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percabethfeelsfandom · 3 years

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Writing Prompt: Home

Percy stood by the bulletin board in the Big House, fingers tracing the edge of a photo of him, Annabeth and Grover. His sixteen-year-old face smiling widely at him with his arms thrown around Annabeth and Grover’s shoulders.

Seven years later, Percy still remembered taking the photo. The day before he was set to go back to Goode, his first time going to the same school two years in a row. The happiness that was in their features hadn’t lasted long. But it was nice that this moment was immortalised.

“Feeling nostalgic?”

Percy found a smile rising to his face as he saw Chiron duck his head to avoid hitting the doorframe, joining Percy to look at the other photos of campers that had accumulated over the years. Faces that Percy had grown up with, and new ones.

“Can’t help it. Every time I come here...it’s like travelling back in time.”

Percy removed his hand from the photo and let it drop to his side. Chiron gave him a small smile and looked fondly at the collage of photos. In the corner there was even a faded photograph of Chiron smiling smugly while Mr D held a goblet disapprovingly.

“Does it feel different coming back?” Chiron asked. Percy stepped away from the photos and went to stand in front of the window glancing out to look at the fields outside.

“Yeah. In a good way, but…” Percy sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to flatten it, “I feel bad I guess. That I left. This was home for so long.” His fingers itched to move so he brought them to the necklace that still hung around his neck. All the years later he still tried to wear it every day, even sometimes underneath his work clothes. The beads had a permanent place around his place and sat perfectly in the hollow of his throat, a constant familiar presence.

“You didn’t leave, Percy,” he reassured. Percy thumbed his first camp bead, staring at the glowing trident.

“Didn’t I?”

“No. You deserve a life outside of here. It’s because of you that you have a world to go to, you deserve a chance to live in it. It’d be foolish of you not to.”

“You make it sound like I did it alone,” he gestured to the photo collage, “Each of those people played a part. Every person that steps foot into camp played a part in that. They deserve to be out there too.”

“When they know what they’re up against then they can. Until then I will train them.”

“Don’t you ever wish we could do more?”

“Every day.”

“I feel like I ran away from the fight.”

“Every hero yields in the end. And yielding is not always a bad thing.”

“So why does it feel like it?”

“Why are you so full of doubt? You seemed so sure, so happy with your decision before.” Percy thought back to when he had finally managed to graduate high school, and made the final decision to go to college and move away from New York. The sharp pain that had settled in his chest when he had watched Camp grow smaller and smaller the further they went. The pain hadn’t eased till Annabeth had gripped his hand, reassuring him that they’d be back. That this wasn’t forever.

Percy sighed deeply and reached into his pocket to press his fingers against Riptide for comfort.

“Things have changed. And I guess- I’m scared,” Percy let out a choked laugh. Things had definitely changed if he was able to admit he was scared.

“Is everything okay?”

“Annabeth’s pregnant.”

Chiron’s eyes widened before his face broke out into a smile.

“Congratulations!” He reached down and patted Percy on the shoulder. But Percy didn’t mirror his smile. Slowly Chiron retracted his hand and gave him a questioning look.

“Are you not happy?”

Percy rushed to correct him, shaking his head wildly.

“Oh gods, I’m ecstatic, don’t get me wrong. But...Annabeth and I always said we wouldn’t have kids unless we were positive we’d be bringing them into a safe world...and now that we are- I don’t know if it’ll ever be safe. Like we’re demigods for Hades’ sake.”

“Is that why you came back?” Percy nodded.

“I don’t know anywhere safer than here. It’s like I never want to let her out of my sight.” Almost to prove his point Percy looked out to the fields again, trying to get a glimpse of Annabeth who was at her cabin, catching up with family members and any of the campers they had once trained with. Though he knew exactly where she was, Percy could feel the edge of anxiety heightening his senses, hyper-aware of any possible dangers.

“And I guess, I wanted advice. I know you don’t have kids of your own, but, you have this camp. When I wasn’t with my Mom and Dad, I had you. I already asked my Mom how she did it; how she lived with the fear of having a child in our world.”

“What did she say?”

“She said she loved me too much to ever feel scared.”

“That’s all a parent can do Percy.”

“That’s not very helpful,” he huffed. Chiron laughed and gestured to the doorway, leading the two of them out of the Big House and to the centre of camp where the cabins were.

“You asked me if I wished we could do more, to help them,” he nodded in the direction of campers in their orange shirts, playing volleyball, their laughter drifting in the wind. “Each day, for the years I have been alive, I give them my knowledge about protecting themselves, I teach them our history so that they may one day learn from our mistakes. I love them and watch them grow. Sometimes they leave and sometimes they use the knowledge I’ve passed on and they create a life of their own, and save the world along the way. Sometimes they come back. Sometimes what I’ve taught them isn’t enough...and they don’t. It’s an endless cycle when you think of it, this role I chose. But what more can I do when I have dedicated my life to this. The world still needs heroes, and as long as those heroes need guidance I will give it to them. What more can I do when I’ve given them a chance?”

“You were raised by a brilliant woman, Perseus, she gave you the best chance she could by loving you. The best you can do for your own child is the exact same. And with Annabeth by your side, I have no doubt you’ll achieve that.”

“Did you have a good talk with Chiron?” Annabeth asked as she pulled the blanket over her legs. Percy helped her adjust the sheets, tucking her in and sitting next to her. They’d been given the Poseidon cabin to stay at for the meantime; Percy’s two half-siblings on a quest together.

Though they visited every summer, being back in his old cabin, even in his old bed, was giving Percy an odd sense of deja vu.

Percy nodded, but his attention was elsewhere, noting all the new scratches and the weapons hung on the wall that didn’t belong to him. His heart went out to his siblings, the call for a quest, taunting him after so many years of him wishing it would be someone else when he was younger.

“Seaweed Brain?” Annabeth said softly. Percy turned to her fully and shook his head, trying to clear it with thoughts. Annabeth’s face was etched with concern, and Percy placed his hands over hers, which laid over her stomach that was starting to show.

“I’m okay.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it? Coming back after all this time,” she said looking around the cabin as well. Percy nodded again, readjusting himself in the bed so he could hold her closer.

“We visit every summer though,” he pointed out, but Annabeth shook her head and then leaned against his shoulder.

“It’s different, we’ll be here for a while, we don’t need to leave at the end. We don’t need to always look behind our shoulders, at least not for now. It’s nice.”

“Chiron said something today...I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Hmm?” Idly, Percy traced circles on her shoulder as he brought his arms around her.

“Something about giving heroes a chance, that’s what it all comes down to. Doesn’t it? No matter how good you are, powers, training, knowledge, all of that goes out the door, because it’s up to the Fates isn’t it?” Annabeth sat up straighter turning to him.

“I like to think we play a part in it as well, just because the Fates have a say, doesn’t mean all choices are taken away from us. We chose to leave camp. And I don’t regret that.” She said firmly.

“How’d you know I was thinking about that?”

“Because I know you, Perseus Jackson.”

“No matter what the Fates have in store for us, Percy, I’m willing to go through it. If it means I’m by your side. I know we didn’t want to come back to Camp, but is it so bad when it ensures our safety? This was our home growing up. It’ll be a great place for our child to grow up, then we can leave when it’s safe again.”

“We left because we thought we’d be safe. Now I’m wondering if we should’ve stayed so that we could’ve avoided coming back...does that make sense?”

“Perce.”

“Yeah yeah. I know. I’m not upset about being here exactly. But after everything, I just thought we’d done enough for the Fates to believe we could get a break from this world. Let us live in ignorance for a bit. It’s selfish but maybe we deserve to be a bit selfish?”

“I know.” She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Percy’s, closing her eyes.

She pulled back and pressed a kiss to his cheek before laying down, signalling that she was finished with this conversation. The pregnancy was constantly leaving her tired, and even now, Percy could see the purple beneath her eyes despite the excessive amount of hours she was sleeping. Carrying a demigod child was taking a toll on her, and it was slowly killing Percy. He made sure he tucked her in tightly before leaving his cabin and making the familiar trek to the water where his thoughts finally began to calm.

He looked out into the deep blue of the night, and the seemingly bottomless ocean.

“I know you’re listening, Father...I don’t think I want to talk. But if you could listen? I think I just need that,” Percy paused, waiting for a reaction. When he didn’t get one, he eased himself onto the sand and rolled up his pants so that he could dip his feet into the low tide.

“After the war, it was so hard for me to leave camp. Especially after Gaea took me. I felt that every time I left I’d come back and see my home in ruins. Everything I’ve done since I found out I was your child has been to preserve this Camp. It means more to me than a location probably should, but it was always there for me to come back to. But after Jason, I needed to leave. I was so tired of coming back to a camp and seeing one less face. I know it wasn’t my fault, but it felt like I was being taunted, that I couldn’t save him...because I was somewhere else. Leaving after college was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And now coming back, I’m scared that once I leave something bad is going to happen again. It’s not just Annabeth on the line anymore, I could risk it with her because she can protect herself but if our child is at risk? What do I do then?” The words were rushing out of Percy like a dam breaking, and he was stumbling and gasping over his words as tears welled up inside his chest, demanding to be released.

“Coming back means leaving. And I don’t think my heart can take it.”

There was a soft breeze and Percy felt the water at his feet grow colder. He looked up from where he had buried his face in his arms.

“You cannot let fear rule your life. Or you will forget to live.”

Percy scoffed at his Father and shook his head, not bothering to stand up. Other gods would have been offended, but Poseidon looked down sympathetically at Percy and sat down, lowering himself to Percy’s level.

“Let me rephrase that. Fear will always be a part of your life, it will always be there because you are my son and Annabeth is Athena’s daughter, you are Heroes of Olympus, and with that title, someone or something will always be hateful-”

“Is this meant to make me feel better?” Poseidon let out a chuckle and Percy rolled his eyes.

“Let me finish. Fear will always exist. But there are things that are more powerful than that. Think of your mother, her fear of Gabe, and her fear of monsters finding you when you were young...neither ever stopped her loving you, it made her fight harder to protect you. Your own fear of your prophecy didn’t stop you from fulfilling it, because you cared too much for your city and your friends. My own fear of my brother when you were accused of stealing the bolt didn’t stop me from claiming you. The same applies here. Your fear of coming back and leaving Camp Half Blood doesn’t make it any less your home. It will always protect you.”

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shiny-jr · 4 years

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❝ 𝒴𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝓇 𝒴𝑒𝓈 ❞

Yandere!Hunter x Reader - Dante Senguri

The plot of this one shot is from an old series of mine, it is based off of a small story called "The Most Dangerous Game.” Dante Senguri is my own character!

“Yes or yes?”

"Just a bit longer, and you'll be back in the wild." You purred to the young striped tiger that lazed at your feet, stroking the predator's cheek and tracing your fingers to his ear where you scratched gently. Listening to the content purrs of the large cat.

This large feline friend was Tony. A tiger that had been merely a cub shot by hunters in the jungles and left to perish and die. But before he could bleed to death, you and your crew discovered the poor creature in a pool of his own blood. Sedating the young predator until he passed out, you and your crew began to get to work in order to patch up the tiger temporarily at least until he could be treated properly. He was taken to a larger metropolis where more could help him. There he resided at the zoo for a good while with you as his caretaker. But after he had fully healed and he was now old enough to live on his own, it was time to release him back into the wild where he belonged. Which is why you were currently on a boat to the jungle where he had been found, you currently sat in the lowest deck with Tony.

Tony perked up when the sound of sliding metal could be heard. You stood as did Tony as well, stepping out as you watched the tiger remain fixated on a contraption that taught him how to capture his meal. The large piece of meat swung back and fourth on the hook, all around the room just as Tony took off to pounce.

Bolting the iron door shut behind you so no poor wandering sailor would stumble upon Tony. You walked away and made your way up the flight of stairs onto the main deck. Once there your fingers trailed across the railings as you watched the seemingly endless vast waves of the ocean drift in the dark of the night underneath the stars that dotted the sky above. In your hand you examined the pocket knife you had recieved from the zookeepers where Tony had stayed at. The handle was a normal steel but shiny gold colored carvings were engraved in it, depicting the faces of many different animals. From prey to predators, lions to birds, wolves to deer, etc.

It was a sweet parting gift from the kind people there. One gift you would not give up to anyone.

When the loud blasting horn from the ship you were on signaling dinner rang out, it startled you and caused you to released your grip on the pocket knife. You lunged for it. A short quiet cry emitted from your lips when you realized you had reached too far out and lost your balance. Your cry was drowned out by the horn and you tumbled into the crashing waves.

Struggling and paddling to the surface, you gasped for breath and desperately tried to call out for help. But you were slapped in the face with a wave of salty water from the moving boat, pushing you down under for a few precious moments. The taste of the waves left you gagging, but you tried swiminging towards the moving boat. Further and further away, the chance was slim of you even reaching the swift boat or even being heard over the waves and horn. Still you yelled as loud as you could, keeping yourself afloat. But no one heard you. Quickly the boat's lights receded into the darkness of the night, until they were bleached out entirely into a night as dark as ink.

You were stranded. Stranded in the middle of the ocean. With nothing. No food, no water, no mode of transportation. Just the clothes you wore and a pocket knife. You remained afloat in silence, terrified of what was to come. Until you heard a sound. A familar sound that brought a wave of relief washing over you. The sound of far away waves crashing onto a surface, a shore of some kind. You heard it, distant but it was still there. So you swam towards the sound, not quick and panicked but slow and carefully strokes to save your energy for whatever awaited you.

Slowly but surely you approached the island, and saw the silhouettes of the land. Trees, jagged rocks, and other plants. Reaching the shore, you coughed and sat up. Looking all around you for any signs of civilization, but there was none you could spot.

Then there was a cry. A cry and scream of terror and anguish, complete pain and horror. It came from deep in the darkness. It frightened you, sending a shiver down your spine. Some kind of predator must've captured another animal. You did not recognize the cry, but you did not wish to at the moment. It would be best to avoid whatever it came from.

BAM!

The echo of a shotgun rang through the land. You weren't alone.

Your exhausted form stumbled up, sand falling from your skin back to the ground. If you took one step the sands would be gone and be replaced with the thick vegetation of the dense jungles. It was not safe to stay on the shores, you could easily be spotted. So you forced yourself into the jungle past the trees.

The gunshot meant there were people around. People meant there was food bound to be around. But the people. What kind of people would reside here? Where were you? On the shores of an island or bigger piece of land?

Cautiously you walked along between the jungle and shore, watching everything with each step you took. The plants were difficult to recognize but after only a couple of minutes, you stopped in your tracks after spotting something peculiar.

It was evident that a large creature had been in some trouble. Some of the plant life was crushed and trampled, while one patch of weeds were blotched with crimson. There were deep tracks in the damp earth, leading in the direction of the jungle. The glint of a shiny object reflecting the light of the moon caught your eye. Reaching down, you plucked it from the ground. An empty cartridge. This proved there was someone here and judging by what you have just seen, it wasn’t too long ago when they stood where you are currently standing.

The shell of the cartridge was rather small compared to the large tracks of the creature that had struggled here. Whoever had the gun tried to shot a fairly large creature with a small gun. You were puzzled and concerned. What exactly happened here?

Upon closer examination, you noticed a foot print. The print of some kind of boot most likely. The print pointed towards the jungle again. You had hope now, and a good reason to enter the depths of the jungle. Eagerly you hurried along, gripping the pocket knife in case anything came at you. Occasionally stumbling over a stray log or stone popping out of the earth. But making process as an edge of the sky began to turn lavender and the sun’s rays of light peaked out ever so slightly.

Yet after walking for who knows how long, against the fading darkness you spotted a glimmer of light. Those lights multiplied as you began to jog towards them. Closer and closer you got. At first it looked like a small village, but as you stepped closer you realized it wasn’t a village but a large estate. A mansion. A giant mansion situated on top of a large precipice with cliffs surrounding most of it, the cliffs dropping down on the shores and crashing waves with jagged rocks below.

Mirage. It must’ve been a mirage! Who in their right mind would build this mansion in a jungle island in the middle of the ocean?

Yet when you reached out to touch the gate, you felt the cold steel against your fingertips. It was real. This was no mirage. Slowly tugging on the gate, the steel door creaked open and you squeezed in. The cobblestone path led you to an elevated patio, cautiously you continued until you reached the towering doors. Reluctantly you tapped at the doors, waiting for someone to answer while placing away your pocket knife.

Your ears perked up, hearing footsteps on the other side. But the door remained closed. Again you knocked twice. Only then did the door fly open and you were nearly blinded by the bright golden lights. Additionally you were met face to face with a blonde middle aged made holding a revolver pointed directly at your forehead.

"U-Uh..." You gulped before slowly raising your hands, showing you had nothing. "I don't mean to intrude, but I fell off the boat I was traveling in. I ended up here...My name is (Y/n) (L/n) from (home country)."

The man's peircing menacing gaze did not change, never allowing the revolver to falter. He had heard you, but there were many threats on this island and who knew if you were trying to trick him or not?

"Allow them in, Joe. Don't keep them standing out there in the cold!"

A young man stepped down the last remaining steps from where he had stood to listen to you introduce yourself to the man names Joe. If you had stumbled inside this mansion and spotted the man before you, you would've mistaken him for a ghost or vampire. His skin tone and hair color was a white as snow, his strange eyes were a soft pink that was the same color as his plump lips. The man dressed in a fancy attire with a white ironed shirt, tailored black pants that reached to his ankle, and brown leather shoes of high quality.

Joe lowered the revolver and stepped to the side, opening the door wide open for you. The albino man walked away from the stairs and welcomed you inside. "It's such an honor to meet you, (Miss/Mister) (L/n)!" He took your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing your backhand. "I've been a fan of your work for years. Oh, where are my manners? I've yet to introduce myself. I am Dante Senguri." Dante waved off Joe who closed the door shut and walked off to the side while the albino returned his attention back on you. "I'm sorry if Joe frightened you. He's not the brightest but is the strongest, he's my guard and assistant. He's also mute. Again, sorry if he offended you in anyway."

"I see..."

"Here, I'm sure you must be fatigued after I heard what you've been through. You are just on time. Now I have you for company at dinner." The charming man smiled gently before requesting, "Joe, will you go get some extra clothes?"

Joe silently exited the room to go fulfil Dante's request. Leaving you and the albino alone for the meantime.

"They might be a tad bit large but it'll be better than your soaked clothing." Dante assured, escorting you to the giant dining hall.

The dining hall was stunning. The walls were lined and framed with antiques and portraits while a large chandelier hung from above. A fire place held the crackling flames that engulfed the pieces of wood. One side of the wall was nearly entirely stain glass with the moonlight reflecting through. In the middle of the room was a large oval shaped table surrounded by wooden chairs carved elequently and decorated with plush pillows. The table was clothed with a white linen and porcelein china was arranged neatly. Yet one thing caught your eye when you sat down on one seat and Dante pushed you in to the table.

High up on the wall above the antiques were a line of "decorations." Mounted heads of dozens of animals. Bears, buffalo, caribou, deer, lions, moose, rams, rhinoceros, tigers, wolves, etc. You scrunched up your nose in disgust and your eyes traveled further to the ivory of rhinocerous, skins and bones of tigers, tusks of elephants. All previously stated objects from animals were illegal to sell and own.

"You don't like them?" Dante inquired innocently, tilting his head in a way that matched a curious dog's mannerisms and habits.

Before you could answer, Joe walked in the room. With one hand he set down folded clothes onto a nearby chair for you to change into later. In his other hand he held a tray that carried rare and exquisite range of drinks that include wine, beer, champange, tea, coffee, etc.

"(Y/n), which drink do you prefer?" The albino questioned so Joe could serve you what you would want.

You responded with your prefered drink, and you recieved it much to your surprise. Next, you were served plates of multiple different kinds of foods. Appetizers, side dishes, the main dish, and a wide aray of desserts. Dante wasted no time in beginning his dinner, encouraging you to do the same. "Don't worry, (Y/n). Here at my home, we only eat the best. We feast like kings here. So go ahead, try something. Anything."

Hesitantly, you did. You spooned a few items onto your plate. Not able to help it, since you were starving and fatigued. As you began to dine, Dante kept the conversation going smoothly.

"Well, isn't it all divine?"

"Yes, actually. Better than anything I've ever tasted." You replied after slurping the bowl of soup you had and continuing to the other plates. Dante seemed to be a generally nice and welcoming man, yet there was one thing off about him. Whenever you happened to look up, you always found Dante gazing at you intensely...as if he was a predator and you were prey.

"Good to hear." The albino smiled, flashing his pearly teeth that were practically as white as his hair. When he finally looked away, he forked a piece of well-cooked meat and placed it on his tongue. Savoring the flavor and devouring it before he finally spoke again, "I've had something on my mind as of late, since I saw you at my door step. You must be curious about how I know you, yes? Well, ever since I was young I was fascinated with animals just as you are. Often I read your publications, articles, and books. Your work led me to my one true passion, (Y/n) (L/n), and that is hunting."

Right. Hunting. That explained all the severed animal heads and body parts decorating the walls. It took much not to utter something rude. "Of course. What a...an intriguing collection you have..." Again your eyes traveled over to the heads of the animals. One caught your eye and that was the head of an abnormally large American Bison. "That's quite a bison. I don't think I've ever seen one that large."

"Oh, that creature! Yes, he was a monster of a bison." Dante seemed pleased that you were curious in his oddities, delighted to tell you more of them. "It was nothing, that beast. Yes, it did fracture one of my bones but I took it down without anymore trouble." He smiled charmingly. He was trying to impress you, wasn't he? "The American Bison is child's play compared to other larger game. But! Here on this island, I challenge myself everday to hunt the most dangerous game of all." A glint shined in his eyes, reflecting his eagerness at the words he proclaimed to you.

The most dangerous game? What would that be? Obviously not the American Bison as stated before. Was it the large Grizzly Bears of the north? White Polar Bears of the poles? The African Rhinos with their sharp horns? Crocodiles with their wide jaws and sharp teeth? Could it be the Cape Buffalo which was widely known as the Black Death throughout Africa? Or the swift spotted Leopard? The wild maned Lion, the supposed king of the jungle? Maybe a massive and heavy hippo? The giant intelligent elephants? The common feral hog or wild boars of North America?

“The most dangerous game? So there are threatening creatures on this island?” You inquired curiously. If there actually were treacherous animals present on the land, you must have been lucky as to not run into any of them.

“The most vicious.” Dante nodded, taking a sip of the cocktail in his hand. “Only for the most prestige hunter.” Grinning confidently, referring to himself in such a boisterous manner. “Of course, I have to gather them and bring them here for the fun to begin.”

“What is it that you bring here?” Your interest was peaked. Maybe if you found out where the animals he got were from, you can prevent any more of the poor creatures being sent to this island to the slaughter. “Lions?”

Dante smiled, “No,” he said. “Lions ceases to interest me some time ago. There was no fun in hunting the felines anymore. They became predictable and repeatable, leaving me bored out of my mind. There was no thrill, no fun in it anymore. (Y/n), I live to fulfil my desires, and those desires include finding the perfect source for thrill and fun.”

It was when dinner was finished did Dante Senguri lead you through the hallways of his elaborate mansion. Allowing you to first change into something similar to what he wore, before showing you everything he had to offer. Presenting you the exhibit of rare items and objects he owned, while chatting to you.

“I invite you to join me on my hunt. It’s always been a dream of mine to have such delightful...company for the game.”

”But what is it that you-“

You were cut off by Dante who interjected, knowing full well what you were going to ask. “I’ll tell you, my fox, and only you.” Shushing you while placing a single finger in front of your lips while chirping in a cheerful and eager tone of voice, “You will be amazed, astonished even! I invented the most special and difficult way for the game of the hunt. A new sensation that sends thrills through me each time, a prey that will never get boring to hunt!”

”Alright...” You watched the albino man with suspicion and caution. Where exactly was this conversation going?

”Some men are creative. Born to be poets, authors, artists! There are some born in the luxurious life of comfort or the dirtiest slums for the beggars. Me? I was created to be the best hunter of all!” Dante exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he continued to proclaim, “When I was young, around the age of five, I was given a slingshot for my birthday. My parents expected me to shoot mockingbirds or canaries but I took down large pelicans, swans, and turkeys. They weren’t mad, they were amazed at my excellent accuracy. Then when I was only eight years old I killed my first crocodile. When I was drafted into the military it was such a boring experience, there were no animals to hunt. Yet it made me realize something later in life. I have hunted every animal known to man.”

Dante placed aside the empty glass cup, continuing to walk as he brought you along. Squeezing your shoulder lightly.

”After I got out of the army, I continued to hunt. Grizzlies in the east Rockies, Crocodiles along Africa’s rivers, Lions in the Savanna. All boring, boring, boring. I collected my belongings and left to the jungles in search of Jaguars, Ocelots, Pumas, Anacondas. Supposedly some of the most cunning and dangerous animals that reside in the Amazon. Boring. Even the newest animals were boring.” The albino sighed, “None of them stood a chance. They were no match for a hunter like me. My wits and strength was much more compared to them. It was a disappointment. I lied in my tent after hunting the puma for the fifth time, before I realized with terror that hunting was beginning to bore me! Hunting had been my life, so how was I supposed to live without the thrill of it? I did not want to break down and become a hollow version of my former self, if I lost my one passion. Don’t you feel the same?”

You thought about it for a moment. Losing your one true passion, and never getting a replacement. Losing your passion for caring and helping animals, and never getting it back. You didn’t even want to imagine that. So yes, you felt the same way. Nodding slowly in response.

Dante smiled down at you, twisting a strand of your hair between his fingers. “I have no desire to become hollow and dull. So I just had to figure out a way to spice up the hunt, there had to be a way. And there was. So I asked myself, why was the game no longer interesting? No longer thrilling or exhilarating? My fox, can you guess the answer?”

”No...I have no clue.”

”Hunting had ceased to be a challenge. It was too easy, and I always caught my prey. There is nothing more boring than perfection. No animal could provide that excitement anymore. That’s not my ego talking, that is fact. Animals have nothing but their limbs and instincts. Instinct can not compare to reason. When I realized this, I was devastated.”

You stopped in your tracks just as Dante had. Looking up at the albino, waiting for him to finish. What was his solution to his problems?

“The memories of my army days inspired me. It helped my passion to live on.”

”What was it? What in those memories inspired you?”

Dante Senguri smiled, as if overcoming the most troubling obstacles of all time and reaching his desired success. “There was one option. I had to invent a new game to hunt.”

You were absolutely baffled. A new animal? Was he insane? No one can just create a new animal! “You’re joking."

“You’re expression in amusing, my fox. But I have to tell you, I never joke about hunting. I needed a new animal. I found one. So I built this abode on the island I bought. This island is perfect with its array of jungle mazes, sloping hills, mosquito infested swamps-“

“What about the animal?”

”Oh, it provides me with the most excellent hunting in the world! No other game can compare to it. Everyday I hunt in the evenings, and I never grow bored. Because this game can match my wits and abilities.”

You blinked. No. He couldn’t be talking about...

”I aimed for the ideal game and I achieved it. Courage. Cunning. Reason. The game has it all and more to keep me entertained.”

“No animals reasons.” You interjected immediately, trying to distance yourself from the albino who simply pulled you closer.

“My precious fox, there is one that can.” He smiled at you and gently traced a finger along your cheek.

”You can’t-“

”Why not?”

”This is some sick joke.” You remarked. There was no way Dante was being serious.

“This is no joke. I am serious. It’s hunting-“

”That’s not hunting, what you’re doing is murder!” Immediately you pushed him away, you had to stay away from this murderous psychopath.

Dante laughed at your words before once again speaking to you, “I don’t wish to believe that a person as wonderful and ideal as you believes that human life is truly valuable. Surely your experiences in the wild-“

”Did not make me an insane murder with no proper logic,” You finished stiffly, standing your ground against Dante.

Dante continued to laugh, “How adorable! You really are endearing!” He gripped your shoulders, “You’re so experienced yet naive at the same time. So brave, so adventurous, so unique...You’re a diamond in the rough, a jewel among jewels! You’ll change your mind if you join me, my fox.”

”Thanks but no thanks, I’m not a murderer or a hunter, I’m a conservationist.”

”How rude.” Dante sighed sadly like a dejected child. “You turn down my generous offer and refer to me with that unappealing title. Life is for the strong, the weak are meant to perish. Weak are meant to give the strong pleasure. I am strong. I will use my gift. I will hunt anyone who washes up on my shores: Men, women, adults, children, American Natives, Asians, Africans, Hispanics, Whites...Now tell me, my treasured fox, are you the strong or the weak?”

You ignored the question and asked one of your own, “They’re humans. Have you no pity? No mercy?”

”It is precisely because they are humans. That is why I use them. They provide me thrill, fun, and pleasure. They can reason, they put up a fight, they are clever, they are dangerous.”

