#gray wood dock

[elainehill]

Decking New York Picture of a sizable, classic backyard with decking.

[julianaspringer]

Decking New York Picture of a sizable, classic backyard with decking.

[siegetheartist]

Photo of a large traditional backyard landscaping with decking in fall.

A picture of a sizable, conventional backyard with decking taken in the fall.

[jezebelblues]

in body and blood | h.s

pt. i, pt. ii

summary: over a century adrift in darkness, he found his sun—not in the dawn, but in the quiet fire of her love, a light fierce enough to bind even eternity.

cw: fem!reader, blood+blood drinking (bro is literally a vampire there's going to be blood) 1700s!harry, mentions of death

word count: approx 7.3k

I yall this excruciatingly long so i just figured it was better to split this into four parts. it starts off kinda slow i knowwww but i feel like it fits his character. anyway I hope u will like. mwah :* also YES his heart beats idk i took creative liberty in assuming the blood he drinks would give him some sort of circulation and YES i drew inspo from tvd i like their vamp lore the most ok bye

Fourth of November, 1701

The English flag thrashed wildly in the biting wind, its edges snapping above the clank of chains and the groan of wood as boats were fastened to the harbor. Hooves clattered against the cobblestone, mingling with the grumble of cart wheels as townsfolk hurried homeward, eager to escape the deepening chill of evening.

Winter crept in with an ill-fated air, a shadow over the town. The fishermen’s hauls dwindled to nearly nothing, their nets coming up bare. Squash and pumpkins, once abundant, softened and rotted on their vines before they could be harvested. Livestock, struck by a strange sickness, perished too soon, their spoiled meat no longer fit to eat. Lately the townsfolk scraped by on what little they could hunt—rabbits, mostly—a meager fare that barely stretched to sustain a family for more than a few days.

YN stood at the end of the dock, the sea’s bitter wind pulling at her hair. A basket woven by her mother dangled from her arm, half-covered by a cloth beneath which a few herbs and stunted vegetables peeked through. She waited for Niall, a fisherman she���d known since childhood, to come ashore. His face was grim, his knuckles pale as he secured his boat. “Any luck?” She asked over the wind, though she already knew the answer.

His mouth twisted into a scowl as he wiped his hands on his trousers and approached her. “Lucks got nothin’ to do with it. s’the new king, swear it. God turned his back on us ‘cause of him.”

She winced and swatted his arm lightly as they started toward the stone walls encircling the town. “Don’t say such things, not out loud.” She kept her voice low, though she too had her doubts about the new ruler. “Best not to tempt fate with those words.”

He rolled his eyes and took the basket from her arm, letting it hang from his own so she could tuck her hands into her sleeves. “You agree with such things. S’pose God does as well from the lack of bloody fish.”

They passed under the worn stone archway marking the entrance to town, their footsteps echoing against the ancient stones. Dover was nestled between the English Channel and rolling green hills, hemmed in by rocky shores and the stark rise of the cliffs, standing watch like grim sentinels over the troubled little town.

As YN and Niall made their way up the winding path from the square, the quiet crept in around them, settling like a thin mist. The evening was thick and gray, heavy clouds stretching over Dover and flattening the light into a cool, uneasy dusk.

Each face they passed, they recognized. it was impossible not to, in a town so small. There was old mrs. Harris, hunched beneath a weathered shawl, who gave them a knowing nod as they went by, as if she alone were privy to the day’s secrets. And mr. James, pulling his cart toward home, who offered a quick tip of his hat, but avoided meeting their eyes too long, as if a weight hung over all of them that no one cared to mention.

Niall, walking beside her, held his silence longer than usual, and there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes when he finally turned her way. “You’re still makin’ that stew, yeah?” He hummed, nodding toward the basket swinging lightly in his hand. His tone was casual, almost lazy, yet she sensed something else beneath it, like he was testing the waters of a conversation he couldn’t quite bring himself to start.

“Mum has already started it,” YN replied, keeping her voice as light as his. “Cabbage, onion, bit of thyme. barely a stew, more a broth.” She cast a sideways glance his way, catching the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.

“No doubt you’ll have your sister servin’ it, then?” He asked, as though it were an afterthought. “I hear she has a way of makin’ anything taste finer.”

YN’s lips twitched, a hint of humor flickering in her eyes. She knew well enough where this was going, but she didn’t indulge him outright. “Oh, she has her charms, but she’s picky ‘bout who gets to see ‘em.”

He laughed quietly, a low sound that seemed to carry on the breeze, soft and uncertain. “She's got the whole town near dreamin’ of her, from what I hear. never seen her eye stray toward anyone, though.”

YN glanced away, her gaze drifting over the clustered rooftops, the narrow chimneys stretching into the dimming sky like spindly fingers. “You’d need more than a bowl of stew to catch her fancy, Niall. You’d best hope for a rich merchant or a duke comin’ ashore.”

His chuckle died off, and for a few quiet moments, they simply walked, the soft scuff of their shoes blending with the distant murmur of the sea. Yet something hung between them, unspoken, like the faintest shadow shifting at the edges of their conversation.

It was Niall who broke the silence, his voice lower this time, his words careful. “Have you heard the talk? About the old watchtower?”

YN’s gaze drifted to the far side of town, where the dense stretch of forest gave way to a steep rise, the silhouette of the abandoned tower just barely visible through the trees. “Folk say all sorts of things,” She muttered, almost to herself. “Been empty as long as I can remember.”

Niall’s eyes narrowed as he looked out toward the darkening line of trees, his jaw set. “Empty, maybe, but someone’s taken to hauntin’ it now. The lads swear they’ve seen a figure up there at night, just a shadow movin’ about, like he’s watchin’ the town from that high window.”

She felt a faint chill that wasn’t from the cold, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “They say a lot of things,” she repeated, her tone steady but soft. “Could be nothin’ but the wind playin’ with shadows.”

He tilted his head, the edge of a smirk softening his face. “Aye, that’s what I'd think, too. But seems each person’s got a different tale to tell. Some say he’s a protector, sent to keep us safe.” He shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the distant woods. “Others say it’s somethin’ darker—maybe one of the king’s men, sent to spy on anyone who dares breathe a word against him.”

YN’s lips parted, but she hesitated, the words hanging unspoken as her gaze lingered on the watchtower. Her grandmother had told her stories of that tower once, years ago, when she was still young enough to believe in the old tales without question. But she’d since brushed them off as the ramblings of an old woman long passed. Now, though, the stories flickered back to her, sharp and vivid as they’d once been.

“I heard some folk say it’s not a man at all,” She murmured, so quietly that her voice nearly vanished into the chill air. “Gran said it’s a spirit—a demon.” she let out a breathy laugh, sending a glance his way. “You believe my ol’gran true?”

Niall made a sound, halfway between a scoff and a chuckle, though he didn’t argue with her. “You don’t seem the sort to believe in demons,YN.”

She didn’t answer him, and for a moment, they stood in the gathering dusk, looking out toward the distant, looming shape of the tower, as if something there had caught them both in its thrall. A strange, unsettling weight hung in the air, pressing down around them, and neither seemed willing to break it.

The faint toll of the chapel bell echoed across the town, marking the evening hour. The sound seemed hollow, almost mournful, as it resonated through the narrow streets, slipping into every crack and crevice, lingering like a warning in the growing dark.

The path wound through the clustered homes of their town, each one narrow and stacked close beside the other, the rooftops tilting like old friends leaning together to brace against the coming winter. Flickers of candlelight peeked through small, thick-paned windows, casting brief glows over doorsteps worn smooth by years of footsteps. Voices drifted out faintly as neighbors settled in for the night, the low buzz of comfort after a long day’s labor.

As they neared her door, YN glanced sideways at Niall, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Well, no use lettin’ the stew go to waste with just me. You might as well come in and help make somethin’ decent out of it. And,” she added, with a playful glint, “my sister will be there, too. Might be the only chance you get to impress her.”

Niall feigned indifference, though she caught the hint of a flush in his cheeks beneath the dimming light. “Well, if it’s to spare you from that sorry excuse of a stew, I s’pose I could lend a hand,” he said with mock reluctance, yet his steps quickened as they approached the small wooden door.

Inside, the house was simple and small, with a low ceiling that sloped slightly, forcing even YN to duck beneath the beams as she led him in. A narrow hearth crackled with a weak but steady fire, casting warm shadows across the modest room, which served as both kitchen and living space. The scent of herbs, drying in bunches along the walls, mingled with the faint tang of smoke from the hearth. A single table stood in the center, its edges worn smooth, surrounded by a handful of mismatched stools and chairs, each one slightly wobbly but bearing the marks of care and countless meals.

“Is that you, YN?” Her mother’s voice came from the corner, where she was bent over a pot, stirring with steady, practiced hands. She looked up with a gentle smile, her face flushed from the warmth of the fire. “And Niall too! Just in time. I was about to send Arthur to fetch you, but he’s off fiddlin’ with somethin’ in the corner.”

Ten-year-old Arthur looked up at the mention of his name, a wide grin splitting his face when he spotted the blonde. “Niall!” He called, scrambling to his feet and darting over, a wooden sword in hand. “You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”

He placed the basket next to the older woman before he tousled the boy’s hair, giving a wink to YN. “That depends—will your sister cook, or will your ma have mercy on me?”

YN rolled her eyes as her mother chuckled, stirring the stew with a knowing look. “I'll make sure to keep it fit for eatin’. Now, why don’t you both make yourselves useful and set the table?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Niall replied with a quick bow, flashing his best charming smile, though his eyes lingered on the slender figure by the fire.

YN’s older sister, Ella, sat with her needlework in hand, her fingers nimble as she embroidered a delicate pattern into the edge of a linen cloth. She looked up as Niall approached, offering him a nod and a faint, polite smile, though a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes.

“Ella,” Niall greeted, taking the opportunity to lean a bit too casually against the edge of the table. “Now there’s a sight finer than any supper, if I may say.”

“Oh, you may say.” Ella sighed, her tone as mild as her smile. “But sayin’ doesn’t make it so, does it?” Her eyes sparkled with a touch of mischief, and she kept her gaze on her stitching as if he hadn’t said a word.

YN snorted, reaching past Niall to set the bowls on the table. “She’ll need more than empty flattery to be wooed, Niall. You’ll be talkin’ all night before she so much as bats an eye.”

“Empty flattery?” he echoed, feigning shock as he helped with the cups, placing them with exaggerated care. “This is pure honesty, YN. Your sister’s a vision, though I'm not sure she sees it herself.”

Ella finally looked up, one eyebrow arched. “Perhaps that’s ‘cause it’s hard to see with all the bluster in here. Is it flattery or just another of your tales, Ni?”

Arthur laughed as he climbed onto his chair, his wooden sword clattering to the floor. “Tell a tale, Niall!” He urged, his eyes bright.

He obliged with a grand sweep of his arm. “Ah, tales are easy to tell when the company’s fine.” His gaze drifted meaningfully to Ella, who only smirked, clearly unbothered.

“Enough of your foolishness, Horan.” YN’s mother cut in, though her tone was warm as she dished the stew into the bowls. “There'll be time for tales when your stomach’s full. Now, all of you—sit, before this stew turns cold.”

They settled around the table, the simple meal set before them steaming in the flickering firelight. YN ladled out servings, keeping her own expression solemn as she dished out the rather grayish stew. Niall took a tentative sip, raising his brows in mock surprise.

“Well, I'll be,” he declared, setting his bowl down as if astonished. “Tastes just like stew!”

YN kicked him under the table, rolling her eyes. “Don’t sound so shocked, else we’ll make you eat the scraps.”

Ella, watching them from across the table, hid a smile behind her hand. “It's better than you deserve,” she teased, offering Niall a faintly teasing look that sent Arthur into a fit of giggles.

As they settled into their meal, the conversation turned to the familiar rhythms of the day—the fish hauls, the scarcities at the market, the latest mischief Arthur had managed, and the townsfolk they’d seen along the way. Laughter bubbled up around the table, filling the small room with warmth as the stew slowly disappeared, their bowls clinking softly with each spoonful.

It wasn't until they’d nearly finished eating that YN’s mother’s voice turned low, a faint shadow crossing her face as she glanced at arthur. “Arthur,” she said gently, “I don't want to hear any more of you playin’ outside the town walls.”

The boy frowned, his spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “But ma, I’m careful,” he protested, glancing between her and YN as if hoping for support.

“She's right,” Ella added, her voice calm but firm. “The woods aren’t safe, especially with winter comin’ on.”

He looked to Niall, his face a mask of confusion and a bit of defiance. “Niall plays near the woods, don’t you?”

He shifted in his seat, his smile fading just slightly as he glanced at YN. “Aye, lad, but it’s different. I'm older, and I keep my wits about me. Besides,” he added lightly, though his voice held a trace of something darker, “there’s been talk of someone wanderin’ near the old watchtower.”

YN’s mother sighed, folding her hands on the table. “Too much talk.” She said quietly, her gaze drifting toward the narrow window. “I don’t care if s’only lore, you’ll be safe rather than sorry.”

A hush fell over the table, and Arthur's wide eyes darted from face to face. “Who is it, then?” He whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “A man?”

Ella reached over to ruffle his hair, her voice soft. “No one knows. could be a man, could be no more than shadows. But some say it’s best not to linger too close to it, just in case.”

Niall, watching Arthur's reaction, leaned in with a grin. “There now, it’s probably nothin’ more than a lonely ol’ fox. But best stick close to home, eh? Can’t have you disappearin’ on us.”

YN tried to keep her voice light as she chimed in, though she felt the faintest prickling unease beneath the laughter. “You heard him, Arthur. best keep to the town, else you might end up a story yourself.”

The boy’s eyes grew even wider, and he gulped, glancing nervously toward the window as if expecting to see the mysterious figure standing just beyond. He fidgeted, his hand reaching instinctively for his wooden sword on the floor beside him.

With a faint, tired sigh, YN’s mother rose and began clearing the table, signaling the end of the meal. The warm glow of the evening seemed to have dimmed, and even Niall’s usual cheer was muted as he helped gather the bowls, his gaze drifting back to the light flickering along the walls.

Outside, the wind picked up, brushing against the windows and rattling the latch ever so slightly, a whisper against the warmth of the firelight. The small house was silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought, each glancing occasionally toward the dark window where the night gathered, close and watchful.

Morning seeped slowly into Dover, pale and cool, bringing with it the damp scent of the sea and the faint call of gulls overhead. YN was awake early, as was her habit, slipping quietly out of bed while the house still lingered in the soft dimness of dawn. The fire in the hearth had died to embers, and a chill clung to the air, but she moved quickly, tucking a shawl around her shoulders as she crossed the small room.

Arthur, already up and dressed, was tugging at the latch on the back door, eager to start his morning chores. He looked back when he heard her steps, his face lighting up with a grin. “Thought you’d sleep through it, lazybones.” He teased, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.

She snorted softly, pinching his cheek as she passed him. “Cheeky lad,” she muttered. “Come on, then. Let's get to it.”

They stepped out into the brisk morning, their breath puffing in the cold, and began making their way down the narrow stone path that wound through the small patch of yard behind their home. Frost clung to the grass, glinting in the pale light, and the chickens shuffled restlessly in their pen as Arthur went to check on them.

“Careful now.” 

He bent down next to them to scatter their feed. The hens fluffed their feathers, clucking contentedly as they pecked at the ground, and Arthur kept one eye on the rooster, who strutted about with his chest puffed, keeping watch over his domain.

“Look at him,” he whispered, stifling a laugh as he threw a handful of seed. “Thinks he’s king of all creation, that one.”

She grinned, crouching beside him. “Well, he’s a rooster. not much else to do but look important, is there?”

The boy giggled, tossing a bit of feed toward the rooster, who eyed him warily before puffing up even further. YN kept watch as he finished the feeding, carefully securing the pen’s latch when he was done.

They moved on to check the small patch of herbs and vegetables that clung to life in the early cold, though the frost had already done its damage. The leaves hung limp and dark, and YN  frowned, brushing a thin layer of frost from a withered cabbage leaf.

“S’not lookin’ good, is it?” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a murmur as he followed her gaze.

“No,” she replied softly, her fingers brushing over the leaves. “But we’ll manage. Always do.”

He gave her a solemn nod, but she could see the worry in his eyes, the way he seemed to glance toward the woods, as if he might glimpse the shadowed figure their mother had warned him about the night before. She reached over and squeezed his shoulder, offering a smile.

“No need for lookin’ so glum, Arthur,” she said, keeping her tone light. “We've plenty to keep us busy, and I'll wager you’ll see that rooster crowned king before anything happens to us.”

He managed a faint smile, his spirits lifting just enough to reassure her. They finished up quickly, making their way back inside, where the warmth of the house greeted them. YN set about preparing a quick meal for Arthur and her mother, who was just beginning to stir, her tired eyes softening at the sight of her children.

Once breakfast was sorted, YN returned to her small room to ready herself for the day. She tugged off her worn nightdress, slipping into the fresh linen undergarments she’d set aside, and carefully pulled on a plain woolen dress that hung neatly from a peg beside her bed. It was a simple dress, but a neat one, its modest collar and long sleeves making it suitable for the chilly weather. she straightened the fabric, adjusting the waist so that it lay just right, and wrapped her shawl back over her shoulders, pinning it at the front with an old, weathered brooch that had once belonged to her grandmother.

She caught her reflection in the small, scratched mirror by the window—a young woman with steady eyes and a hint of determination in her gaze, her hair braided behind her, a few strands slipping free to frame her face. After a moment, she tucked a few stray wisps behind her ear and gave herself a brisk nod, turning to head out.

The streets were beginning to stir as she made her way down to the docks, the early morning light casting a soft, muted glow over the cobblestone. A few shopkeepers were already sweeping their doorsteps, preparing for the day’s trade, and a handful of townsfolk passed by, nodding their greetings as she walked.

When she reached the docks, she found Niall already there, standing by his boat, his hands working quickly to secure the ropes. His coat hung loose over his shoulders, and his hair was tousled from the morning breeze, but there was a contented look in his eyes as he glanced up and saw her approach.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen of the cabbage patch,” he greeted her, a grin breaking across his face. “Come to see if I've hauled in a king’s feast for ye?”

YN rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she stopped a few feet away from him. “I wouldn't go that far. but I'll settle for a decent fish, if you’ve managed one.”

He laughed, giving the rope a final tug before stepping back, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Oh, a decent fish, she says. Well, lucky for you, I've got just that.” He reached into a small wooden crate and held up a plump haddock, its scales glinting in the early light. “Not a king’s ransom, but it’ll do for stew, won’t it?”

She eyed the fish, unable to suppress a smile. “Aye, it’ll do. Might even save us from havin’ to wrangle another cabbage.”

Niall chuckled, tucking the fish back into the crate. “Couldn’t have that, now, could we? I’m doin’ my part to keep your cookin’ passable.”

“Passable?” She laughed, nudging him lightly as she stepped up beside him to peer into the crate. “You’re just glad to have an excuse to come round, steal our bread, and charm my sister.”

He gave her a mock-offended look, though his eyes glinted with humor. “Now, that’s hurtful, YN. I'm here for the food and the fine company, naturally. If your sister happens to be nearby, well, that’s not my fault, is it?”

She rolled her eyes, unable to help the small laugh that escaped. “Poor Ella’ll need more than a fish to be impressed. Best not get your hopes up too high.”

“Aye, she’s a hard one to please,” he admitted, a faint, wistful smile crossing his face. “But I'll manage somehow. or at least, I'll keep tryin’.”

They both fell silent, their gazes drifting out over the water, where a thin mist clung to the surface, casting an eerie calm over the harbor. The other boats rocked gently in the quiet, and the gulls called out above them, their cries echoing faintly across the empty stretch of sea. Together they turned back toward the town, the mist curling softly around them as they walked, side by side, in the quiet of the morning.

The midday lull brought a hush over the town, as folk took their brief respite between the day’s labors. The soft light of afternoon slipped over the rooftops, and YN found herself winding her way down one of the quieter streets toward Maura’s, a modest little cottage that doubled as the gathering place for the women in town. Here, around a crowded table of mismatched cups and chipped saucers, town gossip simmered as steadily as the tea.

Maura's door was open, the sound of voices spilling out into the cobbled lane, and YN slipped in quietly, greeting the women with a polite nod before finding a seat near the end of the table. The familiar faces of neighbors turned to greet her—Maura herself, with her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the kitchen, mrs. Harris with her ever-watchful eyes, and a handful of others who paused only long enough to give YN a quick nod before returning to the subject that had clearly held their interest long before she arrived.

“I'm tellin’ you,” mrs. Harris was saying, her voice low and edged with certainty. “There's somethin’ in that tower. maybe it’s a spy, maybe it’s worse.”

Maura scoffed, shaking her head. “If it were a spy, we’d know by now, wouldn’t we? why bother lurkin’ about if there’s nothin’ worth seein’ here?”

“There’s plenty to see, Maura,” the older woman sighed, leaning forward, her teacup nearly sloshing over the rim as she gestured toward the window. “Who’s to say he hasn’t been watchin’ us all along, takin’ note of who’s loyal to the new king and who’s not?”

Maura snorted, but one of the other women, Anna, leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. “or worse—what if it’s no man at all?” Her gaze darted to the others, her eyes wide with a kind of fearful excitement. “There are tales, you know. Of things that wander the woods. Spirits that linger in dark places, things that only come out when the days grow short.”

Mrs. Harris crossed herself, nodding solemnly. “Aye. folk say it’s a night creature—a demon, even.“

YN listened quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup, but she held back a smile. as the women exchanged anxious looks, she leaned back, sipping her tea, the warmth of it calming her nerves. To her, the stories felt like little more than old wives’ tales—a way for folk to pass the time when the days grew cold and bleak. A lonely man, perhaps, who’d taken to the tower for solitude, a soul with nowhere else to go. Nothing so sinister as the women here believed.

“You've a skeptical look about you, dear” Maura said, catching her eye with a wry smile. “Don’t tell me you’d walk up to that tower yourself, would you?”

She met her gaze calmly, setting her cup down. “I'd sooner believe it’s a wanderer, Maura. Maybe one who wants peace more than anything else. Don’t see why we should fear him.”

“Peace, or no peace, he’s still up there, watchin’ us all.”

YN didn’t reply, only nodded politely as the conversation swirled on, the voices around her swelling in speculation and rumor. After a while, she quietly rose, setting her cup aside and offering Maura a grateful nod before slipping out the door and into the fresh air.

The chatter of the women faded behind her, and she took a deep breath, the cool air filling her lungs and clearing her thoughts. She knew she was unlikely to shake their unease or convince them of her view, but as she thought of the lonely figure up in the tower, something tugged at her—a kind of curiosity that gnawed gently at the back of her mind.

Without a second thought, she made her way home, moving quickly and quietly, her mind already set. She slipped through the door, pausing only to grab her small woven basket from its hook. Her mother glanced up, but YN offered her a calm smile, murmuring something vague about a quick errand before supper.

IN the small corner of their kitchen where they kept their stores, she selected a handful of berries from the last of their foraging, a few slightly bruised carrots, and a small bunch of herbs tied with a thin scrap of cloth. Modest offerings, but enough, she hoped, to serve as a token of peace, a sign that she meant no harm.

She took a deep breath and headed toward the edge of town, her footsteps light as she made her way past the familiar lanes and toward the narrow path that led up to the old watchtower.

The path leading to the watchtower was narrow, winding its way up the hillside in gentle, uneven curves. YN had walked these woods many times before, though never with the purpose she had now. Above her, the sky was beginning to darken, clouds gathering in ominous clumps, casting long shadows across the land as the sun slipped lower.

Her heart thudded in her chest, not from fear, but from a strange mixture of curiosity and anticipation. The stories she’d heard that morning lingered in her mind like faint echoes, each warning a small reminder of the mystery ahead. But she felt something else too—a quiet resolve, an odd certainty that she had to see this figure, whoever he might be, with her own eyes.

The watchtower loomed before her, its crumbling stone walls climbing into the sky, weather-worn and scarred by time. She could see now why the townsfolk feared it; it looked like a relic from another era, half-hidden by the dense growth of ivy and the creeping fog that clung to the base of its walls. It was silent here, too silent, as if even the birds dared not sing in the shadow of the old tower.

Steeling herself, she moved forward, her footsteps muffled by the damp earth. The closer she got, the more the watchtower’s age showed itself in cracked stones and vines, a darkness that seemed to pool between the stones, deepening the gray of the twilight. At the base of the tower, a narrow door sat slightly ajar, barely wide enough for her to slip through. She paused there, glancing up, feeling an odd twinge of nervousness as her gaze drifted to the upper windows, dark and empty.

Drawing a deep breath, she pushed the door open, stepping into the dim interior.

The inside of the tower was colder, the air thick and still. Faint light seeped through cracks in the walls, just enough to reveal the sparse furnishings—a wooden table, books, a chair beside the hearth, long since gone cold. Dust motes hung in the air, catching the dim light like fragments of stars, and a faint, earthy smell lingered in the space, as though the room hadn’t seen another soul in years.

Yet something else lingered too, something that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle—a sense that she wasn’t alone.

A figure stepped forward from behind a wall, emerging so quietly she almost missed it. He was tall, with dark curls that tumbled around his face, shadows clinging to his features as though he belonged to the darkness itself. His eyes met hers, a piercing green that seemed to hold an entire century’s worth of secrets, and for a brief, unsettling moment, she felt as though he could see straight through her.

“What brings you here?” His voice was low, quiet, each word clipped and precise, yet holding a softness that surprised her.

YN swallowed, her hand instinctively tightening around the basket she held. “I–I thought you might be hungry,” she stammered, offering the basket forward with a hesitant smile. “Folk talk of you up here, you know. Thought it might be nice to see if you wanted some company.”

He raised a brow, a faint trace of amusement softening his gaze. He didn’t reach for the basket, but instead continued to watch her, as though trying to make sense of why she would come here, alone, to his solitary refuge.

Didn’t seem exactly the safest thing.

“People rarely visit me,” he said finally, his voice barely more than a murmur, as though he were speaking more to himself than to her. “Especially not with offerings.”

“Well, it’s no great feast,” she laughed breathily—nervous, setting the basket down on the table. “But it’s enough for a quiet meal.”

He looked down at the basket, his expression unreadable. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he would turn her away. But then his gaze shifted back to her, gentle, as though something in her gesture had reached him in a way she couldn’t quite understand.

“I don’t need much,” he breathed, finally stepping closer, his movements careful, almost tentative. “But thank you.”

The silence stretched between them as Harry’s eyes lingered on her, his regard tracing every movement of her face, the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her lips pressed together as if searching for words. He could feel it—her pulse thrumming in her neck, the warmth radiating from her skin, the soft, steady rhythm of blood rushing through her veins. It was maddening. The sound alone clawed at the quiet corners of his mind, stirring that old, cursed hunger he’d worked so hard to bury.

But he couldn’t let her see that. Couldn’t let even a flicker of it touch his face.

With a composed nod, he turned his attention to the basket, using the small action to steady himself, to pull his focus away from her and fix it on the modest offering she’d brought. Herbs and roots, earthy and clean, none of it touched by blood. He forced his breath to steady, aware of her watchful eyes on him as he sorted through the items, careful to keep his hands stable.

“Are you here… often?” She asked softly, breaking the silence in a voice that felt almost hesitant, as though unsure whether it was allowed. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the sparse surroundings, the thick shadows that crept into every corner.

Harry let his fingers linger on a sprig of thyme, keeping his voice level as he answered. “Yes,” he confided simply, his tone giving nothing away. “I find it… peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” she echoed, a faint smile touching her lips as she looked back at him. “It doesn’t frighten you, being all alone up here?”

He allowed himself the smallest of smiles—him—frightened? How sweetly ironic. “Sometimes solitude is easier than the alternative.”

She studied him, and he could feel the weight of her eyes, searching for something beneath his answer. Her heartbeat quickened just a bit, a small, steady thump that seemed to reach straight through him, its warmth coiling like a spark inside his chest. He could almost taste it—the sweet, heady pull of her pulse.

