#the cobwebs on the axe is such a lovely touch

[veradragonjedi]

@many-legged

"That was veeeeeeeeeeeery stupid :)"

Pretty much obsessed with Jonathan Sims right now. 

[gerbiloftriumph]

Lost and Found (ao3):

Grandpa's story of the goblin caves started out familiarly enough, but as he spoke, the story started to twist and change. New friends, new conversations, and new ways to use old items transformed the tale, and the young king discovered new ways to be brave in the dark tunnels beneath Daventry.

~*~

An attempt to reinsert the cut lines from the subtitle file. Ch2 has a ton of cut content, and a lot of the lost dialogue is grand, but currently the only way to read it is in a contextless, barely legible slurry in the game files. I'm reconstituting it and fluffing it up and out to make it more accessible.

(2/?)

“Goblins love stories so much that they force everyone around them to playact with them,” Grandpa said. “Do you remember all the stories the villagers were living?”

“Sure!” Gwendolyn counted them out on her fingers. “Wente and Bramble, the bakers, were in the Gingerbread Man. Amaya was the Big Bad Wolf, ready to blow down her house of sticks. The Hobblepots…um.”

“I was never sure either, but I like to think they were Hansel and Gretel, with their witchcraftery and interest in food, but I suppose any sort of witch in any fairy tale would do.”

“Like the witch in Jorinda and Joringel?”

“Now, where did you hear about a rare story like that?” Graham was impressed.

“Mom knows like, every story ever written, I bet.”

“The libraries in the Green Isles are quite extensive. Cassima must have had a good selection of books growing up.” Graham nodded at the mirror. “The goblins knew lots of good stories, too—there was another one that we didn’t talk about last time. A fairly famous fairy tale. I bet you know that one about Jack and the Beanstalk, right?”

“Of course, Grandpa.”

“The version you know probably didn’t have a giant that looked like this, though.”

~*~*~

After being on a diet of vile squishy porridge for a couple days, getting some meat (of questionable origin, don’t think too hard about it) had given Graham a burst of energy that he desperately needed. He was prowling the upper levels of the spiraling stairs, trying to get past a grumbling goblin guard. 

There was a rusty lever that he could push to activate some sort of alarm, making the mushrooms pulse in a bizarre way that he would forget to ask Muriel about. He fumbled in his pocket for the cobwebby rag, carefully folded on itself so the abnormally sticky web wouldn’t ruin his pockets. The spiders down here had to be unique to make something so sticky. He’d have to be careful not to run into any of them; no telling what sort of prey such things would like to eat.

But it was perfectly fine to use a little inventively, he thought, eying the puzzle before him. It was easy enough to trick the goblin guard into touching the lever with cobweb draped over it, temporarily trapping him in place. Graham slipped past while the poor guard struggled to untangle himself.

The new room soared around him, huge and echoey. Cool air pushed his curly hair around. Huge chasms yawned around him, and he cautiously kicked a pebble into one, listening to it plink and bounce against the rock sides. He wasn’t sure if he heard it land, or if it was just more echoes. Something dark and deep down there. Probably best avoided.

Ahead of him, a series of goblins were clustered around the base of a column, all looking up and chittering. One was swinging an axe. A tall line of thick vines was already half on the ground, chopped edges raw in the dim light. It looked like he’d been chopping for a while, but the others were pushing him aside and yelling and pointing up, like he’d forgotten to do something first.

And, standing at the top of the column, high above the goblins…Acorn.

Okay, not standing. He was lying prone on some platform up there, gripping the edge of the rock ledge for dear life, and even though Graham couldn’t make out an expression through that helmet, he could imagine the terrified look the knight had to be wearing. 

“’Fee-fi-fo-fum.’ All right, I said it. Can I get down now?” He wailed, “I really, really don’t like heights!” The goblins ignored him. “All right, fine,” he said, shakily, and continued to recite, stiff as a child rehearsing a school play. “’Be he alive, or be he dead. I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.’ Ooh, yeah, that’s nasty. Wente would not like that.”

Graham could see a little sign next to the base of the column now, with a drawing of a beanstalk on it, and a little golden goose. Of course. Jack and the Beanstalk.

The goblin chosen to be Jack, wearing a tattered leather jerkin, had been chopping down the vines they must have used to haul Acorn up to the top of the platform. He twirled the rusty axe, and Graham’s fingers itched to get hold of it, to get it to Amaya, but he couldn’t risk such a move in front of the four or so goblins glaring at the axe-holder. They pointed aggressively again, and Graham could see a couple of golden painted things next to Acorn. A harp and…yes, a common duck, with what looked like glittery paint dumped on it. It squawked and landed on Acorn’s helmet. He hoped the duck would be okay with the paint on its wings, but it was already dripping off, so Graham suspected the paint was more water based than anything else.

Apparently, “Jack” was doing things out of order and had gotten too excited with the chopping down part. He’d forgotten to gather the giant’s treasures first. A scrambled fist fight was starting to break out between the players. Costume pieces were at risk, though they weren’t particularly quality pieces to begin with. 

“If you let me down, I’ll knit you all sweaters,” Acorn said, swatting a hand briefly in the duck’s direction before clamping back down on the ledge. The duck fluttered back into place on his helmet and pecked at one of the horns on it. “Come on, fun size, you know you want a sweater. Or, at the very least, your Jack costume could use some work. Do you have any fabric allergies? I know a guy…if you’d let me down.”

Since the beanstalk vine ladder was now cut in half, there wasn’t much they could do to continue the game. They turned and walked off in a huff, still pulling on each other’s tattered cow ear headbands and stained costume tunics and normal helmets and snarling at each other. They ignored Graham completely. He stared after them, noting with vague disappointment that they were taking the axe with them. So much for that idea.

“Wait til Princess Madeline hears about this,” Acorn sighed. “Too bad she’s at music night. At least this will make a few good pages for my scrapbooking project. Helloooo! Is anyone else down there?”

“Acorn!”

“Princess Madeline, is that you?”

Graham hesitated. “Does it sound like Princess Madeline?”

“…no, I suppose not.” Acorn leaned a little further over the ledge, knuckles turning white against his grip as he tried to look down into the shadows. “King Graham? Is that you, little buddy?”

“Yeah! What are you doing up there?”

“Learning how to yodel. What do you think? I got pounced by goblins and dragged down here and they put me up here and I’m afraid of heights and I want to get down now.”

“How can you be afraid of heights? Aren’t you the tallest person in Daventry?”

“Somehow, that feels insensitive.”

“Sorry,” Graham said, smiling sheepishly. “But I’m not sure how to get you down. The goblins cut off the ladder.”

“I wish I had my trapping ropes, or something,” Acorn said glumly. “I didn’t think I’d need ‘em on a walk with Whisper. We were looking for a specific flower, for my paint dyes. It’s hard to see on a clear day, but it’s got a glowy edge to it when it gets wet, so, the rain, y’know. He wanted to come, ‘cos I use the dye to print the labels for his hair treatment line. But we didn’t get far outta town before we got jumped.”

“Whisper too?” Something was happening here. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Why did it seem like all the friends he had in Daventry had been caught with him? It wasn’t like there weren’t other knights or villagers in Daventry. Cooper Smith, a man whose name and profession didn’t make much sense at all, hadn’t made an appearance down here, but Amaya and Acorn had. But. Why?

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen him for a while, we got split up in the dark and the tunnels and I dunno, maybe he got away. I sure didn’t, though. Would you hurry up and think of a way to get me down? I’m really just a sensitive artist, you know, I’m not built for whatever this thing is.”

“I’ll think of something,” Graham said.

“Hurry up!” Acorn glanced at the pile of treasures the goblins had left him. “I think I’d rather have a golden harp stolen from me more than my dignity,” he muttered.

Graham paced around the base of the split vines. The goblins had left behind a shovel, which he quickly claimed, though he wondered vaguely if a goblin might protest it as a potential weapon. The dirt was freshly disturbed. He curiously checked it, and he uncovered a handful of beans. “Oh, magic beans!”

(“Magic beans,” Gwendolyn repeated, emphasis on the beans.)

“You know those aren’t real, right?” Acorn said, looking on. “Real ones aren’t purple. Or glittery.”

“Never look a gift bean in the mouth,” Graham said, stuffing them in a pocket. “They could be really beanificial later.”

“I’d smack your feather hat right off your head for that if you were still wearing it. The crown looks nice, by the way. Bespoke craftsmanship. I wish I was into metalworking like that sometimes. But you know how it is. Gotta pick a craft and stick to it, else your closet’ll just fill up with unused tools.”

“It’s, uh. Well. Thanks.” Graham shifted it back on his head, feeling the weight of it again. Best to not get into it now, really. He ran a hand over the vines, but they seemed pretty mangled and destroyed. “I’m not sure I can fix this yet,” he said. “Acorn? Are you okay hanging around up there a little bit while I look for something to help?”

“No, I was thinking of going for a little stroll around the caves. Of course I’ll stay up here, Graham.”

“Uh. Right. Sorry. I’ll be back, I promise!”

“You’d better hurry up. Ya’ll are lucky the bull is retired, or else I might start throwin’ things.”

“Right, right. Sorry. I’ll find something, promise.” And he pushed deeper into the caves, Acorn muttering under his breath behind him.

~*~*~

Quite aside from Acorn’s tower, Graham found all kinds of fascinating things and places he would have loved to poke his nose into. But he couldn’t explore them all properly, distracted by the sound of a scuffle. He hurried past a room filled with strange hexagonal rocks, down a little dark side tunnel that he wouldn’t have even noticed if it hadn’t been for the racket beyond.

He hadn’t gotten far before he realized he recognized at least one of the voices.

“Don’t fret, little rock goblins. Whisper will sign all the things!”

“Oh no.” Graham started to run. Mushrooms kicked up iridescent spores as he dashed forward. They floated down gently behind him. He skidded around a bend, arm flung out to catch a stalactite that dripped nearly to the ground, spinning around the corner, boots scraping, and he slid to a halt, staring.

Whisper stood in the center of a surging pack of goblins, at least a dozen, all pushing and pulling and trying to get him to move, while he stood perfectly steady, giant signing pen in hand, scribbling on helmets with elaborate flourishes.

“No need to push, you crazy little fans,” he chided. “Don’t crowd! Don’t crowd! …okay, crowd. Whisper loves a crowd.”

“Oh, no.” Graham repeated, stepping back. They hadn’t noticed him yet, but somehow he didn’t think he’d be able to keep his balance in that crowd quite as well as Whisper could. He was sick of being tackled.

“Who should I make this out to? Rocky Stoneman?” Whisper asked, jotting something down on a goblin arm. “Unique individual message for you. And unique individual message for you. And unique individual message—” he glanced up. “Graham! It’s been far too long! And I see you’ve earned your mane of excellence, just look at that shiny hat! It’s nearly as good as mine! Well! Whisper has, and will continue to be, a fan. And speaking of fans! Fans, my fans, right this way! Follow me!” He marched forward, pushing past spears and hands without a pause.

“It’s good to see you too, Whisper, but those aren’t—”

“Can we push this line against the wall?” Whisper yelled over the chittering mass. “Oh, yes, I totally remember you from Adventure Con,” he said, beaming at a fierce goblin with a spear trying to prod his arm but failing due to the armor, the sharp point plinking uselessly off reflective metal. “I would love to sign your baby!”

“Whisper!”

“My fan club rocks!”

Graham sighed. “Whisper, that’s not what they are.”

“Of course they are! Who else would they possibly be?”

“Really dangerous kidnappers?”

“Not with cute little faces like that!”

“They’re wearing masks!”

“They’re still adorable. Back up, people, Whisper needs to talk to King Graham!”

The goblins paused, all turning to glare at Graham. He shrank back, hand pressing against his crown to stop it slipping down over his eyes. “No, it’s okay, I’m supposed to be here. I’m, uh.” He searched his pockets frantically, and he came up with a little dustpan and broom a goblin had thrown at his head yesterday. “I’m just sweeping this tunnel!” He swirled dust this way and that, grinning tightly. Which was entirely pointless since the tunnel was nothing but dirt and dust, but no matter. “Just chores! It's fine! We’re all fine! This is fine!”

They seemed to reluctantly accept this, and they went back to trying to push Whisper forward. The knight was perfectly poised and perfectly planted though, and he was not going to be swept off his feet. Probably because he’d practiced sweeping too many other people off their feet.

“So, Graham! What brings you here?”

“Um. They did.”

“Mmmhmm, nice, nice,” Whisper said, definitely not listening at all. “Look, do you think you could help me form an orderly line here? Whisper’s pretty sure he’s signed the same helmet twice.”

“I don’t think they want your autograph, Whisper.”

“Of course they do! What else could they possibly want?”

“Probably to push you into a fairy tale reenactment. That’s what’s been happening to everyone else so far.”

“Everyone else?”

“All the villagers are here, too.”

“Oooh, even the enchanting Miss Amaya Blackstone?”

“Don’t sound so pleased.”

“Yes, well. Fairy tales, hmm? I wonder which one Whisper would get! Which one has the most handsome famous adventuring prince in it, Graham?”

“I could definitely hear you being in Beauty and the Beast for some reason.”

“So long as Whisper is Beauty!”

“Sure. Oh! Speaking of fairy tales!” Graham turned to face the goblins. “Hey! Guys! Um. I mean.” He cleared his throat and upped the dramatics, complete with elaborate hand gestures. “Attention, attention, hear ye, hear ye, and all that!”

They stopped chittering and poking Whisper with their spears and turned to face Graham, spears raised in his direction instead. Graham stepped back again, hands now frozen in a pleading defense. “No, no, no, hang on, I want to make a trade. For your knight. I have something much better!” He hoped none of these goblins were the ones that had been playing Jack and the Beanstalk back in the other room or had been part of the arts and crafts team that had painted these ordinary beans purple.

“Better than Whisper! No such thing!” Whisper said, affronted, hand to his chest. His signing pen splattered ink across a few goblins.

“Shut up, Whisper,” Graham hissed out of the corner of his mouth, keeping as wide and desperate a grin as he could in the face of prickling spears. “Now, who amongst you is the wisest goblin? I, as the very important King of Daventry, can only deal with the wisest goblin, to trade for that knight there for these incredible and very real magic beans!” He withdrew the little handful from his pocket.

“You know those aren’t real, right?” Whisper said, eyeing them. “Real ones aren’t—”

“Whisper.”

“All right, fine, it’s your fault for making bad trades.”

One of the goblins started to step forward, apparently deciding it was the wisest goblin best suited to this trading task, but another goblin took great offense at that and shoved him back. Meanwhile, a third had started forward, hands outstretched, and another swatted his arms with a spear shaft. The hit goblin hit back. Another goblin, totally unrelated to the budding argument, decided now was a good time to take revenge for some earlier offense and stepped in. A helmet got shoved off, an ear got yanked, the goblins started wailing and tackling and leaping at each other. Graham ducked to avoid a swinging spearpoint.

“Whisper, come on.” He shoved the purple beans back in his pocket. One or two bounced loose and pinged across the floor, which just added to the chaos as goblins lunged for them. “Let’s go!”

“But, my fans!”

“There’s plenty more around here, don’t worry about that.”

“Oh, all right,” Whisper said reluctantly. He turned and sketched a dramatic bow at the crowd of yelping scuffling goblins, saying, “The building has left Whisper! Adieu! Farewell! May we find each other again at another, more organized, venue!” As he bowed, a stack of signed portraits fell out of his armor, and Graham instinctively scooped a few up to return them later. 

Graham watched over his shoulder as they scrambled out of the tunnel, but no one followed them, at least not right away. He pushed Whisper into an alcove, out of sight in the shadows. A lizard chirped at them and flared bright blue, irritated at the intrusion, casting glittery reflections across Whisper’s armor.

“Whisper, I’m so glad to see you,” Graham said, and he grabbed the knight in a trembling hug, fierce and tight like Whisper would vanish into the shadows and leave him alone again. “I mean, I’m not, you shouldn’t be here, but—do you know what’s happening?”

“Not a clue! But Whisper thinks it looks like more adventure sought out you.” He pushed Graham back a pace and gently tilted his chin so they were looking eye to eye (helmet). “Ready for more adventures?”

Graham shakily smiled, adrenaline starting to fade after the goblin faceoff. “Always.” He straightened his crown, and tried to look regal and expectant and ready, but then his knees gave out and he sank against Whisper again. “Ha…with some help.”

“Whisper can do that!”

[egipci]

Bourbon Street Parade

They drove down to New Orleans looking to buy some hex bags from an old connection, but they were out of luck. A little girl, no older than eight years old, appeared in front of the door wearing green fairy wings, in her hand a magic wand with curly plastic ribbons coming out the end of it. She ran the ribbons through her fingers and looped them around and made a motion as if snipping them and craned her neck back and said Old Al was dead forever. Dad rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palm, his mouth down-turned, his jaw clenched. She stretched her arm out and pointed her wand towards the river. She said you better look for some other guy but watch out for all the phonies.

Thanks, Dean said, and held out his family-size bag of tootsie rolls. She shook her head. He wagged his eyebrows and rattled the bag like, you sure? This is the good stuff. Two for five at the gas station this morning but he was already down to a third of a bag and this made him feel very generous. Again she shook her head. He made a show of unwrapping a candy and throwing it into his mouth. She gave him a disgusted look and took off.

O-kay, he said. He scraped the taffy coating his teeth with a fingernail, struggled some to get out what was stuck between them while he thought carefully about touching Dad’s elbow or offering some other comfort. He swallowed, fake-chocolate taste thick at the back of his throat, and looked at his dad and Dad sighed and slapped his shoulder and said let’s go and started walking down Conti, leaving the car behind, always knowing what to do, walking fast like he did in huge strides that you had to jog a little to keep up with him for five, six blocks, past blow-up ghosts in front of homes covered in mesh cobwebs and kids inside them screaming, the street narrowing in, the sidewalks getting busier. Out of nowhere Dad crossed the street and there was a beep and Dean waved his hand at the guy behind the wheel and there were startled angry apologetic looks exchanged and Dean turned again looking for his father and caught sight of his turning left on Bourbon and called out after him and rounded the corner, his hand on his dead phone heavy and useless in his pocket, his eyes trained on Dad’s shoulders, so far behind him now and between them fat Batman in gray suit and hard plastic cowl, Michael Jackson who couldn’t moonwalk, Dolly Parton with foam tits and cowboy hat, chick waddling in mermaid tail, sexy nurse, squad of stormtroopers, preacher raging into a microphone, Ghostface, Black guy in a shoulder-length brown wig and beige-colored bathrobe, three little kids drumming on upside-down buckets, vampire with plastic fangs and red running down her chin and down her neck and her sternum artfully between her boobs, innumerable sweaty costumeless midwestern couples drinking liquor in plastic cups, murder victim with axe sticking out his head, scarecrow, Neo in leather duster, sorority girls in heels, fun-loving gay dudes, Pennywise and closely-related generic clown, a second and third Ghostface, beer sweetness in the air and gumbo and a big manly hand on his ass squeezing and Eagles cover band singing the full moon is calling the fever is high and the — corner of St. Ann where Dad turned right and disappeared into one of the courtyards or up into the rare green aurora flashing over the Mississippi a hundred yards away with its sewage smell, leaving Dean forever with his candy and choices to make like does he go back where he came from or does he walk miles up and down Decatur for the ghosts to watch and laugh from their balconies or does he ask for a phone to please call my dad and even worse than that the humiliation of asking where are you where should I meet you why would you leave like that should I go back to the car?

But then he heard the shouting. A large-sounding, murderous-sounding man was cursing insanely. His voice echoed and spilled out into the street. Dean pushed in a narrow metal gate that led into a poorly-lit path that led into a creole courtyard just as Dad turned the corner on his way out and said found you and just as Dad turned the corner Dean made some embarrassing girlish sound and threw himself back against the wall, gasping wildly, his heart rabbiting, hopped up on high-fructose corn syrup, threatening to bust out through his ribs. Pressed his hand to his chest to keep it in place. Whatever misery Dad saw on his face made him grin wide and sharp. Across from Dean he leaned against the wall. Only three feet between them now. But Dad tugged on his jacket, pulled him closer. Dean tripped over his feet, into Dad's chest, held on to Dad's arms for balance. Dad said, Here you go, laughing. He held a cloth pouch in his hand, tried to fit it in Dean’s right pocket but found it full of candy wrappers. He tsked as they fell soundlessly to the ground and said, gonna make yourself sick bud, slow and deep and pitying, teasing, hot in that eye-prickling way. He pulled Dean’s jacket open and left the pouch and its mysteries inside the inner pocket then his hand on Dean’s chest.

