#Fire Alarms Liverpool

[fisintegratedsolutionsltd]

Is There Any Way To Turn Off A Sounding Commercial Fire Alarm Without Gaining Access To The Control Panel?

Turning off a sounding commercial fire alarm without accessing the control panel is typically not recommended and may be illegal in many areas due to safety regulations. Fire alarms are designed to alert occupants of potential danger, and tampering with or disabling them without authorization can lead to severe penalties, including fines and legal consequences. read more: https://qr.ae/p2F2d6

[21stcenterry]

✺ — story beat: introductions.

TW: mention of guns, mild reference to injury

Terry was displeased to know that they had not, in fact, blown the interview. Details were foggier than The Big Smoke after returning to their regular workplace, but Terry had assumed they must've done something rightfully wrong to avoid getting the call to action the day after. No, siree, mediocrity was Terry's birthright, and they weren't looking to be some up-and-comer with expectations placed on them.

But a week later, the mobile buzzed during a rerun of Bargain Hunt on the 'BC, and before they could argue, Terry was off to Dear Ol' Freedom-land in a metal deathtrap. It had been several days since landing in a gloomier version of Galloway Forest, and to top off the perilous journey, Terry was still nursing a headache that reminded him too closely of Liverpool pubs on the waterfront. What did the Americans put in their aspirin? It wouldn't surprise Terry if they had gotten sugar pills.

Temples pounded as they leaned back into their chair. While rubbing at his scalp, it took Terry a while to notice the mandatory workplace introductions had come around to his end. Rat's arse, me already? Terry thought, fixing their slouch slightly in front of the group. But only slightly.

No matter what, they couldn't turn back from their plan now. There was no way in hell he was going to be any bloody Red Shirt, and he intended to return to Site-91 even if he'd get bollocks for it. It was a tightrope act. Look foolish enough that they'd send him back but not utterly useless that the Foundation'd fire him outright. No pressure, mate. They cleared their throat.

"Right on... Uh. The name's Terry, kinda. Perfect Stranger, that's it, innit?"

They shrug. "Not to alarm you, mates, but I am literally the equivalent of a mall cop sitting with you M16s. The deadliest thing I've ever wielded was a heavy-duty torch."

There was also the standard handgun, but seeing how trigger-happy some of his fellows had been at Site-91, Terry wasn't as keen on accidentally blasting a toe off at the mere mention of an SCP. If anything, he was a novice.

"I have no business in securing, containing, or protecting anything. I'm the actual bog standard." Terry gestured plainly at themselves. So far so good, they were selling themselves like a discounted apple at Tesco's. It was not entirely great, but the low price gave it a somewhat decent mull-over in the brain.

"Prolly got picked from my lot 'cause I was the, erm, lucky one if you get me. Honestly, I'd be proper 'standing if the paperwork got filed wrong and you're supposed to get someone much more qualified. No hard feelings and such if I'm not a fit."

They shrugged, not even caring at this point to not come across a total wanker.

Terry continued, "You've got to have someone tiptop watching your back. Dangerous out there, we all know that, innit. I also haven't had an eye exam in years, so I should check on that. Pleasure meeting you, though. Cheers."

Terry threw up a thumb unenthusiastically and slouched back into his seat. There. Now, to head back to his pad and start packing his stuff again, before the higher-ups had their chats and hopefully prepared for their expulsion.

[live-laugh-loverpool]

fic idea:

i really liked how you said the axa center has dorms for the players. imagine one morning darwin tries cooking breakfast and ends up causing the fire alarm to go off- and everyone was sleeping, too. 😭 so there’s just everyone standing outside- a grumpy virg and a sleepy ali and a mo without his coffee!!!

i can't believe it TOOK SO LONG 😭😭😭😭😭😭 but here it is before the finals!

@gecswriting @gaemen @bobbybecker-21 @bobbyfirminosworld @ballsbalb @snuuysideup @liverpool-enjoyer @hubba1892 @alissonbear-ker @alissonbecksfan234 @dsenotmtaetr @calm-smol @millythegoat @kraeki @ollieflopkins

[denimbex1986]

'In All of Us Strangers, Andrew Haigh’s sixth feature film, the first thing we see is light: the hazy blue dawn, then the sunrise painting the tower blocks on London’s skyline a raw, fiery red. There’s a kind of otherworldly radiance that courses throughout this haunting romance, landing somewhere between modern-day ghost story and deftly rendered family drama – with a shy, gay writer Adam (Andrew Scott) at its heart.

Mostly locked away in his city flat and gazing listlessly at a blank Word doc on his laptop, or otherwise watching crackly Top of the Pops videos while snacking on gingernut biscuits, Adam has decided to start work on a new screenplay which revisits his childhood growing up in eighties Britain. Simultaneously, his sole, slightly chaotic neighbour Harry (Paul Mescal) in an eerily empty (and yet very tall) apartment building begins paying him late-night visits, having spied Adam through his window during a routine fire alarm drill.

Aside from the unsettling lack of other people in this metropolitan setting, so far, so normal. That is until Adam hops on an overground train back to the sprawling suburbia of his youth and there encounters his parents (Claire Foy and Jamie Bell) going about daily life as usual in their two-bed detached house, mysteriously unaged – roughly as old as Adam himself – and seemingly ready, if a little bit startled, to welcome him back home.

In terms of thematic territory and genre, All of Us Strangers draws the most parallels to Haigh’s 2011 Tom Cullen-starring romcom-adjacent drama, Weekend. But unlike the rest of his oeuvre, Haigh’s latest has a distinctive supernatural edge, owed in large part to his source material, Strangers by Taichi Yamada. Around the skeleton of the concept of Yamada’s novel, however, Haigh – both writer and director – has done the heavy lifting, fleshing out a reality in which the ripples made by the AIDS crisis are still felt in the lives of queer men. The present is threaded with the past in this stirring love story where what’s real and what’s not are left captivatingly unclear.

The echoes of eighties anthems, from the Pet Shop Boys to Frankie Goes to Hollywood – amidst a masterfully hypnotic score by Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch – are both comforting and unnerving in equal measure, hoisting this bygone decade back into the present, while other hints of the past (a car screech, a child that resembles the young Harry) are scattered cleverly throughout the narrative like a trail of breadcrumbs. And – the dialogue between Adam and Harry suggests – fundamentally things haven’t really changed that much for the queer community, despite Adam’s faltering protest to his mother that “things are different now”.

One concern that runs through Weekend and All of Us Strangers is the idea that coming out to one’s parents is a key, formative experience. The two protagonists of these films, for different reasons, have this moment stolen from them, leaving them unable in some way to settle into their sense of self. For Adam, queer loneliness – the isolation triggered by the fact that society posits straightness as the norm, necessarily leaving queer individuals on the margins – is compounded by the grief of losing his parents, doubling up on his fears of forever being alone.

Scott navigates this tricky emotional terrain with irrefutable skill, harnessing the many complexities of this young writer, from a cautious reservedness in his new romantic relationship with Harry to a childlike fragility found with his family. Meanwhile, Foy and Bell give staggering performances as his parents. Only Mescal feels ever so slightly out of place as Adam’s zany, troubled neighbour – with a northern accent unconvincing enough to rival Barry Keoghan’s Liverpool accent in Saltburn – often seen swinging a bottle in his hand. (He does at one point ditch alcohol, but that doesn’t last for long.) There is, though, plenty of chemistry between the two leads, and the sex scenes in which they both star feel refreshingly sincere and understated.

These juxtapositions – crimson and violet, past and present, emotional frostiness and warmth – seem to be at the core of All of Us Strangers, Adam see-sawing between these different poles as he struggles to hold onto his relationships. With its many-windowed apartment blocks and sunlight-brushed train windows, All of Us Strangers is a film swarming with reflections, both literal and symbolic – but in spite of this self-scrutiny, Haigh’s conclusion finds our sense of the present is as hazy as our sense of the past. Beneath its light, tenderness and warmth, this examination of queer loneliness is often chilling, disruptive and bravely unafraid of leaving its question marks un-erased.'

[lfcmaverickfans]

Liverpool loanee thrashed 5-0 as traffic, pyro & fire alarms delay full-time by HOUR

… 0 source https://www.thisisanfield.com/2023/11/liverpool-loanee-thrashed-5-0-as-traffic-pyro-fire-alarms-delay-full-time-by-hour/

[alicesloughbridge]

Yeah. I saw these pics re-shared on a Facebook university group warning people about renting with them. It’s vile what this rental do to their tenants and this is why people are posting about Liverpool Student Lettings.

Someone posted they were awake all night due to their building fire alarm going off every couple of hours with no WiFi and window is permanently safety locked open. This happened like every day (day & night). Scary right?

It gets worse as I could share more from the group. 🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣

By @benjohnson02

[sluttish-armchair]

Got some work done…. I redid the weight shift right before the walk cycle starts after going through the five stages of grief (plus three) because of ~executive dysfunction~

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter - Thursday, November 3rd

JOYCE: Faith. (Faith in Buffy's body spins around, alarmed.) JOYCE: Why do you think she's like that? FAITH: (shrugs) You know. She's a nut job. JOYCE: I just don't understand what could drive a person to that kind of behavior. FAITH: Well, how do you know she got drove? I mean, maybe she likes being that way. JOYCE: I'll never believe that. I think she's horribly unhappy. FAITH: Well, could be things are looking up.

~~Who Are You?~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Promises by badly_knitted (Angel, Buffy, PG)

Blessings Earned by apachefirecat (Spike/Buffy, Xander/Dawn, R)

Promises by badly_knitted (Buffy/Angel, G)

Periodically by Holly (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Chaptered Fiction]

When she was bad - Ch. 17 COMPLETE! by Susan19 (Faith/Buffy, M)

Once Upon A Slayer: The Gift - Ch. 7 COMPLETE! by BrennaLynn (Mulan/Buffy, Mulan xover, T)

Wherever You Stray I’ll Follow - Ch. 4 COMPLETE! by calenlily (Angel/Buffy, M)

What Child Is This? - Ch. 4 COMPLETE! by Michaelt (ensemble, T)

The Bad Touch - Ch. 4 COMPLETE! by Michaelt (ensemble, T)

For The Blessings We Are About To Receive - Ch. 6 COMPLETE! by Michaelt (ensemble, T)

Even Ground - Ch. 2 by honeygirl51885 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Odd Ducks - Ch. 2 by violettathepiratequeen (Buffy/Spike, G)

Better the Devil You Know - Ch. 2 by SlayrGrl (Buffy/Spike, R)

The Thing About Being on the Road - Ch. 4 by scratchmeout (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Aphantasia - Ch. 2 by ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, R)

Fade Away Again - Ch. 6 by Willow25 (Buffy/Spike, PG)

Her Mission - Ch. 16 by BewitchedXx (Buffy/Spike, R)

Orvieto - Ch. 13 by TuesdayGirl (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

If Only - Ch. 19 by MixSaysRawr (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Got Your Six - Ch. 14 by honeygirl51885 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

A Better Place Than the One We're At - Ch. 6 by BewitchedXx (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

A weapon of victory - Ch. 7 by fpb (Buffy, LOTR xover, FR7)

Inhuman Behavior - Ch. 4 by violettathepiratequeen (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Consequences of Bargaining - Ch. 18 by All4Spike (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Xander Harris and the Eye of Ra - Ch. 8 by SlayrGrl (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: wedding photo by spikedru (Dru/Spike, worksafe)

Gifset: Endless list of favorite Cordelia outfits - [13] / ? by whatisyourchildhoodtrauma (Cordelia, worksafe)

Gifset: 4 x 15 We have no idea where she is. We don’t know what she's thinking... by fuffygifs (Faith, worksafe)

[Reviews & Recaps]

Buffy Rewatch 2k22: 5.18 Intervention by handsofabitterman

[Recs & In Search Of]

In search of: Harmony fan videos requested by Octavia

[Fandom Discussions]

Gosh imagine if season 4 of btvs [was about what makes a monster a monster]... by disco-tea

Spike's lines in Walk Through The Fire... by redbone135

Anya should have thought she was engaged to Spike in Tabula Rasa by layer-of-slayers

I get why people get icked by the scene where angel sees buffy when she gets called... by buffyology

How far back did Jasmine plan? by Octavia

Frequently Asked Questions/Common Questions Thread [Buffy comics] by Floognoodle

Are the Angel IDW comics after After the Fall canon? An answer. by Floognoodle

Ok, now I want chips. [Riley vs Scoobies patrol style] by HummusOffensive

Re the Potentials and their families by Gullible_Somewhere_7

"This guy could go to jail tomorrow, Angel, and still kill her in her dreams every night." [ATS: I Fall to Pieces] by GoblinQueenForever

are you insane?? by moonwalker_96

Something Blue.. first time watching by TheMudbloodSlytherin

Ways to relaunch, reboot, or reimagine the franchise by GladtobeVlad69

Buffy and Angel said ✌🏻😂 by OpOpening_Knowledge868

I don’t hate anyone other than Warren by poisontao

What’s your favorite thing about Willow? by GamesterOfTriskelion

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

Comic Con Liverpool 2022 Schedule (inc James Marsters) at comconliverpool by dontkillspike

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[fisintegratedsolutionsltd]

Top Fire Alarm Installation Companies in Liverpool!

Find the top fire alarm installation companies in Liverpool. Our experts provide professional installation and maintenance services for your safety. Website: https://www.fissolutions.co.uk/

[babbushka]

Fathoms Below

Pirate Captain!Kylo Ren x Reader

17.2k ; CW: Graphic descriptions of violence, death, murder, sword fighting, blood & injury, mention of corpses, possessive behavior, NSFW (PIV, oral sex [F receiving] fingering, rough sex, praise kink)

Available on AO3

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

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

He can still remember it, all these years later.

He can remember the very first voyage, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, flush of excitement high on the bridge of his nose. As Kylo’s crew sails the Silencer through the calm waters of the Atlantic, he cannot help but remember. The crew know better than to question him now, lest they fancy a trip off the plank, so as the deep blue waters of the ocean split beneath the bow of his ship, Kylo climbs up to the bowsprit and straddles the long wooden post, letting out a deep breath.

The horizon is unchanging, as she ever is. Kylo squints into the orange of the setting sun, watching as the waves catch and sparkle in the froth that it makes as it breaks against the wooden hull of the vessel he has commandeered now for longer than he has lived ashore.

“Where are you?” He asks out into the waves, casts his voice as far as it will go, desperate beyond measure, sick with the want of seeing you again, as he remembers.

Oh, I bid farewell to the port and the land

And I paddle away from brave England's white sands

To search for my long ago forgotten friends

To search for the place I hear all sailers end

As the souls of the dead fill the space of my mind

I'll search without sleeping 'til peace I can find

I fear not the weather, I fear not the sea

I remember the fallen, do they think of me?

When their bones in the ocean forever will be…

He had been naught but nineteen, when the maiden voyage of HMS Finalizer sets sail. A crew of nearly three hundred men hoisted the sails of the warship, led by the decrepit Captain Snoke as they embark on a crusade of sorts in the warmer waters away from Liverpool. The old man, a battle-worn scoundrel with a sunken in face and long white beard has given this young boy his first chance of the open seas, and said boy has taken it. On his first voyage ever, the young skipper leaves behind the world of the land to instead live out his days on the sea.

And what a magical world it is! A world of adventure, loyalty and trust, of code and honor – unlike the petty realm of government and policy which he has so quickly abandoned, the realm of his mother and uncle; no, a desk job was never in the cards for him, not for him. He longed for the sea, and now he has her. Much like a sponge that lives on the bottom of the depths, he soaks up knowledge and skill as fast as he can, they will not regret the day they brought him aboard. For weeks he studies and practices and learns the ropes, learns the nature of the Finalizer and how to care for her.

