#somethings...fishy

[chaosblob]

Prologue 『Below the Surface』

Masterlist / Next Part

【3rd pov】

Have you ever wondered what lies below the water?

What kind of fascinating creatures roam just under the surface?

Perhaps you're curious about all the different kinds of fish?

or perhaps your curious about something slightly...different?

something like mermaids?

What if i told you that they really do exist?

What if i told you their just right below the surface?

Hidden below just enough so that they won't be seen.

What if i told you this was a tail about just that?

A tail about a Mermaid and..oh- pardon me Merfolk and their adventures with the unknown.

This is

"Somethings...Fishy"

Staring Y/n L/n

Fun Fact of the chapter!

I kept thinking of barbie while making this and now i can't unsee it lol (Also i wrote this using my phone so probably best read on one)

[rookanisstuff]

the victory ball

[queen0fm0nsterz]

While I don't think Carol herself is the Roaring Knight, this was shady as fuck. After all that happened and how her return just casually coincided with the voice over the phone? The way she immediately kicked Susie out? There is no way she isn't involved, or at least doesn't know ANYTHING.

[blanchethecat]

if, you know, he didn’t think Atsushi was already dead

[heart2sea]

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ do you see (him) in the back of your mind? (read on ao3)

word count: 2k

tags: fluff, angst if you squint, mentions of his myth, dragon!sylus mentions

summary: on a particular day, you kept dreaming of him. One of those dreams catches your attention—horns, tails and all, and you decide to tell him.

a/n: some practice sylus writing because he's my second fav 🖤

You kept staring at him unabashedly, entranced.

He found that behavior amusing, finding and matching your gaze with an insufferable amount of mirth in his eyes. A teasing remark, a half grin on his lips—anything to get a blush out of you. That time, however, his words turned to mist on your brain as you took him in. You knew him well; the way his eyes glimmered under the moonlight, how his lips savoured every drop of his drink, as if trying to classify each note of flavor of it, and even the way his hair moved with the cold breeze. Sometimes you’d run a gentle finger, making way through the handsome shape of his nose, only stopping when he’d let out a scoff and grab your wrist, playfully.

���What are you doing, sweetie?” He stared back, a smirk gracing his sharp features.

You blinked, resting your head on your hand. You had agreed to have dinner (breakfast, for him) on his base before heading out for one of your assignments. This particular mission required pulling an all-nighter onto the outskirts of the N109 Zone. You didn’t particularly need to convince him, he just shrugged and nodded as if you’d asked him to go get something for you at the corner store, a small, non-inconvenient errand on his criminal routine. 

So you spent the entire daylight sleeping, trying to catch up on some required rest before going into battle. Sleeping during daytime usually meant naps, which is why you had a hard time staying asleep, waking up between forty minute intervals.

Each time, a stranger dream.

It had started with a regular one, just you and Sylus going auctioning. Then, fleeting dreams that resembled your first meetings, the oppressive force of the gunshot piercing his heart, his rough hand grasping your wrist like his life depended on it, forceful mannerisms that had quite actually scared you away from him, enticing you into running away and never looking back. 

And finally, a dream so foreign and out of place it took you a minute to break the barrier between dreams and reality upon waking up. How imposing, how impossibly handsome; your Sylus, tall and intimidating, sporting two wonderful spires on his head, and a long, thick, slithering barbed tail from his lower back. Scales had adorned his entire body, ebony and rough, and a single ruby emanated glow and warmth from his sternum, at the rhythm of a living heartbeat. His face was covered in blood—not yours, not his—as he stared at the glowing moon in longing and awe.

And still, in this dream, his eyes turned soft at the sight of you.

You gave him a warm smile, now back to reality to the real Sylus in front of you. “I dreamed about you earlier.”

He returned the smile, a glint of something playful and kind in his crimson eyes. “Was it a good dream?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, pondering. “It was quite the sight.”

“Tell me.”

“You’d laugh.”

He shifted on his seat, putting the fork down as he took a breath. Sylus tilted his head, the smile never wiping off his face, the now dying candlelight casting a warm, soft glow around you. “Oh?” 

You immediately shook your head, a slight blush adorning your cheeks, frowning. “Not like that. Ugh.” At least not this time.