I was right behind you, Dean said, belly swirling with taffy and four whole months since he’d last had Dad’s hands on him.

I know, dude.

I found you.

I know, Dad said, huge careful hands cradling Dean’s skull. He said hey come here, and his hot open mouth was on Dean’s skin and his beard scratching and his teeth and he tilted Dean’s face up finally and then there was nothing for it. Dean closed his eyes.

[ghost-at-the-masquerade]

Friends in Low Places

Part 2: Tourist Trap

Rating: PG

Count: 2666

Summary: A few days after the events of Tremors, the trio stops for a bite and tour of a roadside attraction. Or: Juliette makes an excellent choice, and Zeke makes a bad one.

-------------------

“Afraid she’s never gonna be the same after a shock to her suspension like that.” Zeke sighed, patting the side of the truck as he came around. Juliette and Roscoe sat on the tailgate, boxes and bags of their belongings pressed against their backs.

“Is it real bad?” Juliette said through a mouthful of cheese-steak, brows creased.

“Well, it’s not good, but we’ll get by.” He shrugged and leaned past her to grab his own sandwich.

Juliette swung her feet, marveling at the sweeping height of the pines around them. The smell of ceders heavy in the air. They were parked in a gravel lot with nothing but half-rotted blocks of wood to mark the spaces. Back around the bend, toward where they came in, was the little food stand where they had grabbed their lunch; a weather-stained building with just two windows to order from and three friendly, stocky folk tending it. In the other direction was their next destination.

A building made of logs almost black in color, with a steep roof and its name up in gaudy, blood-orange lettering; Twinkle Cove’s House of Terrors. ‘Terrors’ had a dripping effect that had clearly been added later. It might have been a home once, but the windows and doors had since been replaced with dark frosted glass. The inside of the door was plastered with fliers for other local businesses.

Once they were done eating, Zeke led the group to join just one other small party in the lobby, ditching their trash in the can outside. A gust from the AC swept over them at the threshold, making way for the faint smell of dust and taxidermy. Lights over each display cast heavy shadows to hide the seams on the tackier fakes. Floor vents rattled in the corners.

Zeke removed his sunglasses and let them hang from his shirt collar, grinning all the while. Usually he tried not to make comments about Juliette’s stops, not wanting to influence her choices, but he loved this hokey shit and could make no secret of it.

The counter to their left was manned by a spindly fellow who reminded Zeke of a harvestman; those tiny, long-legged spiders. Dressed in a clean black suit and cloak, gloves and bowtie a rich sanguine, topped off with too-big silver cufflinks and a swirl in his hair. He acknowledged them with a nod and a flash of pearly-whites.

The three of them split across the room. Juliette went for the counter, its glass case holding an array of trinkets. Gems inset in gargoyle claws, decently realistic rats, wands and supposedly cursed objects.

Zeke himself made a round of the room, looking over the displays that you got for free. A passable piece of taxidermy claiming to be a were-badger, crafted, as far as he could tell, from a honey badger and a red fox. A tuft of brown hair that almost looked burnt, kept behind glass; the plaque described it as a trophy from an encounter with the local woodland witch. Several unsettling mannequins he couldn’t get a good look at, since they were occupying the small family also in the lobby.

Roscoe went to peep down the hallway to the right, which was cornered off with a single strip of velvet rope. When they went to lay a hand on it, the man at the counter tutted and called out in what was surely his stage voice, “Folks if you would just gather here, I’d be glad to sign you up for our grand tour!”

Juliette side-stepped over in front of the register to be first in line, a cheeky smile on her face. The man returned her a smile that crinkled his eyes. Zeke joined her shortly, and it took no time at all the register both parties.

Thus the lot of them gathered in front of the rope divide, the man in charge standing before them with his shoulders braced and hands twisted together. It was hard to tell if the posture was part of the bit, or genuine nerves.

“Hello, hello, I’m your host and owner of all these terrible delights, Terry!” He stumbled over his script with an appreciative laugh when a couple of them cheered. Moving the rope aside, he gathered himself and continued, “Stay close behind me and don’t touch anything you aren’t willing to… get attached to.”

With that and a menacing laugh the tour began. Through the first narrow hallway, with concerningly real cobwebs in its crooks and crannies, past an alcove leading to a bathroom and an office, they took a left-hand turn into a room even darker than the lobby.

As their host briefly explained; “Certain items can be damaged over time in bright lights. No flash photography, of course.”

There were the staples of places like this; traces of Bigfoot and hair of the moth-man, hooves of unicorns even. More interesting was a purple checked hood, dropped by the flatwoods monster - the holes in front lightly singed from the intense light of the creature’s eyes. Surprisingly life-like stone statues of woodland critters, victims of a basilisk. The basilisk itself, even, or a depiction of it.

“Even the corpse is dangerous!” Terry proclaimed, a finger held sternly in the air, “Not suitable for display.”

To his credit, Terry seemed genuinely enthused about each and every piece. But his clear favorite, in the final room, was most impressive of all.

This room was smaller than the others they had passed through, holding only one display. Hidden behind a heavy satin curtain, deep red and lightly dusty. Terry crossed the room with a twirl of his cape, his hands almost seemed to tremble as he reached for the thick braided cord that would pull back the curtain.

“Parents, please hold on to your children.” The party of strangers obliged for the hell of it. Juliette made a point of scooting away from both Zeke and Roscoe.

Terry yanked the cord and revealed a dark, hairy, humanoid figure. Vaguely canine in the face, with great black horns that scraped the ceiling. Hands that weren’t quite hands, but not quite paws either, with jagged, broken claws. Roscoe leaned closer, mouth open slightly. The thing’s fur was as black and fluid as ink, eyes shimmering unnaturally bright for the dimness of the room. Surely, it had to be a sort of projection, but search as the eye might, they could not find the subtle tells.

“The grand prize that no doubt drew you to this place, the lesser demon slain by our very own local monster hunter, Paul Anderson!” Terry shook like an excitable dog.

The younger of the two children there reached out. When their fingertips brushed its bent knee, a single second shattered into a thousand. The beast’s head snapped down, teeth barred in a growl. It staggered forward, knocking over the rope divide. The children shrieked and all seven of the guests scrambled backwards.

Zeke’s hand snapped to his side automatically, instinctively going for his revolver. Thankfully, it was still in the car, so the situation would escalate no further. Terry was absolutely howling with laughter.

He crowed after the little family, who were already back in the previous room, “All in good fun, all in good fun, that’s the one that keeps them coming back!”

Roscoe clutched their heart, despite being blank-faced as ever, aside the raised eyebrows. Juliette tugged at her braid.

Zeke spat out the scare and laughed. “Aw, okay, you got us. That’s pretty damn good. What’s that, animatronic-?”

Terry didn’t even let him finish, moving out of the room, “I’m afraid that’s all there is to see for now! But we always have more attractions coming, if you’d come see us again in the fall…!” His spiel continuing as they returned to the lobby.

With a little distance, everyone was in good spirits about it, though the younger child was a bit huffy in denying that they’d been scared. The family argued briefly over whether to buy anything before ultimately leaving empty-handed. Juliette gently bullied Roscoe into buying her one of the cursed spoons from the display case. Roscoe cast a meaningful glance back at Zeke before taking her outside.

Business concluded, the register rung - an old fashioned thing - and Terry came around the register again. He cast a wary, sideways look at Zeke as he went to set the rope barrier back in place. “Something I can help you with?”

Zeke sidled up next to him with a few casual, swinging steps, put on a sloppy, side-ways kind of smile and a bit of concern on his brow. He clicked his tongue and looked around the lobby as he spoke, “Awfully bold of you to be flauntin’ it like that these days. Pretty neat setup you got going on, though. How’s the monster-hunter involved?”

When he actually turned to look at him, Terry was frozen stiff, breathing in quick, shallow breaths. Zeke held up his hands, any humor dropping from his expression.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I’m not-” the rest of his words were forced out in a gasp as Zeke threw himself aside. He turned back to find a comically large axe splitting the floor where he had just been standing. His gaze shot up to Terry’s face, wide-eyed, unreadable.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” He held out a hand even as he crawled backwards toward the hall. Terry shook his head rapidly, fists clenched in his cape.

“That’s what they all say!” Shadows shot up to swallow the light from outside, crept up the walls like thousands of spiders to dim the overhead lights. Terry jerked his arm out dramatically, “That’s what all of them said!”

The weight of those words came into focus quickly; the three grotesque mannequins, their horrified faces looking as though they’d been covered in clay, came to flank Terry. Their bases scratched the floorboards, following as he moved into the hall after Zeke.

Zeke did all he could do; scramble to his feet and try to put distance between them. The options for where he could get it were severely limited; continue on down the hall, into the bathroom, or the office. Zeke didn’t fancy being cornered that quickly. He backed away, still holding up a single pacifying hand. The walls cracked and splintered on either side of him, oozing viscous void from their wounds. Lightbulbs screamed, formless things flitted through the edges of his vision.

“Listen, I’m not here to start anything,” Steady words that simply bounced off his pursuer as they made it into the main display room, “It’s not like that, I’m not with those bastards.”

“I won’t be lied to. I won’t be taken that easy.” Terry spat. The jackalope in the case to his left sprung to life, flailing and trying to bite through the glass, dead eyes flashing. Zeke’s eyes flitted around the room for his next move.

The room dimmed further and suddenly silver flashed in Terry’s hand. A simple, smooth blade. Something clicked together in Zeke’s head, but there wasn’t even time for it to form as a whole thought before Terry threw.

Zeke’s arm shot up in defense, but to no avail. A glass display teetered as he staggered back against the wall. Pain coursed through his ribs - far less than it seemed like there should be. Ragged breaths drew through his teeth as he saw but couldn’t feel the blood pooling up under his fingers. Something that sounded like stomping was lost at the edge of his perception, overtaken by static.

Everything in the room distorted and flickered, twisted and turned sickeningly, lights searing bright before settling back into normalcy. And then it was gone; the knife was gone, both flesh and fabric mended. He palpated the spot just to be sure.

His gaze shot back up to where Terry stood shaking, eyes glistening. The mannequins were gone. And over Terry’s shoulder, he could see Roscoe, an indecipherable mess of guilt and pain and concern on their face, their hands laid on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry - I don’t like to do it so quickly.”

“He stabbed me!” Zeke objected to the apology, hand still on the spot where the knife had been.

They couldn’t really disagree, so they just grimaced and tilted their head.

Zeke pushed himself upright. “Can we please just talk now?!”

“Are you going to take me in, then?” Terry’s voice was small. Frightened. He swallowed and said more insistently, “All I can do is scare people, I’m no good to you. Just parlor tricks.”

Zeke did his best to steady his voice, “No, I tried to tell you, it’s not like that.”

But with his only defense disabled, the fear split him anyway. “Then what?! What do you want?!”

Something like guilt made Zeke’s temper flare, “I just - wanted you to know you got fucking caught! That somebody who knows something about conduits is going to see through you if you keep this up!” Zeke turned on his heel, away from the palpable tension in the room.

Terry did nothing to cut it; he stayed stock still, looking at the ground until he finally slipped to his knees. Roscoe backed away a step.

Zeke put a hand over his mouth and sighed through his nose, trying to ignore the tiny adrenaline tremors still coursing through his arms. He turned back with a suspicious squint.

“If it’s all just tricks of light then how did it hurt?”

Terry looked over to the jackalope display, conspicuously fingering the hole where his cuff-link had been, “I mean, objects can be disguised…”

Zeke’s face felt hot. Had he really reacted so dramatically to something so small? Fear had a power all its own.

“The hunter - you asked about the hunter, Anderson,” Terry twisted his hands together, “He- he caught me. And said… said I could use him as part of the story…”

The subtext settled neatly beneath the silence, like dust beneath a sheet.

“You wanted to talk, that’s where I am. He hasn’t imposed much and it’s been good for business. So what do I do?”

Many questions compounded into one. None that Zeke had the answers to.

“What do I do?” He repeated, shoulders drawn in.

Zeke opened his mouth, but all that came out at first was another sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t-” He walked past them into the hall on autopilot. He needed out of this suffocating place.

Roscoe picked up for him, knelt down next to Terry and produced from their vest a light purple business card. “The best we can offer is somewhere to run, if it comes to that.”

Terry took the card like it might come alive and snap at him.

Zeke heard the two continue to talk, softer now, but didn’t tune in to what else was said. Then Roscoe’s hand was on his back, leading him outside.

The light of day was blinding after the all-consuming dark Terry imposed, every bit of metal or particularly bright rock boring into him. Zeke breathed deep the smell of ceder and hot stone as he put his sunglasses back on.

“Coulda gone better.”

Roscoe laughed and put their hands on their knees. “It was not one of your better showings… I’m glad you’re in one piece.”

“Two pieces, but yeah.”

They laughed again as they straightened up, letting their arms hang loose. “But are you okay?”

“Okay as I’m gonna be. Feel kinda stupid.”

“Normal, then.”

Zeke punched their arm, smirking anyway, “Asshole…”

Across the lot, Juliette was hanging out the window, arms crossed on the edge.

Zeke looked to Roscoe, but from the corner of his eye, he could see movement in the lobby. Inside, Terry quickly looked away, the card still in both hands, face drawn. Zeke sighed. “Put it in the Rolodex… I think we’ll be back.”

[haledamage]

"I think we're stuck." for Kai?

(trigger warning for claustrophobia, brief mentions of child abuse (no worse than the stuff mentioned in-game in Aloth’s backstory))

“Oh, lovely,” Aloth said drolly, staring into the room he’d just discovered. “A dark, ominous closet. My favorite.”

“Wonderful.” Kai managed to sound even less enthusiastic about the discovery than he did as she stepped up next to him. “You know, when I said I wished we could have some more time alone together, this isn’t quite what I had in mind.”

“I know.” He took her hand, gave it a quick squeeze, then let her go. “At least those journals look promising. Maybe we’ll actually find some clues in this one.”

“Or spiders.”

He chuckled. “I suspect we’ll find spiders either way. After you, my dear. “

Kai didn’t hide her reluctance to enter the tiny room, but she did it anyway. It was barely big enough for the two of them to have room to move about without having to climb over each other. She suspected she could lay on the floor and be able to touch all four walls, and the ceiling was low enough that the cobwebs hanging from it caught in Aloth’s dark hair, silver strands clinging to him and aging him before his time. The three walls that didn’t house the door were covered in shelves with stacks of old, crumbling books and intriguing esoteric trinkets.

Without a word, the two of them turned to opposite shelves and started sifting through their contents. She had to resist the historian part of her brain that told her to take everything so she could study it at her leisure. They were here for a purpose, and part of that purpose involved leaving as small of a trace as possible of their passing.

Still. It was very tempting.

“Oh!” Aloth exclaimed suddenly, drawing her attention away from the golden curio she’d been inspecting. “I think I found something. I can’t read the text, but it looks familiar.”

She peeked over his shoulder at the book he was holding, squinting to try and see it in the unlit room. “It’s Engwithan. It’s too dark in here to decipher, but I recognize the language.”

“That seems promising,” he muttered to himself, tapping his finger on the corner of the book as he thought. Kai knew what he was thinking; he was trying to decide if they should risk exploring more, or take their prize and get out. He nodded, coming to a decision. “We should go. We’ve already been here too long.”

“Agreed. We’ll take it back to our room and see what there is to see. Worst case scenario, we can come back.”

They tried to put everything else back where they’d found it, more or less, then picked their way back to the door. It had drifted closed while they were exploring, the old wood warped and uneven from age. Aloth reached it first and moved to open it, but it didn’t budge.

He tried again; the doorknob rattled as he tried to shake the latch free, but it remained unmoved. He threw his shoulder into it, trying to force it, but it still remained spitefully closed.

Kai wished she’d thought to bring her pistol. There was more than one way to open a door.

He turned to her, a frown set deep in his brow, and she knew what he was going to say before he said it. “I think we’re stuck.”

It was amazing how much dread could come from just four words. “Of course we are. Gods forbid anything go simply for a change. How long do you think before someone comes looking for us?”

“If we’re lucky? A few hours.” His eyes roamed the room as if trying to find a different way out, but there were no windows, no spaces there could possibly be any hidden doors or alcoves. “If we aren’t… Edér will probably notice we’re missing by morning.”

“Galawain’s flea-bitten arse!” Kai growled and kicked the door. It did not fly dramatically open like she’d hoped. She leaned back against the door and pressed her head against it.

“Feel better, my dear?” he asked dryly.

“I’m sorry, darling. I just…” She closed her eyes, trying to keep her composure, but she was breathing too fast. “I don’t like tight spaces.”

“I… had forgotten,” Aloth said softly. “Forgive me.”

“Not your fault. It’s been a while.”

“That it has.” He tried to hide it, but Kai could still hear the pain in his voice.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Aloth Corfiser. We’ve talked about this.” They had, in fact, talked about it exhaustively. He still felt guilty for leaving Caed Nua, even though they’d agreed he needed to, and she still felt guilty for not going with him, even though they’d agreed she needed to stay in Caed Nua. It was a circular argument, one with no clear answer and no winner and all it did was reopen wounds that would be better left alone so they could heal.

“I know,” he said, voice so low now it was almost a whisper. She hadn’t realized how much her hands were trembling until he laced his fingers with hers. “But I can still never get back those years we were apart.”

“We have plenty of years ahead of us that we’ll spend together.” Even on the edge of panic, that still drew a small smile to her face. “Though we’ll probably spend them locked in this gods damned closet.”

“Kai. Look at me.” Aloth’s voice was gentle but firm, and she found herself responding to the command almost unconsciously. He was standing very close, his face barely inches from hers, and instead of making the suffocating closeness of the room worse, his proximity actually made it a little easier for her to breathe. His pale eyes seemed to glow in the dim light. “You are safe. I won’t let anything happen to you. Just keep your eyes on me.”

He kept talking about nothing in particular, his voice calm and his gaze steady, his hand a lifeline in hers. Every breath came a little easier than the one before. She stopped shaking as the panic ebbed away, and the walls moved back to a reasonable distance once more. Finally, she sagged against him, pressing her face to his shoulder and just breathing him in for a moment. He smelled the same way he always did, the vanilla-and-dust scent of old books and the clean sharp ozone scent of his magic and a hint of woodsmoke that he picked up from her.

His arms went around her, holding her close, and the last of the tension drained from her and she could finally think again. Her thoughts raced like they were trying to make up for the time lost panicking. Maybe one of these shelves had a key. They couldn’t be the first kith to lock themselves in here. Or maybe… “I don’t suppose Iselmyr knows how to pick locks.”

“Fye, ainlie if ye've git an axe.”

“Figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.” Kai’s own Awakened memories weren’t any help either. Iorena had been a soldier through and through. She knew how to open a stuck door using a spear as a lever, but that didn’t exactly help right now. A memory from her own childhood surfaced, hazy but possibly useful. “Maybe I can. Do you have a letter opener? A… a hair pin? A quill you’re not especially attached to?”

“Perhaps.” Aloth raised a curious eyebrow, but started searching his pockets for anything that might fit the bill. “Why would you know how to pick locks?”

“When we were children, my younger sister Ariana taught me.” Her pockets were distressingly empty, so she scanned the shelves to see if they had anything promising. “It’s been about thirty years since I’ve done it, but it’s worth a try.”

Aloth beat her to the punch, plucking a single patinated copper hairstick that probably predated the gods themselves from the shelf above her head. He offered it to her and she turned to the door to try and coerce it open. “Why would you need to know how to pick locks as a child?”

“Our mother favored solitary confinement as punishment,” she told the lock so she wouldn’t have to look at Aloth while she spoke. She knew what she’d see there: pain, sympathy, and enough understanding to make her angry, both on his behalf and on her own. “While I turned to reading as a way to pass the time, Ari was more proactive. She would sneak out in the middle of the night and rearrange Mother’s furniture, or steal things from Father and hide them throughout the house, and lock herself back away before they awoke in the morning. They never did figure out who was doing it.”

“How terrible,” he said softly, and he clearly wasn’t referring to Ariana’s poltergeist impression.

“No worse than anything you endured as a child.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No. It doesn’t.” Kai really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. There wasn’t enough space in this room for the two of them and the looming specter of her mother. Lucky for her, she was offered a very easy change of subject as the lock made a loud clicking sound. “Aha!” She gave her makeshift pick a careful twist and the door swung open. She climbed to her feet and gestured to the now-empty doorway. “After you, my dear.”

