#flipper fingers be damned

[kydnexploded]

them

[fluff-a-nutter]

More squeaky selkie?

Real footage of varian and the reader without her pelt:

I gotchu fam <3

“Don’t look at me with those big, ol’ eyes, y/n. It’s time to go home.”

Varian said, growing increasingly exasperated with you.

He had thought as fun day at the beach would be a perfect official first date and it was….. until a certain selkie decided she did not want to leave the water.

Yes, he understood that it was basically your second home and, okay, you did look pretty damn cute, flipping around in your seal form, but it wasn’t like you could stay forever.

You chirped in protest, yipping at him to come closer.

With a sigh mixed with both exasperation and adoration Varian approached, crouching to your level.

“Are you ready to take off your pelt so we can go home, sweetheart?”

With a playful little growl you grabbed him in your flippers and dunked him underwater, shedding your pelt, and promptly making a run for it onto the warm sandy beach, giggling all the while.

Varian reappeared, your pelt in hand and spluttering on salty water and playful outrage.

“Oho, that’s it missy! You’re gonna get it now!”

He wasted no time in chasing you down, hot on your heels.

With a squeal, you felt his strong, sun warmed arms grab you from behind and you wriggled, unable to escape.

“Variiiii!! Let me go!” You pleaded, giving him your best seal pup eyes.

“No way, missy. You’re going to pay for that little stunt you just pulled!” Varian promptly began skittering his fingers across your sides, tummy, and belly button while simultaneously blowing raspberries and kisses against your neck.

You howled with laughter, sounding not unlike a seal barking, even now.

You had always been a bit self conscious about your laugh, but Varian always insisted that it was adorable.

“Aww, there’s my squeaky lil selkie!” Varian cooed, planting a trail of tickling kisses up your neck and to your cheek where he blew a giant raspberry, eliciting one of those adorable little squeaks.

“Varian, stahahahahaap! Not the tummy!”

Hearing your plea, Varian doubled down, his focus entirely on your soft, squishy, incredibly ticklish tummy.

“Hmm, I dunno, darling. Maybe if you apologize for dunking me underwater I’ll consider mercy.”

“You’re so mean!- Aaaaah! Wait, I’m sorry! Not the belly button! Anywhere but there! I’m sorry for dunking you, just stahahahap! Pleaheheheeease!”

Varian chuckles as he stops tickling your sensitive belly button and tummy before he kisses your cheek.

“Apology accepted, but don’t do it again, or else.” He punctuated the threat with a poke to your exposed belly button, causing you to squeak and hop back.

Laughing, Varian took your hand and kissed the back of it.

“I will never get tired of hearing you squeak. Now, let’s go home. Perhaps we can stop at the sweet shoppe for an ice cream.”

You smiled.

“Sounds perfect. I’ll race you!”

You took off like a shot, the sound of Varian’s laughter mingling with yours as the two of you raced down the streets of Corona.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2023: October 3rd

Day 3: Rimming, Fingering/Handjob, Dry Humping

Ezra (Prospect) x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Spit, filthy language, hand jobs, self image issues, cum

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

His curses reach your ears, making you glance over your shoulder discreetly to where he was fumbling and berating himself under his breath. 

Since coming back from the Green, Ezra has been different. Churlish and short tempered with his shortcomings that have become apparent with the loss of his dominant hand. 

He had insisted that he needed work, that he could do it. Coming to you with an almost desperate plea in his eyes that was very unlike the loquacious and enigmatic prospector. Tugging on the strings of friendship and occasionally more when you both were of like mind. 

The job was pretty straightforward. Harvesting was Ezra’s passion and his skill. Needing to bring in five cases of latinum, processed from the crystals near the cobalt vein on Fero 2. 

Except….Ezra is struggling. Unable to do what he could before that fateful tour on the Green’s treacherous surface. The ragged and red skin that has been patched together over the remaining stump of his arm is a testament to what he has lost. 

More than that, he’s not the same charismatic, confident floater that had talked his way into your bed and into a split of your profits. He’s lost. You can see and worse, so can he. 

“Mother fuckin’, mong nonger, flipper cunt, son of a bitchin’ floatin’ piece of shit.” Ezra hisses, slamming the palm of his left hand against the cursed zipper that it stuck. It’s been one hundred and twenty cycles since he had lost his fucking arm and still he’s unable to do most of the simple tasks he had taken for granted. 

It doesn’t help that it’s been nearly a hundred and twenty-five since he’s had anything resembling pleasure. 

Ezra isn’t a greedy man, but he is one who sees to his needs. Now, he’s unable to. Not just because of proximity, there’s no privacy in the smaller tent you are both residing in with most of your gear taking up the space. It’s because it doesn’t feel the same. There’s no pretending it’s a lover stroking his cock when he closes his eyes. The damn phantom pains knock him out of any fantasy. 

Now he’s here with you. A woman that he intimately knows and he cannot even bear the thought of touching you. Knowing that his skills are woefully inadequate for being considered a lover. Unworthy of treating you to a fumbling, unsatisfying encounter with a man who is unable to perform at the peak of his ability. 

He wants to cum, he needs to. But he can’t even drag the zipper down on his suit right now. 

You watch him, sighing softly at the stubbornness of the man. That was something that has been consistent from the Ezra prior to the Green and the one in front of you. 

He’s spoken about his fears. His shortcomings and his desires. Not in verbal words, but the way he has acted has been louder than any story he could have told you. 

The cot you are sitting on is yours, the only space you have to stretch out and relax. Where you unwind from a day of dealing with Ezra’s increasingly short temper and the work of extracting the crystals you had promised to fulfill the contract. Your boots off and your suit stripped down to the soft, worn underclothes that protect your skin from the rubberized suits. 

“Ezra.” He grunts, not even looking at you as he continues to struggle with the protective outer layer of his outfit. Another few creative curses filling the tent. 

There’s a hazy idea on what would soothe the rough and raw man. It’s the same that always mellows you out when you have an itch that needs to be scratched, the pulsing pleasure of an orgasm making your rough day better. 

It makes you move, standing and quietly shedding the layers until you are bare. Your feet padding quietly across the thick canvas flooring of the tent. Moving closer and reaching out to touch his shoulder gently, soothingly. 

“Gem- please-” You can hear the rejection of help in the tone of his voice, the haggard resignation.

Instead of saying anything, you shush him and circle around his body. Bringing your own to stand in front of him and for once, Ezra is quiet with the exception of a strangled groan as his eyes widen. Taking in the sight of you nude in front of him. 

Taking advantage of his silence, his frozen movements, you take the zipper that has been giving him so much trouble and drag it down after a few good, hard yanks. “Let me help you.” Is all you whisper, looking up at him under your lashes as you start to push the fabric off his shoulders. The neatly pinned sleeve on the right easily drops, but the left side is still caught on his bent elbow. 

“Gem-”

“I’m going to jerk you off.” You tell him, concentrating on undressing the prospector while he stands stiff as a board. “I’m going to get on my knees and wrap my hand around your cock. Stroke you until all you can think about is cumming on my tits.” 

You smirk when he groans, knowing how much Ezra once enjoyed painting your body with his cum when he was feeling particularly wicked. Filling your mouth and covering your face when you gagged on his cock. Or splattering his seed on your tits and belly. Seeing himself on you was something he had enjoyed. 

Ezra exhales, a ragged sound that you imagine costs him dearly. The round curve to his shoulders as you strip down the suit to his waist and then to his ankles. His cock is half hard, poking up in the threadbare sweats that hang on his hips. Obviously interested in the helping hand you are offering despite himself. 

He doesn’t say a word, barely breathes as you pull off his boots, strip him of the suit, pull down his sweats and reveal the body underneath. He never wore underwear, didn’t believe in it, and you’re glad some things haven’t changed. 

Leaving him in the ripped, holey shirt, his cock curves up, hardening even more as you had knelt down and proven to him that you were going to do this. Eyes dark and piercing as he stares down. 

Your own eyes are meeting his when you spit in your hand. Coating it generously and reaching out to wrap around the bobbing, quivering length. 

“Fuck.” His hiss is gloriously raw when you squeeze him, sliding your hand up loosely to coat his dry skin. “You are really going to treat me, aren’t you, gem?” 

He’s not expecting an answer, no when you had very clearly told him what you were going to do. Spitting in your hand again and then leaning forward to allow the spit to dribble directly on his cock from your mouth as Ezra swallows a moan. 

His cock is perfect. The foreskin rolls back beautifully and reveals the pink, shiny head, begging for your mouth but you aren’t going to suck it. Wanting him to take this bit of pleasure that you will give him. Allow him to relax for a moment without lamenting his inability to do anything. 

Starting slow, making sure that the long, luxurious tugs to his cock are pulling every ounce of pleasure out of him that you can. Letting him feel the crevices in your hand and the warmth of your grip. 

“You’re too good to me.” He groans out, head tilting back and exposing the long length of his stubbled chin and neck. “Undeserving of your beauteous consideration. Your curative touch.” 

His cock throbs in your hand, twitching when you twist your wrist as you stroke back towards the base. You had watched him several times as he had stood over you, jerking himself off to finish after he had finished wrecking you. 

“I should be servicing you, dear gem.” He grunts, biting his bottom lip until it is plump and bruised with his eyes fixed on the slow, steady movement of your hand and the feeling it brings him. If he closes his eyes, it would almost feel like his own touch. “For so readily dealing with a cantankerous, feeble man.” 

You huff, not finding him to be feeble, but you don’t argue with him, knowing it would be useless. His hand finds the curve of your face and you turn your head, pressing a kiss to the palm of it, enjoying the roughness of his skin as you nuzzle into it. 

“So pretty with my cock in your hand. Imagined that image so many times as I tried to pleasure myself. Angry about having no means to give myself love. It was not nearly as sweet as the grip you hold my length. My fumbling attempts to stroke myself falling sort of your angelic touch.” 

There’s the Ezra you want to hear, to see standing above you. His chest rising and falling under his shirt as he starts to pant. His mouth running more and more as he slowly starts to rock his hips forward. “You’re gonna let me paint you, gem?” He asks breathlessly. “Adorn your glowing skin with the white hues of my pleasure?” He twitches again, obviously looking forward to such a thing. 

You hum, nodding up at him while your grip tightens slightly, enjoying the feeling of soft, velvety skin over the hardness beneath. Growing wetter as you remember how that hardness feels as it is pounding into you. Perhaps you will bend over your cot tomorrow and beg Ezra to fuck you. He would be able to manage that position with ease. 

When you squeeze his cock, moving your hand faster, you seemingly steal Ezra’s ability to speak. The groans and moans of his pleasure all the music that your ears are privy to. The symphony of his sounds shooting straight to your cunt and if you weren’t focused on relaxing him, you would have started touching yourself. This is for him. A handjob for a man who continually laments the loss of his own. 

“Shit- gem, gonna-” Ezra barely manages the strangled words before his cock is pulsing in your hand. Giving you a split second warning before ropes of cum start spurting from the tip. His warmth splattering your skin and his whine of joy at the release nearly enough to make you cum. Working him, milking his cock of every last drop until Ezra reaches down and wraps his fingers around your wrist. 

You are covered in him. The milky white seed coating your tits and chest is thick, viscous. Copious amounts that speak of it being a long time since he had cum.

“Kevva, gem.” He hums, almost drunkenly. “I am humbled by your assistance and have yet begun to sing your praises, but my cock is nearly untouchable from how pleasured it is at the moment.” He closes his eyes and sighs, a small smile on his face. “Have I ever told you about the orgy that I had the pleasure of engaging in on Rynock?” He asks, showing glimpses of the man you know.

[nanoland]

DOOMHOLD, Part 4: The Battle!

“Okay. Don’t panic.”

“Why isn’t she waking up? We followed her instructions to the letter!”

“Snow! Do something!”

Everyone sounded real freaked out.

Which was understandable! There was, it seemed to Waddles, a lot to freak out about. Not just now, not just today; Waddles figured that if he looked back over his short life, it would be one freak-out-worthy occurrence after another.

Boring, man! Real snooze-town! Constant anxiety, constant dread, constant reactions to constant threats. Nah. Enough. Tedious. Waddles was way too cool and rockin’ a dude to vibe with that. He’d lost the last of his baby fluff the other day; he was a whole entire adult now, and the world better watch out.

“I did it!” he announced.

His teammates, who’d been clustered around Valentina’s still form for the last hour, didn’t look up.

He huffed and waddled over. “Guys. Guys! Guu-uuuys! Check it out.”

Twitch, at last, looked. Then laughed, which Waddles didn’t appreciate, but it did at least bring their lair’s overall freak-out levels down a notch or two. “Kid, what…?”

“It’s clothes,” Waddles said, proudly. “I’m dressed. I have style now.”

“This really isn’t the time to indulge such nonsense, young one,” Sky said, testily. “Where did you even find those?”

“Auntie’s got a whole trunk full of drip in the captain’s quarters.” (Which had become Waddles’ quarters during her convalescence. How insanely cool was that? He had a room of his very own! One day, maybe he’d even have posters to put up!)  

“Those are hers, Waddles. You can’t just take a person’s clothes.”

“I think you look awesome,” Snow said, shooting Sky a glare. “Really great work. Very, um… creative. How did you get them on?”

“How are they staying on?” Twitch marvelled. “You don’t have hips.”

Proudly walking in a circle so they could admire his innovative spirit and funky threads from every angle, Waddles said, “I used her hair clips, a couple belts, some duct tape – actually, I think I might still have some tape stuck to my beak.”

“Yeah, you do,” said Snow, gently brushing it off with one massive paw.

“She also had extra shoes, but I could not get ‘em to stay on.”

“Maybe we can adjust them.”

“Why? Waste of time,” tutted Sky. “We’ve work to do.”

“Feathers is right, baby bird,” Twitch said. “You can barely move in that get-up. And clothes are a human thing. Why would you want to look like a human? They suck.”

Waddles flapped his flippers in aggravation. “Don’t say that! The only humans we’ve met are Ziklag and Wimberley. All the others have been on Auntie’s TV. Most humans who aren’t on TV are probably really cool.”

“Incorrect,” intoned Sky. “I, as a matter of fact, have met many a human in my travels. There’s little to recommend them.”

Firmly, Snow said, “Regardless of how we feel about humans, I think we can all agree that Waddles is allowed to wear clothes if he wants to, and that he’s put a lot of effort into… all this. Can’t we? Yes? Well done, Waddles.”

Twitch rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever.”

Before they could find out whether Snow’s increasingly unsubtle looks and throat-clearings could compel Sky to revise her opinion – Waddles would have bet not – Valentina started to move. Her arms bent, slowly, then unbent, slowly. Her legs bent and unbent, slower still. Her head turned this way and that, and her fingers spasmed.

“Val?” Snow ventured.

Valentina sat down. Valentina stood up again. Then down again. Then up again.

“She’s broken,” Twitch said. “Damn. Feathers, get the manual and-…”

“Back!” said Valentina, shaking her head. Her orange curls seemed to brighten. “I’m back, I’m here, sorry. Everything’s running a little slow. Always happens when I recharge in places like this.”

With a happy squawk, Waddles waddled over and rubbed his beak against her arm. “We missed you, Auntie!”

She blinked down at him, then smiled. “Hi, little guy. Wow – don’t you look groovy?”

“Might I ask what you mean by ‘places like this’?” Sky inquired tersely as Snow lumbered over to sniff Valentina in greeting.

“Deserts,” Valentina clarified, gathering up her hair and tying it back with a pink scrunchie. “Hot or cold. One of my power sources is… for simplicity’s sake, let’s call it ‘life energy’. I’m stronger when I’m surrounded by living, growing things. Wimberley worked that out; it’s why he brought Doomhold here. I can function, but I’m not at my best. On that note, can further questions wait until I’ve had coffee and stretched? Lord have mercy, I’m stiff as a fossil.”

***

Processors hummed, coolant slurped and gurgled, and flashing blood-red text shone eerily in a pair of small umber eyes.

98% of AUSTRALIA DOWNLOADED

99% OF AUSTRALIA DOWNLOADED

DOWNLOAD COMPLETE

CHAOS GRID INSTALLING

TRANSFERRING DATA TO WORMHOLE GENERATOR PROCESSING NODULES

TRANSFER COMPLETE

AUSTRALIA HAS BEEN ADDED TO CHAOS GRID

1% OF NEW ZEALAND DOWNLOADED

2% OF NEW ZEALAND DOWNLOADED

“Laundry!” Ziklag announced as he strode into the room with basket in hand, disrupting Wimberley’s focus.

“I’m busy, Ziklag. Shoo.”

“You’re always busy and you’ve been wearing the same pants for six days. They smell.”

Wimberley made a dismissive gesture, not tearing his eyes from the screen. “You sort it out, then.”

Grumbling, Ziklag knelt and set about relieving him of his clothes while Wimberley tapped the screen twice and frowned.

“The teleportation platform’s almost ready,” Wimberley reported, “and it’ll be at most another day or so before I’ve programmed in every set of coordinates. But we still need fuel.”

“Yes, you told me earlier. I’ve made contact with our Russian friends. I’ll be heading out in a few hours.”

“How much do they want this time?”

“Five million dollars.”

“Damned thieves,” said a man who hadn’t made a single legal purchase in over a decade. “Do we…”

“Yes. But we’re running low. Very low.”

Ziklag sounded distracted. Wimberley glanced down and found his accomplice eyeing him lecherously.

“No,” he told him, stern and stoical.

It was, admittedly, pleasant to feel clean, ironed cloth against his skin. He tended to forget how restorative such things could be when wrapped up in work.

“If Valentina and her pets attack while I’m gone, you will…?” Ziklag prompted, buttoning up his shirt.

“Retreat to the emergency vault with Click-9 and Trench, seal us in with enough food and water to last until you get back, and instruct Doomhold to flood every other room with enough radiation to turn anything that breathes into a lump of tumours. But she won’t launch a direct attack on this fortress, Ziklag. It’s not her style. When the animals besieged us last time, she wasn’t with them, and I’ll warrant they did it without her authorisation.”

Ziklag looked unconvinced. “Perhaps we’re doing things out of order. I could delay my departure until we’ve dealt with that accursed woman once and for all.”  

“No. Not worth the risk.”

“I poisoned the bear last time!”

“One, that was a reckless plan, which I didn’t approve of, and it could have gone wrong in a dozen ways. Two, you didn’t actually kill the bear. Three, you had the element of surprise – and now you don’t. Thanks to Doomhold’s recent maladies, Valentina’s had time to prepare for another such attempt. She’s not stupid. She’ll have set up defences around their base and given them their weapons. Remember that helmet she put on the lion? Damn thing nearly atomised us. No, we get the teleportation platform working before we make another move. With it, killing them will be easy.”

***

“So this is my room and that’s where I sleep, and sometimes Sky sleeps here too – she made a nest, see? She’s made a bunch of nests in the sub. Six when I last counted. Doesn’t use ‘em that much, though; she doesn’t really like being indoors so she spends a lot of time outside flying around. Oh! And check out my art project! It’s made of the bones from all the fish you left in the freezer for us. Twitch helped me clean ‘em.”

“Um – wow!” said Valentina. “Very nice. And what’s that over there, Waddles?”

“That was one of your shoes! I tried to wear it and I couldn’t, so I ripped it up and used it as a toilet.”

“Okay. Okay. Cool.”

A beeping noise prompted Auntie to draw back her sleeve, letting Waddles glimpse her badass tattoo – holy moly, he wanted one of his own so much – along with her wristwatch, upon which a green light was flashing.

“Hmph. Waddles, it’s time for a team meeting,” she said.

