#i couldn't resist the slimy yet satisfying line. i can't believe i've made two lion king references about scream stuff now.

[krikeymate]

dredge au (me AGAIN):

fr ur giving me dredge au brainrot and i need to finish this fic but this THIS is the best au:

Richie makes it to the islands, and makes his way to the Collectors house, following the directions given to him by Amber. He knocks on the door and—wait… he knows this man, has seen him in articles that his family kept around their archives.

This is the man that made Christina Carpenter’s family fall into disrepair, this is the man that she slept with, unwedded, cheating on the man she was betrothed to. He senses something… off, but it only draws him further into the allure of this place.

What are the odds, really? That Sam and his Prize have made it to the same place that this Collector, that had so readily ruined the reputation of a formerly reputable house? That they’ve made it to the same place that Sam’s FATHER is?

There’s something off about this place, as he goes around, asking for information on this new fisherman and her sister. He receives several warnings, ‘Don’t go after them. There’s something wrong with the older one, almost as if the sea has a soft spot for her.’ ‘she’ll kill you for even trying to get close to her little sister’ ‘the sea doesn’t take kindly to those that would harm it’s Chosen.’

He ignores it, of course, his greed blinds him, his lust for power. The Collector offers to help him, in exchange for the location of one Sidney Prescott. He gets close to finding her, before the night falls, and he sees a boat in the distance. And is that? No, surely it couldnt be THAT easy? But Sam and Tara are on their way back from Blackwell island, and he thinks of the warnings, ‘never stay out at night, otherwise you wont make it back in the morning, beware of the fog’

But here they are, sailing without a care in the world, expertly avoiding— wait are those rocks just appearing in front of them??? what??? But Sam avoids them, expertly weaves her way through a maze that only she can see.

He forgets about Sidney (i wonder how the collector will feel about that) and pursues them to the dock of greater Woodsboro.

and then— oh. this got a little long, didnt it? apologies. you have ruined me with this au.

DON'T STOP, you're spoiling me. I genuinely made that first post for only myself and thought no one else would be interested lmao. You're the one ruining me. You're literally writing it for me at this point, my beloved.

The journey is uncomfortable, the sea doesn't agree with him. His crew are seasoned seamen who snicker at him behind his back. His brother, Ethan, joins him on the trip. He'd promised to let him play with Tara once he was finished punishing her himself. Ethan enjoys playing with his leftovers. The fucked up little beast. But he is his brother, and that makes him his. In a way, he can admire Samantha, for her dedication to her sister, for the way she stole her away from under his nose. Such dedication deserves reward, he'll keep her too, she can stay with her sister, patch up the pieces left of her once he's had his fun.

The sea holds no borders, and yet, he knows he's crossed one all the same. The air feels different, it makes the hair on his body stand on end. The sea becomes coated in a thin mist that swirls around the vessel. It creeps aboard the ship, it tugs at his clothes, slithers down his shirt and into his pockets. The ring around his neck becomes warm against his skin where before it had remained ice-cold. The mist recedes, and the journey continues.

He turns to his brother to remark on the event, only to find him passed out with a tankard in his hand. The rest of the crew are seemingly as unbothered. He shrugs it off.

First stop is Little Woodsboro, to reunite with the disgraced Freeman. Ordinarily, you wouldn't find Ritchard Kirsh of the Bailey's obeying the demands of a woman, but Amber Freeman is one of a kind, he finds. Uniquely... ambitious.

She points him in the direction of Blackstone Isle... after some payment, of course. She tells him The Collector will grant him safety in their shores, to pay him respects, to return to him that which was lost. It all sounds like superstitious nonsense to him, but that someone of such intelligence could look so serious and say such a thing, it makes him pause. He remembers the strange occurrence earlier... he decides why not, it's but a mere short sail away, and it will hardly hurt him to investigate.

The man is... unkempt, beard and hair wild and peppered with grey. He holds himself as a man twice his age. Yet his clothes are impeccable and of quality. The crest on his vest draws his eye, it seems so familiar.

The man is looking for a woman. "Aren't we all," he had joked. The Collector had remained stone-faced. "The girl for the woman," he offers. He takes the ring and blesses his boat. "Stay out of the fog," he warns. "It won't protect you from the fog, nothing can protect you from the fog."

It isn't until he's back on the water that recognition comes to him. It makes him laugh, long and hard. The sailors whisper about cursed waters and the madness. Perhaps there was something to Freeman's warnings after all, he considers, for everything to come full circle like this, what else can be at play other than the hands of Gods. The man who began Christina Carpenter's downfall, here. And here Ritchie is, searching for the spawn of such union, and her sister, at his doorstep.

~

They're on the water for three days when the men fish up their first abnormality. Better to catch their food than store it, the men had told them, so they've been fishing daily for their nourishment. None of the men will touch the creature, they contemplate throwing it back. Ethan, always the more adventurous one, demands it be cooked. He'll eat it, if the rest of the cowards will not. "How is it," Ritchie asks, disgust upon his face. "Slimy... yet satisfying," Ethan replies, dropping a tentacle into his open mouth.

~

Every hamlet and village they dock at warn him away from his search, warn him away from the sea. Go back home, they tell him. There's only death here. The fisherman? Oh no boy, you best stay away. That one is Chosen. The sea has claimed her, they say. You don't take from the sea. "It's the other girl, I want," he tells them, "she's to be my wife." "Not any more lad, the sea has taken her." "Her sister took her." "Her sister is the sea."

It's all utter nonsense. The fish must make them mad. (He's no clue how close he steers to the rocks of truth).

Sometimes they'll pass smaller islands, uninhabited by all accounts, and in the distance he'll see hooded figures on the rocks, watching him. He sees no eyes, yet they peer into his soul all the same.

A week into their search, the men are ready to turn back for Ingfell as the sun begins to dip in the sky. He tells them to keep going. There's sunlight yet left. He ignores the warnings of the night, or the shapes in the water that circle the islands just out of sight of shore and light. The men protest, it's too dangerous, we'll dash upon the rocks in the dark. A fog descends once the sun falls, they've been told. They'll not see where they're going, and no anchors are reliable in these turbulent waters. Their boat will rock and move and they'll be naught they can do to keep it still. Find yourself at a dock come night, or find yourself on the seabed come morning, they say.

He pushes them forward, and they sail in the direction of the Stellar Basin. There's a trader there, this week, he's been told. He's yet to meet the Travelling Reed woman, and he would very much like to hear what she has to say, to hear of the knowledge she must have.

Along the way, he sights a ship in the distance. It comes from the direction of Blackstone Isle itself, an island that none local will go to. That can only mean one thing, surely. His spyglass confirms it. In the brightness of the moon and stars above, he sights his very targets, laughing aboard their ship. They're not even steering it, allowing the waves to take it where they will it to go. Tara is leaning overboard, pointing to the water, and Sam stands close behind, a hand on her hip to steady her, and peers over her shoulder.

He's jostled as the boat tilts, the eyeglass goes tumbling overboard and he falls to the deck. They've hit something, the men yell. Standing up, Ritchie peers off in the distance once again, only to find that a fog has rolled in and his targets are nowhere to be found. He stands there, seething, as the crew rush around him, emptying the water draining through a hole in the hull, and hurrying to tar it up.