But he forced the thought down, burying it beneath years of restraint. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, redirecting the focus onto her. “And what about you?” he asked, his tone soft but steady. “Doesn’t it frighten you to come all this way, alone?”

She gave a small laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe it should. But I suppose I don’t scare easily.” She paused, her gaze slipping to the narrow window where the trees outside swayed gently in the wind. “It’s quiet here, almost like a different world. Sometimes it feels like our town is shrinking, like it’s closing in. Out here, it’s–it’s freer.”

Harry’s gaze softened, though he said nothing. There was something in her words he understood, something that echoed faintly in his own memories of why he’d chosen this place—this forgotten, lonely tower—to escape. A life he could no longer live, a curse he couldn’t risk unleashing.

She looked back at him, curiosity bright in her eyes. “People say you’ve been here a long time—I mean, they say the tower’s been abandoned forever. But you don’t seem…” She trailed off, biting her lip as though she didn’t quite know how to finish.

“Don’t seem what?” he asked, his voice low, inviting her to continue.

She waited, and he watched her carotid flicker in her throat as she searched for her words. “You don’t seem like someone who belongs in a place like this,” she murmured. “Like you’ve got more in you than—than just seclusion.”

He felt a tug deep in his chest at her words, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time—a faint longing, a half-forgotten ache for a life he’d once dreamed of. But that life was gone. He’d buried it the night he’d been turned, when the world as he knew it had collapsed into a semblance of hell.

“It’s strange,” he replied carefully, his eyes drifting toward the flickering shadows on the wall. The hunger gnawed at him, unrelenting, every second reminding him of how close he was to her. She was standing barely a foot away, her warmth filling the small space, her heartbeat a steady, maddening drumbeat that drew him closer, closer…

He straightened slightly, pulling himself back. “Solitude,” he said quietly, almost as if reminding himself, “sometimes feels simpler.”

She nodded slowly, but her eyes stayed on him, and he could see the spark of curiosity still there, unquenched. She was brave, this girl. Far braver than most. And something about that bravery—the quiet way she stood her ground in the face of shadows and rumors, in the presence of a stranger—intrigued him. She wasn’t running away. And a part of him, despite everything, wanted her to stay.

“Thank you,” he mumbled—almost a dismissal, gesturing to the basket, his voice softened with a touch of genuine gratitude. “Not many would bring gifts to a stranger. Especially not one so isolated.”

She smiled, her cheeks flushing faintly in the dim light. “Well, maybe I’ll bring something better next time,” she replied with a small laugh. “If you’d want that.”

He paused, her words lingering in the air between them. Next time. It felt dangerous, allowing the thought of it, letting her return. But as she looked at him, her smile warm and unguarded, he found himself nodding almost without thinking.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I’d like that.”

But even as he spoke, he felt the old thirst stir beneath his words, a dark reminder that she was flesh and blood, and he was anything but.

Harry watched her retreating figure until the last of her shadow disappeared down the winding path. The silence settled thick around him once more, yet it felt different now, charged with the lingering warmth of her presence. The faint echo of her heartbeat still pulsed in his mind, like a phantom drum that refused to fade. He drew in a slow, deliberate breath, pushing down the hunger that had clawed so violently to the surface, fighting a void that had nearly overpowered him the entire time she’d stood there.

He had always been a weak man for the living.

Turning back into the tower, he closed the door and leaned against it, his hand flexing as he grappled with that old, familiar agony, the ache that thrummed through his veins whenever he was near a human. After all these years, after countless nights spent mastering his restraint, he still struggled. The curse was unrelenting—an obstinate thirst that he could never truly silence, only suppress.

Memories rose in him unbidden, dark and sharp, clawing their way out of the places he kept them buried. He could still recall the crisp air of that autumn night in 1601, back when he was alive, when he’d believed his life was bound for something beautiful. He’d been a poet then, a young man enamored with language, eager to make something of himself. He’d had dreams of attending university, of pursuing a life dedicated to literature and ideas, a life where he could spend his days wrapped in thought and art.

But all of that had been shattered in a single night. He had been walking back from a small tavern in London, tipsy and laughing, still reciting lines of poetry in his head, the night air filling him with a light, exhilarating hope. He remembered it so clearly—the dimly lit street, the damp chill creeping into his coat, the rough hand that had seized him by the throat and dragged him into an alley. He’d thought it was a robber at first, maybe a cutthroat from the docks looking for a quick coin.

But then he’d seen his attacker’s face.

The man’s eyes were inhuman, glinting with a feral hunger, and his skin was pale, almost translucent in the moonlight. Harry had fought, struggling against the impossible strength of those arms, but it had been useless. The man had pinned him down with a brutal ease, baring his teeth—a flash of something razor-sharp, malevolent—before sinking them deep into Harry’s throat. The pain had been excruciating, and then everything had gone dark, his life draining away into a cold, endless void.

He hadn’t known what had happened to him for days afterward. He’d awoken alone, hidden in the dark recesses of a forgotten basement, his body shuddering with an unholy thirst that tore through him like wildfire. The transformation had left him a half-mad, hollow shell, consumed by an insatiable need he didn’t understand. He’d stumbled through the streets, eyes wild, hunting without even knowing what he was hunting for. And when he’d finally cornered a man in the dead of night, tearing into his throat with a frenzy he could barely comprehend, he’d learned what he had become.

The first months were a blur of blood and horror, a nightmare he hadn’t known how to escape. He had been controlled by an ache, a greed—enslaved by it, a wretched creature lost to bloodlust. He’d fought it as best he could, but each time he tried to resist, the thirst only grew stronger, until he was reduced to a brutal, savage need that erased everything else.

It had been a year later, in 1602, when he encountered another vampire. His name was Thomas, a wily, unrepentant creature who fed freely and without remorse. Thomas had found Harry alone and ravenous, nearly mad from weeks of starvation in an attempt to restrain himself. He’d taken Harry under his wing, teaching him how to survive in this new, cursed life, how to hunt, how to kill cleanly. But while Harry had been grateful for the guidance, he quickly saw that Thomas reveled in the whispers of the devil, that he viewed humanity as little more than prey. He was malignant. 

His own heart was too soft for such cruelty. He’d hated the feel of human flesh beneath his hands, the way his victims’ eyes widened in terror as he held them down, the way their life drained away in his grasp. He hadn’t wanted this life. But the need was too powerful, too all-consuming, and he had been too weak to fight it.

And then, in 1643, came the night that shattered him completely.

Her name had been Beatrice—a young woman from Manchester, one of the few souls who’d looked past his oddity, his quiet reserve, and seen something in him worth knowing. She’d been kind, curious, always showing up at his door with a warm smile, her laughter lighting up his otherwise bleak existence. For months, she’d been a balm to him, her presence a brief reprieve from the loneliness that gnawed at him. He’d been so careful around her, so painfully restrained, never allowing himself to get too close. But one night, after days of starvation, he had faltered. She’d come to visit him, concern etched on her face, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek.

And in that moment, he’d lost himself.

The memory of that night was burned into him like a scar, the scent of her blood, the warmth of it cascading from his lips and developing him whole— the sound of her heart slowing as he drank from her—all of it haunted him, even now, decades later. He had tried to pull away, tried to stop himself, but the hunger had overpowered him, consuming her life, taking everything she had. When he finally came to his senses, she lay cold and pale in his arms, her eyes staring up at him, empty and accusing.

After that, he’d fled, haunted by the horror of what he’d done, determined never to let it happen again. He’d hidden himself away in this tower, learning to feed from the animals that roamed the forest, forcing himself to endure the hunger rather than inflict his curse on another innocent soul. He would never again allow himself to feel that agony, that terrible loss.

And yet tonight, with her presence in his small, empty world, something had stirred in him, a strange, aching reminder of what it meant to be human, to crave connection, companionship. It was dangerous, foolish to even entertain such thoughts, yet he couldn’t deny the faint spark she had left behind.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly, steadying the wild, restless energy that surged in him. She couldn’t come back. He couldn’t risk it. He would have to find a way to make her think the tower was haunted, or evil—something to scare her off for good. Because he knew himself, knew that he was a creature of hunger, bound to a curse he couldn’t escape.

And if she returned—he wasn’t sure how long he could resist.

[azen13]

Hello

might I request the grass ring for purchase?

A Promise To Keep

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Grass Ring: A small, shoddily-woven ring made from dead grass, containing echoes of childhood promises uttered in a land of frost. Maybe the ring’s maker, after disappearing from the world for three months before returning, acted on those vows.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CW: Yandere Themes, Kidnapping, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Implied Murder, Blood

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Snezhnayan summers are always brief and fleeting. For only a few weeks a year, gray skies part like curtains to let the smiling sun gaze over every mile of the land of frost. Withered fields of grass sway with new vigor, trees awaken from their winter slumber, and flowers bloom in all sorts of stunning shades and hues. It’s also one of the few respites you have from aiding your father and siblings in tending to the house. With the icy waters bordering Morepesok rapidly thawing, the ship your mother sails has finally docked; with her return comes both the occasional small sack of Mora sneakily smuggled from her pocket to yours, as well as a gentle push to go and enjoy the fair weather while it lasts.

With windmilling limbs, you scramble out the front door into the bustling streets of town, and head off to your favorite place. It’s a little past where the dirt path ends: over a fallen tree, down a ravine, back up the other side, and just to the right of the raspberry bushes. Making your way through the last few trees, you find yourself in a quaint clearing. For a moment, you think the world is frozen in amber–both from the tranquility you feel, and how everything from the tallest tree to the smallest fern is bathed in a gilded glow.

“Hi there!”

A squeaky voice shatters the illusion of permanence and manages to make you stumble backwards until you slam into a sturdy spruce tree trunk. Looking into the tall grass, you manage to spot a single sapphire blue eye, then another. With a rustle, a flame of ginger hair and a grin that could span the whole of Teyvat pops out from the brush, framed by a speckling of freckles. “Who are you? What are you doing here? My name’s Ajax, what’s yours?” The boy practically pelts you with a myriad of questions, eyes sparkling with interest.

You mumble your name in response, eyes falling down in fear and disappointment. You had hoped to enjoy some time soaking in the solitude of this little slice of paradise, but the journey seems to have been all for naught. 

You quickly learn the entire life story of Ajax, who follows you home after you tell him you had gotten lost in the woods. He lives in Morepesok with his large family, he likes adventuring, and he likes fishing with his father. Also, he likes you, evidenced by the fact that he won’t leave you alone.

Tailing from behind, still rambling incoherently about all sorts of things, Ajax doesn’t seem to take the obvious hints that you want to be left alone. “...and the fish we caught was THIS big! A-and me and my dad brought it home, and my little sis–I told you about Tonia, right? She’s my younger sister, she’s about this tall and she really likes…” His mouth is a never-ending river of words that only ceases when you slam the door to your home shut.

Hopefully you can go tomorrow and enjoy the warm summer sun before the chill of winter returns once more.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

He’s there when you come tomorrow again. And the next day. And the day after that, until eventually, summer’s brief stint has faded away, only to return in a year. At least, you think, you won’t have to ever see Ajax until.

How wrong you are.

It seems the boy is practically camped outside of your house, watching your every move. If you’re carrying groceries, he’s quick to sidle next to you and take them into his own hands. He must think he’s being chivalrous, but you disagree. You try to fight the constant barrage, but find yourself crumbling under it after a while. You start answering his questions, asking some of your own, even. He’s not horrible, just a little overeager.

Soon, you’re happy to call Ajax a friend.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The promise is made on a brisk fall evening, snow and leaves blanketing the ground like a patchwork quilt of white and orange. The two of you sit in a small clearing surrounded by tall grass; you’re reading a book while Ajax breaks blades of grass and fiddles with them in his hands.

“We should get married.”

You frown and close your book. “Why?

“Why not?”

“Because we’re thirteen, your dad doesn’t like me, and my parents think you’re a weirdo,” you say.

Ajax huffs and crosses his arms. He’s pouting, but you can tell it’s just to cover his amusement. You’d both gotten good at that–reading each other like books, able to point out your favorite chapters and lines. “Well we could do it in secret. Or even do it when we’re older,” he says. An epiphanic look flashes on his face, and he snatches a few more blades of grass. Tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, you watch as he weaves and contorts the grass until they form a small ring. 

With eyes full of starlight, he presents the ring to you. “C’mon, please? Just promise me.”

You sigh and hold your hand out. “Okay, okay, fine. If you’ll stop being so annoying, sure.” Immediately, he slides the ring on your finger, boyish glee dancing in ocean-blue eyes. “Pinky promise?” He demands, holding his pinky finger out expectantly.

Of course Ajax would ask to pinky swear on it. The boy always kept his promises.

“Fine.” You loop your pinky around his for a moment, before letting go. “Now let me get back to reading.”

Ajax only laughs, though his eyes stay glued on you.

You didn’t realize that this was both the last time you would ever see Ajax again, and the moment your fate in life was sealed.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Days later, you receive the news. Ajax is missing. Supposedly he had gotten lost in the woods. You spent the next few days in a perpetual state of distress, constantly tearing through branches and brambles, desperate to find your friend.

It didn’t take long until he’s found, though not by you. The moment you hear, you race over to his house and knock on the door. Ajax’s dad, however, is the one to greet you. He’s a tall, lanky man with scars that cut through his face and a permanent scowl marring his cracked lips. At the sight of you standing outside his door, his ire only deepens. “Ajax isn’t here. He’s with the Fatui.” 

With that, he swings the door shut and lets it slam only inches from your face.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Time moves on,  and you let your life take its course. You take up a job planning shipping routes for merchants, and find yourself falling in half-hearted love with a sailor. 

He’s a good man. But he is not the man you love.

Soon enough, encouraged by family and friends, a ring is slid on your finger. It’s a simple band of silver, yet it feels like a chain around your heart.

You accept your life for what it is. That is, until one morning, you wake up to still air beside you instead of a warm body. Unknowing of what has actually happened, you get up quietly and begin getting ready for the day. 

After putting on some clothes, you go to the small foyer of your little home, ready to go down to the docks and start working. But when you swing open the door, dull blue eyes as deep as the sea meet yours, a monstrous grin splitting a stranger’s face open. “Aw, it’s been so long! It’s so good to see you.” The man walks past you into your home as though he’s lived there his whole life. As he walks, you notice he’s trailing something in behind you.

Blood. It’s blood. When he turns back to face you, you notice droplets of blood speckled on his cheeks like freckles. He’s still smiling.

“Get out of my house,” you say.

“Or what?”

You hesitate. It’s not like Morepesok has an official police, or even anything close to a militia. “Or I’ll scream.”

The stranger’s smile melts away like snow under the sun, and he steps closer to you. “Don’t you remember who I am?” He asks. 

At the sight of you shaking your head, and you taking another step away from him, the stranger tsks and stalks forwards. A hand moves forward, so fast all you can see is a blur of motion before it captures your jaw, claims it. Its fingers force your face forwards, straight into those storming eyes. “What a shame,” the man sighs, his other hand slinking behind your back. “We made a promise, darling.”

His words shoot like icicles into your heart, rendering you speechless for a moment. “A-Ajax?” You murmur, body beginning to fall limp. The only thing holding you upright are his hands, firm against your skin.

Ajax smiles, but it isn’t a sweet smile of summer innocence. His smile is jagged and icy, full of frost. “It’s me,” he confirms. You can vaguely see mirth swimming in his eyes, as though he thinks you’re so shocked to see him, so elated to know he’s still here. But in truth, you’re terrified. After all, it’s not exactly a challenge to make the connection between the blood on Ajax’s cheek and your missing husband.

“Did…did you?”

“Come on, darling,” Ajax responds, sweeping you off your feet into a bridal carry. “We made a promise, didn’t we? And you know how the saying goes.” The man chuckles quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We made a promise. And you broke it.” For a moment, you feel fear unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. “But don’t worry. I know that you didn’t want to marry him. You were waiting all those years for me, weren’t you?” He presses another kiss to your head, holding you closer.

You try to speak, but Ajax shushes you. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you what real love looks like.” With a steady gait, he begins walking outside, looping around your home to where a carriage is waiting. Gently, he brings you inside and deposits you on a bench. His eyes are full of hunger.

“That’s a promise.”

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part nineteen

summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.3k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: i'm sorry it took me so long to post this omg i am behind on writing bc i'm so sick but i'm also trying to get ahead on requiem BUT-

Important Announcement!!:

cold nights will officially have a season 3! i wasn't sure but i had a good idea for what the epilogue would be and then i realized it would be so much better as another fully developed idea. so, that will be coming soon!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

Coryo smiles as you run up ahead of him, picking up his pace slightly and dropping his bag next to yours.

Some of the others are already stripped down to their bathing suits and running down the dock. It is beautiful here, not that he ever doubted you.

He watches as you peel off your dress, another short one similar to the one you had worn for most of the time he'd known you. This one wasn't sewn in at the middle, so you can slip it quickly over your head. Your bathing suit must have been homemade, too, and it allowed him to see how the bruises and scratches on your back were all but healed while you toss your dress to the ground. He notices quickly that it was exactly the same as Lucy Gray's, maybe your mother had made you matching ones. That's so sweet.

Your skin looked so beautifully soft- just like it should have the first time he saw it, spare for the scars on your calf and your arm, it was just what he imagined.

You kick your shoes off, and the wood of the dock is hot against your bare feet as you run down to the end, diving head-first off to the side to avoid jumping right onto any of your friends.

It seemed to Coryo that you weren't afraid anymore as you briefly looked back at him while you were running. The excited scream you let out when you lept from the dock made his heart flutter. This is exactly what he had wanted, from the very beginning.

When Coryo jumps in behind you, you can hear his shout and feel the water shift around you as his body breaks the surface. You turn under the water, its clarity allowing you to see where everyone is. You loved this. The memories of this lake kept you safe, almost. You can hear muffled laughter above the water, deciding to take your time before coming up for air. You didn't need it just yet.

You swim away from everyone deep under the surface, scanning the lake floor for anything interesting. Really, it was just sticks and rocks and mud, but one day you may find something else exciting, but not today.

"Where is she going?" Coryo comments, watching your body as you kick away deeper under the water.

"Wherever she wants." Lennox answers plainly, treading water as he stares at him.

"She's looking for secrets." Maude Ivory giggles, splashing him in the face. At least she gave him somewhat of an answer.

He quickly lifts an arm to block the wave, but it fails miserably. "What kind of secrets will she find at the bottom of the lake?" He coughs out, wiping the water from his eyes.

"Once we found a watch." Lucy Gray shrugs, looking from him to you. "Which is odd because we didn't know anyone else knew about this place. The secrets are what happens when we aren't here."

You hardly noticed the lack of oxygen until it almost felt too late, quickly swimming up and pushing your hair out of your face so you don't inhale it by mistake.

"Anything good today?" Lucy Gray shouts over to you as soon as she's noticed you've come up.

"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so!" You pant, pushing yourself through the water back toward her.

"So, that's a no?" Sejanus asks and you laugh, shaking your head.

"Just rocks and sticks." You explain, joining them again and bumping shoulders with Lucy Gray. "Some weeds, if that's your fancy."

"Oh, yes, that's right up my alley." Sejanus chuckles, cupping his hands to block out the glare of the sun as he looks down into the water anyway.

"I've never been to a lake before," Coryo says, breathing heavily as the waves from the kids splashing keep coming up too close to his face.

"What? Really?" Lucy Gray and Sejanus ask in unison, and you smile at him.

He nods, eyes locking with yours. You feel the need to say something. "Is it everything you dreamt of?" You ask.

"Just about." He grins.

"Oh? What's missing?" You giggle.

Oh, only being able to hold you without retraumatizing you.

"It's not that anything is missing," He comes up with as an excuse. "There's just more birds than I expected."

"Oh, yeah. They like it out here." You hum, looking up at the trees while Lucy Gray whistles out a tune for them to mimic. You smile. "Why, you don't like birds either?"

"Never been the biggest fan, no." He chuckles.

The birds echo her song back to you repeatedly. Coryo turns around to watch as if there was anything to see besides these black birds flitting around the trees and above the cabin. "What kind of birds are they?" He asks. "I've never seen that before."

"We call 'em Mockingjays." Lucy Gray tells him.

"'Cause they'll mock ya if you mess up the song!" Clerk Carmine jumps in, climbing onto Lucy Gray's back under the water.

"Oh, I wouldn't know." Your friend teases him, gripping tight onto the boy's legs as he starts to shout. He knows what's about to happen, and clearly you do too as Coryo watches you and your brother quickly swim out of their reach and closer to him.

You laugh, watching as Lucy Gray takes a big dramatic breath in and sinks under the surface of the water, pulling CC down with her as he screams and splashes.

The sun dried you quickly after you decided you had had enough of the water, climbing back out onto the dock and deciding to just lay your blanket there to dry off on while you took the book and snacks from your bag.

Coryo had been sitting with Lucy Gray and Sejanus, but they were just talking to each other more than him. Not that he could have paid much attention. He was just watching you.

"Can I go talk to her?" He asks with little regard for the conversation that he was interrupting.

They both look over at him. "I mean, you could try. Would that be okay?" Sejanus answers, looking to Lucy Gray for confirmation.

"No. Let her have her peace and quiet." Lennox interrupts as he walks back up in front of them, pulling his shirt back onto his now fully dried skin.

Lucy Gray sighs."Just... Don't be stupid." She advises Coryo, nodding him on. "Len, we'll be right here."

Your brother shakes his head slightly, glaring between the three of them with nothing short of adamant disapproval.

Coryo nods slightly, taking the preferable answer by getting up and heading back down onto the dock.

Lennox looks back over his shoulder to where he just was with Maude Ivory looking for katniss, before taking Coryo's spot on the deck.

"Did she not tell you anything about him?" Lennox mumbles to Lucy Gray, eyes locked on his sister and her 'friend' as he stands over her. "No, she must have- because you were at The Hob last week. You saw it."

"I saw a girl with a lot of unresolved trauma have an episode." Lucy Gray explains, watching Lennox take Coryo's spot next to her. "He made a mistake, but he wouldn't ever hurt her."

Your brother opens his mouth to argue, but Sejanus interrupts. "I know it isn't my place, but Lucy Gray is right. He would sooner die than hurt her."

"Okay, well, explain how he's sitting right next to her when he's already hurt her so bad she may never recover!" Lennox whispers, gesturing to the dock as if they couldn't already see you there.

"I'm not defending anything he's done. That's not what I meant." Sejanus explains. "I just mean he would never do it on purpose."

"Accidents are clearly bad enough."

"Len, he just wants to make amends now." Lucy Gray insists. "And she wants that. I know she does, she's really trying."

"Listen, if it helps..." Sejanus starts, looking back out at you and Coryo on the dock. He can tell how nervous his friend is, watching you intently as he picks at the wood finish beneath him and listening to you talk. "He really loves her. I know it's not my place to tell you that, but it was bad when she was gone. He hardly spoke a word to anyone, he wouldn't put her book down- it was really hard on him. We weren't sure if she had been executed for cheating, and it was killing him to be left in the dark."

"That's not love, that's guilt." Lennox mutters, watching you closely.

"What's the difference between love and guilt?" Lucy Gray asks him rhetorically. "He wouldn't feel guilty if he didn't care."

"The difference is he wouldn't have come here and made the same mistake again."

Lucy Gray bites into her lip, slightly shaking her head. That was an honestly good point.

"I was in the arena, too. I saw what he did." Sejanus says after a moment. "He saved my life, it was my fault. It was shocking... you know, the overkill, but I can't say for certain I wouldn't have done the same thing. We were both pumped so full of adrenaline that I truly believe that's what it was." He explains. "I mean, I was behind him, so I don't know what she saw- but it looked like adrenaline to me."

"How do you think she felt?" Lennox asks, eyes wide. "She was in there for three days! You and him were there for what, ten minutes?"

"Wait..." Lucy Gray backpedals, looking at Sejanus. "Sejanus, what do you mean you thought he was executed for cheating? Like, in the games?"

Sejanus swallows, nodding. He looks over at you but quickly looks away. "Yeah, uh... Coryo told me that she used rat poison to kill two of the others. And he did something to keep the snakes from biting her, but I don't think he was caught for that."

Your brother and best friend look at each other like they'd just seen a ghost before their eyes simultaneously track to you. You were laughing.

"She didn't... She didn't tell me that." Lucy Gray says quietly. "Did you know, Len?"

"No."

"That doesn't surprise me." Sejanus shrugs and they both look at him, shocked and confused. "Well, she doesn't know either. I don't think, definitely not about the snakes, but she told the Dean it was salt. That I gave her." He laughs slightly at the end, but they don't find it funny. "By the time she left, she was fully delusional about it. She knew what it was, Coryo gave it to her to protect herself because he needed her to win. She was really upset by the insinuation that it, in fact, was not salt."

Lucy Gray and Lennox look at each other again, unsure what to say. It must have been worse than they thought. Regardless, they knew it must be eating you alive.

"Can I join you?" You hear Coryo's voice above you after about ten minutes of listening to the mockingjays sing Lucy Gray's song back to her as she sat on the porch of the cabin. The sun was so warm on your skin that you could have fallen asleep here if you weren't reading your book.

You squint against the sun as you look up at him. "Yes, you may." You agree, and you feel him sitting down next to you as the wood creaks below him.

You find yourself holding your breath, even as you return to your book to try and remain relaxed.

He's not going to hurt you.

"What are you reading?" He asks after a moment, thinking your arms must be asleep for using them to hold the book and support your weight for so long.

"It's called 'Much Ado About Nothing'." You answer. "Another Shakespeare piece."

"Do you like it?" He asks, lifting his leg to rest his elbow on his knee while you sit up, crossing your legs and letting the book fall into your lap.

"I do." You smile down at the page. It is much more lighthearted than Romeo and Juliet, as much as you would have loved to come home and drown yourself in your favourite book- the boy next to you unintentionally made it impossible. God, you were so embarrassed by the letter you wrote to him. Your cheeks flush just think about it. All you did by surviving was make everything weird.

"Another tragedy?" He inquires, attempting to read some of the words on the page as it's opened on your lap.

"No." You chuckle, shaking your head. "It's a romantic comedy, actually."

"Oh, wow. You changed it up?" He asks, only somewhat shocked. It would only make sense that you couldn't handle much more tragedy since you've been home.

"I did." You smile. "It's quite funny."

"Will you read me your favourite part?" He suggests, watching your eyes as they light up with excitement from the request.

"Okay, so..." You quickly flip back through the pages and into the first act, scanning for the lines you're looking for. "Okay. Here." You pretend to clear your throat.

"In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one: so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature." You recite, dragging your finger along the page so he can track what you are reading. You remembered it, but it might have been easier for him to follow that way.

Coryo watched you the whole time, and by the end, you were a giggling mess. You thought it was absolutely hilarious, and he smiles at that.

"What does that mean?" He chuckles.

"So," You laugh, a hand pressed to your chest. "Basically, she's talking about how she was arguing with Benedick and won. The punchline is that she let him keep one of his wits, because if she didn't no one would be able to tell him from his horse."

Coryo laughs at that, shaking his head. "That is good." He agrees.

"Isn't it?" You smile. "It's a welcome change of pace."

"Yeah, Romeo and Juliet was... yikes." He says, ticking his jaw and peeling up some of the wood from the dock between you.

"You read it?" You ask quietly, eyes widening as you look over at him. It shouldn't shock you, he told you he would, and that he even looked forward to it. "What did you think?"

"Of course I did," Coryo nods. "I really enjoyed it."

"It doesn't seem like it..." You laugh nervously, looking down as you flip back to the page you were on before closing the book.

"No, truly. I did." He insists. "Just... for lack of a better term, it was tragic."

"Yes, well..." You chuckle, shrugging slightly and tucking your book back into the bag next to you.

"It was heartbreaking!" He laughs suddenly. "And that's your favourite?" He looks at you then, head tilted as he slightly shakes his head.

