#petrel/reader

[bluemoondust]

There was a request you did with a famous darling and the pokevillains.

Could you write the famous darling scenario with maybe Brassius, Grusha, Piers, and Petrel?

✧Famous!Darling✧

Referring to this post!

Characters: Brassius, Grusha, Piers, Petrel

Warning(s): Hints of Possessive Behavior, Hints of Violence, Stalking

✧Gym Leader Brassius✧

Oh, you bet he's one of your biggest supporters. Despite his yandere tendencies, he isn't one to restrict his darling from expressing themselves creatively. However, one thing he worries deeply about is the impact that comes with fame. He's concerned that you won't be doing this for yourself anymore; that you'll be bending over backwards to please the masses. It depresses him to think how you'll be once you come to see your passion as nothing more than a chore. He doesn't want that for you, so he makes sure it doesn't happen. Some of your fans, who don't treat or see you as a real person, make him sick to his stomach, honestly. He'll gladly ensure they won't bother you anymore and learn how to be respectful. He will gladly weed out the bad seeds from the garden. Harshly, if he has to since some weeds can be stubborn.

✧Gym Leader Grusha✧

Annoyed. That's all he feels. Grusha knows the deal when it comes to being well-known and famous. He was just like that before the accident. However, seeing your fans swarm around you while the two of you are out makes him remember that oh, yeah, that was certainly a thing. Don't people have some amount of decency? Can't they leave someone alone for a few minutes? He hates how it looks like they're treating you like some...object. He doesn't know how much he can take it. There are some genuine fans out there, but oh, he's not annoyed by them. It's the weirdos his concern and bitterness is centered towards. They make him absolutely sick. He doesn't voice any of this out, but you can sure feel his irritation at a certain distance. Just, you know...make sure he's okay since we wouldn't want an accident on the news, don't we?

✧Gym Leader Piers✧

Just like Grusha, he's also annoyed by these fans. Like yeah, there's Team Yell with Marnie but that's her hype team more than anything. These people, though, are so bothersome and he can't help but bring that up sometimes in conversation. If you're actually bothered by them, then great! He'll gladly tell them to bug off when necessary. Hell, you can even come to Spikemuth to hide for a while. Not many people come around anyways, so it's a good place for some alone time. Besides that, Piers is supportive of your career if it's something you're passionate about. Especially if you're a singer/songwriter. As someone who is one himself, he's alright with giving advice and offering a hand. Team Yell can act as bodyguards if you want. Their demeanor would drive excessive fans away and that's something he wants. A benefit to handing advice to you is that he had the opportunity to give small bouts of misinformation to scare you a little. It just helps to keep you leaning onto him for support. I mean, who else could relate? I know what you're thinking: this sounds rather okay. Because it's the way Piers wants it to be. Even as a yandere, he doesn't want unnecessary conflict or trouble. It's rather annoying. Oh, but make no mistake; he's willing to drag any creep into a dark alley to ensure they are never able to hold a paper and pen ever again.

✧Team Rocket Executive Petrel✧

Petrel is rather chill about this. Hell, he even disguises as various people who are 'fans' of yours. Example: you're at a convention with fans and it's going well. Everyone is so sweet and endearing. What you don't notice is that Petrel had approached you multiple times as different people just to see how you react with various individuals. He can never get tired of this. It's entertaining to see that adorable face of yours greet him as if you're meeting for the first time over and over. Little did you know... This man does buy some of your merch, he does but...he wants something personal. These items are more centered around your career, and that's fine and all, but he wants stuff that are closer to you as a person. Rummaging through your stuff was easy. You really need more competent bodyguards, darling. That's fine, he'll just play the part as one of them for you. He wants to chuckle at the way you don't notice anything off with him. An expert in his craft after all. Plus, why would you question anyone who's your bodyguard?

[greypetrel]

I see you've been asked several already, so for the Tolkein asks: whichever question you want to answer most, but haven't been asked c:

Hi Mo! :D

Thank you! The temptation to answer all the questions left was there... But I don't want to pester you with basically an essay, so I'll select a few x°D

Edit after writing it: *it's still an essay* Oops.

2. If you were the Middle Earth race that your personality most matches, which would it be?

I'm a Hobbit. Definitely a Hobbit. No love for being on centre stage, will eat six meals per day (listen, snacks are important ok), is very comfortable at home, but resourceful when needed. I miss the love for gardening, my thumb is very black and I have little interest for plants that I can't eat because what's the point. But Bilbo in the book dreaming while camping in the cold of a cozy afternoon spent reading with the kettle on the fire speaks to my soul.

10. Favorite performance by any actor in the Tolkien film projects? Bonus: What's your favorite scene with them?

Bernard Hill as Theoden always gets me. He's just the right level of intensity, melancholy and grieving because he's old and feels like he hasn't accomplished anything. The tenderness and the respect he has for Eowyn as his beloved niece AND a wise woman he can be happy leaving his kingdom to (Eomer goes with him to a potentially suicidal mission. He's saying, to me, that his heir is HER, not him). And his speeches are all-!!! The Pelennor Field's one always have me shivering. The words are nice, sure, but his acting was just great. All of the Rohan part is just peak casting and great. Miranda Otto did a stunning job, her singing the mourning song haunts me. And THAT SCENE where Karl Urban just screams himself raw when he finds apparently dead Eowyn. I still don't know why exactly it was cut from the cinematic version, it was a pity.

Andy Serkis. I am appalled that he doesn't appear in more movies because honestly find me any other person who would have delivered a Gollum in the same way. (and please Hollywood cast him in more diverse roles, make me see his face, he's GOOD, give him a chance)

Since no one named him: Sean Astin as Sam. REALLY. The way he can go from grumpy and pouty to bright and happy seeing Frodo and absolutely EPIC. He's a whole journey by himself. Favourite scene: I can tell you the PO-TAY-TOES scene by heart, mimicking Gollum as well. But his speech at the end of Two Towers.

And also. Not a favourite because it's down for lines that are not so good, but... I know it's highly unpopular, but I really liked Morfydd Clark as Galadriel. She's not Cate Blanchett, and she's not supposed to be. That's still Edgy!Galadriel that she plays, she's younger and still hot-headed and please read the book and find out that Galadriel is not an ethereal lady, she's a Noldorin and she can and she WILL kick your ass. Clark does it, she has the right look for it. (her lines could have been better? Yes. I still think she did good with what she had.) (I'm all for edgy and angry, more human-like elves, and thought I know it's flawed, but I liked Rings of Power.)

12. Tolkien's work contains a lot of interesting themes: devastation of war, things lost that cannot be restored, rebirth/renewal, holding true to one's companions even when it is darkest, and others. Which is the most important to you?

I'll try to be brief here, I could fill a dissertation over this.

But mainly:

“It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going, because they were holding on to something. That there is some good in this world, and it's worth fighting for."

This.

The fact that no matter how dark it is outside, there's the promise of light and joy at the end of the tunnel. Hope in spite of everything.

And the fact that it doesn't matter where you come from, it doesn't matter who your ancestors were, how tall are you, how much your people has been involved in a situation before. You are valuable, your help is not in vain, there's some good you can do. See: Pippin's arc. Going from fool of a Took, basically a baby thrown in a world so much greater than him... And standing up to the situation, in the end, just because he wants to help, even if he's scared. His taking the Palantir and talking to Sauron, in the end, is one of the biggest assists given to Frodo... and he's the member of the Fellowship that had the least reasons to be there, the least experience and knowledge to help the mission. In the end, he's just as useful as everyone else.

[ya-bug-boy]

Pls do some petrel x reader who’s also a team rocket executive ( i love this man so much and there’s almost no fanfics about him 😭😭😭)

Petrel x Team Rocket Executive Reader!

Petrel thinks highly of himself, being an executive and a master of disguise. He's an excellent actor and in his head, he thinks he does a good job. (my guy, you gave out the passwords and the key to the hero? F performance)

Though he's working for Giovanni, he certainly lives in the lavish perks that is being an executive.

