#It's not a river that you can just. Swim across.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 2: I’m The Son Of Rage And Love]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Jesus Of Suburbia” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

On the shores of the Susquehanna River, just north of Harrisburg, you find a Wawa with no gas: bags on all the pumps, cars with their fuel caps unscrewed and dangling. This is a common courtesy adopted en masse, like rationing during the World Wars or flying American flags after 9/11. It signals that a car has already been siphoned, no gasoline to be found here, no transparent flammable gold made of eons-past decomposition. You wonder if in a few million years, some unfathomable new apex species will be drilling your liquefied remains from the lightless layers of the earth to power their spaceships.

“Then we got sent to Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling,” Rio continues, gnawing on a piece of beef jerky, Jack Link’s in a red bag, teriyaki. Mercifully, whoever took the gas left some of the food. You are sitting in the parking lot, a quaint zombie apocalypse picnic, trail mix and Rice Krispies Treats, Herr’s potato chips and Tastykakes, warm soda sipped from plastic bottles. Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the Tahoe. Jace is tearing the convenience store apart; he is convinced the employees must have kept a gun somewhere in case of robberies. You know he’s fine. You can hear him banging around and swearing in there.

“Then we built some schools and a hospital in Djibouti,” you say.

Aegon is baffled yet intrigued. “Djibouti…?”

“It’s on the Horn of Africa, near Ethiopia and Somalia.”

Luke snorts. “It’s nice of you to assume he knows where Africa is.”

“Huh.” Aegon tosses a green M&M into his mouth. “Djibouti is horny.”

Rio says: “And after that we spent like six months in Key West, and then we got shipped to Corpus Christi, where Chips very narrowly avoided getting impregnated by, marrying, and inevitably acrimoniously divorcing a Marine.”

Everyone laughs except Aemond, who gives you a teasing smirk. “Did you really?”

“Uh, no. He asked me out, I ghosted him, that’s as far as it went.”

“Why’d you ghost him?” Baela says, crunching on Utz Cheese Balls.

Aegon turns to Rio. “You want a Honey Bun?”

“You’re my Honey Bun,” Rio replies. Aegon smiles, his sunburn flushing darker.

You shrug, eat a handful of candied almonds, tell a half-truth. “I just didn’t like him enough.”

Rhaena yelps and points: a snake, black and maybe five feet long, is slithering across the parking lot. It passes beneath the shade of the Tahoe and then continues towards the bushes. A moderate amount of panic erupts.

Helaena glances up from her notebook. “Rat snake. Not venomous.”

Rhaena shudders. “Well, I still don’t like it.”

“Where were you stationed next?” Daeron asks Rio.

“Chinhae, South Korea. Wicked cool place. The people love Americans, the food is incredible. We were there to rebuild a pier that got wrecked in a typhoon. They have these cute dolphin-looking things, they’d swim right up to the edge of the water with fish in their mouths to try to give to us. Like cats bringing home mice for their owners.”

“Finless porpoises,” you say.

“Yeah, those. And after Korea, it was Diego Garcia.”

“Diego…what?” Rhaena says.

Aegon turns to Luke. “Try to act like I’m stupid for not knowing where that is.”

“Diego Garcia is a tiny little island in the middle of the Indian Ocean,” you say, a bit wistfully. “It’s technically owned by the British, but we share a base there, we use it for airfields and to refuel submarines, things like that. We were renovating the housing facilities for Camp Thunder Cove. At night we’d go to the beach, have a few beers, look out into the ocean and it was just…nothing. Wide open dark nothingness for as far as you could imagine.”

“That’s what we need now,” Helaena murmurs as she makes elegant cursive annotations in her notebook, the cover picturing different species of spiders, a pinktoe tarantula, a green lynx spider, a black widow. “Someplace to go where no one will find us.”

“So you’ve known each other since basic training.” Aemond’s remaining blue eye shifts between you and Rio, like he’s still trying to puzzle it out. There’s really no mystery. You’re friends, and you’ve always been friends, and you’ve never been more than friends, despite many of your fellow seamen’s jokes to the contrary.

You tear open a Slim Jim. Aemond rebandaged your hands this morning, though they barely hurt anymore; he touches you with a clinical, focused restraint. “Not quite that long. Rio enlisted a few months before I did, so we weren’t at Great Lakes together, and then carpenters do technical school in Gulfport, Mississippi near Biloxi, and electricians train at Sheppard Air Force Base in Texas. We met after we were both assigned to Naval Mobile Construction Battalion 1.”

“The First and The Finest,” Rio quotes the motto, grinning. “The original Seabees, founded during World War II. People called our battalion the Pioneers, which…is kind of ironic now.”

Aegon says, munching noisily on trail mix: “It’ll be so appropriate when you end up dying of a broken leg or the flu or in some other totally preventable way.”

“It’s so crazy, people died of anything back then,” Luke marvels gravely. “Tuberculosis, pneumonia, infections, starving, freezing, poisoning, getting kicked by a horse, giving birth…”

Rhaena shoots him a fearsome look and Luke shuts up, but of course he can’t take it back. There is a long uncomfortable silence punctuated only by birdsong and Jace’s muffled outbursts from inside the Wawa. Everyone looks at Baela, concerned, pitying, entirely unable to do anything to improve her situation. She is still eating Cheese Balls with one orange-stained hand, but the other rests on her belly.

“Clearly, the timing is less than ideal,” Baela says after a while, and if she’s terrified she doesn’t sound like it. “It wasn’t planned to begin with, but I was determined to make the best of things. I figured that I could still finish up my master’s degree with a baby, and Rhaena and our parents could help, and Jace would be done with law school soon, and it might be stressful for a while but we’d all get through it. And now…” She shrugs wryly. “Now all those plans are gone. Just gone.”

“You’re going to be okay,” Aemond says; a fierce low determination, a promise, a vow.

Baela smiles at Rio. “How old is your baby?”

He is caught off-guard, clears his throat, averts his gaze. Aegon looks over at him, alarmed. “Oh, she, uh…she’s little. Really little. She…” And Rio, so rarely at a loss for words, can’t continue. He eats his beef jerky instead.

You explain for him. “Sophie’s due date was right around the time the phones and internet went down. The last we heard, she was headed to Odessa to stay with Rio’s parents.” Aemond and his companions nod and don’t say what they’re thinking, but it’s swimming in their eyes: Sophie could have died, the baby could have died, they both could have died, you and Rio might be risking your lives to cross the continental United States for nothing. “Rio’s parents live in this…well, I joke around and call it a doomsday prepper cult, but that’s not really what it is, it’s just a farming community out in the middle of nowhere. People who have their own chickens and gardens, churn their own butter, don’t wear deodorant, make medicine out of tree bark…and a lot of them have kind of a survivalist mentality, they stock pantries and collect guns. So we figure we can reunite Rio with his family and then carve out lives for ourselves in relative peace.”

Rio reaches over to bump his fist against your shoulder. He is grateful. You punch him back, fairly forcefully; it’s like hitting a brick wall. Rio is as tall as Aemond but probably outweighs him by a hundred pounds.

You ask Aemond: “What’s in the Bay Area?”

“Our parents have a beach house. It’s up on a cliff by itself, pretty isolated, and surrounded by state parks. That’s where they were when everything shut down. I assume they’re still there.”

“Beach house?” Rio raises his eyebrows. “On a cliff?”

Rich kids. REALLY rich kids. “Your parents couldn’t just fly you to California in a private jet or something?” you say.

“Our pilots stole the jets,” Aemond replies, not realizing you were joking.

“Oh.”

“Jace and Luke’s parents were home in London, so getting there isn’t really an option, and then Baela and Rhaena…”

“Mum and Dad were on a business trip to Moscow,” Baela says. “I’d like to think they weren’t eaten, but…they were probably eaten.”

“I am so sorry,” you manage awkwardly.

A single zombie goes shuffling past the Wawa on the main street, a woman in a floral church dress, hair falling out of its curls, one pink high heel that clicks on the pavement, blood all over her mouth and chin. She notices the nine of you and begins to hiss, lurching closer. Daeron shoots her down and then trots over to retrieve his arrows, yanking them out of her cheek and eye socket. Rhaena winces. Aemond, distracted, bites into a Nature Valley granola bar. Aegon opens a can of Pringles, pizza-flavored.

Luke is peering through his binoculars, looking south towards Harrisburg. Faintly, you can see sunlight glinting off the gilded statue of a woman—the Spirit of the Commonwealth—that tops the green clay tile dome of the state capitol building. “What is that?”

“The sculpture?” you say.

“No. Farther away. Those big concrete towers, right on the water.”

Now you know exactly what he means…and you’d forgotten all about it. It’s an oversight you hope doesn’t cost too much. “That’s Three Mile Island. And we should leave so we can put more space between it and us.”

“Oh, fuck me…” Rio mutters.

Now everyone else is squinting to see the facility, barely visible from the Wawa. “Why?” Aemond asks you.

“Because it’s a nuclear power plant. And since the electricity is out everywhere, as soon as its backup generators fail, it will melt down and the whole area around it will become radioactive.”

Aegon puts two Pringles into his mouth so they look like a duck bill. “How do you know?”

“Did no one else go through a Chernobyl obsession phase in high school?”

“The professor mentioned it in one of my chemistry classes,” Aemond says, but he sounds doubtful; this must have been years ago, when he was consumed by med school prerequisites and had no space left in his brain for mere curiosity.

“Okay, listen up.” Rio knows the key points; he’s had to study different sources of electrical power. He demonstrates with dramatic hand gestures. “You have super radioactive reactor fuel, usually uranium or plutonium. You have a pool of water around it that circulates continuously. The heat of the fuel evaporates the water, which makes steam, which spins turbines, thus creating power. But if the external electricity fails, the water stops circulating, and the heat vaporizes all of it, and when there’s no more water the reactor fuel overheats and melts through the floor and poisons the earth, air, and groundwater. Any questions?”

There is a chorus of distressed chattering as people swiftly rise to their feet, clutching armfuls of snacks for the road. Jace comes trudging out of the Wawa, conspicuously not in possession of a firearm.

“No luck?” Daeron asks.

“Obviously not.” Then Jace snaps at Aemond: “Why were you stomping around all pissed off in the medicine aisle earlier? What were you looking for?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says quickly.

“Seriously, dude, what was it?”

“Nothing!”

“Damn, Plankton, calm down.” Jace shields his face from the sun, following Luke’s nervous eyeline towards the concrete cooling towers to the south. “What’s that?”

“Three Mile Island,” you say. “And we’re leaving now.”

Aegon yawns loudly. “I’m so full! Rio, can you carry me to the car?” And before anyone can tell Aegon to shut up, Rio has crouched down to let him scramble onto his back. Aegon cackles and waves his can of Pringles around as Rio sprints to the Tahoe. Now there are a few more zombies stumbling up the street, but you don’t waste arrows or bullets on them. Baela runs them down as she swerves out of the parking lot and drives northwest, heading towards Clarks Ferry Bridge where you will cross the Susquehanna River in a less populated area and commence the long slog to the Ohio border. She turns up the volume on the CD player: London Bridge by Fergie. Immediately, Rio, Aegon, Daeron, Rhaena, and Luke are singing along.

Baela checks the fuel gauge and looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “We have half a tank left.”

“We’ll find gas somewhere.”

“Aemond, it’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re not going to be able to walk to California.”