He meets a band of older gentlemen, who take him under his wing.  Vicrul was the navigator, he taught the young boy how to read the stars with just his eyes and his compass. Cardo was the boatswain, and he taught the young boy how to seal the ropes so the braids wouldn’t rot, how to swab the deck until the floorboards shone. Ushar was the master gunner, who taught the boy how to load and fire the cannons, taught him to be grateful he wasn’t a powder monkey scampering through the rigging. Trudgen was the carpenter and taught the boy how to repair the holes which inevitably would find their way into the hull of their ship, taught the boy how to repair just about anything he could think of. Kuruk, the surgeon, taught the boy how to fix everything that Trugden could not.

And Ap'lek, why he might be the most important of the gentlemen of all, for Ap’lek was a musician and could play nearly any instrument placed in his lap. It is with Ap’lek that the boy spends much of his time, learning the melodies and harmonies of the sea, for it is by song which the whole ship works, and the ship does not work without it.

It is a song that they are singing now, the young boy in line with a row of far stronger and taller men. The salty spray of the sea splashes onto his face, as the skipper’s muscles are put to good use on the long-haul, as he and his brothers call out in time to the songs that the shanty master belts out with his strong lungs. That had been the one question Captain Snoke had asked of him,

“I’m fast, and strong, Captain, and am an excellent climber – ” He had boasted proudly, puffed his chest up to mask the lank of his limbs.

“Aye,” The old man had cut him off, glanced him up and down, “But can ye sing?”

Even if he hadn’t he would have lied, he supposes.

And even if he hadn’t, he would have learned soon enough. As he hoists himself up the ropes, as he feels the breeze and the sun in his hair, he thinks he might fancy being a shanty master himself one day. The work is hard, the work is brutal, but the songs make it worth it, they pass the time and fill everyone with a spirit that pushes the ship forward.

He had sailed halfway through the Atlantic fighting the enemy, blowing holes in the hull of their ships where he knew they had not a Trugden nor an Ushar to defend themselves, and in those few weeks he felt he had already outgrown this ship. Lying awake at night, he wished for a chance to one day commandeer his own, how he would be a far better captain than the likes of Snoke. If there was one thing he learned all on his own, it was that he would do anything to be rid of Snoke.

Oh, if only he had watched his words.

The storm comes as storms often do – a whipped up frenzy of wind and wave, Poseidon’s fury crashing down around them. Startled awake, his vision shorts out as the ship is illuminated by bright cracks of lightning as the sea churns inky black below. It crept up to them at night, with no warning save for the pressure in the air. That pressure, and the creaking groaning planks of the ship, the rocking of her belly.

By the time the storm was noticed by the rest of the crew, it was too late. Lightning strikes the staffs and catches the sails on fire, alarm bells ring, men shout and shout and shout and pray.

“All hands on deck!” Cardo’s booming voice rises above the thunder, above the shouts of concern that pour from the hammocks high in the rigging where the boys all sleep.

Down down down the shrouds they rush, shrouds which the wind whips and flings about in a panic. The integrity of the Finalizer is tested now, for they have survived cannons, but gunpowder is no match for the fury of the sea. The young boy feels a spike of adrenaline in his chest, this is the first storm he has ever seen, and he has a sickening feeling that it might be his last.

Heave and ho, the winds send the ship headed towards rocks hidden underneath the waves, a gash too large torn through the starboard side, water flooding in. He does not know which way to go – to pump the water out, to hoist the sails, to put the fires out; there is chaos, and he does not know where to begin. Men rush past him as the ship tils and lurches from one side to the next, chests and barrels and piles of supplies sliding dangerously to and fro, knocking crewmen over the sides before the swelling crashing deadly waves have a chance to sweep them off their feet.

Waves some twenty, thirty feel tall curl in on themselves and smash down onto the deck, and now those shouts turn to screams, as they realize, as they all realize there is no saving this vessel. Lightning strikes, and he is pushed, urged towards a small boat, and he does not know how if they cannot survive on the big ship, how a little one would be of much help.

“To the rowboats -- !” Someone calls, the boy does not know who, not in this frenzy. His vision is shaking, as he runs and runs from one side of the ship to another, trying to stay level, trying to stay upright as the Finalizer nearly capsizes.

“There’s no time!” Ushar growls, the pipe he holds clenched between his teeth nearly splitting in two, as lightning strikes once more, as flaming bits of sail flutter around and land on the flesh of men.

“Captain – where is the captain?” The boy demands, because surely Snoke must know what to do, Snoke is the only one who can give orders – except when he sees Snoke, he sees him frantically rowing out in the distance, far greater distance that he should have been able to row in the storm like this. The boy is thrown against the rail of the ship with another lurch from the waves, and he panics, “What is he doing?”

“Don’t be daft son, he’s leaving us to die.” Vicrul sneers, water sloshing in a grand arc behind him, lightning illuminating the mouth of gold teeth he sports, his mouth turned into a grimace.

That was the first time in the young boy’s life, where he truly felt fear. Snoke must have sensed the storm coming, and instead of raising the alarms, he had snuck out like a snake in the night. And in doing so, his captain had condemned them all.

“Will we?” The boy asks with terror in his wide brown eyes, as Kuruk and Ap’lek can only stare at one another (years later, sitting here on the bowsprit, he realizes that they were trying to find a way to say I love you  before it was too late).

He does not get an answer, before the cold smack of water carries him off and away, as the body of the ship splits in two, as lightning and thunder sear into his brain. Someone shouts for him, but he cannot hear them, all he can hear is the rushing thrumming sound of the ocean.

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

Beneath the waves, it is calm.

More than calm, it is quiet. He cannot remember a time where it had ever been so quiet. Up above the waterline, he knows it must be hell, but down here in the embrace of the sea, there is naught he can do but listen to the quiet and feel the burn in his lungs. The world around him is black from the lack of the sun, but the flashes of lightning way above him send shimmers of rich emerald greens all around.

The currents are too strong, there is no fighting them. With the burn in his lungs only growing, growing more desperate for air that will not come, The boy sinks sinks sinks, a chest of cannon balls pinned to his stomach, sending him deeper.

He thinks of his mother, he thinks of the look on her face when he told her he would follow in his father’s footsteps for a life on the sea.

He thinks of his father, of the smuggler’s word he had given to come back home.

It looks like neither of the men in Leia’s life would be making good on their promises of return, he thinks.

An impossibly darker blackness creeps up through the corners of his vision, and he feels empty, so empty. The lightning a thousand feet up ahead crackles through the water, as he begins to slip away. A last burst of breath bubbles out of his mouth, the water is cold as his back hits the soft sand of the ocean’s floor.

He stares straight up and takes one final look at the watery world above him, and he resigns himself to his fate – when the last flash of lightning backlights a figure bolting towards him, arms outstretched, fingers spread in a frantic push to grab him.

With the last of his strength, though his body is crushed, he lifts one hand out to meet them.

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

He rests at the bottom of the ocean, as your fingers twine through his. Your hair is long and it flows around your face, a face which he cannot see and yet somehow can see perfectly. Your eyes glow white, so brightly that it illuminates the space like the lightning, but instead of a mere flash, it is a steady glow, much like a lighthouse on a craggy shore.

However it is not your eyes which captivate him, it is your body. For one, he has never seen a naked woman’s breasts before, and so the sight of your chest uncovered is a sight he fixates on, but only for a moment as he realizes very quickly that in the place where your legs should be, is a great and glorious tail.

It is long and glittering as the light from your eyes reflects off the scales, and he has a hard time believing that this is real, that you are real, especially when you open your mouth and speak aloud to him under the water, asking, “What is your name?”

The burn in his lungs is no more, he realizes, and when he breathes in, water does not fill the empty spaces inside of him.

“Am I dead?” He whispers, finding with relative ease that he can sit up, there on the ocean floor.

He looks around himself, sees the fallen sailors with whom he had just been singing not two hours ago, sees the debris of the ship which has sunk in large shattered pieces, nestled all around. The flag of Great Britain tattered and torn, mocking them all as the current creates an illusion that it is waving.

You smile curiously at him, settling yourself around him, your tail draped over his lap as you check him for injury.

“No, would you like to be?” You reply, and he’s not so sure he believes you, for such a thing as this cannot be possible, not in a million years, it cannot be.

“No – I – ” He stutters, watches as bubbles dance up to the surface.

“Your name, sailor.” You ask again with a gentle smile, and he hesitates.

His name, what was his name? He had one of course, but…but was that really his name? No, it wasn’t, he reasons. That was a name he had been given, one laden with expectation and pressure that he never wished to inherit. Even aboard the ship, he was not called by his name – although his nickname wasn’t much better. He makes a decision then, a decision he had longed to make when he was alive.

Because surely he was dead, and if he were a dead man, then at least he would die the man he wanted to be, as opposed to the man the world told him he had to become.

“Kylo Ren.” The name leaves his lips with a certainty that he did not know he possessed, especially for saying the name out loud for the first time. He had called himself Kylo in secret for years, and somehow, it felt good to have that secret come to light, even if it were too late.

“Kylo Ren.” You repeat, and he finds that it sounds even better coming from your lips, the sound almost intoxicating, your voice and cadence of speaking music to his ears. “’Tis a strong name, that one. How many years do you have under your sails, Kylo?”

“I – this is my first time.” Kylo admits, and your white glowing eyes widen, a hand on your chest in surprise.

“First time out at sea and already caught in my storm? You’re either very lucky, or very unlucky.” You shake your head, your hair following in a rippling motion, floating in the water.

“You’re beautiful.” Kylo says, as he feels his heart opening up, as he feels the burn of his lungs returning, the chill of the water a contrast on his skin once more.

“I know.” You grin, too many teeth in your mouth, and it is then that Kylo’s mind begins to catch up with him.

“Did you say your storm?” He asks, air bubbling out of his mouth, air that he didn’t know he possessed, air that he knows now that you’ve given him.

Kylo doesn’t know how, but he knows he is not dead, he knows that you have done something, you wield some power of the deep. He knows that you have saved him.

“Lucky, I think.” You laugh, the sound more melodic than any of Ap’lek’s songs could ever be, the sound filling filling filling Kylo with air. “Yes, I daresay you’re lucky.”

“I – are you an angel?” Kylo frowns, as he feels the chest of cannon balls slip away from his legs, feeling regaining in his limbs once more. The water rushes and thrums around him, but he doesn’t feel afraid, not as you take him by the hand and lead him slowly up to the surface.

“An angel? No, no I’m something far more sinister.” Your scales shimmer and glimmer and glitter in the moonlight, the waves are calm once more as you swim with him up up up.

“You’re so beautiful.” Kylo says, because he can’t think of anything else to say, and this pleases you, and he finds that he would very much like to spend the rest of his life making you happy.

Through the surface of the water Kylo’s face breaks, and all at once lungs fill with real air, salty briny moonlit air, and he gulps it down, coughs and splutters water. Kylo’s limbs are sore, he’s freezing cold, he feels sick – and all of this lets him know he is well and truly alive.

You’re watching him intently, watching him carefully, your eyes no longer glowing now that your face is out of the water. Guiding him to a rowboat which sits empty atop the water, you help him into it.

He doesn’t want to let go of your hand.

“Promise me something, and I won’t drown you.” You tease, although Kylo cannot tell that you are teasing, he’s too in shock of how he is here – of why he is here and his fellow brothers remain at the bottom of the ocean.

“Anything.” The word tumbles easily, quickly, and you tsk against the roof of your mouth, shaking your head.

“’Anything’ is a dangerous word to be said to a mermaid.” You whisper, but Kylo doesn’t care.

“I’ll do anything.” He insists, feeling in his heart, in his very core, that he wants to be with you forever. He’d sell his soul, to be with you forever.

So when you smile sadly at him, and give his palms a tight squeeze, before you slip your hands away and begin to sink back down into the water, until Kylo cannot see your beautiful breasts or your too-sharp teeth, until all that can be seen of you are your eyes which begin to glow once more, he panics with confusion.

“Grow up, big and strong, live long.” Your voice swirls around inside his head, and he rushes to the side of the rowboat to reach for you, even after you have submerged yourself fully, he still reaches, “Come find me when you have commanded the respect of the ocean upon a ship of your own. Find me, and tell me you’ll do anything for me then.”

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

Plot a course to the night to a place I once knew

To a place where my hope died along with my crew

So I swallow my grief and face life's final test

To find promise of peace and the solace of rest

As the songs of the dead fill the space of my ears

Their laughter like children, their beckoning cheers

My heart longs to join them, sing songs of the sea

I remember the fallen, do they think of me?

When their bones in the ocean forever will be

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

The black sails of the Silencer are puffed full with wind, full speed ahead as they exit Port Royal. Sitting atop the bowsprit, Kylo stares into the glittering ocean, the horizon casting golden rays of light through the deep blue sea. His crew is merry, the weather is pleasant, and yet still a sour feeling lingers in his stomach.

Where were you? Surely now was the time, was it not? Kylo had grown, oh how he had grown, both in size and stature indeed. But more than that, he had done as you asked – as he had always wanted to do. There were no man so fearsome as that of Captain Ren, no ship that saw the sails of the Silencer and won the battle which soon followed.

His chests were filled with gold, which he sold for a pretty penny to the highest bidder, and often reserved himself a chest or two to simply fill his tub with and bathe in the riches. His barrels were filled with rum and food, his crew never having gone hungry, not even for one meal. His wardrobe was filled with expensive silks and linens, donning himself in clothes fit for a leader, but ensuring his crew were dressed as lavishly – these reasons and more are why year after year his crew elected him Captain.

In fact, the annual election had just taken place at the docks of Port Royal, where it was a unanimous vote. Kylo should be celebrating, he should be naked in a brothel surrounded by gorgeous men and women – it was the 1660s after all – he should be drinking to his heart’s content and pleasuring himself with life’s greatest fortunes.

Instead, he sits up on the bowsprit, and speaks to the sea with a melancholic eye. A single eye, for that’s all he has left, the other blinded in a battle he fought many a year ago. His crew takes notice to this, and as they perform their mid-morning duties, a few of them gossip among themselves, as pirates are often wont to do.

“He’s up there again?” A nimble fingered lad named Mitaka, not more than fifteen years of age, speaks up as he braids rope with the efficacy of a man with decades of practice. He had just joined the Silencer’s crew, had practically begged Kylo to take him aboard back in Port Royal, and though the Captain had a reputation for being volatile and coarse, he never turned away a face in need.

“Aye, with the telescope, same as every day.” His hammock-neighbor, Thannison, pipes up from his spot not too far across the deck, on his hands and knees scrubbing away.

“What’s he lookin’ for d’ya reckon?” Mitaka wonders aloud with the sort of curious nature that only someone young as he could still possess.

Thannison looks around, checks over his shoulder and then casts a glance up to the Captain himself, to Kylo who is unmoving, sitting far and away high above them all.

“A mermaid.” He whispers, and even though he is careful, the breeze still carries his voice, the word reaching the ears of the Silencer’s navigator, an ex-General of the Royal Navy.

“A myth, more like.” Hux scoffs with a roll of his eye, drawing the attention of Victoria the First Mate, a woman stronger than half the men aboard the ship combined.

“Don’t let the Captain hear ye talkin’ that way, what he’s lookin’ for ain’t none of our business.” She stands at the helm, not that there’s much work to be done now on such calm waters. They’re traveling windward to their great advantage, and the skies do their part in keeping the seas steady.

“But it is, isn’t it? We’re his crew, we sail his ship, don’t you think it’s our business what we’re lookin’ for?” Hux mutters, where he is reviewing charts over yonder portside.

“I said – ” Victoria storms over with her thick soled boots, storms straight through the freshly scrubbed floor poor Thannison had just polished, to shove a menacing blade of her short dagger in the direction of Hux’s narrowed eyes, “Don’t. Let. The Captain. Hear.”

Little displays of animosity like this were not rare among the crew, as pirates generally weren’t the most easy-to-get-along-with types, but Mitaka watches with a curious eye as Victoria walks away, down through a hatch in the deck, no doubt to retire to her rooms for the afternoon.

“You’d think she’d be in better spirits, what with seein’ her wife ‘n all.” He offers up, makin’ just about everyone within earshot chuckle.

“We could have been in port for a month, and Victoria would miss Gwen the moment they part.” Thannison replies, and this at least, Mitaka can understand.

