#whirl is on the left- reef is on the right

[loafbud]

I have no idea what their theme(s) is/are but here's my splatoon idol OCs, whirlpool and reef

[kpop-stories-21]

A Rainbow Under The Sea

Group: Stray Kids

Pairing: Felix x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Rating: 18-21+

Genres, Tropes & AUs: Non-Idol AU, Mermaid/Merman AU, Strangers to Lovers, Love At First Sight

Content & Trigger Warnings: Merman!Felix, Human!Reader, first kiss, strong feelings, a little bit of magic

Summary: Eight best friends fly to Jeju for a summer of fun, maybe romance, and more and while there they each find something, or perhaps someone, spectacular and entirely unexpected.

While out reef snorkeling, you get separated from your group and end up meeting someone... interesting. The second time you see him, you're certain it's not a coincidence.

Tags: @kpop---scenarios @stardragongalaxy @jeonrose @skittlez-area512 @mybiasisexo @biaswreckingfics @anyamaris @trashlord-007 @liliesofdreamsskz @rdiamond2727 @naturalogre SKZ Tags: @lovelyhange

Network pings: @cacaokpop-fics | @kdiarynet

MDNI banner courtesy of @kwanisms , divider courtesy of @cafekitsune

A/N: This is part of Where The Shoreline Meets The Sea, a SKZ Collab between myself and seven other members of @cultofdionysusnet

Collab Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You gazed in awe at the beautiful cabin before you, eyes wide as you paused in the struggle with your stubborn luggage. “Wow!” You murmured, taking in everything around you. “This is gonna be the best summer ever!” Excitement coursing through your body, you moved forward to join your friends, stowing your belongings in the room you would share with Kay before returning to join the discussion about what to do for dinner.

A few days later you stepped onto a tour boat with several strangers, ready to go reef snorkeling for the first time in years. As the boat left the dock, your guide began to go over the rules and protocols for a safe diving experience. You listened intently, not wanting a gap in what you remembered to end up causing harm to yourself or someone else in the group.

Finally, you arrived at a gorgeous reef and the guide went around to help everyone don their suits and gear. Once ready, you jumped into the icy expanse and swam several laps to warm yourself up while you waited for the rest to join.

When at last the guide joined you all in the water, you could hardly contain your excitement. Still, you made sure to pay attention as you followed the group below the surface. You sure as hell did not want to get separated from the group in unfamiliar waters. But as you lifted your waterproof camera to document the beauty of the reef, a thought ran through the back of your head that if you were ever to get lost anywhere, you wouldn’t mind it in such a lovely place as this.

Time flew by as you and the others followed the guide from place to place, seeing one gorgeous sight after another. It didn’t take long at all before your camera was full and you decided to go through them quickly to weed out the bad and blurry ones. Once finished, you looked up to see where the group had gone so you could catch back up. To your dismay, you had done exactly what you were trying not to. Panic began to rise within you as your gaze swept the area, attempting to look for any trace of where they might have gone.

Common sense burst through after a moment and you breathed deeply, forcing yourself to remain calm. Having a panic attack in the ocean was not ideal. Moving forward, you got to the place where you had last seen them and began to look around again. Nothing but aquamarine water met your eyes.

Movement off to your left had you whirling around. A flash of colour disappeared behind a large coral formation and you swam towards it, predicament forgotten as curiosity overtook you. By the time you got there, whatever you saw was gone. Another flash, this time on your right. You swam towards it, this time catching a glimpse of a long tail splashed with many bright colours. Your curiosity doubled and you swam after it.

Whatever this is, it’s damn fast. You thought to yourself. Picking up your speed a little, you continued following the splashes of colour until you found that you were approaching a rather large underwater cave. A seed of doubt wriggled into your mind, but you brushed it off. No dangerous marine wildlife you’d ever heard of behaved this way, so you figured you’d be relatively safe. Upon entering the cave, the creature you’d been following stopped and turned toward you. Amber eyes watched you, strangely human as they seemed to glow in the darkness. The creature swam slowly forward until the light from outside illuminated it.

A gasp left you at the sight of something you never even imagined could be real. From the waist up was the appearance of a human male; with tan skin, longish blonde hair and those gorgeous amber eyes. From the waist down, however, was a long scaly tail with large, delicate fins and the bright splashes of colour that had drawn your attention in the first place.

“You’re a…merman?” You murmured, voice sounding scratchy as it filtered through the apparatus on your mask.

He nodded, coming a little closer with something akin to curiosity in his eyes. Perhaps he was as intrigued by you as you were by him.

“May I ask why you had me follow you?” You inquired, staying perfectly still aside from the kicking of your feet to keep yourself afloat. The last thing you wanted was to scare him off. There was a chance he might be able to help you find your snorkelling group.

“I’ve never seen a human up close before, and I thought you were pretty.”

His voice was far deeper than you expected, and his complement made you blush.

“I-Thank you.” A moment of silence passed, then you spoke again. “I was with a group of humans and got separated from them. Did you happen to see where they went?”

The merman nodded, a small smile rising to his face. “I did. I can help you find them too.”

Relief flooded through you and you returned his smile. “I would greatly appreciate that, thank you.”

The merman swam over to you and held out his hand. You took it, blush deepening. His skin was warm, a surprising but welcome contrast to the harsh chill of the water. You struggled to calm your suddenly racing heart as the two of you swam through the reef, heading back toward where the boat had been. Once the boat was within view, the merman stopped.

“They got back on there, but haven’t moved yet.”

“They’re probably trying to figure out exactly where we got separated.” Turning to the merman, you smiled again. “Thank you for helping me. I hope to see you again before I leave.”

It was the merman’s turn to blush, and he seemed to suddenly find his tail quite interesting. “I’d like that.” He said softly. “If the sea gods find it favourable, that is.”

“Let’s hope they do then.” You said cheekily, giving him a small wave before swimming over to the boat.

The instant your head came above water you heard a mix of shouting and cheering from your guide and the other divers. Grinning, you let them help you aboard and explained what happened. You left the merman out of your story, saying instead that you remembered the general direction the boat was in and decided that returning there was your safest bet.

For the next week or so, the mysterious merman was nearly all you thought about. Your friends commented on your uncharacteristic absentmindedness, but you brushed it off as being enthralled by the beauty of coral reef you’d been to.

Halfway into the next week, you decided to head into town and see if you could find a coffee shop anywhere. And find one you did: Blue Hour, a quaint little place with a cosy aura that reminded you of home. A tall, handsome man was behind the counter, his nametag reading “Yeonjun”. He was very talkative and friendly, keeping you entertained while you waited for your order.

As you were turning to leave, your eyes landed on a familiar head of blonde hair and you stopped in your tracks. At about the same time those bright amber eyes landed on you and he, too, stopped walking.

He had legs now. That was the first thing you realised after getting over your initial shock. And as he got closer to you, a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks became clear. And here I thought he couldn’t get any more good-looking. You mused, feeling your face heat.

The smile that bloomed on his face was heart-stopping, bringing up a smile of your own unbidden.

“Would you like to sit and talk?” You asked, motioning to one of the sheltered tables outside the coffee shop. He nodded and followed you to one of the more secluded tables.

Once the two of you were seated, he spoke. “My name is Felix. You left before I could tell you.”

“It’s lovely to see you again Felix. My name is Y/N.”

“A pretty name for a pretty human.” Felix stated, gazing deeply into your eyes.

A blush coating your cheeks, you stuttered out your thanks. Then, clearing your throat, you changed the subject.

“Should I be concerned about you following me?” You asked, a teasing lilt to your voice.

The blonde’s smile morphed into a smirk. “Maybe.” He teased back.

You giggled, feeling strangely at ease with Felix despite barely knowing him.

“So, can you stay in this form for as long as you wish, or will you turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”

Felix laughed, a sweet sound that made your stomach fill with butterflies. “As much as I would love for it to be the latter, I am able to stay like this for as long as I want.”

The two of you talked for the better part of an hour, the time flying by so quickly you weren’t even aware until you noticed the sun had begun to set. Before you could even think about leaving, Felix took your hand in his, skin just as warm as the day you first met.

“Before you leave, could I show you something?”

Intrigued, you nodded. “Sure. What is it?”

The merman’s smile was almost blinding. “That is a surprise.”

“Ooooo, now I really want to know!”

“Felix, are you sure I can’t look yet? I’m gonna trip and fall!”

“Don’t worry Y/N-ah. I’m not gonna let you get hurt, I promise.”

“Okay, I think this is good. You can look now.”

Opening your eyes, you let out an awed breath as you took in the sight before you.

Standing knee deep in the chilly ocean, you were surrounded by a coral reef that was completely bioluminescent. Everywhere you looked, things were glowing: fish, coral formations, even the vegetation.

“Felix, I-It’s beautiful! I’ve never seen anything like it in my life!” You turned to him, eyes reflecting the light around you. “How is this even happening?”

“It’s mer magic.” He explained with a wide grin. “This is where I live.”

Your mouth fell open, heart swelling. Did he really trust you this much, that he was willing to show you his home?

“I brought you here for a reason.” Felix said quietly, taking hold of both hands and pulling you close to him. “Ever since that day we met I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. I came to that coffee shop every day, just hoping to run into you.”

You listened raptly, the bubble of joy inside you growing with each word. Was this going where you thought it was?

“What I’m trying to say is, I really like you Y/N and I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

“Oh Felix…” You put your hands on his shoulder and returned his deep gaze. “I feel the same way. I’ve never felt like this towards anyone before, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go. Whatever it takes, I promise I’ll do my best to work something out.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, my sweet human.”

His lips met yours and fireworks exploded behind your eyelids.

[pacificwaternymph]

A minute and a half.

It’d been a minute and a half, nearing two, and they hadn’t come up for air. 

Joanna bit her thumb, debating whether or not she should go after them. It wasn’t as though she were trying to hide her being a mermaid, but some of her Nightingale friends had advised her not to go around advertising it either. Pirates were a greedy people, after all, and someone as rare as her could easily become a target. Finn, especially, seemed paranoid about it.

But she couldn’t wait any longer. That person had fallen into the water nearly two minutes ago, and Joanna wasn’t going to sit around and let someone drown for the sake of keeping a secret that wasn’t really a secret anyway. 

She dove off the docks, into the water with a near soundless splash, feeling her gills flood open and start pumping air into her lungs. Transforming between forms was a seamless experience, a tingling sensation and a bright light wrapping around her legs until a tail was left in its place. She welcomed the feeling. It had been a few days since she’d last been able to swim. 

She swam towards the place where the pirate had tripped and fallen. The water in the harbor was murky and polluted from the hustle and bustle of a busy port. She scanned her surroundings, searching for a potentially unconscious body, but try as she might, they were nowhere to be found. 

She swam a little further down, hoping maybe being closer to the sand would reveal something, when a dark shape darted past her, too fast to see. Joanna whirled around, on guard, all too aware of how bold the sharks had grown in these waters, and found herself staring at another face. 

She had long, brown hair, a few shades lighter than Joanna’s own, pinned up by an eclectic collection of pins, feathers, blades, and other trinkets, though some of it had been knocked loose by the impact into the water. The pupils of her eyes were narrow slits, like a cat’s, and from her waist down, a slender, powerful tail, like that of a black tipped reef shark’s, curled through the water. 

A siren. 

They stared at one another for a few moments. Joanna had met sirens before, though she never stuck around them for long. They traveled in pods, families that protected each other with such close bonds she couldn’t help but feel envious of them. They had all kinds of reactions to someone like her, from fear to awe to downright worship. But it was unusual to see a lone siren by themself, like this one was.

“Who are you?” The siren asked, breaking the silence first. Joanna blinked, clearing her throat to try and shake her surprise.

“My name is Joanna,” she introduced herself, as was only polite. She looked the siren over again. She'd only seen it from a distance, so she couldn't say for certain, but she was fairly sure... yes, they looked quite like the person Jo had dove in after in the first place. But what was a siren doing here? “Who are you?”

“Lazuli.” the siren flashed a sharp grin. She swam closer, tilting her head to the side as she studied her. Jo backed up a little, but that didn't deter the siren, who began circling her.

"Um... can I help you?" Joanna asked a bit nervously. Sirens were carnivorous creatures known for devouring humans, but they weren't known to eat their own kind. Of course, she wasn't a siren, but surely being a mermaid had to count for... something. None of the other sirens had tried to eat her, at least.

"You're strange," Lazuli declared, coming to a stop in front of Joanna significantly closer than they had been just a few moments ago. "What kind of siren are you?"

"Well, I'm... not a siren," Joanna corrected. Lazuli's eyes narrowed, and they brought their face even closer to hers.

"Really?" she asked. Her brow furrowed, as though trying to work something out. "Hm. Then what are y-" Her eyes blew wide, and she swam back suddenly, her mouth agape. "Mermaid," she breathed with realization.

"That's right." Joanna nodded and smiled. Lazuli gasped as though they hadn't figured it out for themself, and they shot forward once more, grasping both of her hands.

"Incredible!" she exclaimed, grinning wide enough to reveal a set of razor sharp teeth. "I've never met a mermaid before!"

"Neither have I," Joanna giggled. "We're quite rare, I hear."

Lazuli laughed, a strong, hearty sound, and let go of her to swim another few circles around her, before flipping onto their back. "That's a good one," they told her. "It's true, then? Mermaids really don't have parents?"

"Not to my knowledge," Joanna replied. "Though it's not like I've ever had someone to compare notes with."

"Well, hell!" Lazuli threw her arms into the air. "What are you doing here? Didn't know the ocean's chosen liked to hang around human settlements."

"I could ask you the same." Joanna spun lazily to keep up with the path Lazuli cut through the water. "I thought sirens preferred lone ships as their prey."

Lazuli scowled. "I'm not here to eat anyone," they said indignantly. "I just got bored. Thought I'd come see what surface life had to offer." They tipped their head back. "What about you?"

"I was curious." And lonely, she didn't say. "I followed a ship to see where it went, and ended up here. I've been here... a little under half a year, now."

"Wicked," Lazuli cheered, folding her arms behind her head. "It's only been a couple weeks for me. Everything's so... weird, up there."

"It is," Joanna agreed. "There's so much we don't have down here. It's fascinating."

"Yeah, and it's weird," Lazuli emphasized. "Do you understand that... 'cooking' thing?" Their nose scrunched. "Seems kinda pointless to me."

"Not to them." Joanna shrugged. "Apparently raw fish can make them sick."

"Then why even eat fish!?" they cried incredulously.

"I don't know!" Joanna cried back, and she was laughing now. Lazuli was laughing too, her arms wrapped around her torso.

"They're so... squishy!"

"Oh, you would be surprised," Joanna defended.

"You're fun," Lazuli declared, coming back around to face Jo. "We should do this some more."

"I wouldn't mind that," Joanna said softly. Truthfully, moving onto land hadn't cured her of her loneliness. At least, not in its entirety. She had Inigo and Finn, of course, and she loved them dearly. Her fellow Nightingales were the most warm and welcoming people she'd ever met.

For the first time in her life, she had permanent companions. People she could travel with and talk to. People she could spend the day with, doing little, mundane tasks, with no destination or true purpose in their minds. People she could part ways with for the night, and trust that she would see them again the next morning.

But none of them could follow her into the water, not truly. And so when she returned to her natural home, she was still alone. But a siren among humans, another creature born of the ocean, like her, here on the isles...

"I'm staying with the Herons," Lazuli said, jolting her out of her musings. "What about you?"

"I'm a Nightingale," Joanna responded.

"Cool." Lazuli swam past her, back towards the wooden posts holding up the docks. She looked over her shoulder with another sharp grin. "Well, Joanna the Nightingale. I will see you sometime later."

"I look forward to it." Joanna felt a real smile spread across her face. Lazuli winked, then dug her claws into the post, and climbed her way out of the water and back onto the wooden planks. Joanna took a deep breath, feeling something light in her chest, and swam for Nightingale waters.

-

First meetings, 2/3

Lazuli belongs to @amostfoolishgold

[ltwilliammowett]

A loose cannon

The primary armament of a warship was the smoothbore gun. And the act of propelling a shot toward the enemy also generated a fair amount of recoil force. Experiments have shown the recoil distance of one of HMS Victory's 32pdr. guns would be in the region of 15,24m (50 feet). Obviously, this was not a good thing when her maximum beam was only 15,54m (51 feet). Anyone caught in the way of the gun was in danger of serious injury or death; the barrel of a 32pdr. weighed 2721,55 kg alone. In order to manage the recoil a system of blocks tackle attached the gun to the sides of the ship.

Ninety-Three: On Board the Corvette "Claymore", by Victor Hugo 1874 A loose cannon (x)

This system brought the recoil down to about 3,35m (11 feet) and allowed the gun to be run back out ready for firing again. Moreover, the tackle ensured the the gun could be safely secured in bad weather. But on occasion guns did break free. Out of controll they were entirely unpredictable as they careened round the deck, smashing wood and bone indiscriminately. Compounding the material damage, having such a weight moving around would also affect the stability of the ship. HMS Defence was just off the west coast of Jutland on Christmas Eve 1811 when she was caught into a worst storm. Inevitably she ran onto offshore reefs. Only 6 men survived, and one of them, Sailor Joseph Page, left a terrifying account. As the ship ran aground the masts went over the side, then : The sea breaking her, the dismal shrieks of the people, the guns breaking adrift, and crushing the men to death, rendered the whole a dreadful scene.

Or how Victor Hugo portrayed such an accident in his novel Ninety Three, 1874: One of the carronades of the battery, a twenty-four pounder, had broken loose.This is the most dangerous accident that can possibly take place on shipboard. Nothing more terrible can happen to a sloop of war in open sea and under full sail.A cannon that breaks its moorings suddenly becomes some strange, supernatural beast. It is a machine transformed into a monster. That short mass on wheels moves like a billiard-ball, rolls with the rolling of the ship, plunges with the pitching, goes, comes, stops, seems to meditate, starts on its course again, shoots like an arrow, from one end of the vessel to the other, whirls around, slips away, dodges, rears, bangs, crashes, kills, exterminates. It is a battering ram capriciously assaulting a wall.

Add to this, the fact that the ram is of metal, the wall of wood.It is matter set free; one might say, this eternal slave was avenging itself; it seems as if the total depravity concealed in what we call inanimate things had escaped, and burst forth all of a sudden; it appears to lose patience, and to take a strange mysterious revenge; nothing more relentless than this wrath of the inanimate. This enraged lump leaps like a panther, it has the clumsiness of an elephant, the nimbleness of a mouse, the obstinacy of an axe, the uncertainty of the billows, the zigzag of the lightning, the deafness of the grave. It weighs ten thousand pounds, and it rebounds like a child's ball. It spins and then abruptly darts off at right angles. 

The unpredictable, dangerous nature of a loose cannon has led to the widespread use of the phrase ashore to describe someone who is outspoken in their views and will not adhere to a corporate identity.

[thebluenickel]

A Picture and the Story Behind It...

Part 11: The End; The Beginning

Commissioned by: @booknerd87 

Art by: @Arospaintbrush on instagram

Read on AO3 here

_______

“This is it,” Gwyn hollers from atop her mount’s back. One hand releases the reins to point down the mountainside to the cove, just barely shimmering in the twilight. “The tide pool, the amethyst, the sandstone—it’s all here. Az—” she canters back over to him “—Az, we found it.”

              “I found it.”

              Her Pegasus chuffs unhappily, white and gold mane ruffling, wings half-unfurled. Those dark, discerning animal eyes are locked on the cove.               

              Gwyn swings a leg over to jump down—and gasps as Azriel’s hands close around her waist. Too long a flight, his craving for her has grown into a gnawing need in his head. The days before Charine, the Pegasus Helion kindly gifted Gwyn, were better days.

              The clouds feel a hint colder without Gwyn in his arms; the distance edged in loneliness.

              Languidly, he lowers her to the ground, letting her body drag against his the whole way. Her hands grab for his shoulders for balance. Her lips give a kick of a smile.  

              The moment he releases, she’s off again. With a little duck of the chin and a snicker—she knows exactly what she’s doing. Little shit. He chases her at a dead walk, no matter how excitedly, recklessly she scales down the mountainside.

              It’s cold up here. She’ll come in search of his warmth soon; he’ll get her back where he likes her. If she doesn’t crack her godsdamned skull open.

              “Slow down,” he orders.

