#i think part of it is linked to my fear that I may never find a romantic partner or even a lover ever again lol

[la-cocotte-de-paris]

Sending you lots of love. And I feel you on the leg hair thing. My own hair is thick and grows rather long everywhere. When I shave my legs in the evening the next morning they already feel like my grandfather's cheek. It's hopeless. But babes don't feel ashamed of going to the salon. Body i hair is perfectly natural and not gross and all the people working there see lots of body hair every single day. Nobody will think anything weird, I promise. What music are currently listening to? I'm fully back in my Enya era these days (the music that accompanied my early childhood). I hope the rest of this Friday is kinder to you and that you'll have a beautiful weekend💝💝

This anon made me tear up when I first read it and every time I've re-read it, I've had the same result. Thank you so much 🥹 I always feel weird talking about hair removal with friends because almost everyone who removes hair either 1) has no issue with any methods they use or 2) has blonde hair so it doesn't need to be done as regularly. Meanwhile I'm over here feeling like I'm fighting for my life just trying to remove unwanted hair without irritating or damaging my skin, ESPECIALLY in my inner thigh area lol (which is why I so seldom bother unless I expect to be sexually active bc I'm like "BRO that took me like over an hour to do last time, now I gotta do it all over again?!?! Fuck off"... which also sometimes influences how often I'm willing to be sexually active lol. It's a vicious cycle lmao and i fucking hate it ♡).

I'm gonna go back to razors for the moment and maybe go to a salon sometime. And I'm absolutely getting that hair lasered off once I'm settled in a particular place, sale or no sale.

I think one reason I'm so upset about it atm is because I *KNOW* it's such a stupid and ridiculous thing to be upset about (there are fucking wars happening and I'm upset over some long leg hair on my own body that I know naturally grows there? Gtfo) but I also feel so stupid about it affecting my confidence so much. I'm the type who prefers wearing dark tights anyway, hair or no hair, but that isn't always viable when it's warm. Or maybe i just feel like a change! And I have no problem with body hair on others at all, yet for some reason I've a problem if I show mine lol. Anyway WHATEVER, I have something internalised but I've no idea what and I've tried managing it in the past but I think tonight really just proved I need to fix my shit.

In terms of music, I'm REALLY vibing with the Succession Season 1 soundtrack atm. It makes a girl dream ;P AND motivates me to get my shit done, hahaha. Oooh Enya is so beautiful and ethereal 💖🩷🤍✨️ Also the fact she lives as a recluse in a castle and seems to live comfortably is just...ICONIC!!

Anyway, thank you again for your kind words. I know it's silly to say but it really meant a lot (I keep tearing up as I answer you 😅). I'm starting a new chapter in my life this weekend (if all goes according to plan) and it's going to be scary but also necessary. I've wanted this new start for a long time and I can't believe it is slowly beginning, bit by bit. I sincerely hope you have a wonderful weekend, too. 💖🩷💛✨️

[thelastofhyde]

a mercenary named time.

pairing. jackson!joel x fem!reader

synopsis. as joel begins to age, memories of sarah are beginning to fade. though he wants nothing more than to talk to you about his troubles, there's something standing in his way: he never told you about sarah.

warnings. this is more joel x sarah centric than joel x reader oops, hurt/comfort, ageing + difficulties that come with it, grief, mentions of death/religion/afterlife+ generally other sensitive topics, fluff, does this count as whump? (v minimum editing/proofreading)

word count. 4.9k

hyde’s input. wrote this as an attempt to distract myself from the fact i was on a plane (i hate flying). not much happens plot wise, and it just becomes me analyzing joel (in my own way) halfway through but hey, i wrote it and, though it's nowhere near perfect, i'm gonna post it!

due to the ties tlou has with zionism, here are helpful posts/links regarding the ongoing genocide in palestine. from the river to the sea. ( post, link, post )

Aging has become a threat again.

A part of him wonders if the threat ever truly left, or if it simply migrated south of his brain, chasing a warmth only leisure possesses, to make way for a survivalist winter’s cold. With the safety of walls and the sanctity of the commune, at last he’s caught on to the passing of time, the slow-crawling spider who spun its web into his skin. 

During the cold, there'd only been movement. Pacing down streets divided by those who live in fear and those who brandish riot gear, and tip-toeing past fungal-faced mutations, and stumbling in a daze of pain through snow to find her. A safety distance of unmarked miles, away from that hospital, is what it took for him to finally pull over, cut the engine and exhale. Out with the panic, and the urgency, and the fear. Ellie was there, laid across the back seats, a paper gown as blue as any April sky, a cursed relic upon her sleeping form, terrorising him with images of what could’ve been, had he failed to save her too.

In the warmth, there’s tranquillity. Stretched out legs upon worn out sofas, quiet hums of forgotten tunes on rescued guitars, tangled limbs on love-stained sheets. A home, a daughter, and a you, whatever you may be. A fallen angel, a summer fairy, a ray of sun. Any form you come from, he accepts it, welcomes it. Thanks it for bringing you to him, smelling fresh as a daisy, riding up next to him on his first patrol, smiling as sweet as the honey he’d eaten with his breakfast when you asked him if he needed help reigning in his horse.

No, he’d grunted more than spoken to you. And wound up flung off its back, ten paces later. From the ground staring up, he’d watched your face appear above him. Bitten back laughter, a stretched out hand, and a question of if he wanted to swap rides, take your mare for the day.

She’s far friendlier, you’d assured him, after he let you think it was your strength that pulled him back to his feet. Takes to strangers a little easier than him, you’ll be safe.

And he’d believed it, against his own nature.

Tommy had been the one to notice, to nudge him hours later and nod his head in your direction. Real sweetheart, ain’t she? Joel’d said nothing. Shrugged his shoulders, dipped his head, sipped the whiskey out his cup. Tracked your movement across the room like a hunter stalks its prey. Or, maybe, it was more like a bee examining a flower, wondering if the pretty vibrance of your outsides carried a match to your insides, if the taste of your soft petals was a great enough sweetness to satisfy a craving he’d long foregone.

Four months of observing later, spring came and he stung.

Since then, you’ve been his, whatever that may mean anymore.

He’d already been yours.

And yet he finds himself unable to tell you of his recent trouble, the emerging signs of his age that the needle of time has begun to stitch into his seams.

The greys that curl upon his head grow more frequent. Blink, and they seem to double. His skin stretches differently than before, at times it feels he wears it more than owns it. There’s aches, and pains, and cracks from his joints, where before there’d been numbness and tiredness. A back that refuses to straighten like it used to, no matter how hard he stretches under the fleeting warm drops of his morning shower.

A guilty conscience whispers in a voice much like Tess’, a memory of her telling him ageing means he’s still here, even if she’s not. It’s harder to find the good in it, anymore, when he has so much to lose again.

It’s his memory that scares him most. Like a photo album, the images within seem to fade with time and, the more he grabs at them, the more they wear away.

It started with something small. Forgetting you’d told him you would be heading over to visit Maria and the baby after your patrol shift, leading his heart to near beat out his chest as he raced down to the stables like some crazed man, rambling about how something’s happened to you, you’re not back, only for some kid- Jessie, a friend of Ellie’s- to tell him you came back hours ago. He’d pulled you a little tighter against him that night as you crawled into bed, the earlier unnecessary fear a little too visceral in his racing heart.

Then, it happened more often.

Ellie asked him to help her clean out the garage space for her, he forgot and agreed to cover someone’s turn cleaning the stables.

You told him of your love of mint tea, and instead he found you green.

Tommy asked him across the dinner table- a double date, a cause to debut Ellie’s first solo babysitting duties- if he remembered the name of that old bar they’d liked, and his mind was blank. Empty.

All of it, inconvenient. Yet he could brush it off, let it affect him only like a bruise: momentarily, till it faded.

Until recently.

Until the memories of her began to fade.

He’d woken up one morning, earlier than you like always. Kissed your sleeping face, creeped down the creaking staircase, switched on the stove to boil some coffee. And realised he could no longer remember what she’d liked better: pancakes or waffles.

A few weeks later, he tried recalling what shade of blue her soccer team’s kit was. Was it light blue? Or a darker blue, like fresh denim? Was it even blue at all?

Ellie asked him, the caution she used to bring towards mentioning her name long gone with the changing of seasons, if she’d liked any comic books. The sound of a runner, itching and twitching behind some fence interrupted before she could notice he didn’t have an answer.

Sure, she read. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d caught her curled up in bed, the light of her torch illuminating more than just the pages of a book, but her face, too expressive for her own good at times, reacting to each twist and turn of the story. Sometimes, he’d stand in that doorway, unnoticed, till her eyes dropped shut and the light rolled out her hand. Other times, he’d clear his throat, catch her off guard, and tell her get to bed, kiddo, or I’ll tell Mrs. Atkinson you’ll be round after school tomorrow.

What use is it, however, remembering all that, if he can’t remember if she liked comics?

He should talk to someone about it, he knows. He’d tried to, at first. Had tried to drink the courage into him, sat across Tommy one late night, sat around a fire as they settled in for a night in the ski lodge, stranded by some heavy snowfall. He failed then, just like he failed when he tried to tell Ellie, till she raced off to throw snowballs at some kids and he remembered she was too young to listen to his burden, too beaten by life already to deserve stress within the respite of Jackson’s sanctuary. When he failed a fourth time to speak to Tommy, the real issue dawned on him.

He wants to talk to you. You’re the one he talks to, the one he goes to bear his wounds to, trusting no other’s love but your own to patch him up and calm him down. There’s only one issue, however.

He’s not told you about Sarah.

It was never a conscious decision, some secret he’d chosen to hide. Speaking about her simply hurt and, after the arduous months of crossing the country with Ellie, finding a place to call home in Jackson, and learning to hold somebody close again, he’d wanted to get away from pain, for a little while.

Then came the first anniversary of her death spent inside the commune. He’d drank himself blind, like every year before. There’s a hazy memory of that night he’s glad to suppress, one where he’s covered in his own vomit and you’re struggling to hold his weight up under a pouring shower, the sounds of his sobs muffled into your soaked sweater. He’d awakened, and awaited the questioning. Expected to open his eyes and find you stood at the foot of his bed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. Seeing the room empty was a shock, but drifting slowly down the stairs and finding you scrubbing the stains out of his shirts near floored him. 

The very same shirt you wear now, curled up on the sofa. Your eyes are shut, legs are bare, and there’s a gentle breeze that blows at the curtains you’d hung up, your first act upon moving in with him.

With a careful step, he avoids the creaking floorboard as he crosses the threshold. Slow as he can, he lowers the bag off his shoulder and props it gently against the wall, careful it doesn’t slip and let its contents spill out. Then he works at his laces, undoes them one by one, loosens them so his feet meet no resistance as he steps out of them. The summer’s heat affords him the liberation from heavy coats, less layers to shed now he’s returned to you at last.

You lay right, he strays left. Towards the kitchen, footsteps light as he can manage. Two chairs are pulled out at the table, two bowls sit drying neatly by the sink. Ellie must’ve stopped by for dinner. He’s glad to know she’s eaten, glad to know you kept each other company, glad to know the light is off in the shed and her snoring fills the hollow space. And he’s glad to find some food for him. He takes a bite, lifts the plate, finds a note beneath. Your handwriting, what do Joel Miller and breakfast have in common? followed by an arrow, urging him to turn the page around. The answer’s there, weakening his ageing knees. I can’t start my day without them.

Back by the sofa, a book sits split open, spine broken and pages pressed into ageing wood. Its cover is faded, frayed, much like he feels himself becoming.

He recognises it as one he’d gifted you, seasons ago. If he tries hard enough, he can remember the snow collecting in his unruly hair as he waited at your doorstep, and the way your smile melted the chill away, and the mumbling fool he’d made of himself upon handing the present over to you, some version of said you were bored, so I found this for you all he managed before turning on his heel and striding back to his own home, ignoring the teasing smile upon Ellie’s face.

After all this time, you still have it. Still read it. The fact slows his heart, soothes his aching back. Suddenly, he’s more than ready to head back out there, beyond the walls of Jackson, if it means collecting more books for you to remember him by when he’s long gone and withered away, no more than a familiar smell stained into your sheets and a fading warmth in the palm of your hand.

Two loud pops sound out of his knees as he crouches down by your side, the smell of your shampoo flooding his senses the closer he grows to your sleeping form. There’s a want, nestled deep inside his bones, to pull you into his arms and deliver you upstairs to a bed made for two, in search of a peace his soul has not found since he’d left for his shift in the early hours of the morning. It would be cruel, however, to wake you when you’re so beautiful.

Joel once thought he’d liked you best when you were smiling, till you’d fallen asleep on his porch one night, after hours of talking his ears off. Since then he’s liked you best sleeping, resting. Comfortable enough to trust his watchful eye to keep any harm away while your body takes back its much needed rest, even on days like this when he’s not physically there. You’ve got his shirt, his scent embedded into every thread of it, and that’s enough to keep you safe.

The rough of his fingertips reach out to graze the soft of your cheeks, gently dancing up to comb a few strands of damp hair away from your face. It seems you’ve gained your own spider, the faintest of lines beginning to take shape upon your skin. You wear it better than him, Joel thinks, the passing of time upon your body a picture of love, and prosperity, and hope for more time to come. He wears it like a burden, however. A death sentence, a timer on how long till the cold hand of Death takes the place of your warm one clasped in his.

Adjusting to a life he fears to leave has not been easy. There’d been a time where the promise of death was a comfort. To wake each day, reckless with his time and mindless to his body, a thought of all the pain, and all the sorrow, and that overwhelming, heavy, overbearing loneliness that hung over him like a storm cloud at last coming to an end and ceasing to exist, it had kept him going. Though faith died alongside her, a dream of reuniting with his babygirl on the other side was one he clung to on nights when no drop of alcohol and no unlabeled pill was enough to send him off to sleep. Death now, however, means parting from you, from Ellie, from Tommy. It no longer comforts so much as it disturbs him.

Would you comfort yourself, in the wake of his death, with dreams of reuniting someday, down the line, when Death takes you by the hand and guides you back to Joel?

He can only hope his babygirl can forgive the way he now longs to keep living, in spite of her waiting patiently for him in whatever comes after this life. Perhaps his failing memory is a consequence of this, a punishment she sends for making her wait even longer to feel his embrace again, slowly stealing away the only parts of her Joel has anymore.

Even in guilt, he can’t bring himself to believe his Sarah would do such a thing. Her heart was never touched by the bitterness that had hardened his own, her soul pure a freshly fallen snow.

I want you to be loved, dad. Echoes of her voice in his mind, words she’d confessed to him with teary eyes, a half-eaten birthday cake sitting between them, two candles, one in the shape of three, the other a zero, tossed messily on the table. There’d been no real fuss for his thirtieth, at his own insistence. Just his parents, his brother, his daughter. Those he loved, gathered around one table, eating away at food he’d made.

I’m already loved, kiddo. I got you, don’t I?

Joel knew what it meant to feel unloved. For a long time, that’s all he felt. The love only a child could gift died just as quickly in his arms as she had, under the watchful teary eyes of his brother. Grief he dragged around with him, dedicated to both her and the love he no longer felt.

First came denial. A steady 48 hours post-mortem, in which he walked ahead of Tommy and convinced himself she was there, a few feet behind him, talking her uncle’s ears off as he made sure to clear any oncoming threats The denial culminated in him bleeding down the side of his face, a missed bullet somewhere left behind, and Tommy’s pleading voice trying to move him forward, dragging him to tents set up by the army.

Eleven stitches, each one imbedding loss and cowardice into his screaming skin. The anger settled in a few days later. It made a home within Joel, latched onto his heart and began to beat in place of it. It changed him, aged with him, convinced him it was the only partner he’d ever need. A hopeful glimmer of bargaining came in the shape of Tess. But anger and all its roots were too deeply burrowed within Joel, unwilling to be weeded out, no matter how firm the hand. 

Complacency was far easier than any fight. Tommy left, the buzz of a firefly seducing him with the idea of better, of more, of a cure. Joel convinced himself things were easier without Tommy and his morals around. The routine of waking, struggling, drinking, passing out was one he practised well and thoroughly. Till Marlene and her suicide mission.

Then, the strangest thing happened. Ellie, with all her snark, and her crass words, and her humourless puns, reminded Joel how it  felt to be loved. Laid upon his chest, a need for warmth and a plea for him to survive, she became the closest thing that felt like Sarah in twenty years. How could Marlene expect him to walk away, to leave her in that hospital?

Pain rushes in like a wave meets the shore, dampening him in a melancholy he saves for whiskey. Still resting peacefully on the sofa, your chest rises slow, steady, and constant. He tries to mimic it, matching his own breathing to it. It reminds him of dancing with you in the kitchen, barefoot and bare chested, arms entangled and forehead pressed to forehead, doing his best to stay in sync with your gentle sways.

The floorboards creek the further his aching body sinks to the floor. Like a man meets the altar, he’s on his knees. Blunt fingernails dig into the worn out brown leather of the couch, the only grip he has on reality. 

A discombobulated memory dances across his mind. One of a much younger him, with a head full of brown locks and a sleeping daughter upon his couch. Outbreak night. He’d been peacefully unaware of the happenings outdoors, happy to turn another year older next to his Sarah, when a call came through. His brother, dumped in some jail-cell and begging for release. He’d not thought it through much, sighing in frustration yet rising slowly to his feet nonetheless. If he’d known how that night would end, he’d have held his daughter a little tighter as he carried her to bed, he’d have left every kiss he could afford against her forehead, and speak every I love you he had left in him.

Grief is a river that travels the mountain of his mind. Strong, cold, descending upon a downward slope. Its currents are unforgiving, grabbing a hold of anything that blocks the path. Too easy is it for him to slip and fall into the rapids, losing hold of his footing on reality before he realises he’s struggling to breath and there’s a whole new river carving a way for itself out his eyes and down his cheeks. 

His eyes close. His breath halts. He tries to remember those breathing exercises, the same ones he uses any time the pain swells too much and the panic begins to attack his nervous system. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Deep breath in. Choke down a sob. Slow breath out. Joel. He pictures you, feet upon solid ground, hand stretched out as you try to goad him out the trepid waters of his grief. Joel. This image of you reminds him he’s got a name, got a life, got a purpose. To help Tommy on patrols. To make sure Ellie always has a place to call home. To keep you warm in the winter, and kissed during spring, and safe no matter where the sun may sit. Joel. The tears fall faster. Messier. He’s no longer a quiet companion at your side, but a mess of ragged breathing and nose sniffles. 

“Joel?”

Skin to skin. Soft hand to wet cheek. You’re awake faster than he can process, too quick to wipe tears or feign smiles. Legs scramble off the couch, parted and bent at the knee on either side of him. Musk, and lilies, and every scent that makes him feel safe and close to you envelop the shared space between you.

“Joel, baby, what’s wrong?” Your thumb swipes uselessly at his cheeks, fresh waves rolling out his eyes before you finish wiping the last. Sleep is written all over you, woven into your breathy voice and weighing down the bags of your eyes. He feels a whole new wave of guilt, waking you from such a peaceful slumber with the sight of him and all his ailments bursting out the frayed seams that hold him together.

He thinks he says your name. It’s hard to tell. The blurred image of you through his teary eyes inspires a heavy burden of disappointing you that he can not cope with, and so he ducks his head between your legs, forehead pressing on the inside of your left thigh. His breath is short, his heart is sore, and he’s staining your delicate skin with his pain. You let him grieve upon you, pull him closer. A hand soothes up his back. Your voice tells him it’s okay, and you hum a sweet tune he’s sure he’s played you many a drunken nights, when the confidence kicks in and he’s serenading you with his country twang and guitar strings.

There’s no prying, no demand to rightfully know why you’ve awoken to your lover, steadfast and stoic at his worst, collapsing into your hold. You let him cry. He lets you hold him. You’re all he’s been missing, this feeling of support he’s denied himself for far too long. No fear of your judgement, but fear of pulling you in amongst the dangerous currents alongside him. 

An anchor comes in the shape of your fingers carding through his unruly hair, a tether that pulls him back into the living room, into your home, into you. With the patience of any saint, you let him move at his own pace, head slowly rising from your thigh, back straightening to the best of its abilities. His hand, rough and hardened by time and grit and survival, paws at your thigh, clumsy in its attempts to dry his tears off of you, a fear of it sinking into your skin and some part of his sadness taking root inside your bloodstream.

Your hand stills his, gently, coercing his fingers to thread with your own as your other hand cups his face and guides him to look at you. You're beautiful, in a way that makes Joel wish he was better with words so he could spend the rest of his days finding new ways to tell you so. Instead, he has to settle with a simple, “my pretty girl.” You smile, bashful, as if that’s enough, as if you don’t deserve more.

“Hello to you too, handsome.” You peck his cheek, he chases after you with his mouth. Two small pecks, a third he fails to achieve as you hold him back. “Don’t think you can distract me with those perfect lips of yours, Miller. I’m worried about you, and no amount of kisses are gonna change that.”

He refocuses on his breathing exercises. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Deep breath in. No sob this time. Slow breath out. Your gaze, soft as a cloud, rests over him gently, your own chest rising and falling in sync with him. With every night he’d lay awake, trying to think of how to bring up Sarah and the details of her he’s failing to hold onto, never did he imagine the weight to fly off his chest so easily with just a supportive smile from you.

“I had someone before, who I loved.” He pauses. Clears his throat, shifts his weight. His knees are beginning to ache the longer they sit digging into the hard floor. He should have listened to your advice of scavenging a rug. “Not how I love you. Like I love Ellie.”

Silence.

Not the kind where you hear a pin drop, but one that allows the laughter of children playing down the street to blow in with the breeze, and the creaking of the old house you’ve both made a home, and the squeaks and chirps of wild-life continuing on outside, unaffected by the end of civilisation.

Then, “I know.” Joel’s eyes widen, disbelief painted across them. “Tommy’s let it slip a few times. Just when we’re on patrol and he sees something that reminds him of her. Or he’s telling me a story that’s sole purpose is to embarrass you.” A part of him wants to feel angry at his younger brother, stealing his right to reveal such a large part of who he is. The other part of him feels for him too, a reminder that Sarah’s loss is not one he tackled all by himself. She was his daughter, but she was also Tommy’s niece. How could he blame him for feeling comfortable enough to share his grief with you? “Ellie also mentioned it, once. Back before you and I were really…” You fall silent, trail off, as you both usually do when faced with tackling the task of labelling what exists between you.

“Why,” he chooses to distract himself from it, scared of a world where he asks for the right to claim himself as your husband. Those things don’t matter anymore, with the world gone to shit, but a man could still dream. “Didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s your story to tell, I didn’t want to force it out you. I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

He may not know how to label what you are to him, but he knows he loves you. God, does he love you.

“Thank you, darlin’, I really-” He’s getting choked up, caught between his grief for Sarah and his love for you. You seem to understand, as you always do, hands slowly pulling and coercing him up onto the sofa, occupying the space next to you. “Can’t thank you enough.”

“You’ve nothing to thank me for.” You promise, sealing it into his skin with a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t like to see you cry, Joel, but I prefer you do it in front of me. Don’t hide parts of yourself. I want all of you. Good, bad, and everything in between.”

There’s the urge to let himself fall into the river again, now that you’ve pulled him ashore and attached yourself to him like a life vest, an oath to never let him drown. He feels his eyes well-up, but doesn’t let them fall, as his mouth runs ahead of his mind and at last confesses the troubles he’s been keeping close to his chest.

“It used to be like this every day. Tears, unless I numbed myself free of consciousness. Then, things got better. With Ellie and you around. Anytime I felt the anger or the pain swelling, you’d be there and there’d be room for laughter. But I’m getting older, darlin’. Memories’ not the same. There’s things about my babygirl, my Sarah, that I just… can’t remember. And it scares me. Scares me so bad that I don’t know how to cope with it. If I ever woke up and couldn’t remember her face, it would kill me. I wouldn’t be able to go on.”

He speaks slowly. You cling to every word, a gentle nod lets him know you understand. A part of him wonders how deep that understanding runs, if you too had lost a child. He wants to afford you the same grace you’ve given in, and so he doesn’t pry. If you have a story to tell, he can only hope to still be around to listen.

Oblivious to the thoughts of you holding a faceless child swirling around in his head, you pull Joel into you, encouraging him to let you hold his frame. You’ve told him countless times he needs to let himself be cared for, a spark that ignited many  arguments in the early days of your love. It feels nice to comply at last, head drifting down to rest on your steady shoulder. Your legs curl up onto the couch, lay gently over his own, as an arm wraps itself around his aching back.

Only like this does Joel feel he’s finally arrived home after weeks of wading through the depths of his own sorrows, evading a bounty placed upon him by time.

Joel is ageing. Everyday, a new line appears on his face. Every year, a new ache burrows in his bones. But, if each moment he can feel your love in acts of kindness, and left-over meals, and sleepy limbs upon a shared mattress, it doesn’t feel as daunting. He wonders what awaits him in the afterlife, when he and Sarah reunite as he so hopes. He doesn’t doubt for a moment that she’d be proud of him for finding solace in a heart like yours.

“Tell me about her.” You plead to him something he’s spent years longing to do.

Without missing a beat, words flow easily and memories play on in his head, his precious daughter no longer blurry in a haze, but fully in focus, smiling wide at him with a mouthful of food.

“She loved pancakes.”

[manicrouge]

An Ode to Serelia

[𝟷𝟾+, 𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸] || Part Two

[𝙰𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎: 𝙶𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍!𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚡 𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚗!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛]

[𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍]: 01/01/24

[𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝]: Displeased is the siren who weeps, a sister stolen leading to her finding the man who helps her to her feet.

[𝙲𝚠]: blood, graphic violence, torture, gore, body horror, violence, character death, murder, loss of a parent, angst, mention of suicidal thoughts, smut, loss of virginity, creampie, inexperienced!reader, possessive!Simon

[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝]: 23,720

𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 If you're intrigued in the music I listened to writing, there's a link to the spotify playlist, enjoy !!

[𝙰/𝙽]: HIIII !! This is the story I mentioned the other day on my blog, it's here, it's written (hopefully to a decent standard) and it was a lot of fun to write and I hope you have fun reading it !! Also I did change up the appearences of sirens a little for the sake of being #unique and #different. Greek mythologies version would have been interesting, though I'm unsure how exactly a bird with the head of a woman would translate into a cod fanfiction so please forgive my creative liberties.

Also, there may be the possibility for a part two cause I have an idea if you would like that pls let me know!!

Comments are always appreciated, please let me know what you think... unless you think it's the worst thing you've ever read, then tell me, but in a nicer way pls, i.e. 'bless you, you tried' or 'hmmm, I've read better, good try though!'

(I'm very sensitive).

HAVE FUN!!

P.s. Rhymezone and me were besties while i was writing this. Also I figured out how to make the text tiny... I'm learning guys!!! And sorry for it being so long, tumblr was literally lagging near the end of writing this whoops.

Also!!! Share any request you have for me in my 'Ask me anything'!! I'd be happy to write more alt aus with different characters :))

Please don't post my work anywhere else without my permission !!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Illuminated in the night, entranced by the tide, the sailors always come to you, such a mistake they make, too little too late, for they can never ever run. Foolish mortal men, sinking into the watery depths of a sirens den, for a woman in the sea is never just a friend.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

In the dead of night, you awake to a glow. It's seemingly stretching out its arms, calling out to you.

The orange light bends and warps with the movement of the sea, the rolling waves and glaring light for the moon creating a mixture of light which creates a celestial shimmer on the scales on your tail, reflecting off of your black eyes as you turn your head up in its direction.

The muscle in your chest is pounding, muffled words running through your ears as you keep your eyes trained on the light pushing its way from the shore all to make its way to you.

A full moon is never a good thing, although, submerged in the depths of the sea, you find it difficult to make out the shape of the glowing orb in the sky.

Her light confirms your worst fear, though, your eyes struggle to make anything out.

Even at night, the coral surrounding your bed is sleeping, nature reserving its strength for another troublesome day of battling against the grubby hands of the legged folk who rule both land and sea with an iron fist.

'Don't go meddling with the folks of the land, my dear, for trouble is the only thing ye shall find.'

It's the lesson of your mother which courses through your mind, like a shock of adrenaline through the body, a dopamine which has your hands trembling while sitting in quiet contemplation.

Land folk are dangerous, maniacs who believe they can possess the land and all that walks upon it.

To own the world, you would have to be mother nature herself, even then, her presence is discounted for because one of the land folk has in abundance what she lacks: golden coins.

You're familiar with these things, these little circular items they carry on their being, sometimes in small leather pouches, recalling a few of them being in the pockets of silly sailors who though they had the right to the place you and your sisters called home.

During their time spent, they toyed with the land as though she herself can not feel, taking and taking, so much so, you feared your initial silence to their actions would have resulted in you being damned for an eternity.

They massacred most of the fish, took your food as though it was theirs to take, discounting the creatures in the surrounding water. Greedy were the city folk, both of these golden things and your food, so, you followed the rule your mother had introduced.

Holding you on her lap, she looked at you and your delicate little frame, placing her hand against the wound on your tail.

Blood drifted in the the water, swirling with the current of the water and you sniffled in your mothers lap.

How terrible the wound was, throbbing as she plucked seaweed from out of the ground, using it to cover the cut.

The wound had been the fault of the land folk; they mistook you for a fish you supposed, though your little mind really didn't care to stop and acknowledge the truth of what happened.

The hook they had caught your tail with sat beside your mother and as she picked it up, she held it before you, watching as your eyes grew wide, nearly bulging from out of your little head as you began to squirm on her lap. What a monstrous little thing that contraption was, causing such hurt when it was the size of seashell. Keeping it in your view, she shushed you, opening her mouth, showing you her pointed teeth as she cupped your face with her other hand.

'My poor Urchin,' she lamented, 'it can do no harm now; it's not in the hands of the city folk, it's in mine,' she soothed, yet, despite her words you found that your throat was clogged as you recalled the morphed faces of the men who had caught sight of you when you had been caught.