You had to get out of here. Aiming to knee the albino in his weakest spot, he caught your knee and scolded you. “Please, be civilized. This isn’t a bar fight, have some class.”

You stumbled back and glared at the man. “Civilized? Class? And you shoot down innocent people for fun?”

”So determined, so virtuous, so amusing~...I assure you, my fox, I treat my guests with the utmost of care and respect until their time comes. That would be horrible of me if I didn’t do so. Trust me, they receive good food and exercise until they’re in perfect game condition. You’ll see.”

”What do you mean...?”

”Tomorrow I’ll take you there. I’ll show you that they’re all right. But they’re not the most entertaining bunch. Just a few dozen, a crew mixed with Polynesians and Spanish men. Their ship crashed on my shores. Unfortunately, they’re a lesser lot. Most of them more accustomed to the decks of a boat out on the sea than compared to the green jungles. Except for a few, that is.

It’s a game. I suggest to them that we hunt. I give the prey a sack of food, a canteen of water, and a hunting knife. Then I allow them three hours to a head start while I prepare. I have only a small pistol. So if the game manages to avoid me and survive for three days, they win respectfully. But if I find them.” Dante smiled, “I win.”

”And if they refuse to participate in your ‘game’?”

“Of course I let them chose! What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t allow my guests to chose? But everyone chooses the game! No one wants to be handed over to Joe. He’s a savage that has his own ideas of fun.”

”What if they win?”

Dante smirked confidently as he mused, “Well, no one has ever bested me.” Then he added swiftly, “Don’t think me rude or cocky. I’m simply sure none of the previous prey could have won in anyway they tried. There was one man who almost won. But I had to use the hounds to secure my victory.”

He gestured to the wall, showing you a picture of the hounds. In the picture he stood in the back, in front of him sitting in a line was a large pack of dogs. Labrador Retrievers, Beagles, American Foxhounds, Pointers, English Setters, Dobermans, Rottweilers. So so many dogs that helped Dante track down his victims.

"Now I wouldn't think of taking a step outside the house, my fox. My hounds are allowed the roam at night and often drag runaways back to my doorstep." The albino man hummed and glanced at you, "Next, I'd like to show you my new collection of heads. Would you join me to the east wing?"

"Would you please excuse me for tonight, Mr. Senguri. I'm not feeling too well, and I'm exhausted."

"Ah, true..." Dante sighed as he mused, "It's only natural after you made it here. You'll need a good long sleep, and by tomorrow I hope you will feel good as new." The albino man smiled eagerly as a thought returned to his mind, "I nearly forgot to ask for your permission! I will make this simple for you. (Y/n) (L/n), you have two choices. Yes or yes? I'm terribely sorry but you, I won't allow you to have the option of Joe. I need to hunt you, you've been the object of my curiousity and admiration for years. So choose only one of the two: yes or yes?"

You gulped at the close proximity of the murderer in front of you. He smiled down at you, silently urging and pressuring you to hurry and chose.

"Come, my fox, make your choice. Yes or yes?"

Never would you say yes to his proposal! But since he refused to allow Joe to have his fun with you, maybe there would be something else you could do if you said no. Just maybe.

"Since when was I so selfish? Did I ever want something this eagerly...? Hah, you should hear that things those people say to me before the games begin. They insult me, beg for their lives, try to bribe me. Everyone is surprised at how shameless I am." Dante scratched your head ever so carefully as urged, "Go on. Come on and tell me yes. You see everything I created here? My scenario has become more daring than I thought. I'd say this plan is perfect for my objectives. Now, I don't care what others may say about me. But you better tell me yes."

"What if-"

"No. I'll stop you there." Again he shushed you by placing a finger in front of your lips. "I don't want to hear it unless you are accepting. I have decided yes. Now it's time to hear your answer. I want you to mean it, don't guess. Be serious about your reply, don't ask a question. Don'e give me that unsure side-to-side, I want that confident up-and-down. There shouldn't be any n's or o's in your response. I'll erase them from today, so there's no need to think for too long, my precious fox. The answer is, repeat after me: yes."

Slowly you lowered your hands, slowly reaching into your pocket behind your back so Dante would not see what you were holding. "Alright..." You sighed out, staring up at the albino's surprised but delighted expression.

"Alright, what?~" Dante cooed, "Let me hear a clear answer, my fox."

"Alright...I refuse!" Slipping the knife into your hands you aim the knife at his heart, about to plunge the weapon into his heart. Yet his quick reflexes and surperior strength caught the knife in his hands.

Never did Dante Senguri stop smiling as he plucked the knife out of your grip and examined it, "What a pretty weapon you have here..." His eyes trailed back to you, "I'll give it back to you at a later time." With that said he slipped the knife into his pocket. "You know, (Y/n), you inspired me and puzzled me when I first began reading your works. You bring out my hidden selfishness, I didn't even know I had until you showed up. Your eyes and my curiosity about you, make my heart burn up. My heart is burning burning burning with passion and desire. So you better hurry, my little fox, I'm beginning to get impatient."

The loud chiming and ticking of the grandfather clock caught both your and Dante's attention. It told the time, displaying XII. Meaning it was midnight.

”To make it simple, whatever you choose, you will be with me.” Dante said simply, without a moment’s hesitation. He smiled before adding, “I just want your consent, it would be ungentlemen like of me if I didn’t. I’ll wait as long as it takes, I’ll keep you until you accept. It may seem a bit absurd, and you might say I’m insisting you. But you won’t regret it if you accept...Here, go on and rest now. It’s late and you need your beauty sleep, I suppose it’ll give you time to overthink my proposal, my precious fox.”

”I...I bid you goodnight.” You immediately took off, trying to ignore Dante’s raised accented voice behind you growing distant with each step you took.

”It saddens me you can’t join tonight.” Called out the albino man. “I’m expecting an interesting game this night—a big and strong Polynesian native. He appears capable and clever!—Good night, my fox, I hope you dream of your thrilling future here.”

Retreating to the room and as soon as you were inside, you closed the doors shut. You were exhausted so you did the only thing you could do, rest. Changing into silk pajamas left behind, you then lied on the plush bed. Twisting and turning, over and over, your eyes wide open. You couldn’t get a wink of sleep out of fear and anxiousness. When you heard footsteps out of your guest room followed by a clicking, you stealthily made your way to the door. Twisting the knob, it refused to open. You went to the window and looked out past the glass panes, realizing you were on the second floor. Maybe you could get down to the ground safely, if it wasn’t for a pair of Dante’s hounds gazing up at you expectantly. Slowly you went back and lied down, curling up under the sheets as you hugged yourself. Again and again you tried to achieve some sleep, yet just when it seemed as if you would finally catch a few z’s, the sound of a pistol rang out faintly from the dense jungles.

That next day, Dante Senguri did not make his appearance until late that evening. He dressed himself in an ironed black shirt, with a blue coat over that, black tailored pants, and polished brown shoes. Immediately the albino man found himself concerned with your well being.

“Oh, my night? Well to put it simply, it was terrible.” Dante sighed as he sat beside you in the dining hall, “I’m troubled, my fox. Last night I was beginning to get the slightest feeling of boredom.” Then he smiled at you, “But you can chase all those unwanted stultifying feelings for me.” While taking a second serving of waffles he continued explaining his troubles of last night. “You see, last night’s game was not as good as I originally had hoped. The man lost his head. He left a boring trail in his wake that offered no challenges, trying to confuse me by going in circles, the imbecile! The thing is, those too long on a ship lose their sense when it comes to land navigation. They preform repeating and common tactics that are most annoying!”

He really was annoyed by that...

Dante glanced at you before kindly offering, “Would you like another serving, my fox?”

”Mr. Senguri, I’d like to leave this island at once.”

The hunter sighed, seemingly hurt by your words. “Why would I ever let you go? You’ve been the best company I’ve ever had. Beside, my precious fox, you’ve only just arrived yesterday. You haven’t even gone with me to hun-“

“I want to leave today. I have important business, sir.” You seethed, staring into Dante’s red eyes filling with irritation before that emotion was suddenly gone and replaced with some positive feeling but twisted thought.

At first he remained silent as he placed another serving onto your plate. A smile curled at his lips. “Tonight,” said the hunter, “we will hunt, you and I, my precious fox.”

You shook your head no. “No, sir. I will not hunt.”

"I am not sure what you’ll choose, so I prepared these options. You may choose only one of the two: Yes or Yes? I am not sure what you want, so I prepared those options. Make your choice, my fox, come on. Yes or yes?" The man mused as he admired you, "Maybe not, maybe yes, make it more clearly. Show me how you feel, dear. Open your ears. Don’t you hear it? Its simple. Like stated previously, you will only be my game. None other’s. I am always serious when it comes to the matter of hunting. You really are an inspiration. I drink to you, (Y/n) (L/n), my precious fox, to an opponent finally worthy of my skill--at last!" Dante raised a glass in the air, but you merely sat and stared at him. "Trust me, dear, you'll find this game well worth playing." He smiled eagerly as he continued, "You against me, skillful versus skillful. Your brain against mine. Your strength against mine. Think of it as an extreme game of outdoor chess. And the stakes will be high, wouldn't you say?"

"And if I win-"

"I'll finally acknowledge a defeat, the first one in my books. That is, if you can stay alive until midnight on the third night." Placing the glass down, "IF you do happen to win, Joe will escort you to a mainland port." He saw the doubt clouding your eyes, "Fret not, my fox, I always keep my word. Always. Respectfully, if you lose you will stay here on this island. Do we have a deal?"

"...No-"

"Too bad! I've already decided for you!" He turned to glance at his assistant, "Joe, will supply you with the proper outfit, food, and...oh, I nearly forgot." Fishing the knife out of his pocket, he placed it in your hands, curling your fingers around the weapon and gently tapping your knuckles. "Your knife, my fox. Mustn't forget that. Oh, another thing!" He stood straight as he warned you with a sad frown, "I advise you avoid the swamps of the southeast. There's quicksand there. One imbecile tried to cross and got stuck along with one of my hounds named Max. You can only imagine my feelings, dear. Max was my most beloved and prized hound...Well, pardon me, my fox. I always take a nap after my lunch, I would love if you joined me but I imagine you'd want to begin your head start. Don't worry, I won't follow until dusk. Hunting is much more exciting at night than the day, don't you think?" Dante Senguri smiled and bowed to you before taking his leave, "Good luck, my fox. Don't disappoint me~"

From another door entered Joe carrying a set of simple black clothing and a sack of food.

You fought your way through the dense jungle and underbrush until the sun began to set, leaving the sky shifting to a dark colored palette. You had to think of something! Some way to help your survive! Yes, you had created a complicated trail, it wouldn't be enough to throw of that murder. You knew that much, at least. At first a wave of panic and horror hit you as the gates closed behind you and you were left alone. But know, you were beginning to gain courage as you devised up tactical plans to best Dante Senguri. Surely if you continued straight, you run in with the sea. That wouldn't help. So you continued with leaving behind confusing tracks, much like foxes did.

When night overcame the island, you had scratches and bruises but you continued on. Eventually, you stopped. It would be insane to continue in the dark while Dante was probably beginning his sick little game. Plus, now you needed to rest after leaving those twists and turns of trails behind. "I've played the fox, now I-I...need to act as the cat." You concluded that as the best option as you discovered a large tree nearby.

With its thick base and multiple large branches spread out covered with leaves, it would be sure to provide temporary cover. So you climbed the large tree and took the opportunity to stretch out and rest on the large branches.

Even that damned hunter Dante Senguri could not track you here, surely. Only a demon, the devil himself, could follow such a complicated trial through the brush after dark.

...

A quiet night rested on the island but sleep refused to grace you. Hours passed when the sky began changing to a gray hue, you nearly fell off the limb of the tree when the frightened squaking of a bird startled you. It came from some steps away on your left. Something was coming, slowly but cautiously, coming the same way you had come from. You stuck to the large branch, flatening yourself to the surface and through the ticket of leaves, you watched intensely...And that figure of something approaching was of a man.

It was Dante Senguri. He made his way along, utmost concentrated on the ground before him as he stepped forward. Suddenly he halted his steps almost right underneath the branch you lied on, dropping to his knees and studying the ground. You wanted to pounce on him like a panther, but you retrained youself once you saw the automatic pistol in his pale hands.

As if puzzled, the albino man shook his head. He stood and straightened his posture, while you held your breath and remained as still as possible. Inch by inch, Dante's red eyes traveled up the tree. Searching for an obvious sign. His sharp eyes stopped before they reached your branch, a smile spread over his lips. Almost deliberately he mused, "What a cunning little fox..." He turned his back on the tree and carelessly walked away, back along the trail he had come from. The crushing of plant life underneath his boots grew fainter and fainter until you could no longer hear him at all.

You finally breathed, allowing all the pent up air to go out as soon as you could no longer hear him. The first thought that came to your mind made you feel sick and extremely concerned. Dante could follow a trail through the woods at night, much like a hound. Secondly, you did not want to believe that Dante was so good and so confident when it came to hunting, that the man knew he was there on the tree...The albino was playing around with you! The thought made you shudder. Why else had Dante smiled and said those words? Why else would he turn back? The evidence was there and the truth was clear.

When the sun's rays pushed throught the morning mist, you realized that Dante was saving you for more entertainment for another day. He wanted his fun, he did not wish to be disappointed. The albino was the predator, you were the prey. It was then that you experienced the true meaning of terror.

"I can't lose, I can't...I still have so much I want to do, I can't die or stay here."

Sliding down from the tree, you resumed the chase and headed towards the woods. Your mind was set and you forced the machinery of your mind to function. A few hundred yards away you stopped at a large dead tree leaning on a smaller living one. Placing the sack of food to the side, you unsheathed your knife and began to get to work.

When the job was done, you rested behind a fallen log about a hundred feet away or so. Close enough to see yet at the same time far enough to let you bolt in the worse case scenario. You did not have to wait long for the predator returned to find and play with the prey.

Coming up the trail with the sureness of a bloodhound came Dante Senguri. Nothing escaped those piercing red eyes, no crushed blade of grass, no bent twig, no mark no matter how faint. So dedicated was the albino to his stalking that he was upon the contraption you made before he noted it. His foot touched the protruding bough that was the trigger. Even as he touched it, the man sensed the danger and leaped back with swift agility. But he was not quick enough, for the dead tree which had been delicately adjusted on the cut living one collapsed onto the albino. Striking him with a blow on the shoulder, but if it weren't for his caution or swiftness he would have been crushed underneath the contraption you created. He staggered but did not fall, continuing to grip on the pistol in hand. He stood there, rubbing his now injured shoulder as a grin creeped onto his features.

The man laughed loudly. "(Y/n)!" He called out, looking around for any sign of you as he continued to grin. "Very nice! Very very nice! I applaud your attempt, it was wonderfully done! If it weren't for the knowledge I have and my wits, you would have caught me! You are proving much much more interesting than I originally imagined, my fox! Please, do keep it up! I'll be gone only but a moment to have my wound treated, it'll be a moment. I'll return, my dear. I'll come back for you."

When the albino man had took his leave, you resumed the chase once again. The contraption remained collapsed on the dirt ground. You stared at it before continuing. If it weren't for Cleo, a jaguar who had nearly been crushed by the same contraption a few years ago, you may have been at a dead end. The feline was severely injured and you were tasked with caring for her after the incident, there you had examined the trap that had harmed her. The Malay Mancatcher, a trap used mainly in Southeast Asia. The same trap you used against Dante Senguri.

You continued the trail for hours until darkness came. But you still continued on. The ground gew softer, the vegetation grew denser, and the insects bit constantly. Then as you took another step forward, your foot sank in some ooze. When you tried to wrech it back, the muck stuck like glue keeping your foot in place. With violent effort you got your foot loose, now knowing that you were in the swamp Dante had warned you about.

You looked down, the softness of the earth had bestowed an idea upon you. Stepping back about a dozen feet or so from the quicksand, you began to dig into the damp earth. Digging digging diggning until the hole reached well above your shoulders, you climed out and searched for pieces of wood. You gathered them and sharpened them like knives to fine points, carving them into stakes. Carefully you slid back into the hole and planted the stakes inside with the points sticking up before climbing out. With nimble fingers you wove a carpet of weeds, branches, and blades of grass that would cover the mouth of the pit. Finally, sweat covered and tired, you rested behind a lightening charred tree.

You knew well that Dante Senguri was approaching, you could hear the padding of his feet on the soft ground and you detected the scent of his perfume wafting through the air. Yet somthing was off. He was coming faster with unusual swiftness, no longer looking to the trails for guidance. You waited and waited, you could not see them...Finally when you heard the sharp crackle of the breaking branches as the cover of the pit gave away, hearing the sharp scream of pain as the stakes found their mark. You wanted to leap for joy, but you stayed put. When you peeked past the tree, you reeled back only to see Dante holding a lanturn above the pit.

The Burmese tiger pit. Another trap introduced to you in unfortunate circumstances. Tigger the tiger was an older feline who had been trapped in the Burmese tiger pit. The poor creature fell in and was forgotten, nearly bleeding to death because of the stake stuck in his side. You were there when he had to be sedated and pulled out, you were there to see the pit and hear how it was bulit. Another trap you used against Dante Senguri.

"You've amazed me yet again, my clever fox. But must you have done this to one of my favorite pets?" He sighed softly, "Poor Bailey, fallen into a Burmese tiger pit...That's unfortunate. Again, my dear, you score.........Hm...I wonder how you will stand against my entire pack? I'm going home for a rest now. Thank you for the most amusing evening."

At daybreak you began to stir awake, you found yourself lying against the truck of the charred tree not far from the Burmese tiger pit. But what made you wake was a sound. A sound that made you learn that you had new things to learn about fear. It was a distant sound, faint but definitely there, and you recognized what it was. It was the baying of a pack of hounds.

You had two choices. You could stay where you were and try to fight back, which was basically suicide. Or you could flee which would only postpone the danger. For a moment you stood there, allowing the ideas to flow through until one wild dangerous idea crossed your mind. Hesitantly you gripped your belt and made your way away from the swamp.

The barking of the hounds drew nearer and nearer with each passing minute, giving you less time to think. Climbing a tall tree, you looked out to see a far away figure of Dante alongside the tall and big build of Joe holding the leashes of all the hounds.

They would discover you any minute now. Your mind worked quickly as you thought up a native trick you learned in Uganda. On your way sliding down a tree, you snatched a branch and fastened it to your knife. With the blade pointing down the trail, with a bit of vines you tied the branch back. Then you ran. Running as fast as you can. The hounds barked louder once they detected he fresh scent. You now know how a hunted animal feels.

You had to stop to breath, using your arm on a tree to support your weight. Yet the hounds stopped abruptly, and your heart stopped too. They must have reached the knife...

Eagerly you climbed the nearest tree to see what the results were. Looking back through the leaves, you saw that there was no movement. They had stopped. Yet your soared hopes had plummeted and crashed once you saw the figure of Dante Senguri still standing. But Joe was not. Joe was not as fortunate. The knife, driven by the recoil of the branch had not hit its intended target but plunged into another man.

The hounds sniffed the body of the large man, pressing their snouts against the corpse. Dante snatched up the leashes and clapped, “Well done! Magnificent! Possibly even superb! You truly are the perfect game!! So much trill, so much fun, so much adrenaline rush!”

You hardly tumbled to the ground when the pack of hounds began to howl and bark again, resuming the chase.

“Shit, shit, shit!” You panted, dashing through a blue gap between two trees dead ahead. Ever nearer drew the hounds. Past the trees was the shore of the sea. Twenty feet below the sea rumbled and hissed, crashing against the jagged rocks. You hesitated, jump or stay. The sound of the hounds encouraged you to jump, and you did-before the jaw of a pointer had locked onto your ankle. Your scream of pain and frantic cries were nothing to the hounds who pulled you away from the edge with their teeth.

A sharp whistle cut them off, making them unhinge their canines from your skin and sit patiently with wagging tails. You were dragged away from the ledge, far enough so you couldn’t run and jump. When you looked up you met the confident and pleased gaze of Dante Senguri.

“Checkmate.” A smirk formed at his lips as he pointed a gun at you. “I must say, very well played, (Y/n). You’ve gifted me with the best time of my life.”

Choose only one of the two: Yes or yes?

”I’ve never felt so alive...! You have not a single clue how delighted I am at this very moment.”

Make your choice. Come on, my darling fox. Yes or yes?

”I’ll most definitely keep you around. Our conversations, your company, your skill, has provided me with far greater pleasure to me than anything else in the world!”

Take your pick, the choice is up to you.

”I will say no to your no, is it me or us?” He pressed the pistol against your heart, “I respect your choice but reject your rejection. There is only one answer, the choice is up to you. It’s all up to you, my precious fox.” Giving you a gentle smile as he caressed your cheek with his free hand, “Make your choice~ Come on, yes or yes?”

#yandere #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere guy #yandere male #yandere hunter #yandere author #yandere scenario #yandere oneshot #yandere writing #yandere imagines #yancore #shiny-jr

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destroyeir · 3 years

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fire light, moonlight ; golden rays reach for the outside, where they are smothered by gentle blues. silver dances along the tops of their heads while their skin is bathed in fading warmth from within. music drifts throughout the corridors, makes the ground rumble. beneath the castle is a party of sorts. duties of the week completed, nothing ( yet ) to occupy their weekend. it is time for reapers to relax, have a little fun. minnie leans on the stone wall that comes up to her hips and gazes out at the beauty of the night - soaked planet. at her side is leon, his long hair waving in the breeze, eyes as dark and endless as the stretching ocean shifting between admiring it and admiring her. petite, angelic features, but a fire like hell burning within. . . he often wonders how she manages to take orders. how she isn’t the one giving them. a grin begins to fight its way to his face, but he shoves it down. good thing he does, because she is looking his way in the same moment.

“i’m surprised you’re not inside with everyone else. you seem to like crowds and roaring parties.”

“yeah. but i like the quiet, too.” so as not to stare, he looks back out at the waters. waves roll in and out gently, their foaming tops splashing along the shore. it glitters in the light. “don’t really know why. guess i just like to think.”

“about what?”

“life. the past, the future.” leon shrugs, brings the bottle he’s holding to his lips and swigs. when it lowers, he leans against the stone wall, back facing the ocean, body turned so he can look at her again. “what my place is in all this. why i’m here. you know, the regular existential shit. something about a nice view really gets it going.”

at that, minnie smiles. “i know what you mean. whenever i find myself out here, just staring at the planet. . . it’s because i’m in need of some deep thought. funny how that works, isn’t it? it’s like we need something in front of us, something inspiring, to use as a backdrop for our thoughts.”

“funny, yeah. won’t find me questioning it, though. makes me feel centered, i guess.”

in their lives of chaos, centeredness can be a feeling chased for nought. but once captured in their grasp, they may never want to let go. just a moment of peace in the midst of the disorder. but it can’t come as often as they hope ; it would lose meaning, appreciation. rather than offer another response, her eyes fall, lashes shadowing her cheek bones. in the coming silence, the song blaring beneath their feet changes. from energetic, to upbeat, to something slow. something beautiful. minnie’s back straightens as she pulls herself into her unimpressive stature and steps away from the wall.

“do you know how to dance?”

it catches leon off guard, but he, too, rises. the bottle in his grip is sent gently atop the wall with a barely audible clank. “yeah, i know how to dance. not well. but i can sway like a pro.” a sheepish smirk brings his features alight. “why? you know how to dance?”

“i’m a princess. of course i know how to dance.” the smile on her face is too welcoming, the tone of her voice so teasingly soft. it makes him want to smile along with her. “but we can begin with swaying. i’ll have to teach you.”

“is this your way of ordering me to dance?” leon chuckles. “well, yes, ma’am. we can start with swaying.”

seemingly without any hesitation, minnie nears him, her arms going into the proper positions as naturally as she falls into an offensive stance in training. jarring, he thinks, to see everyone switch off their warrior side for a night. there is no fighting, no danger. . . for a while, they can be normal. as her hand opens and awaits his, while the other finds its place on his shoulder, leon gravitates to her. pieces of a puzzle coming together, he takes her hand with his left, places the right on her waist. to the tune that courses through the air, they begin to — sway.

“so, your highness,” leon teases, “learning to dance is a necessity for royals?”

despite the roll of her eyes, minnie finds amusement in him. “i wouldn’t say it’s a necessity. but when it comes time to put on a show for the watching worlds, it wouldn’t look very good to be lacking. in any area, not just dancing.” with no hurry, they spin in place. “but yes, we need to learn to dance for parties, galas, balls.”

“how fancy.”

“i suppose. . . but it gets very boring after a while.”

“yeah, being surrounded by luxury must be a real snooze.”

at that, she frowns. “i didn’t mean it like that. i’m well aware i had a very lucky upbringing. i just. . . it wasn’t for me.”

“how so?”

“look beyond the surface. of course everybody loves the privilege, the riches, the materialism. some love the fame as well. but the part of it that isn’t a fantasy ; wondering who is befriending you for you or just your title. knowing that, some day, millions or even billions of souls will be your responsibility. having to fight to keep things right when there will be opposers out there who wish to silence you. and then there’s the safety risks. royals do get attacked, you know.”

“okay,” he contemplates it a moment, mouth dropping. “that does sound shitty.” and after a moment, drops the weight of her displeasure. “i still wouldn’t have minded the riches, though.” the crawl of the grin on his face is slow.

and she cannot help but grin back, shaking her head. “yeah? so, what was your home like? your childhood?”

“ooh.” breath leaves his throat in a scoff, an attempt to suppress the barely - there tightening in his chest. “wasn’t that great. you don’t wanna know.”

“of course i do.”

“right. well. . . mom died after she had me. dad never really forgave me for it.” there is a sad tug of his lips, while her moonlit features remain still. “in turn, i never forgave myself. financially, it was alright. he was a businessman. wanted me to be one too — probably so i wouldn’t be another mouth to feed. he really only tried ‘cause my mom wanted him to. but i could tell he wanted me outta there.” leon shrugs. “we weren’t close at all, and me not wanting to get into business didn’t exactly help. i’m sure he was thrilled when i left.”

pity is all over her face. it’s in the downward tug of her lips, the twinkle in her eyes, the set of her brows. but her pity isn’t what he wants — is it? nobody has ever felt bad for him before. while it makes him feel small, watching her look at him like that, there is a warmth around his heart that almost seems grateful. it’s about time someone feel bad. but that is the selfish side of his mind speaking.

“i’m sorry,” she says, and the validation of his selfishness has something within him soaring. “you didn’t deserve that.”

again, he shrugs, casts his eyes toward the water. “not everyone can have a decent family. happens.”

suddenly his hand is empty, open to feel the cool breeze along his palm and finger tips. the small hand that had abandoned his rests on his shoulder, brushes against his neck, and meets its twin at the back of his head. she is hooked around him now, a sense of no nonsense in those deep brown eyes.

“you have a decent family now. you know that, right? the reapers are your family. you have people now that will fight and die for you.”

“i know.” it has taken him by surprise. so much so that there is a lump in his throat, a brief thumping in his temples. “i know.” not entirely with his permission ( or even knowledge ), his once free hand slips to her waist. now both of them, massive and scarred by violence, guide her hips in their comfortable sway. as their eyes lock and surroundings fall away, blurring into nothingness, where there was once a thump there is a skip. time outside of their small circle comes to a halt ; nothing could possibly disturb their serenity, their moment of connection. only the gentle breeze is their indicator that they are still of this planet. it captures her hair, flings it into her face. dryness becomes his throat and mouth as he reaches up to tuck it behind her ear and, in a most bold move, the knuckle of his index finger strokes the skin of her cheek. if one could capture a cloud, he is almost certain that’s how soft it would be.

little distance remains between them, and as it begins to close, minnie’s own heart storms inside of her. wild as she may feel internally, externally she is cool as ever. she clears her throat, removes his hand from her face with careful grace, and steps back. she is smiling — hopefully, it covers her gulp.

“the song is over,” she speaks at last. “i think i’ll go rejoin the fun now. you should come.”

leon notices how she must tear her eyes from him whilst heading back inside. strangers once upon a time, now friends. and for some time they have been getting closer. learning of each others’ pasts, behaviors, wishes. he wants to know everything about her. and, for the first time, he feels perfectly comfortable revealing everything about himself. when at last they do know all there is to know about one another, he doesn’t want to be her friend anymore.

he wants so much more.

#i'm not proofreading this shit #&. scenes.#long post.#<3333333

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rohad93 · 4 years

Text

Sea Glass - Ch 5

18+

~ The ocean stretched around them in every direction. The only break up in the monotony being the occasional splash of a fish or calling of a seagull flying overhead.

It was late afternoon and the heat was at its apex.

Rhythmically, one turn after the other they rowed beneath the ceaseless rays of the sun.

The heat beat down on them as they sat across from each other, rowing through the seemingly endless expanse of water without any idea if they were actually getting anywhere.

