#the fisherman watching the stars

[scribeofmorpheus]

Little did I know this game would alter my entire brain chemistry for a whole decade to come!

Dragon Age: Inquisition released 10 years ago today!

[bearlytolerant]

Solas: How can you be happy surrendering, knowing it will all end with you? How can you not fight?

Varric: I suppose it depends on the quality of the fermented fruit juice.

Solas: So it seems.

Solas: You truly are content to sit in the sun, never wondering what you could've been, never fighting back.

Varric: Ha, you've got it all wrong, Chuckles. This is fighting back.

Solas: How does passively accepting your fate constitute a fight?

Varric: In that story of yours—-the fisherman watching the stars, dying alone. You thought he gave up, right?

Solas: Yes.

Varric: But he went on living. He lost everyone, but he still got up every morning. He made a life, even if it was alone.

Varric: That's the world. Everything you build, it tears down. Everything you've got, it takes. And it's gone forever.

Varric: The only choices you get are to lie down and die or keep going. He kept going. That's as close to beating the world as anyone gets.

Solas: Well said. Perhaps I was mistaken.

[the-rebel-archivist]

Of course it had to be Varric to try to talk Solas down, they've been having this same conversation for ten years

Solas: Is there at least a movement to reunite Orzammar and Kal-Sharok? Varric: What is it with you, Chuckles? Why do you care so much about the dwarves? Solas: Once, in the Fade, I saw the memory of a man who lived alone on an island. Most of his tribe had fallen to beasts or disease. His wife had died in childbirth. He was the only one left. He could have struck out on his own to find a new land, new people. But he stayed. He spent every day catching fish in a little boat, every night drinking fermented fruit juice and watching the stars. Varric: I can think of worse lives. Solas: How can you be happy surrendering, knowing it will all end with you? How can you not fight? Varric: I suppose it depends on the quality of the fermented fruit juice. Solas: So it seems.

Solas: You truly are content to sit in the sun, never wondering what you could've been, never fighting back. Varric: Ha, you've got it all wrong, Chuckles. This is fighting back. Solas: How does passively accepting your fate constitute a fight? Varric: In that story of yours—-the fisherman watching the stars, dying alone. You thought he gave up, right? Solas: Yes. Varric: But he went on living. He lost everyone, but he still got up every morning. He made a life, even if it was alone. Varric: That's the world. Everything you build, it tears down. Everything you've got, it takes. And it's gone forever. Varric: The only choices you get are to lie down and die or keep going. He kept going. That's as close to beating the world as anyone gets. Solas: Well said. Perhaps I was mistaken.

[gingernut1314]

The Winds of the Undercity ch. 1

Summary: The Winds have listened to the pull of the Arcane her whole, long existence. It has led her to the Undercity and now it leads her to a small child, whose hidden magic calls to her own.

Content: Female reader, pre-season 1 Arcane, talk of traumatic birth, canon typical violence, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna), more of a "background" chapter

Word Count: 1.2K

A/N: So I've had this story in my back pocket since season 1 came out and I thought now was a good time as any to freshen it up a bit and put it out into the world! More to come very soon!! I hope you all enjoy!

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Act 1

The Winds blew gently over the docks in this dispossessed region of the world, watching as its people retired for the night. The Winds found this city beautiful despite its polluted and rotten nature. She especially adored it at night, when the lights shone like the twinkling stars you could only just make out through the smog that clouded the sky. 

The Winds had been to many cities and kingdoms in her long existence, but this place, a place its people called the Undercity, had spoken to her in a way none other had. She admired their struggle for freedom--sympathized with them. 

Though she had been born into this world by the prays of fisherman and sea fairer, she felt as if this place was where she was meant to be--like it was her calling to help and guide these people on their journey to freedom. 

It was a calling that came from deep within her. From the arcane powers thumping in her veins. A thumping that called out to her as she came upon a dock on the outskirts of the city. 

A young human woman, no older than eighteen years old, stood there, looking out over the near pitch-black waters. Tears streamed down the girl's dirt-smudged cheeks, though she didn’t look the emotion that tears normally fell during. 

The Winds moved closer, trying to get a better look at the girl. She brushed up against the girl's cheek, finding it warm. 

The human was angry. 

Angry and sad. 

The Winds had seen humans get this way before. It was one of her least favorite human emotions because of how complicated it was. It was not straightforward like happiness. Not even as straightforward as anger on its lonesome. 

A small sound rose up from the bundle of blankets the girl was carrying. The Winds circled lower, brushing against the small human in the girl's arms. It was a baby who looked as if it had just been brought into this world mere minutes ago. 

The girl’s brown eyes snapped down to the babe, hatred boiling in them. The Winds didn’t understand why the human would hate such a small, helpless thing, but it wasn’t in her nature to try and understand.

“I promised…I promised…” She hissed, her eyes squeezed shut. The babe in her arm grew fussy, a cry escaping its mouth. This just seemed to anger the girl further. “I can’t--Talie I can’t!” She screamed up at the night sky. “She--it--killed you! I can’t be near it!” 

How could such a small, defenseless creature kill a full-grown human? The Winds looked back on her long existence for an answer. 

She’d once seen a woman give birth to a babe such as this one. It had all but ripped her to shreds. The woman had bled out slowly and no one could do anything. The Winds had been younger then and unable to help in any way as she watched human turn pale and blue. 

Maybe that has happened to this Talie? This small babe had left its mother weak and bleeding. 

“I’m sorry.” The girl sobbed and, to the Wind's surprise, tossed the screaming babe into the cold, polluted waters below. The human hardly watched the babe disappear under the surface before she was sprinting away, sobbing and screaming hysterically. 

The Winds hovered over the water where the babe had sunk, the thumping in her veins refusing to let her follow after the girl. Her magic was trying to tell her something, something about this babe. 

The Winds quieted her being and let the magic be her guide. And she let it guide her into the freezing depths after the babe. She danced through the toxic waters until she found the small creature floating deeper in the murky mess. 

The Winds became a whirlwind of bubbles and in a flash of blue light, became something flesh and bone. 

It was a form The Winds called Janna. 

Janna grabbed the still babe in her long arms and, summoning her wind, shot from the dark waters of the Undercity. She floated back onto the dock, letting her wind die down once her bare feet were safely on the wooden dock. 

It was always strange to be in this form, but Janna couldn’t focus on the weight and solidness of her body at the moment. Not when she held a too-still babe in her arms. Janna gently ran a thin finger over the babe’s too-cold cheek, brushing water and dirt away as she did. 

Why had her magic sent her to retrieve this small thing? It didn’t seem like much, but her magic was never wrong. 

Janna placed her hand over the small one's chest and closed her solid, light blue eyes. She summoned her winds and magic, letting them flow through the babe’s small form. Her winds gave the child life while her magic healed what had been damaged. Her eyes shot open as the babe gave a wailing cry. 

She knew then why her magic had called her to this babe. 

Their magic called out to one another. 

They were one and the same. Brought into this world by different means, but ultimately for the same reason: help the beings of Runeterra. Be their guardians in a world that only sought to destroy them. 

Janna looked over the now dry child in her arms. The babe was healed, but the toxins in that water were cruel. Its wicked sickness had found a way to latch onto the child, presenting itself in her eyes and hands. Red irises shone in a sea of inky black and her fingertips were tainted in that same black.

Janna hoped the water's taint would fade, but knew she could do nothing about it. Her magic had already been through the babe’s body and healed what it could. 

She couldn’t worry over that now, not when she had bigger problems to deal with. 

That being how she was supposed to cease this child's ear-bleeding screeches. 

Janna thought back to a human with a simpler babe in their arms. Thought of how they had eased its crying with a simple rock and flashy toy. 

Janna had no flashy toy, but she could try rocking the child. 

It felt too unnatural to be moving in this way--to even be holding this child but…but something in Janna’s chest warmed. It was a feeling she never had experienced…though she never once experienced what the things humans did. 

Huh…new. All this was so new.

“Who are you, little one?” She asked once the child calmed. Its eyes were still filled with droplets of tears, red-flushed face slowly fading to its natural color. 

The small child gave a great wiggle in Janna’s arms, mouth spewing spittle from its mouth as it gave a soft noise. Janna didn’t know what this meant and wiped the spit from the babe's lips. 

For the first time in Janna’s existence, she was at a complete loss for knowledge. 

She had never stuck around families long enough to watch them raise their young.

Was she to raise this child? 

The Arcane was silent, giving Janna no such answer she sought.  

Janna would figure it out, as she always did, and having this small thing gaze up at with such adoration gave her the will to do so. 

“We will see, yes? How…” Janna tried to find the word for what she was feeling. Was she feeling? “How exciting it will be.” 

Janna turned her gaze back towards the dark night and forced on the task at hand. 

Find shelter and comfort for her child.

Next

[give-grian-rights]

Guys it took me two hours to realize that Markiplier was alive. I had a dream last night that he died in a tragic submarine accident while filming a series. And post-mortem an Amazon original series called Last Breath, based on a podcast that probably doesn't exist, was released that he starred in and wrote. It was something about a deep sea fisherman and was a horror series ? I specifically remember Twitter really boosting it and begging people to watch it to support his finale creation

I have watched. Very little Markiplier ever. What happened

[theodorequartz]

Hazbin hotel various x reader

[ His Companion ]

Prologue: A companion

Alastor walked to the empty streets of hell. The sky red and hollow. A circle illuminated the endless bleeding sky, it's a symbol which represents the ring of a sin. The sin of pride. What a beautiful sight, Alastor grinned.

Sounds of footsteps are the only thing that is heard aside from Alastors delightful humming and the sound of blowing wind. The streets empty and silent. Corpses scattered to the ground, blood painted to the plain concrete. Some buildings burning red with fire adding to the red complection of the sky, but not enough to copy it's sheer velvet color. It looked beautiful. The crunching sound of the burning materials adding to it almost made it calming.

