#iterator: sparkling sea

[ask-sparkling-sea]

Lost part 11

Previous | Next

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XLIII)

Chapter 43: ‘The whole world depends on your pure eyes and all my blood flows into their gaze’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Some cuteness, some cuteness!!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 4472

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

The curve of your eyes winds around my heart, A round of gentleness and dance, Halo of time, night cradle and safe, And if I no longer know all that I’ve lived It’s that your eyes haven’t always seen me.

Leaves of day and foam of dew, Reeds of the wind, scented smiles, Wings shading the world of light, Boats brimming with sky and sea, Hunters of noise and sources of colour,

Scents bloomed from a brood of dawns That still rests on a bed of stars, As the day depends on innocence The whole world depends on your pure eyes And all my blood flows into their gaze.

Paul Eluard, Capitale de la douleur, 1929

Summer. Emerald waves tainted the sea with white foam. Warmth. Rest. Vacations. Rain…

… it was Galway, after all, rain was never far away.

Andrew was getting frustrated. He was so excited to go on this vacation with you, you had spent so much time planning, and talking about it, and awaiting this trip…

… and now it was raining. It was cold. You were lost. In the middle of fucking nowhere. Stuck behind some bloody sheep…

Only in Ireland, really… It was fucking August, for God’s sake…

He heard you letting out a long exhale, feeling your frustration creeping through every corner of the car, your negative energy matching his.

He knew you would end up fighting. It didn’t happen often, but every couple fought from time to time. It had never been important, never been anything you couldn’t get passed in a matter of minutes. Your fights had always grown out of frustration over situations, like this one iteration of everything going wrong…

On the back seat, Elwood was growing restless. Andrew could hear its heavy breaths, the noise of his fur moving against the fabric of the seats. Even him was getting annoyed now.

“You should have turned left.”

There it was. Andrew knew you had longed to voice that sharp remark. To be fair, you were right, he was the one who had insisted to turn right at a previous intersection, hence getting the three of you lost.

He was not in the mood to be a reasonable adult and recognising his wrongs though.

“Next time, you’ll drive, so you can take all the bad decisions, and I can do the blaming. You had the map…”

“We have a fucking GPS…”

“Which is not currently working in this godforsaken land…”

“And I told you to turn left, and you didn’t listen!”

“Again, just take the fucking wheel then!”

You exchanged a glare, your eyes sparkling with thunder, before you huffed and looked at the time on your phone.

“We won’t catch the ferry. We should turn back.”

“We can still catch it.”

“It’s leaving in less than half an hour…”

“We can still catch it.”

“Andrew! We have no fucking clue where we are! We’re stuck behind those bloody sheep! We will not make it to the ferry, so let’s just… go back to the house.”

“You’re getting defeated…”

“No, I’m realistic. We’ll never get there on time, and especially not with these bloody sheep!”

“And what am I supposed to do about it?!”

You stared at each other for a moment. And then you did something Andrew had not predicted.

You unfastened your seat belt, opened the car door, and left.

You climbed out of the car, forcefully slammed the door shut. And you started walking across the road, walking ahead without so much as a glance in his direction. You had barely managed a few steps that you were already soaked.

As he stared at you walking under the rain, walking away from the car, walking away from him, all traces of anger left Andrew’s body. Instead, an old fear came back, raging, blurring his world for a second.

You were leaving…

In the span of a handful of seconds, mere seconds, his brain raced to the worst scenario possible. His thoughts stopped being logical and were filled with his worst fear instead.

You were sick of him. You regretted moving in with him. You wanted your ex back all over again. You would have been happier with Frank than with him. You were leaving, dumping his arse, it was over…

God… how could he survive that? You were… you were… he couldn’t…

But then you did turn around.

“ANDREW! HELP ME OUT FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

He frowned, unable to move.

“ANDY! COME HELP ME OUT!”

That was when he finally realised what you were doing. You weren’t leaving. You weren’t walking out of his life. You weren’t breaking up with him, you were…

He saw you moving your arms in the air, calling through the heavy rain towards the scattered sheep, and he finally understood that you were trying to gather them all on the side of the road, towards an open field.

He tried to regulate both his breathing and his heartbeat while he climbed out of the car, securing his coat around his frame to protect himself from the cold rain.

He was panicking over nothing. You weren’t leaving. You weren’t leaving. It was fine… he was fine… all fine…

He longed to hurry to you, but his body couldn’t. It was a strange mixture of tiredness, frustration, remnants of anger, and fear. Mostly fear.

He had to stop overthinking everything. You weren’t like that. You loved him, and he knew that, deep down… it was just difficult for him to believe he was that lucky sometimes. He couldn’t help it…

You turned to him as he approached.

“We need to get them out of the way,” you said, your voice still shaking with anger.

You were visibly surprised when he wrapped his arms around you, held you in a fragile embrace. He felt you instantly relaxing, your body growing numb into his arms as you reached up to hold him as well.

“I’m sorry I got mad,” you mumbled under your breath, although you were still frustrated.

“I’m sorry too.”

“We should go back.”

“I’m sorry. You were excited about this trip.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“It is though.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, honey.”

You didn’t hesitate a second to say it back, to pick up on one of his pet names again. And he ought to stop overthinking everything, but he couldn’t…

“Let’s go back to the car. You’re soaked, love. You’ll catch your death. Come on,” he prompted you towards the car, and you followed him.

Andrew made a U-turn, drove back to the small cottage-like house you were renting during your two weeks in Galway. The drive back was quiet, but the silence was comfortable and warm again. All traces of frustration seemed to have disappeared from your features by the time you reached the cottage. It had stopped raining too, so you didn’t get even more drenched as you walked from the car to the front door.

You heaved a relieved sigh as you stepped inside the warm house, you wiggled happily as you took off your coat.

“We can try to get to the ferry again tomorrow,” Andrew started, his tone cautious.

You surprised him with a shrug.

“We could. We’ll see.”

“I thought you wanted to…”

“Andy… it’s alright. I don’t care. Don’t overthink this. It’s just an afternoon, it was just an activity. We can stay here today, relax, enjoy each other’s company. I don’t mind if we don’t go see the Arans. I don’t mind at all. I promise.”

Andrew forced his shoulders to relax.

“We can still go later this week.”

You nodded, a playful glimmer shining in your eyes.

“Although, next time, we’ll turn left,” you quipped, teasing him while gently pinching his side.

He rolled his eyes, but a smile was back on his lips. If you were joking around, it meant that you weren’t mad. Good… that was good…

“You should take a shower, love. You’re freezing,” Andrew spoke in a quiet, warm voice, the one he knew always soothed you. He let his knuckles brush the sharper edge of your cheekbone, hated the coldness of your skin, longed for you to be warm and content again.

You nodded, taking off your jumper and wet jeans as you made your way to the bathroom.

“Actually, I think I’ll take a bath. We can take our time today, relax.”

You turned around, tilted your head a little in a tempting way as you spoke again. Andrew was having a hard time looking at your eyes instead of the length of your naked legs…

“Want to join me?” you smiled.

He gave you a suggestive look.

“In the bath? Or in bed?”

You bit down on your lower lip, and Andrew was gone for good. God, you had him wrapped around your finger… were you aware of the extent of his need for you?

“Hmm… bed first, then a bath? After all, we did fight… Some make-up sex is in order, no?”

He hummed, nodding his head as he walked closer to you. This time he didn’t refrain his urge to let his gaze travel down your legs, marvelling at their perfect curves, his fingers tingling already at the thought of touching them, feeling the softness of your skin, your warmth spread through his palms…

When he stopped, right before you, and looked up at your eyes again, there was something inviting in your gaze. He knew this look very well by now. It was the one that granted silent permission, the one that said I want you too, you can touch me…

His heart swelled at the thought that you were granting him the right to be this close to you now. That you were allowing him, even inviting him, to touch you. To kiss you. To worship your body… and he would. For the coming hour, he planned to do nothing but worship you, in the hopes that you would read in his adoration how much he loved you. How much he cared. How much he needed you.

You were staring right into his eyes as your hands slowly rose to his chest, as you peeled his cardigan off his body. There was so much tension in the air then, electric, as heavy as your stammering breaths, while you slowly unfastened the buttons of his white shirt. One button at a time. At an excruciatingly slow pace…

He let you do it though, do as you pleased with him. He loved it, the way you were setting a pace now. The way you were taking control. There was a quiet tenderness in each of your touches that told him he was safe with you, that you would never do him harm, that he could lay his heart, his body, his life into your hands, and despite that power over him, you wouldn’t destroy him.

He needed to stop overthinking everything…

He helped you slide his shirt off his shoulders, let you rest your palms on his undershirt, one hand on of each of his breasts.

“I love you.”

He grinned at the tender confession.

“I love you too.”

When you reached up to kiss him, it felt like breathing after a lifetime without air, like relief, like being alive…

At last… at fucking last…

This ought to be heaven.

After your pleasurable reconciliation, you opted to take a bath together. An hour spent in pleasure was incredible, but also exhausting, and both of you longed for rest now. Sharing a bath offered the warmth and quiet perfect for your tired bodies, and the intimacy you both craved after sex.

Andrew smiled at the memory.

Incredible sex, actually…

You heaved a content sigh as you readjusted your head against his shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. His brain was fuzzy with a happy static, the kind he had never experienced before. A strange sense of peace, contentment, happiness… but that felt better than all of that combined. He couldn’t explain it. He felt it only with you, that was for sure…

“Your skin is so soft,” he mused, trailing his fingers across your waist and hip, speaking without thinking.

It felt so soothing to have you in his arms like this. There was something grounding, reassuring, and delightfully vulnerable in lying here with you, naked, sharing a bath and cuddling. You seemed to have a special power, one that made his busy brain grow quiet.

You chuckled at his words, kissed his chest as a reward.

“Yours is soft too,” you nodded, caressing his chest as if to stress your words.

Andrew shifted his legs, unfolding them to prop his feet on the edge of the bathtub, making the water and its bubbles shift with his movements. You had added some scented salts, and he liked it. It was soothing. It felt so nice.

Loving you was so good…

You giggled, making him look at you again.

“God… even this gigantic bathtub is too small for you…”

He laughed then, bright and happy with your teasing. He wiggled his toes for good measure, making you break into laughter once more.

“Can’t help it,” he shrugged.

“I love that about you. That you’re really tall.”

“Do you, now?”

You hummed in response.

“It’s sexy.”

He chuckled, his cheeks turning a brighter shade of pink.

“Oh… so I’m sexy?”

He wiggled his eyebrows, making you laugh.

“Of course you are,” was your only answer, offered as if it was obvious.

Sometimes he forgot that you loved him this way. Like it was easy. Like there was nothing more natural in the world. That was how he felt for you; loving you felt as natural as filling his lungs with air, blinking at the bright sun, moving his leg over yours in bed. It was easy. Obvious. Ineffable.

You said that you felt like that, too. If it were a truth, it was a hard one to believe in. He wanted to though, longed for the safety of certainty.

He looked up at the ceiling, let out a long exhale as you nuzzled into his neck again, ran your fingers across his chest in such a soothing way, he almost closed his eyes.

He needed to stop overthinking this. You were here, in his arms, naked, loving him… it ought to be proof enough that you truly wanted him.

This fear he had felt in the car, seeing you walk away, this… uncontrollable dread that you could leave… He had to stop thinking about it, but he couldn’t.

What if you left?

He tried to picture his life without you in it. There would still be Elwood, his parents, his brother, Alex, his friends, his classes, his writing, music, poetry. He could find someone else, eventually. He hated every part of it…

When he pictured you in the same scenarios, everything seemed brighter. His life was better simply because you were in it. He tried to think of his life in a year, in five years, in ten years, in sixty years… Every time the life he wanted had you in it. He couldn’t picture a future that was happy without you being a part of it.

He had never felt like that before. Even with Sam. He had thought he would always love her, and yet, there were bits of his life that he didn’t picture her into. He could imagine living on his own, he could imagine his career, his friends, his family… without Sam in it, and still be content.

Not with you. All these lonesome pictures felt wrong. You were missing…

He thought of his life, the one that awaited him, that laid at his feet, and he didn’t want to live it without you.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your voice was quiet, warm. When he looked down at you again, if there was puzzlement in your gaze, there was infinite tenderness too.

He wanted this to last forever. You. Him. Forever…

He never wanted this to end. And somehow, he just knew then. That the reason why he couldn’t picture a happy life without you, was simply because you were the one for him. You were the love of his life. And his heart would always be yours.

He thought he would be scared by such a realisation, but he wasn’t. He reckoned the feelings had been in his heart for too long, had become a part of him. He was simply putting words on what he felt. You were the love of his life. He was so happy it was you…

He wanted to believe that you felt the same, but he wasn’t sure. It was okay. One day, perhaps, he would be. If he loved you for long enough, if he let you love him fully, perhaps, one day, he would stop being afraid of losing you.

Instead of answering by any of these thoughts, he cupped your cheek, gave you a tender smile.

“Nothing important. I love you, that’s all.”

Andrew was on the porch, you could hear him play the guitar. A soft melody you didn’t know, perhaps it was his own. You encouraged him to write full songs, but he kept on claiming he didn’t really want to. Poetry was enough. Music was enough. The two entities didn’t need to mingle. Sometimes he did play some guitar, hummed a melody to match one of his poems. Which you called ‘writing a song’, but he called it ‘exploring a theme through different media’. You rolled your eyes at him every time.

After the heavy rains of the afternoon, the evening was sunny and surprisingly warm. Outside, the sun was setting, kissing the hills goodbye as it lingered on their tops, flashing its golden hues into the sky before it would grow dark. You walked out with a cup of warm tea in each of your hands, took a moment to watch the beautiful colours in the sky, all golden and orange fading into red. It was quiet, you had rented a small house as an AirBnB in the country side, and there was no one around. Your closest neighbours owned a farm about a kilometre away, the road leading to the cottage was rarely used. You let your eyes travel across the fields, the green of grass, the deeper shades of bushes, the winding lines of stone walls. It was magical, in a way. There was something anchoring to this land, that made you feel like you belonged there.

The soft melody resumed on Andrew’s guitar, you turned to him. Elwood was lying at his feet with his eyes closed, but the movement of his tail told you he wasn’t asleep. Andrew was sitting on a wooden bench, right under the window of the kitchen, his legs stretched before him and taking up the whole width of the porch. His fingers danced on strings, he was humming every now and then. His notebook was by his side, open on a page stained with black ink. It was the notebook you had offered him the previous year, for his birthday. He never went anywhere without it. He seemed so peaceful, a content smile tugging at his lips. His long hair was tight in a messy bun, and he was gorgeous in an old pair of jeans and a blue plaid shirt, his skin and hair bathed in the golden light of the sinking sun. Beyond him, hills rolled, green and gorgeous. Andrew was all you could see.

You remained standing there, motionless, like a fool, staring at your partner with awe written all over your features. It was such a mundane, simple sight. And yet, it struck you then. The depth of your feelings for him, your longing for this never to end, for him never to leave.

It was silly… so silly… to realise that truth just by watching him, in casual clothes, playing mindless melodies on his guitar. And yet, that was the moment when you admitted to yourself that this was the life you wanted. You. Him. Forever. You never wanted this to end.

And God, he told you he loved you daily, showed it even more in a thousand actions and attentions he had for you each day. And yet, a part of you was still afraid he would leave, that you could lose him. What would you do without him?

You hadn’t noticed the music fading, too busy getting lost in the green of his eyes as he turned to you.

“You’re alright, love?” he asked, accent thick on his tongue with the fondness of his words, while he tilted his head.

You shook yourself, walked over to him.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m okay,” you smiled. “Made you some tea.”

“Oh, thanks!”

He accepted the cup you offered, moved his notebook so you could sit by his side. You didn’t mean to pry, you knew Andrew would not want you to read his writing unless he offered to tell you about it, so you looked away from the notebook as soon as you caught the title of his new poem.

That You Are.

“It’s about you,” he explained, noticing your glimpse at the notebook.

“I didn’t read…”

“I know. I trust you.”

You exchanged a smile.

“Are you really writing about me?” you asked, feeling shier now.

He chuckled, kissed your cheek.

“Who else could I write about? You’re my partner…” he answered, bending slightly in search of your gaze.

“I don’t know… your mistress…”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re right, she’s hiding in the trunk of our car.”

“Can she breathe in there?”

“Bottle of oxygen.”

“Clever.”

He shook his head at you while laughing, but when he spoke again he was serious once more.

“It’s not quite finished, you can’t read it for now.”

“That’s okay. Do you want to tell me more about what it’s about?”

He shrugged, blushing.

“It’s about… being in love with you. And… wanting to be where you are all the time.”

He stared at you, and you couldn’t help yourself when you reached up to cup his jaw and kiss his lips.

“What about the music?”

“Just…something I’ve been thinking about. To go with the poem.”

“So… you’re writing me a song now? Am I about to be serenaded?”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re insufferable,” he mumbled, before shushing your unspoken teasing with a quick kiss.

“I like it when you sing.”

“I know.”

There was something emotional shining in his eyes, but he didn’t speak more about it, and you let him draw the conversation away.

“What have you been up to?” he asked, taking a sip of his warm beverage while he put his guitar away.

He always asked these kinds of questions. At the end of every day he asked about how your classes had been, how was your research, how you were feeling. What had you been doing during the hours you had spent apart? It wasn’t prying, if you didn’t want to tell him, he didn’t insist. He just… genuinely wanted to know how your day had been. And you did the same for him. You remembered a time when you had settled for less than that simple, daily gesture. What an idiot you had been…

“I was just checking the weather for the coming days. It should be sunny on the Arans in a couple of days, so perhaps we could stay on the main land tomorrow. Perhaps a nice trek? It should rain early in the morning, but it’ll clear before noon.”

Andrew nodded, sipping on his tea, readjusting his glasses. At his feet, Elwood was now napping for good.

“We can drive to the national park, it isn’t far from here” he offered, looking at your phone as you showed him a page that referenced some paths across the wilderness of Connemara.

“Yeah, I thought we could walk around a lough.”

