#white fish was a pound heavier and i caught him first

[the-best-bagel]

caught 2 salmon one right after the other one had white meat other had normal red call that charmuro

[frostsinth]

Laughing at Clouds - Commission One-Shot

This was a commission one-shot for the lovely @toocurly4me who requested a monster match based upon some information given. The request was set to modern day, and with a little info about what our MC is into, I was more than happy to write out a little something for them! I had fun writing this. It was nice to be in our own time for once, and I love seeing our monsters out and about with the rest of us!

Want your own commission? I have a few slots left open. Check out my post HERE for details, or DM me directly. You can also BuyMeACoffe while you peruse my other ramblings on my MasterList

All the best and enjoy!

It was a rainy day on campus, with the cold biting chill of the morning lingering in each droplet that beat against the navy fabric of her school sweatshirt. The forecast hadn’t said anything about rain today. The storm felt like it had come out of nowhere. Hell, it was nearly the middle of winter! If the weather was going to do anything unpredictable, it should be snowing! Then she wouldn’t be caught so horribly unprepared; it would have been easier to brush off soft powder instead of soaking up the ice cold water into every inch of fabric on her body and plastering it to her small form. Until she was completely miserable, and pretty certain her dark skin would have a distinctive blue tint to it from her sweater’s dye bleeding into it.

But there had been nothing for it. Attempting to wait out the worst of the storm in the back of the science building where she had snuck in to view the new zoology exhibit had led to the downpour only getting heavier. And she had that end of term paper due the day after tomorrow. There was no way she could waste another minute lingering beneath those flickering lights. It was only a ten minute walk. How drenched could she possibly get in ten minutes?

The answer was “very”. “Soaked to the bone” also seemed a much more concrete and visceral description to her now than it ever had before in her life. And the young woman wasn’t even sure if she was even still headed in the right direction anymore. Three years on campus had imprinted the memory of the sidewalks of the commons into her mind's eye, but the rain was driving down sideways now, and she had bowed her head and pulled her hood as low as she could over her thick braids to keep it from smacking her in the face.

So she had a lovely view of her grey and black striped boots right when she hit something far more solid than the sheets of rain.

Her center of gravity forcibly shifted, a soft squeak escaping from between her lips before she could even process the fact that her feet were trying to continue forward even as her upper body fell backwards.

Just before she completely lost her balance, she felt something strong and firm catch hold of her flailing arm. Stubbornly denying the will of gravity.

“Hey, woah! Watch out!” Came the cry, the smoky sounding voice muffled by the pounding rain.

But it seemed to no avail. She was going down, and now whoever was the owner of the voice would be coming with her. The young woman toppled backwards, catching the majority of the impact on her bottom before toppling the rest of the way to her back. The icy cold puddles on the sidewalk splashed up about her in a stumpy wave almost comically. Or at least, it would have been comical, had another form not fallen pretty much directly on top of her as well.

Her lips sputtered for air momentarily, stuck somewhere between the weight of the stranger’s body forcing the air from her lungs and the pouring rain making her feel as though she were halfway underwater. She flailed her arms about, gasping in surprise as she tried to get her bearings.

Her progress was impeded by the person currently flailing about themselves as they tried to find solid ground. The full realization of her predicament had her face flushing dark, and she managed to sink her palms into the puddles on either side of her and start to prop herself up. Feeling the water thoroughly soak into the seat and back of her worn jeans as she did.

Her would-be rescuer slash the instigator of all her woes managed to get to their feet first, and she found a hand extended into her line of sight. Dark brown eyes darted up, blinking through the rivers of rain streaming down her face that seemed to pool at the ends of her long lashes. The first thing that cleared the mists beyond the tip of her nose was a set of sharp, sparkling white teeth bared in a sheepish smirk above her. The young woman reached up in a daze, and found her forearm caught in his offered hand. She could barely make him out through the thick turrets, but as he leaned back to help tug her to her feet, she was very aware of the fact that he was not human. Not that she could really tell much else amid the pouring rain. The man was about her height, perhaps shy an inch or two, and that was about the extent of her analysis at the moment. That, and those glitteringly sharp teeth he shot her once more. She couldn’t help but stare a little in surprise even as she got her feet back under her.

It certainly was not entirely out of the scope of possibility. Her university was one of the most diverse in the area. But still, having come from the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and coupled with the fact that she tended to avoid the more crowded aspects of college life in favor of quieter, more solitary activities, the young woman was always a little surprised at first to run into any of the non-human students of the campus. In this case, she was being quite literal about the “running into” part.

“Sorry!” He exclaimed as loudly as he dared, having to raise his voice to be heard over the din of the rain. “I wasn’t looking where I was going!”

Under any other circumstances, she would have laughed as she fished for her soaked hood. “Me neither, I’m sorry too!” She replied quickly, eager to be on her way and out of the downpour. She cast an eye about, and realized she must have turned right at the fork instead of left. She was going completely the wrong direction, which would mean even longer out in the icy grip of the storm. She shivered at the thought.

He seemed to be looking about as well, and reached for what appeared to be an umbrella that had been lost to the side of the path in the scuffle. As he scooped it into hand and turned it right side up, she gave a shriek of surprise which matched his own yelp as a fresh bucket of water fell on both of them.

“Aw, fuck!” He shouted, jumping a little. “Damnit! Fuck, I’m so sorry!”

Now freshly soaked and feeling like a drowned cat, she looked at him. Her arms wrapped around her shivering body, her thick hair plastered to her face and neck. He moved to hold the umbrella high over the both of them, again returning her bewildered stare with another sheepish look. He managed to reduce the rain’s assault on the tops of their heads at least, save for a few errant drips, but increasing its pounding crescendo tenfold in their ears as it pounded against the top of the umbrella instead.

“Look, my place is just there,” He told her, pointing to one of the scraggily buildings repurposed for dorms a few yards down the road, “Come on, it’s fucking cold out here. We’ll catch our deaths.”

She glanced over at the building, still shivering, and opened her mouth to reply. Quite before she could, she found his arm scooped in hers. Steering her the few yards to the creaky iron gate and up to the door. She was far too surprised to object.

Once on the covered porch, he released her arm, then shook the excess water from his umbrella and turned to look back over the drenched campus behind them.

“Gods above, what a dreadful day.” He grumbled before turning to face her properly. “I’m sorry I knocked you over…. And then dumped water on you…” He cocked his head to the side, smirking grin returning to his face, “And then proceeded to kidnap you. Let me make it up to you, yeah?”

The woman blinked at him stupidly a few times, finally able to take him in from head to toe without the rain impeding her line of sight.

He was slender built, with an athletic form currently generously framed by the way his drenched clothes stuck to him like spandex. Water dripped from the tip of a long slender nose, and his eyebrows arched in the center of an over pronounced brow as he looked at her. It was impossible to tell what color his hair was normally, as it was several shades darker now with water dripping from the spikey tips that were currently flattened to the top of his head. She ventured to guess it was probably a copper brown, and he seemed to have the sides shaved stylishly short while the top was wild and long. Long enough to possibly braid down the back of his slightly oversized head she imagined, should he so choose. He also boasted a pair of large ears, nearly as wide as her palm where they connected to the side of his skull, but then tapering into a broad but slightly rounded point a few inches beyond. The tips were loose, and shifted with his features as he talked. As expressive as his wry lips, which curled back into that sheepish smirk as she watched. She would also venture to guess that he was a deep, mottled green, though in the dim light of the morning it was hard to tell the exact shade, and she imagined he might be a fair bit paler from the cold.

The goblin cocked his head back to the side under her inspection, perhaps used to such staring, and offered out his hand “I’m Jaco, by the way.”

“Uh... “ She realized her mouth was dropped open a bit, and quickly endeavored to close it. Reaching out to carefully take his hand in hers. But as she met his bright yellow eyes… the knowledge of her own name suddenly fled her. “Oh.. I’m… Um…”

His brow raised quizzically. “... Ah, Are you alrig-”

“Rachelle!” She blurted quickly, then cleared her throat embarrassedly. “... I’m Rachelle…”

That sheepish grin returned, and his eyes glinted mischievously. “... Perhaps you hit your head when we fell?” He offered, almost as if he could read the loud hum that seemed to be currently filling her cranium. Though it certainly wasn’t from falling. Well… not the fall he meant at least...

She did laugh now, releasing his hand bashfully and pushing the loose strands of her sopping hair out of her face. “Something like that…”

“Sorry again about all that... “ He shuffled his feet, clearing his own throat and sneaking a peak up at her. “Can I make it up to you? Perhaps some tea or coffee? Or maybe hot chocolate, if you’ve got a sweet tooth?”

Rachelle gave a hefty sigh, shaking her head. “I really shouldn’t, I’ve got a term paper due that I haven’t even started-”

“Well, you won’t be able to start until you get dry, right?” He interrupted. “Why not dry off and warm up over some cocoa with some company?”

Her face blazed hot again, and she sheepishly rubbed at the back of her neck. “I’d just get wet again.” She pointed out with a small smile.

“I’ll escort you back, if you want.” He offered. “Or you can take my umbrella; I’ll enchant it this time so you won’t get a drop on you.” Her eyes lit up at the word ‘enchant’, and the goblin eagerly latched on. “I’m here studying enchantments.” He explained. “Working on my thesis actually, in thermopartical magicks and their effect on…” He dropped off, looking a little embarrassed at the sudden gush of enthusiasm for an obviously favored topic “... Ah, I don’t want to bore you with the science-”

“No, it’s not boring at all!” She returned quickly, almost bouncing on her toes in excitement. “I’ve always wanted to learn more about magic, but humans aren’t allowed to study the Application field, only research and historical.”

His sharp toothed grin grew to reach almost to his ears. “I am certainly not above showing off with a few magic tricks for a beautiful woman.” He teased, and his ears flopped as he cocked his head to one side. “Especially if it makes her eyes sparkle like that when I do.”

She nearly toppled over as her head spun at his words. A shy laugh petered from her lips, and she shuffled her feet. But she couldn’t completely hide the embarrassed smile that slipped across her lips. Jaco waited a moment, then bowed his shoulders, trying to catch her eye.

“... Can I tempt you again with the hot cocoa, Rachelle?” 

She grinned again, looking up at him coyly.  “... I could probably be convinced.”

He returned the smile, and reached for the handle of his door, bowing melodramatically at the waist as he opened it for her. She couldn’t help another laugh, and moved to step around him. As she did, her foot slipped on the old wooden boards of the porch, having spent the last few minutes becoming horribly slick with the water dripping in streams off their clothes. She gave another squeal, and felt herself sliding backwards for the second time that day. This time, Jaco reacted quicker, and his arm snaked out, catching her and lending his strength as she gathered her feet beneath her once more.

However, the motion brought him perilously close to her, and both of their eyes widened slightly at their sudden proximity. A hesitant silence filled the air, punctuated only by the drumming rhythm of the rain around them. Her breath caught and fluttered about in her throat, her heart skipped sporadically in her chest. He smelled of rain right now, but there was also the distinct hint of something spicy beneath it… cinnamon maybe? The realization that he was close enough to distinguish that made the balls of her cheeks grow hot despite the chilly morning air.

She couldn’t help her eyes darting down to his thin lips. Which curled into a smile as she did. Rachelle quickly corrected her gaze, meeting his yellow eyes with dark pools of velvet brown.

“Don’t let me stray down that train of thought,” He warned her lightly, his voice teasing and soft, “I’m trying to be a gentleman. Cocoa and an enchanted umbrella seem more than sufficient for a good first impression, no?”

She straightened a little more, and realized his three fingered hand had lingered in the small of her back. “Oh?” She managed after a shallow little wisp of a breath. “And I suppose a gentleman wouldn’t kiss a woman they’ve just met?”

She meant it to sound teasing and light, but his sharp yellow eyes danced at the sound of her voice. She caught him sneaking a peak at her full lips and they tingled under his scrutiny. She chased a nervous breath down her throat with a quiet swallow.

“I suppose they might. But the problem is,” He purred, leaning a little closer, “If I kissed you now, I don’t know if I’d be able to stop...”

[porrokin]

“SAINTS BEFORE SIXTH”

i have actually never posted anything like this on my tumblr - i'm kinda nervous ngl.

below you can find the blurb and entire first chapter of the fantasy novel i'm writing! 🤎 i'm so incredibly proud and wanted to share it with you :)

Andy was almost an adult now, not once in the past decade had she been entirely sober. This hadn't been a choice of her own; she didn't get many of those anymore after becoming a permanent resident in the Institute. She'd been permanently deprived of direct sunlight ever since her sixth birthday, on December 30th.

Meanwhile, her best friend claims to speak with his deceased parents and the Keepers found her newest ally before she did. They've been forcing him to use his powers for their selfish winnings, cruel violations like this could go unseen since the Warden disappeared.

Escaping the Keepers is one thing; they're still worlds apart from getting home - considering there's anything to come back to in the first place.

story : all rights reserved ; @porrokin

don't copy or claim this in any way; it is my work and belongs entirely to me.

THE ENTIRE FIRST CHAPTER IS POSTED BELOW !

-

Never once during the past decade had Andy been entirely sober, that fact would, however, become even more disturbing when you considered she was barely eighteen years old. It hadn't been a conscious choice, at least not one of her own.

Ever since her sixth birthday - almost precisely twelve years ago - Keepers had taken the freedom of making decisions away from her. What she ate, where she slept, who she talked to, and whether or not she took her meds four times per day - which she did, much to her disliking.

The Keepers no longer informed Andy of their plans for her, they used to back when she was still enrolled in the program. Christiano was, though she wasn't sure if she always believed him when he talked about what he did during those three hours every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Sunday. Nine hours each week, that's how much time they did want to spend with her roommate. She was on her own, once again.

The line scurried along. Andy hesitantly followed as she took in the newly arrived smell of potatoes and spinach. Lunch must start soon, meaning the clock could say 12:55 am anytime now. The rest of the world outside was sleeping, in contrast to this place - heavily lit by beaming, quietly zooming tubes. The grey ceiling was covered in them, leaving nothing to go by without catching the eye of at least one Keeper. Andy didn't know why they lived during the night, rather than when the sun could cast real and natural light into the long, empty hallways. Probably to keep the public from asking much-needed questions about this place, or perhaps they did know but couldn't care enough.

Another name was called out - not hers. The girl in front of the line had been injected, she swiftly turned around and started walking in against the direction of the line. Back to her room, she went, another day of the same, mundane routine. Day after day, twelve years before you got away.

Long ginger hair draped over her slim shoulders, curls bouncing up slightly with every step she took. Her face looked tense; not unusual for this place, but it was rather strange to see from this girl. When their eyes met, Andy was surprised to see an almost luminescent light grey shade. The girl's eyes were once green but now reminded her of the colour of freshly polished silverware reflecting in the light.

As she walked past her spot in line, electricity seemed to flow through Andy's spine; causing her entire body to shiver. Her eyebrows shaped themselves into a slight frown, for a moment she glanced behind her to look at this girl for an extra second. She wasn't allowed to speak to anyone in white but her roommate, though by now she'd been here long enough to recognize who slept in the same hallway and who didn't.

A loud crackling sound disrupted the silence, a moment later the automated voice began to talk through the speakers. Same time every day, the same voice at exactly five minutes before 1 am. 'Ten minutes before lunchtime, those who have not yet received their injections will be expected back in Hallway 162B in exactly 45 minutes'.

In a matter of seconds, their plan was about to be set in motion.

Right away, rummaging sounds rose from the back of the line. 'I need Andy!', a familiar voice shakily called out. 'My roommate, Andy Donahue!'

'Not up to you, get back in line or I'll make you.' Andy recognized his voice as the heavier Keeper with the bushy, unmanaged moustache. He sounded calm, he'd been quick to tase someone in the past and would most likely have his beefy fingers wrapped around the device already.

She raised her hand and started walking towards the back of the line, her body shaking entirely as if it was freezing and she walked into the cold without any clothes on her limbs.

Without expecting it, she was forcefully yanked back from behind. Before Andy even had time to blink, her arms were locked firmly behind her back, wrists pushing hard against her spine.

'You too, now? Don't think you're an exception to the rules.' Captain Keeper; not because he's the leader, but he sure did like trying to boss the others around. She didn't answer him right away but rather tried to stretch her body and spot Christiano in the hallway. She couldn't.

'I'm his roommate, that's Irvine. Sometimes he freaks out in the presence of many people-' A sweaty hand roughly pulled her head back by her hair, causing her to face the ceiling. Her body alarmed her of the pain this caused to her neck. The bright lights made her eyes tear and she struggled to swallow.

'Did I tell you to open your mouth?' Clammy Hands scoffed.

She attempted to reason with him: 'Let me take him to our room so he can calm down.'

'Get back in line. Otherwise, I'll make sure you don't get out of solitary until snow melts.'

She managed to free her arm from his clammy grasp. 'I can ensure you-'

He reached for her, his face caught between anger and frustration. He was getting impatient, little was he aware that this was exactly Andy's will. She stumbled backwards to avoid him this time, successfully, both of them were surprised by it.

'Christiano will throw up. Do you want that to happen when..' She ever so slightly raised her chin, dramatically pausing for a moment as she raised her boney finger.

Andy continued. 'About six hundred kids still need their injections in this hallway? That seems to be a big inconvenience — if I am allowed to voice my opinion.'

'Sir.' she added. The encounter would surely have been more entertaining would her head not be pounding, the shakiness of her knees increasing by the second. She knew her body needed the meds she managed to rid this morning - she would deny this dependence at any cost if someone were to ask.

He sighed and resultantly nodded in Christiano's direction. 'Go. I'll know where to find you in five minutes.'

She did as told, anxiously searching the hallway for her roommate. So far everything was going just as she so meticulously planned; she was okay.

By now she imagined the time creeping closer to 1:00 am, breaks for the Administration would start in ten minutes; she only needed three. The two minutes after that meant for racing back to their room, in case Captain Keeper was indeed determined to stick to his earlier promise.

Something as cold as ice grabbed her hand, effortlessly disrupting her thoughts. Chocolate brown eyes met hers, a feeling of relief washed over Andy's body. Squeezing his hand, they swiftly disappeared behind the corner at the end of the hallway.

'You got the key?' Andy hushed her voice. Administration breakrooms were still in the same hallway as their offices. She wondered whether they got as little sunlight as the kids here did.

'I do. Traded my last blanket for 15 minutes of borrowing the thing, this place leaks of greedy bastards.' He grinned, accentuating his sharp facial structure.

'If you're right about the Bidding we'll be out of here soon enough anyway.'

'I am right.'

'I believe you.' She extended her hand for him to hand her the key. 'I want to prepare for everything, that's all.'

While Andy gained access to Ad 348H, Christiano leaned nonchalantly against the drinking fountain, his finger push-ready on the button. If she caught the sound of water running, she needed to hide. Christiano would have to sneak her back out after their lunchtime. Not the desired option, as this would be too close for comfort with the Administration break ending at the same time.

Thanks to Christiano's contacts she knew immediately which cabinet to find; about twenty seconds had passed already. Her hands rummaged through the several files and envelopes, one of the many drawers containing surnames with "D" as their starting letter.

She gasped audibly when finally skimming across her own, "Andy Donahue" it said. As she attempted to pull it out, the cardboard folder ripped on one end; the contents spilling out like jelly beans at an overwhelmingly disorganized children's party.

She cursed to herself as she attempted to fish for whatever just got lost within the mass amount of documents and belongings. A soft texture brushed against her finger and with some effort, she managed to grab onto it.

Her journal! Andy's heart skipped a beat, who knew they would've collected this in here after confiscating it years ago. Without hesitation she dropped it into the neck of her jacket, holding it against her stomach with her other hand. What else did she need? Her file was too big to ever sneak out in its entirety and to take this heavy notebook was already a reach.

