#gulls blue line

[auraeseer]

Some prefer the light . . . 'cause it's special . . .

[pretzel-box]

Summary: You're a mortal fisher that catches the attention of an ancient sea god without knowing it.

Tags: Some 'fluff', mortal reader, sea god sebastian

Words: 2,6k

There was a small village that was cradled on the edge of an unknown island like a forgotten secret among humans, made out of solid stone, earth and sand while being shaped by the restless waves of the deep ocean. Narrow cobbled streets would wound between the homes of sun-bleached woods and weathered bricks while fine smoke curled up from the going chimneys, mingling with the salty sea air. Many signs of a life gathered around this place despite its unknown status.

The endless ocean surrounded the village on all sides, an eternal sentinel, its deep blue waves gently lapping at the shoreline as if it were whispering ancient lullabies. The sun hung low in the sky, casting the world in hues of gold and lavender, where the horizon blurred into a seamless meeting of sea and sky. The sound of gulls crying in the distance echoed through the air, carried by the wind that rustled through the tall grasses and wildflowers growing at the island’s edge.

Farther out, where the cliffs rose jagged and defiant against the endless ocean, the waves crashed with a furious roar, sending white spray high into the air. Yet here, within the village, the sea was gentle—a mirror reflecting the sky’s fading light.

Small fishing boats bobbed in the harbor, tethered to wooden posts worn smooth by years of use. Their painted hulls were chipped and faded, yet they held a quiet dignity, as if they had borne witness to centuries of tides, storms, and the steady rhythm of life. Nets hung drying on the docks, draped like lace over the old wood, waiting for the morning light to send the fishermen back to the open sea.

The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of salt and damp earth. A few villagers, their faces lined with age and the sea’s touch, gathered in quiet conversation near the docks, their voices low, as if unwilling to disturb the peace. Lanterns flickered to life in the twilight, casting a soft, golden glow over the village, like stars scattered across the earth.

As the day gave way to dusk, the village seemed to breathe, a living thing, connected to the ocean and sky in a way that was timeless. The sea, the cliffs, the forest—they were all one with the village, woven into its very being. And as the stars began to emerge, one by one, above the endless horizon, the island seemed to settle into itself, cradled by the ocean’s eternal embrace, waiting for whatever secrets the tides might bring.

"Listen, my child. Our story began long ago, when the gods still walked the earth and the stars were young."

Once upon a time…

The land was molded by the hands of glorious deities, their fingers painting the skies and carving the rivers. They placed the sun on the horizon and the plains upon the earth. The world flourished, but with its growth came envy, as some gods overshadowed others. To gain power, they created life—humans, born from their desire for control.

At first, humans worshiped their creators with devotion, pledging loyalty to one deity, then betraying the next. They defiled the divine in their thirst for more, striking down gods one by one. Until, at last, only humans remained, reigning over the world they had once been given. The gods, once mighty, were destroyed by the very hands that they had shaped.

The lesson was clear for the mortals: gods could not be trusted.

You grew up in the small village, cradled by the sea, raised between the wind and the waves as if you were a child of nature itself. The first thing you learned was your origin, that you were descended from the gods—gods who were flawed and fallible. Your grandparents told you stories of your ancestors, how they fought with their lives for the right to live on this island, battling forces far beyond their comprehension.

Ages ago, a fierce god named Solace ruled over these waters. His rage, directed at both his siblings and their creations, churned the oceans into relentless fury. Your ancestors tried to cross the waters for months, many drowned and many got sacrificed to soothe the will of the deity that ruled in the waters. His anger blinded Solace, his envy and his feelings were like a sharp sword, pointed at himself. Your ancestors tricked him, like they did with so many other deities before. They sealed him into the ocean, robbing him of his necklace that he wore. And after they triumphed over him, the ocean came to rest. All thanks to the necklace that secretly holds Solace his powers.

A necklace that rested around your neck, a family piece that was given down as the generations passed. It was a sea shell pendant, reflecting in beautiful blue-silver hues as if the sea itself was placed upon you. And you wore it with pride.

Your mother gave it to you the day you joined the family tradition, stepping into the life of a fisher. It was a simple gift, passed down through generations, as much a symbol of your heritage as the sea itself. You learned to live in harmony with the waves, to respect the life beneath the surface, and to take only what was needed. Your family had always been blessed by the ocean, and so would you. It was honest work—give and take—where you not only harvested from the sea but also protected it, keeping it clean and honoring its depths.

"Keep calm," you murmured to yourself, the words a quiet mantra as you sat in your small boat. The sun was warm on your back as you focused on tying the loose strings of your net, the gentle rocking of the boat a familiar comfort.

Your mother had taught you to knit the nets in the old traditional way, every knot a connection to your ancestors. Your father, in turn, had shown you the art of fishing—how to hunt with respect, how to make the death of the fish swift and painless, and how to use every part of it in reverence for the life taken. A true fisher never wastes, for the sea gives generously but only to those who understand its balance.

The rhythm of your hands, the whisper of the wind, and the quiet lap of the waves against the boat—they all wove together like a song. You were part of something much larger than yourself, connected to the ancient currents of the sea, just as your family had always been.

You lifted your finished net, admiring the neat knots with a smile of quiet pride. A rush of happiness filled your chest as you hugged the net, feeling accomplished. You had honored the legacy of your ancestors, crafting the tool with care, just as they had done for generations. It was a simple but profound joy, knowing that you were connected to something so old and enduring.

With a steady breath, you prepared to cast the net into the water, hoping for a good catch to feed your family tonight. The gentle hum of the waves blended with your thoughts, and as the net unfurled, you missed the soft snap of a string breaking. But the sudden blue shimmer at the corner of your eye did not go unnoticed.

Your heart dropped as you realized it was your necklace—the one your mother had given you. Somehow, it had tangled itself in the net, and as you began to fish, it slipped from your neck effortlessly, tumbling into the water before you could react. You watched in stunned silence as the delicate jewelry disappeared beneath the surface, swallowed by the depths in an instant.

The sea, ever so calm just moments ago, now seemed impossibly vast and unyielding. That necklace was more than just a piece of jewelry; it was a part of you, a part of your family. And now, it was gone.

It sank slowly, the glimmering stone catching the last rays of sunlight as it shimmered just beneath the surface, suspended in the water like a delicate promise about to be broken. You watched, helpless, as it drifted deeper, the blue hue of the ocean swallowing it whole. Your heart pounded in your chest, a heavy sense of dread filling you as the necklace—your link to your family, your ancestors—vanished silently into the dark water below.

Your hands slackened, the net forgotten, slipping from your grasp into the boat. Without a second thought, instinct took over. Before you even realized what you were doing, you dove headfirst into the water, chasing the fading glint of silver.

The coldness of the ocean hit you like a shock, but you didn’t care. You kicked your legs, your arms pushing against the water, desperately reaching for the necklace as it continued its slow descent. The light above you grew dimmer as you sank deeper, the world around you a muffled echo of the surface. You could barely see now, the shimmering silver reduced to a distant gleam.

The water pressed in on you, chilling your skin and constricting your lungs. Panic began to claw at the edges of your mind, but you couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop. It was more than just an heirloom; it was the weight of your ancestors’ blessings, the legacy of your family, and it was slipping further and further away.

Your lungs began to burn, the pressure of the deep water pressing against your chest, but still, you reached out, fingers stretching into the darkness. The necklace was now just a faint blur, fading into the abyss. Desperation surged through you as your arms flailed in the icy depths.

The darkness was overwhelming, the cold water pressing in on all sides as you sank deeper, the faint shimmer of your necklace vanishing into the abyss. Your chest burned, lungs screaming for air, but your limbs were too heavy, too numb. The weight of the ocean dragged you down, and for a moment, you felt yourself surrendering to the pull, the necklace gone.

But then, something strange happened. A warmth surrounded you, gentle and reassuring, cutting through the icy water. A firm hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you upwards with a strength that felt both human and not. Yet, the darkness caught you and you passed out.

The first thing you felt was a pair of warm lips on yours, innocent, shy and yet somewhat dedicated. A wet hand was placed close to your throat. Then your head shot up as reality caught up to you, the water in your lungs creeping up your throat as you coughed it all out.

Coughing, disoriented, you blinked away the saltwater from your eyes, the world around you blurred. As your vision cleared, you found yourself being held by a man—no, something far more. His eyes, a deep and endless blue, locked onto yours. His presence was as overwhelming as the ocean itself, powerful and ancient, yet there was a softness in the way he held you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The stranger's arm was still wrapped around you, steadying you against the gentle rocking of the waves. His dark hair flowed around him, as though it were a part of the sea, and his skin, shimmering faintly in the light, seemed to glow with a quiet radiance. He wasn’t human, no, but he felt familiar.

“Breathe,” he whispered, his voice like the soft murmur of the tide, calming and steady.

You did, drawing in deep, shaky breaths, your heart still racing from the shock. “Who… who are you?” you stammered, your voice weak, barely above a whisper.

He gazed at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with something tender, something that made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. "Sebastian," he finally said, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I live within these waters."

You nodded slowly, still dazed, as you tried to comprehend what had just happened. The cold of the water, the rush of drowning, and now… this.

Then, the realization hit you like a wave crashing over your head. “My necklace,” you breathed, panic swelling inside you again. You turned to look down into the water, but there was no shimmer, no sign of the silverish blue. “It’s gone… my necklace… I lost it.”

Sebastian’s eyes followed yours, and for a moment, a flicker of something like regret passed over his face. “The sea does not return everything,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a kind of sorrow that seemed to echo from somewhere deep within him. "Not all that it takes can be given back."

Your heart sank, the weight of his words settling heavily inside you. The necklace—your family's necklace—was gone, lost forever to the depths. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you fought them back, not wanting to break down in front of this strange, beautiful man who had saved your life.

Sebastian’s gaze softened as he watched you, and before you could react, his hand reached up, brushing gently against your cheek, his touch feather-light. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and you could hear the sincerity in his voice, the sadness that lingered in his words. “I wish I could have saved it for you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, though the ache in your chest was still raw. “It was my family…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It was important.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, simply letting his fingers linger against your skin, his presence steady, grounding. “Your family's memory doesn’t live in that necklace,” he said softly, his eyes searching for yours. “It lives in you. In everything you carry with you. That cannot be lost, not to the sea or anything else.”

His words, gentle and warm, wrapped around your heart like a soothing balm. You nodded again, still feeling the loss, but somehow, in his presence, the grief didn’t feel quite so unbearable.

For a moment, you simply floated there together, the waves lapping gently against your bodies, the sun casting a warm, golden light over the surface of the water. Sebastian’s hand stayed close to yours, his touch lingering, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to let you go.

“Why did you help me?” you asked after a long silence, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you wanted the answer.

Sebastian’s gaze flickered, his deep blue eyes searching yours. “Because,” he said softly, a hint of something more in his voice, something unspoken, “I couldn’t let you go.”

There was something in the way he looked at you, an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. You couldn’t understand it, the pull between you two, but it was undeniable. He had saved you—not just from drowning, but from something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name.

For now, you let the quiet peace of the ocean surround you, content in his presence, even as the necklace drifted farther into the depths, lost but somehow no longer the most important thing in your heart.

You finally took the time to admire his large form, he was as pretty as the mermaids from the childhood stories, as gentle looking as the ocean and his eyes, his eyes were like the ones of a god. You never saw someone like him before, but he mesmerized you.

He had placed you back into your boat, his hand lingered a bit longer on your cheek than anticipated and you could feel a mutual spark between you two.

[mukumukunomi]

From: Your Heart To: Mine

cw: Luffy x fem!reader, romantic pining, long-distance relationship, Wano arc spoilers?, loose cannon compliance (follows cannon loosely).

wc: 2,394k

a/n: Last fic of the year! Mainly just me putting a bunch of ideas into a quick story and will probably have a few more parts in the future. I had several hc's of Luffy being in a relationship with someone far away and someone who he didn't ask to join his crew, and why that might be. And then I had the idea of long-distance penpals and protective!Luffy reunions so it just spiraled from there. Hope you enjoy it, Happy New Year! :)

Part 1

Part 2 (TBD)

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

Luffy shifts in anticipation. “Where is it?”