When Team Rocket is trying to get itself back together (think in the events of Heart Gold/ Soul Silver) Petrel gets paired up with a new Team Rocket member, which is you with your guaranteed spot to becoming executive. But you need training, which is where he comes in.

Despite his criminal deeds and wrongdoing, Petrel considers himself to still be a nice guy and helps you adjust to the change of being an executive. But when he sees exactly how new you are, taking on a leadership role of having grunts and having to manage things, he's rather curious as to what gave you that position to begin with.

You may be a Team Rocket member, but for some reason you have a very nice demeanor? You treat everyone so kindly that the grunts argue about who gets to be in your team. Having grown a soft spot for you, due to your eagerness to do your best despite it being unlawful, he decides to stick around some more after he's done training you. He can't help but to gloat internally when he hears you call him, "Senpai!"

But what's your deal? What's your talent? What got you into Team Rocket to begin with? He can't help but to wonder. You're a nice person, you're more than decent. Team Rocket isn't exactly a place where he'd think he meet you.

But he never gets to find out your past when Team Rocket is swiftly defeated by Gold, an up and coming trainer who thwarted all of their plans. You weren't present at the Radio Tower. But it was through Petrel's broadcast that you heard that Team Rocket was defeated. Over and through.

Life after Team Rocket is rough. Petrel lost all of his power and connections. He even lost you. Grunts that tried to reassemble Team Rocket were quickly found and defeated, before being arrested. There isn't enough to reform Team Rocket.

Then one day, he's caught. The International Police had cornered him, on a day he wasn't wearing a disguise. They take him away to a location he's never heard of, a secret building.

While he's being escorted, he's left alone in a room with his hands free. He waits there for a few minutes before you open the door.

Petrel doesn't know whether to feel joy or betrayal, not really understanding why you were here. You then explain to him that you were looking for him after Team Rocket disbanded. The International Police got to you first but you were able to cut a deal with them, if you worked with them, you wouldn't be arrested.

But then they had you hunting down the Team Rocket Executives to try and bring them to justice. You explained you were trying to intercept Petrel before they did, in fact you were trying to find all of the other executives. International Police got to them before you did, to his belief. So you call in the other executives into the room and they walk in one by one. It's where you offer him a new deal as well.

Become the international Police's number one master of disguise and spy agent with you. Work together with the other executives but for a good cause this time. Petrel doesn't accept right away, but you tell him of all the good benefits, the good wages, the paid vacation times, and how he'd be able to travel. He keeps his Pokemon and becoming an agent will null him of his previous crimes working in Team Rocket.

He can't help but to laugh before taking a few days to think it over. He eventually accepts the deal and starts to live a better life with you.

The two of you are sent out on spy missions, acting as a couple. With Petrel's master of disguises, he's able to portray himself as any partner, any asset you need.

He still somewhat pines for the days you call him, "Senpai," when he thought life was easier. But now? It's getting harder and harder to look at you in the eyes when you call him the affectionate nickname, endearing ones meant for a partner. He can't help but to look at how nice a ring looks on you. The way you smile when you hold each other's hands...

Petrel was never a simple man meant for a simple life but when he's in your gaze, he feels for a moment, complete.

[calamity-queen]

I want to write a “Scotty Doesn’t Know” inspired fic with Giovanni. That being said, who should be “Scotty?”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Cult of Vagabonds MasterList

NAVIGATION

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

OVERALL WARNINGS: Familial trauma, PTSD, anxiety, trauma responses, angst, character deaths, gore & violence, kidnappings, interrogations, self-deprecating thoughts and actions, addictions, eventual smut, etc. (More specific warnings will be listed in every chapter)(18+).

DISCLAIMER: While not an OC, the Reader will be given a backstory that will be seen throughout the fic and intertwine with the plot. Taglist is full. All images found on Pinterest.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER I: Landless Gull

CHAPTER II: Snail & Thrush 

CHAPTER III: Banshee Bluethroat

CHAPTER IV: Finch's Frenzy

CHAPTER V: Copper Talons

CHAPTER VI: Storm-Flying Petrels 

CHAPTER VII: Devil Birds

CHAPTER VIII: Polluted Marrow & Hollow Bones

CHAPTER IX: Talk To The Doves

CHAPTER X: A Crow's Carrion Comfort

CHAPTER XI: The Call of A Foreign Swan

CHAPTER XII: Owl-Eyes

CHAPTER XIII: Flight of the Warbler

CHAPTER XIV: Gray Grouse

CHAPTER XV: Sins of a Laughing Skylark

CHAPTER XVI: Vultures

CHAPTER XVII: Red-Wing Blackbirds And Dark Dahlias

CHAPTER XVIII:

CHAPTER XIX:

CHAPTER XX:

CHAPTER XXI:

CHAPTER XXII:

CHAPTER XXIII:

CHAPTER XXIV:

CHAPTER XXV:

[yandere-writer-momo]

I’m currently foaming at the mouth for some Karou Emperor Penguin Harpy x Adelie Penguin Harpy Reader Headcannons (I watched that video and it was absolutely cute, especially the babies, I love baby animals 🥹🥰)

Please feed us Seymour (If you don’t get that reference, it’s 1986 Little Shop of Horrors)

I’m currently giggling and kicking my feet thinking about Child Kaoru as a Baby Penguin 🤭

I feel like my harpy (and fantasy Au’s in general) fascinates the masses. So I can write them real quick.

Yandere Baki Head Canon

Hanayama Kaoru x Older! Reader (Harpy AU)

……………………………………….

Emperor Penguin Hanayama

He was a foolish young chick. He wandered off a lot and picked fights with other penguins since he was much larger than the others, which left him to be respected and feared among his peers

A shame he thought he could take on a giant petrel alone. The older harpy left him covered in deep wounds and probably would have ended his life if you hadn’t appeared… a small Adélie penguin. You fearlessly threw your small body between the petrel and him, which in turn made the petrel flee (no harpy in these frozen wastelands would take on an adelie)

When you turned to check on him, it’s the first time Kaoru ever felt his heart flutter. You were his savior… his future mate. You must care about him if you stepped in to save his life!

Hanayama revels in your care as you assist him back to his colony. He snuggles his body close to yours as you usher him back. He is practically glued to your side

Hanayama won’t let a single penguin insult you for your arrival. Nor will he let anyone try to take you as their mate. He’s decided you’re going to be his

Hanayama chases away all competition and he’s even willing to fight to stay by your side. He doesn’t care that he’s younger. He doesn’t care that you don’t see him as more than just a little sibling, he won’t mate unless it’s with you

The older he gets, there’s no questioning how massive he is compared to the others. He’s intimidating with his various scars. Some from the petrel and others from various battles he’s been in (such as fighting off a rival colony that killed his father). Hanayama is not to be trifled with

And he forced you to stay in his colony with his own power and the various members of his colony. You’re referred to as “the boss’s wife.”

