#Selkie reader

[ddollfface]

𝐅𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙎𝙞𝙘𝙠!𝙎𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙤𝙧 𝙭 𝙎𝙚𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙚!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

"I have sea foam in my veins, I understand the language of the waves."

Trigger Warnings; Small mention of S/A (not described), reader being a bad mom (?), gore (mention of fatty tissue, blood, etc.) lovesick behavior, kidnapping, reader makes a grand escape, bad writing, I just wrote this for shits and giggles lol If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡

Shit!

Shit!

Shit!

You swore that it was here! There was nowhere else it could be; where could he put it? There weren't too many places one could hide something, especially in such a small Lighthouse. Rummaging through the wooden chest, your chipped nails scrapped against the splintered wood, gasping when a secret compartment opened, revealing it.

Your coat.

Yes! There it was! You scooped up the fluffy cloth, holding it up to your nose, and breathing the scent of it. It still smelt the same. The scent of fresh salt and cold air filled your senses, filling you with a sense of contentment. Biting your lip, you hold back tears as you hold the coat as close as possible, rubbing your face into the fluffy material.

The coat was still in good shape, with some small stains here and there, but overall it was perfectly fine. The coat was still a smooth, grayish-blue leather material, completely worn in, and fitted you quite nicely. It felt the same, smelt the same, and appeared to be the same. It's been so long since you've held it in your arms! You felt as if this was the reunion of your lifetime! Why have you been parted for so long-

"Mama?" You jumped, whipping around to face the doorway, grasping your hands around the coat, caught off guard by the soft voice. Your eyes met with ones of the same color, ones so bright and full of confusion.

Your heart clenched.

"What's that, Mama?" The boy pointed a chubby finger at the coat, which you quickly hid behind your back, giving the boy a soft smile. You quickly stood, making sure to keep the coat out of sight, and approached the boy.

You brought the boy close, kneeling in front of him, and rubbing the back of his head with a shaky smile, "Why are you awake? It's really late, Bubba..."

The boy's lips pursed, bringing the stuffed seal close to his chest. The sight of the stuffy made your pupils dilate and lips taught into a frown, but you resisted the urge to snatch the stuffy from the child's arms and rip it to shreds.

"Sorry, Mama... The thunder is scary, Mama," The boy's lip wobbled, and his rosy cheeks grew puffy. You sighed, picking the little boy up and holding him on your hip, straightening out his gray nightgown. Ruffing his blonde hair, you pressed a kiss on his forehead, attempting to not be repulsed at the sight of the child.

It's not his fault, you remind yourself, and you repeat it like a mantra. It's not his fault. It's not his fault. How could it be his fault?

There's no way this innocent, little boy could be a fault for this. He was just brought into this world without any will, brought into a family filled with unreciprocated love. So, because of this, you must push through and treat him with love, something he deserves.

But God is it hard, especially when he has his hair, his skin, and his face. He looks so much like him, practically the spitting image of him. The only thing you two shared was eyes, but even then they were in his shape. Even when away from him, you cannot escape him, a mini him staring right back at you.

How horrible are you? To where you cannot look at a little boy without anything but hate? How can you look at this little boy and not see your son? You birthed him, grew him from the womb, and fed him from your body. What more of a connection could you have with someone? And yet you cannot give him the time of day, refusing to play outside, denying him any attention a normal mother would give.

All of this was for today, the day you'd regain your dignity, freedom, and personhood, away from the monster you dare call your husband. You mustn't let the little boy grow close to you because it'll make parting all the worse. You need to be able to separate, and you have to carry that strength with you now. You must do so just so you can reunite with your brethren once agian.

It's been so long since you've seen them, and you miss them dearly so. Your throat tightens as you adjust the boy on your hip, leading him toward the stairs before setting him down. Huffing out a soft sigh, you tuck a blonde curl behind his ear, ignoring the dreadful thump of your heart and calling of your heavy consciousness.

You have to do this. If not for family, but for yourself.

"There's nothing to be scared of, Bubba. Now, go back upstairs and tuck yourself in," You kneeled down, softly speaking to the little boy, who just nodded, giving you one last hug.

"Mmk, Mama. Night night..." The boy whispers, grabbing your cheeks with his small hands, and pressing a clumsy kiss on your cheek, making you chuckle. Pressing your forehead against the little boy's, you lift up his bangs, just to press a kiss onto his forehead and bring him into a hug.

The little boy wraps his short arms around your middle, pressing his face against your chest, his lip wobbling. Racking your fingers through his blonde curls, you hold back the tears that pool in your eyes, knowing that you just have to pull through. You were so close, you can't let this go to waste.

"Alright, go to sleep, Baby," You pull away from the little boy, giving him one last smile before ushering him up the stairs. Waving at him, you cringe as he turns his head around, (E/C) eyes peering back into your matching ones. It's as if he knows something amiss, judging and observing you like it's your last moments together. And how correct he is.

You have to hurry.

.

.

.

The rain was heavy, beating against your back, and soaking through your thine nightgown. The raindrops began to blur your vision, or is it your tears? At this point, it's impossible to tell.

pitter. patter.

Your nose so cold it's red and about to fall off, cheeks matching in shade. Your hair is wet and sticks to your jawline, framing your head like a halo. Fingers scraped raw, blood smeared across your smooth skin, and seeping into the fluffy coat that is now matted with blood and water.

It's impossible to see where you're going, but you know deep in your heart which trail leads to where. The smell of salt and fresh dirt guides you to your home: the ocean.

pitter. patter.

Holding the coat close to your chest, careful not to drop it. If you lose it, this would all be for nothing, and you'd be dragged back to the hell you called home. The twigs and forest brush roll under your feet, causing your footing to be loose and inconsistent, warning you to be cautious.

Though it's been years since you've been outside, you know from your heart that you'll make it - you have to. The ocean is welcoming you with open arms. You can feel the way the wind is pushing you faster. How the waves are calling out to you, like a siren song ushering you to the depth of the sea. Or how the trees show the path toward the sandy gate.

pitter, patter.

You're almost there - you can feel it. Your feet are carrying you faster than you thought possible, but you choose not to focus on such things, instead, focusing on getting home. There's no way he should know, you've planned too long.

You can see it, the taste of freedom seeping onto your tongue. Quickly rushing to put on the coat, you sprint across the sand, relishing on how you sink into the grainy ground. The comfort of nostalgia causes you to slow and almost miss the sound.

pitter, patter?

Huh, how long has that sound been on loop, constantly playing in the background? You've been so caught up, that you hadn't noticed it, assuming it was just rain. Before you could even get another word, to even think of turning around, you're tumbling towards the ground.

A face full of sand is the last thing you expected, but quickly forgot about. The burning sensation of torn flesh and oozing blood welcomed the disheartening feeling of mind-rotting pain.

Quickly jerking your head to look behind you, you're greeted by the sight of a harpoon lodged into the back of your thigh. It felt as if your leg was getting torn apart, tissue and fat getting spread and ravished by the rusty head of the harpoon. It snagged and dug into your skin, causing blood and bile to creep up your throat. The sigh ungodly. You felt lightheaded and hadn't even realized that you were slowly being dragged away from the ocean.

The tugging of the metal head of the harpoon caused you to call out, a silent scream leaving your lips and flooded tears pooling down your cheeks. The wet sand rubbed against your body in a way that was no longer nostalgic, but torturous. The tiny grains smothered in your hair, itching your scalp. The sand absorbed the thick, scarlet liquid, causing blood to pool around your legs and create a stain in the sand as you were dragged back to him.

And there he was, the man you called your husband. His golden curls were a little frizzy but seemed to glow under the silver lighting of the moon. His skin tan and layered with scars, along with chiseled muscles that contracted with every harsh tug at the rope, connecting you to him. If you weren't in your current circumstances, you would've thought he was an angel of some sort, but you knew that was far from the truth.

And his eyes gleamed with bloodlust, completely bloodshot and fanatic. Eyes that were once a beautiful hazel, swirls of brown and green that resembled that of the grown we walk on and trees we lie under, are now churning with a possessive monster ready to break free and ravage you.

He was no longer the sailor you had grown to love and admire, instead, he was now a hunter, a man you should've swam from the moment you saw him on that pier. But how could you have known?

He looked anything but harmful, more similar to a young babe than a possessive maniac. Who could blame you for being attracted to him, especially after he had helped you after your tail got caught in some mangy nets? His hands were so delicate, making sure to be careful not to hurt such skin.

Though he didn't know you weren't what you seemed, he still treated you as a living, breathing being, when most would've deserted you, or sold you on the market. After all, humans seemed to deem seals good for soup.

You thought you could trust him, and that's why you revealed yourself to him, exposing your identity as a selkie. If only you had known...

If only you had known what was lying behind that charming smile was a possessive and delusional man waiting for the right woman.

If only you had known that though he had a pretty face, the prettiest face you've ever seen on a human, it wasn't something to be fooled by, instead, you should've swum back in the ocean the moment he freed you from that damned net.

If only you had known that he'd take away your coat, stealing it in your sleep, pretending it got swept up in the ocean. That he'd help you get it back, just come up to his Lighthouse. He'll help you.

If only you hadn't trusted that pretty smile, taking his hand, and going up to his Lighthouse.

If only you had known that he'd take advantage of you, ripping your clothes off, and taking your cries as an invitation for more. Maybe if you had known about the human anatomy, you would've fought a little more and screamed a little louder.

But you didn't. You didn't know, and now you are being dragged back into the hands that stole you from your people, your home, and stole your life, trapping you with a baby boy.

Now, he whispers in your ear, cradling your head as sobs rack throughout your body. Your leg is bloody and torn, no recovery in sight. Tears of shame, guilt, and rage build up inside of you, so you pound your fists against his chest, screaming at him through the sobs.

His large hands just hold you in place, letting you tire yourself out, humming sweet nothings into your ear as he slowly weaves your coat from your hands. Quickly picking you up, careful not to touch your injured leg, he begins his walk home, leaving gore in his wake.

The ocean, your only witness, cries for its loss. The daughter it once had, who was so close to coming home, was now snatched away by the hands of an evil man. The tides rise, ridding the sand of the gore and blood that once was.

Closing your eyes, the last thing you see is the calming waves reaching out for you.

"Honey, it's time to go home."

[a-lurking-fae]

Credits to @zealousgoldcollective for the ideaaa!!!

◇ SELKIE READER x BATFAM

◇ WORD COUNT ¡ — 2.0k

◇ SYNOPSIS ¡ — You were a halfling selkie - but due to the family's neglect, you have become one with the ocean.

Your mother was a beautiful selkie that had simply come to sunbathe — yet, how could she have ended up like this?

Bruce was travelling to Ireland to enjoy his vacation, walking on the beaches, and - there she was, in all her glory.

Your mother was humming a tune, sunbathing as she enjoyed the sea breeze, unaware of the man who had fallen in love with her at first sight. Her long locks flew gently, arranged by the wind lovingly, the sun shone on her skin — she was the epitome of beauty herself.

A beautiful stranger — she was truly. If Bruce had simply left, maybe your fate wouldn't have ended up like this. But he approached her, like a predator moves - his eyes never leaving his prey. She was a stranger, but she didn't have to be.

“A lovely afternoon to you, sir — ” by the gods, even her voice was beautiful. A tune that no words could ever hope to explain. The moment she had spoken, your mother had sealed her fate. “It truly is. Magnificence has finally gotten a meaning.”

The woman chuckled, “A poetic man — you are, dear sir. Might share some inspiration?” .

Her- she had become his beacon, his muse, his sun, the very being that he will forever tie himself into. Was this what his parents had told him? A love so strong — it can not ever be called love. So what was he feeling?

“I - uhh… it just comes naturally, sometimes it gets to you - it explains itself in words…” oh gosh, what the fuck was he talking about. But that didn't really matter, she was laughing. “Well, I hope I'll get to experience that too!”. Her laugh had started to cease, “Could I get your number?” Shit. Did that come out from his mouth?

“What's that?” She tilted her head in confusion, the humans that approached her always asked about this “number”. Bruce was also confused, but understood that some do not have the luxury of phones. But — he misunderstood why she didn't know what a number was. “Ah… never mind, will you still be here tomorrow?” Bruce asked her, well — he hopes she will.

“Hmm, I most likely will!” Well — wait, really?

From there, their interactions spiralled into something more, a spark - you could say. For your, mother this seemed like a revelation that not all humans are pure evil — but, Bruce? Well, his obsession worsened day-by-day. He craved for her touch, he needed her to be his. And finally, he soon figured out her secret.

She was a selkie — with further research, he figured out how to tie her to him. At the dead of night, he stole her pelt, hiding it away from her grasp.

She was devastated. She should have expected this. The tales of older selkie were all truths. How could she have been that naive? Bruce brought her to the manor. She met Richard Grayson, a son she never bore.

