#with one road in and out of its secure location

[b33tlejules]

Rhan's first escape from the Farm didn't go as smoothly as they had hoped.

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

Outgoing Call

A Jason Todd x reader story. It's funny, until it's not. Then it's angsty.

MDNI, NSFW, not smut but mature language. Excessive swearing, sexual situations, you know the drill. use of a slur, but in jest. content warnings for addiction.

I have no idea how long this is.

---

Jason doesn't want to be here. The stupid fucking pageantry of the Batcave gets on his nerves and sets his teeth on edge, always has. A whole-ass cave is fucking unnecessary, Jason makes do with a handful of safe houses—apartments really—and a storage unit. Bruce, sitting stoic at the computer in his full Batman getup and looking right at home among the exposed rock and towering ceilings that end in darkness, never seemed to know when to stop. It irritates Jason to no end.

Dick and Tim's blind chirping chatters angrily in his ears, and Jason considers putting on the helmet to block them out before he remembers he left it at his place. Damn. He’s going to have to experience this stupid meeting unfiltered.

Jason only realizes they're trying to get his attention when Dick taps him on the shoulder.

"You okay there, Little Wing?” he asks, raising his eyebrows and nudging an elbow into his gut. It's enough to make a swell of vomit claw its way up his throat. Jason swallows down with a grimace. "Yes, dickface," he snaps. "Just wondering when we're going to get this fucking show on the road."

Dick shrugs, and Jason's secretly glad he's not offended. He probably wouldn't be acting so much of a shit if he didn't go and overdo it at some unknown dive bar last night. It's possible Jason is mixing up his eager disgust with Batman and Co. and alcohol poisoning.

Like he isn't part of Batman and Co. Bruce grunts, and Dick and Tim refocus, alert. Jason does the same, then forces himself to relax. He ildly imagines shooting himself in the face.

"You know why you’re here," Bruce starts. Actually, Jason doesn't. He didn't read the report Bruce sent him, but whatever. He can figure it out with context clues.

"Oracle has a new lead on the cyber-crime case. She managed to override the suspect's phone and took control, creating an essential bug. It goes live in one minute."

Right. The hits on Gotham National Bank, GCPD, and the mayor’s office. Plus an attempt on Oracle's highly protected Batman case files. Jason doesn't know why he's here, he doesn't give a shit about this case. If the hacker manages to get into Bruce's stuff, he'll take them out to dinner himself.

"Do we have a name?" Tim asks.

"No, and no location either. The security on the phone is too tight, Oracle could only get outgoing calls. She'll silently trigger a call to a secure line. Our side is muted. We only have until the suspect realizes the call is ongoing."

Jason sighs, tries to settle in for the next few hours. He reluctantly takes a seat in front of the computer, furthest away from Bruce. Tim, teacher’s pet that he is, pulls out a notebook and pen. Bored, Jason thinks about what he's going to do when Bruce finally lets him off the leash. His thoughts go to your apartment, your bedroom, before he remembers that after last night, he's definitely not welcome there.

He slumps down in his seat. Oh well. It's for the best.

"Call goes live in three, two, one."

The cave is silent. There are a few gentle beeps as the call connects. Quiet, then, a subtle clacking of computer keys.

He catches Tim shoot Dick a look. Well, they're in.

The clacking continues uninterrupted for a few minutes. "Location still unknown," Dick murmurs. Suddenly, there is the sound of shifting fabric. The phone is in the perp's pocket, Jason thinks.

"You done in there?" someone calls. "I just cleaned my shower, don't get it all gross. You'd better not be shaving in there."

Location known. Perp's apartment. Tim all but flies to the computer. "Searching for voice recognition," he explains. Bruce nods.

"What? I can't hear you." The audio crackles, and then there's the sound of footsteps, the rain of a shower.

"I said, relax, I'm not shaving my pubes in your apartment, you asshole."

What the fuck? Jason stiffens, then internally recoils, trying not to sit at obvious rapt attention. He quickly surveys the room to see if he got away with it. Dick seems like he's trying not to laugh, and Tim looks mortified. He feels rather than sees Bruce shift minutely in his direction. Fuck. Fuck. He may have been made.

“Unknown person. Accomplice?” Tim mutters under his breath. “Attempting voice recognition.” As if Jason needs Tim’s tricks to recognize who's on the other end of the line.

"Good, I don't what that shit clogging my drain."

"It's just pubes, moron." Jason knows that voice, knows that tone, even on the phone, where he's been a million times over the past four months. He can imagine you rolling your eyes to match. "You have them too, you know, it's not just women.”

What the fuck are you doing in their perp's shower?

"Girl pubes are gross. I'll stick to men's, thanks."

Bruce's fingers move over the keys, gently moving Tim to the side. He's definitely writing out "homosexual" in the perp's file. If Jason had anything left to spare, he'd laugh out loud. But he's too busy furiously trying to figure out what you're doing there (and if you're in danger, and if he should be jealous) while keeping his reactions to himself. He doesn't need anybody knowing about his girlfriend.

Well. Ex-girlfriend, or at least soon to be.

"Speaking of men's pubes," the perp, starts, "how's Jason?"

Oh. Fuck. Jason's tongue shoots to the roof of his mouth. He doesn't think anybody noticed. Except Bruce. Maybe. He still might be in the clear. There are a lot of Jasons, but if you keep talking about him eventually Gotham's greatest detective is going to put two and two together.

He can almost taste vomit again as the thought crosses his mind. That would actually be really, really bad. Bruce wouldn't hesitate to use Jason's connection to you as a way to move forward on the case, Jason’s feelings be damned.

"He's okay. I mean, I think. I haven't seen him in a few days."

"Really? Is that weird, does he do that often?"

"Nah. Well, nah, yeah, he does it often," you say with a laugh. "It's fine, he always resurfaces." The trust evident in your voice grates against his skin, then settles warmly in his heart, then drops to his stomach. That was one of the things he liked most about you, that you didn't question his weird schedule or habits. Though he never allowed himself to think about what that might mean, how that meant you felt about him. It hurts more than he expected to hear it now, to have you connect the dots so clearly in front of him.

"What does Jason even look like? You've never actually told me." Shit.

"I dunno," you muse. "He's tall. Blue eyes, black hair.”

Jason hears Tim shift in his seat, feels Dick's eyes on him. Shit. Shit.

"You're bad at descriptions," the perp sniffs. "Here, let me find him. What's his last name?"

Your sheepish chuckle echoes through the cave. "Uh, I actually don't know."

The perp snorts. "Well, you're a goddamn idiot."

"Thanks, dipshit. His profile said Jason T."

Jason swears, swears, he doesn't react, but it doesn't matter. They know him too well. They have him. "Holy shit," Tim whispers. Dick lets out a low chuckle. "Putting yourself out there, Little Wing?"

Bruce clears his throat. "Name?" he asks Jason. Of course that's the only thing on his mind right now.

Jason shakes his head. "No fucking way," he snarls.

"Good enough," the perp answers. The sound of the shower fades as he walks back to the computer in what must be another room.

Soon the clack of computer keys crackles across the line. Jason braces himself. Let's see how dangerous this hacker really is.

Another comm line buzzes to life. "This is Oracle," Barbara announces. "Someone's putting out a search for Jason T, dipping into some private data. I swept everything out with your face and name."

At almost the same time-- "What the fuck kind of website are you on now?" you call from the shower.

"CCTV footage. GCPD and private contracts."

"Oracle," Bruce barks. "Any CCTV footage?" Jason wishes he were anywhere else. Surely, surely, he doesn't need to be here for this nightmare.

"GCPD footage is protected," she answers quickly. "Checking now. Wait--"

"Got it!" the perp sings. "Data breach," Oracle reports. "They got you, Hood."

"Noted," Bruce grunts. "Any connection between Jason and Red Hood?"

"Negative. Shutting them out now." Barbara's fingers fly over the keys.

If anything, the perp's are even faster. "Fuck, he's so hot. Holy shit. You didn't mention he's ripped. " Dick bumps Jason's shoulder, then easily dodges Jason's punch. "Red Hood," Bruce intones.

"Don't start," Jason threatens.

"Someone's trying to kick me out," perp calls to you. "I've got, maybe, fifteen seconds. Just enough time to zoom in on his ass."

The sound of the shower stops, plastic rustling as you pull back the curtain. "Yeah, zoom in on his ass."

"Wow. I hope you're fucking that shit up," the perp says. This is officially too much for Jason. He feels himself start to turn red.

There's the sound of footsteps again. Maybe it's in his head, but Jason feels like he recognizes it, the pad of your bare feet across the floor. "Don't worry. I'm eating that shit out every day of the week and twice on Sundays." Jason almost shits his pants as Tim sputters and Dick cackles.

"Quiet," Bruce commands. Jason wants to punch him.

"--disgusting," the perp is saying. "I can't believe you do that."

"I can't believe you don't," you shoot back. "Aren't fags supposed to love that?"

"Watch it," the perp warns. For a flash of a moment, Jason wonders if he's going to get angry at you, if you're in any danger. If he should rush in and save the day, if he has an excuse to see you again.

"Do you have to specify that in your Grindr profile?" you press on, delighted.

"Everyone's different, you cunt." The perp's voice is fond, and Jason relaxes slightly. "Speaking of which--" the line muffles and shakes for a moment. "I got a message I need to look at."

Grindr profile, Jason mentally notes. The sound is clearer now, the perp must have taken the phone out of his pocket. "Hm. I think this man needs a dick pic," the perp says thoughtfully. There's the metallic sound of fingers fumbling with a belt buckle.

"Christ, are you taking one now?" For the first time, Jason stops to wonder what your relationship is with this guy. Are you friends? Did you used to hook up? He tries to ignore the jealousy rising in his blood.

"Yeah," the perp sounds unconcerned. "Hurry up and get dressed, I can't get it up with a naked woman in the room."

Jason winces. He looks over at the others. Tim looks almost green in the face, and Dick is grimacing. This is quickly turning into porn audio, not exactly something he wants to listen to with Dick and Tim, much less Bruce. There's the sound of the phone being set down. Jason prays it's far enough away that it doesn't pick up what the perp is doing now.

"Do you want help?" you say after a moment. Tim gasps and whips his head toward Jason. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jason grits his teeth. He doesn't know what he did to deserve listening to you jerk someone off with his whole fucking family next to him.

Thankfully, thankfully, the perp snorts. "No!" he sneers as you cackle in the background. "I don't want your gross women hands anywhere near my dick." No past hook ups, then.

"You are so close to misogyny that if you're not careful it's going to smack you in the face."

"That's not what I want smacking me in the face," the perp sighs. "Hence, the dick pic."

"Well, you've got your work cut out for you,” you say. “You have the most hideous flaccid penis I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Shut up,” the perp snaps. “It’s normal!”

“Hit a nerve did I?” You’re clearly amused. It makes Jason miss you enough to shake his head. Ugh. Apparently the alcohol didn’t flush the sad out of him.

“C’mon, help me out here,” the perp says, ignoring you. “What do you think of when you want to flick your bean?”

“Jason,” you say instantly. It makes him grow warm, then sick.

“Wow, she’s got it bad for you,” Dick murmurs. Not for long. “Nice job, Little Wing.”

“I’m happy for you,” Tim pipes up. Jason scrubs a hand over his face. He can’t take much more of this.

“Yeah, I can see why. Can I think about him?”

“No!” you snap as the perp laughs. “Fine, I’ll just think about Nightwing’s sweet, sweet ass.”

Jason’s out of the hot seat. Finally. He looks at Dick, ready to give as good as he got. Unfortunately, Dick doesn’t look offended. He’s grinning, the arrogant ass.

“Okay, I’m good.” They hear the artificial sound of camera. “God, that took forever. Send.”

Dick’s phone pings, Grindr notification echoing through the cave.

“Holy shit,” Tim mutters. “This is the best and also worst day of my life. Can’t you two keep it in your pants?”

Dick shrugs, but he looks embarrassed. “Would you believe me if I told you it’s not for the case?”

Your voice on the line cuts across anyone who would answer. “An unsolicited dick pic?”

“Nah, he sent me one earlier. Wanna see?”

Tim sounds like he’s choking. Bruce’s jaw is working, but thank god he’s quiet. “Nah, dude. I’ll leave that for you,” you answer.

“Dick,” Bruce says lowly. Dick can’t meet his eyes. “You may have to cut off communication.”

“What? Why?” Dick protests. Bruce opens his mouth to answer, but you do it for him.

“Couldn’t you hack his phone from that? Have you ever done that before?” you wonder.

“No.” The perp is quick to answer. “That’s a line I won’t cross.”

“See? It’s fine!” Dick insists. Bruce grimaces, but doesn’t say anything. The sound of a phone going off saves Dick from further embarrassment. Jason wishes he could have caught their attention for longer. He needed a break.

“That’s you,” the perp says. “Can you see what it is?” you ask. “I’m still getting dressed.”

“Sure,” the perp says, floor creaking as he crosses the room. “It’s your mom. Want me to answer?”

“Yeah, what did she say?”

“She’s asking if she can call tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. You can let her know.”

Jason hears rustling, the sound of you pulling your clothes on. He connects it to the sound of him doing the opposite, of tugging your clothes off and tossing them to the floor.

Damn. This is harder than he thought.

“You also have a text from Jason,” the perp offers.

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh. “I’ll read it later.”

Wait? You haven’t read it yet? Jason feels rooted to the floor. No wonder you said so many nice things about him.

Shit. Shit. He shuts his eyes. He knows what’s coming next.

“Dude,” the perp says. “Dude. I think he broke up with you.”

The cave is dead silent.

“What.” Your voice is flat. “What.”

Jason rests his forearms on his hands, head hanging down between his knees. When he sent you the breakup text, he didn’t think he would have to hear you react to it.

Maybe it’s what he deserves.

“He broke up with me over text?”

“Yeah.” The perp’s voice is gentle. “Yeah. Yeah, it looks like it.” The perp pauses. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” At least you have a good friend, even if he is a wanted criminal. Not like Jason isn't, too.

“What the fuck. What the fuck.” Jason’s never heard your voice sound like that. He feels familiar bile rise in his throat. “What did he say?”

“You want me to read it to you?” Dick shoots Jason an alarmed glance. Whatever. It’s not like he has any privacy left anyway.

“Yeah. Yeah, read it to me. Actually, wait. How long is it? How many lines?”

There’s silence as the perp counts. “Four.”

“Four?!” you shriek. “Four?! That dumb motherfucker ended a four month relationship in four lines of text?”

“Jesus, Jason.” Tim mutters. Jason can’t even blame him.

“Uh…yeah.”

“Oh my god.” You’re seething. “Oh my god. I’m going to kill him.”

That’s fair.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to take the gun he thinks I don’t know he has taped under his mattress, and I’m going to shoot him in the penis!”

Dick bursts out laughing, but Jason has bigger problems. You found the gun?

“He’s got a gun taped under his mattress?” The perp asks, before Bruce adds “Jason, what does she know?”

“Nothing!” he yelps. “Nothing, I didn’t…” he trails off as your voice picks up again.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s some common criminal or something. His apartment’s definitely a safe house, there’s like, nothing in it and only non perishable foods. Whatever.”

“Dude, I think it’s more than whatever.” Jason agrees with the perp. You shouldn’t be with some common criminal. You shouldn’t even be with him.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now! Because he dumped me! Over text!” Your shout rings hard in Jason's ears. “Read the text to me. Read the fucking text.”

Ugh. This fucking rips. Jason would brace himself, if he had anything left to brace.

“‘I’m sorry babe. We have to end it here. It’s not you, it’s me. Hope you had fun.’” It sounded worse read aloud.

“Damn, Jay. That’s low,” Tim comments.

"'It's not you, it's me?'' Dick says incredulously. "Seriously, Little Wing?"

Shockingly, Bruce clears his throat. "Jason--"

"Nope. No. You shut the fuck up right now." Jason's anger is so quick, and blissfully distracting. "You don't get to lecture me about anything, especially this shit."

It seems like, on the line, you're matching his energy, bar for bar. “‘It’s not you, it’s me’? Is he fucking serious?”

“As a heart attack, apparently.”

You let out a small scream. Honestly, Jason didn’t know you had it in you. “Holy shit. I’m so fucking angry.”

“I can see that,” the perp says carefully. “Do you need anything?”

You seem to ignore him. “Oh my god, I am going to read this man for filth. This dumb motherfucker thinks he’s Holden Caulfield.”

Jason opens his mouth, slack-jawed, dumbfounded, as the perp lets out a sharp laugh and Dick sniggers. “Okay, yeah. Let it out, babe.”

“This dumb motherfucker watches Fight Club and thinks it doesn’t apply to him.” You’re on a roll. “This dumb motherfucker holds up any spherical object, says ‘alas, poor yorick,’ and creams his fucking pants.”

Dick and Tim are practically rolling on the floor. Jason swears he sees Bruce crack a small smile.

"This dumb motherfucker is one homoerotic experience away from a Richard Siken poem."

"I like Siken," the perp says defensively. "Come on," you sneer. "'You're in the car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you he loves you, but he loves you,'? What the fuck does that mean? He won't tell you he loves you but he does? Screw that!"

You pause, heavy breathing echoing across the line. "'He won't tell you he loves you. Why couldn't Ja--" you cut yourself off quickly. "Fuck. Fuck."

Jason squeezes his eyes shut, fingernails gripping his forearm with enough force to draw blood. He didn't realize this would upset you so much. He's done the in and out, three-month fling so many times it's hard to count. He gets close enough that the sex gets really good but not close enough that it gets messy. It's not supposed to be like this. Sure, he'd made an exception in your case, but he didn't think it would get so bad. He just couldn't help himself. You were too cute, and funny, and easy to be around. You had slid into his life like a hot knife through butter. The parts he was willing to show you, at least. Or maybe, the other parts too, he thinks, remembering your threat to shoot him with his own gun. You definitely don't have anything to do with the criminal underworld, and Jason would prefer to keep you on the surface of that. But maybe there was more than you could handle. You thought he was a common criminal, but you had stayed anyway.

And Jason's not a common criminal. Not that that's anything to take pride in, but still. He has finesse. And he's been playing by the rules enough lately that Bruce invited him back to his lair. That probably counts for something, somewhere.

And you clearly didn't mind criminals, if you were friendly enough with their perp to shower at his house and let him go through your phone. You definitely knew he was a hacker, you'd mentioned it enough times. Maybe--

"You okay, sweetheart?"

"Fuck off, Jess," you snarl.

"Yes ma'am," the perp (Jess. Name acquired) says. "I'm sorry you're upset," he adds carefully.

Right. It doesn't matter what Jason learns about you now. He ended it, and the past is the past. It might take him a bit longer than usual, but he'll get over it. He hopes you do, too.

"Ahh!" You let out a shout, then go quiet. "I know. Thanks, Jess."

"You're welcome, sweetheart." The two of you stay quiet for several minutes. Jason wonders if he's going to have to endure hearing you cry over the phone.

"He doesn't seem like he was good for you," Jess offers.

"Fuck off." Beat. "I know. But why does everything have to be good for me? Why do I--ha." You let out an acidic laugh. "'You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting."

"'You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves,'" you and Jess recite together. "Point taken," Jess adds. Jason knows Mary Oliver's Wild Geese. He just didn't know you knew it, too.

A beat. "I don't think you get to make fun of him liking Shakespeare after that," Jess observes.

You laugh humorlessly. "I know. I know. I'm acting like I'm not a fucking dork over here, too." Dick is looking at Jason very cautiously. So is Bruce.

"What are you going to do?" Jess asks after several beats of silence.

