#I was solidly in that zone for at least 20 minutes??

[nope-body]

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[tatooedlaura-blog]

Skee-bal

@today-in-fic please and thank you :)

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He’d had to haul ass through the airport, dodging everyone and their irritating, unsupervised rolling suitcases and then, huffing and puffing from lack of oxygen, discovered his flight was delayed by an hour at least. He’d dropped his phone in the hurry, four pieces retrieved in the end, one lost under a maintenance door he didn’t have time to find a guy with a key to open. Now, jammed between two men who had to be linebackers for the Broncos, he prayed in some form for as much alcohol as the stewardess could legally allow him.

He got a bag of pretzels and a Sprite.

Linebacker A to his left sneezed towards him.

The uncovered Sprite went untasted.

With the way his life had been going for the past week, this was actually one of the better moments, sadly enough.

Some kind of asinine weather completed his travels, slowing down flying speed and landing possibilities, circling for 45 minutes before hitting the tarmac fast and bumpy, an enlightening nightmare for everyone in the plane but Mulder, who was sandwiched so solidly between Linebacker A and Linebacker B that he never moved an inch, forward or to the side. Wanting to kiss the ground when he finally stepped off the concourse, he hefted his backpack instead and headed to baggage claim.

We will not talk about the incidents at baggage claim except to say that ‘motherfucker’ was repeated silently in his head a multitude of times.

Car, street, traffic, home!

Only to see his tux still hanging on the closet door where he’d left it a week ago as a reminder that he had a party to go to.

The only thing that made him not want to die about this impending shindig was Scully … Scully in a fancy dress … Scully in a fancy dress drinking fancy liquor and eating fancy food and he’d better get in gear or else she’d be looking all fancy but be pissed as hell inside because he’d left here there unprotected from all those people she really didn’t want to spend her Friday night with.

Although they were Smithsonian uppities so she’d have plenty of conversation fodder but no one to rescue her when she got that look on her face he knew only too well.

Regardless, he hurried, showered, shaved, spritzed and shimmied until he looked like a million bucks and some change, finally pulling up to the National Museum of Natural History fashionable late.

&&&&&&&&&&&

She’d had better weeks … but in the grand scheme, she hadn’t been shot at so in the end, it wasn’t a terrible seven days by any means.

Then again, when Ritter had shot her, she’d at least gotten to sleep in.

She’d been up and out the door every morning at 5am, coming home after midnight, hating with a full on passion anyone and everyone who wasn’t Skinner. The paperwork nightmare had avalanched, Mulder not there to offer an answer to her questioned where involving this witness testimony or that scrap of receipt that the entire case hinged on. She couldn’t bother him, knowing he’d just say, “um, maybe behind that thing that related to the other thing or in that drawer,” and send her on a wild goose chase with the thing she needed being neither in the drawer nor behind the other thing but in fact, still in his coat pocket.

Plus, if she called him, he’d go off his game. He’d be thinking about the case she was asking about instead of the serial nightmare he was trying to imprison until the end of time plus another month just for fun.

So, she left him alone.

Mind you, they had talked everyday since he left but usually only after hours, discussing useless things and nonsense, Scully doing her best to quiet his mind so he could get some sleep, think about the questions he needed to answer and the problems, inherent, that came with those answers. She could feel him, across the country, calm, relax, begin to drift off with slow words and slower breaths, eventually telling him a quiet goodnight and an even quieter sleep well.

But now, knowing he’d be landing in 37 minutes, she, for reasons undwellable in that sliver of time, took a little extra care with her makeup, her hair, twisting that escaped curl into an oddly perfect position, knowing he’d move it when it began catching on her eyelashes while she talked to him, tuck it back, linger a moment, turn red when he realized what he was doing, linger another second then remove himself to a safe distance, drink, talk, return to the beginning of their recycled game.

She held the fantasy for .4 seconds then moved to find her shoes.

&&&&&&&&&

Standing across the room, she saw him come in, do the standard ‘stop and scan’, hope to zone in on his partner, catch the subtle red-hair, pale skin amongst taller, irritatingly grouped men in black.

Men in black.

He was a man in black tonight.

He was amused.

‘Cause … you know … men in black.

Wow, he really needed a nap or a drink, whichever came first.

But on Scully’s end, she saw him unable to find her, turn the wrong direction, head polar opposite to what she figured correctly as the food tables. When he couldn’t find her, he always headed to the next best spot, knowing she’d show up eventually, given he knew her stomach just as well as she did. About to head his way, she wasn’t paying close enough attention and the accosting took her by surprise, finding her suddenly surrounded by four gangly employees whom she had worked with many times and were, from what she could comprehend given her mind was still on Mulder, asking her if she’d like a tour of the archives downstairs.

The boys were nice, polite but slightly overenthusiastic about all things insect, vertebrate, legged and winged and taking into account how much they had helped her and Mulder over the years, she felt a tugging obligation to follow, listen, offer interest in all the proper places when she really wanted a rum and coke and to talk to Mulder.

But she was some kind of decent human being so she gave her tour guides almost an hour before she begged off, claiming starvation and need to circulate for the good of the FBI, her boss, the world in general.

They were just happy they got to show off for her.

&&&&&&&&&

It was indeed a fancy dress and by the time it sidled up beside him, he had seen it, cataloged it, burned it into his memory for all eternity. The partner wearing it wasn’t bad herself, a smile creeping across his face slowly but surely as she walked towards him, scooting in beside as opposed to across the table like normal partners would.

He was very glad they weren’t normal partners.

“So, where have you been hiding?”

“Kidnapped by McMaster, Philips, Squeegie and Tom.”

Sliding his drink into her waiting hand, “you need this more than I do.”

Grateful for the share, she drank, then, “they showed me the archive … downstairs.”

“Downstairs? Sounds ominous. You should have let me tag along.” Shifting his head down towards her, “any of them work up the nerve to ask for a date yet?”

“Squeegie took a deep breath and said ‘Agent Scully’ but then stopped, started sweating and proceeded to lecture for 20 minutes on Acherontia Atropos. It’s the closest he’s gotten so far.” Finishing off the last swallow of his slightly watered-down drink, she looked at him critically, “we should go get some more of those.”

With a grin, “you go grab some food, I’ll get the drinks and meet you back here in two minutes.”

“Deal.” Tugging at his jacket, “leave this here so people know the table’s claimed. I don’t need anymore irritating small talk tonight. I’ve done enough.”

Removing the coat, “back in a flash.” Flash indeed, minute forty-five to be precise, beating his partner by two minutes, able to watch her return with several heaping plates of nibbling nonsense, balanced alone by some act of God, given the height of her heels and the alcohol just beginning to tease her system. He knew it, could see that shine in her eyes and wanting to smile wider than he already was, he held it in, instead reaching out to take a plate, “I beat you back.”

“I had to fight for the last meatballs for you. Hopefully I didn’t leave a bruise on Dennison.”

He honestly, for half a second, wondered if she was serious but then she waved a toothpicked piece of meat under his nose and he didn’t care anymore. Taking it, devouring it, proceeding through three more, he finally slowed, “how’s your drink?”

“Empty. Thanks for bringing me two.”

“Just don’t slam this one or I’ll be pouring you into bed later.”

And he watched her fumble her salami encircled cream-cheese attempt at filling food, nearly dropping it to the table before she recovered with a stutter, “I’ll … I’ve never … I do not slam drinks, Mulder.”

“Okay, little Miss empty glass.”

Hardly in a spot to deny it, given the empty glass in front of her, she shrugged those well-defined, muscle-sculpted shoulders to throw him off his own game a little then nudged him with her foot, “did I tell you you clean up pretty well?”

“You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

“Not too bad?”

Leaning over, leaning in, leaning down, “give me a little while and there’s a really good chance I’ll be telling you that you are the most beautiful person in this room, probably DC and possibly the world.”

That was a nice shot of warmth through her system and trying to keep her voice even, “little while?”

“Need some more liquid courage. Give me 20 minutes, tops.”

“I think you said it just fine without the liquor or the time limit.”

Warming himself, he returned to the plates, fully ready to eat his way through the pile of cheese, “just help me eat some of this, would you?”

With a smile, she did.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Skinner found them shortly after, then several others they’d worked with on occasion, both happily and irritatingly but Benson took the cake, berating Mulder, belittleing Scully and, in the ultimate gesture of asshole-ness, grabbing her ass.

No one saw the ass-grabbing but they definitely saw Scully’s wrist grab, arm twist, drop that fucker to the ground before she broke his shoulder move a moment later. Leaving him in a whimpering pile of crumple suit and tears, she calmly returned to her drink, fourth now by Mulder’s count, third by hers but who cared given he had never been so proud, feeling the need to cheer, to clap, then kick Benson neatly into next week.

Once Benson had been removed and things had returned to stifling party norm, Mulder came back in close as he had earlier, whispering in the general direction of her ear, “I know just what you need.”

Still feeling phantom hand on real ass, she didn’t care what the hell he might have been implying with that loaded statement, she just knew she was going to follow him and she might as well not beat around the bush, so, with a nod, pointing towards the sea of empty glasses in front of her, “I’ll be needing one of those to go.”

“I don’t think they have lids and straws.”

Already moving from the table, “well, we’ll figure something out.” The moment she moved, she winced, “but regardless, I need out of these damn shoes.”