You studied the maps for a while, decided which path you would take the next day. Once the plans for your little adventure were sorted, Andrew gave you a mischievous smile, turning around and swinging his long legs over the edge of the bench. You fondly smiled as he moved to rest his head on your laps. His knees were bent over the edge of the bench, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Can I?” you asked in a quiet, tender voice as you lightly tugged on his hairband. He merely lifted his head a little as a response, so you could free his long curls, letting the chestnut strands cover your laps.

You took off his glasses too, secured them by your side. He let his eyes close with a relieved sigh as you ran your hands through his hair. You felt his body relax, the tension in his muscles disappear under your soft touch.

“This is so nice,” he hummed.

“It is,” you nodded, softly scratching his scalp, and he let out a long breath in response.

“I know that we had to wait until August to leave for our anniversary, instead of celebrating properly at the right date… but it was worth the wait!”

“We did celebrate on the date, though.”

“Yeah… but this is the actual celebration. Like… the real gift.”

“Hmm… yeah, you’re right. And I agree, it was worth the wait.”

“We outdid ourselves with this trip.”

“Yeah, we did.”

“It feels so nice to be just the two of us. To not have to worry about the usual, daily problems for a while.”

“Yeah… I reckon we both needed this.”

He took one of your hands in his. While you kept on running your fingers through his hair, he brought your other hand to his mouth, pressed it to his lips for a long kiss, intertwining your fingers together. He brought it to rest on his sternum next, stroking your knuckles.

You wanted to tell him, then. That he was the one. That he was the love of your life. That you never wanted him to leave…

But you couldn’t. You didn’t have neither the courage nor the strength. It had been a year, it was too soon. You knew, but he probably didn’t. Why scare him off when you could stay quiet and stare at his handsome features while the day ended and a new night was born out of the sun’s absence? It was safer this way…

“I love you so much, Y/N. You know that, right?” he asked in a whisper, and you noticed by how his voice had quietened that he was beginning to drift off to sleep.

You offered a tender smile he couldn’t see.

“I love you too, Andy. More than anything.”

He gave your hand a squeeze, and a moment later, his lips were parting, and he was asleep, your hand still in his, resting on his chest, and his head on your lap. You kept on looking at him, admired his peaceful expression as he slept, every detail of his face, making sure to commit each of them to memory. You didn’t pay much attention to the dying sunset, despite the colours it shone onto the world. Only when it was getting too dark for you to see Andrew’s features did you notice the passage of time. But then again, he was beautiful like this, and his hair was so soft, and the weight of his head on your lap was reassuring, grounding…

Five more minutes…

[imaginethezeldaverse]

Hi! Could I request a Ganondorf x fairy reader? Reader has always followed Ganondorf throughout time, and they are able to shift from a small fairy form to a human size fairy form!

Hope you having a wonderful day!

-the fairy anon 🧚‍♀️

Well hello, fairy anon! Please allow this fairy of fiction to fulfill your request! ✨ (I'm gonna make you a Great Fairy, but not exactly like the ones from BotW/TotK - you'll see what I mean)

To the naked eye, the small, zipping ball of light could easily be mistaken for a sunset firefly. Skittering around the desert may have been a little strange, but not wholly uncommon. For these facts, you were very grateful. On your tiny wings you flitted through the very open windows of top floor Gerudo bedchamber. You half expected it to be empty, a plan in mind to simply wait and surprise the person you'd planned on visiting - but fate would have other plans in store for you.

"To what do I owe the honor of a Great Fairy at my humble abode?" His tone was a mix of curious and cocky, with just a touch of threatening. With a quick spin, sparkles surrounded your body - and suddenly were a normal, human size. Rattling your wings gently to relieve them of any excess sand that clung to you, you simply made a sound akin to an interested huff. Your long lashes lifted to allow your sweetheart eyes to connect with fiery amber ones,

"Just stopped by to visit an old friend is all..." painted lips turned up in a minxish smile, "But then again...we weren't always only 'just friends' were we...Ganondorf?"

The Gerudo chief eyes you with suspicion, his originally smug expression faltering to something untrusting. You have information he clearly doesn't - a weakness that he doesn't like having exploited. Still, he approaches you, standing tall and wide to loom over your smaller frame. A full head taller than you are is he, yet that does not move you from where you stand. Peering down at you his voice evens out to a tone you can't read, "You speak as though you know me, sprite - but I don't recall ever knowing you."

There's a bitter chuckle in your throat, though you swallow it down. This is always the part you hated the most. You bit back a few oncoming tears, trying desperately to shrug away the hurt that hits you every time you hear an iteration of those same words. Ganondorf watches your eyes grow a tad misty, his brows furrowing at your sudden shift from your initially playful demeanor. "Not yet you don't," your wavering voice whispers up to him. You don't give him time to react, kissing the tips of your fingers and pressing them lightly to his forehead. Immediately Ganondorf jumps back from you, his head beginning to pound as visions bombarded him at full velocity.

"YOU!" he barks, pain swimming in his head. His vision flashes, your faye visage totally different now - soft green vines envelope the length of your body. He remembers vividly the fountain he'd always frequent to find you. Remembers the way your long nails felt against his scalp when his hair was much, much shorter than it is. He recalls sealing you away in a rage, the evil inside of him unable to fathom why you'd help the very person meant to be his downfall.

His skull throbs again, and suddenly he feels a salty breeze upon his face. He sees your iridescent skin, revels in the memory of how smooth you were against his ruggedness. He remembers telling you how much he'd missed you, and how the sea was lonely, but punishment in the sacred realm just without your reach was far lonelier. It comes back to him the nights spent watching the waves with you, your long illustrious locks floating about against the backdrop of the setting sun.

Once more the rush of pain stabs at his head, his visions swiftly reconnecting to a darker world. One surrounded in a shroud of twilight and deep hues of the chaos he had caused. He has your soft face in the palm of his hand - you look so scared - and yet you clung to him. He remembers promising you a new world at his side, you choose not to hear it. You've done this before - though he does not know this. Your big eyes brim with tears, but he brushes them away before they can fall. His memory jogs as he hears you tell him you love him, your luminous, opalescent wings flittering as your heart does. Ganondorf remembers sealing his lips over your own, pinning you to the nearest wall and etching a love on your skin that has transcended the many lifetimes he's lived already with you.

Suddenly the pain stops.

Ganondorf heaves, realizing he's been brought to his knees from this ordeal. His large hand clutches his head, thick fingers weaving through his long scarlet locks. There's a struggle to catch his breath, but he ultimately does as he blinks the scattered memories back into the confines of his mind. Lifting his head, he sees your tearful expression with all the recognition in the world. His steadying hand drops to his knee - he picks himself up. Heavy, thudding footsteps make their way toward you slowly, and judging by his hardened, blank expression, you're a bit fearful for what the sudden onset of several lifetimes' worth of memories could have done to him so you brace yourself - ready to transform and leave at a moment's notice.

You shut your eyes as he's suddenly in front of you, only for them to open once more. His hand caresses your cheek with complete tenderness, "You..." comes his strained voice. When your eyes meet, you see it: him. The Ganondorf who has loved you through every version of him that's existed. You lean into his hand, crystalline tears rolling down the gentle curves of your face, "Me..." Ganondorf wastes no time claiming your lips. A kiss that you very enthusiastically meet him halfway with. Before you know it, your legs are scooped up and wrapped around his waist, all while his lips are still connected to yours.

At your brief parting, Ganondorf lends you a genuine smile. He rests his forehead against your collarbone.

"You always know how to find me, my love. Faye of my heart, you've come back to me."

Arms coming around his head, you embrace him tight to your chest, "No length of time, nor change of your looks would ever keep me from finding you."

And you always would. You had found love once...with him. It made you thankful that you were blessed with eternal life; because although Hylia would strike him down at all costs; though you knew of the evil he truly was deep down; though you were sure the goddess would curse you for the atrocity of laying with her enemy - you would love him every time.

[mononijikayu]

“a life, a sparkle in your eyes/heaven coming through” — gojo satoru.

It was a smile that spoke volumes, conveying a multitude of emotions in its simple curve. It was a smile of acceptance, of love, of unwavering support for the choices you had made. And in that smile, you found reassurance, a silent affirmation that you were cherished and adored just as you were, in every form and iteration. One that you hadn’t seen in a long time. And Satoru somehow has the kindest one you’ve ever seen before. The most precious.

GENRE: post hidden - inventory arc (2010s)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: the astronaut by jin of bts

NOTE: jin of bts is returning from the military in a couple of hours and this song was on repeat and i had a satoru idea so here we are!!! anyway, i love you!!! ill see you in the next update of ashes of love <3333

masterlist

u s and t h e m

YOU REFLECT A LOT ABOUT YOUR LIFE. You lost faith in love a long time ago. You had been surrounded by love all your life, enveloped in its warmth and comfort. But then your father died, and you were taken from your mother. Your world shattered, leaving you adrift in a sea of sorrow. Then it was Kaiko and Namie who became your anchors. You clung to them desperately, finding solace in their presence and, once more, you were surrounded by love. 

But the cycle repeated itself cruelly. Somehow, no matter how you want to escape it, the same suffering was bound to repeat itself. Namie died, and Kaiko went insane, driven mad by her own grief, and left you to inflict her pain upon the world. And then you spilled her blood with your hands, trying to prevent more suffering. You were alone again, cast into the abyss of solitude. Suffering the voices in your head and the shadow of a lost love.

It was a bleak existence, a never-ending cycle of loss and heartache, until one fateful day. You found a cat stuck in a tree, its desperate cries mirroring your own silent pleas for help. As you struggled to rescue the frightened creature, a voice called out to you. It was Gojo Satoru, a first-year boy with striking white hair and a confident demeanor. He approached with an easy smile, offering his assistance without hesitation.

It was a bleak existence, a never-ending cycle of loss and heartache, until one fateful day. You found a cat stuck in a tree, its desperate cries mirroring your own silent pleas for help. As you struggled to rescue the frightened creature, a voice called out to you. It was Gojo Satoru, a first-year boy with striking white hair and a confident demeanor. It was hard to not know what he looked like. You’ve seen him enough in the clan gatherings, though never once interacted with him. And besides, the six-eyes was too hard to miss. He approached with an easy smile, offering his assistance without hesitation.

"Need some help?" Satoru called out, his voice light and friendly.

You glanced down, surprised by the sudden intrusion. "I think I can manage," you replied, though your grip on the tree branch was precarious.

Satoru chuckled, easily reading the situation. "Looks like the cat isn't the only one stuck," he teased, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Hold on, I'll get it."

Before you could protest, he effortlessly climbed up beside you. With a gentle but firm hand, he coaxed the trembling cat into his arms. "There we go, little guy," he murmured to the cat before turning to you. "And now for the other rescue."

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as Satoru helped you down from the tree, his touch warm and reassuring. "Thank you.” you mumbled, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude.

"No problem," he said with a grin. "I'm Gojo Satoru, by the way. What's your name?"

You hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Zenin. Gen—”

Satoru's eyes widened slightly with recognition, but his grin only widened. "Oh! Then you’re my senpai?" he said, a playful snicker in his voice as he eyed you from head to toe. “You look pretty for a Zenin.”

The unexpected comment caught you off guard. You couldn’t believe what he’s saying. No one had ever been this blunt with you. At all. You felt like you were glitching. Your face scrunches up as you narrow your lilac eyes at him.

"Excuse me?" you replied, a mix of disbelief and curiosity coloring your tone.

Satoru shrugged nonchalantly, his smile never wavering. "Just saying, you don't have that usual 'I'm better than everyone else' Zenin aura about you. It's... refreshing. Does that make sense?"

You couldn't help but smirk at his bluntness. "Well, I don't exactly fit in with my family." you admitted, the bitterness in your voice hinting at the pain behind your words. You stopped. He was literally stranger. There’s no need to say anything. “Wait, why am I telling you this?”

“Maybe I’m just a comforting person?”

“No, No, that—”

Satoru's expression softened. "Though, I think I get you, senpai. I get that. Not everyone fits into the mold they're given. But hey, that's not necessarily a bad thing. I mean, you’re already cooler than the rest of your ugly—”

You snicker suddenly.

He looks at you for a moment.

You cough back, waving him off.

“Just a cough, don’t worry.”

“I don’t know, Zenin-senpai. That sounds like a laugh to me.”

"And what about you, Gojo Satoru? Do you fit the mold?" You say, changing the topic. Saying too much will only be a headache.

He laughed, a sound so carefree it was almost contagious. "Me? I'm the mold-breaker," he declared confidently. "I do things my way, and if people don't like it, well, that's their problem. But who are they to stop me anyway? I’m the strongest!”

You couldn’t help but be intrigued by the boy. If it wasn’t for how genuine he is, you would think his latter comment was condescending. But you feel like there was more to him than that. His eyes tell. For the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope. A glimmer of life itself was in him and you could tell that easily.

This Gojo boy, with his easy going smile and unwavering confidence, was different. He didn't see you as just another Zenin, and that was a revelation. He reminded you of Kaiko for a bit. And that for a moment gave you heartache. But you don’t want to tell him that. You doubt it was proper.

"Maybe breaking the mold isn't such a bad idea, I think." you mused, a small smile playing on your lips.

Satoru's grin widened. "That's the spirit, senpai. Now, how about we get this cat somewhere safe and then figure out how to break a few more molds together?"

“Hm, why not?” you hummed back at him as you took the cat in your arms. The small creature purred, nestling comfortably against you, as if sensing the new bond forming between the two of you.

Satoru's presence seemed to imbue the world around him with a sense of joy and vitality. His easygoing demeanor and infectious energy were like a beacon of light in the midst of the wide echo of the school grounds. As you walked beside him, you couldn't help but marvel at how effortlessly he seemed to navigate through life, as if every challenge was nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience.

It was a stark contrast to your own experiences, weighed down by the burdens of your past and the responsibilities that now rested on your shoulders. Yet, despite the heaviness that often threatened to engulf you, being in Satoru's presence brought a sense of relief, a temporary reprieve from the weight of your worries.

There was something magnetic about the way he carried himself, a confidence and self-assuredness that seemed to radiate from within. It was as if he possessed an inner strength that allowed him to face whatever challenges came his way with grace and resilience.

As you observed him, you couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration and awe. Here was someone who had faced his own share of hardships and yet still managed to find joy in the simple pleasures of life. It was a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was always hope, always a reason to keep moving forward.

In Satoru's lightness, you found a source of inspiration, a reminder to embrace each moment with an open heart and a willingness to face whatever the future may hold. And as you walked beside him, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope stirring within you, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a brighter tomorrow waiting on the horizon.

"So, Zenin–senpai," Satoru began, breaking the comfortable silence, "what's your story? What makes you different from the rest of your clan?"

You glanced at him, contemplating how much to reveal. "It's a long story and too dull. I doubt it’s one to be heard." you replied cautiously. "Let's just say I don't agree with their methods. Or their values…..Or actually anything.”

Satoru nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I get that. Sometimes family can be the hardest to stand up to. But you seem strong enough to handle it. You got out.”

You gave a small, humorless laugh. "Strength isn't always enough. And I’m not yet out. I bear the last name.”

“But you don’t live in Zenin manor?” He hums, questioningly. “If you had, I would have seen you many times.”

“I did see you many times, before.”

“HUH? Then how come I haven’t seen you before?” His face contorts into a pitiful pout. “I would have noticed a Zenin like you — let alone that geezer’s eldest grandchild.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, really. But you never greet people.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. I was there.”

“Isn’t my presence enough as a greeting?” Gojo asks, almost haughtily. You want to smack him, but you hold yourself back. He’s such a brat. “I mean, I am a miracle, senpai.”

“No wonder Yaga complains about you.” You mumbled under your breath. “And it’s only the first year?”

“Hehhhhh, he complains about me?”

“Principal Gakuganji’s happier, if I’m being honest.” You look at him, as he seems curious. “Yaga complaints about you and that other boy—”

“Suguru got mentioned? Woah–”

“You both cause him high blood pressure.” You finally finished. 

Satoru's expression shifted from curiosity to amusement as you revealed the cause of Principal Gakuganji's stress. "High blood pressure, huh?" he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I guess we do have a talent for causing trouble."

You nodded, a playful glint in your eye. "It's a special skill you and Geto-san seem to excel at." you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

Satoru grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, what can I say? We're just too irresistible for our own good."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help but smile at his infectious enthusiasm. Despite the challenges and chaos that seemed to follow him wherever he went, there was something undeniably charming about Satoru's carefree attitude. It was as if he refused to let anything dampen his spirits, choosing instead to find joy in the most unexpected places. The quiet came again between the two of you.

“Sometimes, it's about finding the right people to stand with you."

“Hm?” Satoru looks at you, his cerulean blue piercing towards you.

“That would get you by.” You made it clear to him as you shifted the cat against your kimono’s sleeves. “But I suppose from what I heard, you and the other first years get along well enough. Continue that.”

Satoru's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Well, you've got me now too, senpai. And trust me, I'm pretty good at standing up to people. Aren’t I the one that made Principal Gakuganji nearly shit himself?”

“Language.” You tell him as he rolled his eyes. But he was right. Principal Gakuganji felt like he was about to whip out his guitar when he first met Gojo Satoru. At least that’s what Utahime told you. “I know you’re good at standing up to people. But I hope you’re careful, hm?”

“Oh, is that a senpai’s advice?”

“A friend’s advice.”

“You already view us as friends?” He seemed hopeful about that. His eyes were gleaming brighter than ever before.

You chuckled softly, the warmth settling between you. "I suppose I do," you admitted, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Though, if you keep pestering Principal Gakuganji, I might have to reconsider."

“Ehhhhhhhh, but I don’t like him.”

You laughed, shaking your head. "Fair enough. Just try not to give him too much of a headache, alright?"

“I can’t promise anything about that, senpai.”

As you approached the dormitory, the cat still nestled peacefully in your arms, you felt a sense of optimism that had been absent for far too long. Maybe, with Satoru by your side, you could carve out a new path, one that defied the expectations and limitations of your clan. Or at least free you, at least just a little.

Satoru opened the door for you, and you stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the building embrace you. "So, where should we take this little guy?" he asked, looking at the cat.

"There's a place in the courtyard where some of the strays gather. It should be safe there for the little one." you suggested.

Satoru nodded, and together you made your way to the courtyard. As you set the cat down gently among the other strays, it looked up at you with grateful eyes before scampering off to join its new companions.

