#so this guy goes up the bridge of this burning sinking ship and makes a mayday call to the coast guard and when the coast guard answers

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

i forgot that shipwreck documentaries make me cry somehow

[thatringboy]

Xiaoven idol au? 👀 (no angst please ahah)

okay it may seem a tiny bit angsty at the beginning but i prommy it turns into kisses and cuteness as it goes on

We're Doing It Together

Warnings: Xiao being dumb as rocks and oblivious as hell to everything

Characters: Xiao, Venti

Ships: Xiaoven

Word Count: 1,774

Summary: Idol!Xiao finds out that his close friend Venti wants to join a new troupe after the two of them being solo for a while

The cold night air bit at the young man’s nose as he pulled his forest green hood down over his eyes. He could see his breath float away in the air as he sighed and checked his watch.

He’s late.

The sound of sneakers smacking the pavement got louder in his ears until someone ran up to him out of breath. “Xiao! I’m so sorry! Practice ran long and then Kaeya started an argument with Lisa and then--”

Xiao put a hand to silence him and returned his gaze to the frozen river under the bridge. “It’s fine. Must be nice to have a group like that.”

The new arrival laughed lightly and nudged him. “You make it sound like I’m on stage preforming with them!”

“It’s not like Jean won’t let you.”

He put his hands behind his head, his teal braids blowing gently in the wind. “Eh, my time has come and gone for this business.”

Xiao glared at him. “You make us sound old!”

It was true, the two young men no longer preformed with their original groups. Xiao’s group “Yaksha 5” had disbanded as the other four members all left the idol business and his new band “Adepti” only met once a month to write songs. No more live performances. The other young man, Venti, used to preform under the stagename “Barbatos” with the famous idol group “Celestia”, but he and the other remaining senior member - a tall man who went by the stagename “Morax” - had left a while ago. Now, Morax went by Zhongli and occasionally wrote songs with Adepti while Venti became a choreographer with a popular rookie troupe named “Favonius”.

The two stood there in silence watching the lights of streetlamps dance off of falling snowflakes before them. Venti tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and sighed. “I got an offer from a new group of guys who want me on stage with them. They say they want me on soprano.”

Xiao gave him a sideways look. “And? I thought you swore off preforming or something when you left Celestia.”

Venti balled his hands into fists inside his pocket and didn’t meet his eyes. “I think… I met the center of this group; he’s a really nice guy. They’ve got a manager already and apparently have done some music with Jean. She’s the one who got me in contact with them.”

“So you’re gonna join them?” His voice sounded distant, lonely. There weren’t many solo performers in the idol world. Xiao and Venti had been riding their residual fame from their past groups for years and hadn’t really signed contracts with a single troupe from how sourly they left their past groups. Xiao thought they were special in that way… but Venti was the one still getting new offers for shows while Xiao had to almost beg to be an opening.

Venti looked him in the eyes. “I haven’t agreed to yet.”

“Really?” Xiao scoffed. “And here I thought you would be all over the chance to start a new group.”

The shorter man squinted his eyes. “I told them I’m only joining up if my conditions are met!”

Xiao’s eyebrows shot up. “You have standards?”

“Of course! And very high ones at that!” Venti pouted. “How else do you think I put up with you?”

Xiao felt warm in the face at that remark, he only prayed that the darkness of the night hid this from Venti.

Suddenly, Venti’s volume dropped to a whisper and he began to fidget with his fingers. “My conditions were that you had to join the group as well. They want to call the group ‘4NEMO’ and they were still searching for a fourth guy so I figured…”

He trailed off as he caught Xiao staring at him with a bewildered expression. Venti began to panic. Did he just hurt Xiao’s pride? He knew that the taller man didn’t like to accept help from others, but for some reason he thought this time would be different.

Venti was yanked from his thoughts as Xiao closed the distance between them and engulfed him in a hug. “My my, what a sudden show of affection!”

Xiao had did it to keep Venti from seeing the red on his cheek. Truth be told, he was deeply touched by Venti turning down a chance to play more shows if he couldn’t be by his side, but he was too inexperienced at returning kindness. A hug seemed to suffice, right?

“Thank you, Venti, that means the world to me.”

“Does it really?” The words spilled from his mouth before he even finished thinking them. He didn’t want Xiao to agree to something as serious as starting a new idol group with strangers just to appease him.

Xiao pulled away just to lean down and press the softest of kisses to Venti’s lips. The shorter of the two thought his heart was going to explode. Sure, the two had danced around each other for as long as they knew each other and Venti would have been a fool to not notice Xiao’s attractiveness during that time. But they had never been more than friends-who-flirt-with-each-other.

The taller pulled away with a red face as he searched Venti’s eyes. “Does that convince you?”

Venti nodded briskly, his brain not exactly processing what had just happened. It seemed Xiao’s brain was only just then catching up to his actions because he suddenly stepped back and covered his mouth with his hands, his eyes widening to a horrified expression.

“I didn’t--I mean--I--Sorry!” He blurted out from behind his hands.

Venti touched his own lips and blinked a few times before thinking of what to say. “So you really want to be in a group with me, huh?”

Xiao pulled his hands down and while his face was contorted into a snarl, his cheeks still burned red. “And? So what?! Don’t let it go to your head, I just need the money!”

The shorter man giggled and grabbed Xiao’s hand, lacing their fingers together without any resistance. “Sure, whatever you say~”

Despite his harsh tone, Xiao pressed the side of his body next to Venti’s to b closer to him. “So, who are the guys in this group?”

Venti hummed. “Well, the center is this blonde guy named Aether who’s new in town. I heard he’s done some work for Favonius in the past and that he’s friends with the girls in Qixing. The other guy is named Kazuha. He ran with Beidou’s crew for a bit to get away from the whole Tenryou Doxxing drama and now he’s teaming up with Aether to form 4NEMO. I think the manager is Sucrose. You know, Albedo’s manager? She’s picking up the job for this group too.”

“Hmm, impressive. Sounds like a good group. I think I’ll like it.” Xiao looked out to the distance.

Venti beamed. “Wait, you mean it?”

Xiao felt himself turning red again. “Ah, yeah, sure. I know Aether, we did so collab work once, I trust him.”

Venti reached up and poked his cheek. “And because you’ll be dancing with me?”

Xiao grabbed his hand and leaned down again. “I wouldn’t mind getting back into the idol drama if you were by my side. Maybe I just want you.”

The shorter man went red in the face and tried to laugh that last statement off. “Wow, that’s some confession, huh? It’s a good thing I feel the same way, otherwise I’d tease you to death over this.”

Xiao let go and his face dropped into a shocked expression. “You’re serious? You feel the same?”

Venti laughed out loud, hugging his sides. “Yes, dummy! Otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered with all of this! I thought all of that was clear when you kissed me! Gods you are slow!”

Xiao frowned and crossed him arms. “I was just… you’re very hard to read!”

Venti stopped laughing and grabbed the sides of Xiao’s hood, pulling him down to eye level. “And you are like an open book. It’s funny to watch you, Xiao. You can be very suave and smooth with your words, but other times you get all flustered and you close up. It’s cute!”

“I’m not cute.” He didn’t pull away, just adverted his eyes.

Venti made a disagreeing noise and closed the distance between them. This time the kiss was softer, smoother and had much more passion behind it. Venti made a happy noise when he felt Xiao wrap his arms around his back and moved to place his own arms around Xiao’s neck.

Xiao found himself sinking more and more into Venti’s embrace. The taste of cheap wine on his breath, the way his mouth molded to hold him and the way his hands gently caressed the back of his head was all too much for him to handle. His anxieties melted away as he pulled Venti’s smaller frame flush against his own. For just how long had he been waiting to do this? Ever since they met, Venti had always been flirty and open about his emotions, but Xiao had quickly deduced that it was all a mask he put on to keep himself from being hurt by those around him. Xiao was similar in that sense, always acting aloof and angry to keep people from getting too close to him. But when he was with Venti… none of that mattered. When he was with Venti, he didn’t care how badly things ended with Yaksha 5, he didn’t notice the way his ratings dropped, he didn’t pay attention to the social media slandering.

Venti was like some sort of wind spirit: always floating from one place to the other without a concern. Xiao wanted to learn more, to be more like him. And to him, joining this new 4NEMO group was the fastest way to do that.

When they pulled away, Venti did not fail to notice the glimmer of love in Xiao’s gaze. He brought his hands down to Xiao’s waist and hugged him close with a giggle. “You are cute.”

“No I’m not.” Xiao hugged him back with a pout.”

“Yes you are~”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes-s-s-s you are Gao-Xiao!” Venti bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Xiao let go and tried to push him away. “I am going to throw you over the side of this bridge if you call me cute one more time.”

Venti let him go with a smile, a hand fishing into his pocket for his phone. “Then I’ll call Aether and tell him you’re in?”

Xiao’s face went back to the loving smile from before. “Sure thing.”

[haloud]

things we could burn in one go (eminence) -- chapter 5

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, starts forlex ends malex, other characters may appear - Freeform, tags subject to update

Chapter Summary: With Max’s condition deteriorating and Alex struggling under the weight of his worries about his family and Project Shepherd, Michael goes to drastic lengths to get strong enough to protect them.

Excerpt:

All the soft spots they’d ever shown each other, all the ways they knew to dig in and hurt, and new pain was still a revelation, Michael discovered as Alex set his jaw and bared this truth: he didn’t believe in Michael, didn’t trust him as an ally, saw him as a liability before he was absolutely anything else. A burden.

“I never asked you to protect me,” he said.

Alex’s face twisted. Michael wanted to take the words back, but he didn’t know which ones. Maybe all of them.

He replied, “You never had to.” Then he stood. “I should get going. Thanks for the beer.”

And he got in his car and was gone.

Michael sat for a while. It was late afternoon, and it was hot, but Michael stared into old ashy iron like he was watching a bonfire. Storm clouds built up all billowy on the horizon. Static built up inside Michael’s head.

But it wasn’t Max’s kind of static, kinetic static, moveable, actionable, dangerous. Just a lowkey anxious buzz, formless and useless, a passenger in his skull alongside thoughts he couldn’t parse, like Michael himself.

His whole life he’d been a passenger. On a ship, in the system, in his own life, in the lives of others.

Maybe it was time to change that.

---

The bags under Max’s eyes grew heavier and darker, but he carried on like Isobel and Michael weren’t supposed to notice or care. Surprisingly, he hadn’t put up a fight when Isobel finally put her foot down and decreed he was staying with her until they figured out what was going on, but, more than likely, he was just too tired to fight her on it.

He was, of course, already awake when Michael let himself in and fired up the stove to make breakfast; Michael glanced over his shoulder at the sound of a door opening, and Max didn’t acknowledge him as he settled himself on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, his journal propped on his knees.

“What’s up?” Michael called over to him as he mixed the pancake batter.

“Same shit, different day,” Max replied.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Michael shrugged and let it go. If Max preferred to write about it, that was his prerogative.

“You working today?”

“Nope. You?”

“Not unless Sanders calls me in.”

Michael spoke without putting too much thought into it, but he ducked his head in embarrassment when Max smiled at him. Max’s open happiness whenever Michael let slip his own growing acceptance of the connections in his life was something Michael didn’t quite know what to do with—but he wasn’t going to snap at Max over it, especially when Max was struggling already.

“Chocolate chips or blueberries?” he changed the subject.

“Chocolate,” Max replied.

“Coming right up.”

He finished up the batter and poured the first three pancakes onto the heated skillet. As it sizzled, Michael’s mind wandered. When would Isobel get up? She was usually too nosy to let Michael and Max carry on for long without her, but maybe that was changing, or maybe Max’s state was driving it home for all of them the value of good sleep. Should they talk to Maria about giving Max more time off? No, she had a business to run, and she had eyes, she’d make an executive decision if Max became a liability, and he was capable of advocating for himself…

What was Maria up to? Maybe Michael should invite everyone around for breakfast instead of Thursday nights drinking; but then again, he enjoyed hosting Thursdays too much to draw attention to himself with a suggestion for a change of plans, in case everyone noticed and popped the soap bubble. He was pitiful enough already; any shift at all would be perilously close to begging.

Michael flipped the pancakes over and pictured doing the same to his stupid maudlin thoughts, getting out of his head and focusing instead on the patterns on the pancakes. One had a line going down the middle that almost resembled one of the sides of the alien symbol. That’d be something easy enough to make if he wanted to try his hand at something as frivolous as pancake art, but then, was he bold enough to go out of his way to create something they barely understood like that?

Jones would probably know the meaning of the symbol. He spent seventy years trapped behind it.

Nope. Michael’s ears prickled and he almost turned around to glance Max’s way; he had to force his head to stay still. No thoughts of Jones right now. Fuck that guy.

He slid the pancakes from the griddle to a waiting plate and poured three more. His phone buzzed in his back pocket, so he fished it out and thumbed it open. He had a text from Isobel, but nothing from Liz, still. And nothing from Alex, either, even though…whatever, it was fine, he’d probably fallen right asleep after a six-hour round trip to the airport last night. Michael would try calling him again later. Maybe. Or maybe he’d overstepped in asking him to check in. Alex didn’t owe him anything, he had a boyfriend, he was fine. Maybe Michael should just leave him alone.

The text from Isobel read: How are things going out there.

He texted back: Fine. Making breakfast.

 It smells good. How’s Max?

Michael chanced a look over his shoulder; Max had his head down, focused on his journal, so Michael couldn’t see his face.

 Tired.

From further in the house, Isobel’s door opened and shut, and Michael shoved his phone back in his pocket and flipped the pancakes, which had gotten a little over-experienced on one side.

“Morning,” Max said in a hoarse voice.

“Morning.”

Isobel dropped down onto the couch, almost landing on Max’s feet, which he yanked out of the way.

“How was your night?” she asked softly.

“Iz…”

“Max.”

“You know how it was.”

“Please, just talk to me.”

They were quiet for a bit, with only the sizzle of the pancakes filling the silence as Michael flipped them, until he couldn’t stand it anymore and turned around again.

Max and Isobel were staring at each other; Michael didn’t think Isobel was in his mind, more that they were just doing the freaky twin thing. Either way, it wasn’t going well, if the tense and drawn looks on both their faces were anything to go by.

“One of you want to help me out in here?” He interrupted them bluntly, handing Max the out as Isobel shot him an unhappy look.

Sure enough, Max took him up on it, swinging his legs around and standing up, going to put his journal in his room (away from Isobel’s prying eyes) before coming back to the kitchen and fetching silverware, plates, and syrup. He spread them out on the kitchen table—Isobel hadn’t gone full breakfast nook, much to her mother’s dismay—and took a seat, Isobel ambling over, while Michael slid the last pancakes onto the plate and brought them over to serve.

“Thanks, Michael,” Max said, taking his first.

“No problem.”

Isobel took her own, too, but she didn’t even pick up her fork and knife, folding her arms on the table and staring at Max with a line between her eyes.

“Please talk to us. Or, if it’s hard to put into words, let me look inside your head. Maybe I can make sense of what you’re seeing in dreams—memories—whatever they are.”

“There’s nothing to make sense of,” Max snapped. “Nothing I haven’t told you before. It’s the same nightmare from years ago, being chained to the floor.” His voice faded, and he said much quieter, “It’s the dread that keeps me awake. But I can’t tell if it’s dread for what will happen to me…or what I’ll do to someone else. I don’t know if I’m afraid of Jones, Louise, or myself.”

“Jones, of course.” Isobel’s eyes flashed, and she folded her arms. “When do we run errands for him again? I’d like to have a chat.”

“Please don’t make things worse,” Max said wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

He really did look exhausted. Haggard and gray in a way Michael hadn’t seen since the days after they brought him back to life. How long could he keep going like this?

“Have you talked to Kyle?” he asked.

“Yeah. But what is he supposed to do? I can’t go in for a sleep study or anything, sleeping pills don’t work, we don’t have a lot of options.”

“The fact that you think confronting him might make things worse just proves that he’s doing something to you!” Isobel burst out.

“How could he be doing something to me from underground, twenty-five miles away? What is he doing, breaking into your house, past the security Alex installed specifically for you, and disappearing into the night after just…giving me a bad dream?”

“We don’t know everything he can do with his powers, no matter how much work I’m putting in. Maybe he is!”

Michael watched back and forth as they argued, Isobel’s anger and worry, Max withdrawing deeper into himself. Breakfast was forgotten, unsurprisingly, Michael’s attempt at caring for his siblings insufficient for the situation they were in.

“Whatever!” Isobel said, pushing herself back from the table. “You’re not him, Max. I don’t care how many times I have to tell you before it sinks in. You’re not him, he can’t be trusted, and I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger because you’re too trusting.”

She stormed off before Max could respond, slamming her bedroom door in an echo of every fight the two of them had ever had, going back decades into childhood.

“And what about you?” Max asked Michael, his arms folded, body slumped in his chair. “You’ve usually got an opinion on my life.”

Michael snorted and didn’t take the bait, not caring if Max sensed his newfound restraint was born of pity. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think having an evil clone sucks. Better you than me.”

The words rang false. Michael would take every nightmare and sleepless night if he could. But hopefully Max was too tired to drag that out of hiding.

“Having an evil clone does suck.”

“Cheers.”

Michael clinked his glass of OJ against Max’s and downed it.

“Everything I thought I knew—everything I thought I was—it was all just a lie,” Max said, staring at the table. “Who am I supposed to ask, if not him? Maybe a new lie would be better than having nothing. Lies Jones tells…I don’t have any way of disproving. It would be something. Fucking anything. Isobel doesn’t understand.”

“Maybe she doesn’t understand your perspective,” Michael allowed. “But what she understands better than either of us is how mind control works. Buddying up with Jones is literally playing with fire, considering one of the four things we know for sure about him is that his first act on Earth was burning Hector Valenti alive for shits and giggles.”

Max raked his hand through his hair. “If it means I can get some fucking sleep? I might be willing to roll those dice.”

Michael’s eyes fell away from the exhaustion on his brother’s face. What was there to say to that? The only protection he could offer would be pollen to hopefully keep Jones from fucking with him, but with Liz still ignoring him, he wasn’t confident that the weakening effect of the pollen wouldn’t have a worse effect on Max’s already compromised health. Maybe he should get Valenti’s advice, but what would he even have to say? They had no way to test something like this.

So Michael was useless. What else was new.

“Isobel’s just scared of you getting hurt, man. Nothing’s changed for her; you’re not any less her person than you were six months ago.”

“Yeah, I know,” Max said with a sigh. “I just want to talk to him. Want to make him talk. I’ve thought about using L—about using some serum to get answers, withholding the antidote until…”

He trailed off, and lifted his eyes, and Michael looked at him, and he looked back, and tears welled up in Max’s heavy eyes.

“Max,” Michael said.

“I know,” he choked.

Last time they had a conversation like this, their roles were reversed, and Max had a gun. But they had nothing, now, the only thing between them the table laden with the breakfast Michael cooked, sun streaming pleasantly through Isobel’s gauzy curtains. Michael stood—Max flinched at the scrape of chair legs across the floor—and he rounded the table, fisted his hand in Max’s t-shirt, and hauled him in, hugging him tightly to his chest.

Michael left Isobel’s place an hour later, after he and Max had separated without saying a word and cleaned up the kitchen, saving the pancakes for later, also in silence. Isobel stayed in her room, so Michael resolved to call her later as Max convinced him to leave, that things would be fine.

But just because Michael capitulated and left eventually didn’t mean he felt any lighter as he rattled down the road home, his phone bouncing along on the seat beside him. He’d never been so attached to the damn thing, but with everything going on with Max, with Jones walking around, with Project Shepherd rearing its head, quiet moments were indistinguishable from the teeth of a trap just visible around him. So the phone went where he did for the foreseeable. If someone called, if someone needed him, he’d be there.

He pulled into the junkyard and sat up stiff when he saw a familiar black SUV waiting for him. The day was warm and bright, no weather for a fire, but Alex was there at the fire pit, hands folded between his knees, eyes fixed on some point in space. He glanced up and waved, one corner of his mouth picking up in a distracted-looking smile as Michael pulled closer and parked.

“Hey,” he called, clearing the ground between them in a few long strides.

“Hey,” Alex responded.

“What’s up? You’re super early—Thursday’s still a few days away.”

“It doesn’t have to be a Thursday for me to want to see you,” Alex said, and, heart fluttering, Michael swept his hat off his head just for something to do with his hands.

“You, uh, you didn’t text me last night. Or this morning,” Michael blurted.

“I know. I’m sorry. When I got in last night, I—didn’t want to wake you up, and this morning…it was kind of a rough night. It slipped my mind.”

“Don’t gotta apologize. I was just worried, is all.”

“Then I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“I just said you don’t have to apologize.”

Michael sat himself down in the chair beside Alex and squeezed his knee to reassure him; his eyes fell to Michael’s hand, so he pulled it away self-consciously, stomach twisting when, a few seconds later, Alex rubbed his own hand over the spot Michael touched.

Fingers tapping nervously, he settled his hands on his own knees in a mirror of Alex’s position and said, “So what brings you out here? What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I just,” Alex pre-empted his next words with a shrug. “Wanted to say hi.”

“Oh.”

Michael didn’t quite know what to do with that, how to exist without a looming crisis, no matter how many Thursdays’ worth of practice he got. Most of those were about triaging some kind of bullshit in someone’s life anyway.

Casting round for a conversation topic, he said, “You look tired.”

As if commenting on his appearance was so neutral and inoffensive. Way to go, Guerin.

Before Alex had to try and come up with a response to a comment that inane, Michael added, “Of course, you were up all last night. Stupid question.”

Alex laughed, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Yeah, but it’s true I’ve had a lot on my mind lately anyway.”

Michael itched to reach out again. First Max, now Alex, and there was nothing he could do for either of them.

“If you need, Isobel can make Fields leave town,” he said. “I know it’s not exactly above board, but I want her gone as much as anyone, so…”

“No,” Alex shot down. “We don’t know what kind of defenses a Project Shepherd operator might have, and I won’t put a target on Isobel. It’s not just Fields, either, it’s personal stuff, too. Life’s not exactly stress-free.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

They fell quiet, but at least Alex settled back in his chair, relaxing from his tightly coiled posture enough that Michael forced his own shoulders to drop too.

“So how’re things going with Forrest?” he asked.

“Oh, uh, fine. Landed safely in DC. I need to text him back, actually.”

The question had been more about the general state of the relationship than Forrest’s physical wellbeing or whereabouts, but Michael wasn’t going to push past Alex’s discomfort or misunderstanding. No matter how far they progressed in their friendship, they might never get to the “dishing their romantic joys and woes” stage, not with their history. That was okay.

Alex made no move to take his phone out and send that text. Something else was clearly still weighing on him, so Michael resolved to quiet his own self until Alex was able to speak.

“I thought I saw my brother. At the airport,” he said eventually, folding his arms across his chest.

Michael sat up straight. “What? Which one?” By the tone in his voice, it clearly wasn’t Greg.

“Clay. If it was Flint, how bad I freaked out might at least make a little more sense,” Alex said with a snort and a shake of his head.

“What…what happened?”

“Nothing drastic. I chased some guy into the bathroom ready to confront him, but then it wasn’t Clay and I managed to play it off. Probably freaked Forrest out with the way I was acting.”

A pang went through Michael’s chest at the thought of Alex, alone and three hours away with only Forrest, who knew nothing of the truth about Alex’s family and the conflict between them, for backup. If it had been Clay—if he’d gotten the best of Alex in that shitty airport bathroom like Jesse did in the junkyard—

Michael rubbed his chest over his painfully racing heart.

Alex continued, “I can’t be sure. If he was tailing me specifically or if he suspected I noticed him—I only checked one set of stalls; I was too conscious of how I was acting.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “But I’m probably just seeing things, and it was just a similar-looking guy in a crowd, and I seriously need to figure my shit out.”

“Well, join the club,” Michael said. “It’s alright, man. It’s not like you worried over nothing; your family don’t know when to quit.”

“Forrest thinks working with Project Shepherd might help. He thinks it could help me understand my father more, and therefore move on,” Alex said with a humorless smile, a flat-soda expression, blankness where it shouldn’t be.

“He what?”

“Ugh, no, that’s not fair.” Alex ran his hands over his face again. The front of his hair stuck up from how many times he’d mussed it. “He doesn’t know. Anything except that my father and brothers are bastards—minus Greg. He didn’t mean anything by it—I shouldn’t be so fixated on it. I didn’t even realize I was until it just…came out.”

Michael couldn’t reach out and touch him to give him comfort; that wasn’t allowed. But he could go grab him a beer, so he did, and let him compose himself without Michael hovering. When they both had drinks and he was settled back in his chair, Michael took in Alex’s appearance again, the wrinkled collar of his black canvas jacket, the dark circles under his eyes, the tightness of his hands clasped between his knees. So much tension he could do nothing to soothe. He worried the inside of his lip between his teeth until he tasted nails.

“Have you heard from Greg lately? Maybe he would know if Clay was really in the area,” he said.

