#and naturally i immediately managed to descend into an hour long spiral

[insomnia-productions]

.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

August Contest Submission #7: The path of the rose

Words: ca. 3,500 Setting: Canon Lemon: no CW: None

The path of the rose

The climb was steep; it was slippery, the narrow - barely threaded path, treacherous and unforgiving. Elsa’s hands were bandaged in bloodied rags, same as her feet, but the aching from the blisters had dulled days ago. When she finished climbing the side of the sharp ridge, she stood alone on the edge - almost defiantly - overlooking the great misty valley ahead; the whiskers of fur around her neck fluttered at the wild wind’s mercy, mirroring the few short locks of hair that framed her sunburned cheeks. 

Her pale lips were chapped, her arms bruised and cut, but her determination was stronger. Only the last step remained; only one final test to overcome.

Before she descended into the white unknown of the mists, she took out the small silver locket that hung from her neck and stared at the tiny, hand painted portrait of a copper-haired, care-free smiling girl. 

‘I will be home soon.’ Elsa thought; her image was the only warmth she needed deep into the mountains.

-ooo-

As each blast crossed the air, they all bursted into sparkling droplets, like diamonds shining under the gentle winter’s sun.

Anna watched - wide-eyed and riveted, as the girl danced in the middle of the forest’s small clearing.

Each movement brought another glimmering streak of pure white ice; as she moved, as her body twisted and her feet shifted elegantly, waves and pillars and spirals rose and fell on the whims of her hands’ motions and the determined gaze in her blue eyes. 

Badly hidden as she was - alongside the bushes that covered the edge of the forest’s clearing, it didn’t take long for the other girl to notice her. Those same crystal-blue eyes peered at the blushing redhead curiously, tilting her head as if she was looking at some harmless, cute critter.

Anna had seen those clothes before, if only in the few times her father had allowed her to accompany him to the northern market. The round strips of fabric falling on the sides of the skirt, knotted at the small of the girl’s back, the sleeveless, blue and brown shirt and the strange, spiral-shaped bracers that covered her forearms, only the Magi - the outsiders - wore such refined clothing. 

Once she noticed those exotic, sky-colored clothes, her hands immediately pulled at her dirty apron and plain long skirt, her feet shifting around shyly.

“Hello.” The girl’s voice was crisp and clear when she came closer, standing right underneath the trees’ shadows; small dots of light coming from the foliage peppered her face and shining, white hair. “Who are you?”

“Anna!” She squeaked. The Magi girl nodded, and after a few awkward seconds, Anna offered her hand, which the other shook, a soft smile pulling at her lips.

“I’m Elsa. Elsa Northwind.”

-ooo-

No matter how much her mother tried, Anna refused to be caged in the peaceful but boring rhythm of life in her small village. Sneaking out into the woods became a form of art for her: sometimes, all she needed was for Iduna to turn her head as they went about their business at the market for Anna to slip out of sight.

Anna’s teen years passed in a mixture of the smell of freshly-baked bread at her family’s tavern and the almost minty smell of pine needles from her excursions into the forest, accompanied always by Elsa. They would see each other in town as well every now and then, whenever Elsa’s people travelled down the mountains to trade with the villagers, but the harsh gaze of her mother kept them apart; at least, whenever she was around. Anna didn’t care about her parent’s prejudice, of course. Elsa’s magic was marvelous, a miracle that should be cherished and admired. It held great power, great dangers too, yes, but also, so much beauty that words sometimes failed her to describe it.

As time went by, Elsa’s powers grew stronger, and more intricate. She gave Anna small trinkets of ice that never melted: small delicate snowflakes, small mounted-knights like the stories the redhead found so fascinating and that soon littered the wooden desk on Anna’s room, and when the redhead’s fifteenth birthday arrived, a blushing Elsa travelled on her own all the way to the edge of town. Hidden behind a barnyard, her trembling hands put a pair of earrings and a simple but shining necklace on Anna’s hands.

“Thank you…” Anna whispered as she put the earrings, feeling her heart swell and expand, as it always did whenever her friend was around. 

“It was nothing,” Elsa smiled shyly, and then, her eyes went wide as Anna kissed her cheek, grinning brightly at her while her hands pulled nervously at her twintails.

It was a smile as bright as summer, Elsa felt. She had begun to understand what those feelings were, the ones that swirled and slow-danced in her belly any time she was alone with Anna. Unbeknownst to her, Anna too had begun to understand.

-ooo-

Small ripples broke the calm surface of the lake as Anna’s bare feet rested at its edge, mirroring Elsa’s. 

The world had stilled around them; the setting sun at their back enlarged the pine’s shadows, and the birds called their farewells for the day in casual chirpings. It was a feign calm, however, an illusion of peace like the lake’s surface, for underneath feelings stirred and moved around like wildlife.

Anna’s hand covered Elsa’s, and when she turned to look at the blonde, as naturally as a leaf’s fall, they leaned closer to one another, until their lips met shyly. Aged 17, Anna had her first kiss. Aged 17, she kissed her best friend for the first time.

It was as soft of a touch as she had imagined.

She cupped Elsa’s cheek as their kiss held strong, the sudden rupture of a years long-tension lifting her with the warmest of feelings. When they finally separated - the orange tinge of dusk blazing on Anna’s hair, Elsa’s smile was shy but sincere; her pale hand played with a curly lock of copper hair, the other raising to caress a freckled cheek with her thumb.

“Just like that…” She whispered, making Anna smirk at her.

“Yes…” she leaned forward again, whispering into Elsa’s lips. “Just like that…”

Their second, and their third kiss were even more sweet. A shared dream, finally made true; a joining of hearts, a bridge being built between two souls.

They held a small ceremony a few months later, not in the traditional ways of Anna’s people - whom would never bless their union - but in the Magi way, in the aftermath of a sleepless night, both sitting in front of a small fire, holding hands with a long shawl draped around both their shoulders.

Anna’s hair was braided, same as Elsa’s, with small red and blue ribbons, each one taking the other’s colours.

Neither of them had wanted to wait. It was clear there would never be someone else; Elsa’s soul reflected on Anna’s eyes, and vice versa, as the oldest of the Magi pronounced them soulmates, bound by the will of the land and the ancestors of their two bloods.

-ooo-

The first time Anna visited the Magi campament had been during the harshest winter in recent memory. Caught under the heavy storm - the snow hail thick and inclement, Elsa had insisted they went back towards her home instead of risking the travel through the forest and into Arendelle’s lands. Barely protected by Elsa’s magic, they managed to arrive before Anna had passed out. Her wavering consciousness, however, registered a few things as they dragged her towards what she presumed was Elsa’s tent: the weird cone-shape of the stone and wood structures and the curious gazes of the mages they came across.

Once inside, she was put in a bundle of furs - the same colours, she noticed, as the ones on Elsa’s winter coat - and momentarily left alone in front of a small fire. After she managed to regain some body heat so she could stop shaking, she looked around. Her love’s home was sparse, but that didn’t surprise her: she knew how little Elsa cared about wealth or status. There were a few things of note, of course: she saw some of her childhood paintings hanging above the floor-levelled bed, as well as the bead necklace she had made her after their… Anna blushed, thankful it would most likely go unnoticed given her whole face must’ve been red from cold exposure and the tent’s fire.

Finally, Elsa came back, holding in her hand some herbs that she quickly threw into the pot above the fire. After she sat down next to Anna, she hugged her, taking a few wet strands of auburn hair out the way before kissing her temple.

Now inside the safe confines of Elsa’s tent, Anna finally relaxed, leaning into her love’s embrace.

After a while, as sleepiness began to dampen her thoughts, she turned to gaze at the small assortment of trinkets close to the bed, and the blonde’s eyes followed her curiously.

“Do you know…?” Anna asked shyly, looking at the bead necklace. Elsa’s smile turned into a smirk, and that told Anna that she, in fact, knew its true meaning.

Each bead on it was meant to signify each year of her life before a couple consummated their marriage. It was an old tradition that her village still carried around and that she had wanted to preserve herself.

“Of course I do.” Elsa said, leaning forward and giving her a long, drawn out kiss that tasted of longing. Anna could understand why. They could never be together, as her mother and father were. They could never walk around town hand in hand, nor would they live the joys of motherhood… but it was something she had made her peace with, same as Elsa.

They had each other, and that was enough. For her, their marriage was real, as real as the stars in the night sky, as the snowy mountains and the glimmers of light from the morning dew.

Before both shed their clothes and shared Elsa’s bed, long hours passed, full of gentle kisses and whispered words, filling the humble dwelling with warmth. Anna knew of what lay ahead, but for the moment all she could do was to embrace her lover’s naked form, holding on to her and praying for the future to be gentle, to spare them of heartbreak and loss.

-ooo-

“You shouldn’t be here!” Anna hissed - yet unable to stop her smile. Elsa only smirked at her, her hands precariously hanging to the wooden frame of her wife’s sill. Thankful that the window didn’t creak too loudly, she fully opened it, allowing the cloaked blonde inside.

Elsa pulled down her hood, letting her waist-long hair fall down her back freely; it sparkled under the single candlelight that humbly lit the room.

“What if someone saw you?” Anna asked, trying to keep her tone down and putting her hands on her hips while her brow furrowed (and yet, still smiling). The young mage rolled her eyes playfully, waving her hand airily as ice tendrils encircled her fingers, turning black at the end.

“Mist spell,” she stated matter-of-factly. Nonetheless, seeing that Anna’s frown was still in place, she leaned forward, planting a quick peck on her lips, gently putting her hands on her freckled arms and gently rubbing her thumbs over her work-tanned skin.

Anna finally cracked, joining their foreheads and softly sighing while her hand caressed Elsa’s cheek.

“You should be preparing…” she muttered.

“Hush…” Elsa put a finger on those rosy, enticing lips, gazing into her wife’s worried eyes. Gently, she touched the small blue ribbon that hung from a small braid on Anna’s auburn hair.

“I brought you something.”

From her satchel, Elsa produced a single, red rose, of a shade not crimson but rather hanging in between the color of dusk and of blood. Before she gave it to Anna, she used her magic to envelope it in ice, the kind that had taken her years to master - if only to make her friend happy that her gifts would not melt.

Anna’s retort never came, much to Elsa’s joy. She fully knew that if she had allowed Anna’s questions to continue, both of them would cry. Elsa didn’t want that; she wanted her last memory of Anna before she began her journey to be one where her beloved smiled, where her light reached her eyes and her cheeks came alive, highlighting the freckles she had come to adore.

Suddenly, Anna embraced her, pulling her face against the crook of her neck.

“When do you leave?” Anna muttered, her voice thick and constrained. Her embrace tightened, a gesture that Elsa reciprocated fiercely.

“Tomorrow.” 

“Promise me…” The brokenness of Anna’s voice carried such a heavy weight Elsa’s heart could barely withstand it. Elsa nodded for a response. 

Her efforts had been for naught; the first tears began to fall from her eyes, soon followed by Anna.

The quiet summer night witnessed the two lovers say their farewells and claim their last, desperate kisses before Elsa vanished into the darkness. She did not tell her wife a small fact, one she wanted to keep a secret until she came back. She had gotten the rose from the same small clearing where they first met, more than a decade ago.

