#big frilly fish mom?

[doctorsiren]

I love you Jhes, I don’t care if me in 2018 reading your page and thinking you were an axolotl creature was a misunderstanding on my part. I’m keeping that headcanon / design since we know so little <3

[onismdaydream]

bro, I've been wanting to read a step brother for a while now and I'm SURE that only you could do something as good as I've been thinking. So, can you do one where Leon (RE2) is fantasizing about his little sister? imagining how he could fuck and abuse his little sister's big breasts 🥺

sorry i made u wait for a month but i finally wrote something :3 i hope u like it!! <3

tags: mdni. 18+. stepcest (siblings). afab/fem reader. masturbating (m). voyuerism (leon watches reader without their knowledge). he's obsessed with your tits obvi. not proofread.

He didn't mean to. Honest.

But he couldn't help but steal a quick peek as he walked by your room, your door open just the slightest bit. He could see your reflection in the standing floor length mirror, the one with those little strings of ivy wrapped around the top. Your room was always so cute.

You were rifling through your closet, the hangers clanging into each other as you pushed past each article, trying to find the perfect outfit. Leon couldn’t wrap his mind around the amount of effort you put into your appearance. You already looked perfect in his opinion, no need to waste all that time getting ready.

Biting on your sparkling lip gloss covered bottom lip, you pulled out a frilly skirt, a pretty shade of pink that you always seemed drawn to. Leon suppressed a groan when you bent down to slide your lounging shorts off, his eyes glued to your panties. They showed off your ass in just the right way, hugging your wide hips and barely covering anything. It’s like you were putting on a show for him, like you knew he was there watching you. Wishful thinking, to say the least. Knowing you, you would slap at his chest, calling him a gross perv for staring at his step sister before you would run off and cry to your daddy. And then he’d get an earful from his mom and that wouldn’t do.

He should really stop, walk away while he was ahead, but then you started to twist your hips to watch the material twirl around you. And he was fucking mesmerized.

It’s not like Leon didn’t know you had a nice rack, he wasn’t blind. Especially when you would wear those tight tank tops or those low cut shirts that you almost burst out of, or god that absolutely not appropriate excuse for a swimsuit you’d sport during the summer. Family trips to the beach would make his mouth dry and he’d have to run to the bathroom to jerk off at the sight of your wet body. He would never admit how quickly he’d cum, his hand covered in sticky white as he tried to catch his breath.

But this was different somehow, more authentic. The lacy bralette didn’t do much to support your tits, the slight movements of your body making them bounce. He wanted to stick his head between them so bad. Suffocate him between those massive things and he’d die a happy man.

You seemed content with your choice, nodding your head with a soft hum before you walked towards your dresser to find a top. Leon could feel his cock straining against his underwear, the tightness becoming too uncomfortable to ignore. Thinking fast, he pulled out his phone and snapped some pictures of you, your full breasts and perky nipples beginning to prod at the thin fabric, a sight too perfect to not capture. His eyes caught your own in the mirror for a split second before he bolted as quietly as he could to his room.

Leon slammed his door shut and immediately fished his aching cock out, gripping at the base as his head tipped back against the wood. He didn’t even need the pictures honestly, the image of your beautiful tits at the forefront of his brain. God, what he wouldn’t give to just feel them in his hands, to grope and squeeze the fat of them. They’re probably so sensitive, you probably cry out when someone tweaks at your nipples. Probably liked them being sucked on, too. He could imagine you pulling at his hair as he licked and bit at those swollen buds, your voice turning whiny as it always does when Leon teases you.

Maybe he could convince you to let him fuck them, let him slide his fat cock between your tits. All you would have to do is push them together a bit, just enough so he could feel your soft warmth surrounding his length. Surely that’s not asking for much, right? It’s not like it’s actual sex so it’s completely fine. Just let him use your body for a bit and he’d make sure you felt good, too. Leon’s a nice guy, after all.

He didn’t even realize how hard he was fucking his fist until he felt the familiar coil tightening in his gut, his mind running rampant with images of you and your fucking tits. It was pathetic, really, how fast you get him all worked up like this. It hadn’t even been five minutes and he’s about to blow his load, his tip practically drooling with precum.

The sound of your voice calling out his name made him tip over the edge, a loud moan slipping past his lips as his jizz coated his hand and dripped to the floor. He could hear your hurried footsteps come closer to his room, your palm banging on his door as you yelled at him. So you did actually see him, huh.

He wipes his dirty hand on his pants, stuffing his twitching cock back inside. He didn’t really care to listen to exactly what you were threatening or what insults you called him, not that it really mattered anyway. Leon had a pretty good idea of what he could do to get you to shut up.

[alastorbyalex]

ask-alastors-mom 2h ago No sugar? You don’t like sweets anymore? She spoke more to herself then alastor. She immediately found the ingredients for the fish fishing two aprons out of the cupboard tossing one over to alastor. she expertly tied the apron around her waist , setting the necessary ingredients on the counter top next to the stove. She may or may not have re organized the kitchen without Charlie’s approval haha-! She was so bad~ hehe Well alright, but I get to have some when we’re done. She took out a knife and started to cut the bread into slices Why don’t ya’ get started on the custard

"No, I can't say that I find myself a big fan of them anymore. I prefer more bitter and savory flavors than the sweet ones." Alastor had snapped his fingers and a pink frilly apron appeared over his jacket. As she asked, Alastor gave a small nod and grabbed a mixing bowl along with the ingredients to make the custard. It was with an out of practice hand he started whipping the eggs and other ingredients together, small amounts going over the sides of the bowl and onto the counter.

Bro you should really check on your mom I think she had a nightmare

Alastor rubs his cheekbones before getting up from his bed. He gets himself dressed before going to his mothers room and knocking on the door. @ask-alastors-mom

[calamity-unlocked]

“I’m Marie Kondo-ing the shit out of this,” Taylor grinned. “Man, I don’t get why I thought this’d be hard.”

“It’s because you’re a hoarder,” Scary said from his bed, not looking up from her phone. The second she arrived, she had put her platform boots on a pizza box to not get Taylor’s Shinobu bedsheets dirty, sat down, propped up by half a dozen of fluffy pillows, and hadn’t gotten back up.

“The right term is, 'collector'”, Taylor finely corrected her.

A few days ago, Taylor’s mom had momentarily shattered his world when she told him he needed to participate in spring cleaning. She was trying to clean up the attic, and had brought down four big boxes with his stuff, which he needed to either put in his room or get rid of.

Faced with the possibility of choice paralysis, Taylor had asked the most decisive person he knew to help him sort through his stuff. Scary hadn’t actually been of much help so far - for the most part she scrolled through her Facebook Messenger and scoffed at his disregarded childhood memories, making the occasional sarcastic remark as he grumbled about folds in posters and broken action figurines.

He’d offered Scary that anything on the ‘charity’ pile she could take, as a gift from him. She had rolled her eyes at Taylor’s offer, proclaiming she didn’t need his dweeby hand-me-downs. But Taylor and his eagle-sharp eyes had not failed to notice how every now and then an item would mysteriously go missing from the pile.

He didn’t bring it up – but he did stealthily pump his fist when he purposefully put his officially-licensed Death Note poetry bundle on the pile and it was gone the next time he turned his head.

He held up a black t-shirt with the anime remake version of a sleeping Aurora. The frilly text said: ‘only wake me up for anime’. “I’m torn about this one. Medium levels of joy. What do you think?”

“Lame,” she commented after a casual glance.

“Right then. That finishes up that box,” he said, dusting off his hands, not because there was actual dust on them but because he liked how it made him look like a Wild West saloon owner throwing out a misbehaving client while muttering ‘and good riddance’ under his breath.

He unsheathed his katana and cut open the tape on the next U-Haul box. It was labeled ‘Taylor, 2036’, with a little hand-drawn heart. He let out a single chuckle when he saw the various toys inside.

“Oh, this one’s easy. This is all stuff from when I was a baby.” He pulled out a bright green walkie-talkie, of which the battery had long died. “You want any of this?”

She just flipped him off.

Taylor rummaged through the treasure cove of plastic puzzles and wooden blocks, trying to look if maybe his mom had stored a box with his baby teeth in here somewhere – there were people who’d pay good money for those – when his hand hit something soft at the bottom. Almost like a reflex, like a baby monkey grasping onto its mother, Taylor grabbed it and fished it out.

It was a stuffed toy, yellow and blue and pill-shaped. A pair of goggled lifeless eyes smiled at him, and Taylor stared back, his mouth parting as his mind was very quiet all of a sudden.

From the other side of the room, Scary snickered. “Heh. You liked the Minions? Cringe.”

Taylor’s head snapped up, as though awakened from a trance. “No. What do you think I am, a zoomer?” he said defensively.

He had in fact seen the Minions anime, which had been based on the live-action movie, but he’d done so mostly to be edgy. Ever since the horrific Minion Massacre in 2039, the public’s opinion on the yellow creatures had wildly shifted.

But even before that, he couldn’t ever remember liking the Minions. He was obsessed with other bright and loud stuff as a kid, the kind of things that drove his mom crazy. The Minions had never really entered his mind. Until now.

He looked at the doll in his hand. Just a piece of plush and cotton stuffing. Nothing special about it – it didn’t even have a voice box with recorded messages. Its right arm had come loose, and cloud-like fluff was sticking out.

And yet, an indescribable feeling surged through his torso, wrapped around his heart, got stuck in his throat. There was a childlike urge to hug this thing right against his body, to press his nose against it and smell something that would be familiar–

He did. No need to pretend to be cool, he already was the coolest, and Scary knew that. Him sniffing an old toy wasn’t gonna change that. He was pretty sure.

It… it didn’t even smell like anything. Just musty textile. Disappointment welled up in the back of his throat, and he didn’t even know why.

“I don’t like the Minions,” he repeated numbly, not sure who he was talking to. “And it’s ugly.”

He heard the rustling of fabric as Scary sat up straighter. He could practically hear the quirked eyebrow in her voice when she said: “Then just throw it away. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Taylor blinked a couple of times, then willed his lips into a sharp smile. “Nah. I’m keeping this one,” he said, putting it on the shelf with his myriad of Kirby and Yoshi plushies. “Who knows. Maybe one day someone’s willing to put down big cash for it. You never know with collector’s items.”

That had been it, just a weird moment he’d been able to shake off and restore his chill. Scary helped him load the boxes with the stuff for charity in the car, and they went out to get ice cream after.

Later, every time he would casually just exist in the space of his room, he’d glance at that stupid smiling stuffed toy on his shelf, and feel a little better. He never asked his mom who had given it to him, because there was a part of him that already knew.

And if there was anything Taylor hated, it was being proved wrong.

[mcmansionhell]

Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response. 

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car. 

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake. 

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

 “Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light. 

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house. 

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers. 

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.” 

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.” 

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that. 

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging. 

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic. 

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.  

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.” 

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs. 

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better. 

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.  

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[soup-du-silence]

It's so quiet down here.

It's quiet and dark and open. The rooms have no doors and the windows have no glass, the beds have no blankets and Cannolo doesn't feel right when she's full of water and can't be hugged properly and Stella's heart is going to beat right out of her chest. Even with Dad in bed next to her, sandwiching her against the wall to keep her safe the way she likes, it's still Wrong in a capital W way nothing will be able to fix. Not Dad, not a nightlight, not a story, not more toys.