Not giving a rip about the rest of the ballroom, he took her hand, “I will get you out of those damn shoes as soon as I can.”

&&&&&&&&&

He definitely got her out of the damn shoes but not her clothes, as had crossed his mind at some point after the third Rum and Coke. Instead, she was standing, barefoot, in a calf-length, deep-blue dress, hair falling from that girly twist she’d done, debating the best aim for her last throw.

“Hey, Scully?”

“Yeah?”

“If you hit the 100, I’ll buy you a piece of pizza.”

“Get out your wallet.”

And buy he did, a whole pie actually, half for her, half for him and she treated to the pitchers of beer, “I love that this place has Skee-bal and $2 pitchers after 11.”

“Told you I knew just what you needed.”

Eyes twinkling at him over the edge of her glass, she took a long drink before, “it’ll do in a pinch.”

Well, geez.

He really didn’t need to hear that while she wore that dress with those painted toes exposed and up beside him on the booth, bottoms of her feet dirty, smooth legs …

“Ready for another game?”

Tapping his thigh with those same painted toes, “games are good but my feet are getting cold and I’ve been up since 5 this morning. I’d also really like to get out of this dress and into something in a nice purple plaid flannel.”

“Wool socks perhaps?”

Scrunching toes, she nodded, “yes, please.”

Soon in his car, he debated taking her back to the museum to get hers but seeing her falling asleep in the seat beside him, he nudged her arm, leaning in closer, not wanting to startle too much, “hey, why don’t I take you home and we’ll get your car in the morning?”

Barely registering words, English, surroundings, she burrowed into her coat, mumbling something he needed her to repeat, her lips practically touching his ear, “your place.”

“Scully?”

Suddenly awake, understanding her words and his, she sat up, shook her head, “um, sorry. Actually, if you just want to take me to my car, I’ll be fine to drive home.”

Not really sure what had twisted the gravity between them in the last four seconds, “I … I don’t … are you sure? A minute ago you were practically asleep.”

Embarrassment flooding over the last six hours of back and forth between them, she gave him a passing glance and refocused out the window again, “I’ll be fine.”

Slippery slope, uneven ground, unexplored territory, he put the car in drive, worried and just the slightest bit completely pissed off, “okay.”

&&&&&&&&&&

Dropping her off at her car, she called good-night over her shoulder, then, shutting the door, left him even more irritated and before he could decide to be a complete ass, she drove off without so much as a wave out the window.

He chewed on this for a few minutes, then, given time and talent for going off the deep end, he aimed the car in her direction, driving to her apartment automatically, pulling up and noticing, to his surprise, her sitting on the stoop in front of the main door. Not the warmest of nights, his irritation with her cooled with the temperature as he approached her, settled beside her, put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her against him, “what’s wrong with us?”

“Nothing … everything …” leaning in closer, “it’s too early for this conversation and I’m too tired to curb any revelatory confessions.” Moving to stand, “go home, Mulder. Thank you for shoeless Skee-bal and cheap beer but I need to go inside and get some sleep.”

“Why didn’t you go inside when you got home?”

“Because I knew you’d be coming and I didn’t want to have to deal with you at my own door.”

Irritation was beginning to simmer yet again, “deal with me? What about my having to deal with you? I ask you if you want me to bring you home and you freak out, jump out of the car, pretend you’re awake enough to drive? I just wanted to bring you home so you didn’t fall asleep and die trying to be all independent!”

“Both I and the neighbors would appreciate you not yelling anymore, thank you very much.”

Still looking up at her, he boiled over, “I am not yelling! Fuck,” realizing he might not have been yelling but he was indeed louder than a midnight dark street warranted, “I just wanted to make sure you got home all right.”

Giving him a long look from above, contemplating his tired countenance, she shut her eyes, debating the universe as a whole as it applied to her relationship with Mulder, “I got home fine but I’m not sure you will so come inside. I’ve got semi-warm socks and old sweatpants that have seen better decades and I stole from you three years ago anyway and you can have back in you really want.”

“I’m fine.”

Collaring him, she tugged back slightly, “don’t try to ‘I’m fine’ the queen of ‘I’m fining’ … would you just come inside?”

She could see the wheels churning then slowly grinding to a halt before, “why do we make things so hard?”

Now she ruffled through his hair before giving his skull a good squeeze, “easy is not in our nature.”

As he stood, “you’re telling me.”

&&&&&&&&&

Inside the door, closed and locked, bolted and braced against the outside world, she discarded her shoes, dropping her several inches lower, further from him, but unmoving otherwise, head tilted up to see him, “sleep or drink?”

“Liquor or water?”

“Water, Mulder, definitely water. The last thing we need to pour on the nightmare of us is alcohol.”

“We are not a nightmare, Scully. We are just an exhausted mess. There’s a difference.”

Half wishing water wasn’t the correct choice, “it’s a blurry difference at best.”

Pulling her towards him, he kissed her forehead, “if it were an hour earlier, I’d have demanded the liquor but now, I’d just like the socks and sweatpants, please.”

Scully took his hand, pulling him towards the bedroom, “this way.” Inner sanctum bedroom swathed in shadow, she dug up aforementioned clothing by feel alone, handing him pants, t-shirt and socks, “I threw in your Barney Rubble shirt for good measure.”

And they stood, statued, in the dark, handful of clothes between them until, in a hushed voice, edge of sleep sharp, “do you sleep in my clothes?”

Silent but steady, she walked backwards, dug under her pillow and without pretense, pulled a shirt over her head, groped herself for a moment, undid a zipper and a clasp, dress dropping to her feet. Stepping out of it, she returned in front of him, “yes.”

He studied his beloved rag of washed out cotton Big Bird shirt as it sloped over breast and hung to mid- thigh, “do you think about me when you’re falling asleep?”

She nodded.

“Do you dream about me after you have?”

Another nod.

She would hear him thinking fractured, speed of light thoughts but she waited, wondering which direction things would go, until, “I would like to say something but I’m not going to get it right but I’ll try so just … wait until I’m done, okay?”

Third nod made his heart pound.

But he managed words, “I have never seen you more beautiful than right now, wearing my shirt, naked underneath.” He bit his lip, stumbling over the word naked, “and I’d like to, in the future, come to the conclusion that this isn’t as hard as we make it out to be and the only thing wrong with us is the logic of two illogical idiots.”

Scully invaded his space enough to tug at the bottom of his dress shirt, unbuttoning quickly from waist to neck, “help me get your pajamas on and we can crawl into that bed behind me and sleep until we wake up. After that, we can talk but right now, Mulder, sleep.”

He let her drop his shirt to the floor and pull Barney Rubble over his head, smooth material over chest while Mulder undid buckle and belt, pants exchanged swiftly for sweat, dark socks for gray, “left side or right?”

“Left for now but I can’t guarantee I won’t end up in the middle.”

“Fair enough.” Once hunkered down, buried and burrowed, “Scully?”

“Yeah.”

Through layers of comforter and sheet, he found her face, eyes closing fast, finally moving to shift that section of hair from her eyelashes so he could see her clearly, “in the car, why did you say you wanted to go to my place?”

Before she could shut herself up, “because you have that nice, warm water bed and I was cold.” When he just lay there staring at her, she whispered another ‘g’night’ and drifted off, leaving him to wonder just where she would have made him sleep.

[birdiethebibliophile]

{fic} That Old Sweet Feeling (part 21)

Fandom:  The Adventure Zone:  Commitment Rating:  M Chapter Warnings:  None Relationship:  Nadiya Jones/Mary Word Count:  2,033

Here on AO3. Read the rest: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Tagging @someone-called-f1nch, @voidfishkid, @mellowstarscape, and @jumpboy-rembrandt!

Endgame has started. This chapter and the next are a LOT of plot, and this one’s a long boi, so brace yourselves, gird your loins, all that. 

Chapter Summary:   Grace formulates plans. Remy connects the dots. Jonesy speculates.

__________________

Nadiya was stirred from sleep by a soft knock on the door. She made a noise of discomfort and shoved her face back into the pillow. Through her half-awake haze, she could hear a lot of muffled voices, then, suddenly, the door burst open and she heard a loud, “Rise and shine, Reed Richards!”

Nadiya jolted fully awake and upright, nearly colliding with Mary Sage. “Wh- what’s wrong?” she said, danger senses immediately pinging.

“Nothin’, I just wanted ya to wake up,” Mary Sage said, half-collapsing against Nadiya. “Grace said we can’t have breakfast until everyone’s up and you’re the last one.”

“Oh. Geddoff.” Nadiya pushed half-heartedly at Mary Sage, who straightened up with a pout. She considered going right back to sleep, but she was pretty awake now. Right. They were at Grace’s penthouse-apartment-whatever it was in San Francisco. “Breakfast?”

“Yeah, she and Abbey’re makin’ French toast and Remy’s helping,” Mary Sage explained, sitting down on Nadiya’s bed with a slight bounce. “French toast an’ bacon an’ orange juice an’ shit. I think she has grapefruit, too, Jonesy really likes it?”

Nadiya’s stomach rumbled. “I have to shower first,” she said firmly. “I feel gross. And then I’ll be out.”

“Nad…” Mary Sage whined. “Please, we’re dyin’ of hunger –”

“Shower!” Nadiya insisted.

