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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.1k

Summary: What do you call a deaf pirate? Not 'Siren Food' apparently, which is really sort of hilarious when you've been kidnapped by a hungry Siren. Not for the Siren though—he's definitely not having a good time.

A/N: *rushes in at the 11th hour* Happy Mer-May!! I've been back and forth with clinical rotations and also working on some commission things and Leona's Part 4, but like, it's a fanfiction holiday. I couldn't miss out. And for one of my favorite tropes nonetheless. So here we are.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

There was a legend that floated throughout the Sage Island Seas of the Pirate With No Ears. Which was ridiculous—half because such a tall tale managing to survive so long and so wildly really showed just how pathetic the rest of the gossip around here was, and half because you still had ears. They just didn’t work very well was all.

Some said you’d been deafened by a prowling sea sorcerer who had tricked you into trading away your once keen sense for some mortal foible or other. Others whispered about how you’d been trapped in an ice cavern, surrounded by electric eels and sharks, and that the only way you’d been able to weasel your way out was by cutting off your own ears so that you’d have enough wiggle room to escape from your bindings. Which made absolutely zero sense at all.

In reality, all you’d done was stand far too close to a canon for far too long when you were far, far too little, and ever since all you could hear was the dull ringing of post-battle silence. Sometimes it was a bit sad. When the waves crashed against the shore, or when the gulls flew overhead—you were sure all those things sounded very lovely. You remembered music and laughter and sometimes they echoed in your head at a distance—a memory not quite forgotten but certainly fading at the edges. But other times, like now, where your fellow crewmates were bawling into their ales and wailing about lord knew what… well, it was always nice to find a silver lining in these sorts of things.

One of the tipsy lads tottering around the deck of The Rose Queen tripped and landed against the wood with something that looked like it’d be a very loud smack. Your brain helpfully filled the silence with some nonsense noises and park-play-style laughter instead. You watched Cater stumble by out of the corner of your eye. He patted your head and said something that twisted his mouth into a gaping ‘uuuuu-eeeee-oooo’ before he puttered away to leech off First Mate Clover instead. Ace threw a drunken arm around your shoulder and burbled something against your cheek that popped with the scent of stale booze, and you decided to pretend that you were as alone at sea as your muted senses would like to think.

The party raged on long into the evening and you stared down at the rabble contentedly from your perch in the crow’s nest. They were a good bunch—dullards though they may be. You’d heard (hardee har har) that they were planning to raid the Port o'Bliss, and something must have gone terribly right. You only really hung around to scrub barnacles off the paneling and keep an eye on the tides well enough that Deuce wouldn’t run the lot of you ashore, so you weren’t really sure how the whole ‘pirating’ business actually went about. But clearly they were doing a pretty good job of it.

You rested your chin on your crossed arms and sighed into the salty breeze. The night was warm and pleasant, and before you knew it, you were nodding off against the rough fabric of your sleeves. You weren’t quite sure how long you spent dozing there tangled in the ropes of mast, but it was long enough that by the time you snorted back awake the festive lights had dimmed to embers and most of the crew had sidled away below deck to either keep drinking themselves blind or collapse in a pool of their own colorful vomit.

There was a lone figure swerving towards the bow—precariously close to the railing for someone so clearly unsteady on their own legs, if you did say so yourself. You squinted suspiciously at his mused lavender hair, not entirely sure you recognized the head bobbing around below you. But perhaps The Rose Queen had picked up some fresh recruits at the Port, or maybe the crew had gotten a bit too booze happy with some dye. Purple Hair leaned up against the rails and tipped forward on his toes like he was thinking about diving in, or maybe barfing. Either or, you sighed and shimmied your way down to stop him from tumbling into a watery grave.

“Oi!” you called, the shout vibrating up and out of your throat, and the kid jumped half a foot in the air. “What do you think you’re doing? Get away from there. Riddle’ll have your head if we have to send out the rescue rafts this late at—”

The kid turned to face you with wide, wide, glowing eyes. Your own went round as dinner plates as you watched his too-dark pupils pulse like drumbeat. They were so bright, practically illuminating the whole of his delicate face, but there was no light to them. Matte and sleek like a shark’s eyes.

He shouted something at you so whip fast that you couldn’t even begin to make sense of, and then he was glancing nervously back and forth between the roiling waves at his back and the encroaching deckhand at his front—making all sorts of nonsense gestures that had you sighing behind gritted teeth.

“Look,” you said, interrupting whatever indiscernible gibberish he was spouting, “I don’t know who you think you are. But you’ve picked the wrong ship to try and—I don’t know—seize? Pirate? You can’t pirate a pirate ship! But either way, you—”

Then the kid opened his mouth like he was screaming, and you frowned again. There was strange prickle along your arms that had goosebumps crawling up your skin and the hair raising at the back of your neck, but you shook it off and moved forward with another weary sigh. You pulled a length of rope from the belt slung around your hips and held the limp bundle of salt-soaked mesh up like a threat.

“I will throw you overboard. And hogtie you first,” you promised cheerily. “So you actually sink.”

Purple Hair just looked like he was trying to scream louder, and you were sourly tempted to stick your fucking tongue out at him and make petulant ‘nyeh nyeh nice try’ noises at him, but then there was a heaviness behind you. A creak in the wood that you could feel if not hear. You rolled out of habit—tumbling across the deck just in time to avoid a nasty swipe along your back. And oh no. The thing crawling up over the railing was worse than any lavender would-be ship thief. The black tipped claws and flared fins were telling enough, but the sharp-toothed grin was somehow more so. It tilted its unnaturally lovely head at you and spoke politely—clearly and very, painfully, slowly.

“What’s—this—perhaps—” you were able to vaguely make out. Maybe. The dark and your panic were both a terrible hindrance to putting shapes to sound. His lips curled into something wicked before parting far more smoothly than the younger man’s had. Singing. It was singing, not screaming. Hauntingly green eyes glowed bright and you felt the tunk tunk tunk beneath your feet of the rest of the crew starting to move around beneath you. Around you.

Then there were more of them—crawling up over the railings, trilling into the night air. All far too lovely and far too sharp to be anything but predators. The moonlight illuminated their fangs and scales in a ghostly white glow. There were shivers running along your spine, but otherwise nothing but silence echoed through your head. Small mercies. You watched several of your fellow crewmates rush out of the cabins only to double over with their hands clasped over their ears. Others stuttered and tumbled forward towards the railings as if they were being dragged along like puppets on a string. You cursed and ducked between them—looping your rope around their legs as you went and tugging them to their knees like a line of falling dominoes.

You let your hapless comrades collapse to the deck and curled the last throws of rope around your fists. You were decent enough with a knife when it came to dueling an unmoving, completely unaware foe—like a barnacle or some rusted over door hinges. But real people? Sirens?Fucking literal blade-tipped-merfolk straight out of every sailor’s nightmare? No thank you. So the teeny blade stayed sheathed at your hip and you dove into the fray to find something rope-wrangle-able.

At the other end of the bow, you watched Purple Boy straighten from a crouch. There were new, silvery blue scales crawling up his neck and forearms. He was still tottering around on legs that he clearly wasn’t all too used to, and you watched as the little guppy started to make a furious beeline for Captain Rosehearts. Which—no. Absolutely not. You were never one of those pirates who was like ‘oh, Captain, my Captain~’ but Riddle was good. He was tough, and taciturn, and could throw a tantrum that could bring down an entire harbor. But he’d written out all of his ridiculous six hundred rules by hand so that you could have them. And the teeny furrow in his brow as he staunchly taught himself hand sign after hand sign so that he could yell at you in earnest was so endearing that you’d protect that little firecracker for as long as you breathed.

