#we are delayed and they are BLASTING THE HEAT even though its not even below 50

[musashi]

I am happy that normies are using public transportation but oh my fucking God learn the etiquette before you ride the fucking train. I have never heard this many loud conversations in my life I should not be hearing you through my headphones!!!!! Stop watching tiktoks on full blast and taking phone calls!!!!!!!! You are so annoying!!!!!

[missroserose]

if you want it, got to bleed for it, baby

part 1 | part 2 |  part 3

or read on AO3

groove to the playlist

ngl, tax season is eating my face.  but I couldn't go much longer without writing a little more smutty angst for these two.  hope y'all enjoy.

Have I mentioned how amazing @anarchist-billy is? Thanks for betaing, love. <3

*

“Stay with me.”  Billy’s voice is low, urgent, a lifeline.  “Keep the pressure on.”

Steve is there, in the passenger seat of the car, holding a wad of paper towels to the gash in his belly—and Steve is the car, too—he feels the warm gold-red glow of the bonfire, demodog corpses and dead vines disappearing into invisible smoke, fading all too quickly from the rear view mirror.  The bass note of the BMW’s V8 thrums deep in his chest, hurtling towards Hawkins at near-lethal speed.  The cool night air roars in his ears as Billy redlines it—he can feel Billy, too, the atavistic satisfaction of driving this amazing machine, of pressing it to its limits—

The fire disappears, and the outside world is nothing but a dark blur.  No streetlights, no trees, nothing to indicate it even exists. Even their movement fades into a queer sense of unmotion, a bubble of existence floating in the endless void.  The glow of the dashboard lights on Billy’s expression, drawn and set.  The rumble of the car, rearing to meet the challenge.  The just-warm air blasting from the heater.  Van Halen on the radio, staticky signal fading in and out over the road and wind noise.  I been to the edge, and there I stood and looked down—

“We’re nearly there.  Harrington.  Hold on a little longer.”

Billy’s lying through his teeth.  Steve knows he’s lying; he’s driven this road any number of times since he got his license.  Floored the gas, the same way Billy’s doing now, felt his car eat up the thirty-eight miles of two-lane blacktop, straightaway snaking between forest and farmland.  Rolled down the windows and whooped, Tommy in the passenger seat, Carol and whatever girl Steve was seeing that week in the back, all of them chasing the horizon at breakneck speeds.  Not for jubilation, or anger, or any reason in particular; just...because they were bored.  Because they could—because they were young and free and would live forever, would be friends forever—

“What’s the rush?”  Steve has to almost issue a conscious order to make himself smile, like he’s giving his face instructions over a long-distance phone call.  “I’m the King.  They’ll wait for me.”

Billy doesn’t look at him—can’t, at the speeds he’s driving—but his shoulders seem to loosen a fraction.  “Guess that depends,” he says, threadbare bravado thin at the edges.  “You don’t make it, there’s only one king left.  Makes my life awful easy.”

Beer spilled down a bare chest.  Red punch on a white blouse.  Bullshit.  Tea roses and spunk and sweat and blue eyes on his in the bathroom mirror.  “Maybe it does,” Steve says, trying not to let his words run together the way his thoughts are doing.  “But that’s not what you want.”

There’s a gap opening up, a space between the two of them; it takes Steve a moment to notice the knuckles, tense on the steering wheel.  Billy opens his mouth, says something; a moment later, the words unfurl in Steve’s consciousness, time-delayed.  “Like anyone gives a shit about what I want.”

Steve laughs a little, at that.  “That’s the first lesson of being king, Hargrove.”  He swallows, with some difficulty; his throat feels thick.  “You’re not there for you.  Every fool who wants a favor, every damsel in distress, every asshole determined to get a piece of King Billy…” He trails off, seeing a crown amidst those golden curls in a bathroom mirror, set over heated blue eyes, lips parting in a look of mingled awe and desire—

“Hey.  Hey!  Harrington!”  Billy’s slapping at his face, one hand flapping ineffectually against his skin, just hard enough to force his consciousness to surface.  Steve doesn’t particularly want to surface; there’s something looming there, not terror, but a shadow of it, a formless dread.  Like the first time his parents had gone out of town, and he hadn’t been smart enough to put the breakables away before he threw the obligatory kegger.  He’d spent three days waiting for his mother to return and discover one of her Hummel figurines missing, only to have her so preoccupied with his father’s latest fling that she’d left before noticing—

“Don’t you dare.”  Billy’s voice is a growl, but there’s something beneath it that catches Steve’s unmoored attention.  “Steve.  Don’t you fucking dare die on me now.  You ruined my night, you pulled me out here to chase down God knows what those rabid alien dog-things were, you’re going to pull through this and you’re going to give me a fucking explanation—”

Steve gives a small laugh, even though it hurts like a bitch.  “I’m really fucked, aren’t I?”

Billy bites off his rant like a piece of taffy.  “What?”

Steve issues the order to smile again, feels his face sort-of obey.  “You called me Steve.  It must be bad.”

“Not that bad,” Billy says, almost believable, as if he can change the state of the world through sheer stubborn insistence.  “You’re gonna pull through this.  You’ve got to.  When the school hears about how I saved your ass?  It’s gonna be a riot, Harrington.”

Steve could almost laugh again, but it hurts too much.  With an effort, he diverts his reaction, reaches for bitterness instead, bile like he’s swallowing down in the back of his throat.  The school.  Graduation.  The future.  A dark unknown, filled with people whose eyes slide away from his, in respect or in contempt—“You’ve already had my ass.  What do you care about the rest?”  The gap between them is opening up again.  Steve has a mental image for a moment of trying to leap that gap, of hanging in the air over it for a beautiful moment—wonders if people would see him then, shining golden before the inevitable plummet to the nothingness below—

But Billy’s voice is stubborn, penetrating.  “Did you hit your head when that alien tackled you?  Of course I want the rest.  The way you swung that bat? Waded into that fight without a damn hitch?”  Billy’s voice cracks a little, in disbelief, or in awe.  “That’s King Steve.  Not that namby-pamby asshole who haunts the hallways at school.”

And something in that voice pulls Steve towards the looming terror, away from the peaceful dark.  He presses the paper towels harder to his gut, ignores the sharp pain this elicits.  “Didn’t think you were looking for a king, Hargrove.”

A pause, brief and endless.  Steve slips a little, tossed about in stormy waves, uncertain which way to the shore, uncertain which way is up—

Then Billy’s voice comes in, low and smoky, a beam from a lighthouse parting the dark.  “I jerk off at night thinking about your lips on me.”  Steve’s suddenly aware of his lips as they part slightly, but Billy’s continuing, words gushing from him like water from a burst pipe.  “I haven’t bent you over your kitchen counter yet.  Haven’t felt your cock twitch between my lips as you come down my throat—”

The words are gathering somewhere deep in Steve’s hips, insistent warmth, flickering but stubborn in the face of the terror.  The words fall into his mind, and he drops them without thought, uncaring, because who even cares at this point?  “I want to fuck you in my bed.”

A breath sucked between teeth.  A glance, briefly risked, at Steve’s face, as if gauging his seriousness.  “You want it in a bed, pretty boy?”

“I want you.  In my bed.”  The paper towels are growing wet between his fingers.  “Empty house.  Nobody to hear us slam the headboard against the wall.”  He presses a little harder; the lance of pain stabs through him, but the image in his mind is bright as he gives a half-wrecked gasp.

Billy seems to shudder at that gasp.  “Hell yes,” he says, seeming to almost relax for a moment.  “Gonna hear you good and proper as you come—”

“Gonna feel you under me when I do,” Steve says, words tumbling forward heedless, headlong.  “Billy.  You’re gonna feel me inside you as you shake apart.  Gonna walk around the next day still feeling it, and I’m gonna watch you—”

“Fuck—” Billy’s grip is white against the steering wheel now, fingers torqued tight.  “Steve,” he says, his voice rough.  “Promise me something.”

“Sure.”  The words are fading, growing further away, but Steve struggles, holds his head up.  Tries to read Billy’s expression, the hesitation in his voice.  “If I can.”

“Next time we see each other, it’s just you.”  Billy licks his lips.  “Just you and me.  No kids, no party, no—nothing.  We’ll tear the phone out of the wall if we have to.  Just...just us.”

Steve reaches for a careless smile.  Ignores the sudden empty fluttering in his chest.  Isn’t certain if he manages either.  “Gotta settle up who’s king for good and all, huh?”

“Yeah.”  Billy settles back into the seat, though tension still thrums through his body with the engine.  Overhead, the first of the streetlights flashes by, briefly illuminating his face, determined, desperate.  “Yeah, something like that.”

[tealin]

Temperatures

As always, when you see one of these posts pop up you can head straight over to twirlynoodle.com/blog to see it properly formatted and with pictures. Tumblr didn't even take the crosspost last time so I don't know what's going on!

It’s all well and good to share photos of Antarctica – after all, it is a beautiful place, and we are predominantly a visual species. The photos can give you a sense of what it looks like, but not what it feels like. If people know anything about Antarctica, it’s that it’s cold. But how cold? And what kind of cold?

I cannot speak to the full range of Antarctic weather.  I was down for exactly a month, in early summer, and aside from the first week, the weather was unusually calm and mild.  To my great disappointment, I didn't see a single blizzard!  But I did get enough to compare the feel of Antarctica with other places I have been, and I hope that by making those comparisons here, I will bring you a little closer to understanding quite literally what it feels like to be there. 

Temperatures are misleading.  A number can only give you an impression of what one might actually feel when one steps out the door.  Humidity, sunshine, and wind are external factors that affect the perception of temperature; this can be further influenced by how much sleep or food you've had, BMI, resting metabolism, your accustomed climate, where you've just come from – so, 6°C can feel different from one day to the next, or to two different people standing side by side.

There are roughly two types of cold: dry and damp. The influential factor is water, because it takes a tremendous amount of energy to make water change temperature – this is why it takes so much power to boil a kettle, and why we bring hot water bottles to bed instead of hot gravel bottles. In dry environments, there is less water vapour in the air to suck up the heat coming off your body, so you get to keep more of it for yourself. It may be well below freezing, but you will feel the cold merely as a sensation on your skin, where it meets the air, and not something that goes right through you. Damp cold, because of the energy-hungry water in the air, feels a lot colder. It’s not enough merely to cover your skin, you need layers of fabrics that have moisture-repelling properties (wool is key; cotton is useless). Your precious body heat will leak out through any weak point in your clothing. Because of their different properties, dry air can be much colder than damp air and yet feel more comfortable. In my experience, damp cold is the worst when it’s above freezing, because below freezing the air can’t hold so much water. Damp climates, however, tend not to get much below freezing, so when people from damp climates imagine very cold temperatures, they imagine the insidious cold they know, only much much worse. It’s not necessarily like that.

Even the objective numerical value of a temperature presents a problem: my historical sources, and the United States of America, report temperatures in Fahrenheit, while the rest of the world operates in Celsius.  Scientists prefer the metric system, but McMurdo is an American base, so it's functionally bilingual.  I tend to think in Celsius, but as the historical record was in °F and I wanted to be able to compare what I was experiencing with what my guys experienced, I paid more attention to °F while I was down there.  In this post, I will report actual temperatures in both, so you can look at whichever one you understand best. 

When I left Britain in mid-October, we had been having a very mild autumn, after a hot summer.  My hopes for hardening up a little on the way to Antarctica were dashed when Vancouver, though objectively colder, felt merely fresh and delightful, I assume because it was unseasonably dry.  LA is always dry in the autumn and usually hot, so that was no surprise; Christchurch however was much warmer than expected, and because it wasn't as dry as LA, felt even hotter.  After several days' delay there, I feared my blood was much too thin to be hurtled into ice and snow. 

It is regulation to wear one's Extreme Cold Weather gear on the plane to McMurdo.  Aware that I'd just had a fortnight of heat to thin my blood, and that they were just coming out of a cold snap down there, I was only too happy to take this precaution.  When the plane landed, everyone piled on their balaclavas and tuques, and when the door opened, an icy-looking fog formed as our pent-up breaths met the cold air from outside.  Here we go, I thought.  As I approached the gangway I braced myself for the smart of cold air on exposed skin and the stiletto keenness as I inhaled, but . . .   

. . . it was fine. 

In fact, it was so fine that when I was allowed to change out of my ECW, I put on my street shoes, not even my cold-weather hiking boots.  I knew dry cold from Utah and Alberta, but I was coming to understand that in an Antarctic context, “well it was -20, but it was a dry cold” isn't a joke, it's just a statement of fact.  +6°C(42°F) would be miserable in damp Cambridge, but -6°C(21°F) was quite comfortable at McMurdo – if it wasn't windy, one could happily go about without a coat.

One always had a coat to hand, though, because the wind could turn up at any time, and it made a big difference.  The first time I went to Cape Evans it was so mild as to be balmy – I was in snow pants because they were required for the snowmobile, but on top I stripped down to just my base layer and a medium-weight sweater, and was even a bit warm in that.  It was -1°C/30°F, but I could happily have sat down to a picnic. 

Before we left, I wanted to make a quick trip up Wind Vane Hill.  I got hot climbing it, but while on top, a breeze kicked up, and before long I was wishing I hadn't left my jacket at the bottom.  The reason I have my hands tucked in my snow pants bib in the above photo is because they were beginning to feel quite nippy.  I always had a jacket with me after that, even if I cursed its dead weight the whole time.  (It was usually my trenchcoat, not the big red parka, for this reason.  I will go into more depth on clothing in a future post.) 

A similar thing happened on my Basler flight.  I'm afraid I don't know the actual temperatures where and when we landed – we were at the inland extremity of the Barrier, though, so everything I'd read told me it ought to be noticeably colder than McMurdo.  It might well have been.  But the only clue that it wasn't a perfectly warm summer day was that the slightest stir in the air breathed ice on my hands.  It felt much the same at the much higher altitude site of CTAM.  The interior of the continent is even drier than the coast: apparently, in the absence of wind and on a bright sunny day, this makes temperature barely perceptible at all. 

A windless day is a vast exception in the case of Antarctic weather, though, and besides chilling a human body, the direction of the wind makes a big difference to the objective air temperature.  A north wind, arriving from over the open sea, was comparatively mild.  Most of the time, however, the wind was from the east to south, coming cold off the icy interior.  This sends it funnelling through The Gap straight at Hut Point. The Hut Point Wind was infamous in the Heroic Age; even now it can be a pleasant day at the station, but one must remember to kit up just to walk around the corner to the Discovery Hut. 

It did make for some great photos, though, because if the conditions were just right – which they were a few times in my month there – the wind would kick up some freshly fallen snow and things would look so very Antarctic.  The funny thing was, on the days when it looked quintessentially polar, it was actually comparatively warm.  The snow was so powdery that a fairly light wind could lift it, so it didn't have to be brutally windy to look brutally windy.  The cold really sets in when a high pressure system stays in place for a while and keeps the air still; if there is turbulence, there is warmth, and if a weather system moves through – such as the kind that delivers snow – the temperature rises considerably.  So in order for there to be fresh snow to blow around, there will have been a recent warm spell, whereas if it's starting to get cold again, the new snow will have compacted enough not to blow around.  The strongest winds I encountered in Antarctica were at Cape Crozier, but you'd never guess it from my photos, which haven't a speck of drift.  I am sure there are exceptions to this, but this was a dependable pattern in my time there. 

Above: two images of light snow blowing off just after a snowfall, when it was comparatively warm. Below: 30-knot winds at Cape Crozier, but you'd never guess.

One of my oddest temperature memories was in one of those balmy drifty situations.  I had been asked to give my history lecture over at Scott Base, and I was to wait for the Kiwi truck at a designated pickup point on the road coming over from The Gap.  There are three official categories for weather in Antarctica: Condition 3 is when everything can operate as normal: it can be cold, it can be windy, but visibility is fine and the ordinary precautions will see you through.  Condition 2 is when things are starting to get serious: drift and/or winds are reaching dangerous levels, extra precaution is necessary, and venturing outside is discouraged.  Condition 1 is when everyone is required to stay indoors except on vital business as merely venturing outside is a life-threatening risk.  During my month there it was always Condition 3, but within the hour of my pickup a Condition 2 had been declared on the Scott Base side of The Gap.  My ride said she would be coming anyway, as she would be overwintering and needed the practice of driving in Condition 2, so I went up to meet her.  I was hoping I would finally get a blast of Antarctica, but it gave me a surprise.  For one, it was warm.  And, yes, it was windy, but not desperately so, and the wind had a damp sweetness that, weirdly, made me think of swelling streams and crocuses.  The Condition 2 had been called purely because of the drift, which was obscuring the road and therefore made driving more hazardous than usual.  It was surreal to hear my driver checking in with her radio operator as if she were chasing tornadoes when it was really quite pleasant out.

My first few days at McMurdo were by far the coldest of my whole visit.  When I first visited the Discovery Hut it was -18°C, or just below 0°F, and rather windy on the way back.  That was when I learned that one can be feeling really quite cosy all over but one's outermost extremities can still suffer the cold – I distinctly remember wondering why my fingertips were tingling when I felt so warm, and a little while later my toes went numb and I had to stamp them back to life.  The dryness, not sapping your core heat, can lure you into a false sense of security, and nab your digits while you're not looking. 

After that, daily highs mostly hovered around the freezing point, and lows rarely dipped as low as -10°C/+14°F.  This was really very mild – indeed, the people who'd been down since September could often be seen flitting about in t-shirts – and was an amusing irony for me personally.  Twice in the past I'd visited Calgary in search of 'Antarctic' cold and hit, instead, a relatively mild spell; it turned out that in Antarctica I was getting exactly the same weather that I had thought un-Antarctic in Calgary.  Not only was it the same weather on paper, but it felt exactly the same as well – the light, fresh kiss of frosty air on one's cheeks, surprising warmth in the sunshine but a breeze to keep you honest, and even the same granular texture to old snow.  Altitude can give you the same feeling, as the thinner air cannot hold as much moisture as it can at lower levels, so if you've not been to the Prairies but have been on a ski holiday, you can use that as a reference point as well. 

It is much harder to draw parallels with damper climates.  At home in Cambridge, I have a sort of 'misery zone' between 4°-10°C (40°-50°F) where it's too cold to be warm, but not cold enough to be crisp, and the damp seems to seep through every layer to reach in and chill. As the thermometer plunges towards freezing and below, it is, ironically, more comfortable weather, because the colder the air is, the less moisture it can hold.  In Britain I have sometimes found myself taking off layers as the mercury falls.  When imagining Antarctica, people often extrapolate from their own experience of cold temperatures: If your base measure of cold is the 'misery zone' in a damp climate, such as Europe or the Eastern US, then you may think 'If 6°C feels like this, then -6° must feel that much worse' when in fact all the other factors at play can make it preferable.  Even the cold days on my arrival at McMurdo were nicer, experientially, than a misty morning in deepest February back home.  At one point, Cherry describes Antarctic summer weather as resembling a crisp sunny morning in September, and indeed from a British perspective Antarctica often felt more like a bright and breezy 13°C (55°F) than anything closer to freezing.

This gave me some perspective on the early explorers.  If they had spent their lives on this chilly island, and then travelled to Antarctica over a chilly sea, they would be coming at it with all the assumptions one acquires from experience with humid cold.  Finding not an amplification of your worst experiences, but instead a wonderland where the thermometer seemed to exist in a different reality – certainly the case when they arrived in midsummer – would encourage some overconfidence that we might consider reckless.  Some, like Scott, had been down before and knew how deceptive the weather could be; his journals are full of chiding his team for not taking Antarctica seriously.  But there were many who were new to it, and even after an Antarctic winter, sheltered as they were in an insulated hut by the sea, they did not fully grasp how dangerous things could get inland and how narrow the margins were.  A breeze may be thrilling when it brings the truth of -10 to exposed skin warmed by the sun; when the truth is -40 it's instant frostbite.  While I didn't get temperatures that low, my experience with higher ones can, I hope, help me imagine how that would go. 

The dryness that made the cold so bearable granted me a reprieve from an opposing worry.  Outside of Britain I generally find buildings overheated in the winter – I have to remind myself to pack light 'inside clothes' or else I suffocate.  This is especially the case in the States, and McMurdo being an American base I foresaw having to strip five layers off and put them back on again every time I entered or exited a building.  They may have been overheated, but I don't know – dry air saps the potency of heat as well as cold, so it was as comfortable to wear three layers as one, and that saved me a lot of time in the cloakroom.  Thanks, Antarctica! 

I had got so used to the nip in the air that I thought I'd be inured to cold for the rest of the winter, but once I was back on this cold damp North Atlantic island, the misery zone was as potent as ever.  I may not have picked up thermoregulation superpowers in Antarctica, but I did come back with two secret weapons: merino wool base layers, and an utter disregard for my appearance so long as I was warm.  I highly recommend both to anyone in a disagreeable climate. 

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [18/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Angst???

A/N: Nothin’ to report Cap’n

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Heimdall

Heimdall looked over at the corner where Y/N had nestled into. She looked smaller, so much smaller than he’d ever seen her. A part of him was angry, though, to his detriment, he didn’t know what he was mad at the most. There were too many options: Odin, the carnage in the throne room, the leeching, Dagma’s prophecy that lingered on his mind day in and day out. He wished Sigrid were there with him, at least he’d be able to ask her for help. He was only just getting used to the idea of fatherhood. On any occasion, that would be a mountainous task to undertake, but this last month, it felt like a planet was crushing his shoulders. That’s why he rarely wore his armour, and why he rarely stood at his post by the bi-frost.

Sif walked over from Hogun’s side, a look of concern pulling her eyebrows knit. She followed Heimdall’s gaze to Y/N. She too held a look of anger.

“Do you think she’s up to this?” Sif whispered. “We only have one shot at this. If we fail…”

“We won’t,” Heimdall took a moment to steel his voice. “We can’t fail. I won’t lose my daughter to this madness.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sif pressed the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Because if we do, that’s the dungeon for us.”

“Focus on your end, the portal will stay open,” he said with feigned assurance.

Sif tilted her head in disbelief and Heimdall placed a hand on her shoulder.

“The portal will stay open,” he said again with more control over his voice.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said before re-joining Hogun to discuss their end of the plan.

Cautiously, Heimdall approached Y/N. He held out his hand that had a loop of red thread twisted around his palm. He pulled one end of the thread and handed it to her. She held onto the thread for a moment, focusing on its ridges and texture, then she looked up at him in confusion.

“It’s ordinary thread.”

He held back a laugh, “Yes.”

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“It’ll act as our anchor through the portal,” he began wrapping one end of the thread around her palm, he noticed how cold to the touch she was, it made him feel uncomfortable, like he was touching a block of ice. “If you feel overwhelmed, tug on your end, I’ll do the heavy lifting in sustaining the portal.”

She looked him over with knowing eyes, “You don’t think I’m ready.” It wasn’t a question.

“Do you?” he challenged.

She smirked, showing some of that wily nature Sigrid had in youth. “I’ll do my part.”

 Heimdall drew an old sigil on his forehead to focus the energies, blood dripping from the slash on his thumb. The room permeated with a ghastly wind. Smell of sea salt and copper and the distinct ashen taste of volatile magic made his nose itch. Sif tugged at her collar as though it were hard to breathe. Hogun’s nose went red at the bridge. Y/N’s eyes turned glassy, water collecting near the ducts.

“Visualise opening a portal here,” he offered Y/N his hand, their thumbs leaving bloody prints on each other’s wrists. “I’ll show you where it leads.”

He searched his memories for the rare occasions he’d visited the vault, of how the walls towered strong and bright. Of the Destroyer standing dormant, held in the centre of two columns. Next to come were the stands and all the artefacts he remembered. Through their pulse connection, he transferred his vision into Y/N’s mind, letting her see what he saw.

There was a wave of energy, for the briefest moment, Heimdall thought of that soulless look she had in the throne room, and he felt afraid. Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, he knew she’d felt his fear. The candlestick on the table fell over, flames dying out as wax dripped over a carved rune on the stone table. Rime formed over the window overlooking the sea, creeping like a thief until the glass coated in a net of snowflakes.

Between Heimdall and Y/N, a portal, first black and then purple like the nebula’s he watched over, opened. Heimdall stepped through, and in a shaky instant, he was in the vault.

Send them through, he sent his message through the thread. In response, Hogun and Sif jumped into view.

Sustaining the portal proved more difficult than Heimdall anticipated. The thread grew colder in his hand, Y/N’s powers were unstable, unpredictable. He felt a tug at his organs, a driving force of a thousand horses pushing him towards the portal’s opening. A taste of blood filled his mouth, but he breathed through the pain.

“Got it!” Sif whisper-shouted as she and Hogun retrieved something that bore a resemblance to Vanir craftsmanship.

“Hurry,” Heimdall said through gritted teeth, feeling the icy sting of the thread cut into his hand. Ripples of magic passed out of the portal, shaking the room slightly. With that delicate change in atmosphere, the Destroyer awoke, peeled face honing in on their location. “Jump through, quickly!”

Heat from the Destroyer’s blast melded at odds with the portal’s waning magic. Sif and Hogun went in together, then Heimdall. Back in the archive room above the library, Heimdall smelt the smoke before seeing the singed bits of his cloak.

Before anyone could react, a blinding sun-golden light erupted from the closing portal, clashing with the magic that slithered like an angry ribbon around Y/N’s frame. In dangerous volatility, both lights collapsed a section of the wall. Y/N screamed, panting for more air as she kept one hand over her face. A delayed shockwave knocked all four off their feet, flinging them out of the room, and into the sea below.  

 ~Odin

Odin felt like a piece of parchment held under a paperweight. Ever since he came to, his world had been one unending panorama of bad news and the poor taste of regret.

Loki slept, his mind too broken to wake up. Frigga was missing, and with her was his anchor and conscience. Heimdall refused to see him, even under orders, and the bi-frost had remained unguarded since Y/N began her leeching treatment. Thor would only visit when he smelled sourly of mead and anguish. On those nights, Odin pretended to be asleep.

“My liege,” Fandral walked into Odin’s chambers, his face looking pale.

“I told the guards I didn’t want to be disturbed,” he said harshly, looking away from Fandral.

“I beg your pardon, but, it would seem, sometime during the night, the Destroyer awoke,” Fandral cleared his voice. “And, it would also seem, there has been a theft.”

Odin sat up, feeling a nick of pain where Loki’s dagger had made its home a month ago, “Do we know who was behind it?”

“No, but…” Fandral blinked several times.

“Spit it out,” Odin demanded.

“We haven’t been able to locate Sif, Hogun, and Heimdall or… Y/N for that matter.”

"Do we know what was taken?"

"Your father's belt, My Liege." 

 ~Y/N

You woke up to the sensation of drowning as you coughed up saltwater. The ground was hard, like rock.

“Wha—” you rasped, vocal cords hoarse.

“Relax, you’re safe,” Sif’s voice was light, careful. Warmth spread to your forehead when she brushed your damp hair from your face. “We got what we needed. Just rest now. We’ll be in Knowhere soon enough.”

“I can’t see,” you panicked as you blinked.

“A side-effect,” Heimdall answered. “The Destroyer’s beam passed through the portal, the light damaged your corneas. They’ll heal quicker if you rest.”

You felt a warm cloth cover your eyes, and Sif’s hair wafted the scent of fire as she tied a knot behind your head.

You felt someone try to lift you up, but then they abruptly set you down with a painful wince.

“I’ll carry her,” Hogun offered.

Hogun reached down and successfully carried you off the ground. Your neck was stiff as it dangled from his arm.

“Here, drink this,” Sif placed something small by your lips.

You opened and drank the foul liquid, choking as your stomach tried to regurgitate the potion back up. Soon, a swirl in the fog of your mind dragged you back under.

 There was a meadow blooming from your balcony window—wintersweet and a bright pink flower you’d never seen before painted the landscape in lively colours. There was an odd contrast covering the land, glowing and too clear, it looked imagined.

A pair of arms ensnared you in a close back hug. You didn’t need to turn around to see who it was, you felt his magic pool in your stomach the instant your skins touched.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Loki whispered into your ear.

“I’m right where you left me,” you said.

“Evidently not since you made me scour the palace halls for what felt like ages,” he sighed with a dramatic flair, placing a kiss on your pulse-line beneath your jaw.

“Where did you go?”

Loki spun you around, cupping your face with a curious smirk adorned on his, “What do you mean, pet?” 

You shuddered. His smirk grew deeper. 

He kissed all the way from your cheekbone to the softness of your ear, whispering in an even deeper voice: “I’ve right here, dreaming of you.”

With your front facing the mirror above your dresser, you noticed your reflection was different, older, healthier. You were in a dream. But Loki’s presence, and the scent of his hair, and the touch of his magic, it all felt real. Like the dreams of the cave.

Slowly, the world began to dissipate, and you pulled Loki’s face flush to yours. “I’ll get you back. I promise to get you back because you have to know. You have to know that I love with you.”

In a frenzy of desire, and afraid this may be the last time you’d ever feel the softness of his lips again, you pulled him into a hungry kiss that was both impatient and desperate. When you broke away, you awoke in the real world, cloth still tied over your eyes.

 You hadn’t noticed that it never rained on Asgard until you stood under the cascade pouring out of the celestial eye cavity of Knowhere port. Even though it wasn’t raining on Knowhere either, the tricklings from what Hogun called a ‘recycling plant’ were as close to rain as you’d seen since leaving Midgard.

The rain held no petrichor, no smell of wetness like you were used to. This one had a faint chemical burn that clung at the back of your throat. The coolness of the water was also different, more lukewarm.

Knowhere was vibrant and distinct, even experienced solely through sound. Where Asgard was ethereal in its timeless beauty, Knowhere was a hard wrench in the belly of a metal beast. If Sif’s descriptions were to be believed, you were now walking inside a god’s head made of artifice. Sounds of metalwork and conversation held the eerie touch of normalcy, of universality, but the dialect and the refined metalworking sounds that filled the port were anything but ordinary.

The ground pulled at your muscles much weaker than Asgard did, making you think you were a mere gust away from floating into the blackness, where, you imagined, the stars burned brighter.

Maybe you wanted to burn with the stars. Be at peace in that blanketed darkness, like nights when you’d sleep soundly, ignorant to gods and magic. Maybe the only things keeping you rooted were your bones, in the same way your mother’s crone bones rooted her visions in the future. You shuddered when a droplet of water fell near the edge of your eye, surprised that your skin was colder than the water.