"See? One problem has already been solved by the great Satoru!" Satoru said with a grin. "Now, onto the next one."

You turned to him, a newfound determination in your eyes. "And what's the next one, exactly?"

He shrugged, his smile never fading. "Whatever we decide it is. The sky's the limit, senpai."

As you stood there, side by side with Gojo Satoru, you felt a spark of hope ignite within you. You didn’t remember him being this expressive or at all talkative all these years ago. But then again, you hadn’t met him in years. He had time to become the boy who met you now. 

"It was nice to meet you today, Zenin-senpai. Really didn't think I'll meet you this soon!" Satoru said, setting the cat down gently. "But y'u know, I think you and this cat have something in common."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. "Oh? What's that?"

He smiled, a hint of mischief in his cerulean eyes. "Both of you need someone to look out for you."

You looked away, the truth of his words hitting a little too close to home. You can’t believe how easily he sees through you. You just met this boy today and he’s already doing so much. You lived a lonely existence, you know that much. You were content with that. At least that’s what you always say to yourself.

"Maybe." you admitted quietly.

Satoru's expression softened. "Well, how about this? I'll look out for you if you look out for the cat. Deal?"

You couldn't help but smile at his earnestness. "Deal."

You did end up adopting the cat. Despite its initial skittishness, it soon settled into your life, providing an unexpected source of comfort and companionship. You named it "Gojonyan," inspired by the snowy white fur that reminded you so much of Satoru’s hair. And even more coincidentally, Satoru’s blue eyes. 

Gojonyan had a playful and mischievous nature, always getting into places it shouldn't and constantly seeking attention. It would often curl up in your lap, purring contentedly as you stroked its soft fur, and you found solace in its presence. The cat’s energy and spirit mirrored Satoru's in uncanny ways. Just like him, Gojonyan seemed to have an endless reserve of curiosity and an unshakeable confidence, as if it knew it was meant to be part of your life.

Whenever you felt overwhelmed by the weight of your responsibilities or the shadows of your past, Gojonyan was there, a reminder of the moment your life began to change. The cat’s antics often brought a smile to your face, and its loyalty reminded you of Satoru’s steadfast support. 

One evening, as you sat in your room with Gojonyan curled up beside you, you couldn't help but think back to that day by the tree. Satoru had shown you a new way to look at the world, a way that wasn't defined by loss and heartache. He had given you hope, and in a strange way, Gojonyan had come to symbolize that hope.

You often found yourself talking to Gojonyan, sharing your thoughts and fears as if the cat could understand every word. "You know, Gojonyan," you would say, scratching behind its ears, "you’re a lot like Satoru. Always so full of life and mischief. I think you two would get along just fine."

Gojonyan would respond with a soft purr, its eyes half-closed in contentment. You didn’t know if he was agreeing with you or not. But you still found your little one very cute. And comforting too. It was as if the cat understood the significance of Gojo Satoru’s presence in your life and the role it now played in helping you heal. And you feel like you are healing. 

You often brought Gojonyan with you when you came by to Jujutsu High, especially when you had missions in Tokyo. The cat had become a familiar presence, trotting alongside you with an air of confidence that belied its small size. You enjoyed the company, and it seemed only natural to bring a piece of your new life with you.

However, you found yourself puzzled by Gojonyan’s behavior whenever Satoru was around. Despite the cat’s generally friendly disposition, it seemed to have taken a distinct dislike to him. The usually affectionate feline would arch its back and hiss whenever Satoru approached, much to his chagrin.

One afternoon, you were sitting in the common area of Jujutsu High with Gojonyan on your lap. Shoko and Suguru were there as well, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation between their duties. Satoru walked in, his usual confident swagger in place, but the moment Gojonyan spotted him, it let out a low growl and jumped off your lap, retreating to a corner.

Satoru’s shoulders slumped dramatically, and he looked at you with exaggerated sorrow. “Why does Gojonyan hate me, Gen-senpai? I thought we were friends!” His tone was a mix of genuine disappointment and playful theatrics.

Shoko chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s probably your personality, Satoru. Cats can sense these things. And yours is just that bad.”

Suguru smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, Satoru. Maybe it’s because you’re too loud and flashy. Gojonyan prefers a more refined company.”

Satoru's eyebrows shot up in mock offense. "Hey now, I'll have you know my personality is top-notch! It's just that Gojonyan hasn't acquired a taste for the finer things in life yet." He flashed them a playful grin, clearly unfazed by their teasing.

“Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that.” Shoko snickers, biting against her lollipop candy. 

“Suguru, defend me here!”

Suguru shrugged nonchalantly. "Can't argue with the truth, can we?" He smirked, his eyes dancing with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying Satoru's playful indignation.

Satoru huffed playfully, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine, fine. But just you wait, Gojonyan will come around eventually. He'll see that I'm not so bad after all."

In the midst of all the tension and seriousness surrounding recent events, the playful banter between Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru provided a welcome reprieve. As laughter filled the room, you felt a weight lifting off your shoulders, if only for a moment. It was a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there could still be moments of lightness and joy.

Satoru feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart in mock indignation. "Watch my words! Gojonyan will be in my hands lovingly! One day!," he retorted with a grin. "Gojonyan just needs to learn to appreciate my finer qualities."

Shoko shook her head, still smiling. "Sure, Satoru. Let that copium enter your lungs. I’m cheering for that cope!”

Suguru's smirk widened as he leaned forward, his gaze meeting yours with a knowing twinkle. "Don't worry, Genmei–senpai. We still like you, even if your taste in friends is questionable."

You rolled your eyes playfully, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging wash over you. Despite the challenges you had faced, you were grateful for moments like these — moments of laughter that reminded you that you were not alone. Not anymore.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their teasing. “I have no idea why Gojonyan doesn’t like you, Satoru. Maybe it’s just one of those things.”

Satoru sighed dramatically, plopping down on the couch with a forlorn expression. “This is tragic. I, the great Gojo Satoru, was defeated by a cat.”

Shoko leaned over and patted his shoulder mockingly. “There, there. Maybe if you try bribing Gojonyan with treats, it’ll come around.”

Satoru perked up at the suggestion, his eyes lighting up with determination. “That’s a great idea, Sho! I’ll win Gojonyan’s affection—”

“So, vote buying—” 

“—just you wait.” He stood up, already plotting his next move. Suguru just shook his head. “I’ll get the finest cat treats money can buy.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. “Good luck with that. Just don’t be too heartbroken if it doesn’t work.”

Despite his efforts, Gojonyan remained indifferent to Satoru’s attempts to win it over. He brought a variety of treats, toys, and even a plush bed, but the cat was unimpressed. It would sniff the offerings disdainfully and then pointedly ignore him, much to everyone’s amusement.

One day, Satoru sat next to you, watching Gojonyan with a wistful expression. “I don’t get it, Gen-senpai. I thought all creatures loved me.”

You smiled, reaching over to pat his hand. “Maybe Gojonyan just needs more time to get used to you. Or maybe it’s just being stubborn.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You know, I think I’m starting to like the challenge. It keeps me on my toes.”

Despite the cat’s continued aloofness, Gojo Satoru’s efforts never wavered. He took it in stride, turning it into a personal mission to win over Gojonyan. It became a running joke among your friends, a source of lighthearted banter.

But he’ll probably never get along with him.

You were right about that assumption.

Ten years of marriage, Gojonyan still hated him.

YOU DIDN'T KNOW WHAT HIS REACTION WOULD BE LIKE. Gojo Satoru returned from his mission late in the evening, his white hair glistening with the remnants of rain. He didn’t get to use infinity as much this time, the creature being more clever than he would have liked. And he was exhausted now. He sighed as he brushed off the thread of rain on his head. 

As Satoru stepped through the threshold of your home, the familiar comfort of your shared space wrapped around him like a warm embrace. The weight of his journey, the trials and tribulations he had faced during his time away, seemed to lift from his shoulders in an instant. Home, with you, was where he truly belonged, where the chaos of the outside world faded into insignificance against the backdrop of your love and companionship.

The soft glow of lamplight spilled into the hallway, casting gentle shadows on the walls as Satoru made his way further into the house. Tsumiki and Megumi were likely already fast asleep in their beds, the rhythmic sound of their breathing a comforting background melody to the quiet of the night. But even in their slumber, their presence filled the air, a reminder of the love and warmth that permeated every corner of your home.

And then, there was you. The thought of seeing you again after his prolonged absence filled Satoru with a sense of eager anticipation, a longing that had grown with each passing day spent apart. He could almost feel the ghost of your touch, the warmth of your smile, as he approached the living room where you were likely waiting for him.

The mere thought of being enveloped in your embrace, of feeling your arms around him and your soft breath against his skin, sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. After being so cold and alone for what felt like an eternity, the prospect of being with you again, of being surrounded by your love and warmth, filled him with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and joy.

With each step closer to you, Satoru's heart beats faster in his chest, his anticipation growing with every passing moment. He couldn't wait to see you, to hold you in his arms and whisper words of love and longing into your ear. For in that moment, with you by his side, he knew that he was home.

The anticipation buzzed through the air as you waited for Satoru's arrival, your heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves. The decision to cut your hair had been a bold one, a symbolic gesture of breaking free from the past and embracing a new chapter of your life with Satoru. Yet, as you watched the seconds tick by, doubts crept in, and you couldn't help but fidget with the hem of your shirt, your fingers tapping anxiously against your thigh.

The sound of the door opening pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to see Satoru stepping into the room, a bright smile lighting up his face as his eyes met yours. But as his gaze swept over you, his expression faltered ever so slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before being replaced by curiosity.

You held your breath, your pulse quickening with anticipation as you waited for his reaction. Would he like your new look? Would he be disappointed? The uncertainty gnawed at you, and you fought the urge to chew on your lip nervously as you watched him approach.

Satoru stopped in front of you, his bright eyes locked on your face as he took in your appearance. There was a moment of silence between you, the air thick with unspoken tension as you searched his expression for any sign of approval or disapproval.

“Satoru, welcome home!” you began hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You turned your eyes away slowly. “I, uh…”

He stops at his tracks. “You cut your hair.”

 “I... I cut my hair.”

As Satoru turned to behold you, his eyes widened in surprise, taking in the sight of your transformed appearance. For a fleeting moment, he simply stood there, his gaze fixed upon you, as if trying to imprint the image of you with your new hairstyle into his memory. The silence between you stretched, pregnant with anticipation, as he processed the change that had taken place in his absence.

Then, like the breaking dawn after a long night, a slow, warm smile unfurled across his features. It started from the corners of his lips, spreading gradually until his entire face was illuminated with genuine delight. The smile reached his eyes, transforming them into twin pools of warmth and affection as he looked upon you.

In that moment, you could see the flicker of recognition in his gaze, the silent acknowledgment of the courage it must have taken for you to make such a bold decision. But more than that, you could sense the depth of his appreciation, the unspoken admiration for the beauty that radiated from within you, regardless of the length of your hair.

It was a smile that spoke volumes, conveying a multitude of emotions in its simple curve. It was a smile of acceptance, of love, of unwavering support for the choices you had made. And in that smile, you found reassurance, a silent affirmation that you were cherished and adored just as you were, in every form and iteration. One that you hadn’t seen in a long time. And Satoru somehow has the kindest one you’ve ever seen before. The most precious.

As Gojo Satoru crossed the room to stand before you, his smile remained firmly in place, a beacon of warmth in the quiet space between you. With each step, his love enveloped you like a protective embrace, banishing any lingering doubts or insecurities that may have lingered in the recesses of your mind.

And as he finally reached your side, he gently took your hand in his, his touch a silent reassurance of his unwavering affection. "You look beautiful," he whispered, his voice soft and filled with genuine admiration. "But then again, you always do."

Your heart swelled at his words, warmed by the sincerity in his voice. You met his gaze, finding nothing but love and acceptance reflected back at you. "Thank you," you murmured, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I was nervous about cutting it, but I'm glad you like it."

Satoru squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "You could shave your head bald and you'd still be the most beautiful person in the world to me," he said earnestly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "It's not about your hair, darling. It's about you, and you're perfect just the way you are."

A surge of warmth flooded through you at his words, dispelling any lingering uncertainty you may have felt. With Satoru by your side, you knew that you were loved unconditionally, flaws and all. And as you stood there, hand in hand, you realized that your decision to cut your hair was not about changing who you were, but rather about embracing your true self, no matter the external appearance.

You nodded, feeling a rush of relief wash over you at his seemingly positive reaction. "Yeah, I wanted a change." you explained, your voice tinged with nervousness. "I hope you like it."

Satoru's smile widened, his fingers trailing along the curve of your jaw as he studied your face. "I love it, darling" he reassured you, his voice filled with sincerity. "It suits you well enough.”

The tension melted away at his words, replaced by a warm glow of happiness that settled in the pit of your stomach. With a grateful smile, you leaned into his touch, savoring the feeling of his hand against your skin..

You blushed, looking away. “I... I wasn’t sure. I’ve never had short hair before. I did it in front of Zenin Manor, to cut ties with them. Now that I’m married to you, I’m free.”

His smile widened, and he gently cupped your face in his hands, tilting your head up so he could look into your eyes. “You’re always beautiful to me, no matter how you wear your hair. But this... this suits you. It’s like you’re stepping into a new chapter of your life.”

Despite his words, you still felt a pang of uncertainty. “Do you really think so? You’re not just saying that?”

“I mean it,” he said firmly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You look stunning, don’t worry about it. You’re free from all of them and it shows.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “Thank you, Satoru.”

He held you close for a moment, his embrace warm and comforting. But then he pulled back, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I have something for you.” he said, reaching into his pocket.

You watched curiously as he pulled out a small box. Opening it, he revealed a pair of blue butterfly hair clips, delicately crafted with intricate details. “I found these on my mission and thought of you. I know you’ve cut your hair, but I thought these might still look nice.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and delight. “Satoru, they’re beautiful!”

He grinned, taking one of the clips and gently securing it in your hair. “I’m glad you like them. They remind me of how you’re spreading your wings now, free and beautiful.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at your reflection, the blue butterflies standing out against your short hair. “Thank you, Satoru. They’re perfect.”

He pulled you into another hug, his arms wrapped tightly around you. “Anything for you.”

To be known, to be seen — it's to be loved. The realization of this truth washed over you, bringing a flood of emotions that you could hardly contain. Happiness, relief, and a profound sense of belonging mingled together in a rush that made your heart race and your eyes well with unshed tears. For the first time, you felt truly like you had found a way to break that cycle — that cursed cycle of loss and heartache that had haunted you for so long.

As Satoru secured the delicate blue butterfly clip in your hair, his touch gentle and reverent, you couldn't hold back the words that had been building inside you. "I love you, Satoru," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. "I love you."

His bright blue eyes widened in surprise, his usually confident demeanor giving way to a rare moment of vulnerability. This was the first time you had ever expressed your feelings toward him so openly, so unequivocally. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still as he absorbed your words, the significance of them settling deep within him.

"You know," he murmured, his voice soft and filled with awe. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped down your cheek. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

You leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hands against your skin, the solid presence of him grounding you in that moment. "I've never been able to say it before," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I want you to know, you mean everything to me. And I’m grateful to you. For everything.

In Satoru's gaze, there was a depth of emotion that transcended mere words. He looked at you as if you were the sun and the moon, the stars in his night sky, and the very air he breathed. It was a look that spoke of a love that knew no bounds, a love that had weathered countless trials and emerged stronger with each passing day.

In his eyes, you saw unwavering devotion, a commitment to stand by your side through thick and thin, to support you in every endeavor, and to celebrate your victories as if they were his own. It was a look that filled you with a profound sense of gratitude, knowing that you had found someone who loved you unconditionally, flaws and all.

But more than anything, in  Gojo Satoru's gaze, you saw acceptance. Acceptance of your past, your present, and your future. He saw you for who you truly were, with all your strengths and weaknesses, and loved you all the more fiercely because of it. It was a look that banished any doubts or insecurities, leaving only a sense of peace and contentment in its wake.

As you returned his gaze, you felt a bond between you that was unbreakable, a connection that transcended the physical realm and touched the very essence of your souls. In that moment, you knew with absolute certainty that you were loved, cherished, and valued beyond measure. And as you basked in the warmth of Satoru's adoring gaze, you felt a profound sense of gratitude for the gift of his love, a gift that you would treasure for all eternity.

You were so lucky in this world.

Suffering may come and go to you.

But you will be loved by him now.

He will always be there to love you.

And you could not ask for anything more.

His smile was radiant, a beacon of light that seemed to chase away the lingering shadows of your past. "I love you too, darling." he said, his voice steady and sure. "More than words can ever express."

In that moment, the bond between you felt stronger than ever, a palpable connection that went beyond mere words. You had found your way out of the darkness, breaking free from the cycle of pain and loss. With Satoru by your side, you knew that you could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if he never wanted to let you go. "We'll create our own future," he whispered into your hair, his breath warm against your ear. "Together, we'll build a life filled with love and happiness. For us, for the kids. Together.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with hope and determination. "Together." you agreed, feeling the truth of that promise settle deep within you. "We'll break the cycle and create something beautiful."

As you stood there in his embrace, the blue butterfly clips shimmering in your hair, you knew that you had finally found a place where you truly belonged. In Satoru's arms, you were home, and together, you would face whatever the future held with unwavering strength and love.

Nothing else mattered to you now.

As long as you have Satoru with you, it’s all good.

As long as you could see the light in his eyes,

As long as you could see that blue spark in them,

Heaven was sure to come through in your life.

epilogue 

The moment had finally arrived — the long-awaited introduction between Gojonyan and your son. Your husband Satoru was a bundle of nerves, pacing back and forth as he anxiously awaited Gojonyan's reaction. It was as if he was more nervous about this moment than he was when you gave birth to Satoshi. After all, the cat hadn't exactly warmed up to him in the past, and now they were about to meet the spitting image of Satoru himself.

You watched with amusement as Satoru fussed over his appearance, smoothing down his hair and straightening his clothes as if trying to make a good impression on a disapproving in-law. "Do you think he'll like me this time?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You chuckled, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "Relax, Satoru. Everything will be fine."

“Look, our son looks exactly like me and I’m scared, okay?”

“Gojo Satoshi is also my son, but alright.”