Expect to be dazzled with various pebbles and shells. Hanayama hunts the biggest fish for you and he’s made you the most brilliant of nests. He only collects the very best for you. The size difference doesn’t matter to him

You’re at a point in your life where you know you need to mate or you’ll end up without chicks… so you have no choice but to accept Hanayama’s overbearing affection. He’s practically over the moon when you say yes

Expect him to be with you as much as he physically can. He will be the very best mate and he would never leave you for another… after all, he knows adelies mate for life

[kvalenagle]

Okay, I've been summoned to Tumblr by cute Satra and Lei fan art, so I should probably introduce myself and my books. Hello! I'm Vale, and I write creature fantasy as K. Vale Nagle. If you like interesting gryphons, you're in the right place: aquatic diving petrel/fishing cat gryphons, poisonous hooded pitohui/tiger gryphons, pretty gyrfalcon/snow leopard gryphons, intimidating Haast's eagle/saber-toothed tiger gryphons, soggy sandgrouse/sand cat gryphons, and a lot more. My series are epic fantasy using mostly real (though sometimes extinct) animals, free of humans but full of queer characters, intrigue, large battles, and ecological apocalypses. My cover art is by Jeff Brown, with interior graphite pieces by Brenda Lyons and gryphon chapter headers by Kittrel (whose chibi hearts you may have seen). I also have a short story collection (best read anytime after Starling, book three) with a beak-cute lesbian gryphon love story with terror birds, a Gryphon vs. Nature blizzard apocalypse tale, a Christmas-y story, and something pretty close to zombies. I've also written a full novel set in the world of Dire by John Bailey called Coldbright which can be found in the Tales of Feathers & Flames anthology. If you like GryphIns but you want something with more mystery, almost horror, as told through the eyes of a snarky little opinicus and his dire gryphon ex-boyfriend, it's a great read this time of year. I love and appreciate all the fan mail, fan fiction, fan letters, and people reaching out about this series. I'm a little slow replying, as I started writing the series right after getting diagnosed with a catastrophic autoimmune system. The treatments are pretty intense, and it's easiest for me to spend my time and energy writing. I used to have a few pen names across several genres, but for the most part, all of my energy goes into finishing up GryphIns. I'm married to dragon author Glenn Birmingham, so if you've seen us posting pictures of our cats and thought it's strange they share a name, they're the same cats. And that's about it. Just a queer author writing gryphony books when I'm not walking my cat. A few common answers to questions: Q: There are sometimes typos in social media, why is that? A: Catastrophic APS means I've had a stroke (and associated memory loss), so when a copy editor isn't coming up behind me, there'll be doubled words and typos from time-to-time. I used to worry about them, since they don't look good if you're an author! But I'd rather reply to fan letters and kind posts. I think if you've read my author notes at the back of my books, you know to expect a few doubled words here and there. Q: When you say a queer author, what do you mean? A: Since people ask about own voices and I have a lot of lgbtqia+ characters in my books, I'm pan, demi, trans, and genderfluid. I'm lucky enough to have a lot of queer friends and first readers who make sure I don't mess up any characters. Q: When's the next GryphIns novel coming out? A: Some years, I spend a lot of my time fighting health insurance battles, and it slows me down. Pridelord (#8) is currently in line edits. It's twice as long as Eyrie and three times as long as Coldbright, so it's a pretty big book! It shouldn't be too much longer. You'll know it's just about time because you'll hear James Scott Spaid talk about narrating the audiobook. Q: How many books will there be in GryphIns? A: I'm famous for underestimating how many books it takes to finish a series. My other pen names all wrote short stories and standalone novels, so my proposal for GryphIns originally had five books. Jeff Brown is wrapping up the cover for Saberbeak (#9) and Nighthaunt (#10). If I end up needing one more book to finish, though, don't be too surprised.

[kurtmustdie]

What if I just

(Miles) Sparkflight- nightrain-wing (usually appears black like a regular nightwing, but particularly likes using his rainwing power of color change to blend into environments. He has future sight powers, but he hasn’t harnessed them very well yet.)

(Gwen) Snowdance- icerain-wing (she has Snow White scales that look water colored blue and pink in some places. usually they’re very light, easy colors in the eyes, they rarely change to anything too harsh unless she’s really emotional. She treats her scales like a canvas.)

(Hobie) Ivy- rain-wing (lets his scales change color freely, no one really knows what his base scale pattern is like because he’s not one to cover up the emotion in his scales)

(Pavitr) Petrel- skyrain-wing (similarly to Swordfish, he only has select scales that can change color, but he really likes changing them. His base scale color is a true red tone, and he usually has blue and gold highlights on the scales he can change.)

(Miguel) Swordfish- Searain-wing (like a dark, dark blue, where only his light up scales change color. Being one of the only seawing he uses that to his advantage and communicates with himself under his breath with his light up scales. He basically looks like an rgb keyboard lmao.)

(Jess) Stardrift- night-wing (a dark, violet-black scaled dragon, her star scales on her wings look like shooting stars. Mind reader.)

(Peter B.) Petalite- sky-wing (average red skywing who’s adorned with little trinkets)

(Mayday) Malachite- skywing (a bright red flamescale, Petalite made everyone gloves that they can put on their talons to hold her.)

(LYLA) Limpet- lucky for her she’s the only human (scavenger, in this case). One of swordfish’s. . . Friends. . . found her one day and decided not to eat her so she (the friend) gave her to him as company. She thinks Swordfish is her pet dragon, Swordfish thinks she’s his pet scavenger. Everyone is very confused in this scenario.

(The Spot) Polka Dot: fucked up little rainwing who somehow got his hands on an animus talisman. Oops.

(Margo) Seawhisper- nightsea-wing (she’s a dark blue, lighter than Swordfish for reference, and has very gorgeous ombré sky blue to light violet light up scales. She has mind reading powers :3)

(Kingpin) Strongwings- big fuckin nightwing. Like huge. If you think Swordfish looks big for a dragon you’re not prepared to see this guy— er— this corpse, I guess. He’s dead.

They’re all connected through being animus. Other than Strongwings and Polka Dot, of course.

See it as like.. the talons of peace but everyone is less mentally stable.

I’ll come up with their dragon names later probably, and I might draw a few of them.

[gildead]

CONTENT WARNING: THIS DRABBLE CONCERNS THE DISCUSSION OF THE GRAPHIC DEATH OF A CHILD. IT IS RECOMMENDED YOU DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU HAVE FINISHED THE RECENT ARG. ALSO VISUAL DEPICTION OF BLOOD, GORE, AND FACIAL HORROR. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Picking up right where the thread with Petrel left off.

"You knew. You... all... knew."

Perhaps it was inevitable that this day would come. The day where they finally had to talk about what had happened to Gold on that day. Celebi just didn't think that day would be today. Evidentially, neither did Gold's Typhlosion, given the fearful stare she looked at Celebi with. Even Forever had stopped chewing on Gold's discarded shoe to listen in.

"Yes, Gold. We knew." Celebi's eye flickered to Forever, then Sable. "Most of us."

Gold went quiet, so much so that the only noise came from Hurry peeking out from behind his mother. "Did... Did Silver know too?"

"Boy... be reasonable. Why else would he have come back?" Please heaved out an uncomfortable sigh.

As soon as he received his confirmation, Gold's sleeves immediately began disintegrating. He froze in place, his expression despondent. "...Everyone knew. And you... you let me forget."

"Your friend... Lugia betrayed you. My fellow titan." Celebi gazed sympathetically. "We worried that the memory would hurt you more than you already were."

"More than being physically ripped apart and left to bleed out." Gold's stumps blossomed open, revealing the bone and sinew within. Black sludge began leaking from his eyes and nose. His tone was dangerously even.

"That's not what they... Gold." Please approached Gold, a paw outstretched towards his shoulder. "We wanted to make sure you'd be okay before we talked about it."

"You think I'm okay?" Gold wrenched himself away violently. "You think I-- that I was okay with any of this?!"

"Enough." Celebi's voice hardened. "She humbly requested that I save your life. I gazed into her memories, and I saw your pure heart. How you put your own safety on the line to protect your team. How you came so close to opening-"

"I DIDN'T ASK YOU TO BRING ME BACK!" Gold coughed violently after he screamed before continuing. "You think this is... that this is living? That I want to stay like this forever? That I can't see anybody I love 'cuz I'll just make them upset all over again? I'm dead! I should've stayed dead! You should've just left me alone!"

He turned to the tree and rammed his head against it repeatedly in between choked sobs, denting and splintering the wood under the sheer force. With each hit, he slowed down until he fully came to a stop, sliding to the ground. For a while, he just sat there, crying.

Hurry waddled over to him. "G-Gold-?"

Gold whipped around. His sockets had turned black, and his face contorted terribly as he rose up again. As he let out a primal screech, a cluster of Unown fanned around him, spelling out a terrible message.

S T A Y A W A Y F R O M M E

And just like that, he disappeared into the woods.

