#the overcast sky the wind the spray

[lydiahosek]

#SWT Headline: “Local man risks hypothermia by jumping out of boat just to hug his wife 12 seconds sooner.” (via boomerangguy)

( @sukka-week )

Sukka Week no.2: Homecoming

[sleepymarimo]

toji x fem!reader // sfw! a little meet cute moment with some sprinkles of sadness synopsis: reader cleans and maintains abandoned graves, including that of toji's late wife.

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 doesn’t visit his late wife’s grave often, if ever.

it’s easy to say that it’s because he doesn’t care, that he’s lost all respect for the world and those on, or buried beneath it. yet, the reality is that he’s ashamed, a bit of a coward. how could he face her again? how could he read the letters of her name knowing he’d been unable to grant the one request she’d given him? take care of megumi.

he doesn’t know why he’s walking in the direction of the cemetery, an old, surely run down patch of land that’s now nestled between some homes just outside of shinjuku.

maybe the weight of his most recent job gets to him. maybe it’s nearing what would’ve been their anniversary. maybe the weather reminds him of her funeral, in which him and baby megumi were the only attendees.

a rock gets kicked a good few meters away as he remembers that day. her family had cut her off after she’d married him, seeing nothing good coming out of their future, feeling disdain at the mention of their daughter marrying man with not a thing to his name. toji scoffs. perhaps they were right.

the overcast sky does nothing for the scenery ahead, which consists of old, rusted cemetery gates and a wall made of dull, greyed stones.

however, a splash of color stands out against the monochrome background. it’s all instinct, the way his senses hone in, but it’s not because you’re the only other person in the cemetery, not because your colored scarf makes you particularly identifiable.

no, it’s because you, a stranger, are standing in front of his wife’s grave.

despite the numerous leaves on the ground, the rather quiet environment, you don’t hear him approach.

you’re focused on your task, your brows ever so slightly knitted, a bristly brush in your hand which you use to scrub away at any debris wedged between the letters of this grave. dust, mud, leaf litter… it gets removed with each gentle movement.

a bottle of cleaner is in your other hand, spraying the stone every now and then when it gets too dry or when a particularly stubborn piece of debris refuses to be erased from existence.

one little stain catches your attention, so much so that you ignore how the autumn wind nips at your cheeks. it’s just about removed. a little more, a little more…

��what are y’doing?”

a small gasp leaves you, or maybe you choke on air, and your hands retract from the gravestone as if you’d been burned. you take a couple of steps back, a natural response, wanting to put some distance between you and whoever else has decided to join you in the cemetery.

the sudden move results in you kicking over your coffee cup, your mind a mess as you crouch down and keep it from spilling any further. you put your tools away, too, placing the brush and spray bottle into a tote containing a few other items.

toji doesn’t mean to intimidate or scare you.

it’s just… how he is. it’s in the energy he carries, how he presents himself to the world that’s done him more harm than good. he’s suspicious of you, reasonably so.

when you finally stand and look up at him, he can see the anticipation in your eyes. your hands fidget, unsure of whether to retreat into your pockets or rise in self defense.

“i’m so sorry,” are your immediate words, sincere. “i didn’t know she had visitors.”

she.

why are you talking about her like you were a part of her life? toji is sure he’s never met you before. he doesn’t remember his late wife saying a thing about weirdos who hang out in cemeteries, either.

those green eyes of his narrow, just a bit. he doesn’t have to say anything more, his stance is enough. you haven’t answered his question and he isn’t going to ask again.

“i, um, clean graves,” you answer after a few heartbeats, a little put off by his stare. “i’ve been coming by for the past year, clean up every month or two. i usually wait and make sure no one comes by. i thought it was abandoned, i’m so sorry.”

the situation isn’t entirely new to you. it’s not the first time you’d been ‘caught’, and the reactions you’ve gotten have ranged from grateful to furious, but it’s jarring each time. how could it not be? you’re not a fool, you know these people meant something to someone, that they represent more than the headstones ever could.

your eyes remain on his, equal parts apologetic and bashful, clearly genuine.

toji’s posture relaxes, just a bit.

a part of that has to do with the smidge of guilt he feels. abandoned. he couldn’t be surprised. after all, he never visited, never paid for cleaning services.

perhaps a normal person would say thank you, but the words fizzle out on his tongue. he’s not one for such words, or at least that’s what he tells himself.

“it’s fine,” he ends up saying, curt, to the point, not giving away the extent of what he’s thinking or feeling.

even those two words have you feeling relieved, a long sigh leaving your lips. you can’t deny that you’re itching to leave, still a little unnerved. being alone with a strange man in a cemetery isn’t exactly on your bucket list, so you reluctantly reach down and grab your things.

your bag gets slung over your shoulder, but your coffee… well, you’re pretty much left with an empty cup now. the liquid had spilt all over the concrete floor when he’d spooked you earlier.

“i’ll leave her alone,” you promise him, truly not looking to cause any conflict. “sorry again…”

for a second, toji considers leaving it at that.

his eyes drift from you to your empty cup. he should feel bad, should be a decent person, but can’t find it in himself to reassure you.

he needs a nudge, and that nudge is given to him in the form of an acorn falling from the tree rooted over his wife’s grave.

the small object hits him right on the head, reprimanding him for his actions. toji grunts, his hand coming up to rub at the spot where the damn thing whacked him. he should’ve sensed it, should’ve been aware of its existence as soon as it snapped off the branch.

his eyes look up toward the sky, almost glaring, and for a second he can almost hear her voice, scolding him.

“don’t be mean, toji!”

with a click of his tongue, he looks back at you. you, who’d taken care of his wife in death as he’d cared for her in life.

inhaling, he decides to screw it all and take a step toward you. maybe being a decent human wouldn’t kill him. maybe.

“look, i didn’t mean to freak you out or make you spill your drink,” it’s the closest thing to an apology he’ll give, but it’s better than nothing.

he recognizes the logo on your cup, then nods his head toward the cemetery gates. “let me at least buy you a new one,” he offers, though by the sound of it, it’s quite clear he wants to do this for you. “what’s your name, anyway?”

you tell him, then he gives you his.

the sun starts to burn away at the clouds, warming the earth just as you’re about to leave the cemetery. things grow a little brighter, a whole shift in the atmosphere.

toji doesn’t comment on the gust of wind ushering you two out of the gates, the rustle of leaves which could pass as a hushed cheer. no, he won’t say anything, not even if the breeze on his back feels like the hands of his late wife, pushing him toward something new.

his eyes flicker down, watching you, noting the curve of your cheeks and the slope of your nose. he shakes his head, steels his heart, ignoring the small jump it does as you look back at him.

no, he won’t say anything, not at all.

[lastconcourse]

Seventh Kinematic Epistle:

Separate this sheet and hold it up in the sky to make it a beacon, then bend it so it flexes like an elbow and so it waves like a flag:

Mentally make a mnemonic collage. Weave the water spraying out of a fountain in a plaza downtown, through the red old red sideboards of a barn-style house up north: To open up hallways of: Windows of frozen mulch in a hard fluid, above where carpets and soffits coalesce from brown mist blowing light, in from northern portals, out hallways unlocked and shown foaming: Toward your two eyes.

Kinematic Epistle #8

You, hold this sheet, and hold it in the air to make it a beacon, and bend it so it flexes and waves like a flag. Combine leather from an office chair with cold wind out of a winter storm. Open tunnels of overcast drapes upholstered to the ceiling's frame, and sleet-colored duos of elevator doors.

[zarvasace]

I want to know how the boys in your disability au celebrate their birthdays, please and thank you ^u^

@arecaceae175

Thanks so much guys, I needed something to write! I didn't really mean to, but this ended up combining these two prompts and is longer than I thought it would get.

Pineapple

LU, gen, Wind-centric, disability AU, 99.9% fluff. ~4k words. AO3 link here, and I suggest you read it over there for maximum chapter-break impact! ;)

---1

He didn't regret it. Not one little bit. 

Wind had seen the opportunity, he'd run the consequences through his head, and he'd decided that Legend's head was way more important. So he'd run, he'd leaped, and he'd let his leg get caught between a nasty set of serrated teeth as he pushed Legend over. 

He remembered what it felt like to get dragged through the air by the ties on his prosthetic, and how the leather had bitten into the end of his leg, slightly swollen from a day of walking. He remembered seeing the overcast sky as he landed hard, and wondering if it would rain. He remembered frowning when the spray of liquid that coated him a few seconds later didn't taste like rain, fresh or salty. 

It had been, of course, blood.

And now Wind sat upright against a tree, staring at his lap and the mangled remains of his wooden leg. It had been a nice leg, his first real one that he didn't need to worry about. The leg now ended above the ankle with splintered wood and stretched leather. He wouldn't be able to walk on it. He wouldn't be able to walk at all. 

At least Four had crutches that Wind knew he'd be able to borrow. They were a little small, but he'd manage. He refused to be dead weight. He wouldn't complain, because he didn't want Legend to feel bad. He'd be okay. 

Still… the sight of that sad leg almost made Wind want to cry. He didn't know when he'd be able to get a new one, and he was less useful without it. The others were sure to baby him even more now. 

Maybe he could save the leather and find a nice stick to replace the wood part. Hyrule was good at finding sticks. 

Of course, that's when the portal showed up, and Warriors came over to help Wind up through it. 

---2

With the gold of the candle on the table licking over the wood and leather of the contraption in Legend's lap, along with the bright white light from the moon in the window, he could see his work just fine. His head ached a little as he stuck the needle into the leather to keep it there and stretched his arms over his head. Ugh. At least this thing was almost done. 

Legend knew that Warriors had been keeping very good track of the days, going so far as to do so in every era's calendar. While most of their time periods used the same division of weeks and months, or very close to it, a few used something wildly different.

Sky's months didn't last as long, but he had four extra months in there that seemed to disappear from Four's calendar, though not very long before him. Hyrule's year had random weeks at the equinoxes that weren't part of any month at all. Wild's world had reduced the calendar to four vague seasons and four transitional periods, though his holidays seemed to match up to Warriors's. 

Wind's calendar, though… now that was a mess. Apparently, his world didn't have normal seasons, it had a wet half of the year and a dry half of the year. Dry being relative, of course. Wind claimed that his weeks were five days long, not seven, and that each week had a unique name that combined into some traditional poem. He said he knew the important ones: wet-golden week was his birthweek, dry-seafoam was Aryll's, and dry-beach was Tetra's and  grandma's, but he didn't know all the names of the other weeks.

It sounded like a mess to Legend. Someone had to be insane to come up with a system like that, though he did have to admit that a five-day week sounded nice. Wild, of course, was fascinated, and Warriors took it as a personal challenge to find someone in Wind's world who knew the calendar. He wrote it out in his notebook and dutifully kept track of every calendar, noting holidays and anniversaries. Warriors's diligence was rewarded about a week ago, when they returned to Sky's world to find that he'd kept accurate count. His records confirmed that the portals taking them from era to era did so in a parallel manner, so five days here was five days anywhere. 

And, according to him, Wind's birthweek began tomorrow. 

So, with eight days to go, Warriors had set a plan in motion that the rest of them snapped up with as much secrecy as they could muster. This wasn't the first birthday that had passed while they were together, but it was the first that they knew was coming and could do something about. Besides, their gifts were obvious. 

While at a floating market on the Great Sea once, Wild had picked up a few books about tradition and culture. Though apparently not everyone celebrated so thoroughly, each day of one's birthweek had a symbol associated with it, and each of those symbols could be represented with food. In fact, it seemed that the tradition of gift-giving had nearly died out in favor of just sharing food. Legend wouldn't mind that so much. 

On the first day, you had coffee without sweeteners to say that although this year may have been bitter, you had the energy to make it this far. You could have coffee with sweeteners at the end of the day. 

The second day, you had pineapple or tomatoes in as many recipes as you could handle so that the acidity could clear out any lingering pains.

On the third day, you made eggs, usually with pork and rice, to symbolize the sun and the new day beginning. 

You ate something expensive, hard to get, or hard to prepare on the fourth day. It was supposed to represent all the good things you would fill the new year with. Wild's book suggested sea urchins, which in Legend's experience, was expensive, hard to get, and hard to prepare. 

The fifth day, of course, had something sweet and hearty that you shared with as many people as you could. On the Great Sea, that meant everyone on your small island. 

Wild looked forward to cooking all that food, and most of the group had fallen into figuring out where to get everything. Sky, however, had a different idea, and recruited Four and Legend into making a more traditional birthday gift for Wind. It was good luck that they'd ended up on Skyloft, where they could get good-quality materials and had access to equipment. They'd worked hard to keep Wind distracted, and to finish up their gift in time. 

Legend worked on the finishing touches, stitching leather in a decorative but sturdy pattern. He hadn't done much of the work on this actual gift, but he'd done a lot of distracting, mostly by letting Wind fool around with some of the more harmless of his items. Wind probably thought that he was doing it because he felt responsible for Wind's leg getting absolutely destroyed, and that wasn't entirely wrong, but it wasn't quite right, either. 

Stifling a yawn, Legend tied off his last string and shoved his work back in the bag. He arranged it behind a few barrels of Sky's small childhood home before heading out to the bedroom to get some Din-damned rest.

---3

Hyrule tapped his heels against the chair legs, holding a cup of coffee in both hands as he listened to the others slowly getting up. Something about Skyloft just invited sleeping in. Even considering that, the Heroes were a determined bunch, and the absolutely delicious smell of this morning's breakfast definitely played a role in getting them up. 

Yesterday, Hyrule had gone to Skyloft's bazaar arm-in-arm with Wild to get the last few things they needed for Wind's weird birthday thing. Hyrule didn't have any traditions like that, none that he actually celebrated, anyway, but he was excited to participate in Wind's. Wild picked up a bunch of Skyloft eggs—which he swore were the best he'd ever had—and then he and Hyrule found a coffee bean merchant. 

Hyrule was now no longer under the impression that coffee was just coffee. That merchant carried different breeds, different blends, different flavors. Hyrule wanted to try them all, but he refrained. After smelling a lot of kinds and listening to the merchant prattle on about them, Hyrule ended up choosing a sweeter kind that he thought Wind would love. This was for him, after all. 

And it was delicious. Hyrule liked things on the sweeter side, so he usually loaded up any coffees or teas he got with honey or sugar or milk or whatever it was Wild had available that day. However, the tradition here was to drink it unsweetened, and with this blend, Hyrule barely minded. 

"Morning," Twilight said from the doorway into the kitchen. 

Hyrule smiled. "Good morning, Twilight. Sleep well?" 

"Yeah, it's nice here. I can't blame Sky for being so sleepy all the time, if he grew up here." Twilight made his way to the kitchen counter and poured himself some of the coffee. "Did you make this?" he asked after a second. 

"Oh, no, I might have ruined it, you know I'm awful with food. Wild made it, he just went out to do something."

"It's really good. Even without any milk." Twilight set down his mug with a clunk and started to scoop some food from the skillet onto a plate. 

"It is," Hyrule agreed. "Wild wouldn't tell me how much it cost, so… probably a lot."

Twilight sat down across from him. "I like this tradition."

Hyrule laughed. "I think I do, too. I wonder if we'll have any left over to use for someone else."

One by one, the others filtered into the kitchen. Sky yawned loudly, making Hyrule laugh again. Did he even know he was loud about it? Wild came back in and demonstrated making more of the coffee to Time, who'd asked about it. The house was a little bit cramped, so Four came in with his crutches rather than his chair, and Wind followed a few minutes later. 

"Ooh, coffee," Wind said with a smile in his voice. He clearly expected someone to tell him no, like they did most of the time. He paused, and then in the most incredulous tone Hyrule had ever heard from him—

"Cyclos's teeth, Time, are you actually giving me coffee?" 

Four snorted something out of his nose, and someone pounded his back to help him cough it out as he laughed. 

"Special occasion," Time hedged. 

Wind tapped his toes against the floor. "If this special occasion is my leg being gone, I'm going to knock your teeth so hard you'll see stars in both your eyes."

"That's not it at all," Sky interrupted before Time could dig the hole any deeper. "I want to go flying today, and thought you in particular might want to come along."

"Oh?" Wind immediately got distracted. He made his way over to the table to sit down, only using one crutch so that he could carry the coffee cup. "Yeah, I want to!" 

Hyrule smiled to himself and finished off his own cup. 

---4

Wild liked pineapple. 

Correction: he had liked pineapple. A little sour, a little sweet, a pleasing crunch, a fruity zing to all kinds of things… Pineapples were very, very nice. 

Until you made them in every dish for an entire meal. He'd made pineapple cake, pineapple chicken, pineapple ham, pineapple greens, a pineapple dressing for the pineapple salad, pineapple casserole, pineapple smoothie, pineapple bread. He did not eat any of the bread. His tongue was tired, and he wished that he'd foreseen his hubris and made plain rice. Plain rice sounded wonderful right about now. 

"What possessed you?" Wind asked from the bench at the kitchen table, staring at the (rather numerous) leftovers. Everyone else had fled after eating as much as they could handle. "Wild, I've seen you do themed dinners before, but that was the weirdest thing I've ever seen you do. Why pineapples?" 

Wild sighed at the tin of fancy coffee he'd picked up with Hyrule. "We had too many."

There was no way Wind believed that. 