You couldn't help but laugh at Satoru's admission, his nerves palpable despite his attempt at nonchalance. "I'm sure Gojonyan will see past the resemblance and appreciate you for who you are," you reassured him, trying to ease his anxiety.

Satoru shot you a grateful smile, though the worry still lingered in his eyes. He pouts. "I hope so. I don't think I can handle being rejected by a cat twice."

“My love, it was more than twice.”

“I know, I know – just trying to lower the blow, okay?”

As you both prepared to introduce your son to Gojonyan, you couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation. This moment held so much significance — not just because it marked the beginning of a new chapter in your family's life, but because it symbolized the unbreakable bond that had formed between you, Satoru, and Gojonyan.

With your son cradled in your arms, you approached Gojonyan, who regarded you with his usual air of aloofness. Satoru stood by your side, his nerves evident as he watched the interaction unfold. As if on cue, Gojonyan sauntered into the room, his tail swishing lazily behind him. He regarded Satoru with a curious gaze, then turned his attention to your son, who was cradled in your arms.

Satoru held his breath, waiting for the inevitable hiss or swat of disapproval. But much to your surprise — and relief — Gojonyan's reaction was far from what you expected. Instead of recoiling at the sight of your son, the cat approached him with cautious curiosity, sniffing him delicately before nuzzling against his cheek.

Satoru's eyes widened in disbelief as he watched the scene unfold. "I think... I think he actually likes him," he whispered, his voice tinged with wonder. “Oh my god, he does!”

You couldn't help but smile at the sight, feeling a surge of warmth and happiness wash over you. "Looks like you were worried for nothing, Satoru."

You laugh at the sight, marveling at the unexpected turn of events. "Looks like Gojonyan has a new favorite, though.”

Satoru let out a relieved sigh, his shoulders relaxing as he watched the unlikely bond form between his former nemesis and his beloved son. "I guess you were right," he admitted, a hint of awe in his voice. "Who would've thought that our son would be the one to finally win Gojonyan over?"

“Well, he is quite too cute to ignore.” You grinned at your husband. 

As if to confirm Satoru's observation, Gojonyan let out a contented purr, curling up beside your son as if he had known him forever. Satoru's nervousness melted away, replaced by a sense of wonder and joy as he watched the unlikely bond form between his feline nemesis and his beloved son.

Your husband then pauses. "But wait…. Why does he hate me? Satoshi looks exactly like me….”

You grinned at him teasingly. “Maybe it's because he sees you as competition for my love, hm?" you teased, enjoying the playful banter with your husband. "After all, he's used to being the center of attention, and you were always the ‘Gojo' in town stealing his spotlight. Satoshi isn’t doing that, though!”

Satoru's eyes widened in mock realization, a mischievous gleam dancing in them. "Ah, I see. It's a classic case of jealousy, huh?" he remarked, playing along with your playful theory. "Well, I suppose I can't blame him. After all, who wouldn't be envious of someone as charming and handsome as me?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a laugh at his exaggerated self-assessment. "Oh, of course, how could I forget?" you replied with a smirk, poking fun at his inflated ego. "But, my love, I think Gojonyan just has his own unique way of showing affection. Maybe he's just a tough critic, and you'll have to work extra hard to win him over."

Satoru grinned at your suggestion, the challenge evident in his eyes. "Challenge accepted," he declared, his determination shining through. "I'll make sure Gojonyan becomes my number one fan."

“Well, ten years is a lot. But what’s another ten more, hm?”

“Yeah, why not!? Ten more years!”

You couldn't help but chuckle at your husband's enthusiasm, admiring his unwavering determination to win over Gojonyan, even if it took years. "Well, they do say patience is a virtue," you replied with a teasing grin, enjoying the playful banter between the two of you. "And who knows, maybe in ten years, you'll have Gojonyan eating out of the palm of your hand."

Satoru's grin widened at your response, his confidence unshaken. "Exactly!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Besides, what's life without a little challenge, right? And if anyone can charm Gojonyan, it's me."

You nodded in agreement, feeling a surge of affection for your husband as you admired his unwavering optimism and resilience. "That's the spirit," you replied, reaching out to squeeze his hand affectionately. "With your charm and charisma, there's nothing you can't accomplish."

He grins at you. “Well, I am the strongest, after all!”

“You’re so silly.” You shake your head at him, smiling lovingly at him.

“But you love me, hm?”

“Unfortunately, I do.” You hummed teasingly.

He pouts as he slumps against you. “Huh!? What do you mean unfortunately? Does the vows mean nothing now? Darling….”

You couldn't help but laugh at his playful pout, finding his antics endearing as always. "Oh, you know what I mean," you teased, playfully poking his side. "You're just too irresistible for your own good."

Satoru's pout turned into a mock expression of hurt, complete with exaggerated hand gestures. "Ah, the burden of being so incredibly charming!" he lamented dramatically, earning another round of laughter from you.

"But in all seriousness," you said, your tone softening as you gazed into his bright eyes, "I wouldn't have it any other way. You're my partner in crime, my confidant, my best friend. And even on your silliest days, I wouldn't trade you for the world."

His expression softened at your heartfelt words, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Likewise, darling." he replied, reaching out to cup your cheek affectionately. "You're my rock, my anchor. I don't know where I'd be without you."

In that moment, surrounded by love and laughter, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as you had each other, you could weather any storm. And with a playful grin, you leaned in to press a loving kiss to his lips, knowing that your bond was unshakably true as much as your love eternal.

[dustedmagazine]

Thalia Zedek Band — The Boat Outside Your Window (Thrill Jockey)

Photo by Mark Shaw

Thalia Zedek has been a voice of resilience and strength for most of the 21st century, in a solo career that has now stretched to seven full-length albums. Her rough, keening alto carries the hardest of sentiments; her band storms and surges, billowing up under the verses and crashing in release at the choruses. She sounds always real, always besieged, but always sure of getting through. This time in cathartic “Tsunami,” she confides, “You were so certain/that it’s curtains/but I’m not so sure.”

For all her post-punk credentials—Come, Live Skull among the highlights—Zedek has always leaned into sounds more common in Americana. David Michael Curry’s violin was a defining feature of the first iteration of her band, putting rich swoops of sustained sound under urgent tumult. Now in a reconfigured line-up, the pedal steel guitarist Karen Sarkisian plays that soothing counterpoint, unloosing emotive swirls of note-shifting sound, for instance, on the powerful “Naming Names.” This occurs against a rock-solid, hard-banging rhythmic foundation held down, as before, by Karate drummer Gavin McCarthy and all-around Boston bassist Winston Braman. The band is especially fierce and tight on this latest album, rupturing Zedek’s mournful vocal lines with the joy and power of rock.

There are some lyrical moments, too, especially the sort-of title track “Boat,” with its hitching, stop-stepping propulsion and a clear, melancholy current of pedal steel. Zedek is in especially fine voice on this one, an unexpectedly warm trill at the ends of phrases, and here the sea that was so threatening in “Tsunami” glistens and beckons. Sings Zedek, “There is a boat outside your window/I hear its sails snapping in the breeze/it’s sail so black against the sparkling sea/and there’s a hand that’s raised and waves at me.”

I find myself returning to the album’s last song, “Under Weather,” with its taut, staccato guitar play, its hard, dry offbeats, its sudden explosions into noisy glee. Zedek carves her own arc of melody here, jutting off from the band’s foundation in counterpoints and descants. There’s a growl in it at the low end, and a swallowed sob as well. It’s the sound of a woman riding a powerful tide of emotions but controlling them to her own ends.

Jennifer Kelly

[indieblueart]

YEAAAAA FIRST EVER MASS ATTACK

I love iterators I am giving them all a little kiss kiss

Character list under the readmore

Column 1

Distant Memories & the Stormchaser @vela-pulsars

Aberration @subconniving

Unbound Thought @gadjetomyart

Flowing Heavens & The Envoy vell_ichor

Blossoming Strelitzia Fields @azrielfiend

Column 2

Lost in Watchful Thought @mothwingedmyths

Kindling Spark & the Welder Callynx

Glittering Oceans @ardienothesieno

Omniscience of Disk jayyykip

Sight through Blindness @altitudeofalcatraz

Column 3

Haybale @sketchywasteland

Nine Linen Lanes & the Transfigurer @pansear-doodles

Sparkling Sea, Meadow In Moonlight, The Aviator, & The Merchant @ask-sparkling-sea aka MEEEEE

Paradox of Creation @skyistheground

Safe Ship, Harbored & The Historian @browzerhistory

Column 4

Beyond the Grasp Theguy

Nine Chimes silvesterhound

Whispering of the Many @altitudeofalcatraz

Fluttering in the Breeze @maplem0th

Several Cheap Fragments @kakyogay

Column 5

Starlight Symphony & the Weaver @mewguca

Timeless Golden Gambit Zirconphyr

Nothing Well-Made @meatcatt

Twelfth Briefly Unbound @arcaedex

Dew that Lingers @reveks

[ollieofthebeholder]

And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 45: A stranger on land and at home on the sea

Two steps forward, one step back. Tim didn’t know if Martin had just been overloaded by the information he’d given him the day they’d been interviewed by Detective Tonner or if he simply refused to believe it, but when they’d returned to the Institute on Monday, he’d been polite but avoided Tim as much as possible. It would have been difficult under the best of circumstances, but with there only being the two of them, it was borderline ludicrous. Tim’s attempt to corner Martin and get him to talk about something had resulted in a minor explosion, so he was letting it go…for now.

What he hadn’t let go was when he discovered Martin gathering a stack of statements with the intention of recording them. Martin’s arguments—that this was literally their job, that they had to keep things running for Jon, and that the work would never get done if someone didn’t do it—were all persuasive enough, especially if you didn’t know how bad it was, but Tim wasn’t backing down on this one. His arguments—that recording the statements was actually Jon’s idea and not part of their duties, that putting them in the computer would be just as effective and important, and that Jon would never forgive Tim or himself if Martin lost his soul—were equally persuasive, and emphatic. Martin, however, was equally stubborn, and they’d ended up shouting at one another, about something that was surely not remotely related to the words actually coming out of their mouths.

Finally, Tim had thrown a Hail Mary, couched as a concession. He’d agreed to split the recording duties with Martin, and even offered to divvy up the files to be recorded so they would each do their fair share. Martin had relaxed, just a little, and agreed. They had decided to designate Thursday as their official recording day, so on Wednesday before he left, Tim split all the files they’d finished their research on into two equal stacks.

If he made sure that all of the statements he was sure were real ended up in his pile, well, that was nobody’s business but his.

Martin shut himself up in Document Storage to do his recording. There was a sort of unspoken agreement that they weren’t touching the Archivist’s office in Jon’s absence, so they had moved one of the spare desks into the room Martin had once slept in to give them a quiet space to record, since the room was soundproofed. The window on the door had been cleaned until it sparkled after Prentiss’s attack, and while it had a shade that could be rolled down, Martin left it up, so Tim could glance up periodically throughout the morning to see him hunched over his laptop, squinting at fiddly handwriting and dictating nonsense, malarkey, and generalized bullshit into the recording app. He looked increasingly frustrated as the morning wore on, and by the time Tim brought him a cup of tea around eleven, he had one hand tangled in his hair and looked as if he was trying to yank his brains out through his scalp.

“Statement ends.” Martin shot Tim a brief look of gratitude—very brief—as he released his hair and reached for the mug. “Honestly, I don’t think there’s a lot to say about this one. Luke Dyer was fifteen when he made his statement, and considering he’s since gone his way through five or six different iterations of a punk rock ban since then, it’s pretty obvious he was trying to create a ‘cool’ persona for himself, get a bit of mystique around his brand or…whatever. There is no evidence of any kind of cult existing, anywhere, matching his admittedly detailed description, which is another reason to doubt it, these things are never that describable. We also managed to get hold of his older sister, and she told us in no uncertain terms that her brother is full of shit and we shouldn’t believe him if he says he saw his own shadow copying his movements. I’m putting this one on the Discredited shelves and calling it a day. End recording.” He stabbed the STOP button on the laptop viciously and sat back. “Ugh.”

“Look at it this way,” Tim said sympathetically. “All this has been building up for months. Once we get through it, we probably won’t have to do more than one or two a week.”

“Why wasn’t Jon recording all this?” Martin asked, somewhere between distressed and annoyed. “It’s, it’s not like him to be so…careless. Like you said, this was his idea.”

“Eh. These are all—” Tim stopped himself from saying unsatisfying. He didn’t get the sense that they were being watched, but Martin didn’t want to know how deep Jon was just yet. “Fake. I think he’s been focusing on the real ones lately. And besides, if you were frustrated by how obviously fake that one was, imagine how he would have felt. We can probably let them go, to be honest.”

“No! No, they—they need to be done.” Martin took a deep breath. “I’ll do them if you don’t want to.”

“Martin, don’t be ridiculous.” Tim studied Martin’s face. He looked…exhausted. His face was grey, the circles under his eyes were almost the color of a bruise, and his fingers trembled slightly around the cup. “I’m not making you do this alone. Are you getting any sleep these days? You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine,” Martin said unconvincingly.

Tim took a deep breath and swallowed the static on his tongue. “Martin.”

He may not have used the Ceaseless Watcher voice, but his Older Brother voice was enough to make Martin wilt. “I—I can’t, Tim. I’m worried about him, and every time I close my eyes, I see…” He flicked a finger in the direction of where the body had been less than two weeks previously. “And, you know, this time last year I was trapped in my house by a thousand worms in a trench coat, so…it’s not a good time.”

“Yeah, I can understand that,” Tim said, as gently as possible. He glanced at the laptop, saw that the file had saved, and closed the lid. “Go home, kiddo, okay? I’ve got this for the rest of the day. Take tomorrow, too.”

“I—I can’t—”

“You can,” Tim said firmly, “and you will. I can handle things. Not the first time I’ve had to, and it probably won’t be the last. Go home and get some rest, take a couple days not to think about this place, and for God’s sake, don’t go looking for Jon. That detective is going to be watching you, because she still thinks you’ll lead her to him, and you don’t want to do that. You’re done your recording for the week. Call it a day, okay?”

Martin gnawed his lip in indecision, then took a deep breath and nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, okay, sure. See you Monday, I guess.”

Tim used the opportunity provided by Martin slowly savoring his tea and packing his things to run up to the canteen and grab a sandwich, then made it back in time to see him out the door with a hug, which, for a wonder, he accepted. He ate his hastily procured lunch, grabbed the stack of files, and went into the Archivist’s office. Probably he could have done it out on the main floor, but it felt more…appropriate to do it in the office. He sat down, kicked back with his feet on the desk, and grabbed the recorder. No sense in starting with the fake stuff—the sooner he got this over with, the better, just in case Martin did decide to come back.

“Right,” he said. “Case number 9900112, Adrian Weiss. Incident occurred in Cratfield, Suffolk, dates unknown but likely sometime in the 1970s. Statement given first of December, 1990. Committed to tape third of March, 2017. Tim Stoker recording. Statement begins.”

It was a nothing statement, in the grand scheme of things. Maybe it would have meant more to him if he’d found it a year ago, with Jane Prentiss lurking beneath the floor and evidence of the Corruption all around them, but under the circumstances, Tim couldn’t bring himself to be all that alarmed about it. His indifference to the research on it had been a big part of the fight he’d had with Martin. Still, it was a statement almost as old as he was, about an incident far enough away that it wouldn’t spill over to them even if Gordon Goodman was still tending the Crawling Rot at his place, and it was too obviously not of the Stranger for Tim to really care. Gertrude probably wouldn’t have even bothered with it at this point. But if it kept Martin from falling deeper into the Ceaseless Watcher, Tim would suck it up and do the recording.

“Statement ends,” he said finally. He sighed and rocked the chair back onto two legs. “Well, this is a nasty, unpleasant bit of viscera, but it’s honestly not that big a deal. Martin went to check out the address Mr. Weiss gave us, and according to him, it was a, quote, ‘pretty unpleasant’ piece of land still owned by Gordon Goodman. Records show he was bequeathed the land from the previous owner, Ms. Margaret Carnegie, when she died in 1982. I’m actually pretty shocked there’s a paper trail, to be honest, but I guess that’s to be expected when these things pass on their…legacy…without keeping the name intact. Cratfield’s one of those towns you either get out of as quick as you can or stay in your whole life, so if this was the sort of statement that could go on the laptop, I’d maybe be a little surprised that it seems like nobody remembers when the patch of land was ‘Maggie’s Dump’ instead of ‘Gordie’s Dump’. As it is, though, I’m just glad Martin got too grossed out to get close enough to knock on the door. A year ago he probably would have, just to keep Jon from thinking he was shirking his duties—who am I kidding, he did do that, that’s how he ended up with the C—with Jane Prentiss stalking him for a week—but at least this time he was smart enough to nope out of there. Should probably be encouraging him to go to therapy for that PTSD he’s got going, but you know what they say, people who live in glass houses…should get dressed with the lights out.”

He set the statement on the desk and stared vacantly at the window of the office. “I read the postmortem reports on Ms. Carnegie, and frankly I wish I hadn’t. Pretty typical of this sort of thing, really. They tried to cover it up and make it make sense, but if you really look at it, I mean, if you know what you’re looking at, you can see she was another Flesh Hive, just like Prentiss. Best I can come up with is that she was more…matured, maybe, than Prentiss? After all, lungs full of newspaper pulp, the statement mentions worms—or at least things like worms—and she was covered in what the doctor described as ‘cancerous growths with significant postmortem autonomous motor function’, which is not your typical cancer. I’ll bet she tried to incubate the larvae until they hatched. I mean, paper wasps are a thing, and Prentiss’s statement began with ‘There is a wasp’s nest in my attic’, so, you know, I don’t think I’m wrong. And if you’ve listened this far, you’ve either got a far stronger stomach than the average person, or you get off on some really odd things. To each his own, but I won’t judge you for your kinks as long as you keep them away from me, thanks.”

A sense tugged at Tim—not exactly of danger, just that the Archives had been breached. He kept talking into the recorder as he tipped the chair back onto all fours, brought his feet to the ground, got up, and walked slowly to the door. “Gordon Goodman is on record as the one who found Ms. Carnegie’s body. The corpse went missing that very same night, which isn’t a surprise either. Either Mr. Goodman wanted to keep her close as part of the hoard, or he was hoping to use her in some kind of ritual. Or maybe he did care for her, in his own way, and wanted to honor her in the way she’d want to be honored rather than what was—hold on.” He yanked the door open. “Hey!”