Your mother was crafty, she conceived you in the manor while she made her grand heist. She had figured out where her coat was. She was getting desperate, the ocean screamed at her to return. The rain's whispers — always so quiet - now have started to weeping noises. How could she? The ocean was her home, not here.

You may join her one day, among her own people, just not now, she swears she loves you. Amongst the sobs of the water around, your mother weeps at what might never be. Her baby, oh, her baby.

Her pup will be left to fend for herself until she can reach her. Your mother hopes she could whisk you away, but that human has trapped both of you here. And in a way, when she leaves — a part of her will be left behind in this cold — desolate structure.

‘Goodbye, my precious cub.’

She leaves, and you are left behind — wondering what it would be like to know the love of both your parents.

❀•°•═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════•°•❀

Bruce had sent you abroad for senior high. Your siblings never really cared where you were. You had chosen Ireland — its infrastructure, history, and folklore screamed to you.

Everything was fascinating! You had read about selkies, which were kind creatures that sometimes assisted humans. You knew how most stories ended up with them getting taken advantage of. (You are unaware you were a result of the exact situation. How ironic.) You return to your Airbnb, opting to rest after classes.

At the dead of night, you trailed to the beach, you never realised you had walked all the way here! It was a good few kilometers from the bnb, how could you have not noticed?

You decided to enjoy the sea for a while, think about life? Sure, why not? A melodic tune enters your ear, words couldn't describe how beautiful it truly was. You follow the tune — entranced, you find a woman with long locks, singing away her heart. She spots you, and familiarity hits you — akin to a tidal wave, it sweeps you away. Leaving that feeling of being stranded on the shore. She runs to you, her sobs pulling your heart as well. And — “My pup, you have finally returned to my arms once more!” You weep along with her, you're not even sure that if she truly is your mother. Well, in the future you can deal with that problem!

The woman embraces you from midnight to the early rising of the sun. She tells you her story, and you are unsure. She senses the hesitation from you, after all, how could she not? You came from her womb, and she tells you your heritage. Your mother had started her own selkie family. You had half–siblings that enjoyed your presence. You weren't used to this. Your mother's husband, Liam, was surprisingly accepting of you. Watching you and your siblings from far away. His mother had a similar situation to his wife, Cahira — he was conceived by his mother after her escape a few millennia ago.

Liam protects you like his own pup. Wounds? Patched up. Need someone to talk to? A good listener is here. Boy problems? Need him to drown them? He loved you like a father. Liam saw you for you. Not because you were Cahira’s daughter, nor just a pity party — but because he genuinely thought of you as his pup.

Anytime you went swimming, they would all trail after you. You weren't a full selkie, and had a risk of dying since you weren't immortal like them. They showed you the wonders of the ocean. No matter how dark it ended up, they always knew how to find you. When graduation came around, they decided it was time to ask you —

“Join us, my child — ” Your mother randomly blurted out one day. “You can become a full selkie, and I truly wish to have you with us until the end of time.” She chose her words, knowing that you may decline their offer. “If I become a selkie, Bruce might hunt you down — again.” You rest your hand atop hers.

“I love you, all of them too. But — I do not want to risk your happiness over mine.” You hug her, burying your head unto her shoulders. This was nice, you imagine a place where it was only you and them. The cruel truth will always haunt you.

“You silly girl!” Liam hits your head in a chopping motion. “We would love to have you, and honestly? It is safer if you stay with us — away from that man.” Well —

“Not to mention the neglect you have been facing all these years, my dear — We love you so much, if he ever tries to break us up, I will go to the depths of the Otherworld and back to make sure you are with us.”

You don't notice the tears cascading down your face — it was only after Cahira had kissed them away. Did you finally realise.

Finally, after graduation, you had decided to become a full selkie.

❀•°•═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════•°•❀

You returned to the manor, wishing to say goodbye to Alfred one last time. Your pelt was in your bag, although it would have been safer with your parents, an emergency might arise and you would need it.

Your room had been the same as before, the posters during junior high were still stuck up the walls. Alfred had told you to go downstairs since you would all eat together. You honestly had a bad feeling about this —

Laughter could be heard echoing against the manor walls, inside jokes ran rampant between them — you wished to return to your room. Your paradise in hell. Entering the dining room, you could feel the stares of all your siblings upon your figure. They pale in comparison to the little gremlins back home. (You didn't realise you had stopped calling the manor your home, have you?)

Silence was suffocating, and Bruce felt the awkwardness dawning on them. “So, how was Ireland (name)?” He shuffled with his collar, he came from another one of his charity events, and he was too tired to change. “It was lovely, the country is interesting.” You wanted to taunt him, let him know you were going somewhere kinder, you knew better than that.

The silence dragged on until dinner ended, it was the polar opposite with the Selkies. You truly missed them.Your days went on without a hitch, not much has truly changed. It was only a few days until you'd return to Ireland.

“You'll be staying in Gotham for college.” No! No fucking way! Did he seriously just say that shit? “I already made friends there, it's hard adjusting to another environment again and — ” Bruce sighs, he hadn't expected this, should he just let you be? “I want to spend time with, I — I regret all the things I haven't done with you. I want to become a father to you, I hope you'll give me that chance.”

You stormed out of his office, packing your bags in a haste, preparing your pelt carefully. For some reason, your siblings in the manor had all tried to spend time with you today. Richard attempted to get you to go with him to this restaurant that opened a few blocks away — you opted to run instead. Damian had dragged you to paint with him, he surprisingly didn't attack you during this process. Cassandra and Stephanie wanted to watch a movie with you, while Babs and Jason bought you ice cream. Duke joined you and Alfred in baking. Your plans I'm running away kept getting ruined. They used to patrol until dawn!

You felt a sense of urgency to return to the sea. You made up you mind and ran with your stuff, your flight had been booked, and a friend picking you up secretly. You searched your room for the hidden pelt — wait, where the fuck was it? Shit. Shit. Shit! You turned your room upside down and — nononono! You can't delay right now! “Are you looking for something, (name)?” It was Bruce, he had to have it. “I am, and I know you have it.” You'd glared at him.

“Have what exactly?” He was a bitch alright. “My pelt, Mr. Wayne.” Bruce was taken back by your cold tone. One he always used on you. “You will stay here and that is final.” He goes outside as he locks your door, chains clanking at his every move. You never knew that there were chains! “You will not leave me, no. This is your home, my dear. Dad is sorry.” Bruce walks away from your screams, he will burn your pelt soon. Until he is sure that it will not give you any harm.

You attempt to break the windows, but all the windows in the manor have been reinforced by Dick and Jason. A feeling of dread washes over you, as your selkie family senses something has gone awry.

•.:°❀×═════════×❀°:.•

Damn that was long lol —

[ya-bug-boy]

Ingo x selkie reader?

Ingo x Selkie Reader!

You've grown up with stories of other selkies talking about how they would lose their loved ones to the humans. It was out of love but at the cost of losing their family, as humans would hide the selkie's fur coat, forbidding their reentry back into the ocean.

You've always looked at humans at a distance, seeing young and old couples gaze at your seal body in adoration before returning their rightful gaze back to their loved ones. You watch as they fawn over each other, making wonderful memories of something you yearned for but did not have.

The selkie community had dwindled over the years. Many left to become fully human or fully seals. Or perhaps to join a new community. You hoped that was the case. It was sad to think if any of your old childhood friends had been, well, eaten by predators.

Though you did not anticipate falling in love with Ingo, as he came unexpectedly into your life, you were always drawn to him.

When you had decided Ingo was your mate, you placed your fur coat within view of his home. But he did not take it.

So you try again. You leave it where he would most definitely see it. But as always, he never touched it.

After the fifth time, you confront him. "Did you not want me?" you asked him. "Why aren't you hiding my coat?"

Ingo then explains to you with all the love in his heart and voice that he doesn't want to steal from you to make you his. He doesn't want to force you to give up your original home, family, and community in order to be his. You may stay as a seal, human, selkie, whatever form you wish to be, but he would stay truthfully yours.

You had never known such love could exist where you would not forsake your origins.

So now, you and Ingo both hang up your coats, your fur coat and his subway boss coat, on the same coat rack nearby the front door.

You tend to his coat, mending it when it needs stitches and in return, he brushes the knots out of yours.

You are a seal.

You are a human.

You are a selkie

You are also Ingo's mate and he is yours.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

The Selkie and the Sailor

Yandere Male Sailor x Selkie Male Reader

CW: Noncon, kidnapping, general yandere behavior

Word Count: 583

A tale as old as the ages. A human hopelessly enamored by a selkie. Captain Frederick Farview, in his early thirties, was the human. He owned and sailed a large leisure vessel for wealthy customers.

And you were the selkie. An abnormal male one at that. 

He had first encountered you while doing a cruise for wealthy clients. From the boat, he had seen a strange sight. He saw a beautiful man put on some sort of cloth and transform into a beautiful seal before sliding into the water and swimming away. 

He had been so enamored by the creature he had seen in the moonlight that he had to see it again. Out of pure curiosity, and to assure himself that he had not imagined it, he took a smaller personal boat back to the location after the cruise finally ended.

The captain knew it was likely a long shot, but he had to know for sure. To his surprise, he actually went around you, sitting on a rock jutting out of the water in the distance. Though you swam away when you noticed him. 

You had been warned about humans.

But eventually, your curiosity got the better of you, and his persistence paid off. You allowed him to approach within speaking distance. He was charming and kind. Curious about your origins and culture.

Soon enough, he won you over. You shed your seal skin lower half, which allowed you to morph into a human form and board his fancy yacht.

After a few times, you let your guard down, and he wrestled your magic skin from you and forced you to be his.

He hid it away and took you to his home. Having nowhere else to go in this strange world and owning nothing, not even clothes, you were dependent on him and had to endure marriage to him. 

But worse than that, you had to endure his cock constantly. Filling your mouth or ass with his seed constantly. It seemed there was nothing he liked more than having his hands caressing you as he fucked into you while babbling about how perfect and beautiful you were.

One day, though, you finally found your skin. He had taken you for a small trip on his personal yacht, and you found it still stashed there all this time while he slept. Like a treasure to be hidden away from the world.

A treasure indeed.

You took it to the deck and slipped it on before jumping into the water with a splash. Captain Farview woke up and found you missing from his side. He arrived just in time to see you swim away.

With a growl of frustration, he got some fishing gear and was in hot pursuit. The waters here were shallow, so he knew if he was fast, you wouldn't be able to escape.

In the end, he caught you in a net. When he took you home, he tied you up in front of the roaring fireplace and threw your seal skin, your selkie birthright, into the flames.

You screamed and lunged forward, but his strong hands kept you in place as you howled in agony. It pained him to see you like this, but it was the only way to get it through your head that your place was with him.

He picked you up and buried your face in his chest as you wept.

"Come on, let's get you to bed. You've had a long day."

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

the free baby saga,,,,,,,,,, FINALE

could also be considered, Moon infects Sun with baby fever. Selkie Reader is confused but glad their husbands are having fun 💕💕💕

First part here !

[parvulous-writings]

Aagh thank you so much for taking my Selkie!reader request!! it’s so cute, I absolutely love it!! 💓🦭 I would love a one-shot if you wouldn’t mind 🫶🏻

Warnings: Reading is referred to with she/her pronouns and fem descriptors, vague descriptors of peeling off skin. Somewhat abrupt ending, maybe? Not sure, I've been staring at this for too long

Words: 2.4K

Notes:  My requests are currently open! My request post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too! If you’d like to support me more, consider reblogging! I’d appreciate it loads!!

Gale had certainly been one of your more courteous companions, on your group's slow and steady journey up to Baldur's Gate. Whilst a lot of the others - particularly Astarion, and at times, Lae'zel - would often mutter or complain about how often you would need to stop to 'bathe'. The only ones who didn't try and hurry you along were the wizard, and Wyll. Wyll understood why the others were getting so frustrated, and so did Gale, you were all under a tiny bit of a time constraint on the road. "It's only once a day," Wyll would often defend - not that you were usually in earshot of this. "It is rarely even over an hour or two - I am well aware that we have issues to resolve-" He held up a hand to silence Shadowheart, who had just opened her mouth to retort, most likely with some remark about how they would all be in deep trouble if they kept stopping for everyone's habits, bathing or otherwise. "But, she is the one who holds us all together, and for such a feat, I feel we could... Afford her this much." "Perhaps I should start bathing as much." Astarion drawls, examining his long nails idly as he spoke. "I mean... If one of us can 'afford' to do it, then evidently the rest of us can as well, hm?" Wyll gave the vampire a look of mild exasperation, whilst Gale spoke up. "That isn't what Wyll meant - and you are well aware of that fact." He stated, his voice firm. "You know that she has been incredibly kind to us - you in particular - so we are showing her some kindness in turn." He folded his arms across his chest as he practically scolded the Elf, trying to appear intimidating. It didn't work all that well, at least, not from Astarion's perspective. "But, if you are really so intent on being bothered by this, I will go and ask her to hurry along..." He then continued, as Astarion's eyes became dour. If there was something that the wizard didn't want to do, it was irk the paler man's ire.