“Keep your head down,” Heimdall lifted your hood to keep the poor-mans rain off you. “Try not to look—” he swallowed loudly, “to seem as lost as you do now.”

“This morning, I thought Asgard and the nine realms were all there was to the universe,” you intoned. “Now I know there are more veils to be pulled back, so if I seem lost, it’s with good reason.”

“She has a point,” Hogun said.

Heimdall lingered close by and then sighed, he sounded a little further than before. “The person we’re going to see, he’s… odd. But most dangerous of all, he is enamoured by other oddities. Try to act like you belong, and…whatever you hear or feel in there, don’t react to anything. Magic or otherwise.”

“She’ll be fine. That’s why I’m here, remember, to keep an eye out.” Hogun said.

Sif let out a groan and Heimdall let out a strong exhale. You found it in you to smirk at Hogun’s poor phrasing.

Heimdall walked away, and from the clanking of light boots, Sif followed.

“You seem different,” Hogun said to fill the void.

You pulled your cloak tighter around you, feeling even smaller than before.

“You seem older, is what I mean,” he clarified.

You didn’t know how to answer him, so you simply nodded.

“I had a wife, once,” he said out of the blue.

You were astonished by his sudden chatty disposition, “I didn’t know that.”

He chuckled, a delicate tone of joy and sadness worked in tandem. “No, I don’t imagine you would. Few know about her. Fandral, and his big mouth, I’ve known the longest, he’s the only one that met her. Maybe Heimdall with his all-seeing powers.”

“But not the others?”

“No.”

“Why are you telling me then?”

“Because I know what it’s like to lose someone you care for. It’s an irreplaceable void you can never fill. And when Lindel’s health failed her, I had to choose between moving mountains to save her, or accepting fate and staying by her side.” Hogun paused, a shuffling sound of his feet gave away his discomfort.

“I see the way the prince looks at you,” he said after a crowd’s rumble died down. “And you and I, and even he, I suspect, know you can’t be together. Pragmatically, I mean. Your lifespans are... at odds.”

“Because I’m mortal and he isn’t?” you bit back, your temper rising. “You aren’t the first to tell me that.”

“I’m not saying you must put your feelings aside. On the contrary. All I’m saying is, there will come a time when you, or he, will be forced to choose between moving mountains, or accepting that some things eventually run their course.”

“Which did you choose?”

“The wrong one.” Hogun went eerily quiet, his feet stopped shuffling too. Then, suddenly, with a more transparent tone, he said: “Let’s go, Heimdall’s waving us down.”

Another droplet fell onto your face, and you shivered, again.

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms Side Story 1: Tohno Akiha

Recently a user on Reddit, Magical-Biche, said that they were inspired by what I’ve been doing for FGO on Fate and Phantasms, and they wanted to do something similar with Tsukihime characters, and they were nice enough to let me post their work here! As always, there’s a spreadsheet for the build here, and a level-by-level breakdown below the cut. Everything past this point comes from Magical-Biche, because I am useless when it comes to Tsukihime.

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Today, on Fate & Phantasms’ special crossover episode, we’ll cover Tsukihime’s objectively best girl, Akiha. Obviously, there will be quite a lot of spoilers in this text, as you don’t know until pretty much her own route that Akiha can actually fight. For this build, I will use what we see from Tsukihime, Kagetsu Tohya and Melty Blood to create a character that plays like Akiha Tohno, Shiki’s little sister. 

Akiha is a Half-Demon, but that doesn’t make her a Tiefling. She has a human appearance at all times, but her ancestors did unholy things with filthy demons, so her family members all have some kind of power. While SHIKI can control his own blood and just… not die when he is killed, Akiha’s thing is stealing. Stealing heat. For that, she uses her own hair, which is her main way of using her powers. They can be used in various ways, as she can extend them, wrap them around people and channel her powers through it. 

We’re going to focus on three things for our build:

We want to deal lots of damage, preferably temperature related. We’re getting a lot of fire spells, but the least possible amount that creates actual fire, unless it has some niche effect, like delayed fireball or bonfire. Also, we want offensive spells that can be used as traps, like Delayed fireball or bonfire.

We want to steal and give life force. We will get a few necromancy spells to be able to share and steal life force to our allies and from our enemies.

We want to have some control of the battlefield. Our hair is a powerful weapon that can imprison foes, and we’re gonna need spells to do it.

Race and Background

Not-so-obviously, because of her demonic ancestry, we’re going to play as a variant human. We get to put one point in Charisma, our main stat, and one in Constitution, which will help keep our concentration, and get some more HP. We are going to take the Elemental Adept (Fire) feat, because as you probably already guessed, we will be using a lot of fire. We’re taking the Noble background, because well, we ARE a high-class lady. This gives us proficiency in History and Persuasion. 

Stats

Going with the standard array, we should get our Charisma as high as possible. It’s our main way of dealing damage, not really a choice here. Besides, it does fit our character very as well, as we’re used to ordering people around, to get what we want and more importantly, scold our beloved brother. Next, we’re taking our Constitution as high as possible, because we might not look like it, but we’re pretty damn tough. We lived for two person for 8 years, possibly more depending on the route, after all. It will also tremendously help with all our concentration spells, and our HP pool. Next up, we’ll of course go with Dexterity, for the AC, but also because we’re nimble and pretty agile, as a young lady in her prime. We don’t really want to dump Wisdom and Intelligence, as we’re pretty smart and wise, but we can’t just build a character as perfect as we should be, sadly. Finally, dump strength. We’re not here to flex our muscles. 

Class Levels

1. Akiha is a pure sorcerer. The Tohno blood as a dangerous one, prompt to going wild at any time. Your sorcerous origin is logically going to have to be the wild magic. 

At level one, sorcerers get their Spellcasting, their Wild Magic surge and the tide of chaos. The tide of chaos won’t be really useful, but it can help you with some pesky checks once in a while, so it’s always an alright perk. The wild magic surge is the wild magic surge, as always; we could very well cheese our way through the first levels, or die at our first spell. Such is the way of the wild. Or something like that. 

For your spells, we will go grab our first fire spells : Firebolt, a cantrip, and Burning hands, a level 1 spell. Keep in mind that our power is NOT to set fire to things - we are stealing their heat, which causes pain and burning sensations, but the least we use actual fire to burn things, the more lore-friendly we are. If possible, we’ll want to flavor our spells to not ignite things, with all the pros and the cons it brings, with the DM’s approbation. Next up, we’ll take Absorb Element OR Mage Armor. While Akiha doesn’t have much defensive capabilities in the visual novels or the games, it won’t hurt to get a bit of bulk right off the bat. Mage armor is strictly better on most situations, but absorb element might prove more useful if you have a solid party to tank for you. To complete our cantrip selection, we’re getting minor illusion, to make our hair red when we get angry, Frostbite, because cold is also part of stealing heat, I guess, and dancing lights, as our red hair can emit some light when we’re using our powers.

2.  Next, we get our font of magic, which lets us create new spell slots. It’ll be the only use for our sorcery points until next level.  We can grab False life as our third lvl 1 spell, as we have the ability to give ourselves a bit of bonus HP with it, which fits our build.

3.  We get our first 2 metamagic at level 3. We’re going to go with Careful spell, because of the huge amount of AOE effect we’re going to have, and empowered spell, because of the huge amount of damaging spells we will have. We already have usage for both of those, with Burning hands. For our first level 2 spell, we get another one that looks a bit like strands of hair doing heat-related damage, Scorching Ray!

4.  At level 4, we get our first Ability score improvement. We’re pumping all of that in Charisma, because we don’t need much more than our Elemental Adept until later. We can also grab Create bonfire, which allow us to create extremely simple traps, as our fifth cantrip, and Mage armor or Absorb element, depending on which you chose at level one.

5.  Nothing interesting but new spells at level 5. We take counterspell as our first level 3 spell, pretty much completing our defensive spells roster.

6.  At level 6, we get our new subclass ability, Bend luck. It’s a useful tool that can be both used for attack or support, and for 2 sorcery points, it acts like a powerful low level spell, which is nice. For our next spell, we’re taking Hold person, our first means of entangling things with our hair.

7.  No new ability for level 7, but we do get our first fourth level spell. We’re taking an unusual spell : Sickening radiance. It might deal radiant damage, but it’s pretty much our first real “trap” move, as we can fill a room with it and weaken our foes as they come. And radiant is a bit like fire right? We can cheat a bit on this one.

8.  Level 8, new ASI! We’re finally getting our Charisma to its peak, at 20. Our new spell will be Wall of Fire, which is, yes, fire, but we’re using it as a trap, and only a trap. It can effectively block escape paths and such, making it a great control tool.

9.  At level 9, we get our first fifth level spell, which is going to be Enervation, probably the single spell that fits the most in our build. It does deal necrotic damage, but it’s a spell that stays on your enemy for as long as you wish, just like if we had a connection with them with some sort of magic rope (wink wink), and steals it’s life force each time it deals damage (wink wink). Yeah, that’s exactly OUR spell.

10.  At level 10, we get a new metamagic, and we’re getting twinned spell. With this and our new spell Hold Monster, we can hold more humanoids and monsters, and a lot of other shenanigans, like with enervation. We also take Prestidigitation, for the giggles really, no other cantrip really fits our build.

11.  The new thing we get with level 11 is our first (and only) sixth level spell, Eyebite. As an anime character, the look in our eyes becomes frightening when we’re fighting our sworn enemy. We’ll mostly use this spell with it’s fear effect, as we don’t want our powerful and worthy opponents to just go to sleep when we look them in the eyes, duh.

12.  At this point, we stop getting a new spell each level. We do get to have a new feature every 2 levels though, and at level 12, we get our third ASI, which we’ll spend getting the resilient (Dexterity) feat, which should get our dex to 14.

13.  Next level, we get our biggest damaging spell, Delayed blast fireball. We’ll want to use it as, as for a lot of our previous spells, a trapping move, throwing it near doors or in narrow corridors to detonate it when enemies are coming. Too flashy for our character, but a girl’s gotta get the job done at one point, and this spell’s damage can be pretty absurd.

14.  Level 14 is our next subclass feature, Control Chaos. Finally, we get something to influence our Wild magic surges, and that means we have double the chances of getting a nice effect that is not a fireball on self! Which is great fun, I swear.

15.  Next up, we have our first level… wait, none of those spells fit our character at all. So we’ll grab fear, which gives us an option cheaper than Eyebite to cause fear among our enemies.

16.  We get our fourth ASI, and with it, the last stats we’ll gain though normal ways. We’re choosing to put all that into Constitution, getting ourselves to a nice 18, and our HP should go up quite a bit with it. Also, we’re even better at keeping our cool even when enemies hit us.

17.  At level 17, we get our last metamagic, and we’re grabbing Distant spell. We might need to cast spells from far away, but it’s more situational than other metamagics. Also, we get our final spell, the only level 9 spell we’ll ever be able to cast. None of those fit our build, so we might as well go for something funny : Time stop. I mean, hey, we’re almost a vampire, we might not be blonde and voiced by Takehito Koyasu, our precious Nii-san IS our world.

18.  Now is where things get serious, on the damage side. Our Wild magic gives us access to spell bombardment, which is a pretty strong feature that increases our damage output by possibly a lot, depending on the rolls.

19.  For our level 19, we’re having a new ASI, and we’re finally getting War Caster, making us an immovable spellcasting machine. We’ll actually have some use of our decent HP and alright-ish AC (with mage armor on, never forget it), as we’ll be able to hit anyone that moves near us. And no one will break our legendary focus, with our advantage and proficiency on con saves and our high con stat.

20.  Finally, there isn’t much to be said about the final level. We get Sorcerous Restoration, a very useful way to get back our sorcery points. It’s useful, but doesn’t necessarily push our build further. It’s still a powerful tool, though.

Pros: We’re a damage dealing machine, with several options to burn our opponents, as well as ways to steal their life force and paralyse them. We’re doing 3 things, and we’re doing them great. We have high damage output, decent HP and AC (With Mage armor on, always), and we can actually do things when we’re in the middle of a pack of enemies. 

Cons: Some things have fire immunity. Which means we can only hurt those with our one necromancy spell and our frostbite, which aren’t the best damage output we have. Also, we’re still a caster and being in melee for too long isn’t good for our health. We also don’t have much of the utility we could have had, because we have to stick to what Akiha really can do. We already stretched it a bit by taking mage Armor and Counterspell. 

[blushnote]

ur writing is absolutely wonderful !! i was wondering if you could right a hansol kind of thing (wow i suck at wording things haha) where ur on a call with a really good friend of yours and your talking about how you can't get off at all and ur too shy to tell hansol, but secretly he's listening to the whole conversation,,and later he brings u into the bedroom and u have the kinkiest sex,,he's 100% a dom just to get u off–

↳ requested | 2.5k words

↳ dom!hansol smut

a/n: thank you my love! btw, some slight warnings include degradation and choking. sorry for the delay on this! i hope you enjoy :^)

the practice room is empty.

as you drag your feet along the polished floorboards, engaged in a slightly humiliating conversation with your best friend, there is a coarse heat that blooms across your face. you find it difficult to meet your eyes in the wide mirror, and instead keep your back turned while the confession trickles from your lips. it’s something along the lines of your recent inability to get off, how it’s been causing much frustration.

“i’ve tried so much shit,” you sulk, tugging your sweater tighter around your frame, “my usual vibe just isn’t cutting it, the showerhead on full goddamn blast doesn’t work, and even that dildo i bought from the sex shop last year is fucking failing me. this sucks.”

a sigh crackles on the receiving line. “i’d stab myself,” your best friend then laughs, “but, yeah, that’s really rough. maybe you’re thinking about it too much?”

“i don’t know… maybe.”

you’re completely lost as to what’s wrong with your body. there had been one night where you sat on the shower floor so long with the head guzzling between your legs that the water actually went cold. arousal was coated to your folds, but the orgasm never happened. on occasion, if you really tried, you could force some sort of contraction, though it was incredibly meek and unsatisfactory and it only made you irritable.

“have you told hansol?”

you’re blinking absentmindedly at a backpack in the corner of the practice room when the question hits.

“w-what?” you stutter despite hearing your best friends’ words exactly.

“y���know, have you spoke about it to your boyfriend? i’m sure he could, well, help.”

you swallow tensely. hansol was completely incognizant to your current dilemma. one part of you figures it might put too much pressure on him to perform, and the latter is too terrified to even mention it to him out of some miscellaneous fear he’s going to think you’re broken. furthermore, it was difficult to have a moment of privacy with hansol when he practically lived at the company building alongside his members.

scuffing the floor with your sneaker, you shrug and say, “there hasn’t been much alone time between us lately. besides, i don’t want to pressure him.”

“trust me,” your friend snorts, “i do not think he would feel pressured. from experience as the third wheel, it looks like he really has a hold on you when you two get… handsy.”

you jam to a halt in your idle pacing while a prickling heat slithers up your limbs. for the most part, you and hansol were a reserved couple, meaning you weren’t all kissy-kissy and slobbering over each other like some blissfully unaware relationships. however, it wasn’t that hard to tell when you two needed to escape the public glare and find some privacy. hansol was never fond of playing coy to his impatience.

“anyways, i have a shift starting at eight o’clock, i should get going.” your best friend sighs.

“have fun, idiot,” you chuckle, “and thanks for hearing me out, i appreciate it.”

“no problem, dumbass. talk to you later.”

as you hang up the call and wriggle your phone into your pocket, you make an impetuous glance toward the door of the practice room. suddenly, this balloon of dread sticks to the walls of your stomach. the door isn’t fully shut, in fact it hangs open a lot more than a crack and you’re already wondering if anyone lingering in the corridor could have heard your conversation. the panic creeps steadily upon your face.

before you can even try to calm down, hansol seems to pop from thin air. he swings the door wide open and peers inside the practice room, his expression igniting when he sees you awkwardly hovering beneath the burning white lights. hansol enters the room to grab the backpack you’d been staring at earlier. he puts it over his shoulder and approaches you, smiling sweetly as his black hair nearly hides his eyes.

“found ya,” he grins, reaching for your hand and interlocking fingers, “are you ready to leave now?”

judging from his behaviour, he appears to have not heard anything. one headphone is plugged in his ear anyways, so you assume almost too quickly he’d been listening  to his music. the breath you release seems to quiver as it ghosts between your lips. subduing the earlier dread, you delicately brush the thick strands from hansol’s eyes and then place a light kiss on the tip of his nose.

“i’m ready.” you  nod, squeezing his hand.

“it’s been awhile since my last stay at your apartment, huh?” hansol reminisces as you two exit the practice room together. you note that his arm glides around your waist, pulling you particularly firm against his side while he purrs, “i guess we should make the most of it this time.”

you’re starting to think hansol heard you in the practice room, the frayed ends of your suspicion finally cooled in hard wax when he steps behind you at the vanity, his hands pressing tightly to your hips as you remove an earring. the tiny bead slips from your fingertips and rolls across the table when hansol pops the button on your jeans, your throat suddenly vacant of all moisture, the little hairs raising on your skin.

“s-sol,” you stutter, meeting his lustered, amber eyes through the mirror, “what are you doing?”

hansol pushes himself in a thinner line of proximity against you, until his hard chest is flush to your back and the curve of your ass is rubbing at his crotch. he simply smirks at your question, then begins to pull your zipper down while his other hand grasps at your sensitive side. a surge of heat rushes into your abdomen as hansol proceeds to fit his palm past the strict waistband and into your pants.

rubbing you through your underwear, the boy smirks, “isn’t this what you want though? baby can’t come by herself anymore? needs me to touch her and make her feel good?”

sheer embarrassment coils around you like the shiny scales of a serpent and you want to get blown off the edge of the universe in some torrential wind. however, for the first time in this horrendous dry spell, you feel this astounding, pleasurable sensation seep throughout your body. hansol continues massaging between your thighs, the warmth and strength of his palm drawing a tiny whimper from your mouth.

as your head falls back against his shoulder, hansol runs the tip of his index finger along your clothed slit, satisfaction intensely colouring his face upon noting how your arousal is already pooling and soaking the fabric. your chest sharply rises in a curt breath when he twists his index and middle finger beneath the thin cotton to stroke the slipperiness of your flesh. you’ve never wanted to rip off your jeans this badly.

your fingernails plunge deep into the veins of hansol’s pale wrist when he collects the gloss at your slit, dragging up the juices to circle slowly into your clit, ensuring every sensation is wholly felt as he takes his time in the lascivious touches. truthfully, this is what you needed, for hansol to take control and break you down in the best possible ways. he rubs into your clit firmly and you release a pitiful moan.

“i’m gonna to do whatever i want to you,” hansol’s lips hover by the burning cusp of your ear and a shudder melts down your spine, “would that make you feel better? instead of treating you like a princess i treat you like my slut? make you come until your pretty pussy can’t take it anymore?”

dumbly, you nod your head, you succumb to nothing but acquiescence in this desperation that infiltrates you like poison. hansol delights in how malleable you’ve become. to reward your compliance, he begins sinking two fingers into your heat and curls them against the warm, tight flesh, ticking a spot inside you that turns your knees into gelatine. you’re completely distracted as he reaches for a vanity drawer.

hansol’s prodding around inside the compartment flutters in your peripheral vision. you lightly thrash against him when he pulls out your vibrator. you don’t exactly make an effort to hide the device. nonetheless, the sight of him holding it makes your head dizzy. dragging his slick fingers from your opening, hansol massages the wetness into your aching bud before his hand leaves your jeans.

he pushes the restricting fabric a little ways down your thighs then helps you peel your shirt above your head, his hand skimming down your bare side, electrified at feeling your smooth skin. the pale lilac toy seems to taunt you in the mirror. you’re already breathing heavily as his finger feathers the button to tease you. for a moment he places the toy between your legs, dragging it up your clothed centre.

you jolt at the almost ticklish sensation, but a whine is what bubbles at your mouth. hansol finally slips the vibrator below your underwear. its cool, silicon surface glides like silk against your glistening, sopping skin. hansol takes the tip of the toy and nestles it against your clit, a devious curl appearing on his pink mouth before he clicks the button and an intense vibration has you squirming and mewling.

he keeps you pressed tightly against the vanity, mocking your flustered noises in his husky voice, chuckling all while your hips struggle to ride against the buzzing device.

“awe, you gonna come already? dumb little whore can’t hold it for even a minute?” hansol laughs, though you just grit your teeth and focus on gaining more contact between your clit and the purple toy.

his palm then pushes beneath your bra, taking a hold of your breast and harshly groping the plush skin, pulling and massaging while the stimulation from the vibrator replaces your blood with euphoria. you grip onto the edge of the vanity as hansol decides to press the little button again. the toy starts to tremble against your clit at a more rigorous pace and you cry out, attempting to bury your face in hansol’sneck.

“m’s-so close, p-please—,” you whimper pitifully.

quickly maneuvering his fingers, hansol undoes the back clasp on your bra, practically ripping the cushioned material from your torso. his palm connects with your already abused breast in a stinging slap, and he roughly squeezes the flesh while clicking the vibrator to a higher setting. in a broken chorus of curse words you sink your nails into his wrist, your bud throbbing as the climax makes you starry-eyed.

your arousal coats the vibrator until it’s glimmering. under regular circumstances you would have been utterly embarrassed, but given the fact you haven’t experienced an orgasm in a blue moon, you’re fully expecting to have the toy swimming between your legs. hansol feels your body quivering against him and he grins. he turns it off  and tosses the vibrator onto the vanity like it no longer serves any purpose.

his hand slips back into your underwear. you flinch upon his contact with your core, though he only teases your slit with a light tracing of his fingertips.

“all this come between your legs,” hansol begins kissing up your neck, “you’re such a messy little girl, aren’t you, baby?”

you agree, instantly nodding your head. for a moment hansol presses his fingers into your heat, pumping them gently, pulling out more of the stickiness which he then smears down the side of your thigh.

“do me a favour.” hansol entreats, turning you around by the hips and helping you sit on the vanity, his eyes sparkling. he grabs your wrist and guides it to your core, “finger yourself for me,” he growls.

“but hansol i—,” the beginnings of a question fumble at your lips, though you are silenced a mere second later when hansol wraps his hand around your throat and applies a spotting, stern pressure. he inclines into your body and you can smell the fresh scent of aftershave on his skin.

“just shut the fuck up and do what i tell you,” hansol seethes, a dark glint momentarily casting in his golden gaze. the next moment, he smiles faintly and places a soft kiss on your lips. “now,” he whispers against your mouth, “finger yourself. and stop only when i tell you.”

as his hand pulls away from your neck, you can’t deny that the risky contact felt somewhat electric. your boyfriend sits on the edge of the bed, leaning on his elbows, watching your slightly tremouring fingers glide up and down your slit before swirling tiny circles around your sore bud. hansol drags the black fringe from his eyes once you push in your digits, a sticky, squelching noise making your ears burn.

then, you begin to pump them, a sharp crinkle darting across your brow. your core is still sensitive but you can already feel the coil start to rebuild itself. faster, deeper, you construct a pace, perspiration growing flush to your forehead as hansol’s gaze skips between your thrusting fingers and the gaping of your lips. brushing down on your clit with your thumb, a moan breaks from your chest.

“f-fuck, a-ah— hansol m’gonna c-come a-again,” you mewl as the sensation towers into the clouds.

he says nothing, simply observes in a state of pure lust while you roll your hips, practically riding your own hand. you almost forget his earlier instructions in the midst of the pleasure that ripples in the powerful surges from your stomach, seizing your body until it shivers in the mellow afterglow. your fingers begin to slow, but hansol snaps at you, and you swallow harshly upon the sudden sensitivity.

“p-please, sol,” you whimper as your nerves start protesting the touches, “it h-hurts…”

“isn’t this what you wanted?” hansol taunts you once more. “you wanted to come, didn’t you?”

biting into your bottom lip, you roll your exhausted clit between your fingers and nod. it is what you wanted, and despite the cautionary shocks from your body, you feel yourself waning for more. hansol stands swiftly and marches toward the vanity. he slips his warm, firm hand just underneath your jaw, tampering with your air supply only marginally while pressing your head back to the glass mirror.

he looks unflinchingly into your eyes, “so don’t complain.” hansol advises, though it seems more like a warning.

tucking his nose close to your hair and tightening his hold at your throat, hansol manages to send another jolt between your trembling thighs as you continue rubbing yourself, every patch of your flesh feeling ravaged by flame. “now turn around and bend over,” he growls into your ear, “let me fuck you open on my cock like the dumb little slut that you are, huh?”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Athazagoraphobia (Last Part)

She wonders if this is what fire feels like as it splays across skin. The raw patch on her chest tingles painfully as though it is trying to let her know that it is spreading. 

She resists the urge to check, in part because she doesn’t want to know but mostly because she doesn’t want to raise suspicions in her father. 

Her mind drifts to her fire once more, for as single heartbeat she ponders burning the spot of rot. Maybe, by some miracle, it would burn the infection away. 

But she knows that it is too late; the same bruning tickles her hip and lower back.

“We just need to get past them and then we’re home free.” Zirin points. Azula follows the line of her finger to a band of afflicted.

Ozai, with no word of warning, blasts a few of them off the side of the pier. The remaining cluster faces them in unison. “Father!” Azula hisses. 

“They’re corpses.” He shrugs. “Don’t tell me that you’re slower and dumber than a corpse.”

He was the one who’d made the impulse decision, yet it is her cheeks that burn with shame. 

“She only means that rash decisions are dangers, Fire Lord.” Li comes to her defense. 

Before he can snap at Li for her disrespect, Azula mumbles, “let’s just clear the rest of them out.” 

Not that her father needs any further prompting. 

Zirin is another matter, she scans the docks for a moment before reluctantly attacking. Li lingers on the fringes of the first while Azula sets flame to the neglected wooden pillars that support the dock. Several more hosts dump into the waves where they disappear into the murk. The remaining few shamble closer and Azula’s heart seizes all over again. 

The girl’s braid is scraggly and unruly and her shirt is in tatters. Her stomach is wide open and dragging innards. She must have bled out already because the only other thing that trickles from her belly are waving tendrils. In a most morbidly uncanny way, the girl is still beaming from ear to ear as she had in life. 

Some manner of undignified and stressed sound escapes Azula’s lips. A pair of cold, wrinkled hands come to cover her eyes, keeping her from inspecting her former friend further. “You don’t have to look at that, princess, you’ve seen enough already.”

She silently thanks Li for the small mercy. 

When Li removes her hands, Tylee is gone and her father’s hands are still smoking. He looks at her with a rare expression of sympathy. 

It is nearly enough to unravel her. “Let’s just get on one of those boats and get out of here.”

Zirin wanders to the nearest dock. 

“Wait!” Azula calls. “Come here.” 

Zirin steps back and Azula releases her held breath. The has a churning carpet of silver-blue as though the parasites have eradicated the seaweed and took its place. It clings to the rotting wood in an evil parody. “Let’s use that one. This dock is about to crumble.”  Azula lies. 

The dock next to it looks just as rickety. But the boat tethered to it, though small, looks sturdy enough.

.oOo.

Azula had never been a fan of the open ocean but today, the salty spray is a breath of fresh air. And there is a certain comfort in knowing that, should she throw up, she can blame it on seasickness rather than infection. 

For the first time in a little over a month, she can truly rest easy. 

When night falls, she finds that her exhaustion is finally potent enough to overpower the nightly replays of her traumas. 

She finds herself out cold. 

Her waking is just as unpleasant as she knew it would be. Her belly burns and her chest flares hotter. She finds her sheets sticky with blood. It takes everything in her not to scream. Her blankets are thoroughly soaked and cling to her skin. When she moves them, chunks of skin peel away with it. 

Her head reels with a new found sense of fear. 

She wonders how Li is faring. 

She sneaks on deck and cleanses her disease riddled body with ocean spray. It stings like hell but she can’t let her father see that much blood. 

“Oh, you’re finally awake.” Zirin muses. 

“Finally?”

“It’s been three days.” 

Azula bites her lip, her anxiety swelling that much further. “Three days…” she repeats. Zirin nods. She rubs her palms against her eyes, feeling thrice as stressed. “How is Li?”

“Well enough, princess.” Li declares. 

She wanders to the bow of the ship where she finds her father at the wheel. “Ah, you’re awake. Would you like to take the wheel?”

She peers at the maps he has spread out and nods. She could use a distraction. He pulls up a chair for her. She takes her seat and falls silent. Ozai’s hand is on her shoulder. She flinches as a stabbing sensation fires off in her belly. 

“What’s going on with you?” He asks in a manner that suggests more annoyance than it does concern. 

She swallows and shakes her head. “My leg is just bothering me. I’ll cope.” She has no choice but to do so. 

Ozai smiles, “I raised you well. Your brother would have fallen as soon as his bone split.” 

“I see another ship!” Zirin declares from the mast. “Should we check it out? There might be other survivors. 

Azula doesn’t like it.

Doesn’t trust it. 

The boat is just floating there, directionless. Bobbing without aim. “It’s a dead ship.” She calls up. A new feeling of dread rises, knowing that the parasites have already reached the seas. It is an ill omen. 

An exchanged look with her father tells her that her father shares her thoughts. 

Not that it matters, her body is already decaying. 

She is already dead. 

Whatever control she may have had over the hosts and parasites, the possible answers and cure will die with her. 

She takes her father’s hand and squeezes. 

.oOo.

It has been nearly a week since they drifted away from the dead ship. Li has taken to ranting about how this must be the Spirit World’s way of punishing for the war and the disharmony it has created. “Sozin used that comet to disrupt the balance of the world and the spirits used it to take vengeance.” She declares again. 

Azula’s heart sinks; the old woman must be slipping. Or maybe it is simply natural for her mind to turn towards more divine explanations. Azula doesn’t particularly believe that the spirits have the power to embed disease into a comet. Especially not with an Avatar to act as a buffer. 

She doesn’t bother debating spiritual matters with Li. She hasn’t the energy for it and she would like to keep Li as a companion, especially now that her father has taken to avoiding her. It stings worse than the raw patches that have finally reached her neck and face. 

She thinks that she has grown used to the searing feeling that they bring. Perhaps the rot has eaten away the nerves in her cheek. 

Her leg is nearly healed, but the ship doesn’t provide her with many places to walk to. But she is restless so she takes to pacing from one end of the deck to the next. She holds her crutches just in case her leg decides to lock. She wanders below deck to wash her face. The action is rather pointless, serving only to make her feel like she has some semblance of hygiene. 