It's too much. It's too little.

It's just too different.

All her life she's been threatened and scolded to stay away from the water lest she get wet and anyone find out what she is, and she has a mind of her own, all kids get into a little trouble, certainly, but that's what makes them kids, and deep down, she's a good kid. 

But...maybe she isn't good enough.

Maybe if she'd been gooder, mom wouldn't have left.

Being underwater doesn't feel gooder, it feels badder, she's scaly from frilly head to fishy toe and if mom could see her right now she'd be so mad, she'd be in so much trouble-

Stella's breath starts to come hard and fast, but it comes through gills instead of her nose and mouth and that just makes it WORSE, it feels so WEIRD and BAD, why is everything so DIFFERENT, why can't it go back to how it was, why can't she just go back home, why can't mom come back-

"Okay," her dad says, and takes her hand. "It's okay, baby, let's get you out of here."

He takes her hand and swims silently through the window of Grandma and Grandpa's farmhouse into the big open water where everything is too dark and too quiet. He tugs her up so she floats in front of him and then scoops her up in his arms and holds her close to his chest, and if there's one really good thing about being underwater it's that he can still do this like when she was small, because in the Above, she's getting too big to be carried. 

He takes her back up to the town and up the beach under the bright white moon, they stand dripping in front of the fish shop where the big man who sticks bad guys with harpoons lives, and suddenly Stella is one hundred percent certain that the big man will come out of the fish shop and stick them both with harpoons because neither of them are supposed to be wet. It was bad that they went in the water and changed all the way, she would have gotten in so much trouble if she'd done it and Mom had seen, and the big man will surely know she's been bad.

"No, don't," she whines, grabbing at Dad's tail while he tests the gate set into the big stone wall around the courtyard behind the fish store.

"It's okay, Stella, I do know the people who live here. I'm gonna ask them if we can sleep in the backyard tonight, okay? It'll be kind of like camping, that's not so bad, huh?" The gate swings open, and he smiles. "He still hasn't fixed the lock."

He leads her to the foot of a big gnarly tree and tells her to wait while he struggles to scale a set of old planks nailed into the tree's wide trunk. He has to stop at the top to catch his breath. Then he scoots along the branch to knock on the shuttered window on the second floor. A light flicks on and the shutters open and Stella gets bored.

She picks an olive up off the ground and puts it in her mouth, then lets it roll off her tongue in disgust, half chewed and mealy, when it's far too bitter to eat. She's wiping it off her tongue when Dad comes sliding clumsy and breathless back down the tree and gestures for her to join him at the back door. Stella hangs back, peeking around her father's hip, steeling herself for what might be on the other side.

But when the door swings open, it's not a big man ready to stick her with a harpoon for being bad. It's the friendly man from the beach. Well, he's bigger than her dad, for sure, wide shoulders and taller by quite a lot, but not half as big as the giant in her mind's eye.

He steps back from the door and motions, saying, "C'mon in."

"Oh, no, really," Dad says, "We'd be fine with a blanket or something, just for the night, it's okay-"

"Don't be stupid, you're not sleeping in the garden."

"I can't, Alberto-"

"Luca," he says, his warm voice suddenly unsmiling and hard like stone. "Don't argue with me, you won't win."

Something silent and still happens between them like when two tomcats meet on the street and neither one wants to back down. Stella watches the other man from behind her father's hip. His eyes are very green and bright, even in the dark.

"You're worse than my mother," Dad says finally, and leads Stella past the man called Alberto and up the stairs into the apartment over the fish store.

"What's your baby's name?" Alberto asks her, as they tiptoe past the kitchen, his voice gentle and friendly again.

"Cannolo," she says, gripping the toy to her chest so that it squooshes water all down her front and into a puddle on the floor. (Dad makes an embarrassed sound neither she nor Alberto acknowledge.) "And she's not my baby she's my familiar."

"Obviously," he says, nodding sagely. "But listen, do you think Cannolo wants to sleep in the bathtub tonight? So she can dry out? Look, we'll make sure she's comfortable."

He leads her into the bathroom and helps her make a comfortable little nest in the bathtub for Cannolo, with a folded washcloth for a pillow and a hand towel for a blanket that he tucks in all around her edges, the way a baby-slash-familiar ought to be tucked. The palms of Alberto's hands are silvery-blue where he touches the sodden toy, and he doesn't try to hide it.

"I might have something you can borrow for the night," Alberto says, when he shows Stella into his bedroom. He has all kinds of photos and postcards and pages from magazines and things pinned to his walls and old pieces of machinery and tools and books stacked in the corners and she wants very urgently to know what every single one of them are, but there's an old black cat with white paws sleeping on a pile of laundry on the floor under his desk that captures her attention first.

"Careful," Dad warns, hovering at the doorway as Stella crouches over the old cat and pats her little hand on his haunch. "Be gentle."

"That's Galileo," Alberto says as he fishes around under his bed for something. "Don't worry, he's friendly."

"Usually," Dad corrects.

"It's only you he doesn't like. She'll be fine. Aha, gotcha." Alberto straightens back up. He has an old, worn-out stuffed duck in a sailor's uniform in his big hands. He's missing a few buttons, but Alberto seems very proud of him. "Hey Stella, do you like Paperino?"

Stella shrugs, indifferent. "He's alright."

Dad laughs really big at the way Alberto's face falls and his shoulders slump. Stella thinks she hasn't heard him laugh in a long time. "Oh. Well, nevermind, then. Sorry, Paperino, back into the dark for you," and he moves to tuck the toy back under the bed, and Stella has an acute, visceral reaction to it, clutching cold and wet at her insides like mud through her fingers, as if she'd been made to sleep in the dark, creepy underwater farmhouse again, and she'd never be allowed to leave.

"Nono, I want him!" She reaches for the duck with grabby hands and tucks him protectively under her chin. How could she have almost let him go back into the dark? The thought of it makes her tummy heavy, like it's full of lies.

"That's what I thought." He flashes a big friendly smile and winks. "You think you can keep him safe for me tonight?" 

"Yes, of course," she says, and climbs up onto the mattress of Alberto's bed without even thinking, Paperino held close in a vice grip.

Dad still won't step into the bedroom. "You didn't have to do this," he says to Alberto, as he stands up. "I never would have asked if I'd thought-"

"What kind of monster makes a little kid sleep in the garden, Luca, seriously."

"No, I just meant-"

"I know what you meant. But we don't let our neighbors go hungry in Portorosso. You know that."

Dad opens his mouth to say something else, but looks back at Stella and changes his mind. He pulls Alberto into the hallway so they can talk in tight, quiet voices that she can't make out. After what feels like a really long time, he comes back and finally steps into the room wearing the look on his face he wears when Stella knows he's trying not to cry.

There is nothing scarier in the world than when a grown-up cries. Grown-ups aren't supposed to cry. Who is there to hug a grown-up and give them bandages and kisses when they have hurts? It makes her feel small and confused and helpless to think about.

Galileo growls at him from under the desk.

"Shush," Alberto says to the cat from the doorway. "They're our guests, deal with it." Then, "Goodnight Stella-bella. Sleep tight. Don't pee in my bed!"

"I don't pee the bed I'm not a /baby/!" She pouts, utterly scandalized. 

Alberto ducks out of the doorway and moves the door mostly closed, leaving it open a crack so Galileo can come and go as he pleases.

"Where's he gonna sleep?" she asks, just now realizing Alberto's letting them have his own bed for the night.

"He said he had somewhere he could go," he says. He's standing on the far side of the room, looking at the wall of photos and magazine pages and postcards from a distance, touching them only to look underneath them for secrets. After a while, he sighs and gives up and turns to look at her perched in the middle of the modest bed.

"He said you could have a shirt, so you don't have to sleep in your swim clothes, but he might not have one small enough. You'd probably just come right out the neck hole."

It's a funny enough image that they decide to peek into his wardrobe and see what they can find. There's one T-shirt in the whole batch small enough that she can keep it on one shoulder while she wears it. It has faded words printed on it in a language she doesn't recognize. "This one must not even be his," Dad says in a tired voice. 

They turn off the lights and climb into bed, Stella on the inside, against the wall, to stay safe, just the way she likes it best.

"It smells nice," she says into the dark. It's hard to explain why she says it, because it's not a smell exactly, on the sheets and blankets of Alberto's bed, not the way baking bread or cut flowers or onions and garlic in a pan is a smell. It smells nice the way the sky is bigger and bluer in autumn, it smells nice the way a full belly feels. It smells nice like the sight of shoes of family and friends lined up by the front door at Christmas. It smells like warmth and trust and safety.

"Mmhm," her father says to the ceiling, voice all tight and pinched up, and rolls to put his arm around her and press his face into the pillow.

It's not a noisy city like Rome, but at least from here she can hear the waves, and the wind in the olive tree outside the window, and cats prowling the alleys and occasional voices from the restaurants down below. Anything is better than the smothering cotton-in-the-ears quiet of the sea.

She falls asleep in minutes.

[begayeatdice]

Session 31: Finale

-we drink all the potions -the Observer was Bellinor the whole time! -what a dick -welp, time to go kick his ass! -Boltan calls him a crossdressing monk -there are some shadowy antagonists here coming out of some gems -we attack them directly for the satisfaction -Shadow Dr. Moroe keeps misgendering Agrani -Shadow Lahir dangles Baelon over the edge -Bisca bait and switched Lahir so she's holding him instead -Baleon, go over there, your Shadow Mom is being a bitch -Shadow Mom is killed with 69 damage -nice -Bisca gets banished to a Mystery Shape Realm -and immediately is unbanished -Agrani does the worm -*wyrm -Bellanore keeps running away -cause he's a BITCH -Bisca KILLS -Bellinor is DEAD -that's what he gets for being MEAN!!!! -Bisca collects her dress -Agrani, Baelon, and Eli go godtier -Bisca and Baelon have some squirrel stew with the path of judgement man -there's only one kobold left at Bisca's Hunting and Fishing Lodge for Orphans -he has a frilly maid cap -Agrani is now Kobold Santa? -he wants them to rebuild the monastery and invite non-kobolds -Baleon declares himself the new Lord of the Chill Wind -new tyrant in town! -apparently Boltan can write -Agrani solves racism -Baelon gaslight gatekeep girlbossed his way across the island -can't gatekeep without city walls! -Baelon recruits the criminal he saved from execution to be his consort -Baelon's children are like interns -Boltan retires and becomes a grandpa -he doesn't bring back is dead wife -growth~ -Bisca wanders around and recruits orphans -she finally sleeps with Lahir -she'll be her winter consort, she guesses -Persephone situation -whenever she's in the monastery or Saint Grave she yells Agrani and Baelon's names and they appear -Eli goes on a Big Dragon Family Quest -he frees his ancestors! -we gather at Boltan's funeral -a huge gaggle of grandchildren -at least now that all her friends are gods Bisca doesn't have to experience watching them age and die without her! -that's a wrap!

Dragon's Peace

Featuring...