With that, Gale trotted off down the same path that you had taken merely half an hour prior, muttering to himself about how easily he had caved to the demands and how he should have stood his ground more. If not for his own dignity, then for your sake. Gale was immensely fond of you, perhaps more than he should have been, considering the short amount of time that he had known you for. But for the wizard, the kindness that you had shown him meant the world. It was the same kindness you showed to all the other companions, but he felt it was special, when it came to him. After so long without such affections - if they could even be called such - Gale's mind was going into overdrive in the presence of it, latching onto you in a way that he tried consciously to ignore, but every time the thoughts of staying at arms length from you left his mind, he would slowly drift ever closer to you. You had never shown any aversion to him. Even when he had admitted to you about the perilous situation thanks to the orb embedded in his chest, you had not shied away, nor had you cast him out. It was more - so much more - than he deserved.

The stroll to the riverbank only took him about ten minutes or so. He had been so wrapped up in his internal battle about whether to just turn around and leave you be, to stand his ground, that he almost dipped his boot into the cold water. He blinked for a moment or so, shaking his head to centre himself, before he made his eyes try to focus on the banks. Where had you decided to take your dip? He assumed it wouldn't be right at the end of that small path, where anyone would be able to wander and see you - you liked your privacy. So, he began to wander, sweeping his eyes across the spaces in front of him, looking for any sign of you or your belongings. In bushes, behind the odd tree, but there wasn't anything, for quite a while. He was beginning to grow concerned - what if you had been caught unawares by a bear, or even a stray goblin? No, that makes no sense, the rational voice in his head countered. She has taken on owlbears practically by herself. Why would a goblin pose a threat? He couldn't argue with that voice, he had seen you do marvellous, perhaps even borderline terrible if the circumstances were different, things. Whilst he was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he almost ended up face-first in the slick grass of the verge after stumbling over one of your boots. Thankfully, he caught himself, saving him from such embarrassment. Gale hummed gently to himself, discovering your discarded blouse and trousers not far from where he had tripped. But you... You were nowhere he could see. He thought about calling out for you, trying to grab your attention - wherever you may be... In the nearby reeds, perhaps? Before he could, however, the splash and ripple of the water beside him diverted his attention from his forming words.

Upon turning his gaze, he locked eyes with something he had not expected to see, so far from the coast of the North. It was a seal. The roundest, darkest eyes just stared back at him, unwavering. Despite the creature being rather adorable, the stare was downright unnerving, and almost... Human. That wasn't entirely something he was expecting - that level of sentience behind it's eyes. Even when he had consumed a potion of animal speaking, there wasn't that look, that shine, to an animal's eye. "Um, forgive me, I-" Gale wasn't entirely sure why his first instinct was to speak. He hadn't taken a potion of animal speaking since their last long rest last night, he would have no way to understand the beast. His eyes trailed back down to the clothes he had discovered as the animal started hauling itself out of the water, and onto the verge. "I was looking for someone, I think she might be somewhere around here..." Why was he still talking? He had no idea. But for some, inexplicable reason, it didn't feel at all weird. Perhaps he had been relying too much on the potions, recently. "These are her clothes, see, and-" He started to turn back, and instead of the seal becoming the focus of his gaze, it was, instead, you. Dripping wet, a mirthful smile dancing across your features. Peeling away from your body, and still partially clutched in your hands, was a seal skin. Gale's mind completely blanked for a moment, and his eyes drifted downward of their own accord, towards your chest as his cheeks began to heat up. As soon as he realised he was beginning to practically ogle your naked form, he averted his eyes. "By Mystra's robe, I-" He started, clearly flustered. His mind felt like it was going blank, over and over, unable to make any clear thoughts.

He tried to focus his eyes anywhere else, anywhere but you, his mouth opening and closing over and over, but little more than stuttering sounds leaving it. "Gale." Your voice breaks him from his thoughts, but he still cannot quite get himself to look at you. He offers a gentle hum, to show he heard you. "May I have my clothes, please?" Without another word, he gathers your garments, holding them out to you, one by one. "Shouldn't you... Dry yourself, first?" He asked, hazarding a glance your way. "It's just a bit of water, Gale... It'll dry." You chuckled, pulling your blouse on over your head. It did stick in a couple of places, but, for someone who had just come out of a river, it wasn't as bad as Gale had anticipated. Perhaps that was the seal skin? "Did you need something, Gale..?" You asked, whilst in the middle of redressing yourself. You glanced over to the wizard as you spoke, noticing he had his back to you, clearly still bashful about seeing you in the nude. It was rather sweet, really, how sweet he could be. "The uh... The others were wondering where you were..." He replied, almost lamely. "So I came to see if you were... Finished bathing..." He was finally able to meet your gaze again, now that you were fully clothed, and he didn't risk catching a glimpse of something more intimate. He wasn't entirely sure what to think, or what even to ask. Why had you been a seal? How had you been a seal? You spotted that look of inquisition in his eye - that twinkle that always seemed to appear when he had a barrage of questions stewing in his mind.

"Something on your mind?" You asked him, your voice almost teasing. You knew there was, it was impossible to miss; and you were well aware of how odd the situation the one he had just seen you in could look, even to someone as well-studied as him. "I just... How?" He asked, vaguely gesturing to you as you gently folded your seal skin, carefully placing it in your pack, right at the bottom, away from prying eyes. "You were you when I saw you this morning, and now you're some sort of seal... Shifting... Creature?" He asked, the cogs audibly turning in his head as he continued waving his hands about, as if this would help him to think. You had to hold in a laugh - this was a seriously confusing moment for him, but you would have thought with all his time spent with his nose stuck in a book before this adventure, that he might have had some sort of idea of what you were... Part of you didn't want to tell him; it took a lot of trust to disclose to anyone what you were, you knew all too well that there were many humans who were all too eager to take advantage of your situation. But, you were almost backed into a corner now. He had seen you, not just in your seal, but physically peeling it off, too. Why had you done that? We trust him, a small voice, nestled in the very back of your head spoke quietly. He has been kind to us... Perhaps he is not like the stories. You considered this for a moment. Before your unforseen adventure, you had always tended to avoid humans; tales from your family and friends had struck the fear of them deep into you. But now that you had been travelling with a few for a while... They didn't seem so bad. Sure, none of them knew that you were a selkie, but they had shown no inclination that they were malicious, for the most part. Wyll was the pinnacle of a knight in shining armour, and Gale was a very considerate man, especially after such a long period of isolation before his abduction.

"It... Is a thing that I keep somewhat... Secret." You said, slowly, and this caught Gale's attention. A secret? Something you had kept from the rest of this group, for all this time? "Is it an... Affliction, of some description? A curse?" He asked, his brows furrowed, clearly concerned for you. "To an extent, I suppose..." You shrugged slightly. "The only real 'curse' of it, is needing to swim, and be in water, as a... Well, a seal, often..." Gale's expression turned contemplative at this. "Your daily habits..." He mused, more to himself than to you. His hand absent-mindedly moved to his chin, slowly stroking at the stubble that littered it. "Shedding skin... Seal.. Must be near to water..." His voice was low as he murmured his thoughts aloud, trying his best to connect the dots. Then his eyes lit up, and his head all but snapped towards you. "A selkie-?" He blurted. Ah, so he did know of your kind. You give a somewhat sheepish smile, telling him all he needed to know. His gaze shifted to one of pure awe. "I... Had no idea - I mean, you had given no true hint, I suppose. You're beautiful, to be sure, but I never realised that it was because-" He stopped himself mid-ramble, his cheeks flushing as he realised what he had just said in his hurry to rationalise himself, and his thought process - or lack thereof in the past couple of months. You give him another smile, "You think I'm beautiful?" You asked the wizard, teasingly. Gale slowly began to nod - he couldn't exactly backtrack his words without insulting you, which was something he did not want to do, at near any cost. "Breathtaking, even... If I may." His voice was low, little more than a murmur.

The two of you share a look, then. A look of what could only be mutuality. And it was - you had eyed Gale for the past two weeks, at least. He had been caring, attentive to your needs, to your likes. It was hard for you to deny the flutter in your chest, that only seemed to be caused by him, or his presence. Without another word, you held out your hand to him, which he took without question, not even a second guess. It was something he had craved for a while, himself. Holding your hand in his, it felt right. Like bliss, even. He was happy to oblige you. So, the two of you began to walk back. You were anticipating a flurry of questions - things both mundane and not, about your life as a selkie. Yet, the wizard was oddly quiet, seemingly basking your presence, now that there were no secrets between the two of you. It felt nice, to him. Freeing, even. It was like, for the briefest of moments, there was nothing and no one outside of the two of you; no illithids, no pressing quest, no monsters lurking on the road ahead. Gale wanted it to last forever, and kept stealing glances your way, finally being able to take in your beauty without shame. Part of him knew he would be teased by some camp members when this came to light, but he didn't care. Perhaps now, the pair of you could bond more. Gale would like that - and he was starting to get the impression, that you would very much like it too.

[aerkame]

In the finfolk au, what if y/n knew not to give Wally their real name (or at least was weary of him and didn’t trust him enough to tell) and tried to give a nickname instead? Would he know instantly they were lying? And how would he try to get them to say their real name? Also, how would he and everyone else react if y/n upon transforming into a mermaid was terrified and tried to escape?

If Wally doesn't take notice of something Home is there to help... Side note: Normal puppets are just the equivalent of humans in this AU to prevent confusion.

EDIT: ACK, just remembered the last part of the ask. I shall make a part 2 to this ask then. Hopefully the anon will be able to see it when it gets posted!

You were always warned about the finfolk. Luckily you weren't exactly a normal puppet so you doubt that any of the residents here would try to trap you on the island with them. But that small bit of paranoia kept you on your toes...well crutches. Your leg was still healing and as far as you could tell you'd be staying at 'Home' until the injury healed.

"My name is..." You thought of something quick, giving Wally a fake name. You don't know what exactly will happen if you give him your true name, but you've heard plenty of times now to never ever give it out to the fae, demons, angels, or the finfolk.

The tall puppet clicked his felt tongue before placing his hands behind his back. "What a lovely name."

---

Wally is well aware that you have been lying to him, but who is he to try and pry information out of you? He shook his head at the thought. While the finman really wanted to just force the name out of you, it would be better to get you comfortable here first, and then they could begin their goal on making you a permanent resident. Just like they did with Frank.

Speaking of which...he turned around to look at the puppet in question, humming in delight upon seeing you two get along, sipping tea and sharing stories.

Frank was the perfect tool to get you to open up really. He had no issues with the island, he understood selkies and their current dwindling numbers, he was level-headed, and most importantly, he was a normal puppet before. He could relate to you in a sense. The grey puppet even helped you lean towards staying or at least consider the possibility of staying here, having brought up the issue that poachers and criminals alike will do nothing but continue stealing selkie coats for profit.

"Quite frankly, you might be better off staying here. You and I both know there is not much out there for selkies and it's only going to get worse with the constant poaching and coat thieves, your kind are on the brink of extinction for stars sake."

Frank sighed after his mini-rant, having worked himself up. The topic of poaching and hunting exotic or near-extinct species was an upsetting topic and it was easy to tell. You didn't speak much for a while after that, continuing to listen to Frank while sipping at the hot beverage. "Hey...Frank, if I did decide to stay would the others even be alright with that?" Your voice cracked a bit. You don't know why, but it felt like eyes were pinning you to the plush seat, demanding that you stay put.

His eyebrows quirked and he gave you a questioning look. "I have no doubt that the neighbors wouldn't mind you staying." He crossed his arms looking more stern now. "If anything I'd say that you would be safer here with us."

You gave Frank a small smile. The eyes followed you.

---

"So, neighbor. I heard that you've been getting quite comfortable yes?" Wally swished his wine in small circles before taking a sip, not once taking his eyes off you.

"oh, uhm, yes! It's very nice here, there are so many smaller islands and lots of places to explore. And the colorsss..." Your words slurred slightly "so many colors evenn in the plantss. I've never seen any place like thiss! I mean even the insects and fish are unique here, Frankyy showed me his whole collection which he says isn't done ye-" Your face was beet red and the finman could tell he had you drunk enough once you couldn't stop talking yourself into a mess.

Carefully leaning over, Wally placed a hand on yours as he rubbed circles into your palm. Time to butter you up.