---5

The next morning, Warriors made himself some rather bitter tea to try and get rid of the lingering sweetness of pineapple. Whoever said that pineapple represented scouring away your failures was wrong. The taste would now only ever remind Warriors that he'd eaten far too much. The tea helped, though, and Wild stayed pointedly away from pineapple as he and Twilight fried up some bacon and eggs. 

How did anyone stand to celebrate a birth week? Warriors wondered if people stopped celebrating like this when they got older, or if they just did it in token rather than full-on. 

Wind was the last to get to the kitchen that morning. He'd spent most of the day yesterday—before the pineapple—running errands with Warriors and Sky, mostly taking important things to be mended or replaced entirely. Hyrule had needed a new bedroll, and Wind was only too happy to help pick one out, since Hyrule wouldn't do it himself if he knew the prices. 

The walking and talking and a bit of sparring later really tired Wind out. Warriors was impressed by how well he got on with the crutches, but they were visibly a bit too small, and not Wind's preference. He'd been exhausted at the end of the day, and woke up late this morning. 

Wind sat down, then someone slid a plate of fried-egg-topped rice in front of him and he frowned at it. Warriors raised his eyebrows, waiting. He knew how smart Wind was. 

"Okay," Wind said, and every other conversation in the kitchen stalled. "Is it someone's birthweek—birthday, I guess—and nobody told me?"

Warriors put his teacup down with a click and raised his hands. 'Why would you think it was?'

Wind gave him a flat look. "Fancy coffee that nobody told me to stop drinking, all the ridiculous pineapple last night that I can still taste, by the way, and the eggs? How dumb do you think I am?"

'You're not dumb,' Warriors laughed. 

"Yours!" Wind pointed at Time, who looked startled. "It's yours, right?" 

Warriors pulled his notebook out, flipped to the page where he had drawn a grid of Wind's calendar's weeks, and tapped the page. 

With a suspicious look, Wind pulled the notebook closer to him and squinted at the words. Warriors vaguely wondered if they needed to get him glasses. He'd hate that. 

It only took a few seconds for Wind to work out what Warriors was trying to say with the notebook. He looked up. "Mine?" 

"Your world is weird," Four told him. "The rest of us have some traditions regarding food, but nothing this weird. Yes, according to Wars's count, it's your birthday."

A slow grin took over Wind's face as he gave the notebook back. "Wait, you mean it's all been for my birthweek? The coffee, the awful pineapple, and these eggs?" 

"Hey!" Wild called over. "I did a great job with the pineapple!" 

Warriors winced, though it was half a smile, too. 

"For the first dozen bites," Twilight grumbled. 

"Yeah! Why was there so much?" Wind asked, laughing. "We usually just cut up and eat one after dinner, not have everything pineapple-flavored!" 

Wild threw the wooden spatula down on the counter, gave Wind a playful narrow-eyed glare, and pulled a book out of his slate. He flipped to a marked page and shoved it in Wind's face. "Because! It says that's what you do!" 

Wind took the book out of his hands, his nose wrinkling as he squinted to read the words. "Wild, this book is really old."

"Well," Wild said, snatching the book back, "it's what we're using!"

"You didn't have to." Wind leaned his elbows on the table, and Warriors could hear his heel knocking on the bench underneath him. His face turned pink, and he evidently couldn't stop smiling. The energy was infectious, Warriors's cheeks had begun to hurt. 

Sky took his plate to the sink. "We know we don't have to, but we wanted to. Besides, your traditions are unfamiliar, and it's fun to experience them."

"And we always want to eat more food," Time added. 

'What he said,' Warriors signed with a nod at Time. 

Twilight got up to start on breakfast dishes. "Though I will riot if we have pineapple ever again."

'...what he said.' Warriors winced. 

Wind started in on his food with a vengeance. "So… what do you have planned for tomorrow? That's the fancy day." 

"You'll just have to see," Wild told him haughtily. "You little criticizer."

Warriors laughed at Wind's sudden, exaggerated, chipmunk-cheeked pout. 

---6

Twilight poked at the weird chunk of orangeish meat on top of the noodles on his plate. He tried very hard to not look unsure about it, though Legend was right there with him, making faces. It smelled strongly of fish in the room. Wild and Wind dug right in, with Time not too far behind. Warriors seemed to be hesitant, but his face changed when he tried the meal, and of course, Hyrule ate anything and wasn't put off by the appearance. Four didn't seem to have an opinion. Sky took a bite, said it wasn't for him, and scooped his portion of the meat onto Wind's plate. 

"It looks disturbingly like a tongue," Twilight muttered, and Legend grunted in agreement. 

"Close your eyes, I guess." Legend winced one more time, and then did just that. 

Twilight waited to see what he thought of it, stalling for time by wrapping noodles on his fork and eating those. It just tasted like seafood. 

Legend finished chewing and shrugged. "Not bad. Tastes different when it's pulled from the spines and cooked."

The kitchen went quiet. Legend turned red. 

"When it's cooked?" Wind asked. "You've had these before, but raw?" 

Clearly, Legend did not want to give a straight answer. His shoulders climbed a few inches under the attention. "It's not that weird. It's like fish. You don't have to cook a lot of fish."

"Pretty sure you do, actually," Twilight said, appropriately confused. 

Wild perked up. "Actually, no you don't! I've never heard of raw sea urchin, but you can definitely eat fish raw."

"It's true," Wind said, and the conversation devolved into arguing about fish. 

Twilight tried the sea urchin meat. It wasn't that bad. But it still looked like a weird orange tongue. 

---7

"So, uh…" Wind looked at everyone standing and sitting around the small living room of Sky's little cottage. He sat on the fanciest wooden chair at Four's command, the borrowed crutches leaning up against it. "What's all this for?" 

"It's the last day," Sky said, taking point with a smile and flutter of excitement in his chest. This was his idea, after all. 

"I know that. You're all going to so much effort for me, it's not like I need it more!" 

Sky shook his head. "It's fun to celebrate a little, Wind, don't feel bad. Anyway, most of our birthday traditions are a bit different from yours. You know that, too. Ours usually involve dessert—"

"—so does mine!—"

"—and a gift or two," Sky finished. 

Wind's ears turned pink first. "Hold on."

"In my era," Time interrupted, "birthday gifts are small trinkets, things like flower crowns and carved spoons. The birthday celebration is more important, with lots of food and people." 

Wild chimed in. "That's like mine! Though the gifts are usually practical things like clothes or shields."

"We give kinstones and other gifts," Four said. "They can be anything, really, though not too expensive: journals, wind chimes, blankets. It's nice if you can make something." 

Twilight spoke up. "Ours are usually made out of cloth, clothes and blankets and pillows. Though, I think that has less to do with my time period and more with my village." 

"In my time," Legend said, "for every gift you receive, you should give one back to the same person, though it's things like flowers or sling bullets or songs." 

"We do songs!" Hyrule said next, tilting his head. "The one being celebrated usually gives a performance, and then others do them while everyone else eats. I've been to a few!" 

Warriors lifted a hand for attention. 'Birthday gifts in my era are usually purchased. They're something meaningful and practical, and should be chosen with a lot of thought.'

"And here," Sky said in conclusion, pleased with the sudden recap, "gifts are always something you make." He reached behind the bookshelf to pull out the finished gift, wrapped in an extra green blanket. 

Wind was frozen, staring with wide eyes at the thing. "You really, really didn't need to get me anything…"

"We didn't," Legend told him, leaning back in his own chair. "We made it."

Four had a wide smile on his face as he watched Sky set the bundle in Wind's lap. "I did the mechanisms, Legend did the stitching, and he and I worked together on the enchantments, with a bit of help from Hyrule, of course. Sky designed it, refined it, and did the woodwork." 

Sky bit his lip as he watched Wind unwrap the blanket. He hoped they hadn't overstepped or made too big of a deal out of it all. He knew that Wind had a habit of seeing any extra attention as coddling, but he hoped that Wind saw this whole thing as what it was—an excuse to eat something interesting and relax, as well as a very practical gift with a bit of extra love in it. 

Wind threw off the last fold of blanket. Sitting on his lap was a new prosthetic leg. The attachment and laces were patterned directly after the intact pieces of his old leg, recreated and reinforced by Legend. The rest of it was turned wood with a metal interior, a sturdy post that ended with a rubber tip. 

Four leaned in. "It has a spring inside, so it'll absorb some shocks. And that part is adjustable, see the screw? You won't have to deal with it being too short again, at least not for a long time. There are enchantments to keep it clean, to absorb some shock, and to resist elements and damage, a lot like what's on my chair and Legend's cane."

"Zephos's song," Wind swore, picking up the prosthetic. His eyes blew wide open. "It's so light. You guys…"

"Is it okay?" Sky asked. 

Wind laughed loudly and suddenly, a carefree sound that lightened the air and seemed to make the curtains rustle in a breeze. "Okay? This is amazing. You guys!" He pushed the blanket off of his lap and went right into attaching the leg. Legend and Four threw instructions at him about lacing and adjusting. Everyone else exchanged looks and wide smiles, relieved and very glad that the gift had been received well. 

"Oh yeah!" Wild straightened. "Cake! I made cake! Come on, Wars, let's go get some."

Time eyed him. "What kind did you make?" he asked suspiciously. 

Wild turned around and clasped his hands innocently. "Pineapple!" 

"You didn't," Hyrule burst, looking comically horrified. Sky covered his mouth to muffle a snort. 

'Hyrule's not the only one who'll stab you for that,' Warriors signed, and Sky repeated the words out loud for everyone's benefit. 

"I lied, I lied!" Wild shrieked as Warriors reached for him. "It's vanilla! I promise!" 

[mimy7etoile]

Summer - Hermann Hesse, 1903

When I woke up today and got out of bed, the weather had taken a turn for the better, a moderate easterly wind brushed the rich blue lake with trembling silver furrows, the blossoming crowns of the pear trees stood rejoicing and bursting against a bright blue sky, and light blueness was reflected in the fountain trough and in the small, almost dried-up pools of water on the country road. In the chapel opposite my windows, the sacristan was busy preparing for May devotions. In the improvised room of my neighbor, who wants to rebuild and enlarge his barn, the already gloriously warm sun was shining, the white pine beams glowed and smelled pine beams.

It struck me that my rowing boat was still under cover for winter and still hadn't been overhauled, painted and refloated. I had already cursed and bitterly regretted my laziness several times on beautiful days that tempted me to go to sea and then, out of laziness and mistrust of the weather, I had postponed the work until another time. It was almost a shame, and the neighbors, who still saw my little boat stowed away in the shed, began to grin and look at me regretfully. Now it was high time, and I decided to do the work today. The paints were already ready, I only had to mix them with linseed oil, and soon the pungent, spicy smell of oil permeated the house.

Putting on the large apron, I began to clean the boat and the oars and then to paint. How it stained and gave off when I ran the heavy, broad brush, lusciously filled with oil paint, over the planks! If only that was how feature writing went, and if it were so funny! Chickens clucked past, two young dogs fought and endangered my oil jug, children came and watched. And the neighbors, when they passed by, laughed and shouted: "So finally?" Modern pleasure boats are now usually painted a light brown or yellowish color like office furniture. But my boat has to look nicer, I paint it the old, traditional, fiery green and bright red, as well as the oars and accessories. An oarlock must be red, no other color resonates so joyfully and vividly with the blue or green of the water. Four hours, five hours I painted and anointed with zeal, then it seemed enough for the day. A few more days, then everything will be ready and in order, then we will take the boat to the beach on a cart with two cows, and the cows will have their horns wreathed, and then I will make my first rowing trip of the year alone and in silence, and it will be, like every year, a day full of silent glory and wonderfully swelling memories.

For me, three things are essential for a real summer: glowing hot, yellow, heavy-brooding cornfields - a high, cool, silent forest - and lots of rowing days. Rowing days! I think of those days when there was a brilliant blue sky over the lake and mountains, when the air shivered with heat and the wood of the boat crackled with the warmth of the sun. Then you had to sail half-naked in a broad shady hat in dazzlingly bright bays and often swim or take a nice rest in the dense shore bushes. And I think of rowing days when I sailed for hours through nothing but silver in overcast skies and fresh winds. And days when I was panting as I chased across the black, bubbling water, fleeing from a thunderstorm that suddenly burst out of the mountains. There were sheer, hasty flakes of foam running over the dark, blackish surface, whipping gusts of wind sprayed up needle-fine water dust, and hasty flashes of lightning flashed pale and twitching through the passionately excited, fearfully sultry air.

All that is to come again now: Summer, the glow of cornfields and the coolness of the forest, mild evening sounds on the reed beach, burning rides through the blue midday glow and glorious, soul-relieving, roaring thunderstorms. It is often said that spring is the most beautiful time of the year. But the most beautiful thing about it is the anticipation, the expectation of summer.

The gentle, longingly mild spring is quickly forgotten when summer comes and reigns, when sun and earth are closer to each other in love and battle, when the warmth is more powerful and intimate, the downpours wilder and heavier, the days brighter and the nights bluer. Then the chestnuts radiate their white and red blossom candles in incomprehensible abundance and splendor, the jasmine lavishes its sweet, blazing fragrance in numbing clouds, the grain bleaches, becomes heavy and golden and rustles luxuriantly and festively on a hundred thousand stalks, the damp, black forest floor ferments and throws masses of colorful plants into the light. And everywhere a glowing, wild, intoxicated fever of life trembles secretly. For the summer, the true summer, is short, and no sooner does the field shine more golden and the ears of corn rustle fuller and deeper than when the sickle and scythe come with hot harvest battle. All this shall now return. In the bright green forest valley, the cuckoo's call sounds tirelessly, the meadows quickly ripen for the first cut, the dark clover is lush, and the seed fields glow lush green. At the edge of the forest, white mayflowers gleam beneath their broad leaves, and on wide and the sulphur-yellow rape blossoms on broad strips of fields. This is the time when the man becomes a child and life becomes a miracle again, as every day brings unexpected new and every little meadow walk is a surprise and a fairy tale.

Summer is approaching, the royal season, the days of grain ripening and the nights of thunderstorms. Well, I am ready to experience the unheard-of once again and to see days of abundance and exuberant splendor, and I don't want to miss a day or an hour before the farmer wreathes the wagon all too soon and the greedy sickle rustles in the ripe grain!

[a-wandering-imagination]

Chapter 11

When Anton awoke, it was raining softly outside. The sky was heavily overcast and there was a slight south wind. He checked all the rooms of the house again to see if perhaps the girl had come back during the night. He found nothing. Back down in the living room, he hurriedly prepared some oatmeal and then sat down in front of the sliding door to eat it. His gaze wandered from his bowl to the glass door in front of him and then settled on the two small hand prints. He stopped chewing for a moment and reached out and touched the center of the left palm print. His gaze shifted to the still water and the beach. He watched the rain falling on the water for a few moments and then finished his breakfast.

After breakfast, he began loading up the car. Today he grabbed the Mini-30 rifle and a box of 200 rounds of ammo. He took the .44 as well. If anyone started shooting at him today, he wanted to be prepared to shoot back. The rifle, with the scope, was good for nearly 300 hundred yards if need be. Anton also packed some extra food in case he did run across the girl. Then his thoughts turned darker and he grabbed a first aid kit as well.

It was still early morning when he arrived at the bridge. He pulled up on the north side and turned the car around so that it was ready to head back out of town in a hurry. He then put the first aid kit, the extra ammo, and some of the food in a small rucksack. He pulled on his jacket as he stepped out of the car and slung the rucksack straps over his shoulders. He checked the rifle to make sure it was loaded and a round was in the chamber and then turned towards the bridge. The rain was still falling lightly but the wind had picked up a bit. Anton could smell the saltwater spray as he stepped up to the first row of cars at the base of the bridge. He scanned the bridge carefully, and checked the barricade at the top using the scope on his rifle, finger ready on the trigger. There was no movement. He picked his way among the cars towards the top of the bridge, all the while keeping the rifle at the ready for any sign of trouble. He made it to the barricade and found it deserted. The other side of the bridge was bare. No cars and no people on that side. He walked down the bridge on the far side and headed south on the road towards Douglas.

Anton zipped his collar up against the misting rain and pulled his knit hat down tight over his ears. It wasn’t really cold out, but the light rain made him shiver a bit. The road into Douglas was much like the road out to Auke Bay he had walked four days earlier, quiet and deserted. The homes on Douglas seemed darker as the road was on the eastern shore of the island and was therefore shaded from most of the sun by the mountains along the island’s spine. The large pine trees were thick here and crowded the homes, adding even more shadow. The sound of his footsteps along the road were unnaturally loud in the eerie silence and Anton found himself hurrying along, constantly watching over his shoulder as he went. He made it all the way into the little town of Douglas within a half hour and explored the homes and businesses along the main street through town while keeping an eye on the chimneys of those further off the road for any sign of habitation. He found very little, most of the places had been picked over. He didn’t find anyplace that looked like it might have been used by the men on the bridge, but that didn’t mean much. Considering how they had attacked him, they were probably holed up somewhere and doing all they could to not be found. Anton knew that the road leading north from the bridge also had many, many homes. The men could have just as easily come from that direction. He spent about another hour poking around the various homes, but eventually tired of the search and walked back to the bridge.