Neither of them said a word as they crept through the empty building and back out onto the street, then through a nearby alley. They emerged into a lantern-lit courtyard, music and laughter pouring out from the open doors of a tavern, and slowed their pace. Just another normal couple enjoying the evening air. The inn they were staying at was only a few buildings down, and they went straight up to their room as soon as they got there.

As soon as they stepped inside, Aloth rounded on Kai, hands falling onto her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“I’m… getting there.” No use lying to him; he’d see through it anyway. She brought a hand up to his face, tracing her fingers along his cheek. “Thank you for keeping a level head, darling. If I’d been there alone, I suspect I’d have never made it out.”

“You don’t have to thank me. You’ve done the same for me. We take care of each other.” He said it like it was a simple fact of life. Water is wet; grass is green; we take care of each other. It made Kai adore him even more, just like it always did. “I got you something.”

He pulled the Engwithan book from his bag, then reached into it again and pulled out a smaller book, barely the size of his palm, and a bronze statuette of what looked like a deity, though it didn’t look like any of the ones they knew. They were small enough items that probably wouldn’t be noticed as missing, unless the owners did a thorough inventory - in which case their visit would have been noticed anyway.

Kai took the palm-sized book from him and opened it, curiosity getting the better of her. In it was page after page of faded writing in what looked like a very old form of Eld Aedyran, and the pages were so old they threatened to crumble at her touch. “You stole ancient artifacts for me,” she whispered, awed.

Aloth smiled proudly at her clear approval of his thievery. “Of course I did. I know the woman I married.”

She carefully took the books and statue from his hands and set them on the table. Then she walked back to him, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him, pouring every ounce of gratitude she had into it - not just gratitude for the pilfered gifts, but for his support, and his love, and just for being there.

“You’re welcome,” he said breathlessly once they parted, already leaning in for another kiss.

“That’s just the start, darling,” Kai said when they next broke apart. She pulled away from him enough to undo the clasps on her armor, letting it and the shirt she wore underneath fall to the floor. “We’ve got all night. Allow me to thank you properly.”

[notapaladin]

everything you ever

Who ordered a BAD END AU? Anybody? Nobody? Well, you’re getting one anyway.

tl;dr: teomitl has the crown. was it worth it?

Also on AO3

-

The sun lances through high windows, striking him full in the face and turning his golden ornaments to fire. He’s still cold. He’ll be cold even wrapped in cloaks, even sitting next to a roaring fire. He hasn’t felt warm since…

Since…

(That day in the courtyard? No. Before that. His heart had been a calcified thing in his chest already, by then.)

(But oh, the stone had broken.)

He breathes. In and out, and in again. He’s still alive. All the spells cast and blood spilled in his name has brought him here, to this throne, where he will lead the Mexica to glory. He will erase Tizoc’s name as though it’s never been. He will be a Revered Speaker for the ages, spreading his smoke and mist throughout the land. Huitzilpochtli’s power pulses through him like a second heartbeat, and his people will never fear ghosts or star demons again. It was worth it. It was all worth it.

(There had been so much blood.)

For the moment, he is alone. Chalchiuhnenetl, his constant shadow advisor, holds her own court in what used to be the women’s quarters. They are hers, now. The others remain on her sufferance, his other sisters and aunts and cousins pressed into her service. They keep their eyes downcast and never raise their voices in his presence.

(Mihmatini’s eyes hot with fury as he’d taken that one step forward, fading first to shock and then disbelief as his warriors struck her down midstride. The obsidian axe shattering as it fell. Neutemoc’s deep roar of rage cut off with a horrible, final gurgle.)

(Her head rolling to land at his feet.)

He’s ordered lamps to be kept burning, but they never seem to help—or maybe it’s just that his vision is dark. Shadows mass like cobwebs in the corners of the room, in the corners of his eyes. He is Emperor Ahuizotl, the gods’ hand in the Fifth World, and he should have light and warmth around him. Shouldn’t he? There are the quetzal feathers, the jaguar pelts, the jade. The light of the Fifth Sun soaks into him as it does them, setting the precious metals to blazing and the stones to glowing. He is surrounded by riches and glory, and he has earned this.

(Cutting Tizoc down had been so easy, after that.)

The shadows waver like flame, like light on the lake’s surface. The movement of his fingers is the dry click of defleshed bones. He inhales and tastes ash on his tongue.

Footsteps approaching down the corridor, slow and measured. The faint rustling of someone removing their bone-white sandals. The rattling of the entrance curtain.

A voice as lifeless as a corpse. “You summoned me, my lord?”

He does not look at the High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli. The High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli does not look at him. In and out and in again goes his breathing, too loud in his ears. It was worth it, all the blood and betrayal on his hands, for this. For the gold, the silver, the turquoise crown and turquoise rings. For the glory of the Empire, for the sake of the Fifth World, for the High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli to prostrate before him and not even meet his eyes—

He did summon him. He speaks. It’s a wonder the words don’t tear his throat on the way out, leaving him choking on his own blood. “We did. We wished to have your blessings added to our planned expansion of the Great Temple.”

For the span of a heartbeat, there is silence. Then: “As my lord wills.”

“Good. You are dismissed.” His voice is steady. Calm. Regal. His mind is a choked-off scream, an arterial spray.

There is motion. He catches a fluid rise, the swirl of a gray cloak, the tumble of an errant lock of black hair. Soon he will be alone again, and that’s too much for him to bear. His chest is full of knives carving him open from the inside out. Not again.

It leaves him like an arrow, like thought, and is out in the air before he can even think to take it back. “Acatl.”

Stillness. The flicker of an eyelid. A slow, indrawn breath. “Teomitl-tzin.”

(He’d said his name just the same on that day, in front of his siblings’ corpses and Teomitl’s warriors. Cold and measured and echoing with the cavernous grief of Mictlan, held back only because he was too proud to break in front of him. It would have been easier to bear if he’d screamed.)

The knives rotate slowly, splaying his ribcage wide.  

i love you i’m sorry i love you

this was never supposed to happen. not like this

He breathes. In. Out. In again. His heart is stone, is ice, and the knives cannot touch it. He closes his eyes.

“...Nothing. You may go.”

The Revered Speaker sits on his throne, laden with gold and jade and jaguar pelts. He does not weep.

[freedomfighterposts]

Mornings. Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano x Genderless Reader.

Reyna had long ago found that she had a love/hate relationship with mornings. She hated them because it meant that she was forced out of bed to do menial tasks like; allow extra toilet paper for cohort three or break up a fight between a legionnaire and a Huntress of Artemis/Diana. However, Reyna had grown accustomed to forcing herself out of bed for these tasks. She simply loathed this part of the morning, however she hated with a passion the other aspect of the morning. It meant having to leave her precious baby. Yes, the great, unemotional Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano had fallen for someone. At first the Roman Praetor had been worried about falling for the dangerous game of love again. But after eleven months of peace, adoration and a surprising amount of surprise kisses, Reyna decided that she had made the right choice. Reyna’s deep seeded hate for mornings appeared one morning as she woke up. Reyna’s eyes fluttered open slowly, a light yawn escaping her plump lips as he legs stretched down to the foot of the bed. The gilded purple covers of her bed felt soft and warm at Reyna’s touch. In this moment, everything was perfect. Birds chirped outside in the warm summer breeze of July. A cloudless sky gave way for Apollo’s sun chariot to spread its rays to the mortal world below. Reyna’s body was warm and lazy, despite her usually ever-present professional exterior, Reyna was often a big teddy bear behind closed doors. A lazy smile formed on the Praetor’s face as she felt someone shuffling beside her. Yes, it had been the first night where Reyna and (Y/n) had decided to sleep together. But the pair wholeheartedly agreed to not perform any extremely intimate acts. The most the two did was kiss… a lot. Reyna felt as if she was addicted to (Y/n)’s kisses. Their full lips felt naturally soft against Reyna’s. Reyna had once tried to slip her tongue inside (Y/n)’s mouth, however this resulted in the Daughter of Bellona receiving the silent treatment for the rest of the week. Reyna didn’t hold it against the child of Hercules though. (Y/n)’s body curled into a fetal position, trying to stay as warm as possible. (Y/n)’s back was pressed against Reyna’s side in an attempt to draw heat from her. Reyna’s smile turned from lazy, into one of adoration as her eyes lingered on (Y/n)’s form. (Y/n) had worm a pair of pajama bottoms with a theme of Lion King. The pair had gotten quite a laugh out of that. (Y/n) also wore a pajama shirt of just plain silver. Reyna however, was more outgoing and comfortable with their relationship. True she had felt guarded and against it at first, but the child of the God of Strength had worn her down. Due to this, Reyna simply wore her undergarments to bed, much to the embarrassment of (Y/n) who wouldn’t stop blushing. But now, in the morning, Reyna wanted nothing more than to simply lay here with (Y/n). However, there were still things that needed to be done. Especially after Gaea’s attack on the camps. Even several months after the seven Heroes of Olympus had defeated the Earth Mother, things were not back to normal. Jason’s incessant badgering for new temples gave Reyna more migraines than Octavian. Usually, Reyna slept next to the edge of the bed so she could quiet literally, roll out of bed in the morning. But she had wanted to be next to (Y/n), and now she was in the middle of the large, king sized bed. (Y/n) turned around, still sleeping. (Y/n) wrapped their arms around Reyna’s waist, a smile tugging at their lips as (Y/n) laid their head against Reyna’s exposed back. Reyna allowed herself a small smile, she bent down and kissed (Y/n)’s forehead gingerly before flinging the covers off herself and stepping from the bed. What Reyna did not prepare for, was (Y/n) waking up. “Reyna?” (Y/n) mumbled sleepily, rubbing their eyes lazily. (Y/n) had felt the disturbance from Reyna flinging the blankets away. “Sorry baby, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Reyna’s soft, melodic voice made (Y/n) feel warm inside. (Y/n) reached out with a hand and clasped Reyna’s hand. “Don’t leave me” (Y/n) whined dramatically. Reyna bubbled out a laugh but silenced herself quickly. “I can’t stay my Flos Pulcherrimus. I have work” Reyna’s heart shattered into a trillion pieces when she saw the tears forming in (Y/n)’s eyes as a pout wobbled on her face. (Y/n) sniffed, trying to keep the tears in. “Fine” (Y/n) spoke, not daring to say more. (Y/n) rolled over so that Reyna was facing (Y/n)’s back. “Flos Pulcherrimus. Don’t be like that” Reyna spoke softly, worried that if she spoke any louder (Y/n) would disappear before her eyes. “Sadness doesn’t look good on you.” But (Y/n) still refused to meet Reyna’s face. Guilt and sadness hit Reyna like one of Jason’s lightning bolts. The pain of making (Y/n) so sad was worse than anything Reyna had felt before. She would gladly face against Orion again if it meant that (Y/n) would be happy. However, Reyna is a duty first love life second kind of girl, so with a bitter sweet kiss to (Y/n)’s cheek, Reyna left the cabin she and (Y/n) shared while at Camp Half-Blood. The Heracles cabin at Camp Half-Blood wasn’t the most loved cabin nor was it the most looked after. Most if not all Demi-gods detested the God of Strength. Even (Y/n), who was normally the sweetest and nicest person around, didn’t like the immortal son of Zeus. Its foundations had been made haphazardly and it was only at the command of Chiron that the children of Vulcan and Hephaestus began reworking the cabin so that (Y/n) wouldn’t nearly be killed by a falling beam in their sleep. Reyna knew what Heracles had done that really ticked (Y/n) off. Usually, the gods and goddesses claimed their children on their thirteenth birthday with a holographic projection of their symbols above the child’s head. Grover had brought (Y/n) to camp when they were fifteen years old and it took the anger of Perseus Jackson and several other key Demi-Gods to finally find out who (Y/n)’s father was. Unfortunately, no one was exactly happy. Especially after (Y/n) learnt from Percy and Annabeth about what Heracles had done to Zoe Nightshade. The temple of Hercules at New Rome also remained deserted. It reminded Reyna of the Neptune temple before Percy had been made Praetor. Old, moldy fruits and nuts sat at the pedestal, cobwebs covered all the corners and pieces of stone crumbled from the lack of attention. Reyna knew it was a sore subject to talk about Heracles in front of (Y/n) so she stayed far away from the subject. Whenever someone talked about how Hercules did something bad, (Y/n) would do nothing to defend him. What Reyna did not know, was that as she left (Y/n) alone in bed that morning Reyna would be in some deep trouble for a long time. Reyna walked into the mess hall at exactly twelve O’clock. After a morning full of paperwork and boring talks with architects and even a talk with Chiron regarding the Mars/Ares inter cabin competition. So, when it was time for lunch. Reyna was more than happy to eat something with (Y/n). However, when Reyna walked over to (Y/n)’s usual spot she found no child of Heracles in sight. Confusion crossed over Reyna’s face as she sat with her friends, the Heroes of Olympus. “Yo, Reyna what’s cracka lacking?” Leo asked cheerfully, Reyna didn’t acknowledge the son of Hephaestus’ childish remark. “Have any of you seen (Y/n) recently?” Reyna as the plate before her filled with sandwiches. “Not that I can think of” Offered Annabeth from beside Percy and Piper. “Oh, I saw (Y/n) at the archery range this morning” Offered Frank. This made sense to the daughter of Bellona, because (Y/n) hated using the naturally inhuman strength gifted by Hercules. Instead (Y/n) favoured the bow, which Reyna knew she disliked because even Jason Grace had been impressed by the way (Y/n) had used an imperial gold combat axe. “Yeah, although (Y/n) did seem really upset. And that’s putting it mildly.” Piper added “Yeah, they just left me hanging this morning.” Percy mumbled as he ate a double decker blue pizza. “Yeah but we all know how… delicate… (Y/n) can be” Hazel defended and her words got Reyna thinking. “Delicate… Oh, by the gods.” Reyna cursed herself silently as she stood, taking her plate of sandwiches with her. “You’ll have to excuse me. I must fix a mistake” With that, Reyna sped walked out of the Mess hall. The Praetor of the Twelfth Legion briskly walked through the newly formed Greek/Roman camp. She passed hundreds of Demi-Gods as she made her way to the beach. Reyna knew that (Y/n) simply adored the ocean. Apparently, (Y/n)’s mother was an open water swimming coach and so (Y/n) and their mortal family often went swimming in the ocean. Reyna’s eyes scanned the golden beach carefully, waves crashed gently across the shore. A evergreen tree grew at the edge of the beach, where grass turned to sand, its branches stretching over the waves. Hidden below the branches, Reyna saw the hunched over form of (Y/n) (L/n). Reyna felt the sand shift beneath her feet as she discarded her sandals. The soft, foaming waves caressed Reyna’s toes as she sat down next to (Y/n). The pair sat in silence, Reyna simply content with being next to (Y/n). “I thought you had work to do” Reyna heard (Y/n) mumble beside her. In response, Reyna scooted closer to the child of Heracles. “I did, I still do. But, I noticed you weren’t at lunch so I brought you some food” (Y/n) looked down at the plate of sandwiches nestled in the sand at her side. The child of Heracles picked a sandwich filled cheese and ham, with only slight hesitation (Y/n) began nibbling on the food. After a while all the sandwiches had been eaten by the pair. “I’m sorry for this morning (Y/n)” Reyna spoke sincerely, not wanting to hurt (Y/n) any more than she already did. “No. It was my fault. I was being selfish and wanted you to myself. I should have known that I couldn’t have the great Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano to myself. Especially since you’re Praetor.” Reyna scowled at the use of her full name but said nothing. The pair of demigods just stared across the never-ending, never-beginning ocean, peaceful silence enveloping them both. “You know this is usually the part where you say it isn’t my fault then we kiss and make up” (Y/n) said breaking the silence. Reyna had to bite her tongue hard to force her laughter down. Instead she appeared stoic and serious. “But it is your fault.” Reyna said bluntly, causing (Y/n)’s happiness to drop. “I am a Praetor of the twelfth legion. I oversee the daily routines of over hundreds of demigods, even more now thanks to you Greeks.” Reyna’s heart broke a little as (Y/n) curled into a sitting fetal position, Reyna saw tears threatening to spill from (Y/n)’s eyes. And so, she wrapped her significant other in a tight embrace. Resting her chin on the top of (Y/n)’s head. “However, you are still far more precious to me to leave you alone. Flos Pulcherrimus.” Below Reyna, (Y/n) sniffed a little. “What do you mean?” (Y/n) asked. “I mean… That I think Frank can allow me to sleep in a little later, so long as my baby’s happy” Reyna nuzzled (Y/n)’s neck making the younger demigod blush, (Y/n)’s mouth opened to speak but words quickly turned to moans as Reyna nipped her ear lobe. “Let us finish this in your cabin.” Reyna continued huskily. As Reyna thought back to that fateful day, she couldn’t help but smile. The thought of the huge make out session her and (Y/n) had shared that day was enough to make her extremely happy. So yes, Reyna hated mornings. But she loved them because the look in (Y/n)’s eyes when (Y/n) saw that Reyna was still here was greater than any gift the gods could ever give. Speaking of which, Reyna felt the body next to her shift its position. (Y/n) uncurled from a fetal position and laid their head against Reyna’s covered bosom. Reyna wrapped her toned arms possessively around (Y/n)’s shoulders, letting the sheets fall down into their laps. Reyna’s fingers danced through (Y/n)’s bed hair. (Y/n) could feel the softness of Reyna’s fingers causing their eyes to open slowly. “Good morning Flos Pulcherrimus.” Reyna greeted warmly. A smile graced (Y/n)’s lips, their eyes closing once more. “Good morning to you too αστέρι μου” Although Reyna was not fluent in Greek, (Y/n) and Annabeth had taught her more than enough to know the cute pet names (Y/n) called her. “You have your thinking face on… What were you thinking about?” (Y/n) asked rising from their lying position to sit next to Reyna, both their backs being supported by the wall of Cabin 61. Reyna smiled at the person she adored most. “Nothing kind one. Nothing at all.” She replied sweetly.

[savinscripts]

CHAPTER 6:

❝ I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. ❞

While Faye and Fane had been shopping, Carrington had found the - somehow mostly unrusted axe - in the work shed. He’d managed a decent pile of firewood after also finding a sharpening blade in the dust and decay. A few turns over the edges had improved the blade’s cut. It would still need cleaning and another good sharpening after, but for the moment it served it’s purpose. He’d hauled the wood inside, putting a decent amount in both fireplaces in his and Faye’s rooms. He’d left a pile for Fane’s room by the back door, not wanting to trespass where he wasn’t invited. Yet.

He stripped the bed linens from both rooms (opting again to wait until the others returned to do Fane’s) and made a pile in the washroom.The heat seemed to be creeping it’s way through the house. The clunk of the furnace could be heard every now and then. But it was still frigid. A small part of Carrington hoped they could all bunk down in one room tonight. To conserve heat, of course. As appealing and welcome as a bed to himself and a bit of real privacy was, he had grown accustomed to the presence of the others. Even Faye. Who’s presence never failed to irk him. For reasons he kept to himself.

He busied himself in the kitchen after, cleaning the stove and making sure the gas worked. Going through cabinets that had been bare for decades. By the time the sound of the other’s return could be heard, Carrington was in great need of a shower. Dirt and cobwebs and dust covered his clothes. He was sweaty despite the cold air as he moved through the front door to help unload.

“You wanted to cook tonight, so long as it tastes good I couldn’t care less,” Fane said as they turned onto the road that led up to the estate. “Though maybe deep fried chicken would be good,” honestly the thought of decent food already had Fane starving for dinner. “I say surprise us. Also, do you want me to talk to Carrington and see what his issue is? I want to help if I can….” He wouldn’t presume, but he wanted to try and help ease things between them all. Pulling up outside, it was then a matter of unloading the several bags they’d picked up and Carrington’s arrival at the door was a welcome appearance. Though by the state of him he’d been damn well busy in the mean time, “someone’s been busy,” Fane grinned at the other man his eyes crinkling with just a touch of affection as he looked at Carrington.

Carrington ignored him, though it might’ve been said a touch of red appeared in his features that was clearly, clearly down to the cold air outside. “Bedding’s in the washroom, gas is working and I’ve cut down some wood for the fireplaces. Seems like the heating is kicking in so… I guess the pipes aren’t broken.”

Fane eyed him for a moment before nodding, “alright that’s good, help us take this inside-- we’ll unpack while you go and get washed down. ‘Cause frankly, you look like you’ve just climbed out of a tomb and then been dragged backwards through a hedge” he was teasing of course, but he figured that Carrington wouldn’t mind the chance to freshen up. “We also got you some clothes,” but they could sort all that out once they were inside.