"Okay, so," You laugh, rolling your eyes. You were used to defending this to others who have tried reading it. "That's what makes it so beautiful. It's so touching, they died for each other thinking they were in love, but they also hardly knew each other. It forces you to wonder what could have been, and I like that."

"Okay, well, you're right." Coryo agrees. "I didn't like the ending, but that's the point, I suppose. The rest was good, it reminded me a lot of you."

"I think I forced a bias onto you. My apologies."

"You didn't force anything on me." He smiles, shaking his head. "All I knew is that you loved it, and that made it so much better."

Your cheeks flush as you busy yourself by pulling out the bag of cherries. "Would you like some?" You offer the bag to him and he reaches in, taking just a couple out and popping one into his mouth.

"I finished it all before you left." Coryo tells you, and you hold him out another empty paper bag to spit the pits into.

"That good?" You smile and he nods.

"Can I..." Coryo starts, and you tilt your head at him. He doesn't want to ruin your day by bringing this up. Everything on your face shows hope, even excitement for what he is going to say. "If you can't hear this stop me, but the book made great company in the mentor hall."

For a moment, he saw nervousness flicker behind your eyes, but still, you nodded. You wanted to hear anything he had to say- you just hoped you could stomach it.

"Oh, that's fine. I'm... I'm glad." You try and smile, distracting yourself by popping a cherry into your mouth.

"I was alone most of the time. I didn't go home." He tells you, trying to say what he wanted but still be as vague as possible.

"It must have been so horribly boring." You laugh nervously, swallowing the cherry pit as you reach for another of the small red fruits, picking the stem from it and flicking it into the lake.

"I wish it was." He replies, watching you closely to see if and when he's crossed a line. You nod in understanding, and he takes a nervous breath in. "I... The alternative was that I got sent home like some of my classmates. I wasn't going to leave until I had to."

'Until I had to.'

So he was forced to go in for Sejanus. Why on earth would they not send peacekeepers? Why another child?

"I... I appreciate that." You stammer out, looking down at your lap, noticing for the first time that your hands were trembling. "That must have been uncomfortable. I apologize."

Coryo furrows his brow at you. "No, I'm sorry. Why would you apologize to me?" He asks. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you. That I couldn't get you out."

"You did more than you had to." You say, voice quiet with your honesty.

"No." He shakes his head. "I had to do everything I did. I couldn't let you die."

"You saved my life, and... and-" It happens very suddenly when a tear falls down your cheek; you didn't even notice you were starting to panic.

"No, wait, I'm sorry, hey, don't cry..." Coryo says quickly. He wants to help, to do something, but he feels helpless. Again. He feels sick with the knowledge that he always says the wrong thing.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." You mumble, trying to wipe your eyes but you're finding it hard to speak.

"Don't be, please don't be sorry." He pleads with you, shifting so he's kneeling next to you, placing a hand on your back.

You almost jump away, head flying to look at him. He's just rubbing your back. He's only trying to help.

Instinctively, your eyes search for his. They aren't hard to find, and all you can see as you search them is worry. Nothing malicious. "I... Do you want me to get Lucy Gray? Or your brother?" He offers, grabbing your shaking hands in his free one. "Just take deep breaths."

You nod, scared to look away for even a second. So he has to.

Coryo turns back, swallowing his pride. "Lennox! Lucy Gray!" He shouts, drawing their attention quickly.

He accepted the berating he was about to get from your brother before it even came.

"What did you do?" Lennox asks him, forcing himself between the two of you.

"We were just talking and I think I said something- I don't know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." Coryo answers honestly, standing up and taking a step back.

You're watching him, intently, despite Lucy Gray taking over holding you and talking to you in hushed tones, trying to ease your mind.

"I'm okay." You tell her, nodding. You don't look at her, only watching him. Watching his eyes- but nothing changes. Baby blue. Worry. More worry.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie ,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

[kitmoas]

when the veneer crumbles

the sounds of water are always relaxing

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: **18+ MINORS DNI**, SMUT, dark and demonic themes, death, possession, drowning, magic use, Mommy kink

as per usual if there is anything I missed let me know

Author's Note: I'm so sorry this one was late, had a lot of car and financial shit I needed to figure out but I finally got it finished. This was one that i always knew how i wanted it to end, even from last year when i first planned it for the Occult series, but for some reason it was REALLY hard to put my idea into words. Hopefully it's not HORRIBLE, i'm a bit rusty after taking more then a few months off. The rest of them will be better I promise lol

Kitmoas | Necrosis Kitmoas | Navigation

The crickets in the distance are a welcome change to the busy streets of the city, cars honking 

nonstop during your work day. The world you live in is hectic and out of control but the farther you walk into the almost clear empty darkness the more you can feel the control you naively gain. Stepping into the barely touched woods behind the mostly abandoned house was something that you had missed, a childhood memory that had died suddenly. 

Allowing your mind to wander to the summers that you would spend here out on the lake, jumping off the dock, and laughing with your cousins was the welcome peace you needed as you settled along the rickety wood. Even if those fun times were cut short at your aunt’s sudden death, you knew that being here gave you just a moment of your innocence back. 

Stepping onto the rickety wood carefully, you cringe internally as your arm tightens momentarily around the rolled up soft blanket. You should have known better to bring a water proof material but it was too late for that. Knees cracking slightly as you lean down, the smooth fabric flaps in the wind and you sigh softly in relief as you are able to fully settle on the dock. Deciding to stretch out was a bit of a mistake, in your time away you forgot just how soothing the sound of water lapping at the damp wood was. 

Goosebumps spread across your skin as you slowly came to consciousness, brittle wind chilling you to the bone as you rub the sleep out of your eye. The fog is dense, and confusing as it was supposed to be a clear night. Slowly sitting up, your bones crack as you stretch as much as possible without rocking the dock too much. The unstable wood is loud even with the bare minimum movement causing you to flinch as it echoes across the empty field. 

Squinting through the haze, you try to figure out if you can gauge just how late it is by the placement of the moon. The only thing you can see is a weird tunnel out in the middle of the lake, almost like a tornado of gray. Immediate fear isn’t your first thought, though you begin to question just how awake you are. 

Condensation makes the wood wet, slipping as you try to stand up but it's the glowing red orbs in the distance that makes you freeze in your half crouched position. They are captivating even from afar. The air around you is thick, filled with the now red tinted fog that almost looks like it's bleeding. Heavy and molasses-like as it lays on your skin, eyes flickering around you try to make sense of your surroundings. 

When she gets close enough to see smaller details, your brain slows almost to a complete stop. She’s entirely too breathtakingly beautiful and tragically horrific at the same time. No color to her skin, it’s almost as though she comes directly from one of the old black and white television shows your mother liked to watch. The woman is wearing tight clothing, torn and ripped sporadically. Her eyes almost seem so gray that they are an ethereal foggy green, only flashing ruby when the shrap thin lines all over her body pulsate crimson. Her hair is long and dripping with an inky hue, tangled and disheveled. Fingertips dipped in a steaming tar, dancing near her side as she stalks towards you. 

It’s when you can almost reach out and touch the figure that you finally scramble backwards, putting distance between the two of you as the flight side of your instincts kick in. You barely make it more than five steps when you’re being dragged upwards with some sort of red translucent mist. It wraps around your wrists, dragging your arms above your head as you flop about uselessly. Screams are getting caught in your throat as you have to just hang there, watching this being get closer to you. 

When the lady is directly below you, the hair on the back of your neck stands up straight and your muscles twitch from how tense they are. You want to panic, to yell, but something stops you. Tilting her head, she has to look up at you from where her magic holds you against the rough bark. Her hand comes out to touch you, but the soft feeling comes as a surprise to you. She cups your cheek, a low red spreading in her eyes as you shake under her touch. 

She smiles at you, a soft almost nurturing thing. “You’re just as pretty as I thought you would be, little lamb.” Her voice is chilling, breathy with a raspy tone to it. The older woman’s free hand caresses your stomach, an unwanted warmth sinking into your gut. 

Her nails are jagged, cracked and repulsive, as she takes her time to explore your body. It’s sudden, the vigor in which she gropes your body. Clumsy and completely all over the place, you aren’t entirely sure what she thinks she’s doing. Struggling against your restraints, the chill covers your body like ice freezing over a lake. 

It isn’t until your body takes over, fear and anger sinking into your bones, that the creature seemingly gains control of her actions and her hand becomes confident and firm. Nails pointedly scratching at your skin as fingers map out your skin, almost stabbing at each goosebump she finds. Your eyes are glued to your face as your mind struggles to catch up to what you had done, flinching as her other hand reaches up. It doesn’t strike you as you thought it would, instead she brushes the back of her knuckles against her own face, trepidation stopping your blood from rushing through your body as you finally realize that you spit at her. 

That wasn’t what you wanted to do, you knew that you needed to act smart if you were going to survive this but for some reason all your ability to think logically went out the window. You wanted her more than anything in the world right now, and you knew that you needed to try and do anything to keep her exactly where she was. 

“Do you not have control over your stupid little body, mortal?” Her voice is low, almost filled with gravel as she mumbles. Rust filled eyes not even paying you a second of attention but instead staring at the glistening saliva that drips from her fingers. 

Your head is shaking vigorously, denying inability in hopes that she doesn’t see you as foolish. The desire to be praised by her came as a surprise, but you weren’t fighting it and it seems to have worked. A smile slowly stretches across the surreal creature’s face as she blinks slowly. “It’s so funny to see such a useless being believe they are worth anything more than what I deem them to be. You think by answering my question in whatever way you think I want will make the outcome of your situation better?” 

She speaks softly, almost nurturing as she rubs her soaked fingers along your neck, smearing your own spit against you. You crane your neck as much as you can against the crimson smog wrapped there, trying to hear her voice as clearly as possible. 

“I take what I want and no smart mouthed, stupid brained little human is going to stop that. I like to have fun, and the peak is watching you bleed out for me.” The words are harsh but you can’t help but moan as your body is thrown upwards, red tendrils tightening and dragging you to hang limply from the tree branch. It’s devoid of leaves, and creaks under your weight, but it somehow makes you feel like you have a safety net. You had climbed this tree many times in the past, and even had various hanging sets from this very limb. 

Swinging freely, you try to move your body as much as possible as the urge to escape your confines sinks in. Entirely too focused, you don’t realize that her hands are moving along your ice cold skin. Groping softly, her movements are controlled and precise to make sure that you barely register it in your brain. It’s when her hands force your legs apart, maroon vapor ropes slithering around your thighs to hold them open, that you finally realize just how hard you are breathing. Your body felt slightly warm, at least in your core, and you could feel your blood rushing downwards. It was almost like your entire being was electrified and you were entirely too conscious of every single thing you felt. 

She doesn’t take her time, her eyes narrow as she focuses on mapping out your skin. The bright  ruby lines she leaves in her wake only entertain her for so long before she finally moves in between your shaking thighs. The older woman’s finger swipes through your folds, collecting the small amount of wetness she finds there. Gasping as she spreads it across your clit, a throbbing ache despite the way your body revolts. Her jaw mockingly drops when for the first time her eyes light up with amusement, giggling when your hips chase her hand. “Oh poor baby, I can’t fuck you if you’re not wet enough. It’ll hurt your small fragile little body too much and Mommy doesn’t want to hurt you.” 

Your head is shaking violently, nonsensical protests tumbling from your lips. It didn’t matter to you, regardless if it was because you wanted her or wanted the situation to be over with, you just needed her to touch you. Even though your wetness wasn’t enough for her, you did feel aroused. Maybe it was your mind tricking you into believing this was what you wanted or maybe it was the glittering crimson behind your irises, but that wasn’t a piece of information that you needed to know. 

She tuts, chastising you. “Now don’t lie to me. I know what you want even if your mind fights it, and your body hasn’t caught up, I know.” You watch as she takes a step back, letting her eyes drink in your form. Letting the back of her knuckles run down your torso, you watch as she slowly kneels on the damp dirt. Her hands are grazing over your thighs, pushing them farther open as she leans in. The grip she has on you, though gentle, is strong and you can’t kick her when you feel her mouth along your skin. 

The smoothness of her strangely sharp teeth is hot against your cooled body, but it’s the sharp pierce and spilling of your blood that leaves a weirdly chilled warmth leaking down your leg. Eyes widening you try to look past the head of dark locks to see what just happened, but it didn’t take long for your brain to catch up and the stabbing pain on your inner thigh. 

She looks up at you, sparkling light jade eyes catching the moon light, with a toothy smile and a small dribble of crimson running down her chin. “You’re a fucking vampire?” You couldn’t help the shocked yelp, body shaking with fear. 

The being doesn’t even answer you, giggling as rolls her eyes up at you. She seems so innocent in those moments but nothing gets rid of the terror emanating within your soul. Looking back at your bleeding thigh, she swipes her fingers through the thick liquid to coat them. Her nails catch on the open wound, sending another wave of searing pain through your body but she pays no attention to you. 

It almost feels like time stops as you hang there, waiting, but the moment the brunette swipes her crimson dipped thumb across your clit something in your body cracks. It’s small but you can feel the change and in your mind you start screaming at yourself. You know being vocal won’t stop this crazy woman, but you wanted to deter her by being completely unaffected. It was the last thing you had on her, to make her believe that what she was doing was just pure torture and you found absolutely no pleasure in it, but you knew that that power over her was no longer available to you. 

Never one for vanilla sex, not even in theory, you shouldn’t be that surprised that being taken by force from a demonic crazy being would be right up your alley. No one could ever keep up with you, your fantasies were just a bit too intense or a bit too dangerous, and for once everything you ever wanted was being fulfilled. This gorgeous being was forcing her fingers farther into you, your blood dripping randomly down different parts of your body. 

Despite your want for intensely kinky sex, you knew that it should be completely consensual right? It should let you know that, and you could feel your anger rising in your body as the heat zoomed between your thighs. This couldn’t be consensual, not with how it started, but if it wasn’t then why did the idea of her actually stopping tear you up on the inside? You couldn’t fathom the idea of her ice cold thumb pulling away from your throbbing clit for too long, for her touch on your body to not cause goosebumps.  

She doesn’t wait much longer, no need to attempt to please you now that she has the wetness she wants, shoving two fingers into you with almost no remorse. A shrill scream gets stuck in your throat as you choke on the force of air rushing up, the pain bringing tears to your eyes. A sign of weakness that this twisted soul revels in as she thrusts her fingers in, letting her free hand drag up crimson periodically.  

The pain was immense and you were certain that she had to be using something besides her fingers, there was no way that the small hands in between your thighs were causing this much agony. You wanted to shove against her, but the moment her teeth sink into your breast you know you’re gone. Hips jumping, trying to get her to move more as the pleasure starts to settle in your tummy, uselessly against her body. It felt so bad that the good started to come from a delirious state, and you just needed her to move. The tips of her fingers just rubbing slightly against the soft spot inside of you, the texture of her wrinkled skin felt wrong but you were starting to become obsessed. 

“Isn’t it comical? A desperate slut like you thought you had everything together, thought I was going to ruin your life by taking what was destined to be mine?” Through the heavy fog that had begun to settle in your head you tried your best to look down at her, shock painted across your face. How did she know what you were thinking? She doesn’t give you any answer, instead her thrusting gets more aggressive as the wetness between your thighs grows, and it mixes with the blood still heavily leaking from the bite marks. 

You want to moan, whimper, maybe even plead but you were no longer sure what you wanted. Logically you needed this to stop if you were to ever be okay again, but at the same time all you wanted to do was feel her mouth on your clit. You wanted her to fuck you until you were incoherent, a drooling mess. Hatred towards yourself and her fueled your motions as you tried to work to take more of her hand, stretching around her third finger as she shoves it ungracefully into you. 

Her mouth is at your knee now, glowing eyes looking up at you as she smirks. “Taking me so well for someone so against getting used.” Her arm is moving roughly, fingers curling inside you as she ghosts her teeth along your thigh. “So clean, so dry. Why don’t you make a mess for Mommy? I like my cunts all wet and messy.” 

It was then you found your power, despite the arousal burning in your belly and the way you clenched around her fingers whenever she swiped her thumb along your clit. You knew that the more you let your thoughts wonder, even if it had to be forced, that you would be able to pull yourself from the situation. Imagine yourself somewhere else and almost black out during everything, your body would be limp and pliant but not give her what she wants. The movie you would go see in a week with your best friends, or the long list of groceries that you knew you needed to get when you went back into the city. Thoughts swarmed your head as you tried your hardest to ignore the way her fingers poked and prodded, the way her thumb caressed your swollen clit just perfectly. 

Screwing your eyes shut, you make your best attempt at seeming unaffected but you don’t realize that you aren’t winning. If anything you just make it more fun for the being below you, giving her the opportunity to make you as wet as she wants. 

Being so focused on the thoughts traveling through your brain was good until you don’t feel the tugging on your wrists, persistent and firm. It’s only when you’re tumbling helplessly through the air that you realize you are no longer hanging from the tree, but instead falling face first into the freezing lake. It’s a shock, breaking the surface of the water. It knocks the breath out of your lungs and forces your throat to close, you can practically feel all your muscles seize as well. You make the mistake of opening your mouth to scream, causing a rush of dirty water to fill your lungs, and it’s only when her hand claws at the back of your head that you feel even an ounce of relief. 

She’s tearing your body out of the water, pieces of the thin ice fly around you and you can’t believe that you relax as your body collides with her. “Don’t think that you can try to outplay Mommy like that you little slut. I know what you want, you are my destiny. You were made to take me, so be a good girl and let me do what I was made to do.” Her voice is sweet, almost soft, as she speaks through her teeth directly into your ear. It shouldn’t calm your racing heart, neither should the almost warm comforting touch of her red mist along your thighs. 

You want to let yourself fall, the intense arousal is boiling in your tummy and you can feel the coil tightening with each brush of her hand along your body. It would be much easier to allow yourself to become immersed in the pleasure coursing through your body, but it wasn’t until she allowed that crimson fog to slip inside you. Despite the fact that whatever she was pushing into you was magical, you were still too tight for her liking. There was a part of you deep down that still didn’t want this and it was causing your body to react subconsciously. 

‘If the slut doesn’t want to get wet, then I’ll keep you wet myself.” Her hands scratch up your side, a nail digging into your nipple on the way up and it makes your hip buck. You feel yourself melting back into her and a moan softly slips from your parted lips. The urge to pretend that it’s from the cold is strong, but you can’t even pretend at this point like the feeling of her hands on you isn’t turning you on. 

Her hands are running along your torso, teasing your nipples and scratching up your stomach. It almost feels normal, just another hookup and it makes you forget. Losing yourself in the way that the ruby swells inside you, rubbing against the soft spot it finds and caressing your clit softly. 

The wetness between your thighs is gathering the longer she plays with you, wine stained mist thrusting lazily into you. It almost plays with you, knowing that it ruts to hard or fast that it will bring you closer to the edge, but it keeps you writhing for more with each movement. You want to beg for more, ask her to touch you with her own hands as you have begun to crave her ice touch, though there is something that is stopping you from doing that. It isn’t necessarily pride, something you lost the moment you began to get turned on by this aggressive form of twisted affection. 

It’s when her nails scratch at the back of your neck that you realize the fog that’s dragging you slowly, almost mockingly leisurely, towards the edge is growing. Almost like a ball, it feels like she’s pushing her magic abilities to stretch you to the point right before danger. You’re confused, as your wetness starts dripping down your thighs and your breath starts picking up, how much more wet could you get? 

Instant regret floods your system almost as fast as the ice cold water that rushes down your throat as she shoves your face directly into the lake. It’s not a quick dunk to shock you this time, her claw-like hand squishing your face into the almost mud like dirt at the bottom. She doesn’t stop forcing more and more into you, her magical fog swelling larger and it presses against where your torso is now pressed against the ground. Even as you struggle against her, your internal will to try and live kicking in, you can’t help the build up in your stomach. The coil tightens as her magic moves within you, moving inside you as her nails dig into her back. 

Sharp stinging pains are a contrast, an added sensation, to your panic as you begin to think maybe she is just going to keep you submerged. There’s no way she would, right? She wants to use you, there would be no reason that she would want to truly harm you. 

A deep belly chuckle is muffled through the water, barely a vibration as your arm and head flail as much as possible. You wanted out but you can’t help but moan instead of scream, the pleasure of her nails into your shoulder blades and her thigh grinding between your thighs into the swell of mist there beginning to get too overwhelming. It was no longer a fight to survive but a fight to enjoy the last moments of life. Somewhere in your mind you knew that you wouldn’t actually make it out of this alive, but for some reason you’ve decided to ignore that. 

“Such a stupid whore, letting just anyone touch your cunt.” She fists your soaked hair in your hand, and just for a fleeting moment the pain mixed with arousal takes over your fogged mind. “You don’t even know Mommy and yet here you are, taking my gorgeous gift like the good little fuck toy you are.” Her free hand abandons your back in lue of groping your ass, pushing down against it to get you to stop moving. Her thigh is pushing against your throbbing clit now, soaked in your wetness despite water lapping up as you splash about. 

You can feel your vision start to darken, the edges of the burning sensation as you try to keep your eyes open have blurred and blackened. Unsure if you are even panicking anymore, your body starts to relax and the only thing you can focus on is the fuzzy warm arousal filling each nerve in your body. The water floating around you becomes tranquil as each muscle in your body softens and you move with each thrust into you. 

A wide sinister smile stretches unnaturally along the being’s face, pulling her almost gray lips as far as they can as she stares down at your almost lifeless body. She can see the signs and for her it motivates her even more, forcing more and more of her magic into you. You were everything she could have ever wanted and she refused to let you stay in the living world, if she was destined to be stuck to this lake forever then so would you. 

Slowly you could feel all the tension in your body start to clump together in your stomach, draining from the rest of you and tightening around the scarlet orb inside you. You craved that last bit of pleasure, that last rush in your veins to end this for good. 

When it becomes almost impossible to move and you are no longer shaking from panic or exertion, but instead trembling from hanging onto the edge, she knows it’s time. Sneering down at your limp form, she uses her grip in your hair to turn your head. Slapping at your cheek until she can just barely see your fuzzy bloodshot eyes, an almost soft nurturing smile paints along her face once she sees your drunk like state. “There’s my girl. So fucked out.” Her sphere cloud inside you starts to vibrate, her cold dark eyes once more glowing a dim ruby. 

Gripping at your jaw, her claw practically breaks your neck as she forces you to keep eye contact with her. Even as your eyes slip closed, struggling to stay open as you start to dangle over the edge, you can’t help but feel drawn in to listen. “Say my name, little toy, say it and stay with me forever.” Her voice is raspy, bordering soft but she’s taunting you. “You know it, you know you do, so say it. Say it now.” Her actions become frantic, her thigh grinding more aggressively into you. She’s trying to force you into a more pathetic state, even at the edge of death she wants you to be begging for her. 

As much as you can you try to deny knowing, because how could you? You had never seen this person, if that’s what she is even considered, before this horrific situation. The attempt at trying to keep water from going down your throat had stopped, your lungs should have filled completely with liquid by now so some other power must have been keeping you alive. 

Though you couldn’t see it, the being was getting annoyed. Her eyes rolled as she realized that you were thinking again, a brain dead creature who could still think. “Say my name and you can cum for Mommy, like the pretty little whore you are.” She spits at you through her teeth, pointed and your blood drying on the dull shine. With her words she sees a change in your stature, even held under the force of her hand, eagerness. Humming slowly she allows her maroon mist to sink into each part of your body. 

Your brain was almost empty, nothing but serene thoughts going through it as you felt yourself slip into the darkness. You thought that there would be a light at the end of the time but instead you start seeing a faint rosy hue. The being above you is yelling at you and the need to give in is strong, you want to end everything on a high. You need that high. 

Her name slips into the water almost silently, your eyes slipping closed as you fall into unconsciousness, but it’s there. She hears it, muffled, “Wanda.” Usually one of her biggest fears, not one to want to go back to the damned dark world but with you she could thrive. A black magic demon who accomplished its goal? She would rule the world with a scarlet leash around your neck. A small smirk as her magic starts to die, a sure sign she’s going back to being contained. Until the end of time you will be her needy little toy, just as you were as you took your last breath. 

[doitforbangchan]

Midnight song- P.SH

Pairing- Siren!Seonghwa x Pirate! Reader (afab/fem)

Warnings- cursing, death, pirate themes and maybe more idk

WC: 2.3k

Just a lil something i meant to put out for Halloween.. oh well plz enjoy anyways :)

Masterlist

They say that a siren's song is the most tempting sound in all the seven seas. That the delicate melody is pure seduction in its most refined form. The same could be said about the siren itself though too. 

The ‘they’ in question are the sailors- the pirates that travel the open waters far and wide. As the daughter of a notorious pirate captain you grew up hearing many tales of the creatures that dwelled beneath the waves; none more notorious than the siren. They were always depicted as beautiful beings, with the most attractive faces and the body of a fish. 

Your whole life was spent upon a ship; at first your fathers then when you became an adult you found a crew of your own. Now you were almost as famous a captain as your father, a woman captain was nearly unheard of let alone one as cunning and quick witted as you. You worked hard for your reputation, showing off your prowess and not letting any man or law stand in your way. 

You had never believed in such tales of any fantastical creatures, having never seen one yourself in all your years of sailing. Never once had you encountered anything particularly out of the ordinary- until you did. 

The night that you saw it - saw him- for the first time had been a dark one, the moon shrouded by heavy gray clouds covering everything in a sheet of black. You and your crew had come ashore to celebrate a particularly plentiful plunder. The bar you had spent most of your evening in had become boring, the men in there were too far up their own ass to take you seriously, so you decided to take the party back to the ship that was docked down by the shore. 

As you made your way down the dock you noticed something from the corner of your eye. There was an unnatural shimmering down by the edge of the dock, a stark contrast to the dark wood, that drew your eye. Just as your head turned to fully see what was causing the light a loud splash was heard and the shimmer was gone. 

You rubbed your eyes with the back of your palm, staggering over to the edge of the dock. You peered down into the dark murky depths, narrowing your eyes to find the source (if there was one anyway). Just as you were about to continue on your way, you saw it again. Faintly there was a glimmer that seemed to be moving slowly under the dock. 

You dropped to your knees, your shins hitting the wood roughly and you stuck your face closer to the water. Maybe it was the copious amounts of liquor that was coursing through your body, or maybe the sea hysteria was catching up to you faster than you had anticipated, but looking down into the water you could make out a mass.. And a face. If you didn’t know any better you would even say that the figure waved at you. 

But you did know better. It was the alcohol, it had to be. There was no way there was anything of note down there. A manatee maybe- but definitely not a person. Either way the mass was no longer visible to you. With a shake of your head to clear your thoughts you stood back on your feet, albeit wobbly and mildly unsteady, and you made your way back to the ship.

The next time you saw him was out in the open sea. Your trusted ship - the ‘Halazia’- was speeding through the water, allowing the wind to guide you to your next adventure. The sun was beginning to set, giving the sky a deep orange glow that was fading into decadent purples. Most of the crew was below deck preparing to turn in for the evening, leaving just you on the top deck.

 You were looking over a map you had recently acquired, the old parchment laid out on a barrel that you were leaning upon. A sudden thud of the wood of your ship was heard to your right, making you jump slightly and spin around, your hand going to the hilt of your sword. 

A gasp escaped you as your eyes made contact with another pair- a much darker pair, so dark you could not make out the whites of them. Someone, or something, had climbed up the side of the boat and was peering over at you. Only the top part of their head and face were visible as the being stared at you. 

Your hand did not leave your cutlass as you held his gaze, his eyes unblinking as they drank you in. Somehow you just knew this was no normal person. For one there was no way anyone could have made it on your ship without your knowledge. And reason number two was you were out in the middle of the ocean, miles and miles from the nearest island. 

The beating in your heart accelerated as your mind raced. You felt like you could not move; as if you were frozen in place under this beings scrutinizing gaze.You did not know what was happening to you, or what he was and why you were reacting this way. The last stow away was swiftly dealt with with the very blade that sat on your hip. 

