taken on a scarlet color. He puts on a glove and takes each pieces of meat to put it in the pan with the klutz. When they become brown, he turns them to the other uncooked side until they get the same treatment. He removes the pan from the heated circle and puts another pan with salted butter. Around the salted butter square, he adds pink oil that crackles rapidly as the butter melt. Both eventually becomes one, and it is when he adds the cooked pieces of meat in the same for them to absorb the salt from the butter square and become thicker thanks to the oil.

When this is done, he turns off the stove and goes to take out of the oven the thick sauce. He takes it and pours it on all the cooked pieces of large meat before he takes a large plate to put them all them. A fork and a knife to start to cut a piece and shove it into his mouth. A clear fan of his delicious food, he eats them with joy and leaves nothing behind. After he is done eating and putting everything in the dish-washing machine.

He opens a capsule filled with black coffee and puts it in his coffee machine after adding klutz. While it is brewing, he sits on the floor and closes his eyes for a shining golden glow to appear around his body. He stays in this position for as long as it takes for the machine to crush the coffee grain into the delicious black liquid he loves so much.

#i just wanted to write down how his nights goes #i like it tbh #|| sanity of said madness — ic

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publicdomaindisabledcharacters · 1 year

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Jean des Barrets from Guy de Maupassant's short story, "Waiter, a 'bock'", has PTSD, depression, and alcoholism.

Description:

I glanced round to find a place that was not too crowded, and went and sat down by the side of a man who seemed to me to be old, and who was smoking a two-sous clay pipe, which was as black as coal. From six to eight glasses piled up on the table in front of him indicated the number of “bocks” he had already absorbed.

At a glance I recognized a “regular,” one of those frequenters of beer houses who come in the morning when the place opens, and do not leave till evening when it is about to close. He was dirty, bald on top of his head, with a fringe of iron-gray hair falling on the collar of his frock coat. His clothes, much too large for him, appeared to have been made for him at a time when he was corpulent.

One could guess that he did not wear suspenders, for he could not take ten steps without having to stop to pull up his trousers. Did he wear a vest? The mere thought of his boots and of that which they covered filled me with horror. The frayed cuffs were perfectly black at the edges, as were his nails.

'What age are you?”

“I am thirty, but I look forty-five, at least.”

I looked him straight in the face. His wrinkled, ill-shaven face gave one the impression that he was an old man. On the top of his head a few long hairs waved over a skin of doubtful cleanliness. He had enormous eyelashes, a heavy mustache, and a thick beard. Suddenly I had a kind of vision, I know not why, of a basin filled with dirty water in which all that hair had been washed. I said to him:

“You certainly look older than your age. You surely must have experienced some great sorrow.”

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salesmake · 1 year

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raajrajasharma · 1 year

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ayrshaa · 2 years

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saknojcbauqc · 2 years

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fairy-eclipse · 2 years

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Hi! Your writing is truly awesome and you are very well-spoken. It's a pleasure to see your works. I was wondering if you would be up to writing a piece about Tom helping a gender-neutral reader after someone poisoned their dinner on purpose? If not then maybe Tom showing affection to a touch-starved gender-neutral reader? Thank you in advance!

A Lot at Steak

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Warnings: nausea, vomiting

A/N: thank you anon !!!!

The flickering radiance of a thousand candles floating overhead is a welcome sight after a particularly bad day of rigorous classwork. You take in the astounding view of the Enchanted Ceiling with its starry expanse of black skies and pale moon beaming through wisps of white clouds. Settling into your regular seat next to your housemate Alistair, you eye the heaps of food on your table with a content sigh.

With no time to waste, you dig in.

"Alistair, this steak is weird.”

You cut off another piece and chew at it thoughtfully. Every bite elicits a rancid taste and while it's subtle enough to not be horrible, you're a little disappointed. This isn't quite up to par with the usually unrivaled, top-notch Hogwarts cooking.

He swivels in his seat to look at you. "Mine is delectable. I don't suppose you got on the house elves' nerves lately?" You shake your head.

He frowns, worry finding its way into the creases of his brow. "Maybe you should put the fork down."

