#i mean. it's an inn. and there's at least one big empty room

[invinciblerodent]

hold on are you telling me that if you play a dark urge, Shadowheart basically confirms that you sleep together at least semi-regularly by the end of act 2

I must have many thoughts about this immediately

(I did always think that there's no reason for the party not to spend at least one night in real beds at Last Light before they'd start heading towards Moonrise...)

[auspicioustidings]

Devil's Trumpet

AKA the Appalachian horror brain worms would not leave me alone

Summary: You move to small town West Virginia to get your head on straight but the men in the woods start unravelling you instead.

Words: 3.5k

CWs: mild horror, vague reference to mental illness

This is best read while listening to some Southern gothic tunes 🎶 I suggest Big Dark Love by Murder by Death!

Colour leeched out of the world here. There is something almost comforting about that, something familiar. Familiar too is the way this town moves like syrup too thick to be pleasant in your mouth. It was how you moved though the world once. Not anymore though, no, now your mind is your own and not an invading force. Now you can appreciate the drab slowness as something external to yourself, just an environment around you and not a prison closing in inside your head.

There wasn’t much of a plan really. A will reading that left you with not a lot, but enough to get the hell out. Signing with a fountain pen that made your skin crawl with how it scratched. A stiff drink and a dart thrown at a map and tearing a ragged hole in the Greenbrier River as the sharp point didn’t quite sink far enough into the board and tore its way through the paper on the way down. You were never any good at darts.

You aren’t putting down roots. Those were for old growth, not for hardy weeds that broke through concrete and always found another crack through which to grow when killed. Nothing that felt too much like a home, so instead a room at the only inn.

This town is too small to warrant one, but it doubles as a watering hole come evening. It doesn’t seem to have been updated in an age, you wonder idly if the plaque upkept to a gleaming shine declaring the inn to have been opened in 1824 is somehow conveying pride at the fact. The peeling wallpaper in your room was probably pretty once, but the green now seems sick with age and the delicate floral pattern has started to wilt.

There is no routine to your days here until one slowly creeps in as it always does.

Breakfast first. You don’t know if it’s something in the air here, but you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth and are eager to drown it in food and mint toothpaste. The inn has a small kitchenette for guest use and you make yourself toast with butter and strawberry jam. It’s a little too sweet but the tea helps, black with no sugar.

You stretch out the back of the inn and enjoy the view of the woods. You don’t call it yoga because it makes you less likely to do it, but you had learned when things were bad that quietly engaging your body in the morning was a good way to quiet your mind. There’s a little tension in the back of your neck you try to work out but it sticks there until you finish up and go back inside to shower. The hot water fixes it you think.

The first few weeks here you just sit and watch the world go by, but then you one day you decide to get up and spend some time wandering the town. It’s small, decrepit. There is the inn, a few sparse houses, one general store. The library, despite being the only venue with any chance of entertainment, is usually empty. You meet Mrs Lela Kaletaws who runs it, although she isn’t always around.

Roads here are barely holding together, but the one main road that runs out of town is at least in somewhat better condition. It runs parallel with the woods at one point, curving off just past old Mr Kleer's house. The man in question usually sits on his porch but he’s friendly enough so you don’t pay much mind to the gun.

After you’ve wandered town you make sandwiches for lunch. It isn’t much exciting, but it is routine and is filling enough that you bunker down for a nap after.

In the afternoon you go for a long walk before returning to the inn for dinner. There is a bar downstairs that opens in the evenings and serves food that while not a delicacy by any means is hot and filling. You retire to your room, read some of your book and go to sleep.

It continues that way. Breakfast, stretch, shower, wander, lunch, sleep, walk, dinner, read, sleep.

At first you only really skirt the edge of the woods, but with each passing dreary day you venture closer to the depths down the packed dirt path. The path through the woods is confusing and unmarked. Where you swore just yesterday it went to the right, today it goes to the left. Even so it must be your sense of direction, because the path always leads you past the jimsonweeds that come up to you chest before spitting you out on the road that leads to old Mr Kleer's house. The flowers are beautiful, but there is some metallic tang to their otherwise sweet scent that causes your teeth to ache.

—

More comfortable with the area now, it causes a fright when you see a man in the woods just in the corner of your eye only to snap your head around and have him vanish. You force calming breathes and keep walking. There is no such thing as ghosts in these woods.

Old man Axell calls to you from his porch as you pass, rifle butt settled on the rickety wood that you worry will collapse and left leg stretched straight out towards you like reaching for something.

“Seeing things in the woods kid?”

“I look spooked sir?”

“Like you’ve seen a Ghost I reckon.”

You give a shaky laugh at that.

“Only if ghosts come in flesh and blood and quick feet. Some man gave me a fright is all.”

“Must be out of towners” Axell says.

You do not like the way he says it. You do not like that he looks at you strangely. But you smile and nod and get on your way. He is only an old man.

—

There is someone in the woods. You feel his gaze on you, feel the dull prickle that rests on your nape from those eyes.

“We really must stop meeting like this” you say.

You have stopped trying to catch him. Now you only speak, eyes set on the dirt path in front of you. You do not think you will get a reply and when you do you shudder horribly at how much closer the voice is than you had anticipated.

“Don’t enjoy the company?”

He’s English and you frown. Out of towner. The old man must know something, but maybe you cannot begrudge him having fun at your expense. You have not made friends here.

“Enjoy company where I can see it if it’s all the same to you.”

The man laughs. It is a confusing laugh, warm and cold all at once as it bounces through the trees.

“Careful what you wish for.”

You resist the urge to turn even as his voice moves strangely, like he is swaying from one side of the path to the other.

“Must have a face like sin to keep hiding away” you say.

The next words you can feel. His breath is right at your cheek, a strand of your hair lifted by his fingers.

“Quite the opposite.”

Your heart is a prey animal running from a predator, beating wildly against your ribs as you turn to find he isn’t there. Only you certainly felt him. He leaves a sweet smell behind.

—

Sleep does not come easily that night. The rain against your window casts the moonlight strangely into your room. You spend hours watching as the creeping vines on the wallpaper seem to twist and shift beneath the moon flowers. When you finally fall asleep, it is almost as if you can smell them. Sweet and slightly metallic.

You wake up with the fading scent of damp earth and something on the edge of rot in your nose and the feel of dirt packed uncomfortably under your nails. They’re clean you find, but you spend the start of the morning cutting them down once you see the fading scratches left on your arms and legs through the night.

—

He is not the only stranger in the woods. You swore you would not go back, but routine takes you there without thought.

The Scottish man likes to walk on your right hand side, just enough steps behind you that you can only see him at the very side of your vision. You think he is handsome, but it is difficult to be sure. What you can be sure of is that he is dressed oddly. You have spoken to him for a while now, discussing yourself mostly. Perhaps it is the eerie quiet of the woods that makes you want to fill the dead space, but you tell him more about yourself than you ever would have thought yourself comfortable with.

“Are you a soldier then?” you ask.

“Sometimes, I think.”

You take a moment to chew that answer, wonder at the taste of it. There is a panic when you smell blood on the air, but it is quickly blanketed by sweetness. You have reached the jimsonweeds. It is too early, you have not walked far enough to be here already. But before you can protest the steps to your right stop and you know the man is gone.

None of them ever come farther than this.

—

You try the next day and the next to get answers from him. He seems to make a decision at one point just as the familiar smell reaches you and you think you will leave with no more information than you had before.

“I’m SAS.”

He is not there when you turn to thank him. He is not there at all when you return the next day.

—

The library run by Mrs Kaletaws is added to your routine. Breakfast, stretch, shower, library, lunch, try to sleep, walk, dinner, read, try to sleep. The small building has the peculiar addition of a cat you never quite see. You hear the skitter of claws on worn wood floor that has started to smell of sickly sweet rot, see fading scratches on the legs and arms of the chair, find hairs on your clothing, feel the prickle of eyes focused on you from the dark running up your spine to settle dully on the back of your neck. You have tried before to get a glimpse of the creature, but it only seems to exist in the very corner of your eye and retreats when your gaze tries to creep around to catch it.

Lela never talks about the cat. She told you once that it is only her and her wife that live in the basement below the library. You have never seen her wife and fear she must have some permanent sickness that stops her from being able to do much. You think they should move above ground so she can at least see the world through the windows obscured by racing raindrops, but you keep it to yourself.

The one computer here is old, the white plastic exterior now yellowed. Still, it is the only gateway to the outside world in this little town and you blow at your tea while waiting for your search results. ‘SAS military bases in West Virginia’ is a shot in the dark, but you need to start somewhere. After a sip you dump more sugar into your cup before looking at your finally loaded results.

There are none. No British military installations at all in the USA. You had hoped at least the results would bring up something about training exercises but it is just pages of useless information about bases around the world. You read about the SAS, fall down a rabbit hole of how they torture their soldiers to train them to withstand it. You go through pages and pages of search results until finally one talks about SAS soldiers in this area.

The link takes you to a dusty website that stopped being updated sometime in the late 90s. It’s some sort of conspiracy blog and you are prepared to close it, but you can’t help but get lost in the story it tells.

The details are unclear which you suppose is the hallmark of any good conspiracy. 40 years ago. There was a team of two, or maybe four or maybe seven. They set up just outside the woods with little to no explanation. There’s an interview from a local, not a name you recognise so one you think is likely long dead. She says two of the soldiers went into the woods first. She remembers something bad must have happened, because there was an argument between the five left outside. Nobody was allowed close, but she watched two more men go into the woods. After that the operation seemed to vanish entirely overnight and nobody heard anything more about it.

Whoever authored the blog has a gift with words because despite your logical mind knowing it was probably nothing but a random training exercise, the hairs on the back of your neck raise.

There is a photo of the alleged unit at the end loading slowly. You stare in fascination as line by line appears from the top. The world stops before it fully loads. At first you are confused as to why your whole body is tense, why your heart is racing. And then you figure it out. Silence. Complete and all together sudden silence. No rain hitting the windows, no scratching of the cat echoing, not even the whir of the computer.

You do not want to look away from the screen. You do not want to turn around. The prickle on your neck goes from dull to sharp.

The computer powers down.

—

He says to call him John. This man does not walk to your right like the Scottish one, or behind you like the first one you met. He walks in front of you. You can see the full expanse of his back clad in a vest. He wears a hat. He only ever turns slightly, enough to see that he has sideburns but never enough to see his face.

You are so enraptured by being able to see so much of him so clearly that it takes you a while to notice there is someone on your left. A few steps behind like the Scottish one does on your right. It takes you by surprise enough that you are about to forget the unspoken rules and turn, but John predicts your move.

“Eyes forward.”

“Sorry” you say automatically, fixing you eyes to his back and letting the other man stay as the impression of a creature just in sight of your left eye.

“They’re pretty, Captain.”

“I’m aware.”

It should not make you blush but somehow it does.

“What’s you name?” you ask.

There is no way to direct it specifically to the man on your left, so you simple direct it to the back of John and hope that the trees will send it where it needs to go.

“Captain?” the man asks, not for permission but as if genuinely unsure of the answer.

“Kyle, your name’s Kyle.”

“Right. Kyle.”

You catch the movement of him touching his chest, maybe rubbing at a name tag there but you can’t be sure.

“You can call me Gaz if you like.”

John and Gaz are your company for weeks. Whenever you ask after the other two, the air turns sweet and bloody and you are left alone among the jimsonweeds.

—

“Got intae trouble for ye.”

You’re not sure where you are but you recognise the voice. Is he in your room?

“We both did. Curiosity would’ve killed you little kitten,” comes the other voice from the first man in the woods somewhere behind you.

You hazily look down at yourself. You are not in the bed at the inn, you are in another bed laid on your back. You feel your legs brush against one another, not clad in the flannel you remembered wearing. Silk, you are wearing silk. Delicate against your skin, not much of it. Were you wearing perfume? Something smells sweet.

As you stare at the bare expanse of your leg a hand sinks into your thigh, squeezes.

“Fuck LT, so soft. Fingers just sink right in.”

You fight the urge to look to the right where the hand is coming from. You can’t look, some primal part of your brain knows you cannot look.

“Stay away from the woods” the man behind you whispers into your ear like a caress as his hands settle gently around your neck.

You do not feel the snap of bone, but you hear it. You taste the blood in your mouth.

You do not manage to fall back asleep when you wake.

—

Breakfast, library, try to sleep, don’t go into the woods, dinner, try to sleep, stare at the wallpaper, try to sleep.

—

You overhear Axell and Lela once. You think they are talking about you.

“You think we’re doing the right thing?” Axell asks.

“I don’t think there is a right thing anymore.”

“It’s been a long time now. Maybe we should let them go.”

“You think we could?”

There is a silence. Neither of them thinks so. Paranoia settles over you that you haven’t felt since back when things got bad. It’s like an old vice settling into your bones, or maybe seeping out of them as if it never truly left. You cannot go back to that place again so you take some aspirin for the rhythmic pulsing behind your eyes and the dull prickle at the back of your neck and resolve to put any thoughts of conspiracy out of your mind. Lela and Axell are simply old, there is not something they know that you do not.

—

You do not mean to walk into the woods again. The man behind you is back. He feels different somehow.

“I could eat you right up” he says against your neck.

Old Mr Kleer sees the bloodied bite at your throat and says nothing as you walk by.

—

You book a bus ticket. It feels too much like there are tendrils growing from you to burrow into the ground, to fix you here. If you don’t rip them out now, it is only a matter of time until the roots are so deep you won’t be strong enough to move. You aren’t eating properly, you’ve hardly slept and when you do you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth and covered in scratches. There is still the shape of a bite on your throat and the B&B owners in Pennsylvania look at you with pity as you check in.

The building is charming and fairly new. You stare at the neutral pink wallpaper. One corner of it has lifted ever so slightly. You fall asleep staring at the peek of green underneath.

—

It doesn’t rain as much here, the sun is out and everything seems more colourful. Weeks pass in a haze and you slowly emerge again, eating properly, sleeping through the night. The town on the Greenbrier starts to fade to an unpleasant dream.

—

There is something comforting about the old man who comes to stay and sits by you for breakfast in the mornings. He has the remnants of a Russian accent and laughs frequently and easily. The stories he tells are fantastical, but he’s non-committal about his visit to small town Pennsylvania although he at least tells you that he likes the nature around here. He whispers that his legs aren’t up for much walking anymore, so he has to take the easy paths through small patches of nature.

It takes a week or so more to work up the courage to accompany him on a walk. It seems silly, but the woods make you feel afraid. Maybe a short walk through the small area he spoke of will help you get beyond it. You rub at your neck, feeling the marks faded but still there.

—

He notices your discomfort and tries to ease it with his stories as you walk the dirt path.

“It’s the most important thing I’ve learned you know” he says, the aching grief in his voice causing you pause, “you cannot leave friends behind.”

You turn to him, intending to ask how much longer the path leads since it is getting dark now. He is not there.

“Nik?” you ask, calm at first but increasingly more frantic.

That old familiar dull prickle settles on the back of your neck as you run back down the way you came to get out of the woods. Drooping tree limbs get in your way and you push through, ignoring the scratches. As darkness falls you slow to a walk, unable to see anything in front of you. You catch the smell the sweetness of the jimsonweeds. You can smell blood.

Foot steps that are not your own surround you. A set in front of you. One behind. To the left and to the right.

“Welcome home.”

[kaleldobrev]

The One Bed, Two People Problem (2) — The 15 Year Problem Series

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader & Dean Winchester

Series Summary: Needing help on a poltergeist case, you ask fellow hunter Sam Winchester for help. Despite having a broken arm, Sam agrees to help you. But, just as he’s about to head out and meet you, Dean tells him that he’ll take his place and help instead.

Chapter Word Count: 1.8k

Chapter Warnings: Cursing (2x), Age Gap (15 years), Sexual tension, Slightly vulnerable Dean, Self-Loathing Dean & Implied sexual fantasies (very minor)

Authors Note: A prequel series to the Old Man Universe (OMU) on how Dean and reader met | Takes place a few days after Dean is cured from being a demon in 2016 (please read this post for reasonings why it’s 2016, not 2014) | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ The 15 Year Problem Masterlist ⋆

⇠ Go Back & Read Chapter 1

"One room please," Dean said, as he plopped down his credit card onto the desk in front of the motel worker: a big grin on his face.

The worker looked at him tiredly and picked up the card. Looking at the name on the card, he looked at Dean, who maintained the same smile. "John Paul Jones?" He asked, his voice matching the tiredness in his eyes. "Like the dude from Led Zeppelin?"

"I get that a lot," Dean stated, trying to sound convincing, despite the motel worker probably not needing to be as he looked tired enough as it is. The worker nodded and started putting Dean's information into the computer; Dean swayed back and forth on his heels, looking around the motel lobby, not enjoying the awkward silence that was between the two. "It's a good thing I'm a Zepp fan," he added, a bit of humor in his voice, as he attempted to make awkward small talk with the man.

"Huh uh," the worker mumbled, not seeming interested in having any sort of conversation with Dean, as he was trying his best to concentrate on what he was doing, as the lack of sleep and pulling all-nighters the last couple of nights was starting to catch up to him in this moment.

Dean started to get slightly nervous, as the worker seemed to be taking a little bit more time than usual to be placing the information into the computer. "Is there a problem with the card?" Dean asked, after the motel worker started making a face that looked similar to confusion.

The worker shook his head. "Nah man. Just tired. It's my third night shift in a row and it's been a killer. Can barely keep my fucking eyes open. But I'm thankful to be doing anything at least. You're the first person I've seen in days, since the regulars haven't even come by." Dean decided not to ask about who or what the regulars were, but he would be lying if he wasn't the least bit curious.

"Surprising," Dean said. "Thought you'd get more on-going business being right on the highway like this. I mean, I've been to Tulsa a few times, and it's always pretty lively, even this time of night."

The man scoffed, almost chuckling at his words. "People don't like motels like they used to. They rather stay at the Holiday Inn down the street. Apparently, motels give people the creeps now," he said, rolling his eyes. "Too much shadiness I guess for people."

"I've stayed at more motels than I can count, and uh, they basically feel like home to me. They've never once given me the creeps," Dean told him, partially telling the truth, as he has stayed at plenty of motels over the years that have had questionable stains and clientele more times than he could count.

The worker nodded, handing Dean back his card. "Alright, we have one room available with a queen," he said.