              She pauses, glancing at him over her shoulder. Copper hair flips and flickers in the breeze—fire and riches. “Hurry up.”

              “No.” He scowls; she scowls. “Wait for me.”

              She turns back to the cove beneath their feet—he’s sure she’s about to take off again. But she only puts a hand up to her eyes to block the sun, peering out at the expanse around them. Cove, mountain, distant trees. There’s a glint of purple from the amethyst inside the cave around the tide pool; the water, the deepest teal. Out from the beach, the water is a frigid white-blue. A massive chunk of ice is resting on the sand, slowly melting.

              “We should split up to check the shore,” Gwyn decides, “The tome mentioned a rock formation that we’ll need to find. If it’s not in the cave, it could be somewhere on one of the sand bars.”

              “It could also be out on one of the reefs, only visible at low tide.” Azriel finally reaches her side and grabs one of her hands. He points with both their hands at the iceberg, perched on the beach. “Or it’s frozen in there.”

              She abides his gentle tug, following him down the mountain, carefully. “That is a strange ice formation. Could you penetrate it with your shadows?”

              “I prefer to do that myself.”

              She snorts. Pink dusts across her cheeks, the sunset reaching out to touch the color, to play with it. Az nearly reaches for it, too, wanting to touch the heat beneath her skin. But she releases him, hopping off the last lip of the mountain. Her feet land in the sand, and she moves in the direction of the sandbar on the cove’s right.

              Az hops down, making to chase after her. She points to the left, calling to him to check that way—and adding, as an afterthought, thank you.

              He sends two shadows to follow her—four shadows follow her; they couldn’t decide amongst themselves who deserved the privilege—and he goes, obediently, to the left of the cove. The entrance to the cave is a thin crevasse in the mountainside. At a distance, it could look like lips, just opening to speak.

              The wind whirls through it, as if trying to give it breath. To allow it to whisper.

              The sandbar is wide enough at first to walk comfortably, pebbly and coarse. But the sand turns to larger and larger stones until he’s hopping from boulder to boulder. Glancing occasionally down into the water for anything toothy, he circles as far around the mountainous island as he can before he has to return back the other way. Dusk is rapidly descending.

              His feet hit pebbles and sand again, and something squeals.

              “Sorry,” he says to the otter, flopping onto its little feet to yell at him to the best of its abilities. Az didn’t step on it, but he came very close. “I’m sorry, little one.”

              It lashes its body at him, like a cat preparing to pounce. He crouches down, offering out a gentle hand. It bites him. Acceptable consequence. He apologizes again, standing to carefully skirt the animal, but it skitters back, yelling again.

              “Can I help you?”

              It chitters at him.

              “Fascinating.”

              It’s eyes narrow—like it knows he’s patronizing it. Then it whips around, bounding back in the direction of the cove. It pauses a few feet away, turning to look at him. More yelling.

              Gwyn’s going to love this. Az follows the otter, pausing as it runs a few more feet ahead, and follows again. The process repeats thrice before it deigns to trust him, still following—an otter. He clears the corner of the sandbar, stepping back onto the cove’s beach and finds the otter standing at the edge of the ice block.

              He flashes his siphons four times in Gwyn’s direction—the signal to rendezvous—watching the otter watching him. Footsteps jog through the sand, kicking up a quiet ruckus. The otter doesn’t break eye-contact with Azriel.

              “What did you—” Gwyn stops “—I see. You made a friend, Shadowsinger.”

              “It led me here.”

              She’s quiet for a long moment. Troublemaking is tangible in the air, it tastes like strawberries and vanilla. “What’s its name?” she asks.

              “I haven’t named it,” he mutters, “It’s not a pet. Just���look at it.”

              “Very cute.”

              “No.” He turns his eyes away from the otter to cock a brow at Gwyn. She makes an effort to subdue her amusement, but her smile glows that same impish pink as her blush in the sunset. He wants to kiss that smile—bite it. “Look at the sentient otter, Gwyn.”

              She furrows her brow at him, glancing down at the otter. It sits up on its back legs, flicking its little feet in her direction—almost a bow. She grins, kneeling in front of it, reaching out an offering hand. It bumps its forehead against her palm, purring.

              Dancing teal eyes turn up to Az. “Are you sure it’s not a pet.”

              “We’re not keeping it.” He motions at the ice block the otter is still resting on. “It wants us to look under that ice. It’s not a natural formation. I could see it from out there—” he points towards a hook in the sandbar he was exploring, where it dives out nearly into reef territory “—It’s sheer on the side facing the water.”

              “The waves should’ve beaten it down.”

              He mouths, like you, at the otter. “I can use my siphon to knock the ice away. We could see what’s underneath.”

              She nods her approval, leaning down to whisper to their furry friend, “You’ll have to get out of the way. Can you do that?”

              The otter hops off of the ice, flopping into the water and disappearing beneath the surface. It pops back up, floating on its back far out into the waves. Gwyn moves in the opposite direction, taking cover higher up the mountain’s surface.

              Azriel fires up each of his siphons individually, letting them warm against him, through him. The thundering in the center of his chest kicks joyously—ready to escape, eager to detonate. But he holds the power in his hands, the throbbing and the liquid destruction. It rolls through his fingers, between his scars, tracing the ridges.

              He aims it towards the ice’s center of mass, and he releases a blast of magic. A sound like thunder rolls from his chest—

              The ice is torn into shrapnel and shards, spraying in every direction. He puts up a shield; Gwyn ducks behind a boulder. He throws a shorter blast of power at the rock formation revealed from beneath the ice, to knock away the moss and mold.

              Rock formation—hardly. It’s a statue.

              A Pegasus, wings open, mid-leap; a warrior on its back, sword half-free from a sheath at her side. And three shimmering gemstones imbedded within the carving. An emerald between the Valkyrie’s eyes—the center; an amethyst at the hollow of the throat—the balance; and a lapis lazuli against the sole of her foot—the promise to leave any land tread upon better than they found it.

              “Holy gods,” Gwyn whispers, standing at Az’s shoulder. He didn’t register her coming closer. But he can feel her now—the tremor in the hand she reaches out towards the statue; the warmth of discovery in her chest. He can feel it in himself. An echo, a mirror. “She’s beautiful.”

              “The Last of the First Valkyries.”

              The First of the Reborn Valkyries places her trembling hand against the stone nose of the Pegasus. Copper hair billowing, she stares, transfixed, at the statue. “Do you think they’re here?”

              “The tome has been correct so far,” Az says, noncommittally. He wants to find the lost Pegasi—with Gwyn, for Gwyn. But he can’t put too much hope in her heart if there’s any chance it’ll be dashed against these rough hewn pebbles. Shrapnel and shards. “The tome mentioned a summoning?”

              Gwyn nods, moving around the Pegasus. “If we press each of the gemstones from mind to foot, it will activate a signal. It’ll call the Pegasi home.”

              “To the Day Court?”

              “No,” her voice is quiet—almost forlorn, “No, here is their home.”

              Because these are the Pegasi that were released before the Valkyries’ final battle. Ten were given back to the wild, told to find a safe place. To grow, to prosper—and to be ready for the Valkyries to rise again. The warriors knew they were going to die that day. And they spared the smallest semblance of themselves, to be rescued in a far off future.

              The Final Valkyrie was a female cursed to die already, sick. She was barely able to move the day the rest fell. But they tied her down to her mount, and they sent her with the Pegasi. They told her to find her peace.

              She must have found more than that—if this statue is here.

              Unless someone else found the Pegasi and kept it a secret. Unless this is only a memorial sight and nothing more.

              “We should build a fire,” Gwyn says softly, “Make camp. We can explore further in the morning.” She makes to duck past Az in search of firewood, their supplies—he doesn’t care. He grabs for her arm, pulling her to him, searching for the source of the darkness in her eyes. “Az, we will freeze to death out here. Isn’t that what you’re always grumbling about?”

              He wraps an arm around her waist, tucking her in closer. “What’s wrong?”

              She blinks at him. “Wrong?” she repeats. “Nothing.”

              His shadows whisper, truth. But he can see it in her eyes—nothing wrong, per se; but she’s lost somewhere in her mind. Between the stacks, adrift in pages, she’s overflowing with stories too big to hold in her hands. Her eyes flutter closed, lashes brushing his cheek as he rests their brows together. A soft breath touches his lips.

              “Every beginning has an end,” she whispers, “Am I allowed to hate that?”

              He carefully laces his fingers into the strands of her hair, holding her close as he presses a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. Then the other. “Hate it. Love it. Hell, pick a fight with time itself; I’ll back you up.”

              She smiles, and he kisses the corners again. Better. “Time is hard to kill.”

              “I can think of a few ways.”

              “No,” she laughs, smacking him in the chest with the back of a hand. “You know what I meant.”

              “Of course.” He strokes a straight, intent line down her spine, following the shiver of his own touch. She presses in, her balance yielding to his gravity. Her lips are parted, soft and pink—he makes her wait an extra moment before he gives her what she wants. Makes her tilt her chin up timidly in request before he gives in to her.

                Strawberries and vanilla, decadent mouth; his perfect indulgence. She kisses him like she wants to savor the moment. He kisses her like he wants more moments. He gets ahold of one thigh—sleek, soft—wrapping it around his waist, and he grabs her other. She makes a soft, startled sound into his mouth as she’s relieved of the ground.

              Her legs clamp down tight around him. He can feel the heat of her center through their leathers; he wants the plush press of her breasts in his hands. But she breaks their kiss, ducking out of his reach.

              He glares at her lips.

              They smile. “We have an audience.”

              A little yelling goes up from behind them. That damn otter is back, flipping and flopping in the surf, waggling around for their attention.

              “I think it wants—” Gwyn points up over Az’s shoulder at the gems imbedded in the statue. The otter seems to nod; she nods back. Nicer manners than she shows Az on a regular basis.

              A nickering goes up from Charine, and Gwyn climbs down out of Az’s arms. He catches her wrist before she can get too far away, letting her pull him along in her wake. He helps her clamber up onto the statue to press on the emerald. Then, the amethyst. Finally, with a crunch, the lapis lazuli.

              The statue gives a faint, wheezing grind—

              They back away. Azriel places her behind himself, siphons blazing up a winter fire again. Charine is moving, in his peripheral vision—he reaches out a hand to stop her from getting too close to the statue. But she fluffs out her wings and moves to the edge of the beach, head up proudly.

              Azriel’s shadows feel it a moment later. A change, a shift in the turn of the world—something new, something beginning.

              In the distance, wings boom.

[zimms]

(yet another ollie/wicks ficlet, but this one got slightly out of hand, clocking in at 1.3k for absolutely no reason, so there’s a line break. this is set during the november of bitty’s sophomore year.)

don’t treat him like a mind reader

It’s mid-November when Ollie and Wicky first notice.

They’re on their weekly coffee date at Annie’s, trading sips of each other’s drinks and proof-reading the other’s most recent paper, when Jack Zimmermann walks through the door. Ollie knows that he should probably be on a first name basis with Jack Zimmermann at this point, considering the fact that he’s their team captain and they’ve been attending the same weekly bonding sessions at the Haus since the beginning of freshman year. 

(However, it’s Jack Zimmermann, and Ollie doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the fact that he knows this guy in real life and that he’s met Bad Bob and he’s playing on the same team as someone that will be a shoe-in for next year’s Calder winner no matter which team he signs for and Ollie is an obnoxious fanboy, and this is why he largely steers clear of Jack Zimmermann, lest he embarrasses himself.)

Anyway, it’s a surprise that Jack Zimmermann is in Annie’s for 2 reasons.

Everyone knows that Jack hates paying money for coffee, when he just drinks it black (because he has no taste) and we have coffee at the Haus, why would I buy some extortionate cup of overly sweet sludge?

He’s just had his history class with Bitty, and everyone knows that Jack immediately goes back to the Haus to make his notes from lectures, because Jack Zimmermann works harder than God.

(Okay, so maybe not everyone knows these things, but Ollie absolutely does because these are crucial details in his plan to avoid Jack Zimmermann at all times.

Well maybe the coffee thing isn’t part of that plan; it’s more the fact that Jack complains loudly about it at Team Breakfast, despite the fact that he is a millionaire with more money than Ollie will ever see and can definitely afford an extortionate cup of overly sweet sludge.)

Ollie flicks Wicky’s forehead where he’s leaning over his most recent Econ essay. “Dude, what’s Jack doing here? Shouldn’t he be back at the Haus, making his obscenely perfect notes?” His eyes tracked Jack’s movements as he ordered two coffees and made his way to a table. “Hold on, is Hockey Robot Jack Zimmermann on a date?”

Wicky frowns at Ollie’s fingers as they come away from his forehead, and runs a hand through his hair. His eyes flick up to Jack’s table. “Nah, he’s probably waiting for Bitty; he’s tutoring him in French this semester.”

As if on cue, Bitty walks through the door, evidently having been challenged by Jack to a run across campus and evidently having lost, despite being the fastest guy on the team. Ollie watches as he grins at Jack and makes his way to the table, not looking at the barista once. 

“Huh,” he mutters, “you were right.”

Wicky’s head snaps up, affronted. “Why do you sound so surprised? I literally saw them here last Tuesday.”

“Why didn’t I know this then? I’m always here with you.”

Wicky rolls his eyes. “Dude, you were at that meeting with your Bio professor; the reason I was here is because I was literally waiting for you. They’d just left by the time you were done discussing carbohydrates or mitochondria or whatever it is you do in Bio.” Ollie grins at him; STEM professors always rub Wicky up the wrong way; it’s a side effect of being forced to go to a science specialist high school when you have no interest in STEM. “Anyway, I’m still trying to work out if they’re doing tutoring or tutoring.”

Ollie furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Wicky gestures not-so-discreetly at where Bitty and Jack are laughing over their French flashcards. “Look at Bitty; are you seriously telling me that he’s not in love with Jack?”

“No!” Ollie holds up his hands. “You know that I would never deny the fact that the straight boy that Bitty is pining for is Jack, but do you really think that Jack Zimmermann, Hockey Robot isn’t straight?” Ollie watches the aforementioned Hockey Robot grin down at Bitty, eyes softer than Ollie’s ever seen them. “Actually, you know what, Jack Zimmermann isn’t straight. He looks like a fucking movie star out of the 1950s with the way he’s trying to flirt with Bitty over there.”

Wicky stares at him. “That sentence was incomprehensible, but I think I get what you mean.” 

The two of them turn to face Jack and Bitty, as their hands brush together as they each reach for another flashcard. Ollie gapes openly at how Jack Zimmermann’s face flushes red at the contact. “Fuck it, I’m just gonna ask Bitty when we’re at the Haus tonight.”

o0O0o

The rhythm of Beyoncé throbs through the hallway of the Haus and his feet as Ollie knocks on the door of the kitchen. Bitty’s voice struggles to reach over the music as he shouts “Come in!”

Ollie opens the door tentatively and the music goes silent. “Hey, Bitty. I was wondering if I could ask you something?”

“Of course, honey!” Bitty whirls around from where he was faffing next to the oven. “What do you-? What on God’s green Earth are you wearing?” 

Ollie glances down at the orange and white striped outfit that Shitty’s making him wear for his dibs, including fins and a tail. “I honestly don’t know. I think it might have once been a tangential joke that Holster made about Ransom being a coral reef that eventually spiralled into this hell. Wicky’s dressed as Dory if it’s any consolation.”

Bitty removes his oven gloves and places them lovingly on the stove. “It is absolutely no consolation whatsoever, but it is quite entertaining.” His eyes roam up and down Ollie’s body (a move that Ollie would have thought was flirtatious if Bitty hadn’t been quite so in love with Jack Zimmermann) and he giggles in that way that only Bitty can. “Anyway, what did you need?”

A slice of pie appears in front of Ollie on a plate. He doesn’t question it; he’s learnt not to question how baked goods suddenly materialise around Bitty.

“Oh, yeah.” Ollie takes a mouthful of pie. “Me and Wicky were wondering if Jack was like tutoring you in French, like how Wicky tutors me in Philosophy?”

(Ollie and Wicky have long since established that they don’t want to be out to the whole team, so they came up with a code word for date night that they can use with the people that know about their relationship, which is basically just Shitty and Bitty, but whatever.)

Bitty nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, exactly like that!” He takes a bite of his own pie. “He’s such a great tutor; he’s so good at French!”

Ah, that clears that up then.

Ollie grins at Bitty. “You know, if you ever want to discuss tutoring, I’m always willing to listen, and I know Wicky is too.” He stands up, wipes his mouth, and claps Bitty on the back. “Good talk.”

“Oh, was that all you wanted to know?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to get back to reenacting scenes from Finding Nemo. Just keep swimming.”

o0O0o

“Yeah, they’re dating.”

“Oh, thank God, for a second I thought that they were just that oblivious.”

(A year later they get a text from Bitty announcing that he and Jack were dating. 

oily: thanks for letting us know officially bro! we were happy to keep it on the dl til u were ready to come out!

candle: thanks in return for keeping our relationship a secret! we knew that you could keep it a secret!

itsy bitsy baker: how did you guys know about us?? i never told you we were dating??

oily: yh, u did??

itsy bitsy baker: 

we didn’t get together until the summer after sophmore year??

also, did you guys say you were dating?!?

candle: yeah, we told you at the end of freshman year, bro. you literally caught us making out in your room??

itsy bitsy baker: i-?? what???)

part 1 part 2 part 3

[unokins]

No Truth Left - part 3

CW: Violence, body malformation

Link to Archive

Not even a second of deliberation and Chie ran for the caves. The collapsing house was a certain dead end. At least she could hope for safety in the twisting tunnels. Her lungs burned and legs ached as she stumbled past the cave's mouth.

A jutting rock caught her foot. Chie fell with a hard thud, hands scraping on the black stone. The squelching pattering and inhuman grunting grew louder. 

The ground in front of her dropped away to a steep, almost vertical slope. Darkness veiled the descent. If she jumped and broke her leg- or worse, her back- Chie glanced behind her, and a thick shadow stretched across the ground outside. 

"Oh God, oh God." Chie pulled herself behind a box, drawing her knees up. She squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her hands over her ears, as if that would protect her.

It's following your footprints. The masculine derision rang in her ears and Chie's eyes snapped open. Who kept talking!?

No one else hid nearby, but the mud from her shoes stamped the ground, advertising her position like a giant, pointing arrow. The stench of rotting fish rolled off the figure as it approached. 

Even if you ran deeper into the caves, it'll follow. It knows your smell.

"Please, help me," Chie tried to say but the words stuck in her throat. All that escaped was a feeble whimper. Tears stung her eyes. She was going to die.

If we want to survive, you need to act. See that bottle? To your left?

Chie's head twitched, eyes alighting on an empty beer bottle. Its bottom had broken off in jagged pieces. Slowly, she nodded.

Pick it up by the neck. And get ready.

"I- I can't." Fear gripped Chie with icy fingers, nails digging into her muscles and freezing her to the spot. Her arm twitched uselessly.

Foreign frustration hit her like a sucker punch. Chie squirmed against it. If you don't fight back, the best you can hope for is a quick death. The voice growled animalistically, words reverberating in Chie's head. And I'm not letting your ineptitude kill me. Now pick up the fucking bottle. And get. Ready.

The shock of the rage, of feeling it like a writhing parasite from within, jolted Chie into grabbing the bottle and lifting it up, holding it awkwardly like a club. The alien emotion faded, leaving Chie with her own fear.

There you go, it purred sardonically. When I say go, jump up and attack it.

"How? What do I-" A foot slapped down in front of Chie.

It didn't look like something out of a horror movie. The horror movies she watched with her roommate didn't come close to capturing the grotesque- had never elicited such a visceral fear response from her. 

The foot was bloated like a corpse's, mottled blue and green scales bulging at irregular intervals. The skin under was a ghastly gray, dark purple veins threading across it. Instead of nails, chipped, black claws adorned the webbed foot and scraped the ground. As the thing shifted its weight, water oozed from between the cloudy scales like puss.

Go!

She forgot how to breathe, couldn’t pull her eyes from the horrific foot. Even as it loomed over her. Closer. A long, webbed hand reached for her.

Damn you, girl!

Chie's legs reacted without her. Her knees snapped straight, rocketing her up. Gripping the bottle tight, she squeezed her eyes shut and screamed as she swung it. Shattering glass filled her ears, echoing through the cave, and the creature screeched in pain. A crack, a thump. Chie stood there, arm raised, entire body shaking. She gripped the broken bottle like a drowning woman held a piece of driftwood. Something wet dripped down her arm.