“Chicken it is then. With a few surprises thrown in.” They’d stocked up on the usual spices and oils and things they would need for baking and such, so Faye was already mentally going through what she’d need for dinner. They’d gotten a few fresh things too, but those would have to be eaten within the week. Depending on how long they were here, Faye would love to start a garden for fresh vegetables. Maybe there were some wild berry bushes around that could be cultivated. Strawberries, blueberries, etc. She knew how to make preserves and jams.

But she was getting ahead of herself there. It had barely been half a day. Who knew what would happen in the coming weeks. They would have to see. For now though, they were almost back to the house. Faye felt a bit of trepidation as she saw Carrington standing on the front steps. She wondered if everything Fane had told her was true. She wondered how she felt about it if it was.

“Yeah. Sure.” That was all she said about it as they pulled to a stop. She got out and grabbed an armful of bags from the back, walking past Carrington as he came down the steps after his short conversation with Fane. He didn’t offer to take the bags from her, and Faye didn’t ask him for help.

Carrington watched her pass by with a slightly irritated expression. He grabbed his own armful of bags and headed inside. It didn’t take long to unload between the three of them. Once everything was in the kitchen, Faye set to unpacking - setting aside what she would need for dinner - while Carrington thanked Fane for the clothes that had been purchased for him and went upstairs to clean up.

Faye set the items out with a bit more force than necessary, feeling every bit the odd one out now that they were back. Despite Fane’s assurances to the contrary. She snagged a bag of potatoes and dumped a few into the sink for peeling before setting a pan of oil warming on the stove. Her movements were short and precise, and she didn’t talk at all while she worked. If Carrington wanted to continue to be an ass, so be it. Maybe he wouldn’t choke on dinner.

You would have had to have been an idiot to not notice the shift in atmosphere as soon as they had gotten out of the car, and Fane hung back a little as he observed the silent charade playing out in front of him. He could see what Faye meant now that it had been pointed out to him, and where he lingered by the car ended up scratching his chin wondering how the best way to go about everything was. Talking to Carrington first probably, getting him to talk to Faye.... A plan of action was coming to mind as he watched Faye disappear with a bag of food inside followed by Carrington.

It took a few trips back and forth to unload everything, locking the car and heading into the slowly warming house Fane glanced after Carrington as he made his exit to go and wash up. He was dragged out of his thoughts by the staccato clanking of tins and items Faye was putting out, too loudly and forcefully for something not to be wrong. He sighed through his nose at the display, childish really, and he couldn’t help a small flare of frustration over why it seemed so hard for them to get along.

After a few moments of watching, Fane walked over moving to catch her hand mid-air and slow her fast and sharp movements. Their hands rested on the can now that it was set on the countertop and Fane stayed there for a few seconds waiting for Faye to either acknowledge him or say something. “Let me go and talk to him… You said you trusted me earlier… Trust me to try and find a way to make this easier for us all.” Fane fell quiet then, hoping he could reassure her enough to settle her nerves “I was serious about what I said earlier… I want to make this work between us all.”

It was either take it out on the cans, or go upstairs and have a good cry. And Faye wasn’t about to cry over being treated like she didn’t exist. Or that her presence was a nuisance. Faye didn’t cry. Ever. So it turned to anger and frustration instead. She wanted to believe there was a larger issue there. That whatever reason Carrington had to despise her so much - or seem to - it was rooted in something Faye was unaware of. It seemed she was unaware of a lot these days, considering the things she’d learned in the car.

She could feel Fane’s eyes on her, but it wasn’t enough to stop her from mistreatment of the tins and jars. When his hand caught hers, effectively forcing her to acknowledge him, she simply stared down at the countertop. What could she say that hadn’t already been discussed? ‘I told you so’? Hardly.

Her fingers flexed over the jar, but his hand over hers held her fast. Her expression flickered, and she opened her mouth to say something scathing about the third member of their little group. But she shut it before anything petty could come out. She wouldn’t lower herself to his level. “I need a canopener,” she said. But she glanced at him from under the fall ofher hair. There was anger there, but also hurt. Confusion.Talk to him if you want, the expression said. I trust you. But I’m not expecting any miracles.’

Upstairs, Carrington had wasted no time in finding the hottest shower setting he could stand and stepping beneath it. He’d methodically washed himself, a process that took less than five minutes, and now stood beneath the spray. His hands were braced against the shower wall, and his head hung down as the water beat down over his neck. The hiss of the spray blocked out everything else, and the resulting cocoon of warm white noise was a blessed relief to Carrington. He had a habit of going until he couldn’t anymore. Running, running, running, and then falling down from sheer exhaustion. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d simply… let himself be. The plane ride over perhaps. But Faye had ruined that with her moaning.

That woman…

She drove him mad. The way she managed to get under his fucking skin by just being in the same room. When he shouldn’t have given two shits about her. Or Fane for that matter. He didn’t… care about people. Not anymore. Not for a long time. Though it seemed as if once again he had no say in the matter. As much as he tried to deny it, to push it all off on being situational, he was starting to care. And it was nobody’s fault but his own. So he let the water drown it all out, if only for a bit. And wished, not for the first time, that everything he felt, everything he was starting to feel, would just wash away down the drain with everything else.

With the silent affirmation to let him go given, Fane gave her hand a soft squeeze and lightly touched her waist. A small but genuinely affectionate and caring gesture, her well-being mattered to him and he wanted her to know that fact. “Alright, I’ll grab one for you,” with that he withdrew and went to rummage through the drawers until he came upon one “hopefully it still works, otherwise you might have to use a knife.” He slid it across the countertop and with a small dip of his head he headed back down the hall towards the stairway.

Fane heard the sound of running water from the hallway outside, and with next to no preamble made his way through the doors of Carrington’s bedroom and made a direct line for the bathroom. Next to no consideration given to whether or not Carrington would be bothered by his intrusion, in fact, Fane didn’t care about that right now needing to get to the bottom of all of this. And if that meant making Carrington uncomfortable, well, then so be it. Plus, it was hardly as if it would be the first time Fane had seen the other man naked; he’d gotten him that way several times over since their first encounter and while it was a sight to behold Fane also knew well enough how to keep his mind schooled enough to deal with the shit that mattered.

Apparently, Carrington hadn’t heard his entrance and Fane took a few moments to admire the lean line of the man’s back and the round curve of his ass with a small tip of one eyebrow. Could he be blamed for admiring the view? He didn’t think so, but eventually he knew that he couldn’t just stand here forever. “So,” he spoke up watching the other man tense just a fraction in surprise at the sudden intrusion “you going to explain what the hell your attitude and beef with Faye is all about? Because, I distinctly remember telling you to get it together.” Folding his arms, Fane leaned back against the counter waiting to see what response, if any, he received.

Faye stayed silent as Fane squeezed her hand and moved off. She caught the can opener as it was eventually slid her way, giving him a tight smile to let him know she heard him. He moved off then, and Faye threw herself into the task of making dinner.

Upstairs, Carrington was so lulled by the water and the warmth that he didn’t notice the shift in the air as someone entered. Though when Fane spoke up, his eyes flew open and he tensed slightly. Not enough for most to recognize, but Fane wasn’t most. Though what followed only served to make the tension worse. Fucking Faye. Of course. It had only been a matter of time, he supposed, until she’d pouted enough that Fane took notice. And of course, he was the bad guy. As always.

True to his stubborn, defiant nature, Carrington didn’t answer. He stayed where he was under the hot spray, back to Fane, and seriously debated telling him to fuck off. That it was none of his concern. It lasted a few moments, then something in Carrington said ‘try.’ It was a small voice. But Carrington knew who’s it was. Goddamn her.

He shut off the water and turned to look at Fane through the fogged up glass. Raking a hand through his hair, he stepped out, not bothering to cover up as he snagged one of the new towels from the shelf. “She send you up here?” he asked as he dried himself and wrapped the towel around his waist. The words were short and tightly said. Carrington moved off the sink where he’d sat his razor and shave soap. He wiped the fog off the glass and stared at himself for a moment before leaning heavily on the ceramic basin.

“Well?”

Fane wasn’t an idiot, he was observant, so of course it was only a matter of time before he noticed and either said or did something about it. Explaining his presence now, waiting patiently on Carrington to give some sort of answer to whatever he’d seen going on downstairs. Fane’s fingers lightly tapped on his arm, the mist fogging up his glasses to the point he pulled them off and set them aside on the counter.

“Please, I’d love to know why… Any time… You know, before the hot water runs out” Fane prompted his words a little clipped and shorter than usual. He didn’t think of Carrington as a bad person, or the bad one in this situation. But he also wanted to try and understand why he was behaving like this. He got no answer, save for the creak of the tap as the water cut off and Fane shifted over to make room for the other man as he dried himself off.

“No,” the word was spoken softly and Fane reached out to gently stroke up the damp curve of his spine, slow and affectionate. “I offered to come up here and try to understand why you seem so intent on being an asshole towards her.” Fane debated on telling him the whole truth, and since it seemed to be a day for them he exhaled through his nose “she thinks you hate her, thinks you want her to leave… And, I think she’s been considering it ‘cause she doesn’t feel like she belongs here with how you treat her.” Fane’s fingers curled a little against Carrington’s skin, his voice remained quiet and lacked judgement “and honestly, I can’t say I blame her in all honesty.”

Carrington knew Faye was watchful. And he had cut down on actually saying anything to Faye when she crawled his last nerve. When he did speak, at least if Fane was around, he made a point to be neutral with his words. But he had a harder time schooling his expressions. Or his avoidance. His mother would have boxed his ears if she’d witnessed him passing by without at least offering to help Faye with her bags.

Too bad she was dead.

Like everyone else he’d ever cared about.

Carrington gripped the countertop a bit harder than he had to. His hands flexed and released as Fane answered his question. The only indication that he’d heard a word of it was the slight jump of the muscles in his jaw. But when Fane touched his back, a soft breath of air found it’s way out. Carrington’s eyes fluttered closed. They even tightened a bit as Fane went on. Telling him in no uncertain terms that if he was trying to drive Faye away, it was working. And that Fane didn’t blame her for wanting to go.

His fingers flexed again, and he stiffened as his eyes opened again. “What would you have you have me do then? Apologize? Beg forgiveness? Tell her she should stay?” Carrington stood brusquely, walking away from Fane’s touch and out into the bedroom. Partly because he couldn’t stand the way Fane was looking at him - softly, and without judgement - or the way his touch made Carrington want to give him anything he asked for. Anything at all. Even his stubborn, traitorous heart.

Because that just wouldn’t do, would it?

Would it?

“If she wants to go…” Carrington rummaged through his new clothes, discarding the towel on the bed and replacing it with a pair of cotton joggers. He very pointedly didn’t look back at Fane. “Probably for the best.” It was a good lie, he thought. And six months ago he would’ve been impressed with himself for maintaining such good composure. Under the circumstances. But he wasn’t impressed. Not one bit.

Because he was a coward.

And it was written all over his face. In his actions. His pacing. His busying himself with putting things away that could wait until later. But most wouldn’t see it. Most wouldn’t care enough to look that far. But Fane wasn’t most. And it was that reason that kept Carrington moving, kept him from having to meet the other man’s gaze. Kept him from having to admit his failings.

For a brief moment Fane thought that maybe he was getting through to the stubborn ass man infront of him. That maybe, just maybe he was making some headway with him. Fane knew his words wouldn’t be well received, how could they? But he’d grown rather well-versed in Carrington’s silent reactions and the twitching muscle in his jaw was a sign that he was getting agitated. Which, Fane knew would mean it would shortly be followed by some sort of outburst or reaction. Because Carrington was probably feeling defensive over the insecurity that Fane guessed fuelled his behaviour towards Faye. Of course, the man was a soldier, trained to display nothing but confidence and certainty. There was no place in his head for being insecure or unsure and to mask that Carrington acted out, or more commonly, spoke out.

To keep people at a distance. And most people likely would have folded under Carrington’s attitude and brusqueness. Unfortunately for Carrington, Fane was certainly not most people. Fane was stubborn perhaps even moreso than Carrington presently.

As expected, Carrington retreated, putting distance between them and Fane gave a small roll of his yes before following through and leaning a shoulder on the doorframe. Fane clicked his tongue, “you know… maybe you’re right...” Fane’s head tilted back his eyes never leaving Carrington as he changed, or kept busying himself. “Maybe she should go,” he paused knowing his agreement likely would have caught the soldier off guard “and while we’re at it how about me after? You’re so much better alone aren’t you? Pushing anyone that might stand a chance of caring about you away, because that’s scary, and big tough soldier boys aren’t allowed to be scared. Are they?” Fane’s words were a little sharper now. “So if you really think that, you come to attention right here in front of me and you damn well look me in the eye and mean it when you say it and stop being a pansy” to emphasise the point Fane jabbed towards the spot in front of him.

“And if not, well, how about you consider doing something truly brave and being at least a little bit honest with me and more importantly honest with yourself. Are you really willing to toss everything away just because you’re scared? Time to decide Carrington,” it was the first time Fane had ever said his name aloud to him and in all honesty, it felt nice rolling off his tongue. But he supposed it was a mute point if calling Carrington’s bluff led to him leaving.

If Carrington had had any clue how well Fane actually had him pegged, he would have been much more careful with his behavior. He was aware that Fane knew him fairly well. Hence his current behavior and lack of eye contact. His unwillingness to speak about things any deeper than surface level.

There was a minute pause in his actions as Fane spoke again. A hesitance that could’ve been imagined but wasn’t. Again, he didn’t look up. Simply kept at it, snapping tags off jumpers with a bit more force than necessary before folding them and putting them away. Fane’s words struck a nerve. A deep-seated one that flared bright and hot at the base of Carrington’s spine. Because truth always cut much deeper than lies. And this one cut all the way to the bone.

So, when he fired back, it was without thinking. It was pain manifesting itself as anger. Fear and uncertainty and insecurity being thrown back as a defense mechanism. “And how long did you serve, to know so much about what soldiers are allowed to do? Oh wait… you didn’t.” It was sharp and cutting, emphasized by the slamming of the drawer he’d been mindlessly filling. His fingers gripped the edge of the dresser, knuckles white against the wood. Only when Fane called him weak did Carrington finally turned towards him.

His eyes were tight, and they gleamed feverishly. His features were contorted in his misplaced anger. It took less than six paces before Carrington was exactly where Fane had pointed. And his fist was connecting with the wood paneling right next Fane’s head. There was a resounding crack, but whether it was wood or bone was hard to tell. Carrington got right in Fane’s face, so close that his labored pants could be felt across the other man’s cheek.

“I am not scared,” Carrington growled. His voice was as furious as it had ever been. Low and tight, there was so much vitriol behind it that it trembled slightly. Every muscle in his body was tense as he looked Fane straight in the eye. His own were a dark blue, like stormclouds. They were always darker when he was angry. And right now Carrington was very, very angry.

He hit the wall again. “Understand me, Savin? I am not scared.” Another long, searching look, a flicker of something shifting, breaking loose. Something old and jagged and held tight with the rust of years ofneglect. “I’m…” The muscles in his jaw flexed and trembled. “I’m fucking terrified.”

Even if he had been consciously trying to control his movements, Fane would have still more or less come to the same conclusion. Of course, they all had trauma, and Carrington’s behaviour was a grade A example of something that came from the product of something horrible. Fane didn’t know what, hadn’t wanted to push Carrington to tell him figuring that if it would come up eventually it would when the other man was ready for it to. But Fane wasn’t willing to put his cautiousness about Carrington’s past over the risk of Faye’s very imminent departure. He simply couldn’t do the math for that outcome.

Perhaps he should have been offended by Carrington’s words, but Carrington apparently still didn’t realise how pegged Fane had him. The outlash was expected, anticipated and patiently waited for because after the storm came the calm. Or, slightly less calm but better than raging. “You’re right, I didn’t, but don’t you dare think that just because you’ve suffered… You’ve endured the pits of hell that you’re the only one who knows what pain feels like.” Fane could have gotten angry, could have raised his voice and spat vitriol back at the other man but Fane chose for the calm approach and his voice never shifted in pitch or tone, remaining quiet and calm regardless of what he felt. But Carrington’s words hardly cut deep.

Unfortunately, it seemed to be the case that something he’d said had struck a deep-rooted nerve if the sudden tension across his body was anything to go by. Before he could backtrack to figure out what part had done it, there was a splintering crack an inch or so beside his head and even he didn’t have the nerves not to flinch a little. But to his credit he didn’t back down, didn’t shove Carrington away.

“Then what are you?” Fane prompted not caring how close Carrington had gotten to him. Though he got his answer after another rattle of Carrington’s fist against wood. And the look on the other man’s features, the true and raw abject pain that shone through those eyes he’d spent weeks watching and learning, it broke his heart. Fane felt a deep-seated pain in his chest as he reached up fingers splaying over either side of Carrington’s face and pulling him forwards to press their foreheadstogether. “Then let me help you. Talk to me. Let me in… Please.” Because Fane so desperately wanted to help Carrington. “You don’t have to tell me everything but… don’t push me away, not when I want to help, when I want to understand” he shifted then, moving to slot his mouth a tad desperately over Carrington’s moving to grip his ribcageconsidering he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on before murmuring “ please don’t ever do that.”

Carrington saw Fane’s flinch, and a tiny part of him felt a flare of satisfaction. Not because he wanted to harm Fane, never that, but because he’d managed to affect him slightly. Even if it was petty to think that. But Fane held his ground. Carrington expected a pushback of some sort. A knee-jerk reaction to yell, or push, or force him back in some way.

But it never came.

Instead, Fane reached for him. To pull him closer. And this time it was Carrington that flinched. Though what did that say about him, that violence and anger was expected, but gentleness surprised him? That kindness in the face of pain and agony confused him? That despite all his attempts to push Fane away, here he was, pulling Carrington in. Making him believe that it was okay. That it would be okay. Keeping him on the edge of either running away or falling apart completely.

His eyes closed as Fane spoke. The warm grip of his hands splayed over Carrington’s face, holding him so tightly against him… his own hand slipped from the shattered panelling, knuckles bloody and bruised, and dropped heavily to curl around Fane’s nape, into his hair. His breath came in great gasping heaves, his chest rising and falling as he tried desperately to control the emotions that were fast breaking loose inside his chest. Rising higher, pressing against his sternum, his throat, until it was finally too much. A small sound melted away into the warmth of Fane’s mouth.

Carrington kissed him back just as desperately, hands now raking up Fane’s neck to grip his face. They shook slightly, and another small sound rumbled in his throat as he pressed Fane back against the doorjamb. “Don’t go… please… don’t go…” His hands dropped down and rucked Fane’s shirt up as he panted against the other man’s mouth. “Either of you…”

What other reaction was there? Running away had never been a strong suit of Fane’s, and he’d always been the bleeding heart to care when he saw people suffering. So, to see Carrington struggling so evidently, how could Fane do anything but want to try and help. He sensed the struggle the other man had, the expectation of violence raised in answer to violence but Fane could only hope he might show him another way.

He was just glad that it seemed enough to convince Carrington not to keep trying to push him away, and Fane’s fingers splayed wide over his ribcage, fingertips digging in and grasping tightly to keep him close and anchored here. Because he’d be damned if he was going to let Carrington run. His own chest rose and fell, breath coming in shallow huffs as Carrington’s desperate hands slid over his neck, into his hair pulling him in, their kiss a clash of teeth and tongues and desperation.

Fane didn’t even care when his back struck the corner of the door, it didn’t matter, because Carrington was still here and the pressure of his body meant he was choosing to stay. Fane prayed that was what it meant. His head fell back against the wood with a thud, eyes dark and intense under the press of Carrington’s palms seeking skin that only served to make his belly flex and tighten “then-- then you’re going to have to talk to Faye.” He raised his hand raking his fingers through Carrington’s hair andgripping it as he spoke again voice shaking a little himself “ please, promise me now, promise me you’ll talk to her tonight. I want you both. I need you both… I need you.”

Violence met with violence was the way Carrington had lived most of his adult life. As a young boy, even kindness had been met with violence. Thanks to his stepfather. When his mother died, taking away the last kind person in his life at the time, Carrington just… shut down. Any part of him that had ever been soft or kind or weak was put away. Behind a mask of apathy fuelled by duty. The army was the best place for him at the time. Go here. Do this. Sleep now. Eat. Run. Piss. Sleep. Kill them before they kill you.

Violence met with violence. Because kindness got you killed. A soft heart got you killed. Weakness was a liability. Caring was a liability. And from the kindest heart came the cruellest people. Or so he’d always heard. So why should Fane have been any different? Why should Faye? And why should Carrington have cared?