Dean gave him a semi-puzzled look, unsure how true that really was, as the worker just said that he was the only person he's seen in a few days, and the parking lot was essentially empty besides his and who he assumed to be this man's car. "Nothing with two beds?" Dean asked. He didn't mind sharing a bed with you, but he wanted to get two to be safe, as he was afraid that he'd somehow hurt you in the middle night if he had one of his PTSD style nightmares he occasionally got, more often than he'd like to admit.

"Look, I have one room left. And that one room has one bed that you're either going to have to share with your guest, or one of you is sleeping on the floor," his voice had no hint of tiredness anymore.

"One bed it is," Dean said, his lips forming into a fake smile.

"And you're in room three," the worker smiled, handing Dean the room key.

After getting off the phone with your boyfriend, you hit your head repeatedly against the headrest, frustrated that you had let him get to you again. He was hours away, and yet, he had managed to re-anger you, which was something that you were close to getting rid of during your nice and peaceful drive here.

In addition to your re-anger, you were minutes away from meeting someone new, and there was a part of you that felt bad for Dean, because being angry and mean was the last thing you wanted as your first impression. "Okay, you got this," you whispered to yourself, taking a few breaths before exiting your truck.

Walking out of the motel lobby, Dean started thinking of ways in which he was going to break the cliche news to you, as a one bed for two strangers seemed like something that came straight out of a chick flick or romance novel. "So bad news, we have to share a bed because for some reason despite the motel parking lot being empty as fuck, there was only one room that had a single bed in it," he thought to himself, cocking his head, thinking how saying that to you might work. Then again, he didn't want you thinking that he got a room with a single bed on purpose because you were a chick, and hoping to get lucky. Then again, he certainly wasn't against it...Then again, Sam told him that you had a boyfriend and you were off-limits.

As he started walking toward the room to put his stuff inside and examine the room, he looked at the parking lot, and noticed another vehicle had pulled into the lot since he had come into the motel; and it was parked a few spaces away from Baby. It was a Generation Seven, F150, in a brownish beige color that looked to be in brand new condition.

And that's when he saw you, or at least he hoped it was you, pulling out a large duffel back from the truck bed, that seemed to be a little beat up.

He started walking toward you, making a mental note to introduce himself just far enough way, because he wasn't sure how quick to the draw you were.

You sighed, grabbing your duffel, and slung it over your shoulder, as you were mentally preparing yourself to meet someone new. But you were tired, angry, and a little bit hungry; and all you really wanted to do right now was take a scolding hot shower and hit the pillow face first, instead of making awkward small talk.

"Hey, you must be Y/N," you heard a male voice say from a few feet away from you. Closing your truck bed, you noticed a blonde-haired man, who appeared to be a little over six feet tall, wearing a flannel and denim jacket similar to you, walking in your direction. This must be Dean, you thought.

"And you must be Dean," you said, when he was just a few feet in front of you. As he stood there, he leaned his arm on your truck bed, and stared at you with a smile that could easily melt the iciness that was inside your heart; you hoped that you weren't blushing. You're here to do a job, and you have a boyfriend, you told yourself.

"Nice truck," he complimented, as he patted the side. "Gen seven?" He questioned, but his tone insinuated that he already knew the model; he just wanted to see if you knew. And of course you did, as this truck was one that you had practically re-built over the course of a single summer without barely any help.

You nodded, and smiled at him, practically grinning from ear to ear; your smile was breathtaking. "He sure is. I practically re-built him over the course of a single summer before I started hunting. You should have seen the shape he was in; the whole body was practically rust," you explained.

Dean listened to the way you spoke about your truck, and he admired it, as it was similar to the way he would speak about Baby. But the way you spoke about the truck was not the only thing he was admiring; he was admiring the way the denim jacket you were wearing was slightly falling off your shoulders because of how big it was, as if you had borrowed it from someone Sam's size. Even though it was still slightly dark out, and the harsh yellow lighting was doing nobody any favors, you still somehow looked absolutely gorgeous in this lighting. Your skin looked so smooth, except for a few scars that he noticed in several places. He couldn't help but wonder the stories behind them. You're here to do a job, he reminded himself.

"That's pretty impressive that you re-built him without any help. Not a lot of people can do that," he said, trying his best to pay you a compliment. "Especially since you taught yourself."

"Yeah. My dad knows some stuff about cars, but he's no expert or anything. My best friend was the one who..." your voice trailed off, and you slightly had a blank stare on your face, as if you were reminiscing about something.

"I've re-built Baby more times than I could possibly count," he said, pointing at her for a moment before turning back to you. Your blank stare finally fading.

"When Sam told me, I honestly didn't believe him. You must be really good with your hands," you said, with a slight hint of...was that...flirting? Were you flirting with me? Dean thought. No, there's no way.

He chuckled a little. "I'd like to think so." I'd do anything to put my hands all over you....he thought. "Oh, um, since I got here first," he began, attempting to change the subject before his brain started to create some fantasies. "I was able to get us a room. But, there's only one bed, so we either have to share, or one of us is going to have to sleep on the floor."

You felt your heart starting to race a bit faster now, and your throat was beginning to get a tad dry. Were you actually nervous about the possibility of sharing a bed with the eldest Winchester?

"I don't mind sharing a bed as long as you don't," you said. But as soon as you said those words, your brain was starting to create a moral dilemma. You have a boyfriend, this counts as cheating, you thought. No, it doesn't count as cheating, I don't plan on sleeping with him as much as I'd like to.

"I don't mind. But uh...just a heads up, I get um...nightmares," he said, sounding hesitant.

"It's okay, I get them too," you reassured. "Want to head inside then and see if we can get a few hours before we go to the station tomorrow?"

Dean nodded. "Sounds good to me," he smiled.

⤑ Move Forward & Read Chapter 3

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[scullysexual]

Five Times Mulder and Scully Shared A Bed (1/5)

i. Irresistible.

Mulder places the phone back on the receiver and trudges his way back to the car where Scully waits.

“Anything?” she asks, half asleep, as he enters the car. Scully leans against the seat, eyes fighting to stay open, her face still cut and bruised from her encounter with Pfaster. She should be home now but there were no flights available until tomorrow.

“Nothing,” Mulder answers with a shake of his head and a sorry smile. “But the manager was helpful, at least. He found another motel not too far from here that says they have rooms.”

“Let’s try there then,” Scully says tiredly.

A No Vacancies sign flashes neon at them as they pull into the parking lot. Mulder bashes his fist against the dashboard, anger, frustration and his own tiredness coursing through his body. He looks over to Scully, who’s face has also fallen at the sight of the sign.

“Maybe we should ask,” she suggests.

They undo their seatbelts and try their pitiful luck.

“Sorry, no space at the inn,” the manager from behind the desk calls as soon as they enter.

“We can sleep in a barn if you have one,” Mulder half jokes yet part of him remains serious if it means he can stop driving.

“Seriously,” the manager says.

“Seriously,” Mulder repeats back. “You don’t have anything?”

The manager’s eyes fall onto to Scully who lingers near the door, staying out of the way. His eyes frown.

“What happened to her?” the manager asks unceremoniously.

Not wanting to get into it, Mulder avoids the question.

“We were told you had rooms and based on all the empty spaces out there, I think you do.”

Clearly not getting his answers, the manager sighs and pulls open a drawer.

“I have one,” he says, throwing the key on the counter. Mulder quickly grabs it. “One,” the manager specifies. “The door is busted but if you’re that desperate you can have it.”

Mulder turns to Scully to gauge her opinion but she looks too tired to care.

“We’ll take it.”

It’s the lock that’s busted, it turns out but with the windows locked and a chair up against the door, they make do.

The room is just a room. A bed and a little corner table. That’s all. There’s not even a bathroom.

“Sorry I couldn’t find anything better Scully,” Mulder says whilst eyeing up the floor- his sleeping space for the night.

“It’s fine,” Scully mumbles. She’s already pulling back the covers on the bed.

“Could I have a pillow?”

Scully frowns. “Why? The bed is big enough for us both.”

Mulder pauses. He considered but after everything… “Are you sure?” he asks.

A pillow is thrown at him.

“Do whatever you want, Mulder.”

He looks at the pillow, then at the floor, then at the bed. A questionable stain on the carpet makes his decision for him and he makes his way to the unoccupied side of the bed.

He thinks nothing of it until he’s laying next to her. Sharing a bed with Scully. He can feel the heat from her body, her presence, her smell. He becomes aware of how big he is, how much space he just might be taking up. He moves to the edge, just to be sure she has enough space.

He’s so tired he can’t sleep. Scully’s breath evens out beside him and he’s envious at how quickly she can fall asleep. Then he repents that envy as it’s replaced with guilt. She’s just been through hell, he recalls.

Mulder shuts his eyes, wills his body to relax and let the sleep overcome him. He’s teetering on that edge when something touches his arm and he’s yanked from that almost slumber. He looks down to see Scully, her body curled around him on his little edge, all the space behind her. Her breath against his bare arm is soothing, little rhythmic puffs off air set up a gentle beat for him to fall asleep.

When the light shining through the see-through curtains wakes him up, Mulder panics when the space beside him is cold and empty. They took her again, is his first thought and he rips back the covers to haphazardly throw on his clothes and track her down.

The door opens and Scully emerges with a soft smile. The cuts not as red, the bruises not as new. He relaxes at the sight of her, throwing his own little smile towards her. He realises then how he slept the whole night through, she didn’t wake up- or at least he didn’t hear her. Did he ignore her cries, he wonders.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, his stomach knotting at the thought of her answer.

“Very well actually,” she answers, a little frown forming across her eyebrows as if she too has just realised she didn’t wake.

He thinks of how she curled up against him, her breath against his arm calming him down. Did he calm her too?

“We should go,” Scully says and Mulder realises that she’s dressed already. “The manager says there’s a flight to DC.”

Mulder nods and collects his clothes off the floor. He walks into the communal bathroom to get dressed, a smile on his face.

@today-in-fic | ao3

[danwhobrowses]

That (Other) Time I was All In

From this angle it seems like I was farther away, but I assure you I was at least 10 rows closer this time XD

Another All In is in the books and I had the pleasure of attending it again. I promised myself last year that if I was gonna come back it'd only be under 2 requirements; I'd get closer seats and the card had to sell it to me this time. And for the second consecutive year AEW delivered massively.

I'll discuss more below, not a lot of action pictures I'm afraid they all came out blurry.

Also Spoilers for All In 2024 if you don't already know the results

So there are two things to talk about, one is the show (split into before and during) and the other is travel, so I'm just gonna rant about both in case anyone else thinks about going to Wembley in 2026 (or next year if Forbidden Door is at Wembley, they only say London right now).

Travel to and from Wembley

Okay for starters, travelling during a train strike is rough. I get why they picked a bank holiday weekend but what was initially a 45 min to 1 hour train to King's Cross turned into a 2 hour journey, having to take a bus to Bedford and then a train with a bunch of stops, including Luton Airport, to London

Premier Inn needs to update its info because the website said I could check in for free after 11am and the desk said 3pm, I didn't want to leave my bags in there for an extra £10...which bit me in the ass.

Don't make the mistake I made on consecutive years and come off at the wrong Wembley station. There are 3 of them and 2 are quite a walk away from the stadium compared to the one right outside of it. My mood was already tense since my travel had been up to 3 hours at that point but also again the turnstiles swallowed up the ticket I was also gonna use to get back, meaning I paid extra on the way back. Go to Wembley Park, it's on the Circle Line, you can get there via Baker Street too.

Bring as little as possible to the stadium, they think they're fucking airport security and overestimate how many view their website when getting tickets via ticketmaster. When I made it to the stadium I was stopped at the steps, being told that my bag was too big to bring in, and I'd have to pay £10 to put it in a bag holding area - which was a fair walk away from the stadium too. So either way I was forking out cash

Then after hours of waiting, queuing and getting into the stadium I was told that my drinks bottle I had brought from home couldn't be brought in, even when empty, because it was 'too big and could be thrown at someone'. I protested, since they're not gonna reimburse me for forcing me to discard my belongings and were insisting that I go back to the bag holding to put away a plastic drink bottle I took with me last year, but they treated me like I was gonna throw hands - and insisted that the info was on the Wembley website - so I threw it away to placate them. Still a drinks bottle can't get in but you can bring your phone and keys - both of which can equally be thrown to deal even more damage, I'm sure my shoe could do worse too. Just a con to squeeze more money out of you.

Premier Inn has cosy rooms, but I don't like any lights being on, so having a TV always on standby on the wall opposite and a smoke alarm blinking above me was just added nuisance to my aching body and natural difficulty in sleeping, also there's no toothpaste, you can buy some but it seems to be the only thing that doesn't come with the room (and a toothbrush but I brought my own expecting that). Breakfast was nice though.

Before the Show

Despite my travel woes there was some caveats before the Zero Hour began. For one I cross paths with Cultaholic again, they weren't asking questions but they were doing a punishment bit, so I followed behind watching but also trying not to intercept. I shook Tom Campbell's hand though.

After seeing Emi Sakura and Lulu last year I did keep my eyes open for other wrestlers arriving to Wembley, and I did spot another, this time someone on the card (really wanted Emi on this card). Sammy Guevara and Tay Melo were too far for me to approach - they were carrying their kid too so it wouldn't have been appropriate - tbh I spotted Tay before I spotted Sammy, in spite of his sky blue suit and haircut.

This was how close I was to the ring, and upon getting to my seat I was met with an interesting surprise too, a padded chair and a note...

So you know all that above nonsense about not being allowed to bring in a drinks bottle because you might throw it and hurt someone? Well they let me leave the stadium with a fucking steel chair, how's that for hypocrisy?

I wasn't expecting to take home the chair, I knew it was a thing for VIP tickets but my ticket never said it was a VIP one. Not easy to carry around mind you and I gotta find a place to put it now...

When soaking in the area I also spotted Lexy Nair and Alicia Atout in their sparkly dresses making their way around to the ramp for the Zero Hour.

Unfortunately we still don't get video coverage of the Zero Hour outside of matches, you hear a few interviews and maybe the screen shows some footage but that's about it, which is a shame.

Lots of fans didn't find their seats until midway after the Zero Hour, and a lot of them liked to move around, get drinks between each match and all that, which could get annoying. Not as many signs in my way though and since I had a bit of space beside me I could shuffle a little bit to the far side for more space. You'll always get the contrarian chanters too, the ones who cheer the heels.

Close seats are great for in-ring wrestling, not so much everywhere else. I understand that wrestlers want fans from all seats to get a look at the action but yeah, even on the barricade it's covered by a swarm of bodies trying to get a look, or get on tv.

My position had the added benefit of having a good view of the rampway, the place where most wrestlers would stop to get the on-ramp camera was within my eyeshot.

The Show itself

Fans love the commentary btw, Daddy Magic and Schiavone got a lot of love and gave it back too.

Zero Hour was fun, the first multi-man was a bit of a potluck of faces and heels. Private Party came out as faces but then Ari Davari comes out with them? Still match was a lot of fun; Lio and Satnam, Kip getting a massive pop from the crowd, Top Flight going nuts, Kyle being badass, glad Dark Order got to show up too they mentioned it was on their list for the year. Dante and Kyle threw their shades and elbow pad into the crowd too.

Mixed Tag was funny as hell too, Stoke knows his role, liked that Statlander got to wrestle Ishii a bit too. You can't hear me but I do shout 'you're wearing him down!' to Stoke when he's trying to shoulder barge Ishii.

The big 10 man was alright, we all loved Dustin and Shibata, we were still unsure with Sammy but we rallied at the Von Erich's urging. The aftermath with the Claw was better, the botch on Shibata with the throwing powerbomb did make us a little worried.

Jamie Hayter coming back was a huge pop, I was hoping Emi was gonna show up since I expected Hayter for the TBS title match but it's great she's back.

Ladder match was great. Tables didn't really comply a lot in the match but we loved the effort and the narrative and PAC. The image is smaller but you can see me stand up the moment he kicks Christian off the ladder realising he's gonna take it. Great opening surprise win.

Then to hit us with the story-charged women's title bout of Mariah vs Toni. We were in full song for that one, it's hard to gauge the crowd noise when you're so close but you can hear the echoing for the Toni Storm sang in the tune of Daddy Cool chant. Right woman went over too, very strong match.

I kinda feel bad about how effortlessly we the crowd derailed the FTW title match by following Cardiff's lead and cheering for Big Bill XD HOOK and Jericho put on a fine match (cricket balls were dubious though this ain't the Oval) and Tazz showing up was great, but it was a lull in the show. The people around me at least chuckled at my 'He can see! It's a miracle!' when HOOK took his patch off.

It was difficult to gauge the Tag Title match too because we chanted hard for FTR and the Acclaimed during their entrances but they were also at each other's throats. Didn't like the CM Punk chants, it's fucking unnecessary let it go. I knew Sgt Pepper's Young Bucks would win but it did feel like it could've gone another gear.

Grizzled Young Vets walked RIGHT PAST ME! I barely even noticed until I clocked that it was Zack Gibson. Attacking FTR was on brand but it did make the cheering fall to uncertainty, but this is a fresh team to enter the picture.

If I had a nickel for every time Christian Cage did double duty to swerve us all...well I'd wonder why you're giving me nickels we don't use them here. The Casino Gauntlet was a lot of fun, we expected Ricochet but Okada, ZSJ, and Nigel McGuinness coming out of retirement were all big surprises, Jarrett getting cheered like a babyface and cracking Hangman with a guitar, OC with the Mr Bean intro too! But Luchasaurus with the bait and Killswitch, goddammit! He can't keep getting away with this!

MJF/Ospreay was a cream of the crop kinda match. We knew the story would be Max absorbing all of Ospreay's arsenal but it came down to who would be eating the Tiger Driver 97? I dunno if I'm in shot when Max soaked in our corner to a parade of middle fingers but I did tell him his country sucked (had he returned to the corner more beaten I'd have made a healthcare jab). We were all for Ospreay though, thought it was Adam Cole with the intercept first but glad it was Garcia, great match.

The TBS title match was hard to gauge as well, it felt like the crowd was drained a little from the previous match, or just the more misogynist part of the crowd leaving to skip it. There was nothing wrong with the match itself, Moné's entrance was great and that reverse super powerslam from Britt was creative. We tried to will the chants of CEO and DMD but the ending did feel abrupt. Still another correct outcome but I feel like Hayter's return could've been utilized better here.