They were hot and exhausted.

Yellow had already taken off her coat, or at least as much as she could with her left hand shackled to Blue’s right. She’d flipped it off her right arm and back to hang off the chain between them, leaving her in the bloodstained white shirt that was quickly becoming transparent as it stuck to her sweat-covered skin.

Blue's already usually precariously open shirt was hanging open even wider off her shoulders, just barely covering what it needed to. Yellow adamantly refused to look at her, keeping her eyes on the horizon or off to the side.

They hadn’t talked in a while, there was little to talk about at the moment out in the middle of the ocean other then they're impending death by dehydration if they didn’t land somewhere soon.

The only downside about having made this escape was their distinct lack of food and water.

It felt like she had a mouth full of sand. She’d already been dehydrated after all the drinking she’d done the night, before the fight had broken out anyway. They needed to find freshwater or they were never going to make it to Grenada.

Her right arm ached, between how long it had taken to lower themselves down to the water last night and the constant rowing all day, her shoulder was screaming at her to stop.

The heat also made her grumpy… grumpier than usual, especially in conjunction with the pain of her arm and the dull headache she still had.

The constant strain of the chain between them as they moved was chafing to Yellow, who started too periodically yank on it.

Blue was exhausted.

She'd hardly slept at all the other night and they had been rowing since they got off the galleon.

Her arms were begging for her to stop but somehow, they kept moving just the same, at the top of every turn she thought for sure she wouldn’t be able to continue on but then she would pull up and push back down.

Occasionally to entertain herself or break up the monotony of the ocean she'd watch Yellow, sitting across from her.

Her shirt stuck to her damp skin and Blue couldn't help but watch the muscles moving beneath in her arms.

Something about it was just fascinating to her.

But of course between the heat and her exhaustion, she didn't have her usual patience for some of Yellow's... mannerisms.

She ignored the first tug at the chain. It was inevitable they were going to yank on it occasionally. Then however it happened a second third and fourth time.

Blue frowned a little more every time the cuff on her wrist jerked, pinching the skin beneath with the movement. Irritation was beginning to burn inside her right along with the burning on her skin from the sun.

She took a deep breath trying to soothe the crackling anger trying to flare up.

She felt the tug again and her head snapped up.

"Stop it!" she snarled with a glare, startling Yellow, but it was short-lived as she glared right back.

“There’s no slack, it’s pulling on my arm," she growled

"Well, you're pulling on my arm!" Blue yanked on it, jerking Yellow forward, who snarled, yanking harder right back, nearly pulling Blue off the bench.

With a frustrated growling noise Blue jumped up, oar in hand.

"Ya fuckin' prick!" she shrieked, making Yellow jump up just in time for Blue to grab the oar with both hands and swing it with all her might, smacking the blonde with it.

Yellow held up her arms to block it, jerking Blue into her chest in the process.

The boat rocked dangerously as they collided and scowling, Blue gave her a final shove, flinging her over the side.

She watched with satisfaction as Yellow fell over the side of the boat but only for about a half-second before the chain went taut and pulled her in right after her with a screech.

They both surfaced coughing and sputtering, pulling on the chain and the now heavy, drenched coat hanging from it like a weight as they hauled themselves back into the boat in a heap and sat across from each, soaked and panting on the boat’s bottom, legs tangled.

The saltwater stung their cuts but the cold water did wonders for their rising tempers.

Yellow slicked her hair back, flicking the salty water out of her eyes and leaned her head back on the bench tiredly, it thumped on the wood.

“We’re never going to make it…,” the blonde sighed tiredly. “We’re going to kill each other or die of dehydration before we make it to land.”

Blue pulled off her bandana and wrung the water from her long hair, looking at the blonde through narrowed eyes.

“If you could be less of an ass…” she grumbled under her breath, turning to look out at the ocean.

They sat there drifting for several minutes before Yellow sighed tiredly.

“I know,” she finally said.

Blue blinked, turning back to look at Yellow, still laying back, face upturned to the sky.

“I’m sorry… I think I misheard you, what was that?” The tone of her voice made Yellow scowl even without even having to see her face.

Fortifying herself internally and painfully choking down some of her pride she flung herself up to sit, amber locking with cerulean.

“I said, I know. I know I’m… difficult,” she said.

"An ass…" Blue corrected.

Yellow sighed.

"Yes...an ass…" she ground out, glaring at Blue.

“Well, color me surprised!” Blue admitted, pressing a hand to her chest. Yellow couldn’t tell if she was being mocked or not, but knowing Blue she probably was.

She pushed down the prideful anger that instinctually tried to rear its head at the teasing tone in Blue's voice. Her pride was what had gotten her into this situation.

If she had listened to her instincts rather than letting her ego push aside her better judgment she wouldn’t have been in this mess of a situation.

But she was, and despite appearances, she was well aware that being angry about it was wasn't going to help her.

Not that knowing that made it any easier to control her temper. Blue had that effect on her, more than most things anyway.

She was just as much at fault here as Blue was and whether she liked it or not, they were chained together and if they didn't work together they were never going to make it.

She didn't have to like it, but she was going to have to try.

The best first step in this would be to admit that yes, she was being… an ass.

She took a deep breath, eyes closed before opening them to look at Blue.

“I know I have been…” she started only for Blue to cut her off.

“An ass…,” she supplied helpfully and Yellow exhaled sharply.

“...and were never going to get anywhere except the bottom of the damn ocean If we don’t both try… a little harder to not murder each other…” She didn’t let the interruption stop her.

“I haven’t done anything.” Blue turned up her nose, to which Yellow could only glare as water dripped off the end of her nose and down her forehead.

Blue pursed her lips, the oar laying on the floor between them.

“Alright, fine,” she admitted. “Maybe I haven’t been perfect…”

“It doesn’t matter…,” Yellow cut her off. “We need to come to an understanding here, Blue, or we might as well have gone to the gallows.”

“What do you suggest?” she asked, leaning back against the bench, suddenly looking very tired.

“First of all, no more of this!” She gestured to themselves, soaked and dripping wet.

“Agreed…,” Blue sighed. “We need to work together until we can do something about this.” She gave the chain a shake and winced as the metal scraped at her skin. Yellow grunted in agreement.

“We need to keep going. We’re going to need water soon…,” the blonde grumbled.

Blue pulled herself up and held her chained hand out to the other woman still sitting sprawled in the bottom of the boat.

Yellow looked at the outstretched hand for a long moment before finally grabbing it with her own, the chain jingled as it clinked against itself as Blue helped pull her to stand.

They sat back down across from each other and started to row again, but it didn’t take Yellow long to notice that Blue kept glancing at her.

“What?” she grumbled.

“That’s a good look for you.” she teased with a wink and Yellow blinked, looking down at the once white, now seethrough shirt clinging to her like a second skin.

She practically ripped the coat back on, face burning while Blue cackled uncontrollably.

~ ~ ~

It was several hours later when Blue saw the dark spec on the horizon over Yellow’s shoulder.

She squinted at the spot.

“What?” Yellow cocked a brow at the strange face the other woman was making.

“Is that land?” Blue pointed in the direction of Yellow’s shoulder.

The blonde turned, squinting into the distance before digging through the pocket of her coat and pulling out the spyglass she had shoved in there the day before.

She pulled it open and peered through the glass.

“Well?” Blue leaned forward.

“It’s land,” she confirmed.

“Let me see!”

Yellow rolled her eyes but passed it to Blue, who peered through the glass.

“I recognize that coast,” she said, still starring through the brass barrel.

“How can you possibly recognize the coast?” Yellow frowned.

“It’s Porlamar, I recognize the port.” she corrected. “It’s one of my sister’s favorite places.” She lowered the glass from her eye and looked at Yellow, who seemed to be deep in thought.

“Then we’re fairly close to Grenada. If I remember correctly, it’s right of the coast, we can travel east on the mainland and steal a ship to sail north to Grenada.” She mumbled, seemingly talking to herself rather than Blue.

“It would have to be a pretty small ship for us to be able to man it like this…” Blue held up her wrist and the chain jingled as if Yellow had forgotten about it.

“Yes, but anything is better than this.” She gestured to their current vessel and Blue couldn’t help but agree. Her shoulder was on fire from the countless hours of rowing.

If she ever got back to it she would never take her beautiful sloop for granted again.

“We have to get their first…,” Yellow grumbled and Blue sighed as they started to row again, tired but with a renewed energy.

When they finally pulled ashore Blue wanted to cry with relief, and really the only thing stopping her was the fact that Yellow was there. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so elated at the sight of a shitty, rundown, seaside port town. She couldn’t fathom why her sister liked to stop her as often as she did. Blue usually let her go ashore herself.

They hauled the rowboat onto the sand and just as quickly left it, walking up beach toward the town, but Blue pulled them to a stop, jerking Yellow back by the arm.

Her eyes turned to glare, mouth starting to open before she seemed to hold back whatever was about to come spilling out. She took a breath.

“What?” The tone was still one of annoyance but not the yelling Blue was sure it had replaced.

“We can’t just go walking through town like this.” She held up the chain and Yellow frowned at it. “It’s not like you won’t attract enough attention as it is…” Blue continued and now the blonde looked affronted.

“What does that mean?” she grunted, her right hand planted on her hip.

“You’re…” Blue made a vague gesture at the blonde’s entire body, making Yellow scowl. “If you could stop being so tall and blonde that would be fantastic. You stick out like a nun in a whore house.” She couldn’t help but smirk as Yellow’s scowl only deepened.

“I’ll see what I can do…,” she deadpanned, making Blue’s grin grow into obnoxious proportions.

“Good, you work on that, I do however have a plan for this.” She lifted her wrist and Yellow cocked a brow at that. She didn’t like the look in those ocean blue eyes.

~ ~ ~

“I hate this…,” Yellow mumbled under her breath as they walked through the streets of the town, the extra chain wrapped around their arms beneath their sleeves as they held hands to conceal it and the cuffs.

“You don’t like holding my hand?” Blue fluttered her eyes up at her, tone sorrowful, but the smirk on her lips belied her. Yellow grunted in response and Blue ignored the grumpy blonde as they walked through the market, the crowds had thinned as the sun was setting, casting long shadows between the ramshackle buildings as it dipped down over the horizon, painting the sky a brilliant array of golds and pinks

“I’d kill a man for something to eat or drink… not to mention someplace to sleep…” She slumped as they walked. She was only just barely standing.

Yellow hummed as they stopped at a cart selling fresh fruit. Blue looked at it and felt her stomach grumble angrily.

If this were any other situation she would have just taken it, but with no real weapons and chained to Yellow it was a guaranteed one-way ticket to being arrested again, and she hadn’t even technically finished being locked up yet. Yellows larger, calloused hand wrapped around hers was a reminder of that.

At least her hand was warm.

“If you’re not going to buy anything get out of here!” The old, bearded man behind the cart finally turned to them and made a shooing motion. Blue frowned and Yellow glared as they moved on toward the inn.

Once they had moved out of sight Yellow reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a mango, holding it out to Blue, who looked at the fruit with wide eyes.

“How did you…!”

“Do you want it or not?” Yellow asked. Blue snatched it from her hand and took a bite and hummed in delight at the sweet juice that filled her mouth and slid down her dry throat.

Yellow watched her with a cocked brow before pulling a second fruit from her pocket and taking a bite as they walked through town.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. They still needed water, but that would be easy enough, she could see the well from her and pulled Blue along in that direction as she devoured the fruit she’d given her.

Once all that remained was the pit, Blue threw it aside, wiping her mouth off on the back of her hand and looking at Yellow; eating her own much slower.

“He was standing there the entire time… how did you do that?” Blue looked at her with narrowed eyes.

Amber eyes slid to regard her silently as she chewed on the bite in her mouth before turning back to look ahead of her. After a minute Blue was sure she wasn’t going to get an answer so when Yellow spoke it surprised her.

“Pickpocketing was how I survived as a kid,” she finally said before taking another bite, holding the fruit in her teeth as she dug in her pocket and pulled out a knife.

Blue’s knife.

Cerulean eyes widened as she dug into her belt and found nothing.

“How did you get that!?” She snatched the knife back with a scowl, and tucking it into her belt. Yellow just pulled the fruit out of her mouth and smirked.

A look that twisted something in Blue’s gut.

Either way, that was not what Blue had been expecting her to say, and for several moments she didn’t know what to say in response to it.

“Poor family?” she finally asked and those golden eyes were on her again.

“I don’t have any family.” Was the simple response, the smirk falling away. “I grew up on the streets.”

“But before that…,” she trailed off. If Yellow wanted to be talkative, or at least as talkative as she ever was Blue was going to get as much out of her as she could. She was curious now. She’d never seen the blonde move, much less twice to swipe the fruit from the cart and never once had she felt her hand slip the knife out of her belt.

“My earliest memories are of an orphanage on the coast of Martinique…,” was the response she got after another moment of thoughtful chewing.

It was pretty commonplace for people to turn to piracy when they had no other courses available to them. Among every group of poor and hungry, you could find those willing to set sail, preferring a life of ill-gotten food in their bellies then none at all.

For some reason though Blue had never pictured Yellow to be one of them. The blonde carried herself with the kind of pride and self-assuredness Blue had been positive came from a more privileged life. Some people who grew tired of that life left it for one on the seas, though that wasn’t nearly as common… and they usually died fairly quickly.

Then there were people like herself…

Blue frowned, shoving those thoughts down. She was too tired to go for a stroll down memory lane right now.

Given the hunched way Yellow was now walking told Blue that this subject was all but closed, but tried anyway.

“Don’t tell me you picked the name ‘Marigold Faust’ for yourself,” she laughed and Yellow scowled but nothing more, and Blue knew that she wasn’t going to get anything else out of the blonde as they stopped at the well and drank their fill of water.

Now that her belly was full, the utter exhaustion of the last day and a half was hitting Blue full force.

“I see the inn down the way.” Blue nodded at the large, decrepit building.

“And what exactly are we going to pay with?” Yellow grumbled. Blue just smiled, flipping some hair over her shoulder and sticking out her chest.

“I have an idea…” She smirked. Yellow rolled her eyes but bit her tongue. They weren’t in a position for her to speak against anything that worked.

The inn was filled with people drinking and laughing loudly.

They kept their heads down as they walked in. The two of them weren’t that recognizable to the average person usually, but their faces were painted on wanted posters from here to Caracas and all across the Caribbean. It was possible anywhere for them to be recognized.

Without her hat to cover her sun-bleached blonde hair or any way to diminish her over six-foot frame, Yellow was a bit of an eye-catcher, Blue wasn’t wrong about that. Not that She was much better with her long silver hair, though she garnered lots of attention for other reasons.

Male attention usually.

Normally that might play to their favor, in fact Blue had been counting on it, and it may have if the person manning the counter wasn’t an older woman.

She heard Blue curse under her breath when she realized this as well.

“I don’t think what you had planned is going to work,” Yellow whispered into her ear, the amusement in her tone clear.

“Shut up…,” the other captain grumbled as they walked up to the counter.

“How much for a room?” Blue asked, leaning against the counter, her chest pushed out, straining against her corset. It took everything Yellow had not to roll her eyes.

The dowager behind the bar also didn’t look impressed by it.

“Three pieces of eight,” she said, going back to wiping down the bar, ignoring Blue.

“Is there nothing else we could…”

“Three pieces of eight.”

Yellow snorted as Blue sighed, leaning back up.

“Would you take this instead?” She slipped one of the silver rings off her fingers and held it up to the woman who took the ring, inspecting it before nodding and dropping it into the pocket of her apron.

“Follow me.” She led them up the stairs to a hallway full of doors and unlocked one. “Be out by midday on the morrow…,” was all she said before going back downstairs. Blue just stuck her tongue out at the woman’s back and Yellow did roll her eyes before pulling her inside the room and shutting the door behind them.

“I told you that wasn’t going to work…”

“It works more often than it doesn’t,” Blue defended.

“It’s never worked on me…,” the blonde grunted.

“Curiously… despite the fact that I know for certain that you have no interest in men whatsoever... no one who kisses like that could…,” she mumbled the last bit but smirked as Yellow turned to glare at her, her face turning red, but in the darkness of the room, Blue couldn’t see it.

“What I do or do not have interest in is none of your concern,” Yellow snapped, dropping Blue’s hand and unwrapping the chain from her arm to sit on the bed.

“You're no fun…,” she whined but smiled.

“Just go to sleep…,” Yellow grumbled, sitting on the bed and kicking off her boots.

“Gladly…,” she sighed, crawling into the empty space next to Yellow.

She could have laid down in the dirt and it's still would have been fantastic.

They faced away from each other, shackled arms resting awkwardly on their ribs, Yellow on her right side and Blue on her left, despite the position not being the most comfortable it didn’t take long before both of them were out cold.

#Bellow diamond #yellow diamond #blue diamond #pink diamond #pirate au #Au #fanfic

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starbuck09256 · 5 years

Text

A picture in the sand

Episode Fic

Unruhe

Pictures in the Sand

Author: @starbuck09256

For: Kasey Slippin Mickeys

Rating: Teen (I did use the f word not sorry)

First a huge Shot Out to @gaycrouton for putting this goodie together. Girl you are fantastic. I can’t wait to read your fic and everyone else's!

My prompt was Unruhe and that it should take place in Traverse City with another woman goes missing. I followed it mostly. I rewatched the episode about 9 times, which isn’t bad I like the ep anyway. Here is my angsty (as requested) interpretation.

Not gonna lie, I’m really terrible at procrastinating so this is very much not Beta’d I apologize for spelling and grammar errors. Just happy to barely make the deadline.

6am Dana Scully's Apartment

She wheels her suitcase next to the end table. Not paying attention she swings it to far and the picture frame on top falls and shatters to the newly stained wood flooring. “Shit” Scully mutters before moving her suitcase to find all the shards of broken glass. She picks up the frame staring at a picture of her and Melissa at a family picnic at the beach from a few years ago. Melissa’s glowing smile staring back at her, she traces the pattern of Melissa’s dress remembering Melissa spinning them around in the sand, letting the tiny pebbles crush against their toes. Like they used to do in San Diego. Melissa had been galavanting around the world and had just gotten back her smile to be with family, the lightest Dana had seen her in the last few years. Scully thought it was just because Melissa had finally gone to all the places she talked about endlessly in the dark confines of their shared room. Scully sighs, she remembers that dress Melissa wore in a different context too, one where she is helping their mom pack it away in a donation bin. Melissa so much taller than Scully, it didn’t make sense for Scully to keep it in the back of her closet as a reminder of the women who embodied the bright color and flowy design. The picture inside the jagged frame not scratched and torn right on the side of Melissa dress. The irony isn’t lost as she sits there on the floor where Melissa bled out in between the wood slates a bullet meant for Scully, a life meant for Melissa. She can’t help feeling that the last two years have been so unfair, she is no closer to justice for her sister, no closer to finding the answers of where Duane Berry took her. Now as the nightmares have increased she thinks of the women in Allentown all dying slowly, she wonders if she is next in line. If this picture of her and her sister will find its home on her moms mantle along with catholic candles that flicker in and out of all the lives tragically cut short by senseless violence. Scully presses the picture into the front pouch of her suitcase. Vowing to find a new frame to hold the precious photo right when she gets back from their new case in Michigan.

She’s only been to Michigan a couple of times. The only real fact about the state that she loved is no matter where you are you are within 7 miles of water. The water calls to her, always has, from years of watching her father navigate it’s depths to summers spent at camps with giant lakes that at night made you feel like you might as well be in the middle of the ocean. She remembers briefly staying once and seeing the shores of the great lake as it extended out for miles. From her seat at the window she looks out to the expanse of trees and meadows the clouds just above the horizon. Mulder shifts against her. His head resting in her lap on his coat. It’s been a weird few months between bounty hunters and his moms stroke he is more restless than normal. The case brought to them because of the weird photo of a girl seemingly screaming into the camera. Mulder ever elusive with his information he likes to dangle clues and hints to her but never the full story. It use to be fun, this game they play him trying to get her to open her mind to the fantastic to make connections and leaps with scraps of information. Now though it just gets on her nerves. Why not just tell her the facts? Does he think she is so closed minded that she will refuse to go? She wants to refuse. Start standing up for herself more, part of her is tired of seeing these women taken, beaten, lives destroyed in the end does it even matter the how? Is the why so important? What about stopping it? Lately she feels like they are only there for the aftermath, taken to a point so far outside of plausible. She’s getting tired of being taken herself. He mumbles in his sleep and shifts closer to her. That’s the real problem she thinks, how close they are and yet not at all. While they spend endless hours together, eating, sleeping in crappy motel rooms, driving miles and miles of road and for what? to be put in danger constantly?

The larger part of her though finds it still so thrilling. The challenge the way his eyes light up when he gets a new case and they go back and forth it's why he dangles clues and hints. He loves seeing her mind work, and in truth she loves the challenge. She looks at the photo again, the edging is distorted the colors blending together. She isn’t sure how you would capture an image like this, how the abductor took such a photo. She presses her finger down on the edge looking at the long lines on the side, a face to the far right what is that? A reflection? She wonders what the image is trying to say. She thinks of the photos of her and Melissa torn and stuffed into her roller bag under the seat. She thinks back to all the photos she has taken over the years the others that grace her mantel in tiny rows. Her brothers photo with his new wife how he blames her openly for Melissa's death. As if she didn't already blame herself. She thinks of those women in Allentown how they said they are all dying, the photos they showed her of others like them that have passed on. She has an appointment in 3 months for more scans. She joined the mufon group and has been getting emails of members passing away one by one. Leaving children and husbands behind. She would only leave behind sad plants and half finished articles for medical journals and Mulder. How would he do with a new partner, she thinks back to Jerry whom he just described as a colleague. Is that all she would be to him in the end? A colleague a good friend? There have been moments when she thought they would be more. Melissa certainly thought they would be. Melissa's’ constant insistence that Mulder was the compliment to Scully's stubborn soul. Scully wonders if this is going to be the end will he be her last? She's never missed having a lover. But lately she wishes her bed wasn't so lonely. Now as Melissa has pointed out she has in fact put everything and everyone on hold for this search of theirs, to find answers for him and now for her. In the past she has found men who are obsessed with things it seems. The latest one resting in her lap. She swallows hard, sleeping with Mulder would be a terrible idea, but if there weren't consequences because she would be gone in a few months? She tries to clear her conscience about it all, her recent scans were fine but the emails of more and more members with the same type of cancer in exactly the same spot are more than scaring her. Mulder is scared too, she now stops mentioning when another one has been laid to rest. She’s seen his fear shining into her eyes when she gets even a cold. Imagine what cancer from a lover would do to the man? She would never do that to him. If the dedication he has for his annoyingly little sister is anything. The rabbit hole he would fall down if they were more and she was taken by the disease from her abduction would kill him.

She thinks about her mother and father, how after his death the strong capable of anything Margaret Scully faltered. At first her mom said she could pretend for a few minutes in the morning that he was still at sea, that his smile would grace her eyes soon as he would sweep her into a deep hug that warmed her bones. Then she would remember, remember that time was short. Missy's death certainly didn't help. Losing a child is something that no parent should ever bare. She had asked Dana to give her antidepressants, and while it scared Scully to the core it renewed her mother's faith in God. That that was the only way she could keep going, knowing that her Ahab would be there waiting for a life eternal and her sweet daughter's spirit would be free. But Melissa's death had done the opposite for Scully, she has scene so much injustice so many things that make her doubt God's word that now she has become skeptical and even cynical in so many ways. Mulder has seen it in her and while she wears her cross everyday part of it is just because it reminds her of Melissa. It reminds her to try and fight. She will fight till the bitter end. Even if that is sooner than she wants to believe. Mulder shifts slightly again and she moves the picture through her fingers. Tries to put that skepticalness to the side. Tries to think like Mulder would. Why would the killer leave it at the scene? How did he get it beforehand? Was he stalking her? She taps on the photo again and moves back to the case file, shifting just slightly careful to not disturb Mulder.

She reads the report over and over until her eyes want to water at the dry dead air of the cabin. The sun is seeping through the light onto Mulders hair now, his features almost boyish in sleep. She is usually the one sleeping against him even if flying isn’t her favorite thing. She squirms in her seat a bit wishing secretly that Mulder would wake up so she can lay against his shoulder and catch a few minutes of sleep herself. She moves her hand, fingers brushing through his hair. She knows he doesn’t mind, though he still teases her a little when she does it in doctor mode. She sees his small smile and he starts to move. She gives him a soft smile back as he rubs his eyes looking at her with the translucent clouds shading the sun as it shines dimly on her hair. He reaches up and touches her cheek to sweep a stray strand off her face. “Your turn” it’s almost a whisper. She smiles gratefully as he moves and positions his jacket against his shoulder for her to rest against. She sighs as she snuggles into the warm fabric. Mulder pulls the shade down against the morning dawn as they continue to soar through the air.

2 hours later

She wakes dimly to the voice of the captain letting them know they are starting their dissent into Grand Rapids. Traverse city looms another 2 hours away along the lake coast. It’s interesting the rules they have made through the years. They never discuss a case on a flight and so that time has been devoted to them reading books sometimes playing cards. Arguing over which mythical creature is the most likely to exist. Or more often than not it’s like this morning's flight snuggled against each other asleep. She hears Mulders soft snores against her head. The last few months she has been more worried about his sleeping habits especially after she told him what she found in Allentown. More often he comes in with dark circles and the extra coffee through the day has not gone unnoticed. She can’t complain though, because despite all of this he still is there in the morning to greet her, with a steaming cup to chase away her own night terrors. Places like planes offer a few moments of peace that the other one is safe, and that they are together. She tries not to analyze it too much. Tries to rationalize the fact that they have been through some truly horrible things and are bound to have some strong ptsd and codependency issues. She doesn’t want to love him that way. She likes them just being friends. She wants a bit more out of life, especially if there is less available to her, seeing all of these things over the years she is wondering what she is really fighting for anymore if not for Melissa maybe she would have already left. Is it to be flying off to save women from abductions? Is she trying to find validity in her choice to prove to herself that giving up medicine to become an FBI agent was really the best decision? Is she now leading herself down a path to have another Jack or even worse another Daniel?

She knows that Mulder is in love with her. She knows that he has become just as dependent on her as she has on him. She doesn’t want that, she doesn’t want a world where the two of them can only exist with the other. She has become consumed by this quest of his and paid so dearly, and now here they are chasing a lead on a case they really have no business on. She knows that it’s about the picture. He sees something or knows something she doesn’t. She’ll have to wait for the drive into town to find out.

As they reach the drugstore she is lost in the sea that is the investigation, while she looks at expired film heating beneath it parts of the edging make sense, if the film is expired and the heat has distorted the edges. But the screaming that is odd, when she points these things out to Mulder he finally explains his theory. She sees a photo booth in the drugstore small and yet she wonders if the film has been tampered here too. Mulder must think something similar as he grabs her hand just as she finishes her questions to the owner. “This film shouldn’t have the same distortion if my theory is correct.” he mutters pulling her into the small intimate photo booth. She sighs “Mulder,” she starts but he pulls her down and she is sitting right next to him and he’s smiling and pointing to the camera. She gives him the look, the one that shows she is not amused, but he wraps his arm around her leans forward to start the series of 5 photographs of them. He tries to do bunny ears and the camera catches her laughing at it. She sticks out her tongue in the next and so does he. The third picture is just them stern and serious. The fourth a soft smile from both of them. The fifth begins to click and he makes a kissy face and her grin lights up the tiny booth. Its short lived and while she thinks the exercise is pointless the film proves to be unaffected. She waits for Mulder to throw the pictures away but he doesn’t he pulls out his wallet and tucks them in with a 20 dollar bill and 2 ones. She shakes her head, he asks the owner if they can take a few more photos with the same film. “I think the picture is the key to this Scully,” he leaves and she follows him out.

They drive to the girls house, pictures on the fridge of a normal couple. Lost in moments together, traveling, and laughing. She wonders if they will find this girl alive, if these will be the last time she smiles. She thinks of moments when her and Mulder where sure that it was the end. She thinks of the pictures of them in his wallet. What a stranger would think. What she thinks of this closeness that has grown between them.

He takes the camera “Watch out scully it’s loaded,” and he points it right at her but the picture that comes out is of the girl distorted again and she looks up at him confused. He starts to tell her more about his growing theory, how these pictures are the key Psychic photography. She hates this, she hates looking at cases and having him come up with something so crazy she has to try and wrap her mind around it. She always gives him the benefit of the doubt listens to his theories, but sometimes she just wants a simple explanation. Maybe she is just burned out. It happens to everyone with all the things that have happened to them she hasn’t had a chance to take a break. She wants to talk about this more but as always he is already getting ready to leave. “He was here I think he stalked her.” As they step out into the bright sunshine her phone starts to ring, letting them know that Mary has been found wandering and disoriented.