“Does the Captain miss his mermaid?” He asks, eager to learn everything, eager to know, “Is she even real?”

“He says she is, but no man nor lass has ever seen her, and certainly never come back alive. They say she saved him on the night the Finalizer sank – that he was the only one she saved.” Hux throws a wary glance up to Kylo, who remains unchanged up on the bowsprit.

“Why?” Mitaka wonders aloud softly.

“No one knows.” Hux replies just as softly, for this truly is the one question which hangs on everyone’s mind, the one question that only Kylo would know, but even he is at a loss for the answers. “But as long as I’ve been aboard this ship, he has been looking for her. Now, no more questions, don’t you have rope to braid?”

“Aye sir!” Mitaka busies himself with his tasks once more, and Kylo, high up above them all, is grateful for it.

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

Of course he knows the rumors that spread, the worries that he is going mad. Much like a man chasing an elusive ship, or a hunt for treasure that didn’t exist, those who knew Kylo knew him to be a man fixated on the impossible. They say he has been on the sea too long, that twenty years should be his limit. Others say he is a drunk, and that his stories of a finned woman with long hair and glowing eyes can only be the result of a blackout.

No one says any of this to his face, for they would be run clean through with his saber if they did, but he knows, oh how he knows they say it.

Kylo often wonders if maybe they’re right, if maybe all this is for naught. If perhaps, ‘twas a delusional vision of a boy clinging to death, an overactive imagination. He supposes he will soon find out, for if there were ever come a time where he was Ready, it would be now.

He has sunk a hundred ships, he has slain more than twice that number of men with his own sword. He has sailed to the very corners of the ocean, has made friend and foe in every port known to privateer. The world knows his name, even if they cannot catch his ship. But none of that would matter, if you did not think so.

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

The sunlight glimmers on the water, and Kylo’s eye is drawn to a shifting movement in the waves at once. In an instant, his heart rate picks up, for he’s certain he’s just seen a flipper, certain of it!

Standing up and steadying himself on the long wooden beam, holding onto the ropes which are tied down to the wooden mast for balance, Kylo sheds himself of his hat, his coat, his saber and gun, before he sprints down the length of the bowsprit, until there is no wood beneath his feet, and he is swan diving into the ocean below.

On deck, all activity ceases, as the entire crew races to the bow to try and see where Kylo had gone. His hat and coat and loose artifacts fall into the hands of the men and women that make up Kylo’s ship, and they all clutch to them tightly, for they know how much Kylo cares about his clothes.

“Captain?” Hux shouts, cups his hands around his mouth and booms with exasperation, “Captain Ren – oh god dammit, Kylo!”

“What in the blazes does that boy think he’s doin’?” A gruff voice sounds from further back, and everyone’s eye turns to the young boy who is shedding his clothes too, looking for all intents and purposes that he’s going to do something rash.

“We have to go after him!” Mitaka’s face is bleak with worry, thinking that Kylo might have fallen over or been knocked down by the winds, that he must be injured or drowned.

But the First Mate knows better, and with a shake of her head and a resigned sigh at Kylo’s theatrics, she whistles for attention and all stand still to listen.

“He’ll come back, let him go.” Victoria puts a firm hand on Mitaka’s chest to prevent him from jumping overboard too. Everyone listens to her, Mitaka included, although he cannot stop staring out at the sea, watching for Kylo.

Since that fateful night, Kylo had trained himself how to hold his breath and how to swim well, skills which serve him now more than ever, as he chases what he thinks to be your tail. His legs propel him, muscular thick thighs that work double time, as his rippling biceps cut through the water, his body built but streamlined.

Where are you where are you where are you?

It’s all he can think, until he cannot think of anything but air, and he kicks towards the surface as seagulls caw above him, the sun blinding in a blaze of orange. With a deep sigh, he allows himself to float, his arms and legs spread out like a starfish on a rock, the sun warming his skin.

“If I am not ready now, will I ever be?” He asks aloud, wondering, hoping that you can hear him.

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

When he returns to his ship, he is met with not a single questioning glance, and for this he is grateful. His pride is hurt, his ego wounded, he cannot understand what he’s done wrong to make you keep him waiting this way. Slinking into his quarters, he strips down out of his wet clothes before even checking to make sure the room is empty, and draws his sword when a creak from the grand chair in the corner alerts him.

“What were ye thinkin’ this time? Hm?” Victoria leans forward, her elbow on her knees. “That you saw her again?”

Victoria was the first person to ever give Kylo a chance, when he washed ashore at the port, a scared starving boy alone in a rowboat. With that chance, he built an empire of piracy unlike that had ever been seen, and he brought her along with him to share in the riches. She was probably the only one who could ever speak to him the way that she speaks to him now.

“As a matter o’fact, yes.” Kylo bares his gold teeth at her in a menacing sneer, and she only rolls her eyes and throws a warm dry robe into his arms. Kylo puts it on without hesitation, not really wanting to expose himself to a woman he considers more of his sister than the one he has by blood. “This is about where she was the last time, where it happened.”

Bundled up in his robe, Kylo pours Victoria a glass of rum, and she accepts it with a sigh as he lays down in his bed with a groan. She takes a sip and watches him carefully, cautiously.

“Twenty years is a long time, Kylo.” She says, and Kylo lets out a long, heavy sigh and rubs the tension from his forehead.

“Believe me, I know.” He mutters, voice deep, tired. He sounds tired, feels tired. “We stayed at port too long, I fear that’s how we missed her.”

“You know I do not doubt you that this woman once saved you. But have you thought about the possibility that something might have happened to her in all this time? That maybe she is simply not out there anymore, unable to wait for you?” Victoria speaks softly, not wanting to get Kylo angry, but wanting him to face the facts. “I worry for you sometimes Kylo, perhaps you might think of setting your sails on a different prize – ”

“She is not a prize.” Kylo snaps, leveling his First Mate with a deadly glare, the kind of glare that should send shivers of fear down a normal person’s spine. But then, Kylo deflates, and he casts his eye toward the porthole window, hoping for those flippers to surface once more as he whispers, “She is something far more precious, something that cannot be owned. If ye be so inclined to know, I spoke to her two nights ago.”

“You did?” Victoria’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes blinking in shock.

“Aye, in a dream. And she called to me, called me here, so here is where I have sailed.” Kylo spits back, and this only makes her expression soften once more. “And when we are reunited once more, you’ll all see.”

“For your own sake Kylo, I hope so.” She pats his ankle, before swinging back the rum and leaving his quarters for him to sulk.

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

He is nearly asleep, when he hears it. The whisper, the ghost of his name, drifting to his ears through that porthole window left slightly ajar. He likes to sleep in this way, likes to breathe in the salty crisp air of night, likes to listen to the gentle lap of the waves. The ship is calm, in the middle of the night, the crew asleep in their hammocks or rooms below deck. There is nothing but the creak of the wooden decks, the flutter of the sails, and the steady rocking that has Kylo this close to dreaming, when he hears it.

“Kylo Ren…” The sound makes his eyes snap open, makes his heart beat fast in his chest. He thinks he’s hearing things, maybe conjuring them up in his own mind, but no, there it is again -- “Kylo Ren...”

Out of his bed at once, he throws on clothing. Clothing he has reserved specifically for this moment, clothing he has purchased just for you. With stockings slipped up onto his legs, Kylo steps into his black breeches and tucks in a loose-fitting white linen shirt, securing his waist with a crimson sash. The very same crimson adorns his brocade waistcoat, which he buttons up so quickly and with such shaky fingers, that he has to redo it twice. He has three golden earrings in each of his ears, and two golden bands on each finger.

He doesn’t have the time to wonder if you’ll find the appearance pleasing, as he brushes through his long black hair and ties it back with a crimson ribbon, because your voice is growing louder and more clear, and he is compelled to answer it.

Buckling his boots, Kylo ascends from the suite he calls home and finds at once, a pair of white glowing eyes not far from the starboard side of the Silencer.

“It’s you!” He whispers, nearly chokes on his spit as he does it, rushing to the rail and practically falling over the edge.

He holds his breath, waiting, hoping, and then yes! Yes it is you, you flick your tail happily in the moonlight, your scales shimmering and glittering the way he has so often dreamed about. You disappear beneath the inky waves then, and when Kylo is about to protest, your beautiful body is propelled out of the water, you do an elegant flip, spraying him with seafoam playfully upon impact once again with the waves.  

“I’m coming – just a moment, I’m coming!” For the first time in decades, a grin has split across Kylo’s surly face, his gold teeth reflecting the same way your scales do, and he jumps overboard, dives down into the water for the second time, knowing this time, you’re really there.

The sound of your laughter fills the spaces between the scars of his flesh, makes him whole, for the first time since he was a young boy. Your arms encircle him when he swims swims swims as fast as he can to reach you, and you surprise him by being faster – your tail propelling you forward more quickly than his mere legs ever could. Your reunion sings through the ocean, and he cannot take his palms away from your cheeks, he cannot look away from your glowing eyes, he does not want to, not now, not after so long.

You hug him then, floating on your back so he can be propped up atop your breast, and not accidentally pushed under the water. The two of you embrace in every sense of the word, and Kylo is thankful for the sea, for masking the tears of relief he feels.

When he leans his head in towards you, you do not deny him the kiss he so desperately seeks, and this kiss – though it is not Kylo’s first – fills him with a sense of completeness that has him groaning into your mouth. You smile against his lips, you let him wind a hand into your hair, another groping at your breast. The surface of the water is calm, there are no waves now to rock you both, and so you can indulge in one another like this lazily.

There is so much Kylo wants to ask you, so much he has to say, but in this moment, your union transcends language, as your minds meld together, a gate of sorts opening, letting the floodwaters free. He slides his tongue against yours and sighs into your mouth, clutches at you tightly, out in the open sea. If this were to take place inside his cabin, he knows the inside of the windows would be fogged from the heat that he can feel curling around your bodies.

“Kylo Ren.” You break the kiss at last, if only to give Kylo a chance to breathe, but you do not go far. You rest your forehead against his and he strains to look at you in the dark, through the closeness. “I have heard of the stories, how they echoed across the sea.”  

“You’re here, it’s you, you’re real and you’re here.” Pride wells up in Kylo’s chest, his ego inflamed, knowing the tales of his legacy have reached you. That is all he has ever wanted, and it is indescribable the way he feels knowing that in this he has succeeded.

“Of course I am, I told you I would be when you were ready for me, didn’t I?” You pet back the long dark locks that curl and cling to his wet cheeks, a thumb soothing across his lips as you lean in for another chaste kiss.

“You never told me your name.” Kylo says, because it is something he has wondered for twenty years, a question he has had burning inside his soul for just as long.

“My name? Hmm I have had many.” Chuckling, you duck your head, bashful. No one has ever asked you for your name, not once. “Names that have been given to me, names I have been called, many names. But tell me, what do you call me in your mind? When you lie awake at night and think of me, what slips past your lips?”

This sends a shiver of desire down Kylo’s spine, the way that you lean in and speak into his mouth, the way you smudge the words against his lips, your wet lashes dragging and brushing against his cheek. He’s halfway hard as it is, the thick line of his cock pressing through the layers of his soaking wet clothes, and all he can do about it is sigh, as he gropes at your breast once more.

“The only sounds I utter are the groans of pleasure which come from the very thought of you.” Kylo’s voice rumbles through his chest and into yours, and you grin, ducking your head, bashful.

“You’re charming. You may call me (Y/N).” You whisper to him like it is some secret, something that neither the moon nor the stars is privy to hear.

“Will you come aboard my ship (Y/N)?” He tests the name out on his tongue, and your scales shimmer with the way it sounds. That makes his pride swell further, makes his cock harder, but not so hard that he loses the clarity of mind to ask, “Can you?”

Your smile falters, but not by much. That beautiful tail breaks the surface once more, shimmering, ethereal before him. Kylo is mesmerized, he has always been mesmerized by you, but you being here in front of him, mesmerizing him now, is far better than the way he has lost himself in his dreams.

“I cannot, not like this. If my scales dry, then I die. So, in the water I must remain.” You explain, and Kylo tries not to let his heart break.

“I see.” He refuses to accept this, even though he understands why it must be so. He refuses, he has not come this far to leave you now.

Noticing his apparent distress, you hug him closer, kiss at his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

“There is…a way.” You start, licking your lips nervously, your voice hushed in the night.  

“Tell it to me, I want to help you, the way you helped me.” Kylo replies at once, a sense of urgency in his voice, thinly veiled desperation.

You turn your gaze away from him, your eyes like two beams of starlight, shooting out into the black abyss. Kylo had nearly forgotten that the two of you were floating in the open ocean just next to his ship, until you illuminated the world beyond.

“There is a cave ahead, beyond the craggy rocks.” You say ominously, half-afraid he’ll take you up on the offer, “Only a creature on two legs can reach it, for it is up above the water’s edge.”

“What secrets does it hide? What must I bring back for you?” He takes you up on it immediately, knowing that whatever he has been training for, whatever he has been doing with his life, all that he has learned, has led him to this moment for you.

“A golden medallion strung on a black cord.” Your eyes glow brighter with each word you speak, and Kylo finds himself getting pulled into your story with bated breath. “Decades ago, long ‘fore even you were born, ‘twas stolen from me by a man with a long white beard. He snuck upon me whilst I was asleep one day, tore it from ‘round my throat. I got my revenge on him -- killed him for it, sunk his ship in my storm, but the medallion was no longer in his possession when he drowned. I demanded to know what he had done with it, and with his dying breath he taunted and teased how I’d never reach it.”

“Until now.” Kylo assumes, because you are regarding him with such hope that he knows he cannot let you down. You saved his life, the very least he can do is repay you in this small way.

You crowd his space, your hands on his cheeks once again, your lips brushing against his own.

“I’ll go with you, I can show you the way.” You whisper, kissing him, thankful, hopeful, elated in a way that makes Kylo’s heart beat beat beat loud in his chest.

“When?” He demands, a voice commanding and fit for a Captain.

“Now.” You grin, taking him by the hand in a way that Kylo has memorized in his sleep, and leading him back to the side of his ship where he might climb up the notches in the hull to reach the deck once again.

“Now?” He blinks, having hoped that he could perhaps spend some time with you in his nice warm bed…he would have found a way around your hydration needs, he would have --

“We must go before the dawn breaks, the waters are dangerous when It wakes.” You interrupt his internal monologue, and there is something chilling about the way that your voice catches. “Take the rowboat, you’ll need your strength.”

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

Kylo rows the small vessel through the blackness of night, the clouds having covered the pale shine of the moon. It is no matter, because your eyes glow in a beacon of their own, as you swim beside him. Keeping in time with his pace, your fin lazily pushes you forward, and in the quiet, Kylo decides on which of his millions of questions he wants to ask you first.

“Do you live here?” He settles on. He means both the cove you lead him to and the waters around Port Royal, wondering why in all the time he has spent here, he has never seen you.

“Yes…and no. The ocean in her entirety is my home, I swim from place to place as I please, and sleep wherever my head rests.” You explain, your voice calm and thoughtful. Kylo commits your answer to memory, wanting to absorb every piece of knowledge about you that he can as you continue, “Sometimes that’s a port such as this, sometimes it’s an anchor on a ship, other times it’s on my back, floating in the sunshine. Although I’ve been nearly harpooned that way, so I don’t do it often.”

The humor in your voice at the harpoon mention is lost on Kylo, and he nearly stops rowing as he processes your words, as he dares not to get his hopes up. He does not, however stop rowing, because your earlier comment of a Thing in the waters makes him want to complete this mission as quickly as possible.

“When you say the anchor of a ship, you don’t mean…?” Still, he has to know.

You’re quiet then for a moment, and he knows his suspicions are confirmed, by the very hesitation in your voice.

“I check on you, now and again.” You admit, making him feel both absolutely fucking elated that he has been right all along, and devastated that you have been so close and somehow, somehow always just out of reach. “I always have, wanting to make sure you were safe.”

