#and all throughout there's also this longing to go to the shore. and it's. very close by like they are not far from the beach

[angelsdean]

the struggle of wanting to plop young dean down in new jersey like literally where i live for a fic but not wanting to say where i live sjkdfjsf 

[dr3c0mix]

I immediately apologize for the bad English!

How does Caspian plan to keep the fem!reader underwater? Or does he have another plan? thank you, your work is very nice🛐

ill be making this gn since its a part 2 but if you want a one-off thing with a fem!reader, just request it! :3

Also sorry for the long hiatus again but here's the long awaited part 2 ! yaay you're not dead !! :D

Yandere!Siren x GN Reader Pt. 2

CW: Kidnapping, Slight Stockholm Syndrome, Non-con licking (reader is asleep), idk Caspian being a delulu icon

🌊 You wake up with a throbbing headache and a vague memory of what transpired before you blacked out.

🌊 The feeling of overwhelming pressure and deepness comes back to you, memories start to come back as you see a red mark on your arm.

🌊 You remember now, the screams and cries of your classmates ring in your ears before the memory of being dragged down to the depths hit you like a wave.

🌊 a splash of water pulled you out of your thoughts, it was then you looked around at the place you were in.

🌊 It looked like you were in a cave illuminated by algae and glowing sea creatures. the cavernous area was sandy and a bit wet with a deep pool which led to an underwater tunnel, it was the only entrance and exit to the cave from what you can see.

🌊 Behind you was a house built out of a shipwreck, the broken boards of the deck repaired with random planks and cloths.

🌊 "Honey~ I know you're a bit out of sorts right now but uhm..could you help me out a bit~?" a familiar voice echoed throughout the cave.

🌊 You gasp and instinctively stand up and back away from where the voice came from. Caspian was lying on the shore, a net full of what seems to be canned food and fish tied around his waist like a satchel.

🌊 "My treasure~! I know you're excited to explore your new home, but can you help me get to shore first~" Caspian coos as he smiles at you awkwardly, his large tail flopping on the sand.

🌊 You grab a piece of driftwood and hold it like a weapon. "D-Don't come any closer!" you yell at him nervously, afraid of what he might do after you saw his capabilities, and his sharp teeth..

🌊 "My sweet, you have nothing to worry about~! Why would I ever hurt you~? Those mean humans tried to hurt us! You'd never do that to me now would you~?" He tries to calm you down.

🌊 It takes a while for you to calm down considering how confused and scared you were, but with no way out and Caspians lack of intention to hurt you, the only thing left to do was to just sit and try to think logically about the situation.

🌊 Caspian tries to help you make sense of your little predicament, it was mostly him making an excuse to hold you close because "Am I not able to help you relax my treasure~?"

🌊 So you're in a cave after getting kidnapped brought to safety by a mermaid, how fun...

🌊 You has no choice but to accept your new lifestyle, after all, the only out was an underwater cavern, and you had no idea how deep or long it was. Caspian might not be the best at moving on land, but without him, you'd drown if you attempt to leave.

🌊 Once you told the siren that you weren't going anywhere soon unfortunately, He lit up and gave you a big, soaking wet hug. "Oh my treasure! You'll be happy here, I promise~!" He peppers your face with kisses, some making you shiver at the thought of his sharp teeth being so close to your flesh.

🌊 He'd go out every day to get food for you and him, sometimes surprising you with gifts!

🌊 He knows you like reading, so any book or parchment that he finds is immediately brought to you so you won't be so bored <3

🌊 More often than not they're too wet to actually read, but you appreciate the effort you suppose.

🌊 You also had to explain what cooking is to Caspian and that humans can't eat fish raw...and alive..

🌊 Get ready to be showered with pearls and pretty shells and treasure! Caspian is a bit picky when it comes to his own horde so anything that he considers nice but not on par with his tastes goes to you~!

🌊 He would always ask to sleep with you in your bed, and he doesn't take no for an answer.

🌊 "It's cold my treasure~! Could you warm me up~?"

🌊 "It gets so lonely in the water~ May I stay in bed with you my love~?"

🌊 "But I got all those nice things for you~!"

🌊 He would keep whining and fussing until you agree. He doesn't care at all that your sheets are all now soaked.

🌊 If you tell him to dry off first, he will! But you'll have to pay him with a kiss~

🌊 He may or may not sniff your hair while you sleep...and maybe lick your neck..

🌊 He can't get himself to sleep sometimes, he'd just watch you sleep the whole time. What can he say? You're too irresistible~!

🌊 Sometimes he'd even whisper sweet things into your ear, promising you the world if you'd let him.

🌊 More often than not, he sings you to sleep. The anxieties of never seeing your family again and living off of just fish and other sea creatures was getting to you, not to mention the many hours of being alone in a cave.

🌊 His siren song lulled you to bed every night. No matter how much you distanced yourself away from him, he was always able to calm you down with his voice.

🌊 "Hush now my dear~...You'll learn to like it here~ And one day, we'll be married and live happily ever after~ Just like in your stories~ Just you wait~..."

[thehoneyedgardens]

challenge

Tighnari knows you didn't mean anything by it, but a challenge is a challenge. His instincts demand a response.

minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

fem reader x tighnari, accidental dominance challenge, feral/instinct driven tighnari, dubcon, scenting, one use of "good girl", no prep, doggy style, pinning, marking/biting, knotting, brief breeding kink, creampie.

He knows you don't mean it.

The two of you have exchanged playful nips before—little catches of your teeth against skin, a little shock of pain that smooths into something silken—throughout your friendship. It's familiar. The salt of your skin under his sharp teeth almost tastes like home.

Still, Tighnari realizes, just a moment too slow—he should have warned you.

You bite down into the meat of his shoulder, sinking your teeth into the muscle with enough power to bruise, and Tighnari shudders.

It’s been years since someone has challenged his dominance. 

He knows you don’t mean it.

But his blood has gone hot beneath his skin, the rushing of his pulse filling his sensitive ears. He bares his teeth with a low growl, all rumbling summer thunder. 

You go still. You pull back from him slowly.

“Tighnari?” you ask softly. “Are…are you okay?”

He’s trembling, his fingers sunk into his thighs, trying to rein in the instincts that have roared to life in his very core. You didn’t mean it. You aren’t challenging him; he’s not a kit anymore, setting his status in the pack. 

You ghost your fingers over his shoulder, murmuring his name again, and he breaks.

He strikes quick and true, looping his lithe, callused fingers around your wrist and using the leverage to flip you over and bundle you under him. You yelp, a chirp of sound, and he tugs you back when you try to wiggle out from under him. There’s heat to you, like the sultry warmth of a summer day. He presses down against your back with another rumbling growl, your ass nestled into the cradle of his hips.

“Tighnari!” you cry out. “Hey! What are you—”

“Stay down,” he grits from between his teeth. You try to push up again, your ass brushing against his hardening cock, and he snarls. He sets his teeth into the nape of your neck, the tip of his tongue dragging against your skin, a whisper of wet heat. He can hear his own rabbiting heartbeat. There’s something twisting beneath his skin, something carved into his bones pulsing to life inside of him.

You shift. 

It feels like the promise of a fight.

Tighnari bites, sinks his teeth into your skin like an anchor. “Down,” he growls. He bites down harder, until he hears you choke out a little noise. He presses forward against you with a little roll of his hips, and you go limp under him.

He relaxes his jaw a hint. 

You don’t move.

You’re panting against the floor he’d knocked you down to. Your heartbeat reminds him of the crash of the waves against the shore. Wild and loud. He can hear each beat of it.

He can also smell you. 

It’s not the first time he’s been able to scent your cunt; it’s been on your fingers before, when he caught you between shifts. He’d heard you long before he’d scented you, the wet schlick of your fingers in your cunt practically all he could hear as he headed to your quarters. You’d just cum when he’d knocked. 

With the sound of his own name on your lips ringing in his ears, Tignari made sure to have you sign your patrol notes with his own pen. He watched as you hesitated before taking it. You could barely look at him when you handed it back, and he pressed his thumb into the small, damp smudge you’d left on the barrel. 

He thought it was a thick, sweet scent then, even when it was just lingering on his pen. But now—now it’s so heavy he can almost taste it. 

His ears quiver; his tail whips. He doesn’t think about it. He puts more of his weight on you, grinding his hard cock into the softness of your ass. He slips a hand into the hem of your loose sleep shorts and yanks them down with a low snarl. It’s hard, with you pinned under him, but his strength makes up for it. They get caught around your thighs, but it’s enough.

“Tighnari,” you hiss out. “Seriously, what are you doing?”

He sinks his teeth back in. 

You croon out a low moan, a heated song. He rocks his hips against you; your scent goes heady, lush like sticky-sweet fruit. 

He pulls back, dragging your hips up with him until you’re forced to your hands and knees. You’re pliant, letting him manhandle you as he pleases. It makes his cock twitch. 

Tighnari isn’t sure when he gets his own pants down far enough to expose his throbbing cock, too lost in the instincts that have sunk their teeth into him. He comes back to himself as he hooks his fingers around the gusset of your panties and draws them to the side. 

The cotton comes away from your cunt with a wet squelch. Your scent billows around him, and his fingers tighten on your hip. Your pussy is already glistening, practically shimmering in the lamplight. 

“Wet,” he grunts, rubbing the tip of his cockhead against your hole, coating himself in the growing mess of your slick. It catches on the rim. “So wet.”

You jolt. “Wait, wait, you didn’t prep—”

He rolls his hips, and you hiccup as you spread open around him, stretched tight over the thick head of his cock. He grabs a handful of your ass to spread you further, so he can watch himself disappear into you. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, clamping down on him. He can feel your walls struggling around his girth as he splits you open. Your back bows as he presses forward, as he bullies his way deeper and deeper into your cunt with mean little thrusts. 

You mewl when he hilts in you. You’re hot around him, pulsing as you wiggle your hips to try and ease the way he’s spreading you. He rumbles a warning, the sound rolling through him. You go still.

“Good,” he says. “Good girl.” 

You breathe out a moan at that. Your cunt pulses, fluttering around him. 

Tighnari draws back. His cock is soaked with you, your slick shining on his skin. You roll your hips back, trying to take him in again.

He snarls, setting one of his hands between your shoulder blades and bearing down. “No,” he growls. He pins you in place under him, caught between the way his cock is spearing deep and the hand heavy on your back. He wraps his tail high on your inner thigh, ignoring the way the fur starts to dampen immediately.  

He fucks back into you with a sharp, hard thrust. You yip with it, shifting under his hand. He puts more of his weight onto it, tugging your hips up with his other hand. You tighten around him, and he groans with it. 

You arch as he starts to fuck you fast, with little strokes that keeps him close, that keeps him filling you as much as he can. The sounds of your messy cunt echo around the room, each wet noise accompanied by a soft, broken moan. He drives into your pussy hard, keeping your chest pinned to the floor. 

“Tighnari,” you whimper. “Please, please—”

He curves over you, rolling his hips deep, until you’re kicking out with each thrust. He snarls and sinks his teeth back into the nape of your neck, slotting perfectly into the teeth marks he’s already left behind. 

You cum on his cock with a sound he’ll never forget, your cunt clamping down. He hisses between his teeth. It’s hard to keep fucking you through it, your fluttering walls gripping him. His knot is starting to swell, too, popping in and out of the rim of your hole with more and more difficulty. 

Sparks skitter down his spine as you spasm around him before slumping down, only his iron grip on your hip keeping them up. You’re wet down to your inner thighs now, and you tremble with each shove into your swollen, overworked pussy. Your panting echoes in his ears. 

When he fucks back in, his knot big enough to be noticeable, you whine. You lift your head and try to turn enough to peer back at him. Tighnari catches a glimpse of your profile, already fucked-out, before presses down between your shoulders again. You give in without a word, slumping back down to the floor.

He strokes in again, feeling his knot catch before it pops out once more. He snarls, grabbing your hips with both hands and grinding deep, until his knot pushes past the rim of your hole and flares wide, locking the two of you together. You jolt. 

“Fucking you full,” he growls, his thighs going tight as the knot of pleasure in his gut breaks. “Get you round with kits.” 

You twitch in his grip as he bites down on you again, sinking his fangs deeper still, as he cums. His cock kicks in you, spilling hot ropes of cum in your cunt, buried deep inside. Another moan spills from your lips. 

Panting, Tighnari lets go of your nape and laves gently over the brutal teeth marks there. He sinks down on top of you, though he’s careful with his weight. “Don’t move,” he tells you, turning both of you onto your sides to be more comfortable. “Stuck together.”

“Do I even want to ask?” you mutter sleepily.

“Dominance bite,” he says, voice hoarse. He’s still caught up in it a bit, grinding into you as he cums again. He cups at your belly without thinking. “Triggered my instincts. Knotted you.” 

“I triggered you?”

“When you bit me,” he says, licking over his bite mark again as he starts to truly come back to himself. You shiver. “Tried to assert your dominance.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Later,” Tighnari says. “You should rest.”

You try to glance at him over your shoulder. “Why?”

He fucks into you again with a mean little thrust, instincts flaring at your cry as his knot tests your limits.

“Not done yet.” 

[myosotisa]

Chasm - e.m.

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

‖  summary: You're a researcher working at one of the fault lines throughout Hawkins, studying the closed and dormant gates to an alternate dimension. While you're alone on site, one of the gates wakes up again.

‖  tags: horror. i cannot stress this enough. this is unsettling and creepy and angsty with slight sexual tension. in line with the content in the show. post season 4, canon compliant. emetophobia warning. dubcon kissing. forced consumption (writing it made me gag just warning you. but im also kind of a baby so). no y/n, she/her pronouns used. flayed!eddie infects you. open ended ending. also steve is there sometimes. there's a ton of background lore that is only vaguely explained lol

‖  word count: 8.3k ‖  read on AO3 ‖  the song ‖

None of the rifts have shown any activity in over a year. Months and months of dead readings and no signals. Just waiting.

So what's a girl supposed to do when your EMF meter spikes alone on site? Sit around and wait for a crew to suit up and march their way over to the fault you were at? No fucking way. No chance.

You report in about the sudden spike in gamma radiation and tell them you're going to find the source. The project lead tells you to stay put and wait for assistance, as expected.

Your radiation gear was already halfway on. Oops, sorry boss, didn't hear you.

Handheld voltage meter in one hand, audio recorder in the other, and a pocket full of glow sticks, you push out past the plastic tarps and into the humid night air of Indiana summer.

The readings bring you west, toward the condemned trailer park and the "start" of your fault line. You crack a glow stick and drop it every few feet, marking your path. When the reading jumps up, you make a '+' sign with two at the spot before continuing forward. It was hard to say without exact measurements, but it seemed to be increasing at equal intervals. Like frozen waves on the surface of water.

"I'm approaching the Forest Hills sign," you say into the receiver, your own voice the only sound in the night air. "Current readings are…" You bring the meter up, using the light hanging from your neck to read the display. "Approaching 70 mv/m of high frequency radiation, roughly 31016 Hz. The next… 'Layer', for lack of a better term, will most likely breach Safe EMF levels, not considering the potential protection of the suit."

Lowering the meter again when it gives a beep of warning, you tuck it under your arm and crack another glow stick, leaving a '+' at the boundary to the trailer park. "I'll probably need treatment when I get back to base – as long as I grab a reading from the source and get out quickly, there won't be lasting damage. You hear that, Dr. Pierce?" You say through an over-confident huff, readjusting your arms to keep moving forward. "I'm well aware of the risks and take responsibility for my own actions."

The park itself looks like a bad dream at night – trailers abandoned hastily with doors still hung open and belongings scattered along the ground. Between the sudden fault opening and the bureau rushing in, the existing residents had been given very little time and grace to move into temporary housing across town. And it looked every bit like an entire community of people had just up and disappeared.

The suit you were in didn’t exactly help coordination, so you moved slowly and carefully over and around discarded objects along the dirt. Clothing, kitchen utensils, a quilt, a stack of newspapers, a child's toy. All left untouched for over a year.

Clearing the corner of one of the empty trailers, you catch sight of something strange.

“The fault itself has looked normal up to this point, no activity. But I can see the source now. It’s… It appears to be glowing red, fading in and out in a constant cycle.” Approaching even slower than before, you watch intently as the glow grows and then retreats again. Like waves on the shore.

The meter gives another shrill alarm – making you jump nearly out of your skin as you swat at it with the recorder. “Jesus Christ!” It quiets with a sinking pitch in your hand. 

Before checking the reading, you quickly make another ‘+’ with glow sticks, digging them into the dirt a bit in an attempt to keep them from moving. Still down on one knee, you bring the meter up to your flashlight again.

“The meter is now reading 110 mv/m, same frequency. I’m roughly… 12 feet out from the source now. There’s a, uh, humming sound. Not sure if the recording is picking it up. And feeling pressure on my eardrums,” you explain into the device, eyes locked on the glow ahead. “I’ll continue to approach – see if I can get a closer reading. If it jumps above 150, I’ll fall back.”

Pushing to your feet again with a huff, you readjust your full load and press forward slowly. The closer you get to the source, you can see that the fault rapidly grows in size. The space between the edges looks large enough to fit a car as it rounds out at the end – a red pond in the ground.

“I can see the source clearer now. The glow is coming from within – there’s a…" You take a few steps closer, squinting to get a better look. "It appears to be an opaque membrane covering the space between. The glow is coming from behind it. Still cycling at an even rate, no change.”

The meter in your hand gives its shrillest warning yet, scaring you badly enough that it goes flying out of your hand; it hits the ground and flips closer to the edge. “Shit, fuck!”

You shuffle forward and drop down onto your shaky knees, grabbing for the meter as it continues to let out that grating alarm into the night air. Smacking it once more, the sound cuts off abruptly, giving you a chance to breathe.

Bringing it up to your flashlight, your eyes go wide as you lift the recorder again with your other trembling hand. “I’m nearly at the edge now, only a foot or so away  – EMF reading 187 mv/m. Rapid increase from the last point.”

Movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention, your head snapping toward it.

“There’s… What the fuck?" You pause, tempted to rub your eyes to make sure you're really seeing what you're seeing.

"There’s movement below the membrane. It… It’s just a shadow, I can’t tell what it is, but the movement is rapid and the… The humming is getting louder.” Your heart is pounding now, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin beneath the suit. 

“Going to retreat back to base,” you say, mostly attempting to reassure yourself as you slowly back away from the edge. “Final reading was 189 mv/m at 31016 Hz.”

There’s a crackle of static right before a thumb presses the pause button roughly, silencing the recorder in the center of the table.

“Is that all?” General Richard Highland asks, sounding impatient as he leans back in his conference chair. “That doesn’t tell us anything about what happened to her.”

“No, sir, there’s more.” Private Steve Harrington insists, inclining his head toward the dirty recorder he had delivered. He’s standing by the edge of the table at attention, hands clasped in front of him.  “The recording keeps going.”

Dr. Pierce leans forward from his seat, giving the General a stiff look as he presses the play button again.

There’s a few more moments of static before the woman’s voice fades back in, layered beneath the hum of attempted interference.

“I’m definitely gonna need that rad treatment, Dr. Pierce. My badge is that warning color, even beneath the suit,” she continues with a shaky laugh, the sound of plastic shuffling behind it. “Hopefully I don’t lose my hair or something, but that’s… What?” 

The table of scientists and military personnel sits in tense silence as her voice cuts out again. Half of them are on the edge of their seats, the others showing off a measured calm or disinterest. The general looks particularly annoyed and impatient, while Dr. Pierce looks almost like he wants to throw up.

“There’s… Something’s happening – I don’t–” 

An abrasive crackle echoes out into the room, loud enough to send nearly everyone into a wince, before the recording cuts back in with the sound of screaming. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING?! SHIT – I’ve gotta get–" A burst of interference sounds, followed by a metallic grating, like a ship groaning beneath the weight of the ocean.

Her panicked voice comes through, sounding further away than before. "FUCK! It – It’s got my ankle. Let go, you fucking piece of –! SHI–”

The recording cuts out to a buzzing hum.

No one moves for a few moments. Not until Private Harrington steps up to silence the recorder. “We found this recording, a lab issue EMF meter, and a broken flashlight at the edge of the fault." He explains, producing the other two items from the pack resting at his feet. "It was dormant when we got there – solid again.”