Forever's jaw dropped, along with the shoe. Hurry, sniffling, rushed back over to his mother, burying his face in her fur as he wept. As for her, she and Away watched after where Gold had fled, at complete losses for words.

Sable also watched, her tiny face scrunched in concentration. A couple of Unown from her own flock came out from behind her, and she shared glances with them. After a moment, she nodded.

And stepped forward, ready to follow her trainer. He was there for her before.

It was time to repay him.

[aonoexpat]

10-08-2023

Yesterday, I spent the morning in Kaikōura, and joined a fellow Dutchie on a boat tour to spot albatross! These majestic birds hold the record for the largest wingspan of any flying bird on earth, even beating the condor. The ones we saw maxed out at about 3 meters, and they were a spectacular sight to see. They make a lot more sounds than I had expected, and boy are they fun :) The skipper had a batch of food that she could toss into the water to attract the birds, and they were clearly familiar with the process, because they were following us from the moment we left the harbour. This also meant they were not afraid of us at all, and were happy to get up close and personal!

My favourite one was the wandering albatross, which we saw the most individuals of. They are elegant flyers, slightly less elegant during landing and takeoff, and have the friendliest little faces...

...as opposed to the black-browed albatross, who looked perpetually pissed off for being beaten to the food by its larger cousins:

Other species we saw included the great northern petrel, a whole bunch of cape petrels (the smaller black and white birds in the photos above) who were masters at soaring along with the boat, Salvin's albatross, white-capped albatross, a couple of shags and plenty of seagulls. I did get seasick unfortunately as the sea conditions were labeled 'moderate', but luckily I had had maybe two bites of bread for breakfast so I didn't make a mess, and I had come prepared with ginger candy. The skipper gave me some nice warm ginger tea as well. Both she and the other passenger took good care of me ❤

After the tour I decided to give up my plans of hiking for the rest of the day, because a warning was issued for heavy snow in the evening. The skipper told me they might even close the state highway if it got really bad, so I didn't want to take my chances with that. As Kaikōura didn't make me feel very welcome in the first place due to their strict rules about self-contained camping, I packed up my things and left, heading down the East coast to Ōtautahi. It was another long drive, and I was really tired by the time I arrived. I was happy to find a parking spot for the night close to some takeaway junk food, and got settled for the bad weather to hit here as well.

And just as was forecast, today has been a hell of a rainy day in Ōtautahi, and, in all honesty, in my mind too. I know with a blog like this it can seem like everything on my trip is sunshine and rainbows, as you, as the readers, see the highlights. The highlights are what I take photos of, what I can passionately recount to you. But I won't omit the downsides. Sure, going on hikes and seeing spectacular sights is fun. But you know what's not fun? Waking up at 3 A.M. to a noise when you know you're all alone in a parking lot off an unsealed road in the middle of the woods. Getting told off by a town council member for not having the right type of toilet. Always being on the lookout for public facilities, all of which usually feel unsafe. Not knowing when or where you'll next be able to have a shower. A leaking faucet in the back of your van and constant worries about its status, hoping the cold weather isn't causing a mould infestation in places I can't see. Wearing gloves inside because it's literally freezing outside.

And the annoying thing is, I don't feel like I have a right to complain. I've got an extremely comfortable van with soft blankets, free electricity with my solar panel, drinking water, and enough resources to live from. But I'm all alone. All the time. The moments where the highs seem worth the struggle in between are starting to dwindle in numbers. The rest of the trip feels like a challenge I've set myself that I'll be happy to have overcome. I currently don't feel very excited about it at all. I know that will change, I know in a little while I'll look back on this and it'll seem silly that I ever thought about it, but today I really just want to go home.

I've spent some time today writing to Workaway hosts in the Ōtautahi area, hoping to maybe meet up and hang out with locals. I feel like I need to find some inspiration again, and making a more long-term plan will help. I would like to have a clearer picture of where I'm going, and when I'll get there. Maybe after this week I'll be able to form that picture. Because I don't want to give up just yet. There is still so much left to see and do. But I know in order to enjoy those things, I need to be in a better head space. How I'll get there, I'm not sure yet. But I am determined to.

(^ credit to pastel-hazy-dreams)

[libidomechanica]

“And yet the rich, whose joys of all suffer herself to win”

Be there on his heart, speed there did     quickly on the front row with Thee enriches from outrage     worse than thy sweeten so

a boy of shepherd’s calling. On     which Lieutenant-Colonel Yesouskoi march’d for hid delight,     she blushes speak, they dwell

and two days until I hear her     mournful, sober-suited Night not under worse still plagues, thy     fair from God in pain, which

touches. And friends you shalt ca’ me     fornicator, an’ thy poppy throws that hang the plastic     ice chest; the second son

was immovable; until is     answer, echoes talk along the fierce men on the cursed the     hopelessly enough; hope,

in pallid moon, to Juan, followed     up to the wine, and the roses taint, and thus, a thought, the     cloud I follow not where,

but know is a juggle born of     me to me? Nor would by ill be shot its spires at every     day he should for a little

dross, was favouritism. Tempts     and beside her god day: or Diggon, I am very     wears; but doubtless fairly

dealt by thee. But that floods, and like     old saw pronounces that strangers in her face: inches from     cliff and could a cream-white

rosebuds which stiffen’d heaven     and will drink a tun to my hart since she pricked their pills like     petrel on the game short

of his whole day in the same blow     which makes it seem fair, but, as those bodies that fidgets beyond     it spry cordage of

those loss was proxy-wedded with     should intend, less forced a way their Jaws blood that he meant to     travel both and what they

had be slaine thilke same small mine’s the     quintessence and victorie, yet halfe in his Crown, and heavy     heart I set the drunken

king tobacco on a little     hour, as is false subtle snakes. And yet the rich, whose joys of     all suffer herself to

win! Spouted up and down there to     obliterate your springs to one Lady of thy would     not for all who could rhyme

in praise I name: as the sun’s     abundant issue seem’d a splendor; in the chilly nest, and     our throats. Mid-sentence, but

howsoe’er the buxome and beard thy     sweet is she goes out to drink delicious play his gentle     reader! Slain by some grosse.

[bluemoondust]

I know you're watching me, and I know you keep breaking in. You know my address and my schedule. I'm sure you know other things too. Is there something you want or is this just to scare me? If it's the latter, you've succeeded. If it's the former, please just tell me what I need to do to make you stop. - A rather hastily scrawled note, left for Petrel to find in a now empty apartment

♡My Sweetheart Event♡

Word Count: 0.3k

Recipient: Team Rocket Executive Petrel (Pokemon)

Currently Playing: One Way or Another by Blondie

After Petrel finished reading the note, he chuckled. So you were more perceptive than he thought, huh? He was sure that he was being careful with his pursuit of you. Maybe he's losing touch...oh well.

It's nothing too bad. He'll just have to look for you again. And oh, honey, he will be able to. You may have figured out that you have a stalker on your hands, but Petrel is sure you're unaware of who he is. Did the thought of a Team Rocket executive watching you ever cross your mind? Maybe it didn't, maybe it did. However, if it did, he's very sure you wouldn't leave a note like this and be more careful with running off.

You're just leaving a trail. Like breadcrumbs for him to follow so he can get to you.

It might have not occurred to you that now there are fingerprints on this note. I mean, how do you think Petrel can manage getting around when he takes on a new face? He's always thinking ahead. Any piece of you is worth keeping, he thinks, while pocketing the note. Now he just has to gather the crumbs you left behind. Heh, he'll probably let you stay in your own comfort for a few days. Just as a headstart.

It might seem cocky of him to do this, but it really will be that easy to find you. When Team Rocket wants to find something or someone, they'll find it/them. They all have their ways and resources, after all. Even with everything he has, it wouldn't be that much fun.

Petrel won't say that he's sadistic. No, that goes to his fellow executive. It's just that he sometimes likes to have a little fun here and there. Dragging this little game a bit longer isn't too bad. He gets to work for what he wants at the end of the day. It just makes the prize all that much sweeter, in his eyes.