"You know, you could always stay with us here, forever. You'll never not be bored, you'll have friends, and you'd be safe." He inhaled, the small but hidden slits behind his cheeks opening, smelling the scent that lingered on your form remembering it was the perfume he gave you. He sighed, content.

Wally looked down at your small body. You had stopped rambling and now you were avoiding eye contact, preferring to look down into your lap or looking off to the side.

"Ah...you know, I could never get your name out of my mind. It's just so wonderful...If you did stay I could call you by it all I want." He leaned in closer, softly grabbing hold of your chin to lift it up, making sure he could see your eyes.

A thumb brushed over your mouth "I just wished there was more I could do to help you..." He breathed out your false name and watched you struggle internally...good.

"Uhm, actually, Wally, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

"Oh? I'm all ears." His plan was going along flawlessly.

Wally softly let go of your face, but remained close, fixing you in a position of feeling pinned. "I-I lied. About my name. I lied aboutt a lot of things." Some of your letters still slurred but it was obvious you were trying your hardest to think clearly.

"That's alright dear, I knew the whole time, but I figured you had a reason." Wally was grinning ear to ear.

"My real name is..." Your named slipped your mouth.

Yellow hands flew up to cup your cheeks. Wally held a mixed face that was of bliss and excitement. "Oh my darling I am so sorry I've called you by another name this entire time! Please allow me to make up for it with another dinner? Same time tomorrow."

Your head felt fuzzy as you nodded along to whatever he said. "It's- alriight." You felt numbed. Wait...

A part of you panicked for a second, having snapped into the the realm of reality, but you calmed down shortly after. You trusted him. Wally would never harm you or trap you right? He and the others have been all too kind and welcoming and if they really wanted to trap you they'd have figured out a way by now. Your thoughts were so rapid, everything is fast, too fast.

Wally was so caught up in his own thoughts he didn't pay attention to your swaying body until he heard a loud 'thud' and looked down at your sleeping form.

Oh dear, maybe that beverage was too strong for you to handle.

TL;DR

Don't get drunk around Wally. He's a finman and won't get drunk as easily... and he'll probably take advantage of that to get info out of you. Or he'll just make you a blushing mess.

[mrlidocaine]

Okie dokie, I cannot for the life of me find the request but bless your soul Anon this was so fun, seeing as my own Gramma told me selkie stories growing up.

It was a Childe x Selkie reader but I left it pretty lax so it's not character specific. Reader is female in this one. Enjoy y'all

TW: None I don't think

I will do as men do to seals

The sailor watched her with eyes bluer than the ocean, although they held no life. She was dozing against a rock near the shore; tucked away from sight the same way the speckled sealskin was tucked on her lap. He watched her with keen eyes, her beauty enrapturing and with the grace of a shark he snuck up and snatched the sealskin from her resting form. He held it up to the sun, the golden rays shining through the silky grey pelt and making it appear transparent. Her eyes opened and oh, what a cruel awakening, to see half of you held in the scarred hands of a hunter. He rolled up the soft grey and tucked it into his belt for now, turning his ocean eyes to her own.

"Say goodbye to the ocean." He stated simply, walking closer to her. She was caught, she was his now. She opened her mouth and nothing fell but salty tears, salt from the ocean herself. He reached out his calloused hand and brushed her quiet tears away before raising his fingers to his mouth and gently pressing his lips to the sea salt, unable to believe she was real, she was real and she was his now. He moved his hand back to her face, fingers slipping under her jaw and tilting her chin up, strength hidden under a terrifyingly soft touch. "Say it."

"Goodbye, goodbye." She hiccuped as her tears flowed smoothly down her skin and he smiled, pleased and proud and predatory. He ran his thumb over her cheek and his eyes looked like they softened. Almost. "You're mine." He whispered, he promised. A decree, an oath, a law. He moved back and his gaze hardened, kindness that didn't really exist falling away like stars in the morning sky. He grasped at his knife and tugged out her seal skin to hold one item in each hand, the sharp silver and soft grey so close in colour. She stared in horror, soft eyes widening and a shaky hand reaching out as she stumbled up and towards him. He slashed at the pelt, spots shredded and turning to slices, silky fur reduced to ribbons. That horrible thing was gone now and he laughed and she cried.

"Look what I've done. Look! The ocean does not own you anymore." He stated, a feral glint in his eyes. She stared, her mind buzzing and brain blank, hand held out for something that no longer existed, something she'd never get back. He stepped forward and pocketed his knife before tugging off his own shirt, dropping it over her in a mock resemblance of her own coat and scooping her up into his arms gently, as if he was not a monster or a shark, not a man that preyed on pretty seals. "I am your ocean now."

[freakyficsforfuglyvillains]

🦭Shaw x Selkie! Reader: Part 2🦭

Shaw bound your wrists and ankles and loaded you into his truck. The whole ride you sat with your back facing him. You knew it would only serve to satisfy him if saw you crying, but he was satisfied all the same. For the first time in a very long time he was bringing home something that was still alive.

Shaw’s cabin was cold, dark and smelled strongly of smoke. He set you down on the floor and began to make a fire. Once he was done, he pulled up a rickety old rocking chair and sat down across from you. He leaned back on the rocking chair and it groaned. You flinched at the strange sound.

“Scared?” he asked.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, let alone answer his question.

Shaw laid down the law. He had three rules for you; to cook, to clean and to keep quiet. You had to abide by these rules, otherwise he would destroy your sealskin.

“Cook? Clean? What do you mean?,” you asked.

“These are things you’ll learn,” Shaw replied. “You can read, can’t you?”

“Read?”

Shaw covered his face. He began to tap his foot against the floor. “Alright, I’ll show you then. That’s how you’ll learn,” he grumbled.

“If you can do it, why should I be the only one doing it? Can’t we both—?”

“Enough questions!” Shaw snapped. He took your sealskin — which had been slung over his shoulder — and held it in front of the fire.

“Don’t!” you begged. “I won’t ask any more questions— I’m sorry!”

Shaw withdrew the sealskin from the flames.

“You had better be. If you speak out of turn again, I’ll cut out your tongue.”

He stood up and went down into the cellar. He returned with a long chain. There was a cuff on the end of it. “This is steel,” Shaw clarified. I know your kind can’t stick iron.” He untied your legs and shackled the cuff to your ankle.

You watched Shaw lock your sealskin away in a wooden chest. The chest was placed on a shelf on the far side of the cabin. Your chain couldn’t reach that far.

Shaw went back down into the cellar, returning with a heap of furs in his arms. He dropped them onto the floor. “Voilà; your bed.”

After everything you’d been through, this half-cocked gesture of hospitality came as a surprise. The entire time; you’d been bracing yourself for the moment he dragged you into his room.

You lay down. The fur tickled your face. You closed your eyes.

[poisonioushearts]

hiii, can i request aurelius x (gn s/o) reader one shot? my idea is specific, but they're a selkie esper and he is Unaware that it's basically a marriage proposal to return their jacket (which looks like a seal skin)

i just think it'd be cute and funny

feel free to not accept this it's a little specific bc i'm silly. everything else is free reign really 🪼

This sounds interesting! I tried so I hope it came out alright, I had to do some research on selkies to make sure I didn't mess anything up there.

There's a bit of a build up to that moment btw to give more background, hope that's alright 👍

Hope it's not ooc?

Gender neutral reader

Warnings: not proofread, probably some grammatical errors

Synopsis/tags: fluff, both being flustered, fluff, FLUFF, selkie reader

The Jacket Proposal

You and Aurelius had taken shelter from a particularly intense snow storm on the mountains.

You both entered the cave albeit cautiously but still ventured further.

You and your boyfriend dropped sticks at your feet and you both began to create a fire in tranquil silence.

Often he found it hard with words, so he was more than happy to listen to you talk about whatever came to mind no matter how random.

He draped his coat over a large rock to dry and scooted closer to the fire for warmth.

You both enjoyed the warmth, but having been a cold blooded creature because of your transformation you didn't want to overheat to much so while pacing about the cave you slipped off your sea-skin like jacket and draped it over his shoulders before plopping next to him.

"Wait won't you need this?" He looked to you, hesitantly wrapping the jacket around his shoulders.

You shook your head, "Cold blooded remember? I don't want to overheat and I don't want you to get sick." You brushed his hair out of his eyes, then directed your attention to the dancing flames of the beautiful colors of orange and red.

Watching the fire you couldn't help but be drawn to how you first met. The encounter flashing across your mind like it happened just recently, when in reality, it was a few years.

Him, a socially awkward and quite guy, who distanced himself from society.

And you, someone who wanted to explore the world more and understand what life is like as an esper. Curious to.

It was your curiosity that drew you to him one day when it was particularly warmer than normal, but still cold enough to need a fire.

Aurelius had set up camp by a river that wasn't frozen. But there was no doubt that it was ice cold.

He had heightened senses after being out in the cold and hunting. But he also knows what the feeling is like to be watched as well.

He turned around, but didn't see anything in the snow. He turned back and his eyes went wide as he reached his hand for the weapon beside him, hand hovering over the weapon and not making another move because of the head that was staring back at him.

[Eye color] eyes and [Hair color] hair stuck to your forehead/neck in a mop due it being wet.

The longer he stared the less he felt hunted and the more he felt curious. He didn't see a hint of ill intent in your eyes, just curiosity.

You made the first movement and swam closer to him until you were a mere few feet away.

"Hello." You greeted, lifting your hand out of the water and giving him a friendly wave, showing your slightly webbed hand.

He gave a nod in greeting back, to afraid to speak because here he was, watching as a stranger just walked up out of the water.

You were about to continue but paused, eyes widening, your eyes were looking over his shoulders in slight fear before you dove back into the water, sending ripples across the body of water.

Confused, he looked behind himself to see a herd of miramon, not to far away and heading directly towards him.

He took hold of his bow and aimed towards the miramon. He felt a rush of air beside him before and the miramon were surrounded by waves of water, and you with your weapon, beside him defensively.

He took the opportunity to shoot an arrow, freezing the water. Forever keeping them in place.

He turned to you, seeing you still soaked from the water you emerged from, but not shivering in the slightest.

You had clothes of course, your signature outfit, clinging to your skin. Now he could see you fully he noticed that your fingers were webbed as well as your bare feet.

You smiled at him, showing off slightly pointed teeth before holding out a hand. "Names [Name]! Nice to meet you! Have you been in the mountains long? I never see others around these parts." Your friendly demeanor managed to break out a greeting out of him.

After a bit of conversation(mainly you talking and him listening), your eyes furrowed in thought and you dove in the water. He was confused, then he saw you coming back above the waves with a few fish.

"I noticed you didn't have food on you. Hungry?"

From that day forward, you managed to befriend him. And later on...even managed to become significant others.

"You alright?" He asked, noticing your long silence.

"Mhm!" You smiled, "Just thinking about when we first met."

"Ah."

A few minutes later in peaceful silence you looked out side to see that the storm has ceased enough. He noticed as well.

He stood and grabbed his coat, and without a second thought, held out the one you lent him.

He expected you to take it back, and when you didn't he looked to you and raised a brow.

You were stiff, eyes wide, and slightly flushed cheeks.

"...is something wrong?"

"Hm? What?" You jumped, voice a higher pitch than normal, "No, no. Ah- um- everything's fine!" Yet you still hesitate to take the jacket from his hands.

He stared at you, waiting for an explanation.

"Well...maybe...when...when a selkies skin or jacket or whatever is given or taken then returned it's seen as a..." You avoiding his eyes and bit the inside of your cheek, your voice becoming quieter, "marriage proposal."

The man almost dropped the material in his hands.

He doesn't always show much emotion, but, he was standing in front of you. Nearly the same reaction as you, his cheeks becoming red.

"But it's, ah, fine. I understand you didn't know so I...can just take it back." You say taking a deep breath trying to compose yourself.

He didn't speak. You were worried he was literally frozen on the spot when he, while avoiding eye contact, held out the jacket to you.

He ran a hand through his hair nervously and sheepishly. "I uh...was going to wait until I got a ring but...now is probably the best of any."

Confused for a second then it clicked and your mouth parted open in shock as you realized. He held out the jacket to you, "I love you [Name]. I have for a long time. Being with you all these months and years made me realize that I treasured these moments more and enjoyed being out here when I was with you. Before I met you I was on my own. I thought it was perfect, but it was far from it. I realized that when I first saw you. You aren't just beautiful on the outside, but on the inside too. I love just listening to your voice. I love being with you. I want to be with you until the end of time and even after that. So, [Name], will you marry me?" His voice was certain and this was probably the most he's ever spoken but nonetheless-

"Holy shit, fuck yes!" You'd shouted, jumping at him tackling him in a hug.

You laughed into the hug, "I guess you beat me to it."

"Huh?"