Baela can’t think of a response. He’s right. Outside, the miles roll by in a blur of radiant, reptilian, early-summer green.

~~~~~~~~~~

Each time the interstate is blocked by a snarl of crashed vehicles or a backup too thick to navigate through—both common occurrences—Aegon digs the folded map out of his shorts and charts a new course for Baela to follow. This particular divergence might prove fortunate. The Tahoe has rolled into Distant, Pennsylvania, an Appalachian speck of a town, churches, coal mines, dilapidated old sheds. On the outskirts, perched on a hill and surrounded by oak trees, you find a small single-story brick house with a myriad of banners on the flagpole: an American flag, a Confederate flag, a black POW/MIA flag, Don’t Tread On Me, Trump 2024.

“Yeah,” Aegon says, scratching his scruffy chin as he peers up through the windshield. “I feel like they probably owned guns.”

“How do we know they’re not still home?” Baela asks warily.

“No car in the driveway,” Aemond observes. “No windows boarded up. They probably ran into trouble while they were out somewhere and never made it back.” Then he waits, the question upspoken. Are we going to risk it?

“We’re down,” Rio says after exchanging a glance with you.

Aemond turns to Jace. Jace—curly dark hair down to his shoulders, eyes on the house, chewing his full bottom lip apprehensively—doesn’t reply at first.

“You said you wanted a gun, Jace. All the Walmarts are cleaned out. This is what shopping looks like now.”

“Fine. Okay. Let’s go.”

Baela parks the Tahoe in the gravel driveway and tells Rhaena and Luke to stay inside with Helaena until the property has been cleared. The rest of you climb out, afternoon sun and mountain wind, dandelions crushed under your shoes. There’s a barn behind the house, you see now, gaps between the wooden boards and flaking red paint.

Luke is standing up through the open sunroof, inspecting the scene with his binoculars. “No movement.”

“We’ll take the house, if you want,” Rio tells Aemond. You’re clutching your borrowed baseball bat with bandaged hands, though it still feels unnatural; your M9 is in its holster in case of emergencies. Jace, Baela, and Daeron start plodding across the yard towards the barn. The grass is tall and mostly shaded, the oak trees decades old, massive, weaving a patchwork canopy of leaves.

Aegon trots over and slaps Aemond on his left shoulder, his blind side. Aemond says without looking at him: “I’ll go with them. You wait out here.”

Aegon drives an imaginary ball with his golf club. “I’m very sensitive to rejection, you know.”

“You’ll survive.” Then Aemond follows you and Rio to the house.

Rio tries the knob, locked. He doesn’t waste a bullet by trying to shoot the lock off the door, something that is far less reliable than movies would have you believe. He kicks it open instead, three tries and then the screws that secure the latch give way and the door swings ajar. You wait, counting seconds in your head, listening for growls or footsteps. There are no sounds except the breeze sighing through the trees, the warbles and wing flaps of birds. You steal a glimpse of the barn. Jace, Baela, and Daeron have unhooked the rusted iron latch and are venturing inside, Daeron last and glancing around watchfully, his compound bow already drawn. Rio steps into the house.

It’s hot, stifling, all the windows shut. But this has its advantages. You inhale deeply: no trace of decomposition, no black swampy nauseating rot, just dust and lemon Pledge and old-people staleness.

“Smells fine,” Rio says. And then, loudly: “Anyone home? We’re just looking for supplies. We don’t want to hurt you. If anybody is here, just let us know and we’d be happy to leave. And, uh, sorry about the door.”

You stay close to Rio as he sweeps through the living room—floral couch, television turned off, crosses on the walls—and then the kitchen, where bananas are turning black on the counter. Aemond is to your right; he’s placed you on his blind side. He trusts me, you think. When did that happen? You haven’t heard anything from Aegon or the barn. That must be going well.

In the bedroom, Aemond pulls the curtains open to let some light in. You search the drawers, the closet, under the bed. No weapons. The bathroom has 1950s-style pink porcelain, the dining room table is set for a meal that never happened. There is a deer head mounted on the wall, ten points, not bad.

“I can’t believe these fuckers didn’t have guns,” Rio says. “But where the hell are they?!”

You have always watched more than you’ve spoken. That’s why you’re good at shooting things, and why you’re still alive. Rio talks and you listen; Rio acts and you reflect. “Wait.” You turn to Aemond. “Did you see a cellar outside?”

“A what?” He is perplexed. “Like…a wine cellar…?”

“No. A regular cellar.” You walk back into the midday heat and circle the house, Aemond and Rio hurrying to keep up. Over by the barn, everyone else is stretched out across the grass, joking, relaxing, Baela with her hammer on the ground and her hands laced over her belly, Helaena cradling a praying mantis in her palms and showing it to Rhaena. Aegon is teaching Luke how to smoke with a pack of Marlboro Golds he found at the Wawa. Luke, game yet somewhat anxious, takes a puff and then immediately coughs until he starts retching.

“I want to try too,” Daeron says.

Aegon shakes his head, taking a nonchalant drag off his own cigarette. “Nope. Not for you. Illegal. You’re under eighteen.”

“I want to try!”

“Shut up, you can’t even vote.”

“Nobody can vote, the government has collapsed!”

You find it at the back of the house: a pair of large metal doors leading down into the underground cellar. The weeds have begun to encroach on them, wild violets and black nightshade.

“Awesome!” Rio says, lifting the doors open one at a time, the hinges shrieking. They’re heavy, but they cause him no trouble. Underneath is a staircase and a room dark with shadows; you can see a light switch that won’t work, the electricity long gone. Rio unclips the flashlight from his  belt—taken from Saratoga Springs, waterproof with a 90-degree head so it doesn’t roll, known as a Moonbeam—and ducks down into the cellar. It’s a small room, easy to clear, and then you can start inventorying your findings. Rio is laughing, ecstatic. There is a workbench, a coil of thick rope, an array of tools—screwdrivers, wrenches, hammers, saws—some homemade leather wallets and holsters, cans of Brillo color spray…and then a treasure trove of weapons mounted on the walls.

You scan the collection. “We got Marlin .22s, we got Ruger Magnums, we got Remington 12 gauges, we got hunting knives…and one Glock 20.”

“A lot of ammo under here, Chips,” Rio says, yanking boxes out from beneath the workbench and stacking them on the floor, organized by caliber.

“No scopes?”

“Not that I’ve seen yet.”

You lift one of the Remingtons off its hooks and examine it: dusty, unloaded, vines of rust on the receiver. “We’ll have to go through and sight all of them. I don’t think they’ve been used in a while.”

“That’ll be a lot of noise. But here’s the place to do it, I guess. Low population, and we’re not staying.”

“Exactly.”

“Sight them for close range, like ten yards?”

“Yeah, that should work.”

Aemond says, eyebrow raised: “I didn’t know the Navy used shotguns.”

“Everyone hunts where I’m from.” You put the Remington down on the workbench then pick up the Glock, a box of 10mm ammo, and a can of Brillo. “Come on. Grab one of those hammers. I’ll show you how to shoot.”

You bound up the cellar steps and out into the shade of the oak trees, not stopping until you are at the edge of the property. Across the backyard where he lounges on the grass, Aegon gestures to the barn and asks Luke: “What’s in there anyway?”

“Nothing. Saddles and a few dead horses.”

“Oh, dynamite, I gotta see the dead horses.”

Jace says: “Aegon, man, what is your diagnosis?”

You use the can of Brillo to spray a large chocolate-colored circle onto a tree trunk, then make another two feet above that. You count your steps as you walk back towards Aemond: approximately ten yards. You load a single bullet in the Glock, aim for the bottom circle, and fire. A hole appears at the very edge of the circle. You take the hammer from Aemond and give the rear sight a few knocks. “This isn’t recommended, but it usually works.”

Aemond is smiling. “Okay.”

You load the full magazine and try again. The bullet hits closer to the middle this time. “Here. Both hands.”

Aemond takes the Glock but hesitates. “Is…my eye…?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. A lot of people close one eye anyway when they’re aiming. I always do.”

He is relieved. “Oh. Good.”

You tap the underside of the Glock. Aemond obediently lifts it. “The line of sight is slightly higher than the barrel, so you have to account for that. And then gravity will pull the bullet lower, and the longer the range of the shot, the more it will drop. So when you fire, the barrel should be angled upwards just the tiniest bit, not horizontal.”

“Like throwing a football.”

“Yeah, exactly. It’s an arc, not a straight line. At first it’ll feel like you’re trying to do all these calculations in your head, and it will be overwhelming, but then it becomes muscle memory and you don’t even have to think about it.” Jace, Baela, and Daeron are now eagerly crossing the yard to help Rio carry the guns out of the cellar and receive their own lessons. “Alright, we’re going to start with a really terrifying enemy. I want you to shoot that tree.”

“What a formidable tree.”

“Aim for the top circle. And if you hit it, then you can practice on Jace.”

Aemond laughs, butter-yellow sunlight filtering down through the trees, the shadows of leaves flickering over his skin, a mosaic of flesh and earth. You ghost your open hand down the length of his arm as if adjusting the angle. Really, you just want to touch him, to feel his warmth and his stillness, the tension of his muscles, the rhythm of his pulse. He’s watching you, lips parted, goosebumps rising beneath your fingertips. Birds are chirping, sparrows and blue jays. High above, squirrels leap and scrabble through the branches. You pull your hand away.

“Look through the sights. The rear sight at the back of the barrel is shaped like a U, and the one at the front is an I. Is the I in the middle of the U?”

“I have no idea.” A pause as he reconsiders. “Yes.”

“Right, it is, and the bullet should go exactly where you want it to because I already sighted that Glock. I’ll show you how to do it later. Now shoot the tree.”

Aemond aims but doesn’t pull the trigger. He’s nervous; he doesn’t want to seem incompetent, pathetic. You imagine it is rare that he isn’t the one with the solutions.

“Hey,” you say softly, and he looks over at you. “You don’t judge me for not knowing how to cure people. I won’t judge you for not knowing how to kill them. Deal?”

Now he’s smiling again. “Deal.” He returns his attention to the tree, lets a few more seconds tick by, and fires. He hits one of the branches. “Oh, that is…embarrassing.”

“It’s not that bad. You hit something. Try again.”

More seconds, more birdsong, more wind through the grass and the leaves. Aemond’s second bullet pierces the trunk about six inches above the top circle. “Yes!” he cheers, boyish triumph on his scarred face.

You resist touching him. It is startlingly difficult. “That was really good.”

He lowers the Glock, and you click the safety on for him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say.

“Why’d you ghost that Marine at Corpus Christi?”

“I told you. I didn’t like him enough.”

“Okay, sure, but actually. What was wrong with him?”

“I’ve known you for like twenty-four hours. You think you’ve earned all my secrets?”

“Well, not all of them,” Aemond says, grinning. Rio is showing Jace, Baela, and Daeron how to load the .22s. Aegon is swinging his golf club in circles as he follows Luke into the barn. Helaena and Rhaena are giggling as butterflies land on their outstretched fingers. “But our time together could be very finite. It seems unwise to waste it by trying to preserve some amount of mystery.”

“You’ve convinced me.” You want to be known by him, you want to be understood. That is a frightening thing to realize. It’s like handing a stranger the keys to your home. Will they visit graciously, or will they rob you, ruin you, burn you down? “I haven’t seen many examples of love working out for people. I’ve seen couples who hated each other, and couples who split up, and a lot of women having to raise kids all on their own and turning into these…bitter, exhausted, hollowed-out versions of themselves. I never wanted that to be me. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like that was just one wrong choice away from becoming my life. I don’t want men to disappoint me. So I don’t give them the chance.”

You think Aemond is going to say something cheap, flirtatious, awful: Give me a chance, baby. I won’t disappoint you. Instead he says: “I haven’t known many happy couples either. I mean…Luke and Rhaena would be the closest, I guess. But they’re so young. I’m not sure if they count.”

“Rio and Sophie seem happy. But they’ve also barely seen each other in five years.”

“It does things to you, when you start to believe love might be doomed to end or tear you apart or turn to hatred. If it’s just an evolutionary mirage to trick us into reproducing, what’s the point of giving someone that power over you?”

“Exactly.”

“I feel like one of us should be trying to talk the other out of being so fatalistically cynical.”

“Yeah, totally. Okay. You talk me out of it.”

He chuckles. “No, I don’t think I can. You talk me out of it.”

You’re watching Aemond, realizing you like everything about him—his smirk, his height, his hands, the clear direct blue of his eye—and wondering what the hell you’re going to do about it. Then there is a scream from the barn.

What?? Who??

“Luke!” Aemond shouts, and takes off across the yard. Now you’re all running, even Rhaena and Helaena who don’t have anything to fight with. Everyone is yelling, their lungs heaving in wild June air, their shoes pounding against the earth.

Inside the barn, on a wooden floor strewn with hay, Luke is shrieking as he tries to push a zombie off of him with his bare hands. She’s an older woman, grey hair in rollers, yellow nightgown stained with gore. Something has happened to her feet. Both of her legs end in exposed tibias and flapping strips of purplish, rotting skin. Aegon is beating her with his golf club, but he can’t get a good shot at her head. If he accidentally hits Luke, he could make it worse, he could stun him or even knock him out, and he’ll be bitten in the few seconds it takes anyone to remove his undead assailant. Rio lunges to grab the zombie. She snaps at him with bared teeth and he retreats, drawing his M9.

“Don’t shoot!” Jace is saying. The air is putrid: dead horses, dead people. “You’ll hit Luke!”

Your own M9 is suddenly in your hands, the safety clicked off, one eye closed. “Luke, don’t move.”

“Kill it, kill it!” he pleads hysterically, pushing the zombie as far from him as he can, his palms sinking into the decomposing bruise-colored tissue of her chest and throat.

“Don’t shoot!” Jace orders, but you ignore him. He fades into the background with all the other frenzied voices. Your finger on the trigger, a boom like thunder, bits of bone and brains against the wall. Luke shoves the corpse away, trembling, sobbing. Rhaena flies to him.

Aegon spots the fresh blood on Luke’s right hand and panics. “Is that a bite?!”

Luke notices the wound for the first time. “I don’t know!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!”

“I don’t know!” Luke wails, tears flooding down his pink face.

“I thought you cleared the barn!” Aemond roars at Aegon.

“It fell out of the loft, we didn’t think anything was up there!”

Luke is blubbering: “I hit my hand against one of the stalls, I think that’s how I cut myself, I was just…I was pushing it away…I didn’t think it bit me…oh my God, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t want to die…”

“It only takes once, kid,” Rio says grimly, fidgeting with his M9, looking at Aemond as if for permission.

“Don’t touch him!” Jace hisses, stepping in front of his brother and clutching his bat. “No one is going to hurt him, it’s not a bite, you can’t prove it’s a bite!”

You reach for Luke’s bleeding hand. “Can I see—?”

“Get away from him!” Jace swings his bat. The tip of it connects with your skull, just a graze fortunately, but still enough to rattle you. Rio charges Jace, tackles him to the floor, starts throwing punches. Baela has apparently forgotten she’s heavily pregnant and is trying to pull them apart. You join her.

He’s going to demolish Jace. He’s going to break his nose or jaw or something. “Rio stop, I’m fine, stop!”

There is another gunshot, a cataclysmic earth-shaking explosion that makes the pain in your head surge from a ripple to a wave. Aemond is aiming his Glock skywards; a hole has appeared in the roof of the barn. “Stand up!” he commands. Rio and Jace reluctantly comply. You help Baela to her feet.

“Aemond,” Jace says. “You have to stop them, they’re going to kill Luke—”

“No one is killing anybody.” Aemond lowers his Glock. “Maybe he’s been bitten. Maybe he hasn’t been. And even if we knew for sure that he was going to turn, we don’t just execute people like this, threatening them when they’re terrified. We have humanity. We have compassion.”

There is a silence that strikes you as heavy, laden, holding meaning that escapes you. Aegon points at Luke. “So what the fuck are we going to do about him?”

“We’ll tie him up,” Aemond decides.

“What?!” Luke exclaims.

“There’s rope in the cellar. We’ll tie his arms and legs so he can’t do anything and keep him like that for a few days until either his hand heals up or he turns into a zombie. Someone will always have to be with him to help him eat and take a piss and also…you know. Deal with it if he turns.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says immediately.

Aemond’s voice is now gentle, sympathetic. “I don’t think you want this.”

“If Luke has to die, I should be the person with him.”

“You’ve never had to put someone down before.” And in this statement lives another: Aemond knows what that feels like. Aemond has had to kill someone when they turned.

“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says again, this frail harmless doe-eyed girl, and you see a steeliness in her that you hadn’t thought existed.

“Okay,” Aemond relents. “When you’re asleep, Jace or I will take over.”

“It’s not a bite,” Jace murmurs, like he’s trying to convince himself.

“We’ll all find out soon enough,” Rio says, casting him a glare, then goes to fetch the coil of rope from the cellar.

Aemond cleans and bandages the wound on Luke’s hand. Then the weapons, ammo, and newly immobilized Luke are loaded into the Tahoe. Aemond asks you once everyone else is inside: “How’s your head?”

“Fine, I think.”

“Hurts?”

“Just a little.”

“Dizzy? Double vision?”

“No, nothing like that.”

He takes a quick look, parting your hair with his fingertips, feeling gingerly for blood and swelling. And this is becoming a serious problem: every time he touches you, you want more.

“Aemond…who did you have to kill?”

He doesn’t answer. For another moment his hand lingers by your temple, then Aemond turns away and climbs into the Tahoe. This time, no one sings along to the next song on the mixtape. Heads rest on windows, eyes are vacant and misty. Baela steers the Tahoe westbound on Route 1004, the Chainsmokers drifting through the speakers: All We Know.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Pick a card, any card,” Aegon says when he’s done shuffling. He fans out the entire Uno deck face-down and offers it to Rio, Aemond, and Jace. They each select a card, then Aegon picks one for himself. Finally, he holds out the deck to Luke, who stares up incredulously from where he’s still bound with rope and sitting on a curb in the parking lot of a Burger King just outside of Yarnell, Pennsylvania.

“Are you serious?”

“You’re an adult male, aren’t you? You think being in the middle of transforming into an undead murder machine exempts you from gasoline siphoning duty?”

“I’m fine!” Luke insists.

“Great. Then pick a card.”

“I can’t move my hands, you idiot.”

“Pick it with your mouth.”

“I hate you.” Luke bites his card of choice and waits with it clasped between his teeth, glowering.

“I want to pick a card,” Daeron says cheerfully.

Aegon refuses. “No. Too young. A baby.”

“Aegon, I’m seventeen!”

“Can’t enlist, can’t do jury duty, can’t buy lottery tickets, can’t sign up to drink gasoline. Okay, everybody show their cards.”

“I got a three,” Jace says, then yanks Luke’s card out of his mouth and reads it. “He got a skip.”

Aemond’s card is a nine, Rio’s a five, Aegon’s a reverse. “That means you lose, Jace,” Aegon announces, admittedly rather gleeful. “You had the lowest number.”

“This is bullshit, I had to siphon last time!”

“Then stop picking bad cards.”

“Jace, I can do it,” Aemond says.

“And get to be the martyr, as usual? No thanks. Give me the damn hose.”

Aegon roots around under the Tahoe seats and produces a long, semitransparent siphoning hose. “All the ones with the little pump attachments were sold out everywhere by the time we thought that might be useful,” he explains to you and Rio.

“That sucks, Jace,” Rio says. “I mean, literally, it sucks.”

“Next time we cross a bridge, I’m pushing you off it.” Jace takes the hose from Aegon, pops open the gas cap of the Dodge Ram 3500 you’ve found, and threads the hose down into the tank. He sucks on the other end and then shoves it into the Tahoe once the gasoline starts flowing. The fuel gauge was hovering just above E. Hopefully you can get at least a few gallons out of the Ram, another fifty or a hundred miles, maybe even two hundred, enough to get you across the Ohio border.

Jace is bent over and vomiting gasoline onto the pavement. Rhaena and Baela sit with Luke as Aemond feels his forehead and peers into his eyes. Daeron accompanies Helaena as she goes to scavenge inside the Burger King, her burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Rio is now holding the siphoning hose and watching the liquid gold pour into the Tahoe, his smile growing with each passing second. Your eyes fall on Aemond and stay there, his careful hands, his brow knitted with concentration.

A whisper from behind you: “We could fake date to make him jealous.”

You whirl to see Aegon, mischievous smirk, neon green plastic sunglasses. “That is a super generous offer and I appreciate the thought you put into it, but no.”

“Why not?”

“It’s dishonest. It’s manipulative. If something is going to happen with Aemond, I want it to be real.”

Aegon sighs. “No, you’re right, it was a dumb idea. I just figured I have a lot of experience.”

“Experience with what?”

“People pretending to love me.” He flashes a strange, sad smile, then follows Daeron and Helaena into the Burger King.

[bonefall]

this isn't a question about your rewrite but as you are The Warrior Cats Pro i figured id throw it out there... why is it that, even though there have been way more books taking place at the lake territory, both in the main wc series and beyond, than the old forest territory, but the forest territory is still so much more memorable and always what i think of when i think of warriors, and the lake feels so uninteresting and forgettable?

