#zackraymonth2018

[galacticpotatoes]

ZackRay Month Day 4 (Week 2) College AU

This part was written by a friend of mine in the Discord server. ❤️ Thank you so much for your contribution!

Zack can’t ask out the girl of his dreams. Poor tol bean.

…

"Why is this so damn hard?!" Zack groaned to himself as he sat alone in a booth in the university café. He continued staring at the young woman that was sitting delicately at a plush chair, sipping her coffee as she read her book, her blonde hair tied neatly into a ponytail. The dark-haired male groaned and lightly hit his head against the table.

Ever since Zack met Rachel Gardner, he’d been memorized. How could he not be? She was beautiful, intelligent, driven; everything he believed he wasn’t. She was the first person to speak to him like a human being. She had no trouble asking him, a freak wrapped in bandages, for a pencil to borrow during calculus class. Even when he tried to intimidate her, Rachel would shrug it off and continue speaking to him as if he hadn’t just threatened to rip her arm off. It was different, to say the least. And when she smiled for the first time, a genuine smile directed at him, he was doomed. Zack couldn’t get Rachel out of his head. Even when the day ended after hanging out for hours, her words and expressions would always be stuck in his mind.

He didn’t know how to deal with stuff like love or affection. But when it came to Ray, he wanted to try. However, there was always one thing that got in his way. He, for all his confidence and brutal honesty, didn’t have the balls to ask his love interest out on a date. He never asked a girl out before; or asked anyone to go anywhere with him, period. And every time he even tried to mention dating to her, his face would heat up and his tongue would tie itself into knots. Eventually, he would just give up and promise himself to try again. But that vicious cycle repeated itself for days on end.

Zack was unaware of how long he’d been staring at Rachel from afar. He was a little lucky for the bandages covering his face, because his cheeks were tomato red as he continued staring, thinking up multiple places where their first date would occur. He knew Ray enjoyed the simple things in life. She didn’t need fancy dinners or expensive jewelry to be content. And the classic dinner and a movie date was just so overdone. Plus, they’d already done that stuff as friends. He wanted a date to actually mean something. He loved seeing her smile. It was more than enough for him if she just smiled at him.

The bandaged young man snapped out of his daydream when he saw the blonde pack up her things and stand up, taking the half-empty coffee cup with her. Zack almost immediately scrambled to gather his own bookbag and bound after her, wanting this to be his chance. He was going to ask her out, damnit! They’d have a magical fucking time and live happily ever after! Determined, Zack marched out of the café.

“Hey, Ray!” he called out, making the girl in question turn from her usual route to face him.

“Hey, Zack,” Rachel greeted back, offering him a warm smile reserved only for him.

All of a sudden, his nerves hiked up to eleven and he couldn’t talk. Her smile was just too goddamn irresistible. She seemed to sparkle in the afternoon sun, a ray of sunshine gently beating down on her to give her an angelic effect. His brain short-circuited, and his tongue couldn’t form proper words. Work, you stupid mouth! Zack was left gaping like a fish while Rachel stared up at him with her deep blue eyes, simply waiting. Her patience knew no bounds. Why?! Why can’t I just ask her out?! “I…Um, ya see… I was…”

“Oh yeah,” Rachel suddenly piped up, causing Zack’s mental panic to cease as all of his attention was immediately on her. At least she saved him from a lifetime of tongue-tied embarrassment in the process. “Do you want to visit that new museum that opened up?” The dark-haired man was ready to groan at the idea—although if she was happy, he’d go along with her—but she continued. “All the exhibits are interactive, so it’ll give you something to do instead of just looking at ‘dusty old objects from even older rich dudes’ as you put it.”

“Yeah,” Zack replied, scratching the back of his head as he relented, ready to give up on asking her out yet again. “We can hang out there if you want.”

“No, Zack,” the blonde immediately countered before taking a casual sip of her coffee. Zack blinked his mismatched eyes at her in confusion. “I don’t mean hang out. I mean a date.”

Zack choked on his spit, his heartbeat going into overdrive. Did she just…?! Don’t just fucking stand there! Say yes, you dunce! “Yeah!” he responded, his voice going a couple octaves higher. He spluttered a little to clear his voice. “Y-yeah. Sure. Saturday sound good?”

Rachel once again smiled at him and Zack could swear her heard an angel sing in the distance. “Yes. Saturday sounds perfect. See you then.” She waved at him and made her way to the building her next class would be held.

Zack stood in place for a few moments, a few students passing by him with odd looks on their faces. He wasn’t aware his jaw had dropped and probably slammed a crater into the ground below. He had a date…with Ray. He had a date with Ray… Holy shit, he had a date with Ray!

“Hell yeah!” he cheered, jumping high from the rush.

[marshmallowbirb]

Blood Red Riding Hood: Chapter 3

Title: Blood Red Riding Hood: Chapter 3 - Coal Black Series: Angels of Death Rating: M Summary: Little Red Riding Hood AU. Rachel Gardner wanders the woods alone at night in a red hood, looking for her own death. When she finds it, however, her death has other plans. Pairing: Zack/Ray Spoilers: AU, but probably for the whole game eventually? IDK. 

Zack woke the next morning, warm and comfortable. Something was strange. It was usually just a bit chilly when he woke in the mornings, and it was certainly chilly this morning too. But he was underneath a blanket and that was far from the norm.

Without realizing it, his tail began to thump on the soft fabric covering the floor of his cave. Soft fabric? Where had that come from? It wasn't terribly concerning, so Zack made a semi-conscious decision to ignore the oddness. Instead, he tried to go back to sleep. But there was something else stopping him – something that felt very nice.

It was his ears. The fur was being scratched, short nails scraping the skin underneath. The points of his ears flicked, responding instinctively to the stimulus. He whined a bit, realizing vaguely that this was what was causing his tail to thump.

Oh, it was heaven.