Back at the bridge, Anton scouted around the barricade looking for any signs of where the men might have gone or what happened to them. He found some 30.06 shell casings as well as some .223. He found no footprints, however, and no other sign of either the men or the creature that had chased them from the bridge. He stood at the base of the bridge on the Douglas side and looked up the north road that ran up to the northern tip of the island some twelve miles away. There were a lot of houses up that way too, but any activity in that area, especially smoke, would have been visible on his drive into town as Egan drive paralleled the North Douglas road on the other side of Gastineau Channel. As Anton stood there looking up the road, however, he once again felt that prickling sensation that he was being watched.

"Anyone up there?!" Anton yelled, keeping his rifle at the ready. He heard nothing but the whisper of the wind and the soft tap of rainfall. "If anyone's up there, I just want to talk! I'm trying to find other survivors!" he yelled. Still no response, but the hair on his neck began to prickle once again. "Fuck this," he muttered as he turned and jogged back up the bridge towards the barricade.

Once he crossed back over the bridge, Anton climbed into the car and headed back out of town towards Auke Bay. He decided he would wait no longer. Something was wrong with this town and he wanted no more of it. He would head back to the house, pack up his supplies, and load them on the boat tomorrow. He'd give the girl one more night to come back and then, tomorrow, he was heading out of town.

Back at the house, Anton busied himself packing food and supplies into the car. He folded down the rear seat and filled most of the back of the car with food. He made sure he had matches and lighters as well. He loaded up all the ammo for the firearms and all the water jugs. He packed the first aid kit and the binoculars as well. Then, after double-checking the various supplies he'd packed in the car, he went back into the living room to fix some food. The sun wouldn't go down for a couple more hours, but due to the heavy overcast it was already pretty dark outside. Anton fixed himself some chili and sat staring out the window, waiting for the girl to return. Hours later, after Anton had cleaned up the room and packed the last of the cooking utensils in the car, she was still nowhere to be seen. Anton kicked off his boots, set the .44 on the floor next to his pillow and crawled into his sleeping bag. Five minutes later he was asleep. He didn't see or hear the large dark shape that walked out of the trees and up onto the deck and stood staring at him through the glass door. The creature crouched down and brought it's large snout up against the glass and sniffed quietly. The small green eyes, shimmering like they were lit from within, zeroed in on the small hand prints on the other side of the glass. For several minutes the creature stared at the prints. Then, silently, it placed both of its large claw-like hands against the glass, leaving dark, smudged prints on the outside of the glass opposite the small, delicate prints on the inside. The creature then stood and moved soundlessly back into the trees.

The next morning, Anton rose and went about his business in silence. He didn't bother with breakfast. He felt anxious to leave now that he had made his decision. He went through the house, checking off items in the list in his head of what he thought he would need on his journey. He was satisfied with the amount of food, but there was not much ammo for the guns and only basic first aid items. He also didn't have a lot of matches or lighters. He would need to search some homes before he left town to find what he needed. He also had to stop by his old house and get all his clothes.

It was still quite early when he pulled out of the garage for the last time. He sat in the driveway for a moment staring at the house and the open garage door. He started to get out of the car to shut the garage door, but then he hesitated. A strange look crossed his face and he closed the car door and backed out of the driveway, leaving the garage door gaping open as he turned and drove south towards town.

He searched several houses on the way back into town for medical supplies. In the aftermath of an epidemic, however, there was not much to be found. By the time he reached his old house downtown, he had found only a couple boxes of bandages and some gauze. At his house, Anton packed all his good outdoor clothing into the back of the car. He had a couple of heavy coats, one made of polar fleece and the other a heavy wool watchman's coat. He also grabbed all of his rubber boots and his hiking boots--three pairs of hikers and two pairs of rubber boots. Next was his Helly Hanson rain gear, a coat and bibs. The rest of the space in the car he filled with pants, shirts, socks and underwear. The entire car, with the exception of the driver and passenger seats, was now full of gear, clothing and food. Anton stared at the car. He'd never packed so much for a trip in his life. But then again, this was like no other trip he had ever taken.

He turned and looked back at his house, then across the street at the neighbor’s house and his gaze wandered off into the distance, taking in all the empty, silent homes that once teemed with life. It was then that Anton realized he may never come back here. That's when the tears began. He didn't sob or shudder. He just stood, silent, with tears running down his face. His face hardened. This town is no longer the one I grew up in, he thought. The good part has died and only something dark and evil is left. As the realization set in his mind, he found himself staring off across the channel at the dark trees blanketing Douglas Island. He used to find the forest comforting. Now it appeared to be hiding something menacing. Something that was creeping ever closer.

Anton shivered and glanced up at the sky. Not quite midday, he thought. Plenty of time to get to the harbor, load the boat and get under way before dark. He may even be able to get as far as Taku Harbor before nightfall if he didn't run into any problems. He turned and looked at the house one last time and then ducked into the car and drove away, headed in the direction of the harbor.

At the harbor, Anton wasted no time shuttling the supplies to the boat. Using one of the large harbor wheelbarrows, he was able to transfer the gear from the car to the boat in less than ten trips. He piled all the supplies on the open deck at the stern of the boat and once he'd finished transferring it all from the car, he then started stowing it on board. He'd just finished putting the last of the canned food in the cupboards when he heard it.

-He's here-

Anton jumped a little as he heard it, knocking his head on the cabin ceiling. He swore as he spun around in the small space searching for the intruder, but saw no one. The voice sounded like it had been right next to him. Then, as he thought about it a bit, he realized it was almost as if he'd heard it inside his head. This realization had no sooner entered his head then he heard the voice again.

-Out on the last pier. The boat has stuff on the deck. That's gotta be where he is-

This time, Anton realized that not only was the voice inside his head, it wasn't really speaking. It was just thoughts, someone else's thoughts, that he could understand. Anton started to shake and, just to make sure he wasn't crazy, he peeked up out of the hold of the boat towards the gangway leading up to the parking lot. He thought he saw a man standing there, but as soon as Anton saw him, the man disappeared. Then Anton heard the dock creak alongside the boat and as Anton stepped up out of the hold, the man he'd seen a couple hundred yards away on the gangway was now standing on the dock alongside the boat, smiling at him. And the smile did not look very friendly.

"Who are you," Anton asked. The man just smiled and stood there. He was wearing blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt. He looked to be in his mid-thirties with long, dark hair and piercing black eyes.

-Wouldn't you like to know-

The thought resounded in Anton's head with a sarcastic, smirking, tone and before Anton had time to realize what he was doing, he responded out loud, "Yes, yes I would like to know."

The look on the man's face instantly changed from one of malice to what Anton could only think of as a fleeting look of panic which was quickly replaced with a predatory wariness.

"What did you say?" the man asked.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to know who you are. My name is Anton." Anton offered his hand across the rail of the boat. The man just looked at Anton's hand for a moment then back at Anton.

"I know who you are. You're the one who killed all of my men." The voice was cold and matter-of-fact.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Anton replied as his mind raced back to the encounter on the bridge and the bodies he'd found in his driveway.

-You're lying-

"Somehow, I don't believe you," the man replied dryly. He turned away from Anton and faced out towards the bay. Anton watched the man carefully as the wind lifted the long locks of his hair and flipped them casually. The man turned back to Anton and the malice had returned to his face.

"This is my town now. And those were my men. I don't know how you killed them but you'll not find me nearly so easy to kill."

As the implied threat hung in the air, Anton realized that all the guns were tucked away in the cabin, out of immediate reach. He felt totally vulnerable standing against this man even though the stranger did not appear to have any weapons. The man must have sensed Anton's fear because a smile crossed his lips and spoke again.

"Go ahead and try for one of your guns. I know you have some on board. Let's see if you can get one before I kill you."

The words cut the air like daggers and Anton panicked. He bolted for the cabin door only to find the man standing between him and the cabin. It was as if the man had disappeared and reappeared instantaneously, but Anton was pretty sure he had seen the man move. Just as the shock was registering, the man's hand was on Anton's throat, lightning fast and strong as steel. Anton choked against the grip convulsively and grabbed the man's forearm with both of his hands trying to break the grip, but the man just stood there smiling, carelessly holding Anton with one hand much as one would hold a can of soda.

"How could a scrawny little puke like you kill all of my men?" The man hissed. "You're nothing. You're not even as quick as they were. You're just... normal!" The words hung in the air.

-And now you will die-

Just as Anton felt the grip on his throat begin to tighten, he saw a flash of movement from the water side of the boat and suddenly Anton was free, collapsed on the deck, coughing and hacking as he tried to regain his breath. His lungs burned and his head spun. He thought he was going to black out and there was this dull ringing in his ears. As his head cleared, however, he realized the ringing he was hearing in his ears was actually the man screaming and he spun towards the dock and his eyes went wide with terror. There, standing on the dock, not ten feet from him was the creature. The fleeting glimpses that Anton had seen earlier had done nothing to prepare him for what he saw now. It was well over ten feet tall, heavily muscled and jet black from head to toe. Thick fur, dripping with salt water, matted over jagged features. The long arms and stout legs terminated in oversized hands and feet and each of the fingers and toes ended in two-inch, scythe-like ebony claws. The creature was standing on the dock holding the man by his head. The massive hand encompassed the man's skull like Anton's would a tennis ball. It held the man with one arm extended and stood looking at Anton. The man was flailing wildly, trying to break free of the creature. He was screaming, terrified, screaming for Anton to help him. Anton, however, was petrified, staring into the face of this black beast. It was like nothing Anton had ever seen and was scarier than anything he could ever imagine. The creature was massive. The silky black fur rippled over sineus, bunching muscles that seemed to flex, stretch and contract in a fluid state of constant motion, like the creature's entire body was breathing. The face, however, was what held Anton's gaze. It was as if the structure of the bone below was in a state of flux. The brow and cheek bones shifted and reshaped themselves like waves on a lake but never quite exposed the dark hollows where Anton knew the eyes must be, staring back at him as he stared into their shadowed darkness. The lips writhed with motion, alternating between hiding and exposing the wicked jet black teeth that filled the creature’s maw. The overall effect was that it was difficult to focus on any given part of the creature as it seemed to flick in and out of focus. Just as your eye locked on to any particular feature, it would shift, and the eye would be drawn elsewhere, searching for stable, tangible, recognizable forms.

-God help me!-

The thought brought Anton up short, almost like waking from a daydream. The stranger was still hanging from the creature's hand and was struggling ferociously, but the creature made no movement to either kill or release the man. It just stood staring at Anton. Anton looked into the creature's eyes, and for a moment, he thought he recognized something. In that flash of realization, he heard a loud pop and then a gurgling sound and the monster was gone and the stranger lay on the deck, his head oddly misshapen, twitching, blood running from his ears, nose and mouth. Anton stared as the man's eyes rolled back in his head and the convulsions stilled.

In the silence that followed, Anton struggled to understand what had just happened. This is a nightmare, he thought to himself as his gaze flicked between the boat, the distant parking lot and the corpse lying on the dock. He hopped over onto the dock and crouched next to the body and tentatively poked it. It was definitely real. He looked at the man's head. He could see the bruising where the creature's fingers had crushed the skull.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!" Anton screamed. He spun around scanning the water for any sign of the beast. But now, other than the corpse lying on the dock, there was no sign that the beast had ever been here. Anton turned back to the corpse. "That's what you get for trying to kill me..." he hissed and then stopped short. He remembered the recognition he'd seen in the beast's eyes, almost as if the creature had been waiting for permission to kill this man. Anton tried to remember the moment now. The strange thoughts in his head. The lost moment he spent staring into the beast's eyes. Had he wished this man to be dead? And if he had, did the creature somehow act on that wish?

Anton's head started to swim and he felt a little sick. He grabbed the railing on the side of the boat to steady himself. It was then that he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and he spun around.

There, kneeling next to the corpse of the stranger, was the little girl. She was dressed just as she had been when he last saw her. She stared intently at the face of the dead man. Then she reached out and deftly traced the profile of the crush marks with the tip of her finger, much as someone would trace the pattern in a piece of fabric. There was no sadness or fear in her expression, just a quiet curiosity.

Anton slumped to the ground and sat quietly staring at the girl. After a moment she looked up at him. Her eyes were void of expression. She stood, looked back towards the harbor parking area and waved. Anton turned to see what she was waving at and, for a split second, he thought he saw an old man standing at the top of the gangway where he had originally seen the dead man standing. Anton closed his eyes and shook his head and looked again, but there was no one. Anton turned to the girl once more only to find her arranging the body of the dead man on the dock. She had pulled his legs so that he was now lying flat on his back and was proceeding to fold his arms across his chest. She then reached into her pocket and pulled out a little blue flower and placed it on his chest between his folded arms. Anton recognized the flower immediately. It was the state flower of Alaska, the Forget-Me-Not. She continued kneeling there next to the body for a moment and then stood and climbed onto the boat. She walked quietly into the cabin and climbed onto one of the seats next to the small table across from the captain's chair and sat, quietly, staring at Anton.

"Did you know him?" he asked, as he stood next to the body on the dock, looking at the flowers resting on the dead man's chest. There was no answer. He turned to look at her and she was still sitting quietly staring right back.

"I guess that means it's time to go," he said as he climbed aboard and started the motor. While the engine was warming up, he finished securing the last of the supplies below deck and then untied the mooring lines, pushed the boat away from the dock a little and jumped aboard. Inside the cabin, he cranked the wheel hard to port and pulled back on the throttle, engaging the reverse drive. The boat slowly backed in a half circle away from the dock until he was turned around, pointing towards the end of the breakwater and the open bay beyond. He then pushed the lever forward and the old boat shrugged forward in the calm water. Anton's gaze was drawn once more to the body lying on the dock as he slowly motored out of the marina and into the open water beyond. Once clear of the breakwater, he headed south southwest out of the bay towards the north end of Douglas Island and Stephens Passage beyond. With any luck, he mused, I can get to Prince Rupert the day after tomorrow... three days at the most. Then he could decide if he wanted to continue in the boat or find a car to drive the rest of the way south. He tried not to be too hopeful about what he may find as he motored slowly away from Auke Bay.

[christmascocos2023]

Thursday 17th August

Another overcast and windy start with quite heavy showers overnight. I had a good night except for waking about 3am and dozing. However don’t feel tired. Must say the lack of bright sunshine, even in tropical climate seems to change the feel of the holiday spirit. I am definitely solar powered🤣. I was up at 0530 and writing this at 0630. Today is the day I am going to do my best and get to Home Island. Hope the plan works😁. Have finally got onto the Birdsnest wifi. Seems there are 2 Birdsnest options and I used the wrong one😏. Either way it is not really coping with posting so will use the hotspot wifi I purchased at one of the hotspot sites it can be used. Apparently it has a bit more grunt than the one at Birdsnest 🤞.

Well I got so over prepared that I got to the ferry jetty in time for the 0730 ferry🤣🤣. Oh well not a terrible place to waste some time looking out over the sea. Thought about catching the 0730 but would still have to sit around on Home Island so will stick with plan A!

I changed my mind again! Took the 0730 ferry and got to Home Island just before 0800. My buggy won’t be delivered until the 0830 ferry arrives here at 0900. I am glad now I opted for the early ferry as as we left the clouds cleared and the sun shone. It was a lovely ride. The boat being used as the substitute ferry looks like a good sized fishing boat(although it may in fact be used as a secondary or back up for the main ferry,and is called the R J Hawke. No prizes for where the owners political affiliation might lie😁. I sat outside and although bumpy because of the 2-4 metre swell and the speed plus all the rips and strong currents I believe are out here. Also lots spray and I took advice of local and sat at the cabin end of the bench seats(fortunately padded!)and had no probs with spray although there was lots water coming up the covered sides and cabin. It is also very noisy because of what I assume are very big powerful diesel engines. Despite all that being on the water finally and the sun shining was wonderful. As I had an hour to fill in I have just been wandering around the foreshore area. Have taken lots photos. However am now sheltered in a lovely gazebo with extras (see photo) as the sky is black again, wind has picked up and random light showers. Yet another advantage of having taken the earlier ferry as the 0830 will have a less pleasant ride I suspect. There was only 3 of us on the 0730 and as the 0830 is the last morning ferry I am keen to see how full it is given the weather.

There seems to be no cars except shire mini truck things and motorised transport is all by buggy. Makes it a very pedestrian friendly place. It is definitely a little Malaya with all street signs being Malay names and all signs mostly English and Malay although some like a memorial on the foreshore which is only in Malay. As far as I have seen it is a very laid back little place and I can even see a cute little beach to the right of where I am sitting.