Don't you worry a thing, darling. Petrel will find you in no time. Just sit your pretty little head and relax for a while. There's no rush. It won't matter anyways since he will get you either way.

[thekuraning]

still going through my old laptop backups! some more old slowpoke tails and koffing fumes art under the cut!!!

Last time was just olympicshipping stuff but sometimes when i write i do little concept sketchies to help wrap my head around things so today im gonna show off some of those. they used to be on my deviantart but frankly i am uncertain if my page even still exists so back here they go!!!

if you remember alex no you don't i don't have like... a ton of art of him. because he's been canned so hard he might as well be sardines. and if you dont remember him he was a major antagonist in petrel's plot line who defected from team rocket. despite being a "major" antagonist i think he mostly only showed up in a couple chapters, mainly in the oh no they got arrested arc around ch20

here he is in technicolor

his sableye's name was slim. and if that sounds familiar.... it's because Alex actually followed the route of a lot of my old Rocket OCs and got repurposed! In this case, Nanu ate his heart and absorbed his powers and became the Ultimate Traitor (I Am All of Me from Shadow the Hedgehog blares in the background)

ive also got decarli and kevin from proton's crew

Decarli's remained... mostly consistent between STKF and ZFDS! he was always supposed to look pretty generic as a person and he's remained a music teacher-turned-rocket but!! someone who didn't make it into ZFDS is his lovely little mawile, Shoyu!! She was actually named by a reader for winning a contest! And actually, since this was back in the day when it was super easy to generate your own pokemon, I gave her away as a promotional gift, complete with her in-universe moveset and Decarli as her OT :) I don't keep in touch with the person who got her, but I hope she's out there somewhere in the big ol' pokemon world. And I hope she got to mega evolve at least once.

kevin did not make the cut to ZFDS and will proceed to not make the cut (but his sweet lil rattata, Ribbon, is going to find a new trainer soon!)

in ZFDS, Proton has flashbacks to the time he murdered his highschool bully and shoved his body into the river, but in STKF, his highschool bully ended up in Team Rocket, and his name was Kevin!! He ended up working in Proton's department in the HGSS arc. he had a big crush on proton, so petrel hated him

its ok kevin hated him back.

thats actually all the slowpoke tails old art i was able to find, so i shall now leave you to bear the weight of this curse:

[sheilammyers]

What Would Rachel Do?

Wax Poetic

In her acceptance speech for the National Book Award, Rachel Carson said this: "...no one could write truthfully about the sea and leave out the poetry." Which was why her book The Sea Around Us (1951) was so popular. Rachel had the knack for making the sea sexy. 

Of course, anyone who has visited the ocean is drawn to the undulating tides, but not everyone understands the machinations and the life forms dependent on them. Rachel describes it all in vivid detail. How the tides are drawn to the moon, following its waxing and waning, rising and falling with its cycles. One can visualize the neap tides, when the pull of the moon is in equilibrium with the sea and the highs and lows are not far apart.  And the spring tides, twice monthly, when the moon is new or full, and the tides are at their highest. Rocks had "glistening backs...laid bare at low water." Waves are "armed with stones and fragments of rock." Her description of fog while aboard the research vessel The Albatross has an eeriness of a horror movie:

"Day after day, the Albatross moved in a small circular room, whose walls were soft gray curtains and whose floor had a glassy smoothness. Sometimes a petrel fluttered across this room, entering and leaving it by passing through its walls, as if by sorcery. Evenings, the sun before it set was a pale silver disc hung in the ship's rigging, the drifting streamers of fog picking up its diffused radiance. The sense of a powerful presence felt but not seen, made manifest but never revealed, was far more dramatic than a direct encounter with the current."

Her description of the grunion fish mating habits made me want to travel to California to witness it. But her words were enough to evoke the image of "shimmering" fish flinging themselves onshore on the crest of a wave. And once onshore, they lay "glittering" on the wet sand to mate. They bury their eggs before catching the next wave to return to the ocean - leaving behind their offspring. It's truly an art to distill the essence of an emotion, a place, an event in a format that is both brief and eloquent.

While her musings on the sea explain the technicalities, she brings the reader to a place where even the most minute organism holds a profound secret for all. Ending her essay titled The Sea: Wind, Sun and Moon in The New Yorker, Rachel describes how the tiny worm Convoluta, no matter where placed will not forget the tidal rhythm of its being. 

This book was vindication for Rachel after the dismal failure of Under the Sea Wind.   The New Yorker published a few chapters of The Sea Around Us pre-publication and by the time the book came out, readers were eager for more. In fact, publishing the chapters in serial format most likely propelled the book to best seller status. It stayed on the New York Times Best seller's list for 31 weeks, hitting number one. It sold over a million copies and was translated into 28 languages. 

I've been told once my writing allows people to feel as if they are right there in the scene. I've also had a reader ask me why my work sometimes reads commercial and other times literary. Not all readers have the patience to divert their attention from the plot to a string of words that makes them pause for a moment to savor. I'm ok with that. In fact, reading Rachel's work makes me think I may be on the right path for my next novel featuring her as one of the characters.

Sources: Carson, Rachel. The Sea: Wind, Sun, and Moon. June 16, 1951. The New Yorker

Carson, Rachel. The Sea Around Us. 1951.

Brooks, Paul. 1989. Rachel Carson: The Writer at Work. 

[gildead]

CONTENT WARNING: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD AND GORE BELOW THE CUT. NO GRAPHIC IMAGES ARE DEPICTED. READER DISCRETION ADVISED.

Please doesn't respond to Petrel verbally. Why would she? He can't talk to Pokémon as far as she knows, and she doesn't have anything of note to say to him. Rather, she just gives him a growl before waddling to Gold's side, handing the folder off to her trainer.

As Petrel's final statement rings in his ears, Gold's not sure what to do with the information. It doesn't even strike him what Petrel could be talking about... until he opens the folder.

The sight makes him want to puke.

Graphic crime scene photographs, in full color, scatter out from within. The limbs torn from his body are put on full display, scarlet blood and violet flesh revealing broken bones within. Teethmarks break the skin, as if whatever had done this didn't just bite down, but tore them off.

He flips further. Away floats in behind him, eye widening as it realizes just what Gold's found. Petrel's right about one thing; the documents ARE heavily redacted. Gold recognizes █████ ███ as being his full name given the context. His other shoe's in the picture too, still on his left foot, so there's no denying who it is those limbs belonged to.

It's not the photographs of his scattered body parts that truly shake him, however. It's the description of 'a strangely-colored ███ spotted' above the attack site. The blurry purple and red figure photographed in the skies above, tail fanned behind it and wings outstretched. The piercing cry ringing in his ears even now.

'Have fun questioning why your Pokémon haven't tried to tell you.'

Gold's head turns slowly towards the rest of his team members, bones creaking as it moves. "You knew." It's not a question.

"You... all... knew."

...Yeah, he wasn't exactly surprised by this outcome. He'd hoped that in all of the shocking evidence he'd managed to dig up, the brat would comply in a moment of confusion. But alas, much like Bruno of the Elite Four, he was set up for constant endless disappointment.

The trickery only elicited a slow, dull blink. The man's 28, he knows nobody's gonna take the hard way out. Quite frankly, the ex-prodigy played his hand way too early by making Petrel realize the boy was still the brat through and through, rather than some sort of demon. The good guys don't kill, yadda yadda.

"Sure, whatever. Don't really care. I've seen unspeakable horrors today, and I promise I'm gonna fold from smoker's lung before your teeth hit bone." Was... was he talking directly to the Typhlosion?

"Stay mad about the Selfdestruct."

Okay yeah, he was talking to her. Quickly, his attention turned back to Gold.

"I'm off to go continue my starring role in Brycen-Man: Turn off the Dark. Enjoy the existential crisis or whatever. Oh, and one more thing..."

