#>canoe

[yzegem]

Sirens of Encounters in the Frontier.

In my setting, sirens are a kind of shark, descendants of a creature most similar to an epaulette shark, wich adapted to hunt fish and mollusks trapped during the low tide and eventually evolved to be fully lunged and mostly amphibian.

There are 3 species of sirens, all 6 limbed.

-The continental mernewt is native to the vast beaches and coral reefs of the southeastern coast of the continent. It's similar in bodyplan to a mudskipper and just as agile. They have jaws strong enough to open shellfish and don a venomous spur next to their tail fin, wich can kill small animals and cause pain, swelling and even necrosis of the limbs in larger animals like humans.

Male mernewts are known to "fence" each other as they are very territorial during mating season. This fights envolve leaps into the air, stabbing with their spurs, biting and their characteristic shriek.

These animals are very important in the culture of the warrior caste in the Sun Empire and represent masculine violence and war, sometimes positively (they are kept in artificial ponds ocasionally) or as a critique in poetry of the futility of war, since the mernewts are vulnerable to birds of prey or other predators while exhausted after a fight.

-The lesser siren is the most terrestrial of all sirens. Its native to the eastern and southern coast of the continent, the north of alwaysummer and the Twisted Islands.

These creatures feed mostly on fish stranded during low tides but many hunt seabirds by staying still between rocks in the shore until the perfect ocasion to leap and catch its prey with their clawed pectoral fins. They usually drag their prey to the water and drown it there. They are very capable of climbing rocks and can be quite fast in short bursts of speed.

They can get quite large and pose a significant danger to some cattle and humans.

-Sirens are native to the Twisted Islands and are the most aquatic of the three, even though they can still return to the sea if they get stranded.

They spend most of the day in underwater caves and are actually quite good at hunting in the sea floor, as they use their long arm like pectoral fins to move rocks and expose mollusks and other small prey. Still, their prey of choice are terrestrial animals. Sirens are indeed quite intelligent animals, though far from sapient, as they resemble the intelect of a marine crocodile, wich manifests in very specialiced hunting tactics.

They have learned to attract land animals close enough to the water by leaving small pieces of fish in the shore as bait for seabirds or imitating animal cries for help to attract unsuspecting predators or worried members of the imitated species. When they get the chance, they rapidly extend their arm-like fins and drag the animal to the sea.

Some sirens have specialiced in hunting humans, specially those on boats, wich is a big problem given how common reed boats and low canoes are for transport in the twisted islands, often used to also transport cattle.

Sirens can easily climb on top of these boats or colaborate between many to topple a ship.

They don't hunt in organized groups, rather they all hunt individually but at the same time, if that makes sense, and later fight for the prey.

These human eating sirens have learn to stand on small islands or unlit shores ar night and waive their arm-like fins while screaming (they can imitate a great variety of sounds) to lure humans closer to them.

The Iliryi people (those native of the twisted islands) have developed many methods to sail safely, such as covering their boats with down facing spikes, tying themselves to the boat or just carrying harpoons and being ready for action. Still, these tactics are not very efective when overwhelmed by a large group of sirens.

The government of the twisted islands hires whalers and fishermen from all across the eastern sea during their low season to work as sirens hunters, wich escort other ships and keep the siren population at bay. This is a high risk high reward job for these fishermen.

[syluses]

landlocked

siren! rafayel x female reader

cw ▻ 18+, noncon, nsfw, smut, yandere and unhealthy behaviors, monster(?) on human, merman rafayel, minor violence, dark content beware

wc ▻ 11k, longform oneshot, buckle up

an ▻ HAPPY BIRTDAY RAF 🐬🐳🩵🎉🎂 i busted my ass on this one and its a day late but here we are :,) please heed the tags and do enjoy raf girlies :] eee his characterization is quite tricky but im getting there </3 (also please do forgive typos 🥲)

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

Waves crash against the rocks.

Sea salt shoots up and stings your cornea, your knuckles going white around the wooden ledge they grip onto for dear life. And to be perfectly accurate, that is what this is- life or death- something you’re not entirely certain you’ll make it to the other end of. With a frantic prayer, you plant your heels under the thwarts and try to find balance as the little canoe rocks violently.

Froth builds up around it; towering waves cresting over and leaving behind liquid dust, the air thick with it like a mist.

You squint your eyes to blot out the pelting rain; keeping them open for too long is a near impossible task anyway, what with the burn.

This was stupid, you know that. Whether or not it was a wise decision was never the question in your head.

No, the only one present- overarching all other thought, making it physically impossible to function in your day to day life- was if your fiancé was still alive. Or if what all the townsfolk gossiped about in whispering peels during brushes with them on the cobbled path was true—

If the waves got to him. If he was really lost at sea.

Stupid or naive or plain crazy (as one onlooker labeled you without so much as a care to just how worn-out this whole ordeal’s made you)- you don’t care. Truthfully, you think you’re a little beyond the point of it, of self doubt or second guessing.

The only room left is for action: the strong men at the tavern and the local fisherman you clumsily rallied together were helpful in some ways, but their help only lasted so long until exasperation kicked in and they called it quits.

The choice to do something is yours and only yours.

Look, girl. We combed the port front to back. Turned over the barrels and crates and all, found nothin’. And we’ve been hauling out them nets for weeks now— wouldn’t you be surprised-? nothin’ there, either. Your fiancé's gone. I’m sorry, but—

You didn’t stay to hear the rest, embittered by it.

They’d done you a kindness, carving time out of their strict schedules and afternoon, beer-induced naps. And you’ll always be thankful for that, that despite knowing deep in their hearts that you were a lost cause, they stepped up to bat regardless, but—

There’s no returning home for you. Wiping your brow of its sweat then throwing a towel over your shoulder, heading in for the night.

The spot beside you in bed is eerily empty and cold; you wake from nightmares in sheer darkness and swat a hand to feel him but you’re met with wrinkled sheets and a silence that sneers. Without him, this place is empty.

The town is beautiful- small- but beautiful- with its glittering fairy lights strung from shop to shop, worn paths branching off into pebbled ones that lead to the shore and the peer, the more developed side of it farther down the sand— and it used to feel comforting. Like home.

Now, there’s no lantern aglow on the porch banister to point you in the direction of home. You’re aimless and sad. Like a ship without a sail.

The first week afterward (the news that his crew never returned from their trip), you hid away in your room crying all day, the better part of you half expecting his footfalls to echo down the hall. Though, they never did. It’s fine, you’d reasoned with eyes clamped shut, splayed over his half of the mattress, he’ll be back tomorrow.

Tomorrow came. It went, too.

And he—

He’s still gone—

Worried neighbors flitted by and left steaming pastries by the door. You hardly had an appetite for them, though, delightful as they were sat outside your cracked window, the smell of pecan pie drifting under billowing, sheer curtains.

It’s encroaching on around a month now. A month of loneliness and denial and the cruel, pitying stares the locals level you in the times you seldom leave home.

Your fiancé's absence, as unexpected as it was devastating, has stretched on long enough to kindle a sort of determination in you. You pile your bones off the bed and set out for the shore with a small, leather bag at your waist and sandals that hang off your feet, nervous but hellbent.

That bag, now: floating off in the distance, whisked away by whirling winds and swallowed up by the sea. One valiant flipflop remains hanging off your big toe, but you question, albeit with little concern for it, for just how much longer it will last.

Your fingers shake as they peel hair from your temple. You can’t see, can’t see anything— the boat shakes and croaks as the bottom steadily fills, and you have the dreadful realization that you are slowly sinking and cannot stop it.

Through bleared eyes, you watch several, ringlet-like waves form on the horizon and disappear behind rolling, closer ones. You brace endlessly for impact, but another wave bulges and effortlessly lifts your canoe- a temporary respite from the others that come crashing over.

When it lets you down, you quickly squint to see what’s coming for you next and immediately pale.

It’s massive. Dark, cobalt, scraping the underbelly of the black sky. Another tall wave (but a small fish in comparison) interlopes into it and is swallowed within a blink. It only worsens it, feeds it.

You have no chance. None at all. It’s over. It’s over and despite it all- the pointed meddling of your neighbors and all the chatter meant to maim the stubborn belief you held that your to-be husband was still alive- a small hope flares to life in your chest.

It says maybe dying here wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe, if all of them were right after all, you’d be able to see him again.

As that unbeatable wave draws nigh, seemingly moving at a snail’s pace- casual in its approach but so terrifyingly powerful- it droops at the top and paints you in an opaque shadow.

You can’t see, can’t hear. The deafening roar of thunder and the foamy tide clapping against itself is tuned out. Your eyes see nothing but darting smears of lightning and the hurt of heartbreak and sea salt.

It’s happening. It’s over.

You give your fingers one last twitch to remind yourself that, for the moment, remarkably, you’re still alive. They feel fat with the cold, hardly budging.

Your last flip flop gusts over your shoulder and your ribcage rattles with a chill.

Your teeth chatter out one final prayer and perhaps a choked sob- although you can’t tell if it’s the brine gathering at your feet, rising with a gurgle- And you watch with wide, teary eyes as that tsunami finally descends—

A flash of color, indigo and bright, bobs above the slanted tide.

‘You. You shouldn’t be out here.’

Your eyes widen. Milliseconds before the boat is hit, a slosh from the side tips it and you’re catapulted into the open water.

It feels like an open flame.

Arctic temperatures freeze you to the bone. You’re reminded of hellfire as the cold licks away at your skin, limbs warping around you in violent currents.

You let out a scream of despair and watch as it turns to suds.

You know it was stupid, you know it was stupid, you know it was stupid— But you were hurting. And that life back at town- now devoid of the man you thought to be your veritable soulmate, who you were convinced you’d spend your final breaths with- is not the one you want to continue on with.

(But… you don’t wanna die.)

You dig to the surface with a sputter.

You manage to keep yourself afloat for all of two seconds before the ocean— or something that feels oddly like a fist— latches onto your ankle and pulls.

Consciousness is a slightly longer affair… but that, too, fades.

Teal blips across your spasming eyes. A vivid, long tail flicks along your arm, almost curiously, before curling behind you and disappearing.

Bubbles erupt from your jaw and shoot up, up, up.

Maybe, you think vaguely as the world blackens, quietens, you’ll find your missing fiancé lying at the seabed. The thought, surprisingly, isn’t as comforting as it is disturbing, but you suppose a reunion only in death would be better than none at all.

‘Silly human. Don’t worry, I got you.’

⊹⊹⊹

A voice breaks the quiet of night. Dulcet, lamenting.

The ocean whirs in his ears endlessly, his tail gliding below him in a dull swish. A school of fish passes by, and then another. A curious, blue one swims at his side and he biffs it dismissively.

“Not now, fishie.”

Rafayel isn’t concerned about the life swirling around him in colorful dots of assorted sizes, floating above the seabed, no- that’s all ubiquituous to him. It’s that song— that smooth sound drifting like a dirge from somewhere on the surface— that stirs something deep in his chest.

It was like that last night, too, and then a few nights before.

After over two decades of swimming in unbroken boredom- with each day bringing about the expectation of nothing more than waking up to see another- the siren feels a shift.

Something is breaking the monotony.

An excitement, existing deep in his chest but incipient, is invoked within him like an ancient god brought to wakefulness. Rafayel feels his bones rouse with the phantom aches of a slumber he never fell into- but the feeling is all the same. He rubs the disbelief from his eyes and pushes aside waving reeds before rocketing upwards.

When the waves kiss the morning foam,

From beneath the surface, the crescent moon is lopsided and shakes as Rafayel gets closer to breaching it.

The dainty shadow of a hand cuts in front of the white orb, as if wanting to capture it, before falling back to her side.

A gentle splash.

From up here, he can hear the things of land- the crickets and cicadas of summertime- purr from afar. That’s not what he came here for, though, what’s been stringing him in from the depths like fish in a trawl or moth to a flame.

And still, in the span of the last week, Rafayel has yet to get her name... (Something that definitely has to be remedied sooner or later, he quietly decides- despite the other half of him still holding onto the pride of coasting solo, the embarrassment at being led off by a mere voice. A land creature’s, at that.)

He latches onto the long, thick leg of the peer and props himself just under the overhang of it, laying his nose flat in the water but opening his eyes above it. It’s amplified now, that pretty noise, and the only thing separating the two- him and the human- is the planks of wood overhead.

Her feet rest on it. He hears her sandals squelch before she toes them off, sits down, and loops her legs over the edge.

Rafayel, with fluttering lashes and an interest so unexpected but strong it’s paralyzing- watches her heels make ripples just beside him, his heart thumping wildly. It could be out of the thrill of doing something this unusual, or the silent anticipation of maybe getting caught (although, he doubts he will, for the main reason that his kin don’t lack in cunning).

Maybe it’s just out of delight- the fibers of his being tingling with invisible sparks of… something. It makes him feel a little clumsy, innocent and fumbling like when he was a young merfolk just learning how to evade a rip current.

Similarly, she pulls him under. Drags him far out. Her voice is the tide and he’s all too willing to drown.

It’s… certainly not the first time he’s seen them- human legs- and he’ll be the first to admit that he wasn’t so sure about them initially- but he thinks he likes hers the best. It’s starting to grow on him, but just a little.

She’s soft. Smooth. At least, that’s how she appears- though he can’t say for certain because he’s never tested that theory, yet.

He’s extra careful to keep his hands to himself, intrigued as he is, lest his nails pierce through and break her. It’s a more common notion underwater, shared between much of the fishfolk, that humans are meant to be broken. Pieced apart in hungry hands or brought to the depths for a more extended, decadent death.

To be fair, he’s not a firm denier of that...

But this human, this girl who’s collided into his infinitely bleak life with all the grace of a ship wrecked hours off from shore, and whatever the hell she’s singing about— Rafayel’s not quite stupid enough to break her, no… He’s not quite willing to, either.

When the scent of roses pierces the lungs, The fish stranded at your fingertips…

For the rest of the moonlit evening, Rafayel floats beneath the peer at her (unwitting) side and listens to her languishing until she stands to her feet and retreats down the beach, disappearing into a cluster of warm, tiny lights in the distance.

Blood,

Blood,

Blood covers the sea.

Rafayel, with an inexplicable pang of sorrow- unable to fight the influence of her songs- can’t help but wonder what has made the girl so sad.

It’s not in their baser nature, the sirens, to commiserate, least of all with the humans. It’s a weakness, to cry, an open wound that his kind is all too susceptible to deepening- so they avoid it entirely. Call it preservation. But for as much as Rafayel loves the ocean- and yes, to an extent, his people- he was never all that interested in their society, and if showing a little bit of heart for the landfolk means escaping the bland shadows of the sea, then maybe right now is a good time to start.

…Before she swims away, anyway.

⊹⊹⊹

Silence sours the balmy air of your home, but you swear you hear something singing to you.

It was real.

It had to be, what happened just a number of days ago.

When you’d been retrieved from a bed of seaweed on the shore with little memory of what happened, you had retained just enough to know that something was… off.

That something having to do with the violent storm at sea and your lack of succumbing to it- the darting shadow that appeared by the boat and was there when you went under— wasn’t adding up.

You… shouldn’t be alive.

That thought was present even in the thick mist of early morning as boats began unmooring from the docks— stark epiphany, realer than the concerned hands of the fishermen as they helped you into town, your legs hardly capable of carrying you there on their own. Much less your frazzled mind; you didn’t quite miss the way they’d stared at you during the trek off shore, throwing frantic looks over your shoulder even as the sand gave to the reedy path leading into the village.

The rolling waves got flatter as you drew off from it, but something in you- like some inexplicable base instinct- was telling you to run. Away or back to it, you don’t know, but you feel the frigidity of the sea still in your chest, lapping away at your sanity as days pass.

The burn is surreal. Nothing makes sense.

You should be dead- scraping there at the bottom of the sea, drifting with your supposedly dead fiancé in a place where the light doesn’t dare reach—

But you’re not.

The earth feels shapeless beneath your feet. A perpetual dizziness in your skull that makes you feel like you’re swaying on a dock- but your toes are planted in dry land.

You’re alive. The scale tipped against you but it didn’t matter. The sea spat you out, didn’t want you.

Surprisingly, you take the whole ordeal in stride. The first days after being plucked from the shore are rocky and dreamy, but you find your footing and with it comes an unexpected hope.

If you survived, your fiancé must’ve as well. He’d always been the stronger of you two, anyway, more stout and determined.

The waves did not drag him under. Couldn’t have.

The canoe you took out to sea is gone, not to your surprise. It was more or less reduced to splinters. But you wonder if it was even real to begin with, if the canoe ever existed that day when you unroped it from its notch and embarked on the perilous journey. Down to the very point where you pattered off your porch steps and made the choice to look for your fiancé yourself- the whole sequence of events is wrapped in a forgetful fog.

But deep down, despite the whispers of doubt surrounding you and your own mental haze, you know it happened. All of it.

It was real, and something

Is singing to you—

(Wet hands descend the span of your belly. Sand feels like gravel beneath you, soaked and cold beneath a yellowed moon as night fades. Reverent, curious. Long nails carefully unravel algae from your fingers and thighs. The debris is tossed away, thrown down the shore without thought.

-…. in good shape, cutie. Is there anyone on land who’d sing for you if you disappeared? A gentle laugh- but even in your state of unconsciousness, you pick up on the note of disdain there. I guess if there was, you wouldn’t turn to the sea so much.)

Hands. Curious hands kneading into you like wet clay on a spinning wheel. Reshaping. Admiring. There’s painterly intent in every touch, every brush. Something between the cove of your legs gives a wanting throb and your tongue feels like cotton. Fire licks from your belly to your brain and makes it benumbed, pleasantly heavy as the gentle, rhythmic lull of the tide cools the tips of your toes.

Salt burns your throat.

You wake with it sore.

Rubbing it groggily, you come to before dawn fully does, the horizon flickering with a diluted, white-orange beneath a starry sky.

It gets to be too much. The emptiness of your bed, the suffocating drivel of the townsfolk and the lack of certainty in what happened to you.

Dubbed crazy or not by all around you, you’re past the point of caring. You have to leave. Worried neighbors advised you against it, adamant that you ward off on visiting the peer at least until your mind fog lessened; preferably, you’d wait an extra few months so the wound of heartbreak would seal over, but it seems they know better than to ask that of you.

He’s still out there, your to-be husband. He’s got to be.

You think something else might be, too. The thing that saved you. Although, the reasons it has for doing so are beyond you.

Go back, a lilting voice sings somewhere in the back of your head, a dull throb like a separate, beating heart. It thumps in your skull and sends a thrill through you. It speaks in urgency, like it’s warning you not to disobey— but all the sharpness of it is masked in dulcet chords.

Go back, back to the sea.

Crazy or not, you think it’s calling for you.

The lyrics lead you to the front door. Maybe you ought to think this over more, sleep on it (God knows you’re failing at that seemingly simple task). But something is driving you, picking up and physically moving your limbs for you as if your settings have been switched to autopilot.

You shrug on a thin cardigan to stave off the crisp air of early morning, not bothering to lock your door behind you.