"I'm going to pick up a drug habit, that's what I'm going to do. Now seems like a great time to become an alcoholic."

"Don't," Jess says fiercely. "Don't even joke about that. You can't go back there."

"I know," you say softly. "I know."

Jesus. Jason didn't even know you'd had issues with addiction in the past. If he did, maybe he would have...done things a little differently. He can't even look at his family, can't meet their eyes. Not when he knows he may have inadvertently sent you over the edge. Holy shit. He feels sick with himself. How could he have missed that you were a little bit fucked up, just like he was?

Jason is suddenly grateful you didn't read his stupid text last night, when he had first sent it. Thank fuck you were with Jess right now.

As if to echo Jason's thoughts, Jess snarls "No. No way am I going to let this insensitive, fucking prick set you back. Not when you've come so far. You can't let him ruin you. He's not worth it."

Jason agrees.

"But what if..." you say quietly. "What if he could tell, and that's why he ended it. That there's something...awful inside of me."

"No!" Jess shouts. "No! How could you say that? There's nothing--"

You let out a choked sob, cutting Jess off. "Fuck, I'm sorry," you say desperately, voice cracking. "I just--" Shit. Shit. You sound so...broken, Jason wants to take you in his arms, tell you he didn't mean it, tell you he's got his own shit and then some, but you're perfect, and maybe you'd even understand some of it. Maybe you had more in common than he'd thought.

"It's okay, sweetheart." Jason hears footsteps, hopefully Jess was going to put you in his arms, like Jason wants to but can't.

"It just feels like...like I always have to try twice as hard. Like I have to keep myself under surveillance, like I have to be so careful. Because if I slip, it's...it's all over. And it makes me feel like I'm not good enough."

Jason knows what that one feels like.

"Listen to me. Listen," Jess implores you. "You don't have to be perfect. It's okay. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone slips. Recovery is not a straight line. It's okay."

"I know," you say, voice resigned. "I know."

"And you're doing so well. Two years without touching anything! Even when you lost your job, and your sister got sick. You're so strong, sweetheart."

"Thanks," you say quietly.

The two of you stay silent for several minutes. It gives Jason more than enough time to consider his next move. Should he text you an apology? Is it too late for that? Does he still want to be with you? Yeah, no shit. His hangover is proof enough that he won't be able to get you out of his mind. And it sounds like you're more alike than either of you realized.

Suddenly, Jess's computer dings with an alert, disrupting the silence. There's a shift as Jess walks over. "Oh, shit," he murmurs. "I got in."

The tension in the cave ticks up even higher. "Oracle," Bruce says evenly, "brace for an attack."

"What happened?" you ask, voice still raw.

"I got into the GCPD protected records." Jess breathes. "Fuck yes. I'm going to dox the shit out of those crooked cops and the politicians Black Mask has in his pocket."

"He's out for blood," you comment with a shaky laugh.

"That motherfucker has it coming, after what he did to my father. If I can't get at Sionis directly, I'll chip away at his stupid empire until he's left with nothing." The floorboards creak as Jess settles himself at the computer. "Are you okay?" he offers distractedly. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I need to tune out, I have to--" he trails off, as the clicks of a keyboard start coming through across the line.

"Don't worry about it," you say, but Jason thinks, worries, you might be putting on a brave face.

"Okay. Okay. I'm going to put in headphones. I'm sorry sweetheart," Jess says again, "but this is the chance I've been waiting for."

"Don't worry," you say. "I get it. Do your thing."

Jess must put in headphones with the music blasting, because they can hear it faintly through the call line. The cave is alive as Bruce barks orders at Oracle while Tim all but shoves him out of the way, flinging himself down at the keyboard and getting to work blocking Jess out.

Whatever. Jason doesn't care, if anything, he cares less than he did before. He's all for getting rid of crooked cops, any hit to Black Mask is a win in his book. He's only still here because you're still on the line.

The call is silent, save for Jess clacking away. Finally, Jess' phone picks up your voice again.

"Fuck. Fuck. I can't fucking do this. I need a drink. I need a fucking drink," you mutter.

Jason rises to his feet, just as Dick says "I think you gotta go, Jaybird."

He knows that. His feet are already leading him towards his motorcycle. But where--?

"I've got a location," Tim whispers. Jason turns to him eagerly, but he's not even looking at him. He's looking at Bruce.

Jason's seething. If that asshole thinks he's going to beg and plead for this--

"Go ahead, Jay," Bruce says gently, seemingly without thinking twice. "We can handle him from here."

Gratitude flooding through him, Jason turns on his heel and moves. He's on his bike in what feels like seconds, speeding towards the location Tim had sent into the bike's GPS.

He just hopes he makes it to you before you're too far gone.

[safarigirlsp]

Never Whistle in the Woods

Flip Zimmerman x OC

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Horror. Violence. Monster Action. Cryptids. Creepy things that happen in the woods. Backcountry flavor. Just a nice getaway with Flip. Those never go according to plan. I’m willing to continue this and write more if people like it!

Note: Going forward, I'm going to write characters from now on instead of Readers just because it's really annoying trying to switch back and forth for the non-fic writing I do. However, the female characters will be totally physically vague aside from having a name, so they can still easily be read as an insert by anyone who chooses to insert themselves.

Based on two requests I combined then butchered from rynwritestuff and @lumberjack00fantasies

AO3 Link

One of Flip’s favorite things was spending a secluded weekend out at his cabin, nestled in the forested mountains, away from the noise and mayhem of town. And away from people. Nothing cured a man’s love of humanity better than working with them. He enjoyed having a beer and a burger with his friends after work and he enjoyed taking his girl out to dinner. But he liked it a helluva lot more to take her with him into the mountains and not see or hear from another person for a couple days. Actually, it had become his favorite thing.

Knowing this, his girl, Kate, had booked him a nice getaway right up his alley. A solid week squirreled away in a truly remote cabin about as far away from humanity as he could get. It had taken a little online spelunking for her to land on the small town of Kitwanga, British Columbia, but its selling points of having a population of less than five-hundred, being a prime location for hunting and fishing, and being a true gateway to the wilderness with scarcely an outpost North between the little town and the Yukon, had sealed the deal. Besides, for the shrewd outdoorsman who wanted a less touristy experience with a friendlier populace for about a third of the money, British Columbia was a superior option to Alaska with all the same appeal.

Over-the-counter hunting licenses were available for all sorts of game that required a lottery draw or exorbitant fee in the States. Flip laughed when he read in the game regulations that it was strictly prohibited to shoot Bigfoot and that, should a sportsman encounter him, he was to be considered a protected species.

“How many big, hairy Canadians do you reckon had to get shot in the ass before they added that regulation?” He grinned at Kate, sitting with her legs curled under her on the seat of his rented truck as they bounced down the terrible excuse for a dirt road, sloshing in the mud and hitting potholes by the hundreds. Flip had twice hit his head on the bolt of the rifle secured in the headache rack above his head on the ceiling of the truck’s cab. He would have left the rifle inside their cabin, but they had been stringently warned not to take a step outside without it. Bears were a real threat and the animals here had little experience with humans, which meant little fear of them.

“Sounds like you better watch your own ass if you’re out wandering around in low light,” she teased back. “You’re big and lumbering enough to be mistaken for Bigfoot.”

“Yeah, but I’m a lot better lookin,’” he winked at her as he pulled into the only gas station in the tiny town. He filled up every day on their return in case the owner decided to take a day off. Electric pumps were a novelty that hadn’t reached this far north, it seemed. He was in a teasing mood, returning from a day of hiking and, as he put it, takin’ pictures of every goddamn thing in Canada.

“Depends on who you ask,” Kate laughed warmly. “I’ve waged a losing battle for quite a while trying to convince my friends you’re handsome. They tell me I’m blind or brainwashed.”

Five businesses in the tiny town were booming, frequented by most if not all of its citizens on a regular basis: the grocery store, post office, church, bar, and the gas station. Actually, Kitwanga boasted two bars. Flip figured this was a good insight as to the favorite pastime of the locals, especially since it doubled the churchgoers. There were no restaurants, but the bars had all the haute cuisine a man could want, so long as what he wanted was a cheeseburger or a sandwich or some chicken fried steak. However, one bar generously offered to cook anything a person brought in, provided the thing was somewhere between alive and kicking and starting to turn, and provided that gastronome paid in cash. Flip had already taken the owner and bartender up on this offer and handed over several trout he had caught that day to the owner’s wife and cook to fry for dinner. He had to admit it was some of the best fried fish he had ever had, and it paired wonderfully with the potent Moose Knuckle stout beer on tap.

The sign at the gas station read, Headed north? Need gas? It’s now or never. Two lonely gas pumps sat on a rectangle of cement on the otherwise muddy ground – the kind of pumps a person usually only saw on postcards from the fifties, with the rounded tops and numbers for cost and gallons that ticked by on a dial like an old one-armed-bandit style slot machine. A hand-scrawled sign in the window listed the hours vaguely as open from dawn ‘til dusk. An uninformed observer could easily mistake the business for being abandoned, or even condemned, a relic lingering in a ghost town. But for the metropolis of Kitwanga, it was a thriving business. There was even another vehicle at the pumps, a ’79 Ford truck with a lift and a winch on its bumper and a fat man in overalls leaning against the bed, pumping gas.

Flip stepped out of his truck and lifted the nozzle of the gas pump with a rusty squeal. He admired the view of his girl as she trotted into the gas station to forage for supplies. A brisk wind rustled his hair, tinged with chilled moisture. Above, low clouds in a grayscale palette churned in the sky. The snowy tops of the mountains were hidden inside the clouds and rain slashed across their facades in a grey haze. The rain hadn’t yet reached the foothills where the town and Flip’s rented cabin were nestled, but fog was creeping in from the base of the mountains and off a nearby river. Between the thunderclouds and the fog, it was as if the world was slowly closing in, like the vignette on a Bogart movie narrowing in on the dramatic eyes of a starlet.

Tilting his face up into the chilly air, Flip smiled. He loved rain and thunderstorms, and found peace in their chaos. Mainly, he loved holding his girl while a storm raged outside, or having a drink with her while they sat on the porch and felt the electricity in the air, and making love to her and feeling her shudder thunderously beneath him. His smile widened as he anticipated the evening ahead.

“Storm’s comin,’” the man at the pump said to Flip as he spat a string of brown tobacco into the mud. “You here for huntin’ or fishin?’”

“I’m mostly just here to take a break from everyday bullshit,” Flip replied in a friendly tone. “But I have tags for fishing and tags for bear and moose in case one happens to wander in front of me.”

“Storms are bad for fishin,’” the man said, nodding knowingly. “But they can be good for huntin.’ Storms bring the animals down from the big mountains. Moose especially like the mist and bears like to hunt in the rain when their prey can’t hear and see ‘em as good.”

“Good to know.” Flip smiled as he replaced the nozzle and turned to go inside and pay his tab.

“That your girl?” the man asked with a suggestive nod toward the gas station.

“That she is.” Flip turned to face the man, wondering if he’d end up getting in a fist fight while on vacation.

Not taking the hint, the man whistled appreciatively.

Flip decided the rube meant it as a compliment, so he simply agreed with a “Yup,” and went into the gas station. Kate had been suspiciously long inside anyway, something that nagged at the part of his mind that was always an officer on duty.

Inside the dingy little gas station, Flip saw his girl leaning against the counter engaged in an affable conversation with the attendant behind the counter, a squat older man with a heavily lined face and long silver hair in a braid hanging over his shoulder down to his gut. Flip wandered through the store, grabbing a few items that struck his fancy, some beef jerky, chips, candy bars, and other assorted junk food. At the back of the store, a menagerie of terrible taxidermy watched him with glassy eyes. Above the beverage coolers that lined the wall hung several deer and caribou and two enormous moose. A life-size grizzly bear stood on its hind feet in a corner, frozen mid-snarl, its head a solid three feet above Flip’s. He looked at its paws that were larger than his head and vicious curling claws, longer and thicker than his fingers. Facing such a beast, the gun he had in his truck now seemed very feeble. He grabbed a six-pack of stout beer bottles and an over-sized bottle of cheap wine and took his loot to the counter to pile it alongside Kate’s items.

“Have you heard about the wendigo?” Kate asked Flip when he joined her at the counter. The lilt in her voice told him she was highly amused. “My new friend was just telling me about it.”

“Yeah, wasn’t that the name of that stripper I arrested last year for blackmailing the mayor?” Flip smirked. “Wendy-Go?”

“He’s an idiot, I’m sorry,” Kate apologized to the man behind the counter, simultaneously elbowing Flip in the ribs. “Please ignore him and continue.”

The attendant gave Flip a sideways look and continued talking to Kate in a slow, backcountry drawl, “It is said the wendigo were people once, but now they are cursed. A wendigo is born during times of famine or in the harshest winter. When men are starving to death in the cold. When a man is weak, and he chooses the black path of cannibalism over death, butchering his fellows to save himself. When a man eats the flesh of another, he takes a curse upon himself. The wendigo lives in constant starvation, its body emaciated and rotting, only growing hungrier the more it eats. Its hunger can never be sated and it becomes a crazed beast with an insatiable bloodlust.”

“Is this insatiable bloodlust specific to tourists?” Flip asked sarcastically.

“Sometimes,” the man shrugged, unbothered. “It looks to punish those with greed in their hearts. Or, depending on which stories you believe, it seeks people who are like-minded to itself to build its own tribe.” He eyed Flip narrowly. “So, if a tourist is out greedily mining or wantonly slaughtering game, then yes, the wendigo will come for him.”

“Slaughtering is one of the few things I never do wantonly,” Flip deadpanned and slapped some cash down on the counter.

“You should be careful, son,” the old man told Flip seriously. “There are many ways a man can be greedy. He can be greedy for his woman and covetous of her.” Then he shrugged again. “But these are nothing more than old tales.”

“So, you don’t believe in the wendigo?” Kate asked.

“Oh, there’s no doubt in my mind he’s real. I’ve seen a wendigo twice. He has antlers taller than a caribou and wider than a moose, teeth like a wolf, and only skull sockets for eyes. But they glow. It’s the glow I remember most,” the man said genuinely as he counted out change. “I just don’t know if he was once a man, or something that was never human at all. Maybe the people who first came here created a myth to explain the monster rather than created a mythical monster themselves.”

“Maybe it’s a convenient way to scare pretty, gullible girls.” Flip smirked at Kate. Then he returned his attention to the cashier. “Let me guess, there’s something that wards off the wendigo? A silver crucifix or whatever? I bet we can buy it right here.”

“Nothing wards off the wendigo,” the man scoffed. “And he is far older than your crucifix. Why would a forest god bow to a stranger on a cross? Fire can stall him, maybe even frighten him, but it can only buy you time.” He looked outside the window at the building storm. “Not good weather for making a fire if you need it.”

“Damn shame.” Flip shook his head and began collecting their provisions in his arms. There were no courtesy bags.

“We do have flares,” the man suggested innocently. “They burn in any kind of weather, even underwater. All the bush pilots carry them.”

“Probably inside their emergency monster-hunting kit alongside the stakes for vampires and silver bullets for werewolves,” Flip laughed. “Go ahead. Load us up with some flares. Consider it a tip for a good campfire story.”

“It’s always smart to be prepared,” the man agreed as he placed two bundles of six red flares apiece on the counter and rang them up. They looked like bundles of dynamite.

Kate took the flares because Flip’s arms were already overfilled. She thanked the attendant and turned to leave.

The old man grabbed her by the elbow, stopping her and causing Flip’s hackles to rise. He spoke seriously, “Don’t whistle when you’re out in the woods. Whistling will summon the wendigo. Sometimes people hear whistling too, before it comes for them.”

“And these people who hear the whistling before it gets them,” Flip said as he edged his body between Kate and the counter and nudged her toward the exit. “They walk out of the woods to tell their story, huh?”

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

Their log cabin for the week was almost an hour’s drive from the gas station. It wasn’t that far as the crow flies, but the road was serpentine with switchbacks as it climbed the foot of the mountains and made even slower by soupy mud. It was set deep in the forest, surrounded by old-growth trees with trunks as thick as the truck’s bed. The sun set on their drive back. As it dipped below the mountainous horizon, the landscape glowed a shade of hazy purple only seen in the alpine. The clouds were the color of gunpowder and the rainy vapor was periwinkle. The spruce turned into an army of nearly black silhouettes with a light mist writhing among them as moisture rose from the damp ground as well as drizzled gently from the sky. The drifting mist made everything look as though it were moving. It gave the illusion of eldritch shapes in the trees creeping along the edges of vision and tree limbs grasping like clawed fingers as they swayed in the breeze.

Flip hit the brakes suddenly, slamming Kate forward in her seat and knocking her out of the reverie the gloaming forest had cast over her. A black shape froze in the muddy road a few yards ahead of them. Its eyes sparked cold white in the headlights and the fur on its back was raised aggressively.

“A wolf!” Flip said excitedly. “I’ve never seen one this close.”

The huge animal was coal black, its amber eyes reflecting white in the headlights in the way wolves eyes do. It stood frozen, staring down the vehicle, acting like the truck was a new creature intruding into the wolf’s territory. Something was wrong with its silhouette. Something with its mouth. It took several seconds for Kate to realize what it was. The wolf turned its head uncertainly, deciding whether it should continue on its way across the road or turn around from the metal beast with offense headlights. A dead rabbit dangled from its jaws, its legs swinging lifelessly and ears flopping limply. Its lifeless eyes glinted a dull red.

The simple reminder of nature’s brutality unnerved Kate unexpectedly and her hands felt suddenly cold. She gripped Flip’s hand, digging her nails into his palm with irrational harshness.

“Nature, red in tooth and claw,” he teased and grinned at her, but he laced his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Some redneck at the gas station told me that predators liked to hunt in the rain. Guess he was right.”

Night had veiled the forest with its velvety black cloak by the time they parked next to the porch of their cabin. It was silent enough to hear all the noises of the forest, from the chattering birds to the subtle rustling of deer browsing in the brush to moisture pattering lightly on the ground. A great horned owl as large as a man’s torso sat perched in a tree branch hanging near the roof of the cabin, its yellow eyes glittering like moonlight as it hooted an eerie cadence. It followed them with its yellow eyes as they unloaded the truck and carried their loot inside, its head turned almost fully backward like a creature possessed.

There was no light pollution and on a clear night, the moon and stars lit the forest bright enough to see easily. On a rainy night, moisture in the air brought out all the smells of the forest, the crisp spruce, the earthy soil, the embers in the fireplace. The cabin had no electric lines and was powered by a temperamental generator and a wood stove. A woodpile was stacked against the back of the cabin, complete with a large timber axe embedded in a nearby stump. Cell service was laughable. Flip loved everything about all of that. He was pleased it had running water, however, mainly because it would have greatly impacted his sex life if it didn’t.

Flip grilled steaks outside that night before the rain hit and they had dinner on the porch, counting lightning bolts. Then they tangled around each other in front of the fireplace, making love as the flames crackled and danced and the thunder rolled. Between dinner and fooling around several times, they finished the bottle of wine and opened another. Night fell early this far north in the autumn and the nights were long. The cabin was equipped with a tv, but it was one of those terrible old boxy things with a tiny screen and antennas. The antennas were only for show since there was no service. Instead, there was a vcr and a selection of campy nineties movies and some even campier porn. It seemed to defeat the purpose of being there to even bother with the tv. They hadn’t turned it on once.

“I’m wide awake,” Kate mused, propped up on Flip’s bare chest, looking down at him. “Let’s do something.”

“I have plenty of ideas,” Flip said huskily. “They’re all sure to wear you out.”