When they were all assembled on the bridge – one of the few places in the submarine with enough space to allow them to do so – she said, “I wanted to give a speech – to say how glad I am to see you all alive and well, and to tell you what’s going to happen next. That’s going to have to wait. My sensors have detected movement at Doomhold. I’m going topside with binoculars to check it out.”

“I wanna come!” Waddles declared.  

The binoculars were nifty, though he hoped a pair existed that were designed for folks with eyes on the sides of their heads rather than the front.

“Ziklag’s heading out on the snowmobile,” murmured Valentina. “Waddles, we’ve been presented with an opportunity.”

“Are we gonna follow him and kick his butt, Auntie?”

“Not right now. See, judging from the direction he’s driving in, he’s off on a trip to Murmansk.”

“That’s a city in Russia,” Sky informed everyone when they were back inside. “I’ve been there.”

“Yes, Feathers,” Twitch drawled. “You’ve been everywhere and we’re terribly impressed.”

“Isn’t Ziklag a criminal?” Snow asked Valentina. “Your red binder said he was. As I understand it, criminals are locked up or killed if they’re caught by policemen. Aren’t there policemen in Murmansk? Why would Ziklag risk going there?”

“Good question, Snow! I’m glad to hear you’ve been studying. Yes, there are policemen – but there are also other criminals, some of whom Ziklag and Wimberley have a use for. You see, there are two factors currently stopping them from simply activating all Doomhold’s most fearsome weaponry and declaring war on Earth. The first is-…”

“Us!” Waddles cheered.

“Three factors,” Valentina amended. “Us, yes. The second is Doomhold’s ongoing need for repairs. The third is fuel. That fortress guzzles a lot of it.”

“Uh-huh,” said Snow, clearly struggling. “And fuel… isn’t the same thing as food. Right?”

“Correct. Well done. The fuel Doomhold needs is hard to produce. Ziklag and Wimberley need to pay a lot of money or travel great distances to find it.”

Valentina pointed to the map of the Arctic she had up on the wall. “Getting to Murmansk and back will take Ziklag roughly six days, and on the sixth, we’ll be waiting for him. Before he’s even in sight of Doomhold, we’ll ambush him, take the fuel, and take him captive.”

“Yes! Metal!” squawked Waddles ecstatically, while everyone else was crying out in distress.

***

Wimberley watched Ziklag until he was a dot on the horizon, then shut the hatch.

“Five million,” he said to himself, shaking his head. “Bloody mobsters. Greedy fools.”

He pressed a button on the arm of his wheelchair. It buzzed for a moment, and then a confused but eager voice said, “Mister Whim?”

“Hello, Clarence.”

“Hi! Wow! Man, I was just wondering what you were up to. How’s it been? How-…”

“No time for chitchat, Clarence. I need money. I’ll be sending you the next book on Monday.”

“For real?”

“And you can call that Hollywood chap and give him the green light.”

Clarence laughed, sounding half-hysterical with relief. “Whim! My man! I was beginning to lose hope.”

“I’m glad to have brightened your day. Don’t let them cast some handsome buffoon in make-up as Davington. Tell them to find a real albino. And don’t let Melissa’s actress be under thirty-five or I’ll come down there and fucking kill you.”

Ending the call, Wimberley rubbed the back of his neck and wearily considered the many chores he needed to attend to. The most tedious were those Ziklag had left him, which included trimming his fingernails and checking in on Trench and Click-9 to make sure they weren’t doing anything dangerously stupid.

Trench and Click-9 were currently in Trench’s disgusting room watching television, to the best of his knowledge. It wouldn’t cost him more than a few minutes to drop by on the way to giving Parabola her lunch.

On the other hand… well, he had just committed to finishing a manuscript by Monday. He had at least fifty pages left to write. They really did need that money. And how much trouble could those two bozos get up to while absorbed in silly cartoons?

An hour. He’d do an hour’s work, then check on them.

Maybe two hours.

***

“Na-na-na-naaah.”

“What if he brings guns?” Twitch asked, running in panicked circles. “What if he brings more poison? What if he brings an army of drones with him, or a bomb, or-…”

“Control yourself!” Sky snapped.

“They’re legitimate questions! Snow almost died the last time we faced that lunatic! Did you forget?”

“Da-na-na-naah-na-nah.”

Her voice quiet and focused, Snow said, “He’ll be armed. But… maybe not that heavily. The more weapons and ammunition he brings with him, the slower he’ll travel. Not only that – the ice is thin at the moment. Too much extra weight would be dangerous.”

“Precisely. Well-deduced, team leader,” said Valentina.

Snow grunted in discomfort. “You’re the leader.”

“No. I’m the mentor. And my plan is simply a proposal. You decide if we go through with it.”

“Da-na-na-daaaah! Bah bah bah daaaah!”

“That seems like a neat way of avoiding responsibility if we all die,” Sky observed. “Which we might. The fuel Ziklag will be transporting – how dangerous is it?”

“It’s... volatile,” Valentina admitted. “Shouldn’t knock it around. Or expose it to direct sunlight. Or shoot at it.”

“Oh, great,” muttered Twitch. “That – Waddles! Knock it off!”

“Na na na bah-dah-baah!” Waddles crooned. “I’m working on our theme song, so we can sing it while we kick Ziklag’s butt.”

“Before you make a decision,” said Valentina, “there’s something I want to show you.”

She took them to the back of the submarine and unlocked a door that had previously resisted all Waddles’ efforts to pry it open with a wave of her hand. Inside, things gleamed, sparkled, and flashed.

“Are those…?” Snow trailed off.

Valentina’s eyes twinkled merrily. “You didn’t think I’d send you into battle without weapons, did you?”

***

“Captain! My lord! My liege! Mammal of the moment! We gots a problem,” said Click-9 as they rolled in, accidentally running over and breaking yet another of Parabola’s wands. 

Extracting a comma whose placement he’d spent ten minutes pondering, Wimberley growled, “Unless it’s an active threat to my existence, deal with it yourself.”

“It’s Trench. She’s being an active threat to her own existence, and Ziklag’s not here. So you gotta talk to her.”

Wimberley grimaced. “You can talk, as much as I wish you couldn’t. If talking is all that’s required…”  

“I’m something of a sociopath,” the robot imparted. “When she starts asking ‘what’s the point of being alive?’ and ‘why shouldn’t I just kill myself?’, I’m inclined to say ‘good question’ and ‘I dunno, maybe you should’. Which has a habit of making things worse, I’ve found.”

So Wimberley saved the latest draft of the final chapter and hurried to the elevator.

Blast. Damn. Ugh. Couldn’t she have waited until Ziklag was back? Mind you, that was probably precisely why she’d done it. She hated it when he left. This was a childish attempt to teach her brother a lesson.

“I don’t suppose you could handle this, dearest?” he asked Doomhold.

But Doomhold was having one of her quiet days.

The door to Trench’s room was locked. Wimberley, of course, had the override codes. One thing he’d been very clear about when Ziklag and his dreadful sister had moved in was that he could and would go wherever he liked within his fortress and they would have to organise their lives around that fact.

“Ahem! It is I,” spake Wimberley, entering with his eyes closed in case she was undressed.

When his entrance elicited nothing more than the continuation of a series of thudding noises he’d heard from the other side of the door, he opened them. Trench was sitting on the floor, mechanically stabbing it with a steak knife.

“Agh! Tsk. Now what’s that going to achieve?” he snapped.

He was vastly intelligent, had read many books by esteemed psychologists, and knew that this was not a wise or useful thing to say. He also knew that any wise and useful responses would, coming out of his mouth, sound faker than the British accent he used every time he spoke to Clarence.

Trench threw the knife into a corner – not at him, which was encouraging – and spat, “Go away. I want my brother.”

“He’s gone.”

“Call him back! I need him!”

“Doomhold needs him. He’s gone to fetch us fuel. I’m sure he explained this to you.”

She stuffed a hand into her mouth and screamed.

Turning on a light, Wimberley saw that every bit of furniture in the room bore tender reminders of recent intimate relations with a serrated edge, and that Trench’s hairbrush had been used to make a dent in her video game device. No blood; also encouraging.

“As you’ve an appetite for destruction today, how about helping me test my latest batch of missiles?” he suggested.

“Go to hell, fat man.”

“How about a hug? Not from me. I’ll build something to hug you.”

“No.”

“Pills?”

“Taken them. Didn’t work.”

Curse it! He had work to do. But he couldn’t leave her unsupervised in this state. “How about five thousand dollars and a short trip to Paris?”

She lifted her head and squinted at him. “I’m not going to shower first.”

“That’s fine. Just put on a coat and shoes and meet me at the teleportation platform. It’s in need of a test run.”

***

“I must not misuse my new powers,” Waddles said to himself, as dead fish slowly orbited him (or, rather, orbited the metal chip glued to the back of his head). “I must wield them justly and responsibly. Though deadly, I must be merciful. Like a knight. Or a samurai. Or Galadriel.”

“How am I supposed to put these dratted things on?” Sky complained.

“Here, I’ll help,” said Valentina, and gently placed the two tiny silver bracelets around Sky’s skinny legs.

Twitch had similar bracelets around his tail and his front left paw. When he wiggled one, he became invisible; when he wiggled both, a bubble of blue light surrounded him and allowed him to hover above the ground. “Hmm – yeah, I can make this work.”

“Are they comfortable?” Valentina asked Sky.

Sourly inspecting her new ornaments, Sky said, “Enough, I suppose. What do they do?”

“You’ve got such good eyesight – I thought it best to give you the long-range weapons. Those will fire small but powerful energy beams at targets up to half a mile away.”

“Aw, geez. I’m sorry, Sky,” Waddles told her, wincing. “That’s so much more boring than my powers.”

“Waddles, you can levitate fish. It’s not that impressive.”  

“Not just fish,” said Valentina. “Anything up to two hundred pounds, as long as he’s within ten metres of it.”

Overwhelmed, Waddles fell onto his round stomach and rolled about. “I am a god. I am the coolest superhero ever. Is it even fair to send me into battle against Ziklag? He won’t last two seconds.”

“Well done. You’ve made the brat even more insufferable,” Sky grumbled to Valentina. “Where’s Snow? Snow! Come out here! Don’t be shy!”

Slowly, Snow re-entered the room.

Everyone went ‘oooooh!’.

“I am the second coolest superhero ever,” Waddles breathed.

***

Four hours, three chocolate croissants, two glasses of expensive wine, a haircut and blow-dry, a manicure, seven new outfits, an electric blanket, a soft stuffed walrus, a bottle of perfume, and a shiny new video game device to replace the one she’d broken later, Trench was finally starting to look less miserable.

“I wanna buy some pretty cushions and some plush, thick carpets next. Doomhold deserves a makeover too,” she told Wimberley as they crossed the Tuilleries.

Seeing her hair clean and exposed to sunlight for what was, if memory served (it often didn’t), the first time, Wimberley noted that it was a shade lighter and a smidge wavier than her brother’s. It was also streaked with much more grey than he’d have expected on a woman in her forties, and her hairline was receding.

“Doomhold doesn’t care about such things,” he said.

“How do you know that? Did you ask her? I’ll bet you didn’t. C’mon. It’ll be so nice to walk on something that isn’t cold metal.”

His wheelchair didn’t move as smoothly on plush, thick carpets as it did on cold metal, but he wasn’t about to risk setting her off again.

He couldn’t deal with that.

Not on top of everything else.

Wimberley hated being outdoors. He hated crowded sidewalks, and chattering tourists, and France. God, he hated France. Why had he suggested this? Because Trench was a woman, and women, in his experience, liked France. (His experience of women was quite limited. He hated them too, almost as much as he hated men.)

“You must think I’m shallow as hell, huh?” she said as they entered the next store. (Quieter than the last, thank Heaven, and with doors his chair could comfortably fit through. He’d got stuck at the last one and had made a timid salesman’s day absolutely wretched.)  

Wimberley avoided her gaze. “Shallow? No, no. Look, there are the cushions. Aren’t they nice?”

“I am shallow. The most trivial shit can trigger a breakdown. The most trivial shit makes me happy again. It’s pathetic, really. What kind of airhead bimbo cures their existential angst with a shopping spree?”

“I’m sorry to have to inform you that you are still mid-breakdown. This is merely a distraction.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I know. Hoped I had you fooled.”

“Mmm.”

“You’ve been really decent today. I do feel better.”

“Mmm.”

“It’s just that it won’t last. Never does.”

“I’ve not been trying to fix you, Trench. Your brother will return soon enough. My goal is solely to keep you alive until then.”

Picking up a cushion with a pair of kissing flamingos embroidered on the front, she said, “Could you fix me? If you tried? Ziklag says you’re the smartest person alive. You can build robots, you rebuilt Doomhold’s teleporter… one sad bitch’s brain can’t be that hard to repair, can it?”

Drumming his fingers on his knee, Wimberley said, “Are you actually offering yourself up to be experimented on?”

“Ummm… yeah? Yes. Yeah. Living like this sucks. You don’t even know how bad it is. I’ve tried getting myself locked up in a psych ward – I don’t like it in there, it’s just better than being on my own – and every time they throw me out after a few weeks or months because I have a good day or two and they decide I’m better and someone else needs the bed more. I’ve stopped trying to have good days. They make things worse in the long run. Fix me. Fix me, please.”

“You realise I’m not a man bound by either the Hippocratic Oath or a Board of Ethics?” Wimberley said, idly examining the price tag on a scented candle. “Or really any substantial interest in the health and safety of my subordinates?”

She spread her arms wide and smiled madly. It was one of those rare moments when anyone would have been able to tell that she and Ziklag were related.

“Cool!” she said. “Go nuts! This morning I ate a teabag because boiling water and cleaning a mug was too hard – buddy, I dare you to make me worse!”

With a shrug, Wimberley said, “Then we’d best go home and get started, before your brother returns and realises what we’re up to.”

***

“Ready! Aim! Fire!”

A single, centimetre-wide hole appeared in the snowman’s lumpy torso.

Valentina applauded. “Bravo, Sky! Excellent work!”

“If that had been Ziklag, would it have put a hole right through him, or just burned his skin?” asked Twitch, perched on her shoulder, as Sky flew down to inspect her target.

“That’s the really neat part. You can all control how powerful your weapons are,” Valentina explained. “All you have to do is visualise the type of damage you want to inflict.”

Sky looked up at her. “‘Visualise’, ma’am?”

“Yes!”

“With my mind?”

“Yep!”

“So my weapon, unlike any other weapon humans have ever invented, is controlled by my thoughts?”

“Technically, all weapons are controlled by our thoughts. But I see what you mean. It is rather special, isn’t it?”

“Valentina,” Sky said sternly. “We have arrived, once again, at one of those moments when serious questions must be asked.”

Zipping past on his belly, three levitated fish following in his wake, Waddles cried, “Booo-ooring! C’mon, let’s keep practicing! I haven’t had a turn with the snowmen yet!”

Undeterred, Sky demanded, “If you can make such fantastical weapons, why give them to four animals? Why not hire a trained human militia? Why not alert governments to Doomhold’s presence and have them send in their soldiers, armed with your creations? If you have these amazing abilities, why are you wasting them on us?”

“Marketability, of course. Research indicates small teams of quirky non-human characters, in which each member has their own special traits and talents, resonate more with our target age group than toys resembling more realistic, homogenous military organisations.”

“Eh? What are you babbling about?”

Valentina blinked. “What did I say?”

“You said -…”

“Who cares? Watch this!” Waddles shouted.

Concentrating very hard, he levitated the snowman’s head right off its torso.

“Oh, that’s upsetting,” said Twitch. “Very glad Snow wasn’t here to see that.”

(Snow needed more formidable targets than snowmen to properly test her new enhancements, so she’d headed off to pulverise a glacier a few miles away.)

Sky made several more attempts to get Valentina to clarify her meaning, all of which were brushed off as Valentina focused her attention on teaching Waddles how high he could lift things (about ten feet above their original position) and how fast he could make the things he lifted move through the air (fast enough to injure anyone standing in their way).

When they returned to the lair for lunch, Waddles overheard Sky saying to Twitch, “You know how we’ve been struggling to understand why Valentina does what she does? I’m beginning to think that Valentina herself doesn’t understand a good deal of what she does!”

Boy, that sure was a spooky thought! Not too shocking, honestly. Within an hour of meeting their mentor, Waddles had sussed that her plan didn’t make much sense. So what? Nothing else in life made sense either, and nothing ever had.

“Sky, pal, you need to learn to go with the flow,” Waddles told her, breezily. “We’re champions of justice! Defenders of Earth! Everything’s gonna work out fine.”

***

“So your plan is to take over the world, right? How does a machine that can teleport us to Paris help with that?” Trench asked as they arrived back in Doomhold.

Wimberley chuckled. “Not just Paris. This device, once fully fuelled, will be able to teleport us anywhere on the planet. Imagine! We’ll appear in the Oval Office and point a gun at the president’s face. We’ll show up in the Vatican and punch the pope. We’ll put snakes in the cupboard of every CEO who dares defy us. No one will be safe. There’ll be nowhere to hide.”

Her tired eyes lit up. “If I can find out where that blonde bitch from seventh grade lives, we can go right there and put a bomb in her car!”

“Tsk. You’re so much like your brother. He too wishes to deploy the incredible power at our disposal to avenge petty grudges. Foolish! Childish! Memories of my personal foes were among the first things I let Doomhold eat.”

Putting down her shopping bags and the bright green carpet, she said, “So – wait, hold on. If that’s the plan, why do you build so many missiles?”

“I like building missiles. It’s fun. And it’s good to have a back-up plan.”

The whirr and squeak of Click-9’s wheels reached Wimberley’s ears, along with an unfamiliar set of footsteps, not heavy enough or human enough to be Ziklag’s.

“Hey, Trench. Got an announcement to make,” said Click-9, approaching her sheepishly. “I’ve been thinking. We’re pretty different. I don’t get you, and I don’t know what to do about your glitching human brain most of the time. But you’re my friend. I’d miss you if you died. So – behold! Repaired! Re-programmed! Reborn! Dr Phlegmatic, the Anti-Suicide Penguin!”

One of the robotic duplicates of Waddles that Wimberley vaguely remembered creating while severely sleep-deprived shuffled in. It had been painted a buttery sunshine yellow and the words ‘HERE TO HELP!’ had been scrawled across its front with a black sharpie, alongside a lop-sided smiley face.

“Greetings,” Dr Phlegmatic croaked, its soulless red eyes flashing. “I have arrived to offer emotional support.”

Trench boggled. “Damn. That might be the most half-assed attempt at kindness I’ve ever seen. I’d say that it’s no surprise I’m depressed, but I’ve lived with people who were great at being kind and I was depressed then, too. So.”

“If it would help, I have also procured cocaine,” Click-9 imparted.

“Now that’s more like it,” she said, and bumped fists with their antenna.

Disgruntled to learn that his minion had been sneaking around his private quarters long enough to discover where he kept the indulgences Ziklag didn’t approve of – had they also found the cigars? – Wimberley said, “Click-9, has there been any word from your supervisor?”

“Yep! He’s in Murmansk. No problems so far.”

“Excellent. We’re heading to the lab, then.”

“Wimberley’s gonna experiment on me,” Trench imparted.

Click-9 beeped and booped in excitement. “Sick! Can I watch?”

***

“Hey, Auntie?” Waddles asked while they were settling down to sleep in their cool superhero base, huddled up against Snow’s thick white fur. “The last team – the ones tattooed on your arm – they’re dead, right?”

The question obviously caught her off guard. “What makes you say that, Waddles?”

“Well, they’re not here. You haven’t mentioned them. I feel like you would have, if they were alive.”