As it happened there was only about 5 people on the 0830 so I prepared for nothing. Although now it has arrived my buggy has not! Fortunately the woman from the visitor centre who booked it for me happened to be meeting the ferry to collect something as she works on Home Island today. She is going to call the buggy man and find out where he is for me. I yet again fall on my feet’s 😁. Good thing I came early or would have lost some touristing time😁. Things do rather move at island time especially as most people seem to have more than one job. The buggy man came about 20mins later than he should have and in his defence the tourist place had me down as an overnight hire starting yesterday🤷‍♀️. Anyway he went through everything and it was his wife who told me about the pop up food. I have taken a photo of my bright blue buggy and will post. Being short the distance from the seat to the steering wheel meant I had to have arm extending and reaching or sit on the edge of the seat to reach more easily. He forgot to show me reverse but figured it out. Got going a bit shakily with the accelerator but soon buzzing along😁. Certainly can’t speed as max any where on that island is 30km/hr and parts of residential area are 8km/hr. The man also warned me that the locals don’t even notice Give Way signs to keep eyes peeled! Seems the local kids might be a traffic hazard as he also said that I was lucky I was only driving around in school hours🤷‍♀️. In case you think the kids can use the buggies every driver has to have a drivers licence and all the buggies are register just like cars. I did keep an eye on the battery light thing but was fine but another couple told me on the ferry home that theirs had just gone flat fortunately in town and they had to abandon it and return the key. I suspect the fact they went flat is the weight their buggy was carrying compared to mine. Both husband and wife were morbidly obese.

Good news is the sun is out, lots blue sky and wind dropped so looking good. Having said that the weather does turn quickly!

Well the buggy arrived,the sun came out, clouds pretty well cleared and a beautiful day. Still some seriously strong winds on and off and depending on the side of the island you are. Good thing as golf buggy not equipped for rain😁. Once I had the buggy and a map I was off. Even with my famous sense of direction or lack there of you can’t get lost on Home Island as very small. As only buggy’s or quad bike type things allowed the roads in the main area are lovely small paving squares and a dream to drive on. Very well thought out and neat tidy homes with everyone it seems having one or more boats😁. Once you get a bit further especially along the coastlines the roads become dirt or limestone but as all people have is these little buggy’s even these roads are well maintained. It seems everyone who lives here takes great pride in the place and it shows. The beaches on what they call the lagoon side are pristine and safe as well as photogenic. Even the ones that aren’t on the lagoon side look wonderful. If they were in WA they would be alive with people even with the strong wind as the temp is in the mid to high 20’s and you can’t feel the humidity because of the wind. Apparently it doesn’t blow this hard normally at this time of the year but they do normally get lovely breezes during this period . The whole place is just picture perfect and like being in Malaysia with a western twist. Unfortunately at present no reliably open places to buy a snack or lunch and all a bit random re opening. However there was a pop up doing Malay takeaways outside the Supermarket. It was busy and I wanted to keep going so didn’t bother. Never got lunch and forgot to bring the snacks I usually carry for such occasions (blame the early start). I also realised on the way home that other than my water bottle I hadn’t even drunk enough water. There was just so much to cover and I got caught up😁. There was a restaurant but it has been closed for renovations and it looks like it is going to be sizeable. They have a shop which is pretty good but to stay here you would have to cook or go back and forward to West Island on the ferry.

I did a tour of Oceania House the home of the Clunies Ross dynasty until 1983. The tour was an hour and I had the guide on my own and it was fantastic as is the house. Because she gave me so much information I am going to do a separate section about that tour and what I learned. As there was so much it might take a while for me to remember and be sure I have got as much as I can down. There is a book apparently you can buy here about the dynasty but it is written by a CluniesRoss and as such should be read in context😏.

I did among many things go out to the cemetery where I got photographs of 4 Clunies Ross grave and also one that is in the grounds of the house. They seemed to be the only Christian graves amongst the rest who are Malay and I assume Islamic faith. The cemetery is still being used. Before you get too high expectations I was so entranced with what I was being told during the tour I didn’t take photos inside the house. Anyway a photo wouldn’t do it justice. To soften the blow I will tell you that there is a Clunies Ross living on West Island but none on Home island☹️.

I have taken lots photos of my buggy tour but they won’t give you the reality. It is a real piece of paradise albeit a very isolated piece and I am not sure if any one who is not Malay or was or has links even lives on the island. It seems a very Malay enclave although over the years the locals have developed a few quirks to their ancestry that are quintessentially Home Islanders quirks. It is basically a Kampong.

I am just writing this and chilling out after a busy day and have eaten a bit and drunk lots water so back on track. I seem to have mastered my car’s oddities but still very careful and am not going to get cocky.

I am off on a motorised canoe tour tomorrow. Bit of a worry me and canoe skills😂😏. According to my paperwork we meet outside the guides house(about 3 down from me) at 0550hrs . However whether that still holds not sure. I have learned to expect the unexpected and roll with the dice🤣. The weather remains sunny and dry so I am hoping for good things over the weekend. Might actually get wet other than from the rain🤣🤣.

Home Island photos:

The lovely gazebo type structure on the island with it unique centre and looking out to the ferry jetty.

My buggy,a typical street on Home Island,

[periantari]

I’m not a descriptive writer but I liked how I wrote this - part of a multichapter fanfic I’m working on

There was a smell of salt water while persistent waves crashed down upon a foundation of stone. The structure had fallen and the powerful waves had ruined its once spectacular establishment. There was only a remnant of a citadel that once stood. Another one the proud head of a statue was no more, chipped away by the unrelenting waves.

The wave towered over an entire city, and when Faramir could almost feel the water upon him. He started to run.

Suddenly, thunder and lightning became visible in the background as the dark clouds threatened closer, coming to envelop the old stone structures and him. He heard someone weeping for his son, but could not make out who it was and why he heard that. Distracted by the drops of rain that were falling from the overcast sky.

Now hues of turquoise and blue swirled about. Faramir felt cold dark sand seeping between his toes. The wave still threatened from a distance and started to envelop everything in its path, inching closer to him. The wind had picked up and gusty gales of seawater and spray doused him. Dark wraiths on wings suddenly appeared and tried to snatch Faramir but he kept running and running. The wraiths and the waves were gaining on him. He slipped on the cool sand upon the puddles of salt water. He tried to rise up but suddenly, it went cold.

[magevivika]

Emotional Landscape

The wind pulls at my shawl but it remains fastened with a button and a fist nestled in the stitches. My feet are enveloped in thick socks and sturdy boots as I walk the land covered in moss and low shrubs. Though the sky is overcast it is not rain I feel on my face but the spray of the sea as the waves crash far below the cliff and break onto the ragged rocks.

If I turn back I see the little cottage, made of stone and thatch, where my cat warms herself by the hearth but the only warmth of which I can imply from the smoke gently billowing from the chimney. My eyes are set to the vastness of the sea, however. Despite the drama at the shore the ocean is vast and stretches out to the horizon then beyond where my perception ends. There is so much more for me to experience. Where I meet with others is where the focus often rests as they cannot perceive further than that - some not even that far - but I know the depths that I can return to whenever I choose.

It is no one’s business but my own, my grief, though I may choose to share it at times. To have connected to something or someone is a gift I do not neglect to acknowledge. But nothing is eternal. Knowing that a flower will wilt, for me, does not diminish its beauty. The fleeting nature of life, in all its forms, enhances my appreciation of each unique form it will briefly assume the release. That is what we do here: appreciate, feel, and release.

Once I have walked the edge of the cliff and listened to the raging of the seas then I can return to that comfortable place by the fireside. All the pieces, the memories, that I have left are mine to cherish. No one can take them from me. I may choose to share them or simply enjoy them in solitude. A smile as my mind wanders back, a breath of laughter, or a sigh of relief. It is up to me. I have that choice.

[omlsheen]

DULL NIGHT

18 + DNI MINORS

Words : 2k

Author’s notes : for my bestest friend who i’ve loved for 4 years 😐 @karasukakikomi. Sometimes I think about how friendship and question things. Anyway, Reiji is mine.

Summary : Reiji invites you to dinner in the mansion with his brother. He catches you flirting with one of his brothers, Shu. Reiji gets jealous and punishes you.

A day that’s gray and cloudy overcast and with a dull, sunless sky. The night was windy and gloomy. Everything is silent, the streets. As if it isn't even alive, just like a ghost town. The breezy wind rustles through the leaves of trees as tall lamp posts shine a yellow light throughout the streets.

Reiji invites you for dinner to meet his brothers. You get in his elegant sleek black car.  Reiji enters the driver's seat and turns on the ignition. You put on your seatbelt. 

Click…

As you and Reiji drove off away from your house, it started to rain. Raindrops fell from the gloomy, cloudy sky as they hit the car windows. Puddles began to form on the sidewalks as you looked out the closed car window. The rain on the car danced with spray, and you could hear thunder and the murmuring of the rain through the window. It sounded like the buzzing of swarming bees. 

The soothing sound of rain makes you close your eyes, and you fall deep asleep. As you open your eyes, you see Reiji next to you. 

“We are here,” Reiji approaches you as he leans to unbuckle your seatbelt.

You step out of the car with a small smile, beginning to appear on your face as you lay your eyes on the mansion. Gigantic doors open, and low dimmed candles welcome you as you enter. Extensive windows with blackout curtains shine a glimpse of light from the moon. A beautiful extended, narrow red carpet lies on the stairs. Alluring decorative lights hang from the living room as each light bulb gleams in the whole room. 

“Come meet my brothers,” Reiji holds your hand and approaches the dining room table. He introduces you to his brothers.

“This is Laito.” Reiji points with his hand at the five men who are standing in front of you

“Hey, Bitch-chan!” Laito licks his fangs.

“Knock it off!” Reiji aggressively pulls you away from Laito.

“Sorry, about Laito,” Reiji politely apologized

“No, that’s alright,” You answered.

Reiji continues and introduces the rest of his brothers.

“This is Ayato. He is the troublemaker of this household,” Reiji answered as he looked at you. 

“I’d expect a woman like her to be a bit larger up there, but I guess Chichinashi is a fitting name,” Ayato chuckled.

You backed away from Ayato and had an irritated facial expression as Reiji looked at Ayato with his eyes.

“That’s enough. Why don’t you follow me to the dining room?” 

You politely said, “Reiji, you forgot to introduce me to the rest of your brothers.” 

“Forget it. They are going to be rude towards you anyway.” 

You hesitated. You took a glimpse of one of his brothers that he did not introduce, and you slightly smiled. He smiled back. 

You glance at the table strategically set as if it were set for the queen. Red and white flowers on vases filled with water in the middle of the table. Sparkling silverware was placed delicately on white floral vintage placemats. The lights are dimmed low as classical music plays from the background. 

You sat down next to Reiji.

“Anyway, this is Kanato, Subaru, and Shu.” Reiji points to each of them as he calls out their names.

You are star-struck by one of his brothers that smiled at you earlier. A nice-looking man with handsome features, including light ocean blue eyes kinda looks like the deep blue sea. Slightly curled blond hair and he has two black studs on both of his ears. You finally know his name, Shu.

“Everybody this is Y/N.” Reiji smiled. 

The rest sat down and Shu sat next to you. 

“How is everyone doing?” Reiji asked as he motioned his hands to grab a plate of food in the middle of the table. 

They all answered the question as they interrupted one another. 

“One at a time,” Says Reiji.

“Laito, how have you been?” 

“I’m good.” Laito rolled his eyes.

“How about you, Ayato?” 

“I’m fine I guess,” Ayato said.

“So, I guess you all will answer the same thing then.” Reiji annoyingly sliced his steak with his fork and knife. 

Dinner was silent. Everyone ate their food quietly.

You took a glance at Shu for a second. He noticed, and looked at you back. You looked away with a hint of blush on your cheeks. 

“So, how are you Shu?” You asked.

“I’m okay, it’s boring here,” Shu answered with a smile on his face.

“How about you, Y/N?” 

“Oh um, I'm doing pretty good.” You answered back as your cheeks blush even more.

Reiji notices, but was not bothered at first.

As time passed, everyone finished eating their dinner. Maids came and cleaned the dining table.

Reiji got up.

“Should we look around the house?” Reiji answered as he fixed his tie. 

You got up from the chair and followed Reiji. The others stayed in the living room, but Shu followed you and Reiji. 

Reiji asked, “Why are you here, Shu?”

“I just wanted to follow you around the house.” As Shu focused his eyes on you.

Reiji squinted his eyes at Shu, unsure of what he was about to do.

“Alright, you can follow us around the house,” Reiji grabs and holds your hand.

As Reiji walked towards his room, you looked back to Shu. He focused his eyes on you with no hesitation. 

Reiji looked back and you two immediately looked away from each other's eyes. 

Reiji opens the door to his room.

“Here is my room,” Reiji implied. “It’s nothing special.”

As you step foot into the room, dimmed lights twinkled your eyes. Polished cabinets full of glistening silverware and cups. 

“Your room is very pretty, Reiji.” You looked at Reiji and smiled. 

Reiji smiled back with a blush on his face.

“I have to get something from another room. Shu can you look after Y/N for me. I will be right back.”

Reiji walks towards the door as he exits the room, leaving you with Shu all alone.

“He-” You paused.

“I like you.” Shu interrupts you.

“Oh um, thank you. That is very flattering of you.” 

Shu grabbed your hand. 

“Shu, please. Reiji will be back and he might see you holding my hand.” You answered with fear in your voice.

“I don’t care.” He answered as his eyes still focused on yours.

You heard heavy footsteps coming from outside of the room. Reiji opened the door and you immediately pulled Shu’s hands away from your hand. 

Reiji looked at both of you. His smile slowly turned into a frown while he was holding the flowers he brought for you. 

Reiji threateningly walked up to Shu.

“Get out now!” Reiji shouted.

Shu obeyed. He opens the door and slams it behind him as he walks out of the room. 

“What was that?!” Reiji is filled with anger.

“It was nothing. I swear.” Your eyes filled with horror.

Reiji locks the door. He grabs you and pushes you down on his bed. He opens his closet and takes out a whip and handcuffs. 

“Reiji, what are you about to d-” You answered with fear.

“Stop talking.” He interrupted.

Reiji slowly lends towards you and grabs your wrist as he puts the handcuffs on you. Your face is filled with terror, but at the same time, you like it. You told Reiji to stop, but he became more aggressive.

He began to take off your clothes. He slipped your shirt up to your face using it as a blindfold. He took every inch of clothing from your body. Reiji flipped you over. Your back is now facing him as he made you arch your back. 

He didn’t take off his clothes, only his glasses. He brings out a whip. Whipping his hands while he gets into a good position to whip you.

“Reiji, please.” You murmured.

He did not answer. 

He pulled back with a force. The sharp crack of the bounded leather as it contacts your ass. The stings are worse than a slap. Only hitting a certain area, but you like it. 

Tears come falling down your face, but they are happy tears. You are worried about Reiji catching you with Shu.

You asked yourself “Is this why he is like this? Jealousy?” 

Every time, he whips you even harder. You are not breaking. You want to tell him to stop, but you feel good. 

He unfastened his leather belt before unzipping the material of slacks. He spat on the palm of his hand before stroking his hand along the shaft of his hardened cock. He spat out a dab of his saliva onto your pussy for lubrication. 

He slipped it in as you moaned very loud. He reached down and covered your mouth. He aggressively penetrates you. It reaches your sweet spot. You can’t stop moaning, it feels so good. 

He turned you over to your side and lifted your right leg. He rested your leg onto his shoulder. Every time you moaned he put it inside even deeper. He had no intention of stopping. Reiji was jealous. He put all his anger toward you and made you pay for it. 

He lifted you up and put your body on top of him while his dick was still inside you. He grabbed your hips and rocked you back and forth. A slight moan hints out of his mouth. You couldn't see anything, you were still in the blindfold, but you could tell that he liked it. 

He was so intense. He kept going, he would not stop. He was filled with anger and jealousy. Your face filled with tears as they dripped down the bed sheets. 

You were getting uncomfortable and your thighs hurt by the second. You couldn't handle him. 

"Reiji, please stop!" As you kicked him away from you. You couldn't use your hands because you were still in handcuffs. 

You broke down crying. Reiji stood up quickly, zipping up his pants and releasing you from the handcuffs. Once your wrists were free, you quickly pulled down your shirt that he used as a blindfold. You curled yourself on the corner of the bed as you were scared to even look at him. 

"I'm sorry. I went too far." Reiji tries to pull you in closer as he holds your hand.

You pulled away. You didn’t recognize him. It was like he was not himself anymore.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was frustrated after I saw you and Shu." Reiji picked up your clothes from the ground as he put them on for you. 

Your hands move him away. You grasp your clothes away from his hand, putting them on. You stood up from the bed leaving Reiji behind. You opened the door, slamming it behind you. 

He runs after you. He didn’t want you to go. Reiji still loves you. As he was getting close, he hugged you from behind, stopping you from walking away further from him.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." Reiji kisses you on the forehead and the lips.

"Shu was holding my hand. I forced my hand away, but he insisted." You were distressed. 

"I believed you." Reiji pulled you in even closer, hugging you tightly. He wiped your tears away, and you hugged him back.

You both said sorry to each other.

"It won't happen again," Said Reiji.

You two both smiled at each other as you rested your head on his shoulder. 

"Let's get out of here," Reiji holds your hand tightly. 

Reiji did not even say goodbye to his brothers. He casually opens one side of the gigantic door. As both of you walked out of the mansion, leaving the brothers behind. He opened the car door for you as you entered. He closed the door and walked to the other side of the car to open his side of the door. He turns on the car's ignition.

He took a glance at you as a glimmer of a smile filled his face.

"I love you," Reiji softly said.

"I love you too, Reiji." 

He held your face pulling you in closer to him and kissed you on the cheek. He backed away as he drove off from the mansion.