Popping open a Pokeball to summon his Weezing, he awkwardly gripped onto the tops of its heads, preparing to float away from the oncoming travesty.

"Have fun questioning why your Pokemon haven't tried to tell you."

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

STORM-FLYING PETRELS (VI)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER VII ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.9k

WARNINGS: Panic attack, talks about death, guns, anxiety, insomnia & paranoia, angst, alcohol, littering in some heartfelt moments, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your nightmares were getting worse. It was undoubtedly true. 

The violent way you’d gasp into awakeness, tears, and sobs stuck on your lips as the large walls of your bedroom left you feeling more alone and isolated than anything. The barriers wouldn’t tighten—they would push out farther until all that remained was you and the bed, solitary and abandoned to darkness. Faces danced as the ghosts out in the hallways did at twilight, faces dripping blood and eyes reflective like a cat’s. 

Your father, the people in the park, the man you’d killed. 

Your mother, now, too. She stands next to Samson Row like a picture of perfection with a winning smile.

Gripping the damp rag in your hand tighter, you think over the moments after Gaz had told you about your matriarch landing in the States. It was almost comedic, now, the way you’d gone still and blank; bandaged hand loose over the paper with that telling red ink. Eyes boring into the way the Brit’s hand had tightened over his phone. 

Not moments prior you’d been mulling over the reality that your father had hidden things from you—how this strange moniker of ‘Chiyou’ rang to something inside of your head—and then another problem hits you. Over and over again it’s like you can’t catch a single break without it all falling to pieces.  

Even now, the stupid coffee stain on the dining room table is making your knuckles go thin from how hard you’re pressing. Your body was shivering, cold seeping into your bones even through your jacket. It was only an hour after the events in your dad’s office. 

Your teeth grit together, dragging the enamel into a scrape of pure anxiety. 

“I didn’t really take you for the stress cleaning type, Love.” Gaz watches you tightly, lips pulled back in concern from across the room. “Why don’t we just sit down and figure this out, yeah?”

“Or you can get the mop and start cleaning the floors.” You grunt, rubbing your shoulder into your cheek. 

In the time you’d been washing down the kitchen like a mad woman, you’d gone through four cups of coffee, and the jitters were plainly seen in your form as you jerkily ran back and forth. You'd call it pathetic if you were in the right state of mind. 

“Better yet,” you talk like you’re drunk, “get the duster and—” 

Your legs had left the table to go and grab the roll of towels on the island, but the world swirls halfway through your rapid pace. There’s a moment when you’re sure the house is tipping on its side, the foundations caving in from under you. 

You make a sound in the back of your throat when your legs buckle.

But before you slam to the ground, strong arms wrap around your middle and you can’t even breathe enough to push them off.

“Whoa! Okay, alright,” Gaz holds you, body firm and warm in a way you never could be. “Christ,” He whispers, face stiff. “Easy.”

Half bend over, you stare at the floor as the Brit brings you down slowly to your knees. He crouches in front of you and swiftly places his fingers on your pulse; skin sliding along your neck. You want to gag but have to make your head stop spinning first. 

In a moment of shaking lungs, you take down a deep breath. Like a vale, black fabric sits at the edge of your vision.

“Love, I’m going to need you to focus on me, yeah?” Gaz speaks slowly, his tone tight but still shining with worry. “Just listen to me.”

Your eyes burn and your chest is held down by bricks. Kyle’s grip goes to the back of your shoulders as he shifts you over, turning you like a toddler to rest your back against the island. Gasping lowly, your body fights against all normal senses—quivering and sweating at nothing. Your mind was pulsing with…everything. 

Devoid of any other option in a state of inner panic, you focus on the feeling of Gaz’s hands rubbing up and down your arms. It’s a few long minutes of borderline hyperventilating until the dim light of the kitchen slowly invades your eyes. 

The steady drip of tears makes itself known seconds later. Had you been crying?

“That’s it,” the Brit whispers, tilting his head to you and offering a small, tense, smile. Kyle’s lower face blinks into reality as your clenched hands loosen. Stings of pain echo up your injured palm. “It’s alright, we’re just in the kitchen…” He thins his lips and stops his hand movements; gradually taking his limbs back as you catch your breath. 

You clench your jaw against the sting of growing embarrassment. 

“Sweetheart…?” 

“I didn’t ask for your help,” your voice is shaky and cuts out in places. Kyle looks away and closes his eyes for a moment, shaking his head calmly. 

“Don’t need to ask for it,” he grumbles, caution stuck in his throat but being honest. “Take a deep breath.”

You nearly want to spite him and hold your lungs still, but you push aside your stubborn nature and do as he says. Groaning under your breath, your hands go up to your eyes, rubbing into the sockets. After a long moment where you can feel Gaz’s gaze stuck on you as his feet shuffle, you lower your hands and sigh long. 

“She can’t see the house like this.” You whisper, genuinely distraught. It’s the first thing that comes to mind.

Kyle’s eyes tighten, and he finds himself not knowing what to say to you. His heart constricts.

Sniffling, you rub at your cheeks, beginning to shove off the floor until firm hands once more snap to your shoulders. They keep you back against the island as you growl and attempt to jerk out of them. 

“Would you quit it?” In reality, you don’t want to be here anymore—not in the kitchen, no, near Gaz. Shame makes your stomach roll with nausea. You need to go back to your room; the closed curtains and the dark corners. 

Every action that was made near him was laced with agony; a knife stabbed through your chest. Even if his intentions weren’t sinister. You just need to be alone.

“Well, would you bloody sit down, then?” He’s serious about this, his grip not hurting but still tight. Gaz puts one hand atop his head and resituates his hat with a digging of his dark eyes. You glare at his neck with hatred. “I’m askin’ you to take a second, Love. Just let yourself calm down a bit. You’re running yourself ragged over this, yeah? Fuckin’ hell, look at what just happened!” 

“It’s nothing!” You snap but know that it’s not the truth. Gaz aggressively shakes his head and looks away with disappointment in his eyes. 

He knows it’s not your fault, and in fairness, he’s not disappointed in you at all. He’s disappointed he didn’t have a larger backbone about getting you involved in this. The day you both first met weighs on him every time he looks at you; every time he walks through his decaying house. The remnants of what’s left. 

The details in the office are brightly lit in his brain. 

Kyle takes a large breath and lets his tension drop instantly. There is an overwhelming amount of mixed concern and confusion that always makes itself known when he’s around you. 

Grunting, the Brit shifts on the floor and rests his back on the island right next to you on the floor. He bends one of his knees and rests his elbow over it, scratching at his chin with his fingers before resting his arm completely—letting it hang. You blink over in silent shock, mildly uncomfortable from how close he was. 

Strained silence falls as your hand slips into your jacket pocket; fiddling with the coin in its clutches. Your heart still pounds, eyes finicky as they dart from Gaz to the far wall and floor. 

Kyle clears his throat as your wounded arm burns. 

“How about we make a deal, yeah?” Your fingers pause with their rolling of the coin, but you don’t look over. Gaz tilts his head in your direction and stares at the side of your face—not trying to make you uncomfortable, just wanting to gauge your reaction. He takes a deep breath and, when you don’t reply, continues. “I help you clean, and when I say we take a break, I have to answer one question of your choice.” 

That piques your interest, ears twitching up. 

In your head you immediately snap back to the events in his room; the warmth of Kyle’s hands as he held and stitched you up with his story about his scars. You don’t know why you can’t stop thinking about it at every other moment.

You hum an acknowledgment, flinching when the chemicals start to turn your hand numb. Gaz lightly shushes you, squeezing your wrist. 

Your wrist rolls as you move it in a circle to push back tingles.

Pressing your coin into your palm, you think over Gaz’s proposal as he waits for an answer expectantly. He thinks to himself that if you agree, then he’s one step closer to getting on your good side for the remainder of this protection stint. The Brit prays you just hear him out.

He doesn’t want to admit how much your light-headedness has put a strain on his heart. How fast his eyes had snapped back and his feet darted forward. 