The gentle sound of one of his classical vinyls cocooned the warm atmosphere of his dinner table, the melody one you had picked out a few weeks before, shopping with him. It was so effortlessly romantic, soft and tender—truth be told, so many dinners with Sylus were like that, and you started wondering how truly effortless or accidental it all was. It seemed so specifically tailored for you; the music, the special serving of food just for you, the way the moonlight would hit the table just right, the smooth silk tablecloths, the comfy cushions on the seats; it all screamed soft, soft, soft , as if he was self conscious you'd walk away again the moment you cut yourself on his edges. You'd grown to love him, gunshot powder and all, but something laid unspoken between you two. Something both of you should be aware of, but only him seemed to carry the weight of.

It stumped you.

Sylus let out a chuckle. “Well, then. I promise to be as straight faced as possible, kitten.”

“Not very comforting.”

He shrugged. “I'm simply doing my best.”

You inhaled, trying to recall more details about the dream. You grabbed a grape, placing it on your lips, letting it linger there for a moment before slowly biting down on it, staring into space. As you swallowed, you looked up briefly at the ceiling and finally spoke.

“ If you randomly woke up as an animal, real or fantastic—and don't say a crow—what animal do you think it would most likely be?”

One of his eyebrows raised in amusement, his smirk deepening. The candle was holding onto the last thread of light, the amber light surrounding the room slowly giving out. It gave the atmosphere an enigmatic mood, making the situation seem so serious it was silly. “Does that have to do with your dream?"

You rolled your eyes. “Just follow along.”

His gaze never left yours, carefully studying your expectant expression. He took out a casino chip out of his slacks and started playing with it, a fidgeting you immediately recognized as calculating and weighting every option on his mind, you realized he was holding back on answering what was truly on his head. 

You looked around the room, almost awkwardly, as the silence stretched on. “Hello?”

Sylus finally let out a scoff. “I'm more interested in what you thi—”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“What? I'm telling the truth. Besides,” he leaned towards you ever-so-slightly. “I'm curious what brought this on.”

The candlelight went off completely, the only source of light being the moon gently cascading its glow on the room. You went to grab another grape, but stopped halfway through. Despite his aloof and seemingly playful behavior, you couldn't help but feel as if that question had held some unspoken weight on him. 

You laid back completely on the chair, staring out at the moon. “I had a dream you were some kind of creature. Horns, tail, scales—no wings that I remember, though. It was incredibly detailed. You looked like a dragon.” You took a deep breath, and almost whispering, still daydreaming about the mental image, you spoke: “It suit you.”

He didn't reply, not immediately, the chip on his hand ceasing its movements for a moment. A brief hesitation, a glimmer of something in his eyes (melancholy? Nostalgia?) flashed, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a half smile. He put the chip down and slid it towards you, taking a deep breath, beckoning you to keep going.

“We rested in a cave. Just like now, we were staring at the moon, and your tail—” You giggled fondly. “It was wrapped around me. Not asphyxiating me, mind you, but gently. And warm. It felt so real.”

You paused, and then continued.

“I wonder if that was some sort of…past life, or something.”

The room was completely darkened, and he had moved away from the glow of the moonlight, making it difficult to figure out what he was thinking. As the silence stretched on, you couldn't help but feel self-conscious — you'd half expected him to let out one of his earthy laughs upon hearing it. How cliché, how passè, the classical bedtime story of the beauty and her beast, deeply in love in his lair, a wonderful ever after following trials of blood and fire to be together. You've been watching too many romantic movies lately, sweetie , was the reply you expected him to blurt out, and then you'd pout, and finally go out to your mission and fight wanderers until the sun rose.

But he seemed to savor the recounting of your dream, as if taking apart thread by thread the tapestry of your words. You wondered what expression he had at that moment. Maybe he was coming out with a witty retort, something you've never heard before, or maybe he was annoyed at the prospect of him being a beast in the dream (when he'd been nothing but gentle with you lately), or maybe—

He let out a gentle chuckle, forcing you out of your thoughts. You stared at him, trying to find his eyes, until you met with a slightly glowing crimson gaze in the dark. A sign of danger, a pair of red eyes in the abyss—but they held none of the teeth that would swallow you whole. Instead, it enveloped you in a warmth that reminded you of cozy winter dawns, of summer nights, of a hot cup of tea after a draining day. 

How wonderful.

Sylus shifted on his seat. “Did something else happen in that dream?”

“Such as…?”

“We’ve watched one too many dramatic movies lately. Surely this one dream doesn't end in tragedy, likewise?”