The TNT Coffin match felt like a sprint. Honestly though even though I couldn't see much of it given how little of it was in the ring I appreciated how Jack approached the match. The real glass and soaking in the boos (Cry Me a River chants are acceptable, 'Fuck CM Punk' chants were not) were great but I particularly loved the storytelling that Jack knew he couldn't outdo Darby in violence so worked to subdue instead, essentially hogtying him to get him in the coffin.

Sting coming back was rumored but still amazing, can't believe I've seen Sting on 2 consecutive AEW shows. I hope narratively we use this loss and outwitting as a way for Sting to coach Darby into trying to find his edge again for his upcoming world title shot.

And well, what can you say about the Main Event? It was the only one I couldn't call down the middle, we were either seeing the end of Bryan Danielson or we were seeing him win his last world title of his full time career. The noise I'm sure was incredible for the Final Countdown, but at ringside it was godly.

So much props to Swerve too, he knew exactly when to heel it up enough with the ring bell and the stomping in front of Bryan's family - a focal point of the match's storytelling - plus with Hangman's surprise distraction we may end up doing a second double turn from this. He was a great world champion, extremely crisp in the ring, and absorbing the Buisaku Knee like an anime villain was a great touch.

But the night belonged to the best fucking wrestler in the world Bryan Danielson. The YES chants are infectious, he pulls off the babyface in peril so well, the constant looking and reaching for his family for strength as well is just chef's kiss. And in a chorale of 50k fans demanding Swerve tap was only droned out by the immense cheer of when he did. My throat is hoarse, my hands and feet are sore, but I left the show happy - albeit in a massive queue for my bags while carrying a steel chair XD

Fortunately the queuing didn't cause me to miss all of Whatculture's live ppv Ups and Downs. I could hear him talking about the TNT title match but it was still hard to hear, didn't help that two guys were arguing in front of me because one was protesting that he hadn't consecutively been rubbing up against his girlfriend and took umbrage with being told to give each other space to avoid it happening again, another guy chiming in with 'it doesn't matter how she feels' when asking for an apology annoyed me too because it fucking does! Both parties left separately a few moments later so I got closer and was able to partly hear more. Then I carried my ass to the hotel and came home the following morning.

All In All (pun intended), another fantastic show of wrestling. Travel and external factors had threatened to dampen my experience but it was great nonetheless. I doubt I'll go to Texas but maybe 2026 I'll run it back again. In the meantime we'll simply soak in the joys of multiple debuts, returns, title changes and Bryan Danielson as a World Champion again.

[josefavomjaaga]

Dragon AU fluff (involving Mortier)

A rather pointless fluff scene, inspired by @cadmusfly's dragon marshalate AU. Basically a dragonized version of what might or might not have happened in 1798/9 Koblenz. I'm not sure if I've taken too many liberties with the world's rules and general settings, if so, please pretend it's all just a misunderstanding by humans with very little knowledge and understanding of these things.

-

„Girls!“ Anna-Margarethe yelled, her voice echoing through the house. „Run and hide, girls! The French dragons are back!“

Eva heard the desperation in her mother's words, the tears barely held back. She shooed her younger sisters down the ladder into the basement, where they would be safe until the danger was over. Then she closed the door and went to find her mother in the kitchen.

The inn „Zum Wilden Mann“ was quiet, its rooms empty since the last French troops had moved out. They had occupied the inn for quite some time – and for free, of course - until being called to join a larger army gathering nearby. An army with several dragons, and those, on their arrival two days ago, had scared Eva's poor mother almost to death.

They seemed so much more ferocious. The dragons in the Austrian army they had seen earlier had always been accompanied by several Habsburg Dragon Wardens and had never dared to as much as look too closely at the humans living in Koblenz.

Not only did French dragons roam around freely, often even without any rider, they even held titles and military ranks within the Revolutionary army. They commanded soldiers! One of the dragons had interrogated Eva's mother, and she claimed to still have a headache from hearing his booming telepathical voice echoing through her thoughts.

„Mum? Will you be alright? Are you sure the dragons are back? It's still dark outside.“

„Oh, I saw him well enough.“ Her mother gave a nervous laugh. „He was hard to overlook, the beast must be as big as our house. He's just landed on the pasture, in front of the cowshed. Probably to get the last of our cows, after he devoured the other yesterday.“ Eva saw her shaking.

„Somebody should go out and ask what he wants“, she suggested.

„No. I'm not going out there! Just let him eat poor Gertrud and be done with it!“ She started sobbing uncontrollably.

Usually, Eva was not somebody to take the initiative. On most occasions, she was quite happy to let others make the decisions and to fade into the background. But seeing her mother in tears strengthened her resolve. Without a word, she turned around and left.

There was still one large ham left in the larder. They had kept it hidden from their French guests. But sacrificing it to the appetite of the dragon lurking on the pasture behind the house would still be preferable to loosing their last cow.

Carrying the ham in both arms, she ran out through the backdoor. Morning dawned on the horizon.

Eva stopped hard in her tracks. When her mother had estimated the dragon to be as big as their house, Eva had naturally assumed her to exaggerate. None of the French dragons she had seen before had been much bigger than a horse. Maybe a ´small carriage. A hay wagon, at most.

But this one was … huge. He covered half of the pasture, cowering on four legs and, at least that's the impression Eva had, trying to make himself as small as possible. He had his tail curled up around him and his wings neatly folded on his back.

To Eva, it still looked as if a mountain had grown out of the ground.

The idea to feed this … thing with the tiny ham she carried in her arms suddenly seemed ludicrous. Even a cow could not mean more than an appetizer to him.

„Excuse me?“, she said nevertheless. „May I … uhm … help you … sir?��

-

He heard a voice calling for him, somewhere down in the shadows. Mortier squinted. It was a young woman, tiny as all humans. Though this one looked small and fragile even by human standards.

Her voice however pleased him greatly. It reminded him of birds singing in the trees in spring. Mortier liked those little birds, especially when they were singing.

He lowered his head carefully, so as to not scare or hurt her – he sometimes found it difficult to correctly estimate the distances when dealing with humans. He once had knocked over half a batallion of grenadiers just because he had not been careful enough with his tail.

Things like that embarrassed him greatly.

Good morning, Mademoiselle. - She had adressed him in French, so obviously she knew the language. - Very pleased to meet you. I hope I did not wake you up? Apologies for calling on you so early in the morning. It was the only time I was free. And, to be honest, a soldier's sleeping schedule tends to be thoroughly messed up. - She nodded, but did not reply. Maybe he had already scared her. Mortier wished he was a little less clumsy. - You see, I've come because of your cow.

-

Eva was stunned. Never had she expected a dragon to be that … polite. Considerate. Almost nice. As a matter of fact, this soldier dragon seemed a lot nicer than most human soldiers she had met over tha last months! If one ignored his size (admittedly, that was more easily said than done), he did not even look all that threatening. Maybe it was because, while his long body was covered in reptilian scales, some brown, fine fur spread from his long snout over his enormous head and down his chest. The two large horns winding backwards and down from the top of his head gave him the look of a large, floppy-eared dog.

Unlike her mother, she also found hearing the dragon's voice in her thoughts far from unpleasant. To the contrary. It was a warm, guttural … sound, for lack of a better word, that reverberated through her and made her feel safe and relaxed.

The feeling evaporated as soon as the dragon mentioned poor Gertrud.

„Please“, she blurted out, „do not eat Gertrud! She's the last cow we have!“

He seemed astonished, almost shocked. - What? No! I didn't mean to eat your cow. I came to apologize because I ate the other one yesterday.

„Oh. So you did eat Bella?“

The dragon gave a sheepish nod, the movement causing a draught that made Eva's hair and skirts fly. - But merely because it was the only food I could find close by. I have a lot of work to do here, so I need to keep up my strength. If not...

Eva nodded. Everybody knew about dragon stupor.

But I did not mean to cause you any grief. So I wanted to let you know that as soon as we have got some cattle from the Austrians, I shall send you another cow to replace the one I ate.

„How kind of you to care. This would indeed help us greatly. You see, since my father’s death, my mother had to run the inn alone, with only us girls helping. And war has not helped business, as you can imagine.“

I can! - Again the excited nod, this time the draught almost made her stagger backwards. - So you are all alone here, only women in the house? With all those soldiers roaming about? But that will not do, that will not do at all! I’m afraid for your safety. Shall I send you a safeguard? Some trusted men who would make sure nobody bothers you?

The offer rendered Eva almost speechless. This was the nicest soldier she had met so far! „We’ve had some problems in the past, that is true… Could you really do that?“

-

The girl looked up at his face with huge brown eyes full of trust, gratefulness and … well, something that bordered on admiration. Or at least that’s what Mortier chose to see. It was a very flattering feeling.

What a nice girl this was. Now he felt twice as bad for having eaten her cow yesterday. But he had been so damned hungry. Truth be told, he still was. He always was. Given his size, he could have eaten half a dozen of cattle – but what would be left for the humans then? Resources were always scarce. So he usually restrained himself to what was strictly necessary in order to keep him going. He had gotten used to his stomach constantly growling, and to feeling a little dizzy and sleepy most of the time, because whenever he strained himself even a little too much, he was immediately on the edge of falling into stupor.

But how could he act otherwise, when truly satisfying his hunger meant hurting innocent little humans like this girl?

Of course I can give you a safeguard, he bragged, raised his head a little and carefully clawed at the fur covering his breast. - I’m a general, you know. They gave me a sash and all. I’m wearing it now, but it always gets lost in the fur.

He discovered the large tricolor sash, twisted and out of place as usual. - Could I ask you a favour, Mademoiselle? Would you be so kind as to properly rearrange it for me? That’s the kind of thing I will never manage to do with these claws… Oh, but I see you are carrying something. Is that – is that a ham?

Mortier’s stomach gave a painful little growl.

-

Eva found her situation rather surreal. Here she was, on a dark pasture with a dragon looming over her, and having a polite conversation. The most surreal thing, of course, being the fact she was thoroughly enjoying herself in the presence of said dragon. His awkward attempt at correctly placing the signs of his military rank on his chest were so cute she immediately would have come to his aid, had it not been for the stupid ham.

„Yes, indeed“, she said sheepishly. „I had brought it out, hoping to trade it in for our cow. Of course I had no idea at the time what a small gift this would mean to you.“

Oh, but it isn’t! - His enthusiasm seemed real. Even the end of his tail, that he had curled up around himself, started to wag up and down, tapping on the ground every time, like that of an excited dog. - What a kind thought of you! If you really want to part with it, I would love to taste it. Is it smoked?

„Boiled actually. Oh, I never wondered! Can dragons even eat cooked food?“

Well, there are of course such purists among us who demand a dragon’s diet must only consist of raw meat. - The dragon general rolled his eyes. - But, let’s be honest, everbody who has been living around humans knows that cooked food just tastes so much better! When we celebrated a victory over the Austrians last, the boys roasted two oxen, only for me. With a filling, made of bread and potatoes! It was heaven!

The dragon tail wagged again and almost made Eva laugh. She could not help but feel that this huge scary dragon general had a lot in common with a hungry stray dog.

I see you smiling, Mademoiselle, the dragon’s voice echoed in her head, but let me assure you, in a soldier’s life pleasures are simple. A good meal, a friendly conversation with a beautiful lady, like we are having right now, this is all we aspire to most of the time. In this aspect, a soldier dragon differs very little from a human soldier, and a general very little from a private.

„Well, in this case I surely shall not be so harsh as to deprive you of this tiny pleasure.“

And tiny indeed it seemed to Eva, as the dragon general eagerly opened his mouth. She prepared to throw the ham over the fence of – stunningly white – dragon teeth but a pink tongue, wide enough for a blanket, slipped out of his mouth, and Eva gingerly placed the ham on it.

The dragon consumed it eagerly and even made a bit of a show chomping on it, despite the fact he probably could have swallowed it whole. Then he gave a deep, content sigh.

What a wonderful treat this was! I have not felt this sated in ages, she heard him exclaim in her thoughts.

„You are very kind, general, but I can tell that you are only saying this to please me. You can hardly have tasted the ham.“

-

But that was the weirdest thing about it: Mortier was telling the truth. The ham, as small as it was, had really satisfied Mortier’s hunger to a stunning degree. It should not have had such an effect on him. But it had.

Then maybe it was not so much the meat but the conversation with this kind (and pretty!) human girl?

Mortier had never given much thought to the metaphysical background of human-dragon bonding. Truth be told, he did not give much thought to metaphysical stuff at all, at least compared to some of his comrades. Mortier knew there were humans whom he liked, just like there were dragons whom he liked, and he knew that the presence of humans he liked made him feel a lot better, less hungry, less sleepy, sharper and more energetic. More alive, in a way. This knowledge sufficed for him.

Now he realized that he had rarely felt as alive as in the presence of this human lady.

Maybe he should have paid more attention to this whole „bonding“ thing. He only knew about the official practices, standardized by the government of the French Republic, that had young ladies, usually the daughters of politicians and wealthy citizens, function as dragon riders at parades or festivities. These girls were nice enough, and Mortier felt comfortable and somewhat flattered in their presence.

But it was nothing compared to what he felt when the girl in front of him now touched his fur in order to rearrange the twisted tricolor sash. It wasn’t any particular instance he could have put his claw on, no feeling that struck him like a lightning bolt or anything. Yet he started to realize that his body was tingling all over with contentment. If that even made sense.

And she seemed to realize. Or to experience something similar? Mortier almost felt as if he could sense an echo of her thoughts in his mind. He also suddenly realized he had neither introduced himself nor even asked her name yet.

-

Eva was astonished. She had expected the dragon fur to be rough and scratchy. But it felt softer under her touch than that of a kitten. She could not help but bury her hand in it and stroke it. „What wonderful fur you have!“

Do you like it? I’m rather proud of it, if I may confess such vanity. It’s not all that common for our species to have any fur, and mine surely is not among the worst. If you want to feel, it’s even softer here…

He eagerly started to turn a little to the side to offer her a view of his underbelly. There was a sound, a crash, of breaking, splintered wood, and he froze mid-movement, his eyes bulging.

Oh god! What was that?

„I think it was old Cesar’s shed“, said Eva.

Cesar?

„Our dog.“

I killed your dog? - The dragon almost shouted in Eva’s thoughts.

„Oh, no, no“, she reassured him. „Cesar died last winter, of old age. We have not gotten a new dog since.“

Good. I mean, not good of course, I’m very sorry for the poor animal but … The dragon general seemed equally relieved and confused. His next question came somewhat unexpected.

Mademoiselle, may I inquire: Are you afraid of heights?

„Of heights?“ Eva was too astonished to ponder the reason for the question. „No, I do not think so. I often need to climb the roof of our stables as we have some hens who love to fly up there. It never bothered me.“

Perfect! Do you think you would enjoy flying over your town? I would love to take you. I regularly have riders during military missions but with you it would be a pleasure…

Another sound interrupted him. One by one, the church bells of Koblenz started ringing.

Oh dear. Is it so late already? They’ll start the battle without me! - Mademoiselle, quickly, what’s your name?

„Eva Anna Hinnes.“

Ève! What name could compliment you more! - It sounded as if he tasted her name on his tongue like he had done with the ham, but then the church bells rang again, and he sighed.

I need to leave. - He abruptly unfolded his wings and narrowly avoided taking down Gertrud’s cowshed in the process. - Please do not go anywhere, Mademoiselle Ève!, she heard his voice in her thoughts, as the draught from his wings almost knocked her off her feet. - As soon as we have killed the Austrians, I’ll be back. I’ll bring you cows and oxen and … maybe a new dog? Whatever you like. But please do not go anywhere!

„I won’t“, Eva said silently, somehow convinced that the dragon could hear her even if he was already hovering high above her. She of course did leave the pasture however, once she could not see the dragon general anymore, in order to get back to the inn’s kitchen.

Her mother almost cried with relief.

„Eva! For heaven’s sake, you’re fine! Where have you been, what took you so long? I was scared the dragon had eaten you!“

„Mum?“ Eva said, deep in thoughts. „You know I always wanted to one day take over the inn? I think I have changed my plans. I think I want to become a dragon rider.“

Anna-Margarethe was too stunned to answer.

[theadventurerslog]

Quest For Glory III: Wages of War | Part 2

The Adventurer's Log

More exploring of Tarna and shoppin'. Well, a bit of shopping anyway. I didn't have much time before the bazaar emptied out for the day. I also wanted to keep an eye out for the katta, Shallah, to deliver the note for Shema. I bought some honey and a bead before evening fell.

I stopped in on Kreesha and was able to chat with just her while Rakeesh was still stuck with, I mean, conversing with Rajah. I asked her again about magic and she offered to perform a ritual with me for a magic staff. It's an amplifier and a container of the user's spells. It's a thing of magic and doesn't really exist in the world so it needs to be summoned each time it's used. But I needed to find some magic wood.

In other news I learned Rakeesh was once the king of Tarna but gave up his rule to defeat the Demon Wizard.

But perhaps not permanently I guess.

Then I returned to the inn, which is pretty at night.

I also discovered each table can be examined for a different silly result.

Then it was bedtime.

My room has a storage chest so I don't have to carry everything with me but my weight was still fine so I continued to cling to all my things.

I ate my breakfast which was "very tasty, even if it was a bit strange." which they make a point of saying every time. Ohhh, that foreign weird food.

Day 2 and more shopping. I bought some fruit, a waterskin, and there were zebra skins for sale, but I didn't currently have a use for that, which didn't stop me from the beads, but they were cheaper. I wanted to make sure I got what I figured I'd need sooner first. Still trying to avoid the QFG 1 money woes...

I another section of the bazaar I found Shallah.

He was happy to hear about Shapeir which he misses though he seems happy here. And I delivered the letter from Shema who turned out to be his aunt. Points! I also bought a carving of a leopard.

The meat seller is a dog person and he was very...enthusiastic. Very chatty. Very.

I bought some meat! I made him very happy. He otherwise didn't have much to tell me, but not much in a lot of words. But he was very happy.

There was also an amulet salesman who seemed shady.

I didn't have the option to buy any amulets. Maybe just as well. Or maybe not. What if there are moose out in the savanna! Savanna moose! I could use a moose repelling amulet; we've had one in our yard before.

Anywaaay:

There was also a cloth salesperson selling cloth and robes. And a drummer drumming away.

After my shopping, I still had plenty of day left, so I nervously decided to poke out into the savanna. Maybe I could find some of what I needed before having to return in time for the coming peace council. I figured I could at least hopefully find the fruit of the venomous vine since I had some directions there (South east of Tarna).

