#Moon Phase Tracking | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inseobts · 3 months ago

Note

hiiii! first of all, i love your fics sm!! i love the way you write Law 💙 can i request a fic with BIG LOSER Law? lmaooo like, maybe they go on their first date and he's so awkward and nervous. he has everything planned out but nothing is going according to plan so he's stressing constantly, or the crew is watching him trying to flirt w reader and they get second hand embarrassment (tbh anything you want to write is fine, just make him suffer a little bit bc i think it's funny)

Captain Loser

law × gn!reader

a/n: I tried my best to keep him in character — I hope I did a good job!

words count: 3.5k

tags: fluff, humor, awkward first date, loser law

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Law is calm during battles.

Law is calm in surgeries.

Law is not calm when you say, “Sure, I’d love to go on a date with you.”

And now, he’s pacing in his room like a man being hunted.

“Captain,” Bepo says gently, poking his head into Law’s room “You’ve been… changing your coat for the past 15 minutes.”

Law stops, eyes wild “Which one makes me look more—” he stops. Then corrects himself “Never mind.”

Bepo blinks “More what?”

“…Like I’m not dying inside.”

Bepo nods solemnly “Go with the dark one, it's your color.”

The “date” starts with Law arriving twenty minutes early. Not because he’s eager, of course (he is.)

You show up with a smile, looking relaxed and easy-going, and Law immediately forgets how to stand like a normal person. He moves like someone’s remote-controlling him from across the street.

“You look good” he says.

You blink “Thanks! So do you.”

He dies.

Inside.

Law has a plan. It’s written in his notebook.

Literally.

He wrote a plan.

Phase 1: Get snacks from that café in town.

Phase 2: Walk by the docks.

Phase 3: Compliment them. Not weirdly. Normal compliment.

Phase 4: If going well, offer to take them stargazing. If rejected, die.

Simple.

Except that phase 1 explodes immediately.

The café is closed“Temporarily for repairs” the sign says.

Law stares at the sign like it personally betrayed him “This wasn’t in the plan” he mutters.

You peek over his shoulder “We can just get something from a stall?”

He hesitates. That’s not in the plan. That’s not in the plan.

But you’re smiling, so he nods “Right. Improvising. Yeah. I can do that.”

(He can’t do that)...

Meanwhile, across the street Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo are hiding behind barrels. Watching.

“He’s sweating” Shachi whispers.

Penguin squints “Can he even sweat? Is that medically possible for him?”

Bepo sighs “I don’t think he blinked in five minutes.”

Back on the date, Law is now trying to eat takoyaki. He stabs one with a stick, offers it to you, and then, mid-movement, panics.

“Wait—are you allergic to anything? Shellfish? Octopus? Gluten??”

You laugh “Nope. I’m good.”

“…Okay.” He hesitates “Do you want this one, or should I—”

“I’ll take it.”

Back behind the barrels, Penguin falls to the ground “I can’t watch this.”

By the time you’re strolling along the docks (Phase 2 is back on track!), Law is a wreck. Internally. Externally he still has that serious Captain face on.

“You don’t… date often, do you?” you ask, amused.

Law’s steps falter.

“…Is it that obvious?” he mutters.

You bump his shoulder lightly “Just a little. But it’s cute.”

Cute..........

You just called him........ cute.

Someone please sedate him.

He clears his throat “You’re… uh. You’re not bad yourself.”

You laugh “Was that a compliment?”

He looks away “Kind of.”

You grin “I’ll take it.”

Behind a stack of crates, Shachi is losing his mind “SOMEONE PUT HIM OUT OF HIS MISERY.”

“HE SAID ‘NOT BAD YOURSELF’—WHO EVEN SAYS THAT?!” Penguin wheezes.

Bepo watches calmly “I think it’s going well.”

“…Are we watching the same date?”

You’re sitting on the dock now, feet dangling over the edge, watching the sky turn orange. The date hasn’t gone the way Law planned.

Which is exactly the problem.

He stands next to you like he’s guarding treasure. Except he’s not relaxed. He’s tense. Like he expects an ambush.