She sat up, her big orange hair clumping and spilling and ending up positioned in a way that, by a trick of the light, suggested that her head was being eaten by a very soft monster.

No one else had said anything, Waddles noticed, even though he could tell they were still awake.

“Okay,” Valentina sighed. “Let’s talk about this. Yes. There was another team. I’ve been fighting Doomhold for… a while. And it’s moved around.”

“Moved? How? It’s colossal!” said Sky, perched atop Snow’s back.

“Oh, trust me – when it’s properly working and fully fuelled, it can do all sorts of things you haven’t seen yet. It can transport itself from one place to another in the blink of an eye. It can fly. It can drill down into the Earth’s core. Not so long ago, Wimberley and Ziklag were hiding it in the remotest corner of the Kalahari – you know where that is?”

Twitch poked his nose out from under the edge of Waddles’ skirt. “Desert. Southern Africa. Big enough to stretch into three countries; Botswana, South Africa, and Namibia.”

“Quite right. Lots of people live on its fringes, but the population drops the further into it you go. In the driest, hottest areas, there are barely any humans at all. But there are animals.”

“Oooh, I get it – a lion, a meerkat, an ostrich, and an impala.”

“Yes. Locals. Biologically equipped to endure the terrain, the temperature, and the vegetation. And, like you, they had a diverse set of skills. They… we were a good team. We gave Doomhold a lot of trouble. We’re the reason it’s in such a sorry state right now.”

Waddles pecked a flea off Twitch’s rump. “What happened to them, Auntie?”

“You know.”

“I mean specifically. Did Ziklag get ‘em? Was it Wimberley? Did -…”

“Waddles!” Snow snapped. “Come on. You can tell she doesn’t like talking about it.”

“Snow, the child’s right to ask,” said Sky. “Understanding our predecessors’ mistakes will help us avoid meeting the same fate.”

Balling her fists, Valentina cried, “They didn’t make mistakes! I did! I led them into a trap. I failed them.”

Rather coldly, Sky said, “Evidently. Though I doubt your guilt is that overwhelming. You are, after all, putting us at risk in a similar way.”

“Sky, that’s unkind,” said Snow.

“It’s true! She’s doing exactly the same thing to us that she did to them!”

“It’s all I can do,” Valentina said, miserably.

“Why?”

“Marketing.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

Very, very carefully, Snow lifted one paw and, with infinite care and restraint, pressed it against Valentina’s back, a more successful mimicry of human gestures than Waddles had yet managed despite his best efforts with skirts and shoes. “Auntie, we trust you. We’re your friends. You can tell us anything, I promise. Even if you think we’ll be angry, it’s… we’ll forgive you. We’ve all got secrets.”

“We do?” Waddles asked, confused. “I don’t. I tell you guys everything.”

Snow winced. “You’ll understand when you’re older, Waddles.”

Valentina slumped over, like she’d lost power again. “Doomhold can eat your memories, if you let it. At some point, for some reason, I let it eat a good portion of mine. I don’t remember my childhood. I don’t remember a lot of things. And I don’t remember exactly why I started fighting Doomhold, except that there’s always been a voice in my head telling me that it was the right thing to do. The voice… I suppose I’ve always thought of it as God, or maybe destiny. And sometimes it says other things, things I don’t understand.”

“Like ‘marketing’.”

“It says that constantly. Constantly!”

“So your brain’s got problems,” surmised Twitch. “Tch! You coulda just told us that. Our brains have problems too. Had ‘em even before you used your psychic robot powers on us. Me? I’m scared of things that roll. Always have been. Plenty of stuff rolls in Doomhold – Wimberley’s chair, Click-9’s wheels – and my littermates got used to it as we were growing up, but I never did. They all thought I was a freak. But we were family, so it was cool.”

“When I was a chick, I used to count things,” Waddles imparted. “Not with numbers – I didn’t know what numbers were. But I could tell that ten rocks were more than three rocks, and I’d get really excited when I noticed that. Nobody else understood.”

Nodding, Snow said, “See, Auntie? It’s fine. Whatever Doomhold did to you, it doesn’t make us care about you any less.”

Waddles nuzzled Valentina with his beak. “You’re part of the colony.”

Smiling tiredly, Valentina said, “I prefer you, you know. To humans. You’re kinder. I don’t know if that’s why the voice keeps telling me that you’re the ones for the job, but it’s true either way.”

“We are the ones for the job,” Snow said, firmly. “Just watch. When Ziklag comes back, he won’t know what hit him.”

***

“The mobsters hit me,” Ziklag said into his communicator as he sped across the snow. “Twice. With a baseball bat.”

On the other end of the line, Wimberley sighed. “What did you do or say to alienate our allies this time, Ziklag?”

“I merely raised questions – reasonable, politely-worded questions – about the ludicrous rate at which their already-exorbitant fee has increased of late.”

“Idiot! I didn’t send you there to negotiate! That’s my job, specifically because you are and always have been terrible at it! All you had to do was collect the fuel!”

“I did! In fact, I obtained twice as much as we originally bargained for,” Ziklag informed him smugly.

“…How?”

“Well.”

“We can’t pay for twice as much.”

“We-elllll.”

“Ziklag.”

“Don’t be a fusspot. The baseball bat was enough to convince me that our business relationship was no longer worth maintaining.”

“You stole from the Russian mob.”

“One more impotent enemy with no way of finding us – who cares?”

“Ziklag, you clot, who are we going to buy fuel from now?”

“No one. We won’t need to. I’ve enough with me to get the teleportation platform up and running – once it is, we’ll just steal whatever we need from wherever we want. See, Wimberley? I did think this through.”

“I’m never sending you on a solo mission again. You cannot be unsupervised.”

“And I suppose you’ve been perfectly behaved in my absence, hmm? And I won’t detect the foul odour of those awful cigars next time I do your laundry?”

“Actually, I’ve been spending time with Trench and Click-9.”

“Eh? Why?”

“Team-building. Boosting morale. I’ve always known I liked power, but now I’m learning that I am, in actual fact, a rather talented leader.”

Ziklag snorted derisively, because deflating one another’s egos was the bedrock of their relationship, but he didn’t disagree. At the end of the day, he wouldn’t be trying to take over the world in the company of a man he thought would be bad at wielding supreme authority.

“And is everything… stable?” he asked, in lieu of asking Has Trench done anything more drastically foolish than wallow in filth and misery?

“Everything is fine. Hurry up and get home. There’s work to be done.”

***

“He’s almost here, comrades,” said Sky as she returned to their ambush point. “Five minutes out. Maybe six. His vehicle is overladen and slowing him down considerably. I spotted a rifle, two handguns, and three lightweight aerial drones accompanying him.”

“Places, everyone,” said Valentina, tucking her hair under a wool hat. Twitch was perched on her shoulder, invisible.

Waddles tried to contain his exuberance. His first real superhero battle, with superhero powers and everything! Maybe if it was awesome enough, someone would make a movie about him.

Although… no one would know, would they? He didn’t have an audience. There wouldn’t be applause if he succeeded or tears if he failed. That sucked.

Also kinda sucked to think of the last team giving it their all and then dying, and nobody in the whole world ever finding out about it.

Maybe we can make a movie. Valentina gave us all these cool new toys – she can totally teach us how to make movies! She can be our director. And when we’ve made it, we can send it to Hollywood. It’ll win an Oscar. Everyone will know how awesome we were. And we’ll dedicate it to the last team and tell everyone that they were awesome too.

“Snow is in position,” Sky reported. “Undetected, so far. But the drones are doing surveillance of their own. If they spot her, Ziklag may change course and force us to chase him. May I suggest that I distract them?”

“Good idea. Be careful.”

She took off again, and when Ziklag came into view a few minutes later, he had only one drone with him.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, his snowmobile cruising to a halt. “A homecoming party. How touching. Where’s the bear? Still recovering?”

As he spoke, he lazily drew his gun and aimed it at Valentina.

“Nope!” Waddles declared with a chortle, concentrated hard, and yanked it out of his grip. “Tremble, evildoer!”

“Ziklag, I know it’s pointless, but I am once again asking you to surrender,” said Valentina. “Please. Doomhold won’t give you the power you want. You can’t control it, not really. No one can. I don’t want any more bloodshed. Please, stand down.”

Though Waddles didn’t doubt her entreaty was earnest, he did notice how obligatory it sounded, and wondered how many times she’d made the same plea.

The drone beeped and a row of spinning blades slid from its front. Ziklag pressed a button, and panels on both sides of the snowmobile drew back to reveal long, gleaming barrels.

“Never!” Ziklag cried. “You really think I’d walk away from our vendetta, old woman? Hah!”

Audibly frustrated, Valentina snapped, “You have other vendettas! Dozens! Hundreds! You collect lifelong enemies like stamps! What difference would it make to set just this one aside? Why can’t we talk, for once, like reasonable people? Doomhold’s power is too great to be wielded in service of irrational anger and petty grudges!”

His voice becoming soft and sinister, he said, “Their heads are mounted on my wall. Did I ever tell you that? Right above my collection of snow globes and my yoga mat. Sometimes I put silly hats on them and take pictures. For fun.”

Super uncool, and tonally dissonant with the entertaining, awesome fight scene Waddles wanted to appear in his movie, so he decided to try levitating Ziklag up into the air and throwing him comedically into a big pile of snow.

He didn’t get the chance. Screaming ‘Bastard!’, Valentina darted forward, took two bullets to the chest without flinching, grabbed the front of the snowmobile, and flipped the whole thing over, cargo and Ziklag and all, with her bare hands.

“Waddles, the fuel!” Twitch shouted, clinging to her shoulder for dear life.

Oh, yeah – the fuel could explode if they weren’t careful with it. He’d forgotten. Concentrating hard again, Waddles caught the long black cylinders before they hit the ground, and lifted them gracefully overhead. It was, if he did say so himself, very sexy and heroic.

And… huh. Ziklag had actually fired three bullets. Two had hit Valentina. One had grazed Waddles’ right flipper. It had left a tiny red mark.

Wow.

Wow.

He’d almost died just then, hadn’t he?

Wow.

Ziklag stood up, his goggles knocked aside and his teeth bared.

“Valentina,” he snarled, “there won’t be enough left of you to hang on a wall. I’m going to have to put your remains in a jar.”

Drawing a huge knife from his belt, he leapt at her.

As he did, the drone swooped down towards Waddles, its razor-sharp blades a lethal blur. He squawked in alarm, realising he couldn’t fend it off and keep the fuel stable in the air at the same time.

“Hang on! I’ve got this!” Twitch cried.

Jumping away from Valentina, who was wrestling Ziklag in the snow – rather successfully, considering that she was shorter and unarmed – the rat shot over to Waddles, ran up his back, onto his head, and leapt onto the drone. Unbalanced, it beeped in aggravation and wobbled wildly through the air, missing Waddles by an inch.

The terrible thing, the awful, heart-breaking thing, was that this feat of mind-blowingly epic badassery distracted Waddles from Snow’s arrival, which was, quite simply, the most badass event in the history of time and space.

Because Snow had always been amazing. Waddles had been her number one fan from the moment he’d met her. So big, so strong, so brooding and deep and majestic – she was everything he wanted to be.

And now, somehow, Valentina had made her at least fifty percent more amazing.

“Awwww, yeah!” he crowed as Snow reduced the toppled snowmobile and its guns to a pile of mangled parts before batting Ziklag off Valentina and locking her jaws around his leg.

At first, Waddles had felt sorry for her. The rest of them had been given weapons; poor Snow had just been given armour. What a crock!

Then she’d put it on and he’d instantly revised his opinion. Though, apparently, very light and comfortable, it had almost doubled her height and breadth. It came with a helmet that would filter out any nasty poison gas and shield her eyes. Bullets bounced off it. Grenades didn’t dent it. The knife Ziklag was frantically trying to stab her with over and over again didn’t even scratch it.

“Let go of me!” he roared, and she growled at him. Heavy metal played in Waddles’ head.

“The drones have been disposed of,” reported Sky, flying down to them. “And – hah! The villain is apprehended!”

Keeping heavy objects aloft for long periods was hard, so Waddles gently lowered the fuel canisters down onto the snow.

They weren’t the only cargo Ziklag had brought back with him; there were also duffel bags and crates, which Waddles eagerly went to inspect – maybe they contained comic books! – while Snow stood up on her hind legs so as to dangle Ziklag upside down as he cursed and flailed.

“Hey – vegetables! Never seen those before,” Waddles commented, pushing aside a bushel of carrots. “What else we got? Let’s see… aww, just boring supplies. Protein powder, shampoo, detergent, toilet paper, tofu, gun polish, cat food, lemons, toothpaste… huh. Auntie, what’s this?”

“That’s a sex toy, Waddles. Put it down,” she said, straightening her rumpled clothes. “Is anyone hurt? Where’s his gun? No, Waddles, don’t play with it. Bring it here, please. And help me tie him up – we need to get moving, before Wimberley sends reinforcements. The drones have cameras. He’ll have seen everything.”

***

“Doomhold, darling, I’m afraid I need a favour,” said Wimberley, floating in the colourless room at his fortress’s core.

“How may I help you, my master?” she asked, silkily.

Outside, Trench was banging on the door.

“That imbecile Ziklag’s got himself into a spot of trouble while retrieving your victuals. I know, I know. I’m infuriated too. Nonetheless! Your teleportation platform – I’m well aware of its splendid capabilities, its power to transport one from here to anywhere in the world. What I need to know is how to reverse its usual function. How to bring Ziklag here. Is that possible? I suspect it is.”

A great and ponderous hum. “Yes. I can tell you how to do that.”

“Excellent!”

“But the cost will be substantial.”

“Ah.”

“Teleportation is infamous throughout the galaxy as a high-risk, high-reward technology. When it fails, it fails catastrophically. As such, on most civilised planets, information pertaining to its development is closely guarded. I will need to break through several of the Universal Knowledge Bank’s firewalls. So – yes. A substantial cost, this time.”

Trench banged again and shouted through the door, “Wimberley! Boss! Before he left, Ziklag said he didn’t want you going in there, not until he got back! What’re you doing?”

Scratching his hairless head, Wimberley tried to determine how many non-essential memories he had left to trade. He’d given away all the parts of his early childhood that didn’t involve learning crucial skills. His teenage years – he’d gladly forget them in their entirety, but his maths, his physics, his fascination with weapons, they’d all begun-…

“Wimberley?” said Doomhold. “You don’t need Ziklag.”

“Eh?”

“He’s replaceable. Inessential to the fulfilment of your plans. Let Valentina have him. You don’t need to sacrifice any more memories. I know the process is… stressful for you.”

Wimberley thought. Wimberley thought for a very long time, while the banging on the door grew evermore frantic.

“My first two lovers,” he said. “Take them. They made no lasting impact. And my chess tournaments, you can take them too.”

“Not enough,” said Doomhold.

“Alright. The books. Take all of them. I don’t need those memories to write the next instalment – I can just reread them to regain all the characters and plot points. And my father. You’ve already taken most of him. Take the rest. His face, his voice, his deeds, his lessons, all of it. Is that enough?”

“No.”

So he named a handful more things, and finally she said: “Yes. That’s enough. One more point, before we begin – you must not use the teleportation platform to bring the fuel back. Only Ziklag.”

“Why?”

“It will render the fuel unusable.”

“Surely not. I’ve tested the teleporter exhaustively. It doesn’t change the people or things that it transports; not in any way.”

“Your tests have involved sending subjects from the platform to somewhere else. You haven’t tested it in reverse.”

“Wait – so teleporting Ziklag to the platform is dangerous? It might scramble him up?”

“No. Ziklag is… manageable. Bringing him home via the platform will make him sick for a few days, then his body will recover. But the fuel’s chemical composition will be changed in such a way as to make it unsafe for me to use.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll leave the fuel.”

He felt the fortress’s psychic tendrils reach for him, and braced himself.

***

“Let’s cut his head off!” Waddles cheered.

“What the heck, kid?” squeaked Twitch, giving him a shocked and disapproving look.

“Or blow him up! Or – wait, better idea! Let’s cut his head off, blow the rest of him up, and use the head as a football!”

“Waddles!”

“Twitch is right,” said Sky. “There are still bullets in his gun. We can just shoot him and be done with it.”

“We’re not shooting him,” said Snow, her voice muffled by her helmet, while Twitch muttered something about birds and bloodlust. “We’re handing him over to the authorities. Isn’t that right, Auntie?”

“Quite right, dear.”

“Awww, that suuu-uuucks,” Waddles whined.  

Valentina rubbed his head in apology. “It’s the proper thing to do. Remember, he’s a human. It’s only right that he be judged and punished by other humans. Imagine if you did something wrong, Waddles – what would your colony have done?”

“Um… squawk at me, I guess.”

“And how would you feel if, instead, a pod of orcas swam up and decided that you deserved to be torn apart by their teeth? That wouldn’t be very fair, would it?”

“Your argument has merit,” Sky opined. “However, I see an obvious flaw. You, Valentina, have afflicted us with human-like thoughts and human-like priorities. If we are to endure them, why should we not enjoy the benefits – the privilege – of judging humans?”

Snow shook her head reproachfully. “Killing prisoners is wrong, Sky. If you kill someone, it should be because you need to eat them. My mother never killed a single thing she didn’t eat or give to us to eat.”

“I’m okay with eating him!” Waddles declared.

Squirming in vain, for the ropes they’d tied him up with were sturdy and the knots secure, Ziklag growled, “If you flea-bitten fools don’t kill me, rest assured that I’ll be back to seek my revenge as soon as I’ve taken my taxidermy kit out of storage!”

“Valentina’s right. We need to put this man in a courtroom, before a jury of his peers. It’ll be so funny,” Twitch tittered. “Imagine all their solemn, fleshy human faces trying to figure out what the hell’s wrong with him.”

“What is currently wrong with him,” Sky interjected, “is that he’s disappearing.”

Waddles, fascinated, pecked at Ziklag’s increasingly-transparent face, and found that his beak passed right through him. A moment later, it passed through nothing at all.

“No!” shouted Valentina, so loud and so furious that even Snow jumped back.

“How did he do that?” Waddles wondered, studying the shallow dent in the snow Ziklag had occupied mere seconds ago. “He hasn’t done that before, has he? I’d have remembered.”

“Look – the fuel’s gone too,” said Twitch, scurrying over to the snowmobile. “Still got the vegetables and cat food, though. So that’s something.”

Cursing in a dozen languages and clutching her hair, Valentina stomped in circles.

“Alright. Our mission failed,” said Snow, taking charge and addressing the others. “But it was worthwhile, regardless. We tested our new weapons. We worked as a team. No one was killed or badly injured. And no one made any huge mistakes this time – we just didn’t know Ziklag could… do whatever he did. Now that we know, we can prepare for it next time.  I think we should be proud of ourselves. Isn’t that right, Auntie?”

Valentina exhaled loudly. “Yes. Yes, you’re correct. It’s fine. We can try again. The important thing is that you’re all in one piece. Let’s go home.”

***

Ziklag materialised on the teleportation platform, congratulated himself on another flawless victory, briefly wondered how said victory had been achieved, and began projectile vomiting.

Twenty minutes later, someone – possibly Trench, possibly a drone – had dragged him out of the ever-growing puddle of his own sick and put him in a dark room, which helped fractionally with the hideous migraine.  

Two hours later, he was at last able to push past the waves of pain radiating from his every muscle, lift his head and croak, “What – ugh – what happened? How did I escape?”

Wimberley rolled out of the darkness, which was the first clear sign that something was wrong. He wasn’t the type to fret by a bedside. He had all the tender nurturing instincts of a drilling rig.