You broke from the hug and turned over your jacket, and from the pocket, pulled out a small black leather-like box.

-

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[ddollfface]

My heart aches for my lil baby sailor/selkie son! I’d give him all the hugs, kisses, and love if I could! I hope our relationship with him can improve. I don’t want him to grow up a sad, bitter, and neglected person!

(;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)

Honestly, I’d be willing to force myself to loving sailor so that son can witness a loving relationship from his parents! And I’d prob fall in love with sailor already cause I love all the yandere red flags!

𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡?

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙎𝙞𝙘𝙠!𝙎𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙤𝙧 𝙭 𝙎𝙚𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙚!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Let's be realistic here, nonnie. You wouldn't. Trigger Warnings; ANGST, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of rape, poorly written gore, forced pregnancy, gross.

That’s what you thought in the beginning, when you were pregnant, newly captured brought home to your lover’s arms. You thought that you’d be the loving mother who could ignore all the bad signs, that could push past the abuse and cold words, only seeing the obsession in his eyes as a positive. I mean, though his touch feels like poison, and his voice is nails on a chalkboard, at least he loves you? You thought that it was irrational to blame an innocent child for the doings of their father, that it was horrible for you to look down at your stomach with grimace and shame. 

How could you? How could you think so poorly of your son? What kind of mother are you for resenting your body for taking his seed as it’s supposed to? It made you sick. You wanted to claw out your tongue, smash in your teeth, and scream until your lungs collapsed for ever muttering the words I love you to such a man. You wanted to feel your blood swell in your mouth, dribbling down your aching throat as you cried, cried, cried out in pain. The feeling of something, something of his growing inside of you, stealing your energy, and sucking the life out of you. 

But you tried. You smiled, giggled, and laughed at every word he spewed out, not listening to a single syllable. He knew it was an act, that you didn’t love him, but he respected your act so he was soft. He gave you space, letting you breathe, ignoring your sobs as you curled away from him in your shared bed. He didn’t let you go hungry, cooking your meals every morning, day, and night. No matter how difficult you’d be, he’d come to your every beck and call. That made things easier, more tolerable, making it seem as if you were a victim of rape, kidnapping, and forced marriage.

It allowed you to live in a fantasy as a loving wife, assisting your husband in the lighthouse, cleaning when you could, and even making dinner! You lived like this for a while, but as your stomach grew, and your situation settled, you came to realize that you weren’t leaving. You weren’t you; who were you? Where were you? Why were you so pliant? 

You remembered.

Everything! You remembered the feeling of his hands on your skin, clawing away at your pelt, scrapping any trace of who you were away and replacing it with him, him, him. His hands cupping your jaw, whispering sweet nothings as he pressed you against the sand of the beach. You can still feel the sting of the sand imprinting against your smooth skin, feeling your pelt get torn away from you, slipped away from your gasps.

Let it be known, you fought. 

You clawed, bit, and scratched, slapping anything that was in your view. Your pupils dilated as his hands grazed down your body, massaging, and pressing against your skin as if you were a prayer. His lips followed suit, peppering across your skin, making you gag. Your heart was swelling with rage, filthy rage. A need to jab, punch, hit, scream, anything to get you away, consuming your soul.

You were never the same, never seeing the ocean in the same light. The waves pressing against your side as he slipped off your clothes, brushing away any tears that dribbled down your cheeks, your hands reaching out for the ocean, your home. He’d swat your hands away, tsking as he leaned down, brushing his nose against your cheek, nuzzling into your flesh.

His touch felt like a searing pan, the burning of a stove as he slowly melted his lips to yours, tilting his head in a soft motion. You bit at his lips, trying to rip the flesh away. Your jagged teeth drawing blood. It made you happy, proud of yourself when the taste of iron flooded into your mouth, staining your taste buds as you screamed, calling for your brethren.

He took you that night, deciding that if you weren’t going to be soft, then neither was he. He pressed you into the dirt, taking you like a bitch. Soft words still spewing from his mouth as he held your waist, holding you down as he pinned you to the ground. The sound of the ocean calling out to you as you grabbed the grains of sand, feeling them against your palm as you clawed at the ground, hoping for it to swallow you in one gulp. 

But that was in the past, no? It was just a fit of rage, you concluded. You were quite rude, you recall, spitting insults and hurtful glares throughout the whole… exchange. Maybe he wasn’t too bad… he did clean you up afterward, that’s what good men do, no? You’re not sure. Let’s just say, you’ve never been too keen on human affairs, never interesting you the same way it did to your sisters and brothers. 

You could put that in the past, ridding it from your memory, and replacing it with his gentle touch. The way he helps you do the dishes, placing you on the counter as you watch him work. His eyes lingering on your stomach for a moment too long, but there was nothing but a content gleam in them. His hazel eyes locked on your form, never leaving you as if he was afraid you’d disappear. That look always ruins it for you, it rips you away from your wishful fantasy of a loving home. It reminds you that he is in fact not your husband, but your hopelessly obsessive captor who doesn’t trust you to do anything. 

But you could do this. You could look past that look in his eyes, brushing it off as him as being protective over your fragile baby. You are carrying his baby, after all. It’s only natural that he’s a little antsy whenever you use a knife, or stand on a chair to get a jar, or peer outside for too long. It’s just natural, you tell yourself. You could get through this and succumb to his fantasies. His fantasies were yours, you told yourself. It was difficult in the beginning, but you’ve gotten used to it. 

You no longer flinch away from his touches, letting his hands settle on your baby bump, rubbing the skin of your stomach with warm, strong hands. His scared tissue brushing against your smooth skin, causing you to shiver, but you suppressed it. You could do this.

It’s not that bad when he helps you in the kitchen. You’re no longer worried that he’ll carve out your heart for his own needs, wanting to take you in the most primal sense of the word. Your eyes don’t flicker to his form every time he picks up a knife, wondering if it’ll be you chopped instead of the lamb. You could do this. 

And you don’t let your eyes linger on the ocean anymore, deciding to busy yourself with other things than just sitting on a window seal. You crochet now, making blankets, shirts, and socks for yourself, thinking of it as a self-service for yourself. Though you could always feel your heart skip a beat, and your head feels fuzzy whenever he suggests you make something for the little man. You… you could…

To look into the eyes of another, and to only see the eyes of your captor. The eyes of a man who ripped you from your home, shed you of your skin, and raped you like breeding cattle. Though the gleam is different, the eyes are the same. Though the hair is of a different texture, that of a soft touch, it's the same. Though the skin is tinted darker, it's the same.

Though it's just a little boy, it's still him.

And you can never forgive him for that, no matter how much he tries.

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - iii

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." cunnilingus. analingus. spitting. piv. doggy. missionary. rough sex. size kink. breeding kink. biting. mean soap. manipulative soap. smut. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

The ocean calls the seal to return, and you finally heed the growing chill you’ve been ignoring, as well as the complaints of your nearly-empty stomach.

Starvation is not on your list of preferred ways to end your own life, so you check the fridge Johnny said he had stocked. What you find is disconcerting—hoping for snack foods, pre-packaged conveniences, you instead find a carton of eggs, hard cheeses, condiment bottles. Milk in a jug, green herb bundles, sticks of butter, and an unopened package of bacon.

The freezer is much the same. Bags of vegetables and meats like shrimp or scallops. Frozen loaves of bread. Not even a single carton of ice cream. When the pantry also yields nothing more ready to eat—no chips, no cup ramen, no cans of soup—you give up.

There’s a hierarchy of action you’re willing to take to preserve yourself, organized around a precept of energy expenditure—eating spends less than cooking, so you focus on the former and do not practice the latter anymore.

Even though most food has lost its taste by now.

So you lay down on the couch. Sulking, maybe, but it’s the only halfway satisfying thing left to you. You angle yourself toward the shelf of books it faces in place of a TV; it’s mostly romance novels. Bright pink or blue or violet or red spines facing outward, most of them already cracked and creased down through their titles.

Did Johnny stock those for you too—emptying the shelves of a thrift book store for a woman he knew would be alone—or are they just set dressing for his dream of a honeymoon getaway?

You start thinking about the cliffs by the cove.

They’re not very tall. Maybe three stories. You would feel the impact—and it might not even work. You would lay there at the bottom, in the packed sand, broken. But alive to feel every consequence of it.

You might still die, but it would be slow. Someone could find you, and save you. Probably Johnny. You might be permanently broken—worse off than when you began.

It’s not an option.

You could have just bought a gun if you stayed home. It would have been cheaper, and faster—

Anxious energy needles at your legs and prickles along the insides of your palms; you sit up, agitated. Your stomach bubbles as the acid inside slides around with nothing to eat into. You scowl at yourself and retrieve Johnny’s jacket from the floor.

It’s colder outside than before, when you leave the cottage for the third time that day for the walk to Vatersay village. You can see it from the front door of the cottage, only about a mile away, and as you get going, you find a walking trail cutting through the machair grass leading in its direction.

The sky darkens far earlier than you expect, on the way. You hadn’t thought you were far enough north for that. Absent of city lights, the Hebridean starscape peeks through gaps in the moonlit clouds overhead, winking to life as the sun retreats around the earth’s curve. You pause—even your ennui is no match for the cosmos—looking to see if you can find the arm of the Milky Way, but the autumn sky does not seem inclined to show it to you.

By the time you reach the village outskirts, warm rectangles of yellow light are already brightening the windows against a heavy blue night. You get directions to the pub from an older man walking his dog—Last Cull, it’s called. You find it with a carved wooden sign, adorned with the silhouette of a lounging seal, hanging by the door at the front, and walk in.

Johnny said that less than a hundred people populate the island; when you walk in, at least a third of them must be here, and their collective chatter, along with the sounds of drinking glasses clinking or hitting tables, and the warble of classic rock music, all rush at you at once when you open the door, carried on a wave of orangey lamplight and the smell of hops and a burst of thick, hot air.

It’s more life—more sound—than you were remotely prepared for, and you freeze in the threshold. You stand there long enough that, worse, several heads turn to look at you—

The outsider.

You duck your head, and look at the floor as you direct yourself at an empty stool at the bar. Your purse beats against your leg with every quick step, heavy with a tourist’s excess preparation, and following eyes lance you like pins through a butterfly’s wing.

A man in a beanie and mutton chops is wiping a glass dry behind the counter; he looks at you drolly when you sit down.

“W’can I get you?” he asks, surprising you with a distinctly un-Scottish accent.

You blink several times. “Um…”

The bartender is immediately unimpressed. “Liverpool, love. You drinking or eating?”

You flush. “I’m sorry—um—both?”

He nods. He does not offer a menu. “Right.”

He disappears with the same abruptness of manner behind a swinging door, leaking greenish fluorescent kitchen light around the edges and through the circular window set up in the middle.

Whatever waves you made upon your arrival already seem to have dissipated, ineffectual in the long-term; conversation in heavy Scots flows around you, relaxed and indistinct. The pub is warm with body heat, little groups of islanders pulled in close together around pints and tankards and easy conversation.

These people likely have known each other for years; seen each other grow up. Watched time etch lines across one another’s faces. You can’t really understand the words being exchanged between any of them, but the tenor is familiar. None of it is especially important to say to one another, you know—it’s the back and forth that’s the point. The sway and rock of practiced call and answer. Of knowing, when they say something, that a response will be given, even if the response is something that’s been said a thousand times before.

You run your fingers along the dented surface of the old bar. Shift in your stool. Pick at a sliver of skin coming up from one cuticle. A single drop of oil in the middle of an ocean.

The bartender returns to you from the kitchen, no food in hand. Instead, there’s a new expression on his face—a hammer aimed at your protruding nail. His eyes are narrowed; his brows are drawn together.

“You’re Soap’s tourist,” he says.

“Um,” you say, pinned under the intensity of his stare, “no?”

He rolls his eyes. “Johnny MacTavish. Everyone else calls him Soap.”

“Oh.” You cannot guess at all where this conversation might be going. “Yes?”

“He cooks for me some nights,” the bartender says. “He’s in the kitchen right now. He says dinner is on him, and he’ll bring it out soon.”

“He’s here?” you demand, jaw dropping.

“Some nights,” the man repeats. He picks his drying rag back up, and gets to work on another glass. Your association with Johnny—Soap—seems to have unlocked in him a geniality that would otherwise be inaccessible to you. “Lad was right chuffed when you rented out the croft. Hadn’t seen him that excited in ages. Wouldn’t stop talking about it for a month.”

He hasn’t offered you a drink and doesn’t seem inclined to. Still intimidated, you don’t ask.

“He told me I was his first guest,” you say, worrying at your cuticle.

“Mm-hm,” responds. Then he eyes you. “See why he was so worked up now.”

You stop your jaw from dropping for a second time, but only just—the weight of Johnny’s hand ghosts down your back, aided by his scent radiating from his jacket, released from the fibers it’s seeped into by your body heat.