because the lake map FUNDAMENTALLY sucks baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalloons.

In a series about border drama and forbidden relationships, they have put a huge, impassable obstacle smack in the middle of the map. You ever heard the expression, "Tall fences make good neighbors?" This is supposed to be the BAD NEIGHBORS series and they have put the world's tallest fence in the game.

The lake was a fundamentally bad idea. Simple as that.

It was so bad I reworked the Lake Map for my own rewrite.

I made more contested land, such as putting field maples which produce syrup just beyond the Wind/Thunder gorge.

Added Northern Islets and Southern Delta which have value to several clans

Expanded RiverClan's territory so they can hypothetically reach ProtagonistClan, RE: Northern Islets.

I need to make Draft 2 but I also added more uncontested landmarks akin to the old Forest landmarks. For example, ThunderClan now has a patch of old-growth forest. Places like the Owl Tree and Snakerocks are super important as flavorings.

[lovifie]

A/B/O!Reader x Task Force 141

Back to Masterlist - 560 words

Task Force 141, the most fear-inducing task of the active force. 

Before you joined, it was composed of four massive, scary-looking alpha. At some point, everyone thought about how there were no fights between them.

A normal pack cannot function without members of all subgenders, but again, the 141 is not a normal pack.

John Price, captain of the unit and leader of the pack; whatever he said was set on stone. The alpha, whose parents were both betas was the perfect mix of genetic and learned habilites, a calming and reassuring nature unpropper of an alpha.

You were surprised when you were to his office, even more, when the other three men were also inside. But they matched your surprise with theirs when they saw you enter the room. 

Almost comically small next to them, you were not built as Soap who (at just a couple of inches shorter than the rest) makes up for it with his wideness. You are short, have the athletic build proper of a soldier, a cute face and a neck covered in scent blocker tape. 

“I don't like it when people can tell what I'm feeling.”

That was the only explanation. 

Still, they were surprised. You were not what they expected, on your file was just a list of the missions you have completed, many of them going solo and still succeeding. Little was written about you outside of work: “Behavioral problems (they don't interfere with the mission), don't touch scent blocker tape; will use scent tactics to teammates.”

But the task force was not the most normal one to begin with, so they were not the right one to judge. You'll fit in just fine. 

And it did, for months until something happened on a mission.

There are expensive suppressants, too expensive. And even with your raise, you can't afford them. So you use the slightly worse one, the one that makes you feel every symptom of your heat just one step before collapsing. But as long as anybody else knows you are an omega, everything will work out.

You are used to them already, on the outside you look perfectly fine, a little bit pissed if anything. On the inside, you can feel your blood boil with your fever, your bones hurt as if they were being broken and your inner omega keeps screaming at you to jump any of the men walking mere meters before you. 

The ice-cold water of the river you are walking across helps you with the high temperature of your body, and when it gets too deep you need to swim across you don't really mind it. Until you finally get out, and the corner of the tape of your neck starts to itch. 

You scratch it, pressing it down as you do, but instead; it gets stuck on your glove peeling it back, your nose instantly filling with the reekingly sweet smell of an omega on heat.

You tape it back quickly, trying not to panic, is fine, it was just a second, you are wearing a scarf over the tape, you smelled it because is your own neck. 

Everyone just got out of the water, is fine, they probably didn't smell you. It's fine.

And when they turn around, eyes black with how dilated their pupils are, and you know.

They have smelled you.

[amoreva]

Hiii can u do a Luke or Clarisse (either one) x child of Dionysus! Reader and like they sneak off to make out or SMT AND DIONYSUS catches them AND GIVES THEM THE TALK and it’s funny and embarrassing for them

(Thank you if you do make this!!)

THE TALK

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pairing: luke castellan x daughter of dionysus!reader

summary: your father gives you the talk, after he catches luke and you sneaking around

warnings: innuendo?, making out, dionysus dramatics

a/n: let’s pretend ep 8 of pjo didn’t happen. ngl brainrotting to luke and swan lake op 20 act 1

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

Dionysus paced around in front of the two of you. His Hawaiian shirt catching wind. Luke was trying (and failing) to hide the grin. It was quite amusing to see a God worry about something like this.

Dionysus was muttering something to himself. You caught wind of your father talking about “Chiron” and “the talk” and he was so confused on where to start.

You grimaced just knowing this wouldn’t end well. “Dad, please…” You helplessly plead not to even start this conversation.

“No, no! I must.” Dionysus spoke and put his hands up in discontent. He leaned against his little desk in the Big House.

“Do you know how betrayed I feel!?”

Luke smiled as he helped you down the steps of Cabin 12. A stupid lovey-dovey grin on both of your faces as your interlaced hands and ran across camp. It was as if you were normal mortal teenagers rather than half-bloods.

You trek through the forest used for the Capture the Flag, running along the river which lead to the lake. Every so often, Luke stopped to steal a kiss from you. You two had not seen each other all day because of counselor duties.

“Luke—!” You giggled after he stole yet another kiss.

“You’ve deprived me of affection, love.” Luke joked and held your hands. He walked backwards into a clearing. You reached the lake. It was usually used for canoeing, swimming and Capture the Flag (as well as romantic rendezvous). “How was I supposed to sleep without seeing you?”

Luke took of the jacket he was wearing so you could sit without getting sand on your pajamas. The waves of the lake seeped into the sand by your feet. Luke and you sharing portions of his jacket so you both won’t get dirty.

“I did retire to my cabin without giving you a good night kiss.” You joked your hand came to rest on Luke’s cheek.

“What a terrible girlfriend.” Luke hummed and lips in to kiss your lips. You breathed through your nose. Fireworks exploded in your stomach as you and Luke kissed, pushing each back ever so slightly, but not letting go.

Your other hand went to cup his face fully. Sweet nothings heard here and there as he pulled back for air just to dive back in.

You can’t help but lose yourself in him.

It’s always him.

You can’t help it. When he looks like that, treats you like this and has a reputation of that— you can’ help it.

“Luke…”

“Mm…”

“Hi!” Mr. D shined a flashlight on both of you. His hand on his hip. Luke and you break apart and block the shiny light from your eyes. “So…you both get bathroom duty for…3 months—”

Before Mr. D could even dish out punishment, he gasps. He gasps so dramatically you think he sucked all the oxygen from the world.

“I know.” Your dad stated firmly. His flare for dramatics makes you want to roll your eyes. “I know that is not my daughter kissing a boy.”

“Betrayed?”

You exclaim. Your face contorting into disbelief and surprise. You leg stopped bouncing as you stare at your father.

“Yes. Betrayed that my own—” Dionysus feigns his tears. A hand over his heart as if he is going to a parental crisis. “My own daughter!” His voice shaky.

“With all due respect Mr. D—” Luke spoke up.

“I’m not talking to you!” Dionysus exclaimed and crouched to his knees in front of you.

He turns on the fake waterworks. “You’re growing up! Which means…you’ll be discovering things that make you—”

Luke and you cringe. “Dad!” You cried out, disgusted with what he was trying to imply. Mr. D’s act drops. He stood up and leaned on his table. “Look, you two are young and Chiron was telling me to man up and have like a sex talk—”

“Dad!” You stood up, grabbing Luke’s hand. You storm out of there, listening to your father yell phrases like “be safe when you’re with him!” or “That’s 4–no 5 months on bathroom duty!”

You face was as red as the strawberries growing in the field. Luke laughed quietly at your embarrassment, though he himself was embarrassed.

“Hey. You heard your father. Be safe with me.” Luke teased and grabbed your waist. He turned you around to face him.

“Luke—please, that was already embarrassing enough.” You spoke flustered.

“So…” Luke dragged out with a small smile. He leaned in towards your face, lips centimeter away from yours. “Next time. We won’t get caught. Can’t suffer another talk again, can we?”

Luke pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

[narcissisticmf]

swim | benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

description: on your honeymoon, you and benedict decide to have a picnic beside a lake, which leads to his desire for a swim.

trigger warnings: nudity, seductive behavior, fluff, suggestive/implied smut, etc. please do not proceed in reading if you are under the age of 18. thank you.

word count: <1k

The sun was setting as you and Benedict were laying against a blanket, against the soft grass. You gently ran your fingers across the greenery amongst the ground, letting it tickle your fingertips. Your eyes grew weary as you gazed at the thin clouds in the orangey, pink sky.

In front of a babbling river stream, you listened to the soft movements in the water. Fish popping up here and there and water running across a line of rocks. You were wearing a long, floral sun dress.

"If I had the choice to stay here forever, I think I would," You admitted in a sigh.

Benedict's lips curved into his famous lopsided grin, you could hear it without even looking in his direction. "Me too," He agreed. He was sitting up with his hands folded, arms around his bent legs. "I don't suppose you'd wanna go for a swim?" Benedict grinned cheekily and poked your side, making you chuckle softly.

You turned to look up to him with blown out pupils. He was mesmerized by your beauty as you laid there so comfortably.

"I would hate to ruin your moment of peace and tranquility.." Benedict started and moved so he could hover over you, his free hand holding himself up on the other side of you. You were trapped beneath him now as he lowered his head to gently kiss your jawline. "But.." He breathed out, "I'd like to go for a swim with you."

"I must admit," You smiled. "You are very persistent, it is hard to say no."

"So is that a yes?" Benedict smiled, pulling his head back to stare at you lovingly. His other hand cupped your face, caressing the apple of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

You nodded softly as he smiled like a school boy, rising to his feet as he begun to remove his clothing. You laughed as he was acting so frantic to get out of his attire, as though the water would dry out if the two of you hadn't been quick enough.

"Ben!" You laughed as he struggled to get his shoes off. "You can slow down, the water isn't going anywhere!"

Benedict smiled as soon as he became fully undraped, scurrying across the soft grass to leap into the cool water. You watched him with so much glee in your eyes. You took your time removing your dress, corset and stockings, as well as your boots. You laid all your clothes onto the blanket once you were completely uncladded.

"Come on, Mrs. Bridgerton!" Benedict smiled as his head was aboved the water, waving his hands so you would follow him.

"Is it cold?" You asked on your way toward the water.

"Refreshing," He grinned as he watched you jump in, splashing his face with the water lightly. He was laughing.

You kicked your feet to the surface of the water and smiled widely, so much so that your cheeks begun to sore. The water was cool against your skin, utterly perfect and — as Benedict described — refreshing.

His arms snuck around your waist as yours fell, resting across his shoulders and upper back. You let your nose brush against his cheek as your faces were centimeters apart.

"I never noticed.." He whispered, dreamily.

"What?" You smiled.

Once he noticed you were caught off guard, he smiled mischievously and lifted your waist tossing you further back into the water. He was cackling loudly as you yelped as soon as you hit the water again.

"You idiot!" You scolded once you resurfaced.

"Aww.. what're you to do, darling? Gonna tell my mother?" Benedict pulled his lips into a forced frown.

"I very well just might!" You grumbled.

Benedict couldn't take you serious as he swam towards you, smiling brightly.

"No, stay over there," You pushed the water to splash his face. He was laughing as he wiped his eyes with one hand and snuck the other around your waist lowly. He moved his hand from his face and held you tightly with both arms.

"You're absolutely adorable when you're frustrated," Benedict whispered into your ear as his hands moved down to your bum, gripping your cheeks softly. You sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide.

"Benedict," You whispered, squeezing his shoulders.

"What? I'm just appreciating your body," He snickered, with that most beautiful crooked smile.

You returned a smile and cupped his face, putting your lips to his softly. A rumble of thunder was heard in the distant skies, but that didn't stop either of you from pulling away. Out of nowhere, grey clouds darkened the sky and rain began to pour, hitting the tops of your heads with high pressure.

Pulling back from Benedict's kiss, you looked up at the sky with parted lips. He did as well, but his gaze at the dark clouds didn't last very long. He looked back to you and pressed warm kisses to your exposed neck, making you smile dreamily. Your fingers tangled in his wet hair, breathing softly.

"We should probably go back to the house," You muttered in a whisper.

Benedict smiled against your skin and you knew there was no stopping him now; and you were comfortable with that.

.

a/n: this is the cutest thing i think i've ever written 🥺 i love it so much!! i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i had fun writing it! if you'd like more bridgerton content, PLEASE let me know! i'd love to write more for this fandom! thank you so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed! be safe, my darlings. <33 — angelina.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

(Don’t) Face Your Fears: Part 2

Yandere Merfolk Straw Hats x GN!Reader

1.8k words

Part 1

This is the second part to that merfolk story I wrote before that I retroactively added a name to once I realized it wasn’t just going to be a one off.

Despite several members of his crew wanting to come with him, the river cutting through your island consisting of freshwater meant that only Luffy could go. Sure, Franky did build what was essentially a mobile saltwater pool that Luffy could use to bring some of them along, but he didn’t have it nearby and Luffy wasn’t willing to wait.

He wanted to see you again, and he wanted to do so now.

Being a bull shark had many perks, and he was currently using two of them. One being the coveted ability to swim in both fresh and saltwater, and the other being an impeccable sense of smell. It was best in water, but this island was so small that he could easily follow your trail. An awfully long trail, he noted. You are quite the runner! Usopp would have some stiff competition if you were merfolk, too.

Your unique scent came to a head, bringing Luffy to a halt. Pulling himself up onto the river bank, he sniffed the air to confirm that you were nearby. Somewhere in the house not far from where he is to be exact. A sharp grin spread across his face. He was right! You do live near the river! This will make getting ahold of you much easier.

Before he could pull himself fully out of the river, someone exited the house. Not just any person, but you. Luffy quietly slipped his upper body back into the river, leaving only his head poking out of the water.

Your footsteps drew closer, stopping slightly upstream from where he was. Once there, you dropped onto the ground and buried your face in your hands. Luffy watched curiously as you groaned loudly and scowled at the river when you pulled your hands away from your face. Is this a human thing? He’s intrigued and inches closer. Humans have awful night vision, he isn’t concerned about being noticed before he wants to be.

“I can’t believe this. Months of work wasted because I just had to run into merfolk during my first trip into the ocean,” you muttered under your breath. “What kind of stupid bad luck is that?”

Bad luck? You meeting and coming to their rescue was good luck! Great luck even! Luffy frowned at what you said. He knows he startled you earlier, but he thought it was just because you were surprised to see a merman up close.

Did you just… not like merfolk?

Why not? He can guess that he was the first merman to ever be so close to you. How could you come to dislike people you’ve never really gotten to know? That doesn’t make any sense. If you were willing to help people despite your obvious discomfort, then surely you couldn’t be a hateful person.

An idea suddenly clicks in his head. Other humans must be telling you awful things about them!

Nodding with resolve, Luffy swam even closer. When he was right in front of you, he launched himself out of the water and wrapped his arms around you. You immediately tried to scream, but he was prepared for you to do that after your last interaction and slapped a hand over your mouth.

You kicked and thrashed in his arms, and it only increased as he began pulling you into the water with him. You’re definitely not weak, he’ll give you that, but you aren’t stronger than him either. 

By the time he settles back into the water, you’re hysteric. You’re still trying to scream for help even with his hand in the way, and he can feel hot tears streaming down onto him. That makes him feel a little bad about what he’s doing. He doesn’t want to upset you, he just wants to show you that merfolk aren’t anything to be scared of.

“Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you!” If you heard him, you made no indication that you did. You were still fighting him hard and digging your puny human claws into his arm. What were these people telling you that had you acting this terrified?! 

Luffy became distracted as he picked up on more scents and heard doors being opened. It would seem that his hand wasn’t keeping you as quiet as he’d hoped, especially not with how much you were splashing in the water. Looks like you two are going to have to leave.

Pushing off, he hastily makes his way down the river and towards the ocean. You probably wouldn’t listen if he told you to hold your breath, so he settled for swimming with you balanced on top of his chest. This was easier said than done. Between swimming upside down and your squirming, he wound up dropping you into the water.

Bizarrely, you went from doing everything to get away from him to desperately reaching your arms out to his figure and holding on for dear life. Luffy pulled you back up onto him, patting your back as you hacked up the water you’d inhaled. Much to his relief, this experience seemed to have settled you down somewhat.

You didn’t look happy by any means, but you weren’t fighting against him anymore, so he considered this a victory. Seeing that there wasn’t anyone around, Luffy decided to try talking to you again, “Hi! I’m Luffy!”

“Please don’t drown me!” You sobbed, “I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you mad, please don’t kill me!”

Drown you? Kill you??? Luffy is completely bewildered by your pleas. Sure, he did drop you just now, but that was an accident! “Whoa there, no one is going to kill you! I’m sorry I dropped you, I didn’t mean to.”

“Then what do you want from me? Please just let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone about this!” 

What’s got you so damn freaked out? He doesn’t get it. How dangerous are the people around here that you’re so horrified by him? Does every new person you come across try to harm you? That must be the case. 

“I wanted to see you again! Also, I want you to join my crew! You seem really nice, so I think you’ll fit in great,” Luffy beamed at you, not paying attention to how you recoiled from his teeth.

“Join your crew?! Are you insane?! I’m not one of you!” You spat out incredulously.

“What’s that got to do with anything? We don’t mind tugging you around in a boat,” Luffy didn’t really get why you were being so argumentative about this. He already told you that he’s not going to hurt you, what’s the hold up? These other humans must really have you brainwashed. Good thing he’s here to save you from them!

“I don’t want to be pulled around on a boat in the middle of the ocean, I want to go home!” You shrieked while frantically peering around to check your surroundings.

Much to Luffy’s relief, he’d finally made it out of the river and into the ocean. Once he’s gotten you away from this awful island, he’s sure you’ll calm down and be more willing to listen. You’ll love all the other crew members after you get to know them, he just knows it! You won’t even want to go back to this pathetic island after they’ve made friends with you.

“You’re back already? Could you not- You’ve got to be kidding!” Sanji surfaced and swam straight at you two. “You really thought it was a good idea to drag them out here just like that?”

You cringed away from the new shark and looked like you were about to faint. Luffy couldn’t help but puff out his chest in pride as you clung onto him, obviously a part of you recognized that he could protect you. 

“I had to! Other humans showed up, and I couldn’t just leave them all alone there!” Luffy nuzzled his face into your hair, choosing to ignore the way you shuddered from the contact. You’re probably just a little cold.

“That’s bullshit! No one came out until after you dragged me in!”

Sanji’s eyes narrowed at Luffy, “This is why we didn’t want you to go alone, you have no tact!”

“Like you would have done any better! You would’ve just creeped them out if you’d gone,” Nami jabbed. Sanji sulked away, not even attempting to plead his case. Nami, on the other hand, swam closer to you, eyeing you up curiously. She reached out to experimentally tug on your wet clothing, not paying any mind to how uncomfortable you looked.

Chopper was the next to appear. You were definitely surprised by his appearance, but seemed more confused than scared by him. The doctor went right up to you, visibly concerned, “Luffy! You can’t just drag a human into the water like this! It’s cold enough that they could get hypothermia if we don’t get them someplace dry soon!”

You latched onto this immediately, “Y-Yeah, you should take me back to shore before I get sick!”

“Don’t worry, I got this covered!” Franky pulled a self made boat over, “It’s not much yet, but I’ve got biiiig plans for this thing.” The boat in question looked like a small house boat. There weren’t any doors on it, just an open three walled structure for shelter. 