“So it just…” One of the other scientists starts, looking at Dr. Pierce uneasily.

“Dragged her through and went back to sleep.” Dr. Pierce confirms solemnly, his gaze locked on the dirty recorder.

“It’s never done this before?” A 2nd scientist, new to the project, asks. The others shake their heads. “So what do we do?”

All eyes turn to Dr. Pierce, who looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“We wait for it to wake up again.”

Wake up.

Come on, little lamb.

Wake up now.

Looks so peaceful.

But you’ve got to wake up.

…

WAKE UP.

There’s something wet on your face.

Feeling is slowly returning to your body, your eyes closed and too heavy to open. But there’s something dripping on your cheek – droplets running down toward your mouth. Sticking to your dry lips for a moment or two before falling off. You’re on the ground on your stomach, your cheek squished against something that feels like mud.

Your brain has yet to kick on fully as it tries to regain consciousness through a pounding ache, resonating with the throb of your left leg. It feels like you’re still wearing the rad suit, but the head piece is gone and it might be ripped in places – mud seeping in to touch your skin.

It’s almost like you’re sinking.

Eyelids fluttering open and you’re faced with a desaturated swamp. Like someone came through and sucked half the color out of it.

Lifting one arm is difficult, suctioned into the mud you’re laying in. Once you’ve freed it enough, you’re able to push off the sticky, wet sludge beneath you enough to roll over onto your back.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

You sit up with a start, your abdomen screaming in protest as your brain swims. Blinking through the blur in your eyes, you struggle to see anything at all in the dark – only momentarily granted sight by the flashes of red lightning overhead.

“Who’s there?” You call out into the dark, an attempt to sound brave, but your voice trembles as your eyes rapidly flit back and forth.

“Over here.”

The lightning flashes once more as you whip your head toward the voice – showing the silhouette of a man standing a few feet away. From what little you see, he’s tall and slender, head tilted to the side like he’s curious. There’s no chance you can see his face or anything else about him.

Until he’s in your face, crouched down right beside you – crossing the space and appearing in the span of a blink. It gives you a start, attempting to back up but getting caught up in the mud still suctioned to your lower half.

Your fear seems to bring a small smile to his face, plump lips tilting up at the corner. He looks so familiar… Long curly hair draped wetly over his shoulders, the sparse bangs across his forehead, and the soft turn of his nose. Curiosity gets the better of you as you lean in again slightly, squinting your eyes a bit more in the dark to see him better.

“I know you…” You insist softly, causing his eyebrows to raise slightly in surprise. “How do I know you?”

“No clue, because I’ve never met you in my life.” He replies, lips parting in a grin. “And I’m good with faces – ‘specially pretty ones.”

His response catches you off guard as your brain continues reeling and struggling to intake information, which is normally your forte. There’s a million questions on the tip of your tongue and you have no idea where to start.

“You’ll probably need to lose the suit if you want to get out of that shit,” he continues when you don’t respond, motioning to your stationary legs with a wave of his hand. And he’s probably right, with the way the mud beneath you is stuck tight to the shiny plastic. Your best hope is to try to use the suit as a stepping off point to get to stable ground.

“Where should I step once I pull out?” You ask, hoping he’ll understand your goal.

A blink and he’s gone again – another flash of red light placing his silhouette off to your left. “Think you can make it to here?” He responds, voice raised slightly and sounding like he’s teasing you or challenging you. It makes your competitive side flare up on instinct – a frustrated huff leaving your nose as you plan your escape.

Opening the front of the suit, you slip both arms out and let the upper half fall flat behind you. Pulling out both of your legs next, your butt sinks deeper into the ground, nearly sending you off balance as you quickly shift your weight forward onto your knees, using the suit as a stepping stone. It starts to sink, mud coming up over the edge and inching toward your knees, so you have to move fast.

Pushing to your feet makes it sink faster, wet sludge touching the side of your ankle just as you push off in a jump toward where the man was standing.

You land on the ankle that had been grasped by the tentacle, not realizing the throbbing meant it’d been twisted. It makes you cry out in pain and fall forward, directly into the man’s chest.

“Woah there!” He says in surprise, grasping onto your elbows to keep you sort of upright. Between the aching pain and the tears pressing at your eyes, you just barely manage to notice how cold and clammy he is – especially where his hands grip your bare biceps.

Rocketing back, you press your weight onto your good leg and put some distance between the two of you again, your dirty arms crossing over your tank top and smearing it with mud. “Sorry, my, uh, ankle…” You offer awkwardly, still not even sure who you’re talking to.

“Don’t worry about it, angel. You good?”

He actually sounds like he cares. Like he’s concerned for you. Who is he? 

“I’ll be fine,” you insist stubbornly, swallowing down the lump of tears in your throat. Free from your precarious situation, at least partially, you struggle to figure out what to address first. “How are you doing that? Like… Teleporting? Or are you just moving really fast?”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “What–,” he disappears in a blink and then you feel a burst of air on the back of your neck, making your hair stand on end, “this?”

You lurch forward before turning around to level him a glare. “Yes, that – don’t do that.”

His hands tuck into the front pockets of the leather jacket he’s wearing as he shrugs, looking quite pleased with himself. “Sorry, angel, didn’t mean to spook you.”

Then silence falls, both of you eyeing each other – you suspiciously and him curiously. The extended pause makes you think you aren’t going to be told how anytime soon.

A breeze kicks up, rustling the branches of the trees in the surrounding swampland and sending a shiver down your spine. Suit lost, you’re down to a tank top, jeans, and a pair of no slip shoes (which were required for people working in the field for some reason). You were dressed for the humid interior of the field site tent in summer and it appears that you have landed yourself in a place where that is not enough.

Taking advantage of the silence, you try to remember everything you can about your studies into the ‘gates’ from when they were open. Very little was known beside second hand accounts and old data – some of which may not even be accurate anymore given the nature of the fault lines. If there was anywhere to start, it would be trying to find the gate you’d been dragged through.

With any luck, you could go right back to your dimension.

But that didn’t account for him. The pale, wet, unsettling-yet-somehow-charming guy that was still staring right at you.

“How long have you been here? Do you know?” You question cautiously, not wanting to upset him in any way.

“That depends, what year is it?”

Your heart drops into your stomach, completely at odds with the continued grin on his face. It looks almost manic now – like every time he sets you off balance brings him great joy. Deciding you’d actually rather not know how long he’s been in here, you move on.

“Have you been alone this whole time? Or are there other people here?”

His grin spreads, like he’s in on a joke you’re not aware of. “I haven’t been alone, no.”

This piques your curiosity again, adjusting your weight on your good leg. “Do you have a community here? How many of you are there?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” He suggests, taking a step or two away from you, his hands still tucked into his pockets.

The idea is tempting, if only to learn more about what is going on here, but there’s something nagging at the back of your mind. Something you should be remembering. Something you’re missing. Plus, for all you know, this man does not have your best interests at heart.

“I should probably try to find the gate that brought me here,” you say, slightly regretfully. “See if I can cross back over.”

“Oh, right,” he responds, tapping his forehead with his palm like it should’ve been obvious. “Yeah, I can show you the way.”

This surprises you again, slight concern causing you to stand up straighter. “You can?”

“Sure thing, the closest one isn’t far,” he motions behind him with a tilt of his chin, taking another step back. “Come on.”

So you follow the strange man into the dark, limping after him on your twisted ankle. The mud starts to dry on your skin, hair, and clothing – crusting over and hardening in places. You pick at pieces as you walk, letting the chunks and flakes fall to the ground behind you. From what little you can see, there are vines everywhere along the ground, weaving between tree trunks and layering over each other in place. The man seems to step over them – and you can’t tell if it’s on purpose or a coincidence – but you make a habit of not touching the vines just in case.

It’s unsettlingly quiet here. Every once in a while you’ll hear what sounds like an animal – a howl, a chittering, the thump of feet on the earth. But they are few and far between, leaving mostly just the rush of wind through the trees and a sort of muffled silence, pressure on your ears.

Your paranoia kicks up as the quiet continues, suspiciously eyeing the back of your escort as he leads you forward. For all you knew, he wasn’t leading you anywhere near the gate. You have no reason to trust him beyond the fact that he helped you get out of the sludge you woke up in. He was in this dimension after all, clearly familiar with it. That had to be a red flag if anything, given what little you actually knew about it.

So much was classified beyond your reach – the bureau was very specific with what you were allowed to read and know and what you weren’t. Given the dormant nature of the fault lines, it hadn’t been necessary for you to learn too much about the dimension on the other side. Most of what you studied and knew was about the gates themselves.

Even with the bureau being as paranoid and obsessive as it was – a lowly field researcher getting dragged to the other side and needing to survive hadn’t seemed to be on their radar.

The pessimistic part of you not-so-helpfully supplies that was probably just because they weren't very interested in your survival at all. They’d probably prefer it if you died here. If anything, your exposure to the other side made you more of a liability.

Maybe one they could experiment on, if you got lucky and survived.

This train of thinking isn’t helping anything. You could worry about what your life would become if you made it out.

Walking up to the lifeless and solid gate turns that into a very tentative if.

“Looks like the door’s shut tight,” Eddie offers vaguely, rocking back and forth on his heels as you circle the hole in the ground, like seeing a new angle will change something about it.

The opening looks largely the same as the other side, in the center of the abandoned trailer park with the forest surrounding. Your arms are covered in goosebumps as the breeze hits harder in the open field, no longer buffered by trees on all sides. On the bright side, it is slightly better lit here and you can see your companion a bit clearer now.

“Do you know how these things work? Like how and why it opens and shuts?” You ask desperately, looking at him from the other side of the crevice.

The corner of his mouth tilts up minutely, his shoulders shrugging. “Yes and no.”

The scowl returns to your face, frustration mounting as another shiver of cold racks your body. “Are you intentionally being unhelpful? Or are you just an idiot?”

His lips part in a surprised ‘o’, his eyebrows raising like he’s impressed. “That hurts, angel. I’m no idiot, and I think I’ve been plenty helpful. After all… I could’ve just left you to drown out there. Or maybe led you into a trap. Or left you for the dogs.” He taunts, returning to a toothy grin. The question of if he has your well being in mind gets more and more clear with a resounding no.

A fearful jolt runs down your spine as you stare him down, trying not to let your fear show. Grappling tightly to your anger, you taunt back, “Oh yeah? Then why didn’t you?”

A blink and he’s gone.

Your entire body goes on alert, tensing for attack as your heart starts to pound against your ribs. Eyes searching the immediate area in front of you come up empty. He’s either behind you or far enough you can’t see him in the low light. You never got an answer as to whether he’s moving quickly or teleporting or exactly how far he can get in the time you blinked.

He’s either long gone or… Trying to surprise you.

As soon as you have the thought, the hair on the back of your neck stands up – like some kind of unconscious sense of danger.

You turn in a quick 180 and he’s right there. Only a foot away from you with a sadistic sort of smile on his face. Your breath catches in your chest as it feels like a fist grabs tightly to your heart, suddenly much more terrified of the man in front of you.

That appears to be the way he prefers it.

“I think we can help each other.”

You blink at him, muscles pulled taut and ready to bolt as you try to figure out what the fuck he’s doing and what the fuck he wants. “What?” You question, your voice coming out a bit breathy and scared.

“I said, I think we can help each other,” he repeats calmly. “You help me, and I can help you get back home.”

“Why– What– H–how could I possibly help you?” You sputter, trying not to sound as terrified and confused as you feel.

His grin turns cheeky again, slightly less unsettling than it was a moment ago. “It won’t take much, angel, scout’s honor.” He says as he lays a hand over his chest. “You help me, then you’re free to crawl right back over to the other side and continue your life.”

Disbelief and uncertainty nags at you as you fidget in your spot, wanting desperately to put some more distance between the two of you but nervous to offend him. “So you can open the gate? You just want something in return?”

He shakes his head emphatically, appearing to be genuine in his denial. “I can’t but I know who can. They opened it before you were brought over.”

“And they would open it again? Just because you asked?” You question suspiciously, studying his facial expression for a sign that he’s pulling your leg again.

“Let’s just say that me and them have similar goals and leave it at that.”

There are 100 more questions on the tip of your tongue, but with the potential of getting back to your own dimension on the table, you’re reluctant to press too hard. He seems to recognize the battle you’re fighting with yourself as he laughs to himself. “You know what they say about curiosity, angel.”

An annoyed exhale punches out of your nose. “And I assume in this case that I’m the cat.”

“Bingo!” He says happily, tapping the end of his nose with his index finger. “So what do you say?”

There is so much you want to say. So many questions you want to ask. So much more info you need. But beggars can’t be choosers, you suppose.

“What would I need to do?”

His smile goes sharp again. “So glad you asked. I’d just need a kiss.”

A beat of silence. Then your expression drops in disbelief and disappointment. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Dead serious,” he insists, laying his hand on his chest again as he regards you intently. “And it’s gotta be real – gotta kiss me like you mean it. None of those little pecks you give on the cheek.”

A strange swirl of intrigue and revulsion mixes together in your gut as you continue waiting for the punchline. The ‘just kidding, your face was priceless’. But it doesn’t come.

“Is this some kind of sick joke? Been so lonely out here that you have to twist the arm of a desperate girl just to get some–”

“Hey.” He interrupts, his tone intense and cold. It shuts you up immediately, though you can’t say why. “Don’t be mean, angel. This isn’t just me trying to take advantage of you. It has a real purpose.”

The dubious look you give him makes him crack another small smile. “Cross my heart and hope to die, I’m telling you the truth.”

“And am I allowed to know what this purpose is?”

He shakes his head again, displacing the curls draped over his shoulders that still appear to have not dried at all. “I’ll tell you when it’s done, how about that?” He offers, using your curiosity against you to try to sweeten the deal.

Really, it’s a no brainer. Sure, he’s a strange person that lives in an alternate dimension that has some strange abilities. Sure, you know next to nothing about him despite that itch in the back of your head telling you that you know him somehow. And sure, this could be a huge mistake. But having to kiss this admittedly-attractive dude just to get out of this nightmare dimension and get back home? The choice is simple.

Which only makes you more certain there’s a catch you aren’t seeing.

“Fine. If you swear I’ll be able to go home, then I’ll do it.”

His expression brightens excitedly, a sort of childlike joy appearing on his face. It’s different from any of the expressions you’ve seen on him so far – like genuine surprise. “You will?”

“Yeah, sure.” You reply, trying to brush it off as nothing. “Not like I have a lot of other options here.”

His excitement fades slightly, though he still looks pleased with the outcome. “Glad you made the right decision.”

An unsettling silence falls as the two of you study each other once more, now much closer than the last time. Fear and anticipation builds steadily as you find yourself glancing down at his lips – realizing you’re about to know what they feel like on your own.

“Do we, uh,” you pause to clear your throat as you awkwardly break the silence. “Do we do it now? Or… What?”

He takes a step closer, entering your personal space. His voice is lower, stickier, and richer when he responds. “Do you wanna do it now, angel?”

You suddenly feel like a fly stuck in a honey trap – eyes widening as you struggle between wanting to further close the distance and to run away from him. “Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose?” Though you meant it to be nonchalant, it comes out as a nervous question.

The uncertainty in your voice only seems to make the man crack another amused smile. “I suppose so,” he replies softly, gently teasing you as he gets even just a little bit closer. You can feel your heart pounding in your neck, constantly flipping back and forth between fear, interest, nerves, and embarrassment. Looking at you through slightly lowered eyelids, he leans in toward you. Close enough you can feel the exhale of his breath on your face.

“Kiss me like you mean it, angel.” He reminds you quietly, the tip of his nose nudging against yours as your eyelids flutter closed instinctively. “Don’t forget.”

Then his lips are pressing to yours. You make a small noise of surprise, both in that you weren’t sure if he was actually going to do it and because he’s so cold. But his lips are plush and soft as he places your lower lip between his own. As promised, you kiss him back, trying not to think about how strange it feels that he’s cold and the situation you’re in – focusing on the gentle pressure of him as he steps even closer and brings his hand up to cradle your jaw.

It’s gentle and sweet as you find yourself starting to forget the reality of it all. Your hands find the edges of his leather jacket, tugging him closer as he hums happily. His other hand finds your waist – cold through the thin fabric of your tank top.

Teeth nip lightly at your lower lip and you make another small noise of surprise, a flash of heat through your chest at the pleasant feeling. It distracts you further – not even questioning the adventurous flick of his tongue against your mouth. You part your lips on instinct; his hand flexing happily against your jaw as he tests the waters to run his tongue along yours.

You return the gesture, encouraging the touch as you breathe heavily through your nose. You’re running low on air and will need to part to breathe soon. You’re surprised to find that you aren’t really sure that you want to stop to do so.

He seems to recognize the impending need too; his lips pressing against yours more insistently, like he’s getting what he can before it ends. His tongue ventures past your lips one more time, pressing further than he had before. Is… Is his tongue longer than normal?

In the same moment that he pulls away from you, the hand on your jaw claps over your mouth to keep it shut. And there’s something in your mouth.

There’s something moving in your mouth.

You make a high pitched noise of panic as your eyes double in size, looking at him in terror while he holds you tightly to his front and keeps his hand firmly over your mouth. “Ah, ah, angel. You gotta swallow it.” He coos, his palm clammy and cold against your slick lips.

You shake your head as well as you can with his grip, making noises of protest as you struggle to keep the smooth, wiggling object from sliding down your throat. Your hands grab at his wrist and forearm, trying to pull him off, but his grip is too strong. Begging him with your eyes, sharp and stuttered breaths coming out of your nose as you hyperventilate, he just gives you a sad smile. “It’s not that bad, I promise. Just gotta swallow and it’ll be over – don’t make me plug your nose.”

Painful tears poke out of your eyes and start to descend down your cheeks, nails digging into his skin to try and get him off. It seems not to affect him at all, his other hand giving your waist a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay, baby. It’s gonna be okay. This is it – you won’t have to do anything else. Come on, angel. You can do it. Just swallow for me.”

His words of encouragement make your head spin in confusion, panic mounting as the outcome seems inevitable. More tears pour down your cheeks as you choke on a sob, inadvertently allowing the object to slide down your throat. 

“There we go,” he sighs in relief, grip on your face loosening, “Good girl.”

Somehow he knew that you’d swallowed it because he releases you right as you start to cough roughly, stumbling away from him and bending forward. You can still feel the strange coating from the creature on your tongue and down your esophagus – thick and wrong as you cough and gag.

Get it out, get it out, get it out, GET IT OUT, GET IT OUT!!

“What was– How do I– I’ve gotta–” You stammer, stumbling over your words as you tremble wildly and gag, your body responding to your panic by wanting to reject the new contents of your stomach.

He appears right beside you again, gripping both of your wrists with his hands as he forces you upright. “Don’t throw it up.” His voice is a command, his expression intense. “If you throw it up, I’ll have to force feed you another one. And trust me, it’s way less fun the 2nd time.”

Tears continue to pour from your eyes as you rapidly shake your head. “What was– What is– Why are you doing this? What was that thing?”

“Calm down, angel, please calm down,” he begs, starting to look distressed himself. “It’s gonna be okay, I swear, it’s gonna be fine. You’re a part of something bigger now. It’s all going to be okay.”

You try to pull out of his grip on your wrists, alternating between yanking back and rushing forward to push him away. “What the fuck does that mean?! What have you done to me?!” You shout through your tears, white hot panic spreading through your body. “It’s not too late – I can still, I can still throw it up, I can…”

He drags you in, wrapping you up in a tight bear hug with your arms trapped between the two of you. He shushes you, standing steady against your weakening struggling against him. “Shhh, shh, it’s alright, angel. It’s okay. You’re gonna get to go home, okay? We’re gonna get to go home.”

“Sir, we’ve got activity.”

Dr. Pierce pushes out of his desk chair fast enough to make his head spin – lack of sleep and too much coffee weakening him beyond measure. He’s barely left the main building since you went missing.

Since you were dragged through.

There have been constant patrols of the fault line you disappeared into, hoping for any sign of it waking up again. It was on his order and against the wishes of General Highland. She’s a level 1 researcher. She knew the risks. It’s not worth the cost.