The two of you stared at each other for what felt like hours, though logically you knew it was only a few seconds, before a loud clamoring of footsteps were heard making their way up the steps to the top deck. 

The sound broke the spell you seemed to be under, making you turn your head quickly to see a few members of your crew making their way up. Just as quickly as you looked at the crew you looked back to where the being was, only to find he was gone and a loud splash was left in his wake. 

It was three weeks before you saw him again. It was late- much too late for you to be awake- but you could not find an ounce of sleep. You had been tossing and turning in your quarters for hours, unable to get comfortable. The stuffiness of your room did nothing to quell your unrest and you found yourself craving fresh air. With a gruff sigh you got out of bed and slipped your long coat on, then made your way out onto the deck. Since it had to be nearing three in the morning the whole crew was asleep, leaving you alone once more. You did not mind though. The solitude of night was a nice change to the normal chaos of the day. 

You sat on the railing overlooking the open seas. The water was mostly still tonight thankfully, giving you a sense of peace. This was exactly what you needed, the salty air and sound of the moving waves were already doing an excellent job of lulling you to sleep, your eyes growing heavier by the second. 

That was until a delicate voice called out to you. 

“Hello.” 

Your eyes snapped back open, the sleep knocked from you like a punch. Leaning over the side of the ship directly next to you was that being again, only this time his whole head was showing and he was resting it on his forearms as he drank you in again. Although you did not see much of him last time you inherently knew he was the same creature as before.

 You felt like you could not speak nor move under his gaze. You could do nothing but notice how handsome he was. His black hair was shaggy as it framed his face, his lips a pouty and a rosy pink color. The light from the moon was doing wonders in illuminating him for you.

He smiled when he saw he had caught your attention, addressing you again with his deep purr, “Hi there.” You tried to reply but the words were caught in your throat, unable to come out. He noticed this and a giggle left him, his head tilting in amusement. “Hmm, you can’t talk? Siren got your tongue?” 

Siren.. Siren.. No fucking way

All of the air returned to you at once, making you gasp quietly, and finally regain some of your composure. “Who are you?” You asked. 

“Seonghwa.” He replied, never blinking as he twirled a piece of his hair. “You’re Y/n.” 

“How do you know my name?” You demanded, frightened but intrigued all the same. No, not intrigued, more like enthralled by him.  

Seonghwa shrugged coyly, tapping his sharp nails on the wood. “Heard a lot ‘bout you. Been watching you for a while.” He leaned in closer as if he was going to tell you a secret, “I like looking at pretty things. Do you like pretty things too, Y/n?” 

You found yourself nodding to his question, face heated up at his words. His voice was deep and sensual, like soft silk. “Yes.” 

His lips curled into a charming smile. Damn he was the most gorgeous man you had ever seen. “Mm,” Seongwha ran the tip of his tongue over the front of his teeth, showcasing the sharp canines- sharper than what is natural. “Then how about you come take a good look at me?” 

You could feel a sense of trepidation at his words. He was tempting, too tempting, and the warning alarms in your brain were starting to go crazy. As much as you wanted to get closer to him you could not. For the first time in the last few minutes you defied him. “N-no, I will stay o-ver here.” You mentally chastised yourself for stuttering, wanting to remain the strong captain you knew you were.

The creature narrowed his eyes at you, clearly showing his annoyance at your resistance. His nails tapped even harder against the wood. Then he smiled again, an innocent look taking over his features and he batted his long lashes at you. “Aww, you don’t wanna see me? You’re gonna hurt my feelings, darling.” He lowered his voice even more, the timber of it sending chills down your spine. “Come over here, before I make you.” 

You vehemently shook your head, denying him even though you felt your toes move as if they were inching towards him anyways.

Stay strong. Y/n. You must not give in to him. 

Seonghwa gave you a pout then you heard a loud banging sound coming from beneath him, as if a large mass had smacked harshly against the side of your ship. “Alright pretty girl, we’ll do things your way. Remember you asked for this, hmm?” 

The siren began to hum, a rich melody flowing from him in waves. He sang to you, in a language you had neve heard before yet you understood it instantly. It was a song of longing, of need and fulfillment. It was absolutely bewitching. 

As his voice grew louder you felt your brain begin to fog, like your inhibitions were releasing slowly from you. Your body was swaying to the tune and your feet started to move against your will. It felt less like walking and more like you were floating towards him. 

His voice felt like warm honey as it engulfed you, sticky and sweet and oh so delicious as it ensnared you. You wanted to drown in it- in him. 

You had made it, albeit slowly, over to the edge, now standing directing in front of him. Seonghwa ended his song with a soft, pleased sigh. “There she is, my jolly sailor bold. Did you enjoy my song? I sang it just for you.” He lifted his hand and ran one long finger down the side of your cheek. Even in your dazed state you could feel how cold and clammy he was as he caressed you. 

A mindless nod was your only response. Words would not find you- could not find you- while he had you under his control. Not that you currently mind. The only thing on your mind was him, him, him. Nothing else mattered. 

His hand traveled from your cheek down your neck and then to your shoulder. His nails traced the veins under your skin as he went, his black eyes never faltering as he watched the trail. “So delicate, too soft for a pirate. This life isn’t suitable for a pretty thing like you, don’t you agree?” Another nod was all you offered. “Mmm, you don’t want to grow old out here, become weathered and grizzled and burdened by the piracy. No no, I think it’s best to stay this way. To stay soft and tender and young. Forever.” 

His final word came out like a deathly hiss as he grabbed you forcefully, yanking your whole body over the edge of the ship with him. A scream was caught in your throat as the cold water washed over you, your limbs thrashing violently. 

Even though the saltiness burned your eyes they were frantic and wild as you fought with your captor. From this close you could see him fully. Could see the lower half of his body was indeed not human. A long fishtail with iridescent scales was in place of where legs would normally be. From down here his teeth were sharper and they were curled into a teasing smirk. 

You fought against him but he kept dragging you down further and further into the depths. Water was filling your lungs making them burn terribly. Seonghwa dug his nails into your skin breaking the surface making rivers of blood trickle out.  

The dastardly creature cooed at you as you struggled, “It’s ok darling, it’ll all be over in a second. Then you will always be remembered just as you are.” 

You could not get away. You knew your fate was sealed as black dots started to fill your vision. The last thing you would ever see is this monster's teeth tearing into your shoulder and a flurry of dark red. 

©doitforbangchan 2024

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[thewhitewitch-bitch]

In Astris Supra (Chapter I: Viam Quaeris ad Omnia Foeda et Pulchra)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC (Aislin Stuart)

Read it on AO3

Summary: "No new horror can be more terrible than the daily torture of the commonplace." - H.P. Lovecraft Agatha Harkness is certainly not commonplace. Nor is the witch who came to Salem one cold night in the autumn of 1691. And when the two of them collide, the world will certainly never be the same. But will it be for better or for worse?

Salem, Massachusetts 1691

The stars were different in Salem. They weren't as dim as they were over Shrewsbury, though they still seemed restrained, like they couldn't shine as bright as they wanted to when the children of the Divine Mother were so restrained themselves. And the air, it hung heavy like a woolen cloak upon my shoulders as I stepped off that wretched ship and onto the fog-laden dock. There was no greeting from local folk, no word of welcome as I and a handful of others passed the harbor master and carried on to the small cluster of homes and shops. Smoke wafted from chimneys and the scent of roasting meat caught my nose as I followed the trodden path through the town. Children were nowhere in sight, contained within the confines of their homes, and with good reason, I could wager that anyone caught wandering after dark met a rather sticky end. 

No one dared meet my eye as I walked through the town, though that could have easily been attributed to the attire that I wore which had passed me off well enough as a man to sail to the New World without hinderance. I'd be a fool to say that I didn't prefer breeches to corsets, though if any onlookers got too close of a glimpse they would have tried to see me hanged by first light. 

"Return to your homes! Seek not the devil within the cover of night!" A voice called over the ringing of a crier's bell from somewhere within the rows of houses. One by one, men and women vanished as the night grew darker and the moon in its waning cast its silvery light down upon the path before me. I planted my feet, feeling the light of the moon bathe my skin as I felt raw, natural power wash over me. 

"Divine Mother, give me strength." I whispered, feeling as though pure starlight coursed through my veins. A gentle breeze kissed my cheeks as my eyes fluttered shut. The quiet that settled in Salem after the doors were all closed, and the windows were shuttered was welcome after the sloshing of the sea and roaring of the breakers for the last three months. It was grounding, solidifying, peaceful. Until it wasn't. The breeze grew into a gust then into a small gale, before it finally ceased. A knowing smirk twitched at the corner of my mouth as I opened my eyes to see that I was completely surrounded by women dressed entirely in black. 

"Bold of you to venture into a town such as Salem... sisters." I greeted, "From what I hear you're all on the verge of being burned at the stake." 

"Mind your tongue, girl." a veiled woman snapped, "You stand in the presence of the most powerful coven in the New World." 

I bit back a laugh, "Good. That means I ended up in the right place." 

"Just who do you think you are, whelp?" 

"A covenless witch of the stars," I replied with a shrug, "seeking solitude and safety." 

The veiled woman scoffed at me, "Ha! You will find neither here. Leave this land and do not return."

"Or what?" I dared to ask, sauntering up to her with a darkened expression, "You'll kill me? Because I would love to see you try."

The witch drew back her veil and revealed an older, graying woman with a pointed, stalwart face. I met her eye with a fierce gaze, my natural power flowing off me in silver wisps. To my surprise, this woman, this leader of the Salem coven, seemed to shrink beneath my glare. A flicker of fear flashed in cold, unkind eyes. I stepped away and turned to address the rest of the coven. 

"I came here to seek solitude, and I will have it. So, let's make a deal. I'll retreat into the expanse of the wood and remain there without issue. I shall not venture to Salem again, so long as you leave me in peace. And in exchange, you can go about your business as you always have, unhindered by any intervention of mine." I scanned every witch's face for any sense of doubt, any inkling of waver and found none until my hazel gaze settled upon the deep blue eyes of a girl no older than myself. She was stood beside the old crone, but her eyes were not filled with fear or indignation like the others. Instead, they gleamed with fascination and intrigue, shining bright in the darkness against her pristine pale skin, like sapphires freshly polished. I lingered on her for a moment too long, finding that my cold exterior began to crack beneath her gaze and I was willing to allow it. 

"Do we have a deal?" I asked with a far too gentle tone, my eyes still locked on her. Beside her, the crone set her veil back upon her face and nodded. 

"The terms of your agreement are acceptable. Go now and do not cross our path again." 

I allowed myself a final second to look upon the girl beside this wicked witch before tearing my eyes away to fix them on the path that would carry me into the forest beyond. My feet led themselves away from the coven, pushing through their ranks and past the array of homes and hovels. As I walked on, the chill of the night finally began to sink in past the thin white wool shirt I wore and against my will, I shivered. That shudder was accompanied by the sound of footsteps behind me, fast approaching. I paused and glanced over my shoulder to see the girl that had caught my eye chasing after me, her dark hair following behind her in long, illustrious waves. 

"Wait!" she called to me, holding up a bundle of cloth in her hands. I was almost inclined to keep walking, but my feet remained glued to the ground as she stopped mere inches from me and caught her breath. 

"You should not be here." I told her, daring to glance back at the town in the distance, "Your coven mother is not too keen on having me here. Nor am I one to be caught associating with witches who are supposed to keep their distance from me."

"My mother is a cruel and unkind woman," she answered rather harshly, "And I've never been one to follow her rules to the letter." 

I scoffed, "Well, then you and I are rather alike, it would seem." 

I turned fully to face her and found myself captivated once more, not wanting to move an inch. There was something about this girl that was... enthralling to say the least. It was as though I were coming face to face with pure, untapped power and I had no way to contain or control it, though I had the feeling that I did not want to do either. 

"What do they call you, stranger?" she asked me, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly, a delightful smile spreading across her face. 

"Aislin Stuart." I replied with a smile of my own and little bow which loosened a few strands of my brown hair from the tie at the back of my neck, "Daughter of Dorcas Topsfield, the Scourge of Shrewsbury."

Her smile grew wider and wilder. I took a slow step forward, getting within a heartbeat from her, whispering into her ear, "And what do they call you, pet?" 

Her breath hitched, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. A chuckle rose from deep in my chest as I pulled away. Her mouth hung slightly agape as I took a step back to get a good look at her again. It took a minute for her to recollect her thoughts and reply. 

"A-Agatha. Agatha Harkness." 

"Hmm," I hummed with a softened expression, "Well, Agatha, I suppose I won't see you again. Ta." 

I started to move away, but she stretched out her hand and caught my arm with surprising deftness. 

"Wait, I, uh, wanted to give you this." she offered up the bundle of black, heavy cloth in her arms, which upon quick inspection was a warm, winter cloak, "Winter is nigh upon us, and it would seem you don't possess the proper clothing for the cold months ahead."

I took hold of the rough wool, my hand brushing against hers as I did, sending a spark up my arm and into my chest. The air became heavy again, though not due to the fear of the Salemites behind me. This was a comfortable heavy, one that shielded me from the cold for only a split second before the chill of the autumn air came rushing back. 

"Thank you." I said softly. Taking the cloak into my arms, I tossed over my shoulders and immediately felt the cut of the wind come to an end. "I suppose I should be off."

"Can I see you again?" Agatha asked me quickly. Looking back into her brilliant blue eyes, I felt a flutter in my chest. I had come here to escape other witches, only to end up being entranced by one as soon as I arrived. I took hold of a ring on my right hand, crafted from fine silver bearing a gleaming white pearl.

Holding it up to my lips, I whispered, "Invenias quod petis apud me in manu tua."

Stepping back toward her, I pressed the ring into her palm and closed her fingers around it, "When you wish to find me, simply put on the ring and it will show you your path. When you wear it, all roads shall lead to me."

I released her hand and stepped away, vanishing from sight before she lifted her eyes from the ring back to the road.

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

She sought me out three days later. It had given me enough time to venture far enough into the wood that I would remain untouched by any who dared to seek me out, while also granting me the opportunity to make use of a summoning spell to establish a sturdy enough shelter until I was able to conjure something permanent. A heavy frost coated the leaf litter on the floor that morning, casting an ethereal shimmer across the wood as I sat upon a rotting oak stump and took in my surroundings.

The protection circle had continued to do its job, I had remained undisturbed during the night. The small fire that I had built was steadily growing as I continued to feed it, heating up the kettle I had hung on an iron hook. Freshly snared rabbit was roasting on a small wire spit, the scent of its roasting flesh making my mouth water as I readied a cup for morning tea. The forest was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves when a squirrel skittered past, or a deer came by to investigate. Glancing up at the sky, I could see that it was going to a clear day, a good day. It had been a long time since I had had one of those. 

The kettle began to whistle, I grasped hold of the rag-wrapped handle and filled my cup. The calming scent of black tea, calendula, and cornflower wafted up to my nose, the heat radiating from the cup warming my hands as I raised it to my lips and took a careful sip. 

"I hope you have enough to share." 

My head whipped around to see Agatha Harkness standing at the edge of my circle, a gentle, innocent smile on her face as she stood with a deep violet shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She was entrancing in the dark of night, but in the light of day, she was as radiant as the sun. Her dark brown hair shone brightly in the pale autumn light, her porcelain skin pristinely white. The shawl meant to stave off the morning chill covered most of her, though I could see the intricate black lacework of her gown's bodice peeking through it. 

"Transite in sacrarium meum, et estote suscipite." I said, gesturing to the space next to me on the stump, "I have plenty to share. Come, sit." 

With a snap of my fingers, a second cup floated up from its place amongst the personal effects I had summoned over to where the kettle was. Without lifting a finger, the kettle filled the cup and returned to its place. Agatha cautiously stepped past the ring of white stones and found no resistance upon passing fully through. Taking the cup from its place in midair she lowered herself next to me and took a sip, letting the warm liquid bring some life back into her chilled bones.

"You know I wasn't completely convinced that your little spell would work but," she glanced down at the ring nestled perfectly upon her right middle finger, "as soon as I put it on, I felt a pull in my chest, and it led me here."

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to lie to you. I only lie to those who deserve to be lied to." I replied simply, "I haven't known you very long, but I see no reason why you shouldn't be told the truth."

"Ah, then you and my mother would be quite at odds. She refuses to teach me." 

I arched a curious brow, "What witch would refuse to teach her child the craft?" 

Agatha's grip on her teacup became tense, her eyes remained downcast. She was withholding something, though what it was I couldn't be sure. I watched her sit in abject silence for a while, until she finally worked up the courage to speak again.

"My magic is dark. It aligns with evil, and because of this my mother will not teach me."

I had heard an eerily similar story many years ago. My own mother's tale of how she came to acquire her power was one of turmoil, anguish, and death. Over the centuries, she had become known to lure witches into her thrall, tell them she was establishing a coven, then like a leech to an ill man's neck drew every drop of magic from them and absorbed it for herself. The corpses piled high outside the cottage where I was born. I'm sure if I were to return to that place tucked within the forests outside Shrewsbury, they would have grown higher still. 

"My mother refused to teach me as well." I confessed, " She is a proponent of the dark arts, using power to gain more power. But my magic is rare, volatile, more in tune with the eldritch magic of sorcerers. It's as ever changing as the phases of the moon and it takes a great deal of self-discipline to master, something my mother disregards entirely. I had to spend some time studying with the Ancient One in Kamar-Taj to truly understand it myself. But... in time you could learn to master yourself as well." 

"You would teach me?" Agatha's tone suddenly became hopeful, excited even as her eyes met mine. I nearly choked on the sip of tea I had just taken, coughing up my drink onto the frost-laden ground at my feet. My gaze fixed on my shoes, drifted back up once I had regained my ability to breathe again. 

"I... apologize." I said with a hoarse tone. "But I'm not much of a teacher, Agatha Harkness." 

"Well, I'm not much of a student, Aislin Stuart," she answered smartly, a smirk dressed upon her face, "but I'd be willing to walk this unknown path if you walk it with me." 

A tightness formed in my chest. My heart pounded against my ribcage. I couldn't turn away from her, and she knew it.

"Very well then. Down the road we'll go. Our own secret coven of two." 

Part of me wished that I had leaned toward divination in that time, perhaps then I would have seen what was to come. The passion, the anger, the heartache that would certainly arise from it all... but knowing it wouldn't have made a difference. There was truly no way to predict what Agatha Harkness would do.

I only wish I had known it sooner. 

[evidenceof]

scrunch for the kiss prompt!

thank you for the prompt, gigi! <3 been thinking about sunburnt dick winters after seeing this gq china editorial and it has led to this.

[ scrunch ] for a kiss on the nose

sunburn From behind Dick’s eyelids, the sunlight is pink. The underside of his arms feels cool against the outstretched dock, lying down with his palms up. He listens to the small waves lap against rock. It was easy to forget things in Austria—whether that was time, or the fact that they were still well within war-torn Europe. “You burn easily, you know that?” “Didn’t think you’d be awake, Nix.” With one eye open, Dick watches his friend slink down beside him, limbs heavy, scuffed jump boots thudding against dock. “It’d do you some good not to think of me too much.” Nix leans back, looking at Dick from above with a grin on his face. “Besides, 0900 isn’t that early.”

“Give it up, Nix. It can’t be later than 0800.” Dick’s lips hook down into an unhappy twist. He couldn’t have been plastered on the dock for anything more than thirty minutes ever since he made his way down at 0600. In response, Nix’s hand reaches forward, his arm casting a shadow where it hovered over Dick's body, and down towards Dick’s waist. “What—“ “When have I ever lied to you, Major Winters?” Nix’s hand is cold when it wraps itself around Dick’s wrist before lifting it upwards. He lets his friend’s eyes adjust to the watch hands that read 0910. Nix grunts, satisfied that he's made his point. He touches the tip of Dick’s nose with his finger and listens as he hisses loudly at the contact. “You’ve been soaking up every sun ray for a good hour and a half.” “Oh for crying out loud.” When Dick attempts to sit up, a jolt of searing pain drags across the skin of his stomach, forcing him back down. Above him Nixon laughs, loud and amused. After Varsity and the Dear John, Dick can't help laughing with him. War is beginning to slip off Nix’s shoulders, and Dick sees it on the fast fading smudges of purplish gray under his friend’s eyes, and in the way Nix lingers by the foot of Dick’s bed, talking well into the late hours of the morning until he falls asleep on varnished wood. Whenever he does, Dick doesn't know why he forces himself to stay awake a little bit longer, biding time just to watch how Nix breathes. “Don’t hurt yourself.” Nix grins and hooks a finger to slip off the aviators sitting on the edge of his nose. He flips them upside down and slides the sunglasses on to Dick’s face, gently hooking them behind his ears. “Can’t let Sink’s most promising career die of sun poisoning.” Nix bends down to adjust the aviators still a bit skewed on Dick’s face. From behind the tinted glasses, Dick sees how Nix’s smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. Suddenly all of it feels like a goodbye. The sunburn is ignored when Dick lifts his neck up and plants a kiss on the tip of Nix’s unscathed nose. “Well it’s a good thing I told him I won’t be staying.” Dick lowers his head back down, watching Nix blink in disbelief, eyes staring now at Dick’s lips. “That job offer still open?”  It takes two beats of stunned silence before Nix responds, “What? Fuck, Dick. Of course it is.” “All right. Then take me to New Jersey.”  “And Chicago,” is what Nixon says like a sigh before he ducks down, tenting his jacket above them both as a cover. In the shade, he kisses Dick’s nose, his lips. Dick doesn't have to see it, but he knows Nix's eyes are smiling.

my winnix kiss prompt drabbles

[violettduchess]

Perhaps I could request Silvio x Leyla + Colours of Sunrise? >:)

A/N: Here you go @lorei-writes! Thank you for your support of Leyla from the beginning!

This fic is a continuation of the Leyla x Silvio part of these OC Kiss Headcanons (I'll repost their part below)

An entry for my and Lorei's Sunshine and Starlight CC

WC: 2.6k

From the Headcanons:

The overcast sky matches the expression on Silvio’s face. He watches as the last of the crates are loaded onto Siren’s Call. Leyla’s ship. The one getting ready to leave the royal Benitoite port. “That’s the last one, Captain.” First Mate Kai clamps a large, reassuring hand on Leyla’s shoulder and she nods at him. He inclines his head towards Silvio, a begrudging sign of respect, before heading onto the gangway. The silence between Silvio and Leyla hangs as heavy as the gray clouds above. “I don’t get why you gotta go. You know I could–” Leyla cuts him off with a sharp shake of her head, her gold hoop earrings swaying with the movement. “I won’t be a kept woman. You know that.” She sighs heavily, brushing aside several wayward strands of hair that the wind has plucked free of her dark braid. Silvio’s fingers ache at the sight. He curls his hands into fists, fighting the burning need to touch her. “Besides,” she continues, “It’s not that long. Just a few months.” Her words are hollow with forced optimism. Silvio looks down at his boots, jaw clenched. “Fuck.” His voice is ragged. “Captain!” Kai’s deep baritone calls from the ship. “The tide!” “I know!” she barks back, her own voice scraped raw with emotion. Trying to ignore the vice squeezing her heart, she turns to Silvio. He lifts his head and in his eyes she sees all the words his mouth can’t form, all the storm clouds churning in his heart. At the same time they stumble towards each other. The kiss is messy and desperate, tinted with anger and sharp with longing. It’s Leyla who pulls away first, afraid she won’t be able to take a step towards her ship if she holds him a moment longer. “Good-bye.” He doesn’t answer. He can’t. He only watches as distance shrinks her figure, taking her away from him, with her kiss still lingering on his aching lips.

Colors of Sunrise: Red

Silvio leans on the ship’s railing, closing his eyes, the ones that match the color of the sea he is sailing swiftly across. The wind whips at his pale hair, makes a musical tinkling of his gold jewelry. It’s too dangerous, they had said. The storms around Ammolite are swallowing ships left and right. But Silvio had scoured Benitoite from end to end until he found a captain whose fear could be bought by enough gold coins. And so despite the danger, he is making his way ever closer. Even now as the sun begins its slow descent, it feels as if the ship is flying across the ocean…and still it doesn’t feel fast enough.

He is not a patient man. His ringed fingers grip the wood hard enough that his knuckles blanche. His muscles are tensed, energy coiled within him like a champagne cork that may pop at any moment. He breathes in deeply, the smell of salt water powerful and comforting. Every second that passes is another step closer, every gust of wind into the billowing white sails above presses the ship forward on its journey. Closer to seeing her again. 

She may not appreciate his rash decision. Their last real conversation, before the heart wrenching good-bye at the royal docks, was held under a sky streaked with the first rays of dawn, on the balcony off his royal bedroom. Gripping the balcony much like he is now, she had told him that she would write him when she was finished with her business on the tropical island of Ammolite. When he had demanded to know how long it would take, she had dropped her gaze, a pained expression on her face. “I don’t know. Months, probably.”

Not wanting to hear another word, he had pulled her into his arms and silenced her with his mouth, dragged her willingly back to his bed and kept her there, desperate to fill every last possible minute with the sound of her voice, the feel of her skin.

And then she had gone, leaving him pacing the palace like a wild dog, frenzied with longing, mad with missing her. Weeks went by without word, and those weeks grew into agonizing months until one day, the answer hit him, plain as day.

She may be tied to a single place for a while. But he wasn’t.

He would make sure he wasn’t.

And that revelation has lead him to this moment in time, right now, to the railing of a ship known for its reckless crew, greedy captain and record-breaking speed, rushing across the turbulent sea to find her.

Leyla tries hard to concentrate as the guild leader drones on, his monotone voice lulling her brain into stagnancy and she finds herself desperately wanting to close her eyes and sleep. She shifts in the wooden chair, wondering how the others are still awake. Kai’s eyes are heavy-lidded and one of the shipwrights has literally slumped down in his chair, chin touching his chest. If only her ship hadn’t been so damaged. Siren’s Call had gotten them to Ammolite but just barely. A wild storm had raked its claws across her hull, sunk its teeth into her sails and damaged her so badly that weeks of repair were needed. And that particular storm had only heralded the beginning of the stormy season. Leyla had hoped to leave the tropical island before the season really began in earnest but it seems fate had had different plans. 

“And unless there is any other further business–” Thank fuck, he’s finally done.

Leyla leaps up from her seat. “Nope, that all sounded great. The guild is doing a fantastic job. Nothing more to discuss today. See ya.” She yanks Kai by his massive arm, jerking him awake and pulls him out of the meeting room, through the double doors of the government building and into the fading light of evening.

“My God, he loves the sound of his own voice.”

The main street market is slowly winding down. Vendors are closing their stands, bundling up their wares. In the distance, the local pub’s doors swing open as it welcomes its first visitors. 

Her First Mate glances at the sky as they sidestep a man carrying a large basket of oranges on his head.

“He blathers on but his guild is doing a good job with the ship.”

They pause as they reach the beginning of the docks. Siren’s Call has been repaired enough to be in the water. The shipwrights have left for the day but Leyla’s keen eye spots where they have finished their work on the hull and what is still left to do on the mizzen mast.

Kai nods his bald head towards The Gray Gull which sits cozily at the edge of the docks. “You comin’ for a pint?” 

Leyla sighs. “Not tonight.” Her voice sounds soft and blue, a sad wind trailing its fingers listlessly across the water. Kai places a large hand on her shoulder, comfortingly.

“We’ll be able to leave soon, Captain.” 

“I know. I just….” She shifts her weight from one booted foot to the other. “I just really want to get back to–” She stops herself, clearing her throat. “Back to business as usual.”

Kai smiles knowingly, dark brown eyes amused. “Is that what we’re callin’ him now? Business?”

She shoots him a Look, pale blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Oh shut it, you big sea slug.”

His baritone laugh barrels out of him like the deep clang of a gong. “Aye Aye, Captain.” He pats her shoulder once more before taking his leave.