So you went after Lavender Head, and then of course Lavender Head turned and tried to shout at you all over again. When that continued to not work at all, the Siren began to backpedal in earnest. He turned his head and squawked at whoever was around to listen, but in the chaos of the attack there didn’t seem to be many of his pod free to lend him a hand.

You descended on the little snake, rope at the ready and perfectly happy to make sushi out of the fucker, when something big overshadowed the both of you. Another Siren crested over the side of the ship, larger and clearly more impressive than the rest of its kin. Which matched your stupidly terrible luck just fine. Ah, yes, Mister Big Bad. Please. Go for the deckhand rather than the literal trained mercenaries less than ten feet away. Brilliant. The Siren bared its fangs like some great, terrible, beast and tore into the paneling with its curved claws as it attempted to drag you down to your watery grave. You cursed, and kicked, and yelped in a panic when the thing managed to get one of those cold, pale hands around your ankle.

Despite the fact that all of it surely happened in less than a few seconds, your descent seemed to progress in steps. First, the Siren tugged you over the side. Second, you smartly flipped the loops of your rope up to try and lasso yourself a handhold. Thirdly, you outright missed the ship and instead tangled the spools of thin rope all around your Murderer To Be. Said Murderer’s eyes widened in shock as your unintentional trap wrapped the both of you up like a mess of bugs in a spider web. And finally, the pair of you crashed towards the churning ocean in a knotted-up heap and slowly sank beneath the waves.

You rubbed the grit and salt from your eyes and sat up with a groan. Where were you? Not too far out at sea, hopefully. Washing up ashore had been nothing short of a miracle, and you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth if it meant you got to avoid becoming chum for another day. The sand beneath your fingers was soft and white, and it slipped beneath your palm like water. You moved to push yourself to your feet and froze—a blur of amethyst swiping out and knocking you back onto your ass with a splash.

You spluttered and spat, and had just barely managed to flip yourself over like a turtle who’d been upended on its back when you caught sight of the absolute last creature in the world that you’d ever wanted to see again.

The big Siren had washed up nearby.

Because of course it had.

The creature narrowed his eyes at you and immediately set about lashing his rope-twisted tail against the sand like a rattlesnake. He bared his pointed teeth in a hiss and you were dowsed in a barrage of saltwater ammunition.

“Stop! Stop!” you begged, spitting out wayward chunks of seaweed, and shells, and gods knew what else. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”

The Siren curled his lips unpleasantly, putting that wonderful row of dagger-like pearly whites on display. He spat something completely indiscernible—the line of his mouth so harsh and flat that you couldn’t have even begun to pick up the shape of things if you tried—and you scooted as far back as you could without toppling yourself over again.

He dug his clawed hands into the sand and said something else, just as clipped and tight. You assumed it was an accusation. You were very used to recognizing the glare that accompanied those. When you didn’t respond, his brow tugged down low and he snapped something else—this time jabbing those pointed, black, nails in your direction. Ah, so definitely a complaint then.

You cocked your head at him out of habit and that griping turned into a snarl so ferocious that you could feel it racing up your skin like static. Which was definitely pretty trippy.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you told him honestly. Which just made the spiked fins flatten all along the side of his head and another wave of those zippy sneers dance up your arms. “Literally,” you tried. “I—”

The Siren opened his mouth and that sparky static from earlier amplified into something near painful. It was strong, and prickly, and left the imprints of invisible shackles all along your already aching joints. You could feel his voice carrying on the breeze—brushing against your cheeks and playing with hair. Thin, icy, fingers digging their way into your brain and yanking. But there was something missing from all that ethereal hypnotism. Something pleasant and sweet to complete the circle of temptation. A voice, you’d guess. There had to be a call after all, or else it hardly mattered how deep and all encompassing the need was to answer.

When you didn’t immediately, like, fall to your knees in subjugation or drown yourself in the inch and a half of tepid water pooling at your hips, the Siren’s eyes dimmed with something that almost looked like hesitance. His brow pinched tight and he parted his red lips wider. A seagull dropped from the sky. Three different crabs crawled out of the sand to bow down.

“I can’t hear you!” you tried again, loud enough to have your teeth aching. His mouth went wider, and an entire ass tuna beached itself to flop pathetically near your ankles. “It’s not a challenge!” you wailed. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”

The static disappeared all at once, and the Siren’s lips slipped into a small, surprised sort of ‘o.’ He blinked his too-long lashes at you and stared you down like you were some sort of escaped alchemical experiment.

“There,” you huffed. “Finally.” And then went quiet and a bit concerned. Because apparent Song Immunity or otherwise, the thing was still hugely impressive and scary looking. His claws definitely wouldn’t have any problem picking the leftover bits of you out of his teeth, and you knew well enough that if he dragged you into the depths with that powerful tail of his, there would be no resurfacing.

The Siren too was using this time to glare at you like you were somehow a threat to be taken seriously. Which was half flattering, half pretty funny.

“Well…” you said after a long moment. “I should get going, I suppose.”

You made your way to your feet in the mucky sandbar and started heading off to see where you’d been stranded. You could feel the Siren’s heavy gaze on you the whole while, and decided he was probably trying to figure out if you’d taste better paired with seaweed or a nice jellyfish spread.

The pair of you had been stranded on a small, crescent, islet that couldn’t even rightly call itself an island. You were able to walk from its curling east to west coasts in just under fifteen minutes, and that was at a meandering pace where you stopped to peer into all kinds of little grottos and rocky formations. There was some vegetation at the heart of it—short palm trees and tufts of grassy knolls—and thankfully a few deep divots that had collected some still rainwater, but otherwise it was entirely boring and stupid. Not even any weird tortoises or anything meandering about to make friends with.

By the time you circled back around to your original stranding point, you had fully expected the Siren to have flipped you the metaphorical bird and fucked off back into the ocean, never to be seen again. Instead, he was still stretched out in the shallows of the bay, carefully fanning his long tail out in the seafoam and picking through the mess of it with his pointy claws.

He reminded you of a beta fish—with wide, flowing, fins that looked far more like silk than skin or scales. The tips were a deep, plum purple that gently faded from near black to violet and finally a vivid sort of lilac at their junction. The bulk of his tail looked like it could be made from literal gemstones with the way it shimmered in the morning light (gems that had perhaps been a bit dinged and/or literally torn out in chunks from where he may or may not have been smashed into the rocky shore curtesy of your terrible hogtie, but who’s to say).

There were jagged cuts lining the right half of his pale torso. They oozed a strange sort of silver ichor that was probably some kind of mystical merman blood, but you absolutely refused to get close enough to try and find out. The fins framing his pelvis were tangled and thin looking, and the sweeping ones that trailed all the way down to the tip of his tail were battered and torn. Clearly pulled to bits by your handy, dandy lasso skills. Which… was still tied up at the base of them. Huh. You’d assumed he’d be able to slice through all that knotwork without issue. But maybe…

You approached the Siren cautiously. You caught the exact moment he must have realized you’d returned because the fins along the sides of his head flattened like the ears on a pissy cat and he turned on you with a very dramatic snarl that probably sounded all sorts of menacing.

“Hello,” you greeted, and the merman spat something that you assumed was probably a very polite ‘fuck right off.’