“Bathroom’s down the hall by Remy’s room,” Mary Sage, flopping backwards on the bed, managing to avoid Nadiya’s legs. “You suck.”

Nadiya stuck her tongue out at Mary Sage, grabbed her bag, and headed down the hallway.

She really had meant to take a quick in-and-out shower, but the minute she stepped under the hot water, she groaned and closed her eyes. It felt like the grime and dust of the past week was washing away down the drain. She wondered if Mary Sage had showered – judging by the state of her hair (not completely and totally knotted and greasy like it had been the previous night), probably.

Now that she was thinking about Mary, she couldn’t stop. Mary Sage had seemed more… herself  just now than she had in days. She’d been grinning widely, her eyes alert and not glazed over, with the spark of mischief that Nadiya recognized from their car chase back before they got to the cabin.

Nadiya wondered uncomfortably how long she’d been paying that much attention to Mary Sage.

Hurriedly, she washed her hair and made sure she got a thorough rinse before shutting the shower off and wrapping her hair in a towel, throwing her pajamas back on since she didn’t have any clean clothes.

She hesitated at the hallway exit, but before she could do anything else, Grace turned around from where she was standing at the counter and smiled. “Nadiya! Good morning! It’s real good to see you.”

“Um, good to see you too, Grace,” Nadiya muttered, sitting down at the table – two tables shoved together, if she wanted to be accurate – with Kardala, Jonesy, and a woman in her early twenties wearing retro aviator glasses who Nadiya identified as Pridmore. Grace winked and turned back to the griddle, where she was flipping what looked to be about fifty pieces of French toast. She had been the head of Humanities, Nadiya recalled; Irene’s boss, a tall, solidly-built nonbinary woman in her early fifties with long, greying brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Whereas most of the rest of them – including Jonesy – were still wearing pajamas, Grace was wearing beige slacks, closed-toe brown lace-up shoes, and a pink flowered long-sleeved button-up shirt under a beige suit jacket, unbuttoned, that matched her slacks. Nadiya couldn’t remember ever wearing anything that nice except for her grad school interviews.

Grace, she decided, was either going to annoy the shit out of her, or was a genuine badass. Or both. Could definitely be both.

“Okay, we got French toast, bacon, grapefruit, orange juice, coffee…” Grace said, clapping her hands together. “Everybody grab a plate and have at it. Creamer’s in the fridge if you want it.”

For the next few minutes, the kitchen (or what was generally being called a kitchen) was complete chaos as everyone scrambled to get themselves their breakfast, but eventually, it settled down, and Nadiya was sitting a bit disbelievingly with seven other people, at an actual table, with actual food.

“There’s plenty, I grabbed groceries from the place next door this morning,” Grace said, stirring sugar into her coffee, “so feel free to have seconds or thirds or however much you want.”

“Thanks, Grace,” Remy said around a mouthful of bacon and a huge grin.

“I’ll help with the dishes after,” Jonesy added, kissing Grace’s cheek as she sat down.

Huh, Nadiya thought, looking from Grace to Jonesy. I guess they’re together. For some reason, she glanced at Mary Sage, who was eating French toast like her life depended on it, and who also winked at Nadiya when their eyes met. Nadiya quickly turned back to her own breakfast.

“So, you wanted to hear about our trip?” Remy said once he’d finished his first cup of coffee and gotten a refill.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Jonesy said. “And then we have some stuff to fill you four in on.”

Remy launched into his version of the events, Kardala and Mary Sage occasionally chiming in with corrections. Pridmore was signing a translation to Abbey. Nadiya mostly let them take care of it, focusing on eating as much French toast and drinking as much coffee as she possibly could. It felt like it did when she’d spent days straight in her lab and she’d finally made a breakthrough. She would go home, sleep like the dead for twelve hours, and order from her favorite Thai restaurant whenever she woke up. Spend the day catching up on the news she hadn’t been paying attention to, watch an episode or two of whatever she’d been watching on Netflix recently, and let whoever’d been texting her she was still alive.

“Wow,” Grace said, shaking her head. “Y’all have been through a lot, huh?”

“You could say that,” Nadiya said, finally setting her mug down. “So, do you know what the fuck is going on? Because we may have some background now, but as far as we know, we’re still being hunted down by either the feds or Martine or both.”

“Well, first of all, you don’t have to worry about that here,” Grace said calmly. “I don’t know if Jamie, Addison, and Flanagan told you, but Jonesy and I – mostly Jonesy – had been working on some tech for blocking the bonds, and this whole place, as well as the surrounding block or so, is basically under a catch-all invisibility cloak. Well,” she corrected herself, “the cloak blocks artificial bonds – the kind Martine’s manufacturing with the stimplants and her modified oxytocin. Regular bonds still work fine. I don’t even know if there is a way to block those. We gave Jamie and Addison and Flanagan some prototypes we made – doesn’t block all artificial bonds, but it should block Martine, the hub.”

“Like a server in a computer network,” Remy said.

Jonesy shot him double finger guns. “Exactly,” she said. “Each team had artificial bonds with the other people on their team and with Martine – which is the main problem.”

“See, I don’t think there’s any way Martine’s given up,” Grace said, the friendly smile dropping off her face, replaced with a serious, business-like look that matched her outfit. “She’s a master manipulator, and I’d be shocked if she didn’t have a plan M, much less a plan B.”

“Here.” Jonesy pushed her chair out, going over to the counter and fiddling with a projector, opening a laptop and connecting them. “I made a PowerPoint.”

Irene leaned forwards eagerly, but Nadiya groaned. “How is it possible that literally every one of you is nerdier than I am?” she complained.

“I’m not,” Mary Sage said.

Nadiya considered that. “You have most of the Bible memorized.”

“That’s not nerdy, it’s sensible,” Mary Sage said, poking her fork in Nadiya’s direction.

“Focus, people,” Grace said. The room fell silent again as Jonesy’s projection appeared on the wall. “So, it’s clear Martine’s not working on her own. She’s been seen in the Capitol, for heaven’s sake. My best guess is that she sold her tech – the stimplants, mostly – to the government in return for complete amnesty.”

“What.” Nadiya knocked over her empty glass in standing up. “That’s – that’s my tech, she –”

“I’m just telling you what I suspect, Nadiya,” Grace said calmly. “I can see you’re upset, but I’m going to be real honest with you. You not getting a patent for your work is the least of our problems right now. Please sit down.”

Nadiya dropped back into her chair, a burning sensation behind her eyes. She wanted to yell at Grace that she didn’t understand, didn’t get how academia worked, that was her entire PhD, all her research, she couldn’t just start over and pick something else. Martine had all but destroyed her career.

“The biggest problem,” Grace said quietly, “is that the government is almost certainly underestimating Martine. They’ve given her too much leeway; they don’t get the extent of her plans. I think – yes, Remy?”

Remy was raising his hand, and now lowered it awkwardly. “I might be able to help with some of this,” he explained. “I… my mom used to work with Martine. She left me a message, a bunch of info on their work. What she knew about Martine, what she thought Martine’s plans were. That was a while ago, though, I don’t know how helpful it’ll be.”

“Anything is helpful at this point,” Grace said firmly. “Could you go get that for us?”

Remy nodded, jumping up from the table and darting from the room, returning in less than a minute with his laptop, which he opened. “She said something about Martine building an – an army of supersoldiers,” he said, pulling up the documents.

Grace’s mouth thinned, but she nodded. “That would fit with what I suspect,” she said. “Jonesy?”

Jonesy nodded and clicked to a slide showing a photo of Martine talking with two people in suits. “The man on the right there is the Secretary of Defense,” she said grimly. “And the one on the left is Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

“According to my intel – and my reasoning – Martine’s persuaded the Department of Defense that her stimplant tech –”

“My stimplant tech,” Nadiya put in, still fuming.

Grace sighed. “Nadiya’s stimplant tech, then. She’s persuaded them that it can be used as a weapon. Every news network I can find is working overtime to fix the PR disaster that was Richard’s broadcast, painting Martine in the best possible light. That’s got to be at the behest of the Department of Defense – honestly, I don’t know how deep this goes, she was at the White House, she may even have the president on her side. However, there’s no way she’s told them about the modifications she’s made. Which means…”

“Holy shit,” Mary Sage whispered. “It means she could have a literal, entire army with those connections. With the bonds.”

“All connected to her,” Grace said with a nod. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s made a few more modifications since the disaster at the ‘Berg. To… make the recipients easier for her to control.”

Abbey, a middle-aged man with greying reddish hair, tapped on the table, then signed something, which Pridmore translated in her strong Scottish accent: “What was her original plan, then? Couldn’ta been this.”

“Again, this is partly speculation on our part,” Grace said, “but partly info we gathered when we were still working for the Fellowship. I don’t think she ever thought Richard’s plan would work. Hers wasn’t a backup, at least not to her; it was the only real plan. She was just using his as a way to execute hers. She wanted to recruit the best and brightest, bind them to her, and… well. Use them however she needed.”

“Well, that leaves me with a lot of questions, but I think there’s only one that comes to mind immediately,” Irene said in her quiet voice.

“What is it, Irene?”

“Why us?”