Dark orbs scan the horizon, mouth chewing loudly on a sandwich as his legs swing over the side of the crow’s nest. It’s a relatively calm day on the Grand Line. The Thousand Sunny’s hull breaks the azure waves as they crest, leaving a wake of churned water behind. Their trail is swiftly swept away by the tides into a stretch of blue on blue. A blurred line where the sea meets the sky. It is only broken by the speckle of fluffy white clouds that lazily trek above him.

In other words, the perfect day for a News Coo to appear.

The bird’s last appearance is fuzzy in his memory. Was it last week? Last month? When was the last time his bounty had gone up? The fact he doesn’t remember concerns him because it means there’s been no news from you in a long while. He only pays attention when there’s something from you.

He yawns, staring up at the sun currently hidden behind a large cloud. The days seem to stretch longer without you. Your island may be far away now, but he can almost feel your presence as if right beside him. What were you doing? What was the last tasty thing you ate? Did you spill three or four bottles of ink today?

Not knowing is its own form of torture. It’s hard to not miss you in the moments where something strikes him with your familiarity. Blue skies remind him of your little blue house on the island. The stars remind him of the lake. The patch of grass that spans Sunny’s deck reminds him of your garden. And Robin’s books remind him of the papers and ink littered across your kitchen table. 

There was no way of knowing then how those small letters in your handwriting would become such a crucial part of his life. In a way, they became points of time where his adventure reconnected to yours. Snippets of your life he would have never known about if you hadn’t logged it for him to see. 

Flapping wings catches his attention as a beak snatches the sandwich from his hand.

“Hey!”

The large gull swoops downwards, landing awkwardly on deck. It narrowly misses hitting Brook, who’s tuning his violin strings, and swerves over to where Nami’s lounging on the deck under an umbrella with Sanji serving beverages. It swallows the half-eaten sandwich whole just as Luffy lands with a thud next to it.

“Give it back!” He yells, grabbing the bird by the neck and shaking it. It doesn’t discourage the creature to hack it up in the slightest.

Nami’s annoyed gaze meets his as she fans herself in the heat. She fishes into her pocket for a moment before extending her hands towards them in a gesturing motion. The flash of something shiny focuses the bird’s attention. “Bring it here, Luffy.”

He grumbles, but obliges. Nami slots the berry into the bag around the News Coo’s neck, then holds her hand out expectantly. The gull drops the newspaper into her open palm. Nami doesn’t retract, leveling a stare at the bird. “Anything else?”

It shakes its head.

The redhead’s frown deepens as she sets the newspaper in her lap. She sits up, flicking another golden coin into the air almost threateningly. “Are you sure? Those letters with the star symbol on them? You didn’t drop it, did you?”

The bird reaffirms its previous gesture with a vigorous shake of its head under her intense glare. It takes Luffy a moment to realize what exactly it means.

No letter.

He drops the bird abruptly as disappointment bubbles inside him. The avian lets out a yelp as Luffy turns to walk dejectedly away, missing the way his navigator’s face falls as he does so. 

“Listen here,” Nami’s voice echoes behind him, now shaking the bird in the same way Luffy had, “You’re going to deliver this letter to Starcleaved Island. Expedited. And don’t return until you bring back news about our friend.”

Luffy registers the sound of several coins before the bird takes off above him again. He feels limbless as he climbs up the stairs towards the back of the boat, drifting his way into the library filled with dusty books and laid out sketches of archeological sites. Robin smiles gently at him as he sinks into a chair next to her. “Can I help you, captain?”

“Oi, Robin, can I see Y/N’s letters again?”

Robin clearly wants to say something, but at the last moment turns to grab a familiar blue leather tome from the shelf behind her. He gently thumbs to the most recent entry, earmarked and already worn from how many times he’s turned to it. Luffy takes a moment to appreciate the way the letter is adhered to the page of the book, obviously done with care in the experienced hands of his archeologist. Without Robin, these letters would have probably ended up lost. It had been her idea to keep them in something more sustainable. 

But the thought is fleeting as his eyes are once again drawn to the top of the last entry:

Luffy, It’s been a long while since you and the crew left. How is everyone? Are they still eating well? You haven’t eaten all of the food I gave you already have you? What adventures have you had since we last spoke?  I’m doing much better now that I’ve gotten over that nasty cold I caught right at the start of the season. Please thank Chopper for the medicinal recipe he sent with your letter last time. Oh! And Sanji’s soup recipe! They were lifesavers! Though, I do wish I were eating it with you. Like when you were here. We had so much fun. We couldn’t keep Zoro and Franky from the alcohol. And Usopp did that weird dance to Brook’s song. Do you remember that? Hopefully, Nami was able to use that note I made. Forgery is all fun and games until you actually have to convince people the documents you write are real. But we know Nami is sneaky, and I’m the best forger there is. There’s no way my handiwork is discernible. You can’t tell the real from my fakes. I thought a lot about what you said. I think maybe you’re right.  I’ve heard Dressarosa has become a really beautiful place after all the unrest there. (Although, I wonder who’s responsible for that?) Maybe I can extend my business further out into the world. Smuggled goods receipt, fake invitations, not-so-deceased wills…my hand itches just thinking about it. Sincerely yours, Y/N P.S Your handwriting has gotten better. Robin must be really patient to get you to sit for more than five minutes. P.P.S You know, I still haven’t been able to get that stain out from where you spilled the red ink. You owe me a new rug.

He notes the date, questioning eyes meeting Robin’s. “How long has it been since we got this letter?”

Robin hums in thought. “About three months.”

No letter from you in almost three months. It wasn’t like you at all. Not with all the previous letters filling up more than half the book already. 

“We’re all worried.” Robin says gently, comfortingly.

 He speaks slowly, eyes not leaving the page. “Y/N can take care of herself. She’s strong.”

He’d already accepted the risks when parting separate ways. He was on his own adventure, and you were on yours. That fact doesn’t stop the ache you leave behind. 

“She would have loved to come with us.” The raven-haired woman muses, flipping to the page of her text where she had left off. It’s both a statement and a question that’s left unanswered as the room goes quiet. 

But Robin's words stick like glue to his mind in the silence. It’s rare for him to reflect on past decisions. He’s not the type to regret. “I know.”

He knew not extending an offer to you had hurt you. Knew how much you would have loved to come. But it hadn’t felt right at the time. Joining his crew wasn’t something you needed. Not in the same way as the rest of the crew. They had been nobodies to the rest of the world. Adrift with no sense of purpose. He had seen their potential and felt their worth through their grit. Each of his current shipmates needed this crew, and this crew only, to realize that. Luffy sensed you already had determined your purpose long ago without them. 

Still, he did need you. In what capacity, he didn’t know. He vowed that once he became the King of the Pirates, he’d circle back down the Grand Line to see you. Perhaps, he’d figure out this feeling in his chest that he hadn’t been able to shake since leaving Starcleaved Island.

***

Well, this was splendid.

You huff in annoyance as you sit in the dingy cell, footsteps loudly clanging from the deck above. It was damp and dark here. You didn't know how long you hadn't showered, nor the last time you saw the sun. The only light source came from the gaps between the floorboards. A slit beam of it shone directly on you, and you savor the sun’s warm comfort as you muse about your predicament.

Starcleaved Island was a peaceful respite on the Grand Line, famed mainly for its phenomena of meteor showers. Boats would go out into the middle of a large lake, which spanned nearly a quarter of the center of the island’s mass, to sight see the recurring celestial objects that streaked across the sky. It was told that once, long ago, a meteor fell and 'cleaved' a hole in the center of the island, which eventually became the lake. You had grown up standing next to that body of water, wishing on those shooting stars, for as long as you could remember. You and your little blue house next to it.

Everything changed when they came. When he came. When Luffy appeared on the shores of the lake next to your house. Half-drowned and soaking to the bone on that brisk morning. You had gotten your first look of one of the most infamous pirates of the sea, besides the ones on wanted posters.

He had been adorable. Was still adorable to you.

You feel yourself flush as the thought permeates your reminiscing. Goosebumps unrelated to the dampness in the air radiate along your skin as you recall his smile and boyish charm. You miss him. There wasn’t a moment since his departure that you didn’t. There was something gravitating to his existence, as if the entire world centered itself on him. He was frightening, quite frankly. All that power and influence in the hands of an idiot. 

Of course each new wanted poster of that adorable idiot went on your fridge for you to ogle. You couldn't resist.

But how in the world did you get such rotten luck? You had just saved up a month’s worth of expenses for travel for a new business venture to Dressarosa when these pirates raided your hometown. And taken you, unfortunately.

The wayward thoughts are broken up by the sound of something clanging against the metal bars of your cell. Narrow eyes glance at you from the other side, a sneer on the pirate’s lips as he spits a wad of chewing tobacco onto the floor. “Girlie, you feel like talkin’ yet?”

You frown, crossing your arms.

The pirate grumbles something under his breath. “Two months of silence isn’t going to bring you back to that shoddy little island we found you at.”

You feel the emotion bubble in your chest, just managing to swallow the sob that wants to tear its way from your throat. That was your shoddy little island. How dare he take you from it?

The man sticks his pinkie-finger in his ear and wiggles it. “Perhaps you’ll talk when we tell ya where we are. Ever heard of Wano, girlie?”

You blink. Wano? The samurai country? From what you understand, they were mostly closed off from the rest of the world. It was at least a three month's travel away from home!

“We’ve got our weapon materials to sell. And unless you want to join the fishes, you’ll forge those documents to say we’re a spice ship.”

You felt your lip curl in disgust. Weapons for what? “How do you even know I-”

“Your bag’s filled with all kinds of unfinished notes for entry into Dressarosa. Quite good.”

You curse. Discretion was gone, it seemed. “I don’t extend my services to scum.”

The brute simply smiles at the rasp of your voice. “I-”

“Captain!”

The man turns at the sound of the voice coming from the deck above. He cranes his neck upwards at the helmsman. Sucking air through the gap in his teeth, the captain calls wearily. “Whaddya’ want!?”

The helmsman’s voice echoes down loudly over the sound of the waves against the hull. “The barrelman spotted a pirate ship crashed on the shore where we were to drop anchor.”

“So what?!”

“The Jolly Roger…it’s the flag of the Strawhats, sir!” 

Your heart skips a beat. The Sunny was here?

The captain blinks with mouth agape as he processes the information. “We…” The man scratches at the scruff on his chin, “We’ll go around it. We’ll pull into port instead.”

“But, sir, without the documents there will be suspicion…”

Your voice comes out louder than you intend. “I’ll do it.”

The captain turns to you quizzically. You clear your throat. “You have example documents, right? I can do it in an hour…unless you broke the inks in my bag.”

There’s suspicion in the man’s gaze. “Really?”

“I don’t work for free. I have one condition: You let me walk away once we dock.”

A laugh that sounds like a pitiful cough erupts from him. “Ha! You know what you’re asking for? If you stay here you won’t be able to leave! You’ll never leave Wano’s borders alive!”

It takes all your strength not to shake anxiously. “Do we have a deal?”

The captain shakes his head as he walks away, chuckling. “Your funeral, girlie.”

You watch him ascend to the deck, letting out a sigh of relief once the trapdoor is shut. Your palms press gently onto your eyeballs as you try to fight the wave of nausea rolling over you.

Sunny was here. Luffy was here.

You had to get away from these people quickly and find him. No matter what it took.