And I very quickly ran into a big dinosaur thing.

That was a scary first thing to run into! But flame dart saved me as usual. I got a beast horn from it.

Then I ran into some kind of crocodile man critter...and died. And I forgot to save after that dino fight! Which means I lost the horn too whatever it might be for. Not off to a good start here.

At least I got a fun death message...

I fought another lizard guy on my reload and won at least... yay.

I found the venomous vines with the fruit I needed for the dispel potion.

And meerbats, how cute.

Good old fetch spell got me the fruit safely.

If you get too close to the vines they grab and poison you and you need to cut yourself loose causing them all to disappear. Not helpful if you still need the fruit. And I was hoping for a death, but I guess not.

I couldn't figure out if I could do anything with or for the meerbats, so I left.

I started to head back to Tarna, but then because the game told me I didn't want to be late for the morning's meeting and forced me back, automatically dumping me to bed at the inn. Can't complain this time! Saved me a trip back, though I may have wasted a healing pill, and my trip out was fruitful.

The next morning opened with the peace talk.

So, emissaries were sent to the Leopardmen to find out the problem. They got attacked by something unknown. There was one survivor, Khatib Mukar'ram and through his account and evidence, the attack looked to involve the Leopardmen. Reeshaka Dar Kreesha wasn't found and was presumed dead or captured by the Leopardmen.

Then there was arguing whether they should be taking revenge and whether they even be helping the Simbani people against the Leopardmen because ew, humans. Kreesha cut in to say that her magic indicates the involvement of Demonic activity. If they're involved they're the true enemy here.

Rakeesh swore on his honour to bring peace to Tarna. If he fails he'll be deemed honorless and be banished. And I'll be going along with him on my own honor I guess, even if I did give up being a Paladin.

Then we were sent to Rajah again.

More grumping and arguing and I was sent out to meet Rakeesh at the gates once they were done.

So then it was off to the Simbani village together while Rakeesh gave me more information.

Probable demon involvement. He also talked about the Simbani and that they have a great distrust and dislike of magic--so once again don't use magic there. Sigh. But he also suspected that's part of the root cause of the conflict with the Leopardmen who are magic-users. Being a magic-user myself he suggested I might be able to gain their trust and help to convince of the serious consequences of going to war.

We also made camp and he noted that if I haven't gotten one yet I should get a tinderbox when I return to Tarna. So, that's something I missed! I didn't see who sold them, but definitely something I'll look for when I get back, so I can camp out if need be.

Then we arrived.

We met up with Uhura and she brought us to see their leader, the Laibon.

The Laibon is also all rah rah war. If the Leopardman chief was brought to his knees before him then they could have peace. So, this was going swimmingly.

The Leopardmen have always been their enemy. They're sneaky and can't be trusted. Worst of all is they use magic. Cue me doing a little shuffle step over here.

Now they've stolen the Simbani's Spear of Death and for that they shall die. Then they'll longer be their enemy.

Rakeesh still tried, hoping for a way to resolve the conflict without waging war. He wanted the Laibon and the Leopardman Chief to speak their grievances before Hall of Judgement in Tarna in hopes of a peaceful resolution. The Laibon wasn't having it and we left.

We were moved to Uhura's hut to speak with her. Rakeesh commented on the Laibon being gracious to see us, but he got the feeling we weren't welcome. Uhura noted that while much honor was lost with the Spear of Death being stolen, the Laibon not listening wasn't right.

Laibon grumps aside, the Simbani still held a celebration for our arrival.

Then we went to the hut we'd be staying in. Rakeesh decided he'd head back to Tarna at first light. He didn't believe the Laibon had told us everything and wanted me to see if I could earn his trust and find out more. He also wanted me to search for the Spear of the Death as finding it could be used to convince the Laibon that war isn't necessary. And he further advised me to find magic wood for the Magic Staff from Kreesha. Not too many asks here, buddy.

He also provided some general directions. The jungle is to the east. The Leopardmen have a hidden village there protected by magic. There's also supposed to be a magical lake somewhere to the south as well.

I went to bed and sure enough, Rakeesh was gone the next morning.

Next time I'll explore the Simbani Village and whatever else I'll fall into. I need to get back to Tarna for a tinderbox too... I have no idea where to go for magic wood but finding that soon would be nice, so I can shop and deal with it in one return trip to Tarna. But exploration first!

[nekodere07]

I broke the code Pt. 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

AO3 link to the fic!

Joel we're booooooored

The soil crunches underneath Joel's boots as he beelines to the back of the wagon with a loud yawn, grabbing two empty barrels and wrapping them on either arms to his sides. Once he deems them firmly secured on his hold, he turns back to the entrance of the inn, heading to the creaking staircase that leads him to their room.

I can't believe you're doing chores of all things

what a moron

Taking a deep breath, he closes the door behind him with a soft click, having to physically suppress himself from slamming it right here and then. His eyebrow twitches as he attempts to filter out the mocking comments, rendering them into white noise whilst he heads back to their wagon.

They won't live it down if he slacks off, so he has to at least do his share of the responsibilities.

LOL

LMFAO

HAHAHA

blood

He's such a child, he should've just refused instead of listening to Etho

#obsessedmuch

Joel bites his lower lip and controls himself. If he retorts to what they're saying, he'll just be playing on the palm of their hands.

Do they even have any, considering they're disembodied voices?

tbf he's obsessed so it can't be helped

pfft

True

its fun to see you getting flustered

YYYYYYYEEEEEEEEE

That's it!

“Listen here, you losers!” Joel growls as he slams his fist beside the wagon, producing a thundering sound whilst he takes a few deep breaths. “Grian kept on insisting like an idiot that we each have to contribute! Which was why I had to comply, otherwise he'll make me sleep outside. Etho just happened to butt in when I already decided to do it, alright?”

Suuuuuuure

keep telling yourself that

just admit it… you're obsessed with etho

Joel groans painfully, grabbing a handful of his chocolate locks and pulls as hard as he can, slamming his forehead towards the wagon for good measure. He can't lose his cool. Not when they're all exhausted from the long journey. His friends can't handle his ‘mood swings’ when he eventually gives in to the voices’ call.

if only the previous patrons were this entertaining to watch

🤝

Exactly

right?!

what do you mean?

oh the newbies didnt know

Now im curious

The least he can do is to not get in their way.

all the previous ones love to keep their distances

ugh

GROSS

imagine being a loner what a loser

L

L

It was difficult to see any intriguing events outside of battle

did someone say blood?

Not now

:(

i like joel better bec of dis

one way or another hell backstab them for sure

With a huge gasp of air, he does his breathing exercises and accompanies it with stretching both of his arms above his head, lowering it when he exhales before raising it again as soon as he begins the cycle again. He's already used to the voices’ antics—taunting him for as long as they desire—so he knows what to do whenever they pester him and eventually demand for blood once more, satiating their thirst with his assistance.

“Joel!”

He jolts violently at the call, swirling around to see Impulse jogging towards him, waving his arm with a big smile on his face. No matter what the dwarf says, Joel will always think of him as some sort of teddy bear. Considering he's so good-natured and how he secretly adores the warmth of the man's hugs, he's not really beating the allegations. But that secret is only between him…

what about us???

YEAH!!

…fine, them as well.

“Hey, Impulse! What's up?” Joel greets casually with a smile, swiftly tucking his hands to his pockets.

Impulse peeks over the now empty wagon and gapes, leaning back to stand to his full height as he makes eye contact.

“I see you're already hard at work! I'm very impressed.” Impulse compliments as he nods approvingly.

“It's good to stretch these muscles every once in a while outside battle, you know?” Joel shrugs his shoulders before stifling a yawn.

Impulse's smile seems to drop for a moment before it returns. Based on how fast it was, he ignores it and treats it as a trick of the light or something.

“But it's also good to take a breather.” Impulse advices thoughtfully. “Grian is already off to hunt down for his artificer friend, and Etho is sewing another one of his masks in our room.”

Joel's clammy hands are starting to soak his pockets.

“I'm cool. I still have to gather logs for our next journey whilst it's still bright out.”

“That's fair.” Impulse stops for a moment. “Hey, how about we check out this town's tavern later?” He nudges his head to the side, giving no indicator of the specific location.

“I would love to, but it's my turn for tonight’s lookout, remember? We can't afford me being tipsy and all.”Joel explains nonchalantly.

boooooooooooooooooo

it wouldve been fun

😭😭😭

If it had been any day, he would've probably accepted the offer. It's his best opportunity to escape his responsibilities and simply fool around. Unfortunately, they've been getting more and more restless recently, so he has to steer clear of people until their slowly rising bloodlust completely subsides. As funny as it is to annoy Grian, he has to restrain himself.

He can't risk another accident to increase the list of reasons to ban him from a settlement, after all.

“Oh, man. That's such a shame.” Impulse shakes his head and turns around, facing his broad back towards Joel. “I heard that they've been offering discounts for any drink during weekdays, and I thought it was a good idea to save money and enjoy their beverages at the same time.” He slumps his shoulders with a dejected sigh.

“Wait, did you just say discount on any drink?” Joel perks up, already feeling the saliva gathering in his mouth. “You're not pulling my leg, are you?” He raises a brow sceptically.

“I would never!” Impulse gasps in disbelief and faces Joel once more. “You know about me and my hobbies, man. I would never lie about such a thing.” He points out in a serious manner.

“That's true.” Joel places a hand under his chin, considering his later plans for a moment.

“How about we play a game?”

“A game?” Joel repeats.

“Yep!” Impulse pops the p. “Whoever empties thirty tankards last gets to pay for all our drinks. Won't they taste better when free?” He leans forward and holds out his giant hand with a smirk.

“I couldn't agree more.” Joel grins. “I'm in! You're so going down, Impulse!” He shakes the offered appendage with his own small one.

He doesn't remember anything after that.

AO3 link to the fic!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

[wardenred]

Whumptember 5: "What do you want me to do?"

Using the prompt to poke at the backstory for an ongoing WIP.

Elair's hands shook subtly as he stepped inside the Cliffside Inn. He told himself it was simply because he was cold from the rain. Now, with the flames crackling in the cramped room and the smell of hot spiced wine traveling over the tables, he would get warm in no time. Warm. Relaxed. Collected.

The man who'd ordered him to come here shouldn’t have the luxury of seeing him shudder.

The Cliffside Inn stood on the edge of the Luminous Harbor, on the flat top of the Molten Peak. Technically, this great big rock towering over the waves counted as beyond city limits. Or at least the upper part of it did. Once you got halfway up the slippery staircase cut directly into the stone, past the red flag that served as a border market, your life was governed by a fresh set of rules. The city guard still patrolled the inn and the area around it, but there were only three situations that would make them interfere.

Mass poisoning. Conspiring with the Dread God of the Deep. Murder for non-religious reason. 

Anything else was fair game.

Elair took a breath, squared his shoulders, and made his way to the farthest, darkest corner of the room. He didn't know if that was where Grati expected him, but honestly, where else?

His suspicions came true the moment he pulled up a chair. Shadows on the other side of the table moved to reveal a tanned man with the kind of smile all sharks in the Nacrous Sea envied. 

"You sure kept me waiting," he drawled in place of a greeting.

Elair kept his chin up. "You said tonight. Nothing implied the time was set in stone.”

Grati clicked his tongue. "You're getting bold out here, are you? I guess the big city living agrees with you." He looked Elair up and down, one eyebrow slightly raised. "Which aspect of it is the most agreeable, I wonder? All that shit about learning magic in a posh Academy? Or is it about your lover?"

All warmth seeped away. Elair supposed he'd always suspected that Grati must know by now. It would be unreasonable if he didn't. That didn't mean Elair was ready to hear this.

"He is nothing. Merely a way into the good crowd." He'd never be able to say this so dismissively where there was a chance of Miqualis hearing it. Not just because it was untrue, or because he didn't want to hurt his boyfriend. Rather, around Miqualis he became a softer, tamer thing. Here, away from his fabricated existence, with the person who'd known him and molded him before Miqualis had ever set eyes on him, it was different. The rancid resentment came bubbling back to the surface, and Elair let it. Old hurts were the surest disguise against those who expect nothing better.

"You are sure not nothing to him." Was that admiration in the minelord's voice? "I spent the day looking over the reports. Even observed you two first-hand, a little bit. The boy is clearly head over hills." He saluted Elair with a half-empty tankard. "Well done, fake son."

"Thank you," Elair said without missing a beat. He didn't feel the least bit grateful, but in situations such as this, it was always best to keep talking. Pause for too long, and your silence might give away a secret or two.

Grati smiled and set his tankard aside without taking a sip. "Now. For the real reason you're here."

Elair's arms itched to cross in front of his chest. He resisted. "Yeah. That What do you want me to do this time? I'm all ears."

"I'd rather you were all brains. Though," the older man's grin turned salacious, "I don't think it's your mind that rich guy is after, huh? Though I suppose it's your private business. Just as long as it results in my getting what I want, and I want a few drops of your lover's blood. For research, you understand."

A shiver ran down Elair's spine. "Why? He's a regular base-blooded human with a regular magical gift. You might as well take mine."

"Ah, but I need his. Though if you're offering..." Grati procured a rusty blade seemingly out of nowhere and wiggled his fingers around the handle. "Come on, then, provide a sample. It will be interesting to compare."

This was as good a way to stall as any. Elair extended his hand like a challenge and barely winced when the blunt blade cut through his skin. He knew enough healing spells to deal with an infection and make sure the wound didn't scar. This wasn't a problem.

Keeping Miq out of this man's clutches was. Research, my ass. There was nothing interesting about blood. Not for studies. What made it valuable was how it allowed one to control the person whose veins it had come from, or those closest to them.

Elair's breath hitched.

He shouldn't have offered his hand.

He only did it because Grati already controlled him, but. But.

"There," Grati said, pulling the blade away from the gash in Elair's wrist and replacing it with a small vial. Thick redness trickled into the glass tube. "It's always nice to have some extra. By the way, your sister sends her regards. She's still such a willful child. Best give her no reason to stop being one too soon, eh?"

Elair really shouldn't have offered Grati his hand.

[celloknightkc]

(cross-posted from twitter, you can read the original thread here)

Jean/Barbara, cw incest, smut

Inazuma is a gorgeous place.

They got there just in time for the cherry blossom viewings, and while it was extremely crowded, it was also magical. Plus, the crowds gave Jean an excuse to hold Barbara close to her, citing a need to not lose her in the jostling of the rough crowds. Barbara puffed her cheeks and complained about Jean babying her, but still tucked herself close to Jean's side and held her hand tightly.

Now, after a long day of exploring Inazuma city and all it has to offer, Jean is tired and sore. She knows exactly what she needs, and luckily the inn they're staying at is known for their hot springs.

"Hey," she says to Barbara, who is picking through the spoils of their shopping trip and sorting everything. "Wanna go check out the bathhouse?"

Barbara perks up immediately, nodding so enthusiastically that her twintails bounce. Jean stifles a fond chuckle and ruffles the top of Barbara's head as she gets up.

"C'mon, then let's get going."

They change into their robes and make their way down to the springs, pleasantly surprised to find that it's empty at this hour. They'll have the springs all to themselves, at least for the time being.

Once they're in the water, Jean sinks down into it with a contented sigh. Barbara giggles next to her, and Jean doesn't even have the energy toelbow her in retaliation.

"You really needed this, huh?" Barbara asks.

"Mm, a soak is perfect after a long day of walking."

"No, I mean... this. A vacation."

Jean peeks an eye open to look at her sister, finding her smiling fondly. "Yeah," Jean agrees. "I did. Thanks for making me take one."

"Mm, it's nothing. I just like seeing you happy."

A pang of affection hits Jean, and she has to reach up and stroke the backs of her fingers across Barbara's cheek.

"I like seeing you happy, too," she murmurs.

Barbara ducks her head, shy, and bumps her knee against Jean.

"I'm really happy," Barbara whispers. "Because I get to spend time with you."

Ugh, Jean can't take Barbara being so cute. She sits up properly and cups Barbara's face, tilting her into a short, sweet kiss.

"Jeanie!" Barbara complains once the kiss is over. She's bright as a tomato, and Jean can't help darting in to peck her on the lips again. "We're in public," Barbara reminds her in a hushed tone.

"There's no one here," Jean reminds her. "But you're right. I just couldn't help myself."

Barbara pouts adorably, but doesn't otherwise argue. She huffs and slumps against Jean's side, resting her head on her big sister's shoulder. Jean rests her cheek on the top of Barbara's head, and their hands find each other, fingers entwining.

They stay like that for a long while, just soaking and enjoying each other's company.

Eventually they have to get up, intending to rinse off so that they can change and go back to their room, but as Jean is standing, her towel slips, falling into her lap.

"Oh," Jean says. Normally she'd rush to cover herself back up, but it's just her and Barbara here. "Whoops."

"Your boobs are so big," Barbara comments, an adorable pout on her face. "What did you do to make them so big?"

"I just take after Mom more, I guess," Jean says, shrugging. "A lot of it just comes down to genetics."

Barbara frowns, looking down at her own chest. She's not flat by any means, but her breasts are far more modest in size compared to Jean's.

"Are mine ever gonna be as big as yours?" Barbara asks.

"Maybe, if you keep eating your vegetables," Jean teases.

"I always eat my vegetables," Barbara says seriously. Jean can't help but laugh, which only serves to make Barbara blush. "A-anyway. There has to be some way to help them grow..."

"Don't worry about it too hard." Jean reaches over to push Barbara's bangs away from her forehead, then leans in and plants a soft kiss there. "I think they're perfect the way they are," she murmurs.

Barbara blushes harder, ducking her head as she fiddles with her towel. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jean confirms.

"Do you wanna touch them?"

Jean glances around at the empty hot springs, knowing they're alone but wanting to double check. Once she's made sure it's just the two of them, she captures Barbara's lips in a tender kiss.

"Of course I do," she murmurs.

Barbara smiles, looping herarms around Jean's shoulders and kissing her back eagerly.

Jean tugs on Barbara's towel, making it come undone and drop into the water, revealing her little sister's perky little breasts.

"They're perfect," Jean reiterates, brushing her thumb over a pink nipple. Barbara gasps into her mouth and presses closer. Jean loses herself to the feeling, and soon she has a hand between Barbara's thighs, toying with her clit while Barbara softly moans against her.

It's definitely stupid to be doing this here, but at the moment Jean doesn't care. All she cares about is how cute her little sister is when she slips a finger into her.