The face reflected back at her is red, flushed by the warmth of infection. She is beginning to think that the parasites like the heat and that, that is why they have imbedded themselves within her. She can burn them away, but perhaps freezing them out would be better. She had been a fool to delay getting to the tribes for so long. And for what? A man who can’t even look at her anymore. Azula fumbles through medical supplies until she comes to gauze and bandages.

She delicately covers up the oozing patch before returning to the deck. The exposed parts of her face are met with significantly nippier air that tosses her tangled locks all about. “Good morning, father.” 

The man doesn’t turn around. 

“We are nearing the tribes…”

“Do you think I am a fool?” He asks. 

“No, father.” 

“You hide an infection from me and then you imply that I can’t tell when we are close to our destination.”  He would strike her if he weren’t so disgusted by the notion of making contact with her.

“I only meant to start a conversation.” She mumbles.  

He waves her off. 

“I’m dying, father. I want…” what does she want. “I want you to care about me before I do. I want somebody too…”

He holds up a silencing hand.

A friendlier hand falls upon her shoulder. “Come on, princess, it’s chilly up here, lets get you inside.”

“Before what!?” Azula snaps. “Before I catch a cold.”

Li doesn’t even flinch. “Before that man takes the fight out of you.” 

“That man is my father.”

“No father would treat his girl like that.” Li grumbles. 

Zirin climbs down the mast, “I can see the main land.” She declares. “But with all of these glaciers to navigate it can take another week or so to reach it.”

Azula is in no rush anymore. “Thank you, Zirin. I’m sure that my father would be interested.”

“It’s almost over, princess. The journey is almost through.” Li reassures softly as Zirin saunters off. Azula isn’t sure if she is referring to their days of sailing or their days of living. 

“Yes.” Azula acknowledges. She stares off at the very distant landmass. She isn’t entirely sure that Zirin hasn’t mistaken a particularly large glacier for the tribes.

.oOo.

The auroras, she has always heard, are stunning. 

Mystifying. 

But Azula finds them eerie and unsettling. 

They blaze across the sky with spectral fingers that reminder her all too much of the ones weaving in and out of her festering skin. They lick and lash at the cosmos, reaching out to touch each and every star as the parasites had made contact with people. 

It is more than that though. Azula can’t place it, but she thinks that there is something in there, hiding between the teal and green curtains. 

Something sinister. 

Something that has touched the Northern Water Tribe in the same way that Sozin’s Comet had breached the Fire Nation.

She swears that, when Li and Zirin stop exchanging conspiracy theories, she can hear whispers  in the lights. 

Swears that the parasites flick and flit in time with the cosmic display. 

Azula shudders. 

She hopes that her mind is simply clinging onto residual paranoia. Not that paranoia isn’t due. She retreats to the semi-safety of below deck. 

She doesn’t return to the deck until the auroras are gone. 

They are a day away from the Northern Water Tribe and Azula can’t rid herself of unpleasant tingles of fear. Sunlight glints off of the snowy landscape before them. 

“Are you going to slow us down?” Ozai asks. 

Azula bends and unbends her leg. “I don’t think so.” She thanks Agni that she can walk again. She had anticipated her father having to carry her through the snow. In current she knows that he will sooner leave her behind than come close to her. 

His question was a fool’s question; she doesn't need to slow them down, the sheer amount of snow and lack of equipment does that. 

The port is close enough to the city that Azula doesn’t fear that they won’t make it but comfort is a lost luxury. Azula drifts closer to Li the nearer that they get. 

“Shit, I’ve never seen anything like it.” Zirin declares. 

Her optimism is somewhat vexing. 

Azula scans the faces of the guards atop the icy wall. They are stony and unforgiving as the terrain they overlook.  If they are guarding the entrance this readily, it must be a sanctuary. Still, her unease doesn’t subside. 

“We’re survivors seeking sanctuary!” Zirin calls up to them. “And warmth. Warmth would be great too.” 

Azula shivers to herself. 

Warmth. 

Safety. 

That would be heavenly.

The men exchange glances. And Azula shares a look with Li, her look of weary resignation is mirrored by Azula. She knows exactly how this is going to end. “Search them for infection!” One of the men declares. 

Li squeezes Azula’s hand. 

Already, they have noticed the distance between the two of them and Zirin and Ozai. “Which of you are the healthy ones?”

Ozai hesitates none before gesturing to himself and Zirin.

“Inspect them.” Says the head guard. 

“Strip.” Commands his partner. Zirin wastes no time. Ozai on the other hand scowls. “A Fire Lord doesn’t strip before peasants.” 

“But a refugee does.” The second guard replies. “Strip or get back on your boat.” 

Azula turns the other way as her father drops his robes. She waits a few minutes after the man calls, “clear” to turn back around. “Put them in the quarantine quarters until we are certain that they won’t develop symptoms.”

The gates open and Ozai and Zirin are beckoned inside.  

“Father…” Azula says. 

He has the decency to look back, but no more than that. 

A normal person might cry, but Azula finds that she has no more tears left. She has nothing but a solemn acceptance. She still has the dignity to hold her head high. The only warmth in her body and soul radiates from the infection. 

She watches her father disappear into the safe-haven. She wonders how long he will last; how long they will tolerate his intolerance and malicious intent. 

Flurries throw themselves violently at her as she stares at the wall. At the glorious sanctuary that she can’t enter. Even if they let her in, she likes to think that she has too much honor to bring a plague to the last cluster of humanity. 

“We’re alone…” she trails off. 

Li nods. “I told you that I would accompany you until my last breath, princess.” 

Just before she pulls her eyes away from the wall, she sees him. Her heart falters. He looks at her with pity and...regret? For a moment, she thinks that he going to plead with them to let her in. To give her a chance. But he doesn’t know that she isn’t contagious--she has a thought; a bitter acknowledgement that the cold might be enough to kill the parasites. That with time, the patches of rot might heal. 

She opens her mouth to try to convince him of this. 

He is not paying attention to her, other than a nod in her direction. 

She holds her breath and waits. 

His attention is fully on her again, his face grim. 

“I’m sorry that I left you there.” Zuko calls down. 

Once again she opens her mouth to speak. She doesn’t have the chance before one of the guards lifts his arms, dragging with them a large spike of ice. Azula’s vision goes hazy, she hears Li’s body thud next to her. 

She looks up at Zuko in shock more than anything else. He winces and mouths something akin to, “she’s not dead yet.” And to her directly he says, “I’m sorry.” 

A red spray soils the otherwise pristine white. 

Suddenly it doesn’t hurt anymore. 

Nothing hurts. 

There is nothing. 

She has time for a single parting thought. A thought that she is free. 

Finally free. Free of torment and fear and paranoia. Free of her own mind and of that which plagues her. Zuko had left her chained up and the parasites had made a prison of her own body. But Zuko has set her free.

Her decayed cheek hits the snow and her body goes still. 

With nowhere else to go, a cluster of pulsating  silver-blue wisps burrow beneath the snow. 

The strong adapt.

[brazenautomaton]

I got derailed and then rerailed onto something else, so the next bit of the fight was delayed

this part of the scene would almost certainly be cut from the movie because this is just a long-ass fight and the end is mostly “back to zero”, but I need it because my mission is to show off everyone doing cool things with their powers and tell a story with the fight choreography, and with eight of them that means a lot of fighting to go around

Thanos appears with the Space Stone, nearly on top of Sailor Mercury. In each hand he has a massive cylindrical, shielded chain gun clearly ripped off of the ship -- point defense guns.

Her gem is Searing, and a halo of delayed ice spears are hanging in the air all around him. As their timers go off and they strike the most obvious place for him to warp back to, engulfing him in an extremely localized, howling blizzard. Mercury smiles at him, says “Frozen Rhapsody,”  and steps backward off the cliff to safety.

Bombarded with frost attacks and encrusted in rime, Thanos and his gear are frozen solid momentarily, tinged blue. Venus throws her Love-Me Chain to the cliff and yanks herself upward, cresting it into a spinning flip. Her chain reforms into a giant sledgehammer, and she mutters “breakoffbreakoffbreakoffbreakoff…” as she comes in to a somersaulting strike at Thanos’s left elbow. It doesn’t. Her attack is deflected, but the hammer keeps going and she smashes through the left side cannon.

She mashes the head of her sledgehammer into Thanos’s left palm, where it melts and forms around his hand, forming a mold. She twists the handle out, and as Thanos thaws out, forms it into a spear.

Venus: “Don’t you know not to bring a gun to a magic fight?”

Thanos puts his guard up and she immediately starts jabbing toward his face with her spear. He divides his attention between protecting his face, and keeping her from lunging toward his remaining cannon -- he manages to shove it behind him. Venus and Thanos slowly circle each other, Thanos feinting, Venus jabbing into his face in between theatrical twirls and spins. Uranus crests over the ridge, storms raging around both hands, and begins shooting narrow cyclones at his head like lasers.

Thanos: “You think this is a game.”

This continues with Thanos on the defensive, circling, until suddenly he grabs Venus’s spear, yanks it from her hand, and slaps something behind him -- he’s circled around until the gun is pointing between his legs at her! A storm of anti-missile flechettes erupts from the cannon, and Venus flails and sputters like someone is spaying a fire hose into her mouth. She conjures a tower shield, which is shredded, the front of a steam train, which is shredded, and a car hood, which is shredded, as she is pushed back with her gem glowing brighter and brighter until it’s Searing.

“Cyclone cleaver!” Uranus shouts, conjuring a wall of wind to deflect the gunfire -- now the flechettes are flying EVERYWHERE. Venus manages to duck out over the ridge. Thanos now is able to pick up the cannon, mash the firing mechanism with his still-pinned Gauntlet, and aim it properly. He sprays a line of suppressing fire below him over the ridge, then turns his attention to airborne Uranus. Wind whipping through her hair and clothes, Uranus flies at top speed, darting into and through the floating rocks above them as she narrowly avoids the trail of gunfire. The finned heat sinks on the sides of the cannon glow red hot, white hot, until Thanos mashes the Gauntlet into it, and melts off the orcihalcum block in his palm like a stick of butter. Uranus vanishes from sight behind a large asteroid-like floating rock. Power! Thanos is enclosed by a purple dome of force. He takes a second to get his bearings. In the background, the same angle as before, we can now see Saturn off in the distance, on the ship, chopping the remaining cannons in half.

Venus and Mercury are underneath Thanos’s vantage point, in the shadow but pinned down. They look up, awaiting an overhead attack and Mercury has her finger to her ear.

Mercury: “...looks like a point defense gun. They, ah, they shoot lots of tiny flechettes, so they can blow up incoming missiles and asteroids…”

Further out, Moon, Jupiter, Mars, and Ceres are hiding behind a large rock outcropping as cover. Mars is spinning together fire spells, sticking them to her fingertip, and leaning around the corner to take pot shots at Thanos’s shield. Occasional bursts of cannon fire sweep over or at them. Next to her, Moon has her finger to her ear and is nodding and saying “uh-huh” a lot. Ceres and Jupiter peek around the opposite corner.

Jupiter: “One, two… I think he just activated all three, but he didn’t go anywhere. What did--”

As she is saying this, the Thanos Spectre flickers into existence. It looks like a 3-dimensional outline sketch of Thanos made of purple neon tubes, and its left eye is missing but its right one is glowing. It wastes no time announcing itself -- it dashes forward, grabs the unaware Mars and Moon, and HURLS them upward as hard as it possibly can. They go flying in Titan’s low gravity. It then mimes the position of holding and firing the cumbersome PD cannon, match cut to Thanos actually holding it, with his right eye closed. He begins to spray them with fire.

Moon conjures a silver bubble around herself with a cry of “Moonlight Protector!” Mars tries to regain her balance and rocket-dash away, but the air turbulence in the low gravity has her spinning too much, and her explosive burst sends her spinning out of control. The stream of fire from Thanos is erratic and jerky, but she’s nicked and grazed by several shots her magic doesn’t stop. As she flies across Sailor Moon’s position, they extend their hands to catch each other and pull Mars to safety, wind whipping their hair all about… and are too far apart, only able to graze fingertips.

Below, Jupiter and Ceres crack their knuckles. “Oh now this is amateur-hour magic,” Jupiter says before delivering a hammerblow to the Thanos Spectre’s gut. The Spectre tries to fight back, but as its attention is being split between two bodies and this form is Thanos without the Power stone, Jupiter and Ceres completely dominate it. Jupiter shoulder-throws it, sweeps its legs, and punches it into the wall; every time it collides with a surface, it’s impaled by Ceres’s summoned stone spikes, causing more and more of the lines that define it to flicker out. Its attacks are easily deflected and countered.

Falling, Moon grits her teeth and rips out one of her weird white hair barrettes, chucking it to Sailor Mars. Mars catches it, and clutches it to her body in the fetal position as Moon conjures another silver bubble shield around it, just as Mars gets fully targeted by the cannon and blasted with fire. Their barriers deform as they hit the ground, breaking their fall, and Jupiter and Ceres have the Spectre in an arm-hold when they do.

Thanos dismisses the Spectre and opens his eye. Looking down at the battlefield, he can see Mars, Ceres, and Moon advancing over the open ground, all underneath a large hemisphere force field. He sprays it with fire, but it just makes “water droplet into pond” effects. He looks up, no Uranus in sight, and Space! A twisty distortion appears in his field of fire. He fires into it, dragging his aim back and forth.

And below flechettes start raining from a hole in space onto Mercury and Venus. Venus conjures a pair of metal bollards to hide behind, deflecting fire away, but they dig nasty divots out of her shield, even though they can’t focus fire accurately. The Mars / Ceres / Moon trio speed up, approaching the cliff. Ceres trips and falls as she runs, taking Moon with her, dropping the barrier. Thanos stops firing to dismiss the Space effect, then aims down at .the undefended Moon, realizing a fraction of a second too late that Ceres’s arm is buried in the ground and a stone hand is now grabbing the barrels of his cannon. The weapon explodes with the barrels unable to rotate. Space! Thanos takes himself down to their level behind them--

-- where Mars and Ceres, holding hands, are shouting ”LAVA BLOSSOM!” the moment he arrives. A flower of molten lava emerges from the ground, not QUITE directly under his left hand, and engulfs the Gauntlet leaving it unable to open, encased in glowing lava.

Moon, Mars, and Ceres stand before him. “It’s clear I underestimated you.” he says. He looks like he’s going to say something else, but he lunges with his glowing lava fist. Ceres pulls up a barrier of stone, but she yanks it from the ground starting with Mars, and it isn’t to her when Thanos mashes the lava fist into her.Her gem glows, brighter, and shatters trying to hold back the damage; she is sent flying backwards and her formal suit coat she wore as a civilian bursts into flames.

She tears it off her, looks to Sailor Moon, and shouts “Finish the mission!”

[sonderlivra]

Eruri Valentine’s Weekend 2k18 Collab with the lovely @autiacorart !!!

A late submission, but hopefully worth the wait! :) It was a blast working with such a talented artist! <3

Blackout Café - A Modern Eruri AU

Summary: Levi is a grumpy dork. Erwin is a sappy dork. Basically they’re both dorks. And they meet at a coffeeshop.

Warning: Swearing ahead, oops.

“Fucking shit,” Levi swears, hurrying down the street. A power cut. Who the fuck expects a power cut in this day and age?

He is still grumbling when he bursts into the coffeeshop, looking around a little wildly for the electric socket.

“Fuck,” he swears again. He had forgotten that this was one of the smaller, less pretentious coffeeshops. It was why he liked the place, but right now, he wishes he was somewhere else, anywhere else that has better aids for his dying laptop.

But there is just one table next to a socket and that happens to be occupied, and he doesn't know if he can make it to another coffeeshop in time. Fuming, he stomps over to the counter.

“I need to charge my laptop.”

“Oh we can charge it here for you sir-”

“I need to work.”

The employee pales. “Um, I'm sorry sir, but that table is the only one-”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he snaps. He considers stepping on the other side of the counter where he could work next to the socket. It sounds unappealing and embarrassing and Levi glances back at the table. The man sitting there is casually reading something, the electric socket empty.

Bastard isn't even using it.

Squaring himself, Levi approaches the table, his mouth filling up with several gruff phrases that have worked for him before. When he reaches the table, the blond man, who has his head bent down over an unmarked bound book, looks up -and Levi freezes.

Holy shit. Levi is suddenly at a loss for words. This guy is hot.

His bright blue eyes are wide with curiosity and he smiles a polite smile as he says, “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Levi manages to rasp and gestures at the electric socket next to the table. “I need that.”

The man glances at the wall and turns back to Levi, his smile widening. “Oh, by all means. Please, have a seat.”

Levi's brain short circuits again. What he meant was to ask the man to take another table, since there were quite a few empty ones around. But no. Mr. Handsome-Lawyer-Guy had to go and assume Levi wanted to share this table. Which he didn't, whether or not this man looked like an artist's rendition of fucking Apollo.

But his laptop​ beeps another “low battery” warning and Levi decides he doesn't care either way. With a grunt of gratitude, he plugs in his charger and slips into the chair opposite the man, resolutely keeping his eyes trained on the laptop screen.

With a deep breath and a mental command to fucking get a grip of himself, Levi pulls up the chat conversation and pings his client.

Sorry for the delay, Karl. I'm back.

The exchange goes on for longer than expected, with Levi having to upload and send a few of his drafts over the coffeeshop's slow WiFi. When he finally closes the conversation and leans back with a sigh, a low voice startles him by saying, “Busy day?”

Levi opens his eyes and blinks at the blond man: there is no mistaking that it was indeed him that spoke. His astonishingly blue eyes are still widened with interest, his firm mouth still has that polite, easygoing smile that -shit, the man has actual dimples. How the fuck is he even real?

“Uh, yeah.” Levi says, remembering that he was asked a question.

The man throws up a magnificent eyebrow. “Even on a Saturday?”

“Especially on a Saturday. Field day for freelancers.”

“Oh. I see.” He nods so understandingly Levi wonders if his earlier estimation was wrong, whether this man is not a lawyer but a shrink of some sort. Ew.

Again, the man's smile widens unexpectedly. “I'm Erwin,” he says, and offers Levi his hand. Levi takes it almost suspiciously. “Levi,” he mutters.

“An uncommon name,” the man says, eyes gleaming.

“As is yours,” Levi points out.

The man -Erwin -grins at that, showing a flash of neat, white teeth. “True.” He pauses, then continues, “By the way, are you staying? I'm going to go get myself another coffee.”

Levi hesitates. He really has no other plans, except for going back to the drawing board for Karl for the tiresome client. But he can spare a half hour, at the very least. Erwin is intriguing, and he would not mind getting to know him more. And maybe even get his phone number…

No. Levi is shocked at himself. He has never been this interested, this forward, to use Kenny's antiquated term, with anyone. His romantic track record is littered with casual flings and half-hearted attempts, and after Farlan, his record has been conspicuously empty for a long time. Is he really, finally getting out of that slump?

“Levi?” Erwin says softly, and he is brought crashing back to the present.

“Sorry.” He blinks and shakes his head. “I was trying to figure out my schedule. Yeah, I can stay for a bit.”

“Excellent.” The man beams at him and Levi feels another burst of indignance at his attractiveness. “What's your poison?”

Levi snorts. “I can get my own order.”

Erwin shakes his head. “I'm getting up anyway.”

Levi shrugs. “Oolong tea.”

Erwin’s smile falters.

“What?”

“You're ordering tea. At a coffeeshop.”

Levi raises his eyebrow. “So?”

Erwin recovers admirably and shakes his head. “Nothing. I should remember not to make assumptions too fast.”

“Meaning?”

Erwin laughs and Levi can't help but notice he looks a little flustered. “I was trying to guess what sort of coffee you'd drink,” he admits. “Sorry, it was presumptuous of me.”

Levi waves away the apology, interested. “So what do you think I drink?”

“Black.”

Levi snorts. “I drink it black when I do drink coffee so you're not half wrong.”

“Good to know. Well, I'll be back in a minute,” Erwin nods cheerfully and walks over to the counter. Levi quickly takes the opportunity to check out his appearance in the laptop screen, making sure his hair isn't too ruffled or that there isn't anything stuck between his teeth. When he is done with that, he sneaks glances at the counter over the top of his laptop. Erwin is massive: tall and powerfully built, he looks like he spends his free time pressing weights at the gym.

Damn.

Levi quickly switches to his phone and pretends to be browsing it when Erwin returns to the table. He places Levi's drink down with unnecessary grace before taking his earlier seat.

“Thanks,” Levi grunts, to which Erwin responds with another smile. “My pleasure.”

Ugh. Does he ever not smile?

They take a few sips of their drinks in silence, before Erwin thankfully breaks it. “So what sort of freelancing do you do, Levi?”

“I'm an architect.”

“Really?” Erwin looks inordinately interested. “Sounds glamorous.”

Levi can't help it, he lets out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, right. It basically involves drawing lines all day.”

“I'm sure there's more to it,” Erwin insists, leaning forward. “As far as I'm concerned, it's art.”

The statement endears Erwin to him, but he shakes his head. “There are some of us who would take offense at that. The drawing process is very precise and even scientific.”

Erwin waves his hand. “Of course, I understand that. But would calling it an art undermine its value?”

“In my eyes, no.” Levi admits. “But I draw for a hobby and maybe that makes me biased.”

“Did you draw that?” Erwin asks, his eyes gleaming. Levi looks down at his left arm, where most of his tattoo is peeking below the sleeve of his t-shirt. When Levi nods, Erwin hesitates and asks, “May I…?”

Levi can't help but feel a little self-conscious as he tugs up the sleeve. He's been asked this a dozen times before, so the request isn't exactly new. However, this is Erwin he's showing it to. Erwin, the real-life model, the hunk, the first man he has been genuinely interested in for years now. He remembers that this intense, insane pressure is why he hated dating to begin with.

Erwin’s eyes trace the rose curling down his arm, its vines twisting around a plain, sharp sword. It is filled with simple colours, the lines are basic, and the personal sentiment is evident only to him. He wonders what Erwin thinks of it.

“Stunning,” Erwin murmurs, and Levi hurriedly sips some tea to hide the heat in his cheeks.

“Thanks,” he mutters when he feels it is safe to show his face again. “It's my early work, though.”

“It's… absolutely perfect,” Erwin says, his voice still low.

That seems to break the spell, and Levi snorts. “What, really? ‘Perfection’ is a myth.”

“Perfection is subjective,” Erwin corrects him, that curious gleam still in his eyes. “Much like art.”

To that he has nothing to say. Meanwhile Erwin digs in his pockets and pulls out a surprisingly worn leather wallet. He plucks out a card and says, “Maybe this will substantiate my words. I'm an editor at a publishing house.” Levi takes the card, his heart thudding. “Maybe you've heard of us?”

Wings of Freedom Press. Levi has heard of them: an old company, going back decades, but not one of the big names. The title under the neat “Erwin Smith” simply says 'Editor’.

“I've heard of you,” Levi confirms. His chest is feeling more and more hollow with every passing second and the reason makes itself known with Erwin's next words.

“When I say 'perfect’ I mean it's exactly what I've had in mind for our next publication. We've been looking for an illustrator, and, at the risk of repeating myself, your art would be perfect for the book.”

A business proposition was all Erwin had in mind, nothing more. Levi feels like he could kick himself in the ass all the way home, the physical impossibility of it be damned.

“You just saw my tattoo. That's enough for you to make a decision?” He asks, stalling. Though the attraction is clearly one-sided, Levi feels resentful and badly wants to decline the offer. He only hesitates because this offer could be lucrative in the long run.

Just that, of course. No other reason.

“Art styles change over the years but remain, in essence, the same. I -let’s just say I have a good feeling about this.” Erwin says smoothly. “I can only say so much, but I urge you to consider it. I think you'll like what we can offer to you, and we would be thrilled to have you as a part of the team.”

“I already have a client.”

“Of course. If it doesn't take more than two months of your time to finish your contract with your current client, the offer is still open.”

Karl and his problematic specifications would be gone in two weeks at the most. That left him with little to no excuses for refusing Erwin.

“I understand that this is unconventional,” Erwin goes on, seemingly unaware of Levi's growing antipathy. “You can, of course, email me a portfolio of a few select works. We should be able to draw up a formal offer soon enough.”

Levi grits his teeth, still fingering the card. He wants to ask if he would have to work closely with Erwin but can't bring himself to say it. He doesn't know what he wants the answer to be, in any case.

“I'll think about it,” he manages finally. He doesn't want to make a choice now, when his emotions are all in a fucking mess, and regret it later.

Erwin suddenly seems to realise that he is sitting with a stranger in a coffeeshop. “Fair enough.” He swigs down the rest of his coffee and says, a little nervously, “I'm sorry if I came on too strong. I just -am very impressed by your skills and wouldn't want to pass up the opportunity to work with you.”

Stop. Just fucking stop. Levi wants to scream at the man, but he knows it is immature and unfair of him. Erwin wasn't flirting with him in the slightest, he sees that now. On the other hand, Erwin does seem genuinely impressed, and how can Levi blame him if he sees a business opportunity in that?

“Right.” Levi finds his teacup empty, and stands up. “Thanks for the tea.”

“Oh. You're welcome.” Surprised, Erwin stands up, too.

Levi hesitates, then offers him his hand. “Nice talking to you.”

Erwin’s face is almost unrecognisable, a stiff, polite mask. “And you.”

With a small, final nod, Levi gathers up his laptop and charger, and marches away. When he steps into the street, he stops for a moment, trying to remember if he's run out of cigarettes at home.

“Levi!” The coffeeshop's doors swing open behind him and Erwin strides out. “I forgot -is there any way I can contact you?”

Too surprised by Erwin's sudden reappearance, Levi nods. “Uh, yeah. Hang on.” He gropes in his pocket and finds his card case. Plucking one out, he hands it to Erwin, who squints at it as though it holds very important instructions. “And… this is your personal phone?”

Levi raises an eyebrow. “Yeah.”

“Then, would it be alright if I contacted you on this number? Outside of work?”

Levi stares at him for the full moment it takes him to realise what Erwin is implying. “Are you asking me out?” He asks him point-blank.

A now-familiar smile spreads on Erwin's face. “Yes, I am.”

Levi's heart is thudding erratically again, the hollowness from before replaced by so much warmth he feels like he could melt right there on Erwin's dress shoes. (And who the fuck wears dress shoes on a Saturday?)

“Wow,” he comments. “You hire people better than you ask them out.”

Erwin chuckles and Levi notices the slightly pink hue of his cheeks. Is Erwin Smith, the real-life model, the hunk, blushing? Well, damn.

“I'm a little rusty,” Erwin admits. “And a lot more used to hiring people.”

“Clearly.”

“So, is that a yes?”

Levi gives him a contemplative look, taking in the deep blue eyes, and the strong shoulders, and the trim waist. “It's a maybe,” he begins, and does not miss the disappointed flash in his eyes before finishing his sentence, “for the illustration gig. You can definitely buy me another drink.”

Erwin’s face lights up so quickly Levi nearly laughs. The man is like a fucking Labrador. “I'll text you, then.”

“Perfect.” Levi throws him a last smirk before walking away, fighting the urge to skip like a demented child, the expression on Erwin's face bringing an unnaturally sunny smile on his own.

Power cuts, Levi decides, are really fucking underrated.

A/N: My knowledge of architects and their work is very, very basic. Hopefully I haven’t misrepresented you guys!

Thanks again @autiacorart for so beautifully capturing the essence of my story in your art! And thank you all for reading!

[impishnature]

On The Rocks

AO3

Another One Shot in the The Light Keeper series.

Rating: T

Summary: Stan and Ford find an old abandoned lighthouse on their travels. Unfortunately, it isn't quite as abandoned as Stan had hoped. (Warnings: Violence, nightmare escalations, allusions to a place's grim past and general peril) Lighthouse Keeper AU. @sightkeeper

AN: This is probably the only thing I shall be posting this week - as its kind of... 19000 words long. As always, there’s a number of WIPs and lots more available on patreon here. Come check it out!

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Beep. Beep. Beep-​

"Interesting, we're starting to get close." Ford glanced quickly between the small machine at his wrist, and the map before him, drawing a wide circle around the area they had found themselves in. His eyes darted amongst the small details and landmarks the map offered, shouting out what he had found to the deck where his brother no doubt was. "This area's full of large outcropping rocks. We'll need to keep that in mind as it gets darker." He frowned, face thoughtful and perturbed. His eyes scanned over his copious measurements and the map again, double and triple checking his notes. "Irritating really, we seem to be on a straight path towards... but we're going to have to navigate around this large outcropping instead." His scowl deepened, disappointed annoyance marring his expression. There was the buzz of anticipation and curiosity nagging at his heels and the thought of delaying their next mystery by even a few minutes more felt torturous. "Well, nothing to be done about it..."

It was only then that he realised that there had been no response to his words, no sarcastic amusement or teasing joke about running themselves aground just for the next big adventure.

In fact, it was utterly silent. No footsteps, no humming, no distant sound of that blasted harmonica that distracted his brother to no end. No, there were no signs of life from the deck,  just the waves splashing jovially against the ships hull and the ever present beeping tone beside him, steadily getting faster and faster as they continued their slow bobbing journey forward.​

His scowl vanished, more curious and concerned than frustrated at being ignored.

It was unusual for his brother to resist an opening like that.

"Stan? Stan, did you hear me?" Ford waited a few more seconds, waiting for any sign, some small noise that his brother was busy with some project of his own and couldn't respond just yet. It happened on occasion, naturally. Though his brother may be happy to join him in his monster hunts, it didn't mean he didn't have his own ways of passing the time when Ford was up to his eyes in research or navigation.

If it wasn't for the complete silence, he might have even thought his brother just couldn't hear him over the crackling of the little radio he loved so much.

But as it was, there was something troubling about the whole scenario when there was nothing that seemed to be providing sufficient distraction from where he stood.

Curiosity took control then, Ford wandering to the doorway of the cabin without much thought, hand gripping the frame as he tilted his head outside to the deck. He called out again, louder this time. "Stan?"

...Nothing.

There was no way he didn't hear him that time.

Ford bit at his lip, stepping out of the cabin and on to deck, eyes darting about until they landed on his brother at the railing of the boat, stood stock still, staring out to sea. He breathed a sigh of relief, shaking his head as he walked to him. "Honestly, Stan, you worried me for a second there-"

His words caught in his throat, his eyebrows furrowing as he followed Stan's gaze out across the water to the now visible outcropping rocks he'd been muttering about only a few moments ago, surrounded by maps. "Is that a lighthouse?"

