#nothing has been compelling at all since. nothing. and the other ships I rotate like rotisserie chickens are older than that....

[imwritesometimes]

sometimes I feel really weirdly self-conscious that I only have like... a handful of ships that I write for consistently and that I haven't found a new ship that has piqued my interest at all in years now. like. huh. ok. and also have I just... worn out my welcome in the ships I do write for? cause I've written so much for some ships but it's like. they have me in a death grip, man.

[roguetonorth]

More of us

Gif by: @cowboydin

pairing: din djarin x reader

warnings: angst n' yearning, descriptions of injuries, fluff and soft!din <333

summary: they say home is where the heart is— and in a stormy dusk, you learn that the mandalorian's heart belongs with yours.

word count: 4.571k 

a/n: life's been weird lately and my writing consistency has become nonexistent, i have no idea what this is.

• masterlist • send me a request! •

You had made a deal. 

Din would be gone to try to fix what he unintentionally had done. Things were calmer now, though more complicated. His new ship was good, but it barely fit himself. The empire wasn’t after him anymore, but now he was rightful to the throne of mandalore. He had gone through more changes since he found you and grogu than he had in his whole life. The tides were changing greatly and quickly.

You, though, had promised him peace, consistency, and security. The way you found to do just that was not of your liking and certainly not like what life had put you through for so long, but it was working for the both of you right now. And though Din reassured you that there was nothing he was more fond of than having you by his side no matter what, you both had made promises to each other. You had promised to stay put, safe and alive. Din had promised to come back to you; no matter what, no matter when, no matter how. 

And Din was one to keep his promises.

Yet, there had been a while you didn’t see him.

It had been rotations, maybe moons, you weren’t sure. The planet you had settled in was beautiful, hardly populous and anywhere your sight landed in, it was subdued with dark tones of green of its forests. The cottage you had gotten yourself there was modest, the classic type of thing expected to be found in the middle of nowhere. It was a good distraction to do whatever daily tasks you could, getting temporary jobs in the nearest town once in a while, learning new things, just keep things going.

Here, sitting on the trunk that had fallen over part of your little garden, every day felt longer and longer than the previous one. At first, when you arrived, you thought it would be good to finally stay put— achieve your dream of finally staying, living somewhere. But as the days and nights in this calm and lonely place went by, you could all but realize that your only dream had always been only Din. Despite time seeming to carry on to you slowly as the waters of the lake near your cottage, no matter how far and unknown were the stars Din laid down under, you hoped time passed differently for him.

And hoped for your mandalorian’s return you did. 

You knew that, as soon as he could, Din would come right back to you. He promised you he would, that it was going to be alright. And you believed him with the same faith you believed the dawn would come. But at every dusk, as you watched the clouds cloak the setting suns, all you could do was stare at the horizon —alone and in sickening silence— and hope once again, that you’d hear the whirring of his starfighter above the tall trees. Hoping you’d see Din coming back home. 

The solace you had were his words, his trust, and the promise that he’d be with you again. 

Soon. Eventually. One day. 

And as the life you once dreamt of turned into almost some kind of prison, you tried to convince yourself that those promises were enough. That the now seeming distant promise of Din was enough. As you watched the cold breeze and darkness take over the afterglow of another sunset fade behind the heavy and dark thundering clouds, the thoughts of din were momentarily pulled out of your mind. Pouring rain compelled you to force yourself to rise up from your place and gather the freshly chopped firewoods inside. By the time everything was set for the night, the pouring rain had turned into a thunderstorm.

As you listened to the lullaby of water hitting the ground your mind drifted again to where your heart had been. With din. You wondered about how he was, not just physically. Was he getting enough sleep or was he just as restless as he’d been while he was with you? You wondered that If half a galaxy away, he was giving himself time. You were ready to drop everything at any moment just to know if he was okay instead of keep hopelessly wishing on it. 

 Laying on your back, you dropped your arm around your head, staring through the skylight in the ceiling. You tossed and turned in the bed you had got to share with din for much less than you’d like to before he left. To make the hole in your heart his absence caused feel shallower, you imagined once again the whirring of his ship zooming beyond the window louder than it sounded in your memory, hoping it would lull you to sleep. 

But then, the noise shifted. The source of it seems now rather nearby and your eyes shot open. You frowned, fighting the smile the renewed hope it lit within you. It could be him. It could only be him. Though your mind fought the relieved happiness that started to spread through your features for the sake of avoiding disappointment, your body jumped out of your bed and ran to the front door, not caring about the cold of the rain soaked wood of the porch crepting to your bare feet. 

And your hopes crept to you as it kept you standing by the door, looking out to the dark path that came from the woods. Your fingers taped nervously against your thigh — something you had unconsciously started doing some time after you realized din used to. — and you waited. You were almost sure it was him. But not completely. The rain turned severe and thunders rolled over, and you started to brace yourself for another disgruntled and dinless night. 

Yet, your eyes never strayed from the little dirt path.

As a strong lighting enlightened the sky, you shuddered, like you always did when your gaze landed on him. And there he was, your mandalorian, making his way through the woods with drops of water running down his armor, reflecting brightly the hue of the stormy sky. Just as the first time you saw him, he was quite a sight. But more than that, you couldn’t remember the last time you had felt such joy. 

He walked in long but slow strides, and without getting to contain yourself you ran in his direction to meet him halfway.  You practically fell against him, the man having to step back a little to keep you both from falling all the way into the ground. His arms encircled your form in a tired yet just as affectionate motion, the piercing cold of beskar nothing compared to the warmth his presence burnt you with. “You're back.” You smile, your voice weak and muffled by the fabric of his cowl as you hang onto him tightly as if he could slip away from your arms at any moment. Since you met him it had been the greatest of your worries. When he was away you worried for him, and when he was near you worried about him too. But right now, you collapsed onto din, letting yourself absorb the moment you had longed for. 

He was finally back, holding you dearly, letting you know he was there. And though you knew he could leave soon, you didn’t fight the dazzling calm you felt upon his return. One of your hands made its way to the edge of his helm to have him facing you at a proper angle. Tears threatened to run down your cheeks along with the drops of the continuous rain as you smiled for him instead, a smile of relief from the pain his absence made you ache with, “I missed you, you stupid mandalorian.”

He smiled wider for you, though all you could catch was a pleased sigh that escaped his modulator prior to the words he whispered back, “I missed you, too, cyare.”

Din holds you, as if rain wasn’t soaking the both of you to the bone and as if nothing in the galaxy was real but you. You, you, you. Your laugh, your voice, your way to do things, your never ending care for him. He had missed, longed for you. All of the straining nights and battle-occupied tainting days he spent away from you, second guessing himself over and over; and over were these days were he in control of it all. Did he like to admit it or not, he felt weak without you. 

He rested the chin of his helmet gently upon your head, his grasp was as strong as his weary state allowed. You held him back just as heartfeltly, shifting one of your arms from around his neck to hold his waist closer. He shifted, letting out a tiny pained groan upon the action, which he quickly tried to conceal from you out of habit. 

You were pulled out from your moment of boon, suddenly hyper aware of every pant he let out, “What 's wrong?” You parted from him in concern, scanning down his torso as much as you could see given to the situation. You eyed his side, where your arm had been, noticing part of his flight suit was wet and stained evidently from more than just rain. “Din, are you bleeding?”

“Maybe.” he puffed.

“Din…” You sighed, shaking your head before moving to get a better look at him, chasing his hidden eyes with yours. Drops of rain dripped down from his visor to his cowl and it made you smile again, before you remembered he was injured and you were set to find out just how badly. “We need to get you inside.” You called up, one of your arms leaving him as his hand grasped your forearm tightly, desperately trying to keep you close to him, “I'm not gonna let go of you, okay? C'mon, let's get you warm again.”

You positioned yourself beside him, ignoring the fact he had been walking on his own minutes ago, one arm under his and around his torso, taking as much of his weight as he allowed you to. You aided him through the stairway of the porch and then to your bed, supporting him again as he sat on the edge of it with slight struggle. As he let his back rest against the wall, you inspected him again, searching for any signs of injuries you hadn't got to see and knew he wouldn't mention under the lamp’s golden light. 

But he looked okay though. His shoulders were slightly slumped in, from the cold possibly. Through his partially soaked flight suit, you noticed the rest of his muscles relaxing as he let his hands rest on his lap. His visor faced you, but you weren’t sure his eyes were open. As your body adjusted back to the warm temperature of the cottage, you sat in front of him, the tip of his socked toe touching your leg, his boots discarded at some point. Din carried the typical smell of blaster smoke, now wearing out by the scent of rain and grass. 

Your heart ran faster as you took in the sight of him right there— the fact that he was back finally sinking in. The idea of parting from him for any longer than you already had even if it for the shortest of the seconds was absolutely awful for the both of you. Your gaze held his for a while, longer than you meant to, as you tried to gain courage to force yourself to get up. 

“Your bed's gonna get dirty.” Din blurted out, his gaze straying from yours to inspect the light fabric covering the bed. You chuckled at him, being the most din he could be. Innocently worried about the state of your bed when he himself was bleeding out. Oh had you missed him.

“The bed's going to be okay.” You couldn't help smiling reassuringly at him before speaking again, the little light hearted moment he’d just provided you with was enough to give you strength to get up, knowing he would be right there when you came back. “I have to go get the medpac.”

Din offered you a nod, observing his surroundings as you disappeared into another room. He casted his gaze to some furniture, the majority of them weren’t there when he left. All of them made out of local woods and metal. A particular piece drew his attention, a wooden wardrobe set opposite to the bed, which was also new. He wondered about how you’d brought it to the cottage, how you had set it up together. Had you paid someone to do so or had you gained favors from your friends in town? Though you avoided befriending too many people, you had likely made friends. People were attracted to you, like suns attract planets and keep them around with such force. He himself had been a victim of said talent of yours. As you appeared back into the room with the medpac in hands and kneeled by his side, he confirmed to himself that he was nothing but glad.

You set the materials you’d need on the bed near you as you looked up at him, silently asking for permission to lift his shirt just enough to gain access to the wound. He nodded, moving his arm out of the way to support it lightly on your shoulder. You watched him,  trying to ignore the butterflies swirling your stomach upside down upon the action while looking for any signs of discomfort as you lifted the fabric carefully off his skin, grimacing at the sight of the fiery red gash you were met with. You kept your focus on the task at hand as you started cleaning the injury as gingerly as you could, stifling your gaze from trailing up further than it should. 

Of course you had been in this position before. Cleaning and patching din’s wounds whenever he came back from a rough hunt, which was much more often than you’d like to. But when you were done with said work and made sure he was completely alright, you had to admit you enjoyed it. The closeness you shared whenever you took care of him that way, the vulnerability of it all made your heart flutter for longer than what you could keep track of. But now, you could tell something was different. Din was different. Though you couldn't quite name it yet. 

The both of you stayed silent while you worked on him, deep lost in the thought of each other, way too discouraged to voice it out loud. You glanced up at him as you finished cleaning the wound, which clearly had been a vibroblade slash, “It's not that deep. We've been through worse.” You offer him a pained smile as you reach for the materials you’ll need to actually patch him up.

He tilts his head in acknowledgement, dropping it to rest against the wall. You move to get the work done quickly to free him from the distress, patching him up thoroughly, skill you had gained having to tend to him constantly. His hand on your back tightening itself in a fist whenever it started to sting as he clenched his jaw under the helmet. 

You continued your work, stitching the wound, occasionally stealing glances at him when his skin flinches away from your hands.

“I'm sorry.” din sighs, tilting his helmet down in your direction, his tone loud enough to catch your attention but not to cause you to look away from what you were doing. 

Your brows furrow as you shake your head at his self conscious tone, giving his knee a quick reassuring squeeze, “It’s okay, I know it hurts.” 

“No,” He huffs, half a sigh and half a strained cuckle. “Not for that.”

You don’t look up at him while you set the used materials beside you as his visor watches you intently, “Then what for, love?” you ask mindlessly, starting to cover your work with a bacta patch.  

Din feels his heart leap to his throat upon the realization of what you just called him. You called him love. And you did it so naturally. His breath hitches as you chase his visor with a soft look of your own, encouraging him to speak. He stumbles over his thoughts, the sudden raised emotions causing him to get the words out somewhat rushed and bashfully, “I- shouldn't have taken so long. I couldn't send you transmissions,—”

His voice trails off momentarily, and you take the opportunity to shush him to calm again, “Hey, hey. It's okay,” you pause, studying his chest plate steady itself as you gain the boldness to run a hand soothingly on his uninjured side. “You're here now and that's all that matters.” 

A warm fire burns brighter in his chest as he watches your focus turn back to your work as you finish covering the stitches with bacta, then securing it safe with a thin layer of gauze with gentle hands. “Now we just gotta leave this here. But try not to move much.”

Din considers your words briefly before nodding at your suggestion. 

You start gathering everything you used to patch him up from the floor by your side to wrap them up in a towel to avoid a bigger mess. Din stares at you while you do so, even as you discard said stuff in the sink near the fresher’.You knew you looked, at most, awkward. His gaze burnt through you as you returned to the place you’d been before you tended to him. You stare back at Din, wishing your eyes could say as much as your heart wanted him to know. 

He had been gone for so long you’d thought you had forgotten how calm he could get you. Of course you knew that the life the both of you had lived was hard to leave behind and that in such an endangered galaxy, you could hardly do so. But Din was like a haze over all that. 

Seeing the way you watch him, looking for any other way he may need help in the way he always did for you, his chest aches with the urge to lay himself bare of his walls and say or do something. He opens his mouth then closes as the right words escape him, his chest stalling as your eyes find his own. 

His visor avoids you as he speaks next, his voice sparking his uneasiness, "I should get changed.”

You nod at him with a fond smile that hides the slight disappointment upon the knowledge your mandalorian didn’t need you anymore. Rising from your place you offer him your hand as support to help him get up. You stand one step away from him, his leather-covered fist holding on to yours heavily for seconds longer than necessary. You don’t move your hand away from his, instead biting your lip nervously as you stare up at him,“Do you need help?” 

A deep hue of red flushes across his cheeks as the image of you helping him get rid of his layers forays his judgments, “No, I uh… ‘can manage.” 

