#watch me lose a hundred hours on it once i finish base game and do other game mode then dlc

[t34-mt]

https://store.steampowered.com/app/2443110/South_Scrimshaw_Part_One/

This seem right up your alley

It kinda reminds me of that one illustrastion of a diving manuul you made, except make it a 1h 30 min mockumentary

IVE SEEN curious archive video on it today!!! might consider buying it i really enjoyed hearing about the world i need to know more its so lovely

me love marine animals and all the symbiosis these whales do

[pixelfun20]

Flower Fields: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Notes: Again, all credit to @give-grian-rights (hope you don’t mind the tag!) for the concept! Thank you so much! Also almost forgot to post this on Tumblr rip.

No fighting wars, no ringing chimes

We're just feeling fine

Tubbo started out by building his starter base.

It was a concept he’d learned about while living with Xisuma, and it was quite a good one, too. After all, megabases worthy of Hermitcraft’s admittedly lofty standards often took months to build, and he’d need somewhere to live in the meantime. In Season 6, he’d neglected that fact, and had suffered his fair share of mob deaths before he put up four walls and a ceiling to protect himself, back when he’d left to live on his own. And that was with a small, quickly-thrown together base, not the project he was currently planning.

Still, even setting up the basics of his starter base took a few nearly sleepless days. Finally, the framework for the build, a treehouse spanning more than a few trees at the edge of the forest, was up, and Tubbo was finally able to place a bed down in safety and sleep for a solid fourteen hours straight.

Xisuma dropped by, quite literally, a day or so later.

Tubbo had been sitting in his quickly-expanding living room, sorting through the loot he’d gotten from yesterday’s day-long mining session when he swooped down through the half-finished roof. While he was still wearing his bee-themed armor, now there were two glider-like wings, shimmering purple, strapped to his back.

“Heya, X,” Tubbo greeted the admin with a wave, closing one of his chests. “You got elytra already?”

“Tango and I defeated the Ender Dragon yesterday,” Xisuma replied, touching down softly. Tubbo made an ‘ah’ sound, recalling the achievement he’d seen out of the corner of his eye the other day. Right; he’d forgotten about that. Trust X to be as efficient as possible and defeat one of the toughest monsters in the world just for the ease of travel.

“I’ll have to go endbusting soon, then,” he said, more to himself than X. Before the elder man could protest (ah, he was getting good at noticing when he was going to), he added: “Stress and xB have already asked me to go with them, so don’t worry , alright?”

“Good,” Xisuma sighed. “It’s never a good idea to go out on your own, especially since this’ll be your first time seriously exploring the End.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes good naturedly. To be fair, he hadn’t gone out to the End before it had been conquered before. He’d had a fair few trips last Season, mostly with X, but it was generally for the XP farm once it’d been set up. He’d never left the main island before. Now that he had considerably more freedom at the beginning of the Season, he was excited to go exploring.

“Anything bring you over?” He asked, changing the subject.

Xisuma nodded. “Yeah. A bunch of the others are getting together for some sort of wrestling tournament this weekend.”

“And I’ve been invited?!” He grinned, clapping his hands together.

“As the referee.”

“Ah,” he pouted. “Darn.”

“Don’t worry,” Xisuma chuckled, setting down a shulker box. “It can be a lot funner to watch sometimes; I’m just going to be part of the audience, too. I think Doc wanted you because he thinks he can bribe you.”

“He can not !”

Xisuma raised an eyebrow. “Area 77.”

“Oh, that’s not fair. I am completely unbiased!”

“And that was why you became their lawyer and not for all the cool experiments they had. I don’t think Cleo has forgiven you for defeating her in court.”

“No one can defeat Big Law,” Tubbo sniffed, faux-offended, and Xisuma laughed. “Well, I’ll show him!” He declared, crossing his arms. “I’ll just have to make sure he loses, then!” Xisuma blinked, and he laughed. “Kidding! Kidding!” Mostly .

“So you’re going?”

“Sure! It’s nice to see the Hermits all in one place, anyways. What’s in the shulker?”

Xisuma tilted his head teasingly. “What do you think? Someone had to get the supplies for our honey farm.”

Tubbo gaped. “You’re ready to build farms already?! Man, and I thought I was ahead of the game with just having my base halfway done.”

The armored man shrugged, looking about the partially completed build. “Well, you’ve certainly put more effort into this than me. Truly, your building skills are already improving. I love how you’re styling the roof with peaks like you are; it looks like it took a while.”

“My last house had a roof like that, too,” Tubbo reminded him, glancing up as well. It had become a tradition, of sorts, to build curved, peaked roofs onto his builds. Last season it had been one of the few things he’d built slowly to make look as good as possible. In all honesty, it was his own way of honoring the person who’d made it possible for him to come here, to have a life worth living once again. Rushing through the technique just felt disrespectful.

“Yes, but you’ve definitely gotten better.” Xisuma bent down over the shulker box, checking its contents. “Do you have any good ideas for where to make the bee farm? I’ll admit, I’ve been a bit too busy to scout out a good area.”

“Really? Then where’d you get these guys?”

“Tree farming in the desert.”

Tubbo snorted into his hand, and he could practically feel Xisuma’s embarrassment. “Well, you did say you hadn’t scouted out a good spot.”

“Indeed I did.”

“I can take a look around here and see what I can find. Meadows are supposed to be excellent places for farming bees, right?”

“Indeed it is,” Xisuma agreed. “Do you have plans for your megabase, yet?”

Tubbo nodded, grinning. “And trust me, it’s going to be awesome .”

............

Two days later, a chicken appeared in his base. Tubbo found it laying an egg in what was starting to become the base’s storage area, with one of his shirts nearly ripped to shreds in what appeared to be a makeshift nest.

There was a nametag wrapped around its leg. After some chicken wrangling and a few feathers to the face, he got a good look at it and realized there wasn’t a name written there, but a set of coordinates.

A set of coordinates rather far away, but who was he to turn down such an intriguing mystery?

With the chicken now renamed Wilbur and placed in a pen (he’d needed a chicken farm anyways), Tubbo set out that morning with a few supplies to find the spot he was looking for. After crossing a fair bit of forest and ocean, by the next day he’d found himself cutting his way through the underbrush of an overgrown jungle and wondering why in the world Stress had wanted to wait a week before going to get their elytra.

He pushed a few low-hanging vines out of the way, checking his communicator for the upteenth time. He was getting closer, now. This better be worth going out a few hundred chunks in the middle of nowhere—hey, wait a minute!

There was smoke in the distance. He could just make it out through the leaves, and now that he concentrated, he could smell it, too. Tubbo rushed forwards, pushing through the brush to see several man-made wooden pillars sticking out. As he pressed forwards, he made out a semi-stone floor, several chests, and a small fire in the middle, explaining the smoke.

“What is this?” He asked himself, looking around the place. The coordinates were right, and yet no one was here. Just this outpost in the middle of the jungle.

Tubbo walked around. There were some papers pinned to the wall, and a few dispensers lying around. Idly he pressed the buttons on them, already starting to form a plan to enact revenge on whoever made him travel over a day to get this place.

He pressed the button on the dispenser in the middle of the build and nearly got an arrow to the face.

Tubbo yelped, his reflexes, honed from a half year of training, the only thing saving him from a sudden death. A bell rang behind him, but it took him a few more moments to calm his racing heart.

“Not funny! You nearly took my head off!” He shouted to the jungle. Still, he didn’t leave, instead turning to the bell the arrow had his, examining it. Huh.

There were some cookies in one of the chests, probably left behind by whoever had actually built the place. He nibbled on it, only half hungry, as he tried to examine the place better.

“HERMIT CHALLENGES!”

Tubbo shrieked , dropping the remains of his cookie as the voice rang through the forest air. He looked around, trying to find the source, but found that he couldn’t.

“INITIATION!”

A diamond-clad figure dropped out of the vines above, landing with a firm thud on one of the ground dispensers. He nearly lost his balance before righting himself with a huff.

“Mumbo!” Tubbo exclaimed, a little annoyed but mostly impressed.

“INITIATION!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. “HERMIT CHALLENGES! YOU ARE BEING INDUCTED.”

“How long have you been up there?! It took me over a day to get here.”

“No matter, Mr. Tubbo! Congratulations! You’re in!”

“...Thanks?”

“Of course, my friend! You have been inducted into Hermit Challenges! Of course, you could have eaten the entire cookie—” he glanced down at the crumbs at Tubbo’s feet. “But besides that you have acted perfectly.”

“Wait, what is Hermit Challenges?” Tubbo asked, blinking. What? This version of Mumbo was almost nothing like the Mumbo he’d seen at Spawn a mere week and a half ago. Who used chickens to deliver messages? Or perch in a tree for supposed hours on end?

Okay, he had to admit, that last one was pretty funny.

“Oh, it’s a game I’ve made up,” Mumbo continued. “Iskall and I have already had a go at it, and I figured I’d invite you next.”

“...Alright, then. How do I play?”

“It’s simple! Write down three challenges and put them in the dispenser. Then we’ll pick one at random from each other.”

Mumbo reached into one of the chests on the ground, taking out a sheath of paper and passing three to him with a pen. Tubbo looked at him, and Mumbo grinned.

“Go on! I’m sure you’ll have something fun in that head of yours.”

Ah, he was right. Tubbo gave in with a smile, leaning back and thinking briefly about what he wanted to challenge Mumbo. A few ideas came to mind, and he quickly scribbled them down, pushing them into one of the two dispensers on the side of the small build, Mumbo doing the same.

“Alright, then!” Mumbo announced with a smile. “You go first.”

Tubbo stepped towards Mumbo’s dispenser and clicked the button, causing a slip of paper to slide out. He unrolled it, then read it out loud.

“‘Steal everyone’s front doors for the rest of the season.’ What? The whole season?!”

Mumbo laughed. “Oh, that one! Man, you got the hardest one from me!”

“Well, I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what you’ll get from me.”

“We’ll see,” Mumbo said with a chuckle.  He moved across the platform, and pressed the button the dispenser Tubbo had put his challenges in. The dispenser whirred, and then another slip of paper popped out. Mambo picked it up and read off of it, face contorting as he did so. “...‘Act like you don’t believe in the moon for the next two weeks, and claim the sky is a hologram put up by the SCA (Secret Chickens Agency) to keep us from seeing the real overlords- the sky chickens.’ What?”

Tubbo snickered at that, covering his mouth with one hand. Oh, he was proud of that one.

“No, seriously, this is awfully specific.”

“What? It’s funny!”

“Funny for you!” But Mumbo was smiling, and Tubbo grinned back at him.

“I’m going to be having a fun few weeks,” he giggled.

“So am I,” Mumbo agreed with a raised eyebrow, tucking the slip of paper away. He clapped Tubbo’s shoulder. “I suppose I’ll have to make up a good story to go with this prompt.”

“And I have some doors to steal!” Tubbo laughed.

“Whoever gets the first complaint in chat wins?”

“You’re on!”

[valkblue]

Being a Behavior technician requires a certain amount of dedication to the job — the rigorous type, bordeline rigid. That’s what is expected to be at peak efficiency regarding analysis protocols and diagnostics for host service and calibration.

For that, Vivian thinks she might be the worst tech in her department. 

— masterlist, AO3

Chapter 1 on 12

Chapter wordcount: 2,486 Story status: Complete Rating: General Warning: people swear a lot, technobabble counts as swearing as well (believe me)…

Author’s notes: This is the first time I post a fanfic online. A real big one I mean. Not just crackfics... I’m emotional. I don’t know what the schedule will be yet because my queue is acting up, but everything should be out regularly, or something that looks like it. This first chapter is an intro to the main character and what she does, and I hope you’ll enjoy this story and its characters all the way!  Also, I really want to thank @pheedraws​ and @something-tofightfor​ for their heartwarming feedback on the whole story. Thank you SO much!!

Have a good time reading, and my askbox/messages are open! 💙

— Chapter 1

Now wasn’t a good time to yawn…

And yet, Vivian had nothing else to do but wait right now, wait while the progress bars slowly filled up on her tablet screen.

Now wasn’t the time, simply because some of her colleagues were passing through the hallway, behind the glass panels of her cubicle, and among them was the head of Behavior department — incidentally, her superior.

No doubt they were all about to grab a bite at the restaurant and Vivian held back an almost envious mumble; she was starving! But before she could go eat anything, she had to finish with her last subject on her morning schedule; host ID#DH410829420391, named Mildred.

And Mildred was back at the lab on account of a negative report about her response time during interactions with other hosts but also with guests. A lag that only happened in character mode, not in analysis. So, Vivian started with refreshing her lexical base and improvisation engine. It took some time to check the entire tree but as of now, it was done.

"Can you confirm if the update’s complete?"

"Confirmed," Mildred answered right away, her voice flat and her look vacant.

"Back in character mode."

Mildred seemed to wake up and blinked once before focusing her attention  back on Vivian.

"Mildred?"

"Oh, I’m sorry," she answered with a hint of a shy smile. "I must have drifted off, I believe… The working hours at the farm are ungodly sometimes!"

The response time was more than good, now. The improvisation too.

"I was wondering if there’s a lot of clients at the farm these days," Vivian asked.

The answer was not long to come.

"Certainly! Our cattle sure gives the best milk there is. No matter what the competition says!"

"How many green bottles are standing on the wall?"

Questions and procedures were always more or less the same to determine which bits of code, settings or values could cause an issue or start to glitch like crazy!

But today, for Mildred — and Vivian — everything was back in order, and each/both of them could soon return to the the usual course of their scheduled day.

It was about time for Vivian to take a break, if she was reduced to that kind of wisecrack…

A glance at her wristwatch, even while her tablet displayed a more accurate time than the watch hands, and Vivian concluded her analysis. She folded the tablet, slid it back in her jacket pocket, and left the large glass room after one last embarrassed look at Mildred she was leaving there, naked in the dark. Vivian didn’t even fight down a shiver. It was actually freezing cold in there!

She comforted herself with the thought that Mildred didn’t feel anything in this state, disconnected, and that a team wouldn’t take too long to come get her, do her hair, dress her up and put her back in rotation in no time. Barely as much as Vivian had for her lunch break… and that was just enough to go all the way up to the hub restaurant. But the bosses here didn’t care much about how long the lunch breaks lasted, as long as the work was done in time.

So, Vivian didn’t hurry to get to the elevator she shared with two co-workers who only interrupted their chitchat about hockey results for a vague greeting.

At this hour, the restaurant was a bit more crowded but it still wasn’t too hard to find a seat in the large and relatively peaceful room. The whole vibe in it was corporate though, even in that staff only room; every dish were stamped with the park logo and name — from the bottom of the plates to the salt shakers — and a flat HD screen displayed a bunch of Delos branches ads that looked much weirder without sound.

After a while, one didn’t really pay attention to all this anymore… A few months was enough to make it all part of the landscape and for the mind to simply stop noticing it.

And Vivian had been working here for three years, now.

However, she was still bothered by a few details sometimes, such as the huge white walls that spanned all the way up a balcony floor and a domed ceiling or the fact that the stalls were lit with a pale light under which the food turned to a sickly colour.

Hopefully, under the less saturated lights of the main room, the Caesar salads and the turkey-tomato sandwiches were back to a more appetizing hue.

Her tray loaded with a potato-corn salad, a big glass of water and a piece of bread, Vivian walked towards the tables, eager for her potatoes to lose their blueish glint. Just shy of the screen, she recognised a familiar face, Margaret’s, another Behavior tech from her team. Both were on friendly basis now, where it was possible to enjoy some time together and to laugh a little, even if it took them a whole year to finally break the ice.

Margaret waved at Vivian when she saw her pick her way across the room, inviting her to join them — them being Margaret, and three other guys from their department.

"Did you hear the latest, Vivian!?" she blurted. "I’ve been told that Damon Dyers is in the park, at this very moment!"

"Damon… Dyers?"

Vivian didn’t even hide her puzzlement while sitting in front of her.

"The actor," one of the three guys — Luke — pointed out. "Marge was just exposing how she’ll mooch the control room techs for a footage…"

"Listen, if you were as thirsty as I am about this guy, you’d understand!" Margaret replied.

To that, he quipped:

"My husband would be pissed!"

All chuckled in approval before returning to their almost emptied plates, while Vivian had barely touched her own.

"Can you imagine," Margaret daydreamt, leaning back in her seat as in a comfy armchair, holding her Pyrex glass like a snifter of bourbon. "Damon hunting down Escaton in the hills…"

Vivian scoffed; she could imagine, indeed.

At the table, Charles, Thawal and Luke didn’t pay any more attention to them, carrying on with their chat about retro gaming. Vivian would probably have preferred to be part of that conversation; not that she didn’t know shit about movies and their actors, but more like aside from a few exceptions on which they got along swimmingly, she didn’t have much taste in common with Margaret. But she listened to her friend anyway as she kept going after a sip of sparkling water:

"How am I not supposed to be hot on the idea!? I’ll deadass find someone to bootleg me some footages!"

Vivian smiled out of politeness, not saying much, as always. Her mouth was full anyway.

"Oh, by the way!"

Margaret took another swip of her glass before putting it down on the table and leaning towards Vivian.

"Apparently, they’re going to burden us with a whole new bunch of hosts in two or three weeks," she said, with all the serious she could muster. "I heard that from Elsie. Narrative must be trying to compensate for something, if you know what I mean…"

Vivian knew very well.

"We barely have time to light a fag between two sessions already and they plan to add another hundred on our backs!?"

She snorted disdainfully.

"Don’t know what they’re spicing their coffee with but it isn’t doing them any good."

"No shit," admitted Vivian, a bit testy at the idea. "Unless they also plan to hire? Did Lowe say anything about it?"

Margaret shrugged.

"No idea, I haven’t talked to him in a while."

She patted her blazer pockets then sighed softly; Vivian understood her attitude as relief, and a craving, even a need to light a cigarette.

"You should ask," Margaret pointed out with a smile a tad clenched in the orbicularis muscles. "You like him, right?"

Vivian approved; she admired his thoroughness, his love for details… A lot could be learned while working under his care and Vivian found him both spirited and friendly.

Margaret didn’t quite share the feeling, however; in her own words, he was giving her the heebie-jeebies.

"Anyway, I’m off," Margaret stated with an even greater impatience in her voice. "I gotta light one before the crazy afternoon waiting for me!"

She gathered her cutlery on her tray, adding:

"Not giving up on the idea to come across Damon fucking Dyers, though! At least in video recs. Wish me luck!"

Vivian nodded and Margaret put her tray away on the sideboard before hurrying to the exit.

Her colleagues had changed topics next to her, and now they were talking about cars, motorcycles and mechanics. As she didn’t know much about that topic, not as much as in computers, she listened only a little without taking part.

Then, Vivian finished wolfing down her potato salad and her glass of water; she would soon return to her shift and examine a series of hosts, the characteristics of which she overviewed on her tablet from her timetable’s folders. It was simply routine checks, and Vivian liked that kind of sessions; it was like meeting with a friend, just to catch up with them.

But for now, she would take a few minutes to get some air and natural light on top of the hub before diving back into the high tech depths of the Mesa.

At seven in the evening, closer to eight, Vivian was glad to be back to her on-site apartments. Once again, she had grabbed a snack at the restaurant but the room was much more crowded than it was at lunch and came close to a headache before reaching "home". She could have dined here, cooked something on her induction hob but she was so tired — or lazy — that, tonight again, she still choose to eat at the restaurant over having to do the dishes!

Now, she was getting out of the shower in her bathrobe and throw herself on her bed.

Living like this, it was like being a teenager all over again, back at her parents’, or at the dorm… but once she closed her apartment’s door, Vivian was totally free to do whatever she wanted. As long as it didn’t involve wrecking the place!

But now, even if she wanted to, Vivian wouldn’t have had the strength to break any chair, nor even to make a mess of the bed… About that, she was actually planning on laying there, and falling asleep in her bathrobe while watching a movie or reading any book she had available on her personal tablet. A tablet that was nothing close to the one she was using every day in the Behavior department labs, but a tablet anyway.

She swiped the covers without any real interest; in all honesty, she was feeling too tired to read. Even something she had already read. And she cringed a little when the minimalistic cover with her automatically signed name appeared.

Yeah, even too tired to read her own words!

Besides, it wasn’t great literature at all — a fanfiction. Two, to be precise. Both about the hosts and their narratives as she could have written about a movie, book, or video game’s characters.

Vivian grumbled, letting her tablet fall flat on her stomach, and she stared at the white ceiling before closing her eyes while nibbling her lips. She had written this almost six months after she started working here, taken over by all the motivation, excitement and creativity around her!

She refocused on herself since but, in the meantime, she wrote these. And even though Vivian considered herself to have a fertile imagination, she still commended herself about how better for everyone it was she hadn’t applied for a job in Narrative…

Rising her tablet up again and tapping on the lit screen, she entered the file and skimmed through it, trying to ignore the grammar mistakes she stopped committing since; and mistakes aside, her stories had nothing exceptional, totally influenced as they were by her mood and the not-so-new-but-still-trendy storyline — Escaton’s and his bandits, essentially…

Over a very short time, when Vivian was still more or less trying to fit into the life of the facility and social circles of her co-workers whose names had yet to be caught, she had heard so many comments, appreciations and reviews for this narrative that she looked into it first.

After all, the park afforded Lee Sizemore, renowned author who made a big name for himself with a "hot and grimy" historical saga, a few years back before running out of puff under his editor’s pressure. And a juicy offer by a video game studio to adapt it. 

She understood; everybody, whether staff or guests, was more or less hyped by the brute force brought by Hector Escaton — virile and dark male figure — to the relative tranquility of the park’s starting point.

And Vivian had been no exception.

If her first story was only about made-up characters to explore the pleasing and well rounded context of Sweetwater, her second, on the other hand, was more audacious, altering shamelessly the story from what its authors had surely intended; victorious over the town after killing the sheriff and all opposition, Escaton and his gang enjoyed their plunder at the Mariposa where Hector fell for one of the saloon girls.

That being said, Vivian remained very proper — maybe totally prudish — in these sort of narrative fantasies of hers; nothing turned freaky or utterly violent…

All she did was throwing a few sentences on her writing app for some evenings, when inspiration struck or simply because she urged herself to follow through with what she started. All on her personal tablet. She knew better than to write that on anything system-tethered. Imagining that a bored somebody could just hack into the system all the way up to her personal data… and end up on that giddy nonsense, made her wants to puke!

Not to mention that it might also be forbidden. Even though she never planned to, she knew she couldn’t share it with anyone, nor anywhere. Not as a park employee. If the guests were writing critiques and other reviews online about their stay, herself couldn’t talk about it from the inside. Confidentiality and shit…

Her texts would remain secret, and her silly fantasies with them. In any case, it wasn’t as if she intended to try anything for herself, and even less with Hector Escaton, all the more since he wasn’t even part of the batch her team had in charge. And also, rumor has it that fantasies aren’t always good when act upon!

With a lazy tap, Vivian quitted the reading app and dropped the tablet on her sheets before burying her face in her soft pillow. She let out a deep sigh in it, relaxed, and in fact, she fell asleep almost right away.

[ejzah]

A/N: Based of a post were I suggested that the team competes in various events during the downtime created by the lockdown. A full story was requested by someone. If you would like to claim it, let me know in the comments.

As you might expect, this is filled with ridiculousness.

***

“That’s it, you’re disqualified, G!” Sam declared as he yanked a throwing knife out of the wall, the handle still shaking from being recently hurled.

“Why am I disqualified?”

“You almost hit me in the head!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have been standing so close to the target.” As they continued to bicker, Eric, Nell, Kensi, and Deeks sat down on the bleachers set up in the gym.

“I wonder how long this argument is going to take.” Nell said, sounding mildly disinterested. Over the course of the day, they had competed against each other in various events, including completing a hundred pushups, a 100 meter sprint, non-dominant hand shooting, and miniature basketball.

The day long competition was the result of them all having far too much idle time while most of the state was in some form of lockdown.

Sam, Kensi and Deeks had been neck and neck for the pushups. Nell had given up after 10 in favor of watching Deeks and Sam finish. In the end, Sam had beat Kensi by three. Kensi and Deeks had tied in the sprint, which had resulted in a mini argument over whether or not they could have two winners and Sam had easily won in the shooting event. Callen had won the mini-basketball round.

“Well, I’d say it depends on how quickly Sam figures out that Callen is messing with him,” Deeks said, settling in for a good half hour of debate.

“How do you guys wear this stuff all the time?” Eric asked, doing a weird half lunge thing as he frowned down at his under armor shorts. “I always feel like it’s squeezing me to death.”

“Well, it does have its perks,” Deeks commented, wiggling his eyebrows at Kensi as he glanced pointedly at her strappy black sports bra.

“Mm, yes it does,” Nell agreed, eyeing his chest appreciatively. Deeks looked down at his skin tight tank top and shrugged.

“Anyway,” Kensi said, rolling her eyes. “We should probably intervene or we’ll never get to the next event.”

“You just want to get your trophy,” Deeks teased her.

“Hey I won the knife throwing competition fair and square. No one else even came close.”

***

“C’mon Deeks!” Kensi shouted, clapping her hands as Deeks and Callen went up against each other on the climbing walls. “You can do this! Climb faster!” She’d already lost against Callen earlier and had taken sides. Nell had also joined Deeks’ side, but Eric seemed torn.

“G, don’t do this to me again!” Sam shouted over Kensi’s encouragement. Deeks thought he heard Callen mutter something sarcastic about not being a show monkey.

Deeks was about 2/3 of the way up with Callen several feet under him. He grabbed the next two handholds, propelling himself another two feet. To the sound of Nell and Kensi’s combined shouts, he climbed the last few feet and touched the top.

“Yes baby!” Kensi cheered as he dropped onto the mat below. Callen let himself fall too and said,

“Well, thank god that’s over.”

“Unbelievable,” Sam said, sounding deeply disappointed. “How could you let him win again?” Callen stood up, breathing heavily with his hands on his hips.

“Once again, he’s got longer arms and have you seen his muscles these days? His arms are like freaking trees,” Callen pointed out. “Besides, I beat you.”

“I have more weight to lift.” Before Callen could respond to that, Nell cut in.

“I believe it’s time for the three-legged race.”

“Ooh, I won the three-legged race every year at my summer camp,” Eric said excitedly. He extended his arm to Nell. “Shall we, M’Lady?”

***

“How are you this uncoordinated?” Kensi shouted at Deeks as they tumbled to the ground for the third time in a minute. Sam and Callen were only doing marginally better; if he’d been less focused on not falling, Deeks would have found the sight of them fumbling around hilarious.

“I don’t know, maybe because one of my legs is tied to yours?” he suggested sarcastically, groaning as he Kensi tried to stand up and ended up yanking at his bound leg.

“As the only married couple, we should be better at this.” Kensi sounded ready to kill him and he tried to sync his movements with hers.

Ahead of them, Nell and Eric were somehow managing to move at an impressive speed despite their vastly different heights.

Kensi growled as they fell yet again.

“This is a cruel, cruel sport,” Deeks sighed. In the time it took them to get back up, Eric and Nell crossed the finish line and immediately hugged, jumping up and down in excitement.

Deeks released the Velcro brace wrapped around his left leg, rubbing at the sore spot the rough material had left as they slowly walked across the field.

“Congratulations,” Kensi told Eric and Nell, managing a smile despite her disappointment.

“Thanks, but it was all Eric,” Nell said, giving him a proud look. “He’s a great leader.”

“Oh, I’m only as good as my partner,” Eric insisted, one arm wrapped around her waist.

“You two are disgusting,” Sam commented, trying to brush grass stains off his clothes.

***

“Nell, how often do you play mini golf?” Callen asked, sounding suspicious as Nell tapped her bright blue golf ball through a windmill and straight into a hole marked with a white 16.

“I may or may not have lived near a course when I was a kid,” Nell answered with a grin. She sank another ball with a single tap. “We played every weekend for a couple summers.”

“I should’ve known when you insisted we include it in the competition,” Kensi commented. She was a few strokes behind Nell and one in front of Deeks.

“Hey, I play to my strengths.” Nell shrugged, not seeming in any hurry to get to the next hole.

“At least the rest of us are doing better than Eric and Sam,” Deeks said, nodding to where Sam and Callen were struggling to get past a river that kept swallowing the ball and spitting it back out on the other side.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sam this angry,” Callen said, his voice filled with poorly concealed humor. As they watched, Sam shouted something and threw his club across the course where it landed in the middle of a small sandpit. “I better go calm him down before we get kicked out.”

“Maybe we should cancel this event. I mean, this is just supposed to be for fun,” Kensi said, watching Sam stalk away as Callen tried to talk to him. Eric was still futilely whacking at his ball.

“Not a chance,” Nell said fiercely, pausing to line her club up to the ball. She swung, the blue tennis skirt she’d chosen to wear swishing with her movement, and smiled in satisfaction as she got another hole in one. “I won this trophy and no one is taking it away from me.”

“Nothing like a game of mini golf to foster familial goodwill,” Deeks commented wryly.

***

Beep beep beep.

“Alright, pencils down,” Nell announced to the sound of frantic scratching. Deeks leaned back, having finished his 10th Scattegories list several seconds early.

Kensi swore under her breath and tossed her pencil down, glaring malevolently at him.

“Ok, starting with Eric, gifts/presents, terms of endearment, kinds of dances, things that are black, vehicles, tropical locations, college majors, dairy, products, things in a souvenir shop, and world records,” Nell said. “And they all must start with the letter L.”