Alastor twirled his microphonenic staff. His red eyes glitching as he wiped his blood stained lips, his wide monstrous grin never leaving his face. His golden sharp teeth glinted from the light of the fire as he licked them clean from the metallic wet liquid.

With a snap of his finger, an eyeball appeared. It was a beautiful shade of light blue with white iris. Alastor hummed. The color reminded him of what supposed to be the color of the sky in a warm sunny day back in the land of living. He rolled the eyeball in his fingers. This eyeball belonged to a friend back in the surface. What a shame. They were such great pals to. If only they didn't get in his way.

Alastor crushed the eye, leaving nothing but red mush in his hand. The blood was warm, almost burning in his hand as he watched it drip down the already bloodied concrete.

It's only been a day since his death and a day since he started killing demons, bringing chaos, destroying turfs, broadcasting it all throughout hell to show his power. All citizen in hell must know which demon not to mess with.

The whirling sound of the radios around him echoed through the silence matching the chuckles released from his breath.

He looked up at the sky once more, his grin widening further. He spread his arms wide, presenting himself in this new world he now stands in. He laughed out loud, the buzzing sound of radio joining in. In response, radios around him released glitching sounds mixed with ear piercing ringing of microphones. This is power.

A sudden glowing light flashed from the sky. Like a twinkling star in an endless red void. It pulled Alastor in. Just as a siren lulling a fisherman further to the sea.

The glow faded, swallowed by the dominating color of red as it fell down. Alastor watched as a figure emerge from the light, falling a few distance away from him. The pressure from the fall created cracks from the concrete.

Alastor walked towards the figure. His each step becoming faster as he neared. He stopped.

In front of him was an angel. Pure white wings scattered to the pavement, contrasting the corrupted bloody red of his victims remains. White robes stained with the said blood and dust and scratches from the fall. Glistening [color skin] tattered with scars, old and new. Silky shoulder length [hair color] covering half his face. Long lashes hiding his eyes as they were shut asleep.

Interest surged through Alastors core as the crystal white wings slowly turned obsidian black. His pure robes corrupted into an ashy color. Alastor saw the fallen angel shifted and whimpered in his sleep. Alastor crouched down, lifting his hand to brush the silky hair away from his face. Alastors fingers glazed through the angels cheek. His skin is pleasantly cold against his warm ones. Alastors hand retreated and he rubbed his fingers.

The angels eyes started to open. Golden eyes peeked through the luscious lashes, it looked straight at Alastors bright red ones. The feeling of those beautiful eyes look straight at him send shivers to his bones pleasantly.

Without breaking eye contact, the angel sat up. Wings resting at his sides, the angel looked up at Alastor. Silence stayed between them. Still looking into each other's eyes, they examined each other. They looked deep into each other's soul.

Behind the echoing silence. An agreement. An understanding.

Alastor reached his hand out.

The angel finally broke eye contact and looked at the hand reached out for him. He lifted his hand.

As their hands made contact, a promise was made.

I shall be your companion, and you shall be mine.

[ Hello ! This is my first post on Tumblr! I came from Wattpad so apologies for my mistake. You could come see my stories there! @TheodoreQuartz0001 is my Wattpad account! ^^]

[thatssolavellan]

Solas: Is there at least a movement to reunite Orzammar and Kal-Sharok?

Varric: What is it with you, Chuckles? Why do you care so much about the dwarves?

Solas: Once, in the Fade, I saw the memory of a man who lived alone on an island. Most of his tribe had fallen to beasts or disease. His wife had died in childbirth. He was the only one left. He could have struck out on his own to find a new land, new people. But he stayed. He spent every day catching fish in a little boat, every night drinking fermented fruit juice and watching the stars.

Varric: I can think of worse lives.

Solas: How can you be happy surrendering, knowing it will all end with you? How can you not fight?

Varric: I suppose it depends on the quality of the fermented fruit juice.

Solas: So it seems.

---

Varric: What’s with you and the doom stuff? Are you always this cheery, or is the hole in the sky getting to you?

Solas: I have no idea what you mean.

Varric: All the “fallen empire” crap you go on about. What’s so great about empires, anyway?

So we lost the Deep Roads, and Orzammar’s too proud to ask for help. So what? We’re not Orzammar and we’re not our empire.There are tens of thousands of us living up here in the sunlight now, and it’s not that bad. Life goes on. It’s just different than it used to be.

Solas: And you have no concept of what that difference cost you.

Varric: Oh, I know what it didn’t cost me. I’m still here, even after all those thaigs fell.

Solas: You truly are content to sit in the sun, never wondering what you could’ve been; never fighting back?

Varric: Ha, you’ve got it all wrong, Chuckles. This is fighting back.

Solas: How does passively accepting your fate constitute a fight?

Varric: In that story of yours—the fisherman watching the stars, dying alone—you thought he gave up, right?

Solas: Yes.

Varric: But he went on living. He lost everyone, but he still got up every morning. He made a life, even if it was alone. That’s the world. Everything you build, it tears down. Everything you’ve got, it takes—and it’s gone forever. The only choices you get are to lie down and die or keep going. He kept going. That’s as close to beating the world as anyone gets.

Solas: Well said. Perhaps I was mistaken.

[zorosleftmantit101]

Royal AU, Princess reader x (Peasent) One piece character who would you like to see (Poll at bottom)

(Reblogs are greatly apprecited)

Preveiw:

Scouting through the halls of the castle, you stopped at a window, overlooking the town below. Your gown slithered snuggly against your body as the wind kissed your cheeks. You felt the town call a silent song for you, your heart yearning to see the people below. "Oh dear Y/N, I've been looking for you everywhere, don't waste your time looking over that filthy village, come with me, a bath has been drawn for you." An elderly woman calls, shuffling up to grab you by the elbow, before yanking you away.

"Nanny Arlem why am I never allowed down to the town" you grumbled as a pale of warm water was poured over your head. Pulling the dampened hair from your eyes, you looked at her beside you. 'Tsking' in irritation Nanny Arlem rubbed a soapy sponge along your back. "if you really must know, it's filled with peasants and filth, no one a princess like you should be associating with," she huffed, dropping the sponge in the water to go fetch a towel.

Standing so she may drape the towel over your shoulders, you looked out your bathroom window, situated on the opposite side of the town with a magnificent view of the hills and lake, yet not the view you wanted most of all. Deciding to drop the subject, you dried and clothed yourself before making your way to bed, watching the setting sun drape orange hues of light across your room. An hour had passed and you were still lying in a sleepless rest engulfed in darkness as the stars and moon ruled the sky.

As a Princess, you had to stay within the castle and gardens, serving your father until you potentially had to be shipped off for some bullshit arranged wedding. Nights were long and days were longer as the only part of the castle open to you were the gardens and the library and they were hardly filled with anybody worth staying for. You were ultimately trapped, "Such a horrid life having to live in a rich castle with fresh food, water and servants at your disposal" one might jest, Yet life was hardly enjoyable because what's the use of having all these amazing things in your life if it's not a life you want to live.

Comment Below Any other characters (with job) you might like to see

I would like to get a lot of opinions on this so reblogs are greatly apprecited

[amymbona]

oh my goshhhh patrick with mer!reader YES YES YES. he’s so entranced, curious, and terrified all in one — by you. you’re a complete enigma to him, yet somehow you just won’t leave his mind.

a little while later when the fascination began to wear off out of fear that you were just in his imagination, he sees a beautiful tail flick out of the water, presumably diving down and his attention is immediately caught once again. neeeeeddd him to just be completely bewitched by everything about you. the fins replacing where your ears should be, long lustrous hair that’s cascades down your back, your gills — but most of all, he’s set on your tails.

runs his fingers up and down the slimy scales, watching hiw the shimmer under the sun GODDD

🩰

He's sitting on the pier like a fisherman would, waiting for literal HOURS to spot you, evej the tiniest hint of yourself! And he's not left to be disappointed when the water begins splashing and he sees the flicker or pink and purple and turqoise under the surface, catching the light from the stars above. Long waves follow, getting mixed with the soft pastel of your own hair, completely different to the blesk brown and gray that he's been seeing his whole life.

And there you are - finally! - coming closer and closer, presumably unaware of his lurking presence. Only when Patrick calls out, this time attempting to sound a bit softer, so as not to scare you off, you finally whip your pretty head in his direction, the similar bewildered expression on your face. There he is again, that human, that same pale, scruffy guy. What is he doing here?

"Wait, don't to!" Patrick exclaims when you dive underwater once again. Fingers gripping the wood, he leans over to catch a glimpse of you. C'mon, come back. He gasps in surprise when you finally pop up from between the waves, your face close to his.

You don't speak, simply swim there, staring up at Patrick with your big blue eyes. You've never seen a human up close, not one that's alive at least, and from what you know, you should be pulling him under the water's surface and attempting to drown him. And yet you never do.

Patrick is staring at you like he has never seen a mermaid before, even though there's basically a whole kingdom deep down at the very bottom, probably more mermaids than there are people in this city. He asks who you are but you never respond, as if you couldn't understand his language.

So he points to himself, a shaky hand on his own chest, "Patrick," and then tries again, "I'm Patrick. And you are?"

When he extends a hand in your direction, you reluctantly grasp it, your own hand so pale and shiny, almost slimy in comparison to his own dry and calloused skin. That's all you do, still looking up with your big glowy eyes, studying the human's face. Can you even understand what he's saying?

As if being cast a spell onto, Patrick is completely frozen, the light touch of your palm against his seeming almost ethereal, out of this world, so so so different to every lady whose hands he had the pleasure to touch. He's tempted to squeeze you but doesn't know if he's allowed to. What if you'll get scared and pull him down and then drown him? Or - worse - what if you'll get scared and swim away? No, no, no. Patrick can't let you leave.

"Can you speak?" he asks you once again but is met with silence. Again. So you don't talk, or you're pretending not to. Either way, his impatient self can't stand it.