You draw in a breath and din stops by you, his beskar-covered shoulder touching yours as he towers over you. For anyone else, the vision of the though visor staring down that way would have been the most intimidating sight they’d see. For you though, it looked like nothing but home. The vague feeling that the eyes staring at you behind the darkness looked lovely. Din touches his helmet to the side of your head tenderly and you feel your heart jump then hollow at the action— his way of saying ‘thank you’ without a word. 

Rarely did you need words with him. 

So that, though Din hadn’t said anything, you knew he didn’t have anything to change onto as you observed he hadn't brought barely anything with him besides his weaponry. But you had taken care of that, long ago. You look through your things in the drawer for a specific pair of sweats; they were of dark green that reminded you of his cape, the fabric much more comfortable than what he usually wore. You had gotten him some stuff while he was away hoping it would help you deal with his absence. You place the clothing near the fresher’ door without saying anything. 

By the time he returns, all he wears was what you had given to him along with the helmet. The sleeves of the green sweater rolled up to his elbows. He takes cautious steps towards you and you scoot over to make space for him on top of your bed. You watch him as he takes your silent offer, sitting by your side, his bare hands tightening and loosening itself as he keeps looking away from you. 

A furrow crosses your features as you wait patiently for his helmet to turn back at you with a slight tilt.  A smile replaces your worried features and you tilt your head back at him as you decide to speak, your voice quiet as you catch his attention, “How have you been?”

Din shrugs, a hint of not so sincere humor in his tone, “Alive.” You give him a serious look to get to him to be honest, and he releases a breath. “It 's been hard… without you.” 

“I could say the same thing,” You relax, warmth taking over your chest upon his sincerity as you scoot closer to him, “But I'm always here, you know.”

Din nods, a sweet grin appearing then vanishing quickly from his face beneath the beskar, “I know. It's the only thing I still believe in.” 

You hold your breath, confusion striking through you while you swallow hard, your gaze locked on him with a curious yet nervous glint. “Me?”

There is a pause before he speaks, his chest rising then falling again as the small word comes out heavy as a lump. “Us.” 

Your gaze softens even more at him, your own feelings starting to overcome your senses and you try to push them down, moving even closer to him to focus completely on Din. You’re so close to him now that you can see his breath fogging the lower part of his visor. 

“There’s always going to be us, Din.” Your voice is filled with honesty and affection as you fight the urge to lift your hand to touch his beskar cheek. 

“But I,” Din pauses, his heart racing so loudly in his chest he can barely hear his thoughts. “I want more— Of us.”

Your chest heaves, his meaningful yet dizzying words making you freeze. You'd expect him to say anything but this. The overwhelming feelings you forced yourself to push down every time you saw din bubbling up to the surface altogether as it threatened to somehow burst inside you. “How so?” 

Anxiety builds inside of you as you study him as the question sits heavily in the silence. Din’s helmet tilts almost shyly as if he was scared of what he was signing up for. 

It takes Din all of his faith and strength to voice the feelings he hid from you for so long that it catches in his throat. His uneasy hands shake as much as his voice. “I hate waking up and not having you with me.” He exhales, his voice dull due the modulator yet dripping emotion as he takes another slow, shaky breath, forcing the tight words out through his throat. “I hate when I can’t sleep because you’re not there. And I hate when I can’t have you, not even in my dreams.” 

You about melt away at his confession.

An empathetic frown strikes through your features followed by a comforting smile and you lift your hand to stroke his unclothed neck before you could even think about stopping yourself.  Your heart races as din’s steady breaths work to shush your wishful thoughts upon his words.

Din covers your hand with his then lets it fall to an eager, tight hold of your wrist, “I'm done with doing nothing right, cyar’ika.” His voice is crumbled and hushed as he lifts a hand to brush against your cheek, “Please, let me do this right.”

You shift on your weight and you move closer to him, hesitating even as you let the side of your crossed leg drop over his. You search for a glimpse of his eyes with a look as soft as your voice, “Don’t say that. You’ve done nothing wrong.” You give his fingers a gentle squeeze and he secures your hand in his, running his leather-free thumb across your wrist. “You don’t know how many times I've regretted telling you I would be fine on my own when you left. I should have told you,” You keep your words and actions slow as you urge him to stay close. “Nothing feels right without you.” 

Din’s heart shudders when you embrace him. His eyes fall shut as he absorbs the warmth you provided him with —both emotionally and physically— without the barrier of his beskar. Your hand rests on the back of his neck while he holds onto you, the brown curly strands of hair that escaped from the base of his helm peeking between your fingers as he leaned into you.

Listening to the beat of his heart sync with yours, he slides his arms down your back to keep you close. “We’re alright.” You beam, his helmet draping heavily on the crook of your neck as you hold him close like you had always wanted to. 

When you pull away it’s Din who starts the movement and he does so hesitantly. Even through his visor you can sense his eyes cast yours with longing and a hint of pain, as if only the thought of it was enough to make him hurt. “I don’t think I can leave again.” 

"It 's okay.” You tell him, caressing his wrist and hoping your touch would soothe him away from wherever his thoughts were leading him. “Whatever it is that you want, I'll always follow you, wherever you go. Or I can wait for you, no matter how long. I'm gonna be here.” 

There’s a moment after he drops his beskar forehead to touch yours, but this time Din doesn’t hesitate to speak with full honesty. “My heart’s always with you.” 

You smile and close your eyes, the truth in your voice matching his.  “Then I'm always going to be with you, Din. Through the furthest of the parsecs, with you.”  

Din looks up, tilting his helmet up slightly as his visor brushes against your nose. “Even if we’re apart?”

You squeeze his hand, lifting it to your lips to press a gentle kiss upon his knuckles as you offer him your answer. “Even then.”

“Okay.” Din utters back, the word small and contended as for the first time ever, he doesn’t fight the urge to embrace you tightly.

You bask in each other’s arms, for a long moment and no time at all— knowing that no matter how difficult things were or could be, no matter how unknown and opaque the stars you laid beneath were, as long as you had each other, you’d always find home. 

Taglist: @girlofchaos

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[lady-hammerlock]

Like a Church on Fire - Chapter Four (The Outer Worlds - Millsoto )

AN: So here’s the last chapter. This one is relatively safe for work. I hope you have enjoyed this story. As usual, the full chapter is under the cut. :)

CHAPTER FOUR

Felix was starting to fall in love with the feeling of waking up in Max’s arms. He realised that he was already becoming used to his limbs entangling with Max’s own while the two of them slept, and found himself hoping that he wouldn’t have to become used to sleeping alone again any time soon.

It wasn’t long before the expedition to clear out and resettle Cascadia was ready to go. Zora had spent a lot of time over the past couple of days planning the best way to go about it, with the help of Max, Felix and some input from Sanjar as well.

“All right,” Zora said to the mixed group that had assembled outside the gates of Amber Heights. “You all know your roles. You are to clear out Cascadia’s eastern side and set up a perimeter before venturing down into the labs. Vicar Maximillian De Soto will get the settlement’s automated defences up and running while the rest of you push on to the western side. Once the area is clear you will set up a guard rotation while repairs are completed and supplies are dropped into the settlement via ship.”

“I won’t lie,” Zora continued. “This is a dangerous mission. Cascadia has been home to a variety of large creatures and marauder groups since Rizzo’s abandoned it. Some of you might die, but I’m hoping that if we play things safe, stick to the plan, and watch each other’s backs, then we should be able to keep casualties to a minimum. Is that clear?”

“Crystal clear ma’am!” one of the Iconoclasts replied with a sharp salute and a smile.

The slight quirking up of one of the corners of Zora’s mouth was probably the closest she would ever get to outright returning her soldier’s smile.

“Good luck,” she told the group. “I’ll see you all in Cascadia.”

--

The journey south was more unbearable that Felix had anticipated. Max was right there beside Felix the entire time, but there were so many Iconoclasts of members of MSI along with them, and all of them had bravely volunteered to accompany Felix and Max.

Felix knew that they were just delaying the inevitable. Hopefully Max would stay to help with the reconstruction of Cascadia, and who knew how long that would take? Hell, Max might not leave for years. If Felix played his cards right and made a compelling enough argument then he might even be able to ensure it.

That was assuming that Max didn’t see what Felix was doing straight away, and that something more interesting or more important didn’t come along and steal Max away. They were both pretty likely in Felix’s opinion. After all, Max was pretty switched on. Felix probably wouldn’t have admitted it when they first met, but even back then he had been able to tell that the older man was ridiculously smart.

There was also the fact that Max would undoubtedly have all sorts of people coming to him, asking him to help out with all sorts of problems that would all be way more important and way more interesting than anything Felix could come up with. Just because Max hadn’t had any better options when Felix had proposed his Cascadia plan, didn’t mean they weren’t there. He had a hard time imagining Max being as content with mere reconstruction or defence work as Felix had been over the last couple of years. There was hardly anything intellectual about it after all.

If Felix was being completely honest with himself then he had to admit that Max would kind of be wasted with the Iconoclasts.

No. It wouldn’t do. Felix was just going to have to step up and actually tell Max how he felt, and admit that he didn’t want Max to leave.

It was a terrifying thought; one that scared him more than he wanted to admit. He’d stared down mantiqueens and not felt this uneasy.

What the hell was he even going to say? ‘Max; I know that you probably have very important things to do and people that you need to help, but would you mind if I tagged along? Not because I’m unhappy here; just because I’d miss you if you were gone, because well… You wouldn’t believe it Max, but I’ve realised that I…’

Felix found himself glancing over at the other man. Max must have felt Felix’s eyes on him, because he turned towards him, sending Felix a smile that had his heart feeling like it had skipped a couple of beats.

He was in love with Max. It was stupid and terrifying and he kind of wished that he wasn’t because this was awful, but if he couldn’t admit it to himself then how the hell was he ever going to admit it to Max? He, Felix Millstone, was in love with a stupid, brilliant, irritating, wonderful vicar, or maybe it was ex-vicar now. Whatever. The point was, Felix was in love with him, and he needed to find some way for the two of them to stay together because he didn’t want to spend another two years missing him.

--

Cascadia was just dangerous as they had anticipated. Luckily there were no marauders to be seen, but at least two mantiqueens and their broods had taken up residence in the eastern half of the settlement.

The combined team of MSI employees, Iconoclasts, Felix and Max walked into the ruins of Cascadia in a flurry of gunfire and explosions. Before long the majority of the creatures were cleared out and a couple of the soldiers from the MSI camp were celebrating their first mantiqueen kill. Some of the soldiers had begun to poke around the abandoned buildings and corners of the settlement in case there were other dangerous creatures hiding away somewhere.

It was nothing that Felix and Max hadn’t faced before, although Felix at least thought it was nice to have so many people fighting at their side for once, but still he found himself checking on Max once the fight was over, knowing that he wouldn’t be content until he knew that Max hadn’t sustained any serious injuries.

Max seemed more amused by Felix’s fussing over him than anything else, although Felix felt a warm glow spreading throughout his body when he realised that Max was checking him over as well, even if his checking of Felix was substantially more subtle than Felix’s own checking had been.

For just a moment Felix considered telling Max that he loved him, but when he opened his mouth to speak he chickened out, and all that emerged was a soft but teasing, “I’m okay Max.”

--

The two of them made their way down into the depths of the old Cascadia lab, assuring those left on the surface that they would be able to handle anything that they found, and that if they couldn’t then they would be sure to let those left above know, or, at the very least, make a hasty retreat.

A couple of the others volunteered to go down with them, but Max and Felix declined the offer. Max’s job was to get the settlement’s automated defences back up and running, and Felix’s job was to protect Max and watch his back while he was working.

Felix didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t really want to share that responsibility with anyone else; partially because he didn’t trust anyone else with Max’s life as much as he trusted himself, and partially because the two of them hadn’t had any time to themselves since they had left Amber Heights.

It wasn’t as though he thought they were going to sneak off into a private little corner and fuck each other senseless, although that was a very tempting idea, but the others treated Max, and, to a lesser extent, himself, a little strangely; less like they were human beings and more as though they were heroes from some Byzantium aetherwave serial, larger than life and different from the rest of them. It seemed strange to Felix. After all, they had never treated him like that before Max showed up, or at least the Iconoclasts never had. Perhaps they were just used to him at this stage, but seeing him by Max’s side made them remember that he too had been a crewmember of the Unreliable.

It was bizarre, and Felix hated it.

Plus he missed just being able to have a normal conversation with Max. Once this was all over the two of them would have to find a nice little bar somewhere, or an out of the way hotel room, or hell, even a library if that’s where Max wanted to go; just somewhere they could talk and just be themselves for a bit.

And then maybe, while they were alone together, Felix could finally tell Max how he felt, or at least admit that he didn’t want to be separated from Max again.

He let Max lead the way, following closely behind him as they navigated the old ruins. He vaguely remembered this place from when they had ventured into it behind their Captain, but not nearly as clearly as Max appeared to. He lead the way through the various hallways and past traps; some of which Felix would have missed completely. Eventually they found their way down to a deeper part of the facility than Felix had ever seen before.

Max glanced around for a moment, before nodding in the direction of a room marked ‘Security.’

“Come on,” Max said. “This should be it.”

“You know, I’m probably jinxing us by saying this,” Felix commented, “but I’m amazed that nothing’s attacked us down here so far.”

“Good job. You probably did just jinx us,” Max said, although considering that he said it with a smile Felix didn’t think that he was really that upset.

“The others should have made their way over the bridge and should be clearing out the western side right now,” Felix said. “I hope there’s nothing too bad for them up there.”

“Yes,” Max agreed. “Hopefully we haven’t taken all of the luck.”

Felix wished that they weren’t so deep underground. If they were a little closer to the surface then he might have been able to hear speaking, or gunfire, or hell, any sign at all as to how the fight on the topside of Cascadia was going. As it was he and Max might as well have been the only two people on this mission.

“All right,” Max said. “We’re here. It shouldn’t take me too long to get Cascadia’s turrets up and running again, but I’ll need to concentrate.”

“That’s why I’m here, right?” Felix said, readying his assault rifle and silently promising that he was going to do everything within his power to keep Max safe.

Max smiled softly at Felix before stepping up to the console and getting to work. Felix watched him for a couple of seconds, not understanding half of what he was doing. He was competent with computers, but Max was a law-forsaken genius. Felix had even seen him give their old Captain a tip or two, and that was saying something.