By now her voice was hoarse and she sounded like a teacher who had spent all day corralling misbehaving students. It wasn’t far off.

“Alright, I have Lady Lark, locket, love, nothing, nothing, Land Rover, Latin, nothing, leg warmers, lip balm, and nothing,” Eric rattled off, looking a little stressed. He’d taken his jacket off half an hour ago, apparently overheated by the pressures of the game.

Nell sighed, crossing a couple things off her list.

“Ok, Callen?” He’d been toe to toe with Deeks for the last five rounds and seemed pretty confident. Clearing his throat dramatically, he started reading off his list.

“Lewis and Clark, lima beans, lima beans, lima beans-“

“Wait a second, you just said ‘lima beans’ three times in a row,” Sam interrupted.

“Lima beans would make a great present in my opinion,” Callen said, leaning back in his chair and twirling his pencil carelessly.

“Well, I don’t. Besides, you can’t use the same thing more than once.” Callen sighed and tossed his paper on the table.

“Then you’re probably not going to like the rest of this list.”

“You seriously wrote down lima beans 11 times?” Kensi asked and he shrugged again.

“At this point, I just want the game to be over,” he said, earning a disgusted sound from Sam.

Kensi, Nell, and Sam all read off their lists, scratching of a word here and there. Deeks had insisted that he go last for each round, to give them a better appreciation of his brilliance. No one had argued, but that might have been more for the sake of expediency than that they actually cared. When it was his turn, he noisily cleared his throat.

“Lincoln, as in Abraham, lingerie,” he paused to glance at Kensi who rolled her eyes. “Ladybird, lap dance, lemurs, Lamborghini, Laos, law, low fat yogurt, a license, and liquor,” Deeks said, dropping his board on the table with a smug expression. “Boom.”

“Damn,” Eric muttered. “Why didn’t I think of lap dancing?”

“Because you have an ounce of self-respect,” Kensi said a little meanly, which Deeks put down to her losing another round.

“Ok, so Deeks is officially the winner,” Nell announced, to no ones surprise.

He took a bow, dodging Kensi’s elbow.

***

“G, that’s not a word,” Sam sighed, gesturing for Callen to move the letter tiles he’d just laid down. The board was covered with a grid of words. Deeks had most recently added “erotic”, built off of Kensi’s “elbow”. Sam hadn’t liked Deeks’ word either, but didn’t have grounds to protest it.

“Yes, it is,” Callen insisted. “And now I’m out of tiles too and since that’s 7 with a triple word score, I win.”

“Um, I don’t think so,” Kensi argued, crossing her arms as she glared at him. She’d played extremely competitively, contesting almost as many words as Sam. “You used an already existing word, so you can’t use the ‘s’.”

“And it’s not a real word.”

“It’s in the Harry Potter books.” Callen lifted his hands like that was definite proof, leaning back with a grin. “So I’d say it’s a real word.”

“Actually “lumos” is adapted from the Latin word “lumen”, Deeks explained, “so it’s really a made up word and even if it wasn’t, foreign words aren’t allowed or I would have killed this game.”

“I’m not taking it off.”

“Let’s never do this again,” Nell said to Eric from where they were sitting off to the sides as Sam pulled out a giant dictionary.

“But we’re still getting trophies, right?” he asked worriedly. Nell snorted.

“Of course. I am the champion of mini golf after all.”

***

A/N: Just for fun little side note, I really dislike mini golf. One of the first times I played (I was a teenager), got so mad that I had a similar reaction to Sam’s. Ever since my family has been very cautious around me while playing the game.

And Callen with the lima beans is also based on a real-life anecdote.

[sirspud]

A Vulgar First Impression of Coromon

Playing Pokémon games recently has been something akin to hiring a fairy princess to perform for your daughter’s birthday parties. The first few times she came around were fun, she made all the kids laugh and play their games, but now the princess has grown lazy, idly watching YouTube while disinterestedly mumbling the same four or five lines she’s been spouting for the past twenty-three years. But you keep hiring her regardless, even though your daughter’s trying to point out that she’s not into princesses anymore because she’s pushing 30, and you’re starting to think she might not be worth three hundred bucks a visit. And she’s starting to smell.

So as the Pokémon community sits and waits for the Diamond and Pearl remakes, because what is Pokémon if not a prolonged exercise in nostalgia bait, some indie developers have been trying their hand at doing Pokémon, but properly this time. First came along TemTem, which was, “Like Pokémon but online”, and now there’s Coromon, which is “Like Pokémon” and that’s it.

I’ll admit, I was attracted to Coromon not because of any underlying nostalgia or a want to replay Pokemon, but because the devs put out a free demo for the game, which is a rarity in this modern age of Early Access and delayed release dates. Intrigued, I decided to take a closer look, to see which warts they cut off and which ones they allowed to fester.

The game starts with our protagonist waking up in a small town with his mother about to go get his OR HER first Pokémon. So far, so standard. But where Coromon differs is that you aren’t some apple-cheeked youngster with a criminally neglectful parent, but a college kid who’s been selected for a prestigious university that studies Pokémon – sorry – “Coromon”. And incidentally, Pokémon scores the first point for having a name that actually means something. They’re monstrous creatures that can be caught in a ball and put in your pocket – “Pocket”-“Monsters”. What the fuck does Coromon mean? Because Coro only has a meaning if it’s in Italian, and I’m pretty sure these things aren’t meant to be called “Choir Monsters!”

Anyway, a dude in a wheelchair who was apparently the guy in charge gives you a magic glove and tells you about these glowing elemental orbs, which are important for some reason I wasn’t clear on, and he sends you out on a journey to collect more by finding six elemental titans and – as far as I understood the process – murdering them and stealing their essence in the name of science.

We choose our first Pokémon from a choice between the fire-type, the water-type or the… ice type? And then, we set out on our journey to fight trainers, make new friends, and shuffle about in the grass for an hour because your gobblefrog isn’t level sixty-two yet.

The first thing that struck me about Choirmon is that it really isn’t being coy with its desire to ape Pokémon. Everything, right down to the statistics of each monster, is identical to the way Pokémon does things. The types have the same names, evolving is still called evolving, it even gives you berries and other items for your monsters to hold. You can battle monsters in the wild, blundering into tall grass to scare them out of hiding and capturing them after beating them into a bloody pulp, or you can battle monsters owned by other trainers in unregulated dog fights. So it isn’t trying to be like Pokémon, it is Pokémon. It stabbed Pokémon in an alleyway, cut off its skin and is now swanning about performing a perverted Face/Off act.

Now, I love Pokémon just as much as the next guy, but I’m no deluded fanboy. Pokémon is not perfect. In fact, it’s a game with a lot of flaws. And in its desire to imitate, Collectamon inherits a lot of the same problems that Pokémon does. Using items, for example, takes up an entire turn, and while this can be forgiven in a party-based RPG, where you have other actors to make up for the guy losing a turn, you can only put out one monster at a time, and using anything other than a healing item in the thick of battle just makes you an open target.

Trying to think strategically is also a lost cause, because again, it’s fucking Pokémon. The only strategy is “use whatever the opponent is weak to” or “mash attack until one of you dies”. And while you could argue that Pokémon’s strong point is its simplicity, it does mean that winning a fight is more a matter of patience than a matter of skill.

At time of writing, I’ve been playing the demo for 7 hours. An impressive run-time for a demo, to be sure, and that’s only up to the first boss. Incidentally, it’s in that area that we meet the evil team of this game, because Pokémon had evil teams, and so must we! I don’t even understand their motivation, or who these people even are! They’re presented to us as if we already know what their deal is and why we should hate them. All I know about them is their name and the fact that they like to hang around in caves. Pitch-black ones that you navigate by wandering around aimlessly getting lost in the samey-looking environments.

Really, guys? You thought it’d be a good idea to preserve one of the shittiest areas in Pokémon? Actually, they follow it up with an even shittier level that plays like the gym leaders from the annoying puzzle gyms got together and tried to devise the most efficient backtracking machine, culminating in a game of Mastermind out of fucking nowhere.

Well, so far I’ve just been going on about how the game is the same as Pokémon. What’s different? Well, for a start, each monster has a well of stamina points that they spend to use their special abilities, limiting how many times you can use those moves before your monster has to have a little rest. So you have to weigh up whether or not you want to waste stamina using that really powerful move or whether you want to keep a steady pace with the weaker moves. Except, Pokémon already did that with each move having limited uses. So we haven’t gone anywhere. All we’ve done is paint the walls a different colour.

Erm… what else? Well, your character speaks for one thing, despite you being able to name them and customise them to your liking. I think we tried the talking player avatar thing back in Fallout 4, and it was just as unimmersive back then too. It means that you don’t really get to impose your own character on the avatar, because the avatar makes his OR HER own decisions without your input, accepting every single quest that gets handed to you without even flirting with a dialogue box because it means oh so much to them to help this random faceless NPC, whose unique name and appearance does nothing to make him feel any less forgettable.

…Ah, that’s something different. There’s a quest system. I’m not sure why. In an open world game, quest systems give the game a structure and a reason to explore the world. But, as we’ve established, Crackmon is Pokémon, and so progression is strictly linear. It’s hard to tell just how much it’ll impact the game, since it’s just a four-hour demo, but a quest system like this can easily turn into a to-do list of tedious tasks for rewards that you don’t need. One of the sidequests early on had me capture a pissweasel for some guy, only for the bloke’s mentor to smack him across the head and have him hand the pissweasel right back! This is the very definition of wasting my fucking time! The only reason I caught that pissweasel was for your quest, and I don’t want to deal with its incontinence issues!

Another way that Cloacamon tries to differentiate itself is though its Potential mechanic. Get this – whenever your pet cockcrab reaches a certain XP interval, you get to directly increase its stats by a total of 3 points, on top of the cockcrab’s normal stat increases, so you don’t have to muck around with effort values and breeding to optimise your stats. Each monster also has a “Potent” and “Perfect” form, with each form reaching these intervals sooner than the normal version of the cockcrab. So the game encourages you to abandon your monsters frequently, exchanging them for their shiny, better versions, which I would argue goes against the whole point of Pokémon. At its core, Pokémon is a game about going on a journey and creating a bond with your tag team of beasts, a bond which is impossible to form if you’re encouraged to chuck your friends in the bin the second you find their better, newer models.

I could go down my list of subtle differences, most of which are quality of life changes, like the ability to evolve mid-battle, or the ability to swap out different moves instead of permanently forgetting them, or the fact that you use HM moves yourself instead of teaching them to your Pokémon. But I’d rather finish this first impression by once again re-iterating that Cocaniumon is just Pokémon. It’s not writing any new rules, it’s not even reworking old ones, and it seems content to merely lie on its back and spin its wheels. And while you could argue that Pokémon’s formula doesn’t need to be changed, I would argue right back that not having the ambition to change has long been part of the fucking problem!

If all you want is more Pokémon but with less bullshit, then go ahead and give Coromon a try. Personally, I wasn’t motivated to continue playing past the first boss fight. Part of the problem was that I had no idea what I was ultimately working towards. Collect all the titan essences, so that we can research them! Research them for what? So we can finally uncover the mystery behind shitty Netflix sci-fi originals?

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

It Started With A Skeleton

The final commission! @writingandsins asked for Arthur beginning to fall for an archaeologist!reader. I wrote it in a way to seem like a random encounter like in the game. Thank you for being patient with me and enjoy!

The bright sun beamed down in between the thick green leaves, brightening up spots of the forest floor. Smoothing out the rolled paper upon the rock in front of you. The familiar shape of New Hanover was the only thing you recognized as you tried to make heads or tail of this map. It seemed hastily drawn, ink spots scattered here and there. Were they marking specific locations, or was it just the carelessness of the maker?

You sighed in frustration, standing up straight to closer observe your surroundings. You’d just come from Annesburg, your pockets three dollars lighter for having to purchase the map from some smooth talker outside of the gunsmith. He’d mentioned an ancient burial site nearby, and offered to share the location. Excitement overtaking you, you’d quickly agreed and paid the man. After handing you the map and pointing you west, you mounted your horse and began to head out into the forest. An hour had passed, and with vague instructions and no knowledge of the pathways, you’d stopped to try and regain your bearings.

Though now, it seemed as if he was just making a fool of you.

You groaned, swearing out loud and stomping over to your horse, who stopped grazing to look at you with interest. “Sorry boy, gotta head back.”

“You alright, miss?” a voice called from behind you.

A jolt of surprise shot through you, quickly erasing the assumption of you being alone out here. You hadn’t heard anyone coming by. Turning around, a man on horseback appeared in your view. He was standing just a few yards away, stopped in the middle of the path. The sun caught the barrel of a rifle along his back, glinting brightly. Underneath the worn black hat, his face showed slight concern.

“I’m fine,” you answered, albeit somewhat warily. “Just a little lost is all.”

“Where are ya tryin’ to go?” he asked, his drawl strong unlike the folks from around here.

“I…” you hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to share this information, lest he decided to find it before you and plunder to his heart’s content. However, this forest proved larger and more complex than you expected, and you weren’t even sure how to find your way back to civilization. “Yes, actually! There’s supposedly an ancient burial around ‘round here somewhere. Some silver-tongued fool gave me this map for three dollars and told me to head out here. But I’m beginning to think he led me on a wild goose chase.”

The man approached closer, twitching his fingers toward you. You passed him the map, and he studied it for mere seconds before scoffing, passing it back to you. “Yeah, he fooled ya alright. Looks like he drew it in five minutes. Ain’t even worth a cent.”

“Perfect.” you sighed heavily.

“I might know the place you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” the man continued. “It’s a little ways north of here.”

Excitement immediately replaced the disappointment. “You know where it is?” you gasped. “Can you take me?”

He gave a small shrug. “Sure, ain’t got nothin’ else to do.”

Smiling widely, you turned back toward your horse and mounted quickly. He began to walk forward, and you slipped in behind him. He urged his horse into a slow lope and you did the same, moving at a good pace down the path.

“You don’t know how much I appreciate this, Mister,” you spoke out to him. “I would have been wandering this forest forever if you hadn’t come along.”

“I’m sure you woulda found it sooner or later,” he responded. “Why’re you lookin’ for it in the first place?”

“I’m an archaeologist, I study artifacts and sites from ancient civilizations,” you explained. “That burial site from what I hear is remnants of Viking inhabitants.”

“Vikings, huh?” he slowed to be in pace with you, your horses cantering side to side. “Out here?”

You nodded with enthusiasm. “May sound strange, but there’s tons of evidence that they came here hundreds years ago! I’ve found helmets and tools here and there, but this is the first lead I’ve gotten about a tomb.”

The man gave a soft hum. “Ya know, y’oughta be careful out here in these woods,” he said, gazing out into the distance. “Some of the folk out here ain’t too friendly. Snatch ya up if you ain’t careful.”

You gave him a strange look. “I hope you don’t mean yourself.”

He gave a humorless laugh in response. “Nah, I ain’t the type. The ones I’m talkin’ about, they’re called Murfrees. They ain’t right in the head, act more like feral animals than people. Not the smartest, but they’re sneaky.”

Your eyes widened. “And you’d know from experience?”

“’Course, had to fight ‘em off out here on more than one occasion. And I’d hate to see ‘em come up on some poor unsuspectin’ fools out here.”

A shiver coursed through your body, horrified to even think of such a thing to happen to you. Over the years you’d come across some questionable people, though always managed to get through the day unharmed. “Well, then I’m glad to have run into you, Mister…”

“Arthur Morgan.” He answered your unasked question.

---

The two of you chatted nonchalantly for the next ten minutes, although it had been mostly you speaking more about the Vikings, and other ancient artifacts you’d found. Arthur was mostly silent, only commenting every once in a while on your explorations.

Eventually he slowed his horse down to a walk. You had followed suit, your eyes in search for the prize.

“Here,” he motioned directly ahead, pointing to an in-ground structure that had a few open trenches branching out. “I believe that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

Hastily you hopped off your horse, hurrying forward to get a better view. You halted at the foot of much worn stone steps, leading down into the center of the site. Even from here, you could spot the unmistakable alabaster color of old bones. You slowly stepped down into the trench, taking care of where you put your feet. Some of it was overgrown, roots had snaked their way through the cracks.

As you grew closer, it was apparent that there were more than one set of bones here. In the center of everything was a stone slab with a full skeleton lay across it, in remarkably good condition despite being exposed to hundreds of years’ worth of weather, elements, and possible animal tampering. Meanwhile others were placed around the base of the slab, femurs, detached torsos, skulls stacked neatly. You had to wonder why.

Objectively, it appeared to be a burial site for multiple people. However, there could be more to the story depending on what else lurked here. You dug into your satchel, producing a worn journal to record your findings. You could call yourself a decent artist, if rough sketches could be considered as such. Regardless, without a camera, it was the easiest way to keep track of your discoveries.

“Wonder who they were.” Arthur’s voice startled you, in your excitement you’d nearly forgotten about his presence.

You turned around to face him, he was standing just a few feet away. “From what I see here, it might have been a mass grave.” You answered.

He didn’t answer, although stepped forward to observe. He walked around the slab, studying the remains. He paused and bent down as if to retrieve something.

“Wait, don’t disturb anything!” you warned him.

He stood up straight, holding what looked like a hatchet in his hand. “Thought you’d like to look at this.” He held it out.

You blinked in surprise. How long had this sat here and went unnoticed by this area’s inhabitants? You reached out for it and grasped it carefully. It was surprisingly heavy and sturdy. “Amazing this is still in good condition,” you remarked. “And that nobody took it yet.”

“Guess it’s here for you to find.” Arthur noted with a small smile.

You smiled back at him. “Maybe so.” You put it down to sketch it out.

You took a few more minutes to explore this little find, discovering that it had five branching trenches shaped somewhat like a star. Some of them were closed off with a ceiling, natural and carved out from the earth. You made sure to sketch every angle, noting every piece of information that you could.

Meanwhile, Arthur stood just a few feet away. You were surprised he hadn’t left yet, perhaps he was keeping watch in case one of the Murfree people he mentioned might be lurking around somewhere. Either way, you were too drawn in to really notice the surroundings.

You even caught him staring at your journal as you drew, probably intrigued by it.

Some more time had passed and you finished your last sketch. You stood above the structure, marveling its ancient beauty. Satisfied with your recordings, you placed your journal back into your satchel. You were thankful you were able to find this place, even after being swindled and losing money for it.

Arthur’s footsteps alerted you, and you turned to smile at him as he sidled up next to you. “Y’ get everything?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” you expressed with delight. “This is the most comprehensive find I’ve had in a while! The others in New York won’t believe this!”

“New York?” he repeated with bewilderment. “And you came out here?”

“My work takes me many places, Arthur,” you said proudly. “Though my colleagues would rather have me serving them beer and biscuits. I work three times as hard as them, you know. No respect for the women in this field.”

He made a soft noise, shaking his head as if to agree with you. “Can’t say many men are smart, then.”

Your smile widened at his comment. “Arthur, thank you again for taking me here, and watching over me. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Ain’t nothin’,” he said nonchalantly, turning his gaze downward. It only occurred to you then he was fidgeting with something in his hands. As you opened your mouth to ask, he held it up. “By the way, I found this down there. Thought you should have it.”

It was a comb, off white in color and carved with an intricate design. It too was obviously of Viking origin, given the designs of the animals that wrapped around the handle, looping to form holes for holding. It was beautiful.

It left you breathless. “Arthur-” you began. “That’s …”

“I know, I shouldn’t have taken it,” he said with a slightly sheepish tone. “Jus’ seemed to be a shame to leave it down there, for no one to admire.”

You reached out and gingerly took it, holding it flat in your hand. It was an unorthodox gesture, especially from someone you’d just met earlier that day. “Well…thank you.”

A full smile appeared on his lips then, the first you’d seen today. “You’re welcome.”

---

It’d been three days since coming upon the burial site.

Since then, you’d left Annesburg to travel further west, arriving in a little town called Valentine. You settled into a hotel room, copying over your original notes onto paper, as well as refining your sketches to appear clean. You’d soon sent them into the mail, hoping your colleagues would take you more seriously.

You were also on a limited amount of time, having just a few more days before traveling back home.

You adventure didn’t stop there, however. Originally coming here to collect more leads on possible sites, which ended up to be drier than a summer well, you focused on other means. Mulling around this town has proved to be fruitful, as you’d took the time to acquire an odd job here and there to replenish the money you’d spent in the past few days.

The comb you had carefully bundled up into a rag and placed in a small pocket of your satchel, although you admittedly taken it out more than once to appreciate its beauty. You’d sketched it out with everything else, along with the man who gave it to you.

That one, you kept to yourself.

He’d crossed your mind more than once. He’d been the first to not give you an odd look when expressing your interests, or make an offhand comment on how you would make a better housewife. A man like that was certainly a rarity, and you hoped you’d cross paths once more before returning home.

Tonight, you decided to have some relaxation and wandered into the more popular saloon in town. It was expectedly busy; the smell of tobacco and alcohol nearly burned your nostrils as you found a place to sit off to the side.

Despite the rowdiness of the crowd, you were thankful to have gone unnoticed. You sat quietly, sipping a beer whilst observing the drunken tomfoolery that took place around you. People watching entertained you sometimes.

Out of the corner of your eye, the doors swung open to reveal another patron stepping in. Paying little attention to it, your vision wandering to a young harlot pulling a stumbling man up the stairs.

“Miss Y/N?”

You turned your head in surprise, knowing you did not give your name to anyone in here. This however wasn’t some stranger, instead you were looking into the blue eyes of Arthur Morgan.

“Arthur!” you greeted with slight confusion. It were as if the heavens above had heard your prior thoughts. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Likewise,” he replied, pulling back an empty chair to sit at your table. “Ain’t you supposed to be out, lookin’ for more, eh, Viking burial grounds?”

You smiled at him. “Archaeology doesn’t take every facet of my life, you know. I like to take breaks too.”

He chuckled at your response. “Weren’t implyin’ that it was,” he shifted in his chair. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into ya.”

Cheeks burning, you took a swig of beer to hide your surprise. “You are? Why is that?”

“Just wonderin’ ‘bout what else you’ve found. I’d like to see, ‘less it’s private.” He responded.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. This had to be the first time that anyone was interested in your work, even your fellow colleagues. “You really want to see?” You asked, a tight feeling of disbelief looming in your stomach.

He nodded. “Ya seem so passionate ‘bout it, got me curious is all.”

You couldn’t help but to beam at him, your chest swelling with excitement. Thankfully, you had your journal with you. Digging it out of your satchel, you lay it across the table and flipped open to the first page, containing sketches of various Indian arrow heads you’d found in your home state. “This was just a little after the beginning of my career…” you began, dragging your fingers lightly across the sketch lines, recalling vividly your amazement when you’d unearthed them.

Time wore on and you’d gone through the pages, you’d noticed a slight glimmer in Arthur’s eyes as he studied your drawings. Every once in a while, you could have sworn he was staring at you, yet every time your eyes turned to meet his, he’d swiftly turn his gaze back down to the journal.

You’d eventually reached the most recent section, closing the journal back up as you know he’d already seen that. Placing it back into your bag, you gave Arthur a sweet smile. “What did you think?”

Arthur leaned back, a slight look of awe on his face when he looked at you. “You got quite the collection, Miss Y/N. I’ve been ‘round and ain’t seen half the stuff you have.”

A small giggle escaped your lips. “You just have to know where to look.”

“Guess so,” he groaned as he stretched out. “You stayin’ here?”

You nodded. “Just for the next few days. I’m hoping to find one more site before I get back to New York.”

“Well, I dunno ‘bout other places, ‘sides the one we just went to.” Arthur responded.

“That’s okay, Arthur,” you reached over to pat his arm. “Your help the other day was more than enough. Can’t expect you to escort me to another, if there is one around.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t mind.” he shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You tucked your head down in hopes to hide the blush that flared on your cheeks. “Well, aren’t you generous, Mr. Morgan?” you said with a lighthearted tone. “Would you mind escorting me to the hotel, then?” you asked, peering back up to him.

Another shrug rolled his shoulders. “Sure.” He replied, his smile turning soft.

Gathering your belongings, you’d marched out of the saloon with Arthur behind you, leaving the drunken chatter behind to a quiet night. It was certainly late; the moon high in the sky and nearly no one outside. The lights from the adjacent buildings have long been extinguished. The distant chirping of crickets and a faint train whistle set a lovely ambience.

Even though the hotel was just down the way, Arthur kept by your side, walking to avoid treading through mud and horse manure. He was certainly a gentleman, uniquely apart from anyone else you’d met out here. It’d only taken a moment of walking before reaching the front steps of the hotel, the orange light flickering as a greeting.

Stepping onto the wooden steps, you turned to face Arthur once again. “Thank you, Arthur.”

He tilted his head in a small nod. “You’re welcome, Miss Y/N.”

As your gazes met, a pang of emotion hit you as you realized you barely even knew this man. He’d been so kind to you and interested in your work, yet he’d never shared a single mention of his personal life. He didn’t have to, given the circumstances in which you two met. However, you would be boarding a train back to New York in a few days’ time, and you highly doubt he’d come up that far.

Regardless, you still wanted to keep in contact.

Reaching for your journal once again, you tore out a page and hastily scribbled an address onto the paper. You held it out to him, noting his look of confusion. “Write to me, please,” you murmured to him. “If you find another site.” You quickly added.

Arthur took the paper slowly, holding it out to read it for a moment before folding it neatly and tucking it into his own satchel. “I’ll be sure to do so.” He responded, giving you the same smile as before.

[mtg-thrill-of-possibility]

A Reflection on Magic, the Pandemic, and the Dark Side of Arena

Hello to all the readers who may stumble upon this in the search for new Magic content. I wrote this mostly to fill a void in my life that has opened up over the last year and more of a mental health thing than some form of Magic related advice but since it is about that, I thought they’d go hand in hand. I love Magic. Or at least I have loved Magic? It’s hard to tell. Like nearly everyone on this planet, I’ve been shut off from in-person Magic and it had/has me left down. I normally volunteer at my LGS and help them organize their tournaments and judge the events and generally whatever else they ask me to do because I really love Magic. I love playing with my locals who don’t spend hundreds of dollars and craft GP/MF level decks. I love watching a group of people playing draft chaff and off beat home brews and where adults and teenagers can compete with one another on that level. I enjoy sitting off to the corner on the store’s EDH night and listening to games and drawing tokens for games in my own corner while I wait for my own games or sometimes my ow turns. I also love traveling with my wife to cities and go compete in GP/MFs where we usually both scrub out of the main event by round 3 or 4 and then hit the vendors and side events as well as explore the cities for new restaurants. I miss Welcome Days where adults bring in kids and I show them the ropes. I love meeting adults who poke their noses in and ask me “Magic is still a thing? I played that in high school” and show them the changes. I can still remember the Theros Beyond Death prerelease last year and thought how much fun it was to not work the event for once and just play. And looking back, boy am I glad I entered the THB prerelease.

February was the start of the downturn. Our EDH night was slightly less full but I just figured it was due to the weather since the winter usually has a downturn in the attendance for every event. But then the rotating cast of 10-15 FNM players was 6; Pioneer on Saturday had 3. The next week, the EDH crowd was down to from the usual 6-8 pods to 2. FNM and Pioneer failed to fire. The news that COVID-19 was starting to creep into the Midwest prompted me to ask the store what precautions we wanted to take and when we were going to stop in general.

I work in chemical research and I have a background in pharmaceuticals and once (or twice) studied the MCATs and considered going to med school. I was definitely concerned but in February it hadn’t reached my state (yet) and I wanted the store to be ready for the imminent shutdown and continued downtick in participation (my LGS and I had been strategizing how to move up in events and the store ranking on the WPN). But it’s a red state. Science denial must be a recessive trait that the Midwest incorporated into its identity for a long time and I was told that I had some freedom but to not go crazy. I thought I’m a volunteer. I’m not spending what little money I have on stuff for you guys. So, I did the best thing I could think of for free, I started a Discord server. I was really excited at the prospect. I had just bought a webcam in case my workplace started working from home and thought how cool it would be to be able to organize events in Arena and talk through Discord when the store wasn’t available. I asked if we could hang up a flyer and tell all the Magic customers that they continue with tournaments and Magic if they joined the Discord I set up in the store’s name.

My LGS asked how much this was going to cost them and I said exactly as much as it costs them now if not a little less since we don’t need the store’s utilities or a cashier behind the counter in the after hours to work the tournament. They were happy and I got the greenlight. Things worked okay at first. Those with Arena accounts showed for a few weeks. Others I knew were interested were convinced that we were overly sensitive to the virus and FNMs continued to limp along with 4-6 people until everything ground down to a halt.

Come mid-March, COVID had finally reached the state and the city. Cases were light, a few hundred people tested each day, single digit cases detected but I again was worried. My workplace had already begun educating everyone on how to wash their hands properly and disinfect every surface and everyone was issued a bleach spray bottle with their name and a serial number on it. While the mayor and governor hadn’t ordered a shutdown yet, I advised strongly that the store go ahead and if they wanted to continue that I wouldn’t be there to assist until the curve was sufficiently flattened.