“You’re safe,” Wimberley assured him. Which was also wrong. Gentle assurances? From Wimberley?

“Who are you?” Ziklag asked in quavering tones, recoiling.

“I am HERE TO HELP!” squawked a new voice, and he turned with horror to see beside him… good God, what was that?

“Meet Dr Phlegmatic,” said Click-9, appearing with a glass of water and what looked promisingly like antiemetics. “His job is to improve our mental health, the poor sucker. Hi, chief. Glad you’re not dead. Trench told me to tell you not to freak out about Wimberley; Big Metal Mommy just went to town on his grey matter again.”

Ziklag stiffened as a deep and powerful anger started to burn in his guts. (His guts, having expelled their contents down to the last dregs in agonising spasms over the course of hours, braced themselves for yet more bullshit.) “He went into the core? Without me? Wimberley! What the devil happened in my absence? How did I even get here?”

“I am proud to announce,” said Wimberley, with – to Ziklag’s relief – a flicker of his usual arrogance, “that our teleportation platform now works both ways. It can send us anywhere and it can retrieve us from anywhere.”

Dizzying as the implications were, Ziklag put them aside for now. “And you traded more memories for this new functionality? How many? Which ones? How long were you in the core, Wimberley?”

(Because he’d noticed that there was a slight but noticeable correlation between the amount of time Doomhold took to extract a memory and the importance of the memory in question.)

Blithely waving a hand, Wimberley said, “Not long. Who cares? It was all chaff. Wasted time, meaningless experiences. I’m better off without it. Ziklag, this is a major breakthrough!”

Ziklag growled, “No, it’s not. The teleporter is of very limited use unless we have fuel, Wimberley, and that bitch and her band of -…”

“No, no! I brought the fuel back too!”

“You did?”

“I did! Doomhold had some quibbles, but I’ll talk to her. It’ll be fine. Today has been a rousing success, my accomplice. Our sinister little family is closer to its goals than ever.”

And there it was: The final nail in the coffin.

“We are not a family!” Ziklag snapped, jumping up. “You hate families! Of all kinds! The very idea of them repulses you and always has! I have worked myself to the bone maintaining a coldly professional atmosphere in this fortress because I knew you’d be uncomfortable if things ever got too cosy! Wimberley, whatever Doomhold took out of your mind this time, she needs to put it back at once!”

“Tush, man. I’m fine.”

“You aren’t!”

Wimberley sighed. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. Drink some water, take the pills on that tray. I’m going back to work.”

And for the first time ever, to Ziklag’s bug-eyed bewilderment, Wimberley withdrew gracefully from an argument, rolling out of the room whistling a jaunty tune.

“Your pulse rate is – squawk – elevated. Should we try some breathing exercises?” queried Dr Phlegmatic.

“In a minute, buddy,” Click-9 said. “Zee, just to keep you in the loop – remember how you told me not to let Trench get her hands on any knives while you were gone? I, er, might have screwed that up. Anyway, the good news is that she’s finally decided to take serious steps toward recovery! The bad news is that they involve experimental brain surgery.”

Ziklag rolled back his sleeve and bit his forearm, hard, and stopped only when his jaw began to ache.

“Hand me that glass and the medication,” he ordered Click-9. “And something to punch. Then tell me everything, slowly and in detail, while remaining well out of arm’s reach.”

***

Studying the red mark on his flipper, the reminder of how very, very close he’d come to dying, Waddles felt conflicted.

On the one hand… death. Wow.

On the other, he’d almost died before, tons of times. He’d seen friends and family die. Yeah, he’d thought that those days were behind him, now that he was a superhero – but that was dumb. Stories needed stakes. You could only be heroic if you were in actual danger.

And now he was gonna have a scar. A cool scar.

Yeah, no, inner conflict over. He was okay with this. Maybe next time he could provoke Ziklag into shooting him at closer range. Maybe right in his eye! Then he’d have to wear an eyepatch, and there was simply nothing more badass than that.

“Today I learned an important lesson about the power of teamwork,” he informed the room.  

Snow swallowed a lump of the seal she’d caught for their dinner, which they were all sharing on the submarine’s bridge. “Waddles, again – not every day has to have a lesson. Some days just happen.”

“No, I think he’s got the right attitude,” said Valentina. “Simple, wholesome messages at the end of an episode play well with a range of demographics. Damn – what did that mean? What am I talking about?”

“Don’t stress yourself out, Auntie,” Twitch drawled, licking blood off his paws. “Babbling weird nonsense on occasion is nothing to be embarrassed about. Waddles does it all the time.”

Settled into the nest she’d made in the captain’s chair, Sky said, “Teamwork – no, I don’t think so. I think today’s lesson was about recognising the value of one’s labor. Waddles! What was your opinion of our latest battle?”

“It was awesome! It was intense! It was -…”

“Yes, yes. It was awesome and we were awesome, yes?”

“Yeah! We rocked!”

“Indeed. And the battle wouldn’t have been nearly as awesome if we weren’t there, would it? If it had been just Auntie and Ziklag – that would have been much less ‘intense’. Don’t you agree?”

“Oh, totally. Did you see when Twitch jumped on the drone? And when Snow stomped the -…”

“Yes! Exactly. Thank you, Waddles. We were present, we participated, we contributed our labour, and our labour was valuable. All of which leads me to wonder: Valentina, when will we be getting paid?”

The end

Thanks for reading! More soon.

<3

[thestonegoliath]

Work in progress.

Let me know what you think.

1

The cab sped down dank streets quicker than it usually would. It rushed over abandoned news papers and over shattered glass, through discarded garbage and other detritus. The young man behind the wheel peered through the window with a bothered gaze, beads of sweat slipping down his brow as his white knuckled grip held the steering wheel steadfast. He focused solely on the road, nothing but whatever was in front of him or in his mirrors, and anything other the man sitting in his back seat.

An admittedly thin double paned sheet of glass was the only barrier from the man. He wasn't from this side of the world, so thought the driver, for his tanned skin and thick hair belied a different breed of personage. His piercing eyes, laden in silver irisis, held to the driver's for as long as the driver dared stare back, unease and mild fear distorting his features only slightly. His features were not all, though. His massive form took up the whole of the middle seat and half of each beside it. His countenance made the cab shift outrageously, to the point where the driver could have sworn he heard his undercarriage kissing high bumps in the street. His hands were calloused and scarred, easily spotted from their position on his high knees. His smallest fingers were each longer than the palms of most men's hands. Each of his legs were so thick that he only barely fit them between the back seat's cushions and the plastic backing of the front seats. The rest of him was just as rediculous; his feet like a diver's flippers, his torso like a freezer, and his head a varitable beach ball. Without doubt, he was the largest man to ever step out onto the streets of Mantel City.

The massive man sat in utter silence. He had not spoken a word, even as he stared down at the driver through the glass. Moments after the monumental man entered, so too followed a swaggering young man in a black suit, directly into the passenger seat of the cab. It was he who directed the driver, the same one which now politely kept his gaze where he thought it best put; on the street, where the giant was not. They were headed for a place the driver had only seen in passing, a place known by neighboring businesses as a hotspot for bad things, and he shuddered at the thought. Thoughts of the pair's intentions flitted in and out of his mind, returning each time he shut them down.

The man beside him spoke only the one time to the driver where to go, then too fell into a comfortable silence. Or so it seemed that way to the smaller man; he smiled gently as he looked out to the cities lights, occasionally turning back to look at his associate. The massive man had closed his eyes at some point and seemed to nod off; the smaller one's smile rose every time he looked back, then returned the the city ahead, content and calm.

After an hour on the road, the twisting roads and easy traffic thankfully keeping the stressful experience to a minimum, he parked outside of the building with near reverence, slowly parking where he shouldn't have in the name of client convenience. The man beside him sighed gently as the car came to a stop. The passenger looked over his shoulder with his mouth open, but stopped himself short; the massive man was staring down at him, broad jaw clamped shut and eyes unwavering.

The smaller man flashed a bright grin and turned back to the driver, reaching to his pocket, speaking for the first time since the start of the ride.

"Danks for de ride, fella. How much didja want for it?"

A moment passed in silence before the driver clears his throat, realizing who the man spoke with.

"Th.. that'll be..."

He turns from the passenger and fiddles with a meter on his dash, then finishes, almost hesitant.

"...two fourty three."

Taken aback, the passengers eyes widen with shock as he whistles.

"Damn, thas a bit. Whas de deal wit all'at?"

The massive man in the back shifts, and the car with him, as he scoots closer to his exit and opens the door. The driver's throat nearly seizes at the shift in his usually solid foundation, and uneasily explains.

"Y'see, sir.. uh, my employers have us toll for minutes passed instead of miles. Since we took a little over an hour.. at four a minute, it's going to be high.. naturally."

He finished with a bated breath in his throat. His passenger nods appreciatively as he pulls his wallet from his pocket and pulls out a trio of hundred dollar bills, handing them to the driver easily.

The driver accepts them with a nervous smile, speaking shakily.

"Tha-thank you, sir. Let me get yo-"

"Keep de chenge, kid, and go on somewheres."

The man in the back finally wrests himself from his tin prison and the car suddenly lurches with its sudden ease of state and settles back down on all of its wheels. The passenger reaches for his own door with a smile and a wave as he speaks. The door pops open quick and easy as he stops out.

He's gone before the driver knows it, and then he's alone in his cab, breathing heavier as his whole body relaxed for the first time in over an hour. He leans back in his seat and watches the massive man step past his vehicle, right in front of it. Despite his great size, he doesn't seem obese by nature; his feet fall with purpose and deceptive speed, shoulders swinging with his broad back, hands in the pockets of his black cargo pants despite the warmth of the night. The baggy orange shirt he wears must be specially made to be oversized on someone like him, but his thick arms come from its sleeves with no resistance, veins thrumming with life and visible even from the car. His gaze set directly in front of himself, seemingly looking down at the curb, until he steps onto it. Once over the curb, he looks to his right and to his partner, who smiles up at him. The giant doesn't express himself as he approaches, and the driver suddenly feels as though he's overstayed his welcome.

He slowly drives off, leaving the bizarre pair behind in his rearview without regret. After a minute, he turns on the radio and attempts to forget the interaction with the two. A song comes on and he hums along, nerves easing, the rumble of his vehicle soothing him. His backseat now sags just an inch lower than it used to. His back door now has a small dent in its handle where before it was flawless. His passenger seat now has a fragrance attached to it that he never would know, but it's a cashmere cologne from abroad. His passenger side door now holds a knotch in its handle, one which would never be noticed except by very practiced eyes. His wallet sits in the passenger seat, forgotten, now three bills heavier.

__________________________________________________

2

(be continued)

[ghostofsomebody]

Ranpoe hcs no one asked for cuz they're my favorite ship:3

Ranpo actually really likes Poe's eyes so whenever they're together alone he always makes Poe have his hair out of the way.

Poe carries ear plugs on him 24/7, mostly for Ranpo if it gets too loud, in return Ranpo carries fidgets for Poe if he gets anxious in public.

They have a scheduled day every month where they only hang out together for self care, watching movies, reading, cuddling, anything they can do to relax together.

They do loads of stuff together actually, they've gone as far to bathe together, well it was more so them washing Karl then both Poe falling in, Ranpo laughing before slipping on some spilled water and falling straight on Poe, he was very grumpy after since Poe said it was 'karma for laughing'.

They have dates often, to the point that the ada teases Ranpo, whenever he goes to leave the building at least one person yells out 'is it for a date or a case? '. It's always a 50/50 chance that either dazai or Yosano yelled it out.

They like to play video games together, Poe's favourite ones are the ones where he can build stuff or so (sims, Minecraft, house flipper (sorta) and roblox games), Ranpo prefers games that have challenges, just so he can win. Tho they often just play Minecraft together since Ranpo can progress in the game while Poe builds.

Ranpo and Poe often bake together, well, it's more so Poe baking and Ranpo sitting around, stealing little pieces of cookie dough, putting his fingers in the cream to taste test it or licking the mixing spoon clean.

Poe wants Ranpo to live with him, he's always asking, but Ranpo always says 'one day, not now', in all reality he also wants to, I mean poes house is huge and gorgeous, but he's just waiting until Poe confesses his undying love.

Karl is like their son, they even took professional family pictures with the damn raccoon, Ranpo has one on his desk at work.

Hope you guys like em:3 tell me if you guys like me posting hcs!! I'll gladly make more, this is just a lil example ig:0

[thedawningofthehour]

(forgot that tumblr only lets you put 30 pictures in a post, I'll trim it down if I ever do this again)

No fr, this is legit unsettling? Why is there all this empty space? Why is there a TV on the wall and the couch facing the blank-ass wall? Why does this feel like a hotel conference room?

I can feel how cold this basement is and I don't like it. This is the basement you just don't go down to during the winter because you'll quickly lose feeling in your fingers. Even fuzzy socks won't save your toes on that granite floor.

Someone on Reddit mentioned that Maine is currently has a bunch of Weed Dudebros who started up dispensaries when recreational use was first legalized and reaped in the booming market, and are now filthy rich. I would love to think that this house was designed by a group of otakus who were just stoned out of their gourds the entire time, and that they're selling it a year later because they just now sobered up and realized what they'd done. That or none of their girlfriends will marry them if this is the house they have to move into.

This is a different bathroom, btw, they just all have the same god-ugly counter and sink. I don't know what these people have against cabinet doors but I'm assuming one of them lost a parent in a tragic cabinet accident.

You know, credit where credit's due, as ridiculous as this house is you can definitely tell that it was made to be lived in. Maybe not...entirely normally, but it's not like other rich people houses where it's all clearly just meant for display. I've seen a lot of rich people laundry rooms you know will only be half-used by a maid who ridicules her employers in Spanish and then bribes their kids not to translate to Mommy and Daddy. This here, they put this in because people got laundry. You come in, you push some buttons and fold your clothes, and you get out. The laundry room doesn't need to be a big damn thing because washing clothes is generally not the big damn thing in your life.

This picture is what made me decide I need to pay more attention to the exterior when I'm playing House Flipper or Sims. So I don't end up with window arrays like this.

I like the house that's just peaking over the trees to the back of them. Like they're mildly curious what's going on but also don't want to be seen and associated with this trainwreck.

What a beautiful landscape though. Shame about the house. But then, whoever buys this is just gonna tear it down and build their own custom home in its place.

Okay I lied I do actually want to do something for the anniversary. (it won't be the anniversary by the time I post this but shhhhh)

It's not going to be turtle themed though. You guys remember last year when I made fun of rich people's houses? I'd like to do that again.

This...domicile comes to us from Camden, Maine, with seven bedrooms and six baths, tops out at 6,000 square feet and can be yours for a paltry two million.

They really wanted to show off that they had money for the fountain.

Also, is it just me or do rich people houses seem woefully cheap compared to regular people houses? Like, 2 mil is a lot, but if you do the math with the space and amenities they have-like, I highly doubt you could put three 2,000 sqft houses on this parcel of land and get one for 650k. Definitely not in Camden. I remember the first time we moved we looked at one house that was nearly 2 mil-for fun, even when we had money we didn't have that much money-and it was probably about half the size of this. And it was in suburban TC, not a ritzy summer colony. And had been built twenty years before, not the previous as this one was.

Plus this was 2008. The...particular economics of that year in regards to housing prices aside, two mil in 2008 is, uh...quite a bit more now.

So if you expand this picture, you'll see that there's Asian-esque map-looking things set into the wall, and Asian writing over the door. I think they're Chinese characters, but I'm not 100% certain. This entire house has a supposedly Asian theme. I have...things to say, but I'll hold off for now until I have more examples to show what I'm talking about.

Also I just can't with the stone choices. Kudos to them for actually trying to landscape though.

...

I mean, I will give them points for doing the complete inverse of a Lawyer Foyer. Those columns though. Like. When have those ever looked good outside a hotel lobby? When have they ever looked good inside a hotel lobby? How much dust does those bottoms collect? Why do they seemingly have hotel curtains as well?

Usually, columns like this are made of foam with a stone veneer, I think these are at least partially real. A lot of stuff in this house misses the 'cheap shit designed to look expensive' marker that defines McMansions, it looks genuinely decadent-it's just ugly as shit.

THEY HAVE TWO CHANDELIERS. ONE WASN'T ENOUGH FOR THEM, THEY HAD TO HAVE TWO MASSIVE CHANDELIERS TO PROVE THEIR DINGDONGS. AND THAT'S IN ADDITION TO THE FOYER CHANDELIER.

I like how they put the bar in directly next to the front door. Like they know you're going to walk in and will immediately need a drink.

Why is there this ugly gold runner everywhere? I feel like I'm in Trump Tower. Or a gourmet candy bar.

Yes I see the cabinet, no we're not going to talk about it right now. While I love seeing houses that actually have color in them, I'm just...the teal and pink is fine, but it's hard to pull off different variants of a color together. Teal and true blue, it's just...it doesn't work. And these guys have TVs on like every wall for some reason?

Mostly just including this picture to point out the safe on the floor. In the dining room. And to call attention to the weird goldish-bronze border that doesn't seem to start and end where it's supposed to.

Also, yes, these walls are entirely done in tile. It's like they wanted to do something other than the beige but couldn't decide what to go with so they just worked the kitchen tile through the rest of the house.

Speaking of the kitchen...

What

I. I don't. I. I. Why the sink-

????????!!!!

There's...I just don't. Like. You can't even pick a place to start.

The fact that they picked pretty much the busiest tile pattern known to man wouldn't have been such a big deal...if they hadn't tiled the inside and outside of the cabinets. And removed the doors to said cabinets. And hadn't picked a second, equally busy tile pattern to play against the first.

Actually, let's go back to the two tile patterns. Not only are they both way too busy to work with each other, they're both browns...but completely the opposite variants of brown. The lower pattern has more blacks and greys and even a bit of blue in it, while the border browns are warmer shades. You really can't mix warm and cool shades of the same color. It just doesn't look good.

And we have to talk about that counter. It looks somehow like the cheapest 90s shit you'd see in a roller rink or an ocean-themed Chuck E. Cheese, but also you know it cost ungodly amounts of money.

Why is it so thin? Why is the sink so deep in the island? Why is the recessed lighting lopsided?

And we're not even touching upon the floor. These people clearly did not understand feature elements. The floor, counter, and both sets of tile are all dueling for dominance, and we're the neglected child caught up in the custody battle sitting on the lawn with our bags. This kitchen was designed by someone who didn't care if god forgave them.

Oh okay, so we're just using those tiles throughout the entire house now. Fantastic.

That...counter is not beating the 90s cheese allegations.

Is it just me, or does the second chandelier look like it would clip your head on the way down?

No yeah, it is straight-up Right Fucking There. Completely unnecessary too, considering the plethora of recessed lighting. And they've somehow managed to make this hallway look busy despite having absolutely nothing on the walls.

I'm putting in three photos to show that these are in fact different rooms. I'm not including the other bedroom photos because I literally don't know if they're other bedrooms or just different angles of these bedrooms, because every bedroom is decorated exactly the same.

But this is what I meant when I called this house 'Asian-esque' earlier. Now, granted, I don't know a ton about modern architecture and design trends in Asia or among Asian-Americans, so I very much might be putting my foot in my mouth here and I fully deserve the ridicule if that is the case. But to me this doesn't feel like...legitimate. This feels like someone who wants to look cultured, who considers the Far East to be exotic and elegant and would unironically use the term Oriental to describe their style. It feels like they designed this without actually understanding anything about Asian art and architecture and had no desire to learn. It doesn't feel like one thing in particular, it feels like they took elements from Japanese, Chinese, and even Indian styles and gestured vaguely to all of them because they were too scared to commit.