For a few minutes at least they were left alone as Max continued to work.

“Several of the external turrets are going to need repair,” Max commented, “but I’m sure that the Iconoclasts will be able to fill the holes in Cascadia’s defence in the meantime.”

Felix made sure that he kept his guard up. So far they had been left alone by the beasts infesting Cascadia, but he couldn’t know for sure how long that would last. The last time their crew had visited Cascadia it had seemed as though there were raptidons and mantisaurs around every corner.

“And then we just confirm the targeting parameters,” Max said. “Unfortunately I’m not going to be able to program this system to distinguish between different humans without considerably more work, or potentially installing ID chips in everyone who intends to visit Cascadia, so we’re not going to be able to keep marauders out using this, but as soon as I activate these defences they should target any non-human larger than a sprat within a twenty foot radius of Cascadia’s wall.”

That sounded like good news, but Felix wasn’t quite ready to celebrate just yet.

“And…” Max commented. “The defences are… on!”

Felix heard Max press one last button, and then the most ungodly, high-pitched wail that Felix had ever heard went blasting through the entire facility.

Felix clamped his hands over his ears while Max cursed and continued to type frantically at the console in front of him.

“What is that!?” Felix yelled, straining to be heard over the high-pitched sound, which was still ringing throughout the compound.

“The signal!” Max yelled out. “The network is broadcasting my instructions and the reboot signal to the turrets, but something’s damaged! We can only hope…”

The noise cut off as quickly as it started, and Max cleared his throat before starting again at a more normal volume.

“We can only hope that the signal still managed to reach the defences.”

There was a sudden loud howl that sounded far too close for Felix’s liking. He brought his assault rifle back up as a second howl answered the first.

“Raptidons,” Max observed.

“I don’t think they liked that sound,” Felix said.

“I don’t blame them,” Max said. “Can you hold them off for a few minutes? I need to check the system and make sure that the turrets are actually up and running, otherwise we came down here for nothing.”

“And what if you can’t get them working?” Felix asked. The raptidons sounded like they were getting closer.

“Then we work out a new plan,” Max said.

The first of the raptidons charged into the security room with a loud roar. It was reasonably large; easily taller than either Felix or Max, and took one look at Felix before charging towards him. Felix unloaded a hail of gunfire, which saw the beast falling to the ground.

The second put the first to shame. It was taller and wider than the door, but that didn’t stop it, or even slow it down. It crashed into the room, crushing its fallen brethren underfoot beneath it and turning the parts of the wall that stood between it and its prey into little more than rubble.

Felix cursed and unloaded another round. A couple of smaller raptidons entered the room behind the largest of them, and they seemed just as angry and ready to fight as the largest one did.

Felix had unloaded several full rounds of ammunition into the largest of the raptidons, but it showed no signs of slowing down. If he didn’t stop it then it might even get to… but no! He couldn’t let that happen.

He charged towards the largest of the creatures and unleashed his trademarked tossball kick at the creature, which at least stunned it, before turning his attention to the smaller creatures, hoping that he could at least get them out of the way before having to deal with the largest raptidon once more.

“What is with these things?” Felix shouted back over his shoulder. “Why do they want us dead so bad?”

“I suspect its not us but the console,” Max said. “They must be able to tell that the signal and the noise came from here.”

He seemed to be finished with the console, because in that moment he turned his back to it and brought out the shotgun that had been resting deceptively harmlessly on his back since they had first entered Cascadia.

“I’m afraid you’re standing between us and the safety of this community,” Max said, before firing a volley of shots towards the largest of the raptidons.

“I missed your one-liners!” Felix called back as he reloaded. “But I’ve got to admit; that one could probably use some work.”

“My one-liners!?” Max said before firing another couple of shots. “That’s what you missed?”

Another couple of raptidons charged through the opening that the largest one had made and Felix turned around to face them and launch another round of assault rifle fire directly at their faces.

“Hey!” he called back at Max as he tried to reload as quickly as he possible could. “I didn’t say that was all that I missed!”

He’d missed everything about this. He’d missed fighting by Max’s side. He’d missed their banter. He’d missed the excitement of fighting for a real cause and the danger that came with it, and he knew that he was going to miss all of it again if he let Max leave without him.

Felix made up his mind right in that moment, that no matter what happened, once the fight was over and Cascadia was safe once more, he was going to tell Max how he felt, and, if necessary, beg to be allowed to stay by Max’s side, whether that meant that they stayed on Monarch together or whether it meant leaving Monarch at Max’s side.

He didn’t even care anymore. His own dignity could be vented out the nearest airlock for all that he cared. He loved this, and he loved Max, and he was screwed if he was going to let his fear continue to get the better of him.

“Max,” Felix called out as the two of them continued to fight off the raptidons together. “I…”

He didn’t get any further than that however before Max let out a pained sounding cry.

“Max!?” Felix said, whirling around and almost getting mauled by a raptidon in the process.

He fired off another couple of shots and then turned back to discover that one of the smaller raptidons had injured Max. Its acidic spit had landed right on Max’s shoulder and had already burned through his clothing and down to the skin beneath.

“MAX!” Felix screamed, running over to the older man and shooting every raptidon that stood between them.

Oh law no. There was a lot of blood. There was a lot of blood and it was Max’s blood and Max was hurt and Felix hadn’t been able to protect him and Max could barely raise his shotgun now.

There were only a couple of raptidons left though. He just needed to take care of them and get Max to safety and then everything would be all right. He placed himself between Max and the remaining raptidons before firing off another couple of rounds.

“Come on you lizard-brains!” Felix cried out as the last one fell. “Is that all you’ve got!?”

He knew that he was running on adrenaline now; adrenaline and fear.

He turned his attention back to Max, who was grimacing and clutching at his injured shoulder. There were dead raptidons all around them now, and the walls of the security room looked as though they were in serious danger of crumbling to pieces.

“Come on,” Felix said, wrapping an arm around Max’s waist and throwing his good arm over Felix’s shoulder. “We have to get you somewhere safe.”

“I can still walk Felix,” Max protested, but considering how exhausted and in pain he sounded, Felix had absolutely no intention of letting the older man go any time soon. Instead he just tightened his grip on Max as he helped the older man over the corpses of the fallen raptidons.

“It’s all right Max,” Felix said, knowing, even as he did, that he was saying it to comfort himself as much, or perhaps even more than he said it to comfort Max. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

He glanced around for a few moments, trying to get his bearings. He really had just followed Max down into the facility, and now he was really wishing that he’d paid better attention. He soon spotted a sign indicating that one of the rooms nearby had once served as a cafeteria. There would hopefully be a vending machine in there, with some basic supplies, and it looked as though it would be relatively easy to close the doors and block out any more raptidons or other creatures that might be lurking about.

He helped Max into the cafeteria and quickly shut the door behind them, before helping Max down to the ground with his back against one of the walls.

He pulled the tattered, broken shreds of fabric away from Max’s injured shoulder with hands that were shaking. There was so much blood, and he didn’t know what he was going to do if it turned out that Max was seriously injured.

He forced himself to think. He knew that he needed water to clear the wound, cloth to clean it with and something for the pain. He would be lucky if the Rizzo’s vending machine even contained clean water, but surely he would be able to find what he needed in the rest of the room.

“I’ll be right back,” he told Max, pressing a quick kiss to Max’s forehead before getting to his feet.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Max replied. Felix didn’t know whether he was impressed or pissed off that Max was able to joke and be so flippant when there was so much blood staining his clothes.

Felix soon returned to Max with a cup full of water from the tap and an old, although relatively clean wash cloth. His hands were still shaking while he cleaned Max’s wound, at least until he removed most of the blood and realised that the wound wasn’t nearly as deep or as bad as he had originally feared.

He breathed in and out, trying to quell the panic and the fear that had arisen in him.

“It’s all right,” he told Max as he continued to dab at the wound and clear away. “There’s a lot of blood but it’s not nearly as bad as it looks.”

Max let out a small, pained sound that was probably intended to be a laugh.

“I could have told you that,” Max said.

“Bet it stings though, huh?” Felix asked, remembering his own raptidon spit related injury, and trying very hard not to think about what came after.

“I won’t disagree with that assessment either,” Max said through gritted teeth.

Felix cleaned up the wound as best as he could, before pressing the damp and now blood-covered cloth that he had been using gently on top of the wound.

“Do you think you can hold that there for me?” Felix asked. “I still need to get you bandages and medicine and stuff, or as close to those as I can find in this place.”

--

“I’m sure I can manage for a few minutes,” Max said, forcing himself to smile at Felix.

He was very much looking forward to those painkillers. The raptidon’s spit had burned away a section of his skin, but it didn’t seem too deep, and the bleeding already seemed to be slowing down. The pain was absolutely the worst part of it, and he found himself wondering how Felix had been in any state at all to have sex with Max while he had been the one sporting such an injury. Although, come to think of it, Felix’s wound had been quite a lot smaller than Max’s own.

Still, Max’s wound probably wasn’t quite bad enough to warrant the level of worry and fear that it had brought out in Felix. It was strange, and probably at least a little selfish and terrible of him, but watching Felix worry and fuss over him had made Max happy in its own way. Knowing that Felix was that worried about him; that the younger man cared about him that much…?

Max held the cloth to his shoulder as he watched Felix search the rest of the cafeteria. When the cupboards proved to be mostly void of anything, with the exception of a couple more old cloths, Felix made his way over to the vending machines in the corner. One of them was an old Rizzo’s machine, and Max was just able to hear it spitting out a sad, mostly garbled jingle as Felix accessed it.

Max found himself watching Felix closely as the younger man looked over the machine’s wares. It was one of the only ways he could think of to distract himself from the pain of his wound, not that he particularly minded watching Felix; quite the opposite in fact.

It was nice to just be able to unashamedly watch him for a change, without the chance of anyone commenting on his staring, or of Felix getting all flustered, which Max was absolutely sure that Felix would had he caught Max openly staring at him in any situation outside of the bedroom.

Felix had always had a certain sort of messy, untamed charm, but in that moment he found himself appreciating the simple, familiar things, like the set of Felix’s shoulders, and the way that one hand came to rest on his hip as he inspected the vending machine’s contents.

Felix went still all of a sudden, and Max heard him let out a soft, contemplative ‘huh’, before moving onto the next machine. He wondered what had caught Felix’s eye; whether it was something that was potentially helpful or just something interesting. He wished that he knew for sure where they stood with one another, so that he might feel free to ask these things without feeling like he was prying.

Surely though, Felix’s worry meant that he cared deeply for Max, right? Surely such fear for Max’s safety meant that he cared for Max as more than just a friend, and more than just someone that he occasionally had sex with, right?

The second vending machine was either switched off, or not working, but with a couple of persuasive hits from Felix it flickered into life, letting out a recorded jingle that was even more garbled and broken that the Rizzo’s machine.

If they had been lucky then it would have turned out to be an Auntie Cleo’s vending machine. They were not that lucky however. It was Spacer’s Choice. They would have Adreno and a few basic medications though, so Max would definitely take it over nothing.

Soon enough Felix returned with some basic painkillers and antibiotics in hand, as well as the extra couple of cloths he had found in the cupboards and some scissors that looked as though they hadn’t been designed to cut anything thicker than a single piece of craft paper.

Between Felix’s determination and a little bit of help from Max, they eventually had Max’s arm bandaged up. Max could only imagine that Ellie would despair at the quality of their makeshift bandage and sling. Felix had sacrificed his jacket along with the two wash cloths he had found, which was touching, and the bandage and sling looked, despite all odds, as though they were going to hold up and do the job well enough, at least until they could make it back to the surface and find a qualified physician.

Add to that the fact that the painkillers were starting to kick in, and Max really wasn’t in a mood to complain about anything, except perhaps the fact that Felix wasn’t kissing him right at that exact moment.

When Felix was done bandaging Max up and making sure that all of the correct medications had been taken, he cupped Max’s face between his hands and leaned in close, which really wasn’t helping Max with his whole ‘Felix not kissing him’ problem. Felix looked deep into his eyes for a moment, and Max wanted so badly to run his hands and lips over Felix’s forehead and get rid of all the worry that he saw.

Felix smiled softly, before he took the initiative and kissed Max on the forehead instead.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, before returning to the Rizzo’s machine that he had paused at earlier.

Max watched him make a purchase, although he had absolutely no idea what Felix might have bought. At first he thought it might just be food or drink of some sort (it had been a while since either of them had been able to eat or drink anything), but whatever it was that emerged from the vending machine, it was small enough for Felix to tuck it into one pocket, where Max was unable to see it.

Whatever it was, Felix didn’t think it worth mentioning when he returned to Max, so Max didn’t question it. If it was important then he was sure that Felix would tell Max whenever he was ready.

--

They rested up in the cafeteria for a few hours. Part of Felix wanted to check up on the team above ground really badly, but the other part of him knew that Max needed to rest for a bit before they moved on.

Felix curled up next to Max and let the older man fall asleep with his head on Felix’s shoulder. He watched Max as he slept, resisting the very strong urge to reach over and run his hand through Max’s hair, or at least he did until Max started to stir and Felix judged that they should probably be on their way.

When they emerged aboveground in the western side of Cascadia, they discovered an organised mess. It turned out that the western side of Cascadia had been overrun far worse than the eastern side, and that the signal to turn on the automated defences had been at just the right frequency to send most of the creatures into a total frenzy. The automated defences had kicked in at just the right time, and what the machines hadn’t been able to deal with, the MSI and Iconoclast team had made short work of. Human casualties had luckily been kept to a minimum, although there were a few volunteers from both Stellar Bay and Amber Heights that were sporting impressive new scars, one woman was likely to lose a leg, and one of the younger Iconoclasts was being transported back to Amber Heights for urgent medical attention.

“They’re carrying word of our success back to Amber Heights as well,” one of the Iconoclast officers informed the two of them. “Now that the landing pad is clear we’ll be able to get supplies and reinforcements brought in.”

“I can’t believe we actually did it,” one of the MSI volunteers piped up. “People will be able to live in Cascadia again.”

Felix knew that there was still a lot of work to be done to make Cascadia a proper settlement again, but he couldn’t deny the MSI and Iconoclasts their excitement. This was definitely a victory, although he didn’t exactly feel like celebrating; not with Max still injured and not with the weight of what he was carrying around in his pocket weighing him down.