“And you never said anything?” Kylo doesn’t restrain the question, trying not to let his temper get the better of him.

He thinks of all the ridicule he could have been spared, all the doubt, all the sleepless nights of worry that he was losing his mind, if only you had said something. But then again, he reasons, he wouldn’t be the person he is today, had he not gotten into those fist fights for standing up for his dignity, and then maybe you never would have deemed him ready.

“I couldn’t interfere, that wouldn’t be fair to you.” You explain, proving his reasoning to be correct. You don’t sound apologetic, nor regretful for it as you say, “I wanted you to become a person of your own right, your own making, free of influence from anyone, even myself.”

That hits him hard, square in the chest. And at first he doesn’t know why, but then he realizes…you’re the only person he has ever known to want that for him. He thinks back through all the people in his life; his mother wanted him to be a politician, his uncle wanted him to be a educator. His father was gone, and Snoke…well.

Snoke only found him useful to meet his own ends, and much like the rest of the world, cast him aside when he had had enough. Even the gentlemen with whom he had spent most of his time before that fateful night had hoped he would one day grow up like them.

Kylo cannot be angry with you now, he knows, not that he was ever really angry with you to begin with. How could he, when you are the only thing in the world who has never had any expectation of him, other for him to be himself?

“I spoke to you, night after night I spoke to you.” Kylo whispers into the dark, thinking of all the nights he had spent up on the bowsprit, above a masthead carved in your image, speaking to the wooden mermaid wishing wishing wishing instead he were speaking to you.

Your tail cuts through the water as you swim alongside him in the rowboat, and you whisper just as softly, “I heard you.”  

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

The rest of the short journey is done in silence, mostly so that Kylo can prepare himself mentally for whatever awaits him. It looks sinister, a gaping maw protruding from the water, like a mouth with craggy and jagged teeth of rock. The light from your eyes shines into the opening of the cave, but it only shines so far before the dark of the dark swallows it whole.

“Do you see it? The cave?” You ask him softly, drawing his attention from his own thoughts to the massive structure before you both.

“Just up ahead, yes. It’s dark, but I can see it.” He answers, taking in a deep breath. He had never been particularly afraid of the dark, or of the unknown, but there is a distinct sinister energy that crackles through the air that Kylo can feel; it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You must leave the boat behind now, do not be afraid, the water is warm, and I am here with you.” You assure him, offering him a hand that like moth to a flame, he is compelled to take.

He finds that the water is not deep here, he can wade through it and it only reaches his knees. You lay low, your free hand trailing along the soft sand as your tail swishes through the water, moving forward with him as he leaves the rowboat behind.

“You’re coming with me?” He frowns, unsure if he wants you in as much danger as you warn there may be.

But then again, he should know better than to question you in something like this, particularly when your eyes glow brighter and they shine across the sea, as you nod. Swimming beside him, neither in front nor behind him, you assert yourself as his equal in this regard, heading into the dark unknown together.

“As far as I can go, I am coming with you.” Your eyes glow, and he somehow, feels safe.

The water grows cold, the closer to the cave you and Kylo get. Kylo’s legs can feel the chill, can feel the change in the temperature. There is a humming from within, a rumbling sound that he cannot identify, and so in response, he trains his eye and his ear to be on high alert. The only other noises are the intermittent drip drip drips of water from the roof of the cave landing in the pools below – pools, because the deeper into the cave, the more shallow it becomes, until there is no more depth for you to stay submerged in.

Kylo looks at you, and you blink, the light from your eyes blipping momentarily. You turn your gaze towards the chasm before you, your eyes a lantern of their own for Kylo to see by. He doesn’t want to part from you, but he knows that when he returns, you will never have to part again.

“You must not dawdle, it must be fast.” You murmur softly, not looking at him, looking instead at the chasm, your voice taking on a strange quality that he cannot place. It sounds too familiar, like the way it had all garbled under the water when you saved him from drowning. The hair on the back of his neck does not go down. “Get in, grab the medallion – and only the medallion -- and get out.”

“Why?” He can’t help but ask, the pet-name slipping out of his mouth before he can think to ask if it’s alright, “Darling, what will I find in that cave?”

You still do not look at him, your gaze unwavering, unchanging. It is more unsettling than the rumbling, but Kylo doesn’t bring any attention to it. The medallion is in there, and you want it. You want it, and so Kylo will bring it to you.

“I do not know. Only, I have never seen anyone come back out, once they have gone inside.” You eventually say, quickly following up with, “You need not go, if you don’t think you are ready.”

There is no thought in his mind that Kylo would risk death for you, not know. In many ways, he has spent the last two decades living on borrowed time. In many ways, he has been a dead man walking for half of his life. If he were to die in this cave, it would be a death long overdue, Kylo knows.

“I have trained for twenty years to be ready. There is nothing more I could do to prepare me, if I fail now, I will have failed another twenty years ahead.” Kylo dismisses the idea of turning back now as quickly as you have offered it, pulling his sword out of its sheath which is strapped to his hip.

The metal glints from the light of your eyes, for they have finally turned to face him, the full effect of their glow making him feel as thought it were day, as if time had stood still in a moment of lightning.

“You are strong, you will not fail.” You speak with reassurance, and with those parting words, he steps out of the shallow water and onto the slippery rock floor of the cave, his descent into the chasm begun.

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

The deeper into the cave Kylo goes, the colder it becomes.

Soon he is out of the scope of your powerful eyes, and has nothing but the feeling of his fingers brushing against the cave wall to guide him. His eye does its best to adjust, and he curses himself internally, for maybe if he had both his pupils, he could see better in the pitch black. His footing is careful, the floor is slippery. Even though his boots are meant to withstand such slide, he still takes caution to not step somewhere which will twist his ankle, which will buckle his knee, which will make him fall to depths he cannot see.

His ears are trained still, and he halts at every moment in which he hears something that could be a threat, pausing just for a second or two to ensure that he need not his sword nor his fists to protect himself. Every time, he decides he is safe. He does not let his guard down, but Kylo moves through the cave with a bit more confidence; clearly if something were to kill him, or present itself as a challenge at least, it would have done so by now.

And what’s more – light, up ahead! A gap in the ceiling allows the moonlight to shine through, the clouds which have covered it having moved along on their path across the sea. Never before has Kylo felt so grateful for the moon in all his years, and as he steps into the light that it shines, his eye widens at the sight before him.

Gold, mountains of it. Piles taller than he stands, and oh does he stand tall. Glittering twinkling gold, but wait, no, not just gold, jewels too, diamonds and rubies and emeralds, pearls and strings of precious beads. It surrounds him, overwhelms him, blinds him with how brightly gold it shines. Where could it be, the medallion? Kylo tries to think, tries to strategize. It couldn’t be thrown in among the piles, no, whomever had stolen it from his precious mermaid would have known how important it is.

And so Kylo ignores the riches around him altogether, knowing that time is of the essence. He is careful to step around the piles, around and around them all, forcing himself to stay on task. The medallion, he is here for your medallion. He wishes he had asked for more of a detailed explanation, because he soon realizes that fuck, there are possibly a thousand medallions here.

Taking a moment, he sighs, turns in a circle, careful of his footing. It has to be somewhere obvious, he decides. Pirates are not that smart, and they certainly have a flair for the dramatics. Whomever stole it would want all to see it, would want all to know just how –

There! Up upon a pedestal made of rock, that must be it! A large circular disc of gold laced through a black chord rests propped up in direct line of the moonlight. It glows softly, ever so slightly, a golden pulsating light that draws Kylo towards it.

“There you are.” He whispers, his eye growing wide, filling with the golden light. There is a symbol, possibly writing in a language Kylo does not recognize, etched into it, that glows and glows and glows brighter as Kylo comes nearer.

He reaches a hand out but then quickly yanks it back. It could be a trap, what would he do if it is a trap? He chews at the inside of his cheek, hesitates for a moment. Looking up and all around for any signs of anything that could come crashing down, or shooting out at him from the sides, he waits.

Until he is certain that no such thing will happen, at which point he can wait no longer.

Holding his breath, his hand stretches up, fingers extended as far as they can go, for the rock pedestal is taller than he is even on his toes, and he does not exhale until he can feel the black cord nestled in his grip, and he pulls the medallion down.

…Nothing happens.

Suspicious, Kylo decides not to tempt fate. He has managed to escape death a second time, or at least, he will if he is able to return to you. Now that the medallion is in his hands, it glows so bright that the entire cave illuminates, and he can hear the faint echo of music, the very same music that has haunted his dreams. Your music, he realizes, and his heart beats knowing that he has done what you asked.

He is so pleased with himself, that as he climbs back down from the pedestal and passes through the piles and towers of gold and jewels, something catches the corner of his eye. A tiara, made entirely of gold and pearls, rests innocuously at his feet. It is carved into the shape of seashells, carved so well that if Kylo did not know of the wonders of goldsmiths, he would have assumed someone dipped the shells themselves in the soft metals.

“Well hello.” He bends down to inspect it, to get a closer look. Small golden chains with pearls beaded around it twinkle in the beam of light from the medallion.

The longer he stares at it, the more he notices; a tiny starfish here, a proud seahorse there, the mix of clam shells and snail shells, tusk shells and those spiraled ones which remind Kylo of the narwhals of the north – they are arranged so delicately, so carefully, that before Kylo can even think too much about it, he is reaching for it.

“You will look beautiful atop my darling’s head.” He is convinced of this, and he cannot see the harm in taking it, he is on his way out, he has obtained what he came for, there should be no issue here.

Oh, how wrong he is.

The moment his fingers touch the tiara, a sharp gust of wind bellows through the cave. It hurls towards him in a fury, in a rage, and even as he drops the tiara and lets it fall back onto the pile, it does not cease. The clouds return to cover the moon, or is it the ceiling of the cave itself is closing? He does not know, but he brandishes his sword in the low light, only the medallion’s incandescence giving him enough to see by.

The rushing wind draws the warmth from his bones, until he is chilled cold, frozen, fingers hurting as they clench around the hilt of his sword. He looks all around, ready to take on whatever may attack him, until the deep dark chuckle of his nightmares sounds around him, bounces against the walls in a way that Kylo cannot tell which direction to brace.

“Ickle Ben Solo, my how you’ve grown.” The voice muses, and Kylo freezes at the sound.

The impossible sound.

With clenched teeth, Kylo slowly turns, the hair on the back of his neck raising once more, the vein in his jaw throbbing with rage.

Captain Snoke, exactly as Kylo remembers him, stands in the middle of the cave. Face sunken in, long white beard, remorseless eyes squinting at him. The only difference from years ago and now, is that now, Kylo has grown taller, and when Snoke looks at him, he is forced to look up.

He knows this must be a trick of the cave, because all at once it hits him that the reason you conjured that storm was to kill him – him, the man with the white beard who snatched the medallion from your pretty neck. You had killed him, and yet here he is. Snoke is between Kylo and the exit, the just beyond where Kylo knows he will see the glow of your eyes once more.

This Snoke cannot be real, and so Kylo knows somewhere in the back of his mind that he could simply push his way past him and make way to you…but this is a chance Kylo will not pass up, and so with the medallion clutched in his hand he swings his saber and levels it directly at Snoke’s throat.

“Draw your sword.” The words snarl out of him in a grimace, as the rage of nearly three hundred fallen crew members sing through him.

At once, Snoke’s sword is conjured up out of thin air, and parrying Kylo’s away, shoving with a force much stronger than Kylo would have expected.

“I am but an old man, I cannae do nothin’ ta harm ye now.” Snoke taunts and teases, and Kylo spits at his feet, unable to hold back any longer.

“You lying cheating conniving bastard – I’ll kill you!” He lunges forward, poised to attack, his sword coming up to clang immediately and clash with Snoke’s.

It is regrettable, he thinks, that Snoke was the one who taught him how to fight, because the man can anticipate his moves. However, he only taught Kylo the basics, and in this regard, Kylo finds himself feeling lucky, feeling emboldened to push back harder, meaner, as he swings his sword, making sparks fly.

He manages to make a combination of moves which catch Snoke off-guard enough that he stumbles backwards, and this angers the old man, whose jaw clenches all his own.  

“If it’s a fight yer after,” He sounds strange, his voice echoing throughout the cave as he backs away, “It’s a fight you’ll get.”

Kylo will not let him get away, not the way he had last time, not the way he had snuck out in the night when he knew no one could catch him. He immediately runs after Snoke, chases him down down down back the way he came, further and further from the entrance.

As he runs, he realizes that there are things moving around him, and he nearly trips as a hand encloses around his ankle.

Out from the piles of gold slither the bodies of men who had been trapped, ensnared by the cave, men who had died unpleasant, undignified deaths. Kylo cannot be bothered with them, he must get to Snoke – he will get to Snoke, so he slices his sword through the limbs of the men who have fallen, failed on a quest of their own. He hacks away at them without care, does not look back when they collapse and clutch at their bleeding wrists.

They swarm around him, and Kylo can do nothing but kill them as they come crawling out from the depths of the cave, scores of them moaning and groaning, dying all over again. Kylo kicks their teeth in, stabs them through the heart, shoves them away from him even as they claw and cling to him, tearing his clothes, ripping at his shirt and his breeches, trying to grab the sword out of his hand.

Their long blackened fingernails scratch at his flesh, and he has to resist the urge not to be sick with the decay he finds in their faces as he punches and hacks his way through them.

It is suffocating, but Kylo grabs at the medallion almost on accident, and he does not know how, but a pulse of light shocks out of it and knocks them all away. The golden pulse from the medallion, from the symbol which now has morphed and changed into something else entirely, is protecting him, and he does not waste the time it allows him.

Snoke’s laughter guides him, and Kylo chases until there is nowhere left to run. On a tall bridge of rock, Kylo and Snoke find themselves engaged in battle, meeting one another sword for sword, grunts and groans of effort spilling out of their lips.

“This is for Vicrul,” Kylo shouts, as he pushes forward, forces Snoke backwards. The old man’s eyes widen before he frowns, realizing the bridge is becoming more and more narrow, “And this is for Cardo!”

Snoke fights back, their swords locked, shooting sparks all around as they meet clash for clash. Snoke’s footwork is light, he is fast for a man of such age. He manages to slice Kylo’s arm, slicing straight through the fabric. Kylo bleeds, and that pain only eggs him on, a lesson he had learned many a year ago – the pain fueling his rage.

“For Trudgen, and Ushar!” Kylo’s voice is loud, grows louder and louder as the blood rushes down his forearm, staining his shirt and dripping around his clenched fist, staining the metal of his sword as they meet time and time again, as Kylo gains the advantage.

“Ben wait –" Snoke calls him by that name again, and Kylo can only growl loudly with the rage of it all, for how dare Kylo disrespect him now?

“For Kuruk and Ap’lek.” Kylo continues, before managing to fling Snoke’s sword away from his hand, managing to send it flying all the way down a deep trench, water rushing through the cave below them.

Kylo can hear it when it hits against the rocks a thousand feet away, and suddenly gets the strongest urge to hear that sound again, although with Snoke’s head instead of his sword. Like the coward he is, Snoke backs himself up as far as he can go, until he is teetering on the precipe of the edge, on the very last foothold he has.

Kylo lunges after him, letting out a shout of rage as he runs his old captain through with his sword, cutting out the bitter shriveled blackened heart. Kylo holds it in his hand, squeezes any possible remains of life left there and drops it.

Snoke’s eyes widen, almost in shock, for even in death he had not been so injured.

He does not bleed the way Kylo is, but that does not mean that he cannot hurt.

“And this, Captain,” Kylo’s face shakes with rage, as he grabs Snoke by the throat and hoists him high up off his feet, dangling his body right over the trench, “Is for me.”

Snoke opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it is is lost in the scream that spills from his lips as Kylo not only drops him, no not something so careless as that – he throws Snoke down the trench, the glow of the medallion giving Kylo the ability to watch him fall.

He is reminded then, of how it felt to sink to the bottom of the ocean thanks to his carelessness, his cowardice. He hopes that Snoke receives no such mercy, as the one you had shown him that day.