-Elizar "Eli" the Tiefling Draconic Sorcerer -Bisca the Wood Elf Wild Magic Barbarian -Boltan the Human Horizon Walker Ranger -Baelon the Half-Elf Storm Sorcerer -Anilith the Firbolg Grave Cleric/Spores Druid -Agrani the Kobold Ascendant Dragon Monk -Brutus the Dwarf Champion Fighter Sessions 1-5 Sessions 6-10 Sessions 11-15 Sessions 16-20 Sessions 21-25

[not-from-the-absence-of-violence]

For we rise and we fall, and we crash on the coastlines (Only our love will last 'til the end); Chapter 1

thank you to @drowninginstarlights for editing! Heads up for Travis’ and Gable’s terrible dad’s and mom death!

the journey of a selkie, a cursed fisher, a lighthousekeeper, her aprentice and a very confused mortal as their lives intertwine and the magic around them grows.

or a selkie au with general folklore themes!

In the end, Uriel doesn’t even remember what happened. All they have are pieces of their memories, flashes of knowledge. They remember being afraid of the sea, ever since they were young. They grew up in a big coastal city, where the sea was as much your enemy as your only source of income. They remember their father, a deeply unpleasant man. They remember anger. They remember a fire, and a boat sinking, and they don’t think they’ll ever be sure what actually caused it, but that doesn’t matter. There was no doubt in their father’s mind that it was caused by them.

They remember, before that, being in school and being taught not to curse people, not even as a joke, and certainly not on the sea. Magic is finicky business. It doesn’t take much for things to get out of hand.

So here’s the thing. They remember their father spitting his last words at them, but they can never remember the exact phrasing. Must have been something like “may you dwell upon the sea forever,” or “may you never stray far from the sea.” It must have been, because they remember thinking Odd words for a dying man .

There is power in the last words of a dying man, they did not think.

After that, they couldn’t drown. They remember not being able to drown. They don’t remember the months after, the ones they must have spent on some shore somewhere, slowly realising something in their father’s wording must have made it so they couldn’t die. So they couldn’t ever leave.

They stared out to the vast expanse of the ocean, now both their prison and only companion.

-

William’s father hated magic. He was a wealthy man whose money made money, and he’d never seen any point in such frilly business as magic.

William’s mother, however, had loved magic. Not only that, she’d respected it, and believed that it was important to teach it, as much as any of the other fundamental truths about the universe. There were even whispers that her own mother had come from the sea itself.

Like anything his father hated and his mother loved, William adored magic. He’d stand and stare with great intent whenever his mother had shown him even the most basic of protection charms. But then she’d fallen ill, and then suddenly she was gone. Really gone, gone as in there was no trace of her left in the house, not even her body. It hadn’t taken long for Father to get rid of all her possessions too.

“She’s gone back to the sea,” William would tell people. They’d look at him uncomfortably, clearly thinking this was just a child struggling to process grief, but he always knew better. The only thing he always wondered is why she hadn’t taken him with her.

Years later, his father was on a trip and William was alone. He had grown up attempting to forget about his mother, about everything, but he couldn’t. He’d grown up to enjoy being left alone in his vast house where he never felt at home, spending the downtime between his father’s presence nursing his wounds.

He stared out of the window of the penthouse, dreading his father’s return, hoping with every inch of him that his father’s ship wouldn’t make it to port.

Eventually, he couldn’t stand there any longer, so he turned inwards. There wasn’t much left of his mother’s teachings in the house, his own memories turned fuzzy with time, but he had managed to snatch a single grimoire from the library. Bargains were easy, he imagined, and especially so for him. He too, in some way, belonged to the sea.

So in the middle of a dark, cold night, while the full moon hung heavy in the sky, he went to plead to the waters.

“I am not, I must admit, entirely sure what this whole deal is,” he said, the moonlight shining off the sand around him, “But you took my mother from me.”

He looked at the lapping edges of the water. The sea remained just the sea. The waves came and went.

“I get that you won’t just drown my father for me, and I don’t particularly have much to offer but-” he shuddered a bit, knowing what he was about to do was cruel and very dangerous, “You can take me, William.”

As he spoke his name, the wind picked up suddenly. It smelt of salt and distant rainfall.

“You can take me like you took my mother,” he continued, “And in exchange, I want you to make sure his ship doesn’t get here.”

The sea seemed to agitate, the waves picking up, dark even in the moonlight.

“Did you hear me?” he yelled, raising his voice over the rushing wind, “You just need to drown-”

As he spoke his father’s true name, the world went black.

He hadn’t expected to wake up, after that. It seemed fair enough, a life for a life. Maybe he would get to be a cool water spirit, scaring tourists. Or maybe a fish, with no memories at all. He did not expect to wake up and find himself a seal.

He knew about selkies, sure, but waking up and being a seal was still a shock. He stared at this new body, his new completely different body, attempting to rationalize what he knew was true - that it was him.

The other thing he did not expect was to wake up looking onto the ocean, and seeing a storm raging. There was a ship, tossing up and down with the waves, a very familiar ship. It was so close to port, but he knew that it couldn’t make it. It was sinking. His father’s ship was sinking.

He knew it was the sea showing him their deal was signed. He hadn’t known, not truly, the enormity of his choice until he stared at it, burning in front of him. He didn’t know how to feel as he stared into the sinking ship.

How many people had he just killed? What was he supposed to do?

He stayed there for a long time, looking on until the ship fully disappeared under the waves. Eventually, when there was nothing but dark wreckage on the surface, he dove down into the water. Time to learn how to be a seal.

At least now he didn’t have to be human anymore. At least then he could swim far away, see where the ocean currents take him.

It’s not like there was anyone at home missing him anyway.

-

Eventually, Uriel got their hands on two things: a small living, and a fishing boat. The boat was just a little too small for them, but it was cozy. She was old enough that her boards creaked in the wind, ropes faded and fraying, and the paint was so worn that her original name was entirely illegible.

Uriel couldn’t die, and they couldn’t leave the waters for too long,or they got antsy. They’d never gone away for long enough to test the ocean's patience, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the consequences. So living on the water was their only option, and as they still enjoyed food and food cost money, fishing it was.

It was a lonely existence, but they discover you can get used to even the loneliest things. They had eternity in front of them to learn how to do their job, and do it well.

They settled in a small town by the name of Safe Harbour. Uriel knew painfully little of magic to understand the how or why, but the town was protected somehow and the magic was strong. Everyone was perfectly content to buy Uriel’s fish, and never talk to them unless they spoke first.

Routine took over and life was almost pleasant. Uriel wasn’t exactly happy, but they imagined this is as happy as people like them got to be, so they pressed on. There was always more fish to be caught.

-

William met Uriel the only good way of meeting people, which is while robbing them. By now, he was perfectly capable of hunting for his own food, but it was such a chore, and a boring one at that. Other seals could tell he was different, that the sea owned him in a different way, and anway, he couldn’t actually talk to them. He didn’t have to be a seal, all the time. But it wasn’t like he could really talk to the humans either, and the vulnerability of being human once again always set him on edge. So he stayed a seal, and passed back and forth through towns, being a general nuisance.

The only consistent thing about his life these days was stealing, and that was practically second nature. So he didn’t think anything of it when he swam up to a small fishing vessel to get his lunch for the day.

He managed to climb up on the deck, and was about to flop back into the sea, triumphant with a fish in his mouth, when he heard a loud voice.

“Hey!” they shouted.

He froze, turning to look at the irate fisher. He wasn’t the type to be afraid, not anymore, but this person was incredibly tall with long, flowing hair that was almost stark white tied haphazardly back. They had the look of someone who had been on sea for years, but they also didn’t look older than maybe their late twenties. They were also holding a harpoon, pointed menacingly at him.

He wasn’t the type to be afraid, but he was, perhaps, a little nervous.

“I swear those damn seals get smarter every time,” they muttered.

He dropped the fish out of his mouth and sighed. “I have always been this smart, I'll have you know.”

This made them pause, looking at him baffled for a second before they let out a cry and charged at him with the harpoon.

“Whoa, okay no need to be rude,” he said, attempting to quickly move out of the way. But he was, in fact, a seal, and seals aren’t made for quick motions on land, to his dismay.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. He transformed into a man.

The stranger stopped again, the harpoon dangerously close to his body.

“Who are you? And what are you doing on my boat?” they say.

Travis couldn’t help but grin as he held up his hand, with his fish clutched in it. “I feel like it’s rather obvious.”

-

Uriel didn’t know how to feel. There was a man on their boat. That’s an undeniable fact. First there had been a seal, and now there was a very annoying silver haired stranger, wearing a ridiculous coat and actively stealing their fish with his bare hands.

They could deal with seals. They could deal with other sea creatures. They weren’t in any way prepared to deal with this.

“Asking for names, just like that?” he said, “How rude of you.”

They could feel more annoyance bubbling up inside them. “I wasn't asking for your name!”

The stranger smirked at them again, clearly enjoying getting them riled up. They should have harpooned him to death then and there. They’ll never know why they didn’t.

“Well, you may call me Travis Matagot anyway,” he said magnanimously, dropping the fish and extending a hand.

They stared at it incredulously, before deciding that their life was already so weird, this might as well happen. They shook it.

“You can call me, uh…” they said. It had been so long since they had to give out names like this. “Gable,” they settled on eventually.

“Like the roof thing,” he said, deadpan.

Gable felt their cheeks heating up. “Shut up!” they said, still holding a lowered harpoon in their other hand, “You were stealing from me, what makes you think-”

“I was hungry,” he said, shrugging. He seemed harmless, if very annoying, so they cautiously put the harpoon down.

“Can’t you fish? You are a seal part of the time, apparently.”

Travis visibly relaxed a little once they’re no longer armed. “Now, why would I, when I can have others do it for me?”

“You could have just asked me,” they said.

Now it was Travis’ turn to be taken aback. He stared at them. “What?” he said.

��I have a lot of fish soup,” Gable said, knowing what they were saying is surreal but being certain that by now they were far too late to stop this trainwreck of a conversation.

“Like in general?” he seemed almost amused.

“I always make too much,” they admit.

-

That's how Travis ended up in their painfully crowded combined kitchen and living room, his coat draped over the back of the chair he was sitting on, staring at a hot bowl of fish soup.

He almost wondered if he ought to accept food at all, but although he didn’t know what to make of Gable yet, they certainly didn’t seem the type to trap him eternally by feeding him.

Gable stared at him, almost self consciously. He almost wanted to pretend he didn’t like it, just to see how they’d react, but regrettably he was hungrier than he thought, and the soup was surprisingly good.

“You liked it,” they said, grinning.

“It was fine,” he said, stopping himself just short of asking for seconds.

“I have spent a lot of time perfecting that soup, Travis.”

He laughed. Time had been something of a laughable concept for a while now. “Well, can’t have been that long. How old are you, twenty five?”

That made his companion pause. They looked down and, honest to god, started counting on their fingers. “Probably forty by now,” they said, looking at him sheepishly. “No clue what that is in seal-man years, or whatever.”

He stared at them, somewhat intrigued at last. But not enough to pry, certainly. “First of all, you must have heard of selkies before,” he said. They gave him a blank stare that meant they honestly probably hadn’t. “And I don’t know either, we don’t age, exactly.”

Gable shrugged. “Sure, did you want more soup?”

“Well if you insist,” he said, passing his bowl to them.

-

They fell into this new routine together easily. Travis would come and try and steal things or otherwise be an annoyance. Gable would threaten him with increasingly odd weapons or just bodily throw him off the side.