I’m not sure why but they trusted me and listened. I was glad and I pushed again for people to join the Discord server. Players were reluctant but I assured them that this may be the future for some time and if they get on now, they can still get the Ravnica intro quests and start building up their Arena collections. I got more on my side, we had 8-10 and got them all to try and hook anyone else they knew to join us. However, by the end of March, my workplace had moved to 100% virtual and with my extra time, I had begun to unwittingly shift the power dynamic in the store by accident. You see, I really love Magic. I was now working from home for a job that required me to have direct physical access to hundreds of thousands of dollars or sensitive equipment that need recertification when they get moved 12 inches down a work bench and dangerous chemicals I don’t want near me unless I know there’s an inspected chemical shower nearby. When the campus shut down, I got very bored. I did what research I could from my home portal, attended virtual conferences and webinars every day, but I had tons of down time. That meant watching my wife play Animal Crossing, playing with my dogs, marathon sessions of Civilization but most crucially, I also began grinding Arena.

My local meta had been defined by the understanding that none of us were really Arena players. I had played when the Kaladesh and Amonkhet closed betas were happening, but I was turned off by the fact that all my playing of those formats amounted to nothing when it launched with Ixalan and I would start from square one. Everyone in the group typically shied away from tier 1 tournament decks because to all of us, it was more fun to goof around with RG auras and Tilonalli’s Summoner decks than it was to grind Esper Hero or the new Uro decks. And the limitation that everyone didn’t have all the shocklands meant we were all playing on roughly the same card pools with some variation due to our play styles. So when I suggested we all start playing Arena to replace the tournaments, it worked because it meant we all played the same dumb decks we’d play in person with a few exceptions of having less than perfect mana bases.

But I would find myself grinding Arena everyday where my friends and locals were not. Even though I jumped into Arena at mid-March, I finished the Theros Beyond Death mastery at level 78 when Ikoria began to creep around the corner. I had just begun to get back into Magic when Fate Reforged hit and didn’t realize how much I love wedge color alignments over shards but boy did I love Abzan in Khans standard and now I was in love with Abzan again in Ikoria standard. Grinding the way I did meant I drafted most afternoons for the first month of Ikoria (and forced Temur every time) and started climbing the ranked ladder in the evenings. Ikoria would also mark the first time I spent money on Arena. I’m notoriously spend-thrift in video games and anything you can free-to-play I do religiously because you shouldn’t make a game grindable over the course of years if you give me that option. But drafting took gems and I really love drafting but most people at my LGS are too concerned about rares than learning to do it properly and a lot of younger players feel lost when I draft a zero rare deck and go 4-0 and collect my prizes. By the end of April, I would reach Platinum in constructed and Gold in limited. But now my LGS was far less inclined to play with me. I didn’t brag about any of my rankings but the skill disparity had begun to creep in as well as the difference in our collections. Having played so much Arena, I could see the tells the software gives away that paper Magic doesn’t. I learned to read when the game would hang up on the beginning of combat and end steps because they’re holding potential responses. I began to do the full control shortcut to bluff counter spells and removal. In paper Magic, if my opponent would sequence things wrong or tap their mana wrong, we’d make jokes and rewind it because it’s one of those human errors that we all make and redo it the right way.

But Arena was different; some learned the hard way to not trust the auto-tapper, some didn’t realize that the way they normally stack triggers in paper is backwards and too late to fix after a spell or ability resolved. And I couldn’t help them. And I let them make their mistakes because I can’t change Arena. If they use the auto-tapper and they realize that Arena doesn’t tap the Castle Vantress even though they couldn’t activate it anyway and they lose a dual source, I couldn’t help them. If they have the lethal Explosion in hand but forgot to hit Control in their second main so they can stack the Wilderness Reclamation triggers in their end step, I don’t concede out of pity.

In May, I try and keep the Magic going by suggesting that we shift the format to a draft limited but they’re unconvinced of the website that allows you to simulate an 8-person draft and then import the drafted card lists to Arena. Why? Because they don’t have the cards already and I’ve changed the dynamic. They know I’m much more skilled at Arena and Ikoria drafting. The news has also been reporting that the curve was flattening, and our state was lifting restrictions on gatherings. They want to play EDH and paper Magic, not this digital intangible game. I reluctantly agree but keep grinding on Arena anyway. My friends didn’t want to play Magic on Arena and I couldn’t understand why. I was getting burned out on drafting at this point and the drafts were harder to fire off a month and a half later, work was returning on a limited schedule where I was onsite 75% and virtual 25%, it really did seem like things were returning to normal.

In June I finish the Ikoria mastery and at this point my wife had begun to show more interest in playing on Arena and trying to get her account a little more stocked since our normal paper system is I aggregate everything we typically need and I make her desired deck and hand it off to her to wreck people on FNM but since I didn’t have to judge, I got to play and we couldn’t both play from my account at the same time. I casually start hers and I get the wild hair that maybe I should make a loaner account in the store’s name and if anyone says they don’t have the cards, they can borrow the store’s account for the tournament. I make the account but put the pipe dream on hold when Wizards announces that in-store play can resume with the Core 2021 prerelease. I could read between the lines and see that the curve was trending the wrong way and thought it was a bad idea but at my insistence, everyone would have to wear a mask at all times and hand sanitizer was available every 15 feet and the store had lots of space for players to spread out. The turnout was low which helped as well, and I had everyone who showed up at least aware that I was trying to keep the Discord going and that in case there’s another shutdown that there was another avenue for them.

Well, I got my wish because within a week of the launch of Core 2021, my state had regressed, and cases were exploding and gathering restrictions were sent back in place. Shortly after that, Wizards suspended in-store play again and with that I created the store’s Arena account. At the time, things were pretty good. The locals weren’t playing as much and my server was still fairly empty but most of the Magic Twitch community I interacted with had strongly adjusted to the new paradigm. EDH streaming was commonplace, I had my new Arena account to focus on building up as well as my own. Pro level events and Opens were being held on Arena and the expansion of Amonkhet Remastered gave me hope that Magic was on the mend. But I also think it was with Core 2021 that things started to slide into the negative for me. Grinding the second account was frustrating me a lot. The lack of human interaction was tilting me out for no reason. Some days the server would have me wait a whole minute (the horror?!) for a game and then my opponent would be the world’s slowest red player where everything seemed delayed. There would strings of games I would play where I couldn’t get a third land drop after a mull to 4 and other times where I’d flood out and would have won if it weren’t for generic whiny reason why everyone says they lose.

Maybe it was when I began to see that Arena is not Magic the Gathering as much as it is a video game that it began to really sour on me. For those of you who don’t play a lot of Arena and instead interact with humans over webcams is that Arena is designed for you to not play off beat home brews except in direct challenges with your friends. The game is meant for you to play the best combination of 75 cards and for you to help it machine learn through millions of matches what is and what is not the correct play pattern based on the available information you have. It wants you to play the very best decks in a format against the other best decks. I started to see this in Ikora standard when decks would scoop if you were on the play and went turn 2 Agonizing Remorse. Decks were and still are so linear that they can’t handle that kind of disruption or it’s a matter of the players know it’s faster to accumulate wins by scooping than grinding out a long game.

If you need evidence of whether or not this is true, you should play Arena now and see how often people scoop against the double Ruin Crab opener with a Fabled Passage back-to-back. Or if an opponent against your Lurrus Auras deck will time out when they know they can’t win. In paper Magic, when you drive 4 hours to a major venue, pay your entry fee, you never see your opponent rage scoop unless it’s Legacy and you know what your opponent’s on and you mull to zero so you can see what’s in their deck. You call a judge to your table if they start stalling. Nothing is more annoying that an opponent spamming “Good Game” at you through a match when it’s obvious that you’re not killing them that turn but they’re empty handed and have nothing relevant on board.

I’ll admit myself that what my wife calls “Wizard Chores” for the Daily quests, if I’m 1 red spell short of finishing a quest, I’ll log in for one more game and Boulder Dash my opponent’s creature or cast Shock to face and immediately scoop. Who is that helping? I’d spend the week at work in my down times thinking about what dumb cards I hadn’t played with from a set, start making a list, furiously find the cards on a Friday afternoon and grab dinner with the wife and then race to my LGS for FNM.  Magic used to be something I only got to do twice a week with people in a shared setting and we’d unroll our playmats, shuffle up our jank, and laugh and generally have a good time for three to four hours. With Magic at my fingertips, Arena is a distillation of efficiency at spell slinging combined with the minor rewards system we’ve come to recognize the free-to-play traps to “encourage” us to play different things. If I want to play 100 matches in a day, all I need to do is sit at my computer long enough. If I want to play my old jank on Arena, I can’t even count on the Casual play channel to help since it’s always filled with people with 55 of the 60 cards that make the best deck learning how to play before they commit the wild cards for the deck.

Zendikar Rising has been a pretty dark point for everyone on Arena I believe. It seems like a lifetime ago that Omnath was printed and that I had immediately cashed in four mythic rare wildcards for the deck I would get to play with on Arena for 2 weeks before Wizards realized their mistake. Honestly before I had started writing this in the week before Kaldheim will hit Arena, I forgot that Omnath was part of the most recent set as all I can remember Zendikar Rising giving us is the extremely irritating Ruin Crab and Soaring Thought Thief. The few locals I had left on my Discaord server when ZNR released had lost interest in Arena since they enjoyed the Ravnica standard that was rotating out and Pioneer was not yet available for Arena. I’ve encouraged nearly everyone I know from my LGS to buy webcams since October given that the current state of the COVID world is not likely to go away and the new culture and channels that have opened up in the world to fill the void of EDH has some level of benefit even when in-person play resumes. Not many people play and I’ll search for an occasional game on the official Discord when the craving strikes. Some of my friends have been taking advantage of the webcam world and started playing older formats with me over webcam such as Pioneer and Modern to rekindle their love for Magic and the hope that we can start playing tournaments over webcam. Finishing up the ZNR mastery passes on my two accounts and my wife’s account has been giving me a much-needed break from Arena and honestly, it’s probably done the most to lift my spirits.

I’ve been taking a lot more time to reflect on why I love Magic and I plan on doing in the future. The first thing I know I’m going to do and stick to is not get a Mastery Pass for mt LGS store’s account. They don’t pay for all the work I put into the one already grinding multiple accounts is not good for my mental well-being. The second thing I know I am going to do is relearn how to have fun in Magic again. Not really hinted at in this article so far is the fact I love the art in Magic and I’m often inspired by my own crazy mind to illustrate my own works or reimagine my favorite cards with my own art. Since the release of Rise of Skywalker, I had been working on a personal project of creating a second expansion to the largely underground Star Wars the Gathering card game and ended up making 200 unique, draftable cards. I wouldn’t call myself an artist because I’m still learning and I don’t necessarily aspire to an artist but I would love to improve my skills and one day make a piece that’s so good someone wants on a card. Over the last two years, I’ve been deeply jealous of how amazing and hard working the Magic cosplayers are and that I should put my art to good use and make my own cosplays. And then there’s the playing of Magic. I miss the Gathering part of Magic. So this brings us to the bedrock of this piece. I hope to continue this blog steadily as time moves forward. I’m rarely ever satisfied or have my attention on any one project for too long but 2021 is a new year. And I hope that the title is a hint to the future. Whatever it is; whether it’s deck construction, art alters, or Magic cosplay, story, general discussion, that’s what I’m here for. It’s the Thrill of what I might work on next and I promise because I’m terrible right now at doing so, I’ll be sure to take pictures and try and stream when I can to keep myself honest about the whole deal. I hope you’ll all join me or at least join the Discord to yell at me.

[cheekaspbrak]

The Only One

Summary: Bran and yourself were friends when you were children, but Bran was supposedly dead for years. When he turns up in Winterfell, you have no idea what to do.

So yeah basically in my head Bran can still return to his (somewhat) former self but hasn’t been able to until he sees you. I’m sorry if that makes no sense and my rambly writing is confusing but I tried my best ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I hope you enjoy my short/long imagine for Bran! I loved writing it and I hope you like reading it!

**There are spoilers for the whole show but specifically for 8x03 so pleaaaasssee be careful if you haven’t seen it

Word Count: 2261

The air outside was crisp and cool in Winterfell, but you never minded the cold very much. Others had begun to put on an extra layer or two, but not you. Bran loved the cold too, you learned when you stumbled upon him climbing up a tree, wearing light clothing. You two were similar in age, around eleven or so, you both enjoyed the cold outdoors, and you both loved climbing. Up you went, swiftly meeting him at the branch he was sitting on.

“Hello.” You said cautiously, looking him in the eyes.

“You climb very fast.” He responded, forgoing formal introductions.

“I practice quite often, at least once a day.”

He grinned at her and brushed his rather long hair away from his shoulder, “But have you ever climbed a tower?”

Your eyes widened, “No, of course not! I would get in a lot of trouble!” Bran shrugged at this.

“I always get in trouble but I do it anyway.” He pauses for a moment, “Why don’t you come climb a tower with me? I promise if we get caught I’ll get in trouble, but you won’t.”

The two of you played all day long, chasing after each other, scaling walls, and having giggling fits. At the end of the day, you realized you had gotten so wrapped up in playing with each other that you had forgotten to introduce yourselves.

“Y/N.” You told him, “What’s yours?”

“Bran.” He smiled fondly at you, “Please come play with me again.”

The day you met him was only one of your hundreds of memories with him. Another, far less happy one was the day after he had fallen from the tower. Word had spread like wildfire through the town. Your mother came home from shopping in the market that morning and asked your father if he heard what happened to Lord Stark’s son.

“No, what is it?” He replied gruffly, not caring much for gossip.

“He was climbing a tower and fell off, poor thing.”

You gasped and rushed out the door immediately, ignoring your mother and fathers protests. You ran without thinking, bumping into people left and right. You ran until one of the people you bumped into was Arya Stark.

“Arya.” You said, more frantic than you intended it to be. She looked at you with a sad face; she wasn’t used to being the bearer of bad news.

“Y/N.” She hesitated, “It’s not good, he’s in a coma. We don’t know when he’ll wake up.” She watched as your mouth opened and closed, unsure what to say, before volunteering to take you to him.

“How hurt was he?” You asked as you followed her.

“His back is really bruised, mother said, but other than that he looks fine. He must’ve hit his head really hard to be asleep this long.”

Your brain raced frantically, you knew people sometimes died when they were in comas. You could feel tears threatening to spill out, but you forced yourself to keep it together.

“Here’s his room.” Arya pushed the door open and there he was, peacefully resting against a pillow as though nothing was wrong. You rushed to his side, grabbing onto his hand and brushing his long bangs out of his face. You two never really touched, not like this, but your mind could hardly stop your body from doing what it wanted to. He didn’t stir when you touched him, so you reached out to smooth down the rest of his hair, but self-consciously pulled your hand back when you remembered Arya was still looking.

“I’ll leave you alone.” She said when she saw you look back at her.

You stayed by his side all day long, aside from venturing out at one point to see just how far he had fallen. Your heart pounded like mad when you saw the long drop, and you had to turn away.

When you entered back into his room, Lady Stark was sat on the bed next to him.

“Who are you?” She questioned, rather alarmed. You knew who she was but you couldn’t blame her for not knowing you. Your cheeks flushed and you silently stared at the ground. She repeated her question firmly.

“I’m sorry.” You blurted out, which only made you flush more. “I’m Y/N. I’m Bran’s friend, Arya let me in.”

She smiled, letting her guard down. Her attention turned back to Bran.

“I’m Catelyn.”

“I know who you are.” You said sheepishly, “Bran’s told me all about you.”

Catelyn smiled more brightly this time, and she kindly patted the space on the other side of Bran. Together you two chatted all about your lives, and you told her about your many adventures with her son.

You also remembered rushing up to his room when you heard that he was awake. You burst through the door and landed on his bed where he laid, wrapping your arms around him.

“I’ve missed you so much!” You exclaimed, “Please, let’s go out and play.”

You pulled back and looked into his eyes, only for your excitement to fizzle out. Your hands floated down, grabbing onto his, as you had grown all too used to touching him frequently when he was in a coma. He seemed startled by your touch and looked away from you.

“I can’t, Y/N. My legs don’t work anymore.” His eyes met yours again, which were wide with shock and sadness, “I’m sorry.” He said quickly and his eyes flooded with tears. This time he was the one to reach for you, sitting up and grabbing onto you.

“It’s okay.” You said, not even knowing what he was apologizing for.

“We can’t climb anymore.” He breathed shakily, pulling away. Tears had fallen down his face now, which he wiped away immediately, “Can we still be friends?”

The question took you aback, “Of course we can, just because you can’t climb doesn’t mean we aren’t friends.”

Bran smiled, as though he genuinely wasn’t expecting that to be your answer. He hugged you again, and the two of you talked all day long and played other kinds of games that didn’t require being outside.

Those were all distant memories now. You were a young woman. A young woman who had thought Bran Stark was dead for years. When you found out Bran was not only alive but was back in Winterfell it took everything in you not to run to him. Supposedly his surprise appearance came with an awful consequence: Bran was not like himself anymore but rather, he was cold and lifeless, nothing like the joyous boy you once knew. They said that Bran Stark was dead and that he was actually a “Three-Eyed Raven” now. There was no telling if the rumors were true but you couldn’t bear to lose him again.

You successfully avoided him until you saw him one day while you were out and about. He was sat in a wheelchair, with Arya and Sansa chatting beside him. He was much older now, they all were, but he had become incredibly handsome. His face had changed so much- his brow hardened, his jaw was more masculine, and he had cut his hair- but you knew that it was him. All the avoiding you had done was thrown out the window the second his eyes met yours and you felt your legs nearly give out from under you. He grinned as you sprinted towards him, crashing against him and hugging him as best you could with him being in a wheelchair.

Arya and Sansa stopped their chatter when they saw you holding onto him, and him onto you, both of you crying into each other’s coats.

“Are you...crying?” Sansa asked in complete disbelief. Bran looked up at her briefly, then back at you, his thumb rubbing gently against your cheek.

“Yes, I am.” He told her. When you heard his voice for the first time it startled you. He had lost his childlike pitch, but the soft, smooth, comforting sound was still there. His eyes stayed connected with yours, unwavering.

“Oh my gods, Arya, he’s crying!” Sansa shouted at Arya, who was also staring in shock.

“I thought you were dead for so long!” You sobbed, ignoring the two girls.

“I know, love.” He whispered, touching your face as though you weren’t real, “I thought about you every night and what you must’ve been going through. I’m so sorry.”

At this point, one of the girls had gone and brought Jon over, who stood silently with his mouth hanging open. You stood up and turned to face them all.

“What is the matter?”

“Y/N, you don’t understand.” Jon whispered, glancing between you and Bran, “He hasn’t shown any emotion- nothing even close to this- since he came back to Winterfell.”

“It’s like you broke through whatever was going on in his mind,” Arya added.

“Welcome home, little brother.” Sansa tearfully told him, lunging forward to hug him tight. The other two Stark siblings piled on top of him too, making him laugh and hug them tighter. Once their little reunion was finished, Jon turned to you and pulled you in for a hug as well, kissing the top of your head.

“It’s been so long, little one.”

“Little one?” You scoffed, “I’m almost as tall as you!” He grinned at your jest at his height.

“I’ve missed you and your teasing.”

Both Arya and Sansa pushed Jon away and hugged you at the same time.

“Why didn’t you come see us sooner?” Arya looked at you sadly. You felt bad for not seeing your childhood friends earlier. You didn’t want to explain that you were avoiding Bran and them based on rumors around the town, even if they were true.

“I’m sorry.” You told them honestly, “But I’m so happy I’m here with you now.”

The three siblings left to give you some time alone. The two of you talked for hours out there. You talked about everything the other had missed. Bran told you about the Three-Eyed Raven, and about how he had all these memories put into his brain long before he was ready. It had essentially crowded out the rest of his memories, emotion, and personality. But then he saw you, and you blocked everything else out.

Eventually you two ended up laying on his bed together. You had helped arrange him on his side, something he was still embarrassed about needing help to do. You shushed him and rolled your eyes when he apologized and crawled into bed facing him. After that, you were unable to keep your hands off of each other. You traced each others lips and jawlines and shoulders like the other wasn’t real, and like no time had passed.

You embarrassingly realized that whatever story Bran had been telling was finished and now you two were just staring in silence. His wiser, brown eyes noticed the sudden change in yours. His hand instinctively reached out to lace your fingers together.

“Come closer.” He invited, voice low and gentle. He tugged on your hand so you closed the small gap left between you two. “I don’t ever want to lose you again,” his hand left yours to touch your shoulder, then your hair. You could tell he was getting nervous because he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Will you marry me?“

You choked on air for a second and your eyebrows shot up.

“You want to marry me?”

“Y/N, when I was in that cave, I had just been learning how to control my visions. One night, I wanted to see you, but when I tried, it showed me you in a wedding gown of sorts. I was heartbroken, but I understood, of course. I was about to leave when I noticed who the groom was. It was me. I’ve known you were my future since the day I met you. There has never been anyone but you. Please, give me the honor of having you as my bride. I love you.”

“Bran...” You spoke breathlessly, frozen in shock. Your eyes found his lips, just sitting there, slightly parted, so you moved impossibly closer and kissed him. You pushed him over and rolled on top of him, kissing every inch of his face.

“Does that mean-”

“Yes! Of course!” You shouted, kissing him again. He turned away from you to catch some air and laughed at your enthusiasm.

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” You loved the childish grin that was spread across his face.

You talked together late into the night, too. You both cried over the deaths of Catelyn, Ned, Robb, Theon, and Rickon. You cried over the horrible things that had happened to everyone else. You laughed over fond memories. You mourned Osha, Hodor, and Jojen, who you had never known well but were more grateful for than anything.

Finally, when the sun just barely peeked out over the horizon, you fell asleep.

When Arya came to get Bran up in the morning, she was surprised to find him holding you tightly against his chest. But, she figured, it was about time that something happy happened to him, so she smiled and closed the door quietly, letting you two finally rest easy back in each others arms.

[halfway-happyyy]

Wasted On Each Other

AN: This is a request from a dear mutual. 

That one where you join your boyfriend on the set of Castle Rock, and indulge in a cheeky game of hide and seek between the trees. S M U T ensues. Enjoy!

Word count: 2,467

When you awaken in the bright morning light, it is to the feeling of Bill’s fingertips tracing gentle patterns into the planes of your skin. He doesn’t say much, and he doesn’t linger long in one spot, but he does make sure to pay special attention to the rounded curves of your ass. “Turn over,” He murmurs, his voice low and heavy beneath the weight of recent slumber. You do as you’re told. Bill’s hand travels to the base of your throat where a violet bruise blooms in the flesh there. He smiles to himself when he spots the second one just below the lobe of your ear. “Did I make you feel good last night baby girl?”

           “You did.”

           His fingers dance lazily from the base of your throat, past your clavicle, to the already hardened bud of your nipple. His fingers leave trails of fire in their wake, and though you try not to, you squirm in anticipation under his touch. Bill bends his head to take a nipple into his mouth, allowing his teeth to graze the sensitive skin there. He pulls away to blow a steady stream of cool air over the moist flesh, causing you to shiver violently next to him. He enjoys playing this game more than he lets on most of the time. He works his way down the length of your torso, slightly chapped lips pressing chaste kisses into your skin. His hair is long; quite possibly the longest you’ve ever seen it and watching him brush it away from his face turns you on even more. You watch him take a moment to palm the erection growing hard against the constraints of his boxers. Bill’s hand stills on his cock and you watch, eyes half-lidded as he sucks two long fingers into his mouth, gets them really good and wet, and teases mercilessly at the base of your slit.

           “Please, Bill.”

           Bill slides his fingers fully into you, and it’s all you can do to keep from crying out loud. “Please what, baby girl?”

           You throw your head back against the down pillows, hips rolling up to match the measured thrusts of his fingers. “More.”

           “More what?” But he knows. He’s known for a while, and in a moment, his fingers are gone, and you feel inexplicably empty. Bill’s fingers are in his mouth again, he groans lowly against them and it causes a moan to bubble up from the hollow of your throat. The moment passes, and the feeling of Bill inserting a third finger inside of you, almost sends you over the edge right then and there. He rests his forehead against your lower belly as he continues at a faster and harder pace. “Such a good girl, taking what I have to give you. Shall I add another one?” His forehead rests against your lower belly, and the words ghosting across your heated skin causes the breath to hitch in your throat.

           A sudden knock at his trailer door causes Bill’s ministrations to stop completely, and the loss is almost enough to have you scream out in frustration. “Bill! They needed you on set like… ten minutes ago.”

Bill drops his head to the mattress below you in defeat, a string of expletives flows freely from his mouth. Some in English, some in Swedish. “I’ll be out in five minutes Collin- I overslept.” He lifts his glassy gaze to yours and winks cheekily. Bill leans in to press a kiss to your lips, before extricating himself from the bed to slip into his clothing for the day. “Don’t look at me like that, baby.” Bill groans quietly.

You feel sheepish; and although you mostly regret being the reason he’s late to his call-time, you also regret not being able to come shamelessly hard for him. “How are you going to get those pants on over that massive erection you’ve got there?”

Bill tilts his head back and elicits a laugh that causes a shiver to start at the base of your spine. “I’m sure I’ll find a way.” You watch as the fingers that were buried to the hilt inside of you only seconds ago, nimbly button up a green plaid shirt. He gives himself one last once-over in the mirror on the back of his door, and gestures to where you’re seated in bed. “You should come visit me on set today. I’ll be taking a break in the next few hours here and have half a mind to finish up where we left off.”

There is something about watching Bill hone his craft that is entirely transfixing to you. It’s the subtle way that he slips out of the skin you’re used to seeing him in, into a skin that is completely foreign to the both of you. It’s effortless; like breathing. This is one thing (out of thousands) that just comes naturally to him. It is a gift that, although had also been passed down to other siblings, also succeeds in setting Bill apart from the other three. “That’s lunch, you guys.” Michael pulls the headphones from his neck and gestures to Bill and the few other actors crowded around him. “Take 45 minutes, and we’ll meet back here around 2:45.” Michael clears his throat and gestures for Bill to come see him. “I’m not going to need to send a search party for you, am I?”

Bill’s gaze travels to his feet and he shakes his head, a sheepish grin stretches across his face. “’Course not, Mikey.”

“Forty-five minutes, hey?” You ask, shielding a hand over your eyes as the Massachusetts sun beats down on you. “Not much time for a romp in the old trailer, now is there?”

           Bill lets a moment pass between the pair of you before he shrugs. “Why would you assume we’d have to go back to the trailer in order for me to fuck you senseless?”

You swallow hard at this, and despite the warmth of the weather currently, his words cause goosebumps to rise in patterns in your skin. You clear your throat, arms crossed, and turn fully to him. “And what exactly did you have in mind then?”

“How about a quick game of hide and seek?”

It’s an innocent enough suggestion, but the way Bill broaches it makes you shiver in total anticipation. “You’re on, Skarsgård.” With that, he turns on his heel without a word, and you watch his figure becomes swallowed by the dense smattering of trees around you. You tentatively take a few steps forward and lose yourself as well. It’s easy enough to do; the only sound for miles around you are the firs swaying the wind, their branches gasping like the breaths out of one thousand souls.

“Where are you, baby girl?”

Bill’s voice finds you on the wind, causes you to turn in a circle and peer deeply into the vast, viridian ocean of trees. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a game now would it?” The sound of a stick snapping a few hundred yards from where you stand, causes you to jump uneasily on the spot. “And in full Bill fashion, you are going to pounce out of the bush and send me into the throes of heart failure.”

A laugh, loud and hearty disrupts the cocooned silence around you. “Just tell me where you are.”

“No.”

“No?” Bill asks incredulously.

“Why would I do that? Where would the fun in that be?”

“Forget the fun, darling! My next call-time is in thirty-five minutes!”

You kick a stray rock from your path and shrug your shoulders. “Do not forget that this was your idea Bill…”

You strain in the silence for any sound of twigs snapping, or leaves rustling, and you get complete and total silence in return. It becomes so quiet that it’s almost deafening. “Bill?” You call out, voice wavering ever so slightly.

“Gotcha!” Your boyfriend bursts through a gap in the trees, his cheeks flushed pink against his alabaster visage.

You double over, hands planted firmly to the tops of your knees. You take a few deep breaths to steady yourself, the thought of punching him square in the jaw crosses your mind multiple times. “You… are an asshole.”

Bill’s shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s been said once or twice.” He eyes you for a moment, still slightly out of breath from his impromptu entrance. In seconds, he crosses the distance to where you stand and backs you up against a tree. You don’t have time to collect your thoughts before his mouth is on you. Everywhere. His lips leave trails of fire everywhere they ghost, as your skin scorches beneath their very touch. “You like teasing me?”

You lift your gaze to his, and nod ever so subtly. “It can be fun.”

Bill clears his throat before pulling you back from the tree and turning you around forcefully so that you’re facing it. “You know what else is fun?” You shake your head silently, though you have a pretty good idea of what he’s about to follow up with. “Punishing you for teasing me.” He reaches around to the waistband of your jeans, finds the button and zipper, and undoes both in a matter of seconds. “You deserve everything I’m about to do to you.” You hold your breath as Bill shucks the material from your legs in one swift motion. You rest your head against the bark of the tree, reveling in the sweet scent of the pine around you. Bill’s hand caresses your right ass cheek and in seconds he lifts it and slaps it down hard against the soft skin there. The sound reverberates off of the fauna around you and causes immediate goosebumps to bloom there. Bill’s fingers traverse the small bumps gently, as if he were reading braille, and then let’s loose another impossibly hard slap. You writhe against the tree, the woody texture grinding abrasively against your cheek. “I think you are entirely deserving of a few other ones, baby girl.” You close your eyes tight and grind your teeth together in anticipation of what’s about to happen. Your pussy aches at the thought, the urge to touch yourself is almost over-powering. He lets loose a flurry of slaps, each one more painful than the last. He does it until you are literally screaming out into the air before you. Bill’s lips find the crook of your neck, and he latches on tightly, causing another red bruise to form there. “Did that hurt baby?”