He burrowed his face down into something soft to get more of that wonderful scratching on his ears. When it stopped, a small whine escaped his throat and his fingers flexed into that nice, warm pillow. Suddenly, there was a squeal, causing his ears to perk up once again. The pillow began moving underneath his hands and consciousness flooded back into Zack’s mind.

 Oh.

Shit, right.

Zack sat bolt upright, banging his head on the top of his little cave. As he gingerly rubbed his head, the curses came spilling out.

“Satan's cock and balls!”

Oh right. That girl was still there. He cracked an eye open to find her sitting beside him, watching him with a sort of detached curiosity. Rubbing his head managed to dispel the ache from the bump, but his pride still ached just a bit. Who just went and petted a grown ass wolf's ears like that? Did she not know those were highly sensitive? She'd also unintentionally pricked at an unpleasant memory that he thought he'd forgotten.

He'd be lying if he said it didn't feel nice though.

“Sorry,” Ray apologized, her voice dull.

“Why would you even do that?” he grumbled. “Just for that, I oughta bite you.” She at least had the common sense to look somewhat embarrassed.

“Well, our dog liked getting his ears scratched,” she muttered, a finger next to her lips. That little admission raised his hackles. He didn't know whether to be flattered or offended. Instead, he decided on simply being irritated.

“I'm not a dog, dammit!” It was true, but why did it suddenly feel like a useless declaration? Frustrated, he moved to crawl out of the cave and out of Ray's mound of blankets. “I'm gonna take a bath.”

“Ah!” she called after him, leaving the blankets for a second before shivering and covering back up. “It's still too cold!”

As Zack stretched, he realized that it was indeed still very cool. The sun hadn't even cleared the hills yet and a frosty haze still hung over the forest ground. It was going to be a clear day, but until it was properly light out, it was probably safer for Ray to stay where she was.

“Not for me,” he replied. A grin cracked his face, his earlier consternation fading. What was with this girl? She was cold all the time! Well, whatever. He began walking towards the stream, frosty leaves crunching under his boots.

As he walked, Zack cracked his neck and reflected on his new companion. She didn't seem to smell quite so badly this morning; in fact, she'd absorbed a lot of his smell overnight. Since it wasn't as bad this morning, he might hold off on making her take a bath until it was warmer out. She seemed to get cold so easily anyway. Of course, he could always just wait a few days and she'd probably smell less sick and more like him naturally.

Either way, he was going to get his bath no matter what she did.

Rachel was colder when Zack left, but it wasn't unbearable. She didn't intend to sleep any more that morning anyway. Instead, she took some pieces of salted meat from the barrel and a few bites of spiced apples and made those her breakfast. He'd probably want to leave as soon as he returned, so it was better to eat before then.

It was still cold out, so Rachel kept the blanket wrapped around her, the wolf's warmth evaporating slowly. His scent lingered, though. It wasn't bad, really, and it did remind her of her family's dog. His reaction earlier was a mystery to her, though.

He'd liked having his ears scratched, hadn't he? His tail had thumped and he'd curled against her legs, just like a puppy. It was adorable and Rachel found her cheeks burning just thinking about how soft his ears were. But he'd admonished her once he woke up, so maybe he didn't like it after all? Or maybe he was just embarrassed? Rachel chewed the salted pork and continued thinking about it.

By the time Zack returned, she was up and about, gathering their things and rolling up her bedroll. His hood was down and his hair was still wet and sticking to his head and ears. He'd opened his jacket, presumably to help dry off, so Rachel also had a clear view of his chest and stomach. She had secretly expected his whole body to be furry since his ears and tail were. Instead, he was wrapped neatly in bandages, showing no skin or fur. As he shook the water out of his hair, Rachel cocked her head to the side.

“Are you injured?” she asked, slightly concerned. If he had injuries that massive, he might die before he could kill her. Something about that struck her as sad and unacceptable.

“Huh?” came the startled response. “What, the bandages? Old wounds.” His voice sounded nonchalant but Rachel noted how quickly he closed his jacket back over the bandages. If he didn't want to talk about it, she couldn't make him, though. She decided to drop the subject.

“Do you want breakfast before we set out?” She had set him aside some meat, along with some pickles; he probably couldn't live on meat alone either.

“What's that?” he asked, nose crinkling, pointing at the pickles.

“Pickled cucumbers.”

“Nah,” he dismissed them, “They smell like death.” He did take the meat, though. Rachel watched him scarf it down, quietly happy that she had been of some use. After a moment, she turned back to her bedroll and continued rolling it up.

Not a few moments later, Zack joined her in gathering their things. He lashed the meat barrels together with the bedroll. Rachel thought the whole contraption looked terribly cumbersome, but he lifted it with ease. He only stooped a bit as he loaded himself down; after he'd taken a second to adjust the weight of the pack, he was nearly walking just as normal.

“C'mon, let's get outta here,” Zack grumbled. Rachel retrieved her basket, latched her cloak, and followed him closely.

Surprisingly, the two made decent time.

Zack only knew he had to head “south" to find his old friend. Well, “acquaintance" would be the better way to describe him. The older wolf had taken him into his monastery when he was younger; Zack had chafed at the rules and restrictions that accompanied the place and had caused more trouble than he was probably worth. In response, he'd been politely dismissed. The brothers at the monastery pointed him towards the northern forests and sent him merrily on his way.

He had no intention of joining them or being subservient to them now. But the Father there was a decent sort and he figured if anyone would know the way to an unoccupied territory, it would be him.

Regardless of all that, he had to find the monastery before he could solicit their help. This was where Ray was proving her usefulness. Although the daylight hours were much shorter than in the summer, she was adept at finding their way with the aid of the sun and moon. For as long as he'd lived on his own, patrolling those woods and the surrounding mountainsides, Zack had never really noticed much about those sorts of things. Sure, he knew the sun tended to come up in the same place for most of the year, and the moon varied by time of month. But it had never occurred to him to learn in which direction those things happened.