A weird, eerie voice in your subconscious- hardly sounding like yours- says you won’t be coming back anyway.

Thankfully, you have half the mind to shoo it away and steel your nerves. Of course you’ll be coming back home. You’ll find your errant fiancé and burst through the little blue-painted door with celebration. All the village will cough up their sheepish apologies for the things they’d said- the faithless assumptions they made- and raise a mug to his return.

The key to finding him is finding that other thing, first. The thing with a watery fist and roaming nails, the glinting coral-red eyes that blurred beneath coiling waves and the tail that you’re sure swam you back to safety.

The locals can say all they want about you: The ruddy, fading ring of scratches wrapping around the bone of your ankle—

That’s all the proof you need to spur you onward.

Onward is the ocean.

⊹⊹⊹

Water gushes against the rocks at the seaside.

Dark and slate-grey, they dry up under the sun immediately. Seagulls caw overhead. The sand is warm- not cool as it was in your last visit- near scalding as you head towards the shore.

You hiss and don’t make it halfway until you start leaping, bare feet burning. You hurry into the water, standing only ankle-deep, and mentally scold yourself for forgoing shoes— but to your defense, your sandals had been lost to the abyss that was the sea just barely seven days ago.

The horizon is blinding. Sunlight bounces off the plane of the sea and glistens, just as bedazzled as a wealthy woman’s neck. It’s a far cry from what it was last week- all whorling ridges and roaring waters- and for that you’re thankful.

That storm, and being launched into the hellish currents of it, will remain in your dreams for a long time coming.

Even now, just looking at it from far out takes your breath a little.

It’s horrifying. It’s… beautiful.

…And it’s singing to you—

“I know you’re there,” you whisper.

Your voice is just a breath at first, hushed as you toss a squirrely look down the beach- where the fishermen drudge around as little specks- and straighten your spine.

You’re alone here, though. You’re allowed to be as crazy as you want.

You speak louder, forcing down the lump of embarrassment in your throat that says your voice is falling on deaf ears. And you know the ocean doesn’t have ears, or eyes; it hardly had the heart to spit you back out of it.

But that thing that snatched you into its arms and left you boneless on the sand does.

With hands bunched, shaking, you declare, “I know, you’re there.”

Nothing.

A short whitecap curls over the tips of your toes and stretches a few feet behind you before receding.

It melds seamlessly into the blue.

Nothing, and then-

Yards off, a colorful blur warbles. As it swims closer, you hold your ground, squint to assure it’s not a sea turtle or other creature (albeit, no typical marine animal is that shape or size), and let out a little gasp. Its head pops above the surface gracefully, and it’s full of hair, a vibrant shade of indigo that strikes a familiar chord in you instantly.

“It’s you,” you startle, almost out of breath. The fingers clutched tightly at your sides unfurl. Your heart picks up its speed, an abrupt surge of emotions- shock, relief, and confusion- leaving no different an effect than a stungun would.

“You’re real, I- I knew it—!”

“Shhh,” is his first word, coral-blue eyes narrowing with apathy as he palms himself closer, about knee-deep in the water now. And yet you step away, applying some distance as you stagger because for whatever reason, the knowledge that his creature- or fish-man- saved you doesn’t take the cake when it comes to self-preservation.

You don’t even have a name to put to his face (or tail), and up until now, you were certain mermaids and unicorns and fairies only existed between the pages of whimsical books or the imaginations of children.

Right then, you think, they also existed in the sage warnings of the Greeks before they sailed off to sea.

The quiet epiphany plays with your nerves.

“You don’t have to be so loud, you know. I can hear you just fine, thanks.”

Ear-length, wavy hair bobs with the movement as he tilts his head. You can’t help but feel estranged from the idea of caution, though, as he drifts a bit closer and gives you a petulant pout.

He gets as close as the sandbar will allow before pausing, broad shoulders jutting above the ripples.

And he’s childish still, the picture of harmlessness as he looks up at you, squinting in the sun, and murmurs, “buuuut, I admire your enthusiasm, cutie... Were you looking forward to our reunion that bad?”

You blink, lashes fluttering. A breath you’d been holding finally escapes you, a whit of that unease ebbing out just like the cool tide underfoot.

You’re… hardly a sailor, anyway. You’ve no ship to be wrecked; no, the man that served as the anchoring element in your life is missing. The boat in your life has gone AWOL. With it your warmth and love. It’s why you’ve even come out here in the first place, the flights of fancy belonging to a grieving woman or not.

The reminder of your lost fiancé steels you.

You lift a shaky hand to use as a visor against the sun, blotting it out so you can peruse the man-fish without obstruction.

“You saved me,” is all you really know to say. You’d had all sorts of lofty plans coming back out here, but you’d never fully considered what you’d do if your new friend (he is a friend, right?) did show.

He lets out an amused, dry sound. The ghost of a smile curls at his pink lips, though. He can’t quite hide that one from you.

“I did. Have you come to show me your gratitude?” He lowers his gaze then, glancing at your shins momentarily before peering behind you, at the grassland stopped just after the shore and right before the village.

He grumbles, “Or will humans with pitchforks show up any minute, intent on slaughtering me and my kind?”

For some reason, the most you take from that statement is the very end of it, quickly saying, “T-There’s more of you?”

He looks up at you. Makes a scoffing sound but it only holds half its bite.

“Well, of course there is. Silly girl,” he comments, that little grin returning with a vengeance as behind him, something teal shoots up from the water and pelts a small flurry of droplets your way. You close your eyes and turn, the gentle sound of his laughs ringing out.

When you look back at him, a long tail- gorgeous and as pigmented as turquoise paint- flicks under the sun and glitters no different than rhinestones.

“It was only me that was generous enough to save you, though. That’s the most important part.”

⊹⊹⊹

Trust is a big word, it is.

But there is no doubt in your mind that you would’ve succumbed to a watery death if not for the merman- Rafayel, he’d informed with a coy flap of his tail- intervening, and you’re grateful to him for that. His saving you— it means something. And you owe him.

You head for the shore each morning with a silent debt hanging over your head, but he never demands anything of you in return. During lazy afternoons by the cove trading pretty, swirled shells and at first tentatively getting in the water with him to swim at nightfall, you wait for the catch to come, for him to name his price.

You think it’s only fair. Rescuing something as valuable as a life is nothing to scoff at: you’d cough up the change.

He never holds out his hand.

If anything, Rafayel seems wholly uninterested in that.

You’re not entirely sure why you formulated your ideas of merfolk around blood-thirst and thievery (perhaps because of the myths), but the one you’re befriending is nothing like that. He’s playful and sassy and a little bit flirtatious but you suppose- if the legends of sirens luring sailors to the depths are really true- then it adds up. It’s only natural he’d be a whit on the provocative side, right?

Rafayel is friendly, clingy even when you convince him that you have no intentions of alerting the village any time soon of his presence. You tell him with a wry laugh that they’d hardly believe you anyway because everyone thinks you’ve lost it.

You see it in his pleasant face- the blip of interest that passes by- that he wants to ask why, but he holds off on it when you pour him with questions about what goes on in the deep blue and if his kind really eats fishermen.

He huffs, propping his elbow on the half-submerged rock he’d helped you onto, still in sight of the shore but more intimate a setting.

“What kind of question is that? Do you really think I could do something like that? Look at me,” he balloons out his cheeks and puffs. “I’m an innocent little fishie.”

You laugh, and drop the interrogation in favor of a more lighthearted one. You ask Rafayel what life off land is like.

With a mischevious twinkle in his marbled, red-blue eye, he tells you about what lurks in ocean trenches first, painting vivid imagery in your head of glowing bulbs in the dark and rows of jagged teeth that peer out of deep crevices.

You blanche and he can’t help but chuckle softly, a dash of something in his gaze that resembles ardor as it flits appreciatively along the curve of your face.

It’s not all horrifying, though, he eventually concedes.

He scoops shiny things up from the sand lining the ocean floor and gifts them to you in your following meetings. He tells you that the fish- sleek and chromatic- dance around him in schools where everything is crystalline. They sleep on beds of coral under-tail and stick close to the fins of whales, apparently having nothing better to do. Sometimes they get a little clingy, he admits, and he has to shoo them away, but the little creatures are friendly- and his underwater world is nothing short of beautiful.

Rafayel loves the sea. It’s his home.

“And what about you, cutie? What’s your home like?”

That gives you pause, but just for a moment.

You know what home is like; you’d only dwelled there, in the tiny village off the shoal, since you were a little girl.

And home is nice…. Or, it was. Now, it’s a husk of the warmth you once knew. Days drag by in drab monotony and the added, very much unwanted reminder that your fiancé has yet to return. Seagulls squawk outside and tricycle bells ring. Concerned neighbors knock on your door but this place feels dull. No more face to put to this snuggly seaside village.

With a small smile- one that Rafayal thinks is more wistfully sad than anything- you tell the merman about the things you cherish here, deliberately omitting what you desperately miss.

Memories of childhood circle back to you in fuzzy fragments: Despite the present, you can still at least cherish the past, right…?

Listening to you recount gems of your youth with a smile, it’s evident to Rafayel that you love it here.

Just… he understands that maybe it’s not as much as you used to.

His face takes on more of a sober look then, his cheeks, dappled with teal scales that break the surface in some spots, dusting a soft pink. You don’t really understand why- perhaps a mild case of sun burn- but he asks,

“And what about in it? Is there… Someone who’s special to you, who brings it warmth? Even underwater, in order to survive, we merfolk need a suitable temperature, you know.”

Ah. That.

You offer a hum of acknowledgment before glancing off, far out to where the flat whitecaps stretch into nothingness. Lounging around by the coast with your new, unlikely friend, the scenery is idyllic here.

You almost will yourself into forgetting what you’re really here for, what hurled you face-first into this predicament.

Sorrow hangs in your heart. The visage of your fiancé passes in your head rapidly, kaleidoscopic, his smiles and the tender moments spent with him, the sound of his laugh.

You are less and less certain of yourself. You are not sure if the gossipping townsfolk are correct or not to assume the worst, but what you do know is that it’s creeping up on two months and not one shiphand has returned. Not even an errant oar has washed ashore.

“Yes. But…” A pause. You swallow thickly and give your head a belated, uncertain shake. Tears form in the back of your throat and you pile them down, frustrated they’d showed up uninvited.

Perhaps you’re more weak to all the bleak murmurs than you’ve let on.

You laugh, but the sound lacks humor. “Everyone thinks he’s dead, all the people at the village.”

“…You wanna share?”

You shrug and draw one knee to your chest, the other still bent over the rocky ledge, dangling in the cool water. They’re still today, the waters, relatively level— but inwardly, you warn yourself against being so easily deceived by them: they looked more or less the same the day you rowed out.

The storm was nothing short of terrifying, yes, but you think the lack of expecting it somehow made it more devastating.

“Well, there’s not much to,” you respond, tongue in cheek. You don’t mean to sound uninterested in this conversation all of a sudden, but you suppose it’s a defense mechanism. Rafayel props his elbows on the rock and listens intently, giving his brow a little quirk at your tone.

“But my… fiancé,” why the words are suddenly hard to get out, you don’t know, “he went off to sea. Hasn’t come back yet.”

At your knees, Rafayel is noticeably quiet, but you get the inexplicable sense that he’s invested.

“I guess he’ll come back with lots of fish whenever he does,” you sigh. Your attempts to remain lighthearted just barely working.

Quickly, you try to breeze past the topic, but the merman chimes- “A fisherman? You were courting a fisherman?”

Courting. The word sounds a little funny, medieval almost, but you hum.

It’s his turn to make a tongue-in-cheek comment, lifting his scaly fist to support his chin. “He must’ve been a real prize to deserve all that singing... What do I get for saving you?” He says playfully, almost pettily, but you get the weird idea that this is more serious to him than he lets on.

You want to heave a laugh at his pouting words, but confusion stops you. You snap your head to him.

“You-?”

Quickly, Rafayel quips, “Yes, just about the whole sea can hear you at night. Why is that surprising?”

For some reason, a whit of hope warms your chest throughout. If Rafayel is cognizant of something as trivial as songs from above the surface, surely he must’ve been privy to a shipwreck or the hurried shouts of sailors as their boat went down.

Not that you believe it did, just—

You scramble upright, planting your palms on the rock in a kneel as you say- in a voice you’re not keen on sounding as desperate as it comes out-

“Have you ever heard anything else? A- A boat sinking? People drowning or- or—“ You stuff out an anxious breath, all the worries and doubts you’d been housing for weeks now bubbling to the surface. You suppose if anybody has garnered your confidence, though, it’s the merman that saved your veritable life.

Still, a lump of unease burns in your throat. Thick and acidic. It makes your voice shake but you ignore it, leaning over the edge. If you fall in, he’ll save you again anyway. If not a friendship (but you definitely treat it as such), there is still a mutual fondness between you two- a silent trust- and you’re sure, beside the marks on your ankle he left by accident in the heat of the moment, he would not let harm befall you.

“Because they say he’s gone— my lover— they say his crew got hit by something- like a plague or a storm- and succumbed out there. But maybe- maybe you heard something? Rafayel- did you hear or see any group of fishermen out there?” You bluster, before adding on like an afterthought, “two months ago?”

The longer your mouth moves, the wider Rafayel’s eyes get.

And then, you think it’s something like… recognition that skips across multihued eyes.

He’s quiet for a moment, mouth ajar. His bright turquoise tail, the tip jutting out from the tide as it sways idly, stops midway in the air and floats awkwardly.

Your brow furrows. You fear the worst. Your nails dig into the gritty surface, fingerpads whiting as you shake your head.

“Rafayel-? W-What’s wrong?”

Curtly, he shuts his mouth. An easy smile replaces his momentary surprise.

When he speaks, it’s in a familiar, somewhat sarcastic but harmless tone, and his tail sparks to life behind him, albeit quite unsteadily.

“Nothin’, cutie,” he lifts an arm to adjust his perch on the rock but it slips. His face dusts pink, his brows twitching together; all of it, the clearly disturbed signs of his composure, he ignores. Your heart thrums.

“I was just thinking how brave you were to venture off to sea after him. He’s lucky to have someone like you still waiting at home for him.” His compliment is overlooked. You’re too caught up in the rush of unease that sweeps through you- the niggling feeling that says there’s something more to this you’re not seeing- that you can hardly utter a bashful thanks.

“But- did you happen to hear anything, or-?”

Rafayel adds casually, “I’m sure the guy is fine wherever he is, though. And no, cutie. But I’ll let you know if that changes.”

Something like hesitance grips you as you watch, with silence, the friendly merman lose the better part of his mirth. You wonder if you’ve said something wrong as his exterior hardens cooly, if you’ve divulged too much of your emotions and quite possibly lost your final companion. Maybe you’re overthinking it- but if that’s the case, if even a fish-man from the sea has taken the same opinion as the land-living locals, then some drama seems warranted.

You don’t want to be alone again. And Rafayel- Rafayel was starting to really grow on you despite all your differences—

He strums his fingers against his jaw, painting the picture of boredom, and puffs out his lips, eyes drifting away almost flippantly as if he’s dead to the wounded look you send him.

A yawn. He unfolds his lean arms and ducks under the water.

“Wait- Rafayel-?”

“Sorry, princess, the fishies are calling me. They said it’s getting late now, and that I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“But—“

“Hop on my back, let me take you back to shore. Your little legs can only doggy paddle you so far,” he lets out a light laugh but you don’t miss the dash of mockery there, as if you’re some unfortunate soul cursed with four limbs and warm blood. Still, you bite your tongue- and the unbidden pang of unease in your chest- and slip off the rock.

You loop your arms around his middle, his muscles flexing in response, lean and tight, and keep your chin above the tide as he floats towards the sand bar.

“Rafayel, are you okay?”

“Of course, cutie. Why, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah. It’s just-“ you poorly stifle a sigh, still a bit taken aback by his sudden desire to truncate your meeting. That, and his odd behavior when you asked about any possible shipwreck.

You eventually settle on, “Please just keep it on your radar. If you hear or see any ships, call me, okay?”

“We don’t have shellphones under the water, you know. How am I supposed to alert you?” You can’t see the face he’s making, saddled on his back as his long tail gusts through the gentle currents, but you realize he’s teasing.

“I- I don’t know,” you admit clumsily. “Maybe I’ll just know if you say my name.”

I mean, it’s not too crazy an idea, is it? You felt a stirring towards the ocean- real and audible- would a creature living in it really be so different?

Perhaps the townsfolk are right in their claims made against you, that you’ve lost it.

There’s nothing left in you that cares, though.

Rafayel lets out a small chuckle but sounds oddly endeared. “How romantic.”

“Rafayel—“

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll let you know if anything’s up. Don’t worry!”

⊹⊹⊹

From the shipdeck, the water is beautiful, even as it takes you down under, swallowing up the thick hull in a lazy gulp.

A white moon pours down. The waves sparkle like sequins. It’s… hypnotizing, in a way. Your fist flies to your collar when the sails tear, the harsh rip of it reminding you of the breath still in your lungs, and you hold the locket there like it’s a lifering.

The crewhands scramble for them- and for the tiny boat hanging off the side. Another powerful slosh to the boat sends slippery hands in a fray; you hear the vague sound of wood cracking, planks you thought to be sturdy splintering. You’re no more than a raft drifting, victim to the elements.

The emergency lifeboat whistles as it drops, freefalling from the ropes and into the coiling sea.

It has no heart for mercy, the sea, but you’ve still one for home, a deep-seated urge within to return that has your nails digging bluntly into your palms, blood drawing in the paths of them.

…H-Home.

Sailors scream around you.

Someone, you realize with a flash of confusion, in the chaos- in the maelstrom of wind and shooting rain- is even singing.

The sound of it chills you to the bone.

Dazedly, you think they must’ve lost it. To be fair, there’s no blame there— men have drowned in waters far flatter: your crew is miles from the nearest chunk of land and the vessel can’t withstand this weather— you’re all gonna die and the crewmate must know. He knows and he’s singing.

Crashing waves silence heavy thunder. The sky glows endless white, one last fissure of lightning darting down before the deck lights bright gold.

Fire surges. It dances in your eyes and you swallow a scream.

She’s waiting at home, still. It can’t be over, it can’t be, it can’t be—

Fiery yellow, and then everything spins, your world going lopsided as the ship groans and you tip.

And then, it’s all blue.

Dark, vast cerulean interpolated only by flotsam that drifts away the moment you reach for it, fingers desperately clawing for the surface.

Up, or down— you’re not sure which way you’re swimming.

You do know, though, that you never find your buoyancy.

Hands. Hands on you and dragging you down, down, down, and then it’s clear the wrecked pieces of the ship are getting further away, not closer. A deepness surrounds you. Cold, quiet. The storm’s effects are mitigated the lower you sink— it’s counterintuitive, you think, because surely you’ll drown regardless, but a strange sense of calm washes over you as the air peters from your lungs. They spasm as you choke.

But you got to get home, you must get home to her—

The tips of your boots touch the sandy floor.