And so as he keeps holding you, Patrick uses that opportunity of short lived calmness to examine your face up close. The most prominent features of yours strike him right away - your pointy, flappy ears and multiple sets of gills running down the sides of your neck - so that's how you breathe underwater, like a fish. Your hair cascades in silky waves of multiple colours; this is the first time he's seeing a woman with different hair than black, brunette or blonde. Are you even a woman?

He's tempted to reach out and caress your cheek, to feel if it's as soft as your hand, whether your whole body is this cold (How the hell are you not shivering?). He's tempted to lean in and kiss you, just to feel it, just to feel you. And in his senseless moment of stupidity, he actually tries to, leaning in just a bit closer which soon proves to be a bad decision, as you shy away almost immediately.

"No no no, wait!" Patrick yells into the waves, recklessly diving straight after you. He's not letting you disappear, not this time.

Surrounded by the salty water, Patrick is suddenly unable to hear, unable to see, the water pressure providing a continuius humming sound which contrasts with the beat of his own hard. His eyes burn once he opens them and it leaves him no other choice than to swim back up, damp curls sticking to his forehead.

"C'mon - little mermaid! -" he calls out, feet threading the water. Where are you, where are you? "Come back. Come back to me!"

Another splash, and then another one, something slimy slips between his own legs and an unexpected wave covers his whole head. With a gasp, Patrick spins around, seeing you right in front of him. An airy giggle escapes your pink painted lips and Patrick thinks he might have fallen in love right here and there. You are simply gorgeous.

But Patrick cracks a smile, he's unable to really hold it back. Can you blame him? "So that's how you are? You want me to chase you, huh?"

And apparently, you understand him. In some weird way - through all the barriers - you definitely get a hint of what he's saying because you nod. In all honestly, the man in front of you looks utterly harmless, like a mouse drowned in the lake, a single drop of water sliding down his nose. He looks a bit silly, like all humans do.

This time it's you who reaches out, a cold gentle hand to his cheek, as if you have no issues staying afloat - which you obviously don't, considering you're literally a mermaid - and Patrick focuses so hard that he almost forgets about swimming. With a shaky shudder, he leans into your touch, finding comforting warmth in the sticky coldness. How are so you warm and cold at the same time?

You're smiling, you're actually smiling, the most softer, tender expression he has ever seen on somebody's face. Patrick really thinks he might be in love.

But just as quickly as you came, that quickly you disappear, and all he gets is the blown out yell of your eyes, as if you've suddenly realised something. So there you leave him, swimming in the frozen water like an idiot, all for a simple glimpse of yourself. And the last contact he gets from you is the forceful brush or your scally tail against his legs.

[singing-cicada]

List of people Zagreus Hadesgame should get to hang out with and reasons:

1. Soldiers and battlefield healers - lots of blood so it's an easy anchor + Ares lets him wander around and Thanatos is usually already there so he can take him home before he starts fainting

2. Fishermen - he stands in puddles of fish blood as he fishes for surface sea life. All the fisherman are initially confused at a half-on-fire-man hanging out at the docks until he casts his line. At some point he starts asking them for the names of what he's caught and they decide to teach him more about fishing in general.

3. In the same vein: butchers - he is honestly just curious and hangs around. He has a lot of fun people watching, and accidently becomes a symbol of good fortune; if he visits your shop then you have a lot of experience under your belt from many years of work and/or have a lot of product. It's a correlation of amount of blood, past and present, that makes it easier for him to anchor to a butchers experience and prosperity. Butchers star putting out stools with bowls of fresh blood underneath to invite his attention.

4. Midwives, new mothers, and newborns - he has seen a lot of lives ending, but seeing one begin??? Breathtaking. He's very polite and after every stops being terrified that he's here to claim/kill/curse/bless the baby he becomes a comfort. He's present at a lot of successful births so at first he's considered good luck. When's the first time he was present for a still birth, he was very gentle, he promised the (should have been) mother to carry the babe himself, to bring her to rest. They midwives no longer considered him an omen; he was a comfort at loss and a companion in joy.

5. Prepubescent/adolescent girls - more specifically before or as their periods start. Women make the connection between bleeding in labor to bleeding monthly and tell their daughters to ask for his help. Some for health, some for strength, some for relief.

6. Anyone who stumbles across his mother's cottage while he's visiting - most people know to clock him as a deity or associated figure so there really respectful. He'll offer them some produce and a flower of their choice if their polite. If he finds someone has already taken they are either 1. Allowed to leave with the items if he can tell they're desperate or acted in good faith that the house was abandoned or 2. Promptly removed with warranted force if they acted out of greed/blatant disrespect for the occupant (his mom). Weird stories start spreading that the garden is so abundant because he waters it with blood or that the house used to belong to a midwife who attracted Zagreus's attention with all the blood soaked into the wood.

It becomes almost like his first shrine: rumours have made it clear not to steal from the garden or enter the house, so people leave offerings on/outside the fences. Bloodied sheets, fish bones, seeds and dried flowers. Young women leave flower crowns when they stop bleeding, and young men leave laurels when before and after battle; his aid in spilling blood and thanks that their heart still beat.

[amuseoffyre]

Got thinking in the night about Ed in episode 7 and why he regrets that they rushed into things the night before. At the beginning of the episode, he's come to a decision about his leathers (his Blackbeard days) and puts them aside and is calm about it.

In the first scenes of the episode, he's open and at peace and talking to Stede about his golden merman who saved his life. They're having a nice time together, eating out, chatting, talking about Stede's letters, even giving pointers at Stede's Regional Debut 2.0.

The change comes in a mirror of the Chauncey scene in episode 9 - Jackie (a figure from Ed's old life) making observations that Stede's star is on the rise, things have changed and "do you think *he* knows that?" about Ed's desire to be a normal dude and Ed whispers "shit."

For the rest of the episode, we see Ed quietly sitting with himself, thinking. He's sitting at the quayside watching the fisherfolk. He even talks to Izzy about getting rid of his leathers and how it felt "fucking great" and Izzy tells him maybe he needs to listen to that.

The fact he turns to fish and fishing as his processing mechanism speaks measures. He needs that association: that stillness and quiet so he can just process everything that has happened in the past 24 hours. And it's a lot. It's so much and this is where the regrets creep in.

Stede eventually comes to find him after "the best day" and immediately clocks that Ed doesn't sound happy. Ed has had the whole day of turning things over and has realised how unsteady he's feeling about it all and finally tells Stede "I don't want to be a pirate anymore".

And this is where the regret comes in. It's not about them sleeping together. It's about them rushing into it when he's realised he still has so much to work out. And it's why he's chosen to become a fisherman - a job that he feels will let him sit and process quietly.

Yes, it's a rapid-fire decision from Stede's POV, but from Ed's POV it has been building up slowly from the beginning of episode 6, when he was dealing with some pretty intense flashbacks including his father's death, all the maiming of Izzy and when he almost killed the whole crew. Then a figure from his pirate life came in and made things so much worse.

He *needs* space from the pirate life and he can't know he'll get it on the Revenge, especially not now that Stede is the Republic's rising star. He is removing himself from a situation where his past keeps coming back to find him, living in plain sight, unnoticed and *quiet*.

Only he doesn't explain this to Stede. Yes, he says he doesn't want to be a pirate, but he doesn't explain what's changed and why, only that he's getting the hell out of dodge. And Stede absolutely doesn't get it and is understandably angry and hurt about it.

When Stede calls him coward, it's coloured by his own experience - he called himself a coward about the way he abandoned his own life and family for a job he knows nothing about. He doesn't realise that Ed is doing the same thing for a not-completely-different reason.

"Fishermen and pirates have nothing in common" Ed tells him. The subtext being "we don't have anything in common anymore". Stede is becoming the thing that Ed is trying to escape and to Stede, Ed is abandoning him on a whim. There's so much misunderstanding going on.

It definitely doesn't help that Stede has gone into the pirate life with this glamorous fantasy of what it is to be a "proper pirate", even though Ed said "yeah, they're pirates" when Stede observed how troubled all Ed's friends are. Stede needs to lose the rose-tinted glasses (and also acknowledge that maybe, possibly, there's a vague chance - shocking concept - that he is quite troubled himself)

They've been talking at cross-purposes so much. Ed tends to hide his real emotions in metaphors that Stede doesn't catch, while Stede tends to bottle up his - he has been crushing down so much all season and they. need. to. talk. but properly because they are both a mess.

And Stede, when pushed, will eventually break and do deeply stupid things because his self-worth and self-preservation is in the dirt. It's why he fights Zheng when he knows she's far superior to him. It's why Izzy tried to get him out of there before it kicked off.

As Izzy astutely observed, he and Ed balance each other out. Without each other, they swing to extremes that become dangerous to themselves and others. They need to have the time to sit down and *talk things through* instead of charging on headlong. They need to take it slow.

Only circumstances don't allow that. Everything keeps on coming and they just haven't had the time. Ed *isn't* wrong about needing some space to process his stuff. It's just that they picked the worst possible way to discuss it with each other and everything fell apart.

[deathnguts]

Selkie! Regulus and Fisherman! Remus... they live rent free in my head. Like Regulus just has such selkie beauty, yknow? Otherworldly and something you’ll never truly, fully tame or own despite wedding but still delicate and perfect. And Remus is just so creaky little village folklore protagonist it’s honestly hilarious, yes this man lives in a routine until he’s gray and literally can’t anymore with his air of mystery and calloused hands but distinctly kind eyes. Match made in stories told under the stars around campfires if you ask me.

Ok so I think this au could be imagined two ways. 1, Remus meets human regulus first and 2, Remus meets seal regulus first. Both go differently but are both very fun.