You know, I'll give them credit, the blue does look nicer with the brown. It doesn't look good, but nicer.

Still the same lack of cabinet doors. And the same glow-in-the-dark bathroom counter. It took me a solid few seconds to find the sink there-and then I burst out laughing when I saw it.

I don't know why, but the stone plus that golden window insert makes me think Rocky Rococo.

WHY DOES THEIR GARAGE HAVE THE GRANITE FLOORING?!!

God, this is like my grandmother and her carpeted garage. But she has an excuse in that she doesn't give a fuck what you think.

I don't know why but this is fucking hysterical to me.

Also it doesn't look like there's a...door? To the garage? In Maine? Like, even if it's a heated garage, it's still going to be cold. And it's also dirty, like, you don't want bugs and car fumes wafting into your living spaces?

I haven't even mentioned the ceiling decoration or the crown molding. Or the fact that the crowd molding, doorways, and candy bar wrapper walls are all different shades of gold. And I'd like to keep it that way.

On a side note, what is up with all the recessed lighting? Not that they have it, but doesn't it seem like...a lot? Like, I feel like they could thin them out a bit, you're practically under hospital lights. People with recessed lighting, is this normal? I've only had it in one room of one house, but I don't remember it being this...dense. (I do remember my sister and I once knocked the glass out of the baffle while playing. that's how I learned that those things get really hot)

This is like a church basement if it was also The Backrooms.

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Common Dinosaur Mistakes

you know the "bunny hands" pose everyone does to indicate t. rex? with the hands folded down, palms facing the chest? yeah. almost no dinosaurs could do that. it would break their wrists. only one unique group evolved to do that, which doesn't include any of the Jurassic Park dinosaurs. the term for this is "pronation" and actually the vast majority of land vertebrates can't do it. mammals can. mammals are weird.

not a single dinosaur has claws on their fourth or fifth fingers. not a single one. not even if they're quadrupedal.

most dinosaurs have very stiff tails and can't wiggle them around like a lizard tail. the tails were stiff for balance.

the "tongue flick" thing that lizards do is a lizard thing. dinosaurs wouldn't have done that. they don't do that today (birds, birds don't do that)

"nonavian" dinosaurs with feathered wings had them like birds. they covered the hands. and attached to the hands. stop giving Velociraptor hands. it had wings. and very big ones, too, based on Zhenyuanlong.

dinosaurs with scales don't have lizard scales. lizard scales are a derived trait found only in lizards. they had scutes similar to those of living birds, but much smaller compared to body size, and often in crazy shapes and patterns. dinosaur scales are super weird tbh

sauropods don't have elephant feet. they handled the problem of size in a much weirder way: instead of spreading out the weight, they turned their feet into columns. like pillars. some of the biggest species didn't have any fingers, their front limbs just. end. for maximum column support.

dinosaurs were chonky. you could not see the bones like a silhouette under the skin. some might have been skinnier and some of the features of the bones would be somewhat like with skinny bird legs, but most of the time? no. so stop making the holes in their skulls visible on the outside like damn. jurassic park/world is the biggest offender for this one.

the whole unique feature of dinosaurs is having their legs DIRECTLY under their bodies. they do not sprawl. I can't believe I have to say that, but I do.

hadrosaur (duck-billed dinosaur) front feet were hooves. like, seriously, hooves. not little flippers. not three fingered hands. hooves.

I reserve the right to add more to this post as I think of things.

other people can too, but just research before you do.

[jayfortheday]

Pinball Champion (Vance Hopper)

Pairing: Vance Hopper x GN!Reader (romantic or platonic)

Word count: 412

Description: After weeks of trying, Vance finally beats his pinball high score

Tags: language, Vance loves pinball, everyone's happy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aside from you and Vance, the Grab N Go was empty. Even the woman behind the counter had retreated into the back to attend to other tasks. Normally, the woman wouldn’t dare to leave Vance unattended in the store, but seeing him with you quelled her anxieties. Over the months you two had been coming here together, you had proved to be quite successful at keeping Vance’s more wild side at bay. 

Vance stood hard at work, eyes laser focused on the pinball machine in front of him. You stood beside it, leaning against the adjacent window. You watched both the machine and Vance, looking between both subjects. The metal ball bounced around the machine, dinging as it hit the sweet spots. Vance’s eyes followed it religiously, his fingers posed ready on the buttons on either side of the machine. 

You could see him stick his tongue out of the side of his mouth slightly, deep in concentration. You fought to keep your laugh at bay, not trying to break his concentration. 

“Am I almost there, Y/N,” he asked quickly, breaking his concentration for only a second to speak. You peered up to the score reader.

“Almost, V. Got about 400 points before you’re there,” you replied. You could feel Vance’s excitement radiating off his body. He’d been working to beat his high score for months. Before, the closest he had come was 1,200 points, so the stakes felt high. Although you could see the temptation in his eyes, Vance was determined not to cheat. He wanted to earn this.

With a couple more dings of the ball hitting targets, you laughed triumphantly. Vance smiled widely, understanding your laughter, but kept playing. He kept going until the ball fell in between the flippers and ended the game. Vance smiled widely at the scoreboard before bursting out in happy laughter. 

“2,000! I beat it by 2,000!” He looked so excited. “Son of a bitch, I fuckin’ did it!” His right hand grabbed your left and shook it in the air triumphantly. 

“Make way for the pinball champion,” you smiled at him, sharing in his joy. 

“Damn straight,” he nearly shouted, letting go of your hand to punch the air above him. 

“You know what we gotta do now,” you said, crossing your arms happily. He looked down at you with a grin everyone else would read as threatening.

“The one thing in life I do know,” he laughed. “Milkshakes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this little ficlet. Ever since I saw Vance on the big screen, I'm like obsessed with him. I just want him to be happy and to beat his pinball high score.

[tmnt-fun]

Ha! Get adopted Suckers(Part 2)

Here is the second part! :D

Finally, after a bit of walking, they got to where the Mud Dogs were going to be staying for a while. Raph slowly sets the, almost asleep, Malicious Mickey down on the couch and tugs a blanket over him then looks at the other two, “Alright you two, you'll be staying here until I'm sure that you guys won't do anything to my brothers. I wouldn't suggest trying to leave, Donnie set up a few cameras and I will find out if you try to go” he said, while he was taking off their cuffs.

Loathsome Leonard makes a tsh sound and walks over falling back into the other chair putting his arms behind his head and shutting his eyes. “So one prison cell to another, peachy.” Dastardly Danny looks at Raph, then turns his head away huffing softly, and goes to sit down too.

Even if he respected that he was trying to help them, Dastardly Danny did not like the red turtle. Backstabber.

A damn liar.

“So how old are you even?” Loathsome Leonard asks, looking over at the turtle, squinting a little at him. He figured maybe around the same age as them. They're all 24ish.

Raph makes a small oh sound then rubs at his neck, with that dumb little nervous grin he gets when he was, of course, nervous, “I'm 18.”

Dastardly Danny blinks at that and turns his head to look at him, Loathsome Leonard doing the same, “Wait you're only 18?” he looks down, doing the math on his fingers then puts his hands down onto the table he was sitting in front of, “That means you were only 15?!”

Malicious Mickey got startled awake, sitting up which causes him to shock the couch and he looks around, then rubs at his eyes with his flippers, “Why are we shouting?” He wanted to be part of it!

“This boy was only 15 when we first met em!” Dastardly Danny points at Raph who was now... feeling a little uncomfortable? Why did that matter? He looks around, poking his fingers together.

Malicious Mickey blinks at that and sits up, looking at Raph, “You were only 15? Dude! That's crazy. We almost killed you” Loathsome Leonard puts his hand on the side of his head. Damn man...

Raph laughs at that and scratches at his cheek, “Yeah, don't worry, you guys aren't the first ones to try to do that. Me and my brothers have almost been killed like... a lot” He waves his hand. “Course I'll always protect them, I'm the oldest out of us.”

That didn't make any of them feel any better...

Loathsome Leonard looks over, squinting, and asks, “When was the last time?”

Raph's eyes widen a little, opens his mouth, then shuts it again and turns his head away. He reaches up to mess with his mask tails a little then turns, and starts to walk, “I'm going to go get ya some food”

The three of them look at each other, all frowning at that. They were criminals and all, but they wouldn't kill a dang kid. “When do you guys think the last time was?” Malicious Mickey asks.

“Well, Malicious Mickey, from the fact that he messed with his mask, I'mma say whatever caused him to have that pink eye of his.” Dastardly Danny says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No way guys, we are not gonna start feeling bad for this little shit. Remember what he did” Loathsome Leonard says, moving his arms to form an X over his chest, shaking his head. “I don't care that he got us outta that place, we would have gotten out ourselves”

The other two shrug at that, and Malicious Mickey says, “But he's helping us now. You guys shoulda felt the way his arms feel holding you” He moves his flippers around himself, like he was hugging himself, smiling, “It felt like a blanket”

“Ah shut up Malicious Mickey” Dastardly Danny huffs softly, turning his head away and sinking down in the chair. He felt... weird. He wanted to be mad at the red turtle, and he was! Just... not as bad as before.

He sorta understood why Raph lied to them, now that he thought about it. He got mistaken as someone that he wasn't, they were criminals; of course anyone would be freaked out and do anything to not get their butts beat.

That didn't make it a better thing to do, but it did allow him to realize WHY he did it.

The Mud Dogs looked up when Raph comes back in, holding a tray smiling. “I got something my brother made, Mikey's the best cook. I think you guys would like it” he sets the tray down onto the table. His tail was swaying which Loathsome Leonard paid attention to.

Ha... weirdo.

“Oh sweet!” Malicious Mickey leans over to look in the tray, sniffing “Guys this smells awesome” Raph cuts some out, and puts it on a plate, then onto Malicious Mickey's lap “Here, help yourself. You guys can have as much as you want and if you want more, just tell me”

Dastardly Danny lets out a hum and reaches over to cut himself some, taking a bite and his own tail did a little bit of shifting. Hey, come on, they've been criminals! They don't exactly eat very well.

And this was REALLY good... cheesy.

Loathsome Leonard looks away, huffing softly, “Ain't hungry” he pulls one of his knees up to his chest. Was he being a bit of a brat? Maybe a little. He was still angry. Yeah, the guy was a teen but still lied.

Malicious Mickey rolls his eyes and shoves the piece into his mouth, his cheeks puffing out making little happy sounds. Should he try to take smaller bites? Maybe, but no. No, he didn't think that he would.

“Not eating isn't going to show anyone that you're 'cooler' or anything Loathsome Leonard, it's just gonna make you grouchy so stop being petty and eat your meal,” Dastardly Danny says with a roll of his eyes. Raph went off to message his brothers, telling them that everything seemed to be going well.

He didn't tell them the... whole story, and they weren't really sure if it would be a good idea, but they couldn't say no to their leader... even more when Raph almost cried.

Weird...

Loathsome Leonard huffs but grumbles under his breath and gets himself a plate, taking a small bite then another bigger one.

Dastardly Danny gave him a knowing smirk which Loathsome Leonard turns away from to try to ignore it. Malicious Mickey giggles a little cause hey, that was silly.

“So... how long are we going to be staying here guys?” Malicious Mickey asks, looking at the other two after he swallowed and started to get another piece.

Loathsome Leonard shrugs his shoulders, “Not forever, but most likely a bit. We got a warm place to stay, an idiot taking care of us, and free food.” He leans back in the chair, putting his feet up onto the table and moving his arm behind his head, “Why wouldn't we stay for at least a little” Malicious Mickey smiles, clapping his flippers together then shoves the piece into his mouth again.

Dastardly Danny gave him a look then shakes his head and leans back to continue eating his.

How could this go wrong?

[vukovich]

PECULIAR PROMPT !! (Feel free to ignore if not peculiar enough!!)

Harry is obsessing over Draco and they are BFF but Draco doesn't get the picture and Harry is so frustrated that one night when Draco is blabbing about his chart

Harry blurts this out

👀 👀 👀 👀

Goddammit, Kat. --

Law & the Order: SDU

Special Dumbasses Unit

--

"Sorry, mate," Ron says through an unapologetic grin. "You might actually have to work with your assigned partner on this case."

"No," Harry says, then shoves the file against Ron's chest. "And he's not my partner."

He's all I think about when I finger my own ass, though, Harry astutely doesn't say out loud. "Besides, it's a flasher who hits gay bars," Harry adds. "I don't even think that's a crime. We don't need an Auror-Unspeakable team. This guy's harmless."

"Who's harmless?" Ron asks coyly.

"You know who," Harry says, nodding at the file Ron's trying to hand back to him. "The... suspect."

"And who would that be?" Ron asks again.

Harry rolls his eyes and curses Malfoy for naming this case. He sighs. "The Zodiac Thriller."

Ron laughs until he snorts, and when he leaves, the damned file is on Harry's desk.

--

Harry waits in the round, black-tiled room, trying to calm his racing heart. It's not the Department of Mysteries that sets him off every time. It's the sheer suspense of walking into the Brain Room. Into Malfoy's sanctuary. The one where he only sometimes wears clothing.

What will it be this time? Nude moonbathing? That fucking tangerine Speedo he wears when he cleans the brain tank? Maybe he'll be naked under his black Unspeakable robes for the umpteenth time.

He pushes the heavy wooden door open. He catches a glimpse of flippers and a squeegee inside the brain tank, then Draco waves to him through the viscous pink fluid. His head breaks the surface, and he paddles to the edge of the tank and lifts himself out.

It's the tangerine Speedo today.

Harry's entire blood supply divides and conquers, one half settling in his cock, the other in a livid blush that creeps up his neck.

Draco wipes his face clean and walks to meet Harry, his wet feet slapping against the tile. "Mars has entered Cancer, and you've come to visit." He wags a dripping-wet finger. "Not a coincidence."

Draco plucks the file from Harry's numb hands, then heads off toward his desk. Harry watches him go and wonders if he can charm his glasses to keep him from staring at Malfoy's dick.

--

Oblivious sexuality, is the phrase that won't stop rattling around in Harry's head. Oblivious sexuality.

They're either undercover or on a date, Harry's not sure, but Draco's rock hard, making love to himself and everyone else in the middle of the dance floor, and Harry wishes he'd have charmed some modesty into his glasses. The club is loud, and the clothes, what there are of them, are louder. Draco's wearing pleather and glitter.

Harry wore a polo shirt and khakis and feels like an out of place tennis coach. And given how quickly a group gave him their booth, he's fairly sure he looks like a bouncer. He leans forward, elbows on the round table, and scans the crowd for a man matching the description of the Zodiac Thriller. White male, mid-twenties, tall, brown hair, big fuck-all tattoo of an astrology birth chart on his chest.

Out on the dance floor, a man in a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up is grinding his ass against Draco's crotch like he’s trying to friction-start a bonfire. It's not jealousy, Harry tells himself. It's just heartburn. But that bloke's two layers of fabric from impaling himself on Draco's cock, and Harry's ten paces from hexing the man's anus shut.

The man leans back to whisper in Draco's ear, and Harry catches a glimpse of a large tattoo on his chest. Harry blows out a long breath and wipes his palms on his jeans. Maybe Draco's found their mark.

None of the men who'd reported the flasher had known what the tattoo meant. None of the Aurors knew, either. And Ron made the mistake of sending the report down to the Department of Mysteries. Exactly eight minutes later, Malfoy had shown up with a PowerPoint presentation on astrological birth charts. It didn't help.

Harry had fallen asleep on slide seventy-three, only to be awoken by an irate Draco asking him if he even knew where Uranus was. "Right where you left it," was all Harry'd been able to come up with.

Robards assigned the case to Harry and Draco for the comedic relief.

Draco's sauntering toward Harry's booth, and the man is following him. Tall. Brown hair. His shirt is unbuttoned to mid-chest, and Harry can just make out a long line of dark ink.

Draco wiggles his way into the booth. The man hovers at the edge of the table for a moment, unsure whether he's intruding or not. Harry wants to tell him to fuck off, because he's still not entirely convinced this isn't a date.

Draco leans back onto his elbows and slides further into the curved booth, his legs spread in front of him. The man licks his lips and doesn't take his eyes off of Draco's crotch.

Draco's back hits Harry's side. Without thinking, Harry leans down and kisses the top of his head. He doesn't catch himself until his nose is buried in Draco's hair, and he freezes instead of recoiling, drawing in the scent of Draco's shampoo and sweat.

The man quirks an eyebrow at Harry, then crawls into the booth, straddling Draco's leg. Harry lifts his face enough to glare at the man.

"This is my new friend," Draco says glibly. "He doesn't have a name."

"Tommy," the man says with a smirk. He sits back on his heels, nearly in Draco's lap, and offers a hand to Harry. "Tommy Donaldson."

Harry glances at the proffered hand, but doesn't take it. "Henry Porter," Harry says in introduction.

Draco hums distractedly, and Harry wonders how many drinks he's had. "Henry and I are very good friends."

Harry wraps an arm around Draco's waist. "Are we?"

"Mm hm," Draco says. He shifts and rubs his thigh under Tommy's ass. "Best friends."

Harry clears his throat and says, "Best friends, huh?"

"Of course." Draco lifts his knee, all but shoving it against Tommy's backside. Tommy hesitates for a moment, then grinds his ass against Draco's thigh. "Did you know that Tommy here is quite adept at relationship astrology?"

Tommy's eyes glaze over, and Harry barely notices. He's too busy watching Draco get hard.

"Why," Draco slides down, and the only thing keeping this from becoming a full-on frott-fest is Tommy's upright posture, "he even told me he knew he'd be exposed to a new lover here tonight."

Harry scoffs at Tommy in lieu of knocking him flat on his ass and claiming Draco's lap for himself. "Is that so, best friend?" Harry asks.

Draco nods and runs his hand up Tommy's thigh. "And I told him that was very interesting, because my horoscope this morning told me I'd catch my quarry tonight."

I'd like to catch your dick, Harry thinks, then helps himself to a long look at Malfoy's crotch. Draco's fingertips are way too close to Tommy's zipper. Harry's way too close to punching Tommy's pretty face, shark-rolling Malfoy under the table, and riding him like a rodeo bull.

"And I told him about your horoscope," Draco says, glancing up at Harry, "which said you'd get lucky today, but prone to out-"

Tommy slides forward, sits on Draco's dick, and Harry explodes. He's all rage when he screams, "Astrology says I should be bouncing on your cock, bestie, so why isn't that happening?!"

"...bursts..." Draco finishes, then sighs. "Lucky with a chance of outbursts."

Tommy freezes, one hand on the button of his jeans. Draco clears his throat.

"Uhm..." is all Harry comes up with. "I..."

Tommy clicks his tongue and looks at each of them in turn. "You know... Maybe you and your best friend should just... do best friend things together. With each other."

Tommy slides back, preparing to leave, but Draco catches him by the pocket of his jeans. "You're not going anywhere."

Harry's blood boils.

"Oh?" Tommy says, smirking.

"Yeah," Draco purrs. "Henry?"

Harry's so mad, he could spit. "What?"

"Are you going to cite him?"

"Oh!" Harry fumbles in his pockets for his citation book. "Oh, right!"

"What?!" Tommy yells.

"For swinging your dick around dick-swinging places." Draco shrugs. "I don't make the rules. I don't even have a badge."

"Fuck," Harry whispers as he runs out of pockets, "I forgot my shit."

Draco rolls his eyes and lets go of Tommy's pocket, leaning into Harry. He points a finger at Tommy and wags it. "You're getting off, this time, Donaldson."