A loud cough echoed into the room as if she had her fingers in her ears this whole time to block out the noise. Finally, the sound of splashing water seemed to reach her. She slammed the cabinet shut, somehow getting her black sleeve stuck in the process. No, no, this was bad - this was so awfully bad.

While securing the journal with her other arm she put her body up against the heavy metal cabinet and made a desperate attempt at freeing herself from its hold.

'Yes!', slightly too loud.

Within a moment she smoothly turned around, slamming herself against something and stumbling onto the cold concrete flooring.

'We really don't have time anymore, why didn't you come out when I signalled for you?', Christiano grabbed her free arm and hurriedly pulled Andy back up on her feet.

'I'm sorry!'

She followed right behind him, both came to a sudden stop once they'd realized what was waiting behind the walls of Ad 348H. At least six Keepers surrounded them in the hallway, pointing that same amount of stun batons in their direction.

Captain Clammy Hands was the one to break the silence: "Such a shame, Donahue."

-

© PHOTOGRAPHY : @/k_reckd [ TWITTER ]

to read more, check out my story on wattpad @/porrokin [ same as on tumblr ]

CREDIT WHERE IT IS DUE ; THE COVER

© PHOTO - MODEL : @/iiphugs [ TWITTER ]

[rina-writes]

Calm Waters (Part 1)

Summary:  For the last five years, you have been locked away twelve to sixteen hours a day in a cell...filled with water.  Your ability to hold your breath underwater for extended periods of time has led to a series of unfortunate events that led to your captivity.  The only time you get outside of your cell is as a worker at the aquatic theme park where you are trapped. You had resigned to your bleak life until one night, the newly hired, attractive lifeguard, Grayson Dolan, falls into your tank as a result of a prank.  Saving his life could be the start to saving yours.

A/N: This is probably the most unique thing I’ve written on this blog because it’s a sci-fi AU.  You know how a lot of original content being a former fan fiction (ie. 50 Shades originally being a Twilight fic)...this is the opposite haha. Where this is an original concept that I made a fanfic using the twins since they are my current muses.  Sooo....definitely let me know what you think!

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, loss of parents, captivity, and bullying.  There is also lots of fluff and teenage romance!

If darkness had a temperature it would be cold.  That’s what you decided after five years in the cell.  It didn’t matter that the water was always kept at 67 degrees Fahrenheit, the optimal temperature for your survival, it always felt cold.  In the ocean, the vibrations kept you warm.  The sounds of a whale calling to it’s lover, dolphins whispering hello, and sharks chewing their prey all prickled your skin in tiny waves.  You didn’t get that in your cell, because it was just you all alone until morning.  Then the cover would be lifted and you could embrace the world.

If freedom had a temperature it would be warm.  It would be sunshine of a cloudy summer’s day or the cotton candy machine churning out treats for a long line of toddlers.  It would the smell of butter popcorn and the snug fit of a new promotional cap.  While your world was small, you savored the seconds of your warmth outside of the cell.  You knew your days of warmth would continue to decrease as you got older and you wanted to cherish it.  This was your so-called youth that you overheard your audience joke about in between performances.  Youth, the thing that you knew you possessed, and the one thing that was being taken away from you in order to provide it to another.  Youth, the phrase that you understood in concept, but not what it showed in practice.

Until he fell into your cell.

It was what started it all.  His kindness and curiosity launched you into a journey of discovering what it meant to be young.  What it meant to live for today and tomorrow, making mistakes, learning from them, and making new ones.  Falling in love. And ultimately, breaking out of your cell.

You were sleeping when it happened.  You learned to find comfort in the dark.  You would sink to the bottom and roll yourself into a ball.  The entire side of your body would lay on the smooth, cold floor. As you rocked yourself to create small waves in the water, that always felt heavier at the bottom, you would fall asleep.  You equated it to “tossing and turning” in a bed, a feeling you had not experienced since your confinement.

The moment his body hit the water, you felt it through all of your nerves.  It was like an electric shock.  Your eyes opened, despite not being able to see anything, but your skin told you everything you needed to know.  Your legs fluttered behind you as you glided toward your target.  It almost seemed insulting to call it swimming as your technique was so graceful that it looked like a dance.  

At first, you didn’t know what it was.

The creature in your cell was about 5 feet and 11 inches in length, 180 pounds, and terrified.  It was thrashing around, causing more waves in the water and alerting you of its presence.  Your hands reached out and touched what you could identify was the middle of it’s back.  It was covered in a jean jacket, that felt tattered even in the water.  It was at that moment that you realized it was a person and one that didn’t want to be here.  

You knew it wasn’t a threat.  Most threats came in the form of scientific experiments.  These tests were accompanied by a bright white light and white lab coats and shades staring at you almost in the nude. They wanted you to feel scared and powerless, so they would never sneak up on you in your own terrain.

Your touch obviously scared the person more, and with a gasp, you felt the last bubbles of breath leave their lips.  Now terrified, you pushed the person towards the top of your cell.  You figured there had to be a break in it somewhere if someone fell in.  As you  neared the top, you heard the sounds of distant laughter and footsteps.  You knew the sounds of mockery when you heard it.  It sent a chill up your spine, and a bit of anger burned in your heart.  Why did people always have to hurt others?  You saw a bit of light towards one of the edges of your cell and you pushed the person toward it.  With a few hefty pushes, you finally got the person over the edge.  You continued to push and push until the person was laying on ground beside your cell.

You poked your head through the hole and looked around.  It looked different at night than during the day. At night it looked abandoned and scary.  You couldn’t see the other cells from where you stood at all, despite knowing that the dolphins were one over and the hammerheads were on the other side.  Your eyes narrowed in on the person as they got used to the darkness.

Your brows furrowed as you recognized him.  His usually styled dark brown hair was wet and stuck to his forehead, his full brows relaxed, his hazel eyes shut close, his sloped nose twitching as he sucked in air and his full pink lips stuck shut.  Grayson was quite popular since his arrival.  All the girls liked him and all the boys envied him.  To assert their status, some of the guys started picking on him.  They would point out that he only wore old clothes and knock offs, and that his mother did all his hair cuts at 18. It seemed as though their latest stunt was tossing him into your cell.

They didn’t know what was in here.  This area had been closed off, but it was easy for workers here to get to if you knew how.  The cover didn’t allow people to see inside, especially not at night, and during the day, it was too risky to come up here without getting caught.  You often heard people whispering above you, but no one ever broke in.  You assumed it was neighborhood kids daring each other and backing out of it the moment it got too real.  Most likely, Grayson didn’t know the rumors about the “dangerous creature” that lurked the last cell.  He probably tried to look cool and pretend to go into the cell.  They probably pushed him.

You rested you cheek on your arm which was resting on top of the tank.  He really was handsome. Tomorrow, this damage to your cell would be repaired.  You wouldn’t be able to exit it on your own.  Part of you wanted to take your freedom and do something great with it.  Runaway and save yourself from this hell hole.  

Instead, you watched the breath finally enter through his lips and the rise and fall of your chest.  You told yourself you wouldn’t get far.  That no one els like was ever able to successfully blend in and you were the last person to be able to assimilate into society. But this, watching him, was something you could do.  

You reached a hand out to touch his arm and then move to his shoulder and then to his cheek.  His eyes fluttered open and you retracted immediately.  Those hazel eyes squinted at you past his long lashes.

“Angel…” He whispered.  He coughed, water coming out of his mouth as he turned on his side.

He may have said more, but you retreated to the bottom of your cell.  You curled into your ball and rocked yourself as fast as you could.  You tried to forget and fall asleep.  You tried to pretend that tomorrow would be another day and you wouldn’t have to suffer the punishment…

Surprisingly, it was a normal day the next day.  At sunrise, the glass top of your cell slowly rolled back, allowing the light to slowly seep through.  You floated upward with trepidation, worried that there was danger waiting for you at the top.  However, as usual there was nothing.  You stepped out on to the roof and looked out over the town.

The houses looked like little dots next to the long spiraling streets and highways.  You could see cars slowly moving in bumper to bumper traffic, and the specks of people leaving their homes.  You wondered, like you always do if you looked like a speck too.  You walked to your clothing station, waving at the dolphins as you walked by their cell.  You hummed so they knew you were near.

Doris, the eldest dolphin, waved her left fin and then flipped around to twitch her tail fin twice to the right.  You sighed and nodded understanding her message.  One of the youngest dolphins was still having trouble sleeping.  It was “rescued” from one of the fishing traps in the sea and was still adjusting to captivity.

You motioned with your hands at first creating a cover for your eyes with one hand and then letting that hand drop into a fist on top of your open palm.  I’ll see what I can do.

You continued walking and opened the storage container.  As far as other workers at the park knew, this was where they kept the cleaning supplies.  Only you knew that this was where you got your clothes. As you put on your uniform, a white polo shirt and white wide leg shorts, you stared in the tiny, broken reflective piece of glass you kept there as a mirror.  Your mother once told you that you couldn’t run around naked because it wasn’t polite. Yet, every night, you stripped off your clothes to your undergarments and every morning you got dressed on this roof.  When you first were captured, you would hide away as you got changed.  Then you realized that you were just a speck.  Not just in terms of distance, but also of importance.  No one would ever be curious what you looked like without your clothes.  

Angel

The word popped into your head and you shook your head violently as if trying to get it out.  It was the way he said it, his chest puffing up with air and then that air releasing from his mouth almost like a gasp as he looked at you with these hopeful eyes.

It didn’t matter.  Grayson worked the wave pool as a lifeguard.  He didn’t even work near the performance arena.  Even if you did run into him, he wouldn’t recognize you.  It was way too dark for him to make out your features.  Still, you had to confess that the thought of him made you excited. The fantasy of him falling for you, the real you, was one that could keep your mind occupied for a long time.

You put on your socks and your shoes, your skin always drying quickly.  Your hair took a few minutes longer, but you put the cap on anyway.

Pete’s Ocean Land.

To some people it was an affordable, local Sea World that saved aquatic creatures from the beach a couple miles away.  For you and the other aquatic creatures here, it was a prison.  At least you got the chance to leave, because of what you were.  The dolphins, sharks, seals...none of them had the ability to just stand on their legs and play human.  That’s why you did your best to help them.  Making sure they had good food, alerting when they were sick, and keeping them company when you could.  It was easier since they understood you.  

You had inside jokes.  For example, your main job at Pete’s Ocean Land was as one of the lead dolphin performance instructors.  Prior to your arrival, they couldn’t get the dolphins to perform any tricks, but you were able to convince them to do it.  While you yelled out commands to the crowd, in reality, you were signing the moves to them.  The dolphins would often sign back rude or unseemly comments that made you stifle your laughter.  Sometimes, they would even ask you who they should splash and you always chose someone who was ruining the event for someone else.

The best part was, the language was a secret.  No one knew about it, not even your captors.  It allowed you all to speak freely and have a bit of community.  You didn’t know the origin of the language, but it was one your mother taught you back then. You always assumed it was the language of her people.

Your  mother.  Your father.  The images of your parents brought both happy and sorrowful memories for you.  Your father was human, but your mother was...whatever you were.  It wasn’t quite clear.  Mermaid sounded a bit far reaching as you didn’t have a fin or gills.  If you had to describe your activity under water, it was holding your breath under water for long periods of time and gracefully swimming.  Essentially, you were an amphibian.  On the outside, however, you appeared like a completely normal 18 year old girl. That was how you were raised until you were 13 years old.  Your parents died in a mysterious fire and on the way to the police station to get you up for adoption, you were told that your uncle would take you in.

Your uncle, aka Pete, was your dad’s eldest brother.  Apparently, your uncle had tried to persuade your father to put you and your mother in his little exhibit for years, but your father refused.  With him out the way, he now could do whatever he wanted with you. He told people he put you in the best boarding school, but in reality, you were locked away in one of the old tanks at the park.  You called it a cell, but you knew what it was...it was a tank just like the other animals.

At 13, you ability to breathe under water wasn’t that strong, but Pete trained you.  If you could call it that.  Locking in that cell until you clawed at the glass for help.  He would invite scientists who would push and prod you without a warning, and often with out anything on.  You felt disgusting and less than human...thus leading you to feel like you were.

In the five years you lived in captivity, the only hope you had was your job.  The occasional little girl that said she wanted your job when she grew up, or listening in on what was hip these days as teenagers conversed in the cafeteria, gave you the will to keep pushing forward.

You considered yourself lucky that Grayson had scurried off and was not found by any of the personnel. It allowed you to keep up appearances.

“Aurora?” You heard a voice ask behind you.

That was your name at the park.  Obviously, your uncle couldn’t let you just walk around using your real name when you were supposed to be away.  To emphasize your difference more, your hair was frequently dyed bright red.  You hated it because when it was freshly dyed it would taint the water in your cell and your uncle wouldn’t bother to change it for days. 

“Yes?” You said closing the cabinet.  You expected it to be one of the workers here to feed the animals.  Whoever they were, they were early.

Your eyes widened when you turned around to see Grayson standing there.  He looked different in the light.  His skin was so tanned, the muscles in his arms bulging under his white polo shirt.  His white shorts hit him different at the waist, like he was a model or something.  His hair was styled up in the front  and he was cleanly shaven.  His eyes, twinkling hazel eyes that looked green in this light, stared at you brightly.

“It was you! You’re the person that saved me!” He yelled.

You dashed forward, your eyes darkening in a way that Grayson had not seen anyone’s eyes change before.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You said in your sternness voice  “But do not come here and yell at this time of the morning.  The hammerheads are still sleeping and they get restless.”

Grayson’s jaw dropped.  He let out a soft laugh that faded into a smile.

“I heard you were serious about this, but I guess I didn’t realize how serious.” Grayson put a hand on his chest and dropped his voice to a whisper.  “I won’t wake them.  I just, I can’t believe it’s you.  Last night…”

“What are you talking about?” You asked him frowning.  

Your uncle taught you how to deflect any weird questions and it was always by gaslighting.  Did you really see that?  Are you sure I said that?  He taught you threw practice and it hurt you to cause Grayson the same pain that you endured.

Seeing Grayson’s eyes saddened only made it worse.

“Please,” Grayson whispered.  “I don’t know how you were able to save me, but you are my guardian angel.  I can’t thank you enough.”

“I-I…” You stammered as you stepped away.  How could you deny something so sweet?

“Be honest…” Grayson asked.  “Is it just an empty tank?”

Your eyes widened.  Could this be the silver lining?

“Yeah…” You nodded, walking him over to your cell.  It was the first time you ever looked at it from this angle.  It looked so big, but down there, it felt so small. 

“Whew…”  Grayson said with a smile.  “I didn’t really buy that it was a monster or anything...but can’t say I’m not glad.”

“No monster down there.” You said, bitterly.  “The monster is up here walking around in sheep’s clothing.”

There was a silence.  Grayson looked at you, strangely.  You wanted to curl into your little ball.  You almost settled for the next best thing, running away, when his laughter stopped you.

“You’re so edgy, I love it.” Grayson grinned. 

You forced a laugh.  “Ha, yes, edgy.”  You didn’t really know what that meant, but you would figure it out eventually.

Grayson looked nervous and he glanced away from you.  You also took the opportunity to look at the sun.  You didn’t have a watch, but from the sun you could tell your shift was starting soon.  You needed to prep the performance arena area.  You motioned to leave when Grayson stopped you by grabbing your wrist.  His skin was so warm now.  It was warmth of the sun on the cloudy day, of the cotton candy machine, of butter popcorn...it was that warmth.

“Can I take you out to dinner?” He blurted out.  “I-I can invite my brother and his girlfriend if that would make you feel more comfortable for a first date.”

You shook your head. “Dinner? Date? Oh no, I can’t do that.”

You couldn’t leave the premises.  Even if you wanted to, you didn’t have anything else to wear.  He would know that something was wrong when you came in your uniform, soaking wet.

“How old are you?” He asked.  “Are your parents strict?”

“18...and sorta.”  Your real parents were not strict at all, but your captor was a demon.

“Hm,” Grayson rubbed his chin with his right hand.  “What about lunch at the cafeteria?”

You ate there anyway. There were no rules about you eating with coworkers.  You were just so weird, no one wanted to talk to you.

“Okay.”  You nodded.

His face lit up with the brightest smile you had ever seen.  You felt like your heart had been wrenched.  You felt your face get hot and you looked away.

“See you in front of Lu’s?” He asked.

You nodded again.  That was the burger joint in the cafeteria.  It was where everyone ate and the line was always long.  You never bothered to wait because it was lonely to stand on line by yourself.  Now, you had someone to talk to while you waited.

You heard Doris making noises and you turned around.  Grayson made an “aww” noise and ran over to look at her.  Standing behind Grayson, you saw that Doris was signing you a question.  She moved her head in a circle to the right before lifting and dropping her tail fin three times. That was an easy translation...

New mate?

“Grayson, let’s go.” You said, pulling his arm.  “Doris, is just trying to rile you up.”

“I don’t mind,” Grayson said, but he still allowed you to pull him, liking the way it felt to be held by you.

Behind your back, your crossed your index and middle finger before pulling your crossed fingers in a straight line toward the right.

Shut up.

You heard Doris make another sound as you both exited the roof area that you easily recognized as her laughter. 

By lunch time, you stood by the cafeteria with your head down.  The cafeteria was really just an outdoor food court with an awning made of cement covering each of the restaurants and a seating area.  It had archways all around that allowed people to enter from all side.  It was painted a pee yellow color that you hated, but you weren’t sure if it was only because you hated this place.  

With your (terribly) dyed red hair, people often stared at you.  When people tried to talk to you and realized that your vernacular and knowledge of the world was trapped to five years ago, you were seen as some kind of freak.  Once enough people realized you were weirdo, the bullying began.  They would make fun of you, sometimes pretending to be your friend only to humiliate you.  They would throw food at you.  The worst was just the laughing.  It felt like everyone who laughed just laughed at you.

“Hey Rory!” Grayson said.

You looked up to see him waving at you theatrically.  You pointed to yourself and he nodded with his laugh.  His laugh didn’t feel like daggers.  It felt comforting.

“Yes, you.” Grayson laughed.  “I wanted to give you a nickname and I think Rory is kind of cute.  You can call me Gray.”

“Okay, Gray.”  You felt a tingle of happiness.  You hadn’t had a friend or a nickname in so long, you forgot what it was like.

“Shall we?” He asked, gesturing to the long line, and you nodded.  

As you stood in line, you sucked in a deep breath.  All eyes were on you and you felt your entire body tense up.  You stared at the ground and said nothing as the line slowly inched forward.  Grayson cleared his throat and if you had looked at his face, you would have noticed his bashful expression.

“So, besides saving stupid lifeguards, what do you do in your free time?” You looked up to meet his eyes and saw his shining, pearly white smile.

Your eyes darted to the people around you, but this time you realized that it was not YOU they were staring, it was HIM.  Suddenly, you realized that people didn’t even see you around him because he was so gorgeous.  For some reason, this emboldened you to raise your head, just a little.

“Uh, I don’t really do much outside of work.” You said, trying to seem normal.  “I actually really like working with the animals.”

“Oh I see.  Do you want to be a marine biologist or something?” Grayson asked.  “I think you would be good at it.”

“I don’t know.” You bit your lip.  “I’m kinda known for being dumb.”

Grayson’s brows furrowed and you worried you somehow offended him.

“What do you mean?” Grayson asked.  “I see you rattle of facts about every species in this place every day, answering the wildest questions with grace.  Who is calling you stupid?”

You blushed.  “Well, outside of the water, I don’t really know much.”  You smiled.  “I mean, Doris doesn’t know what’s happening on Facebook.”

“Wait, you don’t have social media?” Grayson asked, his eyes going wide. “Like, nothing?”

You shook your head.  Grayson’s jaw remained wide for awhile and then he nodded.

“Oh right, strict parents.” He reminded himself.  “So, like how do you usually date people?”