[bluebellofbakerstreet]

A-Z Sherlock Fan Fiction Tropes Bingo

Many thanks to @swissmissing for creating this bingo card! Because I'm like that, I decided to go for a blackout bingo! And because, even as I was typing these, I kept thinking of more wonderful fics that would fit the brief, I hope to fill in my bingo card again. Writers are amazing and deserve to be lauded, and I have left off so many amazing fics and authors. Besides, we all need fic recs. 💙

AU/Amnesia The Murder of Emory J Amat by chriscalledmesweetie. Sherlock and John in 1920's AgathaChristieLand. It's a WIP but is currently updating weekly. (52k, T)

BDSM/Bodyswap - Certain Skills by NoStraightLine. John expressly told Sherlock that if he stole his gun again he’d get the fucking he was asking for. Sherlock “Boundaries Are Boring” Holmes stole John’s gun. (3k, E)

Crossover/Crack - Repo Men by Anyawen. In which Mrs Turner's married ones are James Bond and Q. Q is kidnapped; everybody is a BAMF. (7k, G)

Domestic/Disability A Building of Bridges by pengke. Alternate first meeting. No one would ever send Sherlock in to defuse a stand-off; but on one unlikely day, that’s exactly what happened. “Congratulations, Lestrade,��� he called out sarcastically. “You’re traumatizing a war veteran.” (11k, G)

Established Relationship/Enemies to Lovers - Interview by bluebellofbakerstreet. In which the boys are in an 80's punk band, and are being interviewed by Rolling Stone. (2k, G)

Future/Fluff 50. Be You - No one Else Can by KittenKin. John's had a bad day and Sherlock doesn't know how to help. They both feel better at the end, and you will, too. (1k, G)

Gen/Genderswap - The Art of Communication by stillwaters01. Lestrade is receiving odd texts from Sherlock; he reads between the lines and brings help. (2k, T)

Historical/Humor - Acceptable Behavior by bbcatemysoul. Sherlock isn't really sure why John wants to shag him, but he's certain that if he's careful to behave properly about it, John can be persuaded to keep doing it. (3k, M)

Illness/imprisonment -  Radioactive Trees in a Red Forest by Maribor_Petrichor. Harrowing account of John's battle with mental health issues and addiction after - you know - everything. (280k, E)

Jealousy/Jilted - Hungry by LipstickDaddy. John can't figure out why Sherlock is being so nice to that new guy working with the yard. (7k, G)

Kids/Kink - The Alchemy of Sea Glass by reveling_in_mayhem. Salt and air and sand surrounded their little party of three. Crashing waves, gull cries, and the exhilarated exclamations of an excited three-year-old served as the soundtrack to a day filled with blue skies and bright sunshine. (22k, E)

Long/Love Triangle The Edinburgh Problem by snorklepie. “A nice holiday, just a bit more...murdery. ” John said drily. “Yes! The best kind of holiday!” Sherlock beamed. “So we won’t get bored!” (152k, E)

Magical Realism/Major Character Death Left by LifeonMars. John Watson is left-handed. He’s tried not to let it affect his life, but as any Lefty knows, that’s almost impossible. (45k, M)

NSFW/Next Gen. Warzone by abundantlyqueer. Three smutty stories that pick up where the first two episodes left off. (13k, E)

Omegaverse/Only One Bed - Scars Don't Lie by CumberCurlyGirl. The prospect of going undercover as husbands to a couples retreat is just too enticing to refuse. (33k, M)

Parenthood/Platonic The Man With the Cartier Frames by JRow. Sherlock's top priority is The Work, just as it's always been ... in between trips to Putney to help with Rosie, collecting Rosie from school, and preparing for Rosie's sleepover at Baker Street. (32k, T)

Queer/Quest Dance With Me by TotallySilverGirl. Sherlock's queer quest for johnlock requires dancing, and some help from Sally Donovan. (28k, E)

Retirement/Road Trip - The Winter Garden by Callie4180. As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he's given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing. Almost...magical. (31k, T)

Soulmates/Slow Burn Soul Mate by Mottlemoth. Mystrade. The words appeared on Mycroft's arm aged fourteen. He's now lived with the unfortunate words all his life, not certain that he even wishes to meet his soul mate if that's how the man talks. (4k, T)

Teen AU/Time Travel - The Curious Adventure of the Drs Watson by ShinySherlock. What if ACD Watson and BBC Watson switched places? (40k, M)

Undercover/Unrequited - Last Call at the Homesick Pub by Chryse. During the hiatus, Sherlock is both undercover and suffering from unrequited love. (3k, T)

Vampires/Villain POV - Nine Tenths of the Law by bendingsignpost. John knows what's his - of course he'll kill for it. (Modern vampire AU) (18k, M)

Whump/Werewolves When Your Belly’s in the Trench by Morgan_Stuart. The next time that door opens, John Watson will kill the person on the other side. (4k, T)

Xenomorphism/Xmas - Ghost Stories by SwissMiss. Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something. (22k, M)

Zombies/Zoomorphism - Aim for the Head by Breath4Soul. Sometimes you don't really find yourself until everything has ended.A fic about finding love, healing, and purpose after everything has gone to hell. Still a WIP, but worth it. (44k, M)

[juustozzi]

Your winged people AU is so cool, and the concept of anyone having certain bird's wings sounds kinda cute; and tbh I just love whenever Tenma is associated with birds or wings in general, it fits him a lot n.n

I saw you made Kirino and Shindou as winged people too, and was wondering what birds you think would fit the other members of Raimon, out of curiosity

hello, thank you so much!! shoutout to the person who dropped the first ask about Tenma with wings that caused this to snowball, haha!

this au has separated into two in my head; the one where the plot-ish drawings are set in, where only people with bird association have wings, and then there's the side where picking and designing wings is fun and anyone could have a pair! but the line is blurry because this is all just for the funsies c:

here's my personal favourite picks - oriental stork and malabar parakeet! some characters were harder to find a match for, and please share if you have opinions about these or your own ideas! full team list under cut 👇 (also let me know if you want me to draw someone else from the list!)

Sangoku: oriental stork

Kurumada: greater roadrunner

Amagi: shoebill

Shinsuke: tree swallow

Hamano: black-headed gull

Hayami: manx shearwater

Kurama: jackdaw

Aoyama: eurasian coot

Ichino: piping plover

Nishiki: great blue heron

Kariya: malabar parakeet

Hikaru: little blue penguin

Tsurugi: taiwan blue magpie

and the ones I've done before:

Tenma: bar-tailed godwit

Shindou: peacock

Kirino: anna's hummingbird

[hopefuloverfury]

Hi moot! Hope you're doing well! <:)

Can i request about pilot harvey meeting the farmer (GN) ? (Those HCs about the bachelors archieving their dreams is living rent free in my head for a while )

Maybe harvey taking a break from aviation after an accident and spending some time in pelican town to rest ? 👀

It could be HCs or a little oneshot, whatever you're comfortable with!

(If Anything just sorry in advance)

Hey moot! This one was a monster, and it took me fucking ages(sorry abt that), but I hope you like it all the same!!

Bachelor/ettes Achieving Their Dreams is here.

3296 words, mentions of scarring, burns, fire, some swearing, and Pierre's relationship with Abigail is pretty... not nice. GN!Farmer, Pilot!Harvey. Half edited, so excuse any awkward phrasing or typos. I tried my best. :') This one is pretty lengthy, so it gets a cut. Enjoy!

When the creatures of the valley are sleeping, and the streetlights lining the town square still glow faintly, Harvey wakes up and starts his day.

Like clockwork, he rolls out of bed to wash the sleep out of his eyes and shock his body awake with a shower. It’s a routine he picked up in the early years of his career, when he was lowest in seniority and always stuck with the longest and earliest flights. Sixteen years later and he still does it, even though there’s no reason to wake up early anymore.

Hopping out of the shower at half past five, he wrings the water out of his curls with a towel, and plucks his glasses from where he left them folded neatly on a washcloth. He wipes vapor off of the lenses with it, holds them up to the light to make sure they’re dry, and then settles them on his nose.

The world turns clear, and a flash of pearly white at the front of his bangs catches his attention. Harvey frowns.

He’s lucky his hairline isn’t receding just yet, but he scowls at how his age is starting to show in the streaks of white, in sharp contrast against the rest of his chocolate brown hair. He flicks a dangling curl away from his brow, and leans in close to the mirror, eyeing his jawline in disappointment. He runs a palm over the curve of his cheek, and sighs.

He needs to shave again.

Well, need is a strong word, because he doesn’t—not anymore, anyway. But old habits die hard.

That takes at least ten minutes, and he’s been shaving every other day for half of his life, but he’s still nursing a nick under his jaw as he walks into the kitchenette. The apartment is cool compared to the sauna he’s made of the bathroom, and his skin blooms with goosebumps when he opens the fridge.

He drags out the almost empty carton of eggs from the back of the top shelf, and pulls a pack of bread from the other side. There are two slices left, not counting the ends. He sighs, and knows he’ll have to pick up groceries from Pierre’s in a few hours when the shop opens. Harvey digs the last of his coffee grounds out of the cabinet above the stove. He’ll need to pick up another bag of those as well, and his head twinges at the thought. His grocery list is getting longer the more he thinks about it.

He shakes the thoughts away. Coffee and food first, before everything else.

He fries up the last of the eggs, toasts and lightly butters the bread, and sits at his tiny dining table with a full mug. The window beside him is closed and the curtains are pulled, but the cloth is sheer enough that he can look outside and see the world slowly start to wake up. There are chittering finches in the tree branches, a brown rabbit hopping through the underbrush of Jodi’s backyard, and if he straightens up enough, he can see pure white gulls gliding over the deep stretch of blue beyond Pelican Town’s beaches.

He eats slowly, gazing out the window as the sun finally rises above the mountains and bathes the valley in soft yellow light. 

Harvey smiles and pulls the curtains back. It’s still too cold to slide the window open—the valley is just three weeks out of winter, and you’d have to be a madman to subject yourself to the early morning chill—but the warmth of the sun should reach him through the glass just fine. He picks up his mug and takes a swig, settling in for his breakfast overlooking Pelican Town.

The peace is short-lived, however. By half past 8, his dishes are empty and clean in the rack adjacent to the sink, and his computer is on the table, open to a 3-day-old email from Steph, his coworker. He scrolls up to the beginning of the message and skims over it again.

Hey Harv, just checking in again. How are you doing these days? How are your arms? Has your back healed? I’m sure you’re following doctor’s orders, but I wanted to check in to be sure. By the way, I talked to Ricky yesterday, and he says he’s doing good, but he hasn’t heard from you in months. I don’t mean to pry, and you know I don’t mind the radio silence, but he’s your best friend, Harv... Reach out to him, will you? He misses you. We all do. Even the trainees have been asking about you (I think they just miss getting drinks on your dime though). Take care of yourself, maybe go outside for a bit, you old fart. I’ve heard the weather in the south is lovely this time of year. Send me some pictures, okay? Talk soon.

Harvey sighs and runs an exasperated hand over his face. 

How is he doing?

His back still aches occasionally, but Caroline’s aerobics class helps with the worst of the pain, and the burns on his arms healed a long time ago. The scars are a nasty reminder, sure, but his skin doesn’t feel tender to the touch anymore.

Point is, he could schedule a physical tomorrow, and his doctor would clear him for flight by the end of next week—but that’s kind of the problem.

Harvey looks at his coat closet. In the farthest corner, hidden under his uniforms, his model kits collect dust. He threw everything in there when he first arrived in the valley, and he’s pretty sure he’d have to lean all of his weight back just to get the door open. He goes tense when he hears an engine in the sky, but he doesn’t look up anymore. 

Harvey pauses. 

When did he stop?

He glances at the time, and closes his computer with a sigh. His chair makes an awful screech against the tile as he stands, and he beelines for his dresser, yanking the top drawer open to grab the first barely presentable thing he sees. An old university t-shirt; one of the few with no holes. 

He tosses it on his bed, swipes the top pair of jeans out of his hamper, and unravels his robe.

Harvey gets dressed quickly and only spares himself a quick glance in the mirror to check that everything is sitting fine. It’s certainly not the picture of professionalism expected by his employers, but they’re not here, so as long as he doesn’t look like he’s just rolled out of bed, that’s good enough.

Harvey slips on his most comfortable pair of shoes, shoves his wallet and keys in his pocket, and steps outside.

The sun assaults his pupils as he makes his way down the stairs, and he squints against the glare until his eyes adjust. It’s nicer out now, and he breathes in the sweet smell of tulips—Evelyn’s flowers of choice this year for the planters lining the square. The dogwood trees are also blooming, leaving the cobblestone littered with white and pink petals. Harvey closes his eyes and inhales slowly, feeling peaceful.

“Shit!—”

Harvey jumps, his eyes flying open in surprise at the sound of wood thunking against glass, heavy like a gong. A few birds leap from their perches in the trees, and a squirrel dives under a bush. He turns to Pierre’s, searching for the source of the sound, and finds a stranger with a giant crate in their arms, fighting to balance it as they reach for the doors. 

Harvey realizes that it is not one, but two crates. 

Stacked on top of each other. 

One of them is starting to tip over.

“Woah, woah!” They yelp, and Harvey moves without thinking.

The grit of the wood presses against his palms as he heaves the top crate out of their arms, and he looks at the stranger with a smile.

“Uh, hello,” Harvey says. They blink, perfectly silent, and he grimaces. “Sorry, you looked like you were going to lose it.”

It’s not as smooth as he’d like, but it does snap them out of whatever trance they were in.