Barbara clings to Jean, kissing her desperately as Jean finds that spot inside of her that makes her keen. Their breasts squish together, and Jean makes sure to rub her breasts against Barbara's, teasing her nipples and making her let out breathy moans.

"Jeanie, please," Barbara whines.

"I know, sweetie. I know." Jean kisses her again, pushing a second finger into her as she does. Barbara shudders, tensing up as her climax suddenly hits her.

Jean cradles Barbara to her chest as she comes down, rubbing her hand up and down Barbara's back. Barbara puts a hand on Jean's breast, squeezing it softly, and Jean chuckles.

"Like something?" she asks.

"Mhm," Barbara hums, then puts her mouth on Jean's nipple. Jean gasps, tangling a hand in Barbara's hair. Barbara sucks lightly on her breast, massaging the other one with her hand.

"Oh, sweetie..." At length, she nudges Barbara away from her breast, then cups her face in her hands. "Why don't we take this back to our room?" Barbara's eyes light up, and she nods eagerly. Jean pulls her in for one more kiss, licking into her mouth and making Barbara whine needily.

Once they part, they readjust their towels and go to rinse off and change. Jean watches Barbara with a fond smile.

They're going to have so much fun tonight.

[1-800-hwahui]

romance at mistletoe inn

member  |  seungcheol x reader genre  |  smut, some fluff word count  |  ~4,600 warnings  |  reader has a vagina and breasts, unprotected sex, very very soft dom!cheol, sub!reader, wap reader, monster cock cheol, like seriously his dick is BIG, size kink (it comes with the territory wbk), strength kink (?), oral (m receiving), oral (reader receiving), grinding, deepthroating, motorboating, praise, slight manhandling, creampie (they don't talk about reader taking birth control so PLEASE do not be like them irl), cursing, cheol is Whipped, they hold hands :(, teeny bit of aftercare oops sorry, reader's mom accidentally cockblocks, please ignore that the plot actually makes Zero sense this is just pure sex atp notes  |  this is a nsfw sequel to a sfw fic on my main writing blog @junkissed called mistletoe inn! however, this can be read as a stand alone, you don't have to have read the other part to know what's going on here. for the heathen @onlymingyus. i hope you enjoy. p.s. thanks to @duhnova @heartkyeom for making me insane while i wrote this. i know i say this every time but this time i mean it when i say this is definitely the filthiest thing i have ever written - 💒 june

a knock on cheol’s door brings him out of the book he’s reading. it’s late in the evening and it hasn’t stopped snowing all day, leaving everyone at the inn snowed in. at least for the next day or so until the city snow plow comes around. he slides a bookmark into the pages and sets it on his nightstand, grinning as he walks towards the door.

as it usually is every winter, the inn is practically empty, except for one guest. it’s a small town, and people don’t come to stay unless they’re visiting friends or family.

cheol’s really enjoyed talking with you the last few days. he’s learned that you came to surprise your parents, but they’d actually left town without telling you to spend their christmas in hawaii, leaving you alone in a city where you don’t know anyone. 

he doesn’t mind being your friend for the week you’re here– in fact, he loves it. you’re great company, and after a little not-so-subtle prying he’s also learned you’re single. with your work less than an hour away by plane, the distance isn’t bad, and if he’s been reading the situation right, he’s hoping you might feel the same. it’s been too long since he’s taken a break, since he’s traveled out of the little town he’s lived in all his life. maybe it’s time to pass the inn along to someone else in his family. but for now, one step at a time.

of course, it’s you standing on the other side of the door. he can’t help the way his face lights up when he sees you. “hey, what’s up?”

you smile back shyly. “just bored. are… are you busy?”

he grins. “not anymore.”

“do you maybe, wanna, come to my room?” you ask. “i made cocoa.”

“of course i would,” he says, shutting his door with a quiet squeak.

fifteen minutes later the cocoa is long forgotten as you desperately press your lips against seungcheol’s, hands roaming everywhere across each others’ bodies.

you’re suddenly very grateful that you packed your nice pair of panties for a trip that was supposed to be for visiting your parents. and you’re also very grateful that you wore them tonight, just in case.

the muscles in his shoulders flex as he yanks his shirt up and off with one swift movement. you watch, until his hands are back on you, whining as he pulls on the hem of your sweater. you giggle and lift your arms so he can help you tug it over your head.

“can i?” he breathes, reaching for your bra, his gaze fixated on your chest.

you nod, and strong arms wrap around you, carefully unhooking your bra behind your back. you hold the fabric in place with your hands as his fingers tenderly slip the straps down your shoulders. 

when you finally let go, allowing the material to fall to the floor, seungcheol inhales sharply. “god, you’re so beautiful,” he rasps.

he looks up at you for permission, and you smile. hands still clasped behind your back, he pulls you over to the chair by the couch, sitting down so his face is level with your chest. 

his hands glide over your skin, pushing your breasts together and shoving his face in between them with a groan that reverberates in your ribcage. you moan and he lets go, hands skating down your sides to rest at your hips as he leaves wet kisses along the curve of your boobs.

your fingers find his head, weaving up through his hair. he shakes his head back and forth and his hands grab at your ass, roughly kneading the skin. his mouth moves to one of your nipples, lips wrapping around it and sucking lightly.

his lips leave your breast with a pop, half-lidded eyes looking almost drunk with pleasure. you shimmy out of your pants, throwing them out of the way but keeping your panties on. 

cheol’s eyes widen and his hands fumble to remove his own jeans, shaking as he slides them down his muscular legs. 

you sink down onto your knees, settling between his legs. he groans when you look up at him with wide eyes, tentative hands resting on his thighs. god, his thighs… just one is probably bigger than your entire head. 

your fingers dance at the band of his underwear, nervously toying with the elastic but not going any further yet. he’s only half-hard beneath the fabric, but you can already tell he’s big, way bigger than you’re used to.

you must’ve paused for too long, because he reaches down to cup your cheek, bringing your gaze back up to his. “what’s wrong, baby?” he asks gently, his voice breathy and low. 

your cheeks heat up, not used to hearing that pet name on his lips. “um, you’re just, uh… big,” you squeak out, a little embarrassed to admit to him.

his expression softens, relieved that he hasn’t done anything to hurt you (yet). “you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says, his tone lightening a bit.

immediately you shake your head, not wanting to give him the wrong impression. “i want to,” you say sincerely. “just– don’t know if i can.”

he smiles like you’ve just told him he won the lottery– and with you, he might as well have. “we’ll go slow,” he promises.

you exhale and gently tug at his underwear, finally releasing his cock. it’s big, like you expected, and covered in pretty veins. you wrap your hand around him, but he’s so big, your thumb and index finger aren’t even close to touching. so you add your other hand, completely gripping him, and he moans at the sight of his cock resting in your tiny hands.

you’re just about to put your lips around his tip when you hear your ringtone go off. you whine in annoyance at being interrupted and move your head away from him, taking your hands off of his cock and laying them on his thighs. 

“who is it?” you ask, nodding up at your phone on the table next to seungcheol.

he groans at the loss, but leans over to check your phone for you. “uh, it’s ‘mom’?”

you whine and reach out your hand. “give it here.”

“baby, please,” he grumbles, handing it down to you.

“i’ll be quick,” you whisper before accepting the call. he pouts and leans his head back against the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling.

“hi mom,” you say into the phone, your voice coming out a little breathier than you intend.

“hi sweetie! how’s your trip going so far? sorry again that we missed you,” she starts, and you know you’re in for a long phone call. the woman could talk for hours, days even, and now is definitely not the time.

when you look up, seungcheol is staring at you again, a mischievous grin on his face. he puts a finger to his lips, signaling you to be quiet, then hooks his arms under you to help you stand. his hands slide to your hips, guiding and pulling you down onto his lap.

“mom, i’m– a little busy right now,” you choke out, trying your damn hardest to keep your voice steady with cheol’s hands on you.

“oh?” the surprise is evident in your mother’s voice. “i thought you didn’t have any plans? did you find something fun to do? you better not be working on work, i told you you’ve been needing a vacation for way too long! your boss can have whatever it is in the new year, you–”

cheol grips you tightly, rolling your hips against his dick, and you have to slap your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from whimpering out loud. he looks up at you, wordlessly asking if you want him to stop. 

you squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. as much as it mortifies you fooling around while you’re literally on the phone with your own mother, the thrill of being caught only turns you on even more.

“no, mom, i’m not working, but i am– busy,” you interrupt.

“well, do you want me to call back in a bit?” you can hear the frown in her voice, the tone she gets when she knows you’re lying.

“no!” you cry out as your clit rubs against the head of seungcheol’s cock, giving you a jolt of pleasure. “i–mean, i’ll call you later. when i’m done,” you recover, hoping to god she hasn’t noticed anything off about you.

“sweetie… are you at the gym?” she questions, and you breathe a sigh of relief that it doesn’t seem like she’s caught on to what you’re really doing. “i’m so proud of you, honey, i know you’ve been trying to do that more lately! well, i’ll leave you be then. have a good workout!”

well, you will be having a workout today… just not the kind she’s thinking of.

“th-thanks,” you stutter. suddenly cheol thrusts hard against you, and the movement makes you lose your balance and fall forward a little. you catch yourself on him, your hand flat against his firm chest. “bye, mom.”

“bye, sweetie! have fun!”

he shoots you a satisfied smirk and you sit back as you fumble to hang up as fast as you can, tossing your phone on the carpet behind you and climbing back down onto your knees.

you finally wrap your lips around him, fingernails gripping his thighs as you struggle to take him in your mouth. not only is he long, but he’s girthy, and you have to stretch your mouth open wide to fit him in. even then, you can’t fit all of him, so you put both hands back around the base of his cock where your mouth can’t reach and you begin slowly bobbing up and down, swirling your tongue around him.

his hips buck up roughly into your mouth and instantly tears prick at your eyes. “sorry,” he moans, but you just shake your head and keep going. he grips down hard on the armrests of the chair to stop himself from moving.

you can feel him hitting the back of your throat with every move and you know your mouth is gonna hurt like a bitch later, but the almost melodic sound of his moans is enough to make you want to have his dick in your mouth forever. knowing that it’s you making him feel like this could give you enough energy to suck him off for days on end.

your abdomen throbs with neglect, but the weight of his cock in your mouth is too good to stop. if you didn’t literally need both hands to fit all the way around him, you would’ve already started touching yourself, but both your hands are… occupied elsewhere.

desperate for any kind of stimulation, you press your thighs together, shifting to rub them against each other. at the angle you’re kneeling you can feel the thin fabric of your panties pressing against your pussy, and you buck your hips, trying to get the lace to give you what you want.

but it’s nowhere near enough, and seungcheol notices when you whine frustratedly around his cock, eyes squeezed shut and hands shaking. he grips your head carefully, pulling you off of him with a groan.

you look up at him with watery eyes and he takes in the sight, your mascara smeared and running down your cheeks and your eyes red and wet from choking around him for so long. 

“can i eat you out? please?” he practically begs, breathing heavily.

“o-okay,” you rasp, the words coming out hoarse.

his eyebrows furrow as he catches his breath. he’d tried so hard not to go rough on you, to stop himself from fucking your throat. it’s only your first time with him, and he really, really hopes it won’t be the last, so he’s mentally kicking himself for losing control.

you see his worried expression, so you cough, trying to clear your throat. “i’m fine,” you reassure him, voice a little less coarse than before but still more than he would’ve liked. 

“are you sure?” he asks cautiously.

“mhm. please,” you whimper.

he smiles and wraps his arms around you, helping you stand. your knees crack and he looks concerned again, but you shake your head. “just sore from kneeling. don’t worry.”

you give him a reassuring look, and he finally relents. suddenly he lifts you with terrifying ease, carrying you across the room to toss you onto the bed like nothing.

he climbs on top of you, his face hovering over your lower half.

“you gonna give me a few, baby?” he asks, his tone saccharine sweet. “gotta prep you enough.”

you croak out a yes, watching his movements with vigilance as his calloused fingertips play with the delicate hem of your panties, teasing.

but he doesn’t move any further, just stares up at you through his eyelashes, and you assume he’s waiting for you to say something.

“p-please?” you sniffle, thinking maybe he wants you to beg him for it. and he does, and you would, but you both know that’s for another time.

he presses a light kiss to your cunt over the fabric, moaning into your skin. “god, you’re so good for me, baby. gonna give you everything you want.”

as much as he wants to rip your pretty little underwear off your body and eat you out like his last meal, he knows he has to start slow, give you both a chance to get used to what the other likes instead of jumping straight into the deep end.

so he keeps his eyes locked with yours as he slips the lacy fabric down your hips, carefully so as not to tear them by accident.

you’re embarrassingly wet from nothing at all, your panties completely soaked through. a thin string of your arousal connects from your cunt to the fabric, and he groans lowly, watching it break.

his gentleness is unbelievably hot, and you can’t deny that him being so deliberate with taking them off makes you want to let him rip them off of you in a heartbeat. so what if they’re your favorite pair? you’d buy ten pairs to replace them if you have to.

you lift your legs, helping him slide your panties off so he can toss them away. he settles back down and tenderly pries your thighs apart, setting each leg to the side and leaving you wide open for him. he stares at your pussy for a moment, glistening with wetness. his intense, focused attention on you makes you gush, your muscles clenching around nothing as he watches enraptured. using two fingers he spreads your folds apart, exposing your dripping hole to his fervent gaze.

“cheol,” you mewl out his name in desperation. 

“‘m right here, baby,” he says, his eyes flicking up to your face for a second to make sure you’re okay. you nod, silently begging him to continue. he cups your pussy, and the feeling of sheer size as his massive hand envelopes you is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

automatically your hips buck into his hand, grinding against his palm as you toss your head back and forth against the pillows, grateful to finally feel some relief. 

he coos and you throw your arm over your face in embarrassment at his reaction, sheepish about being so desperate for a man you only met a couple of days ago. but his response isn’t to tease you or degrade you, but to admire you. so needy, so beautiful. and for right now, all his.

his hand still cupped against you, he slowly slips his ring and middle finger into your hole, letting out a pleased hum when you immediately clench around him.

“so wet for me, baby,” he sighs, gently curling his fingers inside you but otherwise keeping them still to let you adjust. “you’re so fucking sexy.”

you whimper, and he removes his fingers, seeing you’re ready for him to give you what he promised. even after being inside you for only a few seconds his fingers are soaked, completely coated in your juices. he looks up at you to see if you’re still comfortable with everything he’s doing, and when you open your mouth without hesitating even for a second, he thinks he might cum on the spot.

“so well behaved,” he praises, pushing his fingers into your waiting mouth. you close your lips around them eagerly, sucking yourself off of him in earnest.

you sigh when he pulls them out again, moving back down to sit between your still-open legs. he presses a gentle kiss to the inside of both your thighs before pushing his face into your waiting pussy.

when his mouth first makes contact with your cunt, you let out a high whine, back arching off the bed in pleasure. his lips completely surround your swollen clit, and your hand flies down to his head, gripping his hair as your hips writhe against his face.

his tongue is everywhere, gliding over every inch of you, licking and sucking and working you towards your orgasm impossibly fast. you can feel your clit throbbing in his mouth, and your breath hitches when he grazes his teeth over it, making you jolt.

his hands loop around your hips, spreading the skin and forcing you open so he has better access to your cunt.

heat pools in your stomach and you feel the familiar burn start to build in between your legs. “co-coming,” you gasp. “cheol, i’m–”

he groans into your cunt in response, sending waves throughout your body.

you sneak a glance down at him. his eyes are squeezed shut as he devours you, fucking you with his tongue with the most blissful look on his face, as if there isn’t anywhere in the world he would rather be right now than with his face buried in your pussy and your thighs trembling around his head.

the sight alone is enough to send you over the edge, muscles contracting and fingers grabbing desperately at the sheets to ground you as you stumble into your orgasm.

your whines stick in your throat as you gasp for breath, vision going white as you cum harder than you ever have in your life. no vibrator on earth could compare to the way seungcheol feels between your legs— and you’ve got quite the collection of toys back at home.

he keeps sucking, carrying you through your orgasm until you flop back on the bed, thoroughly exhausted. he finally pulls off of you for just a second, catching his own breath.

“god, can’t wait to get my cock in you,” he murmurs before diving back in, barely giving you time to recover before he’s building you back up for another.

you sob out his name as his tongue slips inside your hole and back out, dragging up and down your folds and spreading your juices everywhere. you can feel it dripping down your thighs and onto the comforter below.

“coming, coming, please, cheol, please, i–” you pant, struggling for words.

instinctively your legs snap shut around his head, trying to hold him in place, but he easily pries them apart again as you hurtle towards another orgasm. you cum on his tongue, again, sobbing his name like it’s the only word you know.

when he finally decides you’re ready to take his cock, you’re nothing short of a mess. pretty face smeared with makeup and tears, pretty cunt smeared with cum and saliva. he sits back on his heels, admiring how you look. your eyes flutter shut, chest heaving as you gasp for air, and he thinks he hasn’t seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

“you okay, baby?” he hums, massaging your thigh.

a weak “yes” is all you can manage. he runs a hand over your skin soothingly, this time giving you plenty of time to recover. 

when you’ve finally caught your breath enough to sit up, he’s still watching you cautiously. 

“all right?” he asks, and you nod. “if you’re done, we don’t have to keep going…” he starts, but you stop him, shaking your head.

“i told you before, i want to,” you say, taking his hand and lacing your fingers with his. 

he smiles, and you lay back down, pulling him on top of you. he adjusts back in between your legs, positioning himself at the entrance of your pussy. he drags his cock through your folds, collecting what’s left of his frantic makeout session from earlier and spreading it over his length, using it as lubrication.

still holding your hand, he starts to press into you, just barely the tip. you gasp as he keeps going, carefully pushing inch after inch into your tight hole. 

you squeeze his hand and he freezes, not even halfway inside yet. “okay?” he murmurs, rubbing your hand with his thumb.

“yeah, just– one second, please,” you stutter, breathing hard.

he wants to kiss you, so badly, but he can’t bend over without moving and hurting you. so he settles for bringing your entwined hands to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.

the new feeling subsides, the pain of being split open beginning to lessen as you adjust to his size.