[rolypolydandy]

Tagged by @rockorococo all the way from straya what a time to be alive

1. Where do you currently live? Merrie England 2. Where would you prefer to live if given the option, and why? Just a few miles to the west so I'd be near a beach and forest rather than polluted docks. Lbr I wouldn't do well in any country with a climate regularly outside the 5-15°C range bc I am a gross English stereotype. 3. Shoe size? UK 6, I'm solidly average in every way 4. Can you fall asleep on your back? If so do you wake up like that? I never remember how I fall asleep or how I wake up so no idea tbh 5. Is there a movie/book/show/game you're looking forward to? What about it has you so excited? GAME OF THRONES SEASON 8 MOTHERFUCKERS cos I'm GoT trash straight up 6. Wine, or hard liquor? What is one of your preferred drinks? The objectively correct order is beer/cider > vodka > red wine > every other spirit > not drinking > the juice in the bottom of the bin > white wine 7. Physical touch, do you enjoy it? What's your favourite spot, what spot do you not want to be touched? Do not even get within 5 feet of me first thing in the morning, and never ever tickle my feet. Otherwise we're cool. 8. Go into your Youtube history and provide the link to the 7th video in the list: https://youtu.be/0U89GhN1S-A - The Sims 4 episode of Monster Factory, god love Dark Vader 9. What was the last song you listened to? West End Girls by Pet Shop Boys 10. Do you have any thoughts about Nick Jonas? I think he was my favourite one for the approximately 5 minutes that I was into the Jonas Brothers 11. Water or Silicone based? What fam 12. The most illicit controlled substance you've partaken in? What kind of cop question is this? 13. If you could get your friends/family to watch one specific gay movie, which one would it be? Obviously keeping the same answer as @rockorococo - Beau Brummell without a doubt. Dat Sauna Scene. 14. Do you listen to podcasts? Omg loads - Rex Factor, No Such Thing as a Fish, The Adventure Zone, MBMBaM, Infinite Monkey Cage, Reelpolitik, Binge Mode 15. What do you do on a Sunday? Work 4am-12pm and then come home and zombie around the house for the rest of the day 16. In front of my salad? I didn't even know this meme till I googled it, I am so ashamed 17. Birth sign, and zodiac? What do you like most about both, what do you like least. I don't do astrology lol but mine is cancer. Which is apparently meant to be the soft, shy, emotional mom friend but I'm clearly the abrasive, inappropriate, perpetually late friend. I was born in the year of the monkey, I don't know what that means but I like monkeys so I guess that's cool. 18. In front of my salad? Ashamed to say I didn't know that meme until I googled it. Sorry internet. 19. Last book or comic you enjoyed? National Geographic magazine, love that shit. 20. A kink or fetish you have, can you explain how it became one for you? DEMOCRATIC SOCIALISM BABY 21. Supply the link to either an image or video you think will bring a chuckle to those following you http://i.imgur.com/D4rccau.jpg I tag: I DON'T KNOW ANYONE'S @ JUST DO IT IF YOU WANT TO

[illyriantremors]

ACOMAF Part 2.1 The House of Wind: Chapters 14-27 (Rhys POV)

Chapter 14: Feyre’s First Visit to the Townhouse Chapter 15: Rhys Shows Feyre Velaris & Flies Her to Dinner Chapter 16: Feyre’s Dinner with the Inner Circle Chapter 17: Feyre’s Nightmare Chapter 18: The Bone Carver Chapter 19: After the Bone Carver Chapters 20-21: The Weaver & the Memory of Ianthe Chapters 22-24: The First Visit to the Mortal Realms & Meeting Nesta and Elain Chapters 25-27: Feyre trains with Rhys & the Attor Attacks

AN: Chapters 14-27 of ACOMAF from Rhys’s POV! Chapter 14 is pasted below while the remaining chapters linked above go to AO3. I’ve started work on the next set, but don’t have much yet. Enjoy!

Thank you, as always, to @kitashiwrites, who is my rock, my spirit animal, and my grammar instructor who makes this so much easier. Thank you for always instilling confidence in me when I feel like such utter crap about writing these. Your enthusiasm never ceases to amaze me!

Chapter 14

Summary: Rhys brings Feyre to Velaris after saving her from Tamlin's prison in the Spring Court. His inner circle crashes their brief landing in Rhys's townhouse, sending Feyre upstairs. Downstairs, Rhys chats with his family and learns about another temple raid from Azriel.

You Are Safe Here

"Welcome to my home.”

It was a damned miracle to watch Feyre survey my townhouse, the most private space I occupied. And here she was suddenly inside it.

The moment was so surreal, that I had to lean against the oak threshold separating us from the sitting room to keep myself steady. Feyre, despite what I could tell was a decent amount of surprise at where she’d landed and a considerable amount of concern for what she might find beyond these walls, didn’t miss a single detail. From the plush fabrics lining the furniture to the woven carpets and open windows, to worn bookcases and soft sounds from outside, she saw it all.

And I wondered if some part of her registered that she was really seeing a glimpse of me.

The palace she had spent two weeks in miles and miles away was easily representative of one half of me - the calculating, regal half that delighted in luxury without apology. But that portion was also who I was as a diplomat, the High Lord.

Here, I was home.

And she was still apprehensive.

“What is this place?” she asked and she sounded almost disbelieving, like any moment she might wake up.

“This is my house. Well, I have two homes in the city. One is for more... official business, but this is only for me and my family.”

Feyre kept a sharp eye as her gaze flicked immediately away from me and stared down the hallway behind her questioning. The house replied with a warm, open silence - an invitation of sorts.

“Nuala and Cerridwen are here,” I said. “But other than that, it’ll just be the two of us.”

I waited for her to say something, but her biting commentary never came. Mercifully, it wasn’t the silence I’d come to expect that cried out hatred upon my back when I left the room or slashed at my soul with cuts and sneers to keep me out. Feyre was simply frozen in time and space as she stilled to look at the walls. I only hoped it was more from shock than any actual discomfort. Being here - I needed her to be okay with it, with even just this one small part of me, the most honest and normal portion there was. And also, the most human - the most like her.

Too long a stretch of silence passed. I took a careful step towards her, ready to explain further, when a shock of sound slammed into the fogged glass of the atrium door that led outside. I didn’t have to look to know who was behind it.

“Hurry up, you lazy ass,” Cassian barked behind the glass. Feyre’s head whizzed to the sound. She looked exhausted just by the very idea she might have another guest to deal with let alone two more. I knew for Cassian to be here this early, he wouldn’t be alone.

“Two things, Feyre darling,” I said, interrupted by another pounding.

“If you’re going to pick a fight with him, do it after breakfast.”

Azriel.

Feyre’s brow peaked as if she could feel the shadows that cocooned my brother day and night even with a door between them. Knowing Azriel, he was likely experiencing something similar himself thanks to his smokey friends.

“I wasn’t the one who hauled me out of bed just now to fly down here,” Cassian said tartly before sneering at Az, “Busybody.”

The exchange was so brief, and yet, when Feyre slid her gaze to me at the end of it, it was hard not to laugh - to smile. Even if only a little bit.

The reality of the moment hit me then in full force. Feyre was little more than a handful of steps away from my brothers, my family, my city - people and places I thought she would never see except maybe on a battlefield or in a court room with sentinels from an entirely different court at her side.

And yet, here we were. Cassian complaining about being dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour like I knew he would, Azriel dutifully pushing him here to do it. And Feyre hadn’t even met them yet but she was so close to seeing them, seeing it all.

The thought made me rather... giddy inside.

But she was tired. The hollows under her eyes were a deepening purple and her shoulders sagged at her sides so that her back and neck slumped. One would have thought she’d never slept a day in her life, never mind the hours she’d spent in bed only thirty minutes ago.

“One,” I said, making sure to shirk off the smile threatening to break free so she could understand that she needn’t worry here, “no one - no one - but Mor and I are able to winnow directly inside this house. It is warded, shielded, and then warded some more. Only those I wish - and you wish - may enter. You are safe here; and safe anywhere in this city, for that matter. Velaris’s walls are well protected and have not been breached in five thousand years. No one with ill intent enters this city unless I allow it. So go where you wish, do what you wish, and see who you wish.”

Another pounding sounded at the door and again, it was an effort not to give in to Cassian’s inexhaustible ability to dig at me.

“Those two in the antechamber,” I continued, ready for the snide remark sure to follow, “might not be on that list of people you should bother knowing, if they keep banging on the door like children.”

I didn’t bother lowering my voice so they wouldn’t hear me outside, but I hadn’t raised it either, and all the same, Cassian still pounded relentlessly on the door and added, “You know we can hear you, prick.”

A little thrill went up my spine that I stood solidly firm over to hide it. They were so close - both halves of my life. So, so unbearably close that the anticipation of it was just as much a nuisance to lock down as a happiness to feel.

“Secondly,” I said casually, with just enough emphasis to piss Cass off and with any luck earn a long suffering sigh from Azriel, “in regard to the two bastards at my door, it’s up to you whether you want to meet them now, or head upstairs like a wise person, take a nap since you’re still looking a little peaky, and then change into city-appropriate clothing while I beat the hell out of one of them for talking to his High Lord like that.”