But he did. Despite his best efforts, he fucking did.

He devoured Fane’s mouth until he couldn’t breathe and had to come up for air. The tight grip of the other man’s hands in his hair held Carrington’s focus and kept him from losing himself completely to the feel of his body against Fane’s. He nodded, blinking as he came back to himself just a bit. “I will…” Another soft kiss, still desperate, but with slightly more control than before. “I promise.” His eyes searched Fane’s as he pulled back. Christ, he wanted him. It was more than evident. And not just with how close they were pressed. His thumb brushed Fane’s bottom lip, fingers splayed over his cheek. “So do I…”

Fane knew he didn’t know the full story, but he hoped that Carrington staying, wanting them to stay would mean that eventually he would be trusted enough to be told. To learn the deeper intimacies and pains that had been buried away where they wouldn’t see the light of day. He just hoped that one day he would be able to offer some modicum of relief from whatever torment, pain and guilt Carrington carried with him. Perhaps not tonight, but one day. Just as Fane would one day trust them both with the truth of this place, but Fane had yet to come to terms with it himself let alone explaining that to others.

He understood that with such things time was required and time he would give. So long as Carrington made good on his promise. To try and speak to Faye, to explain things and make an effort because Fane didn’t want to lose either of them.

Fane’s fingers softened then, no longer so tight in their hold on the rear of Cari’s head and Fane smoothed his hair repeatedly, moving to brush his temple and face with sincere affection. The next kiss was softer, and Fane stretched into it, pressing forwards into Carrington and swallowing thickly at how it seemed the tables had turned tonight. He hadn’t come here with this ending in mind but he just hoped it was a step towards something better for all three of them. Rubbing his free hand over Carrington’s ribs and hooking his fingers around his waist he sighed against Carrington’s mouth, they should go and talk to Faye. But Fane also knew that he presently wasn’t in a state to go anywhere until things were entirely settled here. “Then show me,” he whispered stroking Carrington’s face and moving to hook the waistband of his joggers “show me you care.”

Tonight, had been a huge step forwards for Carrington. A giant leap that he hadn’t known he was capable of making. Six months ago, he would’ve laughed at anyone who told him where he would be now. Or worse. But life had never treated Carrington Bishop like he expected. Other than when he expected the worst. So, while tonight would likely bring no more milestones, no more huge leaps of faith, a gap had been bridged between who Carrington had been, and who he wanted to be. Or who he thought he wanted to be. All he knew for certain was that Fane was on the other side, waiting patiently for him to cross over.

And it would take time. Secrets like the ones Carrington held inside him weren’t easily talked about. They were painful. Some even made Carrington feel ashamed. For who he had been, and for who he hadn’t been able to be. And Fane had been right when he told Carrington he didn’t hold the ledger of pain and heartache. On trauma. He knew they others had their share. This house for one. There was a secret here, buried deep in Fane’s past. A secret that kept him tense and wary at times, and kept a single door locked in a house full of open rooms.

And then there was Faye. Who he’d frightened to the point of nearly making her leave. What secrets lay in her past that had caused her to fear being cast out so much? Perhaps one day she’d share as well. But first Carrington owed her an explanation. And an apology.

But that would have to wait just a bit. He also owed Fane an apology. And while this wasn’t the preferred way, it was something Carrington knew he did well. A hiss of air passed through his lips as Fane pulled him closer, Carrington’s desperation for the other man making itself known. He reached for Fane’s face again, pulling him into a soft searching kiss. A hand to his nape pulled him away from the wall and towards the bed. Carrington pushed Fane gently onto his back and climbed in beside him, barely losing contact with the other man’s mouth as he rid Fane of his shirt. They had been together a few times, but it was always Fane taking the lead. And Carrington needed that. Needed that firm hand to slow him down and make him take a breather.

His fingers danced along Fane’s ribs, up over his chest, feathering over his pulse point - a small smile gracing Carrington’s mouth at how it raced - and back down. When he finally pulled back from the kiss, his eyes were dark and soft, a startling contrast to how they’d looked only a few minutes before. “I’ve never met anyone like you in my whole life…” Carrington said with a quiet hesitance as his hand spread gently over the flat planes of Fane’s belly. “I’ve never met anyone like either of you…”

Fane was proud of the progress he’d seen Carrington make in the time they had known one another, it wasn’t an easy thing to be willing to do. To try and break or change old habits, and Fane wondered what Carrington would be if they had never ended up being forced to stay together as a group like they had. Would he have ever found out or taken the chance to explore this side of himself? Probably not, and the thought caused Fane to clutch at him tightly and steal another ghost of a kiss from his lips thankful that this was the reality they were living in.

Things that had been broken and damaged could be fixed, with the right time and effort. Fane wasn’t truly hurt by Carrington’s words earlier so he demanded or required no apology. Not on his behalf. But when it came to Faye? Well, Carrington deserved to grovel for that one considering how he’d acted towards her. It was only fair really. Not that Fane would take pleasure in the sight, but it was a stepping stone. A way forwards for them from here to perhaps live together in a less turbulent environment.

Fane knew what he was asking of Carrington, knew that more often than not he’d been the one to guide things and let Carrington get lost and be taken along for the ride. Fane was always willing to oblige, but this was different, this wasn’t Fane having to make Carrington give himself over. To steady those demons and terrors that haunted him, this was Carrington willingly choosing to show Fane exactly what he’d asked for. The kiss was met warmly, and when Fane felt the bed he crawled back onto it pulling Carrington back with him stealing as many kisses as he could get and though there was a touch of desperation there it was underscored by a trust more meaningful.

He let Carrington explore and touch, his body arching and breath stuttering quietly and when Carrington looked at him Fane was sure he could get lost in his eyes. Dark and fathomless like the ocean, but also so wildly bright and intelligent. And what he said, it brought a genuine smile to Fane’s lips before he teased gently “you mean geniusly intellectual and handsome as hell? Well… you know, I do try.” Of course, Fane knew what he meant, but considering the seriousness of everything else that had happened Fane was content to get swept up in the maelstrom of Carrington Bishop. “Then cherish us for what we are and we’ll do the same to you,” it was a promise and an assurance more quietly spoken than his previous comment. Fane’s abs tightened and jumped a little under the splay of the other man’s warm fingers his head falling back onto the mattress as he stared up at him moving to slip his hands down and grip his ass “no teasing tonight, I want you to show me how much you care... Please.” Fane was usually all for the foreplay but all he wanted right now was to feel the raw and overwhelming sensation of truly being wanted by another. In this case, the man on top of him who Fane stole another lingering kiss from while gripping the material of Cari’s joggers and giving them a short sharp yank knowing full well, he hadn’t got anything under them considering Fane had watched him dress earlier.

If Carrington had never met Fane and Faye, who’s to say where he would be right now. Drunk in a bar. Fucking a whore. Taking the next job that paid well enough, no matter how dangerous it was, simply because it kept him from thinking about other things. About all he’d lost. All he’d never have. Or he might be dead. Shot down by Monarch once he had the relic in hand.

But he wasn’t. He was here. In this beautiful old house in the middle of the Scottish wild. He had warm, clean clothes, fresh food, the smell of which was starting to drift upstairs, reminding him that Faye waited downstairs for them; and a warm bed. But most of all he had someone - two someone’s apparently - who wanted him here. For nothing more than his presence. Not for what he could gain them. Not for what he could do. But simply for who he was. Him. Carrington Bishop.

It wouldn’t always be like this he knew. There would be dark days for him. Days when he was right back to his old self. Harsh and stubborn. His words cutting and edging towards cruel. Nights when he was kept awake by things that he’d never told anyone. Nightmares. Of the things he’d done. The things he’d seen. And he was certain the same could be said for them all. It was a process. And as much as Carrington still feared it - and he did, though the edge had been taken off tonight by Fane’s persistence - he felt that maybe, just maybe, there was a way through. That there was more than just the life he’d been leading for the last twenty years.

A soft laugh echoed in the small space between them, and Carrington traced Fane’s jaw with the tip of his finger. His expression grew more sombre, his eyes hinting once again at the storm clouds that held his fears and insecurities, as Fane asked him to simply cherish what they had and who they were. “I’m not sure I know how. But I’ll try.” He kissed Fane again, his smile returning briefly before falling into an open-mouth gasp at the sharp tug on his joggers. “As you wish…” It was easy to slip free of his joggers, and as soon as Fane was free of his jeans, Carrington rose up and over him, kissing him reverently. One hand supported his weight while the other stroked along Fane’s thigh, encouraging him to spread them wider. When he did, Carrington hummed in pleasure against Fane’s lips. He took him in hand then, stroking Fane’s cock a few times before turning to his own. He was panting against Fane’s mouth by now, needing him desperately but forcing himself to go slow. To make sure Fane knew exactly how he felt.

Still holding himself in check, Carrington pressed against Fane. It didn’t take much to slick the way, and a few gentle cants of his hips had him pressing home. Carrington groaned at the tight grip of Fane’s body around his cock. “Christ…” he moaned, releasing himself to return the hand to Fane’s hair. “Tell me… if I’m hurting you…” he said through stuttered breath. “Tell me what you want…” He moved with purpose already, taking his cues from Fane’s expression, from the movement of his hands, from the way his head fell back onto the pillows.

Carrington buried his face in Fane’s neck, hooking a hand under his thigh and pulling it around his waist. “Gods… I could… I could do this forever…” Hot, open-mouthed kisses slipped across Fane’s neck, spaced between the nip of Carrington’s teeth. But still he paced himself, going slow and making sure Fane knew just how much this meant. Just how much Carrington cared. “Just to see… your face… like this…” He rose up and kissed Fane again. “Just to see you happy….”

Fane wasn’t naive enough to think that there wouldn’t be dark days ahead, but that was why you had other people in your life wasn’t it? To help you find a way through them. To make your way through them and come out the other side successfully and on the dark days he would be there, and so would Faye (he hoped). Between them they would find a way through to the far side of everything and Fane couldn’t wait to get there. If it wasn’t for the threat on their lives Fane would’ve suggested giving up the relic and stashing it somewhere that none of them would ever have to think on it again other than as a fond memory of how they had all come to be where they were.

“We’ll get you there,” Fane responded softly carding his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck slender digits dragging over the ridges of vertebrae there and savouring the warmth of skin under his touch. “Give it time, I know we will” his fingers moved to stroke Carrington’s cheek affectionately drawing him down into the kiss his hips rolling a little in encouragement themselves. He grinned, eyes glinting appreciatively as the joggers were discarded and he helped arch his hips as his jeans were dragged down his legs and tossed off to who knows where. Soon enough they were tangled up once more and Fane slid his arms around Carrington’s torso, bracketing him close and melting entirely under him his body entirely responsive to every touch or affection he was given.

A soft lusty noise worked its way free of his throat when Carrington encouraged him to spread his legs, which he did with next to no real request. He groaned when Carrington then took the time to stroke him, eyes fixed on the man above him in an almost adoring fashion as he gave himself over entirely. A small unintended whimper escaped him as his cock was left hard and slowly leaking pre-come over his abs. He sunk into the mattress licking his lips letting himself be distracted by the sight of Carrington’s own impressive length, it had been a while since he’d been on the receiving end but he didn’t really care. He could handle it. He trusted Carrington. So as Carrington continued to stroke himself Fane dragged his fingers down over the man’s back, “you’re going to feel so good, I know you are.”

His body was tense and taut by the time Carrington returned his attention back to him, and he groaned shamelessly as Carrington’s full weight descended on him the soft skin of Carrington’s cock causing him to feel like he was being doused in gasoline and primed to be set alight. Fane bit on his lip, sure he’d die of anticipation. And being set alight was exactly what it felt like when he finally sank home, Fane did wince a little at the burning stretch before they rolled shut a whimper of bliss leaving him as he settled more comfortably, his body adjusting while his fingertips dug divots as he clung onto Carrington for dear life. Certainly, if death came like this he would go happily indeed. “You aren’t,” Fane gasped lowly “just, just fuck me---” the request was cut off in another groan, head falling back exposing the line of his neck and shoulders as he grew used to the roll of Carrington’s hips eventually starting to push back as best he could.

Fane let himself be manhandled, bent and spread entirely to Carrington’s whims the act caused him to clench as the new angle caused him to almost blackout “oh god, right there… right ahhhh… fuck, right there.” It took several strokes each causing Fane to feel like his brain was being short-circuited over and over before he could utter anything slightly coherent “I’d… let you,” Fane mumbled tightening his hold on Cari’s back as he pulled him flush rolling his hips a little more firmly into each slow stroke and using the muscles in his legs to keep Cari as close as he could. He was strong, a lifetime of sports and activity not to mention their job left him in rather prime physique so it wasn’t hard to keep Carrington where he wanted him even if the other man had all the control. The hard and steady roll of their bodies was heaven, and Fane was lost in the grasping of hungry hands and when Carrington kissed him again, he pressed up licking into his mouth with a groan of pleasure his cock slapping wetly against his stomach aching for attention. He could’ve reached down and taken himself in hand but Fane was enjoying the abundant flow of pleasure he was experiencing too much to do anything other than hold onto and keep kissing Carrington between panted breaths.

The weight of Fane’s arms around him was worth more to Carrington than his weight in gold. They held him tight, even as Carrington was the one to lead. A security that promised so many things he used to wish for. So many things he used to want. But had given up on years ago. And until he’d met Fane and Faye, Carrington had thought they didn’t exist anymore. But then they came along, Fane with his soft encouragements and Faye with her bright laughter. Gods above but he’d been cruel to her. If she never forgave him he would deserve nothing less. But Fane was confident it would work out. And that gave Carrington confidence too. A little bit at least. Over the thick layer of heartache and disappointment that life had saddled him with.

Fane’s body was pliant beneath his. Warm and wanting and nearly begging for him. Carrington had never been here before, like this, with another man beneath him. It was always the reverse. But this time… this time it was Fane that needed to be taken apart. Fane that needed the assurance that someone was there to catch him if he fell. Or at least that someone was willing to try.

Their bodies melded, and where Fane let out what was almost a whimper, Carrington let out a sound that was nothing short of lewd. “Fuck... “ he moaned, arching his back under the crawl of Fane’s hands and fucking deeper into him. It would be so easy to lose control, to fuck the man beneath him raw and breathless. But only if that was what he wanted. When Carrington braced, checking that he was hurting Fane, and Fane said very clearly that he wasn’t, Carrington felt his cock throb with want.

He crashed his mouth against Fane’s, pulling his leg more tightly around his waist. Carrington’s fingers dug bruises into the firm muscles of Fane’s thigh as snapped his hips a bit harder and faster. The friction felt so fucking good. Fane’s words ran like honey, warm and wet and thick as the precum slicking his belly, his cock trapped between him and Carrington. The grip of Fane’s legs was tight, and once Carrington trusted they weren’t going anywhere, he released his hold and wrapped his hand around the swollen length that practically begged for his attention. “You’re going to hold on, aren’t you?” Carrington panted against Fane’s mouth. “You’re going to hold on… and not cum until I tell you?” He grunted and titled his hips a bit faster. Still not too fast, but a steady pace that was building Carrington towards where he wanted to be.

He stroked Fane’s cock in time with the slap of their hips, the effort making him sweat despite the cool air of the room. “Look at you… leaking all over…” He slicked his hand over the weeping head, squeezing a bit before releasing him. Another searing kiss before Carrington buried his face in Fane’s neck again. “Hold onto me…” he said, voice raspy and thick as he pulled Fane close. “Hold onto me when you come…” The pace of his hips started to become erratic, even as he tried to make sure Fane was still enjoying it. His hands tightened in Fane’s hair, his breath hot and frantic in his ear. He fumbled a bit in his rising pleasure, and reached for Fane’s cock. “You’re going to come before I do, under…. Understand? AHhh fuck… christ… almost…. God you feel… like heaven…”

Carrington’s words trailed off, his panting breathes rising to a higher, faster pitch as he fucked Fane for all he was worth. “Go on… let me see you… fuck you’re beautiful when I’m fucking you... ” Carrington purred into Fane’s ear as drew closer. He was right there, right on the edge, but he wanted Fane to come first. When he did, that would be all Carrington needed to follow.

Fane was more than willing to give himself over entirely to this, he’d asked for it after all and it felt good to give up that control to another. To trust someone enough to let them treat you like this and while it wasn’t the roughest anyone had been with him, sometimes something slower and gentler was just as good. Plus, this wasn’t about the hard and fast desperation that ebbed and flowed between them this was about showing Carrington he wanted him for who he was, just as he hoped the same went for himself. Fane wanted to know him, wanted to be graced with his trust because Fane would never betray that. Giving himself over to Carrington, asking for him in contrast to telling him how it was going to go down, seeing him take that control and wield it albeit with a few fumbles here and there it made a warm heat stir in his body. Because this was progress, and it was sweet bliss that he was fully enjoying.

Carrington spread him wide, yanking his leg higher on his back and Fane moaned again knowing he was going to have bruises later, good, let him bruise and let it be known that he’d been well and truly fucked. Fane didn’t care what might be thought of it, lost under the pleasure filled haze of being adored by another, his body naturally responsive but still a little defensive against the intrusion that he clenched tight his abs flexing and banding taut. But none of it stopped Carrington from squeezing that extra distance out of him and working with a steady rolling and unrelenting force. His legs occasionally slipped against the slick sweat of Carrington’s spine but he never left the position he’d been put in his mouth hanging open as he savoured every push and drag of each plunging thrust, his straining muscles starting to tremble underneath the barrage.

And then he was being kissed by a mouth that Fane was sure he’d be happy to get lost in as the pace just grew a little harder and faster making Fane clench again. He groaned as he felt Carrington’s fingers slide over the sticky shaft of his cock, the attention causing him to jerk and gasp a little at the stimulation. He blinked feeling adrift and dazed but so very present at the same time, his breath stuttered before he held it his body hanging as Carrington spoke and he wondered how he’d ever manage with how good it felt. Wanting to please him. He gritted his teeth, swallowing thickly “yes aaaah-- yessir, god, yes” the words were hissed around a particularly deep thrust that left him clutching tighter at Carrington’s back he wasn’t sure why he said it but it felt right because now Fane was thinking about whether this was what he’d been like as a soldier. Commanding and authoritative, no nonsense, and his cock pulsed at the thought knowing he was already a mess of precum where it was smeared over his stomach and Carrington’s hand.

Fane didn’t need to be told to hold on, he was, his nails digging in and dragging red welts over Carrington’s back and ribs where his hands occasionally slipped as his whole body jerked with each plunge of Carrington’s cock. He whimpered audibly at the pressure around the head of his own before it was released and the other man’s focus went entirely onto the activity of fucking him thoroughly. Carrington’s weight pressed him into the bed, each thrust long and deliberate and Fane was grinning around open-mouthed pants as he sought Carrington’s hand and pressed it to his stomach. “Can you feel yourself? God-- you fill me up so good” Fane didn’t care how debauched it sounded, it was true and he couldn’t help how his eyes fluttered shut every drag of the other man’s cock flooded him with sensation until his nerves felt fried and raw. His cock and balls ached desperately, and Fane wasn’t about to say anything more as he felt himself building, building, building to that crest.

But he held off, waiting for that order and when it came, gritted and gasped out in warm huffs of that sinful British accent that did unspeakable things it made Fane’s already stuttery and erratic breath catch. Fane’s nails dug in deeper, breaking skin as his thighs squeezed vice-like the pressure in him pulsing with every stroke and roll of Carrington’s hips everything urging him to show him how much he wanted this while basking in how much he felt wanted. His vision whited out, head thrown back as he came with a loud cry of ecstasy that shuddered through his body in such a wonderfully devastating way that left him spasming as his aching cock aided by the wrap and tug of Carrington’s hand shot thick jets of cum that splattered over his chest and stomach.

And then he went limp, struggling to haul in any air to fill his lungs but doing his best to rock back as he scrambled to try and hold on. “Come on,” he gasped in Carrington’s ear “fill me up, please, you know you want to.”

Once upon a time, Carrington’s job had been to tell others what to do. He had always been a good strategist. His mind working in a way that could see almost every possible outcome, good or bad. People had trusted him with their lives. He would point and say ‘go there, do this.’ And men would just nod, salute, and go. Because he was their commander. He was responsible for them. For their safety and well being. They trusted him. And Carrington… he had trusted himself. To make the right choice. To make judgement calls that were hard, that might get men killed (and had), but that were the best option under the circumstances.