Melanie King, in a distressed leather jacket and oversized distressed denim jeans, stood at the door to the Archivist’s office, one hand raised as if to knock. She started and turned. “Oh, yes, hello?”

She looked like hell and smelled like airports and felt like trouble. She wasn’t an active threat, but she was definitely touched by something—no, Marked, it was too deep to just be a touch—oh, yeah, he could practically taste it now. There was a difference between old blood and new, blood waiting to be spilled and blood leaking from a vein, and Tim could tell the difference as easily as any Hunter. Wolves, MWDs, and LGDs, they all knew them, they just responded to them differently. Hunters followed the blood. Soldiers wallowed in it. Melanie hadn’t gone fully over to the Slaughter yet, but it certainly clung to her more closely than it had before.

He knew that, because if she’d been this deeply Marked by it when he’d seen her two weeks previously, he’d have gone for her the second she laid hands on Martin.

He was opening his mouth to tell her to get out while the getting was good when the ring on his finger tightened slightly in warning. Someone, probably Elias, was spying on them, which meant he’d have to be careful with what he said and did; he didn’t know what the man could perceive, or who he could perceive it from. He changed tack from openly hostile to…well, passively hostile, he supposed. “The Archives aren’t open to the public.”

“Er, I know.” Melanie seemed a bit dazed, or at least slightly out of it. “There, there wasn’t anyone on the door, though. I’m…” She gestured at the office door. “I’m looking for the Archivist?”

“You and everyone else.” Tim cocked his head to one side, realizing they’d never technically been introduced and the only reason he knew who she was was because of the Eye. “It’s Ms. King, right?”

“Melanie is fine. Is he here?” Melanie took a step away from the office door.

Tim noticed she was favoring her right leg, just a little bit. The smell of blood was a bit stronger now, and he wasn’t quite sure if it was in his head or an actual smell, but he was sure the intensity was centered around that leg. “Are you all right?”

Melanie looked faintly surprised that he’d noticed. “Oh, um, no. Not really. Got shot. Sort of. In India.”

Tim raised an eyebrow at the sort of. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, it’s mostly fine now,” Melanie assured him, as if that was what his comment had been in reference to. “I can walk on it, at least.” She paused, then added, “It’s what I wanted to talk to Jon about.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Tim said, unimpressed. He jerked his head towards the room behind him. “If you want to give your statement, I can take that for you.”

“Oh. Er, I suppose. You mean, you mean now? Right.” Melanie crossed the few feet to him as she spoke and dropped into one of the two chairs they’d placed in the room.

Tim shut the door behind her and, for good measure, drew the shade. His back was still to Melanie, but she was still talking. “Um, well, I flew out, and I’ve been, well, that is, before that I was, I was looking at some books. Er, there were history books that were talking…”

“Stop.” Tim turned around, frowning. “If you want to give your statement, at least wait for me to set it up for you. If you don’t…”

Melanie frowned back at him. “Look, are you sure I can’t just talk to Jon? You know, Jonathan Sims? He still works here, right?”

“He’s still the Archivist, yes,” Tim said, coming back over and dropping into the chair he’d been using before. He set down the recorder and rocked back in the chair again. “But he’s not working here at the moment.”

Melanie narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. “Okay, I’ve obviously missed something. What’s going on here?”

“Short version, Jon’s currently on the lam because he’s wanted for murder.”

At that, Melanie laughed and mimicked Tim’s pose. “What, he finally snapped, did he? Or did he accidentally bore them to death?”

“I didn’t say he did it, I just said he was wanted for it,” Tim pointed out. “Old man who used to work with Gertrude Robinson, I don’t know his name, so I’m just calling him Dr. Black if I have to put a name on him. We found him in the Archivist’s office, beaten to death. Nobody’s seen Jon since, but none of the blood in the office was his, so he’s fine, wherever he is.”

“Oh.” Melanie thumped the chair back onto all fours; Tim could sense the pain and guessed she was putting too much strain on the injured leg tipping it back like that. “So, what, he’s supposed to have suddenly just murdered some stranger?”

Tim nodded once. “With a pipe.”

“What, like burned him to death or…?”

“No,” Tim said impatiently. “I just said ‘beaten to death’. Think Cluedo. The police suggest Jonathan Sims, in the Archivist’s office, with a lead pipe.”

“Oh! Sorry, I just pictured him with like a smoking…” Melanie mimed pulling a pipe out of her mouth. “You know? I mean, that—that doesn’t sound like him, does it? I’ve only met him a couple of times, but beating an old man to death seems kind of out of character for him.”

“I know. He’s never even laid a hand on Martin. Unlike you,” Tim couldn’t resist adding. Melanie glared at him. “But the police are convinced he did it. Seems like most people in the rest of the Institute are, too, and I think Martin’s going to go full Rocky on the next person that suggests it.”

“Rocky…Horror?”

“Balboa. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” Melanie snapped. Tim dropped his own chair back to all fours and straightened up as his hackles rose in warning, even as the ring abruptly loosened on his finger. “You’re sitting there talking about a murder like it’s a game—”

“You think I’ve never dealt with this crap before?” Tim snapped back. He held up the back of his hand, showing her the worm holes that matched the ones dotting his face. “The last Archivist was also murdered, in the same office—she was shot, by the way—and believe me, I cared about her a lot more than I do some random stranger. Gertrude’s dead. Sasha’s dead—”

“Jesus. Which one?” Melanie interrupted.

“Which—wait, what?” Tim asked sharply. “What do you mean, ‘which one’?”

Melanie threw up her hands. “Oh, you know what, I am not doing this again.”

She knew. She remembered the original Sasha, Tim knew it with a certainty that had nothing to do with the Eye—but, yes, the Eye, like a petulant child determined to prove that it did too know the right answers, it did, you didn’t get to say you knew better than it when it knew the answers, rushed in to point out the seedlike pinpricks of the Mark of the Stranger dotting just below her eyes. Tim was about to ask her to describe the original Sasha when another realization hit him, all of a sudden, and he suddenly got angry. Very angry.

“You told Jon that wasn’t Sasha,” he said, and he could hear the faint edge of a growl in his accusation.

Melanie bristled at him. “Yes? Of course I did. He was trying to fucking gaslight me and—”

“He didn’t know,” Tim interrupted. The growl was getting more and more insistent and he had to work hard to keep it under control, not because anybody was watching but because he was not going to give into it with no one here to actively protect, and if Martin came back unexpectedly he didn’t want him to see him like that, not yet. “Nobody knew. Something killed her months ago and took her place and you were the only one who knew, you and her godmother, and nobody believed her either because she’s just a little old lady with early onset dementia, but you…you told the Archivist, and you got him curious, and he went looking, and he found out. And he tried to avenge her death, and this happened.”

“So, what, you’re blaming me for all of this?” Melanie’s eyes blazed as she got to her feet, hands balled into fists.

Tim rose up to his full height. He didn’t loom over her, because there was no point, but he sure as hell squared up against her because these were his Archives, damn it, and she was not going to endanger his flock any further. “You know what? Maybe I am.”

The door opened just then. Tim turned, fully prepared to tell Martin to get out of the way and let this woman out and by the way why hadn’t he gone home like he was supposed to, and stopped when Elias Bouchard, his expression completely bland and inoffensive, stepped into the room. He glanced at Melanie, then at Tim with a raised eyebrow. “A friend of yours?”

“She was just here to give a statement,” Tim said, forcing himself to sound pleasant.

“I see,” Elias said, then turned to Melanie. “Well, good to meet you.” He held out his hand. “Elias Bouchard. I run the Institute.”

“Melanie King.” Melanie visibly forced herself to relax and shook his hand.

“Ah, you’re not the Melanie King who runs Ghost Hunt UK, surely?” Elias actually sounded impressed. Tim didn’t trust that for a minute.

“Used to,” Melanie said shortly.

Elias winced. “Ah, of course, my apologies.”

Melanie frowned at him. “You used to watch it?”

“I’m sorry to hear it’s no longer running,” Elias said, which wasn’t an answer, as he finally let go of her hand. She surreptitiously wiped it on her jeans, which almost made Tim soften towards her. Almost. “Your techniques were rudimentary, but you showed surprising promise. On occasion.”

“Thanks…I think,” Melanie said dryly.

“Ms. King was just leaving, wasn’t she?” Tim prompted, a bit viciously.

Melanie shot him a glare, but said, “Sure.”

“One moment, Ms. King.” Elias’s eyes never left Melanie, but Tim was absolutely certain he was monitoring Tim’s reaction carefully. “Tim has filled you in on recent events, I believe?”

Ask him how he knows that, Tim thought at Melanie, but she either had zero extrasensory perceptions or was deliberately ignoring him, and honestly, either was possible. “I mean, a bit.”

“Then you are aware there is currently a vacancy for an Archival Assistant?”

“Yes. And an Archivist.” Melanie shot Tim a dark look.

“Oh, I don’t think we need to worry about that just yet,” Elias said pleasantly. “But the Assistant role…”

Melanie blinked. “Hang on, are you offering me a job?”

“What? Fuck that,” Tim spat.

Elias ignored him. “You have some assistance in the field, I believe.”

“Well, yes, but…” Melanie began.

“But she doesn’t want to work with us,” Tim pointed out. “And we don’t—”

“I don’t believe I asked you, Tim,” Elias interrupted. “Well, Melanie, do you want the job?”

“Um, well, I, it’s rather sudden, but—” Melanie hesitated, glanced at Tim, and scowled. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t,” Tim said sharply. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Tim,” Elias said in a warning tone, “this is not your call.” Turning back to Melanie, he added, “If you want to come up to my office, we’ll have a proper interview. Hopefully get all the paperwork signed.”

Melanie nodded. “Lead the way.”

As Elias turned away, she stuck her tongue out at Tim, then followed him out of Document Storage.

“Hey, wait! No, no—damn it all to fucking hell!” Tim dropped the recorder carelessly on the pile of statements, not caring what happened to it, then pushed the door open. “Hey, get back here!”

For a poncey middle aged bureaucrat in very slippery shoes, Elias could move awfully fast when he wanted to, and he and Melanie were somehow already out of the Archives when Tim got out to follow them. He cursed under his breath again and hurried to catch up with them as they climbed the stairs. “Look, you really want to work somewhere that’s had not one, but two murders in the building?”

“Neither of them were assistants, were they?” Melanie shot back.

“No, the assistants didn’t get beaten to a bloody pulp, or shot, but that doesn’t mean nothing ever happens to them.” Tim waved pointedly at his face. “And anyway, working here is like working for the fucking Hotel California. You can clock out anytime you like, but you can never leave.”

“Oh, now you’re calling me a job hopper?”

“I’m not—no, Jesus. I’m just saying if you want to leave—and you will—you won’t be able to,” Tim warned. “Ask him if you don’t believe me.”

Elias ignored him, which was…annoying, but Tim had grown up with a younger brother and he could deal with annoying. He also knew how to weaponize it, and so followed Melanie and Elias up to the office, arguing with Melanie the entire way. Maybe if he was obnoxious enough, she’d decide this wasn’t worth the paycheck and leave.

Rosie stared at him with wide eyes as they came up the steps, but didn’t say anything. Elias, however, stopped ignoring Tim the moment they reached his office and he stepped back to block him from following Melanie into the office. “Tim. I believe you have work to do?”

Tim drew in a breath to argue—what was Elias going to do, try to fire him in front of Melanie and prove his point?—when something, for the briefest of seconds, caught his eye. A box that had been placed out of sight, in such a way that nobody would have given it a second look even if they knew it was there, nestled between some accounting ledgers and antique books. If Tim hadn’t been standing in the exact spot he was in, twisted at the exact angle he was, he would have missed it entirely.

And its contents.

He processed them in a split second, then exhaled sharply. “Fine. Fine.” He glared at Melanie. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, he turned on his heel and stormed away, slamming the office door behind him so abruptly that he knew Elias hadn’t gotten out of the way fast enough to avoid getting it in the face.

The lucky thing about Elias interviewing Melanie was that it would take his entire focus for the next several minutes, possibly as much as half an hour. Which meant Tim was free, once he got back in the Archives and sequestered himself in the Archivist’s office with the knowledge that nobody would bother him even if they did turn up, to pull out his phone and hit the first preset number.

“Hey, babe,” he said when Gerry, warily, picked up on the other end. “No, no, it’s fine, nothing catastrophic happened, not exactly. Just—can you stop by the vet and get Rowlf’s paperwork? I’ll explain when I get home, but I think we’re going to need it in the next couple of days.”

[chicgeekgirl89]

Fandom: 911 Lone Star Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes, Iris Blake, Nancy Gillian, Tommy Vega, Judd Ryder, Marjan Marwani, Paul Strickland, Mateo Chavez Summary: When the crew of the super yacht Firebug finds themselves in need of a new chef, stew Iris Blake is quick to provide them with a solution: her ex, Carlos Reyes. Second stew T.K. Strand is prepared to share his cabin with their new chef, but he is not prepared for how quickly Carlos Reyes heats things up in the galley. Will their boatmance set sail? Or will it sink to the bottom of the Caribbean Sea? A/N: I have loved Below Deck in all its iterations since the day it first aired, so as I was thinking about a fun summer fic, a yachting au came to mind. This is my first (technically, sort of, mostly *cough cough*) au, and it was a HUGE challenge. I'm not sure I've gotten every detail of yachting life correct, but hopefully it's close enough for a good time! Read on AO3

Chapter 1: On Top

“T.K., T.K. Nancy. What is your location?”

“Busted,” Mateo says from where he’s laid out, one arm thrown up over his eyes to block out the sun.

“What do you mean busted? My shit is cleaned and polished and ready for charter,” T.K. says, kicking him in the leg. “You’re the one who’s slacking off.”

He reaches for his radio without getting up from his reclined position in his lounger. “Nancy, Nancy, T.K. I’m on the sundeck.”

“Copy that. On my way.”

“You’d better leave before she gets here,” T.K. tells him. “She’ll rat you out to Judd.”

“Nah,” Mateo says, wiggling a little bit so he’s more comfortable. “I think she likes me.”

T.K. wrinkles his nose. “Doesn’t she have a girlfriend at home?”

“Maybe.” Mateo shrugs. “But the heart wants what it wants. And what happens on charter stays on charter.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works,” T.K. tells him. “Please don’t go having a boatmance with my chief stew. That’s going to make things all kinds of awkward when she dumps your ass.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna be dumping my ass,” Mateo says, clearly offended. “She’s gonna get one taste of the Chavez and—“

“I would’t finish that sentence if I were you,” Nancy says as she strides onto the sundeck, clipboard in hand.

“Hey Nance,” Mateo says, trying to cover up how flustered he is.

“I just passed by Judd. He mentioned you had a jet ski to clean,” she says pointedly.

“Oh um, yeah, yes. I’ll just go do that…right now,” Mateo says, scrambling to his feet and heading back to work as T.K. chuckles.

The new deckhand likes to talk big and it’s pretty hilarious. He’s as green as they come, but he’s a quick learner and T.K. knows Judd has been pleased with his progress. 

“I vacuumed the main salon, did the beds and the bath in the master, and cleaned and restocked the bar,” T.K. says. “Iris is finishing up in laundry and then she’ll be done.”

“What did I do to deserve having the most perfect co-second stews in the world?” Nancy says, feigning tears as she plops down into the chair Mateo’s just vacated. “I didn’t come to ask about that though. Are you cool if the new chef bunks with you?”

“Oh we got someone?” T.K. asks. That last he’d heard Captain Tommy had still been calling around.

“Yeah Iris’ friend that she mentioned during our tip meeting,” Nancy says. 

Right. The tip meeting.

He’d been sandwiched between Judd and Nancy on the sofa in the main salon, a glass of sparkling cider in his hand as they all toasted the massive tip their previous charter had left for them. It was their biggest so far of the season and for good reason. They’d worked their asses off.

“Okay so as you know, unfortunately Chef Pearce is no longer able to finish the charter season with us,” Tommy had said as she passed out fat envelopes of cash to each of them.

“And good riddance,” Nancy mumbled under her breath.

Pearce had made all their lives a living hell with his fastidiousness and inability to be flexible with their charter guests’ whims. When Nancy had brought back a steak that their primary guest had deemed too rare it had been the last straw for him and he’d immediately packed all his things and left the next morning without a goodbye to anyone.

“So,” Tommy said, giving Nancy a look that said she agreed with her but wasn’t going to badmouth any former staff, “we are currently looking. It’s a pretty big vacancy to fill and we need someone asap.”

“I have a friend who could probably do it,” Iris had immediately piped up. “Well, technically he’s my ex, but he’s also a friend. I’ve known him since elementary school. One time in third grade, I punched Jimmy Echolls in the face and he—“

“Iris,” Tommy said gently, guiding her back to the moment at hand.

“Right, sorry. His name is Carlos and he’s a chef. A really good one.”

“Give me his contact information and I’ll reach out,” Tommy said. 

That had been two days ago and the last T.K. had heard about it. Thank god they’d had an extra day in between groups so they hadn’t had to explain to any guests that their dinner choices were boxed mac and cheese or Chinese take-out. The crew had been taking it in turns to make dinner for themselves so they wouldn’t starve, but nobody had the skills necessary to serve five star meals to guests shelling out over a hundred thousand dollars for a vacation.

“Seriously, you’re going to make me bunk with another temperamental chef?” T.K. sighs. “Pearce made me clean the grout in our bathroom with a toothbrush.”

“Judd and Mateo are bunked together,” Nancy says. “I don’t want to move them because Judd’s a good influence on the greenie. Marjan and Paul refuse to be separated from what they have started referring to as their “bestie cave.” And I’m certainly not giving up Iris. She doesn’t snore or leave the toilet seat up. So that leaves you.”

“This is really unfair,” T.K. grumbles. “I feel like you’re taking advantage of my easy going nature.”

“Oh I for sure am.” She gives him a pat on the leg as she gets up. “Gotta go. Next guests want an 80’s themed dance party so I gotta call the provisioner. Get ready for some glow in the dark body paint. New chef’ll be here in like an hour so if you have any weird sex stuff lying around go take care of it now.”