“Oh, no! Thank you for saving it, it would’ve been bad if I lost that one. It’s, uh.” They smile, and there’s an anxious edge to their voice. “That one’s full of eggs.”

Harvey blinks down at the crate, and then the pavement. “I can’t imagine the mess that would’ve made.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Pierre would ever buy from me again.” They wince. “He probably wouldn’t let me near his shop at all, actually.”

“That man does know how to hold a grudge.” Harvey glances at the doors, the glass glinting and reflecting the bright morning sun directly in his eyes. He blinks hard, willing the after images away. “I’m just here to pick up some groceries, but would you like some help bringing these in?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to, but I’d be very grateful if you did, stranger.” They smile. Something warm settles in his gut at the invitation.

“My name is Harvey,” He says sheepishly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Harvey. I’m the new farmer.” Harvey doesn’t bother mentioning he never met the old one. They nod at the dirt path leading to the bus stop, and he glances over his shoulder. “I moved into the farmhouse down the road a few weeks ago.”

His eyebrows wrinkle a bit. “You moved in a few weeks ago and I’ve only just met you?” 

“I’ve been pretty busy. The farm wasn’t in the best shape, so I’ve been clearing the land, and trying to raise enough money to restore the farmhouse.” The Farmer lifts the crate in their arms a bit. “Hence the crates.” 

Harvey looks down at the crate in his arms. “How many chickens do you even have? There’s like fifty eggs in here.”

“I started off with two, but I’ve got eight now. They make a lot.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Harvey readjusts the crate, a burn building in his arms. He’s surprised it took so long, though. Maybe the aerobics class is doing more for him than just fixing the back pain.

Harvey nearly topples backward as the front doors swing open, but rights himself at the last moment. The crate of eggs remains safe in his arms, even though the glare that Abigail fixes him with makes his knees weak, and the sword strapped to her hip doesn’t help, either.

“Harvey,” she grits out, and he thinks it might be a greeting? 

He doesn’t have the opportunity to reply, though, because she levels the farmer with an even nastier scowl, and storms off toward Marnie’s. Pierre appears just then, keys in hand and a matching scowl on his face. Harvey doesn’t have to wonder where Abigail got it from.

“Fucking brat,” Pierre spits, jamming the keys into the front doors to unlock them as Harvey and the Farmer share an awkward look.

“Uh, rough morning, Pierre?” The Farmer asks.

“That would be the understatement of the fucking century, Farmer.” Pierre waves them in, and Harvey follows dutifully. The general store is always warmer than it is outside, and in the winter that’s a boon, but right now Harvey can already feel sweat clinging to the nape of his neck. He rolls his shoulders back, and that helps only marginally. “What have you got for me today?”

“One crate of eggs, one of produce.”

“Good. Set them both on the counter. I’ll get my scale and ring you up.”

“Yes sir,” The farmer heaves their crate onto the counter beside Pierre’s register, and Harvey sets the eggs beside it as gently as he can. When he looks up, the door to Pierre’s home is swinging shut.

“Wow. This spat must’ve been really bad if Pierre is cursing,” The Farmer muses, crossing their arms and leaning against the counter. 

“I've never seen him this angry.” Harvey heaves a breath. “I wonder what happened this time.”

“I'm not close with either of them, so I couldn’t guess.” The Farmer shrugs.

“I didn’t think you were,” Harvey whistles. “Certainly not Abigail, with the way she looked at you. What did you even do?”

The Farmer sighs. “Lewis thinks it’s because she wanted to buy the deed to the old farm, and is pissed that I got it through birth.” 

“And what do you think?” Harvey asks.

They shrug again. “I’m not about to hunt her down to find out.”

“She’d probably cut you down if you did,” Harvey says grimly, shuddering at the memory of the sword gleaming on her hip. The Farmer chuckles. 

“She could certainly try.” The Farmer rolls their eyes, a smug smile playing on their lips, and Harvey suddenly gets the sense that he is very, very out of his depth. They look at him curiously after the silence stretches for a few moments longer than necessary, and Harvey swallows hard.

“Groceries.” He says intelligently, and the Farmer’s eyes slowly crinkle at the edges. 

“That is what you originally came here for.”

“I should go do that.”

“You should.” The Farmer nods, their smile unmoving, and Harvey stiffly makes his way to the end of the first aisle.

He can feel the Farmer’s eyes on him the whole way, his eyes skimming the shelf as he tries very hard to ignore the prickling heat climbing up his neck. He slips out of sight, rubs the back of his neck as the feeling disappears, and starts looking for his coffee.

The door in the far corner of the shop swings open again, and Pierre waltzes back into the store with an easy smile on his face. Harvey really should be used to the mood swings by now, but when Pierre’s entire personality changes with the breeze, the whiplash is enough to leave everything spinning.

“Sorry for the wait, Farmer. My scale wasn’t where I left it.”

“Oh, no worries, Pierre. I’m in no rush.”

“No offense, but I don’t believe you,” Pierre jokes. “You’re always in a rush.”

“Not today, thankfully. I’m spending the rest of the day at the beach.”

Harvey hears Pierre clunk his scale on the counter. “The beach? It’s still a bit too cold to take a dip, isn’t it?”

“Oh no, I’m not going swimming, I’m fishing.”

Harvey’s never been the type to eavesdrop, but the store is small and they’re not even ten feet away, so he doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter, does he?

He frowns. It’s a poor excuse and he knows it.

He refocuses on the bags in front of him, and sighs. Pierre has a small selection of coffee, and it’s expensive, but it’s better than Joja. Harvey shudders. He would rather pour hot wax on his own tongue than buy coffee from Joja.

Harvey grabs two bags of beans, stands up, and plucks one loaf of plain white bread from the top shelf. He glances down at everything in his arms. He probably should’ve grabbed a basket.

“Alright, that's the last of it!”

“Thank you, Pierre, I appreciate it.” Harvey perks up.

“Oh no, it’s no trouble at all. Your farm is already doing a lot of good for the local economy, even with that cursed Joja Mart across the river.” Harvey nearly snorts. No one in town is as vocal about their hatred for the big blue building as Pierre.

“Give it time, Pierre. It’ll close down eventually.”

“In a perfect world, it never would’ve opened in the first place.”

“Have a good day, Pierre,” The Farmer calls over their shoulder, and Harvey tenses when he realizes the sound of their steps is getting closer. Harvey looks up, and the Farmer is smiling at him, half concealed by the rack as they peer around the corner. “Hey.”

“Uh, hi again.” Harvey manages a tiny wave past everything in his arms, and the Farmer’s smile widens.

“Just wanted to thank you again for the help,” The Farmer says warmly. Harvey opens his mouth to reply, wanting to say something about it being no trouble, but they’re already dipping out of sight. Regret sours in his throat. 

But then they’re reappearing a moment later, still leaning past the corner of the aisle like they’re in some goofy movie poster, with a basket hanging from their hand. “Need a basket?”

Harvey wonders if the twitch of his lips is visible under the fluff of his mustache, and walks up to them. “I do, thank you.”

“I think this is the least I can do, considering.” The Farmer holds it out to him, keeping the handles out of his way as he dumps the bags of coffee and bread into the basket. “I would’ve lost a lot of income if you hadn’t lent me a hand when you did, so thank you.”

“It wasn’t any trouble.”

“Maybe not, but I appreciate you all the same. It’s nice being out here, surrounded by people who actually give a damn about each other.” Harvey stares at them in surprise. “Even the nicest people in Zuzu wouldn’t have given me a second glance.”

“You’re from the city?”

They nod. “Not by birth, but yeah. I was living in Zuzu for a few years until now.”

Harvey takes in their sunkissed skin, and the sturdiness of their arms. They look like they’ve been in the fields for years. “I never would’ve guessed.”

“That’s probably a good thing.” They hold his basket out again, and Harvey takes it.

“Thank you, Farmer.”

They smile, and the flecks of dirt on their face catch his eyes like diamonds. “You’re welcome. Have a good day, Harvey. It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Harvey mumbles as they finally leave, the bell above the doors cheerily punctuating their departure. 

It takes him a long time to shake himself out of it, but he manages eventually. Harvey plucks a few extra things off the shelves, and when his basket is appropriately heavy, he makes his way to the counter where Pierre is busy separating eggs into cartons.

“Morning, Harvey,” Pierre greets him familiarly, and Harvey nods his head.

“Morning, Pierre.” Harvey clunks his basket on the counter. “Can I get two cartons of eggs too, please?”

Pierre checks him out quickly, and Harvey is out of there two minutes later with his arms full and his wallet a little lighter.

He climbs up the steps to his apartment, and pauses at his door. He looks up toward the bus stop; squints hard to see past it. The trees block most of his view, but he can still make out the hint of open farmland between the branches. Harvey blinks and turns to his door, his keys jingling obnoxiously between his fingertips as he unlocks it and steps inside. He’s being weird.

He sets his bags on the kitchen counter and starts unloading his groceries.

Later, just past noon, Harvey is sitting in front of his computer, once again failing to type up a worthwhile reply to Steph. He gets a sentence down, maybe two, and then he’s grumbling to himself and deleting everything again. And again. And again.

And again.

Harvey thunks his head against the tabletop in defeat, and groans loudly.

“This isn’t working,” Harvey mumbles, as if the world needed any confirmation. 

He sits up, his forehead aching faintly, and looks out the window. Beyond the square, beyond the thick line of trees, he can see the ocean glittering under the sun, deep blue and endless.

All it takes is a tug in his chest, and Harvey gets up, puts his shoes on, and walks out the door.

[weird-an]

The sun has painted more freckles on Billy's face and turned his skin golden. He waves at Steve when he comes back with their fries and drinks, still splashing in the water. Hawkins seems so far away, a gray memory. Fighting monsters a fever dream during a heat stroke.

Billy swimming in the ocean is a sight. He belongs here. Steve never wants to miss it again. He quickly grabs the polaroid camera Robin got him.

The picture is a bit blurry, Steve isn't the best photographer. But he can still see Billy's mullet against the dark blue sea and that's what matters.

"I'm starving," Billy yells when he comes out of the water. "What took you so long?"

The water drops are shimmering on his skin when he returns to Steve. He sprawls himself out on the towel next to him, limbs long and lazy, like a giant cat. His scars have faded into silver lines, crashing together just underneath his sternum. The skin is numb there, Billy tells him, but Steve still kisses his scars every day.

"The line was endless," Steve says, handing him his fries and the chocolate bar Billy tears open and devours immediately.

"I don't want it to melt," he tells Steve, like he hasn't the biggest sweet tooth Steve has ever seen.

"Sure," Steve says, munching his fries. He has a second chocolate bar in his bag, he'll give to him later.

A sea gull steals one of Billy's fries.

"You fucker!" Billy yells after it, flipping it off. Steve snaps another polaroid, shaking with laughter. Surprisingly, this photo is better.

Billy still has a fry dangling from his lip like a cigarette and already begins to steal Steve's food. Steve wouldn't want to have it any other way.

He's going to make a photo album. "California, summer of '86". It's fucking cheesy, but he wants to keep these moments forever. Billy will probably pretend not to care about the album, but put glitter on the pages and draw tiny dicks in neon colors on it.

Maybe they should move here.

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Weekly Rituals

After Scotland is swept out to sea, England is taken by some kindly villagers to the sea every week; It is equal parts to grieve, as much as it is to ensure that he does not fear the sea.

‘’It’ll be okay, lad.’’ Sighed the sea, as it lapped patiently against the boat, in his brother’s voice.

