#flat pack cabins wa

[writingwarden]

Red Christmas Dinner

Summary - The holidays were never good for Ghost.

[A/N: Sorry about formatting or any spelling errors. Writing and posting this on mobile. This is actually based on one of my own nightmares. ]

TW- Nightmares/ Knife wounds/ Past Abuse/ Panic attacks/ Canon Typical Violence

Word Count- 2,073

When Price had offered to let Ghost stay with him at his house he had been wary. He had already said no to the sergeant. Though, Price was the only one who knew what the holidays did to him; To Simon Riley. Ghost was used to just staying on base, hiding from everyone else and the festivities that take place in the last month of the year. But when Price had approached him, saying that Laswell and her wife were visiting with him and asked if he wanted to join, Ghost couldn't really say no. Especially after he turned the Scotsman down on visiting his sister with him. And he’d have to admit that it sounded much better than his usual haunting of the base.

After making sure everything was in place and he wouldn’t be called while on leave Ghost waited with his belongings in the motor pool for Price. He still was uneasy about staying with the captain but he told himself that Price had earned this trust from him. They wouldn’t be a very good task force otherwise. Price showed around ten minutes after him, declaring that it was time to load the SUV and hit the road. Price went to start the vehicle while Ghost loaded everything into the boot.

The ride from base was uneventful. Small talk and discussions of the latest drama between soldiers on base. Pt. Alenko and Pt. Williams would finally admit they liked each other eventually. Ghost thought there was no way they would because those two fought each other like a cat and dog but Price was sure of it. Ghost would say he had no interest when asked about any drama but in all reality, he lived for it. He was a nosy bastard at his core. [Soap and occasionally Gaz would spill the tea and he’d just sit there and listen.]

Him and Price had arrived at the house around 14:00. Ghost was surprised at the size of the house, after driving down a long driveway there sat a neat cabin style two story with a small flower garden up front. It fits the Captain he supposed. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he had one of those fancy stone grill set ups, he seemed like the type of man to have one. It was a sanctuary away from the chaos and stress of the job. It was a big improvement from the cheap flat that he lived in. Maybe one day he’d have a place just like this or maybe a secluded farm with a dog. He shook the thought from his head. It was foolish to think about the future in his profession. Hell, the next few hours were never guaranteed.

Opening the car door he made his way to the boot to grab his belongings. Two large suitcases filled to the brim with everything he owned. He could have left most of it in his room on base but he did not trust that no one would enter and steal. It had only taken him twenty minutes to pack all his things from his room. He wasn’t a materialistic person, opting to travel light. (In all reality he just didn’t want any objects that someone could possibly hold over his head.) And the fact it was a two month leave had also played part in his decisions. Closing the boot with his elbow he looked to see that Price had already started for the front door, keys jingling in his hand.

When they entered the house he took inventory of the space, committing it to detail. (Habit of the job, he would tell himself.) It was just as clean as the outside. A dining area with a bar separating the kitchen and the living room had a giant book shelf. Leading him up the stairs, Price had put him in one of the guest bedrooms, saying that he should make himself at home for the next two months. Ghost inspected the entirety of the room and after deciding it was safe, put his clothes in the dresser. He told himself to take a short nap before going to look around the house.

Of course his sleep was never peaceful. It was always something full of flashes from his past and taunting visions of gunshots and fire.

He awoke with a start, swinging his fist up as if ready to defend himself. Things were blurry and warm. Phantom flames licked at his arms. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The blinds of the window were open showing the start of an evening sky. He looked down at his phone which read 17:00. He had slept longer than intended. His stomach rumbled so he got up and started downstairs for the dining room; the smell of dinner enticing him to hurry. Reaching the dining room he saw that dinner was already laid out on the table for the group. Simon sat down at the dinner table directly across from Price, meaning Laswell was now on his left. Putting her wife on his right. Looking at the three he couldn't help but smile at the simplicity of it.

“Oh good, I was just about to come get you.” Price smiled at him but there was just something off with his voice, it sounded almost mocking? Simon decided to blame it on his brain still being sleep logged. The man turned back to Kate and continued on with their conversation.The food laid out in front of him, he swears it was a whole feast compared to his usual ramen or tv dinners that he’d just scarf down without tasting. It was nothing fancy, it was literally just chicken, mashed potatoes, and mixed veggies. In the middle of the table was a lit red candle. It was strange but he figured it was just one of those things Price did.

As he helped himself to the food on the table he could only make out bits and pieces of their words as a ringing in his ears started. He was no stranger to tinnitus, it comes with the explosiveness of the job. Starting in his left ear then spreading to his right it seemed to swallow him whole. His vision blurred again. He blinked rapidly to try and clear them. When that didn’t work he took his fists and rubbed both of them till he saw stars. Opening his eyes once more he let out a pained noise of surprise. No longer sat in front of him were the Laswells and Price but his deceased family. His father sat directly across from him. His mother and brother Tommy were now on either side of him.

His father smiled cruelly at him. Simon forced his eyes shut and when he opened them Price was back in front of him. Nothing had changed until he blinked again. Once again it was his family in front of him, the food on the table was in slight disarray. His mother looked at him and smiled wide.

With each rapid blink the two scenes switched with each other. Price and the Laswells continued as if nothing was happening but his family moved in each scene. His family's food rotted and became a huge mess as his father knocked things off and around the table. The red candle dwindled every scene, the flame growing with a paranormal rate. At one point his mother stood with her hand on his fathers shoulder, looking at him with a full tooth grin, it was sweet while his father hurled words of hate at him. For what reason he couldn’t guess. He couldn’t take it anymore, screaming for his father to stop, to calm down. His father only got louder drowning out his pleas. The flame grew and spread, the shadows closing in on him.

Hands on his shoulders. Tommy, he didn’t even see him get up, was grabbing at Simon’s shoulders and began to shake him hard. Simon could hear his name being called faintly but his brother's lips weren’t moving. He fought against his brother's memory who smiled sadly. A hand appeared behind his brother and dragged a knife across his throat. Blood spilled onto Tommy’s chest and arms, running down and leaking onto Simon’s back. The sad smile remained.

“SIMON! SIMON COME ON WAKE UP!”

Wake up? What did that mean? He felt rough hands on him, no longer his brother’s small grip.

“Simon, come on, it's Price! You’re at my house, you're safe!” Price? Right, he was at the captain's house for the holidays. For this exact reason.

He shot up and the hands let go of him. He pushed his back to the head board, his face felt hot and his eyes burned. The shapes in front of him were blurred, was he crying? He reached up to cover his face and his question was answered. He had been crying in his sleep, fuck. Someone was still talking to him, peeking through his fingers he saw both Price in front of him and Laswell in his doorway.

“Hey Simon look at me,” he looked at Price’s concerned face, “Yeah that’s it. Can you talk?” Ghost shook his no, not trusting his own voice he signed at Price, “Hurts.” Which was the truth. His throat was raw, he felt like he had spent hours screaming. Fuck maybe he had based on the worried faces around him. Price’s expression softened slightly, “That’s completely fine, do you know where you are?”

Simon looked around the room. “Your house, December 19th, my name is Simon Riley.” He knew what questions would come next so he answered them. Price smiled softly at him and from the corner of his eye he saw Kate unfold her arms and leave. She would come back with a water bottle and by then Ghost had gotten done grounding himself back into reality. He thanked her and drank the water. He sounded hoarse even to himself.

She looked at him and started, “We’re not going to force you to talk, however if you want to we are here for you. Do you want to sit at the table with us for dinner,” Ghost shook his head rapidly, “Alright, alright, we can eat in the living room then.” Price nodded his head in agreement and stood up slowly. This wasn’t the captain’s first time waking Simon from a nightmare. He knew how to deal with his soldiers' PTSD episodes. Simon would have to get him a gift for dealing with all of this.

After making sure that he would be okay to be alone for a few minutes, the pair left to fix dinner while he gathered himself. He made his way to the bathroom across the hall. Splashing his face with cold water he took time to take in his reflection. His face was splotchy and red from his crying and he had bitten his bottom lip open. He looked a mess with his hair sticking up in every direction. But it was okay, He’d pull himself together by the fraying wires that made him and move on with his life. Just as he always did. Although he felt as if his superiors downstairs would have questions. He’d try to answer them but some things are just not meant to be discussed.

Entering the bedroom he was given he looked at his phone on the dresser, picking it up and there were messages from Johnny. One said he had finally landed in his hometown and to call him whenever Ghost got the chance. The next one was a message with a picture attached to it.

Johnny- This bastard has already attempted my life

Johnny- [image] :(

The photo below it was of a big rooster with some hens surrounding it. Simon laughed quietly. Soap would sometimes go on about the “vicious feathery fuck” that his sister kept has a gardian for the other chickens and how he wished she would just let him fry it already.

Me- Maybe this is the year his terror ends

He got a response almost instantly,

Johnny- unfortunately not LT

Ghost sent a smiley face and turned his phone back off, heading down the stairs for the living room. A quick glance at the dining table comforted him. There was no red candle; no dead from the past to scream and bare their teeth at him.

[cassandrajoybellbittner]

*Warning Adult Content*

MARKING EACH OTHER - Chapter 17

Alek

There was something about the way Ahote was pacing about the room that made me nervous, he would walk around in circles in front of the bed, pause as stare at the wall and maybe give me a smile if he caught my eyes before repeating the odd behavior again.

I didn't know what he was pacing but whatever it was certainly bothered him, it was around eight at night and a good chunk of the wolves had left the pack house for their own cabins and flats across the pack grounds.

I could still hear some kids playing from the open window as they ran past it, their laughs and shouts occasionally filled the small room that had once belonged to Honon and that was now mine.     

Ahote stopped in his tracks before running his fingers through his hair as he looked from the walls to the floor. he nibbled his bottom lip like he did when he was deep in thought, before turning to lock eyes with me.

It was sudden, so my eyes widened from surprise, he gave me a soft smile before walking over to the bed I was sitting on.     

"I've been thinking," he started, taking the space beside me on the bed before picking at the wool of the blanket on top of it.   

"I noticed," I muttered and he smiled again, I mirrored it, not sure if it was one of good news or bad news, I just wanted Ahote to get whatever that was troubling him off his chest,

The omega looked away from me again but he scooted closer to me before taking a hold of my arm and resting his head on my shoulder. it was a calming gesture and it made me less worried about what he had to say to me.     

The laughter and yelling of the kids completely died down when the sound of a woman shouting over theirs made them go pin silent. it seemed like they were being shooed off to bed, the absence of their noise made the room go completely silent.

Ahote hadn't said anything yet, he was putting pressure on my arm by tightening his grip and then untightening it, as I wondered about what was in his mind, I let myself rest my head on his too.

"You're staying here right?"     

I groaned, rolling my eyes at his words.

"Of course," I answered, not needing any more detail about what he was talking about.

For the past week, Ahote would randomly ask me if I was planning to stay in the pack, he did it everywhere, in the kitchen, in the bathroom, when we were lying down side by side... everywhere.

I wondered why he kept asking me this, I've communicated my feelings about this before, he was making it seem like he was the one waiting for me to make up my mind and not the other way around.     

"That's if I'm allowed to," I added, remembering that it wasn't a guarantee, I could want to stay here but that didn't mean the pack elders would let me.

The construction up North was still going on and it didn't look like it would end anytime soon but what would happen if it did end at one point and I was asked to leave?

I couldn't do anything about that, that wasn't within my control.     

"I know, I know," Ahote mumbled, raising his head from my shoulder before creating some space between us, his brown eyes were giving me a determined look and it seemed like he was on the verge of finally telling me what was going on in his head.

"I just wanted to be sure before I asked my question," he muttered as his eyes fell on the space between us.

"I don't think it's a secret that we want to be with each other," he started, finding the will to look back at me again.

"But I'm not sure why it seems so hard to ask if you'd like to get bound to me. Like tied... I'm not sure what you call it where you're from," he muttered as his tan skin caught a bit of color, it took a while for me to figure out what he was saying, but when it clicked my face warmed up too.

"Like a marriage," I said in a low voice and Ahote licked his lips, nodding his head slowly and making the stands of his long hair fall over his face like a thin curtain. 

"Is that taking things too far?" he asked softly, and I wasn't sure how to answer him.

"We're not mates but I don't think that matters in a decision like that, does it?" it seemed like he was asking me the question, rather than it being rhetorical, did it matter?

I wasn't sure, I knew getting tied was something mates did when they decided to start a family, though it wasn't a mate exclusive thing, I've known people whose mates have died getting bound to new people after some time. 

"I don't think that's taking things too far," I said.

"That's what I want. Someone to love. Someone to start a family with and of course, I want that someone to be you. Do you think it's taking things too far?" I asked, reminding him that he was the one with the options here, he was the one with a mate, he was the one that would carry any sort of burden attached to this. 

The look on his face told me that he was conflicted, I reached out to brush the hair away from his face and my heart became full from simply staring at his slim face and full lips, he was glowing slightly and it made me wonder if he would be on heat soon.     

"Can I ask you a question?" Ahote asked in a low tone as I brushed his cheek with the base of my thumb.

Even the freckles he got from heat damage when working in the garden sat well with his face, e looked amazing, he always looked amazing and for a slight second, I forgot we were in the middle of a conversation.     

"Can I?" he repeated, making me realize that I had forgotten to answer him.     

"Sure," I muttered in a soft voice, leaning in to steal a kiss before pulling away.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself," I apologized, licking my lips.

I watched Ahote's eyelids flutter and soon his gaze was on my lips, then my chest and then on his hands that he had nested in his lap.

"Do you love me?" I wasn't sure why the question surprised me but it did, I blinked back a few times and pulling away from him before facing forward and staring at the red brick walls.

"Yes, I do. I thought that was as plain as day?" I said, realizing that even though those where the feelings I had within me, I'd never properly expressed them verbally.     

"I love you," I said as I turned to face him.

"I'm saying it now. I love you," I repeated reaching for one of his hands before giving it a soft squeeze, his hands weren't soft like in the winter.

They had a rough texture like that of someone who worked a lot, which was the case now that we were in the middle of spring but his fingers were lean and those were the fingers that touched my skin and made my heart race when they teased my body or latched on to me playfully.   

"Do you? Do you love me?" I asked, watching as Ahote's eyes grew wide.

To be honest, it wasn't something I thought about, I had just put two and two together over the course of our time together but it seemed like it was something he thought about a lot because my question made him nervous and he didn't seem like he was able to meet my gaze.     

"Y-yes," he managed, finding his voice, his words made the edge of my lips tug up in a smile, it was so wide and almost painful, even.

I reached out to take his other hand, before giving it a soft squeeze as well.     

"Won't you look at me?" I asked, noticing that he wouldn't still meet my gaze. 

"I'm a little overwhelmed," he mumbled and I chucked.     

"That's alright," I said, pulling him towards me before hugging him to my chest.

Elan was sleeping alone in Ahote's room, he had passed out after having me make cups of hot chocolate for him.

For whatever reason, it fascinated him and I only stopped because I got scolded by one of the housekeepers who told me chocolate made the cubs sick.     

We stayed like that for a bit, hugging each other in the room lit by the orange glow of cheap fluorescence bulbs, Ahote stirred and I loosened my grip a bit so that he had some space to adjust.

He took the chance to sit up a bit, staring at me with a small smile before catching my lips with his, we kissed for a while, his soft tongue finding its way in my mouth.

He'd gotten better at kissing, at touching and allowing himself to enjoy the moment, it had taken a while for him to open up to the extent where he didn't seem scared of his own urges or scared of me and mine.