But you didn’t know the risks, not really. Pierce knows he didn’t do enough to prepare you, to warn you. He didn’t do enough to protect you.

This is his fault.

He’s not the only one buzzing with anticipation as he exits his darkened office; several other scientists and field agents are reacting to the news of activity with a rush. Not everyone will be allowed to go to the site, as it would be a madhouse, but several live cameras and other surveillance equipment have been set up in the area. At least a quarter of the bureau across the country will be intently watching whatever happens next.

Pierce says nothing as he makes his way for the garage and the people he passes know better than to approach him now. He can still feel their eyes – judgemental, curious, concerned. He’s felt their eyes for days.

There are several SUVs already prepared by the time he arrives, most already full of people who were approved to be on site in the case of reactivation. He recognizes the soldier standing by waiting for him as Private Steve Harrington, the same man who brought in the recorder originally. He’s one of the few people at the bureau with prior knowledge of the other dimension despite his low rank.

“Sir,” he greets with a respectful head dip, opening the backdoor of the SUV for Pierce as he approaches. Pierce returns the gesture before climbing into the backseat, sliding across the bench to the opposite side. Steve gets in after him, his bulky gear forcing him to sit far forward on the bucket seat as he slams the door closed behind him.

It only takes another minute or so before the caravan lurches and begins to move, following after the identical black SUV in front of it.

The walkie-talkie on Steve’s shoulder kicks to life quietly, a short and concise signal coming through that Pierce doesn’t understand. The exhausted scientist looks over curiously as Steve murmurs an, “Affirmative,” into the device before clicking it off.

“Any news from the fault?”

Steve glances over, surprised to be addressed, before he turns back to look out the front windshield. “Nothing yet, sir.”

Pierce keeps an eye on the soldier as they travel – watching with intrigue as the man continuously searches the vehicle’s surroundings, like he’s expecting an attack.

“You seem on edge, Steve.” He straightens in response, looking even more uncomfortable at being referred to by his first name. “Is it because the gate is active?”

A muscle in his jaw rolling with tension, Steve keeps his gaze firmly forward as he responds. “It doesn’t supply a good feeling, that’s for sure.”

“And yet you still volunteered for the theoretical strike team to go through?” Pierce wonders aloud, phrasing it like a question.

There’s a tense moment of silence before the private answers. “At least I already know what to expect on the other side.”

The two don’t interact again for the reminder of the drive.

The SUVs all pull into the vacant field beside the field tent in a line, the leader of the patrol team coming out to meet the first vehicle. Pierce watches General Highland step out of it and start to converse with the uniformed woman. By the time he makes it way over, he seems to be catching the tail end of the conversation.

“We have each unit spread out in even intervals along the fault; so far there has been no change since it first activated.”

“And they all have their protective equipment on, I presume?” Dr. Pierce cuts in, surprising the patrol leader and earning an annoyed look from General Highland.

“Yes sir,” she responds with a head nod. “I was just telling the general that they’re all outfitted with gear to protect them from the worst of the radiation, but it would still do good to regularly swap out the unit in the center, where the worst of it is.”

Pierce agrees with a stiff nod, not waiting to hear the general disagree before he turns to look back. As he expected, Private Harrington trailed him over, waiting a respectful distance away as to not eavesdrop. “Harrington.”

Steve turns at the call, jogging over to Pierce. “Sir.”

“Suit up. You’re coming with me to the source.”

“Yes sir.”

The pair of them push into the field tent, currently staffed with 15 more people than usual. There are researchers and scientists bent over displays and documenting readings, soldiers standing by with weapons, field agents watching over the researchers shoulders. Pierce walks past all of them, parting the way as he does, and starts to strip off his lab coat while pulling a radiation suit off the rack. Steve follows suit, removing a majority of his gear to reequip on top of the plastic suit.

The buzz of excited chatter is nearly grating on Pierce’s ears as he goes through the annoying process of putting on the PPE. But he misses it when it suddenly cuts off, directly after one of the researchers announces, “We’ve got a spike in activity!”

Pierce looks over at Steve, who is still clipping things to his belt again. “We’ve gotta move.”

“Yes sir,” Steve repeats once more, gathering the bare necessities in his arms to try to equip as they move. The pair of them push out the other side of the tent and set into a jog towards what used to be Forest Hills Trailer Park.

They pass a few pairs of outfitted people as they move – soldiers patrolling and scientists maintaining the monitoring equipment placed along the fault. None of them interact as the pair jogs past, heading for the end of the fault line. They can see a small group ahead – presumably gathered closer to where the spike in activity happened.

“Make some room!” Steve barks out as they approach, the gathered group moving further away from the fault line in response. Some look back to see who is coming while others keep their eyes locked on the glowing source beyond.

“Keep at least 10 feet back from the fault at all times,” Pierce orders the group as they pass. “Stay in pairs, don’t go off on your own. We have very little idea what we’re dealing with here, but we have reason to believe there are things that will try to drag you through the gate. If something comes out, fall back and call out. Don’t let your partner get grabbed.”

There is some murmuring in response, but no one openly disregards the order, starting to pair off as a few people move further back along the fault line. Pierce approaches a pair hunched over a meter near the source, keeping his eyes on the glowing red below. “What are we looking at?”

“It’s fluctuating slightly; was 116 mv/m at 31016 Hz at peak.” The researcher responds, keeping a close eye on the EMF before them. “Nothing close to the reported 189 mv/m. We might not be looking at full activation. Or maybe it’s building up, it’s hard to say.”

“Wait,” Steve cuts in, holding a hand out for the researcher to pause. “Do you hear that?”

They all fall silent, listening closely.

Then Pierce hears it – the hum from the recording. The one you were talking about hearing.

The scientist gives him a nod of agreement before looking back to the researcher. “Any sign of movement from the other side?”

“Not that we can tell from here,” the field agent answers for them. “We’ve been following the guidelines to stay back so it’s hard to catch anything from here.”

“Radio? Portable EMF?” Dr. Pierce asks, and the field agent presents both. He takes them and then looks back at Steve. “We’re moving up.”

Even behind the protection of the face shield, Pierce can see the tension in his expression. Regardless, the private still answers with a confident, “Yes sir.”

Keeping the meter within eyesight, the two push ahead, closer to the large opening at the source. Pierce watches it tick up with each step closer, crossing the 150 mark as they get within 5 feet of the edge. Looking out across the opening, the glowing membrane pulses and hums with energy, louder and louder as they approach.

There’s very little movement on the other side, but every once in a while Pierce catches a glimpse of a dark shadow moving beyond.

“Never gets any less unsettling to look at,” Steve murmurs beside him, shifting his weight between his feet as he keeps his eyes locked on the unbroken membrane.

“Dr. Pierce, we’ve got another spike!” The researcher calls from behind, voice sounding a bit concerned. “We’re edging 170 now.”

The humming increases steadily along with a slight vibration in the ground beneath their feet. Steve steps up beside Pierce, a hand out like he’s ready to drag him back from the edge, as Pierce stares into the membrane intensely.

Come on. Come on. Come back through. Just be alive. Come on. Please be alive.

A more defined shadow moves along the edge closest to the trailer and doesn’t pull back. “We’ve got movement!” Steve calls back, alerting the nearby units as Pierce’s hand flies out to hush him. They both watch with a certain level of horrified fascination as the shadow grows defined enough to make that section of the membrane appear black before it begins to tear.

A bare hand extends out of the membrane, blindly grasping for the nearby edge. Steve twitches forward, like he wants to go and help them, but Pierce holds him back wordlessly, leaving them both standing perfectly still as another hand appears and grabs onto the edge.

The person uses the grip on the edge to pull themselves through – a woman in a filthy tank top and jeans struggling to pull herself onto the flat ground. As soon as she is through, she quickly turns around on her knees and reaches back through the membrane.

You’re… You’re actually alive.

Several soldiers approach slowly with their rifles out, aiming at you as you take hold of someone else’s hand and start to pull them through. A pale man with long, messy hair appears from the other side, holding on tightly to you as you help him reorient to the change in perspective. “No way…” Steve whispers, standing frozen as he watches them start to sit up and look around.

“Dr. Pierce!” You call happily once you spot him, waving at him like you’re excited to see him. There’s a huge smile on your face, a stark contrast to your utterly disheveled appearance. “I made it! I’m back!”

The soldiers continue to keep their weapons trained on the newcomers, watching for some sign of aggression. You slowly get to your feet, offering your hand to your companion and helping him up too. Steve takes a few mindless steps towards them, Dr. Pierce no longer stopping him. “Eddie?” He calls uncertainly, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Eddie, is that you?”

The man’s head perks up, looking in Steve’s direction. “Harrington?” He replies, sounding just as uncertain and confused. “Is that you in there?”

“Eddie, as in Eddie Munson?” Dr. Pierce asks Steve, still unmoving as he stares at you, seemingly unharmed.

“Yeah…” Steve breathes out, still looking stunned. “And he doesn’t look like he’s aged a day.”

You and Eddie start to walk over when a soldier barks at you to stay back, both of you nervously putting your hands up as you look between the armed soldiers, Steve, and Pierce.

“It’s me, Dr. Pierce. It’s really me.” You insist, looking at him pleadingly. “And this is Eddie, he helped me find my way back. He saved me.” You add, motioning to the man beside you. The two of you are close together; you stand slightly in front of Eddie, like you’re protecting him. Eddie just offers a sheepish smile and a shrug, like it was no big deal.

“Sir? What do we do?” One of the soldiers asks, glancing in Dr. Pierce’s direction.

The two of you look exhausted, dirty, hungry, but… Harmless. No worse for wear despite the time spent on the other side.

“Bring them in.” Pierce orders. “No excessive force. They’ve been through a lot.”

The soldiers nod, lowering their weapons and urging you both to come forward. You look particularly relieved, while Eddie appears mostly unphased by all of it.

“Thank god, I need a shower so badly.” You announce with a happy laugh, walking toward them as you shake your head and make a disgusted face. “No one smell me, I’m begging you.”

If anyone finds your behavior unsettling or strange, they don’t say so. Everyone mostly looks relieved it didn’t turn into some kind of fight. While there is something off about how you’re acting, Dr. Pierce can’t find it in himself to feel anything besides relief at your return.

Steve stands motionless and tense as Eddie approaches, looking every bit like he’s seen a ghost. There is no excitement, no relief, no… Trust. Like this is all a bad dream and he just wants to wake up.

Just before you and Eddie pass the two of them, you flash another excited smile. “And not a moment too soon – I’m so thirsty.” You look over at Eddie, who nods in agreement, before you continue walking toward the field tent in the distance, flanked on either side by armed soldiers.

Eddie stops by Steve, giving him a tilted smile. “Hey Harrington, didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same to you,” Steve replies, his tone apprehensive and flat. If Eddie catches on, he doesn’t show it, just continuing to show that same smile – like he knows something you don’t.

“What can I say?” He offers with a shrug and a wink before he continues to trail after you and toward the growing crowd beyond. “It’s good to be back.”

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thanks for reading, please let me know if you liked it!!

[prncessjaeger]

sundress 🎀

the stars shone in the sky as many yelled in excitement. some ran to the edge of the beach shore, others ran through the damp sand around each other and you, sitting near the bonfire alone once again. moving to this new town in the height of summer had to be the worst thing your mom could ever do, but being the daughter of a military colonel meant traveling all over the world whenever your mom was stationed. 

since moving here, your mom found out about all the festivities they have planned during the summer, so she insisted on you going to the annual teen beach nights, something about “a great way to make new friends,” but how could you make new friends when they’re all here, solidified in their own groups.

the first night? you sat on a log like a sad rock, envying all the teens enjoying their summer with their lifelong friends, practically wasting your time. so when your mom picked you up, she noticed the frown on your face, “had fun?” “no.” “well, you can try again next time when they have it again.” so when that next saturday came, she dropped you off and once again, you sat on the same log yet this time, someone lit the bonfire infront of it along with marshmallows and chocolate for s’mores. you smoothed your sundress down, pulled your book out and looked out, already seeing girls and guys setting up for the night and sighed, returning to your routine as followed. 

but, only 20 mins intor reading when suddenly you were startled, feeling a presence sitting next to you, so you turned your head towards the person, “oh…is something wrong?” “huh?” “is there something you need? you just sat here all unprovoked…” the dark haired boy lowered his head bashfully, breathing in and out slowly before turning to you, wondering what he could say without making things weird. “i had saw you the last time, and i uh, wanted to tell you that you were very pretty…” 

now, last saturday, eren was also at the beach with his few cluster of friends, and after connie dared him to skinny dip in the ocean but of course eren wasn’t doing all that and instead wandered off, admiring the beautiful scenery. while walking around, he noticed a speck of orange light and a small figure sitting on top of the logs. he stood there, watching the girl sit there for almost an hour admiring the fire reflecting on your beautiful brown skin, admiring the way you rubbed your lips randomly or when you grin slightly while watching something on your phone, and watched you not moving an inch until he saw you look at your phone and leave. 

eren made it his mission to find and talk to you the next time he came, so once he arrived at the beach, he waved his friends off and walked over to his small area, smirking to himself seeing you in something more different: a green sundress with tan sandals to match, long fulani braids down your back and a book in your hand. 

he checked his watch, pacing back and forth only to say “fuck it” and sit next to you, startling you. “...you are very pretty.” he watched you hold your head down, smiling softly at his confession, “oh uh..thank you.” 

you pinched your hand in embarrassment, heat running through your chest as the boy cautiously came closer to you, holding his right palm out, “eren.”

“y/n.” when your hand came in contact with his, he raised it up high and kissed the top of it, winking after hearing your giggles flow from your mouth, “so um, i’ve never seen you around here before, you from here?” eren asked, “no, i’m from up north, you?” once again, you pinched your hand cause ‘obviously he’d be from here-’

“yeah, born and raised. sometimes it can get boring but when the summer comes? that’s the best part of town…hey how about i show you around the beach and such, meet my friends and maybe you’ll like it here more?”  thinking, you put your book in your tote and nodded, “sure.” "

you watched a smile adorned his face, “perfect.”

throughout the night, he introduced to all of his friends, referring to you as “his girl” which was quite weird since you both just met, but you went with it anyway. eren took you all around the beach, giving you small facts and such about certain areas (he learned from armin btw!), played and showed off his volleyball skills to you and even carried you all the way back to your bonfire area, where he grabbed the marshmallows and chocolate to make his version of s’mores.

“eren? where are the graham crackers?”

“i don’t use graham crackers,” giving him a look, you asked, “so what do you use?” you checked the time seeing it was already past 11 and wondered when your mom was on her way, “i use the chocolate as crackers.”

“won’t it get everywhere once it melts?” 

“but that’s the best part!” once again you gave him a little weird, chuckling as he burnt his finger trying to push the chocolate on his stick, “you laughing?”

covering your mouth, you shook your head no…only to let out a cackle then a yelp feeling eren strong arms lift you up with ease, spinning you around,  “put me down!!”

“only if you apologize.”

“it’s not my fault you burnt your finger-.” one of eren’s arms secured around your waist and the other began tickling all over you, hearing giggles flew from your lips until a small “i’m sorry i’m sorry!” was heard. his free arm went up to cradle your neck, looking up at your captivating features as they twitched in excitement. your lips still formed into a small grin, and your alluring eyes staring into his. 

he felt your arms enclosed around his neck, your face suddenly being closer than before and felt the soft exhales from your nose, until eren attempted to close the seemingly gap with a kiss, only to hear a loud honking noise, “what the hell?!” turning to see the culprit, you see your mom laughing and clapping at your face, “it’s my mom…” 

eren watched you cover your face in embarrassment and desperately tried to hold in his chuckle, but with the look on your face, he failed and laughed straight in your face, “erennn it’s not funny!”

୨୧

soon after, eren walked you up to your car, “so i had fun…”

“me too,” he reached for his phone and handed it to you, keyboard on the screen, “my number? if you wanna talk or something…?” he saw the confused look on your face and immediately felt his cheeks heat up, “oh…you don’t want my number? noted,”. when he reaches for his phone back, you yank your own laughing, “i’m just messing with you but you better call me. like everyday.”

“deal.” he saw the contact name, “sundress💕” and smirked, leaning down and kissed your cheek, “i’ll call you.” he walked away waving at your mom as he met up with his friends who were now leaving. you get in the car and for almost 10 minutes, the ride was silent until she reached the first red light, “sooo….”

“so what?” 

“how was your night, miss ‘i hate coming to the beach’?” you pushed her shoulder playfully at her joke and grinned, “it was better.”

“just better? girl give me something better than that!” she turned into the late night ice cream parlor, “it was very nice. there, happy?” your mom rolled her eyes, “okay girl, whatever you say…”

[9w1ft]

Interested to hear your interpretation on Suburban Legends

first off the song and beat sounds so similar to mastermind and gold rush. particularly mastermind. listen to the opening seconds back to back! she sings through a lot of it similarly in my opinion

and it has some of the similar mechanics of mastermind in that it leads you to believe the song is going one way but then pulls a switcheroo on you at the end and the swell in the music aids that at the end which makes it a really sweet and emotional listening experience. i’ll get to that in a second.

i think at the beginning of taylor knowing or being aware of karlie (so like, your kitchen or mine times), this was very much the situation. karlie is in her peripheral vision (on her radar) but just as taylor described in gold rush, karlie seemed like something utterly unattainable. in lover as well we get the line “i’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you” and i think this fits with this description of karlie.

i didn’t come here to make friends echoes their entire conceit of mastermind, and a lot of the kaylor discography that uses the word ‘friend’ — another way to say “i don’t want you like a best friend” etc

also this is a sort of throwaway point but “i didn’t come here to make friends” was a 2000’s reality tv phrase that came into popularity via the show America’s Next Top Model. it was iconic and soon every competitive reality tv show under the sun had contestants saying it.. but it’s origins are from a show about models! of which karlie is one.

more importantly, the “you kiss me in a way that’s gonna screw me up forever” is like the follow up to the gold rush “eyes like sinking ships on waters so inviting i almost jump in” language. it’s cruel summer’s “snuck in through the garden gate every night that summer just to seal my fate” because falling in love with karlie lead to taylor wanting her complications too

mismatched star signs works because fire signs traditionally match best with air signs. also visually, stars mismatched fits in with mastermind’s “the planets and the fates and all the stars aligned” — things that weren’t in alignment coming into alignment.

there’s a bunch of story page chapter stuff throughout taylor’s discography, some of which makes its way into kaylor but i’d probably write for way too long so i’m just gonna skip over that for now

this part might be a bit tricky but i sort of blame it on many kaylors not talking that much about really early kaylor possibilities out of (a sort of unearned) respect and the one way street principle of staying in our lane but the idea of taylor saying “i know that when you told me we’d get back together and kissed me that you remember[ed] we were born to be national treasures” isn’t that too wild of a statement if you imagine them as maybe briefly connecting or talking at some point before taylor made her plans to make karlie hers. indeed, we know their paths crossed several times before they were first connected at the 2013 vs fashion show.

*for posterity, i included the apple music lyrics as the genius lyrics appear to be worded partially incorrectly

this is the part of the song which i just think is so beautifully done. in particular i love the “you don’t knock anymore” of it all

at first it sounds like she’s saying karlie doesn’t knock anymore because she come around anymore, or this idea of there having been a breakup or a period of not being together or something sad, which is matched by the tone of how she sings it for the first time. the waves crashing to the shore feels like a storm.

but at the end of the repetition her voice becomes more upbeat and it dawns on you, you’re like, oh wait karlie doesn’t knock anymore because she doesn’t need to knock anymore, she has a key! (“is that your key in the door?” anyone?)

and suddenly the waves meeting the shore is a pleasant image of unification and happiness. she closes with the thought “you don’t knock anymore and i always knew it” which makes it feel a bit more like mastermind’s “you knew the entire time, and now you’re mine” — always knowing they would get together, taylor always knowing karlie was the one. “and my life had been ruined” is sung in a sort of sweet resignation, one that i find throughout a lot of kaylor music, the idea that she knows its complicated but that its what she chose.

so yeah! that’s why suburban legends is a kaylor song to me 😌

[z3rinn]

# #. BATHTUB MERMAID.

in which your daily walks on the beach have been becoming more eventful as time passes. But after finding a certain scale, you feel as if you’re being watched at every turn.

this was a little unedited idea I came up with for halloween!! I wrote that Azul has scales when octopi dont- so uh-. slight yandere content up ahead !! hope you guys enjoy !! also- new header !! wdyt??