You need to open your eyes.

"Just-" hoarse, caught in her throat. Chie coughed. "Just tell me what happened."

I can't if your eyes are closed.

That made no sense. Chie didn't move.

Open your eyes now. Whoever was talking was losing their patience. And try not to faint.

Chie opened one eye a fraction of an inch and immediately turned her back to the creature, head spinning. "Oh my god, oh my god." Her body shook uncontrollably. "What is that? What- what's-"

A nice hit. Think you got it across the jaw.

Staggering to the crate, Chie placed the broken bottle on top and sank to the ground, back to the monster. She gripped her arms, trying to stop the shaking. Black stone. Mundane. Normal. She stared at it blankly, ignoring the purple blood that stained her hand. Breathe. Breathe. Calm down.

What are you doing? Move.

"I-" Chie clamped her mouth shut and swallowed. "I don't know- I mean." She took another breath. "Who are you? And where are you? I-"

One thing at a time. The voice stopped yelling, at least. I only remember two things about myself. My name is Maverick Hunter, and I'm being chased.

"By who? Or... what?"

I just told you. That perpetual annoyance seeped into the words. That's all I know. Can't tell you who or why.

“Sure.” Calmer now, Chie stood and turned to search the cavern, purposefully avoiding the fish-like thing lying on the ground. "So where are you?"

I'm in your head.

"Excuse me." That was ridiculous. Telepathy, seriously? Was this an elaborate prank? Was some LARPer wearing a super realistic fish costume? Chie scoured the cave for hidden cameras. 

I was attacked by whoever is chasing me. When I came to, I was looking out from your body and your eyes.

"This is insane," Chie said, hand to her forehead. "I'm going- I've had a breakdown. That's it." She didn't think she had a family history of Schizoaffective disorder, but work had been super busy lately and combined with the memory loss, maybe she just needed a good psychiatrist and some medical leave.

You're not crazy. You can't explain what's lying on the ground with crazy.

Chie's weak excuses soured in her stomach. 

"I'm leaving," she said, shaking her head as if to clear the voice from her. "It was not nice meeting you, Maverick."

Chie took one step forward and froze. The feeling in her legs vanished and she was numb from the waist down. Her legs shook, muscles expending extraneous effort. But try as she might, Chie could not move forward.

Now you listen to me, you stupid little bitch. Maverick's voice was low, straining, and hinted towards boiling anger. I have come too far for you to turn back now. I may not have the energy to control you fully right now, but I sure as fuck can stop you.

Chie strained her back, forcing herself to move. Her shoulders twisted and her arms reached forward, but her legs remained petrified. "Why can't I move?!"

Because I'm here! Stuck inside your weak little body, and it's time you accept that. Now do as I say, or I'm going to hold you here until that thing wakes up. And whatever horror you're subjected to? I will happily watch. 

"How are you- Why are you-?!" Chie cried. This was impossible. This was impossible! 

Because I need to know why I'm like this, why I'm being pursued. And as long as we're stuck together? They're after you by association. Your friends. Your family.

Chie flinched. Who were these people to do this? She- this couldn't be real. She couldn't-

The monster on the floor gurgled. Chie's resolve faltered.

Maverick was gentler when he spoke next. We can't afford to turn back. There are answers here we need to find. Okay?

Chie nodded numbly. "Okay. Okay- I- I can. I can do this." Like a rubber band snapping, Chie's legs jolted. She fell forward, twisting to regain her balance. The thought of falling on that thing was horrendous. 

Maverick sighed, energy spent. Go through the crates over there. 

Why, Chie wondered, did a disembodied voice need to sigh? Thoughts whirled together incoherently but Maverick was right: unexplainable things were happening to her. They needed answers.

She removed the crate's lid and dug around inside. Flashlight, rope, beer, snacks, pocket knife, a small backpack, more beer. What kind of person had bagged cookies and peanuts but no water?

Oh, that's perfect! Maverick's glee when Chie picked up a large army knife was worrisome. She set it aside as she filled the backpack with food and supplies. Once done, she slid it free from the sheath, and held it up for Maverick.

Okay, take that knife and kill the fish monster.

"Excuse me?!"

It's the only one that knows we're here. Killing it will buy us time until the others-

"There are more?!"

-find its body. If it's alive- Maverick's voice grew low again, and Chie could almost feel hands on her shoulders as if he held her still. -it won't be long before it warns the others and the Devil's Reef is swarming with them. I won't tell you again. Kill it.

Chie couldn't bring herself to look at it. And Maverick expected her to kill it? She had sobbed when she accidentally ran over a squirrel last year. To deliberately kill a living thing? One that was unconscious? Even if it had attacked her-

Chie. Maverick said sharply. 

>Kill it >Spare it

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 27: Army and Escape

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

At dawn, they returned to the site to retrace their steps, hoping for a fresh perspective with the new day.

After some deliberation, Rowan had decided to give a few of his weapons to Aelin, only as a precaution. No matter how much it irritated him to shirk tradition, he didn’t know what they might be walking into. And Aelin seemed to have a knack for finding the thorniest patch of brambles – and then gleefully jumping in.

They thoroughly searched the area where body had lain, now only a pale sooty mark in the earth, for long minutes and found absolutely nothing. That is, until Aelin spotted something they had missed the day before – a tiny droplet of dried blood on a nearby rock. Just enough for Rowan to catch a trace of the male’s scent and use his winds to trace the demi-Fae’s path back towards the sea cliffs.

They now stood atop the cliffs, shielding their eyes from the sun’s glare as they scanned their surroundings for any trace of the demi-Fae, where he had come from, and the creatures that had killed him.

There were thousands of caves lining the bluffs, some submerged, others resting high above the water, cut into the cliff face itself. A danger to ships of all sizes, but useful for hiding any manner of things. Particularly the various creatures who used the tide to their advantage in hunting the beasts of the sea.

Though Rowan definitely knew of a few that wouldn’t turn their nose up at a Fae, either. Yet it was mid-day, so he was reasonably sure that nothing would bother them that they couldn’t easily handle.

The beach was nearly a hundred feet below their feet, hardly more than a spit of land lined with rocks and crashing surf. The scent off of the sea wind was fresh and clean and bracing – full of salt and scorching heat.

But it had also wiped away any remaining trace of the male’s scent. It wandered out of the trees, onto this overlook, and stopped dead. Either the male had dropped here out of nowhere (which was theoretically possible – presuming he could shift into some kind of flying creature) or he had doubled back on himself, arriving at this point and then returning from where he came – presumably the spot in the woods where they had found him lying dead.

Either way, there was nothing else to be discovered by standing here. And as they were so exposed, out of the shadowed shelter of the trees, Rowan was rather anxious to depart. But before he could say anything –

Aelin was leaning over the cliff edge, her face twisted into a frown, and Rowan’s hands were automatically reaching out to steady her, taken aback by the degree to which his stomach was twisted by panic.

She just gave him a withering look. “I’m trying not to be insulted,” she said. “Look.” And she pointed over the lip of the cliff edge just over to their left, where the sharp point seemed to have softened somewhat. A sagging curve – as if worn down by some kind of pressure.

Rowan gripped her arm tighter as they both leaned slightly farther over the edge to glimpse a hidden, crumbled stone staircase.

The path was so ancient that there were hardly any steps now – just lumps of rock and sand, peppered with obstinate brown shrubs. It led down towards a slightly calmer section of the beach, hidden by the curve of the cliffs, where the water was just clear enough that a break in the barrier reef was visible.

A space large enough for small ships to pass through. The perfect place to surreptitiously enter the country – and remain undetected by the surrounding inhabitants. Even those that lived and worked on the seas.

Rowan was still looking over at the inlet, his mind whirling with all the possibilities, when Aelin began to speak, her words sounding as though she were already in the middle of a thought. “The bodies were dumped in streams and rivers,” she said, crouching in the dirt and sketching a crude map of the body sites – apparently from memory.

Rowan squatted next to her. “The sea was never far off,” he said. “They could have dumped the bodies there. But – ”

“But then those bodies probably would drift right back to shore, and prompt people to look along the beach. Look here,” she said, pointing at the area towards the center of her map - presumably where they were currently sitting. “There are countless caves along this section of the shore. “It’s an easy access point from – ”

Aelin swore.

Rowan knew that they were both thinking the same thing. Adarlan. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“Don’t you think they would already have attacked if they’d seen us?”

He stood, pointing up at the sun. Aelin seemed skeptical. “If we’re going to explore, then we’re going to do it under cover of darkness. So we’re going back to the stream, and we’re going to find something to eat. And then, Princess,” he said, a wild grin twisting his face, “We are going to have some fun.”

···

By the late afternoon, Mala had apparently decided to take pity on them because just before sunset, rainclouds appeared on the horizon, thundering and crackling with enough of a vengeance to conceal their every sound as they strode across the beach and began to thoroughly search each of the caves.

It didn’t take long. They had barely made it through half a dozen before they found themselves lying side by side on their stomachs on a lower shelf of the sea cliffs, scouting the next stretch of beach before they continued their search. Rowan called a wind towards him, pulling the sights and scents of their surroundings along with it.

The wind whispered of trodden sand and dead fish, of cloth and steel and sweat and the hum that always surrounded closely-pressed bodies. The unmistakable sign of a large host, barely hidden from sight. A stone settled in Rowan’s toes.

A few armed men crossed over their line of sight, clothed in crimson and gold. The colors of Adarlan.

The soldiers passed over the sandy beach from a nearby copse of trees, and entered a massive cave mouth, its size partially concealed by convenient camouflage with the surrounding rock. The wind whispered to him, heavy with the knowledge of heavy booted feet and urine and boredom and pain and the cold damp hollowness of a large, buried space. Big enough to conceal an entire battalion of soldiers.

The creatures had not been dropped here on their own, to wreak havoc on their own prerogative. They had been accompanied by an army – large enough to wipe the area clean of both demi-Fae and humans. Efficient and disciplined.

Aelin turned her head towards him, her eyes slightly wide, and whispered, “The crab-monger. In the village. He said – he said he found weapons in his nets. They must be taking ships and then getting close enough to swim through the reef without attracting attention. We need to get a closer look.”

Her eyes twinkled unexpectedly. “I knew you’d be useful someday.”

Rowan snorted, hiding a grin, and shifted to his hawk without another word. She was watching him carefully, and he had to resist the urge to brush his feathers across her cheeks as he spread his wings and soared out over the cliffs and glided across the water. Nothing more than another animal, hunting for a meal.

He carefully flew out over bluffs, keeping his movements cyclical and seemingly random, all the while approaching ever closer to the cave mouth. The soldiers had now entered the cave and the beach was empty, but his wind told him that a few more men rested just within the antechamber, keeping watch over the entrance.

Rowan rested on a rock, waiting patiently, searching for the right opportunity…

Then a slight hint of movement from the sentries, a small distraction, and Rowan was soaring up and through the cave mouth, keeping his small body as close to the dark ceiling as possible. Hopefully appearing to any wandering eyes to be an animal searching for shelter from the rain. The advantage in facing mortal soldiers – they didn’t know how to recognize a Fae’s animal form even if they tried.

The cave mouth opened up into a vast cavern, barely lightened by a handful of dull torches. It spread out in the darkness, stretching into strange and twisted offshoots – some of which appeared to be even larger than this one.

Below him, a few dozen soldiers lounged about, resting on crates and boxes and stone shelfs, talking, eating, brawling, training, and doing all those things a sedentary army did to entertain itself. The soldiers seemed to have been carefully chosen for this group – all were experienced, and from what Rowan could see, highly disciplined and very well trained.

Rowan kept as quiet as he possibly could, while he called the wind towards him from all through the caverns. Soon he realized that the was not one large space, but an interconnected network of caves and tunnels, spreading along the shoreline and into Wendlyn. They spread through the earth like feelers, some so deep and dark that he doubted they had been touched by any creature larger than grubs and beetles for millennia.

The soldiers occupied perhaps a quarter mile of this expanse with their dining, sleeping, and recreational spaces, leaving much of the caves barren and empty. The sounds of their grotesque laughter occasionally echoed through the space, their joy etching violence in Rowan’s bones.

He spread out over the space, weaving between the stalactites. Now that he was deeper inside the cave, he was no longer so worried about detection. The expanse was too dark, and far too large and complex for anyone to notice more than a strange black blur if they happened to see him. Which was unlikely; none of the soldiers were paying much attention.

Rowan began to count, using the eyes of the wind far more than his own. There were eighty-six men distributed through the main cavern, and another sixty-four spread out between the four main offshoots to the left and right.

Along a narrow passageway directly to the back of the main space, Rowan counted another eight, with thirty-two more sleeping in the improvised dormitories sectioned off alongside the tunnel.

But then Rowan narrowed his eyes. The wind spoke of ten more soldiers, loitering at the far end of the long, twisted passage. Their voices were quiet through the soft stone, though their tone was harsh. The breeze passed him pieces of sentences: The general…how much longer…I hate guard duty…Narrok is…but why…I don’t like them…me neither, but…General Narrok cannot…but he is one of them too…

Rowan was advancing down the tunnel, using the stale air to propel him forwards and keeping his wings tight to his body, reducing the effects his presence to the bare minimum. Soon, the space opened up slightly, and Rowan hid himself in a back corner between two dark planes of rock.

The soldiers were all resting just before another entrance, to a tunnel that seemed to curve and delve deeper into the earth, a catacomb beneath their feet.

Faint whispers drifted up from the sunken space, but the soldiers paid them no heed. So, Rowan cautiously pulled a feeler of wind towards them, a foray into darkness. What it brought back sent lightning through his bones.

Iron chains clanked, darkness whorled, and fear bloomed with the stench of copper and vomit and rotting things - the scent of the demon-creatures mixing in with the scent of the dying.

There were four creatures in that small room, hovering over the body of a demi-Fae female, who was lying on a stone plinth and murmuring incoherently, already close to death.

Even from such a distance, protected from the creatures by a thick layer of stone and earth, Rowan felt his entire body shy away from the creatures. His bones ached as his power twisted, and writhed, aching with the inherent wrongness of the demons. Everything in his body was telling him to fly far, far away, and never to return. To go back to Aelin and take her away from this place.

The demi-Fae female twisted and flipped, and Rowan heard the creatures shift in delight, feeding on her fear and pain like honeyed wine. Draining her dry.

And Rowan knew what would happen next. The demi-Fae would dry up into a withered husk, and the general would order one of his lieutenants to collect the body and dump it in the surrounding countryside, leaving it to rot.

The female gasped, and Rowan’s heart wrenched. He threw his power over to her without thinking, and felt something deep in his gut flinch as his ice and wind struck against an impenetrable iron shield.

And in that jolt, he slipped slightly on his perch, sending a small cascade of pebbles clattering down the stone surface of the cave. He stilled instantly, but on the uneven stones the pebbles fell for long seconds.

He clearly heard a guard say, “What was that?” but apparently, they decided to overlook the small discrepancy, and once again fell into idle chatter.

Rowan knew he had to leave, but still – he hesitated. Wracking his mind for some solution, some way to put the female out of her misery, to provide her with an escape from the visions of fear and pain that were consuming her. But there was none.

So Rowan turned and flew away, ashamed and disgusted with himself, even though he knew there was nothing he could do.

As he flew, he thought. The demi-Fae were not being brought all the way here only for the creatures to feast – if it were only a matter of hunger, the creatures could feed and dispose of the bodies without bothering to drag them all the way into the caves.

No, there was another purpose here – knowledge. Experimentation. And with what Aelin had told him yesterday…Rowan cursed silently.

He returned to the main cave and began to survey it, scanning for weaknesses and possible strategies. There were exactly two hundred soldiers distributed through the cavern systems, with General Narrok and his three lieutenants at the army’s head, each of them leading their own platoon within the company.

They were well armed and stocked, and – Rowan cursed again. Each of the soldiers was dressed in iron, head to toe. They knew their enemy better than he had thought.

And – Rowan flapped a bit closer. And there were small, strange marks carved into the metal, dotting it with whorls and crosses. His eyes scanned over the army, and he began seeing them everywhere. Leaping out from corners and entrances, all carved into the stone of the cave walls.

He tentatively sent his magic over towards the marks, a brush of an invisible finger, and they zapped him with an icy spark that jolted down his spine and rendered him temporarily stunned.

His suspicions were confirmed. They must be those symbols Aelin had explained about yesterday – not ward stones, but akin to them. Charged with a similar, ancient power. Wyrdmarks.

The King of Adarlan knew his enemy, and he had sent an army here to destroy it. Rowan couldn’t help but feel the strange misfortune that had guided the king to lead his forces directly into the path of his oldest enemy, and his greatest foe. The Heir of Terrasen – she who had hidden under his nose for so many years, and she whom he must be desperate to destroy.

For the only place this army could be heading towards was the fortress. Mistward. Where the demi-Fae lay in wait – a feast ripe for the taking.

Rowan longed with his whole being to reach out with his power and suffocate the whole lot of them. To rip the air from their lungs and watch as they twitched on the stones. To keep Aelin and all the other demi-Fae safe from their clutches.

But he couldn’t. If he tried, he would certainly die.

Rowan carefully drew himself up and wove among the stalactites once more, exiting the caves and returning to the stormy evening and the hunted princess waiting for him atop the cliffs. So lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the dark figure resting just inside the lip of the cave mouth, its black eyes glinting with malice, and its black talons flashing in the starlight.

Rowan flew above Aelin, circled once, and then headed off into the woods – a clear direction to follow. Rowan led the princess a quarter of a mile through the trees, waiting until she was far enough away from the caves that he could stop her before she tried to run in there, heedless of the danger, fire and magic filling her palms.

He shifted and leaned against a gnarled old pine, waiting for the soft sound of her padding footsteps to mark her appearance.

Aelin’s brows were furrowed, her scent touched with worry.

He spoke before she had to ask the question. “There are about two hundred mortal soldiers and three of those creatures in the caves. There’s a hidden network of them all along the shore.” Her face tightened, but she remained silent.

“They are under the command of someone called General Narrok. The soldiers all look highly trained, but they keep well away from the three creatures.” Rowan wiped at his face, realizing that in his Fae form, his nose had begun to bleed. “You were right. The three creatures look like men, but aren’t men. Whatever dwells inside their skin is…disgusting isn’t the right word. It was as if my magic, my blood – my very essence was repelled by them.”

He examined the blood on his fingers. “All of them seem to be waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

Rowan’s face darkened, and he cocked his head. She should know better than he. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“The king never said anything about this. He – he …” Aelin stared into the distance, her voice trailing off. Then she refocused. “Send word for Wendlyn’s forces—warn them right now.”

Rowan shook his head. “Even if I reached Varese tomorrow, it would take over a week to get here on foot. Most of the units have been deployed in the north all spring.”

“We still need to warn them that they’re at risk.”

“Use your head. There are endless caves and places to hide along the western coastline. And yet they pick here, this access point.”

A pause. “The mountain road will take them past the fortress.” Panic blossomed on her face and in her scent, her wildfire reaching through the iron bars to soothe her. “No – not past. To the fortress. They’re going after the demi-Fae.”

Rowan nodded slowly, his gut twisting as a vision of the sentries, of Luca, fighting atop the fortress walls passed behind his eyes. All so young. He shook his head of the unwelcome images.

“I think those bodies we found were experiments. To learn the weaknesses and strengths of the demi-Fae, to learn which ones were…compatible with whatever it is they do to warp beings. With these numbers, I’d suggest this unit was sent here to capture and retrieve the demi-Fae, or to wipe out a potential threat.”

Aelin only lifted her chin and said, “Then right now – right now, we’ll go down to that beach and unleash our magic on them all. While they’re sleeping.” She began to turn, heading back for the caves, but Rowan grabbed her elbow.

Aelin looked at him in surprise and disgust. “If I had thought there was a way to do it, I would have suffocated them all. But we can’t – not without endangering our lives in the process.”

“Believe me, I can and I will.” Rowan could see that she wasn’t listening, that instead she was turning to the bloodlust, the desire for revenge. He clenched his jaw.

“No. You physically cannot harm them, Aelin. Not right now. They know enough about those Wyrdmarks to have protected their whole rutting camp from our kind of magic. Wards – like the stones around the fortress, but different. They wear iron everywhere they can, in their weapons, in their armor. They know their enemy well. We might be good, but we can’t take them on alone and walk out of those caves alive.”