“you can… keep going,” you exhale softly.

he nods and starts to push in again, stuffing you full. it takes a while, but when finally he bottoms out, you both let out moans: him at the feeling of your tight hole clenching around him, and you at the feeling of being so full in the best ways.

after staying still to give you more time to adjust, he begins to pick up the pace, starting slowly and gradually building up until he’s pounding into you.

your back slides up and down the bed, each thrust sending you closer and closer to the wall above your head. attentive as ever, cheol notices, and stills his hips for just a second so he can grab your waist with both hands and yank you down away from the headboard. you yelp and clutch at his back, holding on for dear life as he continues pounding into you.

the bed squeaks with each thrust, and for a split second you worry about breaking the bedframe and having to pay for the damage. but then seungcheol is brushing your hair out of your face and cradling your head between his forearms, and all the thoughts in your head disappear when he stares into your eyes, your faces inches apart.

“can i– kiss you?” he groans, his eyelashes fluttering.

“please, ch-cheol,” you gasp. your hands claw at his shoulders, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

he leans down, closing the distance between you and pressing his lips to yours, somehow too gentle and too rough at the same time. your senses seem to explode, so much happening at once, and you move your hands up to the back of his head, threading your fingers through his hair and tug, pushing him to kiss you deeper.

he moans into you, a deep, rumbling sound you feel all the way in the pit of your stomach. his thrusts get rougher and rougher, and you know he’s getting close. he pulls his lips off of you with a gasp. “whe–where do you want me to–”

“inside,” you plead, your voice coming out throaty. “please, cheol, inside, please–”

he cuts you off and captures your lips again, moaning into your mouth. his hips continue to rut into you desperately and you can only hold on, coming closer and closer to your own orgasm.

you can feel him throb deep in your abdomen, the tip of his cock kissing your walls with each snap of his hips. he shifts slightly and suddenly he’s fucking you like you’ve never felt before. the new angle has you seeing stars, and you clench around him, letting out a choked sob as you come undone on his cock.

your hoarse voice crying out his name over and over again while you quiver in his arms is too much for him, and with a guttural moan he lets go, his own orgasm washing over him and flooding your insides with his cum.

his hips begin to slow, rocking into you with a lazy rhythm as you both come down from your highs. his arms still surround either side of your head, and he moves his wrist to brush your hair out of your face. your hair is sticky with sweat and your eyes are puffy from crying, your mouth hanging open slightly as you struggle to catch your breath.

cheol lays on top of you, resting his head on your chest but careful not to put his full weight on you, letting you cockwarm him for a while. you’re both exhausted and you just lay there together, basking in the afterglow of pleasure.

but as much as you never want the moment to end, you can feel his cum leaking out of you, and you know you probably look like a horrible mess. you whine and push weakly at his shoulders, making him sit up quickly in concern.

“could you… in my bag,” you mumble, pointing a shaky hand towards your cosmetic bag. “m-makeup wipes.”

he slides off of you, leaving a sweet kiss on your forehead before crossing the room to grab them for you. you stay laying on your back, staring at the ceiling, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“here,” cheol says softly, handing you the wipes. you give him a faint smile and prop yourself up on your elbows. you wince when you sit back on your tailbone, sore from how hard seungcheol had fucked you.

he sits at the edge of the bed and gives you an apologetic pout, knowing it’s mostly his fault. “do you… need anything?” he asks shyly, not sure what you need him to do.

“stay?” you ask, voice small. “gonna have to shower, and i’ll– um, need help,” you finish. there’s no chance you’ll be able to walk straight for at least the next few hours, let alone stand in the shower by yourself.

he smiles and puts a hand on your thigh, rubbing at the bruises that have started to form there. “i’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

you scrub at your face, getting the last of the mascara off your cheeks before tossing the dirtied wipe into the trash can by the nightstand. 

with a bit of effort, you manage to throw your legs over the side of the bed, sitting at the edge. you glance behind you at the bed covered in both of your fluids, and you wince, knowing most of it is your fault. “sorry about the sheets,” you whisper, resisting the urge to hide your face in embarrassment.

“baby, we’ll wash them,” he smiles. “don’t worry about it.”

“okay,” you say quietly. you look over to cheol, still sitting beside you, and reach out with both hands for him to help you up.

he jumps up, taking your hands and tugging you to your feet. your legs wobble when you stand, and he slides his arm around your waist to support you as he helps walk you to the bathroom.

you flop down onto the toilet while seungcheol starts the shower, and you have to hold back a laugh at the sight. the buff, sexy innkeeper, butt-ass naked in your bathroom, leaning over the edge of the tub to test the water temperature and make sure it’s not too hot for you.

you know you’re only here for a week, but you could really get used to this.

taglist | @shuatm @yeosayang @noniestars @dkakapizzaboy @enhacolor @kimy3na @candidupped @berrryshortcake @tinkerbell460 @haraethx @iheartyeonnnnn @mxnghao8

[ehlnofay]

They find the inn on the afternoon of the fourth day.

It’s Martin who spots it during one of the long silent stretches of walking through the forest. “Look!” he says, pointing at the flash of pale wood wall through the trees, and then, squinting, “I think it’s a traveller’s inn!”

Pax slides their thumb under the strap of their bow-bag and looks in the direction he’s pointing. It is an inn, though a small one; just one floor, it looks like, and not big enough for many rooms, but there’s a signpost just in front of it painted in bright colours and it looks welcoming enough. Better than sleeping on the ground for the fourth time – and it should have food. Pax’s failed attempt at butchery left them with little to eat and no means of getting more. But there should be enough at an inn to restock their packs for a few days at least.

If they have the money for it, anyway. Pax spent a lot of her coin on the way to Kvatch, same as she ate most of her food, because she expected to be able to replenish that resource when she arrived. And Martin of course has no cash and nothing worth bartering. But it’s probably no matter – she’s got her nice jewellery if they’re really in a pinch, and she’s sure she’d be able to grab some things without paying, anyway.

Martin’s clearly thinking similarly – about the food, not necessarily the stealing. “It would be nice to have a hot meal.” He adjusts the strap of his feather-light bag and adds, “And a bed.”

“We would’ve come across an inn sooner if we’d stayed on the road,” Pax points out.

Martin’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Going off the road was your idea, Pax.”

“Yeah, for your sake.” They’re at a side wall of the inn now, a small window hanging above their heads just a bit too high to see through. They round the corner to the front door, marked by the vividly decorated sign. (Wanderer’s Rest, it reads, in sloppy white lettering.) “’Sides, I didn’t say it was a bad thing, just a fact.”

Martin huffs – he does a lot of huffing and sighing and acting irritated (Pax seems to provoke that reaction in a lot of people) – and turns the doorknob.

The door doesn’t budge.

Martin squints. He raps hard on the wooden boards. Nothing.

Ah, shit.

Pax groans and drops his pack on the floor. There’s another little high-up window just over the doorframe, tauntingly out of reach; he pushes Martin out of the way, ignoring his indignant cry, and jumps up to grip the top of the lintel with his fingertips. He manages to bring his leg up so he’s got one foot on the doorknob, and then he stands – the little handle groaning under his weight – to peer through the window.

The room inside is dark and empty, because of course it is.

“Fuck,” Pax gripes, and jumps with a dusty thud on the ramshackle porch. She dusts off her hands on her breeches. “Empty. I knew there was an exodus from County Kvatch but I didn’t know it stretched this far.”

Martin’s holding his little bag to his dark-robed chest. “You think the owners must have fled.”

“If you’ve got a better explanation, I’m all ears,” Pax shoots back.

“For the love of Akatosh, I wasn’t arguing with you! Would you please stop picking fights all the time!” Pax looks away; Martin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just keep going.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Pax says (before it occurs to them that this might also count as picking a fight.) They dig their sleeve of picks out of their shoe and set to feeling out the lock with the hook pick. It feels simple enough – cheap metal, manoeuvrable pins. Probably easy enough to rake.

Martin stands looming over her as she gets out the snake rake. Not turning to look at his face, she says, “If you get all whiny and preachy about this I’m going to knock you down.”

“You make a lot of assumptions about me,” Martin observes. Pax can’t deny it’s true. She jerks the pick in the lock.

It takes less than a minute for the lock to crack. Pax shoves the door open and hauls her pack through. Silently, Martin follows.

It’s dark inside – not enough windows to be lit up – and a bit dusty. The owners must have been gone a few days at least, maybe a week. But there’s a fireplace, littered with soot, and a bread-oven, and several chairs with cushions and little tables to sit at. At one end of the room, tucked under the high-up windows, there’s a row of pallet beds with straw pillows and wool blankets.

It’s quite nice, really. Small, but. Looks like half the inns Pax used to stay in down the Niben, only drier.

“What did you mean, you went off the road for my sake?” Martin asks. Pax drops their pack and bow-bag on the floor and moves into the area near the hearth. “I would have much preferred to keep to it. I told you as much.”

Pax opens a cabinet and finds a few pots and dishes. Not as much as there should be – whoever left here took a lot of stuff with them. “Harder to track. If we didn’t need to stop at Skingrad for supplies I would’ve had us cut straight through the Reserve.”

“I understand abundance of caution, but is that really necessary?”

Pax snorts. “Says the man the daedra levelled a city to get to.”

She grabs one of the smaller pots – it clanks against a saucepan handle as she pulls it out of the cupboard – and sets to looking for food. There isn’t a lot – seems a bunch of it must’ve been taken as well – and some of what she does find is mouldy, but after a few minutes she’s got a little pile on the counter of stuff that is probably fine to eat. A bag of oats, some turnips, a couple jars of sugar and salt (not sure which is which), a small handful of berries, and one orange that seems alright. She didn’t even look through half the cupboards – hopefully there’ll be plenty to take with them on the way to Skingrad.

“How’s this for a hot meal, Martin Priest?” they say, gesturing at the admittedly paltry fare collected on the tabletop.

Martin does not reply.

Pax turns to look at him. He’s staring blankly at the fireplace as though nothing in the world could possibly intrigue him more than this tiny inn’s cold grate. His face is sickly white.

“Martin?”

He looks at them then, face pinched, almost swaying on his feet. “I hadn’t, ah,” he murmurs, “I hadn’t quite thought of that.”

“Sit down,” Pax tells him. He doesn’t. She grabs a striker and stone from the mantel above the hearth. “Thought of what?”

“They were trying to get to me.” He’s got his bundle clutched tight to his chest like a child with a sewn toy. “I knew that, but I didn’t – I didn’t think –”

“Sit down,” Pax commands, and places a hand on his shoulder, pushing him toward the ground. He goes.

“If they were trying to get to me –”

His voice has gone very funny. “Breathe,” Pax says, but he doesn’t think Martin’s listening.

“ – if they were trying – Pax.”

Pax is so extremely ill-prepared for this.

“It can’t have been to get to me,” Martin’s saying, and he sounds frantic, frightened, like with every word he’s unspooling his intestines and chucking them up on the dusty wooden floor. “It can’t.”

They both know it was.

“You don’t know what it was like,” he says tearfully, because now he’s started he doesn’t seem able to stop. “I prayed all night – I prayed, but nothing came, just more, always banging on the doors, we blocked them off with all the furniture we could find and we could always hear them outside. I couldn’t get everyone to stay. They kept trying to run. You didn’t see it, all razed, the amount of dead –”

“I saw.”

“If the daedra were looking for me, if they did it all to find me –”

His voice breaks and now he’s proper sobbing, crouched by the empty hearth.

Pax does not know what to do in this situation. They stare at him, uncomfortable, for about half a minute as he weeps, face screwed up, nails scraping at the floorboards. Then they stand, shoving the striker and stone into their pocket, and head out the door.

Round the back of the inn, just like they were hoping, there’s a pile of firewood and twigs for kindling and a small pitcher pump with a bucket. The wood is only dewy near the bottom of the pile, and the pump works easily. Pax re-enters the room with a bundle of wood and bucket of water, and as Martin cries they build and light the fire. There’s a rod hanging over the hearth. Pax fills the pot with water and hangs it over the flames.

Martin’s still crying.

Pax passes him her water canteen.

It’s not until the water’s boiled and she’s added the oats that he quiets, taking a long drink from the canteen and then knuckling at his eyes.

“Sorry,” he mumbles tightly. “I didn’t mean to – to have such an outburst. I don’t think I really realised what it meant until now. That they were looking for me.”

Pax stirs the pot, not looking at him. “It’s fine. Happens.” She hears him shifting a bit next to her, his light bag being set on the ground.

“I just. I can’t bear it all being because of me.”

They do look up, then. “It’s not your fault,” they say. “The Emperor, he talked like you were the key to closing the Gates. He saw it coming. Jauffre reckons that the Dragonfires might be the thing. You’re not some kind of death knell, you’re the last bastion.”

Martin is staring at them. “Poetic,” he says, a little teasingly, though his eyes are growing damper again and his voice is choked up.

“I read a lot. Do you want sugar in your porridge?”

Martin, still a bit weepy, looks askance at the pot. “Do you know how to make porridge?”

“Course I know how to make porridge!” Pax snaps, offended. “How useless do you think I am?”

Martin laughs, and even though the sound is brittle and it goes on longer than feels necessary, something in Pax uncoils. They never know how to manage when people are upset. He says, “Sugar would be lovely, thank you.”

[thegrayascendancy-if]

🩰 - Dancing with a partner or by themselves with arthur bruhaps 👀 bouns points if it’s in the enemies era of knowing mc

i like the sound of bonus points, anon 👀

It truly feels like the poorer the harvest, the bigger the celebration. The crowd is rowdy like a restless sea, violent but rhythmic, dance and song that respect nothing but the need for a reprieve. How an inn this loud could ever mean a restful sleep, you cannot imagine, but this far into the mountains you do not get to choose.

Besides, you aren't even paying.

You might get a drink for your trouble, at least, if you were to catch the eye of the short and stocky lad in a shirt stained from all the spilled ale; he's quite a popular one tonight. For how long you have been sitting next to an empty mug, it seems a wiser choice would be just to fetch it yourself.

And so you get up. The table area has somewhat guarded you from the worst of the celebration, but now you are in the thick of it. You stumble over feet and knees. People crash into you. They pull at your clothes. They try to lure you with their clumsy dancing. And the ale you already had? It is strong, because your reflexes barely come to your aid.

You almost fall when a big fella makes a jump back, only to surely be sent flailing when there is a hit on your hip. There's someone ahead, is all you register, and you will collide with them.

But you do not.

Instead your hand is pulled up, some weight is taken of your feet, a light, steadying touch on your back—the room makes half a spin that absorbs all your momentum. Something as silly as a twirl. A practiced, elegant and breath-taking affair that lasts less than a wink; a coldness you have learned so well to emanate from Arthur, with his eyes, trained on you, steely and face impassive.

He breaks off, not a word, never once blending with the crowd, until he exits the inn. A moment longer of you staring motionless at the door and the crowd would surely assume you are up here to dance.

And nothing could be further from the truth.

[merakiui]

What do you think of the concept of yan!xiao, childe venti trapping their darling in a teapot?

I feel like they would be less restrictive since the darling wouldn't necessarily be able to escape most likely, so they wouldn't worry about restraint much. Esp in Ventis case...he is the God of freedom so while his darling isn't exactly 'free' they're still kinda free in a way that they have their own world to be free in?

Xiao would probably be somewhat restricted, but only just keep them in the house because he probably wouldn't trust them to be by themselves yet--he figures they may try to run off and hide from him or something

Childe would probably let them try to "escape" on purpose and would be absolutely amused when his darling finds out they wouldn't be able to leave

(cw: yandere, captivity, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, mention of children and implied stockholm syndrome for childe’s part)

Venti doesn't exactly lie to you, but he does trick you. He's aware that it's not the nicest thing to do and that it's not exactly captivity if you're living in a world that resembles the one outside. Only this pocket-sized world is nicer and happier and there aren't any people to get in the way. He tells you about it when you're vulnerable. Maybe you're drunk or you're crying your eyes out because something horrible happened. Either way, you're not in the right state of mind when you make the comment: "I wish I could live in my own ideal world for just one day." And this is great news for Venti because it makes relocation so much easier.

He shows you the teapot and explains it briefly, leaving out certain details. It's better if you don't know everything about how the teapot works. After all, ignorance is bliss. Venti tells you how to get in, but he doesn't tell you how to get out. And the way he describes it makes it sound so tempting—as if living inside this teapot for a bit will cure whatever's bothering you. You decide it wouldn't hurt to spend a day or two inside the teapot to see the little world Venti holds in the palms of his hands.

It's a lot of fun at first. You and Venti glide from the top of the mountains in Emerald Peak, he sings melodious ballads as you look up at the sky, and the two of you play hide-and-seek inside of the house, playfully popping out of rooms and laughing when you’re caught. Eventually the charm wears off and you start to yearn for the outside world. It’s not the same in the teapot. As pretty and peaceful as it may be, it still feels so empty. And when you bring it up to Venti he finds small ways to change the subject. It probably plays out like this:

“Venti, I’d like to go home now.”

“But we were just about to play another round of hide-and-seek! Come on! Don’t be a spoilsport! One more round? Then we’ll leave.”

Or he’ll tell you that you’re already home. There’s always a big smile on his face when he says stuff like that. He’s happy that he gets to spend so much time with you and no one can interfere. But it does get annoying when you start to beg for the old world. Your pleas to leave will fall upon his deaf ears. Venti does feel a little bad when you start to sulk, but his sympathy is short-lived. Let’s not forget that you were the one who wanted this. You wanted to live in your ‘ideal world.’ And isn’t this ideal?

As an adeptus, Xiao is aware of Sub-Space Creation and the effort it takes to construct a presentable teapot. He’s been working hard on his ever since you came into his life. Before he knew you he didn’t have a reason to put effort into it because he stays at Wangshu Inn, but after he met you he started working a lot harder. He tries to make the teapot as comfortable as possible. You mentioned you like dogs or cats in passing? You can find a few in the teapot. You said you like berry bushes and flower fields? There’s a bunch in his teapot. He probably has a nearly perfect model of your room in there as well. Before he brings you into the teapot, he’ll often sit in that room and make sure everything replicates the original, down to the bed frame and the fabric used for the pillow case.

He’ll put some of your things in it just so it feels more personal. Xiao knows he’s stealing from you whenever he does this, but it’s not like you ever noticed anything was missing. Besides, it’s all going in the teapot anyways. You won’t even need your real room or mortal possessions anymore. Xiao is actually quite proud of the teapot and manages to fool himself into thinking you’ll like it, too. And you do (for the first few days, that is). He’s very forward with his question of whether or not you’d like to see his teapot. And you eagerly nod because the two of you are friends and Xiao wants to show you something he made and he looks a little…excited? There’s definitely light in his eyes when he gets your agreement to view the inside of his teapot.