And sometimes Travis stayed, and ate Gable’s repertoire of fish based dishes, or mucked about in the small space of the boat. They both occasionally went to town, although mostly separately, as Gable had the reputation of a gentle constant and Travis was rather more of a trickster cryptid.

They never talked about the pasts that plagued them or the curses on their heads, and they were both entirely too stubborn to admit this is the happiest they had been in a very, very long time.

There wasn’t a single moment that they realised they had become friends, and certainly not one they acknowledged. There was only a night, and a tipsy Travis falling asleep on the couch, his silver gray coat left behind, still slung over the chair he usually ate at. There was only a morning Gable spent staring at it wistfully, telling themselves they shouldn’t read into it.

There was him waking up, not for a second doubting his coat would still be there, safe and untouched.

And so in the fragile silence of their friendship, time pressed on.

[wildwcmen]

Basic Information

Full Name: Andromeda Haneul Lee

Nickname(s): Andie, Sky

Age: 20-27

Date of Birth: February 2nd

Hometown: San Francisco, CA

Ethnicity: Korean

Nationality: American

Gender: Demigirl

Pronouns: She/Her & They/Them

Religion: Polytheism

Occupation: Student, aircraft engineer

Language(s) Spoken: English, Korean

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Chungha

Hair Colour: Black, dark brown, blonde

Eye Colour: Dark brown

Height: 5′3

Build: Petite, somewhat athletic, titties kinda big (like c up)

Tattoos: N/A

Piercings: Ears

Clothing Style: Pastels, frilly dresses, pearls, definitely likes to rock a suit from time to time

Usual Expression: Flustered, concentrated, thoughtful, dreamy

Distinguishing Characteristics: Expressive eyes, sweet expression

Health

Conditions: general anxiety disorder, panic attacks

Sleeping Habits: Andie is careful to keep a strict sleeping schedule. She sleeps before 10 PM almost every night, and makes sure to get 8 hours of sleep. They prefer to rise early.

Eating Habits: She’s very healthy and eats an 80-90% plant based diet. She cooks for herself most of the time, only eating out or ordering in very rarely.

Exercise Habits: She runs every morning and has been practicing yoga since she was very young.

Emotional Stability: 6/10

Sociability: She craves social interaction, but finds herself easily flustered and quickly worn out. She’s a bit quiet and awkward, but tries her best!

Drug Use: Occasionally uses marijuana, has experimented with mushrooms, but nothing regularly. She grew up in a household in which drugs use wasn’t largely stigmatized, and as such had healthy experimentation but nothing major.

Alcohol Use: Yes, only socially.

Personality

Label: TBA

Positive Traits: optimistic, intelligent, hard working, kind, affectionate, athletic

Negative Traits: naive, unconsciously emotionally manipulative, emotionally withdrawn, awkward, strange

Fears: failure, not being good enough

Hobbies: yoga, reading, soccer, basketball, running, swimming, video games (the sims, minecraft, very casual), pottery

Habits: giggling when nervous, nail biting, saying ‘um’, pausing too much in conversation

Favourites

Weather: crisp, fall weather

Colour: sky blue

Music: dark indie pop vibes

Movies: she grew up watching sci-fi movies with her mom, and definitely has a love of those. she also enjoys drama and mystery.

Sport: soccer

Beverage: pink lemonade

Food: acai bowl with extra honey

Animal: bear cubs

Family

Father: unknown

Mother: cassiopeia lee

Sibling(s): younger half siblings

Children: n/a

Pet(s): tba

Family’s Financial Status: well off

Extra

Zodiac Sign: aquarius sun, gemini moon, pisces rising

MBTI: INSJ

Enneagram: The Achiever

Temperament: Phlegmatic

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Moral Alignment: Neutral Good

Primary Vice: Jealousy

Primary Virtue: Kindness

Element: Air

Flaws

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny | controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | lies | impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry (but also afraid of her own power tbh, knows she’s ‘supposed’ to be a leader but doesn’t know if it’s right for her or if she’s ‘good’ enough) | greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive | spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | petty | unlucky | absent-minded | abusive | addict | aggressive | childish | callous | clingy | delusional | cocky | competitive | corrupt | cynical | cruel | depressed | deranged | egotistical | envious | insecure | insensitive | lustful | delinquent | guilt complex | reclusive | reckless | nervous | oversensitive | avoidant | restless.

Strengths

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave | patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky | intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous | merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming | cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | protective | proud | diligent | considerate | compassionate | good sportsmanship | friendly | empathetic | passionate | reliable | resourceful | sensible | sincere | witty | funny.

Skills & Hobbies

art | acting | astronomy | animals | archery | sports | beach combing | ballet | bird watching | blacksmithing | boating | calligraphy | camping | candle making | casino gambling | ceramics | racing | chess | music | cooking | crochet | weaving | exercise | swordplay | fishing | gardening | ghost hunting | ice skating | magic | engineering | building | inventing | leather-working | martial arts | meditation | origami | parkour | people watching | swimming | puppetry | pyrotechnics | quilting | reading | collecting | shopping | socializing | storytelling | writing | traveling.

Human Verse

she was raised by her mother in los angeles, california. her mother is a very popular artist and internet persona. she comes from a very loving home, but having such an outgoing and charismatic mother became a bit of a crutch for her. she never really learned how to speak for herself, and was often embarrassed by the stories of her mother that were spread all over the internet. as such, andie became a very quiet and reserved sort of person. she values intelligence above all else, and went away very far for college as soon as it became an option. her main goal in life is to step out of her mother’s shadow and be her own person.

Supernatural Verse

she was raised between the moon and earth, spending time on both planes so that she had a strong connection to both sides of herself. andie always knew that she was in line for the throne, and this was always something that stressed her out greatly. as such, she all but repressed her abilities in hopes that her mother would think one of her other siblings was favored by the gods instead of her. as a teenager she ran away to the underworld and made friends with certain gods, namely persephone, hades and hecate. she was gifted with magical abilities during this time, choosing to focus on those rather than the celestial gifts that she got from her mother.

species: lunar extraterrestrial & human abilities: repressed celestial manipulation, active lunar and stellar magic

[5hining-aus]

SHINee As Single Dads - Birthdays

Anonymous said: How would the shinee single dads be throwing a birthday party for their kiddos? Who has the huge hall rented out? Who threw balloons in the corner and popsicles in a cooler? Who had the party filmed for some reality show called “My Big Birthday Blast” with plenty of drama to go with it? (Not saying it would be Key but let’s be honest... 😂)

As we all know, it is scientifically improbable that all the parties would be pulled off smoothly. Here’s what I think would happen.

Onew

He’s never thrown one of these things by himself so he’s a little overwhelmed, but it’s his oldest’s 13th birthday so gosh darn it, he’s gonna try his best to make his son’s birthday a memorable one

On an angstier note, this is the first birthday since Jinki’s wife’s passing and his son wasn’t taking it so well, so Jinki really wants everything to go well and bring his son a little joy

Everything...does not go as planned

First, the venue Jinki had chosen for the party wound up being double-booked. He had booked it later than the other person, so he lost the spot

Then, the decorations that he had ordered got lost during shipping

And finally, just when Jinki thought that he had gotten everything sorted out, there was a massive snowstorm and none of the guests could make it

The “birthday party” winds up being Jinki and his son sitting on the couch eating an unholy amount of pizza together (because Jinki ordered it in advanced, anticipating a decent-sized group, and apparently pizza delivery drivers don’t care about a full-on blizzard)

Jinx is absolutely crushed, but his son knows how hard he tried and isn’t all that upset, he’s just happy he got to spend some time with his dad

Jonghyun

Has zero clue what he’s doing

He’s never thrown a child’s birthday party before and this is kind of a baptism-by-fire

He legitimately googled “how to throw a birthday party for 10-year-olds.” It didn’t help much, so he asked the other dads and his mom for tips

He’s the dad who winds up renting a whole fire hall

Look, he had to make sure there was room for all the guests, the food, the live band, all that stuff

He bakes and decorates the birthday cake himself. It actually ends up looking and tasting pretty good

Things wind up going rather well (considering the fact he was a complete amateur at party-planning)

Also, that day was the day Jonghyun’s son called him “dad” for the first time. He literally had to excuse himself from the party to go cry in the bathroom (they were happy tears, don’t worry)

Key

Look, Key’s daughter is his little princess. She’s had him wrapped around her little finger since the day she was born.

So when the apple of his eye said that she wanted unicorns at her princess-themed 4th birthday party, Kibu started trying to figure out ways to make that happen

Luckily, a friend of a friend had ponies, so those ponies became unicorns for the day

Once the “unicorns” were arranged, then came the time to get his daughter’s party dress

It was a custom-made ballgown that had the poofiest skirt that Key had ever seen

Once they had the dress ordered, it was time for decor

Just imagine the most extravagant, frilly, obnoxiously pink birthday party you can think of. That’s pretty much what the end product was

A video of the set-up winds up going viral and Key gets interviewed by a couple of online news sites and local news channels. Some people think the whole thing was a bit excessive, but Key’s daughter was happy and that’s all that mattered to him

Minho

It’s hard enough planning a birthday party for one 5-year-old, imagine having to do it for three

Minho is exhausted, and it doesn’t help that his girls all want different themes

Seriously, how do you plan a birthday party that’s pirate, fairy, and fish-themed

Like, pirates and fish go together easily, but fairies? How can he work that in?

Eventually, though, he comes up with a theme that involves fairy pirates and their magical fish friends

He knows that the theme is a bit strange, but he’s a single dad doing his best, leave him be

And the guest list, oh my god, the guest list is probably three miles long. Minho never realized how many friends 5-year-olds could have (then again, they are his children, so it’s not overly surprising)

Minho plans the thing like a drill-sergeant (but, like, a kid-friendly drill-sergeant) and actually manages to pull it off rather smoothly

He wanted to sleep for like a week afterwards though

Taemin

Let’s not kid ourselves here, Taemin’s twins are still infants, they aren’t going to remember if they had a massive party or not

They also don’t really have any non-family friends because, once again, they’re infants

Taemin will most certainly go all-out for his kids’ birthday once they’re old enough to care but, for now, the “party” is just a get-together with the other dads and their kids

Nothing wild, just your basic summer gathering: ice cream, popsicles, a barbeque, maybe a little kiddie pool and some games or something

The other guys are definitely teasing him about “taking the easy route” but Taemin’ll have you know that he worked VERY hard blowing up the balloons

Taem knows that the party is as basic as it gets, but once again, the kids won’t remember

However, when the kids are old enough to ask for certain things for and remember their birthday parties, hoo boy

Not even the circus will have anything on a Taemin Lee party

[sztefa001]

The tagging didn't work either, the reason being probably tumbrl being tumbrl lol xD Also now that I woke up I noticed several things that needed fixing so yeah, here's him again but softer lines, transparent, + version with no bg :D

THANK YOU SO MUCH @sztefa001 I LOVE HIM!!!!  I would have put it normally but it won’t let me for some reason :< BUT I LOVE IT !!! 

[what-even-is-thiss]

Fic, Off of Land, Out of Water, Part 3. Optimism.

Part 3 of the mer au. Uuuuhhhhhhh... warning for mention of transphobia and allusion to self harm but its not explicit or important ‘kay this was a hard chapter to write I hope you like it it’s got 2,531 words, bye.