Alex shook his head. “No. With Fields and Project Shepherd hanging around, I don’t want him involved.”

And that, Michael couldn’t take it anymore.

“Just let Isobel take care of—”

“I said no, Michael!” Alex snapped, head jerking up, his eyes black and glittering and finally meeting Michael’s, and now it was Michael’s turn to want to look away, but he couldn’t. “Getting any of the three of you involved, it’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“I’m already involved if you’re involved,” Michael protested, gesturing wildly. “I’m not letting you face this bullshit by yourself!”

Alex’s nostrils flared. “I can take care of myself.”

“Duh. But you don’t always have to. I’m going to have your back.”

“Not if you get bagged and pumped full of anti-alien drugs, you won’t. I’m not letting my father’s legacy hurt you again, no matter what you say.”

Helplessness rose in Michael’s lungs like water, like flood and fury. His fingers flexed around his beer bottle, and he dropped it into the chair’s flimsy cupholder before he threw it away.

All the soft spots they’d ever shown each other, all the ways they knew to dig in and hurt, and new pain was still a revelation, Michael discovered as Alex set his jaw and bared this truth: he didn’t believe in Michael, didn’t trust him as an ally, saw him as a liability before he was absolutely anything else. A burden.

“I never asked you to protect me,” he said.

Alex’s face twisted. Michael wanted to take the words back, but he didn’t know which ones. Maybe all of them.

He replied, “You never had to.” Then he stood. “I should get going. Thanks for the beer.”

And he got in his car and was gone.

Michael sat for a while. It was late afternoon, and it was hot, but Michael stared into old ashy iron like he was watching a bonfire. Storm clouds built up all billowy on the horizon. Static built up inside Michael’s head.

But it wasn’t Max’s kind of static, kinetic static, moveable, actionable, dangerous. Just a lowkey anxious buzz, formless and useless, a passenger in his skull alongside thoughts he couldn’t parse, like Michael himself.

His whole life he’d been a passenger. On a ship, in the system, in his own life, in the lives of others.

Maybe it was time to change that.

There was only one road connecting Sanders’s to the main drag, so Michael’s tires hit the same ruts as Alex’s, at least for a little while. Then he was in town, then he hit the desert, and he was alone, at least for a little while. He rolled the window down to catch the breeze and squinted into the horizon.

Isobel was gonna fuckin’ kill him.

By the time he pulled up to the caves, the sun was hitting the stormclouds over town just right, burning them up against the broader lavender sky. He popped the glove compartment and grabbed the second pollen bracelet he’d made for Maria and slid it onto his wrist, pulling his sleeve down to cover it. He’d get it to her after this.

Climbing out of his truck, Michael stood and watched the sky for the while, the smudge of falling rain as the distant lights came on, and he smelled the storm, and the wind of it tugged his hair in a hundred different directions.

He headed inside as the first few raindrops reached him.

The tunnel wound long and dark into the earth, and Michael took it slow, hands in his pockets. Would Jones sense him coming, or would the bracelet protect him from even that? Isobel couldn’t sense Maria when she had the necklace on, but things were more uncertain with Jones. Even Michael, hollow-headed and senseless to so much of the psychic feedback Max and Isobel claimed they were capable of, couldn’t help but know when one of them was approaching. So, as advanced as Jones was, who knew what he would be able to sense.

He followed the ragged old footpath to the end of it, one hand trailing on the rough wall, trying to picture how it happened that Jones was marched down here and sealed away. And despite everything else he felt, he felt a twinge of pity—maybe they should let Jones choose a new place to hide out, somewhere away from his seven-decade prison.

The ground beneath his feet was worn by his mother’s feet, among so many ancient others, but walking it brought him no closer to understanding her, understanding anything. His mind reached out and came up empty for answers, again, and again, and again, and he understood, why the DeLuca women made the choices they did, what made the future and the past and the road between them worth any other sacrifice.

He came to the end of the path, where there was no door to knock on.

“Michael! What a pleasant surprise.”

Despite his words, Jones was the picture of serenity, clothes clean and pin-straight as always, hair and beard well-groomed, his cave home as neat and tidy as possible. He wasn’t nearly perturbed enough to actually be shocked by the visit.

“Cut the crap, you knew I was coming,” Michael said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t worthy of a welcome,” Jones replied. “Come in, have a seat, and tell me what brings you here.”

“I’ll stand, thanks.”

Jones held up his hands, an edge of mockery to the motion, and he crossed the cave to his hot plate, where he had a pot of tea brewing.

“I suppose I shouldn’t bother offering you any?” He asked as he poured himself a mug.

Michael ignored that statement of the obvious and said, “Are you fucking with Max’s head?”

Adding sugar and stirring his tea and setting himself down on his one chair, Jones took his sweet time before he answered.

“Now, Michael.”

He sounded almost disappointed, like a school principal. It put Michael’s back up; he worked his jaw back and forth, unable to stay still, but maintaining every muscle of his body to keep from looking as much like a surly, misbehaved child.

Jones continued, “I couldn’t begin to tell you what’s going on in Max’s head, as much as I’d love to be of assistance. But then, if you were serious about getting him some help, you would have brought him along with you, now wouldn’t you? How about you tell me what this is really about.”

“Like I’m stupid?” Michael scoffed. “Giving you access to Max is the last thing we’re going to do. All I need to know is how desperate you are to get in good with him to know that.”

“And how would Max feel if he knew that you thought so little of him that you think him not capable of making his own decisions? I bet he doesn’t even know you’re here right now. Would he thank you for what you’re doing right now, Michael?”

Shut the fuck up. Michael didn’t bark it out loud; he held his tongue in the face of the glint in Jones’s eye. He was being toyed with, as ever. The beads of the bracelet were cool and smooth against his skin, and he couldn’t do anything but hope they were working as he resisted the urge to fiddle with them and draw attention to his attempt at self-defense.

“I don’t get thanked for a lot of shit,” Michael said flippantly, stepping further into the cave. “But it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

Jones just gave him a beatific smile at that, taking a deep swig of his tea.

“Well, I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing, but without Max here for me to examine, there’s really nothing I can tell you. Perhaps we’ll all sit down together the next time you three come through with supplies.”

Fists clenching in his pockets, Michael scrambled for a way to speak up that wouldn’t put him on his back foot, wouldn’t give Jones all the advantage; at least, no more than he already had, now that Michael had come to him. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—be dismissed. Not if he wanted to be strong enough to support Max, strong enough to stand beside Isobel.

Strong enough to protect Alex. To never be a burden on him again. A pillar of strength, never a weak spot. He had to be better, more, than he was. Jones was an imperfect key, but the shackles around him were too heavy, too tight to stand any longer, so without any other way to free himself, he groped in the dark for anything that fit the hole.

Fuck it. Silence wasn’t making his position any stronger.

“What if I told you let’s play ball?” he demanded.

“What do you mean?” Jones asked mildly.

“You’re always going on about all the things you could do for us if we gave you a chance. Well—I’m here. Asking. I want to be stronger, so. Teach me.”

Jones leapt to his feet, sloshing tea over his pants and hastily putting the mug to the side as he spread his arms wide.

“Michael, that’s wonderful! I’m so glad you’re finally ready to take the next step.”

“It’s not wonderful, it’s not anything,” Michael snapped back. “I just want you to teach me what you know about using our powers so I can get something other than the telekinesis going. Don’t get excited.”

“Of course! Of course.” Jones summoned a towel from the box he used as a bedside table and dabbed at the tea stains on his clothes. Then he paused, giving Michael a wry look. “If I’m teaching you, you can’t spend the whole time standing in the doorway. Take a seat on the bed so we can talk.”

What served as his bed was the mattress from Isobel’s old guest room, and Michael sat on it cross-legged, folding his arms and leaning back against the cave wall.

“Now, tell me. When did you first develop your ability to move things at will?”

“Uh. I dunno, I was a kid, we don’t know our exact ages. But I was probably around eleven, it wasn’t long after I came back to Roswell. Some…stuff was going on in my life, I was mad all the time, and one day when I got really pissed, it just happened.”

Jones was nodding as Michael spoke, and he poured a second mug of tea, stirred some sugar into it, and handed it to Michael, who still wasn’t drinking a damn thing this guy gave him, so he set it aside. As he prepared the tea, his chair moved across the ground to sit across from Michael and he sat himself down in it.

“That’s common in all children,” Jones said.

He radiated an aura of calm that had Michael’s skin crawling, blunt nails digging into his knees. But even as his senses paced, waiting for the trap to slam shut, he had to force himself not to reach for these scraps of affirmation—the slightest confirmation that he wasn’t the freak he’d grown up feeling he was—like some new and fragile green thing toward the sun.

Jones continued, “Emotional outbursts, that is. Early adolescence is a little old to come into your activation, but not abnormal, and considering the environment you were raised in…” His voice dripped disapproval, to the point Michael opened his mouth, furiously set to defend his own orphaning, but Jones didn’t leave room for interruption. “Well. Frankly I’m shocked yourself and Isobel developed anything at all. We never could have tested the capacity for offspring to activate in the complete absence of communal psychic feedback…or even the capacity to survive and mature. And Isobel, at the very least, had Max. You…you were completely alone, weren’t you? To do that to a child, in our society, would have been, forgive the expression, inhumane,” Jones smiled, as if he’d told a joke. “But, here you are, despite such awful neglect. It’s wonderful.”

Uncomfortable, Michael flexed his left hand and flattened both palms over his knees, dragging them slow and hard against the rough texture of denim. “It’s not like I did anything special. Just survived like any other kid.”

“Well, pardon me, but you survived like any human child. And you are quite a bit more than that.”

There was a time Michael might have agreed with him, angry and hurting and needy to be anything that wasn’t garbage someone left by the side of the road. Litter, lower than garbage that someone cared enough to put in its proper place. But now, praise like that—if it could be called praise—just put him more on edge.

“Can we get on with it?” he asked. “I don’t actually have all day. I don’t have a set schedule with Sanders, so regular lessons might be hard to make, but I can work something out with him…”

“Oh, never fear,” Jones replied. “The first step is the hardest. If you had had a responsible parent, this knowledge would have been introduced slowly, but as it is…”

“Hey!”

“As it is, your mother’s gone, so it falls to me. Isobel will come around too, in time. It’s good for the both of you that I’ve always considered myself a teacher before anything else.”

Jones got to his feet.

What the fuck was Michael thinking? He rose along with him, but Jones had the advantage, and he seized Michael by the temples before he could get to his full height.

“All the things you haven’t seen, haven’t felt or learned—” Jones enthused, “You, your sister, your brother, all your raw potential…I’m so glad you’re finally ready to take the first step toward seeing it realized.”

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

One hand wrenched tighter in Michael’s hair as the other snatched his wrist. He shook it in front of Michael’s eyes, face serious, voice booming.

“This? Is sacrilege.”

His nail scraped the thin skin of Michael’s wrist as he shoved a finger between the cord and him and yanked, then tossed the broken trinket away.

“Now, don’t struggle. This may hurt a little, but pain, I’ve found, is a powerful teacher.”

His hands began to glow, searing into Michael’s skin, so bright his eyes streamed, and he gasped for air in the heat and the pain, writhing in Jones’s grip, thrashing, but Jones gripped him tight and poured light into him.

It went on for seconds, an eternity, seven decades of lonely torture, then the light died, and Jones took his hands away, and Michael fell.

Every cell burned, an ant crawling, biting beneath his skin, in triple vision he stared at his shaking hands expecting to see his veins lit from inside, imprinted on his visual receptors shifting gold and pink and violet, scrawled with shimmering symbols, words he could read, words that had meaning that capsized under the next wave, he couldn’t grab hold of it, not for pain and not for wisdom, there was no order, sign and signifier, his mind was a symphony in a single note, cacophonous, fundamental, elemental, atomic disorder of minutes compressed to an instant.

He was screaming. He heard screaming. The sky was red and he held himself, screaming. The sky was blue, and he remembered screaming.

“M-M-M-i-i-i-c-c-c-h-h-h-a-a-a-e-e-e-l-l-l—"

Three voices spoke to him—he heard them three times. There had to be three, and there were, bending over him, hurting hands outstretched.

Get away! he cried, but it left his mouth as a wordless howl, and he flung out a hand, sending Jones flying away from him, slamming against the far wall of the cave.

While he was stunned, Michael scrambled to his feet—got himself moving, somehow, trapped in the chaos and agony he had no sense left of his own body, but he propelled it down the tunnel, stumbling and catching himself and where his hand hit the wall he left behind a handprint of pearlescent glass. He let out a moan of confusion and dread but couldn’t do anything but carry on, toward the sky.

The storm was loud enough to drown out whispers, cold enough to sting and soothe his skin, and he threw his head back to drown in the relief, rain in his eyes, in his ears and nose and mouth as he panted to the sky.

His vision still wove triple, in and out, but—had to get away—he staggered toward his truck anyway, but he lifted his foot, put it down, again, third time, then he was blinking, collapsing, clutching a slat of wood—park bench—center of town, how did he—he stepped again, and—gone.

When he landed he fell to his hands and knees, scraped them, parking lot, stared at his blood on the outside, until more blood joined the grit on the heels of his palms, and the agony, in three waves, poured out his mouth, out his nose, out his eyes, and there was only one thing he could do.

He screamed for his brother, for the healer, for Max.

He forced himself upright and—had to trust—where to put his feet—he sent himself to safety, to shelter, home.

[thiswasinevitableid]

for monster march, ghost + indruck + nsfw?

Here you go! I borrowed some ideas we’ve tossed around on the Discord

A sketchbook, new pens, a Hershey bar, and a bag of jumbo marshmallows. A small but lively fire. And a new, huge, fuzzy sleeping bag waiting for him in the tent. 

Not a bad camping set up for a city-boy art goth (as Barclay likes to call him).

Indrid sticks another marshmallow on the fork, roasting it until it’s deep brown, the smell of burning sugar curling through the air and settling in his hair. He’s never liked Graham Crackers, so he jams a square of chocolate into the molten center of the marshmallow and shoves the entire thing into his mouth. 

Kepler is small. Barclay hadn’t been kidding about that. He’d also been right that one of the two tattoo shops in town was willing to hire Indrid after looking through photos of his work and confirming he completed his apprenticeship. 

He’s been living in the Eastwoods campground in the Monongahela National Forest while he apartment hunts, and the tattoos he’s done so far netted him enough cash to buy his luxurious new sleeping bag. He might be waiting on a place for some time, so he may as well camp in style. 

Three “s’mores” later, the moon is up and the night is chilly enough that he wants his sweatshirt. Ducking into the tent, he can’t find it on his pillow, where he swears he left it this morning. Maybe he accidentally buried it getting dressed.

A splashhiss interrupts his rummaging. Scrambling from the tent, he discovers his fire is now a pile of soaked ashes and logs being angrily stirred by a thick piece of kindling. 

“Excuse me, but what the fuck?”

A man in a ranger uniform appears, the stick falling through his hand as he gives Indrid a disapproving stare. 

“Look here, I know you’re new here, maybe to campin entirely. But you can’t just leave a fire burnin when you go to bed.” He doesn’t sound mad, more like he’s a disappointed big brother scolding his sibling. 

“I wasn’t-”

“And all this” he gestures to the food on the table, “has gotta go in the bear box. Black bears are real good foragers and we don’t want ‘em comin’ into camp and gettin to comfy around humans.”

“Of course, but-”

“You didn’t take any food into the tent, right? Wouldn’t want somethin to decide to join you ‘cause it smelled a snack.”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “I am aware of all of these rules, and plan to follow them. Once I actually go to bed instead of ducking into the tent for my sweater. But since my evening appears to be over…” he grabs the marshmallows, roasting fork, and chocolate, carries them to the bear box, and slams it closed. 

When he whirls back around, the ghost is still there, chagrined. 

“Uh, sorry. I kinda jumpy about people leavin fires alone.” In the lantern light, his smile is as charming as his drawl. His stocky, bearish shape and unassumingly handsome face command Indrid’s focus, which is why his revelation comes so quickly. 

“You...there’s a statue of you at the visitor center. Which makes you, ah, damn it what was the name-”

“Duck. Duck Newton. They put my legal name on there, even though Juno tried to stop ‘em. But my name’s Duck.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Duck. I’m Indrid.”

“Nice to meet you too. Uh, sorry for ruinin your campfire, looks like you were havin a nice time.”

“It’s alright. I suppose I’m grateful there’s someone haunting the campsites to keep them in order.”

“You’re takin me bein’ a ghost surprisingly well.”

“I’ve always been interested in strange things, to the point that I earned the nickname ‘mothman’ in high school.”

“Huh” Duck watches him a moment, then shrugs, “well, guess I better be goin’. Have a nice night, mothman.”

With that, he’s gone.

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

“Hello again.” Indrid says as the campfire smoke curls around a human form, “Doing your rounds?”

“More or less. I like my job, and ain’t about to give it up just because I beefed it and turned into a ghost.” A creak as Duck joins him on the picnic bench. When he materializes, he floats slightly above the worn wood, watching Indrid draw. 

“That’s incredible, it’s so realistic it’s like you pressed the leaves into the pages instead of colored them.”

“Thank you.” adds depth to the leaf, “you know, I looked at the statue again today. It hardly does you justice.”

From this close, he can see a blush spread up semi-opaque cheeks. Then he starts fading.

“Oh, ah, I’m sorry. I was aiming for a benign compliment, not to make you uncomfortable.”

“S’alright, just surprised me. Not many folks wanna flirt with a dead guy.”

“I’m more interested in what the ‘dead guy’ wants.” Indrid smiles, hoping to convey he would submit to spectral touches as readily as he’d keep talking. 

Duck floats closer, “Kinda curious about your other drawin’s.”

Indrid turns the sketchbook back to the beginning, “they’re half portfolio and half travelogue. Here” he holds up a fade, detached piece of paper,  covered by an Morpho Butterfly that looks ready to fly away, “this is the first tattoo I ever designed.”

“Damn. Guessin’ that means you did this one” he touches the Rosy Maple Moth on Indrid’s forearm (or tries to). It’s chilly, but not in the way Indrid feared. More like taking a cool shower on a sweltering day.

“I did. Here, it gave me an idea for my first series of flash tattoos…”

They go over the illustrations page by page. Slowly, Indrid weaves in questions to Duck who, instead of recoiling from discussion of his mortal life, tells him rambling stories about the woods and which places serve the best food in town. 

The conversation doesn’t end until the fire goes out on it’s own, Duck standing automatically, grabbing a water bottle, swearing, and then disappearing so he can pick the bottle up. 

“Do you think that’s part of why you’re still here? Some unfinished business having to do with the woods?”

“Nah.” The water bottle thunks back on the table as Duck reappears, “I tried to live a normal life, improve the world the way I knew how, make some kind of difference to this town. Then I had to go play the goddamn hero.”

“I would say saving two dozen people from a forest fire makes a considerable difference in the world.”

A sad huff of a laugh, “Yeah, guess you’re right. Just...I meant to do somethin’ with my life, not my death, even if it was a small somethin’, and the closest thing I got to unfinished business is a model ship.”

“I...what?”

“It was four-masted and everything! I had Leo order it in special and everything and then I never, I never got to-”  He tilts his head up, sniffs once, “never mind. I better let you get to sleep.”

By the time Indrid calls “goodnight,” the ghost is gone. 

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

“Please tell me you’re gettin a place soon so you stop eatin everythin outta a can?” Leo bags the last of groceries.

“No such luck. Ah well, there are worse things than canned soup and Pop-Tarts.”

“At least let Barclay feed you, half the point of havin a friend who can cook is to let ‘em do it for you. You need stamps or anything?”

“N-” A box behind the counter catches his eye. It’s at an odd angle, as if whoever put it there is hoping no one will see it. Indrid can just make out an illustration of a four-masted ship.

“Is that for sale?”

Leo looks where he’s pointing, and for a moment something in his gruff affability wavers. Then he nods, “Yeah, suppose it is.”

“Can you ring it up for me?” Indrid nearly bounces on his toes when Leo sets the box on the counter and confirms his hunch. 

The older man sets a gentle hand on the cardboard, sliding it across to Indrid, “Don’t worry about that, kid. It’s yours.”

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

“Duck?” Indrid turns in a circle by the picnic table, “Duck, I have something for you!”

He saw the ranger briefly last night, but he didn’t hang around. Gingerly, he sets the box on the table, tearing off a piece of sketch paper to write a note in case the ghost stops by while he’s asleep. 

“Holy fuck.” Duck floats across the table from him, “‘Drid, where did, how did--why?”

“Leo still had it. As for why I, ah, it seemed like you still wanted it. If you can douse a fire and over my camp stove, I figure you can build a model ship.”

Duck disappears and Indrid’s heart sinks; that must have been too much. Then he’s squished in an invisible, wonderful bear hug.

“Thanks, ‘Drid.”

From then on, Duck spends every night at his campsite, building the ship while Indrid draws, reads, or talks with him. The model lives in the safest corner of the tent during the day.

“I mean, I’m up durin the day too, but I scared a few folks on accident and I don’t want people avoid the forest because of me.”

Indrid also learns that Duck is stuck within a certain radius of where he died, and that his attempts to talk with Juno when she was in his part of the woods only lead to his friend thinking she was hallucinating and Duck feeling miserable for three solid days. Indrid offers to act as messenger and invite Duck’s friends (many of whom have, by chance and by proximity to Barclay, become his friends) to the campsite to see him. The ranger is quiet for some time after that offer.

“Not yet. Maybe someday, but not yet. I, it ain’t even been a year, ‘Drid. I think a lot of ‘em are still hurtin. And, and maybe this is selfish but...I ain’t ready to deal with them findin’ out I aint fully gone. It’d be so much all at once.”

Indrid doesn’t bring it up again. More than once, when Aubrey tells a story about Duck only for her eyes to sadden halfway through, or when he sees Juno looking at Duck’s statue a little too long, he struggles to keep his promise. 

A cold front blows into town and, since he’s still in the tent, he pops into Kepler Thrift N Find in search of an extra sweatshirt. Tucked in between one reading “Ranchos” and one with a picture of Garfield is a soft, well-loved hoodie with “Monongahela National Forest” on the front. He buys it and wears it home, the fact it’s loose in the arms making it even easier to tuck in his hands when he gets cold. 

He stops by the visitor center out of habit, checking out the new plush wild animals. There are also hints of Duck here and there; his name on displays, his face in group photos. As he contemplates a small, squishy black bear, he notices Juno looking at him more than usual.

“Hello again” he sets the bear on the counter.

“Howdy. This all?

“Yes, please. Are you alright? You look, ah, tired.”

“Yep. Or, uh, just noticed that sweatshirt. It was one that got made special for staff a few years ago.”

Indrid fidgets with the cat-bitten drawstring, “It was Duck’s, wasn’t it?”

“Uh huh. He put that patch on the sleeve. Guess it startled me to see it on someone else.”

“I understand.” 

“Knew him since we were kids. Hell, he’s my daughter’s godfather. Still don’t feel right, bein’ here without him.”

Indrid pushes the bear towards her and she pets it.

“What was he like?”

In the empty visitor center, Juno tells him. In her stories are echos of every conversation he’s ever had with anyone who knew Duck. When it’s time to close up, she asks if she can hug him, and thanks him for listening to her. 

“Guess you weren’t kiddin about wanting to sleep with a bear” Duck teases as Indrid sets his new purchase inside the tent. Indrid whaps at him, arm going through his torso. The ranger floats nearby as Indrid heats up ravioli and opens a can of Mountain Dew. Indrid tells him about the conversation with Juno. 

“Huh, guess that is my old one. Glad someone is gettin some use outta it. And it looks good on you.”

Indrid sets down his bowl, “We talked a lot, Duck. And it made me think about what you said to me one of the night after we met. You said you wanted a chance to make the world, the town, a little better. Everyone I’ve talked to, and I mean every one, has a story about you. How you helped them, how Kepler is worse off with you gone. You did so much, even with your time cut short. I, I wanted you to know that.”

The ghost looks away, “I wasn’t done tryin to help.”

“You still aren’t. You do what you can to keep the forest and the visitors safe. And you, you’ve made my life immeasurably better Duck. Seeing you is the best part of my day and I think I’m falling--ah, that is, you’re not done making a difference.”

Duck hasn’t moved since Indrid started talking about his feelings. When Indrid tries to meet his eyes, he disappears. Hurried, he reaches out to offer a reassuring touch and gets only air. 

“Duck?”

Nothing, even after he calls his name three more times.

He slumps onto the bench, “well, fuck me I guess.”

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

This is a terrible idea. But it’s his last, and therefore his best. 

Indrid even asked Barclay’s boyfriend, Joseph, if anything in his impressive library of the paranormal advised the reader on dealing with upset ghosts. A few did, always from the perspective of trying to get the specter to go away. They said nothing about what to do if your upset ghost was missing, leaving an ache in your heart you didn’t know you were capable of feeling. 

Instead, after a week of silence, Indrid changes tactics: if he can’t coax Duck back, maybe he can annoy him into appearing. 