Feyre looked at me in bewilderment. Her shields were in perfect tact. I didn’t want to rifle through her head for every little emotion and thought, not at the cost of her personal space. But I would have been lying if I’d said it would not have been nice for this to have been one of those beautiful moments where she let me in on her mind’s turbulent seas to understand her better. What I would have given to know what she was thinking just then and here I was too scared out of my mind to ask while I waited for a decision, even as the adrenaline begged me to...

Her face appeared easy at first, some of those muscles in her tired body relaxed as she surveyed my face in a way I’d never seen from her before. And then it fell, miserably low and I thought she might yawn or fall over on the spot.

“Just come get me when they’re gone,” she finally said. It was an effort not to let my disappointment show. Part of me wanted everyone I loved to meet then and there and be done with it, but her peace was more important.

Then again, that peace might never be possible if Feyre found my family wasn’t one she could be a part of, if she found them too -

“You Illyrians are worse than cats yowling to be let in the back door.” Amren’s razor thin voice cut the silence between Feyre and I sharply. I heard the handle of the door jingle harshly as she tried it. “Really, Rhysand? You locked us out?”

Whatever was in Amren’s tone today was not one Feyre was ready to face apparently because she immediately dismissed herself without another word and made for the stairs where I knew Nuala and Cerridwen would be waiting to intercept her. I listened for her footsteps, waiting until she was well out of the danger zone, before I opened the door and my entryway was flooded by my hulking brothers and the short, blunt woman who somehow outsized them both.

Cassian clapped me on the back, shaking the chill off of him as he strode past me towards the warmer air. “Welcome home, bastard,” he said by way of greeting. “I sensed you were back. Mor filled me in, but I-”

Amren stepped directly into my path, cutting Cassian off with an annoyed glare. “Send your dogs out in the yard to play, Rhysand. You and I have matters to discuss.”

But while her displeasure had been directed at Cassian, it was Azriel who replied with that cold, deadly insistence, the only one who dared go toe-to-toe with Amren for my attention. When it came to political matters, at least.

“As do I,” Azriel said and there was no mistaking his meaning. Amren didn’t so much as move.

“We were here first,” Cassian said, much more casually than Az. “Wait your turn, Tiny Ancient One.”

Okay, maybe Azriel wasn’t the only one willing to play with Amren. The snarl that ripped from between her sharp teeth was low, but perfectly clear.

Mor startled me when she rounded the corner from the kitchen, a steaming cup of tea between her hands and wearing a lazy set of loose pants and a sweater that said she could have just woken up. I wondered whether she’d stayed the night here after forewarning Azriel of the last day’s events or if she’d met him this morning and winnowed in without bothering to change.

“Why is everyone here so early?” She said, still sleepy. “I thought we were meeting tonight at the House.”

Everyone stared at me waiting and for a second, seeing my house full of people with nothing but complaint while Feyre went through her own mini-hell adjusting upstairs was tiresome. “Trust me, there’s no party. Only a massacre, if Cassian doesn’t shut his mouth.”

Cass blew me off. “We’re hungry. Feed us. Someone told me there’d be breakfast.”

Az’s lips gave a tug as he chose a plush backless seat to lean over, ready as ever to get straight to business.

“Pathetic,” Amren said. Never one to be outdone, she took her own seat across from the shadowsinger. “You idiots are pathetic.”

“We know that’s true. But is there food?” Mor flashed that insatiable grin of hers that won the hearts of men and women up and down Prythian, but Cass cut across her with a derisive snort.

“You’re the one who just came from the kitchen,” he said.

“That was for tea,” she said raising her mug and shaking it faintly in his direction. “And you know I don’t cook.”

“Can’t cook, you mean,” Azriel said. Their eyes met across the room and held some kind of quiet, teasing exchange the rest of us were never privy to.

When the shadows informed him that Mor’s eyes weren’t the only attention he held, Azriel cleared his throat and spoke in that cool stoicism of his. “So what’s the plan?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Cassian said. “I’d like to know what prompted these oncoming plans before we actually get in to them. Some of us don’t have shadows and personal secretaries to inform us of every little movement Rhys makes.” He gestured between Azriel and Mor. It was Mor who replied.

“Some of us,” she said, staring pointedly at Cassian, “need to learn the value of minding their own business and a little patience. And I thought we were eating first?”

“By the Cauldron,” I said, snapping my fingers. The coffee table filled with fruit and muffins. Mor squealed, reaching for her preferred chocolate muffins, Cassian not far behind taking a fat pomegranate, their conflict temporarily forgotten. Amren eyed the food with clear disdain.

“Miserable though this is,” Amren said, “I too would like a full account of recent events and the plans to follow.” Amren gave me half a heartbeat before her eyes lifted slowly to the ceiling above us where Feyre undoubtedly stayed, hopefully fast asleep between the fresh sheets of her new bed.

Everyone followed suit and I sank in to a chair, taking a nut muffin for myself with a few bites, and then let the incident in the Spring Court unfold.

“So she stays here from now on,” Azriel asked. I nodded. “And you’re content to trust her with the knowledge of this city - with Velaris?”

“Obviously,” I said. “She’s here, isn’t she.”

“You know what I mean, Rhys.”

“Azriel isn’t wrong,” Amren said. “This is a considerable step, Rhysand.”

“One that hasn’t been weighed without a great deal of consideration, Amren,” I replied and she eyed me stonily. I didn’t appreciate the full use of my name.

Though I’d only taken a handful of seconds before acquiescing to Feyre’s request to join me here, there had never been a doubt in my mind that she could handle keeping this secret or even that she would if she chose to assume the burden of it. I trusted my mate with that secret - and so much more, really.

“Feyre is now in a period of transition,” I went on. “She has survived a great deal in her return to the Spring Court alone and it has cost her almost everything. For that and because of certain... understandings with her, she is to be afforded the rights of this court until such a time comes where she chooses to no longer be apart of it. And even then, her word is good that she will not betray us.” Azriel’s shadows tightened tensely around his body as if searching for the validity of my statement. “None of you have reason to doubt me on this.”

I didn’t need to add that that was final. “And now?” Azriel asked.

“You’ll meet her tonight and have your fun, and then tomorrow we work. So long as Feyre resides in Velaris, we know she is safe. But if she should leave this city, Tamlin is bound to have every sentinel and guard in his court trying to find her whether she wants it or not. And not just Tamlin.”

Mor shuddered and swallowed the bite of fruit she’d been chewing. “You think others will be looking for her? Our enemies?”

“And Tamlin’s.”

“Because of-”

“Amarantha? Yes. Anyone who sided with her and managed to get out of that mountain alive will almost undoubtedly be looking for her.” My mind flicked through the suspects, from the Attor to creatures of a much darker sort. “If they’ve allied with Hybern, then it’s almost a guarantee. Tamlin might be foolish enough to think no one will suspect Feyre of being more than just another High Fae noble, but I am not.”

“You think she is more than what she appears?” Cassian asked, genuinely intrigued - enough to stop chewing, at least.

“I already know she is, and will discuss it another time. For now...” I looked at Azriel. He had information, but his eyes narrowed, the shadows flickering over his face in a haze that told me to wait. “For now, eat your food and make my life a living hell like you always do.”

Cassian huffed a laugh and swiped another piece of fruit off the table, this time an orange. He threw a blueberry that stuck in Mor’s hair and I thought she might light his leathers on fire.

They stayed for most of the morning. For the most part, we chatted about strategies for keeping Feyre safe from the enemies who might try and snatch her if the time came for her to leave while at the same time scheming how to use that to our advantage if it was Hybern or one of his cronies behind any attacks. And then there was general conversation about the war itself, the Illyrian war-bands constantly harping at me from the North, the temples, Tamlin...

It was exhausting. As excited as I’d been having them arrive and share the same roof as my mate, part of me would rather have joined Feyre upstairs and taken a good, long nap away from the endless chatter about subjects hell bent on killing me.

Amren pulled me aside onto the outdoor patio midway through the discussion to give her own private report. She left as soon as it was over and Azriel took her place.

“Any news yet?” I asked. Azriel didn’t have to ask what I meant as he eyed the balcony to Feyre’s room just above us.

“Nothing,” he said. “Tamlin put the entire court on lock down almost as soon as he realized Feyre was missing. The gap was open for a short time and likely only because he wasn’t home when Mor got her out. I’m not sure he realized right away what had happened.”

“His wards are weak - even for him.” Something that was deeply unsettling. For a High Lord intent on protecting what was owed to him, he sure missed one hell of a show from Feyre for all her trouble should have alerted him to what was happening in his own home. An explosion like that... he should have met Mor and I at the gates.

“Keep an eye on the court,” I said. “Go back tomorrow yourself and see if you can’t get anything out of it. She’s only been here a day and Tamlin’s not going to let this go even if Feyre shows up and puts a knife in his heart herself.”

Azriel nodded. A cruel shadow twisted off his lips as if it spoke the order itself to whatever eyes and ears awaited him tomorrow in the Spring Court - that they should be watching. Azriel didn’t move.

“Spit it out,” I said.

“It’s happened again,” he said with that cold, unyielding blade of a voice he had.

I sighed. “Tell me.”

And I already knew what was coming.

His face cracked just the slightest, knowing the blow he was about to deal.

“There’s been another attack. Same as the rest - priestesses slain, the place ransacked, and something missing even if it’s not apparent what.”

Relentless, icy rage glittered in my veins. Had I not wanted to leave Feyre to possibly meet my little entourage for the first time alone, I would have shot straight up into the skies and flown until sundown.