'Is it because we hurt the bad people that they're doing this to the ocean?' you quietly asked, choking out your words as the gills either side of your neck opened.

It felt as though the hook had been stuck in your throat, ripping the insides as you struggled to the words out while sitting on your mothers lap. 'Are we bad people, mama?'

'No dear, we protect the sea and do the job the Lord made for us, it is the folks on her back who are the bad people, we're submerged in her soul, you see, keeping her from harms way and the cruel games of the true beasts,' she firmly stated, 'we hide from the enemy, covered in the current of what gives life to take the lives of those who are much too greedy for this world,' she lectures, 'so you mustn't pity the land folk; if they stray too far from their home and into yours, it is your duty to keep them away.'

'Even if we hurt them?'

'A lesson taught, is a warning sent, my dear,' she sweetly said, 'for a thieves broken neck is easy to repent.'

You acted that day as your mother had intended all those years ago: cruel, brutal, and unforgiving.

By the time you had finished, the water surrounding you was branded with their blood.

You gasped and choked, spitting out chunks of sailor from out of your teeth, plucking chunks of their cotton shirt out of your mouth the remains of a fish bone; it was far too stuck for you to use your nails, no matter how sharp they are.

You cleaned your teeth, watching as the bodies with their organs descended to the bed of the ocean with their gold coins in your hands while their pockets were filled with stones.

It was payment for their crimes and in death, they paid you to keep their bodies down, away from their families, for, you thought of the children on the coast.

They very well may be human, but they are undeserving of seeing one of their own in such a way.

You felt little when as you watched them sink, and upon reflection, all you ever feel is remorse for your silence.

Had you acted sooner, well, you suppose it would have saved you a trip to the deeper part of the ocean when hunting for food.

In the midst of your exhaustion you find your thoughts again, realising in your moment of contemplation, the little light grew closer to the edge of the coast.

Placing your hands against rocks, you push yourself from out of your reserved mellow cove, cocking your head to the side as you reach your hand outwards toward an orange fleck of light which greets you with open arm.

Exiting the cave, a flurry of bubbles pour pass your lips as their chants grow louder, as though they too are underwater.

Your pointed ears twitch as you push forwards through the water.

Your eyes are heavy as you push through the water, growing closer and closer to the source of the light, the sudden shift in the brightness causing them to sting.

You keep your eyes on the mysterious glow, rubbing your face with your hand, the long nail on your pointer finger catching the edge of your lip. Hissing, you watch as a faint trail of rouge seeps from your mouth, pressing the tips of your finger into the wound. Still, your eyes are unmoving, much too interested in the glowing beyond on the water.

Then, you hear voices.

It's the voice of humans, their low grumbles, cheers and chants causing the water surrounding you to vibrate from their ferocious tongues.

'I found one papa!'

Shifting, you turn your head towards the surface.

Whatever they have found is not for their hands, you sure of that much, and your stomach grows weary.

Oh, what catastrophe are they going to muster tonight? What are they going to use for sacrifice?

Your throat begins to knot, its as though someone is pressing their hands around the gills on you neck as your mind races.

One by the ocean is one of your own. Who else would have landed up on the shore? But it can't be, no it mustn't be; they're smarter than that.

No one else is awake at this hour, you have the consciousness of only yourself and the land folk.

Why would an Urchin be so far out that the spliced fingers of man could get to her?

No, they're in their caves, keeping their ears out for the horn of a ship, or perhaps the merry song of a sailor.

As you break the surface of the water, the waves of the ocean brush against your head, rain pouring from out of the sky, The breeze against your skin rendering you breathless.

You're guilty of feeling a crude interest take hold of you as you peer towards the sure, before ultimately deciding to succumb to temptation, following through your curiosity in the hopes to find what has caused such a disturbance.

It's difficult to see, your eyes are trained for the sea, you have little experience on land and the light above is much harsher than the gentle streams beneath the surface.

As you push forward, keeping most of your body underwater, your ears are greeted with more howling.

Their's excitement seeping from off of their tongues, they're bemused with their discovery.

Perhaps it's one of their rituals; you've found, through the time you have been watching them, they're terribly fond of the sacrifice of their own. Their disregard for the very thing they grew from is disheartening, a reflection of their characters.

Their form of sacrifice is truly despicable, against the order of nature, but they do not care for their own. One could be starving at a table full of food, the very table they set, yet, forbidden from touching a single thing all because of another's self importance.

Yet, it is you and your kind who are the monsters.

It's at times like this you long for your mother.

But, with the rain battering the backs of the humans as they form a circle around their special find, you find both her absence and the shyness of the moon leaves crude goosebumps covering your body as you shift in the water.

'MONSTERS,' a silk tone calls as you grow closer and closer, yet, you are forced to stop; the tide is upset, the moon displeased at such a display of savagery.

The thing in your chest stops, your webbed hands forming fists as you crane your neck forward.

'Monsters you are! Let me go,' the voice cracks as more cheering ensues.

'Cover her mouth,' demands one, 'keep her from singing her murderous song; her voice is as sweet as honeysuckle and it is her barbed tongue which has taken our brothers from us, and we will not let it take us! This is for the men we have lost to the creatures of the sea!'

You watch as the waves grow stronger, the rain landing with a slosh against the sea.

It's difficult to keep yourself in one place, both the fire in your chest and the shoving formation of the water urging you to go forward. You know her tone, though it is shredded and brutal as she speaks, unlike the sweet songs you savour.

Serelia.

'No!' she screams, ripping her vocal cords as you see a webbed hand appear from the circle of bodies, blood dripping from down a wound you spy on her shoulder.

Gripping the sand on the shore, the waves from the water brushing against the tips of her fingers and you feel the crashing body of water forcing you forward.

'Please, we would do no harm if you did none to—'

Opening your mouth, you will a tune to escape you, to pull them away from her to give her time to return to her home. Only, your much too choked up as water floods your mouth, the foul weather proving to work in mans favour.

Pushing yourself further up, you open your mouth, letting out a ghastly wrench as a sudden flood of coldness fills your veins, pulling at your tongue, keeping it pressed against the bottom of your mouth. Your lips quiver from the temperature as you attempt to pry a tune from out of your clogged up mouth.

'I- Illuminated—' you swallow another mouthful of water.

Her hand disappears.

You watch as a hand grabs her wrist, hearing her squeal and scream.

The circle of bodies disperses as you see the ends of her tail held in the forearms of a man.

There's a fire in your eyes, a fire enough to leave the sea bloody as your scaled skin and blackened eyes catch a patch of red staining the sand.

The sea betrays you as it sweeps up, carrying away grains of the red sand as the land folk hold their torches up in celebration as blood drips down onto the sand, the ruined blue scales of your sister turning purple in the light of the moon with the mixture of blood which pours from her wounds.

You watch in horror, hands slapping against the water as you look towards the moon nestled in the sky, peering down at you.

In the light of Luna, you recall her face.

Her innocent little face, doe eyes, cheery grin, how her nose would crinkle at the slightest accusation whenever she had done something particularly troublesome. The colour of her tail, how she looked when she sat upon the rocks singing her merry songs for the passersby to listen to.

A gift for the men she was, a gift spoiled by their grubby, wretched hands.

A sister as such spoke with a silk tongue, cohesive, one of your most prized possessions. A chest of jewels from horrid humans simply never compared to the life of one of your own, nothing.

Not even their dastardly golden coins.

Your head grows light as you keep your eyes trained on the humans marching forward, the light from the sticks they carry in their hands growing weary in the distance as the wind grows stronger. It's all too much, the sight of one of your own, the knot in your throat keeps you from gulping down necessary gulps of air. You feel nauseous, an icy chill freezing the blood in your veins.

Sinking back to the depths, your hand is forced and you're kept away from the dreary sight as the current drags you back under.

In the warped complexion of the surface, you see the moon still staring at you and you bark out in fury, 'you backstabber,' you roar, 'I saw my mother in you and you have betrayed our own for keeping you safe,' you continue onwards in your fury, your face contorting as you point up towards the surface.

'She has done nothing, as innocent as an Urchin can be, and you take her? Why not me?'

The current grows displeased.

'We give our lives, all our lives... my mothers,' you heave, placing a hand against your chest, 'I know not the secrets of the land, I don't possess the means to go upon the surface, how- how do we get her back? Why? Why would you take her and not me?' you choke out.

She shifts in colour, you spy her eyes growing red as you look upwards at her. 'She does not deserve to be a part of their game, neither did my mother,' you cry, 'take me, I'm offering myself up, leave her—'

There's a pull in the current, the rolling waves above the surface plunging downwards with a spiralling head.

You meet the eye of the storm, bubbles escaping your mouth as you bring your hands to cover your face. It hooks you, pulling you into as a ton of water comes crashing down into the small pocket of air you have become trapped in.

The last thing you catch before you're senses are flooded with darkness is the red glint in Luna's eye before you descend into the abyss.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

It's with the crude calls of village folk that he leaves his post.

There have been some form of disturbance for the past couple of nights, and after the first ending him standing on the shore of the town, his eyes being battered with the wind and sea, he found he has little interest in part-taking in the games of the fools. Fortunately, as he raises from his post, peering from out the window, he hears a shift behind him.

His eyes are unmoved by the chaos beyond the warning, his lids only lifting when he catches a child rushing ahead of the crowd of people.

His words are lost in the hollers of the crowd, though, he bounces with such excitement, the type that can only be likened to when a child gets money for chocolate, or even a new toy.

Only, he's acting as though he has won the biggest and best chocolate bar, his little head bobbing as he bounds down the cobble streets, his hand wrapping firmly around an elder mans wrist, tugging him along eagerly.

From behind him, he hears the scrape of a chair and a weary sigh. 'Another call for me? Swear, they cause mischief in the dark they do,' he comments with a hearty chuckle.

Turning away from the window, the red glow from the fire on the end of their torches lights emits an orange light in the room, though, the man before him is covered as stray arms of light stretch beyond his bulky frame, merely able to catch even the side of the man with a mohawk's face.

'Has Price told y' what they're up to? It's been every fuckin' night for weeks straight,' he asks, tugging down the edge of his mask, tilting his neck either side, a crude snap emitting as he does so.

The man standing in front of him offers him a toothy grin, crossing his arms over his chest with a short nod. Muscles bulge against the white cotton clinging to his frame and he readies himself by undoing the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt, pushing the sleeves to the crease of his forearms.

'Apparently, they're lookin' for merfolk or somethin', y'know what Captains like, doesn't 'ave the time for stupid shit like this,' he explains, 'read too many fuckin' fairytales if y' ask me. Couple ships disappear off of the coast and they believe a fuckin' fish did it?' He breaks out into a spell of roaring laughter. 'They call 'em sirens.'

'Sirens?'

'Aye,' nods the slightly shorter man, rubbing the stubble on his face with his hand. 'Sirens,' he adds, 'lore men to their deaths with their songs they do, supposedly, prettier than any lass on the land... sounds like a story written by a man, eh? Beautiful bonnie's with a good throat on em', paradise if y' ask me,' he proceeds to laugh even harder at his own joke, kneeling over as he does so.

It takes a brief moment for him to realise the masked man standing before him is unmoved by his comments.

Awkwardly, he comes to a sudden stop as he peers up at the man, slowly adjusting his posture, using his hands against his knees to steady himself as he notes the red lights behind him have disappeared.

'Suppose I should go and fetch them back,' he quietly grumbles, 'keep an ear out though, won't ya, Ghostie? Needa make sure they don't try n' sacrifice me to the sirens!'

'Affirmative,' he says briefly, turning his attention away from him, listening to his footsteps against the floorboards as he tucks his gloved hands into his pockets. 'Johnny,' he calls out.

The footsteps stop.

'Doesn't count if I find out y' went into the water to find them yourself,' he warns, looking over as the man nods his head, 'I'll drag you back in and sacrifice y' myself.'

'Gonna take more to get rid of me than that, Lt,' he answers, pushing the door open, 'throw a pint of ale in the sea, an' maybe, just maybe you'd get what y' want,' he laughs, walking out of the door with his hand pressing on the handle of the sword sitting at his waist.

The taller man stands and watches as he disappears into the dead of night, shaking his head in his direction.

'Fuckin' hell,' he grumbles to himself before turning his attention back to the chair he'd perched himself upon, grabbing the dagger he had set down onto the table, grabbing the cloth sitting beside it before kicking his feet back up onto the table, watching as Johnny disappears past the window, heading towards the crowd of chaos.

Turning his attention back to the dagger, he eyes himself in the refection, noting the redness of his eyes before rubbing the cloth over its smudge surface. 'Lost their fuckin' mind, can never excuse shit in a reasonable,' he grumbles to himself, 'better chance of Price quitin' smoking than there is the chance of fuckin' sirens,' he continues on, lifting his head when the candle perched on his desk flickers.

'Bloody lunatics.'

As he sat in the silence of the station, he finds his mind wandering. It's unusual for his mind to ever really escape him, although, with the sight of that little boy jumping up and down in such a manner he finds it difficult to shake a niggling feeling which is poking and prodding at his temple.

His excitement was evident, that much was obvious the longer he focuses on the memory.

If such is the case, if there is truly something behind the little boys excitement, he's there, sitting on his ass, doing absolutely nothing while the man is left to deal with everything to come from whatever has been found. There's something different about the tone of the people, he sees it well.

Terror trickles in, one head at a time, passing by the window in a manic flurry.

At first, he doesn't notice, far too interested in the blade he'd pulled from the sheathe resting on his belt to see the chaos unfolding beyond the window of the station. Their words a muffled, and they seem distant as he eyes the popped blood vessels in the white of his eyes. Moving the metal closer to his masked face, he narrows his eyes, rubbing the cloth over the blade again.

The door bursts open, and while unnerved, outwardly he remains still, snapping his head around.

The man who had left no more than fifteen minutes ago is back, his face wind swept and pale as he heaves out heavy breaths, keeping his arm firmly against the door.

His white shirt is soaked through to the skin, the pinkness of his flesh peeking out from under the fabric, his calf high boots marked with wet sand, crunching as he steps a single foot into the Station, not daring to take one more.

It's easy to read his face, though he finds his brow creasing as he realises that the very look on his face is fear.

Immediately he stands up from his seat, the flame of the candle beside him flickering as he does so. Tossing the cloth onto the table, he sheathes his knife, grabbing his coat from off of the back of his chair, throwing it over his shoulders.

'What?' he asks, 'a fight break out or somethin'? Look like you've seen a ghost,' he breaths.

Johnny doesn't offer him a response for a moment, only looking up towards him with wide eyes, unable to pick his jaw up from off of the ground.

'Fucks sake, Johnny, what—'

'Siren,' he says quietly.

It's difficult to catch what he says with the rain hitting the window and street beyond the office. His lips curve into a crooked smile beneath his mask as he shakes his head.

Sirens? Is he fucking stupid?

The expression on his face doesn't change, even when he hears the small laugh escaping the confines of his mask.

'A lass was on the shore n' she has a fuckin' tail!' he exclaims, pushing himself up after catching his breath, 'tail blue as the sea, eyes black as the void... they bloody exist.'

'And where is she now? She go back into the water to swim off with her friends, hm?' he asks, 'ride away on the back of a horse with a horn on its forehead and wings too?' he scoffs, shrugging his jacket off, only for a hand to reach out, grabbing his forearm.

'Still on the beach.'

'The beach?'

'Aye.' he says, 'ran as fast as I could, woke Price 'n Kyle up, 'told them they had to get to the beach quick. If they keep hold of her, they're gonna kill her- she's a bloody mess, cryin' and screamin'.'

He pinches himself to make sure he's still awake while staring at the soaked man. In no way can he find a single thought in his mind at this moment to make anything make sense.

In fact, he feels a prickling heat flooding his flesh the longer he stands and processes what has just been relayed to him.

They're real, they're real and they have found one.

Despite the implications, it's difficult for him to miss the worry in his tone, and while what they deem to be a monster has just appeared off the coast of Lakekeep, he's still worrying about its safety.

'We have to go, they're gonna kill 'er, Ghost.'

Fixing his coat, he looks down at the dagger resting at his hip, giving a short nod as the man lets go of his arm.

'Price and Gaz followin' along?' he asks.

'Aye, didn't believe me at first,' confesses the man with a short laugh, 'still can't believe it meself and I've seen it with my own eyes,' he says, stepping back out into the rain.

Ghost follows after him, slamming the door of the Station shut as the head down the cobbled path, their boots splashing in the puddles forming in the tight streets as the rain hits the ground harder.

Their chants carry through the village, washing over the usual silence like a tidal wave, flooding his senses with cries and pleads.

As they edge closer, he can hardly believe it as a woman's voice bellows out, 'MONSTERS!'

It's brittle and broken the way she cries, and oddly, he feels that the voice tugs at his heartstrings.

'Mustn't listen to her speak, Lt,' he says, 'what they said is true, apparently the boy found her on the shore and when he approached her, he heard her hummin' a tune- said it had him in a trance,' Johnny says, looking to him.

'Monsters you are! Let me go!'

Stepping down off of the stone steps, the pair of the pursued the scene, hearing stray voices fall from out of the crowd, demanding that her mouth be covered in order for them to fulfil some form of revenge. Watching on, he catches the appearance of a bloody webbed hand poking out from the crowd, landing against the shore with a wet slap.

It's as though she's reaching out for something.

Following the line of her forearm, he watches as the sea climbs up the shore, touching the tips of her fingers as she continues to scream and cry.

Moving his attention from off of the beach, he looks to the water, eyeing the crashing waves as the wind sweeps the fabric of his long black coat to the side. The water is restless, and with the rain pouring from the black sky, it's difficult to make much out that isn't just raging water.

Although, in the glow of the torches which whip and wind in the wind, the light covers a fair distance beyond land, and he spots something in the water. In the darkness, it's difficult to make out more than a silhouette of what appears to be a human head. Only, after another crashing wave, he catches sight of pointed ears either side of the head.

Something is watching them, yet no one sees it.

'No!'

The scream from the centre of the crowd rips him out from his trance as he turns his head, following after Johnny.

'Please, we would do no harm if you did none to us. Please, let me go!' she screams with all her might, her voice piercing to the ears of everyone in the surrounding area.

The crowd dips as they shift, covering their ears with a harsh wince.

Finally, she's unveiled to him.

A gash in her head is pouring blood down her bare breasts as she fights and writhes against the hold of the hold of the men who keep her captive. Her ginger hair is matted and covered with the blood and sand, as is the rest of her body.

The slits on the side of her neck, similar to the ones on a fishes body open and close as she lets out muffled cries.

His eyes trail further down her battered body, the sight of a blue tail stained with blood greeting his gaze. In the light, it appears almost purple as the blood mixes with the shimmer of her scales.

Screwing her eyes shut, she fights with all the fury in her being, and as he watches her, he feels the same heat he felt at the station creeping back onto him, and despite the harshness of the weather, the warmth beaming from his skin is enough to keep him from shivering.

'Alright, move out of the fuckin' way!'

It's the voice of his Captain bursting through the chaos of the surrounding area.

Turning to look over his shoulders, he catches sight of Price and Gaz walking down the beach, and with ease, Price holds his hands up, his words catching the attention of the the booming crowd.

Silence falls upon them, the sirens cries mixing with the crashing sound of the ocean. The man moves past both himself and Johnny, Gaz standing between the pair of them as he parts the crowd with an astonishing ease.

The gasp that passes his lips when making it to the centre is enough to make even his blood run cold.

There's a moment of silence, the sound of the torches whipping against the wind as he keeps his eyes trained on the back of his Captains head.

Clearly, the cogs are turning, expecting what Johnny had told him to be that of a stupid joke, only, it isn't.

It's real and it's squirming around on the ground, staring Price right in the eyes.

'She's a murderer!' a voice shouts from the crowd, 'her and her people, she said it herself,' the continue on, fury carrying their tone past the cries of the woman on the ground.

Price continues to look at her, and as he looks over his shoulder, catching his eye, he turns back to the woman on the ground.

'Take her in,' he says with a firm nod, 'we'll put her in a cell in the Station for now, figure out what to do with her later,' he continues, looking at the two men who held her arms, 'carry her back to the Station,' he rules, resting his hands on his hips as he observes all the other faces in the crowd, 'as for the rest of y', funs over for tonight, get back home,' he demands.

'We'll take it from here. '

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

You awake with a brittle moan.

Your mouth is full of send, a dull ache radiating from your chin as your forehead creases when you look ahead of yourself. You teeth bite down on the sand in your mouth, a disgusting crunch causing you to wince.

Memories are stubborn, not wanting to come back to you, only allowing you to recall the sight of blood on the beach and the crashing waves around you.

With a grunt, you attempt to push yourself up off of the ground, a grunt escaping you as your breasts push against the sand. Tearing your eyes from off of the beach in front of you, you shiver as you feel the water wash up, brushing against your limbs.

Looking to your hands, a startled gasp escapes you as you hold one out in front of your face. No longer are they webbed, no, instead, your fingers are separated. Curling your hand around the dark sand before you, you clench it in your fists, watching as it poured past it. Your hips ache as you shift, placing your cheek back against the sand.

Your head is spinning, you can't think of a single thing aside from the fact that your mouth is dry, horrifically dry.

You muster up what little spit you can, expelling grains of sand as the spit clings the your bottom lip, dribbling down the side of your mouth.

The water moves further up, and as you go to move your tail, you're startled by the sound of footsteps on the beach beside you, only, you're too tired to even check who it is.

I've failed as a sister, so if I must go out like this, then I will.

'Ma'am! Oh fuck, ma'am, are you okay?'

The tone is light, different to what you expected to hear counting you have washed up onto the very same coast you had seen Serelia on the night before... if it was even the same day as her disappearance, that is.

The sand crunches beside you as a shadow looms over you, keeping you from the brutal beams of the sun, a hand pressing against your shoulder.

Picking your head up, you muster out a pained whimper as you look at the man in front of you. Concern is etched on his brow as he stares down at you, shrugging off a piece of clothing, resting it against your shoulders.

Your eyes are narrow as you keep your eyes trained on him, unable to look anywhere else as he carefully places his hand against your cheek.

'Can you tell me your name?' he gently asks.

You swallow hard, your chapped and cracked lips pressing together.

Your eyes grow heavy.

You hear another curse under his breath as exhaustion rattles your body. Your head falls heavy and his hold on you slips away, gently placing your head back against the ground. You hope he leaves you be, allows the sea to swallow you whole so you can be with your own once again.

Two firm hands press against your shoulders, gently guiding so you're lying on your back.

His shadow keeps the sun from you once again as he scoops you up into his arms, keeping a firm grip around your shoulders and tail. his hand slips slightly as he uses his jacket to cover your breasts, and you shift when you feel his hand move lower, being extra cautious to cover up your tail.

His breathing is rough as he rushes up the beach with you in his arms, every step causing you to shift or hiss.

'Sorry, love,' he softly apologises, pulling you closer. You note how his pace slows upon him noticing the pain he's causing you by running, 'do you know where we are?' he asks, looking down at you.

Cracking your eyes open, the back of your neck burns as you attempt to look back at him. Poking your tongue past your lips, sand scrapes against the back of your throat as you open your mouth, all for a hoarse croak to escape your lips.

'Have to get you somethin' to drink,' he says firmly, 'you're okay now, love, I promise,' he reassures, pulling you closer to him.

You muster up a short 'hm', resting your head against his chest, listening to the little muscle in it thumping as he heads up the stairs, taking your further away from the beach.

The pair of you remain in silence and you hear the passing giggles and whispers of passersby as he keeps you against him.

You're unsure of what they're saying, though you're sure they're most likely laughing at your tail.

It's surprising hearing such a humorous reaction from them, figuring they would respond in a similar manner to how they did when you had heard Serelia screaming on the shore.

Mustering up a grunt, you flinch as your body is lightly pressed into a door. It squeals as it opens, and the very first thing you hear is a booming voice. It causes the dull ache in your head to worsen as you flinch.

'Am tellin' ye, it's straight out of a fuckin' fairytale it is,' booms the voice, 'can y'—'

There's silence.

Your eyes crack open as you observe the room you're in.

It's different to home, there's a rich smell, similar to the smoke from the lights on the beach.

'Found her on the beach,' confesses the man holding you, 'Johnny, go get some water, please,' he asks, 'she's got a mouthful of sand, she can hardly speak.'

There's a short answer, you can't quite hear it, as he moves you further into the room, setting you down.

Your damp hair hits the plush fabric of a pillow and something is pulled over your body. It's light, harmless.

'Where was she?' asks an unfamiliar voice. It's low, his accent is thick and as you turn your head to the side, you note the man has a thick brown beard, his hair quite short. Stepping towards you, he rests his large hand on your forehead. 'She's burning up.'

'She was near the same spot as last night where that... siren was,' he says.

It's as though life is breathed into you as you quickly sit up, ignoring the dizziness wrecking your mind. The man quickly pulls his hand from off of your forehead, moving it to your shoulder. 'Calm down, love,' he gently instructs, looking to the man standing beside you, 'you reckon she was attacked by it?'

'Could have been; she seems shaken,' he confirms.

Confusion hits you as you lift your tail, only to find that is has vanished.

As you lift your legs, a distraught gasp escapes you as you catch sight of legs.

Two legs- the same as the three men in the room have.

Quickly, you slap your hands to the side of your ears, your chest heaving as you realise your ears have shrunk, resembling that of the legged folk. Everything seems to come tumbling down in front of you, your head pounding as your eyes begin to sting.

'Hey, hey, you're fine,' hushes the man who found you on the beach. The door opens again and a cup of water is handed to him. Taking a seat beside on the bed beside you, he brings to the cup to your mouth. 'Have a drink,' he instructs.

You want to tell him no, to demand to know what they have done to her, yet, you know you can't do anything until you have something to drink.

So, you press your dry lips against the rim of the cup, allowing him to pour it into your mouth. The feeling is euphoric, unlike any sensation you've ever dreamt of, and you eagerly swallow down mouthful after mouthful of water, taking the cup in your own hands.

You're aware of the eyes on you, but you don't care, drinking from the cup until it is empty. With heaving breaths, your wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, keeping tight hold of the cup.

A hand settles against your knee, and as you look back up, the man who was sitting in the corner is now standing behind the two closest to the bed. You note the man who brought you water has an odd haircut, while the much taller man's face is completely covered aside from his eyes.

It's strange, the fabric of a thick hood pulled over is head, his eyes peering through the holes of a skull.

Is that real?

'Sorry, sweetheart, I didn't mean to upset you,' says the brown-haired man, squeezing your bare shoulder.

You look at him with your lips pressed together, bringing the cup closer to you as you swallow hard.

Despite his caring words, you find yourself unable to open your mouth- unable to trust him. He's going to hurt you if he finds out what you are, then what? You're forever bound to their land?

'What's the last thing you can remember before you washed up on shore?' he asks.

You look at him with beady eyes, and the man with his hand on your knee pats you gently, 'you're safe here, we're not gonna hurt you,' he reassures. 'You seemed panicked when we mentioned the mermaid, does it have something to do with her- or more of them?'

Your mind is racing trying to piece together a narrative.

Confirmation that she was the thing that put you in such danger will surely be a death sentence- if she isn't already dead. Living with that on your consciousness is a horrid thought to even think of, so, you distance yourself away from creating an accusation, though you find yourself in trouble as you realise how you reacted to the mention of her.

Essentially, you've acted on impulse and no matter the response, you're unsure if it's going to suffice.

'I- I...' you begin, your throat burning as you bring your hand up to clasp it, 'I was on a ship,' you answer, 'I remember it in water- b- but then there was a storm,' you explain, your voice choppy and broken as you rub your hand up and down your throat finding that even your gills have disappeared. 'The siren,' you begin, clearing your throat, 'she tried to help me.'

'Help you?' mutters the one with a strange haircut. 'How'd she do that, lass?'

'I- I was stuck,' you say, 'I couldn't get out an' she tried to, uh, pull me out,' you explain, 'but she got hurt- it might not even be the same one but... there was one, a good one,' you explain, gulping hard as the masked man standing beside the man with his hand on your shoulder shifts on his feet, his eyes burning into your flesh, the sunken eyes behind the skill mask leaving goosebumps on your flesh.

He's harsher than last nights current.

Keeping your eyes trained on the man, you observe him as he peers down at you, his built frame making you feel small. Most definitely, you do not want to get on his bad side; he could probably crush you with one hand.

'Couldn't have been the same mermaid,' he answers, his tone causing your chest to almost rattle, 'took an entire night for you to even wash up here, you wouldn't have survived if it was her,' he notes, the others around you shaking their heads in a collective agreement.

Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears, you feel blood coursing through your veins as you look up at him with teary eyes.

Your bottom lip protrudes as water begins to pour from your eyes. It's unlike anything you've ever felt, and, despite your burning eyes, you find the sensation oddly relieving.

You throat grows tight as you sharply inhale, allowing the cup to rest against the covers as you press the tips of your fingers into your cheeks.

A hiccup escapes your lips as your mouth trembles, all the misery of being lost and having lost escaping you in a cathartic sob that causes your entire body to shake.

'I- I don't know where I am, I- I'm scared,' you confess as more water clings to your eyelashes in little droplets, clinging on, only for their grip to fall loose as you blink, releasing more fresh streams onto your flesh.

Releasing a hand off of your shoulder, the man stationed beside you looks to the man who has his hand on you knee, 'you think you can go and get her some clothes? Poor things on show for the entire village to see,' he says. The man purses his lips for a moment, 'she's gotta have something that she doesn't want.'

'Has so many fuckin' dresses she won't even notice one has gone missing,' he says, standing up from off of the bed, 'I'll go and try and find something, as long as I don't take her cyan one I don't think she'll be too bothered,' he shrugs, 'keep an eye on her for me, won't you?' he asks, looking at the three.