It’s tranquil, under the sea. The reefs are vivid, swaying with bubbling marine life. Navy blue swirls around you and is limned with muted fire light, displacing itself with every wild movement of your limbs. You flail them helplessly but something—

Something is holding you down and it’s singing—

From afar, and through bleared eyes, the coral looks like upright rods of colorful bone, yellow and blushing-orange. An opaque red smears over them— curling and wavering into smoke-like trails. It’s reminiscent of black and white marble. Beautiful, in a way.

A long, glittering tail scrapes across your leg.

You realize it’s blood- your blood- and then in a heartbeat, a pair of talons pierce through the veil and—

A gasp.

You come to wakefulness with a frightened noise.

That dream- you’d been having it for days now, each more fragmented and blurry than the last… But this time, it’s strikingly clear.

Horror frosts your eyes over, glossy and wide as you undo the covers bound tightly around you, standing to shaking feet.

That awful, awful dream— it’s not in your point of view, you realize, it’s in your fiancé’s, and that same claw that had been gracious enough to scoop you up and save you from stormful, roaring swells—

Dragged your lover down to the depths, burying him in liquid oblivion.

As you shrug on a thin cardigan and hurry outside, dashing under moonlit lawns with the single-minded focus to reach the beach, you vaguely wonder if you’re being unreasonable, if all these little dreams and visions and songs you’ve been experiencing are nothing short of delirium. But this is too coincidental— Rafayel had smoothly shirked all your questions days ago, and you realize now that the dull look in his eye wasn’t boredom but jealously, ugly and sudden, masquerading under disinterest.

Knowledge of that- and your naivety- comes to you in piecemeal.

You’ve been stupid. You’d been holding onto the feeble hope that your soon-to-be husband was somewhere out there, scraping together shellfish on an uncharted islet or lost at sea with his crew-mates but alive. Deep down, you always knew it was the dreams of a fool.

But damn it all if you’d just… stopped yourself for one fucking second to nudge aside your denial and take a good look at your marine friend, you’d have seen the lack of common sense in it. Your lover’s met no different and no more painless, as much as it horrifies you- a fate than the sailors depicted in all those whimsical tales of old.

You sing out to the sea. Anger warms your chest like a fleece, cardigan be damned, fists clenched so tight your palms swell as you cry out.

Panic, subtle but niggling, speaks to you from underneath thick layers of hate and pain, but you’re beyond the point of reason. No, you need to hear it from the siren himself just what the fuck happened to your other half— if he can hear your lamenting after dark without issue, surely he would’ve at least caught wind of some devastation off the coast or spotted the debris in his own waters—

But he’s been keeping something from you.

“Rafayel!” You cry again. It’s impossible to swallow the lump in your throat; it seeks to climb to the surface but for now, with a remnant of control that surprises yourself, you manage to keep from spitting it up.

Nausea turns in your belly, but you keep it at bay. Just barely.

Unshed tears burn your cornea. “Rafayel!” You don’t scream, no, your lungs are too wounded and overwhelmed by the simple task of drawing air to, but it’s a near thing.

Furious, beginning to think he’ll conveniently not show or he’s merely ignoring you, your feet splash into the water until you’re shin-deep.

You hiccup. “R-Rafayel! I know you’re there!”

Eventually, a head bobs above the tide, infuriatingly nonchalant, and a turqoise fluke appears not long after it, twinkling just barely under a clouded, night sky.

He doesn’t look as tired as you’re sure you do- and not by a long shot quite as disturbed. If anything, he looks a little pleased with himself.

Wet indigo waves give a little bounce as he lazily approaches, watchful eyes glimmering with something you’re both too enraged and emotional to name. Something like betrayal courses through you— distracting you from the very real fact that the siren is drawing closer.

He says nothing as you shake your hands emphatically, eyeballs practically bulging out your head. They might pop out and roll. “You-! You knew!” You accuse, momentarily stunned at the broken sound of your voice. “You knew all along b-because you did it, didn’t you? You’ve been lying to my face this whole time— You killed him! Y-You ripped him apart I fucking saw it—“

Your tirade is clipped short with a hiccuping gasp as you fully erupt into tears. You don’t bother to wipe them or even hang your head, brows furrowed as Rafayel regards you with a contemplative, almost curious look.

An undercurrent of desire, dark and intense, exists under it, though, and you can’t will yourself for any longer to view him as the same harmless, aquatic humanoid who’d rescued you.

You find yourself for both a lack of coherency and also gratitude; he could’ve left you to decay at the bottom of the ocean for all you care, or thrown you to the hands of Neptune or the feeding pit of sharks— it’s almost preferable to this.

Rafayel’s face, admittedly handsome, in a pretty way (albeit, you’ve no idea why your brain is suddenly forming opinions on his appearance, especially now of all times), is relaxed, devoid of emotion. You recognize the impatience there, though… like there’s been a string that you’ve pulled taut.

The silent truth that has been overarching your life for the past couple months- you don’t want to come to terms with it or you might break otherwise.

For the life of you, you can’t even understand what his goals were in all of this—

You hurl your anger at him and flail your arms and shout until your trachea feels like aggregate when you swallow, and he waits it all out with an ease that gets you impossibly riled up.

You suck in a sharp breath and shudder when you open your eyes again, color seeming to reenter your periphery, and measure the distance Rafayel has bridged.

Gasping, you go to take a step back, knees knocking together like newborn foal as a distinct sense of panic rips through you- not right, it screams, and, you messed up, you messed up, you stupid, stupid—

“Silly girl,”

A loud splash. A resistance.

Rafayel lurches his arm, belly almost brushing against the sandbar, and takes ahold of your ankle.

You let out a yelp, instantly reaching down to try to unlatch him from you, dismay robbing you of oxygen, but it’s too late for that. Each of your clumsy attempts is precluded. Faded scars line the knob of your ankle and Rafayel presses into them with the smooth pads of his fingers- forcefully, but he’s mindful not to use his nails. He’s learned since the last time.

He gives one good tug and you stand no chance, falling with a slosh.

Pulling you towards him, he’s fully confident now that you’re in his liquid domain, slowly dragging you away from the shallow end, from home- or at least, the shriveled, sad remains of it.

Mortified, and still very much resisting him— the merman surprisingly gentle, cognizant of your frailty despite the iron grasp he subdues you with— you throw a frantic glance up and watch as the shore shrinks.

“No!” He’s very careful to keep your head above the tide, but you’re choking still.

This is not the first time he’s helped you into the ocean and swam recreationally with you, usually with the addition of little trinkets and pretty shells you bring to swap, but it’s definitely the first time he’s trapped you in his arms, lean and impossible to swat away, and ignored your asks to return to land.

You remember your front door then, funnily enough, how you left in a tizzy and far too shaken to lock it, and burst into another sob.

You’ll not be returning, will you?

“Please!” You blubber with all the grace of a fish out of water. You squirm like one, too. “Please, don’t kill me, Rafayel, don’t- don’t eat me—!”

A laugh, breathy but humored- cruel in its softness- rings at your ear. Gorgeous tail folded in front of you, brushing against your rear and the underside of your thighs as they fruitlessly kick out, Rafayel uses it to propel you both backwards, treating your kidnapping like a pleasant stroll.

“Of course I won’t eat you, princess,” he coos, placing a painless but clearly posessive- like he’s marking his territory- nip to the juncture of your neck and shoulder. It makes you shiver. “Don’t you understand by now?” He frowns, “You’re mine. The ocean’d sooner dry up then watch me lay a fin on you.”

There’s exactly zero things funny about this situation, so with a pang of wrath, you don’t know why he’s laughing. Maybe at the irony, because in any case, he most certainly has laid a fin on you—

You feel angry at yourself next in the seconds that follow, managing to bite into the flesh of his scale-dotted forearm and slip out of his grip— thrashing away without ceremony before he hisses and curtly regathers you.

“You’re a slippery fishie, huh, cutie? You can’t seriously think I’ll just let you swim away though, right?” His tone darkens then, deepening with a quiet warning you can’t help but feel is incongruous to the generally mild, sassy but otherwise friendly merman you’d grown to know.

When you try to break free again, the exertion summoning a state of near dry-drowning, Rafayel drops all efforts at patience and seizes you by the throat.

His hand curling around your neck, almost playing at the idea of testing just how tragic your power dynamic really is, he lets out a frustrated noise behind you. He knocks his nose into the side of your face, tealy lamella spotting the surface of his cheek and scratching against yours.

Unfamiliarly low, he grumbles out, “You’d better stop fightin’, girl, because if you spin out of control, there’s no guarantee what’ll happen to you. You’re hurting yourself. Stop it, now, I said.”

That fully frightens you. The scream buried within your throat dies, withers into nothing.

Attenuated, pointed nails graze the soft flesh of your jugular, reminding you of all the horrific, brutal ways he could sunder you in two, but they don’t draw so much as a drop of blood.

“P-Please—“ You sputter, desperately digging at his forearms that make an X over your midriff and collarbone, your toes launching out of the water. Your fight, for as valiant as it is, is sapping you of an impressive amount of energy and at an alarmingly fast rate.

But you can’t stop. You refuse to buckle to him- because to bow your head and agree to give in would be like finally surrendering to the cold reality that has, as of a number of weeks ago, completely shrouded your life.

Y-You can’t admit he’s dead— that you’re entirely crazy, widowed, and in the strictest definition alone—

“Ah-ah, princess,” he murmurs as you heave wildly, “don’t you think that’s enough running away? It’s not fair if I can’t come on land at all, you know. Come and swim with me for a while.” Rafayel coaxes, resuming his more mild demeanor within a blink.

He releases a somewhat exasperated, yet thrilled sigh. It shakes as it leaves his damp lips, blue and fuschia-red eyes glittering with barely repressed delight as he lifts his chin from your shoulderblade.

Then, he leans in towards your ear, and he sings.

⊹⊹⊹

Everything is dream-like.

Birds soar overhead in a breezy circle. They offer a few, occasional squawks that help you to the conclusion of seagulls: paired with the rhythmic, wet purr enveloping you- and the warmth flushing your cheeks- you’d wager you’re at the ocean.

Perhaps a relaxing beach day with your fiancé. He’s laid out the cloth (albeit, it feels oddly… hard, smooth as if the sand beneath is without lumps), and you’ve just stirred from a long nap set to the backdrop of light, gusting sand and crashing whitecaps.

Something in your core throbs.

A particularly tall wave in comparison to the other relatively flat ones smacks against the black rock and cools your skin. Sweat beads at your forehead, the center of your thighs offering a sequence of dull aches that have you feeling weak, wanting nothing more than to let your eyes roll back and stay that way.

You make an incoherent noise as the metaphorical fog clears, buttery, white light warming you. Dawn, you realize hazily, lashes fluttering open gradually, it’s dawn.

…But when you’d last blinked, it was late into the night.

Memories pour back in, a potpourri of muddled events tracing back to this moment- uncertainty startling you upright as—

A hand, firm and a little slimy, presses your belly down.

It bars you from most movement, strong but gentle. A tongue- long and flat and fucking mind-numbing as it laps at your pussy- swirls experimentally against your clit and vibrates with a low, satisfied moan.

Not yours; but the next one that rings out, high and aroused and very, very afraid, is.

You can hardly recognize the sound of it. A thick beat of silence passes before you finally do, brain struggling to reconcile with this startling, admittedly idyllic panorama laid out before you.

A disoriented glance tossed down tells you all you need to know to confirm your fears, a sickness churning so deep in your gut you think it’s plausible you could puke up yesterday’s supper. What spills out from your slack jaw is another helpless, pleasured mewl instead.

Rafayel, mostly submerged in the water but with his upper half braced against the flat rock’s ledge, drapes your legs (trembling, you confusedly note, as if they’ve been positioned that way for a while now) over his broad shoulders to better present his prize and feasts on it like a man starved. One large hand serves as like an anchor on your abdomen, keeping you moored as you positively lose your mind, the other carefully thumbing apart your slick folds.

Somewhere between the span of late last night and very early this morning, he’s gotten them puffy and unbelievably wet, your tight hole clenching around absolutely nothing as his lips- just as swollen and needy- suckle on your tiny bump of nerves.

You rest your head back against the smooth surface of the rock, lukewarm but not quite scorching yet- the sun still moseying its way up the sky, clouds parting to reveal a diluted yellow canvas behind them. Resignation weighs you down better than any hand ever could.

You bite down another moan mixed with a sob and leave dents in the tender tissue of your bottom lip.

He parts with your pussy for just a moment, hesitating like he’s sad to step out from its warmth, knuckling over your labia with a reverence you feel is misplaced considering the circumstances.

He’s cruel when he lifts his eyes to yours, heavy-lidded and utterly transfixed.

The sincere, amorous glint in them is like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head, something you couldn’t prepare for or adapt to in time, his head dipping down briefly to pepper a lingering kiss to the gooey seam of you. Mine, everything about the way he gazes up at you says, and, if you don’t believe me then let me prove it.

“You’re gorgeous,” he groans, the dark sphere of his pupils spilling out like ink onto a multicolored canvas. He’s worshipful in nature, but curious- tentative to every little twitch your fatigued face gives, wondering how to push your buttons just right- perhaps above all, just desperate to know if your slick cunt will keep supplying him with that sweet, hot nectar- but it’s been so generous to him thus far, so he figures he’ll just keep on taking.

“It looks just like a seaflower,” he murmurs, breath ragged over the placid lull of the tide as he strokes your flesh, “Like the ones I’d grab from the ocean floor to give you, but so much prettier... Sweeter.”

Rafayel is careful not to hurt you- you can tell, somehow, that he’s fighting tooth and nail with his inner animal, his baser instincts, to keep the last modicum of his control. Hurting you, no matter how accidental or quick, would be detrimental. He knows that. He’s felt it. And to be perfectly honest, he’s quite enjoyed it— but you don’t fall under the category of food or paltry entertainment, no, you’re so much more than that to him.

The pretty, kind girl who kept the brainless town out of your unlikely relationship, who sang her way into his heart and stole it despite himself. His best friend, his sweet little playmate and—

…Mate. Yes, his mate.

“Have you been feeling me?” He asks suddenly. “At home, in bed? I’ve been trying to call out for you,” he relays in an affected pant you wish to unhear as he resumes suckling at your shamefully wet pussy.

You hate this, how worked up he’s managed to get you, how pliant your own body has become as it all but sells itself to him- guilt and confusion swelling in your chest. “I’ve been trying to get you to see how much I like you, princess. B-But it’s like you’ve been shooing me away or something—“

You hardly give any mind to what he’s muttering about, the point of his nose nudging against your sensitive nerves and expediting your release as he licks eagerly at your folds, your whole body trembling with delight. You don’t think you really want to know, anyway.

Sea salt shoots up against the rock, licking your limbs with a cool spritz. He muffles a low breath of amusement into you. “But you’re here now, I guess. Mngh- and you’re so delicious. You’re… fragile though,” he pants, prodding his long, hot tongue against your tiny clenching hole before delving inside it with a violent shudder, his cheeks bright red. “You might have to help me inside, cutie. I don’t exactly wanna break you.”

That stuns you. His words, single-minded and husky, remind you of just how fucked up this all is— and a panic crosses the involuntary fog of your head as you snap it down to get a good look at him.

You were sure merfolk had their own means of reproduction, but it’d never been more than a passing curiosity until now, your heart in your throat as you squint to make out just what he’s working with beneath the water.

Lazily, he looks up to you and smiles when he discovers what you’re doing. It’s a hungered, smitten one, sharp teeth peeking out and all. All your squirming is nothing more than an attempt at self-preservation, unsure of just what he’s endowed with but vaguely knowing- by the size of his tail and difference of species- you sure as hell won’t be compatible with it.

The need to escape is puissant and your limbs begin to move— but they feel oddly leaden, less like flesh and more like stone.

“You wanna see me, pretty girl, yeah? What’re you planning to do?” He coos, swilling away at your watering cunt, nursing from the endless stream of juices like a man possessed. Your fiancé's face flashes before your mind and you make a choked sound.

As if sensing your thoughts, Rafayel lets out a little contented noise and nuzzles against the soft inner portion of your shaking thighs.

“He screamed, just so you know,” a low chuckle rumbles from his chest and warps into a pretty moan. It’s too light and dulcet for comfort, and it feels disproportionate to the general sting of it all. You loathe the unbidden current of arousal that gushes through you at it, wetting his slender fingers as it trickles down the thigh he cuffs.

One final shlick of your throbbing pussy and the merman maneuvers with relative ease onto the rock, his thick tail flopping off at the edge and disappearing into the crystal water. And there’s nothing exactly large about Rafayel’s stature, but he feels heavy as he hovers over you, elbows flanking either side of your head, and the appendage that seems to summon itself between you, drooping with engorged need over your stuttering belly—

You don’t want to look. Too afraid to.

You suppose you don’t have to, anyway: Rafayel grabs your face and cradles your jaw in his smooth palm, hot, labored breaths warming your slack lips. The sun is lifting higher, now, a clementine-gold sky burning like blood low on the horizon. Soon, the temperatures- and his touch as it charts out the most intimate parts of you- will begin to bake your skin.

“He was all bubbly under the water,” he groans with a trace of humor, “but I saw the worry written all over his face. Back then, I’d always wondered why he looked so concerned... not afraid, concerned. But I guess… it was ‘cause he had you to get back home to, huh, cutie?”

Saccharine sweet, he dotes before wrenching your chin up in a desperate, heedless kiss- the action all too cathartic too him but world-stopping for you- and you feel the fat head of something foreign bob between your folds.

“Poor guy,” he moans, voice absolutely ruined as you lurch helplessly beneath him, back arching to accommodate the impossible stretch. You expect it to hurt- to be a searing pain as his massive, inhuman cock spears you apart- but a near blinding delight racks through your body instead as he worms his way inside your walls, wet and primed, your eyes fluttering back.

“But at least his death served a purpose. You’d never have sung for me otherwise. Would never have- went out looking,” he shudders, hanging his head against the sweaty column of your neck, his brilliant-blue tail sloshing in the water on its own accord.

“It’s all thanks to him,” he growls out, tone oozing possession- the innocent little merman you befriended dematerializing before your very eyes. “You’re mine now. Mine.”

And when it’s all said and done, strong, toned arms gathering you up with a low splash as the docks rupture with gradual life, the boots of fisherman croaking over waterlogged wood, and Rafayel takes you under the water- giving you breath with a deep, intimate kiss-

You’ve the feeling that your dreams of reuniting with your lover will fulfill themselves in their own roundabout, warped way.

But you know Rafayel’s not ever letting you go as he undresses your finger of its sparkling ring and tucks you away in his underwater cove— placing you in his nest with reverence before prying apart your numbed legs with rekindled hunger.

Curling across your face, a soaked lock of your hair drifts absently in the still waters and Rafayel thumbs it aside, clipping it back with a little clamshell fashioned as jewelry. He leans over you contentedly, whole body and fluke swallowing you up without difficulty or protest, and happily feeds you oxygen from his lips.