-ooo-

Each Magi - born of a unique element - knew of the trials that awaited for them the moment they came of age. Elsa had anticipated - and dreaded in equal measure - that moment.

A lonesome travel towards the white heart of the world, Ahtohallan, where her worth would be tested. Even with her magic, it would take her months to arrive there while sorting all kinds of danger: the great beasts of the North, immune to magic, and outcasts and renegade mages who had failed in their own paths.

The few ones who came back became full members of her tribe, wielders of power beyond belief.

She had prepared her whole life for it, and when the time arrived, she began her journey, armed with only her small satchel and her wits.

Then, when she finally reached the white valley - full of barren twig trees and ice-shards coming out the ground, taller than a man and so pure they contained every color imaginable, her resolve was tested.

This final trial, however, she failed.

-ooo-

Anna, aged 24, remained stubbornly single as the years rolled by - as it was the nature of time in such a small village - much to the chagrin of her mother and the enjoyment of the gossiping matrons. She didn’t care about the rumors, of course, and she didn’t give explanations to her mannered but firm rejections of the few men who had tried to court her.

None of them had seen her as she looked longingly into the night’s sky from her room’s window. None of them knew of the tears she shed when alone, of the shattered dreams and the broken illusions; none of them knew of the flower patterned she had kept, or the new one she had knitted for her - meant as a humble gift for when she returned, both resting in the depths of a wooden chest below her bed.

Elsa had not come back. Every gift she had given her had melted; even her parting rose had, but the flower - unfrozen and weak - had not died.

In the two years that had gone by since she left, Anna had turned to her everyday life, not in search of solace but in search of purpose. Her night’s at her family’s tavern were busy, and she had tried to share the simple joys of her people; she had tried to see past her grief, but a part of her never could. The moments of loneliness that remained were all filled with gleaming memories - full of the pale color of Elsa’s hair and eyes, full of the memory of her smell, of her lopsided, teasing smiles and the feeling of her skin, her hands and her lips.

She never allowed bitterness to rot inside her. Instead, she tried to smile when she remembered her, to honor her memory by living as fully as she could, as fully as someone who had lost half her soul and all her love could.

Outside the tavern, in the small backyard, Elsa’s rose now lay amongst many others, bushes and many kinds of flowers arranged into a vibrant garden that Anna took care of.

She didn’t care about the future. All she had was her own life, and those memories she had bowed to keep alive. It was all she could do, for now she knew miracles did not happen, and life’s cruelness left nothing behind.

And still, she kept on living, and remembering, each and every single day.

-ooo-

Anna yelped, pulling her pricked finger into her mouth. Stopping herself from cursing, she quickly dismissed the injury and continued her work, trimming the small branches of the flowers in her garden, careful not to touch the one that remained in the center, the one whose color resembled the tone of her own hair.

She continued to work under the heavy summer’s sun, pulling weeds, nursing the dirt and watering her small kingdom of color. Unconsciously, she whipped the back of her hand over the white cloth over her head, leaving some dirt marks on it.

From behind her ear, hung a small braid with a blue ribbon on it.

After a while, the pain from kneeling became too uncomfortable; after all, waiting tables at the tavern all night was hard on the small of her back. It was only when she stood up that she saw the cloaked figure standing right next to her garden, and Anna yelped once again, taking a step back while clutching her chest with her hand before her eyes properly looked at the lean person standing just there, who looked back at her with clear-blue eyes.

Anna’s teal eyes widened; the small shovel on her gloved hands fell with a soft thud.

The cloaked figure took off her hood, revealing a woman of delicate features: prominent cheekbones that complimented the small, badly cut locks of pale-white hair.

Anna thought herself mad; surely, the summer’s heat had made the apparitions of her dreams come to life. But if so, why did Elsa look so weary? Why were her arms covered in soiled rags, and why were her feet bare and dirty?

More than that, why was her beloved’s - her wife’s - face covered in scars, her cheeks sunburned?

But perhaps it was a feverish dream, she reasoned as her breath failed her, for Elsa’s eyes remained the same: gentle and caring, shining with a light of their own, the light that had made her fall in love for her as the years of her childhood went away and her feelings grew as they both did. 

Elsa stepped inside her backyard, kneeling in front of the roses. Her index finger graced the petals of the red rose, and when she turned to face Anna again, a long path of tears had already made its way down her cheeks. Unsurprisingly, Anna sniffed loudly, the hard beatings of her heart drumming against her ears.

“You kept it…” Elsa said, her voice failing her after that single sentence.

If this was truly madness, Anna was glad she could give away her sanity just for the chance of this moment to continue. Whatever was the case, she couldn’t wait; she had waited long enough.

Anna raced the few steps that separated them, practically jumping into Elsa’s open arms.

“Ouch!” Elsa whined a little, even if her smile was as big as Anna had ever seen it.

Anna peppered kisses all over her, all over the bruises and scars that marred the perfect skin of Elsa’s cheeks; her hands clutched her face, not willing to ever let go as they exchanged kiss after kiss, laughing and crying all the same.

She didn’t care about the astonished glances of the few onlookers. Whatever the world held, it didn’t matter to either of them anymore.

Anna would gladly live her life as an outcast, would rather go back to Elsa’s tribe and begin anew than to be swayed by people who didn’t matter. What could matter more than to have Elsa miraculously in her arms again, to feel her warmth and the intensity of her ocean-like gaze, full of love and full of life.

She had so many questions, but those were for later. As Elsa happily cried, murmuring muffled words of devotion, Anna knew the path that brought her back also didn’t matter; what mattered was this instant, made happen by the will of her wife, who had come back to her, never a moment late.

-ooo-

After she reached the heart of the world, the heart of winter, Ahtohallan, Elsa had been given a choice; to give up her heart, her memories, to share the power and might lay dormant in her blood.

She knew that choice was no choice at all. The ancient presence had not cared nor passed judgment when she made her decision; after a brief flash of light she found herself laying in the ground, staring at the clear blue sky. Deep in the wilderness of the northern mountains, she knew the path back home would take her a long time; her chances of survival - being stripped of all her magic - little to none.

All she could do was persevere, and so she did, travelling back through an entire continent, just to keep her promise. After all, it was to Anna to whom she had promised.

[korkro]

Escape!