Ray, on the other hand, seemed to be able to use that information to point them vaguely southward. Or she could have been leading them in exactly the wrong direction, Zack would never know the difference either way. But she had been honest so far, so it was worth trusting her.

In the blink of an eye, a week passed.

It was largely uneventful. They traveled by day, keeping off the main road unless the forest wasn’t passable. Ray had protested at first, worried that the forest was harder to traverse, but Zack was adamant: other humans would pose a problem, and neither of them wanted to be separated from the other.

That was provided they even saw any. The town Ray had left was deserted and they hadn't seen any travelers. Zack hadn't even been able to pick up their scent. In fact, Ray was the first human he'd scented in weeks when he came across her. That sickness he'd seen in her town really seemed to have culled the whole lot of them. It really was a miracle she was even still walking.

That also proved to be a bit of a problem, though. Zack was used to walking, running, and trekking through wooded areas; he'd been doing it since he was a little pup, after all. But it rapidly became obvious that Ray wasn't used to it. Maybe it was because she was recovering from that illness or maybe it was because she wasn't used to travel. Either way, she carried a sickliness and thinness about her that annoyed Zack.

It also made her slow sometimes, and Zack really couldn't tolerate that.

The first day or two, he'd stopped so she could take breaks. But that only made him frustrated and restless. The compromise they'd worked out was for Zack to simply carry Ray under his arm like a log. He was certain he looked a fool, stomping through half-frozen forests with a limp girl under one arm and two barrels strapped to his back with a blanket. His back was strong enough to carry it all, but he wasn't sure his pride was.

She never wound up taking a bath, either. It wasn't like she smelled bad; she was about average for a human, as far as Zack knew. It just became less irritating as the sickness worked itself out of her.

Aside from her weakness, though, she did seem to be recovering. He even gave her extra meat, all the while admonishing her to hurry up and heal, hurry up and keep up with him, hurry up and stop making him worry. Even as he scolded her that he wouldn't wait on her much longer, that was exactly what he found himself doing.

The worst parts for Ray seemed to be at night. The cold didn't bother Zack much; it was just a natural part of living in the woods. If it was cold enough to snow, he'd just curl into a ball and sleep until it was warm enough to move around. Not Ray, though.

She couldn't sleep in the cold, not even with that huge blanket of hers. Every night without fail, she'd curl under it and shiver until he crawled in with her. She never asked or complained, which Zack supposed was tolerable. But he couldn't sleep if he knew she was just going to be awake all night anyway. As soon as he pulled her tight to his chest, she'd fall asleep.

He would have been lying if he said it wasn't awkward to wake up holding a woman. The last female he'd been around for any length of time was the bitch that had given birth to him, and none of the males he'd been near had gotten that close to him. Most of his victims had been male humans, as well; the females didn't seem to get out into his woods quite as much, although their meat seemed just a bit more tender. In fact, before the man had gone into his cabin and expired, Zack had had his eye on the village doctor. That man was always going through his woods, narrowly escaping him every time.

He was fine when he was walking with her during the day. It was during those small spaces of time that Ray was asleep and Zack was not that his mind started doing weird things. Usually at night, he was too tired to do much thinking before falling asleep. But in the mornings when he woke, if she wasn't already awake, that was when the trouble came.

Sometimes he'd wake sweating because he'd dream of people he'd known – mostly the two humans who'd taken him in after that bitch had abandoned him. Ray's lingering human smell must have triggered their memory. The couple of times he'd dreamed of them, he'd spent the entire rest of those days reticent and unwilling to even speak to Ray. She must have been worried, but Zack tried not to think too much about it. It was for her own good.

Those were the days he wanted to eat her most.

It wasn't just because she was unintentionally pricking at something that rekindled his spark of hatred for humans. Those were the first humans he ever ate, and salted pork was a poor substitute. Waking up with her scent right under his nose made him miss it. But there was something else too.

That ugly human woman who'd adopted him had petted his ears, too. That was probably what made the connection in his mind. It wasn't fair to Ray, of course, and Zack knew it. Still, he couldn't help what he dreamed.

The other weird thing that tended to happen in the mornings was much more foreign to Zack. He could explain why he'd wake up hungry from her scent. What he couldn't explain was the weird feeling he'd get some other mornings when his sleep had been dreamless. He'd wake with Ray cradled in his arms, her head on his chest, little hands near her face, maybe her leg crossing his at the ankle – and with his dick uncomfortably at least half-hard between them.

Sure, that had happened a couple of times before he met her, especially first thing in the morning. But with someone else there, especially a human girl, it would just make things awkward. He had no intention of mating with a human like some deviant, and he wasn't even sure if she would know what that was anyway. Just the thought of it was something repulsive on its face, but… was Ray really like other humans? That was the thought that nagged at him and was also possibly the source of his weird feelings. Even so, the situation also made him feel an uncomfortable combination of embarrassment, shame, and frustration. So it was always a weird struggle on those mornings to sneak out of the blankets without waking her so he could take care of it with some cold water without her knowing.

The days they traveled together were far less eventful, though. They chatted a little on the days he hadn't had nightmares, and Zack found it pleasant enough. The girl rarely smiled and never laughed, which had the strange effect of being calming and irritating at the same time. Calming because nothing made Zack want to hunt a human more than seeing them stupidly happy; with Ray, that was never really a problem. It was irritating, though, because of the lack of stimulation. Most of the time, she was just there.

He didn't want to just travel with a small shadow.

But that was mainly how it went. Making time by day and resting by night. Most nights there was only the shelter of the trees, although one night they had found another small cave in which to sleep. The nights got progressively colder, frosts going from light, sparkly, merry things, to freezing the earth solid. He'd been successful in keeping her from making a fire thus far, but his body warmth wasn't going to be enough for her soon. When the snows came, she was going to need a fire, maybe even one of the abandoned cabins they sometimes passed. Perhaps when that time came, he'd just sleep far enough away that it wouldn’t bother him. But a nagging feeling inside his head told him he probably wouldn't be able to tolerate that.