“We’ve tried your ideas. Several times. And I’m still far from worn out.” She smiled. “We’re here in a cabin, basically having a sleepover. Let’s play some sleepover games, the kind you play as idiot teenagers or in sororities in college.”

“I think girls have a lot wilder sleepovers than boys. And my experience with sororities is limited to sneaking in and out of them, so you’ll have to be more specific.” He ran his fingertips along her spine and kissed her throat, doing his best to interest her in another round.

“Later, you animal,” she laughed and shoved his face away while pushing herself up and off him. “You know what I mean. Sleepover games. Like Bloody Mary, or playing a Ouija Board, or the Midnight Game.”

“Packed a Ouija Board, did you?” he teased. “That would explain why your suitcase weighs fifty fuckin’ pounds.”

“I don’t think ghosts care whether or not you use a name brand.” She pinched his chest, making him flinch.

“What ghosts are you gonna find out here?” He squinted as he rubbed his chest. “The Donner Party?”

“Don’t you think they’d be fun to talk to? We can try Bloody Mary. I don’t think she has a centralized location,” she teased and pulled on her discarded pair of pajama pants and a hoodie. She threw Flip’s grey sweatpants at him. “Put that thing away or it might scare off the ghosts.”

Flip grumbled more protests under his breath, but he dressed in his sweats and a thermal henley. “How about we each stand in front of the bathroom mirror with the lights off. I’ll ask for Candyman. You ask for Bloody Mary. And we’ll have a Celebrity Death Match between vengeful ghosts?”

“You know the ghosts always get the cynics and the cocky shitheads first, right?” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest in a faux reprimand.

“Is that a rule?” Flip grinned. “I think the ghosts go for the morally corrupt woman who can’t keep her legs closed first. You’re in trouble, sugar.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” she said with finality.

“How about we play a fun game, like spin the bottle or truth or dare?” He winked at her. “I always pick dare. Do your worst.”

“I can’t imagine where a game of truth or dare with you would lead.” She rolled her eyes sarcastically.

Flip puffed his chest and stepped closer to her until their bodies were almost touching. “I have a better idea. You have some pretty big balls for a pretty little girl. Let’s see how big they really are.”

“Oh my god, Flip, if this is another ploy to explore that region further…” she laughed.

“Everything I do is some kinda means to that end.” He smirked. “But we’ll get to that later. Now, let’s go outside and whistle at the wendigo. There should be some of those sonsabitches around these parts.”

Flip went to the door and stepped into his muddy boots. He leaned against the doorframe, casually cocky, and raised an eyebrow at her in a challenge. “How ‘bout it, hot stuff?”

“I think we’d be better off trying to summon Bloody Mary than a wendigo,” Kate said hesitantly. “Plus, it will be cold out there.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” he teased. “How do you figure that trying to summon a ghost through our bathroom mirror would be safer than trying to call in a wendigo? At least a wendigo will stay outside. Besides, I know how psycho you’d get if I let another woman into our bedroom. Dead or alive. Don’t try to set me up, sweetheart.”

Rolling her eyes again, Kate pulled her coat on and slipped her phone into its pocket, feeling the bundle of flares she had absently pocketed at the gas station. There was no service, but its flashlight might come in handy outside. Grinning, Flip picked up the rifle that was leaning against the doorframe and slung it over his shoulder. Cocky though he was, he took the advice serious about the threat of bears and always having a gun on him out here in the wilderness. He held the door open for Kate and ushered her outside.

The air was thick with humidity but the rain had stopped for the moment, leaving the moisture on the air to chill their skin and turn their breath into ghostly thick fog. The porch was covered in slushy frost as bright as diamonds. Their boot prints left skeletal black outlines on the otherwise pristine frosty canvas as they descended the steps and walked into the forest that awaited them only yards away.

Flip offered Kate his arm and led her into the trees. The old growth forest felt like being inside a fairytale, surrounded by enormous tree trunks and relatively open ground at their bases. The roots of those great trees were so thirsty, they leeched most of the nutrients and left little for brush and scrub to encroach. After the rain, the ground was muddy and slick, with frost growing denser by the minute as the temperature dropped through the night.

Filling his lungs, Flip began whistling a terribly off-key tune as he walked through the woods. His casual swagger was the same as if he were taking his girl out for a stroll in the park. Kate winced when he struck a particularly loathsome note, and squinted her eyes at him, “What in the hell are you whistling?”

“Season of the Witch,” he replied, acting offended. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“I like the song, I don’t appreciate what you’re doing to it,” she laughed. “We’re not going to find any wendigo if you scare them all off with that horrendous noise.”

“I don’t hear you doing any better,” he scoffed.

Mainly in an attempt to save her ears from his screeching, Kate started whistling. She teased Flip first with her best wolf whistle. Smells were heightened in the damp air but sounds were muffled. In the silence of the forest, the whistle sounded unnaturally loud. Now that Flip wasn’t making noise himself, he found himself focusing more on his surroundings. He didn’t feel right, something he couldn’t put his finger on tugged at the back of his mind. It wasn’t just that noises were muffled by the dampness in the air, but something else that he found indefinable in that moment. He told himself it was just the product of being in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar vegetation that he found unsettling. The size of trees still seemed monstrous to him, and the smell of spruce instead of the familiar smell of pine must have been unsettling to his subconscious. And it probably didn’t help that he had cultivated a little buzz drinking wine for the past few hours.

A light gust of wind blew into his face and all of his senses sparked with alarm. He froze in place, seizing Kate’s arm to silence her whistling. The unmistakable scent of a wet animal hit his nose with the force of a slap in the face. Quickly evaluating his surroundings, he unslung the rifle from his shoulder and held it across his chest in high port. It would take him less than a second to aim and fire. But the forest was close around them, visibility limited to fifteen feet or so in any direction. If the animal was a predator, a bear or a mountain lion, it could cover that distance in less than a heartbeat if it wanted. He could still see the faint glow of the cabin’s lights. They hadn’t gone far, but there was no chance of outrunning an animal back to safety.

A heavy footfall sounded inside the trees ahead of them, muffled on the wet ground but distinctive. Straining his ears, Flip thought he heard a branch being brushed aside by something passing by it. Whatever it was, it was very close ahead of them. Flip’s thoughts raced, less cohesive and more a rush of images of nightmare scenarios that he weighed in an instant. He could hide himself and Kate behind one of the huge tree trunks and hope the animal passed them by. But whatever it was had to already know of their presence. If his feeble senses could hear and smell the animal, it had no doubt smelled and heard him much sooner. In that case, he decided it was best to hold his ground and meet whatever it was head on, straight down the barrel of his rifle. That would give them the best chance. Flip would have to make his shot count, and he’d probably only get one, but it was a decent chance.

Stepping in front of Kate, Flip raised his rifle to his shoulder. He kept both eyes open, not limiting his focus to only what was past the end of his barrel, but trying to expand his senses to the full spectrum of forest in front of him. He heard a heavy breath, something panting. Closer now. Flip clicked off the safety and tightened his finger on the trigger. The hardest skill for a hunter to learn, especially when hunting game that hunted him back, is to wait long enough for a good shot but not so long as to let it get him. He wouldn’t waste his shot until he saw his target clearly and could be sure of putting the bullet where it would matter most. His hold on the gun was rock steady, his breath stalled, his eyes unblinking.

The panting grew in volume until it seemed to drum in his ears. Odd for a stalking predator. Before Flip could reconcile that, a bear burst from the trees only feet in front of him. A huge grizzly bear lumbering toward him on all fours, the top of its humped shoulders taller than Flip’s head. His finger tensed, less than a millimeter of movement was required to fire. But something was off with the bear. It was panting heavily, saliva dripping from its open mouth and fog snorting in bursts from its wet nose. The bear stopped short at the sight of the man with a gun right in front of it, clearly surprised, very unlike a predator who had been stalking the man. Flip hesitated. If he didn’t kill the bear immediately with one shot – drop it right in its tracks – it would maul them both before it died. If the bear wasn’t hunting him, it was a foolish risk to take. Grizzlies were not commonly hunting predators; they were scavengers and fishers. Most people who were mauled by grizzlies had either gotten between a mother and her cubs or a bear and its food, or they had startled it like waking a grumpy old man.

Sniffing the air, the bear looked at Flip. He was so close he could see the small particles of moisture the bear blew out of its nose along with steam when it snorted. The bear’s little round ears flicked, one turning backward to listen behind it. The bear’s eyes were wide, showing white, in a nervous gesture that was common to both man and beast. The bear looked back over its shoulder and then broke into a gallop. Flip’s rational mind told him to shoot, but his instinct prevented him. The bear altered course enough to avoid running straight into Flip. It paid him no further mind at all, instead running right by him. Flip followed it with the barrel of his rifle as it passed by him so close that a string of white saliva landed on the rifle’s blue-black barrel.

Turning around about face, Flip followed the bear with his sights until it was well past them and showed no signs of turning back around. He looked back toward the place the bear had come from, still holding the rifle to his shoulder. He didn’t look at Kate when he told her, “Walk back to the cabin. Don’t run, but go now.”

“You want me to follow the bear?” she hissed. “He ran toward the cabin. I don’t want to get near him again.”

“Follow the bear,” Flip gritted. “If a bear’s runnin’ from something, we’d best do the same. He didn’t care about us anyway. Now, move.”

Uncertainly, Kate turned and retreated toward the cabin. They hadn’t gone that far, after all. Flip backed after her, keeping his rifle aimed into the black forest from which the bear had run. A shrill scream splintered the silence, starker than a bolt of lightning. Kate shuddered and Flip ducked, hunching his shoulders like he had taken a punch. The scream shrilled for several seconds, wavering on a blood-curdling note before trailing away. It echoed around them, seeming to float on the mist.

“That’s just an elk bugling,” Flip said, trying to calm Kate. Maybe it was in fact an elk, a sickly, ravenous elk. “Keep moving, slowly.”

“I’ve never heard an elk that sounded like that.” Kate shivered against more than the chilled air. “This is starting to scare the hell out of me.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take your mind off of it when we get back,” Flip tried to joke but he couldn’t muster the required lewdness, his mouth was too dry.

The howling scream burst again through the forest. It was something like an elk bugle, but more howling and rasping, with a sort of growling mingled in at the end as it trailed away. It was closer now. Flip felt as much as heard it reverberate inside his skull.

“Whatever that is, it’s not an elk.” Kate had her arms wrapped around her body, trying to prevent herself from being overtaken by tremors.

“Sure, it is,” Flip lied. “They probably just grow ‘em bigger up here.”

Kate blew out a shuddering breath, fighting to keep her steps slow and steady.

“Pick up the pace a little, darlin,’” Flip rasped.

“You said not to run,” Kate hissed.

“I didn’t say to crawl either!” Flip gritted. “This is one hell of a time for you to start listening to me.”

Instead of moving faster, Kate stopped short. So suddenly, Flip bumped into her as he walked backward. A branch snapped somewhere inside the forest. It was strangely loud. Flip realized then that the snap only sounded harsh because the forest had gone utterly silent. The hundreds of small noises from birds and insects were gone. Even the drops of water falling from tree branches seemed to have stopped. The forest felt like a living thing around them, possessed of a presence all its own. Now that presence was altered into something darker and ominous.

“What the hell are you doing?” Flip’s voice had dropped to a whisper without his conscious approval. “I said keep moving. We’re not far from the cabin.”

“Turn around.” Kate’s voice trembled.

Dropping the rifle for a moment, Flip looked back over his shoulder. His nerves must be playing tricks on his eyes. He turned fully around, holding the rifle at high port across his chest. The view of the forest that met him was foreign. It wasn’t the same forest they had walked through only minutes before. The trees were more skeletal, their grasping branches more cloying. Moss hung from the branches like the lank hair of a corpse, and the ground was spongy underfoot, as if the forest was rotting around them. Even the air smelled stale and moldy. Thunder boomed overhead and lightning illuminated the forest in patches like a stop-motion movie. Most unsettling of all, the comforting glow of the cabin lights that could be seen through the trees had vanished or been snuffed out.

“What the fuck…” Flip’s voice trailed away as he took in the strangeness of their surroundings. A burst of lightning brought the forest into focus for a gleaming second. Bizarre shapes hung in the trees like a macabre abomination of Christmas tree ornaments, figures made from twigs lashed together with sinew to form pentagrams and humanoid shapes and horned beings. Flip swallowed thickly and ignored them. “We couldn’t have gotten turned around so fast.”

“We didn’t.” Kate looked around frantically. “I could see the cabin lights, then I heard that horrible bugle and looked around for it. And then the lights were gone. They couldn’t have all gone out, not all at once.”

“Lightning must have struck the cabin,” Flip lied again. Nothing about the forest looked familiar to him now and everything about it felt wrong. “Must have shorted out the lights.” There was no reason to scare Kate more than she already was. “It’s alright, we don’t need lights for what I have in mind when we get back.”

The scent of wet dog hit Flip again on a gust of wind, yanking his attention in the direction of the odor. He saw a heap of dark fur, glistening from the spotty rain and aimed his rifle at the creature. It didn’t move. Steam rose from the furry mass. Flip noted another smell on the air, something with a coppery aftertaste that coated the roof of his mouth. He edged forward, looking at the steaming animal down the barrel of his rifle, his finger resting on the trigger, ready to fire. He recognized the beast when another bolt of lightning revealed the horror to him.

“Don’t look,” he said to Kate, but it was too late. She clasped a hand over her mouth to keep her scream from escaping.

The huge grizzly bear they had encountered minutes before lay on its side in a broken heap of matted fur. Steam spiraled into the air from its torn-open belly, its entrails protruding from the mangled tissue like uncooked sausage. The gaping wound was only minutes old. The bear’s body temperature would plummet rapidly in the frigid air and it was still warm now. Even as they stared, the steam began to abate. Hanging in the branches of the tree nearest the bear carcass were several more bizarre figures crafted from twigs.

The screeching growling bugle erupted again, very close this time. Flip nudged Kate ahead, keeping his rifle at the ready, but not knowing where to aim it.

“Which way do we go?” Her breath came in shuddering puffs of fog.

“I don’t know,” Flip admitted. “Away from here.”

Amid a stand of spruce to his side, bare tree branches swayed in the wind, their spiky fingers waving ominously. Flip hadn’t noticed the wind pick up. Looking at the oddly swaying branches, he realized there was no wind. The air had gone as still as the inside of a crypt. The strange branches were bare, glistening wet and pointed upward, still swaying.

A flash of lightning illuminated the creature and Flip flinched so hard he almost fired accidentally.

What he had taken for bare branches was a set of enormous antlers, shaped somewhere between a moose and a caribou and as large as an Irish elk, with wide paddles and long spiked tines spurting out non-typically like broken fingers. It had a dark mane like an elk with a tawny, painfully emaciated body. Flat tines of several spinal processes protruded through the hide at the top of its high withers and one hip bone showed through the skin. But its head was the most terrible of all. Its face was in an advanced stage of rot, dregs of sagging flesh barely clinging to the skull. White skull bone gleamed in exposed patches, and its sharp, lupine teeth were long in the exposed jawbone and ragged. Its nasal cavity was bare, the fleshy nose rotten away, leaving only the pointed bones and a black hollow. It had no eyes that Flip could see, but there was an evil gleam inside its sockets, like embers inside a pile of ash. The monster shook its head, slinging water from its great spiked antlers. Then it leveled its head like a bull about to charge and fixed its glowing eyes on Flip.

“Shoot it,” Kate whispered, her eyes wide with terror.

“I don’t think it’ll do any good.” Flip looked down the barrel at the rotting flesh covering the walking skeleton and white bone peeking from beneath. The monster’s glowing eyes were not something found among the living. Without lowering his rifle, he looked at Kate and met her eyes. “It’ll come for me first. I’ll make sure of that, and I’ll stall it as much as I can. Get to the truck, darlin.’ The keys are in it. Run like hell.”

“I’m not leaving you!” she said vehemently, her voice losing some fervor when the creature took an ominous step closer, its enormous antlers swaying with its gait.

She felt for her phone, hoping there might be service. Not that another human could even reach them in less than an hour, making any idea of help hopeless. Her hand closed around the lumpy bundle of flares. With an excited breath, she freed a flare from the bundle and fumbled with lighting it.

The monster bugled angrily, a sound so shrill it felt like it grated along their spines. It rushed toward them through the trees, its teeth bared and eyes aflame. Flip fired, sending a bullet right between those glowing eyes. He even saw the bullet strike and tear away more rotting flesh, leaving a pearly white hole in the skull. It didn’t slow the monster or even make it flinch. He bolted another round into the chamber on instinct, staring down the barrel at the demonic eyes that were fixed upon him.

Kate popped the cap off the flare. The cap had an abrasive tip like a matchhead and she struck it to the end of the flare, holding it high as it burst to life. With their eyes accustomed to the darkness, the flare seemed as bright as sunlight, searing black pulsing spots into their vision. The monster squealed again, shaking its head with pain or irritation. Its antlers caught in the tree branches, stalling its advance. The flare burned and popped, hot on Kate’s face even at arm’s length and blindingly bright.

The landscape around them crackled and wavered, like a tv signal trying to come in through static. The trees looked less skeletal and more normal, like they had been before, and the strange twig figures vanished. The cabin lights glowed through the trees, yellow and warm, not far from them.

“It’s in our heads!” Kate shouted. “It’s making us hallucinate, but I can see the cabin and the truck now.”

“The light bothers it,” Flip said as he reached into her coat pocket, grabbing three flares and leaving her the remaining two. The monster wrenched its antlers free of the branches where it was tangled and lurched toward them in a shambling gait.

Shouldering his rifle that was of no more use than a club against the monster, Flip bit the cap off a flare with his teeth and struck the head. He rammed the end into the muddy ground at his feet, leaving the tip burning. The beast reared, shrieking with rage and clawing the air with its cloven hooves as Flip backed away. He could see the glow of the cabin lights now too. It was hard to resist the urge to run to the light.

Flip lit the next flare. Kate was a few yards ahead of him, gaining ground toward the truck. It would take whoever reached it first a minute to start it. Flip had a good throwing arm and even better aim. The monster lunged at him, rage overriding whatever else had been driving it to pursue them so far. Flip drew back his arm, took a second to aim at the gaping black jaws, and threw the lit flare as hard as he could. The flaming tip cartwheeled through the air like a throwing knife before the fiery head struck the monster right where its nose should have been. But it had no nose, its nasal cavity was exposed in its partially skeletal head. Robin Hood could not have struck a finer bullseye. The flaming tip sank deep into the nasal cavity, embedding itself there.

Screaming terribly, the wendigo shook its head and stomped its hooves, rearing and bucking like a horse that had stepped on a hornet’s nest. It couldn’t shake the flare free from its skull. The flames spread, shooting out through holes in the rancid flesh of its cheeks and jaws. It looked as though it breathed fire when it screeched, belching flare fumes and flames out of its hacking mouth.

“We’re not gonna get a better chance than this!” Flip roared at Kate as he burst into a run toward her. She had a few paces head start on him and sprinted ahead toward the truck.

Kate reached the truck first, yanking the driver’s door open and jumping inside. Flip could bitch about her driving all he wanted, but she dared not spare the extra second or two for him to take the wheel. Not with the eldritch monster galloping toward them, bugling terribly, flames bellowing from its mouth and nose. Flip had his one remaining flare in hand when he reached the truck. The engine roared to life.