The man with the peculiar haircut places his hand against his shoulder, patting it, 'she's in the best hands of the entire village,' he reassures, 'go an' find the lass some clothes, Gaz, we'll kep 'er safe,' he promises.

Gaz. What an odd name.

The rest of their conversation is lost on you as you're far too caught up in the tightness in your chest and the sounds of the screams you heard on the beach the night before to even think about anything else.

Only, when the door shuts, you startle at the sound of the slam, snapping your head up.

'MacTavish, I need you on patrol today,' says the brown-haired man. The disappointment on his face is notable as his eyebrows curl, 'everyone's on edge with the entire mermaid incident, the last thing I need I people trying to cause more trouble or almost drownin' going to find one of their own,' he says, 'speaking 'f which, need to go and check on her myself, make sure the head wound isn't goin' green,' he huffs, turning to the masked man standing behind him. 'Keep an eye out on her,' he states, turning his attention back to you.

Inwardly, you breathe a sigh of relief, allowing yourself to bathe in your emotion as you come to terms with the fact that she's alive.

Your eyes meet with his, your heart burning at the sight of pity burning in his gaze.

If things were any different, you very well would have wiped the soft smile off of his face, but you look at your options and his uniform, likening it to one your mother had described to you in the past.

'They like to think they have control, dress up in clothes just to make the isolation of their species more capable,' she explained while sitting in upon one a rock. You accompanied her, looking at her. She had such knowledge of the world beyond the water that you were simply awestruck with every story she told you. 'Fabric makes people listen, they're scared of the people with the golden buttons and sharp metal swords.'

'If you need anything, ask him and he'll get it for you,' he asks, looking over his shoulder at the man.

His tone grows harsher upon the mention of him doing his duty, your eyes falling to the man.

'Won't you, Ghost?

The masked man grabs the chair he was sitting on when you first entered the room, moving it as the brown-haired man and MacTavish move in the direction of the door. The chair settles at the side of your bed, as the pair move towards the door.

'Affirmative,' he grunts, taking a seat beside you while the two leave the Station, leaving you alone with the masked man called Ghost.

You look at him briefly, swallowing hard.

It's difficult to sit in silence, your stammering breath a reminder of all you've lost.

Beady eyes look at the masked man as you attempt to choke up the courage to say something to him. Despite sitting, his frame is much bigger than anyone else's you have ever seen, and as he leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, you flinch.

'Where's the mermaid?' you ask.

You watch his eyes scan the area surrounding you.

The fabric of his black mask moves as he sucks in a breath, 'can't say,' he confesses, 'confidential; unsure if anyone is listening out to try an' find her. If word gets out where she is, she'd be dead by tonight- if not sooner,' he explains.

'Why do they want her dead? Has she done something to you?'

You want to scream.

The man beside you is short with his responses, speaking of her as though he understands the whole picture, when in reality, their confinement of her is a crime punishable by death.

'She said somethin' she should've have,' he answers simply.

His words drag against his throat as he speaks to you.

'Oh,' you muster, resting your back against the wall behind you.

'Where were you goin'?' he asks.

You raise an eyebrow in his direction, tilting your head as you attempt to process what exactly he means by his statement.

'You said you were on a boat and you were rescued by one of the sirens,' he reminds you, your face flushing with colour as you realise you have already forgotten the tale you were twisting.

'I was with my sister,' you say, 'the memory is quite fuzzy,' you confess, knowing your knowledge of the surrounding land is limited to a map of the sea, not what is beyond it. 'It was for one of her trips, she was travelling to see her husband and then the storm hit.'

'The sea isn't too fond of forgiveness,' he remarks.

'Neither is the land,' you say, falling back into the security of the covers over you, allowing your back to slip from off of the wall, lying down.

Pushing himself up, he looks down at you, mustering a small hug as you sleeping exhale.

All the emotion and crying has your eyes drooping, disregarding your conversation. The man doesn't judge you for that, however, as you watch him looking over you with gentle eyes behind the mask.

'Get some sleep,' he says.

You expect him to say more to that, yet, instead, he pulls his chair from beside you, moving to it back to the corner he was sitting in before.

You keep your eyes on his broad back, watching as he sits down, kicking his feet up on to the desk, keeping his eyes out of the window.

Your eyes stay there as you drift off to sleep.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

When the door eventually bursts open, he's quick to send his eyes in the direction of Gaz as he walks through it with a bundle of garments. His mouth is open as he goes to speak, only to quickly shut his mouth when he is eyes falls to you, sleeping in the cot.

Holding the handle of the door, he pushes it shut so the lock clicks as quietly as possible, even going as far as to wince while doing so.

'I managed to find some clothes for her,' he says, 'not sure if I'm going to be a single man when she gets home, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.'

Setting the clothes down on the desk, Ghost stands up, picking the green cotton frock up from off of the table holding it out.

'I've never seen her in it,' Kyle says, 'don't even think she remembers having the thing, so she can't be upset about it if she completely forgot it existed, right?'

'Affirmative,' Ghost responds, 'wouldn't be too sure about it, though. She has an eye for the strangest things,' he warns, to which he laughs.

'You're right with that,' he says, 'I saw the Captain while I was out, he was comin' back from checking on the siren, told me to ask you if you're alright taking the girl in until she can remember what day it is; we can't leave her alone.'

He feels his chest tighten as he looks to you, seeing you peaceful sleep as you turn under the covers, your bare arm over your covered torso. 'You're the only one without someone... not too sure how—'

'I'll do it,' he says keeping his eyes trained on you.

Kyle looks at him with wide eyes.

'Well, she has no money does she? Not like an inn keeper is gonna give up a room for her, and I don't want to pay out of pocket to house her when she can just stay at my place.'

The man in front of him grins brightly.

'She'll hardly be any trouble, I'm sure of it,' he reassures, leaning against the desk, 'did she say anything else to you after I left?'

'She was with her sister on a ship heading somewhere to meet her sisters husband and that's then a storm hit and the ship was swallowed by the sea,' he says, 'she didn't say much, too out of it to really make much sense of the world around her.'

'Poor thing,' Gaz sighs, looking at Ghost, 'be nice to her, hey?'

'Wasn't planning on bein' cruel to her.'

'Good, good,' Kyle nods, 'Price told me to tell you that y' can have the rest of the day off if you get her out of the station, by the way. Take her home, get her something proper to eat and see if she wants to talk about it- he's sending something out to other villages to see if they have anyone who fits her description.'

'Doubt there'll be any news back for a while,' he says, approaching you, 'they don't care much for their own.'

His hand rests upon your shoulder and you grunt.

'I'll leave you to it,' Gaz calls from behind Ghost, 'gonna go and try and catch up with Johnny on patrols, doubt my lady would be too pleased with seein' another girl naked,' he chuckles, heading towards the door.

Waiting until the door is closed, Ghost proceeds to crouch down in front of you, rough hand nudging you again.

Your eyes crack open, a startled gasp escaping as you're greeted with the sight of his bone mask right in front of your face.

He feels you tense in his hands.

'Didn't mean to scare you,' he says, 'got you some clothes to keep people from starin' at you love, and then you're coming back to my place,' he explains.

His voice is softer than the tone he held with you prior and you swallow hard.

'Your place,' you croak, your face burning red from the sudden scare from your sleep.

'Yeah; until you're back on your feet and until that head of yours start workin' you're gonna have to stay here,' he explains, 'Price has sent messages out to local villages, see if any family members pick it up.'

Your face falters.

You're going to be here a while.

'Gaz got you some clothes,' he says, motioning over to the table.

Pushing yourself up, you manage to move your legs so your feet are planted against the floor. Ghost averts his eyes away from you, turning away. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you look at the ground at your feet.

Surely it's not that difficult.

Pushing your self up off of the bed, you take a short breath, your legs wobbling as you land back onto the bed.

Despite being gifted the ability of legs, you find it quite pointless that you cannot use them. The water is much easier to navigate than the land is, that much you're sure of.

Looking up at the man in front of you, you let out a small breath.

'Can you help me?' you ask.

He doesn't bother saying anything to you, simply walking over to the table with the dress on it, it's an ugly green colour and you catch yourself grimacing at the fabric. Though, as soon as his eyes are on you, the sneer on your face fades away.

He's rough in the way he pulls the dress over your head, though you manage to get your arms through the sleeves with ease. It's an odd feeling, feeling the fabric against your skin, the elastic cuffs of the sleeves clinging to your arms.

Helping you to your feet, you stagger forward, your face growing red as you grab his arms for some form of support. Yet, he doesn't move, he doesn't even flinch, busying himself with pulling the skirt down, it stopping mid-thigh.

Your legs tremble as you wince, you grip growing tighter on him as you fight to stay on your feet.

'Guess I haven't quite found my footing after the accident,' you awkwardly laugh, wishing to be relieved of this torture.

Your face is beat red as you continue to curse the moon for putting you in such a position, cursing the your words during that night.

Leading you back down onto the bed, you're quick to let go of his arms as he looks at you. He knows you're not going to be able to walk to his house, and he fights off the urge to huff.

There's something so simple yet so difficult about the task... he's a fucking lieutenant in the village guard and he's been put on babysitting duties.

Be nice to her, hey?

Kyle's voice is like a dagger through his skull, and even though you can't see his face under the mask, he musters up a tight-lipped smile, swallowing all his pride for himself and his position.

'I'll carry you.'

Neither of you are happy about this, though a tight-lipped smile of your own appears on your face.

'Great... thanks.'

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

His home is humble, quaint, tucked away in a quiet pocket of town.

Pushing open the door, he tilts his head towards the entrance of the house. With uneasy feet, you wobble as you take a step up into his house, his hand grabbing your forearm when you nearly loose balance.

During the course of your travels, you had fought against him, insisting after catching people staring at you for him to put you down and let you walk freely.

At first, he doesn't listen, keeping his eyes trained on the path in front of him, though, fortunately, he relented after you started to squirm in his arms.

It was difficult at first, but you got the hang of it... as long as his arm was around your waist.

It finds its way back around your waist for a short moment as he helps you up the steps.

'Careful,' he utters.

'Thanks,' you respond, holding the sides of the doorframes as you walk into the living room.

It's a quaint and simple little space, although, your cove is much better than this place. Yet, you suppose you cannot be picky while undercover, his hospitality rendering you speechless.

The mystery of the red moon and her tide is still very much fresh and new, you know you must not do something to compromise your safety or your chances of finding Serelia.

Even if it is resulting in you finding shelter in a man with a skull masks home.

Pulling his hood from off of his head head, he shrugged his cloak from off of his shoulders, hanging it up on a wooden stand placed beside the door.

You stand and watch, your arms pressed to your side, still trying to understand how exactly humans manage to stand so straight on their legs.

He turns to look at you, you see his eyes shift under his mask, 'it's not much, and you're going to have to be okay with sleeping on the couch.'

'Much more than what I have right now,' you respond with a soft smile on your face.

'Thank you, Ghost,' you say

'Of course,' he says with a short nod, 'you can help yourself to whatever you want, all I ask from you is to keep out of my room.'

'I can do that,' you reassure, nodding your head.

He doubts you'll even be able to climb the stairs as he can only liken the way you're walking to that of a baby deer learning how to walk for the first time.

He can't complain however; it's entertaining to watch you, and he does so as you make your way over to your new bed, holding your arms out either side to balance yourself before toppling onto the couch with a large exhale.

Sometimes his limited compassion still manages to get him into terrible situations, and as he looks at you, he can't help but worry about what he has gotten himself in for.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

After spending some necessary time in his home, you eventually find your feet... both literally and figuratively.

It's difficult for you to stay confined to the four walls of his house, granted, you don't really do much and find joy during your first day there reading through an old shabby collection of books on his shelf.

There's nothing interesting, and you're unsure as to whether or not he himself has read any of them as when you open one, you sneeze from the amount of dust covering it.

It's a fun past time you find, especially during the few attempts of being more steady on your feet. The moon must have heard your complaints as, during the second day, you're nearly unstoppable, aside from the burning in your calves each time you take a step forward.

By the third day, you're almost sprinting out of the house into the village.

It's difficult to adjust to first.

The land is unknown to you, yet, you don't threat.

Instead, you search the village high and low, walking into every store, listening to every conversation of the locals in the village. You feel your skin crawl whenever you hear their laughter, though, it's as though talk of the siren has disappeared completely.

From spending time reading in the library to simply perusing the streets, you're wounded by the lack of information.

Why isn't anyone talking about her? Surely they know where she is; humans hate us and they'll want us gone for the issues we've caused.

The question follows you for a while, only stopping when you see the door open during your fifth night of staying inside Ghost's home.

He appears tired and as his hand moves to his cloak, he quickly stops himself from pulling it down when he sees you in front of him.

It's an odd thing, you've observed him over the past few days, and not once has he shown his face.

Still, you don't care for his habits as you open your mouth over dinner after swallowing a mouthful of food. Your hands is grabbing for the water next to your plate as you state, 'how come no one in town is mentioning the siren anymore?'

He looks at you, chewing under his mask which he holds up after each bite. 'Price has made it a rule,' he states, 'Lords out of town right now on business, until he comes back, we have to hold her per his request,' he explains, 'we've gotta keep her safe and if anyone is heard discussin' her, he's treating it as though it's treason.'

You offer a short nod, going back to eating your food.

'Why?' he eventually asks.

'I just thought, with something as big as this discovery, it would be the talk of the town for years,' you say, 'I thought it was strange, that's all.'

The look he gives you makes you think that he doesn't quite believe what you're saying to him, though, he doesn't press on the matter, going back to eating his dinner.

It's strange to spend time with a human, especially living with them.

He doesn't speak much, only really talking to you at dinner time or greeting you after returning from his shifts around the village to make sure everything is in check.

'You can take the mask off, you know,' you say, observing his discomfort, 'your identity doesn't make a difference to me, besides... this is your home,' you say softy.

Truthfully, the mask is just as much as an annoyance to him as it is to you.

Surprisingly, he listens to your words, pulling the mask tied around the back of his head off of his face allowing you to see his mouth.

Really, he does even know why he committed so long to wearing the stupid thing, growing especially frustrated as dinner grew to be more of a chore than something of enjoyment.

Old habits die hard, he supposes, and the habit of wearing around you died that night thanks to your comment.

While eating, he attempts to ignore your eyes on him, though he is far too aware that you're staring at him, not missing the way your cheeks have a light tinge of red to them.

Grinning to himself, he shakes his head at a crude thought that suddenly pops into his mind, narrowing his eyes as he lifts his head to look at you.

You drop your head immediately, focusing much more on your food than on him, though your embarrassment is difficult to miss.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Simon seems warmer to you after you've been at his house for a little longer. The longer time passes by, the more trips you're taking to the ocean.

It started with one in the early morning, although, you find yourself walking there at the beginning of every day all to talk to the waves, hoping you'll see the familiar face of one of your sisters in the water. Yet, you don't.

Part of you is happy with this fact, not wanting them to see you in such a state wearing the ugly green frock, the only thing you own aside from a pair of sandals which Ghost brought with him upon returning from a shift.

On occasion, you bump into one of the men you saw when you first stop at the station. You learn that MacTavish's name is actually Johnny, and Gaz, the man who found you on the beach, is named Kyle.

They stop to talk to you for a while, sometimes walking with you to the beach where they speak with you.

Nothing interesting really comes from the conversations until, a month into your stay in the village, Johnny blabbers a little too much.

'He enjoys your company, bonnie,' he confesses after complimenting your new pink dress Simon bought you, 'was telling me that he's enjoying giving you little gifts and having you with him for dinner. I'm tellin' you, he like you more than you think.'

'How can he like me when I don't do anything but steal his food and sleep on his couch?'

'Couldn't tell ya, lass, strange man is our Simon.'

You hold your breath.

'Simon?' you ask slowly, a smile creeping on your face.

He slaps a hand over his mouth, his face growing red.

'His names Simon?' you ask, craning your neck forward to look at the blushing mans face.

'Forget I said anything,' he demands, rubbing his face with his hand. 'Please,' he almost begs. 'What I mean to say, lass, is that he does like you, and if you haven't thought of doing something for him, maybe consider it.'

His words follow you into the nighttime as you're helping Simon cook.

It's been something you've been doing for a while, intrigue taking you down the strangest path.

'My mum used to make this soup,' he explains, 'the recipe for it is somewhere, I don't know where it's gone though. It was great for nights like there.'

You hear a bell chime in your ears, thinking back to Johnny's words. Simon doesn't miss the smile on your face.

'What? What did I say?'

'Nothing, Sim-'

You freeze.

The pair of you stare at each other.

'Ghost, I mean Ghost!' you exclaim, holding your hands up, realising that you have most definitely gotten poor Johnny in a hell of a lot of trouble.

'Johnny told you didn't he?'

'He slipped up while he was talking to me today, he didn't mean it and I'm sorry if-'

'Say my name,' he cuts you off quickly and your eyebrows furrow.

'Simon?'

He grins to himself, turning his head away acting as though you have just done him the greatest act of service. 'I like how it sounds when you say it,' he says, going back to chopping up the vegetables, 'much better than Ghost.'

Redness spreads to your cheeks as you admire the look of joy on his face, finding that you want to do that more in order to see that look on his face.

So, as you're eating dinner that night, and even when you're lying on the sofa, you scheme like a criminal.

You toss and turn before you eventually get up and begin your search. Holding a lit candle, your eyes scan through his shelves looking high and low.

You spend what must be hours flicking through books, moving things, looking under the sofa, attempting to squint your eyes to look through floorboard before you find it tucked between the countertop and stove in the kitchen.

Only then can you rest easy, your eyes closing as you think about the mission you have got to complete tomorrow.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Walking through the bustling village main street, you listen to the bright tunes of the surrounding marketplaces, small stalls on either corner of the street, pushing everyone on the main road closer together.

You brush shoulders with a few people, keeping your arms out in front of you as you walk with a basket in front of you, the gold coins Simon has given you per your request rattling in your other hand.

It's rare you're outside as you spend most of your times in the library or back at Simon's home. Though nothing is going to stop you from making Simon the soup he mentioned last night.

Your heart flutters at the thought of how much he has done for you, and as a form of a thank you, you're going through the crumpled up recipe you stole from out of his kitchen, going to different stalls to get the things you need for the recipe.

The trip renders you exhausted, and by the time you're back at his house, you're fighting against sleep as you chop up the vegetable, putting them into the pot. You're unsure if you're doing it right, although, the longer you leave it to simmer, the more it takes the shape of something edible... you suppose.

You keep it on the stove until you hear the door open, and whether or not it tastes good, you're fine enough with the delightful smell that is exuding from the pot on the stove, looking in the direction of the door as it opens and Simon steps into the room.

'You're back,' you cheer, dropping the wooden spoon in the pot, approaching him.

The door shuts and he pulls his takes his hat from off of his head, pulling off his mask.

A crooked smile greets your eyes.

'What's all this?' he asks, his arms resting on your shoulders. It's common now, him touching you, and you sink into his hold on you with a sigh.

'Well, I thought you'd appreciate me making dinner for you,' you say sweetly, grabbing his hands, pulling him through into the kitchen, motioning to the table set. 'Also, you mentioned the old recipe your mum used to make for you, so, I thought I'd try my hand at it, see if I'm a good cook or not.'

He lets out a small ‘hm' as he grabs two bowls from out of the cupboards, placing them down on the countertop beside the stove. His hand hand is touching the small of your back as he grabs hold of the wooden spoon you left in the pot, tugging down the black mask covering his nose and mouth.

You watch, holding your breath as you await his reaction.

'Is it terrible?' you quietly as, looking on his face for any form of reaction, yet, he's unmoved. 'We can get something else to eat if it's really terrible,' you offer, pushing down the cuticles on your nails as you keep your eyes on him.

Setting the spoon back into the pot, he exhales. 'Needs a tad bit more salt, sweetheart,' he gently says, 'but considering this is your first time making it, I think you've done a pretty good job, hey?'

You can't stop yourself from smiling at his gentle words, feeling the warmth of his large hand pressing against your back as he reaches beside the stove, grabbing a salt shaker. 'A little more practice and I think I'm going to have my own personal chef,' he comments, adding some more salt into the soup.

Grabbing the spoon, you stir the mixture, scooping up another spoonful, holding it out to him with your hand underneath it, 'how's it now?'

His eyes are on you as he places his mouth against the spoon.

'Much better,' he says with a smile, 'go sit down, I'll do this.'

'Are you sure?' you ask, feeling him move his hand from off of your back. He gives you a short nod.

'Don't want you to burn yourself, go sit down.'

Over dinner, you share brief words, but it is in the silence and the company of him that you find you're most at peace.

There's nothing from either of you, and you take time to eat the soup you have been working on all day. It's okay, a little on the watery side, and you do think that Simon is still definitely a much better cook that you.

He thinks the soup tastes a tad funny, but he doesn't say it to you.

Such thoughts leave the pair of you to sit together, silently thinking about each other, yet not having the heart to disrupt the peaceful silence.

After dinner, you attempt to help him clean up, only, he refuses your help, requesting you stay in the living room.

'Simon you always do stuff for me,' you whine with a huff, 'let me help you- washing a dish isn't gonna kill me, y'know?

'I have a surprise for you and you're not going to get it if you keep going against what I've asked of you,' he warns, 'be a good girl for me, yeah? Go sit down, I'll be right through and you can have your gift.'

Suddenly, it's like your legs don't work anymore.

Knees almost buckling at his words, you gulp hard, managing out a short breath as you nod your head, not saying another word to him as you approach the living room, taking a seat on the plush sofa, sinking into one of the many black cushions.

Pressing your face into your cupped hands, you fight off the urge to scream at the very fact he only has to speak to you and you melt like butter in a pan.

Death would be easier than this.

Eventually, he reappears holding a box in his hands. Setting it down on your lap, you smile at the sight of a white ribbon tied into a bow. It's a charming sight, and you fight off the urge to rest your head on his shoulder as he sits next to you.

'You didn't have to,' you whisper.

'Well, you don't have many dresses, sweetheart,' he comments, 'my mum would have my head if she found out you only had two dresses,' he said with a short chuckle, his eyes narrowing as he sighs, 'I saw it the other day, been trying think of a good time to give it to you.'

Carefully, you untie the ribbon, pulling the top of the box off, setting it aside.

Peering up at you is a white cotton frock. Small flowers stitched into the open neck of the dress.

Pulling it out, you hold it out in front of you, letting out a squeal as you see the fabric touching all the way to the ground.

You jump into his lap, pressing a firm kiss onto his cheek.

'I love it!' you exclaim, holding the dress to your chest, before quickly pushing yourself off of him, shrugging off the sleeves of the green frock you've had since arriving in the village. 'I don't even wanna wait to try it,' you say brightly.

He watches amused as the fabric falls from off of your body, pooling around your feet. You're unapologetic of your appearance, tits on full show without a single care in the world.

Pulling the white dress over your head, you wiggle your hips as it hugs your waist, covering your legs.

He watches you, his hands on his thighs as you clumsily spin around in a circle, your skirt raising as you do so. 'What do you think?' you ask, 'does it look nice?'

He exhales deeply.

'Was made for you, sweetheart,' he replies with a bright grin on his face, 'gimme another spin.'

Your cheeks flush red, though you comply, your heart swelling at the request.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

In the midst of the night is where you roam free, walking through the streets of the village, treading down to the shore all to sit by the water. You watch as the waves roll in with a joyous glint in your eye, knowing home is right at your fingertips.

But oddly, you find home is also on land in the form of your sister and the tall man with a strange mask.

The very thought of him makes you feel nauseous, the thought of him washing all your sentence just as the waves do the shore.

Dinner tonight was almost too much for you to handle, to have someone so close to you, to feel his hand on your back and to hear the humans terms of affection leave his mouth with the intent of the meeting your ears... everything.

You blame the dress you're wearing too.

You feel like you're betraying the words of your dear mother.

She has warned you time and time again of the dangers of the human folk, and here you are, wearing their legs, missing your tail and your vibrant scales, yet, prepared to throw it all away all to hear him utter your name and call you sweetheart just one more time.

All that for a human who doesn't even know the truth of who you are.

'I thought you were here,' you hear a voice call from behind you, almost submerged in the crashing waves.

Turning your head, you see Simon approaching you, his boots leaving prints in the sand.

Stopping beside you, you turn your head as he sits beside you. 'Why 'ave you come all the way out here at this time?'

'Needed some fresh air,' you mumble, resting your chin against your knees, hugging your legs.

'You'll find her again,' he says.

Your blood runs cold.

'Sure that siren saved her just as she saved you, yeah? You'll be with her again some day soon, and who knows, maybe she's become one of them herself.'

'She'd like that,' you whisper, looking at the tide.

I'd like that too.

'Until you know where she is or receive a letter from home, you're stuck with me,' he says, 'sorry.'

You laugh.

'You've been the thing to keep me sane through all this, Si',' you reassure, 'without you I would've lost my mind. I need you, and what you've done for me means more than anything any else has ever done for me.'

'Thank you,' he speaks with his chest, you can hear the smile on his face as he speaks. 'I've enjoyed the company, it's nice to have someone to come home to, makes a change from the constant silence, gets me down sometimes.'

You will die before he is ever alone again, you're convinced.

Letting go of your legs, you pull away from the shore, moving towards him.

The light of the moon bouncing off of the water illuminates his features deliciously and you can't help but think of how he would look beneath the water where the pair of you could live out your days together.

Placing his hand on your knee, you rest your head against his firm shoulder, letting out a small breath as you look out onto the sea.

'Do you want to go back home to your village?' he asks.

'I don't have attachments to places, only people,' you respond, 'doesn't matter where I am as long as I have the people I care about with me- and if they wish to go somewhere else, then I'll will let them to do so.'

'So, when your sister finds you, you're gonna go back home?' he quietly asks, looking at the calm water.

'I don't know,' you say, 'so used to having you with me, and she's found her love now, she doesn't need me anymore. If she even is still alive that is.'

Leaning into the narrative is bruising, and in his silence you sit and think about whether or not you would return to the sea once you finally know that Serelia is safe.

These are the people who have hurt her, the man beside you is keeping her from you, yet, there you are in his arms, seeking comfort in the idea of living out the rest of your life at his side.

Really, you should want to put the entirety of the village under water.

'I want you to stay,' he quietly confesses, 'too used to y' now,' don't think I could go back to normal if you left.'

The feeling of nausea hits you again.

'I wouldn't know what to do with myself,' you say, feeling his grip on your knee tighten.

He holds his breath and you turn to look at him. Half lidded eyes stare back at you, and you find your hand reaching out to slip beneath the mask of the skull on his face, hooking your fingers beneath the fabric of the mask.

'Can I?'

He looks at you, though says nothing.

As you pull your hand away from his face, he pulls the hood down off of his head, undoing the tie around the skull mask on his face, allowing it to fall onto his lap.

Pulling the mask down, allowing it to pool around his neck, he looks you in the eyes. You stare back, settling your hand against his cheek. As you listen to the calmness of the water and under the watching eyes of the moon, you have little issue in leaning in closer.

His hand finds the back of your head as your lips ghost each others and you can feel hit hot breath fanning against your mouth.

'Am I gonna regret this?' you asks.

'You might,' he replies, 'but I won't judge you for it if y' do.'

Your breaths mingle as your lips finally meet, a soft and hesitant connection which sends shivers down your spine. Its delicate, the feeling of his mouth against yours as he holds you as though you're seconds away from turning to ash, leaving him forever.

And while your lips were against his, the thought of doing such doesn't cross your mind.

Not even once.

Upon returning to his house, you walk past the couch you have been lying on, his hand on the small of your back pulling you past, guiding you up the stairs to his bedroom.

Nothing like what you have read happens, instead, he helps you out of your dress, leaving you in your panties. You ask for nothing from him as you climb into his bed as he undresses.

It's intimate, the feeling of his hot flesh against yours setting a light afire in your stomach as you curl into his side, just as you curled into your cove hidden within the depths of the sea.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Days progress and your search for Serelia quells as you keep an open ear on the talks of the city folk.

You could have ended all of this a lot sooner with a song, louring all of them into the water to give you an ample opportunity, but you haven't.

Some other time you would have, though, you've heard your voice while humming a song as you clean your flesh in the mornings, and it's devoid of the deepness to travel as far as it did while sitting upon the rocks on the sea.

She is still alive and well wherever she is, and you're quite sure she has been moved around quite a bit as a safety precaution, and with Price's willingness to keep her from the wrath of the village folk, you know that at least some of the men in the village are good.

The more days roll on, the softer the touches from Simon grow, and as you're sitting in the village library again, holding a book in your lap, your fingers trace over the words written, leaving your words caught in your throat.

Reading has been the one thing to keep you from the curse of whatever has happened to you, and you find the stories written by humans to be quite amusing.

Perilous speculation at it's finest! Your favourite.

Though, you find it's difficult to breathe as you progress further and further through the books in the library until you were greeted with one covered in dust.

The lady didn't see you pull it off of the shelf when you did, and as the sky grows orange before eventually fading to darkness, you're unaware of the change in workers as you press your thighs together, hot breath fanning against the pages of the book.

Only, it's not the story that has you blushing.

Rather, your own thoughts as you replace the characters in your head, seeing the same set of eyes that have been greeting you for the past week while waking up.

It's wrong and it's dirty, but you can't help but think of him.

Perhaps this is simply how humans show affection, and it's not like you haven't been close to doing it; your bare breasts have been pushed against his chest when the pair of you wake in the dawn, and neither of you have moved an inch during the closeness, relishing in the closeness.

'I've got work, love.'

'I don't care, too comfy for you to leave me.'

Your mouth grows dry as you contemplate whether or not he has thought of you in a similar manner, if the thoughts carry onwards to his mind from your own, or if he sees you in a different manner.

A voice calls out your name, the flame of the candle on the table beside you causing you to jump, and as you look up, you're quick to slam the book shut, clearing your throat as you tightly smile at the man standing in front of you.

'Scared me,' he says to you, 'I thought you were home.'