“How—um, how do you know Johnny—Soap?” you ask, awkwardly.

“If he told you to call him Johnny, call him Johnny,” the man says. “Was his captain, once upon a time. Served together in the SAS. Name’s John Price.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Price,” you say.

He grunts. “John’s fine. He been behaving?”

“Um,” you say, entirely unsure how to answer that, when the kitchen door flings open.

“Bonnie!” Johnny exclaims, apron-clad, rosy-faced, and grinning wide.

He’s exchanged his heavy sweater for a lighter, cream-colored henley, sleeves rolled up his broad forearms. Combined with the cinch of the apron strings around his middle, it highlights and flatters the athletic build of his silhouette. The hem of his kilt flutters around his knees as he hurries over.

“Hi, Johnny,” you sigh.

He balances a steaming dish on one hand and carries some silverware wrapped in a napkin in the other. The plate tilts precariously as he directs himself at you, but the food survives as he slides it in onto the bar in front of you.

“Shoulda told me you were comin’ down, or I’d’ve had somethin’ better ready to make!” he scolds, though he’s clearly too pleased to mean it.

On top of a ceramic plate, the glaze spiderwebbed with cracks from age and constant use, three oblong triangles of fried fish rest atop checked wax paper, attended by a large stainless still cup of large wedge fries that you remember are referred to as “chips.” Beside that is a small cup of some white condiment you don’t recognize. Everything looks fresh from the fryer, as if Johnny could not wait one second to long to bring it to you.

“Oy, lad, how come I don’t get that kinda table service?” someone yells out behind you. “M’ I not pretty enough for you?”

A chorus of laughter answers the teasing. You hunch into yourself.

“Go back to your pint, Angus, ya weapon!” Johnny returns grandly. Then, to you, “Here, this is the best thing for it—”

John Price has already stepped far aside; you and he watch as Johnny retrieves a long-stemmed glass from a shelf, and then pulls a bottle of wine from a low fridge. He sets the glass beside your plate and uncorks the bottle—bicep quivering as he works the screw—and then, thumb in the punt, he pours out a stream of white wine one-handed.

“Tossers over there’ll call me mad but Sav Blanc with a fish an’ chips is pure class,” says Johnny. Then, to your horror, he sets his elbows on the counter in front of you. “Go on, have us a bite.”

You stare at him agog. His cheeks are flushed red, and you’re not sure it’s from the heat of the kitchen or—his gaze flicks to your mouth and back—something far less comforting. He stares back at you, grin unmoving—eyes bright and vibrant and too intense to hold contact with for long.

You look down at the meal again. The fish looks crunchy and thick with golden brown crust; the chips are sharp at the edges and dusted with salt and some sort of green seasoning. The smell is impossible to ignore—hot and floury and oily.

You take a chip and dip it tentatively into the white sauce. Johnny’s eyes dance with excitement as they follow the movement. When you take a bite, the bitter tang of tartar meets your tongue and mixes with the mild potato as you chew.

It is only just shy of hot enough to burn but—it’s good. It’s delicious. It’s the best thing, you realize, that you’ve tasted in you’re not sure how long.

You do your absolute utmost to prevent that from showing on your face.

“It’s good,” you say, and take another bite.

“Barry!” Johnny enthuses. “Now have a dram, go on.”

Rather than allow you to pick up the glass like a normal person, Soap lifts it in one large hand—knuckles and wrist peppered with dark hair—and brings the rim to your mouth. You have no choice but to take a sip as he tilts it toward you, or else end up dribbling white wine everywhere.

You must begrudgingly agree, as it passes across your tongue, that it pairs very well with what you’ve eaten.

You nod at him in lieu of another response; the corners of his eyes crinkle. He sets the glass down and slaps the counter with both palms, pushing himself away from it.

“Enjoy that an’ I’ll be back for ya in a mo,’” he says. With a bounce in his step, he disappears back into the kitchen.

John Price throws you another droll look. “You’re never getting rid of him now.”

When he turns away to address another patron, you scowl at his back.

Johnny comes in and out of the kitchen several times, as you pick at the food. Whatever his usual habits as the pub cook, it seems he’s in a magnanimous mood this evening, bringing orders to every table and chatting with anyone who catches his attention.

And a lot of people catch his attention. Island native or not, it seems that Johnny is everyone’s favorite boy—and it’s hard not to see why. He throws bright smiles at everyone who speaks to him, pats shoulders, trades good-natured Scottish ribbing with anyone who throws it his way. He’s familiar, it seems, with everyone he talks to—or he’s good at making it seem that way.

And the effect it has on everyone he talks to is obvious. Weathered faces, the kind that seem to rest at a permanent, severe frown, rise to beam as brightly as the sun after Johnny spends a minute or two checking in on them. Fond eyes follow him around the pub; the conversations at tables he visits keeps a lively tenor even after he leaves it.

You reach for your wineglass and drink deep.

“There we go!” Johnny exclaims, noticing.

He does not leave you neglected, of course—he keeps circling around, looking at your plate, and then at you, and filling your glass when you empty it. It strikes you as rather sweet until he starts availing himself of a mouthful every time—turning the glass so that his lips cover the marks yours have made on it.

When about half of your plate has been cleared, and Johnny is returning from delivering a tray of sandwiches to another table, he comes up behind you and leans in close, hands curling around your shoulders. Mouth brushing your ear.

“Dinner rush is almost done, bonnie,” he murmurs, butter-smooth and low as banked embers. “Then I’m all yours.”

A tremor runs up the nerves in your spine; you sit up straighter when he pulls away, the fine hairs on the back of your neck reaching toward him as if statically charged.

You catch John Price eyeing you again, expression blasé. You flush up to the roots of your hair and avoid looking at him again.

Eventually, the pub begins to vacate, somewhere close to ten in the evening. No city bar, this one, even on a Friday night. You finish three-quarters of the bottle of wine in between turning the fish and chips into mush and crumbs, finally pushing everything away from you as the last stragglers jingle the bell above the door.

Then it’s just John Price, pulling on a coat, Johnny doing dishes in the kitchen, and you, alone, sneakers hooked to a rung on the barstool.

John Price sticks his head through the swinging door. “We still doing Sunday, Soap? Or d’you have new plans?”

“Course doin’ Sunday!” Johnny yells. “Canny wait!”

“Alright. I’m leaving, lock up when you go.”

And with that, John Price gives you a cursory nod, and makes his exit.

Soon after, Johnny exits the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, the motions making his pectorals twitch and flex. His apron is gone, the little v of his shirt collar exposing dark, curling chest hair.

The odd pelt—you realize, from your experience this morning, that it’s a seal’s—still hangs around another plaid kilt.

Your heartbeat is hot and heavy in your ears. You stare at him, lips pressed together tightly, a tremor working its way between your shoulders.

He tilts his head toward you, eyes half-lidded. When you meet his gaze again, his smile is set at an expectant angle.

“Drive me home, Johnny,” you finally say, wine and humiliation pulsing through your veins.

He drives you home in silence, and rests his hand on your thigh the whole way there.

You don’t move it. You don’t react, either—even when his pinky flicks against the seam of your leggings, right where it lays against your pussy. He roves his spread fingers and heavy palm all across the length and breadth of your thigh, cresting down over your knee and back up again, squeezing and massaging the fat of your quad.

You don’t say anything. He does not prompt you to do so. The corner of his mouth, when you look to him at your side, catching his profile, is curled.

The silence continues when he pulls up to the cottage—even the wind is light and quiet, as you unlock the door to let the both of you in. The night sky is cobbled with clouds that pass over slowly, letting only slivers of moonlight reach the earth, so inside the croft is dark and murky.

You don’t move to switch any lights on. Nor does Johnny, following close behind you.

Out of sight, it seems your body forgets who—or what, even—is following you. He is only a presence at your back, a body taking up space, and in the darkness, with only your hindbrain to rely on, he could be anyone.

Anything.

You stop in the middle of the living room. He hovers behind you. Not quite touching—but close enough to feel the gravity of him, strong enough to pull you in.

You drop your purse on the couch, and make to shuck his jacket—his hands take hold of the shoulders, allowing you to slide out of it. The deep, even pulse of his breathing is right there at the shell of your ear.

“Bonnie,” he murmurs, husky.

“I’m,” you say, “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

A pause. Then—“Alright,” he purrs.

You escape.

In the mirror above the sink, you look yourself in the eye. What you see is nothing you haven’t seen before—pitiable, needy, pathetic—and it’s nothing you have any desire to confront now. If you think too hard about it—if you ask yourself what you should be asking—there will be no coming back from it.

He’s been dangling this in front of you this whole time. It’s no fault of yours for taking it. This once, you aren’t to blame for what happens next. This once.

You run the cold tap over a washcloth and dab cool water across your face and down your neck. It does little to regulate the heat flushing through you.

If you don’t go out there now, he might leave.

You throw the cloth into the sink basin and open the door.

And Johnny is there, standing right there in front of it, leaning casually against the opposite wall—

Completely naked.

You stop dead.

Gray moonlight falls across his body in a thin haze. The bulky, sculpted planes of it roll with dense muscle and dark hair, which is thick and curly across rounded pectorals and joins in a broad stream down his abdomen. Twisting into a nest at his groin, they cushion a long, wide cock, uncut, half-hard—

That jumps at your appearance.

He meets your eyes. They are silvery and sharp, even in the gloam. Drags his gaze down—leveling it with your tightening nipples. Then he reaches to his side and twists the doorknob to the bedroom.

It swings open. Empty bed in the doorframe.

His cock jumps again. A diamond-drop of moisture beads at the tip.

“Go on,” he murmurs.

You walk in, barely aware of your own footsteps. His bare feet cross the floor behind you, and then the door shuts again.

He does not say another word as he approaches you; you do not turn to face him. You stand as if restrained in place as large, warm hands skim the dip of your waist, slope easily down your hips and up again; he pinches the hem of your sweater and lifts. You raise your arms, lost in the fugue of your pounding heart; he brings it over your head, and tosses it to the side.

Rough hands smoothing over your bare skin, almost like sweeping away dust. He unhooks your bra with startling dexterity—fingers slide beneath the straps and loosen them down your shoulders. Hands dipping down your chest, edging under and replacing the cups around your breasts.

His thumbs press your nipples in, circle around them; you gasp, flinch back against him, and feel his cock, fully erect, nestle in the cleft of your ass. He huffs a laugh into your hair.

His hands return to your waist, and they slide down, pressed open against your sides, as Johnny goes to his knees behind you. He grasps the waistbands of both panties and leggings and—face centimeters away from the globe of one ass cheek—pulls both down in one smooth, soft sweep.

It feels like being skinned. Your heart beats a hammer in the arteries against your throat. You nearly lose your balance, tilting when you lift one foot out of your clothes, before one of Soap’s hands return to your waist to give you ballast. Holding you up like it’s nothing. He squeezes the meat of your hip tenderly, massages the give of it with the tips of his fingers, skin warm and rough against yours.

The moment you’d first caught sight of Johnny in the airport, he’d slotted cleanly into a certain taxon of manhood; one need only to examine his morphology briefly—the mohawk, the muscles, stubborn refusal to cover his knees even as winter fast approaches—to understand that his is the lifestyle of the fast-living. He leers. He gropes. He runs down what he sets his eyes on whether his prey likes it or not.

An organism with cheap pleasure on its mind, and nothing more. Johnny’s bull-focused intentions had stunk acrid and obvious the moment they’d fallen upon you—aimed, you thought unceremoniously, between your legs and nowhere else.

So why, as his hands drag up the backs of your thighs, is he touching you so tenderly? Teasing you open, rather than prising you apart. Touching you as if he’s in no hurry to do anything else.

It feels like an insult. It feels like mercy you didn’t ask for. Without thinking, without knowing you’re going to do it—you slap his hand away.

“Is this going to take all night, or are you going to get around to fucking me sometime soon?” you snap, galled.

An indrawn breath. His or yours, you’re not entirely sure.

Then he rises up, shoves a hand hard between your shoulder blades, and you topple forward onto the bed, flailing, landing face-first, as Johnny knees up behind you.

“So that’s how you want it, then,” he says. Nonchalant. “Aye, I can do that. Come here.”

You don’t have time to scramble away before rough hands grab your hips and yank them back, pulling you up onto your knees, and with no more preamble Johnny shoves his face into your naked pussy from behind. Immediately hot and star-bright; thumbs hook into your outer folds to spread you open moments before his tongue burns a stripe from clit to perineum, no slow build, no warm-up, before he starts eating you out like he’s starving.