Aelin shook off his head and began to pace, running her fingers through her golden hair. Rowan hesitated, the words resting on his tongue. But Aelin saw them anyways.

“Say it,” she demanded.

“Narrok is in the very back of the caves, in a private chamber. He is like them, a creature wearing the skin of a man. He sends out his three monsters to retrieve the demi-Fae, and they bring them back to the cave – for him to experiment on.”

The news passed over her face like a shadow. “I tried to cut off her air – to make it easier for her,” Rowan said. “But they have her in too much iron, and…she won’t make it through the night, even if we go in there now. She is already a husk, barely able to breathe. There is no coming back from what they’ve done. They’ve fed on the very life of her, trapping her in her mind, making her relive whatever horrors and miseries she’s already encountered.”

Her words were frozen, her fire guttered. “It truly fed on me that day in the barrows,” she whispered. “If I hadn’t managed to escape, it would have drained me like that.”

Rowan growled viciously in confirmation, unable to form any words.  

Aelin scrubbed at her face, tipping her head back so that the rain washed over her cheeks. As if she sought to cleanse herself of their mark. Then she took a long breath and turned to face Rowan, her eyes hard. “We cannot kill them with our magic while they are encamped. Wendlyn’s forces are too far away, and Narrok is going after the demi-Fae with three of those monsters plus two hundred soldiers.”

Rowan nodded as she continued. “How many of the sentries at Mistward have actually seen battle?”

“Thirty or less. And some, like Malakai, are too old, but will fight anyway – and die.” Rowan turned to walk deeper in the woods, needing to move, to get back to the fortress so that they could begin to prepare. So that they could put more distance between them and the female currently writhing on that stone plinth, and he wouldn’t so anything so stupid as go after her.

If he went, Aelin would die. So he walked.

Aelin was dazed, lost in thought a few feet behind him as they slowly began to make their way back to the fortress. But they barely made it a hundred feet before an all-too-familiar stench wafted towards him on a salty wind.

Rowan’s entire body stilled, and he raised his fist to tell Aelin to stop, his nostrils flaring. A demon was close.

Rowan silently unsheathed a blade from his vambrace, shifting his muscles into a subtly defensive position and scanned the trees ahead and behind. The winds carried a warning: tiny stream…old oak…dark limbs, rancid stench…walking slowly…dark eyes forwards…towards where the warrior and the wildfire stood still…

“Only one.” His voice was near-silent, his mind whirring like a wound clock, cold and calculating as he pulled up a skeleton of a plan.

Aelin drew her dagger just as quietly. “That’s not reassuring.”

Rowan pointed. “He’s coming dead at us. You head to the right for twenty yards, I’ll go left. When he’s between us, wait for my signal, then strike. No magic – it might attract too much attention if others are nearby. Keep it quick and quiet and fast.”

“Rowan, this thing – ”

“Quick and quiet and fast.” He had no other choice than to believe it.

Aelin’s eyes flashed at him. It fed on me and would have turned me into a husk. We could easily meet that fate right now.

You were unprepared, he said back. And I was not with you.

This is insane. I faced one of the defective ones, too, and it almost killed me.

Scared, Princess?

Yes, and wisely so. But then she seemed to sigh, either accepting that they had no other choice or rising to his teasing. Regardless, she nodded, slipped silently into the trees, and vanished.

Rowan wrenched his gaze away from the empty space where the princess had just been standing, and moved to his position on the left flank, ducking behind a large evergreen.

The demon still hadn’t entered his view, though with his wind he could track its movements through the undergrowth. It had not shifted from its previous path, and was heading directly for the space between him and Aelin – the spot they had only just left.

Rowan steadily manipulated the air to pull their scents through the trap, hopefully guiding the creature forwards, without arousing any of its suspicions or revealing their true hiding places. Then, he threw the remnants of their scent out towards the sea, where he hoped the salty wind would wipe the air clean of their trace. He knew it was likely a wasted effort, but he tried anyways.

The demon took another slow step, and with the slightest crumple of dried leaves, it appeared in Rowan’s field of vision.

The creature was a man, with black hair and black eyes. A man with a haunting, ethereal face, and a stone collar around his neck. Though Rowan had been in the barrow fields when Aelin had faced this creature, and though he had just discovered all four of them hiding away in their nest, deep in the darkness of the caves, this was the first time Rowan had seen one of them with his own two eyes.

Blood began to trickle down from his nose, lining the curves of his lips in red. The creature took another step.

It was a man, and yet, it was also something as far from human as physically possible. The strange, silky-smooth movements, the curved black talons, sharper than steel. The smell that had now deepened, turning from a faint hint into an unbearable reek of death and decay and soul-rot that Rowan was forced to breathe through his mouth.

He knew Aelin was capable, knew that she was as safe as she could be, but still – it ached to be even a few feet from her with that creature stalking towards them. The wind told him that she was crouched behind a mossy oak, facing away from both him and the creature. Her breaths were steady, but her heart thundered.

It took another step forwards, now standing directly in between him and Aelin. Rowan flashed his dagger towards her – a clear signal to strike.

But she did not move.

He flashed it again. Still – no reaction.

Panic began to seep into his very bones. In some small part of his mind, he could still sense Aelin – hidden behind that tree. But her presence had dulled and warped in his mind until he could no longer tell, no longer knew, was not sure –

And then the creature turned its head to face Rowan, and the screaming began in his mind.

Nothing, absolutely nothing in all his imaginings, could have compared to it. Every other time he had heard Lyria’s voice, had listened to her begging, had witnessed her screams of agony – had been nothing but a pale imitation.

Lyria appeared before him, in all her remembered beauty. She was on her knees, her eyes sparkling with tears as she grasped at his traveling cloak, begging him not to go. Her voice cracked. Rowan left.

And then she was dead, her stiff weight a stone in his arms. The scent of their dead child a ghost between them.

But then she was alive once more – thrashing and screaming in pain as invisible fingers tore at her clothes and sunk blades in her flesh, weeping blood. Crying for Rowan to come, for Rowan to help her – for her mate to come save her.

But he hadn’t. And now he couldn’t.

Tears were streaming down his face of their own accord as he fell to his knees, the blade in his hands slipping between his fingers, slicing as it went. And the sharp sting cut through the visions, distracting him just enough to allow him to grasp onto the pain like an anchor, and pull himself free.

The apparitions melted around him, dripping away to reveal that the trees nearby were empty. The creature was gone.

Aelin.

And Rowan was running headlong through the forest, heedless of any danger, towards the princess of flames.

He found her just as she pivoted, making to strike at the creature’s exposed side while her other arm made to slash at its throat. A fluid, perfect maneuver.

But then she froze.

The demon smiled, and Aelin’s blades clattered to the earth.

“You,” it said, darkness pouring from it like a waterfall of whirling black smoke, until it covered both of them completely in its dark cloak. “Your agony tasted like wine.”

Rowan fought through the screams, battered against the fear and agony that threatened to down him once more. In the back of his mind, Rowan knew that the only reason he was able to remain upright was that the majority of its attention was focused on Aelin.

Rowan threw his magic at the darkness, seeking to blow the it away, to suffocate the creature within or to force Aelin from the demon’s thrall. But the smoke did not shift, his wind passing through it like water in a fisherman’s net.

Rowan was screaming her name, desperate and frantic, but it felt almost soundless in the strange hollow air.

So Rowan breathed once, and then tore through the darkness with his steel and wind, his canines bared and growls thundering in his chest.

Rowan ripped Aelin from the creature, but she did not even look at him. Her gaze was still locked with the demon’s black eyes, her face blank and her fingers clawing at Rowan desperately. To get free, so that the demon and the suffering and the guilt could have her, could consume her.

So with rage and panic flowing freely within him, Rowan pulled her body even closer and bit her between her neck and her shoulder.

Even with a demon before them, surrounded by pain and darkness, it was exactly the same as before. Her blood was nectar on his tongue, spiced and bright with her fire and her fear.

Aelin’s body jerked, and he let go. But all he wanted to do was bite her again, to bite her all over, and Rowan realized that this time wasn’t the same.

It was stronger.

Aelin gasped, finally awake and aware, and Rowan crushed her body to his, still hauling them away, while the demon lingered by the tree, barely a few yards from them.

Rowan sketched a snarl. The demon only laughed.

And Rowan knew that this was a fight they could not win. In the dark, with such limited weapons, against an enemy that did not need mortal steel to kill them – they were outmatched. Rowan’s magic was useless. Aelin’s fire might be able to mark it but he couldn’t know until they tried, and with Aelin in such a state, Rowan didn’t want to waste the time it would take for a try.

“We have to run,” Rowan breathed in her ear. Another laugh from the creature, who stepped closer. Rowan pulled them farther back.

“You can try,” it said.

Rowan had barely a second’s warning before Aelin threw out her magic in a wall of flame between them and the demon. The creature hissed, and Rowan didn’t take the time to figure out whether it was in pain or only annoyance before the pair of them turned, and fled into the forest.

Aelin’s magic had bought them time, but it was barely a minute before they could hear the creature crashing through the trees behind them. Rowan knew these woods, knew which paths to take and how to hide their trail – both with his winds and with the land. The creature fell farther behind. But it did not stop, did not give up.

And Rowan knew that it wasn’t because of fear of detection, or because of a need to remain hidden and unknown to the demi-Fae. No, the demon was chasing Aelin. Her specifically. The pleasure of feasting on her fears would be unmatched by any other they could find, here or across the sea. Even by Rowan.

They ran for miles through the trees, veering away from the fortress where Rowan feared that even the ward-stones would be unable to protect them from the demon’s magic. All the while, Rowan searched his mind for any way, any solution that would leave them both, or at least Aelin, safe and unharmed.

He considered leaving her and going after the demon himself, but his magic had no effect on the creature – ice and wind doing nothing against darkness. Only Aelin’s magic would do anything, and Rowan would not allow her to go up against that creature until she had full access to her might – that iron gate unlatched.

For at the moment, she was too weak for Rowan to be sure that she could overcome the demon. So they ran, and Rowan forced the despair back by inches.

Aelin’s breaths were ragged, and Rowan felt his muscles begin to twinge under the weight of the steel he carried. They wouldn’t be able to keep up this pace for much longer.

“He won’t stop,” Aelin panted, rain pouring down her face, which was silver in the moonlight. “He’s like a hound on a scent.”

Rowan bared his teeth. If she told him to leave her, to shift and save himself, he would lose it. “Then I’ll run him down until he drops dead.”

Lightning illuminated a deer path atop the hill, and Aelin turned her head, her eyes glinting. “Rowan,” she breathed. “Rowan, I have an idea.”

···

Rowan was sure that Aelin had a death wish. But he went along with her insane idea anyways – he didn’t exactly have a better one to offer.

His wings were slick in the pelting rain as he circled, leading the creature around and around with the scent of Aelin’s tunic. He flitted from tree to tree, making sure to mark each of them with both their scents. He could just hear the creature a few hundred feet behind him, stumbling through the underbrush.

Rowan could see Aelin’s fire, bright orange through the gray rain, at the top of the hill at his back. An invitation for the skinwalkers. Rowan shook his head. That morning, if he could have told himself that he would be purposefully drawing the skinwalkers towards Aelin in some inane plan she’d concocted –

He sighed, smothering the fear in an affectionate disapproval.

Rowan could faintly hear the “screee” of the blade on the whetstone, and the sounds of murmured voices, and knew that the first part of her plan was drawing to a close. And soon, Aelin was sprinting through the underbrush, a mile up from where she had told him to lead the creature. A mile to run before they would be safe from both the skinwalkers and the creature.

Rowan’s hawk screeched as she approached, warning her that the demon was near, and that he was waiting for her by the place where the ancient road bent around a boulder.

The road ran right, but Aelin went left, her eyes bright but her face determined. Rowan shoved a fierce wind over the road, pulling Aelin’s scent with it and leading the skinwalkers right into the path of the demon.

Aelin threw herself behind a tree, only a dozen yards off the road and forced her body into stillness, a hand clasped over her mouth, smothering the gasps that racked her lungs. Rowan dove and shifted, enveloping her body in his, attempting to cover up her scent with his own.

Though her body trembled, and her scent stank of fear, it was a relief to once again have her close – a thorn removed.

Five pairs of feet slithered along the road, passing them without stopping and continuing on to follow the false scent – right into the waiting arms of the demon.

Rowan waited only a moment for the skinwalkers to be out of earshot before he tugged at Aelin’s sleeve, urging her upwards. We have to climb, he silently said. And in a few deft movements, Aelin was clambering up the trunk, foot after foot, until she stalled on a wide branch near the top, at least fifty feet up.

Rowan sat beside her, pulling her next to him, needing to feel her heartbeat on his skin. And also to hide her scent from the monsters below.

Only a minute passed before the screaming began. The otherworldly shrieks and roars of two deaths facing each other, and discovering which, of the two of them, were the stronger.

They fought for the better part of a half an hour, until the shrieks turned from desperate to victorious, and then faded into the rainy night. But Rowan and Aelin did not let go of each other once, nor did they dare close their eyes until dawn graced them with her golden light.

Relief flooded Rowan, but it was immediately followed by despair. Yes, they had escaped this one danger, but a whole army of them was on their way to Mistward, and there was nothing Rowan could do to stop them.

···

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[kritikasehra]

Places To Visit In Thailand In 2020 To Change Your Worldview!

Serene shrines, impressive skyscrapers and the fine road meals in the world are all looking ahead to you in Bangkok. However outside the capital, there’s island fun on Phuket, or head north for hill tribes and heavenly hikes. Here’s our pick of the maximum famous locations to go to in Thailand, massive and small.

Living the Thai lifestyle robotically equals residing the excessive life in this Southeast Asian land of plenty. There’s in order that a good deal of fabulousness to paste for your ought to-do list. For larger spenders, Bangkok has some of the most exhilaratingly vertiginous roof bars you’ll ever drink at, at the same time as Patong is the area to celebrate birthday

Anywhere you head, relaxation confident, temples and Buddha statues come as standard. Two weeks did not do justice but once you’ve Thai’d it, we realize you’ll like it, and you’ve been given a lifetime to hold it again.

Hew su wat waterfall in khao yai countrywide park thailand

Domestic to thick forest and open savannah, Khao Yai is pristine sufficient to nurture breeding populations of bears, tigers and wild elephants. However poaching is a problem, and so the park needs site visitors. Fortuitously, Khao Yai is on hand from Bangkok in only a few hours and most of the site visitors are day-trippers, who are satisfied with taking quick walks to the numerous waterfalls. Then there are the intrepid few who hike into the park’s indoors where Pha Diao Dai – or lonely cliff – famous breathtaking perspectives over apparently countless rainforest and rippling mountains.

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2. Phitsanulok

Close enough to the world background website at Sukhothai for a pit stop, however left out via all but some, this sleepy provincial metropolis preserves one the country’s holiest and most lovely Buddhas. Inside the historical interior of Wat Phra Si Rattana Mahathat, and at the end of a colonnade of pillars elaborately embellished with gold filigree, sits the Phra Buddha Chinnarat, widespread and shimmering, crowned with a lotus-formed halo and radiating nirvanic calm.

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3. Koh Samet

It’s three hours by way of car from Bangkok, then forty five mins via ferry from Ban Phe Pier – but once you’ve arrived, you’ll discover it was worth it, and you truly need to go away. Out in Thailand’s eastern Gulf, little Samet island ticks all of the bins iciness-escaping visitors require: crumbly white beaches, obvious warm waters and a laid-lower back vibe that sets it aside from larger spots such as Phuket. Positive, busy inns do exist – Hat Sai Kaew (Crystal Sand beach) is a buzz of banana boats and energetic accommodations. However head for the likes of Ao Nuan, Ao Wai and Ao Pakarang (Coral Bay in Thai) and you’ll discover life has all the urgency of a swaying hammock. Crack open a chilled bottle of Singha beer and do nothing till the scattered seafood eating places beckon for sizzling prawn lunches which could remaining hours.

4. Trang

Yes, there are nonetheless unspoilt seashores and islands in Thailand. Especially within the southern province of Trang. Right here the ramshackle timber capital stands next to an extended stretch of wooded area-sponsored bays and creamy white strands, covered with the aid of Hat Chao Mai countrywide Park. Offshore islands include Koh Muk, Koh Libon, Koh Phetra and Koh Kradan, ringed with reefs, trimmed with white-pepper-sand and – for now as a minimum – devoid of the large resorts that clutter the coast of neighbouring Krabi province.

5. Bangkok

Neon-frantic and temple-tranquil, the Thai capital is actually unmissable, with stacks of things to see and do but you fancy spending a while. Delivering reams of cultural and historic attractions, BKK also flaunts a present day facet with muscular skyscrapers and myriad outbreaks of current structure, appropriate artwork galleries, and captivating museums. While you want to spend, the city is prepared to sell: in frenetic markets (among them the floating range for which the Thai capital is one of these hits) in addition to mega malls, and the dining scene is a spin, from gourmet restaurants to avenue food. After dark matters are buzzing, with pulsating nightclubs, live music, cocktail bars, high-quality rooftop bars and adrenaline-laced Muay Thai fights. Getting around is straightforward, the BTS sky education, MRT subway, numerous buses, taxis, and tuk tuks. Perhaps great of all, you’ll discover accommodation to fit your needs – something your bag and your budget.

6. Chiang Mai

It’s often dubbed the northern capital, and in its own manner, Chiang Mai gives Bangkok a run for its cash, with a mad whirl of lifestyle and nature. You won’t run out of spiritual shrines – there are more than 500 temples to appreciate. In the meantime, for youngsters, and adults, too, there’s Chiang Mai night Zoo. In case you want to stretch a leg, strive trekking in lush jungles and rafting along boiling-white rivers. At Thailand’s highest point, Doi Inthanon, you’ll get to fulfill ethnic hill tribes, witness an international of amazing waterfalls and feed watermelons and bananas to remarkable elephants at an ethical sanctuary. Not like Bangkok, the nightlife right here is low-key, however don’t take that as a demonstration to live indoors as soon as the sun goes down. There are lots of bars to unwind in, and if you’re itching to stock up on brightly colored Thai pots, bags and shirts to present the oldsters lower back home, the night bazaar has your call written all over it.

7. Phuket

Thailand’s largest island and one of the most-visited and most-visited within the usa, Phuket has many faces. First-timers often head to the thronging sands of Patong, on the west coast, regarded for its no-holds-barred nightlife and watersports. Past, although, there are beaches to match all of us. Seize a boat to the scenic Freedom seaside, switch off on Karon seashore, drink within the views from Kathu seashore, and put together for lots greater. Promthep Cape is the place to move for liquid-lovable sunsets. After darkish, the leisure cranks into existence: there a international-magnificence shows and exhilarating Muay Thai fights; food is, without exception, scrumptious, from the smart eating places of Phuket town to the simple, scorching seafood grew to become out at road and night time markets. Trekking, cross karting, ethical elephant encounters, fishing, snorkelling, and jet snowboarding are only a few sports to try, and Wat Chalong, together with the massive Buddha, are  of the most famous cultural websites. Don’t skip Phuket metropolis – the ornate old neoclassical buildings and luridly painted shophouses are beautiful. For fun and giggles, Baan Teelanka (the upside down house) and Phuket Trickeye Museum are the biz.

8. Ayutthaya Thailand

Even if you hate the idea of history on vacation, this vicinity will convert you: effortlessly reached from Bangkok, the Unesco-listed Ayutthaya is one of Thailand’s elegant historic cities. Evocative ruins take you on a journey lower back in time to Siam’s golden age. Wat Yai Chai Mongkorn is mainly photogenic, with tall stupas which you are permitted to climb, surrounded by rows of Buddha statues swathed in saffron tones. You’ll need to make a date with Wat Mahathat, in which the famous stone Buddha head peers out from the countless roots of a banyan tree growing around it. See, too, Wat Ratchaburana and Wat Si Sanphet. The old Dutch and Portuguese regions are really worth a visit and the floating market is an awesome area to choose souvenirs. An employed bicycle– or, in case you’re an experienced rider, a scooter – is the most effective way to appreciate Ayutthaya. That said, tuk-tuks amass on each corn

9. Krabi

Considered one of Southern Thailand’s most famous provinces, Krabi can’t fail to seduce: it has existence-changing reviews for vacationers each at the mainland and on its islands. Koh Phi Phi is frequently said to be one of Thailand’s most picturesque islands; check out Maya Bay and Phi Phi perspective to see why. Koh Lanta is an extra laid-back affair, with long, sandy seashores, chilled-out beach bars, mangroves and a Moken (sea gypsy) network. Animal lover? You’ll need to volunteer at Lanta Animal Welfare, now not just for the feel-true element but to help make a difference. Koh Jum and Koh Rok are more than one the province’s smaller and lesser-visited island favorites. At the mainland, Railay is a rock climber’s paradise, Ao Nang is a bustling seaside motel, and Krabi city has an enticing local-Thai vibe.