The start of the apocalypse. The start of his life in the wasteland

(This character has spiraled into something far beyond my original idea for him lol)

~~~~~

Their mutterings are of no real interest to him. He listens because he has nothing else to do but wait. It’ll be at least a few more Earth hours before they leave for the surface. His mission--his sole purpose for creation--will begin. Study the Earthlings, mark decent ones as test subjects, report back to his creators periodically, and keep his true nature hidden.

He’s a wandering artist--not a robot constructed on a spaceship to spy on humans. They say the artist cover will give him some room to be...eclectic. He’s programmed to speak five different languages, proficient with multiple weapons and a paintbrush, can touch and taste and feel. They tell him not to submerge himself in water for too long though, just a few minutes to wash any Earth debris off if necessary. His name will be James Dustice.

He hates it.

Suddenly there’s shouting and scrambling and it’s enough to pique his interest. ‘The bombs, the bombs!’ they keep screeching. He knows the situation on Earth is getting progressively worse but the Zetans hadn’t predicted nuclear war for a few more years still

He stands to find the nearest window but someone yells at him to stay. His lips curl into a snarl but he obeys. He closes his eyes, weird shades of blue and orange and red that don’t look like any human eyes he’s seen before. They remind him more of a laser on one of those assaultron robots. Maybe that’s just one more way they’re similar.

Eventually, a backpack gets thrown at him and disturbs his rest. A finger pokes at his head too and he wishes they wouldn’t fucking touch him.

‘We’re leaving. Now.’

He picks up the bag of Earth supplies and follows to the shuttle. As he walks through these ugly corridors, light glints against the bracelet on his wrist. It’s plain and unassuming but the reality of it is much more menacing to him. It’s his tracking device.

He hates the Zetans.

Three accompany him onto the shuttle, hurriedly shoving him inside. They’re talking excitedly, taking guesses at how the landscape will change and how many people died. This isn’t the first planet-wide annihilation they’ve witnessed. Some were even orchestrated by their own three-pronged hand.

There’s only three seats and the Zetans sit. One points to a bar he can hang onto. No one notices the way his fingers clench around it. The backpack straps dig into his shoulders but the heaviness doesn’t bother him. The lightweight bracelet agitates him more.

The coordinates they’re traveling to are input into a computer and the confined ship handles the rest. They explain that his mission is largely the same but now to keep an eye out for any potential mutations within the population. What’s the point if most of the population is probably dead?

There are no windows but a screen projects the estimated time of arrival and distance from the ground once they enter the atmosphere. His gaze stays on it until a loud siren goes off.

‘Something’s found us!’

‘How’d it get past the sensors?’

He’s not too sure what it is, something with the ‘government.’ Former government? One of them types in new coordinates for an emergency landing. The ship jerks in a new direction and he stumbles into a Zetan. It calls him something close to clumsy idiot and shoves him away. He lands on the ground and just sits there. His eyes stay on the screen. They’re descending rapidly, trying to outmaneuver the other aircraft. Lower, lower...

‘Up!’ one orders, clicking its fingers at him.

‘Did we lose them?’

‘Affirm-’ But an alarm goes off and this time, their sensors do work.

One takes its shock baton out, another their gun. They might have to fight when they land.

‘Don’t I get a weapon?’ he asks. He recognizes his own voice but feels so disconnected from it.

They laugh at him. It’s a rare sound aboard the ship but it is always condescending. He’s trained in unarmed combat but this isn’t the Zetans’ first skirmish with the government. The humans have managed to steal some of their technology in the past, they’re going to have much more than fists to fight with.

‘We lost them for now.’ They ignore him completely.

They’re very close to the surface now, less than a minute now. He doesn’t look directly, but in his peripheral vision he sees the shock baton hanging at the third Zetan’s side. He’s been on the receiving end of them--when he’s not moving fast enough for them, when he answers a question wrong, when his combat training isn’t good enough. They hurt, even when it’s just a prod to activate the electricity. That’s why he’s going to enjoy this.

He lunges forward and in one swift movement, yanks the baton off its belt and spins around to connect it with another one’s skull as hard as he can. The moment of surprise allows him to grab the other’s arm before it can shoot and break it. He shoves it at the other Zetan and they tumble onto the computer. For all their technology, their bodies are still pathetically fragile. Something presses and the shuttle door opens. As they scramble up, he grabs his backpack and leaps out with them shouting behind him.

The impact jolts through his robotic limbs but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Then he runs. He’s only a few seconds ahead of them and whatever pinged their radar might be lurking too. Lots of trees provide cover and the sun’s position tells him he’s moving east and that mountains block his path west. That’s all he knows about his location. The air’s hazy but he doesn’t think a bomb landed nearby. But it’s eerily quiet, shouldn’t animals live here? Shouldn’t there be sirens and screams from people injured in the blasts? He’s not sure if being far from people is a good thing or not. But it doesn’t matter right now. He just runs.

He’s not a tool. He’s not a prisoner. He’s not James.

He will never willingly return to the ship. He’d rather die, whatever that means for something like him. He jumps into a ditch and crouches behind some boulders. Sunlight reflects off the bracelet that’s taunted him since they welded it around his wrist. It seems he’s lost the Zetans for now but if he wants any true escape, he needs to destroy this thing. It’s seamless and made of some type of compound they mock the Earthlings for not possessing. There’s no way to simply take it off.

His fingers tighten around the baton still in his hand. Before he can second guess it, he lifts the weapon and smacks it against the bracelet. Shock waves immediately course through his body and his vision erupts into a sea of bright colors.

When his vision settles and he feels coherent again, he’s staring up at the canopy of trees and his body rests against the dirt of this dried up creek. Shakily, he raises his arm towards the sky. The bracelet crumbles into pieces and falls from his wrist.

He smiles.

But he still needs to get away. Pain hums through his body to tell him something’s wrong, as if he wasn’t the one responsible for shocking his system. But he ignores it and continues running east. One of the many advantages of not being human is that he needs much more infrequent breaks.

The first noise he finally hears as he runs is from an aircraft. His body tenses before he looks up but it’s a black vertibird that continues on its way. He sees more of them in various directions and distances. They must be the remnants of survivors. More government aircrafts trying to escape to safety? Is there any safety left in a world like this?

The trees eventually start to thin and he misses the cover of the forest. But he can’t linger there, not right now. His eyes pick up a highway in the distance full of cars and he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself yet. But as he carefully moves closer, he realizes quite a few of them are empty and unmoving. Still, he doesn’t want to follow it directly. He’s not sure whether to go north or south. He picks north, there’s no time for hesitation. His gaze returns to the road and a sign hangs over it, looking ready to fall at any moment. With his enhanced vision, it easily tells him that this path will take him to somewhere called Reno. That’s as good a place as any, maybe he’ll find some real transportation.

But until he gets there, he just runs.

[hannahhostofheaven]

Ash coated memories

                                          Chapter One

Disclaimer: Of course, I own nothing. Takes place after the episode 'Soul Survivor' but before the episode 'Paper Moon' in season 10. Completely AU from that point on. Especially since it will feature some appearances by some long dead characters.

Warning: Will contain violence, memories and flashbacks of assault, torture, and trauma

Summary: The Winchesters rush to stop a group of rogue angels and demons from using natural disasters to destroy the Earth. In their efforts to stop these disasters, they uncover the mystery of an old relic, and some unexplained memories of the past.

"Hey," Dean appeared in the main area of the bunker trying to blink past the exhaustion he was feeling and only managed to nod at Sam's greeting. He'd only been human again for a few weeks and playing hermit inside the bunker was doing him some good, but now he was feeling restless. His head spun with memories of the recent past, of his spiraling into a demonic world of murder and chaos with Crowley.

When he finally managed to notice Sam, he found he brother busily packing a duffel bag full of books, weapons, and supplies. "Going somewhere?" he asked curiously as Sam shoved an angel blade and a pistol into the waistband of his jeans, his red plaid flannel shirt falling over them conspicuously.

"Cas wanted to meet up in North Dakota," Sam explained. "He said he was on the trail of a few more rogue angels and he wanted my help with it."

"My or we?" Dean asked, raising a brow as he quickly moved to snatch the keys to the impala off the table before Sam could.

Sam looked at him pointedly. "Dean…"

"Well were you planning on heading off without telling me and leaving me stranded without a car?"

"It won't take long," Sam insisted. "I stockpiled the kitchen; you'll be fine for a few days. I think you should sit this one out, man. Cas will understand."

"Well I don't want to sit it out," Dean insisted as he quickly headed down the hall to retrieve his own duffel bag and purposely began filling it. Sam dropped his bag to the floor and followed him around incessantly as he busied himself with packing. Dean maneuvered around his brother, blocking any access as he knew Sam was trying to get control of the keys which Dean had shoved into his pocket.

"Come on man I'm not joking," Sam protested, trying to make a few grabs for Dean's pocket while his big brother shoved a few angel blades into his bag. Dean only smirked with amusement, remembering how he'd take one of Sam's toys when they were kids, and Sam would be maneuvering around his brother trying to manipulate him into getting it back, just as he was now. He never succeeded then, and Dean was confident he wouldn't now. Despite Sam's towering size, Dean could always diffuse any attack his little brother might have.

"Look you can keep trying to get frisky with me here, but it won't do you any good," Dean informed him as he zipped up his duffle bag and threw it over his shoulder, turning to fix Sam with a smug, triumphant look.

"Fine," Sam relented holding up his hands in defeat. "If you really think you're up for it."

"I'm fine," Dean insisted, though he knew there was less truth to that than he wanted to admit. He was not fine, not by any sense of the word. Being killed by Metatron, everything he did as a demon, the fact that the mark of Cain was still on him, always nagging incessantly at his thoughts, his impulses, it all threatened to break through. But he needed to get out of the bunker and in truth, being alone sounded far worse than anything else at the moment.

So Sam relented, and Dean happily followed him out to the garage, and before long, the impala was cruising through the prairie. Little was said on the eleven-hour journey, and aside from a few breaks for gas and food, they stopped very little.

Dean was exhausted by the time they finally pulled into the small isolated prairie motel parking lot. But he'd refused to admit that since he'd insisted on driving the whole way, Sam repeatedly offering to take a turn at driving.

It was late in the night as Dean spotted Castiel's gold colored ‘78 Lincoln continental parked at the motel and swiftly maneuvered the impala into the slot next to it.

"Room 28," Sam said as he and Dean got out of the car and moved forward to the assigned room. When the angel opened the door, he promptly held a finger up to his mouth, in what Dean thought was an attempt to make them both be quiet.

"Glad you could get here so quick, but if you wouldn’t mind keeping your voices down," Castiel said before moving aside to let the brothers in. Dean’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the first of the two small beds in the room in which a head of dark brown hair poked out under the blankets. “Hannah is trying to sleep.”

"Did you wear her out or something, Cas?” Dean asked quietly, the feeling that they had walked in on some kind of x-rated moment descended on him. “I thought angels didn’t need to sleep.”

“If you believe that pouring over internet files and documents is tiring then perhaps I did wear her out,” Castiel responded, completely missing the suggestive meaning behind Dean’s words. “And no, angels don’t need to sleep, but she wanted to try it anyway, she was curious about how humans dream.”

“Okay Data,” Dean responded smirking at Castiel’s confusion at his Star Trek reference. He still thought something felt off about this whole situation, but he’d learned to accept that about Cas. As he and Sam set their duffel bags down and took their seats at the table, Castiel brought his laptop over to them, though he paused to glance at Dean.

"I'm glad you are human again," Castiel said genuinely. "Though I thought Sam was coming alone."

"Yeah well, so did I," Sam responded as he threw his duffel bag onto one of the twin beds that the motel provided. He then promptly pulled out a chair from the desk, turned backward, straddling it. "So Cas, what's the scoop?"