“Yes,” You whimper, your hand slowly making its way to your clit.

Bill catches this and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “And just what do you think you’re doing?”

“I need… I need something, Bill.”

Bill pulls his pants and boxers down, and in seconds his one hand has both of your arms pinned above your head. “You will not touch yourself unless I say, is this in any way unclear?”

You nod your head wordlessly.

“Hmm? Didn’t quite catch that.” He murmurs expectantly.

“Yes, sir.”

Bill spits into the palm of his hand and begins stroking the length of his cock. “That’s a good girl.” With his free hand, he traces invisible lines up and down the length of your torso starting from your armpit to your hip. You bite at the corner of your lip hard enough to draw blood. “Think you’ll have learned your lesson after this?” He hardly gives you a moment to answer before his cock is at your entrance. He teases you mercilessly there too; rubs the ever so sensitive head slowly and deliberately against the slick part of your slit.

Your eyes fall shut as you grind against him shamelessly. “Please Bill…” This particular utterance earns you another hard hit against your left ass cheek.

In seconds, Bill is inside of you. He stills his hips against your ass, and drops his head to your shoulder, letting loose a low growl. He begins at a relatively innocent enough pace; it’s an ebb and flow that never really grows old. It never ceases to drive you close to the brink of absolute insanity. His hands finally drop from your own- his way of letting you know that you are allowed to start touching yourself. You finger dances slowly down to your swollen clit, just pressing a fingertip to it causes a jolt of electricity to ripple violently through your body. Wordlessly, Bill starts to hammer into you, his cock hitting a spot deep inside of you over and over again. “Jesus fuck…”

           A primal scream rips from your throat loudly, and Bill’s hand instinctively travels your mouth and splays out against it, stopping the noise mid-scream. His lips are at the shell of your ear, his ivory teeth graze the sensitive skin there. “Do you want the entire production crew to hear me fuck you?” You shake your head earnestly. “If you want to come for me, you’re going to have to be as quiet as possible.” His hand drops from your mouth to your throat and your eyes widen as his long fingers tighten around the base of it. You press firm circles into your clit, while simultaneously meeting each of Bill’s thrusts with your own. His hand tightens incrementally around your throat as his orgasm nears. He’s cursing now, his forehead rests gently against the top of your shoulder. “I’m close baby girl,” He groans.

           The pressure of his hand around your throat helps to speed the orgasm looming seconds away from you. Waves of pleasure roil around in your belly, causing you to gasp out into the air before you. “Come for me Bill…” Though he is the one who has taken the reins this time around, you know him well enough to know that he cannot resist that particular combination of words. He throws his head back, a long, loud moan bubbles up from somewhere deep. You feel his hips still against your bare ass, and he comes into in you waves, each one stronger than the last, until he is totally empty. It’s all it takes before you are also falling to pieces against him, a muffled cry the only sound of pleasure from your lips. A chaste kiss is pressed to your neck before he pulls out of you, the sudden loss a foreign feeling. You pull your underwear and pants back up your legs, wincing as the denim brushes softly against the raw skin of your ass cheeks. You view him fully and take satisfaction in the notion that he is impossibly sweaty, out of breath and completely fucked out.

           “Lesson learned?” Bill asks expectantly.

           You glance at the watch on the underside of your wrist and smile wryly at him. “Not even a little bit.”

[jj-lives]

three card monte - bmblb au

Reluctantly you hand over another forty dollars to the girl in front of you.  

“You have a tell.” She smiles pocketing it just as she’s done to your entire day’s worth of hard earned money.

“I do not!” You’re insulted, because you are really good at what you do.  You make a pretty decent living hustling people on the street.  There’s no way you have a tell, you’re better than that.  The only reason she’s been winning is because she’s just getting lucky… eight straight games in a row.

She laughs, handing you more money, your money that she’s cheated you out of. “Let’s go again then.”

You show her the queen of hearts among the two black jacks folded lengthwise, mimicking tiny tents pitched on the small table you have balanced on a trash can.  She nods her head but doesn’t even look to see where you’ve placed the winning one she’ll have to find.  You focus on shuffling the three cards, using your practiced hands to swap the queen from one position to the next, tricking the eyes of your victims into choosing the wrong one.  You’ve never had to use the illusion more than twice in any shuffle to trip anyone up but the desperate way you want her to fail has you flicking your wrist half a dozen times with practiced ease.  Satisfied you let the cards rest in a line, stepping back you offer the cards to the girl.

She’s watching you with those laughing lilac eyes when you glance up and you realize she hasn’t been looking at the cards at all.  All your effort has been in vein.

“Choose.”  You state, less cordial than your usual tone would be had she been any other — should you call them customers? Patrons? Victims?

Her hand hovers over each card but she’s very obviously not looking at the cards.  She wants you to know she has no clue where the queen is.  She’s trying to prove you have a tell.  You don’t care how confident or cocky she’s being, she’s not going to succeed because you do not have a—

“This one?” She lifts one card, not even looking at it she turns it towards you.

The queen of hearts stares mockingly back at you.  She doesn’t need a verbal answer, the scowl forming on your face is enough confirmation for her.  

Her smirk is all smarm and taunting humour.  She delights in your misery.  You reach into your back pocket and hand her another twenty.  You feel how thin your cash roll has become in the past half hour and you decide to pack up, there’s no sense in sticking around to lose what little you have left. Sighing, you fold up your makeshift table.

“Hey, I wanted another go.”  You scoff but glance at the girl who’s taken almost a month’s worth of your grocery money.  You feel yourself resign to the thought of soup and noodles for the foreseeable future.  Your disappointment and anger at the girl unfortunately doesn’t diminish her radiance.  Well aware of how attracted you were to her the moment she approached, you’d originally planned to to ask for her number, but that’s out of the question now. It’s a shame, she’s beautiful and happens to be taller than you, and that’s something you’ve always been a sucker for. “I think you were going to win the next one.”

Scowling you make a move to walk around her, hearing her laughter ring out as you do.  If there’s one thing you hate more than losing it’s being mocked.  

“Double or nothing?” She asks, following you when it’s clear she’ll get no answer.  The shuffling of multiple feet in your direction brings you to the horrifying realization you two now have an audience.  You hadn’t noticed and blame her for distracting you with her eyes and smile.  “All or nothing? Everything I have against whatever’s left in your pocket? I’m sure that’s a good deal for you.”

You know it is.  You’re not sure how much she had on her originally, but the money she’s won from you is more than what’s left in your pocket.  But losing what little you do have will cut into your rent and take away that delicious soup you’re looking forward to.  You hesitate though, a break in your step and she notices, pouncing at the opening.

“Double what I have against what you do?”

Spinning to face her and the dozen others that have congregated, you ask. “How can you offer double what you have?”

She smiles triumphantly turning to the crowd.  “Who here wants to make some easy money?” A young man breaks from the crowd, reaching for his wallet.  She smiles and ushers him forward with soft fingers on his wrist.  He follows, obvious in his blatant leering of the blonde’s — attributes, as he brings up the rear.  They combine their money and the girl waves the wad of cash in your face.  You can’t not take the bait.  It would help you tremendously.  You wouldn’t have to worry so much about making it to the end of the month with that in your pocket.  Deciding the chance at such a great amount is worth you possibly losing the hundred bucks you have left in your pocket, you find yourself nodding to the terms.

You set the game back up and show the queen of hearts to both her and the young man.  His concentration on the cards as you shuffle is what you’ve become accustomed to.  She, however, turns to comment on a bag one of the ladies has in the crowd.  

Only when you’re finished does she return, eyes sparkling with mischief.  She lets him ponder which one could possibly be correct before leaning over his shoulder.

“Which one do you think?” She asks.

He smiles, unbelievably cocky and points to one of the cards.  “It’s definitely this one.”

“You sure?” She scrutinizes his choice than looks to you.  Her smile widens.  “Actually, I think it’s this one.”  She points to the card next to the one he’s chosen.  Her eyes test you once more before she nods. “Yup, definitely this one.”

“You’re positive?” He asks.  

She shrugs. “It’s all a gamble really, but she has a tell and I haven’t been wrong yet.”

Not wanting to go against her, who has bested you nine times already, he taps his finger finally to the far right card.  You lift it up, face towards them, knowing it’s the jack of clubs.  His shoulders sink as he turns to his accomplice.  

“You said you were sure.”

She looks absolutely dumbfounded.  She can’t believe whatever tell she thought you had has failed.  You want to laugh because it means she didn’t really know what card was right.  She was just getting lucky.  

“I think she played me.” Lilac eyes darken to violet as her exuberant mood shifts to suspicion and anger.  She scoffs, throwing the wad of cash onto your table.  Turning she pushes her way through the crowd and disappears.  The man whose money you’re stuffing into your jeans also vanishes into the scattering crowd.  

Folding up the table once more you decide to head home.  You feel good, good enough to maybe order a cheap pizza because you definitely deserve it.  You step lighter now, as you walk down the street, a pocket full of cash.

“I think you owe me.” A voice speaks up behind you. You spin, recognizing it.  She saunters out from a covered doorway making a beeline straight for you.  

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on!” She exclaims. “You didn’t really think you won on a fluke?”

You eye her, not sure if this is a trick or not.  She seemed angry for losing earlier, but now she’s back to smiling as if the money she lost was already long forgotten.

“Are you saying you knew the card you chose was wrong?”

“Yup.”

Rolling your eyes you ask, “So I would have lost if you let him pick the card he wanted, huh?”

“No, that card was wrong too.  He would have lost either way.”

She’s right.  

“If you knew that then why make him change his choice?”

“Because although he was going to lose either way, me choosing the wrong one allowed for my dramatic departure.”

“You did it so you could throw a temper tantrum?”  If true, this girl was all drama that you don’t need.

“Well, did you see how he was looking at me? Lost money or not he was aiming for a date and I didn’t plan that whole charade just to end up going to dinner with him.”

“Okay.” You stare at her because you really truly do not know what she expects you to do with the information.

“You have nearly two hundred more in your pocket than you did before I showed up.” She waits for you to agree, and it’s useless to argue, she knows exactly how much money you have. “That’s not bad for half an hours work.”

Finally able to process the words she’s said to you when she first approached, you catch onto what she’s doing here.  Eyes narrowing you square your shoulders defensively.

“And you want your cut?”

“Yup.”

“How much?”

“I already told you.” She smiles, taking another step closer, invading your personal space. Your body twitches as it takes way too much energy to hold your ground. You’re ready to bolt. “I didn’t do this to go to dinner with him.”

“Wait... what?”

“Come on,” she says spinning to look at the storefronts surrounding you. “I’m new here.  What’s a good place to grab a bite to eat?”

“You’re serious?” You ask confused, but slightly amused.  It’s hard to believe the girl not only played the crowd, but played you as well.

“Uh huh.” she returns her attention to you once again.  

“Well, depends on what you’re in the mood for really.”  You rack your brain trying to remember if anyone has recommended a decent restaurant in the area, because besides cheap pizza and the occasional burger you don’t really have the funds to eat out all that often. “I think there’s an italian restaurant up the street and there’s a sushi place around the corner.”

“Sushi?” She asks. “I haven’t had that in forever. Let’s go there.”

“Let’s, as in you and me?”

She laughs, shaking her head and her wild golden main shifts and sways with her movements.

“Well I didn’t put on that charade to have dinner alone either.” Her hand is on the cardboard table you’re carrying and before you can react she is gallantly taking it from your hand.  “You do like sushi right?”

A scoff is pulled from your throat. “I’m a cat faunus, what do you think?”

“I don’t know.” She responds softly, taking in your appearance, including the ears stretching skyward.  “I don’t like to form assumptions on someone based on appearances.”

It takes you aback.  Most people do the exact opposite.  They judge and condemn or follow and praise all based on first impressions, usually skin deep.  For the first time you really take in the taller girl, not just the physical beauty but the way she’s standing.  She appears confident with her shoulders held back and head held high, but she’s swaying slightly from one foot to the other and the muscles of her lower jaw are clenching ever so slightly.  Thinking of the young man who was willing to lose so much of his money to impress her has you wondering how many of those types of interactions she has in any given day.  How many see her tall, toned body and alluring facial features and end up making snap decisions about her?  Being blonde in itself has the stereotypical negative connotations involving intelligence.  

Maybe she knows more about how it feels to be judged by her body and not her mind than you think.  Maybe you’re making unfair snap decisions about her and you hadn’t even noticed.

“I do,” your voice is soft but it carries easily to her ears a few feet away. “I love sushi, but I really shouldn’t be-“

“Because I’m a girl and not attractive to you?”

“Now who’s making the assumptions.” Shooting her words back in her face feels like a huge accomplishment, especially with all the different reactions you get to see flash across her face.  She finally settles on a goofy grin.

“So…”

“So?”

“You are attracted to me?” She bites her bottom lip nervously.

“Let’s just say-“ You motion for her to follow as you cross the street, she immediately falls in step beside you. “-that before you took all my money, making an enemy of me, I had planned on getting your number.”

“Really?” Laughing at her shocked expression you nod. “How were you planning on getting it?”

You smile, holding the door to the sushi restaurant open for her.

“If this date goes well, you’ll find out.”

“If this is an official date I guess I’ll be paying.”

“What? No.” You’re confused.  “I thought you said I owed you?”

“To come on a date with me, not to buy me dinner.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.” Although you are loathe to spend much money on anything and sushi is expensive it still doesn’t seem right that she pay when she’s just earned you so much extra money.

“You can get next time.”

She walks through the door, but not before shooting you a wink over her shoulder.  How can such a simple act give you butterflies?

Had she said next time?  There’s going to be a next time and her knowing that already kind of excites you.  

You follow her into the restaurant as something dawns on you.

“Hey, what even is your name?”

She just laughs and says you’ll have to guess. Something tells you nothing is going to come easy with her.  

You’re kind of looking forward to figuring her out

[anonthenullifier]

Celestial Bodies

Chapter 25 of Celestial Bodies

Chapter summary: Being an Avenger means putting aside personal matters for the greater good, except Wanda and Vision never imagined this would mean missing their wedding. (8.2k words).

Happy Scarlet Vision Appreciation Day everyone! I hope you enjoy this unapologetic fluff fest.

AN: If you have not read any of my Celestial Bodies series, that’s fine, the only chapter you might want to skim before reading this is Chapter 1 because the theme of that chapter is a motif in this chapter. 

Wanda’s lungs heave in as she crests what seemed an unassuming hill, but the joy of increased gravity means it felt more like a mountain. In all her life, she’d never really thought what it would be like to walk an alien world, never imagined it would feel like rainy days when the mud sucks her boots down and every stride becomes a small battle with nature. Other than her thighs aching from a measly hill, the world around her seems oddly non-alien, mostly. The setting sun creates streaks of amaranth and clementine, silver specks flicker behind wispy clouds, and even the ground is wrapped snugly in a blanket of small, mustard colored flowers like the rocky slopes outside of Novi Grad. Except Sokovia never had four moons and never shined like stained glass under the sun. Minus those small details, she can almost imagine they are back on Earth.

One bit of normalcy that contributes to this feeling is the sight before her, Vision staring silently across the still waters of a little pond, mind, no doubt, ticking through every negative event from the day. Not that she blames him, her own mood soured about ten minutes after waking up to find Tony waiting at the breakfast table next to Vision, a manic grin on the billionaire’s face and a handful of shredded paper that he tossed into the air with a Congratulations! once she sat down. Thankfully Tony had already established his…eccentricity with the Guardians who didn’t seem fazed by the action (well other than Mantis excitedly clapping at the confetti display), even if her own team all became intensely interested in the cardboard-esque food on their plates. 

Wanda sucks in a few more breaths before descending, calves screaming with each step while her mind unhelpfully reminds her that this isn’t the walk she was supposed to be making towards Vision today. About halfway down the hill, he gets on his knees, shoulders slouching forward as he stares deeper into the water. Wanda frowns, feet moving a bit faster to close the distance, understanding he is now transitioning into level 3 brooding. “Vizh…” 

She says his name approximately five steps before she reaches him and yet it takes another agonizing three seconds after she’s at his side before he acknowledges her. “Hello.” Despite greeting her, his attention is focused on the steady scooping and pouring of water over his arm, each splash followed by a wince. 

Wanda kneels next to him, hand dipping under his cape and rubbing up along his spine. “Can I see it?” Wordlessly he shows her his right arm, four punctured lines running down it with a sickly green slime clinging to the raised edges of the injury. “That’s gross.” 

“Yes, it is,” disgust hangs heavy in the words, which is surprising given not much bothers him (at least physical things like monsters or biological organisms, the bigotry and hatred of people disgusts him daily). “I never wish to do that again.” 

“I thought Nebula was going to do it, since her arm’s not, well...” Wanda doesn’t know how to finish the statement so she leaves it hanging, finding the woman in question a terrifying and unsettling mystery even if Vision assures her that the she’s not an immediate danger.   

Thankfully he effortlessly picks up her thought. “Last night Rocket tested our durability and tactile sensitivity in a carefully constructed simulation.” The way he phrases it makes it sound like one of Stark’s grand technological courses back at the compound, not like the three-foot-high pile of wires, pillows, a couple of blankets, half of the eating utensils, and a soup bowl corroding by the second, that was actually used. “Nebula and myself had similar bodily responses to the acid mixture.” Wanda stares at his arm trying to figure out if they also anticipated the rows of teeth inside the creature strong enough to cut vibranium or if that was an unpleasant surprise for Vision. Based on available evidence, she’s going with the latter. “But when it came to our tactile abilities, I was much better at detecting subtle changes in texture which meant I would be more capable of locating the switch.” 

This is partially true and likely what he wants to use to convince himself that he was the right choice, except she was sitting nearby when she heard them going over the rules of asteroid, paper, blaster. “And I’m sure it had nothing to do with losing their game.” 

Vision’s lips curve slightly as he washes his arm again, “They cheated.” 

“Still counts as losing.” 

The teasing is supposed to cut the tension between them, not increase it with his leaden, “I suppose.” 

Wanda sits back on her heels and watches him continue to rinse his wound, each hypnotic splash chipping away at the remnants of their partially failed mission.  It’s been a long, strenuous week, and today was a mixed bag of success, on the one hand they finally disabled the entrance (or what Rocket lovingly referred to as a semi-sentient trapdoor of doom) to where the artifact is kept, a task they’d failed at for days and ended up having to use their last-ditch strategy of an unlucky person (i.e. Vision) shoving his hand into the creature in search of the switch for the door. On the other hand, inside the door they came across yet another deadly puzzle to solve and ominous warnings of an ember eyed demon, which was nowhere in their intel. This new development required them to call off the rest of the plan and regroup tonight for further strategizing.    

“Do you, um…” Vision tenses at the questioning slant of her words and it compounds what’s been bothering her this whole damn mission, because since unexpectedly blasting off into space, the air between them has been heavy, an unacknowledged perturbation forming that they silently deemed a concern best left to discuss after the mission. Which isn’t the healthiest tactic, but Vision tends to believe in compartmentalizing personal issues away from Avenger directives for the sake of focus. They’ve done pretty well, pretending like nothing's wrong, but after this morning with Tony and yet another day tacked on to their trip, and especially due to the way every conversation has started to feel like walking over eggshells that surround a slumbering interdimensional demon, Wanda has had enough. “Can we please just talk about—” 

“I have already apologized to Mr. Stark for my loss of temper.” 

“I know.” When Vision says a loss of temper, what might come to mind for people unacquainted with him is a blast from the Mindstone or a punch so hard it shatters a wall. What actually happened was a very terse, Tony, be quiet. No one other than herself and maybe Natasha even realized the depths of seething annoyance sewed into those three words, but it was right as he snapped, right as he took away focus from maintaining the right density, that Vision also gasped in pain at the plant-like creature biting down on his arm. None of that is actually what she wants to talk about, however. “You know that’s not what I meant.” 

Wanda leaves the rest silent, fully aware of how the weight she gave her words will settle onto his shoulders, cocooning him in a guilt that needs no prodding other than a few more seconds of empathetic quiet. “It is just,” he sits back on his heels, hands coming to rest on his knees, and stares out at the twisted trunks of the piebald trees around them, “Even though I do not regret being present to help save the universe,” something she agrees with, “I also was very much looking forward to, well,” he shrugs, trying to act as if what’s he admitting is some sort of childish wish, “our wedding.” 

Wanda scoots a few inches to help close the gap between them so she can lay a kiss to his temple. “Me too.” Finally, for the first time since leaving the compound, they’ve acknowledged the elephant stampeding around them. Today was supposed to be spent in New York City in a venue that was too big and too fancy for them, committing to spend the rest of their lives together. Instead she spent four hours holding up a scarlet shield to keep the onslaught of rabid, insanely powerful six legged monstrosities at bay while her fiancé had his arm shoved down the throat of a thing that looked like a venus fly trap had a drunken one night stand with a blobfish. “You know, I figured something weird would happen today because weird is kind of our thing, but I wasn’t expecting our day to go like this.” 

“I concur. Though I will admit,” Vision’s arm wraps around her shoulders, holding her tight to his side, “it was very charitable that the semi-sentient trapdoor of doom was thrown in for free since the colored napkins were extra.” 

A full-bodied laugh rushes out of her body, delighted at the sardonic thoughts he rarely shows to anyone but her. “I’m sure if we had wanted the fully sentient model it would have been like three hundred more.” 

“Oh, most assuredly.” Wedding planning, they discovered very early on, is a gaping jawed monster with an endless pit for a stomach.  It drove Vision crazy, nearly as much as dealing with the county clerk’s almost eight-month long refusal to recognize his birth certificate for their marriage license. Vision’s tone sashays away from sarcasm and back towards despondency. “I am certain the fee for having to reschedule will be exorbitant.” 

“Probably.” Which should make her angry right now, not so much the charge, though it is ridiculous, but she should be in a rage at how long the mission is taking and how aggravating it is that all they do is squabble over who has a slightly better idea instead of deciding on a path and fleshing out the plan. When they left, the possibility of missing their wedding wasn’t even a blip on her radar of concern. When the universe needs to be saved, you go and save it. Which doesn’t erase how very very much she wanted to get married today...but even if they were to go back in time, knowing all they know now, she still would have gotten on the Milano because she’s an Avenger and Avengers don’t put their personal lives first. Perhaps she should feel guilty about it, but she doesn’t, which kind of makes her feel guilty. “Vizh?” 

“Yes?”

“Would you have rather have dealt with the trapdoor of doom or paparazzi today?” 

The scrunch of his face betrays his indecision and it instantly feels like absolution of her own sinful thoughts. “I believe I would rather have dealt with the trapdoor,” quickly he qualifies his decision, “for the sake of the universe.” 

“The universe is pretty important.” 

“Very much.” Vision pauses, lungs half full and mouth still open, his mind abuzz against the shallow link she has with him, and whatever it is he’s considering vibrates the air around them, prickling against her skin and sending her heart into a slightly faster tempo. “You know, I have been thinking that, um, since we likely will not have the Orensanz again for some time,” the refurbished synagogue Stark found for them touts a wait list of up to 3 years and they were told, about a million times, that they only got the date they did because the sheer celebrity of their wedding would mean an even longer waitlist in the future. They were also informed this cutting in line was a one time exception. “Perhaps when we return we just do something small?” 

The suggestion latches to the corners of her mouth, his words floating up and bringing a smile to her face. “You mean like the wedding we actually wanted?” 

A playful defensiveness weaves through his response, “If today had gone differently, I would have been thrilled to vow my life to you in front of two hundred and fifty of our closest friends.” 

“You forgot about the seventy-five person wait list and the fifty press members.” 

“Yes, and the protestors.” After Tony published an announcement of their wedding, they were alerted to an online movement to picket outside the venue. “I checked the news earlier, the protest still happened.” 

Of course it did. “Any good signs?” 

His eyes grow distant, no doubt sweeping through the news for pictures, “Nothing truly imaginative, which is on par for this group,” now the disgust is back and she feels like it should be a lot more pronounced than it is, “one sign did purport that Asimov is rolling in his grave, but I believe this may be a fundamental misunderstanding of Asimov’s work.” 

Wanda decides to move back to a better topic, never knowing where Vision’s mind will descend when discussing the laws of robotics. “So, what are you thinking for this small wedding?” They’ve discussed it already, both at the onset of their engagement and throughout the planning process, always late at night once Tony had left, Vision’s voice growing more wistful the further Tony pulled them away from an intimate ceremony, claiming the first Avenger wedding had to be a big ordeal, but she never gets tired of hearing him walk her through it. 

Vision straightens his back, his hand remaining on her shoulders to hold her steady as he moves off of his knees to sit on the spongy moss, an action she mimics, enjoying the feel of his muscles on her back when he cuddles her to his side once again. “I believe our backyard would be best,” with a flick of her finger, Wanda inserts herself into his mind, grinning at the image he constructs to go along with his words,  “the chuppah can be placed on the east side of the lawn,” the four posts rise in the center of his thoughts and then their handcrafted cloth envelops the structure, “we could string lanterns around the perimeter,” twinkly ones he saw on a backyard renovation show, “we will need to wait until dusk when the stars come out, and there should be just enough space for our teammates, Helen, and the Bartons.” The white folding chairs plop into their still growing grass, and though she doesn’t count, she knows he has the right number. 

“You should probably finish putting up the fence first.” 

“Yes,” a white paneled fence with decorative lattice work on top (that matches their pergola) pops up in his mental picture, “privacy would be of utmost importance. The ceremony would be unchanged,” the only thing Tony left up to them in the planning, though that control was not ceded quietly, a threat of scarlet and Vision’s best disappointed stare the only reason Stark backed off, “and I believe the reception would just be an evening with friends. We would, for the sake of public opinion, and Mr. Stark’s pride, hold a larger reception at some point.” 

It’s what he’s always daydreamed about, what she has as well, and it’s part of why she’s not completely overwhelmed with disappointment that today went the way it did, even if she would rather be his wife right now. “That sounds perfect.” 

“You two ever coming back?” Sam’s voice in her ear fractures the contentment of the moment. “Steve wants to get strategizing.” 

Another click from the comms and Starlord’s grating voice comes through making sure that any enjoyment that remained is decimated by his puerile addition, “Yeah, tongues back in your own mouths.” 

“Shut up, Quill.” Now Rocket joins in and Wanda rolls her eyes at Vision who sends her a commiserate nod. “You didn’t even realize those two were a thing until an hour ago when we told you.” 

Defensiveness seems to be a second skin to Starlord, one he pulls particularly snug around Tony and Thor, though clearly his own teammates know how to get to him. “How am I supposed to be in the know about everyone’s dating life?” 

Nebula flatly counters back, “They make out everywhere,” which isn’t true, “you’re just oblivious, as usual.” Which probably is true, based on the week Wanda’s known the man. 

“Yes,” Mantis’ voice is always gentle and optimistic, brimming with enthusiasm that is infectious even while contributing to ruining a nice moment with Vision, “last night they were on top of the ship.” They were, but they were just trying to find some peace and quiet, something Wanda shouldn’t have to feel defensive about. 

“And at the table,” this is proudly added by Drax, “they didn’t notice me standing in the corner.” They did, which is why they moved to the roof of the ship. 

Sam hits his comm a bit early, allowing the sounds of rustling and background chatter to come through, “Welcome to living with those two.” It’s a comment that from the likes of Stark would be derisive, but from Sam is good natured albeit it still makes her a little self-conscious. 

Natasha, a consummate professional, wrestles control back of the comm system, something she and Steve have struggled to do with the increased lines in use. “Can you two please come back?” 

“We will return momentarily.” 

Nat’s “Thanks, Vision,” seems cheerier than usual, likely from the victory of stemming a conversation on the brink of being out of control.

The line finally returns to the light static of dormancy. Vision untangles from their embrace, standing up with a reluctant sigh, his arm extended and palm up, offering assistance that Wanda accepts. “I suppose we should return before we have to deal with that again.” 

They should. Even if it is the last thing she wants to do. These meetings are always long affairs due to the inevitable devolving into one-upping each other with acts of stupidity masquerading as heroics. Sometimes she’ll participate, but most of the time she just wants to shower and relax, actually decompress before the next phase of the mission. Additionally, given the complete lack of privacy and solitude in the cramped ship, as their teammates so kindly noted, she’s remiss to leave this spot and this moment, Vision the only person she ever wants to be around post-mission. Tonight even more so. “Yeah, we should.” 

Despite their words, neither moves from the peacefulness around them. 

The stars are crystalline, so much brighter than the ones they see on Earth. Wanda’s not even sure if they are the same stars or different, not really understanding where they are, but she admires them all the same, especially the way they reflect off the placid surface of the pond, in the middle of which two moons hang together, rippling when an insect lands on the water.  “Vizh.” Their hands are together, fingers laced so naturally, their muscles remembering each other perfectly so that a simple action like holding hands can happen without thought. Wanda tugs on his hand, turning his body to face her, his eyes bright and curious at what she wants. “I love you.” 

His face softens, the Mindstone glowing a touch brighter as his lips mimic the curves of the moons above. “I love you too.” 