[changingourdestiny]

Season of the Hunt Part 2: On the Hunt

Summary:

With Crow and Glint as their new allies, Fireteam Paralight set off on their first Wrathborn hunt where Crow and Glint realise that they may be working with the strangest Guardians in the system.

Previous Part: Here

Next Part: Here

“Whoa…” “Wow.” “Yikes.” Fireteam Paralight stared up at the cryptolith which was sticking up from the ground. “That thing’s huge. Bigger than an Ogre at least.” Rae said as she examined it. “You think we might face Xivu Arath at the end of this?” Blaze asked. “Probably not, but it would be nice to add Hive god number four to the list.” Rae chuckled. “Four for you, Three for us.” Adam corrected, “I don’t know who’s the lucky ones here.” “So how do we use this thing?” Rae took out the lure and looked it over, “Is there a button? Lever? Magic word?” “Lemme see?” Blaze asked before being handed the lure. She stared at it for a moment before slamming it into the ground. “Blaze, I don’t think that’s how-” Rae was cut off as a screech pierced the air. “You were saying?” Blaze smirked as a large servitor appeared with a sickly green glow surrounding it along with several other Fallen. “It’s go-time, Paralight!” Rae called out, “Blaze, you focus on the wrathborn. Adam, help Blaze and watch her six. I’ll take out the extras from above.” “On it.” “You got it!” Rae glided up onto the roof of a nearby building and began taking out clusters of Fallen with her rocket launcher while Adam and Blaze went to town on the wrathborn. “The lure is doing its job.” Crow’s voice came through the comms, “At least that’s one thing going well.” Rae looked up and managed to just make out Crow amongst the shadows, sitting on what seemed like a bridge nearby, “Having a tough time finding a comfortable place to sit while we do the heaving lifting?” “A stone perch suits me well enough.” “When did these things start showing up here anyway?” Rae asked as she took out a large group of dregs with a rocket. “Not long after the disappearance of Mars from the Reef’s sky.” “So, this was recent enough then. About a week or so.” Adam noted. “Give or take. It’s hard to judge time here in the Shore.” “He’s not wrong. Hell, it’s hard to judge time on the Reef period.” Blaze added before a sudden look of mischief crossed her face, “Hey, Adam! Remember Sepiks?” “You mean…?” Adam raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “Oh Traveller, no…” Rae groaned. “What? What’s happening?” Crow asked. “I take back what I said. You might wanna stay on your perch.” Crow was about to ask what Rae meant by that but was interrupted by a happy yell as Adam picked up Blaze and launched her at the servitor like a javelin. Blaze used her dagger to dig into its top as the servitor began to whirl and thrash around, trying to shake the Hunter. Rae sighed, setting her launcher to the side as she watched Blaze go whizzing by on the robotic sphere, “You doing good?” “I’m doin’ good!” “You having fun?” “I’m havin’ fun!” “You crazy?” “I’m crazy!” Rae chuckled before noticing Crow climbing onto the roof beside her, seeming bewildered by Blaze’s antics, “I…what is happening…?” “This? Eh, I’d call it a regular Tuesday.” Rae shrugged. “I dunno. I’m getting hints of Friday and Saturday!” Adam called up. “With a hint of Wednesday.” Ghost added. “So, this is a regular thing?” Glint assumed. “Pretty much.” Rae chuckled. 

“Incoming!”

In a moment of quick-thinking, Crow managed to grab Blaze’s arm as she was about to go sailing over the building. She had been thrown from the servitor’s back. “Thanks! Nice reflexes.” Blaze grinned, “But uh…” Blaze motioned to the wrathborn which disappeared, leaving a trail of green mist. “Is it…running away?” Rae asked. “That depends on whether or not you can stop it, Old Light.” Crow smirked. “Firstly, we’re only six, thank you very much. There are Guardians a hundred times older than us three.” Blaze folded her arms with a smirk of her own, “Secondly, I’m more concerned if you can keep up with the professionals, newbie!” Blaze gave Crow a playful nudge before leaping off the roof and dashing after the trail, “Race ya!” Crow gave a light chuckle before taking off after her. “If we’re the professionals, may the Traveler have mercy on those who look up to us.” Adam muttered to Rae who just laughed in response before the two ran after Blaze and Crow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crow came to a halt at the entrance to an underground cave. He turned around to see Blaze arrive just beside him. “Fast enough for you?” he asked with a smirk. “Not bad.” Blaze admitted with a smile, “But I was going easy on ya.” “I’m sure you were.” Crow chuckled as Rae and Adam caught up. “So, it went in here?” Rae asked, looking at the barrier formed at the cave’s entrance. “Seems like it.” Crow replied, “Must’ve put this barrier to keep undesirables out while it recovers.” “Well this undesirable is going in.” Blaze held out her arm as her facial markings flared to life and a small fireball was released from her hand, smashing the barrier. “I’ve…never seen a Guardian do that before.” Glint glanced in awe between Blaze and the now smouldering remnants of the barrier. “It’s a bit of a long story, but this isn’t a Guardian power. I’ve had it for as long I can remember.” Blaze replied, “I’ll explain another time.” “Well let’s go find that wrathborn before it finds us. And please don’t jump on it again.” Rae gave Blaze a warning look. “No promises.” Blaze grinned. “Of course.” Rae rolled her eyes playfully as they entered the cave. “They’re a unique bunch, aren’t they?” Glint whispered to Crow from his hood. “Better than most of the Guardians we’ve met.” Crow replied before following the Fireteam inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“YEEHAW!” “Why do I bother…?” Rae held her face in her hands as she stood with Adam and Crow while they watched Blaze hang on for dear life on top of the servitor wrathborn. “Should we help her?” Crow asked. “Nah, I…I think she’s got it.” Adam replied. Blaze’s cheers turned into struggling grunts as the wrathborn became more desperate in its thrashing. “Ok. Fun time’s over!” Blaze triple jumped off the servitor’s back and threw down an incendiary grenade, dealing the final blow. The wrathborn disappeared as Blaze landed on the ground where it once floated. “And that’s the end of that!” Blaze grinned with pride. “Uh, not quite.” Rae’s eyes widened, getting her auto-rifle at the ready as another green glow appeared on the other end of the room, “It brought a friend!” Blaze spun around to see a large captain appear with the same glow around it along with a few dregs, vandals and shanks, as well as a couple of smaller servitors. Blaze grinned, spinning Firelight around her finger, “Alright, Crow. You’re fast but let’s see how well you fight!” “Just don’t be mad when I steal your thunder.” Crow dashed by Blaze and hopped onto a ledge before aiming a sniper rifle and shooting down the incoming shanks and dregs. “Those servitors seem to emit some sort of energy!” Adam called out, “It might help taking down the wrathborn’s shield!” “I’ll handle them!” Blaze yelled back firing a few shots from Firelight at one of the servitors, “You and Rae focus on the big guy!” “Right!” Rae dashed for the pool of energy left over as Blaze finished off one of the servitors. Blaze turned to see one of the servitors approaching Crow, who didn’t see it approach while looking down the scope, as it charged up a shot. “Crow, on your left!” Blaze yelled as she whipped out her bow and, using her flames to light the arrows on fire, fired three perfectly aimed shots into its eye before sprinting towards it and finishing it off with a slice from her dagger. “You good?” Blaze asked as she fired a few more shots from her bow at another servitor while Crow continued to focus on the rest of the Fallen with his rifle, “I’m alright. Nice aim.” “Thank you~” Blaze grinned as she fired a final arrow into the servitor, “Finish it with style, Rae-Rae!” “Gladly!” Rae sprinted into the circle of energy as the signature golden wings and horns of her Starlight form appeared. Her falchion appearing in hand, Rae kicked off into the air and fired a beam of light down at the wrathborn, pulverising it. Rae landed where it once stood, giving her falchion a twirl before dismissing her Starlight form. “What was that?” Crow asked. “Starlight.” Blaze replied, “Rae’s a rare species called a Paralian and some of them can use powers like her to counteract powers related to Darkness. That’s how we got our Fireteam name: Paralight.” “Seems like you three aren’t the usual garden-variety Fireteam then.” Crow gave a wry smile as he placed his sniper rifle back on his back. “Nope!” Blaze smiled proudly, “We’re one of a kind!”

“Nice shooting out there.” Crow and Blaze noticed Rae and Adam approaching, the former addressing Crow. “Same to you. You’ve picked this up quickly.” Crow’s smile faded as he addressed the rest of the team, “But this is only the beginning. There are much more dangerous wrathborn than that one.” “You got it.” Rae nodded, “We’re no strangers to hard work. Like Blaze mentioned earlier, we’ve six years of experience under our belt, so we’ve experience dealing with…well for lack of a better term, crazy shit. We’ll have the High Celebrant dealt with before you know it.” “I sure hope so.” Glint replied, appearing beside Crow before turning to him, “And maybe once that’s done, the Spider will let us choose our own path.” “Don’t be so naïve.” Crow sighed, “He never lets us do anything.” “Something tells me you aren’t exactly happy under Spider’s watch, huh?” There was concern laced in Blaze’s voice as she said this. “Understatement of the century.” Crow replied, “But I’d much rather work for him than risk having Glint get destroyed.” Rae seemed to think for a moment, a serious look on her face, before shaking the thoughts from her head, “Let’s head back to the lair. Knowing Spider, he’s probably like…” Rae deepened her voice in an impression, “‘Where are those useless Guardians? I’m losing Glimmer every second, but I can’t be bothered to get off my ass and do something!” Crow stifled a laugh while Glint chuckled, “That’s pretty good!” “Thank you very much!” Rae grinned. “Well, we best not keep him waiting if that’s the case.” Crow began, “Let’s head back.” “Want another race?” Blaze asked. “Mad you lost the first one?” “Nah. Just wanna keep you on your toes.” “You’re on then.” Crow dashed to the entrance of the cave when- *zoooooooOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!* Blaze went flying by on a Sparrow while laughing. “Wha-?! That’s cheating!” Crow exclaimed. “You never set rules!” Blaze called behind her as she zoomed towards Thieves’ Landing, Crow chasing after her as Adam and Rae followed at a leisurely pace. “Looks like they’re getting along great.” Adam smiled. “Hmm…” Rae acknowledged, mind seeming to be elsewhere. “You ok?” Adam asked. “What Spider did isn’t right. Crow and Glint obviously want to get away safely.” Rae muttered, “I want to find a safe way to get them away. Even if they don’t go to the Tower, anything is better than working for Incy-Wincy.” “There’s another thing we should be concerned about.” Adam added, “Petra. If she finds out Uldren – er, Crow – is alive, she won’t take it well. None of the Awoken will.” Rae removed her helmet before running a hand through her hair, letting out a frustrated sigh, “This is annoying…” “Hey, we’ll figure something out. Let’s focus on Xivu Arath’s Celebrant for now. Besides…” Adam was cut off as Blaze’s Sparrow whizzed by with a screaming Crow on is as Blaze chased after him yelling, “Off the gas! Take your hand off the gas!! Oh Light, Amanda’s gonna kill me. Crow!!” “I think having a clean slate is what they both need.” Adam finished with a chuckle. Rae couldn’t help but laugh as well at the scene, “I guess you’re right. I’ll try not to dwell on it for now. But mark my words, once we’ve dealt with this, I’m getting those two out of here in one piece.” “Knowing your determination, I don’t doubt it.” Adam smiled. “aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!” The Sparrow went whizzing by again with Crow still riding it but now with Blaze being dragged along while holding on to the back of it for dear life. “Ah…maybe we should help them?” “Y-yeah…”

To Be Continued…

[pitter-pattering-ink]

Stardust

She has many names. She is the Goddess of Galaxies, the Painter of Light, the Ruler of an abyss nobody with wits would explore. Sometimes, they change. Usually, they hold the same meaning.

But mostly, she’s the Mother of Stars. They are her children and she cares for them as such, keeping them bright when the sky turns dark.

She is the Mother of Stars, and she would do anything for her children.

- It’s not sudden, but it isn’t exactly slow either. It’s like falling asleep on a quick ride to the store and waking up ten minutes later when the groceries need taken inside. It’s blanking out before coming back. Losing memories but knowing there really wasn’t anything to loose anyway.

She opens her eyes- did she close them?- and everything is insanely bright. Wincing at the light she instantly closes them again, but then it’s insanely dark, and wait, has she ever blinked before? Her eyes instantly fly open again. She can only see when she squints, so she does just that, looking at the ground. To her surprise, there’s a woman sitting beside her… feet?

The woman looks at her expectantly. After a moment of eye contact she raises an eyebrow and holds out a cup. A few beats go by.

“W-what?” The goddess stutters, swallowing. Her throat is so dry. When was the last time she spoke?

The woman with hair short and gray looks mildly concerned. “I asked you if you had some spare change,” she says, gesturing to the sign next to her. Her eyes flicker over the words quickly.

‘Homeless and elderly. Please give what you can.’

Oh. So she’s human. That’s one question answered.

“Spare change…” Curiously, she reaches down into her pockets, because apparently she’s wearing clothes now too. In her hand appears a couple crisp dollar bills. Dropping them into the cup, it must be an awful lot too, because the woman’s eyes light up as she looks up in disbelief. Mind whirling, the goddess rushes to say something before the woman can ask questions. “I need somewhere to stay,” she explains. “I… don’t know this place well. Could you point me somewhere?”

The woman smiles and points down the street to the right. “Go right down there,” she instructs, “and when you reach the end of the sidewalk you turn right. There’s a hotel right down that road. You don’t have to have a reservation either.”

She does her best to give a grateful smile. “Thank you.” The woman shrugs.

“Anytime,” she says. “God bless.”

The goddess(?) pauses for a moment. “Maybe not,” she confirms, slowly. She nods to the woman with a sure look on her face. “But you have mine, at least.”

The woman looks confused, but in an hour it will rain, and not a drop will dare to dampen her clothes. Flowers will speed their growth where she sits and within a week roses will bloom between the cracks and crevices of sidewalk. People will look at her, and they will smile. People will laugh with her, and the clinking of coins against her cup will become background noise.

The Mother of Stars is not to be confused with Persephone or Aphrodite. She would never dare to claim control over the things they have made their own. But she is their cousin and they are all connected in a beautiful sort of way. War will not break out over the use of something as kind as a blessing.

She ends up booking the hotel for a week. The receptionist looks at her curiously when she pays with cash, but there’s an ID for someone who is apparently her in her pocket, so there aren’t many issues. She sleeps for the first time in- well, ever. It’s almost comforting, how dark it is behind her eyelids. It feels like home.

She doesn’t dream. She doesn’t think she wants to, either.

-

The next day it pours like no tomorrow. Buckets of rain splatter around, nobody leaving their houses. She uses this to her advantage.

Stepping out of the hotel doors, she’s immediately drenched head to toe. The rain doesn’t let up and she finds herself walking through a thin layer of water that splashes with every step she takes. She isn’t sure where she’s going exactly, but she doesn’t stop.

“Rain,” she grunts through clacking teeth, “why am I here?”

The rain gets louder, and finally, the splashing against her shoulders begins to sound more like words. ‘You are here for something new,’ it whispers, nearly silent. ‘Something great.’

“And what exactly is that?” She snips. The rain pauses it’s splashing.

‘They told us not to tell you. It said things like these are best left learned than not.’ It continues to pelt down, cold and unforgiving. The human with the soul of a goddess nearly screams.

“Things like what?!” She yells, halting. Evenly, she asks, “Who exactly told you not to tell me?”

‘The ocean,’ the rain says. ‘The universe told it and it told us. We are merely one in the same, you know.’

She breathes in through her nose. “Yes, of course I know. Why couldn’t the universe just tell me this itself? We aren’t exactly strangers.”

The rain does not respond. To her horror, it leaves, light bleeding through the clouds. ‘Sorry. We should not say anything more.’ “Rain!” She cries. “Don’t you dare leave me like this!”

The sky clears and the drops stop falling. Like magic, the flooded water that was up to her toes begins to clear through the street drains.

“Fine,” she spits. “Have it your way.”

-

She spends most of her time walking. It helps her think straight.

She is surprised, however, by how many people she finds sitting on the ground, blankets put down for comfort. There are so many.

Whenever she passes one by her pockets grow heavy with coins. They clang against their cups to make such an ugly sound, but the people behind it give her smiles so big it’s as if she has sounded church bells.

“I have nowhere else to use it,” she assures them. “Keep it. Please.”

Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don’t. She learns to walk the balance between “I can’t take this” and “Thank you” very, very quickly.

-

The old yet young goddess stands at the beach’s shore and looks out along the horizon. Seagulls fly overhead in a ten-foot halo- she’s here she’s here she’s here- but don’t dare land. Daylight settles on her shoulders yet she feels nothing but cold. “Ocean,” she starts, soft. “Can you hear me?”

The ocean does not say anything directly. But the seagulls quiet, one by one leaving the circle and flying in a new direction. They caw as they go- speak speak speak- and at the notion she takes a deep breath in. “Ocean, I come with the request for you to take me back to the sky. I am afraid something horrible has happened and I grow wary of every passing moment in which my stars are left with nobody to care for them. As your ruler I kindly demand you help return me to my rightful place among the galaxies I have painted and the stars I have nurtured. It is what needs to be done.”

Waves shift around her feet. Finally, the ocean speaks. ‘Tell me. Are you aware of what the universe has said? What the universe wants for you?’

She hesitates for a moment. “I…” clearing her throat, she tries her best to stay calm and collected. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

‘Then you know,’ the ocean says, smooth, ‘That we will be helping with no such matters. Apologies, Mother, but we are not ones to go against the rules of the universe. Let alone for someone like yourself- no offense, but you hold no power over us, child.’

Her hands turn to fists at her sides and she breathes in, shaky but deep through her nose. The waves lap at her feet curiously. When she finally opens her eyes the sun is setting and sand is biting at her ankles in angry gusts of wind.

“I am the Goddess of Galaxies,” she says, stern. Her eyes burn as hair flairs wildly around her head. “I am the Caretaker of Stars, the Painter of Skies, the Ruler of the Abyss nothing living dares to explore. And I demand you heed my orders!”

The ocean bubbles, waves growing bigger. In mere moments the water is up to her knees and she can’t see her own feet. She stands her ground. Eventually, the bubbles turn to giggles. “Silly thing,” the ocean laughs, “what a thought. Order around the ocean, you say? We are not one of yours, child. We are something else entirely. In our waves you will not find stars, within our reefs there is nothing quite like those galaxies of yours. We are our own, and we will not be ordered around by something that holds no respect for such things.”

“What’s an ocean to a galaxy?” She cries. “What is a cave to a hole, what is an abyss to yet another? I don’t understand why you won’t just listen to me! I am-”

“I would watch your tone with us.” The ocean cut off. Something shifts in the sand beneath her feet and jabs at the barely-calloused skin. She tries to bite her lip but a yelp escapes anyway, legs tensing. Blood that should not be her’s turns the water darker than before- a less-than-kind warning. “We may be water, that is true. But we are also sand, and our glass is not as comfortable.

The goddess breathes deep, closing her eyes again. She doesn’t open them this time. “I don’t know what to do,” she admits. “I’m… I’m scared, ocean.”

The ocean sighs, pulling back it’s tide till the water is only up to her ankles. ‘You have a purpose here, do you not?’ When she nods, it hums. ‘Figure that out first. I would imagine it’s your first step to getting home, correct?’

The goddess breathes through a choked-up throat. “Right,” she murmurs, trying to catch her breath. “Okay.”

-

She learns their stories. They talk so much when given the chance- she’s sure they aren’t often.