He knew that he was probably being foolish, but he didn’t have much time to reflect on that. Things were moving quickly now that the beasts had been ejected from Cascadia. He and Max were told that they should just pick whichever building they wanted to stay in as their own, but they hadn’t even been able to start looking before a ship touched down on Cascadia’s landing pad.

The ship looked vaguely familiar, although Felix couldn’t quite place it; at least not until the ship’s airlock opened up and its crew strolled out.

“Nyoka!?” he called out. No wonder he had recognised the ship. Nyoka had shown it to him at Parvati’s wedding, along with introducing him to her new crew.

No-one had told him that Nyoka and CHARON were the ones that would be bringing them their supplies. For a moment he was tempted to run up to Nyoka and throw himself at her in a big, welcoming hug, but he still had Max to take care of, and so the two of them walked up to Nyoka and her crew at a much more sensible pace than Felix might have chosen had he been by himself.

“Holy shit!” Nyoka called out, before wrapping Felix up in a big hug. “I did not expect to see the two of you all the way out here!”

She smelled less like alcohol than Felix had been expecting, and she looked genuinely happy with her new crew. Felix was glad that she was doing well.

“Likewise, Miss Ramnarim-Wentworth,” Max said, as he and Nyoka shook hands, which Felix thought was way too formal considering everything they had been through.

“Yeah,” Felix said. “No-one told us you would be the one bringing supplies to Cascadia.”

“Yeah well,” Nyoka said with a shrug. “We got offered the contract, and there was no way that I was going to turn down a chance to help Monarch get back on her feet.”

“You look well,” Max said, echoing Felix’s earlier thoughts.

“Aw thanks,” Nyoka said, looking a little embarrassed. “I have an awesome crew to thank for that. And look at the two of you! You’re still together huh?”

Still together? Nyoka thought that they were a couple? More than that. She thought that they had been a couple for a while? Had she known? Had she been the one to spot them curled up together in Max’s bed and to close the door?

“No, I mean…” Felix began, intending to explain that they weren’t really a couple, or at least they weren’t officially a couple, or at least that they hadn’t been a couple when they had all been together on the Unreliable. “We’re not…”

“It isn’t like that,” Max said, and of course he managed to explain himself a thousand times more calmly and eloquently than Felix could ever hope to.

“Our paths just happened to cross on Monarch is all,” Max continued, while Nyoka looked between the two of them with far more amusement on her face than Felix was happy seeing there.

Felix knew that it was true. Spending a few nights with Max did not make the two of them a couple, however much Felix might have wished otherwise. Still, it had hurt to hear Max admit it out loud so casually. He had wanted so badly to believe that they could be more; that he might be able to call Max his own, but whether Max had done it knowingly or not, he might as well have just reached into Felix’s chest and torn his heart out. It probably would have hurt less if Max had done precisely that.

“All right,” Nyoka said, although she didn’t look as though she completely believed what Max was saying. “I get it. Hey, CHARON and I are gonna be popping in and out of Cascadia a fair bit over the next few days, but after that, if either of you want a ride off this hellhole then you’re welcome to come with us. We’ll probably pop into the Groundbreaker or something next, but if there’s a specific place you want me to drop you off then we can do that too.”

“Thank you,” Max said.

Felix wanted to thank Nyoka for the offer, but he didn’t trust himself to open up his mouth at that moment. He was just so fucking pissed off by what Max had said, even though it was technically true, and the thought that Max might end up leaving with Nyoka definitely wasn’t helping.

He folded his arms tightly in front of his chest and forced himself to at least try to summon a smile for Nyoka. Whatever he came up with wasn’t convincing at all if the concerned half-smile that she gave him in return was any indication.

“I’ll see you two around,” she said, placing a hand on Felix’s shoulder before heading off to join her crew.

“Yeah,” Felix managed to mutter. “See ya.”

--

Max stared up at Nyoka’s ship, hating the sight of it despite himself. There was nothing actually wrong with it, or with Nyoka or her crew, but he hated everything that it represented in that moment. She had offered him a free ride off Monarch. The sensible decision would be to take Nyoka up on her offer and leave as soon as the majority of the reconstruction work in Cascadia was finished. Who knew how long it would be before another opportunity like this presented itself?

It all came down to one simple fact however; Max didn’t want to leave, not if it meant leaving Felix behind. The thought of being separated from Felix again brought a physical ache to his chest that he knew he couldn’t blame on the raptidon acid. He wondered how long he could conceivably stay if he used the reconstruction of Cascadia as an excuse, and whether anyone would actually believe his claims that Cascadia’s wellbeing was truly the reason he had chosen not to leave.

His real reason for not leaving was standing right beside him with his arms crossed angrily in front of his chest. Max wondered if Felix was upset at the prospect that Max might be leaving. No, that would be far too wonderful and too perfect. More likely he was just upset that Nyoka had assumed that the two of them were a couple.

There was nothing for it. He couldn’t keep making excuses like this. He needed to tell Felix the truth, and if things did go horribly wrong then at least he would have an easy escape route in the form of Nyoka and her ship.

“Why did you tell her that?” Felix said, sounding even more upset than his demeanour would have indicated.

“What?” Max asked, more than a little confused, and yet also feeling the tiniest spark of hope begin to blossom inside of his chest. “Felix, we’re not a couple, or at least, not to the extent that Nyoka believes. Unless, I mean… If you…”

Max did not get flustered, ever, and he certainly didn’t blush, not even when his lover (and surely he could use that term. Even if they weren’t really a proper couple then surely ‘lover’ was all right) was glaring at him with his arms folded in front of his chest.

Max wished that Felix would say something rather than just glaring at him, because Max really did feel as though he was floundering.

“Do you want us to be a couple?” Max asked.

This wasn’t how he had imagined this going at all. When he imagined confessing to Felix and asking Felix to be his, he had imagined that he would have a lot more time to prepare, and that when he did manage to say the words, that it would be in a slightly more romantic location, or at least while they were in private; not standing on a landing pad in Cascadia, surrounded by the smell of gunfire and dead raptidons, and with Felix glaring at him with his arms folded in front of his chest.

“Maybe I do,” Felix said, his glare finally settling into something a little less fierce, but no less unhappy. “And maybe… maybe I don’t want you to leave.”

Max found himself gasping and his heart clenching tightly in his chest.

“You know what?” Felix said. “Screw this.”

--

Felix rummaged around in his pocket for the item that he had purchased from the Rizzo’s vending machine. He had bought it on a whim, not entirely sure if he would ever have the courage to actually put it to use, but figuring that it was better to have the option. It had been cheap, probably only made out of tin, or, if Felix was really lucky, stainless steel or something like that, but still Felix had tucked it away safely inside one of his pants pockets that actually zipped up. After all, it was the thought that counted with this sort of thing right; what the ring represented rather than the actual value of it?

He hadn’t thought that he would be using it so soon, but he wasn’t about to let Max leave without telling the older man how he felt; not again.

Felix gathered his courage and dropped to one knee, the ring held out towards Max in one hand. Felix knew that it was a bit old-fashioned. He also knew from all of the aetherwave serials that he had watched that Max was supposed to act all surprised and cover his mouth with one hand. People always did that when someone proposed to them, didn’t they? Perhaps it was just because Max’s arm was still injured that one of his hands didn’t come up to cover his mouth in shock, but Felix didn’t think so.

“Felix,” Max said. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“Will you marry me?” he asked Max. “And I don’t mean just a marriage contract. I mean a proper wedding, with rings and vows and everything, like what Parvati and Junlei had last year.”

For a while Max said nothing at all. He just stood there, staring down at Felix as though he had absolutely no idea what to say. Felix just hoped that he wasn’t trying to think of the kindest way to let Felix down.

“Come on Max,” Felix said, when the silence was beginning to stretch on for too long. “Say something?”

It was still a few more seconds before Max managed to speak; a few seconds which felt like the longest, tensest seconds in the history of the universe.

“Are you absolutely certain?” Max finally managed to say. “I mean, this is coming completely out of nowhere! We haven’t even… And you…”

“Of course I’m certain!” Felix snapped. “You think I’d be down here on one knee if I didn’t like this idea? You know, you could just tell me that you’re not interested instead of trying to talk me out of it!”

He lowered the ring, debating internally whether he should keep it or just hurl the stupid thing as far away as he possibly could.

“I didn’t say ‘no’,” Max said, before reaching out and snatching the ring from Felix’s hand with his own. “I was just asking; are you sure that you’ve thought this through? This is a big step, and well… we’re both stubborn, so I don’t expect it will be a decision that will be easy for either of us to take back.”

“You know I don’t think things through,” Felix replied.

“Right. Act first; think later. Correct?”

“Right.” Felix nodded.

“You know, I do believe you’ve outdone yourself in that regard. A decision of this magnitude really ought to be thought through properly beforehand.”

“I mean, if you want to think it over for a while you can. Just don’t go flying off with Nyoka before you give me an answer, all right?”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving with Nyoka,” Max replied. “At least, not if you weren’t.”

That stunned Felix more than Max’s snatching of the ring. He got back to his feet, suddenly feeling very nervous and small in front of Max.

“I don’t know,” Felix said, smiling at Max. “It might be nice to get off this rock for a bit. Once we know Cascadia’s going to be all right at least.”

Max returned Felix’s smile, before turning his attention to the ring, still sitting in his hand.

“You know, I really do feel that there are certain things that should have happened before we got to this stage,” Max commented.

“Like what?”

“Well, I haven’t even told you that I love you.”

Max was trying to kill him. That could be the only explanation. It was working too. Felix’s heart had already forgotten how to work properly and was beating all over the place. He felt as though he had simultaneously just won the lottery and had experienced explosive cell death at the same time.

“But I suppose that can be remedied easily enough. Felix Millstone,” Max said, so sincerely that Felix suddenly felt as though he was the one being proposed to. He knew that he was blushing, and hoped that no-one else was standing close enough to them on the landing pad that they would be able to see it. “I love you. In fact I’m rather hopelessly, madly in love with you, and its past time that I told you as much.”

“I love you too,” Felix managed to splutter out.

“All right then. I suppose that’s it. Yes.”

“What?”

“To my own surprise, and despite the absolute ridiculousness of it all, I am accepting your marriage proposal. Now, considering my arm is still in a sling, I might need your help to actually get the law-forsaken ring on.”

Felix was intimately aware of the fact that Max’s hands were quite large, and so he wasn’t entirely surprised when it turned out that the only one of Max’s fingers that the ring would fit on was his pinkie.

“I’ll… I’m…” Felix spluttered as he helped Max slip the ring on. “When we get to the Groundbreaker I’ll buy you a better one.”

“If you insist,” Max said. “But I should warn you that I have every intention of holding on to this one.”

Felix nodded and smiled. Now that the nervousness and fear and surprise had all passed the joy was starting to settle in. He was starting to feel happy; happier than he had ever felt before.

“Now, should we go find Miss Ramnarim-Wentworth and tell her that we intend to accept her offer?” Max asked.

Felix shyly reached out and grabbed Max’s hand in his own.

“Nah,” Felix said. “We’d probably have to tell her that she was right about us and you know she’s going to be so smug about it.”

That brought an amused smile to Max’s face.

“I suppose you are right,” he said. “Perhaps the two of us should choose a place to rest up in the meantime.”

“We should probably get your shoulder looked at by a proper doctor first,” Felix said.

Max shrugged and then immediately grimaced.

“Really, it’s not that bad,” he commented, and Felix knew that he was lying. “Your makeshift first aid is holding up remarkably well.”

Felix crossed his arms in front of his chest again and glared at his new fiancée. Oh law, Max was his fiancée now, wasn’t he? It felt so good to even think that. Regardless of how giddy Felix felt, Max saw the glare in Felix’s face for the doubt and concern that it was and let out a sigh.

“Perhaps I should seek out medical help,” Max said. “You could pick out temporary accommodation for us in the meantime.”

“No,” Felix immediately said. “I’ll go with you, then we can pick out something together.”

That earned him another smile from Max.

“I suppose I had better get used to making decisions as a duo,” he said.

“Yeah, you better,” Felix said as the two of them walked off together in search of the nearest medic. “Because I don’t intend to let you leave on your own again any time soon.”

“No more goodbyes?” Max asked, his hand reaching out and finding Felix’s own as they walked.

“No more goodbyes,” Felix agreed.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

[katlyn1948]

Only Human: Part 6 “Baratheon Blue”

Hahaha, remember when I said that this was going to be 3 parts...well I guess I lied and I totally made it longer than I anticipated. Don't worry, I am still writing An Unexpected Journey, but I needed a little break from it. I ended up getting writers block on it and I just need some time to get out of that funk...so that is why I decided to write this one. I only plan on making two more parts to this one but....I don't really know, it make be longer. Anyway, as an early bday gift to myself (It's tomorrow) I decided to give you all the next part. I hope you enjoy!!

The Nymeria docked in Griffin’s Roost in the early morn. The sun had yet to rise above the horizon and the sea let off a light fog. Arya had wanted to leave to Storm’s End as soon as the ship had been tied and the anchor dropped, but Aries had convinced her to wait until midday. The crew had worked tirelessly to get her here faster than normal and deserved to rest for a time. Most of them had agreed to stay on the ship and explore the local inns while Aries, Donovan, Sienna, and Alyse had agreed to travel with Arya on the two day trek to Storm’s End.

She was hesitant at first, just wanting to travel with Bella and herself, but again, Aries had suggested that it would be better for them to come along in case she needed help with the babe.

In her haste to reach Strom’s End, it seemed all logically thinking that be wiped from her being. Perhaps it had to do with her excitement of being back in Westeros. But Aries had thought it was just her nerves of seeing Gendry again. Arya would never admit to it, Aries knew this, but it was ever present that she was nervous. She didn’t know what to expect. He could have gotten married, for all she knew, but she wouldn’t be the Arya that she is if she didn’t at least try to see for herself.

Sienna had voiced Arya’s concerns the morning they docked.

“He could have moved on, you are aware of that?” She questioned.

Arya gave a hesitant nod, “Of course I am aware. I just feel like he should know Bella exists. If he wants nothing to do with us, then so be it. I’ll board my ship once more and sail for Bravos and raise my daughter myself.”