'I got bored,' you shakily say, gripping the book in your hand tightly, holding it as you push your chair in, 'I got caught up reading.'

Even though you try to keep the book out of his view, you find he doesn't care about the stupid collection of pages, his eyes dragging down your body as though they're scanning for any source of possible harm.

'I'm fine, Si',' you whisper.

He nods shortly, 'c'mon, it's late and you need to eat,' he says, stepping to the side, allowing you past.

Keeping hold of the book, you walk along side the man and out of the library.

'You didn't have to drag me out, y'know?' you ask, walking alongside him.

His eyes fall on you, you know it without even looking at him, your eyes scanning over the words in the book, 'could've left me in the library to live with the books, let the pots of colours ink stain my skin and cover me up. Wouldn't have bothered you every again.'

The book is ripped from your hands, slamming shut as the man standing beside you takes it off of you.

'Strange woman,' he remarks, keeping the book in his right hand as you proceed to walk through the town.

Your frustration is obvious but he clearly doesn't care, you see the way his face settles beneath the mask.

'Strange man,' you remark, 'walking around the village with a skull mask on, especially in the dark.'

He only grunts in response to your words, pulling your book in front of him, looking at the title with a raised brow. 'Saccharine?'

He looks at you with a look telling that he knows what's beyond the pages, the possibility of such making your cheeks flare red as he flicks through the pages.

'What's it about?'

'Uhm,' you look at him with weary eyes, 'it's an... adventure.'

He nods his head.

'An adventure,' he says, eyes scrolling down the page he lands on, reading aloud, ''use that pretty mouth of yours for me, sweetheart, tell me what y' want,' he grunts, watching her squirm below him.''

Your face is bright red.

'Something fuckin' adventure that is, huh?' he barks out a laugh, as you elbow him in the side, snatching the book out of his hands. 'You dirty thing reading that out in public,' he mocks, your throat growing dry as you look at him.

'Shut up,' you grumble, slamming the book shut.

His laughter doesn't cease as you head towards his home, 'maybe I should have left you in the library by yourself.'

You wish for the ground to swallow you whole, longing for the cold ocean to reach right into the village and pluck you right from his side, placing you right back into the ocean.

Grabbing his key from out of his pocket, he heads up the steps to his house. You don't miss the glance he gives you.

'Who says I can't sort it out here?' you ask.

The keys fall from out of his hand.

Reaching down, you snag them before he can even muster the strength to breathe after the comment you've just made.

'You'd have an audience,' he says, grabbing your waist as you put his key into the door, turning it.

'I don't care,' you whisper, placing your hand against his cheek, 'especially if it's you.'

You don't quite process what happens until his lips are pressed against yours, the pair of you clumsily stumbling into his house, a giggle escaping you as he keeps you pressed against him.

The next couple of minutes are lost to clumsy steps, giggles and kisses as the pair of you waste no time rushing towards his bedroom.

Somewhere along the line, your dress is discarded, as is his shirt, all for it to be put on you as you sit in his lap clumsily doing up the buttons as the cuffs fall past your hands.

It's an alien feeling, the feeling on someone's lips against yours despite all the chaste kisses you have shared during sleepy mornings, and as he grabs you with greedy hands, you feel yourself melting into his hold, pressing your chest against his as you stifle out a short sound in delight.

You're unsure what exactly the sound was as it's muffled by your lips pressing against one another's, your hands clutching at his shoulders as his hand holds the small of your waist.

You feel the little muscle in your chest flutter as he tilts your head slightly with his other hand, deepening the kiss.

Keeping your eyes close, you feel as though you are one with the tide of the ocean, your limbs become that of liquid, flowing with whatever he wills as you fall apart in his arms.

Your firm grasp against his shoulders melts away as you loosely wrap your arms around his neck, your chest growing tighter as it grows harder to find gasps to take a breath from the kiss.

Placing another kiss against your plush lips, he pulls away, placing his hand against your cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your cheekbone, letting out a gentle sigh as he looks at you.

Such gentleness is unheard of, no man should be so kind, yet, here he is, holding you as though you're the most fragile seashell on the seashore, intending to hold you close to keep you as a memory.

There's an odd heat flooding your stomach when he pulls away, a pulsing in the area you're somewhat familiar with. It's a dull ache, a bruising urge and you began to squirm in his lap in an attempt to chase the feeling away.

The feeling of his pants against you brings a satisfying wave over your body, willing to continue squirming in his lap in the hopes to find some form of quick fix. A breathy whimper escapes you as you continue to grind hopelessly in his lap, chasing after the release you so crave.

Only, your his are grabbed by his hands, as he holds you in place, grunting.

'Hurts,' you grumble, your hands falling to grab his wrists in an attempt to pull them away. Yet, his hold on you persists, keeping you firmly in place.

'Please,' it escapes your lips before you even understand what it is that you're begging for, though there's something that you can only describe as longing to extinguish the fiery blaze in the pit of your stomach.

You continue to fight against his hold on your hips, you lips pressing together in an unhappy manner.

There's a glint you spy as desire in his eyes, though, much to your displeasure, he keeps himself from acting on whatever that particular desire is, leaving you teary eyed in his lap.

'Sweetheart,' Simon breathes, shaking his head, 'hey, hey, it's alright, what are you getting teary eyed f'r? Haven't hurt you, have I?' he asks as your try to blink back the tears forming in your eyes. You're frustrated, unable to tell him what exactly you want because, truthfully, you've only read about such in the books in the library during the times he was busy with work.

All of it is new, and you wish for the blessing of experience you wash over you as you look at him with a lingering frustration.

'No,' you say, 'it's not that, it's that I...' you're unsure what to say, so, you let go of his wrist, lifting your hips as you look him in the eyes, placing a hand against your core.

He looks at you with a crooked smile when he finally catches onto what exactly it is, and all you can muster, in pathetic whisper is, 'need you.'

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you're relieved when one of his hands is pulled from off of your hip as he gently moves his hand against you, cupping your cunt, pressing his thumb up in a particular spot.

You let out a whimper at the strange, yet welcome sensation, noting how his hand is far better than your own.

There should be something shameful about this, only you push into his hold, hoping he returns your enthusiasm.

It's in his arms you feel the most safe you have ever felt, even the tide of the ocean cannot compare to him in this moment as he pulls you loser, looking upon you with moons for eyes, conveying the idea that, maybe, he does think you're the prettiest thing he has ever set his eyes on.

Your back is pressed against the bed, the absence of his touch like a dagger through your heart. He looms over you, arms either side of your head. The lack of light, the flickering flame of the candle and the beams of light from moon shooting through the window render you speechless as you look at him.

'My pretty girl,' he utters underneath his breath, his hand brushing under the cotton shirt, moving further up your skin. Goosebumps form on your flesh as he does so, cheeks red the longer he keeps his eyes on you. 'Made with wind an' sea, you are,' he says, brushing his hand down your stomach, resting it against your pubic bone as he looks you. 'Tell me what you want, sweetheart.'

Opening your legs for him, you muster up a small whimper, looking him in the eyes, 'want you to touch me,' you quietly say, 'please, Si', need you to make me feel better,' you beg, feeling as though you're seconds away from collapsing.

A breath escapes you as he pushes your panties to the side, trailing his fingers up and down your folds with a groan.

There's a distinctive wet noise as he does so, spreading your cunt open with two fingers. Looking down between the valley between your breasts, you swallow hard at the sight of him touching you, jolting when his fingers brush against your clit.

It's unlike anything you've ever experienced.

Continuing in a fluid motion, your back arches as pretty moans escape your mouth, writhing beneath him. The heat in your stomach only grows as he does so.

'That's it, sweetheart,' he utters, sliding his fingers downwards, pressing one digit against your hole. 'Gonna be good for me an' take my fingers?' he asks, to which you eagerly nod your head.

'Y- Yes, please,' you respond, your back arching against the bed as he pushes a finger into you.

An odd stinging sensation causes a tear to slip past your eye as you fist the sheets below you, letting out a small sob. He pauses, you catch the orange light from the candle in his eyes as his mouth falls.

Then, you begin to feel him pull away.

'No,' you quickly exclaim, 'no, no, don't pull away, it's just...' you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, 'I've never done this before.'

He looks at you with wild eyes as he expression softens. Leaning forward, he places his lips against your and you cup his face with both of your hands, your mouth falling open as he begins to thrust his finger in and out of you.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he sighs, 'I didn't know, love,' he confesses under his breath, 'I shouldn't have made assumptions—'

'It's not your fault, Si', you didn't know,' you reassures, 'but I don't want you to stop,' you say, toes curling as his finger presses against a spot which almost has you seeing colour.

The air in the room is hot, only growing when you see a crooked smirk on his face as a crude squelch sounds.

You feel another finger against you.

'Gonna make sure your pretty cunt is taken care of,' he says, 'won't want anyone else after you've had me,' he utters, pushing another finger into you.

It burns for a moment, the stretch aching, yet working to contribute to the cord tightening in your stomach.

You're unsure as to what to expect as a delicious heat envelopes yous body, clumsy hands letting go of his face, moving to his shoulders. More tears slip down your cheeks, a loud moan escaping you as both his finger brush against a spot which has you falling apart in his hold.

You expect him to relent, though, he positions his fingers to proceed to hit that spot. By now you're a babbling mess under him, all the while he's grinning at the pretty mess you're becoming, soaking his fingers as you edge closer and closer to the edge.

You're not going to last much longer, he knows such as you clench around his fingers, his cock hardening at the very thought of having that pretty pussy around him.

There's a panic in your eyes as you edge closer to the edge, so he presses a chaste kiss against your lips, 'you're okay, princess,' you gently says, let go, cum for me, cum around my fingers, let me see how pretty you look,' he says, cautious not to make a demand as he continues to work his fingers into you, stretching you out.

Your chest heaves as you screw your eyes shut, your muscles tensing as you find yourself bracing for the coil in your stomach to snap.

It's odd to be scared of something that is making you feel so good, and you relax realising you're in his arms.

Your thighs begin to tremble as you let out small moans, drool trailing down your chin as you press your head back into his pillow, the heat in your stomach dispersing, crashing down into a pleasurable wave which has you almost sobbing.

Your hole clenches around Simon's finger, your entire body turning stiff as you stifle out a crude gasp, your orgasm washing over you. You watches as you completely fall apart, your juices flooding his fingers as you cum. 'That's it, you're okay,' he breathes, 'I got you, you're okay,' he reassures, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm.

Your raging breath steadily quells as he pulls his fingers out of you, sitting back on his thighs. Your hair is sticking your back as sweat soaks into the shirt you're working.

Whimpering, you watch as he presses the two digits he used to fuck you between his mouth, cleaning the mess you made of his hands with his tongue, letting out a short moan as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth, 'as sweet as honey,' he remarks, taking a moment to admire your glistening cunt.

Instinctively, you close your legs, all for him to tut, placing his hands on your knees, pulling them open again.

'Prettiest cunt I've ever seen sweetheart,' he say, 'don't try and keep it from me, yeah? You're not gonna be cumming around anyone else's cock aside from mine; gonna ruing you, shape that pretty hole for my cock and my cock only,' he gruffly speaks.

You hear the shift of fabric.

Pulling his underwear off, he tosses it somewhere into the room, sifting upwards, a crude wet slap filling the room as he slaps his cock against your clit.

You let out a small yelp as the sensation, your cunt still marked with sensitivity from your orgasm. Though, as you feel the blunt head of his leaking cock between your folds, you find the heat returns with a vengeance, leaving your mouth dry as he presses himself against your hole.

'It's gonna hurt for a second,' he warns, grabbing your hip with his hand, 'just keep breathing for me, let that pretty pussy stretch around me- I'll give y' all the time you need, just tell me,' he utters.

His tone is much darker than any you've ever heard, and as he begins to push himself into you, your mouth closes as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip so hard that you're quite sure you're going to draw blood.

A filthy moan escapes your lovers lips as he pushes into, the heat around his cock making it hard to keep a clear mind as the longing to fuck you until you're sobbing possesses him.

It won't take much, he knows that, counting on the fact that he's not even half way in and tears are already pouring down your cheeks.

Gripping your hips, he eases himself in to the hilt, moaning as you clench around his cock.

'Good fuckin' girl,' he curses, his nails digging into your skin as you wince. Never have you felt so full, feeling his cock pulsing in your core as you squirm beneath him.

Without even moving, you're sure he's pressing against that spot that brought you to your release just moments prior, you stomach twisting.

I'm not going to last.

Your legs merely wrap around his waist as he looks to you, and with a trembling mouth, you nod your head, 'y- you can move,' you say with a small nod, hissing as he pulls out, only to thrust back in.

Your skin is hot as sweat drips down your silky flesh, pushing downwards to meet his thrusts as he picks up the pace. The sound of you skin slapping together is vulgar, though neither of you care as you burble out weak 'ahs' under your breath as he drives his cock into you. Simon isn't quiet either, vocal grunts through gritted teeth as his bruising grip on you maintains a steady pace.

'Fuuuckkk,' he moans, grabbing the bottom of his shirt, ripping it open. You offer him as startled look as he drags his blunt nails up your stomach, grabbing your tits, rolling your nipple between his fingers. 'Prettiest fuckin' girl to ever walk the land,' he claims, 'made for me and my cock, and it's all mine, isn't it?'

'A- All yours,' you confirm, unable to keep a sane mind about you as he's fucking you dumb.

All your mind is sticking to is the thickness off his cock as it's hitting all the right spots. You're sure you're drooling from the sensation, your eyes falling back into your head as you babble out nonsense.

'No one else's,' you manage to get out before you're completely at his disposal, the feel of your next orgasm creeping up on you.

'You gonna cum for me again, princess?' Simon asks, greedily sucking in air as he looks at you, feeling your cunt clenching around him. He himself is edging closer to the edge, the tightness of you around his thick cock simply being too much to bear.

'Yes, 'm so close... so fucking close, please, please let me cum,' you dumbly beg, not able to keep the words from flowing past your lips.

'Go on, sweetheart, cum around my cock, make it yours,' he demands, his thrust growing much more sporadic as he chases after his own release.

A moan escapes your lips as you arch you back off of the bed, your entire body spasming as you allow yourself to fall into the pleasure of your orgasm as the cord in your stomach snaps, forcing a gasp out of you.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a brittle sob, tightening around his cock as you cum. The sound of your skin connecting is wet as Simon fucks you through your orgasm, his curses and grunts filling your ears.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck, that's right sweetheart,' he moans, 'gonna make you mine, fill you up with my cum, no one else is having you, you're mine,' he grunts out, pressing into your, your cunt against his pubic bone as his hands tremble.

He lets out a moan as he fills you up.

It's a filthy feeling, but you love it terribly, your hole twitching as you feel his pulsing cock empty his load inside of you.

A short breath escapes him, and you moan feeling him push deeper inside of you, thrusting and out of you to ensure you're not missing a drop of it.

Remaining inside of you, he moves to lay beside you, keeping bodies pressed against you, the smell of sex and sweat in the clammy air of the room, but he doesn't even think of pulling out, let alone pulling away. Instead he settles with his cock inside out you, pressing another kiss against you.

Your eyes feel heavy, your entire body sluggish as you press your face into the crook of his neck.

'Good girl,' he utters against your skin.

You lay together for a short while before he eventually pulls his softening cock from out of you, you whimpering from oversensitivity as he does so. Your inner thighs are wet, and as your hole clenches around nothing, you're face grows red as you feel his cum dripping out of you.

He leaves you alone for a short while and you lay, your body blanketed in the moonlight. Beyond the window in his room, you spy the ocean in the distances, seeing the rolling waves, your throat tightening are your eyes move around the room, spying his side of the bed, then lifting back to the water.

You can't possibly stay here forever? Can you?

You have people, you have your sister still to find, getting no closer to having Simon confess to you where she is being kept.

When you uncover it eventually, what are you going to do? Free her and stay here? Will the even want you back when you return with the marks of a human all over you?

Your eyes water when he comes back into the room with a cup of water and a damp cloth in his hands, approaching you.

He sees the furrow of your brow and the discontent on your face, taking a seat beside you, pressing his hand against your face.

'I haven't hurt you have—'

'No, no,' you quietly state, sniffling, 'just...' you look at him, holding his wrist. 'I like you,' you whisper, his eyes growing wide at your confession, 'I- I know it's soon but—'

'I like you too, sweetheart,' he reassures, setting the cup of water down on the nightstand.

You rejoice in the outcome of your diversion, noting it works well as he looks at you with all the adoration the human heart can muster. 'Let's get you cleaned up, yeah? Can't leave you like this,' he utters, to which you nod in appreciation.

The night is sleepless for the most part as you're in his arms. It's difficult to confess to yourself, but you're aware of the lies you have told and of the possible consequences to come from it.

Even if he isn't fearful of what you are, there's still the fact that the betrayal will be too great as, essentially, everything you have together is built on a lie, and you're only encouraging it through playing the role of human.

A part of you wishes to wake him from his current sleeping state and tell him, yet, you cower in the thought of conflict destroying the night the pair of you have shared.

So, you tell yourself that you'll tell him tomorrow instead before falling into the heat of his body, closing your eyes.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

In the morning you wake with a dull ache between your thighs, looking to the side of your bed.

Simon isn't there and you sit up quickly, eyes scanning around the room, a panicked breath squeezing out of your lung as you search for him.

Has he left for work already?

You feel an odd sense of betrayal well in your breast as you shuffle from under the sheets, stopping in your tracks when you hear the creak of the staircase leading into his room. His head appears first and you quickly fall back onto the bed, eying him.

'I thought you left for work,' you confess as he climbs the final step. He shakes his head, looking out of the window to the early morning sun. It covers his frame in a delicious light and you take a moment to admire him. How his white shirt settles against his chest, the mask on his face right back where it usually it.

It's a shame though; you want to see his blond hair in the light of the sun.

'I'm not that cruel, sweetheart,' he reassures, 'want you to come with me today; I'm sitting in the Station by myself while the other three do whatever, want some company with me,' he says, we'll stop by the library and bakery before we go there, I'll get you that pastry you like,' he offers, fixing the buckle of his belt, 'what do you think?'

Propping your head up with your hand, you look as hm with rosy cheeks and a bright grin on your face. 'Make me a cup of tea when we're in the station too?' you ask.

'If I must,' he says, laughing, moving towards one of the drawers in his bedroom, pulling it open.

Grabbing a dress and panties, walking up to you. Shifting in the bed, you push the sheets back, standing up, taking the panties from his hands.

Stepping into them, you look up to see him holding your dress, the skirt bunched up. 'Hold your arms up,' he instructs, to which you giggle at, but comply, holding your arms up.

Placing the fabric of the dress over your head, you slip your arms inside of the sleeves, as he kneels down in front of you, pushing his mask up slightly so he can press kisses onto your stomach as he lowers the skirt of the dress further and further down.

More laughter spills past you as you watch him with do so. The skirt reaches your ankles and he stands up, grasping your waist. 'Happy I got this dress for you,' he comments.

You quirk an eyebrow.

'I thought you said it was plain.'

'Nothing's plain when you're wearing it, sweetheart,' he responds, pressing a kiss onto your lips. You roll your eyes at his sappiness despite melting into his hold.

'You're an idiot,' you say.

'And you're slow,' he retorts, letting go of your waist, 'finish up getting ready and meet me downstairs, don't take too long; don't wanna be stuck in a queue at the bakery.'

'You're the reason—'

'Don't wanna hear it, princess,' he calls as he walks down the the stairs, leaving you alone in his bedroom, crossing your arms over yourself as you watch him disappear.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

He cannot take his eyes off of you as you sit in the station, stray crumbs of the pastry around your mouth as you babble on about one of the books you found in the library.

It never occurred to him until now that it's very much possible to be a love drunk fool, and he feels himself grinning under his mask as you speak with such passion, it's making him lightheaded. He has little understanding of what you're talking about, but that doesn't matter.

He sits and listens to you, only stopping you when he reaches out his hand, brushing away the clumsy flakes of pastry from around your mouth. You stare at him, eyes panning down to your skirt as you blush at the sight of golden flecks on the white fabric.

Brushing your hands over your covered thighs, you brush them away, looking back at him. Opening your mouth, you go to speak, all for your moment to come crashing down as Kyle barges into the Station.

Taking one look at the pair of you, he lets out a comically loud wretch, 'save it for the bedroom, please,' he breathes, closing the door behind him.

'What are you doin' back?' Simon asks, checking your face for any more crumbs, letting a small grunt when he's satisfied there are none, pulling his hand away from you. 'Thought you were going to be out all day.'

'I've been looking for Rhys,' he says, 'he's supposed to be keeping an eye on her and I haven't seen her, when I went to the cabin the door was locked, all the curtains were drawn too,' he explains, rubbing his head.

Your ears perk up with the mention of a cabin, glancing at Simon before back at Gaz.

She's in a cabin somewhere nearby and she's still alive.

Your heart settles with the thought.

'He couldn't have gone far,' Simon says, 'might've slept in or something- if something was wrong, he wouldn't disappear on us.'

'You're right,' Kyle says, closing the door behind him, 'he's a good kid, shouldn't be thinking badly of him in the first place, just difficult not to worry when he's usually there at the crack of dawn, you know?'

'Are people still demanding a trial?' you ask.

'Yeah,' Kyle responds, approaching the fireplace to the right of the bed you're sitting on, pulling the lid off of the kettle. Fortunately, Simon replenished it after making you both a mug of tea. 'We're trying to push it back; she's a nice girl from what I can tell, doesn't speak much though- to me at least,' he explains.

'Why don't you just let her go?'

'Letters from the Lords telling us we can't act until he's back home,' he says, 'unfortunately, we work for him. If it was up to me, she'd be back in the water; I think everything people are saying about her is nothing more than fairytales.'

You smile at his words; he's right, in terms of her, they are all fairytales.

If he's looking for the sirens from fairytales, he's already eyeing her as he talks to you.

'Do you want another cup of tea?' Kyle asks, looking at the pair of you. Simon shakes his head but you nod, though, before you can reach for your mug, it's taken from out of your reach as Simon holds it out for Kyle.

You give him a short look which he returns after handing your cup to to Kyle who busies himself with minding his business.

'You my servant now?' you ask.

'Can be if you want me to be,' he answers.

You roll your eyes, leaning your back against the wall, dusting the remnants of your breakfast off of your hands.

'You're sweet talk is making me sick,' Kyle calls, approaching you, carefully handing you your mug of tea, 'need some lessons in it, Simon,' he adds.

'Fuck off,' barks the man.

'I've got nothing to do so you're not getting rid of me for a while,' he says, 'I'm gonna stay here for a while before heading back up to the cabin, haven't had a moment to relax this morning,' he scoffs, 'could do with a moment of rest.'

Sitting forward, you move your legs off of the bed, allowing Kyle to take a seat beside you, sipping from your mug, 'there's always something to be doing,' he begins to complain, 'never a fuckin' quiet moment in this—'

The door to the station bursts open, slamming against the wall opposite.

'She's dead!'

The cup in your hand drops as you jolt from the sudden noise, the hot liquid merely missing your thighs as you shift out of the way, hearing the tea cup shattering as it meet with the stone floor.

You curse under your breath, looking at the mess you have made as you go to drop to the ground to clean it up, all for Kyle to shake it head while Simon stands up to address the man at the door.

'It's fine love,' reassures the man sweetly, 'you'll end up cuttin' your fingers, I'll clean it up,' he says, looking down at the shattered tea cup on the ground.

Frankly, you appreciate his kindness as you raise to your feet, looking around Simon's bulky frame to the man who scared you.

He's shaking as he speaks looking at Simon, his eyes blown wide, reflective of the surface of the moon as he tugs at his fingers while attempting to express the horrors of which he has witnessed.

'I left for the night, an' when I returned she was dead,' he says, 'bloody and beaten, whoever it was took all her scales, left them around the room like it's some sort of fuckin' confetti.'

Scales.

You're sure you hear Kyle yell, but you're unsure what he actually says.

There's anger in the young man's eyes, genuine emotion as he details every single gruesome detail of the scene.

Serelia.

The siren.

'W- Where?' you manage to get out, not caring if Simon is about to say something in response. 'Where is she?' you roughly demand.

The young man standing in front of you looks at you with wide eyes as you move in front of Simon.

Your lover doesn't say anything.

'Tell me!' you demand, grabbing his shirt.

'T- The cabin just beyond the Lords house,' he stutters.

Without much thought, you're rushing out of the station without any hesitation, rushing through the streets as your heart rages in your chest.

Your mind is racing with his confession, shoving past and barging shoulders with everyone as you push through the busy town square, staggering up the steps towards the direction of the Lords house.

You're aware of the man behind you; Simon never really did let you out of his sights, after all.

Everything seems so much smaller in your eyes as you stumble further and further up, tears flowing freely down your cheeks.

Perhaps it's some form of sick joke- she's okay, she's just playing dead; she's a smart girl, even having tricked you a few times.

She's okay- she's got to be okay.

You're in a fit of hysterics as you pull the door open to the small, reserved cabin.

There are footsteps behind you, a distant call for your name, only, when you pull the door open, you seek the sister you had lost that night on the shore. Still bleeding as she was when she had been taken despite her pleads for freedom, only, she isn't moving.

She lays on the wooden ground of the room, her hand open in your direction, as stray tear slipping down her face as her open, bruised eyes stare into nothingness.

You stand at the door, your bottom lip trembling as you scream out, 'SERELIA.'

Rushing up to her side, you collapse onto your knees, trembling hands hovering over her swollen body, blood seeping into your white frock as you simply sit and stare in horror.

Placing your hand against her cheek, you flinch at the icy feeling of her skin, trailing the tips of your fingers over her soft flesh. Stray scales sit on the ground from around you, plucked like petals from a daisy.

Her body is destroyed, pretty face so swollen, you hardly know who you're looking at.

Nausea hits you, though you fight against the urge to vomit up your breakfast, lunging forward, slipping your hand beneath the bleeding body of your sister, resting your forehead against her shoulder as you pull her close, her body falling over your lap as you sob, brushing your hair through her dirty ginger locks as your body shakes against her still one.

This all feels like a bad dream that you wish to wake from, only, you cannot.

'I- I'm sorry, my urchin,' you manage to get out between spouts of hyperventilation and nausea, your nails digging into her flesh as your arm settles in her blood.

'My beauty, they have destroyed you,' you mumble under your breath, unmoved by the stench in room as your chest swells.

Pulling your head off of the corpses shoulder, you press your hand firmly against her rotten cheek, observing the countless amount of cuts.

You feel the room spinning as you observe the true brutality of mankind, how they are so careless towards the rest of natures creations and you feel like a fool.

A fury burns within you, your tongue ceasing as two hands are placed on your shoulders, attempting to move you away from Serelia. Looking up over your shoulders, you spy the bewildered eyes of your lover.

'Let go of me, Simon,' you demand, turning your head back to the woman on the ground.

His hands stay firmly on your shoulders.

You wish for him to relent, but that's not in his nature. No, he wishes to keep you from all danger, and with the mess you have made of yourself and the crime scene, somewhere deep inside, you understand that you cannot have the very thing you desire.

You're pulled to your feet, crying as you kick and scream in his arms, the bloody skirt of your dress sticking to your legs as you fight against him.

'Let me go!' you cry, turning in his hold, bringing your hands to his chest, weakly hitting him as though it is he who caused the bloody slaughter. 'Let me go,' you hiccup as you're pulled out the door, away from the sight that is sure to haunt you for the rest of your life.

Pushing your hands against his chest, you shove him with all you might, though he does not move.

Placing you against a tree, he gently guides you to the ground as your legs give, kneeling on the ground before you as you chase after your breath, your legs laid out in front of you, your hands resting flat against your thighs.

Looking up towards the sky, you spy the moon staring down upon you despite the morning sky, proceeding to cry as you recall the lights on the shore the night Serelia was taken.

Your throat burns with the desire to scream and scream until you have torn the very vocal cords nature gifted to you, seeing no use in them as you come to realise that you will never call her name and get a response ever again.

'You were never on our side,' you sniffle harshly, hot tears flowing free as Simon simply stares at you. 'I see their torches in the light of your stars. You make us the villains, fool us into doing your dirty work, and then leave us stranded when you want no more to do with us,' you seethe, turning your head to the side as you continue to sob.

Simon's hand presses against your flushed face, pushing your head up from off of your shoulder, 'love, you need to calm down,' he utters gently. 'You're gonna make yourself sick if you keep on like this,' he warns.

He means well, you love him enough to acknowledge that in the midst of your fury.

Yet, your punishment leaves you weak and weary, missing the water you grew up in, missing life prior to that night.

'I already am sick,' you retort in a broken tone, 'infected with the parasite that makes me you, that separates me from her,' you cry, 'no longer a siren, only human.'

You don't care what happens, and, if you do, your emotions keep you from logic.

'W- What?' the man beside you chokes out.

You don't miss the way his hold on your face tightens, yet, you do not flinch, permitting his harsh hold as you look him in the eyes, swallowing harshly.

'I'm not a human,' you whisper, 'I don't know what I am anymore... I never had a sister, I was never in a wreckage, I was looking for her, my Urchin,' you admit, turning your head in the direction of the cabin. 'And now she's gone.'

Your sobs fill the void of silence, only, nothing fills the void of warmth against your face as he pulls his hand away from your face. Looking at him, your bottom lip wobbles.

Every lesson your mother has ever taught you is urging you to hate him, telling you that it is his fault that there she's lying there alone in a puddle of her own blood, unrecognisable.

However, no matter how much you wish to lunge forward and claw his eyes from out of his head, you find heart and mind conflict easily.

'Please say something,' you beg, caving to the gaping hole in your chest, longing for the return of his touch for, what is left after him? An outcast? Nowhere to return, even the ocean doesn't want you, and your bleak reality begins to settle in as his eyes do not change. 'Please, please talk to me, I- I've already lost her—'

He's unsure how to tread, you see the weariness in his eyes. 'What part of you is real?' he asks, 'or are you just a liar?'