"Scoop?" Castiel raised a brow as Dean glanced wearily at the sleeping figure in the bed. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about this supposed partnership between Castiel and Hannah. He didn't entirely trust her, and it was clear from their rather brief encounter in the past that she didn't exactly trust him. Perhaps he still held a grudge after she tried to insist that Castiel kill him over alleged crimes, or maybe it's merely because Dean had trouble trusting any angels other than Castiel. Or perhaps it was because Castiel was their angel. His and Sam's. He was feeling more than a little possessive and protective.

But he remained quiet and let Castiel continue. "Hannah and I have been on the hunt for rogue angels," Castiel explained as he sat down on the edge of the other bed and faced the Winchesters. Hannah groaned in the other bed, turning around in her sleep. "After Metatron was rounded up and the angels were allowed to return to heaven, most happily returned. But some had gotten a taste of humanity and free will and refused."

"Wait, so they are being hunted because they don't want to return to heaven?" Sam repeated.

"It’s… complicated, Sam" Castiel replied reluctantly. "Hannah and I have had some disagreements on how to deal with them. Maybe I've been down here with you two too long, but I can certainly see the appeal of free will, having chosen to exercise it plenty of times myself."

"So why shouldn't they get what you have?" Sam asked. Dean sighed. His little brother and his sympathetic heart.

"Because look at what the choices I’ve made with my freedom have done to heaven," Castiel said, somewhat bitterly. "And what it’s done to the two of you. I’ve made my mistakes, struggled with my choices, but the problem is that when too many angels have these kinds of choices, the results could be disastrous."

"Yeah you told me about Daniel and Adina," Sam replied. "They killed other angels-"

“No!” came a gasp from the other bed. All three of them turned to look as Hannah began tossing and turning, a wince creased into her face. “No please don’t!”

Castiel frowned and glanced at the Winchesters. “She’s in distress,” he said with concern. “What do humans usually do in these situations.”

“She’s having a nightmare,” Sam explained. “Wake her up.”

Dean watched as Castiel quickly moved to Hannah’s bed and stood over the angel writhing around. Gently, he gripped Hannah on the shoulder and shook her firmly. “Hannah,” he urged. “Hannah!”

Hannah gave a startled yelp and sprung up in bed, blue eyes flinging open wide as she gasped and panted for breath. She blinked, eyes roaming over to take note of the Winchesters before falling on Castiel. “I… don’t understand…” she stammered, her voice shaky as she pressed her face to her hands. Dean frowned. Again he felt awkward about he and Sam being present for this whole situation. At the same thing, he felt a slight pang of resentment at the way Castiel comforted her.

Castiel gripped her on the shoulder, prompting her to look up at him. “You were dreaming,” he explained. “The images weren’t real.”

Slowly, Hannah threw her legs around and got up out of the bed. Dean noticed she was still wearing her jeans and white blouse. Not exactly bed clothes. Just like Castiel, Hannah didn’t quite get the hang of certain human rituals.

“I don’t want to have them anymore,” Hannah murmured. “But… they seemed like… memories. They feel so familiar, Castiel. They weren’t just visions, I remember them.”

Castiel glanced at the Winchesters with concern as Hannah stood and paced about the room a little, brushing past the Winchesters a few time while she tried to compose herself. “Is that normal?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said with a shrug. “Dreaming about memories. I’d say that’s pretty common.”

“I’ve never had those experiences,” Hannah explained, turning to the table where the Winchesters stood. “Not to my knowledge.”

“Maybe your vessel has,” Sam replied. “Or maybe a past vessel.”

“Can we finish this dream walking session a little later?” Dean blurted out bluntly. “No offense, sweetheart but we came here to talk about rogue angels.”

Hannah frowned and glanced back at Castiel, almost as if for approval before sitting down on the edge of the bed. Castiel moved to join her, sitting down beside her. She still looked spooked by the apparently disturbing nightmare she had had, and she looked like she wanted to discuss it but, and he wasn’t quite sure why, Dean was feeling highly aggravated by this angel. Maybe it was the mark but he had felt hostile towards her the second he walked into the motel and had seen her sleeping there and her apparent distress was only making him angrier.

“It’s okay, Hannah,” Castiel said gently before glancing over at Dean with a frown. He seemed to notice that aggravated look in Dean’s eyes. He sighed. “As I was saying,” he began, turning the subject back to the rogues, but still keeping a concerned eye on Hannah, “as I was saying, this isn’t about Daniel and Adina. They've been dealt with. This is someone new. A new faction of rogue angels has been gathering on Earth, and they've teamed up with a small group of demons who have also gone rogue."

"Oh just fantastic," Dean blurted out with some clear hostility. "Angels and demons. Buddy buddies. What will they come up with next-"

"Excuse you," came an all too familiar voice. Everyone in the room whirled as Crowley appeared in the room before them with that characteristic smug Crowley smirk on his face. "I'll have you know squirrel, that if it weren't for this particular demon, Cassandra and his little girlfriend here would have ended up rogue angel road kill."

"What do you want, Crowley?" Sam demanded. "Are these your demons?"

"If they are its no thanks to your big brother here, Moose," Crowley explained, shooting a look to Dean who only rolled his eyes. "I try to take you under my wing, you treat me like chopped liver, and now the bloody bastards don't respect me anymore."

"Cry me a river," Dean replied. He knew he and Sam were being a little too callous with their berating. He knew he wouldn't be here if it weren't in part thanks to Crowley. But, at the moment, he couldn’t really find it within himself to care.

"Later, Squirrel. I'm here to sign up for your little task force here. I'm going to help you track down the rogues."

"Pass," Dean said bluntly.

"Oh you'll want my help," Crowley said as he pulled up a seat next to Sam at the desk. "Because I happen to know what it is they are plotting."

"How?" Castiel asked. "Daniel and Adina only wanted to be left alone. Shouldn't these angels and demons want the same?"

"Hardly," Crowley said nonchalantly as he seemed to examine his own finger nails. "Problem with free will, Cassandra, is that sometimes it's the wrong bloody choice. Will and choice are things humans have and look how they've made a mess of things here on Earth. War, oppression, avarice, betrayal, bad porn, you name it. This is one sad little messed up planet and its because there is free will."

"Then you agree that these angels and demons must be brought to justice," Hannah surmised, her voice still a little shaky and fragile as she sat at the edge of bed with Castiel. She seemed to slowly tune into the conversation, although she still had a somewhat disoriented look in her eyes.

"All I know is I can't have the little peasants running amuck causing mischief and mayhem," Crowley said. "I happen to know they are planning something. Something big. Not sure of the details, all I know is that it will make the fall look like a minor skirmish."

That startled the two angels. The look of fear and uncertainty on their faces as they exchanged glances said that enough. The fall was traumatic enough, and no one enjoyed the prospect of things being worse.

"Okay fine," Sam said. "So we find the rogues before they start another Armageddon?" Dean couldn't help but notice the look of sheer exhaustion and weariness in his brother's face. He was putting up a brave front but he was barely maintaining his composure, and only Dean would be able to pick up on this face. Sam had been run ragged lately, and Dean couldn't shake the guilt at knowing he was the cause of most of it… and that guilt only made him feel angry. Everything was making him feel angry. He too a breath, trying to calm himself, resisting the urge to lash out at Sam.

"They've gone deep into hiding," Castiel said. "We have very little to go on."

"There is an old… friend of mine living in Chicago I'd like to press for information," Crowley said. "I suggest we start there."

Dean caught Castiel's eye for a moment, and the angel gave him a look of concern.

Dean couldn't help but notice the paleness in Castiel's complexion, but the angel shrugged it off and glanced at Crowley. "Humans require sleep," he said. "I think we should wait until morning."

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said with an exhausted huff. "Mind if we uh," he motioned towards the bed the angels were sitting on. The angels got the hint and got up, relinquishing the bed to Sam who nearly fell onto it, laying there motionless, almost comically for a moment. Dean watched his brother before looking at Cas. "What will the three of you do?"

"We are content to stay here and watch over you until you are finished resting," Hannah replied with a shrug, having recovered from her dream experience, though she still seemed somewhat haunted by it.

"Uh yeah not gonna happen, Sweetheart," Dean replied with a wry grin. "I tend to find it hard to sleep when I have an audience."

"You keep calling me Sweetheart," Hannah replied, scrunching her brows together in confusion. "But my vessel's heart is not sweet. It is merely an organ that pumps blood through her body."

Dean would have followed up with another witty comment to further confuse the angel, but Crowley stepped up at that point. "Come on cherubs," he said, ushering Castiel and Hannah towards the door. "I could use a pint and maybe a round of pool."

That only seemed to confuse Hannah more, but Castiel got the hint, and soon the trio had left the room leaving Sam and Dean alone. Dean promptly pulled off his shoes and moved to get more comfortable on the bed. Glancing over he found Sam already passed out on his own bed, still in his clothes. Dean watched him for a moment, relishing the small moment of silence. He missed the days when it was just him and Sam on a hunt. Not that he'd give up his friendship with Castiel for anything, but things seemed so much more light-hearted back then. He could only imagine what was in store for them now.

[dustingrayves]

The sun rises on a new day

Characters: Esper, Masi WC: 3688 Rating: T AU: mermaid esper/lusa Notes: cowritten with @dezimaton!! esper meeting masi, the local rich fish enthusiast! absolutely adored working on this, both because i love this au and because i love dez!! a pleasure to work with, honestly~~ <3

The salt wind stings his eyes and he regrets pushing his glasses up almost immediately. The weather forecast mentioned some wind, but out by the sea it’s impossible to predict it perfectly, but Masi has gotten used to it over time.

He had to, especially now that he’s moving to it.

His new house towers before him, an impressive two storey house built onto and into the cliffside that had put a dent into the money he had inherited. Though the added laboratory had cost almost as much. But he doesn’t regret it one bit.

His arms, on the other hand, do, and very much so. They’d been aching for some time now, but he’s finally onto the last few moving boxes. They shouldn’t be as heavy as they feel, but the fatigue is probably getting to him. It’ll take time to unpack all of them, but at least they’re finally out of the truck and inside.

It doesn’t feel like a home yet, but as he stands in the living room and places the last box on top of another with a deep, heavy sigh, he feels pride bubbling up inside of his chest cavity. It might not feel like a home, but it’s a house.

His house. And he can do all his research uninterrupted here.

There isn’t much to make it feel more comfortable right now, but a cup of coffee would definitely give his overworked muscles a rest. Now if only he could remember which box has the coffee maker in it.

Only a three stacks of unpacked boxes remain at the front door. He's never been one to collect personal belongings, keeping only the essentials to live comfortably. Before Masi can decide which one /might/ hold his beloved coffee machine, he feels something brush between his legs.

"Nya!"

A snow white cat with grey-tipped ears peeks between his legs, brushing him with its luxurious tail. It meows at him once more, its magenta eyes glistening like marbles.

Masi laughs and reaches down to pick up apocalypse. He presses a soft smooch to the cat's forehead before cradling her in his arms.

"Now you wouldn't happen to know which box has my coffee machine, would you?"

Apocalypse stretches out in his arms and opens her mouth in a slow toothy yawn. If Masi didn't know any better, he'd think the cat understood. But that can't be, of course. He chuckles and sets her on one of the box stacks before stepping back to look at them all.

To his surprise, Apocalypse jumps over to the furthest stack and rubs her face against the top of it. She runs her paws across the box as though trying to get his attention.

Masi doesn't have a better idea, so he opens the box.

To nobody's surprise, cat treats are in there. (She must have smelled them, the crafty kitty.) But more importantly, underneath the cat treat box, peeking out just barely under the other kitchen utensils tossed in is... the coffee machine!

"You really have some hidden powers, don't you?" he chuckles, scratching Apocalypse behind her fluffy ears. She purrs loudly in content, rubbing against his hand.

Masi caves in and opens one of the treat packs, handing her a few. She grabs them with her razor-sharp teeth and trots over to where he had already unpacked her bowls, laying in front of one and taking her sweet time with chewing on them.

He watches her with a fond smile; already at home. And then he takes the coffee maker out, wrestling with the cord for a moment before he can bring it over to the unnaturally clean counter.