Arya had maintained a tough exterior, but Sienna knew deep down that she was screaming on the inside.

Sienna shook her head and continued to fold garments into a small trunk. They weren’t taking many things, just a few to last them the days on the road. Arya had wanted to pack lightly, hoping it would help them make the journey faster.

“Have you thought of what you would say to him?” Sienna asked as she placed the last piece of clothing in the trunk.

Arya sighed, “Honestly? No I haven’t. How do I explain to him that I had a babe and it’s his?”

Sienna gave a curt laugh, “You say exactly that. Will his feeling be crushed? Of course, but you have to make him see why you did what you did. If he doesn’t accept that, it is his loss.”

Arya couldn’t help but smile at the woman. She truly had become like a mother to her and couldn’t bear to part ways with her. Her and Alyse were good company and would make a welcome addition to Storm’s End, if Gendry would have them. Even Aries and Donovan could help around the keep. Arya was sure that Storm’s End could use more sailors like Aries and Donovan was a particularly good cook. He could make the best stew, although is bread needed work.

Arya knew midday had arrived when the sun was at its highest. She gathered her small traveling party and departed on the road leading to Strom’s End. They each were able to acquire a horse, thanks to Alysa’s clever flirting, making the trip a little less uncomfortable. Aries had agreed to carry the trunk of all their clothing and the women rotated carrying Bella. Although she was small babe, carrying an extra 14 pounds put stress on ones back and Arya was truly grateful for the help.  

They road all day until they upon a small inn halfway through their ride. With Bella getting irritable and Aries’ back aching from the added weight, they all decided to rest for the night before continuing on.

Arya had made quick work on settling down the babe and putting her to rest. She had surprised herself at how much better she was getting at being a mother. All she had were the old memories of her mother caring for Rickon and tried her best to imitate the past. Of course she had Sienna, but even Arya knew that no two mothers were going to be the same when it came to caring for their child. Each would learn their own ways and that was what Arya was doing.

Arya wasn’t going to be a conventional mother, she vowed to raise her daughter the way she would raise a son; without boundaries or limitations. She wanted Bella to grow up running in fields and wielding swords. She wanted her to shoot arrows and run a castle, all while still being a fierce lady she knew she would grow to be. Arya never wants to force her child into becoming something that they are not; traditions be damned.

Arya looked down at the sleeping babe. Her hair had gotten slightly longer and it reminded Arya so much of Gendry. She was the spitting image of him, even down to her tiny hands. She could only imagine what the babe would look like when she grew older. Certainly like a Baratheon, she’d probably have the fury of one too, Arya thought.

A soft knock broke Arya’s gaze from her sleeping child. She made her way to the door and opened it reveling Aries with a bowl of what seemed to be soup, if they could call it that.

“I brought some soup for you, figured you’d be hungry from the long ride.” He said as he handed her the bowl.

She took it from him and looked at the contents. Her stomach went queasy and she decided to pass on the substance. No amount of hunger would compel her to eat that concoction. The smell alone could clear a forest of any creature. Arya has eaten plenty of grotesque things in her life, but that soup would be by far be the worst thing she would ever stick in her mouth.

Aries took note of Arya’s face and laughed, “Perhaps you should tell that blacksmith of yours to hire better cooks for the inn.”

Arya cocked an eyebrow, “Someone like Donovan?”

Aries blushed. Since their time on Nymeria, the two had gotten close; closer than any man that Aries had the pleasure of knowing. He was beginning to fall in love with him and it gave him an exciting feeling.

“Mayhap.” He said slyly.

Arya smiled and gave him a hug. He was truly shocked by the gesture but returned the embrace. When he met the stubborn she wolf, she had been distant and hard, but now, as new mother, she had opened up and let him see a side of her that he believed she rarely showed anyone.

She was smiling more and her laugh would now bellow out for all to hear. That cold exterior had melted and he believed it had to do with the babe that softly snoring on the bed beside them.

��Try to get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow, she wolf. Oh, Donovan wanted me to tell you he will carry Bella for most of the way.” Aries smiled.

Arya gave a nod, “I will get rest. Now go, enjoy your lover.”

She shooed him away and locked the door behind him. She disrobed and climbed into bed, nuzzling next to her babe.

When dawn broke, the traveling party were the first to rise. They had made good time the day prior and Arya wanted to get to Storm’s End before midday. The anticipation was eating her up inside and she didn’t know if she could take much for any longer.

They paid their dues to the innkeeper and headed out on the road ahead. Donovan stayed true to his word and carried Bella nearly the whole way. It wasn’t until she began to get fussy, that Arya took her.

“She’s probably hungry.” Arya said as Donovan handed her the babe.

She quickly undid her laces and pulled her cotton shirt aside for the babe to have easy access to her breast. Bella latched on almost immediately and began to suckle the milk Arya had produced. It amazed Arya at how much the babe could eat. She was of average size, according to Sienna, but the child could eat that of two babes.

“Well she’s a greedy one.” Observed Donovan.

“Aye, she is.” Arya agreed.

They rested while Arya fed Bella, each gaining their composure before they finished the trek ahead.

Arya had estimated that they had a few hours of riding left and once she finished burping the babe, they were on their way. Arya had held on to Bella for the rest of their journey. She wanted to keep her close and obscured from any prying eyes. She didn’t need unfamiliar people asking unwanted questions.

She was sure that people wouldn’t be able to recognize to her; she had never been in the Stormlands and she doubted the people ventured to King’s Landing in the time she had been there, considering it was and still is being rebuilt.

As they made their way through the small town nestled right outside Storm’s End, Arya couldn’t help but feel the staring eyes. She hadn’t thought the five of them would stir any talk, but perhaps she was mistaken.

“Is that it? The castle is huge!” Alyse exclaimed. She’d only ever seen the Red Keep and didn’t think that there were castles just as big in other parts of Westeros. She had heard the stories as a child, but never thought she would lay eyes on such castles.

“I guess you blacksmith isn’t doing too badly for himself.” Aries mused.

But all the awes that her companions had mustered were nothing compared to the joy she felt within her heart. She had finally made it and she couldn’t me more nervous. She was excited, but her nerves were beginning to take over. She thought about all her insecurities and her lack of affection she had shown to him the last time she saw him. What if she was too late and he had already married, or worse, what if he didn’t want her?

Her heart began to race and she began feeling much like she when she was about to give birth to Bella. The panic was swelling and at that very moment she wanted to take her horses’ reins and steer them in the opposite direction.

Sienna could see the panic set in Arya’s eyes and she immediately pulled her horse to stand beside the girl.

“Do not panic. Everything will turn out like it is supposed to be. If you wish to turn around, we will, and if you wish to move forward, all of us will follow. But this is your choice and only you can make it.” Sienna told her.

Arya gulped, trying to calm her panic. This was the choice Bran had talked about, Arya knew it in her gut. She looked down at the babe cradled at her chest; her peaceful face filled with slumber. It only took that one look and she knew what she had to do.

She nudged her horse to move forward and they made their way to the castle gates.

Four guards were manning the entrance, each with armor adorning the Baratheon sigil. They had swords ate their hips and war hammers in their hands. It seemed they were ready for any threat that would make themselves known.

“Speak your business!” One guard bellowed.

“I wish to speak to the lord! We have traveled far and seek refreshment.” Arya yelled back.

The guards spoke among themselves before gesturing for the five to make their way through the castle gates. Arya thanked them and followed one guard to the courtyard.

“Wait here, the squire went to fetch the lord.” The guard said. Arya nodded and followed his instructions.

It hadn’t been more than a few minutes when woman about Aries’ age emerged from the castle. Her hair was a thick black mane and her eyes were that all too familiar Baratheon blue. She was dressed in a light corseted vest and trousers. Her boots came up to her knees and she had a small sword strapped to her waist. She stood tall and with an attitude that Arya knew all too well.

Arya gently jumped off her horse, being mindful of Bella strapped to her chest, and approached the woman.

“May I help you with something?” The woman spoke.

“I’m looking to speak with Lord Gendry Baratheon, is he here?” Arya asked.

The woman pressed her lips into a thin line. She was studying Arya from head to toe. She was dressed much like the woman in front of her, with her own weapons fashioned at her waist.

“He’s not here, but you have me instead, Lady Mya Baratheon.” She said calmly.

Arya’s heart began to shatter. The woman standing in front of her was Gendry’s wife and here she was walking in her home to tell her husband of his bastard child. Arya began to feel sick. She wasn’t sure how to respond. At that moment, she wanted to climb back onto her horse and run away from all her problems.

“I-I am sorry. I should not have come.” Arya’s voice was no more than a whisper. She began to climb back on her horse when the women grabbed her arm, stopping her from doing so.

“Wait! Who did you say you were?” She asked.

Arya meet her blue eyes, “My name is Arya Stark of Winterfell, my lady.”

“Arya Stark? The Arya Stark? My Gods, I have heard so many things about you from Gendry!” Arya could see the excitement in the woman’s eyes and it filled her with utter confusion.

“He told you about me? Why would he do that?” Arya asked her.

Mya scoffed, as if the answer was obvious, “Because he is madly in love you, that’s why!”

“And...You’re okay with that?” Confusion laced Arya’s voice.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Mya asked her.

“Well because you are his wife. You should want me dead, not praise his love for me.”

Mya burst into laughter. It was the kind of laughter that made your belly hurt and your eyes water. Arya looked at her in shock, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Gendry is not my husband! He’s my brother! It’s a long story, but we’re siblings.” Mya assured her.

Arya let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. There was a weight lifted off of her and she felt like she could finally relax.

“So, he’s not married?” Arya needed that confirmation.

“No! My brother is not married.” Mya assured her.

Arya’s face broke out into a smile. She felt a happiness swell inside her that she hadn’t felt since Bella was born. She looked down at the babe once more and saw that she was now wide awake.

Mya followed her gaze and peeked into the cradled wrap holding the babe in place. What she saw took her breath away. Inside was a small babe who looked exactly like her brother; exactly like her. Everything was beginning to make sense and she looked up at Arya, never needing to ask the question. Her eyes had said it all. The babe was no doubt, her brothers.

“Harold, make up two rooms for our other guest. Make sure they are fed and well rested.” Mya said to the squire. The young squire quickly nodded his head and ran back inside the castle.

Mya turned towards the remaining party, “If you could follow my guard, he will take you to the stables to rest your horses. I will have Harold come fetch you to show you to your rooms.”

Arya gave a nod to Aries to follow, “I will meet up with you lot shortly.”

Aries smiled and galloped behind the rest of the traveling crew.

Arya turned to Mya and began following the tall woman inside the castle, making sure to keep Bella concealed. Mya lead Arya up a winding stair case, reaching up to the top of the tower that could be seen from Griffin’s Roost.

They reached a large door and Mya had easily pushed it open. Inside was a large solar with an oak table in the middle. There were six chairs seated around the table and a tray of food resting on top of it. Arya had noticed that it had not been touched, that is until Mya took a chunk of bread and stuffed it in her mouth. She hummed with delight and began to pour two goblets of wine.

“Please, have seat. You must be hungry as well.” Mya pushed the tray of food to Arya’s direction. She immediately went straight for the grapes on the tray and shoved them in her mouth. She had been ravenous, her appetite finally coming back to her.  

Mya let Arya indulge in the food before she began to question the young girl. She may have heard the stories from Gendry, but she didn’t fully trust the wolf yet.

“So the babe is his then?” Mya casually took a sip of her wine. She studied Arya’s reaction and noticed a cold exterior that would be difficult to crack.

Arya gave a slight nod; a blush rushing to her cheeks. Aside from the people she trusted, she hadn’t explicitly stated out loud that Bella was Gendry’s. She didn’t want the wrong ears to hear and get word to Gendry. She knew Westeros, and word tended to travel fast throughout the seven kingdoms. She wanted to be able to tell him that they had created a child together, and not some stranger he didn’t know.

“Aye, I see it. I mean she looks exactly like us.” Mya quipped.

Arya was beginning to get irritated with the woman. She had come to Storm’s End to see Gendry, not his half-sister that he didn’t know existed.

“Where is Gendry?” Arya asked, her tone harsh.

Mya lifted an eyebrow, “He is out. He should be back sometime after dinner. You can wait for him here. It is his chambers after all.”

Arya’s eyes narrowed. She knew that this Mya had ulterior motives and she wanted to know exactly what those motives were.

“Mya, is it? I can’t help but feel like you want to ask me a question. Please, don’t be afraid, I don’t bite…much.” A sly smile formed on Arya’s lips. She wanted to stir the woman in any way possible, even if it meant play a game she hadn’t played in a while.

Mya sighed. She had heard plenty of stories about the great Night King slayer and not just from her brother. Word had traveled far and fast about the young wolf and all about her journeys. Of course, one could not know if what was being said was truth, but Mya believed that perhaps it was. If she did in fact train with the faceless men than she had to tread careful, as to not stir direwolf inside of her.

“Very well. I will play your game, Arya Stark of Winterfell. Why are you here? The last my brother saw of you, you were on a ship sailing away. I understand that you have his babe in your arms, but she was not the only reason you came back. I want to know why.” Mya said in a low voice.

“I don’t owe anyone an explanation but Gendry. Once he returns, I will tell him.” Arya’s eyes were like daggers. If looks could kill, Mya would surely be dead.

Mya stayed focus on Arya, which is until a bang came through the door.

“Good, then tell him.” Mya’s eyes flicked to the door.

Arya could feel a presence behind her. Every inch in her body wanted to turn to see him, but she couldn’t.

“Tell me what?” When he spoke, is was like the ice that froze her body had suddenly melted and the only thing she needed was to look at him.

She turned in her chair and was faced with those oh-so familiar deep blue eyes.

[scuttleboat]

Finn: kind of a big deal

I've seen some posts making outcry over the fact that Finn had a job that was regarded as low rank in the First Order, and that Rian Johnson is a bad person for referencing Finn as "the guy who cleaned their floors" in The Last Jedi. As if that is demeaning the character as we know and love him.

OH UM, NO. NOT THE CASE. LET'S TALK THIS THROUGH.