You nodded because, well, fair enough. And then pointed to his injured fins and the waterlogged ropes still twisted up around the heart of them.

“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”

He shouted something no doubt very indignant and then was back to hissing at you. Which definitely didn’t sound like an agreement not to immediately murder you on the spot.

“Alright,” you shrugged. “Your loss, I suppose.”

Well, your loss, really. Keeping a wounded Siren around was just asking for trouble. Their pods were viciously protective for one thing, and that wasn’t even taking into account the poachers and rivals who’d be more than keen to come sniffing after the fresh trail of blood in the water. Maybe you could find a big stick or something and just, I don’t know, push him back into the ocean and be done with it.

The thought must have shown on your face, because suddenly he was smacking his tail against the sandbar and spitting something that you very much assumed was a demand along the lines of ‘you are going to take accountability for this.’

Which absolutely no way in Hell. He’d kidnapped you sort of, so that made you his problem, thank you very much.

You felt your stomach gurgle, and it must have been pretty loud going off the stink eye he sent your way. You turned your nose up at him and went about collecting the various critters that had been washed ashore in his tenor’s tantrum.

“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly as you worked on scaling the tuna with the knife from your belt—making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so.

The Siren sneered at you and went back to grooming the shredded ends of his fins.

The rest of the afternoon became a sort of pissing contest between the two of you to see who could earn the title of Bitchiest Beach Bitch. You thought you were definitely winning with the whole ‘eating something that could have been his long-lost cousin’ thing, but then he went and swamped the entirety of the small fire you built (and all of said ‘cousin’ being cooked over it) with one sweep of his tail, so now you were at the very least tied. You set up a nice little shaded hutch out of driftwood and ferns to escape the sun, he called down seagulls to shit all over it and pick it to pieces. He tried to roll around to reach some of the tighter fibers tangled in his pectoral fins, and you chucked rocks at him until he reared on you with a scream that had all the hairs on your arms standing on end. Y’know. Perfectly mature things like that.

That night you curled up beside a tall, jagged rock just at the outskirt of the bay—determined to get some shut eye but to also keep within range of your newest pest in case he decided to try and pull something sneaky. But every time you’d just about settled in to sleep, the shallow tide would lap against your toes in harsh shush shush shushes that had you furrowing you brow until you finally had enough and sat up to see what all the hubbub was about.

The Siren was tossing around in the shallows like a fish in a net—throwing his long body against the bindings and flailing like his life depended on it. And as much as he’d definitely deserved to get caught up in your unintentional hogtie, watching something as large and no doubt powerful as he was wriggling around like a worm on a hook was… Well. Something soured a bit in your gut as you watched him give one, final, great buck against his bindings before collapsing back into the shallows in a circle of seafoam. He panted against the surface of the water, the tips of his pale hair dripping down in a curtain around his haggard face, and you could see a fine tremor running along his shoulder blades.

You turned back to your rock and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes, fighting the absolute batshit insane urge to feel bad for a monster who had literally tried to drag you to your death less than twenty-four hours ago.

The water was calm and still for the rest of the night.

The next morning, you picked up a few of the crabs who had crawled up to shore and went about getting them clean and fit for eating. You glanced at the Siren, who was busy preening over his janky fins and fussing over his hair. It was entirely unfair that you probably looked like a half-drowned rat, and yet this creature that wasn’t even meant to exist on the surface was somehow managing to put himself together well enough to rival the courtesans you’d seen meandering around some of the wealthier coastal towns.

You stared at the crabs. There were three of them. It wasn’t really sharing if it was meant to be a bribe to keep him from eating you whole. Or at least, that’s what you reassured yourself as you cautiously tiptoed back to the water’s edge.

The Siren swiveled on you with a snap of something that looked sort of like a ‘What?!’ and you held up one of the gutted crabs in offering.

“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…” You waved the limp crab awkwardly.

The Siren rolled its purple eyes and said something fast and sharp that you couldn’t really parse. Something, something, not, something, something, are crust—Something, something, are you that stupid? (you recognized the impressions of those words well enough to mouth them even in your sleep).

“Look, do you want it or not?” you interrupted, and he bristled—all those delicate, violet, fins flaring up like a porcupine’s spikes.

The Siren crossed his arms stiffly and pointedly turned in the other direction with a mutter of something you had no hopes of catching.

“Whatever,” you snapped and went to bite into your meal. Only to immediately forget that these pointy little fuckers still had their shells on them. You reeled back with a yelp as you stabbed a million, tiny, carapace-shaped holes in your tongue.

The fucking Siren had the gall to turn back around so that you could see him laughing at you.

That night he was back to flipping around in the shallows like a miniature hurricane.

You counted out the waves sloshing against your heels, telling yourself you’d intervene in his self-destructive tsunami once it hit one hundred. And then it became two, then three. You shifted hesitantly to peek over the rock’s edge and watched him curl into himself like some terribly wounded creature before shaking himself out of the fog of pain that had clearly settling over his nerves, and then continued with his nonsense.

You hurled a big, pink seashell at his head and he whipped on you like a rabid dog, practically foaming at the mouth and raring for a fight. When he lunged forward with the waves—seething with hatred, and blame, and nearly crashing onto his already shredded front in the process, something angry in your snapped.

“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you demanded, stomping perhaps a bit closer than would be rational. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!”

The Siren roared something back and slapped his tail in the surf. Static zipped along your cheeks and you grit your teeth. He glared at you bitterly and then began to repeat one word over and over—slow and angry.

‘Eeeeehhh-Pppe-llllll’ said his lips. Strong and harsh with the shape of it.

And then he was back to spewing all kinds of rapid-fire vitriol that you wouldn’t have bothered to keep track of even if you could. Something in his expression shifted almost quicker than you could notice and he lifted his massive tail out of the water. He smacked the fins in your direction and pointedly jabbed a clawed finger at the creases of them—where delicate, silky, tendrils met strong, gem toned, muscle. Where the purple was light and clean. A pale, shiny, lavender. Almost just like—

“That kid?” you frowned. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”

He sneered again and pointedly sent a splash of seawater into your face.

“You—” you grit your teeth. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. For all the good it would do. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”

The Siren’s face twisted up like you’d force fed him soured milk, and he looped back around with a dramatic fwoosh of water to dive into the shallows. It was maybe two or three feet deep at best, and he was barely submerged. Not to mention how utterly ridiculous it looked to see a creature that was no doubt usually the peak of grace and athleticism reduced to flopping belly first into the waves with his proverbial legs tied up behind him. But you recognized a door slamming in your face when you saw it, no matter the species. Fine. Let him be a petty bastard. He could rot away in the sandbar for all you cared.

The next day you woke up with goosebumps crawling up and down your limbs.

There were all sorts of gulls crash-landed in the sand around you and more sad, little, sea creatures gasping on the beach than you dared to count. You shoved a particularly chubby octopus back into a tidepool as you passed and wondered just what sort of nonsense your co-strandee was getting up to now.

The Siren was circling the bay with his head held high above the low waves—lips parted and clearly caterwauling like a dying porpoise. The surface of the water trembled with whatever was making its way out of his mouth, and he looped and looped around the shores. It reminded you of the time you’d seen a whale calf separated from its pod. It had gotten trapped in a shallow inlet when the tides had changed, and your ship had been anchored just off the same coast. You’d watched it circle and circle, lifting its heavy snout to snort sharp jets of water into the air. Deuce had passed you a scribbled note when you’d asked him what it sounded like.