First Previous Next

Abstract: We meet Virgil’s brothers.

3. Optimism

Patton drove faster. Roman turned the radio up louder. Patton reached over and fully turned it off.

“I swear, you’re worse than mom.” Roman said.

Patton made a face at him and then stepped on the gas again.

“How have you been doing by the way? With her?” Roman said.

“Roman, today is about a fishy situation with Virgil’s friend, alright?” Patton said. “Let’s find something good to think about.”

He smiled. Roman sighed and put his socked feet up on the dash.

“Fine, don’t talk about it but I know your fake smile when I see it.”

“Oh, I’m just worried about Virgil.”

“All of us are always worried about Virgil.” Roman said, putting his feet down and unwrapping a piece of gum. “Everything all the time always about Virgil. He’s like an anti middle child, I swear.”

Patton laughed. “I kind of wish I could argue with you about that but here we are. Going to pick him up again.”

“I prefer to look at it as performing a service.” Roman said.

………..

Virgil sat on the one flat rock and gently made waves in the water with his tail. He had to prop himself up against another rock to do this because his new anatomy wasn’t made for sitting up. Patton sat in his lap (if you could all it that) in a swimsuit. His swimsuit was a weird combination of grey and blue boxers and a frilly pink crop top. He was twelve now and even though he was only two years younger than his brother Virgil was always the big one in their family and Patton was missing some things.

They were alone together. Seagulls yelled overhead. Patton watched them with no interest.

“So what is it like down there?” Patton asked eventually.

“People are people. Judgy.” Virgil said.

“Know when you’re coming home?” 

“Next year maybe. But only for a couple weeks at a time. Can you get off?”

Patton scrambled off. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Just too much after a while. Now can I ask you a question while mom isn’t around?”

“Yeah!”

“What’s with that?”

He pointed at the swimsuit.

“Mom got worse after you left. Decided she wouldn’t sign off on blockers but I’m making the best of it. Blah, right?”

He let out a strained laugh and Virgil gently slapped his face. He still wasn’t letting him get away with the fake laughter. They went silent again for a minute. Seagulls yelled some more.

“So who do you live with down there?”

“The witch.” Virgil said. “I call her Val because she kind of reminds me of that teacher you had in kindergarten. Too happy. Too nice.”

“I don’t think you can be too nice.” Patton said happily. 

“Whatever. She’s getting old.” Virgil said.

They went quiet again. The weight of a year apart sat between them. The knowledge that they’d never catch up on it all in one afternoon. The fear that they might never catch up again.

They heard a car in the distance. The sound of running and Roman shouting about hamburgers and the parents apologizing about traffic followed it. Patton wondered if Virgil was as tempted to vanish into the water as he was.

………..

Logan was nothing like Roman had expected.

“He’s nothing like I expected.” Roman said.

“Well what were you expecting?” Asked the new angry man sitting in their secret rock cave.

“I don’t know. Something more dramatic.” Roman said, helping Virgil to get Logan on his feet.

Patton grabbed the ice chest and shoved Virgil’s phone into Virgil’s pocket.

“Personal space, much?” Virgil asked as Logan fell over again. “Hey! I told you, we can carry you to the car.”

“I can tell that I don’t want that.” Logan said. 

“As the one who's usually the shortest, I know.” Patton said, smiling.

“Why does he keep baring his teeth at me?” Logan asked. 

“It’s the way humans smile, Logan. Get used to it. Especially around Patton.” Virgil said. “Hey, move your legs!”

“I’m not exactly used to having them yet, you know!”

After a good deal of lifting and shuffling and eventually some help from Patton as well, they stuffed Logan into the backseat of Patton’s black SUV. Virgil was the one to position him and quietly click and hiss something at him when he looked frightened of the seatbelt. As Patton and Roman took their places in the front it wasn’t lost on them how touchy Virgil was being with Logan in the backseat.

Virgil took a moment from clicking to say “Don’t start the car yet.” in English.

Patton adjusted the rearview mirror to see what they were doing. The body language was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Logan, smaller than even Patton was and probably in shock, seemed to be looking everywhere but the ground. Virgil coughed as he tried and failed to make a certain sound in the back of his throat. The seawater wasn’t quite out of his system yet. Logan bumped him in the chest with his head in a really casual way.

“Yeah I’m fine, thanks.” Virgil said. “I’ll just say it this way. The car is going to make noises. I’ll explain the noises to you later. It’s safe, alright?”

“It’s powered by fire. How good can it be?” Logan mumbled.

“You just think that because your only experience with fire is volcanos.” Virgil said.

He ran a hand down the length of Logan’s spine. Logan winced.

“What is happening to my eyes?” Logan asked, a curious tone in his voice.

“You’re crying. I’m sorry!” Patton called back. “We really have to get moving though, Virgil. I can never find my way back to the road in the dark.”

Virgil made a noise of agreement and Patton turned the key.

……….

Roman carefully placed both of his hands beneath the wig and removed it. The cap was next. He checked his teeth in the mirror. No, he hadn’t been performing all night with lipstick on his teeth. Of course that had only happened the first time but he was still paranoid about it. Every single time. 

He pulled the dress off and stripped to his underwear slowly, untucking and unstuffing everything. Eventually it was all undone and he pulled on a pair of jeans and an undershirt before going to work on removing the makeup.

“Get lipstick on your teeth again?” said a deep voice in the doorway.

Roman looked in the mirror. Tall, dark hair, light freckled skin, black jacket, a look in his eyes that was just a little off. Young enough that the stress of living in modern America hadn’t yet put dark rings under his eyes so he made his own with eyeshadow.

“How’d they let you in?” Roman asked, throwing away a third makeup wipe.

“Stage manager knows me by now.”

“Not enough to know that you’re aro, I’m assuming, fish boy?” Roman asked.

Virgil chuckled. “Well if it gets me free beer…”

Roman turned around and approached with his arms open. Virgil accepted the hug and patted him on the back.

“You’re just as bad as the rest of us.” Roman said, pulling his button up on. “So tell me why you’ve decided to let me bless you with my presence.”

Virgil shoved him and turned off the drag queen’s mirror lights for him. They started walking out of the club.

“Patton and I were thinking about doing the tattoo thing you suggested.”

“Wait, what?”

Virgil shrugged and pulled some gum out of his pocket. Roman took one. He knew he didn’t have to ask.

“I figure if I get it on my leg it won’t show up down there and you’re looking for a way to avoid questions about the scars on your arm so why not? Pat’s got a design. His scars are finally healed enough. You wanna go right now?”

They reached Roman’s car. Roman assumed Virgil had taken an Uber or something. He assumed. He might never know. There was a lot he didn’t know about his younger brothers. There was a lot he had to assume. There was a lot he had missed out on with them, but would he miss out on an opportunity right now to make a stupid memory? Hell no.

“Well if you’re being fun and spontaneous for once I’m  gonna bank on it. Sure.” Roman said, showing all of his perfect white teeth and clean face, both now totally free of lipstick.

“Cool. You’re the only sober one. Let’s go steal Patton.” Virgil said.

……….

Every time Logan clung to a blanket or felt strange at someone touching him he looked surprised at himself. The fact that human behavior came so naturally was worrying. They were all taking shifts looking after him. Usually it was Virgil but Virgil sometimes had to go into a recording session for some radio commercial or an audition for a voiceover or meet with his agent. Sometimes he returned to the ocean because, well, he had to. So during those times Roman or Patton would have to take over the “humanization process” as they had dubbed it. Or, “project Logan”

It was mostly Roman that used the first one.

Learning to walk proved to be difficult and teaching him manners proved to be even more difficult. Patton ended up getting nights, after Logan was tired of walking ten steps and then falling over and over all day long. So he mostly taught Logan how to read. As such, he ended up explaining a lot of strange things in picture books to him.

“Why do you always depict merpeople with bare skin?” Logan asked one day.

Patton looked up from the mug of tea he was stirring creamer into.

“Hmm?” he asked.

Logan held open the picture book he was reading. There was a mermaid in a clam shell bra, happily singing. Logan had already explained to Patton at length why clam shell bras would be awful ideas and woven strips of cloth made from seaweed and sometimes hair were used when a person felt compelled to cover or contain that area were much better ideas and used by merpeople with breasts all the time. Patton had heard that lecture many times, in fact. He had not, however, heard the complaint about skin.

Patton moved to the couch to sit next to Logan, his sleepy eyes almost making him spill his tea. The couch in Virgil’s apartment was a small leather loveseat. Logan didn’t seem to care about the closeness. Merpeople never seemed to care about closeness, Patton had noticed. They touched each other without thinking. He looked over Logan’s shoulder as he pointed at the illustrations in the fairy tale book.

“None of them have scale patterns. Almost all of them have belly buttons.” Logan said, pointing at various drawings in confusion

“Do you not have a belly button?” Patton asked.

“Of course not.” Logan said. “Virgil has told me now how mammals reproduce and I was absolutely not created that way.”

Patton moved closer and started tracing the large splotchy birthmark surrounding Logan’s left eye.

“You seem kind of disgusted by it.”

Patton sounded almost hurt.

“Well, I am.” Logan said, gently moving Patton’s hand away.

“Well… thank you for your honesty, kiddo.”

“I am older than you.”

Patton giggled. “Obviously, but I’m still me. I’m the dad friend. So is that birthmark where your scales would normally be?”

Logan nodded and lifted up his shirt in response. Patton got a good look. Freckles formed a series of swirls and lines on his skin. And it was true. Logan had no belly button.

“That’s fun. So you were born from an egg?” Patton asked.

Logan quickly put his shirt down, shut the book, and looked embarrassed.

“It is highly improper to discuss reproduction in polite company.”

“Right, sorry.” Patton said.

“That story about the sea foam though.” Logan said. “Ignoring all the inaccuracies it reminds me of  the story Virgil told me. About the day he went under.”

“That’s a good one.” Patton mused. “I was there for it.”

As usual he couldn’t think of much else to say.

“Yes, but one that led to strange markings, I suppose.

“Want to see my strange markings?” Patton asked.

“Out of curiosity, yes.”

Patton lifted up his shirt and showed Logan the scars and the tattoo of a merman holding a tragedy mask over his left scar.

“For Virgil and Roman.” he explained. 

“I never expected humans to decorate their skin.” Logan said.

“What did you expect then?” Patton asked, almost like he was questioning a child.

“I… don’t know.”

“Your idea of us was like our idea of you.” Patton said, tapping the fairy tale book.

“Oh.”

Logan looked off into the distance, seemingly understanding something now. Patton rested his eyes on him wistfully, wondering why he’d never asked more questions of Virgil. Why he didn’t ask more questions of Logan now. Why his brain wasn’t good at forming questions in the first place.

He wondered what it was like down there. He knew what it was like to be in saltwater, but not to breathe it. He knew what it was like to be close to someone, but not to the extent that he wouldn’t flinch at the touch of a stranger.

He wondered, too, what Logan was thinking about.

“With video recording,” Logan said, “Could you… I’m not sure how it works but could it record me saying something and then keep it forever?”

“Until someone decides to delete it.” Patton said.

“Then with that and these,” he held up a book, “why did I just dedicate my entire goddamn life to memorizing things?”

“I see that Virgil taught you how to swear.”

……….

Patton wiped the tears from his eyes. He never did cope with pain that well.