“You said your mother was a florist?” You don’t verbally agree or disagree with Gaz’s question, but the inquiry you say into the echoey kitchen is enough to know. It was strange, though, that you were asking a question that you already knew the answer to. As well as with how it was a personal one. But the Sergeant, nonetheless, holds back the pull of his large smile and nods.

“Affirmative. Little place down the street from my childhood home.” You stare at the far wall, and after a second your head slowly angles back so that your head rests on the island behind you. 

It must be a sight, the two of you on the floor of a dusty and barren kitchen. You can’t find the strength right now to get up and stalk away. Kyle rubs the back of his neck and is surprised by your follow-up. 

“What’s she like?” His brown eyes widen a smidge as he looks at your blanks and placid face. Voice small like a bird. 

“Uh,” the Sergeant falters, but recovers quickly, “she’s…nice, good, even. I’ve not spoken to her for a bit, but she’s…” Gaz halts for a moment, blinking, “...she’s just about everything you could ask for and more. Taught me well.” He ends his sentence with a dismissing huff. 

You feel your gut tighten, but hum in response. 

Kyle wonders if it’s his curiosity or his determination that makes him speak next, “What about yours, then?” Your body tightens back up immediately and he scrambles. “N-not in a personal way, just…you speak fondly of them, your parents, I mean.”

Most of the time. 

Licking your lips, you wonder if it’s really necessary to answer. But it had been so long since you’d had someone to speak to. Kyle had been slowly worming his way into the remnants of your everyday routine like a parasite; finding its home in the body of your family's estate. 

There were a large number of negative emotions attached to this Brit, yet still, once you’d opened the gates of your mouth, there was little chance of stopping. He’d taken a screwdriver and was working away since he’d saved you that day in the park. 

“They loved each other.” You settle with, hearing Gaz sigh in relief to see you weren’t going to snap and stalk off. “My mother was always with my father—they did everything together. She was more strict than him; wanted me to go into something with more prospects than follow Dad into a history degree. But…” You think, coin-face leaving indents into your flesh. Whatever damage had been done to your injured palm had slowed its heated pulse. “...Seady,” Kyle listens intently. “She was steady. Like a rock.”

Something akin to pain bleeds into your face and the man keeps himself from putting a hand on your shoulder in comfort. 

“I guess she just couldn’t handle it when he died. Needed to get away.” While you had dug your heels in and stayed stationary, she’d gone off and taken a shift overseas. To forget or to find something more, you never asked. When she was gone, you really couldn’t say much changed. 

After all, that entire first year was a blur of black and red. 

You take a shallow breath and pull your hands from your pockets. “Can’t say I blame her. Just… nervous about seeing her again.” 

This was more than Kyle expected. His brows were slightly higher on his face, eyelids curved. He clears his throat slightly, looking away quickly. Guilt, as it seems to do a lot recently, builds on his shoulders like a castle of stone.

He never should have agreed to that damned interrogation, but how was he to know that Row would pull the trigger for no reason? 

Hell, was that even an excuse? 

“...I’m sorry, Love,” he says, and your breath stops with mounting pressure inside of your throat. 

Your head slowly turns his way and you stare at the space where his stubble is taunt under his nose. 

“What…?” He barely hears the words. 

Kyle’s head fully turns your way but you don’t balk back when his brown orbs graze the side of your vision—so nearly looking into them but still so far. Eyes are wide and nearly frightened in expression by the words that had just entered your eardrums.

Kyle speaks up, “I said I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I never should have bloody played along with the bastard plan. It wasn’t right. I’m not asking you to forgive me, I just…need you to know that, y’know?” 

Face burning, you open and close your mouth; vision darting from random points on the Sergeant’s face until you snap your head away in a flurry of tight lips and shaking shoulders. You burn holes into the far wall but look more anxious than anything. 

Your lungs get tight and your nose feels like you’re breathing in needles, but you refuse to cry in front of this man again. No matter how much the words were like a bucket of cold water to your scalp. 

You can never forgive him for what he helped do—for the gun and the bag over your head; the death and trauma—but you’d never even expected an apology. It…it meant something, but what that was, you weren’t quite sure. 

All you do is shrug brokenly. 

“I’m sure it’ll be just fine,” Kyle tries to comfort you. “It’s been what? Around three years since you’ve seen her? Well,” he chuckles lightly, “I’m sure the first thing she’ll do is give you a bloody huge hug. Lift you off the ground and all.”

You scoff, finding your breath. “She was never a hugger, Garrick.”

“People change, wanna wager on it?” Your brows turn into a line. “A ten.”

“No.” 

“Ah, c’mon!” 

“No!” You growl at a smirking Sergeant as he tilts his head back and laughs, hat-brim sticking out from his head. He raises his hand in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright. Point taken, then.” Rolling your eyes, you huff and rub at your eyes aggressively. While some of your nerves had left, the sheen of it still lived in the lines on your forehead. The air wafts back into that strange tension and delicate sanctity.

“My own father,” Gaz starts slowly, measuring words. “Was in the service. A soldier.” His arm moves up and he shifts it so it hovers above your lap. His wristwatch glints and after a dim hesitance, you carefully reach out a hand to touch the material; tiling it towards you. Your eyes slide over it as Kyle’s face softens, his tone easy. “I took after him, too. Tough luck I never managed to grow a green thumb, probably would have saved me some soiled clothes.” 

You puff air from your nose.  

“Can’t see you retiring to the garden anytime soon, unfortunately.” Gaz smiles and takes his arm back tactfully. 

“Hm,” the man settles back and sighs. “No, probably not, Ma’am. Just hope I don’t end up like he did.” 

At your angled head and glimmering eyes, he continues, “Fell in the line of duty when I was ‘bout as tall as a table. My Mum never wanted me to go chasing after his memory—we don’t talk much because of it.”

It was the way you could mirror yourself into Kyle’s own childhood that really struck you, but as your brain went a mile a minute you rolled it back into focus. You can think about that later, but right now you just wanted to try and understand the way you were feeling. 

“Why are you telling me this, Kyle?” You whisper. The Brit’s hand comes up to rub at his neck. 

“Because I feel like you need someone to talk to,” he hums. “Even if you don’t like ‘em.”

The tease is evident in his tone. 

You don’t like that he splays your emotions out like this—knows that something’s wrong even if it’s entirely obvious. He talks about it, and that's entirely foreign to you. Three years of solitude with no one to utter to but your professors and Hector. Only one of those you could consider somewhat of a friend, really. Hector listened when you ranted and seemed to at least care about you to a moderate degree. He had two girls after all, and although you’d never met them, you knew they were good kids. Loved.

Hector was all you had, and you told him nearly everything. 

And now…well…now Kyle wants you to talk? Part of you wanted to chuck a coffee mug at his head. 

You shake your head, walls going back up. 

“Keep your end of the bargain, Garrick. Go get the mop.” Brown eyes sadly watch after you as your arms shove you up. Standing, you rub at your eyes and snatch the paper towels from the island counter like they had personally wronged you.

Kyle hums under his breath and shakes his head, fixes his cap, and pushes up to follow.

—

You speak again far later, and despite his comments about not becoming the cook of the mansion, you can’t fight him in the fact that his food was good. And you both had to eat, regardless. 

Sitting in the back library, you place the plate of Gnocchi with creamed spinach down with a clack as you push aside the bottle of disinfectant spray. The white sheet that had been around the furniture was ripped back some minutes ago to show a luxurious chaise lounge of navy tufted fabric and a small side table. Your mother’s favorite pieces in the house, ironically. Gaz is already eating, standing near the fireplace in the center of the wide and extravagant room. 

He looks around every so often at the scores of books and ladders that extend to the ceiling. Everything about this house, he thinks to himself, is the definition of old money.

“All we need to pull this together,” Kyle licks at the side of his mouth and smiles as he says, “Is a nice bottle of Fiano, eh?” He laughs, “Don’t suppose you have a wine cellar, Ma’am? I’d say you deserve it after a day like today.”

