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supermarine-silvally · 6 months

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❤️ + Portada pls!! -🍂

Part 2 of this!

❤️ first kiss / realization

Something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Ace had first noticed it at breakfast. He had stuffed his plate with as much bacon as Thatch would let him get away with and sauntered over to his usual spot, wedging himself between Yara and Marco. The First Division Commander had greeted him as per usual, but Yara didn’t even bother to glance up from the saddest bowl of oatmeal Ace had ever seen; the only garnishing on it two solitary raisins.

(He knew for a fact that she didn’t even like raisins. They reminded her too much of the crappy communion wine at the convent she grew up at, she’d told him once, scrunching her nose up in that adorable way she did whenever she found something particularly unsatisfactory.)

Throughout the rest of the day, things seemed to only get worse. She kept her gaze down and her answers monosyllabic whenever he tried to interact with her-- and that was when she didn’t outright leave the room as soon as he entered.

“Trouble in paradise, yoi?” Marco had asked him when he caught Ace moping around on the Moby Dick’s upper deck.

Ace let out a massive, depressed sigh in response, draping his arms over the gunwale. Part of him almost wished a strong gust of wind would come along and knock him into the water. “I think I did something wrong, Marco. I haven’t seen her this upset with me since before I officially joined the crew.”

The doctor placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You need to talk to her about it. I’m sure whatever it is can easily be fixed. Yara may be stubborn, but she’s not unreasonable.”

“That’s… true,” Ace conceded. He stood up straight, his determination renewed. “I’ll go find her. The sooner I can sort this out, the better.”

“Good luck, yoi,” Marco said, giving him a firm pat on the back.

And that was what led him here, hanging out near the entrance to the mess hall, biding his time. There was no way that Yara could avoid him forever… could she?

“Ace.”

He instantly perked up, a relieved grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of her heading towards him, a file stuffed with papers tucked under her arm. She, however, did not return his joy, but instead stared emotionlessly back at him as she handed him the file. “Pops said to give this to you.”

He nodded, receiving it from her. “Oh, thanks! …Right, these are the maps I wanted to see.”

Yara gave him a curt nod in return before pivoting back towards the entranceway.

“Wait, where are you going?”

She stopped, turning to face him again, her eyes narrowed. “I came. I gave you the file. And now I’m leaving.”

“Yara!” Ace called out after her, dropping the file onto a nearby table. He reached for her hand, but his fingers passed straight through her. His brow furrowed, confused. Now she was using her Devil Fruit powers with him? She never did that.

“I’m not in the mood, Ace,” was all she replied, her tone icy.

His entire body wilted, heart thudding pitifully in his chest as she left the mess hall without so much as a second glance. Oh, he had definitely fucked something up.

☠-----⚔-----☠-----⚔-----☠

“Yaraaaaa…” Ace knocked on her bedroom door. “Can we talk? Please?”

He held his breath, waiting. Finally, after a moment, the latch clicked. Yara opened the door a crack. She was wearing her nightdress, her loose hair cascading down her shoulders. Ace couldn’t help but notice the dark circles lingering under her eyes as she stared at him.

Swallowing, he took a step back. “Hi.”

“It’s late, Ace.”

“I know. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Then I suppose you’ve come to let me down easy,” she said with a sigh.

His brow furrowed. “Let you down what?”

“Never mind. I shouldn’t delay the inevitable. Shall we go somewhere more private than the living quarters?”

Nodding, he allowed her to step out of her room before following her down the hallway. She led him down the stairs and outside to the second level balcony. The stars glinted overhead as the Moby Dick gently careened along its path, cutting through the ocean’s calm surface. Yara leaned against the railing, the faint breeze catching the edge of her nightdress. Just the sight of her underneath the moon’s light was enough to make Ace’s stomach twist into knots.

He sucked in a breath. There was no way he could let this go on any longer. “It’s the stupid dare thing, isn’t it? That’s why you’re upset with me.”

“I’m not upset with you,” Yara replied evenly. “I’m upset with myself.”

“What? Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. It matters a lot. Especially if I… if I did something to hurt you. Please, Yara. You’re…” He swallowed. “You’re one of my best friends. Whatever it is, I’ll make it right.”

Yara glanced away from him, a conflicted look flickering through her eyes. “I… made a foolish miscalculation,” she said after a moment. “I thought that… perhaps you might…” She hesitated. For a moment, he could’ve sworn he saw a faint blush spread across her cheeks. “That, well… That kissing me wouldn’t have been as intolerable for you as it evidently was.”

“Intolerable?” His brow furrowed. “Kissing you wouldn’t be intolerable.”

“Oh, please.” Her glare narrowed as it returned to rest on him. “You dragged your feet and then turned away at the last second. How the hell else could I possibly interpret that, Ace? From my standpoint, it was a fairly obvious rejection.”

Ace’s heart was practically beating out of his chest as the realization slowly dawned on him. “Hold on a minute. You… wanted me to kiss you?”

Yara’s nose scrunched up, her mouth drawing into a tight line like it did whenever she was frustrated by something. Finally, she turned away with a sigh. “…You’re an idiot of the most hopeless variety. Let’s just forget this ever happened.”

“Yara, wait.” He reached towards her, catching her hand. This time, her flesh stayed solid, and he curled his fingers around hers as he pulled her in.

She let out a surprised gasp as one of his hands moved to her waist, the other tenderly cupping her face. Her skin felt so soft as he lightly stroked her cheek, the butterflies that had been nesting in his stomach bursting to life.

“Last night, I really, really wanted to kiss you,” he breathed.

“Then why didn’t you?” she whispered, eyes widening as his fingers traced along the small of her back.

“Because I didn’t want our first kiss to be something either of us would regret,” he confessed. “You’re too special to me for that.”

“Ace…”

“I never thought I’d meet someone like you, Yara. Someone who just… accepted me so easily. Who didn’t care at all about my good-for-nothing father. The last thing I ever would’ve wanted is for you to think I only kissed you because Haruta dared me to, and not because I’m madly, stupidly in love with you, and I have been ever since Pops brought me onto this ship.”

Her eyes went unnaturally wide. “What?”

“Oh.” Ace blinked, his hand leaving her waist to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck. “Shoot, did I just say that out loud?”

He took her stunned silence as an affirmative. “So, uh… would it be okay if I kissed you now?”

“Please,” Yara breathed, leaning in. Their foreheads pressed lightly together, noses brushing as they revelled in each other’s warmth. His arms wrapped around her waist, the cotton fabric of her nightdress bunching between his fingers as he pulled her tight to his chest. She clung to his bare shoulders, the tips of her fingers smoothing along his collarbone, each feather-light touch setting off fireworks in his stomach.

“You’re so beautiful, Hellcat,” he murmured against her lips, feeling her breath hitch.

“Kiss me already, Fire Fist,” she whispered, the neediness in her voice sending a jolt of pleasure throughout his entire body, small flames flickering involuntarily off his skin.

He wasted no more time in closing the gap between them, lips slotting into place as if they were always meant to do so. The whole world ceased to exist around him as their mouths moved in sync, the taste of her flooding his senses, all the pent-up love he’d kept locked in his heart for so long finally flowing freely through him.

One hand slowly drifted upwards, tangling in her long violet hair as he cupped the back of her neck, pressing himself forwards to dip her down, stealing a tiny gasp of air before continuing the kiss. He could feel Yara’s lips twitch upwards, the sensation making him grin into the kiss as well.

They broke away, foreheads coming to rest against each other’s as Ace cradled Yara’s cheek in his palm. “I love you,” he admitted. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, and for being such an idiot last night.”

Yara laughed softly. “After that kiss, you’re definitely forgiven. And I…” Her face flushed, looking away for a moment before returning her heterochromatic gaze to meet his dark eyes. “I love you too, Portgas D. Ace. You dummy.”

“You love me too,” he repeated, unable to keep himself from grinning wildly. His heart felt as if it were on fire, burning with an intense, aching passion. I never thought I’d ever hear anyone say those words to me. I’m hardly deserving of them, yet… Yet it still feels so nice.

He slipped an arm around her waist, letting her rest her head on his shoulder as they both gazed out at the moon and stars beyond. “So… where do we go from here?”

She shrugged. “Wherever we want, I suppose. We’ll figure it out together.”

Smiling, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “That sounds perfect.”

tagging: @auxiliarydetective @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene (and @box-of-bats too if you want the narrative resolution to the last prompt hehe)

#oc: bravada yara #ship: portada #otp: i'd burn the world for you #portgas d ace x oc #asked and answered #my ocs #my writing #chats with alvita #tysm for the prompt!! i'm having WAY too much fun with these #and i legit think i'm getting better at writing kisses too #as i said before things will play out differently in 'and i'll surrender (myself to you)' but regardless #i do love a good confession scene #i am in FULL portada mode rn lol

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vicvinegarandhughhoney · 11 months

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how do i know if i'm ready to take in a glat(glenncat)¡?!?!

great question!

so, the truth is, it really depends what kind of glat you're thinking of adopting... there are many different breeds, but I'll be specifically addressing three in this post: Dennis cats, Jack cats, and cliff cats. Now, all three need preparation, and while some may appear 'easier' than others, there are associated difficulties with each one that you have to be ready to deal with.

Let's start with Jack cats- these are arguably the easiest to take care of, because they're pretty self-sufficient in many ways. They'll groom themselves well (as will all glats, but with Jack cats you won't have the problem of over-grooming which sometimes accompanies other breeds), and will remind you when they're hungry. They enjoy being petted.

They can grow agitated at intervals, and during these intervals you should be prepared to stay away from the Jack cat for a while. Thankfully, they exhibit typical warning signs before entering one of these rage states (ears flat, tail puffed, etc).

Before adopting a Jack cat, you should make sure you have an adequate bed (though they will adapt to sleeping anywhere, really), some intellectually stimulating toys, and a copy of Republic by Plato to read at him if he starts to get agitated and you feel there is time to calm him down.

Moving on to Cliff kittens- these little guys are slightly higher maintenance than Jack cats, not because of their rage (Cliff kittens are demure compared to their brethren) but because of their delicacies. They are prone to getting sick often, are frequent over-groomers, and are sometimes afraid of their own shadow. They like to act big and brave, marching around the house like panthers, but when it comes down to it they will be knocked down by a particularly strong gust of wind. Literally. Don't let them outside without a weighted harness. Their diets are also pretty restricted because of a whole host of allergies and food preferences.

Aside from these traits, though, Cliff kittens have wonderful temperaments. They're lapcats at heart and are incredibly loyal- during thunderstorms, they'll seek you out to sit with you not just for their own safety but also for yours.

Before adopting a Cliff kitten, make sure you buy special food, a good collar with a bell (he's small so you'll need to know when he's coming round the corner to avoid tripping over him), and a bunch of soft toys. A nice big fluffy bed is also preferable, so he can snuggle into it during his frequent bouts of illness. Oh, and on that note, get every cat medication you can find. He might not have that specific ailment now, but he almost certainly will at some point.

Finally... Dennis cats. These are the most high maintenance of all glats, and are usually only taken on by owners with prior glat experience. It's recommended that you pick up a Jack cat first if you're interested in Dennis cats, because a lot of their traits are fairly similar, but those of Dennis cats tend to be exaggerated tenfold.

Dennis cats often (and unfortunately) come from less than ideal environments. They aren't the most trusting, and they scratch. A. Lot. It's important to remember that this isn't them being intentionally cruel, it's a defence mechanism brought about by fear- and patience is the only thing to conquer that fear. Progress with Dennis cats will be sluggish, especially at first, but in the end, it's incredibly rewarding to see a Dennis cat come out of his shell. When he sits on your lap for the first time, that's how you know that you're really getting somewhere.

Before getting a Dennis cat, make sure you get some gloves (for yourself, to prevent damage from scratches), toys, and a whole load of self confidence.

Hope this helps, and let me know how you get on in your glat adoption process!! :)

#shitpost #cat jack posting #cat cliff posting #cat dennis posting #iasip #glenn howerton #cats

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hannahmanderr · 1 year

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DannyMay Day 17 - Temper

lol I've got so much to catch up on

Words: 1,730

Summary: Jazz has never had the ghost-fighting skills that the rest of her family has. So what's she to do when a ghost attacks and she's left defenseless? (FFN)

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temper (n.): (1) a particular state of mind or feelings; (2) habit of mind, especially with respect to irritability or patience, outbursts of anger, or the like; disposition

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Jazz grunted as she braced herself against the force of the gale being created by the newest ghost attacking her house. Around her, the curtains whipped violently, threatening to rip off of the rod, and books and papers whirled around the room, forcing her to duck occasionally. The ghost in front of her - who reminded her of a misty version of the Pilsbury doughboy - knelt in midair, sobbing loudly into its hands.

As the winds buffeted against her, she mentally cursed. Mom and Dad were out on a call. Danny was with Sam and Tucker in the Ghost Zone, checking in on Sidney Poindexter after he’d had some sort of run-in with a particularly nasty pack of ghost wolves. Her Peeler and thermos were upstairs, under her bed, and every other possible weapon or means of defense - including the house’s security system - was out of reach. In other words, she was alone and unarmed. Two things she did not want to deal with when encountering an unfamiliar ghost.

“I-it’s gone…” the ghost blubbered. “Lost it… c-can’t…”

A particularly strong gust crashed into Jazz, causing her to stagger backwards. An armchair was knocked over and pushed towards her. Barely able to open her eyes because of the winds, she didn’t see it coming, and it swept her legs out from under her. She landed on the carpet with a thud and a bolt of pain up her arm. The ghost, upon seeing this, only sobbed harder.

“What - did you lose?” she tried to shout over the noise, but she could barely hear her own voice.