It’s a common exchange between them, done at least five times a day, usually more, but today it holds a special weight, or at least, it was supposed to. Maybe it still can. Wanda reaches out her other hand, wiggling her fingers until, with his head cocked to the right, he takes her invitation, his body fully facing her now. “You know, I’ve spent the last three weeks practicing what I wanted to say to you today,” usually in the shower or lying in bed while Vision was off making her tea. It was nerve-wracking to write down her feelings for him, even more petrifying was the knowledge of having to say it in front of so many people. Right now, however, it’s just him. “And, um, is it okay if I tell you? Even without the wedding.” 

Vision’s lips tighten into a line as he works through her request, the right side tipping up when he nods in understanding, “I would like that.” 

“Okay.” The world hushes around them, the gentle lapping of the water at the mossy shore providing a meditative anchor to calm her nerves while her heart matches the rhythm of his irises spinning. He’s beautiful, always, but especially against the backdrop of the nebulous skies. “Okay. Vision,” if it is this hard to say it just to him, she can’t imagine how she was going to do it in front of over two hundred people, “A long time ago I was told I had a moon. A very kind, very gentle, freakishly intelligent and attractive moon,” the increasing slope of his mouth and the comforting pressure of his hands helps keep her going, “and I thought they were idiots.” Vision laughs with her, easing her nerves just a bit more. “And they were, to be fair.” 

He whispers his agreeance, making sure not to interrupt her too much. “Yes, they were.” 

Wanda spends several seconds counting the turn of his irises now that she’s reached the part she had struggled to put into words without it sounding so cheesy she was embarrassed to say it. “They thought you were a moon and I was a planet, never realizing that we were just two planets that happened to pass by each other and become joined in a mutual orbit.” A moment goes by where she seeks out some sort of response, having watched the documentary again just to make sure she didn’t screw up the science lingo. Vision simply smiles. “One that’s only grown stronger throughout these wonderful, amazing years. No matter what we’re doing, or where we are, we will always find each other, we will face every obstacle and accomplishment together. I will always be drawn to you and you to me, I hope.” 

“I will.” 

Wanda beams at the reassurance, “That’s good. I love you, Vision. And, um, even though we’re already pretty comfortable in our little planetary system, I am so incredibly overjoyed to be binding my soul to yours today.” 

“That was beautiful.” 

“Thanks.” A weight falls from her shoulders at the unmitigated love on his face and booming from his mind, her cheeks beginning to sting a bit from how wide her own smile is as she feels his thoughts and feet shift. 

“Wanda Maximoff,” his voice shakes as he adjusts the grip of his hands, his thumbs nervously running over her rings while the gears in his eyes race counterclockwise. “I am most comfortable with the world when it can be quantified and analyzed conclusively, which may come as a shock, I know.” 

“Truly shocking.” 

A gentle kiss is laid on her forehead, the pressure of his lips replaced with the corners of the Mindstone as he touches his face to hers, voice lowering as he continues, “Ever since I came into this world, there were quantifiable changes where you were concerned. My heart rate always increases 2.25 beats per minute whenever you enter a room, 5.73 whenever you smile at me, and 9.62 whenever you touch me.” If she concentrates, Wanda can feel his elevated heart rate even now, thrumming happily in the pulse at his wrist. “During the evenings, my mind spends significantly more minutes replaying our conversations than the combination of my time spent with our teammates. There is also a significant lag in the number of milliseconds it takes me to form words when you stare at me in a particular way,” Vision breathes in, releasing a shaky, self-conscious laugh, “Like the way you are looking at me now.” 

“You’re doing great.” 

“Thank you. Um, so these are only some of the numbers I associate with you,” the rest, no doubt, she could find in spreadsheets and charts, a thought that only increases the smile on her face, which she thought was impossible, “and yet they fail to represent what you mean to me.  Wanda, my love for you defies quantification, and oddly, I find this immensely comforting, that there is no straightforward way to define the ineffable rightness I experience whenever you are with me.” Vision lets go of her hand in order to bring his palm to her cheek, the ridges of his thumb tickling her skin as he wicks away her tears. “I love you, Wanda Maximoff.” 

“Are you,” she lifts onto her toes, bringing their faces closer, “going to kiss your bride now?” 

A radiant grin breaks across his face, “Yes I am.” 

As Vision bends closer a voice booms in their earpieces, “Hey, lovebirds,” Tony’s timing is impeccable, as always, Vision’s forehead falling back to hers in defeat, “Steve just crossed his arms and sighed which means the aneurysm is next, so please, get your asses back here and then you can disappear, capiche?” 

A deep inhale from Vision helps to calm both of them and her own aggravated exhale serves as a mild catharsis. “Let’s just go appease them and then,” she runs her hands up along his arm, always enjoying the feel of his tricep flexing beneath her touch, “we’re going to come back to that whole kissing your bride thing, okay? Because I am expecting one hell of a kiss from you.” 

Vision huffs in amusement. “That is amenable to me.” He swings his body away from the lake, his momentum encouraging her own feet to point towards the hill she walked over earlier, and holds out an arm in the general direction of the basecamp. “Shall we?” 

“I’d really rather not.” 

“Me neither.” 

“But we should go.” 

“Yes, we should.”

They walk back hand in hand, eyes trained up on the sky as Vision points out the differences in this stellar vista from the one they like to watch from the compound roof. As they approach the ship, the unmistakable beat of Starlord’s repetitive music greets them, making it hard for her to hear the last bit of the tragedy of some serpent lovers embedded in the sky. Wanda tamps down her annoyance and heads towards their typical seats, ready to get the strategizing over with and back to Vision. Except their seats aren’t there. “Where’s the…” Wanda glances up and freezes, voice caught in her throat, unable to finish the question. Vision doesn’t need to hear the rest, his own body rigid and confusion thrashing in his mind. 

All of the chairs and boxes have been rearranged from the circle they’ve been using for meetings to rows, separated into two halves by an aisle leading to a four post structure covered in a large, linen cloth that is a singular piece, embroidered with a border of twining Ws and Vs made up of scarlet and gold thread.  “Wanda did you…” his voice trails away, dissipating into the air as they stare at what appears to be their chuppah, well most of it anyway, the posts are not the same branches they’d carefully chosen a month ago. Not that that is important. What is more important is that Wanda knows for a fact she didn’t pack the cloth and if Vision’s own discombobulated thoughts and cessation of breathing means anything, then he also didn’t bring it. 

“It’s about time.” Nat’s voice startles them both, Wanda jumping at the intrusion and Vision’s fingers flinching against her hand. “Steve was about to send out a search party.” 

“Nat,” Wanda leans to the right to glance around their teammate just to double check what she’s seeing is real, “what the hell is going on?” 

The spy presents them the same smug grin that crawls across her face during their biannual poker nights, right around the time they all realize their last chips are about to be taken. “You’re supposed to get married today, right?” When neither of them acknowledges this, Wanda, personally, in too much shock to process what is happening, Natasha’s pride descends into a softer, friendlier cadence. “Sam and I realized as we were all running around packing, that we might miss the wedding.” 

“So we grabbed the important stuff, you know,” the other culprit joins them, a toothy grin on Sam’s face as he throws his arm around Vision’s shoulders, “rings, the canopy thing, Thor got us an intergalactic marriage license he claims will be recognized by the U.S., though we’ll have to figure that one out when we get back because I don’t believe him.” 

The way Natasha's arms cross always makes Wanda nervous, an action that typically precedes bad news, “I couldn’t fit your dress into my bag," her shoulders drop a little, releasing some of the involuntary tension in Wanda's neck, "but I did pack a couple of your normal ones, if you want to change, and apparently Drax is pretty good at braiding hair, if you want that.” Based on Natasha's own disbelief, Wanda is not eager to find out if the man is a braiding aficionado. The dress, needs a bit more thought.

“I, um,” at the tenth obscenely priced bridal store Wanda had told Nat and Pepper that she didn’t care if she got married in her pajamas, which was a bit of an exaggeration, but it also held some truth. Sure, when she was a little girl she had her dreams of fancy dresses made by mice and horse drawn carriages, yet as she got older those fanciful thoughts fled, the world beating them out of her with each tragedy. She’s not a princess and Vision’s not a prince, they’re Avengers and no fancy dress can or should change that. This is their life, the reason they met, and it’s fitting, in a way she hadn’t ever contemplated, to get married as Avengers. “I think I’m fine like this. Vizh?” 

“You did this,” Vision’s voice is distant, a bit strangled, not used to being caught so completely by surprise, and the corners of his eyes glisten as he takes in the grinning faces of their teammates, his mind still about three steps behind in the conversation, “for us?” 

Sam’s incredulous, “Of course, what kind of best man would I be if I didn’t make sure you got down the aisle?” seems to shock Vision even more, his body turning away to take in the area around him and Wanda joins him in this, a smile creeping ever higher on her face at the sight of their teammates mingling. Mantis is stringing makeshift electrical wire garland along the seats where Gamora and Nebula lounge in silence, Rhodes and Starlord appear to be arguing over a boombox, Groot keeps sprouting flowers and placing them in a sizable bouquet, and Thor is just to the left of the chuppah, chatting merrily with Tony and Steve. “You two want to get married, right?” 

“Yes.” The first one is disbelieving, but after Vision meets her eyes to get her consent, which she gives unapologetically with an enthusiastic nod, his second “Yes,” is firm and brimming with excitement. 

Though Wanda’s close with Natasha, they’ve never had a touchy relationship, which makes the arm she lays along Wanda’s shoulder a bit awkward yet still amicable in its unexpectedness, “Good. I know it’s not the lap of luxury you were supposed to have...” 

It’s not, but it is surprisingly close to what they actually wanted. “This is perfect.” 

As if the gesture wasn’t already wonderful, Nat adds another detail to the day, “Rocket even got Helen and the Bartons in on a video feed to watch.” 

“Thank you,” Vision’s voice still trembles with shock, “for all of this.” 

“Seriously, our pleasure,” the shake Sam gives to Vision’s shoulder causes Wanda to sway as well, “let’s get you up front.” 

Vision hesitates at the suggestion, turning back towards Wanda with a furrowed brow, “Should I change?” 

“I think you look fantastic like this,” Wanda fidgets with the edge of his cape as she talks, “plus I’m not changing, so I’d rather you not make me feel underdressed.” 

“Then I will remain like this.” He glances towards the canopy, where only Thor now stands, sending them a friendly wave, and Vision’s lips twitch up when he faces here once more, raising her hand and placing a reverential kiss to her skin, “I will see you shortly.” 

“Bye.” Wanda’s fingers flex at the loss of his touch. The graceful flow of her groom’s gait as he takes his place sends a tingle shooting up her spine while butterflies seem to flutter in her stomach. The sight of the two men speaking quietly with each other, their capes billowing against the rocky backdrop, stirs her heart, a warmth budding in her chest and hitching a ride through her veins until her entire body is aglow. 

“I am Groot.” 

Wanda looks down at the tree, a broad smile forming at the bouquet he offers her. “It’s gorgeous, thank you.” 

“I am Groot.” 

“Thor claimed you all know what to do for the ceremony.” The statement ends in an uptick, Natasha’s own, smaller bouquet tilting to the side as she looks at Wanda for confirmation. 

“As long as he didn’t change anything, then yeah.” 

“Good. I convinced Tony not to walk you down the aisle.” 

This is why Nat was the easy choice for her sole bridal party member. “Thank you.” 

Natasha shrugs, never one to want compliments for doing her job. “Groot volunteered to be the flower…tree, I guess, so he’s going to lead the way, I’ll follow, and then Quill is going to play the only song he owns that seemed mildly appropriate, that’s when you go. Any questions?” 

They have the chuppah, the rings, both she and Vision are conscious and relatively unharmed. It seems all of the most important components are here. Then a chill runs up her spine and her lungs spasm at the thought of forgetting one other vital piece of the ceremony. “Did you grab the frame?” When they began planning in earnest, Vision bought a new, much sturdier frame for the only remaining photos she had of her parents and Pietro, the intent being to place it on a small table next to them so she’d have all of her family with her. 

“It’s on the ammunition case right next to where you’ll be,” Natasha’s bouquet directs her to the case and the silver frame. 

Even if it infringes on the status quo of their friendship, Wanda throws her arms around Nat, “Thank you so much.” 

The hug is reciprocated for a couple seconds and then it ends, Nat pulling back with a half-cocked smile, her eyes a little wet but she acts as if that’s not happening, instead brushing a stray piece of Wanda’s hair away from her forehead. “You sure you two don’t need a few minutes to get ready?” 

“No, we’re good.” 

Natasha let’s go of her with a serious nod that is given levity by the brightness of her, “Then let’s get you married.” 

It feels like a dream, all of it, which makes Wanda’s agreement wistful and a bit uncertain.  “Okay, let’s go.” 

The dreamlike feeling remains even as she watches Groot dance down the aisle, one hand dropping the same small flowers of her bouquet to the rust colored soil and the other releasing flecks of light into the air that remind her of lying in the forest during the summer, marveling with Vision at the way the fireflies blink in and out of existence. When Natasha leaves her, reality starts to set in a little bit, her heart racing and fingers closing tighter around the stalks of her bouquet, and she doesn’t really understand how something so wonderful can make her feel so off-kilter. The song changes and somehow her feet know what to do, moving independently of her mind, a fortunate thing because she’s only vaguely aware of the faces on either side of her, far more enthralled by the tiny, stunning smile gracing Vision’s lips, one that grows with each step she takes until he beams down at her, the love radiating from his mind brighter than any star she’s ever seen. It’s when he takes her hand, right around the first chorus of I fooled around and fell in love, and leads her under the cloth, the moonlight cascading through the fabric, creating a stunning pattern on his vibranium, that it fully hits her: she's getting married. 

“Are you ready?” 

Wanda grins up at her very-soon-to-be-husband, “I am.” 

Wordlessly they move into place for the first part of the ceremony, a tradition Vision insisted remain as they decided what parts from her heritage to keep and which to amend. Not that she wanted to forego this part of the ceremony, but she halfheartedly pretended to just because she enjoyed watching how enthusiastically he outlined the reasons to include it. Wanda lets go of Vision’s hand and steps in front of him. In time with the music, she walks a tight circle around him, making sure to brush his arm on each of her three passes, reaffirming her commitment to be close to him and to protect him. The slight nudge she gives to his shoulder on the last circle is just to keep him on his toes. Once she’s done they switch places, his three revolutions are more elliptical but just as tactile, the tips of his fingers in constant contact with her body while he moves around her, and she accepts his promise to remain with her through all cycles of her life. It’s the seventh and final circle when she finally stares into his eyes, focusing on the jubilant whirl of the gears and the sheepish tilt of his mouth, their bodies facing each other, barely an inch between them, as they take synchronized steps to transition from two separate paths into one joint orbit. 

Thor takes over once they resume their original positions, side by side, a thoroughly thrilled grin on his face and his hands gesturing wide as he speaks. “Welcome my dear friends. Is it not fitting that on this day we are gathered on a field of recent bloodshed,” Vision glances at her, the lift of his eyebrows matching her own amusement at the change in script, “to celebrate this momentous and singular union of two of the universe’s most powerful and otherworldly warriors?” 

The words are allowed to settle before Thor gives a hearty laugh, clapping his hand to her shoulder, leaning forward as if he is telling her a private joke despite the fact his voice is still loud enough for everyone to hear. “It is humorous to me, the evolution of this relationship. Wanda if not for your villainous invasion of my mind,” something she had not considered necessary to bring up at her wedding, “I never would have investigated the existence and capabilities of the Mindstone, and your groom here,” Thor’s other hand lands on Vision’s arm with a loud slap, one that, if it were anyone other than a vibranium-laced synthezoid, would send a body reeling, “would not have come into being. It is truly poetic how deeply entwined your lives were at the onset and how this has been cultivated into a love so true,” he shakes their shoulders to emphasize the words, “and so profound that it will no doubt be sung in the great halls of Midgard for centuries to come. My dear friends,” his large hands leave their shoulders, but not before shoving them closer together with a wink, “it is my honor to be here today to herald in your union. You have prepared vows, yes?” 

The expectant stares around them are stifling, Wanda a person who has never had a strong desire to be the center of attention. “Um yes.” 

“Then please, face each other and speak your unbridled passion.” 

Before either of them move, Natasha stealthily takes her bouquet, leaving Wanda’s hand free and unsure what to do, their actual rehearsal was supposed to be last night and though she knows roughly what happens now, she finds herself a bit lost on who is supposed to do what. Vision reaches out for her floundering hand, encouraging her to swivel to the appropriate position. Reliefs rushes through her at the slightly flummoxed wrinkles of Vision’s forehead, and she finds that when she looks at him, the rest of the people fade away and the only discomfort left, as she counts the ten clicks of his irises, is the antsy tap of her heels as she waits to finally kiss her husband. “Vizh,” the gentleness of his fingers cinching around her hands always flips her stomach and does funny things to her heart, “if it’s okay, I might just do the abridged version, since, well…” 

“Of course,” that little reserved smile on his face, for years, has created sunbursts under her cheeks. It still does. 

“Okay.” Wanda stares at him, studying the textured lines of his face (even though she has them memorized), and then glances down at the contrast of his skin against hers, unable and unwilling to dam up the giddiness spreading throughout her body at holding his hands like this for the rest of her life. A half step back is just enough to take in the way the floating, golden orbs reflect off the vibranium and give his eyes the slightest of shimmers, Wanda committing this moment to memory as the last time she looked at him as her fiancé. “Vision,” she’d meant to recount only bits of her planned vows, yet new words seem to sprout as she takes him in, “you are my best friend, the love of my life, and my planet. I am so lucky that in this weird,” her gaze briefly slides to the faces in the frame, Vision following her gaze and holding her hands a little tighter, “unforgiving world, I managed to find a soul like yours. You make the universe more beautiful and give me hope when I don’t think any exists. I love you so much.” 

Thor wipes a tear away, infringing on their moment with a, “Truly resplendent. And now Vision.” 

A small cough precedes Vision’s barely audible, “You did not inform me these would be improvised.” 

Wanda shrugs, equally quiet with her, “Sorry.”

“I will forgive you.” He winks at her and it sets off a flurry in her chest. “Wanda,” the team took bets on who would cry first in the ceremony, everyone but her betting against Vision, which makes the tear running down his cheek all the sweeter as his voice seems to run away. A gentle squeeze of his hands seems to help him recover. “Wanda,” no amount of pride or money can match the way his voice washes over her, sincerity and love stitched into every word, “as was recently mentioned, my path into this life was a little unusual,” silently she mouths just a bit and is rewarded with the breathy, nigh inaudible snort he does whenever he’s simultaneously amused and embarrassed, “what I am about to say is antithetical to scientific theorem, but there are days I find myself considering kismet because I am unable to accept we found each other by random chance. You were the first person I ever felt in my mind, the first face I ever saw, and the first and only person I ever intend to love.” He pauses, feet shuffling a few times and his voice drops so that the only way she can hear him is to touch his mind. “All the other things I said earlier tonight also apply.” 

“I figured.” 

 “Wanda,” Thor’s voice and countenance maintain the Shakespearean gravitas needed for such a moment, guiding them back to the established ceremonial path. "Do you take Vision,” her eyes remain on the perennial joy of Vision’s face, “to be your husband, to cherish and protect him, to remain by his side in both moments of triumph and adversity, to live a life hallowed by your never-ending love and faithfulness?” 

Vision’s face grows blurry as her eyes fill with tears, but she refuses to let go of his hands in order to wipe them away. “I do.” 

“Excellent. Now Vision, do you take Wanda..."

The words exist only as a crackle in the back of her mind as she watches every tic of Vision’s face – the way his pupils dilate with a subtle click, the darting tip of his tongue that wets his lips whenever he is nervous, the twitching of his cheeks as he attempts to maintain some semblance of control over his emotions, and the scrunch of his nose that lets her know he’s aware she’s staring at him. Suddenly all the tell-tale signs go away and are replaced by a striking confidence and then his lips move and she hears the words a half second after she feels them in her mind, “I do.” 

“Wonderful, and now the rings. Samuel, Natasha.” Their wedding party step up, each handing a ring to Thor. “Wanda, please take the ring."

Wanda turns towards Thor and picks up Vision’s vibranium ring (their rings a very kind wedding gift from T'Challa). The ceremony dictates the officiant say the vow first, but Wanda knows it by heart, having said it dozens of times in her daydreams, so she forges on without any help. “With this ring,” she brings Vision’s hand up and begins to slide the ring along his finger, “you are now a part of me, for I love you as my soul.” His ring finishes its journey a lot smoother than any of their practice runs, something she thinks could be related to a minimal manipulation of his molecules, but she’ll lecture him on that later, far too excited to proclaim to everyone around them, “You are now my husband.” 

"Now Vision, please repeat after me." The reprimand is in good fun, but Vision still straightens up at the command, refusing to ditch tradition as enthusiastically as she does.  

It’s almost impossible not to bounce on the balls of her feet as Vision slides his left hand under hers, lifting it into position where it lines up with the simple vibranium band gripped between his thumb and index finger. Thor’s voice is drowned out by the rapid beating of her heart, so strong it vibrates her entire body, but not loud enough to stifle Vision’s own words, “With this ring,” the metal is cool on her skin as he inches it to her first knuckle, “you are now a part of me, for I love you as my soul,” they’d practiced this, with some of her other rings, a few days before they left, and just like all their practices, Vision gets the ring stuck on her second knuckle, lips pursing as she wiggles her finger in encouragement. One more push and it clinks against her engagement ring, his thumb glancing over the band. There’s an adoring smile on his face as he declares, “You are now my wife.” 

What is supposed to come next is the formal announcement, followed by a breaking of a glass, and then, finally, their kiss. Wanda, however, feels like they didn’t think through the order very well, so she eschews the plan and draws Vision to her, finally able to kiss her husband. Somewhere in the distance she can hear Thor laughing and cheers from their teammates but they are muted by the feel of Vision’s arm snaking around her waist to draw her against his chest, his head tilting ever so slightly to the right to deepen the kiss, and then, just to make sure he keeps his promise of one hell of a kiss, Vision dips her low to another round of cheers.  “I love you,” his lips brush hers as he speaks, “my wife.” 

“I love you too…hubby,” the way he chuckles enlivens her soul, sparks sputtering under her skin at his delight.  Vision pulls her back up firmly onto her feet, his hands cupping her face for one more exuberant kiss. 

“Friends,” Thor steps closer to them, “we only have two more actions and then you may relish the bliss of your nuptial oath.” Reluctantly Wanda steps back from Vision, their hands finding each other once more, only this time there’s a new sensation on his finger, a piece of metal she’s never felt, that’s new and right and perfect. “It is with great honor and joy that I,” Thor nudges them to turn towards their teammates who are standing, varying degrees of happiness on their faces, even most of the Guardians seeming to have been swept up in the moment, “present to you Wanda and Vision Maximoff.” 

Swiftly Sam lays down a glass and covers it with a towel, flashing them a thumbs up as he steps away. “Well, Maximoff,” she’s waited so long to use that name for him, and the wait was worth it, his face breaking out into a brilliant, moony radiance, “on three?” 

“On three.” 

“One, two, three,” Wanda grips his hand tighter as their feet come down on the glass, shattering it into pieces with the hope that their happiness in the years going forward will be more plentiful than what lies beneath the towel and that their love is just as irrevocable. 

Tony shouts a, “Mazol Tov!” and everyone leaves their seats.

   It is much later, after copious amounts of not-mission-approved alcohol is imbibed and most of the team has sat down, their arms sore from the unexpected competition that occurred to see who could hoist Wanda and Vision's chairs up the highest, and their feet tired of dancing to the same rotation of songs, that Wanda is able to have Vision to herself. They sway beneath the starry sky, arms snug around each other and foreheads resting together, cherishing this moment of bliss since the morning will return them to the mission. Wanda draws her husband into another kiss, melting into the devotion of his lips and the way he gently grabs her waist, content knowing that no matter what life offers, it will all be made so much brighter with him by her side, just two celestial bodies careening through this unpredictable universe together.   

[awesome-power-cat]

Doki Doki Literature Club: Character files Decoded.

(Possible Spoilers) CLICK AT YOUR OWN RISK.

     My sister Lilly and I, decoded everthing below after I noticed that the text within Yuri's ".chr" file resembled (that of) Base64. We then searched and decoded the other character files.

DISCLAIMER: I have yet to fully complete the game, therefore I haven’t fully read the following data (text) to it’s fullest. (That’s why I’m unsure if it contains spoilers)

Monika’s “.chr” file Decoded:

After opening Monika's ".chr" file, I noticed it looked like an image file. So I renamed the file extension to ".png" and got the image below.

     The image resembles a ring of fire with some form of QR code in the middle, however this was not a QR code. I cropped out the ring of fire so I was left with the code in the middle. After examining the code I tried a few ideas we had, and they all failed. I then thought what if this is binary, the white pixels represent ones, while the black pixels represent zeros instead of typing each zero and one out by myself, I programmed a simple java program that would scan the pixels left to right, and output the corresponding value (Zero or One ), based on the pixel color (Black or White). The end result is a binary code. We used an online tool to decode the binary and the result was a bunch of letters and numbers. These "letters and numbers" looked like Base64 so, we used another online tool to converter those "letters and numbers" to text. That's how we got the message below.

"Can you hear me? ...Who are you? I can't...I can't see you. But I know you're there. Yeah...you can definitely hear me. You've been watching for a while now, right? I guess I should...introduce myself, or something. Um...my name is...actually, that's stupid. You obviously already know my name. Sorry. Anyway...I'm guessing if you were able to put a stop to this, you would have done it by now. I mean, I know you're not, like...evil, or anything...because you've already helped me so much. I should really thank you for that. For everything you've done. You're really like a friend to me. So...thank you. So much. I think...more than anything else...I really don't want it to all be for nothing. ... Everyone else is dead. Maybe you already know that. I'm sure you do, actually. But...it doesn't have to be that way, right? Well...there's a lot of stuff I don't understand. I don't know if it's even possible for me to understand it. But I know that this isn't my only story. I can see that now. Really clearly. And I think everyone else has had the same kind of experience. Some kind of deja vu. It's the Third Eye, right? Anyway...I could be totally wrong about this. But I really think you might be able to do something. I think you might be able to go back...or however you want to put it... ...To go back and tell them what's going to happen. If they know ahead of time, then they should be able to avoid it. They should...if they remember their time with me in the other worlds...they should remember what I tell them. Yeah. I really think this might be possible. But it's up to you. I'm sorry for always being...you know... ... Never mind. I know that's wrong. This is my story. It's time to be a fucking hero. Both of us. 2018"

Yuri’s “.chr” file Decoded:

Upon opening Yuri's ".chr" file. I instantly noticed text that looked like Base64. I used an online tool to convert the Base64 text to the message below.

Warning: The following text is... uh.. intense. You've been warned!