Once you’re inside, you’re genuinely surprised. It’s far more beautiful than you could have ever imagined. The Floating Abode is a really gorgeous landscape. You’re so caught up in looking at the sunset and the flowers and the animals that roam the teapot that you aren’t aware of the horrors that lie just beyond. You’ll find the room that resembles yours in no time and it’s really creepy. As much as you try to tell yourself that Xiao means well and wouldn’t actually do something like this on purpose, it’s hard to ignore the fact that everything is practically identical to your room. It’s so, so strange. You want to ignore it, but you just can’t. It’s so obvious.

It’s definitely creepy, but you don’t have the heart to tell him.

You hold your tongue because you don’t want to hurt his feelings. You’re really the only close friend he has, so you’d feel bad if you insulted his interior decorating skills. Xiao’s pleased to hear that you like it so much. Praise falls from your lips like a waterfall and it gives him a sense of relief. He’s so happy that you like it and since you’re okay with it it’ll be fine if you live here. When he tells you that, your brain freezes and you’re not sure how to respond.

“Live here? Like…permanently?”

And to your shock he nods.

Xiao is far less lenient than Venti. With Venti everything feels like eternal, childish fun with the idea of freedom sprinkled in. But with Xiao it’s definitely a harsher form of captivity. You aren’t allowed outside because he’s worried you might fall off of the bridges that connect the floating islands or you might try to find your way out of the teapot. So you’re confined to the mansion. It’s got everything you could ever need and the interior design matches that of your home perfectly. Just treat it like it’s your own home and it won’t be so bad. You definitely try to see the good in this situation because you care about Xiao, but it’s so hard when he’s keeping you here like you’re just another addition to his teapot.

It’s miserable, but at least you can count on him to visit you every single day.

Childe is very receptive to the idea of owning his own little world in a small teapot. Maybe he was holding you captive before he came upon the teapot and while you’re sleeping he relocates you. You don’t expect to wake up in a new location, but you assume you’re still somewhere in Liyue. Childe finds it cute that you’re so startled, clearly confused with the change in scenery. And when you glance at the surroundings on the Cool Isle, it feels like you might have a chance. Childe seems to think so because he waves you off, telling you with the sincerest voice that you’re ‘free to go.’

You don’t need to be told twice and so you run because you’re invigorated. You can leave and he’s not coming after you. Childe doesn’t even raise his bow in warning. You’re actually leaving him and he’s letting you! But it feels too good to be true. A day passes and you learn that there’s no one else to help you. So you find an empty shack on the shoreline and you hide in it because survival is the only thing you know right now. And the day goes by, the night comes, and morning makes its arrival. You’re still safe. He hasn’t found you.

And it really feels like you can make it out of this. Even if there’s no one around, you can still find something to help you. You’d take anything at this point. By the end of the week, you’re losing sight of your goal and you really just want to head back to the mansion and nap on a comfortable bed. You’ve been catching the crabs and the fish and doing what you can to start a long-lasting fire. When Childe finds you, you’re so exhausted from running and hiding that you collapse into his arms. And he smiles so sweetly while he tells you something that shatters your entire world.

“You did well, comrade, but this isn’t Liyue. You have no need to run.”

It’s not even Teyvat. It’s another world entirely—one existing solely within a teapot. And everything comes crashing down when you realize just how impossible that makes any escape attempts. No human contact. No energy or life that comes from meeting with friends and seeing family. It truly does feel like you and he are the only people in this world.

Childe knows that you’ll adjust to this new world whether you like it or not. It was fun to toy with you in the beginning (and it still is) when you didn’t realize this was the world inside the teapot. But now he just wants to settle into a comfortable life. He takes every chance he has to visit you and eventually you’ll find yourself succumbing to the relaxing pleasures of domestic life. You learn how to cook delicious meals with Childe’s help, you collect seashells on the shore to cure your boredom, and you’ll take care of any chores or housework. It warms Childe’s heart to see you accepting this life.

Maybe the two of you can start a family. Maybe he should get a few pets to liven up the house. It’s not like you can get away from him while inside the teapot, so it’s a recipe for anything to happen. And you’ve come to learn that what happens in the teapot stays in the teapot.

[knifewieldingenby]

Lambden headbutting/nuzzling, anyone? warning: slight sexual innuendos

Lambert was...confused. It wasn’t an emotion he felt often, and certainly not one he enjoyed feeling, so he tried his best to push it down and act natural. Of course, Aiden was a witcher; if anyone could see right through Lambert’s emotional walls it was him. He was nice though. He gave Lambert a pass, continuing on with the conversation as if Lambert hadn’t just frozen in place, hadn’t turned away to hide his blush.

It was all Aiden’s fault really. They were sitting in front of a fire, nestled close together with their knees touching ever so slightly, chowing down on cooked rabbit. Aiden had brought a small pouch of mixed spices on the road, something he’d acquired in Toussaint after the winter, and for once their dinner wasn’t bland. Lambert had told something close to a joke, maybe too gruff and sarcastic, but Aiden still laughed hard and then...and then. He leaned over into Lambert’s personal space and nudged him with his head. Maybe nudged was the wrong word. He nuzzled, lingered there for a minute with his forehead against Lambert’s bicep. And then he was gone, offering up a witty retort. And Lambert was left to try to remember how to swallow, lest he choke on rabbit.

It became a thing of theirs. On the road, when they were walking peacefully and Aiden was standing close; as they sat by the fire at night; in their room at the inn, when they laid down for bed. Those were the nights that had Lambert crawling out of his skin, when Aiden would turn to face his back or chest (whatever was right in front of him) and nuzzle his bare skin. It sent prickles down Lambert’s spine. He laid awake longer than normal those nights, listening to the wind against the building mingled with the soft, calming sound of Aiden’s slow heart beat. Trying to figure out what it all meant, or if it meant anything at all. Maybe it wasn’t that deep.

“Come with me,” Lambert whispered one night when Aiden curled up against his chest, half asleep. It probably wasn’t the best time to ask but Lambert was significantly less brave when it came to matters of the heart. Aiden stirred, unusually bright green eyes fluttering open to look at him.

“What was that, pup?”

“Come with me to Kaer Morhen. Winter with me.”

A lazy but fond smile stretched across his plush lips. “You really mean it? You want to introduce a bastard Cat to your brothers?”

“Fuck ‘em, it’s not about them.” It was mostly true - he couldn’t deny that the idea of his brothers approving of Aiden made his heart swell, but if they didn’t like Aiden, that was their problem. “It’s about...us.”

“Us?” Aiden smirked, quirking his eyebrow.

“Our friendship!” He said quickly. “We always meet up in the spring, and it’d be easier if I didn’t have to search for your sneaky ass.”

“You search for me, do you?” He was definitely fucking with him now, and Lambert shoved him gently.

“Quit dodging the question, kitty cat. Are you coming or not?”

“You tell me,” Aiden purred. He cackled at the blush that crept over Lambert’s cheeks. “Yes, of course I’m coming. About time you asked.”

“Okay. Well, that’s - okay.” Lambert willed his heart to settle down. Aiden silently curled up against him again, conversation over, and Lambert tried not to think much about it. Aiden flirted with everyone. On one memorable occasion he got so drunk he even flirted with a chair. It was just who he was. It meant nothing.

Then Aiden wrapped an arm around his waist and softly nuzzled his cheek back and forth over Lambert’s heart, making soft sighing noises until he slowed and eventually fell asleep.

Lambert didn’t sleep at all that night.

——

As expected, his brothers hadn’t been overly excited about meeting Aiden. They hadn’t been rude, at least, and if they stared at the two with curiosity Lambert chose to ignore it. His growing feelings for Aiden aside, he didn’t want Geralt and Eskel’s assumptions to make his friend uncomfortable.

Vesemir was less pleasant, displaying only as much politeness as was necessary to not piss Lambert off, but even he had a certain look in his eyes when Aiden got too close, too physically affectionate with Lambert. It wasn’t judgemental exactly. It still made him itch. Did he need to wear a sign that read “we’re just friends you fuckers”? He was strongly considering it.

“How do you tolerate the cold?” Aiden said one night after dinner. They sat around the hearth, a warm fire blazing, and even that didn’t seem enough for the Cat. He was used to traveling in warmer areas. Lambert could relate - the keep was often far too cold for his liking.

“At least you’ll be under your furs soon,” Eskel offered. Having bonded over which monsters they’d fucked in the past, they seemed on better terms. Geralt silently passed Aiden a bottle of liquor to warm him up.

“It’s cold there, too. Big empty bed with nobody to keep me warm,” he grumbled, downing a shot and passing the bottle back with a nod of thanks.

“Why don’t you sleep with me?”

Lambert regretted the words almost as soon as they left his mouth. Geralt and Eskel both shot him looks, and even Vesemir, half asleep in a chair, raised his eyes curiously. Lambert could feel his cheeks burning.

Aiden ignored them all. “I’d love to, pup. You’re a furnace.” He stood and stretched, shirt riding up to reveal brown skin and a soft, dark trail of hair that disappeared below his waist line. Lambert pointedly looked away, aware that all eyes were on him. Lambert stood with him.

“Let me go grab my furs and I’ll meet you in your room.” Aiden leaned over and nuzzled him like he always did when they parted, whether for five days or five months. It was his thing. He flashed Lambert a gentle smile and left without another word.

“Well fuck,” Geralt snorted. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lambert snapped.

“Come on Lambert,” Eskel sighed deeply. “You’ve done a good job playing dumb until now, but you can’t hide it any longer. We all know what that head bumping thing means.”

Except they all didn’t. Lambert was thoroughly confused. It must have shown all over his face because Eskel sighed again and looked toward Vesemir.

“Can you please tell Lambert what the headbutting thing means for Cat Witchers?”

“Yes, please tell me,” Lambert threw his arms up, frustrated. “Clearly I’m missing something!”

Vesemir sighed, too. Why was everyone sighing at him? “To keep a long story short, headbutting and nuzzling are ways that Cat Witchers show their love. Sometimes it’s in a familial manner, but more often it’s...romantic.”

Lambert stood in the middle of the room, jaw dropped, brain short-circuiting.

“He...what? No. No, Aiden is like that with everyone. I mean, fuck, he’s flirted with everyone in the room apart from Vesemir! I’m not special.”

“Nuzzling isn’t flirting,” Vesemir said matter-of-factly. “It’s an expression of love. And he hasn’t done it to anyone but you.”

Fuck.

——

“You love me,” Lambert breathed into the still air. It was cold, and he instinctively pulled Aiden closer. It was hard to do; they were already pressed so close together that Lambert could feel the firm curves of Aiden’s body warming his.

“I do. What made you finally realize it.”

Lambert shrugged, Aiden’s head bobbing with him. “The nuzzling thing. Vesemir told me what it meant.”

Aiden lifted his head to get a good look at Lambert, eyebrows raised in surprise. “You mean you didn’t know? Fuck, and I thought I was being so obvious!”

“What can I say, I’m thick.”

Aiden let his eyes roam over Lambert’s body where the blanket was slightly raised. “I’ll say.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Lambert laughed, pulling Aiden down on top of him. To his great pleasure Aiden took that opportunity to nuzzle his face, cheeks rubbing together in an electrifying combination of stubble and warm skin. He stayed like hat, cheek pressed to Lambert’s and breath on his ear, for a long while.

“I love you too,” Lambert said softly. Aiden started purring for real this time, a gentle and soothing rumble, and Lambert let it lull him to sleep.

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus Part 9

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him… Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1   Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Roman kept his back straight and his gaze cold and aloof as he watched his proclamation sink in.

It was a simple thing, to be Romulus again.

Virgil and Patton had been sent to fight and die by their Kings. Roman had listened to Logan rant, many times, about his distain of the noble classes and their control over the common men. Whatever affection they had for Roman – it wouldn’t extend to Romulus.

They would leave.

“Well yes,” Logan said, sounding annoyed “I was getting to that.”

“What?!” Roman shrieked.

“Not require our services?” Virgil stared at him incredulously, “Didn’t we hire you?”

“Logan, you knew?” Patton said admiringly, “You’re so smart!”

“Oh, he did not.” Roman grumbled.

“Well.” Logan shuffled his feet, not looking directly at him, “The Marquis de Ornella called you Romulus. And you attempted to call him by his first name, so I assumed you knew each other- a noble connection was not out of the question.”

“Ha!” Roman pointed at him, vindicated “But you didn’t guess I was a prince, did you?”

“Well, no-” Logan looked on the verge of pouting.

“What services are we even providing? In this scenario?”

“-but If I had had time to do more research then- “

“You know what! That’s a great idea.” Patton smiled brightly, “I think we could all use a little cool down time – Logan why don’t you go back to the library and read up on Nothalevaele”.

“Notaleveale.” Logan corrected.

Patton frowned. “It’s not -aleveale? I swear that’s what he said.”

“It’s not Nothalevaele it’s Notaleveale”.

“Then what is it?”

Roman stuffed most of his good hand into his mouth to muffle a scream.

“Seriously.” Virgil smirked at him even as he leant over to adjust Roman’s pillow. “You just can’t get service like this anywhere else.”

Roman glared at him.

“He-” Virgil jerked his head at Logan, utterly unbothered by Roman’s glare – “shouldn’t go to the library alone.”

Patton nodded seriously and gave Vigil a wide smile.

Virgil glared back.

Patton raised both eyebrows.

Virgil folded his arms.

“No one needs to go anywhere – I told you I’m leaving.” Roman complained.

They ignored him.

Eventually whatever silent argument the two men were having ended with Virgil rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Go find your bag.” He told Logan, who nodded jerkily and all but fled the room.

Roman flopped back against the pillows with a thump, too tired to maintain his princely posture any longer. “He can go by himself, can’t he,” he muttered sulkily, “we’re not actually kids.”

Virgil and Patton exchanged another glance before Virgil turned away to the bedside table, fussing with his pots and potions.

“We’re not sure how many guards got a look at our faces before we got out of the bathhouse.” Patton told him, “Better not to risk traveling alone.”

“Oh.” Roman replied, his voice small.

He remembered the bathhouse. The screams from above. Virgil’s panic-stricken face as he glanced between them and the stairs. Logan with a blade at his throat.

He swallowed hard and cast his eyes down, picked idly at a loose thread of the blanket.

“We should be back before the bandages needs changing, but if you smell anything or see any new pus there’s some ointment left in this one.” Virgil held up a blue-green jar for Patton to see, “Just wash it out first with boiled water.”

“Pus!” Roman squeaked, looking up.

“Your hand was pretty screwed up.” Virgil told him gruffly, “The infection’s what gave you the fever. You need to drink more willow tea, at least one cup every hour – we’ll have to pick up some more salve whilst we’re out.” This last part he directed at Patton, who dutifully rummaged in their stack of bags and handed over their coin purse.

It looked worryingly empty. Roman remembered the extra nights they had booked at the inn – nights which they clearly hadn’t even ended up using - and winced.

“We should look for some road food too, Virgil continued “and a map if we’re really going nor – Oh!” He looked at Roman, eyes wide “Er – about the tea, I mean, you need to drink it every hour but only If you -want to? I mean you definitely should but” he waved his hands as if trying to physically shape the instruction into something optional. “You get it.”

Roman bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and tried to ignore the fondness bubbling up inside him. He had hardly even noticed the order.

“How long was I asleep?” He asked.

“Nearly two days.” Patton said softly. “You really scared us for a minute there kiddo.”

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, “And- thank you. For taking care of me.”

“Aw Roman! You don’t have to be sorry for anything!” Patton said, “Or thank us – that’s what family’s for.”

“You’re not my family.” Roman said quietly, thinking of his father’s cool detachment and a castle full of empty rooms.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah whatever. Listen you gotta – you should eat. And sleep some more. And we are going to have to talk about all this when we’re back, okay Ro – er, Romulus?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Jeez do we have to call you that now?”

“I think it’s a nice name.” Patton interjected “It’s very umm. Regal.”

“Surely ‘Princey’ still works as a nickname?" Logan asked, returning to the room. He threw a pale green coat at Virgil, who made a face but obediently shrugged it on, pulling an orange knit cap down over the pointed tips of his ears.

Almost as an afterthought, he licked is thumb and rubbed at the dark kohl under each eye. He smirked down at Roman. “You ran away from being a prince and called yourself ‘Princey’?

“You called me that.” Roman said sulkily, deciding not to tell Virgil that he’d only succeeded in smearing the make-up.

“Umm.” Logan stood at the head of the bed. Roman braced himself for another round of interrogation, twisting the blanket between his hands. “I suspect I should apologise for– I was just trying to test my hypothesis before started making outlandish accusations. Obviously, I didn’t realise how long you have been dealing with- I mean, it’s actually quite impressive you maintained your sanity for this long given that-”

“Okay! Less talking!” Virgil declared, as Romans knuckles started to turn white. The elf slung one arm around Logan’s shoulders, propelling him towards the door.

“I was only trying to-”

“Later.”

The door closed behind them with a resounding thud.

“So” Patton said after a moment, casually reaching out with one thumb to wipe away the tears collecting in the bard’s eyes, “Would you like food first or a nap?”

***

The library of Steveange was the crowning jewel of the city. A towering hexagonal building that sat upon the cities highest peak, directly across from the gates to the royal palace.

Which meant the journey was almost all uphill.

Typical.

Virgil huffed, breathing heavily as he stomped his way through the streets, Logan practically trotting to keep up with his long strides.

Prince Romulus of Notaleveale.

Honestly, what the fuck.

At least it explained the whole armed guards thing.

Except actually it explained nothing because if you found a runaway member of the royal family, why in the hell would you then tie them up in a bathhouse basement?

Unless they were traitors working against the royal family – but then why go after a runaway prince at all? Ransom? They hadn’t exactly looked strapped for cash….

And why a bathhouse? Why not one the extremely defensible manor houses that were scattered throughout the upper echelons of the city??

Virgil let out a growl of frustration and came to a stop.

Roman’s injuries had been too systematic to have come from a fight. The northerners had tortured him.

And now he wanted to go back there?

It didn’t make any sense…unless of course the kidnappers had ordered him to go back…

Virgil took a deep breath and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to banish that thought. If he started thinking about the curse again he was going to lose it; end up in a spiral of what had they done and what had they missed and HOW were they supposed to protect him if-

“Virgil? Do you need me to count for seven?”