Human farming was going to be the death of him, Zack just knew it.

It was on the eleventh day of traveling together that the forest began to change around them. It was imperceptible at first: a little bark stripped from a tree here or there, some human trash by the roadside, a depression in the leaf litter, or a few broken branches. Rachel noticed those things but didn't know exactly what to make of them.

Zack seemed tense, though. A bit after lunch, Rachel could sense a shift in his behavior. He could be quiet or moody, but this seemed to be something else entirely. After a couple hours, Rachel finally placed exactly what it was: he was on guard. As they continued south, he only grew more tense.

It was close to sundown when Zack put out a hand and stopped her.

“We need to go around,” he said quietly. “Maybe closer to the main road, o-or on the other side of the river.” Rachel stayed where she was, cocking her head to the side to watch him curiously.

“What's the matter?”

“It's not good,” he growled. He was distracted now. Rachel watched him sniff the air then scan the forest with his eyes, the setting sun reflecting off his pupils. His ears flicked atop his head, clearly trying to pick up any nearby sounds. Rachel certainly couldn't hear any noises as quiet as he could. She also knew his night vision was  much better than hers; they might need it soon, it seemed.

A murder of crows erupted from a copse of trees further into the forest, creating a racket that made Rachel jump. They both watched them fly into the sunset, knowing that there was a reason the birds wanted to escape.

“Shit,” Zack breathed, watching them go. “She's already close.” Rachel’s eyes slid to meet his. She could read something very close to panic there.

“She?”

He grit his teeth and seemed hesitant to answer. Finally, after several seconds, he reached over and grabbed Rachel. Tucking her safely under his arm, he began running.

“We're in a bitch's territory,” he huffed as he ran. “I met her once, when I was just markin’ out my area. We gotta --"

Zack was cut off by a long, loud howl. He froze in place, jostling his bedroll pack as he did so. The sound sent a shudder down Rachel's spine as well. It was something she hadn't heard since the night Zack hunted her in the woods. Just as he began to run again, there was a second howl coming from the direction in which they were running.

“What the hell?!” Zack hissed, digging in his heels. “She has a pack now?!” Rachel wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but she knew that if Zack was spooked, it had to be bad.

“You don't like her?” Rachel asked. Did wolves have kingdoms and factions like humans?

“Hell, no!” he barked in return, nearly dropping her. “That crazy bitch?! I never wanna see her again, and neither do you.” As soon as he stopped talking, he started running away from the directions of the two howls. When his footsteps began sounding throughout the forest again, Rachel heard something else, too.

It was a woman's maniacal laughter.

Something about it chilled Rachel right to her very toes. She wrapped her arms around Zack as he carried her, shifting her weight to be less like a bale of hay under his arm and more like a baby clinging to its mother's side. She buried her face in his chest and held on for dear life as he picked up speed.

Then, just as suddenly, Rachel felt him stop with a jerk. She managed to hang on tight to him with a squeal, but it was obvious his foot was caught on something. Only a fraction of a second more saw them both tumble to the forest floor. Zack broke her fall, holding tight and making sure she didn't roll away. With a crash, the bedroll pack he'd been carrying dislodged and broke apart on the forest floor; the barrels rolled across the leafy ground while the blanket tangled into a jumbled heap.

Rachel and her basket fared much better, though. When she opened her eyes again, she was laying on top of the wolf, hands clutching his hooded jacket.

“Shit fuck godDAMN!” The expletives poured out in a steady, hushed stream. Even so, Rachel knew something was wrong. She’d seen Zack stumble before; he always got back up afterwards. But this time, he wasn't moving from his spot.

“Zack?” Rachel breathed, pushing off his chest and supporting herself with her arms. His face was contorted in pain, but he still managed to acknowledge her when she called to him.

“I'm stuck,” he growled. Rachel looked down at his legs. One of them was caught in a metal clamp, the kind Rachel knew was used for hunting bears and deer. If her leg had been the one caught in that, she was sure it would've been bitten clean off. Zack's leg was at least somewhat protected by his boot, but Rachel could see that the teeth of the trap were digging into the boot.

Suddenly, the sounds of laughter and stomping were much closer. Rachel pulled at his jacket, trying to brace herself on the ground and pull him away from the trap. She slipped against the cold, wet leaves and couldn't get purchase, but she doubted it would matter anyway; she wasn't strong enough to be able to pull the trap out of where it was staked to the ground. Zack growled in response anyway.

“Stop it,” he hissed. “I can't avoid her now. But you gotta hide.” Rachel could see he was deathly serious. In response, she frantically scanned the woods. Dusk was falling quickly and her vision was nowhere near good enough to outwit a wolf.

“Where?” she asked breathlessly. Zack had sat up by then; with a great deal of effort, he then pushed himself to his feet. As soon as he was standing, he grabbed Rachel's cloak, pulling her to him. Then he hoisted her up by her waist. For just a second, he held her aloft and she went perfectly limp. It was strange, but even though he'd acted suddenly, she knew she could trust him.

Then, unsteadily, he braced himself against the forest floor and sent her flying. The next thing she knew, Rachel was lying draped across a low tree branch, her basket still on her arm. After a moment of shock, she pulled the rest of her body up onto the branch. Once she was better balanced against the trunk of the tree, she turned back to look at Zack. He was trying to yank the bear trap out of where it was bolted to the ground.

“Zack?”

“Just stay up there!” he barked back. “If she sees you, she'll kill you!” Rachel squeezed herself closer to the tree. She wanted to die, certainly, but she had promised her body to Zack for food. Strangely, she wanted to know he'd be okay after she was gone.

“She'll eat me?”