In only a few minutes that feel too long for his strained legs, he finally has a steaming cup of coffee, warming his hands as he sits at the table.

It hasn't been long, but he has missed the smell of it. Or maybe it just smells better now.

Masi takes the hot cup of coffee with him to the porch overlooking the ocean, sipping the bitter drink as the ocean breeze cools him. The waves lap at the shore in a calm rhythm and circling seagulls cry from above. Now that he's just about done moving in, he can finally focus on what he was really here for: the ocean.

He sets the empty mug in the sink and walks down the spiral staircase in the main hall. A multitude of glass tanks filled with colorful fish surround him as he descends to the basement lab set in the cliff. Striped clown fish peek out of their anemone homes, catfish make slow loops around the tank with the sharks and sea bass. The location affords more room for his friends to swim and fresh sea water to replenish the tanks. Masi sits down in his swivel office chair and breathes out a content sigh. Even though he just got here, it already feels like home.

The sun shines in through the panoramic window overlooking the ocean. Feeling refreshed, Masi takes an elevator to the lowest floor of the house. He steps out into the hidden cove at the base of the cliff, a perfect shelter for a small motor boat. The salty sea air fills his lungs and he runs a hand across the weathered hull of the watercraft moored there.

The boat had lived through much, and feels like a part of the family almost as much as Apocalypse does.

He can't help but chuckle inwardly as he hops into it. "How about a walk?" he asks it, giving himself an answer by starting the motor. The roar reverberates in the cove while he prepares the small transportation tanks in the back.

He already has a list of samples he'd written down, so with his trusty co-pilot, the purple writing pad, he drives out into the ocean, leaving the house and the rest of the unpacking behind for now.

Salty, stinging wind and droplets of water fling into his face and his hair wavers behind him like a flag, but he hasn't felt better all day.

Although his sore arms beg for rest, Masi steers the boat across the sea through the waves and currents with finesse. He coasts around the borders of the natural harbor created by the rocks and cliffs nearby, takes notes on where the beaches, forests, and shelf dropoffs are located. Lines and symbols populate the map attached to his purple writing pad as the day goes by.

Before he heads back home, he steers the boat out into the center of the natural harbor and lets the motor fall silent. The waves lap at the sides of his boat. It bobs back and forth yet remains in the same spot, neither drifting closer nor further from shore.

Masi closes his eyes and lays back, enjoying the boat rocking, the evening sun's warm rays on his face. It's so calm out on the ocean. He loves it. With one hand he pulls out a small bento box from underneath his seat to enjoy while watching the waves.

When he'd been a kid, he used to get seasick, and he couldn't be happier that it doesn't happen anymore. Nothing interrupts him as he eats his rice and fish, eyes gliding over the almost unnoticeable line between the horizon and the clear blue sky.

Masi finishes his lunch at a leisurely pace, putting the empty box back aside to stretch with a very feline-like sound. His muscles throb and he knows they'll be sore tomorrow, but it isn't hard to push that knowledge to the back of his mind.

The trusty pad, when he grabs it from the other seat, tells him that one of the fish specimen he's missing frequents spots exactly like these. He could call it a coincidence that he chose this spot, but he knows himself too well for that.

A big box sits by the empty tanks in the back of his small boat, and it clatters noisily when he opens it to retrieve a couple of nets. Maybe it's time to replace it, but as he looks at its beaten, scratched up surface, he can't help but feel nostalgic. Maybe later then.

Masi places the pad on his lap as he busies himself searching for the correct net. He's looking for a particularly long one with a camera attachment so he can see what's going on underwater. His hand rummages through the stack of them, each with their own unique purpose, and when he finds it, the handle is just a tiny bit out of reach.

Not wanting to stand up, walk to the back, get the net, walk back, then sit back down, Masi decides to press his luck just a bit. He stretches a little further for it.

The net handle meets the palm as expected, but his balance over the edge of the seat is another matter. Masi slips off the chair and the boat rocks severely at the shift in weight. He instinctively kicks out to avoid tipping the boat, but before he can realize exactly what he's done, the weight leaves his lap.

His tablet is launched out of the boat and lands in the water with a loud splunk.

Panic washes over Masi and he tries to recapture his device with the painstakingly acquired net in hand, but it's too late. The tablet sinks like a rock, disappearing faster into the sea than his reflexes can manage.

"Damn," he curses himself; if only he hadn't been so lazy.

He's just about to chuck the net into the water and try to capture some fish from this place to at least get something out of this, when his tablet pops back out of the water, dripping wet and turned off, possibly short-circuited.

Masi stares at it, bewildered. That makes... absolutely no sense. It should've sunk to the bottom, lost to the dunes of sand at the bottom of the sea, full of shells and crabs that would make it the floor of their new house.

He reaches out before he can think about it enough, grabbing the edge of the tablet. It doesn't budge when he pulls it back, though.

"What the...?"

Is the universe playing jokes on him? He drank plenty of water earlier and doesn't feel unwell. Masi shakes his head just to make sure it's not a hallucination anyways.

The tablet is definitely there. He decides to try grasping it more firmly, both hands cupping the edges. To his surprise, the tablet comes away easily and in the spot where it was he catches a glimpse of a hand before it retreats back into the depths.

"H-Hello? Is someone there?"

His voice is warbled from not speaking for so many hours on the ocean. Masi clears his throat before trying again.

"Hello??? I know you're there."

He feels silly speaking to the ocean, but there is, without a doubt, somebody in the water.

"You helped return something precious to me and I'm very thankful. Will you... come to the surface so i can give you a proper thank you?"

The ocean is calm and betrays no secrets. Masi is about to give up and return home to look at his waterlogged pad when something white bobs to the surface.

Masi looks in awe as a head emerges, two wide eyes blinking up at him. They stand out against the paleness of the other’s skin and hair, which both appear almost the same shade of pale gray. Or maybe it’s the lighting giving it that shade. The magenta eyes are striking, as is the thing bobbing in front of them.

He finds out he had been holding his breath. “I… Thank you,” he says, watching as the head comes out of the water only to sink back in, constantly half-buried. “What are you… doing this far out in the sea? Would you like a… ride?”

The magenta eyes blink, and Masi takes notice of the long pale lashes and the droplets of water clinging to them. They’re impressive eyes. He can’t help but stare.

“What is that? It looks weird,” the person asks, finally rising enough for their whole face to be revealed. The thing in front of them bobs with each motion, pulling Masi’s attention every now and then, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. How they managed to make such a good prop is beyond him.

“Umm…?”

“That,” the person in the water repeats, bringing a hand up and splashing water around as they raise it to point at the pad Masi is clutching in his hand. “It’s important to you? You said that, right? What is it?”

The hand that comes up out of the water is dark and scaled. It matches the bob poking from their head and looks like a seriously nice getup. He's almost jealous of how real they look. It's like those people at anime, comic, or game conventions, except better since it's actually functional in the water.

"Oh, this? This is my tablet. It stores information for me."

He awkwardly holds it up, and the person in the water watches with shimmering eyes, as though he's never seen or heard of a tablet before. Masi scratches the back of his head, not wanting to underexplain or overexplain.

"Do you... know what a tablet is?"

Esper tilts his head. "No. What is a tabulet?"

What a funny man, to not know what a tablet is in this day and age! Masi doesn't know the person's circumstances, but he's more than happy to explain what a tablet is from the fundamentals onwards.

The man's eyes sparkle during the explanation, and when Masi starts explaining the touch surface, he swims a little closer.

"Can you show me?" he asks, kicking his legs and creating waves that rock the small boat. Which sure is a feat for a single man.

Masi's eyebrows furrow and he wipes the surface with his sleeve. "Well, I'm not sure it... Yeah, it doesn't turn on right now," he says, fruitlessly holding down the power button. "It's waterlogged right now."

"Oh... Does water kill your tabulets?"

"Yeah, it messes with the electrical circuits inside."

Esper looks completely lost and equal part intriqued. He makes a guttural, questioning noise.

"It'll probably be okay when it dries or I'll get some parts replaced," Masi reassures him, setting the tablet aside onto the seat. Hopefully he won't be doing any more lazy stunts that would endanger it further.

"So..." Masi begins.

"What are you doing out here? This place is a practically deserted because of the old ghost stories around here."

Esper slinks back into the water, waterline tickling his chin. The human hasn't realized he's a merman yet, surprisingly. Esper expected that his lure and finned ears would've given it away, but it seems this one still hasn't made the connection. Has the man never seen or heard of mermaids before? He's not sure whether to keep up the facade or let them know the truth.

Esper leans back and makes a circle around the boat. "This is my home. What are you doing out here?"

"I'm collecting fish for my rese- Wait, your home? But there's nothing for miles, no islands or anything. And I'm the only one living at the shore," Masi muses.

Just the very tip of Esper's tail breaches the surface as he stays afloat, scales glistening in the sunlight, a different shade of magenta under each different angle. Masi follows the fan shape, looking at the dark depths of the water, but it's impossible to see it beyond the surface. He looks back to the other's face, notes the bobbing thing again, now gently floating on the surface and emitting faint glow.

His eyes go wide.

"Wait-- are you telling me this isn't an elaborate get-up? You have a-- oh my god!"

Masi scrambles back in his watercraft, tumbling off the seat. The stories are true! There are sirens living in this very cove and he is one of the unfortunate few people who would be eaten my them. He'd always shaken the stories off, being a man of science, but here it is before his very eyes.

It strikes him as odd the creature didn't just sing him a lullaby and eat him right there, going through all the trouble as to fish out his tablet for him, but he must look like easy prey out here all alone in a tiny boat, far from any saving piece of land. He stutters, holding up his tablet for cover.

"Please don't eat me! I- I consume too much coffee and junk food to taste good!"

A funny look forms on Esper's face. "Eat? I'm not going to eat you."

"But you're a... a siren, right? It's not a costume, is it?"

A laugh bubbles up from Esper's throat, loud and mirthful and just a little on the inhumane side, his lips stretching into a wide smile. The sharp teeth seem threatening now.

"I'm not a siren. I'm a merman," he says, circling the boat with a fluid movement. Masi can clearly see the tail moving, the spines protruding from it, and even the beautiful, almost butterfly-like back fins. He still can't believe it. "I don't eat people. Well..."

Esper's grin turns more feral momentarily. "Maybe if you taste good~ Want me to try?"

"No!" Masi exclaims, scurrying to the other side of the boat whilst trying not to tip it over. Esper grabs the edge of it, his darkened fingers holding the craft stable.

"I'm joking, you know," he chuckles. "Your mythical sirens don't even exist. It's just that mermaids are usually so pretty humans can't resist looking closer."

"Huh," Is all the answer Masi can manage. It's not like he's an expert on how humans act around beautiful people, but it's something he can believe.

The scientist glances down at Esper's hand now propped on the side of his boat. It resembles a human hand, except the webbing between the fingers is a lot more apparent. Not to mention each finger is tipped with a long dark claw, probably used for capturing prey. It's mesmerizing to be honest.

"Well, if you're not going to eat me, can I... look at your hand?"

Esper snorts a little. He wonders if this is how humans greet each other. "Of course you can."

Permission granted, Masi beams and puts on some gloves. He gently takes Esper's clawed hand into his own and runs a finger over the scales, feeling the rough texture of it. The scales are smooth from the front but rough going back. Masi's almost caught off guard when he hears a giggle.

"That tickles, ahaha." Esper marvels at how soft the man's hands feel. The touch is feather light yet still there, and warm like the sun's rays. He doesn't know how to describe it, but it feels quite nice.

"Oh, you're ticklish?" Masi muses, "So even mermaids can be ticklish... Oh, sorry- mer... men?"

Esper giggles louder. "It's fine. I have been told I'm beautiful."

"By whom?" Masi asks, curious, as he twists Esper's wrist to look at it under different angles. The scales shimmer in the light and they're different hues, almost purple sometimes, whenever Masi traces them.