"But I'm hungry," you protest, grinning at the unamused look on his face. "Hey, food is food. It's not like something's going to happen to me, right?"

Alistair relents with a sigh. "Yeah."

━━━━━━♡♤♡━━━━━━

No.

You’re hunched over a toilet in the lavatory, head reeling and stomach lurching with every new surge of nausea. The overbearing taste of salt coats your tongue and you’re praying to whatever higher being is above to please end your misery for fear that you’ll spill all your guts out.

Or whatever remains of it.

Someone must have heard you because you’re flushing the toilet a few minutes later feeling slightly less disoriented, though still very much like you just took a Bludger to the stomach.

You wash up at the basin.

Who would do this to you?

Immediately a few names pop up off the top of your head. You scold yourself for being so stupid. Really, that first bite should have been a tell-tale sign that something was amiss.

Curse you and your insatiable hunger.

The sound of approaching footsteps jolts you from your thoughts. You realize with a twinge of panic that if someone spots you, you’re going to have to give a thorough explanation as to why you’re in the lavatory looking like a sad mess while everyone else is savoring their (perfectly safe to consume) dinner. You can wave your pride goodbye at that point.

You barely have time to brace yourself before a familiar voice pierces the air.

"It isn't like you to run out so suddenly." Tom says as he comes into sight.

This is bad. Really bad.

All at once your head feels heavy, as if a bowling ball has somehow replaced your brains. It isn't like you can even focus on feeling humiliated right now, but did he really have to be the one to find you in such a state?

"Well? What's wrong?"

Maybe it’s the burning shame, or the aftermath of the poison, or both, but suddenly your lips are sewed shut and talking seems a near impossible thing. You stare at the faucet, hands gripping either side of the sink as if it’s your lifeline, your only means of stability.

You hear Tom sigh impatiently from where he’s standing outside. A few quiet seconds pass, and you think you’ve turned him away with your lack of response until he strides in to close the distance.

His thumb and forefinger brush against your chin and he lifts your face up to meet his gaze. You watch his piercing eyes flit to the sweat on your brow and then the heaving of your shoulders paired with your heavy, shuddering breaths.

You can practically see the moment his composure crumbles.

"Who hurt you?"

Your eyes widen in alarm and you shake your head quickly in an attempt to dispel whatever assumptions he could’ve thought up in those two seconds.

A mistake. You clamp a shaky hand over your mouth. Vomit inches up your throat, this time the situation more unpleasant, dire. You see an inkling of realization dawn on his face.

In an instant your mind is swimming and your knees are buckling and you’re stumbling to make it in time despite the fact that the world has dwindled to a dizzying blur.

Tom wrenches the stall door open and you rush in, missing the concern that has snuck into his frown.

Maybe it’s your imagination, but you swear you feel a light hand rubbing circles on your back as you hurl into the toilet. Again.

Whatever did they put in your food?

By the time you leave the lavatory, you feel...drained. Fatigue has possessed your every muscle, and every burdened step feels like a descent into hell. You’re a ragdoll; pathetic and limp and seconds away from crumbling.

But when you do crumble it's in the comfort of his arms, and maybe that’s not so bad after all. Your head subconsciously droops onto his shoulder, body molding to fit his.

“Aguamenti,” you hear him murmur. You lift your head to see a jet of water filling up a conjured glass in his hand. He brings it to your parched lips. "Drink."

You down it ravenously, the coolness of it soothing your lungs, revitalizing your bones. Whoever executed the whole plan sure did one heck of a job, because that was just about the most horrid experience of your life.

As if reading your thoughts, you feel Tom tense against you.

“It's dragon poison,” he says, voice dangerously low, “in a water-downed form.”

You blink in surprise, but not because he knows about something like this. That part is nothing new. But the process to attain the substance is an arduous one, so to think that someone has enough of a vendetta against you to somehow acquire it—?

“Tell me who did it,” Tom demands. “I’ll make them pay.”

“I’m not sure,” you reply meekly. Irked as you are, you can’t pinpoint the blame on anyone just yet.

You know under any other circumstance Tom would goad you into giving him more information, but for now he lets you rest there against him under the dim light of the corridor.