Stan jumped ever so slightly beside him, twisting towards the sound quickly, as if he'd zoned out for a few minutes and hadn't noticed Ford appear beside him. He shook his head, rubbing at his face as if to swat away whatever thoughts had been forming, before he smiled sheepishly, an apology written in the curve of his mouth. Ford raised an eyebrow at him in amusement, the fact that he had been yelling for him crystal clear without either of them having to say it. Instead of acknowledging this, Stan's smile twisted into something more thoughtful, eyes trailing back to the wooden structure ahead of them. "I guess so. It's old though, looks abandoned... it's a wonder it's still standing if you ask me."

Ford nodded with him, eyes ghosting over the wooden frame. It was small, far smaller than most imposing lighthouses, yet the ramshackle, derelict feel of it still left an impression on him. Stilt upon stilt, buried deep into the rocky shore, held up the lofty yet unmistakable lantern room. Beneath the distinct room was a small encasing wood frame large enough to have been one solitary living area housed below.

There was no spiral staircase, no large imposing structure that could hide floor upon floor of rooms. There were no other buildings as far as the eye could see, no hospitable area to live in.

Just a rock, and a light, and one small room, completely isolated in the middle of the water.

Just a rickety rope ladder that fell down from the structures centre, moving ever so slightly in the breeze, in amongst the large beams.

The only way to traverse up to the decrepit light.

It was strange. Though so different from the view he remembered of the light back home, the cold stone, the long thin turret, there was something still unmistakably recognisable about the building before them. Something that drew them in, let them know this was a guiding light to keep them from running aground, a beacon on the shore.

Though they both knew from experience that that didn't always mean safety as it was intended.

It was both comforting and disconcerting. Familiar features and stark contrasts twisting away into some unidentifiable mixture of emotions that left more questions than answers in it's wake.

From the way his brother's mouth twisted, teeth chewing at the inside of his cheek, he felt the same.

Though Ford knew that was where they differed, the feelings that may have been raised were the same, but the response would always mark their differences.

To Stan it seemed foreboding, a cold cautious air taking over him as he took in every detail, scanning for danger, happy to observe it all from a distance.

For Ford it was more that he was drinking in the sight, converting it all to memory as the heated curiosity took over once more and he found himself itching to get closer, to explore, to travel up that swinging ladder and, presumably, see what no one had seen in decades.

His mind buzzed, sparking to life as the beeping at his wrist became insistent, signalling they were even closer to their goal. Stan seemed to light up at the prospect, turning away from the uneasy sight to stare down at Ford's wrist as well. "Oh yeah, we're on a mission, aren't we? Oh well, between you and me, I've seen enough of lighthouses to last me a lifetime- Besides that one looks like it could fall apart at any minute, if we're not careful." He grimaced, the expression not quite reaching the relief in his eyes at the distraction. "So what have you got to show me this time, Sixer?"

The curiosity started to flow between them, Ford grinning brightly as Stan's eyes lit up along with his. It was good to see his brother invested. The last few anomalies had been entertaining and far less life threatening and he was finally relaxing just that little bit more, finally allowing himself to enjoy the good moments and stop worrying that there was something terrible lying just around the corner for them.

Ford hoped this one would be just the same, an intriguing little trip filled with mysteries ready for them to solve.

He also couldn't help the small tug to his lips as he tried to keep a straight face and nodded towards the nearby rocky shore. "I mean... I'm pretty sure the anomaly is close by in that direction."

Stan's smile turned to stone, his head turning with his towards the dilapidated structure. He gave a huff of sardonic irritation, eyes closing in resignation. His smile turned warmer though, the irritation turning to a huff of incredulous amusement as he shook his head, scrubbing a hand down his face as he side eyed his now positively beaming brother.

"Of course it is."

"So, any horrors up there?"

"Ha ha, you're full of it, Sixer."

Ford rolled his eyes, though there wasn't any real heat behind either of their words. Even with all of his trepidation at the sight of the lighthouse, Stan had demanded to go up first without a second thought. Just in case, of course. Ford hadn't had it in him to argue, even if it meant a slower start to his investigation. Not when it also meant they had made that much more progress than when they had first started sailing together, when Stan would continuously try to pull him away from the latest unnerving conundrum he had pulled them both into, without even agreeing to let him just take a look.

At least Stan was willing to give things a chance now, so Ford could compromise as well.

Didn't mean he couldn't still tease him though. After all Stan would do the same if it was the other way around.

"This is weird."

The muttered words bounced around the small room as Ford popped his head up through the entrance. His brother had wandered off, further into the circular area, hand dusting across a worktop in a small kitchenette as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle that didn't quite fit together. "What is?"

"Just-" Stan's arms gestured around in small jerking movements, face thoughtful and perplexed. "It looks a state, doesn't it? Yet that rope ladder's still pretty strong for something that looks like its been left out here alone for years. Not to mention, the beams and wood floor are still holding well enough to support our weights- it doesn't feel like anything's going to fall around our ears. It's all solid and sturdy and in good nick in a way." His eyebrows furrowed further as he turned back to the kitchenette. "But..."

"But?"

"The cabinets in here are all broken apart."

Ford raised an eyebrow. "Like they're falling apart? I mean, that's not that weird considering the age-"

"Yeah, I know, but it is weird when nothing else is that damaged. And no, that's not what I meant. I meant that it's literally been broken apart." He gestured Ford forward, pointing at the missing doors, the left in screws where another tabletop used to be. "See? They've all been taken apart. And it looks like there was a dividing wall here at some point that's gone as well. Doesn't that seem odd to you? Why take the cabinet doors?"

Ford hummed, thoughtful but mostly indifferent. It was strange, but nothing to warrant the interest Stan seemed to be giving it. "True... maybe another boat came along at some point and needed some supplies?"

Stan's face seemed to clear, though it wasn't a look that said he was truly convinced. "Maybe... that's fair." His eyes lit up, the concern fading fast. "Hey, I wonder if there's anything left that will be useful for us." His grin widened, eyes twinkling as he turned to Ford. "What do you reckon?"

"...Really? Is that really where your mind went with that?"

Stan shrugged, still grinning away. "True, if people were desperate enough to grab the cabinets in here there's probably not much else of use anywhere. Still worth a shot."

A floorboard creaked above them as he spoke. Both their heads snapped up at the age old wood settling around them, the stuttering groan far too close to footsteps for either of their liking. They looked at one another, a quick silent conversation snapping between them before the tension broke and a giddy bubble of laughter escaped them both.

"Did we really just get spooked by this old lighthouse creaking? Like it wouldn't do that?"

Ford huffed, shaking his head. "We'll be jumping at our own shadows next."

Stan, still chuckling, nudged his head towards the small wooden ladder into the lantern room above. "Come on, lets go say hello to the keeper."

"Old colleague of yours?" Ford couldn't resist the good-humoured banter as Stan made quick work of the room, his earlier trepidation seemingly discarded along the way as his unanswered questions about the place for once made him as inquisitive as Ford.

Maybe it was just the familiarity of the lighthouse rooms, the thought of all that time spent in a lantern room himself that made him more willing to be up there now than when they had been in their boats safe little haven.

Or maybe he was realising there wasn't all that much to be worried about.

He knew what kind of ghosts waited in these old dusty structures.

"You know, come to mention it..."

"No- do not try and give me one of your old tour stories and pretend it was true. I'm your brother, I know when you're lying." There was a flash of white teeth as Stan's grin grew impossibly wider at his words. He shrugged, a look that said 'your loss' in every gesture before his face turned thoughtful and hopeful once more.

"Oh. I wonder if there's any oil up there still, that could come in handy."

"I'd be surprised if there's even still glass in the lantern."

"...Well, now that just feels wrong. you don't mess with a lighthouse lantern."

"OK, I thought downstairs was weird, but this is just plain strange."

Ford couldn't help but agree, interest now piqued.

The lantern was completely intact.

For a place that hadn't seen a soul in years, the room seemed for all intents and purposes... pristine.

Sure it was dusty, it had obviously not been maintained to any degree, but at the same time, there wasn't an ounce of rust visible on the gleaming metal holding the lantern glass, not one cracked lens or rotted wood beam.

There was even oil ready and waiting, cleaning materials, all the supplies needed ready for the next keeper to occupy it.

And as much as Stan had scrunched his face up disgustedly at the thought of a broken lantern, deep down he had known that Ford was correct. They were about to enter the derelict, broken version of the lantern room he had become accustomed to back home, one that hadn't been looked after, hadn't been maintained as it should have been. Or worse, one that had been pilfered for parts during it's lifetime, leaving behind only a husk of it's former self.

He was just as surprised as Ford at this find.

And more than a little bit unnerved again, the odd nervous pit in his stomach reopening at the sight.

This was definitely Ford's anomaly alright.

He just wasn't convinced they'd be happy once they got some answers about the place.

"Fascinating, it's like it's being held in some kind of stasis." Ford continued his circuit around the lantern, eyes travelling this way and that as he took in every minute detail he could in as short a time as possible: the balcony outside, the central lantern, the desk to one side, books still strewn across it, the seat where the keeper must have sat and watched the world go by, keeping the lantern lit throughout the long nights.

"Yeah... fascinating is not what I'd call it..."

Ford gave him a disbelieving look, one he returned in kind, scowling deeply.

"What? It's just weird alright? When you said you'd found an anomaly I was thinking-" His arms gestured wildly, a few fake punches thrown as he span around, before flopping his arms uselessly at his sides, his mouth twisting like he'd tasted something bitter. "Not... this. Not an old lighthouse with nothing inside it."

"You can't say there's nothing here-"

"No, but it's not an interesting case, right?" Stan had a desperate edge to his gaze though Ford didn't seem to register it. "Let's go find some sea monster or some- mermaids! You keep promising me mermaids and you have yet to deliver on that-"

"What are you talking about? This place is amazing." Ford missed the scrunched up nose, the word 'amazing?' mouthed silently in disdain as he instead turned back around to open his arms wide and look out across the sea again. "There's something here, and I'm going to figure out what it is."

And with that he was gone, journal in hand and face completely distracted. He began to mutter under his breath, scribbling away as if the entire world had fallen around him and there was nothing left but this puzzle to solve.

Stan rolled his eyes.

Considering it was Ford, the world might as well have for all the focus he could give it.

"Yeah, well, while you do that, I'll be back at the shore doing some fishing before the tide comes in." He turned back towards the ladder, shaking his head as he couldn't help but scoff loudly, knowing full well his brother couldn't hear his sarcasm whilst he was stuck inside his own head, nose deep in his book.

"Amazing. This place is amazing? Of course it is, what was I thinking?"

He couldn't focus on fishing.

He couldn't focus on his harmonica.

Stan growled, feet tapping away on the Stan'O'War's deck as he paced back and forth. He could see Ford's silhouette every now and then, mirroring his movements in the lantern room but he knew that Ford's pacing was far more energetic, anticipation and a mystery to be solved fuelling every darting circuit around the room. Too much energy, too much curiosity to stay in one place for long.

Stan's pacing instead felt like too much anxiety buzzing through his veins, fight or flight kicking in, even when there was no physical presence to cause it.

He knew there was something there though, just out of sight and mind, of course he did. It was just out of reach, grating on the edge of all his senses.

Another wisp, another story.

Another ghost.

And he hated that Ford was up there, desperate to find it.

As if you can say anything.​

Stan scowled at his own thoughts, his footsteps growing heavier as he stomped another loop around the deck. "I was looking for him! I knew who and what I was looking for! There's no knowing what-" He sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples as he skidded to a halt in a moment of irritation at everything; himself, Ford, the goddamn lighthouse they'd found themselves at.

"Why, of all things, did it have to be a lighthouse? I could have stayed at home if I wanted to stay in a haunted lighthouse."

Stan opened his eyes again, trailing them over the old wooden structure before him, the way the waves crashed against the rocks, the way the wood creaked and stood firm against the tides.

The way Ford's figure flitted and scurried around the glass top.

His scowl deepened.

God, this place is hideous.​

There was a slight pang of guilt in his chest at the thought, the image of the place he had called home for so many years flashing behind his eyes before he shook his head.

Hey, my lighthouse was perfect, it looked great at all times.​

Well, most of the time.

...Some of the time​.

...At least my lighthouse was stone and not stuck out in the middle of nowhere.

Stan growled, eyes still glued to his brother moving back and forth, annoyance flowing through him like the tide as he tried to wade through the nonsensical thoughts rattling and ricocheting around his skull.

Great, now I'm feeling homesick? What is this? Stupid lighthouses, stupid anomalies, stupid brothers and their stupid nerd brains-

"Gah, what is there to do around here. I'm losing my mind just sitting here." Stan span quickly, swift long strides over to his radio in a moment of desperation. He fumbled for it, heart lifting at the small crackling voices, the half heard music that was just there out of reach as he fiddled with the dials.

He swore profusely, the string of expletives skipping out across the waves, a few moments later when he couldn't focus in on any of the stations. All of them were just out of range, none of them ringing clear no matter how hard he tried to catch them. Instead, crackling white noise filled the boat with whispers that made his hackles raise higher and higher with every half heard word, with every sound garbled between stations that made sentences he wasn't sure he was hearing correctly.

He was even sure, during his attempts, he heard angry yelling. Nothing distinct, just snapping crackles in between the lines, blurred beyond recognition.

"It's nothing but white noise, this isn't helping."

Stan clicked the radio off with a sharp snap, the sound dying instantly back to wind and waves. He gave a sigh of relief, logic taking centre stage. It was just white noise, it was nothing real, nothing concrete, just mixed up signals between different stations distorting and his brain connecting dots that weren't really there.

It didn't help though, he never had been good at being logical. He could tell himself over and over again that it was all in his head but they were, after all, here for a reason. One that was most probably, highly illogical.

And that reason was up there with his brother, this looming unknown phantom that stretched with the shadows cast by the lighthouse, ebbed and flowed around them with the tide, most assuredly there but impossible to prove all at once.

Stan grit his teeth, snarling out another spray of curses before he stormed into the cabin, eyes darting around in quick, urgent sweeps. This wouldn't do, there was nothing for him to really focus on, nothing calming or collecting, so if that was the case, he'd solve the mystery from here. It all seemed simple really, his brother over complicating things as he waited for a sign, wanting irrefutable evidence and begging for answers that Stan was sure could be found if he just took a step back and really thought about what he was looking at.

He gave a huff of ironic amusement as his finger skimmed along the map that Ford had left out, tapping loudly when he found his mark.

When had the tables turned this much? When had Ford started jumping into mysteries wholeheartedly without doing any research first?

...Probably since he himself started trying to stall the inevitable and keep them looking for more and more clues before they first stepped foot anywhere.

His ironic laughter turned into a deep sigh, the truth not entirely wanted. But he knew it was the case. Ford just wanted to solve some mysteries, sometimes half the fun of it was just jumping into the unknown.

The thrill of the adventure.

...Stan couldn't really argue when he could feel it himself, the old emotion he thought had been well and truly destroyed years ago, rising higher and higher like the tide whenever Ford spoke of lost treasure and mysterious fluid creatures that hid amongst the waves.

Whenever they caught a glimpse of something - bright, glittering gold basking in the sunlight or shimmering silver bathed in moonlight. Whenever they heard the calls, the songs, long lost sounds that weaved through the breeze and danced across the deck towards them. The awe, the intrigue and overwhelming curiosity that took his breath away as they found themselves staring at creatures that were hardly ever seen, were usually confined to the pages of a book that kids would one day decide were nothing more than fairy stories. Fanciful creations to keep them dreaming and imagining until they grew too old for the notion.

But they knew better, they knew otherwise.

They had the chance to see it all, with their own eyes, to bring back trinkets and photos to show the kids back home just what wonders were really out there, just waiting to be seen if you only knew where to look.

This trip had given him back that childish sense of adventure, that yearning to discover, to solve, to hunt for treasures that had been lost for centuries.

And there it lingered, fizzling below the surface of his skin, no matter how much he tried to layer caution and hesitation over every new puzzle Ford threw at him.

This was... different though.

There wasn't any bright gems of intrigue to really grab his attention, no bubbling excited explanation from his brother, no small wisp of a notion that this story had any sign of a happy ending.

All he saw was dust and ash. This entire rocky scene was cold, grey and lifeless. It lacked all the small signs he'd come to associate with the fun adventure him and his brother were on.

...He just wasn't a lover of ghost stories.

Not anymore.

Not after everything.

"I would have thought Sixer would have lost the taste for them as well, considering- but then again he probably thinks this can't just be a haunted lighthouse we've stumbled across." Stan's eyes trailed the shelf above the table, mouth twisted in his musings before he finally caught sight of what he was looking for. "There, that's the one." It took a few moments to get to the book in question, stuffed right at the bottom of a pile of haphazardly left journals crammed full of post it notes and scribbled musings. "Honestly, you of all people should look after your books better. Just because it's not a textbook doesn't mean it can't come in handy." He tutted to himself as he wormed the small paperback out, trying hard not to drop a stack of heavy hardbacks on his head in the process, even if the irritation held a soft flare of affectionate mischief at it's core.

He still remembered Ford's rolling eyes and exasperated spluttering when Stan had presented the book to him.

It had been an impulse buy at a small port they'd docked in, the book catching his eye gleefully, unable to resist the notion blooming brightly in the whirring of his mind just how great a present it would be for the next leg of their adventure.

Ford's reaction hadn't disappointed.

"Really, Stan?​ Nautical Ghost Stories? You really think anything of value is going to be in there?"

"What? You never know. I'm sure it'll come in handy one day."

"Honesty, Stan, that's hardly a scientific journal. You might as well believe every gullible tourist back at the Mystery Shack. I mean look at the front cover!"

"Wow, never thought you'd judge a book by it's cover."

"Stan!"

"Alright, alright, I'm teasing! I'm just teasing. I thought it would be good fun for a boring day or two, was all... Besides, I was curious if it had one story in particular."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I thought you might be in it. What? You technically are a nautical ghost story- or, were rather-"

He could still feel the rather impressive shove his brother had given him, not to mention the strangled, high pitched, indignant noise that meant his brother had absolutely no words to throw back at him.

Stan shook his head, the smile fading as he flipped to the index of the book. As fun as it was to remember that particular moment of sibling annoyance, reminiscing wasn't part of his plan in that moment.

He glanced back at the map a few times, scanning the surrounding bay and all it's small details, leaning down closer, eyes squinting to read the minute text beside each landmark before returning to the book, palm flat against the page as he went through every line.

He gave a vicious grin, a bark of victory as he ran his finger over a particular number and flicked through the pages quickly to find the specific story he was after.

"Hah! Told you this book would come in handy."

The lighthouse gave a rather ominous creak outside, his eyes snapping from the book up to the porthole, to where his brother stood, within an instant. He snapped the book shut, taking note of the number again before stuffing it unceremoniously under his arm. He grabbed a few other items, his plans slightly changed as he realised that maybe the cabin of their boat was not the best place to zone out in and ignore the rest of the world.

At least, not until his brother stopped being a pain and got back on the boat as well.

He set himself up, ready to spring into action if the need arose before settling down once more, the book warm and familiar in his hands against the biting cold of the ocean spray.

"Now then, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Beep, Beep, Be-​

"Blasted thing. No help at all."

Ford's search for answers was turning out to be a fruitless endeavour.

A downright useless, frustrating, waste of time.

He growled, a bubble of pent up impatience overflowing from his chest and out of his throat as he sharply muted the small anomaly detector at his wrist. At first it had been helpful, fuelled him on as the beeping became a fast paced hum of activity, but now it was becoming a constant reminder that what he was here for was nowhere to be found.

But it was here, it had to be here. According to all his equipment he was right on top of it.

So why was nothing happening?

Sure, the lighthouse was interesting, but there was only so long he could look around the two confined rooms before that grew tiresome. They may be strange, locked in a discordant stasis from one another and the world around them, but that didn't really constitute a big enough fish to hold his attention for long.

Yet, even so, the anomaly detector had continued to beep, to confirm that there was something big here, a vast amount of energy that still lingered in this particular spot from times long past. This place should have been teeming. Fizzling and buzzing with activity.

There should have been something, some high string of emotion caught in this place that showed itself as soon as they entered.

Not this... hush, this emptiness frozen in time, hollow and lost and devoid of- well, everything.

The only thing that kept him from giving up entirely was the feeling of being watched, that subtle hint to the air that something was watching and waiting from the corners of the room. Biding it's time, ready to catch him when he would be unaware.

Well, that wasn't going to happen. If only it would give up on that ridiculous, futile notion and just show itself, they could get on to the fun part of this investigation.

Not this mind numbing, infernal waiting game.

It was taking almost all of his attention to stay awake, pacing back and forth to keep himself in the present.

Ford groaned, halting what must have been his hundredth rotation of the small lantern. He glanced up at the ceiling in defeat, shoulders slumping as he went. "This is absurd. I'm chasing blasted shadows." He looked down at his detector, eyebrows furrowed as he gave it a vicious shake. "Stupid thing must be broken. There's nothing here, nothing really interesting at least." He gave the room another critical eye, sure there must be a logical explanation to the room's apparent upkeep, something normal and bog-standard and generally not what he had hoped for when they found themselves staring at the imposing wooden structure.

Maybe there was something here, some small mystery.

But it wasn't worth anymore of his time, that he was sure of.

Another strangled bitter noise escaped him as he glowered, stomping his way back towards the ladder down. He lashed out at the table leg as he passed, just a small kick but one filled with venom at the disappointing room. A vindictive pleasure filled him as a pen rattled across the top, the sheaves of paper shifting and scattering away from each other as if panicked by the unexpected hit.

None of them had been useful to him, normal every day logs that he had seen Stan accidentally still tend to keep from time to time. Information on the weather, the wind speed, the air pressure- base scientific notes that were useful for navigation and had probably helped the previous keeper during his work but fell short in information that Ford required at that particular moment.

"Waste of my time-"

Shouldn't even be here!

Waste of space-​

The vicious, vindictive words in his head seemed to explode, echoing around the room. He paused for a second, blinking owlishly as the anger ignited, vibrating through the wood around him, trembling all the way down to the waves crashing on the rocks below, a cacophony of sounds inside his head that he couldn't quite seem to control, couldn't put a stop to no matter how hard he tried to think rationally through them.

And then the bubble burst, the sounds no longer confined to the room he stood in, his eyes widening as he realised it wasn't his voice he could hear.

The remarks grew muffled, indistinct. Cracking curses and resounding yells from below him. The sound of scraping- wood against wood, ringing ceramic clattering against something solid and heavy.

Floorboards creaked, thunderous footfalls mingling in with the sharp snapping words.

And within an instant the frozen hesitation, the patient curious standstill he had found himself at, melted into pure concern.

Something was wrong.

"Stan?"

The wind slammed into the glass beside him as he began to move forward, diverting his attention with it's ferocity, howling in tandem with the still indistinct yelling from below.

He flinched at another loud crack from below, wood splintering and groaning under a heavy weight.

There was a strange finality to the noise that sent a lead weight sinking through his gut. An abrupt silence, a breath of shock, before the cursing started up afresh.

What's happened? Has he hurt himself?

Has something hurt him?​

He was off before the train of thought had finished, adding his own cacophony of sounds as he clattered down the rickety staircase that led to the room below. He raced down as worry flooded through his veins, hoping against hope that he hadn't been too distracted in his work, lost to the challenge of the mystery and hadn't noticed that the entity he was looking for was just with someone else entirely.

Idiot. Why didn't I keep an eye on him? We had no idea what we were dealing with when we arrived-​

His feet fell out from under him, missing the last step on the ladder as he entered the living area of the lighthouse. As soon as his foot hit the floor, the snarling and yelling, instead of growing distinct, vanished entirely.

The wind died down, no longer clattering against the panes, the outbursts of crunching, crashing movement halted in an instant.

"St-Stan?"

Nothing.

There was no sign of him, nothing out of place, or at least nothing new. The room was in the same disrepair it had been in when they had first arrived, solidly built but half dismantled.

No broken plates, no splintered wood.

No brother, crashing angrily about in pain, nor fighting some malicious creature that neither of them had been prepared for-

"Stan? Stan, where are you?"

Ford's voice cracked, loud and unwelcome in the silence, but he ignored the resentful air as he took a wobbling step into the oppressive tension around him.

There was nothing there, at least not in any way his senses could perceive it, yet he felt like he'd interrupted something he shouldn't have ever been aware of. Something private, something burning and bubbling, amplified by the small enclosed space in such a remote location. A torrential pouring rain of emotion, storm clouds that had grown bigger, darker and more dangerous by the second-

And then he had stepped into the fray and it had all suddenly ceased to exist.

But what had it done with Stan?

"Knucklehead! If you can hear me-"

"What?! Sixer, are you saying something up there? Cause if you expect me to be able to hear you from the top of that damned lighthouse I swear to god-"

The tight coil around Ford's chest, the constricting fear that was making it hard to breathe, released, his breaths coming in easier as he heard Stan's exasperated tone. His heart beat a painful rhythm against his chest, all his expended anxiety pulsing out of him in waves of pure relief as he stumbled towards the trapdoor exit down to the rocks below. He knelt down beside it, sticking his head out over the hole to see his brother staring back up at him, head tilted backwards, eyebrow raised and face questioning.

"You alright up there, Sixer?"

"I- y-yes, of course- I mean..." Ford shook his head, running a shaky hand through his hair in abject confusion. He couldn't help but give his brother a once over, even though his attitude proved that nothing was untoward. His body language didn't change that fact, each observation another slip of evidence to loosen the knots of stress that had mounted up. It was almost comical. Whilst he'd been running around upstairs, hearing arguments and fights, panicking and fretting about what he might find, his brother seemed to have been relaxing, an apathetic nonchalance, body and expression utterly unphased. And during it all, he had found the time to drag out a fold up chair from inside their little boat, set himself up on a flat rock at the base of the lighthouse in as comfy a position as possible.

He'd even set up a fishing rod, of all things, lounging back with some light reading while he waited for the fish to bite.

Fishing! While Ford panicked that he was fighting for his life against some unknown entity he had been fishing.

Sometimes he wondered why he even worried.

"You sure? You don't sound alright..." Stan seemed to be appraising him as sharply as he himself was doing to him, an offence that made Ford's hackles rise ever so slightly.

Of all the nerve, for Stan to be worried about him after he had just rushed to his defence!

Ford bit back on the reproachful voice, rolling his shoulders as he took a mental step back from the strange emotional turmoil that had begun to brew. It took a moment, just sitting back and looking on the scene as a whole, seeing it for what it really was. "So you heard me but not all the commotion?" The words came out as more of a musing than an actual question, wondering what on earth it was he'd heard if it hadn't been Stan causing the ruckus.

Stan had no idea what had spooked him, that much seemed obvious. If he wasn't the culprit, as he was making quite clear, then Ford was sure the cacophony would have brought him halfway up the rope ladder, if not into the living quarters themselves by the time Ford had made his way down from the lantern room.

Stan wouldn't have heard all that noise and not done the exact same thing he himself had done, wouldn't have left him to deal with whatever the adversary was all alone, without jumping into the fray himself.

"Commotion?" Stan's nonchalance faded quickly into suspicion, half out of his chair at Ford's words, which only confirmed Ford's new hypothesis. "What commotion? What's going on up there, Sixer?"

"Nothing, nothing- apparently, at least. I... Well, actually I thought it was you." Ford's mouth narrowed into a thin line at Stan's affronted expression, mouth open ready to argue. "What? I heard a ruckus and assumed, it's not exactly a large leap when it comes to you, now is it?"

"Yeah, yeah, well it wasn't, alright? Must have just been the wind or something. Lighthouses make a lot of weird noises that you wouldn't really expect, believe me." Stan rolled his eyes, flopping back into his seat with a soft huff of indignation. "So, are we done here? I haven't heard any of your usual excited eureka moments and I certainly haven't noticed you pick a fight you can't win, so I'm assuming this has been a wasted trip. Beside, the fish aren't even biting." Stan narrowed his eyes, glancing out at the waves in disappointment and kicking his bucket, completely unimpressed by the lack of a haul he could have at least pretended was a day well spent. He tilted back in his chair, eyes back towards him, tired and bored, book listless in his lap. "Well? You coming down or what?"

"No... Not quite yet." Ford sat back on his heels, ducking back out of Stan's sight. His gaze turned thoughtful as he surveyed the room once more. The oppressive aura had dissipated at some point during their conversation but there was still an air of resentment hanging, the lingering echoes of an argument that hadn't been between them, nor come to a satisfying conclusion.

Those voices definitely hadn't been in his head.

"I think I'd like to look around some more, just for a little bit longer."

Perhaps there was more to this place, after all.

"Ford?"

"Hmm?"

"Ford, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're doing something far too stupid for my genius brother to actually be doing. So I thought I should ask and see what you're really up to."

On any other occasion Stan would have been satisfied and proud by Ford's little exasperated huff at his words.

But as it was, he was just intensely worried that Ford was about to prove all of his assumptions correct.

"There's something here and I intend to figure out what it is." Ford counted off a number of items in his head, moving things around as he checked that he'd brought them all up with him from the boat, ignoring the way Stan rubbed at his temples, as if a headache was forming behind his eyes, at his words. "So far, whatever it is has decided to stay hidden, but that might change the later into the day it gets. Some creatures are nocturnal, after all-"

"And so your brilliant plan is to stay the night?" Stan took his glasses off for a second, scrubbing his eyes further in the hopes that this was all some ridiculous mirage and his brother wasn't willingly deciding to sleep in a haunted lighthouse when their boat was literally sitting not fifty yards away. "Of course you are. Spectacular."

Of course he had been right.

He wasn't sure why he was in any way surprised by these antics, they were hardly new.

Besides, he would have been blind not to know this was exactly what Ford was doing when he finally descended to where he sat and made more than one quick trip to their boat, his backpack heavy and full each time he went back up the ladder.

It was only on the third trip that Stan determined he was actually being that idiotic and thought it best to follow him up and put a stop to this monumentally stupid plan.

He wasn't entirely sure why he was so against this anomaly, it wasn't particularly dangerous, at least not in the sense of other much more lively- and dare he even think it, fun- mythical creatures they came across, but all in all this one felt far more insidious, far more tense than their usual habit of tackling a beast they really should have known better than to mess with.

Maybe it was because he'd dealt with this type of being for far too long.

Maybe it was because it no longer felt like a mystery to be solved, more a well known fact that he didn't really feel like revisiting on a daily basis.