'My love for you is real,' you blurt out, 'I cherish you, all of you for caring for me and for taking care of me when I needed it the most,' you continue, 'but I couldn't tell you, Si'- I- I've been trying to think of a way to tell you the truth and I was gonna do it today- I swear to you.'

'Why?' he lowly asks, 'are you afraid of me?'

'Are you afraid of me?' you question, looking him in the eyes as a stray tear falls past your eye.

He pauses.

'Your people murdered one of my own, Si',' you choke out, a flurry of emotion blowing over you as your face and skin prickle with an insatiable heat. 'We act accordingly, you treat us violently, we react with violence, but she...' your words trail, 'she did nothing to anyone, Simon. Had a voice as sweet as honey, charming, loving to the creatures of the sea, and look at what happened.'

'What's stoppin' you from hurting me?'

His voice and tone are raw as you look at him.

Truthfully, in the midst of your misery, you're unable to see the reason which keeps your fury at bay, though, when you look into his eyes, you understand for a moment long enough to form a response.

'You tried to keep her safe,' you whisper, 'keeping her from everyone, keeping her out of the way. They got to her, you didn't.'

And I can't let myself get to you for something you haven't done.

He exhales, looking towards you with bleary eyes.

Always, the desire to push him away is going to nestle within after the events of today, but nothing stops you from lunging into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck with as you sob.

His large hand presses against your head as he pulls you close, his hold on you almost crushing as you cry into the nape of his neck. If he is hushing you, you can't hear him.

You're in his arms and he's got you.

His hold feels the same as the one you have became accustomed with during your time on land, nothing has changed.

Feeling him tug at his mask, you settle when you feel his lips press against your forehead, and with a small voice he utters, 'I love you,' he says, 'human, siren, sea monster, sea urchin, I don't fuckin' care,' he states firmly, placing another kiss on your forehead.

'I love you too,' you tightly say, feeling the urge to smile at his words, but you don't, simply remaining in his arms.

'I'm sorry, love,' he utters. 'She didn't deserve any of this, neither did you.'

With your face buried into his neck, you nod your head.

'I know.'

You lay in his arms for what seems like an eternity, holding his bloody shirt as he rubs your back.

There's nothing that can be said, you know that.

Both of you do.

A man of few words can hardly be expected to become a flowing fountain of knowledge in the span of an hour.

Anyone else would curse him for not trying to make you feel better, maybe even say he doesn't care about you. But his rough touch turns gentle with you. His boisterous manner is reserved to calmness.

Oddly enough, it's in the most violent man that you find your faith in humanity is kept from drifting off of the cliff, toppling over into the ocean.

Eventually, you feel him shift beside you and you're moved as though your a doll in a child's arms. Looking down at you, he brushes his hand against your face, wiping away the tears that have flooded your face. You place your hands over his much larger ones, looking him in the eyes as you sniffle.

'We can't leave her there like this,' he utters, 'they'll wanna burn her body, 'not gonna let that happen.'

You mouth grows dry.

'We'll bury her up here, there's a clearing near the cliff, overlooking the water so she's not too far from home.'

No words leave your mouth so you simply nod your head in agreement as the pair of you raise from the floor.

Her helps you up and keeps you steady, not daring to let go of you, seemingly fearful that, if you fell, you would shatter and leave him forever.

He does all the work, leaving you to sit and watch as he carefully raps the girl in a sheet, lifting her into his arms with ease.

You standby and watch idly, holding a shovel in one hand and a lantern in the other, unable to look the dismal sight in the eye.

As, you step outside of the cabin, keeping your head bowed as you follow after him, heading towards the burial sight he mentioned.

It's hidden, private, and you stand near the edge of the cliff, looking down into the darkened abyss of water below you as you hear the occasional grunt from behind you as Simon busies himself with digging the gave.

At this moment you're resentful, wishing for some form of blow to the head to send you over the cliff, rejoicing in the short fall before you're able to escape from the consequences of your failure.

Only, you cannot will yourself to go over the cliff on your own accord, knowing if you did, Simon would most likely blame himself- if not follow right after you.

Living in the idea is enough to keep the action at bay, the resounding guilt and regret you imagine you would feel after taking the leap filling you with dread.

So, you turn yourself around and sit next to the woman wrapped in white while Simon makes a grave for her to finally rest her weary head.

It's difficult to say goodbye.

It was difficult when you said goodbye to your mother, a bitter pill to swallow when old age claimed the crazed woman on the seas, though, the guilt stabbing into your heart like a dagger proves to make this send off much worse.

Never did you dream of doing something so horrible, yet, here you are, unable to escape reality.

It's the dead of night by the time the grave is ready, the lantern in your hand flickers as Simon holds the body of Serelia in his arms, lowering her into the grave he constructed using a shovel.

The sheet she's wrapped in is stain red, marked with her blood, and while your chest grows heavy at the sight you find solace hiding in the shadows away from the moonlight.

Kneeling to the ground beside him, you tear the edge of your skirt, placing it onto her body with a shaky sigh.

He looks at you.

'When someone passes, we pull one of own scales and lay it with them to rest so they always have a piece of us with them,' you explain, 'I can't do that for her, but I'm not going to leave her with nothing,' you state.

Grabbing the edge of his shirt, you watch with a sunken smile as he rips a piece of his shirt of, laying it beside the piece of your dress you laid upon her.

'It's an apology,' mumbles the man, 'couldn't be there to keep her from harms way in this life, but she'll have me in the next. She'll have the both of us, yeah?'

'Forever and always.'

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

You return to his home covered in blood.

He helps you wash, rubbing a sponge around your back as you lean forward, chin resting against your knees with void eyes. You say nothing to him, only listening to his gentle requests.

While doing so, he feels a heat growing his stomach. It had been set alight from the very second he heard you screaming and crying, and the longer he focuses, the more he finds his blood boils. Someone in the village knew where she was and they killed her- perhaps even multiple people.

A poor young girl was murdered, and in the process they murdered your spirit.

And now he is scared as he looks at you.

There's nothing to tie you to the land anymore, he understands that as he wraps you in a towel, carrying you up the steps to his bedroom in a woeful silence.

There's nothing to tie you to him and he wishes to paint the town red for the crime committed against you, swearing to himself that he will find the perpetrator.

The next time he's cleaning blood from under his fingernails will be the time he has avenged you.

Until then, however, he's committed to being beside you until you no longer want him there as he looks onto you after helping you get ready for bed, lying on his back beside you.

Nothing is left in you, your soul devoid of anything as your mind wanders to her body wrapped in that white sheet, and as you look to the dress discarded on the floor, you find you're not too far off her fate.

Laying your head upon his head, you listen to his heartbeat to make sure he's alive, fearful that he will leave you before you get the opportunity to leave him first.

'I love you,' you croak.

'I love you too, sweetheart.'

After a while he his breathing calms, soothing and melting as a wave on the beach did.

Your mind has been made up since he placed his shirt beside yours, and as you watched him cover her with dirt, you stood with crossed arms and contemplated for a while. The crashing of the waves over the cliff edge called for you as you stood there.

You cannot stay here.

For the good of yourself and the good of him.

Too much is at risk now, and too much has been lost.

Too many thoughts fill your head, bad thoughts. Bringing him to the water all to sing a song to pull him into it.

You'll watch as he fights for air, trying to break the surface of the water once more, but you will not care, simply watching him fight and fight until all life leaves him and his soul has left you.

Foolish mortal men.

You hear your mothers voice ringing in your ears as you look at his sleeping eyes, then to the blood beneath your nails.

Sinking into the watery depths of a sirens den.

Crawling from beside him, you offer him one final look at you lean over the sleeping man, pressing a kiss onto his temple, watching as his hand curls around the pillow on your side of the bed.

Misery strikes you as you look at the empty spot, something within you urging to you to crawl back into bed beside him, only, you're reminded of the celebrations litter through the town, the festering buzzing of the flies in the cabin, and the swollen face of Serelia.

How is one to move past such when they lack the very emotion of remorse?

And how are you supposed to keep your emotions at bay when you feel an unquenchable urge to bring the village into the water?

Both are impossible to solve, and somethings are better off left broken, for, if you act on your anger, you betray the man you love with all your being.

But, if you act on love, you betray the women in the sea who are most likely worried sick with your disappearance. So, you take hold of the first dress he bought you, pulling it over your head, eyes teary as you look at him sleeping.

You're making the right choice in leaving, you say that to yourself when you place another chaste kiss against his cheek, allowing the thought to follow you as you push the door of his house open, stepping onto the pavement.

It follows you down the twists and turns of the street, leading you from place you have both loved and lost back to the ocean where you have only ever know strength and family.

The land is cruel, harsher than the sea.

Even during a violent storm you find you prefer the sea for the land houses people capable of despicable things, maintaining the ability of hurting you, not only on the outside, but also on the inside. You long for normality, for a sense of belonging again, and while you know you will always have a place in his bed and arms, you have a duty to fill elsewhere, an anger to keep at bay, people to keep safe.

You have to go, and you hope he understands.

A man of few words yet the only man who could ever hold your heart and not shatter it, and as you're walking on the sand, stumbling towards the water, you allow yourself to cry an ugly and loud cry as you fist at the fabric of the dress he gifted you, pulling the skirt to your mouth, pressing your lips against the fabric. Your legs carry as you remain with the skirt bundled in your arms, inhaling the scent of the place you have grown to know as home.

But it's never going to be home again.

The water greets your feet as you allow your arms to drop to your side, walking into the sea.

The waves crash down, soaking the bottom of the pink fabric and you continue to sob as you edge further and further into the water, cupping your face in your hands as you stiffly wade through the waves.

Wiping under your eyes with your fingers, you raise your head in the direction of the sky, seeing the moon sitting above the sea. You keep your eyes trained on the red moon, unmoved by the winking stars in the night sky as you turn your back to her.

Observing the land one last time, you fall backwards into the water, whispering an ode to Serelia under your breath as the ocean swallows you whole.

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

TAGS: (If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know!) @forever-twenty-two-years-old

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 8

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 4k

warning; fight, mention of death, mention of blood.

notes; hope that you enjoy the chapter ... <3

here is the link for part 7 or part 9

---

The night had never felt so cold, so empty. As you and Azriel tore through the streets of Velaris, the city that once felt like a haven now loomed around you with an unfamiliar menace. Every shadow seemed deeper, every corner more treacherous as you sprinted toward the House of Wind, where you knew Rhysand and the others would be. The pendant and the blood-stained letter were clenched in your hand, the weight of them pulling you down like anchors.

The wind whipped through your hair, but you barely noticed it, your mind consumed with the image of Stellan’s lifeless body and the terrifying absence of Alex. The boy you had promised to protect, the one who had become a part of your heart, was out there somewhere—alone, scared, or worse. You couldn’t let your mind go there, couldn’t let yourself think of what they might be doing to him.

Beside you, Azriel’s face was set in stone, his wings beating powerfully as he flew, his grip on you tight as he carried you through the air. His shadows were darker than ever, swirling around him in a violent storm, mirroring the rage and fear that you knew was building inside him. You hadn’t exchanged many words since leaving the apartment—there was nothing to say, not until you could find Alex and bring him back.

When you reached the House of Wind, you barely had time to register the shocked expressions on the faces of the others as you burst through the doors, Azriel’s shadows flickering like dark flames around you.

Rhysand was the first to approach, his eyes narrowing as he took in your appearance, the blood-stained letter, the wild fear in your eyes. “What happened?”

You could barely find your voice, but when you did, it came out broken, trembling with the weight of what you had just witnessed. “They’ve taken Alex. They killed Stellan… they took him.”

Cassian was on his feet in an instant, his expression darkening with fury. “Who? Who took him?”

Azriel stepped forward, his voice low and filled with a deadly calm. “The same people who sent the letter. They left this behind.” He handed the blood-stained letter to Rhysand, who took it with a grim expression.

Mor moved closer to you, her hand resting gently on your shoulder, but you could see the tension in her eyes, the way her fingers trembled just slightly. “We’ll find him, Y/N. I promise you, we’ll find him.”

Rhysand’s eyes darkened as he read the letter, his grip tightening on the parchment. “They want you to complete the order, don’t they? This is their leverage.”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes… but I won’t do it. I won’t make that weapon for them.”

Azriel’s hand found yours, squeezing it tightly. “You won’t have to. We’ll find another way.”

Rhysand looked at you, his expression torn between rage and determination. “They’re trying to force your hand. They think that by taking Alex, they can control you. But we won’t let them.”

Cassian growled, his fists clenched at his sides. “We need to find out who they are and where they’re keeping him. Now.”

“I’ll have my spies start searching immediately,” Azriel said, his tone hard. “Every lead, every possible location—nothing is off-limits.”

Rhysand nodded, his mind clearly already working through the possibilities. “I’ll reach out to the other High Lords, see if anyone’s heard of a group operating like this. We need to move quickly.”

Mor’s eyes were filled with concern as she looked at you. “Y/N, do you have any idea who might be behind this? Anyone you’ve encountered in the past who could be connected?”

You shook your head, feeling the helplessness wash over you. “No… I don’t know. I’ve never seen that symbol before, never dealt with anyone like this.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the gravity of the situation pressing down on all of you. The stakes had never been higher, and the danger had never felt more real. But even in the midst of the fear and uncertainty, there was a resolve that burned in each of you—a determination to bring Alex back, no matter what it took.

Rhysand’s voice broke through the silence, his tone firm. “We’ll find him, Y/N. And when we do, they’ll regret ever touching him.”

Azriel’s hand was still in yours, his grip steady, his presence a source of strength that you clung to. “We’ll bring him home,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet intensity that left no room for doubt. “I swear it.”

With that promise hanging in the air, the planning began in earnest. Every resource at the Night Court’s disposal was put to use, every contact, every spy, every piece of information that could lead you to Alex. The hours passed in a blur of activity, but no matter how much was done, it never felt like enough.

As the night stretched on, you found yourself standing by the window, staring out at the darkened city below. The silence was oppressive, the weight of the unknown pressing down on you with a force that made it hard to breathe.

Azriel appeared beside you, his presence comforting in the quiet darkness. “Y/N,” he said softly, his voice breaking through the haze of your thoughts. “We’ll find him.”

You turned to look at him, your eyes burning with unshed tears. “What if… what if we’re too late?”

He reached out, gently cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. “We won’t be. I won’t let that happen.”

The conviction in his voice, the unwavering certainty in his eyes, gave you the strength to nod, to believe in the promise he was making. “Thank you, Azriel.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a tender gesture that spoke of his own fears and the comfort he was trying to offer you. “We’ll bring him home,” he repeated, his voice a quiet vow.

The night stretched on, and the darkness deepened, but you knew that you wouldn’t face it alone. Whatever lay ahead, you would face it together—with Azriel, with Rhysand, with Cassian and Mor. And no matter how dark the path became, you would not stop until Alex was safe, until the boy who had come to mean so much to you was back in your arms.

But as you stood there, staring out into the night, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning—that the road ahead would be long, and fraught with dangers you had never imagined. And in the depths of your heart, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

The following days were a blur of restless activity, each moment filled with a tension that gnawed at your insides. The Night Court’s network of spies had been mobilized, scouring every corner of Prythian for any trace of Alex. You barely slept, the worry gnawing at you every moment, and when you did close your eyes, you were haunted by the image of Stellan’s lifeless body and the fear of what might be happening to Alex.

It was early morning when Azriel came to you, his expression grim. You had been pacing the floor of your shop, trying to keep your hands busy by working on a blade that no longer held your interest. When you saw the look on his face, you knew he had news.

“They’ve found something,” Azriel said quietly, his voice laced with the tension of the past days.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you turned to face him. “Where? What did they find?”

Azriel took a step closer, his shadows swirling around him as if reflecting the storm of emotions he was trying to keep in check. “There’s been some activity at the border between the Night Court and the Day Court. A few of my spies picked up traces of unusual magic—a residual signature that matches what we found on the letter. It’s faint, but it’s something.”

You felt a flicker of hope, quickly followed by a surge of determination. “Then that’s where we need to go.”

Azriel’s expression darkened, and he shook his head. “Y/N, I don’t think you should go. This could be a trap. They might be expecting you to follow this lead.”

Your jaw tightened, the resolve in your chest hardening like steel. “I have to go, Azriel. This is my fight. They took Alex because of me. I can’t just sit here while someone else handles it.”

Azriel stepped closer, his eyes intense as he reached out to take your hands in his. “I understand that, but you have to think about the bigger picture. If something happens to you—”

“Then I’ll face it,” you interrupted, your voice firm. “But I can’t let someone else do what I’m meant to take care of. Alex is out there, scared and alone. He needs me, Az. And I can’t—” Your voice broke, but you quickly gathered yourself. “I can’t live with myself if I don’t try.”

Azriel’s hands tightened around yours, his gaze searching your face as if trying to find a way to convince you otherwise. But he knew you too well, knew that once you had set your mind on something, there was no turning back.

“Then I’m coming with you,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ll go together. But we do this carefully, Y/N. No rushing in without a plan. We can’t afford to make mistakes.”

You nodded, relief and gratitude washing over you in equal measure. “Thank you, Azriel.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll find him, Y/N. And we’ll bring him home.”

With the decision made, the two of you set about preparing for the journey ahead. There was no time to waste—every moment that passed was another moment that Alex was in danger. But as you gathered your weapons and prepared for what was to come, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the road ahead would be more dangerous than anything you had ever faced before.

As the hours passed and the preparations were completed, you found yourself standing at the edge of the city, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon. Azriel was beside you, his wings unfurled and ready to carry you both into the unknown. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, but there was no hesitation in your heart.

You turned to Azriel, your voice steady despite the fear gnawing at your insides. “Let’s go.”

And with that, the two of you took to the skies, leaving Velaris behind as you flew toward the border, toward the danger that awaited you. The wind whipped through your hair, the landscape below blurring as you soared higher, faster, driven by the unrelenting need to find Alex and bring him back.

But even as you flew, the dark clouds gathering on the horizon seemed to echo the storm brewing in your heart—a storm that would not be calmed until you had faced whatever awaited you at the border, and until Alex was safe once more.

——

The journey to the border was intense, the air thick with tension as you and Azriel flew across the vast landscape. The wind howled in your ears, but you barely noticed it, your mind focused on the task ahead. Every beat of Azriel’s wings brought you closer to the danger, closer to whatever trap awaited you at the border between the Night and Day Courts.

You had brought your best swords with you, the ones that had seen you through countless battles and challenges. They hung at your sides, their weight familiar and reassuring as you soared through the sky. You knew the path ahead would be fraught with danger, and you were prepared to face whatever came your way.

As the day began to wane, the sun dipping low on the horizon, you and Azriel landed in a dense forest not far from the border. The trees towered above you, their branches forming a protective canopy that blocked out most of the fading light. The air was cool and damp, the ground soft beneath your boots as you made your way through the underbrush.

The dense forest at the border between the Night and Day Courts was eerily quiet, the only sound the soft rustling of leaves as a cool breeze whispered through the trees. You and Azriel moved cautiously, your senses heightened, every shadow and flicker of movement catching your attention.

You were both on edge, knowing that the slightest misstep could lead to danger. And then, as if on cue, the silence was shattered by the sudden rustle of leaves, the snap of a twig, and the unmistakable sound of steel being drawn from its sheath.

A group of figures emerged from the shadows, their faces obscured by dark hoods and masks. Their movements were swift, coordinated—a group of trained killers who had clearly been waiting for you. Without hesitation, you drew your swords, the familiar weight of the blades bringing a surge of confidence as you prepared to face the threat head-on.

The first of the attackers lunged at you, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. You met his strike with a powerful parry, the clash of steel ringing out through the trees. Without missing a beat, you pivoted on your heel, bringing your other sword around in a swift arc that cut through the attacker’s defenses, sending him stumbling back with a grunt of pain.

But there was no time to pause, no time to catch your breath. Another attacker was on you in an instant, his movements fast and brutal. You sidestepped his initial thrust, your body moving with the grace and speed of someone who had spent years honing their skills. As his blade passed harmlessly by your side, you brought your own sword up in a fluid motion, slashing across his chest and sending him crashing to the ground.

Azriel was beside you, his shadows swirling around him like a living storm as he fought off his own assailants. His blades moved with lethal precision, every strike calculated, every movement efficient. The air around him seemed to darken, the shadows lending him an almost otherworldly aura as he cut through the attackers with ease.

But even with your combined skills, the attackers were relentless, their numbers greater than you had anticipated. You found yourself surrounded, forced to fend off strikes from all sides as the enemy pressed in. The clash of steel and the grunts of exertion filled the air, your senses overwhelmed by the chaos of battle.

One of the attackers managed to get close, his blade slicing across your arm before you could fully deflect it. You hissed in pain, but the wound was shallow, barely more than a scratch. As you glanced down, you saw the blue flames flicker across the cut, healing the wound almost instantly. The flames danced along your skin, sealing the flesh as if the injury had never occurred.

The attacker hesitated, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the flames. You didn’t give him a chance to recover. With a fierce cry, you drove your sword through his defenses, the blade biting deep into his side. He fell with a choked gasp, his body crumpling to the forest floor.

But the momentary distraction had left you vulnerable. Another attacker seized the opportunity, launching a quick strike that you barely managed to evade. The blade grazed your side, cutting through your tunic and drawing blood. But once again, the blue flames flared to life, closing the wound almost as quickly as it had been made.

Azriel noticed the flames as well, his eyes flicking to you even as he dispatched another attacker with a swift, brutal strike. There was a flash of concern in his gaze, quickly replaced by a renewed determination as he fought his way to your side.

The battle raged on, but with each passing moment, you and Azriel began to turn the tide. Your swords moved in perfect harmony, cutting through the ranks of attackers with deadly precision. The blue flames continued to flicker across your skin, healing every wound that dared to mar your flesh, their light casting an eerie glow in the darkening forest.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last of the attackers fell to the ground, his lifeless body joining the others in the clearing. You stood there, panting, your swords still gripped tightly in your hands as you scanned the area for any remaining threats. But the forest had fallen silent once more, the only sound the ragged breathing of you and Azriel as you slowly lowered your weapons.

Azriel sheathed his blades, his shadows slowly receding as he turned to you, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and admiration. “You handled yourself well,” he said, his voice rough from exertion. “But those flames… I’ve never seen anything like that.”

You nodded, still catching your breath as you looked down at the place where the wound had been. “It’s… a part of me. They’ve always been there, ever since I was young. They heal me, protect me.”

Azriel stepped closer, his gaze intense as he studied your face. “They’re remarkable. You’re remarkable.”

You managed a small smile, the tension of the fight beginning to ebb away. “Thank you, Azriel. But we should keep moving. There might be more of them out there.”

He nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned to scan the area. “Agreed. But first, let’s rest. We need to regain our strength before we push on.”

The two of you found a small clearing a short distance away, where you quickly set up a makeshift camp. Azriel gathered wood for a fire while you kept watch, your swords resting beside you, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice.

The night was quiet, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the distant rustle of leaves in the wind. The flames danced between you, casting flickering shadows across the ground as you both settled down to rest.

Azriel’s gaze was thoughtful as he watched you, and after a moment, he spoke. “Those swords… they’re not just weapons to you, are they?”

You glanced down at the blades resting beside you, the memories of their creation and the battles they had seen flooding your mind. “No, they’re not.”

Azriel waited, his expression patient, and after a moment, you began to speak, your voice soft as you shared the story of your swords.

“This one,” you said, lifting the longer of the two blades, “was the first sword I ever forged on my own. I was still an apprentice at the time, working under my master. It took me months to get it right—every strike of the hammer, every fold of the metal had to be perfect. My master wouldn’t let me use it until he was sure it was ready.”

You ran your fingers along the blade, the steel cool and smooth beneath your touch. “It’s seen me through some of the hardest fights of my life. Every time I draw it, I remember the lessons my master taught me—the importance of patience, of precision, of never letting fear control you.”

Azriel nodded, his eyes reflecting the firelight as he listened. “And the other one?”

You smiled faintly, lifting the shorter dagger from its sheath. “This one was a gift from my master when I completed my apprenticeship. He said it was a symbol of my journey, of everything I had overcome to reach that point. It’s small, but it’s sharp—like me, he used to say.”

You chuckled softly at the memory, the sound tinged with a hint of sadness. “These weapons are more than just tools. They’re a part of me, a testament to the life I’ve lived, the battles I’ve fought. They’ve been with me through everything.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, his voice low as he spoke. “I understand. My blades… they carry the weight of every life I’ve taken, every mission I’ve completed. They’re a part of who I am, just as yours are a part of you.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of connection between the two of you—something deeper than just the bond forged in battle. It was a shared understanding, a recognition of the sacrifices you had both made, the burdens you both carried.

The fire crackled softly between you, its warm glow casting flickering shadows across the clearing. The conversation had lulled into a comfortable silence, the weight of the journey and the battle you had just fought settling over you both. The night air was cool, but the warmth of the fire and the presence of Azriel beside you kept the chill at bay.

As you sat there, lost in thought, you felt a gentle, almost playful tug at your hair. You glanced over at Azriel, but his hands were resting on his knees, nowhere near you. It wasn’t until you noticed the faint, wispy tendrils of shadow curling around your hair that you realized what was happening.

Azriel’s shadows, usually dark and brooding, seemed to have taken on a life of their own. They twisted and danced around your head, teasing the strands of your hair as if playing a game. One of them curled around your wrist, its touch surprisingly warm, almost affectionate.

You looked at Azriel, your eyebrows raised in surprise. “Are they… playing with me?”

Azriel followed your gaze, his own eyes widening slightly as he observed his shadows’ behavior. “It seems so,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of wonder. “They don’t usually do that. They’re… not like this with anyone else.”

You tilted your head, watching as the shadows continued to weave through your hair, their movements gentle and almost tender. “Why do you think they’re doing it?”

Azriel’s gaze softened as he studied the shadows, his expression thoughtful. “I’m not sure. They’re usually more reserved, more… cautious around others. But with you…” He trailed off, his voice quiet as he watched the shadows curl around your fingers, almost as if they were holding on to you. “It’s like they’re drawn to you.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought, reaching out to let one of the shadows wrap around your hand. It felt warm, like a gentle breeze against your skin. “Maybe they know I’m not a threat. Or maybe they just like me.”

Azriel’s lips curved into a small smile, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that made your heart skip a beat. “I think they do. They’ve been doing this more and more whenever you’re around.”

You chuckled softly, the sound light in the quiet of the night. “I suppose I should be flattered. It’s not every day you’re befriended by shadows.”

Azriel’s smile widened, and there was a warmth in his gaze that made you feel as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of you, sitting by the fire with the night wrapped around you like a protective cloak. “You should be. They’re very particular about who they let close.”

The shadows continued their gentle play, weaving through your hair and around your fingers, their touch light and almost soothing. It was a strange, but not unwelcome sensation—one that made you feel connected to Azriel in a way you hadn’t expected.

After a moment, Azriel’s voice broke the silence, his tone soft. “It’s a good sign, you know. That they’re comfortable around you. It means they trust you.”

You looked up at him, your smile fading into something more serious, more intimate. “And what about you, Azriel? Do you trust me?”

He held your gaze, his shadows still swirling around you, their movements slowing as if to match the rhythm of your heartbeat. “Yes,” he said quietly, the word carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. “I trust you, Y/N. More than I’ve trusted anyone in a long time.”

The sincerity in his voice, the openness in his eyes, made your breath catch. You reached out, your hand resting on his, the connection between you deepening in that moment of shared vulnerability.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. “That means more to me than you know.”

Azriel’s hand turned beneath yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. The shadows, now more subdued, continued to dance around the two of you, their presence a comforting reminder that, despite the darkness ahead, you were not alone.

And as you sat there, hand in hand with Azriel, the warmth of the fire and the gentle touch of the shadows surrounding you, you knew that whatever lay ahead, you would face it with him by your side.

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[the-night-moves-writing]

Sisterhood

Winchesters x Sibling reader (sibling bond ONLY)

Castiel x Winchester Reader (Platonic)

Summary: When Castiel goes off the deep end and becomes god, he finds he still has a soft spot for the smallest winchester

Warnings: angst, reader is mute for a lot of the fic, Descriptions of a panic attack, mentions of John Winchester being a bad father

Characters: John, Castiel x Reader (platonic), Dean x Reader (siblings), and Sam x reader (siblings), very small amount of destiel (you can see it if you squint)

Word count: 1746

A/N: Hi guys! I feel like i might post a little bit more now that i'm back, also there is a part two (and maybe three) in the works for this! i will create a list for you to be able to find all the parts and link it to my masterlist once i get it all set up. Also now i am on A03 and i will link that to my masterlist here in a little bit too. Anyway sorry for the long authors note, heres the fic. <3

I think of ways to turn the tables and fear what happens when they turn, the anger he fills in turn fills me with uncertainty and anxiety. His father passed the hate down the table, passed through graves and passed through cradles. He said he could never turn out like him, he was different. He kept those he wanted to protect at arms length, never fully giving himself the right to feel and to be loved. The one exception to the rule was Sam. Little brother Sammy, his whole reason for continuing on was to take care of Sam and protect him. Then here I came into the picture like a wrecking ball through the perfectly built motel room. 

Left on the doorstep with nothing but a note that read: John i could no longer take care of our child so i give them to you. May they grow to be strong and better than the both of us. There was no name left on the note but my father John Winchester knew who it was from, some random lady in a bar. He never wanted to deal with me so he placed me into Dean's caring arms. Dean was not only my brother and caregiver but also my dad in my eyes. So Dean and Sam became my whole world my entire life, until Sam left us for college. Being only 6 at the time I had a very little understanding of why he left but Dean always just said he left us. So I hunted with Dean and John, well less hunting and more researching for them and learning everything I could about the lore so that I could be helpful to Dean and John and take Sam's place in hunting. 