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

Sea of Ghosts. End of autumn. The furious wind absent, silenced by a stern word. Timbers creak below Jurgen's feet as the ship sways slowly with the role of the tide. He moves with it on instinct, shifting weight from one foot to the other, one hand grasping a rope overhead, the other hanging loose and easy by his side. Metal clacking as his crews wench tight the harpoon-ropes, sad whisper of wind around a mast bereft of its sail. These things he knows without seeing, like he knows that if he lowered his gaze he'd see, in the distance, the thin white line representing the Dawnstar coast.

He doesn't lower his gaze. His eyes are raised to the overcast sky.

"Taljekam?" calls his bosun. Do you see it?

"Hilyekam," Jurgen replies in the same tongue. Waiting. "Kaan," he adds, a soft thrum that sends a breeze through the air. The wind feels it too.

And then it appears. Through the low clouds sinks a bulbous white belly, small at first but seeming to grow ever-wider as it descends. A pair of fins larger than a man appear next to churn the hazy grey sky. With the beat of a massive tail the whale dips towards the ocean, its blunt head finally breaking through the cloud-layer, descending weightlessly, carelessly, as if its gentle black eyes have failed to see the boat.

There are gasps. There's a sense of awe. This motley crew of ten in the middle of an ocean far from their native Port Telvannis have never seen such a beautiful thing. There is stillness, wonder, and then Jurgen barks: "Let fly!"

The whale has only just taken her first sip of water when the harpoon rams into its flank.

She's silent as she dies. She thrashes once, but her light-as-air body is too slow to make good an escape, and three more harpoons fired in quick succession tether her to the little rocking boat. She's silent, silent behind the straining ropes and the grunts of men and mer reeling her in, silent when they pull her close enough that her bright red blood spills onto the flank of the ship. The crew have trained for this; they pull her flush against the ship so that her tail dangles behind them and her blunt head comes to rest at the prow, only a foot from Jurgen.

Jurgen himself is unable to move. She's not so big as he's heard sky-whales can get, only about as long as his little Telvannis ten-men, but her dewy black eye is as large as his hand and it's fixed on him. He'd thought she would fight against her death, he'd expected writing death-throes and a vicious battle while her shocking-red blood gushes onto the planks. But her gaze is devoid of hope, just as it is devoid of judgement. She stares at him only with a mournful sadness.

"Erufi el!” the bosun shouts at him. Kill it.

"Krii" says Jurgen and the whale dies.

Jurgen helps his crew haul the carcass onto the deck, and his crew repay him by pretending not to notice that he's weeping all the while. Then again, maybe they all are, who can say, perhaps the salty wet on their faces is the dew from her skin or the sea-spray in the air now that the wind, thinking Jurgen won't notice its misbehavior, has picked up again. The world seems a little bluer now, in contrast to the vivid red spilling across their boots.

Never mind. The young Tongue and his crew have triumphed.

The sail is hoisted again. The whale's steaming-hot body is secured to the deck. Jurgen, wiping tears off of his face, climbs back to his perch on the prow. Now is not the time for crying, but the time to rejoyce, the time for him to return proudly to his father, having proven himself by his impossible prize.

And yet-- when Jurgen speaks the first word that will carry them back east, “Kaan”, Kyne-- the wind hits the whale's body and blows it all away as snow.

[norabrice1701]

High Octane - Ch. 8

A Powerboat Racer!Zemo x Fem!Reader AU Series

Series Main List

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, references to racing related stress & danger, reader angst & stubbornness

Chapter Word Count: 4.0k

Chapter 8: Sunday

You chugged the rest of your coffee before sliding your racing uniform shirt overhead. As the fabric settled around your shoulders, you stared at the logo across your chest. The red and gold emblem stood for something bigger than yourself. Something bigger than the confusion in your heart. Something bigger than Zemo’s words that looped endlessly in your mind.

At least… that’s what you tried to tell yourself. They had selected you out of dozens of applicants. You had earned both Tony Stark and Stephen Strange’s seals of approval. They selected you to be the best, and this was your job. Now, it was high time to prove it.

If Stephen noticed anything off in your mood, he thankfully didn’t say anything. The silence was more than welcome as you moved through the physical exam and handed the final paperwork to Dr. Foster for her approval. But as Stephen dropped to sit next to you, grimacing at the god-awful coffee, you knew it wouldn’t last.

He cast you an assessing glance. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you answered, not turning your gaze from the emerald water that stretched beyond the tent. “I’m good.”

“You made a decision, then?”

“I know what I have to do today. The rest can wait.” You sighed as you shook your head, glancing up at the sky. “It would be nice if these clouds burned off.”

Even in the early rays of sunrise, overcast clouds blanketed the sky and covered the water with murky shadows. It was already hard enough to see out the windshield with a face full of water spray, let alone in dull sunlight and cloudy weather.

Stephen raised his eyes for a quick assessment of the sky. “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

The sea breeze bit your cheeks as a chilled shiver ran through you. “With this wind, it’ll make visibility almost impossible.”

“That’s why we’re paid what we’re paid.” Stephen took another sip of the coffee. “We don’t let that stop us.”

“No, we don’t.” You agreed, looking around at the other competitors. The weather also wouldn’t give anyone else pause, either. This was the last day of competition, after all. The closure of the season, and after the points tallied today, one of these five teams would be crowned the world champion. Everyone would fight for it - there was no reason to hold back, weather be damned, and there was no reason not to fight for position.

And your position was on top of that podium.

Your gaze landed on Zemo without your permission. He looked far more rested and collected than he had before Wednesday’s race. In fact, he looked downright relaxed. As though a weight had lifted from his shoulders - as though… as though he’d done exactly what he said he had: laid his cards on the table before you and slept with a clear conscience. You should resent him for placing the ball in your court. You should be angry with yourself for letting him in your motorcoach, angry with yourself for letting him upend your world.

But that could come later. Right now, you had a race to win.

As the pastor launched into his pre-race sermon, followed by the pre-race meeting, you forced yourself to listen. Extra emphasis was placed on the safety and rescue procedures, and as the sun continued to rise, the weather reports were continually updated. Unfortunately, it looked like the murky weather had moved in to stay.

It did nothing to help you now as you squinted across the gloomy, choppy water. The emerald water looked almost grey as you bobbed in Iron Man’s open cockpit. Even with the canopy hatch open and your head poking out the top of the boat, visibility across the racecourse was poor between the obscured sunlight and misty, salty spray. And none of it was helped by the steady wind that still stung your cheeks.

As Iron Man rocked in the rolling waves, you glanced around at the other contestants that similarly waited for the race to start. You exhaled another anxious sigh as your gaze landed on Zemo’s boat. The black boat floated like an oil spill on top of the rough water and your heart leapt to your throat.

Had he really meant it last night? If you never said another word to him, would that be the end? Was that what you wanted? Your fingers clenched at your side, remembering the feel of his warm skin as he took you apart in the women’s restroom, the strength of his touch in the Friday night shadows, matched only by the sincerity of his voice and the affection in his eyes last night.

All of it made you want so many things. But how could you possibly admit it? How could you possibly live that life with him? Would it even be possible to sustain a romantic relationship with Team Iron Man Racing’s greatest competitor?

Stephen’s voice filtered out from inside the cockpit. “Is the course clear yet?”

You shook from your raging thoughts and focused on the scene around you. Admittedly, you didn’t usually pop the cockpit hatch and climb out of your harness, but with a delay this long, it was hard to sit still. You shook your head, squinting around. “Hard to say.”

Stephen sighed, disgusted. “Why is there always some joker who doesn’t think the rules are meant for him?”

That tugged a smile to your face as salt spray dampened your cheek on a strong gust. After all, it wasn’t every race that a fan managed to break through the Coast Guard corridor and surf with his dog on an active racecourse. No doubt the sight would have made for an amusing photo if you had your phone, but you weren’t able to get a clear view of anything due to the weather conditions.

“All Super Cat boats,” Race Control came over your helmet. “Take up position. Course is clear, repeat – course is clear. The yellow flag will commence after final checks.”

You lowered yourself back into the cockpit and secured the canopy hatch above you. The buckles of your safety harness snapped into place, and you settled back against your contoured seat. Your tongue swept your upper lip as you again glanced across the course, looking out at Turn No. 1 that sat mired in mist and shadow. You sighed as your fingers skimmed the wheel. “This light will make the roller waves harder to see.” The last thing you wanted to do was catch one and flip the boat upside down.

Stephen fixed you with a curiously pensive glance. “Nervous?”

You turned towards him, shaking your head slowly. “Anyone who says they’re not is lying.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Then, good thing you didn’t lie.”

You nodded as you blew another deep sigh and the engine purred behind you. “Winning here today is what it’s all about. The real deal, the last chance this season – the World Championship.”

“Yeah, don’t overthink it.” Stephen cautioned, reaching for the throttle. “Ready?”

“Let’s go.”

Iron Man’s engines accelerated under his command as you took position behind the pace boat, finding your lane and plotting your line. As the boat’s twin noses rose out of the water alongside the other competitors, the intoxicating energy of race day honed your focus. The green flag flew, and Iron Man held nothing back. The engines screamed as you rocketed out of the harbor, vying for position.

“Easy, watch it – watch it!” Stephen called as the dark shadow of Pym Racing loomed out the starboard window. “Get out of this wake!”

“I’m not clear.” You could see the shape of Zemo’s black boat out of your port window, hogging the inside line that you wanted. With all five boats neck and neck, the rules dictated that you couldn’t make a move until the traffic cleared out. Gritting your teeth, you bounced in your seat against the sea churn as the red buoy for Turn No. 1 drew ever close. “Alright,” you called out. “Here we go.”

You navigated into the turn under the force of deceleration in a rush of engine whine and salt spray – and everything went to hell.

In a blur of motion, your vision filled with a flying, gleaming black hull and a wall of white water. You cranked the wheel on instinct, pushing against your harness under the g-forces. The stern swung around as your bow plowed through the churned water. A jarring impact force slammed against the hull, tearing your startled cry as you jerked sharply against your restraints. Your mind spun as your chest heaved, disoriented from the sudden rush of fearful adrenaline and jarring motions of your boat.

Just what the fuck?

“Shit,” Stephen’s equally breathless and dazed voice carried over the engine’s low roar. “Shit… bilge pump turned on. What the…?”

Blinking rapidly, you registered the close presence of Team Cap’s royal blue boat out of your starboard window. Your brain caught up to your eyes, seeing the twin points of Team Cap’s bow gouged into Iron Man’s hull.

“Fuck.” You breathed, still staring stunned out the window. “We’re hit. We’re taking on water, aren’t we? What the… what the hell just happened?” You craned your neck around, straining to see out the windows.

Race Control sounded over your helmet. “Zemo Racing is upside down in the water. Divers are on the scene, and rescue is en route. All boats proceed with caution - we are in a yellow flag condition.”

Your heart stuck in your throat, just barely able to see out your window. Two black bow points bobbed just above the water’s surface. You pushed against your seat harness, trying to see more. Were Zemo and Barnes out of the boat? Was their boat sinking?

“We have a fire.” Stephen said, reluctantly drawing your attention back despite the anxiety gnawing at your stomach.

You scanned the gauges and meters in front of you. “Snuff it out.” Reaching for the wheel, you tried to maneuver your nose around as you watched Team Cap reverse away from you. But the more you turned the wheel, the more… nothing happened. Even under one engine’s idling power, you always had some basic maneuvering capability… but this? You frowned with increasing alarm. “I have no steering.”

“Then, that’s it. We’re out of the race – shutting down the last engine.” Stephen sighed before speaking again. “Race Control, Iron Man – we have no steering.”

“Copy that.” Race Control responded. “Tow boat needed?”

“Yeah,” Stephen confirmed. “Iron Man has lost steering and is dead in the water. We’re taking on water, too.”

“Copy that. Rescue en route.”

You shook your head in mounting frustration and worry. “Fuck… fuck!” The boat started to list beneath you as fear and anxiety twisted in your gut.

“Come on,” Stephen coaxed. “We need to get topside.” He undid his harness restraints as you numbly worked at yours.

Tears stung your eyes but you barely noticed as you reached to open the canopy hatch. Climbing out afforded you a full view of the scene around you, and a fresh wave of terror gnawed at you.

From the unobstructed view as you stepped onto Iron Man’s hull, you could see Zemo Racing’s emergency escape hatch open but only one orange helmeted figure had crawled free. Your heart pounded as you froze. “W-why is there only one helmet? What happened?” Panic gripped you, watching the orange helmeted figure gesture frantically down at the escape hatch as the rescue boat approached. Obscured by the poor light, orange helmet and dark clothing, it was impossible to know if it was Barnes or Zemo. “Tony…,” you called out, unable to tear your gaze away. “Who is that? What are they saying?”

Tony’s reluctant sigh came heavy. “You know, I don’t think now is the right-.”

“Tony,” Stephen’s tone brokered no argument. “Just do it… our boat’s under control.”

There was a deliberate pause before your in-helmet speakers filled with the commentators’ live feed.

“- receiving word now that four of the five boats in this class got fouled up in that massive collision.”

“That’s right, Joe. We just heard the report that Iron Man Racing is dead in the water, and of course, we’re all on the edge of our seats about Zemo Racing.”

“The divers are in the water, and still working to stabilize the boat which is taking on water at a rapid rate. And, of course, still no sign of the baron himself, yet.”

A sob lodged in your throat, your hand flying to your mouth as more tears burned your eyes. You watched, helpless as the black hull sank lower in the water and Barnes jumped into the rescue boat. Had Zemo’s harness failed? Was he trapped? Was he even still alive…?

“Alright, you’re listening to 97.7 The Zone, and we’ve had an unfortunate turn of events this afternoon here in Key West. We’re looking at the live stream, down the course at Zemo Racing: they flipped over on the first turn, and we’re now in a red flag situation where the race has been shut down. Safety and rescue crews are on the scene, and we are still waiting for the all-clear.”

“You know, Bill, it’s never good when only one orange helmet appears out of the escape hatch. And with Barnes safely aboard the rescue boat -.”

“Look there! A diver has broken the surface with an orange helmet!”

Your knees nearly gave out as relief surged through you. Through your tear-blurred vision, you could just make out Zemo slowly moving his arms against the rolling ocean waves with his breathing regulator secured. The urge to jump into the ocean and swim to him consumed you. You wanted to throw your arms around him and never let go.

“Well, Joe, it certainly looks like he got his bell rung pretty good. Of course, they’ll take him in for a full evaluation – but he was charging pretty hard going into that turn.”

“Yeah, I’d have to agree. I didn’t see many lanes being held in that turn from where I’m sitting – aggressive is the word. These Super Cat racers are fierce, man – fierce competitors.”

“And it certainly looked rowdy out there – seems like that roller wave hit them unexpectedly.”

“Well, Billy, it’s a wildcard out there: you have the Gulf, the Atlantic, the tide, and the wind. Shake all that in a jar, and you never know what combination you’re going to get.”

“You know, I was talking with the Zemo Racing team this morning, and they said they were gonna let it eat, but I guess it was hungrier than they expected.”

“And just as we alluded to earlier, how dangerous that first turn is – several boats across, and if you’re behind another boat, it’s hard to see – and things can happen, unfortunately.”

“Oh, absolutely ‘cause the rooster tails aren’t hitting your windshield in the straightaway, but as soon as those boats turn, the rooster tails turn on a 45-degree angle and if you’re behind somebody, it’s like staring into the showerhead for several minutes. It’s pretty intense, the kind of water that comes off the back of those propellers.”

The divers carefully maneuvered Zemo around to the rescue boat, and with slow movements, he took to the ladder. Your heart went out to him as a diver stayed close, clearly supporting him, while another rescue worker helped haul him aboard.

“And, we reported earlier that Iron Man Racing Team is dead in the water and has officially withdrawn from this race.”

“Well, there’s certainly a lot of concern from the Iron Man Racing Team for the fate of Zemo Racing’s driver. I don’t think she’s taken her eyes off of him since he broke the water’s surface.”

“Maybe we’ll all be treated to more than one heartwarming sight here today before this mess is sorted out.”

A weight lifted from your chest as Zemo’s helmet lifted free, and he sat upright, nodding and talking with the rescue workers. A tenuous smile cracked your face as you felt a heavy, supportive hand fall to your shoulder and give an encouraging squeeze. You nearly sagged back against Stephen, overcome from the emotional roller coaster and jostling in the ocean’s churn.

But none of that mattered because he was alive. Helmut was alright.

“Alright, folks to recap: the two-time defending world champion here in Key West, Zemo Racing, went over in the first turn of this final race and caused a chain-reaction of events. From what we saw: Team Cap banked into Iron Man Racing, who swerved to avoid a collision. We know that both Zemo Racing and Iron Man Racing have retired from the race, and we also have word that Team Cap suffered damage to their bow, but unclear at this point if they’ll also withdraw from the race.”

“Team Hulk also didn’t look well coming out of the mess at Turn No. 1, either – maybe it was just a scratch, but we’ll have to sort this thing out and see how many boats come back out to start when the race is restarted.”

With Barnes and Zemo secured, the rescue boat started to maneuver over towards you and Stephen. He waved down the tow boat coming up on Iron Man’s other side, and you realized just how dramatically the boat hull listed under your feet. But that’s what the guys in the tow boat would take care of from here – officially, your job was done. The rest would come later.