‘It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’

There was a moment where the Siren paused in his paces and tilted his head. The fins there flared out to the side, like he was listening for something. But after a long moment the spines drooped back against his damp hair and he went back to his singing an aria to no one.

‘It’s looking for its family,‘ Riddle had signed to you when you’d asked him why the calf didn’t simply leave once the tides had turned in its favor. ‘This is where they last saw it, so this is where it will stay.’

“Maybe they forgot about him already,” you mused petulantly, turning back towards the center of the islet to try and scavenge up something to eat from all the poor creatures who had collapsed beneath your nemesis’s wailing.

The bitter thought wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it ought to be.

That night, the waters were still.

You squinted suspiciously at the merman curled in the shallows of the bay. He’d pulled himself half-out of the water, resting his more human looking bulk in the soft sand as gentle waves lapped at his tail. He slept on his front with his arms crossed beneath his pointed chin—his unbound fins sticking up behind him in a way that deliriously reminded you of bedhead. You watched him carefully for nearly an hour, searching for any tightness in his muscles or change in his breathing that might indicate he was faking it. But as the evening stretched on and he never lurched awake to try and gauge your eyes out, you assumed he might actually be properly resting.

He'd been swimming in circles all day—the aborted, stuttering, beats of his bound tail looking painful even by your non-tail-having standards. Eventually the tremors along the ocean had grown stuttered and strange, like perhaps his voice was giving out on him. And once that had happened, he’d curled up exactly where he was now. And hadn’t moved since.

You stared at the Siren hesitantly. He was certainly in enough of a state that you could probably pull off that whole ‘shoving him into the depths with a stick’ thing. He’d probably just let you do it—sink to the bottom in a mess of shredded fins and tangled twine and never rise again.

You gnawed at your lip, feeling something unpleasantly hot and sticky twist up your stomach.

The knife glinted between your fingers and you thought of crying whales and of the crew that you already missed so much that it felt like a gnawing chasm had opened in your chest.

You huffed out a miserable sigh and lamented for not the first time in your life that you really were just so fucking stupid sometimes. And then you were cautiously making your way down towards the waterline and the sleeping Siren sprawled out in the sand. Slowly—so very, very slowly—you tiptoed towards the mer and tried to get a quick glance at what amounted to the worst of the damage.

The rope had been thin and long, and the more he’d struggled, the more he’d dug the twine into his fins. You reached forward at half speed and slipped the blade into one of the too-tight creases beneath the bindings. You winced a bit in sympathy at the raw, pink skin beneath. No wonder he hadn’t been able to just rip the fibers away. He’d probably just ended up tugging them over and over against the oozing wounds beneath.

The first strand broke beneath your fingers with something that almost felt like a pop. Like seams ripping on a shirt. You glanced quickly at the sleeping Siren to confirm he was still lost to the world and not gearing up to bite your fingers off at the knuckle, and then continued making your way through the worst of it. It reminded you a bit of the time Ace had accidentally snared a sea turtle in one of his fishing nets and the lot of you had spent the better part of an hour slowly working the thing free of the seemingly endless tangles. You delicately worked the tightest edges away from the harsh indentations they’d left against his scales and peeled back the muckier bits with enough gentleness to avoid mangling anymore of his already battered fins.

The last of the rope finally came away with a satisfying, wet weight and you let it fall to the sand beside you with a pleased nod. Now you could let Mister Merman swim away in the morning with no unpleasantly gross sense of moral obligation weighing down your consciousness. Maybe he’d even be thankful enough to look at you with something other than a venomous glare for once. Certainly nothing like the one leveled at you right now. And—

Oh.

You didn’t even have time to properly gasp before you were being flipped and pinned into the wet sand. The Siren loomed over you, digging his black claws into your shoulder until you could feel the first pricks of blood breaking the surface. He snarled in your face, the curtain of his pale blonde hair shadowing his eyes in something so dark it was nearly black. The brilliant purple cast off his glowing irises were like little spots of stars in an otherwise empty night sky.

He leaned forward, teeth bared, and then some sort of tight expression flickered over his face. He paused, brow tugging together steep and angry. He hunched down once more, fangs at the ready, and then ducked back out. He shook his head, like he was trying to clear fog from his brain, and then he was snapping his canines at you all over again.

The Siren reared back with a booming snarl that sent ripples through the soft tide lapping at your ankles. He turned with one, final, icy glower and dove back into the shallows, disappearing beneath the surface in a flash of amethyst scales. He flicked his tail sharply as he went, and one of the tattered fins snapped against your nose with enough of a crack to make you yelp.

You sat up in disbelief, rubbing at your aching skin and watching in outright consternation as the great predator of the oceans swam tight laps beneath the warm waters of your little lagoon—fins occasionally cresting over the surface to smack pointed fistfuls of water into your gaping face.

Deliriously, one of The Rose Queen’s hundreds of nonsensical rules bounced about your head. Happy to fill the otherwise entirely empty space behind your eyes.

‘Never save a Sea Serpent on a Sunday,’ Riddle had demanded, hands at his hips. ‘No Serpents, or Sea Horses, or Sirens to speak of.’

‘Man,’ you thought wildly, brain high on adrenaline and static as you watched one of the aforementioned Sirens swan about like he hadn’t probably just been a half second away from gnawing on your literal bones. ‘If I get out of this alive, Captain’s definitely gonna collar me this time.’

[TAG LIST]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl,

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Mermay #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 1

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naffeclipse · 11 months

Note

Would be really cute if Y/N was, instead of a Selkie, a mer based off a seal. Though they would probably be on the menu :I Anyhoo, Arctic Ribbon Seals are gorgeous, have you seen them before?

Ohhh, a siren Y/N with the tail of an Acrtic Ribbon Seal would be gorgeous! I haven't seen them before! The colors and ribbons on the fur are lovely! Picturing Eclipse seeing them and immediately going "Mine!" is so augh augh augh

You're going to drown. A polar bear is sitting at the only breathing hole for a good mile or two, and you can't take one gulp of air without the threat of the beast biting your head off. Your lungs are burning.

In the distance, you spy a shadowy figure before the black and white markings solidify and a new panic burns through you, hotter than the suffocation. A large orca siren. You truly are meant to die today.

You stagger in a frazzled fear under the ice, debating on risking the polar bear for just a breath or giving the siren a free meal, but his approach is steady, sinister, yes, but lacking the savagery you'd expect from a siren on the prowl.

He reaches you, all teeth and wide eyes, but he tilts his head in a curious regard. You're not really sure what to do but gesture upwards to the breathing hole and form claws with your hands to signify the threat waiting above. Maybe the two predators will take each other out and you can steal a breath of fresh air. If he gets what you're trying to say, he doesn't seem all that scared, and in fact smirks before swimming into the breathing hole.

You blink, stunned, your lungs on fire with lack of air, and wait for blood or thrashing or something, but the siren's strong black and white tail flickers calmly beside you. Did the polar bear already move along? What is the siren doing?

Darken starts to dot the edges of your vision but before you can flail, a large hand reaches down, snags your wrist, and pulls you up into the narrow breathing hole just inches away from his sinister jaws curved up at the ends. You gasp. You're alive!

You're also entirely cornered by the siren, both of your hot breath mixing into deep smoke as he takes up the already precious space and forces you back against the rim of ice until it bumps against your head. He tightly holds your wrist.