You! He must get back to you, he must –

There is another rumble, from beyond the cave. Kylo startles, as the bridge beneath him begins to shake, and he realizes that the bridge is beginning to collapse.

No, not just the bridge, but the entire cave.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Kylo runs, his boots carrying him as fast as he can go, the medallion glowing and pulsating, music guiding him through the dark, slipping and skidding on the wet rock, Kylo runs. He is chased by large rocks which fall from the ceiling, falling onto his head and only just barely missing. If one were to pin him down, it would surely kill him.

He doesn’t realize how deep into the cave he had gone, until he can finally see the white light of your eyes, and your scream for him to hurry, after what feels like an age of running, his limbs burning, legs and lungs sore from the speed of it all.

“Kylo!” You rejoice, joy thrilling through your body as you reach for him, arms extended and a great big grin on your face.

“I did it, darling my darling I did it!” Kylo shouts at you from the mouth of the cave, outrunning its demise, outrunning his death once more.

“My handsome man, I knew you could do it, I knew you could!” You reach reach reach for his hands, and the second he grabs you, you yank him to your chest and your powerful tail propels you forward faster than his legs could ever run, as you carry him to safety once again, laughing all the while, “I knew you could!”  

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

When at last before my ghostly shipmates I stand

I shed a small tear for my home upon land              

Though their eyes speak of depths filled with struggle and strife

Their smiles below say I don't owe them my life

As the souls of the dead fill the space of my eyes

And my boat listed over and tried to capsize

I'm this far from drowning, this far from the sea,

I remember the living do they think of me,

When my bones in the ocean forever will be

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

The rowboat reaches the side of the ship, and it rocks for a moment as you hoist yourself inside of it. Your body takes up much of the space, or rather, your tail does, and Kylo cannot stop looking looking looking at you, the thrill of victory, of success, coursing through his veins. There is just one problem – he cannot lift the rowboat from down here.

Thankfully, a lantern sticks over the side of the ship, followed soon thereafter by an inquiring head, belonging to Kylo’s First Mate. He is conflicted at once – he wants to revel in the satisfaction of being correct all these years, but he wants to protect you more, and he is unsure of what Victoria will do now that you are so close.

“You are real!” Victoria says in a loud-whisper, smacking a hand over her mouth for a moment or two.

You wave up to her, a knowing smile on your face, and Kylo’s cheek burn. He is embarrassed, because now you know he has told everyone of importance about you, that he has bragged about you, that he has sang your praises. Giving his hand a tight squeeze, your fin slaps against the rowboat, and that is signal enough that Victoria needs, to send down the ropes.

Once the rowboat is hitched and lifted up out of the water, you slip the medallion around your neck, and immediately it glows a bright gold, brighter even than the white of your eyes, which now fade to the beautiful natural color of your irises.

Kylo is still unsure though, still not certain how this will help you, even as the medallion glows and glows.

“What does it do -- ?” Victoria has the same thoughts as Kylo, the same questions, but both of their thoughts are interrupted by the golden light which glows larger and larger, encompasses your body.

You rise up into the air, and Kylo is hesitant to let go. He knows he must, so he does, and instantly regrets not being able to hold your palm against his own. He steps onto the deck of the boat where it is sturdy and safe, and watches as some otherworldly magic you wield spins around your tail.

Suddenly, there is a great flash of light, and your fin begins to morph and split into two legs, two human legs; thighs and knees and calves and ankles and even feet and toes. Kylo cannot believe it, Victoria blinks and has to shield her eyes from the brightness of it all, but it is not long after that the glow fades, and you are gently lowered by your magic onto the deck.

Kylo’s arms are there for you at once, your naked body bracing itself in his embrace. Although there is no one on the deck who is awake aside from the three of you, he still wishes to shield your body from sight, a protective possessive simmer bubbling up in his chest. It also does not help that it has been a long time since you stood upon human legs, and he does not want to risk you falling, not now, not ever. He will never let harm come to you again, not as commander of the seas.

“Incredible,” He whispers, kissing your face, holding you tight while you get your footing, “You’re beautiful.”

“You keep saying that.” You laugh, your hair spilling over one shoulder as your arms loop around Kylo’s neck. You smile at him so radiantly, that it could have been high noon for all Kylo knew.

“It is the truth, I will continue to say it until the day I die.” He leans in to kiss you once more.

When his mouth opens for yours and he begins to hum against your tongue, Victoria clears her throat rather loudly, and scratches the side of her face awkwardly. You break apart only enough for him to shoot her a harsh glare for ruining the moment, but Victoria only rolls her eyes.

“Show her your cabin, Captain.” She says with no hint of subtlety, “I daresay she will be eager to see it.”

Kylo looks at you, and your pupils grow wide wide wide in the dark, and he knows you are eager indeed.

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

Kylo has never given much thought to his quarters, not until this very moment. Of course he knew what he had and he knew the degree to which his nice things were nice, but he never had wondered what you might think of them – or if they would be of any consequence to you at all.

It was a long room right at the very port of the Silencer, a vast open area split off into smaller sections by way of furniture arrangement. The floors were all covered with handwoven Persian rugs, the windows draped with fine linens. Up against the windows at the far back of the room was his large mahogany work table and chairs with plush velvet cushions, where he held meeting with the higher members of the crew. Along the wall were various chests and bureaus which housed his clothing, all carved with intricate designs and all having brass handles and clasps. Towards the front was his bathing area, a grand tub and all sorts of implements to improve his hygiene – he abhorred the idea that a pirate need be a filthy man.

And finally, off to the other wall, sat a grand canopy bed, with curtains which could be pulled shut to prevent any light from seeping through, should he want to sleep in on one particular morning or another. The bed frame was gold, inlaid with jewels, carved and decorated to tell the tale of a mermaid saving a young boy.

He waits for you to make the first move. He wants you, desperately, terribly, but he will not push, will not do anything which you do not explicitly ask for. He does not want to pressure you in any way. He has waited for you for twenty years, he could wait longer if you asked – as long as you are here, he doesn’t care.

But he doesn’t have to wait, for you have already laid yourself down in his bed, your arms spread out as your legs rub against the soft blankets, one finger beckoning him to join you. It does not take anything more for him to shed his clothes and do just that.

Kylo’s skin is still slightly wet from the cave, but if there is a chill that washes over him from being so exposed, he doesn’t pay it any attention. You are watching him curiously, your eyes trailing up and down his body as he steps towards you, climbs his way up the bed.

Immediately, your arms open for him, and he settles himself above you, kisses at the warmth of your throat as your hands find their way into his hair.

“Do you prefer me this way?” You muse playfully, rubbing your foot against the back of his calf, making him shiver shudder gasp with anticipation, continuing, “With legs, like you have?”

Kylo continues to kiss your neck, to worry his lips along the muscles there, grazing the gold-capped edges of his teeth up and down, making you shudder in return. He cannot describe the thrill that fills him with, knowing he affects you so.

“I prefer you either way, although I will admit, there is so much we can do like this.” He whispers, finding some way to broach the subject, the subject of his desire, his lust for you. God he wants to fuck you, wants it so badly that one of his hands wanders down to your lower stomach, asking with a silent hesitation for permission.

You grin and nod, and Kylo sucks in a breath, lets his fingers dip down lower, until they are brushing through the hair that has replaced your scales, pushing between your folds, your legs falling open and welcoming him. At once, you hum out a longing moan, a sound that Kylo has to chase, simply has to. He crooks two inside your pussy, revels slowly, softly, in the way that your body reacts.

“Aye, now the question becomes, do you have the stamina to do everything I want?” You chuckle as his lips part from the sensation of how wet you are, wet in every sense of the word. Kylo has large hands and thick fingers, but somehow your cunt takes him with ease, welcomes him and sucks him deeper.

Pulling back ever so slightly, Kylo looks up at you, his fingers busying themselves with working you open, pushing and rubbing through your folds, your pussy dripping around his knuckles. It makes his mouth water, makes him have to swallow hard, especially when your pupils darken and grow wide with lust of your own.

“You’ve – you mean to say you have experience?” He doesn’t know why this shocks him, Kylo certainly was no virgin.

“I’m nine hundred years old, I daresay I have more experience than everyone on your ship, O Captain.” You laugh, and something about the laughter bubbles anger inside him, makes his face harden.

He knows he’s a hypocrite, he knows. He’s fucked women all over the world, taken his pleasures from helping hands on more than one occasion. He knows that you must have done the same, so why does he get so possessive? Why does he get so immediately blood-thirsty? He has to fight the desire to rip heads off of necks, to hunt down those who did not deserve you – hell he almost stops fingering you from the sheer rage that stings the back of his throat like bile.

“Ohh does that make you jealous? That others have had a taste of me?” You notice, cupping his cheeks and kissing him sweetly, legs curling around his waist, voice deceptively calm as you whisper into his mouth, “Don’t be, you should know I killed them all right after.”

That makes his cock twitch, appeals to the primal side of his brain which had already begun to plot. You simply grin, turned on further by the way he is so ready to kill for you.  

“Good.” He very nearly snarls, thrusting another finger to join the two that have already found comfort in your pussy, deciding that he would show you just how much better he could make you feel, than all those others combined.  

With three fingers in, and his thumb on your clit, Kylo kisses you passionately, swallows down the mewls of pleasure and little hiccuped gasps that he elicits from your throat. His eyes are pinched shut because you are too beautiful, it hurts him to look into your gaze the same way that he has always been warned not to stare into the sun. But he doesn’t need his eye to see you when he can feel the way your body undulates and rocks underneath him, the pulsating warmth of your flesh sending goosebumps of pleasure rippling down his spine.

When he’s decided that you’re good and ready, when you’re stretched out enough to accommodate him, he sucks those fingers into his mouth to chance the taste of you. It is beyond that which Kylo could have ever dreamed, and spit strings off his rings when he hoists your leg up enough to properly thrust his cock through those warm plush folds.

“Fuck,” Kylo grunts unexpectedly, as the angle allows him to shove his way through with ease, the fingering having relaxed you enough to take him. But only just enough, it would seem, for despite the attention, you still are tight, and Kylo is sure that he could die like this and die a happy man.

Kylo’s body sings at the contact, at the vice-like hold your cunt has on his thick throbbing cock, and he pushes it deeper deeper deeper still inside you, not stopping until he bottoms out completely, not stopping until he has stuffed you full of his hot hard length, not stopping until your mouth drops open with surprise.

Smirking, Kylo positions himself in a way that he can support his weight and pull back, hips pistoning hard and fast all at once, making the bed creak louder than the rocking ship. He has decided he will never fuck again, if he cannot fuck you – he is ruined for anyone else, ruined in the way you push your pelvis up to meet him thrust for thrust, giving him as good as you get.

“Kylo – oh yes, yes! Take me, give me everything Kylo, give it to me.” You gasp, one of your hands digging into the scarred meat of his back, the flexing muscle of his shoulders moving under your palm.

The praise makes him moan, a deep rumbling purr in his chest that you exploit, a litany of yesyesKyloyou’resogoodgoodgood dropping from your lips, spurring him on, making his pride and cock throb, his hips rolling against yours, balls smacking harsh on your flesh as he clamps his teeth down onto your shoulder.

“Stars above, oh God – you’re beautiful, so beautiful.” He chants, feeling and savoring the way his cock spears through the tight wet velvet heat of your pussy, better than anything he has ever felt, clenching around him perfectly, fluttering and pulsing against his engorged veins and swollen head.

Your back arches underneath him, pushing your breasts with perked swollen nipples right into his face as he bends himself down to meet them, desperate to latch his tongue to your chest and suck. You moan moan moan, and he does not hold back the grunts of his own, the low noises from the back of his throat that muffle against your flesh as he suckles and licks the salty sweat off your skin, cock never once breaking in its rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck that’s good.” You pant, your body bouncing on the mattress, letting yourself go, letting yourself be moved this way and that for Kylo to pleasure you as he sees fit. Your eyes roll back into your head, your teeth bite at your lower lip, and Kylo can hear the way your pulse flutters from his spot on your breast.

“You like my cock?” He laves his tongue over your nipples one at a time, pinches at them with his lips, eager and ecstatic that he is making you feel this way.

“Yes!” You sigh loudly, no regard whatsoever for his crew – he doesn’t care either, in fact your volume makes him grow bold, grow demanding.

“Tell me how much.” He orders, shifting your positions so that he can take one of your legs and stretch it up up up over his shoulder, ankle resting near his ear, fucking into you hard and fast, so fast that his own voice shakes, “I want to hear you say it, say how much you like getting fucked by my big cock.”

You laugh, not at him but in sheer simple bliss, arms thrown over your head, hands tangling in the sheets. The moonlight shines on your body as he fucks into you, listens to the squelch of your cunt as it drips and drools on his cock, your tongue doing its best to stay in your mouth as you take the pounding he gives you.

“Kylo! It’s so big, I – oh fuck, oh! I’m so full!” You moan and whine, voice high and loud and music to his ears, as you hiccup and giggle out of your mind, especially when his thumb falls on your swollen clit, begging for attention.

The dark curling possessive feeling floods through him then, wanting you like this all the time, wanting you happy and pleased, wanting to be the man which gives it to you. The medallion practically smacks against your chest, and he grabs a hold of it in his hand so that your pretty skin won’t be marked by bruises that he does not give you.

“I’ll fill you up, fill you right to the fucking brim,” Kylo growls -- seethes, “I’ll knock you up and pamper you and make you come every day, coming on my cock and fingers and tongue – ”

It is then that he stops entirely, his hips halting at once, brain tripping up over his own words. You give him a whine and a light smack to his shoulder, protesting that he has stopped, especially when he pulls out. Before you can question him verbally though, he’s shuffling down the bed as fast as he can, pulling your folds apart with his golden clad thumbs and burying his face in place of his cock, his tongue stroking and sucking and thrusting through you.

“Oh!” You gasp happily, pleased with this attention, and Kylo’s arms wind underneath your thighs, your knees squeezing the sides of his head as he eats you out.

Kylo eats your pussy like a starving man confronted with his first meal – he is sloppy, he is aggressive, he is desperate. His nose prods up against your clit and rubs and bumps as he sucks you down, as he swallows the slick that pools on his tongue. You taste like the ocean but also like something otherworldly, and Kylo thinks that this is already replacing his most favorite of rums, the wine of your body far more addicting.

Keening each time you yank on his hair, Kylo kisses and makes out with your pussy, tears welling up in his eyes from the sheer overstimulation of his scalp and his cock, which ruts against the sheets. The laundry boys will kill him, he just had the sheets washed not two days ago, but he doesn’t care. 

A grosser part of him thinks he will never have his sheets washed again, but as he drinks down your slick and moans and pants into your pussy, he thinks no, he wants nothing but the cleanest bed for you to be fucked on. You deserve nothing but the best, and his hands clench into fists as he groans out the sheer desire to give it to you.

In the back of his head, Kylo knows that this cannot last forever, and a sharp pang of sorrow hits his heart, because he cannot think of anything more important than this – eating, drinking, sleeping, no, nothing compares to the way you sob on his tongue, sob with pleasure that has been denied to you for so long. 

His brain cannot make up its mind, whether he wants to bury his face as far between your legs as it can go, or his cock, and he wishes there were some way he could fuck you and taste you at the same time.

“Kylo, I’m going to come.” You warn with a shuddering moan, and that makes up his mind for him, for he wants to come alongside you, wants to come inside you, together.

So, regretfully he pulls away from your pretty pussy and gives your clit one last kiss, and pushes the head of his cock back into you, resuming the thrusting pace he had built, feeling how his cock has to work hard to shove itself into you, your cunt tight tight tight.

“Will – can – where -- ?” He feels like a fool for the loss of his words, but you, even blissed out the way that you are, you understand what he’s trying to ask.

“Come in me, handsome, fill me up like you promised.” You order, and though he has proven himself to be stronger than any man alive, he is weak for the tone of your voice.