You shriek from the sudden contact, hips jerking, but his hold is iron, and the more you resist the more he tightens his grasp, fingertips digging down near to bone. He licks at your folds, at the dips between them, as if he’s pulling swipes of you away on every taste bud, imprecise, mouthing your cleft as if he means to swallow it whole.

When you reach back with one hand to grab his hair—to hold him where he is or shove him away, you’re not sure—he releases one hip and shackles your wrist in his fingers, bending your arm at the elbow and pinning it to your lower back.

“You asked for it,” he growls against you, “and now you’re gettin’ it,” another dig of his tongue around your entrance, “so don’ fuckin’ complain.”

He pulls away and abruptly spits on your asshole before diving back in. With the thumb of the same hand around your wrist, he smears it around, dipping just inside at the same time his tongue breaches your cunt; you feel teeth press against your perineum for a breathless moment before he lets up, and then he prods your clitoris with little jabbing licks, forcing his way up under the hood that fails to protect it from his onslaught.

You have a free hand—you reach back to slap at him again. The theory of insanity proves true; one wrist joins the other, and Johnny uses his own weight to move you as he likes, arms curled over your hips, rocking your entire body against his mouth, lips smacking against you as he alternates between licking up the slick that abruptly starts welling around your entrance and sucking your labia between his teeth.

He grunts and snarls after every brief surfacing for air, every time his tongue touches you again, as if every new taste of you in his mouth is better than the last. His hands tighten into vices around your wrists as he buries in deeper, groaning, shoving his face against you so hard it thrusts your hips forward, which he greedily drags back, and then he flutters his tongue against your clit as if to punish you for his own forcefulness.

“Johnny—” you cry, “Johnny, slow down, slow down—!”

A climax swells within you before you have any time to prepare for it, a closeout curling in so fast that it hits you before you can brace. Johnny thumbs your ass again and suctions his lips closed around your clitoris, tearing a scream from your throat, ripping your orgasm even further out of you as you suddenly, violently convulse.

It jerks you in his grasp, as if whipping you, and then, as fast as it came at you, it recedes; you sag, dizzy and gulping air, but Johnny’s mouth opens around your pussy again as if nothing happened, tongue and lips losing none of their frantic voracity.

“Johnny,” you whimper, “Johnny, I came, you can stop—”

“Don’t give half a shite, am no’ done,” he snarls, accent thicker than you’ve heard it before.

Your breath shudders out of you as he runs the edges of his teeth up your folds, and then, briefly, the flat of his tongue circles your asshole, before dipping back down into the heat of your cunt. He catches your clit again in a quick succession of sucking kisses, loud and wet and pulling at it so hard that tugs at nerves all the way down your legs, spasming through your calves.

Your breath thins in your lungs, escaping you in high, reedy whines, and finally, he pulls his mouth away—only to replace it with his hand. He transfers your crossed wrists into one grasp, wedging all four fingers between the split of your cleft and shaking it vigorously, like a dog might with a small animal clamped in its jaws. He follows this with several rapid slaps against flesh that is already screaming with overstimulation—

And then the head of something hot and hard parts you, circling to find its target, and with as little preamble as he began Johnny shoves his fat, rock-hard cock into you, all the way to the base in one harsh thrust.

It shoves the air from your lungs in one go, leaves you no room to breathe in before he grabs your wrists again, like reins, pulls halfway out, and rams back in again, setting a brutal pace, his thighs slamming against the fat of your ass at a rapid staccato that shakes the old bedframe on its creaky legs.

He barely pulls out as he fucks you this way, thrusting short and hard, your face crushed against the bedsheets as he uses your arms to pull you back against him to meet every thrust. The fattest part of his cock catches your g-spot over and over, bright and hot as iron pulled from a fire, and you can’t even get enough breath in your lungs to do more than whimper every time his hips meet yours.

“This is wha’ she fuckin’ needed, hen, aye?” Johnny snarls. “Hissin’ an’ spittin’ like a stray cat, didnae know wha’s good fer it, jus’ needed a big cock in ‘er wet cunt, didnae she?”

A long, shaky moan is the only response you can give. Fast, fast and hard—he bucks against you wildly, violently, sending shockwaves up your body that jounce your breast and ripple across your blazing cheeks. Your mouth hangs open at a loose angle—if you try to close your teeth, you might accidentally bite into your tongue—

He releases your wrists, and your arms fall hard to the bedspread. Then he bends over your back, planting his hands in the spaces over your shoulders, making a cage with his his body. It changes the angle of his thrusts, lets him force his way in even deeper, kissing the head of your cervix. You climb your hands up the bedspread, claw at his wrists with your nails, but you might as well be a curl of wind trying to knock over a pillar of stone.

“You can bitch an’ whine all you wan’ at me, bonnie,” he says, a nasty thread in his tone, “but I know mean pussy just needs some pettin’ to make it nice again, don’ I, now?”

You try to struggle under him, search for some sort of purchase in the sheets beneath you, and for a moment you think he’s making space to let you; his weight retreats as you rise to all fours, but then one solid, beefy arm closes around your neck in a chokehold. He brings the both of you up, settling you over the cradle of his thighs as he sits back on his heels, clamping your back against his chest.

His free hand snakes down between your thighs, finding your clitoris again with rough, abrading calluses. A hard, grinding roll of his hips, upward and forward, pushes it up into his touch, like the crest of a wave, but gravity gives you no escape on the downwell; he pushes and pulls you as he likes, heel of his hand digging hard into the sensitive edge of your mons.

You scrabble with your hands for something to hold onto—you find the brackets of his wide thighs, wiry with dark hair, and dig your nails into hard, tensed muscle. He only laughs in your ear, speeds the rhythm of his hips, pinches your clitoris between his fingers and drags it around.

“Told ya, bonnie,” he gloats, taking the lobe briefly between his lips, “she wants it—” and he pushes his cock in deep, shaking his hips “—bad as he does.”

He reaches further inward and splits his fingers around his own girth, pressing upward—as if he intends to shove them in too, and choking for air as you are you think deliriously that they might just slip in, no resistance, aided by the wetness free-flowing now around him, dripping in long streams down the inside of your thighs.

Inescable—no matter what you do, it’s nothing to him. You thrash against him, whining through gritted teeth in frustration, but he only moves with you, anticipating every direction you might blindly throw yourself in to get away. You cry out in wordless fury, slapping whatever parts of him you can reach, but it doesn’t matter. There is no purchase for you anywhere, nothing you can use to grab back any sort of control.

He’s too big. Too strong. You finally begin to comprehend it in a way that had been impossible before. Looking at him from a few paces, Johnny is easy to take in; easy to summarize and dismiss when you can see the whole of him at once.

But now, at your back—he feels vast. Enormous. An undulating wall of a hard body flexing against you, mooring you to it, all heat and sweat and sharp, animalistic grunting as it pistons into you from behind. The hand manipulating your clit is wide enough to cover your pussy entirely; the pillar of his body doesn’t so much as shudder as you struggle, instinct overriding desire as you try to escape the lightning-streaks of pleasure he carelessly sends through you.

You are too primed from your earlier climax to possibly last, and Johnny seems to feel it—you flutter and clutch around him, the sensation almost painful, but when both your hands fly to the one between your legs he only increases the pressure.

“You gonna come again, bonnie?” he sneers into your ear. “Jus’ tiring yourself out, poor baby. Fightin’ it so hard, an’ it’s gonna happen anyway.”

It does—he starts slapping your pussy again, right above where his cock stretches you to your limit, quick and sharp, and you break with ragged scream, arms flailing out uselessly, nails finding his forearm around your throat.

“Johnny—” you cry out, “Johnny!”

“Fuck,” he groans in your ear, “steamin’ Jesus, fuck—”

Suddenly he pushes you away from him, and you flail again as you land face-first into the pillows. His cock slips out of you entirely, even as you’re still clenching around your orgasm, but you have no time to react, either to mourn it or be relieved, because Johnny grabs you by the thighs, flips you over in one motion, and drives back in again before it ends.

“Fuck, bonnie, so good, fuck, do it again—”

He throws your legs open, leaving your calves to shake in the air as he fucks you faster. You nearly fold in half under the force of his thrusts, knees hovering nearer and nearer to your ears. Each slap of his hips against yours ricochets up your body, and, with nowhere else to go, back down—you ring like a bell, shaking all the way into your marrow.

“Soap,” you whine, “Soap, it—I—I can’t—”

Suddenly he grabs your face in his hand, so tightly he squeezes your cheeks together, pushing out your lips, and he lurches forward to get in your face. Fury blazes from him.

“I told you,” he snarls, “to call me Johnny.”

It shocks you so much that freeze up, going completely blank. The dark, sharp lines of his brows arch dangerously over flashing eyes.

He shakes your face. “Say it.”

“J—” you slur, unable to shape it in your lips properly, “Johnny.”

His nostrils flare wide. Fury is replaced by triumph. “Good fucking girl.”

He slams his mouth against yours.

The first time he’s kissed you, and he gives you no chance to participate in it. He purses your lips with the pressure of his hand to meld with his, opening your jaw wide enough to thrust his tongue behind your teeth. The force of it presses your head back into the pillow. It’s an attack; it’s an onslaught. And—if the grunts and groans Johnny makes in his throat as he does what he likes with your mouth are any indication—

It’s what he’s really wanted this whole time.

Everything else, he’s enjoyed. But this—his mouth on yours, lips moving together, saliva pooling and seeping between the seams—is the prize he’s aimed for all along.

It touches something inside of you. Something tiny and ugly. A thing that you’ve wrapped up in nacreous layers of shame and guilt, lodged in your soft tissues, and tried to forget about.

It sends your arms to wrap around Johnny’s neck, fingers digging into the shifting muscles of his shoulders. You close your thighs around his waist, crossing your ankles, and roll yourself up into every meeting of his hips with yours.

He moans, higher, and drops his full weight over you. His belly meets yours; his chest crushes your breasts under his. He uses the full brunt of his weight to rut into you, crashing his hips against you, stealing the breath from your lungs—

It’s an old trick you’ve learned from small experience, inhaling when you feel the rush coming—as if climax blooms in the lungs rather than the clitoral head, and filling your alveoli gives it no place to expand. It’s useful to prolong satisfaction, to stave off the end.

Johnny does not give you opportunity try. The only thing he allows you to occupy your mouth with is his, and as hypoxia thins out your bloodstream—as you begin to struggle for air—you go rigid with your third climax beneath him.

However long it lasts, you don’t know. It freezes you in place, in time. It wrenches your head back, arching your spine, tears one long, broken cry from your throat.

“Fuck yes,” Johnny gasps, feeling you clamp down so hard around him it seems you may never release him. He moves to bury his face in your throat. “Fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck—yes—”

His tempo falters, signaling the end—

Realization—“Wait!” you find some presence of mind to cry out—“a condom! We didn’t use—”

“It’s got a’go somewhere hen, an’ I’m no’ wastin’ it on yer belly,” he snarls, “just—just—yes—fuck—”

Then his teeth come down on your neck, hard, as his hips beat against yours, and then he buries himself to the root with one final, full-body thrust. He shakes his hips flush against yours as he groans long and loud, cock pulsing inside you, wet heat flooding you in jets, so full that it spills back out to drip down between you.

He pants hard into your shoulder. Your own breath labors, vision swimming.

A cloud covers the moon outside. Johnny makes no move to pull away from you—instead his arms wedge beneath you, banding around your back, and he rolls you both to your sides. You feel him kissing the sting his teeth left on your neck, as you lay there together, sweat cooling on your naked bodies.

Eventually, he pulls back enough to look at you. You have no time to arrange your expression, no idea even what you might want to present to him; whatever he sees on your face makes him smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“There’s my bonnie,” he murmurs, and the next kiss he gives you is soft and very sweet.

Your lips rise to meet his without you thinking about it.

He strokes your back very gently. Sooner than yours, his breathing evens out. Even as he softens inside of you, he keeps his hips against yours.

“Johnny,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “I know. Just a little while longer. Can you do that for me? Aye, you can, I know it.”

You should say something about spermicide. Plan B. But the look in his eyes is so soft, so content, that you put it away for later. You just hold his gaze as he looks at you like you’re everything that could ever make him happy.

He kisses you again. Soon, the heaving of your chest abates. Exhaustion pours through you in one drenching wave; you turn your head to yawn.

“Go to sleep, bonnie,” Johnny croons, pressing his fingers into the soft part of your lower back. “I’ll clean us up, aye? You just sleep.”

You don’t have the energy to fight anymore. Soon, you’re slipping away—you’re aware for long enough to feel it when he finally pulls away from you, when he runs a warm washcloth between your legs, and then when he slides back into bed beside you and pulls up the covers.

Then you’re gone.

Sometime after midnight, you half-wake.

The moon has moved far enough across the sky that its light floods the bedroom through its one window, casting everything in silver. Your eyes open slowly, blurred with sleep; Johnny is still beside you.