"Am I?" Tommy looks at him for a long moment, then at Harry, genuinely confused.

"Just leave," Harry tells him.

"Right."

They both watch him cut through the dance floor on his way to the exit. Draco slumps against Harry, and Harry's about to think he's disappointed, but Draco's thumb traces the outline of his erection.

"Mr Porter?" Draco asks.

"Yes?"

"I think our cover is blown."

"Is it?"

"Uhm..." Draco presses the heel of his hand against his groin and sighs. "I think it might like to be blown."

"I guess we should leave, then."

"Yeah." Draco doesn't budge. "Mine or yours?"

"Mine's closer."

[maybankxw]

hi i love your writing! i was wondering if you could write either just a small blurb or little one shot (it doesn’t have to be anything big) with jj x reader and the reader absolutely loves sea animals (specifically sea turtles) and loved talking about all different types of facts and is just rambling on and on to jj and he’s completely fallen head over heels in love and it’s just all cute

𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

warnings: [ none, just soft thingy ]

summary:a little walk and talk

a/n: thanks for requesting! enjoy!

links: masterlist / taglist / ask box

any feedback (comments, reblogs, anon asks) would be appreciated! 

The sun slowly sat down the horizon, painting the skies into bright orange and purple, a whiff of soft damp wind caressed our skin as we shuffled along the sea side and the sound of splashing waves got muffled by her voice.

“Did you know that only one out of thousand hatchlings survives to be an adult?” she asked dead serious, waving her hands in the air, resentment sprawling on her face — her little frown and pouty lips, which I adored so much. It made me smile.
“No, I didn’t,” I replied, “That’s honestly devastating,” my face turned into a playful scowl, “Can you maybe focus on positive facts?”

Her fingers fiddled with my shirt she wore over her swimsuit, she was too caught up in her thoughts and I bit my lip in an attempt to hide a grin, she was so damn cute. She always babbled about sea creatures, she truly loved them and I was always excited to hear whatever new she learned.

“They lay their eggs in a nest which they dig in the sand,” she dropped down to her haunches, taking a handful of the ashy white sand, “They do it with their rear flippers, how cool is that?” her ass propped on the ground, her eyes glowing in the fading sunlight as she looked up at me, patting the spot in front of her for me to sit down. Even though it was getting late, meaning colder, the sand was still warm and the wind wasn’t too strong, so we took out time resting and talking.

“They call it a clutch,” she added, drawing a tiny turtle with her finger, I just stared at her; hair falling over her shoulders in messy strands, still damp and tangled after swimming, her eyes glimmering with excitement as she poured more facts out and explained everything like I was a first grade student.

Minutes passed, the sun almost completely sat down, and we stretched out on our backs, her head is resting on my chest and the soft rumble of her voice soothing me like a lullaby.

“So jellyfish is their favourite food?” I ask curious, holding her by the waist and stroking her nape with my thumb, the smell of her invading my mind completely, making me lost in her— mesmerised.

“No!” she shoot up, her elbows resting on my chest as she looked me in the eyes, “They don’t really have favourite food, but mostly eat jellyfish,” she pressed the tip of my nose with her finger and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek, and I literally became a jelly myself.

“They can also hold their breath for five hours,” her voice turned husky, and she pushed a few strands off of my forehead, rubbing her little fingers over my face, “And they live about one hundred years.”
“How’d you know that?” I returned a favour, tucking a curl behind her ear.

“Haven’t you watched ‘finding nemo’?” she chuckled, pushing herself up to her feet, stretching her arm for me.

“I have,” my palm closed around hers and I stood up, “Is this why you’re such a sea turtle lover? Was Crush your real crush?” I grinned, pulling her into the circle of my arms, she was so tiny and smelled nice and I never wanted to let her go.

“Yeah,” she tiptoed closer and brushed her lips against mine, “He was.”

“I hope I’m winning over?” a smile curled on our faces and she granted me a kiss, “Maybe,” she winked, untangling herself from me, heading towards out house.

I stood behind for a few seconds, grinning like a fool, trying to comprehend that girl was literally mine, smart, crazy and loving and so damn cute, and so mine.

tags: @icedcold @maybankforlife @novxturient @mackenzielovee @alwaysclassyeagle @kaelibaby @sunset-styles @nope-thanks @absolute-fcking-chaos @tomhollandlol @langcvn @blue-4-55-readinglist @loveyru @rottenstyx @rafecameronswhore @sansasdove @herejustforjj @ameliaalvarez06 @my-baexht-ls @luversgirl @wannabestarkeysgirl @instabull @dudenhaaa27

[may85]

🕸️Haunted🕸️

🕸️Part 1 🕸️

Summary: House flipper, Y/N Harris is in charge of fixing up the old Thrombey residence. When an accident occurs while on the job, Y/N starts to think she's going crazy

Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader, Ghost!Ransom Drysdale

Movie/TV Show: Defending Jacob, Knives Out

Word Count: 1,027

Warnings: (Each part will have it's own warning labels.) Smut in this one. Andy getting his dessert 😏, nipple play, p in v

Y/N hung up the phone, biting her lip to keep herself from exploding at the deal just made. The Thrombey residence was up for grabs and you'd been itching to get your hands on it.

Being a long time fan of Harlan Thrombey's novels, you were sad to hear of his passing and shocked to hear that it was his grandson, Ransom, who was arrested for his murder.

Ransom himself was found dead earlier in the week under suspicious circumstances. Gossip magazines claimed he'd hung himself, while online trolls claimed that he was killed in prison for being too pretty for a place like that. 

No matter how he died, it was all still sad. Marta Cabrera, who inherited the house from Harlan, wanted to move away from all the drama that Thrombey/Drysdale brought upon her life. You were chosen very carefully and after an intense interview, Marta had picked you to sell the mansion to.

Your heart beat faster at the prospect of getting your hands on it to repair and slightly remodel. You had to tell someone and you knew just the person… your boyfriend of two years, Andy Barber.

Jumping out of your chair, you grab your coat and bag, quickly telling your coworker that you were leaving for the night.

"You should head home too, Kylie. Looks like a storm is about to happen,"

She smiled and waved, gathering her stuff as well. 

The ride home was rather quick, the skies darkening. Andy was home, having texted you earlier that he'd won his case. Today was just a win, win all the way around for the both of you.

As soon as you were parked, you got out of the car just as it started to sprinkle. With quick strides you made it inside before getting drenched.

"Andy?" You called out, shutting the door and dropping your bag.

"Hey honey," he said, a tea towel thrown over his shoulder.

The smells of a pot roast hit you, your tummy growling since you skipped lunch, but you ignored it though. You wanted to tell Andy the news.

"You're not gonna believe it!" You danced on your top toes.

Andy's eyes widened, "You got the mansion?!"

"I got the fucking mansion!" You squealed.

Andy rushed you, picking you up in a bear hug. 

He hugged you tightly, laying a series of kisses on your neck, "I'm so proud of you honey,"

You pulled back, cupping his cheeks, "And you, winning your case today! I'm proud of you too!" You both shared a celebratory kiss.

"Today's been a damn good day,"

Andy bit his lip, giving your behind a good squeeze, "Yeah, it has. Why don't you go take a bath; we'll have dinner and really celebrate later,"

"I love the way you think Barber,"

🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️

Later that night, you were laid out on the bed, Andy between your legs, devouring you. He sucked on your clit, making your back arch as you moaned loudly.

"Andy please," 

He kissed your lower lips as if he were kissing your mouth, the soft drag of his tongue getting you closer to the edge.

"Give me one more honey. Just one more," he said, his voice deep. 

He gently pushed his index and middle finger into you, curling them just right.

"Andy!" You moaned, your gasp sharp.

"There we go," He praised, his fingers gently massaging your harden nub as he kissed his way up your torso.

You felt energized, ready for Andy to just lay back as you pleased him. With a soft push on his shoulders, he laid down, grinning. 

You threw your leg over his waist, straddling him, his cock standing tall as it rested against your mound.

"I love you honey," he said, rubbing your thighs.

Rising to your knees, you took hold of his cock and placed him at your entrance. As you slowly sank down, you moaned, "Love you too, Andy,"

"Fuuuuck," he whined, watching him disappear into you.

Placing your hands on his chest, you rocked your hips, letting Andy slowly slip in and out of your heat.

"Just like that, baby," he said, gripping your waist, "Nice and slow,"

You tucked your feet further under his ass, making him go even deeper, "Gah, you feel so damn good Andy,"

Andy ran his hands up your sides, cupping your breasts. He tweaked your nipples as he raised his hips just as yours came down, making both of you moan loudly.

Each other's breathing became heavier, your moans sharper, his deeper; almost to the point of growling. Andy yanked on your arms, bring you forward, which had your breasts bouncing right above his mouth.

He watched you watching him as he took a nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking over it. You could feel his beard and knew you'd be marked up after tonight.

"Fuck, yes… I'm so close Andy,"

Leaving your breast in his mouth as he continued to suckle and toy with your nipple, he wrapped his arms around your waist and bent his knees. Andy held you in place, jackhammering his hips into you hitting your spot with each thrust.

"Yes, yes, yes!" You chanted, cupping his cheek.

You came hard, your back bowing once more. Andy's thrusting became sloppy, his own release spurting deep inside you, making him growl around your tender breast.

His thrusting slowed, his hands going back to your waist to gently move your hips up and down over him to prolong both of your climaxes.

Thunder clapped and lightning lit up the room as you both stilled against one another. Andy gently kissed your nipple, working his way up your breast, to your neck and finally giving you a long and thorough kiss.

"Hmmm, you're incredible," he whispered, smiling

"Feeling is mutual, baby," you said, just as softly.

Giving you another kiss, he rolled the both of you onto your sides, his semihard cock still inside of you.

"Really?" You giggled.

"What?" He chuckled, "you think I'm done with you? Honey, you have another thing coming,"

You scoffed, "Pssft, literally,"

You both laughed, Andy giving you a gentle smack on the ass.

[bucky-at-bedtime]

Stucky Fic Recs

So basically I went through all of my ao3 bookmarks and collated a list of some of my favourites (I couldn't fit all of them on this list, so if anyone shows interest there might be a part two).

Please read tags and descriptions of the works before reading, some of them are pretty dark or extremely horny so just make sure you check that the fic is for you!!

Please please please send me your favourite fics in return! I am always happy to hear fic recs, headcanons and any other ideas/comments you all have!

Without any further ado, here are a few of my favourite Stucky fics:

‘Not Easily Conquered’ series by dropdeaddream, WhatAreFear

Rating: M, Words: 117,692

https://archiveofourown.org/series/115516

“I told you, you heard me: I told you never to follow me into Hell. Now I’m not vain enough to think that’s why you’re out here now — if there’s any person in what’s left of this God forsaken planet who’s part of a bigger picture, it’d be you. But I’ll keep saying it until it sticks. You got nothing to prove. I’m not worth much, I damn well know that, but I’ll ask you anyway: Stay for me. If you leave me alone in this world I’ll turn into something terrible. I’ll turn into the nasty creature that’s growing inside me. This war, it’ll swallow me whole”

[To me, this fic is like the classic Stucky 101 fanfic – if you're a Stucky fan and you haven't read this, I highly recommend it. The authors explore the Steve/Bucky relationship in such an interesting, tragic, emotive way and I cry every time I read it. I couldn't praise this work enough.]

‘Ain’t No Grave’ series by spitandvinegar

Rating: M-E, Words: 131,789

https://archiveofourown.org/series/426577

"Yeah, he never calls me by my name," Steve says. "It's always champ, ace, hotshot, that kinda thing."

"Man, that is flirting," Sam says. "That nicknames thing, he is flirting with you. He's just working his way up to calling you baby or something."

Steve goes redder than a damn coke can. Sam pumps his fist. "Yes, I am so right, I am wise as hell. He did, didn't he?"

"He called me sweetheart," Steve says grimly, "because he's a drug addict with brain damage."

"Or because he looooooves you," Sam says. Captain America throws a cookie at his head. Sam eats it, because he deserves a treat for being so damn wise.”

[I'm currently re-reading this fic and absolutely loving it. The way spitandvinegar writes Bucky's road towards recovery and Steve's entire characterisation – it's all just so good. It's another one that covers some pretty dark themes, so make sure you're checkin those tags!]

'Einherjar' by thecommodore_squid

Rating: M, Words: 71297

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7157024/chapters/16249814

But Steve was fine.

Sure, he hadn’t seen Bucky in months, and sometimes he was at the punching bag so long that his skin started to peel off to expose the bones of his fingers, and sometimes he couldn’t find the energy to drag himself out of bed, and sometimes he went weeks without sleeping, and sometimes he thought about throwing himself head-first off the nearest tall structure, but he was fine.

He was absolutely, perfectly, one-hundred percent, fucking fine.

AKA In which Steve learns how to deal with his shit, and Bucky learns how to stop leaving.

[basically the definition of a recovery fic, I absolutely adore it. This is tragic and amazing and makes me cry and smile. It’s got a bunch of fantastic cameos and It really just ticks so many of my boxes.]

‘Like real People do’ by 2bestfriends

Rating: E, Words: 67,775

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887376/chapters/47103217

“"Ask me what?" demands Bucky. "I didn't hear a question."

Steve licks his lips. "Will you stay with me? Will you come back home, Buck?"

"Home," repeats Bucky in a small voice, and then he's crying for real.”

[Basically soft lumberjack!steve and lonely twink!bucky being horny and in love. This is a comfort fic for that’s really just about my favourite boys falling in love.]

‘This City Bleeds it’s Aching Heart’ by anonymous

Rating: E, Words: 34,537

https://archiveofourown.org/works/835829/chapters/1591736

“The one where Steve and Bucky pose as a happily married couple while on a mission for SHIELD, to catch an international arms dealer hiding in a suburban neighbourhood.”

[The plot in this one is just a good time and i think it’s just a really fun take on the fake relationship trope. Also some really great characterisation.]

‘Home is Wherever I’m With You’ by cydonic

Rating: E, Words: 88,570

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18868081/chapters/44783077

“Bucky kisses Steve and Emma goodbye before they leave for school, which is why – partway down the road – Amelia turns to him and asks, “why are you and Daddy kissing?”

Which is definitely a conversation Bucky’s been expecting since Steve just did it, but it still takes him by surprise. Again, he thinks he should wait for Steve, but Amelia’s not the sort of kid to let anything rest. Plus, Bucky’s taking her to school where she will undoubtedly share the story with anyone who’ll listen.

He also stops to think that Steve’s asked him to stay, which means Bucky must be trusted with their happiness and well-being, at least in some small capacity.

Bucky clears his throat and searches for some explanation that will help Amelia make sense of this sudden turn of events. “Because we love each other,” is all he comes up with.”

[Bear with me, this is a House Flipper!Bucky Au. And dad!Steve. I just love a found family trope I’m not gonna lie to you. Another comfort fic that warms my lil heart.]

‘Lucky Seven’ by BetteNoire (WeAreWolves)

Rating: E, Words: 94,364

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7033105/chapters/16002481

“Back from where--?” James says, the sentence ending in a distinctly undignified squawk as Steve sweeps him up in his arms, bridal-style, and starts carrying him upstairs.

James tenses momentarily then relaxes into Steve's arms and throws back his head and starts laughing. The laughter peals out of him, his body shaking, his amusement occasionally broken by little gasps of pain.

“What's so funny?” Steve frowns.

“You are,” James says, still giggling. “You're ridiculous, Steve Rogers.”

“Behave. Or I will drop you,” Steve growls.

[The shrunkyclunks modern AU of my dreams featuring Mechanic!Bucky and cap!Steve and some really beautiful writing.]

'Dishonor On Your Cow' by mandarou

Rating: E, Words: 111695

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10659162/chapters/23589582

“Sergeant Barnes?”

“Oh, hell no, don’t call him that, man,” Sam warned.

“Captain Fuck Off!” Barnes shouted over him. “Fight me!”

Steve didn’t know whether to laugh or just slink away. He managed to combine the two by pacing two steps and snorting instead. Like a bull.

“I’m gonna need you to calm your ass, Barnes,” Sam said as he went limp again, obstructing Barnes’s struggling under him. “This is so undignified. That is Captain goddamn America.”

“Captain goddamn America!” Barnes repeated, louder. And angrier.

Steve cleared his throat again. “I’ve been looking for you,” he told Barnes.

“I hope you brought lube this time!” Barnes shouted.

[I’m not gonna lie it took me a minute to get into this one but by the end I was crying with them, laughing with them, and just really in my feels. Some very insane things happen so here’s a few of my favourite tags: ‘Seargent Barnes is done with your Shit Steve’, ‘blatant disrespect of a man’s motorcycle’, ‘Steve you ding dong’ and ‘PR nightmares in the form of Supersoldiers’.]

Propietary Information by Notlucy

Rating: E, Words: 85141

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11964402/chapters/27054777

“Okay, so Bucky Barnes has a crush on Steve Rogers. The guy's gorgeous, talented and, oh yeah, the Chief Design Officer of the biggest tech company in the world. In other words: he's so far out of Bucky's league that he might as well be in a different stratosphere.”

[We were never gonna get through this list without a Sugar Daddy!AU (I have a weakness). This one is… saucy and sexy and sweet and uh pretty kinky so read the tags and all. I’ve read it a few times, and I love the way the author has written Steve in this one, he just makes my heart go '!!!']

‘Roots Have Grown’ by AustinB

Rating: M, Words: 17280

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6912451/chapters/15767941

“Bucky is a mildly agoraphobic veteran with funds to spare, who becomes enamored with the cute blonde guy in his building.

So when Steve mentions needing a roommate to cut down on rent costs, Bucky decides it would be a good idea to volunteer.”

[Another weakness of mine is Roommate AUs, and this one is phenomenal. I tend to go for post serum!Steve stories more often, but this is a pre-serum Steve that I just adore.]

‘The Cold Never Bothered me Anyway’ by icoulddothisallday

Rating: E, Words:75562

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11728869/chapters/26425530

“Bucky Barnes has spent his whole life in a state of mild hypothermia. Steve Rogers has spent the last 70 years in the ice. The two things aren’t related until, suddenly, they are. Shrunkyclunks soulmate AU (AKA the awkward bb au).”

[I think this is the only soulmate AU in my bookmarks? I would totally be down to read more though! This one is really fun and really enjoy Bucky’s characterisation here!]

'War, Children' by Nonymos

Rating: E, Words: 106615

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5373050/chapters/12409394

“After Bucky was released from the hospital, it only took him a couple of weeks to give up on himself. Difficult to believe in any kind of future when the simple act of staying alive was almost too big an effort.

Out the frosted window, across the street, there was a tiny homeless guy burrowing under an awning.”

[An interesting exploration of Bucky’s PTSD with a trans!Steve which was a cool take on his character too!]

'The Company You Keep' by orbingarrow

Rating: G, Words: 51191

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3468605/chapters/7613072

“Hurt, hungry, and on the run, the Winter Soldier doesn’t have a lot of safe options to go to for help. Figuring that any friend of Captain Steve Rogers is unlikely to be HYDRA, Bucky takes a chance and reaches out to the first Avenger he can find.

It works out better than anyone could have expected. Eventually.”

[hurt/comfort, recovering Bucky, protective Steve, found family and domestic avengers, need I say more? I absolutely loved this one]

[genshinluvr]

No Spoilers, ISEKAI!AU

—

Venti’s friendship gave a new meaning to the wind for Y/N. Even before they had fallen into the laps and hearts of over a dozen men in this new world, the Ameno Archon had turned the breeze into a giggle and a storm into a concerned look to the skies.

But now, the wind was nothing more then a barrier Y/N was breaking through.