Tonight, he finishes dinner and cleans his dishes, puts the bulk of the food in the bear box, and then tears open a bag of chips, scattering them across the table. He eats one, then leaves the open bag laying amongst the potato shards. 

Next, he dumps his remaining water on the fire, which takes it down to embers but does not extinguish it. When none of that gets a reaction, he decides to narrate.

“Hmm, that should be fine, it’s not that dry and I don’t think sparks can go over the edge.”

“Should I leave these juice pouches out? Yes, I think I should, in case I get thirsty at night. Maybe I’ll take one into the tent, just to be safe.”

He already feels silly and like no one is listening, and so he escalates. 

“I know I shouldn’t leave food out for the wildlife, but since there’s no handsome, ghostly ranger here to punish me for my transgressions, I am just going to leave some nuts out for the raccoons. I like raccoons. They deserve nice things. Hell, how about I just leave them a whole buffet since no one is stopping me!”

All he gets in reply are the few bugs awake this early in the spring and the crack of brush as a small mammal runs away from the weird bipedal thing yelling at his camp fire. He doesn’t leave out food for the raccoons; he climbs into his tent in a huff. What a bad idea, to think this of all things would bring Duck back to him. He’s being childish and bratty and selfish; Duck doesn’t deserve that, no more than he owes Indrid his company. 

He changes into his pajamas pants and sleep shirt, intending to go back out to make the site safe and tidy. Except.

Except something just opened the bear box. The chip bag crinkles and the fire hisses out a minute later. He should be running outside to apologize, but his mind has simultaneously  registered the full darkness of the night , the possibility that Duck is not the only paranormal thing in these woods, and the fact the nearest other campers are on the other side of the campground, meaning he is very, very alone.

The zipper on the tent moves, the flap falling open so his lantern shines on nothing but April air.

“Duck? Please say that’s you.”

A low chuckle, “It’s me, ‘Drid.” The fly zips shut, “mighty peeved about that trick you pulled.”

“I’m, I’m sorry. I missed you, but that was a bad way to communicate that.” He can’t see him, and the lantern only picks up the odd shift of sleeping bag or tent floor, so Indrid’s eyes’ dart about trying to pinpoint him.

“Oh, you communicated plenty, sugar. Like what you want a certain, uh, ghostly ranger to do to you.”

“Oh god” he winces, “please, forget I said that, it’s humiliating.”

“Not all that surprisin, truth be told. I mean, you and I flirted now and then. And you told me enough about yourself for me to suspect that you’re a kinky little weirdo who’s dyin to get fucked by a ghost.” 

“I, I feel I should point out that I only want to fuck one ghost. You. I want to fuck you and that means fucking a ghoOOOst.” He gasps as cold lips press into his neck.

“I can make that happen, darlin, all you gotta do is say it. You were a pain in the neck earlier, so now I expect you to be real polite and use your words.” Duck’s voice has never been like this before, rough and possessive yet still, under all of it, the same warmth draws Indrid in like a flame. 

“I want you, Duck.”

A bite to his ear, strong arms wrapping around his waist from behind him, “Want me to do what?”

“Fuck me” this is like every wet dream he had as a teenager, the supernatural being coming for a fellow outsider. 

That gets him a tender kiss on the cheek, “That’s better. Though, if I’m rememberin correctly, word you used was punish.”

Indrid yelps as Duck turns and shoves him to lay across his lap, kicks his legs out in surprise when his waistband slides down to his upper thighs. 

“Yesss” he wiggles his ass as Duck palms it, “yes, Duck, pleaseAHgod” the first strike stings, and Duck doesn’t let him recover before delivering five more, three to each side. His cock perks up at the pain. Stranger still, because Duck is invisible, all Indrid has to do is tilt his head to watch it harden and twitch with each slap.

Twenty strikes later Duck pauses, hand rubbing soothing, cool circles on the burning skin, “Learned your lesson?”

“Mmhmm.” Indrid presses an awkward kiss to Duck’s knee. 

“Glad to hear it.” Duck hauls him up onto his knees, slides a hand under his shirt and up his chest, “I’m rarin’ to feel more of you--holy fuck” 

“AH!” Indrid arches as Duck toys with his left nipple piercing, his other hand quickly finding the right. 

“God, fuck, you’re fuckin hot, if I were alive I woulda taken you home first time I saw you.” Messy kisses cover his neck as Duck tugs the piercings.

“Gaahnnyes, that’s, that’s very flattering.”

“Ain’t flattery, sugar, it’s the truth. Never could turn down some skinny punk with piercin’s and messy hair, not when I was a teen burnout hidin in the woods and sure as hell not now.” He moves Indrid onto his back, rucking up his shirt as his legs twist in his half-down pants. The ranger cups his face, and Indrid is positive he’s meeting his eyes, “tell me what you want sugar, tell me so I can treat you right.”

“Marks, I want marks anywhere you’ll give them.”

A growl from above him, then lips smashing into his, drinking him in before continuing down his throat, biting and sucking hard enough that he cries out every time. Duck pauses, teasing his nipples with his tongue as he rakes his nails up his sides. He sits up and for a horrible moment Indrid loses him. Then with glee he watches five red marks drag down his chest. He moans, rolling his hips and discovering just how closer Duck’s clothed cock is to his own. The contact only feeds the rangers eagerness, and Indrid is tosses and turns as he sucks, bites, and scratches, laying claim to the illustrated expanse of his body. 

“More, please, god that all feels so good.” 

“Don’t worry darlin, still got plenty of you to mark up, but we’re gonna do somethin else while I do.” He eases Indrid onto his stomach, slaps his ass fondly, “don’t go nowhere.”

Indrid’s duffel bag unzips, clothes and pens moved aside until a bottle of lube hovers in the air. The tube compresses and drips coat the rough outline of fingers. When the two digits press into him he sighs, eyes closing as he melts under Ducks watchful eyes. 

“That’s it ‘Drid, relax for me. Got well over a year of horny to work out, so this cute ass needs to be ready to take it.”

Indrid pushes his hips back in reply, taking as far as the fingers will go and whimpering excitedly when he presses in the tip of the third. Duck works that one more carefully, kissing Indrid’s face and shoulders as he whispers about how good he is, how much he’s wanted this.

“I want it too so for, for goodness sake please fuck me soon or I’ll leave my entire cooler out for the bears.”

“Only one bear in this campsite tonight darlin.” Duck laves his tongue down the base of his spine, bites down hard on his ass. Indrid’s still moaning from the pain when his cock pushes in.

“Fuuuckme that’s good. Shoulda snuck into your tent sooner, sugar, made you a fuckin cocksleeve you feel so fuckin good.”

“Ohgod” is all Indrid, voice muffled by the sleeping bag he’s biting, manages before Duck adjusts them so Indrid is on his knees. The ranger isn’t gentle, pounds into him like he’s nothing but a warm hole and chuckles whenever Indrid moans. 

“H-handprints, Duck, want hand prints GAHyesyesyes” he struggles to move in time with the ghost as the air fills with ear-splitting slaps. He’s so close, the pain and the sensation of phantom fingers claiming his body making his body beg for release. When he slides a hand down to jerk himself off, the arm twists up and stays trapped against his back. 

“You wanna cum, you know what to do.”

He blinks away the ecstatic tears, words raw in his throat, “Please let me cum, Duck. I want to, need to cum while you fuck me pleaseplease-” he cuts off into whine as the ghost works his cock hard, all the while jamming into him hard enough that the smooth fabric of the sleeping bag burns his knees. When he cums it’s with a weak cry of Duck’s name, which is swallowed up by hungry lips as Duck kisses him over and over, repeating Indrid’s name like an incantation as he pumps his hips and cums, pulling out as he does so it splatters on the reddened patches of his ass. 

A final kiss to the top of his head, and then there’s no contact between them and the zipper is moving.

“Oh no you don’t” Indrid scrambles, sweaty and exhausted, between the tent fly and the invisible man somewhere in front of him, “for goodness sake, Duck, I thought you liked me enough to at least let me fall asleep before you ran.”

The ranger finally appears, hair a mess and cheeks noticeably pink, “‘Drid, all that was amazing, but it’s all I can give you. I, I can’t...you said you were fallin for me and I can’t give you that.”

Indrid cocks his head, “Why not?”

“Because I’m a fuckin ghost, ‘Drid! You deserve to be with a livin’ fella, you deserve someone who can be a real part of your life.”

He crosses his arms, “Duck, you are a real part of my life. Honestly, what part of all the nights we spent together, all the ways we take care of each other, all of this” he points at the rumpled sleeping bag, “suggests otherwise?”

The ghost doesn’t speak, simply hugs himself (or tries to).

“If this is too much, if I’m offering something you do not want, then please tell me. But if this is you thinking that some paranormal quirks keep you from being a worthy partner for me, kindly think again.”

Duck disappears and Indrid is gearing up to try and tackle a supernatural entity when a familiar face buries itself in the crook of his neck. The ghost clings to him, and Indrid clings right back. 

“You really wanna give it a go?”

“More than anything.”

Duck lifts his head so their cheeks rest together, “Then fuck it. Let’s see what happens.”

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

Indrid finishes hooking up his lightly used Winnebago, AKA his solution to the lack of available apartments. He’s in a different section of Eastwoods, but he’s happy with his new spot. He opens one of his few boxes, gently lifts the completed model ship into a place of honor, and waits, humming happily, for an unseen hand to knock on his door. 

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [11]

xi. the calm

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Language, angst, allusions to smut, some sad things.

Summary: A fire takes out most of the food supply, prompting a need for hunting. While most of the hunting parties come back with no problems, Clarke and Finn never return to camp.

a/n: hello, happy show day!!!! I wanna know how we’re feeling about this chapter, so let’s chat after you’re finished!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

You sit in your tree, legs dangling over the edge, watching the camp as it comes to life in the early morning hours. You’re lost in thought when you hear your name from the ground. Recognizing the voice, you ignore it, keeping your eyes out on the horizon.

Seconds later, a rock hits your knee. You toss a glare down to the ground. “Ow!”

She returns your glare with an eye roll. “That did not hurt.” You prepare yourself to ignore her again, when her voice reaches you, soft and pleading. “It’s been two days, please. Just come to the edge of camp with me, just for a few minutes.” 

You start to shake your head, and she adds, “You’re all I have left.”

The words pull at your heart, like she knew they would, but you descend the tree anyways, taking your twin’s outstretched hand when you reach the bottom and allowing her to lead you to the edge of camp. She takes you just beyond the walls, to the top of a hill, and stops, gazing out to the woods.

Silence sits heavy between you, until she breaks it. “Did I do something?” You turn, head already shaking when she shrugs. “I thought we were doing better.”

“We were.” You shake your head, correct yourself. “We are.”

You’re silent for a minute, thinking. “It’s not you, Clarke. I promise.”

She nods her head, as if she was fully expecting that’s all she’d get from you. She accepts it nonetheless. The conversation ends when Bellamy approaches from behind. “Anything?”

You turn and meet his eyes, and you don’t miss the concern in them, directed at you, no doubt. You drop your eyes as Clarke answers him, “It's been two days. Maybe the bomb at the bridge scared them off for good.”

“You believe that?”

“No. They're coming.” You shudder at the thought, the impending war weighing heavily on you all. 

“Jasper thinks he can cook up some more gunpowder, if he can get some sulfur.” Bellamy starts to walk away, and Clarke follows, pulling you with her. You listen in on the conversation silently. “And Raven says she can turn that into landmines. So be careful where you step.”

He turns and offers a smirk, and you notice his eyes stay locked on you. You shrink beneath his gaze. “What I really need is a thousand more of her tin can bombs that I can roll into their village and blow those Grounders to hell.” You see the glare Clarke gives him, and you hide a smile, having just been on the other end of the very same glare. “That's what they want to do to us.”

“Can't believe we survived a hundred years just so we could slaughter each other. There has to be another way.”

“Any word from the Ark?” 

Clarke shakes her head, “Radio silence.”

“Finally ran out of air.”

“Maybe our mom was lucky being on the Exodus ship.” She squeezes your hand, “At least it was quick.” She lets the statement settle between you before she adds, “No one is coming down to save us.”

The word alone bounces around your head, echoing throughout the space. You all thought that if you could hold out until the Ark came down, until the Exodus ship landed with your mom and the Guard, then maybe you’d all be okay. Maybe you’d survive. Survival doesn’t seem as likely now.

In the camp behind you, the sound of yelling starts to grow, punctuated by screams of “Fire!”

You, Clarke, and Bellamy all exchange a worried look before you take off running towards the camp, pushing people out of your way to reach the growing flames. Bellamy spots Octavia, kneeled down and coughing, and stops to check on her, as you stand and watch the majority of the camp’s food source go up in flames. You almost want to laugh at the Universe’s cruel idea of a joke. 

As everyone stands to watch, Murphy yells at Del, who is standing near the flames. “This is all your fault! We told you it was too much wood.”

He closes the space between them quickly, before landing a punch on Del’s jaw. You think of Wells, before running forward and shoving yourself between them. Del tries to swing and hit him, but misses, and makes contact with your cheekbone instead. You shove him backwards, away from Murphy, and yell, “Knock it off!”

Behind you, Bellamy has gotten a hold of Murphy, and mutters, “Save it for the Grounders.”

Octavia yells to her brother, “Well, now what the hell are we gonna do? That was all the food!”

The camp grows silent, watching as the food burns to ash, and you watch Clarke’s face fall. For the first time in days, you get a good look at her, and realize how awful she looks. There are bags under her eyes, and her shoulders are practically sagging from carrying the weight of the camp. Anxiety seems perpetually etched into her face, and you start to feel guilt for your absence.  In keeping away and keeping her safe, you dropped all your leadership and responsibility onto her. You swear to yourself you’ll do better.

-

Later, after the fire is put out, you follow your sister over to Bellamy. He is kneeling in the ashes of the food supply, scowling at the remains. You are the first to speak, and you see a flash of surprise cross his face before the scowl returns. “Any idea what happened?”

“Murphy says that Del kept feeding the fire, mostly because Octavia told him it was a bad idea.”

Clarke sounds skeptical, “And we believe Murphy?”

“I do.”

“We have some wild onions and nuts in the dropship.” You shrug and add, “It's only enough to last us maybe one or two weeks. What's left here?”

He shakes his head, “Nothing. It all burned.”

“Then we have to hunt.” You and Bellamy turn towards her at the suggestion, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Anyone we can spare goes out.”

“With the whole Grounder army out there?”

Her voice is firm. “Look. We can't defend ourselves if we're starving.”

You watch the muscle in his jaw clench, and you know that he agrees with her, whether he wants to or not. He offers her a nod, before you all split off to gather who you can, and bring them to the dropship. When you get there, Bellamy is already briefing the hunters. “Each group takes someone with a gun, and they're for killing Grounders, not food. We don't have the ammo. Use the spears for hunting. Get what you can. Be back by nightfall. No one stays out after dark.”

You step over to the spears, checking them all to find the best for fishing. As you finally decide, you feel a hand touch your arm and then drop away. “Are you sure you’re okay to go?”

You glare, “I’m fine, Bellamy.”

You start to step around him, but he grabs your arm to stop you. You look down at his hand, and back up to his eyes. “It’s just...we’ve barely seen you for days.”

“I still showed up for my guard shifts.”

“I know.” He shakes his head, “That’s not what I meant. I just think that maybe you should stay in the camp for today.”

Your anger flares because you hate when he babies you. “I’m not Octavia. You can’t tell me when I’m allowed to leave the camp and when I’m not.”

He steps back, dropping your arm, and you know you’ve hurt him. I’m cursed I’m cursed I’m cursed. You repeat the mantra, reminding yourself, keeping you from apologizing. You look around him to the two other fishers. “I have to go. I’ll be back before sundown.”

He steps back and lets you go, and you follow the other two from the dropship and into the woods. You reach the river in no time, and after an hour of attempts, you spear your first fish with a triumphant smile. The afternoon sun shifts overhead and starts to sink below the trees, and you and the other two fishers decide to wrap it up early, weighed down with fish. 

As soon as you arrive back to camp, you plop the fish down on Murphy’s table, and he raises a brow, impressed. You glance at the dropship and ask, “Is Clarke back yet?”

“You guys are the first ones back.”

“Thanks.” You leave and drop off your spear, deciding to wait for Clarke, so you can tell her all about your fishing success. You promise yourself you’ll still keep your distance, but you hope the news will ease the burden she carries, if only a little. 

As hunting party after hunting party returns, some successful, some not, you feel your worry start to rise. Night falls and the moon rises, and you wait until it is high in the sky to allow yourself to truly feel alarm, because you know they should have been back hours ago. 

You pass Murphy and make a beeline for Bellamy’s tent, telling yourself that you’re only going to him because he’s the other leader. That’s it. You barge into his tent, saying his name, ready to spill the news as soon as you confirm he’s in there. Instead, his name dies on your tongue as you make eye contact with him, and then...with Raven. You take in their naked bodies, covered in sweat, their breaths coming out in hard pants, and you mutter a quick, “sorry” before rushing from the tent. 

You stand outside, debating what to do, because you still need to talk to him, but now anger is swimming in your blood. Because despite the fact that nothing happened with you and Bellamy, despite the fact that you had been distancing yourself from him (to keep him safe), you thought that maybe, just maybe, he felt something for you too. 

A second later, Raven bursts from the tent, and she makes eye contact with you. An odd expression passes over her features, and she opens her mouth to say something, but the look you give her must stop her in her tracks. Instead, she repeats your earlier apology before heading towards the dropship. 

You take a deep breath, box up your anger and put it away, before stepping into the tent with a hand over your eyes. You make a point of being extremely loud, and you stand near the entrance, eyes still covered, until he whispers, “You can open your eyes.”

You drop your hand and look at him, his gaze instantly dropping away from yours. You try to ignore the way his hair looks, wild and untamed, and the way his breath still pushes a little too hard past his lips. You get a flash of a thought, Bellamy beneath you, panting, and you blush before shoving it away. He clears his throat a little, and you remember your earlier mission. “Clarke still isn’t back.”

His eyes snap to yours, instantly worried, and he is already in action, leaving the tent as he asks, “What about Finn and Myles?”

You shake your head, but remember that he can’t see you. You jog to catch up and answer, “No.”

“We can’t spare many people, but we’ll gather a few of the others and go look for them. Monty and Raven have been working on walkie talkies all day, so hopefully they’ve got a few up and running.”

He bursts into the dropship, grabbing guns and passing them to you, and then moving deeper into the ship until he finds Raven, Octavia, and Monty. He nods and addresses them. “Good, you’re all here. Clarke, Finn, and Myles are still missing. We’re going to go look for them.”

He passes them guns and then turns to Monty. “Are any of those radios up and running?”

“Three.”

“Okay, we’ll split into groups, so we can cover more ground. But stay close, in case anyone needs help. Got it?”

Everyone nods, and he grabs the three radios that Monty hands him. “Raven and Octavia.” He passes them a radio, and turns to Monty, handing him one. “Are you good to go alone?”

Monty nods, and Bellamy pockets the last radio. “And you’re with me.” His eyes meet yours and you open your mouth to protest, but decide not to waste time. Instead, you nod in agreement. “Alright, let’s go.”

-

The woods around you seem impossibly dark, the kind of darkness that presses in on you, suffocating you. Despite this, you keep your space from Bellamy, who steals glances over at you every few minutes. The silence finally seems to get to him, because he starts to ramble. “I’m sorry you walked in on me and Raven. And I’m sorry in general. She was upset about Finn, and she wanted a distraction, and she was stripping before I could even-” He cuts himself off, realizing how flimsy his reasoning is, before starting again. “You pushed me away, and I-”

You cut him off this time, forcing a smile that you’re not even sure he can see in the dark. “You don’t owe me anything, Bellamy. It’s fine.”

He starts to respond, but Monty cuts him off over the radio. You let out a quiet sigh of relief. “I thought you said you were heading west. Where are you?”

Bellamy lifts the radio to his lips, “Just keep the moon to your left, and you'll find us.”

It’s silent for a minute before Monty asks, “Is anyone else hearing this signal?”

Raven answers, “Just keep your eyes open.”

“I think it's the same thing we heard in the black box.”

You can feel Bellamy’s frustration growing beside you. “Damn it, Monty, pay attention. Do you see anything? Report.”

The radio falls silent again, before Raven’s voice cuts through, quiet. “There's someone in the bushes.”

You and Bellamy tear through the trees towards them, reaching them as Octavia pulls back the bushes and mutters, “Myles?”

Raven leans forward, “Myles, what happened? Where are they? Clarke and Finn, where are they?”

“Grounders took them.”

You feel your breath leave your body in a whoosh, and you drop to your knees. You think of Clarke earlier that morning, holding your hand, and you berate yourself. Stupid stupid stupid!

Behind you, you hear Bellamy whisper, “We have to get him back to camp.”

Octavia’s head snaps up, “Bell, what about Clarke and Finn?”

His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it. “I'm sorry.”

You hear your blood roaring in your ears as you take in his words. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You stand and spin towards him, buzzing with anger. Your voice is low and threatening. “I’m not leaving without Clarke.”

He tries to reason with you, “Myles will die if we leave him out here.”

You balk, “I don’t care!” You hear your voice rise, “I don’t care who might die in the process, as long as Clarke is safe.” 

He tries to shush you, whispering your name. “There are Grounders out here.”

“Exactly! There are Grounders out here and I am not leaving my twin alone with them!” You shove him, pissed. “What if it was Octavia? You wouldn’t leave her behind! You made us march right into Grounder territory to save her!”

Behind you, you can hear Raven and Octavia begging you to quiet down. You spin and yell, “No!” And before they can stop you, you take off running, screaming Clarke’s name as you go. “Clarke! Clarke!”

Seconds later, something collides with your body, sending all the air from your lungs. A hand closes over your mouth, and you catch a brief glimpse of dark curls and freckles, before you start struggling and kicking, your yelling muffled behind his hand. “Let me go, Bellamy Blake! God damn it, you better let me go!”

You feel your hand start to reach for your knife, but he anticipates it, and wraps his legs around you, strong thighs pinning you in place. You scream and fight against him, until the fight starts to leave you slowly, turning into muffled sobs. Bellamy rocks you, comforting you as he keeps you pinned, stroking your hair until you start to quiet down. Only when the sobs stop do you realize he’s humming Clair de Lune, and you feel the tears start again.

You don’t know how long has passed before he leans down, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispers, “I’m going to let you go now, okay?”

You nod against him, and he lowers his hand from your mouth. When he sees that you stay silent, he unlocks his legs, freeing you. You stay frozen in place, until you realize you are still in his arms, laying against him, and you feel awkwardness overtake you. You stand and he follows, picking up both of your forgotten guns. He slings them both over his shoulder and puts his hand on your lower back, guiding you back to Raven and Octavia. 

When you get there, you avoid their eyes, embarrassed, before whispering. “I’m sorry. That was stupid.”

They say nothing, but Raven tells Bellamy, “We made a stretcher for Myles and got him loaded up, but we still can’t get a hold of Monty.” 

“Damn it.” Bellamy lifts the radio and says, “Monty, we're heading home. You copy? Monty, can you hear me? Monty, Monty where the hell are you? Report.”

When Monty doesn’t answer, Bellamy sighs. “We can’t go after him now. Hopefully his radio just died and he’s on the way back to camp right now.”

He leans down and starts to lift the stretcher, and feeling useless, you grab the other pole to help. Raven and Octavia lift the other end, and you all take him back to camp in silence. As soon as you’re back, some of the other teenagers help carry Myles to the dropship. With Clarke gone, you and Octavia help him the best you can, removing the arrows and stitching him up. Once he’s asleep, you stumble out of the dropship in a daze, overcome with the realization that you might truly be alone in this world now. 

Bellamy finds you after dropping off the radios and the guns, and he leads you to his tent, wordlessly. You don’t have the energy to fight him, and allow him to lead you inside and lay you into the bed he just used with Raven. You don’t have the energy to care. 

He pulls a blanket over you and whispers, “We’ll find her, I promise.”

Exhausted, you nod your head, and then let sleep take you. 

-

next chapter

[hottallandginger]

Kerosene - Raelle/Scylla (Motherland: Fort Salem)

IT’S HAPPENING.

Post Ep. 5, spoilers for Ep. 5. T for torture. And in light of tonight’s episode I’d just like to say I WAS RIGHT. Well, half right. Remember that time I predicted like half a season of Orphan Black? LOOKS LIKE I’M AT IT AGAIN.

The Unit goes after Scylla.

Whether or not to go after Scylla is never a question. She doesn’t care if she ends up getting court marshaled because of it either. The chaotic aftermath of the attack gives her the perfect cover to slip away, although apparently not unnoticed.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” she hears Abigail say behind her. Her and Tally are there, Abigail’s face still covered in blood and Tally’s still streaked with tears.