Instead of joining Kate inside the cab, Flip vaulted into the truck bed and shouted for her to drive. Kate slammed the truck into gear, throwing Flip against the side of the bed. Regaining his balance, he dropped to his knees and planted his back against the rear window, making himself as steady as he could. Kate was speeding as fast as she dared down the muddy, winding road, and it wasn’t fast enough. The wendigo pursued them, galloping after the truck and gaining ground. Striking the tip of his flare, Flip held the flaming tip aloft, casting the entire truck in a halo of searing red fire. The wendigo allowed more distance between them, smart enough to keep outside of throwing range of another flare.

Kate took a slippery curve too fast, the truck fishtailing as she recovered control, slinging Flip from one side of the bed to the other. The flare was nearly whipped from his hand, but he clenched his fist tight to keep his hold. Gritting his teeth, he composed himself, using all his strength to keep his balance and keep his arm held high. He couldn’t afford to lose a flare. They only had three flares left, and it was going to take every last burning second of each one to reach town.

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

 © safarigirlsp 2024

Tagging some buddies!

[nb-octopus-writes]

once you’re in the hive, the other bees assume you’re supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Chapter 5: The Most Accidental of Thefts

Wordcount: 2.4K

~~~~

The rest of Virgil’s shift is about average, which means he's tired at the end but not ready to drop dead of exhaustion, and he catches the bus home like usual. He'd charged his phone at work, so he's able to put his travel earbuds in and drown out the various noises of mass transit with the dulcet tones of MCR.

Soon enough, he's home. He drops his apron in the hamper—he'd gotten splashed with coffee, so he's gonna need to do laundry tonight—and flops into bed.

The pool noodles are still there from this morning, which makes the flop considerably less pleasant than usual. Virgil tugs them out from underneath himself and drops them on the floor, settling back again. Man, he's tired. In a bit, he'll have to get up and do something about dinner, and start that load of laundry, but for now, he's just gonna be flopped for a bit.

Virgil lies there for a few minutes.

One of the springs is poking into his back. Virgil shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position. He may not have wanted to stay for so long, but his back sure hadn't protested sleeping on a softer surface for a few nights.

The spring is persistent, and Virgil slides a hand under his back to see if he can adjust it.

It's not a spring.

Virgil sits up and looks. Lying innocently on the bed behind him is a phone. It isn't Virgil’s phone. Virgil’s phone has a black and purple case, and it's still in his pocket anyway. This phone is red and gold and sparkly. 

It's Roman's phone.

Well, fuck.

Virgil is a thief. He's a damn thief! Roman took time out of his own morning to drive him to work, and Virgil repaid him by stealing his phone! How could he!?

Virgil is going to die of shame. He really is. He's the worst houseguest ever. He didn't bother to learn their names beforehand—hell, he still only knows one name out of three even after being there for days, he showed up in an inappropriate costume that he's lucky didn't trigger Calico's arachnophobia, he stayed way longer than he was supposed to, he inconvenienced Roman and used him as a private chauffeur, and then, to top it all off, Virgil stole his phone.

How is he supposed to get Roman's phone back to him!? He can't text him, he doesn't know Roman's number and anyway Roman doesn't have his phone with which to receive a text.

He could text Remus. Remus would probably find the accidental theft hilarious. He also might just respond LOL and not help him return it nor inform Princey of its location.

Virgil’s out of ideas. He frowns at the stolen phone.

Well.

Maybe he has one more idea.

He can't text Princey, but maybe he can text Nerdbot or Calico.

Surely Princey has their numbers. Virgil can text them from his phone, and explain the situation. Mentally trying to compose the text, Virgil picks up the sparkly phone.

It's locked.

Part of Virgil wants to give up. He tried, he failed, time for bed.

He needs a number combination. Maybe Princey did the smart thing and came up with something unique, but maybe…

Virgil tries Remus's birthday, which is, after all, also Princey's birthday. The lock screen cuts him off after just four digits and says that nope, that wasn't it. Virgil tries just the year.

The phone unlocks.

“That is not a very secure passcode,” Virgil tells it. “Anyone could guess that, all they need to know is how old you are.”

Princey's phone is still open to the map app, and the route they'd taken from his house to Virgil’s apartment is still up. It had been a pretty quick trip, only a few miles.

Virgil has another idea.

Five minutes later, Virgil is on his bike, following the route in reverse. He doesn't dare touch any buttons and risk losing the starting position, so he can't ask for a route intended for bikes instead of cars, but he has the blue dot of his current location, and when he has to detour around a too-busy road with no bike lane or sidewalks, he's able to navigate back to the route without undue difficulty.

Soon, Virgil is pedaling up the driveway. He parks his bike in front of the porch, takes a steadying breath, and knocks on the door.

Nerdbot answers the door. “Virgil, hi,” he greets, looking mildly surprised to see him. Which, fair, they just got rid of him this morning.

“Hi,” Virgil says, trying to look past him without being obvious and rude about it. “Uh, is Roman home?”

Nerdbot raises an eyebrow at him, but nods and gestures for Virgil to step into the foyer. “Roman?” he calls into the rest of the house.

“Whaat?” Roman calls back from another room. He pops round the doorframe, and Nerdbot gestures to Virgil. “Scaramour!” Roman says, sounding genuinely pleased to see him. “What brings you here?”

“My bike,” Virgil quips. He holds up the accidentally stolen phone, and Roman lights up.

“You found it!” he cries, bounding over and snatching his phone out of Virgil’s hand. “Oh, I have been looking for this, where was it?”

“At my place,” Virgil admits.

“Huh,” says Princey, and, “Oops.”

Virgil’s about to apologize for accidentally stealing Roman's phone, when thunder rolls and the sky, which had gotten increasingly cloudy on the way over, opens up.

Roman shoves his phone back at Virgil, who only doesn't drop it due to luck and reflexes, and dashes out into the sudden rain. Before Virgil can process what's happening, Roman grabs Virgil’s bicycle and hauls it bodily up the porch steps and through the front door.

“...What,” Virgil says.

“You are my dark and stormy knight on shining bicycle,” Princey proclaims. “You have done me a great service by locating and returning my phone, and it would be dishonorable to send you home in such weather. Nor shall I allow your noble steed to rust!” He slicks his dampened hair back from his face. “I must insist that you grace us with your company until the storm passes.”

Virgil looks to Nerdbot for help. Nerdbot looks out the door at the rain. “I agree, this certainly isn't biking weather,” he says. “Have you had dinner?”

“Um,” says Virgil, feeling quite off-balance. “No?”

Nerdbot nods decisively and closes the door. “We were just sitting down to eat. I insist you join us.” He ushers Virgil into the dining room and says to Calico, “Please set another place, Patton. We have a guest.”

“Oh!” Calico—Patton?—says, smiling at Virgil. “Welcome back!”

“Hi,” Virgil says, and lets Nerdbot seat him, and lets Calico put a plate in front of him.

The rain doesn't let up all through dinner. In fact, it's pouring harder at the end of the meal than it had been at the start.

Nerdbot pulls up a weather forecast and frowns. “It looks like we're going to continue having heavy rain all night,” he says. “We currently have a flash flood warning until five in the morning tomorrow. ‘Do not attempt to travel unless you are fleeing a flooded area.’” He looks up at Virgil. “I'm sorry for the abrupt change in plans, but it looks like you're going to have to stay the night again.”

“Oh,” Virgil says. “Sorry.” He'd just meant to return the phone and apologize, but because of the rain they had to feed him again and now they have to put up with him for a whole nother night!

“It's no imposition,” Nerdbot reassures. “I'll prepare a guest room for you, and Patton can find you a spare set of pajamas.”

“Thanks,” says Virgil weakly. They're much better hosts than he deserves. He could have just slept on the couch again.

Nerdbot smiles at him. “You are welcome,” he says. “Roman, will you clear the table?”

Roman pouts, and Virgil offers, “I'll help.” It's the least he can do.

“Do you have work in the morning?” Roman asks while he puts away the leftovers and Virgil does the dishes.

“Yeah.”

“I'll drive you. Do you wanna stop by your place again, or wash your clothes here so you can wear them tomorrow?”

Fuck. Virgil winces. “I was going to do laundry tonight,” he remembers aloud. “My uniform is dirty, so I was going to wash it!”

“Oh no!” Roman says. “Do you have a spare?”

“I… I guess there's one at work I can borrow,” Virgil says, relaxing slightly. Yeah. He can do that, and then he can do laundry tomorrow.

Calico comes back with an armful of pajamas. “I think these should fit you,” he says, handing them to Virgil. “They might be a little loose.”

“I like loose,” Virgil reassures him. He hesitates. “Is… do you think I could take a shower?” He hasn't had one in days, and honestly he's feeling pretty gross.

“Probably?” Calico says. He starts back the way he'd come. “Logan?” he calls.

There's a muffled reply, and Patton leads Virgil up the stairs. “Logan?” he calls again as they reach the top.

Nerdbot steps out of one of the several doorways lining the long upstairs hallway. “What?” he asks.

“Is it safe to take a shower?”

“It's not ideal,” Nerdbot says, “but as the thunderstorm appears to have given way to just rain, we're unlikely to have a lightning strike. Go ahead.”

Patton smiles up at Virgil. “I'll get you a towel!” He opens one of the other doors, which leads to a stuffed linen closet, and hands Virgil a fluffy blue towel. “The bathroom's at the end of the hall,” he says, pointing. “Take as long as you need, we've got a big water heater.”

“Thanks,” Virgil says, and absconds into the bathroom. He locks the door behind him and sets his pile of borrowed clothes on the floor. Then he strips and enjoys a nice hot shower.

Their water pressure is great. Virgil stays under the spray far longer than is necessary to scrub the grime from his skin. When he steps out, Virgil is squeaky clean, and the most relaxed he's been all day.

Time to see what kind of pajamas Calico picked out for him.

Long pajama pants the same style as Logan's nerdy ones, but plaid this time, both a long-sleeved and a short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of boxer briefs. Virgil debates, but eventually decides that someone else's clean underwear is better than his own dirty underwear, and puts them on. He wonders for a moment whose boxers they are, but shuts that thought down. He doesn't need to know. He doesn't want to know.

There's also a rolled pair of ankle socks, a stocking cap, and a hairband. Patton really wanted to cover all his bases, huh?

Virgil puts on the pants and the long-sleeved shirt, but leaves the rest. They are loose, but not too much more than his own pajamas.

Virgil hangs his damp towel on the open hook beside the other towels, gathers everything else up, and slips out.

Logan had said he would prepare a guest room for him. Virgil figures his best guess would be the room he'd seen Logan come out of. It is indeed a bedroom, with the bed made and the covers turned down invitingly, and there's an unopened water bottle on the nightstand.

This is probably the right room. There's not really any personal stuff in it, so it's really unlikely this is someone else's bedroom.

If it's not the right room, they can tell him later that he was wrong and fucked it up. Virgil puts his dirty clothes on the floor, then cracks open the water bottle and sits down on the bed to have a sip.

What is this mattress made of, cotton candy!? It's soft and he sinks right in. He can't feel the springs at all. Virgil puts his water back on the nightstand and lies down.

He is in heaven.

Objectively, Virgil is in heaven right now. He is lying on a cloud, and it is the most comfortable surface he has ever laid upon. He is never getting up. He's not even near ready to go to sleep yet, but he's never getting up. They'll have to pry him out of this bed with a crowbar. This might be a problem for Future Virgil, when he has to get up for work or, like, to pee, but Future Virgil can suck a dick.

Around an hour later, there's a soft knock and Patton peeks in through the open door. Seeing that Virgil is still up and on his phone, he tiptoes exaggeratedly across the floor. “Sneak, sneak, I'm not here,” he whispers. “I'm just gonna steal your clothes to wash them so they're ready for you tomorrow, okay? I'll empty the pockets first so I don't accidentally destroy anything important.”

“’Kay,” Virgil says.

Patton empties Virgil’s pockets onto the nightstand, and then bundles up the clothes. “Thievery!” he declares softly, scampering away with Virgil’s dirty laundry. Virgil’s lips twitch and he holds back a giggle. Patton pauses at the doorway and asks in a perfectly normal tone, “Do you want me to turn off the light?”

“Sure,” Virgil says. Might as well, and it'll save him the trip. Or the falling asleep with the light on, rather, since he's never leaving this bed.

Patton turns the light off. “Goodnight,” he says, silhouetted by the hall light. “Sleep well. I love you.”

It's probably just a reflex. He probably didn't mean to say that, not to Virgil. He barely knows him. He probably says it to Logan and Roman all the time, and it just slipped out. Virgil bites the reflexive ‘love you too’ back from the tip of his tongue, then thinks maybe he should have said it back anyway, make Patton feel less awkward about his own reflexive slip. But then it's been too long, and it wouldn't sound natural, and Virgil just says,

“Goodnight.”

Patton pulls the door to, and leaves Virgil alone in the dark.

He plays a game on his phone for a few more hours, and then sinks back into the wonderfully soft bed and sleeps.

~~~~

Chapter 6: Baiting the Trap

[sayruq]

 As the escalation of the conflict extends to its 19th day, a staggering 2.2 million people are now in urgent need of food. Prior to the hostilities, 104 trucks a day would deliver food to the besieged Gaza Strip, one truck every 14 minutes. 

Despite 62 trucks of aid being allowed to enter southern Gaza via the Rafah crossing since the weekend, only 30 contained food and in some cases, not exclusively so. This amounts to just one truck every three hours and 12 minutes since Saturday. 

[...]

International Humanitarian Law (IHL) strictly prohibits the use of starvation as a method of warfare and as the occupying power in Gaza, Israel is bound by IHL obligations to provide for the needs and protection of the population of Gaza. In 2018, the UN Security Council adopted resolution 2417, which unanimously condemned the use of starvation against civilians as a method of warfare and declared any denial of humanitarian access a violation of international law. Oxfam said that it is becoming painfully clear that the unfolding humanitarian situation in Gaza squarely fits the prohibition condemned in the resolution. 

Clean water has now virtually run out.  It’s estimated that only three litres of clean water are now available per person – the UN said that a minimum of 15 litres a day is essential for people in the most acute humanitarian emergencies as a bare minimum. Bottled water stocks are running low and the cost of bottled water has already surged beyond the reach of an average Gaza family, with prices spiking fivefold in some places. A spokesperson for the UN Agency for Palestinian Refugees (UNWRA) pointed out that some of the food aid allowed in - rice and lentils - is useless, because people do not have clean water or fuel to prepare them. 

A series of airstrikes have left several bakeries and supermarkets either destroyed or damaged. Those that are still functional, can’t meet the local demand for fresh bread and are at risk of shutting down due to the shortage of essentials like flour and fuel. Gaza’s only operative wheat mill is redundant due to the power outages. The Palestinian Water Authority says Gaza's water production is now a mere 5 percent of its normal total, which is expected to reduce further, unless water and sanitation facilities are provided with electricity or fuel to resume its activity. 

Notably, essential food items, like flour, oil and sugar, are still stocked in warehouses that haven’t been destroyed. But as many of them are located in Gaza city, it is proving physically impossible to deliver items due to the lack of fuel, damaged roads and risks from airstrikes.  

The electricity blackout has also disrupted food supplies by affecting refrigeration, crop irrigation, and crop incubation devices.  Over 15,000 farmers have lost their crop production and 10,000 livestock breeders have little access to fodder, with many having lost their animals. Oxfam said that the siege, combined with the airstrikes, has crippled the fishing industry with hundreds of people who rely on fishing losing access to the sea. 

[velvetures]

AU Continuation: Perimeter Security

a.n.: Thank you to everyone who left comments, and gave this love! I hope to write more! This is thanks to @3dumbass and their suggestions.

summary: living with the 141 has its perks, and built-in security is one of them. it’s just not always easy for them to determine who’s actually a threat.

AU: The 141 are at risk due to personal files being compromised. They’re laying low at a low-risk location until further notice.

tags?: Simon x 3rd person coded relationship, strangers, tension, well-meaning anger, protectiveness, misunderstanding.

Snow made everything on the ridge lines slow down. Thick, icy, blankets camouflaged roads and halted the daily movement of simple life. The mail didn’t run, and neither did the school busses in town. It was as if the whole mountain slept in for weeks at a time when this kind of weather trudged in over the skyline. Freezing water pipes -if you didn’t know to turn the tap on a little- and draining the battery in your vehicle leaving you stranded for days at a time. It’s what made a wood-burning stove a lifesaver and why the ornate Art Garland sitting in the living room more of a necessity than a gilded cast-iron luxury from 1898.

But getting firewood was a whole different experience… especially when the task force took up residence and experience their first winter with Price and Laswell’s goddaughter.

She did well to provide for herself. Not just well, really, better than that. Everything she could manage alone was done without any assistance, and she never complained about much. They all assumed it came from living in such a remote place. That she couldn’t rely on anyone and never got spoiled to living easily. What she couldn’t -or simply didn’t- want to manage, the locals down in town helped with by beaters, trades, or well-kept favors that just kept being passed back and forth.

Just another one of those slowed-down things that made a whole lot of sense in her life, but set the 141’s teeth on edge.

They could rely on each other and do just fine most of the time. But individually and as a squad, it made all of them feel inadequate beyond comprehension asking for or requiring help. And like with her was just one of the stinging wounds they couldn’t quite heal up. Seeing her trade strawberries for corn or a rough-sewn quilt for a hand-made kitchen knife was dignified enough… they just didn’t understand fully how deep the lifestyle ran.

Ghost’s encounter with “Bear” put that much more tension on the dynamic.

***

She’d been inside bent over a pot of soup for nearly the whole morning. Steam curling over her reddened cheeks and sucking up through the range hood when the faint sound of a truck came spinning up the steep snow-covered driveway. A flatbed with a steel-cage welded to the bed and stacks of wood covered with a blue tarp in the back with fraying bungee cords. A familiar sight for her since the man driving always brought her firewood when the weather got too cold to go and do it herself. Or when she’d been regrettably lazy… and didn’t feel like it either.

Barrett “Bear” Stephens. A real outdoorsman and not more than a couple years older than her. Most people around town thought he was a real prick since he didn’t talk much and kept to himself out on West Run Ridge. But she liked him well enough. Trusted him to let him in her house for dinner as thanks for keeping her house warm and always waved when she saw him in the grocery store despite the guarantee he wouldn’t aside her back. Hearing his truck ambling up through driveway wasn’t anything new.

It’s why she forgot to mention it to anyone else.

“Damn freezing out here,” He spit with gritted teeth, sliding out of the truck in four layers of coats. “You’re real lucky the biscuits you make are worth this shit.”

She couldn’t help but stifle a smile. Shifting back and forth to stave off the cold while wearing less than half of what Bear was. Only having come out to greet him since it was below freezing. Normally she’d leave him to drop off her bundles of kindling without the harassment of making him talk. But the snow was deep, and she felt guilty not at least helping him for a moment. Maybe it was good luck that she had though. Because Bear didn’t even make it to the back of the flatbed when a solid black figure smoothly appeared from the opposite side. Black steel glinting in evening light and the black hole of a rifled pistol aimed right at him.

She stopped dead in her tracks. The mistake washing over her seeing Ghost standing there in the scary-as-hell mask, with a white skull framed by a black hoodie and positive white snow all around him. Fuck, even the steam from his breath smoked out of the mask like he was fucking burning from the inside out and letting off pressure before he exploded. His eyes were dead and cold. Staring down the mountain man who’d came to just as still of a position. She was certain Ghost was the only one breathing.

“You’re not welcome,” his thick burred voice sounded more gritty than normal. Maybe from the cold weather… she’d not seen him inside her house in days. “Suggest you leave.”

Bear didn’t say a word, but his rapid nod of his head was enough to thaw her out. Stop this before it got any uglier than Ghost’s .45 making a damn-good threat.