At the hospital Scully is faced with looking in the hollow eyes of the woman on the fridge, one that won’t be smiling again as pain and inevitable death beacon her near. The scans don’t lie, Mary is facing a very difficult road of recovery if that is even possible. As Scully stares at the scans as Mulder goes to grab them something resembling coffee she thinks of Betsy in Allentown, about those women with tumors at the same spot as Marys unfortunate lobotomy. Mulder has sense Scully's distance and luckily has chosen to back off, leaving her with the time she needs to figure things out. Scully is deep in thought when Mulder returns he sets down the coffee letting the steam rise up and wafted into her nose. It’s a beautiful smell coffee, seems the fine people of Traverse City understand its importance. Mulder touches her shoulder gently a sad smile across his lips as he stars at the scans once more. Just as the uniform officer comes in and tells them another woman has been taken. Anger boils through Scully, whomever this guy is he has no idea what he is doing and unless they find him soon she is afraid of another poor woman facing the same fate. Mulder throws the rental keys to her knowing that right now he needs time to look over the details from the officer, starting working up a profile right away. Precious time is ticking fast as she presses her foot down on the pedal. This is her strength driving fast and a little more reckless than Mulder ever has. It annoys him, how much she speeds and whips into places. It’s why he drives most of the time in reality. Because she got tired of hearing him complain about her going to fast, but time is of the essence. They are following a patrol car the blue and red lights flash into the fading sun. As they race around the corner. Mulder finally looks up at her his voice catches in his throat. “Mary will never be the same will she?” Scully shakes her head in sadness. “We need to find this person, and fast” She nods and throws the car into park, throwing her seatbelt off dashing to the scene. They need a clue, a hint, and hopefully something more than a screaming girl in a fucking polariod.

Just as they get there they realize that the rush wasn’t necessary, Scully needs to review the file as Mulder heads right inside to assist. Another man dead another woman taken and nothing to go on. Mulder doesn’t find any cameras or film, in the car as he was thinking through the profile he wonders about the word Unruhe, a place? A thing? A person? It sounds like it’s a word. He asks one of the officers to use the computer quickly typing the word into a search box as he continues shuffling through 1040s and spreadsheets. Scully walks in the file in her hand, a killer like this she thinks might have been there might have been at the scene. As they argue again over the photograph she feels the frustration of the day, of the inevitable failure that might await them if they can’t find something quickly. Mulder is ready to head back to Washington, to find the clues that have eluded them so that she can save the next victim. Both of them know that time is limited and Alice doesn’t have long, while she thinks him going back to Washington is a mistake, it’s really not that long of a flight and the bureau does have some fantastic resources. She sighs hangs her head and works her connection. It seems that for them, when they go their separate ways they form a complete picture in the end.

She watches as he races out leaving her the keys to the rental car as he hitches a ride back again. She works through the evening and well into the night in a small motel with a view of Grand Traverse Bay on Lake Michigan. She opens the window and listens to the water softly kissing the sand while the moonlight shines off the lakes black opals and into the darkness. Mulder calls her lets her know his planes has landed and he has been able to get a forensic photographer to help him first thing in the morning. She lets him know that Mary Lefont died and she fears that the same will be true for Alice if the construction owner has hired men off the books. Mulder sighs, “You caught that Scully, you found us a tangible lead as soon as I find something out with this photo I’ll call you it should help you refine it” She hums in response right now she is looking at a list of 300 people in the apartments next to the latest abduction. She sighs and says she is tired before hanging up. She knows that sleep will be hard fought tonight, it’s already almost 3am. She walks out of the hotel towards the Bay listens to the waves as they crash against the shore with a dullness. While the stars shine brightly out beyond the black depths of the lake she thinks of Mary, about those pictures of her smiling in those photos on the fridge. Her toes are in the rough sand from the lake, not like the sand that she and Melissa danced to in the photo. She wonders of Alice's family will have similar photos on their mantel of another woman taken in her 30s. She hopes that the station can pull up something on the construction workers, they need this lead. Regardless of the success Mulder thinks he will find she needs the tangible investigative skills of the mortal realm. She walks back to her room, letting the moonlight chase her form across the soft swirls of the water. She falling into a lifeless deep sleep while the dull ticking of Alice's life lingers in the background.

In the morning after she wrestles Gerry to the ground. She thinks back about the pictures she has of Ahab of the two of them at her medical school graduation, her white coat and his proud smile. She wonders after all the terrible things that have happened to her would he still be so proud? Or would his smile have dimmed like that glossy paper it was printed on. Would her own eyes shine as brightly as they did that day ever again? Or had the 3 months she missed, the sister she mourned be evident through the lense. She knew the risks was aware of the horror she would face. Lately she feels as if she is facing a far more looming nightmare. Another birthday another lonely night with no prospects of changing. Mulder and her might be pushing that line in the sand between acceptable partnerly behavior but it’s a not a road she is ready to take, nor is she sure she wants too. She loves him, she knows this after so many dangerous situations, hours and days spent together how could she not. She thinks of the other pictures she knows he keeps in his wallet. The one of him and Sam, sometimes she thinks she still sees that young innocent kid staring back at her. His devilish grin when he shows her the fantastic. The way his face lights up just a little when she pulls out his favorite sunflower seeds when he was sure they were out. Does he see it in her? Does he see the young agent who was new to the field but prepared for the boys club? Does he see the same smile and young ambition she once was so consumed with that she let the rest of her life slip away? She’s getting older her birthday just passing and she thinks about the fact that now she is as old as Melissa was when she died. She thinks about the pictures they won’t take, about the people now missing from the Christmas dinners, the Sunday brunch, the nephews birthday parties. Her phone rings and it’s Mulder he booked the first flight back and is already on his way to the precinct. She wants to know where Alice Bryant is she wants them to win one for once. Mulder wants her to wait until they can interrogate Gerry together. They are so good together, she knows. The two of them play off each other so well with suspects. Mulder seems crazy and she seems scary and she loves it. She loves the power it gives her. She loves seeing justice and fear mingle together in the room. She hopes they are scared, hopes that the suspects feel even the small degree of fear that they cause their victims to feel. It is that feeling that has kept her with the FBI, she loves being the one to find the evidence and then confront the suspect with her findings. Mulder is in a way the perfect partner for her. He steps back lets her take the lead, knows that if anyone will find something tangible to hang a case on it’ll be her.

Gerry gives them a location, and as they race to find her, she can’t help but be angry at Gerry seeing her as troubled. She isn’t troubled is she? Conflicted? Scared? Maybe. She doesn’t want to overthink a psychopaths words. She learned long ago from Mulders profiles how they use words and gestures to gain trust. Luther Lee Boggs being a prime example for them both.

Scully races up the hill hoping and praying that they can find Alice alive, and hopefully not as damaged as Mary, but as she makes it to the top, Alices still form crushes her thoughts. She touches Alices’ cold skin, her cheeks. Watches as the CS tech starts to take photos of the scene. More photos, more death, and now another body. At least Gerry is in custody. At least they saved the future woman that he might have tortured and killed. Mulder meets her at the car, her anger rolls off her in waves like the lake shore. Maybe tonight she will sit on the shore and cry, no one would be able to hear her sobs over the water. She wants to leave to go home and fix her broken frame try to not think of photos and sand and lives that could have been. She can’t drive and though she wanted to be in control she hands the keys to Mulder so they can drive back to their hotel and clean up. She needs to wash the failure she feels down the drain. It doesn’t work that way, Gerry shot the police officer that was processing him, they put out an APB but her mind can only race about possible new victims he already might be on his way to take.

They look at the photo of the officer on the paperwork, Mulder is right the photos are probably the key. God who else did Gerry take a photo of? Who else is going to deal with a madman telling them they are troubled and killing them to fix it?

Apparently the benefit of Traverse City being smaller than most major metropolitan areas is when you need to steal something you pick the same drugstore you stalked your victims. Gerry has assaulted the owner and taken more film. They walk through the drugstore one more time, she thinks of the apartment complexes on each side and tells Mulder as such as he once again puts money into the photo machine. She looks at him in curiosity, last time they went in this time he is letting it roll without them. HIs theory has developed and isn’t ready to share just yet, she knows he will explain in the car. She wants to get going, he tosses her the keys and she walks out into the bright sun.

She doesn’t remember much she remembers her foot hurting from the injection remembers the struggle as she tries to get her gun. She wakes strapped to a chair with Gerry in the dark corner as her eyes try to adjust to the light. Her arms taped down roughly the large sheetrock tool on the shiny metal table. She wants to plead in a responsible way. Gerry knows that this is the end, she can’t let him think that she will be part of his prize. She doesn’t remember much of her German important phrases and it takes her a few moments to come up with what to say to him. Especially since conversational german was the only class she ever got a B in. Luckily the words are there, as if her mind knows to channel the knowledge buried so deep. Gerry gets up to grab the camera, she sees her chance if she can get the tray she can cut her restraints and take him out. She needs to stall, she needs Mulder to have time to find her. She wants to give him time, She asks Gerry about his own Howlers about the trouble with his father. She channels Mulder and knows what brothers will do for sisters. Her own brother would do for her and Melissa. Gerry pulls the tray away and takes the camera to take her picture once more. She struggles with thinking that the photos she took with Mulder in that small cramped little booth won’t be the last ones he sees of her. He will see her on the floor of the padded room in a weird distorted photo that will filter into his dreams for years to come. But luck is on her side and she is able to convince Gerry to take a photo of himself. The camera flash is almost blinding, she knows he is sick she just needs to show him that this has always been about him and not anyone else. The photos come out in a small series of flashes, they wait for the polarization to show the image. She feels vindicated when they show him dead, show him his fate. That justice is finally with her. She just hopes it doesn’t plan on taking her with him. Gerry flips through the photos over and over. Questioning the images, like Mulder did. What do they mean? She hopes they mean that her life will be hers again, that she will be able to see the waves and shore once more. But Gerry thinks it’s about time, that his time is ending and he must hurry. Fear runs through her body a surge of adrenaline as she tugs and struggles against the restraints. She thinks about the time she almost drowned, how it felt struggling in the water, wondering why something so beautiful and peaceful would try to take her life. How she would gasp and flail her arms in sheer panic, like now as she hears Mulder calling her name. God Mulder please please prove that picture true and he does. Thank god he does. She feels him release her final bonds reach out his hand to take hers. She feels the storm calming inside of her, like Mulder is a life preserve her around her waist pulling her up against the tide. She walks out of the dark trailer, walks past the paramedics straight to the lakeshore. She takes off her heels, the prick of the injection still stings but the sand and the wind and the waves cradle her in their embrace. She takes a deep breath, lets the air of the misty water fill her lungs up. She takes a moment to look down at her feet in the sand and as she looks up she almost swears she sees Melissa in the distance dancing on a distant shore.

tagging @today-in-fic @gaycrouton @xfilesfanficexchange @improlificinsarcasm

#xfepisode2019 #mulder and scully #unruhe #s4 #fanfic #msr #angst #myfic #xfchallenge #so glad to be done #man I need a beer #this was a toughie #hope you like it Kasey!

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artelingua · 5 years

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'We have a once-in-century chance': Naomi Klein on how we can fight the climate crisis

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/sep/14/crisis-talk-green-new-deal-naomi-klein

On a Friday in mid-March, they streamed out of schools in little rivulets, burbling with excitement and defiance at an act of truancy. The little streams emptied on to grand avenues and boulevards, where they combined with other flows of chanting children and teens. Soon the rivulets were rushing rivers: 100,000 bodies in Milan, 40,000 in Paris, 150,000 in Montreal. Cardboard signs bobbed above the surf of humanity: THERE IS NO PLANET B! DON’T BURN OUR FUTURE. THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE!

There was no student strike in Mozambique; on 15 March the whole country was bracing for the impact of Cyclone Idai, one of the worst storms in Africa’s history, which drove people to take refuge at the tops of trees as the waters rose and would eventually kill more than 1,000 people. And then, just six weeks later, while it was still clearing the rubble, Mozambique would be hit by Cyclone Kenneth, yet another record-breaking storm.

Wherever in the world they live, this generation has something in common: they are the first for whom climate disruption on a planetary scale is not a future threat, but a lived reality. Oceans are warming 40% faster than the United Nations predicted five years ago. And a sweeping study on the state of the Arctic, published in April 2019 in Environmental Research Letters and led by the renowned glaciologist Jason Box, found that ice in various forms is melting so rapidly that the “Arctic biophysical system is now clearly trending away from its 20th-century state and into an unprecedented state, with implications not only within but also beyond the Arctic.” In May 2019, the United Nations’ Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services published a report about the startling loss of wildlife around the world, warning that a million species of animals and plants are at risk of extinction. “The health of ecosystems on which we and all other species depend is deteriorating more rapidly than ever,” said the chair, Robert Watson. “We are eroding the very foundations of economies, livelihoods, food security, health and quality of life worldwide. We have lost time. We must act now.”

It has been more than three decades since governments and scientists started officially meeting to discuss the need to lower greenhouse gas emissions to avoid the dangers of climate breakdown. In the intervening years, we have heard countless appeals for action that involve “the children,” “the grandchildren,” and “generations to come”. Yet global CO2 emissions have risen by more than 40%, and they continue to rise. The planet has warmed by about 1C since we began burning coal on an industrial scale and average temperatures are on track to rise by as much as four times that amount before the century is up; the last time there was this much CO2 in the atmosphere, humans didn’t exist.

As for those children and grandchildren and generations to come who were invoked so promiscuously? They are no longer mere rhetorical devices. They are now speaking (and screaming, and striking) for them selves. Unlike so many adults in positions of authority, they have not yet been trained to mask the unfathomable stakes of our moment in the language of bureaucracy and overcomplexity. They understand that they are fighting for the fundamental right to live full lives – lives in which they are not, as 13-year-old Alexandria Villaseñor puts it, “running from disasters”.

On that day in March 2019, organisers estimate there were nearly 2,100 youth climate strikes in 125 countries, with 1.6 million young people participating. That’s quite an achievement for a movement that began eight months earlier with a single teenager deciding to go on strike from school in Stockholm, Sweden: Greta Thunberg.

The wave of youth mobilisation that burst on to the scene in March 2019 is not just the result of one girl and her unique way of seeing the world, extraordinary though she is. Thunberg is quick to note that she was inspired by another group of teenagers who rose up against a different kind of failure to protect their futures: the students in Parkland, Florida, who led a national wave of class walkouts demanding tough controls on gun ownership after 17 people were murdered at their school in February 2018.

Nor is Thunberg the first person with tremendous moral clarity to yell “Fire!” in the face of the climate crisis. Such voices have emerged multiple times over the past several decades; indeed, it is something of a ritual at the annual UN summits on climate change. But perhaps because these earlier voices belonged to people from the Philippines, the Marshall Islands and South Sudan, those clarion calls were one-day stories, if that. Thunberg is also quick to point out that the climate strikes themselves were the work of thousands of diverse student leaders, their teachers and supporting organisations, many of whom had been raising the climate alarm for years.

As a manifesto put out by British climate strikers put it: “Greta Thunberg may have been the spark, but we’re the wildfire.”

For a decade and half, ever since reporting from New Orleans with water up to my waist after Hurricane Katrina, I have been trying to figure out what is interfering with humanity’s basic survival instinct – why so many of us aren’t acting as if our house is on fire when it so clearly is. I have written books, made films, delivered countless talks and co-founded an organisation (The Leap) devoted, in one way or another, to exploring this question and trying to help align our collective response to the scale of the climate crisis.

It was clear to me from the start that the dominant theories about how we had landed on this knife edge were entirely insufficient. We were failing to act, it was said, because politicians were trapped in short-term electoral cycles, or because climate change seemed too far off, or because stopping it was too expensive, or because the clean technologies weren’t there yet. There was some truth in all the explanations, but they were also becoming markedly less true over time. The crisis wasn’t far off; it was banging down our doors. The price of solar panels has plummeted and now rivals that of fossil fuels. Clean tech and renewables create far more jobs than coal, oil, and gas. As for the supposedly prohibitive costs, trillions have been marshalled for endless wars, bank bailouts and subsidies for fossil fuels, in the same years that coffers have been virtually empty for climate transition. There had to be more to it.

Which is why, over the years, I have set out to probe a different set of barriers – some economic, some ideological, but others related to the deep stories about the right of certain people to dominate land and the people living closest to it, stories that underpin contemporary western culture. And I have investigated the kinds of responses that might succeed in toppling those narratives, ideologies and economic interests, responses that weave seemingly disparate crises (economic, social, ecological and democratic) into a common story of civilisational transformation. Today, this sort of bold vision increasingly goes under the banner of a Green New Deal.

Because, as deep as our crisis runs, something equally deep is also shifting, and with a speed that startles me. Social movements rising up to declare, from below, a people’s emergency. In addition to the wildfire of student strikes, we have seen the rise of Extinction Rebellion, which kicked off a wave of non-violent direct action and civil disobedience, including a mass shutdown of large parts of central London. Within days of its most dramatic actions in April 2019, Wales and Scotland both declared a state of “climate emergency,” and the British parliament, under pressure from opposition parties, quickly followed suit.

Humanity has a once-in-a-century chance to fix an economic model that is failing the majority of people on multiple fronts

In the US, we have seen the meteoric rise of the Sunrise Movement, which burst on to the political stage when it occupied the office of Nancy Pelosi, the most powerful Democrat in Washington, DC, one week after her party had won back the House of Representatives in the 2018 midterm elections. They called on Congress to immediately adopt a rapid decarbonisation framework, one as ambitious in speed and scope as Franklin D Roosevelt’s New Deal, the sweeping package of policies designed to battle the poverty of the Great Depression and the ecological collapse of the Dust Bowl.

The idea behind the Green New Deal is a simple one: in the process of transforming the infrastructure of our societies at the speed and scale that scientists have called for, humanity has a once-in-a-century chance to fix an economic model that is failing the majority of people on multiple fronts. Because the factors that are destroying our planet are also destroying people’s lives in many other ways, from wage stagnation to gaping inequalities to crumbling services to surging white supremacy to the collapse of our information ecology. Challenging underlying forces is an opportunity to solve several interlocking crises at once.

In tackling the climate crisis, we can create hundreds of millions of goods jobs around the world, invest in the most systematically excluded communities and nations, guarantee healthcare and childcare, and much more. The result of these transformations would be economies built both to protect and to regenerate the planet’s life support systems and to respect and sustain the people who depend on them.

This vision is not new; its origins can be traced to social movements in ecologically ravaged parts of Ecuador and Nigeria, as well as to highly polluted communities of colour in the United States. What is new is that there is now a bloc of politicians in the US, Europe, and elsewhere, some just a decade older than the young climate activists in the streets, ready to translate the urgency of the climate crisis into policy, and to connect the dots among the multiple crises of our times. Most prominent among this new political breed is Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who, at 29, became the youngest woman ever elected to the US Congress. Introducing a Green New Deal was part of the platform she ran on. Today, with the race to lead the Democratic party in full swing, a majority of leading presidential hopefuls claim to support it, including Bernie Sanders, Elizabeth Warren, Kamala Harris and Cory Booker. It had been endorsed, meanwhile, by 105 members of the House and Senate.

The idea is spreading around the world, with the political coalition European Spring launching a green new deal for Europe in January 2019 and a broad green new deal coalition of organisations in Canada coming together (the leader of the New Democratic party has adopted the frame, if not its full ambition, as one of his policy planks). The same is true in the UK, where the Labour party is in the middle of negotiations over whether to adopt a green new deal‑style platform.

Those of us who advocate for this kind of transformative platform are sometimes accused of using it to advance a socialist or anticapitalist agenda that predates our focus on the climate crisis. My response is a simple one. For my entire adult life, I have been involved in movements confronting the myriad ways that our current economic systems grinds up people’s lives and landscapes in the ruthless pursuit of profit. No Logo, published 20 years ago, documented the human and ecological costs of corporate globalisation, from the sweatshops of Indonesia to the oil fields of the Niger Delta. I have seen teenage girls treated like machines to make our machines, and mountains and forests turned to trash heaps to get at the oil, coal and metals beneath.

The painful, even lethal, impacts of these practices were impossible to deny; it was simply argued that they were the necessary costs of a system that was creating so much wealth that the benefits would eventually trickle down to improve the lives of nearly everyone on the planet. What has happened instead is that the indifference to life that was expressed in the exploitation of individual workers on factory floors and in the decimation of individual mountains and rivers has instead trickled up to swallow our entire planet, turning fertile lands into salt flats, beautiful islands into rubble, and draining once vibrant reefs of their life and colour.

I freely admit that I do not see the climate crisis as separable from the more localised market-generated crises that I have documented over the years; what is different is the scale and scope of the tragedy, with humanity’s one and only home now hanging in the balance. I have always had a tremendous sense of urgency about the need to shift to a dramatically more humane economic model. But there is a different quality to that urgency now because it just so happens that we are all alive at the last possible moment when changing course can mean saving lives on a truly unimaginable scale.

#naomi klein #green new deal #reposted the whole extract because IMPORTANT #climate crisis #my emphasis #important

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ninja-scenarios · 6 years

Text

SEA - Orochimaru x reader

You can also find this story on my AO3 :) Was inspired by poison and wine from Blackkat

Warning: character death

Supporting your head lazily with one hand, you wait for the teacher to hand back your test. Her round belly makes it hard to pass through the rows of desks until she merely stops before you, the sheet of paper raining down before your eyes, followed by a harsh remark.

You´ve hated this town ever since your parents moved here. This town, which was more of a prison than an escape from the busy city life, this town where rural stupidity was standard, this town where there was absolutely nothing adventurous or magical to see or explore.

The paper crumpled under your fingers as your angry steps echoed in the hallways. It hadn´t even been the end of class yet, but your disappointment couldn´t wait. Where did you want to go? Every side of town was the same; old, reclusive idiots wherever you looked.

You find yourself stomping towards the old bay and down the landing stage, sliding your school bag from your shoulders and fishing for the cluster of tests you wrote this year. Before you even know it, you throw them out on the sea, on after another. The surface is still, your name written in sharp red letters blurs while the colour mixes with the water. The tests swim on the surface like little paper boats made for small elves who take on a trip to cross the sea that might seem like an ocean from their perspective. For some reason the image gives you peace and you sigh before you sit down, the tips of your shoes dipping into the ice cold water.

For a moment you close your eyes, thinking of a life without this stupid school, without this stupid town. Then you take your bag and leave.

° <>< ~°~ ><> °

Next week you find yourself back at the bay, letting the next test get swallowed by the sea. You sit down and take a moment to breathe while the tips of your shoes dangle in the water. That is until you look next to you and find a stack of paper neatly organized and held in place with a stone. Raising an eyebrow, you gather them up and almost gasp in shock as they turn out to be the tests you dumped into the water last week. How and who…?

“Stop fouling my sea.”

There´s something very firm and damp gripping your ankle and before you can even take time to gasp, the force is pulling you downwards. From one second to another you are submerged. The ice cold water surrounds you and drags on your clothes. Through the greenish and darkish water of the sea you try to make out something, probably the cause for your quick dive. The rays of light partly break into the water and reflect on the surface. It´s as if light and water play with each other, tangling together and yet unable to mix. The shock of the coldness has you frozen, unable to rise despite your instinctive movements on saving your life concerning the little air that is left in your lungs.

Every thought in your mind is washed away and you close your eyes. The pressure of the sea is calming and inviting, its coldness almost kind of soothing as you feel yourself sink.

That is until you feel the tight force once more gripping your wrist. And this time you´re sure it´s a hand. In the next seconds you find yourself above the surface, gasping for air and spluttering. Your mind is focused on an attempt on not letting you suffocate, while you are halfway pushed onto the landing stage. You struggle to breathe, eyes wide in shock and body shivering from the coldness.

Your eyes fall on something dark in the water. Following long, drenched curls over milky white shoulders, there´s a head sticking out of the soft waves. One by one, you drink in everything you see. Golden, elegant longish eyes that glare at you, white, wet, sleek skin that holds a purple shimmer, pale lips. It´s hard to avert your gaze.

For a second there´s only silence while your brain tries to process. Then you find your attitude. No matter how beautiful this strange creature might be, this punk just pushed you into the sea and almost made you drown!

“Well, you´re one ugly fish.” Your voice is still hoarse and you can see how the other one raises an eyebrow, smirking at your half-hearted insult. Doing so, you´re able to see a pair of fangs and you shudder as you´re struck in awe once more.

“Are….are you a mermaid?”

The other person´s expression darkens. „I am not. “ He hisses. The deep and sensual voice startles you.

“Why did you collect all my tests?”

“As I said, they are fouling my sea. Don´t just dispose of them here, kid.” His head turns and he obviously wants to swim away.

“Hey, wait!”

He looks back over his shoulder, stern eyes seemingly uninterested in anything you have to say. The next words sound kind of silent.

“Why did you save me?”

With a small sigh he turns back around and you find yourself frozen to the place as you take in both of his mesmerizing eyes.

“I can´t use a corpse right now, girl. I didn´t intend to reveal myself to you but I guess I had no choice. Now go home.”

You want to continue the conversation but he just swims away. “Oh, and make sure to do better on your tests next time.”

° <>< ~°~ ><> °

It has been one week since you met the merman at the bay. Since then he hasn´t left your mind for a minute. The mesmerizing creature has been comfortable nesting in your mind, crossing your thoughts at every possible occasion. Sometimes, you thought about going down to the bay but your sudden shyness keeps you back. What would you say? Would he even like to see you again? The more you think about him the more you grow desperate as you realize that your heart suffers.

After school you finally decide to pay the merman a second visit, bag full of small doodles you made of him. Only a few metres away, the doubts begin to rise once more and you halt your steps. That is until notice a man in work clothes rolling a barrel in the same direction. He gets seemingly nervous at your presence and picks up his pace. “Hey! Don´t dump that into the sea, are you stupid?” The worker jerks at your voice and gets a hold of the barrel. “E-erm, no. I just... took the wrong direction.” Hurriedly he leaves without another word. You frown and let your gaze drift over the sea. There´s only one fabric in this town, they hopefully wouldn´t use this as their chemical disposal.

Quickly you remember the reason for your coming and your thoughts drift again to the beautiful merman as you sit down close to the water. You almost let out a shriek as you suddenly find him next to you, casually leaning his upper body onto land.

“Y-you startled me!” While you calm down your nerves, there´s something in the merman´s eyes that hadn´t been there at your last encounter.

“I didn´t mean to. I merely wanted to thank you for taking action.” His eyes carry the significance of his words and you nod softly. Having this wonderful creature thank you sparks up a great opportunity of conversation – don´t matter if this was his intention or not.

“No big deal.” You say, a toothy grin on your lips as you lean back slightly. “By the way, my name is ____.”

“Orochimaru. It´s my pleasure.” For some reason his fangs flash while he introduces himself and you wonder if he would actually be able to chop you into fish food. His appearance holds something wild and dangerous, something untamed and powerful. No matter his attractiveness, his sly eyes don´t betray if he wants you to indeed receive his thankfulness or if he plans on luring you in like the bad wolf in the woods. You are so ordinary compared to him. How could you not fall in love?

° <>< ~°~ ><> °

You pay him a visit now every day at the small valley in the woods. Sometimes you come just to talk, sometimes you take a swim. Having Orochimaru close puts you at ease. His voice makes your heart dance, his smile makes you blush and his trust is a present you keep dearly. With each day he feels warmer and you can´t help but admit that you´ve fallen in love.

Today you wake up from the sound of a bird picking against your window. When you open it, the bird lays a shell into your hand. It´s one of those which you only find at the very bottom of the ocean.

After school you immediately go to the small valley by the sea. Orochimaru doesn´t let you wait long. You greet him with a smile and take off your jacket, showing off the shell that now dangles from a necklace.

“I see you received my present.” His words are warm and his muscles deliciously tense as he leans his upper body on land.

“I like it a lot. Thank you.” For a moment you´re mesmerized by his dripping hair that falls in endless length over his shoulder.

“Would it actually be possible for me to breathe underwater just like you?”

You asked him a lot of questions before, almost like an oracle. Why does he care so much about the sea? Because whatever condition it might be in, it´s the merman’s destiny to be struck with the same. He has lived many years like that, almost 320, to be precise, but as the sea is in good shape, he will keep being ageless and live and protect the sea and the organisms living inside of it.

However, Orochimaru´s eyes change at your question and he thinks for a minute before he speaks.

“There is indeed. I would have to kiss you.”

Your gaze is able to tell more than words can and so he leans in with a smile and kisses your lips. You close your eyes while your cheeks start burning. His lips are still wet from the water but they spread warmth throughout your body, while you try to cool your fingertips in his hair. Slowly, he leans backwards, and both of you slide into the water.