“Ha, I don’t.” You gave a soft laugh that showed your shock at the ridiculous question.

Grayson smirked a little bit. “I mean have you ever kissed anyone?”

You thought about it and you did.  Before all of this, before you knew how different you really were, life was pretty alright.  You had your first kiss when you were nine, and shortly before the fire you had your second kiss with a boy in your class.  He said he wanted you to be his girlfriend, but he wanted you to think about your answer.  It was over a vacation break, so you had quite a bit of time. It was an easy decision, you were going to say yes. You just never got a chance to tell him.

“I have, when I was younger.” You glanced at him. “You?’

“Uh yeah, a few times.” Grayson looked away.  If you hadn’t kissed that many people, there was no way he was going to list his previous rendezvous.

“What do you do outside of work?” You asked, wanting to learn more about him.

“Typical stuff I guess.  I surf, skateboard, hike…” He continued to list outdoor activities that you remembered partaking in or hearing of during your childhood, but it all seemed distant now.

“You’re really active, huh?” You remarked.

“I like it!” Grayson jokingly flexed his muscle.  “I like to stay fit. Do you exercise?”

“Uh, I swim.” That wasn’t a lie.

“Ha, no kidding!” Grayson joked.  “A little embarrassing to be saved as a lifeguard.”

You smiled. Before you could respond, you realized you were at the front of the line.  It felt like a couple seconds with Grayson.  Time just flew with him which usually only happened during your performances.  The rest of you life was counting the moments until it was over.  You almost wished you could relish in this a bit more.

“Can I get the beyond burger, with the vegan cheese  fries?” Grayson ordered.  He smiled at you. “What would you like?  It’s on me.”

“What’s the beyond burger?” You asked, tapping your chin.  You usually went to the less frequented pasta place and got their pasta of the day.  You would split it for dinner, learning over the years that no one would feed you if you didn’t do it yourself.

“It’s a meat substitute.” Grayson explained. “I’m vegan, so…”

Grayson was getting embarrassed.  Being vegan wasn’t super popular in your area.  When he first starting working at Pete’s Ocean Land, the other boys ridiculed him for it, claiming there was no way he could have six pack without eating meat.  He soon learned it wasn’t worth arguing and just stopped talking about it.  It felt weird to have this conversation again and he didn’t want you to judge him.

“I’ll try it too.” You said to the person ringing up the order.  

Grayson’s eyebrows went up in surprise.  “Alright, well let’s throw in some vegan shakes too.”

The person nodded and gave the total. Grayson put it on his employee card and took the receipt.  You waited on the pick up line, rocking back and forth on your heels.  Conversation was so difficult for you, but you worried he would ask you more questions if you didn’t beat him to it.

“What do you want to do?  Is it your dream to be a lifeguard?” You asked.

Grayson laughed, shaking his head.  “No.  In my dream world, I would be a pro surfer, but right now, I could settle for being a diving instructor at some fancy resort.”

“You must really like the ocean then.” You deduced, a bit of hope in your voice.

“Yeah, I mean obviously I care about animals since I’m vegan.  But, ocean animals are like so cool.  It’s a whole ‘nother thing seeing them in their natural habitat and not in tanks.” Grayson paused and his voice drops into a whisper. He leans in to your ear  “Like don’t get me wrong, I’m glad Pete rescues these animals, but you never see him put them back.  They just stay here forever.  How sad.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you felt his hot breath on your skin.  It didn’t help that it felt like he was talking about you.  You would also have to stay here forever.  How sad.

“I wish we could set them all free.” You said in a low voice.

Grayson smiled.  He was staring at you with a soft sweet smile that made your heart loop-di-loop. “Yeah me too.”

The number on top of your receipt was called and Grayson went to retrieve your food.  You looked around the seating area for an empty space, chewing on your lip nervously.  You also hated looking for a seat, this where people would usually try to tease you or throw stuff at you.

“Come on, let me show you my secret spot.”  Grayson was holding your food in to-go paper bags, a move you hadn’t noticed until now.  

You follow him out of the cafeteria and around the corner.  There were some stairs that were blocked off, but Grayson ducked under the barrier with ease and confidence.  You followed his lead and walked up the steps to the top floor.  It was the roof of the cafeteria and there were tables with benches attached scattered around.  There was an umbrella on a few of the tables and Grayson chose one to sit under.  You guessed that people were once able to eat up here, but it was closed down for some reason.

“Nice and quiet.” Grayson remarked.

You sat down on the bench just as a cool breeze tickled you skin.  You didn’t feel like you were in your prison.  In this moment, you felt like you were on a real date.  With a very handsome guy who treated you to lunch and wanted to get to know you.  It was your first dose of normalcy in a very long time.

Grayson separated your meals, tearing the bag to use it as two plates.  You unwrapped your burger and inspected a bit before taking a bite.  Grayson was pretending not to stare at you, but he couldn’t help it.  He wanted to see your reaction.  Your eyes lit up.

“It’s delicious!” You said, covering your mouth as it was still full.  “I haven’t had a burger in a long time, but this tastes amazing.”

Grayson grinned. “I’m glad you like it.”  

You continued to devour your burger and Grayson watched as he fought back laughter.  He finally started to eat as well, but he would take bites without much thought, focusing mostly on you.

“Try the fries too.” Grayson suggested, pointing at your fries.

You nodded, shifting what was left of your burger to one hand and grabbing your a fry with your now freed hand.  Your eyes widened.

“This taste better than the cheesy pasta at Marco’s!” You remarked making Grayson laugh.

“As a mix of Italian and Irish, I can confirm that Marco’s may not be the best judge of cheese.” Grayson gave a bright grin. “But it’s really a cheese substitute sauce that add more seasoning to take compensate for the different flavor.”

“It’s amazing…” You gushed, eating more fries.

As you polished off your food, you couldn’t help but wish you had saved some for later.  It would have been nice to enjoy this for dinner instead of as one meal.  At the same time, something told you that it wouldn’t taste as good cold.  You hoped it would hold you over through the night.

“I love a girl who can eat.” Grayson said, sitting in front of his empty food wrappers.   “You almost gave me a run for the money.”

You gave him an embarrassed smile.  Your mother always criticized you for eating too quickly.  It would give you gas and cause uncomfortable bloating.  It had been so long that you had eaten something that you truly enjoyed that made you revert to your old habits.

“It’s not good for you.” You said, echoing our mom’s words.  Your eyes danced over to the milkshake, and your mother’s lecture was out of your mind.  You reached for it and took a sip.  

“This is amazing!” You said, sucking it down faster.

“You say that a lot.” Grayson teased, taking tiny sips of his milkshake.  “They are sweeter than real milkshakes to make up for the lack of fat, but I think this is made with oat milk.”

“I really like it.” You said, taking a breath of air.  “I want to eat more vegan food.”

Grayson grinned.  “There aren’t many vegan options here, but there’s plenty outside the park.  If you’re down, we can have a picnic or something after work.”

You face saddened and you shook your head. “I really can’t.”

“Where do you live?” Grayson asked.  “I am pretty good with parents.  Maybe if they meet me…”

You thought about your parents.  They would have loved Grayson.  He was sweet, polite, well-mannered and had a great sense of humor.  Your father would have probably tried to come off as intimidating, but then he would warm up within seconds telling embarrassing jokes.  Your mother would have made some iced tea or something and offer some of her homemade shortbread biscuits.  Tears stung your eyes and you blinked quickly to shove them back.

“No.” You shook your head again.  “It wouldn’t work.”

Grayson pursed his lips.  “Can I call you?  What about walking you home from work?”  

You shook your head sadly to both questions making Grayson sigh.  With slumped shoulders he announced why he was pushing you so much.

“Rory, my shift starts in 20 minutes. I can’t wait until tomorrow to see again.  I just want to spend more time with you.” Grayson leaned forward.  “I mean don’t you feel the connection between us?”

You blushed.  Of course you did, but not because you “saved his life.”  For the first time, you were just you.  You weren’t some freak being tested and experimented on.  For so long, your human status had been ripped from you and allowed you to be treated like garbage.  But Grayson saw all animals equally and it made you believe that he would be able to accept you too.

“I do.” You said, finally.  “But, I think we should take our time.”

Grayson nodded.  “Alright. That’s completely fair.”  He laughed nervously.  “My brother always says I fall hard way too quickly.”

You smiled.  Your friends used to say that about you too.  “Tell me more about your brother…”

You and Grayson talked for fifteen more minutes about your childhood and old memories.  It was easy to blend in with Grayson since he enjoyed reminiscing.  He didn’t ask you about current events or quiz you on gossip.  Talking with Grayson was easy and your mouth got dry from speaking and laughing.  Most of your interactions were with the other aquatic captives and that was all signing. You hadn’t heard yourself say things outside of the performance script in so long, you forgot that you had opinions and interests.

In the five minutes before Grayson’s shift, you cleaned up and took your trash downstairs to dispose of it.  Grayson reached into hug you and you tensed up a bit.

“Sorry, I smell like chlorine.” You apologized.

Grayson laughed.  “Don’t we all?”  

He hugged you tightly and you realized he was a liar.  He didn’t smell like chlorine at all, but of the most refreshing floral scent you had ever encountered.  It was almost like the smell of freshly washed linen being fluffed on a bed.  So comforting.  He waved to you and ran off to the wave pool.  You watched him run away before going to feed the dolphins.

[midnightartemis]

Chapter One

Rated M - See AO3 For Tags - SFW - Chapter Two - Masterlist

“Do you fear death, young Skywalker?”

A dark marble hallway stretched out in front of Ben. It seemed to go on forever. With every step, the hall only grew longer. 

“Do you fear the darkness?”

He broke into a run, heart pounding in time with his feet hitting the marble floor. Ben ran as fast as he could and yet the hallway only grew longer. His feet only grew heavier. Something chased after him, but he did not look back.

“So much like your grandfather and, yet, so weak. So afraid of the power you wield.”

Whatever chased him was gaining on him. It was futile to run, Ben knew that. Still, he kept going, even as his feet grew heavier and heavier with unseen weight.

“You could do it, you know. You could finish what he started. His blood runs through you.”

The voice came from behind him. The words the darkness hissed wrapped like snares around his feet. 

“Let me into your mind and your enemies will know your power. They will learn to fear you, truly. They will learn what you are capable of. What you were born to do.”

Every step was a struggle now, but he could see the end of the hallway finally. Just a few more steps. Just a few more meters. 

“Your fate is decided already, young Skywalker. Do not fight it. Do not fight me.”

He reached for the door as his feet ceased to work. He wasn’t strong enough to make it. He wasn’t strong enough to not look back. A low chuckle came from behind him.

“They will never understand you. They will never save you. Give into me.”

Ben turned and faced the darkness behind him. In seconds, it swallowed him into bottomless depths. 

He woke with a jolt. A thin layer of cold sweat covered his skin and soaked into the sheets of his bed. Ben slowly pushed himself up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. 

Every night it was the same. Nightmares. Terrors. The voice in his head eating away at him with all he already knew; his end would not be a happy one.

This night… This night was the first night Ben had not even touched the door at the end of the hallway. It was as if the voice was growing stronger and Ben weaker with it. Ben shook his head. It was nothing more than a nightmare. It had to be. 

He looked around his single bedroom. There wasn’t much there. His trunk sat half unpacked on his desk chair. A pile of books had somehow ended up on his desk with a new set of parchment and ink. Whoever had left the books had also placed new robes in his wardrobe. One of his mother’s assistants or Threepio. Ben knew she couldn’t be bothered to do it herself. 

The only thing Ben truly owned was his calligraphy kit and a small pile of muggle books that sat in his suitcase. The rest of it was all… Noise. 

A flicker of movement brought his eye to the window that looked out into the depths of the Black Lake. Ben watched as a school of fish swam by in the dim green light that somehow made its way from the surface. 

It was his last day completely alone. In a few hours, the halls of Hogwarts would be filled with students excited for the start of the semester. The halls would fill with chatter of hopes and dreams and plans for classes. Friends separated by the summer would be reunited. And Ben would be forced to sit in the Great Hall and watch as everyone pretended to enjoy Headmaster Kenobi’s Start of Term speech. 

At least now he wouldn’t have to go completely out of his way to avoid seeing Rey. The last week had been hell to see her face. It was nearly impossible to make himself sit still and not tell her how sorry he was for what he said in the forest. 

He had no choice; he knew that much. After what happened in India…

He had no choice. 

☽◯☾

Ben’s plan, if he could manage it, was to avoid the feast at all costs. After three years of it, he had come to understand that festivities weren’t for him. The Prefects would come looking for him in the dormitory. While he knew he could use the cloak to hide in his room, Ben also knew that the dormitory would be raucous after the feast was over. It was better to find one of the many nooks and crannies throughout Hogwarts and wait it out until everyone went off to bed. 

He had a few places to hide throughout the castle, but his favorite spot was near the top of the North Tower. A window was tucked away behind a set of stairs. There was just enough room to squeeze himself into the window well (though it was getting harder every year as he grew). The window overlooked the gates to Hogwarts and most of the grounds, giving him a birds-eye view of most of the castle. The best part was that unless someone knew exactly where to look, they would never find him. 

A thick fog rolled over the castle grounds midafternoon as Ben sat in his window well and read. In India, he’d picked up Wuthering Heights over the summer and found himself wandering the moors with Catherine and Heathcliff. He found himself wishing to be back at Hogwarts, wandering similar moors. Now that he was back, the words of Emily Brontë rang even clearer. 

For all its flaws, he considered Hogwarts home. The castle was only home he’d ever really known. He’d spent much of his childhood running around its halls, discovering its many secrets. Though not all of them, if the Room of Requirement proved anything. 

As a line of carriages pulled by winged skeletal horses approached the gates of Hogwarts, Ben closed the book and tapped his wand against the cover. The Wuthering Heights cover formed into an old copy of History of Magic as transfiguration magic took hold. It was bad enough to be caught reading for fun. It was worse to be caught reading muggle literature. 

Ben watched the carriages for a moment as rain began to fall over the castle. Students in their black robes made the mad dash up the stairs and through the main doors. From here, the only thing not visible to him was the lake where the First Years would be making their crossing, even in the rain. 

He remembered what it was like to make that first journey across the lake. He remembered how excited he was for his first year. He remembered bitterly, painfully how quickly it all fell apart. Imprinted in his memories were the terrified looks of his classmates as the sorting hat called out Slytherin. It was impossible to forget how quickly everyone had turned on him. 

That was until Rey. 

He’d been so quick to dismiss her, to write her off until that day in the Room of Requirement. 

Ben had to stop thinking about her. What was done was done. It had to remain that way. 

He turned to the window once more and watched as a raindrop raced down the glass. A moment, later, Ben felt a chill race up his spine. He froze as the weight of eyes hit him. Someone was watching him. Every hair on his neck stood on end as his eyes were drawn to the courtyard below. The last of the students were leaving the carriages, but all were too busy running from the rain to look up and see him. 

In the peripheries of his vision, a darkness shifted at the edge of the forest. Ben’s eyes darted to it, but found only branches rocking against the storm’s wind. Dread latched onto his gut and began to sink. He knew far too much about the wizarding world and the Forbidden Forest to fully believe he was giving into paranoia. But it was far easier to cling to the idea that his eyes were playing tricks than to accept that something or someone had been watching him. 

Perhaps it was time to find a new hiding place. It was growing dark which made it impossible to read without a light source anyway. Besides, the feast would be beginning at any moment. With it, the entire school, students, professors, ghosts, and all would be preoccupied for a good hour at the least.

Ben slipped from the window sill and set off down the stairs. He didn’t bother to put on his cloak. He knew the castle well enough to pass through unseen without it. His luck turned, however, when he turned a corner and ran almost straight through Peeves the Poltergeist. 

“Sulky Solo wandering alone?” Peeves cackled and alighted atop the suit of armor he had been messing with. Likely, he had been working on loosening the suit’s fastenings so it would fall apart the moment a first year touched it. “Skipping feasts. Naughty, Naughty!”

“Bug off, Peeves.” 

“Ooooo,” Peeves swept down to circle Ben as he walked. “Someone’s got their trousers in bunches.”

Ben said nothing and Peeves floated into his path to stop him. One wrong move with Peeves and Ben knew the poltergeist would find every opportunity to torment him for the rest of the year. The last thing he needed was to be nearly killed by a chandelier this year. Before Ben could say anything, footsteps rounded the corner behind him. Peeves vanished with a screech, leaving a sulfuric stench behind him. 

“Mister Solo,” called a low, naisily voice. 

Ben gritted his teeth and turned to face Professor Tarkin. The man was as thin and gaunt as ever. He wore his usual dark grey robes of hard angles and straight lines that matched his posture and personality. 

“You are to be in the Great Hall at this time.”

“Yes, Sir.” Ben nodded. There was no denying that. 

“As it seems you have lost your way, I will escort you there. Afterwards, I would like to speak to you in my office.” The professor turned stiffly and began down the hall in the direction of the feast. After a moment of cursing Peeves, Ben followed. To his dismay, Professor Tarkin led him to the large wooden doors that guarded the entrance of the hall, just as they were closing behind the sea of First Years parading inside. 

Eyes turned to him as he quickly made his way to the end of the Slytherin table. It didn’t help that he was the only one not in his robes, just the white button down and slacks. At least most of the student body was distracted by the arrival of the first years. All but Poe Dameron, of course, who smirked at Ben from the Gryffindor table. Ben scowled back. He couldn’t wait to spend a majority of the year with that pompous git. 

Poe Dameron hadn’t always gotten on his nerves. There was a time where Ben had been close to him, even called him a friend. That quickly went out the window when Poe realized that no one wanted to be around the strange, lonely weirdo. Poe was smart, charismatic, and a real dick for laughs. Girls and boys flocked to him in droves. Every year the Poe Dameron fan club got bigger. Poe’s attention was swept away by Zorri Bliss, his on again off again infatuation for the last year. 

Ben settled into his seat as Professor Tano climbed the steps to the professors’ table and stood beside the Sorting Hat. She unfurled her list of names and one by one the terrified looking First Years took their turns wearing the hat. Unlike last year, there were no surprises, no mysteries. The Sorting Hat worked through everyone with little hesitation. As if she knew he was thinking of her, Rey’s eyes caught his own across the call. Her face hardened, but she didn’t look away from him. She was challenging him to be the one to break first. 

Maybe she knew he was already broken. 

Ben looked away. 

With the hat’s announcement of Ohino Zaya’s placement in Gryffindor, Headmaster Kenobi stood. He waited for the Gryffindor table to settle before speaking. Though being nearly seventy, the man was anything but frail and weak (most wizards lived to be well into their one hundred twenties, at least). He was one of the most powerful wizards to ever live, after all. 

“With the conclusion of our sorting ceremony, I would like to give all a hearty welcome to Hogwarts. Whether you are new or old to these halls, know that Hogwarts will always welcome you home. I would like to take a moment to remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is off limits to all who wish not to die an untimely death. On that note, let the feast begin!” Headmaster Kenobi gestured to the tables and a moment later almost every square centimeter was filled to the brim with food.

Ben wasn’t hungry. He didn’t want to be there, but he made himself eat anyway. He listened to two of the Slytherin prefects, Bazine and Grummgar, complain about First and Second Years. They were the two new Fifth Year Prefects and couldn’t be more opposite of each other. Bazine was tall, skinny as a broomstick, with jet black hair cut to a severe line at her jaw. Grummgar, on the other hand, was large with a thick neck and bulging brow. No one knew if the odd pair were dating or just friends. They seemed equally affectionate and callous towards each other. Most were far too scared of Bazine to ask. Bazine caught Ben listening in to their conversation and flicked her dark eyes over him with a smirk. 