“No, stupid, she'll just kill you!” he huffed, still struggling with the trap. “We're in her territory, you're a strange female, and she's probably in heat! Now shut the hell up!” Admonished, Rachel fell quiet, clinging to the tree and trying her best not to move. The clanging noise of Zack struggling with the steel claw masked the sounds of anyone approaching.

It wasn't long until that was drowned out with the crazed laughter, too. Rachel huddled down against the tree, as still and quiet as she could possibly be. She couldn't see her yet, but she knew the wolf woman was approaching Zack in the dark. Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, she could make out her figure.

She was dressed all in black, with a short skirt worn over a tight pair of breeches. Her neckline was low enough that even from her vantage point in the tree, Rachel could see her deep cleavage. And unlike Zack, whose hair, ears, and tail were all black, her ears and short bob were blonde, fading to pink at the tips. Her hair shone with what little light the rising moon gave off, sleek and glossy, as though she had taken great care of it. Worst of all, though, Rachel could see something that looked like a stiff, black stick held between her hands.

With a wicked smile, the wolf bitch regarded her prey. He'd stopped struggling by then and Rachel could hear his low growl.

“Well, well, well! Welcome back, Isaac!”

[zack-hates-pedos]

[jae-ha]

Moondrop。

Because tumblr formatting sucks, consider reading » here « 

summary。 ––  [ Pirate AU ] - “There have been sightings of pirate ships lately. Especially that pirate ship, the one that only appears on nights with a full blue moon. Have you heard of it? It’s called the Angel of Death...”

Rachel Gardner’s never believed in fantastical pirate stories, but one stormy night, while aboard her parent's cargo ship, she's kidnapped by a sinister pirate named Zack.

“I needed a token, a sacrifice,” he says with a glint in his eye. She can smell death on him as he touches the knife’s blade to her throat. “And you fit the bill perfectly.”

pairing。 ––  ZackRay (written for ZackRayMonth2018) –– [Rachel is aged up; Zack is aged down]

The ocean looks breathtaking again today.

I mean that in a literal sense.

I’ve imagined standing upon the ship’s rails, wind combing through my skirt, hands clasped in prayer, sea spray on my face. It will be midnight, stormy, when my parents are fast asleep and the helmsman is navigating through the chaos. For as many times as I’ve imagined when and how it will happen, I’m not too particular on what I’ll look like when it happens. Perhaps they won’t even find my body, so I haven’t bothered to consider what I’ll be wearing for the occasion.

I don’t plan on leaving a note behind. My room will remain untouched. I’ve considered taking my music box with me, but I don’t like the thought of it being ruined by the weight of the ocean. I’ll listen to it one more time before I leave. It will be the last thing I hear before the ocean puts me to sleep.

Clouds have been gathering since noon. Mother suspects a thunderstorm; Father says we’ll just get a little rain.

I know it’s a typhoon. I’ve been watching the weather, charting the patterns of the air and sea for months. I’ve equipped myself with all the knowledge I need to prepare for the night I take my life.

The ocean looks breathtaking again today, and I wait with anticipation to meet it.

The Silver Petrel is an enormous cargo ship owned by the prestigious Gardner family. The most prominent in a fleet of seven, it’s Mr. and Mrs. Gardner’s personal favorite boat, staffed with only the most educated and efficient crew.

With each journey they bring their daughter— a teenaged girl with eyes as serenely chaotic as the ocean itself. She’s a quiet girl who minds her manners and her tongue. Incredibly smart, but keeps her heart at a distance. The crew knows her as a beautiful ghost, wandering about the ship with dim eyes and a tinkling bell of a voice. She spends most of her days on the main deck staring out at the clouds with a needle and thread or a book in hand.

Today is no different, except this time she has company.

Gripping the ship’s railings and leaning into her hair is the ship’s cabin boy, Eddie Mason. He’s chattering spiritedly about something, but she isn’t listening. At least, not until he draws his lips into a pout and turns his gaze fully on her.

“Rachel, did you hear what I said?”

No answer.

He raises his voice to a soft yell and that’s enough for her to blink and momentarily take her eyes away from the sky. Although her gaze is on him fully, they still swim with a hint of oblivion. He’s gotten used to it, so he pushes on.

“Did you hear me, Rachel? What I said about pirates?”

She shakes her head.

“There’ve been more sightings of pirate ships lately. Especially that pirate ship, the one that only appears on nights with a full blue moon. Have you heard of it? It’s called the Angel of Death. Whoever gets taken captive is placed on the lowest deck and has to climb their way to the top if they want to escape. But it’s not so easy. Each deck houses a killer, and captives have to get past them if they want to survive. Doesn’t that sound terrifying? But I can’t help but think it’s a little exciting, too…”

The expression on Eddie’s face turns from fascination to infatuation. He looks incredibly boyish in that moment— more so than usual. It’s something in the way his green eyes mist over dreamily and the color rushes to his cheeks. He always gobbles up stories like these— gripping tales of drama and death. And once he finds a story that properly captures his interest, Rachel is always the first to hear it.

She lowers her book, but keeps her thumb tucked inside to bookmark the page.

“Eddie, you shouldn’t believe everything the chef tells you. Those stories usually start off as rumors or tall tales.”

“Oh, c’mon, Rachel. Wouldn’t you like to see it? Just once? Even in a picture? A ship of eerie elegance, torn sails and a bloodstained mast—”

“If the sails were torn it wouldn’t be afloat for very long.”

Eddie pauses, noticing that Rachel’s face contains neither mirth nor interest. His shoulders slump as an exhale rushes out of him. “Just… picture it, though, okay? I think it would be incredible. I heard that they even have an initiation of sorts. If you want to be part of the crew, you have to offer a sacrifice to the captain. Can you imagine? A pirate ship like that has probably taken dozens of lives. It’s a shame, though. Deaths at sea are so boring when there aren’t any graves. The ocean is one big graveyard, but you can’t make any tombstones or coffins.”