So number 1 would be classic tumblr fantasy. Regulus is a beautiful stranger who keeps to himself and showed up almost out of thin air in the misty fishing town in Wales that Remus lives in. Regulus is so new and beautiful he can’t help but catch the eye. I imagine Remus sees him for the first time when Regulus is out on the beach, just watching the water, and Remus is coming down the dock to go home for the night. It’s late and quiet besides the waves of the sea, dark besides the light of the moon, and this stranger could almost be mistaken for a ghost with how the pale rays bounce off their skin and perfectly white coat they have draped just past their shoulders. He leaves them be because it’s late and he’s not creepy. He sees them again at the only local bookstore, sat at one of the only desks in the small shop with a few books piled next to them and their manicured fingers turning the aged pages of the book they had open. Again, Remus just can’t look away. Their curls are loose around their face and they keep having to tuck them behind their ears, which are pierced with shiny pearl earrings. Their eyes are intently focused and strikingly pale blue and Remus only realizes he’s been staring when he realizes those eyes are on him now. He flushes and stumbles over his words to try and apologize but the stranger doesn’t seem perturbed, they say it’s alright and they were leaving anyway. Remus wonders how long he’d really been just watching them because they seem farther in their book when they close it and they knock the coat he remembers them wearing the other night off the back of the chair they were sitting on when they reach for a bookmark. Remus picks it up for them, since it’s the least he can do, and hands it back while they gather their things. Except they’ve stopped gathering their things because now their entrancing eyes are wide and staring at him with blown pupils and awe. Remus doesn’t understand and is still embarrassed from before, so he gets them to take their coat and rushes off. He meets them again when they appear at his door a few days later with a ring and a fierce blush as they explain that it’s unfair to only be married the human way, and oh dear god what has Remus gotten himself into.

Very silly, much shenanigans, very cute I think.

The second is more whimsical. Remus is out late fishing, maybe fell asleep earlier that night out of sheer exhaustion from work or other and is now waking up far past his usual docking time. He’s groggy and delirious when he sees a glowing white light in the water. He thinks he’s dreaming when it’s head pokes out and it’s a seal. Remus doesn’t know if seals should be in this water but he does know they shouldn’t be glowing. The seal coos and swims for a little before disappearing and leaving Remus wondering if it was even real as he sails back to the docks. But he’s assured it was when he sees the seal more and more over the next few months. He becomes more and more familiar with it, more delighted to see it. He talks to his mother about it one day and she immediately tells him he’s seen a selkie, because she’s superstitious like that, and he doesn’t really believe her at first but it becomes undeniable as the weeks turn to months and the seal gets more and more friendly with him. Eventually culminating in Remus probably hearing his selkie’s song from human tongue for the first time, and seeing that form to boot.

Man falling for a folktale and a folktale falling for a man. Very fairytale, very wondrous, very ‘true loves kiss’ vibe.

But also I lied and there’s a third option that’s sort of an off shoot of two. Werewolf Remus meets seal regulus first.

Remus spends his moons as a werewolf by the water, near rocky caves where no one dare venture at night. The waves calm the monster and he doesn’t out anyone in danger out here. He’s used to coming here with not much to remember the next morning but then one day he remembers almost a dreamlike memory of his wolf padding down to the water and meeting a glowing... fish? Hm, strange. But Moony remembers it perfectly every moon and starts to view the magical seal as its friend, chasing it along the shoreline and bumping snouts with it and stuff. As moony grows fond of the ‘fish’ Remus remembers its existence more, and since he’s literally a werewolf in this idea he stomaches the idea of selkies pretty easily and realizes he’s probably visiting a selkie every moon and goes back on nights it’s not the moon to maybe see it with human eyes. The seal is wary of the human form since it doesn’t know if only the wolf means no harm but quickly learns Remus is nice too and reveals itself as human too rather easily. The human forms connect just as quickly as the animal forms did and their love is so much more intimate since they understand like literally no one else what it’s like to be an adjacent human with animal needs and such.

Literally their most primal halves meeting and falling first, folklore on folklore romance, ‘lets be otherworldly together’ type of vibe. Immaculate, adorable, also I just like including Moony in moonwater fics.

[thestormynobody]

A Sisters Wish

Note: This takes place after this fic. You can probably read it on its own but I personally recommend reading that one first. Thank you once again to Nube for beta reading for me <3

There was an old legend in Bambouche: You must pick up the prettiest shell you can find. Once you do that you whisper a desire into it several times. Some tellings say three, others five or even nine. Having done this you take the shell with you. Keeping it close and safe until nightfall. When the stars are at their brightest you would whisper your wish one more time into the shell then return it to the sea. 

It was said that once a long time ago a fisherman was lost at sea, thought to be dead by everyone. His partner made a wish in this way and  within three days he had returned home safely, though with no memory of where he had been the whole time.

Of course. No one really took this seriously.  After all, it was a little silly, wasn’t it? Just a tale told by the older folks to keep the kids entertained. So then, why was she rowing a boat out onto the water, a shell nestled into her pocket? In the initial days after Petronille was unfrozen she had scoured the town for any sign of Bonnie. She was glad they had managed to make it out ahead of the curse but, now she didn’t know where they were and that thought terrified her to her core.

 It took everything within her to not just set off out of town looking for them. She was no stranger to rash decisions but even she knew this was a terrible idea. Bambouche had been frozen for months. They could be anywhere at this point. She needed a general idea of where to start looking. She’d sent letters out to neighboring towns but she knew there had to be others looking for lost family members as well. Her letter was likely one among many and the waiting was driving her insane. 

So. Why not do this? Couldn’t hurt. Besides, being out on the water has always calmed her so, if anything, it is an excuse to find some time to center herself and come up with a new game plan. She pulls the shell from her pocket and whispers into it. 

“Please, let me know that Bonnie is safe and let them come home soon.” 

It’s. What. She. Wants.

With that, she dips her hand into the water and releases the shell, watching it sink out of view. Nothing happens. Not that she really expected anything to happen really. It wasn’t like Bonnie would just appear on the boat next to her… Though part of her wishes they would. She misses them so much and not knowing if they’re okay is about the worst feeling in the world. 

She lays down on the floor of her boat and looks up at the stars. She hasn’t really been sleeping well and knows tonight will be no exception. Might as well stargaze. She remembers the old fisherwoman who’d taken her under her wing when she’d first arrived alone and scared with a baby Bonnie. 

She hadn’t made herself the easiest to approach but the woman had done so anyway. Showing her how to properly catch and cook fish so that she and Bonnie would not go hungry. She’d known so much about the stars. Often talked about them when they spent late nights fishing together. You could navigate using the stars if you knew what to look for. She had said something else that had stuck with her too… Even if you couldn’t see them they were always there, watching over the people below. It was a connection all people shared.

The thought that no matter where Bonnie was, they were still under the same sky brings the smallest bit of comfort to her now. She’d see them again. No matter what.

Her thoughts come to a stop as a streak of light trails across the sky. A shooting star? Maybe this was some sort of sign? Not that she was…particularly religious in one way or another. But hey, she’ll take some divine intervention right now if it means helping her find her sibling. 

Huh.

That’s getting really close. 

TOO close. 

OH CRAB.

She bolts up right and starts rowing for dear life out of the trajectory of the light that is rapidly approaching. It still nearly flips her boat when it makes impact with the water. “Oh crab oh crab oh crab-”

Wait.

Did that shooting star look…person shaped?? She could still kind of see the shape as it sank quickly under the water. It does look person shaped!! Did a person just fall from the crabbing sky?! 

Without thinking she dives into the water after whatever-whoever this is. The water is dark but fortunately they are very bright. She swims after the quickly sinking light and manages to grab onto something solid. They’re surprisingly light actually. She hauls them out of the water and somewhat ungracefully gets them into the boat. 

So. That’s a person that just fell from the sky…..and their head is a star. Why not? She was frozen in time for months and that was already pretty weird. This might as well be happening. They don’t seem to be moving. Are they dead...? An impact from that height would be pretty devastating to most people but most people also don’t have stars for heads so who knows what the rules are here. Can she do CPR on something that doesn’t have a mouth???

She hesitantly reaches to see if she can find a pulse when suddenly the star’s eyes fly open, they sit bolt upright and grab her wrist. This catches her so off guard she suplexes them right back into the water. Oops.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

There is a star in her boat. They have their arms folded over their body and are looking out across the water. Probably cold. She was too, the water wasn’t exactly warm after all. They don’t seem…mad about her dunking them back into the water really. They'd been more disorientated than anything and as startled by her as she'd been by them grabbing her.

“Thank you.” They say at last after a long silence. 

“Don't mention it.” She is trying so very hard not to ask the obvious question. It’s probably rude to ask someone why they're a star so she settles on the other question at the forefront of her mind:

“How the crab did you end up falling from the sky??”

They stare at her for a moment. “Stars do that sometimes.”

“...sure, but they don't usually also talk.”

“Have you ever met another star?”

“...I suppose not.”

“Well there you go~! Hm. Though I do suppose there must be another reason I'm here. Did you perhaps make a wish?”

“How-?”

“Star.”

“...riiight.” She feels a mix of both hope and skepticism. 

“Your sibling is safe.”

!

“More than that, they're one of the saviors of Vauguarde. You should be proud~”

“Bonnie fought the king?!!” 

Why would anyone let a kid even attempt that?!  But… If they're okay and also kicked the king's butt then…yeah. She's crabbing proud. Then again…

“Why should I believe you?”

“Other than the fact I am a sentient star who dropped in to give you the news? Well. Hm. Let’s see-” They close their eyes for a long moment.  

Something whizzes past her head and they pluck it out of the air. “Ah, here we are.” 

They hold it out to her. It’s paper, folded into the shape of a crane. Paper Craft letter sending was nothing new but the shape is different than what she is used to. Also, they generally weren’t this good at pinpointing someone's location. 

She quickly unfolds it and reads it over using the light emitting from the star. The first half is in an unfamiliar handwriting. Neat. Formal. The writer states that her name is Odile and recounts the circumstances of how the saviors met Bonnie and why they'd allowed them to tag along on such a dangerous mission.

…And she got it. Odile was 100 percent correct that Bonnie would have followed them no matter what they said or did. They were stubborn like that. The letter explains the party’s plans to set out for Bambouche as soon as they are fit for travel.

She moves on to the second half of the letter and her heart skips a beat. She knows that handwriting.