You cling to him helplessly and have no choice— several hundred feet below land level— but to hungrily nurse from him every few hours and pray he won’t make the sudden decision to deprive you of it.

Something in his rippling eyes tells you he won’t, though.

He dips down to paste a lingering peck into your temple, the pad of his thumb roving appreciatively under your eye.

“Don’t you think you’ve seen enough of the land, princess? The brainless humans up there don’t want you anymore, and that’s okay,” he whispers, tiny bubbles floating like balloons before popping. “You belong down here, with me. Who says you need a tail or fins to be one of us?” Mistily, you wonder just what exactly he’s trying to say and who he’s trying to convince of its veracity, a blip of frustration marring his pretty face before it retreats.

“I’ll give you life for as long as I live,” he vows, mouth brushing tenderly against yours as his cheeks puff out and he blows.

“See? Just like this, princess. Just keep holding onto me.”

[reidsglasscs]

LOVERS LAKE

✸ pairing : luke castellan x fem!reader

✸ synopsis: you & luke escape to the lake and away from counselor duties!

✸ warnings: pre-tlt, established relationship, kissing, me believing whole heartedly that i can fix him

✸ authors’s note: ignoring that it’s literally christmas & this is so summer-coded, charlie bushnell brought back my original series luke obsession so here you go 🙈

the lake was arguably the best place to be at camp half-blood, even for someone who hated the water and was all but dragged their by somebody else who loved it.

that someone was you, and the somebody else was luke.

that boy loved swimming in the lake like the stars love sitting in the sky, and the only thing that made it better was when you were there with him.

between knowing that fact and the pleading look in his pretty puppy eyes, how could you say no?

so now you and him were in the lake together, on a rare escape from your responsibilities as counselors during rec time. you may or may not have been hiding from your campers by staying hidden by the boathouse that stored the camp’s supply of canoes.

you were clinging onto the wooden dock while your boyfriend swam about, still putting on your angry facade at him after he threw you in the water initially.

was the way he scooped you up in his big strong arms and grinned like a little kid when he jumped in with you absolutely adorable? yes. did that mean you were going to let him get away with it? absolutely not.

pouting with your arms wrapped around the dock leg, you watched as the boy’s head disappeared underwater, not missing the mischievous glint that lingered in his eyes beforehand.

and just as you had expected, a wet head of dark curls popped up just beside you. just to be annoying, he shook his head like some kind of dog and laughed when you scrunched your face up at the flying drops of water.

the little loser laughed at you. now you were definitely mad, and would’ve crossed your arms and harrumphed if you weren’t still holding on to the dock like you’d die if you let go.

“are you ever gonna leave that poor dock be and actually come swim with me?” he asked, batting his pretty long eyelashes like he was pleading for you to do what he asked.

“go away.” you grumbled, looking away from him.

“aw, c’mon sweetheart.” he cooed, his tone teetering between teasing and sincere.

you felt familiar hands wrap around your waist as luke pried you away from the dock, ignoring your words of protest.

“you are literally going to drown me.” you frown as you have no choice but to hold onto him.

look, it wasn’t that you couldn’t swim, it was just that it was going to take one hell of a monster chasing you to make it happen.

“oh my gods, i am going to die.”

you were now out of arm’s reach of the shore, left with nothing but your boyfriend to keep you afloat. dam it.

“would you relax? i’m not gonna let you drown.” he chuckled, smiling at your antics as he kept both you and himself afloat.

“well you pushed me in, so you may as well.” you responded, sticking your chin up in dramatic negligence.

“hey, it was push you in or get caught and have about seventeen campers join us. which would you rather have?”

the first option, obviously, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

instead, you stuck to the silent treatment, which meant luke was left to his last and final resort.

“guess you leave me with no choice then,” he feigned a regretful sigh, even though you both knew he was ecstatic to do what he was thinking.

“wha- no. no no no no!”

luke had let go of your waist for no more than two seconds before you had screamed and clung onto him for dear life, your arms tightly wound around his neck and legs around his waist.

“i’m going to kill you, castellan.” you grumble, unable to see his reaction as your cheek was pressed against his.

there it was again, that gods damned chuckle of his that made your heart do little somersaults.

“love you too.” he said humorously. but when you didn’t reply with the same phrase, it was his turn to pout.

“hey.”

between the pout in his voice and the poke he delivered to your sides, you knew that your inattention had had just the effect you wanted.

this was the dance the two of you had done several times before. he’d annoy you, you’d ignore him and then you would relish in the way he turned into a lost puppy when it lasted for ten seconds too long, proving once again just how tightly you had him wrapped around your finger.

“hey. hey. hey.”

he poked you again and again, repeating the same word in hopes that you’d look at him, but you remained relentless.

“i’m not forgiving you that easily.” you insisted, as if your faces weren’t inches away from each other and water wasn’t the only thing between your body and his.

once again, he knew you too well to know there was little truth to your words.

he pressed a kiss to your cheek in hopes to get you to finally turn your head and look at him. again, nothing.

“hey, pretty girl.” he whispered, growing desperate and excruciatingly impatient. “would you at least look at me?”

feeling as though you’d drawn it out rather excessively, you listened and looked at him.

immediately, your lips were captured by his in a sweet kiss, the lake water seeping in between and tainting the flavor.

when he pulled away, luke wore a smirky kind of smile that made you want to kiss him again just to get rid of it and the giddy little feeling it gave you.

“am i forgiven now?”

he was, but instead of saying that, that was when you splashed a wave of water in his pretty little face.

[belbobiggins]

Certain people get so butt-hurt when you tell them that you think Sans has 1 HP. Yes, I do in fact know that his canon HP has never been confirmed, but I also know how to use context clues and deductive reasoning

Let's think about what we DO know. In battle, Sans' ATK and DEF are both set as 1. If we were to say that he had 1 ATK 1 DEF 300 HP, that sounds weird, unnatural, and just generally unlikely. By setting his HP to 1, it matches up with his ATK and DEF.

And I know what you're thinking: "Oh, but that doesn't confirm anything! That's not cano—" and to that I say ssshhhhh. Shut up and do your research. If context clues aren't proof enough for you, then you should know that in the game files, Sans' HP is set to 1. Now, using Mettaton NEO's stats in the files and such as an example, we could say that not everything in the files should be taken as canon. And that's true. However, I think it's silly to think that Sans' file HP being set as 1 doesn't line up with his canon ATK and DEF.

But here's a NEW argument... Sans' HP would actually be 11/1, NOT 1/1. When you play Undertale, the bunny clerk at the hotel tells the player that by sleeping, you can gain 10 HP to your current health. So naturally, as someone who's ALWAYS sleeping, this rule would apply to Sans as well. An extra 10 would be added to his 1, making his HP 11/1.

This would also disprove the idea that Sans could die by merely stubbing his toe or getting a single scratch. As shown in Undyne's house, if you choose to punch her even as weakly as possible, it still does 1 damage. Naturally, stubbing your toe would at least do 1 damage also, or maybe 2 at most. So by having 11/1 HP, Sans could thankfully avoid nearly dying if a strong gust of wind pushes him over. Because there is no way in Hell this man has never taken ANY damage.

THIS is my argument for why Sandstone Undertable has 1 HP (11/1 HP to be specific) and why you should take no bullshit from anyone who tries to tell you otherwise

[cece693]

Hey!! I wanted to make a request for Percy x (male reader) son of Apollo

The reader is mainly good at writing and drawing, and enjoys using Percy as his muse for his works.

Thank you, take all the time you need 🙇

Shades of Green and Gold

pairing: percy jackson x maler reader tags: you are kinda a stalker, returned feelings, first kiss, percy is too handsome for the reader, you can legit write sonnets about percy, cute but kinda creepy

You’re reasonably sure that no one else in Camp Half-Blood spends as much time admiring Percy Jackson’s hair as you do. You won’t deny it, because who could blame you? There’s something about the way he grins, the way his sea-green eyes light up when he’s on the verge of a clever remark, or the way he ruffles his hair after a long day of training. It’s enthralling. You’re an artist—writing, sketching, painting—son of Apollo, heir to creativity and light. And Percy Jackson is your favorite muse.

Every morning, you wake early to catch the exact moment the sun spills over the lake, painting the surface with soft pinks and gold. You slip out of the Apollo Cabin carefully, trying not to wake your rowdy half-siblings. You carry a small sketchbook and pencil in your hand, charcoal in the other. The crisp morning air still bites, but there’s something comforting about that quiet, in-between time.

You settle on a flat rock near the canoe lake. From here, you can watch the water, the line of cabins, and if you’re lucky—Percy Jackson heading off to breakfast or morning training. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve drawn him: in graphite, in watercolor, with ink. Half-finished poems about his eyes litter your journal.

Today is no different. As soon as you spot Percy, you can’t help but smile. He’s dragging a sword behind him, hair sticking out in all directions, still yawning. He’s adorable. You press your pencil to the page and start outlining his silhouette. The curve of his shoulders, the lines of his arms…You’re so focused that you barely notice when he turns and catches your gaze.

Percy raises his eyebrows in obvious curiosity. You flush, snapping your sketchbook shut, but it’s too late—he’s already jogging over. “Morning,” he says, grin slowly turning more playful. “Am I interrupting?”

You swallow and manage a small laugh, hugging the sketchbook to your chest. “Not at all. Just…practicing.”

He nods towards your pencil. “I see. Gonna show me sometime?”

Your heart beats louder than a battle drum. “Maybe…eventually.”

Percy’s grin grows. “I’ll hold you to that. See you at breakfast?”

You nod, and he jogs off, leaving you with that dopey, starstruck feeling you’ve never quite gotten used to. By the time you arrive at the Arena for combat practice, the midday sun is high and fierce—Apollo’s domain. You tie your golden camp shirt around your waist (much to your instructor’s dismay), opting for a lighter white tank top. Sweating profusely while you train with a bow is not your ideal way to spend an afternoon, but your father’s gift—unerring aim—doesn’t sharpen itself.

Chiron pairs you with Percy for a quick sparring session. It’s supposedly to “expand your skill set,” but you wonder if it’s the universe giving you more material for your sketches. You try to steady your heart as he flashes you another signature grin.

He wields his trusty sword, Riptide. You draw your bow, focusing on the center of the target behind him, but your eyes can’t help drifting to the lean lines of his arms. You almost feel guilty. Almost.

“All set?” Percy calls, pushing his dark hair out of his face.

“I’m ready,” you answer, stepping into position.

The session starts strong. You manage to keep your arrows close to the mark, even as Percy deflects them with impressive skill and a flurry of water from a nearby barrel. You can sense he’s showing off a bit—it’s Percy, after all. You grin. His confidence is infectious, and soon the two of you are exchanging friendly banter.

When you pause to catch your breath, Percy flicks water droplets from his blade in your direction. You splutter, trying not to laugh. He shrugs with an impish twinkle in his eye.

“Heard you’re a good artist,” he says casually, striding forward until you can see the slightest hint of sweat at his temples. “Piper told me your last painting of the Apollo Cabin was amazing.”

Your cheeks heat. “It’s nothing big.”

“From what I hear, it’s a big deal,” Percy insists, stepping closer. The space between you is suddenly charged. “Will you show me your work someday? I mean it this time.”

“Sure.” You feel the sun warm you from above, the presence of your divine father giving you a little nudge of courage. “I’d like that.”

That evening, the sky burns a vivid orange as the sun descends behind the strawberry fields. You find yourself on the porch of the Big House, perched on a bench, scribbling in your notebook. You wanted to capture the memory of Percy deflecting your arrows, to freeze the moment onto the page with just the right words.

“Still practicing?” Percy’s voice comes from behind you, startling you so badly you almost drop your pencil.

“Percy! I—”

He doesn’t wait for you to form a coherent sentence; he slides onto the bench next to you. The fading sunlight catches the green in his eyes, setting them aglow. His presence is warm and all-consuming, even though the day is cooling down.

“Sorry to sneak up on you,” he says. “Thought you might be here.”

You let out a small laugh. “It’s fine. You just startled me.”

He nods toward your notebook. “May I?”

You hesitate. The words in that notebook are deeply personal. Poems about his eyes, the curve of his smile, your fleeting impressions of each encounter. But there’s something in Percy’s earnest expression that calls you to trust him. With trembling fingers, you pass the notebook over.

He flips through carefully, eyes scanning the lines of your writing. He stops occasionally, lips moving with the words, eyebrows quirking up at certain phrases. You sense your entire being is in that notebook, and he’s reading you like a story. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

When Percy finally looks up, his eyes are strangely bright. “You wrote these…about me?”

You pull your gaze away. “I guess you could say you inspire me.”

He’s silent for a moment. You dare to look up and see a smile, soft and genuine, tugging at his lips. “It’s good. Like…really good. I had no idea I could be someone’s muse.”

You exhale a nervous laugh. “I, uh…I can show you the drawings, too, if you want.”

Percy nods, looking more interested than ever. “Definitely.”

You lead Percy to the Apollo Cabin and slip inside. Your siblings are out—probably at the campfire or racing chariots—leaving the bunks and scattered musical instruments in a hush. You rummage beneath your bunk, pulling out a battered portfolio.

It’s stuffed with sketches—some finished, some half-done. A watercolor of Percy standing by the lake. A charcoal piece of him gripping Riptide. A gentle pencil sketch focusing on just his face…his eyes, to be precise. You lay them out across your bunk. Percy stands behind you, so close you can practically feel the warmth radiating off him. You swallow, heart pounding, as he takes in each piece.

“They’re amazing,” he breathes, leaning down to pick one up. “I never realized—this is how you see me?”

You can’t quite meet his eyes. “There’s something about you, Percy,” you admit. “Your energy, your aura. You’re like the sea itself—constantly shifting, alive with motion. It inspires me. Helps me write, helps me draw. I never wanted to freak you out, so I kept it mostly to myself.”

Percy gently returns the piece of artwork to your bunk, then turns you around by the shoulder so you’re facing him. His hand lingers, thumb brushing over the fabric of your shirt.

“I’m not freaked out,” he says. “I’m flattered, honestly.” He chuckles, eyes scanning your face as though he’s searching for any hint of uncertainty. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me.”

You feel a burst of warmth in your chest. “Really?”

“Really.” Percy exhales a soft laugh, letting his hand drop to your wrist. “I like it. And I’d like to see more—whatever you make. If that’s okay.”

You search his expression, uncertain if you’re reading the situation correctly. The glimmer in his sea-green eyes suggests you might be. Mustering your courage, you nod slowly. “You can see everything,” you say, voice hushed in the quiet cabin. “I—I’d really like that.”

His smile widens. “Thank you.”

You swallow, that same unstoppable grin blossoming across your own face. The tension thickens, but it’s a gentle tension, a comforting one. He leans forward, and you feel his forehead against yours, that sweet, electric moment of closeness you’ve been imagining for weeks.

Finally, your lips brush softly, uncertain at first. Then Percy returns the kiss, delicate yet full of promise. It’s the kind of quiet moment that you know you’ll replay over and over in your sketches, in your poems, in your daydreams. When you finally pull away, you can’t help but laugh in disbelief. Percy gives a contented sigh, resting his forehead against yours again.

“Would it kill the mood if I told you I knew about this?"

[sightseertrespasser]

Too Deep, Too Shallow Part 4

Happy Mer May folks! Enjoy!

Once more into the deep with @keferon’s apocalyptic Ponyo au.

Drift isn’t projecting at aaaall.

———————————————————————

The distant roar of the ocean was punctuated by plip-pats of random flecks of raindrops. Turning pale concrete dark glossy grey like dying pixels on a tv screen.

Earlier, when the tropical Sun had been out, the apocalypse had almost been pleasant. In between all the emotionally scaring traumatic experiences anyways.

Mainly, it had been wet but warm.

Now, Swerve was shivering. Wind and wet clothes wicking away whatever body heat he could still produce, leaving his skin as clammy as a dead fish. He couldn’t stop moving. Not now, when exercise was the only thing keeping his temperature up.

A raindrop hit him directly in the eye.

Swerve cursed and paused to rub a fist into his eye, regretting the decision as his legs petitioned to go on strike.

Sorry body, but this temple has declared a state of emergency and won’t be acknowledging any union demands until further notice.

Grimacing, Swerve leaned forward until the threat of falling compelled his legs to start cooperating again.

He wasn’t the only one who was getting tired, Blue was still chittering away, but it was notably less animated. It probably didn’t help that Swerve wasn’t responding as consistently as before. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, he just.

Kept getting lost in his head.

It was so quiet.

It was so so quiet.

Yesterday-

This morning? The first apartment building. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to look and put together pieces of peoples lives.

He got the hiking bag from an apartment where the fridge was covered in Polaroid photographs. The same couple over and over, sometimes with friends. Fishing, canoeing, and hiking of course. A wedding photo dated just two months ago.

He got the spam and most of the other food from an apartment filled with craft projects and sudoku puzzles. A half finished knit hat stuck to the ground in a wet lump. He picked up a walker that had fallen over and stared at the gaping hole in the wall for too long.

He got the case of water bottles from an apartment with baby gates..

“Click-Whistle-Click?”

Swerve sucked in a breath, feeling Blue reaching back to tap his forearm.

“Yeah, yep. Sorry. I’m listening.” He said. Shoving those memories right back where they belonged at the bottom of the mental filing cabinet. Riiight next to the demon orcas.

Hesitantly, Blue chittered some more and Swerve had learned his mannerisms well enough to feel the undercurrent of anxiety there.

Swerve eyed the overextended beach that stretched towards the ocean. It wouldn’t be long before low tide ended.

All things considered, he could probably just leave Blue somewhere on the mud caked street and the tide will take care of the rest. They’d pretty much made it. This was the edge of the city and not much was still standing this close to the shore.

But there was a bridge still in place. The concrete foundations cracked but holding strong, seemingly reinforced by a shocking amount of plant growth tangled in the structure. That’ll be a good spot, Swerve thought. By the time the water rose to the bridges height, Blue would have more than enough room to swim back out to sea.

“This’ll be over soon.” Swerve sighed. “I’ll try to be quick.”

Scaling the slope up to the bridge, Swerve felt the need to say something poignant. Some final goodbye to probably his closest friend. The scene was all wrong though. Rumbling thunder and hushing wind played the backtracking for a completely grey set piece.

Still tense, Blue made some sort of quiet siren sound, long, thin and reedy.

Maybe I just, shouldn’t say anything.

Swerve felt his throat start to close as he crested the onto the flat of the bridge, eyes down cast as he watched blotches of rain paint everything dark.

Blue’s fins flared, dragging up the back of Swerves neck and setting his own hairs to stand on end.

Stuttering to a stop, Swerve finally looked up to the other end of the bridge.

A lithe frame wrapped in dappled grey pelts, the smooth silhouette broken up by black guns and crisscrossed strappings.

Their face was completely concealed by a shadow colored mask and a blood bright visor, the only tell it was human were the long thin pale locks of hair that drifted in the storm urged breeze.

“Um.” Swerve curled his numb fingers around his backpack straps.