He looked at Roman’s bandaged arm from the backseat. Virgil stuck his phone with the aux cord in the cup holder and turned up the speakers loud. 

It sounded just like when Roman first got his license and became an adult only in a legal sense. When Patton was 13 and foolishly taping his chest down with packing tape that left his body constantly sticky and sore. Like the summer they drove away to Disney World without their parents knowing. When Virgil was homeschooled for two weeks at a time and always smelled like saltwater. When dad and mom still loved each other and the band that made this music was still together. It sounded like the first conversation they’d ever had about getting tattoos together.

It sounded like The Black Parade.

Sober now, horribly, criminally sober, with a new picture on his chest and his brothers screaming off key in the front seat, Patton drifted off, his glasses sure to leave a mark on his face when he woke up.

Roman sang until he was hoarse, ignoring the bandages and how similar the tattoo would feel to what it was covering up.

Virgil, for once, didn’t think. The pain on the back of his leg barely registering as anything. The celtic cross it formed barely meaning anything to him.

...........

Logan lay on the bed next to Virgil, for some reason not feeling compelled to cling to him. Must be a human thing. He slid to the floor and sat, his knees pulled to his face.

Virgil’s soft snoring broke the ice of the early morning fear just enough to get his brain working. The series of freckles and birthmarks on his skin looked mystical in the moonlight. Like he was destined to find some sort of meaning in it. Maybe he was. Maybe he could.

Maybe there was a way to connect to the past with it.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Fifty-Seven: Aquarium ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Yamanaka Ino, Haruno Sakura Hyūga Hiashi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

The day after her surgery, Hinata is back in school as though nothing ever happened. In fact, the only notable difference is the now-defunct timer implanted into her left wrist. The one that, only hours after receiving it, went off when she came face to face with a boy named Sasuke Uchiha.

...it’s a bit of a long story.

Her father - furious despite the implant being his idea - immediately forbade Hinata from contacting her supposed soulmate until she turned eighteen. But blurting out her name and getting Sasuke’s in return, Hinata has found a bit of a workaround: social media.

Her father has never been big into it, so it’s safe to say that he likely hasn’t thought of the idea himself, and therefore hasn’t told Hinata she’s forbidden from doing so. Contacting the boy via Twitter that night, she got to talk to him for about an hour before they both had to call it a day.

And now, here she is, back at school and timer uncovered from its gauze.

As soon as she arrives, Ino and Sakura swarm her, trying to get a peek at the time.

“Come on, come on! Let us see!”

“There’s nothing to see…”

“What harm will it do, ‘nata?”

“No, I...I mean that literally. There’s nothing.” Holding out her arm, she reveals the clock run down to all zeros.

Both girls stare with wide eyes. “...wait..did it come that way? Did you already meet them?”

“No.”

“...so it already went off?!”

“Yesterday. At the hospital, before I even l-left.”

Sakura and Ino’s eyes go wiiide, mouths agape. “...no way…”

“Who was it?!”

“A boy named Sasuke Uchiha.” She then goes on to detail her father’s fury at the happenstance, and her sneaking behind his back to talk him.

“Wow...never thought you’d be the sort to disobey your dad,” Ino teases.

“I mean, this is her soulmate we’re talking about here!” Sakura insists. “Of course she’s gonna push on in the name of love!”

Hinata gives a small, sheepish laugh. “I-I mean...it isn’t really love yet. We barely know each other…”

“But it will be! Come on, Hinata - stop being a skeptic and accept the power of the timers!”

“...I’ll see how it goes.”

“So, any chance you’ll get to see him with your dad being such a jerk?” Ino then asks.

“Well...I was hoping I could ask you guys for a little h-help with that.”

They both immediately grin, exchanging a knowing glance. “Well, duh!”

“It won’t be for a while. I want to let things, um...die down a bit first, okay?” She doesn’t mention also wanting to get to know Sasuke better, knowing they’ll both just roll their eyes. “Once he’s not so grumpy, w-we’ll maybe have some kind of...outing! I’ll go alone with you guys, and message Sasuke...and he’ll just happen to be there…!”

“Ooh, I like where this is going,” Ino agrees with a smirk. “So very sneaky, Hinata! Well I never!”

“Just let us know, and we’ll figure it out,” Sakura agrees with a gesture. “Leave it to us!”

“Thanks, guys.”

With that plan ready to unfurl when it’s ready, Hinata just...keeps on as she always has, with the added aspect of talking to Sasuke. At first it’s all just your typical small talk: piecing together the more mundane aspects of each other to get a better feel for who they are. And slowly, things get a little deeper.

“He didn’t start acting sick until he was about eighteen. Not bad enough to really be noticed, anyway. Now he’s twenty-one, and doing all of his college courses online to stay home where he’s less likely to be exposed to something.”

“Oh my gosh…”

“It’s just kinda become the new normal, you know? He’s been doing really well. Just gotta hope that keeps up.”

“Tell him I’m...I’m rooting for him.”

“I will. Sorry for uh...kinda unloading there.”

“No, I was the one who asked. Um...want me to trade a story?”

“Sure.”

“My mom passed away due to complications with my little sister being born. I was only about five when we lost her. I can only remember bits and pieces of her…”

“Oh man...I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it was...a long time ago.”

Then, after three weeks of talking almost constantly...the pair agree that the time has come to try meeting face to face again. This time without the shock...or Hiashi.

“So...any ideas?”

“I know, I know! Look, I just saw this trending,” Ino offers, showing her phone’s screen. “There’s a new exhibit at the aquarium!”

“...does Sasuke like fish?” Sakura asks, clearly not sure if this is the best plan.

“I...I don’t know. But it’s something to do, and pretty p-plausible for me to go so Dad doesn’t get suspicious.” Hinata’s always loved water and the wildlife in it. “Okay...let me talk to Sasuke, and we’ll iron out a day!”

“An aquarium, huh? Sure. I haven’t been to one in ages. Fish are cool.”

Snorting a bit at his reply, Hinata asks for a date. “Would Saturday work?”

“Yeah. I’ve got nothing going on, and Mom will be home to keep an eye on Itachi. Don’t think I have too much homework, either. I’ll see you guys there.”

“Awesome!”

Saturday can’t come soon enough.

But first...she has to ask Hiashi.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Hm?” Reading the paper, he doesn’t bother to look up.

“Um...Ino was telling me about a new part of the aquarium opening this week. Would it be cool if I w-went with them this weekend? Saturday, maybe?”

“Do you have any projects due?”

“Uh...no.”

He glances to her over the top of the paper. “...very well. Don’t stay out too late.

“I won’t.”

Success!

Relaying the good news to everyone, now all she has to do...is wait.

Sakura’s mother agrees to drive them, all a bit too young to drive on their own. On the way, all three gossip about their real intentions.

“So, is he cute?”

“Um...I guess so?”

“You guess? Come on, Hinata.”

“Okay, um...yes, he’s...he’s cute.”

“Details, please!”

“Uh...dark hair, kinda...messy. Dark eyes. I haven’t really seen him much. I barely saw him when we met, and he doesn’t really...take selfies o-or anything.”

“Guess we’ll just have to see when we get there,” Ino grins.

As expected, the place is actually pretty crowded given the day and novelty. The girls thank Mebuki and head inside, managing to get their tickets and find a place to wait near the lobby.

“Any word from him yet?”

“No, not yet. But I told him I’d wait by the lobby. If you guys want, y-you can go ahead.”

“And miss the introduction? No way!” Ino replies.

At that, however, Sakura actually looks a little unsure. “...maybe we should give them some privacy first, huh Ino?”

“Whaaat?”

“Just for a bit! I mean...things didn’t exactly go well the first time, right? We should butt out.”

The blonde sighs, folding her arms. “Oh, all right. But text us when you head further in, okay? We’ll stop and wait for you.”

“Okay! Thanks, guys.”

Sakura gives a subtle thumbs up as she leads Ino further in, which Hinata acknowledges with a wave. Hanging around the lobby and picking up a pamphlet, she startles when someone says her name. “W-wha-?”

Standing behind her a few paces, Sasuke perks a brow as she spins around, hands in his pockets. “Sorry...kinda loud in here.”

“Y...yeah…”Suddenly unsure, she turns around fully to face him. “...um…”

“...well, since it was a bit interrupted before…” He holds out a hand. “I’m Sasuke. Sasuke Uchiha.”

Blinking, Hinata then giggles, accepting the shake. “Hinata Hyūga. It’s nice to meet you, Sasuke. Um...again.”

He gives a small grin. “So...should we head in?”

“Sure. My friends went on ahead - I’ll let them know you’re here so we can catch up.”

“Cool.”

As she types, they head a bit further in. Most of the building is rather dark to help accentuate the tanks, which are all lit from within. Fish, crustaceans, and other aquatic critters all swim and scurry around in their habitats.

“So...you like fish and stuff?”

Hinata can’t help a small snort at the question. “I-I do! I’ve always loved water…”

“It’s pretty neat. I had a goldfish as a kid for like...a few months. I wasn’t the best fish dad.”

“Well...kids aren’t really, um...prepared for sensitive pets. It happens a lot. Maybe you could try again!”

“...yeah, maybe I could. You have any?”

“No...my father is strictly against pets. He says they’re a w-waste of money.”

Sasuke’s nose wrinkles. “...no offense, but like...your dad’s a bit of a jerk.”

Hinata gives a weary smile. “He...yeah. He c-can be. He’s just a very, um...closed off person.”

“My dad’s kinda that way too. Kinda tough on us. But Mom helps set him straight.”

“Yeah...I wonder if mine would, i-if she were here.” After a pause, she notices Sasukes’s awkwardness. “...o-oh, sorry! I...I don’t mean -?”

“It’s fine. Just...was worried I upset you there for a sec.”

“No, I...I’m fine. Really. I don’t have any trouble talking about her.”

“...all right.”

They keep meandering down the mostly-linear route through the aquarium, Hinata on the lookout for her friends. Sasuke points out interesting species every so often, most of which she’s able to comment on.

“So what’s your favorite?”

“Hm…” she mulls that over. “...I really like lionfish.”

“Lionfish? There’s a fish named after a lion?”

“Yeah! I’ll s-show you when one comes up. They’re very, um...frilly.”

That gets Sasuke to snort. “Frilly...gotcha.”

“Hey! Hinata!”

Jolting a bit, Hinata brightens as Sakura waves from down the hall. “Oh, t-there’s my friends! Um...they might be a bit...forward.”

“It’s fine.”

The other pair jog back to meet them, immediately plaguing Sasuke with questions. Though he looks a bit exacerbated, Hinata notices he handles their curiosities patiently.

...she wonders if that’s for her sake.

“Come on, we’re almost to the new exhibit!” Ino then gushes once the interrogation is complete...for now.

“Right behind you,” Sasuke replies, watching them trot forward. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Um...sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. I had a feeling your friends would be kinda...protective. Hard to avoid when we grow up sorta segregated, right? And I mean...our situation’s a bit unique.”

“Y...yeah…”

Considering her for a moment, Sasuke then lifts his arm a bit. “...can I...hold your hand?”

“...eh?”

“Y’know...since it’s sort of a date.”

Slowly, her cheeks go rosy. “S...sure…” Softly, she lets her hand mesh with his, finding the fit to be exceedingly pleasant.