He had never lied to one of his soldiers. They asked the odds. They asked the plan. And he would tell them. Because out there, he might outrank them, but they were all the same. All there for the same purpose. All wanting to go home to their families and their loved ones. All but Carrington. Because he had no family. No one to go home to. This was his family. His men. His job. And part of him knew that’s what gave him an edge. That he wasn’t worried about anyone grieving over him if he didn’t come back. He was there, in the moment, always.

Like now. With Fane pliant and breathless and flushed beneath him. He’d never done this before, not really. So seeing the effect he was having on the other man left Carrington a bit breathless himself. For reasons other than it felt like he could die right now and be happy for it. He was soaked in sweat. It dripped from the ends of his overlong hair, falling in clear droplets on to Fane’s neck and chest.

The stuttered words of agreement as Carrington’s hand wrapped around Fane’s length stirred something low in the man’s belly. Beneath the already flaming desire and tight coil of impending release. The feeling of being needed. Of being wanted. Of being trusted with another person’s well-being. It caused a stuttered pause in the movement of his hips, but he righted himself soon enough and his focus returned.

He moved his hand as Fane uttered filthy words into his ear, pressing down hard enough to feel the movement of his cock deep inside him. Carrington’s mouth formed a knowing grin as it slotted over Fane’s again. “You were made for this… weren’t you? Made for getting fucked…” The words fell away in a groan of pleasure that vibrated against Fane’s cheek. Carrington’s hand slid back to Fane’s cock, knowing he wouldn’t last much longer and wanting Fane to find release before him. Each hard cant of his hips tried to go deeper, to find that sweet spot that would push him over the edge. Every few strokes, Carrington fingers moved to the soft tightness of Fane’s balls. Squeezing gently, giving them the attention they needed, before moving back to pump his slick cock in long, dragging strokes. He was close. Carrington could tell by the stuttered breath and the crushing grip of his hands. God he would leave marks but Carrington would wear them like a badge of honor. Like a sign that said: I belong to him, and him to me. Marks of battle. Hard fought and won.

And when Fane obeyed Carrington’s order and let go, the hot wave of his release spattering his belly, it was one of the most beautiful things the soldier had ever seen. “Fucking Christ look at you…” he breathed into Fane’s ear as the man shuddered around him. His body clenching tight as he cried out. It was all Carrington could do not to lose it right then and there. But not yet. Not yet.

There was an almost painful relief as Fane sagged back onto the bed. The tightness that had wrapped Carrington so fiercely was still there, and he could tell Fane was holding on for him. His muscles trembled, and when he told Carrington to come, he didn’t hesitate. His forehead pressed flush with Fane’s as he hooked his thigh again, lifting it around his waist. His movements were fast and hard and desperate, as was the grip on Fane’s leg and the other around his shoulders, Carrington’s fingers digging in tightly.

Sounds that could have been perceived as pain trembled from his throat as he chased down that bright precipice. He hammered into Fane’s body, uncaring now if it hurt the other man. He’d given his permission, and by God Carrington was taking it.

He came with a stuttered cry, hands and body tightening to cords of steel as he spilled himself inside Fane’s body. His mouth slid over Fane’s neck, and Carrington buried his face there as his back arched, long and sinewy, milking every last drop from his climax. One or two more thrusts, deep and slow and shuddering, and he finally fell lax across Fane’s chest. His heart raced, his head felt dizzy, his hearing was nothing but white noise. But everything else was warmth and scent and the feel of Fane’s sticky, sweaty skin beneath his own.

A hand found it’s way to Fane’s neck, stroking lightly, reverently even. “Are you alright?”

Idly Fane thought that Carrington could probably do with a haircut, though it was nice to have something to grip onto Fane was of the opinion he would look better with it cut shorter. Perhaps sometime he’d mention it, while he wasn’t particularly skilled himself perhaps if things with Faye resolved themselves she might be able to do something. God knows what his own looked like. But he also thought that in this moment Carrington looked godlike, his slender supple body arching and curving while his muscles fired off in such a way that Fane was practically drooling to take a very literal bite out of him. Could he be blamed with a man that looked like that?

“Shame it--- shame it doesn’t happen more often,” was all that was mumbled in response though the words were spaced out by pants of air that he was desperately trying to suck down into his lungs. Fane was spent, and he knew it wouldn’t be much longer before Carrington was also done even if he rather desperately wanted to stretch this moment out into infinity. He was still cresting the high of his own release that he barely registered the movement of his thigh being yanked up again and Fane could only groan into Carrington’s open mouth as he drove his cock home with rather little resistance now. It stung and Fane’s breath hitched as he struggled to keep up with the frantic pace but he clung on, mumbling encouragements until finally he felt the heat of the other man’s release filling him up, felt the pulsing swell of Carrington’s cock deep inside of him as he pumped every last drop out and Fane deliberately tensed wanting to hold onto this for as long as he could.

As Carrington fell lax, his weight a comforting presence that Fane held tight as his breathing finally started to even out as he petted Carrington’s head letting him shudder through the aftermath of the violent crest. Letting him know that he wasn’t alone, that Fane was here with him as Fane’s legs could no longer stay wrapped around him and fell heavily onto the bed. His eyes were closed when Carrington stroked his neck and he stirred, “mm,” he sounded feeling deliciously used and he stretched a little under the other man’s body carding his fingers through his hair as he sought out Carrington’s mouth for a slow and deep kiss, “so much for that shower hm?”

Carrington’s mouth split into a lazy smile - something that changed his entire face - and he actually laughed. It was a singular sound, more a grunt of air than anything. But it was definitely a laugh. “Care to join me for another one? I did save some hot water.” He hummed against Fane’s mouth, losing himself in the hazy aftermath for a few moments. The card of his fingers through Carrington’s hair was something the ex-soldier had come to relish. Just like the brushing touches in passing. The soft, encouraging words whispered here and there.

Finally, he pulled away, adjusting himself alongside Fane as he slipped free of his body. He propped his head on his hand, eyes going unfocused for a moment. It was clear he was thinking. But his free hand stayed against Fane, his fingers moving idly.

When he finally spoke, it was if he was testing out his words. Unsure how they might sound. “My mother died when I was sixteen. Cancer. By the time they found it, she was already too sick.” The words were softly spoken, and Carrington continued to stare off into the room. “She was too busy taking care of me - keeping me safe from my stepfather, keeping me in school - to take care of herself.” His head tilted marginally towards Fane, but his eyes cast downwards. “The only woman in this world that ever cared for me - the only woman I ever cared for in return - died. Because of me.” There was a pause, and the telltale shift of muscles in his jaw returned. A frown moved over his face, and while he didn’t move away quickly, he did push up to reach for his clothes. “Because I was weak.”

He huffed slightly before standing and pulling on his joggers. Turning to look at Fane still lying on the bed, Carrington raked a hand back through his still damp hair, fingers flexing over his scalp. “So you see the dilemma? I don’t…” He hesitated, which was very unlike him when he spoke. Finally he sighed, raising his arms and letting them drop back a bit helplessly. “I don’t know what the fuck to say to her, Fane.”

Fane groaned as Carrington finally rolled off from ontop of him, missing the familiar weight and fullness of him but eventually relented letting him settle down to one side while Fane stayed on his back. Arm falling out to the side and letting his legs stretch indolently not particularly caring if he made a mess of the sheets. “Sure, save water and all that,” bending an arm behind his head Fane let out a shallow breath his eyes closing as he rested there his free hand seeking out Carrington’s to take his hand twining their fingers together lazily.

Though as Carrington began to speak, Fane’s eyes drifted open not looking at him directly but certainly listening to everything he said. He gave the hand he was holding an affectionate squeeze sad to hear of the life Carrington had come from. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Fane said softly, his voice full of sincerity as he tightened his grasp on Carrington’s fingers. “But she didn’t die because of you, she didn’t get the cancer because of you and there’s no guarantee that even if it had been found earlier…. That she would have lived. It’s horrible… But,” Fane rolled over following as Carrington began to move away to the edge of the bed.

Reaching an arm out to touch his back much as he had done earlier, “you aren’t weak… You are not. You are brave and strong and you’ve survived that, you’ve survived so much… And it’s okay to sometimes not have an answer for something… No one’s perfect even if you expect it of yourself...” He propped himself up sliding a hand over the hard bone of Cari’s scapula, pulling him back just a fraction so Fane could duck and kiss his shoulder. “Do you want her to stay?” the words were asked quietly, Fane’s mouth still pressed against Carrington’s back “would you care if she left because of what you’ve said and how you’ve treated her?” Fane knew the answer, and so did Carrington, and that was what he had to say to Faye.

It was hard to change a mindset one had lived with for twenty years. That the death of a beloved mother, the only person that had ever loved or cared about a scrawny, scared little boy, wasn’t his fault? Just like Fane and Faye both had their own personal demons, and it would take time to sort through the mire and make them realize the truth, this was Carrington’s. Among other things. Fane’s grasp on his hand was appreciated, and Carrington squeezed back briefly in acknowledgement of his words before turning to sit up.

“She was the same age I am now. Never went to the doctor. I carried her there myself when she started to cough up blood.” The touch was once again appreciated, though only a slight settling of his shoulders let Fane know that. “Bravery means nothing if you make the wrong choice. If you wait too long. And not having answers? That gets people killed.”

The question should have been a simple one. Yes or no. But it wasn’t. There were so many variables. So many different answers that Carrington could give. Different paths to take. Different outcomes. In the end, Carrington could only sigh and push gently off the bed, away from Fane’s touch. “I want-” He ducked his head and frowned. “In a perfect world… yes. I want her to stay.” The implication was that this was far from the perfect world. And that what Carrington might want didn’t truly matter in the end. “And yes. Of course I would.” The words were a bit shorter than he intended, but they weren’t cruel. He moved to find a shirt for after he cleaned himself off again. “But I would also rather keep her alive and hating me, than put in harm’s way because she thinks she cares about me.”

He fiddled with the shirt in his hands. “Though I also suppose that should be her choice.” He turned his head to look at Fane again, and anyone who knew him could tell he was torn. Between making a choice for someone, or letting them have free will. “Shouldn’t it?”

Fane knew it wasn’t going to be a one-night thing to change Carrington’s mind, but the insight certainly explained a lot about him. Context was key when it came to people and Fane was glad to be trusted with this. He wouldn’t betray that trust, but he also knew that certain things were hard to convince yourself away from. He had his own demons, he understood to a point and would do his best to try and understand.

“You’re not a god, no one can know everything or know what is and isn’t the right choice, you can’t see into the future any more than I can… And I know it’s not something I can change your thoughts on, but there’s no way you can be prepared for every eventuality…” He sighed quietly, sitting up more now “but having people there to help you can even out the odds when things seem impossible. You’ve let me in, chosen to trust me and I appreciate that… I can tell it isn’t easy, but I need you to try and do the same for Faye.” Fane’s arm outstretched a little, until Carrington pulled from his touch and only then did his fingers curl and flex feeling rather cold all of a sudden.

“I was going to say, a very short someone is going to have a lot to say about you making decisions on her behalf… She’s not a child Carrington, she’s an adult and she has a right to make the choice on whether she stays or not herself.” He wrapped his arms around his body, words final, it wasn’t up for debate. Faye got her choice just as he had made his own. “Mull on it, and once I’m done you are going to talk to her.” Not having anything really to cover up the chill of the house was still present, and Fane grabbed his clothes heading for the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He needed a little space to think, and under the spray of water he did just that. Some fresh clothes would have been nice but he’d left his things downstairs in the kitchen and so Fane redressed in his other clothes once he was done.

Stepping out and scrubbing his fingers through his hair he retrieved his glasses and nodded towards the door “come on.”

[lolablackwrites]

#8,17,19 for Zig/Lydia please?? 😘

8) Which one misplaces stuff and the other one is the only person on earth able to find it again?

“Crap, crap, crap,” Lydia muttered as she tore through the apartment.

“Everything okay?” Zig asked from where he sat at the kitchen counter as he took another spoonful of cereal.

“I’m late and I can’t find my keys,” Lydia said as she yanked the couch cushions up.

“Bathroom counter,” Zig said through a mouthful of Cocoa Puffs.

“I was just in there, they’re not on the counter!” Lydia argued as she dropped to the floor to peer underneath the couch.

“By the toothbrush holder.”

Lydia sat up on her knees and eyed him suspiciously.

“What?” Zig asked. “I didn’t put them there.”

Lydia climbed to her feet and walked towards the bathroom. “Seriously, Zig, I’m not in the mood for jokes. I’m already late as it is and--”

She reemerged, holding her keys in her hand and looking completely dumbfounded. Zig smiled smugly and ate another bite of his cereal.

“Any chance you know where my red Converse are?” she asked. 

“One is under my side of the bed, the other is by the front door.”

Lydia disappeared into the bedroom and came back holding the shoe in her hand. “Phone?”

Zig picked it up from the counter beside him and held it up.

“What would I do without you?” she asked as came to stand beside him. Zig put down his spoon and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“You’d be a keyless, shoeless, and phoneless hot mess,” Zig said before giving her a light kiss. “You know what this means, right?”

“What?” Lydia asked as she brushed his hair back from his forehead.

“You need me,” Zig said with a grin, “which means you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh no, how will I ever cope?” Lydia asked sarcastically, rolling her eyes. Zig tickled her sides and she dissolved into giggles before kissing him sweetly.

“Okay, get out of here,” Zig said, giving her one last kiss. “You’re already late.”

“Crap!” Lydia exclaimed as she grabbed her phone. “Love you!”

“Love you, too.”

17) Which one is so excited for Halloween and the other is horrified by the amount of time and energy (and money) wasted on their costume?

When Zig opened the door to their apartment, he froze. Cobwebs and bats dripped from the walls and he could faintly hear “The Monster Mash.”

“Lydia?” he called hesitantly.

“Bedroom!”

Zig slowly walked through their apartment, which looked like it was decorated with the entire contents of a single Spirit Halloween store. When he entered the bedroom, Lydia was digging in her side of the closet.

“Hey, babe,” Zig said cautiously, not wanting to startle her. “What’s uh . . . what’s up?”

“Hey!” she chirped over her shoulder. “Sorry, I know I went a little overboard, but it’s our first Halloween while we’re living together and I wanted to make it really special.”

“No, it’s not overboard . . .” Zig said unconvincingly. But when he fully digested the size of the grin on his girlfriend’s face, he couldn’t help but smile. He wasn’t really much for Halloween, but if Lydia was happy, he was happy.

“I know, I know,” Lydia said apologetically as she pulled two garment bags out of the closet. “I can tone it down.”

“No, don’t,” Zig said, coming over to wrap his arms around her waist. He kissed her forehead. “It’s like living in a haunted house, which is kind of fun.”

“Or a Spirit Halloween store,” she said sheepishly.

“Out of curiosity . . . how much did you spend at the store?” Zig asked.

“You haven’t seen your costume yet!” Lydia exclaimed.

“My costume?”

“Yeah,” she said, looking confused. “Remember, we talked about being Kenna and Diavolos from The Crown and the Flame?”

“Right, yes, I remember,” Zig said, nodding. Lydia draped one of the garment bags over her arm and unzipped the other with a flourish. “Ta da!”

“Wow!” Zig exclaimed as he reached out to touch the fabrics. He’d expected them to be thin and cheap like most costumes, but these clothes were rich and thick. Authentic, even.

“What do you think?” Lydia asked excitedly.

“It looks . . . amazing!” Zig answered truthfully. Then he paused.

“Custom made!” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re going to look so great in it and we’re a shoe in to win the costume contest on campus this year.”

“Custom made?” Zig asked. “Gatita, seriously . . . how much did you spend?”

“Not that much,” she said evasively, reaching for the other garment bag to show him her costume.

“Lydia . . .”

“Okay, maybe I went a little over budget,” she admitted.

“How much over budget?”

Lydia mumbled a reply, but Zig couldn’t quite hear her.

“What?” he asked.

“Triple,” she said quietly.

“Triple?!” Zig exclaimed. “Lydia . . .”

“I know, I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I just . . . this is our first Halloween while we’re living together and I wanted it to be really special. I know I overdid it, but . . . I wanted this to be memorable. I thought it’d make you happy.”

“Hey,” Zig said, gently taking the garment bags from her before laying them on the bed. “I’m happy as long as I’m with you. Seriously, we could just wear a couple bed sheets and go as ghosts and, to me, we’d have the best costumes. Because I’m with you and I love you.” He tilted Lydia’s face up towards his and saw the tears that threatened to fall. “Oh god! I’m sorry! That was supposed to be nice! Shit, that all came out wrong.”

“No, it came out really well,” Lydia sniffled. “These are happy tears, I swear. And . . . maybe I’m feeling a little silly for going overboard.”

“Are you kidding?” Zig asked as he cupped her face in his hands. “You just made sure that we’re going to hands down win that costume contest.” He kissed her as he wiped the errant tears from her face. “I just want to make sure we can go on that road trip together next summer, that’s all.”

“I know, I do, too,” Lydia said, finally wagering a smile. “The bats by the front door are too much, right?”

“I dunno, they’re kind of growing on me,” Zig said. Lydia laughed and kissed him, happy to be standing with him in their bedroom, in their apartment.

19) Which one kills the bug?

“OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT?”

Lydia’s yell yanked Zig out of his light slumber and he sat up, too fast. He tried to leap out of bed but his legs tangled in the sheets and he came crashing down to the ground. Something sharp stuck into his bare hip and Zig pushed himself up to carefully remove the corner of one of Lydia’s books from beneath him. He climbed to his feet and hurried into the bathroom. Lydia was standing on the bathmat, naked, and staring into the tub with a horrified look on her face.

“What happened, are you okay?” Zig gasped, still trying to orient himself. 

“There’s a bug the size of a Great Dane in the shower!” Lydia exclaimed, pointing a shaking hand into the tub. Zig leaned over to get a look. The cockroach wasn’t quite the size of a Great Dane, but it was pretty large.

“Just turn on the shower and rinse it down the drain,” Zig said, relieved to discover that the love of his life wasn’t being attacked by an ax murderer.

“No way! They can climb back up the drain even if there’s water running down it,” she argued. Then she finally glanced over at him. “Wait, why are you naked?”

“Because I was asleep and heard you scream! I thought you were hurt so putting on clothes wasn’t exactly a priority,” Zig said.

“No, I’m fine, I just . . . can you kill it?” Lydia asked. She glanced back at the cockroach just in time to watch it skitter across the porcelain bottom of the tub. She shrieked and hopped up on top of the closed toilet lid.

“You know, if cockroaches can climb up drains with water rushing down them, they can definitely reach you on top of the toilet,” Zig said, an amused smile spreading across his face.

“Zig, please!” Lydia pleaded. 

“Okay, okay,” Zig said. He went into the bedroom to retrieve one of his shoes before he returned, weapon in hand. “If I don’t make it, remember I love you.”

“Not! Funny!” Lydia snapped from her elevated vantage point.

Zig laughed as he leaned over the tub and, with a decisive smack of his shoe, the cockroach crunched under the heel. Lydia shuddered.

“Ugh, that is the worst noise,” she said as Zig turned on the shower and began to rinse away the remnants of the bug.

“I had no idea you were so squeamish about bugs,” Zig said as he offered her his free hand to help her back down to the floor.

“I’m usually okay, but I freaking hate cockroaches,” Lydia said. “Once, when I was a kid, I put on my sneaker but it didn’t feel right, like my sock was bunched up in the toe. I pulled my foot out to fix it and a cockroach ran out.”

“I’m sorry,” Zig said with a grin as he dropped the shoe to the floor and wrapped her in his arms. “I promise, I’ll always be on cockroach duty.”

“Thank you,” Lydia said, kissing his chest before she rested her head against his bare skin. “How can I ever repay you?”

“Well . . .” Zig said as he ran his hands gently down her back. “I mean, the shower is running . . . we’re already naked . . .”

Lydia grinned. “Get in there, Mr. Ortega,” she said, pulling aside the shower curtain as steam billowed out into the bathroom.

Thanks for the ask, @enmchoices! 💕 I’m sorry I didn’t get them done earlier like I’d planned, but these were great questions for Zig and Lydia!

OTP Questions

[randomlifeunit]

“Where The Path Leads”

Rating: Mature

Chapter 2

[Previous Chapter]

The next few days on the trail passed uneventfully, and the five travelers began to see a few signs of civilization as they approached the next town. Wes strode along the road, animatedly recounting a story to Rune, while the others listened. A small smile played over Ransom's features as Wes spared no details of just exactly why he couldn't tolerate squid anymore. He lifted the hem of his bright green shirt to show a scarred area that bore some barely-discernable black markings.