Ben shifted and turned his gaze to the head table filled with professors. Amilyn Holdo, Head of Hufflepuff and Professor of Biology, chatted happily with Deputy Headmistress Ahsoka Tano, Head of Gryffindor and Professor of Transfiguration. They were joined every once in a while by a comment from Maz Kanata, Professor of Divination and owner of the Leaky Cauldron. As if the tiny half-goblin woman felt his gaze, Maz turned her coke bottle glasses in Ben’s direction. Ben swallowed and looked away. He had no intention of taking divination again this year, not even after Maz’s insistence. It had only made his dreams worse and made him question if they were only dreams at all. 

At the other end of the table, Professor Tarkin had taken his seat and scowled over the student body even as he ate. Ben could feel the Professor’s annoyance even at the other end of the hall. The wizard’s mood was only made worse by being sat between who Ben could only assume were Professor Tarkin’s least favorite people- Professor Kuill, Head of Ravenclaw, and History Professor Lor San Tekka- who were in the processes of yelling to each other over him. 

At the center of the table, Luke looked to be arguing with Kenobi. Though Ben couldn’t hear his uncle, he knew the argument wasn’t going in his favor if Kenobi’s passive face was any indicator. Kenobi said something in return and Luke pinched his mouth shut before sitting back. 

A roaring laugh came from the farthest corner of the head table and Ben didn’t want to look. His father and Chewie sat together, treating the feast more like a party than a school event. He knew exactly what story they were telling to the First Years who would listen. It was the same one every year about how Han’s prized Millenium Falcon broom made the Kessel Run in under twelve days. The First Years ate it up even though the story was exaggerated at best. Bullshit at worst. 

The feast lasted far too long. The students were taking their time working through the courses, preoccupied with catching up and getting to know the new students. By the time desert was finished, even the professors had begun yawning. Kenobi stood and waited for the chatter to die down and eyes to turn to him. 

“Delicious. The term feast never disappoints. I wish you all the very best in your academic endeavors this year and a very happy start of term. Hogwarts welcomes you always. First Years, you will be escorted to your dormitories by your Prefects. The rest of you I trust will find your way!”

With that, the Great Hall erupted into a giant crowd of students heading for the main door all at once. Ben stood and slipped out the nearest side door. The hall just beyond was narrow, nothing more than a forgotten passage used mostly by professors. No doubt some of the professors would be using it just the same as him, so Ben didn’t stay long. He slipped back into the main halls of the castle, but turned to his left instead of heading for the sea of students at the main stairs. 

Tarkin would be expecting him. At that thought, Ben dragged his feet. He had no idea what the professor wanted to speak about. Part of him was scared to know. He didn’t have much of a choice though. There was no avoiding the inevitable, so Ben made his way to the dungeons and towards the potion master’s office.

Ben walked through the open classroom door. He stopped as his eyes landed on the closed door to the storage room. Memories rushed at him of Rey scowling at a stubborn stain. Her stifled laughter at something he said (he wasn’t funny- he knew that). The way her cheeks flushed pink after she kissed him on the cheek. 

Each memory felt like a stab to the gut. A curse on his soul. 

“Enter.”

Ben stepped inside the circular stone room. Jars and vials filled the short shelves against the walls. A round table sat in front of them filled with books and parchments all organized with military precision. Tarkin looked up from his work, his grey eyes landing on Ben. 

“You wanted to see me, Sir.”

“Yes. Mister Solo. Please, sit.” Professor Tarkin folded his hands in front of him and waited for Ben to sit down. “Have you given any thought to your future?”

Ben shifted in his seat. What future? He couldn’t see one, only darkness. “No, sir.”

“Hm.” Professor Tarkin looked him over with cold, calculating eyes. “A bright young boy such as yourself should be thinking about these things. You are entering your Fourth Year. O.W.L.s are not far away. You excel in your classes and far surpass your classmates. With your family, you can have any position you desire.”

Ben glowered.  Is that all he would ever be? Ben Solo, son of the Prime Minister, nephew of the man who defeated Darth Vader and Darth Sidious. Did they know who his family really was? The dark secrets they held? No. They never would. They would never understand who their heroes were. 

“I want nothing to do with my family.” Ben spat.

If Tarkin was at all surprised by Ben’s words, he hid it well. “Of course, Mister Solo. You are accomplished in your own regard.”

Not enough for his mother. Though she had given up on trying to make him make friends, make a good name for himself long ago. Now she just shuttled him off half-way across the world to be rid of him. Ben hadn’t stepped foot in Leia’s home in more than a year. 

“Much like your grandfather.” 

He scoffed. His grandfather. There was only one whom Tarkin, or anyone, would have any interest in. Ben doubted Professor Tarkin cared for his father’s muggle parents. “Darth Vader.”

“Anakin Skywalker.” 

Ben stilled. No one ever spoke of his grandfather to him. Everything he knew, he knew through books, through articles in the Daily Prophet, though hushed gossip. Ben forced himself to meet Tarkin’s eye. The professor’s eyes brightened with understanding. “Ah… No one has told you about your grandfather, have they?”

Ben shook his head. “You knew him?”

“He was my pupil for a short time. Same as you.”

This man knew his grandfather. This man knew everything no one would tell him. Ben sat up straighter. “What was he like?”

“Intelligent. Resourceful. Ambitious. A proud Slytherin.” Tarkin lowered his voice as if he were afraid someone would be listening in. “Everything they say about him is false. They were afraid of him, afraid of his power. They did what scared wizards do, they cast him aside. Took everything from him. Your grandfather is not the man you think he is.”

In the back of his mind, Ben heard a dark voice whisper. It wasn’t the one from his dreams, however. No, this voice was familiar, one he’d heard since he was a child.

“Listen to him… He tells the truth of it… Listen, young Skywalker, and you will see…”

Read Me on AO3 - Chapter Two - Masterlist

[sierracolorstheworldofwords]

Yandere googlepliers x chubby reader

An:I went really experimental with formatting, because I was really inspired by Winter girls by Laurie Halse Anderson, the author of speak. Anyway, this is a repost because tumblr ate up the original post. I plan to post fan fics more often now that I have a laptop, so if you like my writing, requests are open! :D

Chaos. So much burning.

Smoldering, smoky buildings, streets covered in bloody corpses. A woman's head twisted at an odd angle, her eyes ice cubes as they stared at you, her mouth opened into a frozen scream.

Walking down the road, you shuddered, holding yourself, almost as if trying not to fall apart.

Your foot steps echoed, bouncing off alleyways and jagged skyscrapers, whose metal interiors now exposed, reminded you of broken bones. Blood littered the streets like bright red watercolor, while organs, scattered like rose petals and party streamers, lay exposed on grey sidewalks and hung from lamp posts.

Gagging, your breathing grew heavier as you turned a corner, seeing a baby's head hanging  by its spinal cord like a twisted piñata from a store front, it's eyeball clinging onto a pink string as it dangled from its eye socket. Oh.. oh.. oh god.

No, no, your boys— couldn't.. couldn't do this! You ran past the store, and ran past an apartment building. You ran past an alleyway, a library, caught in the maze. Trapped like a rat. Turning left and right frantically.

They couldn't do this. They couldn't do this.

They changed, they changed.

You kept passing dead bodies. The smell of burning metal and flesh haunted the air. The streets covered in a blanket of broken glass, and the buildings that remained intact almost had all broken windows and doors. Cars had been turned upside down and squashed like a wads of construction paper.

Everything silent. Except for the eerie and distant noise of sirens, echoing throughout the city. You didn't notice at first. Too caught up in the violence. Now, you heard them, and ran towards them.

Your boys couldn't do this.

The boys who loved blue and green and red and yellow. Whose colors always reminded you of wildflowers.

They couldn't.

Prime, who you loved with all your heart couldn't do this. Oliver, who you loved with all your heart couldn't do this. Rowan, who you loved with all your heart couldn't do this. Conan, who you loved with all your heart couldn't do this.

Running, you turned a corner, getting closer to the noise.

Where was everybody? Could they really murder an entire population? They couldn't— could they?

Desperate, you pushed yourself faster. You passed a man with his chest gouged out. Someone had their hands torn off and stuck up their— you wished you hadn't seen that. A girl lay crumpled on the side walk, her pigtails pulled off, and her face smashed in.

Too many bodies to count. All of them, chopped up like vegetables, and torn up like dolls in the jaws of a dog. So much violence. So much destruction.

The sirens screamed for you to keep running. Why did you stop, they asked. You hadn't even noticed you stopped, until you heard your breathing, and felt you legs shaking like plates stacked too high, your whole body ready to break.

You stopped right in front of the little girl, staring at her carnage.

   You caused this.

You gave them admin permission, or whatever it was called— you gave them autonomy! And they waited, they waited and bid time and gained your trust, waited till you loved them, till you let your guard down. Then, like a viper, they bit.

Sinking to your knees, the sirens faded as your breathing increased, filling your ears.

You touched the body, it was stiff, cold. The skin was an odd color, and maggots crawled in every crevice— in her nose, where they twisted, a hive feasting on her flesh. How long had she been here? How long had they all been here? You looked around, and touched her again, squeezing her arm. It wouldn't move. Rigor mortis. Then, you went down, and squeezed her leg. The whole body stiff. Every inch.

Your eyes widened in horror as you realized— these bodies had been here for around six hours. Yes, you remembered, rigor completely set in after six hours.. why did you know that? Some class from high school? A book? A documentary?

Panic set in more as you got up, and staggered towards the noise.

    They couldn't do this.

Prime, who loved technology and loved to study space, couldn't do this. Oliver, who loved to study psychology and how humans worked couldn't do this. Rowan, who read so many books, going through them in hours, couldn't do this. Conan, who loved to study biology and evolution couldn't do this.

Your boys, your loves, couldn't do this.

 They couldn't.          They couldn't.                         They couldn't.

                               They couldn't.

Your shoulders shook as you entered the center of town, full of cafés, bookshops, tea shops, and cute ritzy restaurants all covered in dried blood. People lay dead on chairs, and some held books, others held shopping bags, or cell phones.. all of them stopped. Frozen in time. Like a clock who's gears got stopped up with ice.

The sirens loomed closer, and, taking another glance at the bodies, you continued walking. You passed a green and white bookstore, you took a turn down a street, full of bodies, bodies stuffed together like sardines. So much blood. Blood the color of rust and bricks. It scattered everywhere. Everywhere, every street sign and store front. No one was spared.

You continued further, legs shaking, throat dry.

The sirens screamed louder. Bursting like red and blue fireworks in your ears.

You saw the police cars, white covered in scarlet, in dead bodies.

So many.

Heads twisted, noses punched in, stomachs full of holes.

You couldn't call out their names, you couldn't. They scared you too much. Each name a monster, shadows that cut.

        Your boys couldn't have done this.

Shakily, walking closer to the carnage, you leaned on a police car, panicking. Your heart pounded in your chest as you walked slowly. Corpses bleeding into your eyes as you heard the buzzing of flies.

You screamed.

You collapsed.

More bodies.

Corpses piled up in a heap, you saw your boys, dragging the corpses, like stiff statues, across the pavement.

They turned towards you, eyes wide as they dropped bodies. "Darling?" Asked Oliver, yellow as a sunflower, and soft as one as he stepped towards you.

Your hands wouldn't stop. Your arms wouldn't stop. Everything kept shaking. Your whole body felt like an avalanche. Like it was tumbling and full of rocks and snow.

"Oh, sweetheart.." Whispered Rowan, red like a rose, "You weren't supposed to see. I made sure to put enough pills in your drink."

You   couldn't    breathe. Breaths. came in short. gasps.     Air barely leaked.                   In— Lungs—     couldn't.

Collect air.

Everything.                Heavy. Lungs full of frozen snow,            heavy with grey rocks, frozen over with icicles.           Blood invaded by ice crystals.  Heart covered with frost.     Paralyzed.

They approached you, surrounding you. Oliver leaned down, blood covering his hands as you started to cry, howling. "Oh, oh, shh, shh, it's alright." He wrapped his arms around your waist, comforting you like a kitten.

The boys did the same, Conan, green like spring, began petting your hair gently, while Prime, blue as the sea, kissed your cheek. Rowan, hugged you from behind, and the two other brothers hugged you from the sides. All of them warm.

"It's alright.. it's alright— they're all gone now, little one, and can't hurt you." His warm voice l crawled into your ears. You said nothing, your stomach curling into a twisted iron knot.

Tears poured down like rain in the middle of a blizzard. You couldn't control the sobs and screams. You smelt the blood on them, hot copper. Your heart beat ferociously in your chest, shuddering from the cold that invaded your body.

Oliver lifted your chin, tears streaming down your face, "It's okay. It's alright. All you need is us."

The others echoed back, "All you need is us."

Your heart clenched.

The bright flickering lights of memories came.

Blue burst in your mind.

You and Prime watching a space documentary, his eyes widening as the camera zoomed across the solar system— like an arm, reaching, reaching, reaching towards space. The lens retracted, going further and further away. The milky way bloomed before your eyes, the galaxy blossomed into Christmas lights and swirls, everything expanded. Stopped. Then, in a flash, a dash, the colors swirled into lines, zooming back to earth.

Blue faded into red.

Rowan shyly smelling roses when he thought you weren't looking, sitting at the table and fingering the scarlet fish scales of velvet petals. His smile like a rose, too, slowly blooming underneath the sunset that sailed through the window. His skin shining with tangerine and goldfish rays, you remembered him smelling like roses, and the next day, you planted a rose bush in your backyard.

Red ran into yellow.

Oliver smiling at you, in the afternoon. His hand reaching towards yours, his fingers warm, comforting. His hand so much bigger than yours; yours covered in lines and scars, his clean and pristine, like a piece of computer paper. Your lips saying how do you do as you kissed his fingers, and his smile like a ball of sunshine, as his lips replied I'm doing wonderful, by touching yours. He tasted like lemonade. You kissed underneath the swing set that hung from the grand oak in your backyard.

Yellow flipped into green.

Conan letting your head rest on his shoulder. A biology book in his lap, it was about— sloths. Those fuzzy three toed creatures. You remember saying, "Did you know sloths.. used to live under water?" He turned towards you, his eyes like the woods, stacked with trees and leaves, deep and dark, untrusting and full of secret wonders. He blinked in surprise, his eyes wide and lips turned down slightly. "Don't act like a know it all. That's not true." You frowned, and told him to look it up, he did. You were right. You smirked, you knew a lot. Just as you were about to continue, he asked what else you knew. The two of you talked about biology the rest of the night and evolution until morning. Plants and animals blooming into the living room as the sun rose.

All the colors dropped down your mind, and splashed down into a single memory—

All of you in the new bed you bought, surrounded by comfy pillows. You heard them humming. The sound of their insides working. Everything warm. Safe. You nuzzled into Prime's neck, since he's always the warmest because he's the oldest and tends to get hotter than the others. Everything felt safe. Perfect, covered in the moonlight. Hazy snores came from Conan, who always snores, because he sleeps with his mouth open. Rowan's breath on your neck, a soft nuzzle into your cheek, Oliver resting on his brother's chest, holding your hand.

You realized that night that love isn't one color, it's a burst of colors— Blue and Red and Green and Yellow. It's the color of wild sunflowers and a kitchen filled with cups from the 70s, it's the music of soft breathing and the feeling of your cheek warmed by another, it's a quivering river full of enchanted hues.

The memory slipped down, became a drop of multicolored paint, and splashed on the white floor of your mind.

So many memories— too many memories.

Your eyes watered again as you looked up at them.

"Wh-why?" You whispered. "You don't need to worry about that." A blue voice said, robotic and stiff. "It is— well, was our primary objective." "But— But— I thought, I thought maybe.. maybe you didn't care about that anymore..." you whispered, your shoulders sagging as you burrowed back into Oliver's chest, closing your eyes, "...Maybe you wouldn't care about destroying humanity because you didn't need to. You had me— wasn't that enough? Just the all of us? Together? What— what did everyone else matter?" You asked, taking a shaky breath, "And now what? What? Your Primary objective is complete and you probably don't need me anymore, because wasn't your primary objective to destroy all of humanity? Don't I count? I don't understand at all. I don't know..." your voice faded, "..I don't know— I don't. I— I don't know. I just— why? Why did it have to be so much violence? Why? Why did you have to hurt all those people? What did they do?"

You wanted to melt into the earth and never come back. You could smell the scent of rotting flesh, and the smell of it as it burned in the big pile, smoke starting to fill the sky. "We would never hurt you." Your questions didn't get an answer, as Rowan spoke, "We love you— you taught us to love." He whispered, "And, we had to protect you from.. from.. them." He spat, voice filled sharp red knives. "They were nothing like you. All they did was take up space." Said Conan, his voice seething acid, "All they did was hurt you. Why shouldn't they feel the same pain they caused you?" "N-not everybody hurt me.." you whispered, voice as soft and fragile as melting snow. "Knowing humans, they would have. Look what they already did to you— all those mean words and comments, isn't it better that they're gone? Now," he gripped your chin, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he turned you towards him, "It's just us."

They echoed back, voices a mixture of color, "Just us."

Colors plopped and sizzled in your mind, like an egg dropped into a hot skillet. Your own color lost somewhere— what color were you, anyway? Red or Blue or Green or Yellow or Purple or Nothing? White? Blank? Your memories have always been covered in white, and tasted like cigarette smoke and the smell of old rotting houses.

Then, they came, all of them, bringing color. Bringing so much color— But could they bring color to the outline of a memory that crossed your mind?

No.

A blank wall, Curtains drawn. The music turned up. Books scattered left and right. Everywhere. A tornado hit your room, and the tornado was you. You, you caused distraction everywhere you went. Blobs of paint pounded at the door of the blank canvas of your room, asking what was wrong. All you did, was rip. Rip the pages of the books, become an outline. You had always been an outline, You just— Forgot. Outline kept ripping up pages of books, saying how stupid outline was. Outline knew outline was stupid. Stupid outline, everyone was right. No one would want to hire outline. Outline got a job, outline got comments about weight, outline snitched.

Outline got fired.

Outline forgot they had been lines, and only lines, all along.

Outline forgot what white was, became filled with cyan skies, poppies, sunshine and grass. Outline got filled with yellow courage and red passion and blue happiness and green kindness.

They want you. The memory changed shape. They want you. Or, at least, that's what they said, when you cried.  Sobbing, curled up on the floor, they told you they wanted you. They told you  everything was going to be alright.

One of them had picked you up, taken you to the couch, while the others offered to make you cookies, or tea, or anything you wanted. Sniffing as someone wrapped you up in a blanket, you asked softly for hot cocoa, with cinnamon.

A flash of red gave you a cup, the color of a robin's egg, filled with hot cocoa. He sat next to you, and somehow, you ended up in Prime's lap, sniffing. "I'm so bad." You said. "Why?" "I should've just kept my mouth shut.Everyone likes me better that way."

Then, you felt hands, the hands of your mind stretching down, clear as crystal, distorting the world as they ascended upon your mouth. "Well, I like it better when you talk." It was Conan, standing in front of you, hands on his hips, "And unlike other humans, you aren't annoying." You laughed a bit, sniffed again, and took a sip of the hot cocoa. The hands shattered just as quickly as they came.

The air rippled and chirped, purring with happiness and warmth as you snuggled further into the fluffy blanket. "Yeah.." whispered Rowan, "And unlike other humans, I quite like your voice." Another smile from you, Conan sat down next to Prime, and immediately snatched you into his lap.

Prime turned, "Excuse you?" You laughed again, a tinkle of golden bells, and he let it go. Snuggling into his chest, you smelt his shirt, which smelled like books. Mostly the new book smell, but it also smelled of chemicals, and preservatives, because of the experiments he often conducted. It also smelled a bit metallic, yet human. They all had that in between smell of metal and.. natural musk? It was often how you recognized them, by how they smelled, and their heights too.

Everyone snuggled on the couch, and you felt yourself getting sleepy as you kept drinking. You noticed the humming increasing, the whirring of fans filling your ears like a lullaby as you slept.