There’s a woman who was recently evicted because she had nothing to pay with. A man who couldn’t afford his dog’s bills. A teenager who was kicked out because they were not accepted as who they are. A couple who’s been recently disowned. They are all people with families or pets or only themself and they are all against the world. She gives them all she can. She gives them coins, she gives them food, she gives them advice- she even gives them hugs. But yet they ask for more.

“What’re you up to?” asks a woman with a crooked smile.

“What’s your name?”

“Where are you from?”

“Who are you?”

“Who are you?”

“Who are you?”

She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know.

A man has his daughter curled to his chest while he thanks her for her donation. The daughter asks what her favorite animal is and instant she says she likes dogs, the way the dog a block away wagged it’s tail when she gave it a treat still fresh in her mind. The man looks at her like she has two heads.

“She speaks Korean. Her mother always spoke it and it’s all she speaks in now.” He tilts his head and squints his eyes. “Who are you?”

She isn’t sure what to say, except to drop some coins against his blanket and speed-walk back to the hotel. She does dream that night. It isn’t pleasant. It’s questions without answers and accusations and ‘Who are you, who are you, who are you’ till she wakes up in a cold sweat, breathing shaky.

From across the room she looks at herself in the mirror. Her hair is curly and wild around her head, skin lighter than usual. “Who am I?” She asks. The mirror doesn’t respond.

-

When the moon is full and the sky is dark, she asks, “Who am I?”

The lightning bugs land one by one on her fingers, glowing bright enough that she would have otherwise mistaken them for stars. ‘You are the Mother of Stars,’ they buzz. ‘You are the creator of galaxies, the painter of all that is light, the ruler of an abyss nobody has yet to explore.’

The woman once goddess now person chuckles bitterly. “Am I?” she questions. “What is a mother when all her children have long since been buried? A creator after their work has been lost throughout history? An explorer when their land has been taken over by those much stronger?” With anger mixing with adrenaline, she runs a hand through her hair. “What is a goddess when given a form so dreadfully human?”

The lightning bugs dim, but she doesn’t care. “So I ask you again. Who am I?”

The moon sets as the run rises. The lightning bugs leave.

-

There’s a woman crying on the street corner. Multiple trash bags filled to the brim surround her and something about her seems off. When the goddess wearing a human’s skin approaches her offering a tissue, everything spills over without her having to ask.

“I couldn’t stay with him anymore,” she sobs, nearly choking on her own tears. “He wasn’t a good man. But- but the homeless shelter won’t take me. There aren’t enough rooms. So I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.” Her blood turns cold. Grass yellows beneath her feet. “They won’t take you why?”

The woman ends up leading her to the shelter. A man comes out with a bitter smile and a shrug. He gives them both a bottle of water, handing another tissue to the woman while avoiding Mother’s gaze.

“We just don’t have enough room,” he says, much too casual for her tastes. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“Then make more room.”

“We can’t just make more room!”

“Why not?” She knows why, though. Because her pockets have turned heavy and there’s the telltale sign of paper scraping against paper ringing in her ears. Before he can answer she reaches in and pulls the stack out, handing it to him a bit too roughly to seem kind. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“Is that enough?” The man’s eyes snap up from the wad in his hands. His mouth is slightly open and his eyes seem glazed over.

Stumbling over his words, he says, “I… yes, it’s definitely a great start at the very least.” Surprised giggles tumble out of his mouth as he runs a hand through his hair. “I…” He looks at her then, eyes filled with questions and excitement. “Who are you?”

A beat passes. She breathes through her nose, before smiling and holding out a hand. He takes it quickly.

“I go by Mother.”

-

Eventually, she speaks to the universe itself. She sits on a hill with grass as soft as silk and hugs her knees to her chest. Neither speak for a long, long time.

To the surprise of all those who watch, the Mother of Stars begins to cry. The wind howls around her as she wipes away tears. “Did I do something wrong?” she asks, scared and alone. “Have I…. have I failed, universe?” And the universe cries. “No,” it whispers. “You have done wonderfully. This is no punishment, Mother. There is simply more for you to do now.” The wind helps her to her feet and the grass grows taller to hold her hand. “Your purpose is more vast than you know. Your stars have flourished and continue to shine. Now it is time to help what has since grown.”

The young yet old goddess sniffs, smiling. “I will never be able to understand your riddles,” she mutters. The universe laughs.

“I am sure you will understand in due time. Maybe it is simply the human in you.”

Suddenly, stars begin to shoot across the sky, bright and quick. They speak in unison, over and over. ‘Mother, we miss you. Mother, we hear you. Mother, we watch you. Mother, we love you.’. From her hilltop she watches as lights turn on and windows open. Children point and adults smile. It is not often that the universe cries.

“My children,” she breathes, raising a hand to the sky. If she focuses long enough she can feel them thread through her fingers. “My children.”

-

She leaves the hotel. The staff say they’re sad to see her go, but don’t seem all too bothered after they find tips of large sums scattered around her room. They name it, “The Room of Luck” in her honor. She finds it funny.

-

Construction begins quickly. With a bit of luck and a few blessings, the new homeless shelter is up and running within a month. It’s brand new and feels like a home. The woman cries when she shows her her bed. Familiar faces fill the halls and she wishes the best to those who never arrive. She hopes they’re okay.

-

“You’re no longer in a hurry to return,” the universe muses one night. “Why?”

The half-goddess shrugs. “This is important, is it not?” She asks, sure. She grows more hesitant after a moment. “They… the stars will be okay, will they not?” The universe smiles. “We are patient,” it says, simply.

-

A boy named Adam lives at the shelter and tells her about the stars every time they meet. He’s determined to stump her on his trivia. One day,  he says, “We’re all made of stardust. Did you know what?”

She freezes for a moment. “What?”

He grins. “Stardust! All humans, we’re made of stardust.” He leans over the dinner table and gets right in her face. “Did I get you?”

It takes a few beats. But soon, she’s smiling, slow and sweet. Her eyes are misty. “Yeah,” she says, soft. “Of course you are.” She laughs a bit and ruffles his hair. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner.”

-

She has many names. She is the woman who founded the homeless shelter downtown, the girl with skin as dark as night who grants blessings to those who she likes. She’s the witch and she’s the angel and she’s something else entirely, they say.

But mostly, she’s the Mother of Stars. They are her children and she cares for them as such, keeping them bright when the sky turns dark.

She is the Mother of Stars. “And you,” she says, grinning, “are made of stardust.”

[fluffy-marshmallow-heart]

In The Deep

The Elementalist

Beckett x MC (Oriana)

words: 3390

warnings: NSFW

Complete Master List

I've had this sitting unfinished for quite awhile, ever since the mer-party chapter of TE2. This is my version of events from Beckett's POV (My version does indeed go off canon. This is what I wanted to have happen that chapter)

Hope you enjoy!

Beckett stood off to the side, watching Oriana’s every move. She looked stunning in a mermaid outfit, and even dyed her hair a rainbow of colors. She threw herself into this party 100%, and he kept catching her eyeing him. He wanted to pull her in, pull her close, tell her to stay with him all night, hell, his whole life. Right now, she was talking to Cyran, a merman, who was desperately flirting with her.

  “Beckett, man, come on! There’s someone juggling shells!”

“Not now Zeph.” He growled as Cyran pointed up, Oriana looking up with him. There was a strange orange plant hanging above them.

“You better make your move soon, Beckster. She’s not going to wait forever.”

Beckett pinched the bridge of his nose before facing Zephyr. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do. But suit yourself. Guess you don’t mind her making out with other people then?”

“WHAT??” Beckett whirled back around, just in time to see Cyran shoving his tongue down Oriana’s throat, and worse…Oriana was extremely into it, running her hands all along the guy’s body. His scales are shining brilliantly as a swirl of water brings them closer and closer together. Soon enough they’d be one.

Beckett went completely rigid, his hands curled into fists. How dare she? Am I nothing? She can’t even be decent enough to not make out with someone right in front of me??

“Unbelievable. Some people have no class. Right, Zeph?” He was met with silence. “Zeph?” Turning back around, Zeph is no longer in sight. Beckett sighed, running his fingers through his hair, turning back to where Oriana had been. She was talking to Cyran now, both still smiling giddily at each other.

I can’t believe she would do that. I thought we had something special.

Beckett glared at them until they finally swam over.

“Hey, Beck. Cyran’s going to show us a reef. You want to come?”

“Gee, Oriana, I don’t know. Think there’s enough room for me to tag along?” He snapped.

Oriana furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, but said nothing else, just swam and asked Shreya, Zeph, and Griffin, who all agreed to go readily. Beckett scowled as he trailed behind, noticing how Cyran used every excuse he could to touch Oriana.

What a jerk. He must know we’re together…right? She would have told him, I’m sure…right?

Cyran leads everyone through the water, far past the city to a beautiful reef. A school of pufferfish dart past and go swimming straight through a nearby whirlpool, while giant bubbles float up from the coral.

“Welcome to the Guppie Garden.” He announced.

Beckett looked around in awe, momentarily forgetting he was upset. “Cyran, is it true this is where merfolk children learn how to swim?”

Shreya elbows him in the side.  “Beckett, can you stop being a nerd for five seconds and just have some fun?”

Cyran laughs. “Actually, they’re born from the kelaktin here and they spend the first ten years as polyps inside of it.”

Beckett gapes and digs around his pockets for a pen. I must have a pen, I always have a pen, I can’t believe it, I had no idea! Why do no textbooks include this information??

Cyran laughs again, shaking his head. “Please don’t write that down. I’d never hear the end of it if a lie like that made it to the surface.”

A…lie? He made it up to fool me?”

“There’s so much going on here, I don’t even know where to start!” Oriana exclaimed. Beckett slid his eyes over to her, disappointed she was oblivious to what just happened.

She doesn’t even care he just made a fool of me. Unbelievable!

Zeph grinned. “Isn’t the answer obvious? I’m going to get thrown around by that whirlpool! I’ve heard merfolk whirls makes you see visions of the future!”

Griffin chuckled. “I think I’ll stick to bouncing on the Sand Bubbles. If you listen closely, you can supposedly hear voices from the past.”

“I want to befriend that school of fish! I bet they’ve seen every inch of this lake and have wonderful stories to tell!” Aster said excitedly.

Finally, someone makes sense around here. “I’ll join you Aster.” He swims with her, not glancing behind him.

Suddenly, he heard Oriana’s voice. “I want to talk with the fish too!” She swims over to Beckett and Aster, who are already examining a playful pufferfish.

Beckett couldn’t believe his luck in seeing this specific species. “These are Adoria Puffers. They live unnaturally long lives and have an unhealthy obsession with romance.”

I used to think all romance was unhealthy…

Aster clapped her hands together gleefully. “They told me about how my parents fell in love! My father grew my mother a garden on the other side of the lake, near the grove!”

The pufferfish fixes Oriana with a hard stare and lets out a long stream of bubbles.

Aster giggled. “He thinks you and Beckett are a good match. He wants you to make it official.”

What??

Oriana winks at Beckett. “Oh, is that so? Well, I’ll have to consult Beckett about that one.”

He scoffed in reply. “Oriana, please don’t tell me you’re going to take dating advice from a fish.”

She gave him a hard look, and he felt he might implode under her gaze. What is she thinking right now? God, she’s so gorgeous, look at those lips pouting at me.

But then she swims over to Cyran and he shows her a beautiful shell in his hands. Beckett stiffened.

He’s giving her a pearl. An actual pearl. One that’s at least a hundred years old.

“He’s got game Beckonator.” Zeph was at his side again. “And also, despite all of us saying it, a fish has now told you to make her your girlfriend. And still you disagree?”

“Well, I…”

But Zeph was gone again as everyone left the reef. Beckett kept an eye on Oriana, getting more and more angry at her flirtation with the merman.

Quite obviously, she doesn’t want to be my girlfriend. If she did, she wouldn’t be kissing a fish on the cheek.

As the friends are swimming playfully through a bed of lake weeds that rise high above them, Beckett lost sight of everyone, and managed to get himself trapped. Literally. He couldn’t move. A few minutes later, Oriana emerged in the thick canopy and swam straight into him.

She smirked, seeing how tangled up he was. “Fancy meeting you here, looks like you’ve got a bit of a situation going on.”

“Ah, good, Oriana. I’m afraid I’ve gotten rather tangled in these strands of lalip.”

She leans in and presses her lips to Beckett’s, nipping teasingly at his lower lip.

Oh god, not now…I can’t even kiss her back. “Oriana, as much as I appreciate the attention, I would prefer it if I could reciprocate.”

“I don’t know. I like having you all tied up and at my mercy.” She gives him another kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him closer before finally disentangling him from the lake weeds. He turns to her, his gaze soft.

“I was actually looking for you when the lalip caught me. I was thinking we could find someplace a bit more private…” He blushes and clears his throat. “Some merfolk informed me about a secretive cove not too far from here. It’s said to be quite beautiful to behold.”

He paused before smiling. “Although it will pale in comparison to how you look tonight.”

“I love it when you sweet talk me.” She teased.

He continued, ignoring her tone. “I was thinking we could disappear for a bit, and get some time alone. The party is nice, but I’d rather it just be the two of us.”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “That does sound like fun.”

Beckett’s eyes linger on her, but she glances through the weeds at each of their friends.

Wow. Maybe I misread our entire relationship.

Then she leans in close to whisper in his ear. “Getting some alone time with you sounds like just what I need.”

He felt himself getting hard in his pants. “Then let’s go before we get roped into this Whirl game.” He takes her hand and dives down through the water. They swim to a rocky wall with a circular opening at the bottom and go through it. They emerge from the cavern into a glowing grotto filled with crystal clear water, their heads bobbing up just above the water’s surface. Blue light sparkles and dances along the walls, casting them both in its soft glow.

“This is beautiful…” She gasped, looking around in wonder.

He nods appreciatively. “Ah, yes, this light is the result of the bioluminescent aquadeliphine. It’s a special type of algae cultivated by the merfolk. They use it for a number of their foods and medicines, but we don’t know much more about it, as it’s never been well studied.”

Oriana rolled her eyes. “Tell me you didn’t bring me here only to tell me about magickal algae.”

He smirked. “Not only…” He slides his arms around her waist as he leans forward and kisses her. When she reciprocates, he deepens the kiss and presses her up against the wall of the grotto, fully aware of the rough rock digging into her back.

A little pain perhaps, for making out with someone who wasn’t me.

“Someone’s eager.” She laughs.

You haven’t seen just how eager yet. “I just want to make every second we have together count.”

She surges forward to kiss him and his eyes go wide as the heat between them grows. She nips playfully at his lower lips, grazing the soft skin there as she takes it between her teeth. He gasps and his grip around her waist tightens, digging his fingers into her skin.

He looks at her radiant face. “How do you always do this to me, make it so you’re the only one in existence…”

“It’s a special talent.” She joked.

He meets her in a fiery kiss, his lips sliding roughly against hers, as they sink below the lake’s surface, completely submerged. He licks over her lower lip, urging her to surrender, until all she can do is give in.

“For the record, you make me feel the same way.” She breathed.

I…do? Then why…ah hell with it. I want her so bad.

Beckett trails kisses down her jaw to her neck, his teeth brushing over her skin and making her shiver. With his lips still pressed against her neck, he whispers, his words sending vibrations through the water… “Tell me what you want.”

“I want all of you.”

He inhaled sharply. “Well, I’m right here.”

She pops open his blazer and push it off his shoulders. She slowly undoes the buttons of his shirt, tracing a finger down the center of his chest and raising goosebumps on his skin. He shrugs out of his shirt, and she drops her hands down to help him out of his pants. She presses her hand against his erection, making him moan, and then pulls away teasingly.

He groaned. “Must you torture me so?”

“You know you love it.” She returned playfully.

“I love you.” He said, not even thinking. They both froze their movements as the reality of what he said sunk in.

“Um…” He cuts her off with his lips, not even wanting her to continue that sentence.

How many times must I embarrass myself today? This is terrible, she’s going to hate me for saying that. I need to keep her distracted, keep her turned on so she can’t think of it.

He begins to undress her, layer by layer, agonizingly slow, kissing her the entire time. She shivers as the last of her clothes drift down to join his on the rocky floor. His eyes sweep her revealed body, taking in every inch of it. “This is a view I could never get tired of…”

“Flatterer.” But her eyes were serious, as though she really wanted to say something, but Beckett wasn’t giving her a chance. With her clothing out of the way, he pulls her against him, the heat of her body a sharp contrast to the chilly water. She runs her hands down his chest, the lean muscle flexing beneath her palms.

“Let me…” He kisses down her neck to her chest, his lips sending sparks of pleasure through her body. He inches her underwear down to kiss the juncture of her hips. He nips at her skin and she gasps.

“Beckett!”

God I love the sound of my name on her lips.

He dips his hand into her underwear and brushes over her slit with a feather-light touch, making her hips quake. He pulls his hand away as he kisses her shoulder. “I actually had an idea…I know a spell that can dim the light in the cavern and heighten your senses, so you feel more. Would you be interested in trying it?”

Please say yes, I spent so much time researching this…

“Let’s turn off the lights.” She whispered.

“As you wish.” He gently touches two fingers to her temple and the light around them fades, leaving them in complete darkness. Beckett drifts away from her, extremely excited for what’s to come.

“Beckett?”

“Shhh, I’m right here.” He’s directly behind her now, his mouth right beside her ear. His chest presses against her back, enveloping her in his warmth. His fingers slip into her underwear again, and he slowly pulls them down, leaving her completely exposed.

“Ohh…”

He slides his hand between her legs, pressing against her as her hips jerk in response.

“Mmm that’s my girl…so wet…so tight…” He kisses her shoulder and bites down gently on it as his hand moves faster. She throws her head back and moans.

“Keep making those noises…” He threatened.

In the dark, he can feel everywhere the two of them are touching, each connection like a live wire of pleasure. Her breathing was becoming ragged, as he pumped his fingers in and out of her body.

“Beckett…” She trembled.

“Yes, love?”

“Oh god, Beck…”

She was writhing against his body, his dick pressed firmly against her back, making him want to take her so hard she’d never think of that Cyran guy again…

Cyran….

He stopped his hand, sliding it out of her, a whimper of disapproval escaping her. He scraped his teeth over the pulse point in her neck.

“Not so fast.” His voice was hoarse, his heart thundering. “Tell me, Oriana…why did you let Cyran kiss you?”

“W…what?” She tried to turn around to face him, but he held her in place tightly.

“I want to know why you made out with him.”

“Why not?” She gasped as he slipped a finger back inside her tightness.

“Did you know I saw it?” He murmured

She leaned her head back on his shoulder as he slipped another finger in, then tweaked her nipple with his other hand. She bucked into his touch, moaning. He paused all movement. “Did you?” He demanded.

“Why does it matter?” She challenged breathlessly. “It’s not like I’m yours.”

“Yes, you are. You are mine, Oriana, and I don’t like sharing my things. Especially with a merman whom you’ll never see again.”

“If I never see him again then what does it matter if I have a little fun first?”

What does it matter?? What does it matter??????????

“It matters because you’re also making out with me.” He growled. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?” She shot back, clearly getting angry. “I’m not your girlfriend. Even a fucking fish said we should be official, and you know what you did? You blew it off. So in my opinion, you are I must just be having fun with each other, nothing serious, otherwise…”

“Otherwise…? He pressed.

She finally pushed him away and whirled on him, startling him so much that the blue lighting of the grotto came back.

“Otherwise, you would have asked me to be your girlfriend by now. Otherwise, you would have let me tell you that I love you too. But you didn’t ask, and you didn’t want to listen.”

Her chest was heaving, her eyes practically on fire.

“You…you love me?” He whispered, shocked.

“How is that not obvious?” She exclaimed. “Of course I do, and of course I knew you were watching. Why do you think I did it in the first place? Why on earth would I ever want to kiss someone who wasn’t you? Oh yeah, I know, because you only want to fuck me!!!”

“How can you say that?” He gasped, his face a shade of scarlet. “I try so hard for you! Everything I do is for you! You occupy all of my waking thoughts, and when I’m asleep, I see you again. You’re my dream, Oriana. It’s you, it’s always been you.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” She muttered, diving down to retrieve her clothes.

Beckett dove down with her, grabbing her gently by the arm and crashing his lips to hers before she reached the bottom. “I love you, Ori, and I want you to be my girlfriend. I have a list of reasons why we should be together, I just didn’t think you were ready to hear them, but since you are, reason #1 is…”

“Beckett stop!” She laughs. “I don’t need a list of reasons why we should be together. If I love you, and you love me…isn’t it the natural course of action to make our relationship status official?”