“Where?” I asked instead.

But just as before, I already knew the answer. Knew the doom it spelt. Knew that another clue to the riddle I suspected I’d already solved was coming.

Azriel’s lips tightened into a hard line before he answered, his eyes cold and screaming with the same rage I felt.

“The Temple at Sangravah.”

Cesere...

Sangravah...

And countless others.

My mind flashed to the war room I’d shown Feyre, and the maps strewn with marks and figures.

War was coming.

Thanks for reading, folks! Hit the links up top to continue reading the next chapter.

[junker-town]

The Ohio State-Penn State live blog by Bill Connelly

The Big Ten season essentially starts Saturday at 7:30 p.m. ET on ABC and WatchESPN.

Third Quarter

3:27

The crowd is alive again. Dobbins is stopped for four yards, then Robert Windsor hurries Haskins into an overthrow. On third down, Haskins is hit as he throws to Hill, who gains just two yards. Three-and-out for OSU. Thompkins can’t do anything with Chrisman’s punt, and the Nittany Lions will start at their 38. OSU 14, PSU 13.

4:39

McSorley is still looking for Hamler on those slants. He fires incomplete to No. 1 on first down, then Sanders goes wide left for five yards to set up a third-and-semi-manageable. Turns out, it’s unmanageable. McSorley scrambles right and looks like he’s going to get the first down easily, but Malik Harrison tracks him down for a one-yard gain.

Another three-and-out for PSU, and the defense doesn’t get much rest. But Gillikin booms the punt, at least, and it’s fair caught at the OSU 10. OSU 14, PSU 13.

6:12

Weber powers his way for 13 yards into PSU territory, then a Haskins-to-Campbell pass gains 12. It’s quickly third-and-6, but PSU’s all-out pressure backfires again as a screen to Hill gains 11 yards to the PSU 16.

The Nittany Lions stiffen from there. Hill loses four yards, OSU commits a false start, then Weber gains eight to set up third-and-11, where Haskins fires too long for Hill. Sean Nuernberger’s 33-yard field goal attempt of the night is good, but the Buckeyes commit a face mask penalty, setting up a 48-yarder, one shy of his career long. He pushes it right, and PSU dodges a bullet. OSU 14, PSU 13.

8:57

Hamler has the green light to return kickoffs instead of fair catching for touchbacks, but he’s cost his team quite a few yards by doing that tonight. His return gets only to the 18, and a holding penalty backs them to the nine. Luckily for PSU, a personal foul penalty on OSU pushes them back to the 24 ... one yard short of the touchback line. Pet peeve of mine.

The Ohio State line picks up where it left off in the first half, stuffing Sanders for a three-yard loss, then McSorley gets nothing on second down. Third-and-long: Chase Young bats down a McSorley pass. Three-and-out, and OSU will start at its 44 after a couple more special teams penalties. Horrid start for the Nittany Lions in the third quarter, and the White Out crowd is totally silent. OSU 14, PSU 13.

10:22

TOUCHDOWN. A much more crisp Ohio State offense emerges from the locker room after halftime. Starting from the 25, Dobbins rushes for eight yards, then Haskins finds Campbell for gains of eight and nine yards. Dobbins rushes for five yards to move the chains again, then Haskins goes deep for Austin Mack but misses. After an eight-yard pass to Binjimen Victor, Dobbins comes up just short on third-and-2.

Fourth-and-inches: Dobbins gets exactly the number of inches needed. First down at the PSU 35.

Rushes by Haskins (five yards) and Dobbins (six) generate another first down and work the Buckeyes solidly into field goal range. Hill runs wide left for eight yards, then makes a one-handed snare of a little flare pass to gain 12 more yards. First-and-goal at the 4, and Dobbins takes it from there. Touchdown. Thirteen plays, 75 yards, 4:38. What a drive to start the half. OSU 14, PSU 13.

Halftime

Some stats:

Total yards: PSU 293, OSU 93

Yards per play: PSU 7.0, OSU 3.1

First downs: PSU 9, OSU 4

PSU’s Trace McSorley: 10-for-19 for 198 yards and one touchdown, plus 10 carries for 76 yards

OSU’s Dwayne Haskins: 7-for-16 for 62 yards, one TD, and one INT.

PSU’s Miles Sanders: 10 carries for 31 yards

OSU’s JK Dobbins and Mike Weber: 10 carries for 30 yards, two catches for 31 yards and a score

Second Quarter

0:00

Hamler’s return comes out to the 18. McSorley and Johnson connect for 10 yards, McSorley runs a QB draw for eight more, and then Johnson catches another short pass as the clock moves under one minute. Sanders gets to midfield, and PSU uses its first timeout with 36 seconds left. Pete Werner stops McSorley short on third-and-2, though, and Gillikin punts. Ohio State kneels it out and heads to the locker room, pretty dang lucky to be in this game. PSU 13, OSU 7.

1:50

TOUCHDOWN. Life for Ohio State. After another Dobbins carry is stuffed, Ohio State perfectly executes a screen pass. Haskins lobs to Dobbins, who explodes down the right sideline. Ohio State has no business being in this game but trails by just six approaching halftime. PSU 13, OSU 7.

2:32

FUMBLE. Tuf Borland separates Sanders from the ball, and Dre’Mont Jones falls on it at the bottom of a huge file. Ohio State’s defense just created a break. PSU 13, OSU 0.

2:44

PSU’s line is just dominating. Rushes by Weber and Campbell gain a combined three yards, and a pressured (yet again) Haskins can only find Weber for five yards on third-and-7. Another damn three-and-out. Chrisman makes another nice punt, and PSU will start at its 25.

4:23

Nothing is more of a tease than a nearly successful wheel route. McSorley and Sanders can’t quite hook up, and after a three-yard run by McSorley, Mac Hippenhammer can’t reel in a third-and-7 pass. Gillikin’s punt is fair caught at the OSU 25. PSU 13, OSU 0.

5:17

OSU creates only its second third-and-manageable of the night after Haskins finds Campbell for seven yards, but the third-down result is the same: PSU blitzes, Haskins rushes his throw, and McLaurin can’t reel it in. ANOTHER three-and-out for the Buckeyes. Goodness. Ohio State is so out of sorts that Chrisman’s punt is even semi-returnable. Hamler takes it to the PSU 29. PSU 13, OSU 0.

5:59

TOUCHDOWN. McSorley again targets Hamler, and again it falls incomplete. Sanders buys space with a five-yard run...

...and then Hamler shows why McSorley is trying so hard to get him the ball and why I should shut up. He finally reels in one of those quick slants and outruns basically every Ohio State defender.

KJ Hamler is the fastest man in the world pic.twitter.com/9mGkYv1s8T

— Sports Illustrated (@SInow) September 30, 2018

A 93-yard lightning bolt, and PSU’s lead just got a lot more comfortable. PSU 13, OSU 0.

7:02

OSU’s offense: also disheveled. Weber gains just two yards on first down, then Haskins has to basically throw the ball away on a well-covered screen pass. Haskins is once again forced to scramble from the pocket, and a trio of Nittany Lions, including Micah Parsons, is waiting to corral him. Another punt.

Another good punt, mind you. Chrisman’s boot is downed at the 1. PSU 6, OSU 0.

8:30

PSU’s offense is disheveled. A McSorley slant to Hamler is nearly picked off — it really feels like he’s forcing the ball to him at this point (and the offense was looking a lot better when he was looking at a lot of guys) — then Chase Young sacks him for a loss of seven. On third-and-long, Johnson suffers his second drop, but he wouldn’t have gotten the first down anyway. Another three-and-out, and Gillikin’s punt (his best of the night) is fair caught at the OSU 40. PSU 6, OSU 0.

9:24

Three J.K. Dobbins rushes gain 16 yards and move the chains, but a fourth gains just two. Haskins throws incomplete to a well-covered Terry McLaurin, and on third-and-8, Haskins is nearly sacked and misfires, almost throwing a second pick. Four of five third downs have been third-and-longs, and the Buckeyes haven’t converted any of them (or come particularly close). PSU will start at its 19. PSU 6, OSU 0. Total Yards: PSU 166, OSU 56.

11:18

FIELD GOAL. Woof. PSU has been miserable in the red zone. Sanders loses three yards on first down, then McSorley drastically overshoots Hamler. On third-and-13, Sanders takes a direct snap off right end but slips about three yards short of the sticks. Pinegar’s 39-yarder is good and doubles Penn State’s lead, but that’s six points in three scoring opportunities. That doesn’t typically get the job done against top-five opponents. PSU 6, OSU 0.

12:48

INTERCEPTION. After an 11-yard Mike Weber run moves the Buckeyes into PSU territory for the first time, Haskins fires over the middle to tight end Rashod Berry. The ball hits him in the hands, then bounces off of them. Garrett Taylor picks it off and takes it 45 yards in the other direction to the OSU 28 before Johnnie Dixon tracks him down and a scuffle ensues. Huge opportunity for the Nittany Lions. PSU 3, OSU 0.