❝ rise and fall silver moon ❞

You never believed in mythical creatures.

The beach had become a safe spot for you throughout the years. It was still and serene; a place where life's problems sunk into the deep ocean before you.

The ocean had always been mysterious. It was a deep and spacious space, the beginning of life so to say. It held a sense of tranquility, yet alongside that, unpredictability.

The Sea held emotions. It could be violent and vicious, yet benevolent and peaceful. Perhaps this is what led to your fascination with the sea and its inhabitants. It's creatures.

The ocean reflected beauty, showing the world its colors and scales, it was a place creatures could thrive. However the deeper you go, the more terrifying it gets, showing what could be awaiting you in the unknown. 

The human imagination was vast, and could come up with many creatures and ideas. There were vampires and werewolves, Cryptids and Ghosts- all fantastical tales made up by the imagination.

The Sea had its own creatures as well, mermaids, yet similarly known as sirens. They were fantastical stories, usually depicted by sailors and legends. They were beings similar to humans, well, only half of them that is.

They were only half man, with long beautiful tails from the waist down. They were akin to fish, luring others with their songs and beauty. Their majestic colours aiding them.

A fishermens tale, as they say. You didnt believe in the stories, no matter how scary they could get. Scientifically it couldn’t be proven.

However, these legends didnt deter you from the ocean.

Now, on a dark night like this, where the silver moon lit up the sky, there shouldn't have been anything to worry about. It was an ideal night, peaceful and soothing.

The wind breezed across your face, brushing against skin and cloth. It was a chilly night, the cold ocean and air made a combination that was welcomed.

You walked slowly across the shore line, feeling the sand between your toes. It was soft and rocky, a texture you had frown accustomed to. The sand had significantly cooled compared to the burning heat from the morning, it felt nice against your skin.

You glanced behind you, seeing how far away you traveled from the lifeguard. You couldn't help but take notice of the tide that erased your footsteps.

It was if the world was erasing you.

Well, you wouldve thought that if it were for the black scale that washed up on shore.

And wow was it pretty.

You gently picked the scale up, rubbing off any remaining sand in the way.

You gaped in awe, cradling it in your hands. No way this could be real. Not with how beautiful it was.

The scale reminded you of an obsidian stone. Smooth and soft to the touch. It oddly resembled hard candy in your opinion.

You turned it over, noting that it was also very shiny. It looked like holographic sparkles with the way they shone against the moons silver light. Shifting it back and forth you could see bits of purple and blue reflecting in the moonlight.

It seriously looked like a jewel. Perfectly crafted and precise.

Hm.

You pocketed the scale. Continuing on with your walk. It's not like anyone would miss it right? In the end it was just another scale. No one would miss it.

You had keep reminding yourself of that. As the feeling of someone watching you became more apparent.

❝ mirror covered in chalky steam ❞

Showers weren't uncommon to take when coming home from the beach. In fact they were usually welcomed and desired.

Although going to the beach almost everyday you still couldn't get used to the feeling of sand everywhere.

It was so uncomfortable.

The need to get the grimy sand off was strong. And the urge to just pour clean water all over you was overwhelming. You just had to clean yourself of this dirt.

A light sigh escaped your lips as you stepped into the bathroom, ridding yourself of your clothes while turning the water on. Luckily this time you didn't go for a swim, so just a quick rinse would suffice.

But alas with some more thought you decided, sometimes a long bath was nice once in a while.

Grabbing your phone, you put a playlist on. The one you specifically made for your long walks on the beach. It could still work good enough, right?

A smile formed on your face as you stepped into the bathtub, hot water enveloping your body. It was a nice contrast against the beaches cold air.

You sunk deeper into the tub, unknowingly letting sleep sink its claws deep into you.

The last thing you saw was an array of sharp teeth above you, a soft, yet comforting voice lulling out a song. A pair of gold and grey eyes hypnotizing you, a spell to put you at ease. To sleep.

However, you were too far gone. And while your heart lept with adrenaline and fear, the drowsy feeling wasn't going away. No matter how much you screamed at yourself to get up you couldn’t. You could only feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper into the water around you.

And you could've sworn you felt a hand cover your eyes.

Slimy and webbed.

❝ touch me, touch me, kiss me to sleep ❞

It was another day at the beach. Another day where the cool air brushed across you, consuming your being whole. It was a quiet day- or was one.

You glanced over at the sea from your spot under the bright blue parasol, contrasting the dark sky. Waves crashed, yelling ensued. All fun and games it seemed.

Being at the beach usually meant a time just for yourself. However this time you accompanied by your brother- and his oddly annoying friends.

Usually on days like this you relaxed, watching them play with a volleyball like they were in the big leagues. You'd only ever get up when someone hit the ball too far off- being ever so kind to help them out.

Just as you were doing now.

A groan left your lips as you stood up, watching the beach ball drift further away from you. It'd be a run to get it.

Your feet patterned against the sand, moving into a slight jog to catch up with the ball. However, every time you begun to creep closer to the ball it drifted away. It was weird.

It want long before you caught up to the ball, the wind blowing through your hair as you observed your surroundings. You'd stopped in front of the monstro cave.

The monstro cave, a place where many had gone 'missing'. Apparently a place so deep that many generations got lost in its caverns.

You'd never believe these legends of course, there was absolutely no reason to. If the cave was so dangerous, why hadnt it been blocked off yet? And with modern technology it wasn't hard to get help if ever lost.

However, it wasn't hard to get frightened by the cave. The legends and vibe of the corridor could easily freak someone out.

Almost everyone was scared of the cave at some point.

You glanced up into the cavern, noting the cold air that poured from it. Before stopping in your tracks.

And your heart sank.

A yellow eye stared up at you from the darkness. A singlular eye. Staring. Watching.

It was wide, and almost downturned, glowing in the darkness as it just watched. It gazed deeply into your form, never breaking contact with your eyes.

You could hear the ocean water crashing behind you, almost as if it was angry.

Your body screamed at you to move, your heart pounding in your chest. But you were frozen still.

The eye squinted, scrutinizing your form. A gut feeling hung over you, whoever it was took pleasure in your horror.

You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move. You had to move---

You slowly stepped back. A shaky sigh left your lips, the sense of fear washing over you, tenfold. Perhaps it was time to go.

Yes, you never believed in mythical creatures. But it was hard to forget all these encounters.

❝ im a bathtub mermaid ❞

[andreawritesit]

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: Aizen x Wife!Reader

Warnings: none really.

----------------------------------------

Prologue: Here

Chapter 1

Time had passed. Hinamori had recovered almost fully and the Soul Society was starting to regain the peace that had been disturbed by the treacherous captains. Head Captain Yamamoto had finally issued a statement regarding the betrayal and the ex-captains. The three squads left without their captains were being monitored by their lieutenants for the time being. After trying really hard to ignore the memories, you had finally taken up on Ukitake’s offer and moved to another room. Aizen’s face haunted you day and night. Not the one you were used to, the one with glasses resting on his nose and a kind smile on his face, no. The face that had taken over your dreams was the one he unveiled while leaving the Soul Society; the one that no longer had strands of hair decorating it, the one that had discarded the kindness from itself. With the vast lifespan shinigami had, you wondered if any amount of time would ever heal the scars he had left on your soul.  Whatever short amount of time you had felt peaceful was once again destroyed by Aizen’s schemes. Orihime Inuoe had been on her way back to the World of Living when she disappeared halfway. Every possibility was taken into account and an emergency meeting had been scheduled with the Captains and lieutenants present in the World of Living. Upon hearing that Orihime had apparently healed Ichigo’s injuries, Yamamoto had decided that she had defected on her own and declared her a traitor. That hadn’t stopped the orange-haired man from heading to Hueco Mundo by himself. All that had led to this:

You were currently with Kisuke Urahara, the banished ex-captain of squad 12. You were helping him with transporting the real Karakura town to Soul Society as word had spread that Aizen would be attacking the town shortly. You had nearly lost your mind by this point. After all, you’d be seeing him again. You were sitting on the roof of a house, thinking over how your reunion with your traitor of a husband would go. Would he even acknowledge your presence? He hadn’t hesitated to stab his loyal lieutenant. What if he had also never cared for you, even once? What if he decided to kill you too? Would you be able to strike him back?

“Ahem.” You turned around at the sound of the very obviously fake cough. Ukitake stood behind you with a warm smile gracing his face. Maybe the cough wasn’t so fake… 

“Captain Ukitake, I’m sorry I didn’t notice you there.” He laughed and sat beside you. 

“Of course you didn’t. You were lost in your thoughts.” His voice was gentle. 

“Yes. I was thinking about…”

“About Aizen?” You sighed and held your head in your hands. It was so obvious how rattled you were with the situation. Ukitake didn’t say anything but wrapped his arm around your shoulder and gave you a light pat. The white-haired captain had been by your side throughout these turbulent times. His calm presence had been a silent shore in the loud sea of your emotions. Even now, when there was an inevitable war looming over your heads, he had found time to sit down and reassure you, knowing that the upcoming confrontation would be the hardest on you. 

“What if I won’t be able to stand against him? All this time, I’ve been telling myself that I’m strong enough to keep my emotions in check and stand for what’s right. But what if I’m not? What if when I see him, I’ll fall back into his arms? What then Captain?”

“I understand why you feel that way. We have known Sosu-Aizen for a long time. His betrayal came as a shock to all of us. But you shared a deeper bond with him. You have known him in the most intimate ways. I say I understand but the truth is that I will never be able to feel what you do. To have someone so beloved abandon and betray me… I’m not sure I would’ve been able to go on as you have. You’re stronger than you believe you are. And even if you do fall weak to your emotions, there’s nothing wrong with that. He is your husband; you have loved him more than anyone. It won’t be unseemly if you want to run to him in a moment of emotional vulnerability. Just don’t let him use your love as a weapon.”

You didn’t say anything in response. Every word he said was true and yet there was still doubt lingering in your mind. Not because you thought Sosuke might sway you to his side, but because if you did show emotional attachment to him still, you might lose everything else. Yamamoto had been very strict in his words when he had said that anyone found to have any sort of contact with the traitors would be counted as one and dealt with as such. You were torn between your feelings and your duties. And yet all you could do was wait. Wait until he showed up there.

Ukitake sensed your despair and hugged you sideways. You wanted to hide away in his embrace but he let go of you quickly. Getting up, he offered you his hand.

“Come on now, get up. Time to meet up with others.” You took his hand and stood up. He was right. It was time to get up. 

-------- at Urahara’s shop ---------

The meeting had gone by quite quickly. They all had their orders. You were sitting next to Urahara who was busy tinkering around with something. At first, you focused on the teacup in your hand. But soon curiosity got the best of you and you glanced his way. You almost wanted to facepalm when you saw what he was doing. Kisuke Urahara, in this time of war, was fixing his fan. You put the cup down and tapped his shoulder. He turned around quickly and gave you his signature stupid smirk.

“Oh, is the beautiful miss interested in my doings?” you couldn’t help but chuckle at the man’s words.

“No sir, not quite. I’m only wondering how your poor fan got broken like that.”

His smile turned upside down and he let out a dramatic sigh. “How kind of you to ask. This is the doing of Yoruichi sama. She’s so careless around things. She has broken my delicate fan four times already.”

“How impolite of her! Breaking a man’s fan like that!”

“Exactly! And when I request her not to be so reckless with my things, she just hits me in response. She has no regard for me or my things.”

His words bring out laughter from you, a sound you hadn’t heard in a while. Kisuke looked at you with a gentle smile and went back to fixing his fan. After a few moments, you finally stopped laughing and stood up.

“Hey Kisuke?”

He turned to look at you and you nodded at him. “Thank you.” 

“For what?”

“You know for what. I’ll be with the Captains and lieutenants now.”

He tipped his hat at you and you left the room. After looking around for a bit, you finally found the others assembled on the roofs of some houses. You went to them and stood next to Ukitake who welcomed you with a smile. Shunsui was sitting on a roof, looking as bored as ever. Upon your arrival, he stood up and walked to where you and Ukitake were. 

“Well well, if it isn’t the one who stole my best friend!” he commented as he nudged you with his shoulder. You smirked back at him and hung your arm around Ukitake’s shoulder. 

“It isn’t my fault if I’m better company than you, isn’t that right Captain Ukitake?” The Squad 13 captain just shook his head at you both. 

Your little banter was suddenly cut off by the abrupt presence of dense spiritual pressure. And soon enough, a Garganta opened right above where you were standing. Everybody rose up into the sky and readied themselves to unsheathe their zanpakutos. You stood between Ukitake and Shunsui, hand on your own zanpakuto. You were trying your best to calm your nerves and then you felt it. He was here. Surely enough, three people walked out of the opening. Your eyes went straight to him. Aizen. He was standing between Ichimaru Gin and Kaname Tosen. His eyes almost immediately found you and you both were locked in each other’s gaze. He looked so different yet so familiar. His hair was slicked back, with only a few strands falling across his face. His glasses were gone and he looked taller than before, if it was even possible. While observing him, you felt someone grab your wrist. You saw Ukitake from the corner of your eyes as he squeezed your hand to reassure you.

This wasn’t missed by Aizen’s keen eyes as he saw Ukitake’s hand grab yours. An unexpected emotion flashed in his mind and he had to look away. Had you finally moved on from him? With the Squad 13 captain? He scoffed at his own assumptions and summoned Gin to him. 

“Anytime now.”

Gin understood his captain at once. After all, they had come to this wretched town for only two things, the Oken and his captain’s wife. But before they could even move an inch, Yamamoto used his Ryujinjakka to trap them inside the burning fire. 

You watched in awe as the Head Captain conjured a fiery prison for the traitors. As the fire encircled them, the last thing you saw sent chills down your spine. Aizen had smiled.   

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list @fabulouslyflamboyant5 (let me know if anyone else wants to be added) ---------------------------------------------------- Next part: here

[theteasetwrites]

Begin Again

Chapter 1: Aux Portes de la Mort

❧ Media: The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon ❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 1 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: violence, blood & gore, scary situations, mentions of death ❧ Word Count: 7.6k

❧ In This Chapter: When you and Daryl awaken in an unknown land, far away from home, the world becomes twice as dangerous as it once was, with a whole new breed of dangers lurking around every corner. You have no choice but to begin again on a new mission: Get. Back. Home.

❧ A/N: IT'S HERE. I'm so excited to be writing for them again ugh it's been too long. I love this reader because she has all that history with Daryl from the first series so it's a real treat to keep all that in mind when I'm writing their scenes together. Also I am posting this before the premiere of the show. This chapter is based on the events of the sneak peek that was released on AMC+! So here ya go, the first chapter! Shoutout to Dahlia (@simpbyday) for helping me with the French translation for the title. She will be my official French language correspondent throughout this process. And if anyone else also knows French, I would love to get feedback on my usage of French throughout the series as well! <3

“Near death” did not mean much to you anymore.

You were either dead or alive, nothing in between. That’s how you felt about it now. There were few areas in life that were black and white to you, and that was one of them. If you were alive, you were alive. Maybe you’d be a little worse for wear, but you were alive. That was the important thing.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway. As a way to condition yourself, to be stronger. For Daryl. For Robin. For Wes. You had to be strong for them. Maybe that’s what got you into this mess. 

No, Daryl did. Daryl got you into this: tied loosely to the back of a lifeboat, one foot missing a boot and hanging off the edge, dangling pitifully in the ocean as the small vessel drew you closer to the shore. 

You might’ve stayed asleep if it weren’t for the splashing sound, followed by the familiar grunts and wheezes of gasping breath. You felt the rope across your hips pull in the other direction, where Daryl fought with the current to come back to the air. Through heavy eyes, crusted by a long sleep and sensitive to the bright light of what must’ve been mid-afternoon, you saw him struggle to lift the rope from his body as a wave pummeled him back down below the water. 

Your throat burning, rendering you unable to so much as cry out his name, you freed yourself from the rope, sliding into the water. What happened next would fade into the obscurity of rumbling waves carrying your weak bodies closer to shore, until the feeling of ground underfoot welcomed you. 

But that feeling was short-lived. As soon as your feet felt the sand, you were knocked down by another wave. Now you could only crawl, with what little strength you had left. Even Daryl, so very hearty and always physically stronger and more durable than yourself, began to stagger, falling less than gracefully to his knees just a few feet from you. There was no need for verbal recognition or even touch—you felt him there, crawling beside you, alive. 

Now with only your feet still clinging to the sea, your arms gave out underneath you, like two pieces of boiled spaghetti, limp and sprawled out not far from Daryl, who lied with his face pressed against the sand, his wet hair shrouding any semblance of his visage. 

Though you could hear his sharp breaths, his heavy pants that withdrew with high-pitched whimpers that sent a shiver down your spine, you could hardly tell if he was moving. 

Momentarily frozen, you gathered all your strength to extend your arm across the sand. Your fingers stretched out to the fullest extent, crawling like a spider until finally you gripped his hand, entwining your fingers with his and shaking it roughly, urging him to move.

You had been near death enough to know that the worst thing to do was to stop moving. That was like accepting death, and wherever you were now, you weren’t going to face it without him.

Your movement brought him to life as he lifted his head, his sight first taking in his surroundings—a beach.

And not far in the distance, a small blue bucket. 

You followed his gaze, which seemed transfixed on the object, partly buried by the wet sand that must’ve remained untouched for God only knows how long. 

Having a near encyclopedic understanding of Daryl’s mind, you knew what he was thinking of—survival. There was water in that bucket. Sandy ocean water, but water nevertheless.

All you could think of, though, was how familiar that little bucket was. Robin had one just like it. Last time you’d taken her and Wes to Oceanside, they played on the beach for hours, making sandcastles with her little bucket and shovel that she’d gotten for her seventh birthday last May. Somehow she’d convinced Daryl to let her bury him under the sand. You had the Polaroids to prove it somewhere in one of the pockets of your vest, if they hadn’t been lost to sea.

The memory faded quickly, as he pulled you up, still holding your hand. At least now he was moving, dragging you and himself towards the bucket.

He’d let go of your hand to pick it up, digging out as much sand as he could before handing it to you. Without a word, you brought the rim of the bucket to your lips, taking just a few sips, despite the painful drought in your throat.

Daryl took the rest, downing the sandy saltwater like it was the nectar of life, and here, at the gates of death, it was. 

When the water was gone, he let the pail fall back to its final resting place. You couldn’t bring yourself to even raise your head. You could only watch it fall, the bright blue plastic taking you back to a time that seemed so far away now, to a world you wished you’d never left. 

But Daryl, ever the pragmatist, always planning the next move, was already narrowing his eyes, looking around for the answer to that burning question that lingered between the two of you—where the hell are we? 

You could’ve looked at that little bucket forever, if he hadn’t tugged on your hand, not unlike how you’d done so to his just minutes ago. 

“C’mon.”

The further the two of you walked, slowly, limping, the more you began to take note of your surroundings, without too much thought of the complete and utter shit you two were both in. For all the differences between you, you both knew one thing was true—there was no point in dwelling on how you got here, the only thing that mattered was getting back home. That was the unspoken truth. 

As you walked further, the sand beneath your feet turned into concrete. Some kind of parking structure, or what once was. You passed the rotting, rusted shells of cars, their windows smashed and their hoods lifted, no doubt due to survivors looking for parts to salvage. A clump of neglected bicycles leaned against a graffitied pole. Like most graffiti, you couldn’t make out what it said. 

Passing a small overgrown boat, you spotted a signpost not too far away. You walked ahead of Daryl, all too eager to see what it said. The letters were faded, but you could make out the arrows, meaning it would point you in whatever direction you needed to go in. That was all you needed now: direction. Some delusionally hopeful part of you, deep down, wanted to believe the sign would display the word “HOME” with an arrow accompanying it, leading the way without confusion or ambiguity. 