“Oooh, good thinking, Franky!” Luffy happily approached the boat and heaved you onto it. The second you were out of his arms, you scrambled into the walled off part of it. You stared at them with wide eyes with your back pressed up against one of the walls.

More of his crew appeared, wanting to get a good look at you now that you weren’t actively running away from them. With each head that popped out of the water, you curled in on yourself more and more.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? What if other humans come after us to get them back? Don’t we have enough enemies already?” Usopp was hanging back, still skittish about this whole idea.

“Of course it is! They’re our friend now, so we’ll protect them!” Luffy pulled himself up onto the boat while you shrank back even farther. He turns to face you, grinning even wider than he already was, “Don’t worry about all those awful humans on that island, we won’t let them hurt you!”

“What are you talking about? Everyone there is-”

“Very dangerous and spreading lies about what merfolk are like! You don’t need to say anything, I already figured it out,” Luffy nodded proudly.

“You didn’t figure shit out, you maniac!” 

No one listened to you, and there was a chorus of groans from the merfolk. This was hardly anything new to them, humans always assumed the worst of them. 

Admittedly, Luffy didn’t have a long term plan for what to do with you yet, but he’s already made it this far without ever making any plans. Everything will fall into place soon enough, and you’ll learn to be grateful for his extremely considerate rescue.

[70sscifiart]

The Last-Minute Sci-Fi Gift Guide

There's only one thing worse than procrastinating on getting gifts for your loved ones, and that's procrastinating on putting together a guide to help out everyone else with all those gifts. It's Dec 12, so you can decide for yourself which I'm doing.

Art book: Worlds Beyond Time, $32

If you follow this blog, you might have heard of this one. I published Worlds Beyond Time: Sci-Fi Art of the 1970s this year after five years of work on it, and I think it's really good! 400+ images, 100+ artists, with lots of fun art history and jokes.

Also, it's just $20 right now if you order through my publisher and use the code SKIPTHELINE! Cheapest it's ever been!

Card game: Coup, $14

In this "social deduction" card game, you play as a government official in a future dystopia who needs to backstab their way into power. Everyone starts out with just two cards in this bluffing game, so the tide can turn pretty quick when players start assassinating each other's cards. The fast pace makes it a good gift for someone who loves spies but thinks they don't like card games.

Game to play over Zoom: Bad Spaceships, $3

If a bluffing game stresses you out, try Bad Spaceships: It's a collaborative world-building game in which you roll dice to see what area of your spaceship connects to another, forcing you to spitball exactly why this is the case. As the game puts it, you might fix the hull by playing Tetris, or charge your weapons in the swimming pool. You're basically getting weird prompts to tell a story that can evolve over the course of the game.

It's such an indie game that it comes as PDFs you download from itch.io, but you can play it just as well over Zoom, if you're looking for an excuse to catch up with your old digital nomad college friend.

Movies/TV: Streaming service gift card

Gift cards are all well and good, but you can personalize them by recommending a few of your favorite shows as well. I suggest:

Hulu: Cowboy Bebop

Apple TV+: Severance

Criterion Channel: Ravenous, Paprika, Strange Days

Paramount+: Yellowjackets

Amazon Prime: The Devil's Hour

But to be honest, this entry is just an excuse to talk about the new Max show Scavenger’s Reign. Inspired by the work of French artist Moebius and with a clear debt to famed 70s animated film Fantastic Planet, this stylish sci-fi show features a bunch of humans trying to survive on a beautiful but hostile alien world. Perfect for lovers of fictional nature.

Vintage sci-fi

This Etsy shop has some good stuff, like the 1971 Frank Kelly Freas NASA poster above, a bit of history that I even mentioned on page 167 of my art book.

Penguin science fiction postcards, $28

These postcards have a ton of very cool sci-fi covers I've blogged in the past – great value if you want a lot of art for a low cost.

Meteorite pendant necklace, $34

I think we all know what kind of rock your loved ones need around their neck: A chunk of meteorite straight out of the 1576 Argentinan meteorite fall.

Book recs

For astronauts: Packing for Mars by Mary Roach, The New Guys: The Historic Class of Astronauts That Broke Barriers and Changed the Face of Space Travel by Meredith Bagby

For comedians: Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir, Even Greater Mistakes: Short Stories by Charlie Jane Anders 

For sleuths: Six Wakes by Mur Lafferty, Drunk on All Your Strange New Words by Eddie Robson

For crafters: Knits of Tomorrow: Toys and Accessories for your Retro-Future Needs

For the resistance fighters: The Light Brigade by Kameron Hurley, An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon

For slasher movie fans: Clown in a Cornfield by Adam Cesare

Syd Mead "Biomorph Vehicle" button down shirt, $49

T-shirts aren't classy enough for the world's coolest visual futurist, Syd Mead. I haven't actually bought this incredibly odd shirt, but I really need to.

Art prints (and more) from 70s sci-fi artists

Artist shops can be surprisingly hard to track down on the internet, but here's a short list of ones I've come across. All of these artists are featured in my book (except one), so you can read up on them before you commit to a print.

Michael Whelan 

John Harris

Syd Mead

Don Maitz

David B Mattingly

Peter Andrew Jones - Jones was one of just a few artists who declined to be included in my art book, but he has a distinct, colorful style that I would have loved to have featured!

Finally, here's one extra bonus, just for everyone who made it to the end of this article: The UK-based educational charity Centre for Computing History sells three big officially licensed John Harris posters featuring these three artworks, famous for their use as covers for Sinclair programming manuals.

It's a great deal that I've never seen mentioned anywhere, and Harris' work has a timeless quality that makes it great for an unassuming wall decoration. If you're outside the UK, the shipping costs will be a pain, but there's no better deal for a classic sci-fi poster.

[naffeclipse]

*slides leopardtaur Y/N to you across the table like a seedy casino*

*picks leopardtaur Y/N up and slips them into my inner jacket pocket*

You escaped Fazco's jungle park the moment it fell, darting to the outer regions of dense forest and tangled vegetation to soak in the untouched tropics. Your lower body takes after a leopard with a tawny coat and beautiful black rosettes. You're sleek, swift, and dangerous but not the biggest threat.

While in captivity, you caught whiffs off handlers of strange scents and heard gossip from those feeding you about the other monsters. You don't see any now, but you know to avoid conflict is to avoid encounters. You hunt at different times than might be typical for other beasts and avoid taking prey that might be missed. Usually, you rest in trees and hope to go unnoticed. You enjoy your newfound freedom. You hope to never see another human again.

Unfortunately, you're not alone. You realize that when you catch distant hisses and the echoes of slithering in the undergrowth. There are also the bones left from meals picked clean that you occasionally stumble upon. Massive paw tracks are left in the moist dirt. When you step into it with your paws, the imprint engulfs yours.

You'd rather not find out who those belong to. You're fierce but small. If anything big catches you in its teeth, it's over.

That doesn't mean you're never found. One lazy evening, just after nightfall, you wake up from a cozy nap along a thick tree branch. You yawn, opening your jaws and flashing your sharp teeth, stretching your arms and four legs and flicking your tail, only to realize that there's something above you. Wide, red eyes, caught off guard, stare down at you from higher branches. A naga, deep blue and hooded, dotted with diamonds of red and yellow scales, stares back. He must have been slithering along, not realizing the tree was already occupied. He starts to say something. You've already dashed down the tree trunk and bounded away faster than a bird disappearing into the forest.

That was too close, but not as close as your next encounter. The waterside is dangerous—you have to go there for a cool drink when the afternoon sun is hot. You venture forward, furry ears pricked, eyes scanning the verdant trees until you reach the babbling river's side. The noise is dangerous. It can conceal threats you might otherwise hear before they get too close, but you fold your four legs underneath you and cup your hands to drink delicious sweet water. It runs down your chin before you register another presence. The soft hiss of surprise that echoes.

You jump into the water. Splashing furiously, you turn around to face the intruder only to be met with wide blue eyes and open hands, just as stunned to see you as you are to see him. A naga of golden colors and red patches. He doesn't have a hood, not like the other one. Bright frills frame his head like a crown of beaming gold. He smiles reassuringly, almost too excited, and says, "Hello, friend." You spare him not a word as you swim across the river and disappear into the other end of the forest, ignoring his pleas to wait a moment.

The third encounter is too close for comfort. You don't realize you're being stalked until it's too late. The tall grass made you feel safe and hidden, but it only concealed who lurked here. You spy two gleaming orange eyes between blades of grass moments before the tigertaur leaps on you—and in a second, you're pinned. His paws hold your leopard body down, easily dwarfing you, as his hands grab your wrists. His strength puts an end to your attempts to fight back or wriggle free. He coos at you, much to your dismay. When he leans in close, you brace for his teeth to sink into you. Instead, he licks your cheek and tells you how sweet it is to finally get a proper eyeful of you. You're always running or hiding or sleeping. He wants to know your name. He wants you to know his name. He wants to see you again very soon, ignoring your confusion and disbelief that you're still alive.

He finally lets you up. He grabs your wrist when you try to flee. His striped tail whips about like he's playing while your own snaps in feral agitation. He tells you that you can trust him, especially over those snakes. You break free (did he let you break free?) and race back to the shadowy shelter of the jungle trees, breathing hard and frazzled.

You hide harder, staying in trees more and avoiding moving too much in the middle of the day and at midnight. Your paranoia grows when you notice little offers left under the tree where you had a nap at dawn and dusk: small morsels of meat, berries, nuts, and even flowers that hold no nutritional value but are gorgeous. You hear the nagas more, feel their presence, even catch sight of them as they catch sight of you, calling out, urging you to stop for a moment, please.

The tigertaur finds you when he pleases. He catches you bathing in the river one night and proceeds to help you groom your coat and hair despite your raised hackles, and he tells you that you should hunt food together; it would be far more efficient to share meals, and you need more meat. No matter where you go, where you hide, he finds you. You're certain he takes delight in catching you by surprise by how eagerly he snatches you up each time.

You don't like the offerings left by the nagas but you do take them, even the useless flowers. You don't like the tigertaur dragging a large carcass out, dropping it at your feet, and telling you to indulge, but you do eat. You don't know how to handle the attention of so many large predators, much less what to say when you drop by the babbling waterside to find the yellow naga smiling at you and telling you that it's safe, they won't hurt you. You don't know how to respond when you wake up to a soft hum in the middle of the night and find the blue naga a tree over, coiled up and watching you with a ruby gleam and a soft request to come over to his tree. He doesn't bite.

You don't know what to do but you want to survive, and you don't know if you can with the nagas and tigertaur beckoning you closer.

[villainofmyownstory]

Blurry

Part 2

masterlist

part 1 | 1.2 | part 3

pairing: exhusband!Captain John Price x fem!Reader

summary: You visit your ex-husband, in your once shared home. The memories are painful. But only for you. Unfortunately, after that one bloody mission, John doesn't remember you. The memory of your life together, blurred in his mind.

tags: afab reader, hurt, ex lovers, ex-husband, recollection of death, loss of memory, ambiguous/open ending

2.5k words

author's note: @blackhawkfanatic @who-needs-to-sleep @rafaelacallinybbay because you asked about part 2 <3

If anyone wants to be added or removed from the taglist - let me know.

——————————————————————————————————

Something inside you has broken.

It seems that for a long time, you were pieces that were temporarily glued together.

In the end, pretending was a good thing.

After all, the one who laughs the loudest internally cries the hardest. 

Since those three days, weeks have passed. And somehow you couldn't move on. Maybe you should ask about that ring on his finger that unexpectedly appeared. Or maybe you should forget, finally move on, start living your life as before and never look back.

And of course, the phone rang every day. The boys, as usual, cared about you, not just him. After all, the captain's orders were to take care of you, too.

Even if he said those words so long ago. Before.

Do you think these waters will ever be shallower? That the current of the river, will carry you away and let you swim inertly to another shore? Or will you drown in the mud and your body sink inertly to the bottom. Forgotten. Left until your flesh rots, disintegrates eaten by river creatures.

His warm hands gently hold your waist. Keeping you from falling off the chair. Even though this is November outside it's already exceptionally cold. It even snowed lightly today. However, there was no longer any sign of it now.

You try to concentrate on decorating the tree, but the presence of a man in your flat is slightly overwhelming.

You let him. You accepted it all. Feeling inside, somewhere deep under your ribs, that this is madness. But despite everything, this discomfort, the smile doesn't leave your face.

You look down at him, his hands still holding your hips. Maybe you can stay like this for a while longer. You feel safe. Wanted. Needed. Belonged to someone.

”I'll turn on the lights”

he says finally helping you off the chair. You take a few steps away to get a better view.

Your first Christmas together. Never mind that it's just the two of you. And you don't mind that it's November.

What matters is that someone finally put your broken pieces together.

He was just yours.

In a few days he had to go on a mission. For unknown amount of time.

So this year Christmas came sooner. And you glance at him as he looks at the decorated Christmas tree with pride written on his face. To turn his gaze to you with the same delight.

”Somethin' wrong?”

You don't answer, blushing slightly. No one has ever looked at you like that.

”Nothing”

you mumble embarrassed

”You look nice in that Christmas sweater” you reply and reluctantly glance back at tree.

”Do you like snowmen, dove?”

The phone rings. It rings nonstop. A familiar picture appears on the screen.

That's right, today is Wednesday.

You allow yourself not to answer.

Several times.

Finally, you slide your finger across the screen.

"Everythin’ okay?"

Kyle, as usual without greeting, gets straight to the point

"I've been waiting for an hour and you're not here. Do you want me to come get you?"

Silence.

"Or maybe I should call Simon?"

That will do.

"I'll be there in half an hour."

You sigh, slowly letting the air out, as if you've been holding it in your lungs for the last few minutes. You quickly take the keys and leave the cold apartment.

You let him hold your hand. Maybe it's weakness. Maybe longing. Or maybe selfishness.

When the therapy is over and you're sitting in his car, you see a Tupperware container in the back seat. You know very well what it means.

"Jessica thought you'd be hungry. You know how she is.  She always cooks too much, and Captain won't eat it all himself” Kyle hands you a heavy container and a spoon

"How long?"

You don't dare raise your eyes, heavy eyelids close for a moment. The world starts spinning again. You don't want to hear that she is there again. Why is she there. After all, it was your home too. Never hers.

But of whom you want to make a fool, you know very well the reason.

"Two weeks." Kyle looks through the windshield, nervously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel

"Friday will be three years from-"

"Don't."

You speak quickly and dryly. You don't want to hear it. You know perfectly well that Friday is the anniversary of the accident.

You should be the one standing in the kitchen. It should be you. There.

"Should I drive you back to your apartment? One of the guys will drive the car back later."

You don't answer, your eyelids are heavy. It's as if they've stuck together and don't want to give you even a hint of light. Any comfort of a still bright day.

Drowning. To sink into the darkness. In an abyss of pain. Rot and suffer. This is your destiny. Forgotten.

"Hey, do you want to talk? Maybe someone should stay with you for the next few days?"

Kyle looks at you, sees your gray, tired face. The dark circles under your eyes. Hair that hasn't been cared for by a stylist in years. Fallen cheeks and chapped lips. Someone else is sitting in that car. It's not you anymore.

When you finally get back to your place, you toss the food container into the trash can and, still in your coat and shoes, lie down on the couch, in the living room. You stare dully at the blank wall, hoping that maybe sleep will come now.

It was better with you before, you were already walking on that straight path. Without stumbling, colors appeared on the sides. The sun was rising more and more for you. But again, a shadow that hid somewhere behind you covered your silhouette. Leaning heavily on your shoulders.

Late in the afternoon, when night slowly replaced day, and red and pink colours dance on the walls in the room, you finally fall asleep.

And again, a nightmare comes. You wish you could wake up and stay awake, stare at the ceiling and not have to relive it all over again. Maybe insomnia was some kind of cure for you. An escape.

And here you are in this place. Another broken promise. Once again you are doing something against yourself. You're sitting in the guest room on fresh evenly laid sheets.

In his home.

But when the phone rang in the middle of the night and on the other end you heard from, none other than Ghost (not to be confused with Simon, at that moment he is speaking to you as a soldier, the Captain). So it wasn't even a request. Just a command. Since John's memory had improved considerably since your last visit, along with the doctors, Ghost decided that you would stay with him this time for longer. Due to the fact that Johnny was injured and needed time to rest. Ghost and Gaz went on missions together. This time, to your misfortune, for a few weeks. And Jessica with kids couldn't stay for longer. Everyone had their own responsibilities. So you were chosen. The last option.

When you arrived, John wasn't there yet, he was going to rehab on Thursdays. So you got a few more hours of freedom before he returned. However, something paralyzed you to leave the room. The suitcase stood next to the bed, still unpacked.

The smell in the house, despite such a long time and so many different people who came in every now and then, remained the same. Cigars and burning wood from the fireplace.

Overwhelming. Now suffocating.

And those damn beige walls. Boring, nauseating. But eventually, it had to be repainted, three years ago these four walls witnessed your darkest moments in life.

Maybe it's better to sleep downstairs in the living room.

When John returns and enters the house, everything happens as if you were a different person - a spectator sitting in the front row, watching with bated breath the scene being played out. A scene from the movie called your life.

John puts his keys down on the dresser in the hallway, walks into the living room looks at the already made-up couch and turns in your direction with surprise. And you stand still with a wooden spoon in your hand, not even blinking.

"Oh there you are darling. Are we supposed to have guests tonight?"

You answer absolutely nothing, still standing motionless at the kitchen island, dismayed to see him slowly walk towards you.

And as if nothing ever happened, he grabs you lightly, squeezing your hip, and leans down to kiss your forehead. The kiss seems to last an eternity. It's almost like he's been kissed you for the first time.

He always did that when he came back to you.

But that was then. It was never - after.

"Somethin' wrong?"

He moves away from you and smiles gently, tilting his head, waiting for an answer.

You finally gain some strength in yourself and despite the unreality of the whole situation, which seems as if your brain is playing with you and replaying a scene from the past.

You finally nod slowly, in denial.

"I'll change and help you, I'm exhausted after today's new exercises. But I'm pretty flexible considering my age."

Saying this he smiles wider.

"And how was your day, at work?"

The wooden spoon fell to the countertop with a bang. Echoing in the room.

Mumbling apologetic words, you quickly evade him. You say something about a forgotten business, about making an urgent phone call.

You don't know who to call. Your hands are shaking and wet with sweat. ''It didn't happen.'' you mumble to yourself. Someone who was in charge of your life was a fucking prankster . Every time it seemed like nothing was going to happen, a new unknown and unannounced thing popped up from around the corner. A bloody joke.

Finally deciding to call Johnny, even though he was recently injured and supposed to be resting, you had to hear someone's familiar voice. Something that confirms that you have your feet on the ground. Something that makes you reassure yourself that you're not crazy.

After two signals he picks up and when he hears your frightened voice when you tell him about the situation from a moment ago.  Johnny will be here in two hours.

It's nothing that the wound on his thigh hasn't healed yet. Because if his Captain has finally regained his memory. He would, even if he had to walk 1,000 miles barefoot. He would do it without hesitation.

Just to have him back.

So you had to face John somehow, waiting for those two hours. And that seemed to be no easy thing to do. Because you no longer knew what awaited you on the other side of the beige bedroom. Who was the man who just a few weeks ago, every time he saw you, didn't recognize you and asked the same questions.