That heating warming desperate coil of pleasure winds winds winds up in his stomach, until it is shooting out of his cock in throbbing pulsing ropes of hot come, spreading through your cunt, dumping his load as your body comes and shudders and shakes around him, your thighs trembling, toes curling, back arching clean off the mattress. He pants and gasps for breath as he curses long and low in his chest, pumping the last few thrusts of his hips against yours until his arms give out and he collapses down on top of you.

The medallion glows gold, sends a pulse of light across the ocean – you are grinning so wide and so beautifully that Kylo knows whatever has just happened between the two of you, is only the beginning.

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

Now that I'm staring down at the darkest abyss

I'm not sure what I want but I don't think it's this

As my comrades call to stand fast and forge on

I make sail for the dawn 'til the darkness has gone

As the souls of the dead live for'er in my mind

As I live all the years that they left me behind

I'll stay on the shore but still gaze at the sea

I remember the fallen and they think of me

For our souls in the ocean together will be

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

The sweat cools on the both of your bodies for a long while, and still, somehow, Kylo feels like he is in a dream.

The Silencer creaks and groans gently in the night as he traces patterns across your back, little looping nothings that have you humming softly. Your legs are twined through his, braided like the rope which hoists his sails, and he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating, even in the calm. You must, you have to be, for you are tucked up against his broad chest, your cheek nestled into one of his pecs, your arm curled around his thick waist.

What he wouldn’t give to have both eyes again, to be able to see you the way he wishes he could.

It is surreal to think that you are here, after so long. After twenty years of the world thinking him crazy, not only has he proved them all wrong, but he has proven himself to you. You wear the medallion around your neck, the very same medallion which was stolen from you so long ago, by the very captain that once tried to steal Kylo’s life.

Now he was gone, and you are here, and he has just fucked you through nearly to sunrise, and he thinks if he had but a small glass of something to drink, he could have the strength to fuck you some more.

“I have never felt more complete, than I do in this moment.” He confesses, looks down at you. You meet his gaze, and your irises grow huge in the low light. He leans in to kiss your forehead, his hand rubbing your back up and down, “I cannot believe at long last I have found you.”

You sigh happily, so happily in fact, that the scales on your hip begin to shimmer and glow, and Kylo thinks he would kill Snoke a thousand times over, if it meant he could have you so calm, so at ease.

“I thought about you all the while, heard stories about you across the deep. I am so proud of the man, the terror you have become, my Kylo, handsome Kylo.” You whisper, kissing the spot underneath his chin, where his scar drags across his throat.

Suddenly, he grows panicked, his arms tighten around your body, because he does not know the extent to your visit, he does not know if you only are granting him this one night. He holds you tightly and you hum with a question in your tone, making Kylo’s cheeks grow red hot with embarrassment and shame.

“You cannot go again, you cannot leave me. Please don’t – I’ll do anything, anything to stay together.” He clings to you, like the boy he once was, drowning and dying alone out at sea, the very sea which he now commands, which he now holds in an iron grip.

“’Anything’ is a dangerous word to be said to a mermaid.” You tease him the very same way you had teased him then, but this time Kylo knows what he’s asking for, and oh how he has waited so long to ask it.

“I meant it before, and I mean it now, I will not be apart from you again.” There is that deep baritone that has sent fear into the hearts of a thousand ships, and you grin at the sound of it, pulling your bodies flush together.

“You won’t have to, handsome.” Licking your lips, you allow him to tilt your chin up.

“Let me kiss you?” He asks, and he asks it so sweetly that you don’t even have the time to answer, you’re already nuzzling your nose against his, already rubbing at his lips with yours.  

The kiss, much like the ones from seemingly an eon ago – or was it only a few hours? – begins as a chaste nothing and works its way into being something passionate, something heated. It is in this kiss, that Kylo knows now wherever you go, so too he will follow, even if that’s to the very edge of the Earth, down to the very pits of the deep.

As he closes his eyes and kisses you once more, his hands cradle your head and holds you tight to his body. He worries you’ll burst into seafoam or stars, worries that now that he isn’t looking at you, you’ll disappear. His pulse jumps because of it, pounds in his throat so strongly that he thinks he might be ill – but you’re here still, he knows it, he feels the press of your lips against his own.

Kylo opens his mouth, and you slip your tongue through, making him melt and groan deep in the back of his throat, his hands clutching at your naked body, your scales shimmering in the moonlight that pours in through his cabin window. This medallion, the one which has granted you your legs once again, glows golden. He can see the burn of the symbol behind his eyelid, as you push yourself to straddle his waist, to pin him down to the mattress.

“Fuck!” He feels the white hot brand of the medallion then suddenly, and his shouts of pain are swallowed down your throat, you shush and soothe him with your otherworldly touch, even as something hot hot hot courses through his veins.

You have done something to him, something that he doesn’t know, doesn’t dare to ask. He trusts you, wholly and completely he trusts you – you have never given him reason to doubt, so he doesn’t, not even now.

You kiss and kiss and kiss and he doesn’t realize the ship is sinking, doesn’t realize that twenty foot waves have spilled over the side of the Silencer. He doesn’t hear the alarm bells or the shouts of his crew, he doesn’t care about anything else besides you. No, he sucks the air from your breath until there’s salt water in his lungs, but he doesn’t choke, he doesn’t splutter, he lets himself be pulled down down down, your hands in his hair, his arms around your waist as your legs disappear.

There is music then, music all around, inside his body and out, and he wonders if this is the ballad of the sea, of the souls you have claimed, the souls he has stolen at the hand of his sword. Kylo can feel them, their presence, in the in-between, calling and reaching out to him in a tearful melody, but knows he will not be joining them. Kuruk, Ushar, Ap’lek and Trudgen, Cardo and Vicrul’s faces all ghostly images of their younger selves, so young and fit that Kylo nearly doesn’t recognize them.

He regards them with a mournful eye but they shake their heads, not a single one of them angry. They don’t want him to join, Kylo realizes, they don’t feel betrayed that Kylo has lived while they have died. He makes them a promise, sends out the thought through the sea, that he’ll live out the years they had stolen as best as he can, and this is enough for them to stop haunting his dreams. To the tune of the music they dance and sing off into the ether, freed from the shackles of the in-between, finally free once more.

And then he realizes the music is coming from you, a siren song that fills his ears and his eyes and his very heart, it is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard, and he is filled with an euphoria unlike that he had ever known, because he realizes he gets to listen to it forever. Kylo had once asked if you were an angel, and you had said no – now he knows better, he knows what you are; you are heaven herself.

“We’ll be together forever like this.” He hears you say, your voice distorted and watery as your teeth grow sharp, as your hair grows long, flows about your head in a death defying halo. “Not a single man alive could harm you now. You’ll remain like this forever, just as you are, with me by your side.”

Kylo should be afraid, he knows this, he knows he should – but how can he be when you’re holding his hands and kissing his palms? How can he be when he opens his eyes and he finally breathes, a sucking sharp gasp of the ocean that fills him up? 

He cannot explain it, but he is transformed into something, something otherworldly just the same way that you are. He looks the same, but he can feel it inside his body and inside his mind, as the medallion glows and so too does the brand on his chest, marked forever by a mermaid’s kiss.

But instead of that kiss sending him to the Locker or a watery grave, he keeps his lungs open and he remains unafraid, as you smile with too many teeth in your mouth, you laugh and you cheer and you sing so very loud. And when he blinks he sees you crystal clear through both of his eyes, you grasp for his hands and he knows now he can’t die, his ship sails under the water manned by his crew, who too look completely unchanged.

You swim above the ship and perch yourself atop the masthead, the breaking light of dawn shines down through the waves, making the watery world feel like an elixir of life, of immortal dreams come true. Kylo chases you, with strong limbs he climbs up up up the rigging of the ship to join you, and as he climbs, so too does the ship rise, until the Silencer breaks through the surface once more.

The crew rejoices, they dance in circles around the bilge pump and throw their hats in the air, the sunrise golden and beautiful as your fin smacks happily against the wood of the ship, laughter at the antics on deck. Kylo sets you in his lap there high above the water’s edge, and seagulls fly and call from the disturbance of the ship ascending from the depths.

“I love you.” He says it, says the words that he has been practicing inside his mind for decades, the words he has rehearsed in front of the mirror. He never thought he would have a chance to say them to you out loud. “I have loved you from the very first moment I saw you.”

It hits him then, the realization that Kylo will be able to say them to you forever.

“Why do you think I rescued you?” You beam at him, and he laughs, elated, that his feelings are returned.

Looping your arms around his neck, you kiss Kylo, salty and briny and bright. Kylo holds you in his lap tightly so that you don’t fall, one of his hands on your cheek, adoring, caressing. He leans his forehead against yours, and the medallion glows, and when he meets your grin it’s with a smile of his own, because he has given you his soul fathoms below.  

 I remember the fallen and they think of me,

For our souls in the ocean together will be.

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

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

Tagging some friends, as always if you’d ever like to be added or taken off the taglist, please visit the link in my description (if your tag isn’t working that means on the form you might have given me your sideblog @ instead of your main!) 

@mochabucky @sacklerscumrag  @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions  @direnightshade  @reyloaddict55  @thembohux  @kylorenswhxre  @sunflowersinthesnow  @babayagakeanu  @safarigirlsp  @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks  @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief​  @materialisthicc​  @drake-bells-waxed-penis @dutchiepie @slut-for-harri​  @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa 

[live-laugh-loverpool]

Happy New Year

Is this late? Yes. Do I care? No.

Tags: @millythegoat, @moomin279, @alissonbecksfan234, @rubybecker-rb2

Robertson laid upside down on the bed, staring at his alarm clock. He had set it to go off just before midnight, but if his plan worked out he wouldn’t need it.

His plan was to stay up until midnight to ring in the New Year. Considering his age it shouldn’t have been a problem. But “early to bed and early to rise” was his saying, and the Scot often found it hard to stay awake past eleven P.M. He’d fall asleep after the matches finished, and if he knew a match may extend past eleven, he’d sleep two hours more than usual. He guessed that was why Milner loved matches with extra time.

But 2022 had brought Robertson two trophies, the Scottish assists record, and MBE. And he fully intended to celebrate—past midnight.

It was three o’clock now, and the Liverpool New Year’s Eve party would start in a few hours. Robertson had skipped his FIFA session with Alexander-Arnold to try and catch some sleep, but nothing he tried could get him to take a nap. He’d stayed up late the night before worrying about if he’d stay up late tonight, and his sleep schedule was very thrown off.

 “I will stay awake,” he promised himself, pinching his cheek. “I will stay awake.”

Maybe Baccara will help me stay awake. Robertson connected his phone to the wireless speakers and clicked on his Spotify playlist. Disco music filled the room, and Robertson couldn’t help but dance in his seat.

A familiar face peered around the corner, wearing a distinctive scowl. It was James Milner, one of the most sarcastic and grumpiest members of the whole squad. He was also polar opposites with Robertson. He hated oatmeal cookies, he hated Scottish flags, he hated kilts…

To make a long story short, if Robertson liked something there was a good chance Milner hated it. In fact, there were very few things Milner actually liked. One of them was grouching the heck out of Robertson.

And this particular trait, the Scot thought, just may get me over the line.

“Milly, mate!” Robertson leapt off the bed, pouncing on Milner. “How are you? Like the music?”

He knew that Milner hated the music. But it wouldn’t hurt to get under his skin some more.

“Baccara? I hate that music,” Milner huffed. “What are you doing, lad? Everybody else is getting ready for the New Year’s party.”

“Trying to get some sleep,” Robertson confessed. “I want to stay up past midnight but we all know my problem with that.”

Milner snorted, turning off the speakers. “What if you turned off that god-awful music and then I show you how to really stay awake?”

Robertson shrugged, slipping his phone in his pocket and following Milner. “Okay.”

*

Milner didn’t like New Year’s at all. Why, nobody knew. Perhaps it was because the New Year was just as much of a dumpster fire as the old one.

Whatever the reason, Milner found this as the perfect opportunity to get Robertson to behave. If Robertson was busy working his butt off, he couldn’t get into mischief, which meant the Yorkshireman could finally get some much-craved peace and quiet.

So Milner dumped Robertson into the kitchen, where giant trays of mini-wieners and pre packaged pastry lay on the counters. They would soon become just one of the appetizers for the New Year’s party.

“I could use your help in the kitchen,” Nemmer said once Milner was gone. “I need to roll all these crescent wieners before three-thirty so I can get started on the crudités platters. I love parties, but it’s the food preparation that kills my feet.”

Robertson didn’t need to hear any more. He grabbed the giant pot of boiled chickpeas and the food processor, setting up one counter. “I’ll make the mummies. No, I meant lummus. No no no, I meant…”

“I get it.” Nemmer was already busy rolling the sixth crescent wiener. “Now get to it! We still have to mix the drinks.”

*

By the time Robertson finally left the kitchen, it was a quarter to five. The party would start at six-thirty, and everything seemed ready. The auditorium was decorated with gold, black and silver decorations, Tsimikas was in charge of the music—Milner had specifically made a “no original or rap songs” rule—and he had his outfit ready. He was going to twin with Alexander-Arnold, wearing matching black tuxedos and gold bowties.

He disappeared into the shower and came out feeling refreshed. He slipped into his tuxedo and shoes and started to strut out of the shower—until he realized he hadn’t shaved yet.

He reached for the set of razors that was supposed to be on the counter. His hand found nothing, and with a start he realized that the razors were gone.

Who could’ve stolen his razors? As far as Robertson knew everybody had their own. And they didn’t borrow each other’s razors either.

A small piece of paper caught his eye. Robertson pulled it out of the cabinet and found his razor, along with a note:

Remember to shave. Any facial hair kept past October is unlucky if you’re from the UK. Hope you fall asleep at 11:59. Milner.

Robertson shook his head in amusement, pocketing the note. Milner could really be a spoilsport sometimes.

*

“Isn't this exciting, Milly?” Robertson whisper-shouted into Milner’s ear. He and Milner lay on a blanket in the training pitch along with the rest of the team, watching the fireworks go off in the sky. “In my old team we’d never do this fun stuff.”

Milner rolled his eyes, elbowing him. Robertson took it as a sign of affection. “I must admit, this isn’t too bad.”

“Ready for the big ones?” Kornmayer asked, setting up the cannons. Everyone had received a welcome surprise when the assistant manager revealed that he had a license to work with pyrotechnics. “Let’s hear it for the New Year!”

Robertson could feel himself dozing off before they’d reached fifty seconds on the countdown. Just before he fell asleep, he felt a handful of snow getting shoved down his back.

The fireworks exploded, bursting in red and gold and silver. Among the cheers, one quiet, heavily accented voice stood out from all the rest.

“Happy New Year, Andy.”

[coochiequeens]

A man blew up a Women’s hospital, where new mothers and newborns are, why aren’t more people talking about why he chose that target?

The man who died when a homemade bomb exploded outside Liverpool Women's Hospital has been named by police as Emad Al Swealmeen.

The 32-year-old was a passenger in a taxi when his device blew up shortly before 11:00 GMT on Remembrance Sunday.

The driver David Perry escaped before the car caught fire and has since been discharged from hospital.

Four men have been arrested under the Terrorism Act and the UK terror threat level has been raised to "severe".

Officers believe Al Swealmeen lived at a house in Sutcliffe Street in the Kensington area of Liverpool, where counter-terrorism police officers carried out raids earlier.

Police said he had recently rented an address in Rutland Avenue, near Sefton Park in the city, which has also been searched by officers.

"Our focus is the Rutland Avenue address where we have continued to recover significant items," said Det Ch Insp Andrew Meeks, from Counter Terrorism Police North West.

"Any information that the public may have about Al Swealmeen no matter how small may be of great assistance to us."

Al Swealmeen is believed to have manufactured and brought the device into the taxi.

Police said he was picked up from the Rutland Avenue area and asked to be taken to the hospital, about 10 minutes away, before the bomb exploded.

He is not believed to have been known to MI5, according to BBC security correspondent Gordon Corera.

Four men have been arrested under terrorism laws in the Kensington area of Liverpool - three aged 21, 26 and 29, who were held on Sunday, and a 20-year-old man who was detained on Monday.