Hey Nille! Everyone says you should be unfrozen by now. You better be!! There's so much I wanna tell you but Dille took up too much of the crabbing paper with “adult stuff”. She said we could send another letter soon though. You should write back so i know you're okay. Though i guess itd be hard to know where to send it when we're on the road. Ill ask where to have you send one next time i write. Did you know in Ka Bue they send their letters folded like birds instead of butterflies? It seems a lot more hard to fold it like that to me but Dile makes it look easy. Aw crab im running out of room to write. Dont go anywhere okay? We're coming to you. Write you again soon! This is Bonnie by the way.

Crammed in the corner because they'd written too large to give themselves the space to say everything they wanted to say was a tiny “Miss you.”

A tear darkens the paper. They're okay. She is so relieved. It seems her wish really did come true. She turns to the star, “Thank you…?”

There is an awkward pause, then they seem to realize she’s fishing for a name. “Loop.”

“Thank you Loop. This means a lot to me.”

“...don't mention it.”

The two sit in silence for a while.

“So… now what?” she asks.

“.....”

“Heh…haha-” they start laughing, much harder than she felt the question warranted.  It takes them a bit to regain their composure. 

 “You know. I didn’t think that far ahead.”

Previous chapter Next chapter

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @ichiruki-auzine! I think they’d be a lot of fun in a Men in Black world, and wanted to explore another way they could have met for the first time. 

…

…

…

…

Rukia was good at her job. Perhaps not as great as her brother—almost no one could reach Byakuya’s level—but good nonetheless. There was a reason the Men in Black recruited her straight out of university. Just like the FBI or CIA, they only wanted the best.

Best was her middle name. 

Intelligence? She was the top of her class. Every class, for the past five years. 

Fitness? Despite how short she was, Rukia had been on both the soccer and volleyball teams throughout university. She could run laps around her coworkers.

Adaptability? Rukia had lived on the streets for a few years. If she couldn’t adjust to anything after that, then no one could.

Any skill they needed, she had in spades. The top brass agreed: there was a reason she was the only agent on her level who worked alone.  

Rukia grinned as she roared down the highway, swerving her motorcycle in and out of traffic. There were no other motorcycles tailing her as she searched New York for her latest target. She wasn’t forced to sit in a car, making small chat to her partner as they fought traffic.

No, it was just her and the open wind. Rukia took a deep breath of her city’s smog-filled air, listened to the angry honks and screeching tires, and pressed the gas. Her motorcycle jumped forward, and she leaned down closer, hugging the turn as she exited the highway. Her tie flapped in the wind and she felt a feral sort of joy from it all. It was funny how her suit didn’t feel restricting at all as she drove—maybe it was the alien fibers used to make it.

“In two miles, turn right,” her watch declared. A small, green holographic map temporarily floated above the watch, a blinking red dot indicating her destination. 

So close, she thought. No matter where she went, New York was a bright, loud disaster. It was almost eleven and if Rukia didn’t know the time, she’d assume it was day. Buildings jutted out every square inch possible, towering above them and flashing neon lights until it was impossible to see the stars. Pedestrians crowded the well-lit street and she glanced at them as she passed. 

Just how many were human? Alien? At one point, the latter hadn’t even been a question, but now she knew better. She’d opened Pandora’s box and there was no turning back. Not only did aliens exist, but there was an entire economy built off them. There was an immigration system in place, special laws on handling them, and even few presidents had been aliens.

Of all the things Rukia had expected after chasing her brother’s footsteps, joining what was basically an FBI for aliens wasn’t one of them. She glanced at the pedestrians as she drove by. This area wasn’t part of her usual patrol, so for as far as she knew, the hot dog seller could be an alien. Even that schoolgirl skipping eagerly with her friends could be one. 

Alien disguises were too realistic these days. A small scar could hide a zipper, a beard the buttons of a robotic body.

Rukia turned the corner, finally leaving the city proper; the lights were spaced out more, the groups of people decrease to a few stragglers here and there. Even the buildings started to show some variety, houses mixing in between the apartments.

“What’s his name?” she asked, slowing down to match the speed limit.

“Fishbone D., of the Hallow system,” her watch recited immediately. While it looked like any other smart watch, hers was a good deal smarter. “Considering his affinity for water, he is generally found at the docks. He spends his days as a fisherman.”

“The docks?” Rukia snorted. They were nowhere near the ocean now. “What’s he doing all the way over here?”

“He has not checked in with his corresponding agent for the past two weeks,” the watch continued, ignoring her as usual. “He should be somewhere in the next neighbourhood.”

“Probably stumbled in the wrong place.” Rukia turned another corner, slowing down further. The streets here were empty, fortunately. However this went, the less witnesses the better. If she was lucky, Fishbone D.—

“Oh.” Rukia braked hard. Her grip on the handlebars was the only thing that kept her in her seat, gravity trying to jerk her forward and into the eight-foot-tall behemoth in front of her. “Does Fishbone look like a giant shark?”

“Yes,” her watch cheerfully replied, pulling up a hologram of the very alien standing in front of her. “In his original form, he has a skull—”

“Don’t bother, he’s right in front of me.” Rukia sighed as she surveyed the scene.

Not bothering with his human disguise, Fishbone was in his full alien form. It was like looking at a humanoid shark: a sleek grey body with a fin sticking out the back. He had humanesque legs and arms, though his arms were disgustingly long. To top it of, this Frankenstein of a creature had a white, bone-like mask for a face. She wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than having a shark head or even a human head.

Still, there was no way of changing the fact that a giant shark-man was standing in the middle of a rather ordinary suburb, clearly visible for anyone who looked outside. Fishbone also didn’t care about being discrete as he rocked an empty parked car back and forth. Well, it wasn’t like he could be discrete, considering his size, but still. The point was Rukia needed to do a lot of mind-wipes after this was over. It was hard work as is keeping society from knowing about aliens without all of this added to the mix.

Sighing, she dismounted her bike. “Hey, Fishbone.” 

He didn’t look at her. Instead he rocked the car again. This time, it flipped on its side. 

“Great. Property damage too.” Rolling her eyes, Rukia came to a stop in front of him. “Hey. Big guy. You know what comes next, right?”

“She broke up with me,” he whined, his voice oddly deep and guttural.

Rukia could just smell the alcohol clinging to him. “Great, a drunk alien. I don’t care about your life story, you’re still in trouble.”

Fishbone kicked the car. “She left!” 

“I’d leave too.” Tapping on her watch, she shook her head. Honestly, days like these were the worst. There was always too much clean up. “Now you’re going to have to—”

He turned, his right arm whipping back and smacking her right in the stomach with the force of a sledge hammer. As she flew through the air, her only thought was shit.

-x-

Ichigo was drunk. Sure, his body didn’t feel heavy, his brain was particularly unfuzzy, and he didn’t even have that warm tingle that happened after a few too many shots, but he was drunk. It was really the only explanation for the monster that was blocking his walk home.

Though, considering how much the monster stunk of beer, maybe they were both drunk. 

“How do you even drink?” he muttered to himself, squinting at the monster’s face. Despite his black body, his face looked like a white skull. Did that mouth even open? How did he even lift the can, he didn’t look like he had proper hands.

There was a short woman standing next to him, and if the monster was huge, the woman was tiny. She was like one of those fairies his sister liked to draw. Her black suit didn’t make her look at all imposing, and he wondered just what it said to him that he was dreaming about Beauty and the Beast. 

Before he blinked, the monster swatted the woman in his direction. Flying through the air, she shot past him and onto the hood of a car. Loud beeps blared through the quiet night and Ichigo pulled out his stupor. He wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t dreaming. That was a real monster in front of him.

And that lady needed help. Quickly, he sprang into action, dropping his backpack as he sprinted to the car. The woman groaned as she sat up and rubbed her head. “Fuck,” she swore. 

“You okay?” he asked, quickly scanning her for injuries. Enough years watching his father’s medical practice had left him with just enough knowledge to know what to look for. There wasn’t any blood, fortunately, and she looked more annoyed than in pain.

“I’m fine.” She swatted his hand away, climbing off the car on her own. Somehow, she looked even tinier now; he had to be at least double her height. “You should get going.”

“Get going?” Ichigo snorted, gesturing at the monster. “We should call the cops.”

She shot him a glare. “Don’t. God, the cleanup would be—just don’t, okay? Run along now, idiot.”

“Idiot?” he gawked. Before he could get any further than that, she sprinted toward the monster once more.  

There was a gun in her hand. He had no idea where she’d been hiding that. Were guns even useful against monsters? Ichigo could feel his brain overloading from it all. Maybe he should go; she seemed to know what she was doing.

Yet…he watched as she shot. Two short, white bursts of energy exploded out of the gun and smacked the monster in the back. The monster cried—it was weird how human-like that sounded—before whirling around and attacking her. She looked more than capable of fighting the monster; in fact she looked oddly used to it. He could get in the way.

The monster’s feet swept at her and while she jumped, she couldn’t dodge the monster’s claws coming from the opposite direction.

“Watch out!” 

She turned and crossed her arms over her chest just as she got hit, flying into yet another car. 

“Shit!” Ichigo ran toward her, not caring anymore. She clearly needed help; this thing was far too strong for just her to take care of. 

“Not again.” The woman coughed, blood dribbling down her lips. Whatever got hurt, it was internal, and those were the worst types of injuries.

“Shit, shit, shit.” The monster was still ambling toward them. There was no time to do anything but scoop her up in his arms and run. If she broke something else, well, she’d at least be alive to complain about it. 

“What’re you doing?” she gasped. Despite her pain, she smacked his chest with an open palm. “Let go of me, you idiot.”

“You’re injured, moron,” Ichigo growled back. She was even lighter than he’d expected. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed the monster was oddly slow on its approach. Instead of focusing on them, it was hitting random cars along the way. 

“I’m not.” She groaned as she tried to move. “Fine, a little.”