From the moon.

“So…” you say, glancing up at him “You always this quiet?”

Law hesitates “I’m… thinking.”

“About?”

“…Phase Four.”

“Phase what?”

He freezes “Nothing.”

You narrow your eyes “Law. Did you… plan this date like a battle?”

He clears his throat “No.”

“…You definitely did.”

He changes the subject. Badly “Do you like… stars?”

Meanwhile, behind a crate about 50 feet away, Shachi has his binoculars out.

“They’re sitting. It’s happening. Phase Four is happening.”

Bepo nods, whispering, “Do you think he’ll kiss them?”

Shachi nearly drops the binoculars “No way. No way. He’d combust.”

Penguin has snacks now “What if y/n kisses him first?”

There’s a beat of silence.

They all go, in unison: “He’d die.”

Back at the dock, you lean back on your hands “Stars are nice. But I like hearing you talk about things you like.”

Law blinks. That wasn’t in the plan.

“…Like medicine?” he asks cautiously.

“Sure.”

“Anatomy?”

You raise a brow “Within reason.”

He exhales slowly “What about… the ocean?”

“See?” you say “You’re doing fine.”

“I don’t think so.”

You tilt your head “Are you nervous?”

“…Extremely.”

You smile.

That’s when you both hear it.

“PENGUIN, GET YOUR FOOT OFF MY HEAD—”

Law stiffens “Wait.”

There’s rustling. A loud clunk. Then “SHHHHHHH!! THEY CAN HEAR US—”

Law turns slowly. You follow his gaze.

A barrel tips over.

Three grown men—one bear, two idiots—collapse into the open like spilled groceries.

“…Oh my god,” you whisper “Were they SPYING on us?!”

Law’s eye twitches.

Shachi pops up “Captain!! Don’t be mad!! We were just—uh—moral support!!”

Bepo waves sheepishly “You were doing great until now!”

Penguin gives you a thumbs-up from the ground “You’re really cute together!”

Law looks like he’s going to murder someone.

You, meanwhile, are wheezing.

“They were there the whole time?!” you gasp, laughing “How long have they been WATCHING?”

Shachi: “Since before the takoyaki.”

Penguin: “Since coat number three.”

Law: “…I’m going to kill you.”

Bepo: “But gently, right?”

You stand up and tug Law’s sleeve. He glances down at you, still visibly unamused.

“I thought it was cute” you say “Your plan. The awkward flirting. All of it.”

He stares “Even this?”

You grin “Especially this.”

His ears turn pink.

Later that night…

Law storms into the crew quarters.

“Meeting. Now.”

They scramble to attention.

He points at each of them “You are banned from surveillance. No more binoculars. No more hiding behind barrels. If I see a single one of you during a private moment again, I will operate your limbs off and sew them back wrong.”

Shachi gulps “Got it.”

Penguin: “Totally fair.”

Bepo: “What about just listening—?”

Law: “Bepo.”

“…Okay. Sorry.”

He turns to leave, coat flapping dramatically—until Shachi calls out “Wait! Did you at least kiss them?!”

Law pauses in the doorway. Silent. Then closes the door behind him.

In the hallway, alone, he leans against the wall, covers his face, and mutters “…Next time.”

Breakfast on the Polar Tang is loud.

Penguin and Shachi are fighting over eggs. Bepo is carefully peeling an orange like it’s surgery. The table’s full—shoulders bumping, chopsticks clattering, someone laughing every five seconds.

You walk in, hair still messy, and Law is already seated at the end.

He looks up the second you enter.

“Morning” you say, rubbing your eye.

He nods, quietly “Morning.”

You take the empty seat beside him.

On the other end of the table, someone yells, “Hey—who took the last piece of cake?!”

You glance up. Sure enough there’s one perfect square of fluffy, cream-filled strawberry shortcake sitting on a plate near the middle. Or rather was sitting.

In one clean, lightning-fast movement, Law grabs it and slides it across the table.

In front of you.

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t explain. Just keeps drinking his black coffee like he didn’t just commit pastry theft.