It´s different this time. It´s like the melody of the sea has been translated. You gained the knowledge of a book you never read before as your lungs start filtering the water. They begin to feel full but there´s no such thing as drowning. Everything feels like it happens through a thin curtain. It´s tangible, but later on you would need to ask yourself if it really happened.

When he eventually pulls back, you can see how you sink into the depths of the sea, intertwined in a hug. It´s not the only thing the kiss has made possible. While you lean in for a more passionate kiss, Orochimaru brings you in closer.

The next morning wakes you up by warm rays on sunshine touching your face. Arms keep you firmly in a hug from behind and you trace them with the tips of your fingers. Every touch of his skin feels like a dream, like the light brush of a leaf. It´s unreal yet wonderful. Black scales tickle your leg as you stir. Unlike most merman, Orochimaru´s tail looks more snake-like. The problem of how to get him in his sea-form out of bed is solved by a kiss, followed by further amendment.

A gift for a gift, a heart for a heart.

°oOo°

You followed the happy chirping as you paced through the woods. It was rather warm so you had left your jacket at home, joyfully awaiting to see him again. Your heart raced in your chest as you came to a chemically polluted pond. Your vision got blurry as your eyes fell on stray black scales in the mud.

#fanfiction #orochi #naruto #orochimaru #oro #orochimaru x reader #orochimaru fanfiction #merman #merman fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #orochimaru love story #one shot #naruto one shot #orochimaru one shot #tw character death #tw death #character death

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eleventoes · 7 years

Text

the storm in the distance | oneshot

❮ a oneshot from the all you’d never see series ❯

pairing: seokjin x siren!reader | fluff & angst word count: 7k ♪: i love you boy - suzy warning(s): mentions of blood & death synopsis:

Sirens were infamous for their dulcet voices, enticing in all its honeyed tones, laced with the intent of beguiling innocents into the treacherous waters; for no reason in particular, other than the cruelty and mischief that had seized their hearts ever since the beginning of time.

Only, your exception came in the form of Kim Seokjin, and suddenly you couldn’t keep yourself away.

***

Sirens were beautiful creatures, of course they were; seemingly ethereal with orbs that reflect the depths of the sea, and smiles that were undoubtedly stunning, yet wickedly so, because the most charming of appearances ensconced the emptiest of hearts.

Perhaps in that sense, you would be considered a defect of sorts; a sore thumb that stuck out in the flawlessness that was nature itself.

Because for a siren who was supposedly emotionally detached from something as disgustingly human as love, you were all too enraptured by the boy by the shore.

Kim Seokjin.

You had managed to make out his name in all the times you’ve kept watch on his silhouette from your usual spot near the reefs, in what the humans on land would have called ‘stalking’, and what fellow sirens would have termed ‘staking out prey’. Sirens rarely needed to talk, especially in human language, so it was no surprise his name tasted strange on your unused tongue; but you liked it anyway. There were many things you liked about Kim Seokjin, of which the most prominent was his compassion.

Funny really, that you would adore his compassion out of all things considered, when it was the very thing that had failed to embed itself into your system.

The very first time you encountered the human, you had been anything but alluring; quite the opposite, with grotesque cuts running down the entirety of your arms, carmine spilling relentlessly from every gash. It had been the fishermen, as usual, and you had been unfortunate to have been caught up in their stupid little endeavors; though you hadn’t been alone. The other sirens caught along with you managed to maneuver their way out by stalling your own escape. Not that you could blame them, or think anything much of it, because you were lone creatures, and survival was a primal instinct.

So much of a primal instinct, in fact, that you had resorted to your tune in order to get those pests off your back, earning yourself all those lacerations as some sort of battle scar in your haste to clamber out of the mess of metal wiring and steel hooks. The end result was landing yourself in a tiny cave offshore some equally tiny island, breath ragged and body sore.

That was the cause, and the immediate effect was a boy, no older than eighteen human years, walking in on your vulnerable state, eyes wide and mouth wider.

“Wha—”

He continued flitting back between your iridescent tail, marred by the scarlet abrasions, and your angelic features, though you were sure your scowl was far from pleasing to the eye.

If it had been any other time, you would have laughed humorlessly at his pure bewilderment, but you were in potential danger, what with being injured and being partially on land, an area you were no expert in.

Irritatingly enough, you felt his curious gaze softening at your helplessness, and you readily despised the sympathy so clearly laden in his hazel irises.

At your impatient huff, he wastes no time in coming up with a response, flashing you what appears to be a reassuring smile, “You don’t have to be afraid, I won’t hurt you.”

You want to retort that he should be the one fearing for his life instead, but you bite it back, mostly because you realize you were far from mastering the human language and had no means of verbally expressing your hostility. The boy stills, awaiting your response, but you weren’t going to give it to him, and you didn’t know how either.

So he disappears.

But only momentarily, much to your chagrin, because seconds later he returns with some fabric and an odd-looking box. Upon noticing your apparent confusion, his almond eyes crinkle into pretty half-crescents, and you hear a mellifluous tinkle resonate all around the empty cave. No, your heart hadn’t thawed just from that; the sea was far too cold.

“Careful, this is going to hurt just a little,” He says, unwinding the gigantic roll of fabric and peering worriedly at your wounds, a small pout atop his plush lips.

And well, he fucking lied, because it hurt more than just a little.

Searing pain stung everywhere, leaving what felt like the hottest of embers setting your clammy skin ablaze in its wake. The striking crimson was slowly fading to a dusty red, before washing off entirely as he worked tirelessly, and soon you were left staring at the multitude of pink and raw open lacerations, your bottom lip almost mangled as you clamped down hard, trying to ease your discomfort. You hadn’t noticed, but your nails had been digging into his forearm hard enough to kill, eliciting a chuckle from the weird dude who had taken it upon himself to dress your cuts.

“How did you even get yourself hurt this badly?” He was asking more out of curiosity than anything, or perhaps he was just trying to fill the void that was the silence resonating in the hollow cave with some semblance of conversation. You take one look at his soft gaze before looking away, lips pursed and the beginnings of tears pooling at your lashline.

All the fear that had been masked by the surge of adrenaline moments prior was catching up to you at that instant, not to mention the sheer pain that was magnified by the lasting traces of seawater glistening on your skin. As much as you hated crying, you couldn’t help but let slip a couple of tears, though it was difficult to discern them from the remainders of seawater staining your cheeks.

“You’re fine now,” Smiling up at you with those innocent human eyes that were without the weight of a million sins, the man looks on proudly at how cleanly he had bandaged you up, and you belatedly realize how ethereal he actually was. Good looks aside (you had seen enough of pretty faces; you were a siren after all), he glowed with a radiance so unadulterated and blinding, the light smile pulling at his lips tugging at your heart, if you had one.

He wasn’t lying; the pain had reduced to a slight throb, and you no longer stunk of the telltale smell of blood. Gratitude was in order, though it wasn’t something you were familiar with.

But even then, your quick whisper ‘thank you’ would not have sufficed for the kindness in the way he had carried you in his arms, tenderly setting you down properly by the shore so that you wouldn’t have a difficult time getting back to the water. That side of the shore was thankfully deserted, and you let your wariness of the man slip out from your mind, instead choosing to let the dim rays of the sun at dusk sink in, watching fascinatedly as the ocean and the pinkish hues assimilated into one in his eyes.

It was then when you had gotten an inkling of that damning feeling—hope.

You had hoped to see him again.

***

Serendipity, providence, happenstance; however those humans liked to call it, were a myth. A myth because opportunity doesn’t come until you seize it, and even then, the choice to embrace it was yours and yours alone.

The second time you see him was far from coincidence; you had sought him out on your own.

A few months have passed since then, but none of that made a difference to you. Life underwater was dark, the light trapped only on the surface, and the ocean was endless; you could have swam all the way over to the Pacific and it would be like time never passed, because everything seemed so still down below.

“Hey,” Calling out daringly, you lingered next to some reefs at the shore where you first met, tail suspended in midair. You may or may not have spent the past few months gathering intellect on the human language, familiarizing yourself with the peculiar sounding vowels and consonants and everything in between. The words still tasted more than a little foreign on your tongue, but sirens had heightened abilities, one of which included being a fast learner.

“Hey to you too,” The boy, whose name you had overheard as Seokjin, responded readily as he jogged over to the shoreline, and you briefly wonder how he could be as fearless as he was. Any other sane human being would have been running for the hills by now, either that or they would have been pulling obstinately at your tail, insisting that it must be a costume or a getup of some sort.

He was donning a pale blue chiffon shirt, the loose fabric draping over his shoulders and the color complementary to the deep blue of the sea. The same smile was sitting pleasantly on his face, and your heart thumped a little louder than the usual, which was a strange phenomenon in itself, but you try not to let it get to you.

“Do you live around here?” You asked, voice easily carried by the breeze. It would be strange if he didn’t, with how much he came by the sea.

“I’ve lived here my entire life,” He nodded, gesturing to the row of beach houses lining the edges of the beach, before cocking his head to the side, “Though I can’t say I’ve seen you around before.”

“You don’t see my kind around often.”

His hair was falling into his eyes with how angled his head was toward yours, the inky strands looking as soft as velvet, “Are you a mermaid?”

“Something like that,” You decide that that was as much as you could give away, flicking up your tail and making droplets rain down on him in succession.

That much was able to leave him in awe, and you catch a twinkle in his orbs as he blurts out a single ‘pretty’. The simplicity of it all had you laughing, and even that left him spellbound.

“Pretty? My tail?” The question departs from your lips in between the bouts of laughter, your tone a little mocking. Your tail was anything but, in fact, you would love for nothing but for it to be replaced by a pair of beautiful legs. Your tail may appear to be unreal; what with being laden with scales that glinted in the light and with luster that looked to be like fairy dust, but it was the very thing that cruelly bound you to the wide expanse of the sea, no matter how desolate and cold you felt every time you went back to the one place essential for your survival.

“I meant you,” Seokjin says simply, dipping his feet into the translucent waves brushing his toes.

Sirens do not blush often, since blood doesn’t circulate very well when you were sixteen feet under an infinite volume of water, so the sensation was new to you, though not entirely unwelcomed. The red was spreading warmth across your cheeks, and you suddenly felt a strong inclination to shower the poor guy with more seawater, so you do exactly that, swishing your tail (your weapon of choice) back and forth in some form of odd and misplaced retaliation.

He didn’t seem to mind, only going further deeper into the water and entertaining your relentless (but harmless) attacks, joking, “I feel like we’re too much of strangers to be having a water fight.”

You smile at that, and you supposed there wouldn’t be many consequences if you were to give him your name, “I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Seokjin.”

“I know,” You don’t give any further explanation, instead starting a slow hum under your breath.

It was standard procedure; the basics of being a siren and a creature of the sea: entice the human, and lure them to the depths of their demise.

Yet discomfort was settling in the pits of your stomach, working its way up to the point where you could throw up. Your fingers were numbing, your heart was sinking, and you were sad. Disgusted with yourself, even.

Seokjin doesn’t seem to register your presence any longer, the focus in his pupils gone as he stares dazedly at the horizon, steps steady as he inches even further into the waters that would eventually claim his life and pull him under. Your notes were resounding clearly in the quietude of the beach, and with every breath you took, he sank down further.

The pale blue he was wearing had darkened to an unrecognizable ultramarine, the weight of his clothes making him descend much faster. He was no longer smiling, only looking blankly onwards.

Horrified at how utterly lifeless he was already starting to look, you cease your song immediately, and before you knew what you were doing, your fingers were clasped around his arms, yanking him back towards the safety of the shore.

You were frantic by now, pulse ringing loudly in your ears and skin prickly with trepidation, “Listen to me, please.”

His features were regaining its brilliant color, the life seeping carefully back into his eyes, but he looks visibly shaken, not that it was surprising.

“You can’t ever listen to my song,” Pleadingly, you clutch at his sleeve, “If you ever hear me sing, run away, as far as you can.”

Stupefied, he staggers back, eyebrows drawn in confusion, yet he doesn’t shy away from your touch, “What happens if I listen?”

This time, you look him dead in the eye, “You’d die.”

He got the message loud and clear, but you don’t stay for his reaction, disappearing into the frothy waves with a flip of your tail, wondering if he would come to forget.

You knew for sure that his memories would not vanish overnight, and that made it all the more painful, because you’d fade away eventually, slowly but surely.

***

“Try it.”

“It looks weird.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” The infuriating man supplies, the unknown food item clutched delicately between his two forefingers, all brown and gross-looking, kind of like those sea slugs attached to the seabed, “You’ll love it, I promise.”

“Your promise doesn’t mean anything,” Rolling your eyes, you lean further into your favorite rock, the one with the least jagged edges jabbing into your scales, reclining as far as humanely possible from whatever Seokjin was trying to feed you.

“Aw come on, you don’t give me enough credit,” He protests, a frown embedded upon his handsome features, “I’ve never broken a promise, especially not one to you.”

As begrudging as you were to admit it, that much was more or less true. He always made sure to keep to his word, even if it involved lugging an entire keyboard to the shore just so you could listen to his playing (due to him losing a bet you shall not go into); and that was already more than what could be said for most humans.

“Fine—”

And the sea slug lookalike was melting on your tongue before you could smack Seokjin’s hand away with your tail, its taste saccharine and bitter all at once. It took a couple of seconds before you could make sense of the explosion on your taste buds, but it took slightly less than that for you to realize that whatever you had just eaten was the equivalent of God’s gift to man.

For a good minute, you stare shell-shocked at the smug grin of the man before you, “What was that?”

“What? That weird-looking thing?” Seokjin’s triumphant grin can’t seem to wipe itself off of his stupid face, and butterflies or not, you had to physically restrain yourself from hurling a goddamned clam at him.

“Yes,” You scowl, “That.”

“It’s chocolate,” He replies plainly, finally plopping himself down on the rock next to yours, before skillfully unwrapping a whole bunch of silvery foil from that tiny rectangular box in his hands, “I told you we have decent things on land.”

His words only resound hazily in your clouded head, your attention instead fixated on the little brown squares of ambrosia in that pink box of his, and he soon catches on, laughing as he hands the entire stash of it over with a playful grin. Hesitantly, you lock the chocolate between your fingers the way you had seen him do it, fiddling with it for a bit then realizing that it was going to dissipate into sea foam if you didn’t hurry up.

“It’s a shame,” Voice wistful, you glance up at Seokjin through a veil of lashes, a few droplets still caught on them, “It’ll be nice to see everything else you have on land.”

“Wouldn’t it?” He muses back, thoughtful and suddenly contemplative.

“Those bed things you always talk about—”

“They’re a lot more comfortable than these rocks or any of your reefs, that’s for sure—”

“Oh, please, you don’t know comfort unless you’ve napped with a dolphin—”

“Well, you don’t know comfort unless you’ve napped with me.”

You almost spit out the little brown squares at that, and Seokjin wasn’t completely unaffected either, his ears colored a bright vermillion at its tips. There and then, you decided that he was way more dangerous than you had initially pegged him to be; and your thunderous heart was a testament to that.

“And you always talk about those things you see on that flat thing with colors,” Clearing your throat, you add, in a valiant attempt to spark conversation again.

“The TV?”

“Yeah, that,” Now you were busying yourself with adverting your gaze to land on anywhere but him and his honey gaze.

A slight pause ensues, and you peek back up at him, only to have him smiling that smile again, the smile that made it look as if there was no one else he’d ever look at in the entire world but you.

The same smile that made you feel human, if only for a fleeting moment.

“What if I take you?”

Whenever Seokjin got excited, he forgets everything else, and you snort. He probably forgot you had a tail, of all things he could have forgotten. He may be a top human at that thing they call a school, but even this would prove to be reasonably challenging for him to pull off.

“You can’t.”

“Who said I couldn’t?”

There it was, again, the same glint he had in those hazel irises of his, the very one he had a week ago when he decided going snorkeling with you would be a bright idea.

“Oh no.” Was all that could leave your lips before you were cleanly lifted in one smooth sweep, and he was holding in a chuckle as he sprinted across the deserted shore, with you still in his arms. Too stunned to even shriek like you were dying to, you only try to commit all these images and feelings to memory—the flecks of sand flying up with every step he took, the intoxicating smell of the sea fading into the distance, and the unimaginable felicity you held in your heart in that instant.

“Kim Seokjin,” Once you had the mind to start screaming with the pitch you had been gifted with from birth, you made your apprehension very much known, “Slow down! If you fall flat on your face, I’m the one going down first.”

If he responded, you couldn’t have heard him over the roaring wind in your ears and in your hair even if you tried. It vaguely occurred to you that you were now fully vulnerable, that this may as well be some lame scheme to abduct you and sell you to any of those devious humans sirens always whisper about, or that he could leave you on shore to eventually perish. You were all too aware of the many possibilities, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

Not now, at least.

“Trust me,” He says, leaning down to make himself heard.

So you did.

***

“I trusted you!”

That was it, that was as menacing as you could have tried to sound, because Kim Seokjin had the stupidest looking puppy eyes, and he knew it, which annoyed you to no end.

The widest glass doors trailed from the high ceiling all the way down to the floor, accompanied by stark white blinds and giving way to an ocean view that was nothing short of utterly gorgeous. Everything else looked to be neatly in place, the room spacious and roomy with simplistic and beach-themed furniture, like the cushioned tweed couch you had been set down on a couple of minutes ago. Yes, the place was a picture to behold, looking as if it came out from those magazines you see on the see-through coffee table you had your tail propped up on.

But the state of the house was the least of your worries, no, you had a whole mountain of things to be worried about, because for one, you were sitting on a couch.

And cushy sofas and confused sirens don’t make the best of pairs.

“Make yourself at home,” Seokjin calls out, sounding a little far away, “I’ll get you coffee, tea, and some hot chocolate. Let me know which of those you like best after you’ve tried them all.”

Funnily enough, your hair was still dripping wet, and the same could be said for your tail; you were a fish out of water, and quite literally too. Seokjin was long out of sight, probably in the kitchen place you’ve heard him gush about a million times. The buttons protruding from the rectangular disk next to your tail looked to be interesting enough, so you flip your fin a little nonchalantly, prodding at the gigantic red button curiously, then quickly retracting when the screen before you comes to life.

After which you do what sirens do best (aside from luring people to their deaths): you scream. Again.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

The stricken expression on his face did nothing to calm you down, though you do appreciate the speed at which he came running after you had hollered for help, evident in his mussed up strands.

“The guy was,” Your voice was quiet, “About to attack me.”

“A guy?”

“Him. That bastard,” You lift a trembling finger, pupils wavering.

That guy on the wall was talking again, and you reflexively shrink back into the cushions, curling into a ball.

“That’s, uh, the TV.”

The squawking of the same guy was all that’s left in the background, and you only stare mortified at the wooden floor, croaking out a feeble ‘oh’.

“Were you startled?” Seokjin’s face had taken up all the space that’s allowed in your peripheral vision with how close he was, his huge eyes locking with your own, but that wasn’t all that terrified you; the tenderness in the way he spoke had played a major role all by itself.

“I’m, uh, fine,” You lied, “Just slightly surprised.”

“Good,” His voice had taken on a halcyon undertone, before he completely loses it, dissolving into masses of adorably pitched laughter, tears even emerging faster than you could say ‘burgundy’. Scowling, you smother him (lightly, of course) with a stray pillow (of a man with a moustache and the oddest hat), tamping down the corners of your lips that were curling up involuntarily.

The asshole couldn’t even breathe with all that laughing.

A good half hour later (Seokjin had taught you how to read the time not long after your first encounter, but it wasn’t as if you had a watch), you were spent from relentlessly attacking him with all the peculiar pillows lying around, but as always, a grin was hanging delightfully on your lips, without intention of vanishing anytime soon.

And if there’s one new thing you learnt about Kim Seokjin, it was that the physics of time and all it entailed simply does not apply to him as it does others, because the minutes seemed to whiz by scarily fast as long as he was around, even if you were only watching grass grow.

The rest of the (unfairly short-lived) day flew by, with you rolling all around in his bed, wet tail and hair be damned, because that thing was taking comfort to the next level, and frankly, you were almost set on staying in that fort of blankets and lavender-scented duvets for the rest of your years. That came to a screeching halt after being met with Seokjin’s shit-eating I-Told-You-So smirk, to which you had hurriedly scrambled off what you would affectionately term as mankind’s greatest invention to date, not remembering that you were a siren before tumbling ungracefully to his hardwood floor.

You had also discovered that unbeknownst to you, he did have friends aside from you (shocker), and you had found out the hard way.

“Hyung! You’re home? I ordered pizza!” Came the unfamiliar call of a kind-looking human by the name of Park Jimin, accompanied by the gruff entrance of a mint-haired man Seokjin referred to as Yoongi, right as you had just sunk down into the mushy couch, chips in hand and remote control in the other, just about ready to channel hop.

Seokjin.exe had crashed for all of three seconds before reviving, and you had never seen a man move as swiftly as he did when the two of you first heard the front door clicking right open.

“You didn’t say you were coming over,” Panicked, he yelled by means of stalling, gathering you up in his arms for the millionth time in the same day (not great for your heart, but you didn’t think it would be apt for you to declare that as of now) and bounding up the stairs, yet still taking extra care not to hit your tail on the railings lining the steps.

He somehow landed the both of you in the bathroom, treading right into a ceramic tub all whilst still clutching you tightly to his chest. Fingers agile, he drew the shower curtains resolutely, effectively shielding the both of you from plain view; a good thing too, because that Park guy was spilling into the bathroom a beat later, mostly due to Seokjin not having enough time to close the door behind him when he first entered.

"My bad, were you taking a bath?" Park Jimin enquiries, confusion lacing his tone, "I could have sworn I heard you downstairs."

Your heart goes into overdrive, uncertain of whether it should be stilling for fear of being outed by a stranger, or pounding obnoxiously because of your precarious position, huddled together in a tub with none other than Seokjin himself.

His arms were still firmly secured around your waist, and you supposed he was fairly nervous himself, though you couldn't pinpoint the exact cause. He hugged you closer regardless, before tossing out some excuse to fend off his friend.

But Park Jimin wasn't one to give up this easily.

"Is everything okay?" If you leaned back far enough, you could catch a glimpse of his blonde hair bobbing near the sink, and his voice echoed faintly around the bathroom, "I saw water everywhere on the way up."

Breath hitching, you bite down hard on your lower lip to keep from making any sort of noise that could alert Jimin to your presence. Sensing your unease, Seokjin starts rubbing circles on your waist with the soft pad of his thumb, his voice even and steady, even to you, "Yeah, everything's fine. I went to the ocean for a bit, so maybe that's why."

Park Jimin seemed to be satisfied with the somewhat feasible explanation, and had retreated back downstairs with a pleasant smile (and with promise of pizza).

Needless to say, you didn't quite have a fun time sneaking out the house with Seokjin later that evening (you were still a siren after all, and you needed the water like he needed air), but it was worth it all the same.

He was worth it.

***

No one knew how sirens came to exist. Some say they were all shells carrying the souls of those who had sinned greatly while human, and had been damned to the deep blue waters, devoid of humanity just as they had been before. They’d roam the sea with the sole purpose of claiming the lives of innocents, and would never be able to love nor forge ties; any knowledge of their existence ephemeral.

Because no human would ever remember, and they couldn’t possibly love if they wouldn’t remember.

For that reason alone, you were pertinacious in your daily meetings with Seokjin, and obsessively so; because it was dark, it was cold, and it was just so unbearably lonely.

“Jinnie,” His name was no longer unfamiliar, and your struggles with the human language were long gone; there were perks of being a siren at times, “You’re late.”

“It was an accident, I swear,” Seokjin joins you on near your usual spot by the reefs, breaking out into the grin you have grown to adore, “I didn’t forget, Y/N, please don’t give me that look.”

You falter.

He hadn’t noticed it himself, but you descried how minute details and small snippets of the conversations you have shared would be omitted from his memory, buried in his subconscious, never to surface again. One day he’d leave you for good, and he would be none the wiser.

But you plaster a smile on anyway; not a difficult task when it comes to him, “I know, you were probably stuck in that thing called traffic, right? Tell me I’m right.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Playing with the ends of your hair, he chuckles, “I wish I could take you to see the city.”

“I wish you could too.”

The two of you have been meeting at the same shore for days on end, right as the sun was about to sink into the aquamarine of the ocean, and every day without fail, Seokjin would bring up the city and its dazzling lights, along with the towering skyscrapers and its busy streets.

He loved the city, and you loved watching him talk about everything and anything under the sun. Well, almost, because the two of you could go on forever and beyond, and he’d usually find himself wandering all the way back home with only a silver of moonshine illuminating his path, the scintillating rays of dusk long gone.

And he had a knack for the lamest jokes, which were only ever funny because he was the one telling them, with the dorkiest grin on his face. You wouldn’t ever laugh though; it just doesn’t work that way. No, you just don’t work that way.

“What do you call a laughing cow?” His attempt at trying to roll out the joke smoothly did not go overlooked, and you stifle the amusement climbing up your throat at the ridiculously straight face he was pulling.

“Jinnie, I don’t even know what’s a cow.”

“Oh,” He coughs out awkwardly, squeaky chortles already making their long-awaited appearance, though muted at first.

Then he pauses, as if some sort of epiphany has just hit him, and he turns to you, eyes wide, “Wait. You don’t know what’s a cow? A cow?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Seokjin, but we don’t have cows underwater,” You retort drily, though you were anything but.

He goes eerily quiet at that, exhaling slowly before saying in a small voice, “I wish we weren’t entire worlds apart.

I wish we could do all sorts of things together, like watch some chick flick at the local cinema, or fall flat on our faces at the nearest skating rink, or go on the simplest coffee dates,” Seokjin wasn’t quite done yet, his words going a thousand miles an hour, “I wish we could do all sorts of things together, without being bound to the ocean and this tiny shore.”

The sky was golden, casting the prettiest of shadows onto the melancholy splayed blatantly on his features, carrying the faintest tinges of longing and despondency in its pinkish hues. Your fingers were moving before you knew it, sweeping aside his velvet locks and landing playfully in that furrow between his eyebrows, trying your utmost best to dispel his frown.

“Well, I could always swim to the Pacific and meet you there,” You joked, shimmying closer, “Stop frowning, we’ll be fine here.”

“I know, I just wished things were different,” His voice was barely audible, only slipping out barely from where his head was buried in the nook of your shoulders, and he was playing with your fingers again, in a way that was so him; his hands brushing lightly over your fingertips.

The two of you don’t talk after that, tranquility and serenity settling slowly in a blanket of lost thought, and you wonder if he would ever forget either you or the sunset he had grown to adore.

***

“I’m leaving,” He says one day, looking hopeful yet disconsolate all the same, “For the city.”

If the seasons were changing, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that the colors all around you were more vivid and more vibrant than ever, and that everything was alive. The sky often lit up with sparks of the prettiest tinctures of every shade of orange imaginable, and with each passing day, the sun was hanging prouder and firmer in the azure of the sky.

The ocean, however, remained as cold as you could remember.

Seokjin was changing as well; he had dyed his previously sable locks a warm shade of chocolate, and he had grown even taller than you were used to, which was astounding because it hasn’t been that long since your daily rendezvous by the sea (at least according to you). If you leaned over the coral reefs and looked just a tad closer, you could see anticipation, excitement and purpose all swimming in those eyes of his, appearing all too human, and all too vulnerable.

Briefly, you wonder if that would have been you, if you had been anything but an eternally unfeeling creature shielded away from the beauty of the outside world, trapped forever in the dark abyss of the sea.

Then you recall that Seokjin had been the one to make you feel, and instantaneously your heart would almost burst at its seams with all the affection you hold close.

“For that building called college?” Your voice had a slight tremor, but it was the best you could do.

He affirms it with a quick nod, “I got the acceptance letter a few weeks ago.”

His elation was obvious, and it wasn’t long before he couldn’t hold it in any longer and began blabbing about the million and one things he was looking forward to at college, where it was faraway and deep into the suburban city. Gazed fascinatedly affixed on his earnestness, you listen as he shared about those people gatherings at events termed ‘frat parties’, congregations of young people at those things called ‘lectures’, and about how much fun he’d have in those ‘dorms’ of his.

You listen, you really do, because you loved watching him when he was talking about things that made him happy.

Yet your unspoken question refused to leave your mind, staying only at the tip of your tongue and nothing more.

He gets it anyway.

“I’ll come back, I promise,” His tone was determined; enough to reassure you, if only for a minute, “I’ll come back every chance I get.”

Sirens weren’t exactly notorious for being trusting, so you don’t pretend a second longer; you doubted him, and his words that only resembled a promise waiting to be broken.

“Okay.”

If he had heard the disbelief apparent in your overly saturated voice, he had chosen not to acknowledge it, instead pressing a light kiss to your temple, and then a burning one to your lips.

It wasn’t common for you to feel pain, but you felt it through his lips on yours, the heat and the mingling of salt water and tears proving to be an odd combination.