Was this the old, kindest John, the one you fell in love with many years ago.Was it even still possible, or was what you heard a few minutes ago some kind of error in his hollow, broken memory.

And again, the same scenery. How many times will it all be the same almost so familiar, and in truth so distant and foreign.

John's already dressed in more comfortable clothes, a plain plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and comfortable old, slightly rubbed jeans.

You stand in the threshold of the kitchen nervously clutching the phone, holding it as if it were some sort of lifeline, a connection to something that will save you. Well, from what, exactly? From a man who acts as if the last years, that tragedy never happened, and your marriage continued uninterrupted. Happily.

"Why don't we eat on the terrace? It's a really nice afternoon today."

John is standing at the countertop, his back turned to you cheerfully humming tunes known only to himself.

And you, you stand praying that by some miracle Johnny will get here sooner.

Despite your fatigue after a day's work, you cheerfully bustle around the kitchen, preparing a late supper. John was supposed to come back today, even though it had only been a week. The longing for him was great. Especially since just 3 weeks ago you had written in the documents, different name. Now, you proudly looked at your finger many times a day, seeing no longer an engagement ring. But something much more important.

A gold wedding ring.

Mrs. Price.

Not only was his return a cause for celebration, there was something else.

Once dinner is ready, the table is a bit over-decorated. The room, and practically the whole house, is illuminated only by the candles that have been set up. You stand nervously in the kitchen in your hands holding a small gift bag.

The dress is rather too elegant, as well. But you want this moment to be special, unique. Unforgettable.

Finally, this long-listened-for sound is interrupted by the only oddity you hear - the beating of your own heart.

John stands in the threshold with astonishment

"Honey? What's-?"

Slowly you hear his heavy footsteps, and after a moment you see him. A tired face, this time with longer facial stubble than usual. He is still dressed in a dirty tactical uniform. You don't even want to know what he witnessed in his absence.

He walks up to you and, as usual, one hand rests on your hip gently squeezing it and a warm kiss lands on your forehead.

"Some celebration? don't tell me I forgot about some important anniversary."

John looks up at you, despite his fatigue, his eyes shining happily illuminated by the candlelight.

"No, you haven't forgotten anything. It's something else."

Speaking, you grab a colorful bag and hand it to him

"A gift? oh, that means it is some positive occasion for me. For us?"

You smile nervously waiting for him to see what's inside.

Definitely a very positive news.

Time passes slowly. It's as if someone has pressed the slow motion button on the remote control to see the details better.

John, still in a good mood, finishes preparing the meal and finally turns in your direction and looks at you

"White or red?"

You bite your lower lip, feeling a coppery aftertaste in your mouth.

"Why are you doing this, John? Why is this happening again?"

Slowly saying these words, you look at his hands, which he wipes inattentively.

"But, what's the matter? I wanted to help you with dinner, dove. And I asked what kind of wine you wanted to drink. That's all."

With each step he takes toward you, you back away until you hit the wall.

"Tomorrow you will forget everything again, I don't have the strength anymore. I shouldn't have agreed to this. Again."

John stands close, much too close.

"How could I forget my biggest sweetheart? My beautiful wife? There's no way I'll ever forget you."

You finally lift your gaze, and look into his eyes. Hoping to see the same spark he once had, long ago.

However, all you see is emptiness. A faded blue.

And the only thought in your mind is for Johnny to hurry up and rescue you from this nightmare.

[wthtorke]

Feral

Feral predator x Afab reader NSFW - Warning for kidnapping

You've been warned! This one is nasty lmao also has 4k words so be prepared, and enjoy! As always this was seen over a month and something ago on my patre0n! 

Hunting runs in the veins of his people. From the youngest child to the wisest elder, it was a rite. Tradition. Part of them.

Some warriors had their rites before a hunt. Some prayed, some others cleaned their weapons and sharpened their blades. He chooses to watch.

Hunting is about patience, he believes. So he watches them days before striking.

He sees her on his first day. A foggy morning in the dense forest they resided in now. A small village on the outskirts of a kingdom he flew over before landing; since then, he got bewitched.

The air smelled of leaves, the occasional local fauna scent hitting him as the thick smell of humans below made it almost too annoying to breathe without his mask.  He wasn't hunting- yet.

He stretched over the thick tree branch supporting his weight, looking intently at the artificial shelter he knew belonged to her. Man-made.

To say he was interested was an understatement. He was intrigued, rather obsessively, even. What he feels in his sheath isn't the thrill of the hunt but the desire for a partner. A mate, It's odd.

He feels his cock throb, pressing against his crotch armor, yearning to be free and inside of something right after, to be inside of her.

He had heard of it before from older, wiser warriors. "Your cock is stupid. Sometimes it will mistake prey for a mate, don't listen to it." He had scoffed, just a youngblood then, "So what to do if that happens?"

"Kill it."

She seems to hear his thoughts, or feel the ghost of them, for she looks straight up at the tree he had been resting on, now watching her from another angle- Lower, closer. She seemed to be a servant of some sort, always carrying a basket of food, feeding the stock, or hauling buckets of clothes to the river like she was now, crouched on the side of it. She forgot the scrubbing as she looked around, looking for him.

She hadn’t seen him yet. None of them had. He hadn’t killed anything yet, nothing that didn’t deserve it, but he found that he liked watching her. All of her species was weak; her included; a frail little thing was washing her strange clothes on the riverbank, day after day, with no greater ambitions for the future than to get her daily chores done and maybe get some rest.

He slowly stalked across the grass, staring at her from the other side of the river. His camouflage made him feel beyond lucky in situations like these; most warriors used it for sneaking surprise attacks, others used it to flee- he used it to watch. He could taste her scent on his tongue, taken by the curving winds into his mouth beneath his mask. It was a hot day like yesterday was, but he’d still have to catch her swimming in the river as she did days ago. He had wondered if she could smell him like he did her. Maybe he just alarmed her prey instinct, watching her lifted head, eyes still scanning for the source of her uneasiness.

He felt his chest rumble, claws gripping the tree bark under his fingers; she might not smell him like the deer or the bears do, but she knew something was wrong. She knows she's not alone, and he can't help but feel his hunter's instincts kicking in.

She doesn't have a mate, not that he can tell- but then again, humans here were strange. Some tribes were more advanced than others; some had shelters made of hide and fabric while others had them made of stone and wood. He found them all to have some hidden savagery in them —especially the wood and stone humans.

She was a wood and stone human, but another thing he noticed about them was the way they looked at one another. Humans and yautja held their differences regarding facial expressions, but every sentient species he knew had a universal "I don't trust you," look. She didn't trust any of them. Especially the males.

He thought about his options as a hunter, and then he thought of his options as a male whose -possible- mate felt distressed around their people.

What to do?

He checks back to reality when another scent hits his nose, muskier, filthy—a male. Feral watches him make his way to her, smaller than him by two of their human heads. He doesn't like it, so he slowly stalks forward, crouched and cloaked to see their interaction.

Human words are odd, he can't make out many of them, and his translator was always shit, but he wasn't an idiot- he could read tones. Every species sounded about the same when pissed the fuck off.

"I've told you time and time again, Gale, I'm not interested." She snaps, scrubbing her clothes harder onto the rocks.

"What in God's name is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I even want to marry you? You should be licking my boots for this." The male hisses. She shakes her head.

He grabs her. She screams.

So he grabs him.

It takes less effort to kill an adult man than it does to skin a snake. His blades slice through him, and his screaming stops– hers do not.

So he grabs her.

He slings the woman over his shoulder as he hears barking in the distance and the faded shouting of other males making their way to the river. He scoffs and runs off.

You keep screaming when the demon carrying you jumps up a tree to another, then another, and another; endlessly, far away from your village. Where to? You had no idea. Your futile attempts at punching its stiff back turned into desperate clinging when he landed straight into the river again, splashing water everywhere and soaking your dress as it scents the air before running up the river with you over his shoulder.

You commend your brain for whatever half-thoughts it could muster while the beast ran away with you. What was it? A demon? An animal never seen before? A creature? It had to be a demon, didn't it? Animals didn't run standing, and they definitely didn't throw people over their shoulders while running.

Its hide was thick and textured. You felt its ridges and needle-like protrusions under your fingers, not enough to cut skin but enough to tickle your palms, its tips pressing against the skin bluntly.

"Please- please put me down!" You pleaded, trying to look back at the thing's head; did it have no ears?

It growled and snarled, shaking you some before speeding up again- as if telling you to keep quiet, so you did.

After an hour, the demon diverges from the river, turning and entering the dense forest. You dozed in and out as it carried you around, getting shaken awake when it stopped by nightfall, dropping you on the patchy floor. Your body screams as you sit up, looking around in the dark, looking for it.

You whip your head around, squinting your eyes and trying to calm your breath; the moonlight is scarce through the trees. You sniffle and wipe your face as you try to listen for any sounds- the ringing in your ears makes it hard to discern any noises.

A twig snaps, and you jump. Your dress drags, wet and heavy, against the grassy patch you're sitting on, "Please- please don't hurt me-," you choked on your words when a twig snapping made you jump a second time. You look back as heavy steps begin walking towards you before the big hands from before are on you again. The clawed fingers close around your arms and move you around as you thrash and squirm in their grasp to no effect.

"Unhand me-! Stop-," you hiss as it drags you onto another grassier spot and sits you down like a toddler, pushing you down two times as if to say stay.

It growls and walks about. You can hear it now; twigs were snapping, huffing, and snarling. You listen to things get thrown around. The sound is like-

"Wood? What are you trying to-,"

A weird sound reaches your ears, like metal scraping against metal; shrill, thin, and prickly like a new needle. You shake your head at it, only opening your eyes when something bright- when immediate warmth reaches your cold, wet frame.

Fire.

“Oh my God!” You gasp in surprise, seeing the structured twigs as you scoot closer to the fire, bringing your stiff fingers closer to the flames, shaking as you did your best to chase the shivers away from your bones. Still- you weren’t alone.

You look around, fire briefly forgotten as you struggle to locate the creature that kidnapped you from the river. It saved you, yes- but what for?

“If you plan to cook me, that fire won’t do!” You blurt out. The panic forces nonsensical words out of your mouth. You shake your head, feeling more tears welling up in your eyes. You cry out loud when the creature comes forth again, only that the fire made him very visible now.

You crawl backward as your lungs burn with every desperate attempt at sucking air. Its skin was not like anything you’d seen before. It wore no clothing other than some kind of leathery loincloth that hung around its hips. Your eyes ran up its form, taking in its muscles- no man you had ever known had muscles like that. No man you knew could kill another like it did, too.

Rapid breathing makes your chest hurt. Your heart is speeding when you meet its face.

Bone.

Its face was of pure bone.

It snarled and snapped, making you cry louder and recoil, pulling your knees to your chest and hiding your face so you wouldn’t face imminent death. You cry harder, feeling your shoulders wack with every desperate sob that leaves you when you hear more cracking in front of you.

You feel its breathing on your skin. The clicking and raspy sounds make you shiver but still, no contact. Why wasn’t it doing anything? You wanted to look, to face your fears. But it was easier said than done.

Feral snorts on the thick fear stench that rolled off you in waves. He shook his head as his open palm hovers over your head, claws spread and ready to close around your form again. He felt annoyed. He didn’t know your language but being so different from you, it was apparent you thought he was some sort of monster. Not far from the truth, but still not it.

He huffs and snarls, trying to catch your scent under all the panic and fear you presented so strongly now. That one trail that made him feel the way he did at the river. The way you’ve been making him feel since he laid eyes on you.

Stupid, he was stupid.

Of course, you would fear him. Of course, you would want to be as far away from him as you could. But there was no way to explain. No way to communicate. Would you even listen to him if he could? Maybe he could try.

Yanking you off the floor like a twig by your arms, Feral steps closer to the fire again, sitting by it as he slowly lowers your struggling form to the floor again. You act like a restless toddler to him, trying to get away from his grasp and run off into the forest.

Luckily for him, he has many young siblings.

Every time you get up, he pulls you back down, forcing you to sit multiple times until you tire out. He can’t hold back his laughter when you land yet again on your ass in front of him.

“What do you want?!” You hiss at him, face hot from the strain, feeling anger boiling over the fear.

It’s easy enough to guess what you’re asking him. So he lifts his finger, points at you, and tensely points it to the floor, growling to make a point.

“What is the point of dying sitting? I’m not making your job easier!” You frown and tense your legs to get up. The speed with which he draws a blade from his thigh and sinks it into the ground next to your leg has you melting back onto the floor.

‘Good.’ He thinks. ‘We’re leaning.’

“O-Okay- I’m sitting now.” You say. His jaw twitches slightly. “Si-tting! I’m sitting! See? Sitting! Sit!” You point at yourself and then at the floor, just like he wanted. “What now?”

Feral snorts again. The stench is still strong. He sheathes his knife again, turning back to look at you. You make him feel things, and he wants to make you feel things in return, but not while you’re so afraid and angry at him.

He places his palms on the floor and leans forward toward you. You try to shy away, and he growls again, lowering to a low hiss when you stop moving.

It was like the hounds back at the village. You spoke to the kennel master a couple of times while helping him deliver puppies into this world. “You have to respect animals.” He said, “They have their own language, learning it means survival to both of you. That usually means find out whatever makes it stop growling and keep doing it until it trusts you.”

So you keep still, chest heaving as the demon gets closer and closer to your face. It didn’t seem to have eyes, but it knew of your every move. How could it be? How could it see anything?

Its bone cheek grazes against yours, its thick neck hovers over your own body. It felt hot, so very hot. Almost as hot as the fire to your side. You could feel its growling in your core, intense, rattling.

You don’t see it move its hand from the ground until it almost touches your other cheek. You close your eyes, gasping a bit. Nothing comes. You feel your tightly shut eyes sting with tears again, and your chest tightens with upcoming sobs before another strange noise reaches your ear.

It's a sound you know well. A sound that made you happy when you were a child, whenever it was your turn to feed the cats milk, a reward for their hard work keeping the mice away from the grains and seeds the village had harvested.

Purring.

Heavy, deep purring.

Your eyes snap open, and your hand shoots up on reflex against its chest, trying to push it back. But it doesn’t move. Nor its body or its hand, still lingering close to your face. Your hand trembles with the vibrations coming from its chest. It goes up your arm and makes your heart skip more beats. You blink, confused. Your cats never purred to people they didn’t like. Was this a trick?

“What-?” You croak, voice raw and raspy from crying and screaming. The tears dry on your eyes, not yet shed as its hand finally comes in contact with your dirty face. You jump a bit when its purring slows down, dragging out more as its clawed thumb slowly strokes your face.

You feel petrified as your fingers curl a bit on its chest, feeling the texturized hide under your palm. Your other arm hurts from supporting your weight when you tried leaning away from it. The strain burns your muscles as you wince a bit, still afraid to move. But not as much as before, scarily enough.

Feral breathes in your scent, letting his other hand snake behind your back, slowly wrapping around your waist to relieve your arm. An excuse to bring you closer to him. You notice the change and shift against him. Not away, but against him. A win, in his book.

He keeps stroking your face, feeling the plush cheek under the pad of his thumb as he slowly drags you closer to him. Feral can feel that scent again, only ever starting to break through the foggy fearful one from before. He rubs his mask against your face as your chest meets his collarbone. So small, yet yielder of such a strange power over him.

“Oh…”

The smallest of noises leaves your mouth. The first one not touched by dread ever since you’ve met. It sends a shiver down his belly, straight to his sheath.  Feral lets the hand on your back slide up and into your hair as he buries his face in it, reveling in the way your chests touched, reveling in how relaxed you were in his hands now.

You couldn’t say what made you let out that breathy sigh for the life of you. Everything felt too real and not real at all. No man had ever touched you like this. No man had ever treated you so…gently. Gentleness this coming from the beast who mauled a man to shreds not hours ago.

Still, it did not matter. Nothing mattered. You let your free arm come up, and touch its shoulder, resting your palm on another patch of prickly skin as he kept sniffing into your hair. It was still sitting as your knees stood just before the ground as it held you in its arms, reminding you again of just how big and dangerous it was.

You sigh and close your eyes for a second, feeling its hot breath against your hair as its hand moves from your cheek to caress your ear, making your hairs stand on end once more. For a different reason this time. Your hand grips its shoulder tighter as its face comes closer to your neck. Maybe this was the end. Maybe it finally tired from toying with you. You can’t bring yourself to be afraid again.

Feral lets his tusks touch your throat before he lowers his jaw and lets his tongue drag against your skin, making you arch your back, pushing your chest against his again. “A-Ahhh…” He chuckles at the noise, his huffing cutting through his purring before it evens out again, deep and constant as before. If not heavier with lust.

You pant, opening your eyes again as you feel the hot tongue swiping against your throat over and over again. Your body felt hot, not from the fire or Its body heat, but from your own desire. Desire. For a demon. Your heart beats faster as you realize what you’re truly feeling in his arms. And just how tight you had been pressing your legs together. You breathe in deeper, heavier, as his tongue moves down to your collarbone.

He supported your body by letting his hand close around your neck, holding you up against him as he licked the skin between your breasts over the fabric of your bodice. You moan, feeling your face burn in embarrassment from everything. But it was not like you. Maybe it had no idea you were embarrassed.

The moan sends another shiver down Feral’s spine and another spike down his sheath. He wanted to breed. Badly. But most importantly, he wanted to breed you.

Feral pulls back long enough to let his claws hook around the bodice’s fabric, slowly pulling it down, baring you to him. You panted and closed your eyes. The hand on his shoulder tightened even more, but he couldn’t smell fear. Shyness wasn’t a thing among his people; there was no use for it. But he couldn’t say he didn’t find it oddly endearing.

The fabric catches under your breasts as the sleeves strain against your shoulders, leaving your chest exposed to the night air. To his tongue. He breathes heavily as he looks them over. Most of the females he knew were flat-chested. Their breasts only swelled when they were with child. But you had no child now. Was this normal of your kind? What would you look like when…?

Another shiver. His cock strains against his sheath, ready to breach it.

He growls and lowers his face to your chest again, feeling the softness with his tusks, letting his tongue drag over the nipple he chose to lick. Your gasps and foreign words urge him on, bringing his other hand to feel the other breast as he purrs louder than ever. You smelled good, tasted good, and felt good. How could he deny this? He brought your hips closer to his torso as he switched breasts with his tongue, making you arch against him again. Only some more layers of fabric separated him from you. He shivers again. His sheath opens.

Feral groans as he lowers you to the ground, positioning himself between your legs. Between the rumple of the fabric of your dress’s skirt. You pant as he plans his next move, lifting your skirts over to your belly, and exposing your legs along with your chest.

You clutch the fabric nervously as you try to regain your breath. You knew how things worked between a man and a woman. But this was no man, and you surely never heard of one so big as this for comparison. It fumbles with its crotch cloth before turning back to you.