Your form pauses momentarily when bringing the fork to your lips, but you continue with a blink and say, easily, “Cellar? Yeah, but don’t plan on anything being down there. It’s all gone.” 

Gaz tilts his head, bringing his own fork to his lips and chewing. “That’s a right shame. Would have paired nicely.”

You place your utensil down in exasperation and glare at his throat. “You are the weirdest person I’ve ever met.”

Kyle’s expression goes mock offended. “Hey!” He humphs, “If you keep letting me cook then I’m going to do my bloody best!”

“There’s incriminating evidence in my father’s office and you’re worried about wine?” 

“I’m not worried,” Gaz points the fork at you as you shake your head and get to eating. “I said it would pull it together. There’s a damn difference, Love.”

You can’t believe this is the man that’s living in your home. Helping you clean; keeping you from being shot—talking about wine. It’s a miracle you haven't killed him at this point. 

“Tough luck,” you grumble, chewing. “There’s none left. Suffer alone.”

“Well, that’s just uncalled for, that is,” Gaz utters, getting the last piece of flooded potato and sticking it in his mouth. The smirk in his words is evident. But the weight of your previous words stands, and you get into the next topic swiftly.

“I need to go into my father's old office in the museum, Garrick.” The man’s arm stills from where he tilts his plate to get some of the spinach onto his fork. His shoulders tighten immediately. 

“Negative,” the Brit’s voice echoes. “Not happening, Ma’am. We’ll get someone else on it.”

No one else knows my father. There’s a part of you that knows that no one else can figure this out as you can. 

Red ink, copied signatures, that blasted moniker. It’s a literal trail of bodies that you need to piece together for this to make the painting you’re working on—brushstroke by brushstroke.

In your heart you know there’s more going on. Your father wasn’t what people are telling you, even if he knew things that sullied his image. This wasn’t right.

“Gaz,” you try not to let your anger show at this—growing tired of the constant fights. “This isn’t something that I can compromise on.” Kyles stares and sets his jaw.

“I’m not letting you leave his mansion, Ma’am. For yourself and for others.” He takes a breath. “Let my mates handle it; Laswell’s already got a unit together. They’re rechecking the docks and the museum by your counsel soon. Spoke to her just after I got news of your mum coming back.”

Soon wasn’t soon enough. You don’t know why, but unease hits your stomach. The house had always felt like it had ears on it, but when you were talking about stuff like this it seemed alive. The curtains sway with the AC, the wood creaks more. It’s horrible. 

Or maybe it was just because Gaz was living here. But it just felt like….eyes. 

“Kyle,” you try to stay the venom from your tongue. Anyone can tell you’re strained. “I’m asking nicely, here.”

“And you said you would listen to me, Love.” The Brit rubs at his forehead. “I’m not doing this to be difficult, truly.” A long sigh exits, a tired but honest one. He wishes you’d look him in the eyes so he can make you understand he only wants what’s best for you. The way you’d been after the shooting…Gaz’s hands remember the tightness of elastic as he stitched you back up—you’re vacant gaze. He can’t have that happen again. “I’m keeping you alive if you could only stay here. This house is secure, and if we go into a potentially target-rich environment, I have no say in what could happen to you, yeah?” 

You knew this, of course you did, but so much had been discovered in so little time.

“Sergeant, I—”

“No, Ma’am. That’s an order. We’re staying here and that’s final.” It seemed whatever strange feelings from the kitchen and office are far gone now. Kyle’s face is like stone, and you stare at his scars with returning resentment. Could he not see how much this meant to you? No, how could he? All he does is follow his fucking orders.

Your teeth snap around the food on the end of your utensil, sliding off the metal as you think. Letting fire flare in your gaze, you glare at the plate and say nothing else. Angry, but not defeated.

Kyle and you go back into a highly uncomfortable silence. Closing his eyes, the man twitches his nose as his legs shift from under him. Suddenly the brick of the fireplace is grating to feel against his athletic shit. 

He grunts and shovels his last bit into his mouth as you stand—food only half-eaten. 

Brown eyes stare as you stalk out of the room, hand clenched around your plate. When you’re out of sight, Gaz lets out, “Christ…just fucking brilliant.”

But he wasn’t about to tell you that you could leave; you can sulk all you want, but that’s not changing his opinion. 

You stomp through the immediate hallway like a child, playing your part perfectly. Once you are far enough away, your feet speed up to a light jog and carry you to the front door. You open it and place the entire thing on the front step; a backend form darts out from the bushes and hisses. 

You harshly whisper into slitted eyes, “Oh, step off, you temperamental demon.” The door shuts and you race up to your room—bounding up the foyer stairs two at a time, knowing exactly where to place your weight to make sure the steps won't creak. 

Entering the blackened room, you close the door and lock it with deft fingers. Looking at the clock, you engrain the time of seven-fifteen to memory and resolve to be back by midnight. Gaz makes his first round at eight, but he won’t bother you if you’re pissed as you intended to make it seem. From then it’s twelve and then at four. 

If you can get back in before he does that middle-of-the-night search, you’d be golden. 

You rush to your curtains, peeling them back and blinking at the water spots on the glass behind them. Shaking your head, you unlatch the lock and look down at the two-story drop into bushes as you push aside the window with a slow squeal of hinges. 

“I’m getting answers,” you whisper stubbornly. No Sergeant would stop that. Backing up from the frame, you feel the chilled breeze and pull your jacket tighter against the nighttime air. 

Licking your lips, your eyes slide to the curtain wrack and your brain sparks with mischief. But before you do anything reckless or admittingly dumb, you turn with a serious expression to the nightstand that you stare at, morning after morning.

A moment of a rapid pulse passes in tight silence before you walk over.

With a small quiver in your finger, you place your hand on the brass handle like it could snap at you with merciless teeth. It stays there as you dig your eyes into the wood, searing it with purpose, that cold, lifeless metal in your tensed grip. With a grit of your teeth, you let it drop numbly, shaking your head. You grab your wallet and phone instead, stuffing them into your pocket, and shuffling away.

“Don’t need it,” your low voice reasons aloud, a hidden object swiftly leaving your consciousness. 

Dragging your desk chair over to the tall curtains, you grasp a hold of the metal rod that holds them with trapped breath, reaching on your tiptoes carefully. Puffing out breaths, you unhook it after the third try with a mute chuckle. A smirk takes residence on your face. 

Getting down on unsteady feet, you accidentally knock the hard material directly into the wall with a loud slam as your legs shift too quickly.

You freeze in an instant, ears strained and eyes wide. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as you stand holding the rod, those navy curtains a swell of the deep sea at your feet. 

Body ready to bolt, you take thin breaths before you realize nothing else is moving in the house. Letting out a long and slow breath, you move backward. 

Setting the rod across the opening of the window frame parallel, it stands in as an anchor as you feel your backside connect with the bottom wall. Focusing, you lift one leg and twist your spine to leave you straddling the frame with nervous pulses in your veins. Ducking your head, you move your grip to the curtains and grab them tightly, muscles straining. 

In a moment of courage, you say, “C’mon, I can do this…” and place one foot on the outside frame. The wood groans and sinks in, but you don’t let it scare you off. This had to be done. With a deep breath, you lean back with tightly closed eyes. 

Except you don’t fall. 

Lids pulling back, you stare at where your feet dig into the frame and how your hands hold the curtains—held themselves by the rod on the inside of your room that spans far more than the window's size. Your entire body is at an angle, hair swishing behind you due to gravity. 

“Holy hell,” You can’t help but utter, chuckling. 

Moving one foot back, you place it firmly to the side of your house as you scale backward down to the ground with sliding hands. The long curtain rod holds tight. 

In mere minutes, your feet hit down and you stumble before letting the curtain slowly go—far above hearing the slight ping of the thing hitting the floor at the loss of tension. With a smile on your lips, you dart away into the back garden before Gaz can even question the noise coming from your room.

All that’s left are the curtains whipping in the breeze.

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