1. First, we can all use our memories to recall that Finn's character was conceived as someone whose job on the starkiller base was janitorial. Rian didn't write that, J.J. did. And FOR A REASON. The superficial plot reason was that he had to have a job to get them back on the base in act 3, and it allowed for a lot of jokes and New Hope callbacks. The bigger CHARACTER reason is that we meet Finn as someone who has never been in combat before. It's clear he was abducted and trained as a child soldier yes, but until TFA he was in a service job on their base. It MATTERS that he had a job that was nonviolent, because we can see his fear and his desire not to kill when he goes to battle. 

2. The thematic reason it matters is that a big element of both films in the new trilogy is that ANYONE has the power to fight evil and protect what they believe in, if they  only stand up. Finn was totally disrespected and diminished in the First Order, but *THEY ARE AN EVIL ORGANIZATION*. They think nothing of taking children and turning them into war losses, and now they don't respect the people of lower rank. In that world, being lower rank means you die sooner to help the asshole above you. We don't need these evil monsters to respect him because we, the audience, have already given him our respect and our sympathy and our encouragement. He's the most underdog character and we all love to root for the underdog. You know who the First Order respects? Someone like Hux. That guy. 

When Finn says "Rebel scum." that moment was triumphant bc he was rejecting Phasma's classification of him as nothing or worthless. He picked his home and his cause, and her insults have no more power over him. He doesn't need the respect of these mass murdering monsters, he has self-respect and he has family and he has purpose now.

3. Rank isn't just handed out because you're smart or talented. In most militaries it's a rigid system that takes a lot of time to advance in, and there is a stark segregation between officers and enlisted--except in this trilogy that would be slave soldiers, in Finn's case, since he didn't have the freedom to enlist. Finn may be a smart and capable and efficient person talented with a gun and possessing leadership qualities (all things he is, imo) and that doesn't mean the First Order will respect him. Again, they're an EVIL organization. They respect people like Hux and Kylo.

4. Let's have some real talk about jobs, here. You know the death star or starkiller base is basically a giant air craft carrier right? And on military ships, people cross-traffic for jobs. You never have just a 'soldier' or just a 'janitor' or just a 'sonar tech'. All those people went to boot camp. All those people know how to shoot guns and march in time. All those people serve, and most of them rotate on watch positions too. It makes sense that storm troopers could be pulled from other jobs and put to active deployment. It also makes sense that when not actively fighting those same soldiers have to go back to do their non-combat jobs on the ship/base/vessel. For some, that's maintenance and cleaning. That this was his job doesn't speak badly of Finn. He hardly had any choice in it anyway. And yes, that's a writing decision. BUT GUESS WHAT:  your characters gotta struggle. And I personally have adored watching this lowly storm trooper struggle against his oppressors and fight back to blow their asses up. TWICE.

5. Finn's story is so inspiring in-world that  General Leia personally thanked him, and Rose Tico had an instant crush on him. Because he started out in such a difficult place and he overcame it. Because that makes a compelling character. Because no one else in the SW movies had been written to rebel this way...not until Rogue One, which aired a year later. Finn was first.

So yeah, he cleaned floors for the First Order. (It's a job, fine people do it every day.) But you know what he didn't do? Commit genocide for them. In fact, he busted out of there with the first flyboy he could find, made best friends with the most powerful force prodigy in the galaxy, snuck back in to help destroy a genocide machine and confronted his fears to save that friend, fought Kylo Rearend, destroyed a den of vacationing war-profiteers, infiltrated the supreme leader's ship, kicked his old officer's ass, was saved by love, and became a hero of the rebellion twice over.  #ABigDeal

[djinn-and-djuice]

(Travis said that Fjord used to be a sailor, and he has the sailor background, and. Well. There was the whole thing with his falchion. I am a huge maritime history/sailing nerd, so this felt like an extremely personal callout, and here we are. This is all wild speculation, and likely to be disproved, and god damn it was fun to write. Much love and credit to @cobaltpilot​ for being my cheering section! also on ao3)

[no spoilers, but draws on details from campaign 2 episode 3, “The Midnight Chase”]

the call of the running tide

~*~

This is how it starts.

Two men walk into a bar. One of them is more well-dressed than the other, but neither of them are by any means ‘fancy.’ Fancy folk come from the capital, and they don’t waste their time in a dockside sailor’s dive. From his perch in the corner, Fjord watches them scan the crowd with half an eye.

His interest is piqued when Fjord sees one of them point to him and ask his companion something, he already knows what’s being said. Port Damali isn’t so big that one can be ignorant of their reputation.

The rundown is likely very brief. His name is Fjord, he’s a half-orc who likes a bit of whiskey and a bit of dice. He’s spent five years before the mast, but he could be a bosun or a navigator if he got the chance. Maybe even a captain, if that kind of money weren’t so damn hard to come by. He’s a steady hand and a reliable one too, he’ll work for whoever pays fairly, and that’s all that anyone knows about him. To be fair, that’s all they need to know, and this isn’t a town where people ask a whole lot of unnecessary questions.

“I hear you’re a good sailor,” the man says by way of introduction. “May I sit?”

His momma didn’t raise him to be rude, so he nods. “I’m Shane Corrigan, first mate on the Sylph,” he goes on, setting down across from Fjord. “We’re making a voyage to Marquet in a fortnight, and we’re looking for crew.”

The rest of his spiel is boilerplate, all stuff Fjord’s heard a dozen times before. They’re shipping goods; timber and furs and stuff that Fjord can’t imagine has much appeal in the desert, but somehow sells anyway. The pay is good, better than he was expecting, likely because the trip’ll be so damn long.

In the end, that’s not why he holds his hand out to Shane and says “you got yourself a deal.” He can feel the sea calling in his veins, and the thought of four month’s voyage is a good one.

 ~~~

 Fjord’s love of the sea is a long one, begun when he was a child. The tide called to him, and as soon as he was old enough to sail his own skiff he would spend countless hours cruising around. He learned how to read the stars and the wind, how to set course and canvas and one’s feet in a gale. 

So when the Sylph sets out from Port Damali on a bright morning, Fjord hangs a little longer in the shrouds to look out at the dark water and breathe.

The crew quickly settles into rhythm and the first two weeks pass by without much interest. There are a couple greenhorns on the crew, and they take a little while to find their feet, and Fjord spends much of his free time helping them.

Halfway to Marquet, Captain Moore switches up the watch rotations and Fjord is tasked with going belowdecks and making sure everything is fine with the cargo. It’s a necessary job, if tedious, mostly involving killing any rats that made it aboard and making sure nothing’s been disturbed. No one’s reported anything so far, so when he notices a bear pelt that’s been dragged out of one of the crates and set high up, it gives him more than a little pause. He doesn’t make a sound, climbs up quickly and quietly as anything, and pulls the knife out of his boot.

Curled up on the pelt asleep is a young woman with dark skin and fire-red hair. Well. A stowaway isn’t what he was expecting, but it’s not the worst thing he could have found. He shoves the knife back in its sheath and shakes her awake. 

“I don’t recognize you from the crew roster,” he quips.

Bright gold eyes flicker open, and focus on him. In an instant she is up and pressed against the hull, eyes darting around. There’s nowhere to run on a ship, and she seems keenly aware of that.

“What’s your name?”

“Sallah,” she replies, still tense.

“My name’s Fjord. I’m not gonna hurt you, Sallah,” he says, “but you understand we’re not too keen on stowaways here.”

“Please don’t turn me in,” she begs. “I can’t go back to Wildemount, I have to get out of there.”

Before he can even ask why, she’s launching into a hurried, frightened explanation that he honestly has a hard time following. It’s a long, somewhat rambling tale of misunderstandings and scapegoating and the gist of it, as far as Fjord understands, is that Sallah was in the wrong place at the wrong time, in a town of people who were all too willing to shove blame on an outsider.

Anywhere else Fjord would consider it a sob story used to con someone out of a favor or some coin. But he can see the fear in her eyes, and he knows that people don’t become stowaways on a lark. And hells, he knows as well as anyone that he’s got a soft spot as wide as the Wuyun Gorge. So he holds out a placating hand, even as the other is rubbing at his temple.

“Alright, alright, you can stay. The rest of the crew might not be so understanding, and if you get caught I don’t know you. But I won’t turn you in.”

“Thank you Fjord, thank you so much. You won’t even know I’m here.”

 ~~~

 The next few days, Sallah is as good as her word. If he hadn’t seen her himself, Fjord wouldn’t have believed there were any extra souls on board at all. The pelt she had been napping on got stowed away, and he hasn’t seen it out of its crate since they met. Still, he takes some of the hardtack from his meal and saves it, bringing it down to the hold when he does a patrol.

“Sallah?” He calls quietly. “It’s Fjord. I brought you some food.”

A tiny mouse skitters up on top of a box in front of Fjord, and in an instant, shifts into Sallah. He’s so taken aback that he completely forgets about what he was doing in favor of staring blankly at her. He’s heard of shapeshifters, obviously, mages that can change their appearance at will, but there is a wide gulf between the experience of hearing about it and seeing it firsthand.

“That’s how I’ve been staying hidden,” she smiles, hopping off the box to stand in front of him.

“That’s damn impressive,” he replies, handing the chunks of tough biscuit over. “How do you do that?”

“I learned when I was little,” she explains. “My people are very inclined to magic, natural magic especially.” With a flourish of her fingers, a small flame dances in her hand.

“My family didn’t have a whole lot of formal traditions, but I was taught how to focus energy and make it do what I want. I taught myself pretty much everything else.” She shrugs, extinguishes the flame, and digs into the hardtack.

“Can you teach me?” He doesn’t know what drives him to ask. Magic has never been a prominent part of his life-never more than bits of bone scrimshawed with runes and shells hung to ask the Wildmother’s favor for a safe voyage-but he has always been fascinated by the idea of it. To see someone command such power with so much ease is compelling.

“I don’t know how much I’ll be able to teach you in a week and a half, but I’ll try.”

He goes about his patrol while she finishes eating. When he comes back, she’s sitting with her chin on her hand in thought.

“Can I ask a favor?” She asks after a long moment.

“Sure,” he shrugs.

“Would you help me get up top? I’ll make myself small, into a mouse or something, something you can carry. I’ve been belowdecks this whole voyage and some fresh air would be nice.”

“’Course I can,” he says, standing up and holding his hand out. A blink, and she turns into a tiny grey mouse and skitters up his arm.

The sun is almost set when they come up top, and Fjord takes a moment to enjoy the scene. The setting sun paints the deck orange and red, and with the ocean lit up as well it’s one of the most beautiful things Fjord has ever seen. The two moons are barely visible on the eastern horizon, slivers of bone in a lavender sky.

There is a sudden flash of light, and the whole crew looks up to see a bright flash of light at the end of each mast and spar, burning blue-white flames that are gone as soon as they come.

Fjord had seen them once before, on a voyage to Tal’Dorei, one of his first long-distance journeys. One of the older hands called it “The Wildmother’s Beacon”, but he’s heard it referred to by any number of names since then. It’s all anyone can talk about as the crew gets the ship ready for the night shift, so no one notices the companion tucked under the collar of his coat.

 ~~~

 “It’s not hard, you just have to learn to listen.”

Sallah coaches him for an hour or so every day when Fjord comes down to the hold, and this has been a common theme. Listening to the natural world around him, the ebb and flow of the tide, the push of the breeze, he needs to listen to everything. And he tries, he really does, but by the time they make port in Marquet, Fjord feels like he’s made no progress whatsoever.

“I just feel like I oughta be better than this.”

“It’s only been a week,” Sallah rolls her eyes. “And we barely have an hour a day to work. I’ve been practicing magic since I was little more than a babe.”

“Sometimes books help,” she goes on, more gently, “If you can get to the Dwendalian Empire, I’ve heard that Zadash has some great libraries, and if you can’t find something there then you’ll definitely find it in Rexxentrum. There are a lot of different paths to magic, and if one doesn’t work you shouldn’t be afraid to try another.”

 ~~~

 The Bay of Gifts is chaotic and colorful and decadent, and as much as Fjord wants to enjoy it he won’t be able to until he’s sure that Sallah has made it off the boat without incident. He drinks a couple rounds in the tavern with some other members of the crew before taking a meandering walk down the lamplit streets.

He hears rapid footsteps coming up behind him, and turns to see Sallah running up to him.

“Fjord!” She calls. “I’m glad I found you, I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

“I’m glad too. Any idea what you’re going to do?”

She shrugs, smiling. “None whatsoever. But I’ll figure something out. I’ve always had a knack with growing things, maybe that’s where I’ll start.”

“You’ll do just fine.”

“That’s very kind of you, my friend.” She hugs him, and Fjord can feel the slight shake in her shoulders as he hugs her back.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

The moment passes, and she steps back. “I’ll stay here for a while, but if this doesn’t work out I’ll go to Ank’Harel. Don’t be a stranger,” she says, and walks off into the warm night.

 ~~~

 The voyage back begins much like the trip there. Clear skies and fair winds, and given how much lighter the ship is that means they make very good time.

On the fifth day, the lookout spots a storm building behind them, and it quickly becomes apparent that they’re not going to be able to outrun it. Captain Moore hollers for all hands to take in sail and two dozen of them are in the shrouds, climbing as quickly as they dare, scuttling across beams and hauling canvas hand over hand.

Back on the deck, the only thing left to do is heave to, tie down, and hope. The sky blackens, lightning forks, and Fjord mutters words of comfort to the young hands as they move belowdecks.

“This ain’t my first storm,” he says, with more confidence in his voice than he really feels. “Keep your head and you’ll be fine.”

The rain beats down on the deck, trickling through the battens and down into the bilge. The flashes of lightning get brighter and brighter, the crashes of thunder grow deafening. The ship lists from starboard to port and then hard to starboard again, and the only warning they get that something has gone terribly wrong is the hull creaking loudly before the sound of splintering wood comes from above on the deck.

Fjord goes up top just in time to watch the main-mast, struck by lightning, come crashing down across the deck in a mess of wood and metal. Captain Moore was at the helm when the storm began, but Fjord has no idea if he’s still there. Or still alive.

The ship begins to tilt under the unbalanced weight, and there’s precious little time before she’s on her beam ends and capsizes. Fjord yells for the rest of the crew and they leap into action, moving everything they can to the other side of the ship to buy themselves a bit of time to get rid of the broken mast.

It’s no use, though, because before they can finish the deck is pitched at such a steep angle no one can stand anymore, and Fjord is in the water. Lashed by the rain and the wind, he struggles to stay above the surface. One piece of the mast is still floating, and he swims over to cling to it. It’s all he can do to hold on as massive waves pitch and roll him.

Finally, the storm moves on, revealing the night sky. Fjord looks around, but he can’t see the rest of the crew anywhere, and the gods only know where he’s been blown. He recognizes the stars, and which way he’s probably heading, but that’s all meaningless if he can’t figure out where he is.

It would still be meaningless even if he knew where he was, since he has no way to get home.

Exhausted, he closes his eyes. The waves lap around him, and now that the winds have calmed it’s the only thing he can hear. Remembering Sallah’s words he listens, hoping that if these are his last moments, he at least hears something. But nothing comes. The last ounce of strength in his arms slowly fades, and he loses grip on the mast, sinking beneath the waves.

“Is that it? Are you giving up?”

It’s little more than a whisper, sourceless in the dark. Fjord almost thinks he imagines it, until it keeps going.

“All those storms you’ve weathered and you just give up? You’re stronger than that. Open your eyes.”

Somehow, he finds the will to creak his eyes open. He sees a glow in the water, a faint shimmer of phosphoresence that draws his attention. He’s seen glow like that before, in much warmer waters. He pulls the strength from somewhere within him and twists around towards it.

“There it is. You could bring the tides themselves to heel with that will.”

There’s no way to tell which way is up, but he swims toward the light. His limbs carve long, slow strokes through the black brine, and his lungs begin to burn.

“If only you had the power to match it.”

His face breaks the surface of the water and he gasps.

“I can help you with that.”

“Fuckin’ prove it.” Fjord replies because hell, what has he got to lose?

He hears a distant, whispery laugh, and darkness takes him.

 ~~~

 He dreams about a forge. The steady, ringing beat of a hammer against hot metal. He dreams of black sails and smoke. He dreams of blue-white fire and the beasts that sleep beneath the waves. He dreams of a blade.

He wakes up.

That’s the first surprising thing. The second, and rather more surprising thing, is that he wakes up on a beach. His clothes are tattered but still keep most of the chill away, so once he picks the kelp off he slowly gets to his feet and walks inland. The people he finds in the nearest village are surprised to see him walking out of the sea, but they take it with good enough grace.

Turns out he’s washed up on the southern end of the Menagerie Coast, and when he tells the folk in town his story they find him someone willing to help him get passage north.

The first leg of his journey back to Port Damali is in the back of a hay cart, and his thoughts are consumed by the odd voice he heard the night the Sylph went down. There’s something in the back of his head, it feels like an itch on the inside of his skull and the more he focuses on it the clearer it gets. His hands move on their own, and before he really knows what he’s doing a spectral hand appears in front of him.

“Oh shit.”

 ~~~

 The trip northward is long and slow, but this new revelation gives Fjord something to focus on. He thinks about that itch in the back of his head, of the way his hands shifted and the feeling of pulling invisible rigging. For three days’ travel he sits in silence and meditates, and on the fourth day he finally feels like he’s done something right. He sees a shimmer across his arms and with a thought his skin turns from green to royal purple. He focuses again, and it turns paper white. He can’t contain the giddy grin on his face as he shifts colors, and it only grows wider as he learns how to tug in a different way and the taper of his fingers change, his nails grow and shrink and his arms gain and lose muscle.

That night, he has another dream. Of a rocky, wind whipped beach sheltered by bleak cliffs. He recognizes it from stories; the Shearing Channel, a stretch of water so treacherous that no ship can sail through it. Distantly, like a rising wind, he hears the voice again, for the first time since the wreck.

“Come find me. We have much to discuss.”

 ~~~

 By the time he arrives in Port Damali, he has a small amount of gold that he earned doing odd jobs along the trip. He thanks his traveling companions for their aid and parts ways, heading to the nearest general store to buy a few road provisions and a bedroll. He doesn’t seek out further passage northward, he just walks out of the city and follows the stars.

When he makes his way through the woods, he can tell that he’s close to the channel from the smell of salt and the whistling of the wind. The cliffs on the edge of the channel are tall, but not solid, more akin to shorn-off hills now that he’s seeing them from this side. He picks his way between them, and makes his way down to the waterline.

On a clear day, you can see Tal’Dorei across the channel, the white rise of the Alabaster Sierras on the edge of the horizon like a dragon’s spine. Days like that are few and far between; today the sky is leaden, and fog hangs low and oppressive over the rough water.

This. This is the place. He knows that what he’s been called to is here, as sure as he was born. He wades into the surf.

The water is frigid, tossed as it is by the constant winds. But that tug, that inexorable, tidal pull, is drawing him deeper and deeper beneath the waves. He feels his lungs begin to ache but still he dives down, looking for something, anything.

To his right there is a flash of blue light, like the fey light he saw coming off the spars of the Sylph. He looks over and sees the hilt of a sword, stuck between stones. A faint blue glow wafts off of it, and he reaches out.

Once, when he was young, he made the mistake of wrapping a line around his wrist, so when a brisk wind caught his sail it pulled his arm out of its socket. He never made the mistake again, just like he never forgot the feeling of his shoulder being shoved back into place. A hard pop, and then everything was where it needed to be.

The feeling of pulling the sword out of the crevice is exactly like that, only without knowing that anything had ever been out of joint to begin with. The grip fits in Fjord’s hand like it was carved exactly for him.

He swims back to the shore and examines the blade. It’s a falchion, long and broad and positively wicked looking. The hand guard is crusted with barnacles, but the blade itself is completely clear of rust. And even though the seawater has finished running off of Fjord, there’s still rivulets running off the blade and pouring onto the stones.

“Hello there,” he says.

“Hello yourself,” the blade replies.

This is how it starts. Fjord stands on the rocky shores of the Shearing Channel, dripping seawater and holding a barnacle-encrusted sword in his hands. The waves pound the beach in time with his heart, rising past his knees and it should be pulling him back under but it’s not. He holds the blade up to his ear, and he listens.

[thisgeekyteacher]

October. That was a month… And November has been so brutal that this is coming supremely late in the day! But back to October: Two jobs, one crashed and burned the other one stuck, so I can now say I work in London, how surreal is that… I commute on the tube, there is a boy, a routine is slowly coming into being, and all these wonderful people I have known all over the world are popping up all over London. I’ve no idea how life works, but it does so in mysterious ways, that’s for sure!

HEADLINE OF THE MONTH

October has been another month of fact buried deep under the weight of untruths, opinion posing as fact, and illusion. In the run up to the US mid-term election, the world has been watching the already sinking ship be battered by ever more waves of racism, anti-semitism and white supremacy, all wrapped up in the neat package that is “Make America Great Again.” At time of writing, the results of the mid-terms have been coming though, and the Democrats have taken a majority in the house.

In a world where borders are becoming increasingly meaningless, no matter what Trump and company are trying make people believe, I take a vested interest in what’s going on across the pond. As of today, whilst by no means a fix in any stretch of the imagination, things are looking a little brighter for our friends in the states.

It’s a start.

FOOD / DRINK

Having a job is an amazing way of getting the diet (by which I mean regular meal times, because diet, who’s she? I don’t know her!) My month hasn’t been completely bereft of food or cooking, however, but I am ashamed to say that there is a lack of photographs – what kind of blogger have I become (one who is remedying this in Novembers post, that’s what kind, but for now imagination will have to suffice.)

First up, the Thai round the corner. A few minutes walk from the homestead is a pub-come-Thai restaurant by the name of Latymers, which is as good as the Thai round the corner from my flat in Hong Kong. The food is good, the atmosphere is great and the staff are so utterly delightful I wish I could go more frequently just to see them! A Thai Red Curry is always my default, however they’re also surprisingly easy to get wrong. I’m please to say that the Red Curry at Latymers is everything you could wish for (I always have the beef) and Ali informs me that the Pad Thai is on point also.

I think it was early October I ended up in Neal’s Yard with my sister. It was time for food and as we were in the area, went to the Wild Food Cafe. The food was utterly delicious and we felt very virtuous. Neither of us are vegan or vegetarian, but we appreciate our veggies and good, seasonal, healthy food. The menu has changed since we went, so I won’t bore you with the details, but I highly recommend checking it out. Take a friend and share so you can try lots of things!

One delight I have found, in returning to the UK, has been brunch. There is nothing like a full English for making your Sunday great, and there’s a fantastic wee place near the boy’s that’s that good we’ve made return visits. My stomach is not enough of a bottomless pit for me to handle the supreme breakfast, or whatever it’s called, on my own, but it’s well worth it, and the boy makes no complaints at having extras!!

Cooking wise, it’s still been pretty simple. Honey ginger chicken is a regular, Chili con carne is back on the rotational menu, spiralised courgette salad was a thing for a week, and parsnip and butternut squash soup has been made. My cooking is still haphazard as I’m still (well into November) lacking a solid routine, but I’m, closer than I was!

READING & WRITING

When it comes to reading, I’m having a bit of a love-hate battle with the tube. On the one hand, you have a designated reading slot thrust into your lap. On the other hand, I’m still enough of a noob to the London Underground that I dare not read for fear of zoning out and missing my stop. I find I get quickly engrossed and miss a handful of stops. I’ve not overshot my stop yet, but I have a feeling it will happen one day.

Despite this inner battle, I have managed to get a fair bit of reading done this month – some old favourites (which is apparently a weird thing to do, re-reading books…) and some new ones.

Matthew Reilly has been high on my reading list, with the newest Jack West Jr. book, ‘Three Secret Cities‘, being released on Thursday November 8th in the UK (I’m going to go ahead and assume it’s already out by the time this is published) I’ve been re-reading the earlier books, and other Matthew Reilly books too.

I forced one of his books, ‘Temple’, upon the boy. I think it’s a pretty good introduction into Reilly’s world of fast-paced, action-movie-in-a-book fiction. A stand alone that weaves a modern day and historical narrative together, it was demolished within no time – and to my shame it was taking me a lot longer to read a book in the same time frame! The Reilly books I’ve read this month are, in no particular order, ‘Four Legendary Kingdoms’, ‘Six Sacred Stones’ and ‘Area 7′, the latter being the second Shane Schofield book.

Other books I’ve read this month include, in fiction, Ruth Hogan’s ‘The Wisdom of Sally Red Shoes‘ and Mo Hayder’s ‘Birdman‘, and in non-fiction ‘Natives‘ by Akala.

There has also been much reading of cookbooks after the discovery that was Leon, a fast food joint in the UK which is utterly delicious. And yes, cookbooks are their own separate category. It was the ‘Little Leon: Lunchbox‘ that kicked it off, and the possession of an iPad consolidated. I have a lot of cooking to do… and if I were to recommend any Leon books to you, they would be ‘Leon: Fast and Free‘ and ‘Leon: Family and Friends’.

  WORK

So, I have a job. Phew!

I actually love my job. A bit of researching, a bit of writing, a lot of learning about all sorts of new things, and a lot of stuff I can’t put here.

But that’s ok, because this blog is for other things. So in a work related sense for the teachers out there, I’m working on updating my Narnia Winter Camp, and (finally) making templates for my felt advent calendar. I’ve been using mine for years before finally getting round to this! But, it is the season, after all.

Look out for posts on these coming soon!

TV / FILM

Honestly, I’ve barely watched anything. There’s been much Star Trek (again) some Doctor Who (because UK Netflix rocks) and Stephen Colbert, naturally!

There are a millions and one things I’m keen to watch, should I ever get round to it… but we’ll see!

ACTIVITY

London is full of so much stuff it’s overwhelming, and blink and you miss it. Unless you know people. One of the most amazing things I saw this month, and possibly ever, was the Thomas Cole exhibition in the National Gallery. Ali took me, wanting to see the paintings in person. I had no idea who this guy was, let alone anything about the series of paintings in question.

They were incredible.

Not only is he an incredible landscape artist – the way he captured the afternoon light on the aqueduct outside Rome was as good as any photograph, but the depth of detail, and the brutal yet ethereal constant truth of The Course of Empire series, leaves an impression that still has not been shaken.

If you are ever lucky enough to see them for yourself, I highly recommended you go.

Another art museum I visited in October was the Tate Modern. Not the easiest to navigate, but full of some fascinating and varied artwork. The Magic Realism exhibition particularly resonated with me. Feature art from Weimar Germany, it’s fascinating, disturbing and so, so compelling you can’t look away. I still need to get my hands on the book of 5 essays that accompanies the exhibition.

Another exploratory trip with Ali was to the Cutty Sark, a former tea clipper. She is an utterly beautiful ship, a masterful piece of engineering combining all the beauty of a wooden ship with the industrial nature of steel as nautical engineering moved into the Industrial Age.

She has been beautifully preserved, and it’s amazing being able to clamber about her and go in and out of her cabins. It helps when your pal is a wee bit of an encyclopaedia giving you all the cool info (no, I’m not going to tell you – where’s the fun in that!)

We went home via a Thames ferry, which gave us a totally different view of London, driech day though it was, and it was fascinating seeing all the through ways, doorways and passageways that are still here or blocked up on the banks of the Thames. You just don’t see them when you’re on land and, pricier though it is, I would highly recommend a wee trip on the Thames if you can!

CRAFT

The limit of my crafting this month has been my letter writing. I’ve not had the time, or the wakeful brain, to do much else. It’s a slow return to form, and it’s been knocked back by life in recent weeks, but slowly and surely the creative buzz is returning and I’m desperate to let it run wild! Watch this space. I hope.

MUSIC

Autumn brings with it a rush of releases. I don’t know if that’s because of Christmas, or if the summer months are more conducive to creativity or song writing (I say that like there are rules to how long it takes to write an album) but hands down the best release – or acquisition for October – has been SIX. It absolutely has to be the first to go in here, because oh my days, what an album! Telling the stories of Henry VIII’s six wives, it’s clever, funny, insightful, packed with cracking tunes, and if I were still teaching, I’d be working this into a class (there goes that creativity, and hopefully worksheets will be coming to a post soon!!!)

Six is, for me, one of the best musicals I’ve heard since Hamilton. It’s touring the UK just now, and will be back in London after Christmas. I can’t wait to go and see it on stage! Until then, you can find me busting out ‘House Of Holbein‘ (and ‘Couldn’t Get It Up‘ from Hot Gay Time Machine, another cracking tune, I highly recommend.)

Outwith music from the stage, there have been some stellar releases this month, some I know I’ve missed, like the new Black Eyed Peas. There have been offerings from Twenty One Pilots, You Me At Six, KT Tunstall, Monsta X, Stray Kids, Ella Mai, Jess Glynn, Tom Odell, BoA, Lukas Graham, Zion. T, IZ*ONE, among many others, and an honorary mention goes to Christine and the Queens, as I’ve only been listening to the new album solidly since early October, so I’m counting it despite its September release.

There’s too many to go through them all individually, but I think it’s about time for another Mixtape Monday post!

FASHION & BEAUTY

I’m going to be honest, I am all at sea trying to deal with a British autumn, and one in London, which carries it’s own set of challenges. One day it’s warm, the next it’s freezing, but I’m still not sure it’s cold enough to warrant the layers, and thickness thereof, that I see on the tube any given day. My Northern Pride as returned with a vengeance. It’s pretty much been rotating striped jumpers… I’m a woman of simple tastes (in bright colours…)

Makeup wise, I’m holding on to my Korean faves, but have also moved on to The Ordinary. At my sisters persuasion, we headed off to Covent Garden (the same day as Neal’s Yard, in fact) and she wheeled me into The Ordinary store. I’ve been using their hyaluronic acid, foundation and primer for the about a month now, and they really are excellent. It’s the best primer I’ve ever used, my skin is better than it’s been in quite some time, and they’re so affordable! 10/10 would recommend.

I’ve also been enjoying the BaByliss Tight Curls Wand. This little baby makes tiny curls, that stay in your hair and fall out beautifully. It may take a hour to curl my hair, but it’s worth it (well, debatable, but I’m sold!)

MISC.

It’s hard to think of any miscellaneous items or events when most of your time has been spent job hunting, working, sleeping or just trying to re-assimilate back into your home country – not the easiest of walks in the park, I can tell you.

If I’m pushed, what shall go here is my lamp. Because, you know, buying a lamp is a sign you’re staying put in a country!

The lamp in my room peaced out early in the month, and Ali picked out it’s replacement before I did (I mean, she is an Architect with an on-point interior design eye!)

So, yes, I have a lamp (mine has a grey shade) it’s beautiful, and it’s good to be home.

  If you fancy keeping this geeky teacher running, chip in for that finest of energy juices: coffee!

Best of… |October 2018 October. That was a month... And November has been so brutal that this is coming supremely late in the day!

[topmixtrends]

FOUR EPISODES into the new Star Trek series, Discovery, the crew receives a distress call from Corvan II, a resource-rich planet. A colony of humans is under attack from the Klingons. The victims, dilithium miners, flicker on screen, as miserable as anything we’d read about in Émile Zola’s descriptions of coal mining in Germinal. As dirty and distressed as the faces in a Dorothea Lange photo. Crying babies are so compelling! The Discovery, the closest ship in the fleet, is 90-odd light years away. They’ll never make it in time. But it turns out that the ship is equipped with a brand-new mode of transportation, a spore-based energy system that could, in theory, complete the trip in a few seconds. So, against the advice of his chief scientist, and even though the system may not be ready, the captain gives the order: go! Next, in a stunning display of visual effects, rings surrounding the ship’s saucer begin to rotate as the ship “spore jumps” just in time to drop a few torpedoes on the Klingon Birds-of-Prey. And before we can blink, the Discovery “spore jumps” back to its starting point.

The casual viewer might not make anything particular of this techno-aesthetic scene.

But as everyone knows, Trekkies are anything but casual. On their podcasts, forums, and blogs, they obsessively parse every word, every detail, making cross-references to the other series and movies of the Trek universe. They expect consistency across the whole franchise. Every Trekkie knows that in the original series (which begins 10 years after Discovery) ships are propelled, faster than the speed of light, by “warp drives,” a feat achieved thanks to dilithium crystals that moderate matter-antimatter (fusion) reactions. [1]

Needless to say, the appearance of these spores, as an organic method of propulsion, immediately raised Trekkie eyebrows. As one podcaster explained, “We know, assuming the timeline isn’t screwed up … we know it’s not going to work. We’ve already seen the twenty-fourth century and we know that they don’t have organic warp drives.” (STDP006 podcast: 10/10/2017; Golden Spiral Media.) At this point we don’t know how this apparent contradiction will be resolved. Maybe the spore drives only worked this once and consequently fall into oblivion. In episode five, the “Ripper,” a monster beamed aboard Discovery from a destroyed ship, is released into space. The monster had functioned like a living super computer, communicating spatial coordinates to the spores by some sort of symbiotic means. Michael Burnham, the show’s protagonist, figures out that Ripper is a giant (nuked?) version of an actually existing tiny Earth organism, the tardigrade, which can survive without nourishment for years and exhibits other notable characteristics of resilience. Maybe the best scientific minds will be unable to bio-engineer a new creature capable of withstanding the rigors of spore navigation so the whole enterprise will fall into oblivion. Maybe it will turn out that this tech was developed in an alternative timeline. Maybe the Borg are responsible for upsetting the natural course of things. Maybe it was all a dream. Or, god forbid, perhaps the producers of Discovery don’t care about the kind of consistency demanded by fanboys. Not likely. We’ll just have to wait.

Now I’ve watched my fair share of Star Trek episodes and movies, but I certainly wouldn’t qualify as a Trekkie. I’ve never put on Spock ears or attended a convention and I can’t identify the plots of TOS — the original series — from the titles. I’m someone who is interested in climate change, and recently, in decoupling fuel from energy to help think about forms of radical engagement to achieve rapid decarbonization. I couldn’t resist including an entry for “dilithium” in my book Fuel: A Speculative Dictionary (University of Minnesota Press, 2016), but according to my own criteria, it really shouldn’t be there. “Nuclear,” for instance, is a system of energy, so it doesn’t get its own entry, whereas “uranium” and “plutonium” do. Technically, as I mentioned, warp speed (speed faster than light) is achieved in Federation starships via a matter/antimatter (fusion) reaction. Dilithium crystals serve as a medium to help achieve this, but the actual substance that fuels the reaction is, to be precise, antimatter. I made an exception because the mining of dilithium is such an important and evocative theme throughout various quadrants of the Star Trek universe.

In a way, dilithium is like “hydrogen.” We talk about cars pulling up to filling stations and pumping in hydrogen instead of gasoline, but unlike oil, once removed from the ground and refined, hydrogen doesn’t exist as such, ready to be inserted into a vehicle. It has to be subjected to a process of catalysis before it can create energy to power the engine to turn the wheels. And for now, at least, that process is more likely than not powered by fossil fuels. The same kind of murkiness applies to “electric vehicles.” We can embrace them precisely because we only engage directly with one small element, the compact garage charger. We don’t have to see or think about the vast fossil infrastructure — out of sight, underground, or, “over there,” beyond our immediate perceptual horizon — that still persists at all levels of life while we drive along feeling pleased. The phenomenon of “carbon lock-in” — the idea that our globe is so deeply entangled with oil and coal that no good will gesture on the part of well-meaning individuals will have any significant effect — is hard to swallow. Distinctions between “fuel” and “energy” matter if we’re going to move beyond the kind of green optimistic haze that swirls around “future fuels” in the public sphere. It’s too easy to keep going these days with a vague sense of hope: if we only scale up some new technologies we can keep all the structures and systems we currently enjoy, replacing fossil-based fuels with renewable fuels. Like when you bring up the vast scale of climate change at the dinner table and your relatives say, “But I hear solar and wind prices are coming down and there’s nothing Trump and company can do about that. Coal mining isn’t coming back. So relax and have another glass of wine.”

And by the way, Star Trek apparently takes place in a post–climate change, post–fossil fuel world. “We” must have figured out a way to remove carbon from the atmosphere in order to avoid catastrophe, while also transitioning to “future fuels,” just as we will have overcome poverty, racism, and various other social problems. Note to Star Trek writers: I’m available if you want to hire me to introduce the shift to a post-carbon economy as a future theme about Earth’s past.

In Discovery, mining of dilithium goes on. (Incidentally, given the importance of the besieged outpost, Corvan II, as a source of 40 percent of the Federation’s dilithium supplies, why are there no Federation ships guarding the colony?) And if the whole matter/antimatter warp-drive system will someday be replaced by something greener and more powerful, we are still not there in the future. It’s hard not to hear echoes of our current energy transitions in the plot line.

Trekkies tend to revel in optimism, so they have generally been disturbed by the call by Discovery’s uncharacteristically dark captain, Lorca, to weaponize the spores to help in the war against the Klingons. Poor Lieutenant Stamets, the on-board astro-mycologist (named for an actually existing scholar of fungal remediation). He’s not only lost his colleague/rival on the Glenn, but now he’s reminded, rather bluntly, that his work is the intellectual property of Star Fleet. But aside from the analogy with academia, we might see another one, to the field of nuclear science. Fuels like uranium and plutonium do not harm on their own. “Peaceful atoms,” they could be used for peaceful purposes (energy). But they could also be enriched or inserted into a system that transmutes them for use on warheads. Things could go either way. Spores are, dare I say, rather queer. Stamets and the ship’s doctor are, by the way, the first openly gay couple on Star Trek. They are seen, in episode five, brushing their teeth side-by-side in their quarters, a fairly banal homo-normative scene following Stamets’s reckless and unsanctioned attempt to take over from the tardigrade in the first (and perhaps the last?) intergalactic human-mycelia displacement network.

On a more mundane note, the spores might make us think of the development of biofuels in our current “energy transition,” but without all of the negatives. The Trek spores have no need for other fuels to grow or distill them. They float around in space (the so-called “panspermia” theory) and grow in a magical forest in a gigantic on-board terrarium. There is no need to displace food crops, since food is replicated on board the ship. The spores don’t emit any byproducts, harmful or otherwise. And unlike other forms of fuels, the spores are not used up in combustion. It’s a nice immersive fantasy, not a bad set of images to take us away from all kinds of unbearable realities today.

I wonder: Could the writers of Discovery have read anthropologist Anna Tsing’s The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins (Princeton University Press, 2015)? In the face of massive climate upheaval and other disasters, Tsing embraces the potentially redemptive qualities of fungi, as they continually adapt. Fungi are complex life forms that metabolize plants and coexist in different kinds of ecosystems, performing what she calls symbiopoiesis. They are, like the sparking special effects on the ship, beautiful. Like the World Wide Web, fungi offer infinite possibilities of recombination and new relations in the future. Stamets tells his lover he experienced a whole universe of possibilities when he was hooked up to the drive. Spores flying around the atmosphere (maybe even in outer space?) could configure forms of cosmopolitanism, the happy side of invasive species.

By the time you are reading this piece we’ll all probably know more about the spores on Discovery. Fans of the new series love to speculate. They consume and analyze it week by week, as it is doled out, in close to real time, so it seems appropriate to me to do so here. In comparison, TOS, shown on network television in the late ’60s, had self-enclosed and self-resolving episodes. Serialization is crucial, of course, to 19th-century literature. It’s how kids read the imaginary voyages of Jules Verne. Week by week in the newspaper. And Verne is, for me, the most important writer for thinking and dreaming about possible relations to fuels. So let’s see what happens, but meanwhile, back here on early 21st-century Earth, time to mitigate is slipping away, tipping points are fast approaching. Catastrophic events made much more likely by rising sea levels and warming global average temperatures are pulling apart life as we know it. So it is all the more imperative to ask what is meant by “the future” when one talks of change. Is the future something we project for ourselves on screens? Star Trek offers us a mirror of our better selves. In the future humans are still flawed, and so are those other species that we coexist with in complex relations that bear traces of our own past forms of colonialism, benevolence, communitarianism, exploitation. Overall, though, contact with extraterrestrial beings and places has led to the social and cultural evolution of the human race. The future is bright.

Ultimately we should be wary of thinking about those spore drives as part of a narrative of progress, one that could simply allow us to defer now, in the present, any radical shifts in how we produce and consume energy. This narrative presents a tyranny of common sense that defers new fuels to a future that is just around the corner, but not yet. It governs statements like:

Human history is a record of endless human innovation, most of which has improved the human condition. Who knows what energy sources and technologies of the future may trump the energy benefits of fossil fuels?

This comes from the pen of one Kathleen Hartnett White, in a policy brief titled, “Fossil Fuels: The Moral Case” (2014). White, a former regulator in the Texas oil industry, has just been named by Trump to chair the Council on Environmental Quality. She illustrates her case study for the benefits of fossils with images of poor Americans, including what may be Dorothea Lange’s most iconic image, “Migrant Mother.” How does this image of a desperate mother with her children, displaced dustbowlers in California migrant camp in 1936 help White battle what she calls the false hysteria over climate change? [2] Without fossils, White asserts, we would never have developed beyond subsistence farming. Do we want to go back to this? Of course not — we all agree, right? So for now, let’s enjoy the benefits of carbon-based energy and wait for history to take its course.

It’s with this kind of reasoning in mind that I will wait to see what happens with the new spores on Discovery. I’ll forget the present, for an hour, but I will still be up at night with periodic panic attacks about our future on this warming planet. At least I’ll have the Star Trek podcasts keep me company.

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Karen Pinkus teaches at Cornell University where is currently a Social Science, Humanities, Arts Fellow in Residence at the Atkinson Center for a Sustainable Future. She is the author of Fuel: A Speculative Dictionary (University of Minnesota Press, 2016).

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[1] There are several book-length studies of the science of the Star Trek franchise. Lawrence Krauss, The Physics of Star Trek (New York: Basic Books, revised edition 2007) goes into the function and plausibility of warp drive and dilithium in great detail.

[2] The photograph, in the public domain and so available for use in any context, actually has a complex history. Many years later, the subject, Florence Owens Thompson, asserted that she had never spoken to Lange, who apparently embellished her story of the interaction. I doubt that White has thought through the bigger question of the relation of the Dust Bowl to soil depletion, wheat farming, New York bankers, and so on. She’s only reading Lange’s photo with a single signifier: poverty. And that is, for her, so morally bankrupt that it alone should squelch any discussion of moving beyond fossils, beyond business as usual.

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