 Then it was just me and Dean hunting and I learned the basics.  When Dean went to get Sam from college because John had been gone for a few days on a hunting trip i was so angry, how could he leave us and how could Dean still want him back especially when i was 10 and more than capable of helping dean. Then he came back and we were together again and things were good, until Dean died and Sam dropped me off at Bobbys. I was 13 years old and I could hunt with him, I didn't want to be away from both of my brothers. Bobby thought that I needed a car though so he let me rebuild one with him so I rebuilt my sweetheart, I couldn’t call her baby despite me loving the car, a 1965 mustang. A nice little two seater that I had painted green. I used the car to visit where Sam had Dean buried, all the time. Bobby was concerned at how much time I spent at his grave but I couldn't help it. 

I had lost both of my brothers and the only family I had ever had and I was grasping at straws, I lived but it was my spirit that was haunting Bobby's house. I had become basically mute within these past months and Bobby was trying everything to get me to speak again. So when Dean returned out of nowhere I stayed by his side, though it worried Dean how quiet I was. I never left his side though which helped to ease his anxieties and when the entity was following Dean we had bigger things to deal with. I stayed far away from Sam not being able to look in his eyes after being left again. Then we met Castiel. I was very worried and very scared. Somehow Cas picked up on it though and constantly eased my fears, he could tell why i didn't trust Sam and unlike Dean accepted and understood it. Cas easily became a good friend to me because I didn't have to speak with him and he didn't have to try to understand human norms with me. 

Dean and Sam were both worried about this new found friendship between me and the angel but they saw the way that I was opening up. Saw the way I was becoming happy again and they just couldn't interfere. Everything changed when I turned 15 Castiel died and Sam went to hell. Cas came back though like always and when Sam didn't have a soul and Dean was searching for a way to return his, Cas stuck by me cared for me and kept me safe. He answered when I called and he took care of me. He takes care of me and is the only person I can trust. Then I hit 16 and the worst period of my life began, Cas declared himself the new god. The sadness I felt in my chest, crushing my heart.

For the first time in almost 4 years I had something to say 

“Cas STOP!” I said

Everyone turned to stare at me, and Cas turned to walk towards me. He took my hand

 in his and said,

“I am extremely proud of you my very devoted little one” 

His tone borders on threatening and dipping into enjoyment and pride.

He looked between Dean and Sam and myself before he spoke once more

“I expect complete devotion from you all…” he paused for a second, taking a breath before turning to me. The look in his eyes was no longer the soft and comforting look I had grown accustomed to. 

“…you have proven that you will speak for me in what you consider dire situations, so I command you to continue to do so” his gaze softened “ You have always been my favorite, my little one. Please do not give me any reason to punish you.”  

I, not being able to meet his gaze any longer, turned to look at the ground. My favorite person was now gone and there was nothing I could do to bring him back. I could follow him and leave my brothers again, leave my family. Or I could stay and lose the person I'm closest to in the whole world.

I could hear Dean and Sam shouting but I felt like my head was being pushed underwater, I couldn't breathe and I could feel the tears begin to run down my face and splatter on to the floor below. My vision was blurry and it was so loud everything was so loud, my entire life was falling apart and there was nothing I could do about it. I was completely hopeless and useless, I wasn't good enough. Good enough to help Sam and Dean with hunts, or protect them from going to hell, I couldn't do anything. I could feel my breathing quicken and my chest tightening. 

“STOP” Cas’s voice cut clear though the air, he turned from the boys walking towards me. My thoughts, eyes, and breathing were still shaky and unfocused. At some point I had ended up on my knees sobbing.

“Obviously I cannot leave the care of you to these two, my little one, I better take you with me.” He stated, me not hearing him, though it was more a threat to the boys. Dean finally noticed me and ran over and moved to be on his knees, Sam hot on his trail following suit to kneel in front of me.

“Hey hey hey your ok sweetheart, I promise. I got you, deanies here, don't worry.” Dean said, bringing up the nickname I used to call him trying to calm me down. Dean and Sam continued their calming words till my breath returned to normal. Cas was still staring at us from afar. He looked at us for a minute before speaking 

“If you wish for me to let you keep your sister I expect obedience Dean, I do not want to fret over her as i try to rebuild heaven. I could always just take her with me if that would make you more compliant.” His voice booming and loud

“P…. please let me stay” my voice is still shaky and rough not only from the panic attack but from years of not using it.

“This is not a decision for you to make, if i dont think Dean is capable of caring for you then I won't hesitate to bring you with me.” He said to me 

“Remember for almost 4 years I was the only person you spoke to. I know everything about you, and Dean cannot care for you as much as I could, little one.” Castiel’s voice seemed to soften when speaking to me. Dean could no longer take the former angel speaking as if he could not care for HIS siblings any longer.

“I’ve taken care of her my entire life Cas I think I know what I am doing.” He said a little bit pissed and it showed through his voice.

“I am no longer Cas to you Dean, you may refer to me as lord or god but never speak as if you are close to me again.” The statement was heartbreaking for the hunter, who always had a ‘profound bond’ with the angel.

“Another thing you say you have cared for them yet they were mute for four years, and you have caused so much damage to them. Do you really think you can care for them better than I?” Cas asked him completely serious

“I tried Cas you know better than anyone that i tried for almost two years, but i can't MAKE them talk” Dean was full blown angry now. Making me more frightened

“I TOLD YOU TO NOT CALL ME CAS.” Cas said his voice booming off the walls, he brought his hand up to slam Dean into the wall

“Stop, stop, stop please, I’m sorry, I'm so sorry, please just let me stay.” you cried out

“You have no control over my actions, little one. Dean had been given too many warnings, but seeing as you want to stay I will allow it, but believe me I will be doing check ups, and if I believe that you are not being cared for I will not hesitate to take you. You are still only a child who needs to be protected.” Cas said putting Dean down, Sam running to help him, Cas then turned from me to the brothers before speaking one last time.

“Heed my warnings. I am not going to repeat myself.” he said before disappearing, leaving the siblings alone in the warehouse.

[mysticheathenn]

What Is Your Next Tower Moment?

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is for my Patreon All Tiers. This pick-a-card reading is all about what chaos will the universe (God, Allah, etc) bring to shake up your world to bring in change.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

Extended Patreon Includes:

Why Is this Happening?

What outcome can this tower moment bring?

Extra Messages

MasterList

Patreon Link

Ko-Fi Donations

Pile l:

What is Your Next Tower Moment? Tarot: 10 of Swords, 8 of Wands (reversed), Judgement, The Tower, The High Priestess (reversed)

Endings. There is something in your life pile l that you keep ignoring your intuition that is causing you displeasure, pain, unhappiness, etc that you are taking your very sweet slow time in trying to correct or remove this issue from your life. This could be a dead-end relationship, a job, your living situation, etc. Overall you are in a toxic environment and I feel you have been given so many chances to try and correct, end, or do something with this situation and you keep ignoring your intuition to the point the universe and spirit guides are starting to get a bit frustrated because they want better for you. They are close to taking matters into their own hands and literally rocking your world if you do not take care of this situation yourself in a timely manner. For those who are in a relationship that is either dead or toxic the quote that came to me "Never let someone tell you they don't want you twice." That "twice" is going to be the universe stepping in to cause a situation they know you can no longer overlook to end things. This doesn't have to be a relationship, this could be a job, even school. Some of you I feel are in a major that you don't want to do anymore or at a school you no longer want to be at but because it's cheaper, your friends are there, it's close to home, etc you decide to keep attending. Patreon Post Link

Pile ll:

What is Your Next Tower Moment? Tarot: 8 of Wands (reversed), 10 of Cups (reversed), The Fool, Ace of Cups, 6 of Wands

"What you want is on the other side of fear." - Will Smith. At first pile ll I was a bit confused because you have nothing but successful cards that came out for you. 8 of cups is all about rapid movement, Ace & 10 of cups is all about varied fulfillment (emotional, financial, etc), The fool new beginnings, and 6 of wands is the victory card...so why the long face in this reading you may ask and I believe there are quite a few of you that may have resonated from my previous reading "Where does your life require focus". You may have chosen pile ll or pile lll maybe even a part of pile lV but mostly pile ll and lll where I discussed acting on and believing in your goals, dreams, and etc. This is also your tower moment where the universe/your spirit team are ready to push you from the nest whether you are "ready" or not. Ready or Not by The Fugees is playing in my head. It's the chorus part:

"Ready or not, here I come, you can't hide Gonna find you and take it slowly Ready or not, here I come, you can't hide Gonna find you and make you want me"

They are tired of you wanting to do things when you are ready. The time is now to act on your visions, goals, and dreams. "If you never start you will never act." "There is never a right time." So many quotes are coming in for you pile ll and I think you know all of this but yet there is still no movement on your part. It's as if you hear and see things that encourage and remind you to take the jump and you get inspired but then never act on the things you are being called to do. It's getting to the point where some of you are getting annoyed because you can't escape these messages...well here we are again love. So sorry to be the one to do this to you as well to remind you to just jump. This is very specific for a few of you but you do not need to have an aesthetically pleasing place to live to shoot videos, nor do you need a billion dollars to start. You have everything you need just use the resources you have and start. Patreon Post Link

Pile lll:

What is Your Next Tower Moment? Tarot: 3 of Pentacles, 2 of Swords, Five of Wands (reversed), 10 of Pentacles (Reversed), 10 of Cups

Avoidance. Loss. This is my passive-aggressive pile. Some of you may hate dealing with confrontation and deal with things either passively-aggressively or just sweep things underneath the rug to keep the "peace." Unfortunately for you pile lll you will no longer be able to keep doing what you are doing. The blindfolds are coming off and you will have to deal with your circumstances one way or another. For some of you, this has to do with finances, I'm hearing you letting someone borrow money and they fail to pay you back or even you failing to keep a budget and overspending because you are constantly treating yourself and/or filling the hole in your life with things and not addressing the real issue. For others of you this is more so about the people around you that is causing you to feel this intermoil. You keep turning a blind eye to everything they are doing and not holding people accountable for their actions even when they are hurting you and others around you. The Ace of Cups card is a cup that has a hand and a cup that is overflowing with love, fulfillment, and peace but instead of that for you it's as if you are constantly always overflowing with chances, don't worry about it, I'm fine, etc. It's getting to the point where your cup is about to run dry on the behaviors of others around you and even yourself when it comes to your financial situation. This may be really specific for a few of you but stop letting other people stop your bag. For some of you, this is your management team at your job, family, friends, etc. Someone could be stopping your bag because of horrible scheduling at work, you not wanting to be around certain people so you keep the peace knowing management is trash, whatever the reasoning is you are taking a financial loss by allowing others to constantly walk all over you. Some of you are keeping the peace because you want a promotion, raise, etc when really you are taking a loss emotionally, financially, etc. Patreon Post Link

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Summer 2020 - The Hard Deck

Chapter 8 Part 1 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: Two months. Sometimes you can't believe you've already been dating Bradley Bradshaw, the most perfect man you've ever met and your soulmate, for that long. But with the pressures of being officers in the Navy and everything your jobs entail, you haven't taken your relationship to the next step. When a night at The Hard Deck has you seeing green, you decide enough is enough. Bradley is your soulmate and you're going to make sure he knows just how much you love him.

Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Angst. Flagrant disregard for protocols or Authority. Angst. Anguish.

This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.

Warnings: Female!Reader

Word Count: 4051

A/N: Hiya lovelies! I'm back with yet another chapter of YAMS! My muse sort of went into hibernation between March and now, but never fear, this fic is not on hiatus! I hope you all love this chapter as much as I do!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

Tinkerbell

It’s been only a little under a year since you came to North Island. So much has changed over that time. The biggest change? Finding Bradley Bradshaw. You can’t believe you once wished anyone else could be your soulmate. Now, you’re not sure you could wish for anyone else. It feels like your entire outlook on life has changed, because you’re not sure you could go back to the person who wasn’t quickly falling in love with their soulmate.

Bradley Bradshaw is different now, too. When he’s not on base, he’s sweet and kind, considerate in a way you’d agreed he wouldn’t be when you were on duty. A part of the reason why is because nobody on base (except your best friends) knows that Bradley Bradshaw is your soulmate. Neither of you is in a rush to put a label on what you are either. Jake and Javy have both asked you, repeatedly, whether you're together, but you can’t tell them not when you’re not sure what is going on between you and your soulmate. After your contentious first few months at North Island, you’re a little afraid to ask Bradley, as well. What if that question makes everything devolve between the two of you? What if you go back to the fighting? You’re not sure you can go back to how it used to be between the two of you, with tension rising in the air between you. You think Bradley feels the same as you do. You hope he does. While you can still see the disbelief on his face sometimes when you kiss him, like he can’t believe he’s yours, you’re still not sure.

The rumor mill around North Island hasn’t helped anything. It’s obvious the newest Top Gun class has heard the rumors of the last few months. It should be a blessing they haven’t focused on the events leading up to Hawk’s inquiry and its aftermath. Instead, they’ve chosen to focus on what is going on (or may be going on) between you and Bradley. No doubt they’ve heard from Calypso, who was as gossipy as could be, before coming to North Island. You’ve witnessed it yourself, how the LTJG gossip network works. How else would news of the great Maverick’s latest brush with the Admiralty become the next talked about thing when you’re on board a ship for months at a time? Now every interaction you have with the Dagger Squadron is examined with a fine-toothed comb when superior officers aren’t present. You’ve heard some truly ridiculous things at this point, just by walking past the lounge.

“Have you seen how Tinkerbell is with Phoenix and Bob? I’m pretty sure she’s fucking both of them in addition to Bradshaw. The question is if they know or if she’s cheating on each of them with the others?”

As if that wasn’t ridiculous enough, it seems like you’re rumored to be romantically linked to almost every Dagger you speak to.

“Okay, but have you seen how she acts with Coyote and Hangman? If she gets any closer to them when they’re off duty, she’d be on top of them.”

“I bet you 50, she is!”

“I’d take that bet, but Hangy’s too buttoned up for that!”

If only it were just the Dagger Squad you’ve been rumored to be in a relationship with.

“She’s totally got an April-September thing going on with Admiral Mitchell! You’ve seen him napping on the sofa in front of her desk! Why else would an Admiral be in the AMDO hangar?”

Your favorite rumors of all, though, are the ones about Bradley and you. 

“Bradshaw has to be who she is dating! He smiles so much when she’s around him! There’s this tension between the two of them all the time! If they’re not head over heels for each other, then I think I need a vacation (or my radar is broken).”

“That’s a shame, Jiffy! Are you a WSO or aren’t you?”

“Fuck you, Toast! Anyways, like I was saying, they’ll be fucking before we graduate from Top Gun!”

They’re your favorite rumors because they’re the ones most likely to come true, not that any of the class will come to know, especially not Toast and Jiffy, from whom you heard that last parlay. 

It’s the turmoil of being known as Bradley Bradshaw’s soulmate which has had you in a tailspin since the aftermath of that all too successful first date. Can you be known as his? Yes. Do you want to be known as his? Yes and no. That’s about where your feelings and thoughts get complicated. You’d love to scream “Bradley Bradshaw is my soulmate” from the rooftops. But you’re also tired of the double standard. You get enough of it as is, being a successful female, AMDO Lieutenant Commander in the US Navy. The words Bradley had flung at you that first night on North Island (the ones he has apologized for a hundred times)? You’ve heard them more times than you can count. You’re sure you’ll hear them again. But you’re also sure that if the news of you and Bradley being soulmates gets out, every achievement of your career will be in question.

Despite all of the leading research in the world, nobody fully understands how far and deep soulmate bonds go. After all, it’s difficult to, when there are as many types of bonds as there are and even more types of soul markers. You and your soul shared dreams, centered around different objects integral to your soul's identity. Your parents only heard the music the other was listening to until they met. Jake and Javy hold each other’s names on their skin, written out in each other's handwriting. It seems like each type of bond holds a different type of connection, too. In the two months since you and Bradley crashed together, opening the bond, you’ve begun to feel his emotions, get a sense of what he's thinking. Nobody knows how the bond will evolve, but you’re sure it could evolve into a full telepathic bond given time. If anyone were to know, they’d assume your talent with fighter jets came from your soul. They’d find it hard to believe you knew anything of your own. The thoughts have you questioning yourself just a little, too. Before you met him, who knows how much of the bond was open? How much of your success was due to him and how much of it was due to your own hard work?

Thankfully, you have Mav and Ice to confide in and counsel you. Their advice and reassurances have gone a long way in helping you sort out exactly how and when you want your bond publicized. As it turns out, you weren’t the only person to be shocked when they found out Ice and Mav are each other’s soulmates. It’s probably the US Navy’s best kept secret, to be clear. Very few people know, mostly family and commanding officers. You’ve even had the chance to view their public files. There is only a singular line mentioning their bond in each file, stating the words Soulbound, Married followed by the other’s initials.

The way Mav tells it, keeping each other hidden, keeping their bond quiet, has been the biggest help of their careers. Ice would have never been able to protect Mav over the years if their bond had been widely publicized. Of course, like most things in life, it wasn't easy. But it's the price they've each paid time and again to be with each other in spite of their dual need to succeed in their chosen fields.

Bradley and you've talked about it, too. It wasn’t a unilateral decision on either of your parts. You both have goals in your careers you are trying to achieve. So you're trying to follow the same precedent and example. But despite Mav’s warnings, you weren’t expecting keeping your distance from Bradley Bradshaw to be quite so difficult. At work, it's not as big a deal, staying away from each other. It feels like you couldn’t behave in any other way, honestly. Every motion is choreographed, governed by the muscle memory of bodies conditioned by the US Navy into holding themselves a certain way, responding in a certain way.

Unfortunately, the two of you act the same way when you're alone. When you're at home or at Mav and Ice's house, you melt into him, kiss him, hold him like you've been aching to for your whole life. But when you’re out and about in San Diego, he keeps a constant distance between you. He doesn’t slip his arm around your shoulder or your waist, kiss your cheek or shoulder or any of the hundreds of little ways couples you see on the street show their love for each other. You know it’s part and parcel of your pact. But it still makes you feel like a dirty little secret when you know you’re anything but. At least Bradley still kisses you like he believes you are going to disappear if he blinks. Each embrace, each brush of his lips against your skin sparks an inferno. But that is it. As soon as his lips meet your skin, they're gone again.

For weeks you've been feeling the itch under your skin, begging you to get closer to your soul. You're craving intimacy, a need to imprint yourself on his skin so deep he'll never forget who he belongs to. You might not be able to show it publicly, but privately, you’re ready to stake your claim. You know how gorgeous your soul is, inside and out. After all, you have eyes. You would never have noticed him the first night at the Hard Deck all those months ago if it weren’t for his charisma and looks. If only there was a way you could show him, in front of anyone who matters.

It doesn’t help that you can’t even kiss him when you’re off duty most of the time, because you inevitably find yourselves at The Hard Deck with the rest of the Dagger Squadron. There are too many eyes on you, on the Dagger Squadron when you’re there. They’re practically famous, and with Naval personnel other than the Daggers around, you can’t risk anything. When the Daggers are involved, things always seem to get turned on their heads. They are an affectionate squadron, closer to family than colleagues, preferring to hug each other with impunity. After all, you’ve seen the puppy-pile the lot of them turn into after a particularly rough training session at the behest of Mav. So it’s no wonder the rumors fly as fast and furiously about them as they do.

Anti-fraternization regulations are one thing. The badge bunnies and the odd bachelorette parties who wander into the Hard Deck for fun with some men and women in uniform are something else entirely. With enough alcohol, they flirt with anyone in sight. It’s no wonder they flirt as much as they do with your soulmate. They fall over themselves when he sits at the piano at the end of the bar, a flirty smile on his lips as he tickles the ivory keys and sings with his gorgeous voice. He’s your soulmate. You know it in your soul, just as you know all the reasons why Bradley would never pick one of them. But logic and reasoning don’t keep you from seeing red whenever other women flirt with your man.

It’s late, half-past 11 at the very least, with the time ticking closer to midnight with every elapsed second. All the regulars have mostly cleared out tonight, leaving only the Daggers, you, and a few scantily-clad girls in the bar. The Daggers are often the first to enter the bar when it opens and the last to leave. Right now, they’re all arrayed at the pool tables, talking shit and taking shots with the cues in turn. Penny’s behind the bar, like always, though even she seems less than pleased by the high-pitched giggling from the bachelorette party tottering about on too high heels. You hope she’s at least getting good tips from their repeated squeals for shots.

Bradley’s the only Dagger not at the pool tables. Even Bob with his ever-present can of soda and cup of peanuts is over there. If you focus, you think you can hear him roasting Jake in that quiet understated way of his. But most of your focus is on the badge bunny draped across Bradley’s broad chest. She stinks of cheap tequila, you could probably smell her from a mile away, and only the sash draped around her proclaiming her to be the maid-of-honor explains why she’s in this bar. What’s pissing you off just a little more than how this slut is draped over your soulmate is how she barely seems to care how you’re right there. You’ve been standing next to Bradley all night long, closer than is proper for colleagues. His hand’s been looped through one of the belt-loops on your jeans all night too, hidden behind the high table, palm scorching as it rests just over the swell of your ass. What part of your posture screams “This man is single”? If that wasn’t enough, he’d been leaning into your face as you chatted in intimate whispers barely audible over the music. 

She’d barged right into the middle of your conversation, tossing her hair and batting her eyelashes. Even now, she’s flirting and giggling, the high-pitched noises making you wince, putting you so thoroughly on edge that you feel like you’re seconds from snapping. You sigh when she finally stumbles away, her heels clacking clumsily over the sticky floor. You could do without the come-hither eyes she sends Bradley’s way, but at least Bradley doesn’t seem to notice. His attention is on you, like it has been all night.

“Fuck,” His voice is rough, the sound wrapping around you in a way that makes your panties just a little wet. “I’m sorry about that, sweetheart.”

He tugs you in a little closer by your belt loops, the motion soothing the ragged edges of your nerves as the Sandalwood of his cologne drowns you.

“She just wouldn’t go away!”

He drags his hand, the one with his US Naval Academy ring with its garnet gem through his curls as he downs the last few sips of his beer. You track a droplet as it drips down his cut jaw, and desperately want to kiss your soul once again. Of course, that feeling is drowned by more rage as you catch the cow-eyes little miss Maid-of-Honor is making in her sparkly hot pink dress on the other side of the bar. 

It makes you a little reckless as you spit words out, trying to provoke an argument, something to make your soul realize little things like a woman flirting with him, touching him, bothers you.

“Hmm… I wonder why, Roo?” You roll your eyes and stamp your foot a little. “Maybe it’s ‘cause you looked happy to have her wrapped around you?”

He recoils at your words and vitriolic tone, a puppy-dog pout dragging the corners of his mouth down for just a few seconds before resettling his lips into his most charming grin. It’s too charming for words, eroding at the edges of your anger just enough to make her flirting seem less troubling than it is.

“Is everything okay, Tink?” His hand slides up, rubbing at your hip in slow circles, but you’re not willing to give in. “C’mon baby, tell me what I did wrong. I can’t fix it if I don’t know.”

You gulp the last bit of your margarita in response before shoving the glass into his chest.

“It’s nothing, Roo. I’m fine. Just a little thirsty, that’s all.”

Your excuse is slim at best. You know it. So does he by the quirk in his brow as he looks at you. 

“We’ll talk about this when you’re ready.”

Maybe it’s the bond working to let him know when you’re not ready to talk. But when he grabs his empty beer bottle and your martini glass and turns around to walk back to the bar, your irrational anger rears its ugly little head again. Because there she is in all of her glory, whispering with one of her friends, waving him over with red-taloned fingers while seductively staring at your soul. She’s obviously noticed the swagger in his hips just as much as you have. If only she’d noticed your glower in her direction, a gaze which is quickly turning into a piercing glare. You’re not trying to pick a fight, tonight. It's not Bradley's fault that women find him irresistible. You just want your soul to know she bothers you. And you want her to know he’s not hers to seduce into her bed just because he’s hot.

So your tone is artificially light as you call out, just loud enough over the din that Bradley hears you.

“You don’t even know you’re doing it, huh?”

“Doing what?” He sounds confused, adorably so.

“I mean, it’s obvious you haven’t spent any time on a farm.”

You grin from ear-to-ear, fighting the urge to fist-bump the air, when he turns around, out of the line of sight of little miss Maid-of-Honor at the other end of the bar. He thuds the empties down and crosses his arms across his chest, the muscles bulging mouth-wateringly in front of you. It’s obvious he knows what you’re up to based on the amused quirk to his lips, but he’s playing along regardless.

“And you have?”

There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he looks down at you. Your grin could be called positively wicked in response.

“Sure I have! Seresin Ranch is an awful lot of fun at Christmas-time!” You tug one of the chairs over and sit down in it, keeping the high table between you and your soulmate. “You know what else they have at Seresin Ranch?”

“Lemme take a quick guess here…” 

His eyebrows raise as he pretends to think. 

“Chickens?”

“Yup!”

You relish in the shape of your lips as you pop the ‘p’ in your too cheeky response to him.

“And there is one ole Rooster in the flock, too. And you know how he walks? Especially when he’s got a hen he’s wooing?”

“Just like I do?” Your lips quirk at the disappointment on his face, destroying the mock thoughtful pout you'd sent your soul's way moments before. When a smile sneaks onto his lips unwillingly, you giggle. He looks fondly exasperated at the sight of your glee, but takes a step closer to you.

“God, Tinky! If I hadn’t been right here all night, I would’ve been asking you just how much you’ve had to drink tonight!”

You can’t find it in you to respond, the thoughts flitting past at lightning speed. It feels like you’re magnetized to his presence. One of his big hands wraps around your hip as he comes to stand between your open legs. He’s a lot, all of a sudden, standing there so close. It’s a little overwhelming. You can’t keep your eyes off of his face, eyes straying repeatedly over the little laugh lines stamped at the corner of his eyes and the way his lips are spit-slicked and a little chapped. You’re so close to him, you’d be kissing him if you pressed upwards just a little more. But somehow, you can’t bring yourself to.

“You’re jealous.”

Everything in you screams you should deny the statement. But you can’t lie. The bond would tell him what your face hasn’t already.

“C-can you blame me?”

The words leave you in a puff of breath, barely audible over the clinking glasses and the whir of the jukebox in the corner.

“Why would you be jealous? I promise there’s no reason for you to be jealous. I promise, sweetheart.” There’s something almost knowing in his face.

“I - I should believe you, Bradley, but I don’t. There's no reason why I shouldn't be jealous of the girls who flirt with you who look like that.” You want to believe him, but the words aren't reassuring in the slightest. “E - especially when I know I’ve never once looked like that on my best days, forget my worst.”

He cups your cheek in his big hand, his skin hot against yours.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, sweetheart.” He sighs, then, pressing his forehead against yours. “And you don’t even know it, do you? That first night? When you were chatting with Penny at the bar wearing that sundress? I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. I was tracking you all night. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since. You have a way of taking over the room with your presence. You’re so sure of who you are and what you’re capable of. You’ve never shied about going after what you want. I admire that about you. I adore that about you.”

“So trust me, beautiful, when I say you have nothing to worry about. You never have and you never will. I know it in my very soul.”

This? This is exactly why it took less than two months for you to fall head-over-heels in love with your soulmate. He always seems to know what to say to make you see things in a different way. All of a sudden, it feels like there isn’t anyone else in the room. The noise of the jukebox, of the Daggers squabbling in the background fades away. All you want in that moment is your soul. But just before you fling yourself into his arms, the shattering of glass jolts you out of your feelings. You're too close to Bradley Bradshaw - too close for a pair of colleagues sharing a late night drink after a long day. Were you both anywhere else, you would have kissed him already, given your preoccupation with the taste of him, the scent of him, the feel of him.

Instead, you murmur, “I'm heading out, Roo. I've got this terrible headache and I should probably turn in early for the night.”

You know he's looking at you with those big, deep brown eyes, trying to get you to meet his gaze, convince you to stay for another drink, another chat, another laugh. But you can’t. You're at the end of your rope. If you were to fall now, loosen your grip on the chains keeping you in check, it would result in the destruction of your efforts. The Daggers barely acknowledge your goodbyes, too absorbed by the game of pool happening before their eyes. Penny wraps you in a motherly embrace as you pay your tab, enquiring fussily if you need her to call a cab. With every move you make, you feel eyes on you. You know exactly who it is, your soul, watching eagle-eyed as you collect your bag and walk out to your car. You know it’s that old Bradshaw chivalry rearing its head, something Mav told you Goose had exhibited with Carole his whole life.

So, of course, you're not alone in the sea-perfumed night air for long. Footsteps disturbing gravel follow you as soon as you step out of the pool of light cast by The Hard Deck’s lamps, hints of sandalwood scent curling around you on the breeze.

“C'mon, sweetheart. Don't I even get a kiss goodnight?” He's wheedling, enticing. Damn him, because you ache for his skin in a way you're not sure you could ever voice. He’s weakening your resolve with every step in your direction.

“There isn't even anybody watching!”

“Who said I was saying goodnight, Roo?” 

The shell-shocked look on his face makes you giggle as you start your car and drive away from The Hard Deck. The roads are deserted, but not for long. Only seconds later, you hear the growl of an engine and smile at the sight of a blue truck pulling up behind you. Your phone chirps with a text as you idle at a stoplight.

This time, I'm not letting you go.

This time, you muse as the light changes, you don’t intend to let him walk out the door so easily.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, WATTPAD, OR AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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[likealittleheartbeat]

hey! i really enjoy your analysis of aang and zuko's relationship, and i was just wondering if you have any thoughts on this:

when aang considers what he's afraid of the most, he doesn't just see zuko - he sees the blue spirit. why do you think his fear is linked to that mask? zuko was the most amicable towards him when he put that mask on, and was hostile every other time.

Ooooh!! This is such a rich and meaty question!! And it's something I've wondered about but never dove into before.