“Hi there!”

The figure did not respond. A cloud in the distance lit up white and went dark again.

Swerve wavered in place, swallowed and put on his best customer service smile.

“Hey! So uh, this whole. . .everything.” He gestured to the Everything.

“This looks like some serious third act climax stuff, you know?” Shouting over the silence. “Like, this is where the protagonist would have the final showdown with the big bad evil guy, or face off against some deeply personal antagonist from their past..”

Swerve started to shuffle backwards.

“And uh, I am not that guy.”

The figure stalked forward slowly and without a sound.

Blood growing colder, Swerve tried to stay calm as Blue began making low distressed noises he’d never heard from him before. The mer was twisted around in the backpack, staring at the stranger with massive shaky eyes.

In a voice like greased gravel, the drifter finally spoke.

“Put the mer down.”

Swerve mouth gapped without a sound, shaking his head even before the words came out, “I- I can’t do that.”

The drifter was not close enough to touch, but well within sprinting distance. Without breaking their slow prowl, they began to walk around the two at a precisely set radius. Swerve subconsciously turning in place to stay facing them.

The shorter man became very suddenly aware of his surroundings. Below was a two story drop onto bone breaking asphalt coated in a thin mat of mud. The ramp he’d walked up was now cut off by the drifter and slick with rain. In his minds eye, Swerve could perfectly picture what would happen if he tried running the other way. Like a nightmare where all your limbs weigh a thousand pounds and the monster always wins.

In too deep, breath too shallow.

Swerve shook, and held fast.

“Please don’t do this. I c-can’t. I can’t give him up.”

They drifted closer, fingers brushing triggers as they moved.

“You’re sick.” They hissed.

Swerve flinched, hyper aware of the clamor of his skin and the faint rattle of his lungs.

“You’re weak.” They spoke down to him.

Defensively, Swerve curled further into himself, already a small man made smaller still.

“You aren’t gonna win.” The drifter came close enough he could feel a couple white strands tickle along his cheek as they leaned in close.

“You aren’t that guy.”

Fear. His mind wanted to freeze but Swerve couldn’t stop shaking. He took another wobbly step back and pain shot through his ankle as it rolled. A simple broken ledge just a couple inches high was no issue for an able bodied man. But a sick one carrying two thirds his own weight?

Swerve crumpled and the drifter lunged.

A flash of blue came quicker.

Screaming whistling and a stifled curse, Swerve landed hard on his side. Just before his face, a red visor clattered to the ground.

“YOU- WHAT?!” The drifter reeled back, weapon automatically drawn but with their finger off the trigger. In the distance, sea lions barked like the distant thunder.

Which is what Swerve would have noticed if he was paying attention to anything other than Blue.

Whipping out of the backpack, Blue peeled back his lips in rage. Fins and flukes at full mast, the mer arched himself over Swerve, screeching at the threatening human in an ear splitting tirade.

Blue only paused when a red furry head popped up on the other end bridge, scrambling onto the topside and frantically barking.

Locking onto the mammalian mer, Swerve saw one of Blues eyes twitch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“IS THIS YOUR FUCKING HUMAN?!”

Furiously, Blurr resumed screeching and jabbed a claw towards the seal pelted human without breaking eye contact with the other mer.

The stranger galloped in their direction.

“SORT OF?! HE’S REALLY MORE RATCHETS!” The Not-Ratchet mer barked across the space.

The human was fully backing away now, his now exposed eyes darting between Blurr and the other mer in abject confusion. Curled beneath him, Orange was likewise wide eyed and panicked.

“DON’T CARE! GET HIM UNDER CONTROL OR I’M FINDING THOSE FUCKING COPS.”

The sea Lion panted as they reached the white furred human. Half grabbing, half leaning on them, “I swear he’s never done anything like this before. He’s actually really friendly!”

“NO THE FUCK HE’S NOT.” Blurr gestured to Orange. “Look at him! He’s terrified!”

“What the hell is going on up here?”

The voice did not yell, so much as it was simply just silencingly loud. A second, much larger sea lion crested the ramp, nose wrinkled and bright eyed with displeasure as he scanned over the scene. Most notably, the mer sported not just one, but four prosthetic flippers.

The other human visibly shrank. And if humans had tails it’d surely be between his legs right now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Shhhhit.” The drifter spoke, significantly less gravelly than before. They glanced down to Swerve before pulling back their hood and mask.

“You uh, you weren’t trying to sell that mer for parts were you?” The drifters eyes tightened as Swerve frantically shook his head no.

“I- .” He coughed. “I might’a misread the situation.”

Now that the hood was removed, Swerve could clearly see an extremely apologetic looking young guy. He didn’t even seem to be threatened by Blue still hissing at him, just ashamed.

Swerve however, boggled.

“Holy shit I thought you were an old lady.”

“You - Fuckin’ what? Why?!” Wide eyed, the drifter startled out of what ever depressed place his mind had been wandering towards.

Swerve held up his hands placatingly, “Sorry! Sorry! It’s the whispy white hair! I thought you were like, some kind of post apocalyptic Lethal Grandma.”

Dumbfounded, the drifter looked over himself and then back to Swerve.

“But, you could hear my voice?!”

Swerve shrugged defensively, “Terrifying old women smoke like a pack a day dude!” He tried changing tactics, waving frantically from beneath his mer, “So w-what dye did you use! You know, because completely white hair is super tricky to pull off, b-but you got it done so cleanly?”

The drifter threw his hands in the air, “It’s not dye? I’m fuckin’ fifty?!”

“I AM SO SORRY.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Staring down the humongous sea Lion above him, some smarter piece of Blurr recognized he maybe shouldn’t antagonize a bunch of strangers while his only mode of transportation was curled up beneath him in the fetal position.

An even smarter piece of him noted that his chest was really starting to hurt.

However, the sea Lion mers both had the looks of people who were in the midst of damage control, and Blurr was gonna ride that wave for all it was worth.

“What the fuck is wrong with your human?! Mine wasn’t even doing anything!”

The sea Lion raised an eyebrow at Blurr, patting his hands in a Settle Down gesture, “Look, the kit isn’t mine he’s just-“ He shooed away the thought. “It’s complicated right now. I’m Doctor Ratchet and this is my assistant Roddy.”

Ratchet gently put his hands on his humans shoulders, who immediately quieted down and allowed the mer to move him away. “I’ll keep him in check, but you need to calm down and stop with the screeching! You’re freaking them both out and if you really want to help “your” human you’ll stop agitating them. Are we clear?”

Suspiciously, Blurr watched the other human demure in a way that was uncannily like a mer. He watched them go fairly docile, the shit-yourself terrifying aura quickly dissipating.

Temporarily satisfied, Blurr glanced down at Orange who’d gone from staring bug eyed at Grey (who Blurr had just mentally named) to Ratchet, murmuring quietly.

“Hey. Hey, Orange. It’s okay now, you’re okay.” Blurr spoke softy and patted his humans shoulder. The mer finally moving over from where he’d been holding an adrenaline filled arch above the fallen human.

Orange had stopped yelling, but didn’t turn to face Blurr. But instead turned back to Grey while pointing at the doctors prosthetic fins.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have a cyborg walrus?!” Swerve yell-whispered.

“Stellar Sea Lion.” The drifter quietly hissed, some anger filtering back in before they visibly clamped down on it again, aggressively running his fingers through his hair.

“And I didn’t make him a cyborg neither! I mean, I’m sorta responsible but not like that.” He crossed his arms and locked eyes with Swerve again. “We got a complicated relationship.”

As if summoned, the stellar mer approached the prone human, leaning down to take a good look at him.

Whether it was the weather or the drop off in adrenaline, Swerve found himself unable to stop shivering. Blue had calmed down significantly and was chittering softly next to him, seemingly unbothered by the fucking wall of muscle, fat and fur coming right into their space.

After a moment, the mer held out a mitt to Swerve, barking in a low rumbly sort of way.

“W-what’s going on?” Swerve chanced a glance at the drifter, who’d sat down next to the other sea Lion.

“He’s checking your vitals. Give him your hand.”

Swerves head spun and he did as he was told.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hmm.” The doctor glanced back at Grey after they’d exchanged some barks with his patient, and Blurr blinked in surprise when Orange did as he was supposed to without any direction from him.

“The fuck? What, did you train your human to like, find other humans and then get them to follow medical procedures?” Blurr himself couldn’t tell if his own question was serious or not.

While the humans continued to bark at each other in the background, Blurr saw Ratchet cringe.

Roddy, who’d decided to drape himself over Grey’s lap to stop them from wandering off again piped up, “Soooo you want to tell him or should I?”

Inhaling like he was gathering strength, Ratchet didn’t stop his check up on Orange. Briefly, Blurr watched the doctor pull out a thermometer from his pack, and before the mers could work out how the hell they were going to get Orange to hold it in his mouth, Grey piped up again and Orange just. Did it.

On his own. With little more than a nervous flick of his eyes around the members of their group.

Ratchet used his now empty hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose. Hard.

“You convinced yours to carry you around right? I can see you even got a makeshift harness and supplies tied on. How’d you do it?”

“What? No he did the bag thing on his own.” The racer waved them off.

Blurr puffed a little with pride, “He happens to be an especially clever human. The most convincing I’ve had to do was getting Orange to let me carry him the first time, and all I had to do then was be gentle with him.”

The doctor wiped his hand down his face, “You named him Orange?”

“What like “kit” is less generic?”

“Nevermind that.” Ratchet scolded. “Look, I don’t care how much arguing this is gonna take, but there’s something you need to understand.”

“What?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“They’re sentient.” The drifter spoke with the gravity of a murderer in a confessional.

He got a far away look in his eyes, seemingly only grounded by the weight of “Red” in his lap. His voice sounded choked. “Fully intelligent. Fully people.”

The paradigm shift was spectacular to observe, a change washed over him instantaneously as the stranger imparted what he’d come to learn.

All the air went out of Swerve in a single breath.

“Oh thank GOD it’s not weird.” He fell back in relief, nearly loosing the thermometer as Blue immediately clicked over him.

“What?” Drift snapped. “What the fuck do you mean “It’s not weird?” And why the fuck do you sound happy about that?!”

Swerve sat up defensively, “Well it’s j-just. You know!”

“I know?”

“You know! Look, Blue’s s-saved my life like three times, he’s a ton of fun to h-hang out with when we aren’t dying, and some mer are kind of..” he circled his hands around each other, vaguely gesturing to appearances of Blue and the stellar mer. “You know!”

Drift clenched his teeth, a faint pink wash raising up from beneath his poncho and up his throat.

“We. Are not close enough to have that conversation.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sweet mother of pearl I’ve been petting a grown man.” Blurr put his head in his hands, staring off into the distance.

Grinning broadly, Roddy chuckled through his words, “You what? Ratchet you said we couldn’t pet them!”

Ratchet harrumphed, “I said we shouldn’t. Sentient or not, Humans are still highly social creatures who tend to get very attached to things they consider troop members.”

Taking back the thermometer, Ratchet wrinkled his nose at the reading. “So no petting, no cuddling, no chitchatting and definitely no sharing food. Got it?”

“Um.” Blurr chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Would that be bad? If, hypothetically someone did do all of those things?”

Roddy chortled maniacally as Ratchet just sighed. “It’ll be harder to get them to leave. I actually had some hope for sec that the kit had decided he was okay enough to be on his own again.”

Glancing back, the “kit” who was a good head taller than Orange, had miraculously turned pink in the time they’d been speaking. Grey had his hands buried in Roddy’s fur and had a look in his eyes directed at Orange that came off as a little too intense to be friendly.

Contrastingly, Roddy radiated smugness.

Ratchet responded to the unspoken jeering from his assistant. “We are going to have to leave him at some point Roddy, and I want to minimize the distress from the separation as much as possible.”

“For you or for him?” Blurr muttered, evidently not quietly enough as Ratchet shot him a sharp look.

Far closer than any before, thunder pealed once more, causing both humans and all three mers to jump. The rain intensified from occasional plops to a steady shower.

“Right.” Ratchet efficiently packed away his supplies and turned back to Blurr. “We’ve got a small field hospital set up to treat survivors. I’ll carry you there and hopefully get your human there too. He’s not doing well.”

“He’s not?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Swerve felt something in his chest twinge and just about managed to cough ferociously into his elbow. The rain was coming down hard enough to no longer be ignored.

Next to him, Blue dragged himself closer to the stellar mer, who worked to pull him up onto his back. A little lost, Swerve looked beseechingly to the other human again.

The pelt wearer pushed Red off his lap and stood. “Looks like we’re heading back to base. You good to walk?”

“Yeah I think I-“ Swerve sucked in a hiss when he tried to put weight on his rolled ankle. Both Blue and Doc zeroed in on the sound, but neither really seemed to understand what was wrong.

Biting his lip, Swerve was shaking too bad to effectively stabilize his ankle. The pouring rain making everything that much more miserable.

He opened his eyes when he heard Blue click lowly and saw the other human approaching him, hands kept back and eyes cast away from the mers. He squatted in front of Swerve, “You need help? Think I heard your ankle pop earlier.”

Squinting through the rain, the injured human took the offered hand up, “Thanks. I’m S-swerve by the way.”

“Drift. Sorry ‘bout almost guttin’ you earlier.”

“Heh.” Swerve laughed as accepted his help, considering their names. “Drift and S-swerve! Guess you could say we’re both p-pretty bad at going straight?”

Drift blinked his eyes closed in a way that looked painful.

“Swerve?” He looked down at him without opening his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“The guttin’ you thing wasn’t a joke.”

“Shutting up n-now.”

The rest of the journey to base was committed in silence, save for a small break early on where Drift switched to carrying Swerve piggyback style after he’d almost fallen several times in succession.

Blue and Swerve kept their eyes on each other the whole way there.

——————

It was a slow trek through the rain to a building situated on a nearby hill. A large boat had washed up onto its side and was firmly lodged against the structure, creating a sort of ramp to the roof.

Broken railings surrounded a tiled pool still filled with water and Drift bee-lined for the shelter of what appeared to be a roof top bar.

Finally out of the rain, Swerve slid off Drifts back with a muted thanks. He wasn’t shivering anymore. Numbly, Swerve registered being sat on a couch and then Drift materializing with several stiff towels.

They had the look and feel of cloth that had been hung out after falling into the ocean, a little crunchy to the touch but blissfully dry.

“Try to dry your outer clothes separate, they’re not gonna help you warm up right now. The powers shot but the gas stove round back still works if I light it by hand. Sit tight a’minute.”

Nodding, Swerve set about draping everything short of his undershirt and boxers over the backs of a few chairs and immediately cocooned himself in towels on the couch.

The bar was open on the side facing the patio and the ocean. It was a pretty spectacular view to watch the tide come rushing back in like a rivers delta, weaving between the ruins of the city. Periodically, lightning would flicker and highlight the contours of the world. Swerve didn’t miss the black under blue shadows of some truly massive creatures slithering back into the ruins.

Instead of thinking about monsters, or the unnaturally fast spreading overgrowth, Swerve turned towards Blue.

The mers didn’t seem remotely bothered by the heavy rainfall as Blue and Doc sat on the shallow steps into the pool. The much smaller mer was frowning at the doctor as he ran through a litany of tests with him.

It was more than a little surreal watching the stellar mer pull out a massive stethoscope to listen to Blues chest. Swerve heard Doc grumble something and honestly thought he saw Blue roll his eyes.

As the doctor placed a blood pressure cuff around Blues upper arm, the mer glanced his way. Swerve slipped an hand from his towel nest and waved hello. Blue cracked a hint of a smile and waved back.

About then, Drift returned with two steaming mugs. “Mostly liquor back there but they had some black tea and a couple gallon jugs of water.”

Thanking him, Swerve just held the ceramic mug for a while, letting the heat bring some feeling back into his hands. He’d started shivering again, which was as good a sign as it was annoying.

“If t-there’s any whiskey and honey back there, we could actually make a Hot Toddy.”

Drift furrowed his brow “You gotta stop doing that man.”

“Doing what?” Swerve shrugged defensively as Drift started rooting through the bar’s cabinets.

“Saying shit that makes me say “What.” No honey but we’ve got a couple simple syrups. This whiskey good?” Drift held up two different brands by the necks in one hand and the syrup in the other.

Swerve pointed at the smaller of the two whiskeys, “That one’s the better one, and I didn’t name the thing man. I just know it’s a warm drink and a good night cap.”

Pulling up a table, Drift handed over the new ingredients and the still hot pot with the rest of the tea. With a gleam in his eye, Swerve did a little alchemy and re-poured the steaming drinks.

Drift blew on his drink and tried a sip with an impressed hum. “You a bartender or something?”

“Ah no.” Swerve rubbed the back of his neck with a warmed hand. “I’d love to! But life didn’t really work out that way. Turns out a degree in metallurgy isn’t actually that useful, so now I just do random small repair jobs.”

Swerve took a drink himself and reflected the question back to Drift. “So what do you do?”

He didn’t miss the way Drift stiffened and glance at the weapons still tied to his sides. “Civil Rights Activist.”

“Cool.”

And Swerve quickly chugged his tea. Nearly coughing it back up when a leviathans angry shriek broke through the air. Instantly, Drift was back on his feet, hands resting on his guns and silently stalking towards the edge of the roof.

No one moved in the pouring rain. With bated breath, Swerve realized even the mers looked scared, and that all of them were watching Drift in tense anticipation.

After what felt like ages, the hunter relaxed, letting his shoulders visibly drop and taking his hands off his weapons. Exhaling, Doc rumbled something that settled down the two smaller mers.

“So we’re safe? T-the monster can’t reach us here right?”

Taking his place back on the couch, Drift stared into the depths of his mug, swirling it lightly. “We’re as safe as we can get and no, the Umi Inu can’t reach us because something just killed it.”

“Oh!” Swerve whispered. “What is an Umi Inu and what do you mean something just killed one?”

“Creatures of the depths. They’re…sick with something. Makes them voracious. Aggressive beyond all reason. Animals can be full. But those things? They’ll eat until their stomach lining gives out and then keep on going.” The way Drift spoke, there was an intimacy in his words and a distance in his eyes.

He downed his drink in one go without fear of being burnt. “As for what killed the one we heard? Probably Orca mers. Or something bigger.”

The longer they spoke, the further Swerve sunk into the couch. “So, just to recap: The tides are just straight up broken. There’s mutant sea monsters and worse out there. And the only reason we’re still alive is because some mers, which have actually been people all along, took pity on our sorry asses?”

Pouring himself another cup, Drift just shrugged. “Pretty much. But just from the size of the numbers involved, there absolutely should be more survivors than us.”

That, was not comforting.

Drift stared out into the rising sea. “I don’t know where the living have gone, but I definitely know what’s happened to the dead.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So you really haven’t seen any other humans?” Even though he was preoccupied setting up a medical pool, Ratchet still managed to watch Blurr like a shark. He hadn’t liked what he found when doing his medical examination and it showed.