You try to spew a swift thank him and dive back down but he's not letting you go. This close, you can only stare into his glowing eyes before he lifts his hand, water dripping down his dark arm. He tenderly pushes a stray strand of hair from your face and tucks it behind your ear, claws trailing the shell of your ear that elicit a shiver down your body.

He tells you he thought you needed protecting when he first saw you, and he was right. You still do. He'll be the one to do it, and you'll be good, won't you, ribbons?

You can't help but think you don't have a say in the matter with his eyes devouring you from head to tailfin.

#apex polarity #i love Arctic Ribbon Seal mer y/n augh #orca!eclipse #hei-z-sky #ribbon seal!reader

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mychlapci · 4 months

Note

Ok imagine smol medic first aid who works at the research center getting to fuck all the big scary wrecker merformers to knock them up. (This gonna be a bit long sorry :<)

I kinda just imagine the wreckers being a pod of different whale like merformers and maybe springer being a hybrid of land dweller tarantulas and merformer prowl (or other way around). First Aid has been studying this specific pod for ages. All of them seem to be outcasts of their species so they formed their own lil group.

Their nickname „wreckers“ is because they tend to wreck ships that enter their territory.

They had to be captured due to being too aggressive and were put into the research center.

Aid notices that they were all pretty sexually frustrated cause no one will mate with them, since they all have either some slight deformation (for example impactor‘s missing arm, springer already being a hybrid) or are socially inept (or both) and that kinda causes other mers to stay away from them. So Aid wants to help them and tries to pair them up with other inhabitants from the center, which does not end well for most of them, especially impactor and megatron, who despite being the same species are trying their very best to kill each other (their salty exes).

So first aid was like: if you want something done right you gotta do it yourself

and starts performing mating rituals on them.

At first they were all confused and but slowly got charmed by first aid‘s surprisingly accurate attempts at courting them (he do be doing his homework on mating rituals). Eventually they all let Aid spike them and all of them get knocked up but now first aid is stuck with a whole pod of giant merformers who are desperate for his transfluid and are also very much needy and attached to him but only him and they won’t let any other staff members near them or the shit ton of sparkling they produced.

oOoho this is good food.

The “wreckers” are really just a mismatched pod - whereas most pods are made of reproducing mers and their offspring, the wreckers seem to be “rejects” from the mating pool… First Aid is the researcher watching them and he feels pity on them, especially when he sees some of them sneaking off periodically to try and rub their slit against any solid surface, unable to relieve the frustration…. The thought of claiming them all for himself pops into First Aid’s mind immediately, but he stalls it for a while by trying to pair them up with recently released mers… but he’s absolutely thinking about pounding those fat, swollen slits the entire time. He’s secretly glad when the breeding program fails and he can take things into his own hands.

I can absolutely imagine First Aid turning all those giant, strong mers into squirming sluts, big claws clinging to the little land-mech as those poor, neglected valves are filled with so much transfluid that they’re all just lounging around at the end, no longer aggressive. They’re happy little swollen carriers, first and foremost <3

oh, they push out so many pups. They go from a small, aggressive pod of antisocial mers to a big, big pod of (semi)docile carriers and their little stud...

#valveplug #pregnancy mention #texty #birth mention #merformers

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mskenway97 · 9 months

Text

Masterlist

I think it's about time I create a masterlist of everything I've done, to organize myself better.

Scenarios

G/T transformers shy reader

G/T transformers helpless human angst/fluff

G/T transformers sleeping time

G/T transformers pet play

G/T transformers pet play (NSFW)

G/T transformers problems of be tiny

First contact au Rodimus prime x human reader (fluff)

Scenario Tf Earthspark Starscream (fluff)

Scenario Tf armada Stascream (soft vore, safe vore)

G/T transformers bad day

G/T transformers illness time

Transformers persona au

G/T transformers bot treat like a doll or teddy

G/T transformers bot first kiss

G/T transformers human sacrificed

Drabble tfp optimus prime 2.0

Drabbles First Contact (Orion Pax and D16 Transformers One)

G/T transformers human fan of aliens

One Shot

optimus prime (TFP) x gn!human!reader first contact

Optimus prime (TFP) x gn!human reader confort

life or taste Megop (TFP) x gn!human reader (tasty au, soft vore)

Bot in flames Optimus prime (Bayverse) x Fem!human reader (NSFW)

Optimus prime x Blind!fem! Human Reader

Fishing Time (Merformers) Tfp Optimus Prime x Gn!Human!Reader

Side Effects Tfa Bumblebee x gn!human!reader(mouthplay, soft vore)

Song of calm Merformers prowl x Jazz

Payment terms TFP Starscream x Male!Human!Reader

A delicious surprise Tfp Breakdown x gn!human!reader (tasty au, soft vore, safe vore)

Curious cat ROTB Mirage x Fem!human!reader (g/t fearplay) part 2

Come My Way ROTB Optimus Prime x Fem!human!reader

Change of side Tfa Blitzwing x Fem!human!reader (multiple personalities)

I will stay Tfp Optimus Prime x Fem!human!reader (angst/fluff)

You are part of who I am Bayverse Optimus Prime x GN!human!reader (adopted angst/fluff)

Peaceful investigation Tfa Waspinator x Fem!human!reader (soft vore, protective vore)

First touch Tf armada Starscream x Fem!human!reader (soft vore, safe vore, a little crush kink)

Dangerous cuddles Tf armada HotShot x Fem!human!reader (soft vore, safe vore, comfort vore)

Specific solutions Tfa Wreack-gar x fem!human!reader (soft vore, safe vore)

Prime Urges TFP Optimus Prime Synth-en x fem!human!reader (nsfw)

Deep Audacity Mer Bravern x Isami Ao (soft vore, safe vore, mouthplay)

Between the sword and the robot MTMTE/IDW Rodimus x !GN!Human Reader (nsfw,vore)

Link reconnection Mer Superbia x lulu (fluff)

Medical inspections TFP Ratchet x gn!human!reader (valveplug,nsfw,suggestive)

She is a witch TFP OC (Dionesea) x gn!human!reader (soft vore, safe vore, firs contact)

Ways of discover the love ROTB Mirage x Fem!human!reader

Trick or race TF EarthSpark Bumblebee x GN!Cybertronian!reader

Past Songs TFP Optimus prime (Orion pax) x OC (Dionesea) (angst)

Butterfly Beast and Beautiful Cybertronian TFP Optimus prime (Orion pax) x OC (Dionesea) (angst, reunion)

Telepathy in the Silence (Merformers) Tfp Soundwave x Fem!Human!Reader (fist contact, merformers, g/t fearplay)

My Immortal Tfp Optimus Prime x Fem!human!reader (angst)

Analysis g/t

G/T in Transformers (2007)

G/T in Transformers Revenge of the fallen (2009)

The Automatons

Cap 1 , Cap 2

#sam writes #masterlist #transformers x reader #human x reader #transformers scenarios #transformers one shot #maccadams #maccadam #transformers g/t

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inkformyblood · 4 months

Text

fight for me (love me) [COD Mermay 2024, PriceGhost]

Pirate Captain Price x Mer Ghost

There is a peculiar kind of silence that descends over the ship at nighttime when they’re on the open water. Not another soul in sight except the poor sod on nightwatch up in the nest and Price himself, his coat thrown around his shoulders against the evening chill and a rationed measure of tobacco in the pouch at his waist. He ducks around the side of his cabin, putting solid distance and structure between himself and any prying eyes before he reaches for it.

He isn’t just carrying tobacco with him after all.