You stare at him.

Then at the cake.

Then back at him.

“You like it” he says again, like that explains everything.

Which… it does. Kind of.

You blink fast and look away, trying not to smile too hard. He’s always the type to do something so sweet.

But then he notices your cup’s empty and, without saying anything, reaches over and refills it from the kettle. Still not looking at you. Still completely casual. Like it's just part of his morning routine.

Your brain short-circuits.

...And it gets worse.

A piece of hair falls into your face. You're about to push it back, but he does it first—absentminded, fingers brushing your temple like it’s nothing.

Like it’s normal. Like it’s just something he’s allowed to do.

You stop breathing for a second.

Law, meanwhile, is already slicing into an omelet, entirely unaware that he’s killing you one tiny gesture at a time.

You take a bite of the cake, cheeks warm.

It’s perfect...Of course it is.

Later, as you’re both standing up to clear plates, you bump shoulders.

“Thanks” you murmur.

“For what?”

“The cake. The tea. The hair thing. All of it.”

He looks at you for a second but then his gaze flicks from your eyes to your mouth and back again.

“…Wasn’t a big deal.”

“It kinda is.”

He blinks. Tilts his head a little.

You smile “You’re a lot cuter when you’re not trying so hard, y’know.”

He frowns “I wasn’t trying before.”

“Exactly.”

You pat his arm, grab your dish, and head toward the sink.

Behind you, he stands there, stuck in place.

Then mutters to himself “…Cuter?”

After breakfast you’re chatting with Bepo about the latest island rumors, sitting at the mess table again. Law’s standing nearby, arms crossed, pretending to read a report. But he keeps looking up every time you laugh. Every time you tilt your head, or say his name, or look like you might say something else.

He’s not subtle.

Not even a little.

You don’t call him out for it. You like it. The fact that he’s choosing to just be around you, even if he pretends he isn’t.

He’s calmer now than he was on your first date. Less fidgety. Less stressed. And way more dangerous because of it.

Like right now, he glances up from his report, sees you rubbing your shoulder absently, and immediately sets the paper down.

“You okay?”

You blink “Yeah, just slept weird.”

He steps behind you and before you can ask what he’s doing his hands are on your shoulders.

Firm, careful pressure. His thumbs move in slow circles against your neck, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. (He does. He’s a doctor, after all).

Your body goes very still.

The crew goes even stiller.

Across the room, Shachi drops a wrench.

Penguin inhales a peanut and starts coughing.

Bepo covers his mouth like he’s watching a sacred ritual.

Law doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does, but doesn’t care.

He just mutters, “Tell me if it hurts” and keeps working the muscle.

You swear you might dissolve on the spot.

Later that day, you're walking down the hall toward the storage room when you hear it “DID YOU SEE THE MASSAGE?”

It's Shachi. His voice echoes off the metal walls.

“That was intimate, right? That wasn’t just medical. That was spiritual.”

Penguin: “I choked on a peanut for a reason. That was fate.”

Bepo, calmly: “I think they’re in love.”

You peek around the corner.

They’re in a triangle of chaos. Whisper-yelling. Flailing. Dramatic hand gestures.

You clear your throat and all three freeze.

You raise your eyebrows.

“…We were just talking about the weather” Shachi says, very seriously.

“Peanut forecast” Penguin adds.

Bepo bows slightly “I fully support you and the captain.”

You blink “We’re not even dating.”

There’s silence.

Then, in unison “YET.”

You walk off, red in the face, trying not to laugh.

You don’t see Law leaning in the next hallway, arms crossed again, listening to the whole thing.

He exhales through his nose, quietly.

Then mutters to himself “…Idiots.”

But his lips twitch. Just a little.

Law finds you on the deck in the early evening.

You're sitting on a crate, swinging your legs, watching the lights in the distance as the town starts to glow with festival lanterns.

He approaches, hands in his pockets.

“Hey” he says.

You glance up “Hey. Festival looks nice.”

He nods.

There’s a pause.

You look at him, expectant.

He shifts his weight, like he’s debating something. Then “…You wanna go?”