“Wait! He’s… he’s here on purpose!” The excuse can’t great. There could be plenty of reasons he came with intent and then not be positive. “I needed him!”

The stiffness in Ghost miraculously gets worse. Frost in his wide shoulders turning to blue ice and that darkness in his eyes sharpening like flint from sloped hills behind the house. It made him more pissed, and she didn’t have the slightest idea of how to fix it.

He was cagey at the best of times. Like he’d bristle if he had fur on his back or bare fangs if he had the choice to. She hated making any of that anger show, but there wasn’t a better option right now. Besides… it was her damn house. She could have whoever she pleased so long as she thought they were safe. John had made it clear there wouldn’t be any restrictions unless something serious came up. And having visitors weren’t one of them. Especially since. Bear wasn’t coming in the house.

She’d been quite set in that decision anyways. Bear wasn’t the nosey type anyways. He didn’t talk much, did his job, and left. But that didn’t mean Ghost knew it. And his pistol didn’t even waver a centimeter even after she spoke.

“This… this yours?” Bear’s voice sounded shaky. His teeth unclenched and irritation with the cold wind dissolved. His question made her antsy. There were too many answers, and none of them felt right in her head.

“Long story,” she decided, taking a rounded pathway around Bear and towards Ghost. Purposefully staying far away from that damn pistol he felt still necessary to have out.

“He can be-”

“Lethal.”

Ghost’s interjection made her wince.

“Enough of that!” She snaps back, hissing and feeling the hot air freeze in front of her lips. “Let him drop off the firewood, and he’ll leave.”

One look back at Bear and she could see the slight confusion in his otherwise guarded expression. There was no chance in hell she was letting Ghost just disappear off somewhere after this. He couldn’t just point-blank threaten people. Bear was who kept the damn house warm half the winter whether she liked it or not. And Ghost couldn’t fuck it up just because he’d not been explicitly told anything.

“How ‘bout we lend a hand?”

Soap and Gaz walking up nearly gave her a heart attack. One of them was bad enough. Two more? Her faith in Bear not running and telling anyone who would listen about her was stretching thin. The grocery store, all three churches, and the fire department would think she was in a reverse harem by the end of the month. Even if Soap was already helping himself to the stacks of bundled wood in the back, this interaction felt centuries long with no hope of ending.

“Just three.” She finally gets the warning out, seeing Gaz going for a fourth bundle. He just nods, setting it back down and shooting a quite civil nod in the man’s direction.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” He adds, looking over the tall stacks. “How much?”

“Ten dollars a bundle.” Bear sounds half ready to pass out.

Gaz promptly drops the one he’s carrying and pulls out a wallet like he’s got no problem with Ghost still standing there like a human-centry gun. Pulling out a twenty and holding it out in his hand.

Is this some sort of fucking peace treaty?

Ghost only moves to holster his weapon after Bear takes the money and mutters something about ‘help yourself’ before shutting himself back inside the can of the truck without another word. Tension easing with each moment Soap spends stacking his arms tall with dry, red cedar and sycamore. She doesn’t even know where to begin. Wondering where John was. Wanting to know where Ghost had been. Why he’d even approached in the first place.

“I need a word with you.”

She can’t bring herself to do anything but stare out at Bear’s truck hightailing it off her property as she addresses Ghost. Hearing his very heavy boots creaking on the porch. He doesn’t say a word, but it’s clear once Gaz and Soap leave for inside that he’s not standing behind her for his own enjoyment.

“Do you have any idea what you might’ve just screwed up?” Her voice doesn’t sound like her own. It’s mad, sure. But almost panicked in a sense. The reality of the situation hitting her harder because she vividly remembered winter before the help. And it wasn’t pretty. Recent snows had been stable and quite pleasant actually. And Ghost nearly made target practice out of her own sure solution.

“Very aware,” that damn voice sounded too smooth. “Who is he?”

Another thick billow of fog curls out of her mouth. “Who he is, isn’t important. Keeping my fucking house from freezing is.” She can feel her fingers starting to prick from the cold even inside her coat.

“Don’t care for nameless men.” He counters just as seemingly unbothered.

If she could physically force herself to turn around and face him head-on, she would. But his utter disregard made it intimidating. Too much to handle.

“Jesus Christ….” She muttered, head dropping to thump against a porch post. “Barrett Stephens. We call him Bear.” It felt defeating to be forced to answer him like this.

Ghost’s boots strain the porch as he walks towards the firewood hoops. The sound of dry bark ready to catch an ember cracking and scratching as he moves it.

“Almost killed himself…”

“Yeah,” She chuckles dryly, biting the inside of her cheek and spinning around with some real anger. “M’sure the coroner would love to know how he got ahold of the pistol you have tucked in your fuckin’ jeans.”

That massive man turned on himself just as quickly. Closing a multiple-yard distance in just a couple long strides. His breathing heavier and that thick smoke trailing from the stitch-seams in his mask.

“Gonna get yourself killed too…” He warns. Low, and just like the wolf she pictured him being. Bared teeth, dilated eyes and all.

“Stop growlin’ at me…” The words come out of her mouth before she even thinks about how wrong it is. “Actin’ like a damn dog.”

He’s fast. So fast.

Hauling her backwards against the porch banister and towering high above her head with a low, and heavy sort of breath fizzling out in his chest. It’s the most threatening he’s been so far. And she can’t tell just how far she can continue to stand her ground without things truly getting ugly. Even her fingers have stopped tingling from the cold with just how fast her blood is pumping. Force feeding oxygen to her brain. Desperate to find a way to run from an inescapable situation she’d created.

“Mind tellin’ me where you got this idea to talk back to me, creeker?”

“When you started throwin’ that gun around like you have the right.”

The fear didn’t keep her mouth shut. Digging an even deeper grave all because he kept using that stupid fucking nickname. Pushing buttons and making it that much harder to be understanding of why he was always so bitter. Nothing she’d done had made a difference so far. And the patience she’d saved specifically for him was waning.

Ghost just chuckled, his head rolling to the side and the gloved hands gripping her coat tightened.

“The right?” It was almost impossible to imagine anything other than a smirk under that mask.

“Oh… I certainly have the right to defend what’s mine.”

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated 🤎

[oriistar]

Chapter One - Welcome to Camp Superstar!

Sun and Moon x GN! Reader

Summary: A substitute teacher looking for a summer job finds themselves applying for the position of camp councelor at an old rundown summer camp.

Warnings: None!

Masterlist | Next

Wind whipped your face as you drove down the spruce tree lined highway that your trusty GPS was instructing you to take. With the windows down, you could take in the glorious scent of damp dirt and fresh leaves and it only had you brimming with excitement for your destination. This job had been lined up for almost two whole months now and finally you were on your way. You tapped the steering wheel of your beat up old 2005 Honda Civic as you bobbed your head along to the opening beat of Violet by Bad Suns, a staple on your summer vibes playlist. With the sky a clear expanse of blue above you and the hazy outline of the Colorado mountains in the distance, you were glad that it was finally the end of May and summer was starting. 

You were a substitute teacher, still going through your last years of college, and while working at a middle school one day you had stumbled across a flier advertising open positions for counselors at a summer camp in the Rockies. You needed some form of income until school started back up again anyway so you decided to apply for the position and were ecstatic when you saw the acceptance email in your inbox a week or so after. Sure it'd be one hell of a drive and you were required to live on the grounds for the three months the camp was open but you were honestly looking forward to the escape, especially when you were in a place as gorgeous as this. 

The camp wasn't so excluded anyway. When you had looked up the location you took note of a small town about a thirty minute drive from the camp grounds which wouldn't be a huge trek if you really needed a break from the camp. While looking up the location though, you had found out that the camp was shut down some time in the late 90s and this would actually be its first summer back in operation. You were excited that you got to be part of it's reopening, the few old photos you had seen on Google looked adorable and for the excruciatingly long two months you waited for the time to depart on your mini road trip to the area, you had often daydreamed about giving your lucky little campers the greatest summer of their lives.

Sure you didn't have any prior experience as a camp counselor but you did have plenty of experience with kids thanks to your job and you were aiming to become a full fledged teacher after you finished college anyway so a little extra experience with kids of all ages would be perfect practice for your future. All things considered, it probably was your time spent as a substitute teacher that had secured you the job and for that you were grateful. 

You hummed along to your music as you took your exit off the highway and closely followed your GPS’s directions as you drove down some unkempt roads. Eventually you found yourself on a rather rough dirt road and a large, old looking wooden sign hanging from two rustic pillars that suspended it above the road let you know that you were in fact in the right place. The sign’s raised letters were painted with a faded forest green, spelling out ‘Camp Superstar’ proudly. You gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as your car bumped along the road and you could hear your luggage rustling in the back with every rock your tires jostled over. Eventually the shaded road opened up into a clearing that functioned as a parking lot and you were shocked to find that there were only two other cars parked in the lot, a yellow 2012 Jeep Wrangler and a black 2004 Volkswagen Jetta. 

According to the schedule you were given, the camp was supposed to be officially opened in two days and you assumed that more of your fellow counselors would have already been here by now but you assumed more of them would show up by tomorrow. There wasn't anything wrong with being a day ahead of the crowd after all! You parked your little Honda Civic next to the large Jeep and quickly put the vehicle in park before taking the key out of the engine so you could get out and finally stretch your legs. You weren't exaggerating about the long drive, the city you lived in was over 3 hours away and you had made sure you had plenty of water and snacks for the drive so you wouldn't have to stop along the way. Sure your knees were a little sore but it was worth it. 

You took another deep breath to really savor the fresh air. As you turned around, you examined the yellow Jeep you had parked next to and smiled a bit to yourself when you realized that it was decorated with little star decals, how cute. Deciding to leave most of your things in the car for now, you grabbed the papers you were instructed to bring with you and your phone before you pushed your car door shut and started up the pathway connected to the parking lot. Your eyes widened a bit as you stepped out from the cover of the trees and were met with another, much larger, grassy clearing that made up the main area of the camp. 

A large wooden cabin was the first thing to greet you and you tilted your head curiously as you realized that it was rather.. worn down. Someone had clearly made the effort to patch up most of the damage but its age was still prevalent and you wondered if this was one of the original buildings from the camp’s previous operation time in the 90s. The glass of the windows were sporting a filmy yellow hue and plaster was smeared between the aged logs that made up the walls. The large sign above the door marked it as the ‘Canteen’ and there was a smaller, newer looking cabin beside it marked as the ‘Office’. You admired the structure for a few moments before you clutched the folder in your hands a little tighter and started towards the office building. 

The office building had an almost identical look to the canteen but the wooden planks and logs that made up the walls were very noticeably much newer. You assumed that this building must have been built no more than a few months ago. You stood awkwardly in front of the door for a moment, trying to decide if you should just walk in or knock first and wait for a response. You pulled an uncomfortable look and decided on a midpoint between the two as you rapped on the door lightly and then pulled it open. You were pleasantly surprised to find that the building was air conditioned. Inside was a counter that sectioned off most of the building from the front that was decorated with a potted fern in one corner and a few uncomfortable looking chairs pushed against one wall. Behind the counter you could see a very outdated looking computer and various filing cabinets.

The room had a sort of musty smell to it. Like old paper and moth-eaten fabric but it wasn't so bad. You were more concerned with the fact that there didn't seem to be anyone inside. “Uhh, hello?” You called out uncertainty as you set your small stack of important papers on the counter. You leaned over it a little bit as you heard shuffling from deeper inside the building, hardly audible over the humming of the window AC unit that was keeping the small building cool. A moment later, a woman that looked to be in her late twenties popped her head from around the corner and seemed confused to see you at first. Recognition crossed her features for a moment before she smiled awkwardly and quickly made her way up to the counter. 

“Hey! You must be the new counselor.” She greeted you, placing her hands on the counter. She was a bit taller than you and had long blonde hair that was pulled up into a ponytail, a few strands loose around her hairline that gave her a borderline frazzled appearance. “I'm Vanessa, the general manager or whatever you wanna call it. Basically I'm in charge while the big corporate guys aren't around.” She introduced herself with a light laugh as she pulled the papers you had set on the counter closer to her. You gave her your name and she nodded in confirmation as she took the papers from the counter and moved over to the old computer. “I'm glad you got here a bit early, it'll give you plenty of time to get familiar with the grounds before the kid's get here.” She said as she booted up the computer and began typing into the system. 

“Well I do try to be punctual.” You said with a lopsided smile as you watched her type away at the computer. You weren't sure what to say but thankfully Vanessa didn't leave much room for small talk as she started moving around the office space while explaining some basic stuff to you. “Okay so, I guess I should start out with how we do things here..” She said with a hum as she started gathering a few papers. “Basically, we split the kids up into three groups that we call ‘teams’. Each team has their own cabin area and a team leader, which is you, their designated counselor.” She explained as she set the new papers in front of you. A map of the campgrounds and what seemed to be a schedule of sorts. “There's team Solar, team Lunar, and team Stellar. You'll be in charge of team Stellar and your other two counselors will be the heads of team Solar and Lunar.” She went on and you furrowed your brow a bit at her explanation. Only three counselors on site plus her? That seemed like way too little given the size of the camp.

“Don't worry about them though, you'll meet Sun and Moon soon.” Her words only confused you more. What strange names but you guess you couldn't really judge. Vanessa went on to explain some more things about the camp and soon she approached the counter with a badge in her hands. She reached over to a charging port that held a few handheld radios and snatched one up that was fully charged before she set it and the badge down, pushing them over to you. “Radio so you can contact me or the other counselors whenever you need to. You should have a connection anywhere on the grounds as long as you don't wander too far. Just stay within the barriers, lotta dangerous animals out there y’know?” She said as she pointed to the map she had given you earlier. Vanessa made sure you really got the point about the perimeter before she moved on to point out the more important buildings on the map like the team cabins, showers, staff quarters, ect. It was a lot of information to retain but she assured you that you'd have plenty of time to get things down before the kids arrived.

“Oh and of course you’ll have access to the office here. Your badge will let you into any rooms that have chip readers locking the doors. There isn't much in here but you’ll be able to get a hold of me on the phone when I'm not around.” Vanessa said with a bored sigh as she gestured to the space behind her. Her words confused you again though. “When you’re not around? I’d be able to call you on the radio though, wouldn't I?” You asked curiously as you picked up said device and fumbled with it for a moment, clipping it to your belt similarly to how Vanessa had hers. “Oh I won't always be on the grounds.” She said it so casually, as if it was common sense but her statement had you reeling. If she wasn't going to be here all the time then that meant there was really only you and the other counselors taking care of possibly hundreds of kids all summer? Three adults was nowhere near enough. “Wait, what?” You asked, your tone dripping with disbelief.

Vanessa just shrugged. “I’ll be in town, I've got stuff going on over there, but I'll visit about once a week for check-ins.” She attempted to explain a little more but it didn't help much, you were still shocked. “Don’t look so scared.” Vanessa huffed, laughing a little under her breath at your expression which you could assume was one of horror. “Sun and Moon are more than capable and we aren't expecting more than maybe fifty or sixty kids anyway. Honestly those two could run the whole camp on their own but we have labor laws to adhere to.” She laughed again. She was really hyping this ‘Sun and Moon’ up and it did ease your worries a little with how confident she seemed but you still had your reservations. What did she mean by labor laws anyway? Was there some sort of minimum employee quota they had to meet or something? You still weren't sure how a camp like this was supposed to run. 

“Uhh.. your confidence is.. Something.” You muttered as you reached for the badge that she had slid across the counter earlier. “Who are Sun and Moon anyway?” You decided to ask about it since she had been good about answering your questions so far. Vanessa tapped a finger against the wooden counter and hummed in thought before she answered. “They’re.. Interesting. Personally I think Sun is the easier of the two to get along with, Moon can be really standoffish sometimes but they’re sort of a package deal.” She said with a huff, as if just thinking about this Moon guy was making her annoyed. She looked like she was going to continue but stopped when you both heard what sounded like the rev of an engine outside. Vanessa sighed as she looped around, pushing open the door that separated the counter from the waiting area of the office. 

“Speak of the devil and he shall arrive..” She said as she folded her arms across her chest and stood beside you, glaring at the door. You were confused once again, did anything in this place make any sense? You didn't get the chance to ask though as the door to the office was pushed open and nothing could have prepared you for what, or rather who, you were now facing.

[rendy-a]

Reverse Trope Writing Prompt Summaries

I've seen these reverse trope prompts going around and they seem so funny, I've decided to write one. I'll list a bunch of little summaries and then do a poll to vote on one.

Too many beds! When Deuce gets the opportunity to visit Clock Town with his friends, he excitedly tells his mother all his friends will be joining him. He later discovers that only his wild pal the Prefect will join him. Too embarrassed to admit to his mother that the large hotel rooms she rented was for nothing, they decide to have such a wild party that no one will ever guess that there were too many beds!

Accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss. You've just discovered that the animal shelter in your town is being closed so that a local restaurant run by a shady (rumored to be mafia) boss can open a branch location. You've seen a teal-haired menacing man going into the place with his timid looking secretary. On impulse, you decide to grab the secretary and use his life for leverage to get the mafia to give up their plan. Little do you realize the bashful gentleman you've kidnapped is actually the famous Don Azul himself.

Real nice guy who hates only you. There was a time when you remember actually wanting to be Silver's friend. That was before you got to know the residents of Diasomnia better. Now, it seems like every sleepover or breakfast date you have with your new bestie Lilia only makes the gentle Silver strike out at you in a ball of jealous rage. Just what is his problem with you?

Academic rivals except it's two teachers who compete to have the best class. Crowley brags about how he is clearly the best teacher on campus. Why, when he teaches class, the students never fail to gain a perfect score! Ha, he is so magnificent! Perhaps he should just take over teaching full time and let Crewel do the annual government audit instead, ha ha! To which Crewel replies, Hell no. The competition to prove themselves most worthy teacher (and avoid the audit) is on!

Divorce of Convenience. Marriage to Ruggie was everything you thought it would be; a tough life but it had its perks. Your hubby Ruggie always had an ear out to opportunity for his small family. That's why, when he told you about the new low income housing for unmarried residents he found, you couldn't rule it out. One quicky divorce later, you are now on the road to financial security...that is if you can convince the straight-laced inspector Jack that you truly are nothing more than the roommates you pretend to be.

True hate's kiss (only kissing your enemy can break a curse). You've become the assistant to Vil in order to make extra cash. One day, in a series of mishaps, Vil ends up drinking a cup of tea cursed with his Unique Magic that caused him to lose his voice. With an important interview coming up, it up to you to convince the proud Vil to travel to Royal Sword and ask his eternal rival Neige for a kiss to break the spell.

Dating your enemy's sibling. After a huge fight, your former pal Ace is now your worst enemy. You can't stop thinking about that fight and how you (maybe) didn't quite win it. The whole thing just makes you hungry for revenge. You spent a lot of time thinking of the perfect way to get under Ace's skin when you see a post on Magicam of Ace's older brother working his theme park job. Suddenly, you have the wildest idea on who you want to bring to the campus dance.

Love Triangle where the two love interests get together instead. No one was more invested in being a fan of Vil Schoenheit then you, the Prefect of Ramshackle dorm. Unless, it was your rival fan Rook. Vil is thoroughly fed up with you both. He announces that, from tomorrow onward, only one of you will be allowed to accompany him to class and help him at lunch. You now have one night to prove to Rook that your admiration of Vil surpasses his own. As the night goes on, you discover the allure of being totally in sync with another super fan. Can your love for Vil survive his ultimate fan?