By some miracle, though, the ghost noticed and looked at her with watery purple eyes. “G-gone…” it said between sobs. “I-I hurt… hurt it…”

Jazz hoped she was actually frowning. It was too difficult to tell. “Hurt what?” she managed to gasp out.

“Th-the tower! I-it’s gone!”

Her mind raced. She had no clue what tower the ghost was talking about, but it was obvious it held some importance to it. What would Danny do with this information? Well that was a silly question. A ghost like this might have put up a little bit of a fight but wouldn’t stand much of a chance against him. He’d have already captured it by now.

What about her parents? Not that they’d have the information in the first place. They wouldn’t have stopped to ask questions in the first place. Dad would probably be trying (and failing) to get a shot in. Mom would probably be doing the same (with more success), but she’d also be working out a plan to capture it for future study or something.

Sam and Tucker? She wasn’t as sure with them. Tucker might try and log in to the security system and trigger the defense system. Sam, for as much as she preached non-violence, would not be hesitating to throw herself into the fight, probably following Danny’s lead.

None of these were options for her. She didn’t have the skill sets of her friends and family. She should know this by now; experience had shown time and time again that she was not exactly cut out for field work. Sure, she’d learned to aim a thermos, and she could fire a bazooka in a pinch, but this was never her forte. She much preferred to stay behind the scenes and provide team support.

Think, Jazz! Another gust of wind blew over her, still lying on the floor, and she had to roll out of the way of the coffee table approaching her. You don’t have their skills, but you have your own! What can you do?

Her main asset was her brain. That was a given. She knew she had a knack for analyzing things and digging to get at the root of the issue. That’s why she loved psychology so much - she loved to pick at people’s brains and figure out why they did the things they did, not just what they did. She could attack a problem better if she knew the underlying reasons for the problem in the first place.

Okay. So. Analyze this situation. To her, it seemed extraordinarily obvious: the ghost was upset because this tower it referred to was ‘gone’ in whatever sense that meant. It could be easily concluded that this tower held a lot of importance to this ghost. Losing something important could lead to extreme emotional duress, especially for people with anxieties or similar disorders.

Except ghosts weren’t necessarily bound to the same rules of psychology as humans. Danny was a prime example of that. But surely, being the souls of the deceased, at least some of the same rules passed over too.

Right?

Throwing all her weight to the side, she managed to roll onto her stomach and prop herself up on her arms. “Can you tell me about it?” she asked, doing her best to ignore the sting of the wind on her face.

The ghost’s eyes faded into the fog of its body and faded back in. They still leaked purple into its form. “T-tell you… about th-the tower?” it whimpered. Its voice was also difficult to hear over the roar.

Jazz nodded. “I want to hear about it,” she hollered, wanting to make sure the ghost heard her. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

The ghost hiccuped (how that was possible for a being without a diaphragm, she didn’t know). “B-but it’s gone…” it repeated. “I broke it…”

If Jazz had ears, they would’ve perked up. Of course! The ghost had said something similar before, hadn’t it? Granted, it had phrased it as “hurt it,” but the meaning had to be the same.

It all made sense! If this tower held such a special place in the ghost’s heart - er, core - and it had inadvertently destroyed it, then no wonder it was having such a difficult time. She wondered if the ghost even realized it was setting off the tornado-strength winds. It seemed horribly distracted by its distress.

So, distract? That could work temporarily, but not necessarily long term, and then they’d both be stuck in this same boat. Try and rationalize with it? Also a possibility, but it did not seem to be keen on listening to reason at the moment.

It needed something else to focus on, but it needed to be constructive. It needed to be something that could serve as a more permanent fix. A coping mechanism, but maybe one that could be used in future situations as well. Perhaps something that utilized its wind abilities, since they seemed to be so closely tied to the ghost.

The idea hit her as strong as the winds.

“Did something happen for you to break it?” she asked. She couldn’t tell if she was breathless because she was excited or because the gale stole her breath away.

It hiccuped again. “I-I didn’t want to,” it said. “I pointed… a-and it broke! I-I hurt it!”

Jazz nodded again. “It’s okay!” she shouted. “Sometimes we make mistakes. I make them too, and I break things I like too!” She absently wondered if this ghost was newer and not yet in control of its powers. The notion that it didn’t realize it was causing the wind was gaining validity.

“Y-you break?” the ghost asked. Was that an actual dip in the wind speed, or was she just imagining it?

Focus on the patient at hand. A psychologist can’t have her attention divided. “Yes! I break things sometimes!” She put her hand over her chest, but she made sure to position it where Danny had shown her a ghost’s core was (at least she hoped she was remembering right). Meet the patient where it’s at. “And it makes me break in here too!”

That caught the ghost’s attention. This time, the dip in the winds was noticeable. She took advantage of the opportunity to push herself up further.

“I-it broke…” the ghost whimpered. “A-and I broke…”

“I know,” Jazz said gently, still taking care to make sure her voice carried. “It’s okay. It’s okay for things to break. And it’s okay if we break, too.”

The ghost’s eyes faded in and out of its body again (possibly its method of blinking?), and the winds died down a little more. “But breaking… it’s bad!”

“No, breaking isn’t bad on its own. But we can’t just leave things broken, right?”

It shook its amorphous head. “N-no…” it said. “That’s bad…”

The books and papers slowly drifted down to the ground, and the curtains slowed to a flutter. “Not bad, just… incomplete,” Jazz reassured, offering a kind smile as she staggered to her feet. In the back of her head, she lamented about how tangled her long hair probably was after the whole ordeal. “It’s okay. We can make it right, but first, I need you to help me. Then I’ll be able to help you fix things, okay? We’ll fix you.” That last sentence wasn’t a phrase she was normally okay with using - all of her books told her that telling patients they needed “fixed” only made things worse - but this ghost seemed to have a limited vocabulary to some degree.

“Fix the tower?”

She hesitated. “How about we start with something smaller first?” she asked, trying to reach a compromise. She still didn’t know what this tower even was; she had no clue if it could even be fixed in the first place. She didn’t want to make a promise she couldn’t keep.

The ghost’s eyes shone from the reflection of its ectoplasmic tears and the slightest glimmer of hope. “We’ll go fix it?”

“Absolutely. And I’ll be with you the whole time.” She chanced taking a few cautious steps towards the ghost. Her hands were folded behind her back; she was pretty sure she remembered Danny mentioning something about the motion being a universal sign of submission and peaceful intention for ghosts, especially since many of the more offensive powers needed use of the hands to work. “Do you want to see?”

It eyed her warily. She could practically see the gears turning in its head as it processed what she said.

Finally, as the last of the winds died down, it extended a foggy hand towards her. “Take me?” it asked as if it were a small child and she was its mother.

Smiling, she took the ghost’s hand.

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temper (v.): (1) to moderate or mitigate; (2) to soften or tone down

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay2023 #dannymay 2023 #danny phantom jazz #jazz fenton #danny phantom fanfic #hannah writes

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grailfinders · 2 years

Text

Fate and Phantasms #18P: Elisabeth Bathory

today on fate and phantasms we’re building the prettiest, bestest idol in the mooncell, Elisabeth Bathory! she’s mostly a fighter to make her good with a lance, but we also dip into the gladiator and provocatory archetypes for a bloodier performance, and the celebrity archetype to have a performance in the first place.

check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

next up: lol guy’s got a crying spot named after him. what a dork.

ancestry and background

since all your cool stuff isn’t entirely based on your race, we can finally make eli-chan a human for once! this gives her a boost in charisma and constitution to get the songs started right away, and help with her guts. she’s supposed to be part dragon, but somebody hasn’t put sonic dragons in pathfinder yet, so for now she’s a sylph human instead. that means you have low-light vision, and you get special feats to pick from! natural ambition isn’t one of those, but it lets you get a first-level feat right away, so you can sudden charge even more suddenly! spend two actions to stride twice, and if you end up within reach of an enemy you can attack them as part of those actions. you’ll even be able to use this while flying later on!

at level 5 you grow a skillful tail, letting you open doors with your tail and do other stuff with simple interact actions. idk how your grandma banging a cloud gives you a tail, but i’m not gonna question it if it helps us.

at level 9 your wings of air give you ten minutes of flying once a day. it’s a start.

at level 13 your djinni magic lets you cast two spells, each once a day. invisibility isn’t really why we’re here, that’s more for gust of wind for a kinda dragon breath attack? you can sing so hard to blows people around in a line in front of you, forcing large or smaller creatures to make a fortitude save or they’ll get knocked around. a success can’t move forward, a failure gets knocked prone unless they’re flying. if so, or if they get a critical failure, they get knocked prone, get pushed 30’, and take bludgeoning damage.

finally, at level 17 your eternal wings are always active, so you can fly whenever you wish.

eli was kinda a noble, but more than that she’s an attention addict, giving her a boost in strength and charisma, as well as training in gladiatorial lore and performance. you also get the impressive performance feat, so now you can make an impression using performance instead of diplomacy. i’m sure singing will work waaaay better than just talking to those nobles! you should try it!

Starting Proficiencies

Trained: Class DC, Will saves, Advanced Weapons, All Armors, Acrobatics, Deception, Occultism, Medicine, (Eventually) Society

Expert: Fortitude saves; Reflex saves; Perception; Simple, Martial, and Unarmed Attacks

Class Levels

1. We’re starting things off strong this time. Literally, your Key Ability is strength, and your first Ability Boost bumps up your Strength along with your Dexterity, Constitution, and Charisma. You also know how to make an Attack of Opportunity as a reaction, striking a creature trying to move, manipulate, or make a ranged attack next to you.

You also know your own strength, at least enough to make an Exacting Strike after making at least one regular attack. This move doesn’t add any extra power behind your strike, but if you miss at least it won’t count for your multiple attack penalty.

You can also use a Shield Block, but you’d need a shield first.

2. Eli isn’t particularly strong for a servant, but she can still make a Brutish Shove against most people, making them flat-footed when you hit them with an attack, and shoving them as well as part of the action, making an athletics check against their fortitude. If you succeed you can push them up to 10’ away, and can even stride after them for free. Be careful though, a critical failure will leave you prone. Even if you fail, they’ll still be flat-footed for the round. (that gives them a -2 to their AC- get ready to see that show up a lot this build.)

you’re also a virtuosic performer, giving you a bonus to all performance checks that involve singing. for you, anyway. you can choose which specialty to pick when you take the feat.

finally, we get the gladiator dedication right away to make you the star of the show. at the start of any fight, if you have an audience, you get temporary HP for the first minute of the fight, and can use performance to roll initiative. you also get training in another kind of lore, and Idol lore will help you keep tabs on the competition. a certain blonde saber’s has a ten build lead on you, and that won’t do at all!

3. at level 3 your Bravery makes you an expert in will saves, and your successful saves against fear are always critical, and you don’t get as frightened as other people. we’re not making saber eli yet, but it’s nice to keep in mind.

like all good singers, your Breath Control gives you 25 times more breath-holding power. that means right off the bat you can hold your breath for over 12 minutes, which feels kind of silly, tbh. you also have a +1 bonus on all saves against inhaled threats- poisons, noxious gases, etc.- and your successful saves are always critical.

finally, we’re going to train you up in intimidation. I think your singing’s good, but people are a bit crueler in-game. It gives you a bit of a reputation after a while.

4. I don’t think we’ve been sadistic enough in a fight. Let’s fix that by grabbing a Dragging Strike, letting you attack a creature and drag it around with you for 5 feet. It’ll also make the target flat-footed for the rest of your turn.

If you really want people to think you’re the greatest idol ever, you’ll have to be a charming liar- when you score a critical success while hyping yourself up through lying, it’ll also improve the target’s attitude towards you.

Finally, when you knock someone down to 0 HP while there’s spectators around, you can Play to the Crowd as a reaction using your performance. Pick one of the following benefits if you succeed, or two if it’s critical: temporary HP equal to your level for 1 minute, +1 AC until the end of your next turn, or +1 to your next attack roll before the end of your next turn. No point making combat and crowd-pleasing mutually exclusive, right?

5. level five’s pr easy. use this ability boost to bump up your strength, dexterity, intelligence, and wisdom, and pick a spear for your new fighter weapon mastery. see? we’re making her good with a spear the first time now! dang kris really is learning from his mistakes. im so proud of him. now you’re a master with any spears, tridents, etcetera, an expert with advanced spears, and you get their critical specialization with the ones you’re at least a master with. if you crit, they become clumsy for a round, reducing their dexterity checks and dcs (including ac, reflex, and ranged attacks) by one. lancers are notoriously good against archers… somehow.

also, you’re an expert in performance now to better wow the crowd!

6. now that you’ve got all those fancy moves, it’s time to put them to use even more! when you make an advantageous assault, you can hit a person that’s grabbed, prone, or restrained, giving you a bonus to attacking them equal to your damage dice + 2. even if you miss, you’ll still deal a lil damage!

the Halloween events get a lil weird, but you’ve been in enough to get some dubious knowledge. when you fail a recall knowledge check, you’ll learn two things- one real, one fake, tho you can’t tell which is which. somehow your statues turned into robots, at this point anything’s possible.

finally, you can put on some stage fighting since you’re a gladiator, so you can make nonlethal attacks with lethal weapons without any penalties! you can’t torture the dead!

7. at level seven you become a battlefield surveyor, so you get a +2 bonus for perception checks for initiative, on top of being a master!

to better enjoy your delicacies, you also become a supertaster, so your dm makes a perception check for you every time you eat or drink poisoned food, maybe letting you know you shouldn’t have eaten that. you can also recall knowledge better if you lick something to figure out what it is.

your weapon specialization makes you less specialized, since you do more damage with every weapon you’ve got, and you’re also better at society now, bein a noble and all.