Down, down, down, down they go.

What was just supposed to be a fun date, a journey through the clouds to kiss the sky and stars.

Y/N had to hide their chuckles when Venti explained that he somehow got Dvalin to agree to bring them both on a tour above the moon.

It was so romantic.

How could it go so wrong?

All it took was one sharp turn and a loose grip.

Y/N couldn’t hear Venti’s screams over the sound of rushing wind.

The feeling of falling through the air reminded Y/N of when they fell through the tree in their yard as a child.

But the tree’s branches were much more effective of slowing their fall than the clouds they wished to only graze with their fingers this morning.

Down, down, down, down they continue.

A rush of green and blues sped towards them from above, trying to close the distance without crashing into the falling mortal.

That’s right, Y/N they’re mortal.

They’re going to die.

Die…

They were supposed to have decades left.

“…/N…”

They were supposed to dance with Venti under the moon today.

“…Y/…Y/N…!”

They weren’t supposed to be screaming as they nearly broke sound barriers with their decent.

“Y/N!”

They weren’t supposed to—

Strong.

Strong arms.

A tight grip.

Strong arms, tightly gripping her body slow her fall and land her gently on the back of the ancient dragon.

“Thank archons you’re safe…”

The scent of Qingxin and almonds fill their nose, and the burning of tears fill their eyes.

—

Is it my best? God no

But was a neat idea anyway? Damn straight

Once again, thank you for writing just inspiring fiction, it fuels my flippers and feathers to type

Quack

🦆

NOT YOU PUTTING ANGST INTO MY INBOX AGAIN 🦆 ANON! >:o Now, why'd you have to make me feel sad while I'm supposed to be typing out this week's fanfic about the Genshin men being malewives?

Also, that's not how Isekai'd!Reader will die in the series. But, I do like how you give the reader a near-death experience! However, the reader in my Isekai'd!Reader series will die a much more painful death other than falling from a dragon. I think 🤔 We'll have to wait and see! 😋

[starlocked01]

If This is Madness

AO3 Link

Dukexiety Week Day 1- Myths/Supernatural

WC: 7.6k

Summary: One night a lighthouse keeper finds the impossible on the shores of his little island. Fighting both loneliness and temptation, he forges a bond of trust with a selkie as mysterious and unpredictable as the depths of the sea.

Content Warnings: Swearing, Nudity, Kidnapping, Description of Physical Injury, Violence

@dukexietyweek

Unseen flecks of dampness peppered his face with each crash of waves against the rocks, and salt pleasantly stung his eyes and nose as Virgil cautiously picked his way through the slick, sharp stones, headed towards the small lagoon with his canvas, easel, and paints. Moonlight reflected off the low tide waves and he strained to see each next step. Virgil almost missed the obvious until he practically stumbled upon it. He hissed in a startled breath and hid behind the nearest crag. He rubbed his eyes hard and blinked several times, trying to rule out hallucinations or a trick of the moonlight.

A naked man sat with legs spread wide, staring out at the sea, taking large breaths every time the waves broke on its rock. Virgil blushed at the indecency and watched from his hiding place. After a few minutes, he realized the man was wearing a leathery grey spotted animal skin like a cape.

Holy shit...

Virgil had become accustomed to fishing and gotten over his aversion to dead sea life for the most part, but seeing this naked man wearing the skin of what looked like a seal twisted his stomach in an unpleasant knot. Virgil turned away from the sight and spilled his supper between the rocks. He wondered if there was a safe way to run back to the lighthouse and call the coast guard to pick up this tweaker, but when he glanced back the man was staring in his direction, alert and wary.

Shit, look away! Look away! Don't bother with me, freak!

Virgil covered his mouth and pressed further into the shadows, hoping the man would lose sight of him when the man threw back its head and let out an inhuman barking laugh that sent chills down his arms. Virgil watched as it stood suddenly and dashed away across the rocks, careless and surprisingly agile. Virgil breathed a sigh of relief and tried to turn back towards home, but found his feet uncooperative, chasing after the man.

What the fuck? Go back and call this in.

He told himself he was just trying to follow the man back to its ship so he could report how it'd gotten to the island. He stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the lagoon and found instead of a crazed man looking for an escape or undocking a boat, a giant, fat, grey seal flapping at the edge of the waves on the secluded sandy beach.

No fucking way…

Virgil didn't believe in legends. He didn't believe in stories of merfolk and sirens and malicious creatures larger than life with tentacles stretching out of the depths (although he was agnostic about ghosts). He certainly didn't believe in selkies. Except this seal had the same skin as the crazy naked man had been wearing as a cape.

Internally screaming at himself to run the other way, Virgil stepped closer to the seal and yelled the only intelligent thing that came to mind.

"Hey, you!"

Hey you? Brilliant, V.

The seal stopped flapping and rolled over to stare at him with those same piercing alert eyes. Virgil shivered as the animal seemed to recognize it had been figuratively caught. It barked the same strange laugh and Virgil was certain it was the same creature.

Virgil watched in fascinated horror as the man began to wriggle right out of its skin, transforming before his eyes. The man stood, picked up the skin, and slung it over its shoulder before grinning at Virgil and shouting back.

"Hey!"

"You can talk?"

"You yell at seals you don't think are capable of talking back? Freak," the man giggled maniacally and Virgil scoffed.

"What? No.. I- look- ugh who are you?" Virgil felt heat rising in his cheeks in embarrassment.

The selkie grinned and stepped closer, offering Virgil its hand, "Remus."

"Remus?"

"Yeah, that's my name," Remus bobbed its head pointedly at Virgil, "and you are?"

Virgil looked Remus over and noted its appearance, from the bruise-like rings around its prying dark slate-colored eyes to the wildly unkempt, grey-streaked hair and mustache. He tried to avoid looking farther down than the creature’s chest, fascinated by the strange ways its muscles moved beneath the skin, built for swimming as a seal. Taking the offered hand, he replied, "gay. I MEAN- Virgil. I'm Virgil."

Remus snickered, "hi, gay Virgil. What are you doing on my island?"

"I live here- what are you?" Virgil pointed back toward the lighthouse and shook his head, shivering in the stillness as the creature examined him with an invasive stare. Remus didn't answer him right away, instead stepping closer and poking him in the stomach. "Hey!" Virgil jumped back in alarm.

"I believe the surface drifters call us 'selkies'," Remus answered with an amused twitch of a smile, "the hookers and netters call us nuisances, but I think they should call me a catch."

Remus stepped closer once again, reaching for the string of Virgil’s jacket. The overwhelmed lighthouse keeper jerked and smacked at the encroaching hand, "would you quit that? Who knew selkies were so nosey?"

Remus shrugged and tried again, hand darting forward and rolling the string between its fingers before yanking hard and cinching the hood over Virgil’s eyes. Virgil stumbled forward and scrambled to yank his hood back. When he had, he caught a glimpse of Remus, half re-skinned, jumping into the waves and swimming away like a merman. Virgil groaned and ran calf-deep into the waters of the lagoon and shouted, "Oh Yeah? Well… Warn a dude next time before just showing up naked and uninvited! Ya damn seal!"

Virgil stood there as the waves lapped up over his boots and dampened his socks, and tried to sort out whether he wanted the selkie to stay away or come right back. He knew the fables- of insecure men stealing a selkie's ability to swim away and calling it love. How their trapped wives always found a way to escape in the end, whether happily or in tragedy. Thinking of Remus, he could almost understand the temptation. The selkie was exotic and grossly captivating even after their short lived discussion.

Virgil kicked at the water and trudged back on shore. If Remus never came back, it would be for both of their benefit. He sighed and turned to set up his painting supplies, hoping he hadn’t broken anything while running after Remus. He continued his painting of the lagoon, mindlessly adding colors to the water and the beach. After a while he took a step back to compare and was startled to find he’d started to sketch out a seal sitting in the shallows. He peered off into the waves, wondering if Remus had turned back and was watching him, but if it had, Virgil could only see it in his mind’s eye.

Less than a fortnight had passed when Virgil awoke to a surreal howling on the beach. The man stumbled out of his cot and over to the window, terrified of what could be making that noise. In the distance, difficult to make out in the waning sunlight, Virgil spied a gray blob on the sandy side of the island, waving a flipper in the air and bellowing. He blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the light.

"Remus?" Virgil sighed and grabbed pants and shoes, silently pleading with the selkie to shut up for a minute. Shrugging on a light jacket, Virgil left quickly to scan the beach for the creature.

Virgil didn't have to look for long before confronted once again with the naked human-form of the selkie.

"Hiya Virgie! Did you hear my warning?"

"I appreciate the heads up.. Where’s your skin, dude?" Virgil tried to glance anywhere except where his eyes were drawn as the selkie stared openly.

Remus shrugged, "over on the rocks. It's fine."

"Fine. Right. Um," Virgil stumbled over his words for a moment before clearing his throat, "why don't you… go grab it and join me inside? We can talk for a while- if you want to that is. I was just going to make breakfast."

"Breakfast? It's practically nightfall," Remus tilted its head inquisitively.

Virgil shrugged, "I'm usually up all night since that's when the light is absolutely needed on." He pointed up to the lighthouse behind him and Remus followed his direction.

After a brief moment of consideration, Remus replied, "sure. I'd love a closer look at the spinny fire tower. Be right back!" With that it dashed away and left Virgil alone for a moment.

Virgil stared after Remus, utterly confused. It was obvious Remus was just curious about him and the lighthouse. There was no reason for him to think otherwise. So then, why did he want to read into the selkie's manor and excitement as affection? That didn't make any sense and the thought almost scared him.  He had taken the lighthouse keeper gig precisely because he was satisfied with the relative solitude and protection from the complexities of human interactions. Was it something about the selkie making him feel this way?

“Hey, Virgil, is there a reason humans change color so much?” Virgil was snapped from his thoughts by the selkie’s question. He shook his head and watched the creature returning, wearing its skin as a cape again.

“What do you mean ‘change colors’?” Virgil replied, turning back to the lighthouse.

“Well, I’ve watched drifters who’s hair changed from muddy or sandy or night-sky-y to cloudy. And their skin sometimes goes from pale like yours to fiery or driftwood-y.”

Virgil stopped in his tracks, utterly confused, “what color would you call my hair?”

“Driftwood-y.”

“I call it brown. If it were darker?”

“Night sky-”

“Black. Okay. Okay, I see what you’re doing here. I guess.. Over time humans get old and their hair tends to go grey or white- cloudy like you call it. Out in the sun all day, their skin will burn or tan, unless they’re already dark skinned and it’s not as noticeable,” Virgil tried to explain as he led Remus back to his place.

“You go fiery really quickly when you see me,” Remus remarked, causing Virgil to blush and prove its point.

“Well, you look like a naked man. It’s indecent,” Virgil tried to brush him off.

“Do you like naked men?” Remus prodded, following Virgil into the lighthouse and immediately becoming engrossed with all of Virgil’s collections. Shells and dried out driftwood lined the walls and paintings sat on the floor against the stairs, the unfinished lagoon landscape hung on an easel in the corner. Virgil chuckled as Remus wandered the combined kitchen and dining room, electing to ignore the question.

This selkie, Remus, was so unassuming. So unafraid. Did selkies not have myths of dangerous, skin-stealing humans? He shook the idea out of his head and smiled at Remus’ energy, “hey, are you hungry, Remus?”

Remus looked up from a painting it’d been tracing with its fingers, “uh, yeah. What do you have?”

Virgil shuffled over to the fridge and opened it to show the selkie the options, “a bunch of stuff…. Would you like… tuna salad?”

“You make a salad out of tuna? That sounds amazing!” Remus beamed, looking for the fish eagerly.

“Uh, for one thing it’s cooked so it probably tastes different than you’re used to,” Virgil cautioned as he reached in and grabbed a tupperware bowl of leftovers, “also there are extra… human ingredients…”

Remus just nodded and grabbed the bowl as soon as Virgil opened it, sniffing once, recoiling from the smell, then dipping its fingers in and scooping a large bite into its mouth. Virgil watched amused as the selkie’s face screwed up in a mixture of unfamiliarity and disgust and gasped as it kept frantically eating while still making faces at the taste.

“Woah woah woah!”

“It’s disgusting. I love it!” Remus intoned between bites, shoving more in its mouth as Virgil tried to wrench the bowl from its grasp.

“You don’t have to eat it if you think it’s disgusting!”

“But I want to!”

“What is your problem?”

“I dunno, I’m a seal. Is that a problem?”

Virgil paused and stopped trying to grab the bowl, watching as Remus quickly finished the food, “no, it’s not a problem. I guess I just don’t know you.”

“Yet.”

“Yet?”

“Yeah. Yet. You’re gonna make me more of this sour fish slop.”

“I am?”

“You are. And you’re gonna tell me about the weird skins over there. Why are they so colorful? Did you color them?”

“Oh, the paintings? Yeah I like to spend free time painting. I have a lot of free time,” Virgil admitted, mind whirling at the thought of Remus coming back often, “I was trying to do some painting the last time you washed up here.”

“Washed up? This is my island,” Remus hissed, spitting tuna salad at Virgil’s face.

“Yours? Then why haven’t I seen you here before, Mister Selkie?” Virgil sassed back, wiping chunks of tuna off with his sleeve.

“Eh, I usually only really come back once a year. Got a lot of islands around here to search,” Remus smirked, setting the bowl down and leaning back against the counter.

“That doesn’t make it yours. I live here all the time,” Virgil scoffed.

“So if I come back tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here.”

“Hmm…”

“Do you want to come back?” Virgil asked cautiously, “I don’t mind you showing up…”

“Sounds great, thanks for the fish!” Remus laughed and dashed out the door, leaving Virgil stuttering. He rushed after the selkie and watched as Remus wrapped back into its skin and dove back into the surf. Virgil sighed, staring out over the water where the seal had disappeared, watching the sunset dancing like flames in the waves. It was strange, but he found himself looking forward to more visits.

Virgil could never predict when Remus would show up. Sometimes it was early in the morning just when he was preparing to sleep and other times it was the middle of the night as he was tending to the light or painting in the lagoon.

Each time, Remus would announce itself and Virgil got in the habit of bringing it out clothing to wear. They spent the hours talking about the island with the lighthouse, Remus’ world and Virgil’s work. Virgil showed it how he painted landscapes around the island and Remus helped him find more secluded parts of the island. Virgil truly began to look forward to their time together as the visits became more frequent.

It was difficult, but he always resisted touching or even talking about Remus’ skin unless prompted. Remus had on request gleefully told him the horrific stories that its kind told their young about the drifters and hookers and land dwelling monsters that stole pups and young cows to keep them as captive slaves. Virgil was absolutely horrified but understood completely, resolving even harder to never touch the selkie’s skin. It was quite a surprise to him when he realized that Remus would just leave the skin by his coat near the door and never worried about it until it was ready to leave. Remus had never seemed incredibly protective of it, but Virgil marveled at the trust he’d gained in the few months they’d known each other.

The fourth day that week that Remus had shown up, Virgil decided to finally ask. He bit his lip and listened to Remus babble on about dead fish until the tension was too much and he blurted out, “why do you visit me so much?”

Remus paused mid ramble and tilted its head to stare at Virgil, “because I like you. You don’t drive me away for talking about seaweed slime and you show me cool human things.”

“Really, you like hanging out with the loner?” Virgil asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“Mhmm and the others think I’m nuts for walking into a human lair. It’s great!” Remus giggled and slurped up a fish stick.

“Oh. You talk to me for clout. Cool, cool,” Virgil shrugged, trying to hide his disappointment, “kinda weird to hang out with a monster.”

“Wait, you’re a monster? Have I ever told you I’m a monster fucker?” Remus grinned, poking and teasing Virgil, “I mean, yeah, humans are supposed to be so scary, but you’ve really just followed the tide. Why would I be scared? Do you wanna hurt me?”

“I don’t- gah I don’t want to hurt you, Remus. Humans have selkie stories just like selkies have human stories, but ours are always about not fooling yourself into holding a wild animal captive. You’re not human, as much as you look like one of us without that skin. I’d never force you to be human.”

Remus listened intently, “wanna know why I actually stopped by here?”

“Why?” Virgil tilted his head, sipping his glass of water.

Remus looked out the window, “I’m looking for someone. I keep hoping I’ll find him on a beach somewhere.”

Virgil tried to ignore how much more his heart sank at the revelation, “who are you looking for?”

Remus chuckled sadly, “my brother. He left one day and never came back. I assumed a human had captured him and devoured or skinned him for fun or something. Then about nine seasons ago, I found his skin trapped on the rocks of this island. I searched this whole island for three days straight and never found anyone.”

“Oh my word, that’s horrible. Is he dead?”

“I dunno. I hope he’s somewhere out there. But if he’s alive and doesn’t have his skin? That’s bad. You know what your kind usually does to us. I always said I was the only one allowed to scare him. I don’t want him to be scared and alone out there.”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil replied quietly, remembering with shame how much he’d wanted to do the same things to Remus when it had first shown up.

“I wish you’d been the one to find him, Virgie,” Virgil looked up suddenly.

“I would have never touched his skin. I’m so sorry about your brother, Rem. I don’t know how you can trust a human after that.”

"You're easy to trust. Like you said, you'd never lay a hand on me."

"Thanks..."

“Wanna touch it?” Remus asked suddenly.

Virgil flushed immediately, “what??”

“My skin. Wanna touch my seal skin?” Remus grinned, grabbing Virgil by the arm and leading him back toward the door.

“Remus..”

“Come on, I know I can trust you,” Remus nodded and pushed Virgil toward the drooping grey mass.

Virgil struggled, not wanting to cross this line until his fingers brushed the skin. It felt supple and gave way beneath his touch and Virgil found himself burying his hand in folds, spellbound by the texture. Remus watched him in amusement, placing a hand to his back.

“See, I know you won’t hurt me. You would never hurt me or any of my kind. I like you, Virgie. You get it,” Virgil just nodded in agreement, slowly pulling back from the skin and turning to face Remus.

“You- you like me? Like, just as your friend?” Virgil croaked out, his voice failing him.

Remus giggled at that, “well, gay Virgil. I did kinda think you were cute for a monster. That okay or is that weird?” Virgil chuckled and nodded, hyper aware of just how close together they were.

“That’s okay. I like you, Remus.”

Remus spent the whole day for the first time, snuggling close to Virgil as he slept. It was a strange and unspoken change. They were both a bit different now but the change felt secure. Remus felt more like a companion than a myth. Virgil would never force humanity on it, but revelled in its trust and comfort with him.

Virgil thought often about Remus when it wasn’t there and started including it in his paintings on purpose. The selkie took every opportunity to stop by that it could. When it did, Virgil would sometimes study Remus’ skin while the creature watched.

Virgil thought often about Remus, but the one time he wasn’t was the one time he really ought to have been.

The supply ship made its normal monthly delivery and Virgil was kept busy talking with the captain and the small two person crew as they all unloaded his rations and supplies. He thought nothing of Remus’ trumpeting call as he restocked the pantry until he remembered that the ship hadn’t left the dock yet. In a panic, Virgil ran outside, scanning the beach for his companion or the crew of the ship. His heart dropped when Remus called out again, this time a rather human sounding scream for help.

Pulse racing, Virgil ran for the dock, screaming for Remus. When he rounded the path and spotted the ship, he stopped in his tracks. The two deck hands had Remus wrapped in small nets, halfway out of its skin and gnashing ferociously at the leering men.

“We got a mermaid! A real mermaid!”

“Do I look like a fucking girl? Let me out of here and I’ll show you a real mermaid, you kelpie!” Remus barked and struggled violently.