"..We care so much. That's why I put that pill in your drink. It's part of the plan— you weren't supposed to wake up." Rowan's voice pulled you out of your thoughts, "We—" "—We weren't originally going to do it." Whispered Oliver, "Because we didn't care anymore." "Until they hurt you." Hissed Conan, "And nobody hurts you. Nobody. We got rid of them. It's only us now. Only us."

Their voices echoed slightly as they repeated, "Only us."

You looked into Conan's eyes, then Oliver's, then Rowan's, then Prime's.

    They loved you.

    They all realized it when you got sick. Oliver realized it when he found you over the toilet, a hand on your sweaty forehead as you retched, gagging and pushing your hair aside.

Rowan realized it when he saw you in bed, with a fever, when he got so afraid you'd die, and held your hand, crying.

Conan realized it when you tried to stumble out of bed, saying you had to work on a research paper, because that's how the bills got paid.

Prime realized it when he felt relief after you got better, when he saw you slowly walk into the kitchen, sit down at the table, and eat a bowl of cereal. You hadn't eaten in three days.

From you, they learned about love. It tamed people, it tamed animals, it made things stay, even if it was just for a moment. Love, is like a dandelion, it grows and then contracts, then spreads into the wind, growing more. Love, is like the moon, waxing and waning, always coming back. Love, is like the sun, like warmth, it always comes back, but it blooms in a different color than before, and dies only to rise again.

You taught them that.

A human, small and weak, who spent too much time in doors reading books— any books, but they could be picky sometimes— tamed them, made them ask if the world was really all choked up with smoke.

They found out it was. That the world is always on fire, always combusting, it never rests and let's itself regrow again.

You, you're the small island surrounded by a pond in the middle of the burning woods. Always treating them with kindness, saying "please" and "thank you" and "I'm sorry" constantly. You always asked if they want to spend time with you, and of course they do— always, always and forever.

When they saw you yesterday night, so sad and broken, Prime picked you up, and immediately the others put the plan into action.

They had incorporated you into doomsday, deciding that your house was the safest, since it was far from town. (You walked all the way here, poor thing, they thought.) When you fell asleep, they tucked you into bed, turned off the lights and locked the advanced security system. You beat it anyway. (Did you worry about them? That was so like you— always worrying.)

Prime rested his head on top of yours, and then got up. His brothers frowned, their arms still reaching for you.

They all wanted to hold you, to keep you close.

Slowly, you reached out for Rowan, since Prime wasn't carrying you right. You smiled, forgetting it all for a moment.

The air wasn't filled with smoke. It didn't smell of burning hair.

Only they mattered, Their colors, their eyes, their smell. Only they mattered.

He gently took you from his brother, and cradled you. You could see the blood. You could smell it.

You buried yourself into his neck, wrapping your arms around him, smelling roses. He always smelt like roses, because he built a green house once summer started to end. Rose petals always lingered in his hair, pink, red and white, scattered amongst the locks. He grew all kinds of roses now, he loved them dearly.

You loved him dearly— all of them. That's why everything kept coming and going, bursts of color fading into ice, starting to burn and decay.

You burrowed deeper into his neck as he walked down the road. Tears fell out of your eyes, as you heard the sirens die out. "It's alright now.." he whispered, hugging you close, "It's alright. We'll be out soon." He murmured, kissing your cheek.

The city echoed with their foot steps and your sobs.

Another kiss landed on your cheek, and another and another.

Looking up at him, you noticed that everyone stopped, surrounding the both of you. A tear leaked from your eye, and quickly it was kissed away by Prime.

At the edge of the city, you looked at all the bodies— all those people gone, just like that. Did they really do that, all for you?

Should you be proud? Should you be ashamed?

Whirlwinds swirled in your stomach as you looked at your boys. Your lovers.

Yours.

You needed them just as much as they needed you, or, you wanted them just as much as they wanted you— or, both. Biting your lip, you felt another kiss on your cheek, Oliver.

Then, another one on your other cheek, Conan. Then, one on your lips, as Rowan kissed you.

You didn't need the world. All you needed was them.

Smiling, you wrapped your arms around his neck again, and burrowed into his warm skin, closing your eyes, putting a shutter over the images that flashed through your mind—

A bloodied hand, An old grandmother with a stab wound— The piles of bodies The blood. The blood.

You buried yourself deeper into his neck, trying not to cry. Rowan felt so comforting, and warm, he felt so safe, like a blanket wrapped around you when least expected, that comforted you even though you shivered.

Rowan smiled and kissed your head as he walked down the road, as Prime watched you from the corner of his eye, and listened to the world around them. Conan scanned the nearby woods, shooting at whatever animals came in his (or your) direction. Oliver walked next to Rowan, with Conan by his side, watching you.

They didn't need anyone else. Didn't you know what they were before you?

Outlines, white spaces, no color, ready to serve their objectives, but you— you.. brought out something, in each.

They didn't need the other colors, they only needed you, you and your bright cherry, blueberry, green apple and banana colored personality, that glittered and gurgled through the ocean of darkness.

You're the most important objective of all, didn't you know that, little human?

All they need is you. Only you, nothing else.

The world could burn, for all they cared, and it did— they burned it, all for you. All for you.

They continued walking as the world descended into night, like a bird falling through the air, and shedding feathers, only to reveal new ones made of violet petals and the noise of crickets.

Didn't you know, little human, thought Oliver, that once you started loving them with all of your human heart, that you bound yourself to them forever?

No, no you didn't.

Oliver reached over suddenly, and took you from his brother's arms, carrying you instead as they continued walking, the world awfully silent— full of no one, not a single human in existence—

Except you, of course.

The world is safe, now that every human is dead, it took a while to do it, but they did. The pill lasted for three days, and that's what all it took for them to kill all the humans. They started outside, and slowly went in, reaching your town last. And now, now you're safe, safe from all the hardships and stabbing words. Safe, safe at last.

Oliver felt you nuzzle into his shoulder and sigh contently, falling asleep.

He fell in love with you because of kindness, you're always so kind. Always. He knew his brothers fell for it too. He remembered when you came home, crying, and locked yourself up in your room, barely talking through the door. Prime ended up picking the lock, picking you up, and dragging you to the living room. Rowan drugged your hot coca, and they all cuddled you until you fell asleep.

That's when they knew, what they had to do.

Because forever and always, you will be theirs...their precious human.. forever.

[aswithasunbeam]

Home, a Hamliza fic

  [Read on AO3]

Rated: General Audiences

Summary: "This morning my beloved Eliza I leave Albany for Claverack, my health greatly mended and I hope to make but a short stay there. My plan is to go to Poughkepsie and there embark. I shall be glad to find that my dear little Philip is weaned, if circumstances have rendered it prudent. It is of importance to me to rest quietly in your bosom. Adieu my beloved." -Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Hamilton, October 1803

Alexander arrives home from his trip in the fall of 1803 and enjoys his longed for quiet, peaceful moment with his beloved wife. __ Sweet Hamliza and Hamilton Family Fluff

The Grange, November 1803

Eliza lay still in the dark, fists gripping at her blankets and heart pounding in her chest as she strained to hear over the noise of the storm. Rain roared against the roof, loud as a waterfall, making it impossible to listen for the subtle sound that had first roused her, but she’d have sworn she heard the front door opening. No one in the house would be going out at this time of night, and in this weather no less. Could they have an intruder?

Footsteps carried up from the stairs, soft at first, then growing louder. The rhythm, martial and familiar, made her sigh with relief. Pushing her blankets aside, she slid from the bed and peeked out into the hallway. She could see the golden light of a candle dancing in the stairway, just out of sight.

“Alexander?”

Sure enough, his distinctive profile emerged at the head of the stairs. He looked pale in the candlelight, his hair and clothes sodden from the rain. His breath sounded heavier than usual from the stairs. A smile brightened his face, though, the corners of his eyes bunching. “My beloved Betsey.”

“You’re soaked,” she said. “Did you take the wagon all the way from the city?”

“I wanted to be home.” When she sighed at him, his smile widened. “Would you have rather I stayed in town? Didn’t you miss me at all?”

“You know I did,” she said, stepping closer to pull him into an embrace. She’d been frantic with worry over him through his whole trip up to Albany. An attack of stomach spasms had made him so ill and weak before he left he could hardly sit up, and his letters home to her had made it clear he’d remained under the weather for the duration of his travels. Having him back safe in her arms released a knot of anxiety she’d been carrying in her chest. “I always want to be with you. But I’d just as soon have you warm and dry, especially when you’ve been sick.”

“I’m better now,” he said.

She leaned back to scrutinize his face, then gave him a disbelieving look. “Are you?”

“Mostly,” he amended. “So long as I don’t eat anything.”

And he wondered why she worried over him. Shaking her head, she leaned up to give him a kiss. She could feel the damp from his clothes soaking into her nightgown where they were pressed together. “You need to change. You’ll catch your death in those wet things.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

She stroked a hand over his cheek, a hint of rough stubble scratching lightly at her palm. “I’ll go fetch you a towel and some tea. That should help get some warmth back into you.”

“What ever would I do without you, my angel,” he whispered near her ear, stealing another kiss before pulling away, surrendering the candle to her as he did.

She hurried down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen. Efficiently setting the kettle to boil, she pulled some towels from the linen closet and started to set up a tray to bring up to him. He must have spent the better part of the day traveling, she guessed, which meant he likely hadn’t eaten much, if anything. Some bread and cheese joined the pot of piping hot chamomile tea, all simple fare for his delicate digestion.

Giggles and soft chatter carried down from the second floor as she made her way back to him. Though the children ought to have been asleep, she couldn’t help smiling at their joyous sounds. The whole house had a heartbeat when Alexander was at home, a thrum of life that only came with his presence no matter how many visitors, cheery games, and silly stories tried to fill the void he left.  

“And then we went down to the dock with our fishing poles,” she heard William saying breathlessly, no doubt trying to cram in a report of every moment his father had missed. Candlelight spilled out of the boys’ bedroom at the end of the hall.

She placed the tray on the bedside table of the master bedroom and looked in vain for Alexander’s wet clothing. He must not have changed before waking up the little ones, she realized with a heavy frown. Laying the towels on the bed, she started for the boys’ bedroom.

“I shot a duck with your hunting rifle, Papa,” Jamie interrupted William, voice filled with pride. “We had it for dinner last night. Mr. Morton went out with us, and Mama said I could use it if I was careful—”    

“Papa, Papa,” William insisted, barreling over Jamie’s story. Eliza paused in the doorway and saw William had attached himself to Alexander’s hip, squeezing him tight in an embrace. “I caught a really big fish, Papa. The biggest ever.”

“That’s wonderful, Jamie,” Alexander said.  

“That fish was tiny,” Johnny contradicted William at the same time, staring jealously at his younger brother from his bed. “Alex told you it was so small you could have used it for bait.”

“You’re supposed to embellish, John. That’s the fun of a fish story,” Alexander said, good humor infusing his voice as he hugged William to him with one arm.

“Hi Mama,” Alex said, looking around his father to her.

Alexander looked around and gave her a sheepish smile. “I was only going to poke my head in. They were already awake, I swear.”

“The rain is loud,” William said, by way of explanation.

“I know,” Alexander agreed, swinging William up into his arms to the boy’s great delight. “Much more of it and I would have been able to swim home.”

“Will you tell a story, Papa?” Johnny requested, hugging his knees up to his chest as Alexander placed William back on his bed.

“Yeah, a story!” William agreed, bouncing excitedly on his mattress.

“Papa needs to change out his wet clothes,” Eliza said, “Or he’s going to catch cold.”

“I’ll tell a story tomorrow,” Alexander promised, kissing William on the forehead and moving over to Johnny to kiss him as well.

“You’ll have to tell two stories,” Johnny said. “If you make us wait, you’ll owe interest.”

Alexander gave a snort of amusement even as he nodded, glancing over at her in shared mirth. “All right then, two stories.” He finished kissing the boys good night, and said as he tapped the door closed, “Good night my little lambs.”

“Night, Papa,” came back in a responding chorus.

“I owe them interest,” Alexander said sotto voce as they moved back towards the master bedroom, his chest vibrating with silent laughter.

“He’s definitely your son,” she said, grinning as well.

His laughter mixed with a rough cough as he headed for the dressing room, plucking up a towel from the bed and peeling off his coat as went.

Her smile dimmed at the sound. “I told you to change right away,” she scolded gently.

“You think I caught a chill in the intervening five minutes?” he asked, amusement still audible.

She rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see her from the dressing room. Pouring out his tea for him, she said, “I brought you up some things, when you’ve finished changing.”

“Is one of them a new digestive system?”

She smiled wryly and shook her head. “Alas, no.”

“Disappointing.”

“How did your arbitration go?” she asked.

He grunted and muttered something about childish nonsense. That well, then. He gave another cough and emerged in his nightshirt, ruffling the towel over his now loose hair. “What’d you bring me?”

“Tea, bread, and some cheese.” He wrinkled his nose. “You need to eat. And I don’t like the sound of that cough. I really wish you’d waited until tomorrow to come home.”

He sighed as he sat heavily on the bed. “I wanted my own bed.”

“The bed in town is yours, as much as this one.”

“It’s not my bed if you’re not in it,” he retorted.

“You’re immensely frustrating,” she said, kissing the top of his head. “But you’re cute.”

He smiled smugly.

She handed him the tea, and sat beside him while he drank and made an effort on the food. When he coughed yet again, she rubbed a hand over his back. He’d just barely recovered from being ill; she hated to think he’d contracted something else on his travels. “How long have you been coughing?”

“I don’t know.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I feel like I’m falling apart in my old age.”

“Your old age? You talk like you’re a hundred.”

“I feel like I’m a hundred.”

There was a slump to his shoulders she hadn’t noticed until now, a thinly veiled melancholy appearing in his eyes. He’d written to her once that he felt a more than usual gloom at the bottom of his soul,1 and the poetic phrase had stuck in her mind. However outwardly cheerful he appeared, a latent sadness lurked within him, and only seemed to grow as time rendered it’s blows upon them.

She scooted backward on the bed to kneel behind him. His white shirt was damp from his skin, translucent enough that she could see some of his darker freckles through the thin material. She traced her fingers across his back in familiar constellations: a diamond over his left shoulder, a castle turret over his right shoulder blade, a strangely shaped key along his spine. She’d memorized those patterns in the earliest days of their marriage, gazing at his body with sleepy wonder the way she’d gazed at clouds as a young girl.

He melted under her touch.

“Has Phil been weened?” he asked, eyelids drooping.

“Yes,” she said. Her fingers went to his hair as he pushed backwards and sideways, pinning her down against the pillows with his head pressed to her sternum. She’d been too sore for him to lie like this while she was nursing Phil, but it had always been his favorite position, offering, as he phrased it, a sweet asylum from care and pain.2

He relaxed against her and hummed with contentment.

“I planted the apple trees like you asked,” she said.

“Hopefully they won’t have floated away,” he quipped.  

“And Tuff finished the temporary fence.”3

He yawned. “We’ll walk over tomorrow and take a look, if the rain lets up.”

The wind howled eerily over the general roar of the rain, knocking the shudders together as it beat against the house. The whole second floor swayed under the force. Alexander must have felt her tense, because he shifted his head to press a kiss to the underside of her jaw.

“Not to worry, my love. Just the wind. It’s no match for our house.” He always spoke of the Grange with such pride, she considered, as though he’d laid each brick and beam with his own two hands.  

“No,” she agreed, gathering him closer to her. “No match at all.”

Despite the mighty gale, the shudders held fast and the walls stood firm, keeping the storm at bay.

[freelancer-chronicles]

*HIGH PITCHED SCREAMING*

He was afraid to open his eyes. His mind clung to the welcoming darkness.

A sharp memory of ripping metal, fires, and screaming woke him, shocking his heart into furious motion. His lungs dragged for air like flint across rusty iron. He coughed. Tears ran down his face. He blinked. Everything was blurry and uncertain. Something clung to his skin. He swiped at it with a clumsy hand, leaving a warm smear across his cheek. His vision sharpened. Across from him, stabbing light shone through long, diagonal gashes. He was looking at what should be a floor but was now a wall. He realized the world was on its side.

The gray and black shapes near him were a tangle of broken furniture, boxes and twisted metal. Sparking wires and torn canvas straps hung as thick as vines. Something was close, pressing against him. He pushed. A crate fell back. His crate, he remembered. He brought his goods to a textile merchant in Fort Tarsis. The deal fell through; too many risks. At the back of his mind, his sister’s voice urged him to be careful. He turned the strider around back to Antium on the same day. That was yesterday.

He was a collection of aches and sharp pains. What happened? An accident. Where was everyone?

“H-hu…?” He tried to call out, but his throat was an old chimney. He coughed again, clearing the debris. “Hello? I need help.” His voice rasped and burned with each word.

Silence. No, not silence, the screech of a bird. An incessant buzz of insects. Muffled gibbering. Across from him, the slashes of white showed a steaming landscape of swaying green. The jungle. He had never been this exposed to it before. He spent most of his life with great, thick walls between him and the creatures that roamed in the wild. He imagined something was out there right now, sniffing around for him. He’d spent his life hiding.

He tried to stand. A sickening lance of pain. A scrap of metal stuck out of his right leg. Blood trickled down his torn pants in a thin stream. He froze, afraid to do more harm. Just sit here, he thought. That’s best. Someone is coming. A long, barking howl echoed in the distance. He closed his eyes. Someone has to be coming.

The minutes grew and stretched out behind him. Moving carefully, he fished out a cigarette and small metal lighter.

***

“Here, take this.” his sister whispered years and years ago. They were hiding under the overturned loader. The lighter was worn and scratched. “It’s good luck, okay?” Her gaze waited for a nod. He was too afraid to move. She shook him. He tried to nod. “Stay here. Be quiet. You’ll be safe.” Her smile was so big and bright. “I’ll just take a peek.”

With a quick glance both ways, she ran.

***

The metal room warmed and boiled under the afternoon heat of the jungle sun. Around him lay the white remains of his cigarettes. One after another. A ritual to calm him down. His shirt was now sticky with sweat. Each twitch of pain sent a new dribble of blood down his leg. The humidity and heat grew heavier on him despite the groggy pain. His mind began to float.

***

She was gone a long time. He was alone. Long claws reached for him. A bark.

***

He woke with a start and a jolt of pain shooting up his leg. Was something there? He squeezed his eyes shut and listened. Sounds of the wild. He let out a breath, his gaze refocusing. The sun was setting, and color was draining from everything. It was getting dark and no one had come.

In the distance, a long, low howl rumbled across the dark green. His heart thumped. He flexed his hands. Open and closed. You need to move. No, stay. Open and closed. An image of his sister’s last smile flared in his mind. He took one last, short puff on his cigarette and threw it down with the rest. The cockpit should be just up that hall, right? There had to be some kind of emergency thing? A signal of some kind. Okay, he nodded, okay, you’re gonna move. His leg protested. He clicked open the lighter to get a better look. It was bad. He clicked it shut. Murky darkness. He wiped his hands on his shirt. Bracing himself against a heavy box and the wall, he closed his eyes.

I can’t do this. I should stay here.

I’ll just take a peek, she’d said.

He pushed himself up and the metal tore open his leg. A hot dagger of pain plunged into his leg and light burst behind his eyes. His hand flailed out and grabbed a bent pipe. Leaning awkwardly against the wall, he blinked away the spots. Holding himself with quivering arms, he saw dark blood pooling around his shoes. He pressed a hand to the wound, blood leaking between his fingers. His stomach rolled. Casting around for anything to help, he spotted a torn strip of white cloth that hung from a broken crate. His crate. Yanking it free, he wrapped it around his leg. It was immediately flush with red. He ripped it with his teeth. He shook as he tucked the end of the cloth into itself. Okay. He shuddered. Move.