"If you found this note in a small wooden box with a heart on it, then *congratulations!* You are probably the first person to read this. I didn’t really plan on sharing this with anybody, but for some reason I think it’s exciting that somebody out there, a complete stranger, will come across this note and read my story. Someone I will never meet, sharing such a personal bond with me. I’m fascinated that either one of us could die - even as soon as tomorrow - with the other being completely clueless to the fact. To you, my entire life is within this note, and so I will live for as long as your memory can carry me. Writing this, I’m wondering if that makes you feel fascinated or violated. It’s so exciting. I’m sorry if my story is a bit disorganized, but I’d like to get it down while it’s still fresh on my mind. First, I’ll tell you a little bit about myself. I’m a first-year college girl and have led, by most standards, a pretty unspectacular life up to this point. I grew up in an upper-middle class school district with decent teachers. I did track in middle school and some of high school, and I’ve had two boyfriends. Now, I’m studying for a career in occupational therapy, because I feel the field is undervalued and provides tremendous help to people. I’m giving you this background because there’s this strange misconception that if you want to kill someone then you’re either sick in the head or you have anger management issues. But, it’s very apparent that I don’t fall into either of those categories. It’s true that most murder cases are in a domestic setting where someone loses control of their anger or something. But the thing is that those people kill under provocation, whether by a singular outburst or by a slow-burning series of misfortunes. Those people kill because in that brief moment, they want a specific someone, for a specific reason, to be hurt or killed. What I’m talking about is wanting to kill someone for no specific reason, maybe just to see what it’s like. Do you ever get that? I wouldn’t know how others feel, because it’s not something I ever talked about. But I’ve been curious about what it’s like to kill someone ever since I was a child. Not killing anyone in particular, just a random person. It’s always just fascinated me that if I put my mind to it, I can approach anyone, and in five minutes they would be completely gone from this Earth. But I’ve never done so for a couple of reasons. First of all, for most of my life it was logistically impossible for me to do it without getting caught. I only got my driver’s license a couple years ago, and even then, the preparations would take too much time, definitely stirring suspicion. It was only once I started college that I realized this was no longer an obstacle. Another reason is that I was afraid of causing harm to too many people. You might laugh reading that, at how hypocritical it sounds. But, let me explain: Why should I feel bad about killing someone if they’re too dead to care? Who would I be feeling bad for? Contrarily, it’s the grief of the living that I’d rather not be responsible for. Because of this, I knew it would take a good deal of research before finding a suitable person to kill, and I’ve never had the means to do so - again, until I started college. And now, having just experienced it, I’d say it was pretty satisfying in the end. Something I would try again? Probably not, since my curiosity has already been satisfied. It really wouldn’t be the same a second time. But anyway, if by any chance you’re also curious to kill someone, then you’re welcome to take notes. :) *** I started a hobby of people-watching soon after I entered college. People-watching is interesting to me because it’s taking one of the infinite extras in your life and turning them into a main character - without them knowing, of course. It’s so easy to forget that every single one of the hundreds of strangers you pass every day has a life story as deep and complex as your own. One thing I noticed about people-watching, and wanting to kill someone, is that you are in more constant awareness of this. When I find a person to observe, their story slowly becomes more clear to me over time, gaps being filled - it really is amazing. I usually went to grocery stores on weekends and looked around in people’s shopping carts. If I saw something that interested me, I decided to observe the person for a little bit. Of course, since my goal was to find someone to kill, I ruled out anyone who had children or a partner with them. Wedding rings were another tell-tale sign. So maybe once a weekend, I would find someone who fit my criteria, at which point I would follow them home and note their address. From there, it became incredibly easy to investigate a little bit more; most people have normal work hours, meaning I could spend afternoons going through their mail or looking around in their house. I repeated this with several people (and had one close call), but for varying reasons I didn’t really feel satisfied enough with them to kill any of them. I started getting a bit impatient and thought that I might just settle for killing the man named Devon, even though I didn’t really want to kill someone wealthy. But then, I came across someone new - someone who just, felt perfect. The feeling only strengthened as I investigated her further, and I knew that she would be the one for me to kill. A young-looking woman I met at the grocery store, as per usual. She was doing some light shopping with a basket. Her hair was wavy and dark brown, sitting inelegantly on her slumped shoulders and surrounding her tired-looking face. Her bare fingers told me she might be single, but beyond that, my gut was almost certain of it. This woman just seemed so…plain, really. I guess I felt a greater acuity for the personal lives of strangers ever since I started my people-watching. But the way she carried herself, I just got the feeling that if she suddenly died, nobody would be around to miss her. Of course, I still wanted to investigate her a bit. I followed my usual routine of checking out her place during her work hours. I learned immediately from her mail that her name is Linda Watson. Linda lived in a quiet apartment complex, her mailbox easily accessible right outside her door. Instead of quickly shuffling through it, I decided I could take her mail back to my dorm and return it before she was finished with work (she only lived about 15 minutes from me). I did some research and learned how to open and reseal the envelopes without damaging them, which took some technique along with a hair dryer, rubbing alcohol, and Q-tips. This made it easy for me to learn a little more about her. Linda was a 33-year-old woman who worked for a small accounting firm - I’d rather not name the place outright. Her birthday was December 11th which, coincidentally, was approaching in a couple weeks. I also managed to find a bank statement that gave me a nice look into how she’s been spending her past month. It was at this point I realized that my assessment of Linda Watson as an extremely plain woman was pretty spot-on, because there was absolutely nothing interesting on the list. A trip to Old Navy, a bunch of Starbucks, something about $40 from Amazon - no restaurants, no movies, nothing that would really imply she was spending any time socializing. That aside, I also found a cooking magazine, so I guess she was into cooking. Apartments are harder to break into than suburban homes, because there are fewer doors and windows. Every time I got Linda’s mail, I would check the front door and the windows in the back, but they were always locked. This was a bit frustrating because I was really interested in getting into her house. So, I came up with a sort of plan that I thought would be fun, even if it didn’t work. Last Saturday, I visited Linda Watson’s apartment complex as I would on weekdays. The difference is that this time, I wanted her to be home. I thought it would be interesting to have a conversation with her. If I got lucky, I could take advantage of the situation to discreetly unlock a window from the inside. So, I walked up to her door wearing nothing warmer than a light sweatshirt, and knocked. The adrenaline rush was crazy. I was afraid I might screw something up. The door opened, and in front of me stood Linda Watson, exactly as I remembered her from the grocery store. It was at that moment, making eye contact for the first time, that I realized I was running the risk of beginning to care about this person. As selfish as it is, I couldn’t kill a person I cared about, even if it’s a 33-year-old woman standing in a doorway with a slightly perplexed look on her face, giving me a reserved “Hello.” Arms crossed from the cold, I shyly returned Linda’s greeting. I explained that I was walking my dog near the woodsy area behind the back of her apartment, and that he had gotten away. I had been looking for my dog for an hour and was wondering if Linda may have seen him roaming about. Of course, Linda sympathetically apologized for the situation and that she couldn’t be of use to me, but that she would keep an eye out. I wore a defeated expression in response, apologizing in return for troubling her. It somehow went exactly as I had hoped - Linda invited me inside to warm up a bit with some coffee. I outwardly hesitated before accepting her offer, although on the inside I wanted to jump through the door and hug her for cooperating so well. And that’s how Linda Watson ended up with a 19-year-old girl next to her on the couch - who knows if it was just a nice gesture or if she really has no better way to spend her Saturdays than talking to some kid she just met (who happens to be interested in killing her). Linda soon learned that my name is Maria (it’s not) and that I attend the nearby community college (I don’t). I was a little bit nervous that she would ask me too many questions because I didn’t have many answers prepared. I was able to steer the conversation toward her, and she was pretty happy to talk. I asked what she does, and she told me that she works for the accounting firm I already knew about, communicating with outside clients and keeping records. I told her I was pretty nervous about growing up. She told me to enjoy college and to make lots of friends because there’s less opportunity once you start working. When I asked if she was married or anything, she laughed. Of course I knew she wasn’t married, but I wanted to hear more about her love life. She said that she doesn’t currently have a boyfriend (I guess she’s at least had boyfriends, but who knows how long ago). When I asked her about kids, she said she doesn’t want them until she gets a better job. On top of that, she told me that her family has a history of some genetic diseases such as arthritis and depression, which she is afraid to give to her kids. It’s funny that she mentioned that because when I asked to use her bathroom, I noticed a tube of prescription pills on the sink. It was labelled duloxetine, which I looked up later and discovered that it is in fact an antidepressant. I had a joking thought that maybe by killing her I’d be doing her a favor, but quickly decided I was a terrible person for coming up with that. The rest of the visit was pretty dull. We talked about food and some other mundane stuff before I eventually made an excuse to leave. I didn’t get the chance to unlock a window or anything like that, but I didn’t really feel the need to go through her apartment anymore. As early as the drive back to my dorm, I was already thinking about how I would best like to kill Linda Watson. The choice was between effectiveness and fun. I decided to go with fun, because it would be way more satisfying to kind of dissect her as I killed her, rather than just getting it done and calling it a day. Fast-forward one week to December 13th - today, actually. Linda Watson turned 34 two days ago. I made a fun little wager with myself where if Linda was spending her birthday weekend alone, I would pay her a visit and kill her. If she was out or had company, I would stop by next week or something instead. So this morning, I drove over to Lowe’s and bought an axe. Again, I expect you’re laughing, but that’s also kind of the point. An axe is so kind of cliche and a “movies” thing that I actually thought it would be the most fun. Swinging it at someone and everything, it’s a really entertaining image. They actually had a bunch of different axes, so I picked one that had a good weight but was still light enough for me to swing quickly. The drive after getting the axe was when the adrenaline really picked up. All that kept going through my mind on the way over was “Wow, I’m really doing this.” Not in a bad way, just like a surprised this is real life sort of thing. I also got this strange rush of recollections of the time I spent with Linda. It was like my life was flashing before my eyes, except it was just the rather mundane hour I spent with Linda - like snippets of our conversations, the sound of her laugh, her facial expressions and stuff. I also wondered to myself what the crazy serial killers would be feeling at a time like this - schizophrenic delusions? Sexual buildup? I have no idea, but what I felt was kind of like ridiculously alert and numb in the senses at the same time, however that’s possible. Before getting out of the car, I had the sense to stuff the axe into my backpack to look a little less ridiculous walking across the parking lot. The handle was sticking out, but that didn’t really matter. At that point my heart was pounding so hard I could feel my throat throbbing. I tried controlling my breath, but it’s really hard to not breathe fast when your heart is pounding like that. I reached Linda Watson’s door and quietly put my ear to it after setting down my backpack. I heard a voice that wasn’t hers - company? No, it was just the TV, mixed with her occasional tapping footsteps behind the door. I actually kept my ear there for a really freaking long time, because I wanted to make absolutely sure nobody was over. Probably 10 minutes of that and a lot of reassuring myself convinced me. I quietly opened my backpack zipper and held the axe in my hands. My fiercely shaking hands. What the hell was this kind of reaction that my body was making? I told my body to shut up, that it’s no big deal, but of course it wouldn’t listen. It was actually bizarre how much my hands were shaking. It must be the adrenaline buildup. I rolled my eyes at myself and got my hand to rest on the doorknob. If it’s locked, I’ll knock, it’ll be basically the same. I took a deep breath and forced my muscles into action. I swiftly turned the doorknob. Not locked. In one movement, I opened up the door and slipped inside. Linda Watson, just a few steps away into the kitchen. I see - she was in the middle of cooking. She immediately jumped and turned around, startled. I expected that. Quickly, I let go of the doorknob and adjusted the axe into both hands. In the following split second, I realized that she would probably start to make a lot of noise. Looking back, I’m an idiot for not considering that. Just as Linda’s mouth opened to speak - maybe even started speaking - I forcefully swung my axe into the side of her head. But, my axe was facing backwards. I hit her with the blunt end of the blade. I actually did this on purpose, because in that split second I somehow decided that it would be the way to keep her noise to a minimum. It actually worked. I felt barely any resistance in the swing as I collided with her head, knocking it clean aside. Linda’s half-formed syllable came out as a kind of weird grunt - a noisy exhalation is probably the best I could describe it. That happened at the same time as her head smacked into the cabinet from the force, and she fell backwards without any ability to keep her balance. I didn’t hesitate at all to keep swinging at her while she was half lying down on the ground, this time my axe facing the right way. I didn’t really know where to swing, so I kind of just started hacking at her collarbone area and chest. It didn’t feel like the axe was going too deep, but there was a nice “thunk” sort of sound every time the axe embedded into her. I even felt the soft sinking sensation ripple into my hands, like the axe was a kind of physical extension of my sense of touch. On a whim, I swung once at her throat, but most of the swing actually missed and I hit the floor by accident, causing a loud, dull whack to resonate through the apartment. I didn’t have time to think about it. I swung again with better aim and got a more centered hit, feeling the bone or cartilage or whatever is in there, so I must have split it open. Right after that, I decided to swing at her face, and I got this diagonal cut along her nose and mouth, which felt pretty good so I did it once more. I finally briefly stopped to survey the damage. Linda was bleeding ridiculously. The blood was kind of coming out in waves, in sync with her beating heart, probably. It was pooling all around her and riding along the cracks between the tiles. Her light blue shirt was all torn up and stained dark, kind of mixed with a fleshy mess around her chest. It was all just glistening red. Her face wasn’t much better, covered in dripping red at this point, and her lip was kind of hanging off, revealing red-stained teeth in a really weird way, like a zombie or something. Linda wasn’t dead, though. Her limbs were kind of weakly, aimlessly trying to move while she was stuck on her back. More than anything, she reminded me of a bug that you crush but it still pitifully moves its legs around before it dies completely. That’s basically what she was doing. But I didn’t know how long it would take for her to die, or what kind of condition she was in. I ended up grabbing a big knife that was on the counter that she was using to cut up meat. Trying to step around the blood, I reached down and carved into the upper half of her neck, trying to sort of saw it from the left side to the right. It was a little awkward because the area was so soft and squished around the knife as I was cutting. But the sensation was completely different from the axe. It actually felt like I was cutting a tough piece of raw meat (which I guess technically, I was). The blood started pouring out, and I hoped that I severed the most major arteries in there. It must have worked, because after a moment Linda’s limb movements kind of just had the strength drained from them, soon resting still on the floor. I took a few seconds to catch my breath. No time to stick around and think about the experience. I shook the knife blade through a dirty pan in the sink to clean off the blood, then threw the knife into my backpack. I did the same with the axe. I also took her laptop that was sitting on the counter. It had some recipe open for veal and mushrooms. I didn’t really take the laptop to use it, since I have a perfectly good one myself that I got for college. I just wanted to look through it for fun. I finally went outside and closed the door behind me. I got some blood on my sweater and jeans. But funnily enough, I actually anticipated that so I wore dark colors. The drive back to my dorm was just a constant replaying of the experience in my head. I guess that’s still kind of happening even now, actually. But it felt pretty nice. Linda Watson is dead. I kind of let the weight of that sink in. The sensation of having completely removed a human life from existence. It’s crazy. I don’t know how else to describe it. Anyway, I threw the axe and knife into a dumpster on campus, which I think is picked up every Monday, so they’ll be gone by then. My roommate goes home on the weekends, so I have the dorm to myself today. It gave me the chance to go through Linda’s website history. I was right in thinking that’s where her deepest secrets would lie. There was actually a lot of dirty stuff, like the names of websites for porn videos and stories and things like that. Same with her searches. A lot of the websites were boring, like cooking websites and recipes, and game websites like Bejeweled and stuff. I eventually got to the “one week ago” section of her history, and it gave me a chill. There were a whole bunch of searches like “methods of suicide”, “how to tie a noose”, “dangerous household chemicals”, “carbon monoxide poisoning” - like a lot of them. She was probably ready to write a book on suicide after all the research she did. So I guess Linda was contemplating suicide. I wonder if it was influenced by her depression. The irony is actually striking. Maybe Linda was going to die anyway. Or maybe she couldn’t find the courage to do it. If that were the case, I almost literally gave her a birthday present by killing her. That’s actually really comical in a messed-up way, and it leaves a weird taste in my mouth. The part I don’t get is that I didn’t see any of those searches up until the “one week ago” section, nothing more recent than that. I ended up throwing the laptop in the dumpster with the other stuff. It’s been a few hours since then, so I’ve had some time to calmly think about everything. Like I said, it was pretty satisfying and I’m glad I finally got around to it. I feel like I can finally cross it off my bucket list, or like I’m tying loose ends with myself. This is probably the first and last time I’ll write the name Linda Watson - it’s back to living a normal college life, except I might do some people-watching every now and then because it’s definitely fun and interesting. But I’ll always wonder how many people there are like me. I’m sure there has to be a lot, because there is just nothing strange about it to me, being curious about killing someone. Sadly, it’s something that people can’t exactly just talk about, so I guess I’ll never know. I’m sure that anyone would just lie about it even if you asked them. But you can’t help but wonder if that person in the grocery store, who stares at you as you pass by, might be considering what it would be like to kill you. If I could, I would tell them all about it, so they could decide for themselves. But who knows, maybe I got lucky, and that person is you. I actually really, really hope so. ~♥"

Natsuki's ".chr" file Decoded:

We haven't figured this one out yet, but we have a few ideas. Note the image is seamless horizontally.

When we opened Natsuki's ".chr" file we again noticed it looked like an image file. We simply renamed the file extension to ".png" or ".jfif" to get the image below.

     The above may have already been documented/decoded. I would like to note that not all of the character files were encoded with Base64.

Thank you for reading, even though it may have already been done.

[ernmark]

Because I’ve been posting a whole lot of really sad stuff lately, here’s something a little bit more fun.

The prompt comes courtesy of Kya, who requested Juno undertake a very particular kind of case, with some details based on a conversation with @crownsnbirds​. 

Rita’s laid down the law: there will be no more dry spells in the Juno Steel Detective Agency. Juno has two weeks to recover, just long enough for the sunburn to finish peeling and the vertigo to fade into mild dizzy spells when he stands up too fast, and then he’s back on the job. 

He should probably thank her for that, at least when he’s done being annoyed at her about it. 

After everything that’s happened, the current case is a relief. There’s no conspiracy, no murder, no hostage situations, no rigged elections. Just a run-of-the-mill Uptown blue blood whining because their favorite tiara went missing.

“No, not a tiara,” insists Theophania Frost. “It’s a diadem. An antique from my dearest grandmama.” 

“Your... diadem.” Goddamn rich people. “Right. Now are you sure it’s actually stolen? Have you checked with your staff? Made sure it’s not out for cleaning or repairs or whatever?” Hell, maybe somebody left it in the refrigerator by mistake. God knows he’s done that with his eye patch once or twice after a long night.

“Detective Steel, I wouldn’t have called you here if I wasn’t absolutely certain it’s been stolen-- and I know who did it, too!”

Juno sighs. The tone of their voice tells him he’s going to be in for a long day. “Do you?”

Frost leans in conspiratorially and drops their voice to a whisper, as if they might be overheard. “Have you ever heard of the Bouquet Bandit?”

Oh god, not this again.

“Is this one of those crooks with a theme song trying to get into the Fortezza? Because this is a hell of a bad time to cash in on that deal.” 

“I don’t know, Detective, but I’m not the only one who’s been stolen from. Sam Spare, you know, the botanist? Xir diamond shears went missing a month ago. And Telemnachus Wake’s collection of antique horsehair necklaces was taken two months ago, and on the same day, they were sent flowers.”

“Flowers.” 

Frost takes Juno’s exasperation for enthusiasm. “That’s right! Every time he takes something, he always leaves behind a dozen roses.”

“Thus the name, I got it.” 

Why did Rita have to pick now to start doing her job?

Whoever this Bouquet Bandit is, he’s good. The crime scene is spotless, and there’s no signs of forced entry whatsoever. While Rita goes over Frost’s security system for footage and signs of tampering, Juno looks into the other alleged crimes of the serial burglar, looking for something they had in common. 

The best bet is in the delivery personnel-- people this rich get a lot of deliveries, and nobody thinks twice about a person in uniform with a box in hand walking right up to the front door. There are a few people on the security feeds that Juno pegs as suspicious, and not just because of the one thing they all seem to have in common: no matter where they are or what they’re doing, Juno can never get a good look at their faces. 

He scours the timestamps on the videos, looking for others that might give a better angle or reveal some kind of other identifying mark, but there’s no luck so far.

And honestly? He’s kind of loving it. After all the shit that went down, he’s been in need of a good, clean, straightforward case. It’s been too long since he’s done legitimate investigating that he could feel good about.

The thought barely has the chance to cross his mind before he hears Rita start talking to someone at her desk. A moment later, she’s poking her head inside his office.

“Hey, Boss? You got a delivery.” 

She looks about as concerned as he feels. Because in her hand is a bouquet of twelve red roses.

“What the hell?” He starts to his feet. “Rita, did you see who delivered these?” 

“Don’t worry, boss, I already asked. It was just a kid. She said some man stopped her on the sidewalk and gave her a whole bunch of money to deliver these to you.” 

“Did she see his face?” 

“I asked, but she wouldn’t say nothin’. She just gave me the flowers and ran.”

Juno grabs the card from among the roses and turns it over. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Juno’s still got the card in his pocket when he arrives at the meeting point. Rita insisted she come with him when she saw, but this time he was the one who put his foot down-- the last time she joined him on a job, she fell in love with a murderer, and this time he’s going to cut off the inevitable tragedy before he has to buy two pints of ice cream and sit through her forty favorite sad movies.

The card itself is infuriatingly unhelpful. The paper is high-class cardstock, but nothing so fancy that you couldn’t get it at any stationary store in town. The text is digitally printed in a fancy but publicly available font. The message is short:

Detective Juno Steel

Meet me at the Jacobi Convention Center at 3 PM on July 5.

Don’t be late.

It screams ambush-- which is another reason why Rita isn’t coming.

Even if the ambush is apparently going to happen at the local Y2K Faire.

It makes sense in its own ridiculous way: there are hundreds of people coming and going, half of them in costume, and everyone’s going to be carrying a shopping bag or a replica glock or sword or whatever, and there’ll be enough reenactors demonstrating fake duels that nobody’s going to notice if things get heated until it’s too late.

Old Americana-style signposts mark the different sections of the faire, their directions spelled out in big white letters against reflective green rectangles. One catches Juno’s eye: its metal pole is decorated with a dozen roses. It looks like a regular decoration, but he takes it as a sign and follows its lead. It’s not hard to find a second sign post covered in roses a little further, and another, until he’s on the far end of the convention center. By now the trail is easy to follow, laid out in a path of rose petals on the floor. They’re fresh, not quite dried out yet, not nearly as trampled as they should be, given how many people are here. The bandit can’t have been here more than half an hour ago, tops.

The trail leads to an exotic animal exhibit based on old-fashioned Earth petting zoos. Which... can’t be right. Juno checks all the way around the enclosure, just to make sure he got it right, but no. That’s where it ends. 

What the hell is he supposed to do with this?

He stares, perplexed, at children reaching through the bars to offer handfuls of pellets and sliced vegetables to cows and ponies and old Earth species of rabbits-- the kind that are fluffy and bright-eyed and small enough to hold in your arms.

The kind I’m used to eat carrots and wrinkle their little nosies.

The thought makes Juno’s heart ache a little bit. Reminders of Nureyev always do. 

He’s staring into the enclosure when he notices something that doesn’t belong: a bit of paper, fancy card stock the same stiffness and shade as the card in his hand, carefully pinned to the wool of a star-horned goat on the other end of the enclosure. He hurries over to the spot of fence closest to it, but as soon as he gets there, it’s on the move, meandering around to the other side.

“Goddammit,” he mutters under his breath, and sets his foot on the metal gate. He wasn’t planning to get cow dung on his shoes today, but whatever.

“Hey!” barks a man who smells like he’s been working with these things for a long, long time. “You can’t go in there.”

Juno would ignore him and make the leap anyway, but the guy grabs him, and hot damn does he have a strong grip. Apparently wrangling a bunch of four-legged antiques for a living builds muscles or something. 

“I said you can’t go in there,” the caretaker repeats slowly. It’s a warning. It won’t be repeated again.

There’s even odds that Juno would win any fight between them, but no matter how it goes, he’ll end the fight by being dragged out by security, which means he’ll lose his only lead on this case. The Bandit’s got a game to play, and Juno intends to win it.

And that means playing by the rules.

“Sorry about that,” he says as sweetly as he can get away with. “I’m just so excited. I’ve never seen a goat up close before.”

The caretaker gives him a weird look, but backs off. “Yeah, well, you’re going to have to do your watching from out here. It stresses the animals out too much to let people into the pen.”

“Do you think you could bring one over for me to get a closer look?” He points at the star-horned goat with the note on its wool. “How about that one over there?”

“Listen, buddy,” the caretaker says. “We can’t do that. If you want them to come closer, we sell food pellets for a cred a bag.”

Sometimes, being a Private Eye means asking the hard questions-- like whether he’s going to include “petting zoo food pellets” in his expense report at the end of a case.

He decides to swallow the cost along with his pride and he buys a bag.

And then he buys two more; the one goat he’s after looks hungry, but apparently not as much as the rest of the animals in the enclosure. In seconds he’s swarmed by livestock, and Juno runs his hands over all of them, just in case the goat wasn’t the only one with a note in its fur.

And... okay, so they are really soft. It’s not like this is his first time at a Y2K Faire, but he’s never bothered to pay money for a chance to pet the animals. It’s actually kind of nice. Especially the cow-- she keeps bumping his hand with her soft, velvety nose, and scrubs her long tongue over the palm of his hand in a way that should be a lot more gross than it is. It’s a shame there aren’t more of these on Mars.

Sure, a few people are complaining about the smell, but Juno spent half his childhood wading through the sewers with giant rabbits. If anything, the smell of hay and manure and animal fur feels a little bit nostalgic. 

It’s not until he trades a handful of pellets to a six-year-old in exchange for a bunch of carrot slices that the goat finally starts heading his way, nosing at one hand while he fumbles to unpin the note from its wool. 

Just like he guessed, it’s the a perfect match for the card that came with the flowers, with the same paper, the same font, and the same obnoxious lack of helpful information.

Hungry, Detective?

Meet me in the Foode Courte.

Even without the little heart at the bottom of the card, there’s something ridiculously flirtatious about the whole thing. But that’s this thief’s schtick, isn’t it? Some kind of hopeless romantic who goes around tossing roses all over the place. Just watch, when Juno finds him he’ll be wearing a top hat and cape. Maybe that’s why he picked this place to sneak around in, so his getup won’t cause any suspicion.

After he washes himself off, Juno follows the signs to the circle of kiosks selling “authentic” twentieth-century cuisine-- things with bizarre names like “deep fried twinkies” and “mashed potatoes” and “blooming onions”. Thankfully, the trail of rose petals on the floor leads him past the more exotic options to a plain-old popcorn stand that’s offering nothing more historic than cheddar-and-caramel among its flavors. The smell of the popcorn is subtle compared to the other foods lingering in the air, but when he’s this close, it’s enough to make his stomach grumble.

Just like before, there’s another note, tucked into one of the pre-portioned bags of popcorn, and he swipes the beg the second the cashier’s back is turned. All expenses paid or not, there’s something criminal about charging seven creds for a quarter’s worth of popcorn. 

Okay, so the popcorn isn’t half bad. Not good enough to justify that price tag, but still, not bad. And he was just thinking he could use a snack.

The note is spotted and translucent with cooking oil, but it’s still readable enough. 

Join me for a game.

“That’s funny, I thought we were already playing one,” Juno says aloud, just in case the Bandit is watching him... which he probably is, dammit.

There’s a section of kiosks dedicated to old Earth carnival games, and sure enough, there’s another trail of rose petals leading him to the right booth: a target shooting game backed up against a funnel cake stand.

He’s not even surprised when he finds the corner of another note sticking out of a cut in an oversized teddy bear.

“Joke’s on you,” he mutters. “I’m great at these things.” 

He used to do these all the time when he was in high school, winning the biggest prize he could carry just to show off for his dates. 

He pays a couple creds to the lady behind the counter and takes aim. All three shots go wide, barely hitting the target.

Anywhere else, that might disappoint him, but not here. Sure, his aim isn’t ever going to be as great as it was when he had the THEIA on and active, but these games are always rigged. The trick is that now he knows which way the laser is skewed, and he corrects his aim accordingly. 

Seven bulls-eyes later, and he’s walking away from the stand with a stuffed bear almost as big as he is. Rita’s going to love this thing-- maybe it’ll make up for not letting her come.

He slips the last note out of the little hole in the bear and unfolds it.

If you want to look into my face, you’ll have to look into your own.

I’ll be waiting in the hall of mirrors.

Finally something direct.

There’s no trail of rose petals this time-- just an “out for lunch” sign and an unlocked door on the old twentieth-century attraction. He never got the appeal of places like this, where everything is dim and warped and confusing. But then, he never really got the appeal of mirrors, either. 

He leaves the bag of popcorn and stuffed bear just inside the door, and he sets out. 

“Alright, I’m here,” he calls into the twisting halls. “Enough of this scavenger hunt. Come out and we’ll settle this.”

His only answer is in footsteps. He whirls to follow the source of the sound, but he only manages to catch reflections of a retreating figure. In the warped glass, he can’t make out a face or a body type, but there’s something about the pattern of the footsteps that feels familiar. 

The Bandit is running, so he gives chase. He keeps seeing flashes of the man, bits and pieces that should all fit together but don’t. All of it feels too familiar. 

And then he’s out of the hall of mirrors and into another corner of the funhouse, this one full of holograms and wax figurines, all of them of celebrities and historical figures and beautiful people through the ages. Some of them are moving, repeating cliched one-liners and overused quotations, and it’s all coming from everywhere, sending false signals from every corner. His senses are so confused that he’s even smelling things he shouldn’t, animals and food and cologne.

Cologne.

“No,” he whispers. “No, it can’t be.” But the more he looks at it, the more obvious it is.

Pet the fuzzy animals. Have a snack. Play a game. Hell, even the flowers--

It’s so obvious. It’s terrible. 

Jesus, why do people keep doing this to him? Sending him on cases that aren’t cases-- it wasn’t even a year ago that he got dragged all over Oldtown for Sasha’s performance review, and then Ramses staged a goddamn assassination for a job interview, and then apparently the stakeout that was a bad excuse to get him to rest up from a stab wound, and now this? 

“Goddammit, Nureyev,” he snaps. “Is this supposed to be a date?”

Nureyev is still out of sight, lost in the dim lights and mannequins, but his voice wafts over Juno. “Are you having fun? I certainly am.”

“You couldn’t just ask--” No, he couldn’t. Because that isn’t Nureyev’s style, and Juno’s never exactly been the type to openly accept that kind of invitation. So he changes tracks. “I gotta say, the location threw me. A Y2K Faire seems kind of low-brow for you.”

“That’s hardly my fault. It did take you some time to respond to my calling card, after all.”

His... oh, goddammit, the serial robberies. “You’ve been trying to get my attention.”

“For months now, thank you for noticing. And you’ve been playing hard to get.” 

Juno sighs. “I wasn’t playing. I was just...” How is he supposed to even put it into words? “My head’s been a real mess.” 

“I can imagine,” Nureyev hums, and his voice is soft and so close that Juno can feel his breath in his ear. “Would you like to talk about it over dinner?”

[mstonecollins]

A tribute to my Father

My Father passed away on Father’s Day, 4 weeks ago today.  on Friday June 22, I delivered a Eulogy at his funeral. It was the hardest public thing I’ve ever done--and I thought I would share it today in his honor.

------------

I’m honored to stand before you today to celebrate the life of my Father.  I promise to do my best, but I’ll ask your forgiveness in advance if I am unable to complete today’s mission.  

There are many “naming” associations in life I am proud of…Kim’s Husband; Lauren’s Father; John Junior’s Brother; Douglas and Rachel’s Uncle.   Family is truly all that matters in this life.  The greatest of these—and where it all started—is being known as John’s Son.