I realized that whatever had happened on that night he got pregnant and had sex for the first time must have deterred him, tthe thoughts about Honon didn't allow me to melt into the kiss as I had wanted to, I ended up breaking it, before getting off the bed and heading towards the closet.     

"Did I do something wrong?" I heard Ahote ask as I went through the closet to find what I was looking for.     

"No, I just remembered something that I should have shown you a long time ago," I muttered, finding the box of books, pictures, and stray exam papers.     

"For Honon," I said, turning to face him with the box I had in my hand, he looked perplexed but once I walked over to the bed and dropped it on the mattress Ahote got a better look at its contents.

He let out something that was a cross between a sob and a whine and for a minute I wondered if it was a good idea to have brought it out, he must have known it was there or did he just never check?     

"Should I put it back?" I asked, noticing how Ahote was staring at the cardboard box like it was a mail from Hades.     

"No. I just... I don't know," he mumbled under his breath, pulling his fingers as he looked from the box to me, and then at the box.

"I don't want to look at her," he muttered, making me realize he must have noticed who his mate left him for.     

After some thought, I walked over to Ahote before taking a seat beside him at the edge of the bed. 

"She's really pretty," I muttered.

"Yes," he said, agreeing with me in a matter of fact tone.     

"Does that make you upset?" I asked, scooting closer to him until our thighs were touching through the fabric of our pants, Ahote sighed, leaning forward before covering his face with his hands.   

"Before," he muttered.   

"What about now?" I asked and he seemed to hesitate for a bit before saying...

"I don't know."     

I hummed to myself before stretching behind him to pull the box to my side, I picked up the stack of pictures at the top before going through them myself.

"Are you sure you don't want to look?" I asked and Ahote raised his head a bit peeking at me from the space between his fingers.   

"Why should I?"   

"If you're jealous of her doesn't that mean you still like Honon?" I asked and Ahote sat still as if he had just realized something.     

"I haven't really thought about him that way in a long while..." he trailed and I nodded.

It made sense, the few times we've slept together would have weakened their bond to a mere tinge, I wasn't sure if it could be completely broken but while talking to Lupa he'd given me a reason to believe it was possible and it would just vanish over time. 

"Or you could just mark him to make the process faster."     

I swallowed down, blinking back when I remembered his words as we were crouched over the dead moose the hunters had just shoot down.

Marking was a sign of property claim, ownership and marking something that has already been marked was like stealing and it was sometimes it was seen as an outright challenge to ownership.

That was why the rogue pack in the town over clashed so much with the Peace River pack so much, they went around marking already claimed territory, it was a similar concept from where I was from.     

"She's very pretty," Ahote's words brought me out of my thoughts, I hadn't noticed when I decided to look at the pictures I had in my hand.     

"But you know..." Ahote started, sitting up.

"It doesn't bother me. I don't care," he said and I looked at him, staring at the part of his neck where his shirt hung low and exposed his collar bone, I had an urge to reach out and touch it, I wanted to kiss him there, bite him there.   

"Is something the matter?" he asked and I nodded being honest.     

"What is it?" he asked, cocking his head as if giving me a proper look would make him understand what was going on in my head.     

"You asked me if I wanted to get bound to you and I said yes," I started and Ahote nodded, showing me that he was following.

"If I asked to mark you, would you say yes?" I asked and Ahote seemed taken aback, he reached out for his neck were the fading pierce mark Honon had given him sat.

To a human, they looked like two fading chicken pox scars but to wolves, it meant so much more, it was only second to binding bracelets.     

"Yes," he said after a while, letting go of his neck.

"I'd say yes. I'm saying yes," he muttered, nodding to himself as he pulled down his shirt a bit.

"You can do it now."   

I wanted to do it but I didn't want it to be rushed.

I took off my shirt before reaching out to tug the hems of Ahote's and he got the message and took his off too, I leaned in to kiss him, letting my hand run down his chest as we deepened the warm kiss.

As we sighed and mewled into each other's mouths we moved into the bed more and somehow knocked over the cardboard box filled with Honon's things. 

I pulled away from Ahote to remove my pants and underwear, before helping him out of his, we stayed in bed, touching, kissing and staring at each other.

I moved to spoon Ahote, kissing down his neck and shoulder as I let my hand travel to cup between his legs, as he moaned and bucked, I took the opportunity to press my emerged canines on his neck, his skin tensed against my teeth and I could feel his pulse, he was nervous.     

"Do it, what are you waiting for?" he asked in a coarse tone as his hand reached out to rest over the one, I had between his legs.

"I'll be fine."     

With a little hesitance, I pressed down and Ahote let out a cry, I stayed put for a bit, as he spazzed and tried to get used to the pain.

When he had calmed down a bit, I drew out my teeth before coaxing the wounds I had created with saliva.     

I turned Ahote around so that he could face me, his face was wet, meaning that he had probably shed a few tears from the pain and he was still shaking.     

"I'm sorry," I muttered, not knowing how to control the dread inside me at having to see the man I was in love with, in pain because I was being a little selfish.     

"It's fine," he muttered but the way he shivered as if recalling the pain didn't allow me to believe him.     

"You should mark me too... if you want," I said pulling him closer to me.

His head was resting on my shoulder and it just seemed like the right time, he nodded against my shoulder, pressing a kiss to it before biting down.     

It wasn't painless but it wasn't as painful as I thought it would be, I guess I can simply withstand more because I've encountered much worse from hunting parties gone wrong.   

When Ahote withdrew his teeth and licked over the wound I felt them close a bit and my chest was filled with happiness from the fact that what those scars were would be recognizable from tomorrow morning.     

I think Ahote was tired because he slept after that but I couldn't sleep, the way my heart was pounding in my chest wouldn't let me.

Ahote was mine and even if Honon showed up today, I wouldn't give him back.

[whump-captain]

Approach, part 1

And now for something completely different!

Meet Ethan, a research meteorologist who, following a strange atmospheric anomaly, finds himself stranded on a remote sub-Arctic island. He quickly comes across a mystery much deeper than he expected and finds himself very far over his head...

Febuwhump is coming up so i wanna give myself some more variety in themes and such. It's going to have some lab whump, lots of torture, captivity, a reluctant caretaker and, as usual, some paranormal shenanigans.

---

CN: environmental whump, bleeding, head injury, broken bone, manhandling, kidnapping

---

He almost didn't find it. The sun was setting so quickly and the temperature had dipped so sharply that Ethan was minutes away from turning back and retreating to the cabin to escape the freezing cold. But when he slipped out of the thicket of naked trees towards what, from a distance, looked like a small clearing, it was not a meadow that greeted him.

He came to the edge of an overhanging cliff. Ahead and below, almost like a crater, spread a giant oval of flat ground, barren even of the cracks and boulders that had marred the landscape until then. The forest cut off abruptly around it and not a single spiky weed had managed to make it past the clearly man-made line. Also artificial was the smoothness of the ground itself; the snow on it was packed densely, slick in places with patches of ice. It cast glittering reflections of not only the sun, but also the dozens of stark white LED lights that drew out a huge rectangle on the north side of the clearing, each of them spiked into the snow on top of a short rod. Beyond their perimeter, there was a clear, sudden drop. The angle made it impossible to see past it but it immediately called to mind a roof of some massive, flat building.

Ethan stood still, trying to fit what he was seeing into the ever-expanding puzzle of this island. From the moment he'd stepped off of his boat, everything he had come across just raised more and more questions, seemingly less and less related to the anomaly he had come here to investigate in the first place. The tunnels, the ruins, the abandoned cabin he'd made camp in - none of it connected.

At least not yet. Maybe whatever this structure was would shed some light on things - if he could get down to it. There was a coil of rope back at the cabin that seemed strong enough to hold his weight. If he tied it to one of the trees, he could abseil down the side of the cliff and then, possibly, use it to get back up if it was long enough. He took a careful step and peered over the edge, down the jagged, rocky slope.

Snow crunched under his boot. But a new, unfamiliar sound layered on top of it; softer but much more threatening.

The ground crumbled. For a heartbeat, Ethan's stomach tightened with fear.

Then he had no time to feel anything.

He crashed down with an avalanche, flailing wildly. Freefall forced blood to his head, dirt and debris rained around him. Something slammed into his back. He cried out but right away sudden impact knocked the remaining breath out of him. The ground didn't stop his fall; the steep slope broke away into loose boulders and he tumbled down with them, sharp edges catching his coat as hit after hit lit up pain all over his body. On instinct, he thrust out his arm to catch himself. He miscalculated.

It cracked under him. The burst of pain dimmed everything around him, he gasped a breath to scream but then the ground met him like a wall of white. For what felt like a split second, the world went blank.

Outside of Ethan's empty mind, time trickled by. He lay prone among the jagged remains of the slope, half-buried in the debris that fell with him. Blood flowed freely onto the rocks from a gash on his forehead, dripping onto the cracked lens of his glasses that miraculously still clung to his dust-flaked face. His faltering breaths came as short puffs of vapor that faded quickly into the sharp air.

Awareness returned to him in a similar way, blurring in from the dark blink by blink until it settled into a painful focus. He couldn't help a quiet groan as a deep, throbbing ache spread across his whole body like a wave swirling around every bruised and battered part of him. He couldn't feel his left arm, it was like some awful weight was pinning it down. With effort, he shifted to push himself up.

Pain shot through him like current and tore a short cry out of his throat. It closed around him like a vice, crawling up from his forearm where something inside felt wrong, as if the bone grew twice the size and was trying to push its way out. Ethan gasped, sipping in air so cold it stabbed into his lungs like needles.

A shiver came over him. Wind bit into his face and he had to blink to clear stinging tears from his eyes. He could only see out of the left one and his heart skipped a beat in a lurch of panic - but no, there was no damage. Just snow and blood sticking to his glasses, obscuring the view. It felt like lifting a mountain to raise his good hand and wipe at the lens. It struck him right away how dark it had gotten in the short time he was dazed and once again a pit opened in his stomach. He had to move. He'd freeze to death here if he didn't get up and move. But his whole body hurt, something weighed down on his back and even though his legs weren't pinned, they still wouldn't obey him. Pain pulsed in his shoulder blade, where the rock had hit him, and spread all the way down his right arm to fill it with burning needles. And using his left was out of the question. Even thinking about moving it and shifting the broken bone made him feel nauseated. Both that fear and the cold sent him shivering again and he had to grit his teeth to stop them from chattering.

The sharp wind hissed again. But underneath it, there was another sound, like a bass drum filling out the hollow air. Crunching.

Snow under footsteps.

Ethan's heart jumped up to his throat. In the dark fog ahead, motion gathered into a stain of pitch black and then, as it grew and got closer, split into distinct silhouettes. He couldn't get enough air into his shaking body to call out; his voice came out as barely a wheeze. Despite that, a sudden line of light sliced the fog and swept over the ground to land straight onto him. Even though it made him wince, he couldn't help the relief that flooded him like melting ice. He strained to reach out towards his saviours: four angular figures in arrow formation, two of which separated to circle him. The frontmost figure stepped closer and the fog clung to it as it reclaimed its features from the dark.

It was a man, strongly built and clad in a white uniform that barely stood out from the snow. The military vest he wore made him look even broader, with pockets and equipment dangling from the straps that criss-crossed it, and the very front of it a grey camo panel half-concealed a handgun.

The beam of his flashlight fell onto Ethan's face and made him flinch. Beyond it, the man once again became a vague figure, looming over him like a cliff. Ethan took in a breath, half gasping and half trying to speak, when the light shifted as the man crouched down. His hand took on colour again as he reached out and grabbed Ethan by the hair.

"Picked the wrong way to sneak in, didn't you?" he said.

Ethan's throat tightened and his voice came out strained. "I wasn't-" he gasped when the man yanked his head up. "I'm just looking for-"

"Congratulations, you found it." A sardonic smile graced the man's pale, weathered face. "And you're the first spy who did, so good job."

"What? I'm not-" Ethan had to swallow suddenly. A new kind of cold settled in his stomach, heavier than the rocks on top of him. "I'm not a spy. I'm just a researcher."

The man pursed his lips and titled Ethan's head to the side, as if examining him. Then he shifted his grip. His thumb fell onto the slowly bruising cut above Ethan's eyebrow and he pressed down hard. Ethan screamed, the pain pierced his skull like a needle. The man pulled his head back again and Ethan choked on his voice as the sudden tension seized his throat. He convulsed, trying to get away from the burning pressure but the grip on his hair held like iron. More tears stung his eyes and blurred his vision back into fog.

"I'll find out what you are. Don't you worry," said the man and shoved Ethan's head back down onto the rocks. Ignoring his gasping, he stood up and gestured to the other uniformed figures. "Dig him out," he ordered. "Standard intruder protocol and keep a gun to his head just in case." He turned to Ethan again and gave him another tight-lipped, reptilian smile.

"Better think of some interesting stories now," he said. "Because you and I are going to have a long talk."

[ieattaperecorders]

Chrysalis

How much would Martin be willing to turn his back on in order to keep the one he loves? One possible outcome of Jon's will-he-won't-he (become an eldritch abomination) arc. A bit longer, probably easier to read on Ao3. Spoilers up to MAG 163. 

Read it on Ao3. 

Things like day and night didn’t really exist anymore, Martin knew that. But the quality of light from the sky -- slate-gray, cold and impenetrable -- made it feel like early dawn, which seemed as good a time as any to set out.

He shifted the lightweight bag on his shoulders. It was kind of nice that they didn’t need to load up on food, he supposed. Made the packing easier. Jon stood nearby, staring up at the endless gray with a blank expression on his face. There was a second bag slung over his shoulder beside the one Martin had packed, holding the tapes and statements. He’d refused to leave them behind.

Martin took out the safehouse keys and paused, hand halfway to the door, as he realized what he was doing.

“You know, I was just about to lock up,” he said, turning to Jon with a wry smile. “Isn’t that ridiculous? What am I worried about, someone coming in to rob our creepy cabin that eats people? Steal the silverware that’s probably alive and evil?”

Jon turned from the sky and smiled fondly at him. “If anyone did break in, they’d likely just settle inside and never leave.”

“Yeah.” Martin sighed, looking back at the cabin. “Shame burning didn’t work. You were right about that one.”

“It’s not made of wood and stone anymore.” Jon said. “It’s a part of this world, now. It doesn’t need to worry about fire.”

“I know it’s just just one place out of countless others and all. . . still wish there was something we could do. I mean, someone could stumble across it, couldn’t they?”

“I don’t know, Martin. I don’t know if anyone’s likely to be in a state to make it here.” Jon said. “But if someone did, they’d probably know not to trust anything that looks like safety.”

“Very cheerful.”

“Sorry. I did mean for that to be reassuring.” Jon mumbled. Something silver-bright flashed in his gaze for a moment. “At any rate, I - I don’t think you have to worry. It’s not for anyone else.”

“It’s not . . . sorry, what?”

“It’s our nightmare.” Jon said quietly, looking at it as if seeing it for the first time. He walked to the door and placed a hand flat against it. “My fear of losing you turned into a cloying lie of protection. Your fear of watching me . . . .” his voice went quiet. “. . . Decay. In my despair, in that room. The love we have for each other no longer something in which either of us can take comfort.”

He lowered his hand and turned back to Martin conclusively. “It’s for us. It’s what the safehouse was for us in our darkest moments. I don’t think anyone else would even see it.”

“You’re talking like it was made for us.” Martin said after a moment of silence.

“It was, in a sense. Shaped around us. Like mold growing over an old mask, taking the form of a human face.”

Jon turned away from the cabin and walked towards the path. On impulse Martin put a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“I’m scared too,” Martin said. “But we have a plan, and we have each other.”