You blink “To the festival?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, eyes on the horizon “Figured if I ask without writing a five-step plan first, I might not almost die.”

You snort “So this is you asking me on another date?”

He glances at you “Depends.”

“On?”

“If you say yes.”

You grin “I do.”

He exhales “Cool.”

You both try not to smile too obviously.

The festival is chaos but in the best way.

Kids dart through the crowd with candy in both hands. Music plays from a group of locals with hand drums. Lights swing overhead like constellations. There’s food everywhere.

You’re walking side-by-side, not touching, but close enough that your arms brush every now and then.

It’s comfortable.

It’s easy.

You pass a game booth, some kind of target shooting with cork guns. Law glances at it, then at you.

“You good at that?”

You shrug “Mediocre. You?”

“…Surgical.”

You grin “Prove it.”

Ten minutes later, he’s won you a stupid plush seal.

Not by being cool... no. He misses the first two shots, scowls at the gun like it insulted his ancestors, then mutters something about "cheap manufacturing" and *then* gets serious.

Tongue between his teeth. Narrowed eyes. Absolutely committed to this ridiculous task.

When he finally hits the last target, he looks so smug that you burst out laughing.

He shoves the plush into your hands “I said I’d get it.”

You’re still laughing “You’re so dramatic.”

He watches you, something soft in his eyes “…You like it though.”

You pretend to examine the seal “I mean, the craftsmanship’s a little off…”

He bumps your shoulder with his.

You both smile.

Later, you stop for shaved ice, sitting together on a low wall at the edge of the square.

You’re halfway through your dessert when Law quietly says, “This is better.”

You pause “Than what?”

He looks down at his cup “Last time. When I was trying too hard.”

You tilt your head “You were cute then, too.”

He huffs “I was malfunctioning.”

“You were. But it was cute.”

He glances at you, eyes a little narrowed “You call me cute one more time, I’ll—”

“What?” you challenge, grinning.

He leans in. Just a little.

You freeze.

“…I’ll get you a second plush” he says, flatly.

You burst out laughing.

He pulls back, lips twitching. He’s definitely not immune to how red your face is right now. And he likes it.

The sun dips lower, the festival softens. Lights blur a little more golden, music slows down, and kids start tugging tired parents toward "one last game."

You and Law are still wandering, side-by-side, when you pass a booth with a simple ball toss game, rings over bottles.

There's a kid already playing. Small. Serious. Determined.

Law stops. Watches.

The kid notices.

Their eyes lock.

You can feel the energy shift.

The kid slowly, silently, picks up another ring.

Law crosses his arms.

You look at both of them “…What is happening?”

Neither answers.

The kid tosses.

Hit.

Law steps up, drops a coin in the tray without looking away from the tiny opponent.

He tosses.

Hit.

It’s on.

The next few minutes are dead silent, deadly focused, and weirdly intense. Ring after ring. Perfect aim. Small frowns. No smiles. Just raw, quiet competition between a six-year-old and a warlord of the sea.

You’re trying so hard not to laugh you’re shaking.

Eventually the kid lands the final toss. Clean. The biggest bottle. Fireworks go off behind them (perfect timing), and they just nod like, obviously.

Law misses his last ring by a centimeter.

The kid walks over to the prize wall, selects a plush shark... huge, bright blue... and struts back to you.

Holds it out.

“For you, princess,” he says, with perfect, practiced swagger “I’m way better than him.”

You blink.

Law blinks.

The kid walks off without another word.

You look at Law.

You cackle.

Like, actual, doubled-over, wiping-your-eyes laughter.

Law is standing there in stunned silence like he just got outplayed in flirting by a child.

“Did he just—”

You nod, wheezing “He did. He called me princess. Did you hear that delivery?!”

Law glares at the shark plush like it insulted his honor.

You’re still laughing when he says, “It was rehearsed. He’s done that before.”

You lean against the booth, catching your breath “Oh my god. You should’ve done that on our first date.”

He mutters something about “not stooping to plush-based mind games” but he’s definitely not as grumpy as he pretends to be.