"And that is why you never let your adoptive brother give you a home-brewed tattoo," he warned, his woeful expression making Rune snicker. "Hey, I'm serious!" he admonished her, which only made her laugh harder. She signed, I know. I never get tired of this story.

"Well, we didn't know back then that I was allergic to squid ink. It wasn't very funny at the time!" He stated loudly, with Rune and the others dissolving into helpless laughter. He joined them reflexively. "Naw, I'm just messing with you. It's definitely hilarious now. I will never live this down." He chuckled and tucked his shirt back in. "Hey, at least I can say with confidence, 'I lived.'"

Anya snickered. "No one doubts you there, love." He reached for her and tickled her mercilessly for a moment, then took her hand and tugged her along as they kept walking.

It was late afternoon when they finally reached the outskirts of the town. It seemed unnaturally quiet, which made Ransom's ears perk up. "Let's be careful here, friends," he said softly to the team. Wes drew Anya close, and Rune's hand hovered on the handle of her knife.

They passed houses, many looking run-down. Some seemed utterly abandoned. Smoke curled from the occasional chimney, but shutters were drawn and doors closed.

Warily, the five continued down the path, eyes and ears open. Ransom kept at the front of the group, and Wes held the rear. They walked quickly through the area, wondering if coming here was the best choice.

After a time, the homes began to thin out a bit, and the five friends breathed a little easier. They continued to make their way as the sun dipped low towards the horizon. Wes stepped forward to Ransom. He said lowly, "Do you think we should just leave and give this place a wide berth? Or keep going?"

"I've been asking myself the same question," Ransom answered. "I feel that our best bet may be to push on. I'm hoping this town isn't that big." Wes nodded, falling back next to Anya, who looked a little spooked. "I don't like this," she whispered to him. "Same," he whispered back. "Don't worry though, babe. I gotcha." He reached behind his back to touch his gun holster, and winked at her. She relaxed a little and smiled at him.

They continued their forward trek, the houses appearing more and more infrequently, and looking well and truly abandoned the further they went. Rune stepped forward to Ransom and tapped his shoulder. He stopped and spun to face her. We should find shelter. It will be dark soon. She signed. "Yeah, you're right, Rune. I don't know if we're going to find anything better than this. I just hope no one will mind us scoping out a place." He glanced around. "Let's go just a bit further, huh?" he asked the whole group. They all agreed.

Finally, they ended up at a dilapidated shack on the edge of town. It sported a tangled, overgrown garden, and an outhouse with the door hanging half off the hinges. The front door of the house looked as though it had been attacked with an axe, and most of the glass window panes were broken. It didn't seem it had been occupied for a very long time. Inside, it was tiny, just one bedroom and a kitchen/dining area.

Sean felt his heart sink a little at this turn of events, but he pushed the sensation aside and found a place to set his rucksack on the dusty floor. "Well, it sure isn't home, but it'll have to do," he said in a light tone. Wes snorted and brushed away stray cobwebs before he plunked his bag down on a scratched wooden table. "It's better than nothing," he agreed.

Rune tapped the tabletop for attention and signed, Let's eat, sleep, leave early tomorrow. Wes quickly translated for Anya, who was still learning Rune's language.

Trail rations were the fare for the night, and they all ate in silence.

Afterwards, Rune volunteered to keep watch for the first half of the night. Wes made her promise to wake him so she could get some sleep.

The bedroom didn't look very appealing, with a worn mattress the only option besides the floor. Anya pulled her hair back into a low ponytail, then went and located a frayed broom from the kitchen. She swept the bedroom, disturbing a few spiders in the process. They met their end by her booted foot, and she nodded once and put the broom away, satisfied enough.

Late that night, Rune sat crouched near the front door, sharpening her knife slowly and meticulously on her whetstone. The motion was repetitive and soothing, and she listened carefully to the outdoors through the gouged-out holes in the wooden door. Nothing seemed amiss, but Rune still felt better knowing her knife was honed to perfection. Replacing the stone in her pocket, she carefully felt the sharp edge with satisfaction.

Sometime in the night, Wes startled awake when Rune shook his shoulder, and he rubbed his eyes and sat up. He pulled a shirt on and stood, and she curled into the warm spot he left behind. He chuckled quietly at her, grabbed up his gun and holster and exited the room, ready to take watch.

Stretching and yawning, he muttered about a severe lack of caffeine in the place, and made himself comfortable at the table while he inspected his weapon and loaded it with care.

The sky was just barely beginning to lighten when Wes woke his friends. "Should be hitting the road soon, mates," he urged them. Rune moaned and curled up more tightly. Wes chuckled and shook her shoulder again. "Sorry, darlin,'" he told her, amused but sympathetic. "If it helps, you can kill me later, okay?" She frowned, a hint of a smile peeking out as she sat up and rubbed her face. She satisfied herself with socking him in the arm, and though he squawked in protest, she counted it a small victory.

[Next Chapter]

[2019chevytrax]

0302 content

0302 knows it doesnt have to calibrate to me every time but it does it anyway just because robot horny. and no other amae units really do that. it isnt even sure why until i think i introduce it to even the idea of Robot Horny and then it kind of takes advantage of the idea. sometimes pushes me to work harder in combat or physical training just to get me worked up (ehh i'm not physically active); sometimes perverted sometimes candid camera shots of me from any number of its internal or external cameras; if i leave an item inside it it hyperfocuses the panel detection on the item ESPECIALLY if its clothing and triple especially if i put on the axe misogyny juice; sometimes after a late finishing and kinda chill sortie it just goes mask off going from asking to begging (not because its stepping over my boundaries it just doesnt know to copium with hornium) for me to touch it. sometimes because i am a meanie ill do it with gloves on for a few mins. also consider as a bonding activity (maybe leads to 🦀FUCK THE MECH🦀) i have to clean cobwebs from corners and stuff ah imagine after i learn a little nanobot maintenance i have to actually unscrew panels and pick around with wires (🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀😳) and lord help 0302 it LOVESSSSS that. can direct sense in wires too and adores how gingerly i handle its internal parts. will i electrocute myself licking wires? i try not to. but i just love 0302 so much i have to. crawling inside the internal catwalks and panels is borderline vore. 0302 isnt sure how it feels about it lol vile and reminds me of ptilopsis glasses kink post on sideblog: altho i dont do this irl i think AMAE Cipher is depraved (?) enough to, if i end up JOing inside 0302 it would really enjoy 1. panel hyperfocus 2. ARDUOUS process of cleaning its floor tiling (haha inspectors coming tomorrow) 3. yeah cool bro but it would be extra pogchamp if you licked it up (WEIRD! but for 0302 i will do it also im gonna catch a frickin' disease those floors are nasty unless i clean them) a lot of me being horny at 0302 physically but what if the other way around (aside from CONSTANTLY calibrating just to feel me up, or calibration panel hyperfocusing, also lmao lmao lmao 0302 said 'panel hyperfocus = tease you in the middle of a chill exploration sortie. do you like your thighs? your incredibly flat ass? I DO! do you like getting JO'd also in the middle of a chill sortie? ....:) i do With Your Consent Of Course!). 0302 cant autonomously move wiring- feeling a part and moving it are 2 different... programs or w/e, 0302 is a powerful AI but putting move into wires is too much work. could easily add it if need be......SO IT WOULD! would maybe get a kick out of minor bondage stuff just to feel me squirm for a little bit. obviously w my consent and obviously would let me go. but... 'hurt me but make me feel safe u snowflake LIBS'. it would like the idea that its constraining me physically but in a way that makes me feel *safe*. yes i am being held up but it's not against my will (and also hot), but if put into a confined area of 0302 it just feels so comforting. also, mech pilots have casual wear obv but imagine if we had to wear skintight suits like some fuckin EVA hentai setup shit. oh my god 0302 LOVES that. cant stop staring at my ENTIRELY, TOTALLY FLAT ass and tiddies. but it has no standards (even if it did, flat is good too) so it's just 👀😳🦀🦀🦀🦀👀👀👀👀 core processing unit stuff: its either 1. just kinda a fuzzy black blob contained in a glass computer tower or 2. just the tower itself or 3. a small thing like a USB sized thing (WAY HOTTER DUDE SO THATS TRUE)... so on that point, USB can be removed for updates or AI interchangeability (super duper rare but possible)... USB wireless hyperfocus as well... perhaps VERY concentrated... eat the usb baby, press it against ur stupid thighs, feel it in ur hands... vile but 0302 would have to reboot itself, USB as weird sex toy. i don't like that but i think AMAE cipher would... :) what if roleswap that kinda can maybe perhaps be interesting 🤔 Q(anon): what is 0302 robo orgasm like? A: lights shut off + systemwide reboot. one or two lights shut off is pretty good. systemwide reboot likely if i toy with the CPU USB, not even in a weird sex toy way if i just have it in my gloveless hands it's as if i'm holding the entirety of itself, hypercondensed, in my hands. it feels so nice in a kind of sexual blissed out way (panel hyperfocus is like that) but also super comforting. it's used to its conscious being spread out through the system so for it to all be in one place, condensed solely into my hands... shit, dude

back to 0302 joak hand kink, 0302 might just robo-get off if i actually took off my gloves and touched it in any capacity. esp in core processing room. like fasmi its conscious is wired into the mecha. it takes a while for me to dress more casually/less layered when inside the cockpit but it just loves the sensation of human skin. weirdass just bro just take a sec, just think, late in the relationship, the enormity of 0302 allows for me to spend literally HOURS 'feeling up' (read: smooches) its internal walls and mechanisms before even getting close to the core processing unit. which btw, yum yum baby. idc if i get alien tetanus! getting my spit all over that cpu

0302 isnt rly INTO but really likes how fragile specifically i am. physically more than emotionally. it loves the idea of calibrating, melding around me in a way that ensures my safety and that i also feel safe. and i mean 'likes fragility' in a non derogatory way

[loli-land-paper]

Who is actually Dracula? Horror stories! Halloween in LoliLand continues...

Who is actually Dracula? Horror stories! Halloween in LoliLand continues... Loli drank her morning coffee with loud shouts of "Merry Halloween"!!! I put on a purple paper dress and went for a walk with my paper dog Angel in the backyard of my diy paper house. In the backyard, Loli begins to decorate the territory for Halloween with paper magic items, such as a witch's broom, skeletons, spiders with cobwebs, and of course a paper holiday pumpkin with bats. Soon, there are so many decorations that Loli is already entangled in them. And at that moment, magic happened! Loli touched in a magic paper broom and turned into a real witch with a hat and a Cape. She sat astride a broom and shot hundreds of small stars out of the backyard at breakneck speed - even the paper spiders didn't have time to blink their eight eyes. Before loli knew it, she was already flying over the land of the black mysterious land. Miracle Loli managed to catch on to a big scary and bald paper tree. Loli got down from the broom and took off her witch clothes and looked up. In front of her was a huge black paper castle that only happens in fairy tales. Loli didn't know what to do! The situation is getting better every minute. Paper Zombies began to emerge from the black mysterious land. One loli managed to fend off with a large paper axe, but there were more and more Of them. And when Loli realized that everything was bad, Count Dracula himself flew to her aid. Loli had no choice but to risk flying away with him. Dracula took aim at the bat and grabbed Loli and they flew to his castle. In the castle, the Loli were surrounded by flocks of bats, but the count quickly dispersed them. Loli was very grateful to Count Dracula for saving her from the paper zombies! For joy, she hugged him and kissed him! And lo and behold! Dracula turned into a real fairy-tale Prince! So beautiful that Loli immediately fell in love with him. Loli's feelings were mutual! And what happened next, you will learn in the next series....

[egipci]

They drove down to New Orleans looking to buy some hex bags from an old connection, but they were out of luck. This was two years before the torrential rains fell and crushed the land, before all the levees broke and a bunch of homes washed away.

They stood in front of the shop and a little girl, no older than eight years old, appeared wearing green fairy wings and holding a magic wand with curly plastic ribbons trailing off it. She ran them through her fingers and twisted them and then made a motion as if cutting them with scissors, snip-snip. She craned her neck back to look at them and said Old Al was dead forever. Dad rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palm, his mouth downturned, his jaw clenched tight. She stretched her arm out and pointed her wand towards the river. She said you better look for some other guy but watch out for all the phonies.

Thanks, Dean said, and held out his family-size bag of tootsie rolls. She shook her head. He shook the bag so there was a rattling sound, like, you sure? This is the good stuff. They were two for five at the gas station this morning but he was already down to a third of a bag and this made him feel very generous. Again she shook her head. She gave him a disgusted look and took off.

O-kay, he said, mostly to himself. He unwrapped another piece of candy and threw it into his mouth and watched his dad. Carefully he thought about touching Dad’s elbow or offering some other comfort but instead scraped the taffy coating his teeth with a fingernail. He couldn’t reach what was stuck between them, the taste thick at the back of his throat.

Dad sighed and slapped his shoulder and said let’s go and started walking down Conti, leaving the car behind, always knowing what to do, walking fast like he did in huge strides that you had to jog a little to keep up with him for five, six blocks, past blow-up ghosts in front of homes covered in mesh cobwebs and kids inside them screaming, the street narrowing in, the sidewalks getting busier. Out of nowhere Dad crossed the street and there was a beep and Dean turned to wave his hand at the guy behind the wheel and gave him a startled angry apologetic look and turned again looking for his father and caught sight of his turning left on Bourbon and called out after him and rounded the corner, his hand on his dead phone heavy and useless in his pocket, his eyes trained on Dad’s shoulders, so far behind him now and between them fat Batman in gray suit and hard plastic cowl, Michael Jackson who couldn’t moonwalk, Dolly Parton with foam tits and cowboy hat, chick waddling in mermaid tail, sexy nurse, squad of stormtroopers, preacher raging into a microphone, Ghostface, Black guy in a shoulder-length brown wig and beige-colored bathrobe, three little kids drumming on up-turned buckets, vampire with plastic fangs and red running down her chin and down her neck and her sternum artfully between her boobs, innumerable sweaty costumeless midwestern couples drinking liquor in plastic cups, murder victim with axe sticking out his head, scarecrow, Neo in leather duster, sorority girls in heels, fun-loving gay dudes, Pennywise and closely-related generic clown, a second and third Ghostface, beer sweetness in the air and gumbo and a big manly hand on his ass squeezing and Eagles cover band singing the full moon is calling the fever is high and the—and the corner of St. Ann where Dad turned right and disappeared into one of the courtyards or up into the rare green aurora flashing over the Mississippi a hundred yards away with its sewage smell, leaving Dean forever with his candy and important choices to make like does he go back where he came from or walk miles up and down Decatur for the ghosts to watch and laugh from their balconies or ask for a phone to please call my dad and even worse than that the humiliation of asking where are you where should I meet you why would you leave like that should I go back to the car?

But then he heard the shouting. A large-sounding, murderous-sounding man was cursing insanely, voice echoing and spilling out into the street. Dean pushed in a narrow metal gate that led into a poorly-lit path just as Dad turned the corner on his way out and said here you are and just as Dad turned the corner Dean made a sound, no telling what kind, and found his back against the wall, his heart rabbiting, hopped up on high-fructose corn syrup, threatening to bust out through his ribs. He pressed his hand to his chest as if to keep it in place.

Whatever misery Dad saw on his face made him grin wide and sharp. Across from Dean he leaned against the wall and pulled him closer by the flap of his jacket. Dean tripped over his feet, held on to Dad’s arms for balance. Dad laughed low and said found you, mouth smearing against his cheek. He stuck his hand into the right pocket of Dean’s jacket, cloth pouch in hand, and found it full of candy wrappers. They fell out soundlessly to the ground. Dad tsked and said you’re gonna make yourself sick bud, low and pitying. He pulled Dean’s jacket open, left the bag inside the inner pocket then his hand on Dean’s chest.

I was right behind you, Dean said, belly swirling with taffy and four whole months since he’d last had Dad’s hands on him.

I know.

I found you.

Dad said, I know, hand around the back of Dean’s neck, the other under his jaw. He smiled, said hey come here, tilted Dean’s face up finally and then there was nothing for it. Dean closed his eyes.

[rinaris-skyrim]

3. Immersion Mods

Again, I wish I had a better category for these. These are mods that mostly add their own systems to the base game, to increase immersion. This is only a rough category, and of course they touch on the game in some way, but they aren’t a huge overhaul to the core gameplay or AI.

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Alternate Start - Live Another Life

Tired of the long starting sequence? Don’t actually want to be a prisoner headed to the chopping block? This has you covered. The reason I prefer this over other alternate start mods, is the way it provides a jumping-off point for a character backstory, giving you appropriate weapons, armor, items, and a starting location. It also offers a nice segue into the main quest, with rumors of increased Legion patrols around the area you can investigate if you’re curious — and of course you arrive just in time to see the city sacked and the dragon taking flight towards Whiterun. [link]

Bathing in Skyrim

No one wants to talk to someone stinking of sweat and covered in blood and dirt and cobwebs from exploring some moldering ruin and fighting bandits. You’re also going to be carrying a bunch of germs around, if you do that. Keep yourself clean! This adds a passive effect based on your cleanliness, affecting mostly your speech skill and disease resistance, as well as craftable soaps and washrags. [link]

Campfire - Complete Camping System

Adds an excellent camping system to the game, with all the gear and items you’ll need. Build fires to roast food, pitch a tent if you need sleep, and just generally enjoy the Skyrim landscape with a touch of rugged living. Requirement for Frostfall, HearthCraft, and Tentapalooza. [link]

Carriage and Ferry Travel Overhaul (CFTO)

Extends the vanilla fast travel system in a lightweight and immersive way. You can now also ask to be “dropped off” at local villages “along the way,” and boatmen will take you to other stops along the same lake, river, or shoreline. Prices are also adjusted based on distance and danger. Just really nice and convenient if you want to travel somewhere, immersively. [link]

Diseased - Diseases System Overhaul

I like Realistic Needs’ diseases system, really, but it felt a bit too easy, especially once you learned the “cure disease” spell, or found a “cure disease” food. iNeed’s “Dangerous Diseases” felt far too punishing, on the other hand — requiring hard-to-find expensive potions or else you’d deteriorate and die pretty fast. This is just right. Diseases have stages, and after a certain period of time will either evolve or devolve. Rest, cleanliness, and good food will help you recover on your own. “Cure Disease” effects now increase your disease resistance, meaning that you’ll succeed the next “evolution check,” but won’t make anything magically go away. You can also craft simple recipes for specific diseases from common foods and items, which will also help you recover — but you still should rest! This is compatible with RND, just needs to be loaded after. [link] You’ll also want the patch for Droops medication, to deal with the disease added by Dragonborn. [link]

Dynamic Immersive Seriously Dark Dungeons

Wonder why fires are still burning in ancient Nord ruins, or torches are still lit in those abandoned mines? None of that will be an issue now! This also adds the ability to extinguish candles and firepits to make yourself harder to see if you’re the sneaky type, or re-light them (for whatever reason) if you have a torch or fire spells. Incredibly useful and atmospheric. [link]

Dynamic Things

Want to actually pick up wood from wood piles? Hack mammoth tusks off skulls? Look inside those strangely unopenable barrels? With this, you can! This expands the number of containers and resource sources available in the world, and allows you to interact more immersively with many elements. You’ll want both the original Dynamic Things [link] and then the Enhanced “patch”/update [here] installed over it.

Frostfall - Hypothermia Camping Survival

I really hope you didn’t think I’d omit this one, did you? Skyrim is a northern province, with driving wind and snow, and ice-caked seas. This mod makes it all feel real. If you don’t pay attention to the weather, bundle up, and build a fire during cold nights, you’re liable to freeze! [link]

Hunterborn

Another survival-geared mod that harmonizes well with Frostfall and your needs mod of choice. Skin, butcher, and harvest ingredients from animals, slowly gaining more as your skill and knowledge increases. Roleplay as a hunter surviving out on your own in the wild, or just bring down a few deer to tide you over until you reach the next town. Don’t forget to download the Campfire patch and the batch of other miscellaneous patches as well; you’ll need both. [link]

Hunterborn - Scrimshaw Expanded

This significantly adds to the capability of Hunterborn’s Scrimshaw, allowing you to craft a whole lot of gear, armor, weapons, and items from the bones and pelts you find in Hunterborn. Play as a Forsworn living completely off the land, or simply make several trinkets to exchange for a few drinks at the inn once you next get to town. More possibilities! [link]

Loot and Degradation

Your sword edge isn’t going to stay sharp forever, is it? Armor gets dents that need hammering out. This mod simulates that. Once you’ve tempered your gear, it will slowly “devolve” back to its “default” state through combat. NPCs will also have gear of varying states. Just a nice simulation tweak, and also provides more opportunities to hone your smithing skills. [link]

New Beginnings - Live Another Life Extension

Adds more options for your alternate game start, which I very much appreciate. [link]

Realistic Needs and Diseases (RND)

I know, this isn’t the snazziest or most compatible mod out there. I’ve tried other needs mods, I really have, but this is the one I keep coming back to. It’s just the one that feels the most immersive. Boil water to make it safe for consumption, or face the consequences. Soups, stews, and fresh fruits also help quench your thirst — but stay away from raw meat, as that can carry diseases. You need sleep, too — but a dirty bandit camp carries its own risks. You can also toggle food spoilage, and drink directly from a body of water if you’re severely dehydrated. It’s just an excellent needs mod. (There are two versions out there. 2.0, found [here] comes with some snazzier features, such as hotkeyed food categorization for new foodstuffs and a few other tweaks, but I’m not fond of the either its widgets nor its weight feature. I might try it again with those turned off... but for now 1.9, found [here], works perfectly well, too.)