Too hot to cuddle. There is a heatwave happening at NRC and the air conditioning magic is broke all over campus. It wouldn't be much of an issue except your dating notorious cuddler Leona Kingscholar. You've turned him down for a nap in the sweltering botanical gardens and denied him from resting his head on your sweaty lap in Savanahclaw. Will your clever boyfriend find a solution or be driven mad by the frustration?

[hivefleet-hellbender]

Out in the desert, no one can find you... (Hex Tiles 1)

A sharp wind whistles through the desert dunes, bringing no reprieve to the travelers following the thin paths left out in the sand. Don't drink from the river — the plants that grow along its shores contain toxins that could leave a grown man coughing up blood, and chemical spills float through the current. A faraway road carries the rare drone-tank, long abandoned from any sort of human use.

My newest hobby, to distract myself on months when the purse is a bit too tight to be buying plastic crack from Games Workshop, is to build modular hex tiles! It's super easy — I pick up a hundred of these wooden MDF tiles from Amazon for $10 (they're advertised as 2", but they're 1.75" from tip to tip, and each side is 1"), grab any spare craft supplies I have lying around, and get to work! They're super quick (this first batch of one hundred took me around a week) and they open the door to a lot of cool experimentation. A lot of this is inspired by the work of u/Marcus_Machiavelli over on Reddit, who makes these fantastic modular hive city components that I hope to someday be able to emulate. 

I'm making these for two purposes, neither of which I've put in practice yet but I'm hoping to get to do at some point. They're for:

Any mass-battle games played at 6mm. This could also work for Adeptus Titanicus or the upcoming Epic reboot that Games Workshop is working on. 

Tactical TTRPGs like Lancer that are played with large beings, who can operate on a 6mm scale.

Once I get some games in with them, I'm sure I'll encounter future problems and reassess how I approach them. But for now, this is what I've got!

I Hate Sand

The first set of tiles I made, to serve as the backdrop for the rest of them, are these sand tiles. I chose to make this a desert (and thus make a bunch of sand tiles) because I already had some sand lying around, and because it's really cheap and easy to work with. Be careful though! Anakin was right; sand sucks. Try and pick up a finer grain than what I went with, apply the sand in a more-controlled location than I did, and secure it better than I did too. But here's how I did them:

Coat the surface of the hex with a mix of PVA glue and water.

Sprinkle on a light dusting of gravel or small rocks.

Apply a thick coat of sand on top of the gravel.

Knock off excess sand and recycle it for next time.

Spray with 1-2 layers of varnish. (I would recommend a sealant instead, but I didn't have any at the time)

For the ones with little paths on them, I painted the path on with White before applying the gravel or sand, and it shows through well enough! The paths are unnecessary — they're a fun experiment, but I don't think I'll be making more of them in the future.

The Gurgling Creek

Making the river tiles was a bit more involved, but still pretty easy. The method I came up with I think looks a lot better than just painting on water, and is a lot easier to work with than resin or water effects. 

Use some kind of texture gel to build up the riverbanks, trying to have them end around 1/4" on the sides of the tiles where you want your river to connect.

Paint a strip Black where you want the river to flow, running from one edge to another.

Apply sand as before, everywhere except where you painted the black. (If you're worried about fucking this up, you can swap the order)

Varnish (or use sealant) as before. 

Take some gloss mod podge and mix it with a light blue paint, and apply in large goopy quantities everywhere you want water to be. Leave overnight to dry. (If you want the river to be less cloudy, apply many thin coats of mod podge instead, letting each layer dry before applying the next)

As an extra, stipple green along the edges of the water and use a dark green wash to create patches of vegetation.

The river pieces are my favorites, and I'm the most proud of them. The tiny bridge was a thin strip of balsa wood, painted white and then washed black. It turned out fine.

I did a solid mix of straight river pieces and curving river pieces. If I was going to do it again I'd make more curving pieces than straight river pieces, because the curving ones make more sense for how rivers work.

The Road To Nowhere

These road tiles turned out really well, perfect for a run-down highway in the middle of nowhere. Here's how I made them:

Take a piece of corkboard and cut it down to be 1.75" long and 1" wide.

Glue it on a hex with the two edges of the corkboard touching two sides of the hex.

Go at the edges with a knife, making it all worn down and busted up.

In some of these spots, I fucked up and glued the corkboard on wrong. To fix that, break off a chunk and reposition it so it'll connect correctly. This will look like a big fat crack in the middle of the road, which is perfect.

Coat in a layer of mod podge or PVA glue. Leave to dry.

Once dry, paint the cork entirely Gray.

Drybrush White onto the corkboard, focusing on the edges and exposed spots.

Paint two thin yellow lines along the middle of the road. (These are optional, but they do a lot to make the 6mm scale convincing)

Apply sand, as before, onto the ground and up the sides of the road, so it looks like the road is emerging from the sand. Maybe apply some sand in a couple spots in the cracks to make it look like the sand has gotten in there.

Varnish and/or sealant, as before.

Apply a Black wash to the road. (There's a lot of tricks here! If you want the yellow stripes to be more vibrant, you can only paint them on after the first black wash. You can also target spots of sand on the road to make it look like it's asphalt runoff, soaking black into the cracks.)

Apply a second Black wash to the road. 

The bridge was a bit more complicated, and took some finicky positioning and a trip to Kung-Fu Tea.

Take a boba tea straw and cut it into 1" segments, then cut them in half, gluing them to the middle of the hex as culverts.

Take corkboard and glue it over the culverts, bending it so it meets the two edges you want the bridge to run along. If it breaks, that's okay — this is a crumbling, middle-of-nowhere bridge.

Use texture gel and spare corkboard to fill in the gaps.

Use texture gel to define the steep edges of the river. Apply a little bit in between the culverts.

Do all the road steps to the road part of the bridge, and all the river steps to the river part of the bridge.

I'm exceedingly proud of the bridge hex. It turned out perfectly, and feels very emblematic of what I want this project to be like.

Why You, Too, Should Make 6mm Terrain

6mm terrain is amazing to make. Mistakes look like part of the landscape or the brain smudges them over due to the small size, and small changes look like fascinating little details. It really opens the imaginative space and I absolutely adore working at this scale. Plus I'm developing a ton of experience with various materials I've never worked with before, so I get to enjoy the triumph of carving foam or corkboard. It rules! I might even try to make a 28mm bridge after the success I had making a 6mm one.

My future plans for this project include cliffs, craters, 3D-printed shantytowns, and overpasses. But all that is for a later date — for now I'm gonna rest on my laurels, and spend the rest of the evening reconfiguring various tile combinations and cackling like a mad scientist.

[northern-polaris]

Take Me Out

Managed to ground something out for @tamlinweek day 1 so please enjoy Alis getting her not-son to go outside to socialize instead of being cooped up all day. Tamlin somehow manages to fail successfully.

Word count: around 1.2k

Summary: after getting kicked out of Alis' tavern, Tamlin ventures off to a place people tell him he shouldn't go and saves someone people tell him he shouldn't have saved.

“Boy, get out of here.”

Tamlin looked up from wiping a wet rag over the bar and stared at Alis who had her hands on her hips and an exasperated look painted on her face. He would have thought she was actually cross with him if he didn’t spot the slight upward tug on the corner of her mouth. 

“What?”

“You heard me,” Alis gestured with a quick nod to the tavern doors that lead outside, “We’re all set for now, and I won’t need you till later when the night crowd rolls in. Get out of this stuffy, old cellar and go get some sunshine.” 

“It’s not stuffy, and I still have to finish up–” Alis marched over, plucked the dirty rag out of his hands, and began to swat him with it, herding him closer and closer to the doors. 

Every time Tamlin tried to open his mouth to object, he got a face full of the soggy, stained fabric.

“You ain’t ‘have to’ do nothing if I tell you to. Get going!” She accentuated her point by using her unoccupied hand to shoo him off. “Now, I don’t want to see you back here at least until sundown, you hear?” She finally quit her assault when he was over the threshold and onto the street.

“I–” Alis raised the rag, “...hear.” She lowered the rag.

“Good.” With that, she closed the doors loudly, and Tamlin was left standing uselessly in front of the tavern. 

He stood there for a while, not quite knowing what to do with himself, so he just chose to attentively watch the doors as if Alis was going to spontaneously open them and welcome him back inside again. Tamlin knew that wasn’t going to actually happen, but he let his mind hope. 

Eventually, he found the sense and drive to wander off somewhere else when the bewildered looks and judgemental eyes from passersbys felt too heavy on his skin. 

Starting down the road, Tamlin meandered along the path that led towards the village outskirts. While walking, he scanned the ground attentively in case there was an interesting rock on the ground he could bring back to show Alis’ nephews. Those two boys loved rocks, and Tamlin didn’t mind helping them scavenge treasures. Finding a few, he stashed them into one of his pockets and continued on his way. 

Slowly, the path died out, and Tamlin found himself facing the dense forest that surrounded the village. Only a select few actually went outside of the security of their settlement and into the uncharted woods. They were located not far from The Wall, the boundary that separated the Fae lands from theirs, so there was always a chance of encountering something… unsafe outside the guarded townlet. 

With all this in mind, Tamlin glanced around, noted that no one was watching him, and promptly ran into the woods with reckless abandon. 

____

Tamlin always loved being in the forest.

The rustling of leaves, the singing of birds, the smell of the earth. It was all encompassing, surrounding him like a welcoming blanket. It provided a much needed reprieve from rigid civilization.

Following the way he mapped out from countless times before, Tamlin ended up at a small clearing that was lined with a vast river. 

Near the edge stood a lone Weeping Willow; its vine-like branches swaying lazily in the gentle breeze. Moving them aside like a curtain, Tamlin walked underneath the tree’s canopy and made himself comfortable sitting with his back against the trunk. 

He then closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Calm.

Tamlin could feel his mind slowly begin to wander away somewhere else, losing himself in his surroundings in a way he never could anywhere else but here. 

It was quiet. Serene. Peaceful.

…At least it was until it suddenly wasn’t.

Until something violently disturbed the shrubs on the other side of the river, startling Tamlin out of his daze. Bolting to his feet, he staggered through the tree branches just in time to watch someone break through the undergrowth and tumble into the river with a loud splash. 

Tamlin was in the water too a second later, diving after the person with his heartbeat thundering in his ears and not a thought running through his mind. 

He barely registered the freezing water as he treaded through the river after the person. They were just floating along the current unmoving, and Tamlin felt his stomach drop further. Finally, Tamlin managed to catch an arm, pull the person over his shoulders, and began to drag them both towards his side of the shore. 

It was good that Tamlin already knew which rocks were slippery and which were not; he had learned the hard way from the other separate occasions of being in the river.

Underneath the willow, Tamlin laid down the person, rested his own head on their chest, and listened for a heartbeat. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. 

Tamlin let out a long sigh of relief, willing his own racing heart to slow. Lifting his head up, he got to work scanning over the person’s body for injuries: scrapes along both arms, a swollen ankle, multitudes of forming bruises. He also took in the appearance of the person as well, despite their rugged and worse-for-wear state, the clothes were fine and clearly belonging to someone who had enough riches to waste on stuff like jeweled encrusted knives, ruby cufflinks, and leaves made out of golden thread embroidered on their lapels. Was this person royalty? 

What was a noble doing in the forest this far away from the nearest big city? Badly wounded at that?

What in the ever living fuck happened to them? 

The person coughed lightly, and Tamlin raced upwards to regard their face. Despite it being utterly drenched, their hair was a bright, vibrant auburn. Tamlin moved it carefully aside from where it was previously draped over the person’s face. 

Oh. 

“Good face.” 

Tamlin realized he said his thoughts out loud and clamped his mouth shut, praying that the other wasn't awake to hear him. 

Ignoring his warming cheeks, he checked over the man’s(it definitely looked like a man, a gorgeous, gorgeous–Shut the fuck up!) face for wounds. There was a tiny trickle of blood coming down from the man’s temple, so Tamlin moved to tuck the man’s hair behind his ear—

Pointy ear. The man’s ear was pointed. Not a round ear. Pointy. 

Oh, well shit.  

Shit. Shit. Oh Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fucking Shit. SHIT FUCK SON OF A FUCKING BITCH OH SHIT HOLY FUCK WHAT IN THE SHITTING FUCK—

The man coughed again, stronger this time. The man who was not actually a man. The man who had pointy ears which meant it wasn’t a man but actually a fae, and what in the flipping flying fuck why hasn’t Tamlin bolted for the hills already– 

The not-man’s eyes fluttered open and revealed the clearest, prettiest eyes Tamlin had ever seen in his entire nineteen years of existence and Tamlin couldn’t help himself from opening his mouth and speaking his mind. 

“Your eyes look undamaged.” 

[umbralundertaker]

ive been meaning to ask you, what are your thoughts on the new vegas dlcs? :o

Theyre good!... Mostly. I cant make many excuses for Honest Hearts.

If you have them already/can get them for free, then I suggest you play all of them and in order of release (Dead Money, Honest Hearts, Old World Blues, Lonesome Road). Though if you have to buy them all individually, then I suggest just doing Old World Blues then Lonesome Road.

Dead Money is good story-wise but I really hated the gameplay. And Honest Hearts is... visually pretty, but VERY racist. Even for Fallout. Its gameplay is only marginally more interesting than the base game, so if you arent set on doing all of the DLCs then I'd skip this one.

As for Old World Blues and Lonesome Road, theyre great and I cant recommend them enough. Old World Blues has both great gameplay and lore, really enjoyable characters, great humor, lots of replayability... its been my fave the moment I finished the intro cutscene. Lonesome Road is kinda slow but the character its based around is PEAK fiction, I'm serious. Its hard for me to think of a character I think is more badass. For real if you can only play one of the DLCs, PLAY LONESOME ROAD!

I'll put a synopsis under the cut, so see if youre interested in any of em!

Dead Money

Dead Money is set in the Sierra Madre, an extravagant resort that would have been the greatest casino in the west, had it ever been opened. The bombs fell before the grand opening event, and the Sierra Madre froze in time, its state of the art security system locking the place up tight. After many years, the climate control and air conditioning systems began to spit strange toxins into the surrounding city, causing a red cloud to form over the area - which proved lethal to anyone who tried to explore the city. The Sierra Madre attempted to send out a distress signal on the day of the War, but the system did not broadcast an alert signal, having been hooked up to the gala event to broadcast advertisements for the casino, so help never came. And so the Sierra Madre faded from memory, only occasionally being seen in posters across the wastes, until it took on mythic ghost story status, a supposed "City of Gold" in the wasteland where all the treasures of the Old World were rumored to be held. And then a weird old guy kidnaps you and makes you and a few other NPCs explore it to look for gold.

Honest Hearts

Honest Hearts takes you on an expedition to the wilderness of Utah's Zion National Park. Things go horribly wrong when your caravan is ambushed by a White Legs raiding band. As you try to find a way back to the Mojave, the Courier becomes embroiled in a war between tribes and a conflict between a missionary and the mysterious Burned Man. The decisions the player character makes will determine the fate of Zion. Fun fact, the Burned Man is the Joshua Graham you've probably heard a lot about.

Old World Blues

The Courier is abducted by the Think Tank, a group of pre-War scientists that have replaced their bodies with machines. Learning that the Think Tank has removed and subsequently lost the Courier's brain, the Courier aids the Think Tank scientists in fighting Dr. Mobius, the rogue scientist currently in possession of their missing brain. Exploring the Big MT facility, the Courier rediscovers lost technology and fights off Lobotomites, Robo-Scorpions, and more. Really fun characters, though a few plot points aged really poorly. So be careful of that.

Lonesome Road

Lonesome Road brings the Courier's story full circle when they are contacted by the original "Courier Six," a man by the name of Ulysses, a former frumentarius of Caesar who refused to deliver the platinum chip at the start of the main storyline in New Vegas. In his transmission, Ulysses promises the answer as to why, but only if the Courier takes one last job; a job that leads them into the great depths of the Divide, a landscape torn apart by frequent earthquakes and violent storms. This is the fabled location of the battle between the Courier and Ulysses. The road to the Divide is a long and treacherous one, and of the few brave enough to walk it, none have ever returned. Another fun fact, Ulysses drops so much lore and commentary that a third of the game had to be cut just to fit his text files in!!

[cometchasinglove]

Heya! Here's a little fic I wrote for a dear friend of mine, @kaijus-love-zone, featuring her Sona and TFP Ratchet! I had such a fun time writing this!

Ocean Wonders

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,046

As the two lovers passed through the swirling, green portal from the Autobot base, a smile blossomed across Kaiju’s face. Once the ambulance exited the ground bridge and rolled onto the pavement of the road, she could barely contain her excitement as she wiggled in his front seat. 

They arrived at the coordinates of the secluded beach. There, no one could find them or bother them. As Ratchet led the way to the white, sandy paradise, he noticed her cheery demeanor quite swiftly. 

“Excited, Kaiju?”

The woman nodded.

“I am! I can’t believe this is your first time seeing the ocean.”

Ratchet hummed.

“Well, none of our missions ever directed us here.” His alt-mode shifted. “Besides, I never saw the appeal.”

Kaiju thought for a moment, feeling her heart flutter inside her chest. She winked at his dashboard, giggling a little.

“I think you may change your mind on that, Ratchet.”

Several moments later, the two made it to the field of sand. Ratchet allowed Kaiju to step out onto the ground before he transformed with mechanical clicks and whirrs. Kaiju sighed happily, running her fingers through her mohawk as the setting sun glowed across the freckles on her skin. Eventually, she caught Ratchet staring at her with an almost fond look, his cyan optics bright with silent adoration.

“Come on!” Kaiju waved at him. “It’s right up ahead.”

She walked alongside him, trying to match his speed as best as she could. The ocean shoreline was only a few feet away, and she couldn’t wait to show him its unyielding beauty.

...

Frankly, Ratchet didn’t understand why Kaiju wanted to show him the ocean. It couldn’t have been more exciting than other locations on the planet, surely? Nevertheless, he knew that it was important to her, and that was enough for him to join her.

The mech felt the environment around him, acknowledging the salty, sea air on his olfactory sensors as well as the cool breeze against his plating. As he approached the ocean, his pedes sinking into the sand, he wondered if it was more pleasing than other sites on Earth he personally witnessed. Once the two reached the shoreline, he watched as Kaiju gasped and smiled out into the grand, blue expanse of water.

“We made it!”

Ratchet turned his gaze from her, focusing out into the sea. His optics widened and his digits gave a slight wiggle at his sides. He took his time, soaking in the sight before him. His audial receptors picked up the sound of crashing waves against the sand while his optics noticed the birds soaring in the distance above the water. The sun glistened across the ocean, turning it almost orange. It seemed endless, just as his love for Kaiju. He appreciated it; he admired it. Ratchet smiled.

“Oh.”

Below him, Kaiju lifted her phone and showed it to Ratchet. Before the trip, she asked him if she could take pictures of his reaction. He said that it was fine before, and it was certainly fine now. As she took photos, she kicked her leg as she watched him absorb everything into his processor.

“The sea is so calm today. It worked out perfectly for us.”

Ratchet tilted his helm, curious.

“Is it…normally not calm?”

He supposed that it made sense as Kaiju nodded, her loose hair flowing in the wind.

“Oh, no. The ocean is both dangerous and beautiful. It’s-” 

She paused, and then, she shook her head, noticing how Ratchet kept his gaze steady on the sea.

“Well, I’ll tell you later.”

Ratchet turned to face her, sharing her smile. Her knowledge made him joyful, her passion almost contagious. 

“I would like to know.” He rolled his shoulders a little. “As for now, may we lie in the sand for a moment?”

Kaiju nodded.

...