Eddie was one who liked to prattle, particularly when it came to his fixation with graves. He came from a family of grave-digging earth-lovers, so Rachel always considered it strange that he chose to travel across the ocean. She first met him when her grandmother died and her parents sought an elegant tombstone to be made for her burial. Eddie’s father, the patriarch of the grave-diggers, was the one who would be crafting the stone. While her parents were discussing how it should look, Rachel wandered into the forest not far from the Mason’s home. She stumbled upon a cemetery, and there, hard at work, was Eddie. The tombstone he was crafting was for a little girl, probably not too much younger than him. He softened the edges of rugged stone so that it resembled a unicorn, and Rachel couldn’t help but feel that a stone like that might be a pleasant parting gift for a delicate girl whose life was snuffed out far too soon.

When he realized Rachel was there, she was sure he smiled at her beneath his grave-digger’s mask. He introduced himself, and his voice sounded like sunlight. Her memory was imprinted with the sound of its purity.

Over the next several weeks, as plans were being drafted and her grandmother’s tombstone was being made, Rachel would return to the cemetery and to Eddie’s voice. He talked, she listened, and that was just the way things were.

Even on the days when she didn’t visit, Eddie would send her letters. Letters about all sorts of things: the pigeons that had taken residence in his home, his older brother Albert’s temper tantrums, designs for graves he wanted to build. She read them all, but never sent any back. He didn’t seem to mind.

On the day the grandmother’s tombstone was completed, Rachel mentioned the voyage her family would soon be departing on. Eddie was eager to join. Even with no ship experience, he seemed all too content to tag along as just a simple cabin boy. When Rachel asked why, he rose from the grave he was digging, turned to her, and slowly lifted his mask to reveal his face.

“I’m… not sure,” he said, soft sunlight coursing through his voice, “probably because I love you.”

She didn’t understand.

Even now, as Eddie tells her of pirates and their grisly deeds, the sun still has a place in his voice. Today is the last day they’ll be together, and she likes Eddie well enough to consider him something of a friend. So when the quartermaster yells at him to get back to mopping the lower decks, Rachel is almost sad to see him go.

He scrambles off, but pauses long enough to shoot a small smile and wave her way. “I’ll tell you more later, okay, Rachel? Wait for me.”

She watches him go. But this time, unlike all the letters she never responded to, she sends a reply in the form of a wave. She can’t help but wonder what kind of tombstone Eddie would’ve made for her.

Midnight finds The Silver Petrel in dire straits. The crew scrambles about on the upper deck, rushing back and forth to fulfill the captain’s orders. Just as Rachel had predicted, a typhoon is raging through, plunging everything into chaos. Parts of the orlop deck are flooded, damaging some of the cargo, which sends both Mr. and Mrs. Gardner into a fury.

“Mark my words, all of you are fired if you don’t get this ship under control!” Mrs. Gardner clutches her rain-soaked skirts, shouting at anyone who will listen. Her bun is coming undone, causing messy strands of hair to stick to her chin and the edges of her lips. It’s the most undignified Rachel has seen her in a long time.

Her father is no better.

His rain-streaked face is twisted in anger and his cravat is dashed with holes.

“If I lose more than one hundred pounds of silver on this damaged cargo, none of you will ever have a job again!”

A few of the crewmen whimper affirmatives, but Rachel can’t help but shake her head as she assesses the damage. Three basins of charmeuse satin and vicuña wool are soaked through. The most expensive fabrics their ship carries have become nothing more than a brittle, sloppy, and crumbly mess. Five hundred pounds of silver lost.

Just as Rachel fixes the lid back over the damaged contents, the heavy hand of her mother finds her shoulder.

“We’ll leave this to the crew, Rachel. Let’s go to sleep.” She recognizes the strain in her mother’s voice— the way she forces a smile to leak out around her anger. It’s her soft way, her inconspicuous way of saying ‘do as I say.’ When Rachel was younger and unfamiliar to her mother’s delicately-phrased warnings, she’d sometimes asked an innocent question or two. She didn’t mean any harm, it was all out of curiosity, but those questions were met with the sting of her mother’s palm. Rachel has learned not to question her.

She nods and follows her parents as they descend the stairs to the cabins below.

But she doesn’t intend to stay there for long.

At thirty-five minutes past midnight, Rachel lays in bed, counting her heartbeats as her music box winds down for the final time.

Her eyes are closed, and for a moment, it feels almost like a normal night where that sweet, familiar melody will escort her to sleep and she’ll dream empty, colorless dreams of people without names and places without purpose. The ship usually sways peacefully and her mind churns up all sorts of inane things for her to dream about, but nothing she remembers when she awakes.

Tonight her body courses with anticipation and she waits. Wrapped in darkness, she waits until the very last second when her music box winds down with a click.

It’s thirty-six minutes past midnight when that click echoes through her mind. She counts eighty-five heartbeats.

She rises from her bed, ensuring that the secret project she’s been sewing for an entire month is securely fastened around her chest beneath her clothing. It’s a vest, made sturdy with heavy fabric and material, insurance that when she falls into the ocean, she won’t float back to the surface.

She takes small, silent steps back to the upper deck. It won’t be a problem to slip in among the crew as they scurry about, adjusting the sails, fixing broken masts, and throwing out the water. She’s learned to move with the darkness, to fold herself into it in absolute silence. She’ll leave this world without a trace, without a sound, carried away by the ocean that her parents love so dearly.

But as she comes close to reaching the upper deck, something turns sour in the pit of her stomach. Something isn’t right. The loud exchange of orders and affirmations between helmsman and crew has transformed into something different. Or rather, it’s disappeared completely. There aren’t footsteps clambering along the floor from the deck above; no voices competing against the howling winds to be heard. In its place, a chilling hush follows her as she walks up the rickety stairs and onto the upper deck.

The first thing her eyes see is blood.

The second are the bodies of the helmsman, the quartermaster, and the chef.