A larger fin protrudes from Esper's elbow and Masi wonders how the bone structure with that works. He traces a finger across one of the spines forming it and it flattens under his touch. It seems to be cartilage protruding from the scaled skin, with soft tissue, barely see-through, arching between it.

"By Lusa, of course," Esper tells him, completely unbothered by Masi's poking around except for the occasional giggle or heavy exhale through his nose.

"Lusa?"

"He's my mate. He says it a lot."

"Your mate?" Masi releases Esper's arm, having fully inspected it.

"Yes! He is my partner for life and I love him!" Esper's smile radiates and Masi can't help but smile back.

"Do humans have mates too?" Esper props both arms on the boat, leaning into the boat with curiosity. He watches Masi with those beautiful magenta eyes and the scientist can't help but blush a little.

"Y-Yes. I think so. We call it 'marriage', but it sounds like the same thing. The males get the title 'husband' and females, 'wife'."

"Huh. That's funny how you separate them like that. Please, tell me more!"

The words are what begin a long, fruitful discussion on merfolk customs, human customs, and how they were both similar and different. Masi and Esper slowly warm up to each other and by the time the setting sun colors the sky orange, they're like peas in a pod.

The setting sun creates a spectacle from Masi's hair. Esper still can't fathom hair looking that good dry. His own resembles a bird's nest more than anything.

"You should head back," Esper says, casting a glance at the horizon. "The sea is unpredictable at night. You wouldn't want to get caught up in a surprise storm."

"You're right," Masi sighs, thinking back to the handful of unfortunate times it had happened before. "But what about you? Will I ever see you again?"

The last thing Masi wants is to never see this merman again and start doubting whether they have actually even met in the first place.

"I'll go back to my nest. Lusa will be cranky if I miss dinner, but I'm sure he will save me a fish or two," Esper grins. "But I want to see you too. You're... funny."

"Funny?" Masi echoes, unsure whether it's a compliment or whether he should be insulted.

"Humans are weird, but funny. You especially."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Masi chuckles.

"Good. Can I meet you here again? Tomorrow?"

Masi nods vigorously, heart falling down from his throat in relief. "Yeah, yeah, of course."

Esper smiles, fins flattening against his head in what Masi found to be happiness. "See you, then," he says, offering one last sharp-edged grin before he dives underwater, tail flicking water everywhere.

[peaceandlonglife]

Ed Nygma's Enigma | A Nygmobblepot Fanfiction

Pairing: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma Words: 1.8k Summary: For the first time is Ed's life, he was puzzled; utterly stumped, and by his own doing. He found himself attracted to a man. But not just any man, no, The Penguin - Oswald Cobblepot.

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                                               *Story & Cover Below*

  It was a stray, mundane thought, passing swiftly through his sharp mind. It was the kind of thought that typically would have gone undetected, but for whatever reason, it hadn't.

  I like him.

  For the first time is Ed's life, he was puzzled; utterly stumped, and by his own doing.

Ed found himself attracted to a man. But not just any man, no, The Penguin- Oswald Cobblepot.

He had never once been enticed by a male, or even curious for that matter -even though he was routinely propositioned by those of the same sex for whatever strange reason - Simply put, his preference had always laid exclusively with woman.

But what had changed?

The question was equal parts intriguing and infuriating for Ed. It was an equation he desperately needed an answer to, but lacked a formula or any applicable data.

Ed drags a chair from his dining table into his bedroom, the legs screeching and scratching over the pristine floor. For once he didn't care, he had bigger, more important situations at hand, like analyzing his latest epiphany.

Ed positions the chair before the foot of his bed, facing his sedated guest. Yes, this would do perfectly.

  He had so many questions racing in his mind that he felt dizzy. Perhaps he would try solving the simplest ones first, to clear and bring some resemblance of order back to his chaotic mind before attempting to tackle the more perplexing self-analytic inquires.

  Ed would start off with the basics.

  Who?

  This one was easy. He was attracted to Oswald Cobblepot, or more commonly referred to as The Penguin. Gotham's underground kingpin, criminal overlord, and master manipulator. Next.

 What?

What was it about him?

  Ed leans forward into his chair, intensely focusing on his patient. He studies the mans facial features, sharp and rigid even in sleep. It was the face of a man who had been dealt a lifetime of hardship. Someone who had seen too much; experiences so harrowing that they burden him at all hours. Yet Oswald didn't wallow in self-pity or expect special favours to be bestowed upon him. No, he made his way up the criminal ranks through cunning schemes and elaborate manipulation, all without succumbing to the lazy, overused tactics of those who ruled before him. He earned his respect. It was this about Oswald that never seized to amaze Ed.

When?

When did his simple admiration of him blossom into something much less innocent?

  Ever since Oswald was dubbed 'The Penguin' in the media, Ed had been closely following his endeavours, whether through the paper or the news, or even eavesdropping on Detective Gordon's hushed conversations at work. Ed was always the first to know about the latest underground developments. He had even devised an acceptable explanation just in case anyone were to question him on his strange fixation on the lethal stranger - No one ever did, but at least he was prepared. 'It's for work' Ed would tell them. 'I am simply collecting crucial data by observing the daily habits and mannerisms of known criminals. Eventually, with enough information I will be able to detect routines and accurately predict patterns of increased and decreased crime rate, thus aiding in the prevention and capture of said majour criminal.'

Of course, the real reason was that Ed wanted to be just like Oswald. He wanted to be in complete control, to have unwavering loyalty. To be free, to be feared. Ed just wasn't sure when wanting to be Oswald had changed to wanting to be with him.

  Although, if he had to hypothesize the exact moment his platonic resolve began to slip through his fingers, it had to have been the moment Oswald collapsed in that quiet forest.

  Through all of Ed's research, his mind had subconsciously began to paint Oswald as this perfect, ethereal being; impervious to lowly human facets. And then to see someone you've worshipped  for so long so mortally wounded and raw with vibrant emotions...it was shocking. You don't realize how misplaced your perspective is until it's snapped back into reality.

  Oswald was just a regular person.

  Why?

  Why did Ed want to be with him?

Companionship and intimacy were the two biggest factors that sprung to mind, but they weren't exclusive, Ed could find those two traits in just about anyone. No, Ed wanted to be with Oswald because he felt at ease around him. He didn't have to hide his sinister side or withhold any dirty little secrets because Oswald was the same as Ed. For once Ed felt normal; for once he wasn't the only misunderstood nerd. They could rule side by side, as equals. Together they'd leaving a blazing trail of wicked destruction in their wake.

It no longer mattered to Ed that Oswald was not a girl. He'd trade in soft curves for hard angles any day if it meant he could have Oswald underneath him for even just a minute. Ed wasn't attracted or not attracted to him because of his gender, he was attracted to him because he was Oswald.

And then there was Ed's more primal attraction towards Oswald. It was something he felt so rarely -the raw, uninhibited need- but when he did, it had the capability to turn his entire life upside down, leaving him dizzy and gasping for breath.

During the day the lust would loom bleakly over him like the deafening silence before a storm. And when night descended upon Gotham his lust would gradually suffocate him till his chest was tight and he could no longer form a coherent thought. It was at this time that all Ed's deepest darkest fantasies would play out in his mind -muddled with passion- but instead of a movie it was a clip show of fleeting senses.

Oswald's nails, digging into the pale flesh of his back. Oswald's crystal eyes, not leaving his, pupils blown wide. Oswald's breath, hot against his ear as he whispers nothing in particular. Oswald's cologne, too sweet for a man of such stature. Oswald's tongue pressed enthusiastically against his, a faint trace of a mint he'd had earlier.

Oswald. Oswald. Oswald.

Ed was now lusting after a man he'd only known personally for a day and nothing had felt more right.

It wasn't just the sex he craved. Ed wanted the romance. He wanted to pamper Oswald, to cook for him, to shower him with genuine affection. He wanted to take him on extravagant dates that he couldn't afford. Ed wanted to proudly parade him around the city, bragging and warning every resident that The Penguin was officially taken and anyone with objections or ill intent towards Oswald would have to come through him first.

  Movement breaks Ed's chain of thoughts as Oswald begins to restlessly toss about before eventually settling on his uninjured side. His face is scrunched up in deep emotion and his calloused hands blindly reach out for something. He grabs hold of the sheets instead and seems to find a sense of solace in the action of clutching the sheets to his chest. How...adorable.

  Oswald looked so small, even smaller than usual, both physically and emotionally, like a frail baby bird.

Ed rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and looks at the clock hanging on wall. It was too late, and he had work early in the morning. Ed glances backwards at the hard couch that was doubling as an extra bed and then longingly at his real bed.

His bed was far too large for only one person, -it had come with the apartment and he been too broke at the time to replace it, and too unbothered since- instead of its intended comfort, the space only left him with a tangible metaphorical reminder of his loneliness and how he was unwanted and destined to be unloved.

But now, in an unexpected -but not unpleasant- turn of events, Ed no longer felt alone. His bed also just coincidentally happened to be occupied by another.

Oswald shifts again and Ed watches as he rolls closer to the edge of the bed, as if taunting him to crawl in beside him.

Ed was certainly tempted beyond comprehension, but there was also a part of him that held back on taking the offer. He'd never done anything of the like. The one time he had managed to take Kristen to bed, she had left immediately after, refraining from all unnecessary contact. Oswald couldn't be any more different on the matter.

Oswald was an unintentionally tactile person. He'd always lean in close when spoken too, invested fully in the conversation; fingers briefly running down an arm in amusement, an empathetic hand resting comfortably on a shoulder, or a sharp elbow to the ribs to convey frustration.

  It was purely nurture over nature. Oswald's relationship with his mother was one on the very opposite end of the spectrum of Edward's parental relationship.

  Even with the minimal communication they've had on the matter, Ed could confidently deduce that Oswald was bordering on codependency. He simply thrived on the praise and acknowledgment of others and even more so with reciprocated physical contact. To Oswald, a hug could mean the entire world.

  Ed didn't mind this particular quirk, in fact, he revelled in it. Oswald was the first person to genuinely initiate intimate contact with him. Sure, at first it was uncomfortable and strange -he had to constantly remind himself that Oseald was not trying to hurt him- because he had went through the majority of his life severely touch-starved. But that initial ingrained fear subsided and before long he was subconsciously leaning into his gentle touch. It was always gentle, as if Ed was the injured one and not the caretaker.

 Oswald coughs once suddenly, then spirals into an uncontrollable cough. It was dry and raspy by the sound of it; the kind that itched relentlessly. Without a second thought Ed dives forward from his chair and onto the bed. Before his common sense had time to catch up with his movements he placed a strong hand on Oswald's bare back and began rubbing in slow, soothing circles.

  There were two more rounds of vigorous coughing before Oswald calmed down. He was still deep asleep from the sedatives, but his body was shaking from the over-exertion. Ed rolls on his side and peers over Oswald's shoulder to double check that there was a glass of water on the bedside table, just in case.

 Ed crawls under the sheets and resumes stroking Oswald's back but with every silent minute that ticks past his slow palmed circles evolve further into fingertips ghosting intricate designs.

  There was only a measly foot between the two now. Back to chest. Edward's long legs were somewhat curled in towards his chest and Oswald's frame had settled into the steady, rhythmic up and down of his breathing.

  It was nice.

  Calm.

  Content.

  Ed had never slept better.

[pidgeonwriter]

Gaye

s/o to @starcyntress and @spacequeenallura for letting me write their lovely ocs and s/o to @scillion for encouraging me to continue typing this up

here we go weeeee

Gaye

/\/\/

‘She’s thinking something arrogant,’ Uule thought as she observed Keyynu, who was checking herself out with her phone camera and wearing her ‘I’m the best’ smile.

“Thinking about how great you think you look or just how awesome you think you are?’’ Uule called down.

“AH!” Keyynu fell off the couch she had been precariously laying on with a crash. Keyynu half-glared back up at Uule, gathering herself up with false dignity, “Okay 1. I don’t think I’m great looking or awesome, I am and 2. How long have you been there?”