The scrimshaw is the same size as his hand, a jagged break along the base where it had been joined to gum, and the scene carved into it is one Price knows well. He’s studied it often enough to memorise every smooth line and every darkened segment that came together to make something beautiful. He also knows what the men think of it, that it’s a talisman of some woman Price has left behind on shore, his perceived betrayal that set a bounty on his head and sent him prowling the ocean like some misguided legend tearing him away from her. He isn’t going to tell them that they’re wrong. His ‘woman’ is much closer to hand.

Price makes up his pipe, cupping his hand around the bowl as he strikes a match. In the tiny golden flare as it catches, something moves far beneath him, a huge shape disturbing the surface and causing the ship to rock gently. He breathes in smoke, the familiar bitter taste of everything he’s denied burning through him, old anger given fresh life for a moment, and leans over the side of the ship. “Simon? Going to show your face?”

What answers him is divinity made flesh, a behemoth from legend discarded into the ocean and left to wander the world adrift and alone. Until Price had found him. Until he had found Price.

There’s blood on Simon’s mouth, a scab torn open along the jut of his lip, and it fogs the water sluicing off of his skin as he surfaces. He doesn’t rise far, not as high as Price has seen him go before, but enough that he can curl his fingers over the edge of the ship, keeping himself upright. The water beneath him begins to churn as his tail works, the ship shifting incrementally as Simon works against current and wind and the fragile thread of the anchor to keep himself upright. Barely takes him any effort, Price notes, his expression still as blank as ever, no furrow on his brow like Price would expect from a human or grimace pulling at the jagged corners of his mouth. Simon’s gaze is fixed on Price, familiarity scratching at the base of his skull before Price can place the expression; an old hunting dog he’d owned as a boy, the same rapt attention, the same sense of waiting for a command Price didn’t know at the time, the instruction to kill. He knew it now, after all. Price is too old not to.

“Been fighting, lad?” Price bites on the stub of his pipe, fitting his teeth into the worn-in marks and kneels carefully, bracing himself on the railing. Simon’s left space for him between the cage of his arms and the lingering trap of his teeth and Price sits, swings his legs over the side. Frigid sea water soaks through his trousers, a fresh spray against his face, and Price grits his teeth against it, burns his lungs with another drag as he fits the scrimshaw back into the pouch at his waist.

Leaning forwards, his boots digging into the growth of algae and barnacles along the side of the ship, Price cups Simon’s jaw. Inhaling brings a fresh glow to cast harsh shadows across Simon’s face, the dark sheen of his eyes still fixed on Price as he shifts his grip to Simon’s chin and extends his thumb to swipe over the pout of Simon’s lower lip. It’s softer than he expects even now, given the wreath of pale scales splashed over Simon’s face, following the contours of his skull into some grotesque mockery of what lies beneath.

There’s a strong odour of salt as Simon’s mouth parts beneath Price’s touch, older blood caked across the jagged stretch of his lower teeth, and Price breathes through his mouth, filling his lungs with smoke and ash. He presses his thumb against the sluggish bleeding mark, a distance sense of warmth beginning to catch on the frozen pad before Price leans back. With his free hand, he removes the pipe, holding it out to Simon and the other man takes it carefully, his teeth tucked behind his lips. It looks comical, a child outfitted in a man’s shirt that falls past his knees, a hat falling over his eyes and a pipe he doesn’t know the concept of stuffed into his mouth, but then, Simon inhales, the gills along his neck flaring wide, and Price laves his thumb over an offering from a god.

The corner of Simon’s mouth quirks upwards, the expression drawn sharper by the curved scar that bisects his cheek from the corner of his mouth. “I won,” he tells Price flatly, his voice deep, a whale’s song echoing up from the fathoms.

Price laughs, reclaiming his pipe from Simon’s mouth. Tastes like salt but everything does after a stretch of time out at sea, hungry mistress that she is, stripping everything one by one from a man sentenced into her embrace. There’s a sharper bite to Simon’s blood compared to Price’s familiarity to his own, a bitter taste that lingers over his tongue even through another draw on his pipe. It would be several days before Price would stop tasting it. “I bet you did, lad. Any trinkets left for me?”

It’s a strange turn of events that had left Price here, a wanted pirate, exiled from the land of his birth, and in an alliance of a kind with a creature from the deep. He wonders, at times, what Simon gets out of their Fasutian bargain. He could sink Price’s ship as easily as any other, break a hole in their hull and listen to them scream as they drown, but he doesn’t, instead letting Price point him at his enemies, shattering every move made against him.

“Yes.” Simon blinks, a second eyelid drawing across his eyes leaving them milky before it retreats. “Less than a day east. Pulled it closer. Should see the scavengers circling before daybreak.”

Simon would drown him eventually, pull him down into the depths and swallow down his final desperate breath of air, but, before then, Price would rule with Simon at his side, circling the bloody waters at his feet.

“Atta lad,” Price murmurs. He cups Simon’s jaw once more, removing his pipe as he leans forward. It would be easy for him to fall like this, supported entirely by Simon remaining in place. One quick motion from the other man, a harsh wave hitting the side of the ship, and Price would be gone, just another mystery to be discussed when the stars overhead leant in close. He kisses Simon carefully, ever-conscious of the razor-sharp teeth hidden for the moment, his breath fogging against the other man’s cooler skin n leaving an imprint that would only last as long as Price lingers this close. Simon’s scales catch on his moustache, tugging at the skin beneath, and Price retreats, swinging the hand clutching his pipe back to the support of the ship as he pulls himself upright.

Simon’s grin is wide and full of teeth, hungry in a way Price cannot put into words, the open-mouthed devouring focus of a predator willingly leashed for now. Price’s attention moves to the dark gap in Simon’s teeth, a singular row, each the size of his hand, and coaxes another breath out of his pipe. Smoke clouds his vision for a moment, but he senses Simon retreating, sliding back beneath the waves and Price is alone as he ever is once more.

#price x ghost #captain john price #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #captain price #john price #mermay #mermay 2024 #my writing #priceghost #ghostprice

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brightdarkness-2013 · 1 month

Text

Chapter 19: Welllp...

Summary:Things aren't going well...

Notes:Warning here. This is bad.

Barricade was less like himself. Sure he’d growl and he’d threaten anyone who came by, but it was done in such an odd mix of exasperation and a tired fashion that it was a cause for concern. He tore at the bandages and everything, but it was with less drive. It was more out of stubbornness and habit than anything that he kept doing it. He seemed far too tired to try much harder. He spent a lot of time on the sandy bottom and barely moved. He even just let Prowl rewrap the bandages without a fight. To make things more worrisome than they already were Prowl had taken to laying with him rather than within his nest.

Barricade glared at me as per usual when I walked up to the tank. I chewed on my lip as I watched him back. His eyes didn’t have as much fire in them as per usual. I touched the tank and he just narrowed his eyes. No growling. No lunging. He did not look well. Thankfully he had another appointment today. I leaned on the tank with a sigh.

“Just what have ya gone and done to yourself this time? All ya do is cause trouble. Can’t ya just… I don’t know, not? I mean look at yourself. You’re not doing that well the way you’re going it. Prowl’s worried. Aid’s worried. Arcee and Blurr are worried. Everyone’s worried about ya here. I mean this is starting to bother me. Sure I’m more worried about Prowl if ya kick it, but I don’t want ya to just die either.”