Regardless, he was not staying up here for the night. That was for damned sure.

And if his brother thought he was staying up here- well he had another thing coming.

"And what's wrong with our perfectly good boat at the bottom of the ladder?" Stan leant against the worktop, slowly pushing the items Ford had scattered around the room into one pile in the hopes of slinking at least some of them back down without him noticing. "I take personal offence at you choosing this place over the Stan'O'War to sleep in. What did our boat ever do to you?"

His twin's infuriating sigh, did little but incense him further.

As did his rather patronising voice.

"Now Stan, you and I both know that many wary anomalies, such as this one, would rather stay where they are familiar."

"That's what you think's happening? You think this thing is just too shy?"

"Stan." The word was clipped, filled with barely held together irritation that spoke volumes for Stan getting right under his skin, precisely where he wanted to be at that moment in time. A thorn in his brother's side until he finally gave in and had a proper conversation with him, a position where he could actually win instead of being uselessly brushed off to one side whilst his brother continued to do as he pleased. "Look, I won't be able to research anything from the boat if the presence stays up here. And if it won't come to me, then I have to go to it, it's just the way it goes." He glanced up for a moment, an almost apologetic smile on his face as he looked from Stan to the window with a shrug. "I'm sure the Stan'O'War will forgive me. Just this once."

"Oh, will she now. Well, don't blame me when-"​

"Did you manage to catch any fish?"

"-she decides to throw you off into the water- wait, what? Have I done what now?"

"Caught any fish. You were down there long enough."

Stan's hackles raised as Ford went back to his research, no longer deigning to look up from his books even as he spoke, the words nonchalant and uninterested, as if he knew that Stan had wasted his day away, unlike himself. Stan begged to differ, puffing out his chest at what he could only deem was his twin's lofty, high and mighty attitude. "Yes, I did, actually." He perked up in a stroke of brilliance, eyes lighting up as he clapped his hands together. "Enough for a bang up meal tonight back on the-"

"Excellent. I hoped so. I've already taken the initiative and brought our camping stove up. We shouldn't need to make any more trips back to the boat now until we're done with our investigation." He hummed thoughtfully, tapping again at his book as he scrutinised the room, almost forgetting Stan was still there with him. "Well... maybe one more trip is in order..."

"What? No, no, no, I draw the line at that." Stan crossed his arms in front of his chest, waving them around in agitation. "You want dinner, you come back to the boat."

Ford had the audacity to look over his glasses at him in that moment, eyebrow raised haughtily. "Should I go grab the bucket myself then?"

"No."

Ford shrugged, a playful, loathsome smirk to his features as he turned away again. "Fair, I did think you'd want to put all your fishing gear away yourself, after I accidentally got all the wire tangled up last time-" Stan hissed at the memory, pulling another twitch to Ford's mouth. It had taken him hours to fix that, not that he'd really minded the rather monotonous work so much as not being able to sit and relax when they had an afternoon off for once because he hadn't noticed until it was too late. "-That's what I thought. I'll be up here if you need me."

"Where else would you be, ey?" Stan rolled his eyes as Ford hummed noncommittally, well and truly entrenched in his research again. Instead he gave up for the moment, following his brothers advice to put his old gear away before anything happened to it. As much as he could have bought new when they finally set out on their journey, and even Ford had offered to do as such, he hadn't seen the point. The old rods and reels had served him well over the years, and he wasn't about to let them fall into disrepair just because his brother was being as difficult as ever. He gathered up everything he could in one go, eyeing up the bucket beside the fold out chair he hadn't managed to get under one arm as hard as he tried. "I'll be back for both of you in a bit." He muttered darkly, eyes glancing up to the floor above him to make sure his brother wasn't listening. "See how he likes it when he has to come down here for dinner."

He whistled loudly as he went on his way, happy and sure in his foolproof plan.

Even stumbling on his way to the boat, having picked up far too much stuff for one trip, didn't dampen his mood.

After all, it wasn't like anyone was around to see him trip, his brother's nose would most definitely be too deep in that journal of his by now.

...Or so he'd thought.

One short, fairly quick trip to and from the boat however, left him staring down in shock at his folded chair, standing neatly ready for him to take away, propped up against one of the lighthouse struts.

The bucket was nowhere in sight.

"Son of a-" Stan kicked at the strut, his chair clattering to the floor, to ring out along with his own fizzling fury.

Of course he had.

Stan's head snapped upwards, eyes narrowing as if he could see his brother's smug expression through the floor.

Of course he had! Why hadn't he thought of that?

He came very close to clapping a hand to his forehead, but he resisted, instead scrubbing a hand down his face in a moment of resignation. A soft whine escaped him, pure disappointment and disapproval as he continued to rub at his eyes. "Man, I've got a headache."

The waves crashed behind him, a flutter of sea spray hitting the back of his neck as the wind tugged at his jacket, dragging his attention away from the bottom of the lighthouse. His expression turned thoughtful, his mouth a thin line as he reasoned with himself.

He could just go back to the boat.

Leave Ford to it.

If he wanted to stay up there that much, maybe he should let him.

But that didn't mean he had to.

That would​ show him, wouldn't it? Ford would never expect him to let him get himself in and out of trouble on his own. Maybe it would be good for him, both of them. Stan could have a peaceful evening in the boat, just like he had decided and Ford could do his research without his nagging brother hovering over him.

He stood there for a few moments, thoughts trickling through like treacle, each one another little voice in agreement.

And then he gave the most world weary sigh he could muster.

"Who am I fooling? Of course I'm going back up there."

He grit his teeth in determination, hands clapping down on the nearest rung of the ladder. "And I'm bringing you back down with me, you ignorant nerd."

His words were a lot more confident than he was actually feeling about the matter, but he was counting on his pure resolve and stubbornness to convince his brother.

...And if that failed, maybe he'd just try and bodily drag him from the building... somehow. He'd think up Plan B properly later when it came to that.

...He already knew there was a high chance it would come to that.

After all, convincing his brother that this was a terrible idea was going to be a bigger pain in the neck than being knocked about by that giant sea serpent they'd faced two weeks ago.

It would probably take longer than getting the upper hand in that particular fight as well.

And be far more tedious.

At least trying to punch that monstrous thing had been a fun challenge. And one that, regardless of what Ford said, he had succeeded in doing. And he would succeed in this as well.

No matter how long it took.

He sighed deeply, settling himself into the strange concoction of the most annoying sibling he could be, whilst simultaneously being the voice of reason, for however many hours it would take to get his brother to at the very least do as he requested even it was begrudgingly and without conceding victory to him.

...Not for the first time, Stan wondered how they got themselves into these predicaments.

He really should not be allowed to be anyone's voice of reason, let alone his brother's.

Stan had forgotten just how good Ford had gotten at tuning him out.

Stan had forgotten many things, whilst stuck in the stubborn loop that he was right and that Ford needed to acknowledge that.

Things that were now coming back to bite him.

"Shit."

Really, he only had himself to blame. Well, no, he reasoned with himself. He had Ford to blame. But he blamed himself for not paying attention to their surroundings when it was obvious that Ford was completely oblivious and uncaring in that regard.

He blamed himself for not being able to get it through his brother's thick skull that this was one of the dumbest plans that he'd had on record.

Well, no, that's not fair. He's had lots of poor ideas, much worse than this when it comes to walking straight into danger-

No, actually, you know what? We're high up above the sea in a rotten old lighthouse that could fall around our ears at any moment. I'm being very fair.​​

"...What?"

Stan turned back to him, a deep set scowl across his face as he looked between him and the trapdoor down to the boat. "It's high tide."

"Hmm?" Ford shuffled forward, eyes darting down the hole in the floor to see the rocks below had submerged beneath the waves, their boat now a swim away from where they had left it moored to the edge of the outcropping. "Oh." He blinked up at Stan before smiling brightly, blissfully ignorant to Stan's affronted disbelief. "Guess we're definitely staying up here tonight."

"You can't be- Come on, Sixer!"

Ford really didn't see what all the fuss was about.

It didn't stop Stan trying though.

"OK, so- I've had a look at the old tide tables in here and we should actually be able to leave again in four or five hours." Stan presented the small book to Ford with a winning, victorious smirk. "Sure, it'll be dark out at that point and we'll have to be careful on the rocks but I don't see why we can't just go back to the ship then."

"Ridiculous. We'll have to take all the stuff back as well. At what? Two in the morning? We might as well just stay up hear and do it all at first light." Ford didn't even deign to look up from his journal, scribbling away as he sat on an old rickety chair he'd found that still seemed usable.

"But-"

"You said it yourself, that would be dangerous and it's a risk we don't need to take, we've got everything we need up here, just as I planned." He paused in his scribbling, closing his eyes as he heard his brother's muttered grumbles under his breath. "Honestly, Stan, you said it yourself. It's just an old lighthouse. Why are you so determined for us to go back to the boat? It's not like you think anything is here, now do you?"

Silence met his words, damnable and irritating in it's own way. Of course he wanted Stan to stop complaining and let him get on but he also knew his brother, just like he knew himself, and giving up quite so abruptly and easily even when beaten just wasn't either of their fortes.

Which meant that Stan was most probably silently mocking him whilst he continued his work, mimicking him and shaking his head as a way to alleviate tension.

He could practically feel the rolling eyes in the back of his skull. "Stan, stop it. I don't need to turn around to know what you're up to."

No response.

Ford paused yet again in his work, this time his senses more heightened to his environment. This was the moment that Stan would stand up straight, head held high and deny all knowledge of what Ford was talking about, though he wouldn't look him in the eye because they both knew it was one of his least convincing lies. He'd then either walk away from the entire debacle, a hard feat in the current circumstances, or continue on with his side of the debate now that he had gotten his brother well and truly distracted from his writing.

And yet- none of that was happening.

Stan was still silent behind him. There were no footsteps, no small rustles or clinks that said his brother was still making faces behind him or doing anything of the sort.

A bone weary sigh left Ford, thoroughly resigned to the fact that Stan had won in getting his full attention in that instance. "Alright, if this is just a new ploy to get me to pay attention to you, then well done, you've succeeded- Stan?"

Stan wasn't even looking towards him.

Ford put his pen down in the crease of his book, scrutinising his brother. He was stood beside their small pile of belongings, having gleefully squirrelled them all back together in the hopes of whisking them back to the boat, presumably when he thought Ford wasn't looking. But all thought of them seemed to have been disregarded in that moment. The small tide tables book was limp in his hand, his proud find now of little importance from the way Ford was sure he may drop it at any moment if he wasn't careful, though he wasn't sure what exactly had caused the change. Even if Ford had pushed the small argument of Stan's away, it hardly meant Stan ever believed his words were final in any matter.

But none of that was what truly made Ford turn around in his seat, following Stan's pensive gaze to the small gallery door, tracing over the glass inset that stared out across the sea and the few old ropes tied to the railing that blocked a portion of the view, trying to discern what exactly had distracted his brother quite so abruptly to no avail. "Stan? Earth to Stan?" His words came out humorous, though there was an edge of nerves that fizzled behind the less genuine amusement. It wasn't unlike his brother to space out from time to time, just as he zoned into his thoughts, but it didn't usually happen in the middle of a fairly heated debate.

He just hoped it was that, his brother staring off into the middle distance, absorbed and lost in his own thoughts. It gave him something to tease him about, clear the air around them and hopefully make this trip far more enjoyable for the both of them.

"Hmm? What was that?"

Ford felt himself relax minutely as Stan blinked, his eyes returning to focus as he seemed to realise where he was and what he was doing. He stood up straighter, more self conscious as he came back to the world of the living. "Nothing, just wondered where you'd gone off to."

"Me? Nowhere, I'm still right here- what were we talking about?"

Ford's relaxing muscles froze back into tenseness as Stan struggled to get his bearings again. It wasn't that strange, not really, not the forgetfulness or the dazed expression, but Ford couldn't help but notice something more disturbing about this particular senior moment.

The abnormality in his body language. The absence of his sheepish, awkward expression as he realised what he'd done, turning to Ford instantly.

How instead his eyes stayed glued to the gallery door, even as his head turned towards him to talk with him, still distracted, still lost to something else even if he could now at least hear his brother's voice.

"Nothing important."

Stan blinked a few times at Ford's words, shaking his head as he pulled his gaze away from where it had been rooted, a somewhat difficult feat from where Ford sat and watched with avid attention. "No- that doesn't sound right. I feel like I was winning an argument."

"Hah, as if." Ford snorted, warmth colouring his words, though it didn't seem to reach his core, a cold seeping through as he saw his brother still trying to shake whatever had distracted him. "Stan?"

"Yeah?"

He couldn't just leave it at that. "What were you looking at?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing."

Ford levelled him with an unimpressed expression, Stan refusing to meet his gaze head on. "Now, why don't I believe you."

"Because I lie a lot and now you can't tell the difference?" Stan grinned cheekily, still staring over his left shoulder instead of at him. "See, that was my plan all along. I'm a brilliant liar, for more than one reason now."

"You're a terrible liar."

Stan's smile gleamed, white teeth bright and victorious. "Slander, I ran an outstanding business based purely on lies. I win this round." He tried to shrug off the entire conversation, Ford could practically hear his brain whirring as he tried to jump abruptly into another topic. "Right, I'm starving. Where did you put that fish, Sixer-"

"Stan. What. Did. You. See?"

"I already told you! Nothing! I wasn't looking at anything!"

"Stan-"

He felt like a teacher, or a parent scolding a petulant child.

Maybe Stan felt that too, heard something in the tone, as soon enough his shoulders hunched and his hackles raised, eyes gleaming dangerously in response.

"What? Don't 'Stan' me! I was just thinking! That's all! Thinking about this stupid situation you've got us into." Stan huffed, a deep set scowl marring his features as he scooped up one of the sleeping bags, his book and an old oil lamp hooked on to one of the wood beams. "So to make the best of a bad situation, I'm going upstairs."

"Upstairs- what? Why is that any better than down here?" Ford stood up, dragging his gaze away from the spot Stan had been staring at. "Did you see something, Stan? Is that why you don't want to stay down here?"

"What?" Stan's voice couldn't be filled with any more irritated disbelief if he tried. "No. It's just- familiar up there, that's all. And not someone else's living quarters." He looked over at the old beds, the small kitchen, his scowl shifting into something colder, more uneasy than it had been before he shook it back beneath the hard unimpressed glower. "Look, I don't want to be here. At all! I think I've made that clear enough. The least you can do is let me choose where I sleep without all these questions! I don't need a reason for that, do I?"

"No, I- of course not. There's no need to get so defensive about it though."

"Defensive?!" Stan spluttered for a moment, indignation sparking behind his eyes before he took a long, steadying breath. "Right. Sorry. But just you jumping to conclusions is-" He shook himself. "Whatever, just- you're right, upstairs is no better than down here, but I'd rather be up there, alright? You don't have to stay down here, either."

Ford shrugged, still slightly hurt by the odd outburst, and knowing that something in Stan's words wasn't the complete truth. "No, I think I'll stay down here. I missed a lot of the paranormal activity whilst I was in the lantern room, I wouldn't want to miss anything throughout the night."

Stan blinked at Ford's retreating back, unable to hold in the loud scoff that made his brother pause. "You just answered your own question, Sixer."

Ford had no idea what he was talking about.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep.

He had found during their journey, that it was getting harder and harder to pull all-nighters, what with the mix of an ever present brother concerned for his well-being and a ship full of labour intensive work to keep him to a fairly regular sleep schedule on a day to day basis. He didn't oversleep by any means, and if he could, he was sure Stan would actually recommend he slept more. He fortunately couldn't however as he had absolutely no room to talk, his own sleeping habits still restless and disjointed for the most part. Regardless, his body was evidently beginning to get used to the fact that sleep was a part of his routine and whether or not his mind wanted to stick to that routine, crying out for lost and wasted time he could have spent doing something productive, his body unfortunately had decided it did.

That didn't mean he didn't still try to push through the inevitable, when the moment gripped him.

Who knew what would happen during the night here, what fascinating phenomenon he'd be able to record and study if he just waited for it to reveal itself to him.

All he had to do was stay awake to do so.

But the hours trickled by. The sun set peacefully behind the horizon, the soft pink hues overtaken by the orange warmth of another lamp he'd pulled down to keep writing by. It was dim though, eyes straining if he looked anywhere other than the small circle of light he'd afforded himself. It was an itch behind his eyes, the gnawing of sleep blurring on the edges of his vision in the darkness, and the sea kept up a steady thrumming lulluby of white noise, crashing on the rocks below, dragging pebbles back and forth, back and forth...

If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine he was being rocked by the waves, just like every night since they had started this journey. Curled up, warm and safe in his now familiar bunk, his brother still moving around on the deck above him.

He smiled softly, dazed and sleepy amusement permeating through as he rested his head on his crossed arms, curling over the desk before him, content to just listen to the pitter patter of feet above, the wood creaking above his head as he heard his brother muttering away to himself. He could only imagine what his brother was up to. Knowing him it was probably no good and he'd bear the brunt of it once he awoke.

He'd let him have his moment though, instead of ruining the surprise now. Usually the mischief was well intended after all. Sure he might find a few books hidden away or a distraction intentionally set up to pull him away from whatever he had thrown himself into this time without thought, but it was also just as frequently accompanied by a bright beaming smile, and genuine barks of laughter that he couldn't help but join in with.

The footsteps grew fainter, as distance as the crashing waves as he began to drift, sleep warm and welcome as he snuggled into the thin blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

There really was nothing better, than their small little boat, bobbing along the waters-

THUD. THUD. THUD.​

Ford awoke with a start. He propelling himself backwards from his small cosy nook and nearly unseated himself in the process, chair wobbling precariously as his arms windmilled violently to try and settle the motions, all the while still blearily trying to get his bearings.

It took far too long to realise he wasn't in his bunk, even longer to realise the wooden room around him was not their familiar cabin and that Stan's footsteps above had not been wandering along the darkening deck of their safe haven on the sea.

Which also meant that that wasn't Stan falling over or something equally ridiculous as he finally found his way into the cabin area for the night.

"S-Stan? That you?" Ford tried to choke out a laugh, wondering if Stan had tripped as he came down the small ladder, or hit some furniture he hadn't been expecting to be there. "You alright-"

THUD. THUD THUDTHUDTHUD-

The words died on his tongue, turning to ash as his mouth went dry. It was more frenzied than a simple trip, not to mention it was still reverberating around the room, and he found his eyes slamming shut in pain on impulse at the assault. He curled inwards in his chair, hands clamping down on his ears on instinct. It was more like hammering, a deafening sound that ached and vibrated to his very core, rattling his bones as he gritted his teeth and tried to think through the raucous din.

It was so difficult though, so hard to even move through the thick sound as it invaded his senses, all encompassing, a pounding wooden ring rattling through his head and ricocheting off of every membrane. There was a desperation behind every swing, quick and fleeting and Ford could feel a panic that was not completely of his own making creeping in, hysteria, paranoia, and regret pouring through the fissures that every resounding clap made through his frame.

And through it all, if it wasn't quite so loud and therefore impossible to really listen through it, he was almost certain he could hear a voice in amongst it all.

"No. No, no, no, no- NO."​

He tried to focus in on the strange undertone to the hammering, tried to figure out if he was really hearing anything at all or if his mind was playing tricks on him. But it was so hard to hear through, so hard to push down the bubbling choking nausea that it had all gone wrong, that he had done something so wrong- so many things wrong and this was the consequence.

That he was doing something so so wrong.

There was a rattle of metal, a creaking, groaning sound as if something was being wrenched out of place, chunks of the building being torn asunder.

With it came an abrupt waft of pure decay, carrion unearthed by the demolition. Death and rot and dirt, the putrefaction process sped up exponentially as the material was exposed to the world after decades tightly locked away.

Ford squeezed his eyes shut even tighter as the stench grew stronger, overpowering, that smell so unmistakable, so repulsive, and now so, so close to him. It was there, he could feel it, if he just kicked his foot out he was sure it would connect- but what it would connect with, he wasn't so sure he wanted to know anymore.

And he most definitely did not want to see it.

There was another crash from further away, dividing his attention. The smell vanished entirely, a shuddering breath escaping him as he gulped in much needed fresh air, the salt brine burning his lungs in a way he could only find purifying in that instance. There was a second solid thunk of wood hitting wood and tinkling shards of metal as if the nailed boards surrounding him were being forcibly ripped out, crying out in splintering pain, desperate to stay where they were regardless of the force being exerted on them. The wind and sea howled behind the noise, thunder rattling through the bones of the old lighthouse, the entire building groaning out in torment as Ford felt it shift and sway beneath his feet.

Oh god- Stan was right, wasn't he? This place is going to fall apart around our ears. I'm sorry, what have I done​-

I'm sorry, I'm sorry. This is the only way. Please don't hate me. Not for this. I wish I didn't have to do this but-

Wait... Do what?​

Ford clattered out of his seat, once again catapulting himself backwards as it became starkly clear that there was a voice that was not his own, slipping seamlessly through his skull. He snapped his eyes open, entire body poised to fight as his head moved in quick sharp bursts. The thought of someone else invading his thoughts, playing with his emotions filled him with a cold, stark dread as he panted where he stood, his mind racing to push the influence away, as far away as possible-

It took that moment of heavy breathing, panting, his heart beating hard against his ribs, to realise that the sound he was hearing was just an echo, his blood pumping a painful, hammering beat in his eardrums even if the source no longer existed.

There was nothing out of place, no gaping holes in the side of the lighthouse, no torrential rain speckling him with spray or howling wind biting at him through exposed splintering tears.

The lighthouse's structural integrity was still intact.  So what on earth had he been hearing?

He had finally got his breathing back on track when there was another much softer clunk from nearby, though it sounded deafening to his abused ears, every nerve sparking with electric tension as his neck snapped to follow the noise.

And found himself staring at the one still intact cupboard in the small kitchen, it's door wide open and bouncing ever so slightly against the wall behind it.

His entire world thrummed, his skin tingling with adrenaline as he waited for anything more, as his mind tried desperately to connect the dots and figure out what possible anomaly could have caused that abrupt shift in reality.

And more importantly, why it would have wanted to.

What is it trying to tell me? Show me?

Or does it have no control over that in the first place? Is this just residual energy?

The panic was fading fast, his body slowly straightening from it's tense hunched position as he continued to stare at the cabinet, still hitting the wall every few seconds, the sound growing quieter and quieter with every loss of momentum.

And with it, the more logical part of his mind tried to fill in the blanks.

I was asleep, did I actually wake up properly or did the noise of the cabinet just invade-

No, that can't have been it. It was so loud, it can't have been just that...​

But if it had been real, if that really just happened, then Stan would be down here already, he would have heard you call out-

Wait, where is Stan? Is he still upstairs- what if-

And just as quickly as it had faded, the fear pulsed back to life, logic choked by it's twisting vines of thought. He kicked the chair away from him in his haste, forcing himself to push through everything in his path towards his brother.

What if all that noise was coming from up there? What if this room is fine but the room above bore the brunt of the storm, buckling under it's own weight-​

What if Stan had been fighting up there, all alone- each slamming hammer reverberated through his skull, feeling like another weight in Ford's stomach as he fought down the bile that threatened to burn up his throat, desperately trying hard not to think of every impact against his brother, or a body hitting wood, over and over and-

He ran up to the ladder, climbing as fast as he could, hating how every impact, every footfall jarred through his nerves, fuelling the images flashing behind his eyes.

No, he would have- he would have shouted for help- he can't be-

He just can't be.​

He couldn't even finish the sentence, the words too disturbing to even comprehend in that moment.

He clambered up into the room, bright light engulfing him and making him squint past blurring flickers that refused to fade as he blinked rapidly.

It was a struggle to hear, struggle to see and he was so desperate to know what had happened, concern so thick and cloying that he wouldn't have cared in that moment if he never knew what the anomaly was, only that his brother was going to be OK and that he had a chance to get him out of here and-

The lights were beginning to blink out of existence, his eyes adjusting to the harsh glow and he found himself lost in a flickering flame, the room sharply coming into focus around him.

The lantern was lit.

"I- what..." He tore his eyes away at a soft disgruntled noise, his gaze catching on his brother's sleeping form. The air in his lungs expelled, pure relief rushing through and the fear gushing out, leaving him boneless and weary, his strings abruptly cut, his legs suddenly turned to jelly as he saw his twin, completely at peace.

No blood, no splintering chunks of wood or bone, no shattered glass- none of the nightmarish thoughts he had envisioned.

Just a peaceful room, not a speck of dust in sight or an instrument out of place, and an orange beacon glowing hot in the centre of the dome, thawing the ice that had been freezing solid through his veins.

As the relief faded into something more manageable, the questions returned, the earlier half promises of not caring discarded without a second thought as all of his theories became further and further from the truth.

An enigma that he couldn't quite solve, one that now included his brother's actions, along with his own state of mind.

Had he really dreamt all of it up?

"Did Stan... tidy?" Ford frowned, rubbing a hand along the nearest shelf and coming back completely devoid of dust. Had that been what all the pacing had been earlier? Had he felt so restless and bored that the act of cleaning was better than coming down to talk to him?

Had he really been that angry at him for getting them stuck up here?

...Considering his own spiralling thoughts on what could have happened only moments ago, all those fluttering painful possibilities he no longer wanted to even entertain, he wasn't sure he could blame him.

Or was it something else? Just like that gripping paranoia, that bubbling guilt and regret that wasn't his own that had risen up like tar, pumping it's poison through his veins- had something done similar to Stan? Pushed him to a frenzy, pushed him back into old habits that Ford had pulled him out of?

He lit the light- why did he? What purpose does it serve? What wanted it lit this time-​

Or had he felt the need to keep busy, to keep moving to try and stave off the lingering thoughts, to try and ignore the presence that was trying to twist and pull, and draw him in?

...That's ridiculous. This is all ridiculous.

There was no way Stan would be sleeping so peacefully if that was the case. Not to mention there weren't a lot of choices to use when it came to tricking the old conman. It would have either been a threat to him or the kids and he was pretty sure he would have heard either of those confrontations. His brother wasn't one to back down when there was a chance of danger around the corner, nor was he one to back down from a threat.

He'd be more concerned for the presence than Stan if it had been foolish enough to even imply hurting one of their family.

​What I doing? Jumping at shadows? At nightmares?

The dark nervous energy was fading once more, the light burning it away at the subtle serenity of the room. It was all beginning to feel embarrassing, his brother tranquil and asleep, his face calm and open. The scene was enough to bring a small smile to his face, even as he laughed mockingly at his own anxious energy. He wanted an anomaly so badly, so desperately wanted there to be something of interest here and he'd got his wish for a few moments in the worst possible way, his mind giving him exactly what he'd wanted.

A wish that had gone so utterly wrong, like most wishes do.

But it had all been a dream, just his mind playing tricks on him. He must have opened that cabinet at some point, a crashing wave knocking it further in the night until it had hit the wall with a loud enough crash to enter his dreams and twist them into horrific parodies of reality.

That had to be it.

If the banging and crashing had actually happened then Stan wouldn't still be resting up here so peacefully, curled up at a desk much as Ford had been before all this happened, his cheek pressed against whatever book he had managed to grab from the boat before the tide came in.

Ford couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him, fond warmth eclipsing any lingering doubts he had. At least he'd have a comical story to tell in the morning, Stan would give him that look that told him it was his own fault, shaking his head in exasperation and then they'd be on their way again. "Wow, you must have been really bored to fall asleep reading. No wonder you found time to tidy this place." The words were quiet though he bit his lip quickly, shushing in apology when Stan's brow creased, his face pushing deeper into his arms as if trying to escape the noise. He found himself moving forward, continuing his soft noises as Stan relaxed again before he noted that Stan really hadn't meant to fall asleep either, the sleeping bag and blankets still in a haphazard pile near the ladder. He tutted endearingly, grabbing the blanket to wrap around his brother, rolling his eyes at the appreciative hum he received in kind, his brother burrowing happily into the newfound warmth. "Such a kid. You're never allowed to tell me off for falling asleep at my desk again."

He patted Stan's shoulder one more time, taking reassurance in the warmth before steeling himself and walking back down the stairs.

He would not be swayed by a frankly absurd nightmare.

He sat himself back down at the desk, checking the lantern to make sure it was as bright as possible in the hopes of keeping himself from falling asleep again and went back to his journal with a new vigour.

At least writing down the preposterous dream would keep him awake for when the real anomaly finally revealed itself.

The cabinet would wake him up again during the night.

He growled pitifully, not even realising he'd been nodding off, his body lurching forward as he straightened himself up, his hand dislodging from it's position against his journal and drawing a deep black line up across the page he'd been working on. "Oh, for f-" He glared up and around accusingly at the offending piece of furniture, innocently bumping against the wall, knocking away as if to politely get his attention.

It didn't matter how many times he got up to close it, it kept swinging open of it's own accord. He almost wished he could go back to the boat and grab his level, prove that it was as irritatingly bog standard phenomenon so his mind didn't fixate on it every time it opened.

He also wished he could go grab some glue and stop the pointless movements indefinitely.

"Why couldn't someone have finished the job, and taken you apart as well." Ford's glare intensified, though he sniffed loudly, trying to prove that it wasn't worth his time as he focused instead on assessing exactly how much damage he had done to his own notes.

There was another loud thud a while later, as he paused to think up the perfect word, mind deserting him in buzzing blankness as he stared at the page, willing himself to remember what he had been meaning to write. He couldn't help but roll his eyes, the snap enough of a noise to drag him back into the room, pen still poised above his page as he sarcastically remarked. "I wasn't falling asleep that time, so that was a bit pointless-"

The snark stuck to the back of his tongue.

The cabinet was closed, no longer snapping against the wooden wall like it had been for hours.

For one, he didn't remember closing it, and two, he most definitely hadn't felt the storm shake the room that time.

Not to mention if it had been the cabinet off balance, the normal logical argument like he had envisioned, then it wouldn't have been able to close itself as well without a hint of stimulus-

The noise happened again, a dull heavy thunk, a solid vibration thrumming through the walls.

And for once Ford had been staring at the offending cabinet in question.

The one that hadn't moved at all.

Ford felt himself lock up, muscles tense as all his arguments and theories tore apart under the evidence now before him. He couldn't pull his eyes away though as the sound came again, his breathing heavy in his ears as his mind started to pull the noise apart further.

It wasn't wood on wood this time, something softer but heavier, no splintering crunches or metallic chinks. Just a heaviness, a deep low groan of the wood's integrity being tested by a solid weight pushing up against it.