“If the Spree have her, I have to find her,” Raelle snaps back, shrugging off her dress jacket and carelessly discarding it. She pins Scylla’s corsage to her shirt and picks up a discarded Scourge. “And don’t bother trying to stop me, because I’ll go through you if I have to.”

“Like hell you are,” Abigail replies. She has one sleeve of her jacket off and is carefully pulling off the other. Her shirt beneath is dark with blood. “Not without us.”

Raelle distracts herself from her surprise by looking pointedly at the knife wound in Abigail’s shoulder and starting to ask, “Do you want me to-“

Abigail holds up a hand to silence her then rubs dried blood off her nose. “No. Now, what’s the plan?”

“Find her. Get her. Kill anyone who gets in the way.”

“That’s not a plan, that’s a suicide mission,” Abigail says.

“You got any better ideas, Bellweather?”

“Maybe we figure out where the hell she is first?”

Tally steps between them, sniffling. “Uh, maybe we should tell-“

“No,” Raelle and Abigail say. Abigail pinches the bridge of her nose, winces, then sighs. “We can’t just run off into the wild unknown and hope we get lucky. We need to track her, but that would need her hair, or her blood or-“

“This,” Raelle says. She holds up her hand and traces her fingertip over the remains of the spell cast there. “She said she always wanted to be able to say hi to me. Maybe we can use this to find her.”

Abigail stares down at the faint line. “It’s worth a go,” she says. Raelle sets the back of her hand in Abigail’s palm. It doesn’t hurt, just like how it hadn’t really hurt when Scylla cast the spell in the first place. It tingles, and burns a little, like holding her hand too close to a candle flame. Abigail mouths words under her breath, her breath faint on Raelle’s skin. And then it stops. Abigail staggers a little, leaning too hard into Tally. The shape on Raelle’s palm looks as fresh as when Scylla made it.

“Let’s go,” Abigail says. “Tally you should stay. You have en-“

“You two are not leaving me here alone,” Tally replies in a shaky but resolute voice. She rubs at her eyes with her knuckles and sets her shoulders, chin high as she, too, removes her jacket. It’s not ideal. There’s only three of them, inexperienced and largely unarmed, but everyone knows what happens to those who fall into the Spree’s hands, and Raelle refuses to let Scylla stay their hostage a moment longer.

-

The tracking spell isn’t the most accurate thing, and largely relies on Raelle’s sense of direction and intuition, but it’s hard to ignore what started as a faint itch on her palm steadily growing into a hot burn, like she put her hand on a lit stove or sat out in the sun too long. It takes them continuously deeper into a thick forest, until they’re tripping over raised roots and being pricked at by thorns and snagging on branches. Then, just when Raelle thinks she can’t take the pain in her hand it stops, completely, like a fire suddenly and violently quenched. She stops so short that both the other girls, who had been following close behind, run right into her back.

“What?” Abigail asks. “What is it? What happened?”

“It stopped working!” Raelle says. She shakes her hand like somehow that will kick the spell back into gear, then spins in a circle, hand up, trying to see if they took a wrong turn. When that fails, she whirls around to Abigail and all but shoves her hand in her face. “Cast it again,” she demands.

“Uh, guys,” Tally says in a meek voice.

“What?” They both turn their heads to look at her. Tally is looking at her feet. She’d brushed off a layer of dirt and leaves with her boots and beneath her, instead of more earth, is a sturdy metal door. Raelle rushes to Tally, nearly knocking her over as she falls on her knees and finishes clearing the door of forest debris. The handle is large and circular, like a ship’s door. Raelle hauls on it with all her strength, but it refuses to budge. She tries a second time, and then a third. Her grip slips on the fourth and she falls back, sprawling in the dirt. Abigail rolls her eyes.

“Use the Seed, idiot,” she says, and holds out her hands for Raelle and Tally to take. Raelle glares at her, but scrambles to her feet and grabs her hand. Tally hesitates, her arms wrapped around herself. Abigail gives her a pointed look and waves her free hand around.

“I think maybe we should tell someone we’re here,” Tally says. “We definitely can’t do this alone, there’s only three of us and we’re nowhere near ready for anything like this.”

“I’m not leaving here without Scylla,” Raelle says firmly. “You can either stay and help us or go back to the house, but I would really prefer it if you stayed.” Tally looks at her long and hard with an expression on her face that Raelle can’t read, then slowly reaches out and takes Abigail’s other hand.

-

The door crumples easily under their combined power with a horrible screech. The drop isn’t far, but it rattles Raelle’s teeth when she lands. Abigail drops down beside her with a curse, grabbing her shoulder. Tally stumbles but stays on her feet. The corridor ahead of them is lit with bright lights, ending with another solid door.

“Someone will have heard that,” Abigail says, stepping forward. “We need to move quickly. Can you feel where she is?”

Raelle clenches her hand tight. Shakes it. Nothing. “No. I can’t feel anything.”

“Guess we’re doing this the hard way, then.” Abigail says. She shoulders past Raelle, strides down the hallway, and slams her boot against the door until the lock gives and it swings open. A knife is in her hand, dried blood already on the blade. Raelle has a sinking suspicion it’s her own, but then there’s no more time for thinking.

There’s less resistance than Raelle would have thought, but its still enough. Her Scourge sings as it tears through flesh and bone. Blood splatters on her face. She can taste it on her tongue. She feels the tug and burn as she receives wounds of her own, but it doesn’t matter. Her, Abigail and Tally fight as a true unit, back to back, clearing the room and then branching into the offshoot hallways. Raelle’s blood races in her ears, and then she feels it, a pain so sharp she cries out and her vision goes dark, just for an instant. Her shout echoes and brings the other two running, sweating and panting, eyes bright with adrenaline. When they don’t notice any danger, they both drop to Raelle’s side.

Tally pushes her hair away from her face. “Are you okay? What is it?”

Raelle fights back the urge to vomit. “She’s here. She’s in here.” She raises her other arm, pointing a shaking hand to the door a few feet away, unassuming and almost blending into the wall around it.

“On your feet, soldier,” Abigail says, hauling Raelle up with a hand under her elbow. Raelle staggers into the wall but stays upright. She nudges Raelle behind her and Tally. The door doesn’t budge when she tries it, and no amount of kicking seems to help. Abigail and Tally link hands and shout. The door slams open, nearly falling off its hinges. The single person inside is thrown across the room by the force of the shout, knocking over a table and sending instruments Raelle doesn’t want to know the names to scattering across the floor with metallic clinks and clangs.

Raelle shoves past her unit hard enough to make Abigail hiss in pain and grab her shoulder. The room is dark. It takes a second for Raelle to see the body huddled in the corner, the black of her uniform blending in with the shadows.

“Scylla!” she shouts, sending tools skidding across the floor as she dashes over, all but falling to her knees. She reaches for Scylla’s face and her hands come away sticky and slick with blood. Her eyes adjust to the lower light and what she sees nearly makes her retch. She hardly recognizes Scylla for all the blood, for the burns and cuts on her skin. Her uniform is in tatters and where it’s not ripped it’s damp.

She throws a glance over her shoulder. “Help me!” she yells. “I need to her on the table! Now!” Abigail and Tally jolt into action. It takes the three of them to hoist Scylla’s dead weight onto the table. Raelle knows all the damage isn’t physical, but that she can do something about. She holds Scylla’s hand tightly in hers and mutters the words as quickly as she can under her breath, over and over. She won’t let Scylla die, even if it kills her.

It almost does.

-

When she wakes up she’s not in the Spree hideout. She’s… she’s not sure where she is. Not her room. Not the Bellweather house. She tries to sit up and pain lances through her body. Her vision darkens at the edges and dizziness threatens to make her sick.

“-ey, hey, you’re okay. Lie back down.” It passes. Raelle slowly turns her head. Tally is sitting next to her bed, holding Raelle’s hand in both of hers. She’s clean, and doesn’t look injured, but her eyes are red and there’s bags beneath them, and her mouth is pulled down at the corners.

“What happened? Where’s Scylla?” Raelle asks, although it comes out more as a jumble of words than anything coherent thanks to the giant cotton ball in her mouth. Tally offers her a cup of water. She drinks it greedily, then a second. Tally won’t look her in the eyes.

“Tally,” Raelle says slowly, “where is Scylla.”

“There’s something you need to know about her,” Tally says quietly. She looks down at their clasped hands then draws both of hers into her lap. She takes a very deep breath. “Scylla is Spree.”

Raelle chokes out a painful laugh. “If she’s Spree then why did we find her half dead?”

“Because-“

“She’s right, Raelle.” Raelle whips her head around so fast she nearly blacks out. Scylla lowers herself heavily into a chair next to Raelle’s bedside, looking pale and wan and trembling like a leaf. Tally glances between the two of them then silently takes her leave. There’s still half healed cuts and bruises on Scylla’s face, but judging from the pain in Raelle’s body she must have done something right.

“She’s right about what?” Raelle asks. She forces herself to sit upright. Scylla helps adjust her pillows then grips the arms of her chair with white knuckles. “About you being Spree? That’s not possible. If you’re Spree, then how come I had to save your ass from them?”

“Because I disobeyed them,” Scylla replies. Her eyes are so startlingly blue that Raelle can hardly stand to look at them. “About you.”

“Me? What do the Spree want with me?”

Scylla shrugs delicately. “I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me. But I was supposed to take you to them at six the day of the wedding and…”

“And you didn’t,” Raelle finishes softly. “You didn’t. Why?”

“You know why,” Scylla says. She reaches for Raelle’s hand but Raelle flinches away. The kicked puppy look on Scylla’s face instantly floods her with guilt. She sighs and stretches her fingers out. Scylla takes them gratefully and clutches them tight. Raelle suppresses a wince. It feels like there isn’t an inch of her that doesn’t hurt somehow. When she sees the splint on two fingers of Scylla’s other hand, she remembers why.

She clenches her jaw. Fuck, even her teeth hurt. Her eyes hurt. Everything hurts. “I don’t understand,” she says, more to herself than Scylla. It sinks in slowly, like when she learned of her mother’s death.

The bed creaks gently as Scylla leans in. “Raelle, I am so sorry. I wanted to tell you, I just… I was trying to figure out a way to get out. I want to be a better person. You make me want to be a better person.”

“Better than what, a mass murderer? Do you know what the Spree have done?”

“Better than you do,” Scylla says, almost sharply but not quite. “And I thought their cause was just. I still think – It’s wrong, how they go about it. I see that now. You made me see that.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m a good influence on somebody,” Raelle grumbles under her breath.

Scylla chooses to ignore her. “You saved me, Raelle. I can never repay you for that. You don’t know what the Spree does to traitors.”

“Is that what you are now?” Raelle asks. She looks Scylla dead in the eye. “Don’t lie to me. I’ll know if you do.”

“Yes,” Scylla says without hesitation, her gaze not waving for a second.

Raelle closes her eyes and sighs. She focuses on the warmth of Scylla’s hand in hers. Her jaw relaxes first, and then her shoulders.

Her head lolls to the side then snaps back up as her body jerks. It’s dark in medical now, and at first Raelle thinks she’s alone, but then she notices the mop of dark hair near her hip. Her heart slows. The pain has lessened considerably, but her body is still battered from taking its own wounds on top of Scylla’s. Her fingertips tingle where they’ve started to fall asleep. She wriggles them gently, trying not to wake Scylla, but she inhales sharply and groans. She turns her head and blows her hair out of her eyes, looking groggy but awake.

“Hi.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Hi,” Raelle says back.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck. Like, ten times.”

“You almost died,” Scylla says. Raelle gropes for the water next to her bed. “Healing me. Tally said – well she tried to say in-between Abigail reaming me – that you almost died Fixing me.”

“Yeah, it feels like it,” Raelle says with a short laugh. She drains her water in a few gulps. “But I’m a fast healer.”

Scylla chuckles softly at that, the hint of a smile on her lips. She sobers quickly. “Are you mad at me?”

“Yes,” Raelle answers. “No. I don’t know. I just know that the thought of the Spree having you, how it felt seeing you like that… I couldn’t stand it. I still can’t.”

“I meant what I said, you know,” Scylla says. She presses her thumb against the back of Raelle’s hand. “I wasn’t lying then. And I’m not lying now.” She glances towards the door, looking scared. “No matter what happens, I love you.”

Raelle follows her gaze, but there’s no one outside the door and no one else in the ward with them. “They won’t tell anyone,” she says. “Not even Abigail. We’re all in enough trouble as it is but at least we can justify it if we say we went after a fellow soldier.”

“I don’t know how you can justify disobeying direct orders,” Scylla replies. Raelle just shrugs.

“It doesn’t matter. I planned on dying my first time out anyway. At least this way I’ll have done something worth it.”

“Don’t say that,” Scylla says. “I can’t think about you dying.” Raelle apologizes with a sheepish face. Silence grows, only slightly uncomfortable. Raelle hates even the little bit of tension.

It’s up to Scylla to break it again. “I still want to take you to the beach. To the lighthouse. If you’ll let me.” Raelle meets her gaze and Scylla smiles, and raises Raelle’s hand to her mouth to kiss her knuckles and press them against her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll have a lot more apologizing to do once they let me out of this bed,” Raelle replies. “And explaining.”

“I’ll tell you everything,” Scylla says, and it’s the second most honest Raelle’s ever heard her sound.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she says, and she lets herself relax back into the pillows as Scylla slips into the bed next to her without a word and buries her face in Raelle’s neck. Her breath tickles, but it’s the best feeling in the world. Raelle snuggles just that much closer. “I love you, too.”

[troped-fanfic-challenge]

The Chopped Madness Champion is….

@the-most-beautiful-broom​

the-most-beautiful-broom was a steady force in this competition, writing everything from a Canonverse Bellarke Robin Hood Fairy Tale AU to a Marper Titanic Angst AU (+ Marper Aeronauts Angst) to a Political Aassassins Memori Dystopia AU to a Zaven Spider-verse Superheroes AU to a Luna/Lincoln Mirror Universe Thriller AU and they were all FANTASTIC! That’s six (6!) fics and 31k words during the weeks of this competition! You deserve the title of CHOPPED MADNESS CHAMPION! Congratulations! Check out all her fics below:

Qualifying Round Fic: we'd up and fly (if there were wings for flying)

Mods’ Review: Robin Hood was such an awesome fairtytale to choose, we loved this fic! You were really able to bring us into the world of your story so well! Your description of Wells’ death was great, and it really helped bring us into that “robin hood medieval” world that this story needed! And, obviously, we LOVE wells, so this death was so rough, but so well done!! We really loved Villain Kane, the whole quarry/slavery/chancelor kane concept was so good and so well executed! We really loved the concept, with Bellamy as Robin Hood and Clarke as Maid Marion! It was so great, we need more!! Bellamy being so badass, and putting his name on the packages to make sure Kane knew it was him, was EXCELLENT! We love a Hero!Bellamy plot, but let’s be real here… who doesn’t! We also really loved your little hand washing tutorial, always important, but even more so now… your corona is showing ;)! Bellamy giving Clarke the ring that Wells gave him for her was so sweet! You always manage to bring in such soft, sweet character moments that really bring your stories so much life! This story had so much heart to it, and we loved every word! 

Round 1 Fic: Macushla & Both

Mods’ Review: The whole concept of the Macushla fic, the Titanic and the “road trip” being them on their life boat trying to escape, was so creative and exciting. You were able to really nail this setting and story, we loved this fic! Harper just absolutely murdering that journalist was such an awesome opening scene!! The set up of the sinking ship and her trying to find her way to a lifeboat was so good! We were on the edge of our seats, you really established the life or death nature of the situation really well! Also, we love the touch of Monroe being involved somehow! Harper trying so hard to get more people aboard their lifeboat was so harrowing and sad to watch, and it was a really nice touch to see her pushing the people onboard to do their part, and shaming them when they didn’t. It was a really nice character moment for Harper, and felt very true to who she is. Harper choosing to steer the ship was so good! It really added to the story to see how much she wanted to be a part of the effort to help in whatever way she could. She was a heroine we wanted to root for! You were really able to craft this story exceptionally well, and we loved reading it!

We also have to add your Aeronauts AU, Both, to this review! We can’t believe you wrote two fics this round and we’re sorry you couldn’t enter them both for the competition! But we are glad we get this fic in it’s entirety! It’s so beautifully written and a really great look at Harper and Monty. Going from Strangers to Lovers in a hot air balloon “road trip”, was mesmerizing. And it had just the right touch of angst that had us going back to read this fic over and over. Thanks so much for sharing it! 

Round 2 Fic: Good to be Back

Mods’ Review: Big fan of the opening, with the radio calls back and forth! It gave the audience the information we needed to get going with the story, while also adding some mystery and suspense as well! Murphy selling salt cubes, and using saltwater as currency, was so creative and fun! It was a nice touch of world building that really added depth to the story! Abby’s death leading to a political coup of some kind was such a great plot line, and it set up your fic so well! Assassins is always such an exciting plot! The “accidental death” assassination was so cool, it showed the expertise that Emori and Murphy have in their line of work, and it was a really cool scene. Hiding the syringe in a tampon wrapper? Genius!! Forced bed sharing to keep up with their married couple facade? Oh the angst! We love a good wake up scene, all sleepy and cute while they lovingly gaze at the other person, and this was no exception! You were able to add such a nice touch of romance and sweetness to a pretty gnarly story, well done! The Resistance pushing Murphy and Emori out after they did their dirty work for them is so good, it made the story feel even more real, and the stakes even more intense! The fact that the reaction to the death by the government was mass destruction was so unsettling but also so believable, you really created a very real dystopia that had us white knuckling it throughout the whole story! Loved that ending, of them planning to keep the work going, and try to save the world. Memori as sort of underground heroes is always a great storyline! This fic was so good! 

Round 3 Fic: Into the Blue

Mods’ Review: It’s amazing how you managed to capture the very essence of the Spider-man: Into the Spider-verse movie into your fic! Raven’s introduction to the Other Times Square (and to us) was the perfect setup! We became obsessed with all your character choices, too! Raven as Gwen, Miles/Zeke as Spider-man, Jordan as Miles, Octavia as Doc Ock!, Jasper as Prowler, Diyoza as Aunt May, Madi and her robot, Bellamy as Spidernoir and Murphy as Spider-Pig?! SO CREATIVE! The added layer of angst you weaved between these characters is something to behold. The simple glances between Zaven and lines like, “The universe gives her back her best friend for him to not know her, to be older and colder and to not know her. And then kills another version of him, just for fun.” Or “Who was your Jasper?” Raven had been alone in her world and you explored the found family trope so wonderfully in this fic. “It’s been so long since she let herself rely on others...a part of her wants to go back with each of them. She doesn’t do friends. This feels a little more like a family.” Cue the tears as they all said goodbye and Raven went into the blue!!!  And the final scene much later as she goes into yellow hinting at more for Zaven is just perfect. We enjoyed this fic so much!!!!

Round 4 Fic: we cross our bridges and burn them behind us

Mods’ Review: We love the idea of a Science Squad who are HELLBENT on proving the multiverse, it feels so true to the sci-fi thriller genre, to have a team of ‘good guys’ who make some discovery, and then have to deal with the repercussions. Also, such a nice touch, using Nadia’s last name for Luna. It’s a nice change from the ‘water’ based last names that Bailey is definitely guilty of lol. The escaped double is an excellent concept, and so very exciting! Honestly, HOLY SHIT. ALIE leveled midtown in like four hours?! That's Insane! You are always so deft at creating real tension within your stories, while still making sure they have real meaning and emotion behind them, and we love that you never pull your punches! “I don’t do teams” “wrong earth for that” FANTASTIC. It's like ‘you will join this found family and you will LIKE IT.’ And from Wells, our hearts! We always love any mention of Wells! We ALSO love a  suspenseful two hour countdown! Very ‘end of the world, 1 man can save us’, like one of those movies where Gerard Butler is somehow the only man who can save the President from certain doom, but obviously in a good way! Raven’s motivational hero speech being ‘nah it’ll be good as long as we get to it’ is so in character and hilarious, we loved it! Oh my god… Jasper’s death scene, Bailey literally had her mouth hanging open. We loved that you had Luna ask if he knew, and the weight of the realization that it was usually Luna, even if he didn’t say it. So much emotion happening in such an intense scene, so well done! The twist that she’s not actually Luna 47!!! SOO well done, we can’t deal! And it makes the scene a little earlier, where Lincoln said “thought it was you” make so much more sense! We were honestly BLOWN away by this fic, it was intense and exciting, heartfelt and sweet, full of deftly handled intense plots and really amazing character moments. This fic was definitely deserving of pushing you over the edge to become our Chopped Champion! 

———

Now that Chopped Madness is complete, all the fics written for Chopped Madness by all authors have been revealed and you can post about your fics! Don’t forget to tag us!

Our non-anonymous collection is still open for anyone who is interested in sharing fics they’ve written based on any of the Chopped Madness prompts! We’d love to see what you come up with, and we’ll happily share your work on our blog! The non-anon collection can be found here! To submit your fic to the collection, simply enter ‘chopped_non_anonymous’ as the name of the collection when uploading your fic!!!

Non-Anon AO3 Collection Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Chopped_Non_Anonymous

This is the end of Chopped Madness! Thanks so much to the 16+ authors who participated in this event, we hope you enjoyed it as much as we did!!

[chongoblog]

ALRIGHT SO HERES MY LITTLE MINI LECTURE ON HOW TO MAKE ENCOUNTERS IN D&D OR ANY OTHER RPG MORE INTERESTING SO LISTEN UP FRICK FRACKERS

Now the first thing to note is the difficulty of the encounter! There’s a super helpful resource where you can put in player levels and monster levels to determine how difficult a fight might be that I use all the time. If you’re homebrewing monsters, then you can discern a challenge rating by finding a monster that’s somewhat similar.

Now once you have your monsters, there are a few things to keep in mind when creating your encounter.

1) The motives of the enemy. Most of the time the motive is going to be "RAWR KILL" (and that’s okay!) but if they fighting a set of monsters that perhaps received orders from a higher being, then they might be trying for something more complex than that. If they have an ulterior motive, then be sure to work that into the encounter. For instance, if they're there to get a magic gemstone, make sure the location of the gemstone is absolutely clear at all times and emphasize its importance, that way your players will have all the more motive to fight these monsters, and the actions they take can reflect other solutions to the problem at hand. Like in the gemstone example, instead of fighting they can try to take the gem for themselves, or they can fire a shot at the pedestal holding the gem and knock it off. Or another example is if they’re the hull of a ship trying to sink it from the inside, the enemy can attack the boat instead of the players and a wizard can spend his turn trying to fix the hole while the fighter’s priority is shifted to the enemy with a weapon that could more likely damage the hull.

2) Have the situation/environment complement the monster’s abilities if you want to add some challenge. If I learned anything from watching Joey Joey's Strange Escapades, it's that a lot of Stands probably wouldn't work as well as they do unless they're in specific situations. A way to give an encounter more depth is if the environment at hand cooperates with whatever makes the enemy special. Can the enemy climb up trees well? Set it in a tall forest. Are you deep inside a cramped cave? Worms would have an advantage. Are you in an open field? Don't use the worms. Does the enemy wear a gas mask? Make poison/sleeping gas a prevalent feature. (That makes two references from the SAME Realms episode what a blast)

3) The environment is your friend.  The more varied your environment is, the more complexity can come with your battle. Of course, this works both ways, as too much complexity can make the battle a cluttered mess, but something as simple as a single short wall goes a LONG way on a battlefield. And one trick I specifically remember learning from Matthew Mercer is that verticality is your friend. A bit of height, whether it be one character standing on a rock or floating in the air, can make the encounter all the more interesting. You can add any sort of environmental adjustment to make the battle more interesting, whether it be a river, a tree. I remember at one point for my irl friends I covered the ceiling with gems that, if knocked down, created a fiery explosion. Any part of the environment that can be interacted with adds to the depth of the battle, because now the players can interact with those things and find new ways to solve problems.

4) Have the environment CHANGE depending on the battle. This one doesn't have to be used as often, as it's pretty complex (especially if you're working with pencil/paper), but the fun of games come from the players' interaction with the world and its environment. And with battles, it's rare that the world just stops in its tracks (even though that’s the way it works in video games but they can’t compute every outcome). Every action, whether made by the player or by the NPC's, has repercussions either good, bad, or indifferent. Whether it's having a monster destroy a bridge, or having a player's Fire Bolt miss and burn down a small building (which the player can then push the monster into), a dynamic environment keeps the player engaged in the environment, reminds them that they can interact with the environment to their advantage (which gets them more connected to your world!), and, once again, adds depth to the encounter. This point kinda ties back into the ancient DM adage where you have to let the players do their thing. If the player decides "I'm gonna try to burn this bridge down!" then let em try it! Or if you have a plan of "oo I'm going to make the bad guy burn this bridge down" and the players do something to prevent that, you just gotta let it happen. It usually works out for the best because the players are the protagonists.