“A little?” Incredulous, Ichigo tore his eyes off the street and onto the slip of a woman in his arms. He had never seen anyone so stubborn before, it was like everything she was lacking in height, she made up for in attitude. “You’re coughing up blood!”

“All in a day’s work.” She winced as she peeked around his arms. “That fucking drunk idiot.”

There were many words Ichigo would have used on the monster, but none of those were it. And especially strung together like that. “What?”

“Nothing, ignore it.” She studied him. “You’re pretty strong.”

Ichigo raised a brow. “You’re not that heavy.”

The woman’s jaw dropped and she smacked him. “No, you idiot—look, there’s an easy way for all of this to end.” She pointed behind him. “I need you to get me to my motorcycle.”

“And run past that thing?” Ichigo slowed down to look over his shoulder again. It was odd, the monster didn’t look interested in them anymore, more content to wreck a garbage can than to eat them. Suddenly, he understood drunk though he wasn’t sure why a monster of all things would be.

She nodded, not missing a beat. “And then I need you to distract him long enough for me to shoot him.”

“What?” If he hadn’t been holding her, he would have rubbed his brow. As it was, he stopped running. “Are you an idiot?”

“That’s still you,” she growled. “Look, either we do this together, or I do it alone.”

He stared at her.

“It’s my job, I know what I’m doing.”

Job. Ichigo took a deep breath. “None of this makes sense,” he mumbled. It wasn’t like he could leave her alone to face this, and even if he ran away, other people could be hurt by it. Reluctantly, he nodded. “Fine, but you’re explaining everything after.”

The woman snorted, as though there was something hilarious about that. “Sure, I’ll explain everything. Now don’t get hit.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that, shorty,” Ichigo hunched forward slightly and took a deep breath. 

Three—

The monster perked his head up.

Two—

Its skeletal head turned to them.

One—

The monster dropped the garbage bin.

Go!

Ichigo sprinted down the road, trying not to scream. Noticing his approach, the monster bounded toward them, its overly large arms hitting parked cars and setting off several alarms. From the corner of his eyes, he could see blinds pulling back, doors opening; the whole neighbourhood realizing that a monster stood on their front lawn.

But there wasn’t time to think of that. As long as the monster was focused on him, it wouldn’t turn to them. Its hand curled around a trash can and hurled it at him. Ichigo barely dodged in time. The gap between him and the motorcycle was slowly decreasing. It was the size of a football field now.

Unfortunately, the monster stood at the halfway point, and he was only coming closer. 

Ichigo glanced at the woman. Her eyes were fixed determinedly on the monster. “Hey.”

“Yes?” She didn’t look at him.

Ichigo angled toward the lawn on his right. “Can you run?”

“Huh?” She looked at him, curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Can you?” he repeated insistently. There was only a car length between them and the monster now. 

“Y-yes,” she replied quickly. “Why?” 

“Great.” And without warning, he deposited her on the grass. Before she could gather her bearings, he ran straight at the beast.

-x-

Rukia lay flat on the ground, more confused than hurt. No, that was a lie: her chest very much hurt whenever she took a breath. She’d probably cracked a rib or two. “What was that?” 

Gingerly, she sat up, wondering if that guy had just ditched her. She wouldn’t blame him if he did. It was hard enough learning about aliens, let alone facing one that looked like that. Rubbing her head, she glanced back up the street. It was empty. And on the other side…

On the other side, the idiot was taunting the alien. “You—” Rukia cut herself off. He was playing bait and unfortunately, she couldn’t deny that she needed it. In the state she was in, she wouldn’t be able to knock out Fishbone on her own. The entire neighbourhood was awake, families huddling on their doorsteps as they watched in fear, and it was only a matter of time before the cops came. She’d have to scrub the whole place after this.

Rukia clambered to her feet carefully. The stranger at least had some idea of what he was doing, baiting Fishbone to the left side of the street and dodging behind cars. Quickly, she made her way along the right, ducking under cars as she moved. Her chest felt like it was on fire. 

Her motorcycle wasn’t too far, fortunately. She all but sprinted the last few feet, clenching her teeth at the pain. Miraculously, Fishbone hadn’t noticed it in his rampage, leaving the whole thing in once piece. Pressing a button on the handlebars, she impatiently watched as the seat opened up to reveal several small guns.

It was tempting to take the lethal ones, but Fishbone was just drunk and not an actual danger. Grabbing a tranquilizer, she drew it on the alien. His back was toward her. His claws were raised. Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger and shot. A small dart pierced his skin and he stumbled forward as he passed out. 

“Good.” Rukia sighed, resisting the urge to sink to her feet. If she sat down now, she wasn’t going to get back up. 

The stranger stared at Fishbone before kicking him once. When he didn’t move, the man jogged over to her. “Is he dead?”

“No, just asleep.” Rukia put her gun back in the rack and pushed it close. 

“What the—” The guy looked at the bike, at her, at the monster. “What is that? All of this?”

“He’s an alien,” Rukia explained easily, slipping on her sunglasses. She pulled out her neutralizer, a slim, metal device that would make all her worries go away. All she had to do was flash it, and her witnesses would forget anything that happened here tonight. “I need you to do one last thing for me.”

“What?” The man stared at her confused. “And why are you wearing sunglasses at night?”

“I’ll explain in a moment.” Raising her neutralizer, she smiled. “Just look at the light.”

“The light?” The second the stranger looked, she activated it. A bright light flashed and the man recoiled. “Good, now you were on your way home and were distracted by all the honking cars.”

“What?” The man shielded his eyes. “I’m more distracted by that fucking monster!”

Now it was her turn to be surprised. Rukia stared at him. “You remember?”

“Of course I remember. It was two seconds ago.” The stranger rubbed his eyes. “What the hell was that light for?”

Rukia had never heard of a neutralizer not working. She’d used it just earlier today, so it couldn’t be the device. No, there was just something really off about the ginger-haired man in front of her, still rubbing his eyes pitifully. 

Somehow, it hadn’t worked on him.

“Hey watch,” she said, not taking her eyes off him. “Tell the boss we have a problem.”

[yearningaces]

Declan x reader Defender of Chickens

Disclaimer: Declan is my own OC, he is a Hallewell. He's a fucked up lil guy but we love him

TW: animal death mentioned, decapitation, murder(Not really graphic)

Declan is not a good man.

He isn't a 'man' either, he muses. If he is not a good man though, then he is a creature.

Less than that, he is a Hallewell. He is what good men hope to avoid, and what evil men are stalked by in the darkness before their impending end.

He isn't a good Hallewell either though, he supposes he isn't a 'good' anything. He just is.

However…

As the Hallewell remains knelt on the earth of your doorway, gazing into the night sky above, he supposes he doesn't have to be good. He can simply be yours, instead.

The stars are gone tonight, concealed by clouds in the dark expanse of a night sky far above. The world below lies concealed, offering him the only cover he would ever appreciate. Darkness. Pure and unwavering darkness.

The lights of your home have extinguished at this hour, which is for the best.

Declan remembered when he arrived at your doorstep earlier that evening, finding you to be concealing prior shed tears, he was gentle in his embracing of yourself. His burly form was soft, and tender as he guided you to your bed. Declan was gentle as he tucked you in, shifting the blankets with care, ensuring you were as comfortable as you could be as he sat beside you. 'Who causes you grief? What blood must be shed?' He'd asked, his voice always as it ever is when speaking to you, a low soothing rumble.

The Hallewell's hand twitched on the hilt of his dark sword that was resting in his hands as he remembered how warm your cheek had been in his palm.

'It was nothing of concern', you had told him in such a trembling tone. 'I'm simply being sensitive, worry nothing of this', you had said, and oh how that alone lit a fire in his chest, howling out from the bars of his rib-cage at the thought of anyone telling you that your discomfort, your emotions were to be brushed off. As if unimportant.

At the time though, he only smiled softly, biting back his desire to bare his fangs towards anything and everyone who had ever so much as looked upon your form, as if they were worthy of such a sight as his heart. While stroking your cheek with his thumb, Declan spoke far softer than his lungs demanded. 'I cannot help if you do not say, my heart.'

'It was only the fence for my chickens… I woke this morning to find it was torn, and one of the hens was missing. It was no doubt a predator of some sort, searching for an easy meal…' Declan remembered your expression as you spoke of your small flock. His eyes drifted to the coop and the hen house from where he resided before your doorstep. Those chickens gave you enough eggs for yourself and to sell. You cared for them, so now here he sat upon the earth before your home. Watching over your chickens. Your flock, and by extension his.

His mind drifted once more as your trembling voice remained in his mind, seared into his head as if branded by iron and fire. 'The Fisherman's son came to my stall at the market today, he looked happy as he asked of my chickens, Declan we've never spoken before… I didn't know what he meant but it made me wonder something terribly paranoid.'

Declan considered your uneasy words and tone. You were such a wonderful creature, truly. His lovely human, his own beating heart. He was proud he'd kept face when he was seated before you, not once did his voice rise above a low murmur given your state. 'Alright, my heart, I hear your words. I understand your flock is important to you, and it is important to me,' The Hallewell gazed out to the patched portion of the fence, then to the dark treeline beyond. His attention grasped while the memory of your conversation rings in his head.

'I will watch over your flock tonight,'

Declan stands, silent as the grave he is ready to dig as the rustling of the underbrush grows louder

'But, Declan, it's the middle of winter and there is no guarantee anything would even occur-'

The Fisherman's son -Rory- not that his name matters much to a Hallewell, creeps out from the underbrush.

'It will be alright, my dove. I'll merely remain to watch over your flock.'

Declan stalks towards the boy, no more than his twenties, hands already tearing at the patched fencing, unaware of what is coming in the darkness.

'I will merely be rid of any predator that comes scratching at their coop.'

Rory freezes as his hands grasp the fencing. Feeling his mind screaming in the panic of a trapped animal under the blade.

'I would sooner throw myself into the bottom of the nearest well than let anything happen to your flock that you tend to so diligently.'

The blade swings down before a sound can rise from the now bleeding lungs of the Fisherman's son.