And when you nudge him, smiling, he just mutters “…I still won the seal.”

The walk back to the ship is quiet.

The streets behind you still glow with festival lights, but out here, closer to the shore, it’s all stars and sea breeze. A little cooler. A little slower.

You and Law walk side by side. No need to talk. No need to fill the silence.

You’re holding the dumb blue shark and the seal.

He hasn’t teased you about it since the kid incident. Maybe he knows you’d win. Or maybe he’s distracted.

You glance at him. His eyes are soft tonight, not sharp like they usually are. He’s not analyzing anything. Not overthinking. He’s just here with you.

“I had fun” you say quietly.

He nods “Yeah.”

You wait a second... “…That all you’re gonna say?”

He looks over “I didn’t almost die of embarrassment this time.”

You smile “True. Growth.”

A pause.

Then he says, voice lower “I liked being with you. Not just because it went better. Just… because it’s you.”

You stop walking.

He does too. Turns to face you fully.

The wind lifts his coat slightly. The moon lights the water behind him. His expression is unreadable for a second—then shifts.

Softer. Realer.

“I don’t really do this kind of thing,” he says “Dates. People.”

“I know.”

“But I want to try. If it’s you.”

Your heart stumbles.

You step closer “I was planning to kiss you tonight.”

His breath hitches, just a little “Oh.”

You grin “You okay with that?”

He nods once “Yeah.”

And that’s all you need.

You lean in. Your hands brush his coat. His breath catches. Then you kiss him. Slow. Steady. Warm.

He kisses you back like he’s memorizing it.

One hand rests on your waist, hesitant at first, then firmer, like he’s finally letting himself believe this is real.

When you pull back, you’re both quiet for a moment.

Then he murmurs, barely audible “…Better than a plush.”

You laugh against his chest.

He doesn’t say it, but he holds you a little tighter and that actually says everything.

It’s late, the crew mostly asleep, lights dimmed, the ocean calm. You’re in Law’s quarters now. It’s neater than you expected, but still has that lived-in look. Folders stacked in perfect piles. Books arranged by subject. A single mug half-full of cold tea.

You’re curled up on his couch. Shark plush tucked under one arm. Law’s sprawled next to you, boots off, coat hanging on the back of his desk chair.

His head’s resting against the back of the couch, eyes half-closed. He looks tired. In that good way. The kind that comes after laughter and a kiss and not needing to pretend.

You shift a little and his hand finds yours without looking.

Fingers laced. Easy.

“You’re quiet” you murmur.

“Still processing.”

You glance over “The kiss?”

“No. The shark.”

You snort “Jealous?”

He opens one eye “Of a six-year-old with good aim and terrifying confidence? …Yes.”

You laugh, soft and warm.

Law’s watching you now, really watching you, and this time there’s no hesitation. No second-guessing.

He reaches up and brushes a thumb over your cheekbone. Slow. Gentle. Familiar now.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs “I want this.”

You nod “Me too.”

He shifts closer “You staying?”

You lean your head against his shoulder “Unless you kick me out.”

“…I’d operate the door shut before I let that happen.”

You smile into his shirt.

The next morning you wake up warm.

Wrapped in a blanket, shark plush tucked under your arm, head resting on something solid. And breathing.

You blink.

It’s Law’s chest.

His coat is draped over both of you like some makeshift shield. One of his hands is still loosely around your waist. The other is on his face, like he's already regretting waking up.

You smile.

“Morning” you whisper.

He groans into his palm “No.”

Then there’s a knock... or more like a bang.

“CAPTAIN!”

Law tenses.

You sit up, hair everywhere, still holding the plushes like a shield.

“Captain, are you—” Penguin bursts in and freezes.

Shachi appears behind him, sees the situation, and gasps like someone got stabbed.

Bepo peeks in last. Quietly says, “Told you they were in love.”

Law is already covering his face again.

Penguin: “Are these TWO cute plushes?!”

Shachi: “DID YOU SLEEP IN THE SAME ROOM?!”

Bepo, sincerely: “Did you cuddle?”

You blink at them.