The third is the blood-red sail of a ship she doesn’t recognize.

Sullen, motionless bodies litter the length of the upper deck. Broken bottles roll along, building material’s scattered in every corner. She had only been below deck for a little over half an hour and hadn’t heard any of this carnage unfold.

Rachel only has time to gasp before she hears her name among the rain. She recognizes that voice, but she doesn’t recognize the one whom it belongs to. It sounds like Eddie’s voice, it feels like Eddie’s voice, but the boy dragging himself along the floor doesn’t look like Eddie. He’s far too broken to be Eddie. His shoulder is leaking blood, his left leg, impossibly mangled, is snapped backwards at the ankle. He reaches out to her and she runs to him, falling to her knees beside the railing.

“Eddie, what happened?”

“Get back… downstairs. Hide in cabins.”

“But wha—”

“You have to hurry. …Don’t know when they’re… coming back.”

She doesn’t hesitate to hoist the boy up, wrapping his uninjured arm around her shoulder before she begins trudging back towards the staircase. Not counting the distant claps of thunder, the deck is silent. The sails of her ship have been shredded, the cargo has been trashed, and the scent of blood and sea spray are a heavy fragrance upon the air. With every step she uncovers more bodies, unknown in their identities either because they are either too far away or too blurry from the onslaught of rain. The three bodies she does identify are all collapsed near the staircase, as if they had been trying to escape to the cabins below.

Her eyes wander upon the unknown ship that’s anchored to The Silver Petral. Its red sails are bold and arrogant against the black sky. It’s enough for her to know that her ship has been ambushed and pillaged, but she isn’t aware of any rivals her parents have made in their trading businesses. She knows of no enemies who would attack them. Although one word does come to mind—

“Pirate ship… came up sunnenly. Outta nowhere,” Eddie slurs, his head lolling as if he’s ready to go under any moment. “’ey anchored their ship t’us. Came aboard. Killed so many. Some gottaway… lifeboats. I tried… to get to you, but…”

Rachel can fill in the blank herself. She can’t see it very well, but from the way his flesh has been plunged through, it must be a gunshot wound. However, she can’t speak about his leg. Something vicious had gotten to him, twisted it and broken it so acutely that it can’t handle any of his body’s weight.

“Where are they now? Did they go back to their ship?” Rachel asks.

“I… du…nno.”

Judging by the silence and the state of the cargo, Rachel assumes that is the case. She drags Eddie along steadily, and through the bullets of rain, she can finally make out the staircase. There’s a storage room immediately to the right on the orlop deck. She’ll deposit Eddie there and do what she can to stop the bleeding. The room’s equipped with a lock just in case. After that, she’ll warn her parents and they’ll begin evacuating whomever remains.

With the way Eddie’s leg drags, it’s difficult to maneuver around the sprawled body of the helmsman. When the lacing from Eddie’s boot gets caught in a crack of splintered wood, Rachel finds herself having to pause to untangle him while also being the anchor that keeps him from collapsing to the floor. The boy is fading in and out, his eyelids quivering and the color swiftly draining from his face.

Calling out his name occasionally is all Rachel can do to keep him with her.

“Not yet, Eddie,” she breathes, attempting to shimmy the lace from within the crack. “Don’t close your eyes yet. We’re almost there. I’ll stop the bleeding and then you can rest. Then you can close your eyes and—”

An earth-shattering sound rakes across the sky just then, turning Rachel’s blood cold. But for all that, she doesn’t know what it is that she’s heard. It clashes with the storm, intermingling with the thunder and chaos. But… if she had to guess, it almost sounded like laughter.

Eddie’s eyes peel open, quivering, green and desperate, and his voice plunges to a whisper. “It’s him.”

His slumping body becomes stiff against Rachel’s as he straightens up the best he can. His grip on her becomes resolute as he fights through his trembling. “Rachel, go. Hide.”

“We’re almost there, Eddie.”

“Rachel—”

With a hasty yank she frees the lace and drags Eddie along, faster. She can feel his body bumbling against the corpse of the helmsmen, but still she drags him onwards. His blood has spread so far that her hand is slick with it, but she holds fast, nails clenching the fabric of his shirt with all she has.

She reaches the edge of the staircase and takes the first step to safety—

And then, something that sounds like a bomb tears through the sky. She sees it, even among the rain, as if it all happens in slow motion. A silver bullet, less than half the size of her little finger whizzes by, finding a new home in Eddie’s chest. He sees it too, his expression awash with horror. And when it makes contact, his body promptly explodes with movement. He stumbles backwards, his head flies back, his body crashes into the railing behind him, and because Rachel doesn’t let go, she follows after him.

His hand tumbles from around her shoulder and he nearly collapses in a heap. His eyes are frozen wide and his lips are forming words, but there’s no sunlight coming from them. His voice has no warmth to it. She strains against everything to hear him, but his light doesn’t reach her.

What does reach her is that laughter that rakes its claws along the night.

And an unfamiliar voice breathes sinisterly at her.

“So close. You were so sure you were gonna make it that there was almost a bit of hope on that face of yours.”

The gun clicks, ready to fire another shot. Slick with blood, Rachel’s hand relinquishes its hold on Eddie, but he hasn’t collapsed to the ground yet. Her vision is a flurry of a thousand images passing through at once, but her ears are only trained on the sound of that unfamiliar voice as it says,

“Now, that hope is turning to despair.”

She lifts her eyes and catches the sight of gold against everything that is gray and dark and deadly around her. But in the moment when she moves, Eddie does also. The last of his strength goes into ramming his body into hers, pushing her so far that she falls backwards over the ship’s railing. The sky and the sea change position. All that fills her ears is the sound of a gun; all that fills her vision is the deep ocean.

And she sinks.

When she awakens, everything rushes to her at once. Her senses are all awake and buzzing, trying to reassemble the pieces of her current situation.