Jon smiled sadly at him, needing only the barest prompting to nestle himself into Martin’s arms. He held him for a while, breathing deeply.

“I’m not afraid of anything out there.” Jon said softly. “Not directly. I’m just . . . scared I’ll lose you to it.”

“You won’t.” Martin said, and it felt like the truth. “I know, I know, there’s untold dangers and horrors the likes of which I can’t imagine, etcetera. But you’ll be there when I have to sleep, and I’ll be with you the rest of the time. And if something separates us, then we’ll just have to fight until we get back to one another.”

Jon nodded, then glanced back at the unchanged sky. “And. . .if I. . .lose myself?”

Martin was quiet for a while, unsure how to answer that. Then he gave Jon’s hand a squeeze, and smiled.

“If you do, I’ll come and find you. Bring you back,” he said. “Just like you did when I was lost.”

And oh, the smile on Jon’s face when he said that. It gave off a warmth that spread and spread until it covered Martin like a ray of real sunlight. If he could still make Jon smile like that, he could do anything.

“You know what I really want to see?” Martin asked.

“. . .What?”

“The look on Elias’s face when we kick down his door.”

Jon laughed, a sharp, loud noise of surprise and genuine mirth, and grinned. “Oh yes. I’m looking forward to that one as well.”

Martin kissed Jon’s hand and lowered it to his side, fingers twining with his. The two of them turned with purpose toward a path that once led to a village, which once had people, in what once was the world.

* * *

The journey would be the journey, according to Jon. Martin could accept that . . . mostly. He at least accepted that walking was the only way to get there. Even if he had been planning to dig his heels in on that, he’d have changed his mind after that road with all the abandoned cars. Too many of them had teeth.

It was just . . . the Beholding had never given Jon useful information before. No warnings about people who were coming after him, or knowledge about what happened to Sasha. Certainly not anything about what Elias was really up to. But it wouldn’t have given him that, would it? No. It would have hid that information, just like it hid the way to quit the Institute. So what did that say about the fact it was now telling him how to reach the tower? Either it wanted them there or . . . maybe it wanted them to go through everything in between. Throw themselves at all this horror, for its own pleasures and purposes.

Martin didn’t suggest turning around, though. A chance to confront Elias and find a way back was worth the risk of feeding the Eye, and besides, where else would they go? Regardless of the sinister force behind it, Jon’s insight continued to guide them across one nightmare after another.

It was while they were were traveling one of the empty spaces between when Jon stopped in his tracks, inhaling sharply. Martin stopped a pace later.

“What is it?”

Jon hesitated, swallowed and shook his head. “It’s. I’m all right.”

“Jon.”

“It’s just . . . a lot. Loud.” Jon muttered. “It will get worse the closer we go to what once was London . . . there were fewer people in the countryside.”

“Do you need a minute?” Martin frowned, concern edging into his voice.

“Yes. No.” Jon shook his head and resumed walking. “I think it’s better to keep moving. Standing in place just makes the moment longer, you know?”

“Just pace yourself, all right?” Martin followed.

Jon shrugged at him. “It’s not really something I can stop.”

They continued on, through forests of mirrors that they knew better than to let themselves reflect in. Through storms that went from rain to ice to shards of glass. Through tunnels they found themselves in after open countryside with no transition, like travel in a dream. They held hands and navigated the darkness by touch and by each others voices, and walked on.

* * *

Their bodies didn’t tire in the same way, but rest was still needed if only as respite from everything else. They tried to pick spots that were quiet and gave them room to run. At one point they settled in an empty place beside a road they’d been walking down. When Martin tried letting go of Jon’s hand to remove his jacket, Jon’s grip on him tightened.

“Don’t let go of me. Please,” he muttered. “Not while we’re stopped here.”

Martin paused. “Is switching hands okay?”

Jon nodded. Martin took the strap off his right shoulder, then took Jon’s right hand before shrugging off the left strap, slipping the bag off without breaking contact. He moved Jon’s hand to his knee while he removed his coat and folded it into the bag. As long as there was some physical connection, Jon seemed all right with it.

“What’s different about here?” Martin asked as he did this.

Jon frowned. “Don’t look directly at it, but. . . to your left. Have you noticed?”

Martin continued looking straight ahead, but let a little attention drift to his periphery. A few yards away from them there was something . . . off. He couldn’t tell if it was the color of the sky, or something about the ground, or the few bits of plant life that grew there, but something was wrong in an undefinable way. If there was one thing he could identify it was that the crooked, leafless tree near the horizon was the same one he’d been seeing in the corner of his eye for hours, and their distance from it hadn’t changed. The landscape was following them.

“I’ve noticed . . . something,” he said. “Didn’t really make note of it, I guess. Because there’s always something?”

“The Unknowing is strong there.” Jon said. “We may have to go through it eventually, but for now it’s keeping its distance. Oh. Try not to think directly at it either.”

“What does ‘think directly’ m--oh, dammit.” Martin winced as a wave of disorientation his his mind, momentarily blurring his thoughts and making his pulse race. “Jon. . .you know that when you tell someone not to think about something--”

“They immediately think about it.” Jon grimaced. “I’m sorry, I should’ve thought--”

“It’s all right, it’s all right. . .I’m fine, really.”

Don’t think about pink elephants. Martin told himself, and images of pink elephants tumbled into his mind. He focused on not thinking about that for a while, only half-considering the landscape to the left as he did so.

“So . . . should we be staying here?” he asked. “Is it -- well, I won’t ask if it’s dangerous, but do you think it’s more dangerous than everything else is? Or about the same?’

“The latter, most likely.” Jon said. “I just don’t want to lose sight of you. It’s still something of a . . . blind spot for me. I don’t want to risk not being able to find you if anything separates us.”

Martin wondered if Jon was being overprotective in thinking that an instant without constant physical contact could result in something swooping in to pull him away, or if Martin was being complacent in thinking that wouldn’t happen. He supposed it didn’t matter. Either way, he didn’t mind.

“Are you all right here?” Martin frowned. “I mean, if the Unknowing is, ah, bad for you . . . .”

“It’s sort of a relief, actually.” Jon’s brow knit. “I think it’s having some dampening effect on the Watcher. It makes everything softer. Quieter.”

“Really . . . .” Martin resisted the impulse to look or think closer at what they were talking about. They weren’t talking about anything. Not anything other than pink elephants, which he was still steadily avoiding thoughts of. “Should we try skirting a little closer to it? I mean, if it’s not more dangerous than any other place . . . maybe being near it would actually be good?”

A breeze blew in from Martin’s left, carrying noise on the wind. He heard the faint groan of a calliope and two whispering voices. They didn’t sound entirely like Tim and Sasha. But they also didn’t sound unlike them enough. He could tell from the expression on Jon’s face that he was hearing them too.

“Let’s not.” Jon said.

Martin nodded. “Yeah. Let’s not.”

* * *

There were close calls. They’d been prepared for danger, but preparation only gives you so much. When one fell the other could grab them and dig in their heels, they could run from waves of screaming flesh or burn back things that slithered from behind walls. But there was always more, and the dangers were never simple. And every time something got too near or gripped too hard for Martin to pull away, Jon was quick to put himself in front of it. He’d pin it with an unnatural gaze, eyes wide, teeth grinding in concentration and pain until something intangible was ripped away and they could resume running.

Martin should have been more afraid for himself. He knew he was vulnerable in a way Jon wasn’t. When the grass beneath their feet twisted into patterns so mesmerizing that Martin didn’t notice it was winding around him, Jon kept him walking. When something made Martin forget the world had ended, forget that they weren’t back in London during a time when everything seemed gentler, Jon shouted the truth at him until Martin believed it. Jon saw which parts of the ground were real and which ones shouldn’t be stepped on. Even the things that jumped out of the shadows with teeth and claws seemed to have more interest in Martin.

But he knew Jon was vulnerable too, in a different way. He was always ready to use his power to protect Martin, but it wasn’t really his power, was it? He directed and channeled it, sure. But it was the Watcher that was reaching through him, and Martin didn’t forget that.

One frightened morsel of humanity probably didn’t mean much to the Eye in a world that was nothing but food. Though Martin wasn’t safe from it, he doubted it had any special interest in him. But it had intent where Jon was concerned. It wanted something from him. Even after everything it had taken from the man Martin loved, Beholding was still hungry for more. Each time Jon drew on it, Martin swore he took a little bit longer to look back at him. He was certain the hollows in Jon’s face had been getting darker, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him blink.

So he did what he could. He kept the axe close and used it as best as he was able. He stayed alert. When something with long, ropey limbs and a face like an inside-out deer emerged from the hillside and wrapped itself around him, he tried not to panic. And when Jon jumped in and stilled it with a look Martin wriggled out of its tendrils, grabbed Jon around the waist, and ducked through a crevice in the rock wall.

With a loud scraping noise, the stone slid closed behind them - trapping the monster outside but plunging them into darkness. Martin groaned internally. Leaping from one danger into the teeth of another was starting to get so commonplace as to be tedious. He could feel Jon’s hands gripping his arm tight enough that he was sure there’d be bruises later, though he stayed completely silent.

Martin yanked the torch out of his backpack pocket and clicked it on, mentally crossing his fingers. The batteries were just lumps of matter - the torch worked when it wanted to, didn’t when it didn’t. But today it was cooperating, and its beam lit up the cavern around them. It was small, but not quite ‘pressing down from all sides’ small, which was good. It seemed for the moment that they were alone, which was also good. It also seemed that there was no way in or out, which was not as good. Martin tried to ignore the tight feeling in his chest, as if the air wasn’t quite enough to fill it.

“Okay. Well. I don’t think it can get in here. . . .” Martin said, flicking the light around the chamber. “Maybe we--”

The beam passed across Jon’s face. His eyes reflected it like a cat’s, which barely even registered as ‘weird’ anymore. But for a moment in the dark of the cave, there were more than two lights looking back. At least a dozen eyes glinted from the shadows around Jon, and Martin’s arm jumped in surprise. When the light returned it was just Jon’s own eyes watching him, blinking and squinting in the flashlight’s beam.

“S-sorry.” Martin angled the torch back towards the cave wall.

“Mmmhmm.” Jon rubbed his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m all right. Are you?”

“Yes. . .I think so.” Jon looked around the chamber. “I don’t see anything else in here. . .”

“You mean see, or see?” Martin asked, trying to make it sound like a joke.

“Either.”

“Hmm.” Martin moved the light around more methodically, in case he’d missed an exit or a tunnel the first time. Nothing. “Doesn’t look like there’s any way out. At least I’m not claustrophobic.”

The second he said that, he could feel the chamber shrink a little around him.

“Had to say it, didn’t you?” Jon smiled ruefully.

Martin winced. “I should just stop talking.”

“I wouldn’t like that.” Jon said.

“Are you okay?” Martin frowned. “I mean. . .after the coffin. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was getting to you. . . .”

“There isn’t a fear I’m not marked by in some way.” Jon’s voice was grim. “That was the whole point. But I’m not panicking yet.”

Martin nodded and sat against the chamber wall. He could feel exhaustion sinking in. That last burst of adrenaline burned through his reserves, which had been low for a while.

“I think . . . I might need to sleep again soon,” he said.

“Well. At the risk of provoking another change . . . there doesn’t seem to be any immediate danger here.” Jon said.

They both paused and braced themselves, waiting for a reaction. None came, and Jon continued.

“We could rest a while, find our way out when you wake,” he finished, sitting down beside him.

“As long as you’ll be okay here.” Martin said.

“I’ll be all right. Besides, we are here now regardless of how we feel about it.” He leaned against the wall beside Martin. “Thank you for pulling me away. I think that I was . . . . Well, anyway, thank you.”

“Of course.” Martin put a hand on his. “. . . Thank you for protecting me.”

“I always will.” Jon whispered, a intensity in his voice that thundered against the cave walls.

“Not unless you have to, all right?” Martin swallowed. “I don’t know if it’s smart to . . . you know. Use its ‘gifts’ too much.”

“I’m not going to let something take you if I have the power to stop it--” Jon began.

“I’m not asking you to.” Martin said. “Just . . . be careful? I can get away on my own sometimes too, you know,” he added the last in a teasing tone. As if this was all about Jon not giving him enough credit.

“Right . . . of course.” Jon spoke reluctantly, as if someone was reminding him of the health risks posed by cigarettes. Not disagreeing, but at the same time. . . well. “Of course you can. I’ll be careful.”

Martin pulled Jon a little closer and kissed him. It was a reminder, and it was gratitude, and it was also just a kiss. Then he passed the torch to Jon. They both tensed for a moment when it clicked off, but there was no awful sound of rock walls suddenly shifting. Martin’s eyes adjusted to the dark, which meant this was the sort of dark that eyes could adjust to, and as far as he could tell the chamber had remained the same size. They placed their bags around them and used coats as padding against the hard stone.

Jon settled Martin’s head in his lap and kissed his forehead, obviously trying to hide the dread. Martin felt it too. He told himself that the next thing he’d remember would be waking with only the ghost of terror he couldn’t recall gnawing at him. But deep down he knew that wasn’t how it worked. He’d likely forget his dreams, but he’d still have to endure them first.

Sleep was going to come whether he was ready or not, and there was no point in fighting it. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the soothing feeling of Jon’s fingers in his hair, until he couldn’t feel them anymore.

* * *

He woke gasping, pushing himself off the cave floor. His last cry still echoed in the cave around him, and his breathing was ragged. Martin felt around himself. . . even in his state of disorientation he could tell something was very, very wrong. Then it hit him - Jon wasn’t there. He wasn’t sitting beside him, wasn’t stroking his hair or squeezing his hand or wrapped around him and murmuring soothing words in his ear. For the first time since the world had ended, Jon wasn’t holding him when he woke.

“Jon!?” he called in alarm, eyes still adjusting to the dark.

Jon didn’t call back, but Martin could hear something coming from the other side of the cave. He felt around until his hand closed over the torch and he clicked it on. It lit up a silhouette on the other side of the chamber, sat facing away. It looked like Jon from behind, but Martin was immediately wary. He couldn’t see the figure’s face. Why hadn’t he replied when Martin called out? Why wasn’t he turning now?

Martin shone the light around the rest of the cave and found it empty, so he got to his feet and slowly approached. As he got closer, he heard what definitely sounded like Jon’s voice coming from the figure, whispering something indistinct.

“Jon?” Martin asked quietly. The figure didn’t respond. Hesitatingly, Martin moved to its side so he could see its face.

The figure didn’t spin violently around to reveal black pits for eyes and a maw full of fangs, nor did it fall over revealing a dessicated corpse, or dissolve into insects, or any of the other countless things that ran through Martin’s mind as he got closer. Its face was just Jon’s face. It was Jon. He was staring at the cave wall, apparently entranced.

He didn’t seem to see Martin. Whatever he was watching, Martin suspected it was well past the actual boundaries of the cave. His face was fixed in an expression somewhere between fear and wonder, and there were tears in his eyes. But as Martin watched, a smile slowly spread across his face and his mouth formed the shape of the word ‘beautiful.’

“Jon. . . .”

Martin might have gripped his shoulder a little harder than he needed to, shaken it a little more than necessary, but it snapped Jon back to reality. The smile fell away completely and he glanced around in startled confusion.

“Mh. . .” Jon began to mouth his name, then trailed off. Horror seemed to be settling on him.

“. . . What did you see?” Martin whispered.

Jon stared for a moment, then closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. “Terrible things.”

A thousand questions, a thousand more concerns were running through Martin’s mind. But like an idiot, all he thought to say was, “you weren’t there.”