13:27

PSU starts at the 19 after another good Chrisman punts. (I feel like I’ve live-blogged a lot of awesome Chrisman punts in the last 12 months or so.) McSorley rushes for four yards on first down, then, finds Hamler for no gain. His third-and-6 pass to Hamler is broken up by Shaun Wade. Three-and-out. Blake Gillikin’s second punt is better than his first but isn’t great — OSU will start at its 45. PSU 3, OSU 0. Success rate so far: PSU 32% (bad), OSU 10% (horrible).

First Quarter

0:00

Dobbins loses three yards out wide, then Tariq Castro-Fields nearly picks off a misfire from Haskins. A pass to Mack is short of the chains, and Ohio State will begin the second quarter by punting. PSU 3, OSU 0. Total yards: PSU 155, OSU 27. Nittany Lions on pace for 620 yards ... and 12 points.

1:14

Big play No. 2 for PSU: McSorley runs to the right and finds lots of green grass — 51 yards’ worth. He’s pushed out of bounds at the OSU 29. Two Sanders runs gains just three yards, though, and McSorley’s sacked by Chase Young on third-and-7. Pinegar’s 46-yard field goal drifts left. The Nittany Lions lead, but they should be leading by more. OSU isn’t going to be stagnant forever. PSU 3, OSU 0.

3:36

Three-and-out for Ohio State. You don’t see many of those. A short pass to K.J. Hill and a run by Mike Weber gain three yards, then Hill drops a quick slant. Crowd’s into it. Chrisman uncorks a nice punt, though, and PSU will start at its 20. PSU 3, OSU 0.

4:58

FIELD GOAL. McSorley’s getting a lot of guys involved early. After a short run by Sanders, the senior QB hits freshman Pat Freiermuth for 15 yards. He bulls his way into OSU territory for a 13-yard gain, then lobs the ball to Johnson, who makes an absolutely astounding one-handed catch at the OSU 30.

ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE. pic.twitter.com/Ym1PKTwMYX

— CBS Sports (@CBSSports) September 30, 2018

Wow.

The drive de-rails when they try to get Stevens involved again. He drops a lateral and falls on it for a 13-yard loss. Johnson catches two seven-yard passes to set up a makable field goal attempt, at least. Jake Pinegar’s 34-yarder creeps inside the right upright. PSU 3, OSU 0.

8:35

Ohio State certainly trusts Dwayne Haskins. In the sophomore’s first real road start, his first two plays are passes: a 10-yarder to Austin Mack and a ball off of Parris Campbell’s hands. His first third down (after a false start and a five-yard scramble): a screen pass to Campbell that is snarfed up by Shareef Miller. Drue Chrisman’s first punt is fair caught at the 21. PSU 0, OSU 0.

10:10

Penn State wins the toss and elects to take the ball. That’s one way to try to make the electric atmosphere even more electric. KJ Hamler returns the ball to the PSU 21, and we’re underway.

Trace McSorley hits Hamler for nine yards on a play-fake, then finds Brandon Polk wide open on the sideline for 20 more yards to midfield. Miles Sanders’ first carry gains three yards, and after a two-yard loss by Tommy Stevens, McSorley scrambles and dives to within two yards of the chains. Fourth-and-2 from the OSU 42, after an Ohio State timeout and lots of feints: Sanders gains two yards and not an inch more. First down.

It’s quickly third down again after carries by Stevens and McSorley gain just one yard, and Juwan Johnson drops a pass, so after all the hullabaloo, PSU punts ... and it drifts out of bounds at only the 20. PSU 0, OSU 0.

Preview

In a short amount of time, the Penn State White Out game has become one of football’s signature scenes. The size, intensity, and brightness of the crowd, combined with the fact that a big-time rival is in town, tends to make it must-see television.

But historically, the White Out hasn’t tended to benefit the home team.

Compared to the spread, Penn State actually underachieved by an average of about 1.8 points per game before the last two seasons; the Nittany Lions failed to cover five of seven White Out games between 2006 and 2012.

It’s become a perk more recently, though.

In 2013, PSU was a 2.5-point underdog but beat 18th-ranked Michigan in overtime. The next year, the Nittany Lions were a 14-point underdog but took No. 13 Ohio State to overtime before falling. And of course, following a bit of a dud in 2015 (four-point underdogs, they lost to No. 14 Michigan by 12), they ignited in the past two seasons.

Their special teams-aided 24-21 win over No. 2 Ohio State in 2016 set the table for a run to the Big Ten title, and while they were 9.5-point favorites hosting Michigan last season, they won by 29.

For all intents and purposes, then, the Big Ten race begins on Saturday night in Pennsylvania.

Let’s do an old-school SWOT analysis to lay out how this game might play out.

Each team’s strengths

Ohio State: Relentless efficiency

Four teams have beaten Ohio State in the last 24 months. But to do so, you have to find an alternate route. The most direct path to wins and losses — efficiency — is almost permanently tinted scarlet and gray.

In 2015, the Buckeyes ranked 10th in offensive success rate (the amount of plays that remain on schedule toward first downs) and seventh in defensive success rate. In 2016: 18th and 14th, respectively. In 2017: third and 14th. In 2018, so far, with a new starting quarterback: second and 15th. They stay on schedule and make sure you don’t.

Ohio State holds a plus-24 percent success rate advantage over opponents (57.7 percent to 33.3 percent, filtering out garbage time). Granted, the Buckeyes have played only one team ranked higher than 97th in S&P+ (current No. 30 TCU), but even against TCU, they held a solid 6 percent advantage.

Efficiency is replicable. Ohio State forces you to rely on less reliable methods — a blocked kick returned for a touchdown (2016 Penn State), for instance, or a sudden gush of turnovers (2017 Iowa).

Penn State: The offense is still really, really good

This is a different Penn State offense, in some ways the polar opposite of 2016-17, when Joe Moorhead (now Mississippi State’s head coach) was calling the plays and running back Saquon Barkley was a threat to go 80 yards on any snap.

In 2016, the Nittany Lions were big-play dynamos, threats to score every play, but inconsistent and inefficient.

In 2017, they sacrificed some of the big plays for efficiency. They improved from 37.6 to 41.1 points per game and from 18th to 10th in Off. S&P+.

This time, under new coordinator Ricky Rahne, they’ve skewed even further in the direction of efficiency. With a thinner receiving corps, they’ve leaned on junior Miles Sanders and backups Ricky Slade and Mark Allen, who have combined for 120 carries and 741 yards (6.2 per carry) in four games. Quarterback Trace McSorley (38 non-sack carries, 257 yards) is a weapon, too. Allen is out with injury, but Slade could be ready for a larger share of carries.

Despite occasional passing struggles — McSorley is completing 54 percent of his passes, way down from last year’s 67 percent — PSU ranks eighth in overall success rate, 12th in run efficiency, and 13th in standard-downs efficiency. And the Nittany Lions have been good at picking up steam as a game wears on, averaging 18.3 points in the first half and 35.5 in the second.

Each team’s weaknesses

Ohio State: Big plays are not the Buckeyes’ friend

In 14 games last season, the Buckeyes gave up 20 gains of 30-plus yards, or 1.4 per game.

In just four weeks, this year’s defense has already given up 11, 2.8 per game.

And most of the breakdowns have come in defense-friendly situations. They rank fourth in standard-downs explosiveness allowed ... and 129th in passing-downs (second-and-long, third/fourth-and-medium-plus) explosiveness allowed.

The absence of defensive end Nick Bosa, the blue-chip junior who had six tackles for loss in basically 2.5 games, could give McSorley an extra beat for finding big-play opportunities.

PSU is not the big-play machine it was, but if you combine the Nittany Lions’ potential run efficiency with two or three gashes, then that might get the job done, especially if the Buckeyes’ offense can’t match.

When Ohio State has the ball, it’s strength vs. strength and weakness vs. weakness in the explosiveness department. Penn State ranks 61st in standard-downs explosiveness allowed, but OSU’s offense ranks only 90th. OSU ranks a lofty 12th on passing downs, but PSU ranks 15th.

Penn State: The run defense has been awfully shaky

Head coach James Franklin appeared to know he had some leeway last Friday at Illinois, deploying a large rotation of defenders (many freshman or sophomores) while he and his staff continued to try to figure out what they’ve got. The game remained close for a while.

That’s been a theme this year. Twenty-five different PSU defenders have seen the field enough to make at least three tackles (not including special teams tackles), and nine have recorded at least 9.5 (Ohio State, for comparison’s sake: 22 of the former, only six of the latter).

We don’t know what will happen if or when Franklin and coordinator Brent Pry pare down the rotation, but we do know this: with this large rotation, the run defense has kind of stunk. Penn State ranks 73rd in run efficiency allowed and 88th in run explosiveness. A trio of Illinois backs (Reggie Corbin, Mike Epstein, and RaVon Bonner) carried 28 times for 202 yards, while Pitt’s Qadree Ollison and A.J. Davis carried 27 times for 157 yards a few weeks ago.

I just named a few pretty good backs, but Ohio State’s J.K. Dobbins and Mike Weber are better.

Opportunities and threats

(We’ll combine this into one, since one team’s opportunity is the other’s threat. In fact, let’s simply treat this as each team’s most likely path to victory.)

Ohio State’s most likely path to victory is kind of obvious

The Buckeyes’ tendencies have changed since Dwayne Haskins took over at quarterback. While they always leaned toward the run game with JT Barrett, they now throw more than the national average on both standard downs (57 percent run rate, 3 percentage points below the average) and passing downs (25 percent run rate, 10 percentage points below).