“I want a new chief stew!” T.K. yells as she heads back inside.

She turns around and flips him the bird before the sliding doors close behind her.

He’d known he’d end up being the one sharing and he doesn’t really begrudge Nancy’s decision. It doesn’t make sense to move everyone around when they’re already comfortably settled in their rooms. Plus it’s not like he’s going to force Iris to shack up with her ex. It’s just been nice to have the room to himself after dealing with Pearce for a month.

He groans and hoists himself up from the chair, grabbing his towel to carefully wipe away the ring of condensation his sparkling water has left on the side table. Judd is a pretty kind and understanding bosun, but he’ll rip you a new one if he catches you dirtying up the boat after the deck crew has already cleaned things off for a new charter. 

He takes the stairs carefully down to the galley and swings by laundry on his way to his cabin. Iris is in there with her headphones on, bopping away to something he can’t hear as she irons one of Tommy’s white shirts. He taps her on the shoulder and instinctively ducks out of the way as she whips around, arms flailing defensively. “You scared the shit out of me!” she says loudly as she rips out one ear bud.

“Sorry. I came to see if you need any help.”

“Nah, just finishing up Captain’s stuff and then I’m done,” she tells him. 

“I heard your ex is going to be my new roommate,” T.K. says. “Anything I should know?”

“About Carlos?” Iris shrugs. “He’s a guy. He’s nice. Good chef.”

T.K. waits but Iris doesn’t say more. “That’s it?” he says.

She looks at him with her big, wide eyes. “What more do you want? He’ll be good at the job. Oh and he likes his room really clean. So maybe like, pick up your towels and stuff.”

She gives him a smile and then sticks the earbud back in, a clear dismissal.

T.K. rolls his eyes and trudges to his cabin saying hello to their lead deck hand, Paul, as he passes by.

He spends some time making sure the place looks decent. He’d switched to the bottom bunk and started using the top as extra storage the minute Pearce walked out, so he takes all the clean clothes he left up there and shoves them into drawers or under his bed, and then checks to make sure he hasn’t left out anything sensitive in the bathroom.

His phone buzzes with a text from his dad, and he sits down for a few minutes to answer it. Yes, he’s doing fine. Yes, Tommy’s a great captain. No, he doesn’t need a meeting right now. Yes, he’ll be around if his dad flies in to see him for a weekend next month. It’s standard father/son stuff, but it’s a little suffocating, and not for the first time T.K. feels glad that he’s finally out from under his dad’s shadow a little bit. 

Owen Strand had been the captain of the FireBug until about six months ago, when he’d been offered the chance to captain a much bigger boat out in the Mediterranean. He’d wanted T.K. to come with him, had basically assumed it was happening until T.K. had informed him that he wasn’t ready to leave the Bahamas or the FireBug or the family he’d made onboard. Crews like this one don’t come along every day. Judd is a competent and kind bosun. Paul, Marjan, and Mateo are hard working deckies, and fun to be around. Nancy is the chillest chief stew he’s ever worked with. Iris is a sweetheart, if a little blunt, and Tommy has turned out to be a skilled captain, rounding out the team in a way that just seems to work. 

T.K. loves it here. He feels free. Safe. Loved. Which is a pretty big change from how his life used to be. 

Another glance at his phone shows him the time. He needs to get back to work, there’s only an hour or so until the guests arrive. He takes a few minutes to change out of his sweat stained red t-shirt, the Firebug’s name emblazoned in white on the chest and the sleeve along with a distinctive curl of flame, into his more fancy looking white shirt and black shorts, before heading to the main salon to check it over one more time. Heaven only knows somebody has probably tracked something across the carpet by now.

He’s walking past the galley when he hears a softly startled, “Oh fuck,” and then a loud crash. 

Figuring Paul has gotten into another fight with the juicer, he stops and enters the galley doorway, a sassy bit of teasing ready on his tongue. Only he doesn’t find Paul or anyone else from onboard the boat.

Instead he comes face to face with the most gorgeous ass he’s ever seen in his entire life. Literally, this ass is a thing of beauty. It looks like it’s been sculpted out of marble by a master craftsman. This ass is life changing.

And then the rest of the human it’s connected to stands up and T.K. feels like he’s been hit by a rogue wave. If he thought the ass was life-changing, he doesn’t even have words for the full man who stands before him.

Eyes, dark and soft, and hair so curly that T.K.’s fingers immediately itch to run through it. Even through the man’s dark blue button down and chinos T.K. can tell that he’s got a great body. The kind of body that has, in the past, caused T.K. to make some very stupid, but very fun, decisions. 

His gaydar is practically screaming at him and it takes him too long to realize that he’s staring and that this strange god of a man is talking to him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” T.K. says quickly.

“Sorry about that,” the man says. “I didn’t realize the shelf was loose.”

“Yeah. Yeah that one’s a little faulty. Judd keeps fixing it and it just keeps coming out again,” T.K. says automatically. “Are you…you must be the new chef?”

“Yes, hi, sorry, Carlos. Carlos Reyes,” the man says, holding out a hand.

T.K. shakes it and feels like his knees might give out. Holy hell he can’t remember the last time he felt this instantly attracted to someone. “I’m T.K. Strand,” he manages. “Second stew. Well, co-second stew. Iris is the other one. Which, you already know because you and Iris are…well you…”

He is blowing this so freaking bad right now. He spots a large rolling suitcase in front of the fridge and clears his throat to try again. “Did you come straight here before unpacking your stuff?”

“Yeah I went up and met the captain and I was on my way to the cabin, but I saw the galley and got distracted,” Carlos says sheepishly.

Kind of like how T.K. had been on his way to the main salon and now can’t find a single reason to care about whether or not the throw pillows have been karate chopped into perfection. “I get that. Professional hazard.”

“Yeah something like that,” Carlos says, flashing him a smile that threatens to bowl him over. 

He’s Iris’ ex, he’s Iris’ ex, he’s Iris’ ex. T.K repeats it to himself sternly. That makes him off limits. Completely. Nothing more than a fantasy for T.K. to have when he’s alone. 

And he will be having that fantasy. 

Probably a lot.

He realizes he’s gone awkwardly silent again and searches for something to say that won’t sound weird or horny. “We’re sharing a cabin. I can show you.”

“Oh yeah, thanks, that would be great,” Carlos says, grabbing his suitcase and following T.K. down the hall.

The cabin is tiny. Just two bunks, a teeny wardrobe and a couple drawers each, and their bathroom with an awkwardly small shower. T.K. takes a quick glance at Carlos and wonders how such a large man is going to fit, and then quickly shoves it away. He can’t be thinking about his new roommate naked, soapy, water sluicing down his body…

“I left you the top bunk. Is that okay?” T.K. asks, hoping to god his voice sounds normal.

If it was anybody else he wouldn’t even ask, he’d just pull the longevity card because like hell is he undoing his whole bed, but something about this man has grabbed hold of him and he finds he would literally go dive into the ocean if it would make Carlos happy.

“That’s fine,” Carlos says. “I like it on top.”

T.K.’s knees go weak and he immediately breaks out in a sweat even though the A/C is on full blast. Thank god Carlos has turned around is starting to pull things out of his suitcase, so he doesn’t see T.K.’s complete loss of motor function.

“When you’re ready I can introduce you to everyone else,” T.K. says when he finally recovers.

“Yeah give me like ten minutes, I just need to change,” Carlos says.

T.K. makes a hasty exit and goes down the hall to sit at the table in the crew mess while he waits. The last thing he needs is to see Carlos naked. His brain is already on overdrive, if he gets any more input he’s going to need an extremely cold shower, and there’s no time for that.

Carlos emerges almost exactly ten minutes later, now dressed in his chef’s coat. Somehow it makes him look even hotter, all professional and buttoned up and T.K. nearly swallows his own tongue trying not to say something stupid. They head up the stairs and through the main salon to the aft deck where Paul, Marjan, Mateo, and Judd are doing some last minute polishing of the railings so they gleam beneath the Caribbean sunlight. 

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally back. Grab a bucket and start scrubbing,” Paul teases as they walk out through the automatic doors.

“You think I want a cushy job like this? Please. Interior is where the fun is. Vomit. People’s dirty underwear. It’s like an unending hazardous situation,” T.K. teases right back.

He sees the look of curiosity on Carlos’ face and fills him in. “I used to be a deckie,” he says. “Made the change to interior about a year ago. It’s a better fit.”

“What he means is that it’s easier for him to charm all the guests,” Marjan says, wiping a hand across her forehead. Her makeup is impeccable and she looks like a movie star even in the deck crew’s bright red shirts.

“I didn’t see you complaining when our tips were almost double last charter,” T.K. tells her. 

“Pretty sure that was because of the good time I showed them on the water toys,” Mateo says.

“Mateo you couldn’t even get the jet ski started this morning,” Judd says with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t think you were the reason we got a good tip.”

“Anyway,” T.K. says, breaking up the teasing, “This is Carlos. The new chef.”

“Hey Carlos. I’m Judd. Bosun,” Judd says, sticking out a massive hand to shake Carlos’.

“Paul.”

“Marjan.”

“Mateo.”

The rest of the team chimes in and shakes hands as well. “Nice to meet you all,” Carlos says. “I’m excited to be here.”

“We’re glad to have you,” Paul says. “These people have been making me pull double duty on the deck and in the kitchen so we don’t starve.”

“You made one meal,” Marjan says, smacking at him with her towel.

“I made chili!” Paul says. “That’s so much work it’s basically three meals!”

“Wow, thanks for rolling out the red carpet and making a good first impression guys,” T.K. says, glancing at Carlos to gauge his reaction to the team shenanigans.

Carlos chuckles. “Chili is a lot of work, and I’m sure it was delicious.” He looks down at his watch. “I’m really sorry to cut it short, but I think I’ve got my work cut out for me in the galley.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t let us keep you,” Judd says, waving them off. 

“They seem nice,” Carlos observes once they’re back in the cool air conditioning of the interior.

“This team is solid,” T.K. tells him, feeling himself puff up with pride. “Judd has been with the boat since day one. The rest of us have been here at least a couple years. It’s family.”

He’s about to open his mouth to ask Carlos a little more about himself when there’s a yelp and a body comes hurtling toward them at light speed. Iris throws herself at Carlos, wrapping him up in an aggressive hug that almost takes them both to the floor. “You’re here!” she yells, glee evident in every line of her body.

Despite his initial shock Carlos immediately softens, his face going tender and warm. His hand cradles the back of Iris’ head and he practically cuddles her right there in the salon, making T.K. feel like he’s awkwardly intruded on a private moment. “Hey chica,” Carlos says, his voice full of something so tender that it sends a jolt of jealousy through T.K. Whatever happened between him and Iris, it doesn’t seem like Carlos is over it.

He pulls back after a minute, cupping Iris’ face in his hands as he studies it closely. “How are you? You’re good?”

“Oh my god, you’re such a worrier. Yes. I’m good,” she says with a laugh. 

“And Michelle?”

T.K.’s memory vaguely supplies that Michelle is Iris’ older sister. “Yeah she’s good too. Chief stew on a boat in Italy right now,” Iris says. She sends a glance at T.K., her eyes sparkling. “I see you met T.K. already. He’s your roommate you know.”

Something odd flashes across Carlos’ face. “Yeah I know,” he says, looking almost embarrassed.

T.K. desperately wants to know what’s going on. He feels like he’s missed out on a private joke, but at that moment Nancy strides into the salon. “Okay enough chatting people we have guests coming onboard in—” she checks her watch, “—less than half an hour.” She stops when she sees Carlos. “Oh hi. You the new chef?”

He shakes her hand. “Yeah, Carlos.”

“Thank god. Nancy. Chief stew. We should talk.”

“Yes,” Carlos says. “I didn’t see the preference sheets for the guests in the galley. Do you have them?”

She holds up a stack of papers. “On my way to post them now. Want to come with and we’ll figure out what kind of fancy ass food these people want?”

“Definitely,” Carlos says.

“And you two can start making drinks and getting cold towels ready,” Nancy calls over her shoulder.

“Already done!” T.K. and Iris chime together.

Nancy turns and walks the last few steps to the doorway backward, pointing at them and then clasping her hands over her heart. “And that’s why you two are my favorites.”

“So?” Iris says as she and T.K. step behind the bar to finish setting up the cocktails. “He’s hot right? I told you.”

“Actually you didn’t,” T.K. says mildly. She could not have said less about it in fact. 

“I didn’t?” She scrunches up her nose and thinks for a second, then shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Whatever. He is though, right? Very hot?”

“I’m going to be honest here and say I think it’s kind of weird that you talk about your ex like this,” T.K. says, pouring champagne carefully into glasses.

“What does him being my ex have to do with it?” she scoffs. “He’s objectively hot. You have to see it.”

T.K. is going to admit to no such thing. And he knows if stalls long enough Iris will move on. Her attention span tends to be on the short side.

“God, why do they make these fucking skorts so short?” she asks seconds later, yanking at the black fabric covering her thighs. “It’s sexist. And misogynistic.”

“Aren’t those kind of the same thing?”

She glares at him. “You can mansplain sexism to me when you have a skirt the size of a postage stamp riding up your ass. Okay? Okay.”

She grabs the tray of champagne glasses from him and whisks them away without another word. He huffs out a laugh and opens the fridge to take out the towels and stack them up on a second tray as Tommy’s voice comes over the radio announcing that the guests will be arriving in less than five minutes and to please get to the aft deck.

Everyone looks fresh and ready in their whites and Tommy gives him a nod as he joins the line-up, tucking in at the end next to Iris. Seconds later another body slides into the open space on his left and he looks up to find Carlos. The other man gives him a quick smile, a trace of nerves hiding behind it. T.K. feels the overwhelming urge to reach over and squeeze his hand in reassurance. Thank god he’s occupied with holding the towel tray because he’s not sure he could stop himself otherwise. 

And then he’d have to throw himself overboard, swim to a deserted island, and start a new life with nothing but a volleyball for company.

“There they are,” Judd says half a second later, nodding toward the dock where a group of impeccably dressed men and women are walking toward the Firebug.

“They look rich,” Mateo says.

“They always look rich,” Marjan tells him with a roll of her eyes. “Only rich people can afford chartered yacht vacations.”

“Yeah but there’s a difference between looking rich and being rich,” Mateo says.

T.K. has to agree with him. People who are rich tend to have high expectations, but are usually pretty nice and leave big tips. People who look rich…that’s a crapshoot. And they usually end up being assholes.

T.K. hopes it’s the former this time.

There are greetings and handshakes all around and then Nancy takes them off to tour the boat as T.K. and Iris wash the champagne glasses and throw the towels in the laundry before heading down to help put away the luggage the deck crew has hauled onboard.

Then it’s a whirlwind of drinks and snacks and cleaning (there’s always something to be cleaned) as they set sail away from the dock, the white prow of the Firebug gleaming as it cuts through the cerulean blue of the ocean. 

T.K. doesn’t get more than a glimpse of Carlos again until dinner. When Nancy calls him over the radio to come for service he walks into the galley and stops dead in his tracks. The guests asked for a sushi spread but what he sees is…unbelievable. It should have been physically impossible for Carlos to produce this much food at this level of quality in the few hours he’s been on board. 

“Holy shit. This is gorgeous.” The words are out of T.K.’s mouth before he means them to be.

“Thanks,” Carlos says, slightly flushed from the heat of his work. He’s pouring heavy cream into a bowl, probably working on dessert already. 

“No seriously this is…how did you do all of this so fast?” T.K. asks.

He’s worked on boats for years. He’s seen impressive food before. Michelin star worthy meals. But this tops all of it. 

Carlos shrugs and starts whisking, the muscles of his upper arm flexing back forth in an impressive display. “It’s my job,” he says simply. “I put the crew dinner out too. Make sure you get some.”

Nancy and Iris still haven’t arrived, so T.K. sneaks over to the crew mess and finds Paul devouring an equally impressive spread of sushi. “Save some for the rest of us,” T.K. says, snagging a California roll and shoving it whole into his mouth. 

“It’s so good though,” Paul groans. “I thought Pearce was good, even if he was a son of a bitch, but damn. This new guy….”

T.K. agrees. The California roll is the best he’s ever had in his life and he stands there at the table devouring a few more mouthfuls before Nancy and Iris sweep in and force him back to work. 

Dinner service goes shockingly smoothly. No one yells. No one sulks in passive aggressive silence. Carlos and Nancy communicate perfectly, food goes out on time, the wine flows, the guests are thrilled, it’s literally the best night they’ve had on the boat in weeks. 

Tommy comes down halfway through, a soft smile on her face when she sees how easily Carlos has slipped into the role of chef. He smiles and laughs as he cooks, chatting away easily with the captain as if they’re old friends. There’s a sense of relief flooding through the boat. Carlos is a good fit. Thank god.

T.K. and Iris run down in between courses to turndown the cabins (thank god these guests seem pretty neat and tidy) and then Iris heads to bed as soon as dinner service is done so she can get up early to run breakfast. The meal has created about a thousand dishes and Nancy starts to help, but T.K. shoos her away. He’s on lates tonight, staying up to make sure the guests have any late night drinks or snacks they need, but she should get some sleep.

Carlos is wiping down counters. His chef’s coat is partially unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up to expose his incredibly muscular forearms. The second T.K. sees them he repeats his mantra from earlier: He’s Iris’ ex, He’s Iris ex, He’s Iris’ ex…

Maybe if T.K. keeps reminding himself of that, his stupid heart will stop trying to leap out of his chest at the sight of this beautiful man.

“Oh thanks,” Carlos says, relief on his face when he sees T.K. roll up his own sleeves and start scrubbing away at the rest of the dishes. “I thought I was going to be here all night.”

“Happy to help,” T.K. says lightly.

“So how long have you been on the Firebug?” Carlos asks.

“Like, three years now?” T.K. says as he carefully sets some glassware to the side. “My dad used to be captain.”

“Oh cool,” Carlos replies. “Where is he now?”

“Boat in the Mediterranean. It’s a bigger vessel. They have good wine over there.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Yeah.” T.K. hesitates and then asks because he has to know. “So you’re from Austin? You and Iris grew up together?”