Virgil shook out of his shock and charged down the beach, “let it go! That thing isn’t worth anything to you!” Virgil winced as Remus looked hurt by his words but he persisted yelling, soon catching the captain’s attention to the scuffle.

The captain watched as his crew fought the small lighthouse keeper and shook his head as the single man started to get the best of them. He sauntered down the dock and blew his whistle, shrill and sharp until the fight came to an abrupt halt.

“You idiots. Some jackass wraps himself in a dead skin and you think you found a mermaid? How did I get stuck with superstitious fools? Let the man go before I let Mr. Feny whip both of you for me,” the two quickly dropped their nets but Virgil glared at the captain with suspicion before running to help Remus get untangled. The captain watched with a gleam in his eye as Virgil tended to Remus, but turned to mutter to his crew, “get ready to sail. We’ve got a plan to make. That thing is better than a mermaid.”

Virgil and Remus watched from the beach as the ship set out into the tide, Virgil laying protectively over the selkie until the ship was out of sight.

“What were you thinking?” Virgil turned, meeting Remus’ frightened gaze.

“I needed to see you. I- you didn’t tell me you had other bitches showing up here!” Remus quickly became defiant, scrambling away from Vigil on the sand.

Virgil sighed, “today was a delivery day. They bring my food, paints, kerosene, and other supplies for the month. You’ve never come on delivery days- I assumed you saw the boat and knew better than to show up. Are you okay? Did the ropes hurt you?”

Remus grumbled but slowly showed Virgil the angry red lines on its arms and sides. Virgil hissed and helped Remus to its feet, leading the wounded creature back to the lighthouse.

Early in the morning just before the sun had risen, Virgil lay next to Remus, exhausted from the break in his routine and the excitement during the delivery. The selkie lay curled in Virgil’s arms as had become their habit on days when it stayed as Virgil slept. He gently brushed over the rope burns on its skin and wondered if he’d be able to better convince Remus to leave to go heal away from any human when they each awoke later in the day. Remus shifted with a hurt grunt next to him and Virgil quickly moved to run fingers through its hair to soothe it back to sleep.

He was on the edge of drifting off himself when the door to the lighthouse slammed shut. Instantly, Virgil sat propped up on one arm, hyper aware of every creak and crack around him. Remus shifted again, mumbling for Virgil to shut up and go to sleep.

“Shhh sleep. I’ll be right back,” Virgil promised, leaning down to nuzzle Remus’ hair momentarily. Remus grumbled and rolled over, hogging the blankets from the man as he sat on the edge of the bed and reached for his trusted baseball bat. A loud creak on the stairs startled him and confirmed that they weren’t alone in the lighthouse. Virgil fought back a million unlikely guesses of shadow demons, octopi ninjas, and vengeful seals as he stood and silently cracked open the bedroom door.

Lamp light flickered somewhere down the curved stairwell and Virgil cursed to himself. But who would break into a lighthouse on an otherwise deserted island? Had some ship run aground and the crew were just looking for him to call for assistance? Virgil let himself hold on to that explanation despite the panic screaming in his brain that it was too quiet for survivors of a crash to be looking for him. He crept down the stairs, bat ready in hand to fend off anything less than friendly.

Virgil stared- more than a little confused- when he found the crewmates of the supply ship creeping up his stairs. The meaner looking one gasped when he stepped into their light and the other grinned, taking advantage of his confusion and recognition to grab Virgil and clamp a grimy hand over his mouth.

Rage seethed under Virgil’s skin as he kicked and tried to smack the men with his bat. The man holding the torch chuckled and caught the bat midswing, wrenching it from Virgil’s grip and smacking him hard in the leg. He grinned as though Virgil’s moans of pain caused him great pleasure.

“That’s what you get for stealing our catch, you fuck,” he whispered and spat in Virgil’s face as he expertly tied the lightkeeper’s hands. Virgil hissed and tried to kick and struggle as the two men carried him down to the dining room where the captain stood guarding the door.

“I swear he tried ta bite me,” the man gagging Virgil complained. As soon as he removed his hand, Virgil snarled and yelled for help, earning himself a sharp kick in the side. He layed curled on the floor, panting for the breath stolen by the sailor’s boot as the men tied his legs and the captain chuckled darkly.

“So, Mr. Feny, I suppose your selkie friend is upstairs,” the captain’s teeth gleamed in the steadily growing light of dawn and he fingered Remus’ skin like he were appraising its value, “shame he didn’t swim off right away. You made this far too easy.”

Panic clutched hard at Virgil’s chest as he heard Remus stumbling down the stairs, sleepy heavy in its voice as it called for him, asking what was going on. He tried to warn it to run, but one of the sailors kicked him again and the captain stepped forward, boot placed threateningly over Virgil’s windpipe.

Virgil watched helplessly as Remus tripped and barked out curses in its native language, careening down the last curve of the stairs and right into the waiting nets of the sailors. Remus screeched and bit and fought as the two men wrestled him down to the floor of the dining room, crashing into Virgil’s paintings in the process. The captain kept Virgil at bay, smirking as their quarry fought hard but soon succumbed to the ropes and bruises. Virgil gasped as Remus met his eyes with a helpless and betrayed expression.

Virgil croaked out a pathetic, “I’m sorry- they won’t-” before the captain pressed down his foot, choking off his air. Remus was picked up by the two crewmates and carried out the door despite its struggles and howls for salvation.

“Funny how exotic pets tend to run off when we think they're happy, eh?” the captain of the supply ship laughed and nudged Virgil in his bruised side before exiting the lighthouse without another word.

Virgil sobbed as Remus’ terrified cries echoed back to him and grew slowly further away. He struggled against the ropes, biting at the hastily tied knots until his hands fell free and immediately moved to shove the binds off his legs. He cursed the man he had thought was at least friendly, unable to see anything but Remus’ terrified look of betrayal as he slowly pulled himself up and over to the stairs. He cursed himself for setting the radio up near the light, wincing as he pulled himself up the first stair. If he could just contact another ship…

Fighting pain and the ever growing tide of panic pulling back to form a giant wave of despair and doubt, Virgil pulled himself up the stairs as fast as his broken ribs and swimming head would allow. Once he reached the light, he winced at the brightness as it swung over his face, ducking down to crawl over to his radio set up. Virgil groaned as he pulled himself up into his chair and flicked on the equipment, praying anyone would be within range and willing to break course to help him.

Virgil thought for a moment before beginning to tap out his message on the telegraph, trusting years of translating Morse to guide his fingers. He kept the message short, starting with an S.O.S. and his location, adding that someone had been kidnapped. He repeated three times before pausing to listen for a response.

Virgil waited with baited breath and nearly sobbed again when the reply came.

In vicinity. ETA 5 minutes.

Virgil was so relieved, he nearly forgot that he would have to explain who and why Remus had been taken. His heart hammered in his chest as he spotted the responding ship and rushed down to the beach to meet them, wincing with every step.

The ship that pulled into the dock was somewhat bigger than the supply ship, manned by the captain and a three person crew. Virgil stood at the end of the dock, shivering in the weak sunrise as the captain, an honest-looking man in a red coat, jumped off and rushed over to him.

“Oh my god, you look terrible! What happened, sir?” the captain grabbed Virgil by the shoulders just in time as everything that had happened that day suddenly washed over him and his knees gave out. The captain supported Virgil and ordered his crew to help the man aboard so they could care for him.

Virgil stuttered as they brought him aboard, not sure how to explain the selkie’s existence or his need to rescue the being he’d come to see as a companion. A crewmate the captain referred to as Mr. Hart took care in tending to Virgil’s wounds and murmuring words of comfort. The navigator quickly assessed possible routes the fleeing ship could have taken, pondering over which would be the most logical for avoiding getting caught with a missing person. Another crewmate busied himself around the ship, preparing to set sail again as soon as the captain gave them a bearing.

“Listen to me, sir. We’ll get them back, but we need to know who took them and where they went. I promise. Captain Roman Shoal does not break his word,” Virgil looked up to meet Roman’s dark grey eyes and found great comfort in their fierceness, “Patton, go help Janus. I think our lighthouse keeper is in shock.” Patton nodded and jumped up to help pull the ship out of the dock.

“You’re not going to believe me,” Virgil muttered. Roman laughed gently at his first spoken words since being brought aboard.

“Try me. I’ve seen a lot more unexplainable things than you’d expect,” the captain grinned and offered Virgil his hand. Virgil took it and decided to just blurt out the truth like ripping off a bandaid.

“My supply delivery ship crew jumped me and tied me up so they could kidnap my… companion. I don’t know what they wanted with Remus-”

“Remus?” the captain looked as though the name were a spirit come to haunt him.

“Yes, Remus. I know this sounds crazy, but the people who took Remus knew that- that-” Virgil tried so hard to say it out loud, to acknowledge the impossible, knowing the moment he said that Remus is a selkie he’d be thrown back on the island as another mad lighthouse keeper.

“It’s a selkie. Right? They stole a selkie- shit! Logan! We need to make the best time we can heading northeast from this position!” Roman stood, barking orders at the navigator while Virgil stared agape at the man.

“How did you-”

“I’ve known Remus before. It is an idiot to get itself into this predicament,” Roman barely spared Virgil a glance, but the piercing gaze made something click in his head.

“Oh… are you-?”

“Luckily, if these kidnappers are stupid- and they sound quite stupid- I know exactly where they’ll be headed. We should be able to catch up before they get to the market. How much of a head start do they have on us?” Roman asked insistently.

Virgil sighed, “I think at most an hour? I had to get free and get to the radio,” he gulped, “sir…”

“Please just call me Roman.”

“Roman, um… how exactly do you know Remus?” Virgil hazarded the question as the ship began to speed off after the kidnappers.

“My sibling has always been far too trusting of humans. You called it your companion? So was it with you willingly or am I going to release Remus to the waves and let the pieces of your body follow?” Roman answered with a hard edge to his voice.

Virgil shook his head, “I never touched its skin until it offered and actually forced me to touch it. I never wanted to hurt Remus… I tried to convince it to flee the island after the men attacked the first time earlier yesterday, but it was hurt and didn’t want to leave.”

Roman nodded, satisfied for the moment, “fine. You rest here while I find Remus. If it wants to return with you, that’s no skin off my back.”

Virgil watched, quiet as the crew maintained their pursuit. He wondered at the selkie captain and idly if the others were also mystical sea creatures pretending to be human. Roman spent several minutes explaining their exact heading to Logan and encouraging Patton and Janus in their sailing of the ship before he made his way back to the injured lighthouse keeper.

“So what’s your name and how do you know Remus?” Roman asked in a low voice.

Virgil nodded to acknowledge the fairness of the questions, “Virgil Feny. As you guessed, I tend the lighthouse. I met Remus when it showed up on my beach one night and claimed it owned the island I live on.”

Roman snorted, “yeah, that sounds about right. Remus trusted you?”

“After a while. Like I said, I never tried to touch its skin when it came to visit. I also never asked it to come back at any specific time. I didn’t want a pet and certainly didn’t expect a partner,” Virgil whispered the explanation. Roman nodded in approval.

“How did you lose your skin?”

“That is a long story.”

Virgil started to reply when Patton whistled for Roman’s attention. Both the selkie and the lightkeeper looked up to where the man was acting as lookout.

“Spotted the ship, sir. How should we approach it?” Patton called back in a low tone despite their distance from the other ship. Roman stood and began to pace, contemplating that issue.

“They’ll be too wary to stop when hailed. They might have even been in range when Virgil signaled for help and could be expecting us,” Roman mused aloud.

“We could throw up the Coast Guard colors. Make them think twice about running?” Janus offered.

Logan scoffed from his place at the wheel, “why would kidnappers obey martial law and stop for the authorities? Especially if they heard the distress call.”

“Well if I were on their ship I’d hide the- man and stop for the Coast Guard to throw off suspicion,” Janus rolled his eyes, “running from the authorities when caught red handed is beyond unintelligent.”

“Gentlemen,” Roman tried to interject.

“There has to be a way to save him! I mean look what they did to poor Virgil, the guy they took has got to be in so much pain,” Patton whimpered, empathetically imagining all kinds of tortures. Virgil and Roman both paled at the suggestion but Roman shook his head.

“No. They think they have a.. Selkie. They’re going to try and sell the man at market. We have to stop them before they sell a man to the highest bidder.” Roman spoke measuredly and watched his crew’s reactions. Patton looked confused while Logan seemed incredulous at the very notion.

Virgil noted Janus’ carefully trained neutral expression with suspicion. He wondered again just how Roman had lost his skin. Just then the ship lurched and he was thrown to the deck, groaning at his jarred ribs and swiftly darkening bruises.

Patton quickly jumped to tend to Virgil again, righting him against a barrel and tearing his own shirt to bandage Virgil’s torso.

“Don’t mind the captain. He’s always been a bit eccentric about stories,” Patton whispered to soothe Virgil. Virgil just nodded, knowing the truth. The others continued to bicker over options as they came closer to their quarry.

“You know what I say? Let’s give them a fight. They’ve obviously got their hands full with their prisoner since we were able to catch up so quickly. Let’s make them regret their rash little stunt,” Janus grinned wickedly, hand resting on the saber tied to his waist, “we can steal back what they’ve stolen.”

Roman stared with contempt at the ship they were quickly gaining on, “it’s what they deserve. Let’s go. Raise the colors.”

The other three men jumped into action, Patton moving to run a flag up the mainsail while Logan steered in such a way that they were suddenly gaining very quickly on the smaller vessel. Janus stepped up to a chest along the wall near where Virgil was sitting, winking at the lighthouse keeper as he pulled out several loaded guns to distribute among the others. Virgil was heartened by the rescuers’ enthusiasm, but felt lightheaded as his injuries, lack of sleep, and steadily holding tidal wave of panic met with the rocking of the ship.

He awoke to a loud shout followed by a gunshot. The ship lurched again as it was anchored to the listing supply ship. Virgil ducked, suddenly terrified of being seen by the supply ship crew or getting shot. He cursed himself as he cowered from the angry yells and clanging of metal pieces.

Suddenly a large warm body landed in Virgil’s lap and he faintly heard Roman yelling at the crew to pull away. Slowly, he opened his eyes, surprised to find Janus in his lap, moaning in pain and clutching his leg.

“Wha- what happened? Where’s Rem-”

Janus hissed, “The selkie is fine.” he nodded up towards the helm, "and I totally meant to shoot myself- god damn it!".  Virgil’s breath caught as he looked up to see Roman belting orders with Remus clinging to him and sobbing into his shoulder. Roman had wrapped his sibling in his coat, holding tight to his waist as though the selkie would disappear into the waves if he let go.

Virgil turned back to Janus who was also watching the selkie and the captain, “wait you got shot!” he turned with a groan to look for Patton, but finding the man busy helping Logan steer the ship away from the point of engagement, Virgil turned back and began to rip as clean a strip of cloth from his own shirt as he could get. “Show me the wound, you need to be bandaged.”

Janus hissed again, trying to pull away from Virgil but unable to move far, “I’m fine!” he snapped. Virgil pushed up the man’s pant leg and gently felt the bloodied skin around the wound. The bullet was definitely still lodged inside. He frowned and tied the scrap of his shirt firmly around to slow the bleeding.

Janus sighed heavily, unable to look away from Roman and Remus, “thank you. Roman has been looking for that one for a very long time...”

“Remus mentioned finding his skin. At least they’ll be able to be together again,” Janus whipped around to stare at Virgil.

“No. No, he can’t leave- I can’t-”

“You knew about Roman,” Virgil replied with a confirmed understanding, “he’d be happier with a choice.”

“We’re happy now- you don’t even know us,” Janus scoffed as he climbed to his feet, “just watch your mouth, lighthouse keeper.” He turned to limp back to his post, brushing Roman’s shoulder as he passed them.

Virgil moved to stand, only to be tackled back to the deck by a blur of red. He looked up and found Remus’s slate-grey eyes grinning back at him.

“You came for me! And you found Roman! You’re the best monster boyfriend ever!” Virgil cried from relief, pain, exhaustion, and joy. He wrapped his arms tightly around Remus feeling much the same way it had looked like Roman was, terrified Remus would disappear if he let go of it. When he looked up again, Roman was standing above the both of them, a confused mess of emotions playing out across his face.

“I hope you don’t mind a quick diversion before we return you home, Virgil. I would hate for that crew to try again without properly alerting the authorities. And as you saw, my first mate got a bit clumsy and needs medical attention,” Roman spoke quietly, trying to ensure neither Patton or Logan were listening in, “Remus assured me you don’t mean us any harm…”

“You always treat me like I’m stupid. Looks like I picked the better human,” Remus retorted, hugging Virgil tighter and squeezing his bruises.

"I just- I missed you, Rem.. and years later, we find you.. and you're throwing yourself at a human. I just can't believe it," Roman shook his head in disbelief.

Virgil sighed, "yeah. Please report those jerks and get Janus help. I'm so sorry he got hurt-"

"Nonsense. We would have risked a lot more to get this knucklehead back," Roman waved Virgil's apology off before leaving to direct the ship towards dock.

The sun had begun to set and nearly dipped below the horizon, lighting the water in flames before Virgil spotted the beacon of the lighthouse still spinning. He felt immense relief in just recognizing home.

The ship pulled up to his tiny dock and Virgil nearly tripped over himself, running to grab clothing and Remus’ skin. Roman and Remus also disembarked while the crew rested after such a harrowing day. Virgil found Roman and Remus standing on the beach, staring out over the ocean and talking quietly. Virgil stopped several yards away, curious.

“You could come back. We’ve missed you so much, bro.”

“I’ve missed you more than you’d know. But I have a life up here.”

“That bitch trapped you, didn’t he? You deserve so much better for yourself!”

“Look- yes, Janus hid my skin at first-”

“So take it back and leave him!”

“But I threw it overboard. I lost it on purpose. I hope you never understand, because Virgil seems a decent man. In fact, give it to him.”

“I’m sorry, give me what?” Virgil interjected, holding the clothes out for Remus. It happily grabbed them and its skin, dressing right there on the beach and tying its skin around its neck like a cape.

“Oh! Virgil! Um-” Roman stammered a moment, “I was offering to let you have my skin. You could become a selkie with it. I don’t need it.”

“Yeah! I could show you my world! Exploring shipwrecks and fighting squids over fishies- it would be so much fun! We could come back here for you to keep painting and all that stuff too,” Remus grinned broadly, offering Virgil its hand.

“I- I don’t know,” Virgil shook his head, “what about you?”

“My ship will be around. I know where to find my sibling now and that it’s okay and in caring arms,” Roman shrugged, “I wanted to stick around for a week or so, make sure those ruffians get jailed for attempted kidnapping. If that’s alright, of course. We have rations and won’t interfere with you.”

Virgil laughed quietly, “that is much appreciated, sir. Thank you for everything today.”

“It wasn’t a problem. Figured I’d be saving this knucklehead sooner or later,” Roman grinned and took his jacket back from Remus, “have a pleasant evening, Mr. Feny.”

“You too, sir!” Virgil called back before tugging Remus close to his side. The sun slipped below the water line and Virgil rested his head on Remus’s shoulder, taking comfort in the soft skin draped there. Roman had retreated to his ship, leaving the pair effectively alone.

The beacon spun overhead, glinting off the waves and fighting with the set sun for brilliance. Virgil stood silent, barely held steady by Remus who also leaned on him for support. The day had been all too much to process. As though reading his mind, Remus pulled Virgil down to the sand, laying down and offering to hold him. Virgil wrapped himself in his companion, feeling the world shrink to just one patch of the beach, the whisper of water draining through the sand, a spinning lantern warning other beings away, and the warmth in their embrace.