Bored out of his mind, Blurr swam small laps around the featureless pool. He kept coming up to breath the air instead of the water as it had a bizarre chemical aftertaste he couldn’t get used to.

“I saw plenty when I first got into the city. Mostly dead ones, but there were a bunch on those “boats” going around and picking up other humans.” Blurr hadn’t paid much attention to them at the time, none of the humans looked like Orange so he didn’t linger.

“The boats looked different from the ones I usually saw near the rec center so I have no idea where they went. I found Orange stuck clinging to a pillar down some really narrow channels. Guess they just missed him.”

“Sounds like you got there pretty quick. We found ours trapped under some rubble but not until it was already daylight. He probably got missed too.” Roddy added while he helped finish the assembly of the portable medical pool, snapping on a tarp over the frame.

“Oh!” Blurr splashed onto the edge of the pool. “Okay this is gonna sound slightly insane but right before your human jumped us-“

“He did not jump you-“

“My turn to talk.” Blurr cut the doctor off. “We ran into this pack of like, baby humans? And get this: they were speaking mer.”

“Woah freaky. Didn’t know they could do that. Also, you literally had a bunch of humans talk to you and you still thought they were animals?” The smaller sea Lion snorted, pushing the tub under the downspout of a gutter.

Before Blurr could defend himself with such compelling arguments as “Hey, all my blood was rushing to my head, I was upside down!” And “Don’t ask why I was upside down.” Ratchet interrupted, voice heavy with concern.

“They were kits? All alone with no adults?”

“Eeeeeeh not exactly.” Blurr whistled in a dropping tone. “First off, they all talked like a bunch of fancy little aristocrats, and second, they all got called away by a Parents Recall song. Soooo some mer out there has definitely done some Surprise-Baby-Acquisition I think.”

Ratchet stared out over the storm struck city, no doubt thinking about the kits that must still be out there. “You human must have been awfully worried for them.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Creepiest thing I’ve even seen in my life. They all just fled in perfect unison like some Children of the Corn type shit.” As more of the tea and whiskey warmed their chests, Swerve gained more and more confidence to vent about mutant leviathans, demon orcas and possessed fish-children among other grievances.

Drift was decidedly not paying attention, laser focused on Doc who was in the process of picking up Blue a placing him into some kind of portable pool. His leg bounced rapidly up and down.

“You doing okay?”

Some unseen damn must have snapped because Drift broke into a nearly manic rant once Swerve had given the opening. “I’m in love with the fuckin’ mer! Okay?! And I feel so fuckin’ weird about it!”

“Well, hey you know I can’t judge.”

Drift flopped back on the couch, face covered with his hands and letting out a restrained scream. “That’s not it dude! It’s not weird cause of him it’s cause of me. I-I used to be a poacher and I- I was there when it happened. I was there when they just fuckin’ carved him up and I barely did shit to help.”

“I didn’t even know he survived! And now he’s just so fuckin’ kind and gentle with me like I wasn’t one of them. Like I’d never helped carve up every poor fucker we caught before him. I-“ Drift stopped abruptly, palms pressed hard against his eyes as he visibly inhaled, held, then released his breath in a practiced cycle.

“Oooo” Swerve poured them both another drink, then patted Drift on the leg. “Yeah you suck pretty bad.”

“What?” Drift peeked at him between his fingers.

“What? You suck. That’s evil. You did an evil thing and I’m not gonna go all “oh it’s totally okay you did terrible things to innocent people! You only meant to torture stupid animals instead!” And I don’t think you want anyone to tell you it was okay either.” He capped it off by handing Drift another drink which was accepted with befuddlement.

“I- thanks.”

About then, Red ambled over to investigate what the humans were up to. The mer zeroed in on the pot, lifting and sniffing the concoction with clear interest.

“Quick segue: can mers have whiskey?”

Drift kicked up off the couch. “You gonna stop him?”

“Nope.” And Swerve watched as Drift went back in the direction of the kitchen to make another batch of tea and collect more mugs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Should he be drinking that? And more importantly can I have some too?” Blurr craned his neck around the stellar mer as Ratchet tore open a couple packets of hospital grade sea salt, stirring it into the now filled tub.

Glancing over his shoulder, Ratchet eyed the steaming concoction. “Speaking as a medical professional, you should never eat or drink something you don’t know the origins of.

He sniffed, “Speaking as someone who recognizes some of those bottles from his younger years, it’s just human made alcohol. Roddy’ll be fine.”

“Buuuut I can have some?”

“Nope. You’ve been over taxing your heart, your gills are in danger of desiccation and you are goddamn lucky none of those cuts are showing signs of infection.” He chided as he lifted Blurr from the pool to the tub.

“I’m still not hearing anything to do with my liver. Besides, I’m supposed to be relaxing right? Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of a Hot Dotty?” Blurr flapped his hands flippantly.

“What in the depths is a Hot Dotty?”

“I didn’t name it.” Blurr interrupted. “C’mon doc, it’s a nightcap. One drink, I’ll conk out and you won’t have to deal with me going stir crazy all night in here.” To punctuate his point, Blurr attempted to twist around in the portable tub like a toddler forced to attend a wedding ceremony.

The stellar mer wiped a hand down his face, “One drink.”

Blurr grinned like a mako and made grabby hands in the direction of the others. “Great! Now push me closer.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The thunder rumbled like a big man’s laughter, the sort of sound that reverberated in your belly until you couldn’t help but shake with it.

“What wOulD you Do if I SAng OuT of TuNE?”

They were gathered around a full couch and empty glasses, the humans carrying on a song almost as poorly as Roddy barking along.

“WoULd YUo STanD up aN’ wAlK ouT ON mE?”

Blurr was surprisingly following along the best, sprawled halfway out of the tub and whistling a soprano accompaniment to the discordant melody.

“OOOOHH I geT byyy WIth a LITTLE helP frOm my FrIEnds!”

Ratchet rode a heavy buzz, humming with enough bass to subtly rattle the lighter cups still on the table.

“OHHH I get- I GEt DRY withalil’helpfromourfriendds!”

The two humans dissolved into incoherent laughter, falling over one another. Face down, Drift pounded his fist against the couch to get his breathing back under control.

Swerve retied his towel cape and looked over to the former poacher with a shit eating grin. “Hey. Hey Driff. Did’u see the Matrix when’it came ouw?”

The poacher took a couple deep breaths, coughing lightly from exertion before responding. “Yea? Saw it in therter- theatres an’ shit.”

All smiles, Swerve dropped the punchline, “I wasn’t born yet.”

“Oh FUCK you!”

Throwing a balled up towel at Swerves face did nothing to stem his hysterical laughter. Despite his pride, Drift was loosing it just as much. He had to squeeze his ribs to get his wheezing back under control again.

Wiping tears from his eyes, Swerve managed to sit upright. “You-ha ha! Could’u pour me ‘nother cup?”

Tucking Roddy under his arm to avoid dropping the sniggering mer onto the floor, Drift squinted at the table like an old lady who’d lost her Glock.

“Uhhh, looks like we’re finally out. Want t’read the leaves?” Most of the cups were on the floor by then, but Drift grabbed a couple within reach.

“Ooo you’re uh, you’re a what’cha’ma’call’it.” Swerve snapped his fingers. “A medium!”

“Oracle. And naw, I’m not profeshin- profeshen-whatever.” Drift handed over a mug. “Take your cup an’ focus on what shapes the leaves make.”

By then, Ratchet had must have decided it was time to turn in for the night. The mostly sober mer went about tucking Blurr back into his tub and then dimming a few of the lanterns around the bar.

Quiet and droopy, the humans stared into their empty cups trying to make some sense of their futures.

“Whad’did you see?” Swerve broke the reverie first.

“I see two harpoons, crossed over an unmarked grave. The earth looks freshly turned, like something has crawled to the surface.” His voice had gone husky again, eyes boring through the bottom of his cup and deep into where the midnight water churned beneath. “The ground is still wet.”

“Oh.” Swerve held out his cup. “Mine looks like it spells ABBA.”

Drift leaned over to look. “Nice.”

The couch wasn’t huge, but it was long enough to sleep on as long as no one started kicking. Rearranging their blanket nest, Swerve laid facing his mer.

He tapped the edge of the tub, rousing the mer who blinked one eye at him. “Hi.” He whispered.

Eye lids unable to fight gravity, Blue clicked twice and sunk back under. One hand snaked out of the water and lightly grasped Swerves wrist, just holding on.

The human felt warm and floaty in a way he hoped lasted forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The mer felt like shit and the concept of Crust.

It was barely light out, but morning was already burning an angry red across the sky. Blurr stretched, joints popping from sleeping in such cramped quarters for the night.

“Mornin’.” Ratchet was already up, packing up his supplies and securing the straps holding it all in place.

Blurr felt he spoke for them all when he said, “Eeeuuughhhh.”

Orange and Roddy were both still out cold piled onto the couch, but Grey jolted awake. Extricating himself from the couch pile, Grey fumbled to attention at the sight of Ratchet packing up.

“Eugh boy. No, you stay here. Where’s it’s safe.” Emphatically pointing at Grey and then the couch with Roddy and Orange.

“I’m sorry, are you leaving?” Waking up a bit quicker now, Blurr could see it was nearly low tide down there.

The elder mer finished securing his supplies, “This’ll be the best time to search for any other human survivors. I’m especially concerned about those kits you mentioned and whoever they might of bonded with. Roddy will stay with you and the humans while I’ll search alone.”

He directed that last word at Grey, who showed no signs of following it even if he could understand.

Blurr side eyed the severely hungover and still unconscious mer that supposedly would be keeping Grey from freaking out on them again.

Even now, they still weren’t sure what made Grey flip like that, but Blurr had a theory he only acted sweet for Ratchet in particular.

His tail flicked the way it did when Blurr didn’t get what he wanted. Then he smiled the way he did when he’d figured out how to get it anyways.

“You know, I’ve seen some of those monsters crawl before. For sure quicker than what you can do over flat land. Doesn’t it make more sense for you to take Grey along since we’re all perfectly safe and all?” The mer tried to look casual, folding his arms under his chin.

Ratchet grunted, not yet convinced.

Okay, new angle.

He pretended he didn’t have a grudge for a minute, “Grey also did a really good job getting Orange to go along with the check up! Wouldn’t it be super helpful to bring along someone who can actually talk to any humans you find? Stress can be bad for the heart you know.”

Glancing back at Blurr who simply smiled and blinked with saccharine innocence, Ratchet gave him an utterly flat look. What did break the doc however, was when he looked at Grey, so full of hope and hurt that turning him away would’ve been downright cruel.

“Okay fine.” No sooner did Ratchet wave for the human to join him than did Grey practically leap to his side.

“RODDY.”

The sea Lion woke with a heart attack, blearily looking around. “Whaddieu?”

“I’m going to look for more survivors with the Kit, hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

“Hemngg..yessir.” Roddy saluted and then immediately passed out again. Remarkably, Orange continued to sleep through the whole thing.

The duo slid down the ship turned ramp and disappeared into the ruins below.

————

Several hours later, Blurr was swimming circles again in the larger pool, once more bored out of his skull. By the time the tide had started filling out the water again, Roddy had decided to see if he could catch them some late breakfast.

Orange still wasn’t awake. Blurr had asked the mer to check on him, make sure he hadn’t choked to death in his sleep or anything, and Roddy confirmed he was still breathing.

“He’s like, kinda damp all over? And his breathing sounds a little wheezy but there’s not really anything I can do about that.” Roddy slipped a hand under Oranges hair and against his neck. “Pulse feels fine, I think he’s just exhausted from carrying your ass across the the tri state area.”

Excuse you, it was a mutual carrying of asses.

He rested his arms on the edge of the pool, staring out over the flooding city. Humans were people. The scale of the destruction held a new weight that made his stomach churn uncomfortably.

There was a sound then. Distant enough that Blurr thought he’d imagined it at first, then it sounded again. Something like a whale groaning in a long low wail that echoed off into nothing.

In the far distance, a large shape drifted out from behind a skyscraper. A steel wedge of dark rusted metal, it wore a garland of chains and nets. It lacked the white billowing cloths on top Blurr was used to seeing, but even ugly as hell, the mer still recognized what it was.

A boat? A boat! Humans! People! Help!

Neither sea Lion had returned yet, so it was up to him. Blurr dragged himself back to the temp pool next to Orange. He shook their shoulder hard, “Orange, Orange!”

The human furrowed his brow, glassy eyes slowly wavering open. “Bloo?”

“Hiya sweetheart.” Blurr greeted him softly and pointed out towards the boat. “Look! There’s other humans, there’s help. You’re gonna be okay! We made it!”

The human looked deeply confused, squinting in the vague direction of the still distant shape. The horn sounded again and Orange suddenly righted. The human pointed at the ship and blubbered something excitedly.

“Yes yes! Come on! We need to get their attention!” Blurr dragged their human off the couch and scrambled back to the pool. Darting across and nearly throwing himself onto to railing, Blurr let out an almighty whistle that sent a flock of seagulls into flight.

Stumbling, Orange tumbled into the railing next to him. Shouting and waving a towel above his head in hopes of getting their attention.

The ship blared its horn twice and began to turn in the direction of their base, belching black smoke from a rattling chimney. Nearly a dozen humans were gathered on the deck of the ship.

He’d done it. He’s saved Orange. He’d never saved anyone before. It was fucking traumatizing on multiple occasions, but fuck it, they won!

Blurr whooped, pushing off the railing and splashing back into the pool. He laughed lighter and more freely than he had in months. He swam back to his humans side, and then paused.

The boat was close enough to dock.

And Orange had gone very, very quiet.

———————————————————————

Hooray! They’re saved! The story is over!

What’s that?

Nooo that boat wasn’t described with excessive menace at all, you must be imagining things.

My chapter estimates don’t have the best track record but currently we’re a couple chapters from the end. I have a plan.

Bonus: Drift was and is still extremely hungover, but that’s not going to stop him from following Ratchet to the ends of the earth.

- SSTP

[gothamhappiness]

You're always making things better, Jay (Jason Todd x GN!reader)

Warnings: no proof reading, language, depressed!reader, fluff

It had been a very shitty day at work.

It had been a very shitty day with your family.

It had been a shitty day.

You were always trying to see the positive side of things, you were always trying to smile and to be strong. But that day, it was a lot to take in. You came back home, exhausted and you started to cry under the shower. You didn't know if it helped or if you felt even worse than before.

One thing was certain, the fact that your boyfriend wasn't around was making things even more awful. You wished you could snuggle up into his strong embrace. But you couldn't distract him while he was Red Hood, could you? He had a lot to take care of at the moment and you didn't want to be a burden to him. You needed to be better than that. You needed to be the only thing that didn't bring him some new troubles.

But you needed him.

You shook your head and went to bed, hopefully that you could doze off until he would come back home to you.

But it was 3 am and you just couldn't sleep.

You decided to take the chance and to call him. If he didn't answer, it was alright. You would understand, even if it would hurt a lot.

You just needed to hear his voice to calm down the mean ones inside your head.

You were surprised how fast he actually answered.

"Hey baby" He hummed and you could hear loud noises around him

"I'm sorry... You're in the middle of a fight, you shouldn't be answering me" You whispered, ready to hung up

"No worries, love. I can multitask. And now I'm quite concerned. It's 3 am. Why are you calling, is everything alright?"

You heard a grumpy voice talking to Jason. You guessed it was Batman saying something along the lines: "It's really not the right time to speak with your partner, Hood". But Jason ignored him and insisted for you to answer his questions.

"I... I'm just feeling a little bit down and I wanted to hear your voice. Nothing to worry about" You tried to explain, feeling a little bit silly now "I didn't think you'd actually answer to be fair" you admitted

"Always answering you, no matter what I'm doing. How about I finish to kick some ass here, and I come back home? You've eaten? I can bring food too" He offered and you were already calming down and feeling better

"Sounds like a plan, darling" You whispered and you heard Jason smiling at the nickname "You're the best, you know that, right?" You added

"Only for you, baby. I'll be there soon, love you"

"Love you too. So much. Take care" You said before hunging up.

You laid back down on the bed, the tensions slowly leaving your body. You even found yourself smiling. You couldn't believe how lucky you were to have him in your life.

With Jason as your boyfriend, you've got someone to call in the middle of the night, no matter what, because he would always answer his phone for you.

With Jason as your boyfriend, love was the promise of forever being there for one another.

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

@tatsuri-zomushiki

@navs-bhat

[mangooes]

Where you are

a moana (reader) inspired ish x rafayel myth

warning!! Storyline is half cannon and half following moana's storyline kinda not rlly but yeah this is just a random idea that came across my head bcuz i am SO SO SO DOWNBAD FOR RAFAYEL MERMAID FORM (sorry sylus)

On the sun-drenched isle of Motunui, cradled in the lap of an endless turquoise sea, lived a girl named (Name). With hair like waves at midnight and eyes that held the first light of dawn, she was the daughter of the chief, destined to lead her people. The sea was her heart—wild, open, infinite. But for her people, it was something to be feared. A living entity of wrath and trickery. The elders told tales of storms that stole fishermen, currents that swallowed canoes, and voices beneath the waves that lured souls into the deep.

Among these whispered warnings, one legend echoed louder than the rest: Lemuria. A hidden realm beneath the sea, home to the merfolk—beautiful, powerful, and dangerous. Creatures born of water and shadow, never to be trusted. Children were forbidden to speak of them, let alone dream of meeting one.

But (Name) was not like the others. While the village slept, she wandered to the shore. There, the sea would meet her like an old friend, curling around her feet with warmth, lifting shells to her hands, and dancing with her laughter. It was her secret—hers and the ocean's.

Her grandmother, the village’s quiet rebel, had always encouraged the spark in her. “The sea does not lie,” she’d say with a knowing look. “It waits for those who are brave enough to listen.”

And (Name) did.

Until one day, the ocean called her—not playfully, not gently, but with urgency. She felt the tug in her chest before it even pulled her feet forward. It didn’t swirl or tease. It pulled. Hard.

She ran to the edge, heart racing, the wind clawing at her hair. “What is it?” she whispered, barefoot in the sand.

Then she saw them—pirates.

A sleek black vessel hidden in a cove, bobbing like a shadow in the waves. Men barked orders, blades flashed in the sunlight, and then… a net. Tangled in its mesh was a boy—not human, not entirely. His skin shimmered with a faint glow, his hair flowed like strands of kelp, and where legs should be, there was a powerful fin, torn and bleeding.

A merman. A Lemurian.

He struggled, defiant even in pain, but the net held tight.

(Name)’s breath caught. This is what they warned me about. But the ocean curled around her ankles like a desperate whisper.

It wasn’t fear she felt. It was fury.

With stealth sharpened by curiosity and courage, she crept close, crouched behind a jagged rock. Her fingers closed around a broken branch, bark rough and splintered. Heart thundering, she leapt from the shadows.

She didn’t shout. She didn’t hesitate. With swift, determined strikes, she tore at the net, cutting ropes and slashing knots until the boy slipped free into the water with a gasp.

But the pirates were faster than she expected.

A shout.

A hand.