The sky was drawn across the horizon like a woollen shawl, and the wind ran icy-fingers through his  hair. The wood creaked beneath the white of his knuckles - England’s eyes drawn and as miserable as oysters; watery, grey and dire. The miserable soul huddled at the end of the boat simply looking wretchedly towards the waning land - as they were both slowly swallowed up by the sea and sky (two halves of a jaw closing around them). Gulls wheeled overhead, lazy and lofty as they skimmed the bobbing waves with raucous cries, England propping his chin in the palm of his hand as they continued to sail through this world of blue, grey and white. A net strewn out from the side of the boat, lazily gathering reams of silvery fish that moved in sinuous, almost-hypnotising motion; The rivers had been dwindling lately, and England’s taste of fish was beginning to become increasingly confined to midday daydreams of carp and trout. ‘’Ælfric…’’ He whined plaintively, swaying from side-to-side as the boat rocked in the sea’s drifting motion, salt clinging to his cheeks. ‘’...I want to…I need to go back. Please.’’ They had been hunting for oysters and mussels and whelks, for samphire. And now…

The fisherman looked on solemnly, as the cliffs slipped further and further away. ‘’It’ll be okay. Just…’’ He sucked in a draw of air between his crooked teeth, as his passenger whined from the bow, a weariness set deep into the furrows of his face. ‘’...Just keep looking at the sea, Edmund.’’ It had only been a few weeks since the boy’s brother had been lost, swallowed in the night by pitch-dark waters. They weren’t farmers, not since the fields had been burned. ‘’Isn’t it beautiful, lad? Keep looking, it’s important.’’ A pale-white sun pierced the clouds, lifting the early morning drizzle from the surface of the waters, revealing a mosaic of greens and blues. ‘’Keep-’’ 

England squeezed his eyes shut, trembling. ‘’Take me back, Ælfric’’ Puffs of sea-spray tousled his hair, and the boat slowly took on a more brotherly motion (perched on Scotland’s shoulders, as they walked by the river - swaying lightly from side to side, the sunlight golden on their cheeks). ‘’Please.’’ England clenched his fists, nails digging into the soft palms of his hands, as the sea continued to roll the boat gently from side to side (his brother - walking again, telling him about the lines upon lines of neatly arranged soldiers he had faced down; Silver swords and brassy confidence) Most likely a story, some fib Scotland had told him to make him seem cooler - but, England missed those right now, with a stone-heavy ache in his ribs. ‘’I need to go back-!’’ 

An unexpected sob caught England in the chest, like knuckles meeting his heart.

‘’You can’t hide away from the sea forever-’’ Ælfric began with a grave frown, the keel of the boat cutting through the waves like a knife through butter, a silvery trail unspooling from behind them both. ‘’-Come on, Edmund.’’ The fisherman tutted, watching the young boy’s face shift from weariness to a bitter frustration as the sea sighed around them. ‘’It’s always going to be a part of your life, you’ve got to be able to face it.’’ Salt clung to peppery hair as the fisherman adjusted the rudder, turning the boat in a slow, lazy arc towards the pale, northern sun as it drifted by. ‘’Edm-’’ 

 England’s eyes flashed like a burning field, embers sparking in the green of his iris. ‘’I’m not hiding.’’ He hissed sharply, teeth bared in a snarl. His sister had told him, clutching the back of his shirt as she squeezed him tight, that they weren’t like other people. England had asked her what she had meant, but the woman had simply gone very quiet (a dragon, retreating to its lonely cave with a hiss of red scales). He hoped that it was something good - something that would keep the breath in his brother’s lungs a little longer. ‘’I need to find him!’’ He spat, nose wrinkled with fury. 

The fisherman regarded him with sad, grey eyes. ‘’He’s not there anymore, lad. He’s dead.’’ The sea burbled in agreement, dark swirls of malevolent green and white sending the boat drifting across the choppy waves. ‘’He’s dead.’’ The man repeated once more, frustrated strain making his words creak like age-old wood. ‘’Stop shouting at me. You’ll rock the boat.’’ Ælfric drew in a weary, impatient breath as Edmund’s expression contorted into anguish, then into anger. ‘’Calm down.’’ A strain crept into his voice, impatient (a sudden swell of wind that pulled the air from beneath a bird’s wings; England froze, transfixed and trembling with ire). ‘’Sit down. Calm down.’’ Look at the sea. 

[preciouslandmermaid]

"as the tides turn" (c.m.)

summary:

The BAU, joined by Emilia Wren, are called to Florida to investigate a case where the unsub drowns their victims and then dumps their body at a secondary location. Can they locate and stop the killer before it's too late?

This story was written using the "showrunners challenge", so at the end of each chapter, I rolled a D12 and followed whatever prompt was listed...which resulted in only minor hiccups.

cw/tw: mentions of drowning. it's a case fic, so they're talking about murder and unsubs and all the usual things that happen during a CM episode.

(read on ao3) || fic has 5 chapters

CHAPTER ONE: "as the tide rolls in"

“What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams.” - Werner Herzog

Florida's oppressive, wet humidity ran its sticky fingers down the middle of Spencer’s back and cupped the nape of his neck in clammy rivulets of sweat. He shifted uncomfortably and swatted away an errant gnat that flew into his face. The rank of low tide and the sound of crying gulls surrounded the team, though he suspected they would soon be overwhelmed by white vans and clamoring reporters. This was, ironically enough, their few seconds of peace before the storm hit.

“Man was out walking his dog and saw her,” Deputy Roman said, “called it in right away.”

Hotch asked, “No other witnesses? And he didn’t approach the body?”

Roman shook his head. “I think it’s pretty obvious she’s been here awhile,” the deputy said while lifting the yellow police tape for Spencer and their newest member, Emilia, to enter the crime scene. Although considering Emilia was barely five feet tall, she didn’t need to duck as much as he did to cross the line. They maneuvered past crime techs taking photographs of the beach, and the body, and collecting samples of sand and seaweed.

“The unsub has familiarity with the tides,” Emilia said as she crouched next to the body, her short dark brown hair swaying in the seaside breeze, “he knew when to dump the body.”

“So, the unsub wants the victims found.” Hotch’s dark brow furrowed.

Spencer shot a glance toward Emilia, though his attention was swiftly drawn to the deceased—murdered–woman on the beach. She was Caucasian, likely in her early to mid-twenties, with blonde hair and dark roots. Her cheeks were puffy and ashen, and he could see her eyelids' delicate, blue veins. The deputy said the body had been here a while, but that couldn’t be accurate.

“A coastal area like this one would experience two tidal bulges,” Spencer said, “and it takes about six hours and twelve and half minutes for the water to go from high to low tide.”

Morgan crossed his arms and looked at the tall, blonde-haired deputy. “This is a small beach for residents only. How many go through here in a day?”

“This time of year? Not many, I’m afraid.” He rubbed his mouth. “Most of the residents in this area are snowbirds. They start flying to their second homes by mid-June.”

“Her body has started to bloat which means she’s been dead for at least seventy-two hours,” Emilia cut in, “and based on the tidal bulges, as Reid said, there’s only a six-hour window before the sea would’ve swallowed her.”

“We need confirmation from the medical examiner,” Spencer said, “humidity increases the decomposition rate.” He met Emilia’s honey-brown eyes framed by long lashes clumped with mascara. She tilted her head slightly in acknowledgment but said nothing more. A surge of relief swept through him. He had lived with himself long enough to recognize that sometimes his instinct to fact-check or correct, could rub people the wrong way, and put them on the defensive, and thankfully that had not happened with Emilia. Not ever, actually, now that he considered it. Usually, she’d reply with a soft and pensive ‘thank you’ whenever he’d share an anecdote.

Hotch said, “Either way, it’s clear the unsub killed her and then moved her here.” He took his phone from inside his blazer pocket. “Reid, head back to the station and start the geographical profile. We’ve got two bodies and two different dump sites that are miles away from one another.”

Spencer nodded.

“Deputy Roman, I need your people canvassing the area. If there’s a chance any of these homes are being rented while their owners are away that means someone could’ve seen something.”

“I think if someone saw or heard a woman being murdered then they would’ve called 911,” said Roman smugly.

Spencer opened his mouth to reply, but Emilia beat him to it.

“Our suspect likely drives a van or truck, considering they were able to transport a body,” she said, “have your guys ask about suspicious or unfamiliar vehicles within the past week or so.”

“Week?!”

“This unsub is organized and would’ve vetted the area beforehand.”

“Garcia,” Hotch said into his phone while walking toward the car, “we need catastrophic incidents in the area within the past five years.”

“I shall wave my magic wand and return with your wish granted, sir,” Garcia said, as chipper as ever before disconnecting.

“Wren–” he looked at Emilia, “I want you and JJ to interview the first victim’s mother.”

“Yes, sir.”

Spencer slid into the backseat next to Emilia. The leather interior stuck to his palms, though he was grateful for the rush of air conditioning that expelled in a rush from the vents and tousled his light brown hair.

Morgan twisted in the passenger seat, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head, and his attention on Emilia. “Nothing like returning to your hometown, huh little bird?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes and Spencer’s body went taut and quiet. Hometown?

“First of all, we lived fifty miles upstate,” she said while leveling Derek with a flat, intense stare. “And it hardly constitutes a ‘hometown’ when I lived there for a mere two years when I was fourteen.”

Derek smiled. “Fourteen is an impressionable age. You could’ve been a lifeguard instead of an FBI agent.”

Her lips quirked. Derek had that easy-going charm to him that most – especially women – found either irresistible or endearing. He scanned her face, checking for the telltale signs of attraction: dilated pupils, quickened breath, flushed cheeks, or mirroring body language. It was instinctual to him. He had to consciously turn off the parts of his brain that profiled and analyzed. But, Emilia leaned into her seat, crossed her legs, and replied to him with a casual, and straightforward tone.

“I think my innate sense of morality and justice would’ve put me on this path one way or another.”

“Nature versus nurture.”

Spencer found his moment to chime in, “John Locke said that ‘the mind is like a tabula rasa, a blank slate, which is later filled by experience,’ and that we, with the freedom of our individuality, must fill our lives with experiences to gain knowledge and understanding. If we follow Locke’s philosophy, then we wouldn’t be born with a sense of justice built in, but rather experience hundreds to thousands of different moments and memories that shape our perception towards the world, our interpersonal relationships, and our relationship to the concepts of justice, morality, and ethics.”

“Says the boy genius with an 187 IQ,” Morgan teased.

“Hey, his mom was a professor,” Emilia said, rising to Spencer’s defense with a light smile which in turn made his chest glow with warmth.

Before Morgan could make a counter-argument, his phone rang and Garcia’s bright voice sang out over the speakerphone. “Hello, my beauties. I’ve got the deets on our first victim, Mary-Anne. She was majoring in fashion design, although, she took several of her general education classes at the local community college before transferring.”

“Nice work, baby girl,” Morgan said, “how’s the staff look? Has anyone fired or filed grievances in the past six months?”

“No terminations, although one professor was put on academic probation.”

“Keep digging, Garcia,” Hotch said, “until we identify our Jane Doe, Mary-Anne is the only link to the unsub.”

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

[Chapter Two ->]

Some general housekeeping if you are curious: 1) Every roughly 1k words, I end the chapter and roll my d12 to see what happened next. 2) I told myself that this fic would take place over a single case and would end once the investigation did (much like the in TV show). 3) credit to this challenge goes to Runawaymarbles (also sorta by sprintingowl) on Tumblr 4) I'd love to hear any feedback considering this was my first time writing a challenge :,) Enjoy!

I rolled my D12 and got the number 3 which reads: Fan favorite. Your most recently mentioned character (or named object) is now beloved by the audience. You must give it a bigger part in the story, a special destiny, or an important new romance or friendship. If you get this twice for the same character or object, the adoration cools and you must go back to treating the character or object normally.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

The Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

The Oldsmobile Golden Rocket was a two-seater show car built by Oldsmobile for the 1956 General Motors Motorama. The radically styled fiberglass concept, designed to resemble a rocket on wheels, was revised several times and displayed at various other auto shows, most notably at the 1957 Paris Motor Show where it generated much fanfare, 18 months after it was first revealed. The car was featured in the promotional short film Design for Dreaming along with the rest of the 1956 General Motors lineup.

Exterior

Similar to other Space Age show cars, the Golden Rocket was heavily influenced by the themes of aviation and space exploration. Its sleek, aerodynamic body was made entirely of lightweight fiberglass and finished in metallic bronze paint. Bullet-shaped chrome pieces resembling Dagmar bumpers were integrated into the front fenders in place of headlights as well as the sweeping rear fenders, giving the car an overall rocket-like appearance. Other notable features include a swept-back wrap-around windshield, which had already become a common design element by the mid-1950s, less prominent tailfins by contemporary standards and a split-window fastback roof design presaging the 1963 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray. It rode on unique "dotted-line" whitewall tires. A later photo taken inside the GM Design Center in Warren, Michigan shows the car sporting a blue paint scheme.

Interior

The leather upholstery was finished in blue and gold. When a door was opened, the two-piece roof panel rose automatically in a similar manner to the Mercedes-Benz 300 SL's gull-wing doors. The seats were raised up by three inches and swiveled outwards by 45 degrees, enabling easier access to the passenger compartment. One of its most pioneering innovations was the button-controlled tilt steering wheel, making it one of the first vehicles with such a feature. The speedometer was placed at the center of the foldable two-spoke steering wheel. The futuristic center console and control levers were inspired by an aircraft cockpit.