I guess there are a couple of questions we need to explore. One, do we want to begin to analyze this from Aang's perspective or the series' themes, which, when put together, should offer us the fullest idea of what the intent might be? If we begin with Aang's perspective, then the next question we need to next ask what is Aang's view of Zuko and/or the Blue Spirit at this point in the narrative? My worry about beginning at that intimate level is that we might miss possible connections that a thematic understanding might facilitate and may, like many fandom analyses, leave it at a character level when, in fact, the characters exist to serve larger philosophical purposes, especially in a show like ATLA.

So, we'll return to those questions about Aang after we visit some questions about the broader themes here. We know for a fact that the team did a lot of research into Eastern philosophies that they had to then pack down into 24 minute episodes, preserving a surprising amount of complexity not in the words but in the actions and visuals. The 2 part Crossroads of Destiny episode is probably the most evocative of this practice. The four-way fight scene is celebrated for the way it masterfully shows character development through fight choreography. Then, Aang's crystal chamber he forms to master the Avatar State is a direct reference to a statement about pre-enlightenment in one of the foundational texts about Japanese Zen for American Buddhists, "The Three Pillars of Zen." The rapid explanations of the seven chakras with Guru Pathik might seem like a a skimming of Tantric beliefs based on the brief statements and processing, but it's another prime example the way ATLA suffuses meaning beyond the script.

What more can be said about the Earth (also called the Root or Muladhara) Chakra, then, that the show might reflect without stating it explicitly. Guru Pathik explains that the Earth Chakra "deals with survival." Is there any subject more prescient than that for our protagonist, the single survivor of an otherwise all-encompassing genocide? Other accounts of this chakra that I can find explain that it's at this chakra that one can observe that their base needs are being met--enough food, enough water, etc. There seems to be a subtle witnessing to the effects of PTSD here then. With this chakra untouched, unopened, and out of balance, Aang within his mind has been living in a state of emergency without knowing it, believing himself at a core level beyond his consciousness to still be under immediate threat even in moments of peace like his meditations throughout the opening of his chakras. "Your vision is not real," Guru Pathik points out, not to say that no danger exists for him in the world but to illuminate the immediate reality surrounding his person.

The memories and visions that flash during the sequence hint at how fear conceals deeper realities and thus possibilities. I'll start with the clip of Katara sinking away from the first episode of Book 2, "The Avatar State." The Earth Kingdom General performed this cruelty after many other attempts to force Aang into suffering to gain the Avatar State. Believing he lost another person he loved, the state was triggered despite the actuality that Katara was unharmed. The fear of her loss overwhelmed Aang, and even her safe return could not assuage his traumatic response. The Blue Spirit incident forms a striking parallel to this event, in that case. Aang felt himself helpless and in danger only to discover the opposite: the seemingly malevolent force freed him from danger. Further, that Blue Spirit Mask concealed Zuko who, by the end of the series, will be revealed (to himself and) Aang as an ally and a friend. The shadowy image of Ozai, then, connected with these two fear-inducing semblances, can be seen then as perhaps the ultimate foreshadowing of Aang's ultimate success in pacifying Ozai. Put in the context of this chakra and the other two visions, it frames the Firelord as a facade meant to induce terror and distance, when in reality, life and humanity still lay behind the horrifying megalomania.

Concerning the Blue Spirit element specifically in the series, I want to explore one more factor within the series before getting back to Aang's character relationship in this moment. Blue has a running symbolic theme within the series that seems especially relevant here since it played a huge role in a highly symbolic part of the directly previous episode, "The Earth King." As Zuko rides out his psychogenic fever induced by releasing Aang's bison and abandoning his Blue Spirit mask, he is confronted in his dreams by a blue dragon voiced by Azula and a red dragon voiced by Iroh. I felt really confused by these two would-be shoulder angels for the longest time (literally until I was sorting my thoughts out to write this) because Azula's blue dragon is the one who entreats Zuko to rest, which even in Grey Delisle/Azula's clearly threatening tone--she even ends the temptation by saying "sleep just like mother!"--seemed to be what Zuko needed to do as opposed to the red dragon's exhortations to get out. I could see how sleeping might also refer to accepting his upbringing without thought, but why blue? The layers upon layers of possible meaning overwhelmed me.

I posit that blue in the series, especially when put in relationship to red/orange, as it is in the dream sequence, the dynamic between the water tribe and the fire nation, the fire of zuko and azula (especially the final agni kai), and the energy-bending of Aang over Ozai in the finale, ought to be read as Yin (making red/orange yang). Yin is passive, retractive, and receptive, which makes the invitation to rest by a blue dragon make perfect sense. Yin is also feminine in nature, hence the association with both Azula (whose blue fire and lightning becomes especially interesting to explore under this understanding) and Zuko's mother in the dualistic dragon dream. If you know anything about yin and yang, you know that it's key tenet is ever-changing coordination of yin and yang within one entity and with relationships between entities rather than the privileging of one above another. The two dragons in Zuko's dream, while seemingly in opposition to one another, are actually seeking, like the bumper stickers say, "coexistence" of their dispositions.

Now, back to Aang's vision of fear over the Blue Spirit. The red that overlays everything is specifically a reference to the Earth Chakra, which is symbolized by the color red. But the fact that he has one fear of Katara, the pinnacle of blueness/yin in the series, dying, and another fear of the Blue Spirit, a de-flamed (read: emasculated) Zuko attacking him that are then overlayed by this Earth Chakra red, a color otherwise used to portray yang (masculinity, activeness, expansion, and repulsion) and the fire nation in the series, suggests that his fears are specifically about within holding onto yin nature (symbolized by his grasping for a disappearing Katara) without being entirely overwhelmed by it (in the image of the fear he felt as the Blue Spirit approached his imprisoned body). And all those fears are intensified when living in such a patriarchal, or yang-skewed age and society, which gets depicted through both the final image of Ozai, the ultimate patriarch within this world, and the red coloring.

I promised I would get back to the characters, and after that hopefully illuminating thematic expansion, we can hopefully get at the core of what's going on here for Aang personally and what it might mean for him to be picturing Zuko with the Blue Spirit mask as a fear. I want to put this moment into context with Aang and Zuko's relationship at this specific moment. Aang hasn't seen Zuko since he watched him cry over his uncle in the ghost town after Azula struck him with lightning as a diversion. That was ten episodes prior (and more than 6 months time if you were watching the show in real time as it premiered; May 26th-Dec. 1st). The next time Aang sees Zuko, two episodes later, they are glowering across a crystal prison cell at one another with antipathy as they're embraced (a gesture I can only remember from the fantastic black romance film Love & Basketball, and in a gay context that is clearly referencing that moment in L&B, in the Norwegian teen romance series Skam). Right before this scene, Aang readily agrees to co-rescue Zuko and Katara with Uncle Iroh despite Sokka's protestations. Nothing seems amiss with Aang, no obvious belligerence toward Zuko until he sees him. Zuko has barely seen the airbender this whole season, and the one moment they encountered one another, Zuko was attacking Aang's attacker rather than him. Why is Aang expressing anger toward Zuko in the crystal chamber then? It's a rare expression from Aang even when we look at their more antagonistic interactions from the first season.

Here's where this vision of the blue spirit Aang envisions as he opens his earth chakra might enliven his characterization and his relationship to Zuko. We get two pieces here. His attachment to Katara and the queer implications of his partnership with the Blue Spirit/Zuko. And they are inseparable.

I don't feel that I need to especially dive into the attachment to Katara since it's been a pretty big component of discourse within the fandom, both in general analysis and more specifically relating to the (literally historic) shipping wars between zutara and kataang that emerged after the series came out originally. What I'll say here is that the first vision that Aang has as he addresses his root chakra points to his fear of losing her and what she represents pretty explicitly and, as I suggested earlier, also provides its antidote in the realization that accepting/surrendering the fear of impermanence reveals its simultaneous illusion. Katara wasn't actually harmed and wasn't truly lost when the general subsumed her into the ground. Aang has to let go of her as a permanent fixture that he'll always be able to see and know entirely (not, as many have interpreted it, let go of loving her). He'll also have to let go of saving her and the world of so many others she represents, which is as much a pressure and role Katara and others put on him as Aang yolks himself to.

Part of this acknowledgement of Katara's impermanence as a living being and a romantic possibility is addressing the others in her life who pose both danger and attraction for her. Zuko embodies both of these things simultaneously. The aggressive stare Aang launches at Zuko in "The Crossroads of Destiny" can be understood through this lens. The Eve Sedgwick's concept of the triangulation of male homosocial desire between romantic rivals was one of the foundational ideas of queer theory. It's so well-established as to be a meme among the tumblr crowd. The show even references the history of these literary homosocial tropes in "The Avatar and the Firelord" as Sozin and Roku's tight-knit youthful friendship is slowly rent apart at the event of Roku's heterosexual marriage, which thus begins the imperialism of the Fire nation.

Except that Roku and Sozin aren't romantic rivals. And Zuko's obsession with Aang begins sans Katara. And, as you pointed out, if the romantic threat is Zuko, it ought to be Zuko in the Earth Chakra vision instead of the Blue Spirit? Well, those all exist because ATLA is not a tragedy for homosocial relationships, and it's hard for me to explain how groundbreaking that was.

You see, the show theorizes homosociality differently. If Aang is required to let go of Katara, he has no pivot point, no object (because women shouldn't be objects for male fodder!) to connect with and compete with a rival male, so he has to look directly at the desire of another male for him and, therefore, face the fears that he might have similar desires. I said above that the Blue Spirit is an entirely de-flamed Zuko, which I then paralleled to emasculation. One could even go farther to call it a kind of symbolic castration (Firelord Ozai losing his firebending at the end of the series certainly demands this kind of reading). These aspects ignite fears about lacking masculinity which then cause reactions, which make men avoid accepting any thoughts and behaviors associated with vulnerability and homosexuality invoked within themselves or by others.

I think Aang, in his way, is confronting these fears but not from the angle of someone raised within a homophobic or misogynistic culture. His openness to Zuko and the potential of connection to him is ripe from the first time they meet--"you're just a teenager" connects them without any intermediary. He comes to understand the rigidness of the environment he's in, though. He feels like he's being forced to choose between a yang/masculine role he plays with Katara, who at this point in the series though growing out of it and certainly not a fault of her own making still sees him as her savior and depends on him to save her and the world through metaphysical mastery and the repulsion of evil, and yin/feminine role he plays with Zuko, who finds Aang in and forces him into positions of elusion, surrender, and passivity, while requiring his compassion and forgiveness. When the Blue Spirit comes swinging his swords (read that with all the innuendos you want lol) at a shackled Aang, it's the ultimate expression of Aang's potential for submissiveness because, not only is he entirely helpless but the one who could harm or save him in that scenario is another who is not participating in the expected power of fire/yang/masculinity.

I think everything in the show says this is attractive to Aang--that he remains with Zuko immediately after their escape from the fort, that he reflects on the Blue Spirit as he opens his chakras, that a reference to the conversation that followed their escape that Zuko makes halts him in his tracks when Zuko asks to join the team. Zuko's Blue Spirit persona means a lot to Aang, a scary amount, and my point is that it's this fear of the meaningfulness of their encounter as two men who are not the masculine paragons they are supposed to be which Aang faces as he opens his chakra. As much as he wants Katara, he wants Zuko. He fears he'll lose Katara and he fears he'll lose his life to Zuko. These are the dichotomies he's tackling as he processes the Earth chakra.

Aang eventually opens the chakra, but that's only to say he acknowledges and surrenders his fears to a destiny and understanding beyond his control, not that he necessarily learns how to address and solve all the conundrums contained therein. We know he chooses his attachment to Katara at the end of the episode to obtain power over the Avatar state but perhaps we could've been clued into this choice by noticing he has not chosen Zuko with that initial glare Aang gives him. Aang hasn't found a way in his chakras or his heart to hold both Katara and Zuko at once, so he chooses Katara and expresses a newfound jealousy and rivalry toward Zuko (not that Zuko's at his best behavior at this point, but it's Aang who initiates the exchange).

By the end of this season, Zuko abandons the Blue Spirit mask and Aang loses his life for prioritizing Katara and a yang-centric mastery of the Avatar state. The next season involves all three of the protagonists finding more internal balance between yin and yang for themselves and accepting mutually reciprocal feelings for one another that allow them to escape the kinds of patriarchal tropes that have dominated Anglo- literature for centuries. The ability of this brief sequence to highlight so many of the series' central revolutionary themes speaks to the depth of the show and the way it invites the audience to think about rich subtext rather than pedantically hammer us with morals will just continue to be the gift that keeps giving from this show.

Thanks so much for asking! Didn't know how much I missed doing a deep dive into this kind of stuff.

[drabblesandimagines]

400 requests! joshuaxreader when reader suddenly kisses him. please ❤️

Thanks for taking part in my 400 Followers Event, anon! Hope you enjoy x Distraction Joshua Rosfield x fem reader, just good ol' fluff 658 words

Joshua thinks better when he thinks aloud, and even more so when he has an audience.

You’re sat together on a bench at the top of the Hideaway at sunset – you’ve positioned yourself with crossed legs, facing inwards. He’s mulling away, skipping back and forth between his own journal of writings and the annals of Moss the Chronicler that lie on the bench between the two of you, finding links and identifying areas where he wishes to explore more.

You’re mesmerized by his voice, how adorable you find it when his tone inflects in excitement when he pieces another part of the puzzle together. You wish you could take in what he was saying - Founder forbid if he asked you to repeat anything back! His face, usually pale of late, is full of colour this evening, the setting sun basking him in a golden glow and you are absolutely smitten.

“Mayhaps on Ash I’ll be able to see the mural in full at last – the Circle of Malius still is prominent over there after all, and just like Phoenix Gate I’m hoping an Apodytery will still stand…”

The mention of Ash makes your stomach squirm as Joshua continues his chain of thought aloud. Ash is Odin’s territory, where the last Mothercrystal resides too. They plan to set sail as soon as the Enterprise is restored and that day grows ever closer – Mid regularly sending reports. Worry gnaws at your chest, too close to your heart – both Joshua and Clive had not come out well against Barnabas Tharmr in the past.

“..I was thinking, instead of waiting for repairs to finish, I could prime and just fly over to Ash.”

“Joshua!” You gasp, looking at him in alarm. “You can’t-“

He’s grinning, boyishly. “I do jest, my lady. I could see I’d lost you to your own thoughts.” The Phoenix leans forward. “Forgive me. After all, you are kind to entertain me so as I muse, especially when I’m sure you have other matters to attend to.”

“Not at all.” You reply, softly. “I could listen to you for hours.”

“You shouldn’t tell me that – there is many a topic I can prove to be quite passionate about that others may find too dry. In fact, Moss the Chronicler commented that-”

He is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and you want him to be yours.

You lean forward then – you’re not sure why, a combination of the fear of what is to come, the way his eyes sparkle in the fading sunlight, the handsome smile on his face as he talks – and you cup his face in your hands. Without any further thought, you press your lips onto his.

There’s a horrible second when he doesn’t reciprocate and you know you’ve now crossed a line that you will never be able to come back from. You go to pull back, thinking already of how fast you might be able to descend the stairs, retreat to your bunk, but then his arms are wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer and he is kissing you back - hungrily.

You move your hands then, resting one at the back of his head, fingers entangling in his blonde locks and the other runs up and down in his spine. He nibbles at your bottom lip before his tongue slips in, trying to explore every corner of your mouth and you don’t think it is possible, but you melt even more into his arms.

Eventually, inevitably, the two of you break for air, leaning your forehead upon his as you both try and catch your breath, sweet smiles on your faces.

“That is quite an effective way of silencing me.” He compliments in a teasing tone.

“Forgive me for ruining your train of thought.”

 He captures your chin then, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “Actually, I would bid you to do that far more often, sweet one.”

--

Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-f

[copperbadge]

Supposedly, people with Anphantasia don't get scared reading scary stories, or at least not much. Is that true with you if you ever read Horror?

You know, I'd never thought about it, but I suppose it is. To an extent, anyway.

Follows a discussion of my relationship to horror prose and media; if you don't know what aphantasia is, as many people coming to this tumblr don't, I have a tag for it here that may help -- it's basically the lack of a "mind's eye", a visual imagination, so I hear/read things and don't see an image of them in my mind. If you are scoffing right now that nobody actually has a mind's eye, congratulations, you may also have aphantasia. The articles linked in the tag will be useful to you.

I have definitely been scared by prose before but it's very rare, and not much since I was a child, when the stories I found scary were preying on fears I already had. I loved the Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark books, and I think it's not unusual that I found the illustrations more frightening than the prose, but the only story that ever scared me was the one about the vampire who kept trying to grab a kid through a window -- because I had a window over my bed in my childhood bedroom and I was terrified I'd look up to see someone looking down at me through it. Likewise, as an adult, the only content in horror I find scary is what I think of as "mind horror" -- the loss of faculty or the loss of awareness of faculty (think the end scene of the novel Hannibal with the brain). Which is one of my biggest fears.

I don't read much horror because generally I get bored, which has in the past made me feel faintly appalled at myself, but which now makes more sense. Certainly I have no interest in slasher-style gore in prose, because I find it uninteresting and it goes on a really long time, while I don't watch it in movies/TV because the visual is upsetting -- so if I was getting the visual from the prose I might react more emotionally. I am a fan of Stephen King but mostly his early work where he was shorter on suspense, and I was reading it because I liked the ideas and the characters. Carrie is super interesting because of the personalities involved, not because of the violence or the horror aspects. But I've never seen a movie adaptation and I can imagine I would be deeply unsettled if not distraught by certain scenes if depicted visually. Although I didn't find the Hannibal TV series super upsetting (I mostly was put off by how bad I imagined Will smelled) so perhaps body horror just doesn't do it for me.

This may also explain my hard-no on zombie media, because I'm not scared at all of zombies, I just find them boring and gross, and that leaves the post-apocalyptic humans. My hard-no on post-apocalypse anything is an aversion to imagining the end of my world, though, which isn't visual, it's conceptual, and not scary, just upsetting.

Like, people kept suggesting Zombies Run! to me when I was taking up running and -- well, one, I needed the music to keep my pace, I didn't want it interrupted. But two, I didn't see why a bunch of random groaning noises would make me run faster. If you could see zombies chasing you in your head, yeah, that'd probably be more motivating.

It kind of explains too why I haven't written much horror. I used to be very curious about how people worked out what's "scary" in horror prose and I guess part of the curiosity came from not experiencing it myself. It's tough to know how to write a scary story when stories don't scare you.

To be clear, I definitely experience fear. Reading Stephen King's "It" didn't really scare me, but there were scary moments in the film adaptations. I startle at jumpscares. There's plenty of stuff in real life that I'm scared of. And even podcasts -- I don't get mental images during podcasts like apparently most people do, but Magnus Archives got me with the "digging into your pre-existing fears" thing once or twice, and while I didn't finish The Left Right Game (I just got bored) the hitchhiker scene definitely got me. But I think, unless it's playing on something conceptual that already existed, yeah, I don't find prose particularly frightening.

Huh. This feels like the kind of thing that could have a significant impact on my creative output if I could crowbar my way into it. Knowing that I as an aphantic don't need descriptions that other people do has already, I think, impacted my editing process, but this feels like it maybe would somehow have an effect on the whole thing -- the fact that I don't experience emotions when reading in the same way other people do because I don't get the visuals is something to meditate on.

How the fuck did I ever even become a writer. Like what's up with that.

(Ironically it was X-Files fanfic. X-Files, a show that very much did scare me, for which I wrote and read a lot of fanfic, none of which did...yikes. Well, that's something to meditate on for the weekend.)

[jeonstellate]

in the dark: dusk

you ask the moon for an impossible before your inevitable marriage to an utter stranger.

๑彡 hong jisoo x afab!reader

๑彡 strangers-to-lovers!au, arranged marriage!au — angst(?), fluff

๑彡 paragraph format — 1.8K words

masterlist | in the dark: dawn

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 title is taken from bobby’s in the dark.

๑彡 this is the first half of the two-shot, in the dark. you can find the link to the next part above :]

You had always known your marriage would be arranged by your parents. In a time where marriages were used as a form alliance between clans rather than a form of union between lovers, you never dared to hope that your marriage would be bound by love.

However, that particular knowledge didn’t prevent you from craving to experience how genuine romantic love feels like.

Hence your decision to sit by a tree just behind your village long after the sun had set. You weren’t waiting for a miracle, but you’d be lying if you say you weren’t hoping for one.

Under the pale moonlight, the cloak of darkness concealed the tears that the sun could not shine upon. Under the pale moonlight, you wordlessly wish for something that can never be.

But never did you expect for the moon to answer.

"May I know the reason for your tears, my lady?" A voice, soft and careful, suddenly filled the silence of the night. Although its appearance was unexpected, it miraculously didn’t startle you — as though, somehow, you had known.

You kept facing the moon as you answer, almost as if you were conversing with her rather than whoever just arrived. "Just trivial matters."

"Perhaps so, but you obviously care about it a great deal." The presence behind you felt closer, but still remained at a respectable distance.

"But I shouldn’t," you sighed. "There are dangers in dwelling on matters that are out of my control."

"But there are also dangers in bottling your feelings in, my lady," the person gently reminded you.

Silence then engulfed the two of you — which felt comfortable despite not knowing who exactly you were conversing with. The voiced words settled between the two of you, gradually creating something that could either build or destroy any relation that might form.

"I don’t know if I should trust you with my thoughts," you thoughtfully said after a while. "I don’t know who you are."

Your companion hummed in acknowledgment, "You can think of me as a shadow, if you wish."

"Why so?"

"You cannot confirm my existence until you look at me."

You started laughing. "I can very well just turn and confirm it promptly, my lord."

"Respectfully, my lady, but I advice against it," he replied almost immediately. "Please take comfort in knowing I am a stranger that cannot judge you based on anything you do not personally share — as I will with you."

You thought his advice through. Although you were concerned about revealing too much to an utter stranger, you couldn’t deny that he had a point. You live in a small village, after all — one way or another, everyone always hear about one family’s business and discuss them freely like it’s their own.

Every family in your village has their own reputation — which ultimately decides the esteem people regard each family with. If he doesn’t know how you look like, nor what your name is, then he can’t judge you based on the reputation of your family — nor can you have the fear of tainting your family’s reputation with each information you choose to disclose.

"Perhaps you are right," you agreed after a few moments of silence. "Though I do think you should just address me as Night from here on forward."

"Wonderful. Then, you can call me Suho."

You and Suho continued conversing the night away. Although he eventually chose to situate himself near you (after asking for consent), neither of you faced each other. You remained facing the sky, with your left arm millimeters away from the tree trunk and your back facing your village. Him, on the other hand, had his back against the tree trunk, his body facing your village, with his left arm inches away from yours.

"So what brings you in the dark like this?" Suho started the conversation after having enough of the silence.

"I wanted to make a wish to the moon," you replied eventually after pondering upon how you should indulge his inquiry.

"You must’ve wished so earnestly that tears spilled down your cheeks."

His comment earned an almost soundless chuckle from you. "On the contrary," you started, "those were desperate tears from wishing the impossible."

"I’m afraid I don’t follow, my lady," you heard him shift his position, but the sound of his voice remained in the same distance.

"My parents have found me someone to marry," you said slowly as you thought about whether or not saying so would give away your identity, "but I wanted to experience having a lover first before I’m bounded to someone I have yet to meet."

Suho, in contrast to your obvious hesitancy, was quick to react. "I can be your lover, my lady, if you will allow me."

"I beg your pardon?" You stuttered in disbelief. "You shouldn’t utter words you don’t mean, my lord."

"I do mean them," he quickly insisted.

"How can you?" You expressed your doubt, "Surely there must already be a lady waiting for you back home?"

"I assure you, my lady, you shall be my only one."

You couldn’t reply right away — not because you were thinking his reply over, but because his response made you flustered. "Then, I suppose you would not mind courting me?"

Just like he had been doing throughout the night, Suho’s response came almost immediately. "I would court you as long as you wish."

You and Suho continued to meet with the moon being your only witness. During those nights, you would converse about anything your hearts desired. Slowly, but surely, then, you both learned parts of what composed each other’s constellations.

True to his word, Suho did court you every night that you met. He would alternate between telling you compliments, giving you flowers, writing you some poetry, or a combination of acts.

In return, to show your appreciation, you reciprocated his efforts in ways you knew how.

"Yes," you agreed out of the blue on the night of a full moon.

"Pardon?"

"Yes," you repeated, "I am now accepting you as my beau."

You and Suho had an agreement, beginning that first night when your peculiar arrangement was made. You both agreed, under no circumstances, would you try to catch a glimpse of each other’s faces. Thus, whenever you two met, you both ensured that you two were positioned in such a way that no one wouldn’t see the other’s face.

And somehow, you two still found a way to bask in each other’s warmth without breaking your agreement. "Thank you," you heard him murmur by your ear. "Thank you for trusting me."

You shook your head in denial, a smile ghosting your lips. "Thank you for coming into my life."

The word ‘bliss’ wouldn’t be enough to describe how you felt the following nights. Suho had always been sweet, but he became even sweeter after he became your beau.

Like he had already done, Suho had brought you flowers, written you poetry, and showered you with words of affirmation. On top of all of those, he occasionally brought you handmade gifts as well.

Despite already being your significant other, Suho still went out of his way to court you — even after you told him that he could stop. He claimed that it made him happy, as it never failed to make you happy, so you just let him do what he pleased.

"Have you ever thought about children?" You asked Suho one night as you lie on his chest, facing the moon.

Even with your improved status, you and Suho came to a consensus that you should uphold your previous agreement of keeping your true identities a secret from one another. Especially with your deepening relationship, it was crucial not to display any awkwardness nor unusual behavior if ever you two meet under the sun — to keep the eagle-eyed gossipers of your village from talking.

"Well, I am now," he answered before resting his hand on your hip, by your stomach. "Why?"

You two often talked about whatever came to mind, especially if you had finished filling each other about any shareable events that happened during the day. Albeit you both had nothing against silence, you liked to spend your limited time getting to know each other instead.

"As I look into the sky, I suddenly remembered how I took inspiration from it when I was unentertained enough to think of baby names."

You heard Suho let out an intrigued sound, "Let’s hear them, then."

"Hyewol for a girl, Hyeseong for a boy," you answered nonchalantly. "I also thought Chaewol, Seonghwa, and Haneul could be good to use as well."

Suho started murmuring to himself. Despite your proximity, you still couldn’t quite catch the entirety of what he was saying. However, you could’ve sworn that you heard the names you just mentioned being mixed in.

"What are you—?"

"Just testing how the names sound with my last name," he replied as nonchalant as you were then. However, with such simple words, you couldn’t help but to feel your cheeks flush. "So, five kids?"

"I," you stopped, suddenly not trusting yourself to speak. Nevertheless, after a moment, you managed to collect yourself. "Only if it’s with you."

You both knew, with your looming engagement, that that was a future out of your reach. It was a someday that could only exist under the cloak of the moon’s light, never to be touched by the sun’s rays.

And yet, despite that, you and Suho still dared to dream.

You knew this day would come, even before you crossed paths with Suho. In retrospect, this day was literally the reason why you met Suho in the first place. Had you not been crying that pivotal night about this particular day, you probably wouldn’t have him by your side at all.

Unfortunately, even your set up with Suho did nothing for the dreaded day.

"[First name], dear, come here for a minute," your mother called you over from your little corner with your cousins.

Today was her birthday and, to celebrate, she held a banquet in her honor — only inviting those that she truly got along with to keep the event drama-free. Not even her side of the family was in complete attendance, as some — if not most — of them clashed with one another over trivial matters.

It was your mother’s day, so you never thought it would double as the day you finally met your fiancé.

"[First name], this is Joshua," you mother started with an abnormally large smile etched on her face, "your fiancé."

You tried not to visibly freeze. As much as Suho was supposed to assist you to get ready for your married life, you weren’t ready to meet the person you were expected to spend the rest of your life with. Especially not when you already began wishing that your husband-to-be was Suho instead.

Joshua reached for your hand and kissed the back. "It’s my pleasure to be your acquaintance, my lady. I am Joshua Hong."

[suusoh]

Johan seems like he'd have the time of his fucking life testing his loved one's boundaries, but what would be *his* own personal boundaries?

He is nonnie. exactly. He is living the best life like there is no loss for him.

I'm on the assumption that we're still on the sexual boundaries here as those are what my recent posts were referring too. Hcs below the cut! nsfw of course.

Pre-rurenheim:

I actually think pre-rurenheim johan has less boundaries.

He's not in touch with his attraction yet and still has that "monster" subconscious in him, he doesn't get hard. So even if you try to get back at him, he'll just find it amusing.

you brush against his stuff, and he just quirks an eyebrow up at you. pats your head for the good try.

He'll even allow you to get all touchy with him though. Like have fun trying to get a rise out of him. (Think that scene when he was in the red light district and that one prostitute held onto his arm and he just continued asking for directions unbothered lol.) He wants to see your attempts even if it's futile.

Another thing that comes to my mind is that you will not be seeing his dick in a long time. That will be kept zipped up in his pants. He gets to play with you but you will not be playing with him in a sense.

It's a power play sure, but also I think johan really.... doesn't care about his pleasure. He doesn't feel pleasure. He feels nothing. Seeing you squirm and shake (either from fear or pleasure) is enough gratification for him.

But also vulnerability. That's literally his private part. He's not gonna let himself be emotionally vulnerable and literally phsyically vulnerable... he knows that if you REALLY don't like him (unwilling reader scenario) you'll have no qualms with using his, ehem, his anatomical parts against him. He may be emotionally numb but he knows damn well his numbness won't save the pain of whatever you choose to do to him down there out of your spite.

Post-rurenheim:

Has more boundaries because he's human and has a sense of personal identity yay!

PLEASE do not be all touchy and brush against him he will bust a nut since he really really likes you 💀

Like he is fighting for his life because he never learned how to deal with a boner before. Not even during his puberty.

you STILL won't be seeing his dick in a long time. He literally just doesn't care about his pleasure, only focusing on yours. It's almost funny how it ironically comes off as altruism.