“Tom?” You shift on your feet. “That must have been pretty revolting. Sorry for—”

“You’re a fool,” Tom interrupts briskly. “A moron. Surely you should have been able to deduce that that was no ordinary steak.”

You know he doesn’t mean it, you know it’s his way of telling you that you ought to be more careful, but the remark still stings. You loosen your grip on his robes.

Tom sighs again. Then, much gentler, in a voice you know is reserved for you and you only, he whispers, “Never mind that. I’m still going to have to take you to the infirmary. Just to make sure that you’re— that you don’t throw up again.”

“Okay,” you mumble, warmth spreading where the emptiness was seconds ago. As long as you can be with him a little longer.

And yet, you can’t help but wonder if this incident has changed his view of you. You wonder if he thinks you’re pathetic for that pitiful display back there.

Perhaps you get your answer when he cups your face and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. You break into a smile.

He doesn’t stop there, though—he kisses you a little more, kisses all the embarrassment away, the qualmishness and the apprehension until by the end of it all the remain in your stomach are butterflies.

And you think maybe that’s not so bad after all.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x you #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle blurb #tom riddle blurbs #tom riddle fluff #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter fandom #harry potter boys #tom riddle oneshot #tom riddle oneshots

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scribbling-dragon · 2 years

Text

Adaptive Nature

Chapter 6

Summary:

“Pixl!” Someone yells, shattering the peace of the library into several fragments. Some of the people hunched over desks near them glance upwards with a glare for him, eyes narrowing at him. He smiles apologetically, but it’s a lot more strained than he would have hoped and they continue to glare at him anyway.

“Over here,” Pixl nudges him as he walks past, and he follows, eyes trailing over the books, reading the small signs at the end of each row as they walk past them. Age of Gods I, Age of Gods II, Age of Corruption I, Age of Corruption II and Age of Corruption III. They pass a few on the Age of Empires, going up to at least XX, which…is a lot more than he would have expected from a civilization of over a thousand years ago.

There’s a man sat at a desk waiting for them, books and scrolls scattered across the table until he can hardly see the wood below. He perks up when he sees them, grinning a little more, tail flicking behind him as he leans forward. “Pixl!”

(AO3 Link)

(Masterpost)

(4,923 words)

as always, reblogs are very much appreciated :] (it’s the much awaited new person chapter!! there is set up for later relationships in this chapter too..so if you like solidaritek..)

He’s on his back again, staring into the vast expanse of space and stars, swirling around him. The obsidian obelisks continue to rise from the ground around him, spiralling upwards and into the inky darkness of the sky above him.

He wouldn't be surprised if the obsidian pillars were simply a part of the sky, they melt into it well another, blending seamlessly with each other the longer he looks. When he squints his eyes and angles his head just so, he can almost imagine stars glimmering in the depths of the obsidian too.

There’s a weird hum in the air around him as he sits up, like people talking when you're underwater. He recognises the sound but can't make sense of it, flinching away as it rises into a crescendo before rapidly falling again. There’s a crackling sound now, and he turns, on his feet before he realises he is, stumbling as he spins towards the source of the sound.

There’s nothing there.

A grey and black plinth makes up the centre of the sound, though there’s nothing around it to suggest what might be making the sound. It grows, roaring in his ears as he steps closer, before suddenly falling away, leaving his ears buzzing with that low hum again.

He feels disorientated, limbs uncoordinated as he walks towards the stone plinth, which is more of a basin, now that he looks closer at it. It’s filled with the same inky darkness of the sky, stars winking in its depths, spinning slowly around and around.

It’s like touching cold water when he reaches out, and he pulls back a moment later, shaking his hand as the darkness seems to cling to his fingers, the cold eating away at him. The buzz rises again in his ear, mounting into a high pitched wailing as he takes a step back from the basin.

It fades out this time, rather than dropping off completely, allowing his hearing to adjust better to the silence pressing in around him. The air doesn't remain silent for long, soon filled with the sound of beating wings, a shadow flickering behind one of the pillars when he turns to look.

The purple glow is unmistakable though, when he looks, and he swallows, feeling it stick in his throat as he watches the shadow progress, twisting around one of the obsidian obelisks, until it’s perched on the top, claws extended halfway down it and wings mantled.