A shove.

She hit the water hard.

The world went silent.

Salt burned her lungs.

Her vision blurred, fading, spinning—

Then arms wrapped around her. Strong. Gentle. And warm—so strangely warm, like fire under water.

The last thing she saw before darkness took her was his face—those silver eyes glowing in the blue, looking at her like she was something precious.

She woke up on the shore.

Alone.

Her clothes were soaked. Sand clung to her skin. The sun was rising. For a moment, she wondered if it had all been a dream.

But the ocean lapped at her like a heartbeat. And somewhere, just beyond the reef, unseen beneath the waves, someone watched.

Rafayel.

The sea god.

The last heir of Lemuria and keeper of both flame and tide. He who could summon fire that burned beneath the ocean. Who commanded armies of whales and storms. Who was feared by mortals and worshipped by sea creatures alike.

But now… he was watching her.

This girl who dared defy danger. Who trusted the sea when no one else would. Who had saved him—a god—without knowing who he was.

He hovered in the depths, silent, breathless. For the first time in a thousand years, a human had touched his heart.

And he wanted to know her name.

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

Years passed like tides—gentle, relentless, unnoticed until they reshaped the shore.

(Name) was no longer a girl who ran barefoot through the sand, whispering secrets to the sea. She was twenty now. A young woman with strength in her step, salt in her blood, and a heart that still beat with the rhythm of waves.

On a quiet afternoon, (Name) returned to the beach where her soul always felt most alive. The sea shimmered in the sun, a mirror of memory and longing. She waded in, smiling softly, letting the familiar pull of water wash over her legs.

Then came the tug.

Strong. Eager.

“Okay, okay,” she laughed, not resisting. “You win. I’ll take a dive.”

She plunged beneath the surface.

The ocean embraced her like an old friend reunited. Currents twirled around her ankles like playful dancers, guiding her deeper than she’d ever gone before. The water didn’t chill—it warmed, glowing faintly with magic. It led her through coral arches and silver kelp forests until she reached it:

A hidden cove. Glimmering. Silent. Sacred.

And there, lounging against a smooth stone, was him.

A merman.

No, she blinked. The merman.

His form was stronger now, lean muscle carved like obsidian beneath iridescent violet scales. Tattoos—ancient markings of power and legacy—ran across his arms and chest like stories in a language lost to time. Long purple hair floated around him like a royal mantle, and his eyes… gods, his eyes. Blue melting into violet, like the last light of day sinking into the sea.

And in his hand, a trident. Not just any weapon—it pulsed with ancient energy. Regal. Commanding. Alive.

(Name) gasped, and saltwater rushed into her lungs.

She choked.

Her limbs flailed as darkness crept at the edges of her vision.

Then—arms. Strong. Familiar.

And lips pressed to hers.

Warm. Steady. Power hummed between them.

Her body stilled as something bloomed in her chest—soft and electric. Breath returned, and with it, an impossible realization: She was breathing underwater.

Their foreheads nearly touched when she opened her eyes, wide and dazed.

“I…” she whispered, voice trembling through the current. “I know you. You’re… the boy. From back then.”

He pulled back just enough to smirk, gaze dark with something unreadable. “Hm,” he hummed lowly. “So you remember.”

Then he turned, looking up at the water itself. “So you finally brought her to me after all these years of ignoring my calls?” His voice deepened like thunder murmuring beneath the waves. “Are you disobeying your own god now?”

The ocean bubbled softly, almost like a giggle. A ripple passed through the cove as if shrugging.

(Name) stared.

Still stunned.

Still reeling.

A merman was real. She was underwater. Breathing. Alive. And this impossibly ethereal, devastatingly beautiful being in front of her—

Was watching her like she was the center of his entire world.

Rafayel turned his gaze back to her.

There was something quiet in his expression now. No flirtation. No teasing. Just... reverence.

He floated closer, slow and deliberate.

Then, gently—like she was made of sea foam—he cupped her face in his hands.

(Name) didn’t move. Couldn’t.

His thumb brushed her cheek, the slightest contact stirring a current between them.

“Lemurians…” he murmured, voice softer now, quieter than waves against shore, “...we only love once.”

And then he simply looked at her.

As if he already had.

As if he always would.

MY FIRST RAFAYEL FIC???????? IM COOKED?????SKADJASNKDJASNDAK i have a sylus fic up in an hour cuz i need to prof read it first haha- anyways YEAH ENJOY THIS

[pigfacedbitch]

Falling In Love With Leo Valdez

summary : title speaks for itself. reader is a daughter of Poseidon. timeline is from the lost hero to mark of Athena.

word count : 0.7k

type : imagines

pairing/s involved : Leo Valdez x Reader, Brother! Percy Jackson x Reader

warning/s : dealing with a loved one's disappearance, depression, and coping.

here is my masterlist!

Percy is the amazing older brother anyone could ever ask for. He made sure that you were thoroughly trained and well-oriented on what it means to be a demigod.

The only downside? He is extremely protective, especially when someone is romantically interested in you.

"PERCY!" You see the camper who flirted with you earlier got knocked off of his canoe and almost drowned in the lake.

"What? It wasn't me."

But his face says otherwise. He can be insufferable.

You love him dearly anyway.

So when he vanished that summer, you are a mess. Chiron had to monitor your every move because you might try to find Percy on your own.

Annabeth told you she received a word of where he is and assured you that everything will be okay. Instead she brought back three strangers with her.

One particularly caught your attention with his elf-like features and scrawny build. You found him... cute.

As expected, Leo flirted with you right away. How could he not? You are hot! 😍

"Hey there, cutie. Are you a goddess?"

"No. My name is (Y/N)."

"Leo Valdez but you can call me anything you want-"

"How about dead?" Annabeth cuts him off, giving him an icy glare. That was enough to shut him up.

Leo uses all of his time to be with you. He is so in love, it's almost sickening.

At first, it's just harmless flirting.

Then he notices the little things— you don't eat that much, easily space out in conversations, lethargic, and has always a forlorn look on your beautiful face.

You, on the other hand, have repressed your emotions to look 'strong'. Annabeth tries to be there for you but she is suffering too.

That's why you bawled your eyes out when Leo asks you about Percy one night.

After that, he swears to you that he will be there to help you cope and look for your brother as well.

He lessens the flirting, shifting to jokes and funny stories that make you laugh.

Disobeying the rules in the dining pavilion, he eats his meals with you on the Cabin 3 table.

You're the first person he brings in Bunker 9, letting you use the place for your own leisure. You often nap there.

Despite the instant attraction, trust gradually grows between you and Leo.

You weren't some silly crush anymore but someone Leo can confide in, and he to you.

Those who observe see that you are becoming lively again. Your smile is no longer forced, you're now eating well, and looking forward to training and games.

The moment you realize Leo wasn't just a friend was because of some jerks who think you were out of his league.

"Come on, man. She wouldn't date you."

You quickly walked up to them and kissed him in front of everyone.

To say Leo is surprised is an understatement. He almost blew up right then and there. That was his first kiss.

You had to pull him to your cabin to confess properly. Let's just say Leo had more than his first kiss that night. 👀

You two aren't officially dating yet, probably because of the war that's about to come.

However, you act like you do— displaying affections, acts of service, and most importantly, keeping each other alive.

There were no need to exchange I love yous, actions were more than enough. Though, Leo loves saying that to you whenever he can.

Annabeth knows Percy will likely kill Leo but if he makes you happy then why not?

Flashforward to Camp Jupiter, you walk to Reyna with Jason and the others. By the distance, you see Percy running towards you with his hands reaching out.

He engulfs you in a hug that you're sure will break your ribs.

"How come my little sister got smaller?"

"Shut up."

You both feel the heavy weight of worry on your shoulders disappear, Percy tigtening his hug on you if that was possible.

Even with the danger looming over all of your heads, you felt safe and content in Percy's arms. Everything seems perfect.

Now, there's only one problem...

How can you tell Percy that you're in love with Leo without the chances of drowning him to death?

[wherevenusholdssomeofficespace]

Rapid fire season 5 thoughts:

Cloudy with a chance of Mom was good, like Summer Block Buster was a bit weirdly paced, but the payoff was good. Love seeing Buford Isabella friendship and once again showing that Candace is extremely physically capable out of sheer stubbornness when it comes to things she is obsessive over. OF COURSE she could move the big slow heavy thing at a pace that kept up with her brothers decently well all things considered. (Candace once again proving that through Dry another day as well).

I was so stressed through license to bust bc that girl was NOT obeying the law and I needed that girl to pass. But the end of the where the driving tester let her pass because he related/valued confidence and focus makes it an episode i'll probably enjoy on rewatch.

I watched this season with some of my siblings, and I'd seen the storyboards for Candace Suit so I warned them this was going to be horrifying. And it was. I loved and Hated this episode in equal measure. It was definitely the one that got us laughing so hard we had to pause the episode the most. Screenshots of this episode are now a phone wallpaper.

Agent Teen for Teen was good. As was Stacy petsitting Perry. Everything I could have wanted… which is good but since the fandom was hanging on that plot thread for the past 10 years… it also means that there wasn't really anything this episode could do to make it something i haven't seen before by the fandom. The Stacy knows reveal to Carl and Monogram WAS unexpected though.

Tropey McTropeface

Seeing Candace happily wash Perry was super cute… but also why did she get that chore?? Like Phineas and Ferb wouldn't have jumped at the opportunity. Anyway, Candace growth.

Happy to see the talking Zebra. (Still HC that Candace subconsciously knows Perry's secret with all the plot development)

The therapist episode was NOT what I was expecting. That poor man. Though Linda being so distracted was… odd. She's never paying attention to what Candace wants her to sure but it seemed a bit dialed up in this episode.

the fact the couch from Cloudy with a chance of mom came back.

Bread Bowl Hottub is the new Canoe isn't it. (I loved the Canoe)

Baljeet getting to be violent is always great. Baljeet growing from generic nerd to nerd with aggressive tendencies is fantastic.

Say what you will about Meap Me in St. Louis but I appreciated finally meeting Meap's Significant Other and Candace's strong sense of justice being recognized for what it is and her getting to become an (honorary) officer. The main plot of Meap going to Candace for assistance/Candace having a notable position of authority in space is something I've headcanoned and a natural followup to the first Meap episode.

Complaints (non-comphrehensive):

Need more Jeremy. He's the other half of Candace's obsessiveness so I need more peak couple (could also use more Phinebella but whatever, Isabella calling Linda her future mother in law got me though).

Need more Baljeet. I know he can be weirder.

I have mixed feelings on Lord of the Fireside, fun but I want more of the girls ACTUAL personalities. I called immediately that they were out of character for some reason.

I mean, I don't think the show needed to be too samey… but I kinda wish there were a few more callback episodes…. like things that happened. I know it sounds boring but it can be someone's birthday again with a totally different plot. The midsummer festival again, or the summer solstice again. We can do different plots with the same dates. Make it actually FEEL like a new summer.

They need more space. Like going to space. Also more travel. The only example this episode was the cruise… but it might as well have still been in Danville for all the Danville characters present (it was nice to see pnf playing with OTHER kids though). What about the cabin in the woods? Or England? Or the Moon?

Phineas and Ferb is a show built on running gags and callbacks so the presence of them doesn't bother me… but it is kind of disappointing that the call backs are mostly of things that are memes.

I need more Candace and the Backyard gang.

Actually I need more of the Flynn-Fletcher's too.

Chip to the vet could have used more overlap in storylines… which is weird to say about a season that otherwise has had a lot of overlap in storylines… but PnF were right there. Are you telling me they didn't try sending Perry through the pet wash???

Carl was promoted to paid intern in the where's perry specials. Still literally unpaid of course, but still.

Could use more MML callbacks.

Sleepover episode such a disappointment tbh. The casual drop of Vanessa's awareness Perry, but Perry not even being at the house. Also they could have at least namedropped Jenny. Like. I want the kids to have fun together. I know Candace is suffering but she deserves to be happy sometimes. :(

St. Louis is not pronounced like that. Also, you can go into the Arch. There are windows at the top because there is a visitors deck. The visitors center is literally underground, under the arch. Lifting the treasure would also lift the visitors center. IN fairness... the portrayal of the Mt. Rushmore is also inaccurate. But like. St. Louis arch is a building you enter. It's kinda laughably bad. Though, the actual best part of St. Louis is the City museum imo. Phineas and Ferb would love that place.

[valsverse]

"morning, beautiful."

synopsis: percy doesn't like mornings. but what he does like is admiring his partner before they wake up. pairing: percy jackson x gn reader word count: 0.7k

It was a typical morning at camp half-blood. Canoes were gliding across the lake, and at the volleyball pit, a few satyrs were playing a game against the kids from the Apollo cabin. The sound of the volleyball getting bumped and cheers following resonated throughout the camp, (their matches tend to be quite intense.) waking up a few unhappy residents from the Ares cabin.

Meanwhile, you were supposed to be peacefully asleep in the walls of your designated cabin, but instead, you found yourself relishing in the comfort and warmth of none other than Percy Jackson himself.

Yeah, sleeping in another cabin is technically against the rules, but luckily neither you nor Percy has gotten caught to experience the wrath of Mr. D. Yet.

The sun was peeking through the blue silk curtains of Cabin 3, effectively waking up the son of Poseidon from his slumber. The bright light emitting from the sun caused Percy to squint his eyes and groan, regretting his decision to not close the blinds yesterday. Like most people, his morning hair's messy; falling into his sea-green eyes. His shirt slightly rides up as he stretches, his toned abdomen just slightly peeking out from under the fabric. Unfortunately, Percy was not a morning person. Fortunately, today he got to wake up to his favorite sight, you.

His tired, laced-with-sleep expression quickly morphed into pure adoration as he admired the sight before him. As you lay in bed, your face nestled in Percy's chest, your hair fell in tousled waves across the pillow. His tanned arms held you tightly, still in the same position he had fallen asleep in. Specifically, one arm draped lazily around your waist, his fingers splayed beneath the oversized shirt of his you were wearing. Percys' shirt was a few sizes too big for you and thus hung off your shoulders, but you still insisted on wearing it. Meanwhile, his other hand was on your thigh, which he had traced patterns on before falling asleep.

As for you, your fingers were clutching at his t-shirt as you unconsciously burrowed yourself deeper into his chest, relishing in his warmth as your soft exhales of breath hit the skin of his neck; your chest heaving up and down at a steady rate. Percy feels your skin warm up from the light of the sun peeking through the window, its golden beams shining down on you making your skin look as if it was glowing, illuminating your features.

It was these small moments with you that made him melt. Yes, he's had his fair share of valiant moments and heroic grandeur, and they were great; but they never made him feel complete. Almost everyone knew him as this strong, resilient hero with a determined heart and a humble demeanor. And while that's true, those people never saw this other side of him. His vulnerability and the emotional baggage that came with it. His side that only seemed to truly come out around you. Around your presence, he felt comforted and safe. He felt like maybe it was okay to be vulnerable as long as you were there to reassure him. You were his solace in times of trouble, and he would do anything — everything to make sure that you knew that. There's nothing he wouldn't do to keep you safe.

It was the little things he wanted to hold on to. When you accidentally fall asleep in his arms, the way the two of you exchange smiles from across the room, the feeling of your soft lips against his scars, and of course moments like this where he got to admire you all he wanted, which he could never get enough of. All these things made him love you even more — if that was possible.

As Percy was lost in his thoughts, he felt the bed shift as you groaned, stretching from underneath him. His eyes brightened and he quickly leaned down to trail a series of soft kisses all over your face — which he does every morning. He heard your laugh as you squirmed, but he persisted, placing more kisses across your face until you finally opened your eyes, still smiling. Percy met your eyes with a loving gaze. It was a sweet and intimate moment, and he knew he wanted to start every day like this for the rest of his life.

"Morning, beautiful."

a/n: somebody needs to stop me i literally have no self control i need to stop jumping between subjects in these fics AUUURIUGH

lowkey dont rly like how this one came out but hey!! first percy fic. many more to come!!!

requests open

xx val

[formlines]

The Boy who Lived with the Sea Serpents

Joe Seymour Jr./Wahalatsuʔ

from the website: “This happened a long time ago, when humans could still talk to the animals. This was a time when humans were still new to this world, they knew very little about this world that surrounded them.

A man and wife lived in a village not far from here, this couple were not very high in stature. They were not strong speakers or strong singers or dancers. But, they were humble and hard working people. The woman gave birth to a son. How she gave birth was very unusual.

One day, the village was out clam digging. The whole village came together and waded into the water to get to the clam beach across the bay. It was low tide so walking through the water was not very hard. This was the time before we knew what a canoe was, so we walked everywhere. While out in the middle of the bay, the woman, pregnant with child, started to give birth. She was too far from shore to make it back in time. So, she gave birth to a son right there in the water. This was very unusual.

This child was a small, sickly child. Growing up, he was always a small child. He kept to himself mostly, he played by himself, he sang to himself. All his life this young boy had heard a strange song in his head, this is the song he would sing to himself. He would ask his mother and father if they could hear the song in his head, they both said “No.”

Every time the boy would go near the water, the song would get louder. One day, without explanation, the boy walked out of their longhouse and over to the water. Without thinking, he just kept walking, right into the water. In the water, he could hear the song louder and stronger than ever before. He could feel the song pulling him deeper into the water.

Now, in the underwater world, lived the sea serpents. The sea serpents were very fast and very strong. So fast, human eyes cannot see them. Humans can only feel the sea serpents as they move around them. This is where currents come from. As the boy got deeper and deeper into the water, the pulling of the song got stronger. Soon the boy was lead to the village of the sea serpents.

At his village, the boy’s family did not know where he had gone. They looked everywhere. They called out his name. The whole village searched and searched for him. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, but the boy could not be found. The boy’s mother and father offered gifts to the spirits, but still the boy was missing.

Now, the boy was alive and well in the village of the sea serpents, but no one in his village knew this. The leader of the serpents asked, “What are you doing here?”

The boy answered, “I do not know. I heard this song and it led me to your village.”

One of oldest serpents came forward and told the village leader that it was his song that brought this boy to them. He explained that this boy was from the human world, but was born in the underwater world. The elder explained that he was there when the boy was born. In fact, he caught the boy at the moment of his birth and protected him while he was underwater. With his protection, the elder gave the boy some of his spirit power, in the form of the song that the boy kept hearing. That is why he is able to stay alive in the underwater world.

The whole village had a very long meeting about the boy and decided that he could stay. They accepted him and gave him all the knowledge that they had. The boy learned about how the serpents moved under water. How they would move around points that jut out into the water. The boy would look up and see fallen trees moving on the surface of the water and wondered what it would be like to move around on those logs.

This happened over the course of many years. But time is different in the underwater world. Time goes by faster underwater.

Over time, the boy got lonely for his mother and father. He said that he must make his way back to the human world. The elder agreed and told the boy to teach the humans about the sea serpents and how to see their movements on the surface of the water. The boy agreed to this and went back to his village.