***

He hid under the loader all night, clutching the lighter in a small fist. He heard barks in the distance. He never saw her again.

***

Slowly and painfully, he hopped along a wall that now served as the floor, picking his way through the wreckage. He spotted a short set of stairs on the opposite wall. Worn yellow paint spelled out CREW ONLY. Distracted, he stepped forward into nothing.

He fell into soft tendrils tangling his arms and legs. He was caught, almost dragged under like quicksand. His hand found thin ropes. It was netting. Large sacks with FOR DELIVERY: FORTUO printed on them. He let out a breath. Fortuo, the colorful, loud, and beautiful city of trade on the coast. He always wanted to go there, do some real business, make something of himself. But it was too far away, too dangerous. He pushed himself up against the bloody parcels, righting himself on the netting. Shuffling a few more steps down the corridor, he felt a breeze on his face. Parting a curtain of loose wires, he squinted into a sudden strong wind. A tangle of broken branches had smashed through a large window, dragging the dark, wild jungle into the metal room. The cockpit. He made it.

It took a moment to sort out the sideways room in the dim light. The smashed window extended up into the shadows above him. He could barely make out a large panel of dials and switches to the right of the window. A silhouette of the driver’s seat was a few feet ahead of him, firmly bolted to what was now the right wall. He had to get to that panel. Clicking on his lighter, he stepped into the room.

A bloody hand hung just below the driver’s seat. The sight stopped his breath cold. He waited. Were they alive? “Hello,” he managed. His voice was barely a whisper. He limped forward a few steps, his hand holding out the lighter. “Hello, are you all right?” The hand remained still. He gripped the frame of the seat and pulled himself close. The dull sheen of blood was everywhere. Steeling himself, he looked over and saw the driver was slumped to one side, bloody branches everywhere. She was young. A few gleaming white teeth visible under the ruin.

***

You’ll be safe, she said.

I’ll just take a peek.

***

He turned away, his legs buckling. The lighter went out and he was blind. He should have stayed where he was. The pounding in his chest froze him in place. He hung on to the back of the driver’s seat, his cheek pressed against the warm metal. He fought to keep his fear from overwhelming him. The driver was dead. Everyone was dead and no one was going to find him. You move, you die. He knew this. Panic brought back old questions he’d asked a thousand times.

Why didn’t she stay? She would have been safe.

But I’m not safe. The lighter flicked on. I have to keep going. He looked past the body, to the control panel. He ducked under the chair and hopped closer, trying to clear his head. He was here to get help. Some signal or switch. He moved it back and forth along the panel. Sweat dropped into his eyes and burned. The small circle of light found a red strip that ran across a steel handle.

EMERGENCY BEACON

He gripped the handle and pushed it to the right with a metallic clang. That had to be it. He’d done it. The lighter clicked shut. Everything was black. He waited, not sure what to expect. No lights, no beeping, no signal flare. He clicked his lighter on again to take a closer look, but there was nothing more to look at. No power. His lighter sputtered, its fuel running low. Click. Darkness. He was tired. He cursed himself for leaving his hiding spot.

She was foolish to leave back then. I was so scared.

He stood in the darkness of the cockpit. The barking howls getting closer.

I couldn’t move.

Not even to save my life.

She had no choice. She left and led the monsters away.

His vision blurred with tears. He saw it now. The image of his sister shaking him. He couldn’t do anything. Her sudden smile to reassure him. Her big, bright life extinguished. No. It couldn’t end like this. His wounds burned.

Click. The sputtering light showed his bandage was unraveling. Click. Darkness. He had an idea, something big and bright. And brave.

He hopped up to the window and slid along the worst of the broken glass. As he pushed through, it sliced open his shirt and down his chest. With a final heave, he broke free of the window and fell the last few feet to the forest floor. The  cold mud was a shock after so long in the close heat of the strider. He took his first deep breath in the open air.

Pushing himself up, he weaved along the strider’s neck, one hand on the metal and one hand out in front of him. He found a soft canvas pack. Click. Nothing. Click. Sputtering light. A massive bundle, torn open. Cloth bolts had fallen into the mud, others formed trails of white. He held the failing lighter against the cloth. A half-moon of embers began to catch and run along the strands. He stepped back and the lighter fell away. The flames roared to life. A final cry for help that grew bigger and brighter in the darkness. There was no choice. His sister would have understood.

Special thanks to Cathleen Rootsaert, Mary Kirby, Karin Weekes, and Ryan Cormier

[poisoned-chicken-marsala]

Reposting this, yeehaw! Sorry if Narancia is OOC, it’s my first time writing for him. Please tell me what you think :>

Kara trudged home from the grocery store on a Thursday afternoon. It had been a relatively calm day for her, she had the day off of work and was very happy about that. Or, she felt like she should be happy about it, but she just felt off the whole day instead. She felt like her head had been in a fog and her body felt heavier than usual. It took so long to get groceries, even with a list detailing exactly what she needed. At least the stores she’d been to were mostly empty and she could wander mindlessly. But walking home required thought and Kara tried to engage herself with her surroundings while she made her way home by kicking a rock in front of her as she went. The rock came to a stop at the foot of some stairs after the last kick. The building they led up to was no longer in use and boarded up to discourage people from breaking and entering. Kara smiled slightly when she approached the steps. Almost home.

    When she looked for the rock, she saw someone sitting on the steps and glanced to see who it was. To her surprise it was Narancia, a boy her and her friends had hung out with at the park many times. Did he live out this way? She didn’t know, and never thought it was polite to ask. He was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest a troubled look on his face that didn’t leave, even when he looked up to see who was there.

    “Hi Narancia.” Kara said with a small smile. Narancia stared at her for a moment and didn’t reply. He rested his chin on his knees again and turned his attention back to the street. Kara’s backpack felt like it gained a hundred pounds when he brushed her off. She stood still for a moment, tilting her head and giving her friend? a curious look. What the hell was his problem?

    “Are… are you okay?” She tried again, shuffling her feet. He looked up at her again, angry this time.

    “Shut the fuck up.” Narancia snapped, letting go of his knees. Kara’s eyes widened in shock, her face burning. She stepped back on to a lower stair, staring at the patch of plants near where his hand was resting.

    ‘Oh. Did I overstep a boundary of some kind?’ She asked herself. The silence that settled between them lay thick and heavy, like a blanket. A minute passed (it seemed more like an hour) before she looked him in the face again. Kara figured she must have still looked shocked because Narancia’s face fell after a moment. To her surprise, he started to cry. Kara immediately walked back up to the step Narancia was sitting on and hesitated for a moment before reaching down and gently taking his arm.

    “Come on, let’s go to my house. It’s not far.” She said softly and pulled him up to his feet.

————————————

The walk to her apartment felt like a dream. Kara unlocked the door when they arrived and ushered her friend inside, locking the door behind them and putting her backpack down on the floor. Narancia sat down on the sofa, only looking up when Kara offered him a fist full of tissues. She set the box down on the table and took a seat next to him, their knees touching. The radio on the windowsill played a song she didn’t know the name of, the melody interrupted by bouts of static and Narancia’s heavy breaths. Kara sighed and looked at the grocery bag. They could wait, she decided. There wasn’t anything that could spoil in there. She took a quick glance back at the crying boy. He was staring at the carpet, a tissue balled up in his left hand. Kara reached slowly to rest her hand on top of his. Narancia didn’t move.

    Eventually, he stopped crying and stirred some time later, pulling his hand out from under hers. She watched him for a moment and pointed to a slightly cracked door through a small hallway when he turned towards her, feeling her eyes on him.

    “Go wash your face. You’ll feel better.” Kara suggested and rose from her spot. Narancia got up too, picked up all of his tissues and shut the door to the bathroom once he was inside. Kara moved her bag from the floor to the kitchen and heard the tap begin to run. Guilt struck her when she unzipped the biggest pocket of her bag.

‘I should have done more.’ Kara scolded herself and let go of the bag. ‘I can ask him if he wants a hug when he comes out.’ She paced in the kitchen, heart pounding, humming to a song on the radio for what seemed like an eternity when the tap finally shut off. The door swung open. Kara straightened up and looked at her friend awkwardly standing in the bathroom doorway. He looked a little better, it was still obvious he had been crying. She walked over to him nervously.

“Do you want a hug?”

“… Yes.”

Kara closed the distance between them and loosely wrapped her arms around Narancia, tightening her grip on him when he hugged her back. They stood and listened to the radio for a moment which was broadcasting mostly static instead of music.

    “I’m sorry.” Narancia said quietly after a moment, letting go of Kara. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You only asked me a question..”

    “I accept your apology… Do you want some soup? I was going to make some for myself but I’m sure there is enough for you as well, if you’re hungry.” Kara changed the subject, walking back into the kitchen to her bag and zipped her bag open wider.

    “I guess I’ll have some, since you’re offering.” Narancia replied, fiddling with a pen he found on the counter.

————————————

He sat down at the table and stared at a poster of a white clown holding.. Cocoa powder? He couldn’t tell, the poster was in another language he didn’t understand. It was a bit hard to see the clown’s features from where he was sitting. The only things he could really see were its open mouth and bright red cheeks. Narancia was so engrossed in the clown, Kara startled him when she set a bowl down in front of him and promptly walked passed him to the TV. She picked up a remote off the table in there and turned it on. A movie played on the screen, the dialogue of the characters clashing with the static from the radio. Kara turned that off and turned towards the TV to see what was going on. Narancia got up from the table and wandered into the living room, brushing past Kara.

There was a fish tank above the TV and more posters. And books everywhere:on the table, under the radio and in a large box beneath the shelf next to the TV. There were books on things from Hurricanes to Gems to what looked like novels. One titled The Moomins and The Great Flood caught his eye. Narancia knelt down and took it off the shelf, curiously looking at the cover. White, rotund creatures stood out against the dark forest backdrop on the front. He was right, it was a story book. The movie cut to a commercial break and Kara looked over at the shelf, doing a double take when she saw Narancia on the floor.

    “What’ve you got there?” She asked. He held the book up for her to see, twisting it around slightly so he could read the title.

    “The.. Moomins and The Great Flood.” He placed the book on the table and looked up at Kara. “What’s a Moomins?”

    “Oh. I can tell you about that after we eat. I think the soup will be done soon.” Kara replied and hurried back to the kitchen to check. Narancia followed her and looked at the white clown poster again up close this time. The clown’s eyes were small and dark. They made it look crazy: solemn eyes and a big grin. Maybe the clown was confused as to how it was supposed to feel and he took a little comfort in that.

[jbrentonparker]

“A Wish” (A Fairy Tale Retold)

He went up the hill to the cliff overlooking the roiling sea with the intention of throwing himself off of it, but when he arrived, someone else was already there.

He stopped in his tracks, his arms full of crumpled letters, dog-eared books, and a pair of white cotton socks that the wild wind was threatening to tear from his grasp, and stared at the silhouetted figure that stood motionless at the cliff's edge. It was a woman, standing alone in the sea of heather that blanketed the rocky hillside for miles. Her hair whipped about her head in a tangled mass of gold, her dress straining and billowing against her legs like a sail about to catch the wind. She faced away from him, out over the ocean, and was so still and isolated that he might have thought her a specter if he had seen her in the gloom of night rather than the full light of day.

First incredulity, then hot anger rose in his chest, and his face flushed. Wrenches were thrown into plans he had spent the entire morning crafting, and he spluttered and swore to himself until he overcame his shock. With narrowed eyes and squared shoulders, he continued to wade through the dense heather up toward the woman, crushing the hardy little flowers underfoot.

The passion of the moment was somewhat spoiled when a crumpled sheet of hand written poetry escaped his grasp and was caught on the wind, tumbling end over end in mad cartwheels. With another oath, he chased it down, running awkwardly through knee high shrubs and struggling not to drop any of the other mementos he held. Finally, his heart pounding and his ears aching from the cold bite of the roaring wind, he pinned the paper beneath one foot and was able to squat down so he could just barely grab the edge of it with two fingers. Sweaty, red faced, and quite out of breath, he looked up and saw that his mad dash had brought him nearly back at the bottom of the hill―as opposed to at the bottom of the sea, which is where he had planned to be by now.

The passion and spontaneity of the thing had been thoroughly lost, and for a brief moment his determination wavered. He hadn't really thought much about the bottom of the ocean.

But the fire of pride wasn't so quick to burn out. He clung fiercely to that, and with grim determination to give that woman, whoever she was, a piece of his mind, he struggled all the way back up the hill for a second time.

"What,” he panted when he finally trudged up behind her, too short of breath to sound as fierce as he had intended, “are you doing here?”

The woman hadn't seemed to notice his approach until he spoke. She slowly turned her head toward him, as if reluctant to look away from the view of the endless, gray sea. She didn't seem startled to see him there, and only glanced at him briefly with pale eyes before turning back to the water.

“I'm going to jump into the sea,” she said in a soft, almost dreamy voice.

“You can't!” he snapped at her. 

Now she did turn to look at him properly, her brow furrowing. “What? Why not?”

“Because, I'm jumping off the cliff today!” And he stomped his foot as he said it.

“Why?” the woman asked.

He swelled a little, adjusting his grip on the bundles of papers, books, and socks. “My lover left me.”

“So you're going to throw yourself off a cliff?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you see these here?” he said, jerking his chin at the treasures he clutched to his chest. “These are all the letters she wrote me, all the poems and songs and tender words that she put down on paper in her own hand for me to cherish. These are the books she used to read, the words of the authors she loved to quote, as if she understood what they meant. These are the socks she left behind that once covered the feet I would have dropped to my knees and kissed if she'd asked me to. These are the letters I wrote to her after she left, beseeching her to come back; begging to know why she did it; groveling and pleading and abandoning every scrap of dignity and self respect I ever had for myself because I couldn't stand to be without her. I never even sent them to her. I couldn't have if I wanted to. She's gone, and she took the man I used to be with her. I don't just have nothing left, I am nothing. I opened myself up to her in ways I didn't even know I was capable of, I laid myself naked and bare and exposed at her feet, and then she spit on me while I was down there. And now,” he drew himself up a little taller, his expression grew a little stonier, “I'm going to take all of these, everything that she has touched, every lovely lie she told me, and I'm going to let the sea take them, and me.”

“For a woman?”

His mouth dropped open, but he could only manage a few incoherent sputters. “I--you don't...” He trembled with barely suppressed emotion. “You don't understand! You don't know what it's like, to have everything taken away from you!”

“And this is her punishment, then?”

He didn't answer her.

“Would you rather she'd have stayed, even if it made her miserable? Even if it made you miserable? Would you have kept her forever, because she owed you, no matter what it cost you both?”

He only glared, but the woman wasn't looking at him any longer. The ocean below was gray and heaving, waves crashing with bone breaking force into the rocks that jutted out of the water like broken teeth.

“Why are you here?” he eventually asked her again.

“I told you,” she replied.

“No, I mean why are you going to kill yourself?”

“That is a sad story,” she said, the air wistfulness falling back over her. She fell quiet then, and he waited for her to continue.

A full minute passed, and then another. He gathered that she had no intention of elaborating, and with a huff of impotent frustration, he made to push past her for the edge of the cliff. 

Then, quite abruptly, she began to tell him her story.

Our parents died when we were still quite young. My father was a fisherman, and one day the sea claimed him. My mother began to fade away after his death, as if she had lost her will to exist without him, until one day she was gone too and my brother and I were left alone in the world. As the eldest, it was my responsibility to look after my brother, but we struggled to feed ourselves from day to day. So my brother became a fisherman, like our father before him, and we were able to keep ourselves from starving. We were not prosperous. We were rarely even comfortable. But we got by. For years, we got by.

One day, my brother was fishing in his little boat on a part of the coast he had never been to before. He came by a small cove, hidden along the cliff side. It was difficult to get to, the waters were treacherous and full of crumbling rocks that threatened to dash his boat to pieces upon them. But what he found there was worth the danger, for though there were few fish, no other fishermen had discovered this hidden place, and the cove and tide pools on the shore were rich in the bounty of the sea. Almost every day he was able to bring back clams and mussels, eels, barnacles, sea cucumbers, crabs as big as your head, shrimp and scallops and star fish and once, even an octopus. It was thriving with life, and for the first time since our parents died, we did not go hungry, not even for one night.

Then, one day, he caught something different.

He was hauling up his net, and found it was heavier than it had ever been before. It was all he could do to keep the rope from being wrenched from his grasp and lost in the water. Inch by inch, he dragged it up, expecting to find the largest sea creature he had ever seen. But when he was finally able to haul it up over the side of the boat, all he saw was one solitary fish, no larger than a sea bass.

It was clear as soon as he laid eyes upon it that it was anything but ordinary, however. The fish glittered and gleamed in the sunlight, with scales of pure gold and eyes of silver. The weight of the thing threatened to capsize his boat as it flopped about, desperately caught up in the net. He stared at it in wonder, and realized he could sell a fish like that for enough money that he and I could live in comfort for the rest of our lives. But then, to his even greater surprise, it spoke to him.

“Please, dear fisherman,” it begged. “Please release me! I am an extraordinary fish, and if you do, I will grant you any wish you desire. The sun, the moon, the stars, they could all be yours, if you would but set me free.”

“Any wish?” my brother asked. “Wealth? Power? Happiness? You could grant me all that?”

“All that and more, good fisherman,” said the golden fish. “The only domain I have no power over is death, but the rest of the world is yours if you only give me back to the ocean. Take pity, I beg of you.”

My brother considered the fish's offer. He was never hasty. Neither of us ever acted in impulse. So measured, so careful. Look where it got us.

“I will release you,” he said finally, “but on one condition. I won't make my wish now. I have to consult my sister first, for she is all I have left in the world, and my fortune is her fortune as well. I will release you now and return home to ask her what we should wish for, if you swear that you will be waiting here for my return tomorrow.”

“I swear it,” said the fish, and my brother did as he promised and cut his net. It disappeared into the dark water, and my brother, hoping he had not made a mistake in trusting the golden fish, sailed back home.

As soon as he found me, he told me what had happened, about the fish and the wish it had promised him.

“Just one wish?” I asked.

“A wish for anything. The sun, the moon, the stars. Even happiness. Whatever we want, we can have--except for life. I know what you are thinking, I thought it too. But it cannot bring back the dead.”

“So we have a wish, but we cannot use it on the one thing we want? What else could we possibly wish for we would not come to regret? A wish is a dangerous thing to waste. Money can keep us fed and comfortable, but won't give us happiness. Happiness won't keep us fed. We could make ourselves a king and queen, and die in a bloody revolution when the land is stricken with famine. We could wish for a purse full of gold that never empties, but then be stricken by a disease for which there is no cure that money can buy. Just one wish, and a million ways to waste it.”

“Then what do you propose we do?” he asked me, and I thought long and hard about what the wisest course of action would be.

“I think,” I finally said to him, “that you should go back and catch the fish again. Bring it here, and we will put it in a bowl, and let people pay us to come and see a golden, talking fish. It sounds like a wondrous creature, I have no doubt that it will draw people from all over the world to see it. Right now our worst suffering is our impoverishment, but we need not use the wish to cure ourselves of that. We can keep the fish until we have become so rich that money is no longer any concern, and then we will decide what wish to make. When we have all the food and comfort that money can buy, when our minds are not clouded by constant hunger and the struggles of poverty, then we will make our wish. We can use for something wealth cannot give us, or better yet, save it for when we are in need of it most.”

My brother agreed with me that this was the wisest decision we could make. Having a wish a year ago could have saved our parents, and it seemed prudent to keep one on hand in case a similar need arose. So the next morning, before the sun had risen, he took to his sailing boat and made his way to the secluded little cove.

Waiting for him just as promised was the golden fish, the first rays of the morning sun glancing off its head that broke the surface of the water.

It swam up to my brother and asked, “What is your wish, good fisherman?”