You tutted, blushing, muttering. “Isn't the prospect of us cuddling under the moonlight enough for you?”

“With a monster —”

“A very handsome one.” You interjected. “And he is nothing but gentle with me.”

A pause of silence. Then, after staring deep into your eyes, as if attempting to break open your mind and peer into your jumbled thoughts, he let out a warm, almost elated laugh. 

“You do…have a fascinating way to look at things.” He spoke.

As if wanting to emphasize your earlier point, you stood up from the table and carefully walked towards him, two dinner knives in hand, and positioned yourself behind him. On the other side of the room, a body length mirror stood guard to the dark outlines of your bodies contrasting in the gentle glow of the moon.

The knives reflected the silvery light almost magically as you held them up the sides of his head in a horned fashion, a playful yet tender smile adorning your lips.

“You looked something like this.” You whispered, staring into the mirror. If you squinted hard enough, his silhouette looked very similar to the Sylus that had graced your dreams. “See? It looks good. It does suit you.”

He chuckled, his voice laced with something raw and unspoken. He gently grabbed your wrist, enveloping his calloused fingers around your soft flesh, as if counting every pulse under it. His digits interlaced with yours and he maneuvered you until you were at his side—then, he slid an arm around your waist and pressed you closer to him, his face burying on your sternum, something resembling a purr coming out of his throat. It made you freeze for a single second, the movement and the warmth so eerily similar to the one provided by his tail in your dream you wondered if you'd truly been the only one to dream about it.

“No tail. Is that alright?” He muttered, his voice muffled by your shirt. 

You shrugged. “Warm all the same.”

Something inside him opened at the sound of your words, and he let out a content, satisfied sigh. You could feel him smile against the fabric of your clothes, and under normal circumstances you'd tease him about it. Yet this time, he felt oddly vulnerable—like a cat bunting a beloved; it was not the time. You couldn't rob him of that.

“Let's go.” He broke the moment, pulling away. “It's getting late.”

He stood up, his arm leaving your waist—lingering for a fraction of a second, not truly wanting to pull away—and walked to the doorway with languid steps, taking his coat from the hanger.

“Does that mean I can call you that now?” You asked grabbing a last grape out of the fruitbowl.

“What was that now, kitten?”

“Dragon.” You smiled mischievously. “My dragon.”

He turned around, briefly speechless, and for a moment you feared you'd said something wrong—maybe he hated the nickname, or thought it was too silly, or preferred something else. But then his lips curved upwards, his gaze impossibly soft and cozy.

“If it's from you,” he reached for the motorcycle helmet and tossed it at you. “Any time.”

[gunsatthaphan]

"it's your turn to let me in."

[fishydaycare]

Yohoo? 👀

[tonguetyd]

Very important thing to mention as we go into Pride, it’s not a fun one, but it’s an important one.

We love going to events and meeting other people in the community, and I know Pride is sometimes the first experience some of the younger folks here will be out at clubs and bars. I hope y’all have great experiences but remember, just because there are a lot of queer people around does not necessarily mean all of those queer people have best intentions. Just like in any community, there are people that will take advantage of others.

Watch out for your friends, especially if they have been drinking. Watch YOUR drinks. If somebody starts hitting on your friend and you guys get separated, keep eyes on your friends. If you get pressured into doing shots, get the bartender to give a shot of water for you and say “thanks for the drink, bye.” Go out with people you trust. Arrive together, leave together.

Just because it’s a celebratory month (which it is, PLEASE celebrate at pride, especially now) doesn’t mean that unscrupulous individuals are not lurking. Be safe.

[bxnnie-bxwl]

so ive talked about previously of an alt version of evil!bonnie au, of gregory ending up with bonnie first and cause chaos dismantling the other animatronics...

[astral-herald]

worst season 2 discrepancy?

this is an inherently negative question, but i'm genuinely curious about which plot hole/writing issue bothered folks most in season 2. some of these may not be inexplicably plot holes, but they're all at least points that definitely needed expanding upon to take the story to its fruition...which is another profound reason why we needed 3 seasons.

i am certain there are many many more, and if you have another that bothered you the most, let me know in the replies!

also, if these are parts of the story that you enjoyed, that's wonderful! in my opinion, there were some glaring issues, but i'm really happy for everyone who enjoyed the season in their own way.

[chaosblob]

"Somethings...Fishy" Masterlist

•Merfolk Reader•Various Yandere•Reverse Harem•

Warning!