His absence makes her aware of the ache in her chest, the one that she has been fighting ever since she left Benitoite all those months ago. It's a dim throbbing that hammers its way into her dreams, filling them with Silvio. Nightly, she sees his blue eyes and silvery hair. His slow, arrogant grin and sharp cheekbones that flush shockingly fast. His long fingers, bedecked in gold, and surprisingly coarse palms. 

People rush past her as another ship in the distance comes into view, heading for the harbor. It's likely looking for permission to dock. The commotion of readying a spot for the ship is enough to pull her out of her gloom.

Again she glances at her ship at the western end of the dock. She’ll sleep in her cabin tonight. Maybe being surrounded by the things that comfort her will help keep the sharp sting of her longing at bay.

Colors of Sunrise: Orange 

Silvio leaves the captain gleefully clutching his bags of coin, more coin than he has ever seen at once, his long legs taking him down the gangplank and onto the docks. Her ship is there, at the far end. Just the sight of it sends his heart thundering. He notices several shipwrights, wrapping their tools up carefully, tying down their workstations for the night. So her ship was damaged…..

He frowns, noticing the still damaged mizzen mast. Is she ok?

Turning, he hurries as fast as he can without running, towards the small town center. The markets are slowly closing down as sunset’s prologue begins, a darkening sky, a cooler wind. He ducks past a man carrying an enormous empty basket on his head and catches the scent of oranges before heading straight for the local boarding house.

Inside, he finds a woman with dark curls wrapped up in a colorful orange turban behind the desk. She welcomes him with a warm smile, her observant eyes immediately noticing his rich clothing, his fine jewelry. 

"Welcome, traveler. May I offer you-"

“I ain’t lookin’ for a room. I’m lookin’ for a woman.”

The proprietor raises her thick browns. “This isn’t that kind of establishment, Sir. You need to head to the other end of town for that kind of pleasure.”

“No…no that’s not…” Leyla is so close, he can feel it in his blood, the way it’s rushing through him like untamed rapids. He just has to find her. “The captain. Of the ship at the end of the docks. A woman with black hair and eyes kinda like the sky."

She shakes her head. “No, Sir. She hasn’t been in tonight. You could try The Gray Gull. I believe she often takes a drink with her crew in the evening.”

The woman’s face breaks into a warm smile, fondness glowing in her round cheeks. “Captain Quinn?”

Just her name has him leaning forward, gripping the edge of the counter, nodding eagerly as his gold earring sways in the warm lamplight.  “Where can I find her? She here?”

Silvio reaches into his vest pocket and pulls out another small bag of coins, dropping it with a thud onto the counter.

“Thanks for the help.”

He leaves the boarding house and its wide-eyed proprietor behind, determination pushing him along the dusty street, towards the tavern.

The sun is stretching its artistic muscles, streaking the darkening sky with bold reds and glowing oranges. It paints the underside of the clouds pink and outlines them in shimmering apricot. The cool wind tugs on the strands of her black hair playfully, as if enjoying the fact that she has released it from the prison of her tight braid. The armor of her daily clothing, the stiff jacket and leather pants, has been replaced by the soft, white linen of her nightgown, the luxurious midnight blue velvet and silver of her robe. Absently she runs her fingers over the sleeve, remembering when Silvio presented it to her, nearly throwing it at her in his hurry to be done with the embarrassingly sweet gesture of giving her a present, for no reason other than she once commented how cold it could get in her cabin at night. The deep blue reminds her of the Benitoite sea in the earliest hours of the morning, mysterious and beautiful, dark and inviting. 

She misses him. Her fingers curl into the velvet and her eyes close. She misses him so much and it hurts. Now, alone on her wounded ship, underneath a sky exploding with color, she allows the feeling to wash over her, giving the beast full reign of her thoughts. It tramples across the tender plains of her heart, its bellowing echoing in her mind. Not a day has gone by that she hasn’t thought of him, hasn’t tried to remember the feel of his kiss, the smell of his cologne, the strength of his arms as they pull her close. She even misses his snark, the flustered fluttering of his eyelashes, the hollow sound of his bark that contains no bite, not for her.

A hard lump forms in the back of her throat, a burning tangle of her yearning and regret and desire. Almost angrily she knuckles at her eyes, wiping away tears that have yet to fall.

All this fuss….just because she hasn’t seen him in a few months. 

Inside her chains rattle as she readies herself to capture the beast of her longing and conquer it, to hide it away in the shadows of her heart as she usually does. There’s no use in allowing it to continue its rampage. 

What good are tears? They won’t bring Silvio here.

Sighing, she squares her shoulders and turns from the ship’s railing.

Colors of Sunrise: Yellow

The tavern doors are flung open with a bang. Silvio barges in, scanning the room, his heart clamoring with impatience. It’s smokey inside and lit only by greasy orange oil lamps. Could she be–

“She’s on the ship.” A deep voice from behind has the prince jerking away and spinning around like a marionette in the hands of a startled puppeteer. Immediately he recognizes Kai. The large man raises a heavy tankard of ale to his lips and jerks his head towards the doors. His gold hoop earring glints in the warm light. “Go on then, yer Highness. Get outta here.”

The fact that the First Mate isn’t the least surprised to see him doesn’t even register until much later.

Silvio nods once and hurries out of the tavern, practically running as he heads towards the docks. The heels of his boots thud with every frenzied step across the wooden boards, battling with the sound of the waves as he rushes towards Siren’s Call. 

He’s close enough now to see a figure standing at her railings and his breath catches in his lungs.

She turns, and in that moment, the thought of watching her turn away, of watching her leave him, yet again, sends panic through his veins, like lightning cleaving his heart in half with its merciless heat.

Her name is torn from his throat, lobbed in despair towards her even as his legs bring him closer. 

“LEYLA!”

She freezes at the sound of her name as it cuts through the air, striking her heart like a flaming arrow. 

Could it be….

“Leyla!!”

Again her name.

And she knows that voice.

Spinning back around she sees him rushing towards the ship, his blue cloak with its Dalmatian trim fluttering behind him like a wild phantom. 

In an instant she is flying towards the gangplank, bare feet barely touching the ground. Down the incline she soars, her heart hammering a riotous concert in her chest. 

She’s on the dock now, tearing towards him as he bolts towards her, two hurricanes in motion. 

And then they crash into one another, a tangle of arms and lips and grasping hands. 

He’s here, her heart sings, he’s really here. 

She pushes her fingers into the pale radiance of his hair, curls them into its soft strands. He holds her in arms, crushes her against him like a vice as he kisses her over and over and over and over, a drowning man finally given air. She meets him, stroke for stroke, gasping as she drinks her fill, as the cool taste of his mouth soothes the scorched earth of his absence. 

Above them the sky is golden, the sun’s final masterpiece before it sinks to its rest.

Colors of Sunrise: Pink

“The sun’s coming up.”

Her voice is rough, hoarse with the evidence of last night’s pleasures. Behind her, Silvio buries his face into the dark waves of her hair, tightening his embrace. He never wants to get up, never wants to leave the comfort of her bed, the cocoon of her ship’s cabin. He never ever wants to let her go. His only vocal reply is a grunt which somehow makes Leyla laugh.

She shifts, maneuvering herself around within the circle of his arms. His eyes are closed but she knows he is awake. Leaning forward, she presses a chaste kiss to his chin, a cool raindrop of a kiss in comparison to last night’s storm.

“C’mon, sea pup, let’s go look at the sunrise. I feel like stretching my legs a bit.”

The Prince of Benitoite scowls as she wiggles away from his embrace. He jerks his head to move his hair out of his face as he pushes himself up in the bed. He leans back on his palms, watching with a mix of admiration, lust and regret as she finds her discarded nightgown on the carpet and pulls it over her bare body.

“I thought I stretched ‘em enough last night.”

She laughs, loudly and brightly, no false modesty here. Tying her velvet robe tightly around her middle, she leans down, catching his chin in her fingers and kisses him hard, murmuring, “That you did and maybe, if you come along without anymore growling, you’ll get a chance to do it again.”

He needs no more encouragement.

Now, they stand together at the ship’s railing, arms wrapped around each other’s waists as they watch the sun’s yellow rays caress the morning sky into blushing prettily in soft pinks and corals. 

Leyla sighs, leaning into Silvio’s body, reveling in the feel of him.

“I know I said it before but I still can’t believe you’re here." She shakes her head, watching the undulation of the water. "Fucking hell, Silvio, it was such a damn risky thing to do.”

His hand at her waist clenches.

“I knew I’d make it. Besides, missing you was takin’ up all the room in my head. I had to come before it drove me nuts.”

She grins slowly. “I guess I missed you too.”

His eyes flash as he looks down at her. “Whaddya mean...you guess?!”

She shrugs nonchalantly, enjoying the way indignation and annoyance are waging war with his desire to keep holding her. “I mean...you know.... if I think about it….you may have crossed my mind. Like, once or twice.”

"Why you......" Without warning, he scoops her up into his arms. “You’re in so much trouble, sea witch.” He marches back in the direction of her cabin, her delighted laughter ringing through the air, a compliment to the bright colors of a tropical sunrise.

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage

@redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey

@mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton

@ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea

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@whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly @ozalysss @keithsandwich @ikeprinces-stuff @bestbryn

[julianaspringer]

Exterior Wood Ideas for a substantial craftsman-style, two-story, wood exterior renovation with a shingle roof

[teshadraws]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 50]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

-

Tobias and Nia take the ferry north to the guild, but the river might not be as peaceful as they would hope.

-

When Tobias wakes at sunrise, he has to take a few minutes to settle his thoughts. For once, they’re racing almost as soon as he’s conscious, still tangled up in all of the information Nia dumped on him after her impromptu talk with Giratina yesterday.

As if that situation wasn’t terrifying enough on its own.

No, she also had to come back from her little chat with news of the world ending. And somehow, Nia and Tobias are the ones put in charge of stopping it.

No pressure or anything.

Tobias knows they can’t just ignore it, though. If Giratina is telling the truth—and Tobias is still a bit iffy on that, but can’t find much reason for why he would lie about such a thing, either—then it needs to be fixed. It’s not something he’s willing to take a chance on.

At least they have a plan. Tobias isn’t looking forward to groveling to Will for the assistance Nia is convinced he can give, but he’ll feel better once he loops August and Alistair and some of the other guild ‘mon in on this. See what they know. Someone has to have an idea of where Xerneas’ resting place could be.

But before worrying about all of that, they need to actually make it back to the Lexym Guild. Even taking the ferry, it’ll probably be a couple of days until they reach home. They can think over how to bring all of this to light once they’re back.

Tobias sits up with a groan and goes about his usual process of rolling Nia out of bed. She whines in protest, but he manages to hurry them both out of the inn and into the heart of Shivergleam just as the first rays of dawn start to peek orange-bright through the foggy gray morning.

Shivergleam is strange to see in the light of day. Most Pokemon are either already asleep or heading to bed, and as they pass a grocery store Tobias sees a yawning gourgeist flip their OPEN sign to CLOSED. The ominous, twisted wooden structures around them suddenly look harmless. Almost like a town of whimsical treehouses, some distant cousin to his own home in the Lexym Tree.

Tobias leads Nia across creaky bridges (which are scarier in the day, when he can see just how far down the drop is to fog-capped swamp water) towards where he’s pretty sure the Aqua Jet had docked the night before. It’s not like it’s too big of a town, and Cordelia’s white and orange ferry stands out against the much more modest wooden canoes that the locals own.

The two of them hurry down the steps to the ferry, catching Beck just as he pulls himself out of the swamp. Water runs in rivulets through his thick orange fur and splatters onto the wood as he looks up.

“There you are! Perfect timing. Our other passenger just boarded so we’re ready to go.”

“Who’s the other passenger?” Nia asks.

Beck scratches at his chin. “A sableye. Some kind of researcher? He’s heading to the caves north of the Lexym Guild, near the foot of the mountains.”

Nia perks up at the word researcher. “I wonder if he’d tell us what he researches!”

“Not sure. He was a bit mumbly—real quiet guy.”

Tobias can handle quiet. They don’t need any shenanigans on their trip back north, especially considering they have to be on the water again. Not exactly any fire type’s favorite place to be.

“And they’re back!” A voice crows from up near the captain’s cabin. A blue and yellow maw leans out to peer down at them, teeth bared in an obnoxious grin. “Couldn’t stay away from the beautiful riverfront, could you, Charmander?”

Tobias curls his lip at her in return. While Nia waves and says hi, Tobias boards the ferry and moves to the back deck out of the croconaw’s line of sight.

It’s there he spots their new co-passenger: a spindly, dark purple ghost type with large, unnerving gemstone eyes. As in they literally look like cut gemstones. Creepy. The Pokemon is curled around a backpack and tucked up against the cabin of the ferry, half-hidden in shadows.

Tobias’ gut instinct after last night with Edme (and the general distance of the Shivergleam residents as a whole) is to be wary of their fellow passenger. Not that it would be likely for Edme to send someone after them for information about Giratina or revenge or something, but…

“Tobias, did you—“

Nia stops as she catches up, blinking as she notices the other passenger. It takes her a beat longer than usual, but she does step closer to give the ghost type a nervous smile.

“Hello! You must be the researcher Beck mentioned, right? I’m Nia and this is Tobias. I thought we should introduce ourselves since we’ll be traveling together for a few days!”

The sableye curls in a bit more at the greeting, but does quietly say, “H-Hello. Carnelian. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!”

Carnelian gives a jerky nod. Not rude, but clearly anxious and maybe not used to socializing.

They take a few steps away to give him some space. As the crew finishes preparations, Nia looks to Tobias, probably waiting for him to head back down to the boiler room with Ignatius.

Tough luck. After last night he’s not letting his danger-prone partner out of sight quite yet. He waves her off, gesturing for her to sit wherever she’s planning to sit so he can figure out where he’s settling for the morning.

Nia frowns, catching on. “You can really go inside if you’d like.”

Tobias rolls his eyes and takes the initiative, plopping down against the ferry’s middle, as far as he can from Carnelian. “I’ll go in if I want to.”

Nia doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t argue as the ferry starts up. Tobias hears Beck and Nori leap overboard with a quiet splash. Ignatius must’ve already descended into the boiler room to get the steam engine running. Which only leaves—

Caspian comes plap plap plap-ing around the corner. The little quaxly is clearly full of energy despite the early hour. He waves happily to Nia and Tobias before scampering from one side of the deck to the other to make sure that everything is in place and properly tied down. Tobias still isn’t sure if the kid is actually responsible for that part of the routine, or if the crew just gave him a “job” to help him feel useful.

Regardless, as Nia and Tobias watch, Cas runs to and fro before deeming the ship worthy. He leans through the railing to wave down at the river, and Tobias hears a quiet splash as Beck swims around to the front of the ferry to give Cordelia the all-clear. Within a minute, they’re moving slowly across the swamp, through the narrow channel leading back to the Lilycap River.

In the light of day, the swampy environment just looks…peaceful. Inviting, even, if you don’t mind water.

Carnelian doesn’t seem too keen to chat, so Nia sighs and lays back across the deck. “…I should probably practice my aura.”

Tobias raises a brow. It’s not unusual for Nia to practice her aura abilities, but it is unusual for her to jump to that option immediately, especially this early in the morning. She must be thinking about what Giratina said. Tobias has the itch to train too, knowing what they’re up against.

“Aura?”

Cas has moved to their side. The quaxly tilts his head at Nia.

Nia sits up. “Oh. Um, it’s sort of like….a specific set of moves I can use as a riolu. Everyone has aura, but I can use it for attacks and sensing things and reading someone's energy.”

Cas’ brow furrows. “‘Reading?’ Like a book? How do you do that for energy?”

“Well…aura is sort of like each pers—each Pokemon’s, um. Life energy, I guess? And everyone’s is unique! Like a fingerprint. I can look at them and know more about someone’s character and personality.”

“Could you read mine?!” Cas asks, confusion dropping in exchange for sheer excitement.

Nia looks torn between amusement and discomfort. “I-I mean. I could? But it’s sort of…personal. I see a lot about who you are. Some Pokemon find it kind of…invasive.”

“I don’t mind!” Cas insists, plopping down and scooting closer with all the reckless excitement of the child he is. “Please? It sounds neat! And I’m not big enough to help out with anything else right now so I have time.”

After another moment of hesitation, Nia huffs a laugh. She relaxes and holds out a paw. “All right. Could I have your wing for a minute?”

Cas complies, and Nia closes her eyes. Bright blue energy outlines her body, and the appendages at either side of her head lift as she concentrates her aura.

Tobias watches this process with vague curiosity. While he’s been adamant from the start that Nia not read his aura, the process doesn’t seem quite as awful to him as it once did. Not if Nia’s the one looking at his soul, at least. He would still rather she not, a little uncomfortable with what she might find, but the thought doesn’t send anxiety rushing through him, either.

Plus, she already glimpsed it down in the mines. Red. He’s red, apparently. Whatever that means.

“You’re sort of a bright pinkish-purple,” Nia says. “Almost fuchsia.”

Cas, who had been nervously staring at Nia, perks up. “That sounds pretty!”

Nia smiles, eyes still closed. “It is pretty. It’s like…the reflected colors in a bubble. Fun and light. Or…coral? Supportive. Tougher than it looks.”

Caspian looks like he’s feeling self-conscious but isn’t sure if he should be. “So is fuchsia…good?”

Nia releases the quaxly’s wing and smiles. “Well, I sure like it!”

Caspian looks down, feathers fluffing with pleased embarrassment.

“A lot of water metaphors this time,” Tobias notes, amused.

Nia shrugs with a smile. "Just felt right."

“Is that because I'm a water type?" Cas asks. "Do all types have the same color aura?”

“No, as far as I can tell your type doesn’t actually matter,” Nia says. “I’m sort of a turquoise blue, but I’m a fighting type. And I know another water type who’s green.”

“Oh.” Cas looks up thoughtfully. “I wonder what color Delia is.”

Tobias snorts. He can’t imagine Cordelia feeling comfortable letting Nia look at her soul. She seems like the fiercely private type—not that he has any room to talk.

Nia shrugs. “Could be anything, really.”

Cas mulls that over, leaning to the side and trying to peer around the tall cabin of the ferry as if he could actually see Cordelia at the wheel, let alone into her soul.

“Your aura control is really solid now,” Tobias comments.

Nia's tail wags a bit. “Thank you! I still feel like I have a long way to go, but I’m getting better. I’ve been practicing a lot!”

Tobias knows, considering he’s been around for most of her practicing.

“You going to show Val the new aura radar trick you figured out in the mines?"

“Yeah! I just hope I can recreate it when I talk to her.”

Cas tunes back into the conversation, chirping, “So what all can you do with aura?”

Nia gives Tobias a wink before forming a short staff of aura and giving it a twirl.

Cas gasps. “That’s so cool!”

“You have any cool tricks?” Tobias asks the little water type.

“I can’t do anything like that, but Auntie has been working with me on a lot of other moves and stuff. Here, watch this!”

The quaxly hops to his feet and spurts a weak water gun attack out over the railing to splatter harmlessly into the river channel.

Nia claps, and Tobias makes a suitably impressed face.

“I don’t have much else, though. I’ve mostly been working on, uh, status moves,” Cas says, sitting down. “Auntie’s a primarina, so she’s really good with that sort of thing. And she says that I shouldn’t be in the middle of serious fights at my age anyways.”

“Status moves, huh,” Nia echoes, idly twisting her aura baton through her fingers.

Tobias knows that look. She must be thinking about which ones she could use herself. He nudges her. “You ever gonna try learning work up? It’s a normal type move.”

Nia’s eyes widen. “I forgot about that one! What does that do again? Raises attack, right?”

“And special attack.”

Nia’s brow furrows. “Great. So now all I have to do is just…learn it.”

“Is it a TM?” Cas asks.

Nia blinks, first at the water type and then at Tobias.

Tobias barely bites back a rude remark. “No, it’s not a trained move for you. Should be learned naturally.”

Cas turns a confused look onto Nia.

“I…have trouble learning new moves,” Nia explains, sheepish. “Learning moves naturally. It doesn’t come to me as easy as it should.”

“That’s all right!” Cas says, surprisingly genuine. “I struggle sometimes with the moves Auntie and Delia teach me, but eventually I figure ‘em out! Usually I just gotta figure out how to form ‘em.”

Nia tilts her head. “How to form them?”

“Yeah!” Cas nods. “Like how a water gun is all about focusing my power in my belly, where my water sac is, but for disarming voice I try to push my energy into my lungs and throat.”

“Oh! Right.” Nia watches Cas with a quiet intensity as the klinklang turn inside her head. “How…how would you try using a move like work up? Where your whole body gets stronger? I was thinking that I would just need to spread my aura—my energy throughout my body, but that doesn’t seem to work.”

Cas glances at Tobias, as if unsure of why Nia is looking to a twelve year old of all ‘mon for guidance. But then he speaks up, “Well…does it feel like you’re giving your muscles any kind of boost when you do that?”

Nia closes her eyes for a moment, as if testing it out, and frowns. “…No. it feels like it’s just leaving my body without doing anything.”

“Oh, I used to do something like that!” Cas says, clearly thrilled to be able to help. “It's probably ‘cause you’re just pushing your energy out, away from your body. Auntie said you just waste it when you do that.”

Nia groans, head landing in her paws. “Great.”

“She told me that instead of pushing your energy away from you, you have to, um…how’d she put it? You have to use your energy like a river.”

“A river?” Tobias asks, doubtful.

Cas nods. “Yeah! Like, channel your energy through your body in one big loop instead of outward, starting at your shoulders then down to your feet and back up. She said that keeping it moving is what makes the power.”

Nia’s eyes widen as she straightens up. “Like a water wheel. If the energy is the water, then keeping it in a constant river loop keeps it contained in your body—“

“Instead of just pushing it away from yourself and wasting it,” Tobias realizes.

Nia grins. “Of course! Oh, that makes so much sense. Thank you, Cas! I’ll try that.”

Cas fluffs again, happy but shy. Once Tobias asks him about his aunt who taught him that, he starts chattering again, clearly super proud of the primarina.

As he does, Tobias glances at their sableye travel-buddy, who is still hunched over in the shade of the boat’s middle. Then Tobias lets himself fall back to the warming deck and closes his eyes, pillowing his head with his arms to listen.

While he might not be fond of boat travel, there isn’t much else to do over the next couple days aside from plan and do what little training they can. Might as well chat with Cas and relax while they can.

—————————————————————————————————

Over the next day and a half, Tobias’ fear of leaving Nia alone dies down, allowing him to retreat to the warm isolation of the boiler room when the river starts to become too much. He still doesn’t stay with Ignatius as much as he did on their first trip, though.

He feels the need to keep an eye on Nia, worried about where her head is at. It’s just like the period after her illness, when she would space out and drown in her own thoughts. Sometimes Tobias catches a sheen of tears in her eyes too, like she’s just barely holding it together. Tobias doesn’t know if it’s the fear and pressure of the mission dropped onto their shoulders, or if she’s worried about being able to return to the human world.

Either way, he can tell that she’s…off.

Tobias doesn’t know how to ask her if she wants to talk about it. He feels hot embarrassment burn at his face and close his throat any time he considers it. Instead, he opts to just stay close.

Not that Tobias is much better, between his own fear regarding their world-saving mission and…well.

He’s thinking about Team Zenith again.

It starts with the crobat—Asra or Vesper or whatever his name was at the end. Tobias still hates him, still feels loathing sit cold and heavy like a ball of steel in his chest. He hates the crobat more now that he knows the coward got to live a happy life with his family after what he did to Tobias’ own.

Even if his mate was right and the crobat regretted what he was a part of. Even if Tobias recalls in scattered memories that the crobat didn’t do much more than corral them, he still didn’t stop Dismas or Sulien either. Instead, he let them kill Tobias’ family then ran away.

At least he’s dead now. Tobias should probably feel bad for the quiet satisfaction that thought brings, but he doesn’t.

Instead, Tobias thinks about Dismas and Sulien. The pangoro and arcanine presumably still out there, living their own lives. Do they regret it? Have they had their own families too? Tobias doesn’t remember much about the pangoro aside from flashes of black and white fur, snarling and grappling with his mother, before the arcanine pinned Tobias down and took up the entirety of his vision.

Tobias can only think of what happened to him in pieces before forcing himself to focus again on the world around him, digging his claws into the wood of the boat and looking out over the river. His heart pounds and a chill rises over his skin. He feels his head go light.

Funny enough, the end of the world is somehow a less terrifying thing to focus on. Tobias and Nia haven’t talked about it much since learning of it, seeing as they already have their vague plan and nothing to do until they get back to the Lexym Guild anyways. Tobias doesn’t think talking about it in circles would help.

So they both stay quiet.

Beck catches on quickly to their distracted thoughts and somber mood. The floatzel doesn’t ask, but Tobias notices how he checks in with them when he can, recruiting Cas to buoy the atmosphere. Beck talks to them about the river and the crew’s travels, clearly working hard at making Nia smile. Normally, Tobias would find something like that annoying, but Beck isn’t overbearing about it.

Tobias does find their sableye co-passenger—well. Not annoying, per se, but off-putting. He keeps entirely to himself, occasionally digging through his backpack to write in a little notebook, and Tobias can’t help how suspicious he is of what the little ‘mon writes so fervently.

The last time they trusted a ghost Nia got yanked into the distortion world against her will. Tobias doesn’t think anyone could blame him for a little caution. Well, anyone but Nia apparently. The third time she catches Tobias glancing warily at Carnelian, she pulls him aside to ask him what’s up.

“Weren’t you the one who said ghost types get unfairly discriminated against all the time?” She whispers.

“I’m not doing that!” Tobias hisses.

Nia gives him an unconvinced look.

“He’s just…weird.”

Nia huffs a laugh. “Just because he’s quiet doesn’t mean he’s weird. Maybe he’s anxious because he’s not used to being away from Shivergleam.”

Tobias sighs, rubbing at his face. Is he being suspicious for no good reason? Would he be less suspicious if the passenger was just as weird but not a ghost type?

…Probably, some small, ashamed part of him admits.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Just…on edge.”

“I get it.”

From that point on, Tobias does his best to just ignore the sableye lurking around the ship. Even when they stop to eat in the evening and the sableye mysteriously vanishes.

“Probably finding his own food,” Ignatius explains once he notices Tobias looking around.

“Ah, right. Sableye eat rocks or something, right?” Cordelia says through a mouthful of the stew they’d cooked up.

“Rocks?” Cas echoes, eyes wide.

“Gems,” Nori corrects quietly. “Crystals and minerals.”

“Eh, same difference,” Cordelia dismisses.

The second day of travel dawns as calm as the first. The river is still flooded, rushing by at unsettling speeds, frothy and impossible to see through, but Nori and Beck manage to navigate the rough waters with ease, and Cordelia’s hands are steady at the wheel.

Even the weather is decent. Slightly cloudy and overcast, but no longer pounding rain like it was on the way into Shivergleam. It’s even warm enough for the deck to heat under Tobias’ scales and lull him into a nap while Nia practices her aura.

It’s not until early afternoon that something goes amiss.

Their first sign of danger is Carnelian, scuttling to his feet and looking around. The little Pokemon is fidgety, but something about the abrupt gesture speaks of panic.

Tobias and Nia snap into ready positions themselves a moment after, looking around. Cas, who had been perched on a crate nearby and watching the river, looks nervously between the three of them.

“Carnelian?” Nia asks, quiet. “Did you notice something?”

Carnelian opens his mouth, only for an unfamiliar shout from the front of the boat to snag their attention. It’s more feminine than Beck’s deep voice, and it takes Tobias a moment to realize that it’s Nori. The golduck who has been nearly silent the entire time they’ve known her.

That can’t be good.

Nori is calling something up to Cordelia, who Tobias can vaguely hear cursing in the captain’s quarters. The boat swings suddenly to the side, as if trying to slow to a sudden stop. Nia and Tobias stumble and grab onto the railing, and Caspian falls into Tobias’ side. Carnelian yelps and goes sliding across the deck.