And my brother threw his net over the animal. It fought, and was as heavy as it had been the first time my brother had struggled with it, but once again he managed to haul it up into the boat and dump it into a bucket of seawater.

“I apologize, my friend,” he said to it, “but we need the wealth and fame a creature like you can provide us with more than we need a wish right now.”

“I can give you wealth and fame if you wish for it!” the fish pleaded, but my brother only shook his head sadly and steered the boat for home.

“Your wish is too valuable to waste on instant pleasures or material wealth. We must save it for when we are in need of it most.”

The fish pleaded with him the entire way back, but my brother did not give in, though it pierced his heart to hear it beg so miserably.

It took the both of us to drag the bucket back to our house, and together we poured the fish and the seawater into a large glass bowl which we had placed in our back garden. We tried to make it comfortable, filling the bottom of the bowl with small pebbles and bits of seaweed. But even though it was the largest bowl we owned, the fish had barely enough room to swim in a circle. And it continued to entreat us to release it all the while, begging us to send it home to the ocean where it belonged, but we covered out ears and didn't listen.

Don't look at me like that. You don't know what it was like. We weren't heartless to the poor creature's plight, please understand. We weren't planning on keeping it like that forever, just long enough to make a comfortable living off its handsome scales and clever speech. And once we had decided the cleverest wish to ask of it. After that, we would have let it go again. We tried to explain that to the fish, but it only continued to plead and cry, big silver tears. Eventually we covered the bowl with a cloth, and we went back inside.

From then on, we spread the word to as many people that we could about our wondrous fish. First to come were our neighbors; then people from distant towns; then people from the other side of the country--people from miles and miles away who had heard about the golden, talking fish, and wanted to see it with their own eyes.

We weren't greedy and charged them only a small sum, but so many people came in those first few weeks that we had no doubt we would be able to live like kings in no time at all.

But the fish wouldn't cooperate.

We would lead people into our back garden and take the cloth off the bowl. The guests would gasp in delight, remarking how beautifully the fish's golden scales gleamed, how bright its silver eyes shone, and how it spoke just like a man. But when they fell quiet to listen to its speech, and they heard it pleading.

“Please please let me go, I beg of you! I am so unhappy in this little bowl, I long for the wide, open ocean. Staring out of the curved glass sides of this bowl is making me go blind. I can only swim in little circles, and my body is aching and twisted. And I'm so lonely. I miss the other fish, I miss the quiet of the deep water, I miss the darkness when I dive down deep. Here it is all too bright and loud, and the water in this little bowl grows so hot when the sun shines on it. I am going to die if you keep me like this, please have some kindness! What have I done to deserve this? Why are you doing this to me? Take some pity and let me go!”

On and on it went, and the people we brought to see it would grow uncomfortable and start muttering amongst themselves, casting us ugly looks as if we were torturing the creature預s if they hadn't paid good money to come and gawk at it themselves. You are looking at me the same way now, but you don't understand what it was like. We weren't trying to be cruel, we were just trying to secure our future. If the fish had only listened to us, if it had just cooperated, things might have been different. Like your lover, no? But people are so selfish. They only think about what they want.

Then, slowly at first, the crowds of people who came to see the creature began to dwindle. At the height of our fame we had a hundred visitors a day, and made money almost faster than we could spend it. We repaired the holes in the roof of our cottage, we mended the fences around our land, we patched holes and cracks in the wall and for the first time since our parents died the cold night air didn't seep into our home and make us shiver in our beds. We bought clothing that hadn't been frayed and darned a hundred times over. We ate until we thought our stomachs would burst every night, and were certain our troubles were over. But all those people who came, who helped make us rich, they never came again after they listened to the fish's words.

We went from bringing in a hundred people a day, to fifty, then twenty, ten. At the end, those few who did come only wanted to see if what they had heard about the fish's terrible condition was true, and they sneered and scolded us for how we were treating it. And then none at all would come. Word had spread about the unhappiness of the fish. Our neighbors turned their noses up at us. People in town wouldn't talk to us. We were shunned, even though we tried again and again to explain that we weren't going to keep the fish forever.

“Just let the poor thing go!” they would say to us in the streets.

“We will, we will,” we tried to assure them, “Once we've made a little more money, just a little more!”

“Greedy, greedy,” they said.

Sometimes one or two people would still show up, people who hadn't heard about the fish's sadness, or people who didn't care. We clung to the hope that we could convince the others to come again, and we kept trying, even as what money we had made in those first few weeks dwindled. We hadn't saved anything. We had spent everything we'd earned on making our lives more comfortable, always thinking that there would be more money later.

Two weeks after our last visitor, we spent our last penny. A week after that, we had eaten our last loaf of bread.

We were warm at night. Our clothes were clean and new. And yet again, we teetered on the brink of starvation.

We begged our neighbors for help, for a few spare coins, for a little meat or drink, like they had been kind enough to give us in the past when times were at their toughest.

“After the way you've exploited that poor creature?” they said. “You've only brought this upon yourselves.”

Intentions. Intentions don't matter to other people, do they? They only care about what they can see. Once you've jumped off this cliff, will your lover know what you meant by it? Or will she just see a silly, lovesick fool? How do you punish someone who doesn't understand what they've done wrong?

Where was I? Oh, yes. Selfishness. Of course.

My brother came to me once it was clear that our plans had gone irrevocably wrong.

“Perhaps we should make our wish now and set it free,” he tentatively suggested.

“No,” I disagreed. “We may need that wish yet. Let's not waste it until we have lost all hope.”

“All hope is lost,” he said. “Can't you see that? We're back where we started, only now we're miserable too. At least I'm miserable. We're hated and ostracized, and I don't even care about the wish any more. What we are doing to the fish hurts my soul. I never wanted to capture it in the first place. Can't we just make our wish and leave it in peace?

“We're not doing anything to the fish,” I replied angrily. “We're keeping it alive and fed, we're doing nothing to harm it.”

“We're making it miserable,” he said.

“We are miserable. We need to save our wish now more than ever. Do you remember what happened to our parents? We could have saved them if we'd had a wish then. You still have your boat. You can still fish, so we can still keep ourselves fed. All hope is not lost, not yet.”

So my brother returned to fishing to keep us fed. He refused to even go into the back garden any more, not wishing to see the golden fish in its bowl. I only went out there to feed it, running back into the house with my hands over my ears while it cried after me.

As the days stretched into weeks, my brother caught less and less in his nets when he went out fishing. The creatures of the ocean seemed to flee from him as he drew near, and even his secret cove where he had first discovered the golden fish grew barren. When he went out into deeper waters, storm clouds massed overhead and the waves roiled, threatening to drag his boat down. We had done something terrible by capturing the gift of the golden fish that had been given to us, and the ocean rejected us. Weeks passed. We became thin and stretched, and we laid awake at night while our stomachs twisted with hunger, driving the possibility sleep from our minds. We were driven to eating grass--we ate the leather off our own shoes just to make it feel like there was something in our stomachs. By then, even I realized we had no choice.

We went to the golden fish and drew back the cloth over the bowl.

“Have you finally come to set me free?” it asked us. It sounded so hopeful.

“We've come to make our wish,” we told it.

Have you ever been starving before? Have you ever spent so much of your life constantly, endlessly starving like we did? We were stupid with hunger, and we wished for an end to the one battle we were always fighting. We wished for enough food to keep us well fed for the rest of our lives, and thought that that was the wisest thing we could do.

And we got it. A mountain of good, rich food appeared right there in our back garden, filling every corner, crushing all the plants and almost our house under the weight of it all. The top of the teetering pile reached higher than the cottage's roof, it was the most incredible sight you've ever seen in your life. There were bundles of brightly colored carrots, in more colors than I even knew carrots came in. Did you know there are purple carrots? They're not as sweet as the orange kind, but they're so crisp when they're fresh. There were shiny tomatoes all on the vine, red and yellow and green. And apples, with rosy cheeks and sweet white flesh, and the juice dripped down your chin when you bit into them. Fat grapes were spilling over the other fruits like purple waterfalls; turnips and beets that could have been only just pulled up out of the earth; steaming piles of butchered meat so fresh it still bled; wicker baskets piled high with speckled brown and green eggs; huge metal milk cans at tall as my hip, full of warm, white milk with the cream still floating on top; and a thousand more things I didn't even know the names of. Overcome by wonder at the bounty, we quickly forgot about the little golden fish. We couldn't help but laugh, laugh and wonder why we hadn't done this right away.

As I said, we were stupid with hunger, and it didn't take us long to realize our mistake.

For one week, we ate as well as we ever had. The fish was somewhere out in the garden, surrounded by heaps of fruits and vegetables, and it was far from our minds. For by then, the rot had set in.

We brought as much as possible into the house, but there was just too much. We had nowhere to store it all, and before we knew it the meat was covered in flies and maggots, the vegetables dried out and withered in the summer sun, the eggs went rotten, the milk spoiled and congealed, and the fruit furred with mold and fungus. There was so much of the stuff, we couldn't even move it, we couldn't get rid of it all. The rot and mold in the air began to make us even sicker than before. It settled in our throats and lungs making our breath come in short gasps, making our heads spin, and we vomited up what few long lasting root vegetables we had managed to salvage. And once again--again, again, always again--we found ourselves starving. We were reduced to eating the rotting food in our garden, even though it only made us sicker. So please, try to understand why we did what we did. We never wanted to, we never planned to. We were wasting away to nothing, we had no other choice.

We found the fish again, eventually, once the mountain of food that had hidden it from view had rotted away to piles of sludge and slime that oozed into the earth. It too was thin and weak, but alive, just barely. It was floating on its side in the bowl, without even the energy to sink to the bottom. Its silver eyes rolled when it saw us, and somehow it managed to ask in a rasping voice, “have you come to set me free?”

And we were so very hungry.

It was barely enough to feed the two of us, and its beautiful scales broke nearly every knife I tried to use on it. We piled those scales up, hoping to use them as money since we had nothing else, but the next morning, we found their golden luster had dulled into flakes of lead. Even the little silver eyes crumbled away like so much dust.

My brother was forced to return to the sea yet again, but his luck was even worse than before. He didn't make a single catch, the sea was a desert for him. The ocean would grow dark and tumultuous when he set sail in his little boat, and he was afraid, afraid of what waited for him out there.

Even though all his attempts had been fruitless since we had betrayed the golden fish, he kept sailing out in his little boat, day after day, heading farther and farther out to sea, to deeper waters, in desperate attempts to catch anything at all. And then one day he didn't come back. His boat washed up on shore, shattered to broken bits of wood. I searched for him, walking up and down the shore, calling his name, hoping that I would find him half drowned but alive, hidden by a sand dune somewhere. But I never even got his body back. The ocean had claimed my brother, in payment for what we took. An eye for an eye, and I'm the only one left, blinded by what I thought was my own cleverness. We all think we're so clever, don't we? Now I have nothing left. I have nothing left to want. I have nothing left to wish for.

The woman fell silent, her thin, cracked lips pressed into a hard line. Her gray eyes were flat and dull, sunk deep into hollow sockets. Her golden hair, so thin and brittle, was being blown from her scalp by the wind.

The man watched her quietly for a long time, as she teetered there on the edge of nothingness. Then he glanced down at the things he held in his arms, the mementos and treasures of someone he had loved very much, the things he was prepared to die with. To die for.

“The fish wasn't yours to own,” he said, slowly. The woman's expression was blank, unfocused. She stared out at the sea without seeming to hear him speak. “It didn't owe you anything. You wasted a gift. And now you're here, because this is your punishment.” He paused, wrinkled his nose, and shook his head. “It wasn't even your wish. It was your brother's wish. It was his gift. You took it from him.”

He looked again at the love notes, the limp socks. They had a little lace cuff, whose stitching was just starting to come undone.

“I'm not like you,” he said.

Slowly, as if being drawn forward against his will, he began to edge toward the lip of the cliff, until the toes of his shoes hung barely an inch over the side. Beneath him, it was a hundred feet to the waves that crashed over the dark stones, the sea an angry, churning entity of white froth cresting on gray water. He opened his arms wide, releasing everything he held into the void. The books tumbled downwards, their covers spreading open, their pages fluttering like the wings of flailing baby birds tumbling from the nest. The unbound pages, the love letters and poems signed with kiss marks, were caught by the wind and whipped away, spiraling through the air on updrafts that could have carried them halfway around the world. A pair of white cotton socks spun, intertwined, in a spiraling descent into the sea foam below.

He watched the mementos of love lost disappear into the hungry waters, and took a deep breath of the chill, salty ocean air. Then he turned back to the woman. She was watching him, her eyes deep and uncertain.

“Are you really going to jump?” he asked her.

“You let it all go,” she replied so softly that the wind stole her words away as soon as they left her lips.

“It was never mine. Not really, I don't think.” He turned his face into the wind. It felt cool and good on his cheeks and brow. “I haven't forgiven her,” he said, as if he didn't want the woman to get the wrong idea. “I just... I'm not like you.” A beat of silence. “Do you think losing something can be a gift? Getting rid of something?”

“I've lost everything,” said the woman. “What do I do now? What else is there to do, except...” The waves thundered against the base of the cliff, churning and hungry. “I wish I knew what to do.”

He didn't answer her. He didn't have any answers for her. He just turned away from her, and started walking back down the hillside through the swaying purple heather, the cliff and the churning ocean and the woman with the golden hair behind him, teetering on the edge of possibilities.

[jugsserpents]

Time|| Sweet Pea

request: Sp x reader? Something that really rips your heart out? Maybe ends in fluff? (if this doesn’t rip your heart out idk what will) word count: 1,366 warnings: i think swearing, it’s really sad, mentions of drug running and other gang-y stuff

part one || part two

She sat at the kitchen counter in the trailer her fingers tapping gently on the fake granite. Falling in rhythm gently like the rain outside. The clock read ten nineteen. He was due home over an hour ago. It was a simple run-in Greendale, same as every Thursday night. Leave around seven forty-five make it home around nine. It’d been like this for months now that FP had got them caught up in the running business by accident. Tonight felt different to her though, he didn’t ever forget to call. It didn’t matter if he was bleeding out on the side of the road he always called her. He always let her know what he was doing and time stamps on when he would be home. She sat there for half an hour trying to convince herself that he had got caught up in the rain. Light rain meant wet roads which could mean rough driving conditions, even in the truck. Her mind raced, each thought made laps in her head. Spinning around like tires on ice. Something was wrong. He didn’t ever forget to call.

She stood, keys in hand, making her way to the Wyrm. Thinking maybe he stopped by and had a few too many and forgot to send her a text. He never forgot before. She refused to enter the Wyrm in panic, her fingers rattling against the steering wheel trying to calm her nerves. Her eyes scanned the parking lot three times, down the bike line, throughout the car lot, and even walking over slightly to check the garage nothing. Maybe he had gotten a ride. The door seemed heavier tonight, the air almost cloudier, heavy with cigarette smoke and sweat. Her body moving through the crowd as if she was a knife in butter. Knocking on the bar, a smiling Toni made her way over. Her smile falling, brows raised in a way to ask “where is Pea?” She felt every ounce of hope pour out of her body. She frowned thanking Toni and making her way bout the doors.

Twelve thirty-seven. The dashboard clock glowed as if it was mocking her, reminding her of how his time could be running out. She drove the park. Up and down the drive, past Fangs house, pausing slightly wondering if she should knock on the door. Shaking her head and driving three drives up to the Jones’s trailer. Getting out of the car and running up the steps to the door. Her hands rapping against the door roughly. Begging for someone to answer and tell her everything was going to be okay and that Pea was safe. No one was home. She turned to walk back to her car, not being able to escape the front porch before the sobs erupted out of her body. Rattling in her chest, causing her to grasp at the skin over her heart as her back slid down the cold damp trailer door. Two twenty-four, her tires squealing a little more with each turn she took a little too sharp. The welcome sign to Greendale made her feel even more out of place. Her heart pounding like her car speakers trying desperately to find something to calm her nerves that cannot stop. She almost doesn’t see it, she almost drives past it. She slams on her breaks, her car swimming like a fish on the wet road. Tire tracks, off the road. As if someone had crashed. She doesn’t want to assume but cries anyway. She sits beside the marks in her car. The rain coming down heavier now like her tears. She almost doesn’t hear her phone ring, instead, she’s trying to focus on the sound of her hazard lights. Four Fifteen. FP sounds frantic. He’s been trying to get ahold of you. He didn’t have her number. Sweet Pea’s phone was broke. She let out a loud sigh relieved and ready to meet him at home. “We’re at the hospital, come now”. There was a click and the line was dead, so was he. Her only thought on the twenty-minute drive. She pulls in to the hospital, ignoring the yelling about how she can’t park there. Through the sliding doors that were slower than usual. Almost as if they were telling her to slow down, everything was going to be fine. It wasn’t. She repeats his name four times ignoring the glare of the nurse. 

“Are you family?” She was able to mutter fiance but had to think about it. They had been together since they were both fifteen. The had gone to school together. They’d graduated together. He was her first, everything. She was his last. She was his everything. Sweet Pea had never loved anyone like her. She had a way that made him stay, made him listen, made him do better. If it wasn’t for her he’d been gone a long time ago. The nurse walked her down the maze of hallways and double doors. Four fifty-seven, room 218. She almost lost it at the sight through the window. He wasn’t his normal tan shade, instead, he was white like the gauze bandages that were wrapped around his never-ending wounds. His face swollen, bloodied. We don’t know who did this. You may go in. As soon as the door shut with a loud bang behind her she dropped to the floor. Loud sobs rolling out her body as if it were screaming for him to wake up. FP’s arms wrap around her. Tell her that everything had been fine. The deal went down as a normal run. They’d followed the truck, shot three times. Once at the tires, twice at Sweet Pea. Both bullets had been removed. They didn’t know how he was still alive. They didn’t know the outlook just yet. But the nurse had said if he can make it here alive he can make it home. She laughed and said how he survived the shooting that way he could tell her where he was because he knew damn well she’d kill him otherwise. FP let out a soft chuckle and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Saying he was going to sit out in waiting to give them some time.

Five thirteen. Her hand wrapped firmly around his cold one. Her silver band feeling warm on her finger compared to his touch. What about their plans? What about the wedding? They’d had it planned for months now. She knew she wanted roses, excited mostly not only to marry her true love but to see Toni in a dress. Toni only wore dresses for weddings and funerals. Maybe she would still see it. Her lip quivered at the thought. Who was going to father her unborn children? What happened to growing old? Seven twenty. Day one. Vitals look the same as earlier if his condition doesn't change the outlook turns bleak. Like the walls in this hospital room. Like the freezer burnt waffles, they had offered her for breakfast. They don’t understand why his condition isn’t changing. Coma. She holds his hand this time pleading out loud that he opens his eyes and wakes up. Telling him that she loves him endlessly but needs him to wake up. She can’t do this without him. She doesn’t know if she can live without him it’s been so long since they weren’t together. They had been together nearing on six years. He proposed. It had taken everything in his body to get her onto the stage at the Wyrm and propose to her in front of everyone, he didn’t feel weak as he thought he would. Everyone hooped and hollered. The girls cried, even Toni. Wake up, Pea. Please. 

Three o’five. Day two. She sat up in the hospital chair at the sound of his vitals crashing. Her body thrashing against the nurses forcing her out of the room. Gathered around him as the did everything that they could. It wasn’t enough. One of the nurses leading her to a quiet room. Her breaking down, unable to hear what they were telling her. The body sent to the funeral home and her sent to the trailer.