“Wh--wha--”

“When I woke up.” Martin explained. “You weren’t . . . you were just staring . . . .”

“Oh. . .oh,” Jon reached for him, speaking emphatically. “I’m so sorry, Martin.”

“No, it’s - - it’s all right, that isn’t what I mean, I just - -”

How could he explain it? Yes, okay, he was a little needy when he woke, and yes Jon not being there had been . . . upsetting. But he wasn’t frightened right now because of how much it meant to him that Jon was there when he woke up. It was how much he knew being there when he woke meant to Jon. It was the fact that Jon had never left his side while he slept. Except tonight he had. Something had moved him away and kept him from hearing his voice. And that scared Martin more even than waking alone in the dark had.

Regardless, Jon was pulling him into an embrace he didn’t feel like resisting. So he reached out his arms and held back, tight as he could without crushing him. He heard Jon mutter apologies, soothing things and reassurances. But the fear didn’t leave this time.

They huddled together for a while, neither eager to break the hold. Eventually Martin shifted them into a more comfortable position, leaning himself against the cave wall and Jon against him.

“. . . I’m worried about you.” Martin said, after a while of silence.

Jon didn’t seem to have any reassurances in him for that. He just squeezed Martin’s hand very, very hard. Martin reached up and bushed his fingers over Jon’s temples, tenderly. Jon closed his eyes.

Even in the barely-there light of the cave, he could see the deep lines under Jon’s eyes. Between that and the gray that had taken over his hair, he was beginning to resemble the old man he always used to act like. Martin fondly ran his thumb over the little crow-foot wrinkles extending from the corners of Jon’s eyes. Then he stopped suddenly, taking a closer look.

They weren’t wrinkles. They were cracks.

* * *

Everything about the place screamed “leave.” Scorched scrap walls, doors ripped off their hinges, murals smeared with blood and ash. But things were bad in all directions, and Jon insisted this was the path they had to take.

Martin avoided taking in details as they walked, scarf over his face to keep from breathing in ash, which saturated the air. He didn’t speculate on what terrible fate had befallen this place, but it did seem strange that a settlement like this existed at all. It looked like it had been built after the world had changed, and it had time to build itself well. The shacks weren’t slapped together, they’d been reinforced and decorated. Woven blankets, curtains of beads and other possessions lay shredded in the empty doorways. There were the beginnings of farms and communal areas broken among the ruins. Had that much time really passed? Maybe time was just that malleable now. Or maybe this place had come into being already built up, already ruined.

Thinking about that kept Martin from thinking too hard about the bodies lying huddled on the ground. It wasn’t just sorrow or horror at the story those charred husks told that kept Martin from letting his gaze settle on them. They were the first people he’d seen that looked truly, truly dead.

Fates worse than death were one thing. He’d seen plenty of those, and yes, they were terrifying. But Jon had guided him back from the Lonely, and Martin had given him voices to follow out of the Buried. As long as they were both alive, there was a chance. Awful as being trapped in a three by three foot box or shrouded in an aching, numbing mist or wracked with fevers for eternity might be, they could hope to find their way out of it. Death was different. Martin was fairly sure that was still true.

He tried not to think about it. Kept walking.

Unfortunately, and in retrospect predictably, the settlement was a maze. The farther in they went, the more it began to grow and stretch out around them. Martin quietly cursed when he realized what was happening. He should have been used to the nightmare logic that was now natural law, but it seemed there was nothing to do now but press on.

At one point Martin realized that Jon wasn’t next to him. There was a moment of panic before he turned to find that he’d only stopped a few paces back. He was staring at a ruined fence, face slack. Martin exhaled and walked back to him.

“Jon, come on,” he tugged at his arm. “We can’t stay here.”

It took a moment for Jon to register Martin’s touch. He blinked at him, eyes slightly glazed, breathing heavily. His eyes were red, but Martin didn’t see any tears.

“Here. . . .”

Martin put an arm around Jon and gently turned him until his face was completely hidden in Martin’s jumper.

“Don’t look at it. Just hold onto me and keep moving.”

Jon didn’t respond, but Martin felt his arms reach around him and grip firmly. They began walking again, slower now so that Jon didn’t stumble. Martin kept his hand on the back of Jon’s head and they got some distance that way, Jon’s arms occasionally tightening a notch more, then relaxing, then tightening again. Martin didn’t want to guess what he was seeing.

Very suddenly, that grip tightened enough to squeeze the breath from Martin, and Jon’s face pulled free from his jumper with a gasp.

“. . .They’re still here,” he whispered, eyes wide.

Martin didn’t ask ‘who’ because it didn’t matter, the fear in Jon’s voice told him everything he needed to know. He felt the wind pick up, ash swirling in the air around them. In the distance, Martin was sure that he saw figures gathering.

“Shit.” Martin squinted at the distant forms. Some were close enough for him to make out details, twisted masses of scorched skin and scar tissue. Not human in shape, but made of human shapes - limbs and backs and screaming faces.

“This. . . .” his thoughts from earlier bubbled up with the rising tide of fear. “This one wants to kill us. Doesn’t it?”

“It won’t kill us.” Jon said with certainty.

“That’s something, at least,” he swallowed.

“It’s Desolation,” Jon continued, voice small. “It’ll kill one of us, leave the other alive to mourn. Like it did with them,” he pointed an unsteady hand to one of the figures.

Martin’s arms tightened around Jon. “Okay. Running? Running sound good? Can you, uh, See a way out of here?”

“I’m trying, but. . . ” Jon grit his teeth, pressing the heel of one hand against his forehead. “It’s all too much. The -- the loss, the anguish. I - - I can’t see anything past it, I- - ” his hand began to shake.

“Okay.” Martin looked around. Right or left, fifty fifty chance, right? Or it would be in world where the cardinal directions stayed where they were. “Hold my hand, and just - - just tell me if you see an exit.”

Jon nodded weakly, and they ran. But it was hard. The rows between the ruins were narrow, and ash obscured Martin’s vision. Worst of all, Jon couldn’t seem to keep his legs under him. Usually he was the faster of the two, but now he kept turning back, slowing and stumbling until Martin was almost dragging him along. Finally Martin gave up, grabbed Jon around the waist and threw him over his shoulder.

The figures were drawing closer, gathering together to form one mass - a towering thing with a choir of screaming mouths. How could something that big move so fast? It was catching up, and with Jon’s weight Martin was tiring already. Then one foot landed in a way that it shouldn’t have, his legs turned under him and they both went down, rolling away from each other on the soot choked ground. Martin immediately pushed himself up again. No time to stop, no room to catch his breath. Jon was a few feet away, curled around himself and shaking violently. His eyes were completely glazed over.

When Martin reached to help him up, Jon gripped his hand and looked at him pleadingly.

“Run,” he whispered. “Just run.”

Not a chance, Martin thought, but then the ground shook and the thing drew in on them. He had only a split second - it was here and it was close too close and there wasn’t time. But the things in this world were always more interested in him, weren’t they? If he did run, maybe he could lead it away. By himself he might be fast enough to lose it and come back around.

There was no time to weigh the options. He chose what seemed like a chance for escape over holding Jon and waiting for death. Martin ran.

There was a moment of relief when he looked back and saw there was some distance between him and it. Then confusion when he realized it wasn’t running after him at all. It was still in place, twisting and screaming, but not coming closer to him or Jon. Behind it, Jon was standing up.

Jon looked at the creature and his gaze was as eerie and intense as ever. But something was different this time. Martin found himself thinking he’s crying. And then, no. . .those aren’t tears.

With a terrible sound, Jon’s body split with cracks. They curled around scar tissue, opened the lines of his face and opened him. But what came out from inside him wasn’t blood and flesh and bone. It was dark and alive with movement, like television static. And inside that shifting haze, countless eyes peered back.

The cracks spread outwards from Jon. They split the sky, opened tears in reality. And where the sky was rent, Martin saw the merciless gaze of the Ceaseless Watcher. It was a hungering brightness at the center of everything. It was as impersonal as a surveillance state, yet as intimate as a face breathing into yours while you slept, horrible to see but impossible to turn away from. And the fullness of its stare was focused on that mound of flesh and sorrow and pain.

The things’ scream gave Martin the jolt he needed to tear himself away. He covered his face with his arms and huddled until the noise was abruptly cut off. In the silence that followed, Martin waited a good, long moment, then he lifted his head and opened his eyes.

The creature was. . .empty. That was the only word for it. It had fallen apart on the ground, lumps of flesh twitching and hissing, but with nothing at all inside them. Not dead. Not physically hollowed, but empty. Jon stood in the middle of it all. The cracks in the sky had closed, thankfully, but they still twisted across Jon’s back, warping his form.

“. . . Jon?” Martin said uncertainly.

Jon’s head snapped in his direction, and there was nothing in his eyes that Martin recognized. Only a piercing and terrible hunger.

Martin stumbled backwards as Jon made a beeline for him. Something caught his foot and he went down hard, landing sprawled on the ground. When he looked up Jon stood over him, and Martin was a frog open on a dissection table. He was an insect pinned under a child’s thumb. He was a secret caught in a blinding light, and every instinct in his brain was screaming at him to hide, but there was no place for him to go.

He was afraid of losing himself. Martin thought. He was afraid of losing himself, and I kept saying we had to go and now he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone and there’s nothing - -

The Archivist reached down, placing a hand on each side of Martin’s face and holding his head still. Martin should have been running, or screaming for him to stop, or socking him in the face. But all he could do was stare numbly back and wait for whatever would come.

“I’m sorry. . .” Martin said, anguish in his voice. “I’m so, so, sorry. . . .”

The figure in front of him lowered its forehead, pressing it against Martin’s. And suddenly, Martin Knew that Jon loved him.

It was immutable and certain as gravity had once seemed. He didn’t simply trust that Jon loved him, didn’t just understand it to be true because of the way he behaved and the things he said. Martin Knew it to his core. Jon loved him, he loved him so, so much. He had loved him for a long time now, and in that moment Jon loved him no less than he ever had.

The full weight of that love settled in him, the warmth and the brightness of it filled his mind and for a moment it overwhelmed everything else. He forgot the settlement, forgot the cracks in the sky. There was nothing but him and this one, perfect truth. He would never forget it, never deny it, never be able to doubt it. There was only one other thing Martin had ever Known so deeply, and he had spent most of his days since then trying not to think much about it.

Then the moment passed. The feeling faded from an all-consuming understanding to a gentle, quiet certainty. When he came back to himself his face was streaked with tears. Jon had taken a step back, giving him room to breathe, and now stood silently in front of him.

“Jon . . . ?” Martin asked, softly, hopefully. “Is it still you?”

Jon opened his mouth and the sound of crackling static came out. He reached for Martin, who drew back without thinking. Jon paused and lowered his hand. He patted himself on the left side of his coat, just over the pocket. Martin reached into his own pocket, feeling the shape of the object inside. When he realized what it was, he laughed. He couldn’t help it. The tape recorder clicked on as soon as he removed it.

“I think so.” Jon’s voice came out of the recorder, slightly distorted by the hiss of playback. “Though . . . I suppose I don’t know how one tells that sort of thing?”

“Okaaay. . .” Martin exhaled, looking from the recorder in his lap back to Jon. “Okay. This is new. Sort of weird, but could be worse?”

Jon took a careful step closer, testing to see if Martin would draw back again. He didn’t, and Jon sat on the ground beside him. The cracks in his body were slowly closing, the blur of static and Watching getting smaller between them. Martin set down the recorder, which continued to play Jon’s voice.

“Are you all right?” Martin asked. “You were looking pretty, uh . . . .”

“. . . Terrifying?” Jon tilted his head in Martin’s direction.

“Well . . . .” Martin didn’t want to use that word, but all the other words he could think of were just synonyms for it.

“Monstrous?” Jon supplied.

“As long as it’s still you, I don’t care.” Martin said emphatically.

“It is.” Jon said, with a little more confidence. “I’m - - I’m still me. Just.” He held up an arm and watched as the lines running through it slowly sealed themselves. “. . . With some some changes.”

The cracks now resembled long, twisting scars more than anything else, though in his periphery Martin swore he kept seeing things open and blink on Jon’s body. His gaze was still piercing, but with the panic passed Martin could also see there was affection and recognition in those uncanny eyes.

Okay, he thought to himself. Take a breath. Check in. It’s not as bad as you thought but this is obviously a . . . new challenge. See how he’s handling it.

“What exactly happened back there?” he asked.

Jon took a deep breath, and a sigh came from the recorder.

“It was overwhelming. It had been bad before, but . . . all those people.” He turned to stare at the sky. “They thought they had a safe haven. They built up walls and invented wards and believed they’d found tricks to keep the nightmares out. But it was all just so they’d have more to lose. So they’d build and love and cherish things that could be torn away from them. Just fattening them up.”

Jon moved his head and gestured while he talked, pantomiming his own speech. It was somewhere between unsettling and comical at first, but soon it began to feel natural and Martin noticed it less and less.

“An entire town,” Jon shook his head. “Silently screaming their stories of terror and agony and despair at me. I was wrapped in it all, and I couldn’t see out.”

“I’m sorry . . . ” Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, mindful of the wide, curling scar that covered his palm. “I can’t even imagine what that’s like.”

“But it’s all right. I’m all right now,” Jon turned back. “Better than all right. It doesn’t hurt anymore, Martin.”

In the back of Martin’s mind, a tiny noise began to sound. Like a distant, muffled alarm. “I’m . . . not sure what you mean? What doesn’t hurt anymore?”

“Any of it.” Jon smiled. “The fear and anguish, the things the Watcher feeds me, none of it hurts at all. Something happened back there . . . I was trapped in the heart of their pain. There was nothing outside of it - I didn’t remember you were there, or who I was, or why we were here. There was only the collective suffering of a thousand terrified souls, and it hurt more than anything I have ever known. And in the depths of it all, I realized that it didn’t have to hurt.”

There was a strange giddiness rising in Jon’s voice, and the alarm in Martin’s head rang louder.

“I could choose to stop letting it hurt me. I could finally stop tormenting myself, open my mind and drink everything in. And I did. And it was wonderful,” Jon stared out into the distant sky. “And all I wanted was more.”

“So. . . .” The alarm bell was reaching a crescendo now, and Martin struggled to keep his tone even. “What happened back there. . . what you did to it . . . .”

“I was greedy.” Jon smiled behind his hand, his tone sheepish but without regret. “I needed every drop.”

“Jesus, Jon.” Martin muttered.

“. . . And then I heard you!” Jon continued, unmindful of Martin’s tone. “And I remembered. And I realized that it was dead, and you were safe, and we were still together.”

Jon took Martin by the shoulders, gripping him with an manic energy that was startling, yes, frightening even, but still familiar, still so much like Jon, too much like him to be anything else.

“It was going to separate us, but I stopped it. It didn’t stand a chance against me. I don’t know if anything can anymore. I’ve gained so much . . .” he continued, eyes bright and alive. “I can feel my mind expanding to fill every corner of this dreadful world. I am burning, and drowning, and weeping, and writhing, and falling and dying and it is--” he closed his eyes, head tilted back in an expression of pleasure. “--Glorious.”

Martin looked at him grimly. “This is what you were afraid would happen. Isn’t it?”

“Not quite.” Jon smiled. “I was afraid of giving in, yes. I was afraid, and it feels ridiculous to say this now, but I was afraid there’d be a time when the things that I see would only ever feel right and leave me only with satisfaction. But what scared me the most was the thought that, if that happened, it would mean I could no longer love you. That you would just be something for me to watch, to know, and ultimately to discard,” he sighed, a sound of great relief. “But that didn’t happen. You Know that now, don’t you?”