Powertrain

The car was powered by an upgraded 324-cubic inch Rocket V8 engine tuned to produce 275 horsepower (205 kW). According to interior photos, the Golden Rocket had an automatic transmission like all other Motorama show cars. Details on other internal components, however, are unavailable.

Design legacy

An early styling mock-up of the 1958 Chevrolet Corvette, built around 1956, depicted a fixed-roof fastback coupe with a rear design taken almost directly from the Golden Rocket show car, right down to the torpedo-shaped rear fenders and subtle tail fins. However, this design proposal never reached beyond the clay model stage and a more conventional design was used on the production model instead.

Seven years later, under the direction of General Motors head of design Bill Mitchell, the split rear window design would reappear on the 1963 Corvette Stingray coupe. It lasted for one model year before being changed to a single-piece rear window due to a problem of poor rear visibility.

Current status

It is unclear if the Golden Rocket still exists today. A common practice of General Motors in the 1950s was to destroy show cars after they fell out of usage in order to avoid liability concerns; however, the Golden Rocket is still unaccounted for with no confirmation it was crushed. There is photographic evidence that the car still existed as late as 1962, while several other show cars were scrapped earlier in 1959. The car was reportedly located somewhere in New Jersey, however the rumor still remains unconfirmed even after extensive investigation. Motorama historian David W. Temple believes that the Golden Rocket, along with other lost show cars, will likely never resurface again.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera - Ch 15 - Wait

More blue and purple text for you as that seemed to work last time :) A dash of The Commander & The Murderbot and a sprinkle of Earth&Sky.

And yes, I laughed longer at that line than I should have.

(Previous… Prologue - Stars are Only Visible in Darkness, Estera - 1 - Colour, 2 - Dinosaur, 3 - Shoes, 4 - Thunderbird, 5 - Lesson, 6 - Safe, 7 - Gull, 8 - Deliver, 9 - Coffee, 10 - Flight, 11 - Run, 12 - Fall, 13 - Trying, 14 - Hide)

(Sofasurf’s Recrudescence which is the foundation for all of this)

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Hey, I’m up your way for a meeting next week. Maybe we could catch up? S

Oh I’m sorry, I’m taking the sleeper train to see my sister and her family.

Treviso, right? Hope you have a wonderful time!

Well remembered! I’m sorry to miss you, really bad timing.

I’m sorry!

Stop apologising! Have a Tiramisu for me 😋

Will do!

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Scott double-checked the date then closed the app and leaned on the balcony, watching the gulls land on Mateo to roost. His forehead creased with worry.

“EOS, could you look up the term dates for Estera’s school for me?”

“The current term ends in 4 weeks. Would you like the dates of the holidays and teacher training days for the next 6 years?”

“No, that’ll do. Thanks EOS.”

“I have also established that Estera Hermaszewska is marked as on sick leave and a substitute teacher has been engaged for 3 weeks starting two days ago.”

“EOS! No! You can’t just… I shouldn’t know that!”

“I thought you would want to know because you are displaying concern for her well-being. The school does not have particularly robust security on its staff records. There is a wealth of information here.”

“Stop. EOS. Please stop looking.”

“I have closed the connection. I am sorry, Scott Tracy, I did not intend to cause you distress. John will be displeased.”

Scott paused. There was a lot to unpack there, but he’d return to it later.

“I should have been more clear, it’s my fault. In future, when I ask you to find something out please would you limit your search to publicly available information unless I specifically ask otherwise?”

“Certainly. May I ask why you wish to restrict your knowledge about your friend’s welfare?”

Scott twitched slightly. “I don’t want to, exactly, but… has John discussed the concept of privacy with you?”

“He has explained we need to protect certain types of data. But I was only telling you and you are her friend.”

“Not really EOS, we barely know each other.” Another pause as he pondered how to explain. “But even if we were very good friends… part of human relationships is finding out about each other FROM each other. I should only know what she wants to tell me. To do otherwise is an invasion of privacy and would just make things… strange.”

“John knows a great deal of information about Estera Hermaszewska and they are not friends.”

Scott sighed. “John is a special case.”

“He has also informed Virgil Tracy, Tanusha Kyrano and Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward.”

“He has, has he?”

“Yes. Perhaps this is a fact he did not intend me to share with you at this time.”

“I suspect so EOS. But thank you for telling me.”

Scott headed indoors, suddenly deeply weary. Sleep was unlikely until he’d figured this one out though, so he turned his back on his own bedroom and made his way to his brother’s studio.

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His big brother had several distinct ways of knocking on his door. All were the same rhythm - Tap-te-TAP-tap - but the volume and speed would give Virgil advanced notice of what kind of mood he was in and a split second to prepare. Right now Scott was… unsure, worried about something. He made sure to add as much warmth and encouragement to his “come in Scotty” as he could.

“You always know it’s me.”

“Yep, it’s all the spy cameras I have set up… I’m kidding, Scott.” The brotherly eyebrows relaxed back into merely confused mode. “What’s up?”

“Can’t I just want to hang out?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. Scott sighed.

“I have a bit of a…. Quandary.”

He watched his brother’s face as he explained. When he wasn’t deliberately shutting himself down, or focusing on his board meeting poker face, Scott was an open book. To Virgil at least. His expression and the intonation of his voice could provide more detail than the words did.

“It sounds like you made it clear to EOS, it shouldn’t happen again?”

“But that’s not the point. I know now. She’s sick, Virg, and I’m sure it’s something to do with… well… the same as I was. Because of meeting me. What if I made her dig all that stuff up but she doesn’t have a… a you to keep her sane while she figures it out?”

Scott paced, gesticulating wildly, and Virgil caught his arm as he passed, pulling him in for a hug. His brother was trembling with pent up energy.

“Well first off, well done for not leaping in a plane and rushing to try to fix her.”

His brother let out an explosive laugh. “You know me so well.” A pause, then more quietly “I really want to. But I know that would be weird and counter-productive. I just feel so…” he sagged “Responsible. I can’t just ignore this. I can’t just abandon her!”

“I don’t think you have to.” He pulled back a little to look up into his brother’s face. “Scott, when you were struggling but not ready to talk to us, what helped?”

“Hugs.”

Virgil squeezed him a little tighter. “What else?”

Scott broke away to recommence the pacing, palming the miniature rubix cube Virgil kept handy for him on a shelf and rattling through the algorithm to solve it. Reaching the far end of the room he spun on his heel and met Virgil’s eye.

“Two things I think. Distraction. Things to help me stay grounded. And then… knowing you were there if and when I did want to talk… but you weren’t going to force me.”

Virgil nodded.

“Can you do the same for her?”

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Why are elevator jokes so good?

Hi! Err, are they?

Because they work on so many levels!

…

That was awful.

Seriously, I hear better from the 6 year olds.

Aww, that was one of my best.

That does not bode well.

I am deeply wounded. 😭

Oops 🤣

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Scott shed his overcoat and face planted on to the hotel bed, well aware of the expression the overwrought Italian designer of his suit would sport if he could see such abuse. Wrinkles be damned. The way that board meeting had gone it was a miracle he’d not wrecked this latest one with blood stains. Again.

His comm pinged with a picture message. Unusual… he swiped it open.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Here is your Tiramisu. I’m afraid I ate it. I would apologise but you told me to stop doing that. Bad luck! Estera

Excellent work! 😋

Ah, now I’m hungry and have no dessert 😭

Oops 😂

You’re on the espressos?

You can’t drink cappuccino after 11am here. They’ll arrest you.

Good intel, I’ll bear that in mind next time I visit.

Have you been to Italy a lot?

Outside of rescues? No, actually! There’s no TI branch there and I guess we don’t get a lot of time to travel for pleasure.

Oh you should, it’s an incredible country.

Where would you recommend I start?

I’ll make you a list.

I look forward to it.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Scott smiled to himself. Then changed into his civvies, adding a baseball cap and his signature aviators and ventured outside.

Surely somewhere in London sold tiramisu…

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On the train back. Finished my book already but still 9 hours to go!

Thunderbird One would do it in 3 minutes…

You just did the maths didn’t you?

Yep.

I’m guessing no restaurant carriage though? Whereas I am now going to go sit and enjoy the view with a coffee and some kind of delicious pastry.

… TB One does lack pastries.

I bet your brother has plenty of room for pastries in Two… 😈

Be right back.

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Scott, did Thunderbird One just fly over my train?

… maybe 😁

?????

Alan needed to get some more flight hours…

And I wanted pastries.

So we are in Paris getting takeaway.

The fuel for those things is cheap right?

Sure.

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Back at school today - the kids say hi :) I don’t know why they think I have some kind of hotline to the head of International Rescue but they won’t be dissuaded.

Hi right back atcha kids 👋

Atcha? What kind of a word is that?

An… American… one?

I don’t think it’s valid here.

Let me try again.

Good afternoon, esteemed juvenile citizens. I extend my compliments for your respective health and happiness.

You are no longer allowed to talk to the children 😏

Aw shucks 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

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[dont-f-with-moogles]

The Farthest Sea

Word Count: 1249 Characters: Levi x Hange, Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Sasha, Connie Canon universe

The giant salt lake lay before them, surging and rippling its blue flanks. Masses of white clouds were draped above, leaving only tiny windows of sky to spill shafts of light upon the scene. The water shimmered where each golden spear struck its surface. Amidst the cry of gulls overhead came the wild roar of the waves. Hange watched as a great crest rushed towards them, charging with all the ferocity of a thousand white horses. As the cavalry neared their position, they stumbled and collapsed into foam upon the sand. The swirling mass of water melted away as the tide dragged backwards, only to swell once more as though in preparation for a fresh assault.

Amazed, Hange dropped their boots behind them and walked until the soft, warm grains which clung to their feet became earthy and moist. They rooted themself firmly at the water’s edge, relishing the pleasant squelch of sand around their toes. As a flood of ice water lapped around their ankles, Hange gave a scream of delight.

“It’s freezing! I-incredible!”

There came a howl over to their right where Connie was hurling handfuls of saltwater into Sasha’s eyes. Jean, tired and thirsty from the long ride, reprimanded them both.

“Why do you two always have to act like such idiots!” he seethed, stooping over the glistening water and cupping a handful of it to drink.

On Hange’s left side, Armin stood open-mouthed. It was as though the young Scout had never fully allowed himself to believe in the existence of such an entity. He had long dreamed of discovering the sea and yet, now that it lay before him, it seemed to astonish him with its indisputable materiality. He drifted towards it with the rapture of a sleep-walker. Behind him, Eren and Mikasa held their boots out of the waves’ reach, unsure whether or not they should follow. 

Only Levi remained by the base of the cliff.

“Woo hoo!” Hange cried. With unrestrained delight, they plunged their arms into the cold sea and flung handfuls of water over their hair and face. Hange gave a wild shake of their head and wiped their mouth. The substance had left a bitter tang upon their lips.

“Wow, is this actually full of salt water? Huh…” For their attention was immediately seized by a dark object lurking in the shallows. Through their smeared glasses, Hange struggled to discern the identity of the creature. Cylindrical in shape and no longer than 3 inches, it was certainly unlike any fish Hange had ever encountered. The organism seemed to drift lazily with the current, giving every impression of being dead. 

“Hmmm. What could that be?” 

“Hey Hange!” Levi called out from the sanctuary of the cliffside. “You shouldn’t touch it. It might be poisonous.” 

Only partially registering what had been said, Hange waded out further into the water. They lifted up the mucous creature and held it out before them. Its body had a greyish hue and was covered entirely with tiny holes. It dilated like a long sigh, oozing foam in their hand.

“Wow!” Hange gasped, swinging around to Levi with their discovery. “Look!” 

Levi, who had not stirred, narrowed his eyes in disgust. “The hell is that? Titan shit?”

Hange had hardly opened their mouth to correct him before he relented. “I know, I know. Titans don’t defecate…”

“Oh good. Looks like I finally taught you something!” Hange bent down to the water once more, then brought the bizarre creatures closer in an effort to scrutinise them. “I’m not sure what these are though… could it be horse shit?” Levi’s mouth was pulled into an indistinguishable line.

“How have you got two of them?” 

“I think they like me!” Hange grinned.