But of course, you knew that was impossible. Still, you did not anticipate what you saw.

Squinting your tired eyes, your weakened legs slowed to a halt as the sign’s lettering came into view. Your heart sank as you stepped back, almost terrified of what you read. But you backed against Daryl’s chest, which caught you before you could lose your balance from the shock of the realization. 

You could not read the sign. 

Pla… place de… ste?

Port de… Martegues?

… Cimetiere?

Shit.

Some kind of port city, somewhere in France.

That’s what you decided upon, in the silence of your heavy thoughts as you walked together aimlessly, still not speaking. How could you speak to him? What was there to say? You had no hope now. It was gone, and usually, that was the only thing that kept you talking in times like these. 

And Daryl, he could go hours without speaking, if he had nothing to say. 

He, too, was at a loss for words. After all, he knew he’d gotten you into this. He knew none of this would’ve happened if he’d just… It didn’t matter now, though. What mattered was getting home.

But you weren’t safe here. 

You always knew that the whole world must’ve fallen, of course. When everything happened, the world went dark. France was no exception. The state of the place was proof enough. In this old city, with cobblestone streets littered in the abandoned remnants of a once prosperous civilization, every corner you turned was the same—empty, ruined, overgrown.

By some instinct, you both walked along a path just on the edge of a canal that seemed to run through the city. Perhaps it was just a gut feeling, or perhaps the both of you knew to stay close to the water, on the off chance that you’d find some kind of seafaring vessel. Though you still couldn’t shake the taste of saltwater, you knew that the only way you could get back home was to get back on the water. That was your priority.

Sure enough, you came upon a boat, moored at the edge of the path, floating upon the water, and looking as though it had been there for centuries.

Just outside the boat on the cobblestone path, it looked as though someone had set up camp, once upon a time. Whoever had been there, though, they were long gone. As you passed a desiccated corpse, completely barren of flesh with a long fisherman’s spear skewered through its head, you wondered if this body had once held the poor soul of the boat’s former occupant. You didn’t wonder for long, though, as these days, you’d seen enough dead bodies to almost completely desensitize you from any human curiosity. Now, it was just a bag of bones. 

Approaching the stern of the vessel, Daryl went into the cabin first, his sights set on the wine bottles perched on a wooden shelf, in the hopes that maybe they’d contain some water. He picked them up one by one, shaking them. Nothing at all. 

You busied yourself, rummaging through a bag you found hanging from a nail near the door. Your hand gripped on some long, cylindrical plastic, ribbed and seemingly filled with liquid. 

“Daryl.”

You held the water bottle out towards him as he turned around. You hadn’t caught a good glimpse of his face yet, until now. 

The skin of his face and neck were reddened terribly by the sun, but that didn’t worry you as much. It was the scarlet red cut stretching diagonally over his forehead, and the paleness of his lips, dry and dehydrated. The saltwater you both drank earlier only made the thirst more potent. 

Deciding he needed the water more than you, you pressed the bottle to his chest, despite his brief protest that he gave with only a knowing look on his face, as if to say: You drink first. 

You returned the look, but with more conviction as you shoved the bottle harder now, as if to say: No. Drink. 

Reluctantly, he did, drinking less than half before handing it back to you, with the same force you applied when giving it to him, and the same stern, protective look: Drink. 

You took the rest of the water, wincing at the aged taste. But you drank it down slowly, steadily, the cooling liquid coating your barren throat. 

Lost in the brief relief it gave you, you hadn’t noticed Daryl’s continued russling as he pillaged the tiny boat cabin, looking for anything and everything that could somehow be useful. 

As you used your long, torn sleeve to wipe away the dripping water from your chin, you were startled by the sudden sound of a man’s voice, not Daryl’s. 

With a flinch, you turned around to see Daryl, sitting at the small dining table, holding a tape recorder. 

“Nineteen months at sea,” said the man’s garbled voice, with an accent you deemed to be Irish. “Hoping to stay ahead of this thing.”

On the table before him was a map of Europe, and a photo of a family. There was a man that must’ve been the owner of the voice you listened to now. Beside him was a woman, his wife, Daryl assumed, because on her lap was a little girl, holding a large stuffed penguin, about half the size of her. She couldn’t have been older than Robin, he thought. 

They looked happy, all smiles. Somewhere in one of his pockets, he was sure he had a picture that looked almost exactly the same, only with his family—Robin, Wes, Dog, you. He quickly willed the thought away, though. If he kept thinking about it, he was sure he’d break down, when at this point, what he needed to be the most was strong. 

“Circled Spain,” the voice continued. “Nowhere safe… We’ll try Marseille next. Maybe the south of France is good… There’s got to be a safe place somewhere.”

You were sure you’d uttered that phrase once. Maybe around the same time he did. Just goes to show how much this world changes you, which was saying something—you always believed the world hadn’t changed you nearly as much as it changed everyone else. But you knew now that there was no safe place in this world, except in the arms of the ones you loved. And even then, that was only a metaphor. But you had to believe it, to convince yourself it was true. Otherwise, you were no different than the dead.

Night was closing in. There was no more time to waste. 

Still without hardly more than a one-word sentence exchanged between you, you got to work setting up a night’s worth of camp, while Daryl speared a fish in the canal. Just one was all the energy he had, but it was more than enough for the both of you. A white fish of decent size, which Daryl cooked over the makeshift barbecue near the boat. 

Sitting on the boat, you got a lantern working, providing just enough light to see what you were doing as you tried to filter the muddy canal water through the mesh lining of a jacket you’d found inside the boat. Across the way, you’d glimpse at Daryl, now draped in a tarp he’d fashioned into a poncho, in only the way Daryl could even think of doing. 

His tired face was illuminated by the fire over which he cooked the fish, turning it over with a small knife until it was cooked through. You wondered what on Earth was going on in his head, if he was as frightened as you were, if he had any hope left. 

You didn’t have much hope anymore. Not now. 

In this world, you’d found that your hope had been tested constantly, but only a handful of times did it try you like this. When the farm fell, when you lost the prison, when the Saviors took Daryl… 

But you always got it back. You always found your strength again. 

You weren’t sure if you could get it back this time.

Still, you had Daryl. If you were alone, in a strange place, thousands of miles from home, you were sure you would’ve given up by now. But he was here. 

The silence between you persisted into the night, as you sat across from each other, under the dark blanket of the night sky, eating the charred fish straight off the bone, with only the dim flickering light of the lantern just barely lighting your faces. 

When the silence became unbearable, Daryl had pulled the tape recorder from his pocket, playing it again, as if he found comfort in the man’s voice, despite the ultimate tragedy that must’ve occurred. 

“Sue had a heart attack.” You could only assume that was the name of his wife, the woman in the photograph. “I had to… take care of it.”

You’d heard stories like that before, of someone having to put down their loved one before or, God forbid, after they turned, but it would never cease to send a shiver down your spine. The thought of having to do that to Daryl… It was a nightmare you’d had more than once.

“Our tenth anniversary would’ve been in June… Holly keeps crying. She wants her mum back.”

That was when you stopped eating, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

“She wants things the way they were.”

You swallowed hard in an attempt to suck down the lump forming in your throat. 

“She wants to go home.”

“Turn it off.”

The sudden sternness in your voice nearly surprised him, or maybe it was just how many words you spoke at once. 

He grabbed the recorder and turned it off with a sharp click, restoring the heavy silence that lingered like a thick fog between you. 

Daryl watched intently as you hugged your legs against your chest, your eyes downcast and glued to the worn and torn stuffed penguin, buried underneath some ropes and an empty old fuel tank. You recognized it from the photo. 

He could read the look on your face, and the thoughts that he knew were flying through your head at a thousand miles an hour. He knew that you were thinking about home, about your family. Still, he couldn’t shake this discomfort. This quiet. 

For all the years he’d known you, he’d never gone this long with such silence between the two of you. Of course, he’d been separated from you before for much longer, but together? You were hardly ever at a loss for words. He couldn’t remember the last time you were like this, but he didn’t like it. Funny, Daryl was always the quieter one, the one who more often than not needed to be coaxed into talking. He always preferred the quiet, but this was unbearable. 

He needed to hear your voice, now more than ever. He needed your hope.

“You haven’t said more than three words since we got here.”

Washed up here, your mind corrected. 

He leaned forward stiffly, still eying you, despite your gaze still transfixed on the once pristine stuffed animal. 

Several painful moments passed. Daryl couldn’t take it anymore. He’d beg for you to speak, to say anything to him. All he wanted was to hear you. 

“Please.” His voice was low, soft. It was always like that with you, but something about it now seemed more desperate. “Please say somethin’.”

Finally, you raised your head slowly, meeting his silvery blue eyes, visible through several loose strands of hair that framed his face. If you were in better spirits, you might’ve smiled, just seeing his face, despite how badly he was in need of a good shower. You were sure you looked rather filthy yourself.

But you couldn’t smile. You couldn’t even imagine such a thing. The last time you smiled seemed so far away, you could hardly even remember it. 

“What do you want me to say?” Your voice was shaky, hoarse, tired. He’d been with you through Hell and back, and back again, and yet he’d never heard your voice so defeated, so… lost.

“I don’t know,” he replied simply, still holding your gaze. Now, you both stared intently, as if battling to see who could dare to look away first. “I just…” As he trailed off, his eyes sank in defeat. He’d lost the battle. “I’m sorry.”

With a sniffle, you replied. “What are you sorry for?”

It took him several moments to speak, as he tried to compose himself. If he opened his mouth too soon, he might start crying, and despite how much you encouraged him to be vulnerable, to not neglect his emotions around you, he could never fully let himself cry in front of you without feeling that ingrained sense of failure and inadequacy, like he wasn’t the strong man you needed, no matter how many times you reminded him of how strong he was. 

“For gettin’ you into this.”

Your lip quivered, your eyes softened. 

He continued, “If I hadn’t asked you to go with me—”

“Then you’d be sitting here, across the world, alone, and I’d be in Alexandria worried sick about you.”

“But you’d be safe,” he said, an almost imperceptible shake in his voice as he was reminded of the danger you were now mired in, all thanks to him.

“How many times have I told you… I’m safest when I’m with you.”

That thought was nice, but it still could never completely alleviate Daryl’s worries. 

And there was another reason he wished he hadn’t asked you to come along. 

“But you’d be with the kids.”

Your eyes sank as though they were anchored to the floor of this decrepit old boat. He knew that would get you, you were sure. He knew that, besides him, you loved your children more than anything else, and being so far away from them, lost with no immediate hope of seeing them again, was crushing you.

A silence befell you, and Daryl felt like he lost you again. God, all he wanted was to hear you. Your voice was the most comfort he could have right now, just to know you were near.

Now Daryl looked down, focused on the mud caked around his brown boots. He raised his hands to his face as he huffed. 

“Shit,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

You weren’t angry. Just sad.

With a sniffle, you looked back up. He still sat with his head in his hands, until he lifted his eyes above his fingers just enough to see you. 

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice a cracking whisper.

“Nah,” he said abruptly. “Nothin’s okay.”

Daryl always had that bad habit of blaming everything on himself. You knew it well. It frustrated you—his inability to give himself any credit and his tendency to dwell on his flaws instead of celebrating his accomplishments. Granted, one of the many traits you admired about your husband was his humility, but sometimes, you wished he would consider the things he’d done right instead of all the things he did wrong.

You raised yourself to your feet, crossing the boat to sit beside him. He did not look your way or pay you much attention, still lost in his thoughts. Still, you carefully, slowly, wrapped your arm around his waist and his shoulders, holding him. 

He was stiff, but under your touch, he slowly began to soften, as he always did. It was then he had realized how long it seemed he’d gone without your touch like this. You’d been with him the whole time, but survival did not allow for many moments of pure, gentle intimacy between two lovers.

“We’re alive,” you whispered. As you leaned against him, you pressed a small, but firm, kiss to his cheek. “We’re together.”

Without a word, he gave you a knowing glance. He narrowed his eyes almost suspiciously, while he chewed his bottom lip in deep thought. He didn’t need to say anything for you to know what he was thinking.

You smiled. “One of us has to be the positive one. We can’t get anything done if we’re both sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves.”

“Yeah… I know.”

“It’s shitty,” you said. “This is a shitty situation… Maybe the worst situation we’ve been in, but we’re going to get back home.” 

Though you spoke with conviction, you weren’t entirely sure that you really believed the words you spoke. It was hard to believe. It was hard to believe you were here in the first place. Nevertheless, you’d die trying to get back home, to see your children again, to watch them grow.

There was no way in Hell you were going to sit back and do nothing. 

To your relief, Daryl’s hand found yours, curling around it and squeezing it tight. He nodded, then raised your hand to his lips.

“Yeah. We will.”

You smiled as you roamed his face, finding comfort in the familiarity. In this world of uncertainty, this new world where neither of you belonged, you found safety in each other—you saw Alexandria in his face. All the memories. It was like a photo album, everything flashed before your eyes. You saw Robin, Wes, Aaron, Lydia, Maggie, Michonne, Rick… everyone. Everyone you loved, alive or dead, all in him. 

And in you, he felt the same, but not only that. He saw everything beautiful and pure in this world, everything worth protecting and keeping alive. As you held him, he held your face, his thumbs moving gently over the apples of your cheeks. 

Your face was worn, tired, with a few knicks and scratches scattered about over your usually smooth and unblemished skin, but nothing could distract from the perfection of your features that he knew and adored so well.

And you, you couldn’t help but eye that nasty cut on his forehead. You swept away the stray pieces of hair that obscured the cut, then huffed. Though you had already washed the cut with water, you were itching to find a real first aid kit to prevent infection. The one on the boat was cleaned out, and whatever first aid kit you had brought with you was in a bag lost at sea.

“S’fine,” he said, knowing full well what you were thinking. “M’fine.”

“It’s just… I don’t like it.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“We’ll find something to help it. If I could get my hands on some calendula or even some marshmallow…” 

That thought prompted you to look around, the darkness of the empty waterway in the desolate, ruined city. Even if you could find some herbs with healing properties here, you wouldn’t know where to start looking. 

The south of France wasn’t exactly the same as Virginia in terms of flora and fauna. 

“First thing we gotta find is a way back,” he replied.

“We could fix up this boat.” Daryl’s mechanic expertise started and stopped with cars and motorcycles, but you figured a boat couldn’t be much different. 

“Nah. Engine’s shot, and I dunno the first thing ‘bout how boats work, anyway.”

“Well… We’ll just have to find another way. There have to be people somewhere.” 

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow as he chewed the last of his fish. “You remember what happened the last time we asked a bunch of strangers for help?”

Ah, yes—the Commonwealth. 

At least that turned out in your favor, eventually. It took almost a year of turmoil, but in the end, it was worth it.

“Daryl, I don’t see any way out of this without some help. Besides, we haven’t seen any walkers yet… Maybe France is faring better?”

“Or maybe they’re all dead.”

“Stop it. That’s not true.” You held his cheek and turned his face towards you. “You know it’s not true… It can’t be.”

The rest of that night passed slowly, quietly. Maybe it was out of habit, or just his need to be aware of his and your surroundings at all times, but Daryl spent a good fifteen minutes checking out the general vicinity, scanning the perimeter around the little boat on which you busied yourself by fashioning a bed of sorts out of pieces of seats and blankets. 

Daryl returned not long after he left, with a curious trinket in his hands: a Barbie doll. 

You looked up at him from the makeshift bed. He took the liberty of posing the little blonde doll, sitting her atop the small dining table with her arm raised as if she were waving. Her hair was only slightly mangled, but you knew many tricks when it came to freshening up Barbie dolls and making them good as new for Robin, and sometimes Wes, to play with.  

“Only you could find a Barbie doll in France,” you said.

“It’s not just any Barbie doll,” he said, sitting himself down beside you with a huff. Gravity forced his body to the bed. Well, bed was a generous term for the dismantled chair covered with blankets. “It’s a veterinarian.”

You studied the doll closer from a distance. Indeed, she had a little white doctor’s coat and a pink stethoscope. You would’ve thought she was actually a doctor Barbie, but only a trained, professional eye like Daryl’s would spy the light pink paw print pattern on her lab coat. Thus, she was distinctly a veterinarian, to be sure. 

A smile spread across your face as you laid back, snuggling close to his side. He smelled faintly like fish, but you were certain that you didn’t smell so great either. 

“She’ll love it,” you whispered. There was no question who you could possibly be talking about. “I’ll keep it in my bag until we get home.”

Daryl couldn’t respond verbally. He could only chew his bottom lip as his arm snaked underneath your side and wrapped around to stroke your shoulder with his hand. Perhaps that was the ultimate reason he took the doll—as a way to further motivate both of you to live long enough to see your family again. And you would. He’d make sure of it. He knew it. He had to.

At length, you spoke again. 

“It’s clear?”

He nodded. “Yeah. No walkers, no people… No nothin’.”

That was good. If Daryl felt it was safe enough for the both of you to sleep tonight, that was a victory in your book. 

“Tomorrow,” you began, “we should start heading north, towards Paris.”

Daryl’s lip twitched into a slight smile as he began to close his eyes, still holding you. Sometimes, you hardly noticed he was holding you. A long time ago, it had become second nature, so habitual that him holding you in bed at night was a feeling you couldn’t quite sleep without. 

“Paris?”

“Yeah… There could be people there. Biggest city, biggest population.”

“Yeah, biggest population of walkers.”

You sighed. “Well, I don’t know then. You got any bright ideas, Einstein?”

He raised his eyebrow as he looked at you, with only one eye open, the other squeezed shut as his nose scrunched up and he made a faux scowl. It was almost enough to make you laugh. 

He chewed his bottom lip, deep in thought. “How about west?” he asked. “Least we can head that way first, see if we find anyone or anything. Best to stay as far away from the city as possible.”

“You're right,” you replied, resting your head upon his chest. Somehow, it was always much more comfortable than a pillow, despite its relative firmness. “You're always right.”

“Not always,” he said lowly, his fingers finding the ends of your hair and twirling around them as if by instinct.

“Yeah… Not always.”

“Pfft…”

“What?”

“Jus’... Can’t believe where we are right now.”

You nodded in agreement, but you could tell where this line of thinking was going—this negativity that sometimes clouded Daryl’s almost unwavering hope. That was where you came in, though your hope was in serious question, too.

“Well, you did promise you’d take me on a vacation.”

He scoffed again, but it was almost a laugh. Almost.

“France wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Me neither,” you said. A few beats of silence, then you added, “I would’ve preferred Italy.”

Three days had passed, all of which were spent hiking through ruins and desolate hills. Daryl used the long fishing spear from the boat as a kind of walking stick, and a weapon, along with whatever else he scavenged from Marseille. You’d found a few good knives, but nothing to quite balance out the slight limp you’d woken up with when you washed ashore. 

No encounters with walkers, you’d noted, though you’d seen some wandering in the distance, ambling aimlessly through deserted stretches of wilderness. At certain points, you feared you might’ve been walking at the same pace as the rotting corpses, but they were far enough, and none of them seemed as fast as some of the climbers you’d seen. 

Wilderness eventually faded into a somewhat industrialized town, much further away from the coast you’d started from. 

It was small, but a good place to stop off for the night, you’d hoped.

Wandering through the small alleyways, littered with debris and overgrown vegetation, you came upon a large building, something like a warehouse turned into what appeared to be a supermarket. At least, that’s what you gathered from the signage, despite its unknown language. 

Oh, how you wished you’d taken French instead of Spanish in high school now. 

Daryl entered first, quietly opening the creaking door. The general protocol when entering new, unknown buildings had always been the same: be quiet (silent if possible). Although, if there were any walkers in there, odds are, they could smell you before you’d even say a word.

Still, you felt Daryl’s hand tap your shoulder lightly. He signaled to you, signing the phrase, “Me left, you right,” as he mouthed the words. 

You always hated splitting up, but you signed back, “Be careful.”

Connie and Kelly would’ve been proud, you were sure. 

The two of you split up, Daryl searching the leftmost side of the building, you the right. 