'Your flock is vital to you, is it not? Do your chickens not provide you with eggs, and feathers, and meat, and fertilizers? They are yours and by extension, they are mine to guard.'

Declan tears his sword out of the hot-blooded corpse.

'Allow me to be your guard dog, wont you?'

He strikes again, one swing of the dark metal, and the head is severed.

'Let me do this for you, just for tonight.'

Declan's expression is nothing short of sadistic glee as his smile widens, fangs sharp and eyes alight with the glow of malice and delight. The Fisherman's son, the red-haired hot-blooded fool of a jester at best. He'd often be on the receiving end of Declan's ire due to his subtle disregard for you, your work, your livestock that was often your main resource at the markets you enjoyed setting up a stall at. He'd done this for what? Petty pride? A way to lessen the competition of his own fathers stall? No matter, the answer never was of importance to the Hallewell. Better still, the issue was resolved.

With a quiet 'cluck' of the familiar-sounding hens that approached the commotion, Declan knelt by the fence and looked over at the chickens. "Ladies," He greeted in the way that so often seemed to amuse you. His eyes roamed the animals. Your flock. Something you had deemed important and now such notion was engraved into Declan's very bones as well. These creatures were to be shielded as readily as he did so for you. He knew the notion was one you'd laughed off, but he also knew how attached you were to these feathered things, after all, you cared for him, the wretched feathered thing he was, why not a chicken as well? While he would never understand, he knew you cared greatly for your animals, and as such he would ensure they would remain protected if only so you had no reason to mourn their early passing.

"Your predator is gone, now keep quiet tonight, our solace must be allowed uninterrupted rest." Declan looked down to the still-warm corpse, and reaching down to the severed throat of the Fisherman's son, he tore a strip of flesh, holding it to the fence as one of the hens was close enough to peck at the sliver of meat, grasping on and pulling it into the coop as the small flock gathered for the midnight snack. "Well done, ladies," Declan observed the hens before standing to properly dispose of the body, only so you'd never worry.

When the deed was done, and Declan's stomach sat full, did he finally re-enter your home. His dark sword was placed by the door, freshly cleaned and polished, his heavy boots left behind as he stalked through the dark home with familiarity.

Your room was silent and warm. Blessedly, you laid with peace it appeared to the Hallewell as he stood by your door.

Ever so slowly, Declan approached your bed, feeling as though he was approaching something far more vital than himself. His heart, laid upon blankets and cushions of your own throne as you slept. Declan felt his malice and hatred melting away from the inside of his rib-cage. Your very presence seemed to soothe some inner part of him that he had never previously known to be anything but loathing and ferocity, yet… Seeing your peace, your comfort despite knowing he was so close. You rested, despite knowing of the blood-stained and wretched thing that loomed and lurked within the walls of your own home, laid out within your own nest, content and safe.

Declan felt something in him wrench at the very idea alone, and seeing you, knowing these things… It only drew him closer.

The Hallewell orbited your presence as a devout worshiper would their solace. The brute of a creature, stained with the evil of the world, tainted with the deeds he had relished in, and never once regretted. Yet despite his very nature, you allowed him to be within your temple of gentle touch, and soft words, feeding his yearnings and his howling pleas for something kinder.

He almost didn't know what to do with himself as he edged closer, towards the side of your pristine resting place. Declan slowly, silently lowered himself to his knees before your bed. His hands resting upon the soft blankets, his forehead placed atop his hands. Declan felt his mouth moving without any noise of his silent words rising, in fear of disturbing your slumber. "My heart, my solace, my everything. You will not again have another tarnish the lands you have so diligently tended to. Never will another place their wretched form upon your home, in harm of your own nor yourself. The jester foolish enough to attempt so will never stain your lands, though his blood will feed them. I swear to you, and should another be shameless enough to try, their head will be placed atop a pike and left before the beds of flowers as a message to any other who might wish to do the same. Rest gently, dear dove, I will see to it, I will see to it all."

Declan will remain right where he is, he will not move as if a statue made of stone fit for nothing more than to be a visage of a human guised beast at worship before its personal devinity, and he will hardly breathe as he listens with bated breath for each beat of his own heart that lies within your own chest, whereas his lies only with visions of you.

Rest well.

[celestialspecial]

A Song of Sirens

You’d been watching him for months now. He moved with a grace that most humans lacked. Lifting and hoisting and moving heavy objects with ease.

He walked along the deck effortlessly, sea legs someone had called it. The rocking motion of the boat in the swells of the ocean but he held firm.

You’d been warned of coming too close to shore, to be wary of the docks where men kept their ships. But it was all so big and bright and tantalizing. Shouts and laughter rang out between the men.

Ropes were tossed and engines were cleaned. You recognized some of the vessels that you had seen tackle the open ocean. The port side town was bustling this time of the year.

Keeping your head just below the surface, praying a stray beam of sun didn’t catch in a way to glimmer across your scales. It was usually cloudy and gray here, but that didn’t seem to dampen spirits.

You’d even hear the fisherman sing joyful tunes when out on the sea. Whistling, notes being played on some manner of instrument and loud boisterous voices echoing out into the blackness of the night.

When it was so dark that the sky and sea seemed to blend together, like a painter foregoing use of color at all save for the white specks of stars gleaming in the sky.

You swam just under one of the docks, shadows skimmed over your face as boots clunked above you dimming out the light with their movement towards one of the larger boats docked there.

The Sirens Splendor was painted across the side in bright green lettering. A full team of men tossing rations, rope, and wooden boxes onto the deck. You let your arms drape around the side of a supporting beam bolstering the deck.

Eyes darting to examine every man aboard, you’d been watching this ship for long enough. Recognizing the voices, matching the faces. The captain strode forward yelling to a crew member about something.

He was stocky, tall, with close cropped dark hair and a nose that looked like it had broken once or twice. The men fell in line immediately at his call and movement picked up aboard.

You had begun to learn their fishing schedule, what fish they went out for specifically each time, for how many days they were at sea. Your curiosity had been piqued.

The days would be long, and you were just an observer. Swimming along but always staying far enough away that there was no chance of you being snagged in their nets or baskets. 

Of course you’d been reprimanded by your family for straying too close. For your new obsession with the humans that just hadn’t been there before. 

Or maybe it always had been there but you’d ignored it for so long that it reared up with a renewed fury.

Consuming your every thought, you had swam to the small fishing town multiple times and every time there was something new to see. Something new to learn. How you ached to ask your questions to one of them.

To speak with a human, would be quite an adventure. 

“All right men, sooner we move out, sooner we can be home.” The captain had a gruff voice but it carried across the harbor, cutting through the wind that was picking up.

More sounds of shuffling and then he came into view. Tall, taller than the captain and leaner but sturdy as well. You’d seen him stand in place as intimidating waves had crashed into the side of the boat.

A shock of dark hair and grown out scruff, not quite a beard like other crew members. Climbing from below deck and tossing a large metal basket off to the side before resuming his place next to the captain.

You didn’t realize how shallow your breathing had become, fingers tightening on the support pole. Eyes never leaving his face. One of the crew member must have said something funny cause a loud laugh rang out from him.

It was like something in your chest melted. Watching his dark eyes crinkle with mirth and a raised hand to block the stray ray of sunlight from his face. 

He turned and exchanged words with the captain who nodded, turning on a heel and making his way into the wheelhouse.

“Take her out boys!” His voice rang out, clear and melodious to your ears. A chorus of calls echoed back to him and you didn’t miss the twitch of his lips, the subtle hint of a dimple on his cheek.

As you watched the boat pull out, leaving the safety of the harbor and out into the murky colored water before them, your heart begged you to follow. Relaxing your grasp and diving deep below as fast as your tail would carry you.

Watching the bubbles and feeling the current from the boat brush along your face like a lovers caress. Come, follow me. Come.

Picking up pace as you noticed the engine heaving overtime carrying them further and further out to sea. Night was beginning to fall and the last slashes of sunlight broke through the gathering clouds.

The bright rays danced across the ever moving surface, sparkling crystals against a backdrop of navy. Surfacing briefly to see how much farther you had to catch up  and panting realizing how far away they were still.

Humans and their machines. You cursed to yourself and dove once more, hoping to catch an undercurrent that would shoot your closer to them. 

The water deepened as the sun had finally set and your eyes adjusted to the dimness.

Fish swam around you, darting off in this direction and that. Some unknowingly swimming towards the ship as well. The ocean felt icier in the dark. 

Beautiful and dangerous. And yet these men braved it. Did it call to them like it did you? Was it as much a part of them as the merpeople below? If only you could ask them…

It felt like eons that you attempted to keep pace, heart beating rapidly in your chest, your body growing sore, dying to stop. Fate apparently listened to your pleas because you could see the boat slowing.

A metallic clunk and grinding sound cut through the water as you watched a large anchor lowering through the depths ahead of you. Looking up towards the surface, wondering if it was dark enough that you could peak out unseen.

You could almost hear your older sister’s scolding at how stupid you were being. How humans were dangerous and to stay as far away from them as possible.

 Shaking your head as if to remove her scathing words from your mind, instead swimming as close to the boat as you could get.

Touching the hull, hands dragging along the surface, edging closer and closer to where the air met the water. Camouflaged by darkness and being so close to the  vessel, only someone deliberately looking would find you.

Ears straining to hear what was being said. Something about good fishing weather and a moving towards the Bering sea. 

Then you heard his voice, not being able to make out what he was saying but the men seemed to agree with him.

The waves picked up, jostling you from your spot and nearly taking you back out to open water. Your tail thrashed to propel you forward once more, this time choosing to take hold of the anchor chain.

You cringed at the loud slap your tail made against the next crash of water.

“Sounds like the weather is picking up.” It was him. You bit your lip as you heard movement, footsteps walking right to where you were. 

You crowded as close to boat as you could, knowing if you made an escape now you’d surely be seen. Venturing a glance upwards you saw his face as close as you’d ever seen it.