“Yeah the Blakes lived down the street,” Carlos says. “My sisters and I were always over at their house. They had a dog and a trampoline. We did not.”

“I see the appeal.”

“So three years here, where before that?”

T.K.’s stomach lurches. Before is hard to talk about. Before was full of pills and booze and shame and it’s something the crew all knows about, but it’s not a story that everyone can accept. The thought of this perfect looking man getting weird over it forces T.K. to hold back. “New York,” he says softly. “Manhattan. I lived there with my mom when I was a kid.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to New York.” Carlos sets a pan back into its place. “I have to know. Are the bagels actually that good? I mean…they’re really just regular bagels, right? Bagels aren’t even that great to begin with.”

“I’ll have you know that New York bagels are legendary,” T.K. tells him immediately. “There will be no bagel slander on this boat.”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Carlos says with a laugh, holding up his hands. “I take it back.”

“You’d better,” T.K. says, also laughing. This guy is fun. Why the hell did Iris break up with him?

Carlos finishes what he’s doing and comes to dry the dishes T.K. has washed, but T.K. waves him off. “Head to bed,” he advises. “I know how much travel days suck and you’ve got to be up early for breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Carlos says, fatigue creeping in at the edges of him. “See you in the morning.”

T.K. puts away the last of the dishes and then heads up to check on the guests. He’s shocked to find Mateo hosing down the teak and not another person in sight. “They went to bed like ten minutes ago,” he says with a shrug. “Easiest night ever right?”

“Yeah seriously,” T.K. says. “You on anchor watch?”

“Yep,” Mateo pops the “p.” “All night long baby.”

“Don’t let us blow into a rock.”

“Ha ha.”

T.K. bids him goodnight and then heads toward his cabin. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s that Carlos brought up New York and now T.K.’s memories of that time are swirling around in his head. Maybe he’s distracted by the fact that these are the easiest guests he’s ever had in his entire life. Whatever the reason is, he forgets that Chef Carlos Reyes is his new roommate until he opens the door and sees him standing there.

In nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.

Holy.

Fuck.

It’s just a reality of boat life that you see people naked or nearly naked on a regular basis. Quarters are tight and honestly, after so much time together, it literally doesn’t even matter. T.K.’s seen pretty much everyone’s butts and boobs and dicks onboard at this point and it doesn’t even phase him anymore.

But the sight of Carlos, hair still wet, the entire room damp from the steam of his shower and smelling like sandalwood and pine, feels so intimate that it nearly sends T.K. to his knees. 

And he’s pretty sure he would do just about anything Carlos wanted once he was down there.

T.K. was right. The man has muscles. So. Many. Muscles. He’s an Adonis. A god. He can’t possibly be real.

He’s like T.K.’s dream guy wrapped up in neon yellow caution tape that screams OFF LIMITS.

Oh god. 

He’s not going to make it through this charter season.

Hell.

He’s not going to make it through tonight.

“Sorry, am I in your way?” Carlos asks as he continues threading his chef’s coat onto a hanger.

Something flashes across his face. If T.K. didn’t know better he’d almost think it was something smug. Like he’s seen T.K. ogling him and possibly, maybe, is standing in their room mostly naked on purpose.

“No,” T.K. says quickly, squeezing in and shutting the door behind him.

Bad idea. Oh god. This space is so small. He’s practically chest to naked chest with Carlos and he can’t breathe or think and if he doesn’t do something right now he’s not going to be able to stop himself from reaching out and touching those washboard abs…

“Are you done in the bathroom?” he manages to squeak out.

“Yes,” Carlos says, that smug-ish look still on his face. “All yours.”

“Thanks.”

T.K. practically runs inside and locks the door behind him, collapsing onto the toilet lid. 

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

[sealofarchives]

Some au ideas for fun while I wait on requests

Note: I'm also involving some of my rottmnt ocs in all of these so I don't care about people who whine about oc x canon lol.

And hooo boy if you can read through all of this, treat your self to a cool beverage or treat because I accidentally put a lot of info ; v ;

Magical Girl Theme

A/N: During the early days when the series was in its season 1, I accidentally made cool lore for my rottmnt ocs and created some small scenarios for them in their toyhouse info. And it eventually influence some stuff for my original worldbuilding but, I still have rottmnt rotbrain because this iteration really inspired me despite its series' current status.

Timeline: A few days taking place after the Donnie's Gifts episode. April heard rumors of an abandoned metro where some girls and women travel through a sparkling subway train. And most of the footage is something close to your typical magical girl transformations and blurry fight scenes. She saves Joyce, a jellyfish mermaid themed magical girl, who is unfortunately recovering from a month by an oozesquito bite. But, accidentally interrupts the training. Luckily the mentor supervising Joyce saw April as a new friend to her. And offered the idea if April was comfortable being another magical girl in training. However, April rejected the offer. (being busy with stuff that happened in canon.) A few months pass, and the two met friends with another oozesquito victim. Laverne, a leatherback sea turtle mutant, who was intended to be Joyce's rival and a witch that passed with flying colors. Who also has a cloaking charm like Sunita.

Timeline Continued (Because it would have been one long paragraph orz): Sometime after April gets her mystic bat from that one Witch Town episode. She starts to reflect on it more and fully decides to try the magical girl gig as a part time job. Also thanks toJoyce and Laverne cheering her on. And the two who became best buddies with the rest of the turtles. Despite a certain purple turtle's distaste for all things magic related. She still visits [tbn magical girl themed metro] after defeating the Krang in the from the movie. Since she's currently busy with college and stuff.

Slightly theming her outfit based off of Mayhem. And the possible super powerful form from an outfit Karai gave to her. And I still adore the heart afro doodles from a concept art from that same WT episode so I'm gonna try to add that as well!

Sunita and Cassandra eventually tag along and girl's night shenanigans are more chaotic then ever.

The turtles are mainly supporting characters however Donnie secretly works part time at [tbn mg metro] after the events of defeating the Krang. He previously helped to make a magical tech bracelet that manages stress and other healthy coping habits for Joyce. She struggled to control her electric powers and 'this whole situation' until nearing the end of season 1. This and the events of WT episode sort of changed his approach to mystic powers. Especially with how he developed ninpo after defeating the Shredder and still has a lot learn despite Leo's safe return from trapping the Krang back into the prison dimension.

Two sentence summary: I slowly saw this iteration of April as a magical girl and with how I did that same theme for my two main rottmnt ocs so... She's gonna be one in this au because I want her to have more fun and it balances out the bad luck she usually has in canon!

2. Dredge (that one eldritch fishing game)

A/N: My renewed interest in the upcoming iron rig dlc and I saw a bit of a few others' perspective with this game and making a rise!au with it. But, I tend to be more about light hearted stuff. However, some of the eldritch theme is still there. Just in a different context.

Some minor spoilers to the game's areas and mention of the enemies there

However, its the guys being the fishermen and April working along side the traveling merchant npc.

I'm still using cloaking brooches because the turtles and Splinter are still slightly cursed to be mutants. As result of some previous Hamato clan family members following the hooded figures' teachings.

Joyce, formerly a human, who wanted to seek revenge at the stellar basin's eldritch creature. That killed her dad on a dredging trip, he was forced to go because of dumb family members' overconfidence. Strongly believing that they can kill the beast for fame and fortune.

She dies but, still full of rage before jelly bombs overwhelm her. She reincarnates as a parhelion jellyfish mutant mermaid with no recollection of her past.

Leo got a little bored being stuck with solo night fishing (mainly trawling duty) and thought it would be a good idea to go fast. Hoping to beat Donnie with at least one aberration he hasn't found yet.

He did get one but, heard a deep growls from large trawl net. That caused a few ripples passing by the boat. Met with eyes that glared back at him. On the verge of baring her fangs and full intent to drag him down to the basin abyssal depths. Should he be bold enough to attempt to cut the heavy duty trawl net. To ensure she's in safe hands and he has no intention on hurting her.

Cut to Splinter being tired of his sons, arguing over mermaid curses and other similar superstitions.

While Splinter tries to apologize, Joyce gets a brief headache with a vision from the past. That lasts for a few seconds and shows he and her dad stayed best friends after parting ways from Gale Cliffs. She slightly softens her gaze and eats the meal Mikey prepared for her before diving back into the sea.

Eventually, Joyce slowly becomes smitten by Leo's goofy yet thoughtful attitude towards her.

Donnie manages to make a necklace that acts as a telepathic translator from a few spare research parts. That's also waterproof so that she can finally speak clearly. He still taught her how to sign and write before the device was fully completed.

Raph and Leo are mostly likely to do night fishing but, at the cost of a heavy fine of the damaged turtle boat. Struggling to keep afloat that makes Donnie fake cry a lot.

Mikey accidentally befriends a wandering hooded figure (Laverne, under her hood has additional four eyes, as a result of eating aberration fish and became a leatherback sea turtle mutant)

She doesn't speak in the same manner as the other hooded figures or want specific fish. But, just in more simple questions like "Have you met other people who dressed like me?" and "What was it like exploring the areas around them? " (And gave him a book that helped with a 10% increase towards more trawling exclusive fish)

His brothers used to be wary of her until she was fully fitted to check out the pale reach region. With her own fishing wader and learning the layout of the area ahead of time to assist Mikey on the journey.

She only eats a few aberrations because she had dreams of timelines of a different version of herself in a much happy environment. She's slightly envious of that but, doesn't regret living at the present with how lively Mikey and his family are.

April is another traveling merchant who just got her license. And knew the turtle fam as childhood friends. Still acts like the oldest sister to them. She likes fishing trips around Twisted Strand And Devil's Spine. She also keeps the aberration fishing equipment and still a bit of a thrill seeker during night fishing. However, knows when to stop after seeing those crows stealing a supply of fish in her or the turtle's boat. And other high panic enemies that appear out of nowhere.

One sentence summary: Making my rottmnt ocs go through the eldritch horror and dread but, the turtle fam are very nice so its worth it to keep living for them.

3. Dave the Diver

A/N: Sort of the same deal with dredge but I already finished the crossover dlc to 100% (still haven't finished the kaiju codex) but, despite some bad boss fights. I still had a good time with it.

Some minor spoilers about the main game

The restaurant already went through repairs from an plot story earthquake

Bancho Sushi gets hits a turtle shaped aquatic vehicle when the trio attempt to park the boat in place. With the turtle tank causing significant damage after the recent repairs.

Donnie's silently fuming while Raph apologizes for the mess.

Dave doesn't get mad at them and allows the turtles to dive and help with the sushi business. Only one of them will usually tag along with him because he doesn't like the thought of putting all those kids in danger.

The turtles have one good perk but, at the cost of something bad.

- Raph: can carry more stuff but, the harpoon gun does 5% less damage (even when fully graded it still affects it)

- Leo: can easily get away from annoying aggressive enemies but, oxygen goes away even faster at around 5%

- Donnie: can make any random consumable from Cobra's shop but, takes 5% more damage

- Mikey: can get 3 ingredients from cooking posts but, only prefers using tranquilizer weapons or the steel net gun

Leo used to help Senor Hueso during closing time as extra help to clean up. So some of that experience is paying off. He's usually best at serving than cooking. His special skills are cleaning master and irresistible charm because he's the face man.

Raph feels a bit intimidated by the small space and frequently apologized to the other staff members he accidentally bumps into. And felt more comfortable getting ingredients and managing the farm and its fish counterpart along side Donnie or Mikey. His special skills are tip master and dispatch master.

Mikey doesn't really find Bancho that intimidating and very excited to work with him. He also becomes fast friends with Dave and Maki. He's slightly decent at serving along with dispatch but, excels at cooking. His special skills are cooking++ and ingredient prep expert.

Donnie prefers diving for ingredients or supplies scattered around the Blue Hole. He's very neutral towards Duff but, very much in awe at enhancing weapons to their full potential. Including keeping track of the idiver upgrades and other apps on him at all times. However, he eventually warmed up to managing the fish farm and cooking along side with Mikey. Sometimes glaring at customers who leave dirty dishes *cough* party event guests *cough*. His specials skills are ingredient prep expert and drink serving.

April accidentally applies for a staff job right after Yoshie reports in for the new staff along side Kyoko (who's the first staff member you get in game but, this ain't about her.) I'm gonna go off topic but, she's gonna be the best one in terms of serving and dispatch. (given how terrible her luck as been in the show) And she gets the same special skills as El Nino: drinking serving master and cleaning master. Because canonically she has more job experience compared to the turtles.

Joyce and Laverne are sea people bored of the village life. And grew curious about Dave and the turtles who saved Ramo's life from one of the bosses. They sneak out on a multiple of times and just chill with the three turtles who aren't exploring with Dave. Also don't do that tedious build the trust side quest shit and they already hate Suwam's cowardly attitude. Laverne and Donnie are currently testing in secret of a portal system that would help with night time diving. Joyce sometimes delivers Mima's dumplings to Tsuchi. And eventually does the same for the turtles and Dave. (mostly in the medium depths or midway into the shallows territory because she heard of the one pink dolphin who got trapped in a trawling net. And only feels safe traveling with Laverne, Dave, or any of the turtles escorting her. Luckily she brings spare shells that carry oxygen. so its not that annoying compared to most escort missions) (The portal system is great but its so tedious climbing up BH Depths then to BH Medium Depth and finally BH Shallows. idk let me have this lol)

A few sentences summary: idk Dona who happens to be a leatherback sea turtle has a funny reference to the ninja turtles from a text box choices. I'm expanding that further with my favorite iteration of the ninja turtles. So its definitely more goofy compared to the other two aus on here.

[alias-milamber]

Six Gods

As part of the BitD campaign I just finished, I accidentally put together a pantheon. I defined three in play, and the others were vague concepts. As part of the process of excising the old campaign from my head to work on something new, I've fleshed out the other four in the same style, and now I'm publishing it here because I don't see a reason why not.

The Moon is all things that are no one single thing. The Moon is all things that exist on a spectrum, on a plane, a scatter graph of all the things that could be, with no specific things that are. Their domain is negotiation, discussion, neutral ground. Their altar was a soft cloth over a hollow table, where anything you placed change the nature of everything.

The Crab is all things that shall be improved, and shall be one. They are collective action and harmonisation, and endless iteration to a more perfect form. They are always changing, and insistent that all must change, to not improve is to die. To not improve towards their idea of perfection is to die. To object to what they think of as perfection is to oppose the Crab. Their domain was the ocean, the battlefield, the debate chamber; certainty and specificality. Their altar was a rock worn smooth by the sea, and it ran red.

The Forgotten is no things that are remembered. The Forgotten is there for those who no longer exist, and that which has fallen between the cracks of the world. They are the language unspoken, the book unread, the library burnt. Their domain is the room whose door was papered over when you remodelled, the cellar whose door was removed, of research and archology and the truth behind history. Their altar was an empty shelf of blank books.

The Mire is all things becoming all things. The life that decomposes into the ground and feeds the plants that feed the animals that feed the animals that feed the animals that worship the Mire. The brickwork that splits under the tree root, the log that covers the nest, the storm that burns the tree canopy and provides light to the plants below. The sword that cuts the neck of the hegemony and brings power to the people below. The domain of the Mire is the swamp and the revolution, the kitchen and the garden, the parliament and the graveyard. Their altar was a century old terrarium standing in the sun.

The Shadow is the site out of sight, the edges and the places defined by their absence. Not so much the places that don't exist, as the places that should not be entered, the danger and the hazard. Their domain is the sentient spell book and the diving cave; the office's of the devil's advocate and the trust in the fraying rope; The occult power that sings in your hand hides the Shadow, and they are the only one of six that can be seen by the conscious dead. Their altar was a puzzle box of hidden knives.

The sixth isn't, yet. Her diffuse existence swirls in the glittering gaps left by the Destitute, whose true name and form only remain in the realms of One of Six, who doesn't speak of it. The Six do not dwell on the possibility of mortality. The new deity's domain seems to revolve, and click, and whirr. It oozes and flows with viscid confidence, slicking the way. Sometimes it sparkles and crackles, and leaps with jagged steps. It had no altar. Not yet.

(The Destitute was once The Ennobled, and was a merchant/high society deity tied to the idea of fair trade between equals, and lie to and cheat the rest, but it was a bit on-the-nose as a late-stage-capitalism bit in a dark fantasy campaign, so I replaced it with some Goddess Rising stuff around technology, which is also a possible hook for a continuation in the same world, though probably not as a BitD campaign, and not any time soon. In my BitD campaign, the Gods were incarnated and sealed in a place where time no longer flows and it is forever night, which cuts them off from their own omnipresence and much of their power. The Crab God found a way to open a portal to the past, where he could connect to his former self and regain his domain.)

[ask-sparkling-sea]

Lost part 10

Previous | Next

[ardienothesieno]

Getting back into the swing of Artfight after procrastinating for a week with the TRIPLE OCEAN ITERATOR FACE-OFF

Featuring: - Sparkling Sea, belongs to @1ndieblue - Glimmering Seafoam in Sunlight, belongs to @mewguca - Glittering Oceans, belonging to me!

[seeraaa]

Acqua di Gio Profondo A Signature Scent for Modern Men

When it comes to iconic fragrances, few can rival the legacy of Acqua di Gio, a fragrance that has been loved by fragrance enthusiasts around the world since its debut in 1996. Created by renowned perfumer Alberto Morillas for the Italian luxury fashion brand Giorgio Armani, Acqua di Gio is a symbol of freshness, vitality, and sophistication. However, in 2020, Giorgio Armani released a new iteration of this iconic scent — Acqua di Gio Profondo.

Acqua di Gio Profondo represents a bold and modern twist on the original, with enhanced depth, intensity, and complexity. It is designed for those who seek a fresh, aquatic fragrance that evokes the spirit of the sea, but with a more profound and powerful character. In this article, we will explore the origins and evolution of Acqua di Gio Profondo, its composition, the key notes that define its character, and why it continues to be a favorite among fragrance aficionados.

best cologne to attract women

The Legacy of Acqua di Gio: From Classic to Profondo

Acqua di Gio, the original fragrance, made its debut in 1996 and quickly became one of the best-selling and most iconic fragrances in the world. With its fresh and aquatic notes, it was a scent that captured the essence of summer, the sea, and the freedom of open spaces. Giorgio Armani’s vision for Acqua di Gio was to create a fragrance that symbolized the Mediterranean and its natural beauty.