It stares at him, watching him as its claws continue to scrape over the obsidian, a harsh and grating sound that scrapes at his ear and makes him cringe back, raising his hands to cup them over his ears. Its spines ripple, like a wave of grey washing over the back of the dragon, wings twitching as it assesses him.

The dragon’s eyes flash a brighter purple, a similarly toxic cloud of smoke rising from its nostrils as it slinks down the pillar, tail whipping behind it as it stalks towards him, mouth slowly yawning open, more of the purple smog spilling over its tongue.

He’s frozen in place, his limbs heavier than they were before, leaden down with invisible weights that hold him in place as the dragon approaches, tilting its head to the side. It brings an eye right up beside his face, smog still spilling into the air around them. He can hear its tail moving, scales whispering over the stone behind it as it settles. He doesn't dare to breathe, chest still as he stares back at the dragon, into the depths of its purple eye as the mist continues to thicken around them.

It pulls back slightly, and the weights on his limbs ease slightly, hands beginning to shake as movement is given back to him, adrenaline washing over him in heavy waves.

When it speaks, its voice echoes around them, as though it is the very stars that are speaking to him, their voices joined together in unison. “I have been waiting a long, long time for you.” Its voice is oddly silken, rumbling in the air, and he opens his mouth to ask a question, to ask anything.

He chokes on the smog surrounding him instead.

--- --- ---

“Sheriff!” He inhales sharply, sitting up so quickly that he goes lightheaded, ignoring Norman’s offended protests as he slips off where he had been laying on his chest. “Your friend’s here to see you!”

“Yeah,” his voice croaks out, and he swallows before trying again, “I’ll be there in a minute!” He shouts, and he doesn't get a response but assumes they heard him anyway. He breathes in again, chest shuddering with the amount of air he inhales, filling his lungs and reminding himself that there’s no purple smog surrounding him, that it was just a dream.

He rolls to the side, off his bedroll and placing his feet on the floor. He aches, as though he’s run a marathon of some kind. Or ridden for several days without rest, knees aching as he pulls himself to his feet, the joints popping a little as he stands up straight.

He’s quick to gather his clothes, grabbing his hat from where he had chucked it the previous evening, placing it on his head as a final touch. He has to ease the hat around the horns again, tugging at the material a little more when they don't go under as easily as they did the day before.

His head aches where the bases of them embed in his skull, reminding him to not tug them back and forth again as he stumbles out of his tent, fumbling with his communicator as he walks into the sunlight.

The sun is…a lot higher than it normally is when he wakes, and as he glances around there are already people at work, building up the houses around him, progressing further than the foundations the day before.

Pixl is stood by the horses, talking with Alyssa as he stands there. His eyes are fixed on him though, not on Alyssa. He doesn't smile, nor does he wave, he simply stares as he makes his way over, unable to shake the feeling that he’s in some kind of trouble.

He averts his gaze down to his communicator, remembering the messages from last night as he spots the notifications. He swallows as he taps on them, Pixl’s name flashing above the messages as he reads them.

<Pixlriffs> Sheriff, we’ve found something.

<Pixlriffs> I'm coming to get you tomorrow morning, be ready. My friend wants to meet you.

He looks up again, and Pixl’s still staring at him, still watching him. He makes the rest of the way over, shrinking a little beneath his stare. He’s not sure why Pixl’s suddenly turned like this, normally he’d have said something, or at least given him a smile. But he remains silent, watching him.

“Mornin’ Sheriff,” Alyssa breaks the silence, looking between both of them, “Pixl here wanted to talk to you, somethin’ about a meeting?”

“Yeah,” he nods, not taking his eyes off of Pixl, “We spoke about it yesterday.”

“Well, as long as you're not gonna abandon us for the guild, I think we’re fine.” Alyssa laughs at her own joke, only quieting when neither of them laugh with her. “We’ve got things under control for the day, go sort out whatever it is you need to.” She claps him on the shoulder as she leaves, hand squeezing for a moment before pulling back.

He lets the silence linger for a moment, trying to gauge anything from Pixl’s face.

“I take it you've got bad news.”