“You guys alright? Any Injuries?” A worker called from the rescue boat as it slowed near Iron Man’s bow.

You shook your head, forcing your feet to move. “No.” You called out, hearing Stephen confirm the same. With careful steps, you moved down the boat’s wet hull, grasping for the rescue boat gunwale and hauling yourself aboard.

Of course, you were encouraged to sit and the worker did a quick check of your immediate vitals as you again confirmed no injuries or impacts to your head. But your eyes saw only Helmut as he rested in the stern, still clearly dazed and strained from the rollover. A bloody gash marred his cheek and the pale color of his skin looked dramatic against his water-darkened hair. Another large wound bled freely just below his left knee as he sat with his eyes closed, catching his dizzied breath.

“Go for it.” Tony’s voice came across your helmet, breaking your focus. “Go get him. It’s all they’re talking about… we’ll sort out the PR mess later.”

A grateful smile cracked your face as you glanced over at Stephen who gave his head a vaguely annoyed shake. Your heart threatened to burst as you sighed. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Yeah, I know – but take your helmet off first. Those electronics are expensive.”

Stephen snorted. “You just want clearer photographs when she kisses him senseless.”

“Pleading the fifth. But come on,” Tony encouraged as you reached for your chin strap, “don’t keep everyone in suspense.”

You lifted your helmet free as your smile widened. Embarrassed heat crawled up your neck as you sheepishly handed it to Stephen, but it didn’t matter. Helmut was alive, he was alright, and he was here. Moving through the boat and around the rescue workers, you only had eyes for one man.

You swallowed, suddenly uncertain. “… Helmut?”

He perked up, confusion on his face for a brief second until he swung his gaze around to meet yours. You nearly drowned in the adoration and relief that warmed his face. Biting back tears, you watched him summon his strength and push unsteadily to his feet despite his obvious injuries and the rolling motions of the rescue boat as it started gently across the harbor.

“Are –,” your words stuck in your throat. “Are you alright?”

A tired smile cracked his face. “Hit my head, maybe… it’s all… kind of a blur, really.”

You nodded numbly. “Yeah… I just… I saw you go flying and, then… you were upside down.”

“Well, that’s why we do the dunk tests.”

You remembered yours all too well. Not that you enjoyed being strapped in a cage and dropped upside down into a swimming pool, but it helped acquaint you with the rush of initial terror and disorientation that accompanied a rollover. There were so many nuanced parts to it – securing your regulator, bracing against gravity so your face wouldn't smash into the dashboard when your harness restraint loosened, checking on your teammate. As you reached a hand out to caress Helmut’s uninjured cheek, blinking away tears, you couldn’t be more thankful that he had been so prepared.

Surely, it had saved his life today.

His hand rose to your cheek, mirroring your hold as he swiped at a fallen tear. “You know that they’ll never let you live this down.”

You blinked furiously against more tears, trying and failing to suppress a smile. “I-I don’t know that I want to.”

“And, of course, Stark will have a thing or two to say.”

“He already did.” You shook your head gently, helpless to look anywhere but the warmth of his brown eyes. “He said that we’d sort out the PR mess later.”

His face brightened with a smile. “And here you are.”

“Yeah… here I am.” Your hand slid from his cheek to wrap around his neck as you leaned in, tilting your head.

When his lips met yours, you poured forth all of your realized love and reassurance. He was here, and he was yours – just as you were his, and let the rest of the world be damned. He crushed you close in a tight embrace, both lost in the searing kiss and overcome in the relief of the moment. Your other hand wrapped around his neck, loving him as you’d never loved anyone – and you wanted him to know it.

A distant roar of applause and cheering crowds sounded as the boat radio’s volume increased around you.

“Speculations have been high these last few days, but the cat appears to be out of the bag now.” A light chuckle accompanied the announcer’s words.

“Of course, we’ll wait for official statements from Iron Man Racing Team and Zemo Racing before making any official declaration, but what we’re seeing seems to speak pretty clearly for itself.”

“And, I’ll tell you, Joe – after a crash like we just witnessed, it throws your life and the world around you into sharp perspective real quick. Whether or not that’s playing into this moment now, only time will tell – but the fans are on their feet for it!”

Helmut slumped against you on an ocean wave, groaning in obvious discomfort as you braced to catch him. You sniffled, withdrawing with a sheepish smile. “God, Helmut, we – you need a doctor.”

He drew a shaking breath despite the grin on his face as he nodded ever so carefully. “As much as I would love to argue that your love is all the medicine I need, I think you are right.”

You bit your lip, shaking your head in light reprimand. “Oh, no - you don’t get to go all sappy on me now.”

The cheering approval from the grandstands echoed louder around you as his eyes glinted with exhausted mischief. “We’re way past that now, draga.” He turned his body outwards as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, bracing against your side as you pivoted to face the grandstands. People jumped, people waved and shouted – showing their support for the pair of you, for the rescue workers, for the teams coming together in the face of misfortune.

Helmut nodded at the adoring crowd, raising a hand with a tired wave, and you couldn’t help but follow suit. Tucked against his side with your opposing team jerseys clashing, nothing could outshine the force of your smile as you joined him to wave back at the cheering fans.

“And there’s a wave from them to the fans! The crowds are showing their love for Zemo Racing and Iron Man Racing Team as the rescue boat comes into the harbor!”

“That’s just the best sight we’ve seen all day. Everyone’s out safe, the boats are secured and under tow, there’s romance in the air… boy, I tell you folks, it doesn’t get much better than this.”

Series Main List

Tag List: @hiraeth-the-dreamer @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @glimmering-darling-dolly @linkpk88 @groovyponypatrollamp @thedaisycrownwitch @reallystressedhoneybee @janine-007 @revolution-starter @lorna-d-m @strayrockette @raniiaaa

[sl-walker]

Blindsided, Part 22

Read prior parts here.  Sign up to be tagged when this fic (or any of mine!) updates here.  Read it on AO3 here.

--

The beauty of the moss being used to create guidelines was that it wasn’t constrained to just their room.  Instead, thanks to Obi-Wan having Maz's blessing, he was able to paint (plant?) it throughout the castle.

So, of course, that was what he did.

He took the tiny spray applicator and the rest of the packets of moss and started with the hallway outside of their room, and then moved on, trying to think of every place Maul might want to go and how to place the moss to warn him of obstacles.  Beyond that, Obi-Wan had to account for the fact that it glowed once it was established and would be visible to other people, so there had to be some artistry involved, too.

(He could not, for instance, write a lewd letter to his beautiful boy on the walls talking about where he wanted to put his tongue in graphic detail.  But the thought did occur while Obi-Wan was brainstorming, and he giggled and blushed and ignored the beings eying him curiously as they walked by him.  The number of marks still on his neck probably didn’t help matters.)

He ended up doing winding vines and leaves for the hallway lines, though, falling into an almost meditative state as he turned a disability accommodation for his Force sensitive lover into something of an art piece.  At each public door, he painted something different to illustrate what was on the other side, though that was less for Maul and more for the people who could see it and didn’t know where everything was; drink tankards and a plate with a loaf of bread on it for the bar, a cute caricature of Maz outside of her ‘office’, a spiral staircase outside of the stairwell.  Other things.

"I see you're sprucing up this old haunt of mine," Maz commented to him as she passed him by.

Given Obi-Wan was paused by a door to the outside which would lead to the woods and the lakeshore and was in the middle of painting an actual spruce in illustration of that fact, he snorted and flicked a bit of nutrient water at her.  But he was smiling as she laughed at him and went on her way.

Obi-Wan had studied art, enough of it to make conversations with people; it was expected that he should be able to engage with a number of high-born subjects, given he was supposed to be the nephew of Sheev Palpatine.  But he had never tried his hand at art himself, until now.

He was doing fairly well with it, he thought; he was still working in the bar whenever he could, but he also spent a couple hours every day moss-painting, and he could see his own skills improving over time.

When he showed it to Maul after he was finished, the door with the trees and the lake painted beside it, and watched Maul take it in with a smile tugging on his lips -- admiration and pride and love singing down their bond -- Obi-Wan thought perhaps he would keep experimenting with living mediums and expand his ability to make beautiful things for Maul.

When he saw it glowing himself a few days later in a soft gold, he decided he definitely would.

--

--

Winter in this hemisphere of Takodana coincided with the Festival of Stars, which was mildly amusing because the sky was overcast more often than not.  Outside, the lake was freezing over and the snow fell thick over the mountains and forests; blanketed the castle and made walking outside a little more treacherous than most non-fur bearers appreciated.

Despite the cold and ice outside, though, Maz tended to throw quite a party during all of the galactic holidays.  The castle was packed with regulars and new people who lived on the fringes of the more civilized galaxy; a lot of beings had to sleep aboard their ships because there simply wasn’t room for them inside.

Obi-Wan smiled every time someone complimented the glowing moss paintings adorning the walls.  Thanks to the bustle of the holiday, he was able to pick up extra time in the bar, serving and bussing and even taking a turn on the dishwasher; the tips were better and even though it would take him ten years to save up for cybernetic eyes and surgery at this rate, he was still in high spirits.

One of his favorite bands was playing, there was dancing, there were shouts for more drinks or more food or requests for songs, and for all of the terrible things he had learned about people under Master’s teachings -- how selfish and cruel they could be -- he could see the good in them in moments like this.  He wasn’t a Force-native empath like Maul was, but even he could feel the good will and shared joy of dozens of species of sentient beings, all coming together to celebrate in a place where all were welcomed, and it made Obi-Wan-- oddly hopeful.

(At times like these, he thought he would have made a poor Sith; while he knew he could kill any one of these people, with the exception of Maz and Gissk, should they threaten him or Maul, he also wanted to see them in their best light.)

The only thing missing from this celebration was his lover.

Being around crowds was hard for Maul; beyond how much mental pressure he felt there, he just was so badly socialized that he spent most of his time darting looks at any exit he could whenever he was surrounded by too many people and it wasn’t for the purpose of a job.  He could grow fond of individuals, albeit often slowly, but even then there were only a handful who Maul even tentatively trusted.  And only two -- Obi-Wan and Maz -- that he deeply did.

He was much more comfortable with droids, which Obi-Wan thought was downright bizarre given Maul’s Living Force alignment, but Maul had explained once, “There’s no weight with them.  I can’t feel them pressing on me.  I can sense them, but it’s not the same.  And-- they’re more honest.  Even when they’re mistaken, they’re usually honest.”

(Then again, Maul’s most formative years were spent being raised by a droid.  He had been almost exclusively raised by Deenine, unlike Obi-Wan, who had human tutors and more of Master’s attention; that was why, despite being raised in the same place, they had different accents.  Obi-Wan’s was decidedly Coruscanti, while Maul’s was the Inner Core’s received pronunciation.  Both considered high-bred and cultured accents, but not identical.  Anyway, even though Deenine’s legacy was complicated and he had often hurt Maul, droids were what Maul knew; living beings were often a large, highly unpredictable and potentially horrible unknown for him.)

Despite knowing how much Maul didn’t like being in crowds, though, Obi-Wan wished he’d come to the bar.  Maul was so much more comfortable navigating the castle now that he had the moss-paintings to help guide him -- Obi-Wan even outlined the stairs, every single one, painting a stripe on each one -- and a few days ago, Maul had even made it to the bar for a hot bowl of stew and fresh bread, but probably the festival crowd now would prove too much for him.

“Don’t tell me you want more,” he groused, good-naturedly, dragging his thoughts away from his lover as he passed by Gissk’s table, where their crew and their mother was.  Gissk was signaling, maybe for another round of booze; Obi-Wan was in excellent shape, but even his shoulders were getting sore hauling trays of drinks.

“When do you get done working?” Gissk asked back, turning their big green head to follow his progress back to the bar.

“When everyone’s passed out, of course!” Obi-Wan had to raise his voice over the sounds of the people and the band now swinging into their next number, but luckily Gissk’s table was reasonably close.

“Don’t you get a break?” Fara asked, leaned back with an arm around Gissk’s back.

Gissk’s Mandalorian mother was a human woman with such black skin that it looked almost blue, and paired with her short-clipped hair where her clan symbols were shaved in relief and her ink-dark eyes, she was so strikingly beautiful that Obi-Wan felt a flutter of attraction for her in the pit of his stomach; even though he’d never stray (or tell Gissk!), he did flush when she addressed him.  “I’m afraid the tips are too good to take one tonight, Fara; there’s only one person who’d be able to convince me otherwise, and he’s not here.”

“Oh?  Sseems that’ss no longer true,” Gissk said, sounding as smug as a transdoshan could, and Obi-Wan blinked once before whipping around.

Maul stood in the main doorway in that pale gray sweater of his; his posture was tense and he was scanning the crowd, no doubt visualizing them in the Force, before his attention landed on Obi-Wan.  Under the loud ‘static’ of the crowd, Obi-Wan could feel that attention and then the relief down their bond.

The rest of the crowd ceased to matter for the moment entirely as Obi-Wan shoved the tray across the bar and decided now was a perfect time to take a break.

@shadowmaat -  @doorsclosingslowly - @emphasisonthehomo - @blackat-greneys - @vengeful-nerd - @sammelbegriff - @kenobispunk - @sundavr - @mock-ing-bird​ - @fancandy77​

[thewidowsghost]

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 8

(Y/n)'s POV

I know someone at camp resents Percy and me because one night, I come into the cabin alone and find a mortal newspaper dropped inside the doorway, a copy of the New York Daily News, opened to the Metro page. The article takes me almost an hour to read, because the angrier I get, the more the words float around on the page.

GIRL, BOY, AND MOTHER STILL MISSING AFTER FREAK CAR ACCIDENT

By Eileen Smythe

Sally Jackson, son Percy, and daughter (Y/n) are still missing one week after their mysterious disappearance. The family's badly burned '78 Camaro was discovered last Saturday on a north Long Island road with the roof ripped off and the front axle broken. The car had flipped and skidded for several hundred feet before exploding.

Mother, daughter, and son had gone for a weekend vacation to Montauk, but left hastily, under mysterious circumstances. Small traces of blood were found in the car and near the scene of the wreck, but there were no other signs of the missing Jacksons. Residents in the rural area reported seeing nothing unusual around the time of the accident.

Ms. Jackson's husband, Gabe Ugliano, claims that his stepson, Percy Jackson, is a troubled child who has been kicked out of numerous boarding schools and has expressed violent tendencies in the past.

Police would not say whether son Percy is a suspect in his sister's and his mother's disappearance, but they have not ruled out foul play. Below are recent pictures of Sally Jackson, (Y/n), Percy. Police urge anyone with information to call the following toll-free Crimestoppers hotline.

The phone number is circled in black marker.

I wad up the paper and throw it away, flopping down on my bunk on the far edge of the cabin under the window facing the sea.

I remain silent as Percy walks into the cabin, flopping down onto his bunk as well.

That night, I have the worst dream yet.

I was running along the beach in a storm. This time, there was a city behind me. Not New York. The sprawl was different: buildings spread farther apart, palm trees and low hills in the distance.

About a hundred yards down the surf, two men were fighting. They looked like TV wrestlers, muscular, with beards and long hair. Both wore flowing Greek tunics, one trimmed in blue, the other in green. They grappled with each other, wrestled, kicked, and head-butted, and every time they connected, lightning flashed, the sky grew darker, and the wind rose.

I had to stop them. I didn't know why. But the harder I ran, the more the wind blew me back until I was running in place, my heels digging uselessly in the sand.

Over the roar of the storm, I could hear the blue-robed one yelling at the green-robed one, Give it back! Give it back! Like a kindergartner fighting over a toy.

The waves got bigger, crashing into the beach, spraying me with salt.

I yelled, Stop it! Stop fighting!

The ground shook. Laughter came from somewhere under the earth, and a voice so deep and evil it turned my blood to ice.

Come down, little hero, the voice crooned. Come down!

The sand split beneath me, opening up a crevice straight down to the center of the earth. My feet slipped, and darkness swallowed me.

I wake up, sure I'm falling.

I am still in bed in Cabin Three. My body tells me it's morning, but it's dark outside, and thunder rolls over the hills.

A storm is brewing.

I hadn't dreamed that . . .

I hear a clopping sound at the door, a hoof knocking on the threshold.

"Come in?" Percy asks, sounding uncertain.

Grover trots inside, looking worried. "Mr. D wants to see the two of you."

"Why?" I ask, peeking through the curtain separating mine and Percy's side of the cabin.

'He wants to kill . . . I mean, I'd better let him tell you."

Nervously, Percy and I get dressed and follow, sure we were in huge trouble.

For days, Percy and I'd been half expecting a summons to the Big House. Now that we were declared children of Poseidon, one of the Big Three gods who weren't supposed to have kids, I figure it's just a crime for us to be alive. The other gods had probably been debating on the best way to punish us for existing, and now Mr. D is ready to deliver their verdict.

Over Long Island Sound, the sky looks like ink soup coming to a boil. A hazy curtain of rain is coming in our direction. I ask Grover if we'd need an umbrella.

"No," Grover says. "It never rains here unless we want it to."

Percy points at the storm, 'What the heck is that, then?"

Grover glances uneasily at the sky. "It'll pass around us. Bad weather always does."