People detained under the Terrorism Act can be held without charge for up to 14 days.

Police said the arrested men were believed to be "associates" of Al Swealmeen.

The rise in the threat level is not based on specific intelligence of an ongoing threat in Liverpool.

Rather it is based on an overall assessment by the Joint Terrorism Analysis Centre.

They have looked at the fact that there have been two incidents in the last month - the killing of Sir David Amess MP and now Liverpool - and judged that the overall picture has changed.

It is not totally clear what the cause is - some speculate about people being inspired by international events, others wonder if it is to do with people emerging out of lockdown after having been radicalised online.

Earlier, police said Mr Perry had been released from hospital after being treated for his injuries. Posting on Facebook, the taxi driver's wife Rachel said he was "lucky to be alive". "The explosion happened whilst he was in the car and how he managed to escape is an utter miracle," she added. Police confirmed a controlled explosion had been carried out as a precaution in the Sefton Park area at about 16:00 on Monday as part of the investigation.

Home Secretary Priti Patel said the terror threat level had been raised from "substantial" to "severe", meaning an attack is "highly likely", because the explosion in Liverpool was the second incident in a month.

The death of Conservative MP Sir David Amess, who was stabbed multiple times during a meeting with his constituents in Essex on 15 October, has been treated as a terrorist incident by police.

Deputy Assistant Commissioner Matt Twist, one of Counter Terrorism Policing's senior national co-ordinators, said the change was a "precautionary measure and not based on any specific threat", adding that the public "should not be alarmed by this change".

Patients have been told to attend appointments at Liverpool Women's Hospital as normal.

The hospital's chief executive, Kathryn Thomson, paid tribute to "brave and dedicated" staff and emergency service workers but added the last two days had been "extremely upsetting and traumatising".

Did you witness what happened? Email haveyoursay@bbc.co.uk.

Please include a contact number if you are willing to speak to a BBC journalist. You can also get in touch in the following ways:

WhatsApp: +44 7756 165803 Or Upload your pictures/video here Tweet: @BBC_HaveYourSay Please read our terms & conditions and privacy policy

[mileswiston]

a liar, a thief, and utterly without conscience / / a miles self para

trigger warnings for the following: anxiety; criminal activity; kidnapping; illness (heart condition); injury; (allusions to) murder; violence

(i promise it’s not all that graphic, i am merely covering bases)

miles couldn’t help the strangled sound that slipped between his lips as his knees met the cold and unforgiving concrete. he supposed he should at least be grateful that he’d managed to catch himself before he landed flat on his face; with his arms bound behind his back it would’ve been quite the pathetic sight to behold, and he had an inkling that the burlap sack currently encasing his head wouldn’t have done all that much to cushion the fall. his anxiety was a five-alarm fire threatening to consume him, and the only thing keeping it even slightly at bay was his mind working overtime to keep all of his thoughts purely analytical. the facts were these: a little over fifty-three minutes ago, he’d been waylaid by nondescript thugs outside of the bakery and pushed into some sort of vehicle - a hackneyed windowless van, most likely - and transported to some clandestine location. if miles were to hazard an educated guess - and of course he would - he’d say that it was an abandoned warehouse somewhere in staten island. not exactly original. 

he closed his eyes, seeing as the things were currently useless anyway, and quietly sucked in a deep breath. it was fine. he was fine. they needed him. besides, they were all bark and no bite - he’d endured a similar ambush perpetrated by the crew back in liverpool, and the incident had been more of an immature hazing ritual than anything. this was simply another initiation into the grand fraternity of criminality, and miles was the newest reluctant recruit. 

the bag over his head was ripped away with a sudden, harsh motion, and the surprise of it combined with the unexpected proximity of a stranger caused miles to gasp and flinch away. his heart rate jumped at the abrupt return of one of his stolen senses, and he fought hard to control his breathing. calm down, his stuttering heart begged, please, you have to pull yourself together. 

once he felt like the organ wasn’t about to completely deteriorate if he made one wrong move, he took advantage of his newly regained sight to examine his surroundings. he was, indeed, in a warehouse - point one for miles. surrounding him were a handful of intense-looking but otherwise nondescript individuals, each holding weapons in a casual fashion that seemed to suggest that they suspected miles couldn’t pose any actual threat to them. he supposed he couldn’t blame them for that astute observation. directly in front of him was a makeshift desk hobbled together from old shipping crates, and behind it was a bored-looking man scribbling away at documents with a dear-looking fountain pen. for a moment the only sounds to be heard in the empty, echoing space were the jotting stylus and miles’ own shaky breaths. 

he cleared his desert-dry throat with some difficulty as he straightened his posture as best he could and directed his words at the man at the desk: “you needn’t have bothered with that, you know,” he said, nodding toward the burlap sack. he was quietly surprised at how characteristically level his voice was. the writer continued with his task, paying no mind to his prisoner’s flippant remark. really, miles, chided a disapproving little voice that sounded a bit like jackson, now is not the time for bravado. he ignored it and continued matter-of-factly, “you see, an oft-overlooked aspect of eidetic memory is a keen sense of direction, and -”

a nearby sentinel moved before miles could even sense it, jabbing a blunt instrument just below the younger man’s solar plexus. he choked out a wheezing cough and doubled over, very nearly losing his already precarious balance as he fought to regain his breathing. 

“it just - seems unnecessarily - cloak and dagger,” he managed to eke out before another fit of coughs wracked his scrawny frame, his torso practically horizontal to the cement floor. still fighting with the disorientation of having the wind quite literally knocked out of him, he barely registered the sound of approaching footsteps until a pair of shoes entered his line of sight. miles couldn’t tell you a single brand of any given item in his wardrobe, but the dearness of these seemed to radiate from every inch of the immaculate, shining leather. frivolous, miles vaguely thought, distastefully; anyone who wasted money on overpriced clothing was, in his book, absurdly vain and downright foppish. if the lavish loafers were meant as a show of intimidation, they’d missed their mark quite a bit. 

miles sucked in a sharp breath as he was abruptly yanked backward by the neck of his shirt, presumably by another hench-person - the physical coercion, however, was certainly making quite the impact. credit where it was due, and all. he reluctantly laid eyes on the captor looming over him, the older man tilting his head as if miles were a vaguely interesting painting, and the genius actively repressed a shudder. 

“d’you know who i am, boy?”

miles forced himself to make eye contact - a mean feat even in the best of times - and stare back at the person, finding himself immediately loathing the self-importance dripping from this ostentatious figure. his anxiety seemed to have momentarily fled, and in its place was a burning indignity. he continued to glower silently, refusing to respond, until another blow was dealt to his side. 

miles groaned and his breathing once again became shuddering and uneven, but he managed two words through the pain, the answer knocked off the tip of his tongue: “casper holt.”

casper smiled, a shark-like grin to match his black, lifeless eyes. “very good, miles - a gold star for you. it’s hard for you, isn’t it, not to answer a question that’s been posed to you.” a statement, not a question - a level of familiarity that sent a frigid chill through the captive’s veins. 

once again he remained silent, a hint of uneasiness forcing his scowl back a degree of intensity. casper holt was, to put it in layman’s terms, bad news. miles hadn’t even been certain that he was a real person, not simply a boogeyman made up of a whole collective of crooks and delinquents. and now it appeared that not only was he real, he was miles’ employer. fan. bloody. tastic. 

“i’ll spare you the theatrics,” holt said with a sigh, as if the mere idea of playing bond villain was utterly exhausting. “i’m sure you have a greek epic to translate, or something,” he said, waving a vague hand. “and me - i have an empire to oversee, don’t i? but i'm a very involved boss, miles. i’m also the human resources department. convenient, isn’t it? and i’ve noticed a certain - shall we say - lack of committment in your work. i just wanted us to have this little tete-a-tete,” he said, his voice casual even as he took a weapon from a nearby sentinel - some imposing sort of night stick that miles wasn’t in the frame of mind to identify - and used it to hook around the younger man’s neck. 

miles pressed his lips together, refusing to give holt the satisfaction of yet another pained noise - as if it mattered at this point. he’d bid adieu to any sense of poise or seemliness at the very beginning of this little misadventure. that last pathetic, battered little shred of pride shouldn’t have mattered, and yet he found himself wanting to cling to it. 

“so i’ll make this short and sweet,” holt was saying, and his voice did indeed take on a nearly saccarine tone. “if i find out that you’re purposefully stalling, or doing absolutely anything else to interfere with this operation, the consequences will be severe.” miles nearly flinched at the way the last word was spoken, more a growl than anything. 

“and i’m not talking reprimands here, miles. i’m talking about holly,” he said, holding up a finger on his free hand. “violet -” another finger. “freya, jackson, and dear, sweet mummy wiston.” all five of holt’s fingers were splayed by now, each representing someone miled cared about. the criminal raised an eyebrow at his captive before suddenly and pointedly forming a fist, squeezing and practically crushing his fingers together. “are you catching my drift here, miles?”

the genius had reverted back to glaring, the idea of any and all of those people getting hurt filling him with a rage that might have frightened him in any other context. 

“yes,” he finally replied, practically spitting the word. “unfortunately, i am.”

“good boy,” holt practically purred, and miles felt his face flush with heat, suddenly feeling himself capable of absolutely unspeakable things. “smart boy.” the bindings around his wrists were suddenly cut away, and holt cast a last, searching look over the younger man’s face before moving away. 

miles did fall forward then, managing to catch himself with numb and unsteady arms against the chilled and unyielding concrete. he didn’t know how long he stayed there, his sore body still curled in a defensive pose and his hands steadily losing any remaining feeling. he wasn’t even aware of the sounds of holt and his cronies filing out of the warehouse and leaving their former captive alone. miles wasn’t there anymore either, not really; he was trapped in the deepest recesses of his own mind, thinking back to that fateful day a decade previous when he’d thought he had made a friend. 

“we could sure use a smart fellow like you,” jordan had said with a smile - a smirk, actually, in hindsight. 

if only he had met their eyes, had seen how cold and deadened they were. holt’s had been like that, too. and now miles feared that the life would soon drain out of his own, one way or another.

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

and now a q & a with the author......

so, mar, you shadow and bone simp: do you think people aren’t already painfully aware that miles is just a watered-down kaz brekker?

different name tho :)

it’s the same character, mar. this is just a reimagining of the scene where pekka rollins threatens kaz.

that’s not a question :)

i’ll rephrase: you just like to see pretty boys beaten up and on their knees, don’t you? 

:))))))))))))))))

you’re really bad at description, huh? you used the word ‘nondescript’ twice to get out of describing anyone’s appearance

my only strength is dialogue :)

do you think red will ever forgive you?

nah </3

and you’re good with that?

yeah <3

[blindbatalex]

Is it greedy to ask for two in your ask thingy ?? A little combo of 7 & 8 with a side order of whatever pair you feel like writing ?

send me the way you said ily prompts!

not greedy at all -- carraville & “as a thank you” and “as an apology” set in this office au

“Look at the bright side.  This is probably the universe looking out for you and saving you from heartbreak,” his officemate says, swivelling in his chair, mouth practically at his ears in a Cheshire cat-like grin.

What would happen if Jamie set fire to his desk? Would he go to jail?  He would get fired certainly, but then maybe he could still make it to the pub in time for the kick-off so it wouldn’t be all that bad.  And any judge with a smidge of good sense ought to accept there are extenuating circumstances in play here—for one, Jamie had to come into the office due to a last minute, urgent client request on the day L.iverpool play in the C.hampions League final, an hour before kick-off, and that in itself is enough to justify arson.

“Look, are you planning to get any work done today or not?” he huffs.  

Gary has been at it since Jamie first stepped foot into the office some ten minutes ago.  All ‘isn’t it a wonderful Sunday to be alive, James’ and ‘that attitude is not very professional now, is it, James’.  He is being driven by pettiness and envy clearly, as he usually is—the bunch of tossers he calls his team didn’t even make it to Big Vase finals—but Jamie is also at his breaking point.  Even in their job with no concept of a work/life balance making someone work through a C.hampions League final has to count as a war crime, and on top of that he has to deal with this?

And besides—Gary is-

He has been looking at Jamie, watching Jamie, for the past ten minutes, and Jamie does not like being the centre of his laser focus.  It makes him feel naked even while wearing a suit.  

“Alright,” he declares now, and worse his smile looks- why does it look positively fond of all things now?  “I’ve had my fun.”

“Oh you did now, did you?”

Gary leans back in his chair and looks at the ceiling before his eyes find Jamie’s again.

“You are very lucky to be co-managing this team with such a wonderful and thoughtful person-”

“I’m sorry, is there a third manager on this project I don’t know?”

Gary laughs at that and Jamie dearly misses the days he had his own office before the firm came at them with this renovation crap and forced him into this shared, temporary office with Gary.

“You should get going if you are going to make kick-off.”

Now it’s Jamie’s turn to laugh, although—unlike Gary who is having the time of his life—Jamie’s laughter is bitter and hollow, like the wind blowing through a graveyard perhaps.  A graveyard of his hopes and dreams.

“And send an email to the boss on the way saying I quit?  I considered it.”

Gary studies him, savouring the moment.  It may be the euphoria of Jamie’s fate or the black-tee-and-jeans look but he does seem like a…different person almost to his weekday self.  Is this what he is always like on the weekends, may God help those poor souls that call him his friend?  They really ought to get started with the updates to the deck if they want to be out of here before 10pm.

“Jamie.  Your team is playing in the C.hampions League final.  Go get drunk with your mates.  I will cover for you—you cannot be expected to work today.”

Jamie blinks.

Gary has a heart?  Or perhaps he has been possessed?  Or more likely this is all an elaborate prank, stringing Jamie along just to have one final, massive laugh at his expense.  It doesn’t look like he is joking, though.  Huh.

“You mean it?”

Jamie ought to say ‘I couldn’t do that to you’ and ‘you’d be here until midnight,’ but it’s the C.hampions League final and his team is there and every cell in his body is screaming at him to drop everything and run without even waiting for confirmation, his heart already hammering in his chest.

Gary nods.

“Oh, I love you,” Jamie says halfway around Gary’s desk to throw him in a hug before he knows what he is doing.

Gary flinches back; his eyebrows are halfway up his forehead with alarm by the time Jamie has remembered himself and stopped.

Shit.  

They stare at each other very awkwardly for a second, before Jamie starts unbuttoning his shirt.  Gary’s alarm, initially increased tenfold, gives way to an exasperated ‘you’ve gotta be kidding me’, when the motion reveals a Liverpool jersey underneath.

Jamie stops with a foot out the door, guilt he has so desperately wanted to repress nibbling at his insides.

“Are you sure you will be alright managing the team?”

Gary will be here until late without Jamie to shoulder half the work.  Jamie could come back after the game but, sobriety has played no part in his plans for the rest of the day, nor does this building, ideally.

“Go.”

That’s all Jamie needs really.  He won’t ask a third time.

*

But he does poke his head in after he’s stepped out.  Gary looks up at him from his computer.

“I did mean it, you know,” Jamie says and adds very quickly, “I love you,” and then he turns around and leaves just as Gary’s left eye starts to twitch.

Why should Gary get to have all the fun at Jamie’s expense today, after all?

*

(L.iverpool lose.  When Jamie makes his way back to the office at 8.30pm, devastated and now sober, he finds a pastry box on his desk, and in it, a chocolate éclair.  “There is Pad Thai in the fridge if you haven’t eaten dinner yet,” Gary says, not looking up from his screen.  He doesn’t bring up the game, and Jamie thinks-)

(Does it matter what Jamie thinks, when they have at least another two hours of work to do, and the company has a policy against office romances?)

[sweetrosetta-martin]

I’ll always need you (John Lennon x reader)

Hey 💗

Im sorry I’m not too late as time zones and my computer keeps messing with me. I really hope you’ll enjoy it as I’m also sorry @towriteabetterlife if we did not get to know each other better. (This month has been as mess, but I send this christmas gift with all my love )🌼🎶

----

“Looking ahead, your day forecast for the 23rd of December consists of… Day  There will be a high of -5c, with the record low of -15 …….. Better bring a coat folks. There may also be a snowstorm in the afternoon, so you better stay tuned for others....”