But it's because he still hasn't gotten that sense of "his" pleasure yet. He still hasn't allowed himself to accept the fact that he's more human now and that comes with all the little quirks of it too.

Also because I think he doesn't quite enjoy of it if it's solely his pleasure? his pleasure is directly and irreversibly linked with yours. your pleasure is already his. If he gets his dick touched that's just a cherry on top. Seeing you in pleasure is honestly already the main event for him.

hi can you tell I'm making him a pure service top okay bye.

Not that he won't appreciate the gesture of course. He'll appreciate you greatly for it. Loves that you care about him too.

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova’s Notes - DD - May 8th

That’s right, I’m deciding to give my thoughts a cheesy name because why not (also it’s late oops).

So this may be one of my favorite entires of the entire book. My first go-around it was for the mirror-yeet scene (because that’s iconic) and Dracula being The Housekeeper of all timeTM, but now it’s also one of my favorites because of how much we learn about Jonathan.

They say you learn the most about a person when they’re in crisis mode, and while I don’t always think that’s true, Stoker definitely wanted to let Jonathan’s personality shine through here.

From the first passage, he’s literally guessed that Dracula is undead. “I fear I am the only living soul here.” Sure, he might mean that he’s the only present soul, if Dracula’s left the building, but since he describes the mirror yeeting scene right after…idk, I’d like to think he knows way more than we ever gave him credit for. “Clueless Jonathan” who? Is the clueless in the room with us?

Also going back to the first sentence where he describes worrying he was getting too wordy, but now being glad he did…oof. I feel for him here. If my theory is correct that he was initially writing in a more detailed way for Mina so he could remember his travels for later…I’m sure it’s hitting him now that while it may be saving his life that he’s more detailed, it’s so twisted that something he did as a note of affection has soured. I wonder if he’s thinking about how he may never get out of this, or if that hasn’t fully hit him yet.

Moving on to everyone’s favorite mirror-yeet scene, think about how Jonathan reacts when he’s caught off guard by Dracula because he didn’t see his reflection. How would most protagonists react? Probably laugh nervously and brush it off. Attribute it to some mistake on his part, which is exactly what Jonathan does *at first*. But after, he looks at Dracula and then looks back at the mirror to confirm his suspicions are correct, which they are. It’s an interesting moment and not one I think we see often at the beginning of a horror story (I don’t consume much horror though, so correct me if I’m wrong!). Usually, a character won’t get to this level of observation until towards the middle/end, when more supernatural elements have occurred. Jonathan may have second guessed his instincts, but checking them again is what makes him more likely to survive Castle Dracula.

Plus, when Dracula makes a move to attack him, his first instinct is to dodge the attack, showing that he’s not just going to freeze up at the first sign of trouble (which I want to emphasize isn’t a problem normally, but he is dealing with a thousands-of-years-old vampire…so, he has to be quick on his feet to survive).

Afterwards, he says he is annoyed at losing his mirror rather than disturbed, but I saw another post saying he’s repressing his panic as annoying (I’ll link it if I find it again) and I definitely think that’s true!! I can totally see that as his coping mechanism. Plus, compared to the rest of what happens for him today, it really is more of an annoyance than anything else. Would you rather your host throw away your mirror or lock you in a castle?

So after that horrific scene of terror, Jonathan is proactive in searching the castle. After finding a beautiful — but slightly horrifying landscape (you know it’s bad when he doesn’t stop to describe the view) — he decides to explore further, which leads him to figure out almost every other door is locked, including the front one to find, yep you guessed it…he’s a prisoner in the castle.

As I imagine most people would, at first he reacts by frantically running around trying to open locked doors like “a rat does in a trap.” The fact that he admits this in his diary (and, by extension to Mina/us) is admirable because it already shows he’s not afraid to be open about his emotions, even if it makes him look weak (which — unfortunately, he would, considering the time period). Most heroes of this period were expected to accept their fates with stoic determination, but that’s not human and that’s not how Jonathan is, either. We’ve already seen that he’s more open-minded than most English men by accepting the crucifix even if he doesn’t understand it and of course the way he shows his love for Mina is atypical for Victorian men as well. Most men wouldn’t go to the trouble of writing down descriptive notes just to recount it for the benefit of his fiancée later. It’s sad, but true.

Once he’s able to regulate himself a bit, it’s time for thinking and strategy, determining that he needs all of his wits to get through this! Once he sees that the Count does the cooking AND the cleaning, though, is when my love for Jonathan reaches an all-time high. He comes to a series of conclusions most protagonists don’t figure out until the end of a novel after way more obvious clues have been laid out for him and it’s only his 3rd day of being in the castle!! They go as follows:

A) Dracula = servants

B) Dracula = driver

C) Dracula = control wolves

D) Villager’s concern/gifts = this is worse than I thought

E) Crucifix = actual help?

F) Get Dracula to talk about himself (not hard) = find more information, but not in an obvious way

I also love that he questions his own biases about the crucifix he was given!!!! When else do you see an Englishman do that in the 1890s of his own volition (aka without someone snarkily telling him to - see BBC’s Dracula if you want an example). I certainly haven’t!

He also noticed that Drac talked about his “ancestors” as if he had been present for their battles (hmm wonder why that is). Hasn’t quite figured it out yet, but there’s evidence that he doesn’t write something down as a fact until he knows it is a fact, so perhaps we’ll see him write more on this later.

Final thought - his reference to Arabian Nights and Hamlet is significant and tragic, but also relatable. I too like to relate my life to my favorite blorbos, Jonathan!

All in all, we learned that Jonathan is very good in a crisis. He’s not stoic like most protagonists of his time period, but he is instead strategic and observant, willing to play the part of oblivious to keep himself alive another day and keep Dracula’s trust. This is likely what’s keeping him alive right now, as an aggressive approach would get him killed. Dracula is all about playing with his prey and keeping the illusion of benevolent host and willing guest — it’s a game of control for him. Breaking this game would mean it’s no fun and no fun would mean Jonathan is no longer needed….

While I know how this story goes, I’m as excited as first time readers to see how Jonathan plays what is, essentially, 4D chess with Dracula!

[teambyler]

"Byler Endgame, One Episode at a Time" - s5e6

Plot beats and scenes leading to a Byler endgame, one episode at a time, for Season 5 of Stranger Things. (This is just for fun! I have no insider knowledge!)

Also see Part 0, where I explain what I think a Byler Endgame has to address. Link to the previous episode.

s5e6

Some time after Mike and Will realize their feelings for each other, the other members of the party arrive at Hopper’s cabin. El is out front and shushes them with a finger to her lips. She quietly opens the door and everyone sees Mike and Will embracing, asleep, tears clearing tracks through the grime on their faces. Everyone is pleasantly surprised. Joyce thinks they're so adorable and immediately wants to walk in, but El stops her. They all wait outside. El gently wakes the two of them and everyone openly arrives a few minutes later. They take Will to the hospital for his arm.

The next night, back at the Wheeler house, Mike and Will are hanging out. Will can’t play Nintendo with his bad arm, but Will is telling what to do as he plays Final Fantasy. They name their party after the four original members of their group. Mike: “I like this.” “Like what?” “Just hanging out…” “Well we’ve always hung out.” “That’s the thing. We never... I never told how you feel.” He talks about how wrapped up in El he was, so he could hide from his own feelings. The year Will was away, he tried to call more but the phone was always busy. He thought Will had moved on, had made a painting for a girl. Will: "Well, I could have reached out more too." A pause. Will: “It’s sad that we lost so much time…” They linger a while on this thought. Mike turns to Will with determination. “I’ll make it up to you Will. Or I’ll try.” They should do something together tomorrow night. Will smiles: “Are you asking me out on a date?” Mike stands up and extends out his hand in a medieval bow: “May I?” Will stands: “Oh yes, my paladin.” and kisses Mike on the cheek. Mike playfully touches the spot Will kissed like he's just been kissed by a rock star.

Afterward, Mike goes to his room and digs out some old things. We see some of the toys he decided not to throw away in s2. He looks at one of them in particularly fondly, and sets it aside.

The next morning, Ted is already gone. Karen has made pancakes and eggs, and she is on the phone talking with Joyce. Mike and Will reach for the syrup at the same time and touch hands, and they both look at each other slowly let go. Mike: “You can’t open it anyway.” Will laughs: “That’s for sure.” Mike opens the bottle and pours syrup on Will’s eggs. Will is blushing and smiling. We zoom in on Karen who sees this all take place…

At school the next day, Dustin and Lucas tell them they need to have an "emergency party meeting.” In private, they tell them “We know” and before Mike and Will can protest they say it’s totally cool and it’s a beautiful thing. In their party they stand up for each other, full stop. They always have, and always will. Will: "I wasn't sure..." Dustin: "We've gone through hell together, saved each other's lives. Are you kidding?" Lucas holds out his hand for a handshake. Will skips that and just hugs Lucas. The others join in, and the four of them share a long group embrace.

After school, Mike asks his mom if she has a good box for giving a gift, about “yay tall” (demonstrates with his hands). She says sure: “Who is it for?” Mike hesitates... Karen: “Is it for Will?” There’s a look of fear in his eyes. She sees his reaction and doesn’t push it. She finds an old gift box she had saved. While she is looking, she has a tender look on her face. She finds a good box and hands it to him. She puts her hands on his shoulders and looks him in the eyes. “I think Will is a very nice boy.” Mike looks shocked, then relieved. He starts to cry. She hugs him: “I told you, you never have to hide anything from me. I'm your mom, MIke! I love you.” Mike nods through tears. “Does dad know?” “No…” They hold each other. She gives him an encouraging nod, and he takes the box.

Mike presents the gift box to Will, and he expectantly watches him take off the lid. Will recognizes Mike's old teddy bear. “Aww that’s so sweet.” “I know it’s kinda stupid, and I didn’t buy anything, but it seemed right.” “It’s perfect.” He hugs Mike, and they kiss. They go out on their date. They go watch a re-screening of Spaceballs and have a great time. Afterward, Mike takes them to an ice cream shop. Mike takes one of Will’s art markers and starts to draw a heart on Will’s cast. Will: “Mike!” Mike doesn’t care. They get some homophobic stares from adults. Before Mike can finish, Will hides away his arm. Mike sees this and is hurt, but understands.

The next day, Will shyly approaches Mike in the school hall. They give each other boyfriend looks. Mike says they should go out again tonight. “Two nights in a row?” “Sure! Why not?” “You know, you don’t have to take me out all the time. You can't afford it." They laugh. Will "We could just hang out and play games.” Mike wants to kiss Will on the spot. “So it’s a date?” Will giggles and looks shyly to the side: “Yes, it’s a date.” Max walks up to them and says “Hi, lovebirds!” They blush. The bell rings, they turn and head to their class.

… They pass by and notice Bully #1. He looks at them and Max stares daggers back. He immediately lowers his gaze. Will, defiantly looking straight at Bully #1, extends his hand out to Mike. Mike takes it, they look at each other. Mike gives a loving sigh and nods. Students look at them in shock as they walk down the hall in slow motion, David Bowie’s “Heroes” playing (starting here). The last line is sung as we go to credits...

I, I will be king And you, you will be queen Though nothing will drive them away We can be Heroes, just for one day We can be us, just for one day

====================

That's it! I'm not planning anything more on this particular project. I have a couple ideas including Will and Mike getting caught on the Upside Down and Will using a gun lol, but I don't feel like writing it out because from here forward the A plot takes center stage and I have no idea where that will go!

Anyway, that concludes "Byler Endgame - One Episode at a Time." I hope you enjoyed it!

Part 0 (what a Byler endgame needs to address) Previous episode

-teambyler

[orions-tears]

Yours Truly - Ominis Gaunt [Final Part Ver. A]

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x fem!Reader

Themes: Fluff, 18+ Smut

A/N PLEASE READ!: So I know a lot of you love the fluff in this fic and I had a craving so smut it was but I'm completely happy to make a fluff only version if you all want it. It'll be a bit different, obvi, but just let me know :)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and the Fluff version of this are linked :)

"I think it's cute!"

Ominis leans back in his chair. He put the letter in his pocket and sighs. "I don't know anyone who likes poetry."

You shrug and cross your legs, smiling at him. He often puts on a face when he's thinking and Merlin it's cute. You like to watch him when he's like this and wonder what's going through his head. 

"Who do you think it is?" he asks, turning to you.

"What?"

"The person sending the letters? Who do you think it is?"

"Oh I don't know," you reply, forcing back a smile. "Could it be Imelda?"

He snorts and laughs, shaking his head. "Imelda could only hope to speak so nicely to someone."

You laugh and nudge him. "Don't be mean." You're silent for a moment, thinking of another person. "Must be Sebastian. He does keep trying to get you to tell him what's in it. Besides, it landing in his food? A lie, must be."

He straightens and looks at you, smile dropping from his face. "You don't really think..."

You tilt your head, looking at him. "What's wrong with that idea?"

You shake your head. Why are you putting ideas in his head? Imagine if he actually likes Sebastian and you ruin your chance. He stands, grabbing his wand. 

"I have to go."

You watch him leave and sigh. Sebastian's going to give you an earful for this one.

***

"Are you in love with me?" Ominis practically yells. He'd found Sebastian sitting in the library. Everyone turned to look, a few laughing and whispering to themselves.

Sebastian looks up, bursting out in laughter. "What?"

Ominis holds up all of the letters he's received and tosses them onto the table Sebastian's sitting at. "Are you the one that made these?"

Sebastian looks at the letters and back to Ominis. "You're joking, right? Why would I write you love notes?"

Ominis folds his arms. "I'm serious, Sebastian. Is it you?"

Sebastian grabs the papers, standing and putting them back in Ominis' hands. "No, Ominis. Unfortunately for you, I'm not in love with you."

Ominis frowns, taking the letters and putting them into his pockets. "Not unfortunate. This isn't funny. I want to know who it is."

Suddenly, an owl flies overhead, dropping an envelope onto Sebastian's head. He winces, yelling at the bird and picks the envelope up from where it had fallen on the floor. He holds it out to Ominis, scoffing.

"Another one for you. Not sure I would have an owl drop it on my head if it were mine in the first place."

Ominis sighs and opens it.

My one and only Ominis,

I've heard rumor that you long to know of my identity.

I hope one day for this to come to pass but for now I must keep

myself a secret. For you to discover me without my knowledge that 

you feel the same would be my ruin. I hope you enjoyed the poem.

I long to experience such an endless love with you but I fear you

may never requite my love. Just know how I care for you. How

your very being infects my mind. I think of you, day and night,

and wonder if you think of me. I long to hold your hand. To feel

your warmth near me. To feel a gentle kiss. I do my best to push

away my thoughts of what you must taste like but they plague me

even now.

I feel the need to apologise, but I find it important to

relinquish these thoughts from my mind. I close my eyes and

I wonder how I would feel when you touch me. Would you be

gentle? I imagine how you would feel inside of me as I touch myself,

picturing you with me. I think of how it would feel for you to

fill me completely and if my moans and my breathless

whispers would lead you over the edge. As I write this now,

the thought of this pushes me closer. I want you, Ominis.

I want to know what you feel like, what you sound like.

I want you to want me like this.

I think I ought to send this now before I get cold feet.

Eternally yours,

Anonymous

Ominis swallows hard, gripping the pages. He feels his face burning. His eyes are wide and he hears Sebastian laughing.

"Please, that must be the spicy one."

Ominis shifts, feeling the bulge in his trousers and turns away from his friend. "Why do you say that?"

Sebastian shrugs. "Just based on your face. You look embarrassed."

Ominis shakes his head, quickly leaving the library and running to the nearest restroom, hiding in a stall. He leans against the wall, folding the letter into his pocket and unbuttoning his trousers, running his hand over his growing length and groaning. He hadn't checked to know if he was alone but he didn't care. He released his cock from the restrictive fabric and sucked in a breath as he began pumping himself, sloppily. He leaned against the stall wall and tilted his head back, shutting his eyes. He tried to clear his mind, to get it over with, but for some reason he could only picture you. He leaned forward, his free hand bracing himself on the opposite wall and imagined you, your mouth around his length, the feeling of your tongue. He imagined the noise you would make as you gagged around him, the way the tears would run down your cheeks, how obedient you would be as you swallowed his come. The thought sends him over the edge as he groaned, slowing his movements. 

Fuck...he though to himself. He really hoped you were the author of the letters. If not...he's in big trouble.

***

"Have you gotten another one?"

He spins around as he hears you skip up. He'd been avoiding you the whole day, hoping not to face you and hesitates, nodding. "How'd you know?"

You shrugs and smile. "I was just curious. I'm invested, you know."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "This one was...umm...different, to say the least."

You step closer and he steps away, flushing red. You laugh and put your hands on your hips. "That bad? I don't even get to hear it?"

He nods and turns away. He can't stop thinking about earlier. He covers his mouth and shuts his eyes. Not in front of you...not now... You lean around and look at him, concerned.

"Ominis, are you alright? Are you going to be sick?" you ask, genuinely worried.

He shakes his head and wraps his robes around himself. "I'm sorry, now isn't a good time..."

You nod as he apologises again and quickly leaves. You watch him leave and grin. He's getting off on the letter, isn't he? You walk back to your dorm room and sit down. One more letter. One more and you'll be satisfied.

***

He'd just finished pleasuring himself again to the thought of you when Sebastian walked into the dorm room. He scrambled to hide behind the curtains, face burning, and pulled his trousers up, buttoning them in haste.

"Shameless..." Sebastian drawled, walking to his own bed.

"W-What?" Ominis stuttered out, still hiding himself.

Sebastian laughed and flopped down on his bed. "As if I don't know why you reacted like that. Must have been one filthy letter, I'd say."

Ominis groans and sits on his bed. "I don't exactly need you in my business, forget it."

"I'd love to forget it," Sebastian retorts, sitting up quickly, "but look at what I found!"

He gets up and tosses an envelope onto Ominis' bed. Ominis picks it up and turns his head up to him. "In your food again?"

Sebastian shakes his head. "Technically it wasn't in anything of mine. I couldn't find my potions textbook anywhere so I took yours. It was in there."

Ominis sighs and shakes his head, opening the envelope. "I really wish you'd ask before taking my things."

Sebastian laughs. "What kind of friend would I be then?"

Ominis, my forever love,

I hope my previous letter did not scare you away. I feel,

simply, that you should hear how I truly feel about you. 

I feel, now, that you may know something about me. I love

music. My father would bring me to the shops in London to

listen to phonographs. How I adored our time together. I

feel that my most favourite song must be Camille Saint-Saens

Symphony No 2 in A Minor. I wonder if you have heard it before.

It brings me such joy and makes me feel free.

I adore the colour yellow. It reminds me of the sun. It

reminds me of whins. My house used to be surrounded by

bushes of whins. Butterflies and bees would swarm and I

loved them greatly. I never much cared for the color blue

but when I look in your eyes I feel a great fondness for it.

My favourite flowers are Bluebells. Ironic, I know, but

I find them to be quite adorable. I love their shape,

how their petals flare, how they hang from the stem.

You don't see them much near Hogwarts, and I miss them

dearly, but I hope to see many more throughout the valley.

I wonder if you care to know these things and if you've

even read this letter. I guess I just want you to feel

closer to me, to enjoy who I am. I do love you so.

One day I hope to hear you say the same to me.

I will write to you no more, to quell my need for you.

I pray you will find me and hold me in your arms.

Eternally yours,

Anonymous.

Ominis sat in silence, fingers holding over the closing of the letter. This is the first time they she had mentioned anything about herself. He stands, quickly folding the letter into his pocket and leaves the room to find you.

When he does he runs up, grabbing your sleeve. You had been potting some dittany in the greenhouse and almost drop your pot when he latches on.

"Ominis!" you shout, catching the pot and setting it down. You laugh and turn to him. "You can't run up on me like that, I almost lost my plant."

He swallows and straightens, letting go. "If I read this," he says, pulling the papers from his pockets, "can you tell me if you know anyone that it could be?"

You nod and lean against the table. "Go ahead."

He read the full letter to you and sets it on the table, waiting for a response. You're silent for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Ominis, I truly can't think of anyone."

He sighs and kicks the ground. "No one?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm sorry."

You hate lying to him, especially since you're really just pushing yourself away, but you don't have to confidence to admit it to his face. He slowly picks up the letter and frowns. He thanks you and turns, leaving the greenhouse, downhearted.

***

A few days later, you walk into the library and hear music. Not usual, especially if Madam Scribner is about. You walk towards the sound and finally recognise it. Camille Saint-Saens Symphony No 2 in A Minor!

"I love this song!" you sing, walking over.

You see Ominis sitting next to a phonograph in the corner. He perks up and turns to you.

"You...you do...?" He turns back to the phonograph. "This usually sits in here, untouched, but I convinced Madam Scribner to let me play one piece."

You sigh happily and sit down next to him. "My father used to take me to London to hear this played in shops. He always requested it."

He's silent and stares in your direction. "Your father..."

You nod, smiling. "I miss him dearly."

"You wrote the letters."

The smile drops from your face and you look at him. "What?"

He stands and pulls the letters from his pocket. "You wrote these. It's you. You've been saying you don't know but you've been hiding the fact that it's been you the whole time."

You stare at him, mind blank for moment and take a breath, looking down at your hands. "Yes..." you whisper.

He reaches out for you and you lift your hand to his. He takes it and moves in front of you, kneeling down. "Why would you lie?"

You feel a lump form in your throat and look away, face red. "I was afraid..."

He chuckles and lays his head on your knee. "This whole time...I've hoped it was you."

You gasp and look at him. He lifts his head back up to face you and smirks. "You've touched yourself to the thought of me," he whispers.

You feel your face burn and swallow hard. 

"I've done the same with you," he says, softer than before.

Your eyes widen and you smile. "You have?"

He nods and stands. "Would you like to answer the questions from the letter?"

You giggle lightly and nod. "Yes."

He takes your hand and pulls you up, taking his wand in his free hand, and guiding you to an empty classroom in the Dark Arts Tower. You feel your face burn and look at him.

"H-Here?"

He smirks and leans against a desk, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you between his legs. "Anywhere else would be too safe." He pulls you closer, pressing his lips to yours as you run your hands up into his hair. You whimper as he bites down on your bottom lip and you can feel a bulge growing in his trousers. He stands, pulling you into the spot where he sat and rests his hands on your thighs. You shrug your robe off and he runs his hands up your torso, quickly unbuttoning your shirt and throwing it to the side. You tugged at the waistband of his trousers but he shakes his head.

"Not yet, my love..."

He kneels down, running his hands over your thighs and pushing up your skirt. His hands quickly find your heat as he presses his fingers against your clit, eliciting a moan out of you as you grip the edge of the table. He smirks and moves your underwear aside, finding your wet entrance and pushing a digit inside as you gasp. He adds another finger, quickly pumping into you as you clamp your hand over your mouth, muffling your loud moans. He pulls his fingers out, just for a second, to remove your underwear, and gently lifts your legs onto his shoulders. He brings his fingers back into you, leaning in and pressing his mouth against you, running his tongue over your swollen nub. You gasp loudly and grab his hair, holding tightly, the other hand supporting yourself on the table. The suction on your clit and his fingers curling into just the right spot are pushing your closer to the edge. You shut your eyes and tilt your head back, letting the moans escape. You can feel the arousal running down your legs and open your eyes for just a moment, looking down at him. Seeing him, eyes closed, tongue working you over, makes you tense as you pull his hair, orgasm taking over your body. You whimper and curl in on him. 

He pulls away and grins, licking his fingers clean. You feel your face burning and look away, smiling. He stands and you can see the bulge in his trousers.

"Turn around," he demands.

You nod and stand, turning around and leaning over the desk. You hear him unbutton his trousers and pull them down. He pushes your skirt up and grabs your hips, running his length over your dripping entrance and pushing inside you with a groan. You gasp and grab onto the end of the table as he thrusts into you, his grip on your hips hard enough to leave bruises. He leans over you as he hits you hard and deep, thrusts growing sloppy as he reaches his climax. You feel a pressure building up in your stomach as you reach your own and close your eyes, reaching back to grab his arm. He takes your hand, resting his other one on your back. You whine as he thrusts into you, feeling yourself fall over the edge, contracting around his length. He gasps at the pressure and leans into you, groaning and pushing deep into you as he finishes. You gasp at the sensation and he pulls out as you lower yourself to the ground, breathing heavily. He pulls his trousers back up and kneels down next to you.

"Are you alright?" he says, worried.

You nod and smile. "Yes..."

He smiles and touches your face, leaning in and kissing you gently. "Is it what you hoped for in the letters?" he laughs.

You nod, giggling. "Yes..."

He helps you to your feet, retrieving your clothes and helping you dress before anyone sees what happened.

"You know, Bluebells are my favourite as well," he hums.

Tag list!

Let me know if you want to be added or removed! Also let me know if you want it for a specific fic or all :)

@blueberrydinosaur @kuukimeioo @sometimesidreamthaticanlevatate @thenerdysimp @sarahskywalker-amadala @amatchasky @lonadane @sugaringheart @nekee-lilac02 @gh0stgirl333 @amelliss @scarlet--raven @m0xyl @roouh @wwdits-luver @fanboyluvr @belladonna6-6-6 @elvenbloodmoon @brain-has-left @raveduck @zyuyea @nox-ceur @somethingiswrongwithme

[dix0nvix3n]

➳જ⁀➴ 𝕯𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 ⟡ [𝔏𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔘𝔭𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡: 7/25/24]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩 ℑ𝔫𝔣𝔬:

𓆩⚝𓆪 I'd rather not reveal my real name here so please call me Dagger.

𓆩⚝𓆪 I'm genderfluid and my pronouns are they/he/she.

𓆩⚝𓆪 I'm 22.

𓆩⚝𓆪 Even though I'm genderfluid anything I write the reader will always use she/her pronouns but potentially I may be able to write for a gender-neutral reader.

𓆩⚝𓆪 I'm a big time rambler/yapper so please dm me any time you wanna talk! (Please know that I'll often forget to respond or go through periods of time I can't talk though.)

𓆩⚝𓆪 I'm autistic and have an ADHD riddled mess of a brain which is the core factor of why I write so slow along with me being new to writing and not grasping it easily so please be patient with me. Trust that I have several wips at all times that I can never finish.

𓆩⚝𓆪 Another part of being neurodivergent makes it so that I have a harder time interacting with people here. I often don't reblog and sometimes I won't even like a post because I feel like I'm bothering the person who made the post somehow. My brain isn't very nice to me. I'm trying to get past this but it's hard.

𓆩⚝𓆪 I currently only write for Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead and Scud Frohmeyer from Blade 2 but I hope to write for other characters Norman has played some day.

𓆩⚝𓆪 My fics will always come with a warning description of some kind and if l ever miss something you think should be in the warning, please let me know!

𓆩⚝𓆪 I post edits @ daryldixonvixen on tiktok, if you're also an editor please tell me and I'll follow you!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝔉𝔲𝔫 𝔉𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔰:

𓆩⚝𓆪 My favorite TWDverse ship isn’t even from TWD, it’s actually John and June from Fear The Walking Dead and my favorite Non Canon TWD ship is RosiTara. I don’t ship Daryl with anyone probably cause of how attatched I am to him so don't expect to see any ship posts. (Your ship opinions are valid though so don't come bringing ship discourse to my page. I hate Bethyl though and if I see you supporting the ship it's an instant block from me.)

𓆩⚝𓆪 I have 10 piercings. Septum, right eyebrow, a daith, a conch, a bridge, four helixes, and a left nostril.

𓆩⚝𓆪 I first watched The Walking Dead at a themed birthday party for it when I was in 7th grade when I was 13, we watched the whole first season and I wanted to continue watching once I got home but I couldn't find any way to watch it so I didn't end up watching again until December of 2022 when I was 20. The only things I could remember from when I first started watching were Glenn and the horse dying lmao. The show forever changed me and has become a major source of comfort for me and became my special interest, I'm just so mad it took me so long to watch more of the show.

𓆩⚝𓆪 I don't understand zodiacs too much but I'm a Cancer Sun, Scorpio Moon, and a Capricorn Rising.

𓆩⚝𓆪 My current hair style was inspired by Scud since I loved his hair so much!

𓆩⚝𓆪 How Daryl would help you on your period

𓆩⚝𓆪 Trimming Daryl's hair blurb

𓆩⚝𓆪 Convincing Daryl to wear reading glasses to help with his squinting

𓆩⚝𓆪 Music Daryl Dixon would listen to but it's accurate spotify playlist

𓆩⚝𓆪 Daryl running from the cops from a house party blurb/ inspired by Killing In The Name by Rage Against The Machine

𓆩⚝𓆪 Murphy Macmanus speaking multiple languages when dirty talking to you

𓆩⚝𓆪 Piercings that Scud would look good with ramble

𓆩⚝𓆪 Daryl with a reader who has multiple piercings

𓆩⚝𓆪 My Travis chai bot

𓆩⚝𓆪 The Summer of 1992 and What Came Before and After (Will be putting a link to a new masterlist for the series here instead at some point.)

𓆩⚝𓆪 Daryl and Norman Lightroom edits 1

𓆩⚝𓆪 Daryl and Norman Lightroom edits 2

𓆩⚝𓆪 Daryl, Sandman edit

𓆩⚝𓆪 Daryl, Blue Monday edit

𓆩⚝𓆪 Murphy, Carnival edit

𓆩⚝𓆪 Scud, Can't Get You out of My Head edit

𓆩⚝𓆪 Multiple Norman characters, Hotel Motel edit

𓆩⚝𓆪 To see any of my various shitposts go into my search under the tag ;daggershitposts📣

𓆩⚝𓆪 And here's a Daryl and me face reveal moodboard. This is probably the only place here on my account where I'll show my face. This really shows why I wrote the reader from The Summer Of 1992 and What Came Before and After as alternative cause I myself am alternative!