He forced his eyes open to meet Logan’s worried face and let out the breath he’d been holding in a rush.

“I’m good.” He told the younger man unconvincingly.

“We could go back-” Logan started, but Virgil shook his head.

As much as he bristled at being managed, he didn’t think Patton had been wrong to split the group.

Roman – or whatever they were calling him now– was barley recovered. He’d looked so small, propped up against the pillows without a lute or sword or smile between himself and the world.

Small and scared. And puffing himself up like a songbird trying to look big for a cat.

The four of them yelling for answers at once was only going to freak him out more. Patton had a much better chance getting information out of him one on one.

Still…

“You think we’re going got get anything useful out of this trip?” he asked Logan bluntly.

“The library of Stevenage is one of the greatest collections of written knowledge on the entire continent and in times of uncertainty, knowledge is our greatest weapon... and our greatest defence.” Logan told him, a serious look in his eye.

“Right.” Virgil nodded absently, “Do you think they’ve got a copy of ‘curse breaking for idiots?”

***

Roman woke up for the second time that day with a throbbing headache on top of his other aches and pains. He spent a few minutes cursing himself for not taking up Patton’s offer of willow tea before he’d gone back to sleep and then swung his legs out of the bed.

He needed to get up. He needed to relieve himself and wash and eat and and-

And figure out what to do next.

He needed to know if Remus was safe. If he was on the throne or locked up somewhere or worse.

Which meant going home.

Which meant getting away from his friends.

No one else was going to get hurt because of him and his petty little problems.

Nodding decisively to himself he sprung to his feet. And then swiftly sat back down as the world tilted alarmingly around him.

“Roman?” There was a polite knock at the door and Patton stuck his head in.

“Hey kiddo!” the big man smiled at him, “Are you hungry?”

Roman felt his heart rate speed up and tried to summon some of Romulus’ cool detachment. Patton knew about his curse.  If anyone learned about his curse, they would try to exploit it. They would use it to hurt his family, to hurt-

Roman bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop the flow of anxiety. This was Patton.

Roman was more likely to be a burden to him then an opportunity.

Before he could manage to come up with a suitable greeting his stomach growled, loudly, making him blush and Patton laugh.

“Shall I bring something up? Or do you want to come sit at the table?”

“…Table.” Roman mumbled, keeping his eyes locked somewhere in the vicinity of Patton’s left ear. Even though he knew, in his head and in his heart, that Patton wasn’t going to hurt him - he still felt oddly vulnerable with his secret sitting between them. Attempting eye contact made something inside him twist uncomfortably.

His mother had always said Romulus was shy.

If Patton noticed his odd behaviour he didn’t mention it, nor did he insist on carrying Roman down the stairs or otherwise manhandling him.  Instead he hovered at his elbow as he made his way from the room, keeping up a running commentary of the house as they descended the stairs.

The room that Roman had been staying in was the attic. Immediately outside the door was a set of stairs so steep they may as well have been a ladder. Patton must have been perched out here, Roman thought guilty, giving him space but close enough to hear him get up. At the base of these stairs was a short landing where most of the items normally stored in the attic were now haphazardly stacked.

“That’s Mama’s room.” Patton nodded at a closed door, as he gingerly ducked under a rolled-up carpet which was wedged against the wall. “And that’s the store cupboard”. At the base of the next steep flight was a hallway Roman recognised: kitchen at one end, main door at the other. There was another door opposite the stairs that he hadn’t noticed on his first visit, with a moon and stars motif painted at eye level.

“That’s her work room.” Patton told him, seeing Romans curious glance, “She’s asked us to stay out of there- it’s where she sees customers.”

Customers. Roman filed that thought away. He had almost forgotten they were in a witch’s house.

Patton took him straight through the kitchen, where a back door led into a narrow garden. The herb bed was surprisingly neat, given the haphazard nature of the house, with small labels pinned neatly next to each plant. At the far end were two wooden structures. “Storage shed.” Patton pointed, “Outhouse. Do you need help using it?”

Roman shook his head vehemently - clung to Patton’s arm briefly when the movement made him dizzy – and stomped to the outhouse to relieve himself.

After a few steps though he stopped.

Patton knew about the curse. And Patton wouldn’t hurt him so-

He could ask.

“Pat?“

“Yeah?” Patton – or at least his ear – looked concerned.

“I. um. My arm is…”

Virgil had instructed him to keep his arm still in his sling until the herbs had done their work and clearly, they hadn’t happened yet. The thing was still pinned across his chest.

Not that he couldn’t navigate the outhouse one handed if he had too. But his balance wasn’t exactly great at the moment and tripping in there was one humiliation he would have liked to avoid.

But then again, it’s not like his hand was any use. He would really just be freeing up the use of his elbow and why was even bothering Patton with something so stupid and embarrassing an-

“Roman. Hold your… hold your whole body however you like.”

He nodded jerkily as his shoulder relaxed for the first time since waking up, letting his arm drop a little lower.

He didn’t look at Patton as he made his escape to the outhouse.

***

When he returned Patton had pulled a tin bathtub from who-knows-where onto the slab of paving stone by the kitchen door and was testing the water’s temperature with his elbow.

“Virgil left us some potions.” He told Roman as he approached – “This is another one to help healing and this-” he held up a red tinted bottle “-should give us bubbles!”

Roman stared at the bath almost hungrily. Hot water was a luxury under normal circumstances and between the travel, the bath house and the fever he knew he must reek of sweat and dirt. Surely, he deserved a little pampering before the journey North?

“It’s still too hot.” Patton warned him before he could launch himself into the water. Instead, the other man gestured to a pretty wrought iron table and two chairs set against the left side fence. He produced bread and jam alongside a mug of tea, advising him to eat slowly as went to grab another bucket of water from the cauldron simmering away in Tay’s kitchen.

Although Patton had been careful not to make an order, Roman still made sure he followed his instructions carefully. He had no desire to make himself sick. Or to make more work for the other man.

He pulled his bread apart into small bites and ate them one at a time, watching Patton critically as he limped his way back to the table.

“Did you get hurt…in the bathhouse?”

“…A few bruises.” Patton told him honestly, spreading a thick layer of jam on his own bread, “Nothing too bad”

“I’m sorry.” Roman said again, pulling his remaining bread into smaller and smaller pieces.

“Ro-man!” Patton said cheerfully – “you don’t need to apologise! It was those Ornelly guys that hit me not you!”

“Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

Roman hunched and cursed himself. Sorry sorry sorry. Couldn’t he say anything useful?

“Roman hey – can you look at me please?”

It took more effort than he would have liked, but Roman did. Patton’s eyes were big and blue and very, very kind. Roman jerked his gaze away immediately.

“None of us blame you for what happened. Okay?”

“You got hurt because of me.” Roman blurted. “Logan nearly died- “

“I told you, that was on the Ornellans, not you-“

“Who were there specifically because of me! That excuse doesn’t work Pat I-“

He cut himself off, eyes glued to the floor once more. Hadn’t he just decided he didn’t want to cause any more trouble?

“Sorry.”

He heard Patton sigh and tried not to flinch, but when the other man spoke his voice was still gentle. “How many bubbles do you want?”

***

Whenever Virgil got upset, he always wanted space. It was something Patton found difficult, as his instinct was to smother the other man with affection until he smiled again, but experience had given him the patience to wait until his friend was ready.

When Logan got upset, he always claimed he needed space – but what he really wanted was an audience. He needed to talk through the problem, often at length, and know that someone was listening, even if he didn’t always want their advice.

Roman though – Roman liked attention. Roman liked fuss and pampering and his favourite food and to know, demonstrably, that someone was worried about him.

It didn’t mean he was great at asking for it. Patton remembered vividly his insistence on hopping half a mile on a twisted ankle before Patton had all but begged him to accept a piggyback.

He also remembered a time after a poorly received show when Roman had spent the evening sulking, sighing loudly and dramatically and slumping against each of them in turn until Patton had laughingly pulled him into a hug. Oh my god Vigil had snarked were you not hugged enough as a child?

It had been funny. At the time. Sort of.

Not so much now.

Since lying back against the tub’s rim would aggravate the wounds on his back, Roman was hunched forward in the tub, his bandaged arm hanging over the edge.

“Did I ever tell you how Virgil and I met?” Patton asked, settling on his knees next to the tub.

Roman twitched. There was a tactic agreement amongst the four of them not to discuss their pasts. This was more than fine with Patton, who was much more concerned with making new, happy memories then revisiting old ones, but he didn’t blame Roman and Logan for being curious.

Whenever the pair were on watch together, conversation often turned to whispered debate over the southern pair’s origin. Whilst he felt a bit bad for pretending to be asleep, Patton quite enjoyed their speculation.

His favourite was the circus performer theory. Virgil would probably has made a good acrobat.

“It was in the war.” he continued, scooping up some of the water and wetting Roman’s hair.

“I um. I volunteered you know? All the boys in my town did. I think we thought- well I know I thought it was the right thing to do. Finaley’ed was the enemy after all, we had to keep our families safe.”

He chuckled sadly, focusing on making sure every strand of Roman’s hair was damp before gently capturing a handful of bubbles and placing them on the other man’s head.

“Made you a crown.” he giggled.

Roman turned just enough to peak at him incredulously through one eye and Patton winced.

“Right. Sorry.”

Roman turned away again but Patton though he saw him suppressing a smile. Score!

“Um anyway” – he poured a measure of oil from one of Virgil’s bottles and rubbed it between his fingers before leaning over to begin massaging Roman’s scalp – “It was okay at first. I was in a regiment with all my friends, it was a bit of an adventure honestly.”

“And then there was this Major. He came to inspect us before we got done training and he – he said I was good. That I should get a chance to really make a difference in the war.”

He dragged his fingers through Roman’s hair, gently detangling the strands.

“He put me in a new regiment. All big guys. Like me. And they- they gave us this – I’m not even sure what it was. My buddy Micha used to say it was ground up swamp frogs but I don’t know.”

He started scooping up water again, rinsing some of the bubbles and oil from Roman’s hair.

“It made us…strong. Angry. Scary. Berserk well– that was the point. I don’t. um.” Some of the water sloshed over his cupped palms and Patton realised he was shivering.

“I killed a lot of people…. I mean I definitely made a difference to them.” He finished bitterly.

“…s’not your fault.” Patton glanced up to see Roman had twisted to look at him, was doing his best to maintain eye contact despite Patton’s confession. Patton smiled at him. Roman really was a sweet kid.

“It’s what I signed up for kiddo. Just faster.”

He sighed, nudging Roman gently to turn around so that he could finish rinsing his hair. “I’m not. I’m not saying it’s the same as what you’ve gone through. I know it isn’t. Just – I get it. A little. What it’s like not having any control.”

For a moment they sat in silence, the only sound the trickle of water as Patton continued lifting handfuls to Roman’s scalp.

Then the bard let out a shuddering breath and said: “My major’s name was Julius.”

“Oh?” Patton whispered.

“He was my dad’s friend. He was supposed to find a way to break the curse, but he didn’t. Then he just…started helping me figure out how to live with it. He was helping me. He was supposed to be…”

Roman took a deep breath “He’s the reason I-ack.” He broke off, coughing. Patton reached forward to hold him up, alarmed.

“Ro?”

“I’m okay.” But he didn’t look it, red faced and scowling. “I-” he gripped Patton’s arm looking right into his eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

Patton nodded slowly, understanding. “You can’t – not because you don’t want to.”

Roman nodded.

Patton frowned. “Can I – could I order you too? I could undo what Virgil said about your arm right?”

Roman sighed shaking his head. “The curse is. It’s fickle. But words are important -if you don’t know what you’re contradicting it’s almost impossible and Julius he – he was very good at giving orders.”

“Right.” Patton frowned. “What if I guess? Like Logan figured out the curse?”

“You can try.” Roman laughed bitterly.

“Hmm okay – was he the reason you left home?”

Roman span around so quickly water splashed over the side of the tub. “Patton! How’d you know?”

“Well gee kiddo! The frog pills didn’t rattle too many cells loose!” Patton laughed tapping the side of his head. Then frowned. “Well, I hope not…”

Roman winced. “Patton I – I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

“Well.” Patton smiled sadly, “Likewise Ro-Romulus.”

The other man sighed, sinking low in the tub again. “I liked being Roman.” he blurted out suddenly, a look of abject misery on his face.

“Then – why stop?” Patton whispered.

“I-” He frowned. “I would like to not be naked for this conversation.”

“That’s fair.” Patton nodded and helped him to his feet.

***

By the time Roman was up, towelled off and dressed in one of Patton’s old shirts that he had long ago claimed as a sleep shirt, he looked about ready to pass out again. Patton left him sitting at the table to finish drying in the sunshine whilst he dashed upstairs to change the sheets on the attic bed. When he returned with the laundry pile, he found that Mittens had emerged and settled himself on the bard’s– the prince’s – lap.

Roman looked up at him guilty - “Your allergies.”

“It’s easier outside.” Patton waved him off. Mittens had been the key to them finding Roman, as far as Patton on was concerned, the cat’s comfort was worth a few sneezes.

He took a seat at the table and nudged the remaining bread towards Roman, who took it hungrily, eating with much more enthusiasm than before the bath.

“So you were saying...” Patton prompted.

Roman pouted at him, cheeks stuffed with bread.

“’u first.” he swallowed, “You never got to how you met Virgil. Was he in the berserkers – in the special regiment too?”

“Oh, no.” Patton shook his head vehemently. “Virgil wasn’t like me. He was a conscript – for the other side.”

An exceptionally fat bumble bee had found Tay’s herb garden and was repeatedly bouncing off the side of some chives. Patton focused on the bewildered looking insect rather than Roman’s face and his finished the story.

“A small group of us had got separated from the rest. It was quite deep in the forest, away from the main battle. We were meant to find their camp and pick them off there, but we couldn’t find them. And then we couldn’t find the way back.”

The bee, finally free of the chives, crashed headfirst into a Rosemary bush.

“It was like… like my blood was on fire. We hadn’t been so long without it before. And then...”

“And then?”

“We stumbled on a group of them. Of Finaley’ii soldiers. And there was a fight.” Patton closed his eyes. Screams and sobs and blood on his sword and in his eyes and Micha gasping uselessly around the arrow in his throat “I don’t remember it much. But when it was over it was like I…woke up.”

He smiled.

“And there he was. Virgil. Pointing s crossbow right at my face.”

“He what!” Roman yelped and Patton laughed.

“Well, we were on opposite sides kiddo and I had just…well. The thing was, it was only us left then. No one was ordering to kill each other and so we just…didn’t. Neither of us was in any big rush to find our armies again so….”

“Virgil asked me to help him find his mom, so we headed east. We couldn’t find her, so he said he’d help me find my town and we went west. That was gone too.”

“The whole town?” Roman as looking at him with sorrowful eyes.

“That’s the problems with wars kiddo – they don’t stay in one place.”

“What about your family?”

Patton shrugged. Mittens hopped down from Roman’s lap and began to stalk the errant bee.

“Maybe they got away. I hope so.” He glanced at Roman again. “Virgil was the one who suggested we keep going west. Get away entirely, see if we could find any refugees, look for our families.” He smiled fondly. “He’s always been the brave one, not me.”

“And – and did you?” Roman asked. He was bent forward, eyes fixed on Patton’s own.

“No.” Patton sighed. “I like to think they’re safe and sound somewhere. Set up a new house, found new people to care for. Like I did. But… “

He trailed off. But most likely they were dead. Like Patton should be.

“What if…if you knew where they were.” Roman said quietly, “Would you go see them- check on them?”

Patton rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the multitude of scars that littered the right side. “I don’t know.” He told Roman honestly. “I would like to know if they were okay but…I don’t know if they’d want to see me.”

Roman nodded.

On the other side of the garden, there was a sudden yowling from the rosemary bush. Mittens came charging towards them with his tail fluffed up and circled Roman’s chair twice before leaping onto the fence.

Patton giggled – “Well that’s what you get for trying to fight a bee you silly cat!”

“I think my brothers in danger.” Roman said in a rush.

Patton blinked.

“Your brother?”

He was back to staring down. Both fists clenched tightly together. “I left him. Back home. I thought I-” he coughed again. “I thought he would be safe but now I’m not sure.”

“In danger from what kiddo?”

“From Julius.” Roman breathed. “I saw him. Or. Or I think I did.”

Slowly, haltingly, Roman told him about meeting the Marquis. About the bathhouse basement and the northern soldiers and the figure he called the grey man who had slipped in and out of Julius’ face.

Patton did his best to keep his own face clam as Roman casually described being forced to hurt himself, even as his own knuckles turned white from his grip on the chairs’ arm.

“He said he had sent Lucius to the inn after some – some escaped prisoner? And he found me. But Lucius knew about the curse and he never did before so- “

“Roman?” Patton interrupted. “Sorry - can I give you a hug?”

“Oh!” Roman blinked at him, blushing slightly, “If you – if you want to?”

“I really do.” Patton scrambled to his feet, wrapping the younger man in his arms and feeling Roman sag against him. He resisted the urge to squeeze, mindful of his injuries. “You’re safe now.” He whispered. “I gottcha.”

Roman giggled wetly against his chest. “Julius. He said he’d assumed I’d died.” He mumbled.  “But now that he knows I’m around? He’ll try again Pat I know he will. I- “

He drew back, looking up at Patton with tear filled eyes. “I can’t risk you all getting hurt because of me.”

“That’s not your decision to make Roman.” Patton told him softly. “We think you’re worth the risk.”

“But I’m not Roman.” He whimpered. He hadn’t relinquished his grip on Patton, who began to run his hand soothingly up and down the prince’s back.

“Well, if we’re being technical, I’m not Patton.” Patton rested his head on top of Roman’s own. “Me and Vigil picked new names after we left the war and I – I like being Patton.”

There was a pause. Roman squeezed a little tighter.

“I like Patton too.”

Patton laughed; some tension he hadn’t realised he was holding draining away. When Roman drew back this time, he had a shaky smile on his face.

“So.” He stepped back, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist. “I need to…go back north. Check on my brother. Avoid Julius and Lucius and anyone connected with Romulus. You sure that’s worth the risk?”

“Yep!” Patton said instantly. “And we need to break the curse!”

“I guess.” Roman shrugged. “I really do think it’s impossible Pat’.”

“Eh.” Patton waved a hand dismissively “That’s never stopped Logan before.”

When Roman laughed then, he almost sounded like himself.

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