He hadn’t moved through my little one way chat. He just watched me. Prowl had draped himself over Barricade long ago and had refused to move. He would occasionally pull out a loose scale. Barricade normally didn’t like it when he tried to groom him and would make little grumbling noises until he was done, but he was silent this time around. Just letting him check and recheck without so much as a twitch. That had been a big red flag. Then of course there was the fact that their neighbors had been looking over at them more and more often. Now it was near constant watch. Prowl didn’t pay them any mind. He had been ripping apart the fish and bringing the scrapes to Barricade for a while before he even stopped doing that.

“Ya know maybe if ya actually tried to heal you’d be fine right now. I don’t know what possessed ya to go and do this, but you’ve really got yourself in a bad situation now. I can see the signs here. You’re really not yourself and add that to the guys next door watching ya and being more passive toward ya and I’d say with confidence that ya ain’t doing so well. I really hope ya didn’t do any permanent damage here. That’ll be another reason for Ratch to curse ya. Ya know you’re his worst patient he’s ever had. He keeps cursing ya and swearing that you’re Trying to kill yourself. All he does now days is complain about ya. That just means he cares though, but then again once ya get better he’s gonna hit ya so hard you’ll forget what ya did. I mean your ass is grass. No joke.” I chuckled to myself as I let my gaze linger on the door. “Ya had better pull through though. I mean think about it. Ya can possibly have another go with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Then of course ya could see the sea again. Just Think about it. Traveling the ocean with a complete pod again. Hunting and finding a new spot for a nest. There’s a lot of things ya will be missing out on if ya kick it now.”

He didn’t so much as twitch. That halfhearted glare had fallen like he was far too tired to keep it up. He just stared back at me with a dull and near lifeless expression. He really needed some help and hopefully he’d let them help him this time. Barricade didn’t even move to fight us. Prowl on the other hand had. Though it wasn’t aggressive and he didn’t do any damage physically. He whined and pleaded and followed us up to the top. He gave a heartbreaking cry when we took him. The other mers watched silently and it was a relief to finally shut the door.

44444444444444444 The Fours Are Gaining More Numbers! Fight Back! Take Back The Writing Government!4444444444444

Prowl paced and whined, looking at anyone who came in for answers that we didn’t have. Nothing that was good anyway. Barricade had opened and reopened his wounds so much that he had left himself open to illness and infection from what normally wouldn’t have done any damage. Pair that with the blood loss and how he refused to eat and was forced on a regular basis and he was in worse shape than any of us had thought. His wounds leaked a sour smelling pus and he whined when they were cleaned. His wing fin had a deep infection due to the damage. It was easier the prevent infection than to get rid of it, even I knew that.

He didn’t fight them and Ratchet was unnaturally quiet as Aid rambled on and on to himself under his breath. That was enough for us and we didn’t know what to tell Prowl. But Prowl had caught on and made it clear that he didn’t want to wait. His neighbors that had recently lost a pod member watched him intently as he leapt from the water onto the feeding stand and pulled himself down the steps and to the door. He had apparently been watching us and had figured out the doors because he pulled down on the handle as he leaned on the door as we rushed toward him. He dropped when he got it open a crack and pushed it open the rest of the way. He shoved at us with hisses as we dragged him back to the tank. He had done that on more than one occasion and now we had to have someone there at all times to watch him when the doors weren’t locked.

Barricade on the other hand was quiet and none of us were even mildly surprised when he passed. When we brought the corpse to Prowl he didn’t move for a while. When he moved to look over his pod member he froze halfway there. Then he did something that none of us expected. He jumped up onto the ledge with us and shoved himself into me with a broken cry. Clinging to me when I moved with another broken sound. Begging me not to leave him... So I held him.

Notes:I spent two days going over pros and cons. Even though he was an asshole it kind of hurt to kill him off... But if he stayed then Prowl wouldn't have been able to get close to Jazz again even if he did forgive him.

Then one day I went to my doctor for anxiety and work and then another day I spent eating pie and watching netflix. So... That's why I'm late. And it's not over yet so relax.

First

Masterpost

patreon.com/BrightDarkness2013

#brightdarkness #fanfic #merformers #jazz #transformers #mer!prowl!#merprowl #prowl #transformers jazz #transformers prowl #transformers barricade #barricade

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littlelightbolt · 28 days

Text

Finding Prowl - Chapter Five: Nemo

[55 cycles into capture]

Mabye, Primus had answered his call. The baby's fever broke in the evening, just as the crowds started to dwindle and the skeleton crew remained. The overhead lights had dimmed, signalling night-time in the above world. The worst was over but they weren't out of the blue yet. Muscles atrophied from malnutrition and sickness, the little one was still too weak to move on their own. Being cybertronian, the dim was no bother on their vision but it was still a trek from their cove to the surface of their tank to breach. Prowl had to use his body as a buoy to float the little one as they took small gulping breathes.

In between the surfacing intervals, Prowl was all but left to his thoughts, gazing aimlessly at the other mers outside his glided cage. To recharge now would only invite nightmares, an act that could potentially rob the little one of their recharge. So Prowl opted to settle in for a long night. It wasn't like he hadn't done so before. He simmered in the surrealness of his situation. The little life now here with him. Tired, his mind ebbed and rose with the cries of the humpback mer. There would be no singing for him tonight as thoughts came from all new directions. They drowned him.

'Where were their mother now? What had happened to them? Captured? Killed? What of their pod? How long had the baby been alone for? What had they been witness to?

His ATS concluded that the sparkling would most likely be from one of the small nomadic neutral pods originating around the northern hemisphere. One of many remaining neutrals that hadn't left the planet in time before the collision. War-ravaged Cybertron had been a wasteland. If there was one good thing to come out of the planetary collision millions of years ago, it was the new fuel source it provided. Earth-Cybertron was an abundant resource of which all mecha took their fill. Sparklings while still not common were finally not a rarity to their dwindling race outside of the major factions.

As an autobot and as SIC, Prowl had always been preoccupied. The wars with the Decepticons, dealing with outside operations [the Wreckers], trying to contact what remains of their race beyond the stars and even that one occasion the Quintessons had crashed in wanting to enslave them. He had been at the forefront of those operations. Post war, it had narrowed down to evading humans and keeping the peace on Cybertron. Post war, childcare had never been one of his priorities, nor an option he thought to pursue. He did not have a romantic partner nor any time to invest in one. J....The terror twins and Hot Rod were child enough for him. To be honest, he had never seen a sparkling up until Chromedome and Rewind first introduced their sparkling to the colony and hadn't that done a number on his spark.

Caught in the memory, the words of Ultra Magnus washed over him. "- I think your the loneliest mech I've ever met."

In his tank, he looked over himself. Scars and healing flesh. A shattered mind. He could barely take care of himself most days, how can he take care of a sparkling? Could they even eat solid foods yet?

When he had fed the sparkling kelp, a quick look at the sparkling's intake showed they only had two sparkling teeth jutting out of their top gum. From their size, Prowl assumed the sparkling was more toddler than infant. If the little one hadn't been weaned, he would have to be soon. Milk was not a worry at least. All cybertronians were intersex, but for the majority of cybertronians carrier coding had to be activated by an actual kindling. Being initially a public service servant, Prowl was made with the standard carrier protocols buried in place for the event such as these. Prowl could already feel the changes within him. A good sort of soreness to accompany the many aches. At the most he estimated that it would take at least until the morning for his pouches to fill.

Prowl didn't know how to feel about that. He will experience his first feeding before his first kindling, alone. A funnily sad thought that this was the first milestone that Prowl would share with a little one.