Soon after, the two found a secure spot on the beach, resting there together. The sand was warm but soft as the two sat in silence, enjoying the world around them. Occasionally, she glanced up at his large form. Kaiju was delighted to witness Ratchet’s appreciation for Earth. It may not be his home planet, but it still had much to offer.

After some time passed, Ratchet fidgeted and complained about the sand finding its way into his plating.

“How irritating.” 

Kaiju smiled, feeling sympathetic. 

“Yeah, sand does that to us, too. I can give you a detail clean soon, if you want.”

Ratchet shook his helm.

“No, no. It’s fine. I can manage for now.”

Kaiju hummed as the two continued to relax as one. Gradually, Ratchet pointed out into the sand, his curiosity lifting.

“May I ask what that green substance is on the shoreline?”

Kaiju was more than happy to explain. 

“It’s kelp! It’s getting washed-up by the waves!” She crossed her legs, gesturing with her hands. “The spots where it’s all clumped-up on the shore is where the tide reaches during high tide. At low tide, the water goes out and you can find sea creatures like crabs and clams!”

Ratchet appeared puzzled.

“And how can the water rise and lower in level?”

Kaiju smiled.

“The moon! Its gravity pulls the water around a bit.”

Ratchet thought to himself, lifting a digit to his mouthpiece. 

“Hm. Well, in that case, could we visit a low tide someday?”

Kaiju nodded, excitement bubbling in her stomach.

“Sure! We can go right now.”

And that was when Ratchet stopped her with his voice. Kaiju turned towards him, witnessing a slow grin draw itself across his faceplate.

“It’s tempting. But, seeing as we’re alone together…I have other plans that I would like to offer you, Kaiju.”

...

The medic felt a rush of warmth in his chassis once he noticed his lover’s reddening face, matching the glow of her dark, brown eyes. He smiled, gently pulling her closer into his servos. He cupped her tiny body, protecting her and cradling her near him. Tenderly, he drew his digits down her back in a soft but sensual manner. Ratchet heard her breath hitch and he smiled, lifting her higher to his helm.

There, he pressed her forehead against his and vented with a blissful sigh.

As long as he still functioned, no force on Earth or on Cybertron could ever bring her harm.

Divider Credit: @/thetaey

[lollystocks]

To Blossom

Ectoberhaunt 2023 Day 2: Botanomancy (and a lil dash o technomancy)

Sam tends to her houseplants, her mother tries to connect, and Amity feels the effects of its rip in space-time. Words: 5,087 CW: minor injury, blood, self-injury, possession (mentioned), dissociation, mentions of a firearm

---

Her plants were getting grumpy. Again.

Not that Sam held it against them. As much as she had tried to make her dark, brood-perfect bedroom a comfortable home for the waifs and strays she had picked up from Amity Park’s nurseries and garden centers, (and perhaps a private garden or two), she only had so many hours in the day. The best temperature and humidity control money could buy helped of course, but between school, ghost fights, activism, and deliberately spending as little time as possible in her parents’ house…

Well. The grumpiness was understandable.

But Sam had found a rare, spare, afternoon with no obligations. Her homework was mostly up-to-date (she was refusing to do any of Lancer’s reading until the English department unbanned The Bluest Eye); the protest at Axiom was on pause until Tucker had okay’d her security plans; it was a Sunday so there were no new updates for The Grand Speadsheet; and she had already published two blog updates this week with the next one fully drafted. (“The True Amity Park Horror: A Miniature Surveillance State; or, The Bitches in Cheap Bleach Could Do With Being More Subtle When Spying On The Entire Town, part v”)

The irony of calling out the GIW’s spying operation was not lost on her.

And seeing as ghost attacks didn’t stick to a pre-circulated schedule, there was nothing to do on that front except keep the pager on loud, and get on with one’s day.

So, following an oh-so-wonderful lie-in, Sam was playing her favorite kind of politics: horticulture.

Following certain complaints, Sam had abandoned the concept of a general fertilizer and had bought a whole series - one each for tropicals, leafy, flowering, fruit, and cacti. The succulents would have to just put up with the latter. Windows thrown open, a torn up magazine protecting her dark hardwood flooring, a series of expensive and totally unused mason jars usurped from her mother’s kitchen, and a large jerry can of water sat at the ready, she set to work mixing up some please-just-fucking-grow juice for her many, many children.

Or she would have, had her pager not chosen that moment to scream at her from her window sill. A grating, 8-bit version of Ghostbusters (“the most frighteningly accurate depiction of ghosts in any move ever Sam, it’s iconic.”) that served as their “Fentonworks scanners have picked up a big ol’ signal somewhere, perhaps check it out gang” signal. Louder than the beeping was the profound sense of alarm from her plants. Or so she imagined.

Sam leaped up to silence it before it reminded her parents of her existence, knocking the jerry can over as she went. She ignored the chugging spill, slamming the “dismiss” button on the pager and then scrambling to find her phone among her copious bedsheets. By the time she extracted it, there was already a message:

Fanny Dampton: already on it, boxy’s throwing a tantrum at walmart

That would at least save them some time. Accessing the Fentonworks scan system to pinpoint a location always lost them a few minutes.

Sam typed with one hand, and started donning her boots with the other.

Man Sampson: Woodsborough Park or Elm Rd?

Fanny Dampton: elm

Fucker Toe-ly: moms got the car gonna take me a while to get there on dads bike

Man Sampson: I can swing round to get you, meet me at the end of your road, do NOT forget the extra thermos this time.

Fanny Dampton: i think i got it guys!

Fucker Toe-ly: bestie how are you typing and fighting

Fucker Toe-ly: i didnt forget it how dare

Fucker Toe-ly: i was giving it a premeditated and intentional vacation in my sock drawer

Fucker Toe-ly: she was tired

Fanny Dampton: i think i got it guys

Man Sampson: No that’s a good question, how are you typing and fighting?

Fanny Dampton: im not

Man Sampson: So when you say “you got it”??

Fanny Dampton: i ran off to GG and by the time i got back jazz had thermosed boxy. i ‘stole’ it from her so mom and dad couldn’t take boxy for testing. hid it in my leg, will get it out later.

Fucker Toe-ly: bestie im still not on bord with you using random body parts as storage it cant be good for a growing boy its also nasty as hell and also what about ectocontamination from the thermos

Man Sampson: I’m not sure Danny needs to worry about ectocontamination, Tuck.

Man Sampson: It’s also so on brand for you to be able to perfectly spell .“ectocontamination” but not “board”.

Fucker Toe-ly: what are we if not our brands? - francis bacon, probably

Fanny Dampton: look it’s all good guys, just need to focus on the hard part now - the family walmart shop

Fucker Toe-ly: god gives his hardest battles to his deadest soldiers

Fucker Toe-ly: what yall buying

Fanny Dampton: mom wants a gun

Man Sampson: Jesus Christ.

Fucker Toe-ly: aaaaaaaahahahahahahahah

Sam flopped back onto her bed, giving herself a minute - the come-down from “ghost attack mode” would take a sec, even though the problem had solved itself in rather nicely.

Sam nearly cried out when the handle of her bedroom door rattled.

A muffled voice forced its way through. “Sweetie? What have we said about locking your door?”

Sam sat up, slowly. Took a breath, and made her way over. “I said I’d stop re-installing the lock when you learn how knocking works.”

“Samantha Manson you wi-”

Her mother’s impending monologue on respect, rules and roofs was interrupted with a wide open door and a dead expression. “Yes, Mrs Manson?”

Her mom blinked, swallowing her previous tirade. It looked like it tasted sour. “Sweetie, I know it’s a joke, but your dad and I have asked you multiple times to drop the “Mrs and Mr Manson” thing. It’s-”

“A pointed nod to the irony of your formal standards of familial respect, yeah.”

“Samantha, can we please not do this?”

How rich. “Mom, it might help if you tried to actually-”

“-’understand why you do this rather than seek to use the blunt instrument of parental authority to control you’, or something, right?”

Sam blinked. Her mom could barely hide her smirk.

“We do listen.”

Sam kept her face blank and said nothing. Pointing out the obvious would do nothing but lead to yet another argument in a doorway, ripe for door-slamming and possibly injured fingers. These things always happened in doorways.

Breathe, Sam. Your silence will say enough. 

Her mom broke eye contact first, glancing into the room, eyes widening the slightest bit at the soaked magazine pages on the floor.

“Oh Samantha, you really need to take more care in here. The floorboards…”

“It’s just water, Mom, and the paper got most of it.” Her heart rate was ramping up again. Her hands were flailing. “It’s fine, and you know what, why would you assume I wasn’t being careful? Like why is carelessness and thoughtlessness your first thought? I’ve clearly set up precautions against filtered water you can literally see that, but you couldn’t consider that maybe it was you trying to barge in here that could have startled-”

“-I assume a lack of care because I know you Sam, I’m your mother, and as much as I love you even you must admit you’re prone to impulse, undue planning, you take your possessions for granted as you know your dad and I will simply replace them for you at the dro-”

“-What did you want, Mom?”

This time it was her mother who prolonged the silence, maintaining eye contact, breath firmly controlled. Sam made a note of it, but would sooner die than admit who she had learnt her most effective habits from.

“What I wanted, Samantha, was to invite you down to the garden to do some gardening. Together.”

Sam rolled her eyes.

“Why is that such a shock to you, Sam? I’m elated you’ve taken to botany so well. God knows I tried to get you into it as a girl, not that flowers or weeding held any sway over you. But now you’re entering a new phase of your womanhood, you’re developing a sense of aesthetic taste, domestic pride, a new sense of responsibility, shedding your teenage fascination with the gloomy and macabre-”

“Literally what gives you that impression? I’ve got 3 animal skulls right there on my shelf Mom-”

“-Well you’re not wearing that awful makeup-”

“-Because it’s a Sunday and I only woke up an hour ago! Don’t tell me we’re two minutes into our first interpersonal interaction of the weekend and ‘cause I’ve not put my eyeliner on yet you think I’m, what, I’m ‘shedding the goth’-”

“-You are developing more refined tastes Samantha and I don’t see why you would deny that!”

It was taking all her willpower not to scream. She felt that if she turned around now, every plant in the jungle of her room would be giving her a menacing thumbs up. Tear her a new one! 

“Oh my god Mom it’s just a bit witchier! Subcultures have fashion cycles too! Like yeah I’ve put my old band posters into storage and bought an oil painting at that auction we-”

Sam stopped. Breathed. Why did every conversion with her mom get so derailed?

Well because her mom found ways to sneak insults into every conversation, that’s why. Because she could do that. When Sam tried, it got her grounded.

It also tended to derail their conversations even further.

There were two ways to deal with Mom when she was like this. Way one, give her what she wants - a fight. Rise to the bait, throw some back, speak her truth, let the conversation switch between radically different topics at a whim.

Way two was de-escalation, and was far harder. It required a metric fucktonne of self-control, but mostly, just three ingredients.

Ingredient one: Stay On Track.

“Thanks for the offer Mom, but I’ll stick to my bedroom plants, thanks.”

“And while they’re looking lovely - besides that weeping fig of course - we are fortunate enough to have plenty of garden space, where plants can actually thrive. Are you unappreciative of that privilege?”

Ingredient Two: Don’t acknowledge insults that have nothing to do with the topic.

“I just want to focus on my bedroom, Mom. I don’t like the garden that much, you know that.” Not totally the truth - the greenhouse was pretty great. Mostly because it was firmly her territory. The perfect lawn and perfect flower beds were her mother’s.

Mom sighed, and set her shoulders. She was gearing up to say something. Something hurtful, no doubt. Sam braced, and prepared for Ingredient Three - when it gets really bad, disengage entirely. Shut the door. It wasn’t running.

Her mom said, “Well, we can do something about that. What would you change about the garden?”

Sam blinked.

And stalled.

“Samantha?” A nervous laugh. “Anyone in there?”

Sam frowned. “Um. Sorry?”

“You don’t like the garden. That’s a little hurtful as I put so much effort into it, and I think it’s rather beautiful, but I want you to like it too. So. What should we change?”

This was entirely new. Sam had no plan for this, whatever it was.

“Is it that it’s too “neat”? You’re “rewilding” attempts in the greenhouse are far from what I can deal with in the garden, and your father only convinced me to allow it was the greenhouse is mostly out of sight, but perhaps we-”

“Are you being serious?”, asked Sam. It wasn’t said with spite, or even incredulity. Just suspicion. Maybe even hope.

Her mom carefully folded her hands in front of her. She’d understood perfectly. “Dead serious, Sam. I- I want us to share something. We’ve never had something we could do together, except maybe swimming when you were little (but then you wanted to stop), and now that you have this wonderful new hobby, and it’s something I like too! So even if it means ceding some ground, if it means being able to spend some time with you that we both enjoy, even if it’s not really my company your enjoying but I get to see you enjoying yourself with me, then that woul-”

“It’s too much of a monoculture.” interrupted Sam, who had taken a small, defensive step back into her room.

“I’m sorry?”

“The lawn. It’s not just “too neat”, or “too perfect.” Like yeah I think it looks ugl- no, actually, it’s not that, it’s like it genuinely makes me uncomfortable. Those perfect lawn stripes are, they’re like this symbol of America but only in this really gross, plastic-and-fructose-syrup way, you know?”

Her Mom hesitated. She began to speak, but Sam barrelled onwards.

“And it’s not just how it looks, ‘cause like, turfgrass lawns are just such an issue. Like you have to put so much effort into keeping it up because it’s an invasive species and not meant to grow in the US so you have to keep it going with just so much fertilizer and even paint which runs off into rivers and causes eutrophication but then you also have to douse it in pesticide which kills of pollinators and you have to aggressively mow it with that massive fuel-guzzler-”

“Okay you hate my lawn, but you can’t ask me to lose the whole lawn!”

“Why not? We don’t use it for anything - you entertain on the patio, we don’t use it for games or even walking, it’s just there!”

“I won’t have our beautiful land just be mud-”

“Mom you asked for my opinion!”

Her mom blinked, and, for some reason, shut up.

“You can’t do that you can’t come to me with a sob story about bonding and ask me something point blank and get angry at my response without letting me finish the goddamn thought.”

Her mom opened her mouth, closed it, and gestured with her hand. Please, finish the goddamn thought. She folded her hands in front of her again.

Sam nodded. “Thank you. Look I can send you articles, there are alternatives, if you want to do that and if you want to take my mere suggestion seriously. Like, moss, or clover, or wildflowers. Or maybe even do something with all the space? You’ve got the planters crammed up against the patio. You could fill the space with more planters and have paths fill that space if you wanted to do something really cool. And make habitats for the pollinators. Like the botanical gardens.” 

Her mother’s eyes registered that. Their trip together for her thirteenth birthday had been her mom’s suggestion and she hadn’t given Sam much of a choice. Sam had reluctantly adored it all the same.

The small succulent from that trip had stayed on her desk ever since. Alone, until earlier that year. When it suddenly gained a whole host of siblings.

Time to disengage.

“Look Mom, I’ve got to finish this. Mopping up the water. I’ll send you those articles if you’d like, though.’

Her mom straightened, smiled with lots of teeth. “Of course, Samantha. I’ll read them.”

Sam nodded, and went to close her bedroom door. Her mom gently stopped her. “I’ll be in the garden, if you need me.”

A thin smile. “Sure thing, Mom.” She closed the door with a soft click.

Sam liked to imagine the plants were angry on her behalf. They’d seen the whole thing, and obviously they’d be on her side. 

Sam grabbed a dirty t-shirt from her laundry basket and set to mopping up the remaining water. As she worked, she counted all 38 plants her in room and noted their locations, light levels, water levels, obsessively-

God, she just couldn’t make her mom understand. That it wasn’t about looks and aesthetics and beauty, it was about the- the- the inherent sanctity of plant life, the codependent relationship between flora and fauna, the exchange of air and breath, the nutrient cycles, that her own

daughter you are mine the daughter of green the daughter of ultraviolet the queen of roots uncountable through the ground the city the planet

you are ruler you are monarch the flowers the leaves the vines these are your children these are your subjects these are your responsibility

you understand child you understand my daughter that humanity is infection is gnats is too-much-water is invasive grass it must be purged this pest

is yours to feed on to take their nutrients they are flies in the trap you will do my bidding my sweet greendaughter they will do yours you are chlorophyll you are ectoplasm shed your meat dissolve the juices of your flesh you-

…

Sam gasped and clutched her hand. She had somehow managed to find a sharp-enough pencil with which to stab her palm. She looked up, brain catching up to the fact that she had managed to drag herself to her desk, even amid the episode.

That was good. New, but good. Her body was able to act to pull her out, now. Even if she didn’t remember it.

Just another example of feeling eerily disconnected from her flesh body.

She fell into her office chair, and her head fell into her hands. She breathed. Always fucking breathing, like it’s a chore. Fucking oxygen. It never felt quite right, these days.

She needed to center herself. She knew the steps. Couldn’t remember the fucking steps. They were in the notes app on her phone. Where was her phone?

On the ground, by the jerry can and the mason jars and the magazine pages. Okay. Easy.

She sat up, walked, then half crawled to the same spot on the floor. Crossed her legs, sat upright, faced the desk, keeping the pencil in sight. Flexed her injured hand, and reached out for her phone.

She found the list quickly enough - she’d put the shortcut on her homepage.

5 See

Sam spoke aloud to the room. “I can see my phone; my desk; the window with the tree in full bloom. The raccoon skull on the windowsill. And the jerry can, it’s still got a bit of water in it.”

She shuddered a breath out. Unlocked her phone again and read the next line.

4 Touch

Sam closed her eyes and concentrated. “I feel the small stab wound from the pencil in my left hand. It fucking hurts. I feel that my right leg is a bit damp from sitting on the floor. It’s cold. I feel my boots on my feet, because I never took them off. I feel my pajamas on my skin.”

A longer breath in, and one out. She carried on, no longer needing the list.

“I hear the air conditioning, even though it’s not very hot. I hear the odd car on the road. I-”. Sam hesitated. How honest are you meant to be during these things? “I still hear the echoes of the voice. I hear words like ‘daughter’ and ‘queen’ and ‘flesh’ and ‘green’. But not with my actual ears. It’s a metaphor, kinda.”

“I can smell the lemongrass candle I’m burning. I can’t think of a second smell. Maybe my own body odor? I haven’t showered yet.”

“And I can taste my own ass-mouth, as I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

Sam sighed, and opened her eyes. A bird chirped from the tree. She furrowed her brows and stared.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier buddy? I had to admit I heard his voice instead, you tardy bastard.”

The bird probably didn’t laugh. But it sure sounded like it.

Before she could forget, she opened the Grand Spreadsheet on her phone, and went to the “SAM” tab. She logged the time, with the note “short episode. Mild self injury broke it, no memory of that bit.” and hit ENTER.

Five seconds later, her phone rang - the screen flashed the caller ID “circuits mcgee 🌱 🤓✌🏾🧑🏾‍💻🍑”

He started talking the moment she accepted. “Ohmygod Sam are you okay??”

“I’m calm enough to have filled in the spreadsheet so let’s say yeah.”

“FUCK. You were doing so well, it’s been weeks, thought we’d left ‘em behind for good. What’s the injury?”

“Stabbed my palm with a pencil. Not very hard, I don’t think? There’s a bit of blood but it stopped already.” Sam opened her hand to inspect the little puncture. A small spec of gray left by the pencil and some dried blood, and it stung to hell, but she had had far worse.

“Yeah but Sam, you know as well as I do that around here, an injury healing fast doesn’t necessarily mean ‘all is well’.”

He had a point, there. “You’re right, but I’m being honest actually, it really is tiny. I can send a pic if you want confirmation I’m not just bei-”

“Don’t you fucking dare send me a picture of your wound Samantha Manson.”