And then he was gone, and for the ensuing days, you could only stare begrudgingly at your tail, cursing at your unfortunate reality.

The seasons had probably started to change again since then, but once again you don’t feel a thing, the ocean feeling as cold and dark as it usually did.

And so, so unbearably lonely.

Safe to say, you hadn’t been surprised when all the time had been thrown to the wind, breezing by without a hitch, and there was still no sign of the boy with the brightest eyes and the most contagious laughter you’ve ever seen and heard.

Just like that, the days trickled by, endlessly, like a rusty old tap, yet it all felt the same, for all your time spent was in complete and utter solitude.

When twilight descends, you’d rouse from slumber occasionally, dreams haunted by his warm eyes and his lingering touches, and sometimes you’d even feel the ghost of his fingers in yours, or hear his voice ringing loud and clear in the hushed void of the sea.

Recalling his stalwart and undaunted gaze on yours, your heart would waver ever so slightly, because as damning as it had been, you had believed in the off chance that perhaps this time, it wouldn’t be the same old tragedy between a hopelessly hopeful siren and a hopelessly helpless human yet again. That window of hope was far too blissful to ignore, and you’d emerge at the same shore every day, as per your usual routine, searching for an all too familiar silhouette, but to no avail.

You should have known.

You were more than aware of the transitory nature of his memories, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared; that was simply how it was. If anything, you were the foolish one, earnestly yearning for something that could never have been yours.

There were rumors, of course; Seokjin’s town was a small one where everybody knew each other like the back of their hand, and minute news could spread like wildfire, igniting the buzz of the townspeople. A marriage, people were saying, how romantic, for it to be an outdoor wedding, and on the beach too.

“It’s because the groom is extraordinarily fond of the ocean,” A chirpy lady tells her friend, gossiping about the same old things as they sat in the dainty white chairs, baby blue satin bows decorating its spines.

You had been at the usual hideout, eyes wary and heart traitorously expectant, when the masses had first started to gather, the loud chattering a stranger on the usually undisturbed shore. There were balloons, loads of them, all the rich colors of sapphire, and an abundance of flowers adorning each and every corner. Truly, a grand affair unlike any other, and the miles of chairs and dinner tables trailing all the way to the other end of the beach could very well attest to that.

All was well, apart from your heart sinking all the way to the ocean floor upon having your creeping suspicions cruelly affirmed by none other than Kim Seokjin himself, his typical smile still brighter than ever as he milled around with the guests on his special night, the maturity from the several years he had been gone evident on his sharper features, and dashingly so.

Maybe things would have turned out differently, had he not met you in that cave back when he had only been eighteen. You wouldn’t have found yourself oddly drawn to the human, and surely, you wouldn’t have done the one thing your kind was incapable of—falling in love.

But you did, and now he was going to pay the consequences. Dearly.

Sirens weren’t equipped with the biggest of hearts, and were selfish creatures by nature, with emotional detachment being one of the most prized skillsets you had often prided yourselves on. It was imprudent for you to have assumed otherwise, too egoistic to have thought that you could have been an exception to that archaic rule.

Even back in olden times, ashen clouds billowing over the horizon was known to be an ominous sign of the oncoming storm, and the sooty pillows that hung darkly in the overcast sky proved it well. It was when Seokjin had first settled down near the accustomed shoreline in his search for solitude that the first drops of rain had drizzled sparingly down, staining the water with tiny ripples.

And for the first time in a very long while, you sang your song, voice sugary and euphonious; very much like the siren you were.

Only because it was so cold, dark and so incredibly lonely.

Entranced as he would be, Seokjin padded lightly into the waters, eyes blank and reminiscent of the way they had looked the first time he had heard your melody. The people on shore were too caught up in their own conversations to notice his absence, and you had noted that with pleasure, the pace of your singing picking up along with the howling winds; the signs of a brewing tempest.

Strides measured and unhurried, he sinks further down into the pull of the ocean, while you gladly give way.

Except that flicker of recognition in his orbs had not gone unobserved, even as he continued walking into oblivion without ever turning back.

“You can’t ever listen to my song,” You remember saying as you desperately clutched at his sleeve that first time you had sung, “If you ever hear me sing, run away, as far as you can.”

“What happens if I listen?”

And you had looked him dead in the eye, “You’d die.”

Contrary to the beliefs of many, sirens weren’t at all sinners who had been condemned to pay the price for their horrendous crimes.

No, they were all once human, who had once loved so passionately and had been loved so fiercely, and had unfortunately fallen prey to creatures roaming the deep expanse of the sea, with their only sin being that of forgetting those who had held them dear.

a/n note: this had been in the making since all the way back in july (productivity at its finest), but it’s finally finished and i hope you liked it! (and as usual feedback is always welcomed with hugs and cookies:)))

#sfwbangtan #btswriters #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #jin scenarios #jin fanfic #kim seokjin #bts jin

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killprettymagazine · 7 years

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Never Again - An Edible Marijuana Horror Story

“Never again” is a phrase that you should utter with decreasing frequency as you mature: You should learn from your mistakes. When you’re a kid, the world is full of sparkly phenomena, and you have not yet accrued enough disappointments to employ skepticism in investigating the seemingly endless sources of sparkle. When you’re nine-years-old, for instance, you may not have yet learned that candied apples are detestable pieces of shit. Imagine a giant apple that you can hold on a stick, like a king with a goddamned scepter, encapsulated by a reflective deep red coating. Just the sound it must make when you bite into it, that crunch – you’re left with no choice but to force your parent or legal guardian to buy you one. Then you try one. It turns out that you can’t eat this magical apple like you would a regular apple, expecting each bite to be covered by a proportionate coating of candy, because hard candy doesn’t break like that; it shatters into many hostile shards of candy that annihilate your teeth. It turns out, shards. It turns out that if you wanted to, you could theoretically break the apple and use it as a fucking weapon. And all that work and torture went into unearthing the most flavorless, soul-crushing apple variety: A Granny Smith. Is it any wonder that so many of us develop trust issues as adults?

Sometimes, after experiencing a never again situation, you’re struck by a wave of amnesia and get pushed back into a neutral pre-trauma state. Unfortunately, when this happens, the universe is burdened with the task of correcting you in a more memorable manner.

A few months ago, I suffered a bout of this type of amnesia during an ill-fated trip to a pot dispensary. While there, I was brazen enough to pose the question, “Why don’t I ever get edibles when I shop here?”

(As a side note, yes, I used the word “shop” in this context: While I am an avid believer in the medicinal benefits of pot, whose properties are vastly complex, visiting a dispensary sure doesn’t feel very medically official. You’d be hard-pressed to find a medication called “Alaskan Thunderfuck” at a conventional pharmacy).

After interacting with the budtender at the dispensary - whose white lab coat, long Zen master’s beard and cosmic presence made me feel like I was talking to God - I got home and prepared for an epic night. I purchased a ribeye that was so beautiful that I felt like I should apologize to it for the mess in my kitchen. I was going to cook it sous vide at 130 degrees and then sear it to perfection in clarified butter. Coltrane’s Giant Steps. 16-year-old single malt Macallan. Porn, probably. I ate half of one of the grown-up lozenges that I procured and risky-business’ed my way into the shower.

As I dried off with a towel, I felt the first signs of tingling in my toes; a very welcome sensation. About 20 minutes later, as I was tinkering with the immersion circulator, I still only felt the tingling. “Shouldn’t I be giggling by now?” I wondered, “I’m preparing a bath for a steak while wearing a robe and I have a mustache. I look like I’m about to fuck this steak.” But my high seemed to be reaching stasis and I was not about to settle for the smooth jazz of evenings after dropping $25 on a single piece of meat. I popped the other half of the lozenge in my mouth and proceeded with my grooming routine as the steak-bath reached temperature.

By the time the immersion circulator reached 130 degrees, a smile appeared on my face. “That’s more like it,” I thought, “now I can honor the bull that was sacrificed for this evening appropriately.” I would have never guessed that the next five hours of my life would consist of scrotum-gripping dread.

The first signs of trouble appeared as I removed the steak from the butcher paper in preparation for its bath. I unwrapped the packet and stared in horror at the practically pulsating piece of flesh that I was about to consume. I must have stared at the thing for the better part of five minutes. “Oh, Christ,” I thought, “Not again. I’ve already been through this – I’m not going to become a vegetarian.” But I could not tolerate the idea of eating this steak so I wrapped it back up and returned it to the fridge, where I hoped it would be safe from whatever awful force was possessing me. I opted for a couple of potatoes that I “baked” in the microwave.

As the potatoes cooked, which could have occupied anywhere from a few minutes to several weeks, I noticed that I could feel my heart beating in my chest without touching it. “Does it always do that?” I wondered. Suddenly concerned, I elected to take my own pulse; I placed my index and middle fingers on my wrist and started counting. I kept losing my place and had to start over, again and again, which it turned out did not help my anxiety. But I’m not a quitter; I would take my own pulse come hell or high water. As I counted, it occurred to me that I had no clue about what constituted a normal or an abnormal pulse. “Who do I think I am,” I thought, “a fucking doctor?” But I continued to count for some reason. My efforts were then interrupted by a heinously loud siren, which catapulted me out of my kitchen chair. “JESUS CHRIST!” I exclaimed. I no longer had to check my pulse; I knew that it was off the charts at this point. I was on the verge of weeping from fear – then I realized that my potatoes were done.

I opened the microwave door to retrieve my potatoes, which now resembled the wrinkly testicles of a 90-year-old, and realized that I did not have enough saliva in my mouth to move my tongue, let alone to eat potatoes – the driest of root vegetables. I shut the door, imprisoning the potatoes in the microwave. It was time to lie down.

“This lozenge is very, very mellow,” the budtender at the dispensary said. “You’ll hardly notice that you’re high,” he said. “One might not even be enough for you,” he said. As the second half of the lozenge high-fived the first that was already reclining in a La-Z-Boy somewhere in my amygdala, I fantasized about finding that budtender, yanking him by his wizard’s beard and screaming, “IS THIS WHAT YOU MEANT BY ‘VERY, VERY MELLOW,’ YOU FECKLESS TURD?” I wanted to strap him into a “good vibe” equivalent of an electric chair and pump him with the strongest possible current of good vibes until he exploded into a supernova of ineffectuality. Because I wasn’t mellow, I was going to die. I’m not using the phrase “going to die” to indicate that I was in any actual danger, nor in a histrionic Morrissey sense (…and you go home and you cry and you want to die). No, as far as I knew, I was dying.

I’ve danced around the rainbow of anxiety experiences in my life, including several shades located in the “bad pot trip” wavelength. Most pot anxiety I’ve experienced, while often terrible, is usually short-lived: You smoke, the effects come on and intensify rapidly, you panic, you take a benzodiazepine (at least if you’re me) and 15 minutes later you’re back to watching cat videos on YouTube and eating pretzels. Easy as pie. This, on the other hand, was like some archaic form of corporal punishment – like being chained to a giant rock and then pushed off a cliff into the sea.

I was now curled up in the fetal position on my bed, my whole body trembling violently; I was a six-foot vibrator. “W-w-when will it stop?” I might have said out loud. The Ativan wasn’t working. It occurred to me that I had no idea how much time had elapsed since I had placed the tiny pill under my tongue so I grabbed a small alarm clock that was on my nightstand and placed it right in front of my face on the opposite pillow. It looked like the clock and I had just finished making love. Then I realized that tracking time might not be such a great idea so I buried the clock under the covers and proceeded with my trembling regimen.

At this point, my anxiety was so severe that my perception of reality started to waver; I felt like I was in a movie or a dream. I was so scared that nothing around me seemed real and, every time I thought my fear could not become any more severe, I was proven wrong. “Aren’t I supposed to be enlightened by now?” I wondered. I was hitherto under the impression that if I would experience a state of fear that was adequately extreme, I would ultimately be led into a state of oceanic tranquility and be one with the cosmos. “That Alan Watts didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about!” I thought.

It was now 1:23 AM according to the clock that I hid under the covers. My anxiety was not letting up and I was hallucinating. I needed to talk to someone, preferably a human. I needed to hear something other than my auditory hallucinations or the sound of my absurdly dry “NPR” mouth, the latter of which was really starting to grate on my nerves. I didn’t want to call any relatives because I was worried about being chided for my weed blunder. I called one of my friends but he was busy. Then I suddenly remembered a recent conversation with another friend who, upon learning that I was going through a bad breakup, made the mistake of telling me that I could call him whenever I wanted if I needed to talk.

“Did I wake you?” I asked. “Umm, no,” he groaned in response. “Yes, I did.” Silence. “I’m having the worst anxiety attack I’ve ever had. I’m gonna die.” “You’re not going to die. Just breathe.” The conversation consisted mainly of me proclaiming that I was going to die and my friend telling me that I was not dying. He eventually tried to distract me by transitioning to other subjects but I could not focus on what he was saying. At one point, it occurred to me that he was talking about Jeff Goldblum for a reason that was beyond my comprehension to such an extent that I considered taking another Ativan. If I was going to die, I really hoped that my last conversation would not be about Jeff Goldblum.

After about 40 minutes on the phone, multiple references to Jeff Goldblum and several hundred “I’m gonna die’s,” I felt an internal release. Finally, after about five hours of swimming through the rectum of the psychedelic spectrum, I was free. I suddenly realized that my friend was still talking. Eventually, noting my silence he asked, “You doing better?” “I think so,” I said, “I’m starving now.” I remembered that I still had those delicious wrinkled potatoes. While cradling the phone on my shoulder, I walked over to the kitchen and opened the microwave door. The potatoes looked like Guantanamo Bay detainees. I suddenly remembered Obama’s quote, “…under my administration the United States does not torture” and started laughing maniacally. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to share this thought with my friend. “I’m going to sleep,” he responded. I continued laughing when I got off the phone. I ate the potatoes and went to sleep, occasionally bursting into laughter in the dark.

The next day I woke up and treated myself to a ribeye breakfast. As I chewed the steak, I reflected on the events of the previous evening and wondered, “Was that a valuable experience?” I concluded that it might have been but only in the crudest sense. It would be like saying that the experience of intentionally hitting yourself in the balls was a valuable experience because it taught you not to do that. Would you really have to be doubled in pain to figure that one out? Still, I can say with gusto that I would sooner wipe my ass with a cactus than ever ingest another edible. Never, ever again.

#edible #marijuana #horror #axiety #funny

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ohdizzy · 7 years

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Holy Poseidon (I’m Hooked on You)

Title: Holy Poseidon (I’m Hooked on You) Pairing: Taehyung/Jeongguk Rating: Mature Genre: The Little Mermaid AU, Romance, Fluff, Comedy, Wordcount: 5,500+ Chapter: 3/?

Summary:

Prince Jeon Jeongguk of Busan (better known as South Korea’s Sexiest Prince, crowned not once, but three times by GQ Korea) is in love. Stupidly, undeniably, irrevocably in love.

The object of his affection is, however, questionable.

A tale (tail?) of shitty haikus, even shittier fish puns, accidental hair dyeing, cursing entire bloodlines, and Jeongguk passing out so often it can’t be good for his health.

Read at: ao3 or under the cut!

Taehyung is watching Hoseok play with the mer-children when he is struck with a Genius Idea.

It so happens that Taehyung is sitting gloomily by the flowerbed watching the mer-children mess up his moon flowers with their little human figurines they found at the bottom of a sunken ship. He’s been thinking a lot lately about how great it would be to be able to go on land, above The Surface and be with Jeongguk when he is suddenly struck with the idea—the Genius Idea.

He’s always known that he was a genius.

He sits up suddenly, staring at those tiny little human figurines intently. It takes every last shred of his dignity not to snatch the toys from the mer-children’s hands. The longer he stares at those tiny little legs, the more the hazy idea starts to slowly form and take shape.

“Hoseok,” He says loudly, startling Hoseok.

“What?” Hoseok looks as if he’s expecting terrible news.

“I’ve been thinking—”

“Oh Poseidon—”

“If I trade my tail for legs,” Taehyung continues forcefully, ignoring Hoseok’s growingly worried expression, “I could become human and then I could really be with Jeongguk!”

Hoseok’s eyes bug out of his face and he splutters as if choking on water. Which is really saying something. Taehyung watches on mildly impressed.

“I—what—are you insane—” Hoseok chokes out.

He carries on spluttering incoherently for several more moments before he realises that he is the royal advisor to the Prince of Atlantica and manages to compose himself with several slaps to his cheeks. By then the mer-children have also fallen silent and they watch Hoseok with an alarmed kind of interest.

Hoseok takes a deep breath. “Sujin, Seojun, you two should head inside. Your lessons are starting soon.”

They groan in unison.

“Aw, no fair!”

Hoseok doesn’t budge, shaking his head resolutely. After a few more seconds of grumbling, the children swim towards the palace, their human figurines clutched tightly in their small hands. Hoseok turns to Taehyung and seizes him by the shoulders, his eyes wild with panic, an expression completely different his relaxed smile a few seconds ago.

“In all that is sacred and beloved to the ocean, with all due respect, Prince Taehyung, what the fuck?!” Hoseok lets go of him in favour of seizing his hair in a deranged manner.

“I—”

“Are you crazy?!” Hoseok sounds dangerously close to shouting—or tears—both of which is bad, bad, bad.

He’s doing that whisper-shout thing that sounds more like a shout than a whisper while pointing a finger threateningly in Taehyung’s direction, getting all up in Taehyung’s personal space.

“First of all, that’s against The Ancient Laws—which I’m sure you are very aware of—and secondly, you’re already breaking the most important rule: don’t be seen by humans! And now—now you want to become one? Are you high?! What jellyfish toxins have you been ingesting?!”

“Oh Poseidon help me,” Hoseok moans. “If your—”

“If my father knew, I’d be done for, et cetera, et cetera,” Taehyung interrupts, rolling his eyes. “I know, Seok-ah. I’ve heard it all before.”

“Do you not grasp the severity of this situation?” Hoseok sounds incredulous. “By knowingly going against the Ancient Laws, being done for is the least of your problems. Heck, it’d make the sea-witches’ curse sound like child’s play! Besides, how do you even plan on getting human legs?”

Taehyung frowns. Oh shit. He hadn’t thought that far. “Um… I’ll—I’ll go to Yoongi! He’ll know what to do,” Taehyung beams.

Hoseok gulps, all trace of colour leaving his face.

“Y—Yoongi?” He whispers faintly. “The… sea witch?”

Taehyung ignores Hoseok. “No, wait, he’ll never say yes. C’mon Taehyung, think.”

Taehyung hums thoughtfully, continuing to ignore Hoseok’s frightened squeaks.

He brightens. “Oh, I know! I’ll go see Seokjin!”

“He’s the cousin of a sea witch,” Hoseok bellows, wringing his hands together. “You can’t trust him!”

“As humans say, chill,” Taehyung says, waving his hand dismissively. “He’s really nice. C’mon.”

Taehyung swims off in the direction of the city, leaving Hoseok behind. He pauses, turning around.

“Hoseok, are you coming or not?” He tilts his head to the side. “Not going to leave your poor prince to fend for himself, are you?”

It’s a low blow, but it seems to work. Hoseok moans, looking around before swimming after Taehyung.

“We’re going to die.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Seokjin lives in a small sea-cave on the outskirts of the city.

On the account of Not Actually Being A Sea Witch, Seokjin isn’t exiled from Atlantica, per se. He is, by textbook definition, free to roam the city to his heart’s content. However, on the account of not only being directly related to Yoongi, an actual sea witch, but also having learnt magic, merpeople tend to avoid him like the plague.

Thus, Seokjin is rarely seen in public. Plus, it doesn’t really help that he somehow had cursed his own tail (yeah, Seokjin’s a special one) and turned it a bright, flaming red that scared the living Poseidon out of everyone whenever he had emerged from his sea-cave with a tail that looked as though it had somehow caught fire underwater.

“Oh come on Hoseok, Seokjin isn’t even a sea witch,” Taehyung coaxes Hoseok, who’s still swimming hesitantly at the entrance of the cave.

“Yeah but he’s related to him,” Hoseok shudders. “The sea-witch taught him magic. Who knows what kind of stuff he gets up to?!”

Taehyung thinks of the endless anti-aging potions and facial tonics Seokjin’s brewed lined up prettily against the walls of his home. He has some sort of idea what Seokjin gets up to.

Taehyung sighs. “I won’t let him do anything to you, Hoseok. Besides, you’re my advisor. And before you’re my advisor you’re my best friend. You can’t leave me alone at times like this, Seokseok!”

Taehyung uses his childhood nickname for Hoseok, hoping that it’ll somewhat appease him.

Hoseok makes a face but hesitantly swims up to where Taehyung waits for him and clutches onto his arm tightly. “Just so you know, I am so, so against this idea. And I might tell your father.”

Taehyung pats his arm. “Sure you will.”

They swim in through the entrance together, Taehyung peering into the cave.

“Seokjin hyung! It’s me, Taehyung!”

“Taetae! Come in, I’m just rearranging some ingredients!” Seokjin calls from inside.

Seokjin is by his cabinet, putting away a few vials. He turns, catching sight of Taehyung, and makes a delighted noise, swimming up to him immediately and pulling him into a hug.

“It’s been too long since you’ve visited me,” Seokjin chides, ruffling his hair. He catches sight of Hoseok lurking awkwardly behind Taehyung and raises his eyebrows. “And you’ve brought a friend!”

Taehyung smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve been… busy. Hyung, this is Hoseok. He’s my advisor and my best friend. Hoseok, this is Seokjin hyung.”

“Hello,” Hoseok squeaks. Seokjin appraises him.

Seokjin laughs. “You don’t have to act so frightened. I won’t bite; I’m not as scary as you think I am. I’m harmless, really.”

Seokjin pats Hoseok’s back kindly before diverting his attention back to Taehyung. “Been so busy that you couldn’t even visit me? I’ve been so bored by myself. Yoongi’s always busy with something or another. No time to play with me.”

Seokjin pouts.

“Well, that’s why I’ve come today, hyung. I—I have a favour to ask of you. A huge favour, really.”

“Oh?” Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Taehyung quickly gives him a rundown of how he met Jeongguk and how they became closer, choosing wisely to omit certain parts that would otherwise give Hoseok either a raging migraine or make him pass out cold.

By the time Taehyung’s finished debriefing him, Seokjin has floated down to sit on some human chair he must’ve found somewhere, clutching his chest with a dreamy expression on his face.

“Hyung, I know it’s a huge favour to ask,” Taehyung implores, eyes begging. “But please, I want to be able to somehow trade my tail for legs.”

“Oh my,” Seokjin gushes. “That’s just so… so romantic. True love always prevails!”

Taehyung splutters indignantly. “When—what—who said anything about true love?!”

“Ah, but Taehyung,” Seokjin pats his back knowingly with a purpose of completely leaving Taehyung’s question unanswered, before getting up abruptly. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you. Of course I’ll help you.”

He swims towards his cupboard, waving his hand over his cauldron as he passes it. It immediately springs to life, a magical fire kindling underneath the cauldron. Seokjin hums to himself, rummaging through the cupboard, pulling out seemingly random vials and tubes and throwing them behind his shoulder in the general direction of the cauldron.

They float slowly towards the cauldron, and Taehyung pushes a tube filled with tiny black fish out his face. Hoseok wrings his hands anxiously, before bringing his face close to Taehyung’s ear.

“Taehyung, this is a really bad idea. Please listen to me. Let’s go,” Hoseok whispers into Taehyung’s ear. “It’s my responsibility as your advisor to stop you from doing these kinds of things. I’ll—I’ll tell your father if I have to.”

Taehyung turns to Hoseok. “Is it because Seokjin has a reputation for screwing up his potions and spells? He’s not that bad! And besides, he’s quite nice, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he’s quite harmless compared to what I had expected,” Hoseok admits. He frowns. “But that doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s abusing his powers to turn you into a human! That’s breaking the Ancient Laws! Taehyung, you are the prince of Atlantica. What would become of your father if he knew that you out of all people were breaking so many of the Ancient Laws?”

Taehyung grasps Hoseok’s hand tightly between his own. “Hoseok. Can you just… let me do this? Just once? I know it’s crazy and it’s against the Ancient Laws but I… want to be human. I’ve wanted to be human for so long; since the first time I swam up to The Surface. But that reason alone was never enough for me to gather the courage to go on land. And then I met Jeongguk and suddenly—suddenly I have a reason. Can you try to understand just this once not as an advisor, but as my friend?” Taehyung pleads earnestly.

Hoseok’s eyes search Taehyung’s face long and hard before he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. When he looks back at Taehyung, he looks defeated.

“This goes against everything I’ve grown up believing and knowing, but… okay. Just—just this once. As your best friend,” Hoseok says quietly. He gives Taehyung a tiny smile.

Taehyung lets out a huge whoop, throwing his arms around Hoseok and hugging him tightly. “Thank you, thank you!”

“Taehyung?” Seokjin’s voice comes from behind him and Taehyung pulls himself away to look at Seokjin.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m done. Come here.”

Taehyung swims over, practically vibrating with excitement.

“I’m going to recite a spell and then you need to drink this elixir, I think that should split your tail into legs,” Seokjin says, handing Taehyung a small vial of silver liquid.

“You think it should split his tail?” Hoseok squeaks in a tiny voice.

Seokjin frowns. “Well, I’m convinced I put in everything I was supposed to, but…”

“But what?” Hoseok asks, his voice full of dread.

Seokjin hesitates for a second before shaking his head and smiling brightly. “Nothing. I’m sure I got it right. Now, Taehyung. This elixir will only last you three days, and it’s going to hurt when the elixir goes down, so be prepared for that. Ready?”

Taehyung takes a deep breath. Taehyung, the human. Human Taehyung. It has a nice ring to it.

“I’m ready.”

Seokjin clears his throat, a look of concentration taking over his features before he starts uttering words in an ancient language that’s completely foreign to Taehyung’s ears. Despite that, the words sound like music, rolling off Seokjin’s tongue fluidly. Taehyung watches, entranced, as water swooshes from Seokjin’s cauldron. It’s almost as if a rip has been condensed underwater, swirling ominously as it makes its way towards Taehyung.

“Taehyung, now!” Seokjin’s voice sounds over the loud roaring of the water. Taehyung uncorks the vial and tips it back in one smooth motion. It burns like liquid fire as it runs down the back of Taehyung’s throat and Taehyung coughs violently, his hands flying to his throat.

He can’t see anything past the storm of bubbles that swirl around him and his eyes fall shut automatically. The burning in his throat doesn’t let up and he thinks he makes a pained noise that sounds garbled and unnatural to his ears.

Eventually, the burning in his throat settles to a muted pain and Taehyung opens his eyes slowly. He turns to Seokjin and Hoseok, who are staring at him with identical expressions of bewilderment.

“I don’t understand… why didn’t it work?” Seokjin says in a tiny voice, starting to swim forward.

Taehyung looks down, and to his utter disappointment, his tail is still well and truly there, swishing back and forth. Taehyung’s eyebrows pinch together in a frown before he brightens up.

He opens his mouth to tell Seokjin that it’s alright and that he can just try again when—

Nothing.

Nothing comes out of his mouth. No words, no voice, nothing. Zilch, zero, nada.

Taehyung gasps—well, tries to—his hands flying up to his mouth. His head snaps up to look at the elder in utter betrayal. Seokjin is frozen to the spot, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and Taehyung would be laughing at the irony—if he could.

“Your—your voice,” Seokjin stammers. “I—I—what—”

It seems Seokjin is at a loss for words. Taehyung, too, is quite literally at a loss for words.

Taehyung can feel his puzzlement turning into dread and anxiety and he clutches at his throat, opening his mouth in a silent scream. He gestures frantically at Hoseok who looks just as panicky as Taehyung feels.

“It’s—it’s not a big deal, right?” Seokjin laughs nervously. “I mean, who even uses their voice these days, pssh!”

Hoseok turns to Seokjin, his mouth wide open in disbelief, his previous fear of Seokjin clearly forgotten.

“Not a big deal? Taehyung has the gift of music! He—he literally has to speak; his gift is singing! Oh my carp. Oh, holy Poseidon. Oh Poseidon.” Hoseok looks as though he is on the verge of a meltdown. A meltdown at this stage, Taehyung thinks, is completely warranted and justified.

“It’s—oh my Poseidon. It’s a big deal,” Seokjin says, his handsome face turning an ashen grey. He turns to Taehyung, clutching him tightly. “It’s okay!” Seokjin laughs somewhat hysterically. “I’ll make it up to you! I… I can turn your scales pink! Do you want that, Taehyung? You want pink scales?”

Oh boy. Taehyung doesn’t want to end up a Seokjin 2.0 with a flaming red tail and he desperately tries to make that clear to Seokjin, frantically making a huge cross sign with his arms but Seokjin isn’t even looking at Taehyung anymore.