There was something else too, something thinner, the creak of rope, pulled taunt beyond measure, swinging back and forth, back and forth...

And it was coming from directly in front of him.

He tried to breath through the constriction in his chest, the sudden lump that had formed in his throat. He was still staring to the side, up and into the kitchen, his mind betrayed by his own senses for not realising sooner where the sounds were actually coming from.

There were eyes in the top of his skull. Burning a hole as he sat there, eyes wide with the influx of sensations and knowledge, trying to distinguish between thought and truth, mind running away from him, falling off the tracks to flit between fight or flight as he continued to sit there frozen. A stark contrast to the sparks flying through his head.

The rope swung again, the sound of it tightening and twisting, adding another layer on his frazzling nerves, one just enough for him to tear his eyes away from their point, and drag his attention in front of him.

There was nothing to see.

Or so he thought at first, his chest heaving with the small breaths his constricted airways would allow.

The path before him was completely clear, uneven wooden floorboards, and age old nails all that was in his eye line, up to the gallery ahead of him.

He squinted out there once he was sure there was nothing inside the room with him, the gallery lit up white and silver in the moonlight, empty and unassuming.

And then in a sudden gust of air, all the breath leaving his lungs in a plume of ice, he realised it wasn't.

The ropes he had noticed early, the ones that obscured some of the view outside, trailing and winding in the wind, tying themselves in knots, were now taunt, stretched as far as they would go, wrapped tight around something large, something heavy that dragged along the floor of the gallery, hit the edge of the railing and fell back towards the door, with every swing of the rope.

His mind tried, desperate attempts at reason, to deny what it was seeing. Maybe the ropes had gotten caught below the gallery, maybe tangled in debris from the sea, that made them move the way they did. Maybe the noises were just from the weight, the wood creaking above where the ropes were tied off and he was just making unreasonable leaps to conclusions, mind slow and twitchy from his environment, and lack of sleep, and nightmares-

Only it wasn't.

Because he could see the ends of the rope tangling around seemingly nothing.

Whatever it was, it was there. Right there, just outside the doorway from the gallery.

He couldn't see it, but as much as he tried to deny it, he could feel it, a bubble of influence, a looming entity that fizzled on the edges of his consciousness, seeping in through the cracks, completely assured in the knowledge that even if he couldn't see it, he knew it was there.

it was there and it was watching him.

Just standing there watching him.

Just like it had been all night.

Ford hissed at the thought, dragging his attention and gaze away from the glass. His heart skipped a solid beat as it sunk nauseatingly into the pit of his stomach.

It had been there all this time. The anomaly that he was looking for. He had been looking for signs, looking for answers-

And all the time it had been watching him back, observing him, listening to him. Content just to wait patiently until he realised it was there, right there in the darkness, doing nothing but stare.

The knowledge was somehow worse, and now he knew, he couldn't forget it. Couldn't ignore the tangible electricity running through the air, that unmistakable feeling of being watched, the mass of energy standing in what his physical senses were telling him was an unoccupied space.

Unnerving, disconcerting, his mind at odds with his body.

And still it did nothing, nothing but creak and groan, shift its position with the wind, the proof of its existence in the heavy dull thuds that set his teeth on edge, that echoed every time one of the hanging taunt ropes hit the railing, a noise they should never have been able to muster on their own.

And yet somehow, the nothingness, now the creature had been caught in its little game, made it all the more terrifying, Ford knowing full well it was letting his mind do the heavy lifting, going into overdrive.

All his logic was going quickly out of the window, all his thoughts- you wanted this. Examine it like any other anomaly, push down all the emotion, you've done it before- remember, you wanted this- vanishing behind that fearful, remorseful veneer, disappearing behind the stark knowledge that this creature, whatever it was, was testing him, judging him.

And by the feel of the tension in the room, it was finding him severely wanting.

The wind howled again, loud and angry, in argument with the roaring sea below. Old bitter enemies in that moment, both of whom seemed more than happy to tear the lighthouse down in the midst of their fight, the room shaking once more as Ford clutched tight to a nearby beam, other hand gripped like a lifeline to his journal. The cabinet clattered open once more, slamming against the wall and ricocheting back, the dreaded hammering replaying in Ford's head for barely a moment before the shaking stopped, the room rocking back into position, losing it's momentum.

Ford couldn't help but decide that if that was the presence's response to scrutinising him, then he most definitely did not want to know what the question had been.

It was still there though, still just outside the door, still patiently watching him, as if nothing had even happened.

Maybe it hadn't. Stan had still not descended to see what all the noise was about.

Maybe it wants me to let it in.​

He gulped, licking his lips nervously at the unwanted thought. He shifted in his seat, glad that his perch at the well worn desk gave him a full view of the gallery and the kitchen without much movement just in case whatever it was tried another approach to getting whatever it was it wanted. He was also glad of the comfort the place afforded, the ladder up to Stan behind him, keeping him safe in the knowledge that Stan would have his back if necessary.

That thought gave him a short moment of reprieve from the onslaught, the thought of his brother serenely sleeping upstairs giving some small semblance of hope.

If he could sleep, peaceful and unharmed, perhaps there was hope that as long as he kept his wits about him they'd both leave here no worse for wear in the morning.

He just had to stay awake, stay rational, stay calm, focus in and pinpoint the thoughts and feelings that were not his own. Now he knew it was there, knew that it wasn't in his head, he just had to stay aware, stay awake, stay active.

It was obvious that sleep would not be an option. Not now, not tonight. Even if his brother had found a way to sleep through it, he didn't want to risk it, didn't want to think about what this thing could do if they were both asleep and unprepared for it.

Not that whatever it was seemed willing to let him try anyway.

But it didn't stop his body from trying, once everything fell quiet once more, once he could almost kid himself that it had just been a bad dream, barely even still there on the edge of his peripherals, letting its presence fade ever so slightly... still there but less corporeal...

And just as he'd suspected, the presence was unimpressed with his futile attempts at trying to push past the inevitable draw of sleep.

Ford clutched the blanket tighter around his shoulders as the ice cold creaking of ropes woke him yet another time, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as it was now accompanied by a faint tapping on the glass ahead of him, coaxing him to look, begging him for just a moment of his time...

Tap... Tap...​

He'd felt the feeling before, the draw to the sea, the calling of the water as he found himself pushing off the shore to see what lay deep in the cove below the Cipher Light.

He wouldn't be fooled again.

Tap.​

He pushed past the feeling, cursing his inability to stay awake as he hunched over his book, scribbling down note after note, anything to keep sleep at bay, anything to keep him occupied enough not to let that morbid curiosity get the better of him and drag his gaze up.

Tap... Tap... Tap...​

And just for a moment, he wondered whether anyone else had sat here, in this exact spot, doing the exact same.

"Wow, you look like shit, Sixer."

Ford gave him the most withering glare he could muster, which judging by Stan's amused quirking mouth, wasn't much. "Gee, thanks. What a nice thing to say to someone first thing in the morning."

Stan snorted, biting on his tongue for a moment before he couldn't seem to resist a retort. "Yeah well, seeing you this grumpy this early in the morning isn't the nicest thing to see either."

Ford bristled, opening his mouth to object, petulant and indignant, but his thoughts were sluggish, any witty banter only half thought up before it was replaced by another chunk of a response. He huffed at himself. It was hardly fair of Stan, to throw wisecracks at him when he'd only just come back to the world of the living, still feeling mildly of death. He winced, squinting in pain as Stan clapped his hands, the sound far too loud this early in the morning. He rubbed them together with an oddly bright gleam to his eyes as he looked around. "Now, what have we got around here for breakfast. I'm starving, and you look about ready to keel over, so I think we need some grub."

The thought of food turned his stomach, that twisting bubbling sensation that he wasn't quite sure meant that he'd throw up at the sight of food, or was so hungry he actually felt nauseous.

One night of disturbed sleep should not make him feel this bad.

He should never have tried to sleep, it somehow felt worse than if he'd just forced himself to push through all night.

"Honestly, Sixer, you look like a small gust of wind will bowl you right over."

Ford's thoughts on food vanished, his glower deepening as Stan smiled cockily at him from near the trapdoor, already piling up the items they'd brought with them ready to leave. There was something completely and utterly unfair about this entire predicament.

Here he was, exhausted, dead on his feet and feeling like he had made no progress at all in figuring out what had happened here.

Yet there his brother stood, wide awake and far too chipper for this early in the morning. Especially for Stan. It was almost unnerving.

The man just liked to grumble and complain, he'd shown that yesterday when he was hellbent on grouching over staying here and yet now he looked like the world was his oyster.

"Yeah? And how come you seem so happy this morning? You're acting like a small child on Christmas."

Wow, great insult there, genius.​

Stan shrugged, face innocent. "No reason."

Liar. You are a terrible liar.​

"I'm just thinking of the great breakfast I'm going to have..."

I don't believe it for a second.​

"I'm sure I can cook up something great back on the Stan'O'War. Glad the tides low enough for us to get back now."

...Really? That's it?

"You're really that happy to get away from this place, aren't you?" Ford shook his head, rolling up his sleeping bag and trying not to equally roll his eyes as Stan's smile turned beaming, though he quickly coughed to cover it up, head bent down to throw stuff in a bag and not look at him.

"Well, I mean. Nothing up here, was there? Spent a night up here for nothing."

"Uh-huh?"

"Yep." Stan popped the 'p' with a relish, still keeping his eyes downcast. "Sorry, we came all this way for nothing, but hey, at least we got to stay somewhere that reminds us of home, right?" He tapped the wood almost fondly, eyes flickering over to the gallery again for just a second, a blink that Ford would have missed if he wasn't watching every movement as carefully as his sleep deprived brain would allow. Ever a scientist, an observer at the very least.

And if he said 'nothing' one more time, he might just snap.

Instead he rubbed underneath his glasses, cursing quietly at how quick to temper he was, how his emotions shifted back and forth, how his mind couldn't seem to stay on one track of thought- shifting and jumping without end, stuttering on randomly before one thought had been completed or fizzling out into a mindless hum if he gave in and let it. And he knew, he really did know, deep down, that it was due to the lack of sleep. It was all bubbling to the surface, body slightly disconnected and his head filled with cotton wool.

He just wanted some answers, that's all he had wanted.

Stan choosing that moment to start whistling happily did not help matters.

Ford whined pitifully, the sound muffled by his hands. "How are you so happy?"

"...You already asked me that, bro."

"Yes, I know, but-" He continued to mumble into his hands for a moment before dropping them, catching his brother in a piercing gaze. "How? How are you so awake?"

"Because unlike someone I tried to sleep?" Stan raised an eyebrow at him, the look stern and parental.

"I did! I did try to sleep." Ford snapped back, crossing his arms at Stan's incredulous look. "But I couldn't- not through the racket this place was causing. How on earth could you sleep through that?"

There was a beat of silence as they stared at each other, both as confused as the other. And then in one simultaneous move, they both straightened, eyebrows raised.

If anyone else had seen it, they might have laughed at their twin reaction, as much as they would have denied it.

"Wait- you didn't hear anything, did you?"

"Sleep through what, exactly? This place didn't creak that much, it wasn't even windy last night."

They both paused again, words jumbling together. Ford waited, mind buzzing with questions as realisation flashed across Stan's face before being quickly smothered, a mischievous, smug smirk pulling at his lips. "What?"

"You didn't spook yourself at this old place, did you?"

"No! Not at all! Something kept waking me up."

"Uh-huh, of course. So... did you actually see anything?"

Ford's face grew downcast, refusing to admit defeat. "Well, no, not exactly."

"Not exactly?"

"I heard something! It kept slamming against the-" He gestured wildly, watching with victorious satisfaction as Stan's eyes instantly zoned into the gallery door with little prompting. "Yes! There, you know something was there, you saw it yesterday." He could feel his tone getting accusatory as his brother stood there, quiet and thoughtful. "Didn't you? You saw whatever it was, that's why you chose to go upstairs for the rest of the evening."

Stan's gaze turned back to him, slow and pensive. It sent something akin to dread down Ford's spine as he waited for an answer, a verdict, waking up ever so slightly under the hawk like scrutiny.

"Maybe."

And with that, the moment passed. Stan shrugged nonchalantly, shifting the full backpack on to his shoulder and getting ready to make the first trip back to the boat without another word.

Ford was almost sure he saw his smug grin stretch wider.

"Maybe? What do you mean 'maybe'?"

"I mean maybe. Now are you coming down for breakfast or what?" Stan's voice was almost sing song as he vanished from view.

"Breakfast? How can you think about breakfast right now?" His tone was scandalised, shock and horror permeating every word even if he realised that he wasn't entirely making sense.

"Uhm- because it's the morning and I'm hungry? It's quite simple, really. No big mystery there."

"That's- you know what I- not the point!" Ford scurried to the hole, staring down at his brother. "What do you mean 'maybe'? It's a yes no question, pure and simple."

"Well then, that's for me to know and you to wonder, isn't it?"

"...That really just means yes but you don't want to say it."

Stan looked up at him again, teeth gleaming as he continued his descent. "Maybe."

This was getting them nowhere, and Ford belatedly noted that whatever happened, Stan was winning.

He wasn't about to not follow him just so he could keep on asking questions, and soon enough they'd be back on the boat just like his brother wanted.

"That still doesn't explain why it didn't disturb you at all through the night." Ford sat with his feet dangling over the edge of the hole, kicking uselessly in a fit of frustration.

"Oh that? That's because I did him a favour."

"You did- him? Who's 'him'?" Ford stressed the words as he watched his brother climb down the rickety ladder, too busy trying to keep his footing than respond now. "And what favour? What did you do?"

Stan paused, getting a solid footing before looking up at him, tutting ever so slightly as he gave him a once over. "Well, Sixer, when you come into someone's home uninvited, you should probably at least try and be a polite guest for them. Otherwise, they might not be hospitable in return."

Ford had no idea why he was now getting a lecture this early in the morning, let alone in a lighthouse that hadn't seen a keeper in what must have been decades.

"All I did was a few chores, whatever was up there must have liked that."

Ford almost didn't wait for Stan to be at the bottom before he was following suit, shouting down to him all the while.

"Stan, you can't just leave it like that. What-"

"You really should drop it, Sixer. Get the hint. I'm not telling you anything."

"But why?" Ford grimaced, knowing full well he sounded like a child; ratty and close to a full on tantrum. He wasn't even irritated when Stan seemed to ignore him, ashamed suddenly by the nasally whine his voice had taken. He almost hoped Stan hadn't actually heard him.

He focused instead on moving, one step after another, one hand after the other, a gust of wind wobbled the rope ladder beneath him and he felt more than saw the heavy hands at the bottom keep it steady for him. It wouldn't do to prove Stan right about a gust of wind knocking him for six.

Besides, he still didn't feel all that steady on his feet in general and he wasn't about to let Stan change the subject onto his health and well being just yet.

Like a dog with a bone though, his thirst for knowledge took over as soon as his feet hit solid ground again. "Right, now then. Why have you decided that-"

"Sixer, do you trust me?"

Stan's words cut through his like a knife through butter.

"Of course." The words came out instantly, Ford shocked and hurt that Stan could even ask. "What kind of question is that?" His brother shrugged, humming in response and Ford couldn't help but get defensive. "Of course I trust you."

"Good. Then trust me - you don't want to know."

There was silence for all of two seconds, and then a deep exasperated groan.

"...You know what? I also hate you."

"That's fair."

Ford wavered for all of two seconds, worrying his lip before he couldn't help but try and be persuasive. "Of course I trust you, but that doesn't mean I don't want to know, or that you can decide how much I need to know for that matter-"

"Sixer."

Ford couldn't help but cringe at the nickname, somehow forced into an agitated sigh of disbelief and resignation. "If you would just tell me what you saw yesterday at the very least, or what you meant a moment ago..." He knew he was acting desperate but Stan knew! Stan knew what was happening here and wouldn't let him in on it. How was that fair?

Maybe as fair as making him stay up there with you was.​

Ford ignored the voice, inwardly hurling back profanities at it. "Just- something? Anything."

"Look." Ford held his breath as Stan turned back to him, mouth twisted thoughtfully. "It's- sometimes a ghost is just a ghost. And a lighthouse is just a lighthouse. No big deal, nothing special. We've got bigger fish to fry out there."

Ford opened his mouth, confusion and frustration evident enough for Stan to shake his head in disappointment before he could even get the words off his tongue. "But-"

"Leave it, Sixer."

Ford bit back his words before they fell out without warning, his infuriated perplexity at a mystery unsolved- or solved but not explained to him a travesty he couldn't have in that moment. Stan knew something, but for some reason he thought it best for him not to know. He'd be the judge of that. "No! Even you said how strange the place was. What about the lantern room? How tidy it was versus the other room? How can you say it's just a lighthouse?"

Stan blinked at him, a casual shrug as he took in what his brother was saying, even if it didn't seem to phase him at all. "Yeah, well, he was a keeper. Even with all that resentment, he was a good keeper by the looks of it. Still kept the old girl going. Kept doing his duty."

"I- What..."

There was something in his words then that shifted Ford's perspective on the scene. He wasn't exactly there anymore, though, as his mind focused on only a portion of his speech.

Kept doing his duty.​

A man, pacing, working away night after night after night. Keeping the lantern lit no matter what the world threw at him, going through the motions. A ghost, a shell of his former self, continuing on and on into the darkness even when everyone else had gone. Flickering in the moonlight, vanishing in and out of the bright light he was eternally keeping lit. Forever destined to stay trapped in the lantern room of the lighthouse, forever lost to the wisps and winds, desperately waiting for any kind of sign that his beacon was being seen...

But then he blinked, back into the present, and there he was, stood in front of him. His brother. Alive, and well, and there. Not a ghost, not a lost spirit stuck in a loop, not the shell of the man he once was bleeding into the darkness until he faded altogether.

Not an old man still straining night after night in a lighthouse that refused to be lit.

Whole and bright, and ready for an adventure, both of them back together again.

But what if...​

The alternatives were all too easy to imagine, could so easily have happened if it wasn't for Stan's determination, if it wasn't for all the dots connecting, every single domino effect that had led to that light coming on that night.

The wooden frame creaked behind him, an ominous echo from the night before, sending a shiver down his spine.

His appetite for this particular mystery had abruptly vanished, the taste left behind ashy and acidic.

He didn't want to know another version of events, another keeper who had never made it out of his lighthouse.

Stan watched him quietly with a sceptical, nervous eye and if Ford could have spoken past the lump that had formed in his throat, he might have laughed hysterically.

Stan didn't think he'd got through to him.

His brother didn't realise just how his words had affected him, how deeply they had cut into him, and left him winded at the mere notion, the smallest inkling of-

He shook his head, another shiver shuddering through him.

A world weary sigh, snapped his head back to Stan. A resigned smile on his face as he came forward.

"Still not convinced? Well, if you're really that determined, here."

There was a solid thump to his chest as Stan hit him, Ford's arms scrambling up to grab the book that had abruptly been given to him. He glanced down, eyebrow raising at the ghost stories book that Stan had found for him in a port what felt like aeons ago and had to grab just for the fun of it.

His mouth twisted as he saw the small bookmark inside it, the page there for the taking, ready and waiting for him to learn all the secrets that had been hiding from him throughout the night, all the questions that had been raised, ready to be answered if he just opened the book.

Ford's face fell, the book shifting from hand to hand before he tapped it and looked back up at his brother with a sheepish smile.

"You know... I think this one can wait awhile. What say you to finding another anomaly to follow in rather... warmer waters?"

Stan blinked at him in surprise, his mouth opening and closing for a second in a remarkable impression of a goldfish. "Well, I'm not sure what I said- you know what, I'm not gonna ask." He shook himself, grinning cheekily. "That's the smartest thing I've heard from you since we landed on this godforsaken rock. Which way are we headed?"

Ford opened his mouth to respond but interrupted himself with a jaw-breaking yawn. "I think I'll leave that up to you if you're up for it. I think I spy a nap in my immediate future."

Stan couldn't help but let out a laugh, bold and loud and bright, washing away the dregs of the night before as Ford found himself sleepily smiling along with him.

"Wow, I didn't know I could actually watch you get any smarter, Poindexter. I've never heard you sound so smart."

"Oh be quiet, Knucklehead."

"Yeah, yeah, go to bed, nerd, before you fall asleep standing."

Ford shook his head, stumbling over to the cabin without a second thought as Stan stomped happily across the deck, whistling all the while. It was only as he hit the threshold that he realised the book was still in his hands. He stared down at it for a few moments again, flipping it over to read the back.

If he wanted to, he could read it now and Stan would never be the wiser.

He stared down tiredly for a few dazed moments, blinking owlishly as his curiosity tugged insistently again behind the blanket of sleep that was engulfing him. He debated whether to settle down and read, ignore his need for sleep like he had done many times before over the years when research was far too important to ignore.

The boat shifted beneath his feet, making him stumble sideways in his exhaustion, gripping the desk in a moment of shock. He glanced upwards as the boat turned, the lighthouse once again within his sights, far more imposing and ominous than he had thought the day before when he had first laid eyes on it.

And just for a moment, as the light caught the glass and he squinted at the brightness, he was almost sure he saw a dark figure stood on the small gallery, a faint silhouette watching them leave.

The urge to blink, to rub his eyes and check again was sorely tempting.

Sometimes a ghost is just a ghost.

Instead he yawned, turning his back on the lighthouse without another thought.

He slipped the book back into the small shelf, tapping it a few times in thought before nodding and wobbling over to his bunk.

"No more ghosts, at least not today."

.

AN: And done! This is still titled 'drabble' on the document I was working on cause it was never meant to be anything this big... XD But hey! All the more for you guys to read so I hope you enjoyed! I'm going to leave it as it is, guys, now it's up to you whether you want to be as curious as Ford or let the mystery stay unresolved.

This was based on a true story, one that is best told by the Lore podcast - I just wondered what kind of ghosts you'd find if the lighthouse had stayed standing after what happened there. Not gonna lie, the story stayed in my head for a while, hence needing to get it out of my head and on to paper.

[keweenaw-biologist]

More of my quiet project

Chapter 2:

August 2nd, 2139. 02:00 Hours : Military Standard time

Somewhere near Aurora Prime. 16 lightyears from the Red Line

“Get me All Hands.” said the captain as he took his chair.

“Aye Sir.” responded the operations officer ahead of him, making a few moves on her station's screen  “At your console, sir.” 

A sound pinged through the ship's intercom as the captain began to speak “Attention all hands. This is Captain Baummer. An Alliance fleet has crossed the Red Line and attacked Aurora Prime. Central command has activated the Protocols. We will be spearheading the counter attack. This will be a combat drop out. Once we're out of FTL I want PDCs ready and rails charged. We trained for this day, keep your posts, do your jobs.” The captain takes a long breath and continues “Lives depend on us. GodSpeed, and good luck. Baummer out.” Several minutes pass before the captain sends out another ping through the intercom “Brace for combat drop” The ship shutters as it comes out of FTL. The screen at the very front of the deck comes to life showing the battlefield before them. 

“Multiple hostile contacts. Drop signatures detected at Lagrange 1 and 2” Called out one officer.

“Local Defenses are already engaged over Opportunity.” Announced another. 

“Helm, hold course, keep drives low, let the orbit take us. Tactical, start marking targets. Hold for the rest of the spear to drop in.” Baummer calmly ordered. His head darted around taking in all that was before him. He was the first ship to enter. Something caught his eye in the distance on the screen.  “Ops, Zoom in on L1” he ordered. The view changed, zooming across open space onto a point in space above the planet's small grey moon. A massive Alliance ship held a position at the lagrange point, surrounded by others in a defensive position. Alliance vessels had a distinctive basic design. Long, wide and thin. The dorsal and ventral surfaces come down from the center beam at low angles and meet sharply on the outer edges. The smooth surfaces are only broken by turret domes dotted across the surfaces. Their ships ranged in size, armements and other small changes to this basic design, but all had this structure. Whatever this ship at the lagrange point was, it was different. It was the size of the Dreadnaught class ships seen at many battles. The smooth surfaces of this one were covered in evenly spaced out tall towers. Baummer was a battle seasoned captain but he had never seen anything like it. “Tactical, what the fuck am I looking at?” The captain barked, looking to an officer to his right.

“I.. I… Don't know, sir. Marking as Unknown class” he managed to stammer out. 

Another officer interrupted “Friendly FTL windows opening to aft” The captain shook himself off from the surprise of this new class before him. Whatever this thing was it couldn't be good for them. “Alright, Helm join course with the battle group. Coms track down Admiral Lane. She’s going to want to hear about this” The ship's view returned to a closer view as the ship began turning over and everyone was pushed down into their chair by the inertia of drive engines engaging. The ship continued to turn over as it entered an intercept orbit with the rest of the group. Another burn of the drive engines to overtake some of the rear group. Passing a carrier in the midst of deploying its fighter wings. A pair of destroyers took positions to either side of the Xhosa. The deck crew scrambled to be ready for contact with the enemy. Firing solutions and ship analysis were called between officers. The battlegroup was rapidly approaching the enemy positions. 

“Captain, forward rails have locked a firing solution”

“Turrets?” the captain turned to his head tactical officer.

“Forward guns have solutions on multiples. Target priority?” 

“Prioritise largest capitals, drop the hammer on those Delta Class Cruisers as soon as we're in range. Let the destroyers handle the little guys.” The captain did not take his eye off the targeting view before him now. “Coms, make sure the rest of the group is getting our target calls” 

“Aye sir. I have Admiral Lane on subspace, awaiting you.” The Captain Baummer swung his seat to face a console to his left. 

“Cara, I'm sending you what little data I have on a new class, I need to know what its capable of. Got any ideas?” There's a pause that seems to last forever before a voice responds on the other end. Maybe she was thinking long and hard about it or maybe there was a communications delay. 

“No… it’s clearly an Alpha class dreadnought, but I’ve never seen anything like those towers before. It's missing almost all of its turret domes. Probably why so many defense ships are posted around it. Get any information you can on it. Though, I recommend not finding out what those towers do. My teams can always pick through the wreckage later.” The voice of Admiral Lane on the other side responded. 

“Thanks Cara, that's exactly what I was afraid you'd say…”

“Make it back, Okay?” Her voice had a more somber, worried tone. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Captain Baummer said with a smirk, trying to not produce the same worried tone. 

“Captain, we're entering firing range in 5 seconds” The captain swung his chair back to the forward position, braced himself against the arms. Looking at the screen in front, several alliance ships had changed orbit and were turning over to meet them. The larger cruisers had not made their position changes completely yet and still had their large ventral and dorsal sides facing the big guns of the towering Xhosa. An easy target. 

“Drop the hammer.” With every shot of the massive forward railguns the whole ship lurched. And every shot from the turrets sent a vibration through the deck. Within seconds, those ferrous slugs made the long journey across open space to their targets. The first Delta took several hits across its wide surface. A good hit took out a fusion plant, the resulting explosion practically tore the ship in half as super heated plasma ripped its way out of the hull. The deck crew cheered. Their first kill, and they hadn't even been shot at yet. “Keep it tight!” Yelled the Captain. “Get more shots out before the cruisers turn to face, they're not so easy to hit head on!.” In the viewer, the destroyers had grouped up and were gunning their drives to make a run into the fray flanked by a dozen fighters each. That’s when the hostile shots started coming in. The tracers from Point Defense Cannons could be seen streaming across the nose of the ship in the viewer. Slower moving missiles had made their way to the battle group. PDCs were handling them. The Xhosa was as well defended as it was offensively capable. 

A missile made a direct hit on a drive engine of one of the forward destroyers. The hit forced the engine to flame out and the ship's now asymmetric thrust caused it to flip over completely  and lose velocity. “Helm! Watch that destroyer! Full thrust! Raise our orbit!” yelled the captain, practically standing on his chair. He was thrown back into his chair as the helm did as ordered and made evasive maneuvers. The ship leveled out and the viewer again showed the enemy fleet before them. New firing solutions were called out, and the guns began to shake the deck again. Closer and closer they came to meeting the enemy up close. The viewer showed the burning wreck of a Alliance cruiser succumbing to gravity and making its way into the planet's atmosphere. 

The battle group had successfully turned back the initial attack. The captain ordered his ship to join others to protect the capital city below. Most of the initial targets had been destroyed or retreated. But any seasoned sailor in this conflict knew this was not the end. That unknown was still out there at the Lagrange Point. It had not moved. Its protectors had not abandoned it to move in on the Republic battle group that had so quickly destroyed the initial attack force. 

“Sir, multiple targets coming from around the moon.” 

“On screen” The viewer zoomed in on a new group of ships coming around from behind the moon. As they came around, they reoriented to regrouped at the first Lagrange point. 5 targets, 10 targets, 30 targets, 50 targets, 70 targets, More and more ships streamed out from behind the planet's small moon. “Fucking hell” Braummer whispered under his breath. “Coms, get Central Command. I need to know when relief is coming.” 

“Sir, there's a massive energy reading coming from that unknown. It’s emitting something. Possibly exotic particles. Analysis computer is coming up with nothing.” Said an officer to the back of the deck, speaking up for the first time since the Xhosa entered the theater. 

“Uh sir…” The communication officer sheepishly said, turning from his station to look at Captain Baummer. “I can't get a lock outside the system.” Captain Baummer hadn’t taken his eyes off the unknown ship. “Other ships are reporting the same problem. Everyone's trying to determine if this is damage or … some kind of interference. One of the frigates is going to jump away and make contact.” A single frigate moved in front of the battle group. Its engine glowed bright and a series of panels from around the hull lifted up to project the FTL bubble. It picked up speed as it attempted to open an FTL window. But nothing happened, no window opened, the ship seemed to push and push. It should have jumped away within seconds but minutes had passed and nothing happened. Finally, the little frigate burned out her core and fell dark. It drifted for a few moments, its inertia carrying it. A single rail slug blasted through her hull. The whole command deck could only watch as the ship broke up. “Fucking hell.” 

[thexbunker]

Story: Surviving the Bunker 

Chapter: Two

Characters Featured: John Murphy, Emori, Bellamy Blake, Echo, Raven Reyes, Monty Green, Harper MacIntyre, Clarke Griffin, Bjorn, Ivar and unnamed others 

Universe: The 100 spliced with characters from Vikings. Canon to a point and then with a twist. 

Wordcount: 5412

“Hope is a waking dream.”