His cock stood fully hard before you, slick and as big as you thought it’d be, if not more. Your eyes widen, and your cunt tightens around nothing. You let out a breathless sigh as he moves closer to you, hooking his hands under your legs and pulling you to him. His cock was reddish like the center of his chest, ridged and bumpy like his skin. It’s your turn to shiver, and he purrs for you.

The head of his cock slides against your slit, and you gasp, choking on a moan as he nudges your clit before coming back down and repeating the motion. Your slick mingles with his as he presses his head against your hole. It’s tight, unforgivingly tight. It’s going to hurt.

Your entrance is breached, and you’re frowning hard already, feeling the thick, swollen head of his cock pulsating inside your cunt. The corners of your vision go white as you pant in strain, lust, and anxiety at what's to come.

He pauses and reaches for his back, his free hand stroking your thigh as he produces one of his weapons from his back. Some kind of spear.

Feral’s hand leaves your thigh to aid him in pulling it apart, making it a two-piece. He lays the blade part on the ground and keeps the end part to himself. He purrs heavily again as he lowers the pommel to your cunt, resting it over the small nub that made you react so hard before. He reaches for his wrist gauntlet and presses two buttons, causing it to vibrate.

You yell out in surprise and pleasure as he presses the vibrating pommel to your clit, leaning over you as you moan and squirm under the best sensation you’ve ever felt in your life. A sudden rush flows through your body as your pussy spasms around his cock. You groan as he presses more of his cock into your cunt, slacking on the floor as he lifts the pommel from you again, stopping his movements halfway through once more. He strokes your thigh, and you crane your neck to look up at him, “Please- please do that again. Please.”  You beg, pointing at his spear’s end.

He understands. And lowers the pommel onto you once more. “Please-” you pant, moaning as he shifts closer to you, pressing the same spots on his strange wrist armor. You rest your hand over his on the spear, panting harder before that sensation kicked in again full force. It shook you to your core, rattling you from the inside out in the best way possible. “In me-, in me-” you beg in between moans, grabbing his thigh under yours with your other hand, trying to pull it closer to you. Feral snarls and closes his free hand around your hip, thrusting his cock the rest of the way in. You shouted again as that same rush crashed over you again, making you tighten around the massive cock deep into you.

Feral roars and bucks his hips, small spurts of precome getting squeezed out of him by your pussy. “Please- please- please fuck me, please-” He recognized the word as he pulled his cock back and thrusted back in fully, tossing the spear end to the side as he focuses on you again. Your eyes roll back into your skull as he sets a bruising pace, hands tightly gripping your hips as he roars and snarls.

You panted and gasped as your dress dragged roughly against the forest floor as he fucked you hard, the loud noises of your mating enough to make you close your eyes in embarrassment once more. No one could hear you here, only him. All of your moans and screams were for him and only him, as his growling and purring were yours, and yours only.

“I’m going to- I-” You shudder as you feel that rush coming through you again, in a slightly different way this time, but no less pleasurable than before as you grab his arms, coming onto his cock for the third time. Feral roars and slams his cock as deep as he could, filling you up to the brim with thick come. It drips from your cunt and onto your skirt’s fabric, torn and dirty after everything you went through this day alone.

Feral doubles over and rests his head on the ground next to yours supporting himself with one of his hands. He purrs and nuzzles into your hair again as you struggle to regain your breath once more. He licks your cheek, and you smile, wincing briefly when he pulls away from you, laying down on the grassy patch before pulling you close to him. You cover your chest again and lower your skirts before snuggling up to him.

You hug his middle as he wraps his arms around your form, feeling his chest pick up its purring as your eyes grow heavier by the second. Feral watches you slack against him, out like a light. He strokes your hair and rests his jaw on top of your head. He scoffs as he drifts off to sleep himself.

The elders didn’t know shit.

[bonefall]

again looking over the reworked history what the hell happened with Ripwater, I wanna know. What *was* that? How did Riverclan kill it?

Oooooh, quite a request! Ripwater, Queen of the Lake, one of the episodes of BB!Po3!

Ripwater is a Wels Catfish, the largest freshwater fish in Europe. The biggest specimen EVER caught was just landed last year, in 2023, 9.4 feet long. It wasn't weighed, but smaller fish than this one have broken 300 pounds.

And it's not a good thing that we're catching so many big ones.

Wels catfish are extremely invasive across most of Europe, introduced for anglers who want to land record-setting catches. They're massive, intelligent carnivores, sometimes called the "freshwater orca" because they will lunge out of the water to catch land prey. They DESTROY the population of anything big enough to fit in its terrible mouth, including fish, amphibians, and even turtles.

They get that big from a mix of constant food and hot temperature. It's a sign that they're devastating their surroundings, and that nothing has been able to kill them for the decades it takes to get so large.

So of course, some dunderhead put them in British rivers, where they've been spreading upwards ever since. Thankfully they thrive better where it's warmer, so they're not too massive of a threat to BB's modeled regions in Northwestern England, but they're fucking coming.

Ripwater's name isn't an exaggeration. That's how they hunt. They gape their jaw and beat their fins like dragons, creating eddies and currents that suck their hapless prey in. When RiverClan names her, it's because they see her ripping the water in half. I was thinking about her recently, and came up with some new stuff. I'll take a brief break from my drafts to serve up some fragments for you.

[A gray cat with blue eyes, Lakepaw, later BB!Lakeheart, swims in bluegreen water surrounded by lilypads. Below her is the massive shadow of Ripwater, a gigantic Wels Catfish. Its eyes flash in the depths.]

SMALL RECAP OF BB!PO3: (to set the stage)

It is now a breather arc, just dedicated to some worldbuilding!

I feel pretty strongly that Po3's strength is how AWESOME of a slice-of-life arc it could have been. To this end, I removed the Kin of your Kin prophecy from it, until it's revealed only at the very end just before Cruel Season.

That's so I can focus on The Three and their adventures around the lake, without this big prophecy looming over them and making the lower-stakes conflicts look small.

Instead, the various episodes of Po3 are related to problems that their new home presents, with just a teeny bit of Sol's magical influence to spice things up.

While Lionpaw learns about the "meaning of strength" and ultimately learns a terrible lesson he will extend to his kits, and Jaypaw finds his limits and learns to prevent others from defining them for him, Hollypaw is grappling with Fire Alone and how to reconcile her grandfather's legacy with her strict dedication to the Warrior Code.

And SO we find ourselves in one of the earliest episodes of BB!Po3; Ripwater the River Demon. This is like... episode 3 or 4, it's a REALLY early one.

I'm just shuffling it around with ANOTHER RiverClan-centric episode; the Shinewater Plague. The oilspill from TNP is now going to be bumped up to Po3 so it's more about establishing Mothwing and her apprentice Willowpaw, to contrast Leafpool and her apprentice Hollypaw, before Holly swaps to being a warrior. Jaypaw completes warrior training before becoming a Cleric apprentice.

So I don't want them to be TOO close together. Maybe put Ripwater in Book 2 and have RiverClan comment that they don't really want to ask for help because of the last big event, Mistystar hates feeling indebted to ThunderClan.

After all, it could basically replace the "flood" episode from Canon Po3, which is often forgotten about anyway. I'm already having ShadowClan construct dams instead of RiverClan anyway...

ANYWAY RIPWATER

I want to start this episode off with Sol/Harry, who is unnamed, messing around near water. He has a bit of a fish motif going on that I want to establish, and I need to get him to start messing with the Clans good and early.

(Specifically his motif is going back and forth between the koi, also an invasive and notably domesticated species, and the atlantic salmon which is famous for its changing life cycle.)

The Wels Catfish is an invasive species to England, slowly making its way up the island from the South. The fish who will become Ripwater, at this point, is already HUGE but not cat-swallowing huge. She's an 80-pounder.

Sol hits her with some godly magic, which allows her to grow at a rapid rate.

The sort of thing where it wouldn't be COMPLETELY implausible. He just... helped it along.

When we get to her first true on-screen appearance interacting with RiverClan, she is nearly 300 pounds of monstrosity with a length of about 8 feet

I'm unsure how, exactly, ThunderClan comes to know of this. But I DO know that I want Hollypaw to be snooping, and heavily encouraged by her mentor Brackenfur to do so. So, somehow, SOMETHING starts going wrong across the lake and ThunderClan catches wind of it.

Thinking about it, this should probably be her first big action after swapping out of Cleric apprenticeship.

One of the few things she's missing about Clerichood is the way she could be close to Willowpaw without needing to sneak around so much. It's easier to just pass it off as "friendship" and "Clerics need to be close." Leafpool and Mothwing are a similar way.

Possibly work in that Hollypaw's also already seeing Heatherpaw in the tunnels, contrast the two things...

At this point, Hollypaw has a crush on Willowpaw, which is requited, but... it's kinda fading.

She still loves her like a friend, but she's liking Heatherpaw a lot more. It doesn't mean she doesn't CARE for Willowpaw, of course, but

Willowpaw is still IN love, and it's slowly becoming unrequited, when it didn't used to be.

And from RiverClan's POV...

The first disappearance is so sudden they have no idea what's happened. I'm planning for it to be Robinpaw.

(I go back and forth on if it's Robinpaw or Dapplepaw, but I'm leaning towards Robinpaw again, because I like Dapplenose too much to have her get killed off here.)

She went out clamming in the lake with her sisters, Lakepaw and Otterpaw, there was a swirl in the water, and that was it. She was gone.

Just like that.

She never came back up. RiverClan searched for her, following the currents, checking the shoreline, everything. It was like she vanished.

Mistystar is suspicious and doing everything in her power to figure out what happened, but... let's face it. It's the word of two apprentices, who were swimming alone, who swear Robinpaw just went under.

Misty JUST got done with the Shinewater Plague and isn't trying to make RiverClan look like it can't keep track of its own young. The most likely situation is that Robinpaw was sucked down by an undertow that the three of them were too inexperienced to recognize.

So... she's pretty adamant about not sharing this information until Robinpaw's body is found. Jaws Style. "We cannot let the other Clans be alarmed by this, else they might meddle in our affairs..."

(and she's still maybe a little paranoid that some snoop in another Clan is going to find out that Leopardstar wasn't killed by a rogue, y'know.)

I don't want it to be TOO much of a bloodbath, so I'm capping Ripwater's body count at three and just aiming for two deaths total.

I'm also going for a coincidence RiverClan is going to interpret as a pattern; this happens a lot, specifically, when they're hunting Freshwater Pearl Mussels.

Ripwater doesn't like the river as much as she likes the lake, but it has nothing to do with their clamming. They're just going to interpret it as such.

Anyway.

The next one she goes after was lucky. By some stroke, she opens her jaw, and the victim is able to grab onto something before they're sucked in. (Maybe toss in something here were it was Holly who was able to help save them.)

Since the WHOLE Po3 Apprentice Generation is going to be getting more focus, there needs to be more input from the RiverClan apprentices. Lakepaw and Otterpaw obviously need time here, but I also NEED to involve Ripplepaw, to establish how he's going to be seen as one of the strongest in RiverClan by OotS.

EDIT FROM THE FUTURE AS I FIGURED STUFF OUT:

It was Ripplepaw, Otterpaw, and their two mentors on a raft who were attacked next. They were fishing for mussels in a shallower part of the lake.

Otterpaw was tethered to the raft with a flax lead, so it wouldn't float off. Or just tugging it in her mouth. Either way she had a line.

When Ripwater attacks her, she is swallowed on the line like a worm on a hook

And it starts pulling the WHOLE RAFT down, just a crummy bundle of sticks

One of the mentors started shouting to cut the line, else it would drag all of them under, but Ripplepaw dives right down to beat its ass without telling them he's not gonna cut it

Hollypaw just rushed right in, didn't think about it, forgetting she was supposed to be trying to sneak around

Taking control as the natural leader she is, she ordered them to shut up and start pulling the opposite way

Underwater, Ripplepaw braced himself against the fish's lips, grabs Otter's tether, and YANKS

Abovewater, the adult warriors are pulling together, Holly grabs the raft and pulls too

Once their paws touch the bottom of the shallows it's over, one last HEAVE-HO and POP!

Otterpaw is FREE

And when it's finally known that the apprentices weren't mistaken, there's a monster in the water, THAT'S when the debate really starts up. Mistystar does NOT want ThunderClan meddling, and she'll already be pissed off that Hollypaw (and any OTHERS who tagged along with her, I wouldn't put it past Honeypaw to wriggle her little yellow butt into a later draft, or Lionpaw for his massive strength) witnessed something that's not her business.

There's a moment from canon I desperately want to keep; where Squirrelflight comes to fetch her daughter.

(more reason to just say this is replacing The Flood Episode from canon lmao)

It's such an interesting moment, and so forgotten. In a nutshell, Squilf is both furious and concerned that her kit went missing and meddled in another Clan's affairs, but... understands the impulse.

Because it's something she would have done.

So when she scolds Hollypaw, there's this aching feeling that she's scolding a younger version of herself. Calling her arrogant and disloyal, that an apprentice's opinions mean less, and that she needs to listen to "older and wiser" warriors within her own Clan.

In BB, I want to do something big with this. Firestar is the figurehead of Fire Alone, who encouraged Hollypaw's behavior through his deputy, Brackenfur, who he set as her mentor for a reason.

But Squirrelflight is being abused. By Brambleclaw.

This is one of the lowest points in Squirrelflight's life, and she is walking a line between self-worth, the warrior code, and her personal beliefs, just like her daughter is.

SO, since I'm already using Brambleclaw's enabling of Ashfur's physical abuse as one of the contributing factors to Hollyleaf's descent, I ALSO want to show how he acts on other characters.

Brambleclaw, Clan Culture, the pressures of their strength-obsessed social system. So it's gotta be Squirrelflight that reminds her, or even plants the seed in her head;

"What you did isn't consistent with the Warrior Code."

Maybe even have Mistystar herself state this earlier, to be echoed by Squirrelflight, offering an alternate perspective to Hollypaw. Make her realize that ThunderClan's political leanings are not universal or even popular.

But when Hollypaw comes back to ThunderClan, whoever set her to be a snoop wants her to spill the beans. This is also a big WIP part, as Hollypaw struggles with if she's going to obey or not, and I still need to set all the political "players" in this moment.

I know for sure, though, that Firestar's IMMEDIATE desire is to meddle like it's an episode of Scooby-Doo. Though he's savvy enough to be smart about how he phrases it and what actions he takes, his ultimate goal is to put his little cheeto-dust paws all over this. And Hollypaw is starting to question how appropriate that actually is.

This is where it starts to really be a rip in Holly's mind. Clans aren't JUST big, blanket groups with united opinions, they're collections of individuals. Mistystar doesn't want meddling, but Willowpaw is in danger. Otterpaw and Lakepaw went all that time without being believed, after they watched their sister die, because they're lowly apprentices like her. Squirrelflight and Brambleclaw are angry and disappointed, while Firestar and Brackenfur are secretly lathering her in praise.

Now imagine me standing in front of a big board where I'm writing ??? because there's a missing chunk here.

I need to connect THIS part to what comes next, which is where ThunderClan DOES come in and help out. Here's the thought process going on in RiverClan;

Willowpaw comes in to do something important. She adores Hollypaw, knows her value as a Cleric, and knows that StarClan can sway Mistystar.

I want her to have a couple of pieces of a vision... BUT. She decides to interpret it in a way that's convenient, and add a few details.

It's not a tooootal lie lmao. It's just 75% true.

This is the true power of Clerics, when they realize it. No one can actually challenge them without just ignoring them or stripping them of power. They are accountable to StarClan alone.

A mentor simply doesn't say this out loud to their apprentice. It's a quiet secret. And Willowpaw just realized it.

and thinking about it... this should be the thing that finally breaks the budding romance Holly and Willow had. Holly is sickened by this, when Willow confesses how she convinced RiverClan to work with ThunderClan.

But, without even being a full Warrior, the apprentice leverages her power as Cleric of RiverClan, and 200 skill points of Improv Acting, to tell them these things;

"StarClan is so angry with us that they've sent a hog to the water! It's why they've sent a ThunderClan apprentice, we must work with them to eliminate the beast that lurks in our waters. With spears and plans, we must hunt it honorably!"

(Mistystar is defensive, but it's not known why) "We haven't disobeyed StarClan in any way. We'd already accepted their help once before, when sickness drove us to weakness, and it's only let them think they can disrespect our borders as they please. This can't be the holy will of our ancestors."

"It's-- We've been disrespecting this bountiful new land that they've so generously given us. That's what the pile of shells in my dream was. Think about it! The last attack was on the shore where we collect mussels. The second attack was on a cat latched to a raft, and it was only the tether that saved them. And the first..."

IVE GOT AN IDEA, Robin, Lake, and Otter WEREN'T clamming when they were attacked. She gestures over to Lake, knowing that if she doesn't back her up, the theory crumbles.

(Otter is in the Cleric's den, unconscious.)

Lake hesitates, not wanting to lie. Willow jumps back in,

"It's why Otterpaw was attacked," does those little jazz-hands to be like 'come in bitch work with me,' "And it's why Lakepaw has to be involved in killing it, to end what she started, and appease StarClan."

Lakepaw more like I LIKE-what-you-just-saidpaw, "It's true, we were so ashamed to admit it, Mistystar, this is all MY fault, I wanted my siblings to dig up mussels, PLEASE let me atone by stabbing the fish to death"

AND AFTER THAT IT'S NOODLIN' TIME

Mistystar, begrudgingly, accepts Firestar's help, or perhaps reaches out to him. Ripwater is a "Hog in the Lake," a beast too big for them to kill honorably on their own.

ThunderClan is the ONLY Clan that uses spears, and only for boar hunts. To protect themselves and to give their quarry a quicker death.

No other Clan touches weapons for dishonor reasons, as they're heavily associated with the demon Shredtail.

I should have Willowpaw explain her half-truth to Hollypaw here, and it's where Hollypaw just... so very suddenly can't look at Willowpaw the same way.

Jaypaw would definitely face an ableist moment from someone, but it's going to have to be one of those times where he accepts that there IS a very real limit to his ability here. Spears are range-weapons and his whiskers don't reach that far. He can't tell where he's stabbing, and the water is going to make it too hard to smell where Ripwater's dangerous mouth is. He can't be chosen for this hunt.

Meanwhile Lionpaw learns from Willowpelt how to make a spear and it is one of the most satisfying things he's ever done in his life, he's like "this is so awesome oh my god i love weapons"

just gently setting up that he's going to eventually become ThunderClan's head of hunting, and also that he's a lil violent

I feel like him and Lakepaw should hit it off a little because they both think the idea of stabbing a fish in the face is super cool, only for someone to growl at them that they shouldn't be enjoying themselves so much

Maybe Blackclaw, fuck that guy

(absolute tangent but BB!Lionblaze is kind of evolving into a little dork and I love that for him. Local himbo only capable of making friends or enemies, all Clanwide opinions on him are polarized, more at 11)

THE PLAN

So how DO they kill that thing? First of all, it's all about strategy.

Immediately they started making a couple of specialized spears. Most spears they make are exclusively for boar-hunting, so they have a distinctive "lug" that prevents a boar from impaling itself down the shaft to get you.

Someone in RiverClan explains that you don't want a fish having the chance to get off a claw. If Ripwater escapes, they might not find her again until she kills someone else

The solution is that these need to be custom-made, with special claw-shaped prongs, so they're chevron ^ shapes instead of tear-drop points. They stab in, and don't pull out.

So they need to make spears from scratch, which is an intensive process, and they don't have time to waste. RiverClan doesn't want to hunt by water that has a chance of having a freshwater orca spawn and drag you in; they'll starve

And there's only so many artisans in TC that can MAKE spears. Glue, twine, shafts, blades... these are all things that take hours of labor to create.

And MORE IMPORTANTLY, they realized from the Raft Rescue that a tether, attached to a floating object, can be very useful. Each weapon has rope tied through it and is tethered to a raft-- which is even MORE intensive, RiverClan had to repurpose several nets to create so many lines, and they only own three rafts, so the rest have driftwood.

So they only have time to create 3 special water-spears, and bring in 2 modified boar-spears.

Lionpaw is like visibly disappointed he can't have one lmao

The only apprentice given a spear is... Lakepaw. And it's a boar-spear

Because she's gonna be bait. They believe the litter is cursed for their "sin" and she'll be the next target.