Law doesn’t move.

You clear your throat “Morning.”

Shachi leans in “Good morning to you, power couple.”

Penguin: “So? You guys kiss last night? You kiss? You totally kissed, right?”

Law finally lifts his head.

Dead-eyed. Voice flat.

“Out. Now.”

The crew flees like rats.

You’re left half-laughing, half-horrified.

Law exhales deeply “I should’ve locked the door.”

You lean against him again “I think it’s cute.”

He stares at you like you’ve said something illegal.

You grin, plush squished between you.

“You’re really soft when you sleep, y’know.”

He closes his eyes “I’m moving out.”

1K notes · View notes

unboundprompts · 9 months ago

Note

do you have any tips for writing mermaids? i love your work ^-^

How to Write Mermaids

-> Things to Think About and Consider When Writing Merpeople and Mer Fiction

-> How to Write a Mermaid (anc writing resources)

These are just some suggestions! Feel free to pick and choose based on what best fits your story.

Physical Appearance

Tail Variations: Instead of a uniform tail type, consider different adaptations: sleek, dolphin-like tails for fast swimmers; large, strong tails with iridescent scales for deep-sea mermaids; or frilled, flowing fins like a lionfish for camouflage. Some might have tails resembling eels or sharks, giving them a menacing or streamlined look.

Scales and Coloration: In deep-sea areas, mermaids might have dark, bioluminescent scales with patterns that mimic the stars or the sea floor. Shallow-water mermaids might have brighter, coral-like colors to blend in.

Scars and Symbols: Scars from battles with sea creatures, markings from coral, or even bioluminescent tattoos could add depth.

Eyes Adapted to the Ocean: Mermaids’ eyes might be unusually large, with reflective layers to enhance night vision. They could have vertical pupils like a cat’s or even multiple layers of eyelids, including a transparent one to protect them from salt and silt.

Webbed Hands and Clawed Fingers: Webbed hands would enhance their swimming ability, and clawed fingers might be used for self-defense or hunting. Some might have retractable claws or spines to protect themselves from predators.

Culture

Language and Communication: Consider how sound works underwater; it travels faster and farther but differently. Maybe they use gestures, a sign language, or even musical calls to communicate. Their language might be melodic or full of trills and hums that are difficult for land creatures to understand.

Beliefs and Myths: Mermaids would likely have their own stories, rituals, and superstitions. Maybe they worship ocean gods, the moon, or view shipwrecks as holy places. They might believe in omens from ocean currents, the arrival of rare sea creatures, or changes in the tides.

Social Structure: Decide if they live in schools, pods, or solitary. A royal family, councils of elders, or a group of shamans could govern them. Do they form alliances or rivalries with other sea creatures or even human sailors?

Hierarchy and Elders: Older mermaids or those with powerful magical abilities may hold significant respect and authority. These elders could be responsible for rituals, storytelling, and maintaining the balance of magic within their community.

Seasonal Gatherings and Ceremonies: The ocean has its own rhythms—tides, moon phases, migrations—and mermaids might gather for ceremonies tied to these events. For instance, they could honor the arrival of certain fish schools or perform rituals under a full moon for strength and unity.

Jewelry and Artifacts: Mermaids might decorate themselves with jewelry made of shells, coral, pearls, and items retrieved from shipwrecks. Certain pieces may symbolize rank, magical prowess, or family lineage, with specific stones or materials believed to channel energy.

Tattooing and Body Art: Many mermaids may tattoo themselves with ink made from squid or octopus, using markings that indicate status, clan, or achievements. Bioluminescent tattoos or body paint could glow at night or during important rituals.

Magical Abilities

Special Senses: Consider heightened senses, like echolocation, the ability to detect changes in water temperature, or a heightened sense of smell for tracking prey or sensing danger. These would add to their unique oceanic identity and give them a slight advantage over surface dwellers.

Control over Water and Weather: Some mermaids can call storms, manipulate tides, or create currents. This might be a rare gift, often feared for its destructive potential. Using such magic could leave them physically or mentally drained.