8. time for more torture! whenever you make an attack of opportunity now, you make a disorienting opening against your enemy, making them flat-footed until they start their next turn.

you can also use your fancy moves to demoralize people using your performance skills, which… yeah. yeah, that works.

finally, you can call your shot when you play to the crowd, adding another option to pick from when you pick your benefits. now you can make a nearby creature frightened, reducing all their rolls and dcs by 1 until they end their next turn.

9. at level nine your combat flexibility lets you swap in a new level 8 or lower fighter feat after every long rest! an idol’s gotta stay on top of trends after all! she’s also got to be a juggernaut, making her a master in fortitude saves, which are always critical when they succeed. let’s also bump up society again.

10. at level ten you get another ability boost, this time in dexterity, constitution, wisdom, and charisma. gotta keep you well-rounded if you wanna be an idol!

oh, speaking of, you’re also a fearsome brute, giving you a bonus to damage for any frightened creatures equal to double their frightened value. so not only can you hit them easier, but you’re hitting them harder!

speaking of frightening people, your musical mastery makes group coercion slightly easier. it’s still based on your intimidation, so you can only use it on 2 people at once rn.

good news though, it’s time for another archetype! as a provocator, you become trained in one advanced weapon of your choice, and you also get its critical specialization! idk why you’d want this since you’ve already got your spears, but maybe you wanna give brave Bathory ago already?

you’re also a master in performance now, and an expert in acrobatics to wheel across the sky easier.

11. level eleven’s all about doing stuff a lil bit better! your armor expertise and fighter expertise do what you’d think they do, plus you get armor specialization for medium and heavy armor. or you would if you wore those. your untrained improvisation makes you a lil bit better at just about everything, adding your level to all untrained skill checks. speaking of training, you’re better at athletics now, so your shoving isn’t as bad.

12. at level 12 you can make a spring attack, leaping between enemies, making a stride away from one to get within melee range of another, making a strike with the same action. you can even use this while flying!

we’ve been getting a lot of society for some reason, and it’s time for that to pay off! with courtly graces, you can pass yourself off as a noble using your society skill, and make impressions on nobles with the same. i mean all that blood had to come from somewhere, right?

finally, you can make a flourishing finish as an action after offing someone, making a performance check against every nearby enemy’s will dc, and frightening them on a success. then beat those guys up too!

13. level 13’s another simple one, you’re now an expert in Intimidation to sing to larger crowds, and you’re a Weapon Legend, making your simple and martial weapons master-tier, and advanced weapons expert. You also get to go one step further for spears, making them legendary or master-tier, respectively.

14. at level 14 the flowers and birds are going to have a bad time, because a kid like you has Determination. that means once a day you can end a condition on you immediately, or make a counteract attempt on a spell with a will save. you can’t can’t will away being flanked, obviously.

You can however make a Distracting Performance while your allies are trying to sneak around. If you aid an ally who’s making a diversion, you can instead roll a performance check instead of their deception check.

If the crowd isn’t too pleased with that, you can turn them into a captive audience with Pin to the Spot. spend two actions to strike a target. if you hit and hurt them, they’re also restrained until the end of your next turn.

15. level 15’s got some new stuff! first off, the basics. an Ability Boost in Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, and Charisma to be a little bit better all around. You also get Evasion, bumping your reflex saves to master and making your successes critical. Your Improved Flexibility gives you a longer setlist, letting you swap around two feats each day instead of one, and your Greater Weapon Specialization means even more damage with the weapons you love.

Finally, you’re now legendary in Performance, making you a Legendary Performer. I know the story’s mean to Liz a lot but she’s a good singer and I love her, dammit!

*ahem* I mean, NPCs now have a better chance of hearing about you, and usually have a better disposition to you. You also earn income with performing better, increasing your audience levels by at least two, usually.

16. at level 16, it’s finally time for you to realize murder is bad and start working on your idol career properly as a Celebrity! you can now Upstage people as a reaction- you try the same skill check they did, and if you do better than them you get a +1 bonus to attacks, checks, and saves for a round. You also do better earning income if you bite off more than you can chew.

to help with that, your Resounding Bravery makes you even harder to take down- when you critically succeed at a will save, you get a +1 bonus to all saves and temporary HP for a minute, gaining twice as much for both if you critted on a fear effect.

Also, your Fascinating Performance make it harder for your special someone to ignore you. You can compare your performance check against another creature’s will DC, and if you rolled higher they’re fascinated by you for one round, so the only thing they can focus on is you. You have to pick your target before you start singing, and regardless of outcome they’ll be immune for an hour. Also, this was a level 1 skill, and it increases with training- since you’re legendary, you can fascinate any number of observers at once.

17. easy level- you’re a master in all armor, and a master in Intimidation too.

18. at level 18 your Savage Criticals mean you crit on 19s and 20s now, for twice as much torture I mean fun. only fun now, no torture. You can also start off each fight with a Battle Cry I mean jaunty tune, demoralizing a foe you can see when you roll initiative. You can keep this song going every time you score a critical hit if you’re legendary in intimidation, so I think you can see where this is going.

finally, you can Command Attention like only an idol can, improving nearby creatures’ saves against visual effects, and preventing enemies from targeting other people they can see for a round.

19. at level 19 you’re famous enough for some quality groupies as a Hireling Manager, giving your roadies a +2 bonus to all skill checks.

You’re also a Versatile Legend, making your simple, martial, and unarmed attacks legendary, and your advanced weapons and class DC mastered. You’re also a legend in Intimidation now, just like I said earlier.

20. For your final level, bump up your strength, dexterity, wisdom, and charisma. then, make your setlist as long as possible with Ultimate Flexibility giving you a third feat to swap around each rest. The first must be level 8 or lower, the second level 14, and the third level 18, and you can use the lower level feats to qualify for higher level ones. On top of that, you can even swap them around on the go by spending 1 hour learning your next show, though you can’t trade out limited-use feats you’ve already used up.

Your songs are also earworms now, so your Lasting Coercion can keep that tune playing for up to a month.

Finally, you Never Tire, so you’re always ready for an encore. If you’d get fatigued while at least three non-foe creatures are watching, you can push back that condition for up to a minute, or until the audience leaves.

Pros and Cons

Pros:

Flight is always super powerful, especially in a game like Pathfinder where it’s more heavily restricted than D&D. While you’re mostly a melee fighter, there’s plenty of thrown spears to play with too to become a rain of death from on high.

You’re also really good at forcing crowds to obey you, with legendary intimidation, the ability to coerce 25 people at a time, and the ability to make that coercion stick for up to a month means you’ll easily rule over most peasants.

You’re also great a fighting dirty, with plenty of options to throw enemies around, stick them in place, and leave them an easier target for any rogues you have in your party. Also, doubled crit chances will make enemies drop faster, meaning you can play to the crowd more often.

Cons:

Both your wings and your class are built on gradual growth, so you won’t be doing too much until later levels. D&D Bathory wasn’t much better tbh, but there was the Feral Tiefling option if you wanted to fly earlier.

You’re also trying to be a popstar and serial killer at the same time. You’ll definitely be known far and wide, but that might not be a good thing given how much of your build is about brutalizing people.

You’ve got zero damage options outside of standard weapon attacks, so enemies that resist or are immune to nonmagical damage can be a pain to deal with. So yeah, this build specializes in fighting the weak enemies while the rest of the party fights the big bad, so ironically it’s not that glamorous to play.

#fgo #fate grand order #Pathfinder 2nd Edition #PF2E #Elisabeth Bathory #Fighter #Celebrity #Gladiator #Provocator

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farahblack · 2 years

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ok imagine this. the agency has to - and dont imagine this TOO hard - do a cheer pyramid. perhaps they are spying sorry investigating over a wall. what would be the ideal formation here. because ok listen the obvious first formation that comes to mind is todd and farah on the bottom, dirk being held up to look over the wall or whatever it literally does not matter the main point is they have to do a pyramid. actually there's more layers to this hold on i can solve them easily. they would to a pyramid from their knee because farah doesnt trust neither todd nor dirk to manage to hold up an entire human being if they're only using their hands. there i solved that now moving on.

dirk flying and todd + farah as the base: makes sense because dirk is the detective technically and also he would be very into getting to be the flyer. however he is tall and probably has poor balance. obviously they would be holding on to him but a particularly strong gust of wind could knock him right over i think. also, todd is arguably the weakest of them all, so him being in the base makes me 🤨

(here is where i remember to put the disclaimer that i havent done cheer whatsoever since i was 8. if my cheer knowledge is inaccurate suspend your disbelief and enjoy my silly post anyway. thank u)

todd flying and dirk + farah as the base: todd is more compact than dirk, this could work. dirk and farah are both ripped they would hold him up very effectively. however todd does not have holistic bullshit going on and is also not trained in being observant therefore might miss a crucial detail if this is an investigating scenario. probably would not be too eager about being off the ground

farah flying and todd + dirk as the base: i feel like this is the most efficient formation IN THEORY, because farah is the most compact, has her tactical training and everything, has experience in various athletics so might already be familiar with how a pyramid works, and dirk and todd together would probably manage not to drop her. HOWEVER. farah would hate being off the ground, and also nervous about dirk and todd being the ones lifting her off of it, she trusts them ofc but re my point about her not trusting them to hold up an entire human being successfully. she would probably make it work if its a knee pyramid but def not a standing one. meanwhile dirk and todd would end up bickering at the base probably which would be distracting to farah

anyway what do yall think 🤔 do any followers know anything about cheerleading as a sport and have any thoughts or contributions to my 1am sicknesshaze post?

#misc

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catholic-shadow-the-hedgehog · 1 year

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The Storm

I had a dream several months ago where I wrote a Sonic the Hedgehog fanfic, and I decided to try writing it in real life to practice writing. You can read it on AO3 or below:

The world faded to a green and blue blur as Sonic raced over another hill. Wind rushed past his ears, wrapping him in a cocoon of sound and motion that felt equal parts exhilarating and familiar. Grinning, he glanced up at the sky above him. It was a vivid, delicate blue, speckled with fluffy white clouds that crawled by above his head as he continued on his run.

In a split second, the sky was knocked out of Sonic’s vision as he went from zooming over the top of a gentle hill to tumbling gracelessly down it, entangled with whatever unfortunate individual had just stepped into his path. Muttering apologies, Sonic stumbled to his feet. As he extended his hand to help up whoever he’d just knocked over, his somewhat disoriented mind finally caught up with his eyes and he realized who he’d just run into.

“Shadow?” Sonic chuckled slightly. “I guess you need to work on your reflexes, huh?” Shadow did not respond to the insult, nor did he make any move to accept Sonic’s hand. He simply remained sitting on the ground, knees bent awkwardly from trying to catch himself, staring at Sonic with an intense expression that Sonic couldn’t quite place. “What’s the matter?” Sonic said, a little teasingly. “Embarrassed?”

Shadow remained silent as his gaze shifted from Sonic to the sky. Sonic nervously glanced upwards, then gasped as the sky flashed from clear blue to dark, impenetrable grey. A sudden gust of wind nearly knocked Sonic off his feet as a flood of ice-cold raindrops pelted his head. Squinting through the pouring rain, he got the distinct impression that, despite the clear skies he’d seen only moments earlier, the storm had been going on for a long time.

“So you can see it now?” Shadow asked, rising to his feet. “It’s about time.” Without further comment, he turned his back to Sonic and began walking.

“Wait.” Sonic took an unsteady step towards him. Why was the wind so strong? “This… isn’t just a regular storm, is it? Do you know anything about it?”

Shadow gave a bored glance over his shoulder. “You can come with me if you like, but I don’t owe you any information.”

“Come with you where?”

“To shelter.” With that, he turned away and continued walking. Stumbling against the wind, Sonic followed him.

Sonic squinted against the wind and rain, trying to keep Shadow in sight as the other hedgehog effortlessly strode through the storm. The rain seemed to be coming down harder now, if that was even possible.

After a few minutes, a particularly strong gust of wind managed to actually knock Sonic over. What little he could see of Shadow through the rain disappeared as he fell hard onto the wet grass.

“Hey!” Sonic shouted. “How about you stop being edgy and mysterious for five seconds and help me up?” Shadow did not respond.

Sonic almost managed to stand up, but quickly slipped on some mud and found himself crouching in the grass again. The rain was coming down so hard now that it hardly felt like rain at all. Even the grass seemed to fade from his perception, leaving Sonic with the impression of being trapped beneath a rushing river, unable to tell which way was up or where the water was taking him.

“Hey!” he shouted again, then paused in surprise at how desperate his voice had sounded. He had been going more for annoyance, but he supposed at this point he would take anything that would get any kind of response. Shadow was most likely out of earshot anyway, but maybe someone would be close enough to hear him. He could only hope.

Sonic tried once again to stumble to his feet, but the wind and rain kept him pinned to the slick grass. He squeezed his eyes shut against the rain and wondered how it was, exactly, that he'd met his match in the form of weather of all things. For the first time in a very, very long time, Sonic was struck by the realization that he was completely in over his head.

Suddenly, he became aware that he could no longer feel the wind or rain. Sonic opened his eyes and found himself face to face with Amy Rose. She was silent but smiling warmly, one hand reaching out to help him up and the other wrapped around the handle of an umbrella. Sonic opened his mouth to greet her, but froze when he caught sight of the umbrella itself.

Instead of a cloth or plastic canopy, Amy's umbrella seemed to be made of some sort of transparent membrane. It would have looked like there was no umbrella canopy at all, only the handle and wire frame, if not for the fact that the sky beyond the membrane was cloudless and blue. Sonic stared in amazement at the solid line between the umbrella and the open air, below which the sky was just as grey and impenetrable as it had been since he became aware of the storm. Moving his eyes to the grass in front of him, he realized he could still see raindrops landing on the ground beneath the shelter of the umbrella. He reached out a hand to catch one and found that it went right through him.