“John are ya ready, stop messing with the radio”

Knocking at the door of your bedroom, you expect a well (as much as he possibly can be) groomed John Lennon, but the only response you get is one of his wistful comments

“Only if you want me to be”

“You have not even put your suit right.”

“...‘I've never enjoyed myself more in boxers.”

Any other night you would have laughed at his manners, but not tonight. After all, it was the annual Parlephone Christmas party, and being more than an hour late to your boyfriend's first ceremony was not on your plans. You wanted everything to be perfect for once, as this was probably one of the biggest steps in his career and making a good impression on his superior was essential.

After some minutes of waiting, he finally decides to open his door

“So how do I look”

He was wearing a sober yet well tailored gray suit. With it’s dark shades, straight lines and him wearing his glasses, John seemed way out of character. Yet somehow managed to be adorably handsome with his cheeky smile and disheveled hair. How could you stay annoyed at him?

“Like one of those men you deem to have dull jobs, "You smile at him, sticking your tongue as you come close, putting your arms around him and forcing him to sit on your boudoir. “Now pass me the brush will ya.”

As you softly brush his dark auburn hair, he suddenly puts his hand on yours.

“What if we stayed rather than pretending we are entertained by the words of some white collars snobs”

He turns his head, giving you a mischievous look.

“But this is not supposed to be an important-"

Before you can continue, he interrupts your rant with a sweet kiss.

“Let’s Macca handle all that posh talk he’s so good at shall we.”

You could not resist him as he leads you close to his bed.

“I’ll go to get some food then.”

“I still think we have some unfinished business don’t we miss “(y/n)”

-^-^-^-^-^-

“Well… At least we are not trapped at the party right?”

Getting up from his side, you notice that your vision could not be one of more than 2 meters outside. The snow seemed to have appeared suddenly, and the idea of going for some dinner was now out of the question. Yet your tummy was not on the same page.

“Yeah but with something to bite”

You drowsily put on some more comfortable clothing and head to the kitchen. John follows you, not without poking your back, as you both walk. He’s always more touchy and needy than he’d ever admit to the lads.

Now searching through the counters and fridge, you only found yourselves with some milk and single egg, the rest being long gone. Your stomach grumbles once more

“Hey (y/n) I’m sure we’ll be able to", he looks unsurely at counter,”manage something edible.”

That’s when the idea suddenly hits you.

“Mmm didn't George buy that flour for the bloody cookies he ate almost by himself?"

He seems to catch on your plan, as he picks up some sugar and butter from the dinner table.

“Well, then what are we waiting for?"

^-^-^-^-^-^

“Mom is surely a genius to figure this by herself,” you think as you try to stir all the ingredients at the time.

Owning no cooking book, you had to invent the measurements yourself and this was proving no easy task. The mix becoming to liquid or sticky at each try

“Trial number five… Are you ready Johnny”

“You know that I love you (y/n) but if aunt Mimi saw you at the kitchen she probably would not have let you put a foot on her house.”

He was holding the cutting board he’d be using for the last minutes as a protection of all the dough flying in the air.

“Well… Here we go.”

You close one eye as you put the mixer on the bowl, hoping that this time it would work.

Surprisingly enough, both you and what has stayed clean on the counter suffered no collateral damage. This time it has worked.

“I did it?”

“You did it?”

He sticks his finger to take a taste and by his satisfied looks you knew you were on the right path.

“I always believed on your marvelous cooking skills you know that darling,”

“Tell me about it”

Slowly shaking his head, he ruffles your already messy hair as he disappears to the living room.

“You know there’s still one step right.”

“Not for me if there is no other music besides that bloody machine”

As you finish placing the cookies on the tray and preparing the oven, a sweet Holly melody fills your ears and some arms embrace you from the back.

John has never been the most confident dancer, but the way he tossed his head from one side to the other always made you smile.

“Well, that'll be the day when you say goodbye.

Yes, that'll be the day when you make me cry"

“I’m sorry for making you stay.“

You stare for one instance at his eyes, as you place your head on his shoulder. It was rare to see him excuse himself in that way.

“It’s just that it becomes pretty upsetting to play their mind games all the time y’know.”

“You know your friends love you, Johnny, Paul loves you... I love you.”

“Well, when Cupid shot his dart

He shot it at your heart.

You embrace him as strongly as you can.”

“I assure you it’s all gonna be alright,I’ve seen you from strumming some chords on trucks to playing Liverpool’s greatest clubs”, you smile at him,”and besides, those shoes were killing me so thank the lord I’m not obliged to used them for some more hours.”

'Cause that'll be the day when I die"

Suddenly your peaceful moment is interrupted by the fire alarm going off. There goes the food.

“Maybe I did confuse Fahrenheit with centigrades…”

“And you tell me I’m the one blind as a bat… At least I’m not trying to set the house on fire.”

I give another look at the disaster and mess.

“I think I can wait for the lads tomorrow.”

“Not a bad plan.” 

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

^-^ Merry Christmas y’all 💗💗🎉⛄  

[official-archivist-keith]

Keith sat down with the paper and the statement before turning on the tape recorder. He took a breath, he was starving... hopefully this would help.

"Statement of Sunil Maraj regarding their work as a security guard and the disappearance of their co-worker, Samson Stiller. Original statement given 3rd April, 2011. Audio recording by Keith Kogane, the Archivist.

Statement begins."

"So I lost my job last week. I mean, I quit, they didn’t fire me or nothing. But you know how like sometimes you quit because you want to, and sometimes you quit because you’ve got to? Well, this was the second, although I’m not gonna pretend I’m not glad to see the back of the place.

It’s ‘cause I kept asking about Samson, you know? And what I saw. And they really, really don’t want me to make a stink about that. Because if he just disappeared one day, didn’t come into work, that’s fine - I mean, not fine for his family, obviously, or the police who have to find him, but fine for the company. If he disappeared at work, though - if what I think happened is even close to what actually happened - then that’s real bad news for them, and opens them up to all sorts of lawsuits and liability.

I mean, it’s fine, I can get other jobs, and it’s not like I really want to be working there after what happened, but I just wish someone would take it seriously. It’s messed up, and I’m having a real hard time getting out of my head.

So, I work security right? Used to be, a company or shop would have its own little security force they put together, did all the in-store and CCTV vigilance stuff. These days, it’s all centralized, though. You tend to have a building or a shopping central contract all the security work out to a single company, who’ll then cover all the businesses or shops. It’s easier, from a centralizing point of view, and cheaper, if that’s what the owners like.

But it does mean that there tends to be a lot less stability and how it’s all structured, personnel-wise, at least. If you’re lucky, you’ll be assigned to a post and stay there for years, getting to know the place, the systems, your co-workers. If you’re unlucky, or there’s contract difficulties, you could easily end up moving through two or three different places in as many months.

That was kind of the case for me and Samson. We were the odd men out in a lot of ways. We’d originally been brought in for a big corporate office block near Liverpool Street, but there’d been some problem and the whole place had to be closed up for months. Samson said they found asbestos, I heard it was a lease issue, but it doesn’t really matter. Point is, they hired us for a job that no longer existed.

I expected they’d just get rid of us, but I mean to their credit, they did try to do right. They did their best to fit us in with other security teams: I mean, over the last two years we did a couple of data centers, a digital marketing hub - whatever that is - three different office buildings near Kings Cross… trouble was, every time, almost as soon as we got there, there’d be some personnel changes, or expiring contracts, or some other trouble, and generally, as the last in the door, we were the first to get reassigned. Started to feel a bit like we were cursed, you know?

Samson took it harder than I did. I mean, I’m young, my mum’s got a flat in Hackney, and to be honest, most of my evenings are out with friends or in with black ops, so the moving around was pretty much fine with me. Sam had a three-year-old, though, and lived way down in Morden, so being thrown from one post to another all the time was really kind of getting to him. He tried to talk to me about it a few times, but honestly, we weren’t that close. Or rather, we were close because we’d always worked together, but we didn’t have a huge amount in common. I mean, I tried to talk to him about football for a while, but I think he could tell I was talking out of my ass. Anyway, point is, when we were reassigned to a shopping centre in Stratford, he wasn’t in a great place.

Now, I’m not sure I can legally name the shopping center I was working in to you guys, but let’s just say it wasn’t the Westfield. It was old, clearly been around decades, and the security systems really showed it. I mean, one of the shops still had the original alarms from the late 70s, and plenty of them still had cameras that recorded to VHS, for God’s sake.

The security office was a mess. The company I worked for - again, dunno if I can legally say them, but you can look it up, you know - they have a package where they replace all your equipment and systems with the stuff we use. It’s not cheap, but it’s worth it, if only because we all know exactly how to use that stuff.

Whoever was running this shopping center had very much not opted for that particular contract. I mean, the teams before us had made a valiant effort to centralize and integrate all the feeds and setups into just the one control room, but… damn, that place was a mess. Flat screens, next to banks of old CRT monitors that some of the cameras had to feed into, next to racks of channel banks, and a few actual, honest-to-god computers, that tried their best to wrestle everything into something that was almost usable.

I found it properly overwhelming, didn’t like the place at all. But Sam actually seemed to get on with it pretty well almost from the get-go. He’d apparently been an engineer back in the day, and something about all those old surveillance systems, all tied together, all wrapping into and around each other like some weird nest of cameras… it seemed to really appeal to him. The first week he was there he spent almost the entire time playing with the system and the wiring… left me to do most of the other work on my own. Well, I mean… there were the other guys working there, of course, but even the ones who’d been there awhile started to get the picture and gave Samson a bit of a wide berth after a few days.

He really did seem to get the place in a bit better order. I mean, some of it, only he really understood, but soon enough it actually made sense - what we were watching and when - and he managed to get rid of some of the delay, so that we even managed to catch a couple of shoplifters.

There was only one piece of equipment that seemed to give him any trouble. It was this old Tecton multicamera recorder from the late 80s, managed the feeds for one of the various budget shoe shops that lined the promenade.

It didn’t seem all that complicated when you just looked at it, but trying to use it was an absolute nightmare. None the buttons seemed to do exactly what you wanted them to do, and there were all sorts of sequences where pressing a button, holding a button, pressing it three times, all that - they’d all do really different things.

Sam spent almost a whole month wrestling with it, before he finally cracked and he asked Dave - the bearded old guy who we all sort of assumed had been there the longest? - whether they still had any of the old operating manuals.

I remember the smell of dust when Dave went and cracked open the filing cabinet in the back room, before waving his arms in the direction of the drawer and shrugging. I mean, I’d have just left it, obviously, but I think Samson was taking the whole knowing how the system works thing as like - a point of pride? Something he could salvage from the whole situation. Just a way of getting some control over his life, you know?

So he found the manual. More of a pamphlet, really. Can’t have been more than ten pages of A5 in the whole thing, yellowed and water-damaged. Well-used, though. Someone had even put their name in the front, like they were afraid people were gonna steal a manky instruction book.

Still, Sam just couldn’t put it down. I mean, it was like 10 in the morning when we finally found it, and when I went in at 2:00 to see if he’d taken his lunch break yet, he was still sat there, just staring at it. I mean, I’m not a fast reader, or anything but that’s a lot, right?

And like - okay, so this is the part that you’re definitely gonna think I’m having a joke with you, but I’m honestly not, I’m dead serious. Because I saw some of the pages over his shoulder, and on one of them there was, there was a picture of me.

Like, a black-and-white photo of my face. I didn’t get a good look, but it certainly wasn’t one that I remember having taken. Not that would make it any less weird for it to be printed in an old CCTV manual from back when I was doing nappies. And I’m not making it up, I swear.

Then Samson turned, and he looked at me, and I don’t know, I got real spooked. His eyes were all - messed up. Like, weird. And glassy. It was really, really freaky, and I just turned and I got out of there. That wasn’t the end of it, though. If it had been then sure, maybe I write it off as a weird dream, where I was tired or whatever, but no. Because from that point, on Samson just gets creepier.

For a start, he’s always at work. I mean, we’re not always on the same shift, so it takes me a while to notice, but when I ask him about it, he just says that our schedules must have synced up weird. But whenever I arrived, there he was, staring at the monitors, watching all the people come and go, his eyes wide like he was drinking it all in. And whenever I was there late, and it was my turn to close up, he’d always say that he was happy to do it, say I could head off a few minutes early.

So, I never actually saw him leave. I tried to stay once, said I needed to do it myself, but he just got real quiet, like… real quiet, and stared at me.

The bank of monitors was behind him, and I’m just trying to come up with something to say, get him to talk to me… and one by one, they began to just wink off, turning dark.

And I got this feeling, deep in my gut, that if that last monitor turned off, then something really bad was gonna happen to me. It was one of the old CRT sets, big, and bulky, and the picture on it was never that clear, but for a moment it looked like it was me on there. Staring right back at myself as the screens slowly went black, getting closer and closer. The face on the monitor looked absolutely terrified, and I was starting to feel it myself.

So I just tried to smile, told him not to worry about it, and I headed out as quick as I could. My legs were shaking so hard I almost fell on the way out.

Then there were the actual cameras. I mean, you work in a shopping center, obviously you do a bunch of shopping there. I used to get my lunch, for one, and usually pick up any of the essentials I needed. Sometimes, if I was feeling hard done by and it was payday, I might buy myself a new shirt, or a game, or something.

And obviously, because I work security, I know where all the cameras are. where they cover, even how they move. A lot of them are completely static, just pointing at one place. But gradually, I start to notice something when I’m shopping. It’s like a tickling, creeping sensation all over the back of my neck. Like I’m being watched.

So I start to keep an eye on the cameras when I’m in the shops, and you know what, I’m right. They’re following me. Whenever I look at them - doesn’t matter where it was they were meant to be aimed - they’re always focused right on me.

I keep staring at them, moving around, and they just shift to keep the lens pointed at me. But they’re not articulated, they don’t have any motor or swivel mount they just… move. Pointed right at me.

One time, when no one in the store was looking, I threw a can of deodorant at one of them. Hit it square on. Samson wore sunglasses for the next two days, and when I caught a glimpse of him without them, there was a crack right down the center of his eye.

I tried to talk to the others. I’m pretty sure that they were getting similar weirdness from them. they were all jumpy and nervous those last few months. But I was known as Sam’s friend. We’d come in together and everyone just assumed we were close. When I started to ask about it, about what was going on, they just clammed up like I was trying to get them in trouble. My nerves were all shot to hell.

I wasn’t in work the week he disappeared. I’d called in with a bullshit stomach thing. I just needed a break, some time to get my head right. It was almost working, you know? A little distance, a little space to relax. I was starting to feel good.

Then I got the call from Dave. He was frantic.

I couldn’t make out half of what he was saying over the bad line, but he kept saying Samson’s name. Asking me if I “knew,” if he’d “told me.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but he kept screaming at me. He kept saying, I must know, he must have told me what was going on. He kept saying, “what do we do with his eyes?”

I mean, I didn’t know what the hell to say, I just went quiet listening to Dave as he started sobbing down the phone

“He won’t stop,” he said. “We can’t get rid of his face.”

I hung up. And Dave was gone when I went back in. A bunch of them were, all quit suddenly. I wanted to check in with them, find out what happened, but we’d never really been friends, and I didn’t know any of their details.

I never saw Samson again, either. Though, I did find his old work shirt in the back. It was torn to shreds, wrapped around that old instruction manual. I put it back in the filing cabinet, and I threw the shirt away.

I tried to stick around, to do my job, but I was asking too many questions for the folks upstairs, I think. I wanted to know why Samson hadn’t signed out of the building before he disappeared. Why, no matter who tried to reset the system, it always logged back in as him.

Why, whenever I was watching the monitors alone, I’d see him on that old CRT screen. Staring right back at me. Quietly calling for me to join him."

"Statement ends." Keith let out an exhale, "Much better..."

@zombieapocalypsekeith