Martin nodded, as there was no point denying it. In the corner of his mind, the image of the thing he had seen beyond the sky still lingered, and Martin wondered if it was capable of laughter. If it was laughing at them right now.

“This was. . . .” Martin pulled away from Jon, curling his knees up to his chest. “This was what it wanted too, wasn’t it? Why it let you know about the tower. It wanted us to keep throwing ourselves at the nightmares until one of them finally made you break,” he laughed once, a mirthless, choking noise. “I was an idiot to think that there’d be a reset button. A way to fix everything if we just went back. . . .”

“Martin . . . that’s not true at all.” Jon put a hand on his shoulder. “A way back does exist. I know what it is now. You were right all along. I was wrong.”

“Wh- wait . . . really?” Martin blinked.

Jon nodded. “The Ritual that brought about this world is still ongoing. It will go on for all eternity, never stopping, never, ever finished. But if it were to finish, if it were stopped or interrupted. . . .” He trailed off expectantly, leaving Martin room to fill in the blanks.

“Would everything really go back?” Martin looked around at the ruins - the charred wood, the whirlwinds of ash, the lumps of flesh that were first people and then things and then nothing. “Is that even possible now?”

“The world might have a few scars. One or two spots that don’t come back all the way. A few unfortunate souls who retain memories, plenty of bad dreams. I can’t say what state humanity would be in if it happened after eons had passed.” Jon tapped his knee thoughtfully. “But if it were done now, or soon? I think there’d barely be any damage at all.”

Guarding his heart was futile, hope pushed its stubborn way in whether Martin wished for it or not. They could go back to a world that yes, was often frightening and often cruel but was also gentle and kind and infinite things that this world wasn’t. All those people trapped in endless nightmares could just go back to their lives, they wouldn’t even know what had happened. It was too great a hope to keep down.

And if the old world came back . . . Martin didn’t know what that would mean for Jon now, truly. But if all of this could be undone, there was a chance for anything, wasn’t there?

“. . . There’s a catch.” Martin said. It wasn’t a question.

“Obviously.” Jon smiled sardonically. “The way back is very simple. Not easy, but simple. I suppose that’s the way of these things. Do you want me to show you?”

“I mean. . . yes.” Martin could faintly hear the alarm starting up again, but it didn’t change his mind. Whatever the catch was, they’d face it together. “I do.”

Jon looked at him for a moment, smiling sadly, then shook his head.

“No,” he brought his hand to Martin’s temple, “you really don’t.”

As soon as the hand touched him, Martin had his answer. It wasn’t a bone-deep Knowing like before, it was just information. No different than if he’d read it somewhere, save that it was given to him all in an instant.

Gertrude had said it herself. Jon was the ritual. He’d become it the moment he took on the role of Archivist, and now he had reached his apotheosis. While he continued, the ritual would continue as well. The only way to end it was to end him. No magic circles or ancient artifacts or complicated chants were necessary, just the sort of implements one would expect for such a task. The only truly difficult part was that being the linchpin of the apocalypse had made Jon very resilient to damage. Not invulnerable, just resilient. Killing him would take patience and determination. First the eyes, then the voice box. Then fire. . . .

There were other steps but Martin was trying very hard not to think about them. He curled up on the ground, arms wrapped around himself, shaking his head. Numbly, he felt Jon gather him up. His top half was tugged into Jon’s lap, and his head gently settled against his chest.

“I’m sorry, Martin.” Jon whispered.

“That’s not fair.” Martin groaned, tears in his eyes.

“I fear fairness rarely has anything to do with these matters.” Jon sighed, nestling Martin closer and stroking the back of his head. ”. . . It’s going to be all right.”

But that calm, resigned tone only filled Martin with anger, anger he didn’t want. Of course Jon was all right with this. Jon had been wanting to punish himself ever since he read that statement, and now he had the perfect justification for it. What was one person, after all, against the suffering of billions? You couldn’t argue with the math of it, no one could.

But when that one person is the world to you, what then? How do you save a world that takes that person away? Jon couldn’t tell him it would be all right, because he wouldn’t have to lose anyone. He wouldn’t have to go on afterwards, alone.

“It isn’t, though.” Martin said through gritted teeth.

“It is. I promise.” Jon said, tone still soothing.

“It’s really, really, not, Jon.”

“But it is.” Jon bent down and kissed the top of Martin’s head. “Because I won’t let you do it.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and even then Martin wasn’t sure he heard right. “. . . What . . . do you mean?”

“I won’t let you kill me to save the world,” he explained. “Even if you believe you have to. If you think that you have no choice but to put the fate of world first, I still won’t let you do it.”

Jon smiled affectionately as he spoke. “And you can’t sneak up on me, not anymore. There’s no plan you can concoct no matter how brave or brilliant that I won’t see coming. You can’t just overpower me, either, I’d stop you if I had to. Not the way Jonah did--” he added quickly. “I’d be gentler than that. But I would stop you.”

Martin blinked, disbelieving, as Jon continued to stroke his head, voice soft and serious.

“You won’t ever have to make that choice,” he finished. “Between me and the world. Because I’ve made that choice already, and there’s nothing you can do.”

The whole picture was beginning to fill itself in for Martin. He realized what Jon was trying to do and he pulled back, breaking contact.

“So it’s not my fault,” Martin said, voice grim. “If the worlds stays the way it is. Because I can’t stop you.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“That’s not how it works.” Martin said. “That’s not how . . . responsibility works.”

“Why not? You deserve this.” Jon insisted. “We deserve this, Martin.”

“I’m not sure we do, though?” Martin ran a hand through his hair, “and besides, I mean . . . this?” He gestured vaguely to the scene around them. The ruined flesh and burned homes and devastation that may as well have served as a map for everything else.

“No, you’ll see--” Jon leaned forward. “Everything is going to be different now. It isn’t just the Beholding. I am the single point of terrible knowledge around which this world turns. I can shield you from everything in it now. Even the fear. Even the dreams. You won’t ever have to suffer through those again, I promise!”

Jon clasped Martin’s hands, lit up with excitement.

“No more nightmares. No more guilt. No more playing those tapes over and over just to make myself suffer. We can go anywhere! This world is ours to explore and take of for all eternity. The things we’ll see, Martin,” his gaze was distant, rapturous. “Such horrible wonders. . . .”

He must have noticed Martin’s expression, because his own face sobered and he added, “but . . . you won’t have to see them. Not if you don’t want to. I can protect you from that too.”

“You’ll hurt people.” Martin said flatly.

“I was already hurting people.” Jon said. “Everything the Watcher fed me magnified the suffering of its victims a hundredfold. It’s no different now.”

“You didn’t have a choice then.”

“I don’t have a choice now.” Jon said, gesturing towards the sky. “It’s going to continue, the endless stream of fear and anguish. I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to.”

“But you used to want to.” Martin insisted. “And that means something. It means something that you didn’t want this.”

“Would you rather I go back to being miserable?” There was reproach in Jon’s voice. “You said yourself that it hurt you to see me wallowing. And it did! I was hurting you. And I was hurting myself, too.” He frowned. “Do you know what I would have done back then, if I’d known how to stop the ritual?”

Martin realized Jon was reaching towards his temple again and he jumped, pulling violently away.

“Don’t!” he shouted. Jon flinched, hand still halfway in the air. “Don’t- don’t show me. I don’t want to see it.”

Jon’s face softened. He lowered his hand and nodded. “I won’t.”

“Jon. . .you’re scaring me.” Martin said.

“. . . I know.” Jon’s voice was quiet. “I can see your fear. It’s rolling off you like ripples on a pond.” He tilted his head and leaned closer, something like wonder in his voice. “I wasn’t sure at first, but- -”

“Jon.”

Martin’s voice was firm with a chastising edge, and Jon seemed to snap out of it. He blinked sheepishly and looked down, folding his hands. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “That was, ah . . . sorry.”

“I- I don’t know.” Martin took a long, shuddering breath. Everything was roiling inside him. “I don’t know what to think. . . .”

He found himself remembering the woman who’d seen Jon in the cafe. The shock and disbelief that he’d felt when she talked about what he’d done. . .and Martin’s first reaction had been denial, hadn’t it? Not denying the truth of her statement, just denying that it could really be Jon. It could be instinct or addiction or mind control. There could even be the devastating possibility that it just wasn’t him anymore, that he was lost and there was only the Archivist. But as frightening as that thought had been, Martin found himself wondering if there had been a reason he’d considered that possibility but not a third one. That it was still Jon, and that he’d been in control, and he’d still done it.

Martin wondered what he would have done if the end of the world hadn’t happened. If they’d somehow escaped that but not the Eye, and it was a question of Jon either feeding on peoples’ traumas or growing slowly weaker, willingly starving until there was nothing left. Would Martin have changed his mind then? Would he have seen that third possibility as more palatable?

He supposed if it had actually come to that, there would still have been the Institute’s gory retirement policy. But they were well past that point now.

Jon still loved him, and Martin knew he still loved Jon. If he needed any proof of that, the way he felt at the thought of losing him removed all uncertainty. But love didn’t always mean safety. Sometimes it meant the exact opposite, and there was no kindness in the Watcher’s gaze. If Jon had truly embraced the Eye and was content to let the world suffer so that he could watch, did love make a difference in the end? If Martin rejected Jon now, if he disappointed him, if his own love wasn’t enough, would Jon turn on him?

“Never.” Jon said adamantly, speaking as soon as the thought entered Martin’s mind. “Not if you broke my heart, or told me you never wanted to see me again, or tried to burn me alive. I promise.”

A laugh came out of Martin. It was probably the wrong reaction, but he couldn’t help it. The pleading intensity of Jon’s voice combined with him just casually reading his mind. It was too much.

“I guess privacy’s not going to be a thing anymore, huh?” he asked.

Jon smiled weakly. “Is that a joke?”

“Not intentionally.”

Jon started to reach for his hand, then hesitated. “I understand if you’re scared. It’s . . . well, it’s probably only natural. But I promise you are safe with me. I’m not going to hurt you or . . . feed on you. I know this has changed me, and maybe not all those changes have been for the better. But it has also clarified me. There are things I understand so much more now.”

Martin was quiet. Carefully, giving him time to pull away, Jon reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.

“I will never hurt you.” Jon said softly. “I will never reject you. I will never change my mind and stop loving you. You don’t ever again have to be afraid that I only stay with you because I don’t truly see your flaws. That I don’t know the real you. That you’ll one day show me something that’s too soft, too needy, too unlovely and my feelings will sour. Because I see every part of you now. I know you totally and completely.”

Martin inhaled sharply, but those inhuman eyes held his gaze.

“I see every ugly, petty thought you’ve ever had.” Jon continued. “Every shame, every regret, every embarrassing secret. All the parts of yourself you wanted to hide because you were afraid they’d make others hate you, I know them all. And I only love you more. The joy of knowing you is the most wonderful thing, Martin.”

He smiled warmly, reaching to stroke Martin’s cheek. “Even now, I see a part of you still thinking I’m a monster who needs to be destroyed for the greater good, and I love that you care so much about this world. At the same time I feel that resolve begin to crumble, and I love that you care so much about me.”

There was no denying the truth of it what Martin was hearing. Those words resonated with the sure and steady certainty that Jon had placed in his mind, and he felt weak.

He was telling the truth about something else, too. That resolve in Martin was slowly, quietly crumbling. As he thought that, Jon leaned forward and kissed him once, tenderly. Then rested his forehead against Martin’s and sighed with contentment.

“There’s something else I need you to know.” Jon said, quietly. “The way I am now, I know that. . .well, there’s a difference in power. And I want you to stay with me, more than anything. But I also won’t make you a prisoner.”

He pulled back to look at Martin. “If you didn’t want this, if you didn’t want me . . . it would break my heart, but I wouldn’t stop you from leaving. I would still keep you safe even if I had to do it from a distance, and nothing in this world would hurt you. You could go wherever you wished. You could find other people and try to help them, or ease their suffering. You could even try to stop the ritual.” Jon smiled at him fondly. “Raise up an army against me. I wouldn’t let you succeed, but I wouldn’t stop you from trying. If that was what you wanted.”

It didn’t escape Martin’s notice that Jon had begun speaking in the hypothetical, and he was fairly sure he knew why. If Jon saw as much as he said he did then he knew Martin’s decision had already been made. Probably just saying his piece now. He always did like to talk.

Jon’s smile became a little sheepish, and he shrugged. “I do mean it.”

“I know.” Martin said.

It was funny, he thought, how people changed. Sometimes it was dramatic and revelatory, sometimes it was a profound realization. And sometimes it was just a matter of quietly cutting off all excuses. Blocking off one path after another until the one you were always going to follow is, in fact, the only one left.

“If we find them. . .Melanie, and Basira, and the others,” Martin asked. “Can you protect them too?”

“Yes.” Jon said without hesitation. “And it won’t be long. I can find them much more easily now. Even Daisy . . . oh, you should see her now, Martin. She’s so beautiful,” he held his hand halfway to Martin’s face, eyes lively and glinting. “. . .Would you like to?”

“I’ll see her when we find her.” Martin said after a pause.

Jon nodded. He stood and offered Martin his hand. As he took it Martin saw tears, real tears, just brimming in his eyes. For a moment he wondered if it was a good sign that Jon was still human enough to cry. Then he wondered what made him think crying was a humans-only thing.

“Promise me one thing.” Martin said.

“Of course.”

“If you know what I’d have done if you’d. . .left me that choice. Put it in my hands whether or not to stop the ritual.” He paused. “Don’t ever tell me. Don’t ever show me. I don’t want to know.”

Jon looked at him, and Martin saw nothing but love in his eyes. He brought Martin’s hand to his face and kissed it.

“I never will,” he promised.

* * *

The plastic knob on the kettle clicked off, a cloud of steam pouring into the kitchen. Martin was rummaging through the cabinet, selecting a pair of mugs. He paused by the window. It had stopped raining recently and the warmth of the sun made steam rise off of London’s streets. Martin leaned out and breathed deeply, taking in the afternoon air.

Petrichor, he thought, smiling.

Years ago he’d made an offhand comment about liking the smell of rain, and Jon had gone off for minutes about soil and scent-producing bacteria. At the time it had been . . . pretty annoying, actually? Because Martin had known what petrichor was. Couldn’t have told you where he’d heard it, the internet probably, but he’d known it and he was a little irritated that Jon assumed he didn’t. Back then Martin had taken the presumption and Jon’s lecturing tone as more evidence that his new boss thought very little of him. But in hindsight it just filled Martin with affection. Recognizing Jon’s tendency to ramble on about something that he was excited to know without really noticing he was doing it.

Martin glanced at the dark figure in the corner of his kitchen, then went to pour the tea. He took his time, enjoying the mundane ritual of tea, strainer, and hot water. He filled his cup, added milk, then paused.

He sensed something, a feeling on the back of his neck, and when he turned the figure was standing behind him. Martin had neither seen nor heard it move. It stood perfectly still, and it was all eyes.

“What do you think, Jon?” he asked. “Sugar, or no sugar?”

Jon didn’t say anything. He never did in dreams. Martin wasn’t sure why, truth be told he hadn’t asked. There were so many things he’d come to file under “spooky Jon stuff” these days that he just accepted a lot of it. But Martin still liked talking to him. Felt sort of rude to just ignore him. Whatever Jon was doing - standing there, unmoving, unblinking, gaze fixed intently on him - it kept the nightmares away, and Martin was glad for that.

“Good point,” Martin said, stirring in the sugar. “May as well live a little, right?”