I mention "adds depth" in, like, every point. And like I said earlier on, depth isn't the metric of quality, as too much can be harmful. The point is that it's not very interesting going into a featureless room and swinging a sword at a goblin until it dies. And on the flipside if you're in a room with 5 arrows timed in different successions against three goblins, each of which contain three parts of a whole shape and if the goblins come together they unleash a powerful attack but if two of them come together they release a somewhat powerful attack, also on the floor is a 5x5 grid of panels all with the number 20 on it and every time you or a goblin steps on it, it goes down one number and when it reaches zero it creates a small creature that has the capabilities to use the last spell used in the room unless the arrow for that row of tiles has fired in the last turn, then it simply fires an arrow, and also the goblins have a goal to attack the main protagonist and use a ritual that can send some of their magical energy to the Big Bad, holy crap you’re still reading this, anyway and if the ritual begins then a shield appears around them with 30 HP and you have to destroy it in 2 turns or else the protagonist's base HP is cut in half...........

...........then you’ve made something a little bit too complex and parsing all that knowledge is going to be a mess

You want to make sure that your encounters are interesting and memorable, and simple encounters are nice for beginner characters who are just figuring things out, but adding just a hint of depth can really go a long way.

Anyway this is mostly copypasted from when I sent it to a group of friends a couple months ago, with some small changes. Hope this helps

[bugborgs]

we're intergalactic, with thoughts full of static

@bugborgweek day 03: first

just a fic for today! jdhkhs i say “just” this one’s a tad longer than my other ficlets :’) As before, fic is under the cut! Possible title change incoming if i happen to think of a better title in the future but no promises.

AO3 mirror || general audience rating, sfw, about 2800 words.

The first time Mantis tells Nebula she thinks she’s pretty is a mistake. It’s not that she isn’t—Nebula is beautiful—it’s that. Well. They weren’t close and Nebula is…Nebula.

But she is breathtaking both in and out of a fight, strong and quick and deadly, and when she and Gamora have finished sparring and Nebula walks past Mantis can’t stop herself from blurting it out.

Nebula freezes, shoulders tensed. Her expression cycles from surprise to bewilderment to guarded suspicion in seconds and Mantis regrets opening her mouth immediately. Nebula doesn’t say anything, but she scowls, turns away, and stalks off.

Mantis is left with a burning sense of embarrassment at her outburst and she avoids watching any other sparring sessions for a while, even when Nebula is not involved.

Nebula leaves the Guardians again only a few short days later.

-

The first time they speak again after that is after another one of Nebula’s failed excursions. She returns in a smoking ship and with busted cybernetics and Gamora welcomes her back with a tight hug and clear relief that her sister is still in one piece.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Nebula doesn’t respond right away, but Mantis can see the tension building in her shoulders and knows she has heard her. It’s the middle of the night. Mantis can’t sleep, Nebula is attempting to repair her damaged cybernetics, and they’re along on the bridge.

“The day after your sparring match,” Mantis clarifies when Nebula still doesn’t answer. “It was a few months ago now.”

“I remember,” Nebula says tightly.

There’s an uncomfortable pause. Mantis isn’t sure what to say, or if she should even say anything at all.

“I don’t need an apology. Your mocking means nothing to me.”

“It—I wasn’t mocking you,” Mantis says, a little surprised at the response. “And I wasn’t lying, either.”

“They why apologize?” Nebula demands.

“Because you seemed unhappy with my comment, and you have been avoiding me ever since. I do not want you to be uncomfortable around me.” Mantis forces her hands to stay relaxed at her sides, trying not to look as nervous as she feels.

Nebula stares at her intently, as if trying to determine if she’s being honest or not, then abruptly looks away. Mantis waits a moment longer, then gently says, “I’ll leave you be now,” and moves to leave.

“You can stay,” Nebula says abruptly. Her fingers curl and uncurl into fists. “Or you can go. I don’t care.”

She doesn’t look at Mantis, but she isn’t leaving, or chasing her away either, and so Mantis says, “I think I’ll stay, then,” settles down in a spot near a window, and tries to hide her growing smile.

-

The first time they spend time together—really spend time together, like actual hanging out and not just existing in the same room together—Mantis has somehow roped Nebula into listening to music with her.

Even Mantis isn’t quite sure how she managed that. Nebula has always been outspoken when it came to making fun of Peter (including his music, naturally) and yet despite all the grumbling and scowling she’s now sitting next to Mantis, one earbud in her ear, and letting Mantis show her some of her favorite songs.

She likes to think it’s because Nebula has developed a soft spot for her over the recent months.

“Why do you even have this?” Nebula grouses as Mantis thumbs through the list. “Quill never goes anywhere without his stupid music player.”

“He wanted to take advantage of our downtime and nap for a while,” Mantis says, “so he let me borrow the Zune.”

Nebula grumbles indistinctly, but quiets once Mantis selects a song and the first notes start up. Mantis watches from the corner of her eye, wanting to see Nebula’s reaction. Her expression is carefully blank, and Mantis wants so badly to reach out and touch her arm to know what she’s feeling.

Nebula catches her eye and starts. Mantis tries not to laugh; she reminds Mantis of Groot when he got caught trying to sneak some sweets before dinner. “What do you think?”

Nebula looks like she’s struggling with what to say. “It…isn’t terrible,” she eventually says.

“You don’t have to pretend to like it.” The amusement in Mantis’s voice is obvious.

“It’s not…it’s not bad. It’s very you. Sweet and cheerful—” She cuts herself off abruptly and pointedly avoids looking at Mantis. Her cheeks have darkened noticeably, and Mantis feels her own start to warm.

Nebula’s still not looking at Mantis, but she doesn’t get up to leave, so Mantis risks scooting closer and holds out the Zune. “Here,” she offers. “Let’s find something you’d like.”

Nebula slowly turns and leans close enough to see the screen. Together, they start scrolling down the list of songs.

-

The first time someone says something about it, it’s Peter, and in true Peter fashion he’s a bit of a dramatic dork about it. He catches her in the kitchen early enough one morning, in a rare moment where they’re the only ones awake, and he mentions that Nebula might be visiting soon.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Peter says. He has a strange look on his face, unusually scrutinizing. “Gamora said Nebula might be in the area sometime soon, so we might get a visit from our favorite murderous in-law.”

Mantis tries to act casual, but the thought of seeing Nebula again makes her heart flutter a little. “That would be nice. It has been a long time since Nebula’s visited; I’m sure Gamora would like that.”

Peter smacks his hands down on the table and Mantis jumps at the suddenness of such a loud sound in the otherwise quiet room. “Okay, I know what you’re doing and I’m not falling for it.”

“I’m not doing anything,” she protests, flustered.

“You’re pretending you don’t care! Or that you’re not as interested in the news as you really are!”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

“You like Nebula,” Peter says. “And she likes you back, and it’s killing me that my sister has a crush and isn’t doing anything about it.”

“I do not!” Mantis exclaims before the second half of Peter’s statement sinks in. “She…she likes me?” She’s almost embarrassed of how hopeful she sounds.

But Peter is Peter; he’s a sweet man and a good brother, and he just nods excitedly at her. “Gamora says Nebula asks about you all the time when they talk. In typical angry, pretending-not-to-care Nebula fashion, I mean. And you guys are always hanging out when she’s here. You’re like, the only person she willingly spends time with. Aside from Gamora, I mean.” He laughs a little. “You two really aren’t subtle.”

Mantis’s cheeks burn. “Am I really that obvious?”

Peter softens immediately and drops the joke. “Aw, hey, it’s not a bad thing,” he assures as he pulls her into a crushing hug. “Having a crush isn’t bad—though, I gotta say, Nebula? I wouldn’t have expected that. “She’s scary man—”

“Peter,” Mantis interrupts, voice muffled against his shoulder.

Peter releases her from the hug but keeps an arm wrapped comfortingly around her shoulders. “Sorry. My point is, nobody’s going to make fun of you, and anyone that does is going to have your whole pissed off family to deal with, okay?”

Mantis smiles weakly at him. “Thanks, Peter.”

“No prob.” He pats her shoulder. “And if you need anything, just let me know, yeah?”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Now, how do you want to do the whole ‘asking her out’ think? ’Cos I’ve always had good luck with music and dancing, but on Earth some people use flowers, and then in space there’s lots—”

“Peter.”

-

Their first real date contains a few other firsts, too.

They’re on a local little planet—ostensibly to refuel and restock the ship’s supplies, but Mantis and Nebula leave that to the rest of the Guardians—that Rocket snarkily calls “boring and pathetic,” Peter says is “simple,” and Gamora says is safe.

“It’s nearby, it’s out of the way, and it’s small,” Gamora had said when the Guardians had been deciding which planet to stop at. “We should have no trouble resupplying and finding entertainment until—”

“The bug and you murderous sister are done with their date, yeah yeah. We all know the reason you picked this town is ’cause you don’t want any cops on our tail if they start shit.”

“Why would we do anything to get arrested?” Mantis can’t fathom their date going that poorly but now that the thought’s been put in her head she can’t help but start worrying.

“Okay, look, nobody is going to get arrested,” Peter started, and that’s when Drax chimed in.

“Yes, Nebula is a fierce warrior. If she does not want to be arrested, she will not.

“Dude, that’s not helping.”

From there the conversation only further devolved into bickering (somehow on an entirely unrelated subject), and it was a relief to Mantis when the ship finally docked and she and Nebula were able to officially start their date.

To say they were both nervous would be an understatement.

They were walking a bit apart as they wandered slowly through the park. Neither had particularly wanted to stick around near the market, crowded and busy as it was, and the nearby park sounded quieter and more appealing anyways, so they had agreed that they would head there first and see where that would lead.

Nebula was…tense. Mantis didn’t have to touch her to know that much, but Mantis had no room to talk. They were both nervous. Mantis, certainly, had never dated before, and based off their past conversations, neither had Nebula.

“We can head back, if you would prefer,” Nebula interrupts her thoughts abruptly, after they’d been walking for a while.

Mantis stops and blinks confusedly at Nebula. “Go back?” She thinks she can hear a bit of panic in her voice; did Nebula not want to be here with her that badly?

“If you are regretting this, we can head back,” Nebula clarifies stiffly. She’s staring straight ahead, pointedly refusing to look at Mantis.

“I—no!” Mantis blurts out, and Nebula seems so startled by her outburst she snaps around to look at her. “Why would you—do you want to head back?”

“No!” Nebula bristles defensively. “But you seem tense. I thought maybe you might have begun to regret this.”

“I could say the same about you.” Mantis doesn’t realize she’s wringing her hands until her nails bite into the back of her hand. They stare at each for a long, awkward minute until Mantis finally admits, “I…am nervous, but it’s not because I don’t want to be with you. The Guardians put some silly thoughts in my head—”

“Idiots,” Nebula growls.

“—and I let it feed my nerves,” Mantis finishes. She feels a bit silly now, having said this out loud.

Nebula clenches and unclenches her hands and haltingly says, “I was nervous too. I thought you might not being enjoying this.”

Mantis slowly unlaces her hands and reaches tentatively for Nebula’s cybernetic hand, which hangs stiffly at her side. “Maybe we could…start over, and try again?”

Nebula’s hand twitches, their fingertips brushing. “I would like that.”

Mantis smiles; she still feels a little jittery, but instead of growing dread in the pit of her stomach she has butterflies. Nebula offers a tiny smile of her own in response and Mantis’s stomach flutters, then flips when Nebula lets her hold her other hand.

“Can I kiss you?” Mantis asks.

Nebula’s cheeks darken slightly. “Yes.”

Their first kiss is brief and clumsy, but it’s sweet and leaves Mantis feeling giddy and warm, especially when Nebula tips her head to follow Mantis and they end up with their foreheads pressed against each other. Nebula lets out a flustered little huff and squeezes Mantis’s hand fondly.

Nebula’s hands are rough and her grip is a little too tight, but Mantis never wants her to let go.

-

The first “I love you” is also the first time Mantis manages to talk Nebula into dancing.

There’s music drifting down from the speakers in the quadrant, and Mantis sits up from where she’d been leaning against Nebula’s shoulder as she read.

“Quill and his stupid music,” Nebula grumbles (because really, if he wants to listen to that blasted Zune all the time then fine, but why inflict that on everyone else by playing it over the speakers?) at the same time Mantis says:

“Oh, I like this song.” Mantis shifts and Nebula can practically feel her staring imploringly at her. “Nebula…,” she starts.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say!”

“You’re going to ask me to dance. The answer is no.”

Mantis leans closer, laying a hand on Nebula’s cybernetic forearm for support. “Oh, please? Just one dance, Nebula.”

“I don’t dance. No,” Nebula repeats flatly.

“Not even for me?”

Nebula finally turns to fix her scowl on Mantis, only to falter when she sees Mantis’s endearingly sweet, pleading expression.

That was a mistake, Nebula thinks. She opens her mouth to refuse again but the words catch in her throat, and—sensing weakness—Mantis smiles hopefully.

Dammit.

They’d only been dating for a few short months—still so early in this relationship thing neither had any experience with—and yet, it seemed, Mantis already had her wrapped around her finger. Nebula wishes she could blame it on Mantis’s powers, but her hand is on Nebula’s prosthetic arm and even if it wasn’t she knows Mantis wouldn’t try to alter her feelings (she wouldn’t do that to her) but the alternative is that Nebula has gone soft and sappy like her sister and she isn’t sure if she can deal with that revelation right now so instead she takes the thought and shoves it to the very back of her mind and tries to forget about it.

“I hate when you do that,” Nebula growls, but there’s no real bite to her tone and Mantis lights up, sensing immediately that she’s won. She jumps out of her seat, tugging Nebula by the wrist and Nebula begrudgingly follows.

“Thank you for indulging me,” Mantis giggles. She pulls Nebula closer and takes her other hand, the one still covered in blue synthetic skin.

Nebula scowls. “Only for you,” she grumbles, and follows Mantis’s movements without complaint. “Just don’t tell anyone. If Quill finds out, I’ll never hear the end of it, and he will wind up with a knife in his throat.”

“Do not stab my brother, please,” Mantis chides, but she’s still smiling, too happy to pay Nebula’s grouchy threat any attention. “But, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

Nebula doesn’t say anything else, just follows Mantis’s lead. Not that it was a particularly complicated dance, as they opted to simply sway gently to the music, but Mantis wasn’t complaining. The fact Nebula was going along with it at all more than made up for the simplistic motions.

The song that started this has just ended when Mantis slides her hand up to Nebula’s wrist and gently guides her hand to her waist. She doesn’t protest, but Mantis feels her pulse spike. Mantis steps closer and loops her arms around Nebula’s neck, and Nebula tentatively moves her other hand to rest on Mantis’s waist.

Their movements slow until their swaying dance is lazy, barely a dance at all at this point. Nebula has recovered from her initial spike of adrenaline (gentle touches and physical affection are something she still hasn’t quite gotten used to), and has relaxed minutely, even seems to be almost enjoying herself. Mantis moves close enough to tuck herself under Nebula’s chin. After a moment, Nebula responds by resting her cheek against the crown of Mantis’s head.

So content in the moment, Mantis misses Nebula’s first mumbled comment. When she finally registers that Nebula has said something, she shakes herself alert and pulls back enough to look at Nebula, head cocked curiously. “What was that?”

Nebula’s brow creases, and Mantis feels the fingers at her waist curl into the fabric of her clothes with a restless, nervous sort of energy. “I said I love you,” she huffs, a little louder and more flustered.

At first Mantis is too surprised to reply, and then she breaks into a huge smile, cups Nebula’s cheek with one hand, and pulls her into a gleeful kiss, clumsy with the sheer giddy joy of I love you.

Nebula melts into the kiss and when they break apart Mantis presses her forehead to Nebula’s. The hand on her cheek slides down to rest across her chest.

“I love you, too,” she says, breathless, and Nebula makes a relieved sort of noise and holds her tighter, and that sets Mantis off and she giggles, and even Nebula can’t hide the growing smile on her face.

[princessamericachavez]

In Too Deep

So I had to write a drabble for @ozziyo‘s wonderful art. Hope this is alright:

Things were already looking bad when they got caught in the middle of a storm in the open sea, they were looking terrible when a pirate ship came out of nowhere and tried to board them in the middle of the chaos, they were looking downright awful when a hungry Kraken got added into the mix, but even then they were holding their own well enough, fighting back the monster and the attackers with everything they had. Caleb’s fireballs were the final straw that got the Kraken to give up on their ship and settle for the pirate vessel that hadn’t fared so well against its death grip. 

And then, of course, things managed to get even worse.

As their enemy’s ship is dragged into the ocean, its hooks, grappled to the Mighty Nein’s, tense and begin dragging them along. The whole thing tips over to the right and as he slips towards the railing, Fjord finds himself cursing against whatever deity has a vendetta against them. He accuses the hit of the wood against his ribs and huffs, trying to recover. The others aren’t doing much better. Beau is the only one that managed to maintain her balance somehow, the others are trying to hold on to whatever they can to keep themselves to slip into the stormy waters.

“We gotta free those hooks before we tip over!” He shouts at the others from the bridge. 

“On it!” Jester and Yasha both move towards the hooks on sync and begin working on the first of the tense metal hooks. 

Distracted, Fjord barely manages to dodge the blade falling on him. He rolls over and catches only a small cut to his cheekbone. The pirate before him strikes again, eyes gone mad with panic. He’s desperate to survive, to take whatever he can from them instead of joining his crewmates. That kind of desperation is dangerous. Fjord takes a jab to his leg but manages to kick the man off of him, enough to brace himself for the next attack.

“Why won’t they give up?!” Beau groans, from afar, as she catches an arrow. “You’re screwed, man! Stop attacking!”

The three remaining pirates don’t seem to be listening to her, but the Nein can handle them for now.

“C’mon, one more hook!” He hears Jester shouts, sees her move from the corner of his eye, along with Yasha. 

That’s good. The sooner they are freed, the faster they can get the hell out of here.

He prepares to send an eldritch blast towards his attacker when a large shadow flies over his head. He barely manages to dodge as the tentacle swings over their ship.

“Watch out!” Nott shouts from somewhere in the shadows near Caleb.

Before Fjord can figure out what she means, the ship takes a hard hit. The deck shakes, everything tumbles to the right and Fjord barely manages to hold on to the railing to keep himself from toppling over. Then, the ship rocks back with the same violence and he falls to his knees, thrown off balance. 

Hooks are off. Better get the hell out of here before-

“Fuck!” Beau’s loud voice carries even over the loud thunder above them. 

From the floor, Fjord glances over towards the deck and feels his blood run cold. The grappling hooks are gone, alright, along with a good chunk of railing exactly where Jester’d been standing a moment ago. Next to it, Yasha is getting back on her feet and glancing at the water with rage.

No. Fjord stands up, glances around the deck searching for a familiar blue form. No. He looks down at the water where the Kraken and the ship disappeared. Fuck no.

He takes off running. The man he was facing manages to slice a cut across his ribs but he doesn’t stop until he reaches the impacted area of the ship. He jumps. As he falls towards the water, he can hear Beauregard screaming his name, but there’s no going back now. All he can think is he’s not gonna let Jester drown down there like he did. 

As his body hits the freezing water, it takes him a moment to take in his surroundings. There are pieces of wood, armor, crates, and bodies floating around him and, for a moment, he finds himself back in the night when Vandrin’s ship sunk. He relives the panic taking over his body, the water burning his lungs, his consciousness sinking into the darkness... 

Focus, Fjord. He holds on tighter to the falchion and looks around. Several feet below him, Jester is getting dragged further down by a giant tentacle that she’s uselessly trying to cut free from with her ax. He swims as quickly as he can towards her and, as soon as he’s close enough, he takes a swing at it with his falchion. The magical weapon manages to do what her’s couldn’t and leave a deep slice on the Kraken’s skin. 

Jester makes a sound by his side, looking surprised and terrified. Fjord holds on to her so that he won’t lose her as the monster drags her deeper in, and she grabs on to him in return with a desperately tight grip. Fjord slices down again and again and, with every attack, the tentacle seems closer to give in. Then, tightening her hold of him, Jester reaches down to touch it with her palm and speaks. He can’t hear the words underwater, only see the bubbles leaving her mouth and her hand light up with a spell that sends a dark shock through the appendices holding her. The creature’s screech rumbles through the water as it finally let’s go of Jester and retreats into the darkness with its much bigger prey. 

Immediately, both of them start swimming up towards the surface, but a couple seconds later he notices Jester’s movements becoming jerkier and desperate. That’s when it hits him that casting that spell must have left her without air. She’s drowning. 

Shit. Fjord reaches for her, grabs her by the waist and begins pulling her up as fast as he can, praying whatever magical advantage his armor gives him will be enough for both of them. It’s an exhausting emersion that gets worse when Jester goes limb in his grip. Desperation twists his insides as he pushes past the pain of his wounds and the horror of his memories until they finally break the surface. 

Fjord gasps for air, hears Jester do the same by his side. He takes one quick look at her, both breathing heavily... but alive. He doesn’t risk speaking —breathing is hard enough in the wild sea—, he focuses on keeping them both afloat and getting to their ship. Jester helps him as much as she can, but he doesn’t let go of her out of fear of losing her to the current. 

“There they are!” Beau shouts looking down at them as they approach them. 

“Here!” Caleb runs over and throws a long rope their way. 

Fjord grips it and ties it around Jester’s waist.

“But, Fjord-”

“I’m good. I’ve got my armor,” he replies matter-of-factly without meeting her eyes. “You go first. I’m right behind you.”

“O- okay,” she mumbles, and he can barely hear her over the storm but he can feel the hesitation in her voice. He makes himself meet her eyes and give her a tight smile, hoping it’ll reassure her. It works like magic. Doubt disappears of her face, replaced by blind faith. She gives him one nod, then he gives the rope two tugs.

“Pull!” Yasha roars somewhere above their heads, the rope tenses, then slowly start raising Jester towards the deck. Fjord keeps an eye on her until she’s pulled in safely. 

The rope falls again and he repeats the process mechanically, ignoring the way the grip around his ribs makes the battle wounds flare up with blinding pain. He represses a groan and grits his teeth. Several hands reach out for him when he’s high enough and pull him over to the deck, where he rolls over on his back and finally breathes out. 

“Fjord! Are you alright?!” Jester kneels over him, hair dripping wet and windswept by the storm around them. 

“M’good, Jester,” he assures her, sitting up, but the sudden stab of pain across his torso betrays him, making him wince. It’s harder to ignore the pain now that they are safe. Now that she’s safe.

“Fjord, you’re hurt!” Jester cries, looking him over, kneeling so close that he can feel her shake. 

“Jester, it’s okay just-”

“Why did you do that?!” Her voice shakes, as she reaches down to touch his wounds. 

“Jester,” he puts his hand over hers to steady her.

He can’t tell if the droplets dripping down her cheeks are tears or sea water. She’s still breathing heavily, shaken and scared... but she’s worried about him. She nearly drowns down there, and she’s more worried over a few slashes on him than that. 

“It’s okay. I’ll heal you, just let me-”

“Jester.”

She finally looks up and that’s when Fjord realizes something has changed. The second she fell over was the exact moment when he knew that losing her was not an option, that he’d drown himself before letting that happen, that the choice was not even a choice at all, because the answer would be the someone time after time. The answer would always be: her.

“Fjord, really I should heal you before-”

He bends over and steals a kiss from her lips.

It happens like it never has before, naturally, like his body has no other option in that second than to satisfy the urge to fill her mouth against his. By the time his brain catches up to his feelings, he’s about to pull away and apologize, but her free hand comes up to caress his neck and Jester pulls him in deeper. A groan escapes Fjord’s throat as he reciprocates with renewed excitement and for a single moment, nothing else exists: no enemies, no gods, no storms. 

“Uh, guys?” Reality comes crashing back down on them when Beau interrupts. “We kinda still really gotta get out of here.”

Fjord pulls away quickly, suddenly realizing what he... what they just did, in front of everyone else. The Mighty Nein are looking down at them with expressions that range from mortified awkwardness to smug satisfaction. 

“Right, uh-” He clears his throat. “Right. We should.”

“Yeah. Yeah. We should. Uh. Yes. Yes, let’s do,” Jester, to his surprise, is every bit the mumbling mess he is. Her cheeks are flushed dark blue and a smile dances sheepishly on the corner of her lips. 

A wave of relief washes over him as her familiar magic closes his wounds, right before she pulls away.

“Thanks,” he manages to say, sending her a smile that she returns before rushing away to help the others.

It still takes Fjord a full minute to recover, before he realizes that they need him to sail and jumps back to his feet. Perhaps whatever deity has been playing with his destiny has finally decided to let him catch a break.

[jjfantasy]

It’s not what it looks like

As @lehdenlaulu​ asked per this ask! Now it’s time for 30. “It’s not what it looks like.” A big thank You goes to @18tpaz​ for inspiring me with some force-feeling stuff and @auroraborealis82​ for helping with the factual stuff! Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals, Han x Leia is strong with this one! Checked for errors, but sorry if left anything.