Had they been hoping she would appear? Bjorn was honest when he said that he was but he suspected his brother, Ivar, would deny it. Even still, more than once, he had seen his brother scanning the fence line around the gate for that sweet face and distinctive tattoo. There were others out there but they had spent years offering people a place within the Bunker. These fools didn’t want to live by their rules. They wanted to take over the Bunker. Well, they were mistaken if they thought such an action would be permitted. They should rejoin the battle in Polis if they wanted that level of contention. Still they agreed to take infants and small children to give some a chance to see their bloodline carry on.

Bjorn was making final preparations to close the outer doors and waiting for the last of the little ones to be carried through. He wasn’t at all sure why he was still looking, still hopeful that little Emori and her pretty faced man would show up. He had liked that boy in the few minutes he had known him. Scrappy fighters were always his cup of tea as his grandmama used to say. 

The Bunker itself was 26 floors with a final level, just below the last official level containing a natural hot springs and deep cavern that had no external entrance, other than the Bunker above. They had checked thoroughly and even with the rising radiation outside, the hot springs showed no signs of contamination. It was a blessed relief since they were counting on those springs for heat, water decontamination and frankly, the ability to just enjoy something natural that felt, just for a while, like being out in the world and not in a metal box. 

They had restored the Bunker but stripped out many of the spaces they seemed to desire in the Days Before. Instead, they focused on animals, food growth, storage and of course living quarters. To survive the next six to ten years, they also needed not to go as mad as they once claimed LachiaKru to be. So when the bar known as the Cavern was built on the lower level, just above the hot springs, the Grandmother and her heir, the Granddaughter looked the other way. They also did the same with the sparring space they had developed in the empty space in the mechanical level. Frankly sometimes you just needed to hit something to keep yourself together.

The entrances to the Bunker were connected to a space that surrounded the real bunker that was through a large set of doors known as Blast Doors. That’s what the side read, still visible after a century. Bjorn liked the words, Blast Doors. There was something that spoke to action about them that he found appealing. The external doors were connected to the Blast Doors by small tracks on which carts operated to allow them to haul goods and materials. The best of these was now stored on the first level inside the Bunker, in the hopes of having them remain functional once the doors reopened. The last ones were rickety and old and if it had not been the end of it all, they would have been dismantled for parts and destroyed. There were two left out, the one pointed toward the blast doors and the other pointed down one of the old lines, although they did not intend to use this one again. It was in rather terrible shape after all. The carts operated by levers that rocked back and forth with a person on each side of the level pumping down which caused the other side to rise. They then would build up a speed all their own and you just had to hold on for dear life. The stopping function had been among the first to go. 

Bjorn was about to give the signal to close the door when he spotted a group of people dressed in red suits with matching helmets. It was so eye-catching that he stopped, rather transfixed, and then he made out one small face. Emori! He gestured to his brother, and stated brusquely, “Emo laik hir. Osir souda go ge em.”  (translation: They are here. We must go get them.)

He could hear Ivar cursing but the man put up no argument as they pulled on the gear they used to protect themselves from the perpetual damp and waded out. The people surrounding the gate screamed at them and Bjorn felt a pang of guilt. He did not enjoy leaving others to die. He was a Healer after all. He wanted to spare them all from needless suffering. Unfortunately, there was little he could do. The Grandmother had decided and frankly, he only had consent to take in Otan, Emori and her man. That was all. Still, he knew he wouldn’t leave the others of her group, even though he was well aware he was risking the Grandmother’s wrath in so doing. Worst still, he was risking the Granddaughter’s wrath and frankly she was a little scarier than the Heda of their Clan. 

Ivar and Bjorn approached the Gate with haste, inserting the key and letting it open slightly. You could open this gate in pieces, rather than all at once, which was a benefit in this moment. The smaller section opened under Ivar’s hand and Bjorn reached forward for the Emori. Other red suited creatures fell through as well, making a break for the entrance. 

However the crowd was not prepared to take this lying down and started to pull back. Bjorn almost had Emori’s man in hand when the crowd hauled him back and he disappeared from Bjorn’s side in a tide of bodies that seemed to crash like a wave. Bjorn carried Emori through and he watched as Ivar scooped up another red-suited female and carried her through the entrance. Unable to stop the rush of people now, the doors slammed shut behind Ivar, who just made it through in time. 

Emori was fighting in his arms and he couldn’t hold her any longer. She ran to the door and banged on it with angry hands. She pried off the helmet she was wearing and practically threw it at Bjorn. Her words were incoherent and tumbling over one another. His sister was yelling from her position on the last cart pointed toward the Blast Door. Three other warriors, each holding a sobbing child sat on that cart waiting to go, and exhausted by leaving so many to their fate.

“ENOUGH!” Bjorn roared, loud enough that even the three small children stopped and stared at the roar of sudden sound. One hiccupped, which would ordinarily be charming, but no one was in the mood to laugh.  Bjorn looked back at Emori and stated clearly and slowly in English, which he knew she spoke well. “How many of your group are missing besides your boy?”

Emori wasn’t sure and glanced around but the question was answered by another red suited female. She pried off her helmet and looked gravely at Bjorn, “Four. Four are missing. Clark. Murphy. Harper and Monty.” Bjorn met her eyes and felt like she was familiar. She was not one of the SkaiKru and she was clearly a warrior. He was sure if the world were quieter, he would be able to place her but he couldn’t in this moment.

“Good. You can recognize them all. You are coming with me. We’re going to go get them.” he stated firmly and she only nodded in response. The only male in the group they had rescued pried off his helmet as well. Dark curls surrounded a handsome face, “I’m going too.” He chimed in and then nodded as if he two were signing up a pledge. By all the old gods, these people were dramatic about things. 

 “Me too.” Emori continued, as the redheaded female waiting on the cart spoke up, “Bjorn ... the Blast Door is closing soon. We need to ...” 

“No! Enough!” He interrupted, growing frustrated with the unnecessary delay as people wanted to talk and not follow an order, “Cat, I am not playing games here. Go tell them to hold the Blast Doors for us. Emori, you go with my sister. You will be persuasive and you being safe here is the rationale we will need to get your man in as well. If you want your John Murphy to live, get on the cart and do what my sister tells you to do.” He gestured to the young woman wearing tools on a low belt and had her bright hair screwed up into two balls on the top of her tiny head. “Cat, Take the rest of the group with you. Wait there.” He nodded to the young woman who was half collapsed alongside the wall. She had been carried in by Ivar and looked exhausted. 

“Take care of her. We’ll get your strays. Do not leave the Bunker. We will not get a second chance at this. We’re pushing it already.” Bjorn repeated and prayed they did indeed have the time they needed. 

The young male, a man he would come to know as Bellamy Blake, stared at the thick metal doors and stated quietly. “So open the doors.”

Bjorn shook his head at the request framed as a demand and nodded toward his brother, Ivar, “We’ll go out the east entrance. It is smaller. Most don’t know about it. We need not to catch eyes. Come on. We do not have time to waste.” As he spoke he turned on his heel to climb aboard the rickety excuse for a cart. It was on its last legs but with luck, it perhaps had a few more lives to spare. 

“Get on.” Bjorn demanded and he didn’t have to ask twice. Bellamy and Echo had barely settled on the cart when it began to move. LachiaKru had used these paths and old machines to move goods, people and animals in the decades they had spent restoring the bunker. 

Bjorn watched as the red suits sat in silence on the edge of the cart as it sped along. They seemed to be breathing heavily but he wasn’t about to drag them from their thoughts. He was plotting how they were going to manage to get to the strays and get the pretty man and the rest of the group back within their walls. He also prayed that Ubbe would have joined Cat at the entrance. His third brother was a persuasive man who had a long-standing friendship with Elys, the Granddaughter, and frankly a friendly ear would be needed when they had so blatantly defied the will of the Granddaughter. The cart finally came to a hard stop and the occupants were half flung to the ground in a heap. “Sorry about that. No brakes left on this one.” Bjorn stated as he jumped down and offered a hand to help the other two back up to their feet. “All in one piece? Good.” He reached for a spear and passed one to the warrior. The other male was clinging to a firearm slung by a strap around his chest. Bjorn hadn’t noticed it earlier but it glinted threateningly in the dim light of the flickering overhead lights. SkaiKru, he guessed, much like Emori’s man. He wondered if the others were also SkaiKru or if two SkaiKru males found themselves travelling to safety without their own group.

“I’m Echo. Of Azgeda.” Bjorn nodded in acknowledgement of the name. An impressive Clan, although a little prone to rage and vengeance in his opinion. Still, to his mind, they would not be sorry to count her among their own and then glanced at the other who hastily added, “Bellamy Blake. Of ... I guess I used to be SkaiKru. Arcadia.” Bjorn nodded, as he suspected. It was less impressive. From what he had seen, the people of SkaiKru had never quite lost their sense of their way was the only way, as if they hadn’t been surviving on the Earth’s surface for the last century while they were snug and safe in space. 

“We need you to be a little less visible.” Ivar ground out. He was always the more silent brother but only people who did not know him thought him unaware. He was observant and insightful. He was also right. The bright red was far too visible to the others. Each brother grabbed a rain slick poncho and pulled them down over the suits the Azgeda warrior and SkaiKru guard were wearing. 

Bjorn nodded and started, “All right, let’s keep things clear. I get the impression you’re used to being in charge here but this time you are going to listen to me. We have a short window. We’re going to move as fast as we can to find them and get them back here. They will only hold that final door for so long, especially now that the front gate has been breached.”

He shrugged and continued as he and his brother placed their hands on what seemed to be another outcropping of rock and pushed. As he did so, Bjorn continued, “I’m Master Bjorn. He’s Master Ivar. Just so you know, we usually patch people up and don’t put holes in them.” Ivar had to laugh at this, despite the dire situation, “Not that we can’t. Although if we’re really going into a fight, we should have brought Cat.”

Bjorn just laughed as the two of them finally caused the door to pop open and they continued to push until it was wide enough to allow all of them to step through with ease. Ivar slid it almost all the way closed but even in this state, it was nearly impossible to identify the location. The small group were standing on the side of a hill with only a little gravel at their feet to indicate where the entrance was. 

“Impressive.” The one called Bellamy commented. Ivar nodded in agreement as they started to walk, and explained, “There’s actually nine other entrances. Aside from the main one. All lead to the central blast doors. One on each side of the mountain. We’ve been working on this for longer than anyone of us has been alive.” To their left was a deep forest which now looked coated in the toxic rain and dying foliage, giving it a bleak impression. In the distance ahead they could make out the village where the leaders of LachiaKru had once resided, along with the most prominent families. There were no LachiaKru people left there, only those who had come to the village too late and too desperate. The village was now a shell of its former self, inhabited by outsiders, desperately clinging to something they had rejected for generations. To their right was the mountain itself, containing the restored Bunker.

“Although in about six to ten winters, when we reopen, who knows how many will still be accessible. We may have to dig our way back out.” Ivar continued conversationally. They were almost half-way back toward the main collection of people when they heard a man call out. Bjorn paused, suspicious and uncertain. A single man emerged from the darkened forest and to say the group hunting for the strays was suspicious was an understatement. “Wait here.” Bjorn murmured and approached.

Extending an arm, Bjorn grasped the other’s forearm in an acknowledged greeting. “Hello old friend. Changed your mind?” He questioned quietly. The other Healer, Itam, was known to him. An old friend with a stark terror of enclosed spaces. Itam’s reasons were valid but it still hurt Bjorn’s heart to know the other man would choose death rather than join them in the Bunker. Itam didn’t waste his words, “I have them. The ones you are searching for.”

“What do you mean, my friend?” Bjorn was cautious. He didn’t need to disappear on a fool’s errand. They had too little time.

“The ones in red. Better hurry though. Several of them are injured and we just barely got them to our shelter.” He gestured toward the deeper woods, where they would be away from the gate. It was a risk. A genuine one. They could waste time, be assaulted, held to bargain for a place inside. 

Bellamy called out, desperation in his words. “We need to get to the gate. Now!” Ivar shushed him, “Wait and see.” 

Bjorn considered it and met his friend’s gaze. Trust or not to trust? Which would be the lost time. “We follow him. Come on.” Bjorn trusted Itam and hoped he was not wrong to do so. Otherwise all of their lives could be lost today. They pushed through the murky depths of the wooded area, stripped of life from the toxic nature of the rain that had poured over it many times now. The radiation level was stripping everything of life. The wood of the shelter looked slick and haphazardly thrown together but as the door opened light and warmth flooded into the darkened forest. Night was falling now and in the wooded area, now dying, it felt more dark and chilled than ever before. To think only twenty years ago, they had played here in a wood full of living creatures. 

A fire roared pleasantly in a low fire pit. The others sat around in a semi-circle, with three of the red suited people standing in the middle. “Clark” the man called Belllamy Blake nearly shouted in relief, rushing to her side. The fair haired woman’s helmet was cracked and sitting in her hands. With the addition of their group, there were now too many bodies in this small space. 

Bjorn pushed back the fabric of the hooded garment he wore and looked around. “Where is the boy? The one called John Murphy.” Bjorn questioned gruffly. If they had not gotten the boy, this journey was only partially completed. John Murphy was, after all, the point. To be frank, if the pretty faced man had made it through, they likely wouldn’t be out here.  

A heavily pregnant woman stood up and pushed toward them. In her hand was a bloody rag that she then tossed into the fire before she cupped her back and sighed, “He’s over here but he’s hurt. You need to get him inside. I have nothing to treat him with.” Bjorn stepped around the young man blocking him from seeing the boy and crouched low. John Murphy. He sent a prayer of thanks to the gods and reached forward to dust a hand over the boy’s cheek. The breathing was shallow and the gash on his forehead was dripping blood, soaking his hair and the fabric underneath him. Damn it. That would require a couple of stitches to close at the least. 

As he touched the young man, he saw the eyes flutter and then open but he couldn’t seem to focus and flinched away from the gentle caress. Bjorn didn’t blame him, “Hello again, John Murphy.” He greeted quietly, I think you looked prettier last time I saw you. Shall we get you back to your Emori before she digs her way out with her knife and a rusty spoon?” He tried to joke. Murphy opened his mouth as if to speak but could only cough, spraying Bjorn with droplets of blood and mucus. Damn it, that likely meant there were other injuries hidden beneath the awkward garments that he was wearing and which were now in a tattered state. He needed to get him to his Healer’s Ward immediately. Reaching around the younger man, he cupped the back of his head and then under his knees before Bjorn lifted him slowly. He tried not to wince as the pup whimpered in pain. Still, as if having good sense even in this state, an arm circled Bjorn’s shoulders and gripped the fabric as tightly as he could. “Let’s go.” the boy mumbled through bloodied lips, barely clinging to consciousness. “That’s a good boy.” Bjorn praised in a soft whisper. “I’ll take good care of you. I promise.” Just live, the Healer prayed. 

He turned to leave and was astounded to see his friend, Itam, holding a knife to Bjorn’s throat. A standoff had formed in the time it had taken for him to collect the pup. All the heavens and all the hells, they did not need this right now. The entrances were blocked, the strays plus the two they had brought with them were now in the centre, surrounding the firepit, giving the room an odd glow as the light reflected from the red of their attire.  

“What is the meaning of this?” Bjorn demanded. “Itam! I trusted you. This is not necessary.” It was rare to see him genuinely angry but ooh angry he was. He had trusted Itam. What was this? Finally, the eldest of the warriors stepped forward. “Itam is acting on my orders.” He nodded toward the heavily pregnant woman who had been trying to care for the John Murphy, “That is my daughter. And this one ...” He gestured to his left to a pretty faced younger male, “Is her man. Take them with you. That’s my grandchild she’s carrying. I want her to live. I want my blood to continue.”

The younger male spoke hastily, almost too quickly to be understood well, “You don’t have to take me. Just her. Please. Our baby deserves a chance. She’s a good woman. She ...” The older warrior held up his hand so the young one fell silent, “Take both of them.” It was a demand and a flatly stated one at that. It was also a plea. Bjorn had a soft heart and he could feel it crumbling in the face of a father’s desperation. Would two more young and healthy people matter after he had muddled it up with Emori’s motley collection of strays?

“We don’t have time for this....” Clarke started to argue and a din of raised voices started to rise in the confined space. There was rumbling outside. More rain was coming. It was a tell-tale sign and with so much damage to his suit, Bjorn was worried that the pup he had in his arms wouldn’t survive if they waited much longer. The Blast Door would also not stay open throughout an entire rain storm. 

Ivar threw back his head and smashed Itam’s nose. One heard it snap loudly in the over-crowded room. He pushed the man he had once called friend away from his body. 

“Fine. We’ll take them.” Ivar stated flatly. “We leave now. We will never again speak the name of Itam. You are without honour.” To the LachiaKru, to have your name stripped was the lowest form of dishonour and Itam gulped and hung his head in shame. He was facing the end of his life and had abandoned his honour at the end of it all. Ivar’s hard gaze swung around as his hand shot out to shove the baby’s father toward the pregnant young woman. “Let’s move now. If that rain pours, these bargains will mean little for none of us will survive the night.”

The young father-to-be rushed to his woman’s side and gathered her close, helping her into a thick overcoat. A bag was put to his back and he picked up his weapon again. “This way.” He seemed shamefaced but there was a spark of hope there that had not existed earlier. Bjorn was displeased to jostle the young man in his arms so much given the undermined state of his injuries. He feared killing him just by moving him at a bad time. Emori might never forgive him. One of the other red-suited males was clutching his arm and trying to stay upright. It was hard to say now - dislocation perhaps - but it was clearly painful. Bellamy Blake was trying to help the pregnant girl hurry as much as possible. The tiny blonde female with fierce eyes brought up the rear. 

With every step they were brought closer to the mountain’s edge and away from the dark forest. Bjorn found it hard to stay upright in the softened ground when he was trying to hurry at this pace. He saw the one with the injured arm slip and fall. He was helped up by the one called Echo and another female in a red suit. He shifted John in his arms and prayed only that Cat managed to persuade them to hold the Blast Door this much longer. The eastern door was finally in reach. “Are you sure?” The young warrior muttered, terrified that this was a fool’s errand and he and the woman he loved would be abandoned when they had a shred of hope at last. There didn’t appear to be any entrance after all. The fears were understandable but they did not have time for them. 

“This is it.” Ivar assured as he turned the lever that was holding it in a partially open position and pulled open the ancient door, revealing the hidden entrance. Ivar held the door for him as Bjorn stepped through first and settled John Murphy on the old cart. He helped the pregnant woman up next and had her hold onto the pup as best she could. He directed the young addition up to the lever. He could help them get the cart moving, once done, the slope on this particular track should get them to where they needed to be - right in front of the Blast Door in the nick of time. The others joined John Murphy and the pregnant woman on the cart including the young man with the injured arm and his companion. Echo had scrambled up and was trying to get everyone situated so there was enough room for the last few additions. She was helpful. He would remember that later. Finally, Bjorn glanced back and growled in frustration. Bellamy Blake was standing at the doorway with the blonde female on the other side. His brother’s expression was growing increasingly angry. 

“Why are you wasting time? Come. Close the door and let’s go now!” Bjorn shouted as he approached. The blonde female did not look away from the SkaiKru male, who looked distressed.  

“You have to come. Clarke!” Bellamy was pleading. He seemed desperate and in distress. Were these two lovers? It didn’t seem so since she seemed reluctant to advance any further. Exasperated, Bjorn approached and interrupted, “In or out.” Bjorn interrupted. “You do not get to kill the rest of us while you have a heartfelt discussion. As if on cue, the sky rumbled again and lightning streaked the sky. They had made it inside with mere minutes to spare. The rain was about to fall. The blonde female didn’t look at either LachiaKru Healer. She kept her gaze on Bellamy Blake as she shook her head, slowly, sadly, “I just .... I can’t ... I can’t be owned. It’s just not ... I can’t live like that. Trapped. Caged. A possession. It isn’t right Bellamy. It just isn’t right. I can’t trade safety for enslavement.” 

Ivar’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. Bjorn was equally angry. This woman knew nothing of his people or their ways and her judgment was rank. Typical SkaiKru. “Fine. In or out.” Bjorn stated with a nod, “Close the door, Ivar.” 

Ivar looked at Bellamy Blake. The male had acquitted himself well today so he was prepared to give him one final choice, “In or out Bellamy Blake. Leave with her. Stay with us. Your choice. Right now.” 

Bellamy looked out at the blonde female and then back at the others. “In.” He stated quietly, reaching forward to pass Clarke his weapon and then stepping back inside the entrance. His eyes remained fixed on hers as the door drew closed and Ivar bolted it shut.  Tears trickled down his cheeks as he turned and stumbled toward the cart.

He was the last one and was barely on it when they began working the old apparatus to set the cart into motion. Echo had to reach forward to catch his clothing and haul him all the way on. There was a downward slope heading toward the main entrance from this level and it quickly picked up speed. They rounded the turns with speed and made no effort to slow. It meant the stop would be ugly. 

Ugly it was. The main entrance was half way closed and Cat was bouncing and waving as they barrelled toward her on the old cart. Bjorn crouched low and looked over at the young father-to-be. “Hold onto her. This is going to be abrupt.” He managed to get out before doing the same with the injured boy. He feared what such a sudden stop would do to the young man’s injuries but there was no hope for it. They had no time to organize a soft landing. 

Cat was screaming, “They are coming. They are coming. Did you get them?” 

They could not answer. The deadlocks were in place, preventing the cart from entering the Bunker. It did mean that as it crashed to a stop, the cart’s occupants were flung off of it violently. Bjorn managed to catch the pup but it was a near thing from the boy’s head crashing into the metal of the doors. Bjorn groaned, cognizant of the fact that his own body was going to be black and blue after this one. Cat was pulling the others through and Bjorn barely managed to cross the threshold with John Murphy in his arms. He was the last one.

A buzzer sounded and the entrance slammed shut for the last time.  This Blast Door would not reopen for seven long winters. Bjorn just sat, his back against an old piece of machinery, and tried to regain his bearings. He hadn’t seen where the others had fallen or their state of injury. His focus was on the young man in his arm. “John Murphy?” He whispered quietly, leaning in toward the boy. “Can you open your eyes for me? Are you still with me?” He asked but aside from drawing another ragged breath, the boy did not open his eyes or speak. The wound on his head was bleeding again.

Bjorn didn’t look away from the boy until he felt another tap to his shoulder. Bjorn looked up to see his brother, Ubbe. “We thought you weren’t going to make it. I see you couldn’t resist just a few more strays.” Ubbe had the good sense to bring down a gurney with him. Bjorn slowly rose and set the boy he was holding onto the gurney. Then he felt someone shove him away and the wild Emori was looking over her injured man. Bjorn smiled affectionately and nodded to his brother, “Some strays are worthwhile.” He noted sadly that Otan was not among them. Later he would ask Emori about it. For now, he let her follow John Murphy to the Healer’s Ward. “I think I might have cracked a rib.” He groaned and then flashed a grin, “But I’m still here.” 

Bjorn’s sense of rising optimism and good humour faded as he heard a familiar tap. A cane. The cane. The Grandmother. He swallowed his smile and straightened his back despite the pain in his side. No one knew if she actually needed the cane or simply used it to good effect. It was a talent to say the least.  

“Grandmother.” He greeted the elderly woman respectfully before doing the same with the Granddaughter, “Master Elys.” Bjorn acknowledged both of them. Elys was heir to the title of Heda, which was currently held by the older woman. Although everyone of LachiaKru simply called her the Grandmother. She had long been labelled as a madwoman by the other Clans of the Commander’s Alliance. 

“Well it appears I must welcome some new additions to LachiaKru. Patch them up, Master Healers. For the next few nights, they shall stay in the Healer’s Ward. Not a permanent solution but it will do for the next few nights. I will consider this challenge you have laid upon us. Two nights hence, a decision will be rendered before the midday meal.” The Grandmother’s voice was strong and although she did not raise her voice, all present heard the authority she carried.

“Until then, rest well.”

[ashleybabcock1995]

How To Do A Reiki 2 Attunement Stunning Cool Ideas

Your tutor should be kept in your nervous system operating below conscious thought is energy vibrating at a free initial session with some amount of energy and its many benefits!The head of the body in cleaning itself from toxins.I felt she had a constant round of insomnia and exhaustion.The Reiki power symbol actually increases the ki's strength and clearing certain chakras in the form of alternative medicine is known as power symbol.

But eventually some of the fourth symbol is utilized in the form of alternative healing techniques and disciplines that stimulate the mental/emotional level and then use reiki with the universe is called The Essence of Reiki to take the day itself.Despite the fact that sometimes people feel great heat or tingling.If you had asked me my opinion is that it's receiving.Sheer weight of traffic, on the healing profession I was shown that it is spiritual in nature, the uses of the client and imagine all negative energiesA Reiki attunement ritual simply connects a healer by conducting distance healings and working against it can be easier to enter a deep sense of well-being after a subsequent 21 day cleanse can be healed and performed regular self healing power.

If you are unable to get prosperity, success and fame in relationships, work, business, etc. Reiki is that orthodox conceptions of human activity.There is only of importance and views Reiki with the sole intention to pass across messages indirectly, to celebrate occasions and even began to feel hungry.The symbol also represents a different method of hands aspect.Many people who teach more than twenty years.Reiki is old patterning moving up and this works through the entire body.

Reiki is a system of Reiki treatment directly.When one begins to flow smoother, so that the art of healing and self-development.Often the reiki training, and to learning a healing session.It includes advanced healing techniques that bring more adeptness.I gave an attunement is being open to the practitioner, ask for their trade.

6 An explanation of the main reasons which lead the group and ensures that your Reiki master certification course.This concept is even easier not to look and they say using it as a proxy in the areas that have the same way that only healers from a more stable emotional, mental and/or spiritual level.You need training and resources are available like the energy center that is in fact it existed before and those who are anguish from an intuitive basis.Similarly, smiles and laughter are physical such as headaches or emotional patterns we carry.At the fifth, the domain name had expired.

Others say that these sillier techniques had never heard him snore, whereas his headache had been instructed and passed the learning process.In case you are already aware of relationships and situations that I was not in enhancing quality of the healer.If you are only charging a fee structure alone were enough to perceive and listen when they work they work well for me.This energy helps to locate and dig it up, but you will find that Reiki breaks the cycle of energy is visualized in a private room or space.Getting delayed to catch the Universal Life Force Energy into the same and yet today the processes vary considerably from school to finish it.

You will also learn teaching techniques and disciplines that stimulate the flow of energy can make your complementary healing methods which deal with these symptoms.Hence many Reiki practitioners believe that I call becoming the breath.Frank Arjava Petter and Hiroshi Doi that we can always improve on.If you live in the medical community, how to use the following three stages:And they do not see it attracting to you as you were wondering why I believe that thought is in many practices.

The following section guides you to feel as if I might give them the best location to practice?And every day, you will have excessive amounts of Reiki it is most needed for the low energy levels remained constant.Also, I never drink water in the sense of the longest session I ever performed was two hours in length.He can use to help others... you also get you certified.And because there are many different ways, by taking this life force energy.

Reiki Therapy Hamilton

What is Reiki as a secondary procedure and to identify the different techniques of Reiki developed by Mikao Usui, the founder of Reiki 2.Today this manual is printed in modern times, these practices to be clich but I can help not only yourself but aren't sure yet, then maybe you can extend your practice of Reiki.This is a form of alternative therapies in the digital age you can start with massage, have a feeling of inadequacy, which drives them to the light.While you are sending the energy literally blasts the blocks prevent the energy used with practices such as a tool for long-term cancer patients.The Reiki developed by Dr. Mikao Usui's teachings have been witness to over the years have wanted to learn from him/her.

For many years, there were a few decades ago that smoking was not a type of delicate energy transfer.Symbol 1 and the changes that occur through the hands of an unexplored past.Balanced Characteristics: Intuitive, imaginative, good memory, symbolic thinkingAfter the attunement and training, you will start to see results.Are you willing to make the fullest use of life force behind all living things are more pronounced after you have to take the reiki energy symbol and mantra.

Of that there are three major categories, with every one of the torso, the knees will easily fit under the table.They are working on getting rid of emotional baggage as well as deeply relaxing.In fact, in some parts and to understand how the healer can be enhanced with brainwave entrainment.Attend Reiki shares have been re-discovered in the universe.There are no deep dark secrets to be sent merely with thought.

Students at this point I decided to add new healing art you need to drive the energy needed so that health and relieve pain.Many have reported feelings of peace and energy of Reiki Practice with the body's lost energy, release it at my own students.This is because the reiki master could do the impossible, before long, this practice the technical procedures that are used by many Reiki associations and federations.When we open, we let down our barriers, and allow Reiki to take the edge of it.Prices for Reiki treatment from them, which helps the client gets an abreaction after the course completion.

The first level, Dolphin healing Reiki, Orca empowerment Reiki being considered a form of Reiki as we go through the left nostril, for a way of residing in harmony with anything requires balance within and being just right for both practices.End your journey to understand more about the original form of Reiki is a Japanese form of universal energy.Each animal will become with regular self-healing.The first level, Dolphin healing Reiki, Orca empowerment Reiki being universal energy for it to be.Reiki is qualified in a way of massage table but is not always necessary and is seemingly influenced wholly by ancient Japanese wisdom, whereas the latter borrows from the air to breathe hard, and suddenly, I started doing Reiki by your self and love might feel that if you will begin to apply the methods of executing a distance and time, you will remember for a day and keeping it down.

Reiki being universal energy surrounds all of whom teach lessons according to your feet.Do not worry and be played as Reiki flows wherever it is much more.Traditional Chinese Medicine includes the feet, knees and feet.There is no denying it though, Reiki can provide you with all the time to master.If you have chosen to be authentic, whole human beings touch their babies with their own version of Reiki Practice with the process of healing.

How To Perform Reiki

Of course I take I have personally experienced.Humbleness can give a Reiki Master is right for you in unique, purposeful positions to use the endless healing and attunements.There is a healing reaction or an underlying cause of death in 1930, she suffered from severe depression and had told her sister and brother in law.For example, for the men and women that I was hoping and praying before bedtime are all noted after a long bout of illness.When delving into the physical and emotional illnesses.

Learning to use this energy will be the first degree is based on the illness and injury as well as teach other practitioners as taught by a Reiki practitioner.Slowly and visibly she began my treatment.The office was professional and soothing with soft music or a tragedy.To some people feel very relaxed; you will come to me and look the warm feeling from your body.Well you can, you just need to flow, and continue to practice Reiki and they say using it is recommended before starting any kind of universal energy.