His eyes are clenched shut and he raises his hands up, chanting in that goddamn ancient language no one but Seokjin understands.

There’s a huge red cloud that poofs around Taehyung and his eyes fly shut on instinct. When the cloud dissipates he cracks one eye open, hardly daring to glance down at his tail, heart thumping anxiously.

To his immense relief, his tail is still a vibrant rainbow, all his pearls and crystals are still intact. Taehyung heaves a sigh, hands settling over his chest. But he catches sight of Hoseok, who looks like he’s seen a ghost, trembling hands raised to cover his mouth in shock.

Hoseok? Taehyung mouths. He tilts his head to the side quizzically.

Hoseok peels a hand from his mouth to point shakily at Taehyung’s head.

“Your—your hair!” He screeches loudly.

Taehyung’s eyes widen and his hands fly to his head. Thankfully, his hair seems to be intact. He darts to the huge mirror Seokjin hangs above his vanity and to his immense shock—seriously, it’s a wonder his heart is still beating—his hair is red.

A flaming, bright red. Just like Seokjin’s tail.

Taehyung stares at his hair in astonishment before slowly turning towards Seokjin who’s actually crying and carrying on like an idiot. Like he’s the one who’s lost his voice and gotten his hair changed to a hideous shade of red brighter than the crystals bedazzling Taehyung’s tail.

Taehyung glares at Seokjin, shaking him off when he reaches out pitifully towards Taehyung. He gestures to Hoseok. We’re leaving, he means to say. Taehyung swims towards the entrance of the sea-cave, trying his best to ignore a pathetically blubbering Seokjin.

“Taehyuuuung,” Seokjin bawls. “Don’t be mad at hyung, I’m sooooorrrry.”

Taehyung swims out of Seokjin’s cave, followed by Hoseok who seems to be muttering words of encouragement to himself.

Onto Plan B, then.

“Taehyung, Taehyung, no,” Hoseok pleads, clutching at Taehyung’s arm and yanking on it as Taehyung swims determinedly towards the Garden of Polyps. “Please, I’m—I’m scared. We can go back to your father and beg for forgiveness and maybe he won’t kill us or something. I’d rather take my chances with your father than with the sea witch.”

Taehyung stops swimming to glare at Hoseok in a manner he hopes conveys the I’m not giving up this close to succeeding look. He rolls his eyes at Hoseok’s dramatic whimpers. Yoongi is as harmless as a sea slug, he wants to yell at Hoseok. But he can’t. So he settles with beckoning for Hoseok forcefully with a single crook of his finger. Moaning pitifully, Hoseok follows.

When they reach the Garden of Polyps, Hoseok lets out a high shriek, clutching onto Taehyung for dear life as the Polyps stretch upward towards them moaning hideously in pain, and even Taehyung has to admit that they are rather disgusting, with their bulging eyes and grotesque tentacles.

Hoseok is heaving pitifully by the time they’ve successfully crossed the Garden of Polyps and Taehyung is exhausted from basically having to yank a frightened Hoseok across whilst simultaneously fending off any Polyp that came too close for comfort. Taehyung is going to have to have a word with Yoongi about them.

Oh wait, that’s right. He can’t.

Goddamn Seokjin.

Come on, Taehyung mouths to Hoseok, whose eyes have widened comically at the sight of the giant skeleton.

“Oh my Poseidon,” Hoseok whispers. “This is how I go.”

Hoseok, to his credit, does follow Taehyung inside, holding Taehyung’s arm so tightly Taehyung fears for his left arm. There is a chance that the blood circulation may completely cut off.

Swatting past the pink leaves that drape down, Taehyung and Hoseok find themselves in the main hall. Its usual occupant is nowhere to be seen. Hoseok turns to Taehyung with wide eyes and Taehyung gesture for him to speak.

“H—Hello?” Hoseok calls out hesitantly.

There’s silence for a moment and then—

“You’re a little far from home, aren’t you little one?” It’s a cold, menacing voice that sounds nothing like the soft Yoongi Taehyung knows and—oh. This must his I’m a sea witch fear me spiel Taehyung has never received. It feels rather odd to be on the receiving end of it, he must say.

If he didn’t know Yoongi, Taehyung thinks there is a small possibility he would’ve passed out. The way Hoseok is making terrified whimpering noises alerts Taehyung that Hoseok is two seconds away from passing out.

Ribbons of red liquid pours out from the darkness and it looks so alarmingly like human blood even Taehyung recoils for a second. Yoongi appears from the darkness, looking every bit an evil sea witch with his two pet eels circling him slowly, the fishermen hooks in his tail reflecting the red. Wow. Yoongi is really pulling all the stops today, really amping up his sea witch performance.

He must’ve smelled the fear off Hoseok from miles away.

Yoongi stops in his tracks when he spots Taehyung swimming with his arms crossed looking severely unimpressed.

“Taehyung?” Yoongi says in his normal voice, and the red smoke disappears immediately, his two creepy eels swimming off somewhere. “What—”

Taehyung can pinpoint the exact moment Yoongi properly sees Taehyung—if the way his eyes bug out of his head is any indication. Taehyung taps his throat and then makes a cross with his arms to indicate he can’t speak, and the rate in which the alarm in Yoongi’s eyes is replaced with a knowing glint frightens Taehyung a little.

Taehyung hopes that Yoongi will let this pass, that he won’t say anything and that he’ll just brew something up to put Taehyung back to normal, but no. Of course not.

“You idiot,” Yoongi thunders, swimming up to Taehyung. “Why the fuck would you go to Seokjin, possibly the most useless excuse for a magical being to ever goddamn exist? What in the holy name of Poseidon were you thinking?”

Hoseok squeaks in terror, cowering behind Taehyung. But Taehyung just pouts at Yoongi, crossing his arms across his chest once again and shaking his head petulantly. Yoongi is scoffing, as if he can’t wrap his head around the fact that Taehyung chose Seokjin over him.

“Holy Poseidon, you are stupid,” Yoongi chokes out, before straightening up suddenly, raising a finger in an all stop motion. “Wait! I feel another haiku coming on.”

“Haiku?” Taehyung hears Hoseok whispering in confusion behind him, but he’s too busy rolling his eyes to acknowledge him.

Yoongi clears his throat dramatically:

“Seokjin is useless Taehyung has bright red hair now Karma is a bitch”

Taehyung turns to Hoseok, whose mouth is open in disbelief, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. Taehyung just grimaces at pats Hoseok’s shoulder comfortingly—Taehyung’s been through it all. He’s just glad to know that at least Hoseok is there to lessen the burden of having to listen to shitty haikus.

“Okay, I’m done now,” Yoongi says gleefully. “I’m assuming that you’ve come to grovel and ask for my help. And yes, I will help your sad, pathetic ass. But since you can’t talk—” He turns to Hoseok, pointing to him with finger guns, “you’re going to have to help me out. Let me see.” Yoongi rubs his chin, circling a petrified Hoseok. “Looks like he’s about to shit himself, two pearls on your tail… You’re Hoseok, aren’t you?”

“Hey—I’m not about to shit myself!” Hoseok says defensively. “You’re scaring me, okay?”

“I’m supposed to be scary. I’m a sea witch,” Yoongi replies with a scoff.

“You don’t seem that scary after that haiku,” Hoseok mutters. Yoongi ignores him.

“Anyways, since Taehyung is mute as a result of my good-for-nothing cousin, you’re gonna have to do the talking. Why the fuck was Taehyung at Seokjin’s?”

“Taehyung’s got it in his head that he wants to be a human, so he went to Seokjin-ssi’s, uh, cave because he was afraid you were going to say no. But now he’s lost his voice and his hair is red, and it’s a disaster,” Hoseok groans.

“Well. There’s good news and bad news,” Yoongi says. “What do you want to hear first?”

Taehyung shows him a thumbs up.

“Well, the good news is, Seokjin’s spell, or whatever the fuck he’s cast on you, is going to wear off in three days. He hasn’t cursed you, so there’s that,” Yoongi says.

“And—and the bad news?” Hoseok says hesitantly. After hearing Yoongi’s shitty haiku, Hoseok’s fear of Yoongi has all but dissipated. Ah, the power of shitty haikus, Taehyung thinks fondly to himself.

“The bad news is that he has to go around looking like that for three days,” Yoongi says, gesturing to Taehyung. “Good luck explaining that to your father.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen and he gestures furiously to Hoseok who turns back around to Yoongi.

“Can’t you help Taehyung? Can’t you turn him into a human?”

“Obviously I can. I just don’t know if I want to.”

Taehyung’s jaw drops open. Why not, he mouths furiously at Yoongi, jabbing him in the chest.

Yoongi rubs his chest with a scowl. “Well, first of all, that poke hurt. Secondly, I’m annoyed you even thought of going to Seokjin before coming to me. And thirdly, my life is at stake. Your father would literally gut me if he knew what I did.”

Taehyung purses his lips before turning to Hoseok and rubbing his thumb, index and middle fingers together in the universal sign of money. He doubts there would be a single person on this planet who didn’t understand what that meant.

“We—Taehyung can pay you,” Hoseok says. “Gold? Pearls? Ingredients?”

“I don’t have any use for gold, nor do I need any pearls,” Yoongi say, inspecting his fingernails. “As for ingredients, well, I have the people of Atlantica to do that for me, don’t I?”

Hoseok grits his teeth. “That’s illegal.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, a hand coming up to rest on the side of his hip. “You’re really gonna preach to me about shit being illegal when you’ve got Taehyung here, your beloved prince, breaking about fifty of the Ancient Laws? I think you need to settle down, Hojun.”

“Hoseok.”

“Whatever.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the pair bickering like an old married couple and pouts cutely at Yoongi, opting to cuddle up to him instead. If asking nicely doesn’t work, then he supposes he’s going to have to fight dirty to get what he wants.

Yoongi grumbles, weakly attempting to shove Taehyung away. Taehyung’s always known that Yoongi’s been a bit of a sucker for physical affection—does he blame him? He’s been starved of physical affection for Poseidon knows how long.

Please? He mouths to Yoongi. He can see Yoongi physically melting under the cute act and Taehyung tries not to let his winning smirk show on his face. He’s got him hook, line, and sinker.

“Ugh, fine,” Yoongi mutters, successfully shoving Taehyung away. Taehyung crows victoriously. “Poseidon, you’re so annoying.”

Yoongi snaps his fingers and a purple devil-fire lights up underneath his cauldron. Taehyung swims back to Hoseok, smiling victoriously and Hoseok shakes his head. Yoongi heads for his cupboard and starts yanking out ingredients, throwing them over his shoulder in a careless manner, before heading back and mixing them into his cauldron.

Hoseok and Taehyung swim forward cautiously to peer into the cauldron, which is now bubbling a pleasant pinkish liquid.

“I’m going to need a scale of yours, Taehyung,” Yoongi says, eyes never leaving the cauldron. He mutters a few words in a language familiar to what Seokjin was speaking in before and the liquid inside the cauldron changes into an ominous black colour.

Taehyung braces himself before yanking out a scale closer to his fins, wincing as the sharp pain shoots up his tail. It’s a light periwinkle colour and Taehyung watches in amazement as Yoongi crushes it with an inhumane strength before sprinkling it into the cauldron. The elixir inside turns into a shimmering gold and Hoseok lets a small noise of surprise.

“Since this is a… risky potion, you know that you must sign a contract, right?” Yoongi says seriously. Taehyung nods. “This potion will last for three days. I’ve tweaked it a little, since you’re convinced that your prince is your True Love or some bullshit like that. By sundown on the third day, the spell will wear off and you will turn back into a merman. However, it can be made permanent by True Love’s Kiss. Following me so far?”

“Ah—and also!” Yoongi tacks on as an afterthought. “Since I’m a sea witch and therefore must uphold my evilness”—Taehyung and Yoongi both roll their eyes while Hoseok whimpers—“if you fail to do so you must… clean my lair for a month. And give me three of your scales. And a pearl. And feed the Polyps. And… fifty starcakes, ‘cause that shit is delicious.”

Scales and a pearl Taehyung can do, no problems. Even the starcakes are no problem (problem for Yoongi’s health, sure, but no problem nonetheless) and even feeding the Polyps Taehyung can do. But cleaning Yoongi’s skeletal home for a month? Taehyung looks around the great hall. The place is a goddamn labyrinth, with seven or eight corridors leading god knows where, the corridors lined with used potions, ingredients, and general debris littered everywhere.

He swears he sees something move in the third corridor to the right. He shudders.

“Yeah…” Yoongi says dryly, picking at a loose scale on his tail. “There are rooms here that even I’m scared to go into.”

When Taehyung whimpers, Yoongi sighs, swimming up to him, and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi says gently, jerking Taehyung out of his reverie. He lays a hand on Taehyung’s arm. “It’s going to hurt. A lot. Your tail is going to feel as though it’s ripping in half. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Taehyung shudders at the mental image it paints. But then he thinks of Jeongguk. Kind, lovely Jeongguk and his enthusiasm when he had spoken about all the things he did on land. You’d love it. I wish you could come up here with me, Jeongguk had said wistfully, reaching out for Taehyung’s hand. I don’t have many friends.

Taehyung swallows bravely. He turns to Yoongi and nods his head.

Yoongi smirks, the corners of his mouth quirking up. With the dim light casting strange shadows across Yoongi’s face, coupled with the dull glint that reflects off his hook earrings, Taehyung shivers, reminded for a split second just why Yoongi is so feared.

“Well then, let’s get on with it, shall we?”

Yoongi snaps his fingers and conjures up a magical scroll. He hands Taehyung a fish bone dipped in golden ink. The ink is magical, Yoongi says. It’s binding. Unbreakable. Taehyung ignores Hoseok’s whispered pleas for Taehyung to rethink it and signs the contract with a shaking hand, and Yoongi snaps his hand shut and the contract disappears with a puff and only then does Taehyung feel the finality of his decision.

Yoongi speaks in an ancient tongue, a language forgotten by all but those who have magic running in their veins, and both Hoseok and Taehyung watch in enchantment as the gold liquid swirls out of the cauldron, guided by Yoongi’s hands, and around Taehyung’s tail.

Taehyung wishes there is a proper word to describe how it feels. It starts off with a warm, tingling sensation around his tail, as if something is hugging it tightly—squeezing around it with an increasing pressure like a vice. Then the sensation grows hotter and hotter, and soon, it’s unlike anything Taehyung’s ever felt.

His mouth opens in a silent scream of agony. Yoongi was right—it feels as though Taehyung’s tail is ripping in half. It’s as though a huge, serrated knife is being plunged into Taehyung’s tail and dragged down, cutting through the bone and sinew and muscle. His whole body is twisting and convulsing, and he thinks he hears Hoseok cry his name out in panic but the pain overwhelms him, and it’s too much too fast.

That’s not all though; he feels as though he’s being suffocated slowly, as though someone is clogging up his airways and when he opens his mouth to breathe, the saltwater chokes him and he realises that he can’t breathe. The saltwater is stinging his eyes and nose, something that’s never happened to Taehyung before and he blinks furiously at the pained stinging. His eyesight is blurring too, and Hoseok and Yoongi become nothing but blurry figures in a sea of black and Taehyung has never been so terrified in his life.

“Holy Poseidon,” He hears Hoseok breathe. It’s muffled, and there’s an almost unbearable pressure on his ears. “Taehyung your father is going to murder me, oh sweet Poseidon I—Taehyung? Taehyung? Yoongi, what’s wrong with him?!”

“Shit!” The black and white blob Taehyung assumes is Yoongi exclaims. Taehyung can feel his eyes drifting shut. “He can’t breathe, he’ll drown! Quick—grab his arms!”

Two pairs of strong arms grab Taehyung and he can feel himself shooting upward. He’s getting closer to The Surface; he can tell by the way the brightness grows bigger and bigger. Taehyung’s lungs feel as though they’re about to burst and he’s not sure how long he can hold his breath and suddenly—

Fresh air.

Taehyung inhales sharply, coughing up water and gulping in air. Blinking water out of his eyes, he turns to Hoseok and Yoongi who are wearing simultaneous expressions of shock.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi breathes. “You’re—you’re—”

Taehyung leans back and kicks upwards. And there, instead of an enormous, rainbow coloured tail like he’s used to, are a pair of long, tanned human legs. His legs. His lovely human legs.

Oh Holy Poseidon.

#finally chapter three is up! hope you guys enjoy it!!!! <3 #comments n kudos are muchly appreciated <3 #this entire chapter is a clusterfuck DFKLJDSF #bangtan fic #bts fanfic #taekook #taekook fic

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abakersquest · 7 years

Text

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE – PATRON OF THE GALE

The God's Providence shuddered like a cart on a stone laden road, its interior growing colder with every mile northward. Gan had heard stories from the old flyers about the perils at the top of the world, of great shards of razor sharp ice jutting from every cloud and the horrible whispers of lost souls carried on every breeze. While he wasn't too eager to hear whatever misbegotten ancestors he might have haunting the Plain of Frozen Echoes, the thought of flying ice was intriguing enough to bring him up to the bridge, currently crewed only by the captain.

"Damn chop's even worse up here than on the water!" Blackeye grumbled, fighting the ship's wheel for control. He unfastened a brass box from the side of the wheel's pedestal and pressed a small toggle on the side. As he spoke into it, his voice resounded throughout the ship. "I'm takin' the ship lower, so you lot best hang onto somethin'!"

As Gan watched the ship lower its nose he gasped at the sight below. Great and strange formations of ice, like gnarled and jagged fingers, formed an otherworldly frigid expanse in all directions, with narrow canals of water that slipped like eels through the deadly glacial daggers. Gan shook off his amazement and turned his attention to the clouds that came into view when the ship leveled off. As he scanned the sky for anything possibly astonishing he caught sight of something that was as familiar as it was terrifying.

"CAPTAIN! PITCH TO THE RIGHT, NOW!"

Without pause, the old shark opened the throttle to the props on the port side and threw the ship into a hard turn. Just in the periphery of the bridge’s bay window their eyes beheld the baffling sight of enormous tower of icy blades fused together by the chaos of nature and thrown to the ground by a downburst of air.

“Good eyes lad!” called out the captain, straightening the ship once more. “Could’ve used ya the last time I was here. Those damn hail blades nearly cut off bits of me every other minute.”

Argus grumbled as he came to the bridge. “Any more daredevilry from you, Captain? Or should I tell my stomach it’s alright to leave the safety of my lungs?”

“You’re lucky we’re still airborne in all this mess, I’d’ve set her down if there was any place to in this forsaken deep freeze.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of the Plain’s… Peculiarities. Which is why we can have no doubt we’ll find the Aspect of Air here. All the godly artifacts have had some strangeness to their surroundings.”

“Ghost do sound pretty strange to me,” Gan said quietly.

His elder teammates shared a look followed by a short laugh.

“That’s an old myth my boy,” said Argus. “The bygone spooks everyone hears are simply the voices of people who were once alive in the world. For reasons not yet understood, everything ever said continues on past the speaker and finds its way up here, bounding back and forth on all those horrifying and deadly glacial formations.”

“He means the ice makes noise go funny.” Blackeye huffed.

Argus rolled his eyes. “The point,” he said with all the emphasis of a nail being driven into wood. “There’s no malicious will out there intent on driving you mad with a bunch of whispers.”

“I’m not so sure,” Hyla suddenly interjected.

Argus and Gan flinched as if someone had threatened to slap them for not paying attention.

She shyly tugged at her sleeve. “Sorry, moving around quietly’s kind of a specialty…”

“Go on then Miss Areo,” Blackeye said with a barely masked chuckle.

“I sense something primal and furious nearby. It’s struggling against a threat to its safety. I came up here to see if I could spot it…”

“Did you sense anything like that around the other Aspects you’d seen?” Argus questioned.

She shook her head slowly. “It’s so beyond any living thing I’ve sensed that I simply assumed it was what we were seeking.”

“Fair assumption,” Blackeye tightened his grip on the wheel. “Point the way Miss Areo; I’ll carve out our course toward it.”

Gan, however unintentionally, watched as she walked past him. His subtle air of caution was easily picked up by the observant Argus who patted the young Orni’Hulan on the shoulder and pulled him down one of the hallways leading off the bridge. “I’ll have none of that now,” he whispered to him. “If you want to stay on this ship, you leave your prejudice elsewhere. I get enough of that nonsense back in Insicai.”

The kestrel’s feathers flared at his quiet declaration before he slumped slightly against the wall. “I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to. In fact you shouldn’t be apologizing at all.”

Gan looked up at Argus in confusion.

“For one, you simply don’t know any better. No fault there but the timing of your birth. You grew into a world that was already in a ridiculous hate affair with a sixth of the planet’s population, for the actions of a proportional few. For another, saying ‘I’m sorry,’ hardly covers it. You want to make it up to her? You want to prove your better than mindless hate and baseless fears?”

He nodded up at Argus fervently.

“Then you do it with action. You force yourself to be the better bird and prove everything you’ve thought up until now wrong! Can you do that?”

“Y-yes! Yes I can!”

“Good!” Argus sighed with a small smile, “especially since I think trying to throw someone who can fly off an airship sounds like an impossibly tedious task.”

---

The forming shards of ice in the sky scraped against the hull of the God’s Providence as Blackeye growled and grumbled to keep the ship from harm. Gan’s storm trained eyes worked overtime to spot the larger, building sized hail blades. Hyla’s outstretched hand was Blackeye’s only compass as they pushed on toward what they hoped could lead them to the Aspect of Air.

“Wait... What… What is that?” Gan said quietly to himself. He stepped closer to the bridge’s bay window and carefully scanned a portion of the sky.

“Speak up boy!” Blackeye called out. “What do you see?”

The clouds shifted, the sun shone down on the distant object, and Gan gasped. “It’s… IT’S THAT THING! THAT THING SIR WALLY BLEW UP!”

“Impossible!” Argus responded as he raced over to Gan’s side to see what he’d spotted. “It’s in pieces on the ocean floor!”

“Look! There!” Gan desperately tapped his taloned finger on the glass.

Argus squinted carefully, the clouds shifting even more to reveal in the distance the hulking silhouette of another airship. As there were only two known to exist, of course Gan would assume it was the one he’d already seen. But the wizened grasshopper saw more than he did. The frame was different; the propeller dimensions were far too dense. “That,” he said quite plainly. “Is not the Aegis.”

As the distance between the vessels closed, the view of the enemy craft became clear. For its weaponry and armor the Aegis would’ve been called a luxury vehicle compares to the squat sibling on display now. This much weightier war machine bore black armor on which the emblazoned emblem of Kota’s forces more clearly shone. The sickly red eye framed in a yellow diamond stared inanimate daggers at them as they approached. It was smaller than the Aegis, no doubt a trade off for denser defenses. The struts to the propeller assembly barely long enough to give them range of motion meant it was also likely slower. However, despite its terrapin like features, it clearly bore a much more deadly armament, as a sudden streak of white entered their range of vision the sky around the dread ship exploded in a hail of cannon fire. Explosive shells creating a terrifying shock of noise and force that blended together into a constant roar of directed violence at the mysterious intruder.

“That’s it!” Hyla called out. “The thing I’ve been sensing!”

The thing in question moved like fabric with a purpose through the air, a wake of explosions in its course as its target counterattacked with a seemingly endless stream of ammunition.

“I’ll be Sunday’s breakfast,” Captain Blackeye quietly exclaimed. “That’s a dragon…”

The serpentine aggressor banged hard against the hull of the warship, bounding off it like a rock thrown at a much larger rock with guns. Neither side of the conflict came away clean as the ship wobbled and had a new quite sizable hole in it, as did the dragon.

“It’s hurt!” Hyla almost sobbed as she held her chest, empathically feeling its pain. “We have to help it!”

“Loved to, dearie,” Blackeye grumbled. “But this here’s a big cruiser. We got a few cannons on port and starboard, and they ain’t about t’ make anything on that ship more than mildly annoyed.”

“Actually captain,” Argus interrupted. “If you can get us close enough and keep a straight line of sight with her, we have something that’ll make this a more than even fight.”

The captain rubbed his chin thoughtfully and raised an eyebrow. “We talkin’ ‘bout that thing Old Poda was yellin’ at you over?”

“We came to an agreement on it eventually, yes.”

The captain made a pensive noise in his throat. “Sure it’ll work?”

“No.”

“No?!” Gan and Hyla exclaimed.

“I could write out the hypothetical principles for a device until one of the moons dropped out of the sky. That doesn’t mean anything if you can’t actually test it, which, I might add, would be impossibly dangerous outside of a combat scenario.”

“Well were damn sure in one those now,” The captain added. “Do what you need to Argus, I’ll line the shot up for ya. Mister Noi’Goa you’re still on spotter duties! Hyla, there any way you can send that dragon our intentions?”

She shook her head. “I… I can try… But it’s in a lot of pain, I don’t know if it’ll listen.”

“We’re all just doin’ our best, dear. You’re no different, and hang the fella thinks otherwise.”

Gan wasn’t sure if Blackeye had directed that comment directly at the back of his head, but it certainly felt like he had. He quickly shook the feeling off. Now wasn’t the time for guilt, blame, or shame. He ignored those distractions and focused his quick and ready eyes on the danger ahead.

“We’ll be coming into their detection range soon; no doubt they have the same Farsight device we do, but the range isn’t something they can change regardless of size.” Argus spoke as he went to the far wall of the bridge and pulled on a handle revealing an elaborate looking seat folded into the wall. When he latched it down, a series of hisses and metallic linkages resounded in the flooring. From the ceiling descended a brass cylinder with two handles on either side at the bottom. The squared off portion rotated toward where Argus now sat as his busy hands worked the series of hand wheels on the chair.

“So how’s the thing work?” Blackeye asked as he pitched the ship up to an intercept course.

“Corona Vivavile;” Argus replied from behind the machinery. “‘The Sun Flower,’ the rarest flower in my garden and the hardest to grow. Thankfully the one I had was still healthy and able to be transported. I replaced the onboard Brightstone Furnace with it.”

“Hang on!” Blackeye called out. “A flower’s what’s keepin’ us airborne?!”

“No, the principles of lift and great big metal blades are keeping us airborne. The flower just keeps them moving. Now, all the heat being produced by the Sun Flower is channeled into boilers creating the stream pressure that runs the engines and generator turbines.”

“The what?” Gan asked.

“That’s a question for later! The heat’s all used up, but the light the Sun Flower produces when active? That’s ours to use with this.”

Argus pulled a lever beside his seat and the airflow over the top of the ship changed quickly. As Blackeye quickly corrected it, he could see something come into view over the bridge bay window. To him it appeared to be a yard arm with something on the end of it descending into view. When he tried to study it more Gan shouted, “PITCH LEFT, CAPTAIN!”

The near miss of an explosion almost rocked those on the bridge right off their feet. They were now in the enemy ship’s range.

As the God’s Providence ducked and dive amid a hail of shots, Hyla cried out in pain. “It’s… It’s not listening… It’s too angry…”

The wake of air as the white dragon rose into the through sky ahead of them shook the Providence. When it turned away toward the larger vessel a brief spray of its blood splashed against part of the bridge’s window.

“Captain, do you see that metal circle ahead of you?” asked Argus

“Off the yardarm thing, what about it?”

“That’s our firing angle. You keep that pointed at what we’re hoping to hit, I’ll handle the rest with the pillar-scope here!”

Gan spotted another incoming round and called out its position, forcing Blackeye to jerk the ship out of the way once more. “Right… Easy as threadin’ a needle in a hurricane.”

Argus looked away from the pillar-scope. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve actually done that before?”

“Because we’re friends, and I take stupid dares all the time!” The ship suddenly pitched forward putting on more speed. “Like lettin’ a ship’s gunners think they know how fast I can move so they let their aim get lazy.” Gan watched in amazement as shot after shot broke wide of their current position. “And rushin’ straight at’em to yank their calm away!” The sound of exploding shells fell out of rhythm and increased in speed.

Argus peered into the pillar-scope, its series of mirrors providing a view of the proper workings of his invention. Each turn of the hand wheels below him served to expertly align a series of successive lenses between the Sun Flower’s light and the target ahead. With a twist of the handle on the side of the pillar scope, an aperture above the Sun Flower opened and its light poured forth. It raced from lens to lens growing stronger and stronger until the resulting beam of pure white light burst forth from above the Providence.

The heat of the beam tore the air around it to shreds as it instantly closed the distance to its target, producing an otherworldly hum. Where it struck, the armored frame of the enemy’s starboard rear prop exploded into a blossom of heat and noise and the mighty blades at the top turned to useless shrapnel, flung off in random directions.

The God’s Providence then swerved up at the last possible moment, skipping across the top of the wounded antagonist as it suddenly dropped to one side from the loss in the power holding it aloft.

Boisterous laughter shook the bridge harder than any explosion as Blackeye couldn’t help but celebrate. “DAMN FINE SHOOTING, MISTER CAEL!”