A second later, Tobias feels what Carnelian and Nori must’ve noticed first. A tingling against his skin, in his limbs. Something uncomfortable and off, hard to pin down but familiar enough by now.

A mystery dungeon.

Nia, probably still unable to sense it due to her fighting type nature, frowns at his paling face. “What?”

“Mystery dungeon,” he grits, trying to determine how close it is. If he can feel it in the air, it must be dangerously close.

Cordelia finally manages to ease the boat against the muddy bank of the riverside. It shudders to a stop, and everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief.

Cordelia leaves the cabin and rushes around the corner, eyes honing in on Caspian and relaxing once she catches sight of him. Then she glances around. “Everyone all right back here?”

They all nod. A moment later, Beck and Nori leap out of the river with a splash and thud on deck.

“Everyone okay?” Beck echoes. “Where’s Natius?”

Right on cue, the door to the inner cabin swings open and Ignatius stomps out on-deck. “By Moltres’ flames, what is going on out here?”

The crew relaxes seeing their last missing member in good shape.

“Got a bit too close to a mystery dungeon,” Cordelia sighs, rubbing a clawed hand down her snout. “Nori caught it in time.”

Tobias is glad she did. Even now the tingling is strong, still blaring alarms in the back of his mind that danger is nearby. Tobias looks at Nori. The golduck is staring out into the forest, ruby eyes narrowed.

“U-Um,” Carnelian pipes up, voice high and nervous. Everyone turns to him, surprised to hear the sableye speak.

He shrinks, but glances at Nori, claws twiddling anxiously. “M-Miss Nori, I could be incorrect, but do you still..?”

Nori’s beak flattens out into a grim expression. She nods. “Something’s wrong.”

Tobias exchanges an uneasy glance with Nia.

There’s a tense moment of silence, save for the loud rush of the river. Tobias’ heart pounds as he swears the tingling feeling gets stronger, somehow. His head feels fuzzy, which is strange. He didn’t hit it or anything.

Tobias sees the moment Nori figures it out. “The dungeon is still forming. Right on top of us.”

Oh. Oh no.

Cordelia, who had crouched to pick up Cas, stares at her crewmate.

“W-Wait—it’s still forming?” Nia asks, glancing out at the forest. “Here? Right now? But if that happens—“

“We’ll turn feral,” Ignatius sighs, sounding almost resigned. He puffs out a cloud of smoke. “No telling what’ll happen after that.”

Tobias feels his blood chill, goosebumps rising on his skin. Now that he knows what’s happening, he can consciously recognize how slow and clumsy his thoughts suddenly feel. Like his mind is trying to wade through thick, sticky sap. If the mystery dungeon forms on top of them, they’ll turn feral until it clears again, which could be weeks. And in the meantime they’ll be mindless beasts. If one of them gets hurt, then—

Cas whimpers, burying his head in Cordelia’s stomach. Everyone else looks quietly terrified, eyes down and hands balled into fists.

“C-Can’t we do something?” Nia presses. “Can we outrun it?”

Beck shakes his head. “‘Fraid not. I’ve heard musings, but…”

“Musings?” Tobias asks.

“Unsubstantiated musings,” Nori says.

“I don’t care if they’re substantiated or not!” Tobias snarls. “If you’ve got an idea then say it!”

“Safeguard,” Beck says. “Heard a rumor ‘bout it. But unless one of you has safeguard in your arsenal, we ain’t got no way to protect ourselves even if it would work.”

There's a heavy moment of silence. Then—

Nia’s head whips up. “Protect. Would protect work?”

The crew blinks slowly at Nia, as if trying to process her words. Tobias hears Carnelian let out a animalistic whine of fear.

Nori is the first one to shake out of it enough to speak. “I don’t—“

“Do it!” Tobias growls.

Nia throws out her paws, and her aura snaps into being around them, surrounding the group in a thin dome of blue energy. Immediately, Tobias feels his sluggish thoughts clear, like the first breath of fresh air after a stuffy nose. He realizes he’d been hunched over in a crouch, and straightens up.

Everyone else snaps out of the creeping effect of the dungeon too, standing taller as their eyes clear. Cordelia almost seems to be ashamed about succumbing to the effect, and focuses on murmuring reassurances to Cas. Beck lifts his chin to look up at the protect bubble in awe. Nori is rubbing her forehead, wincing, while Carnelian whimpers and cowers closer to Nia.

Ignatius simply says, “Huh. I’ll be.”

Tobias relates. He kind of can’t believe that worked. It’s…unheard of, to get firsthand experience from Seekers or researchers who were caught in a forming mystery dungeon and able to ward it off. He didn’t know it was possible for a move to save them from such a thing.

“It worked,” Tobias breathes, relieved.

“Why did it work?” Cordelia asks, frowning and looking to Nori. “And why haven’t I heard about these rumors?”

Nori, still rubbing tenderly at the red gem on her forehead, shrugs. “Beck and I heard a rumor earlier this year. About someone using safeguard and escaping from a forming mystery dungeon unscathed. We didn’t think it was true.”

Safeguard…so that means—

“You saying Pokemon going feral is nothin’ more than a status condition?” Cordelia asks, squinting.

Nori shakes her head. “It has to be more than that. But it might work in a…similar way. A form of confusion. If so, it makes some amount of sense that it could be stopped by a strong safeguard.”

“Or a strong protect, apparently,” Beck says. “We’re real lucky you were here, Nia.”

Nia smiles, but Tobias can see the beginning of strain in her expression, in the way she doesn’t respond. She used her protect in the mines at Fort Asra, but Tobias doesn’t think she’s ever made a shield this large. It’s going to drain her quickly, even if she has been practicing with her aura.

“However it worked, we've bought ourselves a few more minutes of sanity,” Tobias says. “But now what? We’re still stuck in the middle of it and Nia can’t keep this up forever.”

Nia’s mouth twists unhappily, but she doesn’t argue.

“Could we move the boat?” Cas suggests quietly.

Cordelia shakes her head. “‘Fraid not. We would need the whole crew at their stations for that, and we’d be too far apart to protect everyone.”

“C-Could we send a distress signal?” Carnelian pipes up, voice shaking. He glances at Tobias and Nia. “To the guild.”

Oh. Right. Tobias feels a little angry that he didn’t think of that himself. He hurriedly reaches into their satchel to grab one of their badges. Then he frowns.

“No go. Too far out.”

Carnelian shrinks back into himself.

“Okay,” Tobias says, running a hand back and over his head. Think, Tobias. They aren’t technically on a mission right now, but they are Seekers. It’s their duty to protect the crew and make sure they’re safe. And Nia is busy as is, so he has to take the lead.

“Moves,” he says. “Or items. Does anyone have anything that might help? Something to stop confusion or get us out of here. Safeguard, protect, uh…fly, teleport. An escape orb?”

“Aren’t you the Seeker?” Ignatius huffs. “You should have the items.”

Tobias shoots the torkoal a nasty look. “Any helpful suggestions?”

Each Pokemon grows quiet, then shakes their head. All except Cordelia, who is looking down at the top of Cas' feathery blue head with a furrow to her brow.

Tobias stares at her, expectant.

She glares back at him, but relents. “We…might have something.”

Then she detaches the teary quaxly from her front, kneeling down to meet his eyes.

“Hey, bro?”

Cas sniffs. “Yeah?”

“Do you remember that move Auntie’s been working on with you? The one with the pink misty stuff?”

Caspian’s brow furrows. He tilts his head. “Misty train?”

Cordelia chuckles, but it’s strained. “Misty terrain, yeah. Can you do me a favor? D’you think you could try to use that?”

Tobias frowns. Misty terrain? The move sounds vaguely familiar, but…

The aura shield around them flickers. Weakens and thins and grows more transparent for just a moment as Nia growls. Tobias, concerned, steps closer and presses his arm against hers.

“A big burst of it, yeah,” Cordelia says, encouraging. “Enough to fill this whole bubble!”

Caspian glances around at everyone’s eyes on him. “W-Would it help?”

“Honestly, bite? Not sure. But it might. And we gotta try something.”

Cas falls silent, looking down at his feet.

Tobias glances at Nori. “Misty terrain?”

The golduck hums, gaze flicking between Cordelia and Cas. “Similar to safeguard. If he can use it, then we might be safe while the dungeon finishes forming.”

Tobias tries not to cling to that hope. He doesn’t want to put that kind of pressure onto a kid. But as he watches, Cordelia braces her hands on Cas’ small shoulders and gives him a squeeze before stepping back.

“All right, Cas. Give it a go. Just like Auntie showed ya.”

Everyone stills as Cas close his eyes. After a moment, he bobs his head—one, two, three, four. His little webbed foot taps along to an unseen beat. Nia, at Tobias’ side, is breathing hard as she continues to hold the protect.

Then Cas starts a little dance, surprisingly rhythmic. His feet tap and arc across the wood, his wings twisting and turning. Before Tobias can question what the heck he’s doing, he spins.

A cloud of pink energy bursts out from him in a wave. Tobias throws up his arms, and when he lowers them the air in their little bubble is…sparkly, the wood beneath their feet tinted with a shifting pink fog.

“Did it work?” Nia asks, voice tight.

Caspian, panting, looks between Nori and Cordelia.

Nori says, “No way to tell.”

Tobias grows colder. “So we have to just…”

“Try it,” Beck sighs. “Well? Do we want to rip the bandage off quick?”

“Awful casual about it,” Tobias growls.

Beck shrugs, though Tobias catches the concerned look he gives Nia.

Tobias sighs.

“Nia,” He says. “Drop the protect.”

She cracks open an eye, unsure.

“You can’t keep this up forever. Either it worked or it didn’t.”

Nia is clearly uncomfortable with that sentiment, but Tobias can see the way her arms tremble. How her ears fight to pin back with the strain.

“Nia,” he says, sharper.

She lets go with a gasp. The blue around them vanishes, leaving the open air of the river and the forest on either side. As Nia pants, Tobias holds his own breath.

The pink mist plays across the ground around them in a circle. It doesn’t dissipate, hovering around their feet like a protective presence.

Tobias glances at the others and can see the same nervous caution on their faces. But as the seconds pass, Tobias counting each beat until one minute passes, then two…he doesn’t feel that same fuzzy confusion return to slow his thoughts like tar.

“Did it work?” Ignatius asks, hushed. “Or did the dungeon already finish forming?”

Nori shakes her head, pointing out into the trees.

Tobias follows her gesture, feeling his skin crawl. The forest looks…restless. Trees roll in waves as the landscape shifts. Like the earth below them is a great waking beast. Even the boat tilts and groans, as if it too is being pulled into the distortion of the mystery dungeon.

Loud, sharp cries echo from the forest: Pokemon who weren’t as lucky as them. Pokemon caught up in the dungeon's haze. Within their circle of pink mist, however, their minds seem untouched.

Everyone releases a collective breath.

Cordelia whoops, scooping Cas up and spinning him in a tight hug. She’s yelling about how she knew he could do it and that he kicks tail. The quaxly giggles, a little teary-eyed.

Tobias finally relaxes, sinking down to the deck next to Nia. She laughs, tired and relieved as she bumps her head into Tobias’ shoulder.

“G’job, little ember,” Ignatius says to Cas. Then he turns to Nori. “How long will this hold?”

“Long enough, hopefully,” Nori says. “Eventually the dungeon will settle. All we can do is sit and wait for it to finish.”

Since Nori is keeping a watchful eye on their environment, Tobias allows himself to take a moment to breathe. He can’t make himself relax entirely, but he can’t do much at the moment either. He looks around at their companions.

Ignatius and Cordelia are murmuring to each other quietly. Cas looks exhausted by his big burst of energy, and leans heavily against Cordelia so she can scritch at his feathers. Carnelian is curled into a nervous ball around his bag, plucking at the backpack's cloth with his claws. He has scooted closer to Nia, as if soothed by her presence. Beck seems to be lost in thought, until Tobias notices how the floatzel glances at the edge of their protective circle. Ah. Keeping an eye on the misty terrain, then. Good.

Nia, finally having caught her breath, turns to sit against Tobias. He leans back as well so they’re spine to spine and tries to reign in his nerves. They need to stay calm and hope that the dungeon finishes forming before Cas’ attack wears off. Then…he supposes they’ll need to fight their way out of the dungeon.

He and Nia need to be ready to lead them when that time comes. They’re young, but they likely still have the most experience with navigating through situations like this.

“Huh,” Nia says, almost too quiet to hear.

“What?”

“Oh. I was just thinking that it makes sense. What Nori said, about the dungeon causing something similar to confusion.”

“Why’s that?” Tobias asks, tilting his chin back to look at the side of her head.

“Well…” her voice lowers. “If what Giratina said is true, then the borders of the rift are made up of aura. Of…life energy. And moves also come from our own life energy, our own aura. So I guess it just makes sense to me that damage in the border could…confuse the world in the same way Pokemon get confused by like, a confuse ray or something.”

Tobias snorts, remembering what Nia told him after her last breakthrough with aura. “Avery is going to lose their mind when you tell them that.”

Nia laughs. “I know.”

The group starts up a quiet conversation while they wait for the dungeon to finish forming, everyone likely trying to avoid thinking too hard about whether or not Cas’ misty terrain will hold. Tobias eyes the changing surroundings as they talk.

The forest almost seems alive, closing in tighter and tighter to form the mystery dungeons' trademark “rooms” and “hallways.” The trees shift and twist, weaving together with loud cracks that make Carnelian, Cas and Nia flinch. Weedy grasses and muddy banks rise higher into sharp inclines, boxing them slowly into a long corridor. It’s unnerving to watch happen, as if some invisible giant is ignoring the laws of reality and molding the world around them, stretching trees out like putty and raising the earth like sandcastles.

Slowly, the movements settle. The open air of the wide river has been contained to something much smaller, partially blocking out the overcast sky. An uneasy quiet descends on the forest, and Tobias isn’t sure why it feels this unnatural until he hears Cas murmur something about the river.

That’s it. The loud roar of the river is just…gone.

“I believe it’s finished,” Nori finally says.

Everyone stands tall to try peering over the lip of the boat and into the corridor they’re now trapped in. The “walls” of the hallway are unnaturally steep banks of mud, smooth river stones, and long grasses, with tree roots twisted throughout here and there. Tobias thinks he can see rivulets of water trickling down them, and hears the gentle burble of running water that can’t compare to the roar of the river.

The rivulets bleed into the “floor” of the hallway, which is covered in a sheen of water, as if it has become its own modest stream. Tobias feels his heart drop at the sight and squints, trying to look past the bright reflection of the sky to see if the water is deep or just surface-level. He has no idea how they’re going to fight their way out if the dungeon is covered in deep water. Just walking through a floor of the stuff would burn Tobias’ feet raw.

Nori is the first one to move. She exchanges a look with Beck, then calmly walks out of the protective circle. Tobias' heart jumps. Cordelia makes a sound of alarm and darts after the golduck, but Beck steps in her path.

“Beck, if you don’t move that waterlogged orange pelt—“

“Someone has to test it, and Nori is the most sensitive of us to psychic fields. She knows what she’s doing.”

Cordelia’s eyes flick past him to Nori. She grits her teeth and watches the golduck take a few more steps to the railing of the boat before turning to look at them, crossing her arms to wait.

“Give her a few minutes,” Ignatius says. “If she feels fine after that, we should be safe to move.”

After a moment, Cordelia returns to Cas' side. But she keeps her eyes trained on the golduck to watch for any signs of her being affected.

Luckily, Nori calmly stays in place, looking out over the corridor. After a few minutes, she pushes off and walks back into the protective circle of the misty terrain.

“I believe it’s safe.”

“Clearly,” Cordelia snorts. Then her voice hardens. “Don’t do that again. Captain’s orders.”

Nori nods, as if she didn’t just deliberately make a decision knowing Cordelia would object.

Cordelia grunts. Then she turns to look around at the rest of her crew and their passengers. “Well, Cas and the riolu saved our tails, but we still gotta get out of here. We ready to fight?”

“We’re not going to fight unless we have to,” Tobias counters, crossing his arms. The crew members look at him, surprised.

“And what makes you think you’re calling the shots here, kid?”

“Because Nia and I are Seekers, remember? Unless you’re secretly dungeon divers yourselves, we’re the most familiar with navigating places like this.”

“You suggesting you two lead us through this mess?” Ignatius asks, incredulous.

Tobias nods.

“Can you fight?” Cordelia challenges.

Tobias rolls his eyes. “Of course we can fight. But we should avoid ferals when possible because we have a giant group and an unknowably deep dungeon—we have to conserve our energy where we can.”

“He has a point,” Nori says.

Beck's tails twist worriedly, like a propellor. “This is unfamiliar territory you two aren’t used to. You sure you're up to this?”

Tobias snorts. “Every dungeon is unfamiliar territory. You wouldn’t be any more used to it than we are.”

Beck frowns, conceding the point but not looking happy about it.

“I would like to keep an eye on Cas,” Cordelia admits. Then, more of an order than a question, “What’s your team rank?”

“U-Um. D, right?” Nia says, glancing at Tobias.

Tobias winces, then hurries to add, “We’ve only been Seekers for a couple of months.”

“Awful proud for such shiny new recruits,” Ignatius mutters.

Tobias opens his mouth to snap something at the torkoal, only for Nia to stop him with a gentle paw on his arm.

“I know we’re young,” Nia says. “And we haven't been doing this long. But we’ve already been through…a lot. We’re stronger than we look.”

“And we’re the Seekers,” Tobias stresses. “Even if you can battle, this is different than a spar between two sane Pokemon. Let us lead.”

“We can clear a path for you,” Nia adds. “If it turns out that we can’t handle it, you guys can step in.”

The air is still heavy with uncertainty.

Tobias is irked that this is suddenly an issue at all when they face dangerous missions every day, but he knows Nia’s calmer approach is more likely to prove their point about them being mature enough to handle this, so he keeps his mouth shut.

The crew exchange looks with one another. Nori seems to surprisingly be on their side. She stares her crew mates down, apparently firm in her decision. After a moment, Ignatius grumbles something about young startups, but backs down. Cordelia, after a long and wordless exchange of expressions with Nori, nods once.

Beck is the only adult crew member who hasn’t agreed.

“What? What’s the problem?”

The floatzel sighs. “…Nothing. Just getting old and letting my instincts as a dad win out over my instincts as a crewmate.”

Oh. He’s…worried about them? He shouldn’t be. They just got the fate of the world dumped on their shoulders. They can handle a little mystery dungeon.

“We can handle it, Beck,” Nia says, echoing his thoughts. Her voice is firm but not unkind. She gives him a smile. “I know you’re worried, but this is kind of our job.”

Glancing around and realizing that no one else shares his concerns, Beck caves. “All right. Just…let me know if you two need help, all right? These old bones can still fight if need be.”

“Deal!”

The group cautiously moves out of the protective effect of Cas’ circle and to the edge of the boat. Beck insists on going down first, “Just to check how deep it is,” before slipping overboard. Tobias frowns when Beck goes entirely underwater, confirming that the path is too deep to walk through. The floatzel surfaces, glancing around to make sure nothing is about to attack before waving up at them.

Cordelia smirks at Tobias. “You sure you still want to lead, flame?”

Tobias, on completely stupid impulse, glares at her before hopping over the edge of the boat. Beck barks a startled sound but manages to catch him on his chest.

Tobias pushes roughly at the paws on his arms. “Let me go! I’m fine.”

“You can’t be implying you’re going to swim through this.”

“I said we’ll lead and I meant it!”

Beck tightens his hold. Tobias could break free, but he doesn’t want to hurt the stupid old ‘mon.

“Just…let me give you a lift through the water,” Beck says, meeting Tobias’ eyes. “In return, I won’t fret about you two leading us.”

“Or you could just let me go and not fret anyways.”

Beck’s gives him a look that feels too fatherly to be comfortable. As if to say he has the patience to wait out Tobias’ stupidity.

Tobias growls. “…Fine.”

Beck releases him, and Tobias sits up on the floatzel’s stomach. The water type is long and flat, admittedly perfect for ferrying passengers.

Nori slips over the boat next, into the gentle current with a quiet splash. Then Cordelia and Cas. After that, Cordelia yells up at the boat until Ignatius stops hollering about dying on solid ground where sane fire types belong. Then the torkoal tumbles over the edge in his shell for Nori to catch and hike carefully onto her back.

Finally, Carnelian peers over the edge, shaking visibly even from here. Nia is clearly trying to soothe the sableye, but whatever she says must work, because he eventually hauls himself over the side of the boat with jerky movements. Nia climbs out after him, watching the sableye’s feet and murmuring reassurances.

Tobias rolls his eyes. “Nia, watch your own paws!”

It’s a clumsy effort, but the two of them manage to slide down the boat in fits and starts. Beck drifts closer and Tobias holds onto the boat so the floatzel can roll over onto his belly. Then all three of them climb atop his wet back—Tobias in front, with Nia and Carnelian behind.

“Everyone good?” Cordelia calls. She’s treading water easily, Cas perched on her back.

Irritation gnaws at Tobias as the croconaw takes charge, but he nods.

“Keep an eye out for ferals,” Cordelia adds. She swims forward to take the lead, but hesitates and glances at the quaxly over her shoulder, clearly not wanting him to be in the first line of defense.

Tobias takes their chance. He gives the thick orange fur below him two pats, before anyone else can try to take point. Beck hesitates, but eventually obeys, moving forward to lead the group down the corridor with a near-silent lap of water.

Aside from the gentle rush of the stream, the air is silent. It feels even more tense now that they’re in the dungeon proper.

Tobias leans back to murmur to Nia, “I’ll keep an eye on the water since I have sharper eyes. You take above.”

Nia nods.

Their group drifts down the corridor and around the corner. Halfway down the next hallway, the terrain slopes up to grassy, muddy land before dipping back into the water again. Looks like they’ll be traversing a dungeon of streams and islands.

Lovely.

When they reach land, Nia and Tobias slip off Beck's back to stand on their own feet. The ground underfoot is damp and sticky with mud between smooth river stones and long patches of lush grass. Tobias tries not to let his distaste with the damp environment show as he takes lead, Nia right behind him.

So far no ferals, but Tobias can see Nia’s ears twisting and turning to catch distant sounds out of the corner of his eye.

“What kind of Pokemon do you think we’ll run into here?” Nia whispers.

Beck answers from right behind them. “It’ll be the Pokemon who live near the river, right? So water types for sure. Otherwise, likely grass and bug. Normal. Some dark types.”

Tobias flicks his tail. Most of those types shouldn’t be an issue, but the water types could be a pain for him. He’ll have to watch out for them.

Once they reach the stream on the other side, the group wordlessly moves back into their previous formation. Tobias grudgingly climbs atop Beck’s back in front of Nia as they wait for Carnelian to scramble on behind them. The floatzel slips into the water, and Tobias hears Cordelia and Nori follow behind.

They don’t run into their first feral until they reach the next patch of land, luckily in the same room as the stairs. The staircase sits eerily in the corner of the room, cutting off into nothingness six or seven steps up. They’re made of wood like Cordelia’s boat, with chipping paint to match.

The feral standing in their way is a thwackey nearly twice their size. It screeches with blank white eyes when it sees them, then launches at their group with sharp fangs bared.

Tobias and Nia rush forward to intercept. Nia is faster, and ducks low to kick out a leg and topple the grass type into the dirt. Tobias takes the opportunity to engulf it in a cloud of embers. The thwackey screeches and skitters back on four legs.

Nia hesitates on her follow-up attack, probably caught up in her own head again. Not that Tobias can blame her this time—it’s hard to think that this thwackey was probably a regular Pokemon living their life just an hour ago, and now—

Not thinking about it.

The thwackey wipes embers out of its eyes and goes at Nia with fists swinging. Nia creates a staff of aura and blocks the attack with a grunt. Tobias takes the opening while it’s turned away to breathe a plume of fire onto his hands. Then he darts forward to slash at the thwackey’s back with heated claws. 1-2-3-4—

The thwackey cries out, stumbling. Before Nia and Tobias can attack again, the feral spins and crashes off through the foliage, down one of the dungeon's hallways.

Tobias huffs out a breath, snuffing his fire down to smoke. He glances at Nia to make sure she isn’t injured, then back at the rest of their crew.

Beck is blinking at them, halfway into a battle stance and clearly surprised. Cas' eyes are starry, and even Cordelia looks a bit impressed with them.

“Not bad,” the Croconaw says. “Guess you two are a bit tougher than you look.”

Tobias rolls his eyes despite the warmth spreading in his chest. “Yeah, yeah. Everyone just hold hands already so we can go to the next floor.”

Cordelia looks sour once he repeats the command and she realizes he’s serious. Only the explanation that they might lose each other warping to the next floor makes her acquiesce.

Tobias climbs the stairs first, Nia right behind him. When Tobias reaches the top creaky step, his stomach turns with vertigo and their surroundings shift. In a blink, they’ve warped to a location that is eerily similar but distinctly different in its layout.

Unfortunately, they also warp to a room that is almost entirely covered in water. Tobias lets out an embarrassing yelp as he falls under with a splash. The gentle current feels freezing against his hot skin, and the immediate wave of prickling pain knocks the breath from his lungs.

A strong arm scoops him up and out of the water before he can thrash for more than a second. In a whirl of movement, Tobias finds himself still drenched but out of the water. He cracks his eyes open, panting hard and shuddering through shocks of pain. His clenched hands hold onto thick, creamy fur.

“Tobias!” Nia coughs, seated atop Beck’s stomach as well and dripping audibly. “Are you all right?”

Tobias wipes his mouth with a shaky hand. Ugh. “Fantastic.”

Nia’s paw lands lightly on his shoulder, but even that touch feels overly sensitive and raw. He jerks away with a hiss and she whispers a string of apologies.

Tobias takes a moment to catch his breath and calm his pounding heart. As the water falls off his body, the painful burn on his skin starts to die down to a more manageable ache. Finally, he looks around.

Beck, lying on his back, is watching Tobias with concern. Nia, sitting next to him on the floatzel’s belly, wears a similar expression. Carnelian is shivering as far away as he can get on their makeshift raft, tipping his backpack to clear it of water.

Nori seems to have caught Ignatius before the torkoal could get similarly dunked. Cas is floating anxiously next to Cordelia in the water. Most everyone’s eyes are on Tobias, so he flushes and forces himself to sit up straight so he can look around.

They’re in a room filled with stream water, the surface finally calming down after their sudden entrance. Two hallways branch off on either side.

“Everyone all right?” Tobias rasps.

Cordelia arches a brow. “You’re asking us?”

Tobias takes that as affirmation and scowls down one hallway, then the other. There really isn’t any rhyme or reason to how he and Nia usually pick directions in dungeons, so he points Beck in the direction of the one he sees grasses poking out of farther down.

“We can wait here a moment for you to catch your breath,” Beck starts.

Tobias shakes his head. “We shouldn’t. It’s best to keep moving in a dungeon or we might get ambushed. I’m fine. Go.”

Beck’s gaze flicks to Nia. The riolu looks like she wants to agree with Beck, but Tobias gives her a hard look so she doesn’t argue.

Finally, Beck swims down the pointed direction. Cordelia and Nori follow quietly behind. When they reach land, Tobias gratefully stumbles onto the marshy ground. His limbs are still a bit shaky and his skin feels tight and uncomfortable, but he’s fine all in all.

A rustle ahead is their only warning before a new, bipedal green Pokemon shambles out of the grass, something oddly rhythmic to its steps. The lilypad atop its head and its bright pink beak tip Tobias off.

“Lombre,” he hisses, he and Nia moving into defensive stances. “Water and grass type.”

The lombre chitters aggressively when it sees them with its milky eyes. It lunges. Nia meets it head-on with a burst of aura, then dances out of range.

The lombre turns on Tobias and sucks in a breath, clearly about to spit out a water type move. Tobias braces to dodge.

They're interrupted by the sound of crashing water, and then a bright blue streak slams into the lombre and sends it rolling into the tall grass. Tobias blinks, stunned, as blue water splatters to the ground and Beck cuts off his aqua jet attack to land on four paws.