A half smile formed on Uule’s face, “Do you want to know the answer to that question?”

“Well, when you answer that way, it makes me feel like I don’t,” Keyynu replied warily.

The smile grew a smidge more at that. Uule calmly came down from her perch, “So what were you thinking about?”

Keyynu’s face lit up again with a burning pride, “I got a girl’s number today.”

“Oh, I see, so you were thinking about how great you think you are at flirting?” Uule smirked.

“Once again, am great at flirting and second, maybe,” Keyynu replied, “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Only if you admit that there are better things to do than interact with you,” Uule retorted.

Internally, Keyynu’s first thought was about how that sentenced rhymed but she wasn’t about to admit to that. Externally, she threw out her arms and held her head high in a extra queenly manner, “You’re right, there are no better things to do in this entire world when you can bask in my beauty.”

Uule rolled her eyes and started walking away, probably to go bother whoever she saw next, “Just tell me when you manage to strangle a date out of the poor girl.”

“You’ll find out just through all the stalking you do,” Keyynu jabbed back, making her way back to the couch so she could begin the long process if antagonizing over every letter she thought about sending to this “poor girl”.

“It makes my job easier for you to just tell me instead,” Uule replied over her shoulder.

/\/

Keyynu managed to “strangle” a date out of the “poor girl” the next day, giving her the rest of the week to lowkey freak out until the weekend, when she would begin to highkey freak out.

/\/

Keyynu was now highkey freaking out, but she was hiding it well under a false sense of confidence and pride while posing in the mirror and checking herself out.

“Did you know you’ve been doing this for at least 16 minutes now and that I may have a video recording of it?” Uule appeared from behind her.

Keyynu jumped and yelped, “Could you not give me a heart attack every time you want to speak to me? Especially before my date? Also, I’ll let that last part you said slip if you send me the recording.”

“No guarantees on the first request.” Uule approached more blatantly moved for Keyynu’s sake towards her as Keyynu turned back to the mirror, a nervous sigh/giggle escaping her. Uule’s features softened and reached an arm around to give Keyynu a side hug.

“It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. The world isn’t ending today. Nobody’s gonna die or anything of the like so you can shove the worst-case scenarios out of your mind.” Uule assured her.

Keyynu gave a small sigh of relief, reciprocating the side hug, “You know, it’s so much more reassuring when you say that.”

“I know,” Uule replied.

/\/\/

The date… could have gone better. It started out ok, typical awkwardness and the sort and then it slowly descended like slinky that wasn’t given enough energy to go all the way down the stairs as the awkwardness continued to hang heavy in the air with every passing minute.

“Pretty cute, like me,” Keyynu flattered herself, shooting finger guns at her date.

The girl’s small smile lessened, the Mona Lisa’s smile could’ve reviled it, and her eyes seemed to dull.

That’s how it continued, sparkles and nervous giggles slowly spiraling down. Uule watched this quietly, slowly traveling disaster from afar. At some point, morbid curiosity led her to search through the date’s memories, it revealed an old ex being the main cause of the burning and crashing. Being reminded of an old ex while on a date with someone new never ended well, Uule though as she winced in sympathy.

Uule’s eyes searched for a solution, finally falling on the fire alarm on the wall across from her. Well, that was one way to salvage things.

/\/

Keyynu came back home much more quietly than you would expect, especially with her hair and clothes as damp as they were. Uule was on the couch, like she had been there for hours, half-invested in reading the musty, old book in front of her.

“How’d the date go?” she asked, eyebrows raised to show she was curious but eyes still on her book.

An unsure look crossed Keyynu’s face, followed by a bitter shadow, “Don’t you already know?”

Uule shook her head, still somewhat absorbed in her book, “I’m feeling lazy today, so I’ll just look into the mall video feed later. Besides, I want to hear what you have to say about it.”

Keyynu gave Uule an odd look, and worried if Uule was getting sick or something, but she quickly brushed it off to instead wallow in despair of a lackluster date.

She sighed, “It definitely could’ve gone better. I guess we just didn’t click like I thought we would when we first met. Oh yeah, and then after at least an hour of awkward-date-ness some kids pulled the mall fire alarm as a practical joke. So, we both got soaked and decided to just end the date there.” Keyynu paused, adding after a thought, “I also fell on my ass as we tried to walk/run out of the mall, that hurt.”

Uule finally got up and put her book down at that, walking over to Keyynu to comfort her.

Her expression was a rare, soft one, “Well, go treat yourself to a hot glitter bomb bath or something to cheer yourself up. I think Seren is going to start a Disney movie marathon soon, maybe you can join her later. Have a nice comfort night and all that, I even promise not to cause any explosions, freaks of nature, or any unusual circumstances of the like.”

Keyynu nodded, her face starting to draw itself into a tired, blank expression.

/\/

A while later, Keyynu found herself curled up on the couch with a fuzzy blanket and clean smelling hair. She desperately wanted cuddles but Seren squeaked whenever she tried to put her head on her shoulder.

“Sorry,” Keyynu mumbled, leaning away from Seren to the other side of the couch.

Seren cleared her throat, “It-it’s ok, if you, uh, want to, um, cuddle. You just spooked me.”

Keyynu looked at her with a cautiously hopeful expression, “Are you sure?”

Seren nodded so she wouldn’t have to stutter out another sentence, her face was probably getting close to bright red at this point.

Keyynu’s face lit up finally, making Seren’s heart beat faster but also swell with happiness, it had been hours since Keyynu smiled for real.

“Ok!” Keyynu immediately jumped over to lay against Seren’s side, quickly cuddling up to her.

Seren was blushing so hard her face started to feel like it was burning, just slightly she leaned against Keyynu too. After a couple movies, sleep started falling heavy on them despite it not being ungodly late just yet, which is when both usually pass out when it comes to movie marathons. Seren and Keyynu were now using it each other as pillows, small yawns escaping from both every once in a while. Sleeping Beauty had ended about five minutes ago, and now they were staring at the rolling credits screen, neither were up to moving to start a new movie.

“Hey, Seren?” Keyynu yawned out quietly.

“Hm?” Seren replied.

“If this was a date, it was the nicest I’ve ever been on,” Keyynu mumbled, eyes closed and mind already starting to shut down.

Seren’s mind shut down with Keyynu’s too, but for different reasons.

/\/\/

[bighandslittlefeet]

Catching up part II

Hello Everyone!

So more catching up! We headed out to Byron Bay. This was the one that had me most excited! A small Surfer town that came to prominence in the 60’s and 70’s when the soul surfers came into town. A group of practiced pros who came not for the amazing waves, but for the fact that they were long and steady. So a practice known as Soul surfing was born. The point was to reconnect with nature, taking the time to surf for 40 - 60 seconds instead of the usual crash and broil 10 seconds of the big surf. Surrounded by a sweeping coast that rolled up into tropical foothills in the distance, the lighthouse stood proudly on the headland, one was meant to take time and appreciate the art of surfing again instead of being wrapped up in the ego of catching the biggest and baddest of the waves. Not only this, but Byron has a rich Aboriginal history - for many years before the europeans came, this bay had a sacred meaning that meant it belonged to no single tribe and folk agreed to come and meet here each year, talking through the troubles of the year and leaving when your soul was healed. Hence Byron has a reputation of somewhere that you don’t live but merely come to as long as you need it.

We pulled into our campsite and were immediately pleased to see the option of not one, not two, but three pools to choose from. It was hot and we needed to cool down. We parked up Val after checking in and elected to make camp properly after cooling off. As the day day wore on and google maps showed us the relative walking distances between places so we decided to hit up a place called the Treehouse that evening. Halfway between the campsite and the centre of town it seemed like a good place to go to stretch our legs and listen to some live music. The road lead us across a railway line and as we crossed the sound of waves crashing on the shore greeted us. We walked along the road and soon passed a series of very flashy and modern beachside homes. As we drew closer to our destination we passed a restaurant that was heaving, a sign advertised it as closed for a private function - a wedding. As we passed the speeches were being made, the proud parents of the the two brides stirring laughs and awws from the seated and smiling guests. Further on a row of pristine chopper bikes in pastel blue announced the presence of a trendy backpackers hostel and next to it a bar - the treehouse! It was humming with activity and we bought a couple of Aperol Spritzes, our favourite summertime drink! We found some outside sofas, year round sunshine affords the exteriors of bars this far north the luxury of using upholstered indoor furniture outside, lending a very bohemian vibe to the vine festooned venue. We settled in, sipping and chatting and people watching, young trendy kids with their cropped trousers and funky mirrored sunglasses guzzled moules et frites and quaffed chilled white by the bottle. Soon the band were tuning guitars and pointing red spotlights at ominous askance angles across the stage, or should I say curtained wall with two feet of jutting decking? It was cosy and fun. Then they started playing - I’m not going to say they were the best band in the world but boy they had spirit. We left when we finished the drinks and walked back to the campsite under the stars.

The next day we wanted to explore Byron town proper. We walked in along the cycle path and much like driving, Australians have no idea how to cycle. The amount of times a hushed verbal ‘beep beep’ would be heard moments before being run down by a trio of bikes with hipster folk barely balancing would bear down on us was far too many to count. Suffice to say we walked on the grass next to the path even though it was a shared space. Byron itself is the best town to date for walking around that we’ve found. Its bijou, boutique, and characterful. You can walk easily around its streets as it seems to be the only place thus far in Oz where pedestrians have priority - this makes it a joy to walk around. Navigating bustling streets drifting from shop to shop, and all unique independent places filled with the passions and products of the crunchy granola hippies who own them. A pistachio gelato here, a slap of suncream there and soon we were sitting on the beachfront again. We arrived when the famous monthly market was on so we wandered around in the light drizzle listening to various musicians, blue grass one moment, drum circle the next, youth singer/songwriter indie stages decorated the rows of marquees, we grabbed a turkish wrap here, and a spiralized potato stick there, and soon found ourselves buying Christmas presents! Fab!

Becca, when in London, had worked for a very cool bar/restaurant/cafe and an old colleague now owned and managed a vegan restaurant on the far side of town. We popped over to say hello and it was like a hug from home. We hadn’t seen Yaz in a year, since she had moved over here with her partner Mark. She was in a great mood, regaling us with the ups and downs of opening a restaurant in a thriving foodie town such as Byron. She insisted we do brunch someday and that one evening we should come and dine at No Bones, her restaurant. We concluded that we would and left her with the preparations for the evenings customers. We walked further around the backstreets of Byron and soon found our favourite thing in the world. A bookshop. And what a bookshop. Independent, cool, coffee truck outside, multiple well reviewed sections twistingly laid out and with flying books hung overhead. Maybe not as cool as Barter Books in Alnwick, you'll always be my first and last love in the world of books my dear, but damn it was good. Christmas was coming up and so we split up to buy gifts (again, we are both ditherers in this department) and a few hours later we rendezvoused and decided to walk back to camp.

A hot day by the pool was slowly frittered away until it cooled in the late afternoon and we thought we really ought to do something. We took val for a drive up to a parking space just shy of the lighthouse and went for the coastal walk up to it. It was great with stunning views alway the way long, small coves and hidden beaches but as we made our way along a stretch just 2 Kms from the lighthouse Becca's sandals broke AND SHE HAD BLISTERED FEET AND A SPLINTER (emphasis Becca’s not mine). We decided to head back to the van and return to the lighthouse when we returned to Byron in the new year. We had planned to be up in Queensland for Christmas but to return here in the New Year for the next stint of work and saving.

That night we went to No Bones and had the most stunning meal. We descended the steps to the covered outdoor eating area and spoke with Yaz as customers piled in. For a Monday night it was busy - we were very happy for her! She introduced us to her charmingly grizzled and hipsterfied bartender who made us some nuts cocktails. We opted for tapas and were soon munching on vegan calamari, kojac is a revelation, vegan mac and cheese, truffle and god knows what else, seitan duck, and a whole range of other faux meat products that were really incredibly tasty and awesome! We were stuffed well pleased.