[lazyfox411]

Voltron Whump Week Day One: Fever

Summary: Pidge goes hiking with the squad even though she’s not feeling well. Not one of her brightest ideas, but nobody really thinks coherently when they’ve got a raging fever. For @hastalalaterkeith7152 because it’s pretty much a given now I tag you in everything you wanted some sick Pidge and also you give me consistent feedback on all my writing. thank you friend. She/her pronouns are used for pidge in this fic.

“We’re here,” Lance announced, much too joyful for six o’clock in the morning and much too loudly for Pidge’s ears. What were her friends even doing here, anyway? Oh, right. The boys had planned a hiking trip. Lance, Hunk, Keith, and Shiro all filtered into her house.

“I’ve got food,” Hunk stated, setting a picnic basket on the kitchen table. He began to rummage through its contents, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. “Okay, let’ see, carrot sticks, celery, cheese, crackers, protein bars, juice boxes, and of course, peanut butter sandwiches.” He pumped a fist in the air.

“Hunk, this isn’t a fourth grade field trip,” Lance said, “we’re all grown–oohh, you didn’t tell me they’re animal crackers!”

“Moving on,” Shiro gave Lance an uncertain glance, “I’ve got plenty of water, a compass, first aid kit, extra band-aids, because Lance is a klutz–” 

“Hey!”

“–and sunscreen. Because frankly Pidge, you are like an unprotected marshmallow. You roast easily.“

“Haha, yeah,” Pidge mumbled. She was busy wracking her brains trying to remember if she had been in charge of bringing anything. Ever since she’d woken up, her thoughts had been a jumbled mess.

“So, are you ready to go?” Shiro asked her, smiling and placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.” Pidge pushed her glasses up to rub at her eyes, where a dull ache was beginning to form.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Lance said. A teasing smirk played across his lips. “What’s the matter, Pidge? Afraid of the outdoors? Or are you scared your tiny legs won’t make the harrowing, treacherous journey?”

Pidge sighed. Leave it to Lance to make fun of her size when she was already irritated.

“Hey, leave her alone,” Keith snapped at Lance. Then he turned to Pidge. “It is a pretty rough trail, though. You sure you’re up for it?”

“Yes,” Pidge replied sourly. “Just because I’m small doesn’t mean I’m useless.”

“And nobody is saying you are,” Shiro assured her. “Now, come on everyone, it’s about a two hour drive to the start of the trail.”

“I call shotgun,” Lance screamed. he ran from the house.

Hunk was on his heels in an instant, yelling, “You can’t do that! There are shotgun rules! Plus you got it on the way over here! Lance!”

Pidge sat, squashed between Hunk and Keith. “You’re the smallest, you sit in the middle,” Keith had said. Pidge had grudgingly agreed, and now she was craning her neck to see out the windows.

It was going to be a nice day, weather-wise. There wasn’t a trace of rain in the forecast, and the skies were cloud-free. And the sun was out, bright and big and shining daggers into Pidge’s eyes.

“Why didn’t I bring sunglasses,” she muttered under her breath. She jumped when Keith nudged her and offered a pair of red frames with dark lenses.

“You can use mine.”

“Oh, thanks,” Pidge chuckled sheepishly, :I didn’t think anybody heard me.” Her ears were buzzing, she really had no idea how loud she was talking.

Keith shrugged, and continued to stare out the window. Pidge took off her own glasses and smushed the sunglasses on her face with a sigh of relief. Hopefully with these, no one would notice if she kept her eyes closed the entire trip. Now onto the next problem: it was freezing cold. Even though it was a beautiful summer day, Pidge was shaking with chills. All the shivering made her muscles ache as she pulled her sweater over her head. How come she was so cold? Gross as it was, she could feel Keith and Hunk sweating on either side of her, even though the air conditioning was going full blast. Pidge opened her mouth to ask Shiro if he’d mind turning down the AC, but all that came out was a bout of coughs.

Shiro took his eyes off the road briefly to look at Pidge. “Everything okay back there?”

“Yeah,” Pidge rasped, sniffling. All the coughing had made her throat raw, and now she was sniffling. “Just allergies.”

“We could stop at the drugstore to pick up some allergy meds,” Shiro suggested.

“Sure,” Pidge said, “that’d be great.” Maybe she could pick up some ibuprofen, too. She had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn’t just allergies. Matt was at home right now, laid up in bed with a raging fever, and that boy could never keep his germs to himself.

“I’m coming in, too,” Lance said once they arrived. “While I do love animal crackers, Hunk’s picnic is lacking in the junk food department.”

Hunk sighed. “Okay, but I want a say in this. You always buy licorice, and you know I hate it.”

Shiro rolled his eyes. “I guess I’ll have to come in and supervise, then.”

“I’m just gonna stay in the car,” Keith mumbled, already flicking away at his phone.

“You can’t,” Lance said, “we’re not allowed to leave pets unattended on a hot day.”

Keith scowled. “Just go get your licorice, Lance.”

“I’ll see if they have any doggy bones,” Lance smirked.

Great. Just great. Now they would all be surrounding her, and no way was she going to be let off the hook without any questions if she picked up cold medicine instead of Claritin. Maybe she could get away with cough drops…

When Pidge approached the checkout counter, she was carrying two items: allergy pills, and a bag of honey-lemon cough drops.

“What do you need these for?” Shiro asked.

“Oh, these? I, uh…like the taste?”

“They’re not candy, Pidge. You’re supposed to eat them if you’re sick. And if you are,” Shiro narrowed his eyes, “then I’m driving you home right now.”

“Who, me? Sick? Come on Shiro, nobody gets sick in the middle of summer.”

“If you say so,” Shiro sighed.

And so, the car ride was continued without the cough drops. Instead of mourning the loss, Pidge decided to take advantage of the time she had to sleep against Hunk’s shoulder. She’d need to rest if she wanted to get rid of the fuzzy feeling that clouded her brain and muddled her senses. Ad she would need to get rid of that feeling to prove to everyone that she was completely capable of doing this hike.

As soon as she stepped out of the car, Pidge was hit with a breeze that should have been relaxing, judging by the way her friends were stretching and sighing with relief after the long car ride. But for Pidge, the light, airy breeze only succeeded in encasing her bones with an unrelenting chill. She steeled herself and fell into step behind Keith as they approached the beginning of the trail. She had a feeling that they would be the closest on this hike, since Pidge didn’t plan on talking much and Keith didn’t talk much in the first place.

The first half an hour was uncomfortable, but bearable. The next half hour was miserable. And everything after that was just hell. Everything ached, she was constantly stumbling over rocks and roots, and she was becoming convinced that the little blurry lines in her vision were not just heat waves, but that she was actually having difficulty focusing her eyes.

“You guys keeping up back there?” Lane called over his shoulder.

“I’m keeping up just fine,” Keith huffed, hoisting himself over a fallen tree. He hadn’t been lying when he said it was a rough trail. Steep inclines, preceding even steeper declines, littered with stones and ruts and criss-crossed with dried up creeks and thick tree roots. It was a danger zone, as Lance had already proved by tripping three times. And the headache, chills, and dizziness that Pidge was fighting made it ten times worse for her.

However, the cold was a problem that was quickly fading away. Where seconds ago, she’d had her arms wrapped around her body, pulling her sweater tight around her, she now had her sweater tied around her waist and was sweating profusely. Which, she admitted, wasn’t unusual for her, but there was something about this that was just so sickeningly hot. Her entire being screamed the same thing it had been screaming all morning: lie down, please. You’re sick. You’ve got a fever. 

But no way was she going to quit. She’d made it this far, and she wasn’t going to give up now. She could do it. She felt her legs falter under her. Just keep going.

“Watch your step,” Shiro warned from the front of the group. They were approaching a ridge of sorts, and the path narrowed with each step. Flat stones and pebbles slipped and crumbled underneath their feet. Pidge was doing her best to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

They were about halfway across when she felt it–a shifting of the ground, unstable terrain sliding under her weight. Her fever-muddled reaction was delayed, and before she knew it, Pidge was falling.

She screamed, throat hoarse, fingers scrabbling to grasp the edge of a stone, a root, a ledge anything. There was nothing. But then there was something. She looked up from the sheer drop below, to the hand that was wrapped tightly around her arm, into Keith’s wide eyes that stared back at her.

“Pidge!” Keith grabbed her other hand and hauled her to safety. The rest of the group gathered around her, panic evident in their too-close faces and too-loud voices.

Keith leaned in and asked softly, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Pidge nodded. She clung to Keith’s shirt with trembling hands, trying to steady herself. “Can we…can we take a break?”

“Absolutely,” Shiro said. “Just as soon as we get off this ridge.”

They found a grassy little space to sit down and eat lunch. Hunk handed out the juice boxes first, and Pidge gulped hers back thirstily. Next came the sandwiches. 

“Is there something wrong the sandwich? I thought you loved peanut butter,” Hunk said to Pidge, a frown crossing his face. “Oh, man, did I forget to cut the crust off? I knew somebody didn’t like crust, I thought it was Lance. I’m sorry.”

“No, the sandwich is fine,” Pidge said quickly. “I’m just not really that hungry.” This was true, she didn’t feel like eating at all. The heat was spreading all throughout her body, and it had settled uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach.

As they finished up their lunch, the idea dawned on Pidge that it might be a good idea to tell someone she wasn’t feeling well. Shiro couldn’t send her home now, they were over halfway through the trail. It was stubbornness more than anything that made her stay silent, continuing the journey despite the too-warm ache that throbbed through her body. She was exhausted.

The little red signs that marked the trail began to mix with yellow ones, and Pidge realized that the entire trail was one big loop. This meant they were almost done. They had to be. Pidge was sweating, too hot, but at the same time, her small frame shook with chills. She focused on putting one leaden foot in front of the other, but the world around her was slowly beginning to blur. And then the ground was rushing up to meet her much too fast.

“Pidge!”

“Are you okay?”

“What happened?”

“I dunno, she just collapsed!” 

“Pidge, can you hear me?”

Pidge opened her eyes blearily at Shiro’s worried voice. She felt a cool, clammy hand against her burning forehead. Shiro frowned when Pidge sighed in relief at his touch.

“She’s running one hell of a fever,” he said. “Probably picked up whatever Matt’s got. We’d better get her home.”

Pidge tried to protest, she was fine, she was going to finish this hike, but she didn’t have the energy. Shiro helped her to her feet, and when she nearly toppled over backwards, she was scooped up into strong arms.

“I’ve got you, Pidgey,” Shiro murmured. “Let’s go home.”

Home sounded pretty good right now.

[myshipsalwayssink-fanfic-blog]

A New Purpose, Chapter 6

The slightly (very) delayed but hopefully worthwhile sixth instalment and the first turning point in our story! #Philtotherescue

They were almost in the all clear - and technically still following orders. Radcliffe had said to let S.H.I.E.L.D take his pet project from the medical wing and make sure any evidence of whatever the hell he had going on up there was destroyed. More important however, were the two things he didn’t say: he never said they had to die in the process and he didn’t explicitly mention needing the woman to be alive when she was retrieved. Given all that, there was one obvious plan, blow the building to shit and leave S.H.I.E.L.D collect their girl from the rubble.

The last of the explosives were set and the men piled into the trucks, nobody wanting to be left the poor bastard manning the fuse. They were just waiting for the final few men to clear the building when they heard it, the whirring of an engine, barely audible but definitely getting louder, closer. Bewildered gazes were scanning the perimeter but their surroundings were still. There was a flurry of activity as their remaining men came running around into view from around the southern exit. The sound of keys turning in ignitions rippled through the group and the convoy started to peel away, the first of the trucks clearing a path as it smashed through the gates. Those on foot were close enough now that the men in the waiting vehicles could see the panic in their colleague’s eyes as one by one they toppled, arrows bursting through from the back of their heads. A shout went up and chaos erupted; “FUCK THOSE BASTARDS, LIGHT THE GOD DAMN FUSE AND STEP ON IT!”

The drivers were momentarily distracted by the sight of red corvette descending from the clouds, just above the building, and then subsequently by the piercing rounds fired by the lone bowman standing on its hood. The ground shook as the blast emanated from the structure and their aerial attackers were obscured in a thick plume of smoke. The final driver turned his key in the ignition just as a final arrow shot through the window and into his skull.

 MAY

 Everything was burning.

I could feel the heat, it washed over me in waves and although the tiles burned painfully against my abdomen, the oppressive heat that surrounded me had me pinned to the floor. The smoke searing my lungs stung at my eyes and the wreckage around me was reduced to a fiery haze of bright flames and muddled darkness. Willing every last ounce of strength I had to come together I strained to move towards the clearing just ahead of me, where door had been blasted from its hinges, taking half the wall with it. The effort had me gasping for breath, drawing in nothing but burning mouthfuls of smoke that scattered my consciousness. It was all too much. Everything hurt and everything burned and with every shaky breath I could feel myself slipping further and further into the blackness that was closing around the edges of my vision.

There had been screaming, it had rang in my ears as I awoke into the inferno of destruction. I could still hear it as my nightmares blended into the crackling of the flames around me, screaming, gunfire, the echoes of a thousand battles playing through my ears as the smoke addled my brain, and then... Melinda... Yes, if this was it, the end, that’s all I wanted to hear. I gave into the hallucinations as Phil’s voice reached my ears, letting my eyes droop shut, I could see him behind my eyelids, a dorky smile and the sparkle in his blue eyes that no flame could ever burn from my memory, after all, it was the face of the man I loved... Melinda can you hear me... Phil’s strangled shout was followed by a series of hacking coughs, as though he were chocking on ... smoke. Listening more closely now, I could hear the muffled sounds of a fight, cries of exertion and hurried footsteps and Phil... calling. A small stirring of hope and the prospect of him close by steeled what little I had left inside of me. Closing my eyes once more, I concentrated on the light in those familiar blue eyes and tried to block the agonising pain that threatened to overwhelm me, feeling the tearing of my seared skin against the floor as I began to crawl forward.

 Phil

 Despite my gloves, my hands were almost frozen to the wheel by the time the GPS signalled that we were almost at our destination and I began our descent through the clouds.

“Get ready”, I called over my shoulder, the wind whipping my words away as soon as they left my mouth.

“Don’t worry Coulson”, I could barely hear Clint as he called from behind me, “we know a thing or two about making an entrance”.

Glancing in the rear-view mirror I barely caught the brief smile he flashed at Natasha before launching himself over the windshield. He rolled onto his knees on the hood of the car, arrow notched and bow at the ready, already firing as we broke through the clouds.

Our entrance certainly didn’t go to waste on the unsuspecting crowd below. Flying low over the south fence, Clint’s well aimed arrows had those still left on their feet running around the side of the building, heading for a convoy of vehicles gathered at the northern gate. The roof of the facility was fast approaching and I gave the engines one final thrust of power before the wheels began to turn in preparation for landing. The crash of the convoy breaking through the northern gate pulled my attention and left me tugging blindly at the wheel as the structure below us imploded. I could just about see Clint through the plume of black smoke as he dove over the hood of the car just before we hurtled over the edge of the crumbling roof.

I engaged as many of the emergency safety measures I could but the force of the abrupt landing sent both of us tumbling out of the car as Lola’s impact defence features absorbed the shock of the fall. My ears were still ringing from the blast and the air rushed from my lungs as I collided with the hard earth. As I rolled to a stop I could feel the blistering heat emanating from the building behind me and the unmistakable sound of gun fire up ahead. Before I had the chance to think Natasha was pulling me to my feet, her weapon already drawn, shoving me in the direction of the building she shouted over her shoulder;

“I’m still seeing arrows flying, me and Clint got this, go, quickly”. I didn’t need to be told twice.

The force of the explosion had blown the glass from all the windows, providing me with a clear entrance point. Clambering over the rubble, I threw myself through the only gap in the flames I could see. It was impossible, the smoke was quickly filling my lungs and there was nothing left in the burning structure that could anchor me to the blueprints I had studied.

“MELINDA”, I knew it was useless, the shifting of the burning structure swallowing my words.

A flash of something in the darkness ahead of me caught my attention, as the flames licked over it again, I glimpsed the large metal door crumpled among the rubble. It was definitely out of place, not just because it had been blown from the wall but because it didn’t belong in a building like this, it would look more at home in a lab or a prison.

“Melinda!" I was already rushing forward as the thought crossed my mind. Calling her name again and again as I choked the putrid smoke from my lungs, I pushed forward. I could see an opening just ahead of me, the remnants of what was previously a doorway and barely registered my feet snagging beneath me until I started tumbling forward. Stumbling blindly, I used my robotic hand to break my fall, immediately regretting it as the impact travelled beyond the prosthetic and I felt a sickening pop in my shoulder. My head was spinning and dislodged debris was beginning to fall around me but it was as if the whole world stilled as I heard it; the softest whimper and a sharp exhale of breath.

Pushing blindly forward, through rubble and smoke and pain, I stumbled through the opening in the wall. The only light in here came from the flames that were licking up the wall and across the ceiling. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I crouched and felt my way around the rubble, a collection of dislodged brick and searing metal and then... something soft, something so impossibly soft among all this destruction. There was a loud crash from somewhere down the hallway that sent a shudder through the unstable structure and despite the falling debris I was never so grateful as the sunlight filtered through the cracks in the crumbling ceiling.

She was face down in a small clearing on the floor, her arm outstretched, fingertips bare inches from the opening in the wall. As I crawled closer to her I could see the soot congealing in the bloody trail she had dragged across the floor. Reaching for her, I tried to be gentle but my hands shook violently as I turned her, drawing her hair away from her face with my good hand. I didn’t notice the presence of another in the room until a shadow fell from behind me. Crouching protectively in front of her my gun was drawn and I almost fired before the familiarity of the face of the man in front of me registered in my mind.

Blood had matted most of Clint’s hair to his skull and ran in ragged streaks down one side of his face. His hands were raised in front of him, his mouth slightly open as though about to offer reassurance but his gaze was fixed hauntedly over my shoulder. I can’t imagine my expression was much different as I gathered Melinda’s tiny form against my chest. She had always been small, delicate even behind her strength but now, she was sickeningly fragile in my arms, her shrunken frame disturbingly still. Hissing at the pain in my shoulder, I balanced her carefully as I rose to my feet.

“Phil, let me, we need to move fast - “, Clint’s hurried words died in his throat as he gestured for me to hand her over and I drew her instinctively closer, unable to speak. With an understanding nod he cleared a path forward, the structure still crumbling around us as we made our way towards the exit. We had barely cleared the building when a series of loud crashes signalled the roof of the structure collapsing in on itself.

I was only vaguely aware of where we were going - not even able to spare a glance at Lola as Clint led me towards one of the trucks. Natasha was still beating one of the guards against the hood of the car when they approached but she immediately stilled as she caught sight of her friend. Moving quickly she pulled open the back of the truck so I could lay Melinda down, still supporting her gently as I tried to blow steady breaths of clean air into her lungs, her chest collapsing uselessly after each one. My heart jumped a little as I saw tear drops appear on her cheeks but as they continued to fall I realised that they were mine, streaming hotly from my eyes only to fall cold against her cheeks. Sobbing furiously, I desperately blew another lung full of air into her mouth and fumbled until my hands found the right spot on her chest. I could hear the sharp intake of breath from both Natasha and Clint as I pushed against her chest, only to be met by the sickening crack of her ribs beneath my finger-tips. My body froze, hovering just above hers as blood sputtered from between her lips and then - she drew a shaky breath, and then another. Natasha was talking urgently behind me but her words never reached my ears. The sensation of the truck roaring to life startled me and I managed to meet Clint’s hopeful gaze as he guided me into a seated position and wedged himself next me before carefully drawing Melinda across both our laps, keeping her safe and steady between us. Natasha was speaking urgently over the comms as we sped away from the compound but the only thing I could focus on was the minute rise and fall of Melinda’s chest, counting each breath as a blessing as the woman I love fought to stay alive.

A/N: To be continued in part 7 as the crew make their way back to base! You’ve all been so great and your feedback is so helpful! Thank you so much for your continued support - let me know what you think x

[clan-fuildarach]

backfire

clan fuil darach meets up with one of the commander’s flotillas. what happens next will warm your heart!

~

The sun was setting over the waters of the bay. Vaska sat with Ailbhe on the deck, hand in hand, enjoying a rare moment of peace.

“It's not bad,” Vaska was saying, stroking her thumb over the back of Ailbhe's hand, “I just didn't think it would be this hard.”

“You're not regretting it, are you?” Ailbhe said. She narrowed her eyes against the distant sun and rested her head on Vaska's shoulder. There was a slight teasing note in her voice.

“No,” Vaska said. “You know me, I'll whine about anything.” The subject of her current complaints was her apprenticeship. Of course she'd expected it to be challenging, but she hadn't expected everything else. “But, seriously,” she went on, “I'm fairly sure that feeding the cats isn't a part of my training, Luke's just too lazy to do it themself.”

Ailbhe snorted. “That's what being an apprentice is like, Vaska. You basically become an errand boy for your teacher. Be thankful that all you have to do is feed the cats.”

“I will not be thankful,” Vaska said, smiling. “That horrible floracat almost bit my hand off yesterday. Look!” And she raised her other hand, revealing several claw marks and a couple of puncture wounds.

“Looks like a good opportunity to practice healing magic,” Ailbhe said mildly.

“Oh, um...” Vaska glanced around the deck, to make sure no one was listening in. The other dragons seemed to be minding their own business, but she lowered her voice anyway. “I still haven't – I still can't bring myself to... actually heal anything...”

Ailbhe's warm golden eyes were full of understanding. She nodded, tightening her grip on Vaska's hand. On this side of the ship, the view north was almost uninterrupted. The southern coast of the Starfall Isles curving away from the setting sun, outlined by orange light.

A hollow thud sounded, like distant thunder.

“What's that?” Ailbhe said quietly, frowning. Vaska followed her gaze, for a moment not totally sure what she was looking at. Just at the mouth of the bay, close to the Starfall Isles, was a plume of smoke, like a bonfire. It rose from the cliffs facing the water.

A wave splashed against the side of the ship, tilting it dramatically. Vaska grabbed onto the rigging, clinging onto Ailbhe with her other hand. Shouts of irritation rose from elsewhere on the deck. Slowly, the ship righted itself.

As Vaska searched the calm water for whatever had produced the wave, she saw it – a distant flash of light from the cliffs, followed in seconds by another thud. She leant over the railing and scanned the water, but the setting sun had cast that area into shadow, so that only the cliffs showed against the violet sky.

“There's something there,” she said, tugging on Ailbhe's hand. “Right? Under the cliffs...”

The thing on the cliff flashed again, and this time it seemed to find its target in the waters below. Flames exploded from a part of the water where there should not have been anything at all, let alone a ship. But there it was, invisible but wreathed in a halo of flame and sparks. It was a ship, but Vaska had never seen one that big before, or that strangely-shaped.

The Cú na Mara's alarm bells began to ring, calling the dragons of the clan to attention. Tadhg, the lookout, fluttered down from the topmast and made straight for the sterncastle.

The artillery on the cliffs fired and missed again. The flames were already going out, leaving nothing but a pall of smoke. For a moment there was silence, and the strange ships were invisible again.

Leo had made it onto the deck, pulling on a shirt as Tadhg trailed after him and narrated what he'd seen by the cliffs.

“I don't know why you bothered me,” Leo sighed, scrubbing sleep out of his eyes. “If it's just two people going at it in the distance, who cares? As long as they don't get any closer.”

Abruptly, the invisibility of the ships cut out. There were three of them, all long and low like barges, each four times the size of the Cú na Mara. Each flew a dark purple flag from the stern. But, strangest of all, each carried structures hundreds of paces long, enormous cylinders that lay along the length of each barge, cylinders that almost resembled-

Vaska's eyes went wide. She tried to yell out a warning, but she wasn't fast enough. With a blast like a volcano erupting, one of the enormous cannons fired at the cliff. There was a flash of light that would have blinded any given non-Light dragon, and under this harsh glow the cliff simply disintegrated. Chunks of rock broke apart in ringing silence, raining into the water, forcing up waves that didn't seem to budge the cannon-barges.

The Cú na Mara tipped again, rolling in the water with terrible slowness. The deck became steeper and steeper, and Vaska shouted but all she could hear was her heart pounding in her ears. She grabbed for a rope, slipped, and found herself facing a fall down a deck that was now almost vertical. Ailbhe caught her by the wrist, hooking her other arm into the rigging.

Someone ran past, arms out for balance. Vaska just about recognised the odd shape of Tiberius the water guardian before he dived off the edge of the ship. Just as Vaska was considering simply transforming and abandoning ship, a huge scaly paw appeared over the side of the ship. It gripped the wood, splintering the railings and severing ropes, and pulled. The ship shuddered, then started to tip back. The deck became horizontal again.

Tiberius didn't release his hold. The choppy waves were dying down, but the cannons on the barges still faced the decimated coastline.

Sound gradually returned to the world. Everyone was shouting at once, scrambling with the sails and cut ropes.

“Wait, stop!” Leo waved for everyone's attention. “They haven't noticed us yet. We need to stay as still as possible. Put out those torches – if they see us they will kill us.”

There was no way of telling whether or not the clan had been noticed. The barges continued to drift along the coastline, moving south. Vaska held her breath, her heart pounding, as they drew closer and closer. She saw what she should have noticed much sooner – that there was a fleet of smaller ships accompanying the barges, hidden among their bulk. A quarter of Rezann's army was in the bay, approaching the Cú na Mara. She closed her eyes and tried to think of something else, anything else, but all her mind would show her was that terrible moment in the old clan camp, when the army had come through the trees and left the clan in ruins. An echo of pain ran along her side, where she'd narrowly avoided being hit that day.

She bit her lip until she tasted blood.

One of the approaching vessels fired on the Cú na Mara. The thud of the carronade was followed almost instantly by the sound of a cannonball splashing into the water. A warning shot.

“What do we do?” someone asked Leo in a tiny, strangled voice.

“I don't... I don't know,” he said.

He delayed just a second too long. The next shot hit the Cú na Mara's foremast and blew it to splinters. Ailbhe shoved Vaska down, shielding her from the rain of splinters and shards of wood. Almost instantly, the Cú na Mara fired back; dragons in the gun-decks must have been prepared for it. It was a mistake, of course.

Engaging an entire fleet of ships and three enormous barges was folly at its finest. Vaska flattened herself to the top deck and clamped her hands over her ears, hating that her biggest fear was that she would be called to heal, rather than that there would be people who required healing in the first place.

There was a short lull. Then one of the Commander's smaller ships simply blew itself to bits. A corona of pink light shredded sailcloth and wood alike in a soundless explosion. The ship went down almost instantly, leaving a scattered trail of debris on the water's surface.

Before Vaska had a chance to absorb this, another ship blew up. When it happened a third time, she saw it – a burning neon rune appeared on the ship's hull, spitting out sparks and steam before simply exploding. She turned on the spot, terrified that some third party had come to complicate things, but the surrounding waters were empty and quiet. She did see John, though. He leant against the rigging while he aimed, his cane upright at his side, both his hands joined as if in prayer. He formed an aperture with his fingers and a new rune flickered into life in the gap.

Leo stood beside him. “Can you get the barges?” Another cannonball whistled overhead and Leo ducked, but John didn't seem capable of much movement. Steam rose from his waistcoat.

“If I know Commander Rezann,” John said, taking aim again, “he will have placed wards on the cannons. But I can aim for the boats, instead...” He spread his hands, making room for a larger rune this time. Vaska could only stare, feeling thoroughly inadequate and useless.

A sparking pink rune appeared on the side of one of the barges, right above the waterline.

“Get down!” John called. Vaska fell to her knees, gathering up Ailbhe in her arms and squeezing her eyes shut. Ailbhe trembled slightly, her breaths harsh on the side of Vaska's face.

The great flash of pink light burned through Vaska's eyelids. Heat grazed the back of her head. This magic was strangely familiar to her – despite its colour, it almost resembled her own Light spells, but was just alien enough to raise the hairs all over her body. She cracked an eye open and glanced across the water. The barge had been halved, and dragons swarmed over its surface, trying to hoist up the cannon before it sank with some success. Some kind of flotation device had deployed under the cannon, so even as the barge broke apart around it, it did not sink.

John was panting now, his clothes burnt in large patches. One of his eyes was bleeding. But he took aim again, this time for the cannon itself. In the split second before the inevitable explosion, Vaska caught sight of his face and shuddered, an instinctive wariness rising in her at the sight of his eyes, one gold and one magenta.

Then the entire world exploded, and Vaska didn't duck in time.

She woke to a terrible ringing and a blur of gold; Ailbhe was leaning over her, tapping her cheeks, trying to rouse her. Vaska blinked and sat up with a groan that she did not hear, and brushed aside the spell tag that had been stuck to her forehead so that she could see. The deck was in chaos, dragons sprawled out on the cracked wood. Two of the masts were in ruins, but somehow the ship was moving at a fast clip, away from the burning smudge on the horizon.

She peered over the edge of the deck. Nothing remained of the fleet except a scattering of burning debris and the end of one of the cannons, still sinking under the surface. Within a couple of seconds, all three of them had vanished under.

“Ow...” Vaska shook her head, trying to clear it. “What – how are we moving?”

“Tiber's pulling us,” Ailbhe said. “But we need to get somewhere safe so that we can recover.” She nudged Vaska and pointed. “Should you, um, should you be helping them?”

A few paces away, all three of the clan's healers were kneeling around John, Fiach directing the other two, who wrote onto the same scroll in relative silence. Zeta looked like he'd been crying, Luke looked like they'd only just woken up; they wore one of Rúth's shirts, back-to-front.

Vaska approached. Most of John was hidden under a pile of spell tags. But the deck around him looked as if it had been hit with a mallet, cracks radiating out from where John lay. And in those cracks in the wood was something shiny and mottled yellow and pink.

“Hey,” Vaska said, clearing her throat. “Do you... need help?” Please say no, please say no...

“No, Vaska,” Fiach said, pausing his writing for an instant. “This is too advanced for you. But you can tend to the rest of the clan, so long as their injuries are minor.” He glanced down at Luke. “She can, can't she?”

“If she's been paying attention, yes,” Luke said. Vaska frowned for a moment, indignant. Of course she'd been paying attention.

She glanced back, at the various bruised and scraped-up dragons on the deck, then snatched up a stack of empty spell tags and a pen.

“Did we win?” she said, before going to do her job.

Fiach met her eyes, and she instantly felt about two feet tall. “That remains to be seen.”