But still, they chum up the water near the last sighting with blood and crowfood, like hog slop, and wait.

(Heavy WIP stuff here as we get to a play-by-play I haven't fully figured out yet)

Their plan is to get it on the shore as quickly as possible.

Four cats could pull Otterpaw from its mouth, so 5 spearcats and a dozen strong warriors could pull it onto the shore. Surely.

shorely.

It comes as expected, lunging at Lakepaw. She leaps back and tries to use her spear on it, but she is NOT properly trained with it, she stabs its face, but can't break the skull

RiverClan manages to toss a net at the beast, but it's NOT heavy enough

And they managed to get LAKEPAW with it, pressing her to the beast, her spear is dropped into the water

Someone shouts that it swims like an eel, able to just reverse course unlike a REAL fish which must turn

In the panic, warriors start mobbing it.

she thrashes, and splashes and the net is barely holding her back at all

She smashes a warrior with her tail, buffs another with her powerful head

She's stabbed in her side by a ThunderClan warrior (probably Sandstorm), and she turns on the raft they're standing on, breeching and SMASHING it to bits. Lionpaw and the rest of the cats on this raft get dunked

In the water, ThunderClan cats are useless, and RiverClan cats can't properly handle spears.

Someone from RiverClan, probably Blackclaw, tries to free Lakepaw but is scooped up in Ripwater's mouth.

He's screeching and yowling and trying to hold onto its upper jaw, regularly cut off as she dives under

When Willowpelt gets her spear in, she holds onto that damn stick with her LIFE, getting swung around and dunked in the water and then going back up into the air

Thornclaw, holding the other boar-spear, aims for its tail

But it's not enough; Even with several warriors of RiverClan, five spears, a net, and the weight of the two remaining rafts, Ripwater's managing to pull them towards the depths

She's too big to bite, too large to claw, and too strong to hold down

LIONPAW TIME

He grabs the spear that Lakepaw dropped

Ripplepaw seems to zoom right passed him, running away from the fish. He thinks he must be some kind of coward, the fight's NOT OVER YET!! WE NEED TO HELP LAKEPAW

(In a later draft I might have Lionpaw be on the smashed raft, and Ripplepaw brings the spear to him before turning and bolting back to shore. Either way he doesn't explain himself)

He paddles near one of the rafts, and is pulled up onto it

Firestar calls him a WONDERFUL BOY for bringing the spear

Lionpaw mumbles something enthusiastic around the stick in his mouth, wriggles his butt, and jumps back into the water

Grabbing the net sticking to Ripwater and using it like tree bark, he pulls himself on

Bites the spear by the lug like a handle

And stabs it in like a knife

But it's already starting to pull out, too shallow

Filled with anger and resolve, he bites the shaft, and PUSHES

Harder and harder and harder until there's a crackle, the twine breaks loose, and the lug snaps

The rest of the spear slips in as if Ripwater's made of butter

Figuring that's probably deep enough, he lets go of the net, breaching the surface, sputtering and hacking

He's about to dive again to go get Lakepaw, but to his surprise, she breaks the water next to him

and then he feels the fish bump his paws

His name is called from the shore, and there's Hollypaw and Ripplepaw waving. Ripplepaw TOOK HIS SPEAR'S ROPE. Like a GUY WHO THINKS.

Now there was a team of cats on the shore, all the spent warriors who got thrown off, pulling Ripwater to the shore.

And from the feeling of slimy fish under his paws, it seemed like her fight had been all but spent.

And more cats were swimming to shore now, with the ropes attached to the other spears.

Once on the shore, they're able to discover that, tragically, Blackclaw has died. Mistystar in particular looks deeply torn by this, as their relationship was notoriously toxic. But still, he had been the father of her children, and drowned trying to save a Clanmate. She jumps up onto the massive fish, giving a speech about sacrifice, how Blackclaw and Robinpaw would be honored, and that RiverClan has learned its valuable lesson.

Ripwater was symbolic; it's the greed they had unleashed upon the lake by over-exploiting one resource. From now on, they would be respectful of StarClan's bounty. She thanks ThunderClan for helping to fulfill a prophecy, and offers that their debt be repaid by splitting the meat of the hunt.

Hollypaw, internally: "Oh she's doing that on purpose. She knows ThunderClan hates fish and it would be rude to refuse."

Firestar: "well. how could we refuse."

Sandstorm, quietly, in the distance: "easily actually ew"

CLOSING STUFF

I kinda want some kind of "epilogue festival" where the two Clans legitimately celebrate with a somewhat somber meal sharing. Some of these episodes in Po3 will result in lasting traditions and holidays that are celebrated annually.

At that little "fish festival," it works for Holly to officially break it off with poor Willow, to leave this episode off on a bit of a sad note.

This was one of the first times Lionpaw's power becomes obvious, and it's the sort of thing that wasn't really noticed. I figure it would be good for Lakepaw to ask how that lug snapped, she could barely even get the spearhead in. Lionpaw just brags and says it must be because he's SUPER STRONG.

For some reason he's just making a ton of friends whenever I write these out, I think I'm going to lean into it. Lionpaw's got friends when he's a kid lmao, starts losing them over time as he gets more violent.

It's probably because I really need a comic relief in The Three's dynamic. Hollypaw is very dramatic, Jaypaw is dealing with legitimately stressful social issues, and Lionpaw is violent. Someone has to lighten the mood up a little and it's probably because he's The California Girl himself lmao

At this fish festival he also discovers fish isn't actually that bad. Everyone's being weird about this. It's not really that slimy. It's got a strong taste but that's kinda nice, actually?

Could use some berries but like... "damn why don't we do this more often. this would go great with blackberries."

Ripplepaw: "You think so? I can taste sweetness, can I try to make it at home and tell you how it works out at the next Gathering?"

Lionpaw: "It's not hard, you just mash the berries and stew them in a little water before pouring it over your meat. I learned it from Willowpelt, she's got a mad sweet tooth."

Lakepaw: "No offense Lionpaw, but I always thought you were a total lunkhead. I never thought you'd like, cook?"

Lionpaw: "I mean not really, I'm an awful cook, I can just make simple stuff. Willowpelt's just nice enough to be patient with me, my mentor Ashfur says if I can learn something anyone can, haha."

Just a nice little moment for him.

Blackclaw is being mourned in the mortal plane, but secretly, getting a SCATHING trial up in StarClan. His death was heroic, but his ENTIRE LIFE was treacherous.

From teaching Hawkfrost to follow in his father's pawsteps, to joining him in WindClan's Civil War, and his constant arguing and undermining of Mistyfoot back when she was just a deputy trying to do the right thing.

He goes on trial for a bunch of things he did in TigerClan, too, facing his victims who took his misdeeds to their graves. He's not the only cat in RiverClan who is getting a review like this.

Leopardstar is already in the Dark Forest, and soon, Blackclaw's sent there too.

I decided to kill off Blackclaw here so he could have a VERY cool Land Mar;

(context: all Dark Forest demons now get a cool little evil playset area just for them, where they spawn into after they're thrown out of StarClan. These are called Land Mars)

It's still unnamed, but it's basically an even BIGGER Ripwater. It goes above and below the river and lakes of the Dark Forest, popping up in any body of water big enough to hold her.

[inkybinkyboink]

"all the marauders died", "they all got murdered", "but peter betrayed everyone", "they're straight anyways"

SHUT UP.

BEACH EPISODE HEADCANONS

i've no doubt in my mind that this has already been written somewhere just in a different font but im high off of river water and algae right now so call me freddy mercury the lead singer of hit 70's band Queen because Don't Stop Me Now.

james is the one that organized it and man like lobbied for this okay

he waited MONTHS for everyone to have a day off at the same time and he took it and RAN

and lucky for him, it's the perfect day. it's a sunny, hot day in the middle of august, the clouds are simply beautiful, but it's still nice and sunny like i mean perfect

don't ask how, i don't know, but i think it would be really funny if james drove a minivan. mom drives a minivan and he picks everyone up

peter has to be shotgun because he gets mad carsick

james also tries so fucking hard to bring snacks for everyone but he forgets that sirius is allergic to nuts and half of the food he brings has nuts in it

just hear me out okay i think it would be really funny if big bad sirius black was allergic to peanuts

sirius would also be the one to dress the most unconventional for the beach and then whine about being uncomfortable the entire time.

remus and peter are certified Staying on the Beach™ boys. peter because he's scared of the sea and remus because he's still got cuts that are healing and he'd really rather not literally put salt on an open wound

sirius also burns like paper and is too stubborn to put on sunscreen

remus likes finding stones to skip, though

"i'll stay here and guard the snacks" -peter pettigrew

if there's a dock or something james is jumping off of it without hesitation

he gets into a diving competition with sirius to see who can make the biggest splash which ends when they jump into each other while diving into the water

finding seashells 🤝 remus lupin

peter would fall asleep in the sun and they would all absolutely bury him up to his neck in sand

they pester remus for bringing a fucking book to the beach

i mean this so sincerely and honestly with the most love and adoration in mind but the way james potter turns into a fucking 5 year old boy at the beach is insane

"guys watch me do a flip", "look, i can do a hand-stand in the water", "dude that wave was totally a shark fin", "do you think if i drank an entire redbull i could swim across the atlantic?", "i can totally see the coast of canada from here

james and sirius definitely have yet another competition to see who can hold their breath for longer.

on at least one occasion remus has to drag sirius out of the water because he might as well be fucking drowning and remus is the only one who has first aid training

the drive home is silent because everyone's asleep except for james who now realized it would have been way easier to just use magic transport and is now suffering the consequences of his own actions

prize for most sunburnt goes to sirius

prize for best sandcastle goes to peter

prize for most seaworthy goes to james

prize for best seashell collector goes to remus

[arminreindl]

Gharial rescued from sea

Another instance of more recent croc news, a "giant" gharial was found in the Indian Ocean off the coast of Balsore, eastern India.

According to news articles, the animal, an adult Indian Gharial (Gavialis gangeticus), meassured around 13 feet or in metric close to 4 meters in length while weighing some 118 kilos.

The gharial apparently got caught in a fishing net and was found by fishermen, who promptly reported their catch to the Forest Department. The department then handed the animal over to Nandankanan Zoological Park, where the crocodilian still resides.

That's all the information given to us by the article, which you can read here, but there's two key notes I wanna touch upon.

The first is size. At 4 meters, this gharial was decently large for sure and as someone who has seen a (stuffed) female of slightly greater proportions I can attest that it must have been an impressive animal. However, I think its worth mentioning that Indian gharials are capable of growing even larger. The female I just mentioned is accompanied by a stuffed male nearly 5 and a half meters in length, with some reports claiming sizes even greater than that.

Me and the Vienna gharials

The second point is the mysterious presence of a gharial this far out at sea. This is simultaneously unusual yet also very much reasonable from the point of view of paleontology.

On the one hand, Indian gharials are critically endangered. Their range today is incrediply spotty and isolated and to my knowledge they aren't found anywhere near the coast these days.

However when you look at how the range was meant to be like, then you see that they definitely reached the river deltas and coastal regions. So our image of gharials as this inland freshwater species is more based in circumstance than reality.

This becomes especially apparent once you begin to consider the paleobiogeography of gharials. Based on our current knowledge, gharials most likely originated somewhere in Eurasia or Africa, spreading from there across much of the eastern hemisphere and beyond (full disclosure I am not considering thoracosaurs to be gavialoids, more on that can of worms later maybe). Anywho, phylogenetic analysis and the fossil record both suggest that gharials then crossed oceans and settled South America sometime prior to or during the Miocene, where they diversified and gave rise to the gryposuchines. Some species even remained saltwater species, such as Piscogavialis, which lived in the coastal waters of Peru.

Although gryposuchines were once thought to be a distinct subfamily of gharial, recent research suggests that they were but an evolutionary stepping stone, with some South American form once again crossing the Pacific and settling down in Asia where the much more basal "tomistomines" or false gharials (a misnomer) still resided. And while the gryposuchines of South America went extinct, those that returned to Asia survived and eventually gave rise to the Indian Gharial of today.

Left: A cladogram showing the relationship between Gryposuchinae and modern gharials Right: Piscogavialis swimming overhead some marine sloths of the genus Thalassocnus by @knuppitalism-with-ue

So ultimately, seeing a gharial in saltwater is much less bizarre than one would initially think, its just that habitat destruction and overhunting have largely pushed these gorgeous reptiles further inland and to the brink of extinction.

[callsign-rogueone]

at last - l.m.

Liam Mairi x reader (spark!!) words: 1.9k 🏷: after nearly three months... here begins the story of Liam and Spark! no book spoilers in this chapter, but this storyline will eventually cover all of fourth wing and extend into iron flame too. she/her reader. sparring and canon-typical threats (reader does not like Violet lmao), but nothing bad happens. this chapter is tame, but the following ones will get dark, so please look at the warnings before you read!

Violet’s never seen a marked one in person before. She can’t help but stare, unable to pull her eyes away from you.

You possess a sharp sort of beauty, battle-hardened features made even more intense by the rider’s black you wear and the three thick scars that start at your collarbone and disappear into the neckline of your shirt. You’ve rolled the left sleeve up to showcase your rebellion relic, displaying it the way a poisonous animal would — as a warning.

But above all, you’re just… unruffled. It’s still raining, but you don’t seem to mind, appearing perfectly warm and dry. The drops deflect off of you, not absorbing into your hair or clothes. 

A boy halfway across the bridge stumbles, unable to regain his traction, and Violet could swear she sees the river rise to meet him, breaking his fall.

“Name, Candidate,” you repeat, growing irritated.

“Violet Sorrengail,” she answers.

So this is the General’s girl. You size her up unabashedly, taking note of her mismatched boots and her frail stature. “Watch your step, Violet,” you say coldly, and she knows you aren’t just talking about the slippery bridge. “Next!”

Four candidates later, you find the one you’ve been looking for, the one you’d taken this job just to see.

“Liam Mairi,” he answers before you can ask, his eyes locking with yours. 

You’re alive, standing before him in one piece, and he wants nothing more than to embrace you, but he keeps his boots planted to the stone beneath them.

You cast a glance behind you, waiting until the previous candidate is out of sight, and brush your hand over the sleeve of his jacket. The rainwater disappears from his clothes, deflecting off of him as it does you.

Your classmate starts to protest, but you cut her off. “Another word, Chriselle, and you’ll be swimming in that river,” you snap, and she quiets, knowing you’re serious. “Now move, Candidate.”

Liam’s eyes widen at your brashness, but he gives you a silent nod of thanks before stepping onto the bridge. 

You force your eyes to remain on your clipboard, flipping through the list of names again. Twelve more to go, but no marked ones; you’ve done what you need to do.

“The boy has made it across,” Tuile reports after a minute, sounding bored. “I don’t know what you were so worried about.”

You push down the sigh of relief, hardening your gaze again. “Next!”

—————————————————————————

It’s a gorgeous summer day, the storm that had raged the day before gone without a trace. Perfect weather to spar outside. 

Liam finds you and Bodhi in the courtyard, clearly in the middle of a fight — you’re both out of breath, watching the other closely as you stalk in circles around each other.

There’s a river moving through the air above you, a twisted loop of clear water that rushes in circles as you move your fingers. 

“How’s day three going?” you ask over your. shoulder. 

Bodhi pushes forward before the other boy can respond, taking advantage of your distraction, and you yelp at the ice-cold water splashing over you, but it dries from your clothes in an instant.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” you hiss, pulling it back from the air, and packing it into your hands like a giant snowball, poised to throw it at him.

Bodhi just grins. “Bring it on, girl.”

As soon as it touches him, it bursts, soaking your clothes and the grass beneath you, and you’re left to fight hand-to-hand.

You’ve always been bold, never afraid to spar with the boys, but a full year at Basgiath has made you into a refined fighter, your every move made with intention and executed crisply. You match Bodhi blow for blow, block for block, moving back and forth across the lawn in perfect time, and Liam can’t pull his eyes away. 

Xaden bumps his brother’s shoulder with his in greeting. “She’s in good hands.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

“C’mon,” the older boy beckons. “Let’s see if you’ve kept your touch since I left.”

The brothers move through a series of basic blocks as a warm-up. This much is muscle memory for Liam, who remains focused on your banter with Bodhi as you continue to fight across the courtyard. 

The blond startles as Xaden picks up the pace, but quickly falls back into the rhythm they’re used to.

“Good,” Xaden says, about the highest praise he’ll give. “Now if I do this,” he prompts, aiming a kick toward the boy’s ribs that Liam quickly blocks with his forearm, pushing forward and making Xaden step back. “Good. What about this?”

He continues quizzing his brother, Liam getting everything right — Xaden hasn’t managed to land a single hit on him.

You and Bodhi have tired yourselves out by now.

“Same time tomorrow?” you ask, pulling him up from the ground and drying his clothes with a gentle touch of your hand.

“Always,” he says warmly, still catching his breath.

Liam’s heart drops. He hadn’t made his feelings for you clear before you left for Basgiath, deeming it unfair to drop that on you before you’d have to spend a year apart, when you might never see each other again. Had Bodhi taken his place in his absence?

The older boy is probably a better match for you, anyway, he thinks, bending back to avoid taking Xaden’s fist to his face. You’re in the same year, so you’ll graduate together, and you clearly have a connection— the smile you gave him when you called it a day, that soft tone of voice… you aren’t like that with anyone else.

You used to only be like that with him.

You haven’t touched him since conscription day, when you’d only brushed your hand over his sleeve to dry his clothes, haven’t talked to him since, either.

What changed?

Xaden lands a punch that Liam should have dodged, the dull pain distracting him from his thoughts.

“Come on, Li, kick his ass,” you call, watching the fight unfold, and the jealous feeling disappears, replaced with something warm.

He surges forward, catching Xaden by surprise, if that’s even possible, knocking the wingleader to the ground — he barely has enough time to cushion his fall with his shadows.

You laugh, a sound Liam hasn’t heard in over a year. He’d missed it more than he realized. “Looks like you’re doing my watch this week, section leader.”

Bodhi groans. “We need to find a betting chip that won’t ruin my sleep schedule.”

“You bet on me?” Liam asks, still struggling to keep his brother pinned.

“Of course I did,” you say, like it’s obvious. “You’ve never let me down once.”

Liam shines at the praise, but the smile falls from his face as Xaden pushes back, flipping them. 

“Stay focused,” he chides, standing. “Keep your head on the mat, or you’ll lose it.”

“Sorry,” Liam says quietly, letting the older boy haul him to his feet.

“Don’t you two have a class to be getting to?” Xaden asks pointedly, looking over his shoulder at you and Bodhi.

“Yes, dad,” you say with a roll of your eyes, picking up your bag. You give Liam a soft smile before you head back inside, and his knees just about crumple.

Xaden takes pity on him, waiting until you’re out of sight to throw the next punch. “She’s happier with you around, you know.”

Liam looks at him for a moment, raising an eyebrow.

“Her first year was… difficult for her,” Xaden says delicately. “Bodhi’s been helping her deal with some of it, but she still has a lot of work to do on her own.”

Liam deflates, no doubt feeling guilty over his jealous reaction, and for jumping to conclusions. Bodhi’s probably your closest friend here, your only marked squadmate until now… He doesn’t want to imagine what you’ve been through together in the last twelve months, what you’re still processing alone.

Xaden pulls him out of the thought. “When are you going to tell her how you feel?”

“What happened to keeping your head on the mat?” Liam asks, resetting his stance; effectively ending the conversation.

Xaden looks amused, readying himself as well. “I didn’t think you’d be so eager for a rematch after I put you on your back like that.”

Liam bristles. “I’m going to keep trying, so it never happens again.”

“Oh, of course. You wouldn’t want that, especially not in front of your girl,” Xaden adds smugly, laughing when the younger boy lunges toward him in response. “I missed you, kid.”

—————————————————————————

Liam doesn’t see you again until after dark, when Xaden gathers the marked ones for a meeting by the river.

You look tense, your upper body drawn tight as you cross your arms over your chest. You clearly disagree with Xaden’s insistence that nobody harm the general’s daughter, but you remain quiet, knowing that if you challenge him in front of the younger cadets, there will be hell to pay.