Sam let out an honest-to-god giggle.

The line beeped.

“That’s Danny, wanna-?”

“Yeah add him in.” said Sam, as the texture of the background noise changed with the opening of a new line.

“Oh my god, Sam are you okay?”

“She’s good man, sounds like a small one.”

“They’ve gone down in severity and frequency, I honestly think we’re coming to a close on that.”

Danny’s voice again. “I know you don’t like talking about it over the phone, want us to swing by for a debrief?”

“Honestly there isn’t much to it that isn’t what I’ve covered before. I’m his daughter-queen again, we love plants, we’re eco-fascists, yada yada.”

“It’s not the info that’s important Sam, it’s you saying it.”

Sam nodded, before remembering they couldn’t see her. “Good point. Even so, a full debrief feels unimportant. I can just…” Sam hesitated, then completed the thought. “I can just tell my plants.”

A short, but uncomfortable silence over the phone. She had hoped that comment would land better.

Tucker spoke first. “So no change on that front?”

Sam reached out a hand above the pothos hanging near her desk, and with a slender finger, beckoned it upwards. It rolled, like it was stretching itself awake, and a leafy vine reached up to her fingers. Curling around it, not dissimilar to a cat.

mother, she imagined it crooning.

Her thumb gently stroked a leaf. “No change on that front. If anything…”

“It’s getting stronger, isn't it.” asked Tucker.

Sam didn’t want to answer that. But Tucker’s correct conclusion was unnerving. “Was that a lucky guess, or…”

“...It might be the same for me.” He said, in a small voice.

“For fuck’s sake guys, there’s a tab on The Spreadsheet for this! Why is this the first I’m hearing that you’re both getting… more?”

“Well sorry Dr Fenton-”

“Don’t call me that-”

“-but what with updating it with all the spying I’ve been doing on half of fucking Caspar High-”

“Tucker tracking your symptoms is more important than tracking Dash’s-”

“Guysguysguys, let’s all pipe down, kay?”

The conversation went quiet, again. They all took a moment, planning their words.

Sam broke the silence. “I’ll go first, if that’s okay?”

Their noises of assent came through simultaneously.

“Okay so point one: Danny, you’re probably right about Tucker and I not being totally on it with documenting our developments.” Sam twirled around in her office chair, eyes darting about her room. “I can only speak for myself, but it’s mostly just that not much has changed? Or more that it’s changing gradually? Like I have an episode, I can log that. But ‘I think I’ve got a bit more control over my houseplants this week than last week, and a tree might have tried to talk to me yesterday’ feels like an unimportant update. I dunno. What about you, Tuck?”

There was an awkward silence. Some shuffling. Neither Sam nor Danny stepped in.

It was something of a habit amongst them. Thinking space didn’t always need to be filled with noise, especially when it was obviously someone’s turn to talk.

Eventually, “Ah man. It’s less that, more like, I guess you’d call it denial? Like… okay, skipping a bunch of keystrokes when hacking the GIW and using your brain instead is something I can probably brush under the carpet until I put it into words in The Spreadsheet which is either ironic or fitting I guess.”

That was new. Tucker had been developing… some sort of connection to his networks and cybernetics. At least enough to have rare insight into how those systems functioned, and sometimes being able to intuit novel solutions, or just know when something would bug. And one time, he may have granted his phone partial sentience. But a direct input into his code? New.

“Well that, and, agh. Right okay, full cards on the table. Sometimes, I go to put something about myself in The Spreadsheet, and I get this itching feeling. One high up in my chest that’s too deep to scratch. Not sure what to make of it, but I don’t like it. So I avoid triggering it, okay. Probably just anxiety.”

Another silence. Sam froze.

Danny asked, “A kinda itch that’s like, ‘stop that right there’?”

“Well yeah.”

Sam’s heart rate spiked, all the plants on her desk standing to attention. “Wait, you get that too?”

“Not you too, Sam.” came Danny’s voice. He sounded small, defeated.

“Okay this wasn’t me covering anything up, I’d just never like, consciously thought of it like that before?”

“Okay, you both get an itch that makes you not want to do something - in your case Tucker, it’s when you’re like, compromising your own security?”

“Yeah. Or like, my privacy, or data.”

“Sam?”

“Well it doesn’t come up very often? Can’t even think of a time, just that what Tucker said rings a bell?”

The sound from Danny’s line had changed. He must have found somewhere away from the shopping crowds.

“Okay. Tuck, what kind of feeling do you get when you, I dunno, patch in a new security protocol to The Spreadsheet?”

“Well I feel satisfied, obviously.”

“Yeah but is it a different kind of satisfaction to like, doing well on a test? Is it specific to when you’re hacking something?”

Sam could hear Tucker processing that. She had to process it too.

Tucker eventually managed an eloquent “Fuck.”

“Is it like, like a slight vibration? Feels like a warm cat purring on your chest?”

“Yes, Sam, that is exactly what Obsession feels like.”

“Shit.”

“Shit.”

“Shit.”

“Well I guess we can stop speculating that the denizens of Amity Park are slowly developing ghostly traits, if Sam and I are developing Obsessions.”

Because that was the crux of the whole matter.

For the last year, the three of them had been doggedly tracking the changes in the population of their little town. People acting just a bit stranger, a bit more compulsive. Heart rates and breath rates decreasing. No obvious reactions to blatant ectocontamination in the cafeteria food.

Voices just a bit more distorted over the radio, or tv. Heaters turned down, AC turned up. Tucker had even set up a bot to analyze the blinking rate at Caspar High and some local offices to compare with similar places elsewhere in the state. Unsurprisingly, the citizens of Amity Park didn’t feel the need to blink as much.

Shrugging off the voices in the cornfields, the apparitions in the woods, the shivers down your back when you look at a cemetery sideways. These adjustments had come quickly to the population due to their sheer frequency - The Horrors only hold sway when they surprise you. But the blatant unease the town residents gave to outsiders wasn’t just shrugged off amongst themselves - it was firmly, blatantly, ignored.

“No but you guys are special cases, you both had prolonged, individual overshadowings by powerful ghosts and your obsessions are related to them. Most of the town have either been mass-influenced, or just had quick stints as meatsuits. Like we’ve known for a while something’s happening but it feels like it’s speeding up for some people - Paulina’s never been this concerned with being pretty, or Wes with being up in everyone’s business. Then there’s the school building itself which is a whole ‘nother-”

Sam cut in. “Okay okay, we definitely need a big meeting to talk this through. Today?”

“Probably not, I’ve got mom’s actual normal gun to deal with…”

“I found a weakness in our backdoor to the Mayor’s Office’s security and it’s got me paranoid, I gotta patch it before something happens…”

“Okay, tomorrow after school? Yours, Tuck?”

“Sure thing, I’ve got the car tomorrow too. I’ll pick you up on the way in, Sam.”

Sam scribbled the reminder on a note. “It’s a date, gang. I’ll try and put together like, a report, I guess.”

Danny said, “I’ll catch up with you guys on the school steps tomorrow. Stay sa- Mom Jesus Christ that’s not how you- guys seeyousoon.” and his line went dead.

“Talk soon, Sam!”

“Talk soon, Tucker.” She hit the red phone icon.

The pothos, without encouragement, had continued to climb into and around Sam’s hand, gently holding a leaf against the pencil wound. The rest was clamped tightly around her wrist and forearm. Too tightly. 

With the feeling of being watched, Sam turned her head, glancing around the rest of her bedroom. Every plant had shifted slightly, reaching for her, leaves and stalks fighting gravity to be closer to her. 

mother, she imagined, again.

She extracted her hand, and walked briskly to the door. She strode quickly down the bright hallway, and down the grand staircase, grabbing her father’s set of keys from the hallway bowl. Reaching the front door with the full intention to shut herself in the plantless, steel, diesel and chrome deathtrap that was her father’s car and just drive, she stopped with the door handle in her hand.

A slight tickle filled her chest. An itch.

She turned to look through to the kitchen, and could see her mother in the garden beyond. Her usual hairspray-hard hair had rare flyaways, and a streak of mud marred her perfect neutral makeup. She knelt by a flowerbed, a tray of poppy seedlings on a paving stone beside her. Babies that Sam didn’t know yet. Her mother gently teased aside the soil with her trowel, placing each seedling bundle with care.

Sam’s chest warmed as she watched her mother. It hummed. She let go of the door handle, set her shoulders, and went to join her mother in the garden.

[talesfromaurea]

Tales from Aurea - Session 15 Now Posted!

Hello! Session 15 - The Wizard in the Mine can be read right now on Royal Road (link here). Enjoy!

Chapter Summary: Sakrattars, Jo, and Kaja journey into the Grayspur mountains, searching for the wizard living in a ferix mine. But there's something very wrong with the wizard and figuring out what it is will only raise more questions than answers.

Taglist (ask to be +/-): @drippingmoon, @kainablue, @splashinkling, @space-writes, @aroyalpaininthecass

@thelaughingstag

Curious what this story is about? Check out the pinned post here

Chapter preview under the cut

The morning after Vyrkad briefed the companions on their missions, Sakrattars woke before the sun. He reviewed the map he’d been provided several times, committing all details to memory, then set to work flipping through his spellbook and the various notes he had taken during the brief. Although his information recall had always been second to none, Sakrattars still liked to have physical affirmations that his recollections were indeed correct.

Amale was the next to rise, then Jo, with the latter eventually rousing Kaja from her sleep. When Dimitri arrived at their doorstep, Leif was rushing around in a tired haze, clumsily gathering his equipment and complaining that no one woke him up. Waiting for them outside was Barzom and his scouting team, as well as Captain Tullius and Leo. While Tullius and Leo were staying behind, they still wanted to send the companions off properly.

When they reached the central plaza, Leif gave Jo’s hand a hearty shake. “See you on the other side,” he said cheerily. Sakrattars pursed his lips. Why provoke such an ill omen?

As Dimitri’s team continued west, Sakrattars, Jo, and Kaja turned down the north road. Reserved almost exclusively for miners and loggers, the north gate was positioned at the narrowest part of the valley, where the river terminated at a small lake. Loggers in the mountains would roll the trunks of great evergreen trees into the river, where they’d float downstream into the lake, get fished out, and then were used to power the forges.

The north gate, while called a “gate”, was more of an informal checkpoint with a guardpost on either side of the river. Unless the ferix found reason to fear an army of foxes or owlbears, there was no risk of an invasion through the north’s wild and inhospitable terrain, so security was thin and the soldiers bored. Sakrattars showed their pass, signed by Vyrkad, to the on-duty guard. The ferix’s eyes scanned the text lazily, then flicked up to each of them in turn. He settled on Kaja, who smiled brightly up at him. Grumbling a few words in ferish, the guard waved them through. Whatever Vyrkad was thinking, it was above his rank to care.

Sakrattars adjusted his pack and pulled his rhino-hair cloak closed against the biting wind. Their destination was on the west bank, around a day’s walk upstream: a mountain that the ferix called “Mount Blade”, not for its shape or mythology, but because that’s where they mined diamonds—a gem they valued primarily for its cutting properties. Sakrattars had been shocked to learn that they routinely discovered veins of other precious materials like ruby, sapphire, quartz, and amethyst in the Mount Blade mine, but these were either left alone or discarded. Back in the Empire, such treasures adorned the necks and hair of nobles, and were prized items in a wizard’s collection of spell components, though only the wealthy could reasonably purchase them. Sakrattars wondered whether the gems were what attracted the wizard in the first place.

There was one odd detail in Vyrkad’s briefing that concerned Sakrattars, however. According to the miners’ reports, the wizard kept to himself and rarely left his tower, though they could see his shadow roaming around the candle-lit windows. This fact they all agreed on but, bizarrely, the miners were conflicted on where the tower was located. One claimed he saw it just inside the cave mouth, another said it was tucked at the end of a little-used passageway. One even said he saw it outside the mine, built as if carved out from the mountainside itself. The simplest explanation was that it was an illusion spell, intended to deter curious ferix. Depending on the strength of the spell, Sakrattars thought that he might be able to counteract it but that contingency didn’t exactly fill him with confidence. He hoped that the wizard would be amenable to treating with one of his fellows and voluntarily make his presence known.

[tangledrider]

reeeeer, beep beep. the syncable inevitable warning that was accompanied by flurries of blurs of red and blue neon lights flashing beckoned off of flynn’s ears like a boomerang, through one eardrum and exiting the other. ignoring his friend’s plea to stop, drop, and roll out of the already in-too-deep situation of a car chase that the reckless pair had found themselves in. as far as the brunette knew, his numb soles of tis feet were carrying him out of the country and into safety. whenever that ended up being. so to avoid a vicious meeting with the police following behind them even more intense, his sidekick made most of the incognito of the plan in itself. “just go left, throw ‘em off,” he commanded, fiddling with the baggage slung along his neck as it tossed to and fro from side to side while he journeyed.

stuffing a faux suede tan satchel with the important item that was an embroidered, jewel encrusted crown out of the royal palace was an easier feat than he had first anticipated. a simple distraction was all he needed to suffice enough time to break into the steel glass encapsulated dome and scurry away like a scared animal offset by its predator. flynn’s mocha hues quickly shot a glance behind him, the crisp blue and red lights flickering in sync with the cadenced sirens that followed in. it’d taken them this long to cover up their tracks while on the run, the pair’s fate was already decided for them. “let’s go over here,” the fugitive instructed, ushering to the hidden patch of nearly unscathed grass of what looked to be desolate isolation, with miles upon miles of open field in close sight. securely wrapping the bag around his shoulder, he followed the road of green in front of him before flailing behind a sturdy bolder, while his friend was in suit. up until now, flynn hadn’t truly realized his lungs were lacking the oxygen needed to circulate his body, the blisters that pulsed at the arch of his feet beginning to roar with a stinging pain that he simply had to ignore. “we’re gonna have to split up,” flynn interjected in slight defeat. “if i can hide fast enough and keep them off our scent and they don’t see me, you have to keep going. call me when you make it out and i’ll meet you when this is all over,” he had this all planned out from the start. of course, he didn’t realize just how difficult it was to find a decently soft pillow of grass for him to land. his friend was disgruntled with the plan, but agreed. a curt nod later and the blonde was bounding abc toward the entrance of the field, the whirring of the alarm police now a distant echo, miles away.

army crawling as fast and as efficient as he could, the wanted rebel slithered as far as he could go until he saw a skyscraper of a tower that intimidated him to a blip on the scale of the earth. the twisted mansion looked ornately founded, with weeds and bricks covering a vital vein of his plan of entrance. His muddy eyes slowly drew themselves to the strongest forst vine as he bevied his way up the yards of stone and gravel. each focused step was arched by his ratty brown loafers, as he quietly made contact around the perimeter until he saw a convenient tree located next to an agape window. thanking the fact that he had grown up climbing the rungs of trees as his own hobby in his adolescent years, it didn’t take the thief long to find a dull bright light at the end of the formidable tunnel — safe haven. around the window was a boa of thin, wispy curtains waving its length through the gusts of wind much like a flag cutting through the flow of the atmosphere.

once he made it into the open air of the seemingly vacant bedroom, he assumed no one would claim him an intruder from his own limited eye sight. inhaling one last deep breath, flynn’s irises observed the room’s surroundings, walls covered in a thick, pastel pink paint as he dipped his toes into the soft fur of the carpet beneath. “thank god. it’s just you and me,” emitted from a once tightly wound chest from the adrenaline of finding safety. for the first time in what felt like hours, a relieved sigh vacated opened lungs. clunk! it was within that very next millisecond that flynn’s vision faded to black, a haze of falling onto the floor with a simultaneous whack that bounced off the room’s walls as the boy’s limp body collapsed onto the floor.

[diytransport]

Breaking Down Car Transportation Costs: What You Need To Know Before You Move

Moving to a new home can be an exciting adventure, but it often comes with its fair share of challenges. One of the biggest concerns for many people is how to transport their vehicles safely and efficiently. Car transportation costs can vary significantly based on several factors, leaving you overwhelmed as you plan your move. Understanding these costs will empower you to make informed decisions and budget effectively. Whether relocating across town or the country, knowing what to expect regarding car transportation can save you time and money. Let's dive into everything you need to know before hitting the road!

Factors That Affect Car Transportation Costs

Car transportation costs can fluctuate due to various factors. One significant influence is the distance of transport. The longer the journey, the higher the price.

The type of vehicle also plays a crucial role. Larger or luxury cars often require special handling, which can increase expenses.

Seasonal demand impacts pricing, too. During peak moving seasons, such as summer, you might encounter elevated rates and limited availability.

Another consideration is the chosen method of transportation—open vs. enclosed carriers. Open transport is typically more economical but exposes your car to elements like weather and road debris.

Fuel prices directly affect overall costs. When gas prices rise, companies charge transportation fees for their services. Understanding these factors helps you prepare financially for your move while ensuring safe delivery for your vehicle.

Different Methods of Car Transportation

Several methods of transporting your vehicle cater to different needs and budgets. Open transport is one of the most common options. Your car is loaded onto a large truck alongside others, making it cost-effective but exposing it to the elements.

Enclosed transport is ideal for those seeking added protection. It shields your vehicle from weather conditions and road debris but is pricier.

If you're moving locally or prefer personal oversight, driving your car yourself may be an option. This gives you complete control over the journey but can add wear and tear.

Another method involves using rail transport for long distances. It's often more affordable than traditional trucking and reduces mileage on your vehicle.

Each method has its pros and cons. Choosing the right one depends on budget, distance, and how much you value protection for your ride.

Tips for Saving Money on Car Transportation

When managing car transportation costs, a little planning goes a long way. Start by comparing quotes from multiple transport companies. Don't settle for the first offer you receive; prices can vary significantly.

Consider moving your vehicle during an off-peak season. Rates tend to drop during less busy times of the year, which can save you money.

Opt for terminal-to-terminal service instead of door-to-door transport. This usually reduces costs since you'll be responsible for delivering and picking up your vehicle at designated locations.

Additionally, being flexible with your pickup and delivery dates may help you secure a better rate. Transporters often appreciate when customers allow some leeway in scheduling.

Consider discounts that might apply—military discounts or promotions could significantly save your total bill.

Preparing Your Vehicle for Transport

Preparing your vehicle for transport is crucial to saving you time and stress. Start by thoroughly cleaning your car, both inside and out. This ensures it's in top shape when it arrives at its destination.

Next, remove all personal belongings. Transport companies aren't responsible for items left inside the vehicle, so it's best to take them out.

Check fluid levels and tire pressure as well. A quick inspection helps prevent any potential issues during transit.

Disable alarms to avoid disturbances during the journey. Ensure your gas tank is only about a quarter full; this reduces weight while still allowing necessary movement.

Document your vehicle's condition with photos before shipping it off. This way, you'll have evidence should any discrepancies arise later on regarding its state upon arrival. Taking these steps will help facilitate a smooth transportation experience for everyone involved.

Conclusion

Understanding car transportation costs is essential when planning a move. Several factors can influence the price you pay, including distance, vehicle size, and transport method. Whether you're considering open or enclosed carriers, each option has its own cost implications.

To save on expenses, consider booking your transport well in advance or exploring seasonal discounts. Researching and comparing quotes from different service providers will also give you a better idea of what to expect.

Before handing over your keys, prepare your transport vehicle. Clean it inside and out, remove personal belongings, and ensure all fluid levels are topped up. This proactive approach protects your car and helps avoid additional fees.

Taking these steps empowers you with knowledge about car transportation costs so that when the moving day arrives, you're ready without any surprises lurking around the corner.