“Well, I…yes, I suppose it is.” Beckett’s heart was thundering. To his horror, he began to ramble. “It’s just I’ve never been in this position, you see, I don’t know how these things work, and although I treasure you, I didn’t realize those feelings were returned just as strongly, and I…”

Oriana kissed him hard, leaving him breathless. “And you got jealous seeing someone else ‘treasure me’?”

He murmured in her ear. “I don’t think anyone can treasure you as greatly as I do, Ori.”

“I want you to show your girlfriend what you mean by that.”

My girlfriend……

He smirked, and a second later their world went dark again. He ghosted kisses along her body, turning up the heat again as he played with her clit, the friction causing moan and after moan, each one louder than the last, slip out of her. He gently re-positioned their bodies as he slowly slid his length deep inside her.

She gasped at how full he made her, as he felt her walls stretch to accommodate his size. “I will never tire of this.” He voice was hoarse as he pulled her earlobe with his teeth, his hot breath skimming across her ear.

“More…I need more…” She pleaded.

“Anything you want.” He moved her against the wall, her hands pressed up against it as he fucked harder, faster, thrusting deep inside her pussy as they both grunted at the feeling.

“Ori…call me your boyfriend.”

“You’re my boyfriend!!”

That is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.

“I love you, Ori.”

“I love you too, Beck!!!” Oriana screamed as she came, shuddering hard around his cock, squeezing him so tight he exploded inside her, emptying his seed completely deep inside her belly.

Oriana turned back around, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. “You’re my everything, Beck.”

He blushed furiously, feeling it all over his body. “It’s a good thing you’re…you’re my girlfriend now.” He finished shyly.

Oriana bit down on her lip. It was one of his favorite things to witness. “So, I guess I shouldn’t kiss Cyran after the party?” She joked.

Beckett’s mouth fell open. “What? No! Of course, not!”

She giggled, and he lunged at her as she shrieked playfully. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” She laughed.

“Don’t make me punish you for that.” He growled.

She eyed him slyly. “I think I may already need some punishment, Beck. What ever did you have in mind?”

She’s a goddess. Oh, my lord she’s a complete goddess.

“Let me show you.” He said darkly, as their lips met again, the two lovers getting lost in each other in the confines of the hidden cove, having no concept of the time passing in the outside world.

    @feartheendlesssummer @elainew13 @the-soot-sprite @paisleylovergirl @dottie-minerva-mikas @emichelle @kendrasgue @pbmychoices @flyawayboo @divergentofhogwarts @sonsie0613 @brightpinkpeppercorn @symonde @emceesynonymroll @cordoniasmost @perriewinklenerdie

@annekebbphotography @gardeningourmet @zigortega4life @eileendannie @thequeenofcronuts @drakewalkerfantasy @friedherringclodthing @coffeebeandragon @drakewalker04 @jlpplays1 @desiree-0816

@alesana45 @mfackenthal

[talyn-the-warlock]

(Hey, Guardians! Ready for some angst? I wrote this some time ago when I was very, very upset as a vent piece, but now that I read it, I think it's good enough to post!

Also, for flavor- this is fanonically what happens in this scene for Talyn. Soooo..keep that in mind going forward.

Trigger warnings included for gun violence and canon character death.)

Nothing Left to Say

“The line between Light and Dark is so very thin…do you know which side you’re on?”

The forsaken Prince leered defiance through his wounds, glaring mad hatred into the Guardian before him. Talyn Maj caught his eyes only through the sights of her lost friend’s gun. They didn’t intimidate her. There was no way this shadow of a man could have made her back down now. Not after what he’d done. Not after all he’d stolen from her. Even without his sins considered, Uldren was on his last legs. With the state he was in, staggering and bleeding and wasting his fading strength on soliloquy, he certainly couldn’t fight back. If she left him, he wouldn’t last more than a few minutes. He would be refused the honor of a duel, or the mercy of her Light. Rage churned through her mind in words left unspoken. Murdering bastard. Deranged psycho. Self-righteous prick. This bitterness was her truth as much as it was the woman to her left. Petra’s sidearm was trained on Uldren the same as Cayde’s cannon, her drawn face reserving all the same disdain her friend was unabashedly radiating. If the Guardian didn’t end this herself, his sins would be repaid by the Queen’s Wrath. It wouldn’t come to that. The choice had been made the moment this would-be Prince turned the Ace of Spades on its rightful owner. Anger so vitriolic poised on the tip of Talyn’s tongue felt like a mouthful of acid. With a deep gulp, she swallowed it and ignored how it burned her throat. He wasn’t worth acknowledging, let alone debating. A bullet would be the only repartee that mattered now. The Ace of Spades felt so heavy, so full of a symmetrically horrid emotion. Vengeance sat chambered in steel, waiting to be unleashed. This half-baked conversation was over.

Talyn had nothing left to say.

She closed the distance until she was almost on top of him, slow strides quaking with an unrelenting fury. What had happened to Cayde replayed in the Warlock’s mind ad nauseum as she scoured the Tangled Shore for mark after mark. One after another, unmatched bloodlust had broken them. It was savagery she didn’t know she was capable of, furious violence that made even her best friends slink back in surprise and fear. Slaughtering Uldren’s pawns hadn’t sated her. Painting the Reef in Scorn blood wasn’t enough. Talyn knew she’d never be satisfied until the man who stole from her knew what it felt like to be destroyed from the inside out. It was no secret Mara’s sacrifice had driven him to this, turned him from dutiful brother to unhinged menace. He thought he knew loss. He thought he understood pain. Talyn’s jaw clenched at the mere thought, the barrel of that borrowed cannon trembling in time with her arm. Uldren didn’t know a damn thing about what it meant to suffer. Not yet. It would be no cut to black that put the exclamation point on his story, no ambiguous gunshot that sent him tumbling into the void. This moment would be hers alone, hanging suspended in her racing, fury-addled mind. Cayde’s last breath flashed across her imagination again, encouraging her to make the final push. Talyn didn’t hesitate. She couldn’t.

The instant she stopped, Talyn let her finger close in a white-knuckled fist. The Ace of Spades bucked in her hand, barked its rage in lead and fire where her tongue couldn’t. She’d hovered the dot sight directly over Uldren’s creased forehead, right between his furious, exhaustion-ringed eyes. At point-blank, it was impossible to miss. His head snapping backward spared her a good look at the wound, the way he sprawled across the polished floor uncanny and wrong. Crimson pooled beneath him in the same shade as his killer’s vision. She was still infuriated beyond her ability to express, still wired with homicidal lust alien to her. Taking his life wasn’t enough. Talyn thought this would be what calmed her, but it wasn’t enough. The gun shook so hard she almost couldn’t aim it anymore. It was making her arm hurt to hold it aloft like this, a steady ache forming in her bicep and her tightly-clenched hand. It was still so damned heavy, just as unsatisfied as the heart threatening to pound through her chest. Letting herself of this boiling blood was the only thing that could help her now, but she couldn’t have known. The fire overcame her all at once, a hiss passing her teeth as her face twisted in unbridled emotion. He deserved worse. He deserved more. There was no convincing her not to see the debt repaid in full.

Cayde’s gun screamed itself hoarse. High-caliber bullets embedded themselves one after another in Uldren's chest, making his lifeless body jerk from the repeated impacts. Blood blossomed from the Prince anew, holes punched in his tattered garbs staining the floor with yet more red. It wasn’t as cathartic as it should’ve been. All it did was stoke the feelings inside her, coax them into new disgusting shapes. A tornado-force maelstrom of darkness tore her insides to pieces, threatening to consume her in its unstoppable wake. Her rage was a spigot that could never be dammed, gushing fountains of cold brutality that made her sick to drink from. It was seductive. Painful. Infinite. A hand cannon’s magazine wasn’t. The Ace of Spades said all it had to and went silent, save for the rhythmic click of it’s hammer striking nothing. It was satisfied, more than content with the display it had shown this worthless murderer. A terrible jealousy rose in Talyn when she couldn’t find that peace herself. Her mind hadn’t quieted an iota, the violence in her still roiling like a storm-tossed sea. Freezing salt-water overtook her prow again and again as the waves crested all the higher. No, damnit, no! There must be more ammunition, there had to be new ways to tear his broken body asunder. Talyn searched for them with every futile pull of a useless trigger. The dull report of an empty chamber begged to differ. No, no, no. It wasn’t fair. She wasn’t done killing this son of a bitch, and it wasn’t fair.

The Warlock’s breath came heavier as panic dug talons into her neck. Revenge was all she had, her sole motivation to carry on as grief laid her low. Finally sighting the bastard up and snuffing him had become her hyperfixation, and she’d done much to convince herself it was her only reason to fight anymore. This was supposed to make her whole again. Wasted and pathetic, a gun she hadn’t earned balled in her fist, Talyn could only feel more broken. Why hadn’t it worked? Why hadn’t her heart changed? Why was the night inside her no less implacable and asphyxiating? There was no delusion that could have convinced her this would bring Cayde back, but it should have at least laid him to rest. It should have mattered as much as she wished it could. As her epiphanies filled the Awoken’s most sacred halls, Talyn wished like a child that she hadn’t killed Uldren for nothing. She begged the stars for something, anything to assure her this was the right path. That wherever Cayde was, he was proud of all she’d done. That this outburst was warranted, and her wrath was for once directed as it should be. In spite of all her wishing, no answer came to her. No being heard what she so deeply desired. Nobody cared. The silence of this sleeping place was an insult beyond any she could abide.

Shrieking her discontent, Talyn stalked away from the lifeless Prince and snapped her cramping gun-arm to the side. Heat behind her eyes clouded her vision just as it did her judgment. It seemed she’d never be finished making mistakes. As she whirled on the spot, petulance twisted her actions into those of a reverent yet again. She felt the Ace of Spades leave her hand, heard it clatter across marble and ding unceremoniously into a pillar. The noise drew her eyes just as they widened with regret. Even through a mist of tears, Talyn could see the worn frame of the precious revolver discarded like an empty bottle, spinning lazily in place as the kinetic force of her blind rage ebbed from it. She hadn’t meant to throw it. She wasn’t thinking. There was no way Talyn would have consciously disregarded her only memento mori of her dear lost friend. Intention didn’t matter. Not to her. Not to Cayde. No share of guilt would absolve her from the act itself. This was the highest disrespect, wrought solely by the hand of someone who claimed to love all the Ace of Spades now represented. How could she? Why was she yet still incapable of staying her fury? Of preventing all she cherished from becoming detritus in a gutter? Of being normal? The weight of these questions brought Talyn to her knees, arms wrapping around herself in some simulacrum of a friend’s comfort. The clouds in her starlight eyes gathered tightly, a storm choking the whole world before her. Now-quiet halls were the amphitheater in which sorrow was to be spoken, and with no reservations a Guardian made her choked anguish heard. It rained in the Dreaming City. Torrential. Unending. A flood that would sweep away all things, a disaster that would spell the doom of everything she thought she believed in. Nothing could save her from drowning now. Nothing, except-

“Talyn…?”

She didn’t lift her head to acknowledge the voice, but it was enough to mute her broken sobbing. There was no mistaking it. Petra. She’d faded into the background as Talyn’s vision tunneled, her friend secondary to the righteous murder unfolding before her. Now there was no ignoring the Queen’s Wrath, all her own opinions and emotions brought back into sharp focus as Talyn cried the red away. Petra must hate her now. The Warlock’s true colors had been painted in fat, uncoordinated strokes across the whole of her queenless domain. Destruction following the wake of a hot-blooded feud dropped squarely in her lap. She couldn’t have believed Talyn wanted to help, not after watching her butcher a man for the sin of slighting her. Like so many friends before her, Petra must be afraid. Shocked that such a display could come from a woman like her, that she was even capable of this bestial horror. Surely she would never see her the same. The world continued to turn around her as she tortured herself with the thinking. No matter how Talyn had convinced herself, reality was so much kinder. Petra proved her wrong.

Dropped on one knee, pistol holstered, she braved a hand on the Guardian’s slumped shoulder. An even squeeze debunked every anxiety. She couldn’t possibly understand, but she was there regardless. Reliable as always, courageous in spite of it all. A pillar, just as undeserved as the hand cannon she’d tossed aside. Talyn didn’t consider how little she’d done to earn it. She leaned on her friend, face buried in fieldweave as her lamentations redoubled. Petra couldn’t fix her. She didn’t have to. She would consolidate the pieces with her steady arms, gently gathering a broken woman into a dustpan with a whisper on her lips. It wasn’t enough. But for now, it was what Talyn needed.

“It’s over,” she candidly said. “Let’s get you home.”

[anistarrose]

Fateful Detours - Ch. 3 (Gravity Falls x Infinity Train)

Summary: Memories are relived, conversations are had, and two journeys come to an end.

Warnings: flashbacks to Filbrick being an abusive father, non-graphic descriptions of pain/injury

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331070/chapters/48205837

(The Beginning) (The Middle)

Here we are at the final chapter! This has been a very fun crossover to write, and this chapter is easily my favorite in the whole fic.

(Do note that the content warnings have gotten a little heavier for this chapter, but it’s no darker than the Gravity Falls canon.)

***

Stan wasn’t sure what to expect when he looked at the TV. The Cat had said it contained everything that made Ford Ford, so some part of his mind couldn’t help but imagine a swirling vortex of sketch-filled journals and science textbooks, of broken inventions and bitter parting words.

But instead, he found himself standing in a plain white hallway, staticked-out silhouettes flickering on every wall. Some were abstract, like random interference, but others felt more familiar, like compasses or bags of snack food. Or like a ship’s mast with two makeshift flags hung from it.

Stan checked his hand, and saw that his number was still there.

81

“Ford?” he called out. “Are you in here?”

Not only was there no response, but the sound of the static grew a little louder, as if trying to drown out his voice.

“Couldn’t be that easy, huh,” he muttered as he set off down the hallway. “I’ll just have to find him myself, then.”

At the end of the room was a wall of pure static, crackling and roaring incomprehensibly. But for a moment, Stan could swear he heard familiar voices conversing on the other side, and as they faded out, he put his ear up to the wall to listen more closely —

His hand ever so slightly brushed the surface, and it immediately collapsed under the pressure, its strange gravity dragging him through the ripples of static and into a bright, colorful scene. Stan’s head spun, and it took him a moment to get his bearings — but there Ford was, he realized, just down the stairs and in front of him with his back turned. Safe and sound, and rubbing his chin like he was conscious and alert.

Just as Stan was about to speak up, two hushed voices beat him to the punch. They came from a pair of familiar figures just a few feet in front of Ford…

It was Stan and Ford themselves, aged eleven, standing in front of their middle school lockers.

“C’mon, Sixer! No one will notice, I guarantee it!”

“But if we do get caught, they’ll give us failing grades for sure! It’s a big risk to take…”

Young Stan made pleading eyes. “Please? I’m going to fail math anyway if we don’t try something…”

“Alright,” young Ford agreed reluctantly, taking his glasses off and handing them over to Stanley. “I’ll take your math test.”

Stan suppressed a chuckle as he watched the younger version of his brother squint awkwardly as he adjusted to the lack of glasses, but the real Ford just shook his head with a sigh.

“Selfish as always,” he muttered, and the scene changed.

Stan and Ford, aged fifteen, stood outside the local movie theater. Both of them were sorting through their pockets for change, and neither was coming up with much of anything.

“I’ve only got enough for one ticket.”

“Same here.”

“And you want to waste it on some raunchy comedy we’d have to lie about our ages to even get into?”

“If the only other option is some over-the-top sci-fi flick, then yeah! I do!”

“Stan, I have been waiting the better part of three years for this movie! I’ve been theorizing about the plot for three years, and if you think I’m not going to see it opening night —”

Stan threw an arm over Ford’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be packed opening night, Ford. You really want to see the first screening, where all the other rabid fans are there and talking so loud that you can hardly hear the actors?”

Ford frowned. “I don’t know…”

“And what did we end up doing?” the real Ford asked, shaking his head. “Seeing his choice of movie! Because he only ever cared about himself, and I just went along with it!”

As Ford waved his hands in the air, Stan caught a glimpse of his number shooting up:

225

257

288

340

…

“I went along with it,” Ford repeated, “until…”

Their surroundings wavered, sidewalk morphing into carpet as street lights flickered and turned into familiar lamps from the Pines family household.

“No.” Ford shook his head. “Not this, not again…”

361

In a burst of static, the scene shifted once again, this time to a high school hallway.

“...Sixer? You okay?” Stan choked out.

Ford didn’t even look away from the memory.

Skipping class, getting caught sneaking out of the school, being sent to detention.

“He always just dragged me down,” Ford growled.

381

Working on the boat instead of studying for an upcoming chemistry exam.

“I should’ve cut him off a long time ago.”

415

Two science fair projects sitting side by side — one, a non-functional robot, the other, an invention that should’ve revolutionized the world.

“I always knew that I’d be better off without him.”

472

491

518

“So that’s really what you think about me,” Stan whispered. Ford gave no sign of having heard him.

He reached for Ford’s hand, but without even turning around, Ford swatted him away.

550

And Stan…

Stan had been prepared for Ford not to forgive him. Stan had been prepared to drag Ford out kicking and screaming.

He hadn’t been prepared to hear that Ford had never wanted him around in the first place.

“You know what?” he shouted. “FINE!!”

It wasn’t fine, no matter how loud he screamed that it was.

“You can be better off without me right here, in this fucked up horror movie television, for the rest of all eternity! See if I care!!”

Ford didn’t flinch.

“SEE IF I CARE!” Stan repeated, whirling around and storming off towards the edge of the memory.

He didn’t look at his hands, but if he had, he would’ve seen his number jumping up:

106

160

195

He didn’t look back at Ford either, but if he had, he would’ve seen that Ford’s number was no longer visible, because his hands and arms had become obscured by a shifting pattern of static.

“I never needed him,” Ford mumbled, his voice crackling with interference. “I never needed anyone.”

Everything was white, and everything was blurry. It was white because Stan had at some point, without realizing it, made his way back to that first empty hallway he’d found himself in, and it was blurry because he had long since given up on trying not to sob.

He knew, instinctively, that from this room he could leave whenever he wanted simply by willing it to happen, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He may have been a liar through and through, sometimes out of selfishness and sometimes out of necessity, but he’d told the Cat the truth. If he left Ford here, he’d never forgive himself.

He slumped to the ground, pulling his knees close to his chest. Years ago, his mother had told him that dwelling on an issue would always be more painful, in the long run, than any choice you could make to try and change the situation — and after he’d gotten kicked out, he’d tried his best to take that advice to heart, and focus on things he could do to turn his life around.

But now, he wasn’t so sure her advice rang true. He only had two choices — trying to find Ford again and save him, or abandoning him for good, and he knew both of them would just hurt him more than he could ever possibly bear.

Everything hurt. Every happy memory he’d once desperately longed to relive just hurt now, corrupted by the knowledge that Ford had never really been happy in them. That Ford had never truly wanted him around.

Even back during the happiest summer of their lives, when they’d discovered —

Stan covered his ears as a burst of static rang through the room like a clap of thunder. Still sitting on the ground, he turned to face the wall he’d previously had his back to…

And there it was again — the silhouette of a ship’s mast that he’d glimpsed on the way in, two children’s t-shirts flying from it like flags. But this time, the whole ship below it was visible too, bobbing up and down as choppy waves of static battered its hull.

Stan outstretched a hand towards it, his number obscured beneath his palm, and a blast of salty ocean air struck him in the face as the world exploded into color.

He stood on the bow of the Stan O’ War — the completely repaired, seaworthy Stan O’ War, its deck polished and cabin furnished — and faced a tropical coastline, dotted with emerald palm trees and surrounded by vivid pink coral reefs. A colossal volcano rose above the horizon, with a plume of smoke and ash lazily drifting away from the crater at the top, and beneath the crystal-clear waves Stan could spot a pair of sea turtles following the ship, keeping their distance but eyeing it curiously.

Which was all very confusing, because Stan couldn’t remember visiting a place like this and was fairly certain Ford hadn’t either…

The moment that thought popped into his head, his surrounding began to change. Colors grew less vivid, his depth perception failed him, and shadows vanished altogether as the scene reverted to a cartoonish state, complete with dialogue bubbles and sound-effects written out in familiar handwriting.