Pixl sighs, face crumpling. “Yes,” he drags a hand down his face, “I don't really want to talk about it here, where others might here, so.” He gestures towards the horses, and he gets the hint pretty quickly, leading Pixl to where Arrow and Bullseye are.

“Do you want to ride with me or take Bullseye again?” He asks, already readying Arrow. She nudges against him with her nose, and he pushes her away gently, patting her neck as he tightens the girth, testing it before moving onto the bridle.

“Ah,” Pixl pauses as he puts the bit into Arrow’s mouth, “Perhaps it might be best if we rode together again.” He pauses at that, halfway to tightening one of the straps on the bridle, twisting to face Pixl.

His hat gets caught as he twists, yanking on his horns, and he hurries to press it back onto his head properly, even as it tugs at his horns again, they ache slightly in protest as he does it, but he brushes it aside. “What?” He laughs, “You're volunteering to ride Arrow again?”

“Like I said, it’ll be more convenient. We want to get there as, ah, quickly as possible, and I couldn't help but notice that Bullseye was slightly slower than Arrow.”

“Yeah,” he nods, turning back around to finish saddling Arrow up, “He’s more of a long distance type of guy, Arrow’s more of a speed thing. You ride her when you want to get somewhere quickly.” He pauses, testing her girth, “Or away from somewhere quickly.”

“Well, we have some news on what we found, and my friend wants to meet you.”

“Really?” He pulls Arrow after him, out from the temporary stable and into the open air, Pixl following behind him. “What’ve you told him?” He pulls himself into the saddle, before offering a hand to give Pixl a boost up. He lands a little heavily again, and Arrow snorts, stomping her hooves a few times, rocking them both back and forth before she stills again.

Pixl grips onto his jacket even after she stills, preparing for what comes next, probably. “Well, I told him about your, uh, condition?” He waves his hand in front of his eyes, towards his head and he has to bat his hand away to allow him to see again, steering Arrow down the central path and towards the route out of the fishbowl.

“And that’s made me interesting?”

“That and what we saw in that cave. And the fact that all this happened right after.”

“He thinks it’s connected?” He asks, encouraging Arrow into a trot up the path. Pixl remains silent as they move up the path, gradually leaving the fishbowl until the people below look more like ants scurrying about in the sand than people.

“I think so.” He sounds oddly hesitant about it, the silence stretching on after he speaks.

“So,” he pulls Arrow to a stop, “Where exactly are we going?”

“Oh!” Pixl’s loud in his ear, and he winces, “Just north of here. We need to be in a savannah.”

“You're in a savannah?” He directs Arrow north anyway, pushing her forward into a canter, allowing Pixl to adjust his grip before urging her into a gallop. The ground swishes past them, dust billowing on either side and swirling around her hooves as she moves.

It’s not far to the savannah, he saw it when he first entered the mesa, meaning he can direct her easily towards it, only slowing when the tall grasses come into view. He allows Pixl to direct him from there, relying on him pointing and muttering under his breath about the way he walks back. At least he didn't make him walk, even if he is one of the worst guides he’s seen in years.

“Over, over to the left a little.” Pixl directs, and he swats his arm out of the way again before he can startle Arrow.

“I can see it, you know.” He says, “I'm not blind.”

“Ah,” Pixl pulls his arm back towards himself, “Apologies.”

“Anywhere for me to put Arrow?” He asks, pushing Arrow into a gentle trot to bring them closer to the building. It looks more like a really old library than anything that would house a guild of people, but Pixl also looks like he sleeps in a library, so maybe that’s the intention.

It’s incredibly fancy, and he’s definitely going to feel a bit bad about tracking dust all over their floors when he gets inside. They have a small stable, surprisingly, and there’s an empty stall that they put Arrow in, Pixl insisting that she’ll be fine while they're inside.

He leaves her, only a little reluctantly, the curiosity he’d managed to keep contained for now beginning to bubble over. He follows Pixl eagerly, basically, even as the doors echo in the massive halls around them, swinging shut with a clunk that makes him jump a little, spinning around, one hand on his hat.

“You can take that off here, if you want.” Pixl says.

He turns to him, confused, “What?”

“Your hat,” Pixl gestures at his head, “Anyone that sees you won't care if you have horns.”