The tea smelled like tea. The countertop was solid, cool and felt just as it should. There were no uncanny dimensions to the kitchen, nothing out of place or subtly wrong about it. But he always knew that it wasn’t real. He couldn’t forget that the dream was a dream, or fully lose himself in it as he had in dreams before. That was one thing that Jon couldn’t give him, apparently.

Back in the world, Jon would be holding his sleeping body. Maybe resting Martin’s head in his lap, or curled around him in a mimicry of sleep himself. Part of him was there, part of him was here in the dream. And another part would be stretching itself outward, taking in the countless horrors that surrounded them in every direction.

After their time in the cabin Martin’s nesting instinct had been pretty well diminished, so he didn’t have much inclination to settle anyplace in particular. And Jon didn’t seem to care where they went as long as they kept moving, giving him new things to see. So he tried to find places that would be pleasant for Martin.

For the last. . .well, for a while, anyway, they’d been in a deep forest. The trees stretched higher than should be possible, some wider around than an office building. Shadows pooled deeply between them, and sometimes he saw massive, primordial shapes moving in the distance. But none of those creatures ever came near Martin. The colorful creeping vines that moved of their own volition never tried to wrap themselves around his limbs, nor did the shining clouds of iridescent insects ever cover him in a swarm.

Martin had to admit, when you had the privilege of safety from them, even nightmares could be beautiful. He’d walked with Jon down roads that had twisted into impossible knots without ever getting lost, without even getting dizzy. They’d traveled through a darkness so deep and silent that it swallowed the sound of Martin’s breathing, but he never lost sight of Jon and so it held no fear for him.

Once, he’d caught Jon looking curiously at a distant gray shore before glancing back at Martin, shaking his head and turning in the opposite direction. He hadn’t objected to avoiding that place, but later Martin found himself wondering what it would have felt like. To walk through the Lonely hand in hand with Jon, knowing he was loved and that the man who loved him was keeping the fog from reaching him. There was honestly some appeal to that.

Sometimes, very rarely, Martin heard screams in the distance. But Jon didn’t need to be close to get what he needed, and he generally made sure any sounds were too far away to notice.

Martin made a second cup of tea for Jon. He left it on the counter like a private joke, then went into the sitting room. The fluffy gray cat that had been napping in the corner lifted his head with interest when he entered and padded over, winding around Martin’s legs. He reached down to scratch behind his ears.

He had only met the Admiral once, the day they found Georgie and Melanie. Given how that meeting had gone, he knew he wasn’t likely to ever see the cat again. But Jon put him in all of Martin’s dreams since then. All things considered, Melanie and Georgie had been doing well. Which is to say they were exhausted, beaten down and traumatized, but still alive and with one another. The Entities didn’t have much interest in Georgie, but that didn’t mean she was safe. Not as long as Melanie was afraid of losing her.

Well . . . she was safe now. They both were. They had Jon’s protection even if they didn’t want it, and Martin felt some petty satisfaction at that thought.

The Admiral pulled away mid-pet, attention diverted by what was either a fly or a piece of lint floating in the air. He stalked towards it, head lowered, tail twitching in predatory anticipation.

Finding Daisy had been easy. Apparently Jon hadn’t even needed her exact location. just went to a place that he said “suited her now” and waited for her to find them. When she emerged all muscle and teeth and knives in the dark, Martin had nearly made the mistake of running. But Jon spoke in a reverberating voice and she was forced to answer back, settling down once he’d had her talking for a while. She did maul him a bit afterwards -- apparently not happy about being compelled. But it healed quickly and Jon admitted he may have deserved it.

She started traveling with them after that. Hard to say how long they’d been together with the way time was anymore, but it was long enough that Martin had gotten used to having her around. He was surprised how much he actually liked Daisy? She was good to talk to once you got past certain quirks, and he even missed her when she went off on long hunts.

He knew Jon was glad to have her near. There was something complicated that ran between those two. They liked each other, and they took a quiet comfort in each other’s presence. But there was also an unspoken sadness whenever they looked at one another. Martin wasn’t sure he fully understood what passed between them in those moments, but their friendship seemed good for Jon. Had there ever been even a slight chance of Martin feeling jealous or cut out seeing a deep, mysterious, bond between them it simply wasn’t a concern anymore. He felt Jon’s love for him deep in his soul. It was a single point of terrible knowledge around which the world turned. Nothing could shake that from him.

And if Martin occasionally caught Daisy eyeing his legs like she was deciding which tendon to cut, well. He’d gotten used to creepy looks lately.

“There you are, Jon.”

Jon was barely a foot away, eyes locked on him as always. Martin smiled. He never saw Jon move in dreams, but he was never far. Totally still, expression unchanging, no more responsive than a piece of furniture. Martin considered the sweater on the back of a chair and thought about draping it over one of Jon’s arms like he was a coat rack. He’d done it once before. They both laughed about it after he woke up.

This time he didn’t. Instead he sat in a chair by the window, setting his tea down beside him. Noticing that there was now available lap space, the Admiral stopped toying with his prey and leaped onto Martin’s lap, purring noisily.

They’d seek out Basira next. He and Jon had actually found her once already, before Daisy joined them. She’d been wary of them both and wasn’t exactly warm, but had been glad to accept Jon’s offer of protection. There was apparently some concern about a promise she’d made, but Jon seemed confident she’d come around. She just needed a little more time, he assured Martin, then they would bring Daisy to her. And then there would be four of them.

Martin glanced up to find Jon had moved again, now watching from the corner. Martin nodded to him and picked up the book of poetry he’d been thumbing through, one hand still idly petting the Admiral. He went from page to page, reading a little then flipping ahead, back and forth in a relaxed half-focus. The end of one poem in particular caught his attention.

Oh stars and dreams and gentle night

Oh night and stars return

And hide me from the hostile light

That does not warm, but burn

That drains the blood of suffering men

Drinks tears instead of dew

Let me sleep through his blinding reign

And only wake with you

Martin closed the book and turned to the window, to a London that was long and forever gone. Afternoon light trailed over sidewalks, spilled around the people going by. Families were walking their dogs, kids returning from school. A group of teenagers passed beneath his window, laughing and teasing one another.

A knot of sorrow, sudden and heavy, pulled at the pit of Martin’s stomach and a sob rose out of him. He covered his mouth as a second one emerged. Alerted to the sudden change, the Admiral lifted his head. He sniffed at Martin’s face and kneaded his shirtfront with tender paws.

Martin breathed deeply, body shuddering. He stroked the cat that wasn’t real, and looked out at a beautiful world that would never exist again.

And everything was wrong. And everything was terrible. And Martin was loved.

And everything was going to be all right.

[probably-writing-x]

You are the reason

~~~Based on You Are the Reason by Calum Scott~~~

With tight gripped knuckles on the sheets, you bolted upright from your slumber - sweat beading on your forehead and your heart racing beyond normality. You settle your head back against the headboard and push your hand to your chest to calm down the fear, relaxing yourself to no longer be panicked. It wasn't the first time this had happened. In fact, it wasn't even the first time this week. Always the same dream, each getting a little bit worse. You'd be trapped behind glass or held back, always fighting against whatever it was to get to Shawn. He'd be panicking, eyes wide with fear as he struggles with everything in him to just take one breath. As his chest got tighter, so did your restraints - pulling you further and further from any chance of helping him.

You groan and run your hands over your disarray hair. It was hopeless to wish sleep upon yourself now. So, with your phone flashing to reveal the time as 03:07, you drag yourself out of bed and pad through to the lounge of your apartment.

Shawn was the reason for all of this. The reason you woke up in a nightmarish panic and why you'd spent three nights of this week sat at the island in your kitchen instead of sleeping.

You take a deep breath and click onto your Instagram, instantly being greeted by a photo Josiah had recently posted of Shawn on tour. Him. He was the one responsible for you feeling like this. But, god, you wanted him to come back.

The two of you had broken up only five months ago. It was your fault. You weren't understanding enough and you asked for too much of his time and you couldn't find the balance between accepting his work and loving him as your boyfriend. You argued, screamed, cried and, eventually, it ended. It all fell flat against the Toronto skyline and Shawn packed up to go on tour. You hadn't seen him since, only glimpses in photos and videos that his team posted.

You should've done something differently. You should've gone with him and fixed this. You should've -

There was no hope. Every time your mind went running a thousand miles an hour, you knew it would always get you back to one place. That you wanted him back.

He felt like your lifeline. He stopped you from breaking and picked you back up again when you got close to doing so. He was the reason, the one behind it all.

The truth was, you'd go through a million miles to take it all back. To change every mistake, fix up the pieces of the relationship you were adamant would be a forever. You'd do everything in your power, break through impossible terrains to reach that heart of his and never let it go.

You needed to be with him. You needed to see and hold him and promise that, in another million days, you would never hurt him again. You needed to make it clear that he was the reason behind all of this.

~~~~~~

"Hey, dude, did you see this?" Brian flops down next to Shawn and sticks his phone in his friend's direction, "We're missing all the decent parties now we're not home,"

"You mean you are," Shawn rolls his eyes, taking the phone and swiping through the endless photos, "Do I even know these people?"

"Yeah that's -" Brian stops instantly as soon as Shawn swipes onto the next photo and he's met with a face that he definitely didn't expect to be hit with like that.

(Y/n). She's got a red cup in one hand that she's holding out proudly to the camera, laughing with crinkles next to her eyes. She's dressed in a simple royal blue romper Shawn remembers her buying - he told her that the colour brought out her eyes but, really, anything she wore would always bring out the piercing beauty he found in those eyes.

Before he knows it, the phone starts to shake in his trembling hands. All because of her.

"Sorry dude, I didn't know she wa-" Brian quickly takes the phone back and locks the screen to quickly erase the photo, "I mean she rarely goes to those parties and I-"

"It's alright," Shawn shakes his head, "Just a photo,"

"I know but-"

"I'm fine," Shawn assures, standing up from the couch on the tour bus and residing back to his cabin bed on the vehicle.

You always had that effect now. That surreal feeling that his heart was bleeding out in his chest and breaking into unfixable pieces right beneath his skin. Every single time.

He settles his head back against the rattling wall behind him and takes a deep breath. The only person that could ever cure any feeling like this was her.

"Fuck," He mutters under his breath, running his hands to the back of his neck and hanging his head low.

He woke up every day wishing for one single thing. Wishing every single time that he could just turn the clock back. He'd do it all differently. For starters, he'd never ever let himself break that golden heart of yours. He'd make sure he still tried even when you two were at your lowest. He'd make sure he carried you out of your darkest moments even if his own actions had caused them. He'd tell you he loved you more and he wouldn't let his selfishness get in the way of ever proving to you how much he didn't deserve someone so good.

He'd spend every day making you feel safe, loved, cared for. He'd do it all differently. Because he was the one that broke you in the first place. He was the one that broke what the two of you had and, God, that killed him.

It didn't matter how far away he was. He'd still drop everything to get to you. He'd get the next flight, cross the Atlantic and land directly at your door in the hopes that he could say everything he wished he could've said before. He'd make those words fix it all.

He needed to see you.

~~~~~

Fuck. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. You had your keys in one hand with your passport and phone, your earphones shoved into your ears, a duffel bag in the other hand and an open car door in front of you. And you stepped through.

"To the airport please," You say quickly, running a hand through your hair.

"In a rush, miss?" The driver frowns, setting her foot on the gas to start driving out of your street.

"Something like that," You sigh, leaning your head back against the headrest and taking in a deep breath.

This was your last chance.

Your leg trembled beneath your hand as you awaited your arrival. You'd just about make the final check in, hurry through security and, in a matter of a few hours, you'd be flying across to London to hopefully resolve exactly what your heart been desiring.

Twelve hours and you'd be there.

~~~~~

"There has to be an earlier flight!" Shawn groans, running a hand through his tugged out curls.

"There's nothing man, and you still need to do the show tonight," Connor points out, scrolling down the screen on his laptop to show Shawn all the possible flight times.

"This is (Y/n) we're talking about!" Shawn raises his voice a little, "I need to see her,"

"Right," Connor swivels in his chair to face his friend, "And, if she's that important, you can wait another twelve hours before getting that flight to see her,"

Shawn sighs and drops back down onto the couch. Twelve hours and he'd be there, waiting to board his flight to you and only you.

~~~~~

Half a day had never felt so long. You'd barely slept on the flight and, with disheveled hair and puffy eyes, you dragged yourself off from the flight and through passport control before reaching the lounge and trying to find any sort of exit in an airport that felt so unfamiliar.

"(Y/n),"

But that voice. That voice would always be familiar.

You turn around and see as Shawn stands up from one of the chairs in the airport.

"What are yo-" He starts, "Am I- Are you- Am I seeing things?"

You can't help but smile, only a little, at his words.

Seeing him, face to face with you, you realise exactly what you were about to get yourself into.

It had been months. His hair was longer now but everything else just the same - warm eyes, chiseled face, flushed cheeks. He's every part of the boy you loved. The boy you love.

"I-" He begins but stops himself as he steps the large stride between the two of you.

His hands reach up to cup your cheeks and he leans down to kiss you longingly. It isn't hesitant but you know he's terrified of how you will respond. His hands don't want to hold you too intensely but they want to be strong enough to trust himself when he thought you were there.

"I came to find you, I needed to see you," You comment breathlessly when he pulls away as you grab at the material of his tshirt on his chest.

"It's been way too long (Y/n), god I've missed you so fucking much," He shakes his head.

Both of you look desperate and messy in the middle of this airport lounge but you dismiss it completely.

Your eyes are filling with tears and you're beginning to tremble in his touch.

"Shawn, I came because I had to tell you-" You begin but your words are quivering in every syllable, "I-"

"I know, I know," Shawn encourages, holding you a little tighter, "God, I was about to forget tour just to find you,"

You swallow the lump in your throat, "Okay but this is it now, you and me. No more fighting, no more running,"

"No more tears," Shawn mumbles, wiping his thumb across your cheek to erase the tear stains left there.

"We can fix all of this, we can make it work," You state and hearing the words seems to solidify what you'd been telling yourself for so long.

"Come here," Shawn says, pulling you impossibly closer to him and wrapping you in his embrace tighter than he ever had before.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck and inhales the lingering scent of your shampoo, mixed only with the scent of the perfume he'd bought you many moons ago.

This could be fixed. Because, here you were, at some ungodly hour, gripping onto him and him holding you close enough to trust thay he'd never lose you. And it was all because of him.

~~~~~

Tags: @imarypayne @sunshine112 @bringmethehorizonandpizza @supernatural-girl97 @vibhati123 @butithasntkilledyouyet @faefictions @carisi-sonny @trap-house-homiecide @spiderrpcrker @tommydaspidey @oneblckcoffee @darlingtholland @fanficparker @xxtomxo @httpfandxms

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

I’ll Wait If It Means I’ll Find Love

Derek’s been in love with Stiles the whole time, but it takes a while for Stiles to finally realise that he loves Derek.

Commission for @evanesdust

He thought about Stiles often—about the day they met.

In that moment, it felt as if his whole world had stopped.

He froze as he met the boy’s eyes, watching as the smoky quartz depths shimmered like gold in the streams of daylight that filtered through the foliage. He watched as his eyes widened like a startled deer, his pale, mole-speckled cheeks flushed as he ran his hand over his shaved head and looked down at his feet.

The boy wore a shirt with a three-ring target printed on it, a grey hoodie, and a black suit jacket that looked to be two sizes too big for him—clearly a hand-me-down from his dad.

Derek felt his chest tighten around his fluttering heart as the sound of the boy’s voice reached his ears.

Derek had never believed in love at first sight, but there was something about Stiles that captivated him.

Walk away, he told himself. Don’t be like her.