As some of you know I retired last December after more than 30 years in business.  Over the course of my career I was fortunate enough to rise to a position of responsibility beyond anything I’d ever imagined—one of the top 100+ executives of a Fortune 10 Global Company with more than 250,000 employees.

Any success I enjoyed in the business world started with the foundation my Father instilled in me -- leadership principles I utilized over these past 30+ years.   Absent his coaching and development, it simply wouldn’t have happened.  As a tribute to him, I’d like to share three of them with you today as a testament to the kind of Father, Leader, Husband, and Friend he was over the course of his 90 years on earth.

HUMILITY

According to Jim Collins-not my Uncle Jim, but a world-renowned professor at Stanford University, author of best-selling leadership books like “Good to Great” and “Built to Last”, the difference between a very good leader and a world class executive can be distilled down to the existence of a single trait:  Humility.  He explains it like this:  In the sports world, head coaches that personify these humble leaders credit the talent of their players when the team wins championships.  When the team loses, they shoulder the blame, and take the responsibility for providing the team with the necessary preparation or game plan that would allow them to be successful.

This principle is critical to get groups of people to work together for a common goal.  Whether people admit or not, human beings enjoy being recognized for their hard work and their role in achieving a goal. Leaders that attempt to take credit for their team’s success don’t have successful teams or talented players very long.  

As my brother can attest, Pop demanded humility from his boys during our formative years. No self-aggrandizing behaviors were tolerated in any way, shape or form!  Any inkling of hot-dogging, trash talking, bragging, or basking in the limelight on the basketball court or baseball field would be met afterward with a stern-and I mean stern! rebuke.  He knew what our young minds could not comprehend—business and life are team sports. You’ll rise and fall based on the capabilities of the people you surround yourself with. Be a good teammate-someone that values the individuals of the team and the overall team above yourself—and you can put yourself in a position to have the privilege to lead others, and be surrounded by great people that can lift you up.

SETTING EXPECTATIONS

Successful leaders set clear-and high expectations for performance.   If you don’t know what is expected of you, what are you supposed to do?  Show me a team or company that doesn’t have clear performance expectations, and I will show you a losing team or failing company. And, of course, expectations are pretty meaningless if you don’t put in the hard work it takes to achieve them. Perhaps Pop’s favorite mantras were “the harder I work, the luckier I get” and “Luck is when preparation meets Opportunity”.   I heard these words hundreds of times from him.

Pop set very clear and very high expectations for performance, whether it was work in the yard, personal behavior, academics, or athletics. I must confess that early on, I could get discouraged with his feedback.  No matter how many points I scored, games we won, or courses I succeeded in at school, he had the annoying ability to find something that I could improve upon.  He was never satisfied-or at least I didn’t think he was.  

At the time, I didn’t realize or appreciate the value of the gift he was giving me.  First, he was instilling the principle that all good leaders know well—people can always do more than they think they can. Left alone, as human beings we typically are content to reside within the confines of our comfort zones. Great leaders push us out of them-and get us to do more.  Second, expect the best from yourself, and then you can expect the best from everyone you work with.  Finally, it instilled self-confidence in me that I would need in the future to be successful.  My wife Kim would likely tell you that he outdid himself on that one!  In all seriousness, when he pushed me to do more—after I got over my anger and frustration and actually tried, I usually found success.  I gained confidence in knowing I could do more-and believed in myself, no longer needing a push from him. Over the course of my career, not once did I have a leader of mine have to ask me to do more.  I was trained by my Dad to set high expectations for myself and my teams, and more often than not, we out-distanced our internal and external competitors as a result.

Later in life, after he was satisfied that he’d done all he could do to shape me, he was always quick to let me know how proud he was of me…giving me reinforcement in my darkest hours, giving me the support and confidence I needed to keep moving forward.  Many Father’s Days over the last 15 years I would write him a simple note or tell him in a conversation—based on his leadership and the expectations that he set for me, that anything I did right in my life, he should take credit for; correspondingly, anything I did wrong he should be absolved from.  I knew what “right” was supposed to look like, which leads me to my final principle.

DEMONSTRATING THE DESIRED BEHAVIOR

People listen to what you say, but they watch what you do.

I’m sure you’ve heard this over the course of your life.  It means that people believe in you based on what they actually see you do.  Words, as we know, are just that.  But deeds matter.

I used to tell people that worked with me that when you’re in a position of leadership, what you do is on display 7x24x  365.  It’s a simple concept-they’re always watching you, whether you realize it or not.  What you actually do is far more impactful than what you say.  When faced with a crisis, do you remain calm or lose your cool?  Do you support people when they need time for a family member, or only when it is convenient for you?  When things go bad, do you take responsibility, or blame others?  When you are faced with illegal, immoral, or unethical behavior, do you join in, cover it up, or do the right thing?  When no one is looking, are you working hard or goofing off?  Can you be trusted to finish the job to the highest level even if no one stops by to inspect your work?

No man is perfect, but my Father consistently demonstrated the desired behaviors to me over the course of his 90 years on earth. Simple things he did spoke volumes—like the dedication he had to the company where he worked for more than 35 years, getting up every day and working hard-never complaining.  Not a single time-not once-did I ever hear him complain about his customers or co-workers.  Turning down job and career growth opportunities to keep his family centered in a place he knew was a good place to live and raise his sons.   Showing up for every single game of my high school basketball career, and hundreds of other sporting events over the course of my life growing up here in Clemmons.  Caring for our neighbor’s yard – the missionary daughter of the original property owners--for more than 20 years, never asking for anything in return. Offering support and assistance to another neighbor who tragically lost her husband with three small children; riding bicycles with the youngest child that lost her Father too young.  Being faithful to my Mother, and God, and the Churches that mattered to him – the Francisco Presbyterian Church, and the Clemmons United Methodist Church. Honoring my Mother with his presence at her bedside every day for the last two and half years of her life, navigating his way with the help of friends and his caretaker – and, as he referred to her, his “adopted daughter”—Bebee as he was unable to drive himself due to his vision challenges.  

In his later years, after my Mom died, in our conversations he’d often wonder why he was still here.   He knew his body was failing him, and he worried he was only a burden to those he loved. He’d then rebound and cheer himself up, thinking of all of his friends in the community, specifically the Clemmons Kitchen.  If he couldn’t do anything else, he thought God wanted him to show kindness to others, especially those who needed it most.  Based on how many people tell me “I love Mr. John”, I know he succeeded in what he thought God wanted him to do.   What I want you all to know is that he got more out of that than he gave, and he considered it a privilege to be able to give of himself to others.

A TRIBUTE

I’ll end with an anonymous writing that my Cost Accounting Professor at Duke provided to me back in the fall of 1993. As you can imagine, it must be pretty good if it was a Cost Accounting Professor-CJ Skender, a great guy -- not exactly my favorite subject-and it still resonates with me 25 years later.  I’ve often thought if Pop had written down his expectations, this might have articulated them.  More importantly, though, in my view, it’s what he actually did.  It’s titled “Live Each Day”.  It’s my tribute to him and my gift to all of you.

Live each day to the fullest.  Get the most from each hour, each day, and each age of your life.  Then you can look forward with confidence, and back without regrets.

Be yourself – but be your best self.  Dare to be different and follow your own star. Don’t be afraid to be happy. Enjoy what is beautiful.  Love with all your heart and soul.  Believe that those you love, love you.

Forget what you have done for your friends, and remember what they have done for you.  Disregard what the world owes you, and concentrate on what you owe the world. When faced with a decision, make that decision as wisely as possible – then forget it.  The moment of absolute certainty never arrives.

Above all, remember that God helps those who help themselves.  Act as if everything depended upon you, and pray as if everything depended on God.

Thank you, Pop for everything you’ve done for me. I wouldn’t be the man I am today without you.  I love you and will miss you more than I can say.

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Chains

A Loki Laufeyson x Reader Fic Request

Request Fic based off of this post for @kimistry27 (I hate the fact your damn tag won’t tag!!)  Hope it’s everything you were looking for!!

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader  |  Word Count: 2742 Warnings: Implied sexual conquest, mostly fluff

“Loki?”

“Yes, pet?” the God of Mischief, book open in his lap asked distractedly, not bothering to look up from whatever history of whatever world he'd currently engrossed himself in.

“Can I,” you hesitated, swallowing to wet your throat. The hesitation had those blue-green eyes lifting to peer at you intently, your discomfort finally gaining his attention. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, darling.” Holding out his hand, he beckoned you closer with a crook of his fingers.

The whisper of the fabric of your Asgardian gown was all the sound you made as you joined him on the divan where he drew you to sit at his side. He’d brought you to Asgard as a gift for your birthday, the one place you'd longed to see, but you'd spent much of your time with Sif or the Warriors Three or Thor playing guides and guards as Loki’s presence in Asgard brought about much unrest. Some of the people felt his past actions out shadowed his current behaviour, his about-face as it were, that saw him siding with Thor and the Avengers many times in the past two years.

He was trying, but it was a tough crowd.

Most of that effort came from when he'd walked into the Avengers compound, bound in chains, and come face to face with you. Had Thor not been there to explain, you likely would have run screaming when Loki had turned a stunning shade of blue, rending the chains which bound him into nothing more than brittle pieces of metal that had fallen to the ground in flaking fragments when he'd glided swiftly toward you and dropped to a knee.

It appeared you were what the Asgardians called a bonded pair. The gods had seen fit to bind Loki to a soft-hearted but harder headed mortal, one who had promptly punched the God of Mischief in the face when his cobalt blue hands had reached for you.

It had taken time - and not a little effort on Loki’s part - to see you coming around to the dark male's charms. He’d done everything within his considerable power to show you he would change, become the good man you wished he would be, and for the most part he’d succeeded. If at times he pulled the odd, well-placed prank, well, it wasn't a big deal to turn a blind eye. After all, who didn't occasionally think of shaving Stark bald, or painting Barton’s bow a vibrant orange? He messed with people, but he was the God of Mischief. You couldn't expect him to be totally reformed.

But you'd heard a few things being in Asgard, jokes and comments which had gotten you thinking. Thinking much too hard and much too wantonly about things which you probably shouldn't.

Biting your lip, you looked down at your linked fingers before glancing up at him through your lashes. “Is it… do you… am I… oh hell,” you muttered, having a horrible time asking your question.

Concern etched across his face when he cupped your cheek and turned your face to his. “What is it? You are happy, are you not? No one has been rude to you?”

“No, no, no!” you were quick to reassure him when his eyes darkened and his temperature ran cold. Protective Loki could swiftly become violent Loki if he felt someone had been unkind.

“Then what is it, my love?” Anger turned to puzzlement.

“Are you… am I… enough?” you asked quietly, a flush burning your face. 

“Enough?” he frowned. “Explain?”

Flushing an even darker shade of red, you bit your lip. “I heard a… a thing that made me think… perhaps I'm not giving you what you need… in bed.” The final two words were barely a whisper.

“Who would say such a thing? And of what did they speak?” he demanded.

Tears welled, uncertain if he was upset with you. “They… they said you like chains. That's why you end up bound hand and foot so often.”

“Oh.” His eyes widened in understanding.

“Am I… am I not enough? Am I too… too soft? Do you need something from me I'm not giving?” you asked, desperate tears sliding down your face.

His lips pressed briefly against yours. “Beloved,” he crooned when you gasped a quiet sob. “They were making fun, my heart. Speaking of how I wound up chained so often in my past. I seemed to constantly get myself ensnared in another set of restraints.”

“Then… you don't want,” you hiccupped, “me to… do anything with… these?” A twist of wrist brought the links of golden chains to your fingers where the heavy weight pooled in your lap. 

A perk of the pair bonding was sharing powers. As you had none, silly little mortal you were, you just got to use Loki’s. He’d relished the days and nights he'd spent teaching you everything he could think of after you’d accidentally duplicated yourself. 

A second twist of wrist had the chains wrapped around him, binding his arms to his sides and sending him reeling into the back of the wide divan. 

“You know these restrict my powers, darling. If you would please unbind me, I'd appreciate not having to repeat the performance of our first meeting.” 

But you couldn't, not yet. Not when you'd thought of this for hours today. “Let’s play a game, Loki,” you coaxed softly, running your hands over his chest, down into his lap, and vanishing his book. 

“You'd best have marked my page, woman,” he threatened, but the darkening of his eyes and rapid beat of his heart gave away his enthusiasm for your new game. “I think, perhaps, it's you, pet, who has the fetish for chains.” 

“Maybe…” you hedged, a smile flirting with your lips. 

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, a quiet, deep sound rumbling from his chest when your fingers delved between layers of tunic.

Your smirk grew slowly. “Two hours. I want two hours where your powers are relinquished in full to me. You can’t beg to be freed, can’t plead for release, and can’t use your abilities as a frost giant to escape your bonds. You have to let me play, Loki, as I wish for two hours.”

“And if I lose?”

“I get to keep the chains and use them once per month for the rest of the Midgardian year.” As it was only March on Earth, that was a fairly long time.

He frowned, clearly contemplating his chances. “And if I win?” he asked cautiously.

“You can use the chains on me for the same amount of time. Two hours, Loki,” you clarified when his eyes brightened.

“Done!” he fairly jumped at the chance.

A surge of overwhelming strength filled you as all his magic suddenly became wholly yours. “Oh… oh wow…”

“The timer is running, beloved,” he crooned, smile wicked and face smug.

Climbing in his lap, tugging the skirt of your dress up as you did, you settled across his thighs, leaning down until the tip of your nose touched his. Brushing it gently, you echoed his smile. “I know, my glorious dark god, but there’s something you should know before we get started.”

“What is that, love?”

Tracing your lips along his cheek, you hovered near his ear, “I haven’t worn panties at all today.”

His sharp inhale had you rocking back and laughing to the ceiling.

***

Exactly one hundred and ten minutes later, you lifted yourself from said dark god’s lap with a twisted smile. Your dress had long ago been discarded, his hair was dishevelled from your hands in it, most of his clothing was askew or thoroughly out of place.

He was panting, cheeks flushed, eyes dark and wild. He looked far more dangerous, far more feral than ever before, but that was likely due to the multiple times you took him to the edge only to deny him what he wanted. The tips of his fingers had turned blue not long ago, and the room had cooled enough to pebble your nipples and give you gooseflesh.

Getting to your feet with a decided wobble, you picked up your dress.

“What are you doing, darling?” he all but snarled.

“Finishing the game, Loki,” you smiled, putting the garment back on.

His brow arched. “You are not leaving this room.”

“I have seven minutes to do with you what I wish, and what I wish is to run… very, very fast,” you grinned cheekily, knowing damn well you were in so much trouble!

“Running won’t save you, (Y/N),” he crooned. “You’re in my soul. I can find you wherever you go. Is it not better to simply stay and take your turn at this game with the class I know you possess instead of running like a scared child?”

Sliding your feet into your slippers, you curtsied with a flourish. “I choose option number two, my lord.” Turning on your heel, you ran for all you were worth.

“Darling? Darling?! (Y/N)!?” Bellowed from the room but you kept running.

Five minutes was not much time to get where you needed to go and Loki, when he came for you, would be on such a warpath. You only hoped he remembered to straighten out his clothing before chasing you down.

At the doors to the large banquet hall, you skidded to a walk, well aware of the guards who watched you with wry amusement. Striding inside with grace, you made your way toward Thor. The look on your face must have caused concern for he was soon hurrying toward you.

“So… yeah. No one panic, okey dokey?” you said with a forced laugh.

“Panic over what? What did you do? How mad is he?” Thor’s question ended, and a mighty wave of power rolled through the palace.

“Ha ha!” you wheezed when a good portion of Loki’s power washed out of you. “Not mad so much as… ha, denied.”

“Oh!” Sif, who’d come over to chat, barked before hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Well, then.”

“Save me?” you begged softly.

“We will do our best,” Thor promised, his smirk wicked. “Make ready!” he called out.

When the doors at the end of the hall slammed open, the God of Mischief in all his finery walked through. He’d done more than straighten out his clothes. He’d dressed with the intention of having people remember who and what he was. He was a god, a dark one, and at the moment he looked it.

“Brother!” Thor bellowed, holding out his arms.

The call had Loki freezing, noticing where he was and the startling amount of people. “Brother. I’ve come for my wife.”

“As I asked her to make sure you were here at this time, I’m afraid you will both have to stay a bit longer. Come, sit, enjoy!”

“Enjoy?” Loki mumbled, moving toward the long table. “It is not a feast day. What are we celebrating?”

“The return of the prodigal son,” you whispered once he was close enough.

“What?” he gasped.

Thor dropped a meaty fist on his shoulder. “The people of Asgard are smitten with your lady wife. She has proved her goodness and gentle heart to them. Because of this, the people know you would never do anything that would sacrifice the happiness you have with your woman. They welcome you home, brother, your place in my court is reinstated. They welcome you to return to Asgard!” he called out, and the hall erupted with cheers.

The shocked look on Loki’s face brought tears to your eyes, and you reached out to him. “You are a prince of Asgard once more, my heart.”

His eyes darted to yours, emotion-laden as he gently touched your cheek before being swept away by a tide of people wishing to welcome him back to the court, the revelry just getting started as food and drink flowed.

It took an hour for things to settle, or to calm to what you’d come to realize was the least boisterous part of an Asgardian party. The drink had not yet gone to the men’s heads when Loki’s presence at your back appeared, and you were whisked away to the far side of a large stone pillar, conveniently hidden from view. A soft expulsion of breath left your lips when he pinned you forcefully to the stones with his muscular body.

“You were my distraction as they made ready for this feast, weren’t you, my love?” he asked, lips a hair’s breadth from yours.

“Yes,” you whispered, watching as eyes of blue slowly darkened into a deep green, glimmering with shimmers of his power.

“And the chains? Was it all an act?”

“No…” you sighed when his lips skimmed yours, feeling the heat of desire pool again in your belly. “The comment was, as you said, a teasing one, but it put the thought in my head. What would my Loki look like, bound hand and foot, completely at my mercy?”

“Did you enjoy the view, darling?” His voice deepened, rumbled like the growl of a hungry wolf as his teeth tugged your earlobe.

“Very much!” you gasped, turning your head in an act of submission.

“Good,” he growled in your ear. Pulling slowly away, he smiled a dark, devious, devil smile as he released your hands and reached in his sleeve. Something gold and shiny appeared in his fingers, a single link from the chain you’d bound him with now hung like a pendant from a thin necklace. With a flick of fingers, it reappeared around your throat, the link resting above your heart like a dark promise. He placed a fingertip lightly on the link, but his eyes never wavered from yours.

Leaning closer, he pressed a tender kiss to your lips. “I re-forged the chains after I broke them, my love. They await your return to our bedchamber.” His hips pinned you back against the pillar, causing a wanton moan to erupt when he rocked against you.

Apparently, you’d left him in quite a state, one hidden only by the extravagance of his clothing. No wonder he’d changed. “Loki,” you sighed.

“Oh the things I have planned for you, (Y/N), my wicked, naughty girl. Eat and drink your fill, my heart, for you will not see the outside of our chamber for the next few days.” His eyes glowed with mischief.

“Loki, two hours, you promised,” you reminded him, only to have him smile his patented Loki grin.

“Yes, two hours to use the chains, pet. You said nothing of other restraints,” he whispered in your ear, leaving you stunned, shaken, and highly turned on as he laughed ever so evilly and walked away.

Sif found you moments later, still leaning against the pillar. “I think you need this more than I.” She held out the cup of mead, which you took and gulped back.

Once your legs had some much-needed bone back in them, you looked to the tall warrior. “I think I may have started something.”

“I think you may have,” she snickered, leaning around the pillar and laughing. “Loki has not looked so pleased with himself in some time.”

Straightening up, you handed back her cup and lightly squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Sif.” You looked out over the crowd to find Loki laughing with his brother. “But FYI? I don’t think you’re getting those chains I borrowed back.” Giving her a cheeky grin, her face making you giggle, you went off to fill your belly knowing full well your husband’s promise was not one to be taken lightly.

He smiled at you as you went by, grabbing your arm to pull you close so he could press his lips to your ear. “I enjoyed this new game, love. Perhaps I like chains after all.”

Drawing your fingers over his abdomen, feeling the shiver you caused with the action, you gave him a Cheshire cat grin. “Bound hand and foot, Loki? Why I never would have guessed.” Laughing, you walked away, content and happy and not at all concerned with your own upcoming appointment with the mass of golden restraints.

 - The End -

[sleepykalena]

“A Place to Go” (rebelcaptain fic)

Y’all I did a fic because Jyn’s life story gave me more feels than i could handle. The canon Rogue One universe is not kind. Jyn needs a massive hug.

This story is long. It’s angsty. And I’d post it on ao3 but I don’t have an account yet so sorry :( I’d honestly rather post it there because dashboards are brutal.

CW: Some language, allusions to sex (in case this matters to anyone)

Summary:

Cassian learns more about Jyn, and about grief.

“Just because you can’t turn off the spy switch in your head doesn’t mean you can take away what little I have left and give it up to everyone else in the Alliance.”

Word count: 8,215 (christ why)

Someone, long ago, had once told Cassian that grief was just love with no place to go. He didn't understand it at the time- all the grief he ever had had dried up when his family was stolen from him by the Empire. Later, the sound of every blaster shot he took merely bounced around in his heart, turned hollow because whatever love he had left was emptied out of him and given to the Alliance.

Now, as an adult, he could sympathize for those who grieved. That was easy. But even after Scarif and the Battle of Yavin, empathy continued to elude him.

The realization distracted Cassian one day as he conducted his usual mid-morning walk across the cargo bay of Echo Base, an ideal location because the area was at its emptiest. It was the best way for him to clear his mind after debriefings, but it left him vulnerable to self-assessment. Would he ever grieve if his love was always poured into efforts for the greater good? Is he any less human if he died never having felt grief again? If he gave his love to Jyn and she rejected it, would he feel it then?

He was so deep in thought that he failed to notice the hushed voices of Bodhi and Jyn, who were huddled together between stacks of crates a few hundred feet away.

"You got the goods?"

"Yeah, I got 'em."

"This is a huge favor," Jyn says softly, more to herself than to Bodhi, as he places a paper-wrapped parcel into her hands. Bodhi doesn't recall ever having seen this side of Jyn, if he was honest with himself, even as they worked side by side for the last two years. If her face wasn't working to maintain a sense of neutrality, she was either grinning like a dire-cat ready to pounce or giving Draven and the other superiors her classic scowl. This time, her face had softened, as if a fond memory was rising to the surface, and Bodhi realized for the first time that Jyn had spent all this time wearing a face that aged her far more than she actually was.

"You owe me big time for these though- they weren't cheap when I went to the outpost," Bodhi responded, holding his hand out for payment while darting his eyes around to see if anyone had noticed them. But with stacks of crates dotted throughout the cargo bay, he hadn’t noticed Cassian walking towards their general direction. "I was only supposed to pick up supplies and come straight back, and this detour set me back a few hours. They're not gonna be happy with a former Imp like me returning late from deliveries."

"You'll be fine, stop sweating over that, Bodhi," Jyn teased, her attention snapping back from the parcel to her fellow teammate. She pulled a credit chip out of her pocket and placed it in his expectant hand and closed his fingers around it. "Just don't tell anyone about this exchange," she pleaded, "not even Cassian."

Bodhi eyed her curiously. "Jyn, it's not like these items are contraband, why are we trying to be secretive about all this?"

Jyn looked up at him, and for a brief moment Bodhi swore he saw a hint of sadness in her eyes before she sank back into her neutral silence. The lines on her face returned. "That's my business. But I promise it isn't anything bad." She started to turn away from him so that he could be on his way, but she turned back around in a small smile. "I'll see you at dinner?"

Bodhi nodded and watched her tuck the parcel under her vest as she turned the corner from the crates they hid behind. Curiosity and confusion lingered on his face as he glanced down at the credits Jyn had compensated.

Honestly, what was so important about paint sticks that Jyn needed to keep it a secret from literally everyone else?

As Jyn rounded the corner from the crates, she kept her head low and tried her hardest to keep her left arm tucked in slightly more than usual to keep the hidden parcel safe inside her vest. But in all her concentration, she hadn’t noticed Cassian, and her head collided with his chest. She stumbled back a bit, and looked up to see the captain, eyebrows raised in surprise and arms out to try and catch her if she fell back too far.

“Sorry,” was all Jyn could get out, her eyes rounded in mutual surprise. They looked blue today in the backdrop of the cold lamps overhead, and Cassian could see the flecks of gold in them.

When Cassian realized he was staring too intently at her eyes, he regained his composure and stood up a little straighter. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you usually in combat training?”

Jyn froze. Just play it off, don’t give him a reason to notice anything else, she thought.

She raised an eyebrow in playful suspicion. “Stalking me, are you, Captain?”

He ducked his head in a wry smile, then huffed out a bit of air before leaning in close, pushing the boundaries of personal space in a way only he was allowed to. “There’s a difference between a stalker and an intelligence agent, Sergeant.”

Cassian’s emphasis on “sergeant” was low, and the breathiness of it brushed Jyn’s ear. She tensed up even more and her lips parted just enough to suck in a small gasp. Stay calm, she kept telling herself, willing herself to maintain focus and not lose it from staring back at the captain’s eyes.

Her tongue dart out to lick her lips, and Cassian felt his ears turn a little red. He loved the teasing game of tug-of-war that they played with each other, but he’d rather not admit that her reactions at his teasing were far more rewarding than the times she'd actually try to get a rise out of him.

“Well,” Jyn started, backing up a little so that she could circumvent him, “guess that means I have to do my due diligence and get dressed for training.” She took a few steps in the direction of her quarters, still tucking her left arm in.

Cassian cocked his head to one side. “Jyn, what are you hiding under your vest?”

Jyn’s arm tucked in a little more, as if she weren't any more conspicuous to Cassian. “My blaster.”

A lie. And a bad one at that. “Don't you mean, ‘my blaster’?”

“Hey, I found it.”

“In my bag.”

“Finders keepers,” Jyn grinned.

Cassian sighed. “Jyn, are you in possession of contraband?”

Jyn shook her head and tried to take a few steps further away from Cassian. “I’m not. I’m really not.”

There was a moment of silence between them. Cassian found himself unable to tear himself away from her eyes. What was she trying to hide, exactly?

Jyn found herself with the same problem. Maintain eye contact, don’t try to look any more suspicious than you do already, she told herself. She needed to head back, and this silence was as good a time as any for her to retreat back to her quarters. “I uh...I’m almost done with the scandocs you need from me. I’ll bring them over once I’m finished?” she offered.

Cassian merely nodded as she walked off, his mind already sinking back within itself, trying to digest what just happened.

The door to Jyn's quarters hissed open, and she rushed inside. Once the doors shut, she sighed a breath of relief and pulled the parcel back out from under her vest. It was time. She needed this.

Her quarters, luckily, were private- a luxury given to the surviving members of Rogue One. In fact, Chirrut and Baze were the only ones to opt for shared quarters. Most people would take the opportunity to fill their private quarters with personal effects or an abundance of clothes, but Jyn's personal possessions were a grand total of three things: the code replicator handed to her from Saw, her truncheons, and Cassian's blaster. The items lay neatly in the lone drawer of her desk, leaving the room to appear completely unoccupied to the untrained eye.

Gingerly, Jyn unwrapped the parcel to reveal a variety of paint sticks and folded canvas. She took a deep breath. She was going to do this right. She was going to do right by him and honor him properly.

Kneeling down, she took the canvas and unfolded it slowly, almost ritualistically, and laid it flat on the cold ground of her quarters. She sat back on her heels as she contemplated her color choices. Would she start with purple? Yellow? Or perhaps green?

No, that wasn't how he would've done it. That's not how it was supposed to be done.

She took another deep breath, closed her eyes, and let herself remember.

The thrill he felt as she placed her hands firmly on his to push the throttle forward on his mother's ship.

The stars that had surrounded them as they flew higher and higher, and the wonder in his eyes when he finally got his wish to fly amongst the stars.

The large steamer in the kitchen, his undamaged hands scooping bunn for breakfast every morning.

The way he felt under her slender fingers, a bit scrawny, but firm and secure.

The distinct smell of the grass they were laying on as the day wore on.

The look in his eyes, hooded with desire as he offered himself completely to her.

The feel of him inside her, her first time, and hungry body taking it all that it could.

The way he made her realize that, at some point, she had called his place “home”.

Jyn's eyes opened, and she found her cheeks wet with tears.

Shakily, she grabbed the black paint stick and started making marks on the canvas.

Back in his own private quarters, Cassian was at his desk, compiling the resources necessary for tomorrow’s reconnaissance mission onto his datapad. K2SO sat next to him, installed on a charging station, backing up his data. It was part of the routine- always make a backup copy before a mission in case anything went awry. The soft hum of the whirring disks inside Kay created a comfortable kind of silence for him, but he couldn’t help but let his mind wander again. His eyes shifted slightly to look at his droid friend, re-installed from a backup copy and completely unaware of the experiences he had on Scarif. Surely he couldn’t find grief in a broken droid if there were regular backups designed for resurrection if anything went wrong, right?

He shook the thought away before he let himself wander too far down that path again.

There was a small “bong” noise indicating that the data backup was complete, and he could hear the shifting of Kay’s joints as the droid turned to look at him. “Backup of my data is complete, Cassian. What would you like me to do next?”

“Access the database for updated intel packets of all members involved with tomorrow's mission, and download the extra mission details from my datapad. Jyn will be coming by later with forged scandocs, and you can upload that information once I get it.”