His makes hers feel so small…

Giving a hint of a smile, Sasuke then leads them forward. But in all honesty, Hinata’s not too concerned about the exhibit. She’s not sure much can compare to this.

                                                          .oOo.

     (This is a sequel to days 355 and 356!)       More soulmate AU! With actual interaction between our two lovebirds, lol - seems Hinata's sneaky plan is working! Sakura and Ino are the best wingwomen - they know what's up xD      I guess not too much to say about this one. idk if I'll do more tomorrow or not - depends on what I can wrack my brain for with the prompt! Hopefully today's was enjoyable - I had a very, uh...rough evening, so my mind's a bit distracted. But I gave it my best shot :'D      On that note tho I gotta head to bed. Thanks for reading!

[henry-hart]

I have the big writer’s block so I don’t have much but uhhh how about some good ol fashioned squad fluff with ray and the kids?

OKAY I HAD THIS ALL TYPED OUT AND IT WAS PERFECT BUT THEN MY LAPTOP FREAKING REFRESHED THE PAGE AND I LOST IT. HHHHHH

I hope I remember it well enough

(I feel that writer’s block frustration. It’s a mcfreakin’ pain in the butt, my dude.)

I made it a little goofy as well as fluffy bc I really like the comedic dynamic of HD. I hope you like it!!!! :)))))

I just got back from a beach trip, so let’s go with that

it’s summer in Swellview and it’s crazy hot

that summer heat is taking no prisoners

Ray is down in the Man Cave and everytime the elevator opens up, it lets out all the hot and stuffy air from the store

he’s all “no. nope. not happening. I’m here sweating when I could be on the beach sipping from a coconut with one of those frilly umbrellas. this is unacceptable.”

he calls Schwoz and the kids and tells them he’s taking them on a spontaneous beach trip

he says he wants them to come with bc he doesn’t want to be alone and look like a creep

but it’s really bc he enjoys their company and wants them to have fun

he sends the kids home to get ready while he closes shop

“Can Piper come?” “Who’s Piper?” “My little sister, Ray.” “Aw, no. Is she that little loud girl?” “I guess she can be loud? Anyway, can she come or not?” “I feel like saying ‘not’ would make me a bad person but I really don’t want to say yes….” “Come on, man.” “UuuuuUUUggggGGGGhhhHHH fine. Paper can come.”

they all pile into Ray’s car

the ride there is a bit chaotic bc the beach is 45 min away and the car is cramped and it’s hot and no one can agree on a radio station to listen to

“Henry, I’m not going to say it again. Move. Over.” “Piper, I’m not even touching you.” “You’re about to touch me.” “Are you kidding me?” “No, I’m not.” “Where do you want me to move? There’s only so many seats in the car.” “I don’t care. I can feel the heat coming from your gross body.” “Okay, I’m not gross, for one, and I would scoot over if Jasper would get in his seat.”

“I already told you I can’t be by the window. I get carsick.” “Then why did you choose the window seat?” “Because I get claustrophobic in the middle seat.”

“Henry, I’m gonna kill him.” Char overhears and intervenes. “Hey, Piper, why don’t you sit with me on the way back?”

Ray heard all of their bickering, so he rolled the top down to cool them all off

as soon as they got to the beach, Schwoz shot out of the car blurting out something about having to pee

Ray packed food from the auto-snacker (sandwiches, chips, fruit, etc.–things he thought the kids would like), so he grabs the ice chests full of food/drink while the kids get their stuff

there isn’t too many people on the beach, so they don’t have a problem finding a quiet spot

Char x Piper get Hen to take pics of them right where the waves meet the sand

Piper posts them with captions like “beach day with my best-ay” and some lyrics about summer

she even takes a few with Hen for their parents

Jasper brought wayyyyy too much sunscreen

“I don’t joke about my skin care. Skin cancer is not a joke. Do you think I maintain this ivory color by not using sunscreen?”

Piper agrees with him bc she’s fair-skinned too

Hen doesn’t like it too much bc he doesn’t like how it feels, but it beats sunburn

Ray, however, won’t use it.

“I’m indestructible. The sun is no match for me.” “It’s literally a ball of fire in the sky.” “Psh. I’ve had worse.”

the kids don’t agree with him, but they know arguing is futile so they let it go

Hen brought a beach ball and some paddles with a matching little ball

the Harts used to go to the beach a lot, so Hen had a lot of stuff to choose from

he and Piper team up like they used to when they were younger and together they are un-beatable

like

no one else wins. at all.

they have this ridiculous handshake/victory dance they do every time they win and it’s so over-the-top (like Ross x Monica’s new years dance routine for you friends fans)

even Ray thinks it’s a bit much

Char x Jasp have no idea what to think

they’ve never seen Hen like this

“I always thought Piper was the scary one.” “I know. Did you see Hen’s face when I scored a point?” “He looked like he was going to kill you.” “Yeah, and Piper looked like she was going to help him get rid of any evidence.”

(I like that little ride or die sibling bit ajksjslksj)

Schwoz comes back from the restroom and Ray scoops him up, running to the water to throw the little man in

everyone joins in

the tide is pretty rough and Ray’s a little worried

esp for Char and Schwoz and whatever her name is bc they’re all pretty short

Hen is chasing Jasp x Piper, pretending to be Jaws

a pretty big wave comes and washes over all of them

Hen x Jasp are okay bc they could just easily stand up but Piper is a lot shorter

Hen starts freaking out when she doesn’t come up

Ray is worried too

he sees the little girl and immediately yanks her out of the water and into the air

“Paper! Paper! Are you okay???”

she swallowed a good bit of nasty saltwater that burned her throat/nose, but she’s okay

“It’s Piper.”

Hen sighs in relief, moving the hair out of her face. “She’s fine.”

they take a break from the water for a bit to eat lunch

Ray unpacks the food he brought for them

Hen x Jasp eat their lunch on an inflatable unicorn inner tube :)

Piper takes some more pics of the gang eating

she records a snapchat video of Hen being attacked by a swarm of seagulls after his sandwich

he takes off down the beach after them but gives up, hoping the birds at least enjoy it as much as he did

he doesn’t bother asking Pipes to delete it bc he knows she won’t

after lunch Hen x Char go off alone to collect seashells

Hen finds a really pretty spiral shell to give to his mom

Jasper tries to get Ray to at least put on a little sunscreen, but Ray is still being ridiculous

Piper is flying a kite, but Schwoz keeps pestering her about using a new device he created that’s supposed to make the kite fly ten times higher

she lets him do it just to shut him up, but it goes wrong

the string gets cut, and her favorite kite flies away just like the birds did with Hen’s sandwich

she’s furious

Ray jumps between them just in time

a second later and Schwoz would be pummeled

“Look, Paper, I know he’s an idiot, but I kind of need him, so if you could just not kill him, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Its. Piper.”

Hen x Char return from collecting shells and everyone gets back in the water

he won’t let Piper go out in water that reaches any higher than her stomach (she put up a fight but she agreed, not wanting to drink anymore disgusting water)

Jasp x Hen played a game where they’d wait for a big wave and then turn around so that they could fall backwards into it

a fish brushed against Schwoz’ leg, and he tried to jump up on Char to get out of the water

she just dropped him so the he ended up going under right where there was a school of fish

Ray let Char x Piper get on his back so he could tow them around

he also picked them up so he could toss them into the water (playfully, of course)

a fish nibbled Jasper’s foot, and he wanted to catch it so he could bring it home as a pet

no one could catch it, and there was no way of telling which fish it was

Hen got a pretty gnarly sting from a jellyfish, so they all decided it was time to get out of the water

the sun was beginning to set anyway so the others weren’t too upset about getting out 

there was still some food left over from lunch, so Ray made a little campfire and they all ate a light dinner

they watched the sun dip down below the horizon line

the sky turned dark

Ray reached behind his back and pulled out a surprise: s’mores

Hen’s leg was still hurting so Ray handed the s’more fixings to Piper

“Here, Piper. Why don’t you make one for Henry?”

she just stared at him, shocked that he had used her real name for the first time

she didn’t say anything 

she just took the food from Ray and made her brother a s’more just the way she knew he liked it: marshmallow extra crispy, chocolate extra gooey, and graham cracker as is

Ray smiled to himself, knowing Piper’s reaction was bc he’d remembered her name

he didn’t call any attention to it though, knowing neither of them wanted that

they ate their s’mores in comfortable silence

Char noticed Schwoz was smiling mischieviously

“Schwooooooz…..why are you making that face?” 

he just giggled and produced a small guitar from behind his back

everyone groaned

“What? What? Why the not happy sounds?” Ray just rolls his eyes. “Because, Schwoz, no one wants to hear you play.” “Why? What’s wrong with my tunes?” “Your ‘tunes’ sound like a dying cat.” “So does your singing, but I never tell you you can’t.”

he plays anyway and…he’s actually…..really….good???

“Schwoz, where’d you learn to play like that?” “I had lessons.” “When? You never leave the Man Cave?” “………from Lelani….”

Char keeps Ray from jabbing Schwoz with his hot s’mores stick

Schwoz keeps strumming away while they all sit around the campfire, listening to it crackling, listening to the waves crashing against the shore, watching the light flicker on everyone’s faces, watching the smoke from the fire rise up the the stars

the kids almost fell asleep, but Ray got them up and in the car, deciding it was time to go home

he let them get seated while he packed everything up

the kids did fall asleep on the drive home

Ray kept the hood down so the cool night breeze makes its way to everyone

he finds an alternative station that’s playing a slow, soft, hypnotic song that’s perfect for night drives

he keeps checking on everyone in his rear view mirror and smiles big when he sees them all sleeping soundly in the same seating arrangements that had caused problems before

Hen x Piper are leaning against each other when they’d been complaining about being too close before

Jasp is propped against the window, no longer needing to worry about getting car sick since he’s sleeping

Char even let Schwoz use her as a makeshift pillow despite the fact that he drools

Ray turned the radio up a little bit

he drove on under the yellow street lights in the quiet night, listening to the quiet pulsing song, feeling perfectly content and happy

it had been a good day 

bonus:

Ray wakes up the next morning and screams at the top of his lungs

he’s as red as a stop sign

he got sunburned after all (just as everyone else knew he would)

“Sun: 1 Ray: 0″

[roggling]

Hunger games au kallura

OOF YES PLZ (P.S. I have NEVER seen the movies but I’ve read the books so…sorry in advance if I get it wrong)

“Romelle Pollux!”

Allura’s eyes widened in horror after hearing her cousin’s name being called out by the frilly and annoying voice of Nyma through the speakers.

Beside her, Romelle shook in her boots as the girls started making a path for Romelle to walk to the stage. Allura was speechless as her younger cousin took light footsteps to the stage, her pigtails flowing through the wind as the breeze blowed through the quiet dry air. Her head was bowed down and tears fell down her cheeks.

Allura’s feet carried her through the crowd. And out into an opening, “R-Romelle! Romelle! No!”

The guards then started started pushing her away, Allura kicking hard as she tried to get to her cousin who was doomed to die. Romelle turned around and cried as she watched her cousin thrash in the guards hands.

Allura thrashed and screamed, “I volunteer! I volunteer! I volunteer!”

Nyma peered back at them curiously and confused before Allura pushed a guard away and confidently proclaimed, “I volunteer as tribute!”