The Millennium Falcon was quiet and Rey didn't know if she liked it. She had been through enough solitude for a lifetime, yet after a couple of trips on a loaded with a bunch of Resistance fighters Falcon she was glad to catch a breath and sort some things out while fixing what was now her home. They were running from planet to planet, feeling First Order on their backs, but they were not giving up.

Days spent on those planets went by too quickly, following almost the same routine she'd share with her friends. Find whatever spot to catch a couple of hours of sleep, organize a search party for food, plan their next move with General Leia and hop back on the Millennium Falcon.

It's not that she was annoyed with the people around her, more that she lost track of time since their Crait breakaway. A lot has happened since she left them at the Resistance base at D’Qar, a lot of thoughts hanging around her head and Rey did not have a spare moment to sort them out.

During those trips to nearest cities available Rey would usually go accompanied by Finn and Poe. If they weren't stressed and desperate to get medicine for Rose, Rey would love those escapades. Her eyes would absorb every detail of colorful flea-markets, damp and dark alleys or posh boulevards screaming with neons.

Finally, on one of the expeditions, they found a mildly-reliable doctor, who looked more a charlatan to Rey. Since they still had no food to come back with, Poe made Finn go back to Rose while they stayed and organized some more victuals.

When Finn left, Poe gently took Rey's hand and led her down narrow streets, between clay houses and wooden stalls. She wasn't annoyed at the hand-holding. If anything she added it as another point to the list of confusing things she was feeling lately.

When they arrived at the market, Rey and Poe partied their ways to get as many products as they could. When Rey was almost finished she noticed Poe heading her way, and not further away a couple of stormtroopers strolling through the pathway, monitoring the crowd.

Without a second thought, Rey jumped towards Poe and dragged him by the arm with a free hand just around the street corner. Rey's back had hit the clay, orange wall just before Poe fell into her with the impact of his crammed backpack.

„Oof." Poe let out air from his lungs.

„Shh," Rey breathed almost inaudibly, reaching for the side of the hood, she had already put on before, to cover at least a bit of his face. She looked around, feeling Poe's warm breath on the side of her neck until she noticed with the corner of her eye stormtroopers passed them and went into another alley.

When she finally looked back to Poe his gaze was piercing her through and the noises of the street seemed to fade away. Was he angry? Rey couldn't pinpoint the emotion across his facial features.

Then he tore away his body from hers and quickly flicked the orange dust away from her shoulders.

Their way back to the Falcon was silent, but not awkward. When they arrived their campsite Poe went looking for Leia in her tent, while Rey went to check on Rose and Finn.

Finn's sweetheart seemed to be doing better, so after exchanging a few words with the pair Rey headed for the bridge. They were the only people on the ship, so apart from the low humming of engines, it was pretty quiet. Occasionally the Falcon wobbled a bit from the nearby small volcano. It was a risky place to camp, but it gave them better chances to go unnoticed.

That's how Rey found herself facing the train of thoughts she was intensely pushing away in her mind. A mix of flashbacks with blurred faces hit her as she grabbed a toolbox and headed towards the machine room.

Memories felt like a dream now, flying the Falcon with Han, Leia's embrace, Luke's hard lessons... then Snoke torturing her and Kylo Ren talking to her about her parents.

„Ow!" Rey cried out and dropped a wrench. She put her bleeding thumb into her mouth.

Rage rose inside her chest. This couldn't be it, something felt false about what Ben, or rather Kylo Ren, had told her. The memories her mind kept reviving felt foreign as if planted artificially inside her heart.

Who should she believe? Why was her fate put between Skywalker family? What kept her on the light side?

Rey looked around the machine room, her chest feeling heavy. She didn't have the answers to those questions, which replaced the anger in her with helplessness. As much as she fought against it she was sinking in dark thoughts.

Then she reached for one of the panels on the wall to give herself support and suddenly she felt warmth enter her body and a glow under eyelids.

This spot reminded her of someone or rather of feelings between two people. It wasn't her memory and Rey felt as if she intruded an intimate moment when two blurred figures crystallized in the memory. It was Han Solo and General Leia! They were much younger, intense looks on their faces but they were standing in that same exact spot Rey was standing.

Her gaze moved from Leia to Han. Rey felt the tips of her ears burn when she recognized the expression he wore. This was the same one Poe gave her earlier in the city when Rey dragged him so they wouldn't be recognized.

Poe's face appeared in front of her as if it were real. Blood rushed to her head, what was he doing in that memory? Did her mind go crazy?

Rey extended her hand towards this imaginary Poe, fingertips just barely caressing his two-day stubble.

„Rey, are you okay?" Poe called out, making Rey regain consciousness.

Rey backed and breathed in abruptly. Poe was really there and she just touched his face.

„I..." she stuttered and then swallowed while rubbing her small bleeding, „I'm sorry, I had a vision."

He furrowed his eyebrows, his gaze following her hands. „Kylo Ren again?"

„No," Rey breathed out and smiled warmly at his concern.

Poe's tense expression visibly relaxed. His right hand reached his back pocket when he spoke, „I wanted to tell you that Leia agreed we can finally prepare for Yavin IV."

Rey smiled widely, „That's good news! You must be so happy!"

„Yes, uh, I am," he admitted, evidently pondering over something. Next, he took out a small package, wrapped in brown paper and mumbled, „This is for you."

A sensation of genuine bewilderment went through Rey, as she reached for the gift. She unfolded the paper carefully with one hand, and a couple of different types of chocolate fell onto her left palm.

Rey was definitely dumbfounded. „You shouldn't have, it's expensive for sure. We need as much food as we can for all the guys."

Poe's face went fully red. „It's from my personal pay. I remembered you said you wished you could try different sweets, and uh, in my opinion, chocolate is the best and..." he stopped half sentence.

She heard a lot of stories about Poe before at long last Rey met him. Finn described him as confident and brave, BB-8, of course, had only good beeps about his master and the stories she heard on Jakku about fearless and heroic X-wing pilots checked out with him... yet Commander Poe Dameron, standing in front of her, looked embarrassed and awkward.

Poe shook his head and sighed, „You're right, I shouldn't have, now I made you uncomfortable. Once again I did a thing before thinking."

Rey reached for his hand before he could turn around and scat. „Thank You, this is lovely." Carefully she put the paper with chocolates on a shelf nearby but couldn't resist trying it. This was, at last, a small wish come true. „I'm going to save them for worse times, but try one now okay?"

„Of course, as you wish, those are all for you," Poe nodded and smiled when she put one into her mouth.

Sweetness she never felt before filled her mouth. Long ago Rey heard about chocolate and wanted to try it ever since but she never had enough money for simple stuff like bread. Even if she did, nobody was selling such products on Jakku.

Rey grinned just as she felt some soft and sweet fruit pieces in the melting chocolate and felt like hugging Poe when the ship shook from another eruption from the nearby volcano. Without really thinking it through Rey's first instinct was to protect the chocolates.

However, Poe's instinct worked a bit more sensibly, thank the Force. His arm pinned her to the wall, while his other hand went for her head before she hit against a nearby engine.

The tremor was gone as quick as it emerged, but both of them remained close, Rey supporting herself on Poe. The feel of his solid chest under her palms made her heart skip a beat.

Then Finn showed up, shouting, „Rey! Rey, are you okay?" 

Before Rey and Poe untangled themselves Finn was already there, concern long gone from his voice, „I see..." he said, apparently quite amused.

„It's not what it looks like," Poe grunted and let go of Rey.

„I sure hope it is," Finn snickered, „otherwise I don't even know what else is happening right now in here. Oh and Rey? You have something on your face," and with that he was gone, cackling on his way back to the small medical bay.

Rey's fingers reached her cheek, looking for any stains. She looked back to Poe, and damn him, he was giving her that intense look again when their eyes met.

„I'm sorry, are you angry with me?" Rey asked quietly, suddenly her cheeks burning like hell.

Poe was truly stupefied. „Why would I be angry with you?"

„I just... I don't know, you looked like it now and earlier at the market," Rey blurted out.

„I'm not angry, I..." he paused mid-sentence when he noticed, at last, a smudge of chocolate in the corner of her mouth.

He must have let go of some thought holding him back when he walked back to Rey and softly grabbed her side while he hovered over her and his lips found the chocolate on her skin.

If Rey had anything to say, she didn't have anymore, words stuck in her throat. She raised her right hand to the back of his neck and followed the instinct by burying tips of her fingers in his black curls, turning her face fully towards Poe.

Rey responded by giving Poe better access and he sighed into her mouth, making her belly do a flip-flop. The caress of his lips got softer and softer before his lips left hers for a moment.

„Strawberry, my favorite," he breathed. Rey noticed happy sparkles dancing around in his eyes when she managed to look at him.

„Mine too," she breathed back as if she ever tasted any other kind.

This time Rey tilted her head and closed the distance between them. She found Poe's lips once more, pressing their noses together.

She put her left hand back on his chest again, feeling the muscle underneath the thin, cotton material. He felt, so real underneath her. When she pressed harder against him, he drew her closer, squeezing her sides. Letting her know he was there and he wasn't planning on going anywhere.

Time stopped, force froze, her mess of thoughts didn't matter as long as he was holding her... and beeping?

Beep, beep! sounds came from the hallway.

Reluctantly Rey pulled away from the handsome pilot and looked over his shoulder to find a stressed droid.

I've been looking everywhere for my master-friend! General-friend is heading for the starship! She wants to talk to master-friend!

Poe replied, his panting only audible for Rey. „Thanks, buddy. I'll be over there in a second, okay?"

He squeezed her side again and smiled widely at her. „Can we talk afterwards?"

Rey nodded and smiled back, while she watched him run to the General.

Turned out Leia was strongly determined to leave for Yavin which meant as soon as possible, so everybody had to pack right away. The evacuation was the most important, so Rey hasn't had a chance to talk to Poe, but it could wait.

She finally understood his expression and Rey couldn't help but laugh whenever he made it, catching her stare across the main hold. There was at least one clear thing in her life.

When Leia entered the starship Rey could swear she smiled when she walked by the machine room.

[81scorp]

Constructive criticism: Fantastic Four

(Originally posted as an editorial on Deviantart Aug 3, 2015. It has not been changed from how I originally wrote it.)

In 1961 Martin Goodman, the editor of Marvel Comics (Which back then was called Atlas Comic.), called writer Stan Lee to tell him that their competition, DC Comics (Which was called National Comics back then.), had created a team of superheroes called the Justice League, and it was a big seller. "I want us to get on the bandwagon too. Cook me up a book which stars a whole team of heroes - and do it yesterday!" So. Stan Lee and Jack Kirby created Fantastic Four, Marvel`s first Superhero team which not only sold great, but also introduced the idea of relatable superheroes. Plus: unlike most Superheroes they didn`t have secret identities. In 1986 Constantin Film acquired the film rights to Fantastic Four and a low budget movie was made by producer Roger Corman in 1994... only to never see the light of day. Except in the form of bootlegs. The movie was only made so that the company could keep the movie rights. Probably waiting for a time when special effects had improved so that it wouldn`t look stupid and they could do the source material justice. In 2005 a new Fantastic Four movie was made and unlike the previous one this one was released in the cinema. And it wasn`t that good. The CGI on Reed Richards didn`t look good, Ben Grimm`s rock-body looked very rubbery, Dr Doom`s motivation was copied from Norman Osborn`s from the Spider-man movies and it took the team till the third act to realize that they could use their powers for good. (Yes, there was that scene at the bridge, but after that their biggest priority, which took up an unnecessary large amount of time, was to get rid of their powers.) Unlike Phantom Menace and Transformers, revenge of the fallen I don`t feel that listing a few points is enough, I`d change most of the story. Here`s how it could have been better. At the beginning of the movie the four are already training and preparing for their journey into space. Their backgrounds and relationships to each other is revealed through dialogue and interactions. Reed and Sue has been in a relationship for at least six months and Reed is already kind of a celebrity in this world (kinda like Stephen Hawking) and he`s nicknamed "Mr Fantastic". He sees a science magazine with him on the cover and a headline that says: "Smartest man on earth?" It makes him think that under different circumstances it could have said "Smartest men on earth?" He tells his story to Johnny who has never heard it before. Reed had always been very intelligent for his age, the only one of his age that he felt was his intellectual equal was a guy he met at college: Victor Von Doom."Hold it." Johnny interrupts. "His name was actually `Doom`?" "Well, he was born in a european country, I think it was called Latveria. Maybe it`s a common name there that means something different in their language. Anyway..." He continues his story about how Victor was brilliant but also very hard to work with and eccentric. One day he did an experiment that literally blew up in his face. Reed doesn`t know what happened later. Some said that Doom died others that he was kicked out. Then comes the day. The four go out into space, Reed notices that he has miscalculated, they get bombarded with cosmic radiation and crashland on earth. They discover their powers, John thinks it`s cool, Sue and Reed are cautiously optimistic but they all feel sorry for Ben who got the worst part of the deal. A military team comes to get them, sees Ben, thinks he`s a monster, gets ready shoot him but the rest of four go: "No no! don`t shoot! he`s with us!" Reed is troubled by guilt and the four are driven home in silence. Back at the base the four are quarantined for a few days. Reed examines and tests their powers to make sure their condition doesn`t get any worse, and to see if there is a cure for Ben. Late one night Reed is up working hard, the radio is on in the background. The music is interrupted because of news: there has been an accident somewhere, many are injured. Reed stretches his arm to reach the radio so he can switch to another station because he`s too tired to listen to bad news. But then he stops himself, the reason he got into science is because he wanted to change the world for the better. If he turns the radio off now he`s no better than all those other people who turn a deaf ear to all the bad things in the world. With his powers he could actually do something. So he listens to the news. Somewhere in an Latverian town at night, three activists are running down the streets. They are caught by authorities. Cut to: a cell, the three activists are being interrogated by a man who talks to them in a kind, yet condescending way. They were protesting against their ruler and spreading propaganda against him. The man tells them that they can avoid punishment if they take back what they have said, they refuse. The ruler himself enters, a man in cloak and armor (because of the light and shadows we don`t see his face but from the sound of his voice we can guess that he`s wearing an iron mask). He gives them the chance to apologize to him in person, they still refuse. The ruler charges his glove and fires. Reed has managed to get his friends out for a walk in the nearest city in civilian clothes. Ben is fully clothed with hat, trenchcoat, scarf and everything but still feels like a freak on display. Reed has a special radio that allows him to hear 911-calls. A building is on fire near where they are. The four run to it and use their powers to help people. Ben is at first reluctant to get into the fire because he knows his clothes will burn and people will see his body, but he knows he can`t put that over human lives. The people are saved, the four are heroes, people see Ben`s body. Some react in fear, others don`t care (because he saved their lives), but Ben still doesn`t like being exposed. They get famous, TV wants to interview them, media calls them "The Fantastic Four", they move into the Baxter building, Sue designs their FF costumes Reed makes them out of unstable molecules, Johnny is OK with the media circus, Ben is not. He feels that Reed has been too distracted by the publicity and has abandoned his research. Ben never says it out loud but Sue can see it and talks to Reed who feels guilty and goes back to working on a cure for Ben. Then I figured there could be a montage of FF doing Superheroic stuff and Reed searching for Ben`s cure. Ben does all the Superhero stuff because he knows it`s the right thing to do (the needs of the many and all that), but he gets no joy from it. Near the end of the Montage we can see that the hooded ruler has been following their adventures on the news. After the montage Ben could have mixed feelings about his situation: sure, he`s helping people and making a difference, but he still has his body issues. He goes out late one evening to clear his head and meets Alicia Masters who makes him feel better about himself. That same night Reed has made great progress in his research, he should be able to reverse Ben`s condition within a few days. Things look good for Johnny too, he`s gotten the phone number of a hot girl he likes: Frankie Raye. The next day a ship lands on top of the Baxter building. The ship`s autopilot tells them to come aboard, it`s master has important things that he wishes to discuss with them. The FF suspect a trap but get on the ship which takes them to Latveria. The ship takes them to a castle where they are shown to a dining room and are soon introduced to their host: Dr Doom! Dr Doom removes the lower half of his mask to eat and we can see that at least half of the lower half of his face is scarred. He tells them what happened after the explosion at the university. He was kicked out, wandered the world, learned meditation in tibet, had an epiphany where he realized that he was the right man to rule the whole world, created his armor, returned to his birth country which was in a horrible state, made it better but also turned it into a dictatorship. He and Reed wants the same thing: to make the world a better place, he just thinks that Reed approaches it from the wrong angle: he only treats the symptoms and doesn`t go to the root of the problem. Doom uses his own country and the (real life) benevolent yugoslavian dictator Tito as examples of the positive sides of fascism. Doom wants the FF to assist him in uniting the countries of the world and create a Utopia. FF refuses, Doom locks them up in cells and starts preparing a trip to U.S.A. With them out of the way It`ll be easier for him to take over U.S.A and force his "benevolent" dictatorship on it. Doom: "At first they will resist, but in the long run, they will be grateful." FF breaks out of their cells, gets by the sequrity systems, fight a few guards and fights Doom who turns out to be a Doombot. (F.Y.I: The Doom they talked to in the dining room was the real Doom.) The real Doom is on one of three ships that has just lifted and are headed for U.S.A. The FF manages to get on board, fight a few robot guards, manages to take down the other two ships and fights Doom (for realz this time). The ship gets wrecked and falls. It is headed for a Latverian town but the FF manages to aim it at a nearby lake. The ship sinks, Reed wants to save Doom but can`t find him. FF escapes in an escape pod. Next day they celebrate in the Baxter building. Ben has brought Alicia as his date and Johnny has brought Frankie Raye as his. Reed tells Ben that he should be able to restore his humanity by the end of the week. Ben, who has learned to accept himself, respectfully declines. Reed then proposes to Sue, everybody is happy. Or?... Mid or post-credit scene: A group of Latverian citizens have gathered in a building. Now that Dr Doom has been de-throned they can turn Latveria into a democracy that respects human rights. Things can only get better from here. Cut to: the lake. Dr Doom walks out of the water and onto the shore. He has an apparatus in his armor that allows him to breathe underwater. He is alive and he is pissed. The end Not perfect but it`s the best I could come up with. It doesn`t have to be super faithful to the source material to be good, but the source material was the only better alternative I could think of. Thing: Mocap or practical? I could go either way. A practical suit wouldn`t be bad if it was a good practical suit. (They did it well in The neverending story which came out 1984.) and I wouldn`t mind Mocap if was good and the actor got to interact with the other actors at least half of the time. Characters Johnny should be a little bit smarter and mature than he was in the 2005 movie. He could be an adventure seeker and the funny guy. Ben could be a tragic figure that turns into an everyman who`s a bit of a loveable brawler and the funny guy. Almost like Johnny except he`s older and wiser. Sue could be the diplomat of the FF. When the team starts to fall apart she`s usually the glue that holds them together. She could also be the one who translates Reed`s technobabble to John and Ben (to the best of her abilities). Reed is the egghead of the group, but also leader, idealist and slightly asperger-ish. (Sometimes Sue has to translate subtle hints from others that Reed doesn`t always pick up.) Dr Doom is a megalomaniac who should be based on real life dictators, wants to rule the world and not some CEO who is pissed because Reed and friends messed up his face.        

[topfygad]

How To Spend 3 Days in Panama City Beach, Florida

Close your eyes and think of your dream vacation. You’re lounging on a sun-soaked beach, with your toes in the sand and the ocean waves splashing in the distance. And although you’re full from lunch, you’re already daydreaming about the seared snapper and fish tacos you want to eat for dinner.

If you’re looking for a warm, tropical vacation, you don’t need to escape to Southeast Asia or the Caribbean! You can find a slice of paradise right here in Panama City Beach, Florida.

Sure, Florida is home to dozens of resort towns and sugar sand beaches. But Panama City Beach beats them all, and particularly for one reason—scuba diving!

Known as the “Wreck Diving Capital” of the South, Panama City Beach is scattered with dive sites and artificial reefs. It’s one of the top diving destinations in the United States, and one of the only cities with dozens of sunken ships and bridges.

Although your second day of vacation is reserved for an offshore dive trip, you could realistically dive each day if you wanted! Most excursions last between four and five hours, which means you could head out in the morning and return back to shore just in time for lunch.

So get ready to treat yourself to a weekend full of sun, mouth-watering cuisine and crystal, clear waters!

Day 1

Your first day in Panama City Beach is all about sightseeing. Once you touch down in Florida and check into your hotel, it’s time to explore the area and get the lay of the land. It might be tempting to hit the beach right away, but don’t worry, you’ll have lots of time for that later!

Morning

Your first stop is at Pier Park, a fun-filled entertainment center with exciting shops, restaurants, and entertainment activities. And best of all, it’s located right on the shores of Panama City Beach.

With over 120 stores and brands, Pier Park is a shopper’s paradise. Whether you’re picking up an extra bottle of sunscreen or treating yourself to a brand new swimsuit, Pier Park has it all.

And for sweeping, panoramic views of Panama City Beach, take a leisurely ride on the towering SkyWheel! From the top of the giant Ferris wheel, you’ll have an unobstructed, birds-eye-view of the ocean and coastal shoreline.

Afternoon

After a relaxing morning of shopping, head to Chewie’s Kitchen for lunch. Everything from the Chewie Style Cheese Steak to the Loaded Chewtato Chips is made from scratch with love. Even the flavorful salad dressings are made right here in-house!

And if you happen to visit during the weekend, you can sample their brunch menu, which includes breakfast classics like omelets, egg and cheese sandwiches, and even a Chewie Cristo – their spin on the mouthwatering monte cristo sandwich.

With a full, happy belly, you can then walk to the sandy shores and spend a few hours at the beach. Soak in your first few rays of the sun, or go for a swim in the warm, turquoise waters. It’s time to relax and have some fun—you’re on vacation, after all!

Evening

Once the sun goes down, head back to your hotel to freshen up. Then, get ready to head out for your first exciting night in Panama City Beach.

There are tons of restaurants to choose from, but the Saltwater Grill is an excellent choice to sample traditional coastal cuisine. Serving fresh seafood, juicy steaks and strong cocktails, the Saltwater Grill is the perfect restaurant for a delicious dinner.

Fresh seafood at Saltwater Grill!

And while the food is nothing short of spectacular, it’s the floor to ceiling 25,000-gallon aquarium that will make your jaw drop. As the perfect backdrop for your dinner, the aquarium is teeming with tropical fish and exotic sea life to watch.

But try not to knock back too many mojitos. You have to wake up bright and early tomorrow for an action-packed day of diving!

Day 2

Set your alarm early, because you’ll be spending the morning diving through the pristine waters of the Gulf Coast. And try not to be late; your tour with Diver’s Den leaves right at 8 am!

Morning

As the Diver’s Den charter pulls out into the ocean, you’ll be fitted with a wetsuit, mask and oxygen tank as you wave goodbye to the shores in the distance.

Plunging into the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, you’ll see schools of tropical fish, stingrays, and possibly sharks! The deep, blue ocean is home to a variety of colorful limestone cliffs as well as artificial reefs. And since you’re diving in the “Wreck Capital of the South,” you won’t want to miss the sunken ships and bridges that lie deep beneath the surface.

Reaching depths between 45-80 feet, you’ll have the opportunity to explore the wrecks of historic ocean tankers, tug boats, and even Navy Class Minesweepers! Swim through the decommissioned USS Accokeek, or crawl along the ridges of the 19th century S.S. Tarpon for striking underwater views.

And as you snake through hallways of the sunken ships, you’ll also find that the water is brimming with sea life. Hidden inside the small nooks and crannies of the wrecks, you’ll see spiny lobsters, batfish, and even a few fire worms! Just stay away from those guys—they will cause you nothing but pain if touched!

Depending on how long you want to spend in the water, Diver’s Den offers two or three tank trips. And if you’re looking for something more extreme, choose one of their deep offshore charters, which takes you down to the natural bottom at 110 feet.

As you conclude your last dive of the morning, you’ll be taken back to shore to clean up and rest. And if you want to book another trip, go for it! There are so many dive spots around the ocean that you’ll want to check them all out.

Afternoon

Once you return to shore, you’ll probably be exhausted (and starving) after spending the morning scuba diving.

So, grab a quick bite to eat at Finn’s Island Style Grub, a gourmet food truck that serves some of the best fish tacos in Florida. Or try their epic quesadillas and beach bum burritos, both made-to-order with only the freshest ingredients.

All the delicious food at Finn’s!

Whatever you choose, you can enjoy your meal from the outdoor picnic tables while soaking in the sun.

After such a long morning, you deserve a well-earned break, so take it easy for the rest of the day! Hit the beach, do some shopping, or simply unwind on the balcony of your hotel room.

Evening

After a few relaxing hours to yourself, you’ll be refreshed and ready to hit the town! And hopefully, you’ll be hungry again too, because Panama City Beach is overflowing with restaurants catering to every taste palette.

Like the Runaway Island Beach Bar and Grill. This Panama City Beach staple has prime real estate right on the shores of the ocean, making it the perfect place to watch the sunset. And if you haven’t gotten your fill of seafood yet, Runaway Island serves up everything from grilled shrimp and clam chowder to burgers and crab cakes.