“Understood,” replied Kay, and he sat back against the wall. The halo lights of his eyes blinked frantically as his CPU was processing this information, but it hadn’t been long when he suddenly stopped and his eyes became a solid blue-white.

“...Cassian?”

“Done already?” Cassian asked absentmindedly, tapping around his datapad.

There was a contemplative silence from Kay. Then, finally, “It has finally occurred to me that Jyn Erso has many aliases.”

Cassian paused. “We know. That’s why it took us longer than usual to find her two years ago. This isn’t news, Kay.” He continued to tap and scroll around his datapad.

“But unlike her other aliases, ‘Tanith Ponta’ had only ever been used once.”

Cassian shrugged. “It probably was a failed identity.”

There was a moment of silence and the hum of Kay’s CPU whirred again. Then, “I have obtained more information on Tanith Ponta.”

“Good, add it to Jyn’s intel sheet.”

“I cannot. The intel conflicts with previous versions of intel.”

Exasperated by Kay’s linguistic runarounds, he put the datapad on his desk and turned towards his friend-droid. “Conflicts, how?”

“Based on my scans, Tanith Ponta had died 17 standard years ago due to a drug overdose.”

Overdose? But-

“But Jyn is alive and healthy,” Kay continued. “She certainly did not contract bloodburn and overdose from the haidera serum at the age of 6.” Kay’s eyes flickered again before continuing his observation. “The last time the name Tanith Ponta shows up in known databases was about 6 standard years ago, at the Five Points Station. According to security footage, Jyn had used the alias, but, later discarded it in favor of Liana Hallik and other aliases since then. No instances of ‘Tanith Ponta’ have occurred since.”

Granted, that was a bit strange, but… “So she got caught with a dead person’s identity. That’s not unusual for people on the run.”

“The probability of someone co-opting a deceased person’s identity is about 7% when the deceased in question was known for having an illness and a drug addiction. Jyn Erso in particular is a highly-skilled document forger. Why would she bother to steal an identity when she had created successful fake ones before and after the use of the ‘Tanith Ponta’ alias?”

Cassian chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Kay was right- this behavior goes against her MO.

Moments passed in more silence before Kay leaned in a little closer. “Have your thoughts been completely preoccupied with Jyn again? You could at least tell me what to do with the information I found before you go back to what sentients call ‘daydreaming’.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “Create a new intel file for the real Tanith Ponta, and keep it separate from Jyn’s file. Put a copy of the intel on my datapad, and I’ll look over them later.”

“Understood, Cassian.”

The faint sound of beeping could be heard on the other side of Cassian’s door. Soon enough, the door to Cassian’s quarters hissed open. It was Jyn.

“Jyn Erso, entering Cassian’s quarters on her own even after the quarterly passcode change,” Kay noted.

Jyn smirked as she approached Cassian at his desk. “I’ve got tricks up my sleeve.”

“You approximated the code based on my finger movements when I changed it in the first place,” Cassian corrected.

“Which means you’re a bit rusty in making sure your intelligence is never swiped,” she retorted. “I got the scandocs for you. One for you, one for me, and the other for the pilot. They should be absolutely perfect with updated codes, thanks to the legitimate ones you swiped for me as a template.” She placed the forged scandocs onto the desk.

Cassian trailed down to the docs and noticed a black smudge on one of them. He then noticed black streaks stuck in the swirls of her fingerprints. “Helping Bodhi out with machinery?”

Jyn paused. She cursed herself for not washing her hands well enough. “Yeah, I owe him a favor.” Another lie, Cassian determined by the slight lilt in her voice.

Confirming his suspicions, Kay decided to chime in. “Your fingers do not contain traces of ship grease.” He tilted his head and focused even more on Jyn’s fingers. His eyes flickered for a split-second. “Jyn, there are traces of blue and purple dyes on your fingers; your lie is terribly unconvincing.”

“Kay!” Cassian hissed. He hadn’t bothered to modify his programming to include an understanding of sentient social cues because it wasn't really so much of a fault as it was a feature. Now, however, it was biting him in the ass.

“I see you’re still just as adorable as the day we met,” Jyn responded sarcastically.

Kay turned to Cassian, “Cassian, why don’t you ask her about Tanith Ponta?”

Jyn flinched. “What?”

“I have attempted to update the intel dossier for all members of tomorrow’s reconnaissance mission, under Cassian’s orders, and have come across an outlier of information in your file, specifically with regards to your alias ‘Tanith Ponta’.”

She braced herself to hear the rest of it. “What of it?”

“Cassian has tasked himself with investigating her, how she relates to you, and why you’ve opted to steal her identity when you were in the Five Points Station 6 standard years ago before tossing the alias in favor of ‘Liana Hallik’.”

Cassian hid his face into his hand and turned slightly away. If Cassian could melt away through the floor of his quarters, he’d be doing so right about now.

Except they’re on Hoth. So, much like the weather outside Echo Base, he stayed frozen to his seat.

“Cassian…” Jyn started, her voice steady and slow. Cassian looked up and saw that her nostrils were flared. He remembered this tell-tale sign. She wasn’t just upset; she was dangerously close to exploding on the spot if his next words weren’t carefully chosen.

He tried to keep his face neutral. “We only just found out. I was going to ask you about it personally during our mission tomorrow,” he answered calmly.

Jyn scoffed. She knew that look. He was never going to ask her personally, not when her own testimony could be tainted and biased. “That’s a lie, Captain, and you know it.”

He took a steady breath through his nostrils before letting himself speak. “You already know that it’s part of my line of work to make sure that all dossiers within the Alliance are regularly updated with complete information. It’s like that with every asset.”

“Asset...” she breathed out quietly in disbelief. Jyn felt her fingers flexing, trying hard to stop herself from balling them up into a fist.

She was a asset. Not a lover, not a friend, not even an ally. Just a asset.

The air around her felt so thick she could choke at any moment. She turned to Kay. “Delete the intel on Tanith Ponta. It’s not necessary for my dossier. And do not look any further into it.”

He stood up from his chair, eyes darkened, towering over her to drive the point home. “The fact that I’ve missed information for two years is even more reason for me to investigate why this has escaped my notice.”

She knew what that meant: Yes, I am spying on you. This is my job, you are an asset, my target, and I’m making up for my mistakes by addressing this now, with or without you.

Jyn pursed her lips. “There’s no reason to look into Tanith Ponta. It was an alias I’ve used once, and that’s it. There’s nothing else to it, no crimes tied to the alias, nothing.”

“That’s precisely the point, Jyn,” Cassian countered. “You’ve manufactured all of your aliases but this one. You’ve stolen the identity of a deceased teenager when you could have created one out of thin air. I need to follow the trail and figure out if this information compromises any of us in any way.”

“Again with making blind concessions for the Alliance,” Jyn spat back. “What, just because we survived Scarif, you think you can continue to act like you’re by-the-book?”

His eyes went cold, and his face came down even closer to hers. Memories of their fight after Eadu started to resurface. “You’ve made it clear that you have no intention of talking to me about this. But it’s also clear that this information is extremely important to you, which means it could be important to us. Surely you can understand the position this puts me in as an intelligence agent. How much of your compartmentalism can put the cause at risk?”

You and the cause, Jyn thought, that’s the “us”, isn’t it? It’s never been you and me. But she bit her tongue to stop herself from saying it out loud; she didn’t think she could handle the answer if she let them escape from her lips.

Instead, she said nothing and let the silence between them stretch on for what seemed like hours as they stared each other down.

Finally, Jyn’s lip quivered slightly as she took a deep breath. “I’ve heard some of the things the other rebels have said about me- that I’m so ‘good at my job’ because I had nothing to lose when I left for Scarif.” She flung up the air quotes viciously, bitterly, like viper fangs ready to strike.

“They say that I can’t get hurt or used because there’s nothing to use against me. I lost everything when the Death Star was taken down; the traces of me that my father put in his research all blew up into space dust.

“You and the rest of the rebellion have all the intel about me and my personal history that you could ever need. But this memory…” She bit her lip this time, fighting back tears.

Cassian’s eyes squinted imperceptibly, his head tilted and swayed to one side slightly. Memory? So it’s personal, Cassian thought, staring back at her glossy eyes, and he started to curse himself for being so analytical in the middle of an argument.

“...this memory is one of the few things that’s mine, and mine only. Just because you can’t turn off the spy switch in your head doesn’t mean you can take away what little I have left and give it up to everyone else in the Alliance.”

Her words hit Cassian like a sack of bantha shit. Hell, it made him feel like a sack of bantha shit. Probably because he was being a sack of bantha shit to Jyn.

All he could do was stare, speechless. In the dim lights of his own quarters, her eyes had become green, but the gold flecks dulled slightly into brown. The colors of a raging sea. But in spite of how sublime it was, he’d drown in her fury if he lingered any longer.

Jyn lowered her head. Maintain your composure, Erso! “You said you believed me. Two years ago. At Yavin 4. Believe me now: Tanith Ponta should be left alone. The information is not important to the Alliance, but it’s personal, and important, to me.” She looked up again, straight into Cassian’s eyes, and all at once the sorrow in Jyn’s eyes punched him in the gut and left him breathless. He felt something in him trying to reach out to her, anything to quell the pain she seemed to be feeling, but found that neither pity nor sympathy could describe it. He had no idea what to do.

His face lowered and he nodded soberly. “Trust goes both ways,” he whispered, more of a reminder to himself of their first real interaction.

Jyn nodded once, her eyes still trained on Cassian. She wasn’t going to let her walls fall just yet, not in here. “Thank you,” she whispered before turning her heel and walking out.

Kay somehow had the sense to stay quiet up until now. “Should I respect Jyn’s desire to delete the Tanith Ponta file?”

Cassian tried to shake the thoughts out of his mind, but it didn’t make his spirits any less heavy than they were by the confrontation. He refocused just enough to turn to Kay and say, “Yeah, delete the information, and do not update her intel sheet.”

“Understood. I’ve deleted all information on the deceased Tanith Ponta. I now must update my personal data on you, Cassian.”

“Why is that?”

“Your attitude towards Jyn is constantly shifting; currently, your respect for Jyn Erso’s autonomy and privacy is far higher than I have initially perceived it to be.”

Cassian’s shoulders slumped as he sat back on his chair. I’m starting to wonder if I respected them enough in the first place.

Cassian had hoped to see Jyn at dinner, so that he could apologize for his lack of trust in her. They’d worked so well together heading into Scarif, and had worked well in the two years since then, but never once did he hit a nerve with her in such a personal way. He looked down at his tray- eggs and veggies rested on a spoonful of bunn tonight. Cassian brought the food to his mouth and chewed slowly to buy time. Maybe Jyn would show up later tonight.

The longer he stayed in the mess hall, however, the less likely it seemed she was going to  swing by. He could barely pay attention to Bodhi talking with the Guardians about his day, or even Chirrut tricking Bodhi with his own series of “actual events that for sure happened so don’t listen to Baze when he says it’s all a lie”. The voices drifted in and out of his attention as Cassian continued to search for Jyn through his peripheral vision.

Halfway into his meal, a flash of red hair moved out of the corner of his eye and approached him from across the table. The redhead was a young man with blue eyes and freckles across his face. He was tall, much like Cassian himself, but with broader shoulders and more muscles to boot. Cassian guessed the man to be about Luke’s age. If he remembered correctly, it was the pilot who would be accompanying him and Jyn on their mission tomorrow.

“May I sit here, Captain?” the young man asked.

Cassian nodded and gestured for the young man to sit. “Please do. This is our first time meeting, isn’t it, Sergeant Kyrell?”

The sergeant blushed as he sat down. Cassian noticed that their eyes were level with each other at the table. “Um, please, just call me Thane. I’d like to avoid military formalities as much as possible. I just wanted to get acquainted since I’ll be co-piloting with you tomorrow.”

“That’s quite a request coming from a subordinate,” Cassian observed, but immediately regretted saying it. There you go again with your switch on, Andor, he chided himself.

Thane made a panicked face for a moment before settling into a neutral face. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter, making him just a little taller than Cassian himself. “My apologies, Captain. I merely wanted to distance myself from Imperial practices of adhering to a strict hierarchy since I joined the Alliance.”

Chirrut placed a hand on Thane’s shoulder. “The captain is always like this. Please do not mind him,” he said, smiling. “Do not hesitate to be yourself at this table. All are welcome, as the Force wills it, including Imperial defectors.”

Thane smiled back at the monk and placed a hand on Chirrut’s. “Thank you, sir.”

Chirrut’s milky blue eyes beamed in realization. “Ah, Cassian! This one is like you! He does not believe in the Force!”

Cassian found himself hiding his face in his hands for the second time today from second-hand embarrassment.

Thane’s eyes widened in surprise- how did the monk know this much about him? Immediately, he tried to defend himself. “With all due respect, sir, most second-wavers on Jelucan did not believe in the Force. I do know a bit about it, though! I know a first-waver who believes in the Force, and tries to trust in it as often as possible.”

Jelucan, an Outer Rim world, Imperial-controlled, Cassian recalled. If he’s a second-waver there, he must have been born into decent money. What was he doing befriending a first-wave villager, and why did he give up all this comfort to join us in the Alliance?

He was doing it again. Cassian chewed slowly, nodding his head in acknowledgement at Thane’s words.

The corners of Chirrut’s eyes crinkled a little as he smiled softly. “She is not here though, is she?”

Thane looked at his new table companions and judged by the looks on their faces that this was normal behavior for the monk. The larger, grislier monk sitting next to the blind one gave a small cough, as if to confirm Thane’s suspicions. He looked back down at Chirrut and answered, “She isn’t. She and I...let’s just say that we have different priorities. In fact, Jyn-” He remembered Cassian out of the corner of his eye and immediately corrected himself, “I mean, Sergeant Erso reminds me a little of my friend. It makes me miss her, just a bit.”

Bodhi noticed the sad smile on Thane’s face and it dawned on him that Jyn had the same look on her face earlier today. “What do you mean, ‘different priorities’?” he prodded.

Thane ran his tongue over his teeth as he tried to find the words. “She’s the love of my life. And I’d like to think I’m hers. But she’s honor-bound to one cause, while I made the decision to serve the Alliance. We haven’t seen each other for more than a year now. I may never see her again.”

Silence befell the table. Bodhi thought back to Jyn. Chirrut and Baze nodded at Thane in quiet sympathy. Cassian continued to think on the weight of Thane’s words.

It was Cassian’s turn to speak up. “How is your lover similar to Jyn?”

Thane wanted to point out the lack of formality used at Jyn’s name, but thought better than to contradict a superior. Instead, he answered thoughtfully, “They’re both committed to their cause. There’s a fire that drives them, you can see it in their eyes. You can tell that they are great at what they do- Ciena is a damn good pilot, and Jyn is an incredible forger...even I couldn’t tell the scandocs were fake without knowing what to look for. But…” Thane trailed off, and he could feel his own personal frustration sink in.

Without revealing too much about his lover, he bowed his head and chose his next words carefully. “Ciena strongly believes in honor. She makes herself so honor-bound that I feel like it holds her back sometimes. It held her back from me. When I first tried to talk to Jyn, I sensed that she felt held back by something.”

Thane looked up and saw Cassian and Bodhi staring blankly at him. He got nervous again. “That’s not to say I know much about Jyn, though! It’s all just based on first impressions. I’ve heard so many things about her, and I respect it all- even if Rogue One’s actions led to the deaths of my Academy friends aboard the Death Star.”

His head tilted slightly and eyes became distant as he recalled more memories. “For some reason the people around me seem to think that Jyn lives as if she owns nothing, and therefore moves around like she has nothing to lose. But when I talked to her a few days ago, she just sort of got quiet and a little listless. It was like something preoccupied her thoughts completely. She didn’t say much to me after that, but I suppose that’s alright, right? Can’t expect someone to open up to you at the first meeting.” Thane shrugged at that last part.

Cassian arched an eyebrow. Jyn wasn’t one to to be listless and withdrawn, especially not towards any new recruits. She tried hard to not show any vulnerabilities to them- it taught them never to underestimate her. “What exactly did you tell her that made her act that way?”

“She asked me why I joined the Alliance. I told her that I deserted the Empire and joined a small group that delivered medical supplies to communities in need. I came across Wedge during one of those deliveries, who tried to recruit me as a pilot for the rebellion. I was so disillusioned with the Empire and their abuses, but I put so much of myself into them that I didn’t want to join the Alliance and eventually kill the friends I left behind. But the captain of that group told me to go off and fight for the cause.

“I told Jyn- Sergeant Erso- that if it weren’t for the captain’s encouragement, I probably wouldn’t be here. I told her that I decided that if I was going to die, I’d be better off fighting for a cause than be a neutral party that dies in the middle of crossfire.” He looked around the Rogue One crew.

No one had said anything but their eyes were still trained on them. He was starting to understand what the others meant when they said Rogue One is extremely close-knit- the laughing and conversation he walked up to had been silenced by his presence, and it was starting to make him feel nervous. They practically flashed a spotlight onto him now with their gazes. He took a bite of food, hoping to signal for a change of subject.

It didn’t happen. “That’s quite the life story,” Chirrut said. “Did she respond to any of that?”

“Um...she told me to never let that determination go, and that I did the right thing by joining the Alliance. And then she turned around and just walked away.” Thane looked down at his meal tray and took a couple more bites. When the silence fell again, he swallowed and spoke again. “Did any of that sound like something to be upset over? I think she’s been trying to avoid me until the mission tomorrow. I tried to talk to her just now in the mess hall, but then she looked me, then my tray, turned around, and left.”

Cassian shook his head. “I’m afraid that your guess is as good as ours right now.” She isn’t coming anyway.

Thane tried to crack a joke in the silence. “Why my tray though? I mean, bunn doesn’t taste that bad,” he chuckled awkwardly before taking a bite.

Cassian poked at his food. Bunn, a staple food item on the planet Skuhl, located in the Outer Rim...

...in the Five Points system.

He cleared his section of the table and grabbed his meal tray. “It was good to meet you outside of your intel sheet before the mission, Serg-...Thane,” Cassian corrected himself.

Thane smiled. “I’ll see you at 0700 standard time, Captain.”

Cassian nodded. “Very well, then,” he said and headed towards the kitchen to drop off his dirty tray.

Bodhi trailed behind him, and when he felt that they were out of Thane’s and the Guardians’ earshot, he caught up to Cassian and asked in a low voice, “Just out of curiosity, does Jyn have any former lovers?”

Cassian shot him a look. “What kind of question is that?”

“Er, well, it’s just that I saw her this morning and she had the same look on her face that Thane had when he first brought up that Ciena girl. I’m just wondering if there is- or maybe was- someone in Jyn’s life. You know, romantically speaking.”

“Bodhi, I don’t know every tiny detail of her life; I have no idea if she’s had any past lovers-”

“You’re in intelligence, Cassian. You really don’t know if she has any past or current lovers?”

Cassian rolled his eyes, “Bodhi, that’s her business, not mine.” He paused. “Wait. Bodhi, were you the one who gave her whatever she was hiding under her vest?”

Bodhi looked away, feigning innocence. “No, what are you talking about?”

“You’re such a load of bantha fodder, you know that?”

“Okay, okay, it was me!” He threw his hands up in surrender. “But it wasn’t anything major. Jyn made me promise not to talk to you about it though, so I can’t say anything more than that.”

Cassian towered over the pilot and his eyes darkened. “Bodhi, what exactly is going on with Jyn?”

Bodhi could only blink. “You mean...you haven’t bothered to ask her?”

“You haven’t?”

“Well, yeah, because it seemed like she needed the space. Why haven’t you asked her if she’s alright? Seems like you’ve been really hung up over this, but you look like you’ve been fishing for information from every source but her.” The tone in Bodhi’s voice wasn’t malicious, but instead inquisitive. It sounded almost naive, like a Core child who wondered why her lothal cat had left the house to live on a farm in an Outer Rim planet. But Bodhi’s face seemed to ask the real question: Why aren’t you and your partner opening up to each other?

Cassian withdrew slightly when he realized why Jyn was left speechless earlier.

They were partners.

He called her an asset.

Cassian’s eyes wandered to the side, scanning his mind for the next best course of action.

This is all you know, Andor. You live, sleep, and breathe being a spy. Everyone’s an asset to you and you don’t even realize it. What kind of partner are you?

He squeezed his eyes shut at all these thoughts. They wouldn’t leave him alone. His mind was starting to race. He needed air.

Cassian turned without answering Bodhi and walked towards his quarters.

It was still light out on Hoth, but somehow the chill in the cargo bay was even more bitter than earlier in the day. He didn’t mind it though- it gave him something else to think about than his own interpersonal failures. He pulled the fur hood of his parka over his head and took a deep breath, letting the stinging cold fill his lungs. His fingers absentmindedly searched for the inner pocket of his parka as he walked. He could use some Corellian whiskey right about now. Or Festian mezcal.

As he found himself wandering through the cargo bay and towards the launchpad, he heard a high-pitched gasp from one of the open ships.

Was that sound coming from his ship?

He snuck up quietly towards the ramp and peeked in.

There was a woman on the cold metal floor, hovered above a piece of art on all fours. He saw paint sticks scattered around her. He heard her gasp again and realized from the shaking in her shoulders that she was crying.

“Jyn?” Cassian said cautiously so as to not startle her. He took one tentative step towards her.

Jyn whipped around, and her red eyes widened in surprise. She tried to wipe the tears off her cheeks, but it only added paint smears to her face. She smiled bitterly. “I guess I got caught. Good job, Captain Andor. I guess your intelligence tactics are up to par after all.”

He approached her, looking at the floor and the scattered paint sticks. Yellow, blue, black, pink, red...and he saw the artwork he found her hovering over. Colors swished and swirled in a circle of colorful patterns, in a backdrop of black. It reminded him of the stars, though he knew stars did not exist in such colors. The colors in the cosmos wrapped around them, and he found his eyes moving through the motions around the artwork.

A mandala. Jyn made this?

Jyn understood the look on his face, but refused to say anything more.

“Are you going to be okay?” Cassian asked slowly.

She sniffed back tears and nodded. She wiped her cheeks again, smearing the paint on her face even more.

“I used to make mandalas to take my mind off things, long ago.”

Cassian waited for more, but it seemed like that was the only explanation she was going to get.

He was going to do this. He was going to try. No spy tricks, no intel extraction. Just be honest. “I had Kay delete the Tanith Ponta entries. Your dossier remains as they were before the mission debrief. It wasn’t right to have that information when I could have asked you.” Worst apology ever, Cassian thought to himself, and his adam’s apple bobbed once, twice, before he finally squeezed the words out: “I’m sorry.”

It hurt to get the words out- for once they were honest and raw. “You’re my partner, not my asset. Those days were long behind us, but I let myself slip back into my old habits.”

Jyn’s eyes were rounded at his sincerity and the rawness in his voice. She glanced down at the mandala and moments passed before she sat back on her heels and looked up at him.

She couldn’t stare into those eyes. She just couldn’t. They dug into her soul, begging her to open up and release the last thing in her mind that she can call hers.

“Jyn…” Cassian whispered. “Who was Tanith Ponta?”

She didn’t want to tell him. She wanted to keep this memory her secret, shared with no one. But as she looked at his face, she was reminded of the day she was broken out of Wobani, and how his face appeared genuine, like she could trust him.

Trust…

Jyn looked down again, thinking of how to go on without breaking down in tears.

“His name was Hadder,” she started, by way of explanation. “His sister-” she shook her head to remind herself to give context, “-Tanith, she had bloodburn because she spent too much time flying at such a young age. The hadeira serum helped, it’s the only known cure to keep it at bay, but...she kept taking more, and she died from an overdose when Hadder was 10.”

There was a silence between them, and Jyn took solace in it as she tried to regain her emotional footing.

“His mother taught me to make mandalas. They soothed me, and it took my mind off of Saw when he abandoned me. Hadder and Akshaya...they were all I had then. They were my family. My home. Hadder offered me everything, his heart, his home, his body, and I took it. I took it all. He and I...he was the first man I ever loved.”

Cassian swallowed. Not once did he ever stop to think if she stopped once to love someone like that. He doesn’t remember recalling a woman with that much longing and affection.

Jyn’s head turned towards the cockpit. “Thane tried to introduce himself to me a few days ago. Have you heard his story?”

The question was rhetorical. She didn’t wait for him to answer, but it’s not as though Cassian would’ve answered anyway. “He was beat down by the Empire, but someone pushed him to join the Alliance when he hesitated.” She looked down at her hands and they balled into fists. “Akshaya never let Hadder fly because of Tanith’s disease. She was afraid he’d contract it too. But it was always his dream to fly. I secretly taught him. He was so happy.

“One day, he was invited to join a rebel group. He wanted to go, he wanted to fly amongst the stars, and he wanted me to come with him. but I...I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted to lay low and live in peace, away from the fighting. I thought that if he joined the rebellion, I’d lose another person I loved to a war we’re still fighting. I begged him to stay. So he did.”

The tears were getting harder to fight back. A few streamed down her cheeks, and she fought to continue her story.

“But the Empire...they found me. I let my guard down and didn’t bother to identify myself under a new alias. They raided our home because they found out I was the same Jyn that escaped capture in the Tamsye Prime incident. I took the family’s planet hopper, while Akshaya and Hadder tried to escape on their freighter ship, the Ponta One.”

Jyn had to gasp for air to keep from going dizzy. She hadn’t realized she was choking in her own misery.

She couldn’t hold back anymore. The next words spilled out without any control. “We hit atmo and left Skuhl but found ourselves in the middle of a dogfight between the Alliance and the Empire, and...Hadder steered to bump my ship and avoid heavy blaster fire.”

Jyn lowered her head even more. Her jaw dropped and she wanted to scream at how much her body was racked with tears all over again. But only choked whimpers came out.

Cassian felt his heart breaking at the sight.

Grief is love with no place to-

He finally understood. “He sacrificed himself to save you,” he finished quietly.

“Their ship exploded in the crossfire and the force of their debris pushed me to safety in the Five Points Station. When I got out, I saw that parts of their ship had embedded into the side of the planet hopper. The words Ponta One stuck to the side, burnt to a crisp. The planet hopper was ruined and I had to leave it behind. I took on the Tanith Ponta alias to appear like a concerned family member. Part of me hoped that maybe they lived, by some stupid miracle, and that I’d be notified of it, but that was one of the biggest lies I’ve ever told myself.” The walls of the ship were spinning around her, and the colors of the mandala became blurry. Her eyes squeezed shut and more tears pressed out. Her throat was closing up and she was fighting for breath.

She let out one more gasp before she finally cried, “If I hadn’t begged Hadder to stay, If only he joined those rebels when he had the chance, he might’ve lived to see today! He could’ve been fighting alongside us. I’m the reason why he died, I’m the reason why he couldn’t live a longer life!”

Jyn’s cries filled the ship for a while, and Cassian continued watched in silence to give her the space to mourn. Each gasp and cry tore at him, and his body felt the weight of her emotions. How was she able to keep herself up at all?

After a while, when she ran out of tears and her throat rasped, Jyn whispered, “I only had one chance to mourn his death. I cried in a miserable heap on an old bed. I picked myself up the next day and spent it avoiding capture, until you guys extracted me from Wobani.

“I thought I was done mourning. But after meeting Thane, I realized it wasn’t enough for the Pontas. Thane is what Hadder could’ve been if I hadn’t gotten in the way. After all these years, I don’t think I could ever forgive myself for robbing Hadder of a future.” She’d been staring at the floor the whole time. She reached for the nearest paint stick and squeezed it so tightly in her hand that it almost snapped in pieces.

“I asked Bodhi to buy me paint sticks and canvas on his last delivery run so that I could make this mandala to grieve properly, to honor them. It’s all I can do now to respect their memory. It’s hard to think about them, but I have to do this if I want to move on. I just can’t keep going like this.”

Jyn let the paint stick drop from her hand and she finally looked up at Cassian, the raw pain etched all over her face. “I finally found that I could love again, but I was selfish for just one moment, and that was all it took for the Empire and Alliance to snatch it all away from me.”

Logic couldn’t explain what caused Cassian to fall to his knees in front of her and grab her by the shoulders in an embrace.

Jyn’s hands shook by the unexpected gesture affection, and his warmth sent her back into tears. She brought her hands around his waist, squeezed back, then buried her face into his parka, letting the coat muffle her screams of agony.

For a while, Jyn thought she’d have to sail alone to navigate out of her sea of mourning and grief. But as Cassian planted a kiss on the side of her head and hugged just a little harder, she realized that perhaps, maybe, under the warmth and security of his arms, she had a sailing partner to help her get back to shore.

Maybe he could lead her back to his shore.

She balled up fistfuls of parka in her hands.

She would very much like that.

Someone, long ago, told Cassian that grief was just love with no place to go. And, just as he made peace with the thought that he had no love left to give to anyone or anything, he found that perhaps, maybe, he had more left to give, just for Jyn.

Maybe, perhaps, he could give Jyn a place for her love to go.

As he hugged her tighter, so close that he could smell the Alliance-issue soap in her hair, he felt a sense of contentment, like a single candle in a cold, dark room.

That light was quickly blown out, however, when he realized that there would come a time where Jyn would be gone, and, with it, the only other place his love could go.

How much would he grieve then? Would he have the strength to carry on as Jyn had?

Turn that switch off, Andor, he told himself. The thoughts would have to wait another day. He squeezed Jyn even tighter, her cries finally dying down to whimpers, and hoped that day would come much, much later.