Her first realization is that she’s not dead. She can feel freezing water against her skin. When she looks down, she can see that the buttons of her shirt have been torn open and the vest meant to drag her down to the depths is missing. Her undershirt sticks to her body like glue.

Another uncomfortable sensation resides in her wrists. Her arms are tied behind her back with a brittle and fraying rope. It isn’t frayed enough to break through, but it has just enough unevenness to bite into her skin. The next thing is the smell of blood and smoke. Beside her is a man she doesn’t recognize. Stocky build, smoothed brown hair, the scent of alcohol on his lapels, a bullet in his head. His face is still frozen in fear. She can see a ring on his index finger, and the only reason it means anything to her is because she recognizes its purpose. She’s heard in pirate stories that the captain wears a ring with their ship’s name engraved on it. Upon closer inspection, Rachel can read the words ‘Black Moonshine’ on the ring. She almost finds it bewildering that the ship itself was named after alcohol.

But now, the captain is dead.

The room she’s in appears to be a dining room, as indicated by the long table and the gathering of chairs. Piles of gold and glass bottles indicate to her that the ship must’ve been extremely well-off…

Closing her eyes, the sight of Eddie’s face flashes across her mind, immediately causing her to reopen them. The ghoulishness of his dying face chills her, and she can’t bear to dwell on it for very long. Just as she attempts to shift her thoughts, she hears a voice from the next room over.

A woman?

“So what? Are you going to shoot me just like you did my husband? Are you going to take over the ship now, then? You’re nothing but a cabin boy, a convenient tool! There’s no way you can—”

Gunshots. A strangled cry. Her voice is gone. There’s a thud of what Rachel assumes is her body hitting the floor. She can’t help but stiffen at the sound.

Now the captain’s wife is dead…

Rachel straightens her back, flexes her wrists and gives a tug against the ropes, but the knot it too tight. Merely a second after, the door to the dining room is kicked open and the sound of footsteps make their way towards her. Rachel considers pretending to be unconscious, but she’s unsure if her captor has already seen her move. She tries the ropes once again before a shadow falls over her form.

Two mismatched eyes stare down at her.

Her captor grabs a chair, seats himself, and stares at her levelly. A young man, no older than twenty-two, face swathed in bandages, clothes splashed with blood, one eye gold and the other brown. The holster at his waist holds both a knife and a pistol.

He picks up one of the half-empty bottles on the table, takes a drink, and removes the knife from the holster and points it at her.

“Damn, do I wanna kill you right now… But that look on your face doesn’t even compare to the one your friend had earlier when I shot him.”

Rachel keeps her gaze unflinching. He perceives it as a threat and touches the blade to her throat. She can feel the cold metal sink into her skin, a shallow cut, but enough to draw blood. He’s inches away from her now, so close that she can smell death upon him. With only a breath between them, he murmurs, “Aren’t you scared? If you are, say something. Cry, scream, beg for your life, huh?”

“You’re not going to kill me. Otherwise, you would’ve let me drown.”

“Damn right I would’ve; you sunk like a stone. I had to breathe life back into you myself,” he grumbles the last part while passing the back of his palm over his lips. Rachel blinks at him, momentarily surprised, as she would have never pictured the man in front of her to have known how to do any kind of resuscitation. Something about him is too destructive and imbalanced to know any kind of lifesaving technique.

Regardless, she briefly closes her eyes in order to clear her mind.

“Why did you keep me alive? Even after your ship attacked mine?”

“Wasn’t my idea to attack your ship,” he says, briefly eyeing the captain’s corpse. “I was fine with just slaughtering the terrified bastards in your crew, but then I saw you and you’re exactly what I’m looking for.”

He takes the final sip from the bottle before pointing it at her. For the first time since she’s arrived, his expression splinters into a grin and his eyes cloud with a palpable malevolence.

“I need a sacrifice to get aboard the Angel of Death, and you fit the bill perfectly.”

[galacticpotatoes]

Ladies and gents... I am proud to announce the first annual ZackRay Month! Please feel free to do any prompts you wish! Edits, traditional, and fanfiction are more than welcome as well!

And a big thank you goes to my friends that helped out as well!

Thank you for your time and patience! ✨❤️

(Please use #zackraymonth/ zackraymonth2018 so we can see your beautiful works!)

[galacticpotatoes]

ZackRay Month Day 1 (Week 1) entry

[galacticpotatoes]

Day 4 (Week 1): Little Red Riding Hood AU

[galacticpotatoes]

Japanese version

遅れてごめんネ。

(Sorry I'm late.)

[galacticpotatoes]

ZackRay Month Day 6 (week 1): Seasons (Winter/Fall)

Used a filter. Think I like this better.

[zack-hates-pedos]

[zack-hates-pedos]

[zack-hates-pedos]

lord grant me the fucking patience to deal with this shit

well since today is apparently day 1, happy zackray month and reminder that if you like shipping a fucking CHILD with a 20 year old man, that is pedophilic and gross, and if you support that shit, maybe reevaluate your life choices or like go step on a lego or something ok?

[zack-hates-pedos]

ya got any proof of me sending anon hate? it’s pretty bold of YOU to accuse people of that anon

[zack-hates-pedos]

ASKJSGFKSGFJDHGJKHDLGHKDLHGKJLDHGLKDHGKLDJGLKDGJKJGLKDJGÖLKLDHKJÖDKHJLJHDKJHDKGJÖLDG

[zack-hates-pedos]

you wanna talk about not respecting DNIs? how about when you people reblog lgbt headcanons, clearly marked as z/r shippers DNI, to make fun of them?

or how about literally reblogging someones post and adding pedo shit to it with the caption “do you feel triggered”

just to name two examples

oooor is not respecting DNIs somehow only bad when us mean evil antis do it?

[zack-hates-pedos]

“uwuwuwuwu we only ship zackray sexually if ray is aged up uwuwuwuu” my left foot

this was in the main tag and not even under a fucking read more btw