He walked into the village, but because time underwater is faster, he had grown up. He had grown from this small frail child into a strong young man. His father and mother did not believe it was their son that had walked into the village. This young man had told the story of the day he was born and of the song he used to hear as a boy. The mother cried out in joy, and the father took him into his arms and held him close. The mother and father said prayers to the spirits, and the village rejoiced. The boy kept his promise to the sea serpents and taught the humans about how the sea serpents moved so fast underwater that they created the currents. He taught them how to see the movements on the surface of the water. He remembered watching the logs moving on the surface and started working on how to use the knowledge.

He would walk into the forest and talk to the trees. He would talk to them about riding them on the water. The trees would soon give the young man the knowledge for building canoes, but that is another story.

So every time, when someone passes down their knowledge about how to steer a canoe on the water or how to look for whirlpools and rips, they are retelling the story of the boy who lived with the sea serpents.”

– Story by Joe Seymour, Jr

[fallen-gravity]

All jokes aside, despite the fact that multiple sources of canon tell us that Maui struggles with being empathetic and understanding where others are coming from when it comes to their needs in the way of emotional comfort, I'm gonna come out and say it: Maui is actually very good with being empathetic, but only in a very specific kind of way that only resonates with Moana.

(some fun analysis, please don't tag as a ship)

Here's the thing! I've been listening to Can I Get a Chee-Hoo? a lot lately, and the more I listen to it the more patterns I started noticing, and the more you unpack those patterns the more you start to understand why it worked to lift Moana's spirits, despite her being unreceptive to everything else he tried.

Namely that he went after her sense of identity.

Self-identity has always been hugely important to her. He's gotta know that better than anybody, given how many times she told him in the original that she is Moana of Motunui, and he *will* board her boat and sail across the sea, yadda yadda, you all know the rest.

And here's the thing! That's not even remotely close to the only time where the importance of one's identity comes up! (He, uh, wasn't there for one of those times, because one of those times was right after he took off and left at the result of frustration with his own sense of identity, but I digress for that specific situation), but do you know what the important thing to note about those other times is?

Both of those other times, she was reaching out and trying to comfort someone else by reminding them about their own sense of identity!!

I talked briefly about this years ago, but there's a tiny scene in the novelization for the first movie that's omitted from the movie itself. It's right after Lalotai, but far before Moana gets Maui to open up about his issues with abandonment. If I remember right, he's being a stubborn pouty mess about his hook not working, refusing to even get back on the canoe at all, and the way that Moana gets him to comply is with a speech that goes somewhere along the lines of "We will make it all the way to Te Fiti, and you will defeat Te Ka, and I know that because you are Maui." It's a tiny gesture, and nowhere near as sentimental as her later "You are not nothing, and maybe the whole reason the ocean sent me here is to help you see that”, (also from the novelization), but it works, because in that moment all he needs is that gentle push and a reminder of the strong and powerful person he sees himself as. It's not about how she feels about him, it's about him needing to have faith in himself. That's what works!! That's what motivates him to keep going.

The reason I bring all of this up is that Can I Get a Chee-Hoo? is his way of doing the exact!! same!! thing!!

The first line in the whole song!

You're down in the dumps, you think you're way off your game, but you can turn it around, just remember your name!

He's not calling out to some scared kid, he's calling out to the Moana he knows, the Moana who's unafraid to shout her name from the mountain-tops and not care who hears her! The Moana who stood her ground in front of the very same lava monster who took him down without flinching once! Maui doesn't need to say he's proud of her or that he believes in her, not directly, because this is his way of saying this is not who you are, you know who you are.

The whole song is calling out to that pride he knows she has for herself.

Who are you? Who are you gonna be?

He's not looking for a dramatic, over the top answer. He's only looking for things she already knows. She is Tautai Moana of Motunui, she's the human who restored Te Fiti's heart when he couldn't. She knows who she is! But she's lost her way, just as he had once, and this is his way of helping her help herself out of it. He makes a joke about their roles being reversed for the sake of quid pro quo, you helped me so now I'm helping you, but whether he realizes it or not, he's using her own words against her! "I know who you are. Do you? Do you remember who you are?"

He sings her praises, (literally), but none of them are exaggerated or overly boastful in the way he sings his own praises! (also literal). She's legendary, she's going to make history, but oh, you actually already did! I know your legacy! Everything beyond I know your legacy and your destiny and I know that you're great is only hypothetical to build her up! He never claims that she's going to destroy Nalo, or that she'll singlehandedly do anything impossible for a human, it's all can you imagine the stories they'll tell about you? because he knows that's what's important to her!

The reason it works is because it calls her to pick herself up, just as she had done for him. In the novel, where a song obviously needs to be replaced, it all boils down to the essentials of "...I’ve been low before, and I couldn’t see my path. And someone came along who I underestimated and she lifted me up. Someone I don’t want to underestimate herself right now.” It works because it's less about come on, we can fight this guy! in reference to Nalo and more about come on, I know you can believe in yourself better than that!

And perhaps the most important thing of all:

He uses her name.

It's established in the novelization pretty early on, even before they're reunited, that she misses him and all of the teasing and all of the nicknames that comes with him (not that she'd ever admit it out loud, she'd rather be caught dead). She's used to Curly, that name is second nature to her. She's annoyed by princess, but will still respond to it if he calls her by it. They're affectionate nicknames, by all means, but she knows Maui, and she knows he tends to fall back on teasing and jokes and avoiding the heavier topics.

When he calls her Moana, she knows that he's not messing around. He's not teasing her. There's genuine, serious truth to what he says.

Throughout the song, he uses nothing but her name. C'mon, Moana, you know you can do this. It's a lot different hearing I have faith in you, you're the bravest wayfinder there's ever been when it's attached to her own name. He isn't teasing her anymore, he's genuinely trying to reassure her of her identiy and her inevitable legacy and if all else fails then that's what I'm here for.

It works for her because he's demonstrating empathy towards the one thing that's more important to her than anything else. That's how she knows he cares. That's how she knows he listens.

tldr; Even though Maui isn't great at the whole understanding and empathizing with humans thing, the reason he's still able to resonate with Moana is because he's able to empathize with her in a way that others may not have been able to.

[collector-of-sticks]

Hiya, tiny tot! Welcome to my kindie (kindergarten)!

Would you like to do some colouring and learn about native animals?

More under the cut including snack time, reading time, and animal facts!

Kiwi

- is a bird but can’t fly! It’s wings are about the size of a pinkie finger

- has nostrils at the end of its beak so it can smell bugs in the ground

- has whiskers like a cat!

- it’s feathers are more like a fur coat and moult all year round

- has powerful, strong legs!

- has the biggest egg to bird ratio in the world! Its eggs are massive compared to its size!

- nocturnal! Sleeps during the day :)

Fantail/pīwakawaka

- they use their fan-like tail to make quick turns when hunting insects!

- they make such cute lil chirping sounds

- they never hunt on the ground and can be found upside down on ferns and other plants looking for bugs!

- they can live up to three years

- pīwakawaka is the Māori name for which it means a messenger, bringing death or news of death from the Gods to the people. Waka means canoe (a type of boat)

Little blue penguin/fairy penguin/kororā

- is the worlds smallest penguin! So tiny, like you!

- they can dive as deep as 35m/114 feet :O

- in Australia they’re called fairy penguins because they’re so little

- they come inland to build their nests and will travel very very far! (1.5km/0.93mile inland, climbing up to 300m/984 feet)

- prey includes small shoaling fish, squid, and crustacean species

Tuatara (reptile)

- is not actually a lizard! It’s the only living member of the order Rhynchocephalia (such a big word!)

- it’s a living fossil, meaning it was around when the dinosaurs were! Wow.

- the name tuatara comes from te reo Māori for “peaks on the back”

- they live for super long. They don’t stop growing until they’re 30 and in the wild are thought to live up to 100 years old!

- they hibernate during the winter and have a lower body temperature compared to other reptiles :O

- they can regrow lost tails

- they’re diurnal when young (awake during the day) but nocturnal when adults (awake during the night)

Snack time! Don’t forget to drink water today <3

Home made biscuits… yum!

And a quick story before playtime

https://www.tumblr.com/collector-of-sticks/760038280135901884/i-just-read-a-picture-book-about-baby-sea-otters

Facts about sea otters ^^

I’ll see ya after playtime! Go out and have some fun!

🧸 🌿🍄🌸🌈⚽️🎭🎲🧩

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥.

──────────── 𝐰𝐜 — 1.9k 𝐜𝐰 — everyone is aged up / non-canon compliant ages bc i said so; rafe being an emotionally constipated, toxic douche-canoe 3000; an unhealthy dynamic; suggestive moments but not explicit; w*rd + substance mention, wheeze bein' a savage; and a potential cliffhanger? 𝐚/𝐧 — this is a lil nugget from a mini-series i have in the works :) lmk if you’d like to see more in the future! 💌 ────────────

main masterlist | MDNI

IF EVER THERE were a time when a human being might actually be capable of blowing steam from their ears, it would be this one.

Rafe Cameron has been pacing the length of the chapel's private lot since he dragged you out here who knows how long ago. Mumbling crudely configured sentences and half-baked schemes under his breath, he looks every bit the loose canon he's been branded as.

While not ideal, things could be worse—a lot worse. At the very least, he hasn't punched anything yet; concrete wall, tree trunk, or otherwise.

The "otherwise" in this situation (and most, to be frank) is JJ Maybank's pretty face.

Apparently, Rafe doesn't appreciate the way he's been touching you all afternoon.

"If that fuckin' pogue knows what's good for him, he—he'll keep his filthy hands off what's mine."

Strong words for someone who refuses to even attempt exclusivity, or make any sort of commitment whatsoever.

You gnaw on your cheek until copper stings your tongue.

JJ has to touch you, it's unavoidable.

Sarah, his younger sister and your lifelong best friend, has asked you to be her Maid of Honor and, to absolutely no one's surprise, John B, her fiancé, asked JJ Maybank to serve as his Best Man.

Sarah's older brother doesn't see it that way.

And why would he? That would involve rational thinking and a modicum of maturity—two things Rafe is allergic to.

In his perfect world, you would walk in the procession having left a him-sized gap, and, even then, he'd probably decide that wasn't enough. Knowing him, there would need to be an ocean between you two before Rafe was finally satisfied. And still, you know for certain he'd find something else to bitch about.

It's almost like he enjoys getting himself all worked up.

"Rafe, I'm not a pet or a toy to play tug-of-war with on the playground."

At your sudden burst of exasperation, the pacing comes to a screeching halt. And thank god for that; the repetition was starting to make you nauseous.

Just as firmly as his jaw, Rafe's fists clench at his sides.

"When did I say that you were?" he spews his venom at you, but his fervid attention remains fixed on the cracked pavement baking in the late afternoon rays. Rafe kicks a pebble into the side of a parked car, then continues, "—because I don't recall saying that. And you know how I feel about words being put into my mouth."

"No," you all but growl. "—but that's what you meant."

Your teeth ache from grinding them together. A migraine is forming at either temple, but you're already too exhausted by this conversation to massage it away before it takes root. You have your hands full with one headache right now, there's no room for another on your plate. But, like the eldest Cameron's emotional maelstrom, landfall is inevitable.

Rafe glares at you, but doesn't say anything to the contrary.

This begrudged acquiescence is the closest you ever come to Rafe admitting that you were right about something.

Or apologizing.

"Well, whatever you are, you're still mine. Something he doesn't respect and you seem to have forgotten—and I think we're overdue for a little reminder, sweetness."

He reaches for you, and you halfheartedly bat his hands away.

"Rafe, can we just... can we please do this some other time? I have to get back to—"

"—to your side piece from The Cut?"

"—to Sarah. Your sister. Y'know, the one who's getting married this weekend?" You cross your arms over your chest. Rafe rolls his eyes, clearly irritated you decided to cock-block his ogling. "—in case that bit of information got lost in your ego."

"Wow, you're really antsy to get back in there." His eyebrows jump, somehow unfettered by his audacity. The supplemental away from me is omitted, but deafening. "There's no need to be so defensive—if you have nothing to feel guilty for, that is."

You don't dignify his badgering with a response.

His tongue punches his cheek, and he looks away, as if depriving you of eye contact is a punishment in and of itself.

Rafe is trying to bait you into an actual fight so that he can exercise his big, bottled-up emotions without having to acknowledge their existence or their cause. There's too much left to do before the ceremony; you don't have time to spare for something as juvenile and pointless as feeding into his emotional scapegoat.

"If you're spreading 'em for Maybank, at least give me a head's up so I can get tested. It's common courtesy, sweetness."

Cold and debilitating, like a scorpion's venom, his accusation is devoid of the familiarity you've grown fond of. Under Rafe's prickly carapace of indifference, he is spiteful and chronically insecure.

This is what happens when you don't purge yourself of whatever is bothering you. Pent up, the negativity builds and builds day in and day out. The knot gets bigger, stronger, and harder to ignore the longer it's left undealt with. The conflict between inner turmoil and externalized chaos, often projected onto an underserving substitute, is harsh and bitter, persisting until there's nothing left to leverage. Denial is a dreadful opponent and an impenetrable armor.

You are the frog today, and you are more often than not. Perhaps there was a time when turns were frequently taken, but you can't remember.

In shooting to sting, he'll kill himself just the same. Yet, despite the assured detriment to your livelihood, you put your faith in rational deterrence and permit the arachnid to crawl onto your back.

A sense of duty is easily preyed upon, and a desire for benevolence can leave you blind to the true nature of things. Instinct, natural or nurtured, doesn't have to be a death sentence. Nor is it a prescription for life. Villainy, like goodness, is a choice.

The frog may not be able to sting or fight, but it can leap.

"Would you just shut up?"

You bring his mouth to yours before any more garbage can spill out.

He's keyed up on jealousy and, most likely, something else. Rafe's intent on pushing you away with tired cheap shots in a fit of anger. You've known him long enough to know that, in the absence of control, he does and says the exact opposite of what he feels.

He refuses to be vulnerable in any healthy way, instead preferring to throw double-edged rocks at your window from behind a wilting bush.

Words are incompatible with Rafe's trauma-soaked mind. He'll hear whatever it is you have to say—Hell, he might even believe it for a few minutes—but a life of too many broken promises and poorly disguised lies depreciated their value.

Action—that's what Rafe can grasp. For something to click and stick, it must be tangible. You kissed him to express your loyalty in the only way he understands.

And to make him shut up. Definitely that, too.

"I should've ignored Sarah when she said a spray bottle was a bad idea."

Your eyes are slow to open, but you jump away from Rafe anyway. As if you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar, or like you betrayed some great conspiracy. Like he burned you.

It may not have a label, but your charged relationship with the Cameron heir is an open secret on Kiladare. Still, you're not too keen on public displays of affection—if anything you subject each other to could even be considered gentle or loving.

Intimate, sure. An attachment, definitely. The jury's still out on the health of such a volatile symbiosis, but such an entanglement is a bitch to bury.

You've tried.

Rafe's jaw clenches, annoyed by the irksome interruption now more than any slight you've perpetrated. "Wheezie, can't you see we're in the middle of something?"

"Something I saw a little too much of," she retorts with an exaggerated gag.

You bite down on your cheeks to keep your laughter at bay. You're in no mood to poke the bear further than he's already stabbed himself.

"Run along, the adults are talking."

Again, Rafe reaches for you. This time, you step out of bounds.

She means well, but the youngest Cameron has a big mouth and a propensity for gossip. She's also a compulsive eavesdropper. Wheezie might butt in and stir the pot far less now than she did a few years ago, but when it comes to Rafe, all bets are off. They may be each other's preferred sibling, bonded by their inability to best Sarah in the rat race for their father's attention and approval, but in their household, it's everyone for themselves.

And she's had her eye on the special edition Animal Crossing Switch console for weeks; she'll throw you both under the bus without a thought. Especially, if it means not waiting 'till Christmas to have it in her tween-age hands.

You throw her a bone, and yourself a lifeline. "What's up, Wheeze?"

She gives her brother a final glare, then turns to face you fully. Her features are twisted with exasperation, an understandable feeling considering who her siblings are and the family she's had the misfortune of being born into.

"Sarah wants to practice the rings. Again. So, hurry up and finish sucking face, adults. We have more important things to do."

Wheezie stomps off before either you or Rafe can get a word in. For her, the conversation ran its course. No need to stick around.

"Can I ask something stupid?" Rafe asks once his sister is out of earshot.

His voice is a bit wobbly, and while you know he'll make you regret it later, but you just can't help yourself: "Don't you always?"

Rafe clears his throat, then rubs his jaw like it might grant him the right words.

"We only... y'know with each other, right? I-I mean, I just figured since you're stuck to me like fucking velcro you're in the same boat. I mean—talk about stage five clinger. And, don't get me wrong, I would've unstuck you, but this," Rafe gestures to what little space remains between you. "—is way more convenient than all the hoops and shit of getting with someone else."

You know what he's actually asking—you've been fluent in "Rafe" since the fourth grade. Just one of the many, many joys of your fathers' life-long bromance.

He wants you to spill your guts before he does. He wants certainty; a safety net of prior knowledge.

—Rafe wants power.

"Totally," you drawl, humoring him with half the effort you normally would. Rafe squirms under your knowing gaze. "All for convenience, babe."

"Are you mocking me?" 

"Don't I always?" you counter through a smirk that makes Rafe feel as though he's staring into a splintered funhouse mirror.

Rafe watches you slip back into the chapel, wishing that he said more... wishing he'd said less. He follows your figure down the hallway until the metal door shuts with a rancorous thud.

When he shuts his eyes—a lukewarm attempt to calm his racing heart in the relentless summer sun—all Rafe can think about is your parting wink.

And the God-awful churn of emotion it triggered.

──────────── 

💌 if you liked it, pls lmk! 💌

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[laugh-of-the-medusa]

Wednesday’s tiny comments about Enid during the birthday chapter is so 💅🌈

1. I know people have already talked about Wednesday describing the way Enid’s skin “glows against a backdrop of hot pink” — but can we also talk about the offhand comment about Enid’s approval (that a detail that “trivial” would be important enough to mention at all) (plus the fact that: (a) Enid was unperturbed by Wednesday communing with the dead, and (b) despite the interruption moments prior, Wednesday didn’t snap at Enid at all) (there were other moments, some of them are smaller than others, but when you take everything together, you can actually see how both Enid and Wednesday are growing to accommodate/work around or through or with each others’ eccentricities)

2. Wednesday being protective over Enid

which isn’t something that comes out of the blue because (a) Wednesday is already naturally protective over people she cares about, and (b) because it’s also a development from a few chapters prior pre-Poe cup:

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

and then, after this, Wednesday immediately spends the entire night mcguyvering Enid’s canoe to ensure Bianca can’t win.

And, sure, Wednesday wasn’t doing it solely for Enid. Part of why she went above and beyond is very rooted in her strong sense of justice (i.e., Bianca’s a bully who needs to be humbled)—but the fact that this was also a moment for Wednesday to reflect (tho not totally delve) into her evolving feelings for Enid was the cherry on top.