Healing and Transformation: Certain mermaids could have powers to heal wounds or diseases with seawater, or transform sea creatures into protective spirits. However, each healing might weaken them temporarily or require offerings to the ocean in return.

Song and Illusion: Siren song is a classic power; mermaids could enchant, hypnotize, or create illusions through melody. Overuse might leave them voiceless or mentally scarred, with some even risking losing themselves to the song forever.

Shape-Shifting: For those able to take human form, transformation might come at a great personal cost. Perhaps they can only transform for a limited time, or their time on land drains their magic, forcing them to return to the water to recover.

Physical Depletion: Magic use might be physically taxing, aging a mermaid slightly or sapping their strength. Frequent magic use could make them appear older or leave permanent marks on their body, like scars or discolored scales.

Price of Blood or Offering: Magic might demand a price—whether in the form of a personal sacrifice or a blood offering to the ocean. For powerful spells, mermaids may even need to leave behind something they value, such as memories, emotions, or treasured artifacts.

Risk of Transformation: High-level magic could alter a mermaid’s physical form temporarily or permanently. They might grow extra fins, become partially transparent, or even lose their voice after certain spells.

Mental Toll and "Ocean Madness": Overuse of magic could lead to a condition known as "Ocean Madness," a state in which mermaids lose touch with reality, becoming isolated or forgetting their own identity. This is particularly feared among mermaids, as it might mean permanent exile or being lost to the ocean.

Forbidden or Dark Magic: Some magic forms might be considered taboo or forbidden due to their dangerous nature. Practicing dark magic, like curses or soul-binding, could bring severe consequences, both in physical tolls and social exile.

Character Motivation and Conflict

Relationship with Humans: Decide whether mermaids are fascinated by or wary of humans. Some might be drawn to them out of curiosity or romantic allure, while others might distrust them due to pollution, fishing, or old tales of betrayal. Their interactions with humans can reveal a lot about their personality and worldview.

Desire for Land or Home: Consider what might tempt a mermaid to leave their watery home. Do they long to experience human life, seek revenge for an oceanic wrong, or retrieve a lost artifact from a shipwreck? This longing could add depth to their character.

Struggles with Transformation: If your mermaids can shift between human and mermaid forms, consider how this affects their identity and relationships. Transformation could be painful, rare, or come at a high price, adding dramatic tension and giving their character arc extra weight.

Quest for Authority: In a hierarchical society, some mermaids might crave power or authority, seeking to rise through the ranks or challenge an elder. Such ambition could lead them to take risks, learn forbidden magic, or ally with powerful sea creatures.

Personal Pride or Legacy: Some mermaids might want to establish themselves as legends, known for feats of bravery or wisdom. This could involve dangerous quests to recover lost artifacts, hunt rare sea creatures, or explore dangerous parts of the ocean. Their pursuit of legacy might set them at odds with their peers, especially if it leads to recklessness.

Torn Between Worlds: A mermaid who can transform and walk on land might struggle with a dual identity. If spending time on land slowly diminishes their powers, they could grapple with the desire to stay connected to both worlds, fearing losing either part of themselves.

Conflict Between Duty and Desire: Many mermaids might feel a sense of duty to their family, tribe, or ocean gods, conflicting with their personal desires. They could be pressured to fulfill a prophecy, protect a magical artifact, or avoid contact with humans, even if it clashes with their true passions.

Past Mistakes or Betrayals: A mermaid who has broken societal rules—whether by consorting with humans, using dark magic, or violating clan boundaries—might feel guilt or face exile. Redemption could become a strong motivator, pushing them to right their wrongs, often at great risk or personal cost.

Haunted by Family Legacy: If a mermaid comes from a family of notorious outcasts, warriors, or traitors, they might struggle with the burden of redeeming their family’s name or rising above that legacy. This could lead them into difficult choices about loyalty and personal integrity.

Hunters and Captors: Humans might hunt mermaids for their scales, powers, or knowledge, forcing mermaids into hiding or guerrilla-like resistance. A character driven by a desire for vengeance against humans could lead to morally complex actions and choices.

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