You jump at the feeling of someone touching your shoulders, your hand flying to the blade at your hip.

“It’s just me,” Liam whispers. His thumbs press into your traps, kneading the tension from the muscle, and you melt, the stress draining out of your body. “This okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod, letting your eyes fall shut with a soft sigh and removing your hand from the hilt of the blade. You’ve missed this gentle touch, missed the way he’d always take his time helping you recover from your days of intense training with Bodhi and Imogen before you left for Basgiath.

You feel like you don’t deserve it now, but you aren’t going to ask him to stop, not when his hands are so warm against your skin, not when it feels so good.

He pulls back after a minute, satisfied with his work — you’re certainly more relaxed now — and wraps an arm around you, tucking you into his side.

You look up at him, content to gaze into those gorgeous blue eyes you love so much. It finally settles in for you that he’s here, at last, standing beside you, holding you again, that this means you’ve survived your first year, and that he’s not going away any time soon, that you can finally have your chance to have something with him.

You might cry.

“Thank you,” you whisper, quiet enough for only him to hear.

He just smiles at you in response, holding you a little closer.

You turn your gaze back to Garrick, who is looking directly at you. “As I was saying,” he begins, clearly frustrated that you haven’t been paying attention, “we need to-”

“I heard you the first time,” you interrupt, “but by all means, repeat that highly sensitive information aloud.”

That gets a few laughs from the younger cadets. Liam chuckles, the soft laugh shaking his chest. “You haven’t changed a bit, Spark.”

Your heart flutters with hope at his use of the nickname he’d given you years ago. Maybe you can go back to the way things were then, before you showed up at this hellhole school and had to fight for your life every day, only be chosen by--

“Careful how you finish that thought, girl.”

“Get out of my head,” you hiss back, digging your nails into your palms.

Liam must feel you stiffen beside him -- he turns to look at you, concerned. “You okay?”

You smile up at him, hoping it looks genuine. “Yeah. Just tired.”

[silkscream]

𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞

ੈ✩ pairing: eddie munson x reader

ੈ✩ summary: a late night at lover’s lake has eddie falling head over heels for you.

ੈ✩ warnings: smut (18+), unprotected sex, drug use, choking

ੈ✩ wc: 2.6k

ੈ✩ a/n this was supposed to be a blurb um rip

eddie munson is afraid to break you. he treats you like glass, though crystal would be more accurate than anything tempered. he’s afraid to touch you, really touch you, even though you had beckoned him like a river goddess down at the lake with your soft smile and doe-eyes, and god, you’d been invading his dreams since the moment you’d arrived in hawkins.

eddie doesn’t do anything half-assed — not as hellfire club’s DM, not as corroded coffin’s guitarist, certainly not as a lover. it’s what you like about him, that underneath all that sterling silver is calloused bravery.

but now, in the dead of night at lover’s lake, he stands there shivering just a bit and refusing to break the gossamer abstraction of whatever web acts as a barrier between the two of you. he fiddles with his rings as he watches you lick the joint into place. the tension is threadbare and aching to be cut with a knife.

he’s mesmerized by the glow of the flame nearly licking your face when you light the joint. you blink back, blowing smoke at his face with a grin.

“all yours, munchkin,” you murmur.

“that’s new. y’come up with that on your own?” eddie scoffs, taking the joint from you. he thinks that maybe he needs something stronger than weed right now to calm down. he doesn’t know why it feels like every electron in his body seems to shake the closer you get to him. maybe it was yesterday’s acid trip.

he thinks briefly about what that high would be like with you, imagining the two of you peaking at the same time and seeing stars in each other’s irises. maybe one day.

“yes, actually.”

he mumbles some smartass comeback, but you don’t respond. the earth seems to stand still — even the slow current of the lake is eerily stagnant while the two of you wordlessly pass the joint back and forth. "come on eileen” comes on the radio and eddie makes a snide remark awaiting your approval or denouncement, but you’re too busy watching the reflection of the moon on the lake. within minutes, you’re pulling off your denim shorts.

“what’re you--”

“you coming or what?” you tease him as your hair billows around you, framing your face. your back is turned as you strip off your— eddie’s — hellfire club t-shirt. you’d insisted on borrowing his earlier because you wanted your own, and secretly, he wants it back just so he can keep your scent in his room. as it lands on the ground, eddie’s wide eyes trail up your bare body, which gets smaller and enveloped in darkness as you walk away from him.

“fuck it,” he curses under his breath, quick and clumsy in his movements to follow your lead. he contemplates whether or not to take off his boxers but the splash of the water makes him panic, so he runs in after you instead with them still on.

he gulps down the lump in his throat once he sees you floating on your back, eyes closed and brain shut off from the world. you look so peaceful that he doesn’t want to disturb you, but you open your eyes just to smile at him in a way that looks like more. eddie doesn’t know how to describe it, but there’s something different — maybe it’s the moonlight, perhaps it’s the weed, but he swears something shifts.

you swim over to him, splashing him on the way. in fits of giggles, the two of you play like little kids until the endorphins in eddie’s brain make him fearless. suddenly, he disposes of his inhibitions -- he can touch you again. fingertips dancing across your naked waist in retaliation, in innocent tickles, until the gesture feels almost obscene. after you calm down from your hushed, breathless laughter, eddie is hyper-aware of your naked form in front of him, obscured by the lake, but naked nonetheless.

after the upside-down, eddie’s been cautious. it’s against his very nature, but the nightmares hold him to a different standard. but the way you look at him right now makes him want to break free — he’s been good for too long now. two blinks and an exhale and he realizes that he feels lightheaded. maybe you are a river goddess after all.

you lean into him and it takes his breath away. with wide eyes, you look at him with something unfathomable. he’s about to kiss you, but you raise a finger to your lips. shhh.

rustling leaves and footsteps steal your attention from eddie for a few moments as he watches the gears in your brain turn, your ears fine-tuning from the sudden presence of another. when you look towards land, there’s nothing there.

“hawkins is definitely fucking haunted, huh?”

“it’s that damn hellfire cult,” eddie jokes. he’s relieved to hear your laugh, but part of his spirit is broken from the sudden burst in his bubble. he thinks that maybe he’s still high enough to kiss you. maybe.

but you swim to shore before he even has time to think. the humid july air licks your wet skin as you shiver, draping a blanket from eddie’s truck bed around you as you watch him come back to you. he follows your lead, covering himself up with a blanket as he plops down in the grass next to you.

“what’ve you been waiting for, eds?” you ask him slowly, refusing to make eye contact with him.

“what do you mean?”

“you know what i mean.”

it’s this time that you look at him, actually look at him, with your libertine gaze muted under coquettish lashes, mouth pulled into a deceptive, innocent pout. you know exactly what you’re doing. eddie has a hint of it, too, but he doesn’t have the usual confidence that carries his eccentric personality. no, with you, all of his walls are torn down without as much as you trying. the mere proximity of you makes his stomach drop.

he gulps. tries out that cocky attitude of his that he normally parades. he’s high enough, anyway.

“gotta be more specific, sweetheart.”

at this point, you can’t wait any longer. the moment between blinking your lashes at him and closing in the gap between you feels like an hour for him, but a split second for you. but when it happens, when he feels your soft lips on his tasting of sweetness with a hint of weed and mint, he takes the lead that you’ve been secretly prompting him of — strong, silver-adorned hands gripping your jaw as he moves into your space.

you’ve wanted him long enough to not care at how you’re perceived at this moment, which is a miracle that you’re willing to unpack at a later date. when you kiss him, you think that maybe you could consume, be the succubus for once. how beautiful he is when he’s all over your mouth.

you stumble in your balance, too lost in his lips to even be aware of your own body. when you’re conscious of yourself again, you unravel the blanket draped around your shoulders to set beneath you, leaning backward onto its soft cloth. eddie follows your lead and descends his kisses down your throat to suckle on your collarbone. he wishes he could bottle up every sound out of your mouth for later.

“was that specific enough?” you whisper, pulling away. you grin at him and it’s like the moonlight illuminates your face and nothing else. his giant brown eyes trail your bare face and your chest, and he remembers that you’re fully naked under him. and jesus christ, he’s fully naked above you besides the stupid striped blanket bunched around his hips.

“think so,” he grins.

he resumes kissing your mouth, using his teeth to nip you in a way that leaves the slightest red mark, but not enough to linger. you’re still too elusive for him to know whether or not a lovebite would be acceptable, but god knows he’d love to mark you as his.

your tiny mewls encourage him further, so he presses his lips onto your collarbone, then your chest again, until he suckles onto your nipple with eagerness. you moan in response, gripping his dark locks from his scalp as hard as you can. your eagerness makes him harder. he has to tell himself to calm down, convince himself not to completely rut against your thigh, but god, it’s so hard.

“stop playing with me,” you whine in desperation.

“isn’t that what you wanted, huh?” eddie taunts you. his anxiety has dissipated and he’s himself again, that little shit. grinning his little fangs at you before he gets your permission to devour you completely. and you thought you were the succubus.

“was just trying to get a rise outta you, eds. i need you. now,” you demand, bucking your hips upwards as you tug at his still-damp curls. “’m not gonna fuckin’ beg.”

“mm, but what if that’s what’ll get me to do anything to you?”

you let out an irritated huff. two can play at that game.

without a warning, you rise from the ground to flip eddie onto his back, switching your positions. now, you straddle him, the moonlight from the lake slightly backlighting your silhouette in a way that makes you look like a vision from heaven. it’s funny how much eddie wants you — wants you so bad that his mouth is dry from all that thirst but he realizes he’s salivating from the sight of you alone.

you’re on top of him, his naked body, and his dick is hard and raised to hit the small trail of the lining of his stomach. he doesn’t have the time to blush or be embarrassed, so he merely sets his ringed fingers on your hips while he gazes up at you.

“not so used to being controlled, munson?” you tease.

“not used to… much,” he croaks with honesty. his high makes him vulnerable around you. he doesn’t care. “’s been a while.”

“really?”

“mhm.”

“y’know, as the hotshot dungeon master and all, i thought you’d be getting the most pussy.”

“please. i barely have the time. and the time i do have has been for you. ever since you stepped foot in hawkins, i’ve wanted to make time for you.”

“shut up. not the eddie munson getting all soft for me.”

he’s about to retaliate with one of his smart-ass responses but you grind your pussy onto his hard length and it makes him shiver completely. the grip his hands have on your hips get even tighter, clutching you as if you’re about to flee.

“excited, are we?”

“hurry up before i change my mind.”

it’s a first for both of you — this spontaneous intimacy, this lust that each of you is acting upon despite the bottled-up desires lasting for months on both ends. neither of you had ever made the assumption that the two of you would hook up despite the thought lingering in the back of your minds. and tonight, it was only to become a reality.

he pushes his cock into you gently, easily losing himself once he feels how warm and tight you are while you hold back tears from the feeling of his thickness. maybe it’s because you’re high, but you think this is what it feels like — divinity in its purest form.

“you’re so beautiful,” eddie slurs into your neck when he rises his upper body while he pushes into you, stamina at a sudden all-time high.

“you are,” you breathlessly reply.

he’s mesmerized by the way you ride him, the languid shift of your hips as your cunt pulsates around his cock, gripping him like a vice. he brings his hands to cradle your lips and you shiver from the cool silver of those damn rings of his. the feeling of his fingertips dancing around your sides, rising to palm your bouncing breasts.

with a grin, you grind your body forward and moan lewdly. he can’t take it — he nearly bursts right then and there if it isn’t for the fact that he switches your positions.

even in his domination, he’s still gentle, still handling you like you’re a fallen seraphim. you huff at him and buck your hips up aggressively to report otherwise — that you want to be treated roughly, that you want to achieve a certain level of catharsis with his passion.

eddie seems to understand at least a part of it considering the depth and speed of his thrusts, ramming into you mercilessly as you cry out in pleasure.

“holy— shit—”

“eddieeee, think ‘m gonna cum soon,” you gasp as you writhe underneath him. your body feels like it’s vibrating, so you use eddie as a reminder that you’re alive. tugs to the hair, slaps to the skin.

“yeah? cum for me, sweetheart. i wanna see it all over your face.”

his comment alone makes your heart pound even faster. it’s fitting, really, considering that the moment you want to say anything, you realize how much you want to impress him. how much you adore him, how much of those hours of examining him in his quieter state during senior year physics had paid off. he really is a sweetheart, that eddie munson. how could anyone say otherwise?

“oh, god, that feels so good—”

you gasp softly, keening into the warmth of his palm on your face as you kiss his fingers, taking them knuckle-deep into your mouth before he even has the idea to ask. his jaw is slack, watching you.

with a pop, he lets go of your mouth so that he can drag his canines against the swell of your throat, arching along with the rest of your body under him. gripping the towel underneath you, your other hand tangled in his hair, you whine softly.

“yeah?” he murmurs against your skin, and you swear that the raspy sound of his voice, breathless, contributes to the blatant intoxication you have from his touch.

it’s like you’ve gone dumb, your breath rugged and head spinning. he’s lifted himself up now so that he’s supporting his body with his knees. eddie spreads your legs wider, hands gripping your thighs and pulling them upward for easier access. at this angle, you think you’re about to lose it.

there’s no sweeter sound in the world than the sound of you begging for him.

“eddie,” you whine. “oh my god—”

“you gonna let go for me?”

“y-yes. fuck, i’m gonna—”

“fuck— fuck! shit, i’m close, too,” he grunts.

he widens his eyes at the sounds coming from your mouth and suddenly his hands are over your mouth as he chuckles breathlessly.

“y’gonna wake the ghosts up, baby.”

“shut up,” you muffle underneath him. he’s barely holding you down, so you take his hand in yours and move it to your throat.

he squeezes slightly, just enough for that sweet head rush to flow through your fucked-out head. you swear you lose your vision for a second when the threshold comes. it’s tectonic, earth-shattering, the way his cock plunged into you so deeply. you nearly wail as you orgasm. how fragile you are, his poor little thing. underneath the moonlight the slickness of your skin makes you look like you’d been washed ashore.

within seconds, eddie is able to release himself with a guttural groan, his head buried into your shoulder, soft curls tickling the underside of your chin. his hair is still a bit damp, so it’s a cooling sensation. he kisses you right then, swallows up your exhales while your naked chest heaves up and down to calm down from the adrenaline.

eddie attempts to get up but his legs are slightly disoriented. he’s too drunk on your body to leave it, anyways.

he decides to bury his head into your chest, breathing heavily as he watches the swell of your belly move up and down as you breathe with him.

“do you wanna see a movie with me on saturday?”

“you’re asking me out?” you chuckle.

“obviously.”

“thought you’d never ask, munson.”

𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬!

[soberscientistlife]

‘I Want To Do My Part’

When the USS Gregory sank in 1942, a mess hall officer named Charles Jackson French dragged a raft full of his wounded crewmates to safety through shark-infested waters.

Born on Sept. 29, 1919, Charles Jackson French spent his early years in Foreman, Arkansas. At the time, Black and white pools were segregated, making it difficult for Black people to find opportunities to learn to swim. Swimming World Magazine speculates that French may have learned to swim by visiting the city’s stone quarries and the Red River.

However he learned to swim, French’s days in Foreman were numbered. After his parents died, he left Arkansas and moved in with his married, older sister Viola in Omaha, Nebraska. And by the time he was 18, French decided to strike out on his own and enlist in the U.S. Navy

The Navy, like swimming pools across the country, was strictly segregated. As a Black man, French had virtually no other choice than to work as a mess attendant. In that capacity, the U.S. Navy Office Of Information reports that French spent four years the USS Houston, serving meals to the white sailors, cleaning their tables, and keeping the mess hall spick and span.

French returned to Omaha when his deployment ended in November 1941, but he wouldn’t stay in Nebraska for long. After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, French promptly re-enlisted.

“I want to do my part, because I’m already trained and I can start right away,” French said at the time.

He had spent his last tour cruising around the Pacific. But this time, Charles Jackson French would see significantly more action.

On Sept. 5, 1942, the USS Gregory and the USS Little were attacked by Japanese destroyers around 1 a.m. while patrolling the waters near Savo Island and Guadalcanal. The U.S. Navy Office Of Information reports that the Gregory, outgunned, sank after just three minutes. Its surviving men were plunged into shark-infested waters as the Japanese fired on them.

But French leaped into action. The 23-year-old helped injured sailors onto a makeshift raft and — when U.S. Navy Ensign Robert Adrian told him that the current would pull the raft toward a Japanese-occupied island — volunteered to jump in the water and pull the raft in the other direction.

Adrian told him it was impossible. French, according to Adrian, replied: “Just keep telling me if I’m goin’ the right way.”

He shed his waterlogged clothes, tied a rope around his waist, and started to swim. For the next six to eight hours, French tirelessly swam as sharks got so close that they sometimes brushed against his legs. At sunrise, an American scout finally spotted him and the others and sent rescue.

But French’s ordeal didn’t end there. As he later recounted, as recorded by Chester Wright in Black Men and Blue Water, French and other uninjured soldiers were taken to a rest camp by their rescuers, who wanted to separate French from the white sailors. To French’s surprise, the sailors insisted that French stay with them as a fellow member of Gregory’s crew.

“Them white boys stood up for me,” French emotionally told Wright.

The story of Charles Jackson French’s heroism was later made public by Adrian, who described it on a radio program called It Happened in the Service in October 1942, according to Swimming World Magazine. Adrian had never learned French’s full name — he and the others only knew him as “French” — but he fully credited him for their rescue that day.

“I can assure you that all the men on that raft are grateful to mess attendant French for his brave action off Guadacanal that night,” Adrian said.

The story was soon picked up by the national news, and Charles Jackson French was identified by NBC. He was celebrated across the country, featured in a comic strip, and lauded by the Black press.

Adrian “and other white Americans owe their LIVES to a black man whom he identified as a ‘mess attendant named French,'” the Pittsburgh Courier, a Black newspaper, wrote after French was identified.

The newspaper continued: “Although Mess Attendant Charles Jackson French of Arkansas was not in a heroic job, he MADE a heroic job out of it. He who had been looked down upon as a caste man, frozen in status, suddenly was looked up to as a SAVIOUR.”

Though rumors spread that Charles Jackson French might be awarded the Navy Cross, he was given only a letter of commendation from Admiral William F. Halsey, Jr., the then-commander of the Southern Pacific Fleet.

French may have been denied the medal because a Silver Star was awarded to one of his superiors — and it was unprecedented to award a higher medal to a subordinate. But the Omaha World-Herald noted some decades later that future president John F. Kennedy had been given the Navy and Marine Corps Medal for a similar act of bravery.

After his service on the USS Gregory, Charles Jackson French didn’t rest on his laurels. He returned to his role in the mess on the USS Endicott and the USS Frankford, and witnessed D-Day and the invasion of southern France.

After World War II ended, French faded from the public eye. Black Past reports that he suffered from alcoholism and depression, and passed away on Nov. 7, 1956, in San Diego, California. He was only 37 years old.

But since then, there’s been a push to give this forgotten World War II hero his due. In April 2021, a post about French from the International Swimming Hall of Fame revived his story. And a year later, Rear Admiral Charles Brown, the Navy public affairs officer, presented eight of French’s relatives with a posthumous Navy and Marine Corps Medal — just like Kennedy’s.

“It will inspire generations of sailors,” Brown said at the medal ceremony, reported by the Omaha World-Herald. “It’s a story of the best of who we are.”

French has been honored in other ways, too. A training pool at Naval Base San Diego was named after French, and a post office in his hometown of Omaha also bears his name.

Black History Month Day 24