As you examined the place, you took note of its state. It was abandoned, of course, but it was one of those places that had been left alone since the very beginning. It looked as though there had been a farmer’s market here, with long tables and booths with once meticulously laid out displays of crafts and homemade wares. Surely, whatever fresh produce had been here had long since deteriorated into nothingness, but there was always the chance of coming across dry foods. Grains and legumes and the like. Those were the ideals.

If fortune favored you, you could even find some dried herbs or medicinal plants to use on Daryl’s cut, but that was a longshot. 

Still, you kept a lookout, your mind, and your stomach, much more focused on finding food than on scoping the place out for walkers. From across the way, you heard a small thud that made you flinch. Your eyes followed the sound—Daryl had set down his bag rather carelessly. 

Eyes wide, you looked at him. He seemed entranced by a jar he was in the process of opening, only to smell its contents and put it back. Feeling your gaze on him, he looked up at you. 

“You OK?” he signed, mouthing the words.

You sighed quietly, recovering from the startle. “Yeah.” With much more emphasis, exacerbated by the firmness with which you moved your hands, you once again signed, “BE CAREFUL.”

“OK,” he signed back, his face bordering on slightly annoyed with your protectiveness.

But another thud quickly drew your attention, though this one was not from Daryl, who also turned to locate the source of the ruckus. 

You could only see a faint movement that was rather close to the ground, as though an animal was stirring, but as the familiar groans and wheezes started, you knew what it was. 

Much to your surprise, Daryl seemed stunned for a moment, standing rather still as he simply watched the walker crawl out from underneath a pile of rubbish. As for you, you gripped the handle of your knife, removing it from its holder on your belt. But you were much further from him, and where there was one walker, there were, more often not, much more.

Suddenly, more walkers seemed to awaken from their slumber. Sleepers, you’d grown to call them. In your fascination with the habits of walkers, you’d begun taking note of how they seemed to have their own mode of hibernation during times of inactivity. 

From what you could see, about eight or so of them had emerged from the far left, somewhere behind the produce stands, and were heading towards Daryl. You had the luckier draw, with only three or four setting their sights, and their gnashing, rotten teeth, on you. 

No need for signing anymore. Dinner was officially served, and tonight, fresh American meat was on the menu. 

“You got it?!” you called out to Daryl, raising your knife as the nearest walker limped towards you, its skull just barely clinging to the remainder of petrified flesh that hung loosely from its face. 

He hesitated for a moment, worrying you. Daryl seemed off his game when it came to fighting walkers. Perhaps it was because he was still frazzled by the strangeness of your situation, or perhaps, God forbid, he was more worse for wear than he wanted you to know. After all, Daryl did have a tendency to downplay his injuries or his illnesses, a habit which frustrated you perhaps beyond any other quirk he had, because this was the most dangerous to his health.

But you couldn’t think of that now. Not when there were walkers snapping at you, and even more at your husband.

“Yeah!” he finally called back as he got a grip on his spear. 

He set his focus on the first walker that had risen, which began slowly limping towards him. From behind him, though, was another walker, making quicker progress. He turned briefly, skewering the walker’s head with the sharpened point of the spear. He followed that with a kick to the walker’s abdomen, removing it quickly from the weapon.

On the other side of the place, you drove your knife into the nearest walker’s skull, but not without the usual splash of blood that came spurting out afterwards. 

This spurt, though, was no ordinary one. 

As you tugged the blade from its skull, you noticed a stinging sound, like that of a singe. It came as the blood spattered over the floor, and continued as it poured from the walker’s head. You stepped back, brows furrowed as you watched the trail of blood seem to evaporate, but it left behind a cloud of… smoke. 

In a way, it reminded you of a branding, how the hot iron had been embedded into your skin and eaten away at the flesh with a horrendous burn until an X was forever scarred into your back. Whatever was going on with that walker, if its blood had gotten anywhere near your skin, you were sure it would have a similar effect—an agonizing, flesh dissolving burn.

But you hadn’t any more time to think about the strange walker, as there was another one coming behind you. 

Meanwhile, had just skewered another walker through the face, then pulled the spear out to fling the walker backwards and tumbling back against another one.

Stepping backwards, just about to turn around and face another batch of walkers, one lunged forward, reaching its hand out to grip Daryl’s forearm, but this was not any ordinary death grip.

Most walkers’ touches were cold, lifeless, but this? This… searing, stinging, agonizing sharpness that made him scream.

With one last kill, you turned towards him, your eyes wide and your mouth agape with the fear of the most profound variety. Daryl never screamed like that. At least, not when you were around. Suddenly, every nightmare and intrusive thought of Daryl being bitten assaulted your mind all at once. 

All you could see was him struggling against a walker, whose grip on his forearm must’ve been so strong that even Daryl couldn’t immediately pry himself away. 

But the walker’s grip really wasn’t that strong. No, its hand was simply stuck, with Daryl’s burning, melting flesh acting as a kind of glue. 

As he tugged and yelled in frustrated pain, you quickly bounded across the room, taking down another walker on the way. 

The closer you got, the more you saw it—the small swirl of smoke emerging from Daryl’s flesh as the walker’s hand seared the flesh of his arm. 

Just before you could get to it, Daryl managed to rip himself free, stepping back a moment to briefly scowl at the strange burn. 

Immediately, you came forward, plunging your knife into the walker’s head. 

Daryl’s eyes flashed to meet yours, a simple exchange of breathless nods between you enough to suffice until the rest of the walkers were taken care of.

You looked around swiftly, and Daryl did the same. Six more walkers. Between the two of you, it would be light work. That is, if there were no more SNAFUs.

Daryl took the high ground, situating himself on a large wooden table to better approach the threat. 

You kept on the floor, using one hand to pull the walkers toward you, the other to strike with your knife. 

Once again, Daryl found himself with the unlucky situation. Underneath the table he’d taken defense at was another walker. 

Plunging the end of his spear through the wood, he successfully impaled the walker’s head, but not without his spear getting stuck.

He tugged on the spear with all his strength, but the thing wouldn’t budge—the spear was lodged too deep in the walker’s skull, causing it to bang on the underside of the table with each attempt to tug it back up. In perhaps a less serious setting, the image might’ve been quite comical. 

Daryl’s grunts combined with the repeated banging sound alerted you to the situation, and to the other walker coming closest to him. 

You quickly charged the walker, finally taking it out with a swift but jagged movement. Meanwhile, Daryl had just freed his spear, and now moved to kill two more walkers in his path. 

He was fast this time, killing them within hardly a second between each other. It was just enough time for him to turn around and see the very last walker coming towards you.

Without another second to even hesitate, you raised your knife, only for another one to fly into the side of the walker’s head, sending it falling to the ground at your feet. 

Sometimes, Daryl’s flying knives startled you more than the walkers. 

With a huff, you reached down, pulling the knife from the walker’s head. Just as you’d seen from the other one—a splash of burning, corrosive blood, a hissing sound as it hit the floor, and a small plume of smoke.

What the hell are you? you asked the corpse in your head. 

But that wasn’t important now. You quickly turned your attention to Daryl, who pulled up the sleeve of his poncho to reveal the raw flesh of his burn. 

Within a moment’s time, you were at his side, holding his arm as your eyes frantically took in the wound. In your confusion, and your fear, you looked up at him, all the color drained from your face. From what you knew of burns, this looked to be second degree, oozing redness and blisters already starting to form. 

“We’ll bandage it up,” you said, nodding to yourself, as if to reassure both him and you. “We’ll clean it first… Some water and—and if I find some aloe…”

He caught your gaze, holding it for a good several moments of heavy silence.

“You ever seen a walker do that?” he asked, knowing full well that the answer was no.

You turned to investigate the last walker you’d killed—on the surface, not unlike any other walker you’d seen before, except you supposed he had a certain… je ne sais quoi, if you will. 

“Maybe… it’s a French thing,” you replied. “I have no idea.”

Daryl let out a deep huff as he sat, still wincing at the unsightly burn on his arm.

You sat beside him, reaching into your satchel to procure a crinkly plastic bottle of water. 

“Don’t,” he said lowly. “You need to drink that.”

Ignoring him, you dabbed several drops of water onto the clean rag you’d taken from the boat in Marseille. With Daryl always getting hurt somehow, you knew it was a good find.

He hissed between his teeth as you lightly cleaned the wound as best you could, but it still seemed to ooze.

It worried you, to say the least. 

And Daryl… he only worried about what might happen to you if this thing was even more sinister than it looked.

“What if it’s—”

“It’s not,” you replied quickly. If you knew what he was going to say, you weren’t even going to let him speak the possibility into existence. “It’s not like a bite.”

“But what if it is.”

After all, what you knew of walkers was that their bites were deadly. What if their… burns were too? 

But you refused to believe that. 

“It’s not,” you said back. “We’ll patch it up. It’ll be fine.”

From the look on his face, he appeared not to believe that, his eyes clouded with fear and uncertainty the likes of which you’d almost never seen in him. Daryl didn’t fear death, though. He feared the thought of you being alone, in a world where the two of you needed each other more than anything. 

Again, here you were, trying to lift his spirits despite the possibility of death lingering all around you, in this French supermarket that reeked of death and rotten flesh. But you weren’t just reassuring him, you were reassuring yourself.

“Hey.” Your hands cupped his cheeks, forcing his gaze to face yours. Your eyes were soft, but firm enough to remind him that, just as he would never let anything happen to you, you would never let anything happen to him. Your voice barely above a whisper, you spoke to him with the gentleness he knew and loved so well. The gentleness he’d needed all his life, and would need until the day he died, and after that, too. “Sweetheart… We’re alive.”

That was enough. It would have to be enough. Enough to begin again.

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

[gffa]

“Don’t try it!” “You underestimate my power!” “Do you really want Anakin dead?“ “You're a great warrior, Anakin, but your need to prove yourself is your undoing. Until you overcome it, a Padawan you will still be.“ I keep thinking about the show’s choice not to de-age Hayden Christensen, but still set him during their pre-Attack of the Clones lives, and how it all fits together with everything else we know of their connection.  I keep thinking about how the show has established they sense each other in the Force, they share visions in the bacta tank, they show us Obi-Wan seeing Vaderkin on Mapuzo.  These two share thoughts and feelings throughout all of the series. And then this episode has Reva pointedly asking, “Do you really want Anakin dead?” with Obi-Wan’s very long pause and this comes after ten years of mourning Anakin, so undone by that grief because his love for Anakin was so large, his guilt is so massive because he cared so deeply about Anakin. Does Obi-Wan want Anakin dead?  I don’t think almost anyone could say “yes” to that, not now. Those flashbacks, the ones of Anakin looking as he would as a 40 year old, the way Obi-Wan would still see him.  The lack of de-aging Hayden’s face makes so much sense in the light of the idea of it being Obi-Wan’s view of him, that he cannot yet let go of seeing Vader as Anakin, he cannot see the mask, he can only see his Padawan’s face, even if he acknowledges that he’d be older now, this is an older Anakin, an older Vader, though, he is still a Padawan. The way those flashbacks are framed, they’re cut to and from Vader just as often (or more) than Obi-Wan, that we’re being told Vader has these thoughts in mind. But I don’t think they wholly make sense as being just from Vader’s point of view, this is also just as much about Obi-Wan. And I keep thinking about Obi-Wan’s last, desperate plea to Anakin on Mustafar, to not jump over onto the shore banks, “Don’t try it!” he says, knowing that if Anakin does, he’ll lose. Maybe some part of Obi-Wan is still trying to warn Anakin through this memory that’s being shared between them, don’t try this, don’t do this, you’re still making the same mistakes as always, back up and really look at yourself and your wants, don’t do this, Anakin.   But Vader only takes the wrong message from it, that he has to be even stronger, not to actually overcome his own need for external validation. Even after everything that Vader has done, we know some part of Obi-Wan still loves him, and probably still doesn’t want him dead.  Maybe some part of him is still trying to help Anakin and warn him off making a mistake again.

[olayaxnangyaite]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 (I), 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝

NETEYAM SULLY x O'LAYA NANGYA'ITE!METKAYINA!OC!

SUMMARY - THEY DO NOT KNOW IT YET, BUT IT WAS LIKE EYWA MADE THEM FOR EACH OTHER AND THE SEA LED HIM TO HER. THE WATER CONNECTED TWO HEARTS THAT LONGED BUT ONLY GAVE THEM BORROWED TIME. 

WORD COUNT: 1.9K ( I AM SO SORRY)

TRACK #1 : SOMEONE NEW by HOZIER

A/N: NO ONE ASKED FOR T BUT HERE I AM FINALLY WRITING THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THE SERIES THAT HAS BEEN HAUNTING ME FOR WEEKS.

YOU CAN SEE THAT THERE ARE FEW REPRESENTATIONS OF REAL-LIFE CULTURES IN THIS FANFICTION, I FOUND THAT TAKING INSPIRATION FROM THAT VERY BEAUTIFUL CULTURE SOUND JUST RIGHT AND PERFECT TO REPRESENT THE METKAYINA CLAN! JUST TAKE NOTE THAT THOSE MENTIONED ARE FROM A REAL CULTURE! THAT'S ALL :)

I REALLY HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY READING THIS ONE, THE TRACK THAT YOU SEE THERE IS THE THEME SONG FOR THIS CHAPTER ( I recommend listening to it while you read). ANYWAYS, IF YOU EVER RAN INTO AN ERROR OR A TYPO, PLEASE DON'T MIND IT HUHUH JUST KNOW THAT ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. ENJOY READING!

“Just breathe…” Ao’nung whispered into her ear as he guided her arms upon shooting the arrow, he held her arms straight and adjusted her posture.

“Focus. Only look at the target” He let go of her and motioned for her to shoot it, she took one more deep breath and closed one eye, she stretched her arms and gracefully let go of the nock. You can see how swiftly the bolt flew and perfectly pierced the bright red target. O’laya lowered her bow and took a good look at her masterpiece, she grinned and looked back to Ao’nung to see his reaction. He had a proud smile on his face but was soon replaced by a boastful smirk.

“That’s good, but of course, not as good as me” He mocked as smugness filled his ego.

O’laya rolled her eyes and swung her bow up trying to playfully hit him, “Oh yeah? Then what if I-” Before she could take a swing at him a loud longhorn roared throughout the village, stopping everyone in their tracks.

“Maybe next time, O’laya–when you can actually hit me” She scrunched her nose in annoyance and dropped her weapon on its rack.

On their way, they stumbled upon Roxto who was also walking his way to the front. He seemed to have heard of the announcement too.

“What’s going on?” Roxto asked as he walked with them, “Maybe it’s a drill? Or the sky people? I think we need to get our things. At last, after years of training we can finally fight” Ao’nung’s expression was filled with determination, he’s been meaning to make his father proud after all that training the two of them endured.

“Skxawng.” She lightly patted the back of his head which caught him off guard. “Us Metkayinas are not at war, and it will never be. Don’t ever wish that upon the people.” she was grave, with her detested towards the vision of war.

The trio arrived at the shore, where the people gather around something or someone. They walked closer and were surprised to see Na’vis, but distinct.

They approached compelling the crowd to make way. Ao’nung eyed the two kids who seemed to be the same age as them. And of course, the visitors did the same.

As Neteyam paid his respects and also observed the features of this new clan. “Oel ngati kameie” O’laya responded to them and showed hospitality towards the newcomers as she stood beside Roxto and Ao’nung. But Neteyam’s sight lingered on the girl, he couldn't seem to spell it out but he was drawn to her.

Her eyes were as blue as the ocean, her hair was like waves filled with sea shells, and her light skin shimmered against the sun.

Roxto was here throwing questions that seemed to mock the Neteyam and Lo’ak, but Neteyam couldn't care less. Usually, he would defend himself, but this time he couldn't seem to move–it was like he was caught in a trance. It was like he had seen the most beautiful creature there is.

“Ao’nung, Roxto. Enough” She scolded bashing their hands away from them. Tsireya who just arrived, also greeted the visitors. O’laya noticed how her eyes casually glanced at Lo’ak, she let out a titter upon realizing that this is going to be a situation in the future.

O’laya, Tsireya, Roxto and Ao’nung had been friends since the day they all reached the age where they could walk out of their pods and run along the shores and dive with the creatures under the water, so in short, they have known each other since they were kids.

O’laya and Ao’nung usually train together as an order from their fathers, Tisreya and her would practice medicine and healing as a time killer–sometimes they would also teach children to follow their steps as they often look up to them.

After a long process of accepting the Sully family, with Ronal and her critical opinions towards the infamous ‘Toruk Makto’, it was decided. The children of the Metkayina were required to teach them how the reef people work as one. And of course, the two girls were delighted to welcome the Sullys to a new home–Ao’nung on the other hand was forced and demanded to follow his father’s orders.

“Come. I and O’laya will show you the village” Tsireya hovered over the family with delight and a welcoming demeanour. They helped carry the baggage and briefly showed them around the village before leading them to their new home.

“This will be your Marui pod, your new home,” O’laya displayed, carefully placing the baggage down near the entrance. Tsireya gaily accommodated the family while O’laya wait for her at the corner.

Nightfall emphasized the luminous beauty of Awa’atlu. The skies were dark, but the village was alive, the ocean was like fireworks and corals had their different colours. The people were preparing for their supper, it was an annual festival that the Metkayinas perform. It was a way to keep culture humming and alive, it pays respect to the ancestors, and it showcase joy and appreciation towards the gifts and blessings. Looks like the Sullys were just in time, this somewhat serves as a welcoming ceremony. It just so happens that it was also a welcoming ceremony that the Chief arranged.

Roxto, who insisted to invite the Sullys, came to the ceremony with them. The family came and was surprised with the feast and the majestic harmony of the instruments, the solemn pound of the drum and the exquisite flow of the Pūkāea.

Neteyam and the other kids were surely amazed to be awakened to another culture and to open their eyes to a fresh start. They sang with apparent joy on their faces and danced with the wind barefoot on the sand.

The Chief and the Tsahik had arrived not long after, the people announced with lilting to respect their entrance. Behind them were the reef children and followed by O’laya who was at the very back.

Tsireya as the Tsakarem, wore a unique loincloth that was covered with pearls and corals. Ao’nung wore a bright shoulder and waist garment just like his father.

O’laya on the other hand, wore a kelp-like loincloth with braided ends. Hanging pearls and shiny shells would lightly clang as she walked, her hair moderately designed by specifically purple shells. She wore very faint tattoos on her shoulder blades and her neck.

And of course, Neteyam’s focus would soon be on the girl once again. His mouth narrowly agape from the sight, he was denying it in his mind and was trying his best to keep his head away from her. But he just can’t and I don’t think he won’t anytime soon. All the reef people had their unique designs, but for Neteyam, O’laya was simply different. And at this moment, even if Neteyam would restrict himself, he knew, that that girl across the shore would be the end of him.

The ceremony continued and the people feasted on the food that was handmade by the best culinarian in the village. The ceremony was just splendid, it was a night of colours and signing. Tsireya performed as a majestic dancer, side-by-side with O’laya, who sang with her. The men of Metayina, including Ao’nung and Roxto, had performed a very strong and emotional war dance that represented the tribe’s pride.

“Ah…Jake Sully!” Tonowari greeted with enticement, “I see you have met the people. This right here, is Pōwhiri. A welcoming ceremony” he explained with pride for his culture.

“Irayo, Tonowari. This is well appreciated by me–by us family. Thank you” He beamed, with Tuk by his side–who was also amazed by the dancing children.

“zola‘u nìprrte’, Jake Sully.” it was a fatherly conversation that no one intend to listen to, we all know how fathers talk. “Come. I will introduce you to my people.”

After the main event, The people subdued and enjoyed the party to themselves. Tsireya and O’laya parted ways and strolled through the ceremony by themselves. The music was still there, but it was now in a calm that would recreate the relaxing sound of the sea. The background filled with laughter and faint chatter, the people drinking booze and enjoying themselves.

“You should talk to her..” Kiri suggested, eyeing her brother the whole ceremony and noticing how he would constantly look for her. “Huh?” Proving that he was lost in her once again, not even hearing what Kiri had said. “You are no better than Lo’ak” she teased.

“Just look at her, Kiri” His eyes soften at her, and his expression grew calmer. It was like there are visible hearts in his eyes. “Nothing will happen if you just look at her. Talk to her, brother.” Kriri was right, she knew how much head over heels Neteyam was. And it was rare, she had never seen him so focused and so determined to someone.