He was beautiful.

A firm square jaw, a muscle ticking on the side as he stared out at the ever increasing white caps. A gust of wind carried across the deck further mussing his tousled brown hair. 

You didn’t realize how tightly you were holding the anchor chain as you leaned forward, just to see his eyes better. 

They were dark. Like the sea at night. Focused purely on the water before him. 

“How’s it lookin’ Bill?” Another voice. The captain you assumed.

You watched his throat work, fingers that had been clutching the side of the boat released and gave a few wary taps on the wood.

“Looks rough, captain. We may be in for a long night.”

“Perfect.” But you could tell from the inflection in his voice, that it was in fact, not perfect. “We’d better make sure rigging and the engine are in shape should we need to head back.” 

You listened to more movements throughout the boat, feeling it begin to rock more steadily with the waves. A few forks of lightning stretched across the sky off in the distance. 

Eventually it began to grow silent and you realized they had probably gone to sleep. Feeling a growing sense of disappointment, realizing you’d had to go home and be left to wonder about their fishing trip.

Then a voice rang out. No. Sang out. A lyrical tune that carried on the wind and into your ears. A pleasant tone.

Then another voice joined in and then another. Soon you could hear laughter and the growing swell of the sea shanty from above deck. One man sang a verse while the others responded with some sort of refrain.

You wished you could see them, instead having to imagine them, their faces, as they sang. Then you heard his voice sing out. 

What had the captain called him? Bill. 

He sang another verse of the song. While it sounded upbeat in melody the words were melancholy. His voice, strong and clear.

Of course it was as beautiful as his face. 

You closed your eyes listening to the song as it morphed into another tune then another after that. 

You had drifted into some fantasy in your head, dreaming of joining along with them, standing on deck by their sides. Then the shouting began.

Eyes popping open wildly you noticed how much the boat had started to sway dangerously close to the water, back and forth. Pummeled by wave after wave. 

It had been a steady stream of movement before but now it picked up erratically , as if out of nowhere. Calls of the men to one another became harder and harder to hear as the wind and ocean drowned out all sound.

A small gap lay between the edge of the boat and the deck and if you could just peer into it you could see what was happening.

The captains voice called out, shouting orders and it didn’t escape your notice the slight frantic tone to it. Another wave struck the side of the ship, it groaned as it tilted to the side.

Hoisting yourself as best you could to the lip of the opening, catching feet running past. The fisherman had begun to move into the most sheltered areas, but water quickly claimed anything that wasn’t tied down.

“Smith make sure the cargo is secure!” At that you noticed a smaller man, no, a young boy running towards one of the large wooden crates that was sliding freely across the deck. 

He couldn’t be over the age of 17. Lean and much less experienced than the other men aboard.

He struggled with the ropes, hands slipping and losing balance frequently.

“Hold on!” Bill had shouted, pushing off from where he’d been holding tight to the stairs leading to the wheelhouse. Rushing over to help the boy. 

“Everyone else below deck! Hold onto something!” The captain screamed against the whipping wind as another wave sprayed mist, blanketing the already slippery deck surface. 

Bill had helped secure the crate, wedging it between two others and tying an intricate knot to hold them firmly. Smith had tied one of the other loose boxes down.

“Smith, Billy, get the hell inside!” The boat creaked and shuddered at the onslaught of waves. The water seemed more white and rushing as the waves crested higher around then. 

The two had started making their way back to the safety underneath until Smith lost his footing, sliding, knees hitting the decks surface with a crack. 

Billy turned, seeing the boy barely able to stand, running back towards him. Another wall of water crashed into the vessel knocking them both off kilter.

You saw one of the crates break free, the one the boy had tied down, apparently not good enough. Billy had seen it too, as the large object moved with deadly speed towards the young boy.

You wanted to scream to look out, noticing another rogue wave gearing up, moving towards the boat like a shark to an unsuspecting guppy.

The crate sped towards Smith but Billy rushed forward, pushing the boy with all his might, sending him sprawling backwards into a pile of ropes on deck.

Why happened next felt like it moved in slow motion to you. 

The full blunt force of the crate hit Bill head on, knocking the wind out of him. Then the largest wave you’d seen yet smashed into the side of the boat, swirling across the deck and taking the box and Billy with it over the side.

Pulling back just in time from the gap you’d been looking through, you watched him soar past you into the frothy mixture of sea below. The cargo box had struck him dead center of his chest, pushing him into the drink like an anchor of its own.

A high pitched ringing sounded in your ears, the shouts from the men above seemed so far away. And then you were jumping into the murky deep yourself.

It was so dark and so cold. Even for you. You couldn’t imagine what it felt like to be a human, to have the air ripped from your lungs. 

Your tail propelled you forward, the ache in your limbs from your earlier swim long forgotten. Pushing faster and faster. The white of his shirt and the light color of his skin was all you could see.

He would surely die if you didn’t get to him. His eyes were closed, bubbles leaving his lips, the box crushing him as they both plummeted to the ocean floor.

With some unknown strength you managed to get close enough to him to grasp his shirt, taking hold of him arm and pulling with all your might. Your fingers and muscles screamed in retaliation.

Panicking, wondering if this would be a fruitless effort. The man you’d been entranced with for months, dead because you’d failed. The ocean had failed you. 

But then you got purchase on his torso, tearing him free from the crate that continued its downward descent. Rushing you both towards the surface as fast as you could.

Everything was black, until it wasn’t. Breaking free of the surface and somehow managing to hold him upright, his head slung off to the side. 

Pushing the soaked-through strands of hair away from his face, wondering if he was breathing. How did you get him to breathe?

None of that would matter if you both didn’t get out of this storm. The fishing boat was so far away now. Shrinking in the distance, further and further away. 

So you turned tail and did all that you could. Start swimming you both to shore.

It took hours to get back. The storm splashing water into both your faces, struggling to keep him above the surface. It had felt so much faster when you could dive underwater and just swim.

His eyes remained shut, maybe he was already dead. Why did that thought cause a huge knot in your throat? 

You barely even knew him. He’d been a pretty surface dweller that captured your attention and nothing more.

Arranging his body to drape an arm over your shoulder to keep him from slipping you pressed your face into his neck. 

Hoping to get a better hold of him, but then you felt that fluttering of a pulse right by his jaw. He was alive.

Relief washed over you just like the waves that surrounded the two of you. A renewed strength entering your bones. Pushing forward, knowing it wasn’t all for nothing. You wouldn’t let it be.

You could cry at the sight of land. Then a few tears did escape when you tossed both your bodies onto the shore. Sand caking to your skin and hair, seaweed clinging to one of Billy’s legs.

It felt like the muscle in your chest would explode. Either out of pride that you’d done it, or the tiredness because…you’d done it. 

Regardless you both were on land. You’d saved him. You watched his chest rise and fall. Water dribbling out of his mouth at the corners. 

You wanted to do something else, help him somehow but you were just so tired. Your heart raced as you reached out and touched his hand. It was so cold.

The ocean had been frigid, but where one of his boots slipped off, there didn’t seem to be any sign that something was amiss. 

Crawling across the sand until you were right next to him, huddling closer, hoping your warmth would seep into him. Heal him in some foreign way you weren’t privy to.

As you rested your head on your arm, gazing up at him, wondering what had brought you to this moment. When your sisters heard about this…that you’d rescued a human-

Your older sister would disown you. You’d probably be a hero to the younger one. You huffed out a laugh as best you could at that. 

Then a sudden shift and you heard him make a noise. You froze in place. It sounded like a groan but then he went still again. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Returning to look upon him, your fingers itched to touch his face. To feel the scratch of his scruff against the soft pads on your hands. To wipe the salty water from his brow.

Raising a hand to hover it over him. Why were you shaking? 

Smoothing back a few locks of his hair, enjoying how they felt between your fingers. You couldn’t help but wonder how they felt dry. Letting your hand graze further down, drawing a line along the length of his nose.

His skin was smooth, unmarred from scars or blemishes. The tantalizing brush of hair that coated his face danced along your nerve endings.

You yearned to know what he smelled like when he wasn’t coated in saltwater. Your eyes drifted down following your hand. On his neck the steady thrum of a pulse set your mind at ease.

His shirt had been torn, buttons ripped away from when you pulled him free of the crate. The smooth plane of his chest was on display for you freely. 

Touching him was intoxicating. Hand pressed to the center of his chest where his heart beat, the only feeling of warmth in the center, hopefully spreading to the rest of his body.

You watched your hand on his chest, rising and falling rhythmically. Unable to believe you were even touching him. Entranced by the movement. Up. Down.

“Billy.” You said aloud, enjoying the taste of it on your tongue. Feeling his heart steady and constant beneath your fingertips.

You could fall asleep, the tiredness setting in as the adrenaline wore off. Heavy lidded eyes moved from your hand on his chest drifting lazily back up to his face.

Where his eyes were open. 

Icy fear shot through your entire body, pulling your hand away immediately like it’d been electrocuted. 

Moving as fast as your poor body would take you, sand spraying in your wake as you dove back into the water, disappearing beneath the surface once more.

Billy had pushed up from where he lay, flexing his hands experimentally, dragging one over his face. Fists rubbing into his eyes as he blinked out towards the water.

He should be dead. But he wasn’t. Maybe he had died for a moment because what he had just seen…no one would believe him. 

Swallowed too much seawater they’d say. Except for maybe Frank. He’d been on these waters for far longer than all of them. Seen so many things. 

A soft splash and rivulets of water shot into the air followed by a glistening green tail, breaking the now calmed waters surface. 

So it was real.

He was alive. A mermaid had saved him.

You swam far enough out that you were sure he couldn’t see you in the inky black night, but your enhanced vision allowed you to see him.

He remained seated on the beach, staring out at the water. But not just at the water, it seemed, it felt, like he was looking right at you. 

And so you looked back. Certain all he saw was darkness and yet it felt comforting, exhilarating even, to see and be seen. 

Maybe this is all it was. And maybe it was something more.