And to help burn a few of those extra dinner calories, head to Pier Park for a nighttime stroll. It’s peaceful to walk along the bank with the city illuminated in the distance and the moon reflecting off the ocean. Not to mention, Pier Park is an entirely different vibe when the sun goes down!

Day 3

It’s not time to go home yet! Although it’s your last day in Panama Beach City, you can still enjoy a ton of exciting activities before heading back to the airport. Your last day should be spent outdoors, where you can really sink your teeth into this fabulous city!

Morning

Start your day off right by enjoying a delicious breakfast at Thomas’ Donuts & Snack Shop. Situated right on the beach, this restaurant specializes in American favorites like hot dogs, pizza and, of course, donuts! Grab a few of your favorites and enjoy the morning views from their outdoor deck.

Now that you’re fully revitalized take a short drive over to Camp Helen State Park, a coastal slice of paradise right on the shores of the gulf. Explore one of the park’s hiking trails, or rent a kayak or paddleboard for a relaxing morning on the lake. You can even do fresh and saltwater fishing right off the pier!

The beaches at Camp Helen State Park are also worth visiting. Stop by for a quick dip in the ocean or post-breakfast nap on the white, sandy coast. Either way, the park is an excellent escape from the sometimes overly crowded public beaches in the city!

Afternoon

It’s time to head back into the city after a beautiful morning exploring the wilderness of the park. Next up: Lunchtime!

Indulge in a classic, Panama City Beach cuisine at Hook’d Pier Bar & Grill. Featuring an outdoor terrace with stunning water views, this casual beach-themed restaurant is known for freshly caught seafood and cold beer. Here, you can treat yourself to lobster or shrimp tacos, fried bay scallops, or the catch of the day seafood platter.

With the sun going down, you’ll want to soak in the last few hours of your Panama City Beach vacation. Do some last minute shopping, take a walk along the pier, or relax in one of the city’s many parks.

Evening

There’s no better way to spend your last night in Panama City Beach than with a bonfire! Grab a few friends and head to the shores for a fun night of fire-side s’mores, beach games and music.

Endless Beach Rentals provides all-inclusive beach packages for the ultimate bonfire evening. They deliver and set up your party with beach chairs, side tables, hammocks, and fire pits. All you need to do is bring your favorite BBQ dishes and a couple of drinks, and you’re ready to go!

The fire slowly starts to die, signaling that it’s time to say goodbye to your buddies and to your fantastic vacation. From diving among the vibrant schools of fish to a Ferris wheel ride with sweeping views of the Gulf, your action-packed trip was one for the books.

Where to Stay in Panama City Beach

In Panama City Beach, there are tons of hotels, inns, and resorts to choose from. But for the perfect vacation, you’ll want a hotel that offers direct beach access, views of the emerald green ocean, and spacious rooms to catch some shuteye. And the Wyndham’s Tidewater Beach Resort has it all, plus more!

Situated on its own private beach, this condominium resort is the tallest high-rise in the entire city. Which means even if you aren’t on a high floor, you get to enjoy outstanding ocean views from every one of the gulf-facing rooms.

The view of the beach from the rooms at the Tidewater

Other amenities include an indoor and outdoor lagoon pool, fitness center with a Roman spa, and an on-site restaurant. But best of all, you can’t beat the resort’s location. It’s just a short walk from all of Panama City Beach’s top attractions, including the exciting Pier Park.

At the Tidewater Beach Resort, you can wake up refreshed and ready to explore everything Panama City Beach has to offer!

Final Thoughts

Panama City Beach is more than just a family-fun resort town. It’s a playground full of exciting outdoor adventures, on land and in the water! Not to mention that you’ll eat some of the freshest and most delicious seafood available.

And if you want to explore one of the best scuba diving destinations in the US, then there are a ton of amazing spots here to check off your bucket list. Whether you’re looking for tropical fish or wanting to swim through the sunken ruins of navy ships, Panama City Beach has something for every diver.

And although this itinerary highlights the best things to do here, it’s just a recommended guide! Because in reality, there’s no right or wrong way to travel. As long as you have an open mind (and lots of sunscreen), you’ll have no problem finding adventure in Panama City Beach.

source http://cheaprtravels.com/how-to-spend-3-days-in-panama-city-beach-florida/

[blessed-but-distressed]

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU.

also on ff.net

Tagging: @katie-dub , @wholockgal, @kat2609, @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @biancaros3, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @ms-babs-gordon, @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts and whoever else asks me.

Thank you to @lenfaz, for the being a fantastic cheerleader and @wholockgal for the guidance. Sorry this one took so long, guys.

Killian

Liam was not happy, to put it mildly.

The staff meeting had not gone well. In fact, to call it a fucking fiasco wouldn't have been too far off the mark. Normally, Killian was content to doze through the daily briefings, only too happy to tune out as his colleagues attempted to outdo each other in a race to churn out the cheesiest puff pieces they could. It was a race to the bottom, as far as Killian was concerned.

Alright, so his own copy was not exactly what you would call hard-hitting. Friendless Americans were hardly in the same realm as child soldiers, or Ebola. It certainly wasn't going to win him any awards any time soon. But at least he didn't spend fifteen minutes that morning boasting about bagging an interview with a second-tier novelist who was still content to tread the same tired ground Ian Rankin had first broken… thirty years ago.

No, Killian's usual method of coping through the morning briefing was to drink his subpar coffee in subdued silence, wishing he were still in bed. Or better yet, dead. And he might've continued in that vein, if he hadn't been busy scanning the newest copy edits to drown out the droning, and seen the hatchet job on page 7.

What came next, well... perhaps Killian could have handled things better. But in summary, no, Liam was not happy.

"For chrissakes, Killian," he said, one hand pulling his office door closed behind them, the fingers of the other pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can't keep doing this."

"Me?" Killian asked in disbelief.

"Aye. You. When I said I wanted you to become more engaged in the staff meetings, this is hardly what I meant!"

"I didn't-" Killian began, but Liam cut him off with defeated sigh.

"Did you really have to call her a dopey bint?"

"Three different misspellings of the word 'bureau'!" Killian countered. "Three! In an article that's barely 500 words long! Not to mention what she did to the title of the Edwards piece-"

"It's not about the typos!" Liam interrupted, slamming his palms down onto his desk with such force that the ornamental cup of pencils on his desk rattled in their container. "It's about the conduct. Your conduct. And honestly, I'm sick of making excuses for you!"

Liam rarely shouted. His weapon of choice was usually a look of quiet disappointment, one which he wielded with deadly intent. To see him properly hot under the collar… Killian felt like a chastened child, the first stirrings of shame warming his cheeks.

"Is that what you've been doing?" Killian responded softly, the words tripping off his tongue with a vulnerability that made him cringe inwardly.

Though he regretted his tone, it did at least seem to take some of the wind out of Liam's sails, his brother's expression morphing from anger to something more stricken.

"I didn't-" Liam began, holding his hands up in a placating gesture, "I didn't mean it like that."

"No?"

"Dammit, Killian," Liam groaned, sinking into his office chair with an audible squeak against the leather. "I'm trying here, okay? You think it's easy, running this place? With all the sniping and poor formatting, and Ingrid breathing down my neck 24/7, just waiting for an excuse to close us down?"

"Close us down?" Killian repeated, momentarily sidetracked. He knew things had been difficult, but... "I thought the entire point of a family enterprise was she wouldn't do that?"

Liam's laugh was hollow as a drum. "Maybe if we were remotely profitable…" he responded bitterly. And then, as if realising for the first time the significance of what he just uttered, he straightened, and gave Killian a meaningful look. "You didn't hear that."

"Of course not," Killian scoffed.

"Look," Liam began, pasting on what Killian liked to think of as his reasonable face. "I know this isn't what you want to be doing. And I know Lindsay can come off as a barely literate braggard. But honestly? She's the best we can afford. So can't you just work with me here? Swallow your pride. Apologise to the lass. I don't have the budget to send you out for workplace sensitivity training, and I doubt it would take anyway. So can you do that? For me?"

Momentarily stunned at finding himself drawn into his brother's confidence, Killian could only nod at first. "Aye," he said, when he'd finally recovered himself. "I'll do that."

He could almost see the physical weight of it lifting off Liam's shoulders as he said the words. "Thank you."

"Anything to keep the ship afloat," Killian said with a mock salute to his captain.

At the flippant gesture, Liam's eyes narrowed. "You will make the apology convincing, won't you?"

"Of course."

"It will require a little more than your usual flowery language and empty platitudes, brother. I'm talking about a sincere apology."

Killian tapped his temple with his prosthetic fingers. "Leave it to me."

Did you get my email? KJ

I'm not joining a mariachi band, Jones. ES

It wasn't a mariachi band. It was a flamenco dancing class. KJ

Yeah, either way I'm not coordinated enough for that. And then there's the ruffles... ES

Oh? And pray tell, what did ruffles ever do to you? KJ

Homecoming, 2003. ES

Oh really? KJ

Goodwill dress. Body glitter. Crimped hair. The works. There aren't any pictures. I know you would have liked that, but my foster brother burned them all. In hindsight, probably the nicest thing that little shit ever did. ES

...So ruffles are out. KJ

Ruffles are out. ES

He was nearly home, the train just leaving Haymarket when his phone began to vibrate in his inside pocket, the chorus of American Woman bursting out through tinny speakers. Ignoring the woman opposite scowling at him over the top of her copy of Metro, he answered it.

"This is a surprise. Are you rethinking the ruffles, lass?"

At first there was just silence, and he wondered if the call had dropped out. But then at last, there was a deep intake of breath. "Uh, hi. Look, I know this is really weird to ask, but is there any chance you're, I don't know, nearby?"

Killian thought he'd seen Emma Swan in a few different modes by now, but the voice on the phone was an entirely new proposition. Small. Uncertain. If he didn't know any better, he might think she sounded apologetic. Not a setting he thought Emma Swan came in.

"Nearby to... where, exactly?"

"Oh, uh, my place. In Newington. Next to the old Jewish cemetery?"

"I'm not familiar. Is that near The Meadows by any chance?"

"A couple of blocks South. I'm sorry. You're probably busy. I'll just figure it out myself. I'm sorry to bother you."

Two sorries in as many seconds. Second guessing herself aloud. Alarm bells were ringing in Killian's head. Something was not alright with Emma Swan. Without giving it much thought he made a grab for his laptop bag beside him with his false hand and looped it over his shoulders.

"Just text me your address."

She was sitting on the curb out front of her building when his taxi pulled up, hugging her bag to her chest. She made for quite the pitiful looking figure, illuminated as she was by the sickening yellow glow of the streetlight.

She looked almost surprised to see him emerge from the back of the black cab, as if she'd never called him in the first place.

"You didn't have to come," she said, rising to her feet, her eyes not meeting his. "I'm fine."

But whatever else she was, Emma Swan didn't seem fine. In fact, she seemed to be shaking.

Killian had his jacket off in a moment, draping it across her shoulders. It was harder for her to avoid his scrutiny at this distance, and he could see the quiver of her lip. The tell that meant Emma was only just holding it together.

"My apartment," Emma said, gesturing vaguely at the building in front of them. "They tossed it."

"They?" Killian doubted very much Emma had been the subject of a visit from law enforcement, but it was good to be sure.

She just shrugged, and it was the most helpless gesture he'd ever seen from her. Just your garden variety criminal, then.

"Have you phoned the police?"

She shook her head, fingers reaching out to pull his jacket tighter around herself. "I tried to call 999, but then I remembered it wasn't an emergency, and I tried to google the right number but my fingers felt like jelly and I just-"

She was almost in tears by this point, so Killian did what anyone in his situation would do. He took a step forward hugged her.

She resisted at first, her spine stiffening and he couldn't bring himself to be entirely surprised. Whatever else Emma might be, she did not strike him as much of a hugger. A childhood in care would do that to you. But she didn't push him away, and Killian didn't let go.

Instead he held her against his chest, his one hand travelling up and down her upper arm in what he felt was a soothing manner. And then before he knew it, Emma Swan the stoic was gone, and the real Emma Swan, replete with all the usual human fears and vulnerabilities, was hugging him back.

They waited at a kebab shop down the street until the police were done doing whatever it was they did in such circumstances. Dusting for fingerprints, taking photographs, disturbing Emma's neighbours for potential eye-witness accounts. They weren't optimistic about an arrest.

It was only once they'd finally left a little after midnight that Killian trailed Emma upstairs, to see the damage for himself.

They'd done a real number on the place. Furniture overturned. Drawers tossed, their contents strewn about in haphazard piles. Cupboard doors left open to reveal broken crockery. The only saving grace was Emma hadn't stumbled upon them while they'd been at it, stuck in an evening lecture.

Killian gave a low whistle. "Any chance you've renter's insurance, Swan?"

She gave him a level look that told him exactly where he could stick his renter's insurance.

"Phoned the landlord?"

Emma shrugged. "She's in Tenerife, apparently. Along with like half of Scotland. I left a voicemail."

"Locksmith? I know a good one. So do you, come to think of it."

"I do?" she asked, momentarily shaken from surveying the devastation.

"Robin. From karaoke? Best in the business."

"Really? Locksmithing? I would not have picked that. He seems so…"

Killian could feel himself smile at her floundering. "Well-spoken?" he offered.

She blew out a breath. "Well, yeah."

"He went to one of those schools," Killian explained. "You know, with the straw boaters, and the latin? The kind that likes to spit out Prime Ministers and investment bankers? It's been a lifetime, but the accent's hard to shake."

"Like Hogwarts?"

Killian snorted. "If you like."

"So what?" she asked. "He's the black sheep of the family?"

"On the contrary. It's his father that's been a guest of Her Majesty's Prison Service these last twenty five years. Ponzi scheme. Cheated rather a lot of people out of their life savings, as it turned out."

"Holy shit."

"Aye," Killian agreed. "He's not had an easy time of it. And now with raising his son on his own. But despite it all, he might just be the best man I know."

"And a hell of a locksmith?" Emma ventured.

He smiled. "Aye, that too. But it's getting late, and the little lad would be in bed by now. I doubt he could make it here tonight." He grimaced, shooting a glance at Emma's front door where the thieves had kicked it in. He doubted it would even stay closed, the state it was in. "I think it'd be best if you slept elsewhere tonight, lass."

He should have known that Emma Swan, the stoic, would make her return at some point. But he still groaned inwardly when she saw her cross her arms over her chest in that infuriatingly familiar way.

"It's just one night," she reasoned. "It'll be fine."

He was amazed how so few words could set his blood to boiling. "Are you bloody mad? You can't stay in here with your door hanging off the bloody hinges. Clearly the building isn't secure. Pack a bag, and I'll drop you at the nearest Travelodge."

Emma gave a scornful laugh. "You think I can afford a Travelodge now someone's ransacked my place? Academics really don't get paid nearly as much as you think they do."

Killian groaned. "Stay with me, then. There's plenty of room, and Elsa would love a female presence to counteract all the testosterone."

"Honestly, Killian. I'm fine. You think I haven't been in tighter spots than this? There's no need to put anyone out. It's not like they're coming back."

She was a stubborn lass. He'd always known it, but it was somehow so much more frustrating when she was working against her own self-interest. It was time for Killian to do a little arm crossing of his own. "I'm not leaving you here."

Emma rolled her eyes. "It's not your problem."

"No? My column does rather depend of you being whole and healthy for the full year. I'd say it's entirely my problem, you putting yourself at risk like this."

"I'm not leaving," she said, her tone defiant.

"Well, then neither am I," Killian replied, with some defiance of his own. Then, to further illustrate his commitment to the cause, he settled himself down on her couch, raising one challenging brow.

Emma gave an exasperated groan, dropping down onto the couch beside him. "You're infuriating, you know that?" she said, turning to him.

"I'm aware."

"Look, I know I'm the one who called you. But I swear, it was just a momentary freak out when I saw the place. I'm fine now. I'll put something in front of the door. A dresser or something. I know you're trying to be all noble or whatever, but I'm not some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself."

"Has it ever occurred to you, Swan," Killian said, scratching at his beard with mild irritation, "that perhaps it isn't so much about me thinking you weak, quite so much as you being deserving of someone's help?"

Emma hesitated.

"At least let me help you tidy the place up," he offered. And then with a sly smile in her direction, "Or are you worried leaving me in your flat too long, I might take the opportunity to rifle through your unmentionables?"

He got an elbow to the kidney for that, but she didn't technically shoot down his offer. So he set about to make good on it, reaching over to pick up a lamp that had been knocked to the ground. He could feel Emma watching him, wordlessly, as he bent down to retrieve a stack of books that were scattered on the floor.

"Problem, Swan?"

But instead of a proper response, she just threw her hands up with an exasperated, resigned sound and stalked off into the other room.

They were into the wee hours before the place was mostly set to rights, a pile of rubbish bags by the door fit to bursting with ruined or broken things. The thief or thieves in question had certainly not been gentle in their search for Emma's more valuable possessions.

"About done?" he asked, as Emma shuffled back into the main room, clutching a broom.

"Done!" she announced, flopping down onto the couch with clear exhaustion, letting the broom fall to the floor with a clatter.

"So what's the final damage bill, then?" Killian asked, coming over to perch on the edge of the coffee table. "What did they get?"

Emma emitted a small sound from where she lay face down, but quickly righted herself, giving Killian her full attention. Her hair was askew from where she had lain on it, a glorious mess, and Killian found himself smiling softly despite himself.

"Well, the good news is they didn't take my laptop, since I had it with me. And they never found the emergency stash I keep under the sink, because men never think to check inside boxes of tampons. But apart from the broken dishes, it's mainly just jewellery and stuff. My phone charger, which is a hassle. Some DVDs. They're Harry Potter fans, apparently..." Emma mused.

"So all perfectly replaceable then?"

At that, Emma frowned, her gaze fixed on the carpet by her feet. "Yeah, mostly."

"Mostly?"

Emma glanced back to him, her fingers unconsciously grazing the skin below her throat. "There was a… a keychain. With a swan on it? It's not worth much or anything, but I don't know... It has sentimental value, I guess."

Killian wasn't sure what to say, so he nodded to show he understood. It wasn't as if he could promise its safe return. He'd written enough articles to know items stolen during your average burglary were rarely recovered. And truth be told, it bothered him, that this was something he was powerless to address.

"So," he began, stretching his legs out with a yawn. "It being somewhere between too early and too late, are we sleeping or are we staying up until we can give Robin a call?"

"We?" Emma repeated. "You don't have to stay. Believe me, you've done plenty. Go home. Go to sleep. Don't you have work tomorrow?"

Killian shrugged. "It's Saturday. There's nothing pressing." Truthfully, he'd agreed to watch the boys that evening, while Liam and Elsa had dinner with the dreaded Aunt-in-law. But he could sleep before that. Or he could just put on Monsters Inc and doze during...

Emma regarded him for a moment, before seeming to come to some internal decision. "Okay, fine. I'll put some coffee on. What's your stance on Netflix?"

Killian grinned. "Pro."

Have you ever noticed that running tights only come in shades of Mountain Dew iridescent green or Barbie hot pink? ES

What would you prefer, fire engine red? KJ

You have ONE red jacket and suddenly you're typecast... But seriously. Who wants to be that visible? I mean, you're running. You're not a poisonous frog. ES

What exactly is your sudden fascination with lycra exercise wear? KJ

Okay, umm… don't freak out, but I joined a jogging group. ES

-Killian Jones calling-

Emma

The array was dazzling. Rack after rack of form-fitting, garishy patterned tights that she couldn't imagine wearing in a million years.

Things had changed since the last time Emma gave the exercise thing a shot. Whatever happened to sweat pants? Muted colors? Leaving the house without looking like a packet of Skittles? If this selection was anything to go by, incognito was out this season.

Emma was intimidated, she could admit that much. And couldn't bring herself to be entirely surprised when Killian appeared, magical-like, just as she turned into the sports bra aisle. She should have known, just by the way he'd sounded on the phone.

How sad was it, that Killian Jones was more enthusiastic about her own social life than she was? Then again, he was extorting money out of the situation. So there was that.

"A jogging group?" he repeated breathlessly, his good hand still clutched to his side, as if he'd just taken Princes Street at a run, Trainspotting-style. Yep, he was far too enthusiastic about this.

"As I said on the phone..." she said pointedly.

"I thought exercise was the devil?"

Yeah, she'd said that. And at the time she'd meant it. Hell, Emma wasn't sure she didn't still mean it. She hadn't pulled on a pair of sneakers since high school. She'd thought in waving goodbye to Ms Garrett, the sadistic gym teacher with her equally sadistic whistle, she'd also been waving goodbye forever to the world of incidental exercise.

It turned out 'forever' was a strong word.

It was easy enough to make excuses when you were neck-deep in your PhD and subsisting off coffee and a stipend that barely covered rent. It was somewhat harder when you were for all intents and purposes a grown ass woman with a job, and a 401K and at least three pair of jeans in your closet that no longer fit.

Especially now she'd discovered they stocked Lucky Charms in her nearest Sainsbury's, and she was up to three bowls a day.

Even so, she hadn't gone out looking for it. Them. Her prospective running mates. She'd been more preoccupied at the time with just getting out of the apartment. And also maybe a little about her reputation on Instagram.

She had to admit she hadn't been having the easiest time getting to sleep in the apartment, post-break in. Even with that shiny new deadbolt Robin installed, she still overreacted to every noise and squeak. Every rattle of the plumbing through her bedroom wall.

She didn't even really like her apartment. Hadn't even bothered to personalize it, or make it feel like home. But it was still an invasion, and it still bothered her. Imagining them in her space, rifling through her things.

Even now she felt her fingers reach up to the hollow of her throat, absently stroking the skin where her swan should have rested, dangling on its chain.

In a way, she was glad it was gone. The last reminder of him. Now she was free to forget. Like it never even happened.

On the other hand, that seemed dangerous. Forgetting him also meant forgetting the greatest lesson he ever taught her. And Emma wouldn't be caught dead making the same mistake again. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

The Meadows were only a short walk from the apartment, a flat expanse of wet green grass emerging out of the early morning fog. Haar, Killian had called it, rolling in from the Firth of Forth like an extra in a bad B-movie.

The park was a favorite for students napping between classes, soaking up as much Vitamin D as the Scottish spring would give them. When Emma crossed it on her way home it was usually full of determined dog walkers and fitness bootcampers, lying spent on the grass.

At this time of day though, it was almost eerily quiet, without so much as birdsong to punctuate the silence. She could see some early morning joggers further on, ghostly figures in the mist, but they were barely there, intangible to her in her quest.

It was the cherry blossoms she'd come to see. It was the cherry blossoms that she was hoping would catapult her number of Instagram followers into four figures.

Everybody loved cherry blossoms.

They were a limited time engagement, and Emma had timed it just right. The cherry trees lined both sides of the avenues as they cut across the park at 45 degree angles, creating a canopy overhead of pretty pink flowers that wouldn't have been out of place in Mary Margaret's more ambitious pre-wedding scrapbooks. Paired with the fog, the haar, they looked like something out of a gothic fairytale.

Until, that is, the pair in the neon running gear came barrelling through the tunnel of trees, excitable chatter punctuated by necessary breaths. It wasn't a gothic fairytale, so much as a strange juxtaposition. Emma took the picture.

The girl on the left, a pretty brunette in a ponytail, noticed Emma and slowed down as they approached.

Emma took a quick step back, averting her eyes down to her phone, hoping to avoid a confrontation.

But the girl wasn't angry. On the other hand, she seemed way too chipper for not even six in the morning. "Oh my god, did you take a picture? Can I see? I bet it looks so cool with the blossom out."

Emma glanced at her, and then at her companion, an Asian girl with some serious muscle definition peeking out from the sleeve of her T-shirt. The girl gave Emma a look, one which almost pleaded to humor her. So Emma did. She turned her screen around to show them, and the brunette gave a delighted squeal, clutching her companion's arm.

"It's so cool! Please, can you send me it?" And then before Emma even knew what was happening, the girl had Emma's phone in her hands, and was inputting her phone number into contacts, unbidden.

Emma shared a look with the other girl, who only shrugged apologetically, as if this was par for the course.

Once she'd handed it back, she glanced down at the name she'd programmed into her phone.

"Aurora?" Emma repeated.

"That's me," the girl confirmed, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder with the kind of maneuver that would leave a lesser woman with whiplash. "It's a really good picture. Are you like a photographer or something?"

"Or something," Emma admitted. And then, without giving it too much thought, she took a step forward. "I'm Emma."

"Nice to meet you," Aurora smiled. "And this is Mulan," she said, poking a thumb in her friend's direction. "Usually there's more of us, but I think the fog scared them off."

"Or the getting up before dawn…" Mulan offered, with a barely concealed yawn. "Not my idea," she mouthed, once Aurora had turned her back.

Emma found herself warming to the pair, and Emma never warmed to anyone.

"You do this a lot, then?"