“They think you’re one of their own,” he quipped at them. Hange had their back to him, absorbed in their study. Despite himself, Levi drew a step closer to the water before planting his feet firmly into dry sand. 

“At least the air here is clean…” he conceded. “…and the view isn’t bad…”

Hange gazed over the endless expanse of ocean. Sea and sky merged into an immeasurable translucent plain. The journey to the beach had been long, but it was incomparable to the notion of crossing these waters. How could one ever hope to reach the other side of the sea and survive?  Hange turned to Levi but found his eyes were upon them.

“…it’s incredible, isn’t it?,” Hange answered finally. Then a smile crept across their face. “You should see it from here!”

“I’m fine where I am,” Levi remarked coolly.

His protest was to no avail, for Hange swung around to face him. Levi grabbed at their hands, prising them away from his arms. Undeterred, Hange seized a handful of his green cloak, urging him forward.  “Come on Levi! This research is for the good of humanity!”

“Like hell it is!” Levi snarled as they grappled, “you just want to torture me with that stuff!”

He conceded by one step before quickly unlatching the metal clasp at his shoulder. Hange, who had been tugging at the material, stumbled over backwards with his cloak in their hands.

“I’m holding you responsible for getting that cleaned, Shitty Glasses.”

Hange stood, the cloak now clouding the water at their feet, and clung to Levi’s wrist. He attempted to writhe out from the grip of their icy fingers, but Hange’s grip upon his arm tightened. Their free hand sought his shoulder, steering him ever closer. Levi shuddered as seawater soaked through his shirt. Then something cold and slimy touched the back of his neck.

“Huh?! Get that filthy shit away from me!” 

Hange’s breathless laughter was in his ear. 

“So Levi, what do you think?”

“I think I’m going to drown you in this damn lake,” Levi snarled.

“Ah, but do you really want to risk being in the water for that long, Levi? It only takes one piece of poisonous horse shit to touch you…”

He refused to answer them. Either his anger had peaked to such a degree that it had rendered him speechless, or he had somehow become both awed to his new surroundings and startled by the very notion of being awed. Hange’s laughter slowed. Their hands were still on him.

“Mmm?” Hange glanced to their right. Eren had waded out into the water, ahead of Armin. He was pointing to the horizon… to where, according to Grisha’s memories, their enemies lay. Hange dimly wondered how their world might be perceived by someone waiting from across the farthest sea. Did these same divisive waters appear as blue and beautiful to them? Did they ever look upon the island of walls as a prison filled with innocents? Or were they forever fearful that these caged beasts would one day escape their long entrapment…?

Hange weighed these same thoughts years later, from where they stood upon the dockside. This time the waters looked different. The sea stretched out before them, an infinite plane of blue burnished with red light. A few feet away, the hydroplane was grounded and bathed in heat. The island stood a little beyond forever. Hange had never before recalled feeling so far away from home. For now, it was a place they would never return to. 

Hange turned, their cape whirling about them as they strode away. They were slow, dragging footsteps at first before becoming quicker, more urgent… until the drumming of their boots drowned out the thudding of their heart. 

[shallowoak]

Design Chatter - MLP East Blue Crew!

>> Link to the art here! <<

I've seen some fellow MLP au artists talk through their design ideas, so I thought I'd share my two cents and ramble a bit! Fair warning this will be long and there will be spoilers!

I kept a few simple guidelines for myself in mind:

Keep it fun and surprising, in the spirit of the original!

I draw in the G4 style, but features from every gen and toy line are fair game

Anypony who appeared in the comics as a cameo is not immune and has been redesigned for my selfish needs

I love back card / blind bag style character blurbs. I live for crumbs of worldbuilding XD

I've purposefully not included cutie marks because I suck at drawing them and I'd never finish a piece if I had to draw them :v (maybe a post for another time?)

🌅 Luffy 🌅

In-universe:

"Friendship isn't so much magic but a mandate for those this pony captain likes! This joyful newbie idolises Shanks, a fellow flightless Pegasus pirate. Though rubber wings are useless for flight, his ultra-lightweight body means he is still adept at aerial combat- falling slower and flinging faster. He passes the time between islands gliding by the mast with the gulls."

Design:

I'll level with you all; I'm not huge on red and black ponies. It's nothing personal to anyone who uses the scheme; it's just not my bag. The contrast is a bit harsh on my eyes. (And that every brony in 2015 slammed ponies with the scheme, forever ingraining that bias into me)

Rather, Luffy's scheme is based on his shorts! Light blue and white evoke the shoreline and sky, two limitless places where he spends a lot of time. A softer scheme allows me to draw his vest and hat without them becoming lost on his fur, and I feel it gels better with his light n' bright attitude to life. There's no way he's edgy enough for red and black-!

The swirls on his wings (and hoof fluff) are from the G3 depiction of Pegasi. It's such a gosh darn cute way to draw wings. It's also a fun little nod to the pattern on his fruit and Gear 5 form later on. Ponies are always skirting around the idea of destiny. For him to be a Pegasus was an easy pick for me, the wings symbolising both freedom of movement and spirit!

💚 Zoro 💚

In-universe:

"This aloof Zebra spends all year saving for Apple cider season, where he promptly blows all his bits in under a week. He often unknowingly intimidates those he meets; a bias unaided by the three swords he wields with magnets embedded into his front hooves."

Design:

I'm weak. I couldn't resist the alliteration of Zebra Zoro. You can blame Zecora for starting that. You can also blame her for the parallel of people misunderstanding Zoro's personality based on first impressions. I Pinkie-promise he's a big softie really.

Before I'm bashed, I'm well aware Zoro is Asian. In this instance, you can view that his being a Zebra just connotes that his ancestry lies outside of the East Blue rather than drawing any real-world correlation.

It's the little things that make this version uniquely Zoro, though. His stripes are sword-shaped, come in threes and neatly avoid his back. Hoof magnets were a popular play feature of G3 ponies before kids kept eating them 😶 But I think it's a fun way for Zoro to retain that Earth Pony-adjacent strength whilst still being able to hold all three swords. His stance has always looked weird, anyway.

🍊 Nami 🍊

In-universe:

"A light-footed, citrus-scented Pegasus who gambles with the best in Klugetown. Nothing escapes her- not even the bits from your purse! After a decade of being on high alert, she's more in tune with the weather than even other Pegasi. The sight of rainbows stretching across the sky makes her think of home."

Design:

Honestly, it's nice that we don't know anything about Nami's birth family. When she was adopted, she was just a baby, even younger than Sanji. Belle-Mere (Mare…) and Nojiko shaped her entire life. To that end, I wanted her design to be free of speculation and to focus on what we know for sure.

Her being a Pegasus was influenced by a few things. In G4, Pegasi often have an affinity for the weather and sky. Like Luffy, her wings symbolise the emphasis on freedom in her story. Farming is traditionally an Earth Pony job, so it also shows the disconnect between her passions and current situation.

In this case, the clipping of her wings doesn't stop her from sailing away any more than it does in canon. But it adds to the feeling of control Arlong holds over her, another physical reminder of her duty and self-sacrifice.

Despite what the timeskip art style wants us to believe, Nami is pretty but also really... normal. Normal proportions, face, hair, profession. She's weird for an OP character in that way. To reflect that, I decided that her coat should reflect the colour of the maps she creates. Unique from the pastels around her, but not super stand out, much like her orange mane. The darkened ends of her fur walk the line between showing hard graft and dirtied hooves 🥲 I expanded her tattoo to be a full leg design- 'cuz why shouldn't she show off the symbol of her life truly beginning!?

🎱 Usopp 🎱

In-universe:

"A young, apprehensive Changeling who often lives disguised as a Pony. He uses his transformations to bring stories to life and dazzle those he meets! When danger arises, he shifts into the form of a smaller animal and hides..."

Design:

The choice to make Usopp a Changeling speaks to his insecurity. Why present yourself as a village foal when you could be a great pony of the sea? Or anyone else you could dream up? It also speaks to my own insecurity as an artist, not touching the idea of drawing his nose on a horse face with a 10-foot pole. It's not happening, nuh-uh. It's a horn now for a reason, trust me!

But it also allows for some very literal metamorphosis as he grows throughout the series. His horns grow larger and change shape as the slingshots he uses evolve. (Yes, he absolutely does use his horns to fire things from!) In Pony form, his cutie mark changes to reflect which part of himself he identifies with -or has the most faith in- at any one moment. As an artist, I bet he has great fun drawing up new marks to use.

Rather than becoming a muscly bug after the skip, his wings literally break out from his shell. It isn't the end of his development, but it signifies his change in outlook and newfound faith in himself. Followers of God Usopp view his Pony form as one they, as "common folk" can easily comprehend, rather than his true nature.

He's the only one I drew as his timeskip design, just because it was the most interesting to me. Hyperfixation does strange things to a man.

🍥 Sanji 🍥

In-universe:

"A hot-headed Unicorn who breaks expectations, he fights rude customers with kicks that match the strength of a true Earth Pony! His unusual tail is a hot topic of speculation for off-duty chefs at the Baratie- but he won't speak a word about his past. Maybe try asking about his specials instead?"

Design:

Classic Unicorns are calm, refined and beautiful. Everything that Sanji is... on the surface. I love how Sanji constantly plays with our expectations; who says a creative can't kick ass? Further to that, Sanji's magic skills are wholly unimpressive, with a grand repertoire of two spells. It helps separate him from Robin, the actual magic scholar on board. As an Earth Pony unable to teach him, Zeff has always felt guilty.

His blue coat reflects the shirts he often wears, sure, but blue feels so appropriate for someone who loves the sea so much. It also allows for his fluffy black socks to stand out, coining his epithet. (If horse Sanji wore pants, would he wear them like this? Or like t h i s?) Not naming any names, Luffy he's the only fighter sensible enough to wear horseshoes to protect his feet and often visits Farriers when they make port.

His tail isn't hairless, but is covered in a thin layer of fur like his body until it reaches the tip. It's useful for working in the kitchen as it's easy to wrestle into a hair net. In the Baratie, he's often seen with a red bow decorating it, warning customers that he'll kick if provoked. This style of tail is a largely lost trait of old Unicorns, now most commonly seen in nobility who care a little too much about bloodlines. It's not a feature he's proud of, especially when it calls into question the nature of his relationship to Zeff- a pony he otherwise closely resembles.

[hazel-of-sodor]

Something Holy This Way Comes

Ch.2 Secrets

Other Stories

Other Chapters

Progress on the restoration of the Glain route was progressing quickly with the extra engines. They had reached a small farming village named Tawel, high on the cliff overlooking the sea. Seagulls lined the cliff edge, crying angrily at Screech's presence. One started hopping towards her. Screech opened an eye to stare at the bird. The gull stopped for a moment, but then hopped forward again while looking the giant in the eye.

Thwack

The seagull's flock turned to watch it sail away towards the ocean.

"Screech!" Mali said admonishingly from the station platform

Screech closed her eye.

 "The skyrat should have known better." She said lazily.

The seagull returned and landed on Screech's snowplow, squawking in indignation.

Screech eyed the bird in irritation.

Mali giggled.

 Screech slowly scooped up a pile of snow with her tendrils. The seagull failed to notice the tendrils moving until it was too late.

ploof

 The seagull's head popped up from the snow angrily. 

Screech rumbled in satisfaction. Miss Morgan exited the old station, stopping to take in the sight.

"I see you're getting along with the locals." She said amused.

Screech flicked a tendril at the seagull who hopped over it with a squawk.

Screech glared.

"Any progress with getting a new engine?" Mali asked, hoping to distract Screech before she gave into the whisper's urging to unmake the bird.

Miss Morgan nodded, "Yes, finally. We're negotiating for an engine from the Western Region. They're supposed to arrive middle of next year."

"So long?" Screech asked without looking away from the gull.

"The engine is being sent for overhaul at Swindon," Morgan explained. "They will come here once overhauled and we'll have a chance to buy them if we're satisfied."

"You know they will try something to sabotage the trial."

Miss Morgan locked eyes with the eldritch giant, "which is why you will be watching over our new engine when they arrive."

A smirk slowly dawned on Mali's face, "They don't know about Screech."

The whisper cackled.

Miss Morgan's grin was predatory, "No they don't. I suspect the only reason they are sending the new engine is to find out what's changed on our railway. Before her arrival, we were struggling to keep the trains running."

"And when they find out about me?"

"That's the best part," Morgan smirked, "they'll never believe it. It doesn't matter if their spy sees you, according to their records you were scrapped."