“Where did you even get this?” he asked Amy as he finally took her outstretched hand.

“That's a secret!” she said playfully. “Now, are you ready to get to shelter?” Through the umbrella, Sonic could see a castle in the distance. A few metres in front of him, Shadow stood with crossed arms, gazing out towards it.

Sonic took a deep breath and smiled. ”Let's go,“ he said, pulling Amy by the hand towards the castle. Seeing that they were finally moving, Shadow turned and began walking again.

And with that, their journey began.

#sonic the hedgehog #salt and light #I've never written for this fandom before and I didn't do much editing #so feedback would be greatly appreciated

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Sleepless Nights

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, Comfort, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: During an unusually windy night, Y/N finds herself unable to sleep while her boyfriend is streaming in the other room, unaware of the terror revving outside thanks to his headphones. So, Y/N does the only thing she can in order to finally get some shuteye.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request, I had such a blast writing it! I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to complete and post it but here it finally is and I hope you’ve stuck around long enough to read it! If you have, please enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

It’s that time of year again - the city is terrorized by the loudest, most intense winds that wield the strength of a mythological creature and sound like the wails of hell’s sufferers. You may find my description of this natural occurrence rather dramatic and over the top but that’s because you aren’t here to hear and see this horror show going on. Trees have been uprooted from the ground and have fallen on top of cars, damaging them expensively. Chimneys all around are whistling hauntingly as the gusts of wind pass through them, the sound sending shivers down my spine.

Winds have never sat right with me and I often found myself lacking shuteye during the night if they were wilding outside while I tried to sleep even as a kid. My parents thought I’d grow out of it as the years went by but I never did apparently, seeing as how I’m wide awake at close to 2AM on a workday. I have to be at work by eight in the morning and if I don’t catch some z’s soon I might just show up looking like a zombie.

This is not the first time such an occurrence has happened. However, on those past occurrences, I wasn’t alone in bed, twisting and turning under the covers so I could extinguish the sound that’s violating my head. On those occasions, I had someone lying in bed next to me with his arms wrapped around me tightly or with his hands covering my ears. That person isn’t with me right now though. He’s in a room two doors away, streaming Among Us with his friends.

I’ve had Corpse ditch streams to comforting me during anxiety-inducing windstorms like this one but I can only assume he cannot hear what is going on outside since I haven’t heard a single word from him. Of course, comforting me isn’t his job and I’m not the type of girlfriend to be clingy and in need of her boyfriend to be there for her 24/7. Quite the contrary actually - I’m independent and rarely ask for people’s help, Corpse’s included. However, there’s one thing I need help with and this is it - falling asleep at a time like this. That’s a task I cannot manage on my own.

And so, against my better judgement and putting aside my embarrassment surrounding my fear, I kick the covers off me and get up, stretching my arms above my head as I walk out of the bedroom Corpse and I share and into the hallway which is pitch black as the rest of the apartment. The only light is coming from underneath the door to Corpse’s recording room but even that is so faint I can only guess it’s coming from his computer screen.

With an uneasy sigh, I make my way down the hall, flinching when a particularly strong gust of wind rattles the windows. This apartment building is old makes noises of its own on the regular, the last thing it needs is these attacks it’s now forced to endure because the weather outside is crappy as all hell. Take an already noisy building and pelt it with gusts of wind, yeah that equals a sleepless night for me.

The recording room door isn’t shut all the way as usual. Corpse prefers keeping it open a crack so he can enter and exit it without making noise in the middle of the night as to not wake me up, seeing as how I’m quite a light sleeper. It also allows me to enter and exit it soundlessly whenever I want to either bring him a snack or spook him. There’s no in-between: I either bring him something to eat/drink, or I scare the daylight out of him. The latter usually happens when he’s playing a horror game though so it’s rare which is why he hasn’t started shutting the door as to be alerted of my schemes before I give him a mini heart attack.

And so, I tip-toe my way in his recording room, squinting my eyes when I’m faced with the beaming computer screen opposite the door though it’s partially blocked by the hunched over Corpse who is still unaware of my presence. So, in order to avoid freaking him out, I deliver a couple of soft but audible enough knocks to the door frame to grab his attention. My attempt proves successful as I see him yank off his headset and whirl around in his chair to face me.

“Am I being too loud?“ Even in the dark, I can make out the lines of his face contorting into an expression of guilt.

I give him a lopsided smile as I strut over to him with lazy steps. Just as I part my lips to speak, a strong gust of wind shakes the building, producing a wailing-like sound that immediately forces me to freeze up, the smile disappearing from my face.

Corpse’s face shifts expressions again, this time exhibiting a compassionate, comforting smile, “That’s what it is, isn’t it? You can’t sleep?” I shake my head, biting my lip as I feel my cheeks heat up. “Come here.” He mutters, opening his arms invitingly.

Without a single doubt, I come closer, not putting up a fight when he pulls me into his lap. I let my legs hang off either side of his hips, wrapping my arms around his neck as I hide my face in the crook of his neck breathing in his scent mixed with the cologne that has lingered on his hoodie and hair.

“Wait a sec...“ he mumbles, pulling away from me briefly. I’m confused for a second, but then I feel the pair of wireless headphones he covers my ears with and I give him a grateful smile, already feeling myself beginning to relax at the warmth of his body against mine and the soothing comfort of his touch. However, when the lo-fi music starts playing through my headphones - a playlist he’s complied for me whenever I have sleepless nights such as these for whatever reason - I’m a complete goner.

And so I find myself drifting off with the mixed sounds of lo-fi beats, Corpse’s whispers and his heartbeat and honestly, not to be cheesy or anything, but I’ve never heard a sweeter lullaby in all my life.

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zuluc · 3 years

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1am thoughts let’s goo taken inspo from an ask i got a few months ago that i have to find again

adeptus xiao had lost many of his friends during the archon war, years and years before coming to the time he resides at wangshu inn. he’s fine, content, okay in his isolation, but there’s that feeling he’s carried with him for centuries. a feeling that he can’t get rid of because he can’t heal it. a feeling of loneliness that is only cured by making connections to those he meets.

but what point does it have once those he cherishes will go as quickly as the others went? they may be mortal or immortal, but it doesn’t change the possibilities. so he says nothing. creates no relation to anyone.

the traveler comes and he’s most certain they aren’t even human or at least of a human life-span. they’re much older than they look and the aura they give off is one of experience through countless places not limited to the bounds of Teyvat. he makes an exception here.

but to his surprise, there is one other person he never would have thought to see again. after the war, the disappearances of many he held close was something he has to accept. but your was the most difficult.

hailing as another adepti, though not a yaksha, under Rex Lapis you too fought the war with the strength you could provide. a dendro user you were, one connected to the nature of the earth, hurt by the destruction against the once blossoming fields. your protection and persistence with life aided your fight and helped your companions.

though you fell. you fell down onto the earth after a blow unseen by you or your comrades. it knocked out all your fight and stunned your senses until all you could feel was the field burning in the aftermath. the last you could see before your senses faded was a hue of jade and the color of golden irises.

xiao had known you the longest. you were someone special to him, especially after Rex Lapis had taken him in. he felt his, for a lack of a better term, youth in some ways return to him. you were a delight and he found himself seeking your presence almost everyday whether that be for a walk, a spar, or simply company. your vision provided you with the ability of plants and nature to which you took it upon yourself to jokingly make him flower crowns. he wore them proudly without any insistence.

now he could have nothing more with you after this and he was devastated.

and then you woke, but you were unsure how much time had passed. clues were given about from the new grass you could feel under your fingertips and the sounds from the clear blue waters below. your gaze trickles down to confirm the streams but also the distance to which you were from the actual ground.

you’re on a mountaintop it seems, isolated in your own little area. you look up to see birds soaring in circles on the higher tops and a beacon of light shining into the sky. surely, this was still home? despite not knowing the passage of time there were still aspects of the geography you were familiar with. your brain racks itself for anything really until your hand grazes something behind you.

you turn and feel the petals of a qingxin flower.

a smile subconsciously grazes your lips at the thought of that activity and the memories associated with a particularly stoic male and his adorable accessory. but that feeling of joy also sparks a feeling of worry.

was he alright? did he live? what about the others? ganyu, rex lapis? where were they? you, of course, were still unsure of your own life coming back but thanking the archons in the moment was all you could do.

regardless, you had to find him, right?

your question answers itself when a gust of wind passes by you. in a split second you are startled by the image of him, his mask and all. you’re tempted to reach out and touch it but you’d hate to feel nothing at all. maybe it was better to see but you swear he’s standing in front of you right now. what a mean trick your mind decided to play. it wouldn’t be that easy.

it was easier than he had thought. the waiting game was one xiao had to play for a long time and he had no choice but to continue its run. during his patrols, he has the small thought to look out for anything more green than it should be, perhaps, a shining green vision, or a polearm similar to his own. wishful thinking has never been one of his strong suits.

being realistic was. his search to find anyone he knew had come to an end years ago, but there was a shift in the atmosphere he most certainly could not ignore. not when it felt like you. so he acted, he rushed, he flew to wherever it was and found it.

so he reaches out to cup your face and relief, agony, and sorrow wash over him in intense waves. your face is warm through his gloves but he doesn’t blink, afraid you’ll leave his sights all too soon.

so you reach out as well, your hand placed on the mask to carefully pull it aside. underneath, you melt at the golden irises you’ve always adored. tears burn behind your eyes but you don’t care. not when you are certain he is here and certain that he’s alright.

xiao leans forward, sending his spear away so he can hold you with both hands, pressing his forehead to yours before finally closing his eyes.

i missed you.

#late night thoughts #this was longer than i thought #there might be typos but ignore them pls #i will expand #i’ll put this here to remember to write it haha #genshin impact #xiao x reader #wth i have all these ideas at 1 am when i need to do my hw 😀#im in an angst to fluff mood 25/8 #will have more depth im just tired

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blackkatmagic · 3 years

Note

I was going through my bookmarked list of “Comfort Fics,” and I realized that out of the 100+ that I have saved, your fics comprise about 70-80 of them, and 20 of those happen to be just the Hawks verse, so thank you so much for putting your incredible work out here into the world! There’s never enough things that can bring comfort during a bad day, and shine some light, but your beautiful words are absolutely magical. I hope you have an incredible rest of your week, Kat 🥰

💗💗💗

And because you sent this just as I'm working on a hawks 'verse fic, have a snippet. xD

“Back already?” Neyo asks, just snapping Wac’s collar on as a particularly strong gust of wind practically blows Rex into the house.

“Delivery got cancelled,” Rex says. “Power lines down between us and town. You’re going out in this? It’s pouring.”

Neyo rolls his eyes. “That professor has a house down the road a few miles,” he says. “His generator’s not working. I said I’d look at it, so he’s coming to pick me up.”

That professor, Rex thinks, amused. Like he hasn’t been texting Mace constantly for the last three days. Their date went well, apparently. “Spending the night?” he asks, keeping his voice carefully mild, and doesn’t glance at the bag sitting by the door.

Neyo scoffs, snapping Wac’s leash on as the shepherd wiggles. “Mind your own business,” he retorts. “Found Dad yet?”

“I haven’t been looking,” Rex says with perfect honesty, and Neyo snorts in amusement and straightens.

“He’ll turn up at the most inconvenient time possible,” he says, and Rex grimaces in agreement.

“With another kid, probably,” he agrees. Pauses, and then asks, “Seen Jon?”

Neyo shakes his head. “Not this morning. Door was still closed when I came down, though.”

Rex frowns a little, because Jon's usually not an earlyriser unless he has things planned, but he’s generally up well before noon, and it’s getting late. “Thanks,” he says, and then, “Use protection.”

Neyo flips him off, grabs his bag, and then bangs out the front door. The dramatic exit is somewhat ruined by the wind, which howls hard enough that Neyo has to strain to shut the door after him, and then entirelyruined by Wac, who takes one look at the little electric car just pulling into the circular driveway and bolts, barking happily. Neyo yelps, the leash looped around his boots pulling tight, and hits the porch on his ass as Wac bounds towards Neyo's new boyfriend, dragging Neyo down the stairs before the leash finally comes free. At the same moment, Mace slides out of the car, looking alarmed, and is promptly bowled over by Wac, who flattens him right into the gravel. Neyo takes one look at the scene and groans, still sprawled halfway down the stairs with his head in a potted plant. Not hurt, clearly, but definitely suffering.

Rex wouldn’t be a little brother if he didn’t laugh in Neyo's face and slam the door shut.

He’s still snickering to himself when he strips out of his wet clothes and boots and climbs the stairs, more than ready to see Jon. He’d had to leave early to take Jesse to Jaster's for lessons, and seeing Jaster always ends up resulting in ten more errands and a talk over coffee, which Rex hardly objects to.

He hadn’t told Jaster about dating Jon. From what Jon's said, he and Jaster are friends, and he’s Rex's grandfather, but—that seems like the sort of revelation that should come from both of them at the same time. Or at least one they should talk about first.

Talking is going to have to wait, though. When Rex makes his way upstairs, Jon's door is still closed, just the way it was when Rex left this morning, and Rex frowns a little. Jon usually leaves it open if he goes out, and he’d said yesterday that he had no plans, but—maybe something changed. Worried despite himself, Rex pauses outside the door for a long moment, then raises a fist and knocks lightly.

#my writing #hawks 'verse #neyomace #rexjon #commander neyo #captain rex #star wars

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criminalshminds · 3 years

Text

A Broken Whisper

A very, very, very late prompt from @eprcntiss, but good things happens to those who wait, right???

Prompt: “What are you doing here? It’s late.” Pairing: Hotchniss (Emily Prentiss x Aaron Hotchner) Rating: General Audiences Words: 1968 TW: Canon faked death, slight intrusive thoughts

Summary: He didn’t know why he felt the need to check up on her, but he’s glad he did. Though he never thought she’d be here. (Post Doyle)

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

He couldn’t say why he had the urge to check on Emily, he just did. Something has been up with her since she came back after Doyle. Hotch has tried to be a sounding board for her, but her walls are always up that she manages to deflect any of his concern and places it back on him. But he saw her face at the take down that night. He saw the lone tear that fell down her cheek, one that she quickly wiped away before anyone could see it. Maybe that one tear led him to her apartment. He parks in a spot that looks directly up into her apartment. A spot that he has been in plenty of times before, back when things were simpler. Back when they would steal little kisses. Where she would wave at him from the window in her living room as he left to go back home to shower and change before work. Where he told her that he loves her. Back before she started to pull away. Back when things made sense.

Since her return, they haven’t spoken of the past. Actually, they haven’t really talked at all. The only words they utter to each other are work related. Well, that’s not completely true. She did utter a goodbye today. Maybe that’s why he felt the need to see her. Looking up at the window that used to hold her smiling silhouette now just holds a darkness that sends a shiver down his spine. Like he’s not supposed to be here. Like he is intruding in a life that he doesn’t belong in anymore. Taking a chancery glance around the parking lot, the first thing he notices is that her car isn’t in its designated parking spot. Second thing he notices, is that she hasn’t been home since leaving work five hours ago, if the snow piled up on the concrete has anything to say about it. Knowing that she could be literally anywhere, he huffs out a sigh before digging around his pockets for his cell phone.

“Bossman, I know I am the goddess of all wisdom, but even goddesses need their beauty sleep.” A grumble comes through the phone, definitely not the cheerful voice of Penelope Garcia that Hotch has come to know.

“Garcia, can you do me a favor?” He speaks quickly into the phone, no room or time for nonsense.

“Does it involve me coming back into the BAU?” Hotch hears some rustling noises, and only now does he realize that he is calling at almost midnight.

“No.”

“Hit me with your best shot.”

“Don’t raise any alarms unless I say so.” Hotch runs his hand over his mouth before asking his request. “Can you get me a location on Prentiss?”

She immediately shoots out of bed and races to her laptop. She skids to a stop, barely landing on her couch before frantically typing and shooting out questions. “What? Why would I – why is she? She’s not – “ Not again, not when we just got her back.

“Garcia!” He interrupts her panic raise of questions hoping to keep her head on straight.

“Right, sorry. Um, give me a minute. You sure it’s nothing?” She waits for a second, getting no response she continues to type on her laptop before it pings her location. “I got it! I sent it to you. Please bring our girl back home.”

“I will Garcia, and remember – “

“I know, I know, not a peep.” As soon as the last word left her mouth, Hotch moved the phone from his ear and immediately went to his messages. Letting out a sigh, he puts the car in reverse and makes his way down the empty streets.

His shoulders don’t sag in relief until he sees her car parked in the desolate lot. Pulling into the space next to her, he glances at silver sedan hoping he’ll be lucky to see her behind the wheel. Mentally groaning when the car is as barren as the parking lot he is in, he turns off his car and shuffles out into the chilly night. It didn’t take a genius to know that she has been here for a while, if the buildup of snow on her car was any indication. The steady stream of snow flurries coming down has covered any footprints that could potentially lead him to her. Although, none of that was necessary. For the seasoned profiler he is, he knew exactly where she went once the coordinates led him here.

Quantico National Cemetery

He stares at the sign, willing his feet to move. A staring contest that even the famous Aaron Hotchner glare can’t win. It’s not until a particularly strong gust of wind whips around him for his feet to catch up with his brain. A shiver races through his body. Either from the cold or from that sinister feeling of being alone in a graveyard at night. He silently moves through the sea of headstones, a walk that is second nature to him. One that he frequented quite often for months. He makes his way up to the tree that helped shelter the gravestone from the elements and finally sees the back of her head. He knows that she hears him coming, the crunching of the snow beneath his feet hard to miss, even past the sound of the wind. Stopping a few feet behind her, he waits a minute before speaking.

“What are you doing here? It’s late.” He’s expecting her to turn towards him, but she sits as still as a statue staring at the engraved stone. She doesn’t respond right away, making him move closer to her. He opens his mouth to ask again when he hears her soft voice reply.

“I come here to think.”

Curiosity got the better of him. “About?”

“Life.” Her soft declaration carries through the wind and wraps around him. She reaches forward in a practiced motion and brushes the fresh snow away to keep the text visible.

Emily Prentiss

October 12th 1970 – March 7th 2011

Fidelity Bravery Integrity

“It’s so precious. You never realize how special it is until it gets taken away.” He continues to stand behind her, keeping his mouth shut. This is the most open she’s been since her return and he’s not about to ruin it. “I didn’t think it’d be this strange. Basically coming back from the dead. You know I came here the first time purely out of curiosity. Taking my picture off a wall is one thing, but removing a whole grave?” She lets out a humorless chuckle.

“With a click of her finger, Garcia could get it removed.” He speaks before he could stop himself. He holds his breath hoping that he didn’t just cause her walls to build back up.

“No.” Her head tilts back towards the sky. “I need the perspective.”

Furrowing his brow, he carefully walks next to her before slowly lowering to the ground. He starts to reach for her before quickly retreating, remembering that she’s no longer his to touch. He starts to question what her fake grave can help her with before remembering something she said after a case years ago. I need to know that I can be human.

“Being reminded of your own mortality isn’t the right perspective to have.” He spoke softly even though he wanted to scream.

“Don’t you get it? It’s a reminder of how fragile life is. Logically speaking, I shouldn’t be here.” She scrunches up her eyes, a tear streaks down her face as she pounds her fist into the ground.

His hand shoots out and covers her fist that is still resting on the snow-soaked grass. His touch finally breaks her out of her trance with her eyes finally meeting his.

“But you are here. Living, breathing. Dammit Emily! Don’t you understand? You can’t move on until you finally accept that you are meant to be here. With me! With us.” He is grasping at her hand like she will disappear any second while his shoulders are shaking with the intensity of his breath. She keeps his stare for a second, before turning away back to the headstone.

“Am I?” She whispers. He lightly grasps at her chin, moving her head to face him again.

“Forever and always.” That little phrase breaks her. In a second, she leaps from her spot into his lap, burrowing her head into the crook of his neck. The reaction almost pushes him backwards into the snow, but he quickly settles himself. His hand moves and starts stroking the back of her head in a practiced movement before he gently starts rocking them consoling her quietly in her ear trying to overpower her chant of “I’m sorry.” They stay wrapped around each other until he spares a glance at his watch, telling him that it is half past one in the morning.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.” He whispers into her ear, helping her up to her feet. He feels her shiver against him as a large gust of wind almost knocks the both of them from their feet. Only now does he notice that she’s been in just a sweater this whole time.

“Jesus Em, you couldn’t have brought a jacket?” Shedding his coat, he drapes it over her shoulders before wrapping his arm around her waist guiding her to his car.

“Left it in the car. Didn’t realize how long it’s been.” She chatters out to him, leaning closer towards him for warmth. He lets out a frustrated sigh before picking up the pace, trying to get her to shelter.

He helps her into the passenger seat of his car, passing off her concerns about her car. “We’ll take care of it in the morning.”

He quickly makes his way into the driver’s seat to turn the car on. They sit in the warming car for a couple minutes in complete silence. Neither quite knowing what to say to the other. After another minute, Hotch figures it’s best to start to drive to her apartment. It’s not until they are halfway there that she finally speaks up.

“Aaron?” She says no more than a whisper.

“Hm?” He hums out, sparing her a quick glance before looking back to the empty road.

“I – I, thank you.”

His lips start to curve up into a smile and he removes one hand from the steering wheel to grasp at hers, stopping her from the continued picking of her nails. He squeezes her hand gently in response before leaving their fingers intertwined. Neither of them speak until he parks back at her apartment complex.

She starts to let go of his hand to make her exit before his voice stops her.

“Em?” With her hand still on the inside latch, she turns to face him. “I know it’s not my place anymore, but please don’t be afraid to come to me. If you’re having a bad day, let me know. You mean so much to me. I meant it when I said forever and always.”

She slowly nods her head, before leaning forward to give him an awkward hug across the center console. Pulling away, she shyly gives him a peck on the cheek before whispering. “Forever and always.”

She opens the door, and goes to leave his jacket on the seat, but he holds up a hand to stop her. “Give it to me tomorrow.”

Smiling softly, she nods before closing the door. He patiently waits until he sees the light go on in her apartment. He waits until he sees her figure standing in the window, giving him a small wave. Like before. He slowly pulls out of the parking space, smiling to himself. Yeah, things are starting to make sense again.

#prompts #prompt writing #allie writes #hotchniss fanfic #hotchniss #we love when inspiration strikes you #also love doing prompts way out of order #i apologize to the other prompts that came before this that i sidelined to write this one #very late tho #this is from my 350 celebration #which was at least 2 months ago??#sorry besties #hope you enjoy

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lonelyyinchicago · 3 years

Text

“as long as you’re okay, it’s all okay”

“you alright moons?” james asked as remus’ piece of soup covered bread slipped from his grip.

“oh err yeah” remus said, blinking a couple of times in quick succession.

he shuddered as he felt sirius’ hand on his thigh. his eyebrows were raised in concern.

“i’m fine” remus repeated. “i promise.”

sirius shook his head disbelievingly but didn’t comment. he continued gently running his thumb across remus’ thigh as he poured a glass of pumpkin juice with his other hand. he nudged it across the table, splashing a bit over the edge.

remus smiled softly, his head falling against sirius’ shoulder. sirius waited patiently as remus finished his glass before standing up to lead the way to their charms lesson.

remus sat on the edge of the row, his leg bouncing uncontrollably, occasionally nudging sirius’ thigh. sirius’ left hand slipped below the desk to silently comfort his boyfriend. remus smiled weakly at the contact. resting his head in his hand, sirius looked up at remus softly. remus shook his head and turned away to hide the tears that were forming in his eyes.

the bell signalling the end of the lesson rang out loudly and remus stood up and left so suddenly that sirius’ hand knocked into the underside of the wooden desk.

“what’s up with moony?” james asked as they left the classroom.

“i don’t know” sirius said, looking up and down the corridor. “i’m going to go find him; can you take notes next period?”

james nodded as he watched his best friend sprint away up the nearest flight to stairs. practically skidding to a stop in front of the fat lady, sirius breathed the password out heavily. he paused before knocking gently on the dormitory door.

after waiting for a response - and without receiving one - sirius fumbled with the oak door’s handle. he was surprised to find the room empty. his eyebrows met in the centre of his forehead in confusion.

“remus?”

sirius crossed the room to the bathroom, but found it unlocked. he flopped on the nearest bed, which happened to be remus’, and rolled over, burying his face in the jumper that was strewn over the pillow.

he sat up, the jumper still pressed against his nose. he breathed in deeply, before leaving the dorm. he quickly looked over at the mound of blankets on the faded red sofa, but realised it was purely blankets and cushions.

he sighed, and left the common room, not paying attention to where he was going. he instinctively rubbed his own arms when he felt a strong gust of wind rip through the entrance hall.

sirius poked his head out the double doors, his eyes immediately landing on the moving, empty branches of the whomping willow. sirius ran across the grounds, not even stopping to freeze the knot at the base of the trunk. he was thrown back and he got up cursing. he pulled his wand out of his bun and made his way to the shrieking shack.

as he made his way through the derelict building, he paused as a floorboard creaked particularly loudly under his foot. he pushed open the rotting door, revealing his boyfriend’s outline staring out the window, up at the pale half moon.

sirius moved behind him, slipping his hands around remus’ body. remus didn’t flinch as sirius tightened his grip on his body.

“what are you doing in here?” sirius mumbled into remus’ back.

remus turned around in sirius’ arms slowly.

“thirteen years, sirius. it’s been thirteen years.”

a soft “ohh” fell from sirius’ lips as he realised what remus meant.

“over 150 transformations. 150 times my bones have snapped and mended themselves. 150 times i’ve torn myself to shreds. OVER 150 TIM-”

as remus’ voice cracked, sirius wrapped a hand around his neck, gently dragging his thumb over his cheek.

“hey.” sirius stood up on his tiptoes, pulling remus’ head down to look him in the eye. “hey, i’m not going to say it’s okay, because that’s not true and you don’t deserve this, but you’re going to be okay, okay? remus, listen to me, look at me. you’re going to be okay - this doesn’t define you, your scars don’t define you, i promise you.”

remus blinked away his tears, leaning forward to bury his face in sirius’ shoulder. sirius smiled softly to himself as he rubbed slow circles on remus’ back.

eventually remus stood up straight, and held out his hand. sirius took it obligingly, allowing himself to be led back up to the castle. remus squeezed his hand tightly, pushing sirius into the great hall towards dinner.

“you alright, moons?” peter asked once remus had slipped onto the bench next to him.

“yeah” remus replied, shrugging nonchalantly.

james opened his mouth but closed it quickly once sirius glared him. he raised an eyebrow questioningly but sirius just shook his head.

“chocolate cake, moony?”

“always” remus said, forcing an unnaturally loud laugh.

“err okay.”

james slid a plate with a slice of cake along the table to his friend. remus picked at for ten minutes, until he and sirius were the last people sat at the gryffindor table. as remus’ head fell onto sirius’ shoulder, sirius pressed a small kiss on the top of remus’ head.

“you want go up to bed?”

remus nodded, and sirius felt his curls tickles his neck. sirius wrapped a second slice of cake in a napkin before intertwining his fingers in remus’ outstretched hand.

remus didn’t stop in the common room and went straight up to the dorm. sirius waited behind to talk to james momentarily but followed quickly behind his boyfriend.

“moony?”

remus’ head appeared in the bathroom doorway, his curls messed up from being yanked through the neck of his sweater. sirius pulled on the jumper from earlier, and slipped under the duvet on remus’ bed.

remus reentered the room, blushing at the view of sirius’ sat up against the headboard. he didn’t hesitate in joining him, and rested his head on sirius’ chest, finding comfort in his boyfriend’s heartbeat. sirius’ pale fingers were ghosting over his scars and as remus’ eyelids fluttered to a close, there was a faint smile at his lips.

after less than a hour, remus’ expression had been replaced by one of pain. sirius was jerked awake as he felt remus’ body tense up in his arms.

remus sat up suddenly, gasping for breath. he looked around wildly, his caramel eyes wide in fear. he backed away from sirius, cutting off their physical contact.

“moony” sirius whispered in the darkness. “moony it’s okay; you’re okay.”

sirius waited patiently as remus made his way back across the mattress. when remus was ready, he silently opened his arms again.

“i didn’t mean to wake you up” remus mumbled, barely audible.

“it’s okay” sirius repeated. “as long as you’re okay, it’s all okay.”

remus stifled a giggle, and a smile spread across sirius’ face as he ran a hand through remus’ curls.

“you know that other piece of cake you brought?” remus began. “where is it?”

“moons it’s midnight.”

“midnight snack?”

sirius rolled his eyes.

“it’s on the bedside table.”

#harry potter #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #peter pettigrew #wolfstar #hogwarts #midnight snack

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anchormain · 2 years

Text

something i think is Interesting is how morse behaves in interrogation and interview type scenarios. usually he’s there with thursday, and thursday leads it bc he’s superior officer. morse physically isn’t that much shorter than thursday ( like two inches or something. it’s enough to Notice but not that much ) but he looks smaller a lot of the time. especially when they’re standing, when they’ve approached someone to ask questions. morse is often a half-step behind thursday physically even when they’re there because morse was a half-step ahead intellectually and figured out who they needed to talk to.

he behaves like a little shit towards authority, a lot of the time. so it’s v interesting how he defers to thursday in interrogations, only chipping in occasionally, vs how direct and dominant he is when he’s the one doing the interrogation on his own. he’s very very blunt and can be quite nasty when he wants to be, if he thinks the suspect is fucking him around. obviously this isn’t all of the time. sometimes he does overstep when he should be letting thursday lead. but a lot of the time it’s very clear who the leader is there.

and it might seem natural that a dc would defer to an inspector in interview, bc higher rank, you know? but no. morse is constantly ignoring that. he doesn’t behave this way towards thursday bc of his rank, he behaves this way bc thursday has earned his respect. look at this. bright says something ( he’s taking morse off the case i think, or something similar, and he’s chief superintendent so higher rank than both morse and thursday ) and morse looks straight at thursday like “omg dad did you hear what he said” like he doesn’t accept bright’s authority and is waiting for thursday to tell morse to either listen or ignore it.

i just think it’s interesting bc morse physically looks,,, kinda pathetic. i love him but sometimes he does look as if a strong gust of wind would knock him over. and if you only saw him when he’s deferring to thursday, he might seem like his personality is just like that, too. he’s shy and polite and clever. but it’s very, very clearly a choice to behave passively when he does. it isn’t natural for him to defer to someone just bc they’re a higher rank than him, particularly if he’s the brains behind something. so then there’s this contrast when he’s confronted with authority that he’s choosing not to respect, or when he’s the one leading something. he’s suddenly no longer shy and polite, he’s very direct and unafraid of speaking his mind.

so that makes me think about morse & other detectives. v interesting dynamics depending on who they see morse with, who morse knows is around, who is leading an interaction, whether morse has chosen to respect whoever that is.

#apparently i have a lot of Thoughts this morning #show commentary.#about.#wishlist.#kinda #bc i wanna explore that

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kashimos-hajime · 5 years

Text

all the stars are closer | c.b.

summary: mark watney wasn’t the only one left behind on mars, and as you struggle to survive on the desert planet, hidden feelings come to light between you and your best friend, dr. chris beck.

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, pining, confessed feelings, probably terrible space jargon but i tried :^), swearing, movie-level injuries pairing: chris beck x fem!reader word count: 7.9k

a/n: written for @baezen. my prompt was have you ever wanted to hate someone? with chris beck :D inspired by say something by a great big world. i wrote this from 12-5am this morning and i’ve perused for mistakes but excuse me if there are still some left!

SOL 18

The sol you’re left behind is… unexpected to say the least.

The winds pick up the sand so heavily your headlights barely pierce through the thick gusts as you push yourself against the current. Small clumps of sand brush against your helmet as you turn to close the door to the Hab behind you. It locks with a groan and you give it a small push to make sure before you turn around again, your eyes focus on Watney’s suit in front of you, desperate not to lose sight of him.

The wind whips at your body, slams into you like a hundred punches all over your suit. It’s as if claws dig into your legs and drag you back. Each step is agonizingly slow.

“Commander, we’re at 10 degrees. The MAV is gonna tip at 12.3.” Martinez’s voice rings in your ears as the punishing sand blocks your vision of Watney for a split second. Your heart is thrumming in your throat and you try to reach forward against the gales but you can barely raise your arms higher than your waist.

Metal crunches, bending under the force of the storm and you raise your head, squinting to try and make out the structures around them. All you see are shadows, silhouettes of your friends and you inhale sharply when a rock flies into the glass of your helmet. Flinching back, you lower your head as your eyes scan for cracks.

“You good, Y/N?”

Chris’ voice rattles in your helmet as you look up. He’s one of the figures in the far distance but you smile anyway, continuing your walk towards him.

“Yeah. You spying on my vitals, Beck?” you tease and his slight chuckle warms your blood as you step over a fallen line.

“That’s Dr. Beck, and no. Just checking up on my crew mates.”

“Hey, lovebirds and companions!” Watney calls. “We might be able to keep the MAV from tipping.”

“How?”

“Use cable from the comms mast as guy lines, anchor it with the Rover’s—” A particularly strong burst of wind knocks you back a few steps, distracting you from Watney’s idea. Your muscles screech in protest as you catch yourself, trying to regain your balance. Your foot digs in awkwardly into the sand as another gale swerves from the side and knocks you right into a crouch.

Lessons at the Academy ring in your ear as the storm howls louder. There’s a faint whistling, hollow in your skull, and you keep your eyes on the two lines of your crew, still heading forward. You’ll give yourself three seconds. Three seconds to just stabilize yourself and then you’ll need to catch up.

Make yourself smaller, ground yourself. You need to realign your centre of gravity.

Your instructor’s voice in your head repeating the words over and over again, you begin to stand up again. Sucking in a lungful of stale air, you take your first step forward. You’re dead focused on keeping your balance and making it to the MAV. There’s nothing more you want than to just sink into the seat, buckled in beside Chris.

“Watch out!”

You don’t see it coming.

Mark Watney slams into you at inhumane speeds. Screaming, you’re knocked off your feet and lifted into the air by the winds pushing you in every direction. Your head jerks forward into the helmet before snapping back, and your whole body alights with fire. Watney’s body is limp against yours and you struggle to get a hold on him, fingers slipping on his wrist. You can barely hear yourself over the storm, your throat burning raw as you catch sight of your arm computer.

/WATNEY /SIGNAL LOST

“Mark? Mark! Wake up!” You glance around, your neck beginning to freeze up from the whiplash. The sharp ping of his decompression alarm rings in your ears, a warning of the death to come and you let out a desperate scream.

There are no figures in sight. No crew members. No one is going to find you in a near-zero visibility storm.

Wrapping your arms around Mark as tight as you can to keep him nearby, you close your eyes and redirect all your energy to staying awake. Metal is creaking, tarp is snapping, and the roaring winds whip at your flying bodies as something slams into your ribs.

“Watney!”

“Y/N!” Chris’ horrified scream of your name reverberates through your skull and you shout out his name, as if that’ll help you hone in on his suit. As if that’ll save you.

Arms dislodged from Mark, he flies past you just as another hard piece of metal sends you flying in another direction. Grasping at nothing but sand, you let out another piercing shriek as you tumble towards the ground.

The landing slams into your bones, and you feel like something breaks inside before everything goes black.

Broken ribs, whiplash, multiple contusions all over your body.

Your suit is nothing more than a pile on the ground as you stumble around the Hab for medical supplies and you barely manage to bring your bruised legs across to the table, the tray of supplies trembling in your weak hand. Your ribs are splitting, blistering pain as you try to suck in a breath, sinking onto the exam table as you carefully begin to peel off your shirt. Your chest screams at you to stop moving and the pain is blinding as you lift up your arms, fingers carefully hooked on the hem of your shirt and tug up.

“Fuck,” you grit out, your neck frozen in place as you try to get it unsnagged from your head. Your mind is racing, trying to come up with any way you could perform an epidural on yourself, as you grab the injection needle. You’ll need to be able to move with less pain than this if you want to get out of this mess, but you need another trained professional to dig it into your back.

You need Chris and you don’t have him here.

What you found is morphine, vials of different anesthetics, and needles. You load one of them up and the syringe is smooth against your clammy palm as you raise your arm haphazardly to your neck. It’s loaded with lidocaine and you press down against your neck, clenching your teeth as a soft click accompanied by a sharp nipping pain digs deeply into your wrenched muscles.

Tossing the anesthetic onto the table, you grab the oral meds. Acetaminophen tablets. You’re going to be needing a lot of them over the next few days as you try to work out your next course of action. Acetaminophen tablets and cold showers.

Great.

Popping one into your mouth, you crush it between your teeth and dry swallow, sweat glistening on your skin as you tilt your head back against the table and close your eyes. Lucky for you, your thoracic cavity only feels like it’s about to cave in when you breathe in.

Small blessings and all that.

You feel the sweet pull of sleep tug at your consciousness as you let out a sigh, melting against the warming metal table. Not that you’re keen on wasting away on Chris’ exam table, but it does sound nice at the moment. Your eyes fluttering shut, you try to ignore the sounds of your own laboured breathing and the sight of a deserted Mars. Ignore the fact that you barely limped your way back to the Hab after searching for Watney and the MAV.

So this wasn’t just some shitty dream. Your crew is really gone, and Watney really is dead.

Shit.

Eyebrows furrowing together, you force yourself into a sitting position despite the dulling ache in your neck and the consistently sharp pain in your chest. Breathing in quick puffs, you slide your legs off the exam table just as the low beep of the Hab repressurizing catches your attention.

No time to rest. I’m not going to die here.

“Pressure stable.”

Forcing yourself to your feet, you watch as a figure slowly limps to the second door.

And then the door opens and you see Mark Watney turning to look the Hab doors, alive.

This has to be a dream.

“Watney,” you call out hoarsely, throat still raw from screaming. Trying to get up, you stifle a groan and walk around Chris’ desk. You stumble to him on unsteady legs and he catches you by the arms as you search his gaze. He looks like shit. “You okay?” Helping him rip off his suit, your eyes scan for injuries as his rest on your face, utter relief flooding the air. “Couldn’t just fucking die, huh?”

“Neither could you, apparently,” he shoots back through a clenched jaw and you laugh despite how much it aches.

Thank god, you’re not alone.

SOL 21

“So you’re blaming me,” Mark affirms as you count the amount of mac and cheese they have left in the Hab.

32. 33. 34. 35.

“I mean, you did crash into me,” you point out, picking up another pack. 36. 37. 38. “The dish completely destroyed my bio-monitor computer.”

“It wasn’t my choice to get completely slammed by it,” he shoots back, counting his packets of beef goulash. A cold pack is strapped to your neck and there’s a few more shoved underneath your shirt for your ribs, and your skin is numb to the touch as you take a sip of juice from your bottle. Acetaminophen went down three hours ago. It’ll be time to take it again in another despite Watney’s insistence on the morphine. No, you’re saving it for when things get serious.

39. 40. 41. 42.

Not that being stranded on Mars isn’t serious.

“Forty two mac and cheeses,” you announce victoriously, setting the final pack in the tray and pushing it towards his side of the table so he can put it back on the shelf later. “Meatballs up next.”

“We can probably ration this out to three-hundred fifty days. Two people eating instead of seven. Three-quarters of a meal.”

“I’ll have half,” you say, beginning all over again with new packets. 1. 2. 3.

“You need to eat more. You’re still on bed rest.”

“I’m fine. We have work to do if we don’t want to die on this planet, Mark.”

“No.”

“I can do EVA and clear the solar panels. I have whiplash, I’m not dead.” you argue but Mark merely sends you a look as if to say, Try me. You roll your eyes and wince when he comes around the table and pokes your side.

“You have broken ribs that are under enough stress as it is. If it were anyone else, you would tell them to lie the hell down.”

Tossing him a glare, you bite out, “I’m fine when random men don’t poke me in the ribs.”

“My bad. Beck’s privileges,” he quips and you just manage to snipe him in the back of the head with a mac and cheese pack before he turns around. He merely gives you a hint of a smile before tossing the pack back at you going back to writing. You sigh, placing the mac and cheese pack back into the tray before turning to your meatballs.

You hadn’t even thought about Chris ever since realizing you’re not alone stranded on Mars, at least not in depth. Your best friend is no doubt losing his mind over leaving you behind—always had such a strong guilt over nothing—and now, when you let yourself feel it, his absence carves something hollow in your chest.

You miss him.

“You think they even thought that we might be alive?” you ask Mark quietly. You’re not angry that they left you behind. It was the practical thing to do, but you wonder if they wonder about the possibility, or if they’d rather sleep easier at night.

“I think that’s all they think about,” Mark says. “Lewis is gonna beat herself over this.”

You think of the Commander, then your thoughts turn to Chris again without any prompting. God. And what will your parents say?

A Thanksgiving dinner without you there is probably gonna be a bit down in the dumps, huh.

Then again, they’d planned not to have you and Chris back this year, so maybe it wouldn’t be too awful despite thinking their only child is dead.

Yikes.

SOL 79

“So are you and Beck really a thing?” Mark asks as you help him pull out the potato plants gently. “You know, making idle conversation while we farm our shit potatoes,” he adds when you shoot him a glare. Your ribs are on the mend and your neck is regaining its range of motion, but it still aches so you have to rotate at your waist to face him completely before you return back to your own gardening.

“We’re best friends, Watney.” Picking up the larger of the potatoes and placing it gently into your bucket, you spot Mark on the other end of their tiny greenhouse out of the corner of your eye, giving you a small smug grin. “So no, we’re not a thing. We’ve never been like that.”

“Never. Not even a tiny little slip?”

“Never. I’ve known him since we were like three and it’s just… he’s been by my side since forever. There’s never been a time when we could’ve been more. Not with everything that goes on.” School, then uni, then med-school, flight academy, Ares 3. Always something more. “This is… actually kinda the longest I’ve been without him hanging around, to be honest.” The confession leaves you breathless. Has it really been seventy-one sols since you saw your best friend? Last heard his voice?

Will it be the last time ever? Will you spend the rest of your life feeling so empty inside because only Chris can fill it with his laugh? WIth his smile? The perennial feeling of missing someone is tragic all in itself.

You move on to the next potato plant and slowly wiggle it out of the dirt. “Why’re you asking?” you ask to distract yourself. “You know it’s not recommended by NASA to be in relationships within the crew. Besides, we have a mission to focus on.”

“That doesn’t stop Beck at all.”

“What are you even talking about?” You laugh, trying to ignore the thought of Chris’ tiny little smile on Hermes whenever he floated past while you were working out or when they’d open emails together. Hermes had been your home with him and now… he’s there.

Alone.

“You think we don’t see you two flirting? God, you’d be off together for hours at a time and we’d all make bets on what you guys were doing.”

“You know you can’t have sex in space, right?” you point out and Mark wrinkles his nose. “I don’t even want to try it.”

“You can, actually. It would be aerobic.”

“And if you flew into a tied condom somehow, it would be our fault,” you retort with a smile, heat flooding your face. The idea of just having sex in a place where all your friends could catch you in the act? And with Chris? A guy who’s been by your side since day one? The thought sends shivers down your spine. Pleasant shivers. It’s not like you imagined what it’d be like—to hold his hand, to kiss him, to… go farther.

“That’s gross.”

You blink, turning to look at Mark for a moment. “Not that we’re that irresponsible. We’re doctors. Being sanitary is in our nature.”

“Look, all I’m saying is, Beck made some comments before we launched and I thought he’d have made a move by now.”

“Who said he hasn’t?” you murmur low enough that only you can hear, trying not to think about the words he whispered on Hermes when he thought you were sleeping. God, those words had haunted you every day since and the only reason they’ve been out of your mind is the high possibility of your death on Mars. Louder, you say, “Probably because we’re just friends, Watney.”

Friends.

The word tastes bittersweet on your tongue as you pick up another potato.

SOL 136

HRM: Apparently, NASA’s letting us talk to you now, and I drew the short straw.

HRM: Sorry we left you two behind on Mars, but we just don’t like you. Also, it’s a lot roomier on Hermes without you guys. We have to take turns doing your tasks, but it’s only botany (not real science.) and Beck can still work with his broken little heart.

HRM: How’s Mars?

In the Rover, you’re piled in behind Mark as he types out a response and you laugh at the tiny jest at Chris.

RVR: Dear Martinez, Mars is fine. I accidentally blew up the Hab, but unfortunately all of Commander Lewis’ disco music still survived.

“For the record, Y/N appreciates something to listen to besides me talking to the camera for hours on end,” you say and he nods, smiling as he transcribes your message.

RVR: Every day we go outside and look at the vast horizons just because we can. I’m going to hand the reins over to Y/N now. I think she’s had enough of me talking all the time.

Mark glances back at you and nods, getting out of the driver’s seat one way while you shimmy into the seat the other way. Sliding into the seat, you settle down with a sigh as Mark peers over your shoulder and you poise your fingers over the keyboard.

HRM: Dear Y/N, how’re the ribs coming along? And for the record, I do not have a broken little heart, but I do miss you a lot. It’s getting boring here without you, especially now that I have to deal with Johanssen thinking she has a brain tumour every two minutes.

RVR: Dear Chris, I miss you, too. My ribs are completely healed, thank you. It’s a lot harder to sleep at night knowing there’s a chance we might not come home, but I think about you a lot. Mostly, I think about the crew and how if one of them gets a paper cut, your sutures will never be as straight as mine. By the way, Johanssen is my girl. Do not talk about her that way.

“He’s tryna make you jealous,” Mark sings teasingly under his breath and you turn to smack him with a gloved hand before waiting for the response.

HRM: We’ll work it out. I hope Watney isn’t taking my place as your best friend with his potatoes.

RVR: Well, have you ever wanted to hate someone but you can’t because they’re vital to your survival and also they grow potatoes?

HRM: Why do you think I keep you around? Your mom’s mashed potatoes, of course. I love it more than you do.

Your smile digs into your cheeks as you read that message, and you feel your throat cinch shut as you swallow.

RVR: No, you don’t. It’s simply not possible.

You hope he can hear you somewhere, just saying those words outloud. You hope it sounds like you just like how you can hear his voice with every word he types.

HRM: Come home safe, Y/N. Space would be lonely without you otherwise.

RVR: As if I’d let you live in space without me.

SOL 186

You wake up to an empty Hab.

There is no movement, no rustling of Watney trying to make ends meet as you remember last night’s news.

Kapoor: The Iris probe failed to launch. I’m sorry.

Rolling onto your side, you feel your stomach howl. Clutching your side, you close your eyes and try to fall back asleep but your internal clock is ringing in your ears and even though there’s nothing more on the list, you get up anyway, blanket wrapped around you. Ever since you’ve cut down on meals, you’ve been going hungrier and hungrier, but you’re not losing your fat yet, thank god. You need to stay warm.

Passing by clear plastic covering the hole in the Hab, your eyes search for where the Rover was parked last night.

Not there.

So, Mark’s gone and left already. The two of you had decided last night in your bunk beds to simply take the days as they came—to travel as much as they could, see it all before they go.

It’s grim in hindsight, but it’s your ending life now.

Heading for the cabinet, you feel your whole body drag against the floor as you fight to keep your strength up. Although you’ve felt like you’ve been starving for at least four days now, there’s a new hollowness at the realization that there isn’t more food coming. You microwave a potato and cut a meatloaf into thirds before lining your plate with the vitamins needed to stay healthy. Heading to your work station, your eyes pass over a picture of you and Chris is still framed there.

You bite into the potato and feel it thick against your tongue. It’s a struggle to chew and even harder to swallow but you manage it anyway as you reach for the frame. The two of you, cheeks pressed together, newly earned stethoscopes around your necks. The day you guys graduated med school.

You loved him then. You’ve loved him your whole damn life. Loved him and felt your heart burst when he said those words in your quarters after carrying you there from games night.

Sweet dreams, Y/N. I love you, even though I know we could never be more than this.

But you’ve always been too afraid to tell him. Afraid of what? Afraid because it could’ve changed things?

Isn’t that what you always wanted? For him to see you as you saw him?

Setting down the frame, you turn away. You bring your meager meal to the computer and log into HabJournal, slumping down in the chair as you pull the blanket tighter around you. The camera focuses on you and it begins to record immediately as you set down your plate on the table.

“So, Sol 186,” you begin quietly, looking at your own image. You’re beginning to lose colour in your skin and your eyes are sinking from lack of sleep, but you bring a piece of meatloaf to your mouth and chew regardless. “Last night we were told the Iris probe failed to launch, so that means we stretched our rations for four more days for nothing, basically.” You set down your fork and knife, the meat heavy on your tongue as you try to think of what to say. Thoughts of Chris, your parents, the crew, flood your mind. “Guess that means we’re going to starve to death and no… dark humour can’t pull us out of this one. We found enough morphine for two lethal injections our first night here, so… if worse comes to worse… I mean—” You clear your throat— “we have to think of every outcome. Mark already asked Commander Lewis to tell his parents, you know, covering bases like I said.” Your eyes slip shut for a moment as you exhale and then you rouse yourself again, staring at your half-eaten ration. You don’t want to eat anymore.

“I have to stay awake until tonight. He’s gone out with the Rover and I need to send a message to the people I love. You know, cover my bases, too.” Eyes drifting, you spot another picture of you and Chris in Hermes, floating as you squirt some food into the air for him to eat, thumbtacked to the board. You were both smiling, laughing until your guts ached. It must’ve been something like tubed chocolate mousse or a pudding. Your favourite, you had said because it was.

Chris has the biggest sweet tooth out of anyone you know.

“There’s a lot of things I wish I could’ve said, I think,” you add softly, gaze going back to the screen. You tuck your knees to your chest and smile bitterly, a chuckle escaping just barely. “It’s just so stupid that we survive all this time just to… just to die because something failed. Like we did everything we could and it still… it just isn’t enough.” Picking up the potato with your bare hands, you pop the quarter left into your mouth and simply watch your image eat. “I don��t want to die,” you clarify once you swallow. “It’s not my intention to give up until it’s too late for sure, but you know, at least we accomplished something this time. I mean, I’m still trying to finish Chris’ chemolithotrophic experiment since Mark doesn’t understand anything about it so Ares 4 can pick up where I left off.

You know, on the bright side, we still got somewhere. Mark’s the greatest botanist on this planet, and I’m honoured to have helped him grow the very first lifeform on Mars. We fucking ate organic human-shit potatoes, baby. We could’ve done this thing.” You stare at the camera, and hope, when Chris watches your final journal log, he understands what you mean. “We definitely could’ve done it and it sucks, but that’s life. I knew what I was doing when I signed up, and this is so much bigger than two humans stuck on Mars. I know Mark feels the same way. We don’t regret this. It’s going to be okay, and I hope you guys can finish the mission if we end up... you know, gone before we can. Anyway, I’m gonna go make myself useful and check up on Chris’ experiment.

“This is Dr. Y/L/N signing out.”

RVR: Hey, Chris. Today’s been alright. Mark came back in better spirits and he actually got to work today with the other crew’s duties. It’s good to hear him joking after what we heard last night.

RVR: I know we never really planned for things to go this way. You know we talked about the possibility as a joke, but now that it might become a reality, I hope you know what I said was serious. You know, with the whole talking to my parents thing. Please talk to them and tell them all about Mars, and tell them that I love them so much, and just see them. Try to go every weekend like we used to together. You know, let them check up on you.

RVR: Yeah, I’m not asking you to check up on them, because you’re family, Chris. I’m asking you to let them check up on you. They’ll always be your rock, and you need them, too. You’re gonna need them when I’m gone. Gonna need to tell ‘em that you’re not okay, because… you’re not going to be okay. I know you.

RVR: You’ll blame yourself because you think you should’ve gone out into a eighty-six hundred Newton storm and I wish I can be there in person to tell you that it’s stupid, that there was no reason for you to believe I was alive and that giving up on me saved your life, but I know I can’t. You wouldn’t believe me, anyway.

RVR: And I love you, too. We could’ve been way more than this. Maybe we can be, if we have another chance. I don’t know. I don’t know anything except that I love you. I’ve loved you my whole life, and now, it might be too late.

RVR: If I don’t make it out alive, please move on. Please don’t get hung up on me just because you think of all the things we could’ve been. You’re my best friend, Chris. I don’t want to see you sad. I never have. Cry a few tears, move on, find a nice girl who’ll love you like I never was brave enough to admit I do, and just… maybe visit the grave every once in a while. That would be nice.

Your hands tremble as you type in your last words and then hit Enter.

RVR: I miss you more than anything. I love you.

SOL 219

“I can’t believe I blurted out my feelings and now we’re preparing for a chance to go home,” you call out over the comms. Mark inflates the tarp on top of the Rover and you watch, the roll of tape still on your hand as you jump off the vehicle. You land with a solid thump, the dust stirring around your boots. Excitement is pulsing through your veins for the first time in a long time as you turn to watch your day’s work begin to swell. “Just like, three hundred more sols and we get to see our friends again.”

“Oh, don’t worry. We still have a chance of dying so it won’t all be so bad.”

“Way to ruin it, Watney,” you sigh as it reaches its max. “Looks good. I don’t see any seals.”

“Perfect. Besides, maybe it’ll be a good thing you finally said what you needed to say to Beck. God knows it was suffocating just watching you two,” the astronaut adds, walking around the Rover and you shoot him a glare. “It was cute, but just plain annoying.”

“Why do you feel the need to bring this up every single time?” you retort, heading back for the Hab despite Watney’s calls of your name. He walks after you with a little wince to his step and you make a mental note to prepare a hot bath. He had strained his back a few days ago lifting rocks to test how far the Rover could go with all the extra weight and you’ve got nothing for sore muscles beside muscle relaxants and hot packs.

“Because Commander Lewis definitely would’ve moved you two to the same bed if it meant you two would shut up with the flirting. We’re all single on that ship!”

“Watney,” you deadpan, turning to look at your friend as he catches up to you. “You and Johanssen are the only people single on that ship as of this moment. And no, she wouldn’t. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be?” As if I hadn’t already sneaked into Chris’ quarters more than once because of the excitement of going into space, the fear that we won’t make it back, your head adds but you keep your mouth shut about that.

“Aha! So you admit you’re no longer available!”

“I have never been emotionally available on this mission!” you shoot back, exasperated. “Or ever!”

“See, that’s what you say.”

“Do you want a hot bath or not because I can use up the hot water. Don’t try me.” You really wouldn’t but it’s fun to see the slight panic in Mark’s eyes. “I miss him, yeah, and so what if I have feelings for him?”

“Then, Martinez owes me fifty bucks.”

“You’re literally the worst,” you mutter, grabbing onto the Hab door and twisting it open. “I’ve got to check up on Chris’ experiment. Run your own damn bath.” Mark closes the door behind him and the chamber begins to pressurize.

“Oh, now you’re being mean.”

“Pressure stable.”

Twisting off your helmet, you turn to Mark and shove your glove into his helmet, pushing him back. He stumbles back and you laugh as he fights to find his balance. He tries to grab you to pull you back with him but you walk out of reach, opening the second door and entering the Hab.

“Mean!”

SOL 461

You’re losing your body fat at last ever since they’ve begun to run out of food which means you’re getting colder and colder in the same environment every day. There’s nothing you can do but keep your calories at a minimum level to stay alive as long as possible as you put on your space suit for what you hope is the last time.

“Your beard is gross,” you call out to Mark as you slide on your helmet and he wrinkles his nose at you, writing down 461 on the wall. Turning to you, he is about to exit when he remembers his helmet and you smirk. “Space pirate.”

“We’re space pirates,” he agrees. “Why don’t we explore those waters, Captain?”

You smirk, turn on your arm computer and hone in on Mark’s telemetry signal as a test before nodding.

“Aye aye, Captain.”

SOL 524

“Hey, wake up.” Jolting awake, you glance blearily up Mark’s thin face and you groan, blinking the sleep out of your eyes. “We’ve gotta eat and clean up a bit.” Groaning, you sit up and follow him out of the Rover as your bones clamour inside your suit. You’ve lost almost all the meat off your limbs, your ribs peeking out underneath your skin, and you feel like you could be blown away by a soft breeze.

Inside the inflated structure, you strip down to nothing and turn your back to Watney as he prepares the meals of potatoes and whatever’s left at this rate. Running a wet pad over your bruising skin, your teeth chatter and you try to ignore the fact that the divets in your arms where muscle used to be are starting to look a bit too hollow. You feel empty inside, like you haven’t been full for ages, and as you crouch down to rub down your legs, you wonder how you look.

Pitifully small, probably.

It’s how Watney looks with his hobo beard at least. Blood is gathering underneath his skin, the beginnings of contusions blooming along the notches on his spine and you sigh. There’s only so much their paper-thin skin can do at this rate.

“What’ve we got?” you ask, pulling on a shirt and crouching beside him. He nudges a bowl of wet beans and half a raw potato towards you. “Yum.”

“It’s all we’ve got at this rate,” Mark mumbles quietly. He’s losing it, too. When NASA can’t see them, you see what Mark’s really like. He’s exhausted to the core, and losing more energy every day. You pretend you don’t realize he’s giving you the majority of the food because it’s a survival tactic. Just like how if Hermes crew doesn’t make it, Johanssen is having human meat soup for eight more months after the rations run out because she’s the youngest, smallest, and she’ll know how to get back to Eartha alone. Well, not 100% alone. Her and five other carcasses.

The thought makes your stomach growl.

The thought of anything warm and filling is making it quail in protest, even if it is human flesh.

Well, that’s a bit fucked up.

Then again, you’re removing everything that protects you from space on the MAV once you reach it, so maybe cannibalistic thoughts aren’t so out of reach. It’s not like you’d actually act on them.

Watney’s all skin and bone at this point. Skin that’s beginning to break, bones that are hollowing out, and you’d rather die than eat your friend.

“If you’re thinking about eating me,” he says warily when you’ve gone on too long staring at his plate of potatoes and beans. “Please don’t. Wait until we actually run out of food, yeah?” You chuckle, your lungs wheezing as you bite into the raw potato.

“Aye aye, Captain.”

SOL 561

Turning around, you listen to Mark climb up the MAV. You’re sitting down on the edge of the hole, sliding your leg into a flight spacesuit. Your mind is running over all the possible outcomes for riding a spaceship with essentially no protection and you don’t know how to broach the topic of the effect of G-force on the human body.

“Hey, Watney.”

“Hey.”

“So,” you begin, pushing yourself up and heading for where the top half of your suit is suspended on harnesses. Mark turns to you and you sigh, pausing. His eyes find yours and you’re surprised to see how much trust lay within them. Before, sure, it’d been full of amusement, the mirth of his latest jest potent in his eyes, but now, that blue gaze is muted with respect and you can’t help but mirror that. They did this together and they’re going home together no matter what.

“So,” he mutters with a note of finality. He walks past you to grab the hygiene bag on the bench, unzipping it to uncover a razor and he heads for the mirror as you wring out your hands.

“When we launch, we might get up to 12 G’s.”

“Yeah?”

Your eyes try not to linger on the dried blood on his shoulder as he switches the razor on. “So, we’re gonna pass out, almost definitely. And we might have internal bleeding, cracked ribs.” The razor buzzes inside your skull as you lower your hands. “Chris is the EVA specialist, but even if he does catch us—”

“You know the point of it all is that they tried, you know?” Mark says. “Because if they do catch us, that means we have another way of saving more astronauts.”

“This was a freak of a mission, Watney,” you reply, adjusting the waist of the suit. You ignore the pallor of your skin and instead, push yourself towards him. Your booted feet are heavier than bricks as he watches you approach in the mirror.

“Well, it was an honour to share it with you, Captain.” His eyes find yours through the reflection and you grin through the glass despite the fatigue weighing you down. You touch his arm tentatively and he sets the razor down before he turns around. “Nice knowing ya, Mrs. Beck,” he teases and you roll your eyes before pulling him into a shaking hug.

Your eyes close tightly and you do your best to ignore the fact that you both smell like shit as his arms wrap around you, too.

“We’ll see if we can make it work first,” you whisper. His arms seem to tighten and you let out a sharp sigh. “I don’t want to get sappy on you until I’m literally staring into the face of death, but this was a once in a lifetime mission, Mark. I’m glad you were here with me.”

“Yeah. Who else would’ve complained as much as you did?” he mocks and you laugh against him, fingers digging into the notches of his spine as you close your eyes for a moment, simply breathing in and out.

“This could work.”

He pulls back, smiles, and his eyes dart over the redness along the edges of your face, too. The vessels around your eyes run as they try to keep your blood pumping and you can see the same roughness in his cheeks and eyes as he nods. “This could work.”

Clapping his arm, you leave him to shave to put on the top half of your flight spacesuit.

Only the climb up to the MAV remains.

“Hold my hand as soon as you cut,” you say over the comms. Mark might be absolutely delighted by the idea, but as you watch Hermes approach from the distance, you can’t help the feeling of apprehension tightening in your gut. “We let go, we lose each other in space.”

“Yeah. I’m not letting you go at this point,” he says and you smile before he counts down. “Three. Two. One.” As soon as you dig the knife through your suit, you reach for Mark only to be launched back first into the MAV. Your rebroken ribs from the G-force protest in pain and you let out a grunt as you slam against Mark, but your uncut glove flails blindly, fingers trying to snag onto Mark still bouncing around with you. He latches onto one of the chairs and you fling out an arm, hooking elbows with him and clamping your open glove into a fist.

“Mark, report.”

Giving Mark a panicked smile, you just nod as he replies, “On our way, Commander.”

On cue, the two of you release your fists and are launched into space. Unstable and tumbling, they spiral through space as they try to regain some balance and you wrestle against Mark’s arm pulling you off course as you angle your wrist outward, trying to realign yourself with Lewis. Letting go of Mark’s arm for a moment, you manage to snag onto Lewis, her elbow hooking onto your arm as you’re yanked back and you grunt, whole body snapping back. Mark’s hand digs into your leg but it slips and you glance back, terrified to see him swallowed up by the blackness surrounding them everywhere.

“Mark!” Readjusting yourself, you grab onto the tether as Mark manages to wrap his own hand on the orange rope and you pull with all your might. Black stars burst into your vision as the last of your strength goes and you let out a grunt as Lewis begins to spin them around. Mark whirls around them as she pulls and you simply hold on, your eyes beginning to slip shut. The sound of Mark’s fight echoes in your ears and you’re shackled with that god awful hope that maybe they’re making it out of this alive—

A body slams into you and helmets clink together as Mark joins their little duo. Hands grab onto arms and the orange tether floats around them like silk ribbon as the sound of harsh breathing fills the comms.

“I got ‘em!” Lewis calls out, voice breaking and you smile, tilting your head forward against Lewis’ helmet. “I got ‘em.” Laughing, you grab onto Mark tightly and he glances at you for a moment before the two of you both look at Lewis.

“It’s good to see you,” he pants. “You… have terrible taste in music.”

As the tether tightens and they’re reeled in, you wrap an arm around Mark’s helmet and push yourself against him.

“Good job, Captain,” you cheer and he laughs, barely able to contain himself. A similar lightness fills your chest and you can’t help the stress-free laughs, the release of all that energy in your chest as you tilt your head back and laugh no matter how much it hurts to breathe. You’re pulled into the airlock and you detach first when you catch sight of Chris standing by the tether. Swimming towards him, you outstretch your arms and crash into him, helmets clinking.

“Beck, close the hatch.”

Chris’ arms wrapped around yours, he reaches to press the button as Lewis parks and Watney swims past to the other end of the airlock.

“Hey, guys.”

You haven’t seen your friends in more than a year, but right now, you’re only focused on one face. “Chris,” you whisper and his smile is everything in your universe as he touches your helmet, like he’s not quite sure you’re real.

“Houston,” Lewis’ breathless voice echoes in your ears as he pulls you in tightly for a hug. Your helmets scrape but you don’t care, simply melting into the arms of your best friend. “Seven crew safely aboard.”

The other end of the airlock hisses open and you detach yourself from Chris’ arms to see the other three swim in and you laugh, turning to your best friend with a huge smile. He holds you still, twisting off his gloves and helping you take off your helmet as you take off your own gloves and your cheeks are aching as your flesh touches cold glass. Until you can feel him, you won’t know it’s real.

And then his hands are on yours, and you know.

“Chris,” you repeat again, the name so familiar on your tongue you don’t know how you’ve gone a day without saying it. He reaches to take off his own helmet and wrinkles his nose when he first gets a whiff of you but you don’t care. You don’t care about impressions or smells or appearances anymore.

You just want him.

Flinging your arms around his neck, you tear off his stupid cap and run your fingers through his hair. It’s dry but downey between your fingers that have touched nothing but metal and plastic for more than a year and you cry. You bury your face into his neck and cry out his name as he simply squeezes you tight against him.

“I love you,” he chokes out and you pull back, cheeks brushing against yours as you smile. His small smile curls his lip and you brush the tear away from his face.

“I love you, too.”

“I love you, guys,” Mark cries out, barging into their conversation with a faux whimper and the newly reunited best friends part with a yelp as their whole crew wraps them in a huge hug.

Surrounded by so many bodies, you have never felt so warm and loved. When you meet Chris’ gaze, you feel the hole inside you begin to fill again.

DAY 1

“How’re you feeling?”

The soft mumble against your ear makes you blink away from the screen revealing the info dumps coming through, and you turn to look at Chris, eyes studiously on yours. That same soft smile is ever present on his lips as you shrug with a wince, and his eyes flit to your vitals.

The med bay is empty except for Watney sleeping the drugs off and you place your hand gently on Chris’. His hand twists, fingers weaving with yours and you smile, easing into your pillows.

“Did you sleep here all night?” you ask quietly, raising an eyebrow and he shrugs, leaning onto your bed by the elbows and pressing your hand against his cheek.

The reunion was short-lived after their return. After all, there were injuries that needed to be assessed, malnutrition that needed to be addressed, a whole hygiene regime that needed to be followed, and a lot of sleep to catch up on.

“Maybe,” he whispers and you laugh, shaking your head free and patting his cheek. “I don’t want you out of my sight. I close my eyes and all I can imagine is losing you again.” Lips twitching into a frown, your eyebrows knit together at his kicked expression. You wonder if he can still read your message by memory as you know it by heart. “You scared the shit out of me, Y/N.”

“‘M sorry, Chris,” you murmur and he sighs, closing his eyes with a flutter of his eyelashes. Tears burn down his cheeks as he presses his lips together. “I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replies. You scoot to the side of your bed despite your ribs yawning in pain and pat the small space beside you. “You need to rest, Y/N. Get back to sleep and I’ll hit you with a dose of the good stuff when you wake up,” he bargains but you still shake your head.

“I don’t need the good stuff,” you say. “I just need you.” His eyes widen just so and your smile grows as the warmth inside you spreads to your fingers. Moving your I.V. lines, you make sure the space is clear for him. “C’mon. Get up here.” He tilts his head, debating it in that brain of his before he gets off his chair, climbing carefully into the small bed. He slides an arm around your shoulders, settling onto his side and you sigh, shimmying closer once he settles. His heat wraps around you, his other arm draping across your chest. His nose nuzzles into your cheek and his breath puffs against your neck as you close your eyes.

Home. Finally home.

“Y/N?” you hear his mumble and you turn your face blindly towards him. He smells like antibiotic cream and sweat, and you barely open your eyes as he looks up at you, blue eyes filled with a tenderness that tells you you’re safe now. “I love you.”

“Yeah?” you whisper, and he smiles.

“Yeah.”

“Good. ‘Cause I love you, too.”

And he tilts his chin just so to kiss you.

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