A thought struck him then, a designation. He didn't know the little ones' designation. In the day's events, Prowl hadn't even thought to try and ask for one. 'Could the little one even speak?' Prowl mulled it over looking down sparkling tightly clutching his chest in sleep. Their skin was still slightly flushed, eyes furrowed in their sleep. Mabye, they weren't really of a mind to tell him a designation anyway.

The remainder of the night was spent in silence, his ATS circling around his bare-bones escape plans, his current physical changes situation, the baby, and a designation to call them by. J..... Somewhere in between Prowl dropped off into a light doze.

The early morning arrived without much fanfare, the lights above returned to their usual blistering white. The human staff handover began. Splashing overhead roused Prowl from his rest. Food had arrived. Leaving the sparkling to their slumber, Prowl waited for the humans to back away before approaching the low ledge that served as their interaction platform.

Having been here long enough that rejecting food from them was in the past, Prowl had been a little surprised when the human workers had given him his usual ration of stale fish and a little bottle of milk beside it. Opening the bottle for a quick sniff made him gag. This milk was definitely NOT going into that sparkling's intake. Surely humans knew that much. It irritated Prowl that even with all their research and advancements, of knowing about his kinds general way of life, that they couldn't even synthesis the correct sustenance.

Incompetent fools.

He chucked the bottle back at the pair of handlers standing by the door and managed to hit the one with the badge "Spike W" in the head with it. The human squawked and turned back to glare at him. The absolute hate in their eyes gave Prowl a little satisfaction as he dove back down. He stopped at the entrance to his cove. A quick check revealed his pouches were ready to go, while not as pronounced as a femme's his chest seemed to have more curves to it already. He felt the heaviness in them. It was time. Awkwardly he reached out a hand, gently shaking the little one's shoulder. A couple of shakes made the little one release a little whine that almost made Prowl withdraw. Prowl pushed through it. The little one opened their bleary eyes to glare at him. They gave off a moody huff, curling up further to hide their face in the sand. It was kind of cute. A small smile graced Prowl's faceplate. Sass was a sign that the little was on the up and up in recovery. As new as the situation was to him, sass was a familiar attitude that Prowl could always handle.

The new code within him had settled well enough. It whispered that to recover, the little one needed to eat. Prowl followed along with it's directives, settling next to the sparkling before lifting them up gently into the crook of his arms. The new foreign programming guided his movements. The little one was only surprised by the slight jostle before settling into the new position. With steady hands he didn't know he possessed, he brought the little's intake to his chest and waited. To his relief the little one did as he had hoped, quickly latching on to suckle.

The sensation of something rushing out of him was WEIRD to say the least. Prowl shivered a little as the first drops escaped him. It tilted between being ticklish and soothing, he made sure to hold on well to the little one as he rode the sensations. The little one ate well. With one problem down with minimal resistance, Prowl felt a little lighter in his chest. Silently, Prowl congratulated himself on his achievement.

As the little one suckled, a little hand curled around one of his digits. Seeing and feeling the size difference between them made Prowl's mind stall. Not for the first time, the gravity of the situation seemed to crash over him, yet it felt like distant ocean waves. This sparkling was doing things to him. Things he had felt before in another different light, many vorns ago. It unnerved him a little how quickly he had come to care for the little one, in this cage of stale smells and dead sounds. He had never felt such feelings come on so quickly. Not with Chro....., not with Mesothulas, never with Sentinel. He couldn't remember a time where these feelings were returned in kind either. *Memories of that night, blurred and dizzy with J....... -* Outside his turbulent helm, the little ones' eyes met his, a bright cerulean blue that reminded Prowl of the sunlit surface of the Bering sea. *A certain visor in the sunlight came to mind.* So full, so whole, it was like the sparkling was looking within Prowl, into his spark.

The moment was broken when the sparkling unlatched from his pouch. They wriggle in his hold, as Prowl eased them onto his lap. They looked up at Prowl for a moment before patting their belly. "Pat?" Prowl felt elated, the sparkling could speak! That increased the probability of him being able to care for the sparkling tenfold. "Pat!" They repeated at him, more urgency in their voice. A small smile graced Prowl's faceplate, if the sparkling wanted to be patted who was Prowl to deny that. He began to rub their belly in a circular clockwise fashion patting gently as he went. The little one content went back to their nursing, soothed for now. Prowl moved to settle by the wall of the cove, body faced at an angle to the glass to look out at the growing crowd wandering the site while shielding the little one from view.

What would the others do if they could see him now. The terror twins would probably laughing their asses off. Many people would be loosing some lumpsum currency to smokescreen's betting pool. Prowl hadn't managed to sus out the most recent one but he was highly suspicious that his sex life was a hot topic/ running joke in action.

Optimus.....

What would J...... thin - k- .

Before he could spiral too deep into those thoughts, the sparkling unlatched a second time, pushing away from Prowl's chest. Looks like they had their fill for now. A few pats to the back made quick work of any trapped air in their system. Content and happy, the little one seemed energized enough to try and move out of his hold. With the little one now lucid, Prowl asked the burning question. "Little one, do you have a designation?"

The sparkling wordlessly looked up at him not quite getting his meaning. A questioning wirr came from their lips. Mentally Prowl sighed old speech habits died hard, perhaps he should refrain from using big words for now. "Do you have a name?" He gestured to himself. "My name is Prowl." "Prowl" he reiterated. "Pow" repeated the little one, smacking a little hand onto his chest.

Close enough Prowl figured. "

Yes, Prowl." He now gestured towards the little one, "Name?" The little one took a moment before quietly saying "Blue."

"Blue?" Prowl parroted, puzzled. Their carrier sure picked an odd choice of name for an orca mer. There really wasn't much blue to be had on this sparkling. "Blue!" the child repeated proudly, little hands now patting themself. Having answered the adult's question the little toddler saw fit to push off out of Prowl's hold. Weakly, they swam to the edge of the cove. Prowl watched on, vigilant as Blue fascinated himself with the starfish and shells littered around his cove. Little curious sounds came with every new discovery. It was a refreshing to hear, the vibration of it in the water a soothing reminder that he was no longer just his own. A quick look beyond a sand dune revealed the humans beyond. Blue recoiled like a shot, fear scented the water.

"Blue." Prowl called urgently, hoping to gain the little ones' attention to return. In response to his name, the little mer returned to his side. They snuggled into him, before revealing the item they had in hand. A little red starfish was presented. "Pow" "Pow, look!" exclaimed little Blue. "FisssH" he proclaimed proudly, chest puffed out and cheeks glowy.

Fear turned to joy. The sudden change in mood was like whiplash to Prowl.

Prowl couldn't help but laugh with mirth. "Starfish, Blue." "That is a starfish", he gently corrected. Taking the creature from their hands and placing it on the sand. "StaArfisH" Blue parroted, swimming around the little thing. With his unspent energy, Blue went out to the edge of the cove in search of more things to show "Pow", looking back occasionally to check that Prowl was still there watching him. It was comically affectionate. With each item shown to him, another starfish, a piece of kelp, an unfortunate small fish, affection slowly wrapped their tendrils around Prowl's spark.

It has been 55 cycles since he had any decent company, and despite the circumstance, he was glad to have Blue here with him.

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Horray! This fic now has a name, and a new face.

#prowl #transformers #jazz #Merformers AU #AU #bluestreak #fanfic #Finding Prowl

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