Romelle froze in her tracks and Allura sprinted to Romelle and enveloped her in her arms tightly. The two girls separated and Allura begged, “I’m so sorry, go with Bandor. Stay with him.”

Romelle shook her head, “No, no! No!”

Her screeches became louder and louder as Lotor lifted her and pulled her away from Allura. And took her to Bandor, who was in the sidelines, holding out his hands for his older sister and the two cried together for the loss of their last remaining family.

Allura stood at the top, frozen in place as she looked over the crowd, barely hearing Nyma when she asked, “What’s your name?”

“Allura Altea.” Allura gulped trying to hydrate her dry, raspy throat.

Nyma nodded with enthusiasm and asked again, “Why did you decide to volunteer for such a great honor?”

“She is my cousin,” Allura answered, her voice still soft from shock, “I love her.”

Nyma nodded and cooed, “Well, isn’t that heartwarming? Let’s give it up for District 12’s first volunteer!”

Allura looked down at the crowd, a heavy weight in her stomach, and watched as the crowd kissed their three fingers and lifted them up like a sign of condolences.

Allura licked her lips and looked down at her feet as Nyma continued on with the program.

Nyma beamed and announced, “Now, to the boys!”

Nyma took small little steps, Allura finding disgust in her cheery attitude. Nyma’s hand dove into the bottom of the bowl of names and fished out a slip of paper identical to the rest.

She smiled to the crowd as she opened the slip of paper and read the name a couple times before announcing it to the crowd, “Keith Kogane.”

The crowd shifted and Allura caught sight of a boy in the middle of a circle of people. He looked around surprised before sighing and walking to the path, shaking hands with a buff man in the crowd before his face turned stone cold.

Allura watched as the raven-haired boy stepped confidently up to the stage, baffled at the fact that he seemed emotionless. Like as if he didn’t care.

He climbed up the stairs to the stage, his eyes immediately finding Allura’s.

She immediately renounced her past statement. With one look in his eyes, she saw his fear pouring out like a waterfall. He was just as scared as she.

She, however, didn’t get a closer look at his blue? grey? eyes because he was forced to look at the front as Nyma called out, “Give it up for the tributes of District 12!”

Then she pushed each other closer, “Go on, shake hands.”

Allura turned towards him, and took his extended hand, her eyes widening as she looked into his eyes. Really looked into his eyes. They weren’t neither grey nor blue. They were violet. And it was then that she recognized this boy shaking her trembling hand.

Allura was trembling at starvation, the cold rain soaking her clothes, all shaking her to her core. She sheltered herself under the care of the big oak tree beside District 12’s butchery. At the distance, she heard a loud feminine voice yell from inside the butcher’s house, “You better not leave your food to the dog!”

A younger, more boyish voice yelled back, “I won’t!”

Then she hears the loud opening and closing of the front door and she hides under her worn out jacket. She hears sloshing footsteps running towards her and she smells the unmistakable scent of cooked meat. She lifted her head from her hidden position and was met with soft violet eyes, a plate full of pork and four slices of toast in his hands.

She slowly extended her hand, her slim fingers touching his as she took the plate in hand. She smiled once she saw that she east delusional, “Thank you.”

The boy, the youngest, adopted son of the Shirogane’s, looked back down at her and said, “Give that to your family. If they ask where you got it, say a customer gave it to you.”

Allura nodded and watched as the boy ran back home, yelling, ��All done! Nice dinner, mom!”

That night, Allura was able to feed her sick mother and keep her alive for a few months more before she passed away thanks to that dinner.

She tried to search for some sort of recognition from him, but he merely turned his head and released her hand, facing the crowd as Nyma announces, “May the odds be ever in your favor.”

With that, they turn and walk inside the city hall, unprepared for what the Hunger Games are going to throw at them.

OOF this was so fun to write I don’t know if I should keep it going tho…

[flaming-potato-arson]

Fish Boy with the Ocean Eyes

Lance had always loved the ocean, even if it had made him a freak.

"Ocean Boy"  "Azul"  "Water Child" "Fish Stick" were all things someone could yell in the messy McClain household and expect Lance to come scrambling down the stairs and through stacks of books and toys and sometimes sleeping nephews and nieces. He spent hours at the shore, anticipating the end of waves rushing up on the coast and swallowing his feet.  Pastel shells and a clear blue sky begged to be stared at. The smell of the family pizza shack situated on a cliff floated on top the sea breeze, tickling stranger's stomachs. The only reason he never had to beg to go was because his uncle and mother worked on the beach and he'd only have to slip in the truck bed and they'd be off, rattling and bumping over potholes and broken asphalt while he'd smile and watch out the wooden fence to the new stretch of ocean. (Mama yelled at him for that.)

Being the Spirit Guardian of the Ocean was a surprise - that Blue would pick him, not that it was the ocean. The ocean was a part of Lance's soul (literally at this point) and a part of his life.  It had been the thing to end it, and restart it, as his mother liked to say.

The story went a little like this :

Lance's older sister, Annalise, had been sent out with Lance's older brother, Denver, and six-week old Lance while their mom and uncle worked the long summer lines at the pizza shack. Annalise, who was twelve at the time, dutifully held Lance and walked down the shore, Denver dancing ahead. Her stout, pretty face and dark brown eyes narrowed when Denver would approach strangers, and she ignored baby Lance trying to gum on her long,  black pigtail. "Denver, leave the dog alone!" Stalking over, she pulled her brother away, ignored the tired smiles of the college students, and decided sitting down and giving Lance to Denver was a good idea. This way, her braids wouldn't be slobbered on, and Denver was preoccupied.  She had started drawing in the sand, when she looked up to see two imprints in the sand but no little brothers. "Denver!" She had called, looking down the shore.

To her horror,  Denver had decided teaching his baby brother to swim was on the agenda today.

She had pulled Lance, blue lipped and unmoving, from the ocean and started running for the pizza shack, Denver screaming behind her as he followed. "Mama! Mama!" She yelled, tripping up the hill and feeling her heart stall when she almost dropped her brother. "Mama!" Whirling around the tables occupied with customers, she had burst into the kitchen. "Annalise, what-" Lance's mother stopped, seeing her baby in her daughter's arm, quiet and still. "Lonzo, close the shack." That was the last time the shack had been closed. They circled around him, laying him out on the countertop. Little slips of breath had started over his small, puckered lips, but his eyes were still closed, ocean blue pools hidden behind tan eyelids.  His mother had pressed two cautious fingers to his chest and sighed when a heartbeat pushed back. "Thank God, he's fine-" and that's when Lance opened his eyes, and exploded in a mass of frills, gills, and a tail. Mama screamed.

He still had that tail.

Well, it was bigger now, but Lance was still half fish. Apparently. He was pretty sure the ocean just liked to fuck with his family, and turning him into a mermaid was just a bigger step than washing away Papa's tackle boxes and stealing Gerald's umbrellas.  At least Marcie liked to stroke his tail and call him a princess when they had tea parties, even if Lance had to wear itchy hats filled with fluff and kill all the spiders. His tail had layers of scales the color of a blue ballpoint pen, a few shades darker than the frilly fins that really looked more like someone had sewn tissue paper into his body.  Lance knew they flared to make him look bigger, but he didn't really go swimming with sharks all that often, so he found them pretty to look at, and highly sensitive, but not much else. His gills were upwards slits in his neck that he sealed over at will. Small, grayish blue scales sometimes shimmered and grew around them when he changed.

None of his "fishy" attributes were super flashy (gorgeous, but not flashy) but they were pretty big.  He had always been skinny and lanky, which didn't bode well as a mermaid who didn't want a tail span that screamed for attention. The scales and muscles for his tail crept down from his waist and were prominent at his pelvis.  His legs were centimeters shorter than his tail, but the fins were massive.  Large, elegant folds of translucent blue that he couldn't hide, even if he tried. They didn't seem abnormally big, but Lance was the only mermaid he knew, and going around asking "Hey, show me your tail so we can compare fin sizes" to strangers seemed likely to backfire. But he was pretty sure they were proportional, so he hoped no one else was a mermaid. Giant fins were a hassle in the mornings.

Giant fins, gills, and a tail were also a hassle when one was trying to live in a human society.

Don't get him wrong - Lance loved his tail, the ocean, and how well the two went together. But trying to keep a lid on his other half was hard, even when he wasn't scared.

Fear turned out to be his main trigger. Little jump scares and actual, bloodcurdling horror both made him shift instinctively, heart pounding and fins rippling. Lance just avoided most slasher flicks and scary situations. None of those in a space war, of course.

He'd been lucky, time and time again, especially when his bayard was long range and kept him from getting too close to the enemy.  Countless times, his heart would be racing and his lungs stuttering, and then he'd notice something, usually something silly and dumb, but something, and he'd remember no one could know about this particular secret. And he'd laugh it off, letting the team hear him.  This wasn't a secret you whispered to your best friend in kindergarten, giggling and kicking sand out of the sandbox. This wasn't a secret you told your better, second-try's-the charm best friend in a dimly lit hallway, stolen wine in a sippy cup. This was a secret he'd have to die with,  one he'd hold close to himself forever, one he'd learned by heart and seared into his brain. This was the secret that held Lance's freedom in it's hands, tossing it back and forth like an endless ball of yarn, a little bit unraveling each time. He was just really, really hoping that endless ball of yarn was endlessly smooth. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Remember how he had said he had many close calls?

Yeah, he's going to add this one to the list as the dumbest.

He had been going to walk past the training room when-

WHOOSH

-out tumbled a sweaty Keith Kogane inches from his feet.

Lance had definitely jumped, feeling the adrenaline and surprise rushing through his veins, and trying desperately to not turn into a fish on the boy he may just be "pining" for.

"Oh, hey Lance, sorry about this, ah-" Keith gasped out, red face turning redder. His inky hair fanned around his head, leaving him even more messy looking . He stumbled on a syllable and jerkily pushed himself up and off the floor  " The ah, training bot swung at me and I ah, kinda overcompensated dodging...."  A hand came up to rub at his neck, a habit Lance had noticed Keith picked up from him over the weeks they'd been in space.  He tried to suppress the urge to make a pleased trill his inner fish gave off.

"Hey, I guess even samurai fall down sometimes, right?" He tried, pressing the demand to fan out his fins to the back of his mind.  "Ah, yeah, I guess." Keith smiled a little abashedly, which was kinda like a new type of heart attack for Lance. The quiet hum of the castle and empty hallways left out any distractions and left Lance all too aware of how personal this encounter was. Keith wasn't usually soft in his expressions or voice, and Lance had never seen him apologize and stumble on his words.

"Well, ah, I guess, you should get back to training? I mean if you want to?" Damn his mouth.

Keith's expression started to fall, but he quickly brightened up. " I could, but I could also do with a partner. You want to train? Or just watch? " Rough and clearly chewed on fingernails tapped a nervous rhythm on Keith's thigh but he gave a bright smile.

Jesus, this boy was going to be the death of him

"What, and miss a chance to point out when you're getting your ass kicked? Never." Lance grinned impishly at Keith, slipping in side beside him, feeling his heart pound at the annoyed eye roll. "Please, more like distract me from how bad you are." And the door slid closed behind them, the boy with a fiery soul and a fascination for swords, and the fish-boy who missed home but loved the stars.