Stan stood in the pages of a comic book he’d drawn eight long years ago, currently held by the memory of a ten-year-old Ford.

“You really think we’ll get to go on adventures like this one day?” Ford asked, but he didn’t sound skeptical. If anything, he sounded wistful, like he wanted to believe it.

The young Stan from the memory watched with a satisfied smile as Ford flipped through the comic. “I don’t think it. I know it.”

The scene shifted, and Stan found himself kneeling on the beach, watching his younger self hammer nails into a plank on the boat while Ford held it in place. Both of them looked sweaty and exhausted, yet also… so, so happy.

“Wherever we go,” the young Ford declared like a mantra, “we go together.”

From somewhere not quite within the memory, Stan heard the sound of a distorted gasp.

Kneeling on the opposite side of their younger selves and watching them intently was the real Ford — except now, only his face was visible, while the rest of his body was awash with static. The pattern flickered erratically, branched and jagged patterns of lightning bolts crackling within it, but Ford seemed oblivious to everything except the events playing out in the memory in front of him.

“We were both so happy,” he whispered, eyes flickering between the two younger twins as they pressed their hands together in a high-six. “What changed?”

“Stanford, we — we’ve gotta get you out of here,” Stan choked out. “I don’t know what’s happening to you, but it —”

Ford’s head snapped up to look at Stan, to really look at him for the first time since they’d entered his memories, with a incredulity in his eyes that suggested he was only just now realizing that the real Stan was in there with him.

“This isn’t right,” Ford mumbled — and initially, Stan flinched, assuming the words were directed at him. But a moment later, the speed of the memory accelerated to a dizzying blur, fast-forwarding to more scenes familiar to both twins.

Stan going to Ford’s gym class while Ford took his math test, and coming home with a black eye but also a smile on his face, because he’d given a couple of Ford’s bullies the kicks in the shins that they’d deserved.

Stan and Ford staying in the theater after watching Stan’s choice of comedy flick, and sneaking into the second showing of the sci-fi movie Ford had been anticipating for so long. Dodging the worst of the crowds, and having a great time in both with the theaters practically all to themselves.

Making the most of detention together, passing notes behind the teacher’s back.

With each memory, the static covering Ford receded further, first leaving his hair and then his shoulders and arms. He stared down at his hand, waiting for it too to become clear again and reveal the number on his palm —

Just as the receding line of static reached his wrist, the scene shifted one more time. They stood in a familiar living room, lit only by the pale blue light of a television…

“The argument,” Ford whispered.

Stan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, as the static shot back up to Ford’s shoulders.

In the memory, Ford stormed into the room, waving a crumpled bag of toffee peanuts in the air as he stared daggers at Stan. “Can you explain what this was doing next to my broken project?!”

And Stan sneered back at him, throwing his paddleball to the ground where it snapped in two. “College dreams are ruined, huh? Guess you’ve got no choice but to go sailing now!”

The TV behind Ford exploded, glass shattering as bolts of blue electricity arced from wall to wall. The whole room trembled as sparks and smoke filled the air, and both the Ford from the memory and the Ford cloaked in static stumbled as they tried to step away from the searing rays of plasma —

“Sixer!” Stan grabbed Ford’s hand, and a jolt of electricity ran up his arm, sending black and white pixels flickering across his vision. “Ford, are you the one doing this?!”

Ford hung limp in the air, suspended in place where Stan had caught him halfway through a fall. The spot where their hands met burned like nothing Stan had ever felt before, like the static was trying to creep up his own veins and into his own body, to unmake him and rewrite him and embitter him from the inside out — but all Stan could bring himself to do was tighten his grip, as he watched a crack snake through the floor beneath Ford’s feet.

“You’ve got to stop this, Ford! This isn’t what happened!”

The whole room shuddered as the crack split open, revealing a massive chasm of static with no bottom in sight. Ford staggered backwards, the ground beneath him crumbling as more and more glowing white cracks zigzagged through it — but before he could topple backwards and fall, Stan used his free hand to grab him by the collar of his staticked-out shirt.

It felt less like he was grabbing something material and more like he was sticking his hand in a fire, but he still pulled Ford closer, until he could wrap an arm around Ford’s back.

“And what really happened wasn’t great, either — it was awful — but I never wanted it to happen, I swear! I’m so sorry, Ford — I never wanted to ruin your dreams, and I don’t want to lose you in here, either! These aren’t your real memories, and — and I know how lying to yourself feels like it’ll hurt less, but in the long run, it… it doesn’t. I promise!”

His arms went numb, and his vision began to fade as something wet sizzled and evaporated on his cheek.

“And if you still want to be mad at me, I — I can’t blame you. But be mad at me for what I really did! Be mad at me when you’re safe at home, or at college, or wherever you end up in life — not in here! Please, Ford, let me help you get out of this place…”

He heard a voice, close to his ear but garbled by static.

“Ford? You with me?”

Ford tried again, and though it was quieter this time, it came out comprehensible.

“Was it me who changed?”

“Ford, we… we both fucked up. I should’ve just told you about breaking the machine as soon as it happened — then you might’ve been able to fix it…”

The burning feeling began to subside, and the crumbling living room reassembled itself as the scene playing out inside started over.

“I might’ve accidentally been… horsing around…”

“This was no accident, Stan! You did this!”

“I still should’ve believed you,” Ford mumbled, stepping back from Stan as he stared at the memory. The static dropped below his collar, then below his shoulders.

“Maybe there's a silver lining, huh? Treasure hunting?”

“Are you kidding me? Why would I want to do anything with the person who sabotaged my entire future?!”

“And I shouldn’t have brought up the boat like that!” Stan told him. “I shouldn’t have joked about it! I didn’t realize how — how important that school on the other side of the country was to you, but now I do…”

Both twins flinched as they watched Filbrick enter the memory, grabbing Stan by his shirt.

“I should’ve stood up to Dad!” Ford went on, his head in his hands. “I never should’ve let him kick you out —”

“You know you wouldn’t have been able to change his mind.” Stan stared at the ground. “I should’ve known that, instead of blaming you for not taking my side…”

“I never wanted to cut ties with you, Stan.” The static receded even further as Ford spoke, dropping down to the level of his belt. “Not when I wanted to go to West Coast Tech, and not even after the argument — but when Dad threw you out, I convinced myself that I never wanted to see you again. That you’d always just been dragging me down — because it was easier to believe that.”

He took a deep breath. “Being angry at someone you hate… it’s so much easier than being angry at someone you love, even if you really do love that person. Without that contradiction making you second-guess every feeling you have, it’s so much simpler, so much easier to bear…”

The scene flickered, changing to a memory that Stan had never seen before. It was from after he’d gotten kicked out, he realized.

Ford sat on the stairs of Pines Pawns, slouching and glowering at the floor as he listened to Filbrick and Caryn arguing.

“He’s seventeen! Teenagers ruin things, it’s what they do! You didn’t have to ruin his whole life to punish him!” Caryn shouted.

“That freeloader has been ruining the smart one for years!” Filbrick shot back. “Done nothing but drag his brother down their whole lives, and it’s about time we cut him off!”

He whirled around, and noticed Ford watching them. “Right, Stanford? Weren’t you tired of going along with every harebrained scheme that popped into his head? Of doing all his math homework? Of humoring him, when he said he wanted to sail around the world? Wasn’t it suffocating?!”

Ford didn’t say anything, but he gave a half-hearted nod before trudging back up to his room.

Outside of the memory, the real Ford spoke up. “No, Dad. It wasn’t.”

As the last few pixels of static covering his feet disappeared, he turned to Stan and outstretched his arms for a embrace. “I missed you, Stanley.”

Stan accepted the hug without a second thought. “I missed you too, Sixer,” he whispered.

Waves of static washed over the room for one last time, and when they subsided, Stan was once again kneeling on the floor of the Cat’s car. The Cat herself still stood on the other end of the room, hissing quietly when she noticed Stan awaken.

“Ford, are you okay?” Stan stood up and turned around, and to his relief, Ford was sitting up straight — and staring at his hand, as it shone a brighter green than it ever had before.

And so was Stan’s hand, as it whirled through number after number far too quickly to read. For the first time, it felt warm — not warm like the burn from the static, but warm like hot chocolate and lazy summers and companionship, warm in a way Stan hadn’t felt in months.

0Two beams of light shot up from Stan and Ford’s hands in unison, and on each side of the room, one half of a door appeared, outlined in green and slowly sliding together. When they met, a familiar golden vortex appeared and two columns of light sprouted from it, coiling around each other like a double helix as they stretched upwards and out of the train.

And visible inside the door, clear as day, was the Stan O’ War — right where they’d left it, filthy from months of neglect but still salvageable. Still not that far from seaworthy, in the grand scheme of things.

“Oh,” Ford mumbled. “Of course. That’s really far more simple than anything I theorized about the numbers…”

He turned to Stan. “Are… are you ready to leave?”

Stan gave him a thumbs up. “Wherever we go, we go together.”

As he followed Ford towards the exit, he turned around one last time. “Hey, Cat? We won’t miss you.”

Ford didn’t bother to turn around, but he did wave a double middle finger in the Cat’s direction, which Stan chuckled at. The two of them stood side by side at the door for a moment, both in the awkward position of waiting for the other to go first.

Then Ford smiled. “High six?” he asked, raising his palm with the zero on it.

“High six,” Stan agreed, and they stepped though the portal with their hands pressed together.

***

“You know, this is a little ironic,” Ford commented shortly after removing himself from the sand dune he’d faceplanted in. “Just before the exit showed up, I was thinking about how I was actually looking to exploring more of the train, since I’d have you by my side.”

“Oh, good. We both remember it,” Stan replied, spitting out sand. “I was always kind of wondering in the back of my mind if it was a hallucination. Also, that’s the sappiest thing I’ve heard all day, and I said some really sappy stuff back there.”

Ford ignored the second half of his remark. “Well, even if our memories failed us, we’ve also got physical proof backing up the experience…”

He pulled out the device he’d stolen from the Cat, which was still glowing and reacting to both their voices and the ambient sounds of the beach. “I need to thank you for that time you tried to teach me to pickpocket, by the way. The train had a lot of advanced technology that I want to try and replicate, and it’s going to be a lot easier with an actual example to take apart.”

“Oh shit, you stole something? Ford, I have never been a prouder brother in my life.”

Ford chuckled. “It might be a tad unethical, but after some basic study I could probably claim to have ‘invented’ this, and use the funds from selling the patent to afford the tuition to a nicer college than Backupsmore. I do still want to spend some years studying and working on a higher education, but… I hope you’ll keep in touch when I do. It’ll be a lot less fun without you around.”

He rested a hand on the Stan O’ War. “And in the meantime, while I work on reverse engineering this technology… I think there’ll definitely be some time for some boat repair and treasure hunting.”

“Poindexter, your hand is in seagull shit. Better add ‘boat cleaning’ to that list.”

“Ugh, you’re right. At least it’s dry.” Ford carefully moved his hand to a less dirty spot on the boat. “So, that’s a yes to the treasure hunting?”

“Oh, you know it.”

***

Afterword:

Using the sensor stolen from the Cat, Ford invents a new type of sonar that’s significantly more effective than the current versions. With that technology, the boys track down a bunch of shipwrecks, and start getting famous for their discoveries and “invention.”

When Filbrick hears about this and realizes that his sons are on a track to fame and fortune and not sharing any of it with him, he’s initially furious but then tries to approach them and ask them to let him back into their lives, which they refuse. (Caryn divorces him soon after, and Shermie cuts ties around the same time. None of them ever send him money.)

Thanks to his work, Ford wins a scholarship to a well-respected university — it’s not quite West Coast Tech, but it’s also a lot nicer than Backupsmore. He opts not to take classes in summer even though they’d help him graduate faster, and spends all his breaks sailing with Stan.

Stan does get a little bored during the school year when Ford is busy, but Ford notices and suggests he start drawing comics again. Stan is hesitant and a little insecure at first but eventually starts honing his art more and brainstorming plotlines with occasional input from Ford. Using some connections he made in treasure hunting press interviews, he eventually gets a deal to have a short comic series published — then it turns into a huge success, and his comics (loosely based of his and Ford’s childhood) get picked up for many more issues.

Somewhere along the line they become friends with Fidds, probably thanks to some inter-school technology fair where he and Ford both competed, and eventually the gang heads to Oregon to investigate the anomalies concentrated in a town called Gravity Falls. Bill shows up at some point and tries to pull some characteristically Bill bullshit, but he’s no match for a pair of twins that have actually developed some half-decent communication skills. Many more years down the line, Dipper and Mabel’s childhood is full of visits from their famous scientist/explorer/artist grunkles.

***

Thank you for joining me on this crazy train ride! All your responses have meant a lot to me, and I know I’ll look back on this experience fondly (even if it was a lot shorter than my multichapter fics tend to be).

[theunusuallysuspect]

Broken and Whole

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314665

Chloe was brave… or Chloe was reckless.

At times it was hard to tell.

It was easy to seem brave when consequences were an abstract concept in a foreign tongue that she had yet to learn.

Somehow, whether by sheer dumb luck, or her parents’ and Max’s efforts to temper her wildest flights of fancy into something more reasonable, if not entirely safe, the pain of consequences had yet to leave their mark on her life.

With the beautiful naivety of youth, she fought her parents for the freedom of the skies while they desperately tried to tether her to the ground in the hope they could keep her from flying too close to the sun.

With Max, it was different.

A word from Max could stop her mid flight and call her back to earth, for it was no fun soaring through the clouds if her best friend, her first mate, was too scared to enjoy the height.

Together they were more than the sum of their parts, they balanced each other’s extremes.

Where Chloe’s eyes scoured the endless horizon of possibility, seeking adventure in the unknown, Max’s were drawn to the treacherous depths below; to the reefs and rocks that would sink, the waves that would capsize and the monsters that lurked in the deep, waiting to swallow them whole.

Together they managed to keep their ship afloat, to navigate through danger and adventure alike.

But then everything changed.

Chloe’s blessed run of luck ran out, and instead of learning about consequences by a thousand small bruises, scrapes and cuts, she was sliced open in one huge gash. A cut to the bone that bled and bled and bled.

Too many hours on the road and a red light not seen was all it took for a truck to end a life and shatter more.

Her father’s death left her in so many pieces that she feared she would never again be whole. But she knew deep down that with enough time and her first mate beside her, they could stitch her back together. Sure, it would be bloody and messy, but eventually she would fine.

Not satisfied with one loss, fate twisted the knife and tore Max away on the day of William’s funeral, right when she needed her most.

From casket, to car, to Seattle; Max left.

Without Max, her gaping cut weeped and festered, poisoning the air with the vitriolic bile of a teenager that had lost too much, too soon, all at once.

Their ship had foundered and Chloe was adrift, cut off from their haven where the future was bright and anything seemed possible. Instead she was gasping and tumbling and desperately trying to stay afloat in the turbulent high seas where she knew with terrible certainty that anything was possible.

Chloe was reckless… or Chloe was brave.

It was easy for moments of bravery to seem reckless when consequences were no more than a possible end to suffering.

While Chloe didn’t intend to invite Death to dinner, if they tapped on the door with their scythe, she would welcome them in. It wasn’t that she had a death wish, she was death indifferent at best, or at worst; take your pick. She could be or not be. Whatever.

She trudged through the days with an air of cold apathy only those with nothing left to lose could project.

Each morning, she armoured herself with torn clothes and spikes, and wrapped herself in barbed words and murderous looks to keep others from crawling under her skin and into her heart.

Better to be alone than to open yourself to loss.

But no one can block out the sun.

Rachel Amber swept into her life; a radiant star burning bright. And for once, Chloe didn’t have to strive like Icarus; the sun came to her. She was soaring. Her long winter gave way to spring. The feelings she’d numbed, kept frozen in thick glacial ice, thawed and flooded all at once.

Rachel Amber brought Chloe light. She brought fire and passion and purpose; a reason to get out of bed, a reason to hope. In return, Chloe gave her heart.

But like the sun, Rachel brought light to many. She collected hearts like jewellery. Like charms on a bracelet, or earrings or beads on a necklace.

She was the wind, free and wild. She danced through lives like a tempest, whirling and scattering and flinging hearts to the far corners of the earth, leaving lives in chaotic disarray. She didn’t mean to, it was just who she was.

Rachel was never meant for just one person, and the more Chloe grasped, the quicker she slipped through her hands.

Then, one day she was gone.

Chloe wasn’t reckless, she wasn’t brave. She wasn’t much of anything for a while.

She was consumed by loss and uncertainty. Surely Rachel wouldn’t leave without her, without so much as a goodbye. Surely.

She latched onto that thought with the tenacity of an animal fighting for its life. She was fighting for her life. Rachel was everything and Chloe was desperate with a grief she dared not name as such for fear she would somehow manifest what she feared most.

She threw herself into the search for Rachel with a single mindedness that put shame to the lacklustre efforts of Rachel’s family and Arcadia Bay’s finest Prescott lapdogs in blue.

When Rachel disappeared, she took with her a piece of Chloe and left behind a new void to join those left by William and Max. Though the three never met in life, they held hands in Chloe’s heart, a paper chain of loss cut from the fabric of Chloe’s love.

She felt like she was more void than human, like she was falling, tumbling endlessly through the dark nothingness of space, collapsing into the vacuum within.

Chloe was empty, until she wasn’t.

Until the unexpected happened. Until a part of her that she’d given up all hope of ever seeing again returned home.

Max wasn’t light, she wasn’t a blazing sun of fire and passion. But that was ok. Chloe still bore the scars from her dance with a star, she didn’t need more.

Max was the smell of pancakes in the morning, the warmth of a soft blanket on a cold winter’s night. She was the laughter of a pun so bad it came full circle back to good, she was the comfort of hot cocoa in the fall and the satisfying crunch of leaves underfoot. She was the salt in the air and the wind in her sails.

But most of all, Max was her home.

And Chloe was brave, and reckless and everything in between. She was empty and full and broken and whole.

But most of all, she was alive. Alive in a way that she hadn’t been since their ship first ran aground. The day childhood ended, when rose-tinted glass shattered and the world was revealed to be ugly and vile.

She wasn’t ok, but neither was Max and that was alright. Rachel was gone and so was the town, but they were together. That was what mattered. They were more than the sum of their parts once again. Together they could mend themselves and each other and one day, when their wounds had closed and the scabs had fallen, one day, they would be able to share their hearts.

[daisy-loves-sh]

Bermuda

Overhead when white birds sailed

Across the sky, long yellow tails

Dazzling in her golden sun

Unnoticed by hardly anyone

Tobacco grew across her isles

And primeval cedar stretched for miles

Her pink sand beaches all a’glittered

The green skinks carelessly skipped and skittered.

Then storm roiled on in raging night

And orphaned sail-ship could not ‘right

With wind and water swirling 'round

The once-forbidden reef was found.

Petrels cried out in the dark

Frightening storm-wracked settlers who disembarked

Whilst bats whirled out of crystal caves

The ‘Venture dragged under churning waves.

Even far-off Shakespeare heard its tale

Of angry tempest and gusting gale.

Over time and in despair

The devil’s isles have claimed their share

Of shipwrecks ‘neath their cursed lair

And victims whom have paid their due

To shades of brilliant cerulean blue.

But not Deliverance, who set free

Bound for Virginia colony

Left 3 souls to forever lie

Beneath her lovely azure sky.

Then came palms a’planted in her sand

And soldiers, heavy muskets in hand,

Whitewashed churches in St. George

They stood watch above her blushing shores

And colonists from west and east

Explored her shipwreck’d coral reefs

And wore their shorts above their knees

To catch the windward wafting breeze;

Their houses awash in pastel shades

Relaxed in tranquil sun-lit haze.

But when in lonely future times

When water level slowly climbs

The rising seas will never tell

What land they’ll claim with surf and swell

And when in lonely future days

With shore awash in rising waves

She’ll stand guard valiant, ever brave

Above the inauspicious waves

Her pink sand shores no longer a’glitter

Her skinks will no more skip or skitter

Her dolphins will head back out to sea

As she’s engulfed by her relentless enemy.

And for a while the birds will sail

Across the sky, long yellow tails

Glowing in the setting sun

Never again seen by anyone.

Alone, surrounded by menacing ocean deep

She’ll keep watch from her old stone keep.