"Four times a week," Aurora chirped. Mulan made a face behind her, and Emma fought to maintain her composure. "During semester anyway. Most of us go home in the breaks."

"You're students?"

"Postgrad," Mulan cut in. "Theoretical Physics. That's how we met. You?"

Theoretical Physics. Well, that wasn't intimidating at all.

"Oh. I uh… I'm a lecturer. Undergrad American History."

"Wow, you look so young to be teaching," Aurora said with something like awe. Emma liked her already.

"I'm still getting my sea legs," Emma admitted. "This is only my first year here. I was teaching back in the States before."

She expected the pair to feign interest, like most people did when she started talking about work. But as far as she could tell, she still had their undivided attention.

Was this really happening? Was Emma's real life actually passing the Bechdel Test for once? And what was she willing to do, to preserve that feeling?

"So," Emma began, clearing her throat a little. "Is your running group like a private thing, or are you open for new members?"

"You run?" Aurora asked, her tone immediately overeager. Behind her, Mulan rolled her eyes at her friend's new-found, almost evangelical, zeal.

"Not really," Emma confessed. "But I'm thinking of giving it a shot."

Aurora held out a hand. "Welcome to the team, Emma."

"Swan?"

At the sound of his voice, Emma's mind crashed back into the present, back into the basement of Sports Direct amidst a sea of neon sports bras, and Killian giving her a funny look.

"Sorry, spaced out for a second. What were you saying?"

"You mean you're doing this of your own volition?" he repeated. "No undue coercion? No one is holding a gun to your head?"

"Don't be so dramatic," Emma sighed, moving further into the section, in the hopes he might be scared off by the plethora of practical lingerie. But if anything, the opposite was true, Killian keeping pace with her.

"I'm just trying to understand."

"Well it was either that, or wait for you to force me into taking up swing dancing or racquetball or something. I figured I'd take my chances. Besides, they're nice."

"Nice?" Killian repeated, almost disbelievingly. "Who are you, and what have you done with Emma Swan?"

"What? I don't hate all people."

"Just most people."

Emma frowned, turning to face him. "I thought you'd be happy. I thought this is what you wanted me to do? Put myself out there, yada yada yada."

"Are you kidding? I'm ecstatic."

Emma let her eyes rake over him, taking in the distinct lack of ecstasy. "Sure you are."

"I will be ecstatic when I have my first coffee of the day," he corrected. "For right now, let's just pretend I am."

"Right."

"So, are you going to model any of these for me?" Killian asked, reaching out to grab a strappy black number off the rack, holding it against his chest with a suggestive smirk. "I've been told I have excellent taste."

Emma snatched it off him. "In your dreams, Jones."

Then she looked down, considering the item in her hands. "Okay, so this one is kind of nice."

Out of interest, do you know of any way to remove chewing gum from hair WITHOUT chopping it off? Ideally before his parents come home and find him like this... KJ

Wow, that takes me back to 6th grade. Try olive oil. ES

Thank you. KJ

Which nephew got gummed? ES

Lachie. Of course. Though I suspect Callum put him up to it. KJ

Being an Uncle sounds like a blast. ES

That's certainly one word for it. KJ

Emma was dying, of that she was certain.

Everything hurt. Everything. Her legs were like jelly and her heart beat so fast she was half worried it was going to burst straight through her chest, Alien-style.

Running was a stupid idea. She saw that now.

It was a shame, because she quite liked Aurora and Mulan. Even a few of the others were kind of nice, when they bothered to show up. And no one ever thought to pepper her with questions when she was running, not while she was busy making dying cow noises at the back of the pack. That was a bonus.

But on the whole? Running was the worst.

If only she hadn't spent so much on her new, stupid running clothes, she might've been able to justify quitting. But how could she? And make herself look like an idiot in another one of Killian's columns? She just knew he'd seize on this. Another early failure for their project. Another excuse for him to bring out the big words to describe her utter inability to gel with the general population.

Screw it. Screw him. She wasn't giving up. She wasn't flighty, or inconstant or whatever else he might think to call her. She was a serious, determined person, and running was a learned skill. She hoped. Killian could take a flying leap.

Naturally, it figured that who should appear around the next bend, reclining on a park bench with that infuriating devil-may-care grin, but the man himself?

"Whoa," she called, to the group in front of her, before collapsing down onto the grass in an undignified heap, chest heaving.

He stepped into her line of vision, leaning over her sprawled body with an amused expression. "Water?" he asked, pulling a bottle out of somewhere.

Emma could feel herself salivating. She made a pathetic grab for it, but he pulled it out of her reach just in time.

"I hate you," she moaned weakly.

"I know," he smiled, lowering the bottle into her hands.

She didn't waste any time, tearing off the lid and guzzling it down all at once.

"Space yourself," he cautioned, but she ignored him, tipping the bottle back further until the last of its contents poured down her throat.

"I like the tights. The red is a good look on you," he said, coming to sit on the grass beside her. Emma threw the empty bottle at his head, but he caught it before it could make contact.

"Such violence," he chided, tossing the bottle up in the air in a casual flip, and catching it again. "And here I thought exercise might help you to temper that latent aggression."

"You thought wrong," Emma said deadpan, before taking another deep lungful of cool, delicious air. "What are you doing here, anyway? Don't you have work soon?"

"Aye. I do. And since I'm not permitted into work this morning without making a grand and effusive apology to a woman who scant deserves it, I thought I might delay it a while. Plus I have something for you."

Emma pulled herself up into a sitting position to better look him in the eyes. "For me?"

"For you," he confirmed. "But not here. How do you feel about breakfast? The Pantry?"

"But that's in Stockbridge!" Emma whined.

"Aye. But their avocado toast is excellent. And I really have no desire to get to the office before noon."

"Speak for yourself. I have a lecture at 11."

"We'll cab it," he pulled a black card from his pocket, and fanned his face with it. "I've got the company card, and you could rightly argue that this is a work excursion."

Emma snorted, but he still let him pull her to her feet. Just in time for the rest of her running group to appear around the bend, having completed another lap

They clustered around Emma, and she could feel a few interested glances shot in Killian's direction. Of course.

"You did great!" Aurora said, coming over to envelop her in a sweaty hug. "That's one more lap than last time. I knew you'd get the hang of it!"

Emma didn't feel like she was getting the hang of it, but nevertheless, she hugged her back. "Thanks."

She heard a few of the girls whispering to each other, and she knew it was better to address the elephant in the room.

"This is Killian," she said, batting him with her elbow. "He's my… columnist," Emma finished lamely.

Mulan shot her a quizzical look, but Emma just shook her head. "I'll explain later. We're about done, right?"

Without waiting for the chorus of vague agreement, Emma already had Killian by elbow, dragging him away from his newfound admirers.

Killian was right. The avocado toast was excellent. Nearly worth the extortionate prices they were charging for it. Nearly.

"So you said you had something for me?" Emma prompted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh yes," he said, and then to her surprise, he reached behind his neck and unclasped the chain he wore around his neck. "Hold out your hand."

Before she could think too much about it, she did so and he dropped a silver medallion into her open palm. The metal was still warm from where it had lain against his skin.

"Uh, thanks? I didn't realize we'd reached the "gift giving" portion of our partnership. Especially jewellery with…" She squinted. "...religious iconography?"

"It's Saint Anthony," he explained, leaning forward to swipe a slice of tomato off her plate. "Patron Saint of Lost Things."

Emma shook her head. "But I'm not Catholic."

"Nor I. But for a couple of years we had some nuns looking after us. Some things tend to linger. I thought it might help you find that stolen keychain. Outside of that, I thought it might make a good placeholder, in the event it wasn't recovered."

Emma looked down at the medallion again, something curiously like tears burning at the corner of her eyes. It was a thoughtful gift. Really thoughtful. Emma couldn't remember the last time someone had given her one of those.

"Thank you," she said, glancing up so he knew she meant it.

He gave a small smile, and then as if sensing the strange tension that was fast filling the room, he cleared his throat. "You know, there was a Saint Killian."

"Was there?" Emma asked, drawing back her hair with one hand.

"Patron saint of rheumatism sufferers," Killian said softly, leaning forwards to take her hair between his fingers so she could secure the medallion herself.

"Catchy." Why were her fingers shaking?

"He has a feast day on 8th of July. I tried to convince everyone to leave me presents on that day in tribute, but no one went for it."

Finally, the clasp was secured, and Emma let the medallion fall between her breasts. She saw Killian's eyes follow the movement of it, then travel back to her face, cheeks coloring slightly.

"Funnily enough."

He cleared his throat again. "Except for my brother. Liam. He used to leave me a Galaxy bar on my pillow, every July 8th. Still does, in fact."

"I don't know what that is, but it's still cute."

Killian looked floored. "You've truly never had a Galaxy bar?"

"No?"

"Christ, Swan. I thought you Americans were at the forefront of all things confectionery."

"Funny."

Then suddenly Killian was rummaging around in his pockets for the credit card, and gathering up his coat.

"Uh, are you going somewhere?"

"Why, to get you a Galaxy Bar of course," he said, shrugging on his jacket. "Aren't you coming?"

[boystownbirdie]

LMWTV4U: GOT S7E6

Welcome back to Let Me Watch TV 4 U, the blog where I watch TV for you! Tonight we’re talking bout Game of Thrones season 7 episode 6, “Beyond the Wall” aka Disney Presents The Walking Dead on Ice! Let’s jump right in to this icy abyss, shall we?!

SPOILERS AHEAD!

We open on a curious panning across of a map, and no I’m not talking about the opening credits. It looks like the giant map/table in Dragonstone? 

However we quickly cut to our Eastwatch crew...

...who are marching one by one further and further North. We’ve got Bae, (the artist formerly known as) Stoney, New-Thor (let’s just say Thor, shall we? He’s not so new anymore), Gingerbae, Gingerbun, Eyepatch, the Hound and approx 5 rando nightswatch dudes and/or wildlings who are doomed because no backstory = dead first.

First, we get some ice-breakers (sorry can’t stop won’t stop) when Thor tells us he’s never even seen snow before and I’m like bb boi come here to Chicago I’ll show you some midwestern winters! Thor is also still feeling a little salty toward Eyepatch and Gingerbun for selling him off to the red witch while the Hound keeps score and is like, Thor you didn’t really have it so bad. Gingerbun hands Thor the olive branch in the form of a flask.

Meanwhile, Gingerbae asks Bae about Khaleesi and Bae is all coy but GB sees right through that. Gingerbae helpfully reminds us that he still loves Brienne of Tarth (aka Ladyknight) very much.

Bae and Stoney swing their swords around (not a euphemism) and Bae tries to give his huge fancy sword to Stoney since it belonged to Stoney’s dad. Stoney is like naw, it’s yours man, give it to your KIDS. And we’re supposed to be thinking, whoa! Is Bae on the market for marriage/kids? Cuz sign us all up! Later Eyepatch tells Bae that Bae doesn’t really look like Ned Stark which, duh, cuz we know Bae is Ned’s nephew. But also Bae’s bio-dad was Khaleesi’s bro and apparently had silver-white hair like her so WHERE DID BAE GET HIS LEWKS FROM? Heaven, apparently.

Before we get into the meat, pun intended, let’s pop into Winterfell, shall we?

Sansa and Arya discuss gender roles and Arya tells us a tale of their dad, Ned Stark, sort of tacitly approving of her being a fighter rather than a lady. And then she’s like, speaking of, dad was killed by the Lannisters with YOUR help, Sansa. Arya brings up the letter she found last week that poor bb Sansa was forced to right by QPC and is not happy about it. And Sansa is really caught off guard but also like STEP ALL THE WAY OFF, I have been THROUGH IT. They argue about the past few years and who’s had it the worst but also as Leslie Knope would say, uteruses before duderuses, ya know?

Later, Sansa is talking to Littlefinger, who set up all this nonsense anyway and he’s like well Ladyknight can be your referee since she lurves both of you? But then Sansa sends Ladyknight away to King’s Landing to be her proxy in this upcoming summit with QPC. Towards the end of ep, Sansa decides to do some snooping of her own a la Arya last week and finds Arya’s suitcase full of faces from the face-swapping-assassin-training-academy which Arya dropped out of after a misunderstanding with a professor who wanted her killed. Sansa is like srsly, WTF? And Arya explains the face-swapping thing which sounds crazy the first time you hear it, but so did dragons and we got them now so all’s fair, right? Arya grabs a knife and basically threatens to cut Sansa’s face off but then hands Sansa the knife and scoots outta there. So at the end of the day, no Stark-on-Stark crime this week but stay tuned!

We pop in to see Khaleesi and Tyrion chatting by the fire…

She’s like, you know what I like about you? You’re not brave. And he’s like umm thanks? And then she’s like all of my fave bois are brave but stupid and she includes Bae on that list. And T is like, so you’re taking a liking to him, eh? They discuss strategy and have a little tiff wherein Khaleesi again questions T’s loyalty. And then he’s like btw, you said you can’t have kids so...who gets to be in charge when you die? And she’s like let’s cross that bridge when we come to it, and he’s like it’s called a LIVING WILL for a reason, babe.

Back North of the wall...

Bae and Gingerbae spot a bear but they’re like, that’s weird… he’s got blue eyes-ahhh zombie bear! Zombie bear kills one of the no-name/ no-backstory guys (like we care!?) and maims Gingerbun. Eyepatch smartly cauterizes the wound with his flaming sword while the Hound is too busy having PTSD about fire. Really unfortunate to be afraid of fire in a world without electricity, huh?

Bae and Gingerbae spot a small crew of ice zombies and decide to take one of them prisoner. During the scuffle, Bae kills a leader-ice-zombie and suddenly all of his pals drop dead too. They find out that you kill the leader, the rest die too- good to know! But in capturing their prisoner-zombie, his squeals seem to alert the 5 million other ice zombies to their location and next thing you know, the crew is about to be trapped. Bae smartly tells Thor to run back to the wall and tell Khaleesi the scoop. Poor Thor has to give up his hammer before he leaves so that the rest of the crew has more zombie-smashing tools.

SOMEHOW, I still don’t understand the logistics of it all, but Bae and crew get stuck on this little island surrounded by a frozen lake. The 5 billion zombies surround them but can’t walk further into the lake without falling in. It’s a real pickle. Luckily, Thor does make it back to the wall to tell No-Knuckles to send word to Khaleesi.

Speaking of Khaleesi, that raven flew fast because she already got the scoop. She is DECKED OUT in her cold-weather best and is heading North to save the day with all 3 dragons. Tyrion is like BAD IDEA HUN but she goes anyway. While Khaleesi flies like the actual wind on her #1 dragon, poor Gingerbun has succumbed to his injures or maybe freezes in the night and is no longer with us. So, much like Rose must let go of frozen Jack (but why does she say “I’ll never let go” as she is literally letting go? I’ll never understand the word choice), Eyepatch has to burn Gingerbun’s body before he becomes a zombie too.

Sidenote: Why didn’t everyone bring weapons made of dragonglass or valyrian steel? We know now that only these 2 things plus fire kills the ice zombies and Bae just mined heaps of dragonglass from Khaleesi’s basement for this very purpose. Sometimes I think I should be the King in the North, ya know!?

But back to the battle, the Hound decides to skip stones across the lake like an idiot, which leads the ice zombies to learn that the lake is frozen solid again. Now that the zombies can cross the lake, they attack the crew and they are VICIOUS. Bae and co retreat to another little island but are completely surrounded and basically dead. Bae is tweakin’ out probably thinking about what a bad idea all of this was, when all of the sudden, Khaleesi’s dragons have landed!

They all fly around burning up ice zombies by the hundreds and narrowly missing our crew. After Khaleesi successfully wipes out a good number of zombies, she lands to let her priority boarding pass holders on dragon #1 with her. Meanwhile, Bae is still fighting off some zombies. The #1 in charge ice zombie aka the Night King, throws a giant ice spear at #2 or #3 dragon (honestly idk, let’s say #3) and makes it on the first try. It’s sad that #3 gets speared and all but I’m kinda like wow nice shot. Dragon #3 falls into the icy water and sinks and Khaleesi is weepin’ about it.

At the same time, Bae is now fully overrun by interloping zombies and this FLIGHT IS ABOUT TO DEPART, honey! He falls into an ice-hole and Khaleesi sees the Night King winding up his ice javelin so she has to go. I know what you’re thinking, wow Bae is super dead, right? He fell into a frozen lake whilst being attacked by zombies. WELL YOU ARE WRONG.

Bae crawls outta that ice hole, grabs his fancy sword, and starts walking. Soon enough the zombies see him walking in a non-zombie-like fashion so they are on it. BUT Bae’s uncle Benjen (who is pretty much the only person whose relationship with Bae is unchanged by his whole bio-dad and bio-mom thing!) rolls up on his horse with his incense-swinger! Uncle B saves Bae (remember Uncle B saved Bran last season?) and sticks him on his horse, but stays behind to fight off zombies with his incense-swinger. Bae, who is like 65% Leo-from-Titanic-frozen at this point, heads back to the wall.

The rest of the crew are back at Eastwatch and we learn that the Hound is the one who’ll be bringing the “sample zombie” back to show QPC. Khaleesi is watching from the top of the wall to see if Bae makes it back while Stoney is like, let it go, he’s dead, I’m alive and recently not-Stoney...when suddenly Bae rides back to camp.

On the ship back to Khaleesi-ville, Khaleesi sees Bae on the operating table and notices that he has a stab-scar on his heart. Remember when Bae died and then got brought back to life but then Bae has been super secretive about it? Well the secret's out babe! She watches him being warmed up/revived and sits there watching him sleep for awhile #gottaenjoytheview. When he wakes up (still topless!) he’s like wow I’m so sorry #3 dragon died this was a horrible plan. And she’s like no, I’m glad I saw the army of zombies. I will fight with you, Bae.

And Bae is like wow, also I know I said I wouldn’t kneel to you but honey, I will. Then he calls her Dany and she’s like...eww...my creepy bro used to call me that. And he’s like well then I’ll just call you MY KWEEN. And I’m like yassss gaga. Also they hold hands. Also, she’s like I can’t have kids, ok?!? So just… cards on the table. They hold hands some more and it looks like we might get a little kiss but naw, she’s G2G.

In our last scene, we see thousands of zombies working together (good for you! teamwork!) to pull dragon #3 out of the frozen lake. The Night King walks over and touches him and BAM! ZOMBIE DRAGON. SHIT IS GONNA GET REAL.

Let’s recap:

Biggest surprise this ep: Uncle Benjen? How did you know Bae was in this part of town?

Biggest letdown: I wanted more witty banter from Thor! Also, enough with the will-they won’t-they, GoT. This isn’t Cheers!

Important fashion moments: Khaleesi’s Wintertime Fantasy Realness was GIVING ME LIFE. THAT. COAT. 

Who died this ep? Gingerbun, a lot of ice zombies, Uncle Benjen (although he was kinda already dead?) and dragon #3. RIP Gingerbun I will miss being confused-ly attracted to you.

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[kestrelsward]

across the sea

Pairing: Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso

Word Count: 1343

Setting: Royalty!AU (prince!Cassian; smuggler!Jyn)

[review on ao3 please? or any fic requests? love to hear what you guys think x ]

He is busy loathing Krennic that even as Cassian manages to press the side of his face against the piece of concrete, the next shot still catches the cartilage of his right ear and he hears the bone break.

"Cassian!" and that shout saves his life. Recklessly, he searches the source of her voice, and sees her diving towards him, and the slick twist in the arch of her wrist with his trusted pistol towards Krennic. It lands in his left shoulder and Krennic's cry buys her enough time to go on all fours, crawls to the edge of the broken bridge and grasps Cassian's arms.

Cassian allows his shock to distract him, his fingers finding purchase in his coat on her. The fur lining on the cap is damp from the rain, but the rest smells of Jyn, and he inhales briefly and feels the puff of her scent ricochet deep in his lungs.  

"Remind me to thank you later." he huffs, so close to Jyn that her green eyes flutters close for one brief second and leans forward to brush her forehead against his: "If you live through this." she murmurs, and then their time is up - a joint in her arm cracks but Cassian is hauled up by Jyn back over the ledge, and he crumbles into her waist. His fingers, scraped raw, touches her exposed skin and comes out too warm.

"Get to cover!" Jyn is yelling into his good ear, pulls on his shoulder to straighten him from his crouch, and pushes him on the back forward to the pillar on the side of the bridge.

"Bodhi! Now!"

Something manages to stupidly ignite within their proximity; he is not the only one who shouts as a flash of light so strong it must have burned his eyes to the back of his head blasts him backwards, and his back reaches the side of the bridge first, and he crumbles; he can't draw breath- his lungs must have left him, too.

The familiar ringing, the tearing through his temples, and hands on his cheeks catches him before he drifts.

"You're leaving with me, Jyn." Cassian tries to blink the blood - whose blood is it? - from his eyes, and only her trembling hands, brushing his fringe away, seems to help, but he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him because her face is drifting further away.

His head isn't making sense of it when he hears her murmur, "I'm not meant to." - she makes it sound like a goodbye, but her lingering hold on his hand, gone only abruptly as her friend yanks on his waist, and his eyes tries to track her, but he only manages to see her clutch at her stomach before he is jerked sideways and he goes down with it -

The brown in her hair is almost molten copper in the setting sun, and he reaches for it before he can stop himself and before she notices, so he expects when his fingers cards through her loosen hair, she will push his arm away.

He sucks in a breath when she doesn't: instead, she turns her face to him and shifts her body closer to his in the seat.

"Did you ever imagine... being chased away from everything you know," her head sinks into his shoulder and as he stares down at her, his chin grazes her temple, "Everything that distinguishes you from everyone and everything else. That you somehow... manages to escape."

He stays still, to process his own words carefully: "At what cost - that is what I let myself think, first. Then the rest- they never gets thought about."

She is just at the right height to nudge her cheek to his collarbone, "You're the most selfless person I've ever met." She swings her legs up over his lap, and he automatically adjusts her skirt and she gives him the twinkle of her laugh as her point made and proven. He returns her tease by rapping his knuckles over her kneecaps.

She yelps, her fingers curling into his shirt; Jyn is a head shorter than him, and built lithe and small that as she scrunches her legs up in reflex, she is a ball, burrowing into him, her side pressed into him.  He lets her, because he may never find the right words to beg her to.

"I don't know who I was before all this." The waves crashing against the ship covers his confession, but he doesn't intend for anyone but the girl in his arms to hear. "Who I am now... perhaps my punishment may be lessened."

She looks at him, then, and Cassian wishes he is less impulsive around her: he can't understand what she is trying to say with her eyes. He is afraid she will confess to why she is risking her life sailing him across the oceans, that if everything that has happened hasn't, he might never know his existence's worth is to cross paths with her.

"Take it as whatever you want," she exhales, and it sounds like the beginning of a mockery, "You should never think of what you want to live with, or a life you get to have sole control, because then the universe will always find another direction to go. Trust in fate. This... this force of nature. You can't fight something that's meant to be."

"Who are you," he pulls at a lock of her hair and lets the wind rearranges it back against her shoulder, "and what have you done to Jyn Hallik?"

Her throat works - in the way he knows it's her way of hiding more of her from him - "It is what my mother used to say," but she uses his shirt as leverage and turns to face him. "-  besides, I don't take my own advice, anyway."

"One's past is not enough to condemn him, then?" He lowers his eyes and says it as nonchalantly as possible. "You should... because maybe I will."

She is shaking her head, her smile brims from the corners of her mouth, and he is close enough to hear her front teeth rake over her tongue. Her hair, the top of of it wrapped in a loosening bun, the bottom half, unruly, thick and cascades down her shoulders, and smells of the ocean it makes him dizzy, makes him want to drift away wherever she will take him, makes him forget who he has to be, wants to be just Cassian -

She is the one who leans in first: her kiss lands at the corner of his mouth, and she sucks in a breath that has her lower lip run along his scruff, then her fingers slides into the side of his face, and then she replaces her forefinger with her lips to meet his.

He lets her do what she did not intend to perfect: steal the words from his mouth, steal his breath, steal his mind, take his soul -

"Mon Mothma, there is news from General Gerrera. It's Jyn Erso."

Her cup against the crisp china saucer makes Cassian go rigid. He grips the fork tighter and the sensitive and raw skin over his knuckles pulls.

It still sounds so foreign to him, knowing Jyn is related to one of the top scientists of his grandmother's cabinet; this concept that she and him have always existed in the same realm, their paths never crossed, yet intertwined. He has prioritized his time to think about the what-ifs, and that weight in his chest rattles out a bare breath.

His grandmother pursed her lips, but nevertheless, signals Captain Draven to move forward.

"Miz Erso has been found. She is on her way here, accompanied by Lord Organa and company-"

As if his legs is carrying him across the deck - his tailbone is numb from sitting pin-straight, and it is difficult for him to push himself up on his bad leg - but he moves forward to catch the crashing sound of waves, to recover the path towards the greenland in his ocean.

A/N: can also take this as a rough draft of the work-in-progress Anastasia!au... ? ;)