Haskins has rewarded this trust with otherworldly numbers. He is completing 76 percent of his passes at nearly 14 yards per completion, and he’s taking few sacks. He’s showing the poise and decision-making of a senior (he’s a sophomore) and distributing evenly — four different receivers have between 205 and 299 receiving yards.

Of course, when there’s a game to put to bed, the Buckeyes still have Dobbins and Weber. If the game reaches that stage, it’s hard to imagine PSU’s young defense getting the stops it needs.

When you’re the better team — and Ohio State is the “better team” against any team besides Alabama and maybe Clemson or Georgia — you don’t have to rely on unlikely events. If the Buckeyes win in Happy Valley, it’s probably because they made too many third-down conversions with Haskins’ arm early on, took advantage of PSU’s occasional mid-game funks, and moved the chains with Dobbins and Weber late.

The S&P+ projection for this game is OSU 35, PSU 32, but that’s the average result. If the Buckeyes win, I’m thinking it’s something close to 35-24.

Penn State’s most likely path to victory: time for the unveil

Kent St, Kent St, Kent St, Kent St, Kent St, Kent St, Kent St, Kent St, Kent St, Kent St, Kent St 1-0 mentality, this weeks Super Bowl!!!!!!

— James Franklin (@coachjfranklin) September 10, 2018

Each week, Franklin makes a show of reminding his team not to look ahead. Every game is that week’s Super Bowl. Saturday opponent, Saturday opponent, Saturday opponent.

This is good coaching. Keeping a good team focused — especially a good young team — requires diligence, and even with this public display, his team still nearly slipped up against a good Appalachian State in Week 1.

Still, the Nittany Lions are 4-0 and sixth in S&P+ despite tinkering and a huge rotation. And now we probably get a more sustained glimpse of the real Penn State, the one with the pared-down defensive rotation and the thicker play book.

“1-0 mentality” or not, PSU’s almost undoubtedly been holding some things in reserve for this game. Now we find out if they work.

The formula for beating Ohio State seems simple on paper:

Take full advantage of the three or four big plays the Buckeyes will give you on defense.

Confuse Haskins at least a couple of times and make sure you end up with the ball when you do.

Hey, maybe block a field goal again — that worked pretty well last time.

Ohio State is tremendous at leaning on you until you give out, but a couple of teams per year manage to make the Buckeyes uncomfortable. TCU did for a while.

If Sanders gets to 100 rushing yards, if a veteran receiver like Juwan Johnson, DeAndre Thompkins (only six catches so far), or Brandon Polk (ditto) can reel in a long ball, and if the pass rush, led by end Shareef Miller, can get Haskins to the ground, PSU’s got a healthy shot.

[pkansa]

Ah, I still fondly remember when I first learned about Frederique Constant.  The idea that you could get champagne-level watches at beer prices was simply entrancing.  In fact, that’s what a lot of the crowd-funded watches try to position themselves as.  However, with Frederique Constant, my experience has been that the products usually match to the marketing hype.  Today, we’re taking a look at the first GMT from the brand that I’ve had cross my desk, the Frederique Constant Runabout GMT.

You’ll notice that in that opening paragraph, I specifically called out ‘my experience’.  This is because my friend and fellow editor, Victor Marks, has had a bit more of a mixed experience with the brand, which plays out in the reviews he’s written (and a recent podcast episode).  So, suffice to say – the opinions on the Frederique Constant Runabout GMT are solely mine, and your mileage may vary.

Now, ostensibly, the Frederique Constant Runabout GMT has some nautical ties (back to the Riva Runabout yachts of the 1920s).  Other than the nautical flag that appears on the exhibition caseback, I’m not picking up that theme.  I mean, really, you’d have to be doing a LOT of sailing for a GMT complication to make sense, no?  Given that, and the fact that I’m not really into boats, we’ll be evaluating the Frederique Constant Runabout GMT on its own.

At 42mm, the Frederique Constant Runabout GMT is a nice balance between a reasonable size, and something that skews a little larger to draw attention (or just make it easier for eyes to read).  While I cannot say for sure if the case design is identical to others I have seen from the brand, there is definitely a shared DNA between them, lending a comfortable familiarity to the case itself.

Tucked into that – and under the convex sapphire crystal – you’ve got a well laid-out dial.  In our review loaner, we had the dark grey version with white accents (there’s also a silver dial that keeps the main accents white, but swaps in a blue GMT hand for the white one that our loaner had). Since I mentioned the GMT hand, let’s talk about that for a moment.

Often on GMT watches, the hand takes the form of a slender stick with an arrow head on it, generally in a warm color (red, orange, yellow) to make it quite obvious that it’s different from the “regular” handset.  When I first saw photos of the Frederique Constant Runabout GMT, I thought it was an interesting idea that it followed the same shape and size as the hour hand, albeit skeletonize and in “ghost” form, being in white.  In practical purposes, however, it led to some confusing time readings.

I don’t know about you, but I generally have a good sense of the time of day (morning vs afternoon, etc), and I then rely on a quick glance at a watch to refresh me where I the day that I am.  On the Frederique Constant Runabout GMT, things get a bit trickier.  Though the GMT hand is clearly painted to be different than the hour hand, it’s actually more eye-catching than the hour hand (larger white surface area against the dark dial).  While I never got the wrong time set in my mind, there were more than a couple double- (and triple-) takes while wearing the Frederique Constant Runabout GMT.

In short, now I realize why most brands have a GMT hand that is (a) styled much differently than the main handset and (b) shares next to nothing with the main color palette, to differentiate things.  I like the idea of a similar shape (such as we saw on this Archimede LINK) – I just think that it needs to be more closely aligned to the dial color.  IE, have the hand itself be in black or dark grey, and then only outline the tip in white, something of that nature.  That way, it blends in, but it’s still able to be picked out when you need it.

While we’re on the subject of the GMT hand, it’s worth noting that the Frederique Constant Runabout GMT has this set with the minute hand, while the main hour hand is the jumping hand.  While this is reverse of what we might more commonly expect, I’ve come to feel that this implementation makes more sense, especially for someone who travels a good bit.  In other words, GMT time does not change.  When we travel around (or even have daylight savings changes in place), your local hour of day does change.  So, for the traveller, it frankly does make sense to have that local hour be a quickset jump, whether you have the GMT hand set to UTC or to your home time zone.  So, yes, I liked the implementation here.

Another thing I liked quite well on the Frederique Constant Runabout GMT was hiding in plain site – a magnifier on the date window.  No, there’s no bubble on the crystal that I’ve managed to obscure with my photos.  Instead, the magnifier is mounted in the date window cutout itself.  Sure, you won’t get quite the magnification you would with the bubble being on the crystal (size of the magnifier, distance from date wheel), but it still gives a gentle boost to the date display size, something I like.  Normally, I’d call that date wheel out for not being color matched, but with this watch, I’m on the fence – it does fit with the overall color scheme, so I’m inclined to give it a pass.

As for the rest of the watch, it feels solidly built, and you get to peek at the movement a bit through the exhibition caseback.  Finishing on the movement is middle-of-the-road, but since there’s no screwdown crown and only a 50m WR rating (a bit strange for a watch tied to boats, but maybe that’s just me), there’s not much benefit to a solid caseback.  Might as well show off the movement some, eh?

To wear the Frederique Constant Runabout GMT, you’ve got some minor adjustment to do with the attached strap and it’s deployment clasp.  This clasp is one of the better ones that I have seen as of late, for a few different reasons.  First off, it is super easy to get the sizing adjusted (even throughout the day, if need be), and still feels secure once locked in place, due to using two holes on the buckle.  Second, the clasp itself never feels bulky.  Sometimes on leather straps, these clasps feel like they add unnecessary bulk, but that is not the case here.  Finally, it’s just a great-looking clasp.  Once closed, you get that 3D FC logo, and it just looks sharp.

So, while I would by no means call the $1,795 Frederique Constant Runabout GMT a perfect watch (at least for me), it does have a lot going for it.  It’s still in the realm of affordable luxury (though creeping up on the higher end of what I’d normally consider or recommend from the brand), and offers a watch that I’m sure would fit well for the business traveller out there.  If only the GMT hand was a bit more subtle, and there was a more robust WR rating, then this really could be a killer watch.  For now, I’ll chalk it up in the category of interesting contenders.  As I mentioned at the outset, that’s my opinion.  Let us know below what you think of the Frederique Constant Runabout GMT, as well as what your particular favorite GMT-equipped watches are.  Inquiring minds want to know!  frederiqueconstant.com

Review Summary

Brand & Model: Frederique Constant Runabout GMT

Price: $1,795

Who’s it for?  The business traveller who wants a good-looking watch to keep them on time

Would I wear it? Yes and no.  It’s a fun change of pace, but I could not see this being a primary wear, given the design oddities I ran into

What I’d change: For this particular example, the GMT hand needs to be less prominent, and shaped differently than the hour hand

The best thing about it:  The Frederique Constant look and feel – and that subtle date magnifier!

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Sailing along with the @FrederiqueConst Runabout GMT #Review #over$1000 #GMT Ah, I still fondly remember when I first learned about Frederique Constant.  The idea that you could get champagne-level watches at beer prices was simply entrancing.