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK PLEASE 

xoxo

j

[bestestbird]

I started reading Yakusoku no Neverland, and me being me, I started thinking of a Voltron a/b/o version. I won’t spoil it for anyone who hasn’t read it, but it’s really good, and I’ll put everything else under the read more. (I’ve written another fucked up a/b/o AU if anyone is interested)

So this is essentially a story about an omega farm, where omega’s get shipped off at the age of 18 to alpha’s who’ve bought them. Keith, Lance, and Pidge are all omegas that were born and raised in the farm, and have never met an alpha. They don’t even know that alpha’s exist. Shiro, and Hunk are alpha’s (I haven’t decided what Coran, and Allura are)

The Galra own and run the farm because they are the default bad guys.

Here’s the story :)

"SHAYYYYY!" Lance yelled, clutching a stuffed toy shaped like a bug, "how could you forget Mr Cave-Bug?"

 "What are you yelling about?" Keith asked, shooting him a dark look from the doorway where he stood.

 "Shay forgot her stuffed toy," Lance whined, lifting up the bug for Keith to see.

 "So?" Keith replied, sour expression still on his face, "she's long gone by now. Papa's taken her to her new family, they'll give her loads of better toys than that."

 "But Papa made this for Shay! It's a reminder of us!"

 "There's nothing we can do about it," Keith retorted, not moved in the slightest.

 "Actually," a voice piped up from by the window, "there's still some lights on at the gate, she might not have left yet."

 Lance's head whipped round to stare at Pidge, who was pointing outside. He scrambled across the room, to get next to the little gremlin. Pidge was right, outside, in the distance, was a faint orange glow that could only be cause by lights in the gatehouse that marked the border of their orphanage.

 "If you hurry you might be able to catch her before she leaves," Pidge added. Lance grinned, and turned on his heel, towards the back door.

 "Pidge, you're a genius," he called over his should as he rushed to the exit. Pidge loudly snorted behind him, but he knew that the little omega was grinning without having to look at them.

 Lance grabbed the backdoor handle, and twisted, it rattled, but didn't move.

 "It's locked," Lance half said to himself.

 "Of course it is, Papa's gone, he wouldn't leave the doors unlocked," Keith replied, standing behind Lance. His proximity made Lance jump, he hadn't realised that Keith was so close.

 "Move," Keith ordered, shoving Lance as he did.

 Lance let out an indignant, "hey!" as he was moved aside. Keith ignored him. Instead his fished into his pocket, and pulled out two long bits of metal, which he pocked into the doors lock. Lance watched in curious silence as Keith jiggled them around for a while.

 "There," Keith announced, pulling back, and turning to smirk at Lance.

 "What did you do?" Lance asked, looking from the door, which appeared the same as ever, to Keith.

 Keith grasped the door handle, turned it, and swung the door open.

 "You can pick locks?" Lance asked, shocked at the revelation.

 "Nice," Pidge whispered from behind him.

 "C'mon, don't we need to hurry if we're going to catch up to Shay?" Keith said instead of answering. Lance's shock instantly changed to delight.

 "I knew you cared."

 That earned him an eye roll before Keith turned to run out into the night with Lance following close behind him.

 It didn't take them long to get to the gatehouse, but their pace slowed as they closer. Partially due to fatigue, partially due to the fact that they weren't meant to be out at night, or anywhere near the gatehouse, regardless of time.

 "Do you think Papa will be angry?" Lance whispered, but Keith didn't reply, "it's special circumstances, right? He'll understand," Keith still didn't reply, "okay, so he might be a bit angry, but he'll understand, and forgive us. He loves us."

 "Shhh," Keith said suddenly, raising a hand to quiet Lance, who frowned at him.

 "What?" Lance began, looking around for a sign of something. All he could see was the glow of lights from the gatehouse windows. No shadows passed across the light, there was no movement at all. Perhaps that wasn't what had spooked Keith, so instead Lance strained his ears, trying to listen for something. There was a faint hum that Lance recognised from when the shipments of food came in. It was a car engine.

 They hadn't left yet!

 Lance hurried forwards, grabbing on to Keith and dragging him along with him. The care quickly came into view, parked under the arch just inside the still locked gate.

 "Lance, stop," Keith hissed. Lance didn't.

 "What are you whining about? They're still here!" Lance replied, grinning as he looked back at Keith. His grin froze in place as he saw Keith's face. It was hard to see in the faint orange light, but he looked white as a bed sheet, and scared, no, terrified.

 "Can't you smell that?" Keith asked. Lance paused, and raised his head into the air slight, before sniffing curiously. There was definitely a smell. Not the grass and dead leaves smell of the forest, not even the petrol smell of the care. It was something else, but it didn't scare Lance. It was nice, a warm smell. He'd never smelled anything like it before.

 "It smells nice. Some kind of food? Do you think they'll give us some if they know that we're Shay's friends?"

 "Food? Don't be stupid," Keith growled. Lance didn't wait to hear the rest of what Keith was going to say. He hated when the omega got like this. Instead he turned and headed towards the truck that loitered in front of the gate.

 "Lance. Lance!" Keith called after him. Lance could hear Keith's crunching footfalls as he hurried after him.

 "Shay," Lance whispered as he reached the truck. No one seemed to be about.

 The back of the vehicle was a covered in a tarp, with a partially open flap. Light glinted off something inside catching Lance's eye, and making him peer inside. His breath caught, and he let out s sudden sharp gasp.

 Keith hurried up behind up, what's wrong?" He asked, placing a hand on the other omega's shoulder.

 "Shay?" Lance whispered.

 "Shay?" Keith repeated, turning his attention to the inside of the truck.

 On her back, staring straight up at the ceiling was Shay. She was naked, with her legs bent, and splayed out open. The metal cuffs on her arms and ankles were what had caught Lance's attention.

 "Shay," Lance said louder, stepping towards his friend. She didn't reply. There was a glassy eyed look on her face. The only sigh of life that she gave was the steady rise and fall of her chest.

 Lance raised one shaking hand towards her, and stumbled as he tried to reach for her.

 "Is someone there?"

 Both the omega's shot wide eyed looks in the direction of the voice. Keith's hand on Lance's shoulder gripped harder, and then yanked him down. Lance went easily to the floor with Keith. There was a thud of footsteps, barely audible over the pounding in their ears, and Keith shove Lance under the car. He quickly followed after. They barely made it under the car before a door swung open.

 Large boots came into their line of sight, and the smell that they'd noticed earlier filled the air. It heavier, almost oppressive compared to light hint of it that they'd been able to smell before.

 Lance didn't know how to describe it words other than emotions. It smelled like suspicion, annoyance, and boredom.

 "I didn't hear anything," another voice called from still inside the gatehouse. Then another set of boots appeared.

 The same voice spoke again, "it was probably the bitch in the back."

 "She's been pulled under, she won't be making a sound for ages," the first voice snapped.

 "Well, maybe she's not as under as we thought. Y'know, one ride would sort that out." The scent in the air changed slightly along with his word, and there was something in his voice that Lance didn't like. It smelled, and sounded slimy.

 "Can you pay for a ride? She's a virgin, they're going to notice if she's not when we deliver her. They're raising premium omega whores here. Rare, good quality merchandise. People pay a lot for an omega who's never met an alpha before."

 The second voice made a noncommittal noise, "sounds a bit overrated."

 "You're the one who wants to fuck her so bad.

 "Whatever-,"

 "My good alpha's, what's wrong?" Lance's eyes went wide, and turned to stare at Keith, who had an equally shocked look on his face. That was Papa's voice.

 "Thought we heard something."

 "Turns out it was nothing."

 "Good," that was Papa's voice again, "now, shall we head back inside and finalise this transaction?"

 'Finalise the transaction'? Was...was Papa a part of this. No, no way.

 "Yes, Sir."

 'Sir', they called him sir. No, no, no. Papa would never do this. Never.

 Lance could feel his whole body shaking, but somehow, he felt numb. He barely registered as the feet in front of him disappeared, and he almost couldn't feel Keith's insistent tugging on his arm, or the hands that gripped him as Keith pulled him up off the floor, and away from the truck.

 "Wait," he said faintly, and Keith paused, eye's searching everywhere.

 "What? Lance, we need to leave. Now."

 "Shay," Lance said, slowing waking up, "we can't leave her."

 "What else are we meant to do?" Keith snapped, beginning his tugging again.

 "We have to take her with us," Lance answered, turning back towards the truck. Keith's grip on his arm tightened.

 "How?" He hissed, "She's out cold to the world."

 "We can carry her," Lance said, his voice cold.

 "How?" Keith hissed louder this time, "She's bigger than both of us," Lance opened his mouth to argue, but Keith carried on, "and where would we take her? Back to the house? Papa works with them. He sold her."

 "He didn't."

 "He did, you heard them. He sold her. There's nowhere for her here. We can't save her, and if we don't leave now we'll be worse off than she is!"

 Lance opened his mouth to argue, but a different voice cut him off.

 "I definitely heard something this time."

 Lance and Keith exchanged one terrified glance, and then ran. They ran straight for their house, not looking back to see if anyone was following. They ran away from the men, they ran away from Shay. They didn't stop until they were crashing through the back door, and collapsing onto the familiar floor.

 With heaving chests, and terrified eyes, they finally looked back. All that was behind them was the dark expanse of their back garden. The light from the gatehouse was gone.

 "What's got you two so spooked?" Lance almost screamed as he spun around to look at who had spoken. Pidge stood down the hall from them, looking sleepy, but surprised.

 "Nothing," Keith said, his voice sounding shaking. Pidge looked like they didn't believe him.

 "Okay, did you find Shay?"

 "No," Keith replied in the same voice.

 "Okaay, so what happened to Mr Cave-Bug?" Pidge asked, looking at Lance, who looked down to his empty hands.

 "Fuck," Keith whispered.

[tokyotheglaive]

00Q prompt for you: Black and white and bubble wrap Interpret how you wish; I can't wait to see what you write.

YOU’RE BACK

I don’t know what happened but I couldn’t find you on tumblr anywhere and I was sad because A) you’re such a cool person, and B) I just finished writing something for you! It’s going to turn into longfic because I have no sense of self-control whatsoever, but here’s what your prompt inspired: (no content warnings apply)

The brown cardboard package that sat at the foot of Q’s desk didn’t look like much. He might have passed it off as any old parcel, never mind how odd it was that it had made its way inside, were it not for the fact that the box was completely blank. There was nothing written on the outside, nor were there any markings that suggested where the package had come from, how it had gotten to be in front of Q’s desk, or who had put it there in the first place.

It was big enough that it could have been a bomb, or something else equally devastating. Had Q not been warned that he had a parcel waiting for him when he came into work, and had that warning not come from Moneypenny, he might have been concerned. Moneypenny had reported it, though, and he had been warned, so Q set about finding the seams in the cardboard. He opened the box slowly; curiosity made him careful.

The interior of the cardboard box was far more conspicuous than the outside. Thick black and white stripes lined every face of the interior of the box insofar as Q could see. Most of the inside was taken up by the contents—which, Q noted with some degree of surprise, proved to be another box.

Q lifted this second box out of the first, discarding the bubblewrap that sat between it and the exterior box. He was grateful that his labs were so separate from those of the other quartermasters; there was no one around to question the high gloss of the black box, unmarked by any hands other than Q’s, or the white silk bow that had been tied around it.

Expensive, Q’s mind supplied. Deliberate.

Carefully, slowly, Q undid the bow.

The sound it made as it slithered to the surface of his desk was nearly obscene. It was a sound that belonged—in Q’s mind—to bedrooms and private suites. Q shivered at it, the sound replaying in his mind. He ran his fingers over the silk just because he could and reveled in the feel of it under his fingertips. He could feel the threads, carefully stitched as they ran lengthwise down the ribbon; he took in the smooth slide as he ran with them and the rough counterpart as he went against.

Someone had gone out of their way for this.

Q turned his attention to the black box. The gloss of the top and the sides, bisected by a slim line that indicated how it opened, faded down on the sides into a demure matte. Q didn’t recognize the material, though he understood it to be something strong, likely metallic. He ran his fingers over the edges, the oils from his fingertips leaving symmetric traces along the edges. They were, Q found, ever so slightly rounded. He supposed it was because if they’d been left square, they would have been knife-sharp. They could have cut through the ribbon, or the pads of Q’s index fingers.

He allowed his hands to slip down the sides to where the hinges on a less-well-crafted box would sit. These were so low-profile as to be imperceptible. Q traced the seams to the front, then opened both panels of the box.

It opened outward without a sound to finally reveal the contents.

Q swallowed. He couldn’t keep the blush from his face.

The contents of the box were packed in a glossy black crushed velvet. Compared to the crispness of the box itself, the insides felt impossibly soft against Q’s fingertips. Velvet was not Q’s fabric of choice, but the implications were unmistakable: nobility, wealth, power.

Q turned his attention away from the fabric and focused on the card set into the top left corner. It was a piece of thick cardstock, cream with a black double-border and small square motifs in the corners. On the front, written in an immaculate cursive script, was, For My Dearest Quartermaster. Q lifted it out of the box. The card smelled of sandalwood, vetiver, and smoke; someone had spritzed it with cologne. Q flipped it over and found the reverse side blank. If he squinted, he could just make out what seemed to be the ghost of a word or two.

An impulse had Q reaching into his desk to locate an ultraviolet light. He switched off his desk lamp and turned on the light, then smiled at the back of the card.

Regards, James Bond

Naturally.

Q’s eyes drifted from the card down to the other two pieces set into the box.

The first was one Q recognized immediately, if only because it had been in Bond’s most recent mission report. In the report, Bond had indicated that the teapot had fallen from a shell and shattered during his altercation with the owner, his target. Though the teapot itself had no relevance to the mission or Bond’s objective, Bond had seen fit to include the detail because the it was an expensive item whose absence was sure to raise alarm.

Now, here it was, in immaculate shape and obviously unbroken. Q lifted it out of the crushed velvet to better examine it. The teapot was an aubergine shade of purple—Yixing zisha, then, likely dating back to the Song dynasty if Bond’s report was to be believed. Nearly priceless.

Gingerly, Q set the teapot back into it’s spot and examined the article just to its right. At first glance, it looked like nothing at all, simply a cylindrical canister plastered with white paper. Upon further examination, however, Q found the paper to be fine rice paper, much like the kind used in origami. Flecks of gold, either printed or woven, caught the light as he tilted the canister this way and that.

Q twisted off the lid and peered inside.

Tea, his mind helpfully supplied as he inhaled. Black—no, oolong. Q closed his eyes and allowed the smell to take him over. It wasn’t one he’d had before. There was a card inside the canister, nearly buried in rather a lot of tea leaves, and Q fished it out with one hand. Most of it was completely covered in Chinese characters and illegible to him. The only line written in English sat at the top, just under what he supposed to be the title line.

Da Hong Pao, Q read. He reread it again, just to be sure.

Hands shaking now as he set the canister—heavier than a few ounces, Christ—back into the box, Q sat back.

A priceless teapot, and the most expensive tea in the world.

For My Dearest Quartermaster. The card stared Q in the face. His heart pounded in his chest. He liked his lips and reached for the card, hoping to find something—anything—that would indicate why Bond had acquired him two—it felt understated to label them as gifts. These passed beyond gift and entered into the realm of…Q wasn’t sure he even had a term for them.

Regards, James Bond

Leave it to Bond to leave Q breathless without even being in the country.

[myseareels]

Whiting Wonderland

My fishing trips have been rather one dimensional through January. Following a successful trip first out finally locating a few winter flounder I decided to head out to the open coast for much of the month in search of dabs. These little flatfish have become scarce in South Devon in recent years. A few decent specimens still appear in January, usually from the South Hams beaches, but they are also caught from the deeper water marks around Torbay. I had a couple of sessions in the bay in the month, firstly at a favourite rock mark, Thunder Hole. As with many of the Torbay rock marks this location is based around an old limestone quarry but derives its name from the past when there used to be a blow hole in the rocks. This has long since eroded away but the sea still surges up the gulley with some ferocity.

The mark isn’t the most comfortable to fish with rocks standing at angles but it is worth the effort if you put the hours in. I was hopeful I might find a dab or two casting onto the clean sand out towards the centre of Torbay but unfortunately I was plagued by whiting. Every cast resulted in at least one fish, each around the 10oz mark.

Two weeks later a similar story was the result when I headed to Babbacombe Pier, also in Torbay. In the past I had had good results here for dabs in the wintwr including a personal best of around 1lb. The pier is a short concrete platform which juts out into Babbacombe Bay. The range of species it is possible to catch here is phenomenal; virtually anything could show. The pier was busy when I arrived but I managed to squeeze in at the very end, ideal for casting onto a sandbank in the bay where the flatfish like to hold up. However it was not to be and another succession of average sized whiting devoured my baits before anything else could find them. I did get to witness another angler fishing a club match land a lovely 1lb fish. This was huge and should have been much heavier but it was very thin. Rain came down halfway through my session which saw the majority of guys leave and eventually I had the pier to myself which allowed me to fan my casts around a bit more. I found plenty more whiting but was finally rewarded, not with a dab but a feisty small conger eel.

With January over and whiting everywhere I felt a change of scene was in order. I contacted my good friend Mark to see if he was up for heading out. Mark is passionate about fishing for big predators from the shore and spends a lot of his time casting large baits in search of a conger eel or big bull huss. Despite this Mark has enjoyed fishing alongside me when I’ve been searching for flatties. However this time I felt I wanted to see how the heavy duty fishing is done. Years ago he had shown me a spot on Sharkham Head, close to Brixham. Having only fished it once before I suggested we try to avoid the whiting and have a go here. The area is well known for its rough ground, perfect for big predators to hunt around. A good number of double figure huss and eels are caught in the area every year. From here Mark would have the opportunity to fish heavy and I was keen to search out the ground further out to see what potential the mark might have for other species. A few years had passed since we’d been down and it took us a while to find our way through the undergrowth to the location. Casts were made in the dying light of another beautiful winter day. I had found that the ground further out from our rock platform was decidedly mixed. I use sharp but springy hooks which bend out of snags quite well under pressure and managed to not lose too much gear. I also had the pleasure of catching a beautifully marked sea scorpion before the light faded away. He was in full breeding colours! I love how boisterous these fish are and he buzzed angrily before I popped him back in the water to continue his search for a mate.

Not long after we lost the light we also hit the bottom of the tide. Mark suggested this was a good time for interest from predators in his big fish baits cast no more than 40 yards from our perch. His feelings were spot on as not long after a couple of short runs clicked off his ratchet. Feeling for the fish to run again he expertly lifted into something which fought back. Excitedly I got my gear out of the way in case I needed to get down to land the fish. My excitement, and Marks, were short lived as not long after a conger eel rolled on the surface before spitting the hooks and dropping back into the depths. It wasn’t a huge fish, maybe 10lbs at the very most but it would’ve been great to get it ashore. The next few hours flew by without anymore interest. I landed a small pout but it was very quiet. I had started to think about how catching lots of whiting might have been preferable to a slow session on the rocks when, half tide up, Mark’s ratchet buzzed into life once again. This time the fish really scrapped. A tug of war ensued and I hoped we would be seeing a decent eel but instead a decent huss rose to the surface. I scrambled down the rocks to help lift the fish up to our camp. I am always impressed by the power of these animals. We speculated that it might go to eight pounds but the scales only pulled down to 6lb 7oz. Still a great fish to see.

I will have to get myself some slightly heavier gear and have a concerted effort at targeting some of these predators myself, they could persuade me away from flatfish, especially when its a wonderland for whiting on the open coast through the winter. I think the mark has a lot of potential for a number of species and I will experiment here again at another time of year to see what might be about.

We are now entering the doldrum times around our coast. Whiting, dogfish, pout and rockling have been the main catches recently with a fair few bass around. Interestingly mackerel are being caught around Torbay with plenty of herring mixed with those shoals. February is a tough time to fish in general but locally huss and conger eels will still be around from the rough areas. Now is a good time to try for thornback rays from the estuaries of the Dart and Salcombe. Night tides are best but these fish can be caught in daylight, finding the right state of the tide is the key. Early plaice may start to be caught toward the end of the month.

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