He’s sitting up against the headboard; eye-level with you is his waist, covered by the thin bedsheet. You draw your eyes up his body slowly—there, his navel, dark hair curling around it. There, his chest, full pectorals rising and falling slowly with calm, even breath.

When you reach his face, you find him looking down at you, corners of his mouth curled. You meet his eyes—

The moon reflects in them. Disks of shifting light in both pupils.

Some part of you, buried in your hindbrain, shouts with alarm. It’s far away, cottoned with sleep. Muffled enough by the soreness of three full-body orgasms to be ignored.

Johnny reaches out and drags the back of one finger along the wounded part of your neck. Touch feather-light.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

Vaguely, you remember that you’ve answered this question before, but that doesn’t feel consequential. Any part of you that could protest is still lost to sleep.

As is any ability to dissemble. The truth—the thing you attempted to abandon, that has followed you regardless—slips out.

“Nobody wants me,” you whisper.

So quiet you fear he won’t hear you, and ask you to repeat it.

But Johnny tilts his head. The curl of his mouth softens to something almost kind.

It doesn’t quite get there, because a gleam of satisfaction that you cannot name colors his shining gaze.

“I want you,” he murmurs.

His broad hand covers the crown of your head, and he strokes your hair. The tide of sleep comes back in, and you know nothing more.

chapter 4 early access

[gildui]

going through old art only to find 'sick of his shit!selkie' & 'mildy confused, equally enthused fisherman!ghost'

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

Free baby saga, parts 3 and 4,, :3c

Moon, to himself: don’t think abt babies. We do NOT want to have babies this is just my brain being dumb bc it’s late and I haven’t slept. I am not going to think abt babies anym

Inner Moon:

✨💕💕✨✨what if I do anyway?✨✨💕✨✨💘

Aka, Moon is diagnosed,, wITH BABY FEVER HAHAAAA

(First part here!)

(Final part here!)

[parvulous-writings]

Hello! Could I request Gale x Fem Selkie! Reader

Warnings: None, in the explicit sense? Can be read as platonic or romantic!

Notes: Hello hello!! I've done these ones just as headcanons, but would happily do a whole oneshot of Selkie!Reader x Gale if you so wished! I've left a few bits (such as the fine details of a selkie's origins, and the reader's early life) quite vague so you can imagine your own origins! I hope this is okay! My requests are currently open, though limited! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too!

Gale is a massive nerd, we know this. So, he probably knows a fair bit about various fantastical creatures, even if it's not the main focus of his studies. He doesn't really pick up on you being a selkie right away - you are, of course, beautiful, in a nearly unnatural way, but Gale didn't make it to be much more than that. Your beauty.

You carry your skin close to you when you travel with the others, typically it is tucked away in the bottom of your pack, out of sight of prying eyes and sticky fingers, so it is a while before Gale even stumbles upon it.

It's upon the budding of your relationship with him that he happens to see the skin in your tent, he launches into inquisition mode - not meaning any harm by it of course, but unable to help himself. "I never took you for a furrier, you know." He'd muse, holding the skin carefully in his hands, admiring it closely. "This is masterful work though - hardly a tatter upon it! Is it a family craft, or tradition, perhaps?" He asks, and you just... Stare at him. All the questions that he has for you are not at all like what you had imagined, it didn't even seem like he had made the connection between you and the fur yet. You carefully skirt around the question, telling him you "Couldn't quite recall" where you had gotten the fur from. The answer seemed to satisfy him well enough, and thus the subject was dropped for another week or so.

That was, until Gale accidentally happened upon you, soaked on the river-side, peeling the fur away from yourself that it finally clicked for him. "By the Gods!" His exclamation had alerted you to the fact that you were being watched. You move your hands to try cover yourself, and Gale quickly turns his head away from you, averting his eyes. "M-my apologies... I was coming here to bathe myself, as a matter of fact... It was not my intention to intrude." He tells you, holding up his hands in front of him as if this would emphasise his point. There's a moment of tense silence between you both - from you because you weren't sure what Gale was now going to do with this information, and from Gale because he didn't know what to say to you to make you feel comfortable. "I shall... Find a different bend of the river... Apologies, again-" Gale sputters, before hurrying off.

It was not exactly a reaction that you had expected. You had braced yourself for a thousand different questions - your origins, your early life, your 'affliction' he may have called it. But, you had received no such bombardment. It was incredibly unusual.

That was only because the questions were to come later. After he had gotten over the initial shock of figuring out you were a selkie, by literally seeing you shed your skin, his curiosity could not help but rear it's head. It was fascinating to him, and he was hooked to your every word as you tried to explain about yourself the best you could - where you had come from, how you had lived prior to the Illithid tadpole now in your head, and how important the sealskin was to you.

"So when I held the fur in my hands..." He started, a contemplative furrow in his brow, "Were you... Nervous?" You take a moment to consider your answer. "A little bit... I was more shocked, than nervous, in truth... I trust you, Gale - I know for a fact that you wouldn't have taken something of mine." You tell him, and he nods slowly. You were right, he never would have taken it from you - even without the knowledge of how closely you were bound to it. It wasn't his to take.

For the rest of your journey together, Gale's attitude towards you doesn't change a bit - you hadn't changed, you just didn't need to hide that side of yourself anymore. He helped to shield you from the others until you were ready to tell them, helping to keep an eye on your precious sealskin, and providing cover and excuses for you when you wanted to take a dip in a river, or off the edge of the coast. You grow very close with him, despite the circumstances of your adventure, and never tire of his company, just as he never tires of yours! You share your knowledge together, and tell each other tales of your youths.

[aerkame]

Welcome Home Finfolk AU Headcanons Part 1

Just some headcanons on the characters so I can come back to this later for writing/reference. And a bit of a tease for some people eager for Finfolk/selkie stuff. Warnings: Implied kidnapping. It's kind of a given considering that in Orkney folklore finfolk often kidnap people they like/love.

Original post:

(I guess this takes place in a puppet world? Like humans are just humanoid puppets so it's not as confusing to make Welcome Home characters complete puppets but finfolk versions.)

Eddie Dear:

A complete sweetheart of a captain that's a bit clumsy. While Wally can steer the waters himself, he'd much rather have Eddie be the captain on most of their ships, having found that the much larger man knows the waters better than himself and Home.

Eddie is so sweet that most don't even notice the unusual way his felt skin slightly changes colors when it rains, the small finned ears tucked under his captain's hat, or the tiny teal scales that grow under his arms when he's stressed. Maybe he's a lot more clever than people realize. Using that sweetness of his to distract others from what's happening...nah, he's just a clumsy sweet guy, right?

Instead of having shipments in, it's usually Eddie that helps bring in most of what the island has when it comes to strange items. They're still a bit stuck in the 70s so sometimes Eddie brings back boatloads of lost shipments with up to date everyday items.

Wally Darling:

Wally Darling is a true finman at heart. He keeps all those he is close with very close on this island he made so long ago with his and Home's own magic. He may or may not have helped kidnap a few of the neighbors with Home and others, bringing them here.

Sometimes Wally will find himself in looser fitting clothing on warmer days. But usually he keeps a suit worn with his pompadour being well-kept. Everything at Home must be perfect.

Unlike most finmen, his powers have gone far beyond what is normal. While most can control the ocean waters through waves and small rain showers, Wally has little to no trouble making storms, hurricanes, giant whirlpools, and changing the very currents of the ocean to his favor.

Making Home was probably his greatest feat yet. Creating an island wasn't uncommon for his kind. But creating a giant, living, sentient island hidden within a vale of sorts in the middle of the ocean that not even other finmen could reach was something otherworldly. It's like he's creating a whole new world.

He will sometimes crash planes and ships far out in the ocean if they so much as get too close to the world they reside in. Of course he ensures that Eddie, Howdy, or Barnaby goes over to the crash sites to wipe away any memory of where the passengers have been, just in case...and maybe he should start up a rough storm or two in that area for good measure. You can never be too sure.

Of course Wally never expects anyone to actually make it to the shores of Home, but if someone ever did, well...that would be quite the impressive feat! You'd have to not only get past the others sensing your presence in their waters (coupled with oncoming storms), but also get past the vale their world resides in.

Truly, Wally just wants everyone in Home to be able to live happy and free here. He often creates more and more islands and small peninsulas along with the others just to explore and have fun. And they do have fun and joy, almost everyday! Though he needs to slow down on the island-making, he often gets lost on his own creations sometimes.

Barnaby B.Beagle:

At first glance he's just a big ol' fluffy dog with a big personality, but when it rains or when water is doused on the guy? He really tends to grow in size.

Unlike the others, Barnaby tends to have a completely different form when he lets loose. Instead of scales, he grows smooth and cool skin, and instead of pointy fin ears he grows side gills and one large triangular fin on his lower back. (Poppy often needs to help fix his clothes for this reason.) All this topped with giant rows of sharp teeth. Very shark-like indeed.

Due to his size and sharp features, it's no wonder that Barnaby often accompanies Eddie or Howdy when taking care of people that are getting too close to Home, or when someone on the mainland is getting a liiiittle too close to pinpointing where Home's vale is. You could say he's a bit like a giant guard (shark?)dog.

Sometimes Frank wonders if Barnaby is even a finman like the others or if he's some kind of hybrid...or possibly a subspecies?

This big guy is friendly and loves cracking jokes, but he isn't dumb, and he definitely isn't letting anyone hurt his family.

Wally and Barnaby go way back to when he was just a pup (get it?), having been washed up ashore on what was a lonely Home at the time. Wally was the first person to ever treat him so kindly and not judge him for how he looked in his original form. Most finmen hated it.

Barnaby so far has been the only one to ever make it to Home on his very own. Maybe it takes something special to get here. Or maybe it was Home who invited him that time and not Wally's invitation.

Frank Frankly:

Quite frankly the most nerdiest guy at Home. Not only is Frank's house neatly organized with specimens of insects everywhere, but that has evolved to specimens of fish and many books on mythical sea creatures, something that started all thanks to Eddie and Home.

Frank remembers his first time here clear as day. He was so skeptical that finfolk were real or that any mythical creature was real. It took a lot of convincing and quite a few magic tricks to finally get him to open up his eyes about that.

The man has been obsessed with the life that resides in the ocean since he first learned about finfolk. You could ask him about any, and I mean ANY sea creature and he'd probably know everything about it.

One of his keen interests is that of finfolk and selkies. They had similar traits but were vastly different in many ways. Finfolk he could research on however long he wanted considering he was living with them. But unlike finfolk, selkies weren't seen as much anymore. Stars, selkies were even considered on the verge of going extinct according to other finfolk and sea creatures, something about selkies getting their coats stolen too often? Frank would shake his head at that thought. Some people were just too cruel.

Sometimes Frank will feel a pang of loneliness when studying on his own, but usually Eddie is there to cheer him up, or Julie, even if she was a bit too much.

Both Julie and himself are the only residents at Home that are not finfolk, just some ordinary people that found their way here, though they don't remember how or when...

You(Suprise short fic! Hahahaha-):

There was something off about this part of the ocean. You have never ventured this far out before, always staying close to coasts and peninsulas, but it was like you were just drawn to a force here.

You perched yourself onto the small deck of the tiny sailboat you owned and crossed another spot out on the map. There was nothing here either, just like the past few miles you checked. No islands or signs of land in sight...and yet you could sense that something was indeed there. Call it an instinct, but your body was refusing to leave you alone until you satisfied your curiosity.

Looking down into the deep waters, you debated on going back down there to take a second look...nah. You were still soaked and the fur would take forever to dry off again. That, and the skies continued to darken as if it would rain any second now. Actually, a nice swim and a quick look seemed like a good idea.

The fur hood slipped over your head as you buckled the inside of your jacket to keep everything secured, the last thing you needed was a current to take away your seal jacket, you put too much time and effort into making your seal fur a real set of clothes.

You jumped in as soon as thunder roared right behind you, feeling the tingling feeling of bristles and fur wrapping around your felt skin. There wasn't supposed to be a storm yet...

The currents began to change, almost pulling you towards the place of interest from earlier, it was far too strong for you to swim against even as your flippers swished back and forth as hard as they could. Before you could turn your back to face another direction, rough waters ripped your body from left to right, up, and down, until everything felt too dizzy to gather your surroundings. Your vision was such a blur that you did not notice the sailboat you were once on begin to sink down towards you. A long metal object suddenly made contact with your head and everything went black.

I had this finfolk-selkie hybrid OC for the longest time and every time I looked at selkie OCs no one seemed to make it into normal-ish clothing. Like imagine being a selkie in the modern world. Having a seal coat turned into the softest hoodie or jacket would be the best thing ever. You could take it anywhere with you in plain sight and no one would even know.