Cast/Love interest

Prologue

[lokimobius]

LOKI S02E06 “Glorious Purpose”

[biweeklyhermitcraft]

Day 59: Can’t see Everything

[heart2sea]

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ moon, do not abandon me no more (read on ao3)

word count: 671

tags: rafayel pov, slight angst and comfort depends on your point of view, fear of abandonment, he just misses you and is so afraid :(

summary: he also has things to do; he has to paint, he has to travel, he has to attend exhibitions, he has to save His people. He can’t be at the mercy of some mortal, enraptured, caught and harpooned by the mere glimpse of a shy smile, or a gentle touch, or the way your eyes lighten up whenever he brings you flowers, or…

a/n: short one shot inspired by the song Luna - Zoe. VERY good song. crazy rafayelmc coded. sorry for disappearing :( i'm about to finish uni and things have been kind of crazy. hope you guys like it :)

Rafayel wonders if you also feel an empty ache in your chest whenever he leaves for days.

You should—you must, right? To be alone in the unbearable void of the fear of being forgotten, afraid of waking up and the opposite set of eyes stare vacant at you, unable to understand why you mean so much to them. Curling up the same polite smile you’d give a helpless stranger you bump into on the street, instead of the lovely, playful one reserved just for each other. It would be such an incredibly dumb, pathetic thought if it weren’t for the fact that it simply keeps happening to him.

He doesn’t miss a single text when you’re gone. Good morning, cutie. Have you had breakfast yet? The new cafeteria near your workplace sucks, don’t come here. Good afternoon, cutie. What did you have for lunch? Thoughts on my outfit today? Good evening, cutie, let’s watch an episode of our show online before we go to bed. Look at this stupid-looking seagull I saw today. Good night cutie, you’re coming back tomorrow, right?  I bought a new nice-smelling body wash today, come soon and use it too.

So whenever he leaves and you don’t text him good morning or good night, something within him stirs. How childish, right? Grown man, afraid of being forgotten just because you didn’t text him a pic of your lunch or you were too tired to video call him before bed. He knows. He’s aware. And standing up from the couch, staring at the distant sea of Verona, surrounded by friendly acquaintances, he decides he has to wean off. Because it’s how life works—you can’t stay by his side all day, all hours, each minute. He would love that. But you have your duties, your friends, your life. An entire life before him and after him. Before you met at that beach and after you completely forgot about him, a promise washed into the sea to turn into sea foam.

If his heart aches every time more than an hour passes by without hearing your voice or getting a text, he would’ve laid dead the day after you met him again. Because he also has things to do; he has to paint, he has to travel, he has to attend exhibitions, he has to save His people. He can’t be at the mercy of some mortal, enraptured, caught and harpooned by the mere glimpse of a shy smile, or a gentle touch, or the way your eyes lighten up whenever he brings you flowers, or…

Focus.

He walks aimlessly around the hotel room, gathering his thoughts. Perhaps it’s a good thing that you don’t text him as often, probably too busy fighting off a stray wanderer on a high-level mission. Yes, you have your own things to worry about and so does he. 

And it would be such a delicious thought—the one of you cradling into his arms, needy, guilty, touchy after being worried of him going MIA—if it didn’t sting so much. You deserve it! He wants it. He loves feeling wanted, needed, the warm nuzzling of yours when sleeping together (is there anything there for you, anyway? His skin runs colder than humans, are you just pretending? Do you actually enjoy it?).

So when his mind is finally set, he hears the unmistakable sound of the hotel room opening with a click and turns around, his eyes widening.

“Surprise!” You shout, running to hug him, jet-lagged and slightly hungry. “Did you expect me?”

And it’s when he feels the warm of your body seep into him through his skin and straight into his thumping heart, calming it, slowing it into a comfortable, familiar rhythm, that he realizes that he’s thoroughly fucked. 

He hugs you back, an elated laugh escaping his throat (a sound that embarrasses him, he sounds too relieved for his own good, how pathetic), and nuzzles the top of your head. Poor him. Pitiful.

He can never let you go even if he tries.

[shadowcryptid0321]

Ain’t no rest for the wicked, a sneak peak of my next sculpting project, swimming this way soon

[kvothes]

older woman on the train was asking after my tattoo, told her it’s from hamlet, she said “ohhhh it’s been a longgg time since i’ve read hamlet, all i remember is that there’s something fishy in denmark”