MagicFish

The Magic Fish



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  1. Rec 23

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    Marty stripped out of his trousers and crawled into the cot. The bow of it hurt his already aching shoulders, and it took him a while to get comfortable. The soothing sway of it once he'd settled, and the scratch of Doc's ink-pen on handmade paper, eventually lulled him to sleep.

    He dreamed of a dark-haired woman with even darker eyes, a solemn figure who looked nothing like his mother. She smiled in spite of the sadness she carried like a shield against the low-hanging twilight.

    My wedding ring, she said, pointing at the clear, star-fretted sky overhead. In Lyra.

    I don't understand what you mean, Marty said, sitting down beside her. Show me?

    She handed him a shimmering glass disc, fingers smudging the convex planes of it.

    It depends which way you bend the light, she said. See to it the lens doesn't break.

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    3/3
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    03 Dec 2019

  2. Rec *

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    Under house arrest while Rey and Leia try to decide what to do with him, Ren makes secret preparations for the final destruction of Snoke and writes letters to Hux that receive no response. In prison awaiting sentencing for his war crimes, Hux tries to summon some enthusiasm for his defense against the cries of billions who want him executed.

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    477,556
    Chapters:
    25/25
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    1
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    03 Sep 2019

  3. Rec *

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    “Hello,” Crowley said in a soft brogue that was entirely unfamiliar to Aziraphale. “I’m here for the nanny position.”

    The man—presumably the butler—took Crowley’s outstretched hand and shook it. “Ah, yes, we’ve been expecting you.”

    Simpering convincingly, Crowley stepped over the threshold as the man looked at Aziraphale in confusion. “Oh yes,” Crowley said breezily. “This is my husband, Francis. He’s a gardener by trade. We were hoping you might have an opening. An estate such as this.”

    Aziraphale gaped from where he stood on the stoop, feeling his heart speed up. Husband? Francis? Gardener? He’d never agreed to any of this!

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    60,915
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    15/15
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    30 Aug 2019

  4. Rec *

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    When summer finally rolls in and lays heavy on the South Downs, he realizes he’s lonely. While most demons are solitary creatures, Crowley is not; just another way he doesn’t fit the mold. Without thinking, he picks up his phone, meaning to call Aziraphale - wants to tell him all about the cottage, what he’s done, what he’s made. Pain brings him up short. He can’t call him - literally, because he never added Aziraphale's number to this new mobile; but it’s more than that, of course. The angel doesn’t want what Crowley aches to give, holding out to him in two shaking hands. You go too fast for me.

    So he racks his brain for an alternative, trying to come up with someone to share his accomplishments with. After a week, he lands on the witch. She, too, can make things grow. He dials the operator, asks for Tadfield, Jasmine Cottage. The witch answers. She doesn’t sound surprised. I’d love to come see what you’ve done with the place.

    Crowley, frustrated by Aziraphale's continued hesitance, attempts to make a new life for himself after the Apocalypse-that-Wasn't.

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    17,249
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    3/3
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    377
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    118
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    18 Aug 2019

  5. Rec *

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    When it comes to having joined up with Hell, Crowley would say he more sauntered down than Fell. It reflects an element of choice, and that’s rather the point.

    The thing is, it was less of a fall and more of a headfirst dive—and it was not from Heaven, but rather off the cliff face of a garden.

    It goes like this, you see: When Woman was told she was made for Man, she decided she’d be better off not being a woman at all. This was not part of the Great Plan, of course, but it rather happened anyway.

    Never let it be said Crowley was good at listening to directions.

    (In which Crowley isn’t quite a demon, but was certainly never an angel, either, and—in a garden now long, long gone—his name was Lilith, once.)

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    31 Jul 2019