Derek buried his hands back in the pockets of his jacket, glancing back at the teen and his friend one last time before leaving.

He dragged his feet back through the undergrowth, dry carcases of fallen leaves crunching beneath his boots as he made his way back to the charred ruins of his home. He shoved open the door and stepped into the foyer covered in dust and ash.

I won’t be like her, he told himself.

As time passed, Derek found himself drawn towards Stiles more and more. It was the little things at first: the way the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smirk when he made a sarcastic comment, his selflessness when it comes to saving Derek’s life time and time again, the spark of determination in his eye as he faced off against alphas and kanimas.

Derek soon realised that he felt something for Stiles that he couldn’t explain: his heart sank into his gut at the thought of Stiles putting himself in danger; he felt happy whenever the boy talked about his dad or his lacrosse games; fear and burning rage consumed him whenever he saw Stiles’ hurt.

Derek would face down his uncle, he’d fight off a pack of alphas, and he’d put himself between Stiles and a kanima if it meant that he could keep him safe.

But every time he got close, he felt the sickening guilt creep in. He felt his heart sink as the memories he had repressed years ago broke through his defences.

He refused to prey on a young boy, to toy with him and twist his feelings to make him believe he’s in love with someone when he’s not.

He wouldn’t be like her.

He wouldn’t hurt Stiles.

So, every time he got close, he drew back.

He tried to distract himself by dating Jennifer. But her eyes weren’t the ones he wanted to look at, her smile wasn’t as radiant, her laugh didn’t make his stomach flutter; she wasn’t the person he wanted to wake up to every morning.

It was always Stiles.

Derek felt his heart break when Stiles stood before him, his dark eyes filled with tears and his lips trembling, as he and Scott told Derek about Jennifer being the Durach, about how she had killed people and kidnapped his father.

He felt his stomach twist in disgust as Jennifer came running in, pretending to be the victim.

He felt jagged shards of ice pierce his heart at the sound of the boy’s voice breaking, the quiet rasp as tears trailed down Stiles’ pale cheeks. “Where’s my dad?”

“How should I know?” Jennifer asked. “Derek, don’t tell me you believe this.”

Derek glanced at Jennifer before looking back at the boys; at the look of pure rage and determination on Scott’s face.

But all it took was one look at Stiles, and he knew.

“You know what happened to Stiles’ father?” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand for answers.

  After that, it was Braeden. He had fun with her, she was able to keep up with his banter, but it wasn’t the same.

Then everything changed after Mexico.

Derek remembered leaning across the van’s cabin and pushing open the small side door, ducking his head as he stepped over.

He heard a low growl and looked up to see the ivory bone of a skull charging towards them.

The Berserker grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him out of the van.

He hit the ground with a painful thud, the sand and dirt tearing at his skin as he rolled across the dusty courtyard.

“Derek!” Stiles shouted after him.

The Berserker grabbed the man by the front of his jacket, hurling him across the courtyard until his back collided with the broken stone wall in the courtyard.

Derek cried out in pain, tears welling in his eyes as searing pain flooded his body from where the jagged stone dug into his back.

The Berserker loomed over him, backlit by the headlights of the cars and the swirling mist that rolled through the valley. The Berserker raised their arms high and slammed their fists down on Derek's chest.

He let out a strangled gasp, wheezing as the gut-twisting sound of breaking bones echoed throughout the courtyard.

The world around him fell silent, the only sound he could hear was the muffled voices of the others and the thin wisps of breath that played across his lips.

The jagged stone impaled him, tearing through his flesh. The fabric of his shirt was soaked by the blood that gushed from his wounds.

There was only one thought on his mind. Stiles.

His eyes grew misty, the pale depths darkened and unfocused as he looked up at the Berserker, watching as they raised their arms high above their head and slammed their fists down on Derek's chest again.

He choked on his breath, wheezing as a stream of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as he watched the creature draw their arm back and clench their fist.

Derek’s eyes were fixed on the ivory dagger-like bone that jutted out from the Berserker's gauntlet. His mind screamed at him to fight, to run away, but he lay still, watching as the creature swung their arm, the bone tearing through his gut.

Derek's lips trembled as he fell weakly against the broken stone wall. He could smell his blood, could hear each drop hit the ground and stir a cloud of dust.

Stiles.

He heard the distant sound of gunfire and someone calling his name but his eyes were focused on Stiles, watching as he stumbled out of the back of the van, his eyes wide with fear. He stared at Derek, the dark depths of his eyes swirling with heartbreak as he stood, frozen in place.

“Just find him,” Derek said, his lips smeared with blood. Get out of here. “I'll be right behind you.”

No one moved.

“Go!” he shouted.

The others turned and ran towards the church, but Stiles hesitated. He took a step but stopped, his dark eyes full of pain as he looked back over his shoulder at Derek.

“Hey,” Derek whispered. “Save him.”

Stiles swallowed hard and nodded. He forced himself to look way, kicking up the dust with his heels as he ran over to the church entrance. He paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder at Derek as the man’s body weakened, lying limp against the stone.

Derek heard Braeden call his name but he couldn’t fight the darkness that crept in. He kept his eyes on the door to the church, watching Stiles disappear into the shadows.

His eyes fluttered shut and his chest fell still.

As he lay dying, his last thoughts were of Stiles; it was always Stiles.

  There was a knock at the front door, stirring Derek from his thoughts.

Derek let out a heavy sigh as he pushed back his chair and walked across the open space to the door. He flicked back the lock and pulled open the door, his eyes flying open wide as his heart leapt in surprise.

He looked the same; the same tousled mess of chestnut-brown hair, the same dark brown eyes, the same moles that covered his skin like constellations charted across the sky. But he had grown up. His shoulders were broader and he filled out the clothes he wore; a grey and blue sweatshirt and jeans.

“Stiles?” Derek gasped.

“Hey,” the young man replied. “Sorry to drop in on you like this, but Cora said you weren’t answering your phone. She, uh—” He held up the crinkled piece of paper he held in his hand. “She gave me your address and asked me to check in on you.”

“I’m fine,” Derek said.

“Good,” Stiles said, nodding slightly as if he were unsure how genuine Derek’s answer was.

“Come in,” Derek said, shaking himself from his stupor. He stepped back from the door and ushered Stiles inside.

Stiles’ eyes flew open wide as he stepped into the lavish apartment.

The open space was filled with warm daylight that bled through the wide windows, bathing them with warmth. There was a step down into the sunken living room where dark couches sat around a glass coffee table. Stacks of books, scattered candles, and a forgotten mug sat on the table. A flat screen TV was mounted against the exposed redbrick of the feature wall. The hardwood floors stretched over to the kitchen where a dining table was positioned to look out a large window at a section of garden that was full of greenery and a small water feature. Rivulets of shimmering water coursed down the dark grey slate, glinting as they caught the daylight.

“Nice place,” he said, looking around with wonder. “A lot different to the old loft.”

“Thanks,” Derek said. “Do you want a drink or something?”

“That’d be great, thanks,” Stiles replied, following Derek into the kitchen.

Derek dug through the fridge, pulling out a can of soda and handing it to Stiles.

“Thanks,” Stiles said again, sitting down at the table. “This is a big place. Do you live with anyone?”

“Cora visits sometimes,” Derek answered, sitting down again.

“And Peter?” Stiles encouraged.

“God, no,” Derek scoffed. “After what happened in Mexico, I might kill him if I ever saw him again.”

“He’d only come back again.”

Derek couldn’t help but laugh.

“So, no girlfriend?” Stiles prompted.

Derek rolled his eyes, fighting the smirk that toyed with the corners of his mouth.

“No,” he answered. “No girlfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No boyfriend either,” Derek said, unable to hold back the smile any longer. He took a sip of his drink, watching as thoughts passed across Stiles’ face.

“You know, I had a crush on you a few years ago,” Stiles reminisced. “Then I started dating Malia and I realised that she wasn’t the one I wanted to be with. There were things I liked about all my lovers; Malia’s attitude, Lydia’s intelligence… but it was like the right pieces were in the wrong puzzle.”

“Don’t do this,” Derek begged softly.

“Don’t do what?”

Derek hesitated. He kept his eyes on his hands.

“I’ve loved you from the day we met,” he confessed.

“But… You were with Ms Blake. And Braeden,” Stiles said, his voice raised at the end of his sentences as if he were trying to form a question.

“The right pieces in the wrong puzzle,” Derek repeated back to him.

Stiles was quiet for a second, letting it all sink in.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Stiles asked, his voice quiet as his dark eyes looked up at Derek.

“Because I didn’t want to be like her,” Derek admitted. “I didn’t want to hurt you like Kate hurt me.”

Derek shifted forward, reaching out to take Derek’s hand in his. “You’re not like Kate.”

Derek bowed his head, hiding the dark shadows that passed behind his eyes.

“Maybe so, but you were a kid, and I… I couldn’t…”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Stiles said gently.

Derek glanced up, meeting Stiles’ gaze.

A sweet smile lifted the corners of the young man’s lips.

“I swear, I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again,” Stiles promised. “I won’t be like her.”

“I know,” Derek whispered, setting his hand over Stiles’. “You never could be.”

“And neither could you.”

Derek couldn’t help but smile.

“What do you say?” Stiles asked. “Do you want to give this a go?”

Derek felt his heart hammer against his ribs, but there was no hesitation in his voice as he said, “I want nothing more.”

[AO3]

[recipereruns]

#TBT Recipe - 'Cold Sandwiches with Chips - Just Like Mom Packed When She Dropped Us off at the Lake Unsupervised'

Lake, meaning 'Inland Body of Water Where Poor People Go on Vacation'. That's not entirely true, there are plenty of rich people with fancy lake houses and lesser rich people with cabins who all wish they could afford the ocean and the beach.

Despite Meth Mom's booming drug business and Scotch Dad's dealings in San Bernardino and Banff, we were not rich, bud solidly middle class. Evidenced by the boat pictured above that was rehabbed by Scotch Dad the Spring he became Bud Light Dad and was able to operate a sander.

My extremely young parents (YOUNGER THAN JUSTIN BIEBER) took me camping at the lake as an infant. They carted me around in some screened in crib affair that looked like it from a safari themed N.I.C.U. Since then I've dipped, dropped, swam, played in lakes all across America. Despite the fact it was late fall, I once got an entire boat full of twenty-somethings on acid to strip naked and jump in while I hid their fleece pants.

Though you cannot tell from the sunny pic of girl above - born actress with a keenness for copy wright laws posing with her hand OVER the TAB label - this was in the PNW and the water was cold AF. This was also the day Meth Mom declared that I had a "chest like Grandma Van Auken'....Awesome. Should we just buy stock in Maidenform now?

Lakes were about fun, family, friends, water sports and in the PNW, avoiding the rocks at the bottom. Here are some 'Lakes of My Life'.

Seeley Lake, MT

Cold AF. First time being towed on an inner tube. Note your swimsuit will get swallowed inside of you.

Flathead Lake, MT

Colder AF. Stunning and 58 degrees in Mid-August, my bff only deigned to go IN the water when we could float in rafts shaped like Heineken Bottles. We, having no idea how gross Heineken was at the time, thought it hilarious.

Lake Michigan, IL

LOVE in summer. HATE in winter. I went in it once. I came out itchy.

Lake Sammamish, WA

The lake in my hometown of Redmond. Located below the "Plateau - Native American for “We WILL Take Your Land" Lake Sammamish had parks, concession stands, houses with docks, boats and serial killer Ted Bundy! It's also where my Mormon friend was made by her mom to put on a tank top over her swimsuit so as not to offend some other Mormon mothers with flat chests, I guess?

Lake Tahoe, CA/NV

She's a beauty. The CA side is colder the NV side because people from Reno pee in it. So it goes....

The Great Salt Lake, UT

Great and grainy. Not so much of a lake as a crunchy pool of brine filled with the salty tears of young Mormon women body shamed by their flat chested mother's who told them to wear two pairs of Mormon Underwear over their swimsuits..

Pine Lake, WA

Small, warm and unsupervised, the gem of the Plateau was our favorite place to get dropped off at while Meth Mom ran to the Country Store or got lost on some logging road because seriously, nothing was there. They had a lifeguard chair to jump off and no life guard to watch me or Little Brother (Native American for shitty swimmer) as we splashed around the algae filled water. The cesspool eventually closed because of leeches which would explain why no one was ever there. It also explains the marks on my legs.

What is great about getting out of a cold lake (or any lake) is running to your sun warmed towel, grabbing a handful of glistening chips and popping them on a sandwich, with bread slightly toasted by the sun. Follow up with Oreos and wash it down with a whole CAN of PAP!

Get out of the lake enjoy a little crunch on your sandwich! This post has been brought to you in part by Tab Diet Cola, With Calcium!

INGREDIENTS;

Bread, not Ciabatta

Deli meat, not Carl Budig

Cheese slices

Mustard, Mayo, Etc.

Chips, Ruffles are best, Doritos are great, Cheetos poke holes in break and Pringles sometimes disintegrate

DIRECTIONS:

Make the sandwich but leave off the chips for now.

Have your mom or another irresponsible adult drop you off at a lake unsupervised.

Swim and play.

Get out, sit on your towel, put the chips on the sandwich and crunch away while you dry!

[rnrmarineservices-blog]

Boat Test: Jeanneau Cap Camarat 9.0 WA and Jeanneau Cap Camarat 9 CC

The French yard's latest offerings are both remarkably fast, capable craft. But which of the two is the better bet for your style of boating?

There's a delicious guilty pleasure in jumping a boat so far out of the water that you get the props clear; that telltale fraction of a second as the engine revs suddenly flair, causing your adrenalin gland to do the same. It's the same frisson of excitement, that same sense of lawlessness, that you get from briefly slipping the back end of a powerful rear-wheel drive car out of line on an empty wet roundabout – just for  a moment, you're Tom Cruise buzzing the tower in Top Gun.

But just like the car, it only really works if the boat is well balanced, if it feels born to do it – there's little pleasure to be had opposite locking a camper van! The mere fact that we're trying so hard to get the props out of the water on our sea trial of Jeanneau's new Cap Camarat 9.0 models speaks volumes – it wasn't always like this with the French builder.

A decade or so ago, if you'd visited Jeanneau's boat show stand in search of a sporty 9m sportscruiser, you'd have been politely directed to the group's Leader line, either the Leader 8 or its earlier incarnation, the 805. Great boats, capable, comfortable and spacious, they made excellent family cruisers, but no one ever attempted to get their props out, and with typically a single Volvo Penta diesel, they'd have been disappointed if they'd tried.

Today the market has changed, and so has the hardware. Twin outboards, each as powerful as its predecessor's single diesel yet weighing less in total, offer performance that's simply in a different league. Available in two distinctly separate model lines, one is an open walkaround boat, the other more of a large cuddy cabin, but confusingly it's the cabin version that's called the WA and the walkaround boat that's called the CC (it actually stands for Centre Console, apparently).

At the rear of the cockpit, the boats are identical, with a fixed transom bench and flip-out seats around the other sides of cockpit (you get the starboard one and one behind the helm seats for free but pay extra for an additional portside seat). The cockpit table can be fixed in position on telescopic legs that allow it to convert to a lounger or demountable on removable legs. Opt for the latter, it takes up quite a bit of space. The double helm is central, which gives rise to the 'walkaround' tag of the 9.0 WA, and access forward is easily achieved via steps on either side of the helm console leading to a totally flat foredeck which Jeanneau has utilised as a huge sunpad. It's a good use of this normally dead space, but it has an obvious trade-off in the cabin where headroom around the dinette is adequate, but only just. In fact, it's a perfect metaphor for Jeanneau's prioritisation of outside living.