The boy sighed and grabbed all his courage to follow his sister’s wishes. He pushed himself into the crowd and tried his best to excuse himself to walk to her. And finally, he was now a few feet away from her. She turned in his direction and noticed that he was lingering. O’laya smiled at him and didn't want him to think of her as a snob. Neteyam soon proceeded to her and finally, the two met. “Hey,” Neteyam smiled and stood just beside her.

“Did Ao’nung insist you drink it?” She assumed it was like she already knew what they were up to this whole time. “Yeah, he said ‘To be true Metkayina, you must drink the waipai’” He mimicked the way he talked. O’laya found it hilarious and crackled at his mockery, Neteyam’s tail swang joyfully and was proud to make her laugh effortlessly.

“Neteyam Sully?” She guessed, still not knowing which is which between him and his brother. And he nodded with acknowledgement. “Enjoying the ceremony, I see”

“Yeah. The food is great, Thank you” Neteyam replied, there was a pause after his reply. Rather an awkward silence between them as both didn't know what to talk about. “ did not like the waipai though…” He mentioned,

“I see, I can smell the Waipai on you. When you drink it, everybody could smell it. “ She managed to blurt out. “ yeah, it was too late when I realized he was tricking me.”

During the whole ceremony, Neteyam and O’laya would talk and laugh, sometimes O’laya would almost run out of breath from too much laughter. He would crack jokes and tell stories back from home, some were not even worth laughing at but she did.

The two were lost in their little world, talking about everything, It was the first words they shared but seemed like they have known eachother for too long. A bond of friendship was formed in a matter of just two conversations about how they would train and how important their roles were to their clans.

They were strangers to eachother, someone new. But Neteyam found something in her that he didn’t know that he needed, and that night for him could last forever until- “Neteyam!” a small and childlike voice called out for th boy, cutting off their connection. “Let’s go home” Tuk, who was a few feet away was calling out with the rest of his family.

He looked back at O’laya not wanting to leave her side, waiting for an assurance for him to leave. “Go ahead, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She confirmed. He grinned at the thought of seeing her again and soon followed his family.

A/N : OMG THIS WAS FUCKING LONG FOR A FIRST CHAPTER. I DEEPLY APOLOGIZE IF YOU FOUND THIS CHAPTER EXCRUCIATINGLY LONG. I AM ASLSO APOLOGIZING FOR THE TERRIBLE WRITING SKILLS, I AM STILL STARTING ANG I WOULD LOVE TO LEARN AND NOT TO MENTION, THIS CHAPTER IS SLOW BURN AT IT'S SLOWEST. ANYWAYS, I WILL BE POSTING THE CHAPTER TWO VERY SOON, IM ACTUALLY WRITING IT AT THIS VERY MOMENT. IF YOU EVER RAN INTO ANY ERRORS OR TYPOS, DO NOT BE AFRAID TO DM OR MENTION IT TO ME, I WILL BE MORE THAN HAPPY TO CORRECT IT. AND OFC SUGGESTIONS AND REQUESTS FOR THIS SERIES IS AND ALWAYS WILL BE OPEN. MY DMs ARE OPEN SO CHAT ME UP, LETS BE BFFS GUYS MUAH &lt;333333

IF YOU EVER WANT TO BE IN A TAGLIST FOR THIS SERIES, PLEASE, PLEASE MY DMS IS ALWAYS OPEN 24/7

[somethingsomethingdrawing]

omg lore drop

Ssooo

Bout abunch if centuries ago, before Captain Jasper Cookie became a captain he was just a wee lad following around his father. Course he mostly swabbed the deck n' hosted the sail (Though he was quite frail at the time so it was quite difficult and someone else had to help him). Throughout the time being out at sea he's met quite a few cookies ofcourse, he eventually meets this odd octopus (Cough Cough LARIMAR COUGH) who offered to give him a prize "This little thing will be worth your while young sailor! All you gotta do is win my simple game!" Course it was a riddle game, though not too smart, Jasper Cookie managed to guess the right answer! "Well well well, looks like someone's finally won my game for once, that's a first.. Oh well! As promised, ya get your prize, now scram and enjoy the rest of your life" She said as she handed him the locket before slithering back to the black of the ocean. Course, Jasper wears the locket thinking nothing of it.

He returns to Abalone's ship and does his regular duty of swabbing the deck. And insert the mermaid's tale event happening, Abalone's ship is now SINKING thanks to black pearl (as she should) Jasper is still on the ship, hanging on whatever he can to not get soggy. Abalone is yelling for his son to help him (cuz why not) Of course it's his dad, Jasper wants to help him but something pulls him back, telling him to climb to the highest point of the sinking ship, he listens to whatever is filling his head and leaves his father to die. He gets to the highest point the ship of the ship and jumps, getting away from Black Pearl's raging vortex that swallows the ship (I can't remember if it was a vortex or not). Jasper swims away, looking back at the wails from the sinking ship. He feels guilty for leaving his father to die, but he kept swimming to shore.

After reaching shore, he plops onto the sand and processes the near death experience he went through. And after a long hard thought, he decided from that day forth he'd go on more dangerous adventures and eventually became a captain. During the adventures he found many a treasures, met new cookies and gained their trust, who which became part of his crew. Ofcourse over time he went on a CERTAIN journey with his crew, visiting the duskloom sea. Foolish sailors! People thought, watching as his ship and crew went sailing towards that deadly ocean. Eventually days go by, no sight of their return. Days turn into weeks, still no sign of ship. Weeks turn into months, months into a year. After twenty years of that ship going missing into the duskloom sea, everyone thought that the ship had sank and everyone abroad became soggy and succumb to their fate.

But- What in the world!? What's that blinding light coming from the darkness of that deadly sea!? Why it's a sturdy ship shining bright with crystallized armor! Shining so bright almost as if it were the sun itself! Once the ship made it back to the docks, Captain Jasper Cookie hopped off and gave a hearty hello to the curious cookies who nearly surrounded the entire ship! They were amazed how Jasper hadn't aged a single bit since he left! Course, they also wondered where has he been for the past two decades? How did he survive? Why such a blinding ship? And where was his crew!? Before any of those were answered, he simple dropped a large chest full of precious treasures! Golds, jewelry, emeralds, you name it! Everyone simply became too distracted by the treasures and thanking him they forgot they're questions!

Course, even hundreds years later no one knows the answers except for him! Some rumors spread about, some saying he never went to the duskloom sea in the first place! Some say he abandoned his crew! Even some think he's a ghost due to the ships very pale colors! And the eerie shine it has at night.. Spooky! Though he found himself with a whole new crew! Some of which sharing the eerie shine with the ship! People thought this whole new crew were all ghosts of his previous crew! Such a silly rumor. There was a rumor of a shining cookie helping the sailors escape. What nonsense! A mere cooking saving a whole boat from the wraith of black pearl cookie? Now that's just silly! Some speculate it was the Shining Knight who's rarely ever seen, yet there's hardly any proof of their existence! Only a single carving on some stone of a shimmering light floating between the sea and sky!

Besides that  w e e  ramble

That silly locket Jasper carries with him everywhere seems to be getting eyed at more frequently.. Many of greedy cookies have tried to offer him many things for that locket. But he's declined every offer ever given to him. Quite a few cookies tried to threaten him to give it up, but he simply laughs at their faces and walks off! They've tried to snatch the locket, only to be met with a face plant into the wall or floor! He only laughs at their pathetic attempts to steal the locket and goes on with his day! After a day of threats and fights, he goes back to his ship and sails out with his glimmering crew. No one knows where he goes next, nor when he leaves. He and his crew are quite the mystery! Yet Jasper never aging always baffles cookies! Leaving them to ponder how he does it!

I am NOT good at writing stuff shdkd

I'm still drawing bros crew cuz I decided to make em look COMPLICATED cries

YA GET A P E E K at two of em u3u ✨

[focsle]

how common was scurvy aboard whaling vessels?

Oh bless, this will swerve me from the pit of hypochondria I was burying myself in (I'm not being sarcastic! This pulls me, temporarily, from the pit! At least I don't have scurvy! It's so easily avoidable!)

Scurvy was very common on whalers.

When naval Lieutenant Charles Wilkes came across the whaleship America in 1839, he said of it,

"I have seldom seen at sea a more uncombed and dirty set of mariners than his crew. How they preserve any tolerable state of health I know not, and it is not at all surprising that the ravages of scurvy should be felt on board of some vessels belonging to the whaling fleet, if this is the usual state in which they are kept."

John Martin, of the Lucy Ann, 1840s wrote of "In the evening, dancing cotillions and jumping the rope to keep off the scurvey". It didn't seem to do much. Within two weeks he wrote:

"One man on the sick list, supposed to be caused by his being so long at sea. All hands are complaining of soreness throughout their bodies. If we do not get on shore soon, we may expect to have half the crew down with the scurvey at least. We have no vegetables on board, and are going into King Georges Sound, New Holland [soutwest tip of Australia], a place where we can scarcely get anything to recruit with."

Given that a whaleships spent extended time at sea and were loathe to waste too much time with anchoring somewhere, fresh food ran low quite often. When whaling in the Atlantic and South Pacific whalers usually fared okay, as there were a fair number of provision stops in locations that had fresh fruits and vegetables readily available for trade. It was on said provisions stops that whalers could also, as said by Samuel Wood of the Bowditch, 1849, take a walk to 'knock the scurvey from their bones'.

In seasons that took place up north however, in the Sea of Okhotsk (Kamchatka Sea), Bering Strait, and eventually up into the Arctic, scurvy was extremely prevalent. The fresh food depleted, the ice was always a threat, and unlike other regions there weren't many accessible places to resupply with foods that could ward off scurvy. It's in reading journals during these periods that I find the most complaints of scurvy. And sometimes, the more successful the voyage was, the sicker the men would get because they'd spend more time up there rather than giving up and returning south.

The US Consul in Hawaii made note of this in the 1840s, saying:

"Whaleships were much more successful in taking oil on the North West during the last summer and fall than for three or four seasons previous and most of the vessels remained on the fishing grounds much longer than usual, the consequence of which was that many of the crews were severely afflicted with scurvy, some died after reaching port and before they could be landed, while others were carried to the hospital on litters, being too feeble to walk."

Another US consular officer in Hawaii mentioned the issue of Northwest seasons being taxing to the health too. In the overfishing of whales, it led to a push further and further North, and thus the complaints of scurvy increased.

The Sperm whale rapidly disappeared before the increasing fleet, and in a short time most of the vessels abandoned their pursuit for the whale on the North West Coast. Constant exposure to the cold and fogs of that region soon injured the health of the men and seriously impaired the constitution of many.

In 1844, 1845, and 1846 but more particularly the last two years, a large proportion of the vessels were unsuccessful in taking oil, and when they arrived here in the fall of 1846 they had a large number on the sick list who were obliged to be placed in the Hospitals. With few exceptions the crews were restless and discontented, many had been on board two years or more, and instead of diminishing the debts which stood against them at the time of sailing they had been compelled to add to them in order to supply themselves with necessary clothing— All the hopes and expectations excited by the Agents had been bloated. They were disgusted with the occupation and determined at all hazards to leave their vessels. They would resort to any and every means to procure their discharge. Failing in this, many deserted. If caught in time to be placed on board of their vessels, they would threaten to burn the ship or do some other act to prevent their proceeding the voyage, saying that they would sooner die than go to the North West again, and in many cases Masters ceased to have any control over their crews.

The US Consul was largely concerned with sick (and/or disillusioned) men coming to Hawaii, and then never leaving OR having to have their passage paid back by the government (rather than being forced to ship on another whaler, which was what the Consul's usual method was).

For all that, there were attempts on board made to ward off scurvy. In addition to the exercise John Martin mentioned, he also said the captain allowed unlimited vinegar and free access to the potato pen, ordering them to eat raw potatoes and vinegar to try and hold off scurvy. The vinegar, a mistaken remedy due to its acidity, wouldn't have helped much. Potatoes are an excellent source of vitamin C, more so when they're raw, though eating large quantities raw probably also made those lads have some sad feeling guts.

John King, a rare whaleship doctor on the Aurora, 1837, also had his own remedies:

"13. Salts of Lemon This is good in scurvy when fresh fruit and vegetables can not be obtained. A teaspoonful dissolved in half a pint of water will form an acid nearly the strength of lime juice. It may be mixed with water and taken freely, sweetened or not. [it makes a good substitute for lemonade, in fever, to allay thirst in fever] Water made slightly acidic with it is a good substitute for lemonade to allay thirst in fever."

Okay that's enough, bedtime, thank you!

[curiouser--and--curiouser]

Staring into the Flames

Ashton Greymoore x Reader

Summary: Ashton loses his shit when you get injured.

Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, gender-neutral pronouns, raging Ashton, injured!reader.

Warnings: swearing, violence, descriptions of injuries.

Word Count: 3.8k words

A/N: Time for some Critical Role content, because I'm a raging nerd. And I'm in love with Taliesin Jaffe. God, all his characters give me such gender envy! Also, for context, this is written in the wake of c3e33, so I need comfort from the trauma 😭 Anyway, enjoy my beautiful punk rock babe <3

Watching Ashton Greymoore have emotions was one of your favourite things to do.

Sounds strange, I know – borderline creepy maybe – but you just found him so fascinating. Everything Ashton would ever do was based entirely off impulse. He wanted to steal some random arcane item he knew he would never use? Done. Rile up that complete stranger just because they didn’t like their hat? Did it last Tuesday. Take you off on a completely random unplanned date right to the top of the Lantern spire just because they wanted to? Absolutely.

All these impulse actions were based off impulse thoughts and impulse emotions; emotions that he feels so fucking strongly. I mean, just look at the destructive power his anger and rage can bring upon his foes in a fight (you do look, you look very hard…). Their feelings swirl like the kaleidoscope shining from their head, and you found it simply hypnotising to watch those feelings spread across his body. You could watch the cogs turn in Ashton’s brain for hours, seeing each new emotion spread across his body like lava.

One of your favourites was the slow realisation that you had stolen permanently borrowed something of theirs: a certain red and black jacket, perhaps. They would be rummaging around their room, thinking they’ve gone mad because they could swear they left it right here. Evidently they were too dead asleep that morning to notice you slipping out of the bedroom, the jacket claimed for yourself. Eventually, he would come bounding into the main room of the Crook House, finding Milo tinkering away at their latest project, and you lounging in a chair wearing his most prized item of clothing. It would take a minute for him to even notice what you were wearing. “Y/N, where in the fuck is my j-“. There we go. You got to sit back and enjoy as the realisation of your thievery spread through his body like a wave on the shore, every one of his stance and posture and facial expressions each slowly changing down throughout him. It was captivating. Although not for too long as soon a smirk rose to Ashton’s face before they were barrelling at you, you both tumbling onto the floor in a mock fight to win the grand prize of the jacket, as Milo looked on with a smile and a shake of their head at these idiots in love.

Oh yeah, in love. So in love. Which thankfully was reciprocated on both ends. It had, in fact, been your staring that had helped get you together. Subtly wasn’t your strong suit - sure you could sneak into Ashton’s room silent and assassin-like without him noticing, but you weren’t as skilled at hiding how much you just stared at him, getting lost in every single part of the earth genasi. And… they noticed. Luckily, Ashton had also been pretty enraptured by you over the past couple of weeks, meeting pretty frequently on jobs as both colleagues and rivals. So, Ashton’s impulses being Ashton’s impulses, they walked right up to you after one of said jobs and asked you out right on the spot.

“Angel, I could feel your eyes on me for the last three hours, wanna go get a drink so I can return the favour?”

Of course, you said yes, and from then on you have been pretty much inseparable. You now lived at the Crook House and could now stare all you liked. And so could he. He really did. God he’d do anything for you. You were the best thing to have come into his life and he was not about to let you go any time soon.

Definitely not today.

Today, you two, for once, weren’t together; you had some things to buy in the market and Ashton had to go for one of their many strange meetings with Jiana Hexum. So, you walked through Elder’s Post, pushing through the hordes of tradespeople and customers alike, keeping your coin purse close to your side away from any thieves lurking. You had already picked up some food for the household plus some bits and pieces of metal Milo wanted for Fresh Cut Grass’s repairs, and then you moved onto the trickier task: healing potions. They were pretty essential, especially given how much you two got hurt on jobs, particularly Ashton - gods, he got beaten up a lot - and, sure, you could ask FCG for help, but you didn’t want to overwork them. Sadly, your group weren’t exactly rolling in cash so, shall we say, less reputable vendors of potions had to be your main source.

This included one particularly awful man, Rackoth. He was a leering, lecherous man, spindly and towering over most people. He was also a swindler with prices way too high for substandard potions at best. Both you and Ashton had had run-ins with him in the past and nearly none of them ended well. Unfortunately, all your other sellers were out and you were in a bind - FCG was undergoing some internal repairs with Milo at the moment, and so was largely out of action. Hence, you had to grit your teeth and bare Rackoth and his usual ways. His sunken, hollow eyes bore into your soul as he offered up some wildly off-colour “healing potions” at some astronomical price. Usually, you would try to keep your cool and try in earnest to haggle him down, but after one too many not at all innocent placements of his bony hands on your waist, you had had enough. You smacked his hand out the way hard and snapped back at him, calling him out on his extortionate business (and maybe also insulting his mother in Deep Speech - honestly, you can’t quite remember, it was all a blur). Suddenly, you felt a burn across your cheek as Rackoth punched you with a force you never expected from the scrawny man. You stumbled back in shock, but he launched forward to meet you, gripping you by the neck. You could feel his jagged nails biting at your skin as he roared at you to never return to his shop again, throwing you down onto the ground after he was done. The customers around you all gave strange looks as you picked yourself and your belongings up, no healing potions in hand, and carried your hurt pride home with you to the Crook House.

Mercifully, you found the house to be still and silent when you arrived. You were safe in your own home at last. The adrenaline of the altercation wore off and a few tears fell from your eyes. As you wiped them away, you noticed blood smeared across your fingers, from your injuries presumably, so you trudged your way with a sigh into your and Ashton’s room to clean yourself up. You passed a mirror as you walked down the hall, finally seeing the extent of your injuries with a groan: thick red blood dripped down the side of your face, matting your hair, and purple was starting to bloom around your eye from the punch. You winced as you lifted your chin seeing more purple marks at the top of your neck along with five punctures to your skin from Rackoth’s nails leaking a small trail of blood. With a turn, you saw the muddied and scuffed back of your jacket from your fall and emitted a groan in pain as you turned slightly too far. Your back would be black and blue in the morning thanks to your impact onto the cold stone ground. Honestly, you’ve looked better.

Gritting your teeth, you collected your strength and pushed on into your bedroom, but almost screamed as you were met by the sight of your partner sprawled on the bed counting coins from a leather pouch. He wasn’t meant to be back yet.

“Hey, Angel, you’ll never guess the fucking bonus we got from Jiana for that extra information. She was fucking thrilled-“. Ashton stopped as his eyes fell on you.

In any other circumstances, this would’ve been a beautiful show.

The swirling colours in the glass in Ashton’s head seemed to almost speed up and spark out as their mind processed your injured form before them. He blinked slowly as his piercing eyes scanned over you, searching for the answer… there. His beaming smile dropped into one of concern as his eyes widened to the size of saucers. He breathed out a quiet “what the fuck?” in disbelief, before he suddenly took off, scrambling off the bed with zero coordination, but zero care for anything except you. Ashton stood on (and probably broke) most of their belongings as they ran over to you, immediately bringing his firm, calloused hands to your body as he checked you over. His eyes burnt a hole through your clothes with their intensity as he examined every single part of your body for more injuries - worry was the only emotion in him now. Ashton’s searing gaze on your body was usually a very good feeling, but you could see the bubbling anger low in him.