“Oh, right,” he tugs a little at the brim of his hat before pulling it off. “Of course.” Pixl scrutinises him for a moment, and he resists the urge to put the hat back on, fiddling with the frayed edge of the brim instead, waiting until Pixl finishes his assessment.

He pulls him along by the arm, guiding him through the halls with ease. He’s not sure how he knows his way around, all of them look the same, with the towering roofs and oddly detailed pillars that spiral up and up. He doesn't think he’s seen a pillar with the same design yet, and he’s left wondering how many there are as Pixl pulls them both to a stop in front of another pair of massive doors, releasing his arm.

“I have one thing you've got to promise me before we meet my friend.” Pixl says, face oddly serious.

“Okay?” He tilts his head a little, “Hit me with it.”

“You cannot, and I mean cannot ask him why he knows so much about this despite being on the exploration team, okay? It’s a sensitive subject and he doesn't like talking about it.”

“Right.” Odd request, but he can stick to that.

“If it makes you feel better even I don't know why he dislikes talking about it.” Pixl pats him on the shoulder, before stepping past to push the doors open. He does it with relative ease, despite how heavy the doors look. He shoulders his own way in, finding them actually a lot lighter than they appear, the hinges oiled well enough that they don't even squeak.

He has to pause once he takes in the room beyond, stopping just inside the doorway and allowing it to fall shut behind him, immediately enraptured by the shelves upon shelves of books that seemingly go on forever. He stares at them, wondering how much information there actually is within these walls.

“You're going to get another mark on your record if you keep shouting in the library like that.” Pixl replies.

“And the Head can suck it, he can give me another mark for all I care.” The mysterious friend leans back in his chair a little, tail flicking in and out of sight again. His eyes flick to him a moment later, looking him up and down in one sweeping motion. The sclera of his eyes is completely red, slitted pupils expanding a little before contracting again. “And you must be the famous Sheriff,” his chair clatters back to the floor with a bang, and he’s pretty sure he hears Pixl sigh next to him, “I'm Tango, pleased to make your acquaintance.” He looks him over again, before extending a hand, claws glinting in the light. He’s slightly hesitant to accept it.

He takes it anyway, not at all prepared for Tango to yank him closer, pulling him until he’s halfway across the desk, still not releasing his hand. His tail flicks back and forth behind him, and he tilts his head with a grin. “Sheriff.” He says, more of a purr really, maybe he’s a cat of some kind? “That a title or were your parents a little weird?”

“Uh, title.” He’s pretty sure he hears Pixl sigh behind him again. Tango grins a little wider, teeth glinting in the light. His hands are warm to the touch, warmer than he’s used to at least. But he’s wearing a jacket, which is odd.

He pulls his hand back out of Tango’s grasp, leaning back across the desk and righting himself. Tango looks faintly disappointed at that, hand hanging in the air for a moment, before he’s leaning back again, yanking a chair out with a screech. “Come sit,” he pats the chair, “We have much to talk about.”

He puts on a mock serious voice for that last bit, and he’s already beginning to warm up to Tango, making his way around the desk to sit beside him. He looks up when Pixl doesn't join them, finding the man staring at him in disappointment? Maybe dismay? He’s not sure, but Pixl doesn't look particularly happy, but not in an angry way, just a disappointed way. He’s not sure what it means.

“You not sitting Pix?” He asks, and Tango pulls a chair out on his other side, inviting Pixl to sit. For people that are apparently friends Pixl gives Tango a pretty impressive exasperated look as he sits in the chair.

Tango leans across him a moment later, pressing into him with a mumbled apology as he drags a book towards them. He doesn't even have time to read the title before Tango’s flicking it open, skimming through the pages until he finds one that’s satisfactory, sticking his thumb into the pages and pausing the cascade.

“So!” Tango flips the book open, allowing the other side of it to crash onto the desk with a loud clatter. He absently wonders how many marks he’s had on his record for disturbing the quiet of the library. “You told me that the weird corruption thingies you saw were all blue and disgusting-y.” He trails off at that last bit, looking confused for a moment before blinking and continuing on as though it never happened, “And I was pretty sure I heard something else about blue-ish corruption at one point in history, which is weird, because I searched for hours and there’s literally only this one book that has stuff about it inside.”