Beck glances at Tobias and opens his mouth to say something, but he's cut off by a bright green ball of energy as it shoots from the safety of the grass and hits him hard. The floatzel stumbles back into the wall of the dungeon, then slides down to the ground.

“Beck!” Nia calls, distraught.

Nori is already moving to Beck’s side, so Tobias decides she can handle that. He focuses back on the fight with the lombre, only to hear a startled squeak from behind him, near the back of their group.

He looks just in time to see a blue Pokemon—a tirtouga?—spitting attacks at Cordelia and Cas. Cas hides behind Cordelia as she turns on the tirtouga with a snarl.

“I got ‘em!” Nia shouts, using quick attack to flash past Tobias. She leaps out over the water, staff arcing high over her head, and Tobias has a good feeling she’s going to hit her mark.

Tobias turns back to his own fight as a water gun shoots from the grass, narrowly missing him. He growls. If his opponent is hiding, he should just burn the feral's cover to the ground. But lombre are half water type and the grass is probably too wet to catch, so—

Dragon rage it is.

Tobias sucks in a lungful of air and releases it in a stream of purple fire. The flames catch on the damp grass much easier than regular fire would, quickly scaring the lombre out.

Tobias takes his shot amidst the feral’s panic and shoots off another dragon rage. The lombre shrieks under the fresh onslaught. Tobias rushes forward and spins, slamming the feral into the dungeon wall with his tail.

Tobias pants in the ensuing quiet, watching the lombre for a moment to be sure it’s down. Then he looks behind him.

Nia is paddling through the stream back towards land, waterlogged but no worse for wear. Cordelia pulls her out. The little quaxly in her arms is clearly spooked but seems unharmed.

Nia hurries immediately to Beck’s side, kneeling across from Nori. “Is he all right?”

The floatzel groans at the sound of her voice, eyes fluttering open. His gaze is bleary and unfocused.

“Beck?” Nia prompts.

The floatzel closes his eyes, scrunching up his snout. “‘M fine, Hazel. Stop worrying. Where’re the kids?”

Nia stills. She stares at Beck with a stunned expression. “H-Hazel?”

“His mate,”  Nori says, watching the way Beck is blinking back to reality. “I suppose you do sound a bit like her.”

“His mate,” Nia murmurs, frowning. Tobias can tell that this info means something to her. The name Hazel is actually tickling something in the back of his mind, too, though he can't quite pin it down.

Cas escapes Cordelia’s protective hold and scampers to Beck’s side. “Are you okay, Beck?”

Something about the quaxly’s voice seems to clear Beck's mind. The floatzel shakes his head and slowly props himself up on his arms. He gives Cas a shaky smile. "I’m fine, dewdrop.”

“I’ll decide if you’re fine,” Nori says, pushing Beck back down with a webbed hand against his chest. “Follow my finger.”

Beck sighs but patiently follows her instructions as she checks for a concussion. Once she deems him safe to move, Beck climbs to his feet with a groan, using the shifting wall of mud and grasses to stand.

Good. He’s up. That means Tobias can chew him out.

“Beck.”

“Yeah?”

“What was that?!” Tobias snaps. “I told you to stay back and let us handle the fighting!”

Beck winces. “I…was worried about you facing a water type. Especially right after falling in.”

Tobias jerks an angry thumb over his shoulder.

Beck follows the gesture. Smoke is rising from the ashes of the large patch of grass Tobias just burned, purple embers still sparkling. The lombre is knocked out cold to the side.

“Riolu one-hit KO’d a tirtouga, too,” Cordelia laughs, glancing over her own shoulder to the water.

Beck blinks, then barks a laugh. “Well. Suppose I look a bit foolish right now.”

“…What.”

“You two said you could handle yourselves, and it looks like you were right. Sorry for doubting you.”

Nia beams. “That's all right! I know we’re not, uh...all that intimidating.”

"Speak for yourself," Tobias grumbles, rubbing at his face. Unsatisfied anger burns in his belly as all the wind leaves his sails. It doesn’t feel right to go on a tirade if the floatzel just…immediately apologizes. “Whatever. Just…don’t do it again.”

“Not planning to. That knock to the noggin hurt.”

“We should rethink how we travel,” Nori says, her quiet voice heavy enough to cut through their conversation. “If we continue this way, we have to worry about the back half of the group getting ambushed.”

“Yeah,” Nia agrees, frowning.

Tobias and Nia haven’t really taken many escort missions through dungeons—and especially not with a group this large—so they didn’t think about it beforehand, but…

“You’re right. We need a better formation,” Tobias says, crossing his arms. “Who here has experience fighting? Actual fighting, not just friendly spars.”

Nia, ridiculously, raises her paw. Tobias gives her a dry look until she lowers it again.

Cordelia snorts. “I can fight if I have to, but my first priority is keeping an eye on Cas and my crew.”

Tobias nods. “That works. Cas will stay in the middle of the group, so stick with him.”

Cas pouts but doesn’t argue.

“Nori and I are in decent shape, but we aren’t used to fighting often,” Beck says. “As you just saw.”

Ignatius puffs a wisp of smoke. “Hate to say it, but I’m probably as weak as Cas at my age.”

Tobias nods, looking between everyone and calculating. With Nia’s abysmal sense of direction, Tobias needs to be in the front of the group to direct them. But they do need someone to watch their backs, too, and Tobias trusts no one else but Nia for that. The most vulnerable members should be sandwiched in the middle when possible.

“In that case, I’ll take point. Nia, you take back. Cas, Cordelia, Ignatius and, uh…Carnelian. You all need to be in the middle. Beck and Nori, you flank me and Nia.”

“And when we’re in the water?” Beck asks.

Tobias hesitates.

“Well, we can’t do the same formation in the water,” Nia says, half to herself. She jumps when she realizes all eyes have turned to her. “C-Could we swap?  Have Ignatius rides with Tobias and Beck up front and Carnelian and I go to the back with Nori? That way we don’t have to rearrange much when we get to land.”

To Tobias’ surprise, no one questions the idea, seeming to agree with both of their judgment calls.

After checking that Beck is good to go, they form up. Nia takes the rear, giving Tobias a thumbs-up. Nori moves in front of her with a quiet comment that makes her smile. Carnelian shuffles nervously in front of them, clutching his backpack close. Then it’s Cordelia, the croconaw keeping little Cas right in front of her, then Ignatius. Finally, Beck stands right behind Tobias, the floatzel acting as a taller lookout. He gives him a nod, all his previous uncertainty with Tobias’ abilities seemingly gone.

Huh. Tobias feels kind of proud about how well that went. He’s still uneasy about how large of a group they’re leading through, but they’ll just have to try their best and hope they make it out with minimal injuries.

“All right,” Tobias says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. “Let’s go.”

[woodsdyke]

happy halloween month! this seems like as good of a time as any to share this little thing i wrote about hey wouldn't it be fucked up if the ocean ate your dad. please enjoy. thanks

trigger warnings: description of dead bodies, character death (including death of a child), drowning

---

barnacles

word count: 2,577 words

Her father returns from a fishing trip on the third of September, two weeks after his expected return, and looks at her with a dead man's eyes.

She sees his boat in the distance before anyone else, through the little gold spyglass she’d gotten from her uncle a while back, the one who told her stories about his voyages in the navy but only when her mother wasn’t within earshot. She shouts through the open front door that he’s back and sprints down through the yard, across the beach, and out to the far end of the dock. The wood creaks under her bare feet.

It’s not unusual for him to come back a day or two after he promised – sometimes the wind just doesn’t cooperate – but a fortnight is a long time. Her mother had been worried sick. Saoirse watches the boat approach and decides it looks unharmed, just as it did when he’d left at dawn in mid-August. Maybe the sails are a bit worse for wear, expected for this time of year, the evening storms that roll in from out at sea more or less like clockwork can batter such a small vessel.

She waves with both hands as the ship navigates to the dock and comes to a halt next to it. Her father raises a hand in greeting but doesn’t say anything, instead focusing on lowering the sails, dropping the anchor, then clambering over the side of the boat to tie her to the dock. Saoirse goes to help. She grabs one of the ropes and ties it to a post, complete with one of the sturdy knots she’s been practicing. She tugs on the rope and it holds.

“You said you’d be home a fortnight ago,” Saoirse tells him, once the boat is secure.

“I’m sorry, my dear, I got caught up in the weather, blew me off course,” her father says, lifting his duffel bag from the boat’s deck and slinging it over his shoulder, and it’s only then when he looks at her.

Saoirse freezes up. She can’t help it.

She’s seen the look in her father’s eyes before.

Years ago, when she wasn’t a day past eight, two of the neighbor boys had gone out to their dock to go swimming, and only one came back. Everyone knows the danger of the sea, especially this far north – she’s cold, and mean, and unforgiving, and if she doesn’t dash you upon the rocks, she’ll drag you down and never let you go. One of the boys, a tall, scrawny redhead named Cormac, ran clumsily from the surf and back towards his house, shouting up a storm as he went. He returned to the dock with his parents, as if there was anything they could do. To a child, maybe the idea that the sea can forgive a misstep was a possibility. To his parents, whose son was gone in an instant, down in a grave no one can visit, there was no such hope.

Saoirse listened to the anguished sobs of the boy’s mother from the warmth and safety of her bedroom. Her own mother brought the grieving family a meal.

And then, that next morning, Saoirse had gone down to the beach for her routine beach combing, searching for pieces of glass, colorful shells, the occasional glass bottle that never contained a letter as much as she wished it would, and instead she found a small, gray, waterlogged corpse, washed up on the shore like a beached whale.

She didn’t scream, or cry, or do much of anything. She just stood there, still, silent, and looked down at the dead boy. The sea ate him and spat him back up. Not nearly big enough to be a decent meal. His eyes were open.

When her father looks at her, his eyes are the same. They belong to something the sea devoured and coughed back up. She thinks maybe if she blinks it’ll all go back to normal, and she can pretend it was just a trick of the light, but it doesn’t work like that. Her father’s steely grey eyes are cloudy, now, dull, looking through her, rather than at her, like she’s invisible and he’s focused on the horizon behind her.

She follows him back up to the house, where her mother embraces him and tells him she’d been so worried, and Saoirse searches her eyes for any surprise, fear, anything, but all she sees is relief. They have fresh fish and roasted potatoes for dinner, and even an apple pie her mother had made, and then Saoirse goes to bed and doesn’t sleep, staring out the window at the ocean in the distance, all dark, sleek glass and an empty gray sky.

---

There’s more wrong with him than just his eyes, but no one else seems to notice.

Apparently, he’d been out so long because strong north winds had pushed the boat further out to sea and had persisted for quite a while, giving him a much longer journey home. Otherwise, it had been a good trip, he’d cleaned his catch and took quite a lot of it down to the weekend market and had come back with an impressive amount of money in hand. It would keep them comfortable for a while, at least until the weather improved again. It’s been raining for four days now with no signs of stopping.

Usually when he comes back, Saoirse’s father returns with a story or two, as well. Either a true recounting of something notable, or a cleverly crafted lie that she can see right through but likes to hear anyway. This time, he doesn’t offer her anything, and when she asks, he smiles, serene, and tells her it was a nice trip. An uneventful one. The wind just worked against him for a while. It happens.

That night, after she’s supposed to be asleep, she creeps downstairs and spots him on the front porch, standing stock-still at its edge, hands relaxed at his sides, chin raised. She watches him for a while before retreating upstairs. When she returns one more time before she sleeps, he’s still there, empty eyes on the sea.

---

He does it every night, for hours. Just stands on the front porch and stares at the water. Saoirse wants to ask her mother about it, but she doesn’t, on the off chance she doesn’t know.

---

Saoirse’s down on the dock, on her hands and knees so she can lean over the edge to look for jellyfish, when something on the boat’s hull catches her eye. The weathered wood is caked in barnacles, their sharp angles and bleached shells like old bone, little creatures hidden inside. She sits back onto her knees and furrows her brow. The morning before he had left, she helped her father scrape all the barnacles from the wood. If you don’t take them off now and again, they can change the ship’s drag, even damage it over time.

It takes a long time for this many to take hold, a lot longer than a fortnight and change.

Saoirse looks at the barnacles for another moment, as if expecting something to happen, but it doesn’t. She goes back to the house.

“Papa?” she leans through the doorway to the living room where her father is sitting at the table. He’s not doing anything, just sitting there, hands on his lap, eyes on the sea out the window. He turns his head to look at her. “There’s barnacles on the boat.” He doesn’t respond. Saoirse shifts uneasily from one foot to the other. “We scraped them all off before you left.”

He nods, thoughtful. “There aren’t any barnacles.”

“There are. I just saw them.”

His expression darkens, and Saoirse grimaces. “We scraped them all off before I left, Saoirse,” he says, in a firm, almost angry voice, and she blanches. Her father’s a kind, gentle man, no sharp edges. He should be getting up and going down with her to the dock, sitting down to get a close look at the barnacles, saying ‘huh, that is strange, isn’t it?’ which isn’t an answer but is at least an acknowledgement.

Saoirse opens her mouth to speak. “Drop it,” her father hisses through his teeth. She quickly leaves the room.

---

One weekend, her brothers visit. Alisdair is twelve years her senior, a carpenter in Cork, he’s got a wife and two kids. He’s made a good life for himself. Oscar’s a year younger, a bit more of a wanderer, currently a physician’s assistant in a town about a day’s ride to the north, though who knows how long that will last. When Oscar shows up, she watches him like a hawk, waiting for the confusion, the concern, but instead he just embraces both his parents with a grin and a greeting. That evening, Alisdair does the same.

Saoirse wonders if she’s gone mad.

---

“I think something’s wrong with Papa,” Saoirse tells her brothers while they’re in the kitchen alone. Alisdair is cleaning and filleting a few mackerel they’d reeled in from the dock earlier. Oscar lifts the cheesecloth over a large bowl to check the rise on a loaf of bread. They both look at her. She focuses on chopping carrots. “He went out on a trip last month, and when he came back he was different. He’s not acting right.”

Oscar says he doesn’t know what she means. Alisdair seems to agree. She wants to turn around and grab them and shake them, maybe even point her knife at them, say ‘do you see his eyes? You have to have seen his eyes’.

She doesn’t. She chops more carrots. When she nicks her index finger with the knife, she sticks her finger in her mouth and tastes the copper of her own blood.

---

It’s been nearly two months since her father had returned from his fishing trip. She tries to ask about the barnacles again, but he snaps at her not to worry about it. She gets the courage to ask her mother if she notices anything off about him, but she shrugs her off and says she worries too much.

A storm is rolling in from the south that night. The sea far on the horizon is choppy and wild, nearly black water and bright white foam. The front door is open. Saoirse pauses at the base of the stairs, watching the curtains in the kitchen flutter in the breeze. She can just see the shape of her father through the doorway, on the porch. “Papa?” she calls, keeping her voice low. There’s no response, no movement. She makes her way towards the door, slow, hesitant, almost afraid, though she isn’t sure of what.

Her father is standing at the edge of the porch again. He has been doing this a lot lately, more often in the past week or so. He never says a word, never moves a muscle, just stands and stares with a look in his eyes that is hard to place.

“Papa,” Saoirse repeats, louder this time. He mumbles something, inarticulate. “What?”

“I need to go back,” he says, clearer now, but distant.

“Go back where?”

He says it again, in the same blank, even tone. Saoirse grabs his sleeve to try to get his attention. He doesn’t pull away, but doesn’t turn towards her, either. He says it again, once, twice, and again, like a litany, and no matter what she does, she can’t get him to say anything else.

I need to go back.

---

He stops talking after that. Her mother says he’s just tired.

---

Three months to the day since his return, her father finally steps off the porch. It’s an unseasonably warm, calm night, the sea is still, the wind barely there. It’s become a sort of routine by now – Saoirse descends the stairs at night, watches her father on the porch, and then heads back up after a few minutes. She’s not sure why she does it. Maybe she thinks someday it’ll stop, and the sea will give her father back, the one with green eyes and a friendly smile and stories about adventures at sea, about huge fish hooked but lost to snapped lines, of ships with black flags far in the distance.

When she makes it to the porch this time, he’s not there anymore. Instead, he’s striding through the yard, purposeful, silent. It’s a short walk down to the beach. Saoirse rushes to put on her shoes and follows after him. She calls for him, but he doesn’t slow down. She picks her way through the haphazard line of driftwood at the beach’s edge, bleached white like old bones, and her shoes sink into the sand as she approaches the water. She stops, a few meters away from her father, and watches. She doesn’t call out to him again. He can’t hear her. Waves rushing in his ears.

The moon is bright overhead and it lights up the water enough for the drop off to be visible, a dark, stormy blue cutting to inky black. She’s swum in these waters before. It stays shallow, just for a bit, and then the sand crumbles under your feet and there’s nothing below you. It’s the drop off that took their neighbors’ son and returned him all bloated and cold.

Her father’s feet are in the water now, it’s soaking into the legs of his trousers. He keeps walking, slower now, but with just as much purpose, until he’s up to his knees, thighs, waist. It’s only when he’s up to his chest in the surf that she shouts to him again. Come back, she says, what are you doing?

Finally, he looks over his shoulder. His eyes have changed again, milky white now, no trace of a pupil, of life. They seem just slightly too big to fit in his skull.

He turns back around and doesn’t stop walking, not even when the water licks at his collarbones, when he goes under completely, and then he’s not walking anymore and the beach is silent. He doesn’t resurface.

Saoirse should probably start screaming, run back to their house to get help, tell her mother what had happened, but it’s no use. She can feel it in her bones, like the chill from the northern winds that hit in the early days of autumn, in those days when her father first came back.

The sea never gives up her dead. At least not for long.

---

There’s no body, and funerals are expensive, so they hammer a cross in the backyard with his name on it and Saoirse gathers flowers from the meadow down the street. They send letters to Oscar and Alisdair to tell them the news. His sister, too, in England, and his brother, who may be dead for all they know, but they send the letter anyway, just in case.

---

“Something was wrong with him. After he came back from that trip.” Saoirse is standing on the porch, feet teetering on the edge, looking out to sea. A storm brews far in the distance. She wonders if it’ll bring snow with it.

Her mother wrings her hands. She’s looked so tired lately.

“I know.”

Saoirse nods.

“There was nothing to be done.”

“You’re probably right,” Saoirse agrees.

Her father’s fishing boat bobs placidly alongside the dock, hundreds of barnacles and all.

[jpitha]

Between The Black and Gray 11

First / Previous / Next

With the door shut, and the immediate danger passed, Fen collapsed in the airlock. Gord turned and touched her shoulder.

"Fen, we're not out of the woods yet. Come up to the Command Deck. We're leaving, and I could use your help."

Fen looked up at Gord, her face wet with tears. "What can I do Gord? I don't know the first thing about any of this. Ma-ren is.. is" Fen choked back the words.

Gord squatted down to Fen's level. "Fen. I am over three thousand years old. I have lost more people than you probably knew your entire life. I'm here to tell you that for one, it doesn't get easier. For two, life goes on. It doesn't feel like it can right now, like there's no way for the stars to keep moving or the station to keep turning, and yet, it does. That doesn't mean you'll forget her, it doesn't mean that you'll think about her any less. It means that one of your jobs now is to carry her memory. But that won't happen if Tam'itarr's goons kill us." Gord stood and held out his hand.

Fen looked up at him and sniffed. She took his hand and pulled herself up. "But, we're inside Spyglass, how can he get us?"

"Hey Gord? Traffic Control says I do not have authorization to leave, and to stand by for boarding."

Gord inclined his head. "That's how. Come on Fen." As they walked, he also spoke to Spyglass. "Pretend you didn't understand them, repeat the orders wrong, it doesn't matter. Delay them."

"I'll do my best Gord, but they still think I'm just a dumb ship. If I start lying, they'll suspect."

"Don't lie then. Just... bend the truth."

Fen followed Gord, bewildered. What was she going to do to help? How could she help? As they entered the Command Deck, Fen noticed that since they were in here last, Gord or Spyglass herself had cleaned up, things were dusted and bright and looked nearly new. Gord sat in the large chair in the middle and tapped at the screen on the arm. "Spy, how much printable mass did we wind up with before Tam'itarr decided to take things into his own hands?"

"About half, Gord. Enough to print bodies or reactor parts, but not both."

"And the second reactor he promised from that K'laxi?"

"Never delivered."

"Shit." Gord looked over at Fen. "We're running at a sixth of the power Spyglass had in her heyday, it's just us three, and none of us knows if the wormhole generator still works. Still up for a ride?"

Fen nodded. "I'm not going back." She thought for a moment and added. "Not without one of those huge rifles you were using before at least."

At that, Gord smiled. "We'll see what we can do."

While Gord worked out details with Spyglass, Fen leaned back in the chair. At least it was comfortable. She couldn't believe that Ma-ren was gone, just like that. In less time it took for her to breathe, she went from being her partner, her friend, her lover to... a body on the floor in the docking bay, gone. "Oh Ma" she whispered. "What am I going to do?" As she shut her eyes and wept, Fen heard a rhythmic banging. She opened her eyes and sat up. "Gord? Do you hear that?"

Gord stopped talking to Spyglass and cocked his ear. "Yeah, I do. Spy, are they trying to break in?"

"Looks like Gord, but they're just banging on the airlock door. They'll never get in that way. I was built to resist boarding it'll take a lot more than large hammers and chisels."

"Still, I don't like it. Let's cast off." Gord looked ahead to the large screen on the command deck. Right now it just showed the view out the front of the side and bottom of the station.

"Gord, the clamps aren't listening to me. They don't want to release."

"Attention Spyglass. Please do not attempt to leave. You have not been cleared for departure. Await boarding and further instructions."

"Station!" Fen shouted. "Spyglass can I stalk to Station?"

"Uh, sure, the mic is yours Fen." Spyglass sounded wary, but opened the line.

"Station! They killed Ma! They shot at her when we were running to get to Spyglass! We were so close and they just shot her in cold blood. She's gone Station, she's gone!" Fen's lip quivered and she took a shuddering breath. "They're going to try and kill me and probably Gord. They want Spyglass. Can you please let us leave?"

There was a long pause. "Fen, I-I-I can't, you have n-n-not been cleared for d-d-departure. Please s-s-s-stand by."

"Station! Please! I know you're sapient! You're not just a machine. You're not just a tool of Tam'itarr and the other gangsters. Please let us leave!"

"Fenchurch, I.. Fen, I." There was a loud bang, deep towards the rear of the ship.

"One of the rear clamps have disconnected." Spyglass announced. "We're not free yet."

Fen sighed. "Thank you Station. Can you disconnect the other clamps?"

This time, there was static on the line and a warbling clicking noise. Station was seemingly at war with itself.

Gord looked at Fen and then down at the screens and up at the main display. "Spy..."

"Yeah Gord. On your order."

"Do it."

"Do what?" Fen looked at Gord.

"Spyglass is going to disconnect the rest of the clamps herself. I was hoping that your friend Station could do it, but it appears they are being prevented from acting." Gord shrugged. "It gives away the fact that Spyglass is an AI, but they'd learn that sooner or later."

There were a series of bangs running from the back to the front of the Starjumper after Gord explained things. Then a lurch, and Fen felt pulled into her seat as Spyglass' gravity generators took over. "Why do I feel so heavy?"

Gord looked over, and snapped his finger in recognition. "Oh that's right, you were born and raised on a Gren station. The Gren's homeworld is lighter than Earth. Their gravity is about three quarters Earth. Spyglass, being human built has her gravity generators set to Earth standard. You'll get used to it soon enough."

"Gord? Station is still out of sorts and I think is telling me that we have ships incoming."

Gord looked up sharply. "From the Gate?"

"No, looks like local authorities. Though knowing what we know, it's probably just Tam'itarr's goons again, or some other gangster."

Gord tipped his head down and put his palm on his forehead. "Any weapons?"

"On them, or us?"

"Either."

"Uh, I think they have some missiles, but they don't seem to be very large, and I could manage one laser battery, or thrusters, but not both."

"Shit. Okay." He turned toward Fen. "Any ideas?"

Fen blinked. "You're asking me?"

Gord nodded. "Sure. You know Tam'itarr better than either of us. What do you think would get him to back down?"

"Well, he already... shot Ma... so I don't know if I'm the right person to ask, but..." Fen took a deep breath and let it out. She did it again and slapped her own cheeks gently. "Spyglass, put me back on to Station."

"The line is hot Fen, whenever you're ready."

"Station, This is Fenchurch Millenny. Put me through to Tam'itarr."

"One moment please."

There were clicks and hisses on the line, and then Fen heard a familiar voice. "Fen! You would not believe how surprised I am to hear from you."

"Surprised that I'm still alive, Tam'itarr?" Fen's voice was venemous.

"We'll leave out the whys for now, Fen. My condolences on Ma-ren."

"Tam-" Fen took another breath. "Tam'itarr, you will call off your goons right this instant. I know that the 'local authorities' coming towards us are on your payroll."

"Coming towards- One moment please." There was a click, and a scratch. Gord raised an eyebrow but said nothing. When Tam'itarr returned, his voice was much more menacing. "Fen, those fellows are not mine. They're Penfenn's. He's... well to call him my boss would be incredibly gauche, but the definition will have to do for a human's understanding. If you've gotten Penfenn's attention, then there isn't anything I could - or would want - to do. Good luck, you'll need it."

"Holy shit. What have we gotten ourselves into." Gord shook his head. "Things haven't been this exciting for a century or more. Spy, you think that your wormhole generator will work? At least one more time?"

"To be honest Gord, I have no idea. I can feel it, it's online, but I don't think I've ever linked with only one reactor. I'll have to kill life support and gravity."

Gord shrugged. "It's just the two of us, you're large. I'm sure it'll be fine. Spyglass, I authorize you to route all necessary power to the wormhole generator. Please link us away when you are able."

"Aye Gord. Destination?"

"Hmm, we shouldn't go to human controlled space right now, and word will get out soon enough from here so we should stay away from the Gren. The Sefigans are nice enough, but they use that FlashWarp drive, I hate it. They won't have any reactor parts we can use." He looked up at Spyglass' camera. What about the Innari?"

"The Manganese breathers? You won't be able to go anywhere without a suit. Besides, they're afraid of humans."

"True, but their reactor tech is similar. I think we used to trade parts with them. I know there was a lot of knowledge transfer right after Contact."

"You're in charge Gord, just let me know."

Gord turned back to Fen. "What do you think? Wanna go meet some Manganese breathers?"

"Gord, I don't even know what that is, but sure. Anything to get away from here."

He made his right hand into a fist, all the fingers bunched tightly against his palm, except for the thumb, which stuck straight up. "Right on."

"What's that gesture, Gord?"

Gord blinked and looked down at his hand. "Oh, it's a thumb's up. Means like, positive acknowledgement. I forgot you wouldn't know it."

"Because I grew up on a Gren station, or because it's thousands of years old?" For the first time, Fen smiled slightly.

Spyglass laughed, startling Fen. "She's got you there, Gord."

Gord harrumphed and turned back to the screen, but his eyes were smiling. "Both can be true, you know. Spyglass, look for Habilamen in your database. I added some new addresses when we spoke."

"I have it Gord. Shunting power from life support and gravity to the wormhole generator. Please stand by."

A noise that Fen didn't realize she was hearing in the background ceased and the ship suddenly became much quieter. She felt her hands rise from her seat as the gravity left. She was able to notice a creaking and groaning that she didn't hear before. Fen was amazed at the realization that Starships made noise as they soared through space! She also heard another thing, sort of like the reactor noise, but more insistent, higher pitch.

"We are ready to link Gord, on your order."

"Please proceed Spyglass. Link us to Habilamen."

There was a flash of white and...