"Because I was." 

Freda spoke up from the cab, "Normally that would mean you were dead. Not on a distant railway with reality-breaking abilities."

"Technically I am dead."

Gwyn snorted, "You're awfully solid for a ghost." He said, rapping his knuckles on the side of her tender.

Screech looked back, unimpressed. "I was cut into pieces by burning axes before those pieces were melted back into raw metal. The fact death failed to drag me beyond does not mean I am alive."

"I would think that's exactly what it means."

Screech locked gazes with Mali, "Little Thief, every second I must hold back my true form or risk reducing your mind and body to ash in an instant. I am no longer of this world, I am of the beyond. Your very being is unable to withstand the true weight of my presence. If I were to ever slip, you would not die, you would be unmade."

Mali swallowed nervously, "So no startling you then."

"It would be unwise."

The seagull squawked in apparent agreement.

Mali went to speak then hesitated.

"What is it, Little Thief?" Screech rumbled.

"You say you confine yourself to your physical shape..."

"Do you not believe me little one?"

Mali shuddered as her bones rattled from Screech's attention. "If that shape is confined...how large are you actually."

Screech rumbled a laugh, the sound's echoes triggering an avalanche on the nearest mountain. Her eyes burned blue as she ever so slightly relaxed her grip on her form.

"Avon is taking on water while Enid complains about her snowplow fitting awkwardly."

Miss Morgan blinked, nonplussed, "Avon should be at Din by now."

"She is."

The humans were silent for a long moment as they understood what she was saying.

Miss Morgan finally shook her head ruefully, "I suppose that keeping anything from you is a lost cause."

"Only if I know to look." Screech admitted as she shifted slightly, "It's why I didn't recognize Tyto's approach. I can only focus on so much at once, although saying my name will normally get my attention.”

Mali jumped, "Wait does that mean you know..."

"Yes," Screech said bluntly

"Oh." Mali sounded very small.

Screech rolled her eyes, "I am hardly in the habit of spilling others' secrets."

"...Thank you," Mali said quietly.

Miss Morgan raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

Gwyn looked at Screech thoughtfully, "How far can you reach if you try? say..."

"You had better not be asking one of my engines to spy on my meetings with the Other Railway." Miss Morgan said flatly.

"I don't trust them," Gwyn said seriously. "You know they want us gone. Removing you would accomplish that."

"They're not murderers Gwyn." Morgan frowned at him. 

"Screech existence says otherwise," Freda said quietly. There was an awkward silence.

"She has been in no danger." Screech finally said.

"...you were already watching." Miss Morgan sighed in resignation.

"I was."

"...thank you." 

It was quiet for a moment then Mali tentatively asked, "Any progress on the Argol line?"

"We hope to begin work on restoring the Argol Line in the spring. " Miss Morgan said, stretching, "By then Seren will be able to assist, and the first trains could be running by Autumn. They'll only go as far as the first station, but the sooner the lines open, the sooner it can help pay for its renovation.

"Will we have the engines to serve the line by then?" Freda asked.

Miss Morgan nodded, "I spoke with the North Western Region and the Chester and Holyhead board last night. The North Western is sending us another engine to help restore the old lines to Glain. Once the line is reconnected, the CH&R has promised to help run the trains until we're on our feet.

"Do they know about Screech?" Gwyn asked.

"No." Miss Morgan shook her head, "Tyto and Ceri promised to only tell Eagle. Screech will remain our ace in the hole for as long as we can manage."

[anonsally]

Happy Birdday To Me!

For my birthday today, I took the day off work and spent over two hours birdwatching at a hotspot I had not been to before, though it's not that far away. Long report below!

(I hate driving on the freeway, particularly the one I would've had to take to get to Arrowhead Marsh. But I figured out that I could get there on public transit instead.)

Various rare bird sightings have occurred there in the past week, so I was hoping to see something new. In the end, I only saw one of the rarities, but I did see 7 birds I'd never seen before!

My dad joined me after about 45 minutes, but even before that, there were a number of Very Serious Birders with serious equipment. None of them had seen (today) the Nelson's sparrow or tufted duck that have been there the past few days (though according to the rare bird alerts, a few people had seen the sparrow in the morning), but they did help me with some IDs and point a few birds out and let me look through their spotting scopes!

Seven new species:

Common yellowthroat. This is probably the one I was most excited about, even though it isn't very unusual--but I had never seen it! and it's yellow!

Sora. Also very exciting with its pretty plumage and yellow beak! It was shy, but I got a good look at it a few times when it foraged at the edge of some reeds.

White-winged scoter. This was the only rare one that I saw, and it was pointed out by some of the Very Serious Birders, who let me look at it through their scope and regretted that they had not pointed it out to me while it was preening and showing its white wing patches. I could see a tiny white line on the wing, and the bill was very scoter-y, but it would look to a casual viewer like a pretty solid dark brown duck.

Blue-winged teals. Very beautiful bird. There were 3 of them--two males and a female--paddling around, and I could see a small light blue spot on the folded wing of one of the males. It's a large blue patch in flight, but not always visible when they're swimming.

Cinnamon teals. Another beautiful bird! We saw a pair.

Horned grebe. The horned and eared grebes are similar-looking and hard to distinguish, but in this case, I saw both (and was told both were there), so I managed to pick out the differences. (I had seen an eared grebe on the Elkhorn Slough boat tour, identified by someone else.)

Glaucous-winged gull. I would never have even tried to identify this one, but was told what it was.

I also "collected" a whole trifecta of teals, because someone also pointed out a green-winged teal (I'd seen one before). I was happy to see a pied-billed grebe (definitely the cutest of the grebes we get around here). On the walk from the bus stop I saw what I believe was a red-shouldered hawk perched on a utility pole. It had the orange barred front, but the back looked less black-and-white than brown-and-white. There were lots of scaups in the water, but I couldn't tell if they were greater or lesser; we also saw what was probably a greater yellowlegs, but of course could have been lesser. I saw some coots, common goldeneyes, black-necked stilts, snowy egrets, a great blue heron, loads of willets and marbled godwits, and a couple of black turnstones, but I'm sure there were lots of other ducks and shorebirds I didn't manage to identify.

All in all, it felt like a very successful birthday birding expedition, and it made me want to go back.

[a-libra-writes]

OH MY GOD REQS ARE OPEN THIS IS A GODDAMN MIRALCE OH MY GOD IM LIKE A SAILOR WHO HASNT BEEN ON LAMDNFOR YEARS AND IS KISSING THE GROUND AHHHHHHHH

anyways nathan’s i request some teenage angsty stannis hcs

-🐚🌌

Hello again seastar~~ <3 Alrighty I decided to do a drabble bc thats what popped into my head. It may not be as angsty as u were thinking but I just couldnt get the scene out of my head.......

She skipped up the stone steps two at a time, justifying to herself that since they were dry this time, it was safer. As soon as she blinked into the daylight, the smell of salt touched her nose and a gentle breeze tugged at her clothes. Shadows crossed the huge stone wall she stepped on - the seagulls, the clouds. She wished some of those clouds would give her some reprieve from this sunlight. The young lady squinted and shielded her eyes with a flat palm, looking for a certain person.

He would be the only person up on the walls of Storm's End, because there was no need for guards here. What would they do, scold the storms and winds away? The Drum did a fine job of keeping itself up.

Quickly, she spotted him, and ran across the washed out stone. It was more of a huge road than a proper wall. She was glad she kept her shoes on. The lady slowed when she came closer to Stannis, who certainly heard her approaching, but stayed hunched over.

This was the last place she went looking. He hadn't been up here in several years. She tried not to glance in the direction of where it happened - that specific collection of sharp rocks that may have looked like any others, but she and Stannis could identify them at once. Those rocks, jutting out from the sea like knives, were often in their dreams, after all.

She pulled her eyes away and sat beside her friend.

"Oh," The lady said. She just noticed Stannis had someone with him. A small someone, in a wooden cage. The little hawk turned its head at her. "You brought him?"

Stannis didn't respond right away. He was looking at the goshawk, not at the sea, or at her. The sound of waves crashing against the Drum and seagulls crying out surrounded them, and she let that not-quite-silence sit for a while. Eventually, she said, "I didn't think you were keeping him."

His blue eyes looked sharply to her, already on the defensive. She added, "I think it's a good thing. That is, I think he's fond of you."

"... Do you think so?" Stannis looked back at the bird. It did seem calm, even if it was contained. It kept turning its head and looking all around, especially at the gulls.

"Of course. You've been feeding him, haven't you? And he doesn't bite you." She held out her hand, where a dull red line was still on her finger.

To her delight, a small smile crossed his serious features. "I told you to not hand feed him."

"You were doing it."

"When he was weak. I don't anymore," Stannis reached his fingers into the wooden cage, and the bird stayed still, content to let its wings be touched. "He's too proud for it."

"What do you mean?"

Stannis removed his hand, and set the wooden cage on the ground. "He wants to eat on his own, now that he can." He opened the little hatch, and carefully set his gloved hand in. The goshawk considered it, then slowly stepped onto the thick leather, digging in his talons.

The lady drew her knees to her chest, watching with awe. "He's so gentle," She said quietly. "His wing is looking well, too."

It was still clearly injured - some feathers were missing and askew, but at least the bird could fold his wing properly and it wasn't hanging at such a pitiful angle. Stannis brought it to his chest, where it continued to stay on his hand, calmly observing the water.

She couldn't be still any longer. "Could I pet him? Touch him, I mean."

Stannis gave her a wary look. "Don't move suddenly."

"I won't," She said, but she still moved too quickly for the goshawk's taste. As she scooted closer to Stannis, up to his shoulder, the bird ruffled its feathers and made a noise of agitation. Stannis put a light touch on his back, and gently stroked him.

The lady tried to mimic that gentle touch, reaching out and softly brushing her fingertips against a brown speckled feather. The bird's eye glowered at her, and again he made that sound of annoyance. It was a warning.

She sighed and pulled her hand away. "See? He's only fond of you."

Stannis was smiling again, though it was muted. He gave a little shrug, and their shoulders bumped each other. While Stannis carefully perched the bird on his hand, she tilted her head and rested it against his shoulder. It had been a long time since they were up on the wall together.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the sounds of the waves and the warmth that pressed against her cheek. The sea breeze picked back up, giving some relief from the sun. She could almost fall asleep like this.

Almost, except the gulls were incessant. She gasped and startled, bumping against Stannis as a gull swooped down beside her head. The goshawk in his hands let out a cry of alarm and flapped its winds. Stannis winced and cursed as its talons dug into his gloved hand, ripping through them, and it leapt from his hand.

Both he and the lady shouted at once, reaching for the little goshawk as it tried to take flight. It only got a foot in the air, flapping wildly in a panic, before sailing down and landing with a little thud on the stone. It was still crying out and flapping when Stannis grabbed its body, getting several harsh pecks and scratches for his troubles. The lady retrieved the wooden cage and opened it, offering it with a frantic "Here!"

With a surprising carefulness, Stannis returned the hawk, even as it squawked and flapped one wing. The bad one only made it to a half flap, and then didn't at all once it was inside.

The latch was closed, and they both let out a breath. Her friend was trembling, she saw - not just his bleeding hands, but his whole body. He watched the bird squawk and bite at the wood in fright, its own body shaking.

"I shouldn't have - this isn't a safe place for him," Stannis said gruffly. "It only upsets him. I shouldn't have."

The lady could have pointed out it was the seagulls that startled the poor thing, especially since they were twice his size, but she didn't. It wasn't just the sad little goshawk that disliked being up here. So she nodded, and took his bare hand. It had several angry wounds crossing his pale skin. "I'll help you with this, too."

Stannis looked down as if he had just noticed them. He merely shrugged, shaking off her hand and taking the wooden cage. "He didn't mean it."

She stood up alongside him, and they walked back to the stairway, leaving the Drum's great walls behind. Once they were inside, the goshawk had settled, yet still looked this way and that with big, unsure eyes. The lady looked at the wounded hands that held the cage, and once they were in Stannis' room and the hawk was settled on his windowsill, she took one of them in her hands.

The leather that was torn so easily was carefully peeled off, and though Stannis winced, he didn't make a sound of pain or pull away. He seemed distant, if anything, even as she began to clean up the blood and the little cuts. They could still hear the gulls and the waves from his bedroom window, but those terrible rocks were far behind.