“Have,” Pixl trails off, staring at the page. He hasn't even looked at it yet, too busy watching Tango, “Have you written on this in glittery gel pen?”

“I have!” Tango grins, “Do you like it? I think it adds a bit of pizazz to things, makes it interesting.”

Pixl groans at Tango’s response, burying his face in his hands. Tango continues to grin at him anyway, finger still absently tapping at the page, where he has actually written stuff in glittery gel pen, red this time rather than the colour he used on Pixl’s map. It circles several passages, a few notes written in barely legible chicken scratch.

“That’s an ancient text, Tango.” Pixl complains, head slipping further down until he’s buried it in his arms, resting on the desk like he’s going to sleep. He’s never seen Pixl like this before, normally he’s so collected and organised, even as he rambles on about ancient history and loses his place.

“And it’s not been used by anyone else in decades.” Tango responds, flicking back and forth between two pages, the paper fluttering and causing a slight breeze in his direction. “It’s fine.”

“Next you're going to tell me you've folded the pages of these texts.” Pixl raises his head from his arms, looking Tango in the eye. “You haven't, right?”

“Nope!” Tango sounds overly chipper, way too high-pitched for anything he says to be even slightly the truth. “I’d never bend the pages.”

“This is why Zloy hates you.”

“He loves me,” Tango laughs, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You're destroying his books.”

“I'm loving them,” Tango gasps out, “I'm loving them, aren't I, Sheriff?” Tango turns his gaze on him, eyes wide, pupils dilated as he stares at him.

“Uh, I don't know?”

“Oh come on,” Tango slumps into him, warmth radiating from where they're touching, “You're meant to back me up.”

“Ignore him,” Pixl cuts in before he can respond, “Tango, what have you found?”

“You're no fun.” He complains, flicking back to the page he was on before, laying it out between them, “But! I love you so I'm going to move past it for now. Here, sometime in the nebulous past and in the mountains somewhere, as with all Corruption related phenomena, there was a weird blue corruption that spread, we think, because of the corruption of an Aeor Chosen, rather than an Exor Chosen. Don't get me wrong, there was evidence of both types of Corruption in the area, one a bright red, like blood, and the other was an electric blue.”

“It’s not an electric blue.” He interrupts, and Tango turns to face him.

“Is it not?” He turns back to Pixl with a frown, “Would’ve been nice to know that beforehand, wouldn't it?” He turns back to the book with a frown, slumping forward a little in his seat. His tail stops its absent flicking, trailing along the floor as he stares at the book.

“It was like…a darker blue? Probably almost black, with dots of bright blue within it. They seemed to almost, pulse? I think would be the right word for it?” He shudders a little at the memory, the screeching that had followed him out of that cave.

“Oh?” Tango perks up again, leaning closer. He leans back slightly, but Tango just follows after him, resting his chin in one hand as he stares at him. “Could you describe it to me, anything else about it that seemed off?”

“It was more like moss than anything else, I suppose, maybe lichen? It just grew everywhere, and it seemed to absorb the darkness completely. Nothing happened, either, until we spoke, or something, we made a noise.”

Tango’s eyes widen at that, leaning so far back in his chair that he almost tips over completely. He reaches out to grab the back of his chair, hopefully save him from a concussion via the stone floor.

He’s out of his chair a second later, tail whipping behind him as he runs off into the stacks of books, a “be right back!” called after him as he retreats. He’s not wearing shoes, pawed feet pattering along until he disappears from sight, rounding a corner.

He stares after him, utterly confused but absolutely interested in this enigma he’s just met.

“So,” Pixl breaks the silence, pulling his face back from his hands, “That’s Tango.”

“He’s definitely something.” He continues to stare towards where Tango disappeared until Pixl snorts, pulling his focus away from there.

“You would say that.”

“What?” He furrows his brow, “What does that mean?”