The minimalist finish (if we're being kind, basic if we're not – there's a lot of GRP moulding on show down here), the open-plan layout of the double berth beneath the cockpit and the lack of hanging lockers all collude to remind you that this is no cruiser.

Only the heads is anything more than the bare minimum, it's actually quite generously proportioned. The specification level backs this up. You'll be wanting to add the Comfort Pack if you require hot water, the single gas hob (positioned in the cockpit) or 240V shore support.

If you're really not bothered about what's inside, then maybe you should check out that 9.0 CC. The aft section of cockpit is identical and the helm area is broadly similar, but rather than steps up to the flat foredeck, you stroll past the centre console at deck level to a bow area with a long, wide bench in the centre, backrest against the console. A further seat that curves around the inside of the bulwarks makes this a terrific social space – suddenly the whole boat is cockpit.

Clearly the trade-off for this is the cabin, but not as much as you might think. In fact, Jeanneau has cleverly utilised the area beneath that large central seat to squeeze in a surprisingly useable double berth. Best of all, that generous heads is present and correct. There's even a small section that runs back beneath the cockpit. You need to remove the steps to access it but it's great for chucking bags and coats into, and Jeanneau is going to add a base cushion which will allow young children to sleep in there. Finally, in recognition of the reality that the cabin is going to be a dumping ground for cockpit cushions at the end of a day on the water, you can lift the base of that forward seat and throw them straight in.

    Ride out

But enough of the layouts, we're here for the drive. You can opt for a single 350hp outboard, but the twin Yamaha 4.2-litre V6 250hp outboards hanging off the transom of both test boats (one a WA, the other a CC) will do the Michaël Peters-designed hull far more justice.

Bald figures tell half the story – nail those throttles and you'll have all three tonnes of boat (including those monster engines) planing in under five seconds. Keep them pinned and you'll be at 40 knots just ten seconds later, the relentless upward flicker of the digital speed log only tailing off once you reach 45 knots (we briefly saw 47 knots out of the 9.0 CC). These are properly fast boats. But they're not super-focused scary fast, and it doesn't take a badass raceboat pilot to get the best out of them – they absorb and then transmit that combined 500hp with consummate ease and friendly reassurance. And fun though it is, you don't need to nail the throttles to get the Cap Cam 9.0 over the hump. Ease the power on gently and you'll be planing effortlessly at 20 knots. At 3,500rpm (a full 2,000rpm short of WOT), you'll be cantering gently at 24 knots, or set the electronically synchronised throttles at 4,000rpm for about 30 knots (at which point the boat is only burning an extra 0.3 litres of petrol per mile).

Even flat out, whilst you and your crew will be glad of handholds like the stainless-steel rail that loops around the curved screen, you won't feel the need to have a chiropractor on speed dial. Low-geared steering (it's hydraulic, but not power assisted) means that hard fast turns are not wrist-flick quick but once you've wound it in, it grips every bit as tenaciously as it avoids cavitation.

  Verdict

Having fully explored the handling and taken the performance figures, there's only one thing left to do. The gently rolling swell of a sunny Cannes afternoon provides all the temptation of an empty wet roundabout, and it's time to buzz the tower. Pointing the nose out to sea, directly into the swell, we build speed gradually but relentlessly, the gaps between take off and landing steadily increasing but remaining utterly confidence inspiring as the hull soaks up our tomfoolery without complaint. Finally, with the needle touching 45 knots, we crest a big one. The Cap Camarat 9.0 CC leaps skyward and holds its trajectory just long enough to elicit the brief telltale tortured howl from the twin Yamahas, followed by a soft 'whoomf' from the hull as it transforms our landing into sheets of white spray that jet out low and fast. All four crew cheer – this is no camper van. 

For more information contact Jeanneau.

  At a glance…

  Build: GRP RCD: B6/C10 LOA: 29ft 11in 9.12m Beam: 9ft 9in 2.98m Engines: Twin Yamaha F250 250hp outboard Fuel: 400 litres (88 gallons) Water: 100 litres (44 gallons) Price: from £97,227 incl. VAT Price as tested £139,930 inc VAT

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This article Boat Test: Jeanneau Cap Camarat 9.0 WA and Jeanneau Cap Camarat 9 CC appeared first on Motor Boat & Yachting.

[chriscoleman]

Valentine's Backcountry Ski Trip

@ Scottish Lakes High Camp

February 10 – 14, 2017 Julia and I took a trip to the North Central Cascades between Leavenworth, WA and Steven’s Pass. 5 days in a rustic backcountry cabin with only the basic amenities. We packed all our ski gear, warm clothes, food, and swimsuits to explore the winter wonderland. The mountain pass to access the Scottish Lakes parking area was closed Friday morning. Rain on Thursday had caused ‘extreme’ avalanche danger which is a rare event. After dropping off Skye at Central Bark doggy hotel we pushed our luck and drove towards the road closure, refreshing our phones every few minutes hoping the WSDOT crews had cleared the road. No luck by 9am when we arrived to Monroe near Steven’s Pass. We discussed our options with the mountain host, Eric, and eventually decided to take a 3-hour detour through Leavenworth via Chumstick highway. It worked out and we arrived just after our planned pickup time. Sadly, the people who waited for the pass to open arrived just minutes after us. We loaded a suburban with chains on the tires to drive up the mountain. After 4 miles we got out and unloaded the SUV’s. The snow was falling hard now. 3 snowmobiles waited to carry us the remaining 4 miles to camp. It was an exhilarating ride with Kenzie. Her only instructions were to lean with her into the turns so that she could power up faster. The speed threw snow onto our goggles and froze our butts to the seat. Larkspur cabin was our home for 4 nights. Kenzie showed us the features – including the wood stove, fire starters, lanterns, brown water bucket, food boxes, and location of the outhouse. We started a fire right away to thaw our backsides – which took considerable more effort than I’d like to admit. Luckily we’d have loads more practice at perfecting the wood stove fire over the trip. Miso soup and homemade dried bananas fueled us for our first foray into the backcountry. We suited up to ski tour before dark. High Country road led out of camp into a wide open slope. The ridge was easy to summit, giving us confidence. Unfortunately the rain event on Thursday, caused by a temperature inversion (camp was 18F yet rain fell), created a thick crust on the snowpack. This resulted in 4 inches of powder - on top of an inch of ice - on top of 4 feet of powder. The crust was easy to break with the weight of a skier but made turning difficult. We battled down that ridge, put skins back on and hiked back to the top. 1 skillful turn got our confidence refreshed before returning to the main lodge at camp. Meeting other campers was a highlight of our trip. First we met Melody and Wally (staying with their son Preston) who had help build/paint parts of camp after coming for years. It seemed that everyone we talked to had been at High Camp every year for 20+ years. This definitely tells a story about the feeling around camp, a friendly atmosphere for sure. Taco dinner was perfect with fresh veggies and spicy beef. Then we stuffed our full bellies into swimsuits before heading to the hot tub. It’s an old school wood fired tub with room for 4. It was 110 degrees – surrounded by piles of snow. Kenzie gave us a hose of cold water to cuddle bringing the tub temp down closer to 100F. A full moon lit our path on the walk back to our cabin – which was super hot when we returned. The benefit is that all our gear was dried, I just had to sit by the door drinking my hot chocolate in my underwear.    The downside of a wood stove is that it needs to be stoked every few hours. Ours had about 3 hours of life before you had to re-start from scratch. We woke up at 11pm and 3am to keep our cabin warm (which we later learned that other people just put on more clothes to save wood/effort). Saturday the 11th started at 8am with loads of blackberries. We packed bags with lunch, water/tea, avalanche tools, puffy jackets, map/gps/compass, and other touring gear. Then stopped by the main lodge to ‘check out’. This was a safety precaution so people knew where we were going and when we expected to be back. It was nice to think that someone would come looking if we fell off the side of a mountain. Hiking up High Country road to Glacier Peak Viewpoint was a blast. Julia broke trail as we ascended up the winding road. Just less than a mile and 300 feet elevation gain we decided to rip our skins off (the fish scale like fabric we stick to our skis to allow us to travel uphill) and ski the Northern Exposure slope towards Wedding Point. Then reattached our skins to hike up the Southern Exposure ridge where it was incredibly wind swept. We bailed out and headed lower towards Roundabout trail which ended up being too flat. We poled along this trail until we hit the road that took us back to camp for lunch.

At camp we met Jared (splitboarder) and Lyss who had just tested the Wild Bill Hill and found it had the same nasty crust as we experienced. Rich, another mountain host, recommended we hike up Wild Bill, then over to Cowabunga / Shangrila for our afternoon tour. Julia again broke the fresh snow making a zigzag path up the steep slope. A half mile and 300 feet higher we attempted to ski Cowabunga run. It looked perfect from the top, we were so happy to have found this area… until our 3rd turn. The first 2 were powdery - then the 3rd was that crust. The steep north facing slope held no snow, only windswept crust that made it impossible for us to ski. We both fell in-sync before deciding to hike back up and find another way down. We ended up skiing down the way we came up, which wasn’t half bad. It’s just sad how bad the snow conditions made us look as skiers - it was like we were beginners on the bunny slopes all over again - Power Wedges and 2-turns-stops.

9 transitions from going uphill to downhill (skins on / skins off) on Saturday gave us lots of practice with our new skis, boots, bindings, and skins.

Wyeth, a friend from Seattle, was in the lodge when we returned. It was coincidence we both booked Scottish Lakes this weekend, only finding out a few days before arrival. His group of 5 were in the larger Foxfire cabin for 2 nights. We caught up and talked about our adventures - giving us ideas for Sunday. The potluck is a tradition at High Camp on Saturday evenings. We brought BBQ pork, baked beans, and coleslaw - which we prepped in our cabin before the 6pm dinner time. There were about 20 people there, each bringing a unique dish / dessert / drink. Crepes with nutella and unStuffed peppers were 2 favorites. We sat with our new friends Jared and his wife Lyss chatting about our animals and other adventures (they like to boat and dive). Then Wyeth’s friend found a guitar while the table of older people began to sing, there was even a shot ski at some point.

Sunday morning Julia lit the fire as I made sandwiches for lunch. We ate oatmeal / chia with the remaining blackberries before heading out into the snow. It was about 20 degrees, forecast to warm to 28 by afternoon. After our daily check out, where we filled our bottles with warm water/tea, we were hiking uphill by 10am (not the earliest start, but it’s vacation!).

Jirka trail took us through the woods to the top of Powderpuff slope. We ripped skins and skied the shallow powder, with pure bliss. Compared to previous turns these were the softest and therefore best so far. We actually do remember how to ski - what a relief.

Ridgetop trail took us from Powderpuff up to High Point at 6000 feet elevation, about 3 miles from camp. The way up was concerning because we could not easily ski down the up-track because of the angle + trees + snow conditions. Luckily Wyeth’s friends Aubrey and Luke came charging by and reassured us the downhill section from High Point was ideal - so we kept going. Lunch on the ridge was awe inspiring. Looking towards the High Meadows as we sat on the tips of our skis in hip deep snow with the sun shining bright is the stuff of dreams. The salami sandwiches weren’t bad either. The ski down was a highlight of our trip. Something I’d consider a double black in resort areas (steep trees with variable snow conditions) that we skied reasonably easily. Following Wyeth’s groups tracks helped with our confidence too. The slope became less steep although the trees became more dense as we continued to enjoy the turns. Totally stoked when we arrived at the Boundary trail that took us out to Picnic Point. I skipped the jump from the trail to the road (someone else didn’t) and we reveled in the view with tea. Finally a quick skin back up High Country road and down Powderpuff back to camp with tired legs.

New people had arrived at camp during the day. A snowboarder was hiking up a hill near camp, a dog running along the trail with snowshoer’s, and kids were playing in the snow. We met Roxy the labradoodle and her owners Chris / Nicky in the lodge. We informed Rick that we ignored his advice again by climbing to High Point - which became a theme of our trip.

Restocking the wood pile from underneath our cabin was a chore. Julia slipped through a hole in the floor and tossed logs up to me. In no time we were warm again, with our gear hung for drying. Then we hit the hot tub. Rebecca, who is dating Marc the host, arrived shortly after us. She works at a non-profit for protecting salmon in the Northwest, visiting with her father. The rest of the evening was totally relaxing. The chili was too spicy for me, but luckily we had plenty of chocolate to cure this problem. Julia read her book about the naturalist Alexander von Humboldt aloud so we could learn about this important impacts on the world we enjoy so much.  

Monday was another full day of touring, skiing, drinking tea, getting lost, and generally being adventurers. The one thing we didn’t do is ignore Rich’s advice. Although we originally planned to ski Okey Dokey to Bob’s Knob - Rich and 2 awesome ladies talked us out of it. Instead directing us towards Lake Julius, which had been one of our desired objectives anyway so having them tell us it was smart/possible was sweet.

The skin up High Country road to Picnic Point went quickly. I left my skins on for the slight downhill section while Julia decided to ski the half mile / 100 feet elevation loss to the meadow just before Lake Julius. From here we continued to follow the existing skin track that led uphill away from the lake, luckily we knew this with help from my GPS. Just before this trail that followed the summer route to Lake Ethel got steep we ripped skins. Our most risky / rewarding backcountry ski of the trip because there were no tracks to follow. We picked our way through trees back to the open meadow. Then Julia broke trail once again along Roaring Creek the final quarter mile to Lake Julius where we had lunch.

Hiking out was rewarding. Although it was uphill and our legs were tired - being in the woods is what we enjoy most. This new hobby of ski touring is something I can see us doing for a very long time. In the blink of an eye we were back atop Powderpuff, only 3 transitions this day (more of a tour than a skiing day).

Booking for next year went down as we checked in for the day. Campers get priority if they book while at camp so next February we’ll be doing the same thing (hopefully with less crusty snow). Then we finished the night with our hot tub soak where Rebecca joined us again. The water had just been refreshed so we were first to enjoy the cooler yet cleaner water as the wood stove puffed along.    

Lasagna (dehydrated) dinner was ideal / easy. We packed bags in prep for our Tuesday departure. Finishing the night with more reading’s from the Humboldt biography. Eventually starting/stoking the fire at 10pm, 1am, and 5am to keep our cabin cozy.

7am I woke up to the sound of squirrels on our roof. Julia had been watching their little footprints around our cabin all weekend. We finally saw the buggers jump from tree to tree and across the snow. One even did a dance for us - to look cute so that we would feed it. It didn’t work, but it was cute. Highlight of the trip for Julia.

We packed our bags and left them in the cabin. Went out to ski our last few runs before meeting the hosts with our stuff at mid-mountain by 2:30pm. I was slow to start, convincing Julia to drink hot chocolate with me in the main lodge until almost 11am. Our tour took us back to Glacier View Point where we saw tracks downhill. They looked soft so we followed - bringing us down to Wedding Point. Surprisingly nice set of turns despite everywhere surrounding being icy. The long break here gave us time to reflect on the wonderful / tough weekend as birds flew all around. It was everything we expected plus more. We skied Powderpuff one last time on the way out and rested at the main lodge until it was time to depart. It took us about 45 minutes to ski the 4 miles of road - mostly groomed by the snow mobiles. Big views the whole way, a perfect exit from our Valentines Day adventure.

The trip was a combination of type 1 and 2 fun, hard yet enjoyable. I left feeling refreshed and recharged (and sore). It’s amazing to see our skills as skiers / tourers progress. I love being outdoors with Julia, looking forward to our next trip to Scottish Lakes High Camp and beyond.

Pictures: https://goo.gl/photos/j435GrxWNbqC9v7A9