I realize that he's right. In the week I'd been here, it had never even been overcast. The few rain clouds I'd seen had skirted right around the edges of the valley.

But this storm . . .

This one's huge.

At the volleyball pit, the kids from Apollo's cabin are playing a morning game against the satyrs. Dionysius's twins - Castor and Pollux - are walking around in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow. Everyone is going about their normal business, but they look tense; they keep their eyes on the storm.

Grover, Percy, and I walk up the front porch of the Big House. Dionysus sits at the pinochle table in his tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt with his Diet Coke, just as he had on my first day. Chiron sits across the table in his fake wheelchair. They are playing against invisible opponents - two sets of cards hovering in the air.

"Well, well," Mr. D says without looking up. "Our little celebrities."

I wait.

"Come closer," Mr. D says. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortals, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father."

A net of lightning flashes across the clouds; thunder shakes the windows of the house.

"Blah, blah, blah," Dionysus grumbles.

Chiron faints interest in his pinochle cards and Grover cowers by the railing, his hooves clopping back and forth.

"If I had my way," Dionysus says, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm."

"Spontaneous combustion is a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron puts in.

"Nonsense," Dionysus says. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself. I'm thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead, sending you back to your father."

"Mr. D - " Chiron warns.

"Oh, all right," Dionysus relents. "There's one more option. But it's deadly foolishness." Dionysus rises, and the invisible players' cards drop onto the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I'll turn him into an Atlantic bottlenose. Do you understand? And Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you two must do."

Dionysus picks up a playing card, twists it, and it becomes a plastic rectangle. A security pass. He snaps his fingers. The air seems to fold and bend around him. He becomes a hologram, a wind, then he is gone, leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering behind.

Chiron smiles at me and Percy, but he looks tired and strained. "Sit, Percy,(Y/n), please. And Grover."

We do.

Chiron lays his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use.

"Tell me, (Y/n)," he says. "What did you make of the hellhound?"

Just hearing the name makes me shudder.

Chiron probably wants me to say, Heck, it was nothing. I eat hellhounds for breakfast. But I don't feel like lying.

"It scared me," I admit. "If you hadn't shot it, I'd be dead."

"You two will meet worse. Far worse, before you're done."

"Done?" Percy asks. "With what?"

"You're quest, of course," Chiron says. "Will you accept it?"

I glance at Grover, who is crossing his fingers.

"Sir," I say, "you haven't told us what it is yet."

Chiron grimaces. "Well, that's the hard part, the details."

Thunder rumbles across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the edge of the beach. As far as I can see, the sky and the sea were boiling together.

"Poseidon and Zeus," I guess. "They're fighting over something valuable . . . something that was stolen, aren't they?"

Chiron and Grover exchange looks.

Chiron shoots forward in his wheelchair. "How did you know that?"

"The weather since Christmas has been weird, like the sea and the sky are fighting. Then I talked to Annabeth, and she'd overheard something about a theft. And...I've also been having these dreams."

"I knew it," Grover says, his eyes bright.

"Hush, satyr," Chiron orders.

"But it is his quest!" Grover's eyes sparkle with excitement. "It must be!"

"Only the Oracle can determine," Chiron strokes his bristly beard. "Nevertheless, (Y/n), you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt."

Percy laughs, looking nervous, "A what?"

"Do not take this lightly," Chiron warns. "I'm not talking about some tinfoil-covered zigzag you'd see in a second-grade play. I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives."

"Oh."

"Zeus's master bolt," Chiron says, getting worked up now. "The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt, which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers."

"And it's missing?" I guess.

"Stolen," Chiron corrects.

"By whom?" I ask though I guessed what he was going to say.

"By you two," Chiron says and Percy's jaw drops.

"At least"—Chiron holds up a hand—"that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon argued. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best,' 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterward, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it."

"But I didn't - We didn't -" Percy goes to say.

"Patience and listen, child," Chiron says. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you two as his children. You were in New York over the winter holidays. You could easily have snuck into Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief.

"But we've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!"

Chiron and Grover glance nervously at the sky. The clouds don't seem to be parting around us, as Grover had promised. They are rolling straight over the valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid.

"Er, Percy . . . ?" Grover says. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky."

"Perhaps paranoid," Chiron suggests. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe that was question thirty-eight on your final exam...." He looked at Percy.

"The Golden Net?" I guess again. "Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods trapped Zeus in it and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler?"

"Correct," Chiron says. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and forth for months, threatening war. And now, you two have come along—the proverbial last straw."

"But we're just kids!" Percy protests.

"Percy," Grover cuts in, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to overthrow you, then your brother suddenly admitted he had broken the sacred oath he took after World War II, and that he's father, not one, but two mortal heroes who might be used as a weapon against you . . . Wouldn't that put a twist in your toga?"

"But I - we didn't do anything, Poseidon - our dad - he didn't really have this master bolt stolen, did he?" Percy asks, and I remain silent in thought.

Chiron sighs. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the summer solstice. That's June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. I hoped that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would make the two brothers see sense. But your arrival has inflamed Zeus's temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a fullfledged war would look like, Percy? (Y/n)?"

"Bad?" Percy guesses.

"I'd guess that it would be like nature at war with itself," I say and Chiron nods.

"Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions dead. Western civilization turned into a battleground so big it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight," Chiron adds to (Y/n)'s statement.

"Bad," Percy repeats.

"And you, Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus's wrath."

And then, it starts to rain. Volleyball players stop their game and start in stunned silence at the sky.

We had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of us.

"So we have to find that bolt," I say. "And return it to Zeus."

"What better peace offering," Chiron says, "than to have the son and daughter of Poseidon return Zeus's property.

"If Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?" Percy asks.

"I believe I know." Chiron's expression is grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago...well, some of the lines make sense to me, now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle."

"Why can't you tell us where the bolt is beforehand?" Percy asks.

"Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge."

I swallow thickly. "Good reason."

"You agree then?" Chiron asks.

I exchange a glance with Percy, then Grover, who nods encouragingly.

Easy for him, I think. We're the ones Zeus wants to kill.

"All right," Percy says. "It's better than being turned into a dolphin."

"Then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron says. "Go upstairs, Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, to the attic. When you come back down, assuming you're still sane, we will talk more."

. . .

"Well?" Chiron asks us.

We slump into our chairs at the pinochle table. "She said we would retrieve what was stolen.

Grover sits forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. "That's great!

"What did the Oracle say exactly?" Chiron presses. "This is important."

My ears are still tingling from the reptilian voice. "She said we would go west and face a god who had turned. We would retrieve what was stolen and see it safely returned."

"I knew it," Grover says.

Chiron doesn't look satisfied. "Anything else?"

"No," Percy says. "That's about it."

He studies Percy's face, then meets my green gaze. "Very well. But know this: the Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass."

I get the feeling he knows we're holding something back, and he's trying to make us feel better.

"Okay," Percy says, looking anxious to change topics. "So where do we go? Who's this god in the west?"

"Ah, think, Percy," Chiron says."if Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain."

"Someone else who wants to take over?" I guess.

"Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now broken."

"Hades," I say, raising an eyebrow.

Chiron nods. "The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility."

A scrap of aluminum dribbles out of Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait. Wh - what?"

"A Fury came after Percy," Chiron reminds him. "She watched the young man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades."

"Yes, but - but Hades hates all heroes," Grover protests. "Especially if he has found out Percy and (Y/n) are children of Poseidon . . ."

"A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continues. "Those can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment, and it had to be summoned by someone within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to use Percy and (Y/n) to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill these young half-bloods before he can take on the quest."

"Great," I mutter. "That's two major gods who want to kill us."

"But a quest to . . ." Grover swallows. "I mean, couldn't the master bolt be in someplace like Maine? Maine's very nice this time of year."

"Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt," Chiron insisted. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to understand the Lord of the Dead's motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain. Percy and (Y/n) must go to the Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth."

A strange fire burns in my stomach. The weirdest thing is, it isn't fear. It's anticipation. The desire for revenger. Hades had tried to kill me two times so far with the Minotaur, and the hellhound. It is his fault my mother had disappeared in a flash of light. Now he is trying to frame me, my dad, and my brother for a theft we hadn't committed.

Grover is trembling now; he'd started eating pinochle cards like potato chips.

The poor guy had to complete a quest with me and Percy so he could get his searcher's license, whatever that is, but how can I ask him to do this quest, especially when the Oracle said we were destined to fail?" This is a suicide mission.

"Look, if we know it's Hades," Percy tells Chiron, "why can't we just tell the other gods? Zeus and Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads."

"Suspecting and knowing are not the same," Chiron says. "Besides, even if the other gods suspect Hades—and I imagine Poseidon does—they couldn't retrieve the bolt themselves. Gods cannot cross each other's territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they're bold enough and strong enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero's actions. Why do you think the gods always operate through humans?"

"You're saying I'm being used," Percy says.

"I'm saying it's no accident Poseidon had claimed you and (Y/n) now. It's a very risky gamble, but he's in a desperate situation. He needs the two of you."

My dad needs us.

Emotions roll around inside me like bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. I don't know whether to feel resentful or grateful or happy or angry. Poseidon had ignored me for twelve years. Now suddenly he needed me.

3rd Person POV

Percy looks at Chiron. "You've known I was Poseidon's son all along, haven't you?"

"I had my suspicions. As I said . . . I've spoken to the Oracle, too."

(Y/n) gets the feeling that there is a lot he wasn't telling them about the prophecy, but she decides that she couldn't worry about that at the moment. After all, she and Percy were hiding back information too."

"So let me get this straight," Percy says. "We're supposed to go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the Dead."

"Check," Chiron says.

"Find the most powerful weapon in the universe."

"Check."

"And get it back to Olympus before the summer solstice, in ten days."

"That's about right."

(Y/n) looks over at Grover, who gulps down the ace of hearts.

"But I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?" he asks weakly.

"You don't have to go," Percy tells him. "I can't ask that of you."

"Oh . . ." He shifts his hooves. "No . . . it's just that satyrs and underground places . . . well . . ." He takes a deep breath, then stands, brushing the shredded cards and aluminum bits off his t-shirts. "You saved my life, (Y/n), Percy. If . . . if you're serious about wanting me along, I won't let the two of you down."

Percy feels so relieved that he wanted to cry, though he didn't think that would be very heroic. Grover is the only friend she'd ever had for longer than a few months. Percy isn't sure what a satyr can do against the forces of the dead but he feels better knowing he'd be with them.

"All the way, G-man," Percy turns to Chiron. "The Oracle just said to go west."

"The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to age, just like Olympus. Right now, of course, it's in America."

"Where?"

Chiron looks surprised. "I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles."

Percy's POV

"Oh," I said. "Naturally. So we just get on a plane -"

"No!" Grover shrieks. "Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on a plane in your life?"

I shake my head, feeling embarrassed. My mom had never taken me and (Y/n) anywhere by plane. She'd always said we didn't have the money. Besides, her parents had died in a plane crash.

"Percy, think," Chiron says. "You are the son of the Sea God. Your father's bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Your mother knew better than to trust you in an airplane. You would be in Zeus's domain. You would never come down again alive."

Overhead, lightning crackles and thunder booms.

"Okay," (Y/n) says, not looking up at the storm. "So, we'll travel overland."

"That's right," Chiron says. "Two companions may accompany you. Grover is one. The other has already volunteered if you will accept her help."

(Y/n)'s POV

"Gee," I say, feigning surprise. "Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a suicide quest like this?"

The air shimmers behind Chiron.

Annabeth Chase becomes visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket.

"I've been waiting a long time for a quest, Seaweed Brain," she says. "Athena is no fan of Poseidon, but if you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing up."

"If you do say so yourself," I say. "I suppose you have a plan, wise girl?"

Her cheeks flush. "Do you want my help or not?"

The truth is, I do. I need all the help I can get.

"A quartet," I say. "That'll work."

"Excellent," Chiron says. "This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After that, you are on your own."

Lightning flashes. Rain pours down on the meadows that were never supposed to have violent weather.

"No time to waste," Chiron says. "I think you should all get packing."

Word Count: 4018 words

[the-huntress]

Little Moth - Chapter 2 - A Friend

[Thank you to everyone that has read my story so far. I really hope that you enjoy it. My apologies for the slow burn, but all good things come to those that wait… <3]

Masterlist

Y/N Protagonist, female. Reader X Karl Heisenberg. [18+]

Summary: Awoken by the clang of metal another strange dream haunts you as you make your journey towards the ominous ‘village’, searching for your life-long friend, Leon.

Trigger Warnings: Supernatural violence.

Song Suggestion: ‘Keep Me Alive’ by All We Are.

[Photos are my own] The next 24 hours were a blur; bagel, taxi, airport, flight, layover in airport, Frankfurter infused pretzel, flight to worryingly small airport, ride in the back of a 1980s Toyota pick-up truck (with cages full of chickens and feathers flying about), which took you to the smallest train station you’d ever seen (one platform), two steam trains later, a weakened moment of purchasing unidentified brand of cigarettes with picture of a goat on the front from a man that smells profusely like garlic, and then a moment of mildly suppressed panic at being in a completely unknown to you part of the world with not a word of Romanian to your repertoire.

Standing at what kind of looked like maybe the side of a road-ish, you pulled out the badly printed map, co-ordinates and a compass. You looked up at the sky, despite it being overcast the clouds were still thin enough to be able to see roughly where the sun was sat. It was 2pm, your phone no longer had a hope in hell of working out here signal wise, but at least for now, it could tell you the time, after that it would just be you and the sun.

You couldn’t deny as the treck took you further away from the already very small towns and villages, and further into the countryside and wilderness, that the landscape was incredibly beautiful. Snow-capped mountains, like you’d never seen anywhere but the movies graced the horizon, leafless tree branches began to out-number their more lustrous looking sisters, and yet, dotted amongst the white, a spattering of green, forests and woodlands a-like, untouched by the torrents of snow, as if by some magic. The fresh air in your lungs made you feel powerful somehow, like you were on a path leading to destiny, something inside you was being fulfilled. Even during the time sat alone on the steam train, staring at the hillsides and woodlands as they flew past, catching your own reflection in the glass here and there, you’d felt as if you were heading towards something exciting yet familiar.

The day seemed to go much faster than you’d imagined, but then it was late into the year, the days much shorter. Grateful for the fact that you’d chosen to wear a zip up hoodie under your usual work jacket, you still had to give the tops of your arms a rub with your gloved hands. You’d also prepared with thin leggings under your black combat trousers and worn hiking socks under your military boots. There was still more than enough light to see, but the Village was still not yet in sight. The hike had been challenging, your knee was now starting to protest, both with an ache and with a sharpness too it. Just a little further, you thought, wincing against it.

You stopped dead in your tracks. There was a noise nearby but not anything that you were used to. What was that? A train? There were no train tracks running through this part of the wilderness as far as you knew, you’d hoped not at least, else you’d be kicking yourself in the ass if you could have saved yourself from the pain that you were in after all this time. A rumbling, chundering, rickety sound, drawing closer and closer. A light in the distance, a lantern, two of them, swinging wildly now on the front of a carriage and a man’s face, crazed with panic, and what a man, at least two times the size in both height and girth of anyone that you’d ever met before.

“Run my darling adventurer, run, for it is not safe for you here!” He yelled towards you. But you couldn’t, you were frozen solid, seeing now what he was trying to escape; and you’d thought this man was larger than life. What approached behind him… was unearthly. The wind was thrown out of you as you were yanked by the collar and swung onto the back of the carriage. The man had tossed you up to at least temporary safety, although how stable this thing was you did not know. You stared back towards the rear of the carriage, eyes narrowing on what you now identified as your target. In short, you could see some kind of humanoid being, roughly 8 foot tall, muscles rippling, pale, sallow skin, with patches of thick hair covering various parts of its body, a loin cloth, beady, mean cold gold eyes, pointed ears and a mouth full of needle sharp teeth. Hurtling along in front of it, in its grasp were two humungous beasts, covered in shaggy hair, almost like two huge dogs or bears, but with some of the most nightmarish faces that you’d ever seen. All you could see was that fact that they wanted nothing more than to tear you limb from limb.

You didn’t mess around for shit and your pistol was in your hand before you could say ‘boulder punching bastard’. You fired one, two, three times, each shot tearing through the shoulders of the front two beasts.

“You really think that thing is going to take them down?” Yelled the driver, craning his head around to take a quick glance at you. You grimaced, thrown down to the roof by a sudden jolt, and quickly tore your glance back at your enemies. They were closing the gap.

“Make a quick turn, here, around that rock!” You yelled, pointing ahead. The man began his manoeuvre as you’d instructed, and without question, for which you were grateful, you only had a couple of seconds to act and one shot at this. You pulled the aerosol from your pocket. This wasn’t just any can, this was something that you’d created yourself. Looked like a normal deodorant or spray can for sure except for two minor differences; it was re-fillable, and it had a range of up to 15 feet. You swiped the lighter back from your cap and took aim, lighter in your left hand in front, aerosol in your right hand, the U-turn took your right back past the trio as they came tearing down the slope. The noise wasn’t quite deafening, but it was loud enough, and you’d succeeded. The two hairy beasts were covered in flames and yelping, running frantically and tore off into the forest. HAHA! You laughed, another bump and you were back on the roof, stealing a glance at the man steering who had a grin on his face too. “Trick shot!” You called back.