“You talking about me?” Tango’s at his shoulder, speaking directly into his ear and he startles, swinging his head around and almost falling out of his chair. Tango leaps backwards, juggling the books he’s holding as he rights himself in his chair. “Sorry ‘bout that, didn't mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine.” Tango dumps the books between them as he speaks, the sound echoing around them. He’s worried about getting a mark on his record at this point, and he’s not even a part of the guild. “I didn't catch you, right?”

“Catch me?” Tango looks down at himself, “I haven't fallen.” He says that with a small smirk, exchanging a look with Pixl that only makes the other groan, covering his face with his hands again.

“No,” he trails off, “With my horns.” He gestures with a hand, “I'm still getting used to them and stuff.”

“Oh yeah!” Tango leans a little closer, inspecting the horns before rocking back on his feet again. “Pix told me about that.” He sits down, pulling the first of the three books towards him. “Anyway! What you've told me sounds like the sculk, which is weird, because Pixl said you didn't go that far underground, meaning they shouldn't have been there.”

“Sculk?” Tango turns to him in surprise, blinking for a moment, before flicking the book open and leaning into his space again. He almost asks why he’s wearing a thick winter jacket if he’s radiating heat like that, but closes his mouth again as Tango continue to skim through the pages, clearly looking for something.

“Sculk is like…I don't really know how to describe it honestly, they're like a hivemind I suppose, they sense the vibrations of sound in the air, converting them into electrical signals. It’s like the whole of sculk in one area is one massive nervous system- you know how a nervous system works, right?”

“Mostly.”

“Well, it basically carries electrical impulses, from one part of the body to another, normally due to outside stimuli causing a response within the cells, which then allows the effector cells to coordinate a response. But! For those signals to travel they've got to jump these gaps between the ends of nerves, called synapses, and these electrical impulses travel through the gaps. You following so far?”

“Yeah.” He nods, keeping his eyes fixed with Tango’s face, even as Tango’s eyes flick just about everywhere, moving all over, dipping down, then back up to his face, then to the side and around the library.

“So, instead of these electrical impulses travelling through the chemicals between synapses the impulses travel through the air between the sculk sensors, and these are like the nerve cells, making it travel. Though, unlike nerve cells it can't travel as far, they don't seem to pass it along in a chain reaction as effectively as our own cells do. But these are the things that sense it.”

He taps at the diagram in the book, displaying a squat thing, with small, vine-like tendrils waving out the top. There’s no colour, but the way it has been shaded in gives the impression of speckled dots throughout it.

“There’s also other things, which we called shriekers for lack of a better word, and they, well, they shriek, funnily enough. These are like the effectors of the system, they cause a response, but only after three times. Like, three tries and then you're out. No?” Tango blinks at him again, pupils rapidly dilating, then constricting once more. “Anyway, it doesn't matter.” Tango’s leaned further into his space since he started talking, but he finds, oddly enough, that he doesn't mind the physical closeness, soaking up the warmth that seems to roll off of him in waves.

“The shriekers go off three times and you're screwed, which is why I'm the one to lead expeditions into the Deep Dark and no one else is allowed to.” He puffs out his chest a little at that, preening slightly, “They're basically the warning system, but not to the inhabitants, to you. Mainly because there aren't any inhabitants, but that’s not important.” He waves it away, “Essentially, there’s a defence system down there in the form of a warden, which, again, why you take me on exploration trips down there, because the spread of the sculk seems to have some links to the corruption, even though it doesn't seem to be malicious in the same way, preferring to remain in its own area and only attacking once you've disturbed its peace.” Tango trails off, flicking through a few more pages, which are already decorated with his chicken scratch notes, various colours of glittery gel pens winking at him from the pages he flicks past.

“The warden is like the antibodies, the white blood cells, if we want to continue with the analogy of the human body. They remove anything from within, though,” he flicks back a few pages, a cross-section diagram filling the whole of a double page, detailing where the Deep Dark, and ‘Ancient Cities’ can be found within the earth and cave systems, “If you're telling the truth about the tunnel not sloping down at all we’ve got a much bigger problem on our hands.”

“Which is?” Tango meets his eyes again, looking away from the book. His pupils dilate, then constrict as he glances away, a frown tugging his lips down.

“The sculk is spreading, which it’s never done before, and trust me,” he looks back at him again, eyes incredibly sincere, “I'm an expert on it.”

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