The next morning we walked into town and met Yaz who took us along the way to a beachfront Brunch spot. We talked and reminisced and the sun grew hotter and hotter. I’m sorry to report that we were a little saddened by the fair at the Beach Cafe. I opted for oat waffles with mascarpone and strawberries as I had not had a sweet breakfast in some time, but was left sorely wanting. The same was true for Becca and Yaz, but hey, nothing ventured nothing gained, and they did have a good view. We chatted some more and told her of our Christmas plans and said we’d be back in the new year! The rest of the day was spent by the pool, making preparations for the journey ahead.

We needed to be in Brisbane by the 20th as our friend Holly would soon be landing. Hot off the west-end she would have finished work, 9 shows a week for two years, only two days before flying out to meet us and Christmas in Oz. We were massively excited to see her and have her stay with us for 20 days. We knew it would be a stretch with Val but figured hey at the end of it, we’d be able to appreciate all the new found space at being only two in a van again! We had figured out the awning, bought the air mattress for the tent, got the routine of setting it all up down, save for inflating the mattress (watch this space) and were really looking forward to seeing her! We left Byron and drove up to the airport ready to receive. Some time before, in Sydney in fact, we had bought Christmas hats and soon had them donned at the arrivals gate for international flights. Now Becca and I had a 26 hour journey from London to Sydney and were jet-lagged out of our arses for three days - you’ll recall how kind Dave and Clare were ensuring we were up and about in the sunshine and going walks during the day and supplying us with Melatonin for easy resets for our circadian rhythms? Well we were just as ready for Holly’s imminent bout of jetlag. We had a campsite booked just two hours up the road in Noosa. We had meals planned for the next three days, we had the pools sorted, the walks ready to go. Holly - walks off the plane looking like she had just got out of a five minute cab journey through central London. Not a baggy eye. Not a yawn. Not a misplaced hair. And to boot, over the next three days would experience zero jetlag. We were dumbfounded and maybe even miffed!? Only joking, we were super glad for her and were soon on the road to Noosa.

We had elected to stay in Noosa for a few days and then really cane it up the coast to arrive in Airlie Beach in time for Christmas. Earlier in 2018, Easter Time in fact, we had all decided to book ourselves a tour of the Whitsundays between Christmas and New Year as a sort of early Christmas present to ourselves. However, two long days of driving stood between us and that destination. And that was a few days off yet as we wanted to see what Noosa had to offer. But first we had to contend with the weather. I should really ought to have mentioned that we had crossed the state border between New South Wales and Queensland when we made our way up to Brisbane. We were now three hours further north and the heat had started to escalate. As the midafternoon sun beat down upon us we decided to set up camp but gave up halfway through and just jumped in the pool. It was savagely warm. As the day wore on and the sun dipped behind some late afternoon cloud cover that emerged from the endless blue skies, we finished setting up tent which was when we found that the airbed did not fit inside the tent. The careful measuring, the hunting for the correct dimensions, the checking and double checking had all been for nought. This bed was huge. The tent would not zip up. I am proud to say by this point in the journey Becca and I had largely shaken our years of spurious British conditioning that beneath each blade of grass in Australia there lay a deadly creature or insect waiting to kill us - it is simply not true. But Holly had just arrived and the fear was still strong with this one. The prospect of sleeping in a tent which would not seal shut and with clothes pegs holding some mosquito netting over the opening was not a fun prospect for one who had just travelled 27 hours via Bangkok to arrive in the antipodes. Becca and I gallantly gave up our comfy bed in Val and fell on that particular sword. But hey! It was really damn comfy! You forget how comfy air beds can be when freshly filled and never before slept on. We all cooked together, drank some wine and settled in to sleep after looking up at the amazing stars.

An ominous sound filled my hazy sleep wracked skull. You’ll recall the mention not two sentences ago of stargazing implying a clear nights sky? Now thunder. Not 8 seconds away. A large, deep earth shaking roll. Then 7 seconds. Then 6. Then another boom. Another roll of the empty oil barrel of the gods. Suddenly it was a permanent aural landscape. I shit you not - there was suddenly no gap between the thunderclaps and the staccato light of the forks in the sky juddered and shuddered into an almost epileptic strobing. Becca's hand slowly crept towards mine. My heart began to beat harder in my chest. ‘Damn its loud, I can’t sleep!’ I murmured. ‘Huh?’ Becca shouted. ‘I SAID IT'S BLOODY LOUD’. Then the rain started. And it when it rains in Queensland it pours. Above our small two man single skin pop up tent there was a pretty makeshift awning made of a tarpaulin punctured by two collapsible rods and a pair of guideropes. We were not too confident in the ability of our camp to withstand a literal tropical storm. We listened and we waited. The storm did not abait. It grew. Louder and louder, faster and harder, soon we were sat up, listening, feeling the floor of the tent, intent on scouting out leaks and wondering at the integrity of the now sodden ground and its ability to hold tent pegs when it was now more liquid than solid. The sound I should add was at this point cacophonous, then the wind hit. The door of the van slid open and a tentative ‘Guys…’ emerged from Holly. ‘OK Hols, we have literally not seen a storm like this before’ - suddenly a light goes on behind us illuminating the tent from behind. I’m all like, damn, it's the campsite wardens asking us to evacuate, ‘let's head to the toilet block gang.’ We sprint across the maybe twenty feet from our pitch to the toilet block, from which literal sheets of water are pouring. There is no one from the campsite asking folk to evacuate, maybe our British fears of Australia haven’t quite been dealt with yet. We wait it out. Its three in the morning - Becca gives her family a ring and let them know whats up. We’re literally huddled together in the loos. I step outside occasionally trying to gauge if it's any worse or any better. Between the bullet like raindrops I can make our val and the tent withstanding the heavenly bombardment - nothing seems to have slipper or slumped yet. Slowly the thunder spits into two directions, I begin to count again and it seems to be getting further away, suddenly the rain is no longer lashing down, its merely steady and strong. My ears begin to detect thunder coming from two directions. I tell Becca and Holly that I reckon two stormfronts came in from different directions and collided literally over our heads, listen, boom from over by the pool, boom from over by the campsite entrance. Soon it was only a thunderclap every minute. We went back to bed and after a few moments of baited breath, fell back to sleep.

Two conversations were had with neighbours, both caravan owners,the following day. One served initially to ice the stomach and seize the heart, the next would defrost and make supple that vital muscle. ‘Oh yeah mate - that was a Queensland drizzle.’ The first mullet toting conversationalist threw our direction as they hauled leather armchairs out of the back of a Ute, a sort of Australian pickup truck but tricked out in the style of early noughties fast and the furious racer boy body worx, and into their capacious tin abode. ‘You must have shat yourselves last night, hey?’ ‘Yeah it was pretty nuts, do you think we’ll get that again’ ‘Awww yeah, it's the season for it mate’. My face drew a chuckle and I relayed the news to the ashen faces of Becca and Holly. You wouldn’t have thought that half an ocean was dropped on us from a height of 3000 feet last night but the campsite was already beginning to dry in the very hot heat of the morning. We breakfasted on sourdough toast and avocado - when will we get that mortgage - and pondered the next few weeks of more northerly expedition and the prospect of ever increasing odds of nightly runs to shelter in toilet blocks. The neighbours to our right then emerged with their granddaughters - ‘Hey guys - we saw you at about three last night legging it through that belter or a storm to the amenities block!?’ ‘Yeah it was pretty heavy and we haven’t seen a storm like that before’ ‘Yeah neither have we - and we’ve lived here for thirty years - nothing like it!’ ‘Oh really? Nothing like it, so that wasn’t run of the mill!?’ ‘No guys, you’ll be fine, its further North that you’ll get bad weather like that up around Cape Trib and Cairns, not round here - where you headed?’ ‘Airlie Beach?’ ‘Eh - should be fine! You did well running to that toilet block,we saw you from the caravan and wondered whether you were going to wash away!?’ I grimaced. However, with that resounding rebuttal of the earlier horrendous forecast we felt much relieved.

We decided to head into town and check out Hastings street and the main beach. We drove in, windows fully down trying to catch as much breeze as we could and were soon parked up in a side street up a hill from our destination. The car parks nearer were all full up and we couldn’t stomach a ridiculously priced parking ticket anyway. The walk down the hill under dappled shade was delightful and we were soon walking up and down a very trendy modern street filled with galleries, restaurants and cafes. We were hot and so when I spotted a large swirling bit a of graffiti proclaiming nitro ice cream and saw the insulated duers of my lab days being tentatively hefted by teenagers into spinning food processors filled with cream and crushed chocolate bars, I suggested we get an ice cream. For those who don’t know liquid nitrogen ice cream is the best ice cream in the world. Water forms crystals that have a special packing that makes solid water less dense than liquid water - hence icebergs. But if you cool it down quickly enough, it doesn’t have time to form this special shape. No time, no crystals. Therefore you get super smooth ice cream. Voluptuous, tongue coating, gorgeous ice cream. Liquid nitrogen is one such substance that can do this and be used in food prep, as it is very cold and literally boils back into gaseous nitrogen when it touches something room temperature. Its cheap, abundant and if the right sort of energy is used to make it, completely sustainable and green. Now another thing that you may or may not know about me is that I love a coke float, for the uninitiated, this is a glass of poison water (coca-cola), shout-out to Captain Fantastic, topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. However, here, in the land of the upside down, for some unfathomable reason, this delightful refreshing combo of soft drink and ice cream is called - wait for it - a Spider. Why!? Coke Float makes sense, the ice cream FLOATS on top of the COKE. It's even a partial rhyme! Spider. Maybe to put off europeans from ordering it? In any case we enjoyed the cold snacks in the shade of the awning and then made our way to the beach.

By this point the sun was swelteringly hot. I opted to sit by the wall of the boardwalk that backed the beach and Becca and Holly slapped bikinis and suncream on and descended to the sandy stretch proper. I love a good read and the shade is my friend. With a large Asian family on my left covered from head to toe in UV protective clothing passing a large bottle of Cola between themselves and a group of kids with scooters slurping slushies on my right, I dove into my book. And it got hotter. By the time I had blisters on my hands from the drive back to the campsite, the late mid afternoon heat had me beat. I dragged a camp chair over to the shade of the nearest wall and sat there sipping water, sweating profusely. A dim sound entered my thinking and Becca was stood next to me asking if I was OK. Early onset heat stroke was midstroke, one blisteringly hot finger poised delicately in the cleft between the two hemispheres of my brain radiating a throbbing heat - filled thud. We spent the rest of the day in the shade by the pool drinking icy water.

That night we found an absolute stunner of a Sunset River Cruise! We got a cheeky uber in with a dude who was British and raised in New Zealand and have lived in OZ for twenty years which had left him with a rather interesting accent which Becca and Holly picked up on straight away, I was left wondering at their aural sensitivity - the uber was so we could have a drink - and were soon aboard the Party Boat! I say party boat - imagine a strange mishmash between Italian restaurant, wooden rafters empty bottles and candles, crossed with a boat, portholes and metal walls, and Australia, wide brimmed hats, beers in styrofoam stubby holders and obligatory loud 80’s music pumping out of the speakers. We cruised down the river swigging G&T’s and watching the Kites swoop alongside us as someone tossed food for them overboard! They would hover above, wait for the toss and then catch the meat chunk before it hit the river! As we rounded the river bends we soon came to a very shallow basin bounded by mangroves and in the distance three mountains made a break in the otherwise flat horizon, behind one of these peaks the sun slowly settled. It was really quite good.

So - poised on the next trip up to Rockhampton, thence to Airlie Beach, I shall leave you at the end of this installment dear Reader!

Much Love,

Sam and Becca

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