[peavhyshy]

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ - PART II [IS THIS HAPPINESS?]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 pairing ─ ୨୧ ─ Rafe Cameron ⋆ Heyward!Reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 summary ─ ୨୧ ─ in which you anxiously accompanies John B and JJ as they break into a motel room.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 warnings ─ ୨୧ ─ strong language, underage drinking, death, near drowning, guns, mild violence, and sexually suggestive comments

ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc ─ ୨୧ ─ 5,249

⋆˚✿˖° a/n ─ ୨୧ ─ yeah they finally get to interact, i didn't think I would put out another part this quickly but hey? this is only time I have ever been productive in life, this chapter is a little bit longer, so sorry idk if that's a good thing or a bad thing

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖is this happiness˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

(༝༚༝༚ lana del rey)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Outer Banks Masterlist ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Navigation ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Series Masterlist ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The boat creaks and groans against the dock, wedging itself between Coast Guard cruisers. John B leaps onto the weathered planks, the old wood moaning under his footsteps. The others follow, their shoes thudding dully on the gray dock speckled with barnacles and seagull droppings. Overhead, gulls shriek and circle, their cries piercing the salty ocean air.  

The group trudges down the dock, passing bait shops and tourist stores, the smell of fried food and sunscreen mingling with the briny scent of the sea. At the end, a dilapidated building sags wearily, its white paint peeled and flaking. Stepping through the crooked door into the Coast Guard station, they're met with chaos. 

Inside, the air hangs hot and stale, filled with the tang of sweat. The power is out and the cramped space swelters, noisy with shouting and shoving in the dark. A large fan sits useless in the corner, blades still. At the front counter, a single harried seaman in a sweat-stained uniform tries to juggle a crackling walkie talkie and the growing line. 

"I understand, sir. But you'll need to wait your turn," he repeats, exasperated.

JJ steps up eagerly, shoes squeaking on the grimy tile floor. “Hey man, we’ve found a sunken boat offshore,” he announces over the din. 

John B raises his voice, competing with the noise. “You’re gonna wanna hear about this wreck we found!”

"Hey! Everyone calm down!" The seaman shouts, face flushed.

John B motions his friends toward the door, edging out of the chaotic scene.

Stepping into the glaring sunlight, Pope sighs heavily, shoulders slumped. "Well that went well," he grumbles, voice dripping sarcasm.  

JJ turns to John B expectantly, squinting in the bright light. "So what's the plan now?"

John B holds up the motel key retrieved from the sunken boat, metal catching the sunlight. "I know how we could find out who owns that boat," he says with a sly smile.

The group looks at the dull key, realizing what John B is suggesting.

Pope immediately dislikes the idea, anxiety furrowing his brow. "We don't know whose room that is. It could belong to anyone," he protests nervously, shifting his weight.  

JJ grabs the key from John B's hand, eyes glinting with mischief. "I'm in," he declares recklessly.  

You bite your lip uncertainly, clutching your arm. "I don't know guys, this feels wrong..." you say hesitantly. 

Kiara takes the key from JJ and heads toward the boat. "Come on, we'll just take a quick peek," she cajoles over her shoulder. "We'll be lookouts."

John B and JJ follow after her eagerly, feet pounding the dock. 

John B calls back to Pope encouragingly. "Finder's fee, dude. Just sayin'. You'll only be an accomplice."  

Pope hesitates, shoulders hunched anxiously. "Man..." he says, tone laced with doubt.

John B claps him on the back. "Come on, Bubba," he presses with a persuasive grin.

You look between Pope and the others, conflicted. "Should we really be doing this?" you ask in a small voice, fingers fidgeting with your shirt hem.

JJ throws a reckless arm around your shoulders. "It'll be an adventure, Y/N!" he persuades with a roguish wink, squeezing you against his side.  

You bite your lip, still looking unsure but allowing yourself to be led toward the boat with the others, converse scuffing the weathered planks.

The boat pulls into the rundown motel's algae-covered dock. The two story concrete building looks neglected, with a tilting sign and no power. 

JJ whistles as he surveys the crumbling place. "I thought the Château looked bad," he remarks, nose wrinkling at the mildew scent.  

John B shakes his head in disbelief. "This place is a shitshow," he declares bluntly.  

Kiara crinkles her nose in distaste. "Motel or meth lab?" she quips sarcastically, eyeing the boarded windows.

Pope grimaces at the depressing sight. "You be the judge," he says wryly.

John B frowns in confusion. “Doesn’t look like a place someone with a Grady White would stay, does it?” he questions doubtfully, scanning the dilapidated building.

Pope shakes his head adamantly, "No way. This looks like the kind of place someone with a Grady White would get killed," he asserts ominously.

John B takes a deep breath, psyching himself up. "Alright, here we go," he says determinedly. 

JJ puts on an announcer voice as he ties up the boat. "This is your captain speaking. HMS Pogue coming in for landing," he narrates dramatically with a grin. 

John B hops out onto the pitted concrete dock and waits for the others, shoulders tense. "Here goes nothing," he mutters under his breath.

"Hey. Don't let him do anything too stupid in there," Pope instructs John B pointing at JJ.

JJ grins mischievously as he steps onto the dock. "Oh we will," he says slyly with a wink.

"I'm not making any promises!"

Kiara turns to John B, brow furrowed in concern. "Uh, be careful," she urges sincerely, handing him the motel key. "I mean it."

John B smiles back affectionately. "Yeah, yeah," he chuckles lightly, brushing off her worry. 

Pope turns to you pleadingly. "Hey Y/N, go with them to be the voice of reason please," he implores.  

You look uncertain, biting your lip. "I don't know, Pope, maybe I should just stay here with you," you say hesitantly.  

He gives you an encouraging smile. "Come on, you're the most sensible one here. Make sure they don't get into too much trouble," he persuades.

You sigh but hop out onto the pitted dock. "Okay, I'll try," you reluctantly agree.  

John B waves eagerly for Kiara and JJ to follow him. "Let's go!" he says, heading for the building.

They head toward the motel rooms, footsteps echoing on the cracked concrete walkway. 

John B frowns at the moldy mattresses scattered around the overgrown courtyard. "Why are all these mattresses just dumped out here?"

JJ explains knowingly as he steps over them, "After a hurricane they ditch 'em 'cause they get moldy." 

John B and JJ stroll along the open breezeways checking room numbers, you trailing anxiously behind, hugging yourself nervously. Shingles and broken glass litter the ground from storm damage. The ice machine drips and sputters sadly in the corner.

JJ mockingly imitates Kiara from earlier, voice high-pitched. “‘Be careful, John B. Be sooooo careful.’ What was that about?”  

John B shrugs cluelessly, scanning the doors. “I don’t know. She just wants us to be careful I guess.”

JJ continues his sarcastic rant, gesturing dramatically. “Ever since she heard you might get exiled she's been all like, ‘Be soooo careful, John B!’” JJ runs his hand down John B's shoulder mockingly.

John B brushes him off, irritated. “Get off, man.”  

JJ waggles his eyebrows suggestively with a grin. ‘’ ‘Oh, give me that John D already’ Like when are you gonna swoop on that, bro?”  

John B shakes his head seriously. “You know the rule. No Pogue-on-Pogue macking,” he states firmly. 

They arrive at the right room number, peeling paint on the door. JJ glances at John B mischievously and then knocks loudly. No answer. JJ knocks again, louder. 

John B double checks the number. "This is it?" he confirms unsurely.  

JJ puts on a high pitched voice. "Housekeeping!" he calls out in a sing-song. 

John B takes a deep breath and slips the key in the lock, hesitating. 

He looks back at you and JJ uncertainly. "Should we try it?"

You bite your lip worriedly, arms wrapped around yourself. "You guys, I really don't think this is a good idea," you say anxiously. "We could get in a lot of trouble for this." 

JJ waves off your concern dismissively. "It'll be fine, Y/N. No one will ever know we were here," he insists confidently.

You furrow your brow, not convinced. "But we don't even know who this room belongs to. What if someone dangerous lives here?" you point out uneasily.  

JJ checks that the coast is clear. "It's abandoned, no one's here," he asserts. "No power, no security cameras. No one's gonna know."

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip uncertainly. "I don't know...I have a really bad feeling about this," you say quietly, hugging yourself tighter.

JJ throws a reckless arm around your shoulders. "Come on Y/N, live a little!" he urges with a squeeze. "It'll be an adventure."  

You still look incredibly anxious and unsure, shifting your weight from foot to foot nervously. But when John B turns the key in the lock, you reluctantly follow them inside, heart pounding.

They enter the dark motel room, closing the door behind them. JJ pulls back the heavy curtains, letting in a beam of hazy sunlight. The bed is neatly made, comforter straight and tight. Two worn duffel bags sit on the faded carpet.  

John B surveys the dim room. "Check the bags, see if there's a name on anything," he directs.  

JJ picks up one of the duffels, rifling through it noisily. "A jacket," he announces, holding it up. 

John B checks the other bag sitting on the bed. "Denim slides," he notes, sifting through the contents.

JJ examines the plain jacket closely. "No name though. It's a nice jacket though," he remarks.  

John B picks up a pair of generic sneakers. "New Balances, definitely someone over 50," he deduces confidently.

You wander around the stuffy room trailing your fingers along the battered furniture, uneasy. You pick up a framed ocean photo, studying it intently. 

"You know, I bet whoever stays here loves the water just like us," you muse thoughtfully. "Not just for surfing and partying, but feeling connected to nature."

JJ rolls his eyes as he noisily rummages through the bags. "Very deep Y/N, but we're trying to find out whose boat that was, not get in touch with our spiritual sides," he retorts sarcastically.  

You set the photo down carefully. "I'm just saying, they're real people just like us. Not just clues to unravel," you point out gently. 

JJ brushes you off, moving to the desk. You sigh, hovering near the door anxiously. You pick up a shell from the nightstand, admiring the smooth spiral shape.

On the desk, JJ finds a nautical map with coordinates penciled in. "Yo, check this out. Maybe it's where they were fishing," JJ suggests eagerly. 

John B studies the map, head tilted. "No, that's way off the continental shelf, really deep water. Nobody fishes there," he says knowledgably.

JJ shrugs. "Okay," he mutters, moving on disinterestedly. 

John B eyes the motel coffee maker and says mockingly in an accent, "Coffee!"

JJ picks up a box of tissues, snickering crudely. "Yeah, standard tissues for when you get lonely."

You frown disapprovingly at their juvenile comments but stay silent, shifting your weight anxiously.

John B opens the closet and freezes. Inside sits an in-room safe. He stares at it intently, mind racing. 

You notice his fixation. "Guys, I really think we should get out of here," you urge nervously. "We shouldn't be going through their stuff."

JJ waves off your concern dismissively. "Relax, we're just having some fun. What's the harm?"

You bite your lip fretfully. "I have a really bad feeling about this," you admit, voice small. "Can we please just go?"

JJ throws an arm around your shoulders cajolingly. "Oh come on Y/N, live a little!" he says with a grin. 

But you can't shake the uneasy, anxious pit in your stomach. You glance between John B and the safe, hoping they'll agree to leave before you all get into serious trouble.

John B looks up at you pleadingly. "We're so close to figuring out the mystery though," he argues. "Don't you want to know more about that sunken boat?"

You hesitate, conflicted. You don’t like this plan at all, but also don't want to disappoint your friends. "I guess..." you concede reluctantly. "But can we please just look quickly and get out of here?"

JJ claps excitedly, misinterpreting your apprehension for thrill. "That's the spirit Y/N/N!" 

John B kneels by the safe, punching in random number combinations.  

JJ scoffs from behind him. "Punching in shit randomly. Yeah that'll definitely work," he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

John B remembers the paper on the table. "Wait a sec, the coordinates," he mutters in realization. 

He grabs the paper and returns to the safe. Carefully he enters the numbers: 6-1-6-6-6. The lock clicks open and the light turns green!

JJ is still focused on the map, oblivious. "I don't know man, those coordinates don't make sense as a fishing spot," he rambles absently.

"Uh, JJ and Y/N?" John B interjects urgently. 

"Hm?" JJ responds distractedly, scanning the map.

John B motions him over in awe. "You're gonna want to see this."

JJ joins him in the closet doorway, eyes going wide at the stacks of cash inside. "No way, did you seriously just crack it??"

As JJ reaches eagerly for the money, he notices something else - a handgun tucked behind the cash. "Dude, dude, dude!" he exclaims, pulling it out excitedly to examine it.

You immediately recoil in fear. "Is that a gun??" you squeak anxiously, hugging yourself tightly. 

John B looks at JJ sternly. "You grabbed the gun, now put it back," he instructed firmly. 

But JJ is too enthralled, turning the gun over in his hands. "This is a SIG Sauer, man. A fucking expensive gatt!"

He caresses it lovingly. "Just...Bam! Bam!" he shouts, mimicking shooting. 

You shrink back further, eyes wide with alarm. "JJ, guns are dangerous, please be careful!" you plead worriedly. 

JJ playfully keeps it out of your reach. "Chill Y/N/N, I'm just messing around," he insists casually. 

You fix him with a stern, motherly look. "Guns are not toys, JJ," you scold seriously. "Put it down, now."

John B shakes his head at JJ’s reckless antics. "We are not stealing anything. Now put it back," he orders. 

JJ poses goofily with the gun. "Just take a pic of me first!"

John B looks at him incredulously. "You want incriminating evidence of this??" 

Before JJ can respond, pebbles suddenly clang against the window. John B rushes over to peek out cautiously and sees Pope and Kiara outside.

John B hisses urgently. "Cops." 

You gasp, hands flying to your mouth in panic. John B scans the room hurriedly.  

He points to the bathroom window. "Roof, now!" 

You all scramble desperately out the tiny bathroom window onto the roof, just as cops knock at the door. You huddle together on the narrow ledge, terrified of being caught. John B, you, and JJ balance precariously on either side of the window, holding your breath.

The old boat's engine rumbles as it chugs across the shimmering blue water. Pope grips the wheel tightly, focused on steering as the ocean breeze ruffles his hair. Beside him, John B leans back casually, feet up on the dashboard as he gazes out at the endless horizon. 

Up front, JJ sprawls lazily across the front deck, arms tucked behind his head. The sun glints off his blond hair and he squints against the bright rays. You sit near him, absentmindedly trailing your fingers through the cool water alongside the boat. Behind you both, Kiara perches on the edge of the boat as the wind whips through her dark curls.

JJ chuckles, a glint of mischief in his blue eyes. "Well that was fun," he remarks jokingly.

Kiara shoots him an exasperated look, eyebrows raised. "We would have warned you about the cops sooner if Pope wasn't so slow," she quips pointedly, glancing back at Pope.

JJ looks at Pope, surprised.  "You were on the math team?" he asks incredulously.

John B shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed as he still processes everything. "The cops took everything from that room like it was a crime scene," he explains.

Pope looks between them all anxiously, his brow furrowed with worry. "Did you guys actually find anything useful in there?" he questions hopefully, wanting the risky trip to be worthwhile.

JJ grins, the mischievous glint back in his eyes. "Did we find anything?" He pretends to think for a moment, hand on his chin. "No, I don't think so..." Then he whips out the gun and wad of cash with a dramatic flourish.

You gasp sharply, eyes wide with alarm. "JJ! Why would you take that stuff?" you exclaim.

Pope's eyes nearly bug out of his head at the sight of the gun and cash. "What the hell?! Why did you take that from a crime scene?" he exclaims in dismay, throwing his hands up in disbelief. 

JJ just shrugs casually, unfazed by Pope's shock. "Better than the cops having it," he defends matter-of-factly as he turns the gun over in his hands.

You shake your head anxiously, your hair wisping around your face in the breeze. "This is really serious, JJ. That gun and money could get us into a lot of trouble," you fret, imagining police interrogations and jail time.  

Pope grabs at his hair in frustration, looking between the others desperately. "I’m gonna lose my merit scholarship," he groans, imagining his academic dreams slipping away.

Oblivious to Pope's rising panic, JJ laughs lightly and throws a brotherly arm around Pope's tense shoulders. "Hey, hey, hey. Sh, sh, sh. sh, sh. At least you have us, right?" he says with an easy grin.

Pope shrugs him off, face scrunched in dismay. ‘’I am living in a nightmare,’’ he declares dramatically, dropping his head into his hands.

The pungent stench of death hits your nose as the group approaches the marina. A crowd of onlookers has gathered, their hushed murmurs hanging like a heavy fog in the still, humid air. Police flashlights dance across the weathered wooden docks as a bloated, waterlogged corpse is lifted onto a gurney.  

Lana Grubbs, tears staining her cheeks, pushes through the crowd desperately. She collapses to her knees with a piercing wail when she sees the swollen, discolored face of her husband, Scooter.

You gasp sharply, hands flying to cover your mouth in shock, eyes flooding with tears. "That poor woman," you whisper, voice cracking with empathy.  

The Pogues exchange uneasy looks, the reality of mortality sinking in. Pope wraps a protective, reassuring arm around you, feeling you tremble against him.

John B turns to a teenage girl nearby, her face lit up with morbid fascination. "Who is that?" he asks grimly, with a nod toward the corpse.

“Scooter Grubbs. He was out on his boat during the storm," she explains eagerly, thrilled to share information. 

She holds out her phone, her eyes glinting with twisted excitement. "Check out this pic I got of the dead body. Crazy, right?"  

Kiara recoils, lip curled in disgust. "Insane," she mutters.

John B just shakes his head, looking ill. "Holy shit," is all he can manage.

JJ steps closer, eyeing the scene curiously. "What kind of boat did he have?"  

"Somehow that dirtbag got a brand new Grady White. Everyone's looking for it now."

At this, the color drains from the Pogues' faces. They exchange panicked, guilt-ridden looks, the implications slowly dawning on them. 

"The sunken boat..." You whisper in horror, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin.  

Pope looks like he might pass out, the implication hitting him hard. You all exchange panicked, guilty looks, realizing you may have found Scooter Grubb's missing boat. You feel sick with anxiety, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly.

The hot mid-day sun beat down on the worn wooden porch where the Pogues gathered. The salty sea breeze provided little relief from the sweltering heat. JJ leaned against a post while Pope paced back and forth, beads of sweat dotting his furrowed brow. 

Kiara sat and you sat cross-legged on the swing, absentmindedly braiding strands of your hair as you pondered your predicament. Beside you, John B stood with his arms crossed, his gaze intense as he considered their options.  

Pope stopped his nervous pacing and spoke up, voice wavering. "Okay, um...we didn't see anything. We don't know anything. We need total amnesia about this," he urged, glancing around at each of them.

JJ nods in rare agreement. "Pope's right for once. Deny, deny, deny," he advises.

Kiara frowned, nose wrinkling in disapproval. "We can't keep that money, you guys," she argued vehemently.

JJ scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Not everybody can afford unlimited data plans, Kiara." 

Kiara pressed on earnestly, leaning forward on the swing. "We have to return it to Lana Grubbs, it's bad karma otherwise."

Pope nodded quickly, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "Implicating ourselves in a felony is also bad karma," he pointed out worriedly.

JJ shrugged, unconcerned as always. "If keeping the money means going dark, I'm in."

Kiara reluctantly conceded with a small nod, shoulders slumping in defeat.

But John B spoke up firmly, a smile playing at his lips like he’d just solved a puzzle. "I don't agree."

They all turned to look at him in surprise. JJ questioned incredulously "What? Why not?"

John B began laying out his thinking, gesturing animatedly. "This is Scooter Grubbs we're talking about. Dude was always broke, begging for change. Then suddenly he has a $500k boat? How's a marina rat getting a Grady White?"

The others stared at him, contemplating his logic. Pope suggested lamely, "Prostitution?" 

John B shook his head decisively. "No aerial surveillance during the storm means they were smuggling contraband. I guarantee there's something illegal on that wreck," he declared confidently.

JJ's eyes lit up as understanding dawned on him. "They were straight up smugglin'!" 

John B nodded approvingly. "And I guarantee there's contraband still on that wreck."

JJ whooped excitedly, "Hell yeah! Fish on!"

You bit your lip nervously, brows knitted in concern. "Smuggling? That sounds really dangerous, you guys."

But Pope still looked uncertain, wringing his hands together anxiously. "If it belongs to smugglers, taking it is catastrophically stupid," he fretted.

Kiara brushes off Pope's concern casually. "Minor details," she says flippantly. 

Pope argues urgently, voice rising in pitch, "They could come after us!"

JJ waves the stolen money around cockily, fanning himself with the bills. "Stupid things turn out good sometimes," he smirks slyly. "We just need to get inside that cargo hold."

You twist your hands together nervously, stomach churning with anxiety. "Or we could just leave it all alone?" you suggest meekly. "Before we get into real trouble."

JJ throws an arm around your shoulder cajolingly, jostling you playfully. "It'll be an adventure, Y/N! Don't you trust us?" 

You bite your lip, looking between all their expectant faces. The reckless plan makes you incredibly anxious, but you don’t want to let your friends down either. 

JJ continues casually, "Until then, we just lay low. Just act normal." He punctuates this with an easy smile.

"And how do you do that?" Pope asks dubiously.

Kiara offers tentatively, "Kegger?"

The boys all nod and murmur in approval, already distracted by the idea of a party. You perk up a bit at the thought of a normal teenage party. At least that seemed safer than ransacking a smuggler's ship. Some socializing might help calm your nerves after everything that's happened.

The sun sank low over the ocean horizon as the Pogues lugged a heavy keg down the worn wooden steps to the beach. JJ eagerly manned the tap, filling red solo cups with foamy beer and handing them out. Laughter echoed across the sand as the group relaxed and unwound from the day's stresses. 

Nearby, raucous shouts drew their attention to a group of Kooks heading their way. At the front strode Sarah Cameron, her blonde hair glowing golden in the sunset. She made a beeline for a large red buoy and climbed up as her friends cheered her on.

You sat off to the side in the soft sand, nibbling your lip anxiously. Your floral sundress billowed gently in the ocean breeze, contrasting sharply with the trendy clothes of the Kooks. 

JJ sauntered over and pressed a beer into your hands with a wink. "Here ya go Y/N, try and relax," he said breezily. 

You managed a small, uneasy smile in return. "Thanks JJ," you replied softly, not used to drinking. You took a tentative sip of the bitter liquid, trying to calm your nerves.

The raucous party quickly overwhelmed you. The pulsing music and drunken antics of the crowd made you shrink into yourself. Slipping away unnoticed, you wandered further down the lonely beach.

In the distance you spotted a lone figure sitting in the sand. Drawing nearer, you realized with a start it was Rafe Cameron. You froze, unsure whether to turn back. But Rafe had already seen you. 

"Well well, if it isn't little Bambi straying from her pack," he called out mockingly. 

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, anxious under his scrutiny. "Oh, um, hey Rafe," you managed softly.

Rafe's eyes traveled over you slowly, making you tug self-consciously at your sundress. "C'mere," he commanded, patting the sand beside him. You obediently went over and perched cautiously on the very edge.

Rafe shook his head, smirking arrogantly. "You need to loosen up, princess. Have a drink," he insisted, shoving his flask toward you.

You eyed it uncertainly, nervous to be alone with him. "No that's okay, I should probably get back..." you trailed off as he pressed the flask firmly into your hand.

The night was alive with the distant hum of the ocean, the scent of salt air mingling with the sharp tang of whiskey. Rafe, his eyes glimmering under the moon's glow, held out a flask, his eyebrow cocked in a teasing dare. "Don't be a buzzkill. One sip," he cajoled. 

Reluctantly, you took the flask, its metal cool and slightly gritty from the sand. You took a hesitant sip and immediately recoiled, the harsh taste pricking your senses like a thorny vine.

Rafe's smirk widened, like a cat, as you handed back the flask. In a subtle movement, he shifted closer, his shoulder now brushing against yours. A tingle shot through you at the contact, causing you to stiffen. However, you didn't move away.

"You're too good for those loser Pogues, you know," Rafe remarked, his tone casual. Yet there was a certain intensity in his gaze, as if he was studying every detail of your face. "You should be hanging around me at the country club instead.." 

You merely shrugged, your eyes fixed on the sand beneath you, glistening under the starlight. However, Rafe wasn't ready to let you off the hook so easily. He tilted your chin upwards with a firm yet gentle touch, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I mean it. You're wasted on them, princess. You belong with the Kooks on the winning team," he insisted. Your heart pounded in your chest, his proximity causing your pulse to quicken. "I-I don't know, they're my friends and my brother," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the gentle crash of the waves.

Rafe snorted dismissively. "Friends? They're holding you back, princess. You deserve better company."

His shoulder pressed against yours again as he leaned in closer. "Stick with me and I'll show you a good time," his voice dropped to a murmur, the suggestion hanging in the air.

You tensed, your cheeks warming slightly under his gaze. "I-I should get back to them actually..." you stammered, starting to rise. But Rafe was quicker. He grabbed your wrist with a firm grip, preventing you from leaving.

"Don't run off just yet. I want to get to know you better," he said, a roguish smile playing on his lips. 

After a moment's hesitation, you slowly sat back down, although you kept your gaze firmly on the sand.

Rafe shook his head, a look of disapproval crossing his handsome features. "They don't deserve you, Y/N," he argued. "Bunch of broke deadbeats and posers."

You frowned, your brows knitting together in confusion. "But I'm a Pogue too," you pointed out. "You always talk bad about us but want me around?"

He shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the contradiction. "You're different. I like you," he said bluntly, his fingers lightly brushing against your cheek.

"You and me...we'd be unstoppable together," he murmured, his voice low and persuasive. "Think about it."

His fingers deftly swept a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the intimate gesture causing your skin to prickle. A shiver danced down your spine, a silent testament to his touch.

As Rafe leaned in, your heartbeat thundered, echoing the rhythm of the crashing waves nearby. You turned your head subtly, his lips brushing your cheek instead of finding their intended target.

An unabashed grin spread across Rafe's face. His fingers combed through your hair gently as he murmured, "Playing hard to get? I like a challenge."

His hand found your chin, tilting your face towards his with a commanding gentleness. Before you could react, his lips claimed yours in a sudden, bruising kiss, the taste of sea salt and whiskey intoxicating.

You pulled back, eyes wide in surprise, heart pounding wildly. His smirk, arrogant and satisfied, only added to your disorientation.

Muttering an excuse, you fled from the scene, your footprints scarring the untouched sand as you raced back to your friends.

You freeze in alarm as JJ pulls out a gun and holds it to Topper's head, stopping him from drowning John B.

JJ's hand shook as he raised the gun towards the star-studded sky, adrenaline etched onto his face. "Okay, everyone listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!" he yelled aggressively, his voice ricocheting off the nearby dunes.

With a deafening blast, the gun discharged. The crowd scattered, their screams carried away by the wind. Sand flew into the air as they sprinted down the beach, their shadows distorting under the moonlight.

In the ensuing pandemonium, Kiara turned to JJ and shoved him, her eyes blazing with fury. "Are you crazy?" she and Pope yelled in unison.

"You idiot!" Pope added, his voice echoing Kiara's sentiments.

"It's not worth it!" Kiara scolded, her anger palpable in the salty air.

Defensively, JJ shoved Pope, nearly causing him to stumble. "I'm saving his life, okay?" he retorted, his voice strained.

"You're gonna jeopardize everything, stupid!" Pope shot back, his hands tugging at his hair in frustration.

Meanwhile, John B staggered back into the surf, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked like a shipwreck survivor, battered by an unforgiving storm.

Ignoring the arguing trio, you rushed over to John B, your feet slipping in the sand. "Oh my god, are you okay?" you cried, your hands gently grasping his arm to help him upright. "What happened?"

‘’Topper tried to drown me.’’ John B says dazedly, still gasping for air, leaning on you for support.

You turn to JJ with tear-filled eyes, visibly distraught. "Why did you still have that gun on you? You could have killed someone!" you yell accusingly, your frame trembling.

JJ looks defensive, shoulders hunched. "I was trying to help, Y/N! He was drowning John B," he insists loudly, pointing down the beach at the retreating Kooks.

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. "The gun just made everything worse," you argued, your voice barely above a whisper.

Surveying the scene - JJ's defensive stance, Kiara and Pope's angry faces, and John B, still leaning heavily on you. Wrapping your arms tightly around John B, and you clung to him.