The wolven giant roared in fury, for he was scorched, but his rage burned savagely more so than any flame that you could create.

“Very good little moth, but we need something bigger for that one. In the carriage, the room below you there is something that will help, you will know it when you see it, retrieve it now.” You nodded, not noticing for a moment what he’d called you, but you didn’t have time to think and ask. You slid down through the small hatch in the roof, just wide enough for your body, some kind of sky light you guessed and fell to the floor. The dwindling sun light now blazing red over the horizon and through the silhouettes of the trees lit the inner carriage just enough for you to take in what was around you; a lot of meat for one thing. You were never any good at hiding your thoughts on your face, but no one was here to see that right now. There were a couple of larger crates, a globe, typewriter, trinket boxes. Parts rolled and rattled, but you knew what you were here for, right in front of you on the bed. You pulled yourself back up through the hatch.

“This it?” You called to him, holding up a hefty and yet ornate bow. It seemed to be built in the way that somewhat resembled a modern-day compound bow but had a more traditional look to its materials and smaller details. “That’s the one’” he called back. “Here, take these.” He went to pass a bundle of arrows without quiver, but as he did so the beast threw itself at the back of the carriage. You yelled, the impact threw you into the arrows, your blood now over a few of the heads, and all at once you were thrown into darkness, your back slamming against the floor of the inside of the carriage. Shaking your head, you realised what had happened, scrambling on the floor and grabbing as many of the spilled arrows up as you could. Blood began to soak the garments covering your right hip. It was just a flesh wound, but deep enough to sting, reminding you of a time in your childhood when you’d crawled through brambles and the thorns had left 12 longs scars down your torso.

Back on your feet, you booted the doors open, throwing them into the beast’s face, both his clawed hands firmly sunk into the wood either side of the carriage, half running, half being dragged along. He reared his head and roared at you, and you roared back, raising the first arrow and taking aim. “FUCK YOU!” You cried out, the arrow sliced through his cheek but this only made him angrier, throwing one arm into the carriage now, half in, the other arm pulled him further, you realised quickly with terror that you were very quickly being pinned against the bed at the back. It grabbed you around your waist, yanking you down onto the floor, roaring madly once again, into your face, the foulest smelling breath hot and slick with spittle. Something crashed off the shelf above you and onto its head, almost like it shot out of place of its own accord, against the natural trajectory of the way of which the carriage was now turning. It threw the beast back out of the carriage and you only had a moment to grab onto a fixture on the wall which held tools in place before you felt the carriage begin to topple and hurtle.

You lost count of how many rolls it took, but when it stopped it was deathly silent, like a veil had been pulled over this part of the woods. Rain began to fall on the deathly branches above in the would-be canopy. You pulled yourself out, scathed and bleeding, but you weren’t done. Good job you’d thought to throw on your light armour mid hike. You looked around at the driver, he didn’t say anything, but he was breathing. “Are you ok, friend?” You asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. He brought his head up and looked up at you. “Yes.” He replied, placing one of his hands over yours. You nodded and started walking to the hulking heap of hair, blood and muscle only meters away. With each step you took you felt the presence of something growing behind you, like a shadow. The sound of metal scraping. “He’s here.” You heard your companion breathe. You had no idea who or what he meant, but right now you had one thing on your mind and that was your kill.

Still closing the gap without a falter, you took three arrows that you had clipped to your bag only moments ago, set their heads ablaze with the fluid and lighter. You set them against the nock, the flames burning bright now in your eyes, and a shower of metal, knives, bullets, scraps came flying down from around you and into the flesh of the beast. They didn’t just stop upon impact, they kept going, embedding themselves further and further into its flesh. It bellowed and swung its arms in pain, standing tall above you, arching it’s back, but still you stood your ground, unblinking, until it fell back down to the ground, writhing now. You leapt up onto its twisting shoulder, taking aim with the bow and let the trio of burning arrows do their work, shattering through the skull, two ending it all at once, and one at an angle coming back halfway out of its blood shot eye.

You stayed there for what seemed like an eternity. Staring and waiting. No thoughts going through your mind, the darkness in you waning back to the parts of your mind where it usually hid, flowing away like black smoke or the tide going out.

Something was calling. Not out loud, but in your head, your heart, something was calling just for you, but without any sound. You looked up towards the carriage, which strangely was now upright again, though in a bit of a mess, your friend there besides it, a little worse for wear, and a glint of light, the reflection of the flames that had begun to grow around you in the darkness just beyond, the crunch of the undergrowth, and whatever it was, was gone.

[deithe]

the bones (2,847 words) (1/1)

(an introspective on jason grace. kind of?)

read here on ao3 or read below the cut!

jason falls in love with the human equivalent of a forest fire

(his mother fell in love with the sky itself)

jason grace grew up being told that his destiny was very, very simple.

his first and most important mission, handed down to him from lady juno and mother lupa, was that jason was destined to save rome. that his destiny lay with new rome and camp jupiter, a new romulus to lead the pack to greatness. he would spill so much blood in new rome’s name that the little tiber would overflow and the gods would crown him with a golden laurel made from monster ichor.

he would be everything everyone else needed.

a spear for the senate, a shield for new rome, a standard to replace the one that had been lost, a sword for the gods to wield, and another pack member for lupa. he would be the perfect soldier, a demigod fashioned by two god-mothers for the simple act of being a weapon.

his second duty was that jason was to be nothing like his father.

his father, evil, unpredictable, selfish and cruel, was to be jason’s antithesis. lady juno stressed this, as did the senate, as did his praetors (though praetor saville jason eventually killed in battle, so jason doesn’t take her words to heart anymore). jason was never, ever to be like his father. all sons of jupiter before him were either driven insane or were killed, and jason’s great destiny could not afford for him to do either of those things.

‘hubris’ lady juno once told him, while going through his latin lessons in the damp cold of the den (or wolf house, as she called it), ‘is the thing that kills sons of jupiter’.

so jason was to never be prideful, but at the same time, never to believe he was inferior. he was to be subservient but never meek, he was to be a capable fighter but never violent. he was to be kind but not a pushover. open but not flirtatious.

he was to be perfect. he could not afford anything else.

then he, in the span of a few months, murdered his prateor after finding out she was a traitor, watched his friend be assaulted by a family legacy of prophetic visions which turned him into a paranoid asshole, watched his other friend assume a leadership role, one which he tried to refuse, and fought an army, killed a titan and toppled kronos’ black throne.

he also became praetor and then was promptly kidnapped by lady juno, leaving said other friend with all the responsibility.

then any and all plans the gods had for him were ruined by a daughter of aphrodite with eyes like the earth and a son of hephaestus with a smile like war.

how could jason be the perfect soldier when his loyalties no longer lay with new rome? he loved his home, he loved his siblings-in-arms, he loved the legion-

he loved leo and piper more than the breath in his lungs, than the sky and earth and more than his destiny. he loved them enough to try and find whatever scraps of himself he had. to create something they could love too.

(heracles killed himself after accidentally killing his family. love killed him in the end)

and so, jason failed in his first mission. he could no longer put new rome above them, above camp half-blood.

jason doesn’t think becoming his father is an option for him, however. his father is prideful and arrogant and his father's likeness, he will eventually learn, belongs only to his prodigal sister.

and so, jason grace finds his last name, a family he never knew, friends he could die for and an empty cabin that seemed less lonely with leo or piper in it.

then they went on a quest, leo built a ship and they all set sail to stop gaia from rising.

then jason lost leo, then jason lost everything, then jason lost himself and then lost piper-

and, in the middle of winter, leo valdez came crashing down on a metal dragon with eyes like a nuclear explosion and teeth made for tearing meat from bone, or tearing jason’s heart from his chest.

and then jason found himself again in the space between the junction between leo valdez's fourth and fifth ribs.

leo valdez is a lot of things. he’s a son of hephaestus and a complete asshole. he’s the first child of hephaestus to be born with the ability to create and control fire in over 400 years. he’s a 5’4ft guy who wears platformed boots to make himself seem taller. he’s so powerful that he obliterated gaia. he’s a genius. he thinks spraying axe bodyspray on himself is the same as a shower. he overworks himself even when he doesn’t have to. he can fight gods and go toe-to-toe with any big three kid and hold his own. he likes to survive on a diet of mango monster energy and takis. he's obnoxious. he's thoughtful. he makes mean-spirited jokes at other people's expense. he's the best person jason's ever met

he’s-

currently late for their date.

It’s not that jason minds, per se, but leo has a nasty habit of getting so completely lost in his work that he can plan a date for the next day, and jason won’t see him for at least three days. it’s one of the downsides of being the trophy boyfriend of a genius.

jason sighs and rocks back on his heels, eyes darting up to the grey, overcast sky. he can almost hear leo in his head, asking if he could pretty please make it less goddamn cold? and his pout when jason refuses to change the weather for him.

it's not that jason won't. it's just that he can't. it makes aeolus snappy.

sometimes he still does it. manipulates the air currents just enough to warm the air around them and leo smiles, a real one, small and soft. like it wasn't meant to be seen. a secret thing, just for jason.

jason doesn't see leo smile like that often.

it's mid-february in new york and jason is kicking around central park in the grey mid-day light. it's quiet, this part of the park, with barely anyone passing jason as he leans against a tree, wet dew dripping into his unstyled hair. it's cold, but not cold enough for a freeze or snow. just the right amount of cold to turn your hands numb and purple from cold

which. if you've never seen leo 'was raised in texas and has fire powers' valdez in new york snow, jason fully believes you've never lived.

he spends another 30 minutes splitting his time from staring into space and wandering around the meeting spot they've arranged. it's peaceful here. jason can even hear some birds twittering and chirping in the trees above. the cold even stops bothering him. jason likes being alone sometimes.

it reminds him of the lupercal and lupa. long days and nights in the loneliness of the redwood forest. just him and the wolves and the stars.

though now jason has sturdy boots and a wool jacket, so not exactly the same.

he's in the middle of trying to coax a timid sparrow onto the hand, crouched on the balls of his feet when he feels a presence beside him. he goes stiff when he realises and then, like all the tension has been zapped out of him, goes relaxed again.

"that," leo whispers, also crouched beside jason, "is one fat fucking bird"

jason represses a grin, "don't say that. he's probably barely eaten all winter," and leo snorts, moving closer to jason so their shoulders brush. the bird regards leo with some caution but his black, beady eyes seem to acknowledge that jason would keep him safe.

"he looks better fed than me, jace. do you care more about this bird than your own poor boyfriend?" leo says, faux-sadness in his voice, "how cruel, jason grace. how cruel".

jason turns in time to see leo shake his head, black curls wild around his face as they shudder like leaves in the wind. his eyes are dark brown, watching the bird watch leo. a staring contest.

leo says his name like no one else does. like it's a name. like it's good. like it's something familiar and warm. he does not say 'jason' and imagine a great hero or a wolf-boy with no past. he does not say 'grace' like a joke, like grasp for power, like it carries too much weight for his tongue to bare.

he says it like it belongs to jason. he says it like it's important. not too fast, but not too slow.

leo turns his head to find jason staring at him.

"jason" he calls, lips quirking up at the edge, pulling out the 'o' like toffee, "i know i'm pretty irresistible but please, keep your longing stares for the bedroom"

jason shoves up against leo's shoulder, blush bursting across his already red-cold face.

he pushes just slightly too hard and leo goes spilling across the wet grass, yelping in surprise.

"jason!" he yells, looking up at jason half shocked and half in amusement. "what the fuck, dude!"

jason can't help himself.

leo is wearing jason's hoodie, the black one mrs.blofis picked out for jason which leo claimed as his own even before they started dating. his new denim, fur-lined jacket (from the hide of the nemean lion they killed last year) is just slightly too big and he's wearing black jeans. he looks like the college freshman he is. he looks mortal.

he looks human. he has leaves in his hair and his cheeks are flushed from the cold, teeth showing through the toothy smile he's giving and-

it's uncanny, sometimes, how well they can pass for normal. you almost can't tell leo's died and come back to life. you almost can't tell he's more powerful than any living mortal.

almost.

jason falls on top of leo in the wet grass, which causes leo to yelp, again, and knee jason in the stomach.

jason groans "dude, what the hades was that for?" and he rolls of leo, onto the wet grass beside him, arms protectively covering his bruised stomach.

"you fell directly on top of me, you big lug," and leo sits up, picking a leaf out of his curls absentmindedly, "if you haven't noticed, you're like a bean-pole with muscle mass. that shit hurts!"

jason pouts up at leo, who manages to look both unimpressed and fond. he rolls his eyes and offers his hand to jason, who accepts and leo hauls him into a sitting position in front of him

"hi, leo" jason says finally, "you're late"

"i'm not late, loser, you're just a nerd and get places earlier than normal people. its super weird," leo tells him, matter-of-factly, scooting closer to him as they sit on the ground. "you should really get it checked. might be terminal nerdiness. the glasses are just the first sign"

jason raises an eyebrow, curviving over said glasses. "i didn't know it could be terminal. oh well, guess i'll just wither away and die from being punctual. what an injust life i lead. how the sorrows never end"

leo pouts, eyes sparking with enough warmth to keep out the cold for decades to come, "don't be so down about it, I hear being a nerd has perks,"

jason moves closer, so his knees are half-pulled up to his chest and he's balancing his weight on his hand. leo fits perfectly in the bracket of his arms.

"oh? do tell?" he asks, and leo is close enough that jason can see the faint freckles on his cheeks. they're fading from how far away leo has been from the sun, but jason loves them anyways.

"yup," leo says, popping the p and smiling like the cat who got the cream. "do you know that all nerds get super hot and funny and sexy boyfriends? as compensation for being such nerds, of course"

jason pulls back his head a bit, just as leo laces his arms around his shoulders, "really?" and his voice is soft, but the smile won't disappear from his lips, "wow, didn't know that. guess I'm lucky that you're such a huge nerd or-"

leo kisses him like coming home. and in a way it is.

jason has known many homes. he's known the small apartment with his mother that smelt like spilt wine and smoke and mold. he's known the lupercal and the redwood forests around it. he's known the barracks at camp jupiter and the feeling of purpose in his chest. he's known cabin 1 and cabin 9 and bunker 9 and on the back of festus and on the argo. he's known the feeling of reyna laughing as he tells her wild stories and of the fifth cohort raising him on their shields. he's known lying in leo's private room with piper and leo, listening to low music and feeling safe with just them.

but the one person who jason has felt like home since they met was leo. his high ground through the tsunami. his parachute during a plane crash. the one point of home. like the north-star.

jason smiles into the kiss, his free hand tangling itself in the rough fabric of leo's dark blue denim jacket. it's soft and chaste, more a press of warm lips than anything. it's comforting. it's familiar. it's everything he wants.

leo pulls back a bit, just far enough to speak but still close enough that his breath brushes up against jason's cold face. "hi," he says, brushing his nose against his, "missed you, bro".

jason snorts, "i missed you too, leo, how's MIT treating you?"

"like i'm it's bitch is how it's treating me," leo tells him, slumping slightly into jason, forehead against jason's. "can we not talk about college? i think if we talk about college I might start crying and then our date will be ruined"

jason pulls back a bit to look at leo. he does look more tired than usual, eye-bags darker and lips bitten from nervousness. he frowns, using his free hand to cup his face. "are you okay? we can just go back to your dorm if you're too tired-"

"ugh, no way" leo groans, "fuck that. i just wanna spend time with you, okay? i wanna be mushy and all that gay shit. i want bad food and to kiss you again and again and do more than kissing-"

jason rolls his eyes.

"-and then go back to mrs.blofis apartment and watch really bad movies you like for some reason and then i'll go to sleep beside you and it'll be gay and shit"

"gay and shit?"

"gay and shit, you better believe it grace. but first-"

and leo untangles himself from jason and stands up, brushing the dirt from his knees leaving jason frowning on the floor.

he offers out his hand, brown skin calloused from work, long, thin fingers curled slightly as the palm faced upwards.

"c'mon, super, treat your louis lane to some greasy new york food before he decides batman has better pay"

jason is so, so lucky he got leo valdez. that the fates decides to make sure that his destiny crosses leo's. that he convinced leo valdez to let down his walls, to stay, that jason wouldn't leave him like the others, or hurt him or betray him.

that jason was in it for as long as leo wanted him to be. that jason only wanted leo to say his name, wanted to give it to leo because leo's the only one who's mouth jason trusts with it. that jason wanted to give leo his past. wanted to show him and tell him where he got each scar.

he trusts leo with this. he trusts leo's hands to not burn it all to ash. because he knows that if leo wanted to, he could. he could burn jason alive with a thought. turn him to ash and glass with a flick of his hand.

jason has fallen in love with a nuclear bomb, with a supernova of a boy and jason doesn't care if it kills him, because he has spent so long pretending to be what everyone else needed, that now he was going to be who he wanted to be. even if it got him killed. even if it burned him alive.

jason grace has fallen in love with the human version of a forest fire. he should be afraid of it, of leo. he is not. he never will be.

beryl grace fell in love with the sky itself. wanted all the stars in heaven and didn't care what happened to her. as long as she knew she had the stars attention. as long as she knew the sky loved her back.

as long as he knew the fire loved him back.

he takes his hand.