Over the years, Acqua di Gio has been reinterpreted in various forms, including Acqua di Gio Homme (the original), Acqua di Gio Essenza, and Acqua di Gio Profumo, each iteration adding its unique elements while staying true to the original aquatic theme. However, Acqua di Gio Profondo represents a more intense and sophisticated evolution of the classic fragrance.

Released in 2020, Acqua di Gio Profondo introduces a modern, refined take on the beloved original scent. With a richer and more complex blend of notes, Profondo appeals to a broader audience, especially those who appreciate a deeper, longer-lasting fragrance with a strong yet fresh identity.

The Scent Profile of Acqua di Gio Profondo: A Fresh Dive into Elegance

At the heart of Acqua di Gio Profondo lies a unique combination of aquatic and aromatic notes, combined with richer, deeper elements that elevate the fragrance from a simple fresh scent to a more profound and sophisticated experience. The fragrance is classified as an aromatic aquatic, and its scent journey opens with a burst of fresh and invigorating citrus, then transitions into a blend of herbal and floral notes, and finally settles into a musky, woody base that gives it a long-lasting, refined depth.

Let’s take a closer look at the key notes that define this fragrance:

Top Notes: Sparkling Freshness

Aquatic Notes: True to the fragrance’s name, the top notes of Acqua di Gio Profondo feature vibrant, oceanic and marine accords. These aquatic notes are designed to evoke the feeling of a deep, refreshing dive into crystal-clear waters. It’s an invigorating and energizing opening that sets the tone for the rest of the fragrance.

Citrus: The scent also opens with refreshing and bright citrus notes, particularly bergamot. The citrus adds a zesty and uplifting vibe, reinforcing the fresh, oceanic spirit of the fragrance. The blend of aquatic and citrus notes creates an initial burst of energy that feels like a breath of fresh air.

Middle Notes: Aromatic Freshness

Lavender: At the heart of Acqua di Gio Profondo lies the herbaceous note of lavender, which is often associated with freshness and elegance. The lavender note adds an aromatic quality to the fragrance, contributing a smooth, calming balance to the more dynamic top notes

Rosemary: The middle notes also feature a touch of rosemary, which brings a slightly spicy, herbaceous scent that adds complexity and depth to the fragrance. The combination of lavender and rosemary elevates the scent, giving it a more sophisticated, multi-layered character.

Base Notes: Depth and Sophistication

Musk: As the fragrance settles, the base notes reveal a warm and sensual musk that gives the fragrance a soft, lingering finish. The musky notes add a subtle sensuality and depth to the composition, balancing the freshness of the aquatic and citrus notes.

Amberwood: One of the standout elements of Acqua di Gio Profondo is the inclusion of amberwood, which brings a rich, woody warmth to the fragrance. This note adds a sense of sophistication and masculinity to the scent, making it feel more refined and elegant. Amberwood also enhances the longevity of the fragrance, ensuring it lasts well beyond its initial application.

Patchouli: Another base note that anchors the fragrance is patchouli, known for its earthy, slightly woody and spicy character. Patchouli adds an intriguing complexity to the scent, providing depth and richness while complementing the aquatic freshness.

Why Acqua di Gio Profondo Stands Out

Acqua di Gio Profondo is a fragrance that expertly balances freshness with depth, making it suitable for a wide range of occasions. While the original Acqua di Gio is often considered a go-to summer fragrance due to its lightness and citrusy freshness, Acqua di Gio Profondo is more versatile and can be worn year-round. The fragrance maintains the fresh, aquatic elements that made the original so popular, but with the added sophistication of deeper, more complex notes.

1. Timeless Freshness with a Modern Twist

Acqua di Gio Profondo is a fragrance that appeals to those who appreciate freshness but want something with more substance. The marine and citrus notes immediately create a clean, uplifting experience, while the lavender, rosemary, and musk in the heart and base provide a rich, rounded profile that ensures the fragrance lingers longer. The introduction of amberwood and patchouli gives the fragrance an intriguing, modern edge, making it more dynamic and suitable for different seasons.

2. Versatility for All Occasions

One of the standout features of Acqua di Gio Profondo is its versatility. It is suitable for both casual and formal occasions, making it an excellent choice for day-to-day wear, as well as more special events. Its balance of freshness and depth allows it to transition easily from the office to evening outings or even a relaxed weekend brunch.

3. Longevity and Sillage

Another notable aspect of Acqua di Gio Profondo is its impressive longevity and sillage. While the original Acqua di Gio was known for its light, fleeting nature, Profondo lasts much longer, with its aquatic freshness lingering well into the evening. The musk, amberwood, and patchouli base notes ensure that the fragrance stays noticeable for several hours, providing a lasting impression.

best cologne to attract women

The Ideal User of Acqua di Gio Profondo

Acqua di Gio Profondo is designed for the modern man who seeks elegance, sophistication, and freshness all in one bottle. It is ideal for individuals who appreciate classic, timeless scents but are also drawn to modern twists and innovations in fragrance composition. The fragrance appeals to a broad demographic, from younger men looking for a versatile signature scent to more mature individuals who appreciate the refined complexity of the fragrance.

Whether you’re in your twenties or your forties, Acqua di Gio Profondo is a fragrance that resonates with a wide range of personalities. It is particularly well-suited for those who value the outdoors, nature, and the feeling of freshness that water evokes, making it an excellent choice for both warm and cool climates.

Conclusion: The Modern Classic – Acqua di Gio Profondo

Acqua di Gio Profondo is more than just a fragrance — it’s an experience. It’s the scent of the sea, the sky, and the earth, expertly blended to evoke a sense of freedom and sophistication. While it maintains the beloved freshness of the original Acqua di Gio, it brings something new and exciting to the table with its deeper, more complex notes. Whether you’re seeking a fragrance that embodies the elegance of the Mediterranean or simply looking for something fresh yet profound, Acqua di Gio Profondo stands as a modern classic in the world of men’s fragrances.

[xtruss]

The World’s Best Champagne—According To The 2023 Champagne And Sparkling Wine World Championships

— Brad Japhe, Senior Contributor | Forbes

Rare Millésime 2008 Photo Illustration: Brad Japhe

American drinkers will consume an estimated 360 million glasses of champagne on New Year’s Eve. It is, of course, the number one night of the year for popping bottles of bubbly. But let’s forget about quantity for a moment and focus instead on quality. Because what’s the point of celebrating with something mediocre? Especially when there are so many fantastic examples of reasonably priced effervescent wines sitting on shelves at this very moment.

Today we’re going to highlight what some experts consider to be the very best of them all. Those experts happen to be the judges at the Champagne & Sparkling Wine World Championships. Now entering its 12th annual iteration, it is the premiere international competition of its kind, comprising a cadre of high profile sparkling wine specialists from across the globe. After two weeks of judging earlier in the year, the CSWWC released its 2023 results to the world in September.

The formidable title of “Supreme World Champion” went to a 2008 vintage of Millésime Rare Champagne from producer Piper-Heidsieck. And this wasn’t just any bottling, but a magnum format, specifically. As any seasoned sommelier will explain to you, the 1.5 liter bottle offers superior aging conditions compared to that of a standard 750ml. That’s because the overall size of the vessel is larger, but the neck is not. Therefore, less air is contained inside, and aeration and oxidation are both minimized.

Now that we’ve gotten some general bottle basics out of the way, let’s talk about what makes this specific expression so worthy of praise. Millésime is always a vibrant juice, notably effervescent with a pronounced crispness. It typically noses with pear and marzipan. But the sensational growing season of 2008 enabled a concentrated dose of spring in the glass: fresh floral blooms, orange blossom and a tangy citrus thread which holds firm across the palate.

There’s also a very subtle saline quality that emerges near the end of each sip. It’s enough to keep you reaching back for more, and also begs you to pair it with something from the sea; think oysters or Dover sole. The degree of complexity and structure exemplified here is quite a value at $209 for a bottle. Remember, this is twice the amount of liquid you’re getting in the outsized glass.

But if you’re less concerned with medals and more interested in time-tested icons, my professional recommendation is to grab a bottle of Perrier-Jouët Belle Époque Brut 2013 for your New Year’s Eve celebration. It's an especially poignant vintage for the legacy brand, boasting ample orchard fruit in the nose and nods to dried vanilla on the tongue. And it’s breathtakingly beautiful inside and out, brandishing instantly recognizable white anemone bottle art, originally designed by Émile Gallé back in 1902.

It doesn’t come cheap, at $229 for a 750ml bottle. But it’s guaranteed to inspire some priceless memories as we say goodbye to 2023 and hello to 2024. Regardless of what ends up in your glass, may you and yours enjoy a very Happy New Year!

The 2013 Belle Epoque Vintage From Perrier-Jouët Perrier-Jouët

[larissazageris]

The Strand

A scientist and a poet make strange discoveries beyond the sea.

Day One

I did not come to Ballymore Strand for her. I came for the Nautilus Bloom. 

I am a scientist. She is a poet. However romantic that sounds on paper, we’ve proven it isn’t romantic at all. Whatever was between us is over now — except the public collaboration, of course, for the funding. 

The poet has spent half of hers already. On watercolors. I have never seen her pick up a brush in my life. But she has a rather florid style. Maybe it will translate. 

She calls herself a “student of the shore.” She is here to write poems. I am here to make discoveries. 

I will prove the Nautilus Bloom moss in fact exists here, in fact it thrives, in fact it heals — and she will write a little ditty about it. 

The things papers wish to print. The hoops men of science must jump through. 

We arrived at the seaside this morning. It is beautiful and cruel. The waves are music to me — the sound of work. The air tastes of salt and sunrise. Even now, in early evening — rays of day streak the sky. 

The poet may have influenced me some. 

She stays up at the Strandhill Inn. I am safely tucked into The Ballymore. Work begins tomorrow. Work, and only work. 

My wife never knew. And now there is nothing to know. I have told Rosemary not to worry. I am a scientist. And a man of my word. 

Day Two

Stormed all night and day. Then into night again. 

She came to me with wine. A toast. “A rolling stone gathers no moss, and neither it seems, can we.” 

I’m sure she practiced it. 

Anyway. At least that temptation is out of the way now. 

Now I can focus. No more of her. 

I know tomorrow the sun will shine. 

Day Three

Took driftwood samples today. All of it, smooth as bone.

Every piece bobs at high and low tide along the shore, tethered to something beneath the water by pale, silvery strands. The threads are thin as a spider’s web. They smell of salt and burnt sugar. 

I cut one with my pocket knife. It bled an impossibly thin sliver of jelly that sparkled when it dropped into the sea. The released fiber swirled into a delicate rosette. I reached out to touch it, and it disappeared. 

Patel was right — these conditions are best for it. 

And I am right — the moss responds negatively to human touch.

I must find a way to keep the bloom. To put it to work healing something more significant than wood. 

Day Five

She tells me the waves are her lullaby. And that her poems are “coming along.”

I ask her to show me some of them over dinner. She says they are not ready to share yet, and is hurt when I scoff. 

She says her work is like mine — “iterative.”  I don’t know why it irks me to hear it. I tell her, my work is work and hers is play.

“Play is as important,” she says. She means it. I wonder if that’s what it is for her, all day and night. Playing. 

“It’s discovery of a different type,” she says — choosing to ignore my “pouting,” as she calls it. She raises her eyebrow as if to say, “I am teaching you something, and you love me for it.”

But I do not love her. 

“It’s what the paper likes to print,” I smile. I don’t want to fight with her tonight. I want to get back to my notes. I want to harness the bloom. Make medicine out of it. Make history. 

“What would this world be without those who would study the sea, and those who would love it for its mystery?” she asks.

“Are you asking me or are you drafting, darling?” My voice is dry as toast.

She loves this about me, I know — my wit. My cruelty.

That night, I walk her to the hotel. 

We make love furiously behind it. 

It is always this way with us — stealing time. Even when not a soul is around to charge us with the crime. 

I must stop. I will stop. 

Why doesn’t she?

Day Seven

Some women have a way of staring at you when they want you. A way they think is hidden, and is not. 

The poet does this. 

She wanted to show me something at dinner tonight — a small rosette, no bigger than the pen-tip she carried it on, pulsing like a faint heartbeat. 

A Nautilus Bloom. 

She slid the bloom from her pen-tip to her fingertip. Then she angled her finger, and let the rosette slip into her palm. She opened my hand with hers, then tipped the bloom into my open palm.

It evaporated on contact. As if my hand were a poison, and so unlike her own. 

She had the nerve to ask me, “Is this what you’re always searching for? Something you love but cannot keep?”

I left the stupid cow to pay her own bill. 

I spent the rest of my night hunting blooms in the moonlight. 

I only saw three. 

All of them recoiled at my touch. 

Now my legs are chapped from the sea. But my heart is stout. 

I will get my name on that damned moss if it kills me. 

Day Ten

The sun is harsh today. 

I have sent for Patel.

I cannot stand sharing discoveries with this poet. I need a brilliant scientific mind to approach this with me. Not an artist who doesn’t know what she’s playing with. 

I have asked him to bring along the Roberts Notebooks on the Nautilus Bloom, from the Old Age. To read them hurts my eyes, but I need to.

There has to be something we can use in them. Something I’m missing while I’m out here, distracted by her. 

Patel and I will get somewhere. 

And then I can get away from her. 

Day Fourteen

Rained again. 

Patel is delayed. His train makes the crossing tomorrow. 

The poet and I pass the time. 

Why do I do this? Surely in the city affairs can be more pleasant than this. 

She is in love and I am not. I know this. She knows this. 

She weeps after, every time, at what she and I both know will not change. 

Still, she comes to me. 

I do not go to her. 

But I never have to wait long.

Day Seventeen

I have not seen the bloom in days. But the poet has. Damn her.

Patel came with the books. I found him at the restaurant downstairs, poring over them with her. 

The way he moons over her. Is he aware he’s half her age? Is she? 

Obscene. 

If she is trying to make me jealous she should consider herself instead. Patel is a young man. Marriage is not on his mind. And she grows older every day. 

I sent Patel home. Blamed the rain — didn’t want him stuck up here on the coast in bad weather. Take him from his studies, etc. 

I will learn the secrets of the bloom myself, not with the help of a lovesick college boy. 

Day Twenty

I went walking tonight. I wanted to clear my head. Process my reading. To take the air and, really – to be away from her. 

I must remember Rosemary and the children. I must remember myself and my place, and forget for one moment the taste of her. 

The curl of her hand around her pen. The shape of her, walking the beach, waiting for me to join her, in the nights after my study. 

All of this has to stop. 

I was going to tell her so in the morning, after a night of pious and reformed sleep. 

But then she was outside The Ballymore. 

It was dark, but for the moon. It was very late, since there was moon at all, and not the infernal northern near-midnight sun. 

She is a plain girl some nights. Not tonight. 

She had climbed down into the tide, using the small stone steps The Ballymore had lain in the sea. She looked like a creature risen from the water. Skirts wet against her legs. Surf crashing against her. 

She looked like a god.

I went to her. She touched my arm. I kissed her, and pulled her hair. 

Oh, how she undoes me. 

We undid each other, there, in the water. 

After, she asked me if I would leave her — Rosemary.  

Again, I said no. 

She made a terrible sound, something between a laugh and a cry. She fled, but tripped going up the stone steps. She can be so graceless when she’s upset. 

She fell and cried out. I went to her again, but she jerked away — she had cut herself on the stone step. 

Blood shone, almost green, in the dark. I reached for her.

“Don’t,” she spat. No love in her voice now. 

I was wrong to ever begin with her.

These spinsters can’t be happy with anything they get.

Day Twenty-One

I have avoided her all day, and been rewarded for my effort. 

I saw another bloom. It disappeared again at my touch — but then I saw a small thrall of blooms working on a piece of wood. Many little rosettes lined a seam, weaving it back together.

I could not shake the sense that the moss was letting me watch it work. Letting me observe the healing. Urging me on my quest. 

We are in league, the moss and I. 

I feel renewed. 

Day Twenty-Three

She was in the water again tonight.

I wasn’t going to her — I was going to the blooms. 

I wanted to see if, in moonlight, I could trap one.

Instead, she trapped me. 

We were voracious.

The things she makes me feel…

The sense she makes me lose.

After, she pulled me close again. Her eyes were bright, and she kissed me hard. Filling my nose with salt spray and burnt sugar scent. 

She pulled my hair, pressed against me harder — not kissing. Taking.  Sucking life. I jerked away from her. I thought we would drown. 

“We already have,” she said. Her voice was not her own. It was bolder. Strong.

I hastened to leave her, and cut myself on the same stone she had. 

She stayed in the water, laughing. 

I could still hear her after I was safe inside the hotel. 

Day Twenty-Four

Damn woman. I have not done work today. I have not left the room. 

I am ill. 

But the strangest thing — the wound has healed. 

Day Twenty-Seven

She will not come out of the water.

I do not know if she will not, or she cannot. I do not care.

Still, I watch her from my window. 

I feel better now.

But where my wound was, something grows. Under the skin.

I think I see something moving inside me — but perhaps my eyes are playing tricks. 

Perhaps I should send for Patel.

I feel strange. 

The sound of waves crashing never stops. 

The poet is wrong — the sound doesn’t lull me. 

It beckons.

Day Twenty-Eight

I went to her again.

I cannot stop. Neither can she. 

She is tethered to the shore now. She is tethered to the sea. 

She is woven into it, with the same silvery threads as the bobbing driftwood. 

But she is alive, and the driftwood is not. 

It is a dead witness to better work wrought. The lace of life. 

I was right, after all. 

I have measured the strands.

They are of her flesh, and of the sea. Thin as seaweed. Fine as silk. 

She is covered in small, silvery rosettes. 

I do not try to cut the strands — and they do not recoil from me. 

The blooms do not reject my touch.

Neither does she.

She kisses me — but she does not speak. 

I think she will if I swim with her. If I stand with her.  

If I stay with her — whatever she is.

Was she always this beautiful?

[indieblueart]

Scavenger oc, leader of the scavenger colony in Sparkling Sea’s shoreline. Non-title name is Tai. Friends with my slugcat oc Merry and on good terms with iterator Sparkling Sea. She also has a girlfriend (whom I have yet to design).