“Hey, Ash, I’m not dying!” You said with a pitiful attempt at a chuckle, trying to laugh off your injuries and put your boyfriend at ease. “I’m okay, really.” He clearly didn’t believe you as his roaming stare continued, logging in his mind everything he saw. His finger and thumb gripped your chin as he brought it up, inspecting the bruising to your neck, breathing out in disbelief. Rising their gaze to your face, Ashton gently prodded the bloody wound on your head with shaking hands. You pulled back slightly with a hiss of pain and that anger in him rose. Someone had hurt you. Red leaked into his eyes like a poison as they narrowed and focused on your own, still brimming with unshed tears. Already impossibly close, he took a step forward, towering over you, noses almost touching and hands coming back to your face. The delicate way he cradled your face in his large hands almost shocked you, the softness of his movements contrasting his hard, rocky palms. One thumb gently brushed away a stray tear on your cheek, both hands trembling as they grasped onto you.

“Who did this to you?” Ashton spoke so softly so that no one but you could here, but with so much menace for whoever the fuck thought they could touch you. Any attempt at him concealing his anger failed as it seeped through every pore in his body, every cell almost vibrating independently, ready for a fight.

“Ashton, really, it’s ok,” you counter again, trying to calm that fury in them that made you love them so much.

“No, it’s fucking not, who was it?”

“Ashton, it’s really not important-“

“Y/N.” He was firm. Final. You sighed before looking down slightly in defeat.

“Rackoth,” you breathed out.

“What. The Fuck. Did he do?” Ashton enunciated every single word, so slowly, so precise.

You stumbled over your words for a minute as you felt his gaze on you. He did deserve to know. That and the tiredness in your soul made all the words come tumbling out.

“I was getting healing potions because you’ve got that big job for Hexum coming up, and Milo is working on FCG and - shit! Letters needs a break sometimes! – but all our usual guys were out so I had to go to Rackoth. But that bastard stuck his prices up again. And they barely looked like healing potions - fuck me, Ashton, our bath water has more healing properties than that shit! And I was just so pissed off and. And... h-h-he had his hand on my waist and I just wanted to rip my skin off so I pushed him off and shouted at him and his potions and maybe his mother in Deep Speech? So he punched me. And grabbed my neck. And through me down. So yeah…” You stood in silence for a few seconds, taking a breath after your outburst, before you raised your head again to watch Ashton…

Now, here came the rage.

Ashton’s back straightened to an even higher height than before; every bone in their body tensed into a sharp point with their fists, now by their side, clenching, nearly popping joints. Their teeth clacked together in a bite, bared and ready to rip the throat out of the culprit of this heinous crime. The mesmerising colours beneath the glass in his skull seemed to swirl faster, getting brighter and brighter, threatening to violently burst free into chaos. The anger was white hot now, bleeding from his eyes and dripping down every tort muscle to a pool at his feet. A deep snarl sounded at the back of their throat, animalistic and ready to hunt.

“That piece of shit,” Ashton yelled out incredulously. “Fuck! That lanky piece of shit! That fucker’s going down!“ They had never sounded so serious in all their life. And so you needed to take action.

“Ashton. Babe! It’s okay, just leave him he’s not worth it.” Yet, it was not okay, and he was not paying attention. Like a flash, Ashton was at the bedroom door and screaming out.

“Oi, Grass! Grass! Where the shit are you?”

“They’re powered down. Ashton, don’t worry-“

“Argh, fuck!” they shouted, now moving at pace throughout your shared room. Trinkets and knickknacks alike were tossed around - no, thrown around - as Ashton scrambled from place to place at lightning speed, searching for something unknown. He grunted as he rummaged even further; you simply stood in the centre of the room, slightly startled by your partner’s sudden burst of movement. Eventually, with a cheer of triumph, from under a pile of multicoloured fabric he pulled out a slightly dusty red vial. Despite the slight discolouration, it was clearly a healing potion long forgotten and Ashton was soon back in front of you, pulling the cork out.

“Wait, no, I don’t need that,” you protested, “Ashton, you need these a lot more than I-“. You were cut off by Ashton shoving the neck of the bottle right into your mouth mid-sentence. The glass clinked against your teeth at the force as Ashton tipped the bottom of the bottle up, pouring the entire potion down your neck. You gagged as the bitter liquid hit the back of your throat. For all the difficulty of drinking the healing potion, it did thankfully begin to help you, like water refreshing you after wandering the dessert for a month. A dull ache passed through each of your injuries as the skin started to knit back together, eventually leaving no trace of ever tarnishing you but the now drying blood. You spent maybe five seconds checking over your body and by the time you looked up again, Ashton already had his trusty glass hammer clutched tightly in his hand. You had one last chance to stop him.

“Ashton, please, just stay here with me. You kill him and you’ll get caught and then gods know what will happen to you!” You pleaded to them, grabbing their arm, not wanting any more trouble for the day.

“Angel, I regret to inform you that I honestly don’t give a fuck,” Ashton growled lowly. “If that bitch thinks he can touch you and get away with it, he’s got another fucking thing coming.” He grasped the side of your head softly again, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered and rose to place an uncharacteristically gentle kiss on your forehead, before sprinting out of the room, one mission on his mind.

And there you were left, alone, staring off at the space your sparking barbarian once stood.

Even in times like this, he was beautiful to watch.

A singular tear rose in your eyes and fell as your exhaustion battled with new anxiety for Ashton’s safety. Of course you enjoyed your mountain of a boyfriend sweeping in to beat down those who had wronged you – I mean, who wouldn’t? – but your dear Ashton also had a tendency of not being the subtlest creature in the world. Sure his mystic colourful powers could occasionally let him pass through like a ghost, but not always. Frequently, they could be found in a fight, on the run from a fight, or on their arse thrown out for being in a fight. But they were just silly bar fights; this was personal. You just didn’t want him in trouble and it would bite away at you until he was back in your arms, safe.

However, predictably, exhaustion won out and you soon fought yourself flat out on the bed, still caked in your own blood, but no energy in your waking spirit to clean yourself up.

The next – how long had it been? – was spent in a daze, maybe sleeping, maybe just staring off, disassociating from the stresses of the day. Until Ashton emerged back through your door with a slam, sprayed slightly with blood that did not look like his own. You didn’t raise your head from the pillow, still waking from your haze, but you watched through glassy eyes as Ashton quietly placed down his trusty hammer in the corner of the room, slipped off his boots and padded over to you. He gently perched on the side of the bed and reached a calloused hand down to stroke your hair. His fingers were so tender and threaded through, caressing your scalp, almost sending you back to sleep. Gazing up at them, you saw the same intensity as before flooding their eyes, but this time the rage was gone, now replaced with so much love. Everything Ashton did carried that fire, that passion, but it always moulded itself into new shapes and forms, sometimes surprising even you. That’s probably what drew you too him, that fire, always burning bright out of every pore on his tough skin; no matter what he did or felt, it was always with such ferocious and intensity that you couldn’t look away, only stare further into the flames. But they never burnt you. They caressed you, held you, protected you at all costs. Not always in the safest of ways, but the intention was good and pure.

Ashton softly smiled at you and, without looking, reached back to find a (vaguely) clean cloth and started to dab at the dried blood along the side of your face. You stayed perfectly still, letting him work, enjoying this rarely seen quiet Ashton. They cleaned you up surprisingly well despite this not being their forte, moving from your face down to the marks on your neck, doing their slightly clumsy best, trying to remember the kinds of actions FCG would perform when in cleric-mode.

When all the dark red streaks had gone from upon your skin, Ashton placed down the cloth, but kept their hand cupped around your face. You threaded your own fingers with his and looked up.

“You get him?” you whispered.

“Yeah, I got him,” Ashton replied, just as softly.

A rush of emotions took over you all of a sudden: the relief that that fucking man who touched you so horribly had been dealt with, the pain of your whole bloody ordeal, the adoration you felt for your soft punk rock who cared for you so well, even in the ways he was not as accustomed to. You choked, more hot tears running down your cheeks. Ashton immediately bundled you up into their strong arms and held you in a tight hug against his chest.

“Aww fuck, Angel. Okay, okay, come here,” they cooed into your ear as your cries muffled into the leather of their jacket. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.” And you believed every word of it. You grasped onto them like a lifeline with heavy and shaking breaths as you slowly pulled yourself back from the brink with his help.

“You okay now?” Ashton asked after a while and you nodded looking up through your eyelashes from your place on his lap.

“Shit, I’m sorry did that, Y/N. Fuck, I was just so fucking angry! I don’t care about a lot of things, but, goddamn, I care a lot about you. And I never wanna to see you like that again. I’ll do anything to make sure you don’t.” Ashton poured his heart out to you, his brutal honestly always hitting you right in the heart. You sat up and pressed your lips to his in a passionate kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed as you gripped onto each other like you were the last things left in Exandria. The kiss deepened as your tongues slid across each other, tracing the other’s lips and swallowing their sighs. You pulled away for breath, but remained trapped in Ashton’s warm grasp, as he continued his assault of kisses over your cheeks. They came to rest soon, forehead pressed together with yours, soft eyes staring into yours in peace.

“Fuck, I love you, Angel,” Ashton murmured, his love and devotion towards you on display for all the world to see.

“I love you too, Ash,” you whispered back with a beaming smile. Ashton gave you one more quick peck before he shifted his position, lying down on the bed with you remaining on top of him, still encased in his arms. You both laid there in silence, listening to the other’s heartbeat, until Ashton spoke, brushing the hair out of your eyes.

“What was that you said before about Deep Speech?” they asked and you giggled at his curiosity.

“I may or may not have insulted Rackoth’s mother… in Deep Speech,” you admitted shyly as Ashton’s eyes widened.

“That’s so cool. Wait, how do you know Deep Speech? Who are you?” they marvelled at your admission as you sniggered. “What did you say? Like in Deep Speech.” You repeated the deep grinding growls you had shouted at Rackoth and your partner’s jaw dropped.

“Okay, that’s hot, please talk to me more in Deep Speech,” you laughed out loud at Ashton’s antics (and remembered that information for later…). “I wish I’d brought you with me now. It was fucking great seeing him scared. Shit, I robbed you of your revenge quest, didn’t I?” Ashton carried on rambling, clearly having enjoyed being your knight in shining armour. Note to self: ask them later what they actually did to Rackoth…

“I swear to the gods if you said ‘Smiley fuckin’ day!’ just before knocking him out, I’m breaking up with you,” you joked. Ashton held a hand to his heart in mock hurt and tickled you away from your non-injured body parts as you cackled.

Your old friend exhaustion soon popped back up again as you let out a yawn, burrowing yourself further into Ashton’s body, nuzzling into his neck. His arms hugged you closer.

“Get some rest, love, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You took their advice, letting your dreams overtake you, staring at the one you loved most until your eyes eventually closed.

Ashton would protect you. They always will. Come what may.

[mask131]

Arthurian myth: King Arthur (1)

Loose translation of the article "Arthur (Artus)" from Catherine Rager's "Dictionnaire des fées et des peuples invisibles dans l'Occident païen" (Dictionary of fairies and invisible people in the Pagan Occident).

ARTHUR (Artus)

Mythical king of a cycle of romans, the tales of the Round Table, also known as the Matter of Britain, which blossomed throughout all of Europe from the 12th to the 15th centuries. Among those texts, we find numerous romans by Chrétien de Troyes, and The History of the Kings of Britain by Geoffroy of Monmouth, alongside its very loose translation Le Roman de Brut by Wace, itself rewrote by the priest Layamon in his poem Brut, and later, by Malory in his La Mort d'Arthur. Arthur was originally a historical warlord killed around 537 at the battle of Camlann, but he then became a super-human character identified to another Arthur, the great god of the pantheon of the Britons, and thus symbolizing the fight of the old kings of Great-Britain against the Saxon invaders.

The father of Arthur is the king Uter Pendragon who, despite his human appearance, seems to be a figuration of an Underworld king. He claims to be Constantine's descendant - the Celts, during this era, were Romanized. Arthur's half-sister is the fairy Morgane. As for his wife, the incomparable Guenievre ou Guinevere, her name means in its Welsh form (Gwenhwyfar, Gwenhwyvar) "white spirit", "white ghost". Some considered that Guenievre, who is recurringly kidnapped, is a resurgence of the Greek goddess Persephone. Their son, Llacheu, has the gift of second-sight/clearsight, as he knows the secret of material elements and of nature.

The relationships between Arthur and the Otherworld make him a magical character. In the roman of the Saxon Layamon, Brut, we see elves assist to his birth and gift him - he will be powerful, wealthy, generous and have a long life.

As many other heroes, Arthur receives his sword, Excalibur, from a supernatural creature. It is the Lady of the Lake that offers it to him. Indeed, the weapon he took away from its rock had been broken during a previous battle. Merlin, to replace it, brought the king to the shore of a lake, where an arm with white silk came out of the water, offering him the magical sword ornate with dragons - it is Excalibur, the Caladbolg of the Irish Fergus, a sword forged in Avallon. Before his death, the king will task sir Bedevere with bringing back Excalibur to the lake, where the mysterious arm appears again out of the water and takes it back. The Lady of the Lake always offers her protection to the king.

Arthur rides a black horse, a color associated to the realm of the dead: he can, as such, cross the waters that separate the afterlife from the realm of the living without his horse going wild with terror. The Book of Taliesin, a Welsh text of the 13th century, tells how the king went to the Underworld and brought back from it a magical cauldron (prefiguration of the Grail) which offers to knights an endless supply of food, but stays empty for the cowards.

Arthur is a purifying hero who gets rid of the monsters that plague the universe, just like Hercules, Theseus, Finn mac Cumhail or Cûchulainn. His first exploit was to kill the boar Twrch Trwyth which was ravaging Wales (Mabinogion of Kulwch and Olwen).

Once king, Arthur represents a solar-themed strength and wisdom. Advised by Merlin the enchanter, he establishes a rule of peace and justice (for twelve years according to some, for forty according to others), and presides at Carduel the Round Table, whose nature confirms that Arthus is both belonging to the supernatural, and an image of the Sun. His court can be found at Camelot - which might be Cadbury Castle, in the Somerset, but is before all the idealized town, the perfect city, the seat of knowledge, poetry and alchemy. The court keeps moving depending on the tales. The lord regularly sends his knights fight for just causes (and, after the Christianization of the legend, for the quest of the Grail containing the blood of the Christ), but himself rarely appears as a warrior. He sometimes even appears to figure a god of war who is above the mere battle, similarly to the goddess Badb.

For a marvelous life, a prodigious end: in his Vita Merlini, Geoffroy of Monmouth tells how the king, killed by the treacherous Mordred, his nephew and likely incestuous son, is carried on a magical boat by fairies that came from the Atlantic (where the realm of the dead is located). He is accompanied there by the Lady of the Lake and by three queens: the queen of Northern Wales, the queen of the Terre Gaste, and Morgane. Healed of his wounds by the latter, he stays with her, the Lady of the Lake, and their six sister-fairies, in the island of Avallon, "The Isle of Apples", which is sometimes a name for the Sidh/realm of the fairies, sometimes synonymous with the Blessed Islands or Fortune Isles. In Layamon's Brut, it is elves that take to Avallon the dead king, and it is the elf-queen Argante that brings him back to life. In truth, he returned to the place he belongs to, this Otherworld where there is no death, no suffering, no decadence, but only youth, feast and joy. His people hope for his messianic return, either in times of war, or simply so that he can offer them wise advice. In Cornwall, king Arthur supposedly appears in the shape of a black bird with red-colored beak and claws.

Old texts from which Rabelais took his inspiration mixed together the legend of king Arthur and the one of the giant Gargantua.

In Guillaume Apollinaire's burlesque "Arthur roi passé roi futur" (Arthur, king past, king future, 1914), king Arthur returns, wearing a shining armor, to Buckingham Palace where Georges IX is ruling. After having tested the authenticity of the ghost, Georges IX abdicates and lets the throne return to the old lord of England.

[thedeliverygod]

Thoughts on recent chapters

I feel like it's been a while since I've made a longer post and I've just sort of shouted about a few random things here and there and I slept most of this afternoon so I have energy to spare lol

Firstly we start with... that. Hiyori. Where do we go from here?

A lot of people have looked into this and I pretty much agree with most takes.

Yato makes her his shinki. But it comes with a bag of questions now that we know a gods greatest secret is survivable per Nana and Kazuma (Yukine & Nora I consider outliers because they have names given by the koto no ha which sort of seals off their ayakashi devolving process--though I do think at this point even if the name Hagusa were removed Yukine would be fine. Nora it's a bit harder to speculate because this has always been her situation). Hiyori is known to multiple gods and shinki throughout heaven. Her very existence makes the gods greatest secret a giant problem unless Yato keeps her away from, well, pretty much everyone except gods and the shinki listed above. Because there's no standard way to know for sure if a shinki will be able to handle to knowledge; because it *is* survivable doesn't mean they will survive it.

Deification. If Tenjin can be deified because he has anger issues then Hiyori can be deified too for better reasons. Honestly. I don't know what it would take to make this happen but @pentamerous brought up the fact about her and Yato's emas being tied and blessed by Okuninushi so idk if that could be factored into this equation maybe?

The "bad" ending-- Hiyori is just dead and no far shore methods are used to 'revive' her. In this scenario I see Grandma Iki being fucking pisseddddd that Hiyori died literally a few days after her and being like wtf are you doing here??? lol. But that's just me and my comedic relief speaking.

Hiyori isn't actually dead because everything in Father's "new world" is an illusion.

The 4th option is tricky but I believe it holds validity. I made a post a while back I think Father's new world sort of strips everyone down to how they view them selves/their deepest insecurities/their most basic form if that makes sense. At least that's theory 1.

This is why Yato is a child (he often views himself as a child in his most insecure moments, relating back to the awful crimes he committed as a kid, but also for emotionally insecure moments such as realizing other humans would be the ones to 'truly' save Hiyori after the hospital incident.) This is why Nora is in her sort of 'snake' form that she hates.

Yukine is an outlier though which I've brought up before. Clearly he's an ayakashi wolf but why is he suddenly a wolf? In his 2 ablutions and and before he was named by Father, he was transforming into a sort of bat/bird type of ayakashi. While he was battling with Yato under his name of Hagusa, however, he did sort of start a wolf transformation and we all made cat boy jokes until his wolf form appeared more recently.

Theory 2 is that literally everything in this "new world" of Father's is under his control and all the visuals are to match. Which sort of matches to what he says despite the fact he says he can't totally make it "bend to his will". He sees Yato as the child he can manipulate. He sees Nora as the ayakashi girl he 'saved' but has outgrown his use for. Yukine he also saw as another one of his tools, much like the wolf ayakashi Father seems to favor, so maybe that's where the wolf form came from? Though that doesn't quite explain the partial transformation before but -shrug-. Of course he wants to see Kaya and he *does* but she's a mangled yomi version of herself, aka not what he wants. But she's long dead.

As Yato is talking with Father about Kaya and sort of trying to understand/reason with him, Father transitions into hinting towards talking about Hiyori. "Who do you see Izanami as?" and then mentions that she's somehow there and that he should be "happy to get to see her. However, as this is happening, Father is sort of manipulating a wave of water which is what reveals Hiyori and the Sakura tree she's under.

The question is, is she really there? Is he able to use her image accurately because she's still alive if it is an illusion? If it's not an illusion, is there some sort of rules that can be broken/amended in terms of bringing Hiyori back to life without pissing off Amaterasu/Heaven? After all, Father's "new world" is not exactly yomi, heaven, or Earth. And we know Father has basically broken all of heaven's rules to begin with.

Lastly, we have the topic of Yato's reaction. We were teased with his aramitama when Yukine was in the box. Now Hiyori is "dead" and Yukine is half dissolved into the ground. I think it's only fair father has the 'monster' he created turned back on him tbh but I also don't want Yukine to see Yato acting like a demon for lack of better words since they just made up and the poor kid is traumatized enough.

bonus question: where the fuck is Bishamon because her twin pistol shinki (Kazuha and Karuha) are fighting the weird ayakashi in the most recent chapter with the god squad and their shinki???

and she specifically only had Kuraha and Kinuha when she was calling out for Kazuma and reunited with him. And it's weird for her youngest shinki to just be by themselves????? the only reasoning I can think of is Amaterasu literally summoned all the damn shinki from heaven when it was raining shinki in the earlier chapter but maybe Bishamon will literally be on the next page or so in the 2nd part of the chapter and it will make sense given that context.