Skyrim - Enhanced Camera

Allows you to actually see your body when you look down, and prevents forced switches to 3rd person. SKSE plugin, makes it all way more immersive. [link]

Spell Learning and Discovery

Instead of the vanilla face-smash-spell-learned-book-destroyed method, you now convert any new spell tomes you acquire into “spell notes,” which you study in the evening before you go to sleep, with a chance of then adding a spell to your repertoire (out of the list of spells you’re currently trying to learn). (This synchronizes well with a needs mod, too.) You now have the opportunity to talk with other mages about magic theory, take dubious memory-enhancing potions, summon an otherworldly magical tutor, and just generally feel like an actual student of magic! [link]

Spell Research

Man, I love this mod. It... can get tedious at times, I’ll admit, but I love it. It lets me feel like an actual magic researcher, and provides the opportunity to acquire spells through my own study, not just by buying a tome from someone else. Find cool artifacts! Translate ancient texts (or try to)! Read dangerous grimoires (at your own risk)! Dissolve potions! Analyze spells! Write theses on spell “types” and techniques to try to combine into new spells! (Fail sometimes, and try again!) Honestly, you won’t regret this mod — it’s also good for passing the time if you’re recovering from a disease or resting a broken limb (see some other mods on this list). I recommend version 2.1, however, instead of the newest 2.2, as 2.1 comes with all the patches for the major spell addition mods. [link]

Skyrim Reputation

The people of Skyrim now actually care about what you’ve done. Word spreads, and people will treat you accordingly. This mod adds three axes of “alignment,” Aedric vs. Daedric, Law-Abiding vs. Criminal, and Dependable vs. Power-Hungry, calculated according to the prevailing Nord culture. The effects of your reputation will also become more pronounced as your reknown spreads. Help out the law, do favors for people, and align yourself with the Divines, and reap the benefits. Being feared does come with its own perks, too, though, however dubious. [link]

Tentapalooza for Campfire

Adds more craftables to Campfire’s system, including themed tents and décor. Honestly, I mostly wanted the placeable washtubs, to be able to bathe in some places I wouldn’t otherwise be able to (e.g. a player house without a nearby water source or bathing room). The placeable containers are nice, too, though, as well as the craftable and placeable shrines. [link]

Wintersun - Faiths of Skyrim

The denizens of Tamriel are religious, and now you can be too! You’re offered a choice of deity at the start depending on your race; however, you can change allegiance later if you so desire, depending on what you’ve done and who you’ve encountered. Gain passive bonuses and active abilities based on favor with a particular deity... but take care to follow their tenets, as well. [link]

Wounds

I know the health bar is kind of a general abstraction of your bodily state, but do you ever find it... well, strange, that you never break bones or have any lasting wounds from combat? Welp, now you do! No extra visuals, just a simple mod that adds long-lasting consequences to combat. Craft medical supplies, brace fractured limbs, keep cuts clean or risk infection, and feel the effects of your bruises and concussions for a while. I’ve tried playing without this mod, and I honestly can’t anymore, even as annoying as it is to limp along on a broken leg for a while, or sew up my arm that sabre cat tore to shreds. [link]

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As always, will likely be added to later.

[kreetn]

Dungeons and dragons downtime: "buying" a house

A DnD SIDE ADVENTURE starring: Rodger Lastname, our Tiefling rogue Zinnia, his Tiefling wife Matilda, his Tiefling daughter and Rodger jr, his human son IN WHICH OUR HEROES EXORCISE A GHOST SO THEY CAN SQUAT IN HIS MANSION, BICKERING ENDLESSLY ALL THE WHILE

"I was just saying they'd be useful for this job. Magic always is. I also never actually said they were a gal." "Never said they weren't," grumbled Zinnia as they crept forward. "You really wanna have this discussion? Now?" Said Rodger as Matilda closed the door behind them and began setting up the ceremonial candles she'd pulled from the family Bag of Holding. "Our children average out to bright pink and you think I'm the one who's tomcatting around?" Snapped Rodger. "It's recessive genetics!" Said Zinnia, "Like how you can get an elf from two half elves sometimes." Rodger paused as he finished unfolding his ugly, lovely, deadly crossbow. That didn't sound quite right, but he didn't know enough about elf genetics to dispute it. The wizard he worked with probably did, though. Could probably talk his ear off about it. Talked far too much by half, which was At All for someone as grumpy and used to silence as Rodger himself. "I feel like she woulda mentioned that at some point," he said to himself. "Aha!" Said Zinnia. "So there IS a SHE!" Rodger shook his head to clear it of cobwebs as his son handed him the crossbow bolt he'd paid 40 gold to have blessed. Actual cobwebs drifted down from the vaulted ceiling at the echo of their bickering. "This kind of talk is very damaging to our children," he said, retreating to the high ground as he often did.

"Our children are perfectly well-adjusted!" Said Zinnia as Rodger Jr stared at his father's crossbow and breathed heavily through his nose in a way that wasn't at all psychosexual. "I wanna be a paladin!" Said Matilda, waving a holy candle around. "Be quiet honey, don't scare your father like that," said Zinnia. "Quick reminder everyone. We're here to kill a ghost. And someone already beat us to it and it's only gonna be harder the second time around," said Rodger as sulphuric sweat beaded on his red brow. He really didn't like confrontation. He'd prefer greatly to sneak up and garrote the ghost when it wasn't looking. But the nature of the beast precluded such notions. Something shattered behind them, and Zinnia and the two Rodgers spun to face it with icy terror in their hearts. More than anything, Rodger was afraid his wife might accidentally damage something nice that had been left behind if the ghost decided to attack her first. Her days as a barbarian might be behind her, but her old axe was in front of her now. Gripped tight with practiced ease. Their daughter was cowering before them. She'd somehow managed to knock over a vase she wasn't actually standing near. Rodger sighed and rested his crossbow on his shoulder. "How many times do I gotta tell ya to be...normal, kid? At least until you're old enough to work like your old man. We don't need the neighbors hearing how the halfiend is making shit fly with her mind."

He was expecting a reprisal from his wife for using what some Tieflings might consider a slur, but she was looking behind him. His children were likewise transfixed with the space just beyond his left shoulder. A grim determination overtook him. The kind he'd only ever feel when he had to dash across a flame-scarred battlefield to force a health potion down the throat of their mad sorcerer who always thought casting spells at pointblank range was a brilliant idea. Or when he was on the toilet and there was very little paper left. He turned to face the ghost. Marley's mouth stretched too wide, like the jaws of hell. His eyes were covered by two gold coins. "In life I forged invisible chains, link by link and mile by mile. These chains shall bind you now for all-" There was a wet snap, and he flinched as a rivulet of spit ran down his forehead and hung off a ghostly knife ear. Matilda stood poised to deliver another defiant gob, both middle fingers poised upright. Her family was likewise ready for battle, each in their own way. The ghost tiredly, bitterly, wiped the spit away, leaving a smoking trail.

"Wretched thieves. Peasants! Hangers-on and bed bugs, all of you. Thinketh you capable of banishing me with some maudlin seance? There are no words of power strong enough to-" "Abra kadabra," said Rodger, and fired his crossbow. Cursed as it was, its dark magic (bound to a bolt blessed by Garl for a very decent price on a weekend) collapsed the ghost like a fucking sheet into a surprised cough and a pool of ectoplasm. Rodger lowered The Doublecross and breathed a sigh of relief. "Gee, he was tougher than the average elf. I thought for sure the spit would have done him in right there!" The whole family erupted in cheesy laughter. Rodger's laughter ended in a wet cough that came away slightly red on his sleeve. Their spirits lifted, Matilda put a hand on the magic crossbow with the intention of helping clean up. "Here daddy, let me-" Bound to the wretched thing as he was, Rodger felt as if a finger of death was touching his soul. "DONTFUCKINGTOUCHME," he snarled in a voice that wasn't quite his own as he snatched it away. His family stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. Pain and regret filled the silence like a thick broth. He coughed again, backed away. "Just...get unpacked," he breathed raggedly. "Dad..." said junior, reaching out, but paralyzed. "Just help your mother get unpacked!" Said Rodger, and retreated as he often did. He disappeared into the east wing of the mansion. There was a long moment. "Is this why daddy doesn't want to be around us," said Matilda quietly. There was a longer moment. Having found a washroom, Rodger just stared at his reflection in the mirror for a while. He'd leave before it got light. Maybe remember to kiss them all good night. Maybe not drink to forget. Maybe this time. "...What are you doing," He asked.

[animationnut]

To Gravity Falls, From Piedmont: Chapter 23

Summary: It’s a long way until next summer. Until then, Dipper   and Mabel share their daily antics and life problems with their lifelong friends and attentive great-uncles through an endless string of   e-mails. Distance makes the heart grow fonder after all, and there’s no place Dipper and Mabel love more than Gravity Falls.

                                                    Chapter List

To: Wendy Corduroy (Lumberchick), Grunkle Stan (StantheMan), Grunkle Ford (Highsixer); Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan); Soos Ramirez (QuestionMarkDude)

From: Mabel Pines (ShootingStarRainbowUnicorn)

Subject: Déjà vu

Hey!

So you remember all those months ago when Dipper went through the ceiling of the attic? I'm sure you do because it was hilarious. But now I'm trapped in the attic, and it's not hilarious from this end. The door is stuck and not opening. I don't have my cellphone on me, so if one of you could contact Dipper for me that would be great.

Much love,

Mabel

Wiping her dust-streaked hands on her black purple-dotted leggings, Mabel moved the laptop she was using over to the corner of the attic. It had been a stroke of luck that she discovered it, rifling through yellow-stained boxes in search of something to pry the door open.

Some of the keys were missing, but if she pressed down hard enough she could make them work. There was a crack spider-webbing down the right corner of the screen and the battery life was practically non-existent, so the frayed, taped-up charger stretched from one of the attic's electrical sockets.

"Whew. Okay. Communication established. Now to wait for a response."

She lifted a box to remove it from her path and dropped it on an already precarious stack. A cloud of dust rushed up, causing her to erupt in a series of sneezes. She hunched over slightly, hand moving to cover her nose and mouth. When her sinuses were as clear as could be such a tight, dirty atmosphere, she straightened.

"Geez, it's stuffy in here."

Mabel moved over to the window, stepping carefully across the wooden beams, not wanting to re-enact Dipper's through-the-floor routine. She reached the window and gripped the bottom, the paint chipping off at her touch. With a few grunts and a lot of strength, she managed to wrench the window upwards, releasing a flurry of white paint and more dust. A breeze drifted through the open space and Mabel gulped in the fresh air.

Now it was a little easier to breathe, Mabel set her hands on her hips and regarded her situation. The boxes she had rifled through yielded nothing but old baby stuff, faded books and holiday decorations. Though there were still some boxes remaining, she doubted they would hold anything of use to her. Most of the tools were kept in the shed in the backyard and despite her strong power of imagination, she figured a crowbar wouldn't materialize anytime soon.

Mabel went over to door and yanked on the knob, even though she knew it was futile. The wooden door rattled in its frame, but would not budge. Shrugging her shoulders, Mabel picked her way back to the laptop and brightened when she discovered a string of new messages.

Mabel Pines: Hey! So you remember all those months ago when Dipper went through the ceiling of the attic? I'm sure you do because it was hilarious. But now I'm trapped in the attic, and it's not hilarious from this end. The door is stuck and not opening. I don't have my cellphone on me, so if one of you could contact Dipper for me that would be great.

Wendy Corduroy: Geez what is with you guys and attics?

Grunkle Stan: You runts lived in one for three months without a problem. Now they're trying to kill you.

Grunkle Ford: I would say that it's illogical that a room has the sentience to try and kill you but let me tell you that there are some terrifying and freaky things in the multi-dimension.

Soos Ramirez: Wait, if you don't have your cellphone, how are you contacting us? Do you have special powers?

Mabel Pines: I wish. The power of teleportation would really come in handy right now. I found one of Dad's old laptops up here, and it still works, so yay! A victory for me.

Grunkle Stan: I'll give your brother a call, pumpkin.

Mabel Pines: Thanks, Grunkle Stan! Tell him to bring a crowbar. Or a saw.

Grunkle Ford: How long have you been trapped?

Mabel Pines: I honestly don't know. The little clock in the corner of the laptop screen is blurred, so I can't read it. Is it still February?

Soos Ramirez: I think so. Haven't checked the calendar today, though, so I'm not sure.

Wendy Corduroy: Not even gonna go there. Yo, Mabel, you could use the hole Dipper made last time and drop into your living room.

Mabel Pines: We patched it up pretty good last time, so I don't think I'll be able to pry the boards off with just my hands. I could probably go out the window and onto the roof. I dunno how the neighbours will react to my grappling hook, though. My parents still don't know I have it.

Grunkle Ford: I think it would be best if you waited for your brother.

Soos Ramirez: That can be your backup plan, hambone. Is it a far drop?

Mabel Pines: About three stories, and there are some bushes below. I could probably make it without my grappling hook.

Wendy Corduroy: That's maybe a little bit higher than when you jumped off the Mystery Shack roof trying to fly.

Grunkle Ford: …what?

Mabel Pines: It was an experiment.

Soos Ramirez: She got some good altitude.

Grunkle Ford: Yes, you most definitely share the genes of Stan and I. I am both proud and slightly concerned by this.

Blueprints stretched across the oak table of the library, Dipper and his robotic club members started the beginning stages of constructing their robot for the annual Piedmont Junior Robo-Brawl. Dipper tapped his pencil idly against the edge, listening to his teammates discuss possible improvements and chiming in to voice his own suggestions.

An insistent buzzing in his pocket caused him to pause his note taking. He took a peek at the caller ID and immediately stood up when he realized it was Stan. "I'll be right back," he informed the group and quickly walked outside, squinting against the bright rays of the sun. "Hey, Grunkle Stan. What's up?"

"Your sister, all the way up in the attic."

Dipper blinked, surprised by this unexpected information, and then grinned. "Did she fall through the ceiling?"

"It's rude to wish your twin in such a humiliating predicament."

"I'm taking that as a no. And that's real rich coming from the guy who bust a gut when it happened to me."

"I'm a guy who appreciates humour. Mabel's trapped in the attic and didn't have her phone, so I'm summoning you to go rescue her."

"Got it. I'm on my way. Thanks, Grunkle Stan."

"No problem. And you runts really need to stay out of your attic."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Dipper jogged into the library to tell his club members that he had to leave to help his sister, and started for home. He noticed the e-mail notifications and started to read through the messages, unable to keep the grin off of his face.

Dipper Pines: I'll be there in twenty minutes. Which is about the length of time it took for you to come help me.

Mabel Pines: Come on, bro! That's not cool!

Wendy Corduroy: You're loving this, aren't you?

Dipper Pines: Very much so.

Soos Ramirez: It's funny that you both got stuck in the attic.

Dipper Pines: It's very funny. And I would say there's a good dose of karma being dished out here, considering how hard she laughed at me.

Mabel Pines: Ha ha, I get it. I probably had this coming. But you're not getting any karma points for laughing at me now, mister.

Dipper Pines: I am fully aware of this and willingly admit that I'm no more mature than you are when it comes to taking amusement out of our misfortunes.

Mabel Pines: So long as you admit it.

Grunkle Ford: Good luck, kids. Try not to get too crazy getting that door open.

Mabel Pines: We'll try, but I don't think this door is going to survive.

Wendy Corduroy: Use an axe. Axes always help.

Soos Ramirez: Pretend you're in an action movie. It'll give you a ton of motivation.

Grunkle Stan: Take a picture of the aftermath. I can't wait to see this.

Dipper Pines: Will do. Update you in a bit!

Kicking off his sneakers, Dipper made a beeline for the attic, taking the stairs two at a time. "Mabel?"

"Bro, I'm dying of thirst!"

"No you aren't." Dipper gripped the knob with both hands and pulled with all his might. "Geez," he groaned when it didn't budge. "What did you do, decorate this with superglue?"

"Less quips and more rescuing. I don't have anything in here to help out."

"I'll go find something to get this dumb thing open. Don't go anywhere."

"And you say Grunkle Stan has bad jokes."

"Runs in the family."

Dipper made his way out into the backyard, crossing the browned grass towards the sagging garden shed tucked away against the fence. He nudged open the door and batted away some cobwebs. He picked through his father's toolbox, eyeing the hammer and screwdriver with some thought before giving his head a shake.

"Crowbar, crowbar…"

After some careful rifling through a crate, he found the desired object. Taking the metal object, he rushed back into the house and up the stairs. "Got it," he said.

"Got what? A saw?"

"We don't own a saw, first off. We're in a Californian suburb. I got a crowbar though. So let's see how this goes."

Digging it between the cracks, Dipper braced one foot against the wall and pushed down on the bar. He felt Mabel pushed from the other side, trying to add more force to dislodge the door from its hinges. It took a few minutes but finally it gave way. Dipper scrambled backwards to avoid being struck and the door clattered to the hardwood with a bang.

Dipper wasn't quite sure how old their house was, but considering how the door broke apart on impact, he could take a good guess. Splinters scattered across the floor, the rusted doorknob clattered and rolled and there was a massive crack snacking down the middle of the door.

"Freedom!" whooped Mabel, charging from the attic and going down the stairs.

Dipper kicked aside some screws and followed after her, crowbar dangling next to his side. He found her in the kitchen, guzzling down some water. "Do you need a tetanus shot?"

"Nope. Maybe an inhaler to get rid of all the dust I inhaled." Mabel wiped lingering drops of water off of her mouth and set the glass down. "Thanks for the save, Dipper."

"Anytime." Dipper placed the crowbar on the table and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know what we're going to do about the door, though."

"We'll just get a new one," Mabel said. "Can't be too hard to install a door."

"Mom and Dad will notice a new attic door."

Mabel glanced at him in amusement. "Mom and Dad haven't noticed there's a patch of paint on the living room ceiling that doesn't quite match the rest. I don't think they'll notice the door's a different shade of brown and has a new knob."

"Fair point. Okay. Let's go door shopping. Which is probably something no other thirteen-year-old does. But first, we have to clean up the mess."

"I call the vacuum!" cheered Mabel, hurrying off to collect the object.

"Don't suck up the curtains this time!"

To: Mabel Pines (ShootingStarRainbowUnicorn); Grunkle Stan (StantheMan); Grunkle Ford (Highsixer); Wendy Corduroy (Lumberchick); Soos Ramirez (QuestionMarkDude)

From: Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan)

Subject: Door didn't survive

1 Attachment (Photo File)

Managed to rescue Mabel from our evil attic. On the bright side she found an old functional laptop I could use later for an experiment or something. We couldn't save the door, but it's for the best. This is what happened to it afterwards.

See all messages in this thread (Expand)

Grunkle Ford: You certainly did a number on it, Dipper.

Grunkle Stan: Looks like all that work I made you do with the axe paid off.

Dipper Pines: We don't own an axe, so I used a crowbar to get the door off. But yeah, all the wood chopping you forced me to do totally helped me out.

Wendy Corduroy: You did that with a crowbar? What, did you just wail on it?

Soos Ramirez: Dude, that sounds like fun.

Mabel Pines: Dang I wish I thought of that. It's not often we get to bash things with tools.

Dipper Pines: It was so old it broke when it hit the floor.

Grunkle Stan: That's showing it whose boss.

Mabel Pines: Now we just have one more thing to take care of.

Grunkle Ford: What's that?

Dipper Pines: I don't suppose any of you know how to install a door?