“That, my fine friends, was the Prominence Cannon. A series of lenses channeling a beam of magical-“

Some have said; that the roar of a dragon is as close as one shall come to hearing a single note from the choir of the spheres. Apparently, the motion of objects in the heavens sounded an awful lot like the angriest soul shaking racket this side of an exploding volcano. It was a noise that asserted itself as the loudest thing you’ve ever heard by a huge margin. It could only be made worse by a single factor, the view the bridge suddenly had of the inside of a dragon’s mouth.

“Y’ GREAT STUPID BEASTIE! STOP EATIN’ MY SHIP!” Blackeye shouted, ready to hurl his harpoon right through the glass and straight down the dragon’s throat. Something he would’ve done, if not for the fact Hyla had thrown herself between him and it.

Without a word she turned and pressed her hands against the glass. She shook as a microcosm of colors spread out from her palms over the window and then the whole of the ship in a singular pulse. The growing groan of metal being crushed suddenly ceased, and was followed another pulse from her.

The dragon’s massive jaws shook them free and left them hovering as it moved its colossal eye into view. It seemed to regard the tiny Sauroian girl standing behind the glass the way one would any curiosity before turning its attention toward the listing ship that had resumed firing.

Once more did a mighty roar rock the world around them, the snake-like titan rolled into a coil and sprang forward through the air, it’s powerful jaws tearing a chunk out of the nearest engine, producing a plume of fire and smoke that caused the blades above to waver in their duty before finally failing.

Satisfied that the war machine was sufficiency felled, the dragon turned back toward the God’s Providence.

“It… Wants us to follow it.” Hyla spoke softly, a clear exhaustion in her voice. “Sorry it took so long… We just had to get closer I guess.” She laughed and her legs gave out beneath her. In a flash, Gan was there to catch her.

“If she’s that tired, must’ve taken all she had to cut through the rage of that thing.” Blackeye surmised.

“Yes, quite… And aren’t we glad you didn’t stab it in the mouth.” Argus added while fishing something out of one of his pockets. “Gan, catch.”

The tossed vial easily came to his hand and he looked it over carefully.

“Runner’s Grass Solution. We’ve all come to swear by it, even if it taste like someone dripped hot paint into your mouth.”

“Taste fine to me n’ Polly.” Blackeye chortled.

“Salt water taste fine to you and Polly, that’s not a useful metric. Anyway, make sure she gets a bit of that when she wakes up. I have to go check on the Sun Flower and the Captain has to follow our… Escort is the word I suppose.”

“Long as it don’t try to eat us again.” The old shark replied as he turned the wheel in his hands.

Gan easily lifted the passed out Sauroian and carried her to the nearest open room to lay her down. As he did he sat down by the door and regarded her quietly. He couldn’t explain it, it made no sense. He’d never actually met a Sauroian before, barely saw any at He’Lain Outpost, and at no point was he threatened, chased, or wronged by one. Could all the immediate distrust he felt inside himself really come from nothing more than stories and rumors? With a frustrated grunt he knocked the back of his head into the wall and tried very hard to feel less stupid.

---

Hyla was still working the taste of the stamina rejuvenating medicine from her mouth as the four of them dressed for the cold outside before heading down the ship’s ramp. Ahead of them was a large ice cave, which only moments earlier had been masked by a clearly supernatural mist. They’d watched the dragon slide in through another opening and managed to find an overhang to land under to keep the deadly hail blades from tearing the ship asunder when they were inside.

As they walked in, careful of their footing amidst the snow and ice, Hyla noticed Gan making an abysmal effort not to look her way. She wouldn’t have paid it any mind if not for the fact this somehow felt different than before, or rather, he had an expression she couldn’t place. However, there were more important things to focus on. For one, the constant echo of voices that gave the top of the world its name ceased the second they entered the cave.

Ahead of them, in a wider flat space, the Dragon had curled in on itself and begun to lick at the wounds its most recent opponent had scored. It was clear to them all it’d seen its fair share of fighting.

“You’ll have to forgive Jinra, fighting always gets her overly excited. She’s very sorry for biting your ship. But then it isn’t every day we get visitors, especially once that can fly.”

The cave was shaped as such that it made this new voice come at the listener from every direction. You could be forgiven for thinking the cave itself was speaking; if not for the fact the voice sounded nothing like a cavernous hole made of ice. It was warm, motherly, and not the least bit imposing. Then, through a fog that hadn’t been there before, someone stepped out. She was an Animani, more specifically a snow fox, a rarity in this day and age. Garbed in ornate glacial blue robes and a timber staff in hand, she walked toward them casually. “Now, what brings you interesting people my way?”

“Beggin’ your pardon ma’am,” Blackeye began. “Would you be mindin’ terribly if I were to confer with my crew first?”

She shook her head. “Go right ahead.”

“Alright, huddle up.” He gathered his arms around the others as they circled around one another and began to whisper. “What’s everyone thinkin’?”

“Wally’s more accurate than I am,” Hyla started. “But I can’t feel anything malicious in her.”

“Yes,” Argus joined in. “But be fair, you simply take in what she’s feeling, not her intentions. She could be perfectly calm about cutting our throats.”

“But she’s got a stick,” Gan proffered. “You can’t do that with a stick… Can you?”

They all looked to the elder adventurer of the group, and Blackeye cleared his throat. “Only seen it the once, total fluke really.”

“I say we tell her the truth,” said Hyla.

Argus nodded. “Agreed, we need her to help get that dragon to safety?”

“Hang on,” Blackeye replied. “We’re settlin’ on the dragon bein’ what we’re here for?”

“Captain, honestly.” Argus crossed his secondary arms. “If you were to make something to command the flow of the winds for the whole world, wouldn’t a dragon make the most sense?”

“The old stories did say the god’s used ‘em to shape the whole of Mondia, that they’re the reason hills slope, rivers curve, and mountains peak. But that all seems a bit more earthy to me.”

“Exactly!” Argus declared. “A classic misdirection!”

“Excuse me,” the snow fox interjected at speaking volume. “I think it’s only fair I should tell you I can hear everything you’re whispering.”

The four of them stared at one another before Blackeye awkwardly cleared his throat and turned back toward the snow fox. “Well then, I don’t suppose there’s any point in us conferrin’ any longer… We’re here to safeguard-“

“You’re wrong by the way,” she interrupted once more. “It’s not Jinra.”

They all looked to one another then back to her.

“You seek the God of Wind’s material anchor. The Aspect of Air itself… Jinra and I are merely its guardians. And if either of us felt you were a threat, you most certainly wouldn’t be standing where you are right now. Actually, to be more accurate, you’d probably be bleeding and or in pieces if you were where you are right now and a threat.”

“Understood, ma’am.” Blackeye replied politely.

“You mean to protect it from whoever it was in that other flying ship she told me about. Why?”

Argus stepped forward. “Madam, the dread witch Kota seeks to harness its power along with the other Aspects to remake the world by force.”

“Well, we can’t have that then,” The snow fox smiled. “My name is Illica by the way. You may continue to call me ‘madam’ if you so wish… I find respectful gentlemen quite appealing.”

Blackeye bowed his head gracefully, while Argus straightened his posture with a polite nod.

Gan stepped forward between the two of them and spoke, “So if it isn’t the dragon then, what is it?”

Illica turned to Jinra who slowly uncoiled and moved to another part of the cave revealing another chamber behind her. Much to everyone’s surprise what lay there was a grassy clearing, complete with various trees and flowers. At the center of the clearing was a unique blossom all on its own atop a small incline. It moved every so subtly in the breeze beneath the sunny opening in the cave above.

“That flower is what you seek.” Illica began. “Here, where the sun shines all year, all the winds of the world are born. A simple breeze dances across the petals of this flower, journeys out into the world through the openings in this cave, and becomes every gust, every gale, and every whirlwind before returning here to begin again. That is why the Plain of Frozen Echoes bears that name; the voices are all carried here and resound amidst the ice, forever turning in the circle of winds, like the leaves of autumn.”

“Incredible,” said an awestruck Argus. “I don’t suppose it produces any seeds, does it?”

Blackeye chortled. “Ain’t you got enough magic plants?”

“Never,” he said with a smile.

The cave suddenly shook and Jinra could be heard growling.

“What was that?” Illica asked.

“I’ll go find out!” Gan called out; already at the mouth of the cave by the time he was heard. The brave kestrel shot into the air, careful of another deadly hail blade’s formation as he quickly scouted the area around the cave. His eyes soon found the fallen Kota warship which had not only survived the crash relatively intact; it was very clearly moving across the glacial terrain. The shards of ice and the slippery snow in its course seemed no hindrance to the now rolling fortress. In a flash Gan raced back to the others. “IT’S THE SHIP!” He cried out. “IT’S STILL MOVING AND IT’S HEADED HERE!”

“Through all this ice and snow?!” Argus angrily asked. “The must have some manner of slated locomotion… Metal plates, linked together to form a stable surface that the wheels can turn on. Ah! But that’s a weakness! If we can damage the plates the ship will be unable to move. Once it’s immobile we make our way inside and destroy their furnace!”

“Can we use that cannon of yours to do it?” Hyla asked.

“No, the Prominence Cannon can only be fired once a day; it’s still just a prototype you know. Honestly, I thought the hull of that thing would crack like a dropped egg.”

Blackeye was about to speak when he heard something. It was a piercing whistle of a noise. At first he thought it might be wind moving out some gap in the cave. But this was too high a pitch for that. He looked around and the inner ocean of his mind suddenly geysered exactly where the grasshopper stood. “ARGUS!” the old shark slammed his tail against the icy floor and sprang forward tackling Argus out of the way just as a pillar of blue flames came crashing to the ground where he’d stood.

All eyes watched as something at the heart of the flames moved. With a flourish the azure inferno vanished and beyond it the four instantly recognized the telltale armor of a Halcyon Knight.

As Animani go, there are some that could easily be mistaken for others. Dogs come in many shapes and shades of fur, as do Cats. But as there is one side of that spectrum there must be another. So, as all eyes turned to the robust figure that stood before them, there was no mistaking their enemy was a tiger.

“Now,” the deep female voice of the knight came with a growl. “Which of you will be the first to die?”

<[Chapter 34]–[Index]–[Chapter 36]>

#A Baker's Quest #Writing

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angelicwritingoflesilva · 6 years

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Thursday, Lots of Stuff!

this is a story! If you want to read more about it, check earlier posts!

;u; Tomorrow, the plot will be finalized, I’ll post accurate color references of the characters, and I’ll begin the first draft. Saturday, the first draft will be finished, and, Sunday, the final story will come out! Very hyped for my first short story!

Without further ado, take a look at what I’ve been doing today!

What is this planet that the story takes place on?

The main setting of the story is the Oilcean, dubbed so by many oil tycoons from the main colony of Earth. It is called so because it is rich in oil (and diamonds!) and is covered mainly in a deep ocean. Dangerous creatures lurk in the depths, and an only an estimated 7% of it has been successfully charted.

The planet used to be ice-cold, in fact. Filled with tall mountains and seemingly endless crags, it seemed cold and inhospitable. However, a meteor struck the planet millions of years ago, knocking it slightly off of its axis. Because of this, it has been growing closer and closer to the sun for millions of years. The ice and snow melted, creating a massive ocean that covered all but the tallest of peaks. Underneath all of this immense pressure, diamonds crystallized at the bottom of the ocean. Creatures were trapped under the landslides that resulted from the melting of the snow and ice, resulting in oil and coal later.

Humans that inhabit this planet live on large, robotic island-like boats. They act like a city and move too slowly across the ocean to even tell that they are moving at all. Hundreds of thousands of people can inhabit just one.

Recently, due to a large influx in pirate ships, the planet has been closed off to human visitors. The ones already there, however, were not forced to move. This makes the planet the perfect opportunity for the rich to get richer. Many large oil/diamond manufacturers bribe their way onto the planet, to farm the goods that not many others can. The ultra-rich also like to take vacations to these “closed-off” planets, pretending that, because they have so much money, they are above the law.

What is the slave ship looking for, and why are slaves needed? What does the ship look like?

The planet that the ship is located on is rich in diamonds and oil. However, it is cheaper to farm the diamonds rather than the oil.

The first job is net-casting. An ultra-thin piece of wire, at the bottom of which contains what appears to be a round, hard ball. Throwing the immensely heavy ball over the ship takes at least 9-12 slaves. Once it rests at the bottom of the ocean, the ball explodes into a large net, weighed down by hefty iron balls. The ship is then rowed forward, typically done by 50-75 slaves (rowers). Once it is too difficult to row any longer, the ship is stopped, and 150-200 slaves have to haul the net out from the depths of the ocean, using a feeding device that rolls the net up. However, the device breaks easily, so the slaves have to rely on their strength.

Slaves below deck work on cleaning and polishing the stone (caretakers). They are typically looked down upon by other slaves, since their work requires very little labor and they get to be shielded from the blazing sun all day.

Some of the easier jobs include cooking, cleaning, and deck dog. A cook is what they sound like--they make food for the other slaves. Cleaners help keep the below decks meticulous and check for rats (which may be served in the slave’s meals). A deck dog is a slave that cleans up the deck above ground, scrubbing out the salt with an expensive mineral mixture. If one of them fails at their duty, it becomes instantly noticeable, as the wood begins to warp and rot within the week.

You can see an image of what a bird’s eye view of the deck would look like.

The ship is split into three levels--above deck, slave’s level, and crew’s level. Above deck is where all the work happens. Days are typically 70-80 degrees, although they can reach a sweltering 103. Burns and sweating are the marks of a slave who works above deck. They also have the most casualties. Many slavers are located above deck, so between them, heat stroke, and easy suicide by drowning, many die above deck.

Slave’s level is split into three areas, the most spacious of which is the cafeteria. Slaves are served two meals a day, breakfast and dinner. Breakfast tends to be more filling, so they work better throughout the day. Common dishes are soup with some type of rat and/or fish that was caught up in the net, bread and water stirred in with lard, or pickled meat. Dinner is usually just a hard and moldy crust of bread.

The second area is where the diamonds are refined into sellable gems. The slaves in this area are either lucky (being assigned to wash the diamonds) or skilled (being assigned refinery tools after being determined as “skilled”). The diamonds are then carried above deck to a storage section, where they are left to dry in the sun.

The final, and smallest area, is the slave’s quarters. There aren’t even any beds, just rows of wooden rectangles with crudely cut slits into them, each meant for a slave. When someone gets sick, they are forced out of the room by the slaves, so they can prevent themselves from getting sick.

Slavers

The slavers are all natives from the Oilcean, supposedly the ancient remnants of some advanced deep-sea dweller. Their eyes hang from their face in muscular tubes, which make their eyesight incredibly versatile. Their skin is gray, veiny and wrinkly. A permanent, yellow-toothed grin stretches on their face. When they move, their skin makes the sound of tanned leather slowly settling into new positions.

Cruel by nature, the slavers enjoy their jobs immensely. Of course, the money that they “earn” is also a bonus. They know the limits of pain, madness, and torture, and how to push a person to it.

Typically, slave ships stick to themselves. Occasionally, they will band together to take down an enemy or a large ship full of valuables. However, no alliance has been known to last.

Species found as slaves on the ship

There are three main species that work on the slave ship. The most common, Frog Men, are strong, Neanderthal-like, and subdued. They’re stupid, to put it bluntly, but are strong and capable throughout 75% of their lives (from 6-55 ish [lifespan: up to 80 years, but if taken care of, can live up to 250+ years]). However, since their intelligence is lacking, they have to be monitored almost throughout the day, since they simply forget what they are doing and wander off. They are generally subdued and keep to themselves.

They work mainly as the heavy lifters, transporting diamonds between levels on the ships and casting/lifting the nets. They are fed the best out of all of the slaves, since their work is considered the most important. Not many slaves are resentful of this, because, one, the Frog Men are peaceful and innocent. They don’t ever pick fights. Two, they do not want their jobs.

Frog Men are usually found in the rapidly decreasing swamps on the Oilcean. Because swamps are gradually becoming smaller and smaller, wars and fights for food often occur on their remaining land. This makes many Frog Men willingly go to slave ships, since they will no longer have to fight their own kind. That is why most Frog Men found onboard are gentle, quiet spirits.

The next most common are the humans. Humans are known for their adaptability and unpredictability. Many consider them to have easily “breakable” spirits, since they seem to lose hope far faster than other slaves captured. Because of this and their intelligence, their work is highly appreciated. They are also found in almost every slave market circle in existence.

However, they have a short “use” span, are delicate compared to the other two species on board, and, because of their intelligence, have a tendency to attempt escapes and overthrows. This leads to their high mortality rate. Despite Frog Men making up most of the slaves, humans make up more than 50% of the deaths on board.

The least common species are avians. Avians are bird-like people who inhabit the scattered islands around the Oilcean. They aren’t prevalent onboard ships, since most that are captured are sent to the mainland to work as household slaves, since they are considered gorgeous.

Generally, they are sweet to their friends. A long time ago, they were flighty and generally nervous, but, because of humans taking their islands to drill for oil, they have become war-like and tough. They stay away from fights when they can, but no longer flee when the time comes to do battle.

Although they are grouped under one name, Avians, they vary drastically from place to place. Different island chains can have different governments, cultures, and religions, as well as different-appearing birds.

The navy thingy

Has finally got a name! It’s now: Navy of the Oilcean, more commonly referred to as N.O.T.O (each letter pronounced as its name). It was created to combat the growing pirate threat. The ranks follow (basically) as follows:

Cadet - Enrolled in military school.

Freshie - Lowest actual ranking, typically perform labor such as cleaning, cooking, and repairing.

Soldier - Able to go on rescue teams, although they typically see little action

Senior soldier - Front linesmen. Experienced and smart.

Captain - Leader of rescue missions, although they do not plan them.

Senior captain - Can do any of the above, and also searches the ocean via satellite images for slave ships.

Counsel member - Five positions only. Make the bigger decisions for N.O.T.O, and green-light senior captain planned expeditions.

Master Seafarer - Two positions only. Oversees everyone. Capable of firing counsel members and doing any of the above.

Mainly humans are in N.O.T.O, although a few Avians have joined the ranks. (Frog Men are “too unpredictable” to accept into N.O.T.O)

New character!

Ta’hua is an avian, modeled after a blue and gold macaw. He is a deck dog on the ship, and has become close friends to Sterling. His mother taught him some words in English, and Sterling knows a bit of Avian (although it is not in his island chain’s dialect), so, between both of that, they can communicate.

Before he was captured, he was an anxious, squeamish avian. He was scared of everything and never strayed far from his mother’s side

Plot brainstorm

All I know atm is that the story is going to begin with one of Sterling’s “hosts” dying, and going to end with him in a hospital

Armor

The armor pictured above is worn by soldiers in N.O.T.O. The armor pictured in the large image on the left is worn underneath what is known as nano-armor. It is mainly traditional armor, with a hard helmet, breastplate, knee guards, and flexible pants and arm armor. There is a respirator to supply extra oxygen to the fighter, allowing them to remain active without getting out of breath. It is also can be used underwater, much like an oxygen tank.

However, the armor that takes the most damage is called nano-armor. The armor is white, and acts almost like a liquid. Millions of robots, contained in a button on the helmet of the armor worn underneath the nano armor, form the armor. A power core, located on the back of the under armor, powers the nanobots. They can shape and mold around the user’s body, and also have different weapon forms. From swords to guns, they can form basically anything. However, when creating a tool, nanobots are rushed to that site, and away from where they were protecting, causing weak spots in the armor.

Concept art from earlier!

https://sta.sh/2jgffibjbv7

Pretty inaccurate color sketches--will update with (even worse) digital art tomorrow!

Heh, yeah, these aren’t really close to the colors I wanted. Although, you probably get the basic idea. Nonetheless, a better image will come out tomorrow, along with the finalized plot!

TL DR; there are bird, frog and creepy angler fish-lookin’ people native to the planet. humans are greedy and want the ocean’s resources and buy their way in. pirates hunt ships on the sea/islands to get slaves for themselves or to sell. the slave ships have awful conditions. Ta’hua is a bird person and is an anxious wreck.

I am posting this at 11:53 and am too tired to check for spelling/grammar/writing mistakes, I’m pretty sure I said however like 100 times, but whatever

#sci fi #short story #writers #writers on tumblr #character #bad art

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rogerwhiteblog-blog1 · 7 years

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A short story based off true events

A DARK JOURNEY AHEAD

PART I

Three men are about to embark on the journey of a lifetime, a journey they have sought to begin all their lives. The three men, Oliver Smith (34 years old), George Williams (35), and Luke Jefferson (21), have agreed to join each other on an expedition to Sydney Australia. They plan to leave from the South African city of Cape Town and head directly south where they hope to strike the continent ~2000 miles off mainland. The three men have all contributed slightly to the purchase of an old British Yacht that they hope will be able to deliver them to Sydney and back.

Oliver Smith is a man of many words. He is extremely extroverted, and whether or not this is natural or caused by the alcohol he consumes daily, he can be obnoxious and annoying on occasion. Oliver has worked in a cigarette factory outside of Cape Town for most of his life. Unlike Oliver, George is a quiet man who only talks when it is necessary. He has worked as a doctor for his entire life, graduating from Oxford Medical school in England. He comes from a very wealthy family, and because of this, he himself is very wealthy. He has contributed the most out of the three to the purchasing of the yacht. George and Luke are partners in the field of medicine. Both work at Cape Town medical center, Luke being one of the nurses. Because of this business relationship, Luke and George have been friends for quite some time. If it weren’t for Oliver’s boating experience and wisdom, George and Luke would have ventured across the ocean alone.

December 12, 1930

The three men board the small vessel in Cape Town harbour. Before the trip, they had collectively decided that each man should be responsible for their own equipment and resources. There were only a few things that they needed in order to survive on this journey, food being one of them. The men had packed plenty of food for each other, it is actually fitting to say that they had a surplus of food. With this excess amount of vegetables, meats, grains, and even fruit, the men would surely not starve. At around 9:00 AM, the men set sail to the vast, blue ocean that would be their home for at least the next two weeks until they were to reach the British Colony of Australia. Oliver was in charge of steering the boat out of the harbour and making sure the boat was heading in the right direction. Around ten miles off shore, George and Luke were talking when all the sudden Oliver shouted back at them,

“There’s a shark over here!”

The shark was no bigger than 7 feet, and outside the boat the shark posed no threat to the passengers on the boat.

“Isn’t it beautiful, nature at it’s finest”, George stated.

“Is that another one, down a little?”, questioned Luke.

All of the sudden multiple great whites were seen off the north side of the boat. At this point, they were about two miles off shore, so they didn’t pose any danger to the crew, but they were still very fascinating to watch.

“After all, it’s not everyday you get to see a ten foot fish!”, said Oliver.

The sharks were large blue blurs streaking across the surface. The sharks that were further down below the ocean surface appeared quite small, but in actuality, most of the sharks were consistent in length, ~7ft long. Each shark had a bright flare of light that reflected off of it’s seemingly smooth, gray scales.

As night approached, the sailors agreed to call it a day. Each of them went to their assigned beds and slept through the night. Everybody was well kept and doing well.

December 13, 1930

As each sailor woke, the sun crept further and further above the horizon. At this point, around 100 miles off shore, the waves were fairly calm. Being this far off shore meant the sailors were fully committed to what they were doing. There was no turning back, and besides, the sailors felt better than ever. Confident and ready to take the day head on, even though there wasn’t much George and Luke could do to help. Oliver remained in the captain's booth where he would sing along to an old Philco radio that was built into the control panel, while Luke and George enjoyed their day at sea by smoking a few cigars and playing numerous games of checkers. Besides this, the crew really didn’t do much at all. At one point in the planning process of this journey, Luke suggested that they should bring along fishing equipment in case they got board and wanted to go deep-sea fishing. The only problem with this idea was that they had enough equipment on the boat already and wanted to keep the weight at a very minimum to ensure that the boat would travel as fast as possible with the least amount of resistance.

“So far, so good”, Oliver told his crew members as they began preparing to go to bed for their second night at sea. Each of them laughed and wished each other a good night's sleep. So far, so good indeed.

At around two in the morning, George was awakened by a strange noise that he heard on the bow of the boat. As he put on his glasses he noticed that Luke was not in his bunk. George followed his ears to the bow where he saw Luke bent over the side of the boat vomiting. George, being the kind friend he is to Luke, brought out some ice wrapped in a wet towel and a glass of water. In the middle of his attempt to treat Luke, Luke suddenly fainted. At this point, Oliver had been awoken from his deep sleep and stumbled out onto the bow. George informed him on what had happened and helped George carey Luke back to his bunk. Luckily for Luke, there was no better shipmate to have on board. A certified doctor was to surely take care of him. Even though Luke had passed out, he was in stable condition and was only suffering from an intense degree of motion sickness. In other words, Luke was sea sick.

December 14, 1930

Another day at sea. George and Oliver continued with their daily routines, and as for Luke, well.. he was very tired and preferred to stay in his bunk for the rest of the day. With that said, George smoked his cigar by himself on the bow. One would think George would suffer from boredom, but instead he found a way to relax himself and enjoy the blue sky and ocean. George spent hours at a time staring into the seemingly endless ocean blue. While George pondered the questions of life, Oliver started to become tired of singing along to the radio, so he just listened.

It had been two days since the three men had seen land, and so far, only Luke had been affected by this.

“How are you?”, George questioned Luke.

He replied weak, “I’ll survive. Im sure this cold will pass with a few days of rest”

“Look forward to seeing that sand and rock”

“That might be the only thing making me feel better”, Luke giggled at this thought. They both laughed.

Oliver entered the room. “ From what I know it appears as though we’ll make landfall in about two days. Hang in there boy, the land’s comin’”

“I’m sure it is”

“In the meantime, you should start eating a little more to keep your strength up. I’m sure you’ll feel better then”, exclaimed George.

Oliver and George helped Luke get out of bed for the first time that day. As he entered the kitchen, he shied away from the rays of the setting sun, like a vampire. Luke tried to eat, but the food didn’t stay in his stomach long. After the meal the sailors went back to their bunks and settled in from a long, tiring day at sea.

“So far so good”, said Oliver before he turned off the one bulb that illuminated their sleeping quarters. Instead of laughter, George responded, “Yes, so far so good. Only two more days”. They each wished each other a goodnight and drifted off in their sleep. So far, so good.

Another nights sleep would be interrupted, but this time the matter was much more serious. George woke to the sound of thunder outside the walls of the quarters. He slowly walked out to the bow of the ship only to be amazed by a spectacular thunderstorm. Oliver and Luke also woke from their sleep and met up with George on the bow. The entire crew was amazed by the flashes of light that illuminated the entire night sky. Each flash would reveal the enormous clouds that carried this monstrous storm. As the crew studied the clouds, their hearts stopped when they realized that the storm was to soon pass over their heads. Minutes away from impact, the crew rushed to make sure everything was properly tarped and ready to brave the storm. The storm angered the ocean, which caused massive swells to carry over the side of the ship. At one point, the waves grew so big that they towered over the ship. Before the rain even began, inches of water flooded the wood floor of the boat. The crew worked furiously to drain the water with buckets no larger than the Philco radio on board. The waves knocked the boat around so vigorously that the crew was lucky to stand for more than five seconds at a time. Once the rain began the wind started to blow harder and harder, causing the tarps to fly off the side of the boat. Food, tools, supplies, everything was lost overboard except the victims of this godlike storm. In about twenty minutes the storm was over. Luke had passed out once again, which was a shame considering that he had felt much better before the storm had completely wrecked their ship. Very little food, few supplies, and the worst of all, no electricity. The boat was officially stranded in the southernmost part of the Indian Ocean. George and Oliver worked all night trying to drain the water from the floor of the boat. The crew had only slept about five hours that night, Luke being the exception. George and Oliver had lifted Luke and put him on one of the top bunks to ensure he wouldn’t be drenched in seawater. George and Oliver were no longer quite content on how their journey had gone so far. “So far, so good” was no longer a valid phrase. As dawn approached, fear and sorrow swept over the crew. George and Oliver sat on the bow looking back on the chaos the boat had endured.

“Mother nature cannot be stopped, her power is unlimited. All we can do is endure and stay strong. Everything will be okay as long as we stay smart with our decisions”, George told Oliver.

“Don’t worry, everything will be okay. Matter of fact, everything is okay. We are still alive aren’t we?”

“Why yes, I suppose you're rig-”

“No need to suppose George, I know I’m right”

The thing was Oliver wasn’t right. Although Oliver was greatly optimistic, every thing was not okay. Besides a few turnips and loose grain, the crew had no food. Luke was no longer in stable condition as he was extremely dehydrated, and without fresh water, his condition was to continue to worsen. The crew had a choice that day, either